: ' . A . 
 
 
•ECONO COPY, 
 1689. 
 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. Copyright No. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 

 '»> 
 
 DEC 34 1898 
 
Immortelles ana Hspftodels 
 
 POEMS 
 
 LAURA G. COLLINS 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 THE ROBERT CLARKE COMPANY 
 
 1 
 

 r^ 
 **»■ 
 
 30549 
 
 Copyright, 1898, 
 By The Robert Clarke Company. 
 
 .... I 
 
 DEC 24 1898 
 
 
 itt^*- 
 
 J V \ \ ^O^ 
 
MY TWO LITTLE GRANDNIECES, 
 SISTERS, 
 
 LAURA CASE COLLINS 
 
 AND 
 
 MARGARET ECKSTEIN GREGG, 
 
 AGED ^RESPECTIVELY 
 EIGHT AND SIX YEARS. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 
 This Day, ..... 
 
 • 7 
 
 A Phantom Realm, 
 
 10 
 
 Freeholder, The Little and I, 
 
 • H 
 
 The Pines, .... 
 
 16 
 
 What Makes the May ? . 
 
 . 19 
 
 My Lawn, .... 
 
 22 
 
 Peaches and Cream, 
 
 . 28 
 
 The Autumn Drive, . 
 
 32 
 
 October, ..... 
 
 • 36 
 
 The Brothers, .... 
 
 39 
 
 Little Phil, . 
 
 • 43 
 
 Little Betty, .... 
 
 47 
 
 One of Life's Strange Episodes, . 
 
 • 50 
 
 Preces, ..... 
 
 54 
 
 The Only One, .... 
 
 . 5* 
 
 Here and There, 
 
 . 58 
 
 How Do They Forget? . 
 
 . 60 
 
 In Memoriam, .... 
 
 62 
 
 We Know, ..... 
 
 • 64 
 
 My Friend, .... 
 
 66 
 
 Musings, 
 
 . 7c 
 
 (v) 
 
VI INDEX. 
 
 Blind— Oh !— Blind, . 
 
 70 
 
 Thoughts on Life, 
 
 • 7i 
 
 The Indians, 
 
 79 
 
 Kansas, .... 
 
 . 82 
 
 Adrift, .... 
 
 87 
 
 An Episode of Travel, 
 
 . 90 
 
 A Madrigal, 
 
 9i 
 
 Paolina, .... 
 
 . 92 
 
 Ludwig, der King. Louis, the King. 
 
 The Mad 
 
 King of Bavaria, . 
 
 94 
 
 Egypt, .... 
 
 . 97 
 
 The Alps, 
 
 102 
 
 Immortelles and Asphodels, 
 
 106 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Cbts Day* 
 
 Into the hazy distance melt 
 
 The old Ohio Hills; 
 The river at their feet glides on 
 And all the valley fills, 
 
 While bendeth tenderly and true 
 O'erhead the sky so blue. 
 
 The ancient town in sunlight steeped 
 Seems wrapped in dreamless sleep. 
 No creature, tread, or any sound, 
 Doth break the silence deep, 
 
 While bendeth tenderly and true 
 O'erhead the sky so blue. 
 
 (7) 
 
THIS DAY. 
 
 A Sabbath stillness rests on earth ; 
 
 Hills, river, town, the air, 
 Are cased in crystal as it were, 
 Or some enchantment rare, 
 
 While bendeth tenderly and true 
 O'erhead the sky so blue. 
 
 Into the distance follows slow 
 
 The gazer's lingering glance, 
 Then loitering, musing, takes in all 
 As one lost in a trance, 
 
 While bendeth tenderly and true 
 O'erhead the sky so blue. 
 
 The heaven above, the earth beneath, 
 
 The air, the perfect day, 
 The gazer's exaltation — all — 
 How soon they pass away, 
 
 While bendeth tenderly and true 
 O'erhead the sky so blue. 
 
 What means this fair, familiar scene, 
 This sleep, or trance, or dream ? 
 
THIS DAY. 9 
 
 Holds it a veiled significance ? 
 Is it some mood supreme ? 
 
 While bendeth tenderly and true 
 O'erhead the sky so blue. 
 
 Not depths of revery reveal, 
 
 Not keenest search doth gain 
 Solution for this mystery 
 
 That haunts and goads the brain, 
 
 While bendeth tenderly and true 
 O'erhead the sky so blue. 
 
A PHANTOM REALM. 
 
 H Phantom Realm. 
 
 No potentate, empress, am I, or queen, 
 No crown on my brow is ever seen ; 
 But I have a realm that is all my own 
 I would not exchange for a crown and a 
 throne. 
 
 In the heart of a mighty forest it stands, 
 And ever the blue sky and sunshine com- 
 mands. 
 The trees in that crystal empyrean rise 
 To heights that mock the most far-reaching 
 eyes. 
 
 The vast space hedged in by the rampart they 
 
 make 
 Doth Beauty's bewildering devices take 
 Of flower-beds, arbors, grottos and groves 
 Wherever the gazer's enchanted glance roves. 
 
A PHANTOM REALM. II 
 
 The first are in squares with borders of green, 
 Peering forth from which Youth's charming 
 
 faces are seen, 
 While rising above them, great masses within, 
 Unknown, nameless, flowers a startled gaze 
 
 win — 
 
 Pure white with a rim of Cupids so tiny, so fair, 
 The wonder awakes how they can be there. 
 In another, stalks studded the length of the 
 
 stem 
 With blooms that outmarvel the rarest of gems. 
 
 With reflected petals in colors so gay, 
 And stamens and pistils that end in a way 
 No botany shows — the daintiest fringe, 
 Each thread of which holds as though hung on 
 a hinge. 
 
 A fairy-like, magical, wee silver bell 
 
 Which touched by the faintest breath at once 
 
 doth swell 
 To a musical tinkle that holds spellbound the ear 
 Of every listener it allures to draw near. 
 
12 A PHANTOM REALM. 
 
 A mother-of-pearl grotto, mistletoe overgrown 
 With pearl — bestrung sprays, is the next won- 
 der shown. 
 An arbor of honey-suckles, its perfume of spice, 
 Clouds of humming-birds flashing like jewels 
 entice. 
 
 There, near by, a grove, its trees solid gold, 
 Agleam with gold lilies a gold mist doth 
 
 enfold. 
 Afar through that forest wall an opening is 
 
 made, 
 A vanishing distance of leafy arcade — 
 
 Beyond which an Arctic scene rises to view. 
 Ice caverns with the green of the emerald's hue, 
 Archways of the lapis lazuli' s blue light, 
 Blazing grottos of diamonds blinding the sight, 
 
 'Gainst a background of mountains covered 
 
 with snow, 
 From the crests of which waterfalls leap far 
 
 below — 
 
A PHANTOM REALM. 1 3 
 
 'T is gone ! This realm of mine, weird, unique, 
 How vain should any essay it to seek, 
 For it is a Phantom Realm, yet all my own, 
 That I would not exchange for a crown and a 
 throne. 
 
14 THE LITTLE FREEHOLDER AND I. 
 
 Cbe Little freeholdo* and !♦ 
 
 On the very tip of the topmost spray 
 Of my stately pine tree sat a bird, 
 
 And as I listened to him one day 
 
 This colloquy strange I dreamed or heard. 
 
 The while he was piping he sat and swung 
 With a pretty grace as the breeze stole by, 
 
 And the slender spray to which he clung 
 Re-echoed his strain with its gentle sigh. 
 
 He was unconscious or else did not care, 
 As he gazed around from his airy height, 
 
 That I of his presence was quite aware, 
 For he piped away with a merry might. 
 
 I smiled and quite softly said : " Little bird 
 ' ' Do you know who owns that swing on the 
 pine ?" 
 
THE LITTLE FREEHOLDER AND I. 1 5 
 
 His song seemed to answer me word for word : 
 "Yes, I know — I know — it is thine and 
 
 " How now, pretty one, you must be in fun, 
 Or lively perhaps on the dew of the vine ! 
 
 A copartnership I am sure there is none ; 
 So pray tell me how you have share in the 
 pine." 
 
 The sauce-box! He ruffled nor feather nor 
 
 note, 
 As I waited to hear what reply he could 
 
 make, 
 So softly — so swiftly — it swelled from his 
 
 throat, 
 "What the Father provides us I surely may 
 
 take." 
 
l6 THE PINES. 
 
 Che pines* 
 
 (A Home near Philadelphia.) 
 
 Who planted you, O, solemn pines 
 
 A hundred years ago ? 
 Who o'er you watched with anxious care 
 
 When you began to grow ? 
 
 When first your polished spears of green 
 
 Escaped the guardian sod, 
 Whose feet long perished from the earth, 
 
 Then all around you trod. 
 
 With journeys oft which bending form, 
 Which eager searching eye — 
 
 Mother's, or sire's, or little one's, 
 Was the first to espy ? 
 
 What subtle motive moved within 
 The heart of him who chose 
 
 You o'er all trees and placed you here 
 In dark, funereal rows ? 
 
THE PINES. 17 
 
 Was it ambition that you should 
 
 Become ancestral trees, 
 Waving o'er the ancestral home 
 
 Through distant centuries? 
 
