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A 
 STRICKEN CITY 
 
 By 
 SALMON-MACLEAN 
 
 BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 
 835 BROADWAY, NEW YORK 
 
U'-'^AWY of CONGRESS ( 
 iwu uwwies Reoeived 
 
 OCT 18 «90? 
 
 CoDvneht Entry 
 
 CLASb /K AAC, No. 
 COPY b. _ 
 
 H^7 
 
 Copyright, 1907. 
 
 BY 
 
 SALMON MACLEAN. 
 
 All Rights Reserved, 
 
"Methinks already, from his chymic flame, 
 I see a city of more precious mould: 
 
 Rich as the town which gives the Indies name, 
 With silver paved, and all divine with gold. 
 
 — Dryden. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 As at a gathering, social or otherwise, the 
 audience may be astonished at the omission of 
 the president's opening address, so some of my 
 kind readers and friendly critics may be disap- 
 pointed in not seeing a preface; whilst others 
 (unfriendly critics, I mean,) may wonder why I 
 haven't made a humble apology for putting such 
 a poorly executed production into their hands. 
 After making the following explanation, how- 
 ever, I trust that there will be neither disap- 
 pointment on the one hand, nor amazement on 
 the other. 
 
 I have always spent my leisure in writing 
 verse; but I never wrote with a view to publish- 
 ing any of my poems. After having completed 
 "'A Stricken City," I thought, as usual, that it 
 was fit for jny eyes alone; but others who hap- 
 pened to see it, advised me to publish it. I found 
 it no easy task to follow that advice. I have, 
 however, made this attempt, yet, with some 
 amount of reluctance; and as you herein have an 
 opportunity to judge for yourself, I leave you 
 
11 PREFACE 
 
 to form your own opinion of it. With it, as you 
 will see, I have published a few others, and I 
 trust that after you have read these pieces, you 
 will have no cause to regret having spent the 
 time in reading them. 
 
 July I, 1907. S-M. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 A Stricken City i 
 
 A Photograph 7 
 
 Life's Changes lo 
 
 Parted 12 
 
 Death (or the Sleep of Death) I5 
 
 Winter 18 
 
 A Promise 20 
 
 Genius ^ 21 
 
 The Ocean 22 
 
 On the Beach 27 
 
 Through Life •' 29 
 
A STRICKEN CITY. 
 
 Dear Kingston! daughter of a queenly isle, 
 Whose brow a crown adorns, on which e'er smile 
 The richest trophies from those tropic seas, 
 And choicest emblems of her emerald leas. 
 Our hearts now break with sorrow to behold 
 Thee prostrate, mangled, lifeless like of old 
 Port Royal, when beneath the blows she knelt, — 
 Those murd'rous blows which by the Fates were 
 
 dealt. 
 How oft along thy streets my steps had stray 'd, 
 And brought me weary, worn to where I laid - 
 My frame, a burden, whilst my spirit free 
 Maintain'd unequall'd war against ennui! 
 
 Methinks I hear thy coaches constant run, 
 A market's din, the schoolboys' noisy fun; 
 I hear the notes the steamhorns often play'd 
 At morn, at noon, at evening's growing shade : 
 I see thine eloquent spires all looking down 
 With eyes benign upon thee, fated town; 
 
2 A Stricken City 
 
 And now before me pass the rural swains, 
 W'lth hastening steps along thy sunny lanes: 
 I feel the ire of each tropic ray, 
 The cooling zephyrs from across the bay, 
 The southern doctor from a sky-bound sea. 
 The northeast wind which swe])t thy green wall'd 
 
 lea, — 
 In that, the fuel of exhaustion lay; 
 In these, Cheer's whispers on a summer day: 
 Still too, the fragrant scent of many a rose, — 
 The wild, the cultured, which the bee once chose, 
 Around my memory dances ; but with it 
 The past, the present now in sorrow flit: 
 Again there lingers on my thirsty tongue. 
 That taste delicious of the palm tree's young; 
 And Fancy's hand o'er stretching the broad sea 
 Plucks tropic fruits, which still do beckon me,^ — 
 But Mem'ry's hand had written these. Ah ! now 
 Time's monuments are mix'd as by the plough, — 
 All levell'd with the sod. Can this be thou? 
 The twentieth century had but just begun 
 Her seventh annual journey 'round the sun ; 
 Her first born fortnight wanted but nine hours 
 To quit forever those now des'late bowers 
 
