CojpghtN?. 
 
 COPVRICIIT DEPOSm 
 
THREADS OF GOLD 
 
THREADS OF GOLD 
 
 Excerpts from jottings along the by-ways of 
 a life not in the pursuit of literature, but 
 engaged in the busy activities, hardships and 
 labors of business, incident to a pioneer life 
 
 BY 
 HARRIS GEORGE CURTIS 
 
-j-6 ^A-')^ 
 
 ^^3"^ 
 
 Copyrighted By 
 
 Harris George Curtis 
 
 August, 1910 
 
 'GI.A271G43 
 

 i 
 
 \ 
 
 '■% 
 
 The author wishes to thank the friends 
 who have assisted and encouraged the pub- 
 h'cation of this second volume, and has no 
 other apology to offer than that the whole 
 edition of his first book was immediately 
 sold. 
 
To Mp Son and Daughters 
 
 Will a tear of affection e'er fall to your father 
 Recalling the days that forever have past. 
 
 When the hand, that with effort this line now 
 is writing. 
 Will be into mold and forgetfulness cast. 
 
THREADS OF GOLD 
 
 NATURE 
 
 Thy glories in profusion rise, 'Tis night 
 
 With heaven gemmed with flaming orbs of light 
 The earth its daily circuit, now performs 
 
 With tropic climes, and fierce Icelandic storms. 
 If vapors oft thy wonder may obscure. 
 
 Through eternal ages, they will endure, 
 While I, a moment, as a passing flame 
 
 Ere sinking into night, thy glories name. 
 While in thy wonders lost, save one faint beam; 
 
 Yet I of thy infinitude may dream. 
 As yon star-walled summits I dimly view 
 
 Thy temple to my conscious faith renew. 
 For I am. Lord, a creature now of thine 
 
 And on thy eternal battlements divine, 
 May dwell with angels. Lord and thee 
 
 Through endless cycles of eternity ; 
 For, my eyes, thy wonders now perceive 
 
 Wherever, here, my wandering feet may stroll. 
 With joy and rapture, in my wondering soul 
 
 Pray lend thy spirit, thou infinite one 
 To thy creature, ere its brief day is done 
 
 Beyond my earthly vision to conceive. 
 
 IDLE WILD 
 
 I gazed long at the far off idle wild. 
 
 No footsteps cross'd its bloom-embosomed shore, 
 An angel by the tree of life there smiled 
 
 As guardian of its door. 
 
 A waxen finger pointed to the sea, 
 
 With its white foam and endless reach of wave, 
 
While on its cro^vn was written destiny 
 And 'neath its feet a grave. 
 
 This chiseled in my heart a dread surmise 
 
 With loathing, wrought, in all my nameless fears, 
 
 Trembling with its resistless wrangling guise 
 My eyes were filled with tears. 
 
 Then far off in the distant falling haze 
 I saw a garden hedged with fruitful leas, 
 
 For morning woke with golden light ablaze 
 This infant of the seas. 
 
 There cradled in its elysian shades 
 
 Stood manhood in his high estate and fair. 
 
 Nigh to a stream there in its sylvan glades 
 Near by an empty chair. 
 
 Then fancy roving with a new-born light 
 
 Lulled by the music of the chanting stream, 
 
 'Till lo, again, a shadow fell, 'twas night, 
 I asked if 'twas a dream. 
 
 The sun arose and then again 'twas day. 
 And by his side there in that empty seat 
 
 A form bright as the sun-lit bloom of May 
 At rest in joy complete. 
 
 Again 'twas night, once more my vision closed 
 'Till morn veiled all the stars with drifting rays, 
 
 To my wrapped and bewildered sense disclosed 
 Them in their ambrosial ways. 
 
 My eyes, the elysian scenes surveyed 
 
 Where destiny had left her footprints deep. 
 
 Across the threshold of that mystic shade 
 And then were closed in sleep. 
 
 At noon I woke, the stars their eyes had closed 
 And far off on, the distant floating breeze; 
 
 I heard their cries, as from their home deposed. 
 Clothed with green woven leaves. 
 
 10 
 
With destiny, trembling, locked arm in arm, 
 
 As o'er life's fitful storms they frightened strode 
 
 Or hiding by some shelving rock from harm 
 Far from their first abode. 
 
 Thus roving down the lapsing course of time 
 Led by the legends of an ancient song. 
 
 Through gulfs of darkness, made more dark by crime 
 And heartless deeds of wrong. 
 
 Enthroned with error, or crimsoned deep with gore 
 To mock destiny's cold embolden glance 
 
 As drawn from dim, vague lines of mystic lore 
 That did my soul entrance. 
 
 All hail! to life's rock-riven broken sea 
 
 Smoothed by efforts of less unyielding fears, 
 
 Of harm from that which is, or is to be, 
 To stay my useless tears. 
 
 For destiny had hung a golden light 
 
 O'er dreary, midway reaches of the deep, 
 
 Bright with radium rays to banish night 
 Then why O, why, to weep. 
 
 'Twas morn the sun with his soft lips and breath 
 Had kissed away the cold mad ocean foam. 
 
 And from the rock-riven wilderness of death 
 Had wrought for them a home. 
 
 Vast continents and isles, with vernal spring 
 Bade glad welcome to my tireless sight. 
 
 With Eve enthroned and Adam reigning king 
 And then again 'twas night. 
 
 Lo! 'twas morn again, the stars new anthems sang, 
 God gave to man then, of his joy surcease. 
 
 Through Heaven, and earth, the chorus loudly rang 
 "Good will to man and peace." 
 
 Then errors baffled lines from view had fled 
 The sun set in its crimson banks of gold 
 
 The tree of life, immortal fruit had shed, 
 With gladness manifold. 
 
 11 
 
IN MEM'RY OF MRS. MERCY M. TABOR CUR- 
 TIS, WIFE OF THE AUTHOR, WHO 
 DIED SEPT. 9, 1894 
 
 No more can I with fond caress 
 
 Ere press her lips divine. 
 Nor can her presence ever bless 
 
 This broken heart of mine. 
 
 They are now closed in silent death ; 
 
 Nor can their accents fall 
 Again through all life's lonely years 
 
 With their once welcome call. 
 
 Who can here solve the mystery 
 
 That seals her pallid brow, 
 So still are now her voiceless lips. 
 
 To which in grief I bow. 
 
 God ! hast thou thus wrought in vain 
 Her life so sweet and brief ; 
 
 1 can't believe that thou hast will'd 
 It here to cause but grief. 
 
 Some morn may yet to me reveal 
 
 That death does not destroy, 
 Though now is veiled the unseen thought 
 
 To fill my soul with joy. 
 
 The latent spark immortal shines 
 
 With an increasing glow 
 To all poor troubled hearts like mine. 
 
 Where tears of sorrow flow. 
 
 WHERE MY FAILING EYES CAN SEE. 
 
 Where now my failing eyes can see 
 It will be dark as night to me, 
 Save light from God, that is divine, 
 Will then be lent these eyes of mine. 
 
 12 
 
For He who knows my every pain 
 Will give my soul new light again, 
 Here to allay my rising fears 
 And stop the flow of falling tears. 
 
 Although beyond my reach of sight, 
 Now in my heart there is a light. 
 That brightens now the darkest way 
 With an e'erlasting living ray. 
 
 And I may ere that ray perceive 
 If I will in His word believe. 
 It will destroy my unbelief 
 And bring my soul a sure relief. 
 
 Then pray, O Lord, may I behold 
 The light that shines with rays of gold. 
 To feel no more the stings of pain, 
 And with Thee in Thy Kingdom reign. 
 
 MYSTERY 
 
 In every form of life and thought 
 Thro' all the ancient days. 
 
 There dwells a dark veiled mystery 
 Along the hidden ways. 
 
 In all the legends of the past 
 
 Impressively it speaks. 
 Appealing to my hopes and fears 
 
 Thro' passing days and weeks. 
 
 I see it in the battle field 
 
 Of death and misery, 
 And find in passions maddened sway 
 
 An unsolved mystery. 
 
 It is in loves deep, magic pow'r 
 And in hates, hateful hate, 
 
 That festers life in every web 
 Wove in th' looms of fate. 
 
 13 
 
The mystery was never solved 
 That's in a living breath, 
 
 While still more deep, the mystery 
 Of dead lips, after death. 
 
 The earth is full of mystery, 
 
 It floats in sky, and air, 
 I hear it in the roving winds, 
 
 Its whispered voice is there; 
 
 I see it in the sombre clouds 
 In flashing thunder-tones. 
 
 And it is in the icy depth. 
 Of frozen arctic zones. 
 
 I feel it in the solitude 
 
 Of night, dark, solemn night. 
 And meet it at the early dawn 
 
 At its first beams of light. 
 
 I see it in the trembling wave 
 
 Embosomed in the sea, 
 In every form of insect life 
 
 Exists a mystery. 
 
 I feel it in my longing heart. 
 
 With a resistless pow'r. 
 And see it in the growth and bloom. 
 
 Of every smiling flow'r. 
 
 I see it in the human face 
 With mingled griefs and fears, 
 
 'Tis writ in annals of the race 
 With blood, and pain, and tears. 
 
 And yet, above all mysteries 
 Of earth, of air, or wind. 
 
 Is that wrought in the living soul 
 The mystery of mind. 
 
 14 
 
AN ODE TO THE SOUL 
 
 Thou wandering birdling from thy parent nest, 
 
 When will thy pathless journey end 
 Here on life's troubled sea with weary trend 
 
 A homeless stranger without rest. 
 
 Has some chance wind, across thy native shore, 
 Borne thee from its dismantled shade? 
 
 The mad'ning billows there have ruthly sprayed, 
 A hapless pilgrim from its door? 
 
 — From some Eden, mongst yonder circling spheres; 
 
 Flung from, the bosom of thy God, 
 Or hast thou on thy earthly message trod 
 
 To glow with never less'ning ray 
 
 O'er worlds, whose suns illume thy star-walled way 
 
 Through lapsing ages of the years? 
 And does a star in thy horizon rise 
 
 Yond where all mortal vision lies? 
 
 THE COURSE OF TIME 
 
 No mind, save the eternal mind 
 
 Times' illimitable sweeps have crossed 
 
 For science's radium beams are blind. 
 In its unfathomed depths, and lost. 
 
 The broken annals of the past 
 
 Are blazed in strange mysterious ways. 
 Writ in the fierce volcanic' blast 
 
 And legends of the ancient days. 
 
 The smouldering depths beneath the sea 
 Oft lava beds of seething flame. 
 
 Were fields, once yielding fruitage free 
 For those with undeciphered names. 
 
 Where now yond skyward mountains rise 
 The lashing seething billows rolled, 
 
 O'er continents with sea-girth skies 
 For those, therein their ancient fold. 
 
 15 
 
In arctics waste, once fruitful plains 
 Where plunging rivers freely flowed 
 
 Till time had forged its frozen chains 
 And silence fell on man's abode. 
 
 No lines are left by which to blaze 
 Their ways, save solitary gloom, 
 
 Nor can we now trophies raise 
 
 To mark their beauty and their bloom. 
 
 Where forms of life to us unknown 
 Were lost in ancient glacial streams 
 
 And long Auroras lights have shone 
 
 With no warm rays, within their beams? 
 
 Now there in that Icelandic waste. 
 Sleep tenants of the course of time, 
 
 When man, with rapture proudly traced 
 The beauties of his native clime. 
 
 From yon Magellans frozen shores, 
 Still onward runs the course of time, 
 
 And oft some ancient relic pours 
 Unwitting from its frosty clime. 
 
 From Aden on to Galilee 
 
 Time's steps of ruin they display, 
 
 Down Islams flowery bordered sea 
 From Trojan shores back to Cathay. 
 
 For Babylon, great Babylon 
 
 Slight marks or lines of glory stand 
 
 Ye sleep, as sleeps now -Askelon 
 
 Entombed beneath Euphrasian sand. 
 
 Adown on life's precarious way. 
 As travelers o'er its ruins climb. 
 
 With blind illusions madd'ning fray! 
 In riots 'gainst both fate and time. 
 
 Will God e'er hush the burning pyre, 
 And grandeur of the past return? 
 
 Entombed deep in the quenchless fire 
 Whose flames as then will ever burn? 
 
 16 
 
Was it at destiny's command, 
 
 Man's brief abode was thus destroyed ? 
 As Heavens first, and last command. 
 
 And change, and ruin, then enjoyed? 
 
 Ye darkened records of the past 
 Reveal the will and secret aims. 
 
 In hidden ages ye forecast. 
 
 Thy steps of ruin to reclaim? 
 
 Has destiny, or love here willed. 
 
 The ruin of the human race? 
 The annals of the past are filled 
 
 With deeds of mercy, love and grace. 
 
 Elysian if thou here hast lost 
 
 The mystic splendor of thy throne, 
 
 As steps of time thy paths have crossed 
 And scarce thy dwelling place is known? 
 
 And in oblivions rayless shade 
 Thy hidden wonders silent lie, 
 
 Thy splendor still, is now displayed, 
 Immortal and can never die. 
 
 A star of glory long has shone 
 
 Above that darkened gloomy realm. 
 
 Whose rays first fell from heaven's throne 
 It is the star of Bethlehem. 
 
 Nor fate, nor destiny, allied. 
 
 Can hide it from the human race, 
 
 Twill change the gloom as prophesied, 
 The course of time cannot displace. 
 
 For knowledge, with her fleeting wing. 
 Will rise above disastrous fate. 
 
 And never more oblivion fling, 
 A shade, so dark and desolate. 
 
 Along the pathways here of life, 
 For stencils, now the record keeps. 
 
 Unscathed by blight or wasting strife, 
 Or fires of volcanic deeps. 
 
 17 
 
Though change and oft impending change, 
 
 With its inevitable shaft, 
 May o'er vale, and mountain range, 
 
 Its dread and fatal ruins cast. 
 
 WITH HER BARE BROWN FEET 
 
 Pity her w^ith her bare brown feet 
 As she v^eeps by the hovel door 
 
 Where the empty stockings limply hang 
 In the stalls of the homeless poor. 
 
 Pity the child wath her rich attire. 
 In her coach and queenly train 
 
 She needs it more than the hungry waif 
 With her bare brown feet and pain. 
 
 Pity him in his stately pride 
 
 That sits in his palace hall 
 An angel stands by the folding doors 
 
 And gloom falls on the frescoed wall. 
 
 Yes pity him he needs it more 
 There now in his cushioned seat 
 
 Yes needs it more; than the weeping child 
 At the hovel door with bare brown feet. 
 
 Hark, Oh, hark! the train, a cry; 
 
 And her happy soul has sped 
 The ragged waif with bare brown feet 
 
 Weeps over the mangled dead. 
 
 Pity him by his chandelier 
 
 As he may these lines indite. 
 For he needs it more as he sitteth there 
 
 In the flare of its flick'ing light. 
 
 Pity him for he needs it more 
 As he sits by that vacant chair, 
 
 And gazes up at the panneled wall 
 On the face that is smiling there. 
 
 18 
 
For by and by, the bright warm sun 
 
 Will warm that low and wretched way 
 
 And that poor child with bare brown feet 
 Will forget her grief in play. 
 
 While he sits there from early dawn, 
 
 Until the noon of night, 
 Nigh by that lone and vacant chair 
 
 In the flare of the flick'ring light. 
 
 THE LAND OF THE ROSES 
 
 Oh for a rest, by the wild foaming ocean 
 
 With my hammock hung loose on the green tufted 
 shore, 
 To lull me to sleep, by its tremulous motion 
 
 As it rocked in the winds with their deep chanting 
 roar. 
 In the land of the roses, the sweet blooming roses, 
 
 That now are abloom, away in the land of the West 
 Where Tacoma in glory and grandeur reposes 
 
 Unheeding the clamors surrounding its rest. 
 
 Where it looks down from its snow mantled towers 
 
 On the surf-beaten strand of that far golden shore. 
 And drinks of the fragrance of sweet scented flowers, 
 
 Crowning' the hills at Columbias' door. 
 In the land of the roses, the sweet blooming roses. 
 
 That are blushing with beauty and laughter aglee 
 Where her people she in freedom and safety reposes 
 
 In the soul soothing welcome that comes from the sea. 
 
 Oh, but for one view of the land of the roses 
 
 Of the sweet scented roses abloom in the west, 
 Where Tacoma in glory and grandeur reposes. 
 
 Looking down from the cliffs of its snow mantled 
 crest. 
 With my hammock hung loose on the turf beaten strand 
 
 Where the wild billow'd ocean would lull me to rest 
 As I gazed with delight on that bright summer land 
 
 In the home of the roses and queen of the west. 
 
 19 
 
THOUGH COLLARS OF GOLD THY OPPRES- 
 SORS MAY WEAR 
 
 Harken now freemen, no more will thy laughter 
 
 Ring over thy valleys with accents of glee 
 If greed and ambition shall blindly now barter 
 
 The gift of thy fathers of freedom to thee 
 Its death notes are heard now loudly ringing 
 
 The wild clamor has broken with grief to thy 
 ears. 
 Thy Puritan daughters, are silently weeping 
 
 With tyrants unheeding their sorrows and tears. 
 
 Shall the bright star of freedom ere fade in the west 
 
 Whose haloes of glory have brightened the night? 
 No, Heaven forbid, that dimmed be its crest 
 
 Or greed here shall darken the glow of its light 
 Though collars of gold, the oppressors may wear. 
 
 Rise! rise! with thy banners of freedom unfurled 
 And leave to thy children thy freedom to share 
 
 With liberty gladening the heart of the world. 
 
 Sadly, yes sadly, with danger 'tis threatened 
 
 And louder, yea louder reechoes the call 
 The fiends of greed on thy toilings have fattened 
 
 Thy temples of freedom are threatening to fall 
 Rise, save thy children, who sadly are weeping 
 
 From heartless ambitions unholy assault. 
 That hatred and discord are blindly creating 
 
 Charging thee, falsely, the blame and the fault. 
 
 TO THE HONORABLE WILLIAM KENNEDY 
 
 Thy vision scans with its prophetic eyes, 
 
 The clouds which darken now thy countrj^'s skies, 
 
 And sees no break within their dusky walls 
 
 Through which the shining stars of freedom rise. 
 
 Despondency is blurring now thy mind, 
 
 And partly turned thy better judgment blind, 
 
 To tremble at the falling of a leaf 
 
 As though a demon followed close behind. 
 
 20 
 
Thy genius sings with truth's immortal songs, 
 
 While toiling millions beat their deathless gongs, 
 
 If broken hearts are drowned in sorrow's tears, 
 
 And nations mourn now with their nameless wrongs. 
 
 If shamrocks faded, on their native shore, 
 And British ships away her treasure bore, 
 
 While toilers toiled in poverty and pain, 
 The British lion shall wallow in his gore. 
 
 England's lust, with all its pride and power, 
 Will surely fall, as frost will kill the flower, 
 
 And soulless hordes who live on war and greed 
 May quickly fall then, helpless in an hour. 
 
 While prince, or priest, or Apostolic clowns, 
 With martial trains upheld by British crowns, 
 
 That heartless, gaze oh hosts their greed has slain, 
 Will bleach upon their native moors and downs. 
 
 Not that England's the one imbruted knave 
 That would sink freedom in an early grave, 
 
 Go to the mantled towers of the Rhine 
 
 And hear there the deadly moanings of the brave. 
 
 Go, too, where greed and plunder are no bane, 
 And toiling slaves are weeping with their pain, 
 
 Or, to Italia's fair and sunny skies 
 
 And see the gore along the tracks of Cain. 
 
 Where Islam rules, or, to the fiery Russ 
 
 'Mongst Greeks, or Boers, you'll ever find it thus, 
 
 Forgive my country! Truth I now must own. 
 It is. Oh God, today, the same with us. 
 
 This like the mist before the morning sun 
 Will disappear ere Noon-day's hour is done. 
 
 And leave to freemen yet a fairer sky 
 Before the race of freedom here is run. 
 
 But pray withhold thy keen, sarcastic tongue! 
 
 'Twas British blood on Bunker Hill that ran, 
 No alien gore the purple currents stained 
 
 Or done the work the Puritans began. 
 
 21 
 
Forgive the rudeness of my limping muse, 
 
 'Twould be of gold that I would gladly choose, 
 
 But where the mintage is of grosser dross 
 Thy patience will the baser coin excuse. 
 
 Thy voice unveils the prophecies of time. 
 While cleaving dumb the servitors o'f crime 
 
 With fire that lit the dark Egyptians plane, 
 And brightly glows now in thy classic rh5^me. 
 
 Pray let that strain in swifter currents flow, 
 
 'Twas Briton's blood that first struck freedom's blow, 
 
 And may that strain the currents purify 
 
 'Till its pure stream in every heart shall flow. 
 
 With freedom's welcome sent to every shore 
 Writ on Columbia's wide and lockless door, 
 
 That in one loyal bond all may be joined 
 As freemen now, and on forevermore. 
 
 Perish then, greed and Empire's lawless pride 
 
 That would a Celt or Puritan deride. 
 Let growing Erin cease her clam'rous cry. 
 
 And stop the feuds which now her shrines divide. 
 
 I listen gladly to thy living lyre, 
 
 Touched with the frenzy of immortal fire, 
 
 Whose deeper music is of higher strain 
 That falls to me around the lonely pyre. 
 
 O'er her, for whom the deathless roses bloom 
 
 With ceaseless fragrance 'round her darkened tomb, 
 
 Though her dear hands seemed clasped with mine today 
 To break the sadness of my silent room. 
 
 Thy muse, if late, has newly glorified, 
 
 The mortal form my love had deified. 
 If, chained now to a gruesome spectral bier 
 
 My dreams vi^ith grief no more are horrified. 
 
 Bedewed with tears I know she did not die, 
 Though cold the lip and dim the loving eye 
 
 That shone so bright with its angelic smile 
 If her fair face now in the grave may lie. 
 
 22 
 
Oh Genius with thy sylvan notes inborn 
 
 Canst thou now here with thyfiner sense endure 
 
 The accents of a harsher nurse less pure? 
 
 And then repress thy inward thought of scorn. 
 
 O Tom! thou has thy father's muse imbued, 
 As if 'twere with eternal love endued 
 
 With power to raise these mortal forms of clay 
 To thy own sphere of pure beatitude. 
 
 Let angel dreams the weeping dreamer cheer, 
 To stay his tears upon thy sacred bier. 
 
 Which flow through griefs our frailer nature brings 
 And walk with him along his pathw^ay here 
 
 Pray, Genius! wipe thy falling tears away, 
 The moon-lit hill now only holds his clay. 
 
 While birds at twilight sing around the tomb 
 He waits to meet you in the alley way. 
 
 THAT HEARTBROKEN MAN 
 
 I have met him so often, in desolate plight, 
 
 That his sorrow becomes partly mine ; 
 For the seams on his face are so livid and white 
 
 They tell of his pain in each line, 
 He has genius and wit, excelling them all, 
 
 Yet they scornfully class him with rags. 
 As they sneeringly point with contempt to his fall. 
 
 While he the more hopelessly lags. 
 
 He's penniless and hapless, this grief stricken man. 
 
 Whom they once sought to share of his fame. 
 While he full of hope was the first in the van 
 
 Of the crowd that's now sneering his name. 
 And the wisdom and wit which then pleased the gang 
 
 Now to them is insipid and flat. 
 The' once of his greatness their lips loudly sang, 
 
 They cr}^, he is dead as a sprat! 
 
 Thus they cruelly jostle this heartbroken man 
 With their scorn that can only bring pain, 
 
 23 
 
And laugh at his poverty, a curse, and the ban 
 They so heartlessly seek to maintain, 
 
 Not knowing unwisely they're nursing the thorn 
 He has watered with tears, in his heart, 
 
 And force him to wish he had never been born 
 As wider their ways run apart. 
 
 IT WAS NIGH FIFTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 It was nigh fifty years ago 
 
 By this same crystal stream. 
 I've run along this winding path 
 
 With Linda, Em, and Pheme. 
 
 We listened to this mountain stream, 
 
 As it went dancing by. 
 That has not changed, as I can see; 
 
 But, Oh ! how changed am I. 
 
 And, here, now is the very spot, 
 The path runs near the brink, 
 
 — For O, dear me! it was so quick. 
 Pray stop and let me think. 
 
 Old crumpled horn, stood in the path, 
 
 I gave a frightened scream; 
 He backed and shook his tangle fleece, 
 
 Then dumped me in the stream. 
 
 O, can it be so long ago! 
 
 Yet seems if 'twere today! 
 When we then in our childish sports, 
 
 Ran back and forth, at play? 
 
 There is the eddy, and the rock, 
 
 Out in the swirling brook, 
 Where I've sat waiting for the fish, 
 . That nibbled round my hook. 
 
 'Tis here, I used to tie the grass, 
 
 To see the teacher trip. 
 And there is where I saw her fall, 
 
 With torn and bleeding lip. 
 
 24 
 
Ah, me! How frightened then I was, 
 
 To see what I had done, 
 And started like a wounded hare, 
 
 As fast as I could run. 
 
 Here, on my arm, my aching arm! 
 
 Where mother laid the bout. 
 Now bears the scar, she quickly made, 
 
 That never has grown out. 
 
 And there's the place, I plainly see! 
 
 Just where the pathway turns, 
 The teacher waited with a whip. 
 
 From which my back now burns. 
 
 While here I sit, upon the bank, 
 
 A thousand mem'ries rise. 
 And I cannot repress the tears, 
 
 Which fill my weeping eyes. 
 
 The homestead there, stands weather-w^orn. 
 
 To add still to my pain, 
 For now no loving face is seen, 
 
 There through the broken pane. 
 
 No more, there now, the chorus sings 
 
 With father, Em and Phene, 
 While there their loving faces rise 
 
 As if it was a dream. 
 
 While for now, upon the highest ridge, 
 
 Are two remembered graves. 
 Where mother and my father, rest, 
 ' Unharmed by wind or waves. 
 
 And Em and Joe, are sleeping now, 
 
 Out by the golden gate, 
 While I, a stranger, left to mourn 
 
 Here, at the ways of fate. 
 
 For there on yonder hill-side too. 
 
 My sister Linda lies. 
 Below the tangled, tufted ferns. 
 
 Beneath her native skies. 
 
 25 
 
Here, strangers o'er this path now roam, 
 
 As thoughtless as was I, 
 While oft for it, my heart will j^earn. 
 
 And breathe a whispered sigh. 
 
 DREAMING OF MOTHER 
 
 I've been dreaming of my mother 
 
 In the years of long ago! 
 As she stood beside the trellis. 
 
 Where the roses used to grow, 
 And it seems to me the flowers 
 
 With the roses in their bloom 
 And her presence with their fragrance 
 
 Gathers round me in my room. 
 
 While the lapses of the seasons 
 
 Are like mem'ries of a dream, 
 That are lost in life's wide ocean. 
 
 As the winding of a stream! 
 And she stands there in the shadows 
 
 Of the fragrant lilac shade 
 As she was then by the trellis 
 
 That her nimble hands had made. 
 
 Yes, I'm dreaming of my mother. 
 
 Living o'er our lives again, 
 As she was then with the roses 
 
 She so fondly loved to train, 
 And she smiles on me so sweetly 
 
 With the -same fond tender glow 
 As when we were there together 
 
 In the long, long years ago. 
 
