Class 
 Book _ 
 
 Copyright N'. ! 
 
 ,-" 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
Echoes From Dreamland 
 
 BY 
 
 Thos. Ostenson Stine 
 
 Pacific Coast Edition 
 
 seattle, washington 
 
 The Puget Sound News Company 
 
 1903 
 
NGRESS 
 
 ceived 
 
 JAN 
 
 i S 
 
 fat 
 
 Copyright, 1903 
 By THOS. O. STINE. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 From the time I was a student at the State University 
 of Washington I have had occasion to read the literary- 
 productions of Thomas Ostenson Stine. And inasmuch as 
 it has fallen to my lot to read his manuscripts, without 
 making or suggesting any changes, it affords me pleasure 
 to give expression to my opinion. When he first com- 
 menced to write verse it could be plainly seen that he 
 possessed thought-power and emotion, but his knowledge 
 of prosody was deficient. After a year or two, however, 
 of literary effort he had mastered the poetic art to such a 
 perfection that it is almost impossible to detect a false 
 accent in his metre, be it ia,bic, trochaic, dactylic, amphi- 
 brachic or any other form or combination of metre. 
 
 Poetry in our age is said to be losing its power as well 
 as its popularity. If this be true we are certainly losing a 
 fruitful source of pleasure and refinement, for in poetry 
 we find expression for our tenderest affections and our 
 deepest emotions. 
 
 Few things, surrounded by modern commercialism, are 
 capable of maintaining their form for half a century or 
 even a decade. Poetry with the rest must keep pace with 
 tne time, and the prize will be for him who grasps the 
 spirit of the coming day, and touches the finer chord in 
 the hearts of man. Not many among our honored dead 
 
are more reverently remembered than the author of verse 
 and song. When the present writers have gone from our 
 view and the product of their pens has nearly vanished, 
 then it is that the true lights will yield their richness. 
 
 Perusing the manuscripts of this volume, I cannot fail to 
 find many beautiful thoughts which will grow in appre- 
 ciation as ages glide away. Its author shows a warm sym- 
 pathy, yet a careful estimate of life. There is much 
 beauty, inspiration and truth in these two lines from "Re- 
 flections of Pete Laboe — " 
 
 "Each year we tried a step to rise, 
 To get a glimpse of Paradise." 
 
 The following quotation from "Universal Language" is 
 expressive of the higher ideal of the human soul: 
 
 "So, let us all our forces join, 
 
 In heart united stand. 
 
 And love shall bloom in kindred speech 
 
 Through ages without end." 
 
 Throughout Mr. Stine's productions we see a penetrating 
 intellect, fresh and rich thoughts entwined in wreaths of 
 poetic art, which cannot fail to interest and inspire in- 
 quiring minds to higher and nobler things. 
 
 H. M. KORSTAD, A. M. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 An Evening on Puget Sound 31 
 
 Around the Old Hearth 94 
 
 At Poulsbo Bay 79 
 
 Emblem of Freedom — 
 
 Farewell to the Past 54 
 
 Heroes of Santiago 21 
 
 Hunting Mamma 95 
 
 In God We Dwell 80 
 
 In the Country 93 
 
 King Bacchus 49 
 
 Nellie Bohee 52 
 
 Nome 38 
 
 On Opal Sea 48 
 
 Our Duty 51 
 
 Peasant of Transvaal 57 
 
 Queen of Peace 29 
 
 Reflections of Pete Laboe 10 
 
 Spring Hill 99 
 
 Sheathe Your Sword 24 
 
 Spring Nymph 90 
 
 Spirit of Liberty 19 
 
 The Hemlock 20 
 
 The Burst of Morn on Puget Sound 32 
 
 The Minstrel at Snoqualmie Falls 30 
 
 The Baltic Scribe 81 
 
 The Northland Nightingale 41 
 
 The Man in the Moon 66 
 
 The Spyglass 45 
 
 Time 98 
 
 Transvaal 65 
 
 Tribute to Jenny Lind 87 
 
 Tribute to Leif Erikson 85 
 
 Tribute to Mt. Rainier 33 
 
 Tribute to Venus 36 
 
 I niversal Language 8 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 HROUGHOUT this volume the title of 
 each poem, containing more than one 
 page, is reproduced on each succeeding 
 page, hence the reader, who glances 
 casually through the book, should be 
 careful in turning to the beginning of 
 each production. 
 
 THE PUBLISHERS. 
 
ECHOES FROM DREAMLAND. 
 
 EMBLEM OF FREEDOM. 
 
 Emblem of freedom how dearly I hail thee, 
 
 Gleaming with spangles of victory won; 
 Smiling with hope, which with longing has filled me, 
 Courage and love that our fathers have shown. 
 Firm in protection, 
 Pure in affection, 
 Pride of our country, the flag of the brave! 
 
 Spirit awakens with fond recollection 
 Deeds of our fathers that sleep in the grave. 
 
 Tyranny rallied with fury despairing, 
 Peasants to battle for liberty flee. 
 Washington leading and firmly declaring, 
 "Yankees forever unconquered and free." 
 Land in commotion, 
 War on the ocean, 
 Never shall ruffle the flag on our shore, 
 
 Flag that our fathers with blood and devotion 
 Gallantly hoisted as onward they bore . 
 
UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE. 
 
 From sea to sea our schools abound, 
 
 We boast of learning great, 
 
 Of him who speaks the Hebrew tongue. 
 
 In French a graduate. 
 
 We often grin at clannishness. 
 
 At prejudice, indeed, 
 
 When China's folly in the East 
 
 1 hrough other minds we read. 
 
 We see the scholar, linguist, scribe, 
 
 At public places meet, 
 
 To nurse the dead, decaying tongues, 
 
 Or German phrases greet. 
 
 They talk of treasure, wealth to gain, 
 
 In Greek and Latin lore, 
 
 But fail to see the jewels bright 
 
 Upon the other shore. 
 
UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE. 
 
 Who seeks to bar the stream o'i though! 
 
 From universal flow. 
 
 Erects a wall of clannishness. 
 
 Where thorns and thistles grow. 
 
 Who seeks to alienate the race 
 
 By divers tongues or creeds, 
 
 impedes the growth of unity 
 
 And mischief sadly breeds. 
 
 Unveil the gems that nature holds. 
 
 Let love our weapon be 
 
 To rend the walls which separate, 
 
 Or chill our sympathy. 
 
 Unite mankind from pole to pole 
 
 Ey universal speech. 
 
 And weld all nations into one 
 
 To lii't the poor and rich. 
 
 What language should the world adopt? 
 
 The English I would choose. 
 
 It's 1 it'll in words and vigorous, 
 
 And fit for all our use. 
 
 So, let us all our forces join. 
 
 In heart united stand, 
 
 And love shall bloom in kindred speech 
 
 Through ages without end. 
 
 9 
 
REFLECTIONS OF PETE LABOE. 
 
 When songsters in their plumage fair 
 
 Had drooped on branches here and there; 
 
 When mountain peaks rose huge and high 
 
 Against the western, sunset sky; 
 
 I saw poor Pete; yes, Pete Laboe, 
 
 The tenant son in spirit low. 
 
 His locks were gray, and bent he stood 
 
 Upon the graveyard by the wood. 
 
 In restless mood he longed to hear, 
 
 The sacred voice of one so dear, 
 
 The echo of a maiden true. 
 
 The faithful servant, Nellie Prue. 
 
 A flood of love now shook his soul 
 
 To ecstasy beyond control; 
 
 For round his heart with magic care 
 
 He seemed to feel her touches rare. 
 
 His eyes grew moist, he gazed around, 
 
 And spake unheeded on the ground: 
 
 "No marble tops her weedy tomb, 
 
 No epitaph, no fragrant bloom; 
 
 Unknown she sleeps to pomp and fame, 
 
 But virtue smiles around her name. 
 
 10 
 
REFLECTIONS OF PETE LABOE. 
 
 Ah, would to God her dust had tongue, 
 
 That she again might lay in song 
 
 Those thrilling tones of love divine, 
 
 Which brought her lips so oft to mine. 
 
 Ah, would to God the world could hear 
 
 The echo of her soul so dear, 
 
 The ebbing flow of love and truth, 
 
 Which symbolized her age and youth." 
 
 He stood and gazed upon her clay, 
 
 And weeping loud he paced away 
 
 With steps so tender on the grass, 
 
 And whispered low as he did pass: 
 
 "Despite of toil and servitude, 
 
 Of angry words and action rude, 
 
 She served her master true and brave 
 
 Till she was carried to the grave. 
 
 The master who for greed of wealth 
 
 Had plucked her vitals — robbed her health- 
 
 For when he quaffed his wine so red 
 
 She toiled outdoors alone and sad; 
 
 And often as the tears did roll 
 
 Adown her cheeks to soothe her soul, 
 
 11 
 
REFLECTIONS OF PETE LABOE. 
 
 She thought about her humble birth 
 
 And pitied all the poor ou earth." 
 
 While on the sacred ground he paced 
 
 Unconscious to his brow he raised 
 
 His bony hand from weather brown. 
 
 And on the graveyard, kneeling down. 
 
 He thought of days when Nell and he 
 
 Together capered reur.d in glee; 
 
 He thought of dayi with gladness filled, 
 
 And poverty that would not yield. 
 
 His soul now ebbed with overflow, 
 
 And quoth again in accents low: 
 
 "How oft I saw her flit around 
 
 With bleeding feet upon the ground. 
 
 In chase of cattle on the leap, 
 
 Or wading through the jungles deep; 
 
 How oft I met her on the trail, 
 
 When night had spread its dewy v< il 
 
 In chilly crystals, shining fair, 
 
 With dripping gown and ankles bare; 
 
 How oft I saw her in the field, 
 
 When moon a somber light did yield. 
 
 12 
 
REFLECTIONS OF PETE LABOE. 
 
 Alone and weary raking hay 
 
 Till darkness drove the moon away." 
 
 Now came the tender thought with tears, 
 
 Which on his soul had burned for years. 
 
 He stooped and laid his head so gray 
 
 Upon her weedy tomb to say: 
 
 •'How oft beneath the hemlock wings, 
 
 On yonder slope where robin sings, 
 
 We wont to play in fond caress, 
 
 Or join in frolic on the grass. 
 