A Stricken City 3 
 
 At midnight, when sweet sleep would nurse with 
 
 care 
 The weary pilgrims of that youthful year; 
 When as some chased Amazon subdued 
 By Phcebus' darts, the war had not renew'd ; 
 But lying, breathing deeply, gasp'd for breath; 
 Then at the sight of slow advancing death 
 She shook convulsive, rose and fell again: 
 So quaked the spot which mark'd where thou 
 
 wast slain — 
 The earth shook long, thy homes, Oh Kingston, 
 
 fell ; 
 And sounds not human mix'd with human yell. 
 The spots which mark'd the kennels of the 
 hounds 
 That cross'd the ocean plains by leaps and bounds, 
 There, where a country's products found them- 
 selves 
 The temporary inmates of the shelves, 
 Where linger'd too a cab with jealous eye 
 To vie with cars in courting passers-by, — 
 There now a death-trod field its charge conceals, 
 And with compulsion mangled forms reveals. 
 Oh! sudden, fatal was the change that led 
 
4 A Stricken City 
 
 The living to the regions of the dead, 
 The rich and poor to pastures new and bare, 
 And then together left them helpless there! 
 Within those rails that bound thy garden 
 
 square, 
 Surrounded by a spacious thoroughfare, 
 Which dust supplied the restless summer air. 
 In that old park whose trees and fonts enjoy'd 
 Sweet martial strains by war not then employ'd, 
 There, where a hundred sat on Sunday eve, 
 And like a hundred looms their tales did weave, 
 Where giant trees o'er lawns eternal green 
 And lots design'd, made art a forest scene, — 
 Thy choicest tropic blossoms bloom no more 
 There, where encamp the needy rich and poor. 
 
 Again within that dusty circling track, 
 Where sped the rider on the racer's back. 
 There, where thy country's colors proudly 
 
 danced 
 Upon the winds while passing viceroys glanced, 
 And generals, at the lines which belch'd forth 
 
 fire 
 At Britain's beck free, not in Britons' hire, 
 When back they oft brought laurels from a field 
 
A Stricken City 5 
 
 Where victors capture and the vanquish'd yield, 
 Where chemical meteors did ascend on high 
 To add brief beauty to a starry sky, 
 Where too a desert summer made the scene 
 Whilst flowers, like stars, in spring did spot the 
 
 green, — 
 There now a homeless populace lament, 
 Sky this one's canopy, and that a tent. 
 
 Now meets mine eyes that stately tower just 
 
 near 
 Thy time-worn hippodrome, thou Kingston dear ! 
 Within her arms her sons have slept the sleep 
 That told a tale of safety — angel's keep, — 
 How steadfast did that solitary eye 
 Of her good clock e'er watch the southern sky! 
 How oft beneath that eye with care they play'd, 
 They fondest wielders of the willow blade! 
 O ne'er can Chance erase fair Mem'ry's hand, 
 Which Fortune kindly guided with her wand. 
 As Time dictated fast, for lines, the days : 
 (She then did lend my steps her guiding rays.) 
 Afar, I see the proud Blue Mountain's head - 
 With ashes cover'd, now that thou are dead: 
 He sees thee prostrate on that couch beside 
 
6 A Stricken City 
 
 The bottled waters of the ocean tide. 
 The gown of emerald lawn he gaveth thee, 
 Is now in blood-stain'd rags; o'er thee I see 
 A mantle weaved of smoke and dust and fire. 
 Thy tomb would ne'er carved epitaph require; 
 Thyself, the epitaph, wouldst fittest be; 
 Thy tomb, thyself, will stretch beside the sea; 
 For Phcenix-like thou Kingston soon wilt rise 
 Again a city fair to mortal eyes, 
 And as the feather'd tribes do meet in court 
 To greet the new-born Phoenix : so in port 
 The ocean hounds, the winds, each coming wave 
 Will join to hail thee victor o'er the grave. 
 