 O, I'm dreaming of my mother. 
 
 She seems standing by, my side, 
 With the sun looms weaving flowers 
 
 In the gladness of her pride 
 And her face with love is smiling 
 
 With its sweet and tender glow, 
 As she stood amongst the flowers 
 
 In the long, long years ago! 
 
 26 
 
Yes, r dreaming of my mother 
 
 With a snow wreath round her brow, 
 And she looks to me as lovely, 
 
 Yes, more lovely, lovely, now, 
 Than when with sunbeams waving 
 
 Roses in the long ago 
 When her hair was bright and golden 
 
 That today is white as snow. 
 
 AS IF 'TWERE MINE 
 
 I often w^ith reluctant thought. 
 
 Have sat and worried at my lot, 
 While reason told me 'twas in vain. 
 
 And found it was all borrowed grief, 
 Which never brought a golden sheaf 
 
 Or added to my store of gain. 
 
 While having little here to give. 
 
 The more I wish and pray to live; 
 That I of knowledge may have store, 
 
 Of that which is, or is to be. 
 For I have learned it is so free, 
 
 The more I have, it gives me more. 
 
 With greater marvels of surprise. 
 
 If seen by me thro' other eyes, 
 When blind, I find to be my own. 
 
 In wider circles of research 
 If on a borrowed wing 1 perch. 
 
 While traversing the great unknown. 
 
 My day-star then with brighter light. 
 
 Shines thro' the darkness of the darkest night, 
 
 And spirits winged with thoughts aflame. 
 From every age and date of time. 
 
 Sing to me in their prose and rhyme. 
 
 As if 'twere mine, save, but their fame. 
 
 Whose crown immortal, none can wear, 
 
 While of their glory I may share 
 Now in their gifts which are divine; 
 
 27 
 
They left to me to live and breathe, 
 In living thoughts they did bequeath 
 Me, in my poverty as mine. 
 
 A FELLOWSHIP WITH PAIN 
 
 Was it a mem'ry of the soul. 
 
 Sung wdth imperfect art; 
 Attuned to notes whose lyre, 
 
 Was hidden in my heart? 
 
 It sang of the heart-broken. 
 The suff'ring and the slain, 
 
 And wrought into my being, 
 A fellowship with pain. 
 
 It sang of those forsaken, 
 Crushed by a hopeless grief. 
 
 As earth-ward here they wandered. 
 Without hope of relief. 
 
 But Oh! How wild the discord! 
 
 Of passion as it rose. 
 As if the trembling wires. 
 
 Were strung with human woes. 
 
 The world that seemed so gladsome. 
 Groaned like a swarming hive. 
 
 And want joined in the struggle. 
 To keep itself alive. 
 
 While scattered refuge floated. 
 
 Athwart its gory floor. 
 And hunger, like an ocean. 
 
 Engulfed the hapless poor. 
 
 Oh! Heaven, veil the vision. 
 
 Dry up the tearful eyes. 
 For innocence and childhood, 
 
 In prostrate anguish cries. 
 
 It changed to strains of music. 
 With tones of sweetest airs, 
 
 28 
 
And lulled my apprehension, 
 Of sorrow, pain and cares. 
 
 LIFE HAS MORE GOOD THAN ILL? 
 
 How true it is, the good exceeds the ill. 
 
 That burns into the core of life, always; 
 
 And yet, my soul is sometimes, fretful, dark! 
 
 Out of the aggregate of pain it may have felt; 
 
 But I'm no pessimist, that sees but thorns. 
 
 Beneath the beauty of the sweetest flow'rs. 
 
 Nor blame my neighbor's thoughts, to mine, unlike. 
 
 Not cast as mine within their narrow mould ; 
 
 For they have made him better, I daily see! 
 
 As is the world, while growing old it is, 
 
 Tho' much there is, I would that had not been, 
 
 If of the good, I would that there were more 
 
 Of sunshine bright, that gives to life its joy. 
 
 Tho sometimes, filtered thro' a passing cloud. 
 
 That leaves its tear-marks on an anguished heart. 
 
 With more of joy, in its brief time, than woe; 
 
 So I am glad that I so long have lived. 
 
 If, in the past appears some mem'ries dark; 
 
 I'm thankful, for all the good I've had, 
 
 And would, that it, would on, forever, last; 
 
 If, I could have thee with me, whom I love ? 
 
 And yet, I own that now my heart is glad. 
 
 THESE SIMPLE LINES 
 
 These plain unpolished simple lines 
 Can lay no claim to classic art. 
 
 The only hope the author shares 
 
 Is they may reach some aching heart. 
 
 No semblance too, of cultured thought 
 To please a learned fastidious ear. 
 
 But to relieve some j^earning soul 
 
 Storm toss'd, upon life's billows here. 
 
 29 
 
Some wanderer, o'er dreary strands 
 Reft of companionship and love, 
 
 That worries on in helpless plight 
 Or fluttering like a wounded dove. 
 
 No hope to stay his burning tears 
 
 When grief has fill'd his weeping eyes, 
 
 With nameless anguish and despair 
 As faltering on he sinks and dies. 
 
 To turn to God the faithless gaze 
 
 Made blind by pain and sorrow's throes 
 
 And lift it up with hope and love 
 Above all fear of earthly woes. 
 
 Some one whom here neglect and scorn 
 Have turned their steps from better ways, 
 
 Oblivious to all sense of joy 
 
 And help their lips to sing with praise. 
 
 THIS NEW FANGLED RELIGION 
 
 The churches now have such a wonderful way — 
 To practice religion, I read of today 
 They've games, and they've fairs, they've sales and they've 
 shows. 
 
 So much so I wonder if God only knows 
 
 This new f angled religion that we have today? 
 
 So mixed up with fun in such wonderful way. 
 
 They tell me that science is moulding the age, 
 Yet fashion and folly is now all the rage. 
 The Master's plain teaching they scarcely will own — 
 They've found a new way up to God's Holy Throne. 
 
 This new fangled religion that we have today 
 That's mix'd up with shams in such wonderful way, 
 For the risen Redeemer so seldom is seen — 
 That they have forgotten the poor Nazarene. 
 
 They climb up to Heaven on steeples built high. 
 With pledges that do all the actions belie, 
 
 30 
 
For they say Darwin's evolution is true 
 
 And change the old notions for those that are new. 
 
 This new fangled religion that we have today 
 That's mixed up with shows in such wonderful way, 
 And the Holy Redeemer so seldom is seen — 
 That they have forgotten the poor Nazarene. 
 
 DESIRE 
 
 O could I have knowledge to unravel 
 
 The buried records of past ages, 
 
 Of matter, in all its evolutions, 
 
 Hidden by the grime of all its changes; 
 
 Through the wasted fields of their existence, 
 
 In the voids of its evolving surface, 
 
 Before, on its pages life was written? 
 
 If, ever such relation then existed. 
 
 Did there then fall, to its place, the atom, 
 
 With knowledge, to fill its appointed purpose. 
 
 In itself to take the part allotted ; 
 
 To give the in-born thought expression. 
 
 In the endless reach of its duration. 
 
 By the creative force of its own creation, 
 
 That thro God' itself, is self existent. 
 
 Wrought by him thro' unseen evolution. 
 
 To unseal the keys of mind, named human 
 
 In the unity of his immortality? 
 
 The architect, in mortality, embodied ; 
 
 To be, revealed, in forms of life still higher. 
 
 In its ascension towards the infinite. 
 
 From thoughts here in the crude mass called clay? 
 
 A SYCOPHANT 
 
 With artful simulation of a smile 
 
 Averse to virtue, and a friend of crime, 
 
 At night a wanton in the slums of guile 
 
 By day he shuns the ways of vice and grime. 
 
 31 
 
A counterfeit of manhood's real worth 
 A star of fashion in the ranks of fame, 
 
 A leperous cancer from his early birth 
 
 And reigning magnate in the slums of shame. 
 
 A panderer to treachery and to wealth 
 
 Rules at night when selfishness seeks its prey, 
 
 To gather in his hoarded store, by stealth 
 A friend of want, and poverty, by day. 
 
 Approving loud, the sacred ways of truth 
 
 In secret plots the downward course to shame, 
 
 Suborning virtue and perverting youth 
 
 At night a knave, by day he gathers fame. 
 
 At night where rob'ry does its schemes conceive 
 To whom in haste his wanton steps incline. 
 
 Deceiving all, yet most himself deceives 
 By day a warden of some holy shrine. 
 
 AT THE GRAVE OF THE HON. JAMES H. 
 McMURDO 
 
 Here now beneath this marble slab, 
 In silence sleeps the honored dead, 
 
 Whose feet no more, at early morn. 
 O'er yonder hillside ways will tread. 
 
 An ever true and constant friend, 
 He was then loved, and is today. 
 
 Unmoved here by a jarring world. 
 He went along his even way. 
 
 To only those who knew him best 
 Were all his manly virtues known. 
 
 Or love of his unselfish heart 
 
 By masked deeds of kindness shown. 
 
 One whom in all the ways of life 
 By nature was more ^visely schooled. 
 
 Than those of more pretentious caste 
 His clear, impartial judgment ruled. 
 
 32 
 
A tear to him will often fall, 
 
 In deep and rev' rent sorrow here, 
 
 As man}^ a lingering step ^ will turn — 
 To him in memory held so dear. 
 
 His kindly glance and genial smile 
 
 Are miss'd, with deep responsive grief, 
 
 By those who often sought his aid 
 
 Which brought to many a heart relief. 
 
 Here to the mem'ry of his worth. 
 By truth and manhood crownea. 
 
 We bow with rev'rence as we pass 
 His ashes in this hallow'd ground. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS PRAYER 
 
 Pity tonight, the needy poor 
 
 With hearts crushed down by sorrow, 
 No hope within their lonely door 
 
 Of a coming bright tomorrow. 
 
 Pity tonight the weak and sad 
 With grief and pain now broken. 
 
 Without one joy to make them glad, 
 Nor words of kindness spoken. 
 
 Pity tonight, the furred cheek 
 Rent with its burning anguish. 
 
 Moaning away life's span so weak 
 In restless dreams to languish. 
 
 Pity the beggar on the street. 
 With wan face sadly gazing 
 
 Down at his shivering, frosted feet 
 With fires before him blazing. 
 
 Pity tonight each lonely heart 
 
 That throbs with pangs of sorrow. 
 
 Weeping o'er those from whom they part 
 And countless ills they borrow. 
 
 33 
 
For pity, too, I ask, O Lord, 
 
 On poverty's child there watching. 
 
 With tear rent face, the orphan ward, 
 Who weeps o'er her empty stocking. 
 
 Pity for all whose tears may fall 
 Beneath thy shrine, O Heav'n, 
 
 For rest lies 'yond thy em' raid wall, 
 And joys to all are given. 
 
 For pity, too, I now implead 
 On those who riches squander; 
 
 The angel death with cruel greed 
 Waits for them now out yonder. 
 
 Pity him, by the vacant chair. 
 With arms there listless lying; 
 
 Whose tears flow down in his despair 
 With grief to him undying. 
 
 AN ASH AND ELM 
 
 An ash and elm with swaying boughs 
 Now does my study window shade 
 
 And on each shiv'ring pendant leaf 
 The sun his silver dress has laid. 
 
 Thru 'neath the shadows of the trees 
 Lie beds of clover sweet with bloom 
 
 Now peopled by the robber bees 
 Which oft invade my cozy room. 
 
 A blushing rose with lovely face 
 
 Sways listless in the summer breeze 
 
 And 'bove me hangs a robin's nest 
 Rock'd gently 'mong the aspen trees. 
 
 The island in the drowsy stream 
 Lies pensive with its robes of green 
 
 And floating 'round its borders are 
 The purple water lilies seen. 
 
 34 
 
One stately elm does tow'ring rise 
 Above the willows bending by 
 
 While in the tangled brushwood near 
 The little birdlings safely lie. 
 
 The bridge above the island's head 
 Which binds this to the nether shore 
 
 Completes the beauty of my view 
 
 Save teams now, passing by my door. 
 
 WONDERLAND 
 
 Hail watchman what of the night? 
 
 Elfin wardens answer 
 Lend me the reaches of thy sight 
 
 Thy presence be my sponsor 
 
 Joined with thee I will away 
 Ofi to world land yonder 
 
 Ere the sun proclaims 'tis day 
 Long its streams to wonder. 
 
 Armed, I thus with vision free 
 Rocks and mountains climbing 
 
 Crossing valleys, strand and sea 
 'Neath the moonlight shining. 
 
 Ether waves with footsteps fleet 
 Vales and hills ascending, 
 
 Over town and busy street, 
 Marsh and fen descending, 
 
 Halls of grandeur, and deceit 
 
 Poverty and sorrow, 
 Minds with wisdom and discreet 
 
 Reason blind and narrow. 
 
 Innocence with simple prayers 
 
 Prays to be forgiven, 
 Wrong exultant in its lair 
 
 Defying earth and heav'n. 
 
 35 
 
Marble homes with splendor built 
 Near want where hunger dwelt, 
 
 — Craft and error with their guilt 
 Where joy, nor love, are felt 
 
 Fleeting pathways of my dream 
 Sordid gains and treasures, 
 
 Where the vortex in the stream 
 Destroyed life's sweetest pleasures. 
 
 Virtue and vice lie wounded 
 
 With suffering and care. 
 While pain and grief resounded 
 
 With wailing and despair. 
 
 The vinters lost their harvest 
 The arts of commerce gained 
 
 And still the heart was bravest 
 That suffering most had pained. 
 
 Stop, O wanderer, stop thy flight 
 
 Rest thy wings, if weary. 
 Journeys through the lonely night 
 
 Are made ever dreary. 
 
 Warriors rode on honors steeds 
 God's best gifts commanding 
 
 Idols worshipped for their deeds 
 Life and death demanding. 
 
 Soon an early hour rung out, 
 Sunrise cried, 'tis morning. 
 
 Vales and hills joined in the shout 
 Spirits, too, rejoicing. 
 
 The morning hours now recall 
 The early days beginning. 
 
 Darkness of the midnight wall 
 Is, with laughter ringing. 
 
 All the sadness of my dream 
 Away in silence vanished. 
 
 Lighter crafts now line the stream 
 The walls and floors are garnished. 
 
 36 
 
Toilers turned, their daily way 
 Bells with joy are ringing, 
 
 Sunshine marked the edge of day 
 Hearts with joy are singing. 
 
 If yesterday had care and shift 
 And tears and pain begotten 
 
 Sunlight sent them all adrift 
 Pain and grief forgotten. 
 
 The sick inhaled the morning air 
 Its subtle essence breathing, 
 
 And memories of despair 
 Tears of joy relieving. 
 
 Postman, thanks to thee for rest 
 The new day's beginning, 
 
 Heav'n's last and best bequest 
 Bells with joy are ringing. 
 
 Swifter runs my onward step 
 
 Elfins join in singing, 
 Mis'ries tears, no more are wept 
 
 Morning bells are ringing. 
 
 War and wrong had lost their pow'r 
 Peace, and good will to man. 
 
 Rang from the Elysean bow'r 
 Aloud, rejoice O man. 
 
 Millennial songs rang in the day 
 With angel voices singing, 
 
 Heaven's regained, the angels say 
 Morning bells are ringing. 
 
 Gabriel by me then swiftly flew 
 Across the Heavenly shore 
 
 Proclaiming all things, are new, 
 And time will be no more. 
 
 Thus my broken dream begot 
 An unknown wealth of joy, 
 
 With all my tears and griefs forgot 
 With life without alloy. 
 
 37 
 
"Life was love and love was law," 
 Rivers of glass were flowing, 
 
 And the tree of life, I saw 
 With its fruit there growing. 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF GOD 
 
 O Lord what wonders I perceive 
 
 As I thy works survey, 
 The sunrise of the early morn 
 
 Thy glory does display. 
 
 Though from below the horizon 
 The sun's bright face I see. 
 
 Reflected by the vaporous waves 
 Of atmosphere to me. 
 
 At sunset too, I do behold. 
 Though mountains intervene 
 
 By that same wave refracted back 
 Again its face is seen. 
 
 Earth's darkened walls do not appear 
 
 As obstacles of sight. 
 They but display thy wondrous pow'r 
 
 And glory of thy might. 
 
 Thy goodness and thy care, O Lord, 
 Preserve thy creatures here, 
 
 They feel thy presence if unseen 
 And bow, with awe and fear. 
 
 The sun for us here ever shines 
 To give us food and light, 
 
 Thy days with gladness all may share 
 And find a rest at night. 
 
 Thy love and goodness here are seen 
 Thy wisdom they proclaim, 
 
 And man with all his given pow'rs 
 Should glorify thy name. 
 
 38 
 
O Lord how wanting is my sight 
 Or reason to conceive, 
 
 The life within my beating heart 
 With wonder I perceive. 
 
 FOX RIVER FROM BELOW KIMBERLY 
 
 No artist but nature could fashion the beauties 
 
 Or sketched the wild grandeur adorning each shore 
 
 Nor pictured thy bosom, that sparkles like rubies 
 Far brighter than jewels a queen ever wore. 
 
 No pupil untaught by the impress of heaven 
 
 Could paint the bright glints on thy wavelets aglow 
 
 As onw^ard thy waters are listlessly driven 
 Swept on thy currents that peacefully flow. 
 
 The foliage seen on thy mirrors imprinted 
 
 As breathing the breath of its life giving pow'rs 
 
 And thy rock-mantled walls with crevices dented 
 Are kissed by the lips of the sweet scented flow'rs. 
 
 Far echoes reecho the torrents awaken 
 
 And fly on the wings of the blue cloudless sky — 
 
 The leaves by the breath of the breezes are shaken 
 Bedewed bj^ the mists as they pass gently by. 
 
 The gossamer spray from the falls now uprising 
 Whose swift-running currents leap fearlessly down 
 
 Reflecting the rainbows so lustrously forming 
 
 On the brink of each shore with gold in its crown. 
 
 CAESAR CROSSING RUBICON 
 
 He paused, then made the fearful plunge, 
 
 The fateful die was cast, 
 At cost of freedom 'twas to Rome, 
 
 The Rubicon was pass'd. 
 
 Like Caesar, still how many paused 
 Before the fatal deed, 
 
 39 
 
To cause disaster of their own 
 And other hearts to bleed. 
 
 How many stand upon the brink 
 Lured by the tempting strife, 
 Then yield, and make the fatal plunge 
 That ruins hope and life. 
 
 How many, too, have Caesar-like 
 At Pompey's pillars fell, 
 Dyed with the purple stream of gore, 
 Sin's lowest depths to swell. 
 
 CLOVERETTE. 
 
 Stepping lightly on the floor. 
 Flitting through my study door, 
 Often as I'd heard before, 
 
 When I saw a little boy. 
 With bright sun-lit eyes of joy, 
 Yet he did not speak a word. 
 Till his hands the curtains stirred. 
 Little did I then expect. 
 That it was my Cloverette! 
 Little sun-eyed, Cloverette! 
 
 He looked with such laughing eyes. 
 Brighter than the star-lit skies. 
 Where the summer sunshine lies. 
 
 That kept charming me the while, 
 With the sweetness of his smile, 
 That I seemed to share the joy. 
 Of this bright-eyed timid boy. 
 
 Till he said, "Sir, here's a letter," 
 Mamma hopes you are better," 
 Then I stood and wondered so. 
 Asked him if his name was Joe, 
 Smiling then he answered "No!" 
 
 Yet, then, as I heard him speak. 
 Saw the dimples on his cheek. 
 As, if playing hide and seek, 
 
 40 
 
Laughing till my eyes were wet, 
 For I knew it was my pet! 
 She had borrowed Bennie's clothes, 
 Dress'd herself from head to toes. 
 And I found without regret. 
 That it was my Cloverette. 
 Darling, sun-eyed Cloverette ! 
 When her in my arms I caught. 
 Shouting, Grand-pa! fooled, you lot 
 
 THIS WONDROUS WORLD. 
 
 Written in 1861. 
 
 How little of this wondrous world 
 
 I really understand, 
 The records of the rolling wave. 
 
 The changing pebbled strand. 
 
 The mighty throbbings of the sea, 
 
 The heralds of the air. 
 May bear to all eternity 
 
 The secret thoughts I share. 
 
 The latest breezes may have brought 
 Some message to my heart. 
 
 Or bear upon their trembling wings 
 A lesson to impart. 
 
 A pebble toss'd into the sea. 
 
 May stir the silent deep. 
 And be the stylus to record 
 
 Some act for which I weep. 
 
 The very air of which I breathe 
 May witness now my deed. 
 
 And in celestial letters write 
 A statement of my creed. 
 
 Are these the agencies of God 
 The air, the earth, the wave? 
 
 To write the record of each life 
 From childhood to the grave? 
 
 41 
 
To bear away our inmost thoughts 
 Up to his throne on high? 
 
 And are his messengers in flight, 
 Ascending to the sky? 
 
 And is all motion, the result 
 
 Of his surpassing care? 
 Does every soul perceive their touch 
 
 In earth, in sea, and air? 
 
 Pray! Heaven grant me my desire 
 To know my soul's bequest 
 
 Was every act of man designed 
 To make him cursed or bless'd? 
 
 Are they like rocks, dropped in the sea 
 
 Forever there to lie? 
 Sunken beneath time's restless wave 
 
 In that abyss, to die? 
 
 With no recording hand to write 
 This life's unwritten past? 
 
 What piercing anguish one must feel 
 O'er loss of mind and heart? 
 
 Science may look with cold disdain 
 Upon this transient dream. 
 
 And claim life ends like earthly 'forms 
 Fulfilling Nature's scheme. 
 
 But what presumption to assume 
 The mind's stupendous pow'r. 
 
 Is here, evolved, from earth and air 
 As is the fleeting flower? 
 
 For deeply, 'neath its scented bloom, 
 There lies, the living germ. 
 
 With life drawn from existing life 
 However, brief its term. 
 
 Yet never did the germ or bud 
 E'er feel a pang of pain, 
 
 42 
 
Its every need was satisfied 
 By earth and air and rain. 
 
 But O, the soul that is revealed 
 
 By w^hispers of the heart, 
 From pre-existing life in God 
 
 Of which it is a part. 
 
 Yet yearning, ever, more and more, 
 
 To break its earthly thrall, 
 It watches every lingering ray 
 
 That may from Heav'n fall. 
 
 Nor metes, nor bounds, can stay its gaze. 
 
 Or quench its restless fire. 
 The past it sees with ready view 
 
 The future with desire. 
 
 And he who false my dream declares, 
 
 No ill, to me opines. 
 An ether wave may now record 
 
 These ill-wrought wrangling lines. 
 
 GOD MUST KNOW. 
 
 Could I the silent griefs assuage 
 
 Of hearts that suffer here. 
 How gladly would I seek the art — 
 
 It might to mine bring cheer. 
 
 Could I but find some soothing balm 
 That would here sorrows heal, 
 
 How quickly I would yield the toil — 
 I might more joy then feel. 
 
 I know the joys oft woven here 
 
 Into our human lives. 
 And feel within my heart of pain 
 
 God's promise still survives. 
 
 And if like thorns, with torture charged, 
 Once pierced my Saviour's face, 
 
 43 
 
I feel the piercing pangs of grief 
 His love cannot efface. 
 
 And still, if 'twere not for that love, 
 How deep would be the woe 
 
 Our lives would, like eternal night 
 Have no redeeming glow. 
 
 Yet why should our poor human hearts 
 
 Be born to suffer so ? 
 And why it was He suffered thus, 
 
 An All-wise God must know. 
 
 WHISPERS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 From whence the notes that are written 
 
 Unsung in the depths of my heart? 
 H lacking the sweetness of singers. 
 
 Possessed by the masters art. 
 Their music of mythical longings 
 
 With whispers intense in my soul. 
 To brighten the chaos of being. 
 
 With rapture I cannot control. 
 
 From whom the feelings they waken 
 
 With anthems of symphony there? 
 Which ring with the thrills of gladness, 
 
 Or saddens with grief and despair, 
 No efforts of mine can banish, 
 
 If voiceless, they linger there still, 
 Enchanting my soul with their gladness 
 
 And charming my senses, and will. 
 
 There may be fruition in waiting. 
 
 For all of life's sufferings and pain. 
 Somewhere in the reaches of being 
 
 Wrought out in each tremulous strain. 
 Outliving the thoughts and dreamings 
 
 Inwrought in my innermost soul 
 Awakening the wonderful visions 
 
 At glimpse they have of its goal. 
 
 44 
 
Though often if turning faint-hearted 
 
 With hopes which I dare not now name, 
 While owning inadequate power, 
 
 To stand on the threshold of fame, 
 The author, creating the feeling 
 
 Now haunting with longings my heart 
 May forgive all the frailties of being 
 
 And failures of knowledge and art. 
 
 For they are not fancies as fickle 
 
 As wnnds which unconsciously blow. 
 On green browed hills of bloom and flowers, 
 
 Or sun-burned dunes or trackless snow. 
 They are sparks from anvils of Heav'n, 
 
 Effusions of passions and love, 
 — Flames from God's bosom igniting 
 
 The spirit he breathed from above. 
 
 AWAKEN ISDORE. 
 
 Awaken, Isdore, the harp that is sleeping 
 
 Unstrung in the depth of thy innocent soul 
 Thy hymns ring as clear as the orient's greeting 
 
 That breaks with its beams, the night's last lurking 
 scroll. 
 Yes, sing, sweetly sing, the notes thou art breathing 
 
 Around me with gladness so tenderly throng 
 I'm blest with their thought of gladness impleading 
 
 And cannot now turn from the plaint of thy song. 
 Thy melodies ring now from dreamland, Isdore, 
 
 To change into gladness life's ocean of tears 
 They will live on, and on, in songs evermore 
 
 For minstrels to sing down the lapses of years. 
 Thy voice so quick to my heart now appealing 
 
 At rest on the brink of eternity's shore 
 So tenderly wakes at the touch of thy feeling 
 
 Methinks I have woke now in home-land, Isdore. 
 
 Thy harp strung with chords that pulsate with pleasure 
 
 Infusing my life with unspeakable joy 
 W^hose harmonies ring so deep with their measure 
 
 45 
 
They all the dark shadows of evil destroy. 
 Then let thy sweet symphonies ring evermore 
 
 To drive every pain in my heart now away 
 And leave but the gush of thy song there, Isdore, 
 
 To brighten the sunshine allotted each day. 
 
 THE FRIENDS I MEET. 
 
 There is one friend I dread to meet 
 
 As nimble as a sparrow, 
 Who says don't do that, Jim, today, 
 
 There's time enough tomorrow. 
 
 There's one I vainly try to shun 
 Says Jim, now, can I borrow, 
 
 A dollar, I'm in need today 
 I'll pay it back tomorrow. 
 
 There's one whom I am glad to meet 
 When hungry as a sparrow. 
 
 Says Jim, come in with me to tea. 
 Then no! come in tomorrow. 
 
 While one, too, somewhere in my heart 
 I must now own, with sorrow, 
 
 Says Jim, let's have an idle day 
 There's time enough tomorrow. 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 There oft along his native ayre 
 
 His rambling feet have often strayed, 
 
 When echoes of his orphean lyre 
 Awoke the lone sequestered shade. 
 
 When curfew rang the close of day 
 And toil and cares were laid aside, 
 
 His humble home he would survey 
 The glory now of Scotland's pride. 
 
