! PS A DORIC REED By Zitella Cocke UBRARY OF CONGRESS. Chap. Copyright No.. Shelf....C.^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. \ F OATEN STOP SERIES II A DORIC REED BY ZITELL/rCOCKE BOSTON COPELAND AND DAY M D CCC XCV Y" — ■ 'as* 7S 1-34 & C4 COPYRIGHT 1895 BY COPELAND AND DAY THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY \ OF MY BROTHER, JOHN BINION COCKE, WHOSE NOBILITY OF SOUL ENDEARED HIM TO HONORABLE MEN AND TRUE WOMEN. CONTENTS Page SUNRISE IN AN ALABAMA CANEBRAKE I POMEGRANATES 4 WOOD VIOLET 5 THE GIFT OF LIFE 6 *T IS TIME WE TWO WERE MAYING J LOVE-MAKING IN HAY-MAKING 9 SOMETHING IO GREEK MOTHER'S LULLABY II GODS OF HELLAS 12 LOVE AND LAUREL 1 5 THE COMFORT OF THE PINES 1 6 TIME AND WE 1 8 TWO MAIDENS I 8 HOMESICKNESS jy A MINISTERING SPIRIT 21 THE DYING NEVER WEEP 22 THE DEAD MOTHER MOCKING-BIRD 23 2 5 SONG OF THE MISSISSIPPI 27 APRIL FOOLS JUNE AUGUST THE SOLACE OF NATURE 34 vii 29 33 CONTENTS Page CIRCUMSTANCE 36 THE BLEACHER 37 THE THRESHING-FLOOR 39 A RAINY DAY 40 AN ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT 42 FOR LOVE'S SAKE 44 NEW LOVE 44 WILD ROSE BY THE SEA 46 MY MARGUERITE 47 THE HERMIT THRUSH 48 THE JAY-BIRD 49 THE IDLE BOY 5o DETHRONED 5i ARCADY 5 1 FOR ME 53 RESPONSIBILITY 53 THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 55 FIRST EASTER MORN 56 EASTER FLOWERS 58 EASTER-TIDE 59 THE EASTER FEAST 60 THE BABBLING BROOK 61 WHEN POLLY TAKES THE AIR 63 nancy's way 64 MY GREAT-GREAT UNCLE'S WIFE 66 MISS nancy's GOWN 68 CASTLES IN SPAIN 70 viii s - CONTENTS Page ON AN OLD CABINET 72 HER NAME 74 SONNETS BACH 79 BEETHOVEN 80 MOZART 8l MENDELSSOHN 82 SCHUMANN 83 SCHUBERT 84 CHOPIN 85 PATIENCE 86 SUCCESS 87 PONTIUS PILATE 88 TO WORDSWORTH 89 THE LONELY SHORE 90 A SONNET 91 IX j A DORIC REED SUNRISE IN AN ALABAMA CANEBRAKE THE lordly sun, rising from underworld, Shoots yellow beams aslant the tangled brake 5 Magnolia, with her mirror leaves unfurled, Hath caught the glancing radiances that make Bright aureoles around her virgin bloom — A pale madonna, 'neath her hood of green, With unprofaned cheek and brow serene ; The pines upon the uplands merge from gloom Of night, and with the dawn's intenser glow Their serried lances bright and brighter grow! The conquering light ever ascending higher Fills Alabama's stream with molten fire 5 A DORIC REED A myriad rays pierce down the wooded slopes Till forest vistas form kaleidoscopes! The dogwood blossoms shine like stars of m g° ld > Quick flows the amber of the tall sweet gum, And swifter still the shifting colors come To tulip-tree and luscious-scented plum, And sassafras, with buddings manifold. The yellow jasmine and lush muscadine With crab and honeysuckle intertwine, And thousand odors sweet confederate, And clear, cool air so interpenetrate That sky above and blooming earth beneath Seem to exhale a long, delicious breath! But hark! woodpecker beats his dull tattoo, The jay bird screams, low moans the shy cuckoo, Loud chirps the blackbird, gently woos the dove, Till chains of melody link grove to grove ; The red-bird shows his scarlet coat and crest And sounds his bugle call, while from his nest In deeper woods the hermit thrush intones, SUNRISE With heavenly mind, his morning orisons 5 Kingfisher, like a spirit of the air, His swift flight wheels, circling with rain- bow hue The water's edge ; and see! a hawthorn fair Grows tremulous, for on her tender spray- Sits nature's poet, a romancer gay, Sweet mocking-bird, singing, as he were fain To greet the sun with all that bird could say, Or think or dream within his tiny brain 5 Anon, his throat overflows with tuneful might, And straight upon a poplar's topmost height He flies, and his full diapason sounds. From stop to stop, and now from side to side, He flings his clear-toned dithyrambic rounds, Then, masterly, he runs the gamut wide Of his rare instrument, till joy and hope And sweetest love speak from the wondrous scope In epic majesty, now soft, now strong, And lo! the air is throbbing with his song! The climax reached, from bough to bough he drops 3 A DORIC REED With trailing cadences ; then in a copse Below — low, liquid warbles uttering — He falls with palpitating breast and wing! Effulgent light illumes the broad blue tent of heaven, The sleeping Earth awakes to toil : the Sun is risen! POMEGRANATES POMEGRANATES sweet and pome- granates sour Hang in the red October sun : Nobody knew, when they were in flower And their life had just begun, Which was the sweet and which was the sour, Till they ripened one by one. The blooms were hats of cardinal hue And trumpets of yellow flame 5 And as the fruits to perfection grew, Their red-coats were just the same. Then the darts of the sun cleft the rinds in two, And their deep-red hearts burst out to view, 4 WOOD VIOLET But till they were tasted, nobody knew Where the sweet and the sour came. For pomegranate sour is a bitter cheat, But a luscious thing is pomegranate sweet ! In youth-time's bright and rosy bower A bevy of maidens play : Their fresh young life is just in flower, But which is the sweet and which is the sour, Pray, who will dare to say ? But there will come a day When life's sharp darts Will cleave their hearts, And taste we must in adversity's hour Which nature is sweet and which is the sour. WOOD VIOLET VIOLET in the mossy wood, By a streamlet growing, With her head within her hood When the Wind was blowing, Hid her head so modestly Till the rough Wind had passed by. 5 A DORIC REED But Lord Sun came thro' the wood, In his armor blazing. Violet, with her blue eyes, stood, On his brightness gazing. When my Lord Sun had passed by, Violet laid her down to die. THE GIFT OF LIFE I SAW one whose misshapen form and face Did mark him spurned and barred from Nature's grace Of motherhood, — as 'twere a step-dame's spite Had smitten him with bitter curse and blight — Yet lifting vision bleared to smiling sky — He laughed to see the Summer birdlings fly- And clapped distorted palms, and sang a song, Unshamed and all unconscious of his wrong. O sweet, mysterious gift of life, — that scorns 6 'TIS TIME WE TWO The thrall of Fate, her bufferings and thorns, And bound in chains, rejoices still to be — And by that joy divine proves its divinity ! 'TIS TIME WE TWO WERE MAYING OH, let us go a-Maying : The warm south wind is blowing, and the wood is fresh and green, And whispering leaves are saying We are losing all by staying, When sweet the grass is growing, and the cowslips in between. 'T is time that we were Maying : The birds will sing the sweeter when they know that there are two In forest pathways straying Who can tell what they are saying, — And cloud-ships sail the fleeter through the tender melting blue. A DORIC REED *T is time we two were Maying ; For Summer days are flying, and grim Win- ter comes apace. And pleasure scorns delaying, Nor will tarry for our praying : Then why should we be sighing, when the days are full of grace ! 'T is joy to go a-Maying, When hawthorn boughs are filling with sweet odors field and grove, And blushes are betraying — What the lips dare not in saying — And two young hearts are thrilling to the magic touch of love ! How shall we go a-Maying, When Winter winds are blowing, and the skies are no more fair ? With love forever staying, We shall always go a-Maying, And find sweet flowers growing e'en when fields are bleak and bare. LOVE-MAKING IN HAY-MAKING LOVE'S time is his own, In frigid or torrid or temperate zone. In winter or summer or springtide, or whether The sunshine is glorious, or winds stretch their tether To batter a city or play with a feather. Love will have his way, Whatever the weather; And yet in the days that are gone, as to-day, The making of love and the making of hay Somehow go together. Love's way is his own, In frigid or torrid or temperate zone. And whether at noontide, at eve, or at morn- ing, He comes as he chooses, and comes without warning, And prisons and barriers are but his scorning. So Love has his way In spite of the weather; But why in the present and past, tell me, pray, Do making of love and the making of hay Always go together ? SOMETHING A SOMETHING hovers in the air, And poises o'er the naked tree, And rides upon the winged cloud, Yet hath no form the eye can see; But to the deeper, inward