THE RESCUE OF 
 DE^>EMONA (J8u 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
THE RESCUE OF 
 D E S D E M ON A 
 ^ OTHER VERSE 
 
auTHE RESCUE OF DES 
 DEMONA AND Sl OTHER 
 VERSE ^^Ju BY WILLIAM 
 HOOPER HOWELLS 
 
LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two Copies Rwe'vsd 
 
 DEC i 1303 
 
 CUSS 
 
 Copyright^ igoSt h G'^^g* Wolfe Plank 
 
 .f^ 
 
 ^.'^^ 
 
 VD'N'^ 
 
 ./?v^ 
 
 oS 
 
There* s nothing serious in publicity 
 
 OETTING at defiance the 
 
 immemorial antagonism 
 
 existing between publishers and 
 
 authors^ and utterly ignoring 
 
 this ancient feud with all its 
 
 hatred and distrust, I dedicate 
 
 this little book with cheerful 
 
 amity and child-like confidence to 
 
 the Editors of ''The ButterfiyT 
 w, H. H. 
 
 "Blessed are the peacemakers^^ 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Author's Excuse . 
 The Rescue of Desdemona 
 
 Sonnets 
 
 L'ile D' Amour 
 
 A Butterfly 
 
 The Flower and the Comet 
 
 New Providence 
 
 November 
 
 Charles Lamb 
 
 Buddha 
 
 Service . 
 
 Beneath the Snow 
 
 The Back Log 
 
 Christmas at Home 
 
 Sunrise 
 
 March . 
 
 February 
 
 Mars . , 
 
 IX 
 
 I 
 
 ^1 
 68 
 69 
 70 
 
 71 
 72 
 
 73 
 74 
 
 75 
 76 
 
 n 
 
 78 
 
 79 
 80 
 
 81 
 
Wordi . 
 
 • 
 
 . 
 
 . 
 
 , 
 
 82 
 
 The Bach Aria in G 
 
 83 
 
 In Memory of my brother Howard . . .84 
 
 5CELLANE0US PoEMS 
 
 AND Lyrics 
 
 A Rose Arose 
 
 91 
 
 In Mexico 
 
 
 
 
 
 92 
 
 Devotion 
 
 
 
 
 
 93 
 
 A Dining Room Panel 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 95 
 
 Unknown 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 96 
 
 Habit . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 98 
 
 Otto of Roses 
 
 
 
 
 
 99 
 
 The Butterfly and the Thistle 
 
 
 
 
 . lOI 
 
 On Cape Cod 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 103 
 
 Bobolink 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 . 104 
 
 In Berlin 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 . 105 
 
 Fidelis Paupcrtas 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 . 106 
 
IT is customary for most authors to introduce 
 themselves and work to their readers through 
 the medium of a more or less prolix " Preface/* 
 " Foreword," " Introduction," " Apology," or 
 " Explanation." 
 
 The infinite number and variety of disin- 
 genuous excuses that have been employed by 
 them to palliate the just indignation of a long- 
 suffering public, leave but one to the author 
 which has not already been used to the vanishing 
 point of patience, and upon which he seizes with 
 avidity. 
 
 Happily the sentiment of mankind covers 
 the errors of extreme youth with the stainless 
 mantle of charity. The sins and follies of the 
 
young become crimes and misdemeanors in the 
 old, and for this reason only dare the author of 
 Desdemona^ handicapped with lack of years and 
 experience, diffidently approach his readers, as- 
 sured that through his youth alone he must 
 expect absolution. 
 
 If any other excuse were necessary for the 
 publication of this afflictive volume, it may be 
 found only by the profoundly astute, in the very 
 old, hackneyed and vulgar motive on the part of 
 this writer to experience the deliciously novel 
 sensation of speculating upon his own exertions, 
 and enjoying a reasonable share of the anticipated 
 deficit. w. h. h. 
 
THE RESCUE OF DESDEMONA 
 
IN Venice, long ago, when doges great 
 Maintained with patriotic zeal the State ; 
 When glory like a mantle robed the queen 
 Of Adrians waters with a golden sheen ; 
 When speedy galleys bore her warriors brave 
 The foe to conquer, and the friend to save. 
 Or sailed afar from Campanile bells 
 To smite the Turk within the Dardanelles — 
 'Twas then, in that remote, heroic day 
 Occurred the incidents that move this lay. 
 And stirred the heart of many a merry maid 
 To thoughts amusing, when the evening shade 
 
Descended on the streets that ebb and rise 
 With muffled cadence 'neath the Bridge of Sighs. 
 
 'Twas night. Brabantio in his palace fair 
 Slept lightly as a man enslaved by care. 
 An ancient senator of some renown. 
 Holding high place within the island town. 
 He spent the half retirement of his age 
 In public estimation rich and sage. 
 He slept, but through the twilight of his mind 
 Beheld a dream of evil slowly wind, 
 And startled woke to hear about his door 
 A tumult like a battle, and a roar 
 Of voices raucous, bidding him awaken. 
 For that his only child her leave had taken 
 Without his leave, and gone with one Othello, 
 A soldier of the State, a splendid fellow. 
 Whose greatest crime was that of being yellow. 
 Brabantio from the casement poked his head. 
 And argued with the rioters below ; 
 Disturbed and much incensed, he sternly said 
 That to the devil they might promptly go. 
 But when he recognized Roderigo there, 
 A youth whose suit for Desdemona*s hand 
 Had been non-suited, blowing through the air 
 Hot wads of warning and of reprimand, 
 He thought it best to ascertain with speed 
 What reasons could be found for such a deed. 
 
These failing, he resolved that young Roderigo 
 Should find his person parted from his ego. 
 So, summoning his servants in hot haste. 
 They searched the palace, cupboards, attics, halls; 
 The screens and furniture were much displaced, 
 But all in vain — no answer to their calls 
 Fell on the anxious sire's attentive ears — 
 A fact which strongly verified his fears. 
 Robing himself with rage and other clothing, 
 He joined Roderigo, voicing loud his loathing 
 For Moors in general, but Othello most. 
 To whom he oft had played the gracious host. 
 Unthinking that the soldier's tales of slaughter 
 Could win the favor of his listening daughter. 
 To talk and trade, or gamble for simoleans 
 With negro, Turk, or even with Mongolians, 
 May do — but when they marry our relations. 
 It rather spoils the gaiety of nations. 
 So, filled with vengeance, out into the night 
 Went old Brabantio with retainers ten. 
 Each with a flaming torch and sword bedight. 
 To join with young Roderigo and his men. 
 Thus making quite a formidable squad — 
 And forth they fared, resolved the Moor to prod. 
 
 Now, one lago, connoisseur in sin, 
 
 Othello's "Ancient" — meaning understrapper — 
 
 Was the prime mover in the shocking din, 
 
 3 
 
In truth, Roderigo's prompter in the matter. 
 But when he saw Brabantio coming down. 
 He said to Rod, "Dear boy, I hold it fit 
 And best for me that I should instant flit 
 To some more quiet portion of the town ; 
 But you will find me with my hated master, 
 Engaged in nursing this unfledged disaster 
 Which I will nurture with such cunning art 
 That, when mature, a feather it will shed 
 To wing the arrow that shall reach the heart 
 Of this same Moor, and bow his head 
 In dark humiliation — patient wait ; 
 To Desdemona this shall be your gate — 
 Be gay, and hope — put money in thy purse. 
 And help the ancient senator to curse." 
 Thus saying, to his heels lago took 
 With such good speed as to escape the look 
 Which old Brabantio, with suspicion fleet 
 Cast all about him when he reached the street. 
 Loud the magnifico's wild lamentation. 
 Denouncing bitterly miscigination. 
 He mourned his daughter's loss in every key 
 That touched the chord of hopeless misery, 
 And then asserted, as an afterthought. 
 That direful spells of magic had been wrought 
 To blind her senses and her reason blight. 
 Ere to the Moor she could her fealty plight — 
 To all of which Roderigo gave his backing. 
 
Asserting he himself had read of cases 
 Where youths of merit had received a sacking 
 From maids bewitched by men of other races: 
 Which clearly shows, Caucasians even then 
 Possessed a hate for worthy colored men. 
 
 Meantime lago to his chief had sped, 
 And thus, with seeming diffidence, he said : 
 "My lord, I late have heard your honored name 
 Allied with all the epithets of shame. 
 The old Brabantio in a fury swears 
 That you, by hellish, necromantic snares 
 Have ta'en away his daughter ; and declares 
 Your life shall pay the forfeit for this act,' 
 And hither shortly comes with venom packed. 
 By relatives and vengeful friends attended 
 To sec your great career abruptly ended. 
 I was sore tempted the old ass to slay, 
 And many times my sword was fain to leap 
 In wrath well justified, his breath to stay. 
 But 'tis my fault. I never yet could keep 
 The thought of murder long enough aglow 
 To nerve the arm which should impel the blow; 
 Though in the rage of battle, I confess, 
 My active blade knew naught of idleness ; 
 And on the trembling field, without remorse, 
 Piled the red earth with many a pallid corse. 
 But look, my liege ! Brabantio approaches. 
 
 5 
 
Let us away, escaping his reproaches." 
 
 The Moor with lofty thought and self-control 
 
 Said, "Nay, lago. Shall my perfect soul 
 
 Stoop cringing then to any craven fear? 
 
 No ! Let them come, mine Ancient, I am here!" 
 
 And come they did, a very pretty crowd, 
 
 With torch and sword and imprecations loud. 
 
 And flashing arms and robes of Tyrian dye — 
 
 A shining show, presenting to the eye 
 
 A scene which, doubled in the grand canal. 
 
 Shone like a gay nocturnal carnival. 
 
 Mocking night's sombre visage and beguiling 
 
 The sable goddess into fitful smiling. 
 
 But on Brabantio's livid countenance 
 No traces of a smile were seen to glance 
 When he observed the Moor with hauty pose, 
 Audacious, stand before his very nose. 
 It seemed, indeed, for one brief moment's flight, 
 As though the devil had contrived a fight. 
 lago swaggering forward cocked his plume. 
 And to Roderigo said, with wink of gloom, 
 "You, sir, shall be my foeman in this row. 
 Come, draw your sword, and we'll begin it now ! 
 In combat I'm a hungry epicure. 
 And long to drape your giblets on my skewer." 
 The Moor, however, bade the riot cease ; 
 For, though his occupation made for peace 
 
 6 
 
Through war alone, he justly, to his thinking, 
 Claimed rank and title to commence the pinking. 
 The old Brabantio during this confab 
 Had never ceased the shrinking air to stab 
 With vocal weapons, and abuse to bellow 
 With sundry maledictions on Othello. 
 "Where is my daughter,'* quoth he, "damned 
 
 black? 
 Thy wizard limbs shall stretch upon the rack. 
 No power but sorcery could maid seduce 
 From home patrician, save by some abuse 
 Of nature and of reason. Sooty skin 
 Might never yet a lily maiden win. 
 I charge you, officers, this man arrest ; 
 To prison take him ; I will do the rest. 
 To prosecute this case before my peers 
 I dedicate my ducats and my years." 
 Just at this point Othello's right-hand man, 
 One Cassio, came abruptly on the scene. 
 And, pausing not belligerants to scan. 
 Went to his chief, and with respectful mien 
 Said, "Sir, the Duke is most importunate 
 To see you at the Council of the State, 
 And I am charged to bring you with all speed 
 Before him ; nothing should your haste impede. 
 Late Cyprian news the Senate has provoked. 
 And your advice is urgently invoked." 
 Then to Brabantio turned the Moor, and said, 
 
 7 
 
" You hear the message. Peril not your head 
 By thwarting my obedience to the Duke ; 
 Othello never shall deserve rebuke 
 For laggard steps when voice of duty calls — 
 Therefore make way. Cassio, lago, come.*' 
 At this, the Senator to silence falls. 
 His posse comitatus, looking glum. 
 Fell back to right and left before the Moor, 
 Who swept between them stately and secure. 
 Then old Brabantio shouted with some vigor 
 This final insult, which contained much gall : 
 "You're nothing but a pestilential nigger — 
 Simply a nigger — do you hear ? That's all !" 
 Now, I maintain Brabantio coined this word, 
 As previous to that time 'twas never heard. 
 Through ancient archives, sacred and profane, 
 A careful quest has only proved in vain. 
 The word was born of hate, by hatred flung 
 With dire intent to sting — and so it stung; 
 And ever since has run its shameful paces. 
 Employed and loved by Anglo-Saxon races. 
 I have seen negroes black as opera hats 
 Fight to the death like fierce Kilkenny cats. 
 Because, when swapping hot disparagement. 
 One or the other utterly forgetting 
 The ethics of abuse, too eloquent 
 Had given to the air that word, upsetting 
 In one brief moment all ideas of peace, 
 
 8 
 
Which honking vanished like a flock of geese. 
 So you'll agree that in this word so weird 
 Resides a potency which should be feared. 
 Othello heard the taunt, and pausing turned, 
 Looked at Brabantio with eyes that burned. 
 And said, with quiet and majestic air, 
 "My lord, you go too far — but have a care — 
 Consider this : no bird is half so vile 
 As that which doth himself his nest defile; 
 And, if this will not close your blatant maw. 
 Remember that I am your son-in-law." 
 The Moor resumed his way serenely proud. 
 While silence for a moment held the crowd. 
 The Senator incensed soon broke the spell 
 And cried, " We to the Duke will go as well, 
 And there before the Council of the State 
 Will I my own and daughter's wrongs relate. 
 And crave redress, which no one dare deny : 
 My cause will triumph and the Moor shall die!' 
 So said, so done. Brabantio and all 
 Followed Othello to the ducal hall. 
 