 46 
 
The Grampion hills before him rose 
 With Albion's lovely splendor dressed, 
 
 Where Lordlings safe in their repose 
 His toiling brothers had oppressed. 
 
 Now Scotland's Lords, proud of his worth 
 There wreathe new laurels to his name, 
 
 And guard his lowly place of birth 
 To share the glory of his fame. 
 
 TO SCOTT. 
 
 The wee bit spot, ye did forget, 
 
 Has grown and will, "For all that," 
 
 And many a star with flaming jet 
 Shines in its crown, "For all that." 
 
 Your prophecy has proved amiss. 
 
 Of schemes and plots, "For all that." 
 
 The coward rats, ye stopped to hiss 
 Now rule the seas, "For all that." 
 
 Their ships now sail on every sea 
 Despite your brag and "All that," 
 
 Whose millions live in liberty. 
 
 Ye stopped, with scorn to laugh at. 
 
 A thousand isles, it now would make 
 
 Like Albion, "For all that," 
 Which now the hand will grasp and shake. 
 
 Of that same rat ye sneered at. 
 
 Now Albion has wiser grown. 
 
 Despite your taunts, "And all that," 
 
 For truth and justice rules the throne. 
 In freedom's home, "For all that." 
 
 The very rats, ye stopped to hiss. 
 Are brothers now, "For all that," 
 
 And never a prayer to God they miss 
 For Albion now, "For all that." 
 
 .47 
 
Too, nature's purest, strongest ties, 
 
 Have joined their hearts, "For all that," 
 
 And love and friendship underlies 
 Their common lot, "For all that." 
 
 UP TO GOD. 
 
 When 1 gather up the harvest 
 
 Of the swiftly passing years, 
 That is stored along life's by-ways, 
 
 Which were often lined with tears, 
 And when, sometimes, over anxious, 
 
 Where my aching feet have trod, 
 — Stopping oft to ask who willed it, 
 
 Something whispered it was God. 
 
 When I now recount the blessings 
 
 Which have fiU'd my heart with joy, 
 From the long-ago of childhood. 
 
 When 1 was then but a boy. 
 Only seeing bloom and roses. 
 
 Or, perchance, a golden rod 
 If, I've asked from whom the blessing. 
 
 Then, there, something answered God. 
 
 When I find, I often stumble 
 
 Going down life's swift decline, 
 That the maker surely fashioned. 
 
 For me. by his own design, 
 Then, I've wondered at its roughness. 
 
 Why it weren't a velvet sod 
 That my \\ay might been made easy, 
 
 Then, there, something said, ask God? 
 
 When I've seen, along the roadway. 
 
 All my loving ones fall out. 
 It then filled my heart with sorrow, 
 
 Or yet, more, perchance, with doubt. 
 For I've felt a strange temptation 
 
 As along the way I've trod 
 Here to lay all my misgivings 
 
 Just to the acts of God. 
 
 48 
 
Stopping then to read the land-marks 
 
 That would tell me of the way, 
 Pointinj^ out the end I'm nearing 
 
 I then only, now can say, 
 Tho' the way I might made clearer 
 
 Than the ones I may have trod, 
 For I've found they all are leading 
 
 Every foot-step up to God. 
 
 BY FANUEL HALL. 
 
 (Memories of over sixty years ago from Dorchester to 
 
 Bunkerhill.) 
 
 Veiled dimly in the lowering mist 
 Where art and genius, long had vied 
 
 Their classic trophies to erect. 
 
 To my uncultured thought denied, 
 
 The Gibralter of our liberty. 
 
 And first to freedom's rights here claim, 
 
 Long may thy strong foundations stand. 
 To mark thee, as the hall of fame. 
 
 By where historic statues rose. 
 
 Inscribed oft with an honored name. 
 
 Yet that which charmed my boyish heart 
 Was Franklin's with his crowning fame. 
 
 'Twas there, that brave immortal clan. 
 Raised freedom's strong heroic arm 
 
 That filled, the British selfish king 
 And all his lordlings with alarm. 
 
 No early clamor then arose 
 
 Save as the trusty, watchman pass'd. 
 
 In answer to a warning call 
 Of riot, with its ringing blast. 
 
 'Twas there, her sons imbued with fire 
 
 The holy war for freedom won, 
 And gave their lives as sacrifice 
 
 To venge the wrongs by Britton done. 
 
 49 
 
There Choate and Webster often worked 
 To frenzy, once, the listening throngs, 
 
 And Phillipps, with resistless pow'r 
 
 Declaimed against his country's wrongs. 
 
 The sun rose from its couch of gold 
 And flung its bright fantastic rays, 
 
 To greet the waking world below 
 With answers of repeated praise. 
 
 The vernal breezes floated by 
 The odorous incense of the plain, 
 
 On drifting wings of ether foam 
 Out to the sun-kissed lashing main. 
 
 All nature then in praises joined 
 
 With gladness at returning day, 
 Save where a brooding wayman stood 
 
 Or muttered on his lonely way. 
 
 While there a giddy loiterer smiled 
 With languid step along the way. 
 
 Whose silly trappings plainly proved 
 That they were fashioned for display. 
 
 The drowsy tenants of the night 
 Had woke to greet the early hour, 
 
 While bright and pearly jewels clung 
 To every sweet dew-laden flow'r. 
 
 The song birds sang from wetted throats ' 
 
 With raptures of a living lyre, 
 And nature seemed attuned with joy. 
 
 In vestures of her bright attire. 
 
 The grazing herds had climbed the hills 
 Or roamed with freedom down the glades 
 
 While passing waymen stopped to view 
 Or rest there in the leafy shades. 
 
 I too, with joy the scenes beheld 
 
 As turning oft again to view 
 Or halting in my anxious mood 
 
 Some pleasing thought then to renew. 
 
 50 
 
The earl}' tollers' voice then rang 
 With mingling medleys of the birds 
 
 Re-answered from the far off hills 
 By lowing of the grazing herds. 
 
 Then Bunker-Hill's high tower rose 
 
 All aglow with the setting sun, 
 And where my tired feet then were 
 
 Once stood the feet of Washington. 
 
 While yonder nigh its granite base 
 
 Heroic Warren's blood was shed, 
 And there beneath the green "lush grass" 
 
 The nation's heroes lie there dead. 
 
 And here and there, ac'ross the plain 
 
 Green hedgeways marked some proud estate, 
 
 Where friends with friends await their friends, 
 Some jocund legend to relate. 
 
 And far off in the reach of space 
 
 The glistening flash of church spires rose, 
 
 With flying trains in swnft pursuit 
 Or resting there in mute repose. 
 
 The lashing dirges of the sea 
 
 Repeated back their droning sound. 
 By inharmonious harps attuned, 
 
 From rock, to rock, with quick rebound. 
 
 Whose muffled voices loud and deep 
 
 Then echoed down the distant lea, 
 The breaking waves against the shore 
 
 Re-echoed back, to it and me. 
 
 While ocean monsters of the waves 
 Nigh there then to the rocky strand, 
 
 Where anxious hearts waited with jo)^ 
 To see again their native land. 
 
 Then often as I homeward turned 
 
 Met wealth, and splendor's grand attire, 
 
 And there, too, in that crowded throng 
 Was haggard want and blind desire. 
 
 51 
 
When swift along that halting mass 
 There answered back from man to man, 
 
 A voice which rang with loud reproof, 
 "Man's inhumanity to man." 
 
 Such are the frailties of the mind 
 
 When crazed by greed's ambitious pow'r 
 
 Or blind forebodings of the heart 
 And dark surmises of the hour. 
 
 Then want and worth joined the refrain, 
 
 Reverberated back with cheer, 
 While in the twilight's misty haze 
 
 The cross of Christ stood bright and clear. 
 
 Soon that inevitable hour 
 
 To solve the mystery of life, 
 Will come to solve the doubts and fears 
 
 Of mingled sorrows, joy and strife. 
 
 The vestal church bells loudly rang 
 
 From Park streets' high and lofty tow'r. 
 
 Proclaiming that the day was done, 
 At even-tide's brief, restful hour. 
 
 Thus closed, there, then, my early jaunt 
 
 As mem'ry now the way defines 
 Where wealth and want, and war had reigned, 
 
 And truth and error, left its lines. 
 
 WHEN THE CRY OF SUMPTER'S FALLEN. 
 
 When the cry of Sumpter's fallen 
 Echoed through our land and main. 
 
 With our country's flag half masted 
 For our loyal heroes slain, 
 
 Rose a voice of vengeful clamor 
 Which across the northland broke 
 
 And a million sons of freedom 
 To the battle cry awoke. 
 
 52 
 
On each warrior's face was written 
 What his loyal heart w^ould seal 
 Death to all his country's traitors 
 Death with burnished flashing steel. 
 
 On abreast like torrents rushing 
 Fleet the host of freedom sped 
 
 With their nerves of iron tramping 
 O'er the living and the dead. 
 
 Oh ! what tears of anguish mingled 
 With the sufferings of the slain, 
 
 From the homeland wives and mothers 
 As they viewed that royal train. 
 
 Oh ! what words of love unspoken 
 Breathed within the maiden's heart 
 
 As the pallid, silent, hopefuls 
 
 Clasped her lover's hand to part. 
 
 God of heaven, e'er did freedom 
 
 Ask so great a sacrifice 
 Or has ever hum^an passion 
 
 Worn a deeper deadly guise. 
 
 Swiftly by me all the morning 
 
 They've been passing rank and file, 
 
 Bravely through the northland chanting 
 Songs of freedom all the while. 
 
 Home again their ranks are filing 
 
 Slowly to a martial knell, 
 For the lost the dead and dying. 
 
 Left in battles w^here they fell. 
 
 The eternal wage of freedom 
 Lying gory, stark, and cold, — 
 
 Yet the nation has embalmed them, 
 On its pages writ with gold. 
 
 53 
 
TO MELVIN. 
 
 Happy hearted little boy, 
 Full of laughter, full of joy, 
 Writing with your infant hands 
 On life's shifting, drifting sands, 
 O ! what sunshine fills thine eyes. 
 Bright as are the sun-lit skies. 
 
 Unrestrained by rod or rule 
 
 Taught in nature's wondrous school, 
 
 Happy, joyous, wild and free. 
 
 Busy as a honey bee, 
 
 In the flowers on the hill 
 
 Eating honey to its fill. 
 
 Climbing up life's golden stair. 
 Building castles in the air. 
 Building now and then a plan 
 For tomorrow, little man, 
 Learning wisdom in thy school 
 Without book and without rule. 
 
 Never crimes or sorrow knew, 
 In the sunshine as ye grew. 
 Ever toiling all the day 
 Happy at your work or play, 
 Mongst the castles that you trace 
 With the sunshine in your face. 
 
 Laughing over halls you build, 
 Here and there with wonders filled. 
 With your playmates by your side 
 In your young unselfish pride, 
 Sowing seeds that soon will grow 
 Thorns or roses, who may know? 
 
 God alone can only tell? 
 
 Yet to him who doeth well, 
 
 Will with knowledge here be fed, 
 
 And by love and truth be led, 
 
 Thus dear happy little boy, 
 
 Build with truth, with hope and joy. 
 
 54 
 
A FARMER'S WIFE. 
 
 Running here, and running there, 
 Burdened with her endless care 
 
 With so much to do indeed, 
 How can she get time to read ? 
 
 Everything is topsy turvey, 
 Every moment in a hurry, 
 
 Stop the papers quick indeed, 
 For she has no time to read. 
 
 Thus the live-long day she sighs, 
 Making bread, or baking pies, 
 
 Stop the papers with all speed, 
 How can she find time to read ? 
 
 There's four boys and that old man. 
 With herself, and husband Dan, 
 
 All to care for, and to feed. 
 How can she get time to read? 
 
 Thus she worries, day and night, 
 While her hair is turning white. 
 
 Chasing chicks, with their feed. 
 How can she find time to read ? 
 
 Here and there in a flurry. 
 
 Always something, hurry, hurry! 
 
 With so many mouths to feed. 
 How can she get time to read ? 
 
 There's a library full of books 
 See how wan, and tired she looks. 
 Stop the papers quick indeed. 
 How can she get time to read ? 
 
 Coats and mittens on the floor. 
 Caps and other things a score, 
 
 How can she find time to read ? 
 Stop the papers quick indeed? 
 
 Mabel with her soft, white hands, 
 Not made to wash or scrub, 
 
 55 
 
Befitting, some high station here, 
 Waiting in a ladies' club. 
 
 Suns may rise, and suns may set. 
 And worth and virtue get no heed. 
 
 Leaving her to toil and care. 
 How can she get time to read ? 
 
 TO A LADY. 
 
 Dear lady as I often turn 
 
 To where I met thee last 
 My heart with rapture then will burn 
 
 As if again by me you pass'd. 
 
 When swifter beats my throbbing heart 
 As from my lips thy name will fall, 
 
 With gladness that the thoughts impart 
 Of pleasures which they do recall. 
 
 Thine eyes appear like burnished gold 
 
 With angel smiles thy cheeks are dress'd. 
 
 While trancing beauty does enfold 
 Each pulsing motion of thy breast, 
 
 Could fitful nature e'er conceived 
 Of innocence, as thine combined, 
 
 With beauty not to even exceed 
 The greater virtues of her mind. 
 
 MILDRED. 
 
 Nature's sweetest, fairest flower, 
 Sparkling with a roseate hue. 
 
 Blest with love's surpassing power. 
 Sweeter than the morning dew. 
 
 Tangled curls and eyes of brown. 
 Lips of pearl so sweet to kiss. 
 
 Wrapped within thy em'rald gown. 
 Fairy-like, my elfin miss. 
 
 56 
 
Lovely child in life's glad May, 
 Cast, 'twould seem, in angel mold, 
 
 Full of laughter, full of play. 
 May God bless thy heart of gold. 
 
 TO GENEVIEVE. 
 
 I often see the placid smile 
 
 That lit thy sweet and lovely face. 
 
 As from thy lips then rang the while 
 Sweet music with such classic grace. 
 
 Whose notes I never will forget 
 
 Nor charm that seemed to me divine. 
 
 That more endearing seem still yet 
 
 To draw my heart sweet child to thine. 
 
 Fond mem'ry will here, gladly wake 
 The bliss I too, so oft shall feel, 
 
 While wishing in my arms to take 
 Thy lips from which a kiss to steal. 
 
 To lull to rest some lonely hour 
 As I thy songs and face recall 
 
 With eyes of such bewitching pow'r 
 They do like sun-rays round me fall. 
 
 TO ADA. 
 
 Thy rosy face dressed with the flush 
 Of envious sunbeams dancing there, 
 
 On dimpled cheeks with smiling blush 
 That loiter long thy smiles to share. 
 
 If sometimes there an angry pout 
 Unconscious from thy lips may fall. 
 
 Thy cheerful nature soon drives out 
 And scarce a line, can I recall. 
 
 If rankling passions fill thine eyes 
 Defiant as if 'twould consume, 
 
 57 
 
'Tis but a moment's brief disguise 
 
 They soon their laughter will resume. 
 
 If still in thy impulsive heart 
 
 There lingers there an angry thought, 
 Love w^ill soon with thy native art 
 
 Disown the lines it may have wrought. 
 
 While then thy pure immortal soul 
 That angry passion will disprove, 
 
 And love impassion 'd love control 
 Until it does the thought remove. 
 
 May long my darling Venus live 
 With every earthly pleasure bless'd, 
 
 A wish to her, I freely give. 
 
 To whom I have these lines address'd. 
 
 TO CLINTON AND RAYMOND. 
 
 Whatever in life you find to do 
 
 Do it without complaining. 
 Never a fear about the way 
 
 You'll find that by trying. 
 
 Whatever course you may mark out 
 
 Keep on that way pursuing; 
 The chances are, 'twill bring success 
 
 To him who keeps on doing. 
 
 Never a hill so steep or high 
 Without some way of climbing. 
 
 You'll find it if you only try 
 'Tis only found by trying. 
 
 And while you're toiling laugh and sing, 
 A cheerful heart's worth having, 
 
 A miser's greed will spoil the soul 
 And spoil the heart by halving. 
 
 A spendthrift is like Satan's boot 
 Which can't be fill'd by filling. 
 
 And is as useless to mankind 
 As is to him a shilling. 
 
 58 
 
TO MR. AND MRS. GEORGE DOWNEY 
 AT PARTING. 
 
 Too, soon the parting moment comes 
 
 When friends from friends are reft apart, 
 
 And friendship's sweetest pleasures end 
 To leave for each a wounded heart. 
 
 If oft reluctant tears may fall 
 
 As time again the past reviews, 
 They w^ill bring back, remembered joys 
 
 Which are fond mem'rys sacred dues. 
 
 They oft repeated will return 
 
 In mem'ries of departed ^^ars, 
 And will relieve the heart of pain 
 
 If too, may be, it is with tears. 
 
 May they to you here oft appear 
 
 With rapture, mirth and welcome glee, 
 
 A pleasure which I wish dear friends 
 May often fall with joy to thee. 
 
 MY COUNTRY. 
 
 My country stirs my innmost thought 
 
 At mention of its name, 
 With records of its noble deeds 
 
 Crowned with immortal fame. 
 
 As mem'ry brings in swift review 
 Her genius and her worth, 
 
 With heritage of liberty 
 
 God's crowning gift on earth. 
 
 Though error now may blindly strive 
 
 To plant its covert feet. 
 It has no grant of franchise here, 
 
 And soon will meet defeat. 
 
 If justice turns with weeping eyes 
 From sights it would disown, 
 
 59 
 
And manhood gazes with dismay 
 Upon its fallen throne, 
 
 Yet glory crowns her youthful name 
 
 With justice, truth and pow'r. 
 The ward of freedom's sacred right 
 
 Its gracious holy dow'r. 
 
 If chance a wanton cloud obscures, 
 
 The sun-light from above. 
 Now smiling on its virgin soil 
 
 Is fellowship and love. 
 
 For every breeze across its shores 
 
 With balmy breath inspires, 
 Thy sacred love of liberty 
 
 Its gift of pilgrim desires. 
 
 Nor greed, nor wrong with all their strength 
 
 Cannot 'gainst it prevail. 
 For it is built upon the rock 
 
 That error can't assail. 
 
 I CANNOT HONOR WAR. 
 
 I cannot honor deeds of war, 
 
 Nor wreathe a warrior's tomb ; 
 I know its sequence is but death. 
 
 Its fruits are fruits of gloom. 
 Tho' pampered by a nation's pride, 
 
 And lauded for its pow'rs. 
 There is no perfume for the dead, 
 
 Tho' wreathed with bloom and flow'rs. 
 
 I'd mourn then for the widow's grief, 
 
 The fatherless in tears; 
 That now are weeping desolate, 
 
 Thro' all their living years. 
 I'd wreathe for them a magic wreath, 
 
 With love its only shield ; 
 And for the silent dead lips, dumb, 
 
 Upon the battlefield. 
 
 60 
 
I would rebuild the Cross once raised, 
 
 Nigh the Assyrian shore; 
 On which no plumaged helmet there, 
 
 Its martyred hero bore. 
 I'd trust now to its matchless pow'rs, 
 
 With deeds of love and peace ; 
 To heal the furrowed scars of wrong, 
 
 Till martial pride should cease. 
 
 If sleeping now, their loving hearts, 
 
 Below the clamorous wave, 
 Or if beneath a foreign turf, 
 
 They find a silent grave, 
 No chaplets twined for sleepers there, 
 
 Can now their lives restore, 
 It is for those whom here they loved. 
 
 That I now care the more. 
 
 COLUMBIA. 
 
 Columbia shall now thy lust 
 
 Of military pow'r. 
 Betray the birthright held in trust 
 
 Of Freedom's holy dow'r? 
 
 Shall blinded love of empire raise 
 Aloft its draggon head ? 
 
 And on thy stary fields to blaze 
 The lie that Freedom's dead ? 
 
 Shall its proud spirit with contempt 
 
 Humanity betray? 
 And lead here by its base attempt 
 
 The nation's heart astray? 
 
 Shall Columbia e'er forget 
 The price that freedom cost. 
 
 Lured by the star of empire set 
 Above, where it was lost? 
 
 61 
 
Heaven forbid, these oft-freetold lies, 
 This shameless bold device, 
 
 When Washington now loudly cries 
 To follow his advice? 
 
 MR. SO AND SO. 
 
 The greatest folly of the mind, 
 
 Of Mr. So and So, 
 He does not know that he is blind, 
 And yet, in truth 'tis so. 
 He knows of this, and knows of that, 
 
 Yet when himself he sees 
 He never knows of his red nose 
 
 Nor snakes that twist his knees. 
 
 THE MEADOW MOLE. 
 
 It was this morning through the grass 
 I drew my keen-edged scythe, 
 
 When peering from the tangled mass 
 Appeared two shining eyes; 
 
 Then dodging back into its hole, 
 
 I saw it was a meadow-mole. 
 
 But on I went then thoughtless by. 
 
 Not heeding what I saw, 
 'Till on my blade there wriggling lie 
 
 A mouse's bleeding claw. 
 And from her half -hid, grassy hole, 
 I saw again the meadow-mole. 
 
 There, writhing in a gory flood. 
 
 Four little mousies laid 
 And on the ground their dark red blood 
 
 The mother there surveyed 
 I heeded not her mournful dole. 
 For it was but a meadow-mole. 
 
 62 
 
But then — I could not quite conceal 
 
 A feeling of remorse, 
 And own I did some sorrow feel 
 
 For each cold, mangled corpse. 
 But why should I care to condole 
 The mis'ries of a meadow-mole? 
 
 Reflective, then, a stroke I gave, 
 
 But still her wistful glance 
 I could not banish from my gaze, 
 
 While with each step's advance 
 I wished then -deeply in my soul, 
 I had not harmed the meadow-mole. 
 
 For something whispered in my heart 
 
 With shame I must confess, 
 I had not done a manly part 
 
 To cause a mouse distress 
 For in her eyes a living soul 
 Seemed glancing from the meadow-mole. 
 
 And why should I, when pleasures free 
 Fall from God's willing hand. 
 
 Have caused that mouse its misery. 
 Or pain to follow man? 
 
 Too late with grief did I condole 
 
 The sorrows of that meadow-mole. 
 
 How often has ambition's curse 
 
 In greedy search of gold 
 Changed all the joyous fields of earth 
 
 To icy seas of cold. 
 And cared no more the joys it stole 
 Than I did for the meadow-mole. 
 
 How oft a cold and cruel world 
 
 Replete with evil pow'rs, 
 Has fallen on the hearts that heard 
 
 Like frost upon the flow'rs, 
 Yet careless of the injured soul 
 
 As I was of the meadow-mole. 
 
 63. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 The rustling leaves, in whirling pools, 
 
 Flutter around my door, 
 And sullen winds with dismal round, 
 
 Keep up their mournful roar. 
 
 The autumn sun, with lurid beams. 
 Shines through my lonely room. 
 
 And every voice sounds like a dirge. 
 That echoes from the tomb. 
 
 My heart, with its imprisoned pain, 
 Is torn with anguish's throes; 
 
 'Tis flooded to its very brim, 
 With more than earthly woes. 
 
 While every step that passes by. 
 Shrieks like the lapwings wail. 
 
 And tears alternate with the blast. 
 My broken heart assail. 
 
 Her step, that softly passed my door. 
 
 Will never cross the stile. 
 Nor will she light my hapless years. 
 
 Again with her sweet smile. 
 
 Save mem'ries of unselfish love, 
 Expressed by kindly deed, 
 
 That break anew the sacred ties. 
 Which cause my heart to bleed. 
 
 Heaven, can she from thy far shore, 
 See this sad face of mine. 
 
 Or hear one plaintive cry of grief, 
 Arise to thy fair Shrine? 
 
 The pathway of my weary life 
 Seems desolate and bare, 
 
 For human nature's failing force. 
 Shrinks with its dread despair. 
 
 .64 
 
I walk where often we have walked, 
 
 Together, side by side. 
 And Oh, my God, why is it thus! 
 
 Why was it that she died ? 
 
 Oh, God, soon may new rays of light. 
 Rise from her crumbling dust, 
 
 And save my sinking soul from death. 
 They must, they must, they must! 
 
 Shall faith fade from my mortal eyes, 
 
 So blinded with despair. 
 And this dense cloud of hov'ring gloom, 
 
 Close 'round me every where? 
 
 The drooping flow'rs against the pane. 
 That gladdened once my heart. 
 
 Now with their faded, falling leaves. 
 Seem to new pain impart. 
 
 Tho' friendship, oft with pity's gaze. 
 
 Would of my sorrows share, 
 Alas, a ghost of solitude. 
 
 Sits in her vacant chair. 
 
 Can she know of my suff'ring here, 
 
 And still be blest above. 
 Or 3^earns she now to soothe my heart, 
 
 With ever deepening love? 
 
 If so, these pangs far worse than death, 
 
 Like mists would fade away, 
 And leave the only wish I crave. 
 
 To meet her there, "Some day." 
 
 Oh, God, hold firm my palsied hands. 
 
 For now, I see her face, 
 Ah, yes, drive back death's dread alarms. 
 
 And stay my heart with grace. 
 
 65 
 
TO MRS. HANNAH BARNUM. 
 
 How sacred, dear friend, are the mem'ries of childhood, 
 
 Endeared to my heart by the scenes they renew 
 So lavish with gladness were the days of my boyhood 
 
 Now swiftly repassing again in review, 
 Repeating with fervor, the fondest emotions 
 
 Whose heydays of sunshine around me now twine, 
 Awaking again the old recollections 
 
 Still dear to my heart, if forgotten in thine. 
 
 May thine be the gladness, so welcome to me 
 
 Of mem'ries returning that you cannot forget, 
 With day-dreams of glory, to long for thee shine 
 
 And never in darkness or sorrow to set. 
 May ever my harp with gladness be wakened, 
 
 By pleasures I always can claim as my own. 
 For the pathways of mem'ry can never be darkened. 
 
 If shaded with sorrow, though traversed alone. 
 
 THE SUN HAD SET. 
 
 The sun had set, and the twilight. 
 Hung on the edge of the day. 
 
 While the last dim rays of evening, 
 Slowly were drifting away. 
 
 And the tangled leafllets fluttered. 
 As the noiseless winds went by. 
 
 And the wild-birds songs then ringing, 
 Re-echoed adown the sky. 
 
 Life, left to the wings of fancy. 
 Drank free of its dreamful store. 
 
 As thought, on the waves of gladness, 
 Roved onward, from shore to shore. 
 
 Mind, in the revel was master, 
 O'er leaping with joy, if blind 
 
 By charm that ever will brighten. 
 The jewels of the heart and mind. 
 
 66 
 
I stood In the range of the shadows, 
 Grasping a pebble or pearl, 
 
 That shone so bright in the darkness. 
 It set all my heart awhirl. 
 
 Not knowing its priceless value, 
 So swift was the passing thought, 
 
 There came to me like a vision, 
 A glance of my earth-life lot. 
 
 Whatever my hands had gathered, 
 I knew should be wrought in gold. 
 
 Or left like dross to be watered, 
 With tears to me manifold. 
 
 There rose before me, a mountain, 
 Crossing the way where I stood. 
 
 Its sides were both steep and rugged. 
 Or pathless, covered with wood. 
 
 IF MY FAULTS ARE LEGION. 
 