sight, It is a presence sweet and true, That fills the universe with joy, And wakes the earth with impulse new ! A something in the forest wood, It scarcely may be named a voice, Yet fettered captives hear its call, And in their longing hearts rejoice: — A subtile whisper in the breeze, So soft, it seems a spirit's breath, Yet leafless boughs grow tremulous With ecstasy, at what it saith ! A something rises with the morn, And lingers with the sun's last ray, Brings rapture to the silent night, And lustre to the shining day; With yearning, half of bliss and pain, It swells my heart, and, wondering, I ask, — What can it be ? A bird Sings at my window, — "It is spring! " 10. mm*f* ~~f i»n - • »*■ ■■ ■»» ' fc-*U^ GREEK MOTHER'S LULLABY. SLEEP, my child 5 no care can cumber Thy young heart, nor break thy slum- ber, — Love doth all thy moments number. Let thy sleep Be sweet and deep! While thy mother's arms caress thee, May great Zeus protect and bless thee! Gentle zephyrs woo and kiss us, Sweet with breath of dear Cephisus, Soft with music of Ilissus. Zephyrs' wings Are downy things. While thy mother's lips caress thee, May great Zeus protect and bless thee! Sleep, and see Olympus shining, — Where the gods, in bliss reclining, Know not pain nor mortal pining $ Heavenly beams Shall light thy dreams. While thy mother's hopes caress thee, May great Zeus protect and bless thee ! Rest, and in thy dreaming follow, — Through the flow'ry glade and hollow, — 1 1 ^ ^v I A DORIC REED In the chase, with swift Apollo ; Ne'er so fleet Are mortal feet. While thy mother's smiles caress thee, May great Zeus defend and bless thee! Dream, and see bright Eros springing Through the air, his arrows flinging, — Keenest joy and sorrow bringing. Ah, his wings Hide cruel stings! While thy mother's tears caress thee, May great Zeus defend and bless thee ! Soft as summer breezes calling, Light as summer roses falling, Slumber woos to dear enthralling. Sweet and deep My darling' s sleep ; Love and joy and hope caress thee! Zeus will guard thee, Zeus will bless thee! GODS OF HELLAS OYE gods of sunny Hellas, are ye gone forevermore From the crystal caves of Ocean and the singing, wave-kissed shore ? 12 GODS OF HELLAS Are ye hiding in the mountains, do ye lurk within the streams? Can ye come no more to mortals in their longings and their dreams ? Have ye quit serene Olympus, — is it o'er, your golden reign ? And the grand Idaean Mother with her fair immortal train, Shall they never come again? O ye gods of sunny Hellas, do the clouds enfold you now From our mortal ken, as when ye leaped from high Olympus' brow To the green Thessalian forests and the founts of Castaly, — Or to fierce Scamander's raging tide, to fight for th' Atridae ? Are Dodona's oaks forsaken, and the heaven- inspired Dove, — Shall she never utter more within the dark and mystic grove The dread oracles of Jove ? Does the pure, untarnished Artemis, with silver-sandalled feet, Lead her goddess nymphs no longer to the chase, — a huntress fleet ? 13 ■>■ A DORIC REED Nor the winged messenger of gods make bright the common air? Nor the blue-eyed virgin Pallas heed the maiden's "plaining prayer? Does the Goddess of the Graces hold her prize of golden fruit ? Do the waters of bright Helicon awake Apollo's lute? Are the Muses all grown mute ? Nay, the gods of sunny Hellas give us answer when we call 5 We shall hear them, if our struggling souls we loose from worldly thrall, — Bring the eyes to see the substance in the shadow j for 'tis so, Plastic Nature yields her secrets to the hearts that love her; — lo! Echo lives on yonder hills — fair Dryads speak, and Zephyrs fan Out of brook-born reed-pipes, music sweet as when the great god Pan After trembling Syrinx ran ! 14 * $. ^^s/SI ^ * — " * — " **• LOVE AND LAUREL LOVELY Daphne, from Apollo flying, Is no fable in our world to-day. Tender swains with ardent love are sighing, Pretty maidens hear and run away. Yet will Love not always be a-woo- ing, — Fate oft interposes her decree. Lo ! Apollo, his dear one pursuing, Sees her changed into a Laurel-tree. And the Laurel-tree his heart consoling, — Heart of pain, of sweetest love bereft, — In his nature, with a power controlling, Fills the void that gentle Daphne left. Laurel-blossoms cheer him, love resign- ing* Sacred to Apollo's lofty name; Laurel-leaves, his noble brow entwning, Tell to men and gods his lasting fame. Can the Laurel, as in the beginning, Sighing swains from Beauty's sway recall ? Laurel leaves and blossoms, are they winning Love-lorn souls from passion's burning thrall ? 15 A DORIC REED Yea, Ambition woos and wins Apollo, In the present as in days gone by: If the Laurel blooms, think not he'll follow, Lovely Maiden, when you turn and fly ! THE COMFORT OF THE PINES I FAIN would seek that brotherhood, The monastery of the wood; Earth-bound and tempest-tossed, yet given The blessed calm and peace of heaven ! Tall hooded monks, in solemn band, Uplifting prayerful arms they stand, Intoning whispered orison And glad triumphant antiphon! Brave brothers, yielding limb and form Unto the insult of the storm, Or battling in exultant song Against the fierce tornado's wrong! Sublimely patient! grandly calm! Dispensing life-inspiring balm, 16 THE COMFORT OF THE PINES Till wind-swept plain and forest dense Are comforted with rich incense $ Till solace, far beyond their ken, Enwraps the toil-worn brains of men, And bruised hearts their anguish ease Mid soothing, healing ministries ! O brothers strong, did the same Hand Frame you that made me, — ye who stand Undaunted in unchanging light Through Winter's wrath and Time's de- spite ? Who feel life's cruel strife and stress Untainted by its bitterness, Whose deepest sigh, whose sorest tear, Such sweetness gives to atmosphere, That ruthless Winds, so long withstood, Become your ministers of good, And bear upon their dying breath The very antidote of death ! 17 TIME AND WE IMPROVE the moments while you may, For Time is flying, mortals say 5 But Time saith nay. 'T is we, alas ! who come and go, And Time doth stay 5 For Time doth like a river flow. Yet in its secret depths below, Sweet fountains play, And youth perpetual bestow, While swift away Our frail barks drift to weal or woe. A TWO MAIDENS LADDIE sailed out on a calm blue sea, And two maidens fell a-weeping. "Alas! 1 ' said they, "*Tis a doleful day j Mayhap nevermore To the sweet green shore Shall lover to me And brother to thee — 18 HOMESICKNESS Shall lover to thee And brother to me — Come back from the treacherous, smiling sea." A good ship went down in a wild, wild sea, And two maidens fell a-weeping. The years passed by, And two cheeks were dry: — A wife and a mother, with babe on her knee, Sat crooning a tender old lullaby, Nor thought of the lover beneath the sea ; Bat at eventide, By a lone fireside, A sister sat weeping for him who had died, Who came nevermore To the bright green shore To wander with her the sweet meadows o'er. HOMESICKNESS LIKE children in a garden fair, Who wander thro' each flowerful maze, And drink from sunny founts with glee, And look with long and lingering gaze 19 A DORIC REED Upon the wondrous scene, — yet fain Would be at home for love and rest, — So we, in this bright world of ours, With strange homesickness are possest! Through garden fair and palace proud We vainly seek our hearts to please. Life spreads her feast ; we sit us down, Yet are we never quite at ease — Some hope, some yearning, stirs the soul, E'en with the chalice at our lips, — Some rapturous strain from shores afar, That doth all meaner mirth eclipse! What meaneth it that we should weep More for our joys than for our fears, That we should sometime smile at grief And look at Pleasure's show thro 1 tears? Alas! — but homesick children we, Who would, but cannot, play the while — We dream of nobler heritage, — Our Father's home — our Father's smile! Yet Earth, kind mother, fain would please, And is herself so fair to see, And offers many a cup of joy, But none without satiety 5 20 A MINISTERING SPIRIT And she shows many a garden fair, That tempts our eager feet to roam, Yet never are we quite at ease, And never feel we quite at home! A MINISTERING SPIRIT WHEN I was dead one year, I came Unto mine own, — it was so sweet To see their faces and to hear The voices that I could not greet: — Within the old, familiar home, They talked and laughed with youthful zest, — Brave brothers and fair sisters dear, — Nor little dreamed who was their guest. They measured out the morrow's plans, And counted joys that filled to-day, Their eager eyes sought present good, — I was a being passed away: — The world was with them and did lure, With throng of happy, living things They could not feel my spirit touch, Nor hear the rustle of my wings! 