 Or singleness of forethought that 
 Though not his blood or name, 
 
 Still some one's children's children should 
 Enjoy you all the same ? 
 
 Methinks 'twere this; but now my heart 
 
 Went forth in grateful thought 
 To him unknown who in the past 
 
 This deed of kindness wrought. 
 
 You stand in stately solemn might, 
 
 Majestic o'er all trees, 
 And in your boughs the minstrel winds 
 
 Wake ceaseless harmonies. 
 
 Your overshadowing branches make 
 
 A dim, cathedral shade, 
 And God's own temple you do seem 
 
 By human hands not made. 
 
1 8 THE PINES. 
 
 A sacred stillness broods within 
 
 The space you thus enclose, 
 And nought less holy e'er intrudes 
 
 To break this deep repose. 
 
 (This avenue of pines was said to be the oldest — over a hun- 
 dred years old — and the finest in eastern Pennsylvania.) 
 
WHAT MAKES THE MAY? 1 9 
 
 Olbat Makes the May? 
 
 What makes the May, — the lovely May, 
 The pet month of the year — 
 The one to earth most dear. 
 
 The tender, windsome, gladsome May, 
 
 The famed, fair, flowery May ? 
 
 What makes the May ? 
 
 The Bards of Eld— made they the May ? 
 
 They crowned her in their rhymes. 
 
 Innumerable times — 
 An odorous, floral Queen — sweet May ! 
 The Bards ? — nay — they made not the May ! 
 Made not the May ! 
 
 The Birds before the Bards their lay 
 
 Trilled sweetly forth alway, 
 
 But sweetest in the May, 
 The old poetic legends say. 
 Yet they — the Birds made not the May ; 
 Made not the May ! 
 
20 WHAT MAKES THE MAY ? 
 
 The flowers that bloom only in May 
 As though earth bore but flowers 
 To grace her glowing hours, 
 Aye, myriad flowers to crowd the May — 
 Yet they — the flowers — make not the May. 
 Made not the May. 
 
 The Breezes blow softest in May — 
 Their dainty harps are hung 
 Her silvery sprays among; 
 And with her waste of blossoms they 
 Make merry play — but do not make the May, 
 Make not the May ! 
 
 Sunniest suns shine down in May, 
 And golden glories weave 
 Where boughs their beams receive 
 On hillsides green in valleys gay, 
 But suns and sunshine make not May, 
 Make not the May. 
 
 Oh ! the blue skies that shield the May ! 
 That bend so clear above, 
 Our heaven of hope and love, 
 
WHAT MAKES THE MAY ? 21 
 
 Of all the bluest come in May. 
 Yet skies — blue skies — make not the May, 
 Make not the May. 
 
 The young May moon that shines in May 
 And only in the May — 
 That fails not of her sway 
 However roll the years away ; 
 Moons — young May moons — make not the 
 May. 
 
 What makes the May ! 
 
 The fresh blithe hearts that ope in May, 
 
 That throb with trust and ruth, 
 
 That brim with hope and truth, 
 
 Glad smiles and shining eyes — ah ! they 
 
 The May makes them and they make May — 
 
 These make the May ! 
 
2 2 MY LAWN. 
 
 My Lawn* 
 
 I ? ve a green spreading lawn which the fairies 
 
 Come at night, I am sure, to trip o'er, 
 For each morn I detect dainty traces 
 
 I never have seen there before ; 
 A spangle danced off in the darkness, 
 
 Flashes still in the cedar's dense shade, 
 And some magic, weird, cunning clings to it ; 
 
 It ever my clasp doth evade ; — 
 
 A slipper left there by some loiterer 
 
 Late roused to wild haste by the dawn ; 
 No pinafore darling's doll-baby 
 
 Could ever that wee thing get on, — 
 A tress of gold floss on the brier, 
 
 A shred of the silveriest gauze 
 Some fairy maid's scarf torn in passing, 
 
 Or love-gage dropped there in the pause. 
 
MY LAWN. 23 
 
 When she leant to her lover's low wooing 
 
 In some nook sheltered quite from the crowd. 
 I can see him, the sly roguish fellow ! 
 
 As he stands there exultant and proud. 
 A ripple of smiles lights his features, 
 
 But tenderness beams from his eyes, 
 And he gently bends over — low — lower — 
 
 And echoes her shy, happy sighs. 
 
 The wee things ! — they twinkle and vanish, 
 
 But this strand wove of silver and mist 
 Is a proof the most cynical doubter 
 
 Of fairy folk can not resist. 
 Ah ! there is more to one patient in watching ;— 
 
 Who will wait for their own witching hour 
 On a night when the moonlight is brightest 
 
 Many glimpses may catch of their power. 
 
 There 's a fitting of figures as brilliant 
 
 As fireflies flashing at eve, 
 A twinkling of music from instruments 
 
 No mortal thought ere did conceive. 
 
2 4 MY LAWN. 
 
 Some dance to their measures, while others 
 
 Flit in light or in shadow at will, 
 And some in the hedges' dark corners 
 
 Hold us spellbound with trials of skill. 
 
 One heaps sand in his hand's tiny hollow — 
 
 Grain by grain he hurls forth little stars, 
 Shining sparklets that swiftly in systems 
 
 Revolve where no doubting ere mars. 
 Another quick catches a dew-drop 
 
 Trembling hung to some flower's closed 
 bloom — 
 In a breath with swift puffs and strange passes 
 
 Wreathed masses of clouds upward loom. 
 
 With a quaint, comic magic another 
 
 Hovers 'round till some web just begun 
 By a trim, traveled spider is finished 
 
 And most rarely with dew-drops bestrung — 
 When — presto ! — you' re watching, but see not, 
 
 The conjury quicker than sight — 
 It is swept from the bush in a twinkling, 
 
 And floats — a balloon — in the light. 
 
MY LAWN. 25 
 
 While the saucy young aeronaut in it 
 
 Its gossamer cables soon cuts, 
 Cooly stretches himself at the bottom, 
 
 And one eye at a time archly shuts. 
 While the other flames out on the spider 
 
 Delight and defiance at once, 
 Till, baffled, bewildered, it rolls up 
 
 Its trim, traveled self, like a dunce. 
 
 Ah ! my wide-spreading lawn, in the daytime, 
 
 You lie smooth and green to the view, 
 And only the fairies and I know 
 
 What happens of nights upon you. 
 What revels fill up your fair spaces, 
 
 What new plans of frolic unfold, 
 What adventures in far distant places 
 
 With gay shouts of laughter are told. 
 
 How welcome to all your rare lovliness ! 
 
 To the slope leading down to the lake, 
 To the terraced bank where the verbenas 
 
 Of bright hues a gay mat-work make ; 
 
2 MY LAWN. 
 
 To the levels beneath my tall tulips 
 
 Where they dance to bewildering sounds ; 
 
 To the dimples beyond the catalpas, 
 
 The plateaus on the top of the mounds ; — 
 
 To the broad, graveled avenue winding 
 
 'Neath the aspen tree's quivering shade, 
 Where to their watch my old lions couchant 
 
 Full a century ago down laid ; 
 To the thickets of cedar and hemlock 
 
 Rimmed with clumps of gold lilies so tall, 
 Though scores of such wee folk a ladder were 
 made, 
 
 They would mock still the topmost of all 
 
 Ah ! they are welcome — wee, wonderful fai- 
 ries — 
 
 For children I have none to enjoy ; 
 All the magic which nature and art here 
 
 The summer long seem to employ. 
 Yet — I group them so oft by the lilies, 
 
 On the roots gnarled and old of the trees, 
 And I am startled at times by the ringing 
 
 Of children's glad shouts on the breeze. 
 
MY LAWN. 27 
 
 Oft I hear airy names called and answers 
 
 As lightly flung out in return, 
 As I strain my gaze far toward the forest 
 
 Where they play "hide-and-seek" in the 
 fern. 
 Sometimes, too, I see them grow weary, 
 
 Then they laughing and panting seek me, 
 To drop down on the grass where I 'm sitting 
 
 And lay their tired little heads on my knee. 
 
 Ah ! the vision of them that comes oftenest 
 
 Is of little forms fading away — 
 Of shining fest that gleam far and vanish — 
 
 In the light of a more perfect day ? 
 We may think it — must think it — God help 
 us! — 
 
 My fairies, I shall need you to-night. 
 O ! wide-spreading lawn, far too lonesome — 
 
 O ! heart, shadowed thus from the light. 
 
28 PEACHES AND CREAM. 
 
 Peaches and Cream* 
 
 Was she a beauty? — for you did not say — 
 The maiden across the table that day, 
 With her pet colt gathered under her arm, 
 Safely sheltered from every harm, 
 
 And feeding it with a steady stream 
 Of hugs and kisses and — peaches and 
 cream ! 
 
 It — her pet. her joy, and her pride — 
 Cutting the sunshine and grass outside, 
 Entered that banqueting-hall with the air 
 Of the guest most honored and welcomed there, 
 Sure 'twould be fed with that steady 
 
 stream 
 Of hugs and kisses and — peaches and 
 cream ! 
 
