LIBRARY OF CONGRESS^ — PS lOSR. %p iop^risll TItt. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. I Changing Moods Jin Uerse anU E^sme. BY/ WM. HUNTER BIRCKHEAD. 'T is not a cultured hand that holds the pen ; But then, 't is one that 's honest, and means well. SANTOS. CAMBRIDGE: JOHN WILSON AND SON. ©nibersita ^re«8. 1888. Copyright, 1888, By Wm. Hunter Birckhead. CTo nxg WIU, AS A SINCERE TRIBUTE TO HER LOVE AND DEVOTION, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. NEWPORT, R. I. June, i8S8. PRELUDE. Some critic not too great or good, I humbly pray, may feel in mood These lines to read ; For if a high and mighty man Such untaught lays should chance to scan. What hope indeed I I cannot claim the poefs fire ; J could not hold Apollo's lyre ; I wish I might I These errant rhymes that taxed my powers Are but the work of idle hours Long passed from sight. But if some kindred spirit sees Within this book a thought to please, 'Tisall lask. And now to those who care to read, I leave, of praise or blame, the meed, And close my task. CONTENTS. — • — ■ PAGE The Drummer-boy ii Friendship's Likeness i8 Sunrise 20 A Storm — on the Sea-coast 22 Tears 2;^ To a Swallow 24 A Remonstrance 31 Two Shadows 34 Time's Impress 37 Snow-flakes 39 To W. N. H 40 A Score of Years Ago 42 Pale Twilight 44 Separated 45 Not Forever 46 Daddy 47 Two Words 50 A Cradle-song 51 Incentives 52 Gone 53 Faith 55 The Dance of the Clover 60 Love's Way 63 To a Rain-drop 64 Two Hearts 66 Vlil CONTENTS. PAGE A Question 67 The Owl 68 Aweary 69 The Wave 71 Love's Planting 79 Lines Written on a Bust of Socrates . . 81 Aphorisms 83 Alone 85 Day's Light 87 To a Beautiful Woman 90 Love's Witchery 91 The Signal-gun 92 To Whittier 95 A Mother's Heart-cry 96 A Thought 98 An Interior 100 A Song of Longing 102 Baby 104 As I Looked out of the Window .... 106 Eventide 108 Love's Content no The Merry Days in Some Types 113 Once-upon-a-time 122 Consent 124 Sunset 126 A Heart-throb 12S And Then? 129 Her Likeness 132 Life's Boat-song 133 Temptation 134 Insight 136 A Hypocrite 139 CONTENTS, IX PAGE A Song 142 Her Coming 144 Stranded 146 My Den 148 Twilight 150 From the Story of a Hackney-coach . . . 152 Aspiration 157 Saved 158 Recompense 161 He. — A Soliloquy 163 Certain People 166 Asleep 168 Would I? 169 We Sing but a Song 171 He Comes 173 Content 175 To J. R. S 176 Our Hopes 178 She. — Exactions iSo Self-conquest 182 Lines Written on the Fly-leaf of " A Day in Athens with Socrates" 183 Love and Pain 184 A Book's a Book 185 Reconciliation 187 Hunting-song 189 Somebody 191 Go, Warrior, go ! 193 A Conceit 195 An Echo 196 Confession 197 Waifs 198 Ariadne 200 X CONTENTS. KottScnse=E!)s«ics, etc. PAGE The Critic's Brush 225 The Bumble-bee 227 Martha Starr 229 The Twins 230 The Parson's Wooing 233 Tempus Fugit 235 Epitaphic 236 The Mouse and the Lady 237 Contradictions 238 Two Kinds of Tea 239 A Plain Hint 240 Flora 241 I. Ell— Hell 243 n. Potato 243 HI. Cigarette! 244 IV. Manikin 245 V. Dryden 245 ^ .S'i(Fr.), yap (Gk.), et (L.) = Cigarette. THE DRUMMER-BOY. AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR OF THE REBELLION. The meagre space of the field hospital Was far beyond its limits taxed that day, When soldiers fought, when soldiers fell in fight. Their wounded comrades other comrades bore, Some in their arms, some on rude stretchers laid. — A rough board thrown quick across two fence rails, Or perchance a piece of battered canvas, Firm grasped at either end by stalwart arms, Was all they had; while some, whose fate it was 12 THE DRUMMER-BOY. To be less sorely hurt, were e'en content To totter, by the aid of friendly shoulder, Their way towkrd the open tent, apart, Where ready hands their bleeding wounds might stanch. — And how rough men their roughness cast aside. And gentle as the gentlest woman were In aid they gave, and even in their speech. It marvels much to tell; but so it was. And as, in turn, each one received the care Which kindly science sought to give, you oft Might hear, from throats nigh parched with loss of blood. Such words as these : " He 's worse than I ; leave me And go to him ; " or else some one, who knew His span of life was nearly spent, would say. His voice so faint 'twas hard to catch the sound, THE DRUMMER-BOY. 13 " Why linger with the dead ? the living claim Your aid ; " and thus these noble souls would vie, Unconsciously, in deeds of heroism. — While thus the throng of wounded men its way Maintained, a huge backwoodsman, once, — from Maine — A soldier now, and sergeant too, for deeds Of valor done, pushed his strong path beyond The crowd, and struggled for a foremost place Around the spot where skilful men es- sayed The fight of science against death — and won Full oft, when all the odds were not ad- verse. In his great arms the giant bore a child, For so he seemed, albeit a drummer's coat Enveloped him, and in his hands he grasped, 14 THE DRUMMER-BOY. Unconscious, two bits of wood, one broken, And both besmeared with blood. He laid the boy Upon the ground; but first spread out his cloak, To make the place perchance less cold and hard. Then, looking full into the surgeon's face, As he would probe its utmost truthfulness. Apart somewhat he drew him from the crowd, And bending low, in whisper choked and hoarse : "Save her life, and God will bless you for it; Guard her honor as a sister's, cast by love Beyond her sphere ; for pure she is as one Of God's own angels ! No more now." Then turned. His face stern set and hard as if with pain, And glancing once again within the tent, As 't were to see if all were well, he sped THE DRUMMER-BOY. 15 Toward the booming of the cannon on The hill, and soon was lost to sight of all. — The battle raged, and men and brothers fought In fierce contention, while the daylight waned Around them; but as evening fell, some- what The noise of conflict ceased, and men took pause To breathe. 'Twas then a dying man was brought. And laid with tender care within the tent Which served the hospital to form ; and all The giant soldier straightway knew, while he, In gasping breath and faintly, "Where is she .^ " And then they told him she had died, and wondered At the look of joy which came upon his Weary face ; at which he closed his eyes, and 1 6 THE DRUMMER-BOY. With a sigh he slept ; and so death took him. And those around still wondered at his look, So peaceful, and of such a great relief. — They did not know how frorn his home, to him Unknown, that same slight form that he had borne So madly through the crush of men and all The tumult of the fight had followed him ; How too, to share his love, she sought his death To share, and, cutting off her woman's hair, Had donned a drummer's uniform, and thus Enlisted as a soldier ; and into Battle too she went with him unbidden. And strove to keep.beside him in the fight ; And thus her fate o'ertook her ere she knew. But now she was not left alone, to bear THE DRUMMER-BOY. 17 The brunt of her disclosed sex, but slept In death, with him she loved, to part no more. And this he knew ; and so, all dread for her Removed, his look grew calm, and then — he died. 1 8 FRIENDSHIP'S LIKENESS. FRIENDSHIP'S LIKENESS. Two hands — joined across the line Separating yours and mine ; 'Twixt their Hves no shadows fall, Each one trusting all in all. Two hearts — tuned to bear alike Any blow that fate may strike ; Be it gladness, be it pain, Both together share the strain. Two minds — keen the thought to trace In each other's tone and face ; Bearing what a comrade may In his kindness dare to say. Two souls — kindred in their aim, Though they differ, yet the same ; Each one, craving noble ends, To its fellow, helping lends. FRIENDSHIP'S LIKENESS. 19 Two lives — striving with their might To live nearer to the right ; Seeking, for the other's sake, Each his life more pure to make. Such as these may dare to claim All that's meant .by Friendship's name,— Joined in heart and mind and soul. Single units of one whole. Free from all self-interest they ; Free from passion's heated sway; Free from bickering and strife, — Their true love befits their life. 20 SUNRISE. SUNRISE. Lo ! the day is gently waking In the cradle of the sun ; Like a weary sleeper rousing, When the night's long rest is done. In the east the sky is lighted By a dim, uncertain glow; And the clouds are tinged with colors Such as only angels know. On the earth the mists are creeping Slowly o'er the distant hills, While a solemn silence lingers, Broken by the babbling rills. One by one the stars are fading From their places in the sky ; All their weary watch accomplished, What have they to do — but die ? • SUNRISE. 21 Hark ! the birds and insects piping Make their chorus to the morn, While the lazy breeze goes whispering Through the fields of waving corn. Redder grows the wide horizon, — Brighter, in the tinted east, Crowned with all the glowing radiance Of a royal bridal feast. Slowly comes the lingering monarch From his couch of rosy down ; And the day, in blushing colors, Hands to him his golden crown. Now the birds with louder chirping Each one to his mate doth call, And the myriad sounds of Nature Give sweet answer to them all. Lo ! the mists are fading faster In the glow of yellow light, And the sun, in all his glory, Bursts upon our wondering sight. 2 2 A STORM. A STORM — ON THE SEA-COAST. Loudly rolled the echoing thunder, And the livid lightnings flashed; While the wind in savage fury- Through the creaking tree-tops crashed. Mountain-high the waves were surging In their wild, inhuman glee, Filling mortal hearts with terror ' For the people out at sea. Harshly screeched the sea-gulls, circling Wide and wider in their flight ; And all Nature, swayed by passion, Trembled in the wavering light. Then a sudden lull, one moment, While the wind withdrew his breath ; And a murmuring silence, broken By a crash as fierce as death. TEARS. 23 Brighter flashes now the lightning ; Quicker come the thunder-quakes ; And the gale, in loosened fury, With triumphant echoes breaks. Now the rain pours down in torrents, And the world is lost in night ; Given over to the madness Of the Storm- King's blasting might. TEARS. Quick to come, quick to go, Easily the tears flow, When, God's mercy — we are children. Hard to come, hard to go, Weary do the tears flow. When no longer — we are children. None to come, none to go. Naught can make the tears flow : Wrinkled age claims us — God's children. 24 TO A SWALLOW. TO A SWALLOW. Bird of our summer sky, Why dost thou fly so high, Then, darting down again, On thy wings wide open. Seem to coquet with men? Oh, tell me why ! Say, from what happy home Hast thou to mortals come ? Was it from tropic clime. Crowned with the fig and lime, Od'rous with fragrant thyme. Saffron and gum ? Or is a colder zone That which thou fain must own ? Matters it little, though. Sunshine or arctic snow, So now thou dost not go. Leaving us lone. TO A SWALLOW. 25 How wert thou made so bright, Ghding thy graceful flight, Cleaving the air in glee. Freest of all things free, Breathing wild poesy. Born of delight ? Motion's divinity Sure must preside o'er thee. How every sweeping curve, Formed by thy buoyant swerve. Perfect in mould and nerve Shows thee to be ! Each stroke thy rapid wings On the soft ether flings, Limning in unseen lines What, could we read the signs Surely would teach our minds Beautiful things. What if thy song be slight ? In thy wide-darting flight Naught can with thee compare ; 26 TO A SWALLOW. Painting upon the air Pictures so bright and fair, Traced out of light. How thou dost glide and dart, Pause and curve, turn and start ! Oh, what bewildering strokes Thy varying course provokes ! As though thou fain wouldst coax, Some air-god's heart. Now, o'er the waving trees, Racing the summer breeze, — Then, from thy dizzy height. Dropping, more swift than light, Down to the earth, — a mite, Skimmino: the leas. Dost thou e'er kiss the grass ? So close thou seem'st to pass, Methink'st thou must indeed. And e'en the violets heed. In thy low-flying speed, Deep as they mass. TO A SWALLOW. 27 Like to no mortal force Is thy swift-changing course. Fairy-like motion fair, Guiding thy way in air, Holding thee balanced there, Never at loss. Like to a falling star, Seen through the mists afar; Darting to earth alight, Shot by the arm of night. Forcing with sudden might Heaven's gates ajar. Like to a gliding sail, Sped by a favoring gale, Floating the sea along, Urged by the currents strong, Lulled by the mermaid's song, Chanting its wail. Like to a rocket's course Curving the sky across ; Tearing the veil of night, 2 8 TO A SWALLOW. In its wild, wayward flight, Leaving a trail of light, — All golden floss. Like to a startled maid, Fluttering her wings, afraid. As in her whispered ear Love words she first doth hear. Which, though they sound most dear. Make her dismayed. Like to the even way Such love may hold some day, When, from all doubt set free, Glorious its course shall be ; Strong in its constancy. Scorning decay. Happy thy little hour, O bird of joyous power ! And though thou build a nest Where all thy loved ones rest. Yet motion is thy zest. And grace thy dower. TO A SWALLOW. 29 Long ere the break of day Upwards thou tak'st thy way, Hastening the sun to greet, As from his golden seat Darkness he bids retreat 'Neath his clear ray. Then with thy joyous swirl Quickly thy wings unfurl. And through the morning's mist Thou as a vision flitt'st, Like a bright amethyst Fronted with pearl. Men say thou hast no soul, And that thy earthly goal, When once thou findest it. Holds all that Holy Writ For such as thee deems fit, — ■ Here is thy whole. Yet it seems hard to feel So much of joy and zeal No other home should know. 30 TO A SWALLOW. Save this poor world below : Think'st thou this can be so, Without appeal ? Ah ! then, but come and go, E'en as the flowers blow, E'en as the sunshine, too. And the soft evening dew. These all are emblems true : Be thou also ! A REMONSTRANCE. 31 A REMONSTRANCE. 1 In this sad day, when men write so-called verse, That drags more slowly than the fateful hearse ; When hireling couplets grow from starv- ing pens More fast than eggs from stately coop- fed hens ; When every pale-faced youth, from college freed. Deems his slow Muse a Pegasus indeed ; When brainless critics praise, for lucre's sake, The vapid maunderings of some moneyed rake, — 1 On being asked to review 2 book of very indifferent verse. 32 A REMONSTRANCE. 'Tis time, indeed, some other pen than mine Should raise the standard for the Sacred Nine, And drive from off Parnassus' storied heights Such worthless bantlings, with their pigmy flights. " Divine afflatus " oft their text includes, But Folly over all their efforts broods ; Like hunchbacked mothers, whom the gods deny, Their flimsy offspring are but born to die. Men would be rhymsters, rhymsters would be bards ; And yet, forsooth, the fools must show their cards, And prove that all their limnings, though well daubed, Are merely copies, from some master robbed : A REMONSTRANCE. 2>?> Chameleon-like they shine in borrowed hue, Their thoughts but parodies, their verse untrue. Whate'er their hopes, they merit naught but scorn ; The poet is not made — he must be born. 34 TWO SHADOWS. TWO SHADOWS. I. SUN SHADOWS. One summer's day, without designing, Two shadows met in the village street, And danced along its grassy lining In manner decorous and meet. High noon was near, and folk were passing Upon their errands to and fro ; And this these sober shadows glancing Upon the pathway seemed to know. They moved along with steady motion, The bright sun shining far between, And gave to none the slightest notion Of aught that might not well be seen. The one seemed taller than the other; Nor yet so graceful in its pose. Perhaps it was the smaller's brother, Perhaps its cousin — but who knows ? TWO SHADOWS. 