 'Twas there our souls together rushed, 
 
 When love in blushing childhood gushed; 
 
 'Twas there beneath the spreading shade, 
 
 When spring its velvet cloak had laid, 
 
 In purple blooms upon the green, 
 
 I broke the question most serene. 
 
 The answer came as from above, 
 
 Your heart was full with love of love, 
 
 And touched my ear with nuptial sound, 
 
 Beneath the branches on the ground." 
 
 He slowly raised his weary head, 
 
 Then shook his silver locks and said: 
 
REFLECTIONS OF PETE LABOE. 
 
 "We tried to fix the time and place, 
 And planned the preacher's fee to raise. 
 We figured day, we figured night; 
 We built oft castles, dark and bright; 
 We tried each rule, but failed to give 
 The requisite to wed and live. 
 We met and chatted as before, 
 But calculation evermore 
 Unveiled the gloom of want and need, 
 And so in sorrow we agreed 
 To wait until some better time, 
 Or try our luck in foreign clime. 
 She joined her master, so did I. 
 To labor hard by hands apply, 
 For nothing else before us spread 
 Than servitude to make our bread. 
 Each day, each hour, from morn to night, 
 The thought of bondage dimmed our sight. 
 I tilled the soil, unflinching, true, 
 And planted corn which richly grew. 
 too, the maiden, bright and fair, 
 The yoke of servitude did bear. 
 
 14 
 
REFLECTIONS OF PETE LABOE. 
 
 She lugged the urchins, raked the hay, 
 And carried water from the bay. 
 At dusk when darkness clad each dome, 
 Alone she drove the cattle home; 
 She milked the cows, she fed the swine, 
 And plucked the berries from the vine. 
 She gathered wood to feed the grate, 
 And darned and sewed till ev'ning late. 
 Each year we tried a step to rise, 
 To get a glimpse of Paradise; 
 But to our sorrow, steeped with rage, 
 Our station darker grew with age. 
 The sunshine which in childhood smiled 
 The lurid world, unsought, beguiled, 
 And filled our souls with dreams of hell. 
 With gloom which only slaves can tell. 
 The tender thoughts of early years 
 Have vanished with the flow of tears. 
 A stern reflection of our life 
 Lays bare to view revolting strife. 
 The nuptial bell which rang in youth 
 Is rilent, mossy and uncouth. 
 
 15 
 
REFLECTIONS OF PETE LABOE. 
 
 The castles which we oft did frame 
 Have crumbled into grief and shame, 
 And on their ruin dwell our tears, 
 Our smiles, our hope, of childhood years. 
 A thrill of horror stirs my soul. 
 The thoughts of youth, unfolded, roll 
 As silently the past I scan, 
 And gaze upon the tomb of man. 
 Beneath this turf of grass and \ 
 
 one for whom my heart doth bleed. 
 Yes, one so pure, so sweet ar.d fair 
 ise sympathy I longed to share. 
 . often in the fragrant 1 a, 
 When toil resigned to action fr< 
 met and chatted here and Tit 
 
 i with roses fair. 
 How often, yes, how often then 
 [n budding youth we laid our plan. 
 The sunbeams round our vision played, 
 But turned to moonbeams as we laid 
 Our fancy on the screen of strife 
 With full reality of life. 
 
 16 
 
REFLECTIONS OF PETE LABOE. 
 
 Erelong the laurels, wilted, waned, 
 
 For tyranny supremely reigned, 
 
 And paved our way with thorns and tears, 
 
 Which darkened all our future years. 
 
 Unyielding struggle sapped our strength. 
 
 Till death had worked its gloomy length; 
 
 The blooms of youth all turned to gray 
 
 And toil and sorrow laid away 
 
 Her form so fair beneath the sod 
 
 To dwell forever with her God. 
 
 The years that marked her earthly stroll 
 
 Lie fresh and keen upon my soul. 
 
 But lips I pressed in fond embrace 
 
 Now sleep in dust beyond my gaze. 
 
 And hands so full of care and toil 
 
 Are mingling with the mother soil." 
 
 A year of struggles fled apace, 
 
 And Pete Laboe then joined her place. 
 
 Their masters, too, now buried lie 
 
 On marble arms in dust nearby. 
 
 Their limbs are stretched in uncouth shape. 
 
 And pearls their cells no longer drape; 
 
 17 
 
REFLECTIONS OF PETE LABOE. 
 
 For Nature says devoid of fear 
 That High and Low and hoary Seer 
 Shall turn to dust in one domain, 
 Where law shall rule the mighty train. 
 
 18 
 
SPIRIT OF LIBERTY. 
 
 » 
 Listen, the bugle is tenderly pealing, 
 
 Lexington looming serenely today; 
 Heaven with glory above us revealing, 
 
 Freedom unfettered forever and aye. 
 Often, yes, often with smiles of affection 
 
 Scenes of the past are returning to view; 
 Struggles involving the right of protection 
 
 Ring from the graves of the noble and true. 
 
 Bravely the pilgrims their country defended, 
 
 Spirit of liberty prompted each man; 
 Down through the valleys they swiftly descended, 
 
 Fearless of death into battle they ran. 
 Cannons and muskets around them were roaring, 
 
 Yorktown their triumph proclaiming one day; 
 Higher and clearer the bugle-notes soaring, 
 
 Freedom unfettered forever and aye. 
 
 19 
 
THE HEMLOCK. 
 
 A scene so enchanting came o'er my soul, 
 
 I saw the old hemlock and wildwood; 
 The river and cliffs, where cataracts roll, 
 
 With fancy and dreams of my childhood. 
 The thrushes were fluting sweet in the lea, 
 
 Their voices in consonance blended; 
 The tapering treetops tingled with glee, 
 
 And melodies softly ascended. 
 
 How often at noon or ev'ning serene, 
 
 The hemlock I courted divinely; 
 The hemlock that crowns the sweet-scenting green, 
 
 With branches outspreading sublimely. 
 Yes, often I sought the hemlock's cool shade, 
 
 So sacred and dear to my childhood, 
 Where breezes beguiling wafted and played 
 
 With fragrance that rose from the wildwood. 
 
 With longing I hail the shady green spot, 
 
 The hemlock that towers above it; 
 The murmuring stream, my father's old cot, 
 
 And songsters that circle around it. 
 'Twas there in my youth when leisure it gave, 
 
 I sat with my mother delighted; 
 With mother so dear that sleeps in the grave 
 
 Till twilight our vision benighted. 
 
 20 
 
HEROES OF SANTIAGO. 
 I. 
 
 Tell me, tell me, I beseech you; 
 
 Tell me truly, brothers, do; 
 Tell me of the hope you cherished, 
 
 Was it honor, pure and true? 
 Was it fame, 
 Or a name 
 On the wings of future ages? 
 
 Tell me, brothers, do I pray; 
 Tell me of the glory wreathing 
 
 Round your hoary heads today? 
 
 II. 
 
 On the breeze I hear the echo, 
 
 Cannon's mouth proclaiming fame; 
 Loud it lifts with thrilling horror 
 
 Deeds of sorrow, blood and shame, 
 Deeds of shame 
 Void of fame. 
 Nothing more; for listen, brothers! 
 
 Fame to slay the mother's lad? 
 Fame to crush the bloom of promise 
 
 Like a demon, fierce and mad? 
 
 21 
 
HEROES OF SANTIAGO. 
 III. 
 
 Fame to wade in blood unguilty, 
 Pleading justice to your God? 
 
 Life in budding spring of manhood 
 
 Quenched unheeded with your rod. 
 Quenched in gore, 
 Nevermore 
 
 Shall the savage feats of mankind 
 Smile upon the throne of fame; 
 
 Beam with honor, pure and worthy, 
 Build a cherished, lasting name. 
 
 IV. 
 
 On the glass of time reflecting 
 
 Hang the shadows of the past; 
 Men that Homer couched in ballads 
 
 Sleep in darkness with the rest. 
 Sleep in rhyme, 
 Higher climb; 
 For the buds of pure affection 
 
 On the plane of virtue bloom; 
 Never cluster with their beauty 
 
 Round the warrior's haughty tomb. 
 
 22 
 
HEROES OF SANTIAGO. 
 
 Heroes like the great Napoleon, 
 
 Caesar of the Roman sway, 
 Shall before the rising sunbeams 
 
 Wither, die and pass away. 
 Wither fast, 
 Die at last 
 Or. the arms of bloody glory, 
 
 Which with evolution wanes, 
 Slow but steady as we journey 
 
 Up the higher, nobler planes. 
 
 23 
 
SHEATHE YOUR SWORD. 
 
 My heart is sad, a scene of ghastly hue 
 
 Has spread its blood-stained bosom to my view. 
 
 The past, unheeded, lifts a cry of woe; 
 
 I hear the echo rising from below. 
 
 Inspired with dread, it trembles to my ear 
 
 With cannon's roar, with shouts of pain and fear. 
 
 Surveying all, the tears begin to flow 
 
 As oft I gaze with longing keen to know 
 
 The cause of blood, the want of human love. 
 
 The empty heart, devoid of God above. 
 
 silly mortals! kings and monarchs strong 
 Beneath whose scepters moves the busy throng. 
 All linked together, welded into one, 
 
 By soul and flesh around a union throne. 
 Around the goal of equal destiny, 
 Where God and man unite their sympathy. 
 Still, like the beast whose breast is fraught 
 With savage passion, prompting savage thought, 
 
 1 see the hoary age and docile youth. 
 Devising schemes to violate the truth. 
 
 24 
 
SHEATHE YOUR SWORD. 
 
 That man who bears the living stamp of God 
 
 Should mount the musket, wield the bloody rod, 
 
 Has been to me a question hard to solve, 
 
 As "Virtue fails this doctrine to involve. 
 
 The law divine, uniting God and man, 
 
 The sacred ties of nature's binding plan, 
 
 We have, O mortals! stabbed with saber bright, 
 
 Derided Love and lauded brutal might. 
 
 With broken heart I view the feuds of yore, 
 
 A sea of sorrow, death and stiffened gore, 
 
 Reveals the want of love and sympathy, 
 
 And chills the soul which lifts humanity. 
 
 To let resentment move the heart to wrath; 
 
 To teach the soul to lead a warlike path ; 
 
 To foster hate, inspired with vengeance fierce, 
 
 Are follies floating down the stream of years. 
 