21 A DORIC REED And all went forth, save one alone, Who to the window casement stole Where erst we two were wont to sit, — ■ And in the anguish of her soul, Wept long and sore, with trembling hands Upon her tear-washed face, and cried: " God pity me this woful day, — This was the day my brother died! " Then, with a spirit's subtle ken God-given, — did I minister Sweet comfort, such as God gave me Unmeasured, — gave I unto her. Till, sad with pleasure's surfeit, — they Who went, returning, found no trace Of woe in her, and whispered low: — " She wears God's glory on her face! " THE DYING NEVER WEEP THE dying never weep! Does vision of the heavenly height Break in upon their waning sight? Or doth God wipe away all tears, Ere yet they touch th' eternal years? Is there no weeping for the eyes That soon shall ope in Paradise? 22 THE DEAD MOTHER While we our tearful vigil keep, And wonder that they do not weep! The dying never weep ! But oh, the living weep, and cry For God's dear pity, as they lie Before His throne in helplessness And break their hearts in vain distress, The while His saints in blessed place Behold the beauty of His face, And drink His peace, with rapture deep, And wonder, we for them should weep! THE DEAD MOTHER HOW still the house! The light peer- ing between The close-knit vines that o'er the casement lean, Falls faint and low, — fearing to touch the bed Where I lie cold and dead! The bird whose song awoke me with the dawn, And filled with melody the fragrant lawn, This morning sang a faltering, plaintive lay, away 23 A DORIC REED Fond, weeping friends caress my marble brow And tell my deeds of good, as they, somehow, Would fain eke out in tender words and tears The love of mortal years! And kindred hands, for many a yearestranged, Have o'er my form the friendly clasp ex- changed, And I, in death, have healed the bitter strife I sorely wept in life! The conscious door opes noiselessly, and he Who had few words of tenderness for me Kneels at my side and cries: " Couldst thou but live! Forgive, sweet wife, forgive I" Yet I am calm, with calmness of the dead Who, by the love of God, are comforted 5 — My peace doth like a mighty river roll, And rest unto my soul! But hark! a voice — a cry, — so small, so faint ! My child ! — In Paradise I hear thy plaint ! O God ! — Grant but to me its steps to guide, And I ask naught beside! 24 MOCKING-BIRD FULL-THROATED, trim, Dapper of limb, Agile, alert, Nimbly expert, Hanging somehow On topmost bough, A-top of trees, — Saying with ease What other birds Strive to attain, — Weaving their words Over again In his refrain ! — Deep in the wood Tormenting owls, Changing his mood, Home to farm-brood, Teasing the fowls: Out on the grass Quick to surpass Fleetest insect, Running erect, Darts at his prize, Then swiftly flies 25 A DORIC REED To myrtle bower, There in full power The world to capture With his wild rapture, — Calling and cooing, Wailing and wooing: An ode to his love, A lyric to Dove, A challenge to Wren, To Blue-bird and Hen, To Bob-white and Kildee, To Catbird and Pewee, To Robin and Thrush: Until the whole tree-full Of sweet singers gleeful Lose heart and hush: Outsung and confounded, Enchanted, astounded, And flying afar, seek a covert to light on, Away from this wonderful, maddening Chrichton! 26 SONG OF THE MISSISSIPPI OMEN, ye are wise, ye mortals are wise, — With work of your hands and sight of your eyes! With reaching down deep to record that lies On earth's burning heart j with reading the skies, And telling the stars — O men, are ye wise ? For secrets I know, As onward I flow — From aeons long gone Ere yet ye had won Your place 'neath the sun — Ay, secrets ye yearn To grapple and learn. And ripples that sport o 1 er my bosom in glee, And joyously sing their bright way to the sea, Are hints of a far and a deep mystery Your hands cannot fathom, your eyes cannot see; And many a legend of lake and of fountain Is rocked in my waves, and lulled to its rest, And many a stream from its home on the mountain Has poured its wild song in my fathomless breast. 27 A DORIC REED Deep, deep, 'neath my tide I hold and I hide The ciphers and runes And mystical tunes Of Mays and of Junes That ages ago came to sing and to bide On my echoing shores, ere your hero wide- eyed With wonder descried My far-reaching waters, and looked with amaze On the length and the depth and the breadth of my ways. I hark to the voice of the Storm-King's loud call, I hark, but his might cannot hold me in thrall. The faint, floating zephyr, the tornado strong, Have passed o' er mybosom for centuries long, With raging and roaring, in dreamful repose, Yet bides not my current, forever it flows, On, on to the deep, Where ever shall sleep The records ye long for, but which I must keep! The wonderful lore Of the white morning frore, 28 APRIL FOOLS The glittering sheen On the tall fir-tree green, The icebergs that freeze In the far polar seas, The rent and the groan Of boulder and stone — Are sounding and swelling my grand mono- tone! O men, like vain shadows, ye come and ye go, Ye delve and ye suffer, ye toil and ye sow; Your labor is weary, your knowledge is slow. Ye span my proud waters, but never, I trow, Shall gather my wisdom, or learn what I know, — As onward and onward and onward I flow. APRIL FOOLS "\\ ^HEN comes fair and blithe April, VV Send a fool where'er you will." Thus doth read the halting rhyme Of the quaint and olden time, And we think the ancient creed Suited quite to modern need; 29 A DORIC REED April hath not lost a whit Of her charm, since first 'twas writ. Dearest maid of all the year, Bright with laughter, sweet with tear, Woman in her mind and rule, Who would not be April's fool? She will none of Winter's ire, Naught hath she of Summer's fire, Long as she doth hold her lease, Winds and waves must be at peace, While she softly, deftly weaves Fairy bow'rs of bloom and leaves, Proving, in her magic art, Earth is ever young at heart, Scattering on lake and lawn Etchings by young leaflets drawn, Shadow-pictures on the pools, For the eyes of April fools! Oh, how dear her promises, Rich in unreaped harvestries! Dreamed-of joy is sweeter far Than the tasted pleasures are 5 Lovelier than midsummer days Are her noons of golden haze. When thro' leafy ambuscade Sun-kissed cloudlets masquerade 30 ■ JUNE On the bosom of the brook, When, perchance, with lute or book, Prone, "mid shadows sweet and cool, Lies the dreaming April fool ! She is truest alchemist, With her skies of amethyst, Marsh and meadow daisy-pied, Forest floor-ways beautified, Showing still some phase of good In her ever-changing mood; If she weep, or if she smile, She hath yet a way and wile, Human fancy to ensnare; Though her charms they may forswear, Boasted learning — wisdom's schools, — At her call are April fools! JUNE FULL-LEAFED, full-flowered, full- voiced, full-hearted June, Who art among thy sisters of the year, Like Hera 'mid her goddesses, complete In beauty's symmetry, where doth appear 3i A DORIC REED All perfect graces, set in perfect tune! As viol's resonance and flute-tones sweet Fulfil desire of the expectant ear, So thy soft skies, with tenderness replete, Our unvoiced yearnings satisfy, and seem To love us with their loveliness ; day- beam, Grown common to familiar sight, hath caught New radiance from thy glance ; the brook' s redress From winter's thrall thy magic hand hath wrought, And she, with song and forest legend fraught, All jubilant to feel thy dear caress, Enchants the listening leaves with many a tale Which they, glad gossips, whisper through the vale 5 While trumpet winds their battle blowings cease To sing with siren voice thy hymn of peace! Whatever is good thou dost make better still. White-winged swan clouds sailing in quiet sky, Swift birds pouring their carols as they fly, Bright stars that almost speak their sym- pathy, 32 AUGUST The azure mountain-top and gleeful rill, The fragrant valley bloom and verdant hill, Sunshine and shadow, day and night, fulfil Thy joy, and Earth is Paradise at thy sweet will! AUGUST NOW Nature sits with folded hands, As resting from the busy year, While o'er the wide and teeming lands She contemplates the goodly cheer She gives j all energizing powers Lie mute and still, and drowsy hours Move noiselessly, their jocund moods And songs foregoing: in deep woods And fields, a slumb'rous silence broods Unbroken, save by beetles' drone And o'er-fed bees' dull monotone, Or leaves' low rustle as they make A pathway for the gliding snake. The patient cows seek shadows cool, That stretch themselves like giants prone Along the edges of the pool — And midst the waters stand knee-deep, In dreamy, semi-conscious sleep. 