35 And so they flitted on demurely, Far out into the hastening day ; And left no trace, to tell securely Their purpose or their destined way. II. MOON SHADOWS. The bright full-moon the world was lighting With all its soft, enticing glow, When o'er a hedge, their play inviting, Two shadows frolicked to and fro. Far softer were they than those playing Their hide-and-seek at early noon ; And yet in some way, there 's no saying, The air seemed singing the same tune. The country lane they shared, unfet- tered. No prying footstep lingered near, And so they deemed it little mattered How to the moon they might appear. 36 TWO SHADOWS. Their outlines wandered close together As on the hedge they moved along ; And something seemed their waists to tether, As notes in music join a song. And then, they moved so slowly onward ! And now and then an upward look Was covered by another downward ; And other curious forms they took. How different were they from the morning ! And yet the same, I trow, they be ; For ere the summer's leaves were falling, Sweet Elsie pledged her troth to me. TIME'S IMPRESS. 37 TIME'S IMPRESS. Our age is not told by the years, But by something far subtler within ; By a something, unknown, except to ourselves, — Our soul-fight with suffering and sin. Men seek for the age of the oak, But vainly they look for time's seal, Until deep in its heart do they carry their quest, When they see what their search would reveal. There each decade of Hfe is marked out, In close-lying circles outlined ; And its birth is a thing but easily told When once its heart-secrets we find. And who is there knows not the truth, The sad, sad truth we all learn, — 38 TIME'S IMPRESS. That the gray-turned hair and the feebler step And the furrowed brow, each in turn, Tells a tale of its own to our souls, Whose words we need not repeat, — That the years are naught when com- pared to the strife Of a smothered and anguished heart- beat ? Like the blows of a trip-hammer's weight As it rises and falls in its course, As it crushes the metal beneath With its fierce, invincible force. So each heart-throb that beats in our breast, O'erweightedby sorrow and sin. Batters down e'en the years of our life With the mipress of things that have been. Oh, happy the babe at the breast, And happy the children at play ! SNO W-FLAKES. 3 9 Let them joy while they can, in their innocent glee, While God's angels keep troubles away. SNOW-FLAKES. Oh, who can know where the snow- flakes go ? Some, indeed, help to form the white snow, Falling so soft and falling so slow ; While others again But melt into rain. Dropping like tears wherever they go. But who can know where soine snow- flakes go ? Those who weary of life as they blow, And never reach to the earth below, But up in the sky So silently die, — Oh, who can tell where these snow- flakes go ? 40 IN ME MORI AM. IN MEMORIAM. W. N. H. He was a friend indeed, With all a friend's best virtues shining bright ; It was no broken reed You leaned on when you trusted to his might. I know of what I speak, For well I knew, and loved him too, for years ; And though it may seem weak, I yet can scarce think of him without tears. His earnest nature spoke In all he did, and ruled him through and through ; And failure never broke. But urged his powers e'en greater things to do. IN MEMORIAM. 41 His soul was free from stain; As bright and pure and clean as man's can be ; No sordid thought of gain Could ever tempt its manly purity. His mind, almost too keen, Was ever searching something more to know ; And sometimes, too, I ween, A thought original was his to show. His heart was true, — so true To those he loved, that naught disturbed its trust. Whatever they might do, — Unless they proved unfaithful or unjust. And so he passed away, Beloved of men, at peace with God; and I,- I could not bid him stay ; But still I hope to meet him by and by. 42 A SCORE OF YEARS AGO. A SCORE OF YEARS AGO. In the days when I went courtin', How merry the time did flow ! In the days when I went courtin', A score of years ago. We wandered by the seaside, And on its waves did row, And floated on our love-tide, A score of years ago. We met whene'er we chanced to. And that was oft, I trow, For it needed but a glance to, — A score of years ago. By day or night to greet her My steps were never slow ; . And the moonlight was far sweeter A score of years ago ! A SCORE OF YEARS AGO. 43 No task was hard but waiting Till "next time " we might know; For love's youth scorned belating, A score of years ago. And when, at last, I faced her, She said nor yes nor no ; But in my heart I placed her, A score of years ago. And naught has ever broken That first and holy glow In which our love was spoken A score of years ago. And should fate frown upon me, I '11 heed nor weal nor woe, So I 've the lass who won me A score of years ago. But where 's the use of talkin' ? I ween I 've said eno' — Oh, lucky was my courtin', A score of years ago ! 44 PALE TWILIGHT. PALE TWILIGHT. Pale Twilight, clad in mantle misty-gray, Comes, like a sad-faced nun, at vesper call, And for a moment lingers on the earth. Uncertain whither she shall wend her way. One hand she gives to Day and one to Night, In vague mistrust, till doubt at length prevails ; When, with slow-stealing step, from both she flees, And in the hazy distance fades from sight. And Day and Night, each baffled, turn away In wondering silence at her sudden flight, — The one, to rest until to-morrow's sun ; The other, to assert her dark imperious sway. SEPARA TED. 45 SEPARATED. It may be we shall never meet in life, So far apart our paths now seem to lie ; And yet, O Love, methinks I fain could die Unvexed, might I just once but call thee wife ! Just once ; and then, full satisfied, the knife Oblivion holds might strike, and I scarce sigh; And yet perchance 't were sweeter thus to lie Enwrapped in hope, and free from love's fond strife. For now, I hold thee so thou canst not change E'en if thou wouldst, while I may dream thee true. And if on earth our lives no hope may show. They may beyond if God but so arrange. And we can wait — the years will be but few — And when we meet, no parting need we know. 46 NOT FOREVER. NOT FOREVER. O Love, it may not be. Our weary feet Must learn to walk apart and seek to hide In what is right all other thought beside. And yet to us is given a life complete ; For like two brooks, whose waters never meet, But in their joyous course flow side by side Until they mix at length in ocean's tide, So may we too our various ways entreat, And passing on together through life's waste, Not one, but two, yet seeming to be one. So pure our faith, so high our hope to win, Find at the last our wandering paths so traced. That into Heaven's great ocean they shall run — And there our lives may meet and know no sin. DADDY, 47 DADDY. There's a something about the word Daddy That gives to my heart-strings a pull, Though I hear it but carelessly spoken, Though my brain is with others things full. It is not or grand or euphonious. And it lacks in a deference, we know ; But 't is sweeter, in accent and utterance. To me, than all other words show. I first heard its small prototype babbled By lips which were rosy and soft. And which ne'er were content with one prattling, But the sound loved to multiply oft. And it grew to be almost a language. Whenever I happened in sight; And 'twas Dada, and Dada, and Dada, All over the house, day and night. 48 DADD V. And was talking more sweet e'er invented, Or that went more direct to the heart ? 'T was a tongue that was taught by the angels, And which they to the earth did im- part. And in time, as the summer days, waning, One year to another did add, A laughing, impertinent treble Developed the Dada to Dad ; And I had not the heart to rebuke it, Though I know 't would more proper have been ; But it fitted so well her who spoke it, 'T would have pardoned a far greater So it easily grew into Daddy, And remained so, by custom grown strong, Through the few happy years that were left it To sing out its life's joyous song. DADDY. 49 And one morning I heard it but faintly ; And another, it came not at all ; And then — but God dealt with me gently, Or else I had fallen, like Saul. And the house, it was drear in its stillness, It mattered not night-time or day ; There was naught to disturb the lone silence. Save the echo of things passed away ! Oh, yes, there is something in Daddy That I never can wish to forget ; Though it speak to me ever so sadly, 'T is a voice to love's best music set. And I hear it when others are talking, And in dreams, too, I catch its sweet tone; For there 's something, there 's something in Daddy, That is spoken to my heart alone. 4 so TWO WORDS. TWO WORDS. Home and love are but little words, But make they not the whole world bright, As e'en God's sunshine seems more light When 'livened by the song of birds ? And more, indeed : to them respond The chords of life, — the power to do, To bear, to win ; and something, too, Higher than these, — something beyond. A CRADLE SONG. 51 A CRADLE-SONG. Hush, hush, he 's sleeping ; And in the gloaming, the angels roaming, Peep softly in, And night-dews, weeping, The flower-buds stopping, pause in their dropping, For fear of din. Hush, hush, he 's sleeping, And o'er his slumbers, with magic numbers, The fairies weave, Their love-songs steeping, His eyelids closing in sweetest dozing. Ere yet they leave. Hush, hush, he's sleeping; So softly breathing, in rest's enwreathing. No sound he makes. Safe in His keeping, Whose love undying is our relying. Until he wakes. 52 INCENTIVES. INCENTIVES. Wait : to those who wait, time will relent ; Keep whole thy patience, break it not, And ere thou deem, thou find'st the spot Where opportunities consent. Trust: to those who trust, all things prove true. Have faith, and faith will make thee strong, So strong, indeed, 'twill not be long Ere thou shalt do that thou wouldst do. Dare : to those who dare, fortune gives hand ; Be brave, and shrink not to do right : This thing alone will give thee might, And help thee fate itself withstand. Reap : those who would reap, such rule must own, And thus success shall call them friend ; If not, and failure be the end, Their effort shall their loss atone. GONE, 53 GONE. I CRIED out to the days of my youth, But no answer came back to my cry, Save the pattering sound of the rain on the roof, And the moan of the wind-spirit's sigh. And again did I call, but more faint. For something within me held back ; But still naught did I hear save the rain- drop's plaint. And the wail of the storm-driven wrack. And a consciousness swept me across, So sudden 'twas like unto pain ; And I called no more, for I was not at loss Why I heard but the wind and the rain. And I sat in my silent despair. And wondered — and gazed at the sky ; 54 GONE. While a voice swept by on the rushing air, Which seemed whispering the words, " Good-by ! " And the rain still beat on the roof, And the wind still murmured its cry ; But naught did I hear save the steps of my youth As they fled to the years gone by. FAITH. 55 FAITH. There doth to every one belong, Though we would fain own no such thing, A yearning as for something strong To lean upon unquestioning. It matters not what his degree, Or high, or low, this truth is sure,— No man of woman born can be Unto himself a perfect law. And so, in natural sequence, then, Some other one he seeks to find, Whose strength shall strengthen his again. And guide him when his path is blind. And this implies a perfect trust In him he hopes may help his way ; For doubt, e'en shadowed, ever must Forbid all faith and tempt dismay. 5 6 FAITH. And perfect trust must be begot Of perfect love in him we trust; For otherwise his hand might not Prove true to do the things it must. But where, then, shall we look to know, Upon this earth, such man as this, — One who of power possessed shall owe No thought to self, nor act amiss ? Nowhere, indeed, can one be found; So is it, that when doubts arise, Bewildered do we look around Until our gaze reveals the skies ; There, now we feel, one Being dwells, Who joins to wisdom perfect love ; And ever, as our conscience tells. His willing help sends from above. And thus we grow from doubt to faith. All other things but proved untrue. Until we rest in God at length The yearning that so long we knew. FAITH. 57 II. For faith is but the perfect trust Which God's great love compels us to ; When once we learn, as learn we must, How little we ourselves can do. It is the symbol of our will Laid tribute at the feet of Him Who cares for e'en our smallest ill, Though worshipped by the Cherubim. It is the precious aftermath Of pride, cut down by failure's sword ; It is the light across the path That leads up to the throne of God. It is the outcome of the heart When, with its weakness face to face, It lays aside its coward's part. And humbly bends the knee to grace. It is a childlike thing, forsooth. Yet fraught with power beyond our ken ; 58 FAITH. For it bespeaks eternal truth, And brings down God to live with men. Divine in essence as in use, A gift, not bought, but freely sent To those who, casting all else loose, Accept God's promise as 't was meant. It saves our souls from dead despair. When grief, too mighty, holds us down ; The conqueror's part it makes our share, — To wrest from suffering hope's bright crown. God's angel, lifting up our strength When trampled in the crush of life jui Enabling us to gain at length Safe exit from the mortal strife. III. Its being lives in God's behest Acknowledged to our hearts within. And springs from out the need of rest Which He alone can give — from sin. FAITH. 59 Its home is in the chastened heart, Content to feel that God is just ; Who will not from His word depart, But gives His peace to those who trust. Its strength from man's own weakness springs, And thus a constant force supplies ; And in the hope its presence brings, Its power of help and quickening lies. Its creed suffices for its quest, And is of grand simplicity, — He who all wisdom is, knows best ; He who all love is, kind must be. Its pride is in humility, And self-surrender is its joy; Its outgrowth is sweet charity, — The love of man, without alloy. It gives us peace while life doth last ; It gives us hope when death doth come; And when this world is overpast, We know that faith will lead us home. 6o THE DANCE OF THE CLOVER. THE DANCE OF THE CLOVER. See how the clover blows, red and white clover, Courting the joyous breeze, bending it over ! Bowing with stately grace, Each towards its neighbor's place, — Sweet-scented clover ! Coyly the laughing wind urges the dancing, Towards every clover-top, slyly advan- cing, Till on the carpet green Such sight was never seen, Young and old prancing ! Gayly they nod and turn, careless of graces, With but the thought of joy on their bright faces, THE DANCE OF THE CLOVER. 6i And, as the music flies, Faster they fall and rise, All in their places. Butterflies, hovering near, hasten away, Droning bees, honey-bent, care not to stay; Tossed by the quickening breeze, Frightened, they seek the leas, Filled with dismay. Dew-drop and lady-bug, hurled from their hiding. Float away into air, seeking abiding. Naught, though, the clover heeds, As through the dance it speeds, Of their faint chiding. See ! to a quicker strain fast are they flying. Dancing for life and death, yet never dying ; Whirling to right and left. As of all sense bereft, Every nerve plying. 