A Stricken City 
 
 A PHOTOGRAPH. 
 
 The background was of darkish gray, 
 
 A screen with fret-work crown'd ; there lay 
 
 Upon the ground a bear, the beast, 
 
 On which sat Beauty (what a feast!) 
 
 The pane forbade a finger's touch; 
 
 For is it ancient Beauty, such 
 
 As 'thiopian chemists kept exempt 
 
 From worm's assault,, and the attempt 
 
 Of Time's revenge on mortal clay. 
 
 When hfeless in the grave it lay? 
 
 Or the conception of a mind 
 
 Own'd by a sculptor? Or the find " 
 
 Of painter's diligence? Or aught 
 
 That breathes now, and remains unsought 
 
 By Beauties' worshippers? O'er that 
 
 Unwrinkled brow, at rest there sat 
 
 A tuft of golden fibres, bent 
 
 Along where once the scissors went. 
 
 Her ears, her cheeks, her shoulders found 
 
8 A Stricken City 
 
 A crypt beneath the gold locks, bound 
 About the forehead with a fine 
 Blue ribbon, like a curtain's twine. 
 Beneath a Roman nose, a red 
 Line mark'd the place, whence freely sped 
 Once words nectareal that brought 
 Those, who a honey'd recluse sought. . 
 What delicate lips ! they seem to say. 
 For eyes which look'd so large, that they 
 Bestow'd but pity for a love. 
 Blest attribute of One above. 
 A few steps backwards, but to view 
 From crown to sole her form anew, 
 Betray'd a smile, which, once conceal'd, 
 But now to me her heart reveal'd, 
 A mother's heart in breast mature ; 
 'Neath, arms bereft of one she bore; 
 For there behind, hung from the wall 
 An "In Memoriam" with a pall 
 With artist's pencil drawn. But no 
 Etiolation mars the glow, 
 Which mark'd a face that lit earth's waste. 
 Like cincture, round her slender waist, 
 Or half way, bared arms lay still, 
 
A Stricken City 
 
 No longer servants of her will. 
 Her breast was bare, save from her nape 
 There hung a cross, her only rape 
 From Vesta's cloister bright ; hung loose 
 From curving shoulders fabric, whose 
 Translucent texture, brown, reveal'd 
 A flowing robe, in vain conceal'd. 
 
lo A Stricken City 
 
 LIFE'S CHANGES. 
 
 This eve how changed seems nature I 
 
 But that must I believe? 
 Just look beside the door-step, 
 
 That green foot-trodden leaf, 
 That grafted branch, that seal'd bud. 
 
 Were not there yestereve. 
 
 The grass that paved the pathway, 
 The bramble and the thorn 
 
 Which vied to catch the passer, 
 Had many a hope forlorn ; 
 
 But they were levell'd, levell'd 
 At this day's budding morn. 
 
 The bells that tuned last evening, 
 The organ's notes, the pray'r. 
 
 The pious crowds, deserted shops. 
 The pastor's pulpit-tear,— 
 
 These are forgot, supplanted; 
 By what? See everywhere: 
 
A Stricken City ii 
 
 A city's buzzing millions, 
 
 And criers of the town, 
 The chamber'd gambler, drunkard, 
 
 The cafe's pamper'd clown, 
 The sickman's hope, the prisoner's, 
 
 A rector not in gown, — 
 
 These eager chase the finish 
 Of toils they'll seek again, 
 
 Toils which make busy nations, 
 And will, too, future men. 
 
 They dressing modern methods 
 In garbs of future ken. 
 
 This eve will be but yester. 
 And modern ancient days; 
 
 This present youth will mellow, 
 And bathe in Autumn's rays; 
 
 And these our songs will echo 
 Then, as but ancient lays. 
 
