{LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I H hs t fwis"|» | $ -0*^ cAzEt $ $ — # I UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. * POEMS OF THE PLAINS. BY WILLIAM DARWIN CRABB. CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED AT THE RIVERSIDE PRESS. I873- TS 14-4-1 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by William Darwin Crabb, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress) at Washington. The author wishes to acknowledge the liberality of A. B. Flower, of New York City, Uri Beach, of Franklin County, Ohio, and others, who aided in the publication of this volume, by their liberal subscrip- tions. HPO HER whose tender hand has touched to raise So many dying hopes, and not for praise ; Whose heart beats friendship for the throbbing world, Yet loves but one always — whose heart is pearled With unpaid deeds of kindness ; and whose eyes Are half-way envied by the purest skies — Whose eyes have shone out on the cloudy ocean, On which, a-tossing with a wayward motion, My trembling bark of heart goes on its sailing — Have shone out, on the routless sea, unfailing, As magnet light-house lights that God has given To win, and light me, to the port of Heaven ; Whose life is pure, and sweet, and good, and great — To her these humble songs I DEDICATE. CONTENTS. Why Sing 9 Thus and So 10 Wild Bill 13 lOLA 24 Ah ! Well ! 29 Wolsbin 38 " The Long-Haired Barbarian " .... 49 From Texas to Chili 66 Growing Old 8r Edgar A. Poe 86 Three Wrecks 88 A Book 92 Indian Summer on the Plains 94 Sailor's Farewell 97 Life in Death 103 The Garden Way 105 Mother, Pray 109 Esther 11 1 Ellen 112 A Memory 114 "The Child of Woe" 115 So Look Above 119 POEMS OF THE PLAINS. WHY SING? "V^OU smile and ask me why I sing ? Tis easier to sing than tell — I only know there is a string So superfine, its music brings A plaintive voice, on gifted wings, That tries to sweeten wormwood tears By memories of purer years — Impure so long, O Love ! — Ah ! well, At least, I still may wish and sing! I only know a tender strain, Sent sweetly through my wayless night, Entrances me; and then I write And sing a yearning song again. I only know a golden lyre Gleams yellowly, whose every wire Pours poetry along the glisten — That I stand riveted and listen ; And then {they say) my hands I wring, And pour such pleading tears, and sing ! . THUS AND SO. "PIVE lines would tell the most of tales Which tellers lengthen to a volume, Because we hesitate to name The word that holds the woe or shame, Or thought of death, or chilling wails, — The word that is the pith of all, The longest tale or bitterest story, — The word that, like a tilting column, Stands puncturing the purple sky Of one's sad life, — stands drear and tall Alone, none other standing by, — Colossal shaft of love and glory. No wonder stories are not straight, — No wonder poets deviate, And hesitate, and stop and prate Of things outside what they relate, And seem to dread to stop and state The thought they circumnavigate. They wheel around and emulate, And over-tint, and over-rate Thus and So. 1 1 These outside beauties, as they wait ; Then finally submit to fate, And write the line that makes them great! Men talk about "coherencies;" Some write upon another score, A better score ; for do not bees That wander, gather more of honey Than those coherent ones that hover Buzzing upon one flower forever *? And which is worth the most of money ? Some call my songs " so unrefined ! " Then say they "said it to be kind ! " The first is true as mother's kiss ; The second, like the coating ore Spread o'er the poorest kind of tin, — It shows the rust; it is "too thin," — I know the world too well for this ! Still I forgive and bear the pain ; For, of all that 's good and wise And beautiful beneath the skies, The only trace of Paradise Still left, is clustered in the bliss Of freely giving and forgiving — What else is worth the pain of living ? 12 Thus and So. But then straight lines are not the kind That follow out the natural train Of people's thoughts; for men think more • Than forty score of outside things, While they digest one song or story : And so the world should not complain, If I could gain the more of glory By reaching out to touch these strings, These outside strings, to wailing rings Or sad or sweet toned whisperings — These incoherent strings and springs — And send up songs with gifted wings To sound in melody sublime With what the main string plays to time. No song is sweet, or is a-glee Or sad, or wells up grand and great That is not shackleless and free. And so I enter my complaint Against restraint. I will not taint My song-child's cheeks with poison paints — It shall be what the heart brings forth : It shall be worth — what it is worth ! "W "WILD BILL." ILD BILL " and I ! and miles of Plains! And one small solitary shade, A plum tree leaved in scarlet red ! Some buffalo, so far it strains The eyes to look ! and spotted eggs Of prairie hens strewn here and there ! And prairie fowls, with feathered legs, Fast panting in the evening air ! " And so,'' said I, " you love this life Of struggles on the woodless West? " " Wild Bill " replied, "Well, I could rest Once where was less of reckless strife. You see, sometimes, one makes a shot And misses ; then the game is done. In early life such was my lot — How long ago ! — shall I go on ? 14 "Wild Bill." " Well then ; my Mary was a blonde, A pale face mellowed by some care Unusual, so finely fair. And I, somehow, have never found A face, an eye, or sunny hair, A heart, or head, or limbs, or breast, Or love, or goodness could compare With hers, divinest, loveliest. " And when she sang, or read, or spoke, Her slightest word, or shortest note Was milder than the mildest lute. They never cut, they never broke The happiness of any one. And every child and man and maid Looked up and loved her, as the sun Is loved by every flower and blade. " And birds were thicker in the trees And sat and chattered unafraid, When she was there; and, when she prayed. All Nature seemed upon its knees, "Wild Bill? 15 And rich bees, overladen, came And clustered on her clasped hands, And tall-topt flowers, with hearts aflame, Tipped to her cheeks, as charmed wands. " Her song was like the melody Poured liquidly along the keys Of some piano in the skies — Like some angelic symphony, That glideth, on its wings of bliss, Along the glittering, glassy sea ; For nothing bears so pure a kiss Of Heaven, as music's melody. " I mind me one time, when she sang ' And thousands listened wondering, As charrrfed children look and cling And toss their happy hands and hang Upon a mother's tender song — I mind me yet how heaved her breast With something deeper and more strong Than many human hearts have pressed. 1 6 « JfW i?*//." " Souls lifted with her lifting voice. While, shining with a glance divine, Her blue blue eyes did overshine The splendor of the sky a-poise. And bearded men look up and weep, And rough brown hands and brawny arms Lift up and swing, and young folks leap, As leaps her voice, and holds, and charms. *' And, as the tides rush to the moon, A thousand waking sympathies Rush up to kiss her melting eyes — And strong men, rising one by one, Unthinking, crowd and weep and lean Like leaning ships, and children shout And mingle in the magnet scene, While white-haired men bow heads devout! ■ God gives but one such love as she, With such divinely gifted feet, With heart of such uncommon beat, Such bounden love and yet so free, "Wild Bill? i 7 Though earth is full on every side With many maidens true and false — I feign, be sure, when in the tide, To laugh with them, and shout, and waltz. " I ride fast on life's path ; I pay Too, as I go, some say, alas! And recklessly I click the glass And snatch their hands and laugh, and say : ' Good-will ! good game !' — ■ What sayeth this ? " (And here he struck his heaving breast.) " Ah ! wretches, how I hear them hiss And spit their poison slander-pest ! " Gold glittering garments, fold on fold, That mantle false females, who snjile Like fallen angels, hiding guile, Did ye but know what hearts ye hold ! — Those slanderous tongues did tnurder her, Who stood so nearer Heaven, that she Must reach far down to where they were — This then is why I'm what you seel 1 8 "Wild Bill." " This was so long, O ! long ago; And yet I see it as if near ; For, just as when the Plains are sere, We see a distant buffalo Stood off upon the highest hill, Far better than the nearer ones On lower ground, so, pale and still I see this all the moons and suns. " Then what if minted silver shine And rattle in the purse, and chink In chests chained down by diamond link ? What if the burden of a mine Of minted gold should pouch and weigh One's pockets till the ' law ' would pass And wink, and maidens droop and say, ' How rich ! how grand ! — yet sad, alas ! ' " Then what of silver-glancing glint ? And what of gold and glowing gilt ? And palaces that tower and tilt O'er wide-spread lands afar a-tint "Wild Bill? 19 With harvest wealth — that tower a-top This little tilting toppling earth*? All these were but a trifling drop To satisfy a world of dearth. "For what were these, if one must miss The only face, the only form, The only breast and clasped arm, The only elevating kiss, The only hand whose press or touch Could raise the dead heart, and arouse One slumbering joy, — the only such To heal the heart that bleeds and bows ? " The shadow of a face and form, The echo of a broken kiss, The coffin of a buried bliss, The phantom of a folding arm, Reflections of a Heaven-hid eye, The 'photo ' of a trail of hair — These I have bound in one bouquet, And always at my bosom wear. 20 " Wild Bill." "And this is more to me than