 And — was it my idle brush to redeem — 
 For this is the way it to me did seem — 
 
PEACHES AND CREAM. 29 
 
 You requested that I would paint that scene 
 Through your eyes which lent such a glamor 
 and sheen 
 
 To the maiden who fed with that steady 
 
 stream 
 Of hugs and kisses and — peaches and 
 cream ! 
 
 They fairly flashed as you told of the pair, 
 So I infer she was young and know she was fair ; 
 And it — why it may have grown up to be 
 Peer, rival, yea more — ahead of Jay Eye-See ! 
 Despite or because of that steady stream 
 Of hugs and kisses and — peaches and 
 cream. 
 
 Yes, it is as plain as plain can be 
 The thing might be done quite cleverly; 
 And my fingers are tingling at your behest 
 To do it, and do indeed their " level best" 
 
 On the maiden feeding that steady stream 
 Of hugs and kisses and — peaches and 
 cream ! 
 
30 PEACHES AND CREAM. 
 
 And the cunning dare-devil bit of a colt — 
 Not half believe me, so much of a dolt 
 As that other guest who sat there and stared 
 Instead of trying to — get himself paired 
 
 That he too might feed a steady 
 
 stream 
 Of hugs and kisses and — peaches and 
 cream ! 
 
 The banquet, host, hostess, other guests and 
 
 he 
 Out-doors all sunshine, in-doors all glee ! 
 'T is a picture that paints itself by the mind's 
 
 eye, 
 And why not by the brush in the near by and 
 
 by, 
 
 With the maiden intent on that steady 
 
 stream 
 Of hugs and kisses and — peaches and 
 
 cream ! 
 
 But sitting and thinking I thought I'd first do 
 A pen-sketch by way (maybe) of showing you 
 
PEACHES AND CREAM. 3 1 
 
 My pen is as potent as my brush any time 
 If I do n't have to bother about rhythm and 
 rhyme, 
 
 Which do n't always run in as steady a 
 
 stream 
 As hugs and kisses and — peaches and 
 cream ! 
 
 [Written for a bachelor friend (who witnessed the incident), 
 January 12, 1885, after 11 at night.] 
 
32 THE AUTUMN DRIVE * 
 
 Cbc Hututnn Drive* 
 
 ("Two Giddy Young Things on Pleasure Bent.") 
 
 Over the hills and through the hollows, 
 
 Behind our spirited steeds we went; 
 Not asking, nor caring, who leads? who 
 follows ? 
 " Two giddy young things on pleasure bent." 
 
 "Two giddy young things" (!) alas! for the 
 roses, 
 The brilliant bloom of their Long Ago. 
 Alas ! that a wrinkle now reposes 
 
 Where only a dimple was wont to show. 
 
 Alas ! that tresses of blond and brown, 
 Which over each youthful brow once made 
 
 A glory greater than a queen's crown 
 Are now with streaks of silver inlaid. 
 
THE AUTUMN DRIVE. 33 
 
 N'importe ! we '11 take the goods provided 
 By God beneficent if unknown ; 
 
 And stand to our colors though derided 
 Because our youth's fresh charms are 
 flown. 
 
 This day — a day of God's own making — 
 The broad green earth, soft air, blue sky — 
 
 As we gaze there comes an awaking, 
 A stir of the soul both deep and high. 
 
 This beautiful earth — we love it so ! 
 
 And most our own little corner here ; 
 Yonder mountain peaks that dreamlike show 
 
 Even in sunshine so bright and clear. 
 
 This pretty tangle of hills all round, 
 
 Some shorn and shaven, some covered 
 still 
 With groves where shy Dryads might be 
 found • 
 Could we turn them out in a modern mill. 
 
34 THE AUTUMN DRIVE. 
 
 Thicket and dingle, dale and ravine — 
 
 A ravishment to both smell and sight — 
 Wide stretching fields in brown, gold and 
 green, 
 Odors of wild things and wild flowers 
 bright. 
 
 Daises late blooming, Sweet Williams too, 
 And Black-eyed Susans gayest of all, 
 
 Clad in gold raiment, spic-span, brand 
 new; 
 And purple iron weed slender and tall. 
 
 More might be mentioned, but I refrain, 
 Because of countless charms that await 
 
 Every glance as we speed to enchain, 
 Every thought fresh pleasure to freight. 
 
 Farm houses set amid clumps of shade 
 trees ; 
 Beautified hill-slope, knoll and low vale ; 
 In pools crinkled here and • there by the 
 breeze 
 Flocks of white ducks with golden legs sail. 
 
THE AUTUMN DRIVE. 35 
 
 Coasting the creeks far vistas delight 
 In depths of greenery dusky and dim ; 
 
 Islets appear in the slanting sunlight 
 Rounded in outlines dainty and trim. 
 
 Fresh pictures flash and each one reveals 
 Regions of beauty undreamed of and 
 fair, 
 
 A rapture ecstatic over us steals — 
 
 Ah ! had Eden itself visions more rare ? 
 
 We measured the miles with talk and musing, 
 We read our delight in each other's eyes, 
 
 And marked each scene for fear of losing 
 Secrets of nature that we would prize. 
 
 Low sank the sun, soft fell the twilight, 
 Over the world stole a tender flush ; 
 
 And as slowly crept onward the night 
 Upon our spirits fell a deep hush. 
 
 Day of all days, we set you apart, 
 
 One that we would not, could not, forget 
 
 One consecrated in each other's heart, 
 Forever — ay, till Life's sun shall set. 
 
36 OCTOBER — 1897. 
 
 October, 1897* 
 
 How the leaves are coming down ! 
 In the country, in the town, 
 Golden, purple, crimson, brown — 
 How the leaves are coming down ! 
 From the elms a tawny green, 
 From the poplars gold is seen, 
 While the maples' brilliant sheen 
 Flashes dazzling flames between. 
 
 How the breezes come and go ! 
 Some with swift and merry flow, 
 Some murmuring, sad and slow, 
 How the breezes come and go ! 
 From the North a frosty chill, 
 From the East an answering thrill, 
 But the South sweet violets fill, 
 And the West's a zephyr still. 
 
OCTOBER — 1897. 37 
 
 How the birds in flocks appear 
 As their southward flight draws near 
 In this fall-time of the year, 
 In the yellow leaf and sere. 
 As far as doth roam the eye 
 In black lines against the sky, 
 Following their leader's cry, 
 Zigzag, high and low, they fly. 
 
 Sounds of insects in the air, 
 Sounds that make a music rare, 
 Little creatures debonnaire, 
 Humming, hopping, leaping there. 
 How they sing and buzz and hide 
 In the brown fields far and wide — 
 In the sunny, warm noon-tide — 
 How they hum and buzz and hide ! 
 
 How the sunshine slips away 
 In a dream the livelong day, 
 While its mist of gold doth lay 
 Like a veil till twilight gray. 
 
38 OCTOBER — 1897 . 
 
 Softly, tranquilly, doth fall 
 
 A hush — a silence — upon all. 
 
 Effort, will, under a pall, 
 
 Speech and thought are held in thrall. 
 
 How earth owns October's reign ! 
 Watching day by day its train 
 Of fruits, flowers and golden grain. 
 How it builds — castles in Spain ! 
 Dazed with the enchanted air 
 It forgets all carking care, 
 Feeling sure that every-where 
 Life is just as sweet and fair. 
 
 And such idle dreamers ! — We 
 Gaze and muse in ecstasy 
 On the wondrous scene we see, 
 Vaguely asking can it be 
 A part of the world we know, 
 Or perchance, some wizard show 
 With its glamour veiled in glow 
 As we dreamers come and go ! 
 
THE BROTHERS. 39 
 
 Vht Brothers* 
 
 Not so many winters' snows, 
 Not so many summers' suns, 
 
 The history of their young lives shows 
 As through memory it runs. 
 
 Twice a twelwe-month came between 
 One birthday that served the twain, 
 
 When October's golden sheen 
 Charms the senses e'en to pain. 
 
 "All nerves and quicksilver, Frank," 
 
 Said the father by and by. 
 "And Hercules our Will might thank 
 
 Any goddess to supply." 
 
 So they grew, the elder still 
 
 Slight and nervous, bright and quick, 
 And the younger, sturdy Will, 
 
 Right-hand man in prank and trick. 
 
40 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 And they loved each other so — 
 Never thought came but of two ; 
 
 What one asked for well he knew 
 Would the other plead for too. 
 
 Where the long grass longest grew 
 On the pleasant, sunny lawn, 
 
 Two small mowers met the view, 
 Morn by morn, at early dawn. 
 
 Two small sickles flashed about, 
 Seemingly with steady sweep — 
 
 Ah ! The laughter that rang out 
 Still my memory doth keep. 
 
 What though sheaves and stacks were 
 small, 
 
 Two young hearts delighted were, 
 Shouting, " Mamma, see how tall! " 
 
 Sure of smiles and praise from her. 
 
 What boy never climbed a tree ? 
 How they would have pitied such. 
 "Birds' nests," was their frequent plea, 
 "Mamma, just to see, not touch." 
 
THE BROTHERS. 4 1 
 
 Or, " Yon great red apple there 
 On that big limb, most in reach, 
 
 Mamma, sure you will not care/' 
 Always both would thus beseech. 
 