62 THE DANCE OF THE CLOVER. Then comes a sudden pause, — all is now over ! For the gay frolic wind proved but a rover, And each, with drooping head, Sinks in its grassy bed — Good-by, sweet clover! i LOVE'S WAY. dZ LOVE'S WAY. Love hath no seasons or to come or go ; All times are his, with none to say him nay ; The humor seizes him for frolic play, And lo ! a dart is sped ere yet we know. Then quick our blood's slow current is aglow With maddened impulse which we may not stay ; And naught indeed will now its smart allay. Save one sure thing — if but perchance it show, Some heart, like-wounded, beating with our own. To it the power is given Love's dart to draw. When, oh, so great our joy, it doth atone. Beyond all scope, the pain we knew before I And now, no longer bleeding or alone, We laugh at Love, and fear his bow no more. 64 TO A RAINDROP. TO A RAIN-DROP. Rain-drop, oh, rain-drop, what wouldst thou say. Tapping so wistfully on to the pane ? Knocking and knocking, again and again, Art thou afraid of the winds at play ? Or art thou driven against thy will. And forced to do what thou wishest not? Dost thou moan thy home in some cloud- lined spot, Or long to be with thy mates in yon rill ? Why patter so sadly thy constant tap. Pattering, tapping in pigmy might, Shedding thy tears in a mortal's sight, — Wast hoping to rest in some fairy's lap ? Or hast thou a message thou fain wouldst bring From the storm-cloud's home, — some voice to earth, TO A RAINDROP. 65 That thus thou art striving to force to birth With the steady rap, rap, thou dost sing? I cannot tell, but patter away ; To me thou com'st as a lullaby ; And the muffled sound of thy gentle cry Soothes me to rest in its threnody. 66 TIVO HEARTS. TWO HEARTS. Two hearts went out upon the heather, To watch the sunset's glories fade ; And while their watching thus they made, By some strange freak they came to- gether. Two had they come, but home retreating, One single shadow seemed to flit ; And — how shall sages reckon it ? — Only orie heart was loudly beating ! And yet, the cottage door wide swinging, Two figures in the hall-way stood ; And — was it night birds in the wood ? — Two voices seemed a love-song singing. A QUESTION, 67 A QUESTION. Who then am I, to stem With my disproval what a man would do, When, placed as he, I, too. The same thing might enact I now con- demn ? And yet how prone to urge Itself as judge is this same I, called man, Not his own sins to scan, But with self-righteous lash others to scourge ! One spoke, in ages past, Whose words of wisdom men might well recall, — " Let him, among you all. Whose hands are free from sin, the first stone cast." 6S THE OWL. But no one moved to strike, And no one spoke, for all felt guilt con fessed. Oh, what a sad unrest Would be our lot if judged in manner like ! Forced we should be to hide Our conscience-smitten heads far out of sight. Is it not then more right To judge, if judge we must, on mercy's side ? THE OWL. " Too-WHiT, too-whoo ! " is his cry by night, And he sings not through the day; So all we get from his owlship's might Is " Too-whit, too-whoo " alway. And thus it is with most of us here, — We utter our little note. And then we silently fall to the rear, And into the ages float. 1 AWEARY. 6g AWEARY. Wood-ferns, anemones, violets, too, Sing to me, tell me, oh, what would you do, Loved not your loved ones to welcome you home. Tell me, O snow-drops, oh, where would you roam ? Bluebird and sparrow and little brown wren, Come sit beside me, deep down in the glen ; Oh, had you not each one your own homely nest, Tell me, O robin, oh, where would you rest ? Tell me, ye winds, as ye blow through the trees. Tell me, O brook, on your way to the seas, 70 AWEARY. Speak to me, spirits of cloud and of air, Whisper me softly, is life worth despair ? Answered the wood-fern, answered the jay, Answered the brook, as it sped on its way : " Dark though the night be, dawn comes at last ; Trust then the future to banish the past ! " The bright bow of hope is e'er set in the sky In token of helping, when faith seems to die; And all things are possible, think we but so, To the strength of a pleading our heart- strinpfs well know." Anemone, violet, king-bird, and wren, Brooklet and wind-spirit, tell me again ! And lo ! while they whispered so soft through the air, Joy filled her happy heart — gone was despair. THE WAVE. 71 THE WAVE.i I DANCE o'er the sea in my joyous glee, And I frolic the shores along, While on my white crest the mermaids rest, And chant out their weird song. I roll the sand far up on the land. And form the glistening beach, And strew it with shells and the sea- weed's bells, With the salt dew clinging to each. In the caverns deep, on the rocky steep, I boom and echo in thunder. And my dripping spray around them doth play. As I toss my arms asunder, While the bright drops fall, like a silver pall. On the wave-nymphs swimming under. 1 Suggested by " The Cloud." 72 THE WAVE. The fisherman's boat I gently float In its search for the scaly treasure ; And the yacht's white sail on my bosom doth trail, Whose search is for naught but plea- sure. And I lap the side, in my gurgling tide. Of the ocean's monster ship, Who deems it but play, as she steams on her way. In my dark-green surge to dip. But let her beware if ever she dare To cross my angry path ; The frolic wave that her keel doth lave Is a sea-god in his wrath. I bathe the feet of the maidens sweet As they gambol upon the shore. And the swimmer strong I buoy along As he seeks the breaker's roar. The sea-birds rest, as though in their nest, On the curve of my swaying form, And I rock them to sleep, on my bosom deep. In a cradle soft and warm. THE WAVE. 73 And I sing the song of the ages long As a lullaby to each, — The sound of the waves as they break in the caves, Or surge on the sandy beach. I make my home mid the white sea- foam, And I joy in the rushing surf ; On the sunken reef, that moans its grief, I 've played since the day of my birth. I race with the gale, and I toss up the hail, As it falls on my gleaming breast. And day nor night was ever the sight Of the waves in perfect rest. I watch the sun in the course he must run, And I give him a home at night ; I laugh with the moon and grant her, as boon, To sway the tides — for her light. The bright stars and I both sing to the sky. When night o'er the earth throws her pall, 74 THE WAVE. And in my dark sheen they oft twinkle at e'en, Like the lights at a fairy ball ; And the phosphorous glare that some- times I wear Is the token I show at their call. The dawning day, as it hastes away, Its first greeting to me e'er gave. And the golden gleam of the sunset's dream Prints its good-night kiss on the wave. And the gentle dews around me diffuse, And sink in my lap to rest, And the tinted glow of the rain-cloud bow Reposes upon my breast. I gather the snow, as it falls so slow, And it sleeps in my heart for aye. And the drops of rain I welcome again As they come back from the sky; I pluck the flowers from the ocean's bowers. Where their wilful beauty hides. THE WAVE. 75 And I bear them afloat in their pink- shelled boat, To deck the sea-kings' brides ; And I roll up the pearls they wear in their curls When they swim in my rippling tides. But I glory most when the fiery host Of the tempest-king come down, And challenge my play, by night or by day, For the prize of the sun-girt crown. 'T is then in my might I rise up to fight, And I laugh as my strength I feel ; I gather my force, and heed not remorse. As I see the air-spirits reel. The lightning's blight sinks down in o o o affright As it touches the plumes of my crest, And struggles in vain, with its scorching train, My onward march to arrest. I greet it with scorn, and ere it be born 'T is wrapped in a watery shroud. And mutters the groan of its dying moan In the thunder's echo loud. 76 THE WAVE. The wind's wild force against me doth toss Till its breath gets faint and low, But onward I roam in my chariot of foam Till the winds are forced to go ; And with howls of despair they rise into air, And flee from the conquered field, While proud to the blast my white pen- non I cast, And clang on my victor's shield. — And the tears of pain that they send down in rain Show the punishment they share, When the news they bring to their rugged king That the waves have beaten the air. But oft in my breast, after such unrest. My passion is hard to quell ; And I long, in my wrath, to follow the path Of the war-god's mighty spell. I swell with my pride, and scorn to glide. As in days when I feel more humble. THE WAVE. 77 But surge on my way and scatter my spray, And rage and tremble and tumble. And rising on high I challenge the sky Or the air or the earth to fight, And when none make reply I pass them all by, And wrestle my comrades' might; And we spend our strength on each other at length, Or chase one another from sight. Oh, fierce is the power, in my angry hour, That hurries my course along, And oft I regret, when my wild moods set. The doing of so much wrong. To seize the whale by his fluky tail And hurl him aside is naught ; But to sweep off the boats as if they were motes In a rushing tideway caught, Or to tear a great ship, in my maddened grip, Or to kill in my angry strife, 78 THE WAVE. Is a woful thing, and ever must bring A sadness over my life ; And this is the cause, as it breaks on the shores, Or booms o'er the distant lee, Of the sad, sad tone in the wild waves' moan, That always comes up from the sea. LOVE'S PLANTING. 79 LOVE'S PLANTING. Oh, Love is like the roses, — It buds to-day and blooms to-morrow ; And then there comes a time of sorrow, Which of it quick disposes. Oh, Love is like the plane-tree, Whose growth is slow but ever greater ; And as it grows, it grows but straighter, And storms assail it vainly. So, maidens fair, take warning, And if you hope your love be lasting, And safe defy the world's cold blasting, Mark well its day of dawning. Well placed, it stands forever, And if the soil be only worthy. Its life will be both brave and sturdy, And time can change it never. 8o LOVE'S PLANTING. But if 't is planted badly, In ground that 's loose and meanly shallow, No bloom its branches e'er will hallow, And you shall rue it sadly. Then choose its home, oh, kindly, And nourish it with hearts e'er faithful ; And then to you 't will prove so grateful That you may trust it blindly. ON A BUST OF SOCRATES. 8 1 LINES WRITTEN ON A BUST OF SOCRATES. O Socrates, Whose God-touched ear, unwitting, pressed so close Against the doorway of a future age, That, listening, thou didst catch the far- off breath Of what the coming years conspired to teach ; Who, dying, died not, conscious, as thy hand Unshrinking grasped the poisoned cup and pressed It to thy lips, it held not Death but Life ; Wisdom and Truth's self-chosen votary, Standing alone, yet ever standing firm Mid scoffing crowds and ignorant dispute, Till martyr's death crowned for thee life's stern faith, — 6 f 82 ON A BUST OF SOCRATES. Thou art not dead, though buried ages make A mighty mound 'twixt thee and us. Thy lamp, Still burning, sheds to-day its pale, pure rays Unchanged, illuming all the centuries From then to now. APHORISMS. %i APHORISMS. Be true : he who is true is strong, — Strong in himself, without the aid of men, And holds a buckler which shoots off again The bitterest shafts of enmity and wrong. Be pure : he who is pure shall feel An inward consciousness naught else can give, 'Twill keep him blest so long as he shall live, And after life shall God's own self reveal. Be kind : and kindness will come back. The pity which for others now you know, Will, when your want cries out, uncalled- for show, And, helped threefold by love, nothing you'll lack. 84 APHORISMS. Thus live : and life will hold no tear Unbalanced by a joy, save those which flow In chastened gladness, as we learn to grow Nearer to God, and farther from things here. ALONE. 85 ALONE. I SAW a boat sail on the sea, But not upon the shore was I, For I was far away ; And yet I saw what then I saw, As plain as now one face I see Which by me e'er must stay ; For 't was the face of one I loved, And 't is the face of one I love, And in the boat it was ; And gayly looked and gayly spoke, And thought no thought save joy ; And then there came a pause. The white sail shifted, and it hid My face one moment from my sight ; And when I saw again, A storm had risen, and the boat Upon rude waves was tossed about. And trembled like an aspen. 86 ALONE. And dark clouds rolled across the sun, And loud the harsh winds screeched in glee, And hoarse the thunders roared ; While bolts of flame, with zigzag flash, Went hurtling through the startled air, And fierce the rain down poured. And then I saw my face no more — Save once when, such as angels wear, A smile upon it shone ; And some one called my name aloud, And darkness came, and well I knew That now — I was alone. I DAY'S LIGHT. 87 DAY'S LIGHT. Did ever you think how the light of day Varies in its differing play As it takes its joyous way Onward toward the west ? See the morning sunlight clear, Rosy-red and full of cheer, Fresh and pure and always dear, — Think you 't is the best ? Nor too cold nor yet too hot, Glorious-bright yet dazzling not, Happy in its happy lot, Banishing the night ; Singing its sweet song at dawn To the day so newly born ; Bidding us to hope, not mourn, As we arm for fight. And the noonday sun with its yellow heat, In its fierce down-pouring beat. 88 DAY'S LIGHT. Glorying in its sway complete O'er the land and sea. In it now no thought of play, As when first it met the day ; No frolic game with color's ray, In merry, happy glee. Naught it seems but molten fire, Urging an intense desire. Working as 't would never tire Till its task be done ; Pouring floods of scorching light To the left and to the right, — Thus it rages, at its height. Wondrous noonday sun ! But as westward now it slowly descends, From its fierceness it unbends, And a gentler greeting sends To the weary earth ; And the evening's golden sun Seems not like the self-same one That the noontide looked upon, But some newer birth. DAY'S LIGHT. 89 Soft it shines in radiance fair, Painting gleam-tints on the air, Drawing pictures here and there, Framed in golden haze ; Flitting bright among the trees, Casting shadows on the leas, Laughing with the passing breeze, Full of joyous ways. Now, in color's brightest glow, To the world it fain would show, And its bravest glances throw Ere it seeks its rest. And in tender, gentle rays Softly o'er the earth it plays, Till it sinks, one glorious blaze, In the waiting west ! 90 TO A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. TO A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. Fair Queen, dost know thy power for good or ill ? No other queen holds sway so wondrous great ; Thy bidding speaks to men of love and hate, And prompts their untrained hearts to spare or kill. As thou mayst hint in thy imperious will. Thou hast a gift as mighty as is fate, Which, while it lasts, proclaims thee potentate. And failing, leaves behind its influence still. Oh, mayst thou then so use it, gracious Queen, That naught befall thee, so thou curse the day When first thou learned that Beauty was thy right ; But, as thou art so glorious in thy mien, An equal glory may thy deeds display, And thus thy virtues shall sustain thy might. LOVE'S WITCHERY. 91 LOVE'S WITCHERY. What spell so uses Love, that we go mad Though he but gently touch us with his hand ? The bravest and the best cannot withstand The softest prick from Cupid's magic gad, But seem, the more the smart, to be more glad. 