all The world with all its glossy ore — And this sets nearer to the core Of life and heart, the ' great in small.' It matters not how little it, For anyhow its silent bloom Leaves in my spirit scarce a whit Of one thing else an inch of room. " But still, I swear, accursed Defeat ! I will not bow, I will not bend The knee to thee, I will not send A messenger — I will not beat The gong of weakness — will not start A messenger ahead to shout Thy coming — \ will not lift apart A lip of wailing on my rout ! " I hear thy tramp, I feel thy breath Blow poison in my face, I feel The chill air from thy daggered steel, I hear thee whispering, ' Death ! death ! '■ "Wild Bill." 21 Stand back ! avaunt ! I was not born To give way at thy damned thrust ! That I will slay thee I have sworn, Or drive thee as the wind drives dust ! "What care I for the curse of fools *? Or if my creed be orthodox % Since hearts of orthodox are rocks, Or flattery-fed and fawning tools. What if I see despised dolts, Whose hands I would not stoop to hold, Step up and lift the rusted bolts That open into rooms of gold ? " My heart is as the mighty tent, The canvass of a mighty show' Where fierce desires growl, crouching low, And surly lusts are barred and pent In chariots painted splendor-fair. (God keep them pent ! let loose, who knows What desolation and despair May follow where their raging goes!) — 22 " Wild Bill." " Where hopes, like gilt-clad tumblers toss And wheel and tumble in a ring, And circle in its dust, and sing, And marks of misery emboss By surface-shine, while all within Is sickness watching with the dead Automatons amid the din And dust and wild and weary tread ! " O red-winged life ! with bloody beak Scouring the wild plains of my heart To catch prey for the hungry mart Of misery ! I was not weak — I paid them for their godless sneers, No matter how — I made them feel The reflux of my youthful tears Drop back on them like frozen steel. " I know not what may lie beyond ; I care not what may face me here — Of life or death I have no fear. I've built my heart-tomb massive-stoned; 11 Wild Bill." 23 So, though my body never dies, Nor men, nor maids, nor fame, nor gold, Can look upon the placid eyes Of my heart's Love in dead white fold! " A cloud, to east in upper air, Was dipping from the boiling sea Her golden waves. It bent its knee And dipped, and lifting, unaware, Some oversplashed its cup, and fell And flashed afar a lightning flash, And sounded with the distant swell Of thunder with its hoarse-toned plash. And speckled prairie fowls arose In cackling swarms, and skimmed the sky — Made mimic thunder, passing by, With wings arched as the bend of bows; And meadow-larks closed their tender strains To weep above the coffined day, When muttering something of " the Plains " And " charity," he rode away. IOLA. TOLA blushed and dropped her head, And fondled my hand, and teased, and said : " Now tell me the tale you used to, when I was a laughing girl, as then You told me, swinging over the gate, Forgetting the hour was growing late." / And so I smiled, as I raised her head, And chucked her under the chin, and said : " The Plains were as wide as the widest sea ; And the top was alive with a toss of glee The whole year through; and the houses stood As few as ships on the ocean flood — 'Twas there I dwelt with the bride whose eyes Were violet, black, nor the color of skies, But a beautiful color, nor wild, nor tame, A color that never has found a name. The land was as broad as the broadest main Forever a-surge — Again and again The waves were green, with a painted foam ; And again and again, as the dry winds came Iola. 25 In the heated August, and the longing eye Saw never a cloud, in the flushing sky The size of a hand, has the green turned gray, And again and again has the gray grass spray, As the Indian summer sun looked down, Turned from a gray to a deader brown. One time we stood and the stern round sun, When the east was red and the west was dun, Rose burning so hot that the grasses' spires With dew-tips tossing like tongues of fires, Strung off to the east as a caravan Of pilgrims clad in flame, and ran And swung their arms and, one by one, Seemed pouring into the templed sun. Then, as the east was glowing red, The upper heavens turned dun and dead ; And, low in the west and pinned to land, Flowed up two strips of a rainbow band, And torn and bloody and blue, alack ! And caught in a cloud of green-tinged black. And ever then, as the bow shone brighter, The tint to the orient red grew lighter And less and less, as a dying crater, 2 26 Iola. And the green-tinged black grew darker and greater. The wind kept stopping, then starting again, And looking a-west and pulling the rein To rest his steed till the cloud should come, When, spurring his steed in the stormy gloom, High over his tangled and dusty mane He would swing his hands and swoop the plain And shout and sing till the prairies ring And the frightened grasses drop and cling To the sounding ground a-quail with thun- der ! — And then, as we looked, the sun went under. ' Such a terrible sky, on a rain-bowed morning Is our, as well as a sailor's warning ! ' She said, as she pressed her cheek to mine, And her chestnut hair did kiss and twine And mingle with mine. Now, clasping her, I shuddered to feel her bosom stir With a beat it never had beaten before. I looked in her face — a tear fell o'er My darling's cheek ! — for she, you know Was young as a girl, as yet, and so Tola. 2 7 I called her my ' darling ' and ' girl,' 'tis true ; But you are older than she, and you Are prouder and bolder than she; and I Somehow could never, I know not why, Call you the same as her — however, My love for you is strong as a river — And so, if I never should give you the name That I gave to her, it is all the same. Then a terrible rush of wind came on, Whirling the dust, and then — was gone. Not a single mote of the world in motion ! — Still as a heart in last devotion ! The black o'er-head then flashed with fire — And the stillness startled as if a lyre, Whose wires hung spanning the universe, Were struck to mutter a mighty curse ! The world awoke, with the pealing noise, And startled and shook, as a mote, a-poise, Would shiver upon a quivering thread ! Scarcely the stunning sound was dead, When the sudden rush of a fiery flood Streamed over the heavens. I started — stood! — 28 Iola. And a burning bullet, a blazing ball, Shot down from the battery clouds, where wall On wall is set with cannon to war The world below — fell like a star — Flew red and swift, and a scented heat Followed the trail of its flashing feet ! And, hissing by, as a heated dart, Its breath I feel — I cling — I start — But — never a breath again, and never Another word, from her lips forever ! " AH ! WELL ! T TE. gazing on the ruined mound, Said to the group that gathered round : 44 I saddled, like an Indian brave, Our Indian ponies standing trim With feet entwisted in the wave Of wild grass breaking like a tide, Their eager eyes cast out, in pride, Into the distance, doubtful, dim. Our hopes were high — our loves were set With deeper hold than ever yet Were jewels in the massy gold — And thus high-hoped we mounted steeds. The first wheel, as they stirred the grass To motion with their prancing feet, They started from his coiling fold Beneath a shady clump of weeds, A rattle-snake, that rattled hoarse And lifted up his head to greet Us with his eyes of lead-like glass, And startled us from out our course. 3Q Ah! Well! We spurred, and, drawing tighter rein, Went dashing o'er the endless plain. And then sometimes my fair one sung The sweetest and the purest song That ever flowed o'er human tongue. And as she sang, at times, I flung My hat into the air, and she Would catch and hand it back to me. This is one blessing that we bear With us upon the boundless plain : We are not held in the restrain Of customs that would cramp the free ; And so we sing or shout at will And gallop, with no thought of fear — We need suppress no single word Of love, to whisper, ' Hush, be still ! Take care ! for we are overheard ! ' For all that roam upon the Plain Have charity, and so refrain From anything that tastes of blame — This is the blessing that we claim. O give me then my land of plain, Ah! Well! 31 Where all is as it is, and this Is as God made it, with the kiss Of freshness and of purity ! " We loved well in the selfish east, Loved well and warmly, still ' were wise,' Though others said not so, alas ! They whispered what they knew not; we — Well, we '■were wise ' — but let this pass — And so we came where love is love, Not bland formalities, or lies, Or simperings of soulless fools — Where God is judge of chastities — Where love is not a set of rules, That bind so tight and press so hard They press its sweetness all away — Where love is not a tight gold glove That ruins, while it hides, the hand, And leaves it cramped and cut and scarred. We too were riding in the sun, We two rode leisurely, as one — Rode on and sung, without a fear. One buffalo browsed on a hill 32 Ah! Well! Four miles away, and yet seemed near — Now browsed, now looked as sentinel For some great herd beyond below. Blue-racers glided swift between, Parting the gray-tipt tides of green. Great bull-snakes dragged themselves away — And unwound blood-snakes, stretched out, lay Harmless in the shade of weeds. And now and then jack-rabbits ran Away from us with gaits and speeds, That made them seem as wild dwarf steeds. And wild fowls flutter up and fan The grass in eddies, as they go. But now as it drew on to noon I wished we never had begun The chase, the sun came down so hot. For, as I looked on her, I thought All was not right ; somehow the heat Fell