33 — A DORIC REED Birds sing no more, but on the hill The tender plaint of whip-poor-will, Who, telling oft her woful tale, Lingers full late after her time, — While at slow intervals the chime Of sheep-bells in the distant vale Falls on the ear like tuneful rhyme, Lulling the senses, till in idle dreams, We half forget the real in the thought of that which seems. THE SOLACE OF NATURE OH, come and rest! — Thou who art sad and sore of worldly strain, Fair Nature calls, and woostheeto her breast. Her yearning heart is fain To cheer thine own, and she hath many a cure For wounded souls, from fountains fresh and pure ! Leave tedious books, And read the Scripture writ on flow'ry plain, The Gospel of the softly singing brooks And fields of mellow grain, — 34 THE SOLACE OF NATURE Love's Revelation sweet, — and thou shaltbe Too full of joy to know satiety! The flowerful maze Of herbage lush in wild abandonment, The mountain steep, and winding forest ways With bright-eyed blooms besprent, And peaceful valleys 1 tilth, — hold balm to ease The aching heart and o'erwrought mind's disease! Kind Mother Earth Shall quicken thy dead courage, — as that one Who caught new strength when he but touched her girth, And noble victory won : — Lo! gracious ministers stand everywhere To lift from thee the burden of thy care ! For Nature hath Comfort wherewith a mother comforteth; Nor in her solace, Pain's reproach, nor scathj And her inspiring breath Shall wake thy dying hope to joyous life, And nerve thy faltering purpose to the strife ! 35 CIRCUMSTANCE WHENCE is thy might, O Circumstance, That thy dread clutch a human soul, A destiny, may seize? What chance Or power doth fix thy stern control? As petals in the calyx set, As gems wrought into metal's clasp, As gold ensnared in iron net — So are we held within thy grasp! May we not do, shall we not dare, If thy command doth say us nay? Shall life sink aimless in despair, When thou dost mock the prayers we pray? Art thou relentless? Far beyond Thy menace rises dauntless Will, Which dares to break thy ruthless bond, And nobler destiny fulfil! A craven he, who owns thy thrall, And yields his life to thy dictate. Who hears and heeds diviner call, He is the master of his fate! 36 THE BLEACHER The sea that bars us from the shore Itself shall bear us safely there, The winds, contentious, waft us o'er Wild waters to a haven fair; And e'en from Circumstance adverse The earnest, faithful soul may wrest True victory, and from her curse Win patience that shall make him blest! THE BLEACHER ON mountain bare and field grass-shorn, On hedgerow bright with bloom new- born, In frowning Winter's tempests rude, In smiling Summer's kindly mood, 'Neath morning's ray and stars' soft light, The bleacher toils through day and night — " Ay, white and whiter still! " cries he, " As white as snow my work must be! " Upon the warp and woof new spun Fall chill of frost and fire of sun, The bitter storm's relentless pain, The gentle dew, and nursing rain, 37 A DORIC REED The while the bleacher's watchful eye Each spot and blemish doth descry — " Without a fault or stain," cries he, " As pure as snow my work shall be! " Unwearied plies his skilful hand, Fulfilling all his thought hath planned 5 Nor doth the bruised flax complain Nor question aught he may ordain, But meekly yields each fold and shred, Until the cleansed and chastened thread, Transformed to stainless, lustrous white, Shines in effulgent beauty bright! We stand bewildered with our woe 5 God's mysteries we may not know. The fiery trial, whose keen dart Doth pierce and burn our inmost heart, Cold disappointment's blighting chill, Dark sorrow's storms, — all do His will; For bleached at last we all must be If we His purity would see ! 38 THE THRESHING-FLOOR THROUGH the autumn air rings the thresher's flail, And its rhythmic stroke breaks the merry song Of the reapers gay in the fruitful vale As the harvest-triumphs they bear along. Oh, 'tis well that they sing, for they do not know The pang and the hurt of the thresher' s blow ! But, alas! the beautiful, growing grain In its quivering heart is sick and sore, As it falls from the teeming, groaning wain To the hard and pitiless threshing-floor, While the reapers are shouting their harvest song As they joyously bear their sheaves along. Like the ruthless storm of the sleet and hail, Like the wind's sharp bite to the tender leaf, Fall the stinging blows of the thresher's flail On the trembling form of the helpless sheaf, While the reapers are singing their glad refrain Of the golden math and the loaded wain. 39 A DORIC REED But the work of the bruising flail is done When each tiny grain of the winnowed wheat From the grasp of the husk and sheath is won, From the taint of the chaff is clean and sweet, And the reapers' loud songs as they home- ward go Wake the echoes clear in the vale below. O my soul, from the chaff of vain desire, From the stubble and straw of worldly pride, So shalt thou be threshed, until thou aspire To the purer joys that for aye abide; Till from all earthly thraldom thou art made loose And meet for the Heavenly Master's use! A RAINY DAY WITH dreary monotone, the rain Increasing drones its said refrain, And from the darkened heavens no ray Of gladsome light, — a rainy day! 40 .— - A RAINY DAY And yet I give thee welcome, rain, For in thy dull and sombre train Come glorious, goodly company, Fair Thought and pleasant Memory! Ay, come and sit thee down, sweet Thought, Unfold the treasures thou hast brought From many a distant clime and age, From many a rich, historic page, — Bright gems upon the brow of Time, And flowers fresh in morning prime! Discourse me fair, for when thou 'rt nigh, I fear nor cloud nor angry sky. And thou, O cherished Memory! A dearer spot I hold for thee. Thine arms enwrap me, heart and brain, Dispelling every sense of pain: — Thy charmed spell is on me now; I feel thy touch upon my brow. Sweet, sunny fields again I see 5 Once more upon my mother's knee I sit, and read within her eyes The love that o'er my pathway lies; I hear the brooks and wood-notes wild Of birds, — the laughter of a child More blithe than any joyous thing That cleaves the air with buoyant wing! 4i A DORIC REED O clouds lined with bright memories! O fruitful, thought-awakening rain! It took the sunlight from my skies To send me yet a richer gain; The grateful earth receives her share And earnest of a harvest fair; My nourished soul expands and grows To deeper joy and strong repose ! AN ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT WITHIN a wall-engirdled town, Historic in its wide renown, With jealous care, a cloistered crypt Enshrines an ancient manuscript. Six centuries have stamped their age Upon the venerated page, — And men felt life itself were fit To give for what was thereon writ. What hands were they of monk or saint Inscribed its characters so quaint, — Oft clasped, perhaps, in fervent prayer, Lest wrong or blot might enter there ? 