 In the great Senate chamber of the State 
 The Duke and Council sat in high debate, 
 Resolving means to thwart the Moslem host 
 Which sailed in sixty galleys for the coast 
 Of Cyprus, with intent the isle to sack 
 And take away that very bric-a-brac 
 
 9 
 
Which now adorns our Central Park museums — 
 Placed by Cesnola there with loud Te Deums. 
 The hour was late when through the portal entered 
 A group on which the Senate's eyes were centered. 
 First came Othello, by his staff attended, 
 In flowing robes of price and armor splendid; 
 And then Brabantio, with a visage green. 
 And his retainers — possibly seventeen. 
 
 Imposing silence with a waving hand, 
 
 The Duke arose and spoke in accents bland : 
 
 "Valiant Othello, sit at my right hand ; 
 
 Thrice welcome are you, for the public need 
 
 Is such that we must operate with speed. 
 
 To you, Brabantio, also welcome goes. 
 
 For your advice is poison to our foes." 
 
 Up spoke the seignior with exceeding ire : 
 
 "Your Grace, I come not here on state aff^airs 
 
 Which well may pause before a grief so dire, 
 
 A wrong so terrible, that other cares 
 
 Seem but to me as trifling and as light 
 
 As nip of flea against a lion's bite. 
 
 My lord, by sorcery and enchantment swayed. 
 
 My daughter Desdemona, virtuous maid. 
 
 Has by a damned villain been betrayed. 
 
 Abducted from my palace and conveyed 
 
 To spot unknown. I therefore beg your grace 
 
 That my petition shall have primal place. 
 
And that the law may instantly proceed 
 
 To save my daughter and avenge this deed." 
 
 Astonishment and stillness all unbroken 
 
 Fell on the Senate when these words were spoken ; 
 
 Until the Duke the following decision 
 
 Pronounced judicially with firm precision : 
 
 "If what you say, Brabantio, is true, 
 
 The law shall be administered by you; 
 
 You shall decide the punishment exact. 
 
 Most fit to recompense such dastard act. 
 
 Who is the caitiff subject to this charge? — 
 
 For he no longer shall remain at large.*' 
 
 Upon the face of the magnifico 
 
 There gleamed a smile of premature delight, 
 
 And with a jeweled finger pointing slow. 
 
 He said, " I charge the man upon your right. 
 
 The false Othello is the woman thief 
 
 That worked through charms this deed of shame 
 
 and grief." 
 He paused, and all the Senate in confusion 
 Supposed Brabantio suffering from illusion. 
 Besides, the Moor, a general of renown, 
 Was never yet so needed by the town 
 To check the Turk, and backward swiftly thrust 
 
 him, 
 Or on the coast of Cyprus simply bust him. 
 Therefore the Duke, commanding silence, said, 
 " Othello, you have heard this plea severe ; 
 
Make answer, then, I charge you on your head, 
 The truth relate, nor for our justice fear. 
 In law, the evidence on either side 
 Must still be heard before the court decide ; 
 And oftentimes the story first rehearsed, 
 After the second, proves a bubble burst.** 
 Thus conjured by the Duke, Othello rose 
 With dauntless mien, confronting friends and foes. 
 And said, "Most potent, grave and reverend sirs. 
 My very worthy and approved good masters. 
 That I am charged with this offending, stirs 
 My spirit more than blazing war's disasters. 
 That I have ta*en this old man's child away 
 And married her, is patent as the day; 
 But as for spells and charms, or magic potions, 
 Devices dark, or other devilish notions. 
 My open life, untouched of secret guile. 
 Might well refute such allegations vile. 
 I'd rather be a fiddler from Cremona 
 Than win by fraud the lovely Desdemona. 
 Rude, sirs, am I of speech, and lack the skill 
 Your ears with subtle eloquence to fill. 
 For all my youth, in camp and battle spent. 
 Has little fostered studious ornament ; 
 Yet will I strive a story to recount, 
 Which may, my lords, your prejudice surmount; 
 Of how I prospered in the lady's wooing 
 And what black arts attended on my suing. 
 
 12 
 
This tale, to bear conviction to your thought, 
 Should by my wife have ample reinforcement. 
 I therefore beg the lady may be brought ; 
 My life I stake on her complete endorsement. 
 Go, then, mine Ancient, with attendants three. 
 And hither Desdemona bring to me." 
 At this the old Brabantio interjected, 
 " This suits my book, though rather unexpected. 
 I did not think the Moor had such a cheek. 
 He lies, and bluffs and boasts like any Greek ! 
 My daughter will refute his paltry claims. 
 And I shall laugh to see the scamp in chains." 
 The Duke, however, said with easy grace, 
 " Seignior Brabantio, kindly close your face ; 
 Othello will proceed with his recital. 
 To prove the lady his by rightful title." 
 Without delay the Moor his tale began, 
 And thus the interesting story ran: 
 "Her father loved me; to his palace fine 
 Invited me full oft to sup or dine; 
 And though he hates me now, I must confess 
 That with his terrapin and champagne sec 
 He was profuse almost to an excess. 
 Till I was frequent loaded to the neck. 
 At his request I told him of the frights 
 And dangers I had borne ; the frantic fights. 
 When in the deadly breach, with hope forlorn, 
 I had been stricken in the battlers storm ; 
 
 13 
 
The cannibals by whom I was enslaved; 
 
 The desert Dinosaurus that I braved. 
 
 The Duck-billed Platypus, whose horrid peck 
 
 Had ripped a hole athwart my galley's deck, 
 
 Walked through the orifice, and there and then 
 
 Devoured alive a moiety of my men — 
 
 'Twas very impolite, as no one knew him — 
 
 And being slightly vexed, by Jove ! I slew him ! 
 
 Compared with him in size the ancient roc 
 
 Was little larger than a bantam cock. 
 
 'Twas also mine to hint that on the Nile 
 
 I once was swallowed by a crocodile. 
 
 And lived for many days and trying nights 
 
 Exclusively upon the creature's lights; 
 
 Until one morn I heard an auto honk, 
 
 And recognized my friend the jabberwonk. 
 
 He at my instance killed the saurian beast, 
 
 Ripped up the monster and myself released. 
 
 Then, too, I told him, not without a sigh. 
 
 About the cheerless anthropophagi — 
 
 Pigmies, whose heads beneath their arms are seen — 
 
 Which makes them awkward for the guillotine 
 
 And fills the sad beholder with vexation. 
 
 Repelling any thought of annexation 
 
 By matrimonial association. 
 
 These stories Desdemona partly heard 
 
 While pouring wine, or carving of a bird ; 
 
 But running out to buy a can of beer, 
 
 14 
 
And being sometimes there and sometimes here, 
 
 Did with her interest greatly interfere. 
 
 And so she begged that I would please detail 
 
 In chronologic order all the tale, 
 
 So that she might my whole career survey 
 
 Like to the scene of some distressful play. 
 
 This then I did, from boyhood to the end ; 
 
 And for my pains she gave a world of sighs, 
 
 And told me frankly if I had a friend 
 
 Would truly woo her, he might come anigh 
 
 And boldly sue, if he my tale could tell 
 
 In terms like mine, or only half so well. 
 
 Upon this hint, my hopes to heaven flew. 
 
 I looked into her eyes of thrilling blue. 
 
 And felt the anguish of a love as great 
 
 As ever struggled with the gods of fate. 
 
 The rest you know, my lords; and if in this 
 
 There hides enchantment, or aught else amiss, 
 
 I am prepared the penalty to pay. 
 
 Say to the world *good-bye,' and close the day." 
 
 Othello paused. A murmur of applause 
 Followed his story and approved his cause. 
 The Duke, concurring with the general tone. 
 Observed that, speaking for himself alone. 
 He thought that such a tale, so deftly told. 
 Would doubtless take an overmastering hold 
 Upon the heart of almost any maid, 
 
 IS 
 
And candidly confessed he was afraid 
 That his own daughter hardly could resist 
 The charm of such a verbal alchemist ; 
 And therefore he advised Brabantio 
 To stay his suit and let the matter go — 
 With Moor and Desdemona patch a truce, 
 And send the angry passions to the deuce. 
 For, after all, if from the wine-skin leaks 
 One-half its contents through the bearer's cheeks, 
 What sort of idiot he, its loss deploring. 
 Beggars himself still more by promptly pouring 
 The precious residue, with haste insane 
 And wanton folly, down the kitchen drain ? 
 To this Brabantio brieflly made reply : 
 "My lord, your wisdom clearly I descry; 
 And should it seem by Desdemona's story 
 That she herself was party to this wooing, 
 I will renounce my late intentions gory. 
 And mar no more their billing and their cooing. 
 But here she comes. Daughter, attend to me; 
 Look round this chamber ; tell us if you see 
 The one to whom obedience is due — 
 He whose authority comes first with you." 
 The lovely Desdemona, thus addressed. 
 Surveyed the scene with eyes of gentian hue 
 Which found Othello by instinctive quest. 
 And beamed with joy upon his face to rest. 
 Long was the look, while all the Council bent 
 
 i6 
 
To hear the answer Desdcmona sent. 
 Then turning to her father, thus she spake 
 In tones that made the soul of music wake; 
 "To you, sir, I protest my life I owe. 
 And what I am in learning or in grace ; 
 But to the Moor must my allegiance go. 
 The force of Nature's law in this we trace. 
 For, as my mother left her sire for you. 
 So I to such example shall be true." 
 Thus Desdemona closed her brief oration; 
 Othello's heart leaped up with adoration. 
 The Senators and Duke were all elate. 
 The Moor was saved for service to the State. 
 Brabantio, gloomily resigned, confessed 
 That to submit to fate was sometimes best ; 
 But warned Othello that, by her deceived. 
 His daughter never more could be believed. 
 To all of which Othello smiled defiance. 
 And on his wife swore absolute reliance. 
 Roderigo mourned and thought the chances poor 
 For ever winning love from Mrs. Moor, 
 lago smoothed his brow, but deep within 
 More deeply plotted treachery and sin. 
 And so the Moor was ordered to take ship 
 That very night, and make a hasty trip 
 To Cyprus, while the lady's earnest pleading 
 Gained from the Duke an order briefly reading 
 That she to Cyprus should next day proceed 
 
 17 
 
On his own private yacht, the Centipede ^ 
 
 Attended by I ago and his wife, 
 
 Emilia, with other escort fit 
 
 To make excursion safely through the strife, 
 
 Should they unhappily encounter it. 
 
 This business being speedily concluded, 
 
 The company departed each his way. 
 
 Leaving Roderigo to be more deluded 
 
 Under lago's base, malignant sway. 
 
 These two then confidentially inclined. 
 
 The fool and villain each expressed his mind. 
 
 The first began, and this, Roderigo said : 
 
 "lago, all my cherished hopes are dead; 
 
 My goose is cooked ; my blooming cake is dough; 
 
 My heart is bankrupt. Presently I go 
 
 To feed the lobsters in the Grand Canal 
 
 And end a ruined life. Good-bye, old pal." 
 
 Then spake lago with satanic sneer, 
 
 " Soul of a chipmunk, what is this I hear ? 
 
 Throw up the game when fortune just begins 
 
 To show relenting and her smiles disburse 
 
 By handing you the very card that wins? 
 
 For shame ! go to ! Put money in thy purse. 
 
 Take ship with me and my fair charge to-morrow; 
 
 Meantime fly 'round the town and ducats borrow. 
 
 Be near the lady, and some happy chance 
 
 Will most assuredly your cause advance. 
 
 Go seek for shekels and the fat doubloon, 
 
 IS 
 
And I will guarantee within a moon 
 
 The Moor and Desdemona, now so fond, 
 
 Will rage and execrate the marriage bond. 
 
 Cash is a goad to hurry slow events ; 
 
 Be well advised by me — collect your rents ; 
 
 To uttermost extent your wad expand, 
 
 And I will weave a net which, strand by strand, 
 
 Will grow so large that greater than the Moor 
 
 Could not escape its mental meshes sure. 
 
 Therefore away, nor like a dodo peek ; 
 
 The festive copeck diligently seek, 
 
 While I confusion raise by ways oblique." 
 
 Much cheered by this infernal exhortation, 
 
 Roderigo felt a pleasing exultation ; 
 
 Declared his hopes revived, his vision cleared, 
 
 The phantoms of despair all disappeared ; 
 
 His mind made up to go upon the cruise, 
 
 Selling, before he started, to the Jews 
 
 The small remains of that which was of late 
 
 A very portly and admired estate. 
 
 And so, on this fool's errand firmly bent. 
 
 He said good-night, and on his way he went. 
 
 lago left alone to crimes devising. 
 Touched by the moon, began soliloquizing. 
 And in the ear of night made this confession 
 Of villainy too wicked for expression : 
 " Thus do I turn this fool into a bank 
 
 19 
 
From which I draw full many a useful franc. 
 
 With my attainments and experience ripe, 
 
 How could I otherwise endure this snipe, 
 
 This rotten artichoke, this fulsome weed. 
 
 But that I feast upon his idiot breed 
 
 And find amusement in the subtle skill 
 
 With which I bend such rabbits to my will ? 
 
 As for Othello, whom I dearly hate. 
 
 There must be something doing to abate 
 
 His joy, and turn the current of his bliss 
 
 Away from sunlight and the cheerful air. 
 
 To flow in darkness through that deep abyss 
 
 Gulfing the solemn waters of despair. 
 
 His mind I will abuse with hints so vague 
 
 That, ere he dreams it, stricken by the plague 
 
 Of jealousy, his wife he shall suspect. 
 
 And think that Cassio occupies her heart 
 
 To his exclusion. Then will he detect 
 
 In acts of innocence, deceiving art; 
 
 And urged along by me, in fitting time. 
 
 May cap his folly with a deed of crime. 
 
 That Cassio*s place would then to me accrue 
 
 Seems just as sure as that twice one are two. 
 
 So will I work this devil's brew to boil. 
 
 And find delight, amusement, in the toil. 
 
 Let conscience still with feeble fools reside. 
 
 No truckling scruples shall my course misguide." 
 