down so like a fire-armed foe. Her queenly blood, with swifter beat, Kept bounding to her flushing cheek. Somehow I thought her clasp more weak Than when she clasped an hour agone, Ah! Well! 33 And that her song, when then she sung, Was softer in its touch and tone. " Life is just such a race as this, Begins in love and balmy bliss, And ends in hot sun's heat and hiss. Our hopes are scarcely well begun Before they end, and end amiss; And leave us, black-robed as a nun, To wish it never had been run. Run slow, young boys and joyful girls ; Or, ere aware, your flooding curls Will be thin white, or dull dead gray; And afternoon will be so short ; And slower ones will come and say : ' I knew ! I knew ! ' weep and escort Your coffin to its cave of clay. Be boys and girls long as you may, And do not mind, if fast men mock And women sneer because you play. Haste not to lay your childhood by. It is a cooler, lighter cloak Than old ones wear — stay longer nigh 34 Ah! Well! The hut door at the first of life. Young girl, haste not to be a wife. " Run slow, run slow, I say, run slow ! The swifter run to heated noon, The shorter afternoon to run. Be boys and girls long as you can ; For, if you never leave your youth, You never need reach back your arms, In vain, for childhood's fleeing truth — Need not look back and weep and throw Out tackles after loved lost pasts — Tis nothing more to be a man Than this : to climb up broken masts And wrestle in the shrieking blasts, Cry chorus with the crashing thunder And roaring waters plunging under, And strike fists with the whirling storms, And then go down the sea at last And sink amid cold clutching forms, While young folks stand, and look, and wonder Why older lives are cloud o'ercast ! Ah! Well! 35 'Tis worse than this to be a woman. Be all you can — be true — be human ; But still be boys and girls, at least ; For ' manhood ' often means but 'beast ' ; And to be woman means — to wed? — And wailings for the past and dead ? " My young bright girl, wjth golden curl, Men look on you and call you ' Pearl ' — To still be 'pearl,' remain a girl. " The sun grew hotter as it slid Down from the centre to the west. The sky above seemed concave steel Reflecting all the heat to earth. The hard red sun, the while he did His way adown the curved sky, Seemed striking fire anew, yet pressed Swift onward, and a liquid fire Seemed curling round his red-hot keel. I looked up in her drooping eye And needed no electric wire To tell me we must wheel us back — Re-run in haste, the forenoon's track. 36 Ah! Well! " Our canteen, swung to saddle horn, Grew lighter every mile we ran — Grew warmer every breath we took. Our faithful ponies' heads began To lower with their loss of speed ; For hot and tired, their heads were borne Less lordly than at early morn. My darling cast a pitying look Upon her pets, her prides, her steeds, And leaned and stroked their necks and wept And spoke a few kind words. They raised Their heads to hear her voice again — One moment only — then they fell. And still the dry sun hotter blazed. " Our canteen now swung like a bell, Rung, hollow drained, hung dry, and shone And tolled at every bound — and this Is why a bell-knell sounds so fell. " More languidly the steeds went on, Half stumbling by the clinging kiss Of sun-curled, dying blades of grass. All! Well! 2,7 ' She leaned on me — O ! could I rest Her now upon my wayward breast ! — She then pressed face to mine and yearned To say what — never has been said. I lifted up her falling head ; Mine nearer to her lips I pressed, That I might feel what thought did move Unheard, upon her lips of love — I held my breath ! — she smiled and cast Her blue eyes up to heaven — they turned, From sweet blue eyes, to — staring glass I •'No wonder then I sit and tell Myself the story o'er and o'er — Stand looking from my humble door And watch the grass and sigh, ' Ah ! IVell ! ' " WOLSBIN. PIS sad to see the last leaves fall and float Off on the freezing stream to some broad bay To mingle with the drift of many a boat, Shattered and tossing helpless night and day Upon its top-pitched swell ; 'tis sad to note The fade of twilight; it is sad to lay The last sun-beam upon the couch of night, And know that, ere it wakes, some soul takes flight; 'Tis sad, 'tis sad to see the last brown blade Of grass buried beneath the first white snow Of winter ; 'tis sad to hear, across the glade, The mellow song of some lone bird, and know That, when its plaintive dying notes shall fade To silence, 'tis the last ; 'tis sadder, though, To follow out the last friend — as a wave, A body, dead, afloat — to a silent grave ! Wolsbin. 39 Now there was left but one he called his friend, And she began to think she could not stand His loss of fortune ; so it put an end To her fond love, when once she heard his land Had scattered with his parents death. She penned Wolsbin a heartless note, with the cold demand To meet her for a last "good-by" ; for the time Has come when to be poor is called a crime. " So I must go," said he, " I know not where. Perhaps the midnight noise of dance may float Over this stream unvisited and fair ; And, in the music's wild sweep, you may note The muffled tread of feet that used to bear Up from the brink gay blossoms, while you wrote And wove their beauty in impassioned thanks To heaven and me — wrote by these banks. " Perhaps the lonely lot of some wild rover May find me warring with the solitude Of ruined heart-hopes lying scattered over 40 Wolsbin. The buried fields of trusting childhood's wood And plain, where we were wont to love and hover Around each other's wishes — where the flood Of thy gold hair was wont to pour and toy With dancing breezes leaping wild with joy. " Perhaps a bloated body, on the tide Of some soft-tinted sunset of the West, Unseen, unsaved, unwept, unknown, may ride A wave amid its sprayed and sparkling crest To that fair sighing shore, and lie undried Upon its silvery sands — then know the rest, That this dull head was tossed upon the billow Till lifeless left upon its watery pillow ! "Perhaps we'll meet beyond the grave — how sad The uncertainty in that strange word perhaps ! Perhaps? the very thought would drive one mad. Such doubt, while looking in the future, wraps A sleety shroud upon the heart. O, had We surety we will meet again ! — But flaps Wolsbin. 4 1 Still that uncertain leaf — Perhaps, then, we May walk with Christ upon the crystal sea ! " You tell me these have been your happiest days, And that amid your dreariness, regret Will never pain you that our wandering ways Beneath the light of Heaven ever met, And that your heart still pants and prays For mine. You say those days throw round you yet, In golden fabric, all your youth's bright hue. 'Tis blotting out the sun — but still, Adieu ! " And so they parted, — he gone a- wandering And weary hearted, although ever striving To find another to fasten his meandering Mind, while Luella still kept eager driving Her new planned suit, her misturned life thus squandering On dreams of pelf, leading a way of living To rue when old. False God, demon of money, Whose temple is a hive of poisoned honey ! 4 42 Wolsbin. He thought : This life is but a crooked stream That hisseth slowly through the world's wide meadow ; And worldly love is but an idle dream Afloat upon its surface, like a shadow. And then he turned and looked upon the gleam Of Mammon's temple — saw an Eldorado, He thought, lie spread beyond. So he redressed, And packed his trunk, and started for the West. And where he was for two long years thereafter Nobody ever knew. At least he grew Immensely rich, so suddenly the rafter Of the old hut in his heart fell down for a new And stately mansion, which with feigned laugh- ter E'er echoed. Yet, though kept unseen, 'twas true His heart in those two busy years grew old. We find him now returning with his gold. And, as he rode along the broad Missouri, He saw another engine rushing over On the other side — just as, beyond the worry Wo Is bin. 43 Of this fleet world, doffing our mortal cover, Landing beyond the river's turbid fury, When safe upon its new-found brink we hover A train from Heaven will take us to a lot In fields of Paradise — 'twas thus he thought. In the meantime when Wolsbin was at home, That is, what used to be his home, he heard Luella was unmarried still, and some Place o'er in Europe : and it was the word That she would set sail back in a week from Rome. At this, of course, his heart was wildly stirred. And so he hastened to the sea to greet her Coming, and yet he scarcely dared to meet her. And there he waited for the vessel bearing Her homeward, when the news came of a wreck ; That it had struck a hidden rock, while near- ing A new-found land, and that the broken deck Whirled in a maelstrom, like a wind-tossed speck, And then shot down like lightning with the dead. 44 Wolsbin. May God forgive him what his pale lips said ! May men not hear it ! But enough, he wept A moment, then he sat and looked upon The waves, until a spell upon him crept. The ocean changed — he saw a lurking stone — A whizzing maelstrom just beyond it swept — He saw the powerless dizzy ship go down; Then — not a remnant of the wreck did float. May Heaven bless him for these lines he wrote : "So here I am, homeless. The brown leaves flow Over my weary head : and, while I kneel Upon this sand-shore, tears of woe Spoiling my cheeks, how well, too well, I feel, I feel — I know not what I feel ! — but O ! When Heaven's angel shall this sea unseal, May I not with her from her salt-wrapt grave Go forth ? and once more tell her I forgave *?" He bent his knee upon the brined shore, Alone, except these memories and God — Knelt where the billows throw forevermore Wolsbin. 