 I gazed at the talent to me given. 
 And a moment stood dismayed. 
 
 With many a pain and heartache, 
 At the trust to me conveyed. 
 
 Murmuring then, at my findings. 
 And manner it should be wrought. 
 
 Till visions grew wider and wider, 
 Far out of my reach of thought. 
 
 The symbol, I understood plainly, 
 
 Admonishing me of life, 
 And will'd within me to govern, 
 
 And meet its dangers and strife. 
 
 A ray o'er the mountain lingered, 
 Far above its crown of snow. 
 
 Revealing across the summit, 
 A way over which to go. 
 
 67 
 
I wondered then, at the treasure, 
 And int'rest it would command ; 
 
 Knowing how weak was the holder, 
 To toil with the brain or hand. 
 
 The darkness kept fleeing and fleeing. 
 And left scarce a trace behind, 
 
 While hope sprung up in my bosom. 
 Giving new strength to the mind. 
 
 A thought too, came at the instant, 
 Of Him who's able to give. 
 
 And if my faults are legion. 
 He is willing to forgive. 
 
 IS THERE SO POOR A SOUL. 
 
 Is there so poor a cringing soul 
 To bow here to an aristocrat. 
 Then pass a hungry beggar by 
 Without one sympathetic sigh 
 It only should be laughed at. 
 
 And is there one that's poorer yet 
 
 That lives for self and only that? 
 Then pity him, yes pity him 
 Whose narrow vision is so dim. 
 You should not scoff or laugh at. 
 
 It has no real manly worth 
 
 And is at most a heartless scat, 
 
 In stations high or stations low 
 
 A worshiper alone of show. 
 
 That honest men will laugh at. 
 
 If rich or poor, they lack of sense 
 
 And stop and bow, to this and that 
 When liveried shylocks by them pass 
 If known to be a soulless class 
 To be despised and scoffed at. 
 
 68 
 
Sir, if you are an honest man 
 
 With love and law in compact, 
 Don't let ambition, greed or pride 
 Draw you from your ways aside 
 To then be scorned and laughed at. 
 
 By every man of heart and brains 
 
 If beggar born or autocrat, 
 A cringing soul, all should despise. 
 E'en poverty with weeping eyes 
 As something to be laughed at. 
 
 If one so blind may now exist. 
 Then poor soul beware that 
 
 Your desert, here, will soon be rue; 
 
 And deeply as your heart may rue 
 You'll surely then be laughed at. 
 
 For nature to itself is true. 
 
 And often seems so hard that 
 We turn away from what is due. 
 While owning in our hearts 'tis true, 
 The more then to be laughed at. 
 
 Then let not station now divide 
 
 Our erring hearts, for all that. 
 For worth will prove the only claim, 
 That's worthy of an honored name 
 All honest men will bow at. 
 
 VISIONS. 
 
 Now my heart seems even gladdened by the visions of 
 
 the past 
 And I hear a footstep coming, light as moon-beams in 
 
 their flight; 
 With the shadows deftly hiding, deeper shadows, which 
 
 they cast. 
 Till my heart is over-gladdened with the vision in my 
 
 sight. 
 
 69 
 
When the sombre )^ears grow brighter, as the vision re- 
 appears, 
 
 With a footstep treading softly, lighter, than the falling 
 dew 
 
 Till the curtains, rise, now hiding in the mist 
 of falling tears, 
 
 Bring again the sacred vision, brightly to me in re- 
 view. 
 
 And I wait, the footsteps coming, down a well remem- 
 bered way. 
 
 When a thousand fancies gather swiftly back on mem'rys 
 wings. 
 
 From the golden shores of dreamland, dimly seen with 
 fading ray, 
 
 Till awakened by the gladness and the rapture which it 
 brings. 
 
 O PALLAS. 
 
 O, Pallas, lend thy wanton wing 
 To fly from tempting cares away, 
 
 And feast on bloom, of laughing spring 
 Whose dews repel its swift decay. 
 
 To drink the nectar of the flow'rs. 
 
 Ere bloom, and sweetness there shall die 
 
 Where fragrance fills, kind nature's bow'ers, 
 And cloudless sunshine lights the sky. 
 
 Where welcome to his step and rest 
 The early wanderer oft will hear, 
 
 And love, and pleasure all have blest, 
 Nor yet, will fall a sigh or tear. 
 
 When sweetness fills the early morn 
 That night's delicious dew supplies. 
 
 Nor yet, obtrudes no bitter thorn, 
 
 Nor storms, or winds, invade the skies. 
 
 70 
 
AWAY WITH THE VISIONS. 
 
 Away with the visions I painted with pleasure, 
 
 Their brief dreams of glory have faded or fled, 
 Whose sweet inspiration so free without measure 
 
 Forever have yanished or silent and dead. 
 The efforts in vain I so lavishly wasted 
 
 Through frailties of nature which fell to my lot 
 While charmed with elixir, if sweetly it tasted 
 
 As quickly to perish, as visions it wrought. 
 
 Away with the visions I painted with pleasure. 
 
 Their brief dreams of glory have faded or fled, 
 Excepting their phantoms a moment surviving. 
 
 Repeating their visions, save loss of their charm 
 I crave not, nor care not for jewels adorning 
 
 The crowns of the monarchs, or magnates of fame 
 They soon fade away as the dews of the morning 
 
 Oft leaving no virtues to honor their name. 
 
 Away, O, away; life's vain dreamings forgetting 
 
 As the last rays of twilight too soon disappear, 
 For sunsets of glory more bright in their setting 
 
 Repeating tomorrow's more glorious here, 
 While they will forever new changes awaiting 
 
 With emblems, still brighter of effluent flame, 
 Repeating in mem'ry or visions divining 
 
 Far brighter than all of earth's annals of fame. 
 
 Away with the glory of armies and navies, 
 
 Against all the precepts, and gospel of peace. 
 In citing contempt for the palm that it raises, 
 
 While the lustings of power and empire increase 
 Away with the pretence of friendship repeating 
 
 To end inhumanity, "man here to man," 
 When every action implies by its teaching 
 
 That glory and conquest, alone, is thy plan. 
 
 Away with repeating thy love and devotion. 
 
 When selfishness marks every path ye have trod, 
 
 And falter 'tween precept and blind adoration. 
 At war with the spirit, and worship of God, 
 
 Let the day beams of Heaven, new wisdom impart 
 
 71 
 
Until night shades of error shall break into day, 
 And love and devotion shall bind heart to heart, 
 On earth, as in Heav'n, to God's will obey. 
 
 MARGUERITE. 
 
 Thou whisp'ring wslH of lisping song, 
 
 Breathe now thy sweetest and tenderest lay, 
 
 'Till every heart in sorrow's throng, 
 Shall sing with gladness on its way. 
 
 Let strains of passion's mingled fears. 
 Cease pulsing down on mem'ry's wing, 
 
 'Till all the griefs of slumb'ring years. 
 Have lost the torture of their sting. 
 
 O ! let thy voice, fair Marguerite^ 
 
 Re-echo like a running stream. 
 While it moves on in swift retreat, 
 
 To melt as whispers of a dream. 
 
 And as it wakes the sleeping leas, 
 We'll hear thy vesper music ring. 
 
 Far o'er the deeps of mystic seas. 
 As sweet as voices of the spring. 
 
 While down life's restless stream it rolls. 
 In ebbing heart-throbs all divine. 
 
 To rift the pain of human souls. 
 
 With thrills of gladness wrought in thine. 
 
 A USUAL OCCURRENCE. 
 
 My little, bright eyed darling Am, 
 
 Now bangs the door, quick, with a slam ! 
 Then peeping, out her baby nose. 
 
 As fair as Venus in her pose; 
 She goes off dancing on the run, 
 
 Her laughing eyes so full of fun ; 
 And grabs poor puss, by head or tail. 
 
 While tripping, hopping, down the rail, 
 
 72 
 
To dump her in the washing-dish, 
 
 Shouts, Mamma! Kit swims like a fish! 
 
 Then smiling, with an artless glance, 
 
 She runs off with a wilder prance; 
 'Till frightened by Kit's maddened yawl. 
 
 As she runs swiftly round the hall, 
 Shouting, "Mamma!" "Come and see Am! 
 
 An grandpa, oo! come see the fun," 
 'Till she and Kit, falls with a slam 
 Crying, "Mamma, O, catch Kit, run!" 
 
 Mamma, quick catch Am. 
 
 Suggested by a view of the city of Appleton, and 
 the twin cities of Neenah and Menasha. 
 
 AT TWILIGHT. 
 
 It is the hour when Nature seeks repose, 
 
 Which brings to weary toilers peace and rest; 
 
 When free from cares their daily cares impose. 
 And troubled hearts, are once, if briefly, blest ; 
 
 While they beneath night's boundless fields of blue, 
 In dim forgetfulness, beat warm and true. 
 
 The nodding trees, now dozing in their sleep, 
 In drowsy slumbers to their rest betake; 
 
 While, there the sun, sinks in the bronzy deep, 
 Half pillowed in the bosom of the lake ; 
 
 And here the spires above the college domes, 
 Where busy students write their classic tomes. 
 
 Now pensive night, drives out the light of day. 
 And silv'ry clouds fling back their fading glow; 
 
 With vales and fields receding far away, 
 
 Down which, rich streams of milk and honey flow; 
 
 For here, grim want ne'er stalks about a door. 
 Nor hunger haunts, the humble, toiling poor. 
 
 Here science smiles upon the works of art ; 
 
 And knowledge thrives, for knowledge is the cause 
 Of gladness, dwelling in each freeman's heart, 
 
 73 
 
Ruled by the sway of wisdom's gracious laws; 
 
 While the dull tinkling warbling of the stream, 
 
 Makes Nature seem a sweet, delicious dream. 
 
 Industry's wheels, now rouse my thoughtful mood, 
 Where honest wage well earns its daily bread ; 
 
 While crooning songsters in the sleeping wood. 
 On tangled boughs are singing o'er my head ; 
 
 For twilight bids all creatures now rejoice. 
 While in pursuit of pleasure there by choice! 
 
 O man, who builds the fires of discontent. 
 To stir the smouldering embers of distrust, 
 
 By schemes, ambition coldly does invent. 
 To riot in its selfishness and lust 
 
 While God and Nature, both conspire 
 To fill, to him, his measure of desire. 
 
 Heaven, thy dews are freely now distilled. 
 And the surcease of goodness here now proves 
 
 For the Paternal blessings Thou hast willed ; 
 As o'er the heart, thy Holy Spirit moves; 
 
 While Nature, with a sweet resounding chord, 
 Repeats the promise of Thy Holy word ! 
 
 But hark! the medly of the night-bird lays. 
 Of crooning songsters on the passing breeze 
 
 That echo back with loud responsive praise 
 Their joj^ous music, with the fluttering leaves. 
 
 While swifter on, with deeper passions roll 
 The sweetest music of the human soul. 
 
 The lily, with its queenly costume dress'd, 
 Feigns no contempt, beside a withered rose; 
 
 Nor on the Pansey's loving lips have press'd. 
 Does it for once, a jealous look disclose; 
 
 Then why, is man with all his grace and pow'r. 
 Less, than, the greatest, or, the humblest flow'r? 
 
 The rising moon through misty vapor wades, 
 Above the glow of bright electric fires; 
 
 While, nestling in the evening bloom and shades. 
 Twin cities rise, with glist'ning, sparkling spires; 
 
 74 
 
And far, across the skies of star-lit hue, 
 Are oceans yet, of deeper, clearer, blue. 
 
 No rocks, like Scotia's breast the tumbling sea, 
 To turn it back, like beasts to find their lair; 
 
 Yet, golden harvest crowns the fruitful lea, 
 And vales and hills are more than Albion fair; 
 
 While, Freedom's temples, do, as proudly rise 
 As those that stand 'neath blue Venetian skies. 
 
 Here manhood thrives, and virtue wins reward ; 
 
 For equal justice swaj^s the cause of right. 
 With Truth and Love, the only honored ward, 
 
 Restraining wrong and giving right its might ; 
 Here long shall stand, fair Freedom's tree, 
 
 Nursed by the prayers and tears of liberty. 
 
 For there beneath yon rising burnished tow'rs, 
 The classic halls of learning proudly stand. 
 
 Where minds are taught through many weary hours 
 That Love and Truth, must rule a freeman's land ; 
 
 The rock on which our freedom first was built, 
 To break the Tyrant's blade, back to its hilt. 
 
 Tho' some vain dream, of transitory pow'r. 
 
 With its illusions, to delude the free, 
 May strike at freedom, for a briefless hour; 
 
 A still-born waif, it soon will prove to be. 
 And then, some Orpheus with his harp in hand, 
 
 Will sing the praises of his native land. 
 
 THE MEETING AT THE SPYE. 
 
 I was so stupid and bashful. 
 
 Timidly, foolish and shy, 
 I would go around the corner, 
 
 When Bessie went by the sype. 
 
 And when we met at the crossing. 
 She seemed to act strangely too, ' 
 
 Her face, as red as a Robin's, 
 And mine was crimson, I knew. 
 
 75 
 
At night when homeward we started 
 She seemed then silent and sad 
 
 Yet a smile her face would brighten, 
 As if to say she was glad. 
 
 My feet at a straw would stumble, 
 And I own I knew not why, 
 
 While I waited a moment longer 
 For her lips to say good-bye. 
 
 I stood long there in the silence 
 As I heard her sweet voice ring, 
 
 For she could sing like the angels 
 Sweeter than May-birds in spring. 
 
 Her notes rang back in the sunset, 
 On wings of the passing breeze, 
 
 Or fell, like the silvery moonbeams 
 In shades of the drowsy trees. 
 
 At noon again as I pass'd her 
 A tear then fell from her eyes 
 
 And from my troubled heart there sped, 
 The film of its false disguise. 
 
 And all day long my anxious thoughts 
 Tried to drown their inward pain 
 
 It only increased the feeling 
 For it would return again. 
 
 When next we met at the corner 
 Dark clouds hung low in the sky, 
 
 The lightning flashed bright and fiercely, 
 I knew of the danger nigh. 
 
 Running in haste to the crossing 
 To find her there by the stye, 
 
 Seemingly, then, lifeless and dead, 
 — I cried Oh, God, will she die? 
 
 Her lips were white as the lillies, 
 
 I grasped her up in alarm. 
 And her eyes seemed then to brighten 
 
 The lightning did her no harm. 
 
 76 
 
I bore her to the farmhouse 3'onder 
 
 As I pressed her lips to mine 
 While she kiss'd me back the answer 
 
 Which I answered back from mine. 
 
 The old house is still there standing 
 Where together w^e have grown old, 
 
 While weaving life's w^ebs of gladness 
 Woofed and warped with threads of gold. 
 
 I often wait at the corner 
 
 There, now to hear Bessie sing 
 
 For she can sing, like the angels. 
 Sweeter, than May-birds in spring. 
 
 HALL AND L 
 
 Hall was once a farmer's boy 
 But now he stands so high, 
 
 For he is such a gentleman 
 And pray too what am I ? 
 
 The very things I do dislike 
 
 He loves, this gentleman ! 
 And tells me of my wasted life ; 
 
 Then how, to be a man. 
 
 Hall sees the beam that's in my eye, 
 Yet far, as I have known. 
 
 He never seems to feel the mote 
 That is now in his own. 
 
 Hall draws from 'neath his satin vest 
 
 A tinseled cigarette. 
 And cries, O Tom, your life is hard 
 
 I do, old boy, regret ! 
 
 Hall likes to ride my saddle horse 
 With looks so bright, serene. 
 
 Believing that I'm so well pleased 
 He can afford to lean. 
 
 77 
 
Hall smiles to see me drink the milk 
 Though he dislikes the taste, 
 
 Then blandly swallows down the cream 
 And turns away in haste. 
 
 Hall likes to sit upon the fence, 
 
 And see me milk the cow, 
 And praises me for all the skill 
 
 I have to hold the plow. 
 
 He asks me for a ten pound note 
 
 To hold him at the Hub, 
 And kindly then he asks my vote 
 
 To help him in the club. 
 
 Yet do not think, I mean to say 
 For once that Hall is mean, 
 
 For he is such a gentleman 
 He's somehow learned to lean. 
 
 He says he'll soon be governor; 
 
 Or go to Congress sure, 
 If not he'll own half Higate street, 
 
 His titles are secure. 
 
 For Hall is such a gentleman, 
 He knows 'bout this and that, 
 
 And keeps me posted 'bout the times 
 For he lives in a flat. 
 
 Yet Hall was once a farmer's boy. 
 
 He owns it with a sigh. 
 And now he is a gentleman 
 
 But O, pray what am I ? 
 
 ONE BACKWARD STEP. 
 
 He one backward step has taken 
 How soon are more to follow, 
 
 Till thorns and thistles only, grow 
 In his neglected fallow? 
 
 78 
 
THERE IS A CHARM. 
 
 There is a charm you do possess, 
 Nor time, nor art, displaces, 
 
 Alternate, hopes and fears arise, 
 As I now view thy graces. 
 
 How vain attempts are, to disguise. 
 My sense of joy and pleasure. 
 
 Like Phoebus in his bronzy deeps, 
 With its exhaustless measure. 
 
 Erewhile, a fancied dream is dreamt, 
 That brings but pain at waking. 
 
 While every effort simply fails. 
 At all attempts offshaking! 
 
 And yet, as Phoebus's golden flame. 
 
 It is to me alluring. 
 And every impulse of my heart. 
 
 But makes it more enduring. 
 
 ELSINORE. 
 
 Rise, O troubled heart and listen 
 
 To the voice of Elsinore, 
 In the drowsy midnight speaking 
 
 Evermore and evermore. 
 
 Dark as Hebe my life is clouded 
 Now with sorrow, Elsinore, 
 
 For thou art now unforgotten. 
 Nor to be here, nevermore. 
 
 Toss'd on grief's wild breaking billows, 
 
 Waiting for thee evermore. 
 With my weird and wizard fancies 
 
 That roll on from shore to shore. 
 
 Pleading with imploring gesture. 
 
 Now to see thee, Elsinore, 
 As the darkness gathers darker 
 
 Bound me now, and evermore. 
 
 79 
 
Rift the veil now intervening 
 Here between us, Elsinore, 
 
 For the shifting shadows gather, 
 As they never did before. 
 
 Bove the vesper whispers calling 
 As I hear thee, Elsinore, 
 
 In the mystic gloaming darkness. 
 Now forever, ever, more. 
 
 That with thee I may awaken 
 From my grief, I now implore, 
 
 With no darkness intervening. 
 Then, between us, Elsinore. 
 
 Cleave away the closing vapors 
 From thy face, dear Elsinore, 
 
 Let the mystic midnight vanish 
 From between us, Elsinore. 
 
 WHY DID YOU WAKE ME, DARLING? 
 To Hattie. 
 
 O, why did you wake me, darling? 
 
 I thought I was over there 
 And the faces round me smiling 
 
 Were to me divinely fair. 
 
 Yet I know you would not, darling, 
 Have wakened me from my rest; 
 
 If you'd known that I was, darling. 
 With her whom we all love best. 
 
 Yes, why did you wake me, darling. 
 They had raiments white as snow; 
 
 Yet why should I blame you, darling? 
 For I know you did not know. 
 
 Oh! why did 5^ou wake me, darling, 
 
 I thought I was over there. 
 With your mother with me, darling. 
 
 Standing by her vacant chair. 
 
 80 
 
But why should I blame you, darling? 
 When I know you did not know 
 She was there beside me, smiling. 
 With her raiments white as snow. 
 
 No, I will -not blame you, darling. 
 Though I was then over there, 
 
 She w^ill soon again be smiling. 
 By me in my old arm chair. 
 
 If you find me sleeping, darling. 
 
 Do not disturb my chair. 
 Let me keep on sleeping, darling, 
 
 You will know she's with me there. 
 
 ON THE SNOW CRESTED HILL. 
 
 Yon bleak snow- crested hill, 
 
 So lonely lies, in a silent rest. 
 Wrapped with its mantle, cold and still; 
 
 Around its crest. 
 
 Hid there from light of day. 
 
 Where no wandering dirges rambling by 
 Can on her drowsy slumbers prey. 
 
 Or cause a sigh. 
 
 She 'neath the waning moon. 
 
 There sleeps, tenant of a dead love lost ; 
 Before the close of life's bright noon. 
 
 She scarce had cross'd. 
 
 The stars may shine serene. 
 
 From temples 'bove her sepulter'd brow; 
 And chasing winds the hills careen, 
 
 As they may now. 
 
 Spring's misty vapors, dank, 
 
 May wake again the sleeping bowers ; 
 And crown once more their fretting bank, 
 
 With bloom and flowers. 
 
 81 
 
The sunshine melts its snows, 
 
 Chasing echoes' echo down thy sides; 
 
 Or hide away in mute repose, 
 As chance decides. 
 
 No more as in the past, 
 
 With thee, my loitering steps invade; 
 Tho' soft be there, the breeze or blast, 
 
 Thro' thy lone shade. 
 
 This tear-kiss'd clover leaf, 
 
 The one memento, press'd now to my heart; 
 As a dear sacred treasured sheaf. 
 
 We will not part. 
 
 It was Heaven's decree. 
 
 Thru all these sad years now floating by ; 
 That I in grief should turn to thee. 
 
 Where thou dos't lie. 
 
 But soon, ere-while, some morn, 
 
 Without the plaint of long dead years; 
 
 They'll lay me here beneath the thorn, 
 Reft of my tears. 
 
 'Till we shall hear the voice, 
 
 Re-echo, sweetly, down the hill and shore ; 
 Awake, and gladly now rejoice! 
 
 Forevermore. 
 
 WHY OWN TO DISCONTENT. 
 
 Why should I own to discontent, 
 If this be but my monument: 
 These simple lines to fade away. 
 As drifting dust or mould or clay. 
 In which no one a thought will trace, 
 Or genius find a resting place; 
 But turn from it with scorn or ire, 
 Unconscious of my soul's desire. 
 While toiling on, with fear and hope, 
 As clamb'ring up with pain the slope ; 
 
 82 
 
Where brighter genius holding sway, 
 Outreaching far my steps today. 
 
 I see high on Parnassus' brow, 
 The golden sheaves there, shining now, 
 Thru rustling banks of waving trees. 
 That flutter softly in the breeze, 
 Above my lonely hermitage, 
 Beclouding now, each line and page ; 
 Down from their high veiled battlement, 
 Whose winding pathway, time has rent. 
 O'er which I hear the shambling tread. 
 Of those whom now, the pathway thread. 
 By echoes of their weary feet, 
 Which rings me back a slow retreat. 
 
 'Twere better in the foremost rank. 
 To perish where a hero sank. 
 For, less to earth the soul would cling. 
 With freedom for its tireless wing, 
 Than live with my one moon-lit ray, 
 That fades before effulgent day: 
 Or faintly lights its dark abode. 
 As up and down life's stream it row'd ; 
 Yet why, my heart be thus beguiled. 
 If fate indignant on it smiled. 
 Because it failed to gain the prize, 
 Why should it fate and God despise? 
 
 If with my one imprisoned ray, 
 I can fame's temple now survey, 
 It poorly does assuage the woe. 
 While standing here, so far below, 
 And gazing at its golden crest ; 
 So far away from its sweet rest, 
 Imprisoned as in legends old, 
 Chained to the rock, in a damp hold, 
 I still am glad that I can hear. 
 One tender note of love to cheer, 
 If thus we stand so far apart ; 
 It brings some joy now to my heart. 
 
 83 
 
NOTHING, NOTHING MORE. 
 
 Unknown voices from the aarkness, 
 Asking in my dream of gladness, 
 Why keep writing reams of nonsense; 
 
 Nothing more, no nothing more. 
 As I listened to the statement, 
 That they sang without abatement, 
 And I found to my amazement, 
 
 It was nothing, nothing more. 
 
 Then I pondered, pondered sadly, 
 
 Tho' I own 'twas sometimes madly, 
 
 As I gave to it no credence. 
 
 Yet, it answered more and more. 
 
 That my heart had been so foolish, 
 
 With a habit all so mulish. 
 
 Yet I own it may be selfish. 
 
 To own that my heart was sore 
 If 'twas nonsence to the core, 
 Nothing more, yes, nothing more. 
 
 Then despite the whispered rancor, 
 I felt in my soul an anchor. 
 Maddened by this evil censor. 
 
 For 'twas what the spirit told me. 
 If it had so badly sold me. 
 Wrecked me on a barren shore, 
 Still I will write the more and more, 
 If 'twas nonsense, nothing more, 
 Tho' they sang it o'er and o'er. 
 
 Yet I own it brings me sadness, 
 If in writing it brought gladness. 
 
 Sometimes to my empty door. 
 
 When my heart was sick and sore ; 
 If with sadness now I own it, 
 'Twould be sadder to disown it, 
 
 For I wrote as God had taught me, 
 
 If it has so basely sold me. 
 This alone and nothing more. 
 
 84 
 
THE FRIEND WHO LAUGHS. 
 
 The friend whose laugh will make me lauiih 
 
 Is one whom I would keep ; 
 His smile brings to my heart such joy, 
 
 'Tho weeping when I weep. 
 
 He is to me like summer show'rs, 
 
 Whose sparkling drops distill 
 The sweetest fragrance from the flow'rs 
 
 For me to breathe at will. 
 
 His heart is full of joy and mirth, 
 From fountains wide and deep, 
 
 It fills my own with nameless cheer, 
 'Tho weeping when I weep. 
 
 THE WIDOWS OF BOER-LAND. 
 
 The widows of Boer-land may weep and may mourn, 
 For her dead and her dying by anguish now torn, 
 While their hamlets are flooded with crimson and gore, 
 As arms of the Britons dismantled their shore. 
 
 The cries of their children have crossed o'er the seas. 
 While freemen lie bleeding and faint on their knees; 
 The Britons, with trappings of silver and gold, 
 Are burning their homesteads and robbing the fold. 
 
 The wails of the dying ring out on the air, 
 And the hearts of her yoeman are wrung with despair. 
 For the Sea-lion, clothed in his mantle of mail. 
 Grows bold and defiant, to freedom assail. 
 
 Now millions are watching, with anger and hate. 
 This brutal assault upon freedom and state. 
 And blood-boiling passions are burning aflame. 
 To crush out the Briton, his wTongs and his shame. 
 
 Like the dead leaves of Autumn, which carpet the ground, 
 O'er the graves of the dead, so frequently found. 
 Where gathered their children, were murdered or died, 
 To slake the cursed lust of a vile Briton's pride. 
 
 85 
 
The world mutel)^ standing aghast at their deeds, 
 Refuses assistance to the Boer in his needs, 
 Is a partner in crime, that its peace will destroy, 
 And leave it unworthy to freedom enjoy. 
 
 O, Weep, Albion, Weep! quick down on thy knees, 
 Avengers will gather upon thy wild seas. 
 And spread desolation, o'er mountains and moors. 
 As cruel and lieartless as thine to the Boers. 
 
 TO WHOM SHALL I MY HOMAGE PAY. 
 
 To whom shall I my homage pay 
 For pleasures I have had today? 
 
 I love to rollick oft with Burns 
 
 Along the Ayr, and hills, and tarns. 
 
 With joy I hie away with Scott, 
 
 Where Scotland's sturdy warriors fought; 
 
 From craik-cross to Skilfhill Pen, 
 By everj^ rill and every fen. 
 