12 A Stricken City 
 
 PARTED. 
 
 *Twas midnight. On the gray shore 
 
 I sat; and as I cast 
 My eyes o'er the Atlantic, 
 
 I 'spied a lonely mast. 
 
 But then, my thoughts sought farther 
 
 To spot a distant home 
 Beyond these furrow'd waters, 
 
 Within the tropic foam. 
 
 As Phoebus gazed at Cynthia, 
 
 And she at him again, 
 She smiled, and smiling shew'd me 
 
 The silver of the main. 
 
 My eyes fix'd on the waters, 
 
 My thoughts dwelt steadfast still 
 
 Within that cozy cottage, 
 Upon a shady hill. 
 
A Stricken City 13 
 
 In fancy's dream, I enter'd 
 That same familiar cot; 
 
 And those I left I found asleep. 
 But one; lo! he was not. 
 
 A youth, whose soul had hurried 
 Across Death's dreaded stream 
 
 Was absent: 'neath a willow. 
 He still does sleep and dream. 
 
 But by his side are sleeping 
 His mother, sister; they 
 
 Did give him parting kisses, 
 And he his loved one, May. 
 
 His tears were rills, detaining 
 The parting of his kin ; 
 
 But May's for him were rivers. 
 E'en where they did begin. 
 
 Methinks, I hear him speaking, 
 And see him by my side; 
 
 Or, is it that my senses 
 Deceive and me deride? 
 
14 A Stricken City 
 
 I censure not the change that 
 Has taken from my side 
 
 A friend, and left a shadow 
 That whispers to the tide. 
 
 But whilst alone I linger, 
 
 I sorrow o'er the loss, 
 While, as the ships the billows, 
 
 My craft life's surges toss. 
 
 A few years more, and ever 
 
 I yet may sit and sing 
 Beside him, while his fingers 
 
 Again vibrate the string. 
 
A Stricken City 15 
 
 DEATH (OR THE SLEEP OF DEATH). 
 
 A monster. Death? weep not my child, 
 
 No monster rules the world ; 
 Do pulpits show a monster with 
 
 A battle's flag unfurl'd? 
 
 Death, monster? No! a sleep prolonged. 
 
 No horror 'tis to die; 
 Is sleep, sweet sleep, a horror, when 
 
 In bed thy frame doth lie? 
 
 Know'st thou the time when Nature's nurse 
 
 Doth steal thy senses ? Child ! 
 Dost thou dread sleep, or welcome sleep, 
 
 When weary from the wild? 
 
 Refresh'd or weary still, when thou 
 
 Behold'st the sun at morn? 
 Regrettest thou that kindly sleep 
 
 Repair'd thy senses torn : 
 
i6 A Stricken City 
 
 Torn by a disappointment sad, 
 
 Then comforted by sighs? 
 What cares thee worry when in sleep's 
 
 Kind arms thy body lies ? 
 
 To die, to sleep ; if pain to die, 
 
 Then pain to fall asleep ; 
 To sleep, a mortal is to rise ; 
 
 To die, to sleep, sleep, sleep. 
 
 What then dread'st thou? If pain, 
 
 The pain as consequence 
 Existeth not ; but 'tis the cause 
 
 Of death that gives th' offence. 
 
 If pain, at death, doth give offence. 
 
 Then death but pain defeats, 
 By snatching from pain's thongs the soul, 
 
 Which but to th' heavens fleets. 
 
 To die, to change : the soul but quits 
 
 Its earthly home; awake 
 From sleep: the soul returns; awake 
 
 Not: soul its flight doth take. . 
 
A Stricken City 17 
 
 Sweet sleep? sweet death; dread death? dread 
 sleep : 
 
 How plain ! live happy, child ! 
 Let not a teacher horrid make 
 
 What is but sweet and mild. 
 
i8 A Stricken City 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 Quickly stepping with the year, 
 Bearded, frowning, worn with care, 
 
 Winter came, 
 Breathing icy breath on me, 
 Casting white sheets o'er the lea — 
 
 What a shame! 
 