NIGH to the Syrian coast there lies an isle 
 Within a wine-dark sea, so passing fair 
 That ardent summer's everlasting smile 
 Finds a perpetual enticement there. 
 Here stands Olympus beautiful and vast, 
 On which the older gods held ancient sway, 
 Ruling the vanished peoples of the past. 
 And now with them lapsed ruthless to decay. 
 Here grew the choicest, most luxuriant vines, 
 With figs and olives, on the bending hills ; 
 Here for the Malta Knights were pressed such 
 
 wines 
 As only royal flagon sometimes fills ; 
 And here the Persian roses never-failing 
 Dispersed their attar perfumes so regaling 
 That merchant vessels 'round the island skirting 
 Could hardly keep their sailors from deserting; 
 While Cyprian ladies, for their beauty noted. 
 Attracted almost everything that floated — 
 In fact, it may be understood between us 
 That Bacchus here was born, and also Venus — 
 And thus you see why Venice overworked 
 To keep this luscious land from being Turked. 
 
 At Famagosta, on a terrace wide 
 That overlooked the city and the tide, 
 Flanked by the massive gates and gloomy walls 
 Of fort and castle higher than St. Paul's, 
 
There stood one morning Cassio and three 
 
 Good soldier friends who watched the distant sea, 
 
 As being anxious first of all to mark 
 
 Othello's storm-tossed and belated bark. 
 
 Not long they waited when, surprised, they saw 
 
 A gallant group arrive and nearer draw, 
 
 And Cassio knew at once fair Desdemona 
 
 By the bewitching twist of her kimona 
 
 And her attendants, among whom there were 
 
 lago and his wife, Emelia fair ; 
 
 And fatuous Roderigo, too, was there. 
 
 With others of less note, all glad to get 
 
 Upon the friendly earth ; for wringing wet 
 
 They found the boisterous and raging ocean. 
 
 From which they shrank, especially the motion. 
 
 Delighted, Cassio advanced and took 
 
 The hand of Desdemona with a look 
 
 Expressive of the most profound respect. 
 
 As though he thought her of the saints elect; 
 
 Gave a good welcome to the Cyprian ground, 
 
 And to his friends presented her all 'round 
 
 With words of praise so steeped in pure sincerity 
 
 That none who listened could suspect his verity. 
 
 Then turning to Emelia, he kissed her. 
 
 And told lago only as a sister 
 
 Did he salute the lady ; and politely 
 
 The Ancient begged to view the matter lightly. 
 
 With ill concealed disgust lago hinted 
 
 22 
 
That virtue was a coin not often minted ; 
 
 A currency with little circulation 
 
 Between the men and women of his nation — 
 
 An observation heartily condemned 
 
 By Desdemona, who refused to lend 
 
 Her lovely countenance to such a treason 
 
 Without some personal, provoking reason. 
 
 Just now there was no joy in anything 
 
 On earth or sea for her which did not bring 
 
 Some news of her dear lord Othello's weal, 
 
 With safe assurance of his tardy keel. 
 
 Now hardly had this sentiment been uttered 
 
 When all the harbor guns began to roar ; 
 
 Little and big, with flame and smoke they 
 
 sputtered. 
 Saluting some arrival off the shore. 
 While round the cape might every eye discern 
 Othello's mighty galley make the turn 
 And run for port with flags and banners flying, 
 Three banks of oars in splendid tempo plying, 
 And all some great emergency implying. 
 A gallant sight; for truly, on the level. 
 That boat was coming like the very devil. 
 It reached the shore and, with a heavy shock 
 Not well retarded, ran against the dock. 
 The Moor in haste, omitting ceremonial, 
 Attended by some members of his suite. 
 Forgetting everything not Desdemonial, 
 
 23 
 
Mounted the castle stairs with rapid feet 
 And there before him on the esplanade 
 Beheld his gentle lady and her maid. 
 With every indication of delight 
 His spouse gave welcome to her dusky knight, 
 While he explained what tempests had attacked 
 His vessel, which indeed was badly wracked, 
 A very slight misfortune ^hen compared 
 With what the Turk sustained, for *twas declared 
 That all the Moslem fleet, dispersed and sunk, 
 Had no more fight than poor Cervera*s junk ; 
 And Venice, therefore safe from paynim threat, 
 Might rule in peace and minimize her debt. 
 The Moor thus briefly summed the situation 
 And from all sides received congratulation. 
 But most from Desdemona, whose warm eyes 
 Meant to Othello more than Paradise. 
 And so, with mutual joy and great content. 
 Toward the castle all the party went. 
 
 Sometimes across the philologic stage 
 There stalks a word which actually seems 
 To have descended from a former age. 
 Bringing some spiritual force which teems 
 With power to raise the phantoms of the past. 
 And paint upon the canvas of the mind 
 Imaginary scenes and pictures vast 
 Of old events and peoples now declined ; 
 
 24 
 
And such a word — coincidence amusing — 
 The Moor is on the very point of using, 
 When, turning- to lago, he commanded 
 Him to the quay to see his "coffers'* landed. , 
 " Coffers/* — No sooner said but you behold 
 The tribute paid to kings ; a prince's ransom ; 
 The loot from cities sacked ; barbaric gold ; 
 A pirate's plunder, and his captives handsome ; 
 The spoils from many a violated fane, 
 Of church or temple, sacred or profane ; 
 Jewels and priceless stuffs, and armor rare; 
 And diamonds only conquerors might wear. 
 
 In all the shabby wealth that Wall Street offers 
 There's nothing to remind a man of "coffers," 
 Which simply demonstrates, as all will own. 
 The picturesque from modern life has flown. 
 Our predatory classes, unlike theirs. 
 Are ugly as a lot of unlicked bears ; 
 And all the jargon of our money mart 
 Depraves the ear and desolates the heart. 
 
 This commentary, doubtless, you will think 
 Is out of place and but a waste of ink. 
 Not so ; for, if from history we take 
 No thought or lesson for our own consumption. 
 We might as well improving hope forsake 
 And quit the game for lack of equine gumption. 
 
 25 
 
But to our talc. Othello and his spouse. 
 With Cassio and their numerous retainers, 
 Leaving the terrace, went into the house, 
 Where they were met by Cyprian entertainers. 
 Who wined and dined them with a welcome 
 
 gracious. 
 In marble halls and dainty gardens spacious, 
 While on the esplanade lago lingers 
 With Rod, whose waning cash he freely fingers. 
 
 The evident devotion that existed 
 Between Othello and his fairer half 
 Was wormwood to Roderigo, who insisted 
 The time had come to write his epitaph ; 
 And all his thoughts despondent, suicidal. 
 Made his pursuit of Mrs. Moor seem idle, 
 lago, on the contrary, maintained 
 That Desdemona had a roving eye 
 Which now on Cassio was softly aimed ; 
 It was an easy thing to prophesy 
 That all her admiration for Othello 
 Would soon be vested in some other fellow. 
 Venetian glass was beautiful, but frail : 
 Venetian ladies also were the same ; 
 Their infidelity, an oft-told tale, 
 Would find example in this very dame. 
 The more Roderigo praised her noble parts 
 The more lago dabbled in detraction, 
 
 26 
 
And so effective were his slimy arts 
 
 That poor Roderigo was inspired to action, 
 
 Supposing that lago's horrid scheming 
 
 Was altogether in his interest leaning ; 
 
 As partial recompense for many marks 
 
 Borrowed and gone — fled like a flock of larks ; 
 
 For, even in that day, there's no denying 
 
 That money was essential to high flying. 
 
 lago then his wretched plot outlined, 
 
 And made it plain to young Roderigo's mind 
 
 That while on guard that night he must devise 
 
 Some pretext for a wordy altercation 
 
 With Cassio, who was never over wise 
 
 When stirred by wine or insubordination. 
 
 This being done, lago said that he 
 
 Would be on hand the whole affair to sec 
 
 And push along the general confusion 
 
 Toward a very serious conclusion, 
 
 Through which friend Cassio should fall from grace 
 
 And he become successor to his place, 
 
 Which, being once accomplished, he could press 
 
 Roderigo's aims to an assured success. 
 
 As well as take one rival from the running — 
 
 Which he considered tolerably cunning. 
 
 To all of this lago's tool agreeing. 
 
 They said adieu and parted for time being 
 
 To meet before the citadel at night 
 
 To breed revolt and discord to incite. 
 
 27 
 
Again alone, lago's introspection 
 
 Found outlet in the following reflection : 
 
 " My mind persuades me that indeed I am 
 
 A favorite offspring of the Devil's dam : 
 
 All common rogues have casual slants of shame, 
 
 Remorse, regret, repentance ; but my name 
 
 Shall never to such weakness be allied. 
 
 Let feeble scamps their consciences divide ; 
 
 My soul's a unit bent on mischief still, 
 
 And most triumphant in accomplished ill. 
 
 This Moor is ever constant, noble, kind ; 
 
 These virtues are abhorrent to my mind; 
 
 Besides, 'twas whispered once within my ken 
 
 That ere I wed Emelia she was seen 
 
 With him alone at night, long after ten, 
 
 At Lido, walking slowly on the green 
 
 Along the margin of the Adriatic 
 
 With crooked steps suspiciously erratic. 
 
 Of course I don't believe this idle tale. 
 
 But to pretend belief will much avail. 
 
 Then Cassio : he's a bird of gorgeous feather. 
 
 And they seem tolerably free together. 
 
 This day before my very face he kissed her, 
 
 And thought excuse to make by saying "sister." 
 
 It wrung my gall to watch Emelia grinning. 
 
 I'll slay them both before they get to sinning. 
 
 But night comes on apace. To-morrow's sun 
 
 Shall see the work of Satan well begun." 
 
 2S 
 
Thus musing, to the galley he descended, 
 And for the time his monologue was ended. 
 The watch was set. Beside the castle gate 
 The Moor and his Lieutenant, chatting late, 
 Othello said, " Now, Cassio, my boy. 
 We've had a splendid time, a day of joy ; 
 Still, ever let that angel moderation 
 Stand watch with us and guard our reputation. 
 One cup of wine too much has often slain 
 More than a siege, and dyed with lasting stain 
 The shield of some commander whose control 
 Of self and soldiers vanished in the bowl. 
 I will retire. Good-night. May peace attend 
 Your vigils till the morning sun ascend." 
 With this Othello promptly disappears. 
 lago enters, having watched his chance, 
 And like a devil fish for Cassio steers. 
 With amiable mien and friendly glance 
 He thus accosts him, with a jovial air : 
 " Well met, Lieutenant. By the gods, I swear 
 Thou hast no ranking fellow in my heart. 
 And others hold thee high. Just here apart 
 Await two Cyprian gentlemen who beg 
 The favor of your presence. A new keg 
 Is being broached, a very precious booze. 
 Whose virgin taste they say you shall not lose." 
 "Tut, tut, lago, go — I pray you, go 
 And make excuses ; for, as you well know, 
 
 29 
 
My brains are plastic, and I cannot drink 
 As others do, and this is why I shrink 
 From your polite coercion, and beside, 
 I think that Fve already had enough. 
 Let me in confidence to you confide 
 I know the meaning well of ^quantum suf' 
 Of all my drinks 1 keep a memorandum, 
 Because it is not wise to drink at random ; 
 And by the record here, which I'm perusing. 
 It seems to-day that I have done some boozing. 
 Let's see : Five high balls and four whiskey sours, 
 Two bottles of Chianti at my lunch — 
 These kept me busy during morning hours ; 
 This afternoon I had one Medford punch. 
 With six gin fizzes, four Manhattans dry, 
 And several beers — but those I don't put down. 
 This evening also with the General, I 
 Absorbed three flagons to this blooming town ; 
 And so I think — but pshaw ! my dear lago. 
 They never used to think in old Chicago, 
 But say that one poor cocktail less or more 
 Would never wash a sinking bark ashore. 
 Where are your friends ? One goblet I will drain 
 With you and them in memory of the Maine^ 
 With great alacrity lago ran 
 And ushered in three gallants, and a man 
 Who bore ajar of wine, an ancient juice 
 With latent potency to raise the deuce. 
 
 30 
 
And this it did; for in a little space 
 
 Poor Cassio, half seas over, left the place, 
 
 Encountered Roderigo on his round. 
 
 Who gave for provocation some slight ground, 
 
 Which Cassio magnifying, drew his steel 
 
 And chased the fool, who promptly took to heel. 
 
 Nor could a pig pursued more loudly squeal. 
 
 Right through the castle court the hunt came 
 
 tearing, 
 Roderigo yelling and mad Cassio swearing. 
 The Cyprian gallants there who heard the din 
 Were shocked to see this breach of discipline ; 
 Montano interposed to save the flying. 
 And for this act came very near to dying. 
 For furious Cassio, all restraint resenting. 
 Attacked the gallant, who, his blade presenting, 
 Put up a lively fight in self defense 
 Against the soldier lost to common sense. 
 Not long the silly combat raged between 'em 
 When Cassio pinked him in the duodenum. 
 The General with his staflF just then arrives 
 And bids them stop on peril of their lives. 
 With voice of wrath Othello briefly orders 
 An explanation of these wild disorders; 
 Moreover he remarked the scene amazing 
 Was almost equal to a college hazing. 
 A sneer so bitter from a man so great 
 Caused every one with fear to hesitate. 
 
 31 
 
Cassio declined to speak ; Montano said 
 
 In rather feeble accents while he bled, 
 
 That only to protect his life he drew, 
 
 Nor could he now impart a single clew 
 
 Which might account for Cassio's violence 
 
 Or justify such wanton arrogance. 
 
 lago listened calmly and exulted. 
 
 Well knowing he would be the next consulted. 
 
 "Honest lago," said Othello then, 
 
 "My high opinion of your acumen 
 
 Assures me that from you I may obtain 
 
 The facts about this lawless hurricane. 
 
 This cyclone of revolt which spreads dismay 
 
 From Famagosta to the lower bay. 
 
 Speak, sir, and let no sentimental ruth 
 
 Affect your story to conceal the truth." 
 
