01ass„ 7/f-f Book_ L2M^ /ST 7 Cbe Bouse of (be Bean mind Browne Buffalo, the Peter Paul Book Company. . . «o main Street S-' Copyright, 1897 By IRVING BROWNE THREE HUNDRED COPIES PRINTED FROM TYPE BY THE PETER PAUL :'l JjOOlJ COMpAfrCltf BUFFALO, N. Y. ' , ' « « • , -Jf trappings is frrtef ^txxl yfs's teuak &e;ems rngsterixms, tlmtxk Thx karri — mxxi turn t^ teaf. CONTENTS THE WINDOW LOOKING OVER SEA The Voice of the Shell . 3 The Bubbles of Life .... 5 The Companion-Way . 7 The Wind ..... 9 A Vision of Ships . . . . . ii The Land of Verdure .... H The Lions ...... 15 The Smoke-Traveler .... 16 Parsifal — At Baireuth . 20 The Windmill ..... 21 Venice ..... 23 Woodlane ..... 29 THE WINDOW LOOKING ON THE WOODS Bob White ...... 33 Thanksgiving ..... 35 A Dream of Leeds . . . . . 37 THE WINDOW LOOKING ON THE STREET Godiva . . . . . 41 The Vane ..... 43 A Jail Window . . . . -45 The Girl He Left Behind Him 46 Fortune . . . . . -47 Contents BY THE HALL FIRE Juvenisenex . The Water Nymph The Head of the House My Clocks The Right Season Afternoon Tea . 5i 54 56 59 62 65 THE BEDROOM Two Worlds A Bed in a Country Inn . Night Noises 69 73 THE NURSERY Little Man . My New World . A Human Flower A Terror . Lost — A Boy-Baby . Spring and Sea . A Little Life . On His High Horse Cradle Song . How to Make a Snow Man The Telegram The Blue Boy A Complaint of Venus My Lady Christening Hymn A Night Pigeon . The Woodpecker Lorraine's Temptation Three Heads Bedtime . 82 83 85 87 89 91 92 94 95 96 98 99 101 102 103 105 107 108 Contents THE LIBRARY How a Bibliomaniac Binds His Books . . 113 Solitaire . . . . . .116 How I Go a-Fishing . . . . 11S A Portrait . . . . .121 My Shingle . . . . . .123 The Sentimental Chambermaid . . 125 My Schoolmate . . . . .127 Ode to Caliph Omar .... 130 My Friends the Books .... 132 THE WINDOW LOOKING ON THE CHURCHYARD Man's Pillow ..... 137 The Fates ..... 139 The Bell . . . . . .141 Love's Ghost ..... 143 Hope . . . . . 144 THE GARRET The Poet . . . .147 The Spinning Wheel .... 149 ON THE TOWER Young and Old . . . . .153 The Moon a9 Viewed by Different Persons . 154 The Window Looking Over Sea Over Sea The Voice of the Shell. A CARELESS wanderer on the beach, When the early sky is clear — What is the pink shell's murmuring speech To his inquiring ear ? Its voice is only Love, Its murmur is only Love ; No cloud in the sky, and the wind is sweet, And with joy and hope his pulses beat ; — Its murmur is only Love, Its voice sings only Love. At noon, when the sea is high, And the sun is fierce and hot, And the vision of morn has gone by, And the clasp of Love holds not ; The shell speaks only Fame, It murmurs only Fame; The sky is fierce with a desert blast, And the promise of morn on the wind has passed ; The shell chants only Fame, Its burden is only Fame. Ov>er Sea At night, when the tide is low, And the heavens are overcast, And the pulses of life beat slow, What is the message at last ? It whispers only Rest, It has no word but Rest. A star shines over a distant hill, A single star, and the wind is chill ; — The shell whispers only Rest, Its constant hymn is Rest. Oh, Love of the morning, so dim ! Oh, elusive Fame of the noon ! Oh, prophecy of the evening hymn ! Will my Love come back to me soon ? But the shell says only Rest, Its single whisper is Rest ! Can I gain my Love once more ? My love and my faith restore ! — But the shell still whispers, Rest ! Its final murmur is Rest ! Over Sea The Bubbles of Life. A BOY and girl upon the yellow beach Blew shining bubbles in the summer air; And as they floated off they named them, each Choosing what seemed to him or her most fair. " I name mine Wealth," exclaimed the careless boy; " So may I never have to count the cost, But ships and houses own, as now a toy;" — But Wealth was driven far out to sea and lost. " I name mine Beauty," said the pretty girl; " So women all shall envy my fair face, And men shall kneel and beg me for a curl; " — But Beauty vanished quickly into space. " I name this Fame," essayed the boy again ; " So may I hear my praises every hour, As orator or soldier, sung by men;" — But Fame was wrecked against the beacon tower. " This is Long Life," returned the little maid; " So may I happy be for many a year, Nor be till late of ugly death afraid; " — But Long Life broke within a graveyard near. Over Sea At last twin globules they together blew, And named them Love, as slow they rose on high ; The sun shone through them with prismatic hue, Till Love was lost within the glowing sky. Over $*a The Companion-Way. I FIRST saw Betty on a ship, A-sailing to the south ; A merry smile was on her lip, And from her rosy mouth There issued bantering words one day, On meeting in the companion-way. We paced the deck for many a mile, We counted distant sails, And did the tedious hours beguile With flying-fish and whales ; But best we liked soft words to say Within the close companion-way. That way was wide enough for one, But rather snug for two, And though not meant to sit upon, We made not much ado To sit in conversation gay Within that close companion-way. As Betty once sat on the stair, The vessel gave a lurch, dm Sea And as to prosper my affair, Threw Betty from her perch ; Within