 Where the boat in waiting lay 
 On the lake by willows rimmed, 
 
 Two small boatmen day by day 
 Bravely o'er its waters skimmed. 
 
 Side by side did gayly row, 
 
 Throwing in some tricks for fun, 
 
 Such as rocking to and fro, 
 Low next to the timid one. 
 
 Sometimes shooting on the shore 
 Hard enough to tip out both ; 
 
 Then splashing each other o'er, 
 For a ducking nothing loth. 
 
 One supreme day "Pony" came, 
 And for all his looks demure, 
 
 Shy, bright eye, and gentle name, 
 Up to any prank, be sure. 
 
42 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 "Papa, did you think — come see — 
 
 Things would come to such a pass ? " 
 Papa laughed, then rolled all three 
 In mad frolic on the grass. 
 
 "Pony tossed us overhead, 
 
 Could we help it, mamma, pray ? " 
 Eagerly both of them said, 
 "So we we thought we'd have a play." 
 
 What wild scampers down the lane, 
 Where the weeping elm-trees swayed, 
 
 Wild tossed curls and streaming mane 
 Flashing through the cool, dense shade. 
 
 Summer days why flit so fast, 
 Shine of golden suns why fade ? 
 
 Hours of joy why thus soon past ? 
 
 Hath naught ne'er your flight delayed ? 
 
LITTLE PHIL. 43 
 
 Little pbiU 
 
 What has become of " Little Phil " 
 
 Since the years when he stood at my knee, 
 
 In his earnest endeavor to learn 
 His first lesson in A, B, C ? 
 
 Never an idler, Little Phil, 
 
 I see you again and again 
 Poring absorbed over slate or book 
 While clutching your pencil or pen. 
 
 Never behindhand, Little Phil, 
 
 When the questions were passed around, 
 In a concentrated, careful way 
 
 You were first who the answers found. 
 
 Well I recall one " showing-off" hour, 
 
 In your kindergarten term ; 
 Alone you stood for your class under fire, 
 
 Unconscious, gentle, and firm. 
 
44 LITTLE PHIL. 
 
 " Listen/' said the teacher; "tell what you 
 hear." 
 You bowed your head lower and bent 
 your ear. 
 These were the grave words that our ears 
 did greet : 
 ' ' I hear big wagons rumbling through the 
 street." 
 
 "Try again," said the teacher; "tell us once 
 more." 
 Your child face a growing interest wore, 
 As you listened intently as before : 
 
 ' ' I hear morn and evening the great can- 
 nons' roar." 
 
 " Well done," cried the teacher ; "once again 
 try." 
 With your wrapt gaze riveted on high, 
 In measured, solemn tones came the reply : 
 " I hear the thunder up in the sky." 
 
 '" His mind is burning with great ideas," 
 Said the teacher in admiring amaze ; 
 
LITTLE PHIL. 45 
 
 11 And if it works thus ere he is six years old, 
 Given life, what will it do some of these 
 days?" 
 
 The years are gone, but memory survives, 
 And oftimes I live them again, 
 
 Asking, "What has become of Little Phil? 
 Is he somewhere a man among men ? " 
 
 "Does manhood the childhood's promise 
 fulfill 
 Which was shown that morning in school ? 
 Is the man he has grown to from Little Phil 
 As docile to Duty's rule ? " 
 
 " Does he listen and hear with the inner ear, 
 And catch now such sounds sublime ? 
 Accords the spirit of the mature man 
 With the spirit of that early time?" 
 
 These questions have haunted me, Little 
 Phil, 
 
46 LITTLE PHIL. 
 
 Since our pathways went far asunder 
 Now many and many a year ago — 
 
 Will they ever have answer, I wonder ? 
 
 [The "big wagons" were the transportation wagons used 
 in our Civil War. 
 
 The "great cannons" were those of the Barracks at New- 
 port, Ky.] 
 
 
LITTLE BETTY. 47 
 
 Little Betty- 
 
 Great brown eyes with lightning flashes, 
 Softened by the long dark lashes ; 
 
 Lips as ripest cherries red ; 
 Feet like fairies, hands with dimples, 
 Laugh like sound of stream that wimples 
 
 In cascades o'er rocky bed. 
 
 Years and years their circles ended 
 Have with one another blended, 
 
 In the distant dreamy Past, 
 Since death's marble fixed each feature 
 Of that gladsome, sunbright creature 
 
 Whom my memory holds so fast. 
 
 Seven summers did she number 
 Ere she lay down in that slumber, 
 Deeper than her baby sleep ; 
 
48 LITTLE BETTY. 
 
 When the snow lay not more chilling 
 While my own young heart was thrilling 
 With strange tears I could not weep. 
 
 Five and twenty years have vanished 
 Yet have not the image banished 
 
 Of my little playmate dear. 
 For to-day I saw her smiling — 
 Heard that soft child voice beguiling 
 
 Me with accent low and clear. 
 
 Under my closed eyelids stealing 
 Seemed that little child form kneeling 
 
 With the old glance bent on me. 
 The wee hands with mine were playing, 
 And the red young lips were saying 
 
 Some low spirit entreaty. 
 
 Strange ! for her Heaven's open portal, 
 And the light and life immortal, 
 
 Claimed and called and crowned so soon ! 
 But for me gray hairs are gleaming. 
 On my brow and wrinkles seeming 
 
 In the strife of earth's fierce noon. 
 
LITTLE BETTY. 49 
 
 Well for her the crown and glory ! 
 And the earth old touching story, 
 
 " Whom the gods love stay not here." 
 And for me not less well surely 
 End but Life's ordeal purely 
 
 I may join her without fear. 
 
50 ONE OF LIFE'S STRANGE EPISODES. 
 
 Otic of Lif e>9 Strange episodes* 
 
 His picture there upon the wall 
 
 Sometimes I fix my gaze on it, 
 And all the fading past recall, 
 
 As in a revery I sit. 
 Long years ago while yet a child, 
 
 My father's friend he came and went, 
 Nor seemed to see me as he smiled 
 
 And absently above me bent. 
 
 For sorrow's blight had early laid 
 
 Its ruthless, crushing touch on him, 
 And still its shadow overweighed 
 
 And all life's light and joy made dim 
 Through maidenhood he often came, 
 
 And slowly with more cheerful mien, 
 Years bringing him success and fame 
 
 His thoughts from the sad past did wean. 
 
ONE OF LIFE'S STRANGE EPISODES. 5 1 
 
 Thus meeting, parting, time swept by 
 
 Till from that home I went a bride. 
 He won another presently 
 
 To share his place and pride. 
 Ah! brief my span of blissful years, — 
 
 Death did not spare my Paradise. 
 The blow — the anguish beyond tears — 
 
 The loss that yet for solace cries — 
 
 A score of years passed by and more 
 
 Before again our pathways crossed, 
 Far from the happy home of yore, 
 
 We talked of what we'd won and lost. 
 Of all the freighted years had brought, — 
 
 Rich gifts, the choicest and best, 
 Persistently desired and sought, 
 
 Though sorrow's canker curb the zest. 
 
 A little rift in rush of talk ; 
 
 Silence as full as it could hold 
 Of thoughts that all expression mocks : — 
 
 And then — so sudden swift he told 
 
52 ONE OF LIFE'S STRANGE EPISODES. 
 
 The old, old story — had he dared 
 He would have tried to win me. 
 
 He blushed — a boy ! — as thus he bared 
 That youthful romance shyly. 
 
 A pause — and then another theme, 
 
 Friends firmer, truer than before. 
 Knowing well his tender dream 
 
 Was as futile as of yore. 
 The fair day sped; the sunshine waned; 
 
 Creeping gloom veiled earth, lake, sky, 
 Where but now its glow had reigned 
 
 Weaving spells of witchery. 
 
 Words sped — those lost we can not spare, 
 
 Plans for meeting soon again, 
 Not on one projected there 
 
 Shadow fell of coming pain. 
 One was that beyond the sea — 
 
 Both were going — soon should meet 
 In climes renowned and comrades be; 
 
 In turn seeking each famed seat. 
 
ONE OF LIFE'S STRANGE EPISODES. 53 
 
 Of science, art, and learning — all 
 
 Man has guarded well and long; 
 And seek too each enchanted view 
 
 Known through pencil, brush and song. 
 With warmth of word and grasp of hand 
 
 And with unprophetic soul 
 We parted. Ah ! no magic wand 
 
 From our eyes fate's veil did roll. 
 
 A fortnight — maybe less or more — 
 Time a blank was when I read — . 
 
 " Over a book seeming to pore 
 Our great senator found dead." 
 
54 PRECES. 
 
 Pracd* 
 
 Moonlight folding earth 
 
 In a clasp benign, 
 Aching human hearts 
 
 Need thy peace divine ! 
 
 Rain-drops falling down 
 
 On the eager land, 
 Thirsty human soil 
 
 Craves thy blessing bland ! 
 
 Winds that rise and blow 
 In the summer heat, 
 
 Let thy soft wings cool 
 Pulses' fevered beat ! 
 