 I see before me cities paved with gold; 
 
 Yes, jeweled mansions, wealth and pomp untold; 
 
 I see before me mothers true and fair 
 
 With children grouped around them glad to share 
 
 Their love divine, their hope and sacred will. 
 
 With tender smiles which to the heart appeal; 
 
 25 
 
SHEATHE YOUR SWORD. 
 
 I see before me fathers old and gray 
 
 Around the hearth where children titter gay; 
 
 I see them smile, the country's hope and guide, 
 
 With youthful mirth and patriotic pride. 
 
 The view expands, my thoughts with sadness roll, 
 
 Unveiling wastes around a bloody goal. 
 
 The blooming lads by force their virtue yield, 
 
 Erelong their bodies line the battlefield. 
 
 The tavage pride which moves the human race 
 
 To rank of martial dignity and craze 
 
 Has left its marks of ruin, blood and tears, 
 
 From time unknown down through the stretch of years. 
 
 Can conscience sanction, folly to excess, 
 
 That standing armies elevate to bless? 
 
 Let Reason cross the wastes that war has made, 
 
 The bloody playgrounds where the shining blade 
 
 The sons of man, unblushing, weeded down, 
 
 Destroying all, the village, farm and town. 
 
 Degenerated man, devoid of heart, 
 
 Whose inward soul is breathing warlike art; 
 
 Whose cold instinct can hover o'er the dead 
 
 And fill the cannon's mouth with shells of lead. 
 
 26 
 
SHEATHE YOUR SWORD. 
 
 Unchaste and soul-quenched, lower than the beast, 
 
 Whose frozen conscience never thaws to feast 
 
 Upon the field of love where Virtue dwells, 
 
 Or sympathy in pulsing bosoms swells. 
 
 Ah, mortals! sons of man, let Reason speak, 
 
 Permit the soul the divers planes to seek; 
 
 Unveil the scenes where armies wont to share 
 
 In bloody deeds with weapons fierce and bare. 
 
 Behold the peasants who unheeded toil; 
 
 Their brows are wet, they till the stubborn soil; 
 
 Their bony hands, unflinching, wield the hoe 
 
 And thousands gather round to feast and grow 
 
 Upo'ii their scanty fruit, by labor gained, 
 
 The autocrat, the soldier idly trained. 
 
 It chills my soul as oft I pause to scan 
 
 The wrong inspired by ignorance of man. 
 
 Behold, my brothers, see the useless crowd, 
 
 The multitude impertinent and proud, 
 
 Whose training nurses mean and wicked deeds; 
 
 To ruin, slay, their mission sadly leads. 
 
 Above their rank a sceptered king is crowned 
 
 With military pomp he gazes round. 
 
 27 
 
SHEATHE YOUR SWORD. 
 
 His bosom beats with thoughts of low intent, 
 For man in truth to higher goal is bent. 
 In lieu of armies, soldiers trained to kill, 
 Encourage science, foster God's own will. 
 A glimpse of nature rather than to plead 
 For savage laurels which to mischief lead. 
 Unite mankind with ties of love and truth. 
 Unfold the good ,the wounds inflicted soothe. 
 Beneath the crust of ignorance I see 
 The bloom of virtue smiling pure and free. 
 In nature's bosom truth inspiring lies 
 And love divine on wings elated flies. 
 Desist, my friends, to teach the young to wade 
 Through seas of guiltless blood with shining blade, 
 But seek to guide the old and rising youth 
 With thoughts of virtue, lasting love and truth. 
 
 28 
 
QUEEN OF PEACE. 
 
 Yes, my soul grew restless 
 
 As I gazed around, 
 And beheld my brothers 
 
 Lying on the battle ground. 
 But as I was lonely gazing 
 
 Came a message on the breeze, 
 And beguiling as an angel 
 
 Rose the stately queen of peace 
 And beguiling as an angel 
 
 Rose the stately queen of peace. 
 
 Oft I stood and listened 
 
 To her words serene, 
 Which with gladness filled me 
 
 On the sad and lonely green. 
 On the green so sad and lonely, 
 
 As she viewed the deeds of yore, 
 There her soul with longing whispered: 
 
 "Peace on earth forevermore." 
 There her soul with longing whispered: 
 
 "Peace on earth forevermore." 
 
 29 
 
THE TvllNSTREL AT S.NOQUALMIE FALLS. 
 
 He paused on his way, he listened and gazed, 
 For Nature was chiming so purely; 
 
 He wondered what hand had chiseled the walls 
 That towered above him securely. 
 
 The sunbeams were weaving arches of gold, 
 
 And music to heaven ascended; 
 The spirit of God in nature revealed, 
 
 His echo in cataracts blended. 
 
 Inspiration burst with tears as he gazed, 
 The grandeur bewildered and stirred him; 
 
 The raging and foaming stream as it fell 
 Upbfted his soul and inspired him. 
 
 30 
 
AN EVENING ON PUGET SOUND. 
 
 A vocal stretch in sapphire glow, 
 A sunset sea of melted gold. 
 Where dancing ripples softly laugh, 
 And music fills the balmy air. 
 
 In robes of green the banks outstretch, 
 The pine and fir with burning wings 
 Lay shadows on thy gleaming breast, 
 Where loving breezes gently play. 
 
 Above the clouds the snow-capped guards 
 Have pushed their hoary heads on high 
 To watch the sea-gulls sailing round 
 Upon the billows' streaming lock:-. 
 
 The fragrant blooms along the strand 
 Have drooped their heads in calm repose; 
 The sun has sunk behind the hills, 
 Where silver cloudlets float in wine. 
 
 31 
 
THE BURST OF MORN ON PUGET SOUND. 
 
 Sad darkness creeps away in gloom, 
 The jeweled East begins to loom. 
 
 Bright streaks like fiery tongues appear, 
 Then blazing beams the earth endear. 
 
 Low hang the birds on wings in space, 
 The twilight melts around the place. 
 
 The ripples roll in gilded hue, 
 
 And pearl-set blooms bewitch the view. 
 
 A drowsy zephyr shakes the pine, 
 The partridge struts among the vine. 
 
 Now, mounts the sun the sky serene 
 To kiss the hillocks robed in green. 
 
TRIBUTE TO MT. RAINIER. 
 
 How often have I turned with wonder unto thee, 
 Most awful form, the king of kings thou standest firm 
 On green-swathed feet, with head of silver rising high. 
 Enchanted I've stood and gazed upon thy rugged breast, 
 Outstretched with verdure, where fierce torrents swiftly roll 
 With thy huge tears to swell the deep, which carols loud. 
 And lifts a voice of praise unto thee — awful mount. 
 Canst thou, O sprite, which soars around this silent shape, 
 Tell me who set his pillars on the rock of time? 
 Who rounded his broad shoulders? robed his head with 
 snow? 
 
 Who dressed his feet with roses, hemlock, pine and fir? 
 
 Whose hand unlocked the streams which tumble down his 
 sides 
 
 With music which awakes the soul to ecstasy? 
 O God! Thy heart in rocks and winding torrents throbs; 
 In valleys decked with blooms; in cloudland streaked with 
 gold ; 
 
 And would that I did know thy sacred will and plans. 
 How often in the morning when the sun emerged 
 From out the crimson curtain in the rosy East, 
 I've stood enchanted in Thy gentle breath and gazed, 
 
 33 
 
TRIBUTE TO MT. RAINIER. 
 
 Filled with Thy soul, O God! my eyes grew dim with tears, 
 
 As I distracted viewed Thy work of ages long. 
 
 The sunbeams bore on seraph wings I watched and hailed, 
 
 As they descended from Thy blazing throne above, 
 
 And with the smiles of Heaven laid their tender lips 
 
 Upon Thy less divine creation — land and sea. 
 
 Uplifted, filled with rapture as I turn to thee, 
 
 O hoary mount! the monarch of the drifting clouds. 
 
 Below thy broad and chilly brow the sea-gulls hang, 
 
 Or drift on snowy wings around thy fragrant feet. 
 
 Thy bosom, sloping seaward, teems with streams that roll 
 
 With music fierce and mad, to mingle with the sea. 
 
 Precipitous and wild, the gushing torrents leap. 
 
 And rainbows bend in arches round thy rock-ribbed breast. 
 
 When heavenward I gaze, my soul is filled with joy, 
 
 As I behold the purple strung on bars of gold. 
 
 O clouds, which sweep above me, gray or flushed with red, 
 
 Can ye unveil the arm which pushed this form on high? 
 
 And blazing shafts, the signs of storm and thunderbolts, 
 
 Which shoot across the deep blue like Jove's burning car, 
 
 Can ye tell me the purpose of this hoary shape. 
 
 With head in heaven, feet sunk deep beneath the sea? 
 
 34 
 
TRIBUTE TO MT. RAINIER. 
 
 Enchanting sunbeams, messengers from climes above, 
 Tell me who robed this stately form with dazzling light? 
 No answer, silence, save the soughing of the pine. 
 O God! to Thee I turn, Thou Nature's God, to Thee. 
 Within Thy bosom wisdom lurks in many moods. 
 Thy mighty hand this awful form through ages shaped 
 And clothed him with the garments of Thy own free soul. 
 Thou crowned him with a hood of snow and bade him 
 shine; 
 
 Thou loosened his huge tears and called the torrents forth; 
 Thou bade me roses and the wildwood dress his feet, 
 And sunbeams from above to paint his rugged breast. 
 
 35 
 
TRIBUTE TO VENUS. 
 
 Silently when shadows blended 
 
 On the breast of night, 
 From thy blazing throne descended 
 Glimpses of delight. 
 
 Smiling purely, 
 And securely 
 Hung thy beams in dazzling pride 
 Down the heaven deep and wide. 
 
 In the ev'ning I have seen thee 
 
 Perched on silver feet, 
 Playing like a seraph round me, 
 Tenderly and sweet. 
 
 Playing, winking, 
 Softly blinking 
 From thy lofty throne on high 
 To thy sisters in the sky. 
 
 36 
 
TRIBUTE TO VENUS. 
 
 On thy pearl-set bosom wreathing 
 
 Golden smiles of love; 
 Rapture which my soul is breathing 
 From the realm above. 
 
 Mute, beguiling, 
 Gently smiling, 
 As thy silver lances leap 
 Down the silent, azure deep. 
 