my arms she fell and lay, At foot of the companion-way. She looked quite faint : I kissed her close, It didn't bring her to ; A repetition of the dose Imparted strength anew ; A new-born hope gave out a ray Within that dark companion-way. Said I, " Sweet Betty, be my mate." Quoth Betty, " Well, why not? " And on that ladder of our fate We fixed our earthly lot; And though we both grow old and gray, We'll stick to this companion-way. Oe*r S?a The Wind. 7^ HE wind blows over the sea, Blowing homeward the bulky ships ; The land looms under the sailor's lee, And he dreams of his sweetheart's lips. The wind creeps over the wave, It stirs the pines by the deeps, It sweeps the grass on the quiet grave Where the sailor's sweetheart sleeps. The wind sweeps over the sand Of the desert so hot and bright ; It heaps the grave of the Arab band ; It covers the sphinx from sight. The wind breathes laden with balm, It wrinkles the face of the pool, It lifts the leaves of the lazy palm, In the night descending cool. The wind wails over the snow And ice of the virgin zone, Where half the year the great stars glow, And the white bear sits alone. Over Sea The wind circles over the town ; It swoops on the houses for prey, It lifts them aloft and hurls them down, As eagles snatch lambs away. The wind rustles over the plain Of the emigrant's boundless home, It heaves the waves of the wheaten main And the grass where the buffaloes roam. The wind sweeps the ruinous waste, Where wanders the big-horned ox And pilgrims to Peter's great dome haste, And shepherds pipe to their flocks. Oh ! thou untamable wind ! Though mortals may quench the fire And the water's violence bind, They cannot escape thine ire. Oh ! thou beneficent wind ! As Adam first blessed thy breath, The last man shall confess thee kind, As he lies awaiting death. io (h>er Sea A Vision of Ships. I LOVE to haunt the oozy slips And watch the weary beaten ships Drift in from distant lands, And hear the sailors' various speech When the big black hulks their mooring reach, And the anchor bites the sand. I stand and dream upon the shore Of all the famous ships of yore — They sail before my sight — And heroes, saints, and sages pass Like visions, in a magic glass, Of mystery and might. Once more a world with Noah swims Above the drowning world, while hymns Upon the tempest float ; Once more the Israelite lawgiver Drifts helpless down the Egyptian river, Safe in his bulrush boat. I seem the sacred Christ to see Upon the ship on Galilee, Commanding, " Peace, be still ! " II Over Sea Upon his pulpit-ship he stands And stretches forth his blessed hands To the people on the hill ; Audacious Jason in the Argo Returning with his precious cargo Of magic golden fleece ; And Ithacus, tied to the mast Until the Sirens' song was past And close the shores of Greece ; The rugged Norseman's beak of brass; And Cleopatra's barge doth pass With music and perfume ; The ship on which the Triumvir fled From Actium's sky and water red, At night with brow of gloom. I see the Venetian ship of state, The white maids on her deck who wait, The Doge in pride ecstatic — To make the sea his city's bride He throws his ring into the tide And weds the Adriatic. Again the stout crusaders sail, And clad in coats of gleaming mail They kneel on the holy strand ; Once more the enduring Genoese Goes voyaging over untried seas And scents the new-found land. 12 Over Sea Once more the Puritan Mayflower Is flying from the Stuart's power, And bears a precious treasure Of men who will not bow the knee, And the Indian lurks behind the tree And sin in every pleasure. I hear the crash on the Victory's deck, And dying in the smoke and wreck The Admiral's task is done; I see the vanquished Temeraire, Painted in Turner's picture fair, Drawn past at set of sun. I fain would stand a summer day And gaze out on the breezy bay And watch the tossing ships, Until the summer day is done, And the moon starts up while the great red sun Below the horizon dips. Then I may see the vessel haunted By ghostly shapes, the bird enchanted Hung on the mariner's neck, And the Flying Dutchman driven past, Wringing his hands in the lurid blast, Quick dwindles to a speck. 13 Over Sea The Land of Verdure. THE ivy creeps on the tower wall, The grass softly cushions the plain. The wavering, welcoming shadows fall On turf 'twixt the sun and the rain ; The weeds grow rank in the castle moat, The woodbine encircles the tree, The branches droop o'er the vagrant boat And drip on my boatmaid and me ; The blades shoot sparsely between the stones, The leaves flicker high on their perch, There's moss on covert of moldering bones, There's a verger in every church ! 14 Over Sea The Lions. THE drowsy lions of Trafalgar lie, With pride and conquest sated, round about The hero's column; travelers pass by, With careless glance, or oftener without A thought of all the glory storied there, That makes the Lion-Island's fame so fair. Thou solitary lion of Lucerne, Defeated, gasping, on a foreign shield — To thee the stranger's steps with fondness turn, Thou dying majesty ! to thee we yield The tribute due to loyalty and love Unshaken as the solid cliff above. 