'T is witchery indeed that, thus unmanned, We fain are forced to yield to Love's demand ; But know ye one who ever said 't was sad ? As men dig gold from stubborn rocks and soil. And passing it through fire, shed off its dross, So Love doth seek, within our harsher mould, Those crystals, deeply hid, which ever foil All other power to find, and yet whose loss. Thrice purified by Love, outweighs all gold. 1 92 THE SIGNAL-GUN. THE SIGNAL-GUN. Ringing on the air of night, With a fierce, despondent might, The boom of a single gun ! Ringing on the air of night, From a something out of sight, Hark ! another, second one ! Men have heard, whose hearts are stout, Men whose courage none may doubt, But they backward shrink aghast; For the night is black without. And the waves, with maddened shout. Answer to the storm-wind's blast, — While throughout the angry sky Bolts of flame careering fly With portentous, dazzling glare ; And the thunder's hollow cry. Rolling, echoes far and nigh On the heavy, murky air. < THE SIGNAL-GUN. 93 Builded craft there may not be, Could hope to live in such a sea, Or its crushing wrath abide ; Yet the lightning's savage glee, Flashing on the rocky lee. Shows a boat has gone outside. God in mercy help their way, Who such fearful task essay On a night as fierce as this ; Struggling through the blinding spray, Tossed by giant waves astray. While around the mad winds hiss ! Ringing on the air of night, With a fierce, despondent might. The boom of a single gun ! Ringing on the air of night. From a something out of sight, Another and another one ! At the dawning of the day On the beach two corpses lay, Washed up by the rising tide ; I 94 THE SIGNAL-GUN. Humble fishermen were they, But they did what few men may, — To save others, they had died. All undaunted by the might Of the seething waves that night, They had saved the shipwrecked crew : Hero work and hero fight : But they called it simply right, — These men and two other two. And, their task well-nigh complete, «H Mid the driving rain and sleet, And the ocean's maddened roar. These two, swept from off their feet, Sank beneath the storm-wave's beat, — All the rest safe reached the shore. Lowly graves received them here. Lowly tears fell on their bier. And they faded from earth's sight ; But an angel's pen wrote clear, Placed to Christ's name very near Theirs, who died for men that night. TO WHITTIER. 95 TO WHITTIER ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY. Watchman for eighty years upon life's plain, What of the day, what of the night, hast learned ? So long thy mind upon thy task hath turned. So long thine eyes have watched the wax and wane Of changing seasons come and go again, That what thy faithful vigil hath discerned Must be such knowledge as may not be spurned. Speaking to man in no uncertain strain. — But lo ! the lesson which thy life doth teach Is here while yet we ask : " Do what is right, And trust all else to God." 'Tis simple speech. But holds within it sense of wondrous might. If men but keep thy life-words well in reach No useless watch is thine, of day and night. w 96 A MOTHER'S HEART-CRY. A MOTHER'S HEART-CRY. In the great world of men — Ah, boy, God guide thee then, When thou art called to fight thy way In the great world of men. Pitiless and selfish, Unheeding, scornful, cold, Is the great world of men, With naught but self on which to clasp their hold. No mother's love can help thee there. Or answer to thy call, Except by prayer — In the great world of men. Alone must thou or rise or fall; And which it be None there will care, In the great world of men. A MOTHER'S HEART-CRY. 97 Alone, save that forever At thy side His love shall go, Whose hand has guided thee thus far so safe, Since thou didst draw thy first faint baby breath. Lose not this love, dear boy, but trust it so. As naught else thou shalt trust on earth, And 'twill not fail thee, nor through life, Nor yet in death ; and from all harm 'T will shield thee, then, e'en when thou strugglest In the great world of men. 98 A THOUGHT. A THOUGHT. A THOUGHT is borne within the brain By impress that so subtle is and quick, That ere it is we know it not, Nor whence, nor how, but only that it is. And this strange thing is happening now, Was happening then, and will endure with life ; And e'en in sleep we think and think, But do not grasp our thoughts unless in dreams. And so, too, though they seem to fade. They never die, but live again when called By memory to our aid or use. And lo ! each day doth multiply their A THOUGHT. 99 Where then, indeed, shall be the end? For as we speak their meaning into words. Or breathe it only to our souls. One thought, by contact, breeds another thought. And this is constant while we live ; Then others, having taken thoughts from us, Increase them likewise, and they go From them in greater number on through time. Thus is it that since man first spoke No thought has died ; but through the centuries. Augmented in a ratio grand, It lives to-day, and wanders through the world. lOO AN INTERIOR. f AN INTERIOR. The lamp burned bright on the table, And the curtains were closely drawn, While the wood-fire crackled upon the hearth. Of hickory logs long-sawn. And the shelves of books, o'ercrowded. Looked a welcome as though they spoke, As the old high clock in the corner Gave forth its nine-o'clock stroke. And the portrait above the mantel Gazed down in ancestral pride. And smiled at the wild-flowers set on the desk Some well-known ink-spots to hide. And a terrier lay on the rug. Close-crouched to his mistress's chair, But his eyes held out an expectant look, Which he seemed to want her to share. AN INTERIOR. lOi And she paused in the book she held, As a sound she listened to hear, And the dog gave a start and a bark of joy As the carriage-wheels drew near. And they crunched on the gravelled path, And stopped the front door beside, — And a cheery voice and a well-known step. And a door flung open wide. 102 A SOA'G OF LONGING. A SONG OF LONGING. HAPPY winds, as ye wander about, With the sunshine glad for your guide, And wrestle the leaves from the autumn trees, And then scatter them far and wide ! How fresh is your sound to my weary ear, So brimming with frolic and glee ! Oh, would that with you I also might float Far away to the shining sea ! 1 can see it glimmer, from where I sit, And the boats, as they glide along; And the great white gulls, with their wings outspread ; And I hear the fisherman's song. A SONG OF LONGING. 1 03 And I know there are children on the beach As happy as little elves. But alas, for the sick and weary of earth, — They have no one but God and them- selves. I04 BABY, BABY. Oh, you happy, idle mortal, Playing round Life's golden portal. Whose to-day knows no to-morrow ! What to thee is sin or sorrow ? Flower of love and hope and beauty. Scorning work and scorning duty, Filling all our hearts with pleasure — Oh, you blessed baby treasure ! Making home where'er thou turnest, Making life a thing in earnest, — With thy prattle so unmeaning, Yet so full of wondrous seeming. Prince of tyrants ! all uncaring. Ruling with a rod unsparing, — May you sometime prove deserving Of such patient love and serving ! BABY. 105 May God's angels round thee keeping, Guard thee waking, guard thee sleeping. Guide thee safe, through life's offending, To that life that knows no ending. io6 AJV IMPROMPTU. AS I LOOKED OUT OF THE WINDOW. AN IMPROMPTU. The sun was shining bright, And the snow was faUing light, But distihctly. And every snow-flake ghnting In the sunshine's merry tinting Seemed like diamond dust descending In a shower never ending. Up and down the crystals flew. Right and left they dazzling blew, Such a wild, uproarious crew, Traversing the sky. Flickering through the limpid air, Flying, glancing everywhere. With a kind of glorious stare. Sailing low and high. Still the sun shines, still they fly. AN IMPROMPTU. 107 Rushing fast or slowly by, Setting Nature's laws awry, Sun and snow together ! Neither to the other bending, Each its own career defending. Which will yield, when comes the ending. Diamond flakes or sunshine's rays ? How I wonder, as I gaze ! Was there ever, ever, ever. Such abnormal winter weather ! Newport, R. I., Feb. 17, 1888. io8 EVENTIDE. EVENTIDE. Low falls the sunset's parting gleam, All mellow in its tinted glory, And the little babbling stream Whispers sweet its good-night story. Birdlings soft are in their nest, Resting 'neath the mother's wing, For they looked out toward the west. And felt sure they must not sing. Bees and butterflies have flown Far away from mortal sight. And the night-wind makes its moan, Restless to begin its flight. In the air, the hush of eve Lingers o'er the tired earth, And the daylight's spirits leave. Conscious of their vanished worth. EVENTIDE. 109 In the sky, a single star Glimmers like a beacon-light, Showing, through the mists afar, Heaven's first sentinel of night. And the dew-drops diamonds fall, Gleaming bright on leaf and flower, While the lengthening shadows call Silently the vesper hour. Peace, peace, peace, the whispering air Breathes on all things great and small ; And the echoes, everywhere. Softly answer — peace for all. no LOVE'S CONTENT. LOVE'S CONTENT. How art thou fair, O Fair ? I scarce can tell. I love thee so, I do not care to know ; E'en as God's flowers in their beauty grow, I deemed thou too, O Love, must grow as well. Thine eyes are blue like sapphires, and their spell Holds witchery I would in vain forego. Thy rippling hair is golden in its glow As gold fine-spun, and as it would compel The snowy whiteness of thy smooth-laid skin To mock the rose, the red blood paints thy cheeks. But though I thus might all thy charms disclose. Where is the need? thy virtues lie within. Who seeks the treasure hid 'neath mountain peaks Heeds not the wayside flowers the pathway grows. THE MERE Y DAYS. I n THE MERRY DAYS. Quick as the flash of a loud-booming gun, Bright as a ray from the bright noonday sun, Strange as a dream when the night-sleep is done. The glad days of our youth go by. Blessed with a joy that no other days know, Springing to life as the wild-flowers blow. Careless, unheeding, they come and they go,— The days that can never return. Tinted with colors so varied in tone. Holding a promise they only may own, Happy and joyous, how soon are they flown, — The bright, merry days of our youth. .r hearts SOME TYPES. 113 SOME TYPES. There are such men as deem a flow of words Speaks Genius' self, and tributar>' forms To fame's bright stream; and so they overwhelm With speech of tongue or pen their fellow-men ; Such are not wise to trust as guides or friends. Their very constant babbling makes them weak ; It drains their tissues e'en too fast, and leaves The soil but dry in which to grow ideas. A mass of writing, like a mass of lead, ^ Must make impression ; but the stamp it bears Will rest upon the die beneath, which marks 114 SOME TYPES. It out, in lines that cannot be effaced, A thing of glory or a thing of doom ; And all its bulk adds not a feather-weight To make it good, be not the goodness there. Yet through a senseless ignorance, or worse, Through blind-eyed vanity, from self out- sprung. These men take heart to think, too oft indeed. That from the pregnant juices of the world They shall crush out by force the flatter- ing taste Of hard-earned reputation — and they fail! Small wonder too ; for if but words might count As pediment on which to rest secure Fame's mighty column, then, i' faith. The veriest babbler might its height essay, By virtue of his power of constant speech. And e'en the dictionary's self compete. SOME TYPES. 115 And win the prize their wordy efforts claim. — And better oft 'twould be for all mankind If thus the sapient contest might con- clude ! And then there be another set of men Who, wrapped in learning's shroud, seem like to die Unless each word they utter, in its sound Shall punctuate some meaning of their own, Beyond the ken of common minds to scan ; And which they feel none other but themselves Could speak as well, — in truth, could speak at all. And then they turn in wrath upon man- kind, Because they see not as they see, forsooth, Nor hear as they would fain to have them hear ! Such men as these are silent, self-con- tained, Il6 SOME TYPES. And feed upon the weaknesses they loathe ; And thus their diet constant disagrees, And keeps them in a ferment of abuse, And acrimonious belchings 'gainst the world ; And yet they claim, but fairly, Wisdom's gifts ; And if her gracious mantle they might wear More courteously, upon their bodies placed. And not drawn, caul-like, over their wise heads — Which thus shuts out their sight from things without. And leaves them only introspection's gaze — They might see things which now they never see, And have a wider scope from which to paint Their narrow canvas with their views of life. But too much learning is a dangerous thins: ! SOME TYPES. 117 And when 'tis helped by other circum- stance, As wounded vanity or fretted pride, Becomes intolerant, and speaks itself awry In language unbecoming and perverse. And even Genius' self may sometimes dwell Within such brains, nor deem its home unfit; Like lighted lamp within a cloistered cell, Whose rays shine out upon the world beyond. Obtruded by the gratings they must pass. And men gain guidance through the darkening night, And care not that the light distorted is. III. Behold this man, if man he may be called ; A name which fits him better would destroy His very racehood, yet still leave to him Some seeming semblance to his present guise. Ii8 SOME TYPES. But let it pass ; he 'd heed it not, if named. Taking life's canvas in his bloodless hands, He paints out conscience with the brush of self, And gazing calmly on the view it gives. Is satisfied to live and breathe and be, — Thus much, no more ; for more he can- not do. His heart is but a sack that once held blood, And claims no function now except to beat. Self is his god, and at its narrow shrine He pays the only worship he bestows. No thought for others e'er his breast invades. Except so far as they his aims may help. What aid he might to them extend is naught To minds like his, and enters not his view. In very fact, he cannot feel at all. SOME TYPES. 119 Or will not — save the feelings look within ; His polar star is but his own sweet self, Which in the same direction ever points. And so life passes with him; and at last, When he has breathed and touched and seen and heard And tasted self in all its varied forms, Perchance for years of satisfied content, E'en self palls on him, and he dies, for- sooth, From pure inanition, since no longer Can he swallow even self ! And is there, Think ye, on the broad face of this our earth One heart to bid him stay, or mourn his loss ? Not one, I ween ! Doth such fate tempt thee, friend ? Then do not thou as he. I20 SOME TYPES. IV. And still another type remains to tell, That well its hard-earned gains deserves to hold ; Or be they laurels from the bough of fame, Or baser flowers off the tree success, It matters not, for both are honest spoils, And know their place in virtue of their right. The chiefest claim this class of men maintains Is based upon their work, their power to do; And this they share with conscience in their lives. And thus do merit all their actions find. Whatever talent, great or small, may add To their endeavors, matters but to them, In way of ease, in their appointed task, And gains them quicker praise for quicker work. The work itself is done as sure without ; Whether it be a sermon they would write, SOME TYPES. 121 Or guide the ploughshare through the fallow soil. They battle earnestly with life and hope, And grumble not at failure overmuch, Though cherishing success, but try again, And e'en again, if disappointment comes. Such men must win at last, and ought to win ; For brave endurance is a gift from God, And like the sunlight shines with strength divine. And warms the earth into a giving mood. And thus these types increase ; these are but few From out their number, and do multiply Until they form mankind, each one of whom Doth play his given part upon life's stage. 1 2 2 OXCE- UPOX-A- TIME. ONCE-UPOX-A-TIME. Is there a time in life compares to that Which watches slyly over plighted love ? So sly indeed its watch lest it disturb. It never shows itself, and hours play tit- tat, As around the dial the hands they shove, But never loud enough love's joy to curb ! WTiatever all the years to come may hide Of hope or fear, of pleasure or of pain, — And this young love in its vainglorious strife Is made up of all these and more beside — There is a something none have dared explain, Which makes it different from aught else in life. And oh, it matters not our after-dream ! E'en this same love upgrown and proven true, ONCE-UPON-A-TIME, 123 Or things more worldly, honors, station, wealth, — How tame, how very tame, shall they all seem. To that strange time when love so sudden grew, To that first kiss obtained by willing stealth ! 