 Shadows of all things — 
 Cloud, or mount, or tree — 
 
 May thy mystic forms 
 Blessings ever be ! 
 
PRECES. 55 
 
 Answering shape of cloud, 
 
 Flying o'er the field, 
 Mark where weary heads 
 
 Claim thy grateful shield ! 
 
 Phantom of the mount 
 Stretched on burning plain, 
 
 Travelers shelter seek 
 In thy dim domain ! 
 
 Thickest shade of woods 
 
 Whereso'er you fall 
 Fainting human forms 
 
 For thy largess call ! 
 
 So of all things good, 
 
 Beautiful and strong, 
 Let thy balm be poured 
 
 On all need and wrong ! 
 
 Heed these prayers that spring 
 
 From our fainting souls ; 
 Answer them in grace 
 
 That inspires — consoles ! 
 
56 THE ONLY ONE. 
 
 Che Only One. 
 
 A little chair beside my own, 
 
 A wee form sitting in it, 
 A sweet child-voice when we 're alone 
 
 Outsinging thrush or linnet. 
 
 A little hand trust into mine, 
 
 A child's continuous chatter, 
 Blue eyes alight with love divine, 
 
 And small feet's restless patter. 
 
 A little snow-white, curtained bed, 
 
 A chest of childish playthings, 
 Some shelves of books " just made,' ' she said, 
 
 " For little ones and great kings." 
 
 A flitting, flashing fay or sprite 
 That comes and goes at pleasure, 
 
 Making the very sunshine bright, 
 My one — one — earthly treasure. 
 
THE ONLY ONE. 57 
 
 A dream — no more — she comes no more — 
 
 And what is there remaining ? 
 A life the tempest has swept o'er, 
 
 And — thanks ! — now swiftly waning. 
 
58 HERE AND THERE. 
 
 ftere and Vbtvc. 
 
 Wave after wave forever flowing, 
 
 River, dark river of doom, 
 One by one our darlings are going — 
 
 Hidden so soon in thy gloom. 
 
 Beam after beam silently failing, 
 O, Sun, that sets in the night — 
 
 Ray after ray we watch the veiling 
 Of eyes that hold all our light. 
 
 Pang upon pang, sore-bruised and riven, 
 
 O, Heart, is every tie : 
 Again, again, till all who were given, 
 
 In Death's strange stillness lie. 
 
 Clod after clod fearfully heaping, 
 O, Earth, thy cover is spread, 
 
 As side by side we lay them sleeping, 
 Our idolized helpless dead. 
 
HERE AND THERE. 59 
 
 Plash upon plash till Heaven's own strand, 
 
 O, River of Life, is thine ; 
 One by one till a radiant band, 
 
 Our darlings, there doth shine. 
 
 Beam after beam, lighter and lighter, 
 God's glory doth so increase ; 
 
 Eyes from Death's shadow brighter and 
 brighter, 
 Aglow with Peace, Perfect Peace. 
 
 Thrill after thrill, ecstatic gladness, 
 Heart, through each fiber doth leap. 
 
 What to thee now the vanished sadness ? 
 What that elsewhere thou didst weep ? 
 
 Clod after clod, Death's mansion crumb 
 leth, 
 Grave, thy victory is o'er, 
 Earth's still sleepers, the highest, hum- 
 blest, 
 Rise to joy forever more. 
 
6o HOW DO THEY FORGET? 
 
 Bow do tbey forget? 
 
 Why it is just as plain 
 
 Through this dreamy mist of summer rain 
 That scene of a few brief months ago, 
 In the midst of the bitter St. Agnes snow, 
 
 When the fair young bride of a honeymoon 
 
 Was claimed and taken away so soon, 
 With that wild cry — I can hear it yet — 
 Escaping her lips — " Don't let him forget !" 
 
 Yet it is he that stands 
 
 In yon curtained alcove clasping hands 
 With another, maybe, as fair and bright, 
 Who sits by his side in the failing light. 
 
 He bends with the old, soft worshiping air — 
 
 Does he whisper the same sweet nothings 
 there ? — 
 I can but see — yes, there lips have met— 
 O ! fair young bride, how can he forget ? 
 
HOW DO THEY FORGET? 6 1 
 
 As I think, another, 
 
 Tender and lovely, wife and mother, 
 
 Stands out clear from the crypt of the years, 
 For a moment only — tears, ah ! tears — 
 
 He died, time passed — would we had lain her 
 
 By him ere there was aught to stain her ! 
 In shame her glory of womanhood set ; — 
 Woman, wife, mother — how could you 
 forget ? 
 
 Hark ! from the parlor there 
 Bursts a bridal-peal of laughter rare. 
 
 Gladsome and free from all care is its ring 
 
 As the trill of birds in the budding spring. 
 Yet scarce, I think, has a twelve month flown 
 Since that same voice made wildest moan 
 
 By a husband's grave — has it lost regret? 
 
 Widowed, wedded — how does she forget ? 
 
62 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 In Memotnam* 
 
 [Written on the death of a lovely woman whom I never knew, 
 Mrs. Bushrer Goshorn.] 
 
 The fragrance of her lovely life 
 All womanhood may claim 
 
 The right to speak with gentleness 
 And reverence her name ; 
 
 The sacred sense of sisterhood 
 With one so pure and rare, 
 
 The touch as of a holy hand 
 
 That would its gladness share. 
 
 Her path illumed with light divine 
 
 Shed by the soul within, 
 Arrested, wooed, and others won 
 
 To seek and walk therein. 
 Why were you so relentless, Death ? 
 
 Why in such haste, O ! Grave ? 
 Not all of love could baffle you ; 
 
 Not all its efforts save. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 63 
 
 Yet one thing — one — is left of her 
 
 Not even you may chill — 
 The memory of her perfect life 
 
 Is our possession still. 
 The dull combustion of our souls 
 
 It stirs to glow and flame. 
 New goals, new aims, new plans unfold 
 
 The best to do and claim. 
 
64 WE KNOW. 
 
 (He Know* 
 
 With wont and use 
 
 Scarce or profuse, 
 Through lapse or lack of ages, 
 
 The sword will rust 
 
 And sheathed in dust 
 Flame but on history's pages. 
 
 The finest point 
 
 Oil doth anoint, 
 The sharpest edge e'er fashioned 
 
 Will wear away, 
 
 So day by day 
 Do pangs the most impassioned. 
 
 With change and years 
 
 The bitterest tears 
 Are softened in their flowing ; 
 
 The heart's long strain, 
 
 Grief's crushing reign, 
 Relax without our knowing. 
 
WE KNOW. 65 
 
 The deep wound heals, 
 
 The smart time steals, 
 The darkest hour grows lighter, 
 
 Hearts howe'er rent 
 
 Learn such content 
 As makes their burden lighter. 
 
 The clouds will rend, 
 
 The blue heavens bend, 
 To bless the mournfulest gazing — 
 
 Ah ! shall not we 
 
 Gaze truest 
 With hearts for only praising ? 
 
66 MY FRIEND. 
 
 My friend. 
 
 I miss him from my life, 
 The friend of many years — 
 
 A loss for which is no relief, 
 Not even that of tears. 
 
 The mornings rare are flown 
 When we, in commune high, 
 
 Talked on all themes that touch 
 Our human destiny. 
 
 The strolls of later hours 
 Upon his " green hill-top," 
 
 Where challenges of bloom and scent, 
 Our very breaths did stop. 
 
 The pauses brief or long 
 
 That we scarce conscious made, 
 To mark the scene so fair 
 
 Beneath his fruit trees' shade. 
 
MY FRIEND. 67 
 
 The mountains dim and blue 
 That sometimes shone so clear, 
 
 Were those where he when life was young 
 Hunted the antlered deer. 
 
 The hills that nearer ranged 
 In links and chains unwound, 
 
 And shaped by glaciers in an age 
 For which no date is found, 
 
 Had been familiar tramps of ours 
 
 From childhood's early days, 
 And still for us a magic had 
 
 That held the roving gaze. 
 
 The slower loiterings 
 
 Amid his vines and flowers, 
 Where he with loving hand 
 
 Would prune and work for hours. 
 
 Then from that outside world 
 In-doors his books we sought, 
 
 To read and talk and sit, 
 Losing ourselves in thought. 
 
6$ MY FRIEND. 
 
 His books — what friends they were ! 
 
 Homer — but Shakespeare first — 
 He oft recalled the day 
 
 His wonders on him burst. 
 
 From all the centuries 
 
 Their masters his own made ; 
 
 Their words, worth, wisdom, wit, 
 Forever with him stayed. 
 
 The evenings with the stars ! 
 
 From sweep of grassy lawn 
 We watched them rise and set, 
 
 Through twilight on till dawn. 
 
 Such comradeship from Youth to Age, 
 Such mingling of our best, 
 
 A consecration made of Life 
 And all our meetings blessed. 
 
 I miss him from my life — 
 
 The path is long behind, 
 But forward short and shorter grows 
 
 And soon the end will find. 
 
MY FRIEND. 69 
 
 Beyond ! — To what we go ? — 
 
 Still baffles human quest, 
 And mystery profound 
 
 All effort doth invest. 
 