42 — . AN ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT Who, seated at his lonely desk, Wrought ornament and arabesque, With patient toil and rare design Accomplishing each leaf and line? No noise of fierce, impetuous steam Disturbed his thought or marred his dream 5 Nor iron finger of machine The parchment leaflets thrust between, — Nor sought in its relentless grasp The sacred vellum to enclasp j But hand and heart and mind did join To shape each paragraph and coign ; — Until the letters and the word With human life and love were stirred, Until the pages of the book Caught something of a human look. Ah, faithful scribe, we know not where Or how thy dust may rest, but there, Upon the dingy parchment scroll, We read thy life, thy heart and soul! And this we know, the patient hand Hath clasped, within the Promised Land, The Master's feet, — the loving eyes Have opened in sweet Paradise! 43 FOR LOVE'S SAKE AY, love me, sweet, with all thy hearty Thy mind, thy soul, and all thou art And hop' st to be, — love me with love That naught beneath the heavens may move; Yet say not wherefore; say not why Thou lovest, — since in these do lie The seeds of death to Love, — but say Thou lovest and must love alway! For should' st thou love some witching grace Of word or manner, form or face, — Should thy heart's worship thus be bought By any gift that time hath wrought, — So art thou false to Love's pure creed, And like to fail in sorest need; But love for Love's dear sake, I pray, Then shalt thou love me, sweet, alway! NEW LOVE ANEW love and a true love Is the love for me and for you, Love. The past is fled, Let us bury its dead, And begin life and love anew, Love! 44 NEW LOVE A new love and a true love Is waiting for me and for you, Love. We've drained the cup Cruel Fate has rilled up, And our pleasures have been but few, Love; But a new love and a true love Will bring joy to me and to you, Love$ For sorrows borne Will we no longer mourn When happiness now is in view, Love! A new love and a true love Is beckoning to me and to you, Love. The way is rough, But there's still love enough In this wicked old world for two, Love! A new love and a true love Is coming to me and to you, Love. 'Twill teach us yet To forgive and forget, And the wrong by the right to undo, Love! A new love and a true love Is sweetest to me and to you, Love. Look up, brave wife, To a happier life, For now we are on with the new love! 45 WILD ROSE BY THE SEA WILD Rose by the stormy sea Bloomed so fresh and fair, That the wonder came to me She was growing there, — Far from home on grassy lea, On a rock by wind-tossed sea, Blooming bright and sweet was she, In her beauty rare. Wild Rose, say, how can it be Thou dost bloom so fair, By the cold and cruel sea, Without fear or care ? Sweet thy home on fragrant lea, Where soft skies are nursing thee, But to brave the angry sea, Wild Rose, canst thou dare? Nay, said Wild Rose, I must be Always fresh and fair, And where'er thou findest me, God has placed me there; And I bloom by rock-bound sea Bright as on the flowery lea, And my sweets I give as free To the briny air! 4 6 MY MARGUERITE I LOOK upon her brow and see A radiant, crystal purity, And find within her azure eyes The loveliness of summer skies 5 She is so sweet, My Marguerite, I fain would kneel and kiss her feet! If she but deign one word to say, I hold a treasure for the day; Doth she but smile, a halo bright Encircles all my dreams by night 5 The dusty street, Pressed by her feet, Becomes a royal palace seat! My life to her dear life has grown, Till all my being is her own, And every thought and hope her due, Though I am forty, she but two; And oh, so sweet Is Marguerite, I kneel and kiss her dainty feet! 47 THE HERMIT THRUSH FAR in remotest depths of forest Dwells a poet, — His house in very heart of nature — And I know it — By shying streamlets and the wildwood That lead to it! A hermit he, from the world hiding; Like anchorite, In solitude of the Thebaid; — With morning light Intones his matins, and his vespers At fall of night ! What sin torments his tender conscience, That he doth flee All haunts of men, like that old worthy, Saint Anthony, — In plaintive monotone thus telling His rosary ? Whate'er he be, or saint or sinner, Or, if his sighs Be prayer or penance, mayhap, sermons, Such sweetness lies In them as gives my soul a foretaste Of Paradise! 48 THE JAY-BIRD BLUE-JAY! — The dreadful things that people say- Give you dark reputation — To carry sand-grains, day by day To burn poor sinners, forced to stay- in purgatory fires alway, Is sure a bad vocation! But when I 've seen you sit a-tilt On bough, and sing so sweet a lilt, I feel inclined to doubt your guilt, And think perchance you are belied By those who seek to turn your pride To scorn and reprobation! True-blue You are, and since so very few, Through trial and temptation, Keep ever to their colors true, But like chameleons change their hue To suit each time and place, — your due Is honest commendation 5 — And yet, a debt of hate we owe That you thus add to sinners' woe. But oh, your song is sweet, I know! — And since I come to think, Blue-Jay, There is so much that people say Not worth consideration! 49 K THE IDLE BOY WHITHER away, shining brooklet? Oh, stay With me, I pray. No, idle boy, no! I must flow To the river, who 's waiting for me, To carry me on to the deep, deep sea. I must away} I cannot stay! Whither away, flying birdie ? Oh, stay With me, I pray. No, idle boy, no! I must go To the little ones waiting for me In the top of the budding apple-tree, And I must fly — Good-by! Good-by! Whither away, sailing cloudlet ? Oh, stay With me, I pray. No, idle boy, no! I must show To the world, ere the fall of night, The beautiful tints of the sunset bright. Fast speeds the day, I must away! 5° DETHRONED A KING was he yesterday, ruling his realm By a nod or a beck of his hand, And never were subjects more loyal or proud Of a sovereign's behest and command. A King yesterday; but alas for the change Which may come in a night or a morn ! The King is dethroned, for to-day came the Queen When the sweet baby sister was born. ARCADY OH, where is Land of Arcady ? For thither would I haste away, So sore and torn this heart of me By thorns and briars of work-a-day ! The faltering feet and throbbing brain Are weary of the ceaseless gride, The shrill discord of worldly strain, — And long in Arcady to hide! There untempestuous waters flow, And waves in fugue mellifluous meet; There winged zephyrs gently blow From many an odorous retreat, — 5 1 A DORIC REED Oh, loose me from the toil and task! Unbind my fetters — set me free — In peace, unvexed by care, to bask 'Neath leafy shade of Arcady! Away from guileful tongue and lip, — My only gossips be the leaves, That whisper how the Fairies trip The sward, and dance among the sheaves, — Away from gay and gilded hall, To Palace of the sky's soft blue, — Away from Fashion's heartless thrall To hearts and hands unstained and true ! — Where lyrics from each bush and tree To blissful dreams enchant the ear, Where mellow music floats from bee, And Colin woos his Phyllis dear, — Where buoyant heart and lissome limb Respond in joyous sympathy, Where Pleasure's cup fills to the brim, — O ho! set sail for Arcady! 5 2 FOR ME I WOULD not say her form or face Possesses a surpassing grace 5 And daintier hands than hers, I trow, Have soothed the weary, aching brow 5 And fairer cheeks and brighter eyes Have waked enraptured lovers"' sighs; — Yet in those eyes one charm I see, — It is a look of love for me. Her voice has not the wondrous power To lure, like perfume in the flower; Nor word of hers e'er stirred the sense By its resistless eloquence; Her smile only reveals the good, True heart of noble womanhood; — Yet charms in voice and smile I see, For both speak wealth of love for me. RESPONSIBILITY OUT of the window my bird doth fly, Far beyond reach of my vision's strain; Boldly he sails to the bright blue sky, — Yet will he come back to me again, 53 *»"■*— — — *— ^ r— — — - — -^ A DORIC REED Back to my loving and outstretched hand, Back to my nurture and my command. Without a sigh I see him fly, — He will come back to me by and by! Out from my bosom a thought doth fly 5 Over the ocean it sails afar Where blooming shores in a rapture lie, — ■ Through the wide heavens from star to star, Or midst the shades of the silent land, Yet heeds my bidding and my command: I ask not why It seeks to fly, — It will come back to me by and by! Out from the precious and scanty dole Time measures me, golden moments fly; Swiftly they speed to their destined goal, Bearing each lost opportunity. Flown are the winged and shining band, Never to hearken to my command: Shall I ask why? We must, for aye, Meet in eternity by and by! 54 THE BLUE AND THE GRAY VERY peacefully they rest, — Who, in life by Peace unblest, Caught the war-cry fierce and shrill, Felt the battle's shock and thrill, Heard the dreadful cannon's roar, — Death behind and death before, — Fighting on the sea and land, Foot to foot and hand to hand ! Very peacefully they rest, — North and South and East and West — While the heaven-descending dew Falls alike on Gray and Blue, While the cheering light of day Shines on Blue and shines on Gray; Weary march and battle sore Past for them forevermore! Very peacefully they rest, — And the babes whose cheeks they pressed In a last good-by have stood O'er their graves in proud manhood, And in holy wedlock true Plighted hearts of Gray and Blue; In the light of hearthstone fires Tell the deeds of soldier-sires! 