 There's Moore, too, with his Irish lore. 
 In classic lines of endless store. 
 
 As charming as a maiden's sm.ile. 
 
 To fill my heart with cheer the while. 
 
 Too, Adison and Pope impart. 
 
 With polished sentences of art, 
 A sense of beauty to inspire 
 
 My drowsy thoughts with new desire. 
 
 With Tennyson I often row 
 
 Adown his placid streams which flow. 
 
 By graceful vales and rocky shore, 
 
 Where England's lords have strolled before. 
 
 Longfellow, with his magic pow'r. 
 
 Brings gladness with his "Children's Hour," 
 
 And sanctifies a good-night's kiss. 
 
 For world's no loving heart would miss. 
 
 86 
 
Hemans Baer, and Ingelow, 
 
 With crystal rills of sweetness flow ; 
 
 Too, Goethe from his lofty tower 
 
 Charms and awes me with his pow'r. 
 
 And Milton, with his laj^s sublime, 
 With Pollok in his course of time. 
 
 While Emerson's profounder song 
 I wait to listen gladly long. 
 
 There, too, is Mrs. Annie Lee, 
 
 With waifs flung on life's troubled sea. 
 
 That ring with a sweet, thrilling tone, 
 Appollo's lyre would not disown. 
 
 There's Chatterton, whose youthful heart 
 Was born with genius' wand of art, — 
 
 And Whittier, like a summer breeze. 
 
 With Bryant nature's God would please. 
 
 And Byron, with exhaustless art. 
 
 With far more than a lordling's heart ; 
 
 And gray with his imperial lyre 
 
 That may dead lips with life inspire. 
 
 Ah! then, with all these jewels set. 
 And others, too, I may have met, 
 
 To whom should I my homage pay 
 For pleasures I have had today? 
 
 COLUMBIA. 
 
 My country, my country, though dark clouds may gather 
 Around thee with fury to darken thy sky, 
 
 Thy emblem of freedom shall live on forever. 
 Its records of glory are written on high. 
 
 Thy Puritan fathers have planted its banner. 
 
 Forever o'er freeman to loyally wave, 
 And proudly their children, on mountain and manor. 
 
 Have made it, the home of the free and the brave. 
 
 87 
 
Thy deep love of freedom, with honor and glory, 
 Have crowned thee as mistress of land and the sea; 
 
 While thy homes of gladness, known long in story, 
 A refuge of safety to all now is free. 
 
 My country how worthy of greatness thy name. 
 Peace be to thy bosom and glad be its thrill ; 
 
 Not spurred on by passion, thy freedom to shame. 
 Striving with blessings all hearts to fill. 
 
 May harps, warmed by freedom, more worthy than mine. 
 Sing long of thy greatness, thy glory and worth ; 
 
 Till the stars in thy banner more bright and divine. 
 
 Shall shine with new splendor, unknown at its birth. 
 
 Till deserts shall bloom with the freshness of Eden 
 From the Rhynes sunny waters to the homes of the 
 Boer, 
 
 From Finland's ice regions to gateways of Aden, 
 With glory to lighten the dusky Tim.or. 
 
 While more brilliant may glow the flame at its fountain. 
 Endearing thy people to freedom and home, 
 
 Where liberty reigns over valley and mountain. 
 The bequest of our fathers for ages to come. 
 
 Unswayed by ambition's devastating pow'r. 
 
 Or pride that will lessen thy glory and fame, — 
 
 Thou art now" for freedom, its only one, bow'r, 
 And chief of the nations, the crown of thv name. 
 
 A CALM . 
 
 There is a calm for every sea, 
 A charm for every heart, 
 
 A joy that is, or is to be. 
 That will new joys impart. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Hope is like the rising sun. 
 Shining and ever for aye, 
 
 Building up joys for tomorrow, 
 On the losses of today. 
 
 88 
 
HOPES. 
 
 Don't hang your hopes on follies' horn 
 
 Nor with it once conspire, 
 'Twould plant a thorn within your heart 
 
 And crush its best desire. 
 
 AMBITION. 
 
 Let not ambition e'er dissuade 
 
 You from the right, 
 However great the promise made 
 
 For right has might. 
 
 FAME. 
 
 Fame, here, like wind-harps, often fail 
 With every changing breeze, 
 
 And leaves you with an empty sail 
 On dark rough billow'd seas. 
 
 SUGGESTED BY READING AN ANNONY 
 MOUS POEM. 
 
 The author of these charming lines, 
 
 Enthused with Parnassian fire. 
 Must have dwelt in poetic shrines 
 
 Thus to here his soul inspire. 
 
 Or if nursed in life's angry storms 
 He saw inscribed upon his name. 
 
 Entwined with bright celestial forms 
 Wreathed with royal wreaths of fame. 
 
 Unknow^n, and yet forever known 
 
 As one here of royal birth, 
 A peer upon a peerless throne, 
 
 Known by his immortal worth. 
 
 89 
 
The winds' fleet wings must lit, 
 Up his clear radium sight, 
 
 Rich with its wealth of inborn wit. 
 In its rapture of delight. 
 
 I'VE A CLOISTER. 
 
 I've a cloister grandly gilded 
 
 Though I have no stately home 
 In the endless fields of reason 
 
 Where with freedom I may roam. 
 I have halls superbly fashioned 
 
 With the garniture of love, 
 Springing out of Nature's bosom 
 
 All around me and above. 
 
 I have fountains by me flowing 
 
 Flowers glinting in the dews, 
 On the hills with beauty glowing 
 
 Dressed with Nature's wondrous hues. 
 I have pleasures, if they're humble, 
 
 Which the great may well desire; 
 And I find sweet themes of study 
 
 In the thoughts which they inspire. 
 
 I have true and fond companions 
 
 Tho' I seem to be alone; 
 In the winds I hear their voices 
 
 Coming from the great unknown; 
 And they linger round my pathway 
 
 As I feast on Nature's bloom. 
 Gazing, oft in silent wonder. 
 
 At the vastness of my room. 
 
 I have friendships, sacred friendships. 
 
 That for worlds I would not lose; 
 Friends that meet me in my study 
 
 As in silence there I muse. 
 Yet, they are so kind and gentle. 
 
 Looking with such loving eyes; 
 That the pleasures which they render 
 
 Make my life a paradise. 
 
 90 
 
THE BIRTH OF CHRIST. 
 
 Bathed in the gold and purple, 
 
 That fell upon the plain, 
 Where the Lamb of God was sleeping, 
 
 In his rude manger lain. 
 
 A star the shepherds greeting, 
 
 With its celestial ray, 
 While angel throngs were watching, 
 
 Beside it uhere it lay. 
 
 Thus dawned the Christmas morning, 
 
 The holy child was born, 
 To live a life of sorrow, 
 
 And wear a crown of thorn. 
 
 While back and forth to Heaven, 
 
 The Angel foot-steps ran. 
 With a loud chorus ringing, 
 
 "Good will on earth to man." 
 
 Tho' errors useless vollies. 
 
 Send forth their cry afar; 
 Good will to man forever. 
 
 Re-echoes from the star. 
 
 And joy and gladness answer. 
 
 The living, sweet refrain 
 With Heav'n and earth rejoicing. 
 
 That Christmas comes again. 
 
 BRITANIA WEEP. 
 
 Weep, Britania, Weep! at freedom's fall; 
 
 The nation's last and worst disgrace. 
 That does a waiting world appall. 
 
 And all thy glorious deeds efface.. 
 
 Why hast thou soiled thy royal name ; 
 
 The heritage thy fathers left. 
 To brand thee with indignant shame, 
 
 At sacrifice of their bequest. 
 
 91 
 
Weep now! Oh, weep! repentent tears, 
 That Heaven cast on thee its smiles. 
 
 And stay the woe-besetting fears, 
 
 Which gather round thy sea-girth isles. 
 
 If acts of thine can wash away, 
 The bloody records of thy crime ; 
 
 Oh, haste! Haste, now! without delay. 
 While God in mercy gives thee time. 
 
 Is Boer-lands' dread embittered fate, 
 A monument of thy base pow'r; 
 
 Encircled by the chains of fate, 
 
 Is their sad doom, to be thy dow'r? 
 
 "The mills of God, may slowly grind," 
 Yet surely will their crushing wheels, 
 
 Break down thy tyrant hordes now blind, 
 And hissing serpents bite their heels. 
 
 Too well you know, that it was won 
 
 Here by another's toil; 
 And idle drones will spend thy gains, 
 
 When thou hast changed to soil. 
 
 Oh ! thou, poor, haughty dupe enthroned, 
 
 By armed oppressive pow'r; 
 No hand will wash thy crime away, 
 
 Nor gladness be thy dow'r. 
 
 The suppliant kneeling at thy feet, 
 
 May be a genius born ; 
 Yet, vestured with his poverty. 
 
 Thou wilt his manhood scorn ! 
 
 For which no gold of thine can pay, 
 
 For he is wise and true ; 
 The God of Nature made him thus. 
 
 Nor God, nor man can you. 
 
 Christ was God's chosen man of earth, 
 
 Envolved by truth and love, 
 Canst thou, poor mortal, change the will 
 
 Of Him who reigns above? 
 
 92 
 
DEAR ZELL. 
 
 I would, Ah, yes! I would, dear Zell 
 Drink of the sunshine in thine eyes 
 
 E'er softly falling from their liquid shell 
 As dews fall from the summer skies. 
 
 I would. Ah! yes, I would, dear Zell! 
 
 Catch the sweet incense of thy breath 
 So perfumed in its liquid well 
 
 It never can, here, taste of death. 
 
 I'd fold thee to my heart, dear Zell, 
 
 With grasp of everlasting joy 
 Enamored with thy holy spell 
 
 That death itself could not destroy. 
 
 Ah, yes! I would, I would, dear Zell 
 List to the murmurs of thy voice 
 
 Enchanting as its whispers fell 
 
 While my glad heart would then rejoice. 
 
 Thy sacred name is Truth, dear Zell, 
 
 Lit with infinitude of beams 
 Within whose rays I'd love to dwell, 
 
 And share the solace of thv dreams. 
 
 THE COTTAGE BY THE SEA. 
 
 Ah, me! how well I now can see. 
 The low roofed cottage by the sea; 
 There with its white-sand covered floor, 
 And rose-vine wreathe above the door. 
 The hay-ricks and the barn and sheds. 
 The trees, the bloom and flower beds, 
 The bridge, with arch and cross-beams stay'd. 
 Where oft in childhood I have played. 
 There is the orchard, on the hill. 
 Whose lucious fruit, I taste it still! 
 While in the brook, the sporting trout. 
 From mongst the rocks keep darting out. 
 Ah me! how plain, tonight, they seem, 
 
 93 
 
The fields, the hills, the rocks and stream; 
 
 The loom, the bars, the spool and reel, 
 
 The web, the quills and spinning wheel, 
 
 Are standing there for me today, 
 
 As plain as if 'twere yesterday. 
 
 With singing of the foaming surf, 
 
 That breaks against the briny turf. 
 
 The sea-bird's wild and broken lay. 
 
 That echoes down the shore and bay; 
 
 The twilight and the later eve. 
 
 With the sweet face of Genevieve, 
 
 Whose rosy cheeks and laughing eyes. 
 
 Were bluer than her eastern skies; 
 
 While other faces quite as fair, 
 
 Are ever smiling by me there, 
 
 As sleepless on my pillow toss'd. 
 
 Or dreaming, I the Bridge have cross'd. 
 
 But, Oh, Ah me! how sweet the hours. 
 
 Which bring me back the fields and flow'rs, 
 
 As up the hill again I climb. 
 
 Or sitting 'neath the beech and lime. 
 
 In hope-land there, with Genevieve, 
 
 The golden webs of fancy weave. 
 
 That do to me such pleasure give, 
 
 As o'er again the same I live. 
 
 If wide awake, or in my drearns. 
 
 The same old gladness comes, it seems; 
 
 As swift in flight and still its flow. 
 
 As in the old-time long ago. 
 
 AT CLOSE OF DAY. 
 
 I love in silence then alone 
 
 When waning sunlight hides away, 
 To wrap with curtains of the night 
 
 The golden mist of fading day. 
 
 When Katy-dids in mossy cells 
 Awake to sense my drowsy ear, 
 
 While softer notes of nightingales 
 Ring in the leafy branches near. 
 
 94 
 
To seek in quiet solitude 
 
 As tender mem'ries rise and fall, 
 
 With feelings of exalted praise, 
 Of nature's flow'r embosomed hall. 
 
 Nature calmly is at rest, 
 
 And in unbroken slumbers sleeps ; 
 
 When lightly o'er the shaded way 
 
 The night-dews' fragrance sweetness weeps. 
 
 While as I pass with listless step 
 
 May rouse with rev-ries whispered sigh, 
 
 Some sleeping tenant of the grove 
 I've wakened by my passing by. 
 
 Till dazzling mist with less'ning flame 
 Have lost their tints of crimson hue ; 
 
 Or if perchance one lingering ray 
 Remains across the star-lit blue. 
 
 I turn reluctant with a tear 
 
 On life's unfathomed ways to weep 
 
 Till weary nature claims the rest 
 I find in sweet refreshing sleep. 
 
 While, too, the tenants of the grove 
 By that same wise creator taught. 
 
 Have hushed their piping songs of praise 
 In that same rest which I have sought. 
 
 INFATUATION. 
 
 He reveled in Eastalian dews. 
 
 That 'round AppoUos' temples fell, 
 
 And with vain glory charmed the while. 
 On visions of their Orphean spell. 
 
 He on Helicon's summit stood. 
 
 And from Hippocrene fountains drank, 
 
 'Till drunken by Parnassian wine. 
 Into its rocky stream he sank. 
 
 95 
 
He listened to Euphrosynus' harp, 
 And worshipped at her fabled shrine, 
 
 For inspiration to his muse. 
 
 To write, if one, immortal line. 
 
 Like Psyche's charms, to cupid's heart. 
 Still dearer grew its treach'rous flame. 
 
 Perchance as Venus, most, inglorious part. 
 To bring dishonor to his name. 
 
 Parnassian rocks oft filled his way. 
 
 And oft his inspiration blast, 
 While o'er Helicon's distant brow 
 
 Were darker shadows deeply cast. 
 
 Yet still he loved Helicon wine. 
 
 When brewed there by AppoUo's art. 
 
 And often listened to its muse. 
 
 To hush the dreamings of his heart. 
 
 He often roved in Delphian shades 
 To revel with this rambling shrew. 
 
 With his Pegassus by his side 
 
 And drink the sweet Castilian dew. 
 
 A THOUGHT. 
 
 Nor would he for this phantom sprite 
 
 To waste of genius ever own, 
 And chas'd its phosphorescent flame 
 
 O'er mountain, moor, and marsh unknown. 
 
 TO A FLOWER. 
 
 Sweet little dainty fragrant flow'r 
 
 With perfume free. 
 What have I left in life to love 
 
 But her and thee. 
 
 If now she sleeps within the grave 
 
 Her form I view. 
 Then whom on earth have I to love 
 
 But her and you? 
 
 96 
 
Thy perfume fills my lonely room 
 
 With more than myrrh, 
 What then is left for me to love 
 
 Save thou and her! 
 
 The sun may revel with thy leaves 
 
 The breezes stir, 
 What is there more that I should love, 
 
 Than thou and her. 
 
 Thy fragrance, charms my roaming sense. 
 
 From bud and burr. 
 Yes, all that's left in life to love, 
 
 Is thou and her. 
 
 The storms may beat the winds may blow 
 
 O'er her asleep, 
 Yet by thy rustling leaves in gloom, 
 
 I'll sit and weep. 
 
 The night's soft dews thy lips may kiss 
 
 And stars above, 
 Will look down with their twinkling eyes. 
 
 On her I love. 
 
 Yon wandering moon will o'er her shine 
 
 With its pale light. 
 But thou and her wilt still be mine. 
 
 Both day and night. 
 
 TO HATTIE. 
 
 Pray come to me, dear Hattie now, 
 
 And promise me today, 
 You'll lay these old things safely by. 
 
 When I have gone away. 
 
 I know how worthless they may seem, 
 These old things then to thee 
 
 And that your heart will never know, 
 How dear they are to me. 
 
 That dear old book, with its worn leaves, 
 
 97 
 
Long years ago, may be, 
 A gift from one I dearly loved, 
 And still so dear to me. 
 
 Yes! and that faded lock of hair, 
 
 The breezes toss'd so free. 
 Was cleft from her fair golden head. 
 
 And is, so dear to me. 
 
 That tarnished necklace, once was worn, 
 
 By her whom now I see, 
 And if 'tis brown'd with dust and mould, 
 
 A dear old thing to me. 
 
 And these old gloves, O ! am I blind, 
 
 Dear Hattie, can you see? 
 They once enclosed her living hands. 
 
 And are so dear to me. 
 
 Oh ! there's the cuf^s she once has worn ; 
 
 Long years ago, may be, 
 Tho' fading fast away to dust. 
 
 They are now dear to me. 
 
 And there too, Hattie, is her old shoes, 
 Fve seen them dance with glee! 
 
 Tho' if perchance long years ago. 
 They are still dear to me. 
 
 And yet, I fear some day ere long, 
 
 A blaze will brightly shine. 
 When they will burn these old things up. 
 
 These dear old things of mine. 
 
 But pray! remember, Hattie dear! 
 
 When these old things j^ou see, 
 They seem to cheer a broken heart. 
 
 And were once dear to me. 
 
 98 
 
SHE SINGS WITH THE STARS TONIGHT. 
 
 She sings with the stars tonight, 
 
 To me from some world unknown, 
 Rung down on a wireless 'phone, 
 
 And rings in my heart tonight. 
 
 She sings with the stars tonight, 
 
 Not out of the silent grave, 
 
 It rings on an ether wave, 
 And gladdens my heart tonight. 
 
 She sings with the stars tonight, 
 With notes of her Heavenly Lyre 
 For me to my soul inspire 
 
 And rings in my heart tonight. 
 
 Yes, she sings for me tonight. 
 
 Away in some world afar, 
 
 It may be in yon shining star 
 To gladden my heart tonight. 
 
 TO ELIZA. 
 
 Thy treasured gift, to me's the pledge, 
 The love I feel, thou too must share, 
 
 I'll fold it firmly to my heart, 
 
 As if thou wert now resting there. 
 
 Though time its wasting mark may make. 
 Along the changing course of j^ears, 
 
 I'll treasure it, now for thy sake. 
 If it should often bring me tears. 
 
 'Twill be to me as twilight dews. 
 
 That fall upon the leaves of flow'rs; 
 
 'Twill drive the gathering gloom away. 
 That else might haunt my weary hours. 
 
 No treasure ever will appear. 
 As sacred to my heart as this. 
 
 For 'twnll renew the friendship past 
 With thee, whom I so much will miss. 
 
 99 
 
'Twill not be like the morning stars, 
 Which hide away from brighter rays; 
 
 Or wait for darkness to return, 
 
 Ere one can see their dazzling blaze. 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 How many and many, a bygone year. 
 Upon the mountain now so bright and green, 
 The dead and dying leafllets I have seen, 
 Wove by the alchemy of Nature's arts, 
 With rifts of sunshine, and the fretting frost 
 Bringing with it gladness to human hearts. 
 As on the season's changes came and cross'd. 
 When life was born, and too, was quickly lost. 
 
 Lost, in the vortex deep of wasting time. 
 Which gathers up the ages as they pass. 
 To wait the gladness of the Heav'nly clime, 
 Bej^ond death's reach, across the sea of glass. 
 Where warring passions have no ceaseless strife. 
 To mar the joys of an eternal life. 
 
 TO MRS. HANNAH BARNUM. 
 
 Dear friend of my boyhood, how welcome thy greeting. 
 
 Renewing old friendships I cannot forget, 
 Awakening with fervor the deepest emotion 
 
 Whose heyday of sunshine forever has set. 
 Repeating with fondness the days of our childhood 
 
 Inwoven with mem'ries that round me now twine 
 Awakening from silence the sweet recollections 
 
 Endeared to my heart if forgotten in thine. 
 
 Let thine be the welcome while I share the gladness 
 
 That comes from thy greeting and friendship alone, 
 
 To live in my heart and never forgotten 
 
 A gladness I'll cherish as something my own 
 
 Which every note of my Harp will awaken 
 
 100 
 
With mem'ries of joy that they will inspire, 
 Stronger than friendship, if true and unshaken 
 
 To quicken with gladness my song and my lyre. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. MATE CURTIS- 
 CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 This tribute now from me is due. 
 
 To lay upon thy resting place. 
 Although no offering can renew 
 
 Or add one virtue to thy grace. 
 
 Each morn, some foot-step here may bring, 
 A new sad off'ring to thy worth. 
 
 Yet no singer here can sing, 
 
 Or call thee back again to earth. 
 
 Thy lips that once so sweetly sang, 
 Are silent 'neath thy moldering bier. 
 
 Yet whispers of thy soul are rang 
 To greet my off'ring of a tear. 
 
 Dear child, I often miss thy smile, 
 Illumed with love's enchanting pow'r. 
 
 Yet seems to smile for me the while. 
 At morn or mid-night's darkest hour. 
 
 Its beams repress my sorrows here. 
 And all thy wealth of love recalls, 
 
 While if for thee there falls a tear. 
 Relieves my grief, as here it falls. 
 
 GOD'S RADIUM LIGHT. 
 
 As I loiter long the pathway. 
 Of the swift departing years. 
 
 Looking back upon the midway, 
 As thy radium light appears, 
 
 While I drink again the fruitage 
 Of their gladness or their tears. 
 
 101 
 
O, what phantom forms there rises, 
 In the shadows falling there, 
 
 Brightend with their sweet surmises. 
 Or darkened with a dread despair! 
 
 As I stand here wistfull gazing 
 At the mem'ries gathered there. 
 
 Happy years still unforgotten, 
 Passing in their speeding flight, 
 
 With the loved ones there begotten. 
 In the rapture of my sight. 
 
 Greeting those I still remember 
 In my fullness of delight. 
 
 God of Heaven, now I thank Thee, 
 That we oft may gather there, 
 
 Though these earthly forms, it may be. 
 Never of their gladness share. 
 
 Yet the spirits thou hast given, 
 Will forever gather there. 
 
 THE POWER OF THOUGHT. 
 
 Ten thousand thoughts cannot dethrone the mind, 
 And yet one thought can make ten thousand blind. 
 Or stay its known expansive power 
 As frost will kill a garden flower. 
 
 CLINTON CURTIS IN THE ROCKY MOUN- 
 TAINS, READING A LETTER FROM 
 HIS MOTHER, MRS. G. L. CURTIS. 
 
 Here's a letter from my mother. 
 
 See her tear drops on the lines. 
 For she's weeping for me, boys, 
 
 No^v here with you, in the mines. 
 
 She's standing by the window boys, 
 Near my picture on the wall, 
 
 102 
 
Where she ever waits at sunset, 
 There to hear my footsteps fall. 
 
 Yes, she's by the window, gazing, 
 Far off to the golden west, 
 
 By my vacant chair, now waiting. 
 For me boys, to come and rest. 
 
 I will go home tomorrow, boys, 
 For I hear my mother's call, 
 
 As she's waiting by the window, 
 Now to hear my footsteps fall. 
 
 Hark, I hear my mother calling. 
 With her loving lips so true, 
 
 And I'll go home tomorrow, boys, 
 Where, I'll often think of you. 
 
 TO MYRTLE. 
 
 Sweet beauty graced her childish face 
 
 With fascinating wiles. 
 So charming was the artless grace 
 
 Of her entrancing smiles. 
 
 Her eyes were bright as sparkling pearls, 
 With beams of youthful health 
 
 And crowned with rolls of tangled curls 
 Of beauty's priceless wealth. 
 
 Her lips were sweet as honey dews. 
 
 Or perfume of the flow'rs. 
 The music of her infant muse 
 
 Rang with its rythmic pow'rs. 
 
 Her voice was like a sweet toned lute. 
 
 Tuned by her childish will. 
 And softer than a shepherd's flute, 
 
 Or singing whippoorwill. 
 
 103 
 
NELL ! 
 
 Nell, I'm standing in the twi-light, 
 
 And I'm thinking now of you, 
 When here thru these leafless branches, 
 
 The warm summer breezes blew. 
 And I'm looking over yonder. 
 
 At the old house on the hill. 
 Where we've often stood together. 
 
 And the roses blossom still. 
 
 But the trellis is now broken. 
 
 Where the climbing roses grew. 
 And the rustic seat is vacant 
 
 Where I've often sat with you. 
 When your tossing, tangled ringlets 
 
 Floated softly in the air. 
 And I turn now to the sun-set. 
 
 For no smiling face is there. 
 
 And I hear no more the laughter 
 
 Of thy ringing childish voice. 
 While wondering if its music 
 
 Makes some other heart rejoice. 
 Is thy face as fair and lovely. 
 
 In the sun-set's golden glow. 
 As when we were there together 
 
 In the long, long years ago? 
 
 Now, I'm gazing at the trellis. 
 
 With its broken, loosened bars. 
 And I ask if in the distance. 
 
 Now beneath the shining stars. 
 If, too, you may be there thinking 
 
 Of the old-time cottage still, 
 And the playmate once there with you 
 
 By that broken window sill. 
 
 And I wonder, from thine eye-lids. 
 If there falls a trembling tear. 
 
 To the mem'ry of the cottage 
 
 And the school-mate standing here, 
 
 Or has time its frosts of silver 
 
 104 
 
Flung across your girlish brow, 
 And your cheeks are wan and faded 
 As thy playmates are here now? 
 
 Then the shadows seem to brighten 
 
 As the twi-light disappears, 
 And old rriem'ries come to gladden 
 
 Up the mystic wake of years. 
 As I listen to thy laughter. 
 
 Echoed down the lapse of time, 
 And the air again is freighted 
 
 With the roses and the thyme! 
 
 All the romances of childhood 
 
 Are now rushing back to me, 
 While I grasp thy hand if absent, 
 
 With a wild and boyish glee. 
 For the fragrance of the roses 
 
 Is now mingling with the breeze, 
 And I see you out there standing 
 
 In the twilight 'mongst the trees. 
 
 AT PLYMOUTH IN 1852. 
 
 It was to this inhospitable shore 
 
 Chilled by the breath of bleak December's blast 
 The Mayflower, once our lone forefathers bore, 
 
 And to the deep, her trembling anchors cast. 
 
 Here womanhood, not with her courtly train. 
 For God and freedom dared a Pilgrim's lot, 
 
 Across the billows of the trackless main 
 
 For which by faith in these lone wilds they sought. 
 
 No murmuring sounds of forlorn hopes were heard, 
 They sought protection through their faith in God, 
 
 Gainst maddened waves, the wintry winds had stirred, 
 While kneeling here upon the frozen sod. 
 
 Their shivvering barque, its sacred burdens bore, 
 
 Through storms, and blasts, that then so coldly blew, 
 
 105 
 
Till in the forest, on this rocky shore, 
 
 They built the homes, here for their famished crew. 
 
 No Lordlings were in their ancestral line, 
 
 Nor the presence of an ignoble slave, 
 Theirs was true manhood, loyal and divine, 
 
 The birthright of the noble, and the brave. 
 