45 Their storms of foam upon the filtering sod, And offered up a prayer — then rose and bore Away upon his heart the dreary load, The brine-bleached dead, the wayward loved white dead, And kissed her lifting hands, and breast, and head. ........ He feigned full many a smile and many a laugh And far-fetched merriment and soulless glance, And strove to scatter with his friends the chaff Of levity, and laugh to see it dance In thoughtless joying; and he strove to quaff The glass of glee, but there there lurked a trance, A curse that turned the liquid into foam : He drank its nothingness to the health of home. And people called him cold: they did not see Beneath his gay and jewel-flashing coat, The painful throb — did not observe the tree On which his hopes hung crucified, nor note The crowns of thorns pressed in his heart. O ! we 46 Wolsbin. Are cruel to the sorrowing world, and gloat Over our own small pains ! They called him cold, But knew not that his heart was gray and old ! " This looking through the porthole of the tomb," He said, " this measuring one's own ebon coffin, And carving one's own tombstone in the gloom Of eve — this singing one's own dirge, and often Sitting at twilight in this damp drear room ; This waiting for a broken heart to soften Its sorrow in the grave ; this fever to die — Would burn the last tear from the weary eye. " For, O ! Luella, though the world befriend, And strive to cover, with their garlands smiling, The hungry future, while the prairies lend Their gorgeous splendor, with their boiling In the wind, yet mourning fancy will but bend Down o'er thee lying in the sea, dead toiling With the waves — still memories of thee I pon- der, Although broad roaming and as wild as yonder Wolsbin. 47 " Untamed bird sitting on the mountain pine, Which, solitary from its mount-top, flows Above the vale, which, like an emerald line, Wends round the base. The very wind that blows Reminds of thee — the very stars that shine Seem gleaming like thine eyes ; and dim seen bows Of promise in the valley mists, seem bending Like those that used to arch thine eyes, and lend- ing " A lustre to their misty tears — and thus to wait And wait for what will never, never be — Ah ! surely this is Time's most cruel fate ! But then, althro' the flowers of mystery, And doubt, and fear, and pain, is not a straight And narrow way that leads up to the tree Of life, that blooms and gleams beneath the light Of Christ upon the holy mountain height? " Who knows when parted once how long till met? 48 Wolsbin. This Sabbath evening, not an echo breaks The sombre quiet. Gold specks 'gin to fret The sky; and now and then some glistening flakes Of frost go softly floating by, then set Again, and melt into the little lake's Waves, like small stars gone down. So man floats on A moment through this world, and then is gone ! " "THE LONG-HAIRED BARBARIAN." "V li /"HAT unusual color of hair ! What weight of hair on his shoulders square And broad, and lifting bold, and clad In raiment as quaint and grand and old And rich as a king's in times old-told ! And, when he was known on the Kansan plain, His foemen fancied his fold of hair, As he ran in the wind and they knew him mad, Shook as a furious lion's mane. But now, as he sat on the shore a-sad, Receiving and believing the telegrams Come up through a quarter-hundred years, The storm of his hair did seem as the fair Falling folds of an orphan child's. Stopping and dropping his cane on the sands, He turned and lifted his kingly hands, With rings as rich as that of the Pope, 50 " The Long-Haired Barbarian? And, looking into the trembling palms, Followed the course of the cuts and mangled Trenches over his palms, in hope To trace to the place where, crossed and tan- gled- Trace to the place, now near at hand, Where the wayward lines shall have measured and spanned His length of life " Great God! what wilds Of tossing and crossing forests, and places Of fallen flowers and reaching grasses And deserts, and places of skeleton faces ! What Godless struggles and foul grimaces Of demons over the dead on the plains ! What blood-red rivers ! how many a curse ! What crimes and frauds ! what budless rods Have lifted and smitten the rocks for gains — Lifted, alas ! commanded by gods, But gods of evil — filling the purse, But robbing the heart and heaven ! Great God ! What a checkered and stained and sin-strewn course " The Long-Haired Barbarian? 5 1 These broken lines on my palms betoken ! What marring and scarring and tears and blood ! " He said — when his will, so bold and oaken, Grappled his lips when this was spoken And snatched from their hold, so cruelly cold, Something about to set them a-trill — Snatched, and latched his lips lock still, Still as the lips of a god of gold, Of the golden image in Dura of old Then after a moment he lifted his head And mastered his will, and his lips unwed : " 'Twas on the disorderly Kansan border I lived with her amid the disorder Of ruffian races, and struggled for order, And baffled the cunning of red-men running Wild as the winds, and baffled the shifting Cold winds of the winter, lifting and drifting Snow-winds of the weather, and baffled the cunning Of the hurricaned fire-fiend lapping and lifting." He went on to say, growing warqper and bolder, One hand on his knee, in the sand and the sea 52 " The Long-Haired Barbarian." His cane free-fallen, like the trunk of a tree — One hand on his knee and one on my shoulder — " Our hut stood alone on the Kansan border, Stood long and lone in disorder and order, Where a river rolled by in a wonderful way. In high-water time, it swept to the door, While flowered floods of grasses broke up from behind — The floods of wild grasses, whose waving sur- passes This Mexican gulf for folding its masses. When the river was low, it ruffled the reeds That grew in the stream, as the flowers and weeds Are stirred in the grass with its waves unbrined, And the tides of the ocean of grass broke in spray 'Gainst the river, set along as a rock on a shore. "'Twas a wonder the way the unusual bloom Was over and under every hollow and hill ! It seemed to me then that the heavens shone brighter, The Long-Haired Barbarian." 53 And seldom poured tears through the veils of a cloud. It seemed to me then the few clouds lifted lighter Their feet, in their march down the sky, as they fell. It seemed to me too that the stars had more room To play on the cheek of the night, when we bowed Two hands full of flowers, and two full of hands, Counting and recounting the days and the years We had loved and might love — four eyes full of tears And of stars, twin stars flung afar from the skies. " Flowers pillowed, afloat on the billows of grass, Stemmed slender as willows and gaudy as glass Paned and stained with marvelous dyes, Were twirled in the wind, as stars on high Twirl over the billows of blue as they pass, 54 " The Long-Haired Barbarian" A whirl from the east and a wheel to the west, And play through the forests and gleam on the sands, Then settle and set in the Occident mist. And there was our shrine ; and the bloom-spread sod Knew more of the pressure of knees that were knelt In simple devotion than many a shrine In temples divine, gold-lettered ' To God' ! Those untamed blossoms have clung to her lips And tipt, gay lipt, to her cheeks for hours — This was our temple, and the stars were its towers. " And why I am here in the heat of the South, Why a hard man speaks with a quivering mouth — Why rich, yet alone on the wide world's lea, Can soon be learned, if you listen. — You see, The wind all day, as a heated monsoon, Swept up from the south. An occasional cloud In the west, lay a-surge on the verge of the world, " The Long-Haired Barbarian? 55 Half gilded with gold and half hid in the smoke Of an Indian summer, that curled up and furled Its fold upon fold through the wold of the sky — Blew swift in the morning and swifter at noon ; And still when the sun stood bushing a-hover Over the placid Pacific ocean, As a fond one bowing with love's devotion Over a tranquil slumbering lover, The wind blew prouder and louder a-loud. " Gray grasses of autumn arose in their bed, Tossed up in the wind, surged past, then broke Into eddies ; and dust to the wind was whirled, As spume is blown up from the ocean And I Stood holding my chestnut-haired bride, as she shook In my arms and shivered to see the sun set Blood-red, and the wind not set with the sun ! — Threw her arms to my neck and her head to my breast, Clung closer, and closer, and shook, as she said : 'Whatif tribes to the south set fire out to-night! ' 56 " The Long-H aired Barbarian? I quailed as she spoke of a fear, for she met Her God face to face, hence her thoughts were right. " As I held her nearer, my fond heart yet Was regretting and fretting, when I turned my head, And, away to the moon there broke on my sight An image of light to the south and afar, A red gleam afar and the size of a star ! And I knew 'twas the ' photo ' of fire on the Plain. " She clung closer The moon, hung half to the east, Seemed to stand in her track and look through the mist Of the smoke and the dust in distress on the fire, Now spread through the grasses and grown to a main, To an ocean of blaze running higher and nigher. " The Long-Haired Bar barianr 57 " We flew to our boat, and over, in haste, We crossed the river, and, leaping a-shore On the leeward bank, we waited, a-quiver, To see if the water would be, as before, A stay to the fire - I held her again. One place to the windward the river was narrow, Cut deep, but narrow, as a cafioned furrow; And a fire on the plains can leap like an arrow. As the fire came up to the narrowest place, She sprang from my arms, with a frightened face, And, clutching the grasses, she cried, as she twined Her hands in the grasses, and standing a-shiver, Pale-lipt and a-quiver, her face to the fire, With a plaintive voice, ''Tis over the river, And on from the river to us ! ' Great Giver ! It shot like a bridleless hurricane down, Down and upon us, hot and a-frown ! " I ran to her rescue, my love, my crown. The wind was so high and the fire was so fast, - 4 58 " The Long-Haired Barbarian? As it shot through the grass by the spur of the blast, And on with the speed of a word on the wire, That my time seemed over ; for the flames came on With the speed of a chariot lightning drawn. The roar of red flames a-surge in the fray, And, filling the sky and a-fold in the winds, Black billows of ashes a-rolling behind. w dway ! ' — too late — flames mad by the sway And lash of the gale pour over the way ! " A cry from the midst of the fire-sea came, As a wailing afar from a wreck at sea — A tender cry from a pleading form ! While the weird wind, shrieking, and tossing, and whirling, Kept beating and breaking on the fiery lea, On the red-hot maelstrom, that, twisting and twirling, Eddied around her flame on flame ! And, lapping her round in a burning fold, A hot wave grappled her lifted arm, " The Long-Haired Barbarian? 