 Thus urged, the Ancient, with assumption meek 
 
 And spurious regret, began to speak. 
 
 "My lord, I swear by all the gods above 
 
 Fd rather die than violate my love 
 
 For Cassio, and perform so sad a task. 
 
 Release me from this duty. Let me ask 
 
 That some one else less partial than I am 
 
 Should tell the tale of this unlucky dram." 
 
 "What!" cried the Moor. "A dram, a dram, 
 
 you say ? 
 On with the tale ; I brook no more delay ! 
 This, coming to the W. C. T. U., 
 
 32 
 
Would make a hot and most repulsive stew. 
 Go on !" lago then with resignation 
 Again began his artful recitation. 
 He told but how a little time ago 
 These Cyprian gentlemen with Cassio 
 Were drinking bumpers of Falernian wine 
 In goodly amity, without a sign 
 Of pending quarrel or an armed dispute. 
 And so he left them; but soon hearing strife, 
 Returned in haste to find Montano mute 
 And stricken to the very verge of life — 
 While Cassio with his bloody snicker-snee 
 Defied the world with homicidal glee. 
 Othello heard and in his eyes there danced 
 The ruby flames of rage ; around he glanced 
 And on the culprit let his vision rest; 
 The silence every mother's son oppressed 
 For some brief space, and then he sternly spoke 
 Those celebrated words which few can hear 
 Except in jest or as an idle joke 
 Without some craven evidence of fear: 
 " Cassio, I love thee well, this heart is thine, 
 But never more be officer of mine!" 
 Enough. The sentence passed, the men dis- 
 perse. 
 Montano goes attended by a nurse. 
 The Moor retires, but Cassio like a stone 
 Stands motionless, distracted, and alone. 
 
 33 
 
No, not alone. His friend lago stays, 
 
 And cat-like, gloating, with his victim plays — 
 
 " Why, man, cheer up, the worst is not to come; 
 
 *Tis true you've put the island on the bum 
 
 And lost your high command, but after all 
 
 What was it but a common midnight brawl 
 
 After a day when half the men, I think, 
 
 Of this fair isle were mostly on the blink ? 
 
 Let fools for errors past supinely grieve, 
 
 The wise are prompt their losses to retrieve. 
 
 To-morrow to fair Desdemona go 
 
 And beg her interest in your restoration. 
 
 The Moor, just married, will be soft as dough 
 
 And must assent to her solicitation. 
 
 I heard her say that you in her regard 
 
 Were seated high. Be hopeful, then ; bombard 
 
 Her heart with your petition; constant sue 
 
 That she her lord may reconcile to you. 
 
 This do without a rest or intermission, 
 
 And on my sword you'll win your lost commission." 
 
 These words in Cassio's ears were welcome tenants, 
 
 For, cashiered and dejected, the Lieutenant's 
 
 Whole thought was self-destruction. Life without 
 
 A soldier's honor and batallion's pomp 
 
 Was no more value than a brussels sprout, 
 
 Or noxious gnat-fed adder in a swamp. 
 
 Therefore some mouse-like hopes began to crawl 
 
 About the massive cheese of his despair, 
 
 34 
 
And, growing bolder, on the rind they fall 
 And excavate a roomly lodgment, where 
 They grow in fatness with amazing ease. 
 The trick is called "the disappearing cheese." 
 Thus heartened, Cassio to the project drew. 
 Grasping the straws his friend lago threw. 
 With many thanks for counseling so sage 
 A plan to mitigate Othello's rage. 
 "And as for wine," he cried in tones convincing, 
 "That is a matter that will bear no mincing. 
 From this time forth I'll never lift a flagon, 
 But deck the summit of the water wagon, 
 And may my head be taken from my trunk 
 If ever days to come find Cassio drunk. 
 Good-night, good Ancient, and for your advising 
 My gratitude is recompense devising." 
 Solus, lago hugged himself in glee 
 And said, "What blooming fools these mortals be: 
 My conduct has a kind and friendly seeming. 
 And yet with damned malevolence is teeming. 
 When Cassio to the lady makes his suing, 
 I'll manage that the Moor shall happen by, 
 And shape the incident to his undoing 
 As easy as a spider takes a fly. 
 The more she pleads for Cassio's retention, 
 The more he shall her motives fair suspect. 
 And if my mind fail not of fine invention 
 I'll have the Moor and Cassio badly wrecked. 
 
 35 
 
Emelia must her mistress also move 
 To urge her lord with obstinate insistance, 
 Making this plea a little test to prove 
 His love, and gauge the power of his resistance. 
 Thus her benevolence all misconstrued 
 Will lead the fool, Othello, to conclude 
 That Desdemona's heart has gone astray, 
 And fill his soul with anguish and dismay. 
 Thus will I mold events, beyond a question, 
 By the hypnotic process of suggestion — 
 A scientific cult in which I revel, 
 Inspired and aided by my friend the devil." 
 Just then Roderigo, finding calm prevail. 
 Came back and sang this melancholy wail — 
 "lago, by the gods, where am I atP 
 But now before this drunken Cassio cat 
 I fled in panic like a vermined rat. 
 And as for running with the hounds in chase, 
 My very natural and proper place, 
 I seem to play the fox in this excursion. 
 An object of pursuit and dogs* diversion. 
 My money, too, is spent and most of it 
 Has gone to stimulate your tardy wit. 
 Experience such as this goes far to show 
 That your proceedings are a world too slow. 
 Back, then, to Venice I will shortly sail 
 And, like a fox, still try to save my tail." 
 A scornful smile lago's lips confessed 
 
 36 
 
As he, responding, these remarks addressed — 
 "How poor are they who by impatience rash 
 Reduce a half-built edifice to smash. 
 What temple rises in an afternoon? 
 What week can show all phases of the moon? 
 Be then content; your work is doing well; 
 Cassio has been cashiered; your rival gone, 
 The field is open for you; who can tell 
 What luck to-morrow*s sun may shine upon? 
 Go to your quarters and by this be cheered — 
 Cassio, your worst obstruction, is cashiered." 
 Thus saying, off he went upon his rounds 
 And left Roderigo to his fox and hounds — 
 A simile, the which he found most pleasing, 
 As evidence of his own skill in teasing. 
 
 The day these curious events succeeding 
 Found Cassio heartily engaged in pleading 
 His cause with Desdemona, who assured him 
 His rank and honor should be soon restored. 
 She knew this sad experience had cured him. 
 And felt the great devotion of her lord 
 Was such that no request of hers could stay 
 Or fail to win his glad responsive yea. 
 Cassio enchanted, grateful made adieu. 
 And sinking on one knee as lovers do. 
 Her hand he took, with gentle fervor kissed. 
 And then without delay himself dismissed. 
 
 37 
 
As fate would have It, by lago steered, 
 Exactly at this point the Moor appeared 
 Through portal at the great hall's furthest end. 
 And both observed the elegant tableau, 
 The gallant manner, and the courtly bend 
 Which marked the style of handsome Cassio. 
 Now in these modern days of virtuous habits 
 Tis not good form among our common rabbits 
 To kneel and kiss the large industrious paws 
 Of ladies who are wedded to our friends. 
 In fact, to be so caught might prove a cause 
 For courts and lawyers and fat dividends; 
 For lovely legal gentleman who thrive 
 On dirt and discord and domestic broils; 
 Destructive insects in the family hive 
 Who rob the honey to reward their toils; 
 
 But in the sixteenth cycle 'twas no sin 
 To kiss a hand or chuck a pretty chin, 
 A common usage by most husbands noted 
 Without offence, and very often quoted 
 As evidence to show what judgment rare 
 Had led them to select a wife so fair. 
 Othello, therefore, never would have thought 
 Of finding fault unless he had been taught. 
 And fate malignant had a tutor wise 
 In his good Ancient, who impulsive cries, 
 "I like not that." Four baby words, yet still 
 
 38 
 
Full steeped with poison to engender ill. 
 
 "I like not that*' may be so said and looked 
 
 As to convey significance immense, 
 
 And so it was. lago deftly hooked 
 
 The Moor confiding, and his common sense 
 
 Became a worthless and perverted tool 
 
 Fit only for the uses of a fool. 
 
 Of course Othello asked him what he meant. 
 
 And this more rapid made his own descent. 
 
 lago in reply began to prate 
 
 About his honesty, and hesitate 
 
 To make an answer frankly as demanded^. 
 
 As though in mortal terror to be candid. 
 
 Lest something he was bound to keep concealed 
 
 Should come to light and be at length revealed. 
 
 His master all these various antics viewed 
 
 With growing interest and solicitude. 
 
 And roundly told his Ancient to explain 
 
 What fearsome thought was sticking in his brain. 
 
 He had observed his manner most minutely. 
 
 Nothing escaped his eye, which saw acutely 
 
 Those signs which any rascal might enact. 
 
 But which when coming from a friend well tried. 
 
 An honest man, were certain to attract 
 
 A swarm of thoughts that would not be denied. 
 
 'Twas then lago felt his gudgeon nibble. 
 
 And with the line of truth began to quibble. 
 
 Mysterious importance, air of gloom, 
 
 39 
 
Made each word seem a messenger of doom. 
 "Othello, well I love thee. My dear soul 
 Has ever held thee on its highest altar, 
 And therefore, being honest, I enroll 
 Myself thy friend, nor can I weakly falter 
 In doing thee a service, even if 
 For being honest I receive a biff. 
 Is it not true that Cassio was your aid 
 When you were courting this Venetian maid ? 
 Did he not seemingly your cause espouse 
 And go between you bearing notes and vows? 
 Cassio is comely ; his complexion fine 
 Presents a contrast violent to thine ; 
 And then he has a fashionable lisp ; 
 No enemy could say his hair was crisp ; 
 His manner, courtly and ingratiating, 
 Sets all the women's hearts a-palpitating. 
 In fact his elegant exterior 
 Compared with yours is quite superior. 
 But what of that? Most gracious and refined, 
 Your wife beholds your visage in your mind — 
 I heard her say so — and no natural change, 
 I trust, will ever cause her heart to range. 
 She will solicit that you now revoke 
 The just decree that drunken Cassio broke. 
 And by her earnestness in this request 
 Her love for Cassio may be shrewdly guessed.** 
 Othello heard this subtle poison drip, 
 
 40 
 
And clutched the sword he lugged upon his hip ; 
 His eyes began to roll and show their whites 
 Like Pompey paralyzed with ghostly frights ; 
 His voice of rough command grew weak and 
 
 husky ; 
 His lips were dry and actually dusty ; 
 Such strange disorder all his being filled 
 lago hoped that someone might be killed. 
 O jealousy ! thou art indeed a curse 
 Which damns the good and makes the wicked 
 
 worse ; 
 Disintegrates the texture of the soul ; 
 Leads reason captive, blinder than a mole ; 
 And turns the tender heart, where all was well, 
 Into the seething cauldron of a hell. 
 
 The Moor, with this disease inoculated. 
 In storm of moods conflicting hesitated, 
 But, by his Ancient, being well advised. 
 Resolved to watch and wait and play the sneak, 
 And keep his feelings pretty well disguised 
 For some days longer — better say a week. 
 This being understood, they went to meet 
 Their wives, with brows unconscious and discreet. 
 No sooner had Othello made salute 
 Than Desdemona opened up her suit: 
 "My lord," she cried, "your coming is most apt. 
 Cassio has just been here, in sorrow wrapped, 
 
 41 
 
Imploring me to beg that you'll restore 
 Him to his rank and try his faith once more. 
 So terribly he feels at this disgrace 
 He does not dare to look you in the face. 
 And I have pledged my word, most gracious lord, 
 That this petition shall have your accord, 
 Well knowing his devotion to yourself. 
 His faithful services and scorn of pelf.** 
 Othello heard, and in a voice of pain 
 Began with great reluctance to explain 
 That he would doubtless the petition grant. 
 But not just then; *twas true he might recant 
 Some other time ; now, being indisposed 
 To act, he begged the matter might be closed. 
 And having thus expressed himself so meanly, 
 He and lago went away serenely. 
 Serenely but in seeming, for the Moor 
 Perceived the verity of this amour. 
 And, tortured to the soul with this conception. 
 Cursed like a Turk the obvious deception 
 With which his wife the wanton Cassio backed, 
 Until his heart came near to being cracked. 
 The dew of anguish on his forehead broke. 
 Which seen, lago relished as a joke 
 And with obsequious smugness wisely spoke, 
 "My lord, of jealousy beware, beware; 
 For, to the jealous, trifles light as air 
 Seem confirmation strong as chains of steel ; 
 
 42 
 
Logic and reason lose their saving power 
 When frantic passion makes the senses reel, 
 And Satan laughs triumphant in that hour. 
 You have no- single proof on which to act — 
 A mere surmise, unbolstered by a fact. 
 But, as I love you, mine shall be the task 
 To furnish all the evidence you ask.'* 
 "By all the gods, you shall !" Othello yells, 
 " Or else make ready for the deepest hells. 
 Fail not, or on my sabre I'll expose 
 Your corse a banquet for the island crows!" 
 "Alas!" the villain sighs, "and this, my lord, 
 For being honest is my strange reward. 
 Farewell, sweet rectitude, and you, fair truth. 
 Henceforth shall be but memories of youth. 
 Fidelity, adieu; thy honied breath 
 Taste not, lago, for it smells of death." 
 At this reproach Othello backed his oars. 
 His words retracting, sadly he implores 
 lago to forgive an outburst weird. 
 And still assist him till the sky is cleared ; 
 On which the Ancient kindly gave his hand. 
 Spoke absolution, swore that he would stand 
 Beside his master till the wrong he bore 
 Should be avenged with retribution sore. 
 And so, in amity and peace arrayed. 
 They go to guard-mount or the dress parade, 
 lago still his blighting venom squirting 
 
 43 
 
Finds the atrocious sport indeed diverting. 
 