 Oft thy glory lifts our station, 
 
 Joy that heaven sips, 
 Which is falling to our vision 
 From thy solar lips. 
 
 Shining purely, 
 Tell me truly 
 What thy constant purpose be 
 In the blue and silent sea? 
 
 37 
 
NOME. 
 
 Breezes Hying over mountains down upon the gloomy Nome 
 Take me gently, I beseech you, as you southward seek to 
 roam. 
 
 Lust for treasure brought me hither from the verdant Pu- 
 
 get Sound, 
 Nuggets which my soul have tempted hid within this frozen 
 
 ground. 
 
 Mountain ranges sweeping northward to the shining polar 
 
 sea, 
 Gold-bestudded, proudly boasting, rugged monsters sad to 
 
 me. 
 
 Fainly would I honor give you as my soul unbiased speaks; 
 Riches doubtless throng your besom, spreading out with 
 snow clad peaks. 
 
 Heaven often bends above you, sparkling bright with iris 
 
 hue; 
 Heavy breathe the rolling billows on the ocean deep and 
 
 blue. 
 
 Sunshine often in the summer cheers the lonely, blushing 
 
 bloom; 
 Fierce and savage broods the winter o'er the landscape 
 wrapped in gloom. 
 
 Cold and dreary is his palace, pillared firm with beams of 
 
 ice; 
 Frozen stands the lonely hillock, and the snow around it 
 
 Hies. 
 
 38 
 
NOME. 
 
 Often in the star-lit even, when the breezes chilled the lea; 
 When sweet fancy ushered gladness to my heart near by 
 the sea; 
 
 Often then stole thought and duty o'er my soul with many 
 
 tears, 
 Thinking deeply of the pleasure which I hailed in former 
 
 years; 
 
 Thinking of the present status, eager after gold and fame, 
 Grasping, hoarding, empty jewels in a manner steeped with 
 shame. 
 
 Often in a trance of wonder have I watched the eager 
 
 crowd, 
 Searching in a sort of madness up the rivers swift and loud. 
 
 Often, often as the sunbeams faded from my view at night 
 Have I listened to the lawless, lurking round with weapons 
 bright, 
 
 Driving men with blade and musket from their claims so 
 
 dearly paid; 
 Stabbing, shooting, bloody murder! as to plans that rovers 
 
 made. 
 
 Honest miner, haunted, tortured, as he little tried to make; 
 He who sought with pick and shovel mountain's stubborn 
 slope to break; 
 
 He who left his wife and children in a country far away. 
 Not to look for joy or glory, but their home to save and 
 pay; 
 
 39 
 
NOME. 
 
 He who left his sweetheart sighing with a kiss upon her 
 
 lips; 
 He who left his weeping mother, gazing at the north-bound 
 
 ships. 
 
 These and others have been plundered, pity him who laid 
 
 the plan! 
 Pity all so low in spirit as to hurt their fellow men. 
 
 40 
 
THE NORTHLAND NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Bird of royal birth and station, 
 Oft my childhood thou didst charm. 
 
 With thy thrilling flute so tender 
 On the happy Valders farm. 
 
 Many years have passed unheeded, 
 
 Struggles which have ceased to be, 
 Since I left thy home and country 
 Far away beyond the sea. 
 
 Still, a fond remembrance fills me. 
 Fresh in love and cherished hope, 
 
 As I think about thy capers 
 
 On the pine-clad mountain slope. 
 
 In the morn when sunbeams scattered 
 Streaks of gold athwart the lea, 
 
 On the pine or weeping willow 
 Burst thy strains of jubilee. 
 
 41 
 
THE NORTHLAND NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 When the sun in yonder westland 
 Drew his swords of silver hue 
 
 From the lips of drowsy billows, 
 Sweeter still thy music grew. 
 
 Soft and tender as the brooklet 
 
 Fell thy voice upon my ear. 
 With a charming touch of Heaven, 
 
 Pure, beguiling, sweet and clear. 
 
 Oft the twilight breeze did carol, 
 Shook with melodies my soul; 
 But its sighing strains soon vanished, 
 
 When thy music sought control. 
 
 When thou soared for pleasure northward, 
 
 Laden with the joy of May, 
 Then the hardy sons of Northland 
 
 Rose to listen to thy lay. 
 
 42 
 
THE NORTHLAND NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 And the maidens, fair and blushing, 
 At the loom or spinning-wheel, 
 
 Rushed with sudden flirt and flutter 
 On the lawn with magic will. 
 
 Filled with joy thou sang delighted, 
 Panting forth a stream of love, 
 
 Like an angel, strayed, departed, 
 From the sunny clime above. 
 
 Oft my thoughts to thee are bending, 
 Thinking of the early years, 
 
 When I listened to thy fluting 
 
 Till my eyes grew dim with tears. 
 
 Would that I again could meet thee 
 On some fragrant mountain slope, 
 
 And with childhood spirit listen 
 To thy song of love and hope. 
 
 43 
 
THE NORTHLAND NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Leagues of sea and land are lying, 
 
 Stretched between thy home and mine, 
 
 Still thy notes inspire and fill me, 
 Lift my soul to spheres divine. 
 
 Time and distance cannot part us, 
 Chill nor mar our kindred ties; 
 
 Spirit which uplifts and guides thee 
 Also in my bosom lies. 
 
 44 
 
THE SPYGLASS. 
 
 The pages on record that picture the past, 
 In stillness I view with the sages at rest. 
 
 'Tis clear to my mind as I ponder and gaze, 
 
 That man through his struggles uplifted the race. 
 
 A stretch of unfoldment in divers degree, 
 From Socrates' time to our Huxley I see. 
 
 The Anglos and Saxons like Teutons did rove, 
 The Vikings from Northland and others have strove, 
 
 With savage attempt as they wandered for prey, 
 To master the earth and each other to sway. 
 
 The sunshine that brooded in darkness and birth 
 Came smiling through clouds to illumine the earth. 
 
 Each choosing a clime to its liking and taste, 
 And nations were founded and separate placed. 
 
 45 
 
THE SPYGLASS. 
 
 The tongue that each spoke was unwritten and crude; 
 The codes that existed more stifle than prude. 
 
 When ages departed to line the dark tomb, 
 Then Ignorance grunted in desolate gloom; 
 
 When science was rooted, its tendrils increased, 
 As barbarous traits of humanity ceased. 
 
 The rapture inspiring brought musical chime, 
 And language was moulded to meter and rhyme. 
 
 The ships that were sailing the deep rolling sea 
 Wove nations together by friendly decree. 
 
 Through sequence of ages the nations entwined, 
 With argosies laden the ocean was lined. 
 
 The Schoolhouse appeared, though quite meager at first, 
 But grew and expanded as Ignorance cursed. 
 
 The sunshine of knowledge was driven from rest, 
 And darkness unfolded her hideous breast. 
 
 46 
 
THE SPYGLASS. 
 
 i 
 As yet we are groping — our Heaven unborn — 
 But sunbeams are creeping to kiss the bright morn, 
 
 When nations shall weld round a union-laid throne, 
 All speak the same language, all counsel as one; 
 
 When Science shall blaze through the gorges of hell, 
 That God the Almighty His secrets may tell. 
 
 47 
 
ON OPAL SEA. 
 
 Leap ye winds on sandalled feet. 
 
 And sing ye waves your sweetest chimes. 
 
 On Opal Sea 
 
 In jolly glee. 
 
 Laugh ye hemlock, fir and spruce. 
 And play ye breezes with their wings. 
 
 In freedom's air. 
 
 In sun so fair. 
 
 Smile ye flowers in gladness free. 
 I kiss your lips and love you true, 
 
 Sweet daisies white, 
 
 So pure and bright. 
 
 Burst ye rose-buds, fresh and full, 
 And drink the nectar heaven sips. 
 
 The beams sublime 
 
 From solar clime. 
 
 Lift your heads ye stately hills. 
 
 And scatter smiles where music flows. 
 
 On Opal Sea, 
 
 And land so free. 
 
 48 
 
KING BACCHUS. 
 
 King Bacchus with his brimming cup 
 At Christmas eve was singing, 
 His soul was free, his lips were loud 
 With notes exalted ringing. 
 
 In jolly mood 
 
 Inspired he stood, 
 And praised the loving bowl. 
 With music in his soul. 
 
 He sipped the purple flush with joy. 
 Elated he was smiling, 
 At goblins in their jeweled cars. 
 Or ghosts on wings beguiling. 
 
 Again he sips 
 
 With ruby lips 
 The nectar in the glass, 
 Then round he lets it pass. 
 
 And drinking still, he grows and swells. 
 He hails the cup with pleasure. 
 And boasts of strength and daring feats. 
 His gold and costly treasure. 
 
 Again he sips 
 
 With ruby lips 
 The sparkling wine so red, 
 In honor of the dead. 
 
 49 
 
KING BACCHUS. 
 
 He claims the crown, a royal crown, 
 King Bacchus in his glory, 
 But as he stands his scepter falls 
 And leaves a dreadful story. 
 
 Again he sips 
 
 With ruby lips 
 His loving, farewell bowl, 
 With sorrow in his soul. 
 
 No trophy crowns his weedy tomb, 
 He courted vice with pleasure, 
 He made the mothers sad at heart. 
 And tears the children's treasure. 
 
 His way was wrong, 
 
 His only song 
 Was sorrow steeped with shame. 
 To cluster round his name. 
 
 50 
 
OUR DUTY. 
 
 It is our duty, one and all, 
 
 To do our best; 
 To live a life which time may prove 
 
 To be a test 
 Of virtue, honesty and truth 
 
 As ages roll 
 With steady, firm, unchanging speed 
 
 To higher goal. 
 It is our duty, one and all, 
 
 To do our part, 
 To lift the fallen, poor and weak, 
 
 With willing heart; 
 To stand united, work as one, 
 
 For truth and right; 
 To lead the weary, fettered soul 
 
 To freedom's light. 
 It is our duty, one and all, 
 
 To clear the way, 
 To build a bridge to higher planes 
 
 From day to day; 
 To do our share of honest toil 
 
 In court and lea; 
 To make the world divine and sweet 
 
 On land and sea. 
 
 51 
 
NELLIE BOHEE. 
 
 Alone on the pier sat Nellie Bohee, 
 
 At twilight in silent devotion; 
 Heartbroken she gazed with longing to see 
 
 Her father come sailing the ocean. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 She waited alone, poor Nellie Eohee. 
 