124 CONSENT. CONSENT. Sure as daylight follows starlight, Or as sunshine follows rain, Doth man's manhood yield its birthright When to love it may attain ; And naught seeking save one presence, Glories in its rapturous essence. Wondrous law of Nature's making, That the brave should seek the fair, And that she, all else forsaking, Feels his strength and nestles there ; Caring naught, so love be constant, If the whole world prove remonstrant. He is aided by her weakness. Conquered by her simple faith, And to love's engendered meekness Learns to look for conquering strength ; Full content to bow his stature To her softer, purer nature. CONSENT. 125 As its fragrance to the heather, Or its plumage to the dove, Are their lives close linked together By God's law of perfect love ; Brightest boon to human sorrow Hope and faith from fate may borrow. 126 SUNSET. SUNSET. — A SKY PICTURE. The sun is dying in the west, The home he ever loved the best ; And though no longer he may stay, Yet lingers with the lingering day. And ere he sinks into the night, He summons all his fading light, And tints it with a myriad hues Which Nature's hand alone can use. Rainbow colors, all his own, He paints around his golden throne, And sets his jewels in the sky, To deck himself before he die. Amethyst and sapphire blue, Opal, gem of every hue, Ruby red and emerald green, Topaz pure and diamond's sheen, — SUNSET. 127 These are the treasures, rich and rare, That gleam within his circlet fair ; And make his chamber, though of death, To glow with color's brightest breath. And then upon his gorgeous bed Slowly he lays his weary head, And gathers round him, as a shroud. Every soft and fleecy cloud. And so he gently sinks to rest Within the brightly-tinted west. And all the stars their places take Around his couch, their watch to make. And now the moon, with mellow light, Illumes the darkness of the night. While all the world its sleep may take Until another day shall break. 128 A HEART-THROB. A HEART-THROB. In my heart two words are ringing, Ringing sad in anguished tone, And the one word is — forever, And the other is — alone. Naught disturbs their plaintive utterance, Naught will hush their constant moan, But 'tis ever — one forever, And 't is always — all alone. God in mercy rule my spirit More in keeping with His own, That forever may not daunt me. E'en when echoing back — alone. Tune my heart-strings that they break not Till their strength be stronger grown ; Help me feel that if — forever. Still I shall not be — alone. AND THEN? 129 AND THEN? A BREATH of warmer air, A swelling bud upon the willow-tree, A blue, blue sky, so bright and fair, A softer murmur in the distant sea. And then ? A robin or a bluebird's flight, Or joyous song, so blithe and clear. An eager crocus peering towards the light, All speak the promise of the opening year. And then ? Ah ! then, the cold, gray, deathlike days unnamed. The snow-clouds and the weary snow, The blustering winds which blow so half ashamed, — And winter grimly smiles, but does not go. And then ? 9 130 AND THEN? Then do we hope no more, But sit beside the fire, crushed and drear ; Till, ere we know, Summer flings wide the door, And June is here ! And then ? Ah, then ! In the warm sunshine, and the joy Of rosebuds, and the soft green grass, Why, we forget — and all annoy The treacherous spring maintained doth pass. And then ? Then the loud-babbling brook, The mountain-side, the birds, the breeze, The hum of insects, and the shady nook. Where summer winds play tunes upon the trees. And then ? The level fields, the browsing herds, The sea-shells on the beach, the ocean's roar, AND THEN? 13 1 The* sunrise and the sunset — these are Nature's words, Which whisper to man's soul forever- more. And then ? Ah ! then the subtle, nameless charm Of youth and love and hope, the moon- light walk. The ecstasy, the pain, the trembling arm Upon another's laid, low murmured talk. And then ? Ah ! why seek further? Is it not Sufficient answer that the world is glad ; So glad, that all its past, forgiven and forgot, Is now as naught ? that life and love go mad, — That June is here 1 132 HER LIKENESS. HER LIKENESS. Who is my Love? It needeth not to say ; Enough if I but whisper what she be, And then none other canst thou dream is she. For who but she may all her charms display? Her heart is guileless as the new-born day, Yet seemeth all aglow with wilful glee. So filled is it with love's sweet witchery. Her chestnut hair gleams with a golden ray, Beneath her deep-fringed lashes brown eyes show, And in her dimpled cheek, so soft its touch, The rosy flush of morning loves to lie. Doth need it more to speak that thou mayst know, O Love, who she may be ? Are there two such ? Ah ! now thou know'st, and yet thou dost not fly! LIFE'S BOAT-SONG. 133 LIFE'S BOAT-SONG. When our arms are young, when our arms are strong, How joyous we pull on the stream of life ! We float with the tide, we rest on our oar, We feel we can easily reach the shore, If rocks come in sight, or the wind goes wrong, Or the rolling waves should rouse up in strife. When our arms are old, when our arms are weak, How we look to our oars as we slowly float! We keep close to the shore, on the shady side. We seek from the ripples and currents to hide. And we know that if once it but spring a leak, We shall find our doom in the sinking boat. 1 34 TEMPT A TION'. TEMPTATION. Who can forecast, until temptation come, If lie shall stand or fall ? It happens to us all To plan upon occasion what to speak ; But when occasion shows, by some strange freak We rarely say our speech, Or words within its reach. But talk a different tongue, or else are dumb. Nor can we better tell how we may act When fate, as if in wrath, Shall cast across our path A prize, that through dishonor we may win, Yet none shall know or even guess our sin. Our heart's most cherished hope Is now within our scope ; Who dares to say what Satan may exact? TEMPT A TION. 1 3 5 Nor you, nor I, nor any mortal man — For men have failed, deemed good, And men, deemed bad, withstood. Thus circumstanced, the tempter's touch of shame. Too weak we are to battle at such game. And that old prayer we know. Thus taught us long ago — " Into temptation lead us not," it ran. 136 INSIGHT. INSIGHT. Have we stood beside the bier of our hopes, And seen them buried one by one from sight In the sad, relentless grave of Failure, And then, bereft of strength to dare again, Gone forth to die ? Have we stretched out our hands To Heaven in prayer, and cried aloud to God, In anguish of the soul, to give us help. When those we loved the best were called away, — And no help came, and we were left alone To weep, to mourn, ay, e'en perhaps to doubt ? INSIGHT. 137 Or have we felt the crushing nothing- ness Of pride and wealth and worldly reverence, The taunting mockery of Self, when once Our wholesome life is touched by wan disease ? And, all our cherished strength proved vanity, We know the presence of the grim Shadow Hovering o'er us and cannot urge it off ? If these or such as these have been our lot, Perchance we may have learned that Peace and Rest Oft lie through Sorrow's gate, which, though it stand Wide-open for us all, we never pass Because we would, but only when we must. And may God's help be theirs who, hav- ing passed. Can find no home within ; but when they hear 138 INSIGHT. The heavy hinges creak to close, un- taught, Would free themselves from seeming barriers ; And so burst forth and seek escape. What good ? A HYPOCRITE. I39 A HYPOCRITE. The self-righteous man wears the hypo- crite's mask; To seem not to be is his well-mastered task, And the hem of his garment, though cov- ered with texts, Is only a means to mislead and perplex. His preaching is orthodox, so are his views. And the " spirit of missions " might walk in his shoes ; His gifts are well known, they are part of his game, And of men being spoken of, add to his fame. His life is so perfect, he 'd ne'er conde- scend To be seen with a sinner, much less be his friend. 140 A HYPOCRITE. And the rags of a penitent rouse his dis- gust, As anything lowly and tattered e'en must. " Not as he is, I thank thee, O Lord, am I too," Is his muttered thanksgiving when guilt comes in view. " My sins are all hidden from sight of the world. So my banner of righteousness ne'er need be furled." The garb of humility fits him not well, 'T is too tight in its set for his virtues to swell ; He needs the repose of his own roomy stays, In which he can turn at the same time two ways ! But do what he will, he can get little ease. Nor his prayers nor his deeds do his con- science appease; • A HYPOCRITE. 141 And the flesh of his skeleton trembles with dread Lest the bones be disclosed ere yet he be dead. Like the moth, whose soft plumage is killed by a touch, The contact with truth his proud bear- ing would smutch ; And he 'd show as he is to the veriest fool, With God as his precept and Self as his rule. 142 A SONG. A SONG. Blow, blow, ye winds ! Through the tops of the bare trees blow; For my soul would whisper unheeded The things that were — long ago. The wild-flowers bloom and the sun shines, And the bright birds sing as before, But my heart-throbs beat in the world alone, There is no one to answer them more. And men are as strong, and women still love. And childhood is ever sweet ; But I long in vain for the hope I once knew. And for words I dare not repeat. A SONG. 143 Blow, blow, ye winds ! Through the murmuring pine-trees blow; But never again shall I hear the step That I watched for — longf ao:o. 144 HER COMING. HER COMING. A MOORISH LOVE-SONG. In the love-light and the twilight, Underneath the trysting tree, There, while waiting for the moon-night, There, while waiting, Love, for thee. With the white-light of the star clouds, And the booming of the sea, — Like a dream-song in the distance, Was the coming of thy feet, With a pattering insistence Answering to thy heart's quick beat. And I wondered, as I conjured Hopes of how we two should meet. Oft I wandered toward the pathway. Oft I wandered back again, 'Neath the young light of the moon-night, 'Neath the shadows of the fen. 1 HER COMING. 14$ And a cricket chirped beside me, And a wild bird upward flew. Through the bushes in the starlight There was some one coming through ! And I heard a whispered murmur, Which was music to my ear, And I felt a heart-throb beating To my ov/n heart very near. And the moonlight and the cloud-light Were as nothing to me then ; For all Nature seemed but love-light As we wandered down the glen, — As we wandered in our heart-might Far beyond the world of men. 146 STRANDED. STRANDED. Farewell, O dream of happy youth ! That dream which once I thought to be so fair ; For then I had the strength to do and dare. But now — I know the bitter truth. Too fast I urged my wilHng boat, Too hard I tugged upon the easy oar, Until at length it would endure no more : It broke, and I was left afloat. In vain I sought to guide my course With what perchance might still to me remain ; But as 't would mock my tired, weakened strain, The more the boat did seem to toss. STRANDED. 147 And those passed by whom once I led, But none could stop to give me aught of aid, For some were selfish, others were afraid; And then I wished that I were dead. For I could see no hope save death ; My strength was waning, night was near at hand, I was alone, and out of sight of land. So faint I scarce could draw my breath. Yet I was let to live ; and torn And bruised I landed on the rocky shore ; But I may use my poor frail boat no more. And the high hopes I had are gone. 148 MV DEJSr. ■ MY DEN. A ROOM, low-Studded, not too large or grand. Where everything obeys the master's only hand, Its sacred dust e'en left in peace to lie Secure from prying of the housemaid's eye; With deep-set windows, — two I deem enough. Well curtained with some thick, dark- shaded stuff. Admitting light, but keeping out the glare, And tempting restfulness to linger there. With here a chair and there a sofa's curve. Which when not used for books as seats may serve ; A desk for writing, a fireplace for cheer, A drugget on the floor, by use made dear ; MV DEN. 149 And, more than all, the well-filled shelves around. Rising from floor to ceiling at a bound, Lining the room on all its sides but one, Where stands the chimney — and my picture 's done : Except that floor and window-sills do share Unnumbered volumes which the shelves won't bear ; And scattered manuscripts are flung about In ways that some might deem a woful rout. But which to him who holds their secret clue Reveal an order marvellous but true. Add some engravings, good and old and rare, A bust or two selected with fond care ; And he with such a home content may rest, And let old Time e'en do his worst or best. :50 TWILIGHT. TWILIGHT. Day and Night once met together, In the golden summer weather, On a field of purple heather, Far from human sight. Each in turn displayed its power To the utmost in that hour. Dreading to be forced to cower 'Neath the other's might. And though making deep obeisance, Each maintained its being's essence. Till they found each other's presence Hard beyond compare. So they softened in their bearing, Each the other's glories sharing. And the other's colors wearing On the whispering air. TWILIGHT. 151 Thus a new light was created, And to mortals it was fated, Whene'er Day and Night are mated, Its soft rays to know. And they call it Twi-light ever, — Two made one upon the heather ; And thus linked they reign together, In the evening's glow. 152 A HACKNEY-COACH. FROM THE STORY OF A HACK- NEY-COACH. A FRAGMENT. But the saddest thing that ever I bore, And many sad sights did my lot entail, Was a weeping woman, haggard and pale. On her way to the hospital's friendless door. Her face was hard, but her voice was mild. And her manners told of a better day. But now on my cushions outstretched she lay. And I saw, when she moved, she was great with child. She moaned to herself as we hurried along, And her muttered words I was forced to hear, A HACKNEY-COACH. 153 And they struck on my heart like some- thing drear, So full were they of grief and wrong. Neither maid nor wife nor widow was she. Her mother rank was all that she owned ; And if ever sorrow for sin atoned, I wis she was pure in her purity. Deceived by one on whom she had leaned, A devil in heart, though a man in shape. She thought him a god ; and when no escape Remained from harm, she found him a fiend. He had won the faith of her girlish heart, And she trusted his love with a perfect trust ; But false to his vows, to that love unjust, His baseness had played but a traitor's part. And now, alone, and broken by shame, Her time was come; and with no hand to save, 154 A HACKNEY-COACH. Helpless and hopeless, she longed for the grave. And thus to the hospital gates we came. But scarce were they passed, ere, groaning with pain, That pain which a woman alone may- know, — Her face grew white and her pulse grew slow, And she never spoke word upon earth again. Her worn-out frame had no strength to endure The strain which Nature imposed that day,— For alone she had striven to fight her way, And work had been scarce and food was poor. But now she was gone ; and the child went too. Which seemed to be better, for God knows best ; A HACKNEY-COACH. i55 And what could his life have been but unrest, — And a pauper's grave was their only due. But the angels' tears fell in drops from the sky As the sod was laid on tlie new-turned earth ; Then the sun burst out, and a rainbow birth Seemed to welcome a soul to its home on high. Oh, man, how long shall hideous lust Efface the image of God from your heart ? More low than the brutes in its hellish part. It rouses a loathing beyond disgust. To slay a man were a pardoned sin Compared to the guilt its promptings urge; For the death of a soul is its joyless dirge, And a coward's part it ever hath been. IS6 A HACKNEY-COACH. To crush a fond woman's happy faith, To leave her a wreck on the shores of night, — Better, far better to Icill her outright, Than thus to abuse your manhood's strength. There 's never a word in the tongues of earth To express the base vileness of human lust. " Dishonored of men, of God accurst," Is the brand that 's stamped on its evil birth. \ ASPIRATION. 