15 Over Sea The Smoke-Traveler. WHEN I puff my cigarette, Straight I see a Spanish girl, Mantilla, fan, coquettish curl, Languid airs and dimpled face, Calculating fatal grace; Hear a twittering serenade Under lofty balcony played ; Queen at bullfight, naught she cares What her agile lover dares ; She can love and quick forget. Let me but my meerschaum light, I behold a bearded man, Built upon capacious plan, Saber-slashed in war or duel, Gruff of aspect but not cruel, Metaphysically muddled, With strong beer a little fuddled, Slow in love and deep in books, More sentimental than he looks, Swears new friendships every night. 16 Owr Sea Let me my chibouk enkindle, — In a tent I'm quick set down With a Bedouin lean and brown, Plotting gain of merchandise, Or perchance of robber prize ; Clumsy camel load upheaving, Woman deftly carpet weaving ; Meal of dates and bread and salt, While in azure heavenly vault Throbbing stars begin to dwindle. Glowing coal in clay dudeen Carries me to sweet Killarney, Full of hypocritic blarney ; Huts with babies, pigs, and hens Mixed together ; bogs and fens ; Shillalahs, praties, usquebaugh, Tenants defying hated law, Fair blue eyes with lashes black, Eyes black and blue from cudgel-thwack, - So fair, so foul, is Erin green. My nargileh once inflamed, Quick appears a Turk with turban, Girt with guards in palace urban, Or in house by summer sea Slave-girls dancing languidly ; Bowstring, sack, and bastinado, Black boats darting in the shadow; 17 Over Sea Let things happen as they please, Whether well or ill at ease, Fate alone is blessed or blamed. With my ancient calumet I can raise a wigwam's smoke, And the copper tribe invoke, — Scalps and wampum, bows and knives, Slender maidens, greasy wives, Papoose hanging on a tree, Chieftains squatting silently, Feathers, beads, and hideous paint, Medicine-man and wooden saint, — Forest-framed the vision set. My cigar breeds many forms — Planter of the rich Havana, Mopping brow with sheer bandana ; Russian prince in fur arrayed ; Paris fop on dress parade ; London swell just after dinner ; Wall street broker — gambling sinner ; Delver in Nevada mine ; Scotch laird bawling " Auld Lang Syne; " Thus Raleigh's weed my fancy warms. Life's review in smoke goes past — Fickle fortune, stubborn fate, Right discovered all too late, 18 ©wr Sea Beings loved and gone before, Beings loved but friends no more, Self-reproach and futile sighs, Vanity in birth that dies, Longing, heartbreak, adoration, — Nothing sure in expectation Save ash-receiver at the last. '9 Over Sea Parsifal— At Baireuth. OH solemn harmonies that sound When worldly light and pleasure fail, And magic radiance all around Glows through the Holy Grail ! Come, lover of a vanished friend ! Uplifted on these strains divine, Feel love and mercy without end In pitying Christ that shine ! Oh Man of Sorrows ! cure his grief, And let the world's repining small Within thy bosom find relief, Thou Sorrower for all ! Forgetful of the world's unrest, Each troubled heart in reverence bends, And for one fleeting moment blest The Holy Dove descends. Over Sea The Windmill. THE windmill stands on a breezy hill Overlooking the tossing sea, Or a sluggish river flowing still, While the ships pass merrily. The water mills mourn with silent wheels, When summer scorches the stream, But the windmill always the breezes feels, And its wings in the bright air gleam. Four generations of dusty men Have mopped their glistening polls, And watched the grain in their creaking pen, And counted their golden tolls. The crazed knight tilted in vain but well At the mill on the Spanish plain, But this one bears scars of shot and shell From warfare on land and main. It waves its wings to the ships that bound, With them it is longing to sail, But doomed to a weary treadmill round It beats the air with its flail. .1 Oeer Sea The ships sail by ; but the mill stands fast, As a hundred years it has stood, And sees in water its image glassed, Gray granite and mossy wood. Oh weary, longing, impatient soul, In an uncongenial soil ! Strive not for an unattainable goal, But bless and be blest in thy toil. 22 Ot>er Sea o Venice. UT of the land and in the sea, Venice is all the world to me. All is quaint and queer and quiet, Naught of trade's annoying riot ; Neigh of nag and noise of car From this region banished are ; Only horses of Saint Mark, Motionless in metal dark ; Harmless necessary cat Dodges not the fell brickbat ; Here no curs disturb our ease Nor communicate their fleas ; Nought is heard but roar of tongue Gay and careless crowds among, And the clang of bells at night, Ringing till the east is bright, And the tinkle of guitar To the sound of voices far, In the amorous serenade Under latticed window played. Crooked, stony, filthy alleys, Black and graceful darting galleys, 23 Ow Sea Boatmen chaffing, swearing, steering With a skill no danger fearing ; Every color under heaven, Rivaling the rainbow seven, On the stone or stuccoed walls When the slanting sunshine falls ; Or forbidding shadows lurk In the alleys, somber, murk, Or the bashful, crescent moon, Ripening into roundness soon, Lights the water's gentle ripple Which the evening breezes stipple. Pavements laid in rare mosaic, Trod by priest in gown, or