 Birdies, quitting desert lands, 
 Saird away in hungry bands 
 
 To my door; 
 For their food supplies were lost 
 Underneath the snow and frost — 
 
 Winter's floor. 
 
 Naked trees with outstretch'd arms, 
 Standing in deserted farms. 
 
 Wept beneath 
 Winter's burden white and cold; 
 And the stones each had a mould—- 
 
 Brittle sheath. 
 
A Stricken City 19 
 
 Weary, sad, and weak, the year 
 Breathed his last, and then a tear 
 
 Winter shed; 
 But he smiled to see the morn, 
 When a little babe was born 
 
 To the dead. 
 
 Midnight voices fill'd the air, 
 And the birth of a new year 
 
 They proclaimed; 
 Then came next old Winter's end. 
 Locks all hoary, without friend, 
 
 And ill-famed. 
 
20 A Stricken City 
 
 A PROMISE. 
 
 The helpless needy asks just aid, 
 
 A promise gets to wear ; 
 A blessing gives, if ne'er does fade 
 
 That promise' budding ear. 
 
 Too many a promise worthless is, 
 Its giver, Falsehood's page; 
 
 Yet there are wither'd promises, 
 Which shrivel with their age. 
 
 As fickle minds (unwish'd, forsooth) 
 
 Expected age may blast: 
 So budding hope, in weather'd youth, 
 
 May die; and all's a past. 
 
 Oh ! trust not then a promise, friend ! 
 
 Its giver false may be; 
 If honest, just one change may end 
 
 A seeming certainty. 
 
A Stricken City 21 
 
 GENIUS. 
 
 Thou, mount! that hft'st thy head above 
 In conference with a God of love, 
 Fit symbol of the genius — man. 
 Whose place is fixed, in God's plan, 
 Within thy bushy head abide 
 Hid founts of cooling streams, which glide 
 To thirsty minds in endless tide. 
 Blessing and blest, rever'd and grand, 
 His name re-echoes through the land ; 
 Immortal, for his wit shall flow 
 In ceaseless currents here below. 
 
22 A Stricken City 
 
 THE OCEAN. 
 
 Thou ocean! fountain of the floatmg seas, 
 Dread ocean! roar, and fill the tensive shores 
 With those sweet strains a prairie is denied. 
 There, feather'd songsters and the restless winds 
 Do entertain their sylvan guests at will; 
 Here, now at ebb, thy gentle ripples sound 
 Their whisp'ring notes, while little fishes sport. 
 Are not those soften'd strains the music, which, 
 At flow, the merry waves but render loud 
 And long, with their almighty tenor cords? 
 The little spies, the grains of sand, which move 
 Obedient to the weakest of thy waves, 
 Are ready to betray the trail of him. 
 Who treads the borders of thy vast domain. 
 
 How mighty and majestic are those waves 
 That monster-like thy troubled breast patrol! 
 As when some sinewy giant, choked with rage, 
 With eyes like brazen cannons shelter'd by 
 
A Stricken City 23 
 
 Those dismal brows, cliffs that defy approach, 
 Attacks a youth of feeble parts, who yields 
 For fear of deadly blows, and e'er ascends 
 Obedient to the force of giant arms— 
 When absent stubbornness, beseeching wails 
 Defeat the threats of storm, and freedom win: 
 So oaken barges, steel clad ships outlive 
 The anger of thy deaf'ning surges wild. 
 The storm abates, and then thy tamed breast 
 Doth heave no more with anger : now assuaged, 
 Thy waters nurse, with tenderest care, the small 
 Frail craft a schoolboy's hand too loves to shape. 
 The yacht-nursed newly married couple ride 
 Through merry winds that cheer them on their 
 
 way; 
 And safe upon thy breast, their honeymoon 
 The bride and bridegroom spend— a Ufe's sweet 
 morn. 
 