 Alone on the pier by the ocean; 
 And saw far away the wide-spreading sea 
 
 With ships on its bosom in motion. 
 
 At last she beheld her ship from the pier, 
 And knelt as she waited in blessing; 
 
 Then toddled to kiss her father so dear 
 Aboard of the vessel now resting. 
 
 "Dear father." she said in accents quite low, 
 "Come go with me home I am waiting? 
 
 For mother is ill ami anxious to know 
 About your long voyage belating." 
 
 52 
 
NELLIE BOHEE. 
 
 'My Nellie," he sighed, "I cannot today," 
 The captain in anguish repenting; 
 
 "Go tell to the world my darling I pray, 
 The curse of the wine glass so tempting. 
 
 53 
 
FAREWELL TO THE PAST. 
 
 Farewell! each trying year, farewell! 
 
 Thy time has ceased to be, 
 Still in thy withered heart I hear 
 
 The echo of the free. 
 
 Thy path is robed with many smiles, 
 With tears and sorrow deep, 
 
 And struggles which my fathers bore 
 Within thy bosom sleep. 
 
 The kings that wont to rule are mute, 
 
 Their lips in silence lay, 
 In dust upon their marble chins 
 
 Within their cells of clay. 
 
 Around their sacred berths I see 
 Their subjects, strong and frail, 
 
 Together stretched beneath the sod 
 Where equal rights prevail. 
 
 54 
 
FAREWELL TO THE PAST. 
 
 No class distinction there is known, 
 
 They all together sleep; 
 The rich and poor, the wise and fool, 
 
 No serf to toil and weep. 
 
 How often on this weedy turf 
 
 Their deeds we fail to see, 
 Their onward march with weary steps 
 
 To freedom's jubilee. 
 
 Their struggles prompt us, teach, unfold, 
 
 A lesson true to life; 
 Yes, something good, I truly ween, 
 
 To mitigate our strife. 
 
 What should we gather from the past? 
 
 A question ever new; 
 The good, of course, the answer be, 
 
 The only treasure, too. 
 
 55 
 
FAREWELL TO THE PAST. 
 
 Leave all the false, impure and bad, 
 
 In darkness buried safe; 
 Leave every creed and doctrine wrong 
 
 To perish in the grave. 
 
 Leave all which leads to woe and fear, 
 
 With sunshine fill thy soul, 
 And scatter smiles of love and truth. 
 
 As ages onward roll. 
 
 56 
 
PEASANT OF TRANSVAAL. 
 
 He was a peasant, faithful to the soil, 
 
 A noble soul quite bent with years and toil. 
 
 His name was known for many leagues around 
 
 As Paul Van Dyke, a Boer firm and sound. 
 
 Below the Pisang, sloping southward down. 
 
 With ridges huge and wild behind the Siwand's town; 
 
 There he, Old Paul, with neighbors dwelled in peace, 
 
 And tilled the soil with comfort, joy and ease. 
 
 His heart was warm with patriotic love, 
 
 And for his guidance turned to God above; 
 
 His blood bore tints of Holland's sturdy race 
 
 And freedom smiled with boldness in his face. 
 
 At home he was a father, kind and dear, 
 
 And young and old pronounced his title clear; 
 
 Among the pioneers, the country's guide, 
 
 He swung the axe with courage, love and pride; 
 
 And on his back hung many trying years 
 
 Of frontier struggle, loneliness and tears; 
 
 From early manhood till his locks turned gray 
 
 He toiled, unflinching, on a spot of clay; 
 
 57 
 
PEASANT OF TRANSVAAL. 
 
 And in a valley, spreading to the sun, 
 
 He had a pleasant homestead of his own. 
 
 On Sunday, like his neighbors, poor and rich, 
 
 He went to church to hear the parson preach. 
 
 In Sunday school he heard the children cite, 
 
 The moral code, his guiding lamp and light. 
 
 Each ev'ning ere his household did retire, 
 
 He read the scripture by the blazing fire; 
 
 His way was humble, he displayed no art, 
 
 But acted out the dictates of his heart. 
 
 He sought no place upon the scroll of fame; 
 
 He boasted not of royal birth or name. 
 
 No college course had he in youth enjoyed, 
 
 But leisure hours for study he employed. 
 
 The annals of his country, wit and lore, 
 
 Since Holland's pilgrims touched the Afric shore, 
 
 Lay fresh and unforgotten in his mind, 
 
 And with a force of logic oft defined 
 
 The British deeds and tyranny of yore, 
 
 That people of his clime with patience bore. 
 
 And often he in rising accents spoke 
 
 About the Lion's haughty mien and yoke. 
 
 58 
 
PEASANT OF TRANSVAAL. 
 
 The pioneers on Plymouth rocky strand, 
 
 The struggles of the early pilgrim band, 
 
 Unfolded to his view with dreadful thought 
 
 Of tyranny which British rule had brought. 
 
 His bosom burned, his prayer rose in vain; 
 
 Expatiating, he gazed across the main, 
 
 And saw the cruel yoke the people bore 
 
 With tears and longing on the Yankee shore. 
 
 A sting of horror pierced his soul and flesh, 
 
 He saw the sword, he heard the cannon's clash. 
 
 He told his household, neighbors all around, 
 
 That British shells would burst on Transvaal's ground. 
 
 His vision proved a warning to them all, 
 
 And peasants soon in rank of battle fall. 
 
 Erelong the cannons, fierce and loud, did roar, 
 
 And Boers with their muskets onward bore. 
 
 For freedom, justice, and their country dear, 
 
 They rushed to battle from afar and near. 
 
 The women, too, like brave and fearless men 
 
 With weapons on their shoulders into battle ran. 
 
 Now, Paul Van Dyke and all his neighbors round 
 
 With guns and hatchets seek the battle ground. 
 
 59 
 
PEASANT OF TRANSVAAL. 
 
 Their homes, their children, lowing herds and all, 
 
 They leave to Heaven's sacred will and call. 
 
 Among the lot of Transvaal's noble sons 
 
 Were hoary heads that bent beneath the guns, 
 
 But to the bugle sound they onward tread 
 
 The trembling age together with the lad. 
 
 "One motto only," thus the peasants spake, 
 
 "To fight for right or die Tor freedom's sake." 
 
 The valiant train of hardy toilers sweep 
 
 Adown the hills and into valleys deep. 
 
 The flitting beams on silver-moulded feet 
 
 From heaven's blazing dome their venture greet; 
 
 And brooklets played their mellow flutes with glee, 
 
 As on they pressed to fight for liberty. 
 
 Brave Paul Van Dyke and all his noble men 
 
 With dauntless courage into battle ran. 
 
 They fought with valor, onward! straight ahead! 
 
 They heeded not the shining blade or lead. 
 
 On Tugela, as twilight veiled the dell, 
 
 Then Paul Van Dyke a victim to the British fell. 
 
 As he alone before his captors stood, 
 
 60 
 
PEASANT OF TRANSVAAL. 
 
 He pleaded not for mercy as a coward would; 
 But stated firmly on the hostile ground, 
 "My name is Dyke, a Boer firm and sound." 
 "A rebel of the blackest hue and mould," 
 His captors cried in accents fierce and cold. 
 "Unmoved you stand, incapable of right, 
 Upon the threshold of a gloomy night." 
 "A rebel, no," the captive now began 
 To waft his reason to the earless men. 
 "Tne Boers are," he emphasized with zeal, 
 "A people loyal to their country's weal." 
 "Yes, loyal traitors to the British crown, 
 A savage horde, from mountains pouring down." 
 The redcoats to his pleading thus replied 
 With emphasis which thirst for blood implied. 
 Before a martial tribune he was brought, 
 And officers with skill of magic sought 
 To draw the secrets from his dauntless mind, 
 The secret plans the Boers had outlined. 
 The proffer came in tone of gentle air, 
 "Reveal all plans, each move in words lay bare, 
 
 61 
 
PEASANT OF TRANSVAAL. 
 
 And gold shall crown you on the battle field, 
 Bui to the sword the rebels all must yield." 
 Brave Dyke, with locks of silver on his head, 
 Now resolutely rose and firmly said: 
 "Your honor, soldiers, men of lofty seats, 
 
 ■art which throbs with freedom's pulsing beats, 
 You may, to soothe your wrath and maddened spleen, 
 Pluck from my breast and scatter o'er the green, 
 
 question not my country to betray, 
 My native land, my home, for life and pay." 
 He paused a moment, stroke his silver hair, 
 Then drew a breath, a breath of midnight air. 
 "The Boers," he continued, gazing round, 
 Have made their homes upon the Transvaal ground. 
 
 id the frontier, broke the stubborn sod; 
 They faced the savage with his bloody rod; 
 They turned the jungles into smiling fields; 
 They opened mines which treasure plenty yields. 
 And now you come, proclaim the will of God! 
 Demand our homes and every inch of sod. 
 Yes, now when wealth and plenty richly teem, 
 And frontier struggles with enchantment gleam, 
 
 62 
 
PEASANT OF TRANSVAAL. 
 
 You draw the saber, ope the cannon's mouth, 
 And slay the pioneers both north and south, 
 Who braved the wilderness for freedom's sake; 
 Who sought a country fierce and wild to make 
 Homes for the homeless, comfort for the poor, 
 Those who could not the crowded world endure. 
 Your honor, soldiers, men of royal mould, 
 Yes, men of learning, lofty rank and gold, 
 You may with ruthless steel the Boers slay; 
 Yes, stab their hearts and cover them with clay. 
 But listen, soldiers, soldiers of the English mould, 
 No man of Boer type will sell his land for gold; 
 No man of Boer type to save his life will yield, 
 Or turn a traitor on the battle field; 
 For justice steeped with freedom's holy blaze 
 Has moved with burning love our humble ra 
 And by and for our native soil we stand 
 Till death relieves us with his chilly hand." 
 The martial court that listened to his plea 
 Decided rose and let the peasant free. 
 His courage, warm with patriotic zeal. 
 Bestirred the tribune's heavy heart and will. 
 
 63 
 
PEASANT OF TRANSVAAL. 
 