 We now the grandeur of their works survey, 
 
 Built above their inanimated dust, 
 From ocean on, to ocean far away. 
 
 Our heritage of freedom left in trust. • 
 
 Hail, to these early wanderers of the main, 
 That gave freedom its consecrated throne, 
 
 And made immortal this historic fane 
 With tireless toil, upon its corner-stone. 
 
 Here oft a treasured relic still remains 
 
 That has the waste, and wear of time withstood 
 While far across the hills and dotted plains. 
 Their trophies rise, beyond yon leafy wood. 
 
 Their legends the lapse of time have gathered here. 
 Are deeply carVed upon these ancient rocks. 
 
 They gave to freedom all they had a tear. 
 Today, the earth and ocean interlocks. 
 
 We bow with reverence to that heroic band 
 
 Whose toils and sufferings made the new world free, 
 
 And planted firmly on this iron strand 
 The cherished, sacred, tree of liberty. 
 
 TO A BLADE OF GRASS. 
 
 Thou little blade of tender grass 
 
 Thy tiny head upholding. 
 What are the vital sparks of life 
 
 Thy hidden spines unfolding? 
 
 How dost thou paint with shades of green. 
 Thy glossy tinseled vesture? 
 
 106 
 
Wove with the rosy beams of light 
 That twinkles in each jesture. 
 
 Dost thou drink of delicious dews 
 
 To feed thy hungry fibers? 
 While unseen artists etch the lines 
 
 That rim thy silken borders. 
 
 From whom the perfume of thy breath, 
 
 And marvels of thy senses? 
 For if I rudely break thy blades 
 
 You see with eyeless lenses. 
 
 When laughing at the summer wind 
 As 'gainst thy cheek it presses, 
 
 Dost thou kiss back a voiceless prayer 
 As it thy lips caresses? 
 
 How dost thou make the looms to weave, 
 Thy leaves, with woof now filling, 
 
 And gather from the earth and air, 
 The juices now distilling? 
 
 ARE YOU? 
 
 Are you seeking now my brother 
 In the maze of pleasure's rounds, 
 
 For the good of self, not others. 
 Where frivolity abounds? 
 
 Are you chasing tempting fortune 
 
 Up the dizzy steps of fame, 
 While the webbs of life you're weaving 
 
 For the hollow sound of name? 
 
 Straining every nerve to gather, 
 Careless of the right or wrong. 
 
 Treasure that will fade and perish, 
 You will cease to care for long? 
 
 If 'tis so, thy toil is harmful. 
 
 Robbing life of sweetest charms, 
 
 107 
 
In the race that thou art running, 
 Soon to end in dread alarms! 
 
 HOW STRANGE. 
 
 How strange Apollo's mystic art, 
 With all its wealth of treasure, 
 
 Has never taught my aching heart 
 His notes of rythmic measure. 
 
 Tho' often list'ning with delight 
 To its entrancing cadence, 
 
 He turns away as if in fright 
 Or else is out of patience! 
 
 O could his rhythm but be mine 
 How tenderly I'd guard it. 
 
 Or is his gift a gift divine 
 That I cannot inherit? 
 
 Yet, ah! how quick I'd be a thief 
 To gain this one possession. 
 
 And yet it might not bring relief 
 Despite of my confession. 
 
 I PRAY FOR 
 
 I pray for the unrewarded. 
 
 In this dark and lonely sphere. 
 
 For the poor and unknown toilers 
 Now falling around us here. 
 
 I pray for the ones now thirsting 
 For the gold that is refined, 
 
 Hid in the recesses of being 
 
 With its wealth of heart and mind. 
 
 I pray for the hearts o'erflowing 
 With love and unanswered pray'rs. 
 
 That fall by the wayside lying, 
 Overcome by sorrow and cares, 
 
 108 
 
I pray for those in the tumult 
 And rush of the crowded street, 
 
 With never a word to cheer them, 
 Or steady their jostling feet. 
 
 I pray for those here whose errors 
 Have closed the windows of light. 
 
 And hopeless now weep in darkness 
 Through a long and starless night. 
 
 I pray for the ones who labor, 
 That error may end its reign. 
 
 Until wrong shall cease forever 
 God's beautiful world profane. 
 
 IF— 
 
 If brains, not dollars, made the man, 
 'Twould be a good beginning. 
 
 With ghouls and grafters drown'd or hung 
 There'd be far less of sinning. 
 
 If women ceased to worship dudes 
 There'd be less crime and sorrow. 
 
 And half the world would not then live 
 On what they steel or borrow. 
 
 If women ceased to follow clubs 
 They'd be esteem'd as treasures. 
 
 And soon would find in every home 
 A larger store of pleasures. 
 
 No shy reporters then would laugh 
 To see their pranks and poodle. 
 
 And husbands then would not be forced 
 To steel or hunt for boodle. 
 
 Honest worth would find a place 
 
 Of trust in every nation, 
 From Porter up to President, 
 
 If high or low the station. 
 
 109 
 
No bankrupts then would have to fall 
 Before writs of ejectment, 
 
 And homes of rich and poor alike 
 Be bless'd with more contentment. 
 
 WRITERS OF THE BIBLE. 
 
 With a beauty quite sublime 
 Of rich exhaustless store, 
 
 And a wisdom, too, divine 
 Of pure unmeasured lore. 
 
 In clearness far surpassing 
 The compass of the mind. 
 
 With a knowledge of the past, 
 Nor to the future blind. 
 
 Their logic is so perfect. 
 It leads us with surprise, 
 
 Excelling all the wisdom 
 Of the most worldly wise. 
 
 Their language has such beauty 
 
 And purity of st5de. 
 It fills the soul with wonder 
 
 And gladness all the while. 
 
 With subtleness and power 
 It tells man of his loss, 
 
 And of his resurrection 
 Revealed here by the Cross. 
 
 THE DISADVANTAGES OF IGNORANCE. 
 
 Chained in the sightless dark abodes. 
 
 Where ignorance is found. 
 Enslaved within its narrow walls 
 
 My tim'rous thought is bound. 
 
 O knowledge, if from brighter worlds 
 Thy Orphean Harps appear, 
 
 110 
 
No Neibher with his charming songs 
 Will reach the darkness here. 
 
 Tartarus' smoky walls will rise 
 To hide the burning spark, 
 
 And hush the limping broken lyre 
 As Heraditus dark. 
 
 No slumb'ring notes of pathos wake 
 Thy vieled and darkened shores, 
 
 With strains of music to my heart 
 Nor lyric sweetness pores. 
 
 LIBERTY IMPERISHABLE. 
 
 Imperishable Liberty! 
 
 Inwrought within the soul. 
 No Tyrant or crud master 
 
 Can mortal man control. 
 
 Satanic force can't crush it, 
 Nor bind with iron cells. 
 
 'Tis God's bequest to Nature 
 If here in clay it dwells. 
 
 A spark thrown from the anvil 
 Of his Omniscent Will. 
 
 The Earth and Time outliving, 
 Nor change, nor death can kill. 
 
 SPEAK KINDLY. 
 
 Speak kindly, for thou can'st not know 
 
 The harvest it may bring, 
 Of rich rewards to other hearts 
 
 That from it yet may spring. 
 
 Ill 
 
THE ILLUSIVE POWER OF BEAUTY. 
 
 'Neath yew- tree shades on mossy rocks 
 
 I sat and wildly dreamed, 
 Oblivious to the leering eyes 
 
 That 'neath the mosses gleamed. 
 
 While above me rose in Fairy land 
 Sweet beauty's winsome smiles, 
 
 Enamored by her amorous gaze, 
 A slave to all its wiles. 
 
 Transfixed by passion's magic pow'r 
 
 Its glances did inspire. 
 Only to shrink as if it were 
 
 A white Hellanic fire. 
 
 TO A. M. S. 
 May never fail one beam of light 
 
 To add its splendor here, 
 Nor dwarf of elfish cloud e'er cause 
 
 A semblance of a tear. 
 
 Where long may live thy darling, 
 Its sweetest, fairest flow'r, 
 
 With royalty and love her crown 
 To rule this Queenly Bow'r. 
 
 KISS MY LIPS. 
 
 Come kiss my lips dear kassy, 
 The light has burned away. 
 
 And night is sure to follow 
 The closing of the day. 
 
 WE CASTLES BUILT. 
 
 How long ago 
 
 I do not know, 
 And yet I can remember 
 
 We castles built, 
 
 And etched with gilt 
 With crowns of royal splendor. 
 
 112 
 
Our temples rose 
 
 In verse and prose, 
 O'er which we used to linger 
 
 Round some new name 
 
 That rose to fame, 
 Then burnt away like tinder. 
 
 Hope stronger grew 
 
 As on time flew, 
 And wilder run our seeming 
 
 You will insist 
 
 Did not exist 
 Save only in our dreaming. 
 
 Love in each heart 
 
 Lent aid in part 
 In building up each story, 
 
 And night and day, 
 
 We used to say. 
 Behold their rising glory. 
 
 Which like a star 
 
 Seen from afar 
 We thought would shine forever 
 
 In the to be. 
 
 While we were free 
 To dream and dream on ever. 
 
 As on time flies 
 
 With wistful eyes 
 We hoped and build together. 
 
 Which to each heart 
 
 Did joys impart. 
 To live and last forever. 
 
 The deep seas lock 
 Life's quiv'ring rock 
 
 With wild winds across the main. 
 Yet Nature wnll'd 
 That we should build 
 
 Newer temples on the plain. 
 
 113 
 
Lit by a beam 
 
 Or fev'rish gleam, 
 Shining with a deeper flow, 
 
 To brightly burn 
 
 And die by turn, 
 Wrapt with fancy's eager glow. 
 
 To climes afar, 
 
 Bej^ond the Bar, 
 Our wandering vision flies. 
 
 'Neath suns more fair, 
 
 Without despair. 
 Where bright magic columns rise. 
 
 What more to crave 
 
 This side the grave 
 Than wise Nature does supply 
 
 Of every good 
 
 The Fatherhood 
 Has given you and I? 
 
 If on the plain 
 
 There lies the slain 
 Of soul-wreck'd mortal man. 
 
 Who sought to build. 
 
 With pride st;lf will'd. 
 Without God or Nature's plan. 
 
 O Vanity! 
 
 Thy sophistry ^ 
 With its blind deceitful dream. 
 
 All wonderful. 
 
 From which to cull 
 Jewels from life's shifting stream. 
 
 Come happy years, 
 
 Come joys and tears, 
 If more or less be given. 
 
 Thank God we built. 
 
 Of gold and gilt. 
 By pathways up to Heaven. 
 
 114 
 
Where yet we see 
 
 We are to be 
 If only in our seeming, 
 
 It does inspire 
 
 The soul's desire 
 To live, you'll say in dreaming? 
 
 Yet we still love 
 
 To look above 
 And see the castles rising, 
 
 Whose Architect 
 
 Without defect 
 Our lives are supervising. 
 
 Where we ere long 
 
 With a new song 
 Will sing and sing forever. 
 
 While we build on 
 
 The Rock upon 
 Our temples stand forever. 
 
 By spirits taught 
 
 Of being wrought 
 Life is no crumbling clod. 
 
 Porn with the clay 
 
 To fade away, 
 For its building is of God. 
 
 WHAT STRONGER PLEDGE? 
 
 What stronger pledge of my esteem 
 Could I to thee have given. 
 
 Than own that if thou wast now here 
 'Twould make my life a Heaven. 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 Away from the world In her desolation, 
 Bedridden with pain, yet smiling. 
 
 She with a sense of her isolation 
 No utterance gave of repining. 
 
 115 
 
The sun lifted its shadowy curtain 
 
 With a lustre shining brightly, 
 And her lips sang a song, making certain 
 
 Her heart felt its sorrow lightly. 
 
 If then, sometimes, a sound ringing outward, 
 Like the warm breezes in summer. 
 
 Whispering a sigh as if wandering homeward, 
 Yet gave no suggestion of murmer. 
 
 For the peace in her soul, upmost rising. 
 
 Was the love of God so decided. 
 Though the lep'rous sinew and flesh were dying. 
 
 In her faith in Him she confided. 
 
 BLESS'D IS THE MAN. 
 
 Happy, too, is the mortal man, 
 Who lives unscathed in his estate, 
 
 Biding the time of Nature's plan 
 While forging to a better state. 
 
 His purpose rising with delight 
 Above its meager share of gain, 
 Stands firmly in his war for right 
 If at the cost of pride and pain. 
 
 Then peace be still, too, grovelling care 
 That often blights the glorious names 
 
 Of those who 'gainst misfortune dare 
 Yet lose, to far less worthy claims. 
 
 PASSION AND SELFISHNESS. 
 
 How frail are the efforts engendered by passion 
 To stand on the bed-rock of justice and right. 
 
 Whose selfishness, lured by its love of oppression, 
 Disclaims its own wrongs and trusts to its might. 
 
 116 
 
TO PROVIDENCE. 
 
 As do the waves on yonder tide 
 Turn quickly back into the sea, 
 
 I fondly wish that to my side 
 
 They'd .bring thee back again to me. 
 
 A thought I do with pleasure own, 
 'Twould be to me life's greatest gift, 
 
 And if unwise it would alone 
 
 The burdens from my heart now lift. 
 
 For every moment then would be 
 A treasure sacredly I'd prize. 
 
 As sacred as I'd treasure thee. 
 The idol of my heart and eyes. 
 
 But ah! how vain the wish at last; 
 
 For pleasures past I must forego, 
 And yet, they do their rapture cast 
 
 Without a thought of pain or woe. 
 
 'Twould be more vain at this late hour 
 To wish and know the wish is vain. 
 
 For Fate with its enthralling pow'r 
 Has made the wish a source of pain. 
 
 If long desire may vainly come 
 Responsive to an inward sense, 
 
 Must I to pleasure still be dumb 
 And charge it all to Providence? 
 
 And, too, must be repress'd the sighs 
 That would the sad reflection own. 
 
 While every effort still defies 
 
 The thought, or wish, to it disown. 
 
 Yet, every instant by my side 
 Thou art so plainly in my view. 
 
 That mem'ry as the rolling tide 
 As often turns again to you. 
 
 117 
 
THE INSPIRATION OF A SMILE. 
 
 A nature with no grace to own 
 
 The pleasure that a smile has given, 
 
 With kindly words in tender tone 
 
 That made Earth seem to it a Heav'n ; 
 
 Is cold as is the soulless heart 
 
 That love's sweet smile wil not inspire, 
 Without the schemes of treach'rous art 
 
 To light its restless living fire. 
 
 That kindles in a timid breast 
 
 The flashes of its quenchless flame. 
 
 Till it has burned away and cleft 
 All, save remembrance of its name; 
 
 Then as a Hare the hedgerow cross'd. 
 Flees from a fleet pursuing hound, 
 
 It owns it loved, if love was lost 
 To find a love still more profound. 
 
 ANGER. 
 
 O fated muses why I pray 
 
 Attune thy harps with this sad lay. 
 
 To bid my pulsing heart be still 
 O'ermastered by thy sovereign will ? 
 
 If few, there be, to heave a sigh 
 
 Where now their slaugjhtered victims lie, 
 Foredoom'd to pain and broken hearts 
 
 Responsive to blind passion's arts. 
 
 A moment past, they went with glee, 
 Heart joined with heart in unity. 
 
 When lo ! there came a cry of pain 
 And terror seized the happy twain. 
 
 While hidden passion soon revealed 
 
 The death-sting lurking 'neath its shield, 
 
 As it with Anger's arrows cleft 
 The one the slayer loved the best. 
 
 118 
 
MIKE'S PROPOSAL. 
 
 Say, Biddy, will yer come with me, 
 I've been so long in waitin'? 
 
 Yes, Mike, but I'm afraid ye'll think 
 I'll not be worth the takin'. 
 
 Ah, Biddy, ye are to me life; 
 
 As sweet as gold and silver. 
 No man can be more happy now 
 
 Than is yer Mike McGilver. 
 
 O then dear Mike, Gvod bless yer heart, 
 
 We'll soon be tied togither. 
 And there'll not be a prouder wife 
 
 Than will be Bid McGilver. 
 
 Ah Biddy, then God bless ye too. 
 
 May niver come our partin', 
 Ye have a goodly chunk in bank, 
 
 We'll not be empty starlin. 
 
 Ah Mike, ye smooty selfish coot, 
 Is that now what yer arter? 
 
 If so, begone ye crooning dog, 
 I'm not for trade or barter. 
 
 OLD REMEMBRANCES. 
 
 When childhood's bright alluring skies 
 Their golden rays around me shed. 
 
 Again its hopes and joys arise 
 
 That long have lain asleep or dead. 
 
 When every step bears the impress 
 Of some dear old remembered scene, 
 
 As once again my feet may press 
 
 Its bloom and breathe its air serene. 
 
 Tho' fate may oft forbid return 
 Of old delightful happy hours. 
 
 Their light unquenched will brightly burn 
 With light to light its bloom and flow'rs. 
 
 119 
 
And yet how prone my heart to claim 
 When other scenes and hopes have sped, 
 
 To charge to Nature's fault the blame 
 That now my childhood's joys have fled. 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF THE NAIADES. 
 
 The Naiades waking from thier sleep, 
 In wild enchantment swiftly flew, 
 
 Across the sweeps, beyond the deep 
 Of broad wide fields of azure blue. 
 
 To rescue their admired dame, 
 
 The empress of the desert tide. 
 And crown her as the queen of fame 
 
 The breezy, bustling world calls pride. 
 
 At last, they found and kiss'd her cheek 
 That turned their lips and hearts to stone, 
 
 Then bowing as they worship'd meek 
 They placed her on her royal throne. 
 
 While a new song the Naiads sang, 
 Beneath her temples, halls and spires, 
 
 Which now at vespers still is sung 
 To awe struck worshipers inspire. 
 
 NATURE COULD I ? 
 
 Nature could I thy joyous life 
 Now in my soul possess. 
 
 It would allay the yearning strife 
 Which does my heart distress. 
 
 Thy solitudes are full of joy, 
 There music is the wind. 
 
 No tempest can thy peace destroy 
 Nor e'en disturb thy mind. 
 
 Thy seasons with eternal rounds 
 Of either frost or bloom, 
 
 120 
 
Re-echo back no mournful sounds 
 Of an uncertain doom. 
 
 Thy nights of darkness have no fear; 
 
 There's laughter in thy rills; 
 Their limpid waters full of cheer 
 
 Are singing in the hills. 
 
 BEHIND ALL FORMS OF LIFE. 
 
 Behind all forms of changing life 
 
 A mystery pervades, 
 'Yond calms, or storms, or changing moods 
 
 That now my soul evades. 
 
 Is it that aesthetic sense 
 
 Beyond the light of day 
 Whose light now to my soul appears 
 
 Here with its rayless ray? 
 
 To teach me in my simple way, 
 
 Man is no dying elf. 
 For nature has my soul e'er taught 
 
 To learn more of itself. 
 
 Not that I hear, nor that I see. 
 
 'Tis some responsive force, 
 Of being in my heart inwrought 
 
 That Nature's laws enforce. 
 
 THE FRUITS OF IGNORANCE. 
 
 Each law that I may comprehend 
 
 Will some new law reveal, 
 If long here my uncultured sense 
 
 Did it from me conceal. 
 
 For every law that now exists 
 
 The Universe has known ; 
 If through my narrow consciousness 
 
 It was to me unknown. 
 
 121 • 
 
It is my fault if I am blind, 
 
 They permeate my soul. 
 And matter and will never die 
 
 They yet will still control. 
 
 They new relations have revealed 
 
 Of unity and life, 
 That has God's goodness long concealed 
 
 By ignorance and strife. 
 
 INVISIBLE COMPANIONSHIP. 
 
 There is a sweet companionship 
 Which nature does provide. 
 
 If found in deepest solitudes 
 The heart is satisfied. 
 
 'Tis interwoven in our thought, 
 
 By ether waves supplied. 
 In unity of God and man 
 
 The heart is satisfied. 
 
 It revels with supreme delight . 
 
 In love's ambrosical bow'rs. 
 It soothes grief in every heart. 
 
 In sorrow's darkest hours. 
 
 It rises 'bove our toils and cares, 
 
 As if 'twere deified. 
 And oft with rapture fills the soul 
 
 Until 'tis satisfied. 
 
 If to my eyes invisible. 
 
 Intangible, unseen. 
 Not like a mirraged mystic spring 
 
 Oft in a desert seen. 
 
 It is the overflow of thought 
 Which forms the mystic chain, 
 
 Uniting love's dissevered links 
 'Tween Gjod and man again. 
 
 • 122 
 
'Tis not that Earth's material things 
 
 Man seeks to deify, 
 From which immortal blessings spring, 
 
 The soul to satisfy. 
 
 LIFE'S VITAL STREAMS. 
 
 How deep and irresistible, 
 
 Now swiftly on life's currents flow, 
 In vital streams of endless pow'r 
 
 Of either joy, or pain, and woe. 
 
 Here in this mysterious life. 
 Invested with creative force, 
 
 Express'd now in the human soul, 
 Exhaustless still in its resource. 
 
 While nature's channels here convey 
 Now ever from their hidden springs, 
 
 New lessons of eternal truth 
 
 Far yond here man's imaginings. 
 
 Unfolding immortality and life. 
 By higher altitudes of thought, 
 
 In revelations of new pow'r 
 Here in itself inwrought. 
 
 Incarnate energies inspire 
 
 Now man's too oft perverted will ; 
 If wrapped in mortal vesture here 
 
 Now to God's holy thought fulfill. 
 
 In man's relationship revealed. 
 
 Here by that same creative pow'r, 
 
 Of God and immortality. 
 
 Which is his greatest gift and dow'r. 
 
 Through supreme order which prevails 
 In all of life's created forms. 
 
 Evolving newer laws wherein 
 To which all life itself conforms. 
 
 123 
 
Thus God to consciousness reveals 
 Himself to all the universe. 
 
 Though man may here attempt in vain 
 His laws and love oft to reverse. 
 
 A. 
 
 A DESIRE FOR TRUTH. 
 
 gracious God unvail my eyes 
 - That I the truth may see, 
 
 Which permeates the Universe 
 And centers God in Thee. 
 
 Its slightest fragments now^ disclose 
 
 A tragic mystery 
 Of life spontaneous everywhere 
 
 The offspring God of Thee. 
 
 Eternal forces now reveal 
 
 Immortal conscious life, 
 Pregnant with existing force 
 
 That reigns in peace or strife. 
 
 The evolution of new thought 
 
 Forever onward moves, 
 With an expansive conscious pow'r 
 
 That here its presence proves, 
 
 1 often in my sleep am roused 
 
 By rapturous melodies. 
 That soothe life's saddest pangs of pain 
 In all of its realities. 
 
 Its inspiration fills my heart 
 
 With an exquisite joy. 
 That all the tragic ends of life 
 
 Cannot its truth destroy. 
 
 Winter suspends but never kills 
 
 Life in its frozen breast, 
 And death with all its terrors here 
 
 But paves the way to rest. 
 
 124 
 
Life as transmitted in God's way, 
 Means transport to new bliss 
 
 Beyond all conscious concept here 
 In kinship too with this. 
 
 The universe its truth confirms 
 And revelation too replies, 
 
 While errors ever limping wail 
 Alone its truth denies. 
 
 Are these the faint remembrances 
 
 I in my soul retain, 
 Or evolution of new truth 
 
 In its evolving chain? 
 
 CARRY ME BACK. 
 
 Carry me back on wings of thought 
 
 To days ye now call old ; 
 Weave me a song with lines inwrought 
 
 Of threads of purest gold. . 
 
 If I have here now grown so old, 
 
 And blind and deaf and halt, 
 While, too, my heart you say is cold. 
 
 With many a nameless fault. 
 
 Sing me a song of love and cheer 
 
 Of days I used to know, 
 'Twill stay the pain now ever here 
 
 That oft in grief may flow. 
 
 Impatient heart withhold thy pain 
 
 There's joy enough to fill. 
 And bind all hearts with love's own chain 
 
 In links of God's good will. 
 
 Though I am old and deaf and blind 
 And differ with your thought. 
 
 We all have here a changing mind 
 And, too, one common lot. 
 
 125 
 
If as you say I'm deaf and lame 
 And, too, I have grown old, 
 
 With life here but a dying flame 
 My heart has not grown cold. 
 
 HER FACE WAS LIKE— 
 
 Her face was like the golden haze 
 Of sunset's bronzy glow, 
 
 That hides the brightest stars away 
 Here in its deeper flow. 
 
 Her eyes had a bewitching smile. 
 Excelling fancies dreams, 
 
 That ever round her seemed to fall 
 In its exhaustless streams. 
 
 She was like Sheba's ancient queen, 
 With virtue's royal crown, 
 
 AVhile on her face there never fell 
 The semblance of a frown. 
 
 Her form no sculptor could portray 
 
 Here by his ancient art. 
 Nor classic writer could define 
 
 The virtues of her heart. 
 
 TO A FLOWER. 
 
 I gathered once a smiling flower 
 That on the hillside grew. 
 
 And drank the perfume of its breath 
 Distilled in morning dew. 
 
 For every tinseled shining cup 
 Was with its fragrance gem'd. 
 
 And all its bright and velvet leaves 
 With golden borders hem'd. 
 
 Had I the gracious gift retained 
 Thy gladness to bestow, 
 
 126 
 
As deeply grafted in my heart 
 As in thy leaflets grow. 
 
 What transports then my soul would feel, 
 
 Sweet impretentious flow'r, 
 To have one line of mine diffus'd 
 
 With treasures of thy dow'r. 
 
 TO MR. AND MRS. GEORGE DOWNEY ON 
 THEIR LEAVING FOR MICHIGAN. 
 
 Too soon the parting moment comes 
 
 When friends from friends are torn apart, 
 
 And friendship's sacred pleasures end 
 To leave to each a wounded heart. 
 
 Although reluctant tears may fall 
 
 As time again the scene renews, 
 While bringing back remembered joys 
 
 That are fond memory's sweetest dews. 
 
 They oft repeated will return 
 
 Through mem'ries of departed years, 
 
 Yet will relieve the heart of pain 
 If too perchance with falling tears. 
 
 May they to you then oft return 
 
 With rapture, mirth, and fireside glee, 
 
 A pleasure which I wish dear friends 
 May often fall with joy to thee. 
 
 ROSES. 
 
 The world is full of roses 
 For all to gather free. 
 
 Yet few of them we harvest. 
 For only thorns we see! 
 
 127 
 
LIFE. 
 
 If life has been a failure 
 Still hope to us is left. 
 
 IF MINE- 
 
 If mine is but a humble home, 
 It has one gift in this, — 
 
 God's love and care protecting me, 
 Which gives me happiness. 
 
 HUMANITY. 
 
 Humanity, the Polar Star, 
 To draw mankind together 
 
 In universal brotherhood 
 Of love and peace forever. 
 
 TRUTH AND ERROR. 
 
 Error leads to dreary night. 
 Truth to perfect day. 
 
 Error wantons in its might 
 And revels with its prey. 
 
 TEACH ME, O LORD. 
 
 Teach me, O Lord, that I may know 
 And learn the better way. 
 If sin now blinds my sightless eyes 
 Give me more light I pray. 
 
 I for the truth have often sought, 
 But Oh! how hard to find. 
 
 The absence of thy glorious light 
 Here leaves me dark and blind. 
 