laic ; Domes with painted figures quaint Of apostle or of saint ; Nobles on their marrowbones Kneeling on the precious stones, Which like waves of Adriatic Heave in manner most emphatic ; They don't mind their neighbors' fleas Skipping on their ragged knees. Windows showing shell and coral, Prints of ballet girls immoral, Antique paintings made to order, Cotton scarfs with gorgeous border, 24 Over Sea Silver filigree and paste, Fans for every age and taste, Ivories in rare devices Which they sell for twenty prices, Glass of every form and hue Which the ancient workmen blew. If a letter one should ask, it Mounts by means of cord and basket, Saving postman flights of stairs While he minds his own affairs. Water-babies here abound, In canals retired found ; To a floating board they cling Tethered by the mother's string. Beggar, dirty, picturesque, so Lazy slumbering alfresco ; Though his last of coin is spent, he Feels the dole e far niente. Dreading water without doubt, Administered inside or out ; He, as cicerone, tells Horrors of the dungeon cells Underneath the Bridge of Sighs, Opening the tourists' eyes ; Warbling as he points the scene Of the deadly guillotine, 25 Over Sea Or the hole where Byron slept, And where better men have wept ; Sings he not the Non scordar, But a merrier song by far Sang in prison dark and dank Fetches him an extra franc. Then the women, fair, patrician, As on canvases of Titian, In their gondolas take air, Look about with languid stare, Or from latticed windows' height Drop a rose in moonlit night On some late and tuneful lover Who with song and wine brims over. Then the sails of brown and yellow, Every one unlike its fellow, Or of red with tip of green On the sapphire sea are seen, Swelling from the straining mast As they dash the Lido past. Then tYit fete of Redentore Celebrates the gracious story, With its bridge of lighted boats, Every sort of thing that floats Gay with lanterns, music, rockets, Till candles sputter in their sockets. 26 Over Sea Glimpse of garden oleanders, Where the Grand Canal meanders, Caught through precious iron grating, As of heaven to peri waiting, While above the jealous wall Palm leaves pliant rise and fall, And the poplar, stiff and straight, Stands like sentinel at the gate. In the spacious council chamber I on mental ladder clamber, And with due historic halo, Restore the face of Faliero ; And when no spectator's by, In the lion's jaw I shy- Denunciation to the State Of my landlord whom I hate. Or in dreams, if funds are low, I to the Rialto go, Where good Shylock lends to me On old clo' security ; While he's sorting out the heap I at Jessica take a peep ; Or at palace window high, As I lazily float by, See the Desdemona blond, With pathetic glances fond, Waving 'kerchief to the Moor As he slams the great front door. 27 Oser Sea Though no more thy ship of state, With doges on her decks who wait, Rules the sea with wedding-ring And maidens orange garlands bring ; Though the Lion of Saint Mark, Cracked and weather-stained and dark, From his column has descended, His despotic sway long ended, Teeth well filed and claws close grated, Roar, like Bottom's, mitigated, Tucked by keepers in museum, Can't be seen unless we fee 'em; Fortune, tiptoe on the world, Let my sails be ever furled Near thy shrine ; here let my eyes Gaze in ever new surprise ; While the breaker constant combs View thy palaces and domes Which against the sunset sky Into sudden darkness die. Fallen mistress of the sea, Let me cast my lot with thee ! Far from earth, down in the sea, Venice, thou art the land for me ! 28 Over Sea Woodlane. MY cottage sits on a rising ground Overlooking a shining bay ; The flocking sails on the billowy Sound Glisten all the sweet summer day. My cottage sits in the edge of a wood, With the moon shining through the trees, Their branches weaving a somber hood, And the smell of the sea o'er the lees. The confident quail comes up to my door, The catbird pipes on a neighboring rail, The owls look wiser than ever before, The kitten plays with the setter's tail. The rabbit skurries along the road, Provoking my cob to a race ; I almost step on the speckled toad, And the squirrel's nut-swollen face. The cows with breath as sweet as a bud, Lying under the walnut tree, Almost too sleepy to chew their cud, Reluctantly amble for me. 29 Over Sea No din of the city's heartless trade, No stare of the barbarous street, No duns nor disease to make afraid, Where cringing and selfishness meet. In my cushioned window let me lie, Let me dream till the daylight fails, Let the busy struggling world go by, Go by with the glittering sails. Oh ! ever to rest in Roslyn's sweet vale, Lie motionless under her trees, Drift out of this life with her last white sail, And breathe my last sigh on her breeze ! SO The Window Looking on the Woods the Uloods Bob White. B< Here I watch on a low mossy rail Very near to the close thicket shade, For 'tis there that for our little quail Such a cunning concealment we've made,- Sly Bob White! " Bob White ! Bob White ! We have nothing left over for lunch, Fit to speak of, except a small worm, And of very dry berries a bunch, Much too frugal for appetites firm, — Fine Bob White ! "Bob White! Bob White ! I'm afraid of the terrible cat, Of the man with the dog and the gun, Of the tramp with his hair through his hat, And of everything under the sun, — Brave Bob White ! 