 The cruel thoughts which basked upon his soul 
 By silent reason into pity roll; 
 And bade his captive join the Boer's rank. 
 Across the stream, beyond the river bank. 
 Erelong conditions took a rapid change, 
 And British arms beheld a broader range. 
 May future now the wounds of war besoothe, 
 And pave the way with justice, love and truth. 
 Yes, build a bridge to Heaven's lofty dome, 
 And right the wrong in each and every home. 
 
 64 
 
TRANSVAAL. 
 
 At Thy great throne, O God! I kneel, 
 I feel the stings of cruel steel. 
 What have I done I meekly pray? 
 For freedom's goal I weep today. 
 In blood my sons deep gasping lie, 
 Can greed for gold the cause deny? 
 
 I see the fee both north and south, 
 And ghastly roars the cannon's mouth; 
 But can the lead, the blood and tears 
 Rebuild the love of former years? 
 Can they besoothe my wounded breast? 
 Replant my feet on freedom's crest? 
 
 The pilgrims on the Afric soil 
 Forsook their homes for honest toil, 
 They threw their fortune on the wave, 
 And little thought of life or grave; 
 In foreign land they kissed the earth, 
 And prayed to God for freedom's birth. 
 
 Here come the foe their lives to quell — 
 See! volleys from the throats of hell. 
 O Lord! I kneel and humbly pray, 
 How can this be Thy will or way? 
 Save me, O God! my heart is torn, 
 And bleeding, dying, lost, forlorn. 
 
 65 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 As twilight deepened around the wings of night, the 
 man in the moon rode in his blazing chariot up the purple 
 horizon, which melted into a soft blue as he scoured on- 
 ward, leaving streaks of silver and gold behind. His 
 hoary head loomed brilliantly as he cast his big eyes upon 
 the earth with a stern, reflective look. Rolling through 
 the heavens with a steady motion, his staring eyes grew 
 more intense and penetrating. He flung his flaming lances 
 athwart the blue vault of the sky; his cheeks flushed and 
 his streaming locks filled the firmament with celestial 
 splendor. 
 
 Growing uneasy, ho whipped his royal steeds into a 
 burning whiteness and dashed through a black cloud like a 
 meteor. As he landed on the opposite side in an Gpen sea 
 of bright azure, he shone with the luster of Venus, and 
 magically poured a flood of Heavenly advice down the 
 deep blue, proclaiming in a silvery phraseology: "From 
 time immemorial I have made my regular journeys around 
 the earth in my blazing vehicle for the purpose of guiding 
 you during the dark and treacherous night. I have spread 
 
 66 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 my dazzling beams over cities and valleys; I have blazed 
 the track of rich and poor; I have never quenched the 
 flame of my lamp on any occasion or at any place. Not- 
 withstanding the long stretch of years, I have done just 
 as my father told me when he sent me into space on his 
 mighty arm of gravitation, namely, to shine at night. 
 
 "I remember distinctly the crude beginning of our 
 solar system; I have watched the wise and incessant work 
 of our Creator, his busy fingers, his broad, sagacious head, 
 robed with a mingling o? snow and evergreen, spring 
 lilies and summer blossoms, constantly changing from a 
 fresh green to the yellow hue of autumn; from the icy 
 touch of winter to the fragrant bower of spring. 
 
 "In my revolutions around your globe for millions 
 of years I have had occasion to see many queer and in- 
 teresting things. Often have I gazed witn joy and glory 
 in my soul at the progress of evolution; often have I hoped 
 to see the summit of perfection, the union of heart and 
 hand in the mighty realm of divine forces. But, alas.' 
 as my chariot rolled over fields of celestial serenity, it 
 
 67 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 plunged, now and then, into deep and black shadows, 
 where bold conspirators incessantly worked on gigantic 
 schemes to upset the equilibrium of the whole creation." 
 
 He paused for a moment, watched the steady motion 
 of his steeds, then turned his staring eyes earthward 
 again, gazing in an attitude of deep meditation. "I have 
 a story to tell you," he resumed, deliberately, growing 
 intense and earnest as he proceeded. "Long, long ago, 
 the mighty Creator of all things, my father, your father, 
 and everybody's father, had planned for the advent of man 
 on the earth. He called forth from the bosom of his own 
 soul a certain species of plants, which, with the flow of 
 time, blossomed, changed, unfolded, beautified. From 
 the same source he wrung the fishes and other animals of 
 an inferior type, which also evolved into higher forms. 
 He breathed intelligence into every living thing, an intelli- 
 gence which expanded and penetrated into every molecule. 
 
 •Man sprang into existence by slow degree, unfolded 
 and broadened, became the master of brute force and the 
 highest form of living creatures. God, who is all, has 
 
 68 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 been generous with this peculiar composition called man. 
 He has moulded his form in the crucible of beauty and 
 grace; He has bathed his soul in the sunshine of intelli- 
 gence and reason; He has opened the gates of Heaven and 
 unlocked the vault of sublimity and rapture for his en- 
 joyment and pleasure. But how has this creature called 
 man appropriated nature's luxurious gifts? 
 
 "Perdition! my heart aches as I listen to the different 
 nucleus of bald-headed schemers, counselling among them- 
 selves to violate every law; plan to burst the links of 
 mutual affiliation and to loosen the golden clasp of eter- 
 nal affinity which unite man and God into one. I have 
 tried to refrain from giving expression to my view, but 
 whereas, I see before me the highest form of nature throw 
 aside the sunbeams of reason and wisdom, and, like apes, 
 sip from the bowl of ignorance the poisonous juice of 
 superstition, egotism and greed, I can no longer remain 
 silent. 
 
 "Have you not heard the voice of truth whisper into 
 your ears? Have you not observed the fact that Nature is 
 
 69 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 subjected to laws? Why do you no1 to live in har- 
 
 mor.y with natural forces? To every action there is an 
 equal reaction. This law penetrates the depth of the 
 universe and operates in the ethical as well as in the 
 physical realm." 
 
 A black cloud swept over the face of the moon and 
 the old man turned his attention to the compass. As he 
 regained a lair view of the earth he renev/ed his philosoph- 
 ical discourse with increased fervor: "I admire," he stated 
 resolutely, "the good and noble, the pure and sublime; 
 I adore the man or woman whose heart flows out for the 
 purification of soi 1 the unfoldment of mankind. 
 
 Ei rryone, young and old, weak and strong, has a mission 
 to perform, a duty to make life swe I better on the 
 
 earth as well as beyond the grave. You are imbued and 
 surrounded with the breath of God, the laws of nature are 
 in every fciespe of your body, in the sap of the 
 pine, In the soft blushes of the rose, in everything, every- 
 where. . are qualiti $ cadiating 
 Ivom i.ionious i i pji ciiviiv j j nature. 
 
 7d 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 The hypocrite, the murderer, the slave of mateiialism 
 should be pitied. They are ignorant of their low plane and 
 incapable of appreciating the higher and more divine 
 forces, emanating from the unfathomed depth of eternal 
 love and sympathy." 
 
 His bright eyes swept over the surface of the earth, 
 peeped into the royal palaces and the lower dives of the 
 big cities. He shook his majestic locks and a fresh vol- 
 ley burst from his burning lips. "I hear with a painful 
 sensation," he emphasized warmly, "the shouts of rant- 
 ing trumpeters, advocates of creeds and dogmas, boosters 
 of political parties and pipers of savage patriotism. Brush 
 away the false and harbor the true. Examine the opera- 
 tion of nature; study the problem of life, and listen to the 
 voice of God in the tumbling water: alls, in the dashing 
 waves of the ocean, in the whispering leaves of the laurel, 
 in the tender melodies of the thrush. How do the birds 
 of the forest worship their Creator? Listen to the soft 
 and sweet flow of music on the treetop as the sun sinks 
 below the golden horizon in the west? Does the nightin- 
 
 71 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 gale weave together traditional superstition for his faith, 
 or does he drink from the inspiring bowl of God? Watch 
 the gentle smiles of the lily as the sunbeams kiss its 
 blossom, transfiguring it into a blushing crown of silver 
 and gold. Observe the joy and harmony everywhere; 
 study how delicately everything is attuned to natural laws. 
 Unbosom your souls; read the bible of nature; cease to 
 quarrel about moss-bearded creeds; unite your energy 
 for the discovery of truth and wisdom embodied in the 
 handiwork of God, the forces of universal intelligence. 
 Unlock the current of love, and scatter far and wide the 
 enchanted tendrils of fellowship. 
 
 "As I listen to your prattle on protection and patriot- 
 ism my heart throbs with anger. I appreciate your sacred 
 reverence for home; I glory in the love ycu manifest for 
 your native country; but I abhor your disregard and lit- 
 tleness directed against your fellow brothers across the 
 boundary line. Watch the birds, notice how happily they 
 mingle in all the climes of the globe. Their language 
 is one, their music a harmonious flow of love and universal 
 
 72 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 sympathy. How does your mingling compare with the 
 winged acgels of the air? 
 
 "When a dispute arises as to the control of a piece 
 of terra firma, nature's endowment, you show your teeth 
 like a wolf in peril of losing his prey, and, with sword in 
 one hand and the bible in the other, you rush to war, 
 butcher each other down in the fashion of heartless sav- 
 ages. Each belligerent with its train of praying chaplains 
 appeals on bended knees to the Supreme Master for power 
 and strength to stab, shoot and kill. Picture to yourselves 
 the situation, analyze the intrinsic meaning of ycur peti- 
 tion for divine aid? What is your religion? Who is 
 your God? 
 
 "When thousands of homes are destroyed and happi- 
 ness is blasted; when long stretches of territory are cov- 
 ered with dead and dying, the father's hope and the moth- 
 er's love, then the victorious chiefs of brutality with a 
 sprinkling of mutilated, or soul-quenched sons of war, 
 return home to the beat of martial music. They are re- 
 ceived with open arms; the people worship their heroism 
 
 73 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 and laud their patriotism. The leading warriors, charac- 
 terized as "generals," balderdash about their victories, 
 now and then puffing up like a Tartar beer vender. The 
 public listens to their harangue with acute ear; the press 
 is effervescing with praise and congratulations. When 
 election comes the most notable slayers are elevated to 
 the supreme positions in the gift of the people. They 
 occupy the presidential mansion, the gubernatorial chair, 
 the halls of Congress. They are regarded as authority 
 on government, as promoters of education and moral 
 decency; in short, as the authors of liberty and the fathers 
 of the country. 
 