 128 
 
WHAT HAVE I TO SAY? 
 
 What now have I this morn to say 
 And enter on my book the date, 
 
 But stop, the morn has pass'd away, 
 And thus I find I am too late. 
 
 Yet sad indeed it is to speak 
 
 Where speaking can't the loss repair, 
 And yet, one thought I'll try and seek, 
 
 And fate or fortune bravely bear. 
 
 If you should smile upon my plan. 
 And for my lack of brains be sorry. 
 
 And say, O fudge for such a man ! 
 O'er fate or fortune thus to worry. 
 
 If wise I own your council is 
 
 Unusual here to find in girls, 
 It nicely fits my senseless phiz 
 
 As blank of thought as 'tis of pearls. 
 
 May I advice if useless give 
 
 If I this thought have kept in vain. 
 
 It should have taught me how to live 
 And saved me years perchance of pain. 
 
 But, I myself have made my lot 
 Half conscious then not knowing. 
 
 While musing o'er some senseless thought, 
 Or worse, here nothing doing. 
 
 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 The new year has dawned on the nations with glory, 
 Bespeaking God's goodness and good will to man, 
 
 Immortal in legends of marvelous story, 
 Unfolding the promise of his gracious plan. 
 
 129 
 
I WOKE. 
 
 I woke in the early morning, 
 In light of a new born year, 
 
 And, thought of the old year's doings, 
 Forgetting the new one here. 
 
 With a thousand fancies rising 
 As the years then by me pass'd ; 
 
 Floating away in the gloaming 
 I wondered how long to last. 
 
 Yes, over the old year's going 
 
 And the new years dawning day, 
 
 I wondered then how the record 
 Of the world would be writ today! 
 
 For the pure white snow was falling 
 And hiding the earth from view. 
 
 As an emblem of God forgiving 
 Sins of the old year and new. 
 
 Then a feeling of cheer arising 
 As the years then by me sped. 
 
 With a New Year 'fore me rising 
 With joys of the one that had fled. 
 
 GRAM AND I. 
 
 Old Gram has served me long and well; 
 
 We've both grown old together. 
 She's borne me over vale and fell. 
 
 In clear and stormy weather. 
 
 No neighbor's horse was quite as fleet 
 
 On either tile or gravel. 
 She never stumbled on her feet 
 
 If fast or slow she travel'd. 
 
 She'd canter o'er the hardest street. 
 You'd well nigh think her flying. 
 
 And never feared a car to meet. 
 Nor turned about and shying. 
 
 130 
 
While many a fleety roadster failed 
 
 In his attempts to follow. 
 For she then only swifter sailed 
 
 If up the hill or hollow. 
 
 'Tis thus we've lived on many a year, 
 Both Gram and I together, 
 
 In summer time and winter seer, 
 And still go on as ever. 
 
 So thus it is we run about, 
 If seeming now less willing. 
 
 And Gram will dance and I will shout, 
 As off she goes — 'tis killing! 
 
 Many a nag his pace has set. 
 And she would go the faster, 
 
 Which did not seem her then to fret. 
 For he could never pass her. 
 
 So Gram and I have thus grown old 
 
 As on we've run together, 
 And you can't buy her with your gold, 
 
 Today, nor can 3^ou ever. 
 
 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 
 
 The old year now has pass'd away 
 To only live in mem'ries shrine. 
 
 Which as the sun's last parting ray 
 
 Seemed brightest when it ceased to shine. 
 
 If no more here its scenes I view, 
 Its charms old mem'ries will revive, 
 
 And often pass in swift review 
 
 With pleasure that will long survive. 
 
 While they as all remembered joys 
 Whose spell has lost its sweetest ties. 
 
 As cherished here as childhood's toys 
 Their mem'ry in my heart still lies. 
 
 131 
 
And oft I'll turn to thee old year, 
 As thy dear scenes I chance to view, 
 
 While from my eyes may fall a tear 
 As mem'ry gladly turns to you. 
 
 O'er thy decease I'd breathe a sigh, 
 
 If not on thy retiring bier, 
 A new born year was passing by 
 
 With nameless joys my heart to cheer. 
 
 THE FOLLIES OF FASHION. 
 
 While going down the street today 
 I pass'd a woman old and gray; 
 She walked on with a camel's stride 
 And led a poodle by her side. 
 
 I'll chance you Sir, now two to four 
 She was three score, and ten, or more, 
 And tortured with a Grecian bend. 
 Save her no lady w^ould defend. 
 
 In her right hand she held a cane 
 To keep the poodle of¥ her train. 
 Harnessed up well for public show 
 With brass or gold I do not know. 
 
 The people laughed, if it was rude. 
 At this old dame so like a dude. 
 I laughed to think while writing French 
 Carlyle should stop to scold a wench. 
 
 How strange that pride should thus create 
 The silly fancies of the great. 
 Though if disguised 'tis lack of brain. 
 Its earmarks bear a shoddy stain. 
 
 132 
 
SIR GALAHAD AND HARRIMAN. 
 
 Sir Galahad has found his match 
 
 And all the people laugh. 
 For all the bluff he flings about 
 
 They know is only chaff. 
 
 While Goliah swings high his club, 
 
 Says he, the gang can buy. 
 Then Galahad shies wicked words, 
 
 Cries Ah ! you dog )^ou die ! 
 
 Then hotter still the kettle boils 
 
 To cook the tainted stew, 
 While all have pity in their sleeves 
 
 For Debs and poor Depew. 
 
 Louder yet the clatter runs 
 
 With oft a broken snout, 
 While Galahad still vainly tries 
 
 To knock some corner out. 
 
 Yet Harriman drives deep his spike, 
 
 And Galahad is sore ; 
 For every blow helps bar him out 
 
 Now of the White House door. 
 
 O Kingdom come, where will it end ? 
 
 As on the people run. 
 And know that either dog has but 
 
 An oily sugared tongue. 
 
 'Tis hard to kick against the pricks. 
 And both the gangs must fall, 
 
 They cannot wash the grime away 
 It has the stench of gall. 
 
 WE TWO ARE ONE. 
 
 Many a tear I've shed for thee 
 Since you cross'd life's unknown sea, 
 Though time's oceans 'tween us run 
 Still I know we two are one. 
 
 133 
 
Often In my boat I glide 
 With thee rowing by my side, 
 Through the storm, or glowing sun, 
 So I know we two are one. 
 
 Long in sorrow. I have wrought. 
 Always with thee in my thought, 
 Though my toiling is nigh done 
 Still I know we two are one. 
 
 If in grief I breathe a sigh, 
 Still I know that thou art nigh 
 As we down life's races run. 
 Knowing that we two are one. 
 
 Ever on my way I wend 
 Thoult be with me to. the end. 
 Swift or slow the race be run. 
 Knowing that we two are one. 
 
 Darkness often veils my sight, 
 Still to me a rising light 
 Greets me with a brighter sun, 
 And I know we two are one. 
 
 Soon the threshold we will pass 
 Of that unknown sea of glass. 
 Hand in hand as on we run ; 
 For we two I know are one. 
 
 BEWARE OF HIM-. 
 
 Beware of him 
 
 Who scoffs at tears, 
 Who laughs at grief 
 
 And turns with jeers. 
 
 THE OLD. 
 
 I know that we don't count for much 
 'Cause we are getting old. 
 
 For there's no place that we can fill. 
 As we are often told. 
 
 134 
 
And daily now I hear ft said, 
 We've long since had our day, 
 
 And, O dear! what a trouble 'tis 
 To have us in the way 1 
 
 They used to think we were of worth 
 
 In days of long ago, 
 But now they know the times were then 
 
 So far behind and slow, 
 
 And often turning with a shrug 
 
 Our antique notions scorn, 
 And wonder that such stupidness 
 
 Could ever once been born. 
 
 This sometimes wakens in my heart 
 
 A fitful sense of pain, 
 While they believe it selfishness 
 
 Or lusting after gain. 
 
 To grudge the time and money spent 
 
 Just for a little fun ! 
 If we may spend ten dollars now 
 
 Where they would spend but one? 
 
 There is enough they have laid by. 
 
 What is the use to save ? 
 Why should we drudge our lives away 
 
 And live here like a slave? 
 
 These foolish notions are played out 
 
 And of an other age, 
 Unsuited to our wiser thought 
 
 As to our heritage. 
 
 WAR. 
 
 Can it be true God taught mankind 
 
 'Twas right to go to war. 
 When half the world will never know 
 
 What they are fighting for. 
 
 135 
 
In many battlefields the dead 
 
 Lie buried rank and file, 
 And they accord to him as fame 
 
 Who killed the largest pile. 
 
 I know that we with sadness turn 
 
 To where a neighbor dies, 
 And friends will mourn beside his grave 
 
 Where he in silence lies. 
 
 Yet if a Dago caused his death. 
 The people, old and young, 
 
 Will all alike the fiend curse 
 And say he should be hung. 
 
 While he who slew ten thousand men 
 
 Is praised for battles won. 
 And will then the Dago scorn 
 
 Who only kill'd but one. 
 
 It never seemed to me 'twas right 
 
 If others think 'tis so. 
 I wonder if God thinks it is? 
 
 How I would like to know. 
 
 I know both sides will pray to Him 
 
 And ask His help to win. 
 Can He regard such worship more 
 Than a cold farce or sin? 
 
 Tho' thousands differ with my thought, 
 
 To me all war is wrong, 
 And doubt if in God's Register 
 
 There's one approving song. 
 
 I'M ALMOST BIG AS YOU. 
 
 Mamma, don't you think I'm now 
 
 Almost as big as you? 
 Look and see how tall I look; 
 
 Now don't you think it's true? 
 
 136 
 
See! Mamma, I'm growing fast; 
 
 This skirt belongs to Dore, — 
 Look and see how tall I am ! 
 
 It drags upon the floor. 
 
 I am almost now, mamma, 
 
 As large as Lucy Grey, 
 And will have a bonnet soon 
 
 Just like dear Sister May. 
 
 I'm learning my A B C's, 
 
 And soon will read and write. 
 
 I'll write you a letter then 
 
 Like hers to Tommy Wright. 
 
 See how I can dance and waltz 
 With my bright golden curls. 
 
 I'll be a lady soon, mamma, 
 Just like the other girls. 
 
 You will buy me diamonds then 
 And other things to match. 
 
 And I will like my Sister May 
 The nicest fellows catch. 
 
 Mamma! Papa said last night 
 The mortgage now is due 
 
 He gave to buy the costly dress 
 For Sister Mag and you. 
 
 What is a mortgage, mamma dear? 
 
 For papa almost cried. 
 He was 'fraid we'd lose the farm 
 
 When Gamble's suit is tried. 
 
 IS. 
 
 Is he the wide reported wit 
 
 Of whom I have been often told ? 
 
 And author of the books he's writ, 
 Reputed treasures of pure gold ? 
 
 137 
 
Is this then all there is to fame ? 
 
 The blind cheap legacy of pride, 
 With hollow prestige of a name 
 
 That leaves the heart unsatisfied. 
 
 If so his royalty disown, 
 
 Write as a soldier of the cross, 
 
 If failing then, to fail unknown, 
 
 'Twill bring thee gain and cause no loss. 
 
 LIFE'S SWEETEST FRUIT. 
 
 How sweet life's ripened fruit will taste 
 Which Nature's culture will bestow. 
 
 That time and age through passing years 
 Will give if oft the growth is slow. 
 
 A perfect product then is formed • 
 Which fascinates the human soul. 
 
 Its vital forces are complete 
 If unperceived and in control. 
 
 It is through constant ceaseless growth, 
 By age and long experience known, 
 
 That oldest trees abundance yield 
 
 And where the sweetest fruit is grown. 
 
 If oft an aged tree doth fall, 
 
 Encircled by its crumbling rind. 
 
 And, too, an aged man may share 
 The empty shadow of a mind. 
 
 Neglected nature claims the debt 
 That he unwisely failed to pay. 
 
 He failed to learn the only art 
 
 That would preserve him from decay. 
 
 Self culture with increasing store 
 Endows him with mysterious pow'r 
 
 That will not yield to force of time. 
 And is like fragrance to a flower. 
 
 138 
 
'Tis cultured art's refining grace 
 That truly teaches man to live; 
 
 The only force which can or will 
 The greatest blessings to him give. 
 
 Man first ripens ere he can 
 
 The highest and the best possess. 
 
 His aspirations are the test, 
 Whatever else he may profess. 
 
 Its fruits are but the overflow 
 Of an enlarged expansive force, 
 
 Which time and age alone supply 
 
 Through nature's own appointed course. 
 
 By this equipment when complete 
 Nature creates the perfect man. 
 
 His soul absorbs the outward world 
 AUoted here to his brief span. 
 
 BUILD HIGH. 
 
 If high or low should be your part 
 Build with true and honest heart. 
 Build with efforts to surpass 
 Early idols made of brass. 
 Brighter then will be thy view. 
 Heaven smiles upon the true. 
 Life will be then to the last 
 A memorial of the past, 
 While successive ages onw^ard roll 
 The seasons of thy living soul. 
 Then let no effort here create 
 A wreck, thy life to desecrate. 
 
 139 
 
WHERE IS THE MASTER? 
 
 Where is the master or the art 
 To solve the mystery of the heart? 
 Its loves, its hopes, its doubts and fears 
 That mingle oft with joys and tears, 
 Then turns triumphantly from their spell 
 Or gazes sadly where it fell. 
 
 A LONELY LOT. 
 
 Oblivious to the strong demands 
 Exhausted nature does require, 
 
 Where age has lost its youthful pow'r 
 That would a fainting heart inspire. 
 
 While they with indecorous mirth, 
 Or colder^ harsh indignant sneers. 
 
 Oft turn on him from whom support 
 Dependent they have been for years. 
 
 Ah, lonely is his lot indeed, 
 
 Reft of the love he should each hour 
 Receive from those his gifts first gave 
 
 To those the means to use this pow'r. 
 
 Adds to the pain that he must feel 
 From added anguish of the thought 
 
 That on his early toils they live, 
 While they have all his gifts forgot. 
 
 LIFE IS NO PHANTOM. 
 
 Ill fated life, can it be true 
 That thou art but a phantom. 
 
 With all thy daily pains and cares 
 Nor more, nor less, an atom? 
 
 If so 'twould grieve my heart to think, 
 As I am onward floating, 
 
 140 
 
That 'tis like a bitter pill 
 That has a sugar coating. 
 
 But who with common sense would own 
 
 To such a senseless folly. 
 If I have owned to such a thought 
 
 God knows that I am sorry. 
 
 For it has precious joys apart 
 From all its pain and sorrow. 
 
 And is sufficient for today 
 And will be for tomorrow. 
 
 BE BLESS'D THE FACE. 
 
 How dear to the recipient's heart, 
 
 When age turns from the past the while, 
 
 Receives from those whom long it loved 
 Unsought a sweet and tender smile. 
 
 Forgetful of the trembling step, 
 
 And free from languid jostling gait, 
 
 Then turns with half bewildered gaze 
 And laughs at cha'i^es known to fate. 
 
 Recounting o'er its joys and dreams. 
 No transient pain to it is known, 
 
 While nature's half exhausted pow'r 
 Resume again its vacant throne. 
 
 O then be bless'd the face that smiles 
 
 Upon an aged one, once fair. 
 And presses with a kindly hand 
 
 Her white disheveled tangled hair. 
 
 DISTRUST. 
 
 Oh can I distrust now the purpose or feeling 
 
 So faintly concealing thy thoughts from my view. 
 
 Or is it but friendship that's flighting and fleeting 
 Which draws me so strong, if unwisely, to you? 
 
 141 
 
These are emotions, discordant, if blending, 
 Which riot unfettered with love and esteem, 
 
 While reason stands ever unyielding, unbending, 
 Forbidding the pledges it cannot redeem. 
 
 O, is this wild frenzy of passion a refuge 
 Or altar to burn with unquenchable fire 
 
 The victim awaiting an unwritten message. 
 Which love and affection will never inspire? 
 
 If so, to such feelings I'll bid now defiance, 
 And yield to the frenzy of passion no more, 
 
 While trusting to reason for hope and reliance 
 If born of the feelings unknown here before. 
 
 FALSEHOOD. 
 
 O Falsehood, thou a thing accursed ! 
 
 Turn from thy blind deceptive arts. 
 That Nature's laws have now reversed. 
 
 And brought but grief to human hearts. 
 
 Oh Haste, thy fettered feet to stay 
 The blind illusion of thy pow'r. 
 
 Till truth, and love, thy lips obey 
 
 The mandates will'd to rule each hour. 
 
 While those defenseless 'gainst thy wiles 
 Turn often from thy treacherous fray. 
 
 Deceived by thy deceptive smiles 
 
 That ne'er thy lep'rous thoughts betray. 
 
 Yea, stay, with haste thy tongue of fire 
 Which flings afar its burning flame, 
 
 That does thy festered lips inspire, 
 To perish with the breath it came. 
 
 THE GEM OF HER BOWER. 
 
 Her beauty to me was like a sweet flower 
 The mosses and hazels were trying to screen, 
 
 142 
 
When gold on each leaf was blushing and blooming, 
 With flashes that mingled with purple and green. 
 
 So fair her face as she stood there reclining, 
 
 More bright than the flowers concealed from my view, 
 
 Her lips were like dew-drops when falling at twilight. 
 And kiss'd by the moonbeams with lovelier hue. 
 
 O Cupid couldst thou half her beauty divining 
 Withstand this sweet flower so blooming and fair? 
 
 No weakness of mine should a tear ever borrow, 
 To hasten thy arrows thou couldst not forbear. 
 
 My fancy beguiling itself in the tumult 
 
 Would turn from the shaft it dare not defy, 
 
 Tho' gladly 'twould ambush this gem in its bower, 
 If, too, in the effort 'twould perish and die. 
 
 FORBID THE THOUGHT. 
 
 Forbid the thought whose every note 
 Brings back to me but strains of woe. 
 
 And lives upon the ever past 
 From mem'ries of the long ago. 
 
 Hush with the light of new-born day 
 That's quickened with a brighter flame. 
 
 Not built with mold of old decay, 
 But present pleasures left to claim. 
 
 O stay the caprices of mind 
 
 That burn with phosphorescent fire, 
 And has no warmth to fill the brain 
 
 Or lasting rapture to inspire. 
 
 'Tis Nature's antidote I crave 
 
 To bring back hope and cheer again. 
 
 That oft with fitful smiles appear 
 With joy if new, 'tis not in vain. 
 
 143 
 
ON YONDER PURPLE HILLS. 
 
 I love to go alone and sit 
 
 On yonder purple hills, 
 Amongst the toiling bees and flowers 
 
 And hear the whippoorwills, 
 
 A feeling strange, unsatisfied. 
 
 Comes to me as I roam, 
 As if I were an alien here 
 
 And far away from home. 
 
 There comes back in the solitude 
 
 A half remembered joy. 
 And when I've feasted on its gold 
 
 It changes to alloy. 
 
 I bide by times with anxious hope 
 
 Upon their highest crown, 
 And wonder at the scenes I view 
 
 As back I clamber down. 
 
 A glimpse I catch with golden hues 
 
 Away across the hills. 
 That's brighter far then to my eyes 
 
 Than brooks or whippoorwills. 
 
 If desolate there falls d night 
 
 Across the golden skies. 
 Still there, beyond that darkened void 
 
 Arises Paradise. 
 
 Tho' icebergs float with special gloom 
 'Tween me and that far shore, 
 
 A star, if dim, reveals a bridge 
 That leads up to its door. 
 
 And then I know, soul satisfied, 
 
 As o'er its hills I'll roam. 
 If but a glimpse is gathered here 
 
 Of what will be my home. 
 
 144 
 
TRUTH. 
 
 Truth's magic joys ne'er prove us false, 
 Nor lapse of time bring their decay, 
 
 Though oft like maze of dazzling waltz 
 'Twill wander in its devious way. 
 
 Its sun will set in cloudless skies 
 Brightened by love's eternal flame. 
 
 For yond its twilight ever lies 
 
 A crown, crowned with immortal fame. 
 
 Smile not at my ambrosial dreams 
 That wakes in vain a rustic's lyre. 
 
 Tomorrow's sun with brighter beams 
 May bring new hopes and youthful fire. 
 
 Take my good-will if not my lot, 
 A rustic's life and bootless way, 
 
 The sweetest flowers are prone to rot 
 And sometimes soonest to decav. 
 
 THE INSTABILITY OF MATTER OR MIND. 
 
 I quail before a new found thought, 
 
 And tremble at its pow'r, 
 To find that all my labor wrought 
 
 Has vanished in an hour. 
 
 And yet despite my change of state 
 
 'Tis only change of mind, 
 The morrow may be will'd by fate 
 
 To prove today I'm blind. 
 
 The creed I worship fades away 
 
 Before some new found law^s. 
 And e'en the changes of today 
 
 Reveal an unknown cause ; 
 
 That withers with a scorching blast 
 
 All my concerted plans. 
 And every circle that I've past 
 
 Is sure to break its bans. 
 
 145 
 
For Nature has no limits fix'd 
 
 Nor fixedness of form. 
 Our lives with joys and tears are mix'd 
 
 As sunshine with the storm. 
 
 There cannot be a more perfect personation of the 
 Irish pun than is found in our late Senator John C. 
 Spooner. The Irishman angrily said to his antagonist, 
 "All the men ye ever kilt are alive yet." 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 Solitude, the one glad consort of my soul. 
 Within thy cloisters there is a welcome rest, 
 Where thoughts writ on thy mysterious scroll 
 That satisfies the hungry longings of my breast. 
 No night so dark I may not there survey 
 The early dawning of a new born day. 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 Reader, if thou perchance should spare 
 A moment to these pages read. 
 
 Let censure not thy thoughts inspire 
 And wisely to their faults give heed. 
 
 If 'neath a garnished palace tow'r, 
 Where art has built itself a throne, 
 
 Or sheltered by a humble roof, 
 
 I pray thou wilt their faults condone ! 
 
 The rankest thorn may bear a rose, 
 Though growing in a rocky sward, 
 
 Yet nature has with it no war 
 And kindly owns it as its ward. 
 
 Forbear to give thy swift reproof, 
 
 And burn the tares, if spared the wheat. 
 
 Thorns may survive the wintry storms 
 While roses fall before the sleet. 
 
 146 
 
AN APOSTROPHY TO THE STARS. 
 
 Yon starry concave I behold 
 
 Of blazing spheres and harmless flame, 
 With twinkling beams of shining gold, 
 
 Creation's Author to proclaim. 
 
 Thy plunging rays now swiftly fall 
 Bright as the bronzy close of day, 
 
 From chambers of thy sparkling wall 
 As I their pathless realms survey. 
 
 What heavenly landscapes lie concealed 
 Beyond thy starlit golden shores. 
 
 That angels have in part revealed 
 By whispers through thy open doors. 
 
 But O how wanting is my gaze 
 To reach thy inner deeps unknown, 
 
 Through systems by mysterious ways 
 Which lead to God's eternal throne. 
 
 THE STARS AND GENIUS. 
 
 Distance lends to greater stars a paler hue 
 Than nearer ones that are more plainly seen. 
 
 So we to genius greater faults impute 
 
 Than lesser worth, that distance helps to screen. 
 
 The brightest gems lie in the deepest sea 
 
 Embosomed beneath the fiercely rolling tide, 
 
 So greatest worth will never here be known 
 
 If struggling 'gainst the wantom shams of pride. 
 
 Yet as the stars, whose lustre distance hides. 
 Forever shine in all their endless spheres. 
 
 So genius will with deeper splendor glow 
 Through all the cycles of the speeding years. 
 
 147 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF JUDGE SAM RYAN. 
 
 If he has gone his soul abides 
 
 Now with us here, 
 In thoughts that ring across the tides 
 
 Still now more dear. 
 
 His tired feet have found a rest 
 
 From toiling free, 
 If nevermore this side the crest 
 
 His face we see. 
 
 Though oft with pain and grief we pause 
 
 To hear his voice, 
 He's paid the debt to Nature's laws, 
 
 With him rejoice. 
 
 The triumphs of his active life 
 
 Are known to fame, 
 And left to live above its strife 
 
 An honored name. 
 
 EXHORTATIONS. 
 
 There's danger in thy present state. 
 
 Dread dangers fraught with threatened woes, 
 Rise then each race, exalt thyself. 
 
 You'll reap the fruits that you may sow. 
 
 God, assimilation here forbids 
 
 Save in intelligence of mind, 
 Where the fittest will survive 
 
 And rule the black or white if blind. 
 
 THE TRUE MAN. 
 
 His heart is pure. 
 His soul is strong, 
 He's always true 
 Nor fears a wrong. 
 All that he claims 
 
 148 
 
Will be his due. 
 His judgment clear 
 And just and true. 
 
 THAT TROUBLED THOUGHT. 
 
 When worry begins 
 
 Over errors or sins 
 'Tis nonsense and folly at best 
 
 To fret and to phie, 
 
 Or mope and repine, 
 'Twill only add pangs to the rest. 
 
 Then try to add more 
 To good you've in store 
 
 By trying and doing your best. 
 Make winter like May, 
 If your hair's turned gray, 
 
 For laughing, not grieving, brings rest. 
 
 You can't pay a debt 
 
 If this you neglect. 
 Make doing and laughing a test. 
 
 And fortune will smile 
 
 On you kindly the while 
 And grant all that is for the best. 
 
 O WORLD! 
 
 O world where is thy gain, 
 When one here sees so little 
 Yet feels so much thy pain ? 
 
 THE GREED FOR GOLD. 
 
 If this known truth the world w^ould own 
 Injustice is now Satan's throne, 
 The thirst for gold and greed for gain 
 Would cease, and save it half its pain. 
 
 149 
 
Ambition shackles truthful hearts 
 And plays the fiend with its arts, 
 Trampling justice in its train 
 With its wild thirst and greed for gain. 
 
 The toiler would his harvest own 
 
 And right, not might, would rule the throne, 
 
 And war and hatred end its reign 
 
 And cease their greed and thirst for gain. 
 
 While truth and love, with better part 
 Here hand in hand would join with art; 
 And pride with unassuming stride 
 With joy would walk by virtue's side. 
 
 NATURE AND MIND. 
 
 The last rays of twilight 
 Had faded from view, 
 
 Revealing bright stars 
 In their concaves of blue. 
 
 The bloom of the roses 
 Had perfumed the air, 
 
 All nature responsive 
 Was peaceful and fair. 
 
 Yet nature provc^ restless 
 
 If left here aloue, 
 Unshared in its beauty 
 
 Nor presence to own; 
 
 And reap of the harvest 
 Its bounty prepares. 
 
 And share of its gladness, 
 Its toiling and cares. 
 
 Unless all her creatures 
 Her beauties survey, 
 
 And gather the fruits 
 If unused would decay. 
 
 150 
 
So mind like a garden, 
 Untutored, unfed. 
 
 Supinely and listless 
 Will lie 'till 'tis dead. 
 
 Our lives are like the star paved heavens, — rising 
 higher and higher, forever and ever. 
 
 DO WELL YOUR PART. 
 
 Only do well here your part, 
 'Twill end well, and well 'twill start. 
 
 IS AND EVER IS TO BE. 
 
 I am glad of life's endowments, 
 If mine is a meager share, 
 
 For I wonton oft with pleasure 
 If I'm threatened with despair. 
 