59 And down, down in the blistering brine Hurled my All / — I spare her name : But, whatever her name, I would give my gold And all that I am and alt that I hold To hold her now, as I held her then. " Many summers ago, many moons in the past, The coffin was cut in which she was cast, On eternity's sea — the beautiful dead — To the waves for the haven of heaven ahead. u Contented, storm-wet, I could set a-sail In the storms of the seas and a-pitch by the gale Winters and summers and time without end. Death dare to the deck, and bear all the lash Of the storm with its wheeling and whirling a-dash. Look up to the sea-clouds, and cry, ' God send ' ! Could stand on the mountains and watch the wind blow Up millions of flakes from the tempests of snow Into piles at my feet, with water-made sands Cutting crevices over my purple-pale face, 60 " The Long- Haired Barbarian? While I reach up my shivering white and blue hands To warm them by sparks from the stars, as they blaze Out of reach of the world ; — strike fists with the gale — Bring blows to the snows, never quail, never wail ! — Would ride in the desert that borders the Plain, Girted and skirted by the Plain-land grass, With my Indian pony worn and a-stain With blood from my face — a-stain on his mane With blood, by the sand (in the hot-lunged gust) That stingeth and clingeth, like pebbles of glass — Brush my cheek on a cactus, with its arms in the sky, In its garment of green, and the sun in its eye, Looming up and high over the sand-sea tide, With its sun-boiling blood and mute and lone, Brotherless, sisterless child of the dust — Fill my cheek with its prickles, while leaning to rein, " The Lonz-Haired Barbarian." 6 1 Till they sting like bees, as I reach and I ride. Great God! do anything earthly to hide That face and that form going down in the tide Of grasses ablaze, as it passes, a main Driven on sweeping low and sky-high in the gust! • ••••••• "You need more glitter, more gold, my friend; For wealth is castled and cold and binned — Hearts of rich are castled and thickened twice, And bastioned and batteried well with ice ; And so if you enter the shelter of castles — Enter without the semblance of vassals, Or slaves to the rich — you must have goldi Yes, I admit that Love is warm, And industry honest once baffled the storm, And charity melted the hearts of old ; But somehow these scarce melt the cold Iced hearts of this age — so men must plun- der For gold, or open their eyes with wonder Why friendship is short as a clap of thunder. 62 " The Long-Haired Barbarian? " You have proven a friend long and to the end (For the end is near), so take this gold, My large-heaped gold, and, before I die (For the end is nigh), I will double it thrice; For, after she fell in the fold of flame, Not another man, or a child, or woman, Of all the millions, not a single human Ever offered the precious boon of the love Of a sister or brother or anything other Worthy my trust — nor ever yet strove To make me a brother until you came. " Christ ! what aileth the curved moon ? As she reaches up from the waves that wallow Over the Gulf, and hallo, and swallow The blind winds walking the Gulf, her arm, Uncovered and hovered over her head, Trembleth, stained a dusty red ! Has she leaned on her arm to drink of a river Red with the blood of the mangled years Wailing and trailing the Plains of the past? Or is it only the sign of a storm Of winds, such as once set tossing and crossing " The Long-Haired Barbarian?' 63 The Piains and the whole with flames emboss- ing June, which died — A dead sea of dead grass without ! A dead sea of dead hopes within ! And one new sea a-gleam like tin Beneath the sun, where I will float Aboard a ship for days of hours, Borne heavily amid the din Of new-cut memories, and shout ! A girl with her disheveled hair From Texas to Chili. 67 Aflow above the prairie flood, As the mantle of a trailing star Floats on the tide, lifts in the air, Along the surface of the sea — As golden clouds adrift afar Drift over on a flood of wood, Hands clasped upon her warm heart, lest Its swelling stir her eye-sea tide To overflowing, and her pride Forbids that this should ever be ! A proud girl standing, like a queen, Some distance on the wharf from me, Unmindful of the busy crowds A-dash upon the wharf, like clouds Whirled in a whirlwind at the quay Up in the sky, where white ships lean And toss upon the upper lea Of seeming liquid, lunging glass! Our ship stands motionless, as she, Where waters meet the floods of grass. Would it were fixed by bars of brass, So firmly to the land, that I 68 From Texas to Chili. Could stand forever on the deck And hear the plashing waters fall, Forever sounding, fall and break, And watch her stand so still and tall, With such a heart-hid, burdening wreck, Borne silently within through all Her years of cold and cloudy sky — Watch her stand waiting for our flag To clasp hands with the double blue Of sky and ocean mingling dew — Stand waiting for our ship to drag Slow down the sea-hill out of view, To hide forever ship and crew ! — Lo ! Suddenly our sail a-furl, And suddenly the sea a-whirl Up under a light trembling-keel, To seaward too a ship a-wheel ! A shout of glee and wail of woe, Discordant winging o'er the waves ; And eyes wet at foreboding thought Of salted and unsodded graves ; Disdainful turnings on the heel; From Texas to Chili. 69 And smiles spread over bursting breasts, Hearts breaking, as the breaking crests Of waves upon the speechless shore ; And arms held up to God to know If glad return will be the lot Of him or her ; and heads of hoar Nodding adieu to early years; And maidens walking to and fro ; And children wondering at the scene ; And — A watery way has come between Our vessel and Our land ! Our sails Set seaward to its suns and gales ! One stood alone upon the rim Of land and sea, and hummed a hymn Unmeasured and unthought — one stood And struggled with her rising blood. I watched her from the rocking ship — Her standing with her bitten lip. The land went gliding down the sea; Still stood she, half-way in the flood. Her thin, pale hands, did seem to dip And dangle in the waves, as she jo From Texas to Chili. Seemed walking deeper in the deep, Until the waters seem to beat And break upon her heaving breast And drop their foam upon her hair, Like white flowers falling in the heat — And still she stood and would not weep. Then she was hid by wild unrest Of waves grown bolder and more wild, Until they dared to lift and bear A flood between me and this child. The sea-surged ship began to reel So drunkenly, it made me kneel Upon the spume-spread deck and pray, " God pilot us upon our way ! " And, kneeling with my head a whirl, There, suddenly, upon the sea, Hands clasped upon her breast, and feet Well whitened by the foam and fleet, Seemed following that blue-eyed girl And leaning tenderly to me. Ah ! had she looked such fond desire And had she leaned thus tenderly A day ago, I would not be From Texas to Chili. 71 Now striving hard to quench this fire By. dashing through this dangerous tide. I saw a moment, then she fell And vanished by the vessel's side. Forgetting I was far afloat, Forgetting this but seemed to be, I started from ray knees and cried : " God, lift her from the sea ! " — Ah ! well ! The last and highest swell of land Seems lying, as the merest mote, Scarce visible from where I stand. Now, young Past, standing on the shore, Shake farewell hands across the wave With dim seen Future, and the grave Let close above thee evermore. Let " farewell ! " be for aye and aye. Lift up your new flag high on high And shout, my memory, "You and I Will stay no longer with the dead ! " Kiss quick, Past's pale and purple lip, Turn on your heel and head your ship Far to the southwest — dash ahead ! *]2 ■ From Texas to Chili. II. A-SAIL. 4 Farewell, pale Past and land of grass! Eternally farewell to you, My high-bred girl ! and, sky of glass, Long everlastingly adieu! No wormwood tastes so bitterly As wormwood taken in the still Of meditation, when the eye Has lost sight of the eye a-swim With farewells filling to the brim, When lips, a-touch to lips a-chilf, Are parted, and when chins do trill And tremble after one is gone, And when the face, now left afar, Seems looking into yours, and one Roams mateless, as a last, lone star. To kiss a hasty, hot adieu, Is bitter, but not like the kiss (For kisses are not always bliss), From Texas to Chili. 