 Meantime fond Desdemona, left in grief, 
 
 Took counsel with Emelia for relief 
 
 The latter, being by lago spurred. 
 
 Contended that the Moor was quite absurd. 
 
 But that a pleading still more pertinacious 
 
 In Cassio's cause would prove all efficacious. 
 
 And begged her puzzled mistress to be firm — 
 
 No matter how the General might squirm — 
 
 That his Lieutenant now so underrated 
 
 Should in his place and rank be reinstated. 
 
 To this advice Othello's wife consenting, 
 
 Resolved to make a strenuous assault. 
 
 But little dreaming that the Moor, dissenting, 
 
 Would turn her kindness to a deadly fault ; 
 
 So from her eyes the dewy drops she wiped 
 
 With handkerchief her lord in Venice gave her, 
 
 A handkerchief Emelia swiftly swiped 
 
 When dropped by accident; and not to save her 
 
 Could Desdemona ever find that bit 
 
 Of lace, nor find the slightest trace of it. 
 
 At which we need not wonder much, because 
 
 From innocent Emelia's nimble claws 
 
 It was to those of good lago passed. 
 
 And then by him was most adroitly cast 
 
 In Cassio's wardrobe, where, when later found. 
 
 It caused a fine dramatic situation, 
 
 A tangle dense, which might indeed confound 
 
 44 
 
A simple Moor, whose shreds of education, 
 Picked from the ash cans of the empires old, 
 Were mostly .bits of tin, but sometimes gold ; 
 Few scraps of sterling worth, but more of Brum- 
 magem, 
 Got here and there wherever he could rummage'em. 
 
 To bring about a climax to his taste 
 lago found he had no time to waste. 
 Roderigo, now bamboozled to the limit. 
 With restive ire declared the deuce was in it 
 If he would tolerate another day 
 Procrastination, juggling and delay. 
 He seized upon the Ancient, buttonholed him. 
 And this in brief is really what he told him : 
 " lago, 1 demand a strict accounting 
 For monies lent you, easily amounting 
 To seventeen hundred ducats ; also rings. 
 Bracelets, and girdles, brooches, other things 
 Which you to Desdemona have conveyed. 
 Enough to buy compliance from a maid 
 Of vestal orders, in a convent coop, 
 Who never shot the chutes nor looped the loop. 
 For these rich signs of my infatuation 
 You have brought messages of consolation 
 And promises of secret meetings which 
 Could only more and more my heart bewitch ; 
 And yet this morning, when most circumspect 
 
 45 
 
I made salute, she gave the cut direct ; 
 Which lends me reason to believe that you, 
 A double-dealing scamp of darkest hue, 
 Are using me to pluck as you may deem 
 Best to promote your own infernal scheme. 
 Return my jewels, give my money back, 
 And I for Venice will at once make sail. 
 Refuse — and, by the lunar zodiac, 
 I will to Desdemona with my tale 
 And either get my gems or find out why 
 The lady is so difficult and shy." 
 Like to the cloud which holds a deadly stroke 
 To kill a man or pulverize an oak 
 Was fell Iago*s brow when Roderigo 
 Began his rather aggravating dun ; 
 But when he closed, like innocent bambino, 
 His face was frank and cheerful as a bun. 
 And he explained — the insults all ignored — 
 How this plain talk had in his estimation 
 Roderigo much exalted, and deplored 
 Fair Desdemona's foolish hesitation ; 
 Now that, instead of being but a muiF, 
 He knew Roderigo for the "real stuff," 
 He would admit that perhaps he had been slow, 
 To be more sure, but that 'twas Cassio 
 Who really blocked the way, which clearly proved 
 That Cassio must be at once removed : 
 An easy task ; for when to-morrow night 
 
 46 
 
The gay Lieutenant, after supping late 
 
 With Cyprian lady, made adieus polite, 
 
 Let bold Roderigo meet him near the gate, 
 
 And winning safety from the midnight dark. 
 
 With one swift thrust put out his vital spark. 
 
 He would himself be near to aid the fray 
 
 And see that Cassio never got away. 
 
 To this arrangement, certainly nefarious, 
 
 Roderigo offered contra reasons various, 
 
 But in the end, by flattery overruled, 
 
 Consented, and again was badly fooled. 
 
 The Ancient cut him off with hasty coaching 
 
 Because he saw the jealous Moor approaching. 
 
 And gloating like a fiend by crime elated, 
 
 Beheld the wreck his cunning had created. 
 
 While to himself he softly meditated : 
 
 "Ah, there you are, my excellent good master. 
 
 A sleepy snail would surely travel faster. 
 
 Thy step elastic totters with the load 
 
 Of inextinguishable pain. The toad 
 
 That fattens on the vapors of a sewer 
 
 Is not more noxious than the thoughts that swim 
 
 Through every convoluted aperture 
 
 Of thy tormented brain from rim to rim. 
 
 Not mandragora nor the poppy's juice 
 
 Shall ever soothe those eyes, with yellow shot; 
 
 No oriental balms from far conduce 
 
 To that sweet sleep which innocence begot 
 
 47 
 
But yesterday ; no more the Persian rose 
 Shall ever minister to thy repose." 
 Then to the Moor with fine solicitude 
 He turned and begged in sympathetic tone 
 A few brief words. He hated to intrude, 
 Or see his chief dejected and alone, 
 But he had something pertinent to say, 
 Which honestly could brook no long delay. 
 "Honest lago," groaned the Moor, "I must 
 In thy good offices implicit trust 
 To quell or verify the doubts which rend 
 My soul to tatters. Tell me, then, my friend. 
 What I should do, in this vile slough of shame. 
 To find one solid spot whereon to stand — 
 One little rock of fact on which to frame 
 The vengeance that invites my ready hand? 
 Vengeance, lago, and 1 tell thee more, 
 Td rather keep a corner grocery store 
 And send my wife about to peddle greens, 
 Sell codfish rank, and measure lima beans. 
 Than bear upon my brow for all to see 
 Those ornaments invisible to me." 
 "Tut, tut," lago cried; "my lord, this storm 
 Of feeling seems to me in wretched form. 
 From straws and feathers tempests do not grow; 
 The wise with some discretion mark their woe; 
 The vague suspicions that now plague your wit 
 I will confirm like proofs of holy writ ; 
 
 48 
 
From doubt to certainty your mind shall pass 
 
 And see the truth as in a looking glass. 
 
 Last night with Cassio in his room I slept, 
 
 And when the little hours began to creep 
 
 I startled woke in fright, but silence kept, 
 
 Amazed at Cassio talking in his sleep. 
 
 'Twould take three weeks to tell in decent phrase 
 
 How warm his words in Desdemona's praise, 
 
 Extolling charms which even I to name 
 
 Would be committed to a sin profane. 
 
 Then from his breast he took a 'kerchief rare, 
 
 A fabric delicate as misty air. 
 
 On which I saw by slant of moonlight pale 
 
 A sacred ibis scratching of his tail. 
 
 All hand-embroidered in a faint design, 
 
 Of pallid amber, like a Spanish wine. 
 
 This handkerchief he kissed and oft caressed; 
 
 Talked to it, too, and coddled to his breast 
 
 As gage d' amour y a souvenir of bliss 
 
 By Desdemona given with a kiss.'* 
 
 The stricken Moor this deadly poison drank, 
 
 And to the pits of flame his spirits sank ; 
 
 In broken voice he said that well he knew 
 
 That 'kerchief delicate ; there were not two 
 
 Such webs of lace in all the Orient ; 
 
 It was the gift that he his wife had sent 
 
 That time when vows of love to him addressed 
 
 Had made this dreary orb an Eden blessed. 
 
 49 
 
Now hell itself the word of doom had written : 
 The traitors should with sudden death be smitten, 
 And off he went, impatient of delay, 
 To find what Desdemona had to say. 
 That gentle lady, guiltless, unafraid, 
 Observed from far her husband drawing nigh, 
 But noted not his garments disarrayed. 
 Nor the portentous rolling of his eye. 
 She only thought she saw a fit occasion 
 To use a stronger dose of moral suasion 
 In aid of Cassio, whose frank distress 
 Seemed a reflection on her poor success. 
 Therefore, no sooner had the Moor arrived 
 Than she began with dignified coercion 
 To plead her client's cause, and so contrived 
 To clench the Moor's suspicion and aversion. 
 He raved in words almost beyond belief. 
 And bade her bring at once a handkerchief, 
 A certain very precious bit of lacery 
 On which could faintly be discerned the tracery 
 Of sacred ibis scratching of his tail. 
 The very one he gave her on that night 
 They heard the chanting of the nightingale 
 Singing an obligato to their plight. 
 At this demand the lady looked confused. 
 Declared she had it somewhere, but refused 
 To bring it forth until her lord relented. 
 And to be friends with Cassio consented. 
 
 so 
 
In tragic tones the Moor then told his wife 
 That on this 'kerchief hung her very life ; 
 'Twas wrought with magic at the midnight hour, 
 That time when great Orion felt the power 
 Of Venus radiant shining in the zenith. 
 And over her with fond attraction leaneth — 
 An occultation twenty lives of men, 
 Though stellar gazers, ne'er might see again. 
 The worms that spun its 'tenuated threads 
 Were nurtured on the dryad-haunted trees 
 In temple garden, where the lily beds 
 Tempted from Sicily the Hybla bees; 
 Its colors were of strange and mystic dyes 
 Distilled at night from mummied mermaids* eyes; 
 The web was deftly spun by sybil armed 
 With spells and necromantic incantations 
 Wherewith the adverse furies might be charmed 
 To fill its owner's life with mitigations. 
 This sacred heirloom was his mother's gift, 
 With admonitions serious conveyed 
 To carefully preserve with cautious thrift. 
 And part with only to that happy maid 
 Who should confess her love for him conclusively. 
 And pledge fidelity to him exclusively. 
 This talisman would keep her from duplicity 
 And fill her welcome days with all felicity. 
 Make strong her husband's love as gravitation. 
 Her home a dream, a heavenly habitation. 
 
 51 
 
But let her lose or give this amulet, 
 And desperate disaster and regret 
 Should, with a red and overwhelming flood. 
 Sweep her and all her house away in blood. 
 " This was the occult web I gave to you, 
 And see how speedily the spell works true : 
 A vessel just now landed on the shore 
 Brings tidings that your father is no more." 
 
 Did Desdemona shriek, or faint, or cry? 
 
 Oh, no! She looked her husband in the 
 
 eye; 
 She gazed into those orbs of yellow fire 
 And calmly said, " Othello, youVe a liar. 
 A letter from my father, just received. 
 Declares him well but very much bereaved. 
 He feels the loss my absence long imposes. 
 And graciously a handsome check encloses. 
 As for your silly tale of witch-made rag 
 In starlight woven by some hairless hag. 
 It makes me weary. I would have you know 
 That on the breast you say is white as snow 
 I wear a sacred counterguard from death 
 Which makes the fates and furies hold their 
 
 breath ; 
 A fiend-defying fetish brought from Rome — 
 The left big toe nail of good Saint Jerome, 
 Which bears the seal of the pontificate 
 
 52 
 
For authenticity, with day and date. 
 
 The innocent wild ass that knows no reins, 
 
 The ass that feeds on Asiatic plains, 
 
 Is not bereft so thoroughly of brains 
 
 As you, with effort to inspire belief 
 
 In baby fiction of your handkerchief." 
 
 Indignantly she turned and walked away, 
 
 Leaving the Moor without a word to say. 
 
 Alone, he plucked his dagger from the sheath 
 
 And with its point began to pick his teeth, 
 
 Dumbfounded, almost speechless at the brass 
 
 With which his wife had marked him for an ass. 
 
 Our modern husbands never feel surprise 
 
 At any startling phrase their wives devise ; 
 
 In fact the ladies often search the zoo 
 
 For apt comparisons and insults new 
 
 With which to decorate their vassals true; 
 
 In throngs they crowd unpleasant monkey houses 
 
 To find those terms best fitted for their spouses. 
 
 The Moor, however, with a mind envermined. 
 Instead of pausing, grew still more determined 
 To see in all that Desdemona said 
 An added reason for his vengeance dread; 
 So next day with lago he consulted. 
 Described his interview and what resulted. 
 And also mentioned how he was insulted. 
 Thereat his Ancient, though for carnage thirsting, 
 
 53 
 
Could very hardly keep himself from bursting. 
 But said, of course such conduct in effect 
 Was consonant with every vile defect — 
 A theory quite in keeping with his master's, 
 And sure to foster terrible disasters. 
 Mad with the agony which rent his mind, 
 The Moor, lago ordered and assigned 
 To do away with Cassio that night. 
 While he himself to everlasting flight 
 Would put the soul of Desdemona, fair 
 But false and fickle as the Cyprian air. 
 The details all arranged, the knave and fool 
 Went off to play a game of bottle pool, 
 And on the way, while stopping at the bank, 
 Othello kindly raised his Ancient's rank 
 To be lieutenant, an immense distinction, 
 As just reward for Cassio's extinction. 
 