157 ASPIRATION. Higher, higher, Purified by suffering's fire. Rise, my soul, until thy flight Pierce its way to Heaven's light. Clearer, clearer. Until, ever drawing nearer. There shall burst upon thy sight, Through the darkness of earth's night, All the eye of faith may see, Set in God's eternity. 158 SAVED. SAVED. God's chastening hand was laid upon my life With such a grievous force of woe, that crushed And stunned I fell beneath its heavy weight Full prone to earth, and there I prostrate lay; And cared for neither day, nor night, nor time, Nor aught beside, save only death itself, Which would not come. Sleep fled my eyes, and even tears Their wonted boon refused ; all hope seemed dead. I could not pray, I scarce indeed could think. No pain I felt, but only something tense, SAVED. 159 Like iron bands, tight-drawn about my head; All else was apathy, save that I knew The bitter consciousness of life. And thus. Alone, with madness pregnant in my brain, I waited for my fate. Then in the night, When all about me slept, One entered in, And he was clothed in white, and round him shone A dazzhng light, like that of day; while on His face there was such look of peace and love, I wondered ; yet I could not speak or move. And as I gazed he gently stretched his hand, And touched me on the brow, and then sleep came. And day and night went by, and still I slept ; And when I woke, I knew my doom was past. — I was let live again, and learned to feel l6o SAVED. That what God does is even for the best. But who he was that came to me that night I know not ; only this I know full well, 'Twas some one sent from God. RECOMPENSE, l6l RECOMPENSE. The curses of poverty- Lightly descend On those who through duty Their blessings defend. They fear not its presence Their heart-throbs to still For love in its essence Defies every ill. They ward off its smiting By joining their hands. Their strength, by uniting, Resists its commands. When love keeps the door, E'en troubles must fail, Though pressing us sore In their power to prevail. II l62 RECOMPENSE. And if there be sorrow, We all must endure ; Yet hope can we borrow, If love is but sure. 4 HE.- A SOLILOQUY. 163 HE. — A SOLILOQUY. Very handsome must he be, If he thinks to marry me ; And in all that he may do He must prove a lover true. His position must be such As no carping tongue can touch ; E'en a crest, if his by right, Would not spoil him in my sight ! Chivalrous and brave, of course, He must be, without resource ; For a coward I despise. And all the very name implies. Youth and vigor he must own, — These, indeed, for much atone ; With a form of athlete grace Fit to match his manly face. 1 64 HE. — A SOLILOQUY. If he 'srich, why, very well, But on this I would not dwell ; Even were our hopes not high, We might manage, — he and I. Good ? Oh, yes ! that 's well enough ; But he must not be a " muff " — And I think perhaps a spice Of the " Divvel " 's rather nice ! Still, he must be honest, kind, Pure in heart and bright in mind; Do for others all he can, — Be, in short, a gentleman. Intellectual, famous ? No ; Into such things I won't go ; Let him only prove to be Everything he seems to me. Yes ; but somehow my ideal Wakes sensations much too real ! Can it be that while in sport I have let my heart get caught ? HE. — A SOLILOQUY. 165 Oh, how dreadful ! Do I blush ? Listen — some one 's coming — hush ! How the thoughts I. would not own Suddenly to facts have grown ! ^Tivas his picture that I drew, All unconsciously, 't is true ; And if now no sign he make, 'T is no use — my heart will break. That's his step; and now — Oh dear! How I 'm trembling ! — he is here ; Does he love me ? Yes — and I ? — Foolish little heart, good-by ! 1 66 CERTAIN PEOPLE. CERTAIN PEOPLE. The goody-goody people in this world Show well, 't is true. But little praise, in sooth, do they deserve For what they do ; And even less for what they do not do, For to resist Bespeaks temptation, which they never feel, Talk as they list. Too cold for passion and too weak for sin, They gain no blame. E'en Satan scarce exerts himself to track Such worthless game ! Good, from their ignorance to compass wrong ; And should they try. CERTAIN PEOPLE. 167 Such dire mistakes they would be sure to make, They 'd go awry ! And yet they play their part with con- scious pride, To folly blind ; And deem themselves, indeed, superior far To all mankind. Well, let them ; little harm, if little good, Can come of such. But, Heaven be thanked, all men are not ahke, — 'T would be too much ! 1 68 ASLEEP. ASLEEP. Through the half-closed shutters the sunbeams played, And they danced on the wall in glee, While the wind's soft breath through the casement strayed, So fresh from the summer sea ! And quiet reigned in the darkened room, And a sense of peace and rest, With no sound save that of the ocean's boom, And the twitter of birds in their nest; And the crooning note of a mother's song, As she rocked her darling to sleep. And saw that now it would not be long Ere the angels their watch might keep. And the song died away in a gentle sigh, While the breeze and the sunshine smiled. For the mother's eyes closed dreamily, And she slept with her sleeping child. WOULD I? 169 WOULD I? Had I known thee proud and false, would I ? Ah ! then, Love, oh, urge me not. Death had seemed to be but nigh, Had I been by thee forgot. But I had no need to die ! Had I known thee hard and cold, would I ? 'T is not. Love, for me to tell ; But, oh ! ask me not the why, For thou know'st I loved thee well. Now, no need to ask me why ! Had I known it could not be, would I ? Yes, O Love, though silently, Had Heaven answered not my cry, I had loved on lovingly. But Heaven answered to my cry ! 1 70 WOULD I? Had I known thy heart not mine, would I ? Then, O Love, I 'd made no moan. Thou hadst heard nor sob nor sigh, But in Heaven thou hadst known. Love, ;//y Love, for aye and aye I i WE SING BUT A SONG. 1 71 WE SING BUT A SONG. We sing but a song, and our childhood 's gone, Ere yet we 've had time to breathe ; But little we care and little we mourn, For the roses are buds, thatwe wreathe. We laugh but a laugh, and our youth has flown, And we know not how or when ; But we look with surprise as the truth we must own, That we may not live it again. A smothered groan, and our manhood 's done, And we tread with more careful ways ; And our looks are bent towards the set- ting sun With a silent and anxious graze. 172 WE SING BUT A SONG. A whispered prayer and a murmured hope, And the years that have known us so long, Now hold us no longer within their scope ; We have sung to the end of our song. HE COMES I 173 HE COMES! He comes ! my lord and hero comes ! All Nature wakes to life, to give him greeting. The very trees have heard his step, And whisper mid their trembling leaves. He comes ! The flowers raise their drooping petals. And answer back, He comes. The air is filled with fragrance, and the sun Throws brighter beams to gild him as he comes. Now must my tell-tale face subdue its joy, Lest it may show too much. Be stilled, O throbbing heart, — beat not so loud ; Away, ye mantling blushes of my love ! But, ah ! what folly ! even now my steps Run riot with my will, and force me on. 174 HE COMES! That I may catch his first embrace ; nor let The flowers and trees steal from me what is mine, Mine only. Lo ! his step is near. He comes ! CONTENT. 175 CONTENT. We cry aloud, or in our secret heart, For things we have not; and we deem, if so That God may choose our foolish prayer to know, We then shall be content : we play our part; For 't is this very urging, under which we smart. To gain these things our hearts compel us to, That helps us do, and makes our striving grow Until we gain what first impelled our start. To be content would be to stop our lives, And bid the world stand still ; no effort then Would we essay ; and thus in vain on earth Contentment seeks a chance of easy birth. Yet happiness may come to him who strives, Whate'er his rank amid the world of men. 176 TO J. R. S. TO J. R. S. Fair critic of my verse, Endowed with wisdom and with wit, And, gift more kind, with sympathy. And yet who nobly scorn'st. Though tempted oft too near to it, To tip Truth's sting with flattery, I owe thee many thanks. Not only for thy skill, Which fits thee like Minerva's helm, Nor for thy patience, sorely tried, But for the gracious will, Pointing thy words, that they o'erwhelm By neither praise nor blame ; yet hide In no way thy just views. It happens so with thee,. To share with Charity her crown. That e'en thy sharpest thrusts, though true. TO J. R. S. 177 Ne'er seem to disagree ; No poison lurks within to drown, In dregs of malice, truth's fair due ; And thus they win their way. And in thy willing praise. Spontaneous in its very flow, Despair itself must flee away ; So that in both the ways The critic's power is wont to show. To urge or warn thou claim'st thy sway. Once more I thank thee, friend. July, 1887. 178 OUR HOPES. OUR HOPES. Blest dreams of the future, Or near or afar ; Bright thoughts that we nurture, Our hopes to us are. E'er prompting our actions For better or worse ; Love's happy distractions To fortunes perverse. What though that so often They live but to die ! Does their being not soften Life's wail to a sigh ? Though smitten by Fate's rod, They yield not their sway ; But rise like the sun-god, As day succeeds day. OUR HOPES. 179 God's angels, e'er guarding Our lives from despair ; Heaven's bucklers, retarding The arrows of care. Ah ! without them, indeed, A sad fate is ours ; But that they intercede. We must die like the flowers. 1 80 SHE. — EX A CTIONS. SHE. — EXACTIONS. Very human must she be From the start, If she would be loved by me With my heart. No calm goddess, mild and staid. Me could hold. E'en though every limb were made Out of gold. She must be a maiden pure In her thought, If her charms would me allure, All unsought. No one selfish in her mind, Seeking gain, Ever honest love did find — Oh, the pain ! She must be a woman true, — That she must ; Proud a woman's work to do, — Sacred trust. SHE. — EX A C TIONS. 1 8 1 No coquette with pretty face Would succeed, E'en with every winning grace, Me to lead. Beauty's power she may not claim As her right ; But for this she holds no blame In my sight. Eyes of brown or eyes of blue, Matter not, So the soul be brave and true, — Not a jot. She may have a winsome face, If she will, Yet with e'en a homely grace She 'd fulfil All I 've sought so long, and more, I confess. So her heart I might feel sure To possess. Oh, with such an one I swear — Holy tie ! All my life and love I 'd share, And for aye ! 1 82 SELF-CONQUEST, SELF-CONQUEST. Conquer but self, the mightiest foe in life, And of no other need'st thou stand in fear; For none will care to prove himself the peer Of him who vanquishes in such a strife. The fight must be endured from day to day, For oft thine enemy will seem to die But to rouse up anew, for he is sly As he is strong, and hard indeed to slay. But easier shalt thou find thy task ere long. By constant practice growing in thy might ; And struggling as thou dost on side of Right, Success is sure if but thine arm keep stronjr. 4 LINES. 183 LINES WRITTEN ON THE FLY-LEAF OF " A DAY IN ATHENS WITH SOCRATES." The cultured style, the gracious ease, Each word conveys, is sure to please. The vigorous thought of ancient sage Maintained intact on every page ; And yet its meaning made so clear That he "who runs may read," nor fear A false construction put upon The grand old words from Helicon. What English mind, so pure and true, Has dared these classic themes construe, And placed before a modern age Philosophy's most sacred page, I wot not. This alone I know, — Such jewels in such setting show Not only the translator's art. But kindred soul and mind and heart. December, 1886. 1 84 LOVE AND FAIN. LOVE AND PAIN. Sing, sing, ye whispering trees, Gently swaying in the breeze ; Murmur soft and murmur low What the listening air would know, - That by bands we may not sever. Love and pain are linked together. Pain, which only joys create, Pain of ecstasy and fate. Pain which hope intense begets. Pain too sweet to force regrets, — Such pain as love, and love alone. Can e'er provoke or yet atone. Who such pain would once forego. So the love were sure to show ? Who but deem such love more dear, Since it once was tinged with fear.'' If any such there chance to be. Then all unworthy he or she. A BOOK'S A BOOK. 185 A BOOK 'S A BOOK. IN ANSWER TO E. L. D. A BOOK 's a book, but 'twixt two books 't is plain The difference lies in what they may contain. Each in itself its destiny upholds, And in its leaves its own sure fate infolds. The one we cherish, venerate, and prize ; The other gasps for air and quickly dies. The one, by fame caressed, immortal lives ; The other seeks the peace oblivion gives. On one the future smiles with beckoning hand ; The other helps the housemaid's fire expand. But which to which no man may dare foretell ; To time alone the future yields its spell. 1 86 A BOOK 'S A BOOK. To-day we fail, to-morrow we succeed ; The fact remains, — the why is why^ indeed ! E'en Genius' self can claim no fairy wand To give it gaze into the far beyond. Men live, whose fate the world ne'er cares to learn, Yet o'er whose ashes incense fires burn. Men die, whose lives seem redolent of fame, But, soon forgotten, scarce exist in name. What our own luck may be, dear friend, who knows, Since fortune such uncertain favor shows ? But little need we care — or you or I — " Sic transit " — bah ! you know the rest. Good-by. RECONCILIA TION. 187 RECONCILIATION. The world is fading from my anxious sight, The sunset shadows cling about my path, I hear the echoes of the coming night ; Great God, look down in mercy, not in wrath. And help me, through Thine own eternal Son, To say unquestioning, Thy will be done. The world was dear, perhaps too dear, to me. With all its joy, its hope, its cherished love, And hard it was sometimes, O Lord, to see The narrow path which only leads above. Forgive my wandering steps, for sake of One Who taught us first to say. Thy will be done. I iS 8 RECONCILIA TION. Forgive the pride which made my heart rebel, My want of faith, my weak and doubt- ing soul. The dread of death, which holds me in its spell. And which e'en hope of heaven can scarce control. O Lord, in pity grant, ere life be run. That I in trustful love may say, Thy will be done. May this my prayer, unworthy though I be, Through Christ's dear grace be wafted to thy throne. And through His death may I, from sin set free. When death doth come, not feel I am alone, But, fought the fight, through Christ the victory won, Say, with unfaltering faith, Thy will be done. HUNTING-SONG. 189 HUNTING-SONG. Hark on the hills to the huntsman's horn, Joyously greeting the day new-born, Waking to life the echoes of morn : Echoes rolling, echoes pealing, echoes crying ; Lower falling, falling lower, echoes dying. Hark to the bay of the deep-mouthed hound, Catching the scent on the moist-laid ground. Startling the crags and the rocks around : Echoes booming, echoes thundering, echoes flying ; Softer sinking, sinking softer, echoes dying. Hark to the ring of the rifle's note, Setting the wild, weird echoes afloat. As the quarry sinks in the reedy moat : 190 HUNTING-SONG. Echoes trembling, echoes moaning, echoes sighing; Murmuring fainter, fainter murmuring — gasping — dying. SOMEBODY. 