33 the Uloods " Bob White ! Bob White ! Robert White, if I once get you home, I will peck you and tousle you well, Just to teach you no longer to roam, But to stick to your nest in the dell, — Bad Bob White ! " Bob White ! Bob White ! I'm a lonely, uneasy quail-wife, And I'm jealous a bit too, I fear, But I love you much more than my life ; And you ought to come home to your dear,- Sweet Bob White ! « Bob White ! Bob White ! " So I listened all day to her call, But it ceased when the sun went to rest, And when locusts and katydids small Made monotonous noises, I guessed Bob came home. 34 tbe moods Thanksgiving. UPON the frozen, fruitless ground, Above a treasure he had found, A robin sang; Such rapture swelled his slender throat The chill air quivered with his note ; The silence rang With melody so high and long He seemed to be incarnate song ; He seemed to thirst — So tame he was as I drew near — That all the heavens and earth should hear The grateful burst. No alderman at turtle feast, Nor hungry man o'er smoking beast, Such bliss could know, No parching traveler on the sand, Discovering water near at hand, More joy could show. No juicy fruit nor dainties ripe Had so attuned his little pipe To praise the Lord ; 'Twas but a bunch of withered berries Or unnutritious starveling cherries That spread his board ! 35 the moods That robin's rapturous merriment Exposed man's selfish discontent In its true feature ; That day a sermon rare and good Was preached in aisle of sombre wood By feathered creature. And often when I bow my head In thankfulness for bounties spread, And look on high, I walk once more as in my youth, And hear again in very truth That robin's crv. 36 Ok moods A Dream of Leeds. A HAMLET I visit in frequent dreams, At the foot of the Catskill slopes, Where the most capricious of mountain streams Its way to the Hudson gropes. A crumbling stone bridge, half hidden from view By the curtaining elm and birch, Rears one big arch for the pike to swim through, And three little ones for the perch ! A red brick inn by the sauntering creek Obtrudes an illegible sign, Where tired coach horses the water trough seek While the passengers stop to dine. The dusty sheep canter over thebridge , And the cow bells are tinkling faint, And the sun sinks slowly behind the ridge In hues that no mortal can paint. The clouds roll black and the rain with a hiss Scares the haymakers in the valleys, And Hudson's bowlers score never a miss At the pins on their ghostly alleys. 37 tbc iUoods My young companions their easels spread In the shimmering summer air ; On a mossy root I pillow my head, And whistle "Robert ! Robert ! " Our pockets are light, but so is the heart, The brow is unwrinkled by grief; Those landscape painters love only their art, And I never have had a brief. The brushes have dropped from the hands of some, They lie by the river at rest; Kind Nature receives her interpreters dumb And folds them deep down in her breast. But some are N. A.'s and even R. A.'s, With the great of the earth they mingle, While I have stepped off from the world's highways, And cherish a faded old " shingle." Restorers have mended the bridge anew, For the inn you may vainly search, But the big arch stands for the pike to swim through, With the three little ones for the perch ! 38 The Window Looking on the Street the Street Godiva. "HHIS sweet in Coventry to walk, A And dream that round the square A palfrey may demurely stalk, And on his back may bear Godiva of the shining tresses, The sheerest of go-diving dresses. And every day " the shameless noon," With just the same twelve strokes, Sends forth the same melodious tune Above the ancient oaks, While shimmering the sunbeams quiver Upon the dimpled, lazy river. And at this corner stands the house Where Peeping Tom did lie Ensconced in garret like a mouse, To see the dame ride by, — Poor fool, to risk both eyes when one For his mean purpose would have done ! But taxes now the town enrich As if the rider fair Had been restricted to a " switch " Instead of her own hair ; 41 the Street And doubtless she had been less hot If she had worn a " Psyche knot." 'Tis sad to let such legends die, But this enchanting tale Was never fact at Coventry, Or people would not fail To stuff the lady's horse when dead, And show him at some pence a head. 42 Cfce Street The Vane. THREE hundred years of foul and fair, Of clear and cloudy sky, I've veered and rattled in the air And kept high company. I've many rivals in this town, On spires both low and tall, On whom I haughtily look down ; I feel above them all. My nearest neighbor is a fish ; He flounders in the air, I dare say much against his wish — He's foolish perched up there. At Saint Sebastian's, down the street, An arrow points the wind — An emblem, innocently meet, Of a narrow creed and blind. A dumpy, gilded, common cock Reminds the Lenten faster At Peter's Church, in the next block, How he denied his master. Upon a' mortgaged church hard by, The wind they fain would raise Rotates an angel in the sky, Whose trumpet sounds no praise. 