73 Of meditating memory. To eager hold a long-loved hand In parting on a barren strand For sailing on the billowy blue Can scarcely leave an eye-lid dry ; But when the hands hang by the side, Or reach out through the bitter years, Until they grow so thin and pale By drenching in the salted tide Of flowing, but unebbing, tears, 'Tis then the drifting heart is tried, And lifted hands droop white and frail. When looping arms reach round and cling, Embracing in a sad farewell, And breast, pressed passionate to breast, Heaves heavy, while adieus are said, By pouring heart hot into heart, As mingled waters, ' bitter-sweet,' Poured noiselessly from spring to spring — Ah ! breasts thus passionately pressed Could never utter half, nor tell The number of the sheeted dead ; Still rueful as this is, yet this 6 74 From Texas to Chili. Is mingled with a taste of bliss Beside the wormwood when apart And reaching out to draw and kiss A fleshless form of nothingness Forever on the weary waste Of sweltering sea, or burning land — Forever reaching empty-hand : The former is as wind-made wave Run o'er the surface of the sea ; The latter as an earthquake swell That stirs the deep sea in its grave, Awaking the sea-buried dead, Who sit up in their quaking bed Repeating sad the history Of youth, and love, and fare-thee-well. The sun, a set of blazing gold, A breast-pin lying heaving hot Upon the bosom of the sea, At length was lost behind a fold Of Ocean's dark and waving dress A-fringe with foam, as maidens' purl Their garments with pure white and light. From Texas to Chili. 75 This Ocean's foam-locks tossing free, Winds mildly lifting every tress So spotless and so pure of sin, This Ocean's bosom heaving white, Does make me seem to see afar, By lamp-light of the evening star, The bosom of a high-bred girl Breathe fitfully, her hands held hard Above, as golden locket's lids, To hide the lone keep-sake within. A girl who, unmoved, stood and barred Her sympathies, amid the din Of partings on the distant quay — I wonder if, since I am gone, She sometimes sets the door ajar, And, standing on the wet wharf, bids ; Her feelings to the reverie ! And wishes what she said to me Were farther off than where I am, And I were there where it was said ; And wishes, bitterly, undone What 's done, and recollection dead ! 76 From Texas to Chili. The sky hangs mellowly and calm And listens to the ceaseless psalm That floats up from the devout flood, Day and night, a hymn to God. The moon, arisen in new birth, Is held up to the arching lea By holding to the starry girth Of white, gold-studded, milky-way, Which belts the blue and bastioned sky And buttons it down to the Earth. No wonder, if the heart does melt To feelings all before unfelt, Afloat beneath a scene like this, Such mellow quiet tenderness. The waves come up against our ship, And kiss it with a trembling lip. So gentle is the blue and green Soul of the sea, that only the spars, Only the tip-top seems to tip So slightly to the tipping stars. The only thing that meets my eye, That is not mild, from sea to sky, Is, off to east beneath the moon, From Texas to Chili. 77 The reaching of the troubled tide; And, on its crest, white sea-froth shines As snow-spread tops of wind-stirred pines Upon a mountain-tide of land, Or white-robed dead late deified That Christ-like on the billows stand Unsinking, glorified, and grand. And this even is a far-off boon ; For, O my God ! this moonlight still Is harder and would quicker kill, Than farewells on a barren strand ! The silent pain unnerved my will. I started, as if from a swoon, And clasped my cold hand to my head, Grown gray by fine fallen flakes of foam And dampened by a night of dew, And cried : " My God, take up this dead, Like Moses, to an unknown tomb ! Darken this calm and silent blue ! Set boiling this sad dreaming sea ! The roar, the rack of storm and gale, A lunging ship, a tattered sail, A torn flag dragging in the ocean, 78 From Texas to Chili. An hundred people shrieking, pale, And seeking safety in devotion, Were far more bearable by me ! " I broke this painful reverie Only when night broke for the day, And the vessel, which all night long lay So timidly upon the wave, Began its rocking in the breeze : And then my heart, grown over brave, Laughed loudly, shouted, sang with ease : " The Past is in an unknown grave ! " III. A-SHORE. A cloud afire, a rich red bar, Stretching over a setting sun, A yellow coin of burning gold Tossed on the table of the sea! The Andes looming up afar, From Texas to Chili. 79 Upon whose shining face a stone , Has caught the image of a star Pale, trembling at the sinking sun ! A flood of orange sunset, run Unhardened from a vesper mould, Floods South American Italy ! And Chili's peaks and gorgeous strand Are swimming in this glorious hue. Hail ! serene sea and luring land ! Hail ! lifting peaks, who pin the blue And hold it bended over you ! Hail ! home of condors floating high And drifting through the tidal sky. High-handed mountains raised to grasp The heaven-high drifts of snows, to clasp Them to your heated breasts, hail ! hail ! Strange land, shout welcome to our sail ! The sun is down ; the sail is up And bowing to the blooming shore ; And we, ashore, stand charmed and sup The breezes ,of the balmiest sea And balmiest fields that ever bore Free vessels and the shouts of free. 80 From Texas to Chili. RETRORSUM. The wharf built by the land of grass So many hundred miles away! I wonder if that proud girl stands Unweeping 'neath the sky of glass, Or if she weeps and wrings her hands ! Take hold my hand, take hold my heart My Chilian land, and be my spouse, My land of plain and I will part; Nor let thy warm unwailing sea Forever and forever rouse That distant, dimming memory, That tearless girl's last look to me. "GROWING OLD." BY MISS FADING FLIRT. T TAKE the Bible from the shelf And o'er the " Record " pore and pore And read it over to myself, " Was bom in eighteen-forty-four ! " I would not utter it aloud — No, not for all my father's gold — Still will the thought upon me crowd, " I'm growing old ! " I looked into the glass to-night. I noticed little veins of blue Stood out upon my brow of white — I mused — " Alas ! then this is true, My face has not a sign of red ! " And yet my heart is hardly bold Enough to say, what might be said, " I'm growing old ! " 82 " Growing Old." " They " only come now " as a friend " And sit upon the farthest chair. They're careful now not to offend (!) By mentioning that I am fair, Or venturing to press my hand. Are not so " rude " as to enfold Their arms about me, as I stand — Ah ! — growing old ! They talk of politics and money, The ones that used to talk of ' : love" And " luscious lips as sweet as honey," And say, " Come nestle near, my dove ! They " wonder why I do not wed," Yet never " offer " — O ! how cold ! They mean, by this, I am afraid, " You're growing old ! " I thought I heard two saucy girls Say, as they passed the other day, "Of late her boasted flood of curls Is growing thin — well, that 's the way ! " " Growing Old? 83 It's true; for, when I comb my hair, The comb fills full as it can hold. I almost cry out in despair, " I'm growing old ! " One time my hands were pigeon-breasted — How fondly then they used to kiss them ! How many tears upon them rested ! But now somehow they never miss them. Instead of dimples now are knuckles, And Charlie, who once came to hold Them fondly, stays away and chuckles, " She 's growing old ! " William, with your " little ones ! " O Charlie, with your smiling eyes, Two stars now sparkled into suns ! O many others, whose "good-bys " Each left upon my heart the trace Of fleeting years ! you say, I'm told, 1 dare not look you in the face, Since growing old ! 84 " Growing Old? The mothers call upon me now, And ministers, to sympathize And point me to the " promise bow " (!) — "You're pale," they say, with scores of "whys?" me ! they know, as well as I, My color in my youth was sold, And that the only reason why Is " growing old ! " 1 see my face is growing thin ; I see my lips have lost their red ; I've lost the dimple on my chin And half the hair upon my head. I'm growing prudish in my notions ; I fear I'm growing to " a scold ; " I'm growing angular in motions — " I'm growing old." I see the maidens in the street Smile, as I pass them of a morn. Men have quit gazing at my feet ; And bachelors now say, " Forlorn ! " " Growing Old." 85 That used to call me " young and green." Sometimes they say, " Old maid" I'm told, And, " Growing pious, growing lean, And growing old ! " I gave my younger, sweeter life, To witcheries and smiles and lies, And frightened at the thought of " wife " — My older life I give to sighs. I look back to my warmer days, Now that my heart is growing cold. And sigh, " Flirtation never pays, When we are old! " EDGAR A. POE. i. \^7"EIRD meteor of a doleful dye Thus flaming in a gloomy sky, As wayward as the comet wild, Thou strange, romantic, unknown child, A bust of deep unearthly woe, Mysterious, morbid, dreamy Poe ! n. Lamented be the day that found Thy storm-swept vessel rockward bound, And doubly cursed the fatal day, When thy lone life-boat shattered lay, In floating fragments, o'er the sea ! — A mournful loss, when Heaven lost thee in. Thou wast an angel strayed to earth, Thy voice commingling in the mirth, EdgarA.Poe. 87 And dreaming, not of gloom, but joy, And heaven, and beauty, fair-haired boy. But, " Fallen ! " what a word of wail ! What ranks of misery crowd its trail ! VI. Who knows the swelling veins of gall That burst thy soul, when thou didst fall *? Who knows the quenchless flame that fired — Consumed thy peace and then expired, Leaving the evil all unburned — The ashes of thy soul un-urned ? THREE WRECKS. A WRECK in the blue of the heaven, Wreck of a billowy cloud — Cloud-waifs that are drifting and driven, Shreds of a cloud-ship shroud ! The trail of a midnight comet Caught in the spar of a cloud ! Stars in their raiment of yellow, Floating a-top of the waves — . A-top of the high blue billow Dashing up over the graves Of the crew of the stranded vessel, The cloud-ship that broke on the waves ! A glimmer of twilight waiting The roll of blue waves to their strand, With waifs and a starry freighting To crush it down into the sand, To hurry this remnant of twilight To the sky-shore and dash it a-strand ! Three Wrecks. 