191 SOMEBODY. A maiden's lament. I AM listening and waiting and longing ; And Somebody 's waiting too ; For his spirit to mine is calling As only some one's could do. I can feel his presence about me, Though he 's not within my sight ; And I know that he 's speaking to me, For I hear him in the night. And his tones are so sweet and tender. And his voice is pitched so low. That the words he thus seeks to render In my ear alone can go. But the wooing he still is urging, Oh, I cannot answer back ! Though I feel all my pulses surging With the love that he must lack. 192 SOMEBODY. And so here I linger on hoping That Somebody soon may come, And claim what for him is but waiting, And make in my heart his home. GO, WARRIOR, GO! 193 GO, WARRIOR, GO! When the stirring trumpets blow, Go, warrior, go ! Wait not for to-morrow's sun. Wait not for the foeman's gun. Wait not till the love-song 's done. When the trumpets stirring blow, Go, warrior, go ! Tra-titera-tra — tra-titera-tra-tra ! Hark ! the call to meet the foe ! Go, warrior, go ! Leave to women sigh and tear. Leave to slaves their caitiff fear. Leave all else save sword and spear. When the trumpets stirring blow. Go, warrior, go ! Tra-titera-tra — tra-titera-tra-tra ! Warrior hearts the sound well know. Go, warrior, go ! 13 194 GO, WARRIOR, GO! Bravely let thy banner fly, Bravely shout thy battle-cry, Bravely win or bravely die. When the trumpets stirring blow, Go, warrior, go ! Tra-titera-tra — tra-titera-tra-tra ! Round thy waist thy falchion throw, Go, warrior, go ! Haste to greet the trumpet's call, Haste to guard the breach and wall, Haste, let naught thy soul appall. When the trumpets stirring blow. Go, warrior, go ! Tra-titera-tra — tra-titera-tra-tra ! Lo ! thy charger waits below, Go, warrior, go ! Hark, the wild alarum bell, Hark, the battle's magic spell. Calling, calling — now, farewell. When the trumpets stirring blow, Go, warrior, go ! Tra-titera-tra — tra-titera-tra-tra ! A CONCEIT. 195 A CONCEIT. The velvet sound of the falling snow, Which is heard by the eye alone, As it nestles down on its brother flakes, With a touch like a silvery tone, — So soft, so gentle, so murmured its fall. Oh, the wonder is, that it falls at all. With its eerie whirl and its whispered call. The wintry day is still and calm. As I gaze through the frosted pane. And the air is filled with the falling snow. Like the floss from a tangled skein. Such quietness reigns, I can almost hear Its sound as it drops on the casement near. 196 AN ECHO. AN ECHO. July 4, 1776. Like a great rock from Truth's high mountain hurled, By giant force, into the mid-ocean Of old-time dynasties and rights divine, Whose mighty ripples, gathering into waves. Relentless beat upon the shores of Time, — The scratching of the goose-quill pen, which wrote The Declaration of our Country's Rights, Resounded on the universal air ; And echoing far and wide throughout the world, Proclaimed the sacred name of Liberty To all mankind. CONFESSION. 197 CONFESSION. We wandered o'er the moonlit path, And o'er the tangled heather, And both our hearts took up the cry, Of whether. Love, oh whether ! Yet neither knew the other's doubt. As on we walked together. But foolish task it proved to be, Each from the other hiding What both our souls had long confessed. But had not dared confiding ; And e'er we either of us knew, Love took up his abiding ! And then, more foolish still it seemed. For now 't was past concealing. But each was loath to speak the word, Or make the first revealing ; And yet our hearts, in wild alarm. Were both to Love appealing. 198 TIME'S EPITAPH. How long indeed it may have been — This tumult of wild beating — I know not ; but some words I heard, Which need not here repeating ! And when we wandered back that night, Love knew our place of meeting. TIME'S EPITAPH. On every man that dies Time writes an epitaph ; And some are blurred with tears, and some provoke a laugh ; But from his verdict none may hope to hide, 'T is writ in letters certain to abide ; And gives each one the mark his life did make, — Saint, sinner, fool, philosopher, or rake. TRUTH. 199 HOPE. Like the hand in the darkness we treas- ure Which guides our lost footsteps aright, So Hope comes in Fortune's displeasure, And leads us anew to the light. TRUTH. Truth fights for place in every human heart, Though crushed too oft by things of baser part ; As e'en amid the weeds the sluggard's garden grows, — In solitary bloom appears a single rose. I 200 ARIADNE. ARIADNE.i Upon the shores of Naxos' Isle, vine- famed, Low nestling, mid the blue ^Egean waves. Whose lapping tides flung kisses on the beach, With lover's frequence, all unsatisfied; Where crimson-tinted clouds, the day- light's torch. Each morn enflamed, and fragrant winds, cool-blown. From off the Southern seas, lulled sleep at night ; Where tropic verdure glowed in tree and flower, 1 Ariadne was the daughter of the King of Crete, and the wife of Theseus — afterward King of Athens. On the voyage to Attica he basely- deserted her on the island of Naxos ; and, over- whelmed by grief and despair, she destroyed her- self. She was renowned throughout Greece for her great beauty. ARIADNE. 20 1 And birds and butterflies, in gorgeous train, Filled the bright air with dazzling rain- bow hues, Like glittering jewels through the ether sped, — On such an isle as this, upon such shores. Ere yet the eastern sky showed tinge of red, There Ariadne came. Alone she was. Her errant maidens straying far behind ; And on her beauteous face — and she was famed Throughout all Grecian lands for beauty's spell — There was such radiant look of joy and love, 'T was wondrous to behold, — like to a dream. And hastening on, and ever towards the beach, So keen her constant gaze, to seaward cast, She seemed as 't were some one to seek, perchance 202 ARIADNE. That way pursued, — and Theseus slept on board His ships that night ! — but now she was alone, And more alone, indeed, she might not be ! For from her there had passed, to her unknown, Her life's best life, her very hope of life, And with it her proud woman's faith in love ; And by her own fair hands, bereft and mad. In isolate despair she soon must die. But this she knew not then, nor did suspect, — For 't was but yester eve that Theseus' self, All glorious in his manly form and face, Of stature tall, of strength like to the gods, Had led her from the hot-blown strand, on which They strolled, to where, beneath an orange-tree. ARIADNE. 203 Full-blossomed, their talk might be in scented shade ; And there beside her, on the flower- flecked grass. Himself he cast, and spoke, low-voiced, of Crete And far-off Athens and of other themes. Perchance, which lovers' lips so well do con. And he had told her that to-morrow's morn They should set sail for home ; that he himself, UnwiUing, must upon his ships that night Abide, that all might thus be sure pre- pared To meet the south wind's early, vagrant breath, Which best would waft them on their lingering course. — And thus he spoke, as, since their stay at Naxos, They twain had dwelt beneath a shep- herd's roof ; For this one boon had Ariadne craved, 204 ARIADNE. Not loving well the ocean's wild unrest, Nor the close crowding of the vessel's deck. Nor had he gainsaid what her fears did urge ; Too well it suited with his base-born plan. And then he sought her promise to awake betimes, That so no chance of failure might ensue, He granting her indulgence to remain Upon the shore because she feared the ships ; On which, most solemn compact did she make — Deeming him kind, and much in haste to sail — That Phoebus' self should not outstrip her start To meet him at the dawn, — never, indeed, Suspecting treachery or foul deceit. Then had she bade to Theseus her good- night. With loving kisses on his lips impressed. With loving, soft embrace about him cast ; When toward the waiting boat he quickly sped, ARIADNE. 205 Upon his face a smile men call accurst ; But she, all-trustful, hastened to the hut. And knowing she must be alone that night, Called to her handmaidens to enter in, — For many had she (whom they all did love). Being the daughter of the king in Crete, — And bade them, one each hour, to wake, till day First set his faintest rose-blush in the sky, When they should rouse her, minding not her sleep. And urge with her their way toward the ships. And thus it was — to keep her promise true — That at the dawn she wandered to the beach. So radiant in her face she might have played In tournament with yonder glowing sun, And robbed him of his prize ; for if such thing Might be, love-born love could e'en the diamond's 2o6 ARIADNE. Cold, pure form instil with rays unknown before, And make it so ablaze with wondrous light That men could scarce its dazzling gleam abide. And Ariadne's face was not of stone. Nor was her heart, than diamond far more pure. Or hard, or cold; in both love held its sway. And now for Theseus, with exultant hope Each moment to behold his face, she sought. Unwitting of his flight, and hastening each Quick step which closer brought her to the ships ; For there she knew — his own words told the tale — He lay that night, and now perchance awaited But her coming, at the sunrise call. To make fast sail for Attica's low shores. ARIADNE. 207 Likewise, the ships were anchored far away; For Naxos had no harbors through its coasts For goodly vessels, — such outside must lie. Dependent on the slow-paced boats for shore, — And thought of this, which pushed her journey's end, Urged her quick feet to even quicker tread. And when at length the promontory reached From whence the fleet e'er came in view, her heart Beat fast, and rose-cloud blushes stole her cheeks ; For had not Theseus promised there to meet His love, and guide her to the boats himself. That thus the hated waves she need not brave 208 ARIADNE. Alone, which bore them from the safer land? But as the high ascent she gained, out- breathed, Nor Theseus there, nor e'en the fleet in sight, She stood aghast, one moment moving not. The early morning mists were drifting slow Above the land and sea, and soon would leave The bright horizon-line full clear to view, When naught her far-off vision would obstruct For weal or woe, for hope or dismal doubt. And now from place to place she moved in search ; But as she gazed and gazed, abroad, around, No trace of ships could Ariadne see. Nor even catch the sound of laboring oars ARIADNE. 209 Bending beneath their rowers' sturdy strength, Or masked by distance into muffled roll. As thus she stood upon the rock's high crown, One foot advanced, firm planted on the ledge. Her form half forward bent in eager poise, Its silken draperies swaying in the breeze, — Her loosened hair tight cinctured round her brow By amber bands, and flying far behind, Like golden threads of light, upon the air, Which the glad zephyrs tossed in wanton play In myriad tangled skeins of glistening glow, — Her eyes more blue than bluest cloud o'erhead, Yet seeming black, so stern their strained, fixed gaze ; 14 2IO ARIADNE. With arms outstretched to seaward, and a look Upon her face, beseeching, yet amazed, — She seemed a very goddess, earth-belate, Striving her far-off chariot to discern, And marvelHng much its unexpected loss. But as conviction forced its pointed barbs More fiercely in her brain, her balance fled; And when assured the ships were passed from sight. And Theseus gone, — nor word between them spoke, — She knew full well they ne'er would seek return, — Nor he, nor they, — too deep their treach- ery reached. One flash of light woke consciousness of truth ; Of truth so base it slew her as she stood, And everything grew dark. Her heart stood still, ARIADNE. 211 And paleness, as of death, her brow o'er- spread. Upon the gods she called, that she might die; And would have cast herself into the sea, But slipped, and fell upon the ground, so faint, By fierce despair o'erwrought, she could not move, But prostrate lay in agony of woe ; And with her glorious face turned prone to earth, She strove to think it some too hideous dream. Or some base nightmare of the aching brain, From which she would awake ere long to sense. And see once more him she had loved so well, — So well that, leaving all, kindred and home. And many more towards whom her heart beat dear. She followed hi7n alone in all the world. 212 ARIADNE. Rising at length, frenzy-beset and wild, Her face agleam with passion's fire and scorn, Her beauty e'en more beauteous in its might, She struck her heaving breast, and cried aloud In accents scornful - strong, though checked at times By choking, helpless tears, love-forced but hard : " Be still, O heart ! beat not for one whose troth, Thrice-plighted, proved no safeguard to my love. From death assured I saved him ere we wed, By giving, at my life's own risk, the clew Which guided him beyond captivity, And freed him from the Minotaur's fierce jaws. Agape already for his longed-for prey ; Whom having slain, he purchased goodly ships. To flee, immediate, Minos' vengeful ire, ARIADNE. 213 Which much he feared, and begged me follow him And be his wife. My foolish feet led on ; and when At Paros forced by stress of food to land, We there were wed. An ancient Parian priest Performed the rite ; and when low kneel- ing at The altar's base, the sacrifice consumed, And portions fair-distributed to all. He took my hand in his — but no, not now. Not now would I profane such hour by aught That links it to this hideous one. Away, Away, fair thoughts and dear, ye all are dead, Forever dead ! With Theseus did ye die, And he has gone for aye. O Juno ! Queen ! — Not Queen, but Mother now, — who watchest o'er My coming fate and his, the yet unborn, 214 ARIADNE. Whose cruel father cared not e'en that once — One little once — his eyes might rest on him, Help me to curse this foully-dealing man ! " And yet 't was he first taught me love — and hate ! This last, not till to-day, — e'en now 't is gone; For how could Theseus do such wrong ? 'Twas he first oped the close-shut door- way Of my maiden heart, and entering in did light Its dormant fires with love's bright torch, until At length they blazed with passion's mighty breath, Made pure by love's inborn intensity. Thus, love he taught me first ; and so 'tis hard, Far harder to forget, — too long its power Hath held my soul supreme, enwrapt ARIADNE. 215 In naught but joy, —and yet I must for- get Or die ; no way lies 'twixt these twain, save hate, Which will not come, and madness, curse of gods. Oh, Theseus, couldst thou not have waited still ? Waited but a little time, — for e'en now I feel, intuitive, the dreaded pain O'ertake my heart, which thou so fre- quent soothed With kindly deeds and words more kindly still. And though I did not die, thou know'st, as I, It might be soon ; the learned men so advised. And then, hadst thou been free, and I not known The blackness of thy heart ! Are all the gods High-holding on Olympus' sacred height? Or are they grown so weak that Chaos rules ? 2l6 ARIADNE. Or is it, Love, that thou wast sleeping ? I know not, Nor do I care, indeed, to know auglit more. Theseus is gone, and Ariadne soon — Ay, very soon — must die, it matters not. " O love ! who teachest us such won- drous things We knew not e'er before, nor e'er could know: That we ourselves are naught alone, unmate ; That self-forgetfulness is earth's great A gift which close behind contentment walks. And makes life's service but a happy play ; Who castest our impurities aside. Of mind and heart, so that our love prove chaste ; Who newer breath into our nostrils breathes, — The very breath of gods, divinely fine. ARIADNE. 