43 tfte Street On country barns I see a sheep — The sense of this is plain : In order weather signs to keep They need a wether vane. On city barns I see a horse ; I hear the Psalmist sing — (And that's the reason why, of course) - " A horse is a vain thing." On me the pigeon and the stork Are wont to find a rest, And in my quaint old iron work Build now and then a nest. Once in ten years a daring tar, Invoking first his saint, Fast clinging to my slender spar, Gives me a coat of paint ; And artists come from far and near To copy my design, And many younger vanes appear With features like to mine. But I grow old and clogged with rust, My round becomes a toil ; This creak is painful, and I must Soon take a dose of oil. To me the world looks small and dim, A very far-off land ; I wonder how it seems to Him Who holds it in his hand! 44 tfte Street A Jail Window. FROM out the grated window of a jail Two faces looked with angry, evil glance — Two aged men's — with tedious durance pale, And stamped with hatred, vice, and ignorance. A morning-glory twined about the grate And lifted up its blossoms white and blue, And as in sympathy with their hard fate, Its modest freshness pitifully threw. Sweet emblem of God's love for mortals frail ! Which finds in hardened natures some faint leaven, And from the grievous ladder of a jail Prays them to struggle, like the flower, toward heaven. 45 the Street The Girl He Left Behind Him. A HOST marched through a bannered street, Proudly, proudly to the war, But one looked up, his love to greet, Sadly, sadly from afar. She pressed her heart so full of fears, She threw him a rose all wet with tears — Oh ! life is but a span — And the fifes screamed merrily in the van, " The girl I left behind me." The host lay on a trampled plain, Silently, silently there they lay, And ever the deadly battle-stain Redly, redly marked the clay. One pressed to his heart a pictured face, And fondly kissed the pictured grace — Oh ! life is but a span — She fades from the sight of the dying man — The girl he left behind him. 4 6 Che Street Fortune. " T^ORTUNE ! poising on thy wheel, X Wilt thou turn my way ? Bring me best of human weal ; Grant me high Fame, That men may say, When they speak my name, < He well filled his day. 5 "— But blindfold Fortune would not stay. 1 ' Fortune ! hold thy running wheel, Prithee turn to me ; Quickly unto me reveal Riches so great, That my decrees, Like those of Fate, May bend all knees." — But Fortune swifter still did flee. " Fortune ! see me growing gray, Grant me Love at last, So ere I shall pass away, My lonely soul No more shall fast, But lose its dole, On some fair bosom cast." — Then Fortune ceased to glimmer past. 47 tfte Street Changed in aspect on her wheel To likeness of a wife, Mile on mile we gayly reel ; Her shining face Gives me new life ; At swiftest pace, Our only strife In wonder at our blessings rife. 4 8 By the Hall Fire the Rail Tire Juvenisenex. TIME writes no wrinkles on my brow - Perhaps for lack of thought ; The years do not my shoulders bow, Nor are with weakness fraught. I do not shed my teeth at night, My hair stays on my head ; No mystery that dreads the light — No wig hung near my bed. My eyes are clear as any prism, — No twitches of neuralgia, Nor any pangs of rheumatism, Nor sickness save nostalgia. I hate old girls who fight at whist, I dread their sneers and scandal ; Young ones, afraid not to be kissed, Are game more worth the candle. I hate old men, their talk of trade, Of politics and stocks ; I much prefer a rosy maid In cart or opera box. Young men are my extreme delight ; I smile at their ado, When I am out with them at night, To " put the old man through." 51 the Ball Tire I never tell a moldy joke, Nor hash familiar lore, But I remember all the folk Who've heard these things before. I never make young folk deride, And look at me with scorn, By "You remember Jones? " who died Years before they were born. I do not " hop " much when I dance ; My coat is cutaway ; I'm not wrapped up in Scott's romance, But yield to Thackeray. When people Patti's warbling praise, Or rave of Wagner's wind, I do not speak of " better days," Nor mention Jenny Lind. I surely am no legal owl, Who only pipes " to wit ; " But smooth my face from studious scowl, And laugh and jest a bit. I don't look back for law to Coke, I neither dose nor bleed, I hold with those quite modern folk Who scorn an outworn creed. Then why will people call me " Sir," And set the easy chair, And say, " Let me that cushion stir," Or " Don't you dread the air? " 52 the Ball fire Why do the girls cry " Dear old love ! " While smiles their faces dimple ? Why do the boys say " Fine old cove ! " - The reason's very simple ; In vain the crow's-foot spares my eye ; In vain the jaunty bearing; In vain the laugh and spirits high ; In vain the clothes I'm wearing ; In vain on my mustache the gray Has just begun to mix ; My daughter gives the game away, For she is twenty-six ! 