 Yet still we dream our dreams, 
 And with the problem cope ; 
 
 Yet still we build our Faiths 
 
 Of Love, and Trust, and Hope. 
 
 I miss him from my life — 
 
70 MUSINGS. BLIND — OH ! — BLIND 
 
 Musings. 
 
 When I am gone they will come and go- 
 The friends who have loved me so. 
 They will come and go, 
 And the ceaseless flow 
 Of their laughter low, 
 And their merry talk will fill 
 The wonted haunts and places still. 
 Will they perchance remember me, 
 And sometimes name me lovingly ? 
 
 BUnd-Obl-BUnd- 
 
 Though clearest sunlight 
 Shine about me day by day, 
 Lighting all the onward way, 
 Shaming cloud and storm away; 
 
 Ah ! darkness and the dreariest night, 
 Alone — I find — 
 Blind— oh! blind. 
 
THOUGHTS ON LIFE. 7 1 
 
 Cbougbts on Life* 
 
 We grope in darkness when we try 
 To solve this awful mystery. 
 Our souls round the enigma hover, 
 Yet Time nor trial doth discover 
 A single clue to trace the maze 
 That doth environ all our ways. 
 
 Days and weeks in swift succession 
 
 Add their links unto Life's chain, 
 While the months, in long procession, 
 
 Not so swiftly join the train ; 
 Then the stately years approaching 
 
 Glide in silence to their place, 
 Swell the numbers while encroaching 
 
 Upon Life's allotted space. 
 Last the Cycles grandly numbered, 
 
 Close the pageant sweeping by, 
 And the deeds which them have cumbered 
 
 Roll to meet the Omniscient eye. 
 
72 THOUGHTS ON LIFE. 
 
 Cycles three God gives to mortals, 
 
 Youth, Maturity and Age, 
 Each but leading to the portals, 
 
 Whence we vanish from Time's stage. 
 Like a dream this world appeareth 
 
 Some swift mockery of the brain 
 That in flashing disappeareth 
 
 Never to return again, 
 When this human wrappage slowly 
 
 Doth to earth resolve once more, 
 While the soul enfranchised — holy — 
 
 To its promised Heaven doth soar. 
 
 The first Cycle — Human Childhood — 
 
 When Life strays o'er flowery plains 
 With winged feet by stream or wildwood, 
 
 Keeping time to summer rains ; 
 Then each sense is thrilled with pleasure 
 
 As the child doth onward bound, 
 In capricious speed or leisure 
 
 Losing still no sight or sound. 
 In this Cycle gleams of Heaven 
 
 Do the youthful heart entrance. 
 
THOUGHTS ON LIFE. 73 
 
 Glorious visions without leaven 
 That no more shall meet its glance. 
 
 For Love — the Beautiful ! now reigns 
 
 With an absolute control, 
 Lures in lengths of gilded chains 
 
 The unconscious, guileless soul. 
 Oh ! it revels in a medium — 
 
 Not the common air of earth — 
 Whose bright hues conceal the tedium 
 
 That shall afterward have birth. 
 Golden Age ! thou shinest divinely 
 
 O'er the gloom of after years 
 Beaming through their aisles benignly 
 
 Smiles that banish present tears. 
 
 Presaging heart ! fain wouldst thou linger 
 
 'Mid the blooms and joys of this, 
 But old Time's relentless finger 
 
 Sternly glide th from such bliss. 
 Stay these moments thou mayst never, 
 
 For more swiftly they flit by ; 
 
 Coming — going — go forever ! 
 
74 THOUGHTS ON LIFE. 
 
 Now ye freighted years draw nigh ! 
 
 Lift your sable curtains flinging 
 Such a gloom upon the air — 
 
 Ah ! the heart knows ye are bringing 
 Struggles — grief — perhaps despair. 
 
 Youth's glad hours have come and vanished ; 
 
 Morning rays are merged in noon; 
 Thoughts that we might once have banished 
 
 Grow to fetters far too soon : 
 Tears that came like April showers, 
 
 Cares that came like April glooms, 
 But to quicken Spring's fair flowers 
 
 Into lovlier, sweeter blooms — 
 Ah ! they drain bright eyes of gladness, 
 
 Furrows delve on Youth's fair brow, 
 Transform joy into such sadness, 
 
 Life nor charms nor cheats us now. 
 
 What doth meet us wheresoever 
 
 We may turn appealing eyes ? 
 Life's antagonisms forever 
 
 Yield immutable replies. 
 
THOUGHTS ON LIFE. 75 
 
 Sin and sorrow mingling darkly 
 
 E'en beneath the fairest guise — 
 Fallen beings held up starkly, 
 
 Illustrations for the wise — 
 Yet stainless little ones they were, 
 
 Knelt at some dead mother's knee, 
 Lisped softly o'er the simple prayer, 
 
 She told them reverently. 
 
 Want's pallid children crouching low 
 
 Near by some Dives' door, 
 As Time's dissolving scenes this show 
 
 Presenteth o'er and o'er, 
 Threadbare the garb of honest toil, 
 
 A thatched roof for his head, 
 Life's struggles round his pathway coil 
 
 And start beneath his tread ; 
 While Indolence hath fine array ; 
 
 Muslins from India's looms — 
 Marvelous fabrics wrought they say 
 
 In subterranean glooms. 
 
 There Persia's silks the eye beholds 
 Of such rich and wondrous dyes, 
 
76 THOUGHTS ON LIFE. 
 
 Rainbows seem amid their folds 
 
 Taking beautiful disguise. 
 Jewels rare are flashing brightly 
 
 Where stained windows' mellow beams 
 Float through perfumed chambers lightly 
 
 Flashing intercepted gleams ! 
 These, Nature's adamantine tears, 
 
 Shed o'er this fair fallen earth 
 Within some cavern's gloom through years, 
 
 Slowly glistened into birth. 
 
 His roof some sculptor's hand hath wrought 
 
 Into glorious tales of Art, 
 And it doth seem that Life hath brought 
 
 All its blessings for his part ; 
 Or elsewhere some earthly mixture 
 
 Fashioned into manhood's form, 
 Fills some nook of life a fixture 
 
 To some nobler being's harm — 
 Cunning in high places seated, 
 
 Thrusteth honesty aside, 
 Laws by ermined vice are meted 
 
 While afar virtue must bide. 
 
THOUGHTS ON LIFE. 77 
 
 Cycle this of swift transitions, 
 
 And its tide bears heavy woes \ 
 Life wears out by these attritions 
 
 Time's long vistas near their close ; 
 And Maturity descending, 
 
 Finally Old Age sets in, 
 Silver hairs and wrinkles blending 
 
 Till Death shall all cycles win. 
 Active into still life merges, 
 
 Life s worn forces seek repose ; 
 The Mind's labors, Passion's surges, 
 
 And the Soul's sublime throes. 
 
 Torpor numbs or Age subdues them, 
 
 Or Religion giveth balm, 
 Finding in this stage an emblem 
 
 Of the future, holier calm. 
 Once our joy was lost in sorrow, 
 
 Age now gently blends the twain ; 
 Opposites a something borrow, 
 
 Pleasure links itself with pain ; 
 Love and Hope's anticipations 
 
 Blighted by an early doom, 
 
78 THOUGHTS ON LIFE. 
 
 Some good angePs ministrations 
 Nurse to kindly winter bloom. 
 
 And this is Life ! And Death's dark stream 
 
 Its Westward slope doth bound ; 
 Nor may solution for the dream 
 
 On this side Heaven be found. 
 What do we here, the weary heart 
 
 In startled pauses oft doth ask ; 
 Do we perform aright each part 
 
 In our Life's apportioned task? 
 O, Life and Time and Change and Death, 
 
 Swiftly your linked chain is run — 
 Ye come — ye go — a fleeting breath ! 
 
 Who your mystery hath won ? 
 
THE INDIANS. 79 
 
 Cbc Indians, 
 
 I saw them camped by the forest green, 
 Where its thickest branches made a screen 
 
 From sun and wind for their wigwams rude ; 
 With stolid mien and furtive air, 
 
 A curious, sallow, dusky brood 
 The Red Men of the forest there. 
 
 They made their lodge by the far greenwood ; 
 The women lazily gathered the wood, 
 
 Heaped up the fires till their ruddy glow 
 Lit up faces that or young or old 
 
 No trace of beauty or womanhood show, 
 No gleam of humanity's pure gold. 
 
 The Chiefs and Braves were scattered round, 
 Standing, sitting, stretched on the ground ; 
 
 Glances dark with the gloom of fate, 
 Milk-white teeth and coal-black hair, 
 
 Forms of symmetry, tall and straight, 
 Faces wrinkled and seamed and spare. 
 
80 THE INDIANS. 
 
 I watched them, the somber, silent race, 
 Knowing no life but war and the chase ; 
 
 Watched for some revelation faint 
 Of their long descent and ancient line, 
 
 Through gewgaws, feathers, scars and paint, 
 From the Jews of Palestine. 
 
 Plunged in ignorance, sloth and crime, 
 Curious link with creation's prime ; 
 
 The dawn of their far beginning lost 
 In a night of ages no stars illume ; 
 
 More surely than when strange waves they 
 cross' d 
 They are onward borne to a direful doom. 
 