55 FIRST EASTER MORN FIRST Easter Morn, When the three Marys wept with bitter tears, Sharp disappointment, — agonizing fears, In grief forlorn : — Methinks soft angel voices must have stirred The olive branches of Gethsemane With heavenly comfortings and blessed word Of peace, like that which Noah's faithful bird Brought from afar across a troubled sea! First Easter Morn! — how looked thy light to him Whose eager, ofttime wayward feet outran The loved disciple in thy dawning dim To look upon the grave of the God-Man! To heart made sad by its own faithlessness, Brought not thy cheering ray some prescience Of joy, born even from grief's throe and stress — That reached to hope, thro' veil of doubt and sense? Ay, gently fell thy light on eyes that wept In sorest agony, th' apostate tongue, The trait' rous fear, the solemn vow unkept, The Master's look, the keen remorse that stung 56 FIRST EASTER MORN Too deep a wound for earth to heal again ; — Ay, in thy gladness, weary, weeping eyes And broken heart did find surcease of pain And foretaste of the blessed Paradise ! First Easter Morn! When Death was shorn Of all his terrors, and became the friend Who leads us to that portal, crystal white, Where all things sorrowful have found their end, And thorns are changed for starry crowns of light! O wondrous, holy Morn of second birth! From thee all blessings and all glories stream, As radiant colors that bedeck the earth Lie concentrate in white effulgent beam ! — Inspire our fainting, grovelling souls, that we No longer seek the living 'mong the dead, But with a steadfast eye and lifted head Behold the glories of Eternity! 57 EASTER FLOWERS O LOVELY flowers, be my priests to-day! Ye hold a revelation so divine That midst your holy incense I must pray, And make confession, too, at your sweet shrine. What need to sit beneath the frescoed dome Of minster or cathedral, when ye preach From purer altars in your silent home The lesson that my inmost soul doth reach, And, captivating sense, doth all my senses teach ! Bright quickeners of thought and re- trospection, Beholding ye, can I doubt resurrection, Or question still a Father's sure pro- tection.'' O fair Apostles, older than the creed Of church or council, or those fishermen Who, toiling by the sea in human need, Took heart atsightof yeandhomeagain ! — Your chalices held the libation That consecrated Earth's creation; And Litanies ye chant in sadness Arose in Eden's bowers of gladness. 58 HE EASTER-TIDE A sabbath and a temple everywhere Ye make, and all may kneel and worship there : Shrive me, sweet priests, and if I be forgiven, What ye have loosed sure will be loosed in heaven ! EASTER-TIDE SAY, how shall we keep it, — the Easter- Tide, When the glad Earth smiles, like a flower- crowned bride, And her lord, the sun, in his shining place As giant, rejoices to run his race; When birds and bells in sweet carol and chime Are telling the joy of the blessed time, And Nature is thrilling with ecstasy, — Oh, what shall our song and our keeping be? Shall we challenge the world with swelling pride, Shall we wear its pomp that the Lord denied, 59 A DORIC REED Shall we follow the things of Death whom He Hath vanquished in triumphant victory? Shall our Easter die with the altar flow'rs And praises that burst from these lips of ours? Ay, the Lord is risen in verity, — Say, what shall our joy and our keeping be? O friends of the Master! what can it be But the feast of truth and sincerity, Unleavened with malice or wickedness, The heart to forgive and the hand to bles*, The eyes that shall pity our brother's thrall, Since Jesus has died and risen for all ? In the Gospel spirit and love to bide, Lo! this is the keeping of Easter-Tide! THE EASTER FEAST HOW shall we keep the Easter feast! With pomp of praise and pride of priest? With flow'r-crowned altars, burning bright, And lofty temple's gorgeous rite? With sounding song, that swings and swells To rhythm sweet of chiming bells, And charm of worldly cheer increased? Is this the Christian's Easter feast? 60 THE BABBLING BROOK Nay, nay; the Easter victory Is humble heart's sincerity, Which, leaving malice in the tomb Of buried sin, forsakes its gloom, And rises to the joy, high-priced, Won for us by our risen Christ! Loving for Jesus' sake the least Of His — this is the Easter feast ! THE BABBLING BROOK »np WAS in the month o" Maying that a A man and maid went straying Blooming fields and meadows green a-through. But what the man was saying, or the pretty maid betraying, Why, the simple smiling meadows never knew ! Down woodland ways enchanted and through flower-brake bird-haunted, Where the leaves in gossip whispered low, The man and maid went faring, but the vows the two were swearing, Why, the green and silly leaflets did not know! 61 Lsp A DORIC REED And still the hour of gloaming found the happy pair a-roaming By the water-ways in valleys sweet, Where a brooklet wise and wily wound about their pathway slyly, With a song of murmured music at their feet. And aye that brooklet listened, and its waters glanced and glistened, Till it laughed aloud in gurgling glee, As it hurried over highways, through the hedges and the by-ways, On its way to tell a secret to the sea! Deem not a word of warning meet for man or maiden's scorning, Who from morn to eve a-Maying go; For brooklets can discover all the words and ways of lover, And will babble every secret that they know! 62 WHEN POLLY TAKES THE AIR A LITTLE wicker basket rolls Along the pavement walk, And at the sight, the young and old . Begin to laugh and talk, And wave fair hands, and kisses throw, And cry: " Look here! " "See there!" "This way it comes! " — and all because Sweet Polly takes the air! The newsboys run and shout with glee, And follow on behind 5 The coachman and the footman gaze As if they had a mind To do the same; the good old priest Stands still with solemn stare, — As down the shady avenue Sweet Polly takes the air! From every window shines a head Of clustering, golden curls, And every door grows bright with throng Of merry boys and girls 5 The butler and the maid forget To work, — as on the stair They peep and pry, with curious eye, When Polly takes the air! 63 A DORIC REED And all the while sweet Polly sits In dainty gown and hat, And smiles on one she loves the best, — Her pretty Maltese cat, — And softly coos, when pussy purrs, Without a thought or care How all the town turns upside down When Polly takes the air! NANCY'S WAY WHEN in Fashion's dainty prime Pretty Nancy walks the street, Half the town is keeping time To the rhythm of her feet, While the other half looks gay, As if smiling lips would say: " Nancy, Nancy, darling Nancy, Charming Nancy, come this way!' Bright and blooming as a rose, Heeding neither smile nor sigh, Down the street sweet Nancy goes, Passing all her lovers by, 6 4 — NANCY'S WAY Never granting yea nor nay Though the lips and glances pray: " Nancy, Nancy, lovely Nancy, Please, dear Nancy, come this way! 1 ' Then, between the leafy shades, Birds grow bolder, without fear ; As sweet Nancy promenades Sing they louder and more clear, Trilling, thrilling roundelay: " Glad we are this sunny day; Nancy, Nancy, pretty Nancy, Darling Nancy comes our way! " But sweet Nancy 's full of care, Hears she neither song nor talk, Hardly more can maiden bear, When she's learning how to walk; And her tiny feet will stray Spite of