89 The face of the moon on a pillow Of blue encased in the foam Of a white cloud stitched to the billow — Cold face, pale face in the spume, And dumb and afloat as a corpse's Asleep on the sea and its foam ! A hum of the fall of river That sounds like the flutter of wings Of a bird in the sky, and ever Its measure is sad, as it sings ! A rainbow of white in the heavens, Drooped down from the centre as wings, The milk-white way, for the roaming Of strange stars treading the way — For those that come up from the foaming To East and go down in the spray That breaks on the walls of a city, Where they rest through the lustre of day \ Now and then one flashing and falling Down from the highway, as a life ! 7 90 Three Wrecks. Voices of "far-off" calling! Sparks from a memory rife ! A pale face pressing a window, Lips blue as the lips of her life ! Lips folding the name of a lover ! Heart dead as a heart-dead tree ! Tears catching the purple above her And the dead-faced moon, maybe, And painting them into a picture Of a tide-tossed face on the sea ! Thin hands in the moonlight folding Bitterly over a breast, Clasping them over, as holding Her own sad history prest Alone to a pitiful bosom, Alone to a blighted breast ! A sky, like a sea, in motion, The wreck of a cloud o'erhead ! A sail a-trail in the ocean, Spars bowing above the dead ' Three Wrecks. 91 A wreck in the heart of a maiden, No wonder her face is sad ! — No wonder the red cheek blanches ; No wonder the lips are thin ; No wonder a tear-tide drenches Her face ; no wonder the din Of a storm, and a wreck, and a sea-wail, Is stirring her heart within, At a scene like this; no wonder She leans with a trembling chin, Her wan face pressing the window ; No wonder her lips are thin ! A BOOK. 73 EALITIES must have an end ; And dreams flee faster than the real ; And hearts are histories that blend The sad, the sweet, the false, the true, Regrets, with satisfactions few — The pen that writes is frosted steel, And many-colored is the ink. One line penned whiter than the page, And pointed with its points of pink, The symbols of the pure and weak — The blue, the true, the black, the bleak : The purple cold in death and age. The line of blurred and blotted red, The dripping blood of violence : The gift of gold writes one has wed The show of wealth ; the silver touch A Book. 93 Tells of the dead ones, tells where such In Heaven pitch their shining tents ! And I have turned this blended book Till I have found the silvered line ; And so I read which way to look Devoutly to her shining tent — And sometimes, when the veil is rent, She listens, while I call her Mine. INDIAN SUMMER ON THE PLAINS. f~* R ASS ! grass ! plashing, plashing under the hollow glass Held, hung, and hollowed over the world of grass ! Sky of glass, palm of the hand of God on high ! Grass and sky under and over, filling the world and eye ! Space ! space ! and never a sign and never a single trace Of fallen cities, or where a tyrant has set his face ! Far, far away look at a setting star, With never a forest, nor even a single spar, Far, far a-reach from a single tree to mar The streaming light — to throw on the face a bar ! Flowers ! flowers ! taller, grander, standing above as towers Over a roof of green ! — Now falling their leaves in showers. Indian Summer on the Plains. 95 Bloom ! bloom ! fading, falling, falling away in gloom ! Green ! green ! falling away, going down to a tomb! Roof! roof of green wrought in wonderful woof Over the world as a temple, you wrought as a roof; Flowers, as towers, now that the crisping hours Come, temple, towers, all fading, falling your powers ! Stand ! stand ! gray, brown, dead as a withered hand, Gray as a ruined temple in an old and fabled land! Gales ! gales ! swift running and whirling! wails Sounding from under the chariot wheels ! gales Whirling the dust, tossing the grass, flapping the veils — Veils ! veils of Indian summer smoke walking the air with trails ! Red ! red light of the sun — face of the moon o'erspread ! 96 Indian Summer on the Plains. Redder than anything living, redder than any* thing dead, Red in the struggle of death, neither living nor dead — This is Indian summer — red, painfully red ! SAILOR'S FAREWELL. DID not think yours was the hand, Clung as it was, to loose so soon — Your love the tender guiding moon, Bright in my night, to stop and stand Half way to noon and fade and dim And leave me in the voiceless gloom, Stand trembling on the narrow rim, That circles an eternal tomb. Hard as this is, I yield — Farewell ! There are times when the boasted will Stands like a dead man in the still ; And this is one, when lovers tell The last love-beads, and blur and blot, By blood-lined tears, life's young white page. But go — and hope that yet this thought May dim by dust and din of age ! 98 Sailors Farewell. The heart is not a cup of steel : I cannot keep this keen-edged word From cutting, though a brilliant bird Sings loud its melody of weal, And flutters joyous on the sea, And specks it with the foam a-shine — It is the same, or worse to me, Its song but saddens the repine. This shore to leave I would be loath, Were we but one still, as before, Our voices tangling in the roar Of ocean in his fur of froth, Somehow I see his whitened rim Seem reaching up between us two, And waves loop round me limb to limb, And bear me swift away from you. Would this were o'er, and we afar ! And yet my heart does bleed to know, O God, how soon this will be so. When I am gone, hold, like a spar, Sailors Farewell. 99 Your hand high o'er your head to mark The ruin and the wreck below, Your smugglings in the stormy dark — Call me, and I will come to you. I know we two, apart, will kneel, Instead of knee to knee, as now, When years, and miles, and tears, and woe As thirsting caravan will reel Between us on a desert way — Will kneel and listen to the sea In murmured prayer — will kneel and pray For what can never, never be. 'Tis hard to know one is alone ; Yet drear as 'tis, I will not miss The clasp, and smile, and sacred kiss, More than thou wilt, and not more prone Will trail upon my troubling breast The leaves and bloom that love has grown, Than they, so pale and deathly dressed, Will lean low on thy trembling own. ioo Sailor s Farewell. No less will days be desolate, With corpses and a burial rite. I bear henceforth one lifelong night — For days are nights, at least I rate Them shadows of my former days — No whit less desolate and dead Than thine, nor song-full, bloom-full Mays Can lighten long their sombre tread. But go — and hope this lonesome knell May drown in noise of years ! Is this, My God ! the fruit of flowering kiss ? Is this the end of bliss? " Farewell ! " Such is not much, yet it does fill More eyes brimfull of bitternesses, Yet it more lips does blue and chill Than graves and death — white more gold tresses 1 We pass fast on life's bustling way, Pass running, and, with ruth, alas ! Reach left and right to those we pass, And reckless shake fair hands and say, Sailors Farewell. 101 " Farewell ; farewell ! " until we grasp Some hand that draws us lip to lip ; Then, when we start and break this clasp, Two hearts break with the breaking grip. I did not think yours was the hand To stop me, in my rush to wake This charming song so soon to break In measured wails — to leave unmanned Two ships to toss on sunless sea ! — Unclasped, ungripped from those we woo, Hands shake less warmly, after we Have torn them from the tender true ! The world is wild, and teeming wide With motley millions true and false. Rush in amid their shout and waltz — Nod sadly to the medley tide Of youth and age ; the half, maybe, Have clasped hands once too often, too ! And should you see two, knee to knee, Weep not that 'tis not me and you. 102 Sailors Farewell. For lips must touch but to untouch ; And breast hugs breast, and trembles glad But to be left unclasped and sad ; And parting hands are left to clutch At shadows, always empty-hand ; And eyes with love-light shine and burn But to be turned to tears — so stand And say : " Farewell ! " and do not mourn ! God never gives but one like thee To wander, with thy bleeding feet, A time amid the cold and heat, And lead one on, as you have me. Farewell ! and should a troubled keel Toss up in view, and should you hear Sometime a sea-waii — should you kneel Then on this shore, pray weep no tear Because you cannot kneel more near Me tossing on that wheeling ship — And, should you see me reach and reel, Let no lament lift purpling lip ! LIFE IN DEATH. A LONE green tree amid the dead, A lone flower on a lone green tree, Blue blossom gleaming overhead, And bluer than a blue-bell's blue, And vying with the spotless hue Of May skies melting to a sea ! Leaves leaning to the lisping stream, Limbs clasping to the tender breeze, Shells painted pure and rich-hued cream ! Blue bloom now turned up to the sky, Now gazing with its golden eye On shadows bended to their knees ! These shadows circling round me, knelt, Seem so like voiceless angels, till Their sainted tendernesses melt And flood my spirit like a balm. They kneel, they kiss me in the calm, And woo to worship in the still. 