53 the Rail Tire The Water Nymph. I HAVE a young domestic daughter, Who owns a mania for water ; And cleanliness, she has confessed, With godliness is quite abreast. Not only does she scour my house, But married she would scrub her spouse ; Husband the water ne'er would she, But water husband liberally. As soon as I come weary home She goes at me with sponge and comb, Saying, " You dirty, bad old man, Come let me clean you, if I can ! " Herself she bathes three times a day, Forgets to eat — almost to pray — And when all else is done, she rushes And scours sapolio and brushes. Her dog she scrubs, both trunk and limb, And rubs the bark all off from him. With watering-pot she drowns each plant Save water-lily, and that she can't. But I grow sad lest by and by She may have cataract on the eye, Or find her spirits damped with pain Of dropsy or water on the brain. 54 the Ball Tire A Baptist sure she ought to be, Nor kneel at a baptistery, For she with those should best accord Who offer tanks unto the Lord, Nor lose their appetite for dinner Because he damns the sprinkling sinner. When she pores o'er the Holy Book She for the Flood does always look, And laughs with unrestrained glee At Pharaoh swallowed in the sea ; Moses she loves, who from the rock Drew water with an angry knock, And heartily hates Abraham, Who put no drop in Dives' damn ; Credits the miracles divine Save turning water into wine. She likes to raise her spotless clothes, To show her dainty pumps and hose. An undisguised desire she hath To marry some young man from Bath, Or else she'd give her tender heart To one who drives a sprinkling-cart. Though I be foul with earthly stains, My girl in this fond bosom reigns, And I am sure, whate'er I be, She zealously will wash-up me, And when she ceases here to dwell, Whate'er betide, all will be well. 55 the fiall Tire The Head of the House. I'VE read in verses of old Homer, Of Ithacus, so long a roamer That all his house forgot his face Save Argus, dog of shepherd race ; I've learned how Orange in his tent, On Holland's safe deliverance bent, From Spain's assassins in the dark, Was saved by watchful spaniel's bark ; And I have heard old poets tell Of that three -headed dog of hell Whom Hercules found it hard to quell; And I have yielded to the spell Of Ouida's dog and his young master, Their painful lot and sore disaster ; * And wept o'er Rab, the peasant's friend, And his devoted life and end ; And laughed at simple Launce, well beaten For puddings that his Crab had eaten ; And glowed o'er Byron's heartfelt lines In which a dog immortal shines ; And gazed on Hogarth's portrait, where He sets his pug with solemn air ; * "A Dog of Flanders." 56 €1>e Rail Tire Or the Magician of the North, As with his hound he sallies forth ; Or that renowned Shakesperean scholar * Depicted with his dog in collar ; Or England's famous magistrate f As " Pincher" in his portrait sate; And read how Erskine shocked the nation With dog in wig at consultation ; And thought of monks who chose the word And called themselves " Dogs of the Lord ; And like De Stael, the more I ken Of dogs, the less I think of men. My little dog has no such claim To be set down in rolls of fame ; He is a trifling, homely beast, Of no use, or the very least. To shake imaginary rat, Or bark for hours at china cat ; To lie at head of stairs and start Like animated woolly dart Upon a non-existent foe ; Or on hind legs like monkey go To beg for sugar or for bone ; Never content to be alone ; To sleep for hours in the sun, Rolled up till head and tail are one ; * George Steevens. fEldon. 57 the Ball fire Usurping all the softest places, And keeping them with doggish graces ; To sneak between the housemaid's feet And scour unnoticed on the street ; Wag indefatigable tail, Cajole with piteous, human waii ; To dance with dainty, dandy air When nicely parted is his hair, And look most ancient and dejected When it has been too long neglected ; To growl with counterfeited rabies ; To be more trouble than two babies ; — These are the qualities and tricks That in my heart his image fix ; And so in cursory, doggerel rhyme, I celebrate him in his time, Nor wait his virtues to rehearse In cold obituary verse. 58 Che Ball Tire My Clocks. FIVE clocks adorn my domicile, And give me occupation, For moments else inane I fill With their due regulation. Four of these clocks, on each Lord's Day, As regular as preaching, I wind and set, so that they may The flight of time be teaching. My grandfather's old clock is chief, With foolish moon-faced dial ; Procrastination is a thief It always brings to trial. Its height is as the tallest men, Its pendulum beats slow, And when its awful bell booms ten, Young men get up and go. Another clock is bronze and gilt, Penelope sits on it, And in her fingers holds a quilt — How strange 'tis not a bonnet ! — 59 Z\n Ball fire Memorial of those weary years When she the web unraveled, While Ithacus choked down his fears And slow from Ilium traveled. Ceres upon the third, with spray Of grain, in classic gown, Seems sadly to recall the day Proserpine sank down, With scarcely time to say good-bye, Unto the world of Dis ; And keeps account, with many a sigh, Of harvest time in this. Another clock is rococo. Of Louis Sept or Seize, With many a dreadful furbelow An artist's hair to raise; Suggestions of a giddy court, W T ith fan and bonfflant bustle, When silken trains made gallant sport And o'er the floor did rustle. The fifth was brought in foolish trust, From Alpland far away, A baby clock, and so it must Be tended every day. 60 Cfte Ball Tire Importunate and trivial thing ! Thou katydid of clocks ! Defying all my skill to bring Right time from out thy box. "With works of wood and face of brass On which queer cherubs play, The tedious hours thou well dost pass, And none thy chirp gainsay. 