all that nurses say. Nancy, Nancy, toddling Nancy, Nancy has her own sweet way! 65 MY GREAT-GREAT UNCLES WIFE ABOVE a quaint old chimney-piece A canvas glows with life, — You almost look for smile and speech, My great-great uncle's wife, In lace fichu and feathered toque, — A masterpiece of West, Who crowned his fame with this proud dame, The noble, fair Celeste! Right loyal blood was hers, I trow, In time of peace or war, Whose trusty swords were true to France And Henry of Navarre! Whose hearts and hands ne'er quailed nor failed When duty made her claim, Nor feared a foe, the world could show, — Of nation or of name ! But doughty deeds and valiant hearts Were helpless to protect In Terror's Reign, when every home Of France was held "suspect," Till fair Celeste, with woman's wit And will, contrived the plan To cheat the ear of Robespierre, And all his murderous clan! 66 «■- GREAT-GREAT UNCLE'S WIFE One misty morn at brink of day A team drove to the line 5 The sentinel looked grim and called, " Good citizen, the sign! " Quick came the magic talisman, " Ay, citizen, what freight? *" " The casks of beer bound for frontier." " Pass this team through the gate! " In cargo safe of friendly ship The casks of beer were stored, — The most intoxicating beer That ever came aboard, The Captain said to mate and crew, When on the deck appeared A velvet cloak and feathered toque, And every sailor cheered! Long reigned this maid and matron fair, Of hearts and homes the queen, In land that owned no tyrant's rule, And feared no guillotine ; And great-grandsons the story tell Of how she won the sign, And made small beer of Robespierre, The day she passed the line ! 67 MISS NANCY'S GOWN IN days when George the Third was King And ruled the Old Dominion, And Law and Fashion owned the sway Of Parliament's opinion, A good ship brought across the sea A treasure fair and fine, — Miss Nancy's gown from London town, The latest Court design! The plaited waist from neck to belt Scarce measured half a span, The sleeves, balloon-like, at the top Could hold her feather fan; The narrow skirt with bias gore Revealed an ankle neat, Whene'er she put her dainty foot From carriage-step to street! By skilful hands this wondrous gown Of costliest stuff was made, Cocoons of France on Antwerp looms Wrought to embossed brocade, Where roses red and violets In blooming beauty grew, As if young May were there alway, And June and April too! 68 MISS NANCY'S GOWN And from this bower of delight Miss Nancy reigned a Queen, Nor one disloyal heart rebelled In all her wide demesne; The noble House of Burgesses Forgot its fierce debate O'er rights of Crown, when Nancy's gown Appeared in Halls of State! Through jocund reel, or measured tread Of stately minuet, Like fairy vision shone the bloom Of rose and violet, As hand in hand with Washington, The hero of the day, The smiling face and nymph-like grace Of Nancy led the way! A century, since that gay time The merry dance was trod, Has passed, and Nancy long has slept Beneath the churchyard sod; Yet on the brocade velvet gown The rose and violet Are blooming bright as on the night She danced the minuet ! 6 9 CASTLES IN SPAIN O'ER many a land I have roamed, and have gazed On famous cathedral and dome, — Westminster, St. Paul's, and the Pope's Vatican, And noble St. Peter's at Rome 5 On art mediaeval and mansions coeval, With modern invention and gain; But nothing, I ween, 'mong the sights I have seen, Compares to my castles in Spain ! The Tuileries' splendor, old England's grand halls, And Venice with palaces fine, And legend-crowned castles, and battle- ments stern That watch o'er the waters of Rhine; Tho' glamoured by mystery, famous in history, Their boasting I calmly disdain, Since none of them dare their proud glories compare To castles F ve builded in Spain ! 70 CASTLES IN SPAIN The sacred Byzantine of the Sublime Porte — E'en temples of Athens seem poor; The gold-bedecked roofs of Haroun Alras- chid, And carved architecture of Moor; The wondrous Alhambra with pillar and chamber, Taj Mahal and Mussulman's fane, — And tall minaret, — they all lack something yet Compared to my castles in Spain! For castles like mine can all changes defy — The ravage of war and of time, Nor fiercest disaster by wind or by wave May tarnish their radiant prime; Than models of Grecian or high art Venetian Their beauty shall longer remain; For though time is fleeting, man's heart is still beating To build his bright castles in Spain! And right to these castles no man can dispute, Nor find in my title a flaw; As treasures in heaven, they're safe from the thief, And free from the clutches of law; 7* A DORIC REED All question of tariff and action of sheriff Assail my possessions in vain, For though a whole bevy of them should make levy, They can't touch my castles in Spain! ON AN OLD CABINET IN Boston shop and wareroom stands, — A voyager from foreign lands, — A rare and curious cabinet, With carven doors and drawers, and set With quaint, ingenious tracery, — A guest from ancient Brittany! And here and there a secret spring Or lock reveals some hidden thing, Some nook, or cranny, planned with skill To answer to the owner's will, And like some folk we know, to hide Dark mystery 'neath fair outside. A full three hundred years ago 'T was built when human hands were slow; 72 MMMJ****4 ON AN OLD CABINET But, ah, how sure and deft they were! Each builder and artificer An artist, bringing to his art A skilful hand and loving heart! What treasures have been hidden there, — A ring, — a gem, — a lock of hair, — A document of king or state, — A subject's love, — a rival's hate, — A loss, a triumph, or a gain, — Secure from eyes and hands profane! And many a wondrous sight, I ween, The rare old cabinet hath seen Of revelry in "festive hall, And doughty deed on castle wall. For words and blows were fierce, when man And foe were met in old Bretagne! And now in world untried and new, — Perchance in mansion parvenu, — Among a strange and alien race The rare old cabinet finds place, And ends a history that began In proud chateau of old Bretagne. 73 HER NAME I PONDERED long — you've done the same No doubt — on what should be the name Of that fair one whom Fate and I Should choose for true Love's constancy. Mythology and legend — classic lore — I searched, and yet I looked for something more! Should she be Helen, — goddess ? — queen ? The very name pictures a scene Of discord, — I '11 not put my Troy At such a chance for such a toy. Fair Venus made a dupe of young Paris, And I'll not risk my heart with that bold Miss. Lucretia was a model dame 5 Besides, — I rather like the name 5 But then I 'd fear a tragedy ; Her mood is too high strung for me. Cornelia's fair, — but then she had a way Of repartee and having the last say ! Virginia! Ah, a charming wife! But that I 'd always see the knife 74 HER NAME At her white throat, — Iphigenia, A martyr whom I much admire ! Aspasia might suit great Pericles, But she would never do for times like these ! Rebecca might win Ivanhoe (It seems, alas, she didn't, though) 5 The proud and beautiful Rowena I might have loved, if I had seen her, — I 'm glad I did n't; — as for Rosamond, She's just the woman I would most have shunned! O sweet, O lovely, sad Elaine! The very thought of her gives pain; And so for royal Guinevere, — 'Tis well she's quite as rare as fair. And husbands of the nineteenth century Griselda's patience must not look to see. The Gretchens are not to my taste, — Nor Katrines; there is too much waist And sauer-kraut; the French madame Loves France too well for Uncle Sam. Mary's too sacred, and a heart like mine Must look for some one rather less divine. 75 A DORIC REED Aurora rises much too soon; I like to see the sun — at noon; I do not care to wake the flowers Nor do I dote on early hours; Phyllis and Phoebe love the milking pail 5 I like a beauty rather pale than hale. Berthas who fill a poet's mind, And Mauds, to gardens I resigned. In vain my wanton fancy roved; I never found the name I loved. The girl I met, I love, — yes, I adore her; I never asked her name, — they call her Norah ! 