 When from some earthly pinnacle mine eyes 
 Survey the fields of snowy foam, when, too. 
 On high, I see the sprays from reefs ascend 
 And fall in showers upon thy harrow'd breast, 
 My thoughts desert me there, and quickly speed 
 
24 A Stricken City 
 
 To pay due homage to Him, who endow'd 
 Thee, Ocean! with such hberty and pow'r — 
 To sleep, to rage Hke demons, to destroy 
 A fleet in sport, a Holland to annoy. 
 
 For many a day thy pathless way I trod 
 With certain steps ; and nightly, on thy breast 
 My spirit left its body to its own 
 Uncertain fate. O glorious! glorious sight! 
 When Phoebe's pale-faced maids did trip the 
 
 light 
 Fantastic toe upon thy silv'ry floor. 
 In joy for the absence of the shades. 
 Once through the curtains of a darksome night, 
 A ray did peep at me, it moved on ; 
 And hours reluctant brought thy curved breast, 
 A hillock, but to hide me from that gaze : 
 A distant ship did guide that slowly setting star 
 Across that treach'rous wilderness of thine; 
 And me, too, safe beneath a similar eye, 
 A Cyclops carried not to caves, but o'er. 
 'Twas Beauty's child, that scene the lord of day 
 Did show the west upon that cloudless morn, 
 When slowly, he his golden curtains moved. 
 
A Stricken City 25 
 
 To say good morning to a waking world. 
 His cheerful smile thy bosom glad return'd, 
 And heaven join'd the happy earth, as she 
 Did laugh in mock of Nox's speedy flight. 
 But wise, Nox left to watch the fields she fled 
 Her maids, those shadows of each darkening 
 
 form 
 That e'er must pass before day's bright-eyed 
 
 lord. 
 Gray sea weeds, waters dark and warmer than 
 Thy station'd waters, stretch'd for miles before 
 My wand'ring eyes for many a creeping hour ; 
 But absent foams and stubborn waves betray'd 
 The heavy Gulf Stream of an ocean plain. 
 Earth then to me was nothing but one field 
 Of living water; sky and sea, my ship 
 And crew were all the universe contain'd. 
 No hills did kiss the distant sky, till days, 
 Not hours, brought back approaching emerald 
 
 fields, j 
 
 And made earth, sea and land — not ocean all. 
 
 Blest home of man! where health and free- 
 dom meet, 
 
26 A Stricken City 
 
 Best home on earth thy bosom freely gives 
 Far from invading friends, the wiles of foes, 
 Earth's gossip and political intrigues. 
 Competing trade a thought, and not a form, 
 Leaves to thy care its fleets rich and unarm'd. 
 Arts, science live; but on thee leave no trace, 
 Save, near the shore, the beacon, which must 
 
 keep 
 His lonely watch, while weary mortals sleep, 
 Save hulkless masts that mark too many a grave, 
 Or straying derelicts some ship deserts — 
 Save these, no trace doth mark the vain attempt 
 To bring thy realm within man's sceptred sway. 
 
A Stricken City 27 
 
 ON THE BEACH. 
 
 The morning pregnant with bright hopes, 
 Breathes thoughts of deeds to be; 
 
 The day wears, and on the gray sand, 
 The artists leave to me 
 
 The monuments of their day's toil — 
 A hero's bust, fair Beauty's dame — 
 
 Then shades of night conceals the child 
 Of a genius born to fame. 
 
 But Nature's tears may leave behind 
 Their prints for vanished joy; 
 
 As mischief, envy, others too 
 Might mar or e'er destroy 
 
 The toil of hours, patience, skill, 
 In one black night, though morn 
 
 Reveals the work of one alone, 
 Who toil'd with hopes forlorn 
 
28 A Stricken City 
 
 The day before. Thus nothing marks 
 The Hves of many here sent; 
 
 Whilst fortunate one's work remains 
 His faithful monument. 
 
 The site bereft of many a form, 
 Which was the child of toil, 
 
 Supplies to future labor space 
 That ne'er may know a foil. 
 
 So on, and on, on Time's wrought sand. 
 