 The slow descending sun, a ruby sphere. 
 Above the brow of Mount Olympus hung. 
 And gazing through the tinted atmosphere 
 Enamored saw that isle, whose beauty sung 
 By bards immortal when the world was young. 
 Still held its sway, intoxicating sweet 
 As when of gods the immemorial seat. 
 Othello, leaning on the parapet 
 Which swung its arms around the castle yard. 
 Oblivious to the hour, by fiends beset, 
 
 54 
 
Inhaled the scented air with disregard, 
 Beheld the, phantom moon from Syria rise, 
 Unnoted viewed the purple of the skies ; 
 For nature may not show her charms to him 
 Whose heart is bent upon a deed of sin. 
 Long meditated he, when from below 
 He heard a galley land, and trumpets blow, 
 And feet ascending on the causeway stair. 
 And then detected voices that he knew, 
 Among them Ludovico's, he could swear. 
 Yes, Ludovico with his retinue 
 Had just arrived, from regal Venice sent 
 With some instructions from the government; 
 He had been met by Desdemona surely. 
 And with his niece was talking now securely. 
 He said in brief the Council had recalled 
 Her husband, ordering Cassio installed 
 As Governor of Cyprus in his stead — 
 A move which seemed to please the lady greatly. 
 She spoke of how her lord and Cassio lately 
 Had fallen out, and hoped the new arrangement 
 Would end their most deplorable estrangement. 
 All this Othello heard in anguish sweating. 
 It seemed to him as though the fates, forgetting 
 Their usual kindly care, had thrown him down. 
 To be the scoff and jeer of every clown. 
 Though writhing cruelly in his distress. 
 He pulled himself together none the less, 
 
 55 
 
And went to meet the messenger with hearty 
 
 Good welcome for himself and all his party, 
 
 Accepted the dispatches, which he read, 
 
 Then rudely told his wife to go to bed, 
 
 And managed, so at least my story goes. 
 
 To grind his iron heel upon her toes. 
 
 This surreptitious act a blunder seemed. 
 
 An awkward accident ; but loudly screamed 
 
 The lady, and her uncle, not so slow. 
 
 Said, "Keep your heels, my General, for the foe" — 
 
 An ambiguity which looked like wit 
 
 To every fellow but the fellow hit. 
 
 With secret rage Othello pallid grew 
 
 As any raven's wing that ever flew. 
 
 But well dissembling, kindly took his guest 
 
 To dine in state upon the Cyprian best 
 
 And drink the wine which knights of Malta grew, 
 
 Asserting better this world never knew. 
 
 'Twas late when, hospitable duties ended. 
 
 The Moor retired, and to his chamber wended 
 
 In deep considerate eflfort to decide 
 
 By what particular means to kill his bride ; 
 
 Selecting finally a method glorious. 
 
 Eliminating pain, yet not uproarious. 
 
 He paused outside the room, within the hall, 
 
 And leaning desolate against the wall 
 
 To sad reflections rendered up his soul, 
 
 Bidding adieu to all that life held dear — 
 
 56 
 
The splendid pomp of war, the cannon's roll, 
 
 The neighing steed, the battle's frantic cheer. 
 
 And that great pastime where ambition stood 
 
 Almost a virtue, making carnage good. 
 
 In brief, he cried, " Creation's but a blot; 
 
 Othello's occupation's gone to pot !" 
 
 The castle bell struck twelve with vibrant stroke, 
 
 And from his reverie the Moor awoke 
 
 To realize that Cassio was no more, 
 
 For this is what lago doubly swore, 
 
 And sure lago was an honest man. 
 
 Certain as fate to execute his plan. 
 
 Into his room Othello slowly crept. 
 
 Saw Desdemona, was convinced she slept. 
 
 One lovely foot from out the cover peeked 
 
 Half hidden by a rag with phenol steeped, 
 
 A sight which brought him shaking to his knees. 
 
 Filled with remorse and contrite agonies. 
 
 The gas was burning brightly, and with awe 
 
 A fleeting smile upon her face he saw ; 
 
 And yet relentless, obdurate he rose, 
 
 To bring the tragic story to a close. 
 
 And this is what he said ; but every word 
 
 Was quite distinctly by the lady heard, 
 
 Who thought it safer sleeping to pretend 
 
 Than meet perchance a most untimely end : 
 
 " Blow out the gas, and thus put out the light ; 
 
 And if this flaming minister I quench, 
 
 57 
 
I can again with match relume the night 
 And so remove the nauseating stench ; 
 But if this air oblivious stops thy life, 
 Thou fairest pattern of abhorrent guile, 
 I know no antidote with virtue rife 
 That can again restore thy matchless smile. 
 Give to the world the radiance of those eyes, 
 Or bid thy clay in classic beauty rise. 
 My heart is breaking with this last farewell, 
 Which yet must be, for thou art false as hell." 
 Thus said, and making all the casements tight, 
 Othello paused and then blew out the light; 
 Retreated from the room and closed the door, 
 With unknown depths of anguish to explore. 
 For no long time the Moor with feverish haste 
 Strode up and down the hall, and as he paced 
 He heard the noise of discord and strange cries 
 Up from the town below alarming rise. 
 And to himself remarked in accents tired 
 That Cassio's death had probably transpired. 
 And caused some little rioting which might 
 Place good lago in a nasty plight; 
 But, after all, what were these things to him 
 Whose soul was hanging on gehenna's rim? 
 Nor could Emelia, who rushed in just then. 
 Get more attention than a clucking hen 
 Until she seized him boldly by the ear 
 And thus compelled the abstract Moor to hear : 
 
 58 
 
" Wake ! wake !" she cried. " lago has been slain ! 
 
 He died in most excruciating pain. 
 
 Bidding me run with utmost speed to you 
 
 And say that Desdemona was as true 
 
 As polar star, and that, as death drew nigh 
 
 With rapid feet, he could not, would not die 
 
 Till he confessed that he himself created 
 
 From nothing but his hate — for you he hated — 
 
 The wanton lies about your lady kind, 
 
 In which you soaked your damned perverted 
 
 mind." 
 Like to a stately tower by earthquake shocked, 
 So for a moment poor Othello rocked. 
 And then with voice of thunder roared, "You lie! 
 Most wretched harlot, look me in the eye 
 And tell me, thou deceiving, wanton slave. 
 Where is the 'kerchief Desdemona gave 
 To Cassio as a pncQltss gage d* amour?'* 
 With scorn Emelia looked upon the Moor, 
 And said in tones of infinite contempt, 
 " You monstrous fool, from every sense exempt, 
 'Twas I who stole the rag of which you prate, 
 Urged to the deed by my unhappy mate 
 Now deader than a canvas-covered ham. 
 With Cassio's sword-cut through his diaphragm. 
 Where is my mistress, brute ? My mind misgives : 
 Tell me if yet my gracious lady lives." 
 A look of strange confusion and affright 
 
 59 
 
On dark Othello's face was seen to light, 
 
 And shaking as with cold he hoarsely said, 
 
 " Come, come with me. I think that she is dead.*' 
 
 Rushing like mad along the corridor. 
 
 With winged speed they reached the chamber door, 
 
 And, bursting in, beheld at one swift gaze 
 
 A sight alike to comfort and amaze. 
 
 Remembered all Othello's earthly days. 
 
 The room was brilliant; every light aglow 
 
 Gave to the scene a rather festive air. 
 
 While near the center on a sofa low 
 
 Sat Desdemona, playing solitaire; 
 
 About her shoulders, whiter than the snow, 
 
 Fell masses of her copper-colored hair. 
 
 And right before her stood her wounded toe 
 
 Cushioned and propped upon a rocking chair; 
 
 Her right hand played a card as black as jet 
 
 And in her left she held a cigarette. 
 
 With mild surprise she looked, then said, "My 
 
 dear, 
 I'm very glad you came ; 'twas lonely here. 
 Emelia, too. Why, really, what's the matter? 
 I fancied from the town I heard some clatter." 
 These words were followed by an awful crash, 
 For poor Othello had gone all to smash — 
 Fainted away, this man of stub and twist — 
 This man, whose vigor nothing could resist, 
 Swooned like a girl and tumbled on the floor, 
 
 60 
 
As some great tidal wave upon the shore—- 
 An exhibition clear of what the mind 
 Can do with matter when 'tis so inclined. 
 Long time he lay unconscious, but at last 
 Through tender care the paroxysm passed 
 And he recovered, but was never more 
 The jealous dodo he had been before. 
 In fact his wife, her beauty's right asserting, 
 Would now and then perform a little flirting, 
 The innocence of which so well he knew 
 That, conscience smitten, often he withdrew 
 And left the lady to enjoy the game 
 Of teaching fiery suitors to be tame. 
 She never breathed, except to her Creator, 
 That once he plotted to assassinate her — 
 An evidence of wisdom and restraint 
 In woman rare, but wonderfully quaint. 
 They went to Venice, and were ordered next 
 To Mauritania, where some question vexed 
 About the tariflf worried and perplexed 
 Venetian merchants. There Othello found 
 Himself at home upon his native ground. 
 And with the Moors patched up a schedule fine 
 On every product, saving oil and wine. 
 These cleverly arranged negotiations 
 Were very much commended by both nations. 
 In history called the victory of negations ; 
 A treaty which it took two years to make 
 
 6i 
 
And only some three careless months to break. 
 
 To Venice then. En route their ship was ta*en 
 
 By Turkish pirates and Othello slain, 
 
 The women carried off — a common rule — 
 
 To grace the Sultan's harem at Stamboul. 
 
 But passing through that narrow strait or alley 
 
 Which from the shore divides the Cyprian isle, 
 
 The pirate saw a big Venetian galley 
 
 V^hich swiftly overhauled him, mile by mile. 
 
 Until at length the grappling irons were cast. 
 
 And then the fight was furious and fast. 
 
 The Turk was vanquished and the captives, saved, 
 
 With gratitude eternal almost raved. 
 
 Fair Desdemona to the Captain went 
 
 With tearful thanks and, sweetly bending low. 
 
 Said, "Sir, you were by Heaven's direction sent 
 
 To save us from unmitigated woe. 
 
 In prayer for you shall all my days be spent." 
 
 She paused and peeping through her sombre veil 
 
 To mark the man who fought with such avail, 
 
 Amazed beheld her friend of long ago. 
 
 Her first admirer, gallant Cassio. 
 
 In Belmont is a castle richly set 
 Within a garden, where perennial trees 
 Border along a winding rivulet 
 Which plays symphonic music with the breeze; 
 Here shady alleys reach, wide spaces glow 
 
 62 
 
With flowers that only Italy may know, 
 Whose perfumes to the sun like prayers arise 
 Of thanks for life and soft unclouded skies. 
 Here, strange to say, there dwelt a happy pair 
 Of lovers who were actually married — 
 Cassio and Desdemona debonair — 
 For Cupid's plans not always are miscarried, 
 Roderigo and Emelia also wed, 
 Trotted along the matrimonial track. 
 Though Rod was shy at first, but being led 
 Saw but one way to get his jewels back. 
 Across the way there lived in splendid state 
 A nabob. Lord Bassanio, who of late 
 Was captured by a certain heiress great. 
 Named Portia. There are very few but know 
 The case of Shylock and Antonio, 
 And how by being so amazing smart 
 She saved Antonio parting with his heart. 
 These were delightful neighbors, just the sort 
 To make the place an elegant resort 
 For painters, poets and others of that ilk. 
 Who claimed their infant food was muses' milk. 
 Sometimes the men did play a little high, 
 And Gratiano, that persistent joker. 
 Would oft persuade himself a bluff to try 
 On Roderigo, whom he plucked at poker. 
 But happiness prevailed, and long persisted 
 Until the ladies all became bridge t'whisted. 
 
 63 
 
L'lLE D' AMOUR 
 
 WITHIN my life there flows a placid stream, 
 And in that stream a fancied island lies 
 To which I oft repair, when lower my skies. 
 To breathe Elysian air and brightly dream. 
 
 And here are gathered many things I deem 
 Most rare and beautiful, that I have brought 
 From all the fairy kingdoms of my thought 
 To make this island like an Eden seem. 
 
 Encircled here with flowers an image glows, 
 Faultless and fair, of woman's perfect mould. 
 Which lifts my spirit when my eyes behold 
 
 And tints the isle with colors of the rose ; 
 But only I may know the model sweet 
 Which makes this image seem so incomplete. 
 
 67 
 
A BUTTERFLY 
 
 BRIGHT spirit of the air, whose loving friends 
 The rainbow and the flowers together vied 
 In rivalry that would not be denied 
 To furnish forth the beauty that attends 
 Thy summer glory, till the summer ends, 
 Was there no tiny voice that softly cried, 
 When as a chrysalis thou didst abide, 
 "Sleep on and dream; ere long thy fortune 
 mends ?" 
 
 And may not man in his cocoon of clay 
 
 Borrow some premonitions of a day 
 
 When like to thee the pinions of his mind 
 
 Shall glow in astral colors ; when away 
 Shall fall the dull impediments that bind, 
 And all refulgent flight him to his kind ? 
 
 6S 
 
THE FLOWER AND THE COMET 
 
 IN some land grows a flower, I know not where, 
 Which dwells apart far from its tender mate, 
 Blossoms divinely, and then learns to wait 
 Until iEolus sends a trusty air ; 
 Then drops this plant its golden pollen fair 
 Within the zephyrs* arms, which carry straight 
 Their burden over mountains desolate 
 To that lone other flower and leaves it there. 
 
 Celestial stranger, what erotic sun 
 
 Has shot thee from his incandescent breast? 
 
 Upon what errand of supreme behest 
 Dost thou on thy tremendous mission run? 
 
 Methinks thou art upon thy course forth hurled 
 
 To find and fructify a barren world. 
 
 69 
 
NEW PROVIDENCE 
 
 LOVED by the sun and flattered by the moon. 
 Caressed by all the fickle airs that blow, 
 Yon island lies beyond the land of snow. 
 Calm in the purple of its bright lagoon ; 
 Its days, its years, one everlasting June. 
 Voyagers from Arragon and old Castile 
 Here gave repose to many a storm-tossed keel. 
 And felt the magic of thy changeless youth; 
 
 Dreaming perchance that they too might divine 
 Some juvenescent fount, some spell in truth, 
 
 To pluck its poison from the fang of Time. 
 
 So dreamed I once beneath thy palm and vine. 
 And in a drowsy vision*s sweet device 
 Fancied thy winds just strayed from Paradise. 
 
 70 
 
NOVEMBER 
 
 ALONG thy dark forbidding coast there lies, 
 Rude buffeted by many an icy gale, 
 The wreck of summer's glorious argosies. 
 The gay armada of the leafy sail 
 Which cleared so gallantly the port of May 
 With flowery garland, and with song and clear 
 Sweet winds that lagged behind or led the way 
 Down through the golden sea of half the year. 
 