76 SONNETS 77 ■ — -i BACH AS some cathedral vast, whose lofty spire Is ever pointing upward to the sky, Whose grand proportions, transept, nave, and choir, Impress with awe, and charm by sym- metry, — Stupendous pile, where sister arts with grave And loving tenderness mould form and frieze, Adorn entablature and architrave, And touch with life the marble effigies, — So, great tone-master, strength and sweet- ness dwell In thee, close-knit in interwoven chain Of harmony, by whose resistless spell, Uplifted to sublime, supernal strain, The soul shall reach the noble, true, and pure, — Strong to achieve, and faithful to endure ! 79 BEETHOVEN SUBLIMEST Master, thou, of harmony, From whose untroubled depths serenely flow The sinuous streams of sweetest melody ; Now in exhaustless fulness dost thou know The joy divine thy raptured strains foretold ; God's harmony thy prayer hath satisfied, His music on thy listening ear hath rolled 5 Accord unmarred, for which thy spirit sighed, In its completeness, through the eternal years Is thine 5 thy yearning soul its echo dim Didst catch amid thy mortal woes and fears, — An earnest of the blest, perpetual hymn, And legacy to us, which shall inspire, With something of thy pure, celestial fire. 80 MOZART AS through the leafy close the crystal shine Of streamlet purling on its way is seen, Nor in its mazes down the clust'ring green Of interlacing boughs and pendent vine, Nor 'neath the shadows of the day's decline Is hid, — so doth thy melody's bright sheen Flash through close harmony's inwoven screen 5 And well we call thy matchless strains divine ! Who lists shall live in Golden Age once more, Shall catch the voice of sweet Arcadian lutes, Behold, as erst, glad nymphs dance on the shore, To tabor's sound and dithyrambic flutes, — Hear Philomel within the moonlit grove, And tuneful shepherd piping to his love. 81 MENDELSSOHN HARK! hear the lark, bold prodigal, elate And jubilant, his wealth of music fling To listening vales, that all-expectant wait The thrilling touch of rosy-fingered Spring ! Thus hath she touched thy heart, O Mendelssohn, Till of her life and beauty thou art fain, And all her winning witcheries of tone, Her coy caprices, and her joyous strain Are thine. Lift but thy magic wand, and lo ! Queen Mab and all her fairy court shall trip To chorus of bright waterfalls, and flow Of streams melodious 'neath the rhythmic dip Of elfin oars, — while in enchanted boat, On sounds mellifluous, we dream and float! 82 SCHUMANN WHAT subtleties of song upon the loom Of Time, O Schumann, thy bold Fancy weaves, — Now gorgeous tapestries of shimmering leaves, Melodious birds, and fragrant fields of bloom; — And now a gossamer-spun canopy Meet for Olympian gods, and bright with beams Of never-fading stars, we see in dreams, And visions born of raptured ecstasy ! Anon, on smooth-wrought texture of sweet tones, — A sudden, plaintive wail of dissonance, Caught in the warp and woof of fair romance, Of joy's high carnival, or grief's low moans. Rare Weaver! — ere thy fabric's lustre pale, Time's shuttle, weary grown, itself shall fail ! 83 SCHUBERT WHO would know thee, a loving heart must bring, And hear with his heart's ears 5 else shall he miss Thy perfect message and his own true bliss, — As bird that fain would soar on single wing, But faints and falls in its unequal flight; For deepest depths of human tenderness Are thine, — the mother's love and dear caress, The wanderer's longing for the blessed sight Of home and Fatherland, the lover's heart, Wild with despair, or thrilled with joyance sweet Of happy souls who full requital meet. Thus nature's yearnings find in thee a part; O gentlest Master of them all, — since pain And joy do live, thou hast not lived in vain ! 84 CHOPIN OSOUL most beautiful, and loving heart! O bright, wild bird, — now crooning on thy nest, Now soaring, sped by a divine unrest, — How Nature speaks through thy perfected Art! — Till from our eyes ecstatic tears do start, Till all our soul and senses are possest, And we must weep or smile at thy behest, And in thine ever changing mood take part, Like watchers on enchanted Mount, who see Fair visions pass at a magician's call, — The fairer for their cloud of mystery, — Who feel the necromancer's spell and fall Entranced beneath its pow'r, nor would be free, So deep the rapture and so sweet the thrall! 85 PATIENCE YOUTH, full of golden visions, looked far down The vista of the future, where stood three So fair, so like to goddesses, that he At sight of them did thrill with joy 5 a crown In hand of each, and promise of renown, With which they beckoned all who looked, — their name Pleasure and Wealth and Honor. Thou- sands came With hearts untouched by pain, and some would drown All thought of what they were and what had been. With eager feet he hastened: — " I am blest If I but touch their garment's hem! ,, When lo, A sober matron heretofore unseen Thus spoke: — "Patience am I; take me, and know That having me, thou shalt have all the rest!" S6 SUCCESS WHO says that he who hath not won success Hath failed, — or low endeavor crowned, compares To that high failure which hath felt the stress Of lofty purpose, — noble aim that dares, Like him who with Apollo strove, to cope With mightiest, though haply doomed, the goal To miss ? Do secret springs not feed his hope, Untasted by the base, ignoble soul ? Ill-fated Marsyas! was all thy pain For naught ? Nay, thou didst see a fair god's grace, Thine ear did drink his lyre's divinest strain And yet diviner voice. What can efface Thy joy, — and thy most glorious unsuccess O'er Phrygia flowed in stream of fruitfulness ! 87 PONTIUS PILATE WHERE'ER, O Roman, in God's universe Thou hast thy being, — in what distant sphere Thy conscious spirit dwells, — is thine the curse, The endless iteration thus to hear: "Who suffered under Pontius Pilate." — Aye To thrill with pain at childhood's lispings sweet, And strong men's pleadings, that long ages . pray: — "Since Thou hast suffered, kneel we at Thy feet!" Nay, nay, — I see thee in that ancient Gaul, Wailing thy wavering will with sore lament, And washing thy weak hands in bitter thrall To that remembered sin thou didst repent; I hear thee speak from out eternity: — "This man whom I condemned declares me free." 8S TO WORDSWORTH THAT thou hast lived, the common things of earth, — The humble daisy and bright daffodil, The lowly, meek-eyed blossom that hath birth By dreary marsh and wayside hedge, the rill That winds its way thro' forest-shades unseen 5 The very air we breathe, the light of day, The sea's soft murmur, and the field's sweet green j The anchored cloud that slips and sails away, The woodland echoes and the song of birds, Come to our souls with sacred meaning fraught, All radiant with the beauty of thy words, And rich with wealth of thy sublimest thought, — For thou hast made life's daily board a feast, O poet-seer and Nature's great High Priest! 8 9 THE LONELY SHORE LONELY, patient shore, waiting the tide In grief ! — thou dost not know grief s sorest pain 5 Since heaven and earth, so long as they abide, Are pledged, thy waiting shall not be in vain, — He shall return, — the stars shall faint and fail, The faithful moon her vigilance forego, — Ere fiercest foe thy wanderer assail, Or direst ill his purpose overthrow ! For our beloved we watch with trembling hearts, — In weariness we wake and weep and wait, — Haunted by fear and goaded by his darts, Beguiled by hope, and mocked by jesting fate, — Till pain with joy doth half the triumph share, — Or, doomed at last, we languish in despair! 90 A SONNET WHAT is a sonnet ? — Ay, a jewel rare Within a crystal casket deftly caught, — A magic flute, whose fourteen stops are fraught With one divine and soul-entrancing air, — A wreathed shell, whose convolutions fair Are to such flawless symmetry enwrought It ever murmurs music it hath brought From deeps which many a wondrous secret bear, — A perfect form and spirit, as the rose, Who stirs not from the confines of her throne, Yet fills the spaces of the garden close With luscious scent and beauty all her own, — A captive nightingale in golden bars, Singing a song of rapture to the stars ! 9 1 FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF THIS BOOK (THIRTY-FIVE COPIES OF WHICH ARE ON HANDMADE PAPER) WERE PRINTED DURING NOVEMBER BY JOHN WILSON AND SON CAMBRIDGE k ^^m LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 016 115 936 li