 The ages can but claim 
 Of monuments few that have stood 
 
 True to immortal fame. 
 
A Stricken City 29 
 
 THROUGH LIFE. 
 
 Through Hfe what num'rous vistas hail 
 
 Our ever greedy eyes! 
 From days when budding, pruning are 
 
 Devoted to our rise, 
 Till autumn's prime, till winter's gloom, 
 
 Or till life seeks the skies! 
 
 ii. 
 
 The seminary promises 
 
 Nought of our schoolroom's lore, 
 Not wealth of knowledge cuU'd from books 
 
 Does constitute its store ; 
 But there a soul is train'd to live 
 
 A life, forevermore. 
 
 iii. 
 
 There God Himself moulds soul and frame. 
 Till to the world there goes, 
 
30 A Stricken City 
 
 Free from his daily task, a child; 
 
 And there in calm repose, 
 Preparing for earth's wanderings, 
 
 Its labors, pleasures, throes, 
 
 iv. 
 
 He patient learns. Next schooldays give 
 The world a well train'd soul, 
 
 A pupil out on holiday, 
 
 Now free from pole to pole 
 
 To roam, till intermission brings 
 The hour for call of roll. 
 
 V. 
 
 If sleep eternal — Nature's nurse — 
 Applies soft drugs, and ferries 
 
 Across the stream a promised guest 
 To earth's fair fields, and buries 
 
 The studious head on downy rest, 
 Then from the world's sure worries 
 
 vi. 
 
 Fate keeps the child the gods will not, 
 For love, give up to pine, 
 
A Stricken City 31 
 
 And, like most mortals, bow beneath 
 
 A load, for which the fine 
 Inflicted ends attempts to move 
 
 The anger o' the Divine. 
 
 vii. 
 
 Awake, recess but finds the youth 
 
 A shy one, and unskill'd 
 To rough the roughs, who hold the street; 
 
 But soon, bold and self-will'd. 
 He enters glad life's stage, and plays 
 
 His part now plucky fill'd. 
 
 viii. 
 
 The virtues and the vices, which 
 
 Make up each act, each scene, 
 His heart make eden ; for therein, 
 
 The good, and bad between 
 He now discriminates, lo ! wise, 
 
 An Adam ! or his Eve ! 
 
 ix. 
 
 Still morning's rays bring forth glad hopes 
 Of coming noon, when gay 
 
32 A Stricken City 
 
 The world moves, as at flow, and shows 
 
 The zenith of the day, 
 Ere which the thoughts of love begin 
 
 To bless life's blooming May. 
 
 The heart divided, lists to two, 
 
 To Venus', Duty's voice; 
 And tether' d by the two, between 
 
 Both he now shifts his choice; 
 Whilst Venus might Adonis choose, 
 
 And with that lone rejoice. 
 
 xi. 
 
 Love, king of hearts, a despot rules; 
 
 His subjects mortals are; 
 Some true, like gamblers, like the trump. 
 
 And find it e'en afar, 
 And win, must win; but why? May be 
 
 The idols of some star. 
 
 xii. 
 
 Youth looks on Love with wistful eyes. 
 And welcomes life's May-day; 
 
A Stricken City ^^ 
 
 And May-day folks too pray the sun 
 
 Would loiter on his way ; 
 Whilst eve nectareal made, remains 
 
 Sweet savor'd, fresh, and gay. 
 
 xiii. 
 
 The noonday sun now brings new scenes 
 
 To the insatiate mind ; 
 And as the sidewalks offer free 
 
 Their bosoms there to find 
 Sights novel, he surveys them, till 
 
 His breath does kiss as wind. 
 
 xiv. 
 
 Too hospitable, pleased to see 
 
 Itself a kind support, 
 Where two ways cross, there one tall pile 
 
 A subject keeps for sport 
 Him, leaning, courting Nature's nurse — 
 
 Twin sister de la Mort. 
 
 XV. 
 
 A member of the fairer sex, 
 With eye behind her lens. 
 