217 The essence of a mighty strength, past man's Control, yet in its guidance ever true. Making e'en pain and death itself a joy, So that the loved one suffer not, nor sigh ; Who from our hearts dost pluck their fairest buds To fashion them to greater size and glow, And make their beauty and their fra- grance sure. That they may live forever, love's own flowers, — Oh, why dost thou thus trait'rous prove to men ? " And then did Ariadne cast herself Once more upon the ground in weary guise ; Her eyes, sad-set, drooped heavy 'neath her lids, While in their look a wild, strange light still played. But, passion-spent, she crouched upon the rock. 2l8 ARIADNE. And murmured to herself in gentle tone, Her maidens, circling her around, intent. "Ah, me!" she spoke, "what fate is mine on earth ! How can I doubt what Theseus told me true ? And yet, to be thus left, thus left alone, A helpless prey to grief's slow, lingering death, When life and love ne'er seemed so fair before ! — But no, I must not doubt ! O thoughts unkind. To tempt such unbelief, I heed ye not! Men die each hour, but love can never die ; E'en death can never conquer love. The body is not love, as some men think ; Love is the ever-soul of perfect faith. Immortal as the gods ! yet well I know Love hath one death, and only one, but sure. And the false dart which brings it low must by ARIADNE. 219 His hand be hurled who holds love's other hand In truest trust,— naught else can injure love." And now she breathed a tired, weary sigh, And plucking some few leaves which near her grew, Good, as she said, for quench of thirst, or cool Of fevered blood, - and both she needed much, — She bruised them with a stone, to prove the juice. And placing them within her lips, their strength Imbibed. And none suspected wrong, but deemed She, loving much to wander in the fields. Had learned the uses of the herbs and roots, And thus perchance had done for rest and sleep. Vain trust ! each leaf was deadly, as she knew. And left no after-mark to point its deed. 2 20 ARIADNE. Then resting on the nearest maiden's lap Her weary head, she slept, or seemed to sleep. But murmured, ever and anon, one name, The name of Theseus, and of love for aye; And once she mentioned Crete and Minos, king, And seemed bestruck by fear that they were nigh. Thus the unresting hours moved on till noon. When, turning with quick pain about her heart, Three gasping breaths she urged, as if for speech ; But speech was well-nigh gone. " Fare- well, O love," The words she seemed to say, then spoke no more ; And thus it was — that Ariadne died. O Ariadne ! who, though kingly-born. Felt woman's heart beat full within thy breast, ARIADNE. 221 And in thy god-like trust, sustained by love, Held all men in thy sway, save one alone, And he most potent for thy good or ill; Who walked the earth like some em- bodied soul Set free, to teach to men, ere now un- taught. Love's sweetest song, — its own humil- ity; Who, left to die upon a foreign shore By one whose perjured heart ne'er beat with thine. Though pledged threefold, as spouse and king and man. And yet forbore to charge his soul with guilt,— Though once, indeed, a curse thou didst essay, When grief's first passion struck its mighty blow ; — Whose love too mighty proved his truth to doubt, 22 2 ARIADNE. Though close beset by certainty of wrong, But brimmed thy cup of woe with love's best tears, Thy handmaid Hope, thy fount thine own pure soul, — To thee belongs all faithfulness of love, Far greater than Penelope dare claim. Or others, less bespoke in mythic lore. Not e'en the great immortal gods them- selves ; They all did live for love. But thou for love Didst die, — a willing sacrifice, thine own ! And lo ! the gods — thy mind and soul so pure — That thou mightst shine, ensemplar, set on high, Of constancy and love — seven bright stars 1 Of whitest lustre to thy keeping gave ; And in their steadfast gleam, emblem befit * The Northern Crown. ARIADNE. 223 Of thine undying faith, by love made strong, Thou yet shalt live, love's life thine own for aye ! Farewell, then, Ariadne ! glimmering faint Through the blue ether of thy far-off home. Thy stars' pale rays, untired, e'en yet descend As pure and bright as once thou wert on earth, But with them naught of Theseus or distrust. Thou knowest all, yet love still holds its sway. Farewell ! Bomtn^t'Mim^^f ®tc. THE CRITIC'S BRUSH. What a rainbow of colors the critic Doth hold in his hand analytic ! And he makes the poor poet To ruefully show it, If he chance in a mood that 's mephitic. At the first he will paint him deep red^ By the praise he happens to shed ; Then he turns him quite blue By a harsh word or two, Or ash-gray by his prophecies dread. And e'en green he may make him appear, When he daubs him with ridicule's leer ; And he bleaches him white, When he scares him with fright By predicting a hopeless career. 15 2 26 THE CRITIC'S BRUSH, And his skin with yellow he brushes, When in spite he condemns all he touches ; And he makes him look black By his angry attack, And bright purple whenever he curses. He does him up brown by a squint, And no chance for the future will hint. Then he brings a pink glow By a hope he may throw ; But crushed strawberry 's his favorite tint! Yet while all these colors he uses, 'T is rarely that ever he chooses To try that one alone Which all else might atone, — For the color of gold he refuses. Thus the poet, chameleon-like, glows With the hues his critic bestows ; But it must be confessed. Though he 'd glad stand the test, That the color he needs most ne'er shows ! THE BUMBLE-BEE. 227 THE BUMBLE-BEE. A thrilling sound my listening ear caught. Burton. Oh, the droning and intoning Of the humble bumble-bee, Like the sound of some great organ Heard across the quiet sea ! It may speak of God and Nature, But 't is terrible to me, — For like stern old Calvin's sermons, It 's suggestive of the D , And it brings a sense of torment From which gladly I would flee, — Does the humming and the thrumming Of the humble bumble-bee ! Oh, the droning and intoning Of the humble bumble-bee. Like the rumbling of the storm-wind On some far-off rocky lee ! 228 THE BUMBLE-BEE. How it fills my soul with terror When he whiffs too close to me, With that vague, uncertain motion That 's so horrible to see ! For if in my hair entangled, — And such thing I know can be ! — While he fumbles and he tumbles In his efforts to get free, — Oh, the droning and intoning Of the humble bumble-bee, Like the deep, impatient groaning Of the great, unquiet sea, — Would cease awhile, I doubt it not ! But with what malicious glee Its little sting would play away, With its one and two and three, As children on pianos strum, Is not quite unknown to me ! Nor is it, I am very sure. To the humble bumble-bee. Oh, the droning and intoning Of the humble bumble-bee. Like the wild and plaintive moaning Of some wind-entangled tree ! — MARTHA STARR. 229 There are three of them now coming, And they 're coming straight for me ! Oh, avaunt, ye wretched creatures ; To your wildernesses flee, With your monotone suggestive Of the tortures of the D ! You humming, bumming, thrumming thing ! Oh, you horrid bumble-bee ! MARTHA STARR. Martha Starr she used to be, Mardie she was called by most ; And a prettier girl than she All the village could not boast. But she married and grew fat. Which her beauty much did mar ; And they called her, after that, Nothing else but — "Mardi Gras." 230 THE TWINS. THE TWINS. " So alike," the old nurse said, While she shook her solemn head, " That it 's very hard to tell How to jedge of sich ! " And you do not sometimes know, Such resemblance these twins show, When you see them even now, Which of them is which ! Then they both were young and small, And their blessed baby squall Did not help one to decide Which was Jack or Gill. For they both would cry in tune Morn and evening, night and noon. And all other little things They 'd alike fulfil. Both were fed with the same spoon ; Both cried out at once, " Goon, goon THE TWINS. 231 Both the same big cradle shared, While apace they grew. Neither had a speck of hair ; With blue eyes they both did stare ; And in all their movements queer They were one — not two. But at last it awkward grew Not to know the which from who j And a plan was hit upon To distinguish them : One was tied with ribbons blue, For the other pink must do ; And in this way it seemed safe To dispose of them. This at first was well enough. And it saved us many a huff. While the two were kept apart, All was well, I trow ; But alas ! when dressed each day. Both the strings aside we 'd lay. And in fastening them again They 'd get mixed somehow ! 232 THE TWINS. So in time we let it go, Telling all the neighbors so ; And from that day unto this No one knows who 's who ! And indeed I doubt if Gill Knows himself from Jack until He has asked him, " Who am I ? " And he says, " You ^re you / " THE PARSON'S WOOING. 233 THE PARSON'S WOOING. The most absent-minded of men was he, And he always will be, I trow ; But the funniest thing he ever did I 'm determined to tell you now. 'T was years ago : but it still makes me smile To call up that day of my life. He had just taken orders, and seemed to think He ought also to take a wife. Of course I had somewhat expected this, But not in the way that he took ; For he knelt by my side like knight of old, With a rapt and serious look. And, " Dearly Beloved," he then began. But forgetting what he would say. 234 THE PARSON'S WOOING. He kept straight on with the rest of the prayer — Till I rose in a startled way. Then, catching the sense of what he had done, He waited to say nothing more, But stammering something I could not hear, Made a frantic bolt for the door ! And a letter came the next afternoon, In which he sought all to explain, And said he thought that 't was better to write Than to risk such a scene again ! The kneeling there with his eyes half shut. And a perfect silence around. The opening words of the prayer on his lips — Had proved too familiar ground. And he had gone on as had been his wont — But what more is there need to say. Since here I sit as his Reverence's wife And tell you this story to-day ? 1 TEMP us FUG IT. 235 TEMPUS FUGIT. We were wandering in the belfry Of an old and famous church ; And ere long we reached the clock-tower In our high-ascending search. And we gazed upon the prospect, As we felt we ought to do, And were just about descending, When a new sight met our view. There before us stood the dial Of the cumbrous, quaint old clock, Fastened firm by iron stanchions In its lofty bed of rock ; And around it thickly clustered Flies of every size and shape. As they were its natural guardians, Shielding it from wrath and rape. " Ah," my friend said, " Tempus fugit ; " And I looked up in surprise. 236 EPITAPHIC. " Why," he queried, smiling gravely, " Don't you see the clock and flies ? " " Time flies ! so they are," I answered ; And 't was almost worth the pun. Then we wandered slowly downward, And the great clock tolled forth, one ! EPITAPHIC. His tissues were lymphatic ; His temperament phlegmatic ; His mind epigrammatic ; His manner most dogmatic; His heart was democratic ; His tone aristocratic ; His bearing plutocratic; His voice was most emphatic ; His gestures quite dramatic; His tastes they were aquatic; His trouble was hepatic; His treatment hydropathic ; His death was in an attic; His friends, although ecstatic. Sent garlands emblematic, And thought him most erratic ! THE MOUSE AND THE LADY. 237 i>. THE MOUSE AND THE LADY. A HOME EPISODE. "A mouse ran up my lady's stocking, And bit her knee, — oh, dear, how shocking ! A JOLLY mouse, a social mouse, Who else indeed would dare ? — Approaching softly, boldly crept Beneath my neighbor's chair. She, all unconscious, sewed upon A pair of tattered hose, Unmindful of marauder near Her sacred woman's toes. I quiet lolled in cosey chair, Reading a rare old book ; When suddenly — a shriek, a jump, The very rafters shook ! 238 CONTRADICTIONS. What happened then ? What happened there ? I cannot tell thee more. But sojne thing, by a savage kick, Was landed on the floor ! CONTRADICTIONS. BEFORE. " I HATE him ! " savagely she cried ; " Why don't the man propose ? " For he was handsome, young, and rich, A paragon of beaus. AFTER. " I love him," so she fondly said ; But to her heart she told, " Oh, what a lucky match for me ! They say he 's made of gold." AFTER ALL. But quickly did he find her out, Which brought things to an end, And then he simply jilted her, And married — her best friend ! TIVO KINDS OF TEA. 239 TWO KINDS OF TEA. Oh, the tea in Boston Harbor, When a nation would be free, Was thrown so quickly overboard, Because 't was taxed tea. But the tea in Boston Harbor Took deep root beneath the sea. And came again to Boston town. But this time as Liber-iy ! 240 A PLAIN HINT. A PLAIN HINT. He needs a hint ! To-night he asked me for a flower, A wretched flower ! When, without stint, If he had asked me — well, you know In that same hour ! Next time, I vow, I '11 tell him that it is not right. Unless — unless — He means — somehow — That 's it ! I wonder if I dare ? T/ien I '11 say, yes ! ENVOY. And she did dare ; And being won, When he was won, They made a pair, Yet were they one ! FLORA. 241 FLORA. We wandered in the moonlit lane, Just she and I together, And sweet the apple-blossoms' scent, The perfume of the heather; We looked into each other's eyes, And felt 't would last forever. We had no need of words to tell Of what our hearts were thinking. It was enough from love's full cup We both were madly drinking; And as we gazed up towards the skies, We caught the bright stars winking. And thus we sauntered slowly on, She nestling close beside me, Until I almost heard her heart, — That heart she 'd ne'er denied me. At length we reached her humble home, Where love so oft would guide me. 16 242 FLORA. Then on the sofa we sat down, And wondered at each other ; And each one thought, though naught was said, Could there be such another ? But quick the door flew open wide, And there stood — 7iot her mother ! But some one with a bowl of milk, Which soon was set before her, When down she jumped, but gracefully, My love, my beauty. Flora, — For she was but my black-and-tan ! You see how I adore her. ENIGMAS AND CHARADES. 243 ENIGMAS AND CHARADES.^ Take a word of cloth-yard fame, Innocent of praise or blame ; Speak it softly, and no woe Echoes in your voice so low. Then, but breathe upon it once, Plain the change to every dunce ; Speak it now with muttered breath, And the sound breeds sin and death. Thus, a fearful spell you wreak Just by breathing while you speak ; And a word, before so plain. Now with horror thrills the brain. II. Two rivers and the end of man My whole word form, — a wondrous plan ; ' For answers, see Table of Contents. 244 ENIGMAS AND CHARADES. For ere it stands a perfect thing, Sad torture must its being wring. First, flayed alive it has to be, Its eyes torn out, its heart set free ; And after that, with ruthless zest You boil its carcass, all undrest. And sometimes, not content with that. You pound it fiercely till it 's flat ; And having thus your dire work wrought, You say a grace, and deem it naught. Three very little words, — if, for, and ajid, — In tongues, one modern, two of ancient use. Do make one English word, so-called. Though plainly culled its root from Spanish land. 'T is thought by men much comfort to provoke ; But all its promise often ends in smoke. ENIGMAS AND CHARADES. 245 IV. M.Y first I am and my second^ too ; For my thirds my son would fully do ; My whole is a thing you scarce could lose, Which artists, doctors, dressmakers use. No wife this riddle her husband must ask, Lest the answer prove a difificult task. My first and second Dryden sings ; A poet's name in echo rings, And to my whole completeness brings. THE END. 41 I