61 the Ball Tire The Right Season. *OUL winter is done, Sweet summer begun ! We lie on the grass, My love and I, While the rare clouds pass In the June sky; Or watch in the field, While stroke of steel Which the mowers wield Doth nests reveal ; Or follow the trout In purling brook, Darting in and out Of rooted nook ; An iris on wings Distracts our sight ; The humblebee sings In zigzag flight ; Or sit in the shade And scent the hay, While the teasing maid Sings frolic lay ; Till cows from the pool And ox from wain 62 the Rail Tire Come to milking stool And welcome grain ; And the slender moon With one great star Rises all too soon O'er hilltop far. Old winter I fear With the frost in his hair ; Young summer is dear With her scent- laden air. Hot summer is past, Fine winter at last ! By the roaring fire My love and I Watch the sparks aspire To the dun sky ; While the huge trees reel To woodman's ax, And the whirring wheel Spins thread of flax; Or hark to the ring Of skaters' feet, Or coasters who sing On sledges fleet ; No noise of a hoof On feathery ground ; The storm on the roof Makes not a sound ; 63 the Ball Tire The robin picks crumb From sparkling snow, While the owl blinks dumb On sapless bough ; The breath of the cows Exhales like smoke, And the slow ox bows To snow-heaped yoke ; The frost on the panes Rears castles grand, Till the wide moon reigns O'er shadowy land. Dry summer I fear With the dust in her hair ; White winter is dear With his frost -laden air. 6 4 the Rail Tire Afternoon Tea. "117 HY are the good girls all married ? " groans As he sits by his evening fire, Awaiting his housekeeper's cup of tea, While the flames mount higher and higher. " Why are the good men all married?" sighs she, As she sits at the table for one, A-brewing her afternoon cup of tea, With her head on her hand till 'tis done. But when in the sweet summer afternoon These complainants sit under a tree, Their spirits will quick sing a different tune, As together they sweeten their tea ; And the last good girl and the last good man Join hands and touch lips on the good old plan, And the orb that looks down on that pair in June Smiles prophecies sure of a honeymoon. 65 The Bedroom the Bedroom Two Worlds. ON a weary pilgrimage I fare, I live in two worlds, it seems ; By day in a world of toil and care, By night in a world of dreams. In dreams I stand at my mother's side, Or sit on her patient knee ; She tells the tales of the Christmastide, How the Savior died for me. In dreams I hear the merry chimes With wondering and delight, And the sweet-voiced children sing their rhymes, And the Christmas tree is bright. In dreams I go to the village school, A girl looks over my book ; I risk the smart of the master's rule, And steal in her eyes a look. In dreams I fish in the shady brook, Or swim in its current clear ; I snare the trout with unfailing hook, Of the waves I have no fear. 6 9 the Bedroom In dreams I make the triumphant leap, And my kite flies out of sight ; I'm first in the race to the hilltop steep, And climb to the dizziest height. In dreams o'er the glittering ice I skim, And I hold a girl's soft hands ; We bend and sway with unweary limb, As we glide to far-off lands. In dreams I plead for a maiden's grace, And she gives her hand to me, And gazing each on the other's face We journey by land and sea. In dreams I speak to the listening crowd, And I sway the hearts of men ; Or apart from strife and contest loud I write with a facile pen. In dreams my schoolmate comes back to me, No more by slander estranged, Again we wander with noisy glee, As in boyhood's days we ranged. Then why must I daylight vigils keep, And lose this heavenly gleam ? Existence seems real when I sleep ; My waking life is a dream. 70 the Bedroom A Bed in a Country Inn. CONCEIVE the pangs that the Procrustean guest, Or Damiens on his dreadful bed of steel, Or cramped Ginevra in her oaken chest, Or Lawrence on his hot gridiron might feel ! Couches like theirs could hardly give less ease Than those which furnish many a country inn, Buzzed round by flies and gnats, lively with fleas, Restless as consciences not seared by sin ; Contrived with lofty ridge adown the middle, Like fell sea-serpent's vertebrae serrated, Contracted as the topmost string of fiddle, Lumpy like life-preservers full inflated. Dreaming of falling from the Pyramid Into the crocodile-infested Nile, Or from some sharp-topped peak the Alps amid, Into an icy, deadly, dark defile ; Sore toiling up the treacherous steep again, Like Sisyphus with his moss-shunning stone, Or bumpkin clinging to greased pole in pain, The sleepy sufferer may wake and curse and groan. 71 Cbe Bearoom Dire engine of a parsimonious host To murder sleep ! I rise betimes sore-headed, And aching in my limbs and looking like a ghost, Depart with hatred in my mind im