34 A Stricken City 
 
 Pretending that she can supply 
 All women's wants and men's, 
 
 Descrying- that he shades her sign, 
 Raves at his want of sense. 
 
 xvi. 
 
 Then Clamor's voice dispels the nurse, 
 But fort'nate she has wrought 
 
 With soothing touches — Nature's balm — 
 A cure on senses fraught 
 
 With crowded scenes and deafening cries, 
 Which come e'en though unsought. 
 
 xvii. 
 
 His nerves now husband'd by control 
 
 Of his now w^aken'd will, 
 He sets his curious nature free 
 
 His greedy mind to fill, 
 Along the ways of men again, 
 
 Till all the world grows still. 
 
 xviii. 
 
 H prince, demeanor princely smiles 
 On toil as on they plod. 
 
A Stricken City 35 
 
 And learns to feel, and do, and think. 
 
 With delvers of the sod; 
 But still his manner must betray 
 
 One born to wield the rod. 
 
 xix. 
 
 Next, he who drinks the cup of ease 
 
 And privilege combined. 
 Whose ancestor might well have drunk 
 
 Care's cup with hoping mind, 
 May now, exempt from the large fold, 
 
 Be too small for the find. 
 
 XX, 
 
 It matters not which ever rank 
 
 Does spend the holiday, 
 Free from the schoolroom's discipline; 
 
 There comes the evening's gray. 
 When shadows eastern darken first, 
 
 When fades the western ray. 
 
 xxi. I 
 
 The stag no more fears shot and pack ; 
 The hills re-echo not; 
 
36 A Stricken City 
 
 The feather'd nations slumber glad, 
 
 And bless their happy lot, 
 Survivors of a day's besiege — 
 
 The hunter's futile plot. 
 
 xxii. 
 
 The garden weeps as evening's gray 
 
 Bathes it with silent tears; 
 No longer petted and caress'd, 
 
 Each rosebud sadly stares 
 Around upon a plain faced lot, 
 j Whose face a green veil wears. 
 
 xxiii. 
 
 Such hobbies and earth's duties leave 
 
 The day's benighted hours 
 To grave reflections, or glad thoughts 
 
 Of victory won; then lowers 
 The veil, which hides the world from those 
 
 Who now, like fading flowers, 
 
 xxiv. 
 
 Perfume the world with precedence, 
 Leave fruits to mark their day; 
 
A Stricken City 37 
 
 And one by one each wither'd sense 
 Falls from each mortal clay, 
 
 Till cold and lifeless here on earth, 
 Bereft of life, they lay. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 On these such scenes and passing acts, 
 The youth does feed his mind; 
 
 And while his part he plays, he leaves 
 Impressions, which must find 
 
 Some retina, some tympanum 
 To keep their prints behind. 
 
 xxvi. 
 
 His sun sets too, at roll-call he 
 Presents himself, now spent; 
 
 And from his weary toil and care, 
 Which long his wanderings lent, 
 
 He now resigns to live again 
 On godly purpose bent. 
 
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 ST. JOHN IN PATMOS 
 
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SOME OF THE VERY LATEST 
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 THE SINNER'S FRIEND 
 
 a Beautiful Religious Poem 
 
 BY 
 
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 aeROSS THE PLaiNS 
 
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 RAIVnALJL H. HEWITT 
 
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BO01S ¥®U MUST READ 
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ADIRONDACK^ 
 MURRAY 
 
 A Biog'rapKical Appreciation 
 
 By Harry V. Radford 
 
 Editor of "Woods and "Waters 
 
 W. H. H. MURRAY (b. 1840, d. 1904)— equally celebrated 
 as preacher, author, lecturer, sportsman and traveler — has be- 
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 himself an author and sportsman of national repute, and ac- 
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 for his book permanent popularity. 
 
 HENRY VAN DYKK 
 
 in a personal letter written to the author from "A/alon, 
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 " Your writing takes me back in imagination to that beautiful country of 
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 my early h'fe were spent, and where 1 learned to' cast the fly and shoot a 
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