 Some gentle craft were stranded on the shoal 
 Of red October, some escaped to find 
 Upon thy frosty shores a bitter goal — 
 A barren margin and a cruel wind ; 
 While all the tuneful sailors of the fleet 
 Are hushed forever in thy mist and sleet. 
 
CHARLES LAMB 
 
 IN plenitude of joy, upon the heights 
 Which amorously overhung the tide, 
 There stood a lonely pine tree and defied 
 The blasts of autumn and the arctic nights. 
 The ardent sun, father of all delights, 
 Shed benedictions on the happy tree 
 Which flourished in the love of stars and sea 
 And lent his boughs, alike for birds and mites 
 Of summer life, to dwell in and rejoice. 
 
 From his perennial leaves he made a lyre 
 Attuned to music of the tempest's voice, 
 Or zephyr's witching cadence of desire. 
 Mateless he sat, and on the air distilled 
 The subtle sweets with which his heart was filled. 
 
 7* 
 
BUDDHA 
 
 THE little man-made gods which creeds 
 portray 
 As being rampant with a lust for praise, 
 Demanding prostrate homage and amaze 
 From creatures manufactured on a day 
 When Moses's Jove was modeling in clay, 
 How small and most inadequate they seem 
 When brought before thy vast mysterious 
 scheme, 
 
 teacher of an older, wiser way. 
 
 1 turn from Heaven eternal orthodox, 
 With all its sad monotony of bliss. 
 
 As, storm-beset, a vessel shuns the rocks. 
 
 And find thy thought a bright antithesis — 
 Reincarnation by supreme design — 
 Nirvana; ending in the All Divine. 
 
 73 
 
SERVICE 
 
 HE who goes forth to serve goes forth to win ; 
 And he who labors in the blast and snow 
 That others may some use and joyance know, 
 I honor more than he who sits within 
 The luxury of great command — akin 
 
 To rulers, with the blatant pomp and show 
 Which folly-fashioned men in haste bestow 
 Alike on greatness or successful sin. 
 
 The world's rewards go not to those brave men 
 Who delve the soil and burrow in the mine, 
 
 Heroic toilers! Shall they always, then. 
 Like beggars go, one everlasting line. 
 
 To pauper graves ? O, Soul of Justice, when 
 Wilt thou awake to conquer, smite and shine ? 
 
 74 
 
BENEATH THE SNOW 
 
 BENEATH the snow the tender ferns are 
 sleeping, 
 Dreaming perchance of happiness gone by 
 The stream, no more a borrower of the sky, 
 Flows dumbly, all its summer secrets keeping. 
 While overhead the trees, like mourners weeping. 
 Whisper regrets unceasingly and sigh 
 For past felicity with nightly cry, 
 In storm or starlight, many pliants repeating. 
 
 My heart, too, hath its winter, and I wonder 
 At the chill flood that runs so coldly there, 
 
 Waiting for Love's sweet spring again to sunder 
 The icy bonds which churlish Time and Care 
 
 Have woven round it — yet I know that under 
 This wintry garb there sleeps a garden fair. 
 
 75 
 
THE BACK LOG 
 
 THE sun*s warm eye looked for a hundred 
 years 
 Upon a tree from flawless acorn sprung; 
 Its sturdy arms were resolutely flung 
 To battle with the storm among Its peers ; 
 Unnumbered feathered generations sung 
 Matins and vespers with melodious tongue 
 Safe in its leafy altars, and the tears 
 
 Of raintime and of dewtime pendant clung 
 From twig and burnished leaflet. Then there 
 came 
 The woodman, and the stately tree fell down, 
 But not to sad decay — a splendid flame 
 
 Leaped from its circles like a golden crown. 
 And all the sun had given, it returned 
 Upon the Christmas hearthstone where it burned. 
 
 76 
 
CHRISTMAS AT HOME 
 
 WHEN, downward sweeping from the frozen 
 zone, 
 The winds blow keenly, rough with voices rude, 
 Making more drear the wintry solitude 
 Of barren, birdless land and farmstead lone, 
 How those bright evenings round the fire atone 
 For loss of summer, and her fair display 
 Is half forgotten near the genial ray 
 Of ruddy embers on the warm hearthstone. 
 
 Range on in vain, O breath of arctic sea ! 
 
 Thou canst not chill the souls to love inclined. 
 Each flower shall gently flourish safe from thee, 
 
 That blooms within the summer of the mind. 
 And so at Christmas-tide we meet, we part. 
 Within the sunny tropics of the heart. 
 
 77 
 
SUNRISE 
 
 WHEN that pale covenant 'twixt day and 
 dark 
 Is written on the sad and sulky sky 
 By Morning's phantom fingers, and a sigh 
 Of aspiration faint preludes the lark, 
 Then in suspense my spirit, like a spark 
 
 Almost expiring, breathless waits to spy 
 The treaty broken, and the Dawn deny 
 The rule of Night, before the Heaven's hierarch. 
 
 My soul, which fluttered but on drooping wings, 
 Now thrills with something from celestial deeps; 
 
 A sense of oneness with the power it brings 
 Who bade the Sun arise, and watchful keeps 
 
 My soular orb within its radial rings, 
 
 Illumined by the love which never sleeps. 
 
 78 
 
MARCH 
 
 A RUDE swashbuckler, puffing wind and sleet 
 Between the ranks of Winter and of Spring; 
 Holding allegiance to the Icy King 
 As rear guard to his majesty's retreat; 
 But not too loyal, prone to turn his feet 
 Where he can hear the pretty April sing 
 Of budding flowers and bluebirds on the wing, 
 And balmy rains that violets entreat. 
 
 Sometimes the witching softness of this lay 
 Takes hold upon his wild inconstant mind, 
 
 That he deserts his leige, and bends his way, 
 Love sick, to woo the lady coyly kind ; 
 
 And on those days when he employs his wiles, 
 
 All earth breaks forth in sunshine and in smiles. 
 
 79 
 
FEBRUARY 
 
 FEW singers chaunt thy praises now, but I, 
 I find some beauty in thy cold gray sky, 
 Which as a mantle thou dost wear to hide 
 The poverty that men with scorn deride. 
 True, thou hast neither bud nor bloom nor 
 grain, 
 Nor happy bird, nor fair inviting slopes. 
 Linked to the winter with an icy chain 
 Thy chilly frown obscures upspringing hopes. 
 
 Naked and desolate thy fields lie bare 
 Like an old face with many lines of care. 
 Still thou dost ever hold within thine hand 
 
 At least one day, forethought of summer bliss. 
 That wakes a quiver in the torpid land. 
 
 And all thy days arc dear to me for this. 
 
 80 
 
MARS 
 
 SUPERB, across the marches of the sky 
 Thy red blaze leads the cohorts of the stars 
 In jeweled phalanx, while the Scorpion bars 
 In vain the sweep of thy vast company. 
 Old War God of a primal world gone by, 
 A dread no more with thy mysterious scars, 
 A dream thou art of new romance which mars 
 All other dreams with its immensity. 
 
 What seer may pluck from thy abyss profound 
 The solemn problems locked within thy breast ? 
 
 What eye shall peer into thy glorious round. 
 And solve the secrets of our ardent quest ? 
 
 This thrill'd orb waits those lips which shall 
 rehearse 
 
 Thy life, bright brother of the Universe. 
 
 8i 
 
WORDS 
 
 Poloniui — What do you read^ my lord ? 
 Hamlet — ff^ords, wordsy tvords. 
 
 SOME words there are, etherial and serene, 
 Steeped with the spirit of celestial fire ; 
 Some with the purple splendor of desire, 
 And others sparkling as the vernal green. 
 First on the margin of a brooklet seen. 
 Some ghostlike flit in pallid thin attire, 
 And some outsing the music of the lyre 
 When golden notes seolian fingers glean. 
 
 In iridescent pomp some others go. 
 
 With trumpet calls, and winged rush of thought. 
 Sounding the sob of penitential woe 
 
 Droop many, out of bitter grieving wrought. 
 Best of them all, from Heaven or Hell beguiled, 
 I love the lispings of a little child. 
 
 82 
 
THE BACH ARIA IN G 
 
 WHEN, conjured from the palpitating breast 
 Of *cello by a master's fond allure, 
 Emerge those notes so exquisitely pure, 
 So filled with solemn and celestial rest, 
 My spirit lifted, floats upon the crest 
 Of billowed harmonies in waves azure, 
 Exalted, while those saintly sounds endure, 
 As though entreated by a heavenly guest. 
 
 All things are set to music. Every soul 
 Yearns blindly, by some infinite decree, 
 
 To join the orchestration of the whole, 
 Each being set in its own proper key. 
 
 My own unknown, revealed by this at last, 
 
 Is in the omega of the gamut cast. 
 
 83 
 
In memory of my brother Howard^ who died 
 October 24, 1871 
 
 I. 
 
 THE pomp and purple passion of the year 
 Enwrapped the hills; the dazzled earth 
 was dressed 
 Like some barbaric queen in broidered vest 
 Of garnet and of gold, her flowing gear 
 So beautiful that all the atmosphere 
 
 Was luminant with color; from the west 
 A soft wind chanting requiems of rest 
 Scattered autumnal incense far and near. 
 
 That time the Everlasting loved thee most, 
 And, as a flame from sacred altar reft, 
 
 Thy soul sprang up to join th* immortal host, 
 And I was left. Alas ! that I was left. 
 
 October's glory chills me like a ghost 
 
 Of some old grief, for then my heart was cleft. 
 
 84 
 
IL 
 
 ONE midnight, by the river's lonely shore, 
 When stars were deeply awesome, and a 
 thrill 
 Of holy aspiration caused to fill 
 Our eyes with quiv'ring teardrops, and the lore 
 Of one great seer we talked and pondered o*er — 
 It seemed as though we trod upon the sill 
 Of that great temple none may cross until 
 Death turns the noiseless hinges of the door. 
 
 Then pledged we each to each a solemn tie 
 By God and by our love, that he who went 
 
 First to the land beyond our mundane sky 
 Should strive again to reach this firmament ; 
 
 Should come but once with some assurance high 
 That death is not oblivion, but ascent. 
 
III. 
 
 DEAR brother, hast thou kept the faith with 
 me? 
 Full many years are gathered to the past; 
 The hope-light of my hope is overcast 
 With gloomy clouds of doubt that will not flee. 
 Love, genius and resolve — thou hadst these 
 three — 
 And are they all of no avail at last 
 To break this silence so profound, so vast, 
 That holds thee captive in eternity ? 
 
 Through many a vigil of the drowsy night 
 Have I sent out my soul in search of thine; 
 
 Striving to rend the bonds that held me tight 
 Within this clay-built castle, to divine 
 
 Thy presence for one instant of delight. 
 
 In vain, in vain. Thou madest not one sign. 
 
 86 
 
IV. 
 
 THRICE bless'd is he whom God hath made 
 so sweet 
 That, with a charm to Midas all unknown, 
 The hearts he touches, though as cold as stone, 
 Are turned to radiant orbs of sacred heat ; 
 And such a man thou wert; my wandering feet 
 Not yet have brought me to thy peer; alone 
 Thou art enshrined within the central zone 
 Of deep affection ; beautiful; complete; 
 
 Tender and brave; with courtesy and grace 
 Descended from some ancestor remote 
 
 Who sought the Holy Land with sword and mace 
 And led the charge when rang the wild war 
 note 
 
 Of Coeur de Leon*s trumpets, or was found 
 
 Among the knights of Arthur's table round. 
 
V. 
 
 THY portrait from the wall looks down and 
 finds 
 No glance that is not fondly love inspired ; 
 
 Too well we know that when thy lamp expired 
 Our twilight fell; and, as the year unwinds 
 And brings thy fatal day, our pensive minds 
 
 Recall thy virtues ; leaves by autumn fired 
 
 Are wreathed about thy picture; so attired 
 By gentle hands, a mist our vision blinds 
 Of tender memories ; and methinks that time 
 
 Shall not again roll many autumns o'er 
 Ere I may haply seek that land of thine, 
 
 And wait thy welcome on the fabled shore. 
 However this may be, I pray, dear heart. 
 Be thou not far when earth and I shall part. 
 
 88 
 
A ROSE AROSE 
 
 Arose arose in stately pride 
 At blush of dawn, and spreading wide 
 Her crimson petals to the air, 
 Gave to the quaint old garden there 
 The attar sweetness none outvied. 
 
 The other flowers on every side 
 With gentle, honied envy tried 
 To seem unconscious, nor to care ; 
 A rose arose. 
 
 Just then my lady I descried 
 Enter the garden — dignified 
 And beautiful beyond compare, 
 The sun's kiss falling on her hair — 
 While all the flowers in rapture cried, 
 
 " A rose ! A rose ! " 
 
 91 
 
IN MEXICO 
 
 FORGETTING naught of those fair days 
 Which seemed the sweeter for the blaze 
 Of tropic sun, and flowers run mad 
 With color, and the joy they had 
 In setting all our eyes agaze, 
 
 I wonder in a musing maze 
 
 If your remembrance ever strays 
 
 Along that path, if you are glad 
 
 Forgetting naught? 
 
 I still pursue prosaic ways. 
 But something lost my heart dismays, 
 The landscape of my life is clad 
 In pensive tints, half semi-sad ; 
 My penalty is what one pays 
 
 For getting naught. 
 
 92 
 
DEVOTION 
 
 FROM quaint old gardens in neglect, 
 A subtle perfume strays 
 That woos me till I recollect 
 
 Forgotten childish days. 
 And these sweet thoughts I dedicate, 
 Dear love, to thee always. 
 
 Sometimes from music falls a spell 
 Which fills my eyes with tears 
 
 Of pain, or joy, I cannot tell — 
 But rapt my soul appears — 
 
 And this to thee I dedicate 
 Ere yet it disappears. 
 
 At midnight, underneath the stars. 
 