 A strange star glows in the eastern sky; 
 They mark it and shudder not knowing why ; 
 
 Swiftly it takes its westward way, 
 And lo ! their wilderness blooms like the rose, 
 
 As it scatters the night with its new born day, 
 And civilization's magic shows. 
 
 Cities throned on the hills are seen, 
 Villages dotting the plains between, 
 
THE INDIANS. 8 1 
 
 Countless vessels the rivers claim, 
 Steam cars remotest realms invade ; 
 
 For be it in glory, be it in shame, 
 The march of the white man can not be stayed. 
 
 So I watched them there by the far greenwood, 
 In a dreamy, half-prophetic mood ; 
 
 As the forests that swiftly disappear, 
 As the snows that melt so soon in the sun, 
 
 Their tribes are dwindling year by year, 
 And the Red Men's race is almost run. 
 
82 KANSAS. 
 
 Kansas* 
 
 ["Oh, rare, rare earth !" — Mrs. Browning] 
 
 A wonder-land, though one begot 
 In crimes and stripes that were forgot 
 But for their costly heritage; 
 Trailing its pitch on every page 
 That its historic pen doth trace 
 In hue no art may quite erase ; 
 That makes her name a thing of scorn 
 Which good men mention but to warn, 
 Lest vice, grown arrogant, attain 
 Such tricks of gloss as hide its stain. 
 A wonder-land, how long, how long 
 Shall still your record flaunt such wrong ? 
 
 A wonder-land, for all its harms 
 It matches with a thousand charms 
 Of prairie, sky, bluff, stream, and sun, 
 Ere the full year its course doth run. 
 Each season has its special place 
 And holds it with a special grace : — 
 
KANSAS. 83 
 
 Spring with her own, half shy, all sweet, 
 The tender grass springs swift to greet, 
 And where hath passed that dainty tread, 
 Lo ! its green mantle overspread 
 With fleck of flower, bird, bee, whate'er 
 Is fair to see or sweet to hear. 
 
 A wonder-land, though summer shine 
 
 Not down on the ancestral pine, 
 
 Or roof-tree of a son she claims, 
 
 Or daughter, with their frontier fames, 
 
 But throngs of later children come 
 
 To seek her shelter and a home. 
 
 Did their far homes look on the sea ? 
 
 The prairie shows like witchery. 
 
 Did music through those pine trees swell ? 
 
 The long grass hath the self-same spell ? 
 
 Of answering in melodies 
 
 Whatever mood of summer breeze. 
 
 A wonder-land, when Summer's reign 
 With Autumn's strives and strives in vain. 
 There comes, we know not how or why, 
 
84 KANSAS. 
 
 A change too subtle for the eye, 
 Of languid suns in golden haze, 
 And, lost in dreams, the long, still days. 
 Slow flashes through the drowsy air 
 As sleepy wings were droning there ; 
 A crooning sound — a lullaby — 
 Where little brooks go creeping by. 
 O, Autumn-land, awake, asleep, 
 Men too but drowsy vigils keep. 
 
 A wonder-land, when Autumn wanes 
 And Winter its full sway attains ; 
 Its snowy mantle spreading far 
 Without a break or fleck to mar 
 Its purity 'neath moon or sun. 
 This miracle when day is done : 
 To glowing pink the world we see 
 Even as we gaze change suddenly, 
 Carved in translucent, rosy light — 
 Then by degrees fade into night, — 
 Yet mark we not when sunset ends 
 And with the twilight softly blends. 
 
KANSAS. 85 
 
 The sunrise, too, a magic owns 
 
 Akin to that of Arctic zones. 
 
 The sun ablaze with splendor shows. 
 
 Sun-dogs, in circle, it enclose. 
 
 A sun-bow holds them in their place 
 
 To follow in the earth-round chase. 
 
 An atmosphere of myriad tints, 
 
 A shimmering mist of dazzling glints, 
 
 Of silvery points that swim, fall, rise, 
 
 Flash, glide, defy, and blind the eyes. 
 
 Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, each, 
 
 O, rare, rare Earth, your wonders teach. 
 
 O, wonder-land ! O, land scarce known, 
 Where stretch vast prairies never mown 
 Save by wild herds and wilder fires 
 That change thy earth to funeral pyres, — 
 When on thee nature spreads her green, 
 And sunshine spreads its golden sheen — 
 From deepest depths of bluest skies 
 What marvel that enchanted eyes, 
 And bated breath, and pulse attest 
 The charms that thy new clime invest, 
 
86 KANSAS. 
 
 And that we turn from what has been 
 Some fairer future bent to win ? 
 
 O, wonder-land, our Kansas, here 
 
 We cast thy horoscope, nor fear 
 
 From what thou hast already done 
 
 But that thy future shall outrun. 
 
 From all this moil and dawn of things 
 
 Hope's star, clear, steadfast, mighty springs — 
 
 Thy evil days shall pass away ; 
 
 All we count greatest, best, shall sway ; 
 
 High souls, clear heads, clean hands, sure 
 
 feet, 
 In thy new generations meet ; 
 And thou, begotten, born in sin, 
 A nobler era usher in. 
 
 Kansas, 1873. 
 
ADRIFT. 87 
 
 Hdrift, 
 
 I am out at sea 
 
 All adrift— adrift— 
 And the sun goes down for only me 
 On the clouds of the dawn uplift — 
 While strange strands flash and flicker away, 
 And strange isles gleam with the billows play, 
 And strange sails on the horizon glimmer, 
 And strange suns through the still air shimmer, 
 Till the whole world groweth strange to me 
 And I weary of being out at sea — 
 Forever out at sea. 
 
 I am out at sea 
 
 All adrift— adrift— 
 Yet I long till it ends in agony, 
 To escape from this endless drift 
 To cool vales which my childhood bounded, 
 To green hillsides which upward rounded, 
 
88 ADRIFT. 
 
 To the playmates sporting wildly there, 
 With shouts and laughter rending the air, 
 To the lapsing streams that whispered me 
 Not a word of warning of this sea 
 
 Lying ahead for me. 
 
 I am out at sea 
 
 All adrift— adrift— 
 Yet a dream comes often over me, 
 And worlds not scenes seem to shift — 
 Of one in his manly prime and pride 
 Who claimed me with glance and voice his 
 
 bride ; 
 And then all the world was Paradise 
 Lit with the love in each other's eyes — 
 Not in stillest calm or sun's wax or wane 
 Caught I glimpse or sound of this dreary main, 
 I sigh to escape in vain. 
 
 I am out at sea 
 
 All adrift— adrift— 
 But that dream unfolds till I seem to see 
 
 Children — just two — Heaven's own 
 gift. 
 
ADRIFT. 89 
 
 One I worshiped, he was like his sire, 
 A sculptor's model with soul of fire. 
 Claude claimed the other, he was most like me, 
 With golden brown hair and laugh of glee. 
 Ha ! the blinding spray — I can not see — 
 It hath swept them away, leaving me 
 
 Alone on this lonesome sea. 
 
90 AN EPISODE OF TRAVEL. 
 
 Hn episode of CvaveL 
 
 I sit alone and dream to-night 
 Of one, a brave young English knight, 
 A twelve month gone across the sea 
 I met — ah ! does he think of me ? 
 
 At night, at morn, at eve again, 
 We lingered with each other ; — then — 
 His fate to go as mine to stay ; — 
 The morrow — oh ! how cold and gray. 
 
 For he was young and I was old ; — 
 No sadder story can be told. 
 Forever, meant that dread good-bye. 
 To-night does he too dream and sigh ? 
 
A MADRIGAL. 91 
 
 H Madrigal, 
 
 Thou Star of my night, thou Star of my morn- 
 ing, 
 Thou Light of my life, its pathway adorning, 
 My wife, my Celeste. 
 
 Of men most forlorn all days lose their zest 
 When thou art afar — thou dearest and best, 
 My wife, my Celeste. 
 
 Thou art coming, my own, lodestar of my life, 
 My sweetheart, my idol, mine only, my wife — 
 My wife, my Celeste. 
 
 [Written for a friend whose wife had been absent some 
 weeks and was coming home.] 
 
92 PAOLINA. 
 
 paolina, 
 
 The Little Orange Girl at Maiori, Gulf 
 of Salerno. 
 
 She sings in the orange groves — 
 
 Sings Paolina — 
 As hither and thither she roves 
 Above the Marina; * 
 Filling and swinging 
 In time to her singing 
 Her basket till it can not hold 
 One more of those apples of gold. 
 
 She smiles in the orange groves — 
 
 Smiles Paolina — 
 Which surely, prettily proves 
 To " Signorina," 
 Catching shy glances 
 As she advances 
 The little maid to be human, 
 Under the rustic all woman. 
 
 * Marina, quai. 
 
PAOLINA. 93 
 
 She dreams in the orange groves — 
 
 Dreams Paolina — 
 Blissful dreams coming in droves. 
 That anellino * 
 Which she caresses 
 Mutely confesses 
 There is somewhere some one nearer 
 Yet than all others dearer. 
 