 "The preacher in his respective pulpit offers thanks 
 to the Almighty; he interlaces his prayers with rags of 
 heroism, and skims with eulogistic eloquence over fields 
 of bloody battles, where thousands of innocent lives were 
 sacrificed to soothe the burning spleen of a few nobles, 
 or to crown a knot of human destroyers with the honor 
 of generalship. He surveys the throne of God and speaks 
 
 74 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 .of savage deeds as being consistent with the wishes of 
 Heaven." 
 
 The old man shook his hoary head into a streaming 
 halo of snow, as he speeded hurriedly towards the zenith, 
 renewing his dissertation with increasing force. "My heart 
 burns," he exclaimed irascibly, "when I meditate upon 
 God's own offspring. I have seen the bud of reason and 
 the bloom of philosophic instinct uprooted and heaved 
 into the grave by the cold hand of prejudice; I have seen 
 the nightmare of superstition spreading its dark wings 
 upon the pearl-set blooms of truth and love; I have seen 
 the dogmatic advocate with his shining blade stabbing 
 the hoary expounder of philosophy and wisdom. 
 
 "How dearly I loved old Socrates! How often did 
 I shed dazzling beams to illumine the streets of Athen, 
 when the brave sage stood barefooted in the midst of a 
 dense multitude unfolding the maxim of moral conduct 
 and the philosophy of life! But ah! how did the self- 
 styled potentates, wielding the scepter of government, 
 receive his ringing messages of wisdom and truth. Their 
 
 75 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 prejudice was enkindled, their ignorance intensified; 
 superstition became their plausible excuse; the hemlock 
 was prepared, and the dauntless interpreter of the laws 
 of nature drank the cup of death and fell into an untimely 
 grave. 
 
 "Socrates is not the only one who sleeps in the dust 
 a martyr of thought and freedom. Nay, a long train of 
 brilliant stars beuds over the horizon of your civilization. 
 Blood and tears are flowing down the gorges of human 
 greed, selfishness and vice. How can a man of thought 
 and heart remain silent through untold ages? Constantly 
 a panorama of crime has spread out before my eyes. I 
 have seen kings, popes and monks crawl under the veil of 
 religion to slaughter their fellow brothers; I have seen 
 innocent men and women, faithful to justice, true to their 
 
 est conviction, burned at the stake under the guise of 
 God's will; I have seen bald-headed age with one foot in 
 church and the other in the grave at midnight's silent 
 hour, scheming, working, to gain possession of the whole 
 earth; I have seen homes ruined and children thrown on 
 
 7G 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 the arms of mercy by heartless fossils, who figure as moral 
 lights and counselors of the people; I have seen the law- 
 maker join hands with the pulpit orator in sanctioning the 
 establishment of houses of ill-fame; I have seen the young 
 girl, the bloom of the household, torn from the bosom of 
 a loving mother and heaved into the den of prostitution; 
 I have seen the young man, the pride of the fireside, 
 dragged into the gilded hall of infamy; I have seen the 
 future pillars of every nation — young girls and boys — led 
 to ruin by the gaudy peacocks of. society with the full 
 consent of hoary monsters, entrusted with the scepter of 
 control." 
 
 It was now after midnight, and the old man hurriedly 
 drove his brilliant steeds down the heavens. He cast his 
 burning eyes once more upon the earth and proclaimed in 
 a firm accentuation: "Before I bid you farewell, permit 
 me to promulgate my views of life. My declaration comes 
 from the heart and is consistent with universal laws, hence 
 I speak without hesitation. You are depressing and re- 
 pelling the spirit of your Creator and violating the laws 
 
 77 
 
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 of your own being. You are burning the essence of your 
 own happiness by cultivating the weeds of prejudice; 
 you are driving sunshine cut of your own bosoms by fos- 
 tering superstitious creeds; you are trimming the wings 
 of your own prosperity by retaliation. Banish your vanity 
 for the amalgamation and upbuilding of the human race. 
 God has drawn no line of distinction. You are all the off- 
 spring of the same stem. Extricate the impediment of the 
 different tongues, which has a tendency to alienate and 
 freeze the current of sympathy. Language is an instru- 
 mentality by which you convey your thoughts and should 
 be universal. Obliterate dogmas and creeds, convert the 
 gilded ediiices, the temples of priests and monks, into 
 schoolhouses. Uproot the tendrils of selfishness and greed 
 and extend the hand of brotherhood to the weak and 
 helpless. Read the book of nature, seek the shades of the 
 pine for the presence of God, and listen to the voices of 
 angels in the tinkling brook. Heaven is everywhere. God 
 is within — the ego of the soul." 
 
 As the old man had delivered his proclamation, he 
 rolled down the horizon in his silver vehicle and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 78 
 
AT POULSBO BAY. 
 
 The ocean waves are softly ringing, 
 The wildwood pants with sweetness rare, 
 With tender voice the birds are singing, 
 And music trembles through the air, 
 
 Inspired with glee, 
 
 Which iills the lea 
 
 At Poulsbo bay. 
 
 The soul of happiness is smiling, 
 when morning bursts on pearl-set wing; 
 And hillocks laugh with joy beguiling. 
 While plumage songsters sweetly sing 
 
 Their freedom's air 
 
 In sunshine fair 
 
 At Poulsbo bay. 
 
 And jingle, tingle, ever chiming, 
 The wavelets roll with jubilee, 
 The sea and land together rhyming, 
 And breezes waft around in glee, 
 
 Afar and near 
 
 The heart to cheer 
 
 At Poulsbo bay. 
 
 79 
 
IN GOD WE DWELL. 
 
 Ring out ye harps with love and truth. 
 
 On Earth, in Sea and Heaven blue; 
 And God uncurtain to our grasp, 
 
 The God impartial, firm and true. 
 
 Is Hell a den of many looks, 
 And Heaven, too, a part of all? 
 
 O mighty Soul! unfold and smile, 
 With Nature's God we stand or fall. 
 
 O death! a change from night to morn, 
 Which leads to sweeter, purer life, 
 
 As on we press to higher planes 
 By each succeeding hope and strife. 
 
 Yes, God in man and man in God 
 
 Through life or death on either shore. 
 
 On either shore in Nature's breast 
 We dwell forever, evermore. 
 
 80 
 
THE BALTIC SCRIBE. 
 
 By the Baltic rolling sea, 
 
 On the Finnish shore, 
 
 Lived an old, sagacious scribe 
 
 In the days of yore. 
 
 Silver locks were streaming 
 
 Like a halo gleaming 
 
 Down his furrowed face, 
 
 Marked with grief and grace. 
 
 with a bright and mellow glow, 
 
 Firm in spirit true, 
 
 Burned his gentle, beaming eyes, 
 
 Deep in color blue. 
 
 In his throbbing bosom lay 
 
 Thoughts of right and wrong, 
 
 Tyranny which fiercely reigned 
 
 Moved his pen along. 
 
 For his little journal 
 
 Words of truth eternal 
 
 He inspiring wrote 
 
 In a metric note, 
 
 Which with freedom sparkle, burn, 
 
 Burning evermore, 
 
 81 
 
THE BALTIC SCRIBE. 
 
 In the hearts of young and old, 
 On the Baltic shore. 
 
 Across the land, o'er hills and fragrant lea, 
 His stanza flew with hope of liberty. 
 The sons of Finland, patriotic, brave, 
 The ringing message soon expression gave. 
 Their love grew warmer, more intense and keen 
 Till freedom blossomed in their hearts serene. 
 Alas! their hope, imbued with sacred joy, 
 The Bear now sought with saber to destroy; 
 For he had planned his country to extend 
 And blood to him a longing pleasure lend. 
 
 With bowed head the scribe with pen in hand 
 Was driven from his home and native land. 
 His little shop, his leaden types and press, 
 A.iih which he sought injustice to redress, 
 Were to the flames with rousing jubilee 
 Unquestioned heaved to mock his liberty, 
 With fettered hands an easy prey he fell 
 To waste away within a dungeon cell. 
 
 82 
 
THE BALTIC SCRIBE. 
 
 No more to see his wite and children dear, 
 His native land, his friends afar and near. 
 
 Shackles on his hands and feet, 
 
 Like a criminal, 
 
 Sat the old, sagacious scribe 
 
 In a dungeon cell. 
 
 Time with fury keeping, 
 
 Wife and children weeping 
 
 On the Finnish soil, 
 
 Where they wont to toil. 
 
 Homeless, helpless and forlorn, 
 
 Victims forced to yield 
 
 To the soldiers' brutal rage 
 
 On the bloody field. 
 
 Brokenhearted, helpless, lost, 
 Prayers rose in vain, 
 Mercy failed to calm the rage, 
 To besoothe the pain. 
 Brutes in soldiers' glory, 
 Heaven knows the story, 
 
 83 
 
THE BALTIC SCRIBE. 
 
 Seized the victims, young and old, 
 All unheeded fell, 
 
 While the scribe with shackles bound 
 Reveled in his cell. 
 
 84 
 
TRIBUTE TO LEIF ERIKSON. 
 
 Deep in thought he gazed around, 
 Ocean waves were rolling, 
 
 Breezes fanned his cherished hope, 
 Set his fancy strolling. 
 
 Like a sailor scenting storm, 
 Filled with daring notion, 
 
 Stood the Viking, Leif the Brave, 
 By the rock-bound ocean. 
 
 Land beyond the salty sea, 
 Flowery plains and wildwood, 
 
 Spread a picture to his view, 
 In his early childhood. 
 
 Mischief brooding on the deep, 
 Clouds in mad commotion 
 
 Filled his soul with bold exploits 
 On the stormy ocean. 
 
 85 
 
TRIBUTE TO LEIF ERIKSON. 
 
 With a crew of fearless men, 
 
 Wont to ocean faring, 
 Gallantly he westward sailed 
 
 With undaunted daring. 
 
 At the helm he firmly stood, 
 "Onward." he proclaiming; 
 
 Tempests sweeping o'er the sea 
 Set his eyes aflaming. 
 
 In the distance he beheld 
 
 Hillocks clad with wildwood, 
 
 Streamlets leaping through the vales, 
 Like in dreams of childhood. 
 
 "Vinland," he proclaimed with joy, 
 Land that he was seeking, 
 
 On the shore across the sea, 
 Leif, the Northland Viking. 
 
 86 
 
TRIBUTE TO JENNY LIND. 
 