104 Life in Death. Green grasses with a touch of blue, Calm blades that tread with tufted feet, That, arm in arm and two by two, Seem, moving in the mellow shade, To woo with whispers, so afraid To break the peace so sad, yet sweet. This live spot 'mid the soulless dead, This still life hath its counterpart, A history unwrit, unsaid, Save only what the pen of God Has written on the silent sod Of sod-bloomed graves within a heart. This stately beauty-bearing tree Is as the symbol of a life. That one blue blossom seems to me, So purer than the sinless sky, The symbol of a sweet fond eye Which calls up recollections rife. THE GARDEN WAY. nr*HIS world 's a great fair flower-garden spot That lies along a " ghastly rapid river " Called Death ; and, on the other bank, the lot Of Heaven, high broad plateau, lies gleaming ever, Whose shining leaves eternal wither not ; And in the dismal mist, stands reaching over This stream a damp drear bridge, and named the Tomb, A crossing on the Christian's highway home. ii. This highway is a straight and narrow road Through Earth's flower beds, o'er the bridge, and up to rest. Away back from the river's deathly flood We, young and easily wrong impressed, 106 The Garden Way. Begin our trial journey up toward God. This blooming Garden, in its glory dressed, Is hedged with trees of mystery, that drop Their lightless blossoms from their dusky top. in. First, here's a bed of Doubts that creep and feel About the ground, and o'er it weave and tangle How, at the silent eloquent appeal That glistens from a thousand flowers that dangle Amid their wet work, does the feeling steal On us to go and pluck some curious spangle ! Stay out : for once amid this twining host Of doubts, your feet are caught, and all is lost ! IV. And, O ! the gorgeous splendor of this bed Of pleasure-posies ! How they shimmer, twinkle, How beckon with each sparkling, nodding head ! Their witching, silvery, golden, diamond tinkle - The Garden Way. 107 Calls, " Come ! " And how her lolling beauties plead "Come in!" — Go not; for stinging nettles crinkle Beneath these flowers, thick and matted. When The gar'dner comes to gather them, mark, then — v. He'll drive you 'mid the leaves of punishment That rustle in the bitter vale of Pain ! — And here 's a bed of Hopes, but ah ! how blent With flowers of fear so pale and crisped by blain ! These are uncertainties, whose flowers, top-bent, Keep tossing, bowing, lifting, and, in vain, Reaching for something never found to clasp. Go not to pluck their bloom — withhold thy grasp ! VI. Go not among their restless stalks, to let Them blind you, with their endless, cursed toss- ing. 108 The Garden Way. Keep straight ahead, till at the parapet That leads you to the river's gloomy crossing ; Then close your weary eyes without regret, Lay hands in Christ's, who'll lead you crossing Beyond, where death nor sorrow ever dares To enter, " and God shall wipe away all tears! " ' MOTHER, PRAY! SIT and sing the cheerless song That I have sung so many years, — ■ A song that has no hope. How long Before to-night, since any tears Have bathed the fever of my eye ! O, me ! my very heart will break ! For, though I kneel so low and try, I cannot pray. Then let me cry The night away, and let me take My tears to her, for she can pray. How many nights of storm and calm Now has she pointed out the way. Still, when she prays, God hears my name I cannot pray ; then let me go And give my tears to her; I know That she would clasp her hands, and bow With sweetened tears to know that I Can even weep and wish to pray. O mother, let me come and lay no Mother, Pray ! My yearning tears upon thy prayer, To wing them Home, and kindly near And pour them in the hand of God, That He may know I kneel and try To say a prayer, and " kiss the rod !".... What tender voice runs on the air ? O mother, 'tis his words I hear ; " We own thy tear," I hear Him say, " And let thee pray ! " . . I pray ! I pray ! ESTHER. T7STHER, the light sun lingers And works with his gilded fingers In the tops of the trees, Under and over tangling His silken rays, With broken ravelings spangling The breeze. Esther, the sun with gilt fingers, That works in the tree-tops, lingers Where I can see, But never can feel, his glory ; And so of thee The " dim-remembered story " Unfelt I see! ELLEN. "DACK years, many years in the distance, Where the sea of the past in the far-off Clasps hands with my life-sky of purple, Forever I see, by the foaming, Her feet in the pebbles of sea-shells, Her hair in the hands of the sea-breeze, Her lips in the kiss of the sea-surf And her violet eyes in a tear-tide — Forever I see, by the foaming, A memory fond and eternal : And daily I kneel by the sea-shore, And holding my ear to the sea-shells, Pink-lipped and eternally singing, In echo, the sounds of the voices That mingle their melody o'er them. I catch, from their lips pink, singing, The prayer of my beautiful Ellen. Then, looking away to the future, I see, on the rim of an ocean Ellen. 1 1 3 More peaceful than placid Pacific, Out of Time in the country eternal — On the rim of the waters of crystal, Her hair in the hands of the breezes Of balm in the blisses of Heaven, Her soul brimming over with beauty And love that is more than eternal. And so I reach back in the distance, Regretting the shore I am leaving, And lean with a hope to the future, Rejoicing at what I am nearing. — -Look back dim-eyed to a picture, A memory fond and eternal, Look on, with a hope, into Heaven, For a love that is more than eternal — Look back on the dead and a parting With memory fond and eternal — Ahead with the hope of a meeting With love that is more than eternal. N A MEMORY. r\ MOUNTS ! O moons ! O stars ! O trees ! O skies ! O lakes ! O rushing streams ! O rough-hewn lands ! O rolling seas ! O wormwood dregs of broken dreams ! Why stir those winter wind-numbed bees Of memory to set their stings To torturing my wayward soul And deafening with their din of wings *? Why frown ? why smile ? why rush ? why roll? Why are these shoutings, whisperings, Dead leaves of Falls and blooms of Springs Forerunners up my wild weird way, To wail unending in my ears, When skies are clear, or dark, or gray, That tender voice of early years, And make me out of bitter tears See, on the northeast shore of pine, That child " found floating on the brine ? " " THE CHILD OF WOE ! " CHE walks on the shore of a wintry night; And her hands are thin, and her hair is white — White with the snows that come below, And each flake, pitying, tries to light So tenderly over the " Child of Woe " — And yet, as they gather soft and slow, Clustering over her neck of snow, She shivereth under her scanty fold — Cold, so cold ! The world is white, and the sky is hid By tears that fall from under the lid Of clouds shut over the eye-like moon, As, frozen a frosty white, they glide Down the cheek of the sky, so soon To light and mingle them, cold as stone, With tears meandering, one by one, Over her face — O men with gold ! — Cold, so cold ! n6 " The Child of Woe? The clouds, o'erhanging, are white and chill As the snowy earth ; and, up on the hill, The marble monuments, slim and tall, Lean up to the sky so pale and still ; And her face is white as the snows that fall - And the drearest spot in her heart of all, Is where there trembles the cheerless wail, A word too sad for the world to hold, " Cold, so cold ! " The snows crowd into her tattered shoe — No wonder her lips are thin and blue ! — And blue ne'er symboled a sweeter mind, Or a soul whose needle could dip more true To Heaven than hers, or a heart more kind ; And still the eyes of the world are blind — And, O, here cometh a whirl of wind ! God, help her see through the flying fold Of snows, so cold ! How rise the drear and gathering drifts ! And each, like a living ghost, uplifts " The Child of Woe" 1 1 7 As though it reached for the cold embrace Of the upper drift, that wails and sifts Down chillingly into her whitened face ! How fast it covers the latest trace Of her freezing feet, as, pace by pace, She strives on, hugging the scanty fold, Cold, so cold ! And no one offers a guiding hand To help her over the whitened sand, As fair lights out of the windows gleam Where all within is a tropic land — Ah ! would it a want of charity seem Should she, adrift with the snowy stream, Half-way think and half-way dream That the hearts and hands that have the gold Are cold, O ! cold ? O, me ! what a homeless waif of woes ! Sailing alone on a sea of snows, Her yearning voice so frail that none Will listen at all, and no one knows Its cry is meant for a signal gun ! n8 "The Child of Woe? So the strong go by her one by one — No wonder then, as she tosses on, She sighs, a-clutching her scanty fold, " The World is cold ! " And, O ! as she goes, will no one come And make in his heart an-inch of room? And warm her cheek with a Christian tear ? And take her out of the snowy gloom ? — What a pitiful call for a bit of cheer! O ! how can a Christian help but hear *? Then send her to me, for, O ! I fear No one will know, till a snowy fold Winds her — cold ! SO LOOK ABOVE. /J HOLT stillness hovers in the air And bathes the soul in peaceful reverie ; Breathe low, nor speak, nor sigh, nor even dare To break the sweetened still with sounds of glee ! The very flowers their purest homage tend And kiss their fragrant incense to the sky. They look above, and drop and blend Their sinless tears where dying shadows lie. The silver moon unveils her timid face Made mild with messages of speechless love — God's felt, but unseen, presence fills the place And melts the heart to prayer — so look above ! FINIS.