 She is gone — ah ! the orange groves 
 
 Miss Paolina — 
 Nevermore in them she roves 
 Above the Marina. 
 Is she still singing, 
 Her sweet voice ringing 
 In chime with a baby band 
 Elsewhere in this sunny land ? 
 
 * Anellino, ring. 
 
94 LUDWIG, DER KONIG ! LOUIS, THE KING. 
 
 Ludwig, dcv Konig! Louis, the King! 
 
 The Mad King of Bavaria. 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 These are the words that constantly ring 
 
 Soft and yet clear through my thoughts as I 
 
 walk, 
 Soft and yet clear through my thoughts as I 
 
 talk ;— 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 Just three little words, and yet how they ring 
 Over and over themselves in my brain, 
 Not quite a song, but a plaintive refrain ; — 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 I seem through the glamor the simple words 
 fling 
 
LUDWIG, DER KONIG ! LOUIS, THE KING. 95 
 
 To see both a king — shall I say, and a man ? 
 Who in the world's progress is found in the 
 van; — 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 How swift on the strain my fancy takes wing ! 
 A king with the kingliest, kaiser or czar; 
 A man with the manliest, in peace or war ; — 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 Thy birthright of purple is no paltry thing; 
 And " noblesse oblige" has a might of its 
 
 own 
 More mighty by far than a king on his throne ; — 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 To the son of thy sire his people must cling. 
 
 Oh ! born to his greatness even more than his 
 
 crown 
 Wilt not add to thyself a hero's renown ? 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
g6 ludwig, der kOnig ! LOUIS, the king. 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 From the heart of thy people a great cry doth 
 
 spring. 
 What is wanted ? Not only a king at the helm 
 Of thy state, but a sire to both people and 
 
 realm ; — 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 In some moment supreme weigh well this one 
 
 thing ! 
 Shrewd ruler, warm lover of science and art, 
 Thy subjects claim also a place in thy heart ; — 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 Beseech thee, think not these words mean a 
 
 sting. 
 They only entreat thee the ancestral fame 
 Of the Wittelsbach House to increase by thy 
 
 name; 
 
 Ludwig, der konig ! Louis, the king ! 
 
 Munich, 1882. 
 
EGYPT. 97 
 
 This morning, glancing through a book, 
 
 In pause of church-bell's chime, 
 The magic of a picture page 
 
 Brought back a distant clime, 
 A clime of trance, and dream, and scene 
 
 Of memories divine ; 
 Of lotos' bloom, of desert's sheen, 
 
 Ruin of sacred shrine, 
 In Egypt's burning, glowing gold 
 
 Of tropical sunshine. 
 
 The stately palm tree's swaying plumes, 
 
 The banyan's columned shade, 
 The shore washed by the river where 
 
 The flocks of Ibis wade ; 
 Or stand where land and water meet 
 
 Nor sign of life betray, 
 While lapse the morns, the noons, the eves 
 
 To twilights gold or gray — 
 
98 EGYPT. 
 
 Then with one impulse rise and cleave 
 The air and fly away. 
 
 Mud villages sun-dried and brown 
 
 With dove-cotes on the roof; 
 Chimneys like obelisks as tall, 
 
 And many a quaint shadouf ; 
 The weird shakiyeh's dismal drone 
 
 That strikes the startled ear 
 With sighs and groans, and comes and goes, 
 
 And echoes far and near ; 
 While childlike, gentle fellahs watch 
 
 And work, nor heed nor fear. 
 
 Along the banks phantoms of men 
 
 And camels flit and fade — 
 A fez-capped Arab, turbaned Turk, 
 
 Learned Copt, a blue-gowned maid, 
 A donkey and a donkey-boy, 
 
 With gleaming teeth and smile, 
 Alert to catch one's leave to run 
 
 Beside it mile on mile, 
 And scorning plaint of tire the way 
 
 With prank and play beguile. 
 
EGYPT. 99 
 
 The mountains rising near at hand, 
 
 Those melting far away 
 In depths of distance, blue of sky, 
 
 Or crystal of noon-day — 
 Alike the gazer wrap in bliss, 
 
 And goad the searching thought 
 As they unroll their storied fronts 
 
 In tomb and temple wrought, 
 When Egypt's great through ages thus 
 
 Perennial memory sought. 
 
 Eons before the Parthenon 
 
 The morning sunlight lit 
 Yon Doric column ; and this one — 
 
 The Lotos' counterfeit — 
 The rarest, fairest, just a flower 
 
 In stone, uplifted there, 
 With all its loveliness revealed, 
 
 Its grace beyond compare, 
 Has stood through cycles numberless 
 
 In this enchanted air. 
 
IOO EGYPT. 
 
 The Pyramids ! — a catch of breath, 
 
 A whirl of brain and sight, 
 A backward plunge toward Time's source 
 
 In realms of endless night ; — 
 The Sphynx ! — the calm, impassive Sphynx ! 
 
 As in the dateless yore 
 Aloof from mortal sympathy, 
 
 Defies as heretofore 
 All human questioning, and search, 
 
 And will forevermore. 
 
 Oh ! magic of a pictured page ; 
 
 Oh ! wonder clime thus shown, — 
 Not home, not friends, not native land, 
 
 Not strongest ties still known, 
 Can counteract thy witchery ; 
 
 A trance, a drift, a dream — 
 The soul escaped is floating down 
 
 Old Nile's historic stream ; 
 Entranced afar is taking in 
 
 Bridge, palace, fane, hareem, 
 
EGYPT. IOI 
 
 Oh ! hoary clime, Ancient of Days, 
 
 Egypt, Time's oldest child, 
 How many rulers, each in turn. 
 
 Thy glory have defiled. 
 The Fount of Learning centuries ere 
 
 Its light elsewhere was shed, 
 To school, priest, temple, the wise men 
 
 Of other lands were led. 
 That time recalling how submit 
 
 To see thy glory fled ? 
 
102 THE ALPS. 
 
 Che Hips* 
 
 It is those snow-crowned Monarchs I am 
 thinking of, 
 In their country far away, 
 As I bend both body and soul to hear 
 
 What to each other they say. 
 There are strains sublime I can not interpret — 
 
 Chants, hosannas, jubilees, 
 Carols, that rise and soar — and soar — and 
 soar higher, 
 In ecstatic harmonies. 
 In their Emyprean Solitude of air, 
 
 Of sunlight, of mantling snow, 
 Of clashing clouds, forked lightning, hurtling 
 thunder, 
 Crashing avalanche, the flow — 
 The long, slow, noiseless, resistless, hidden, 
 flow 
 Of Glaciers' frozen streams, 
 
THE ALPS. IO3 
 
 Are they in sympathy with this life below ? 
 
 Or wrapped in supernal dreams ? 
 Their voices that I catch, or — dream I do — 
 
 Reach they to Stellar Spaces ? 
 And mounting, widening, in the Music of the 
 Spheres, 
 
 Fill they appointed places ? 
 They have such joyous, glad, ringing reso- 
 nance, 
 
 It pervades those realms remote ; 
 So pure and cold — a burst of mingled har- 
 mony 
 
 Poured forth as from but one throat. 
 Chant they unconscious to Creation's ear, 
 
 Peak answering unto peak ? 
 Or the Great First Cause, Creator, Father, do 
 
 They in praise and worship seek ? 
 Watching the blue crystal bending o'er those 
 heights, 
 
 Spellbound, there wakes within a sense 
 Of kinship with beings that are voices only, 
 
 Beings born of joys intense. 
 
104 THE ALPS. 
 
 Gushes of song and hymns of Heaven's own 
 choirs, 
 Rise and float — a choral chain 
 Of melody unknown to mortal tongue and 
 ear — 
 Hope to capture which were vain. 
 Piercing entranced that dazzling distance but 
 not 
 With these human eyes of mine. 
 Something not myself yet myself escapes and 
 joins 
 Those far, formless forms divine. 
 Ye snow-capped Monarchs, how shall human 
 speech express 
 The miracles that crown you 
 Of viewless minstrels and of soundless min- 
 strelsy, 
 In that upper world of blue ? 
 Even as I gaze, transfixed in awe and homage, 
 
 Slowly slips the earth away, 
 And, some unknown force compelling, I seem 
 upward borne 
 To those realms of wondrous day; 
 
THE ALPS. 105 
 
 While that other me, not me swiftly mingles 
 
 With those shining hosts unseen, 
 Unheard, unfelt, but apprehended 
 
 In that spirit-sphere serene. 
 
I06 IMMORTELLES AND ASPHODELS. 
 
 Immortelles and Hopbodels* 
 
 (Everlastings.) 
 
 These, our Earth's perennial flowers — 
 
 The fadeless blooms by Poets sung, 
 Songs, that from Homer's Age till ours, 
 
 Down the aisles of Time have rung — 
 In many an emblem do we weave 
 
 For passionate Remembrance' sake ; 
 And howe'er we joy, howe'er we grieve, 
 
 Sacred pilgrimages make ; 
 For Loss and Grief, the Asphodels 
 
 On our graves we mourning lay ; 
 For Memory, the Immortelles — 
 
 Our loved ones live for us alway. 
 Death in Life, Life in Death — how we 
 This, Love's Faith, keep reverently. 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 (724) 779-2111