 Listen to the joy and gladness 
 
 At the golden dawn serene, 
 When the nightingale is singing 
 
 In the forest fresh and green. 
 Nature then with rapture trembles, 
 
 Music flows divine along 
 To besoothe our restless feeling 
 
 By the magic thrill of song. 
 Sweet in pleasure, 
 Clear in measure. 
 Float the melodies on high 
 From the wildwood to the sky. 
 
 As our thoughts enchanted wander, 
 
 Like the listless ocean crests, 
 Then a longing keen and tender 
 
 Steals into our throbbing breasts. 
 Friends departed gently prompt us. 
 
 Those who cheered the toiling throng, 
 Those who strewed our path with roses, 
 
 Filled our souls with joy and song. 
 
 87 
 
TRIBUTE TO JENNY LIND. 
 
 Song that cheered us, 
 Moved and filled us, 
 Made our life serene and sweet, 
 When our hearts despondent beat. 
 
 Oft our eyes grow soft and dewy, 
 When the past returns to view, 
 
 When the pure and good inspire us 
 With a greeting kind and true, 
 
 With a greeting of remembrance, 
 Teeming with the joy of yore, 
 
 Like the mellow notes of Jenny, 
 
 Jenny Lind forevermore. 
 
 Song that cheered us, 
 Moved and filled us 
 
 With her soul divine and free, 
 
 With her jcy and jubilee. 
 
 Sweet as thrushes' magic fluting 
 On the treetops in the lea, 
 
 Or the nightingale's deep clarion, 
 Trilled her voice with jubilee; 
 
 SS 
 
TRIBUTE TO JENNY LIND. 
 
 Rich in music as the brooklet, 
 Warbling through the meadow green, 
 Fell her silver notes so tender 
 From her lips with joy serene. 
 
 Song that cheered us, 
 
 Moved and filled us, 
 Filled our hearts to overflow 
 In the days of long ago. 
 
 Melodies which sweetly trembled 
 
 From her lips with jubilee 
 Were not all which graced her being, 
 
 Made her known from sea to sea. 
 In her bosom Virtue caroled, 
 
 Love and truth did ever glide 
 With her mellow strains of gladness 
 
 Like the fragrant-breathing tide. 
 Song that cheered us, 
 Moved and filled us, 
 As she onward smiling bore, 
 Svea's darling evermore. 
 
 89 
 
SPRING NYMPH. 
 
 She comes in March on fragrant wing, 
 On fragrant wing, 
 
 The magic nymph with joy of spring, 
 With joy of spring. 
 
 She lays her lips on snow-clad peaks, 
 On snow-clad peaks. 
 
 And streamlets roll adown their cheeks, 
 Adown their cheeks. 
 
 She northward drives the chilly breeze, 
 The chilly breeze, 
 
 With touches warm o'er land and seas. 
 O'er land and seas. 
 
 She paints the lea afar and near, 
 Afar and near, 
 
 In color green, enchanting, clear. 
 Enchanting, clear. 
 
 90 
 
SPRING NYMPH. 
 
 The meadows to her calling bloom, 
 Her calling bloom, 
 
 And skies above with fragrance loom, 
 With fragrance loom. 
 
 She makes the sap run up the trees, 
 Run up the trees, 
 The sun to wake the honey-bees, 
 The honey-bees. 
 
 She makes the birds on treetops green, 
 On treetops green, 
 To shake with song divine, serene, 
 Divine, serene. 
 
 Outdoors she calls the maidens fair, 
 The maidens fair, 
 
 The young and old her joy to share, 
 Her joy to share. 
 
 91 
 
SPRING NYMPH. 
 
 Her witchery the glebe beguiles, 
 The glebe beguiles, 
 And sprouting corn abroadcast lies, 
 Abroadcast lies. 
 
 She makes the groves of fir and pine, 
 Of fir and pine, 
 
 To burst in bloom like eglantine, 
 Like eglantine. 
 
 When sunshine bids the summer sway, 
 
 The summer sway, 
 
 She blesses all and flits away, 
 
 And flits away. 
 
 92 
 
IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 Take me, take me to the old, old home, 
 
 In the country, 
 Where the deer and elk so fondly roam, 
 
 In the country, 
 Where the full-blown rose with fragrance bends, 
 And the mellow horn enchantment lends, 
 
 In the country, 
 
 In the country. 
 
 Let me sit where rivers swiftly roll, 
 
 In the country, 
 With bewitching voice to cheer my soul, 
 
 In the country. 
 Let me sip the joy that thrushes spill 
 On the morning twilight fresh and still, 
 
 In the country, 
 
 In the country. 
 
 'Twas there on the homestead far away, 
 
 In the country, 
 That I heard the harp of nature play, 
 
 In the country. 
 'Twas there by the sea in days of youth 
 That the voice of God my soul did soothe, 
 
 In the country, 
 
 In the country. 
 
 93 
 
AROUND THE OLD HEARTH. 
 
 The willows have stiffened, their branches are leafless, 
 
 And lonely they stand on the bank by the river. 
 
 The monarch of winter is wielding his scepter 
 
 With hands that are shivering, cold as the northpole. 
 
 The brooklets are weaving their borders of silver, 
 
 And icicles hang like the swords of the Romans. 
 
 December appears and the heaven is sprinkled 
 
 With spangles of lead; from its bosom is falling, 
 
 So graceful the snowfiakes, and sail down the deep blue. 
 
 The pine and the hemlock are draped with a mantle 
 
 Of white as they stand on the hillside in silence, 
 
 Beholding the splendor adorning the landscape. 
 
 When Yuletide approaches, the steeds and the chaises 
 
 Are heard on the highway with bells that are ringing 
 
 Clear as the brooklet that warbles in springtime. 
 
 The hearth now is blazing with comfort that pleases 
 
 And maidens are chatting around it delighted 
 
 Uiili swains of their liking who came from a distance 
 
 To woo and to win them as sweethearts in wedlock. 
 
 And smiling serenely the basket of apples 
 
 The housewife is bringing to sweeten their pleasure. 
 
 Ah, little they care for the wind which is raging, 
 
 The fury which falls from his lips as he whistles. 
 
 Exalted in hope at the hearth they are chatting, 
 
 So cheerful and happy the swains with their sweethearts. 
 
 94 
 
HUNTING MAMMA. 
 
 Little Jennie Lee was lonely, 
 
 Lonely playing on the lawn. 
 So she went to look for mamma 
 
 At the setting of the sun. 
 Mamma who had le."t her darling 
 
 Many, many years before, 
 With a smile as she departed 
 
 For the happy, golden shore. 
 
 Gazing round she wept in silence, 
 
 Toddled weeping to the sea, 
 Which outspreads below the homestead 
 
 By the fragrant, verdant lea. 
 Standing weary on the seashore, 
 
 Gazing, gazing, far and near, 
 Then she heard a gentle whisper, 
 
 "O my Jennie, darling dear." 
 
HUNTING MAMMA. 
 
 'Twas her mamma's voice so tender, 
 
 Wafting, wafting, to her ear. 
 'Twas her voice which gently whispered, 
 
 "O rny Jennie, darling dear." 
 Little Jennie Lee responded 
 
 Brokenhearted by the sea, 
 "Mamma, mamma, I am lonely; 
 
 Mamma, come and play with me?" 
 
 To her lips, with gladness trembling, 
 
 Came a sweet and tender kiss. 
 'Twas her mamma's gentle presence 
 
 Bringing love and Heaven's bliss. 
 "'Darling Jennie, don't yon worry," 
 
 Said her mamma sweet and clear, 
 "I am with you late and early, 
 
 Watching you, my darling dear." 
 
 I ittle Jennie smiled delighted, 
 
 Whispered low in childish tone, 
 "Mamma, come for I must hurry, 
 
 Papa is at home alone?" 
 "Darling dear," her mamma answered, 
 
 "Tell your papa, kind and true, 
 I am with you late and early, 
 
 Tending, watching, all of you." 
 
 96 
 
HUNTING MAMMA. 
 
 Smiling still she stood and listened, 
 
 Gazing at the waning day, 
 "Mamma dear," again she whispered, 
 
 "Come and go with me I pray?" 
 "Darling, don't you fret," she answered, 
 
 "I am with you evermore. 
 Tell your papa that I love him, 
 
 Love him truly, as before." 
 
 So, again she kissed her darling, 
 
 In a happy, sweet adieu, 
 Then in accents soft she told her, 
 
 "Jennie dear, be good and true. 
 Tell your papa that I love him, 
 
 Love him truly, as before. 
 Tell him we shall meet in Heaven, 
 
 There to mingle evermore." 
 
 97 
 
TIME. 
 
 On thy. broad wings I sail, 
 
 O aggravating time! 
 As ages onward speed 
 
 To higher, nobler clime. 
 
 How oft thy cheeks I hugged, 
 When tears were flowing fast, 
 
 But chilly smiles thou gave 
 To heal my wounded breast. 
 
 With thee I toss, O time! 
 
 On wings of cunning charms, 
 Through gulfs unknown for aye, 
 In nature's mighty arms. 
 
 98 
 
SPRING HILL. 
 
 I know a place where roses bloom, 
 
 Not far away, 
 I know a place where fountains- flow 
 
 In sunshine gay. 
 Majestic, grand, Spring Hill outspreads 
 
 Where ripples roll 
 Across the bosom of the deep 
 
 To cheer the soul. 
 'Twas there the wildwood laid its shades 
 
 Upon the shore 
 When Amunds came to build his home 
 
 In days of yore. 
 'Twas there he swung with brawny arms — 
 
 O pioneer! 
 The axe which made the hillocks ring 
 
 With music clear. 
 He banished by his sturdy stroke 
 
 The forest gloom; 
 He made the rugged grove and lea 
 
 To burst in bloom. 
 
 LefC. 
 
 99 
 
SPRING HILL. 
 
 And like a hero, brave and true, 
 
 He passed away, 
 And on his tomb a fragrant wreath 
 
 his friends did lay. 
 Spring Hill with blossoms fresh and green 
 
 Adores his name, 
 And fountains babbling sweet with song 
 
 His deeds proclaim. 
 So, sleep in peace — O pioneer! 
 
 Beyond the sea, 
 A fond remembrance fills our souls 
 
 With thoughts of thee. 
 
 100 
 
I 1904