 The angels of the night 
 Unlock my spirit's earthly bars. 
 
 Heaven seems almost in sight. 
 And this, dear love, I dedicate 
 
 To thee with sad delight. 
 
Whatever Inspiration sweet 
 
 Can move to high emprise — - 
 Whatever noble thought is meet 
 
 For favor in thine eyes — 
 These, these, with love inviolate, 
 
 To thee, to thee I dedicate. 
 
 Whatever spots of crimson stain 
 
 Deface my wayward life — 
 Whatever deep tormenting pain 
 
 Wakes up the fiends of strife — 
 These, these, dear love, with hope and hate 
 
 To my own self I dedicate. 
 
 Be gentle, thou, and true, and mine ; 
 
 Forgive my passionate heart; 
 Then shall my love be one with thine. 
 
 Thy love my better part — 
 And so, dear love, my faith, my fate 
 
 To thee, to thee I dedicate. 
 
 94 
 
A DINING ROOM PANEL 
 
 A QUIET conscience and a temper sweet, 
 An appetite by labor given zest, 
 A table spread with fruit and wine and meat, 
 A friend to add his pleasure to the treat, 
 And man hath surely half of this world's best. 
 Whatever else is good for which he sighs 
 Is found or lost within a woman's eyes. 
 
 95 
 
UNKNOWN 
 
 OUR eyes have spoken, 
 Though her voice has never 
 Reached my attentive ear ; 
 Her lips are mute, the silence all unbroken 
 When I am near, 
 And yet I know that when she laughs, her 
 
 laughter 
 Is blithe and clear. 
 
 And joyous as the bells that follow after 
 When two are fairly wed 
 In love before the altar. 
 And homeward led. 
 
 Gay were her glances. 
 
 And my heart woke newly 
 
 To chivalry and song. 
 
 Sweet dreams of knightly days and old romances 
 
 Forgotten long, 
 
 Come back again persistently elusive, 
 
 To range among 
 
 The cold sad thoughts of yesterday — intrusive — 
 
 But delicately bold. 
 
 As some faint perfume hoarded 
 
 In casket old. 
 
 96 
 
Full well I measure, 
 
 And perceive the graces 
 
 That break my souTs repose, 
 
 The pliancy of form, the stately leisure 
 
 With which she goes, 
 
 Like animated music, or the swaying 
 
 Of wind-bent rose 
 
 That bows before a summer zephyr straying 
 
 From happy isles afar 
 
 Beyond the sunset ruby, 
 
 Or evening star. 
 
 Will some kind fairy, 
 
 When she reads these verses, 
 
 With half reluctant eyes, 
 
 Whisper from whence they came, in accents airy 
 
 As lovers' sighs ? 
 
 Will no exquisite intuition 
 
 Her heart apprise 
 
 Who is it sends this tribute on a mission 
 
 Of hardly doubtful fate ? 
 
 Ah ! she is scarcely twenty, 
 
 I eighty-eight. 
 
 97 
 
HABIT 
 
 MY Lady often reimburses 
 Me with kisses 
 For sweet and laudatory verses. 
 
 Then dismisses 
 With airy grace, unrecollecting 
 
 She forgets *em. 
 My fees, however, need collecting. 
 
 I collect *em. 
 She nothing cares for my effusions 
 
 One sadly sees; 
 Then why sustain my fond illusion 
 
 By paying fees ? 
 ril rhyme no more, thus ascertaining 
 
 Beyond a doubt — 
 As love for poetry is waning 
 
 And running out — 
 If then the habit is coercing 
 
 Of paying fees ; 
 And will abide, though I give up rehearsing 
 
 My melodies. 
 
 LATER 
 
 Abide it will ; my doubts are banished hence ; 
 
 Her habit strong 
 Continues now from pure benevolence, 
 
 Not for my song. 
 
 98 
 
OTTO OF ROSES 
 
 HE said to her, smiling and bending, 
 "Your theory. Miss Hurd, 
 Of a soul with a future unending 
 Is sadly absurd. 
 
 "Will the scent of the roses you carry 
 
 The roses survive ? 
 Do you fancy the perfume will tarry 
 
 Alone and alive? 
 
 "No ; just what the soul to this clay, is 
 
 Its scent to the rose. 
 And each at the touch of decay is 
 
 Enwrapped in repose." 
 
 Then straight to a cabinet splendid 
 
 Turned clever Miss Hurd, 
 And quickly the argument ended 
 
 With scarcely a word. 
 
 "Now, sceptic," she cried, "take this casket 
 
 Of ebon and gold, 
 Which, even to you, if you ask it, 
 
 A truth may unfold. 
 
 99 
 
"Herein is a tiny amphora 
 
 Three thousand years old. 
 Oh ! you call me a modern Pandora ? 
 
 Don't be quite so bold." 
 
 He opened the box, half disdaining, 
 
 And found it disclose 
 A strange little vial containing 
 
 Pure otto of rose. 
 
 In a moment the fragrance emerging 
 
 Had burdened the air 
 With a sweetness that seemed to be verging 
 
 Ecstatic despair. 
 
 And he said, with a bow of surrender, 
 
 " When flowers take your part 
 There is nothing for me but to tender 
 
 My soul and my heart." 
 
THE BUTTERFLY AND THE 
 THISTLE 
 
 O 
 
 I IT was ages ago, ages — it may have 
 • been aeons — 
 When I remember myself living my life in a 
 thistle; 
 Blooming alone by a forest, there where the day- 
 breaking paeans 
 Of bird song awoke me; and late in the twilight 
 the whistle. 
 The mellow monotonous notes of the whip-poor- 
 will at his vesper. 
 Sang me to sleep, as I gazed, half asleep, on 
 the glory of Hesper. 
 
 Once to my blossoming bosom came, and like 
 feather alighted, 
 A mystical thing of the air, with plumage of 
 yellow and amber. 
 Why did I thrill with the pulses of pleasure, 
 of pleasure affrighted. 
 When to my heart I beheld that butterfly airily 
 clamber ? 
 
 lOI 
 
Brief was the bliss of that hour; trampled we died 
 
 in an instant. 
 Still doth the vision persist, faint as a dream, yet 
 
 persistent. 
 And when I look in your eyes, deeply with eyes 
 
 unremitting, 
 I see in their amber and gold the ghost of that 
 
 butterfly flitting. 
 
ON CAPE COD 
 
 THE home of silence and romance, 
 An ivied tower, a glimpse of sea 
 Far flickering in the tender glance 
 Of that fair moon which beckons me. 
 
 The home of silence and repose, 
 Of breezy down and yellow sand, 
 
 The tangled rapture of the rose 
 
 Whose sweet wild breathing scents the land. 
 
 Land of long days, and sunset shrouds, 
 
 Of unobstructed winds that fly 
 And fill with silver island clouds 
 
 The semicircle of the sky. 
 
 The home of silence — solitudes — 
 Where, far from all the world of pain. 
 
 The spirit finds celestial moods 
 And comes into its own again. 
 
 The home of silence and romance, 
 
 Where grows felicity anew. 
 Where idle days I gave to chance. 
 
 And all the perfumed nights to you. 
 
 103 
 
BOBOLINK 
 
 WHEN first he came among us, in the blithe 
 and bonny spring, 
 He was poor, he was thin, but was gay; 
 And his merry voice resounded with a silver bell- 
 like ring, 
 And in the low green meadows he was always on 
 the wing. 
 
 Every day. 
 
 But a change came o'er his spirit, when the moons 
 had numbered three. 
 From the flush and the glow of that June. 
 No more he rang his changes over meadow or on 
 
 tree. 
 For, prosperous, and fat, and rich, no time for 
 song had he — 
 Not a tune. 
 
 My friend is like the Bobolink: in poverty, and 
 young, 
 He was gay, he was bright, he was glad; 
 But, alas ! as "fortune's minion" the jest upon 
 
 his tongue 
 Has vanished with his brightness and the song is 
 left unsung — 
 
 'Tis too bad. 
 
 104 
 
IN BERLIN 
 
 5^ I A WAS in the Thier, a woodland garden 
 JL sweet, 
 
 But half secluded from the urgent street, 
 He led the lady of his doubts, to bid 
 Farewell, ere taking flight for old Madrid, 
 And make with grace a beautiful retreat. 
 
 Through her soft hand he felt the pulses beat. 
 And thought of things that were, and were not 
 
 meet. 
 Regretting that the verdure but half hid. 
 'Twas in the Thier. 
 
 The pathos of her slow reluctant feet 
 Seemed clever acting, exquisitely neat — 
 He said as much — and then her eyes were hid, 
 While to the earth a crystal drop there slid; 
 And he surrendered with immense defeat; — 
 'Twas in the tear. 
 
 105 
 
FIDELIS PAUPERTAS 
 
 IN tatters clad my mistress came. 
 And brought me ample dower of shame. 
 They called her " Poverty," and I 
 In vain essayed her love to fly. 
 But near me she would still remain. 
 
 I heaped upon her bitter blame, 
 Yet faithfully she loves the same. 
 Though like a beggar oft I sigh 
 In tatters clad. 
 
 Fidelity, how sweet the name 
 When joined with beauty, wealth or fame, 
 But when allied with her we try 
 To ban, avoid, detest, decry, 
 Fidelity may go to flame 
 In tatters clad. 
 
 io6 
 
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS 
 
 " The Butterfly Press of Philadelphia is to 
 be held responsible for the issue of a volume of 
 alleged verse by W, H. Howells, which also be- 
 longs to the Ephemera in the matter of weight 
 and longevity, but unhappily not in the liveliness 
 of color and movement which belong to the Class. 
 
 " The Rescue of Desdemona might be more 
 properly assigned to the flittermouse species on 
 account of its evasive obscurity and the erratic 
 incertitude of its literary flight. The only miti- 
 gating circumstance we can discover in regard to 
 its publication is that the edition is limited to a 
 few hundred copies for distribution to subscribers 
 only, and in this the public is to be congratulated. 
 
 "We venture to predict that if the author 
 had so many friends before the issue of the book, 
 a corporal's guard will represent all that are left 
 to him after its distribution. 
 
 " The query intrudes itself, however, at this 
 point as to whether the author would not consider 
 ^1.50 per friend as ample compensation for the 
 loss ? If so, of course we have no more to say." 
 — The Denver Dirk, 
 
"After several centuries of sentimental sym- 
 pathy for the only Desdemona, it has come to 
 pass that one William Hooper Howells has had 
 the audacity to tamper with the story of that un- 
 fortunate heroine, and violently assailing all his- 
 toric fact, insists upon her rescue in spite of every 
 protest raised by Time and Truth. 
 
 " The manner in which he manages to save 
 the life of the lady is so much more gruesome 
 and horrible than her histrionic dissolution, that 
 no one can labor through the turgid labyrinth of 
 the tale without profanely grinning at the awful 
 sacrilege. 
 
 " Near the base of Mt. Olympus has lately 
 been discovered a volcanic cavern to the impene- 
 trable obscurity of which we would gladly consign, 
 with motives absolutely impeccable. The Rescue of 
 Desdemona — and its author." — The Asheville Asp. 
 
 " The Rescue of Desdemona^ and Other Versey 
 by W. H. Howells, makes so wide a breach in 
 the ramparts of the commonplace, that any one 
 who cares to enter the citadel of Humor, the al- 
 most forbidden city of superior Foolishness, can 
 walk there almost without an effort for J 1.50. 
 
 " Our readers must be careful not to attribute 
 this work to a literary celebrity of the same pat- 
 ryonimic whose tender solicitude in regard to the 
 
dignity of his calling never permits him the 
 lambent levity which marks The Rescue of Desde- 
 monay — The Syracuse Sach Lac, 
 
 "Joy to our sanctum found entrance with 
 The Rescue of Desdemona^ and Other Verse^ by W. 
 H. Howells. The mechanical production of the 
 book is altogether desirable and studiously artistic, 
 while the contents — whimsical, quaint, original 
 and highly interesting — are refreshingly promo- 
 tive of 'innocent merriment/ '* — Chicopee Saccha- 
 rine Smear, 
 
 " After the foregoing animadversions there 
 is little left to say in regard to Mr. Howells* 
 performance — The Rescue of Desdemona — except 
 to remark en passant that while by nature and 
 education we are averse to acrimonious contro- 
 versy and all the grosser forms of physical per- 
 suasion belonging to the submerged tenth, we feel 
 a vagrant inclination to come into personal contact 
 with this author, which we trace solely to an 
 aspiration ' to do him good* and perhaps convince 
 him that a long period of silence on the part of 
 the Howells family would prove a national ' con- 
 solation devoutly to be wished/ " — The Buffalo 
 Biff. 
 
NOTE 
 
 The foregoing Opinions of the Press were care- 
 fully prepared^ not necessarily for publication^ but as 
 an evidence of good faith ^ and with a benevolent de- 
 sire to furnish incompetent reviewers with " some- 
 thing to sit upon'' — in other words y nest eggs of 
 criticism from which may be hatched by easy mental 
 incubation fine broods of diatribe and cheerful con- 
 demnation, 
 
 W, H. H, 
 
a^THE DR/ftVINGS HAVE BEEN MADE 
 
 BY GEORGE WOLFE PLANK. dl>-THIS IS 
 
 THE FIRST BOOK ISSUED FROM THE 
 
 BUTTERFLY PRESS, THE ATTIC. 
 
 AT 112W3 WALNUT STREET 
 
 IN PHILADELPHIA. c*» 
 
 ^ FINISHED JN 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 J.9O8 
 
ONE THOUSAND COPIES OF THIS BOOK HAVE 
 BEEN PRINTED BY INNES ^ SONS FOR THE 
 
 'BUTTERFLY PRESS: ONE hundred 
 
 ON TONED ENFIELD PAPER; NINE HUNDRED 
 ON TONED BRIGHTON PAPER; AND THE TYPE 
 DISTRIBUTED. THIS IS NUMBER 
 
DEC I 1908