 If I'm down life's river going, 
 With my lifeboat in the flow, 
 
 While I watch the currents ever 
 As I half unconscious row. 
 
 Asking what I am and whence I, 
 
 As I on my journey go, 
 Knowing not to where, or hence. 
 
 Only that I am I know. 
 
 If these are vain and idle thoughts 
 They have rung adown the ages. 
 
 Written deep in human life, 
 And stamped on all its pages. 
 
 151 
 
THE SIBERIAN EXILE. 
 
 The chieftain gazed with flashing eyes, 
 Bright with their fearless flame, 
 
 As with the patriot's dying sighs 
 He whispered freedom's name. 
 
 There, chained beneath the starlit sky. 
 
 He gave his last faint plaintive cry. 
 
 ''Shall empires live when freedom dies. 
 
 On Linden hills of snow, 
 And slavery curse the Russian skies, 
 
 There with its bloodstained glow; 
 And tyrants spread their sombre pall 
 Where dying freemen thankless fall?" 
 
 No loving eyes with tender beams 
 
 Watched o'er the exile's rest. 
 As far from off the icy sheen 
 
 The cold winds kissed his breast 
 There, sadly 'neath the starry dome 
 He dreamed of native land and home. 
 
 The pale stars shone with paler beams 
 
 Upon the dying slave. 
 As raving in his nightly dreams 
 
 Chained in his felon's grave; 
 While ghoulish phantoms passing by 
 In triumph mocked his dying cry. 
 
 He cursed the dastard tyrant hordes 
 And wrenched his grating chains, 
 
 As stabbed him with their sharpened swords, 
 He fell with cries of pain; 
 
 And there beneath the polar skies 
 
 The stricken heart of freedom lies. 
 
 From Caspia's rosy breath there came 
 
 A voice across the sea 
 That woke the bleak Siberian plain 
 
 With Anthems of the free; 
 While down upon the glistening snow 
 The moon shone with her crimson glow. 
 
 152 
 
The exile laid with drowsy eyes; 
 
 Grief reveled in his breast; 
 The breezes with their pensive sighs 
 
 His grizzled locks had cleft, 
 As hushed his freedom loving breath 
 Upon that friendly bed of death. 
 
 No more shall pangs from plunging steel 
 E'er rouse his drooping head ; 
 
 Nor music heed from martial peals; 
 Nor tears for freedom shed ; 
 
 For radiant in the hazy west 
 
 The sun sets o'er his lifeless breast. 
 
 TO A SMILING BEAUTY. 
 
 Now I see deception's cover 
 
 Long has veiled thy heart from me ; 
 Had I known thy baseness sooner, — 
 
 Baseness now so plain to see. 
 
 If the plotting heart within thee. 
 Stung with unrequited pride, 
 
 Could have felt the wrong it done me. 
 Quickly would that heart have died. 
 
 Now your coward heart, exultant 
 In its inward baseness born. 
 
 Little thinks that yet repentant 
 It shall wither 'neath my scorn. 
 
 Envy dies when 'tis defeated 
 In its own deep-woven snare. 
 
 And it shrinks from those it cheated 
 In its loathsome, dread despair. 
 
 Now your sin-cursed soul enthralling 
 With the pangs so just its due, 
 
 Wears the shackles that are galling 
 To a sin-cursed wretch like you. 
 
 153 
 
Could 5^ou know how once I loved you, 
 Ne'er half equalled by my hate, 
 
 Then repentance might have saved you. 
 But — repentance is too late. 
 
 Cursed thy deeds are, 'hove repeating, 
 Deeds you wish were hidden now, 
 
 But to God, who has their keeping. 
 You shall yet submissive bow. 
 
 You will sometime feel the sorrow 
 
 That despair alone can teach, 
 O'er the woes you'll daily borrow 
 
 Still eternal they shall reach. 
 
 Once I own, I proudly claimed you 
 All a trusting heart could paint. 
 
 But thy pirate heart has changed you 
 To a devil, from a saint. 
 
 Yet I leave you not in gladness; 
 
 'Tis with feelings 'kin to pain. 
 Mingled with an unfeigned sadness 
 
 That is tempered with disdain. 
 
 With that smile with which you've blighted 
 Honor, friendship, love and trust, 
 
 With the vows you once here plighted 
 But have trampled in the dust. 
 
 Home itself you've cursed with treason. 
 
 Blindly by your passions led ; 
 Every noble thought or reason 
 
 In your selfish heart is dead. 
 
 Now your eyes so soulless glisten 
 
 With a vacant, listless stare, 
 If, while smiling yet you listen 
 
 'Tis the look born of despair. 
 
 Soon, thy lustful carcass yielding 
 To corruption's loathsome mass. 
 
 And the dung-worms will be feeding 
 Where no human step shall pass. 
 
 154 
 
Then thy sinful soul shall suffer 
 What no mortal tongue can tell, 
 
 Sunk with deeds you'd gladly cover 
 In the deepest, darkest hell. 
 
 Like Castor's burning, dancing eyes, 
 Man's schemes are hard to follow, 
 
 They're hid so deeply in the shade. 
 Of Pluto's smoking hollow! 
 
 Yet, deep as are the devil's plans. 
 
 And frequent his successes. 
 They're punctured by the laws of right, 
 
 He daily here transgresses! 
 
 Wrong ten-thousand times succeeding. 
 In time will find correction, 
 
 Tho' often, long, it hides away, 
 Behind its gross deception ! 
 
 Justice, surely, will 'venge itself. 
 On those w^ho live by plunder, 
 
 Tho' counted as the world-wise Kings, 
 And legions be their number! 
 
 TO MRS. R. L. D. NICKERSON. 
 
 Another year of harvest wisely stored 
 
 And friendship pays it's tribute to your worth. 
 
 As free as in your girlhoods early morn 
 
 To celebrate the mem'ry of your birth. 
 
 Nature unsparing with its gen'rous gifts 
 Has lent new grace to crown your modest pride ; 
 For, to your virtues a monument she'll rise 
 Of truth, and love, eternal, side by side. 
 
 This day made glad by hopes of its return 
 To sanctify the mem'ry of the deeds 
 Of one who was to selfishness no slave 
 With soul too great to be the dupe of creeds. 
 
 155 
 
Accept this humble off'ring of respect 
 
 From those to whom your virtues have been known 
 
 As to your life in retrospect they turned 
 
 While on its peaceful currents here have flown. 
 
 May we again oft gather at thy board 
 In festal mood with hearts to friendship true 
 And pray to Him who holds the keys of life 
 To kindly long your speeding years renew. 
 
 POVERTY OF HEART. 
 
 These, are burning thoughts that master, 
 
 All the phantasies of hope; 
 Heard so plainly, yet a whisper, 
 
 Having an eternal scope. 
 
 Truth will live! and live forever; 
 
 Too, will life itself decide, 
 And its light will darkness sever, 
 
 If to orion 'tis allied. 
 
 How my poverty now quickens; 
 
 Longing, longing for the gain, 
 In the fearful thought that thickens; 
 
 Poverty of heart and brain. 
 
 In which dark and frightful shadows. 
 
 Rising up in multiform. 
 Leave a sense of deeper sorrows. 
 
 Breaking, like a thunder-storm. 
 
 Heaven, grant me this petition, 
 
 In my poverty and fear; 
 Teach my heart by intuition, 
 
 'Till thy oracles I hear. 
 
 DECEPTIVE TEARS. 
 
 There was a tear fell from her eyes, 
 Altho' her face was smiling, 
 
 156 
 
And yet, it was deceptions glance, 
 And failed of its beguilding. 
 
 If time has placed beyond recall, 
 The look that's gone forever, 
 
 I never can forget the smile. 
 It will live on, forever! 
 
 Yet never! can it in my heart. 
 Save, but distress awaken ! 
 
 For, in fact, to tell the truth, 
 My faith in her was shaken. 
 
 For never yet, did "Beauty's smile," 
 Conceal so gross deception. 
 
 It would attempt here to deceive. 
 Its object of affection. 
 
 JACK'S MISSION. 
 
 Pray, O Jack ! my nose is freezing, 
 
 Drop a sun-beam on my head. 
 "Shut your mouth, and stop your sneezing. 
 
 Don't you know that summer's fled ?" 
 
 Then away, with ice-wings flew he. 
 
 Silver laden, bright and clear. 
 Singing as he flew then by me. 
 
 To the South-land's warmer sphere. 
 
 Gathering germs of death and sickness. 
 Crushed them neath his icy feet ; 
 
 Cooling fevered brows with quickness. 
 Flying on with snow and sleet. 
 
 Truth then flashed across my vision ; 
 
 Jack was sent, an angel here, 
 With the North Winds, on a mission. 
 
 If his locks are cold and sear. 
 
 Soon the falling rain and sun-light, 
 Wove a crescent round his brow, 
 
 157 
 
As he vanished through the moon-light, 
 Back to Ice-land, then, I trow. 
 
 Thus I learned the God of Nature, 
 Had this healing angel sent. 
 
 Though if fierce of grasp and feature. 
 On love's sacred mission bent. 
 
 TO MISS B. 
 
 I know of your displeasure. 
 At suggestions which I make. 
 
 And think that I am sleeping. 
 While the world is wide awake ; 
 
 All from lack of thinking. 
 With a blinded fogy's brain. 
 
 Why I can't believe as you do, 
 When you make it all so plain! 
 
 Tho' if, often, I have wondered, 
 
 At the isms newly born ; 
 Yet, a Gnat has never proven 
 
 That it was a Unicorn : 
 
 And if here, I have been puzzled, 
 At the wisdom of your say, 
 
 I cannot quite believe it. 
 If I know it is your way? 
 
 While yielding much concession. 
 To the change of circumstance. 
 
 Yet, if, 'tis want of knowledge, 
 I must always take my chance; 
 
 Tho' with gibs of reprobation. 
 
 That might fright a modern Czeck, 
 
 From a senseless superstition 
 That engulphs me to the neck. 
 
 You may disprove my boldness, 
 So unlike Sir Galahad : 
 
 158 
 
But pray to keep your patience, 
 If, in fact, I am so bad ; 
 
 I'm only bone and muscle, 
 
 That can hold my tongue in check, 
 With so little store of wisdom, 
 
 'Twill not change at human beck! 
 
 If your amenuensis. 
 
 Should not write me down as coarse, 
 Remember, there are changes 
 
 Often, on the street and Bourse ; 
 
 If quickly, now my household, 
 
 Is shaken, up and down. 
 Replaced by mental science, 
 
 'Twill not draw from me a frown. 
 
 I believe in a hereafter. 
 
 In an unknown state, called death! 
 "No way of man evading 
 
 Drawing now a vital breath ! 
 
 As sure as leaves when falling. 
 By the ice king's frosty wing, 
 
 'Twill crown the naked branches. 
 Of the wakened trees in spring. 
 
 I own good-cheer, and gladness, 
 Is, now. Nature's priceless boon. 
 
 That noon-day is not darkness. 
 Nor is midnight light as noon ; 
 
 I know that science clearly, 
 Has discovered mental laws, 
 
 And that every change that happens. 
 Has within itself the cause. 
 
 It proves that evolution. 
 
 Both of matter and of mind, 
 
 Bespeakes of new advancement. 
 As by Nature 'twas designed ; 
 
 Dispersing all the errors, 
 
 That are woven into thought, 
 
 159 
 
'Till temples built on reason, 
 
 Are by God thro' nature wrought. 
 
 'Till with perfected being, 
 
 If in seeming 'tis in vain. 
 That God permitted evil. 
 
 Here to breed its grief and pain ! 
 
 But, only think that winter. 
 
 Brings its measure here of good, 
 
 As well as, gentle summer. 
 
 When its laws are understood! 
 
 Again I ask your pardon. 
 
 For my unseemly jest' 
 And pray that strength be given. 
 
 To make the truth my quest; 
 
 Yet 'spite of all the gladness, 
 That has fallen to your way, 
 
 I cannot quite believe it, 
 
 Tho' I,m pleased at what you say! 
 
 If half my sense is smothered. 
 
 By the prejudice of sect, 
 The other half, careering. 
 
 Has too, failed to keep it checked ; 
 
 And if you take it silly, 
 
 Or may laught at what I say. 
 
 Your theories are failures. 
 In the light of truth today! 
 
 For 'tis to man appointed. 
 That he surely once shall die, 
 
 By the laws which give him being, 
 Life's laws, to you and I ; 
 
 Till the atmosphere of Heav'n, 
 All intelligence has breathed. 
 
 Then will re-incarnation. 
 
 Bring no body that's diseased. 
 
 160 
 
This Kingdom is within the soul, 
 In upward march of mind, 
 
 Devoid of lust, of greed and pow'r, 
 A living soul to bind? 
 
 A LATE DISCOVERY. 
 
 Ah, me! her face of girlish mirth, 
 Must had its sweetness from its birth; 
 
 Though late it was discovered. 
 Like pearls found on an ocean strand. 
 Half hidden by the shining sand. 
 
 The drifting sea-foam covered. 
 
 The magic of her winsome look, 
 Like music of a running brook, 
 
 Had living inspiration. 
 And left the wounds of Cupid's dart, 
 In my sad, regretful heart. 
 
 Outliving its duration. 
 
 But O ! Ah me, how strange its pranks, 
 The heritage of wildest cranks, 
 
 That are the slaves of women, 
 Yet are to other hearts than mine. 
 Charmed by a face that seem'd divine, 
 
 Have proved a sadful omen. 
 
 The wounded passions left to burn. 
 Like torture of a sharpened thorn. 
 
 Without exaggeration ; 
 To well nigh cause my heart to break, 
 If 'twas not a dreamy fake. 
 
 Of my imagination. 
 
 THE VICTORY OF CHRISTIAN FAITH. 
 
 The ultimate of Christian faith, 
 Assures the brotherhood of man ; ' 
 
 Built on foundations of the truth, 
 According to Jehovah's plan. 
 
 161 
 
However deep the canyon's gorge, 
 Where madding passion's swiftly run, 
 
 Or cruel its malignant streams, 
 They calmly will unite, in one. 
 
 The humanizing force at work, 
 Though often with a tragic hand. 
 
 Will purify the human heart, 
 
 And mine the gold from rock and strand. 
 
 Opression for industrial gain, 
 
 With all its selfishness and pow'r. 
 
 Will weave its own grim winding sheet. 
 And fall ignoble in an hour. 
 
 If with attempted comic smile. 
 And wild, melo-dramatic mirth, 
 
 'Twill vanish as its author, Cain, 
 A Recre'nt of untimely birth. 
 
 The healing force of Christ-like love. 
 Will crush the selfishness of Art, 
 
 And its preponderate pow'r will fill, 
 With deeper joy the human heart. 
 
 HARD SCRABLE'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 The yearly round of pinch has come, 
 Of milk, of meat and bread. 
 
 And now my needed store is short. 
 My cows are poorly fed. 
 
 The taxes, too, have to be paid. 
 And winter clothes be bought, 
 
 With debts to pay and overdue. 
 That leaves a scanty lot. 
 
 The hens don't lay a single egg. 
 
 With not a dime in sight. 
 And now it is so freezing cold. 
 
 Their combs are frozen white. 
 
 162 
 
The children, too, are lacking shoes, 
 To make the things look worse. 
 
 And doctor bills are h^rd to pay 
 Out of any empty purse. 
 
 I know that I am not to blame. 
 And yet the pinch comes round. 
 
 And every time I feel the nip, 
 I think I'll till more ground. 
 
 They call this old Hard-Scrabble's farm, 
 And laugh when I am short. 
 
 Yet they may laugh, I do not care, 
 I'll have my outings out. 
 
 TO WYODENE. 
 
 In yonder bourn of mountain shade, 
 The fragrant roses bloom and grow. 
 To crown the earth where now is laid 
 Unharmed her form by rain or snow. 
 
 Strangers will often pass this way 
 By whom her virtues will be told. 
 And twilight breezes chant their lay 
 To her beneath the bloom and mould. 
 
 Her parents, too, will come at eve. 
 With grief her sacred mound to view, 
 While sadly in their hearts they grieve. 
 And with their tears the flowers bedew. 
 
 Here friendship's swollen eyes with tears 
 Will in their si:rrows mournful weep. 
 While they will throu' their lonely years, 
 Here long their painful vigils keep. 
 
 The stars will long and brightly shine 
 Above her fair unpillowed head. 
 Yet ne'er believe her soul divine 
 Lies silent here asleep and dead. 
 
 163 
 
The parting ties and blissful dream 
 Entombed with her, so lowly laid, 
 Will ne'er disperse the golden beam 
 That lights the darkness of Its shade. 
 
 For mem'ry long will linger here 
 Twining Its wreath of love to lay 
 Upon the rose-bloom 'bove her bier. 
 Fanned by the breath of ocean spray. 
 
 No echo of the clam'rous wave 
 That beats against the Harbor's breast, 
 Disturbs her in her flowery grave, 
 There In her silent hillside rest. 
 
 Her bright and beaming sunlit face 
 With heart rays of glory fill. 
 For she, robed with Immortal grace, 
 Thro' heaven and earth now roams at will. 
 
 The sun In daily rounds will set 
 O'er changes of the varying scene ; 
 Yet ne'cjt in memory we'll forget 
 Our deaiv.'st, darling Wyodene. 
 
 CORA WILLIAMS. 
 
 This incident occurred on Decoration Day at Shiocton. 
 A little daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Harrison Williams ob- 
 serving that many neglected graves had no flowers, she pro- 
 cured all she could and kneeling by these unknown graves, 
 whispering a silent player. It Is said that strong men and 
 women stood in solemn silence, many shedding tears at 
 sight of this sweet child in her devotions. 
 
 Trembling breezes drifted softly 
 
 In the May-time sunlit sky. 
 And the breath of perfumed flowers 
 
 With the winds were passing by. 
 
 Loving hands, carnations planted 
 To the mem'ry of their dead, 
 
 164 
 
Save to those unknown, neglected, 
 For whom no tears were shed. 
 
 Yet, one infant form was bending, 
 O'er the unknown sleepers there, 
 
 As she from her store of treasures, 
 Laid, for each, a tear-stained share. 
 
 While her winsome, waving tresses, 
 With their shim'ring golden haze, 
 
 Hid the love and sweetness beaming. 
 In her tender, saintly gaze. 
 
 Men with iron wills stood mutely 
 By the kneeling form they saw; 
 
 Women's tender hearts were melted. 
 With a holy, reverent awe. 
 
 Friends and strangers, kneeling by her. 
 With her upturned tearful brow. 
 
 Whispered with the spirit's whisper, 
 Darling, angel, bless thee now. 
 
 Startled throngs, with joy and wonder, 
 A new son / of gladness sang. 
 
 And the watching angles, waiting. 
 Joined the chorus as it rang. 
 
 While the aims of life rose higher. 
 Where that earth-born angel stood ; 
 
 For each human heart beat stronger 
 With new purposes of good. 
 
 FROM WHOM THE THOUGHTS. 
 
 From whom the thoughts, that are both yours and mine? 
 
 Veiled deep in mist, as is the April moon. 
 While on they pass, unseen, at night's dark noon ; 
 
 Or, waiting, with the evening stars, to twine 
 With gladness, round my anxious soul and thine! 
 
 Awakening strains of music in each heart; 
 
 165 
 
Vibrated back, with raptu'rs dreams of peace! 
 
 And then are gone, from mem'ry ne'er to cease, 
 Upon life's endless waves, tho' worlds apart? 
 The new tomorrows that will come and go; 
 
 With scattered day-dreams, by us now held dear, 
 Tho' love's losses upon each cheek appear. 
 
 If seen thro' veils of gladness, or of woe! 
 In morrows, yet, we each shall ever know, 
 
 That lull to rest, or wake with visioned fear, 
 From impress of the romance of the past! 
 
 'Tween us and which, the night is setting fast. 
 That brings no sorrow which can claim a tear! 
 
 I'M TIRED OF FRETTING. 
 
 I am tired of all this fretting. 
 
 Over what is, or is to be ; 
 Yes, tired and weary of setting 
 
 The time when 'twill cease with me. 
 
 For my worry is over tomorrow. 
 And not of the things of today; 
 
 It is over the troubles I borrow, 
 
 That makes of my heart now its prey. 
 
 Yes, sick of the talking and scheming. 
 Though you may be planning as I ; 
 
 'Tis a frivolous, senseless, dreaming. 
 Believing in half that's a lie. 
 
 Yet carries me outward, and onward. 
 Like a child that's busy at play ; 
 
 Running, hither and thither, and forward, 
 Not knowing for what, or the way. 
 
 This fretting and strug'ling for riches. 
 When we know they cannot endure; 
 
 The heart, and the soul, so bewitches, 
 With the dread we feel to be poor. 
 
 Yet, I know it makes me a pauper, 
 This looking for more and for more; 
 
 166 
 
Which brings to my heart only torture, 
 That's never once felt by the poor. 
 
 Then away with the bustle and wrangle, 
 Of riches, if now all the rage; 
 
 Away with the rustle and tangle. 
 Of a fast unreasoning age. 
 
 Seek, the gladness, God-given, today, 
 That, something you know cannot die ; 
 
 And drive all your worry away. 
 For I know it is half a lie. 
 
 THE TRUE GOLD. 
 
 Of my own thought I am ashamed, 
 For worshipping the golden past; 
 
 While present goodness I might claimed 
 Far more than yet I've ever asked. 
 
 Why should my oft reverted eyes 
 Turn backward with an eager gaze ; 
 
 Or future with its boundless skies 
 Of endless reach and empty haze. 
 
 The tender bud before the flow'r 
 Had all its richest perfumes sown; 
 
 While fullness of its ripened pow'r 
 Its latest, sweetest, bloom could own. 
 
 Why should I then with plaintive thought 
 Grieve at the daily deeds of men. 
 
 Or mourn o'er aught that they have wrought 
 When they're the best that's ever been. 
 
 I reap of that which I have sown, 
 From soil prepared by fool and sage, 
 
 And yet my thought must be my own. 
 Drawn from life's dark or fairest page. 
 
 There is no morrow to my soul, 
 Today will be forever mine, 
 
 167 
 
Then let its light my heart control, 
 If darkly it or lucent shine. 
 
 The riches that surround me now 
 In haste I quickly should secure, 
 
 While deeper still for truth I pray, 
 
 For gold that will through change endure. 
 
 GIVE YOUR BEST ENDEAVOR. 
 
 If effort has not brought reward 
 Don't think that 'twill not never; 
 
 God controls his own award, 
 Then give your best endeavor. 
 
 If you've often been defeated 
 Do not count it all as dross; 
 
 Right of right was never cheated, 
 Effort brings more gain than loss. 
 
 If waiting oft provokes defeat 
 
 Or delays invite distrust, 
 A nobler effort then repeat 
 
 Right is right and win it must. 
 
 Wait with patience working trying 
 If you find it God's behest — 
 
 Some wise purpose underlying; 
 For what is, is for the best. 
 
 The bravest hearts don't always win 
 Judging from our human view. 
 
 Yet bravest they have ever been 
 Who in doing bravely do. 
 
 Then O, my soul, dream not of pain, 
 
 No never, never, never! 
 Each life of toil is full of gain. 
 
 Then hush my fears forever. 
 
 168 
 
THE INSTABILITY OF TIME. 
 
 Here in our youth how swift the moments fly, 
 And ere we know it, they have pass'd us by. 
 'Tis then we clothe with quaint illusive rhyme 
 Our past enjoyments with the present time. 
 
 As the bright glow from phosphorescent bark. 
 Whose beauty is only seen save in the dark. 
 So affections cling fondest round the heart 
 For those we love the most when we must part. 
 
 Yet, if this sweetest source of pleasure fail, 
 We need not then its seeming loss bewail. 
 For nature has a bounty here supplied 
 As mem'ry does her kindred joys provide. 
 
 MY SECRET. 
 
 There is something in my keeping 
 Which I do not care to speak ; 
 
 Something unexplained by reason. 
 With its mystery so deep. 
 
 Something that the builder gave me, 
 When he fashioned here my mind. 
 
 Yet I know not all its meaning, 
 Nor solution can I find. 
 
 Tho' so frail I alwaj^s tremble, 
 Lest its keeping I might lose. 
 
 Yet at loss I am here ever 
 
 What that something is to prove. 
 
 Reader you now surely have it. 
 Just the same as I do mine, 
 
 Tho' I never ask you for it, 
 Neither can I lend me thine. 
 
 Kings and beggars all the same. 
 
 Do each alike inherit. 
 Yet none can claim it as his own. 
 
 Or count is as a merit. 
 
 169 
 
Tho' we live and learn my neighbor 
 
 It will never be revealed. 
 Did you ever think in keeping 
 
 You had something so concealed? 
 
 Now, o'er this something none can keep, 
 You and I must have no strife. 
 
 While I whisper you the secret, 
 Don't you answer human life. 
 
 LET ME TAKE 'OOR GLASSES GANPA. 
 
 "Ganpa, let me take 'oor glasses, 
 An' I'll 'ook up in 'er skies, 
 An' I'll t'y an' find 'er bosses, 
 
 An' th' bear with big b'ack eyes." 
 
 I slowly closed the open page 
 And kiss'd his sweet rosy cheeks, 
 
 'Till louder then my infant sage 
 In his childish wisdom speaks. 
 
 "I'll 'ook up in 'er milky way 
 For the tows must be as'eep. 
 An' Ganpa who dus give 'em hay, 
 An' who dus the bossies keep." 
 
 "There, there! for they 'av lit th' light! 
 Quick ! Quick ! for da'll go to bed ! 
 For now I dess da tink it night. 
 Can 'oo see a bossie's head?" 
 
 "Dare! dare! I tan!" with clasping hands. 
 Rattling with his baby tongue. 
 In childish glee 'bout starry lands, 
 Up there, way beyond the sun. 
 
 Who lit the lights he wildly cried? 
 Dancing with his childish head. 
 "See dare!^dare! where de bossies lied, 
 Ganpa, are de bossies dead?" 
 
 170 
 
I gazed then at the starry fold, 
 Far off in the endless deep, 
 
 And pray'd my boy with head of gold 
 T-he God of the stars would keep. 
 
 THE EMPRESS OF THE SEAS. 
 Most gracious Queen, fair Empress of the seas, 
 
 Brittania shall never fall, 
 Columbia's prayers shall loud on every breeze 
 
 For thy protection call 
 
 'Gainst Arab clans and brutish Tartar hordes, 
 
 Or vile internicene foes, 
 While millions wait now thy sovereign words 
 
 To deal the Slav his deadly blows. 
 
 Loyal beats now every Christian heart 
 
 Afar throughout thy circling clime. 
 And no wide seas thy trusted sons can part. 
 
 Strike! Empress strike! 'tis now thy time. 
 
 The tyrant that would all mankind oppress 
 With thralldom of his fruitless years. 
 
 The growling fiend polar bear repress 
 And rid the burden'd world of tears. 
 
 Strike ! Albion strike ! loyal to thy name. 
 
 'Tis Saxon blood thy sons inspire, 
 Columbia's caught the glinting of the flame. 
 
 Now lustrous with its native fire. 
 
 Drive back the brutal hordes far to their haunts. 
 
 Hush the cold stream of discontent, 
 Joined heart to heart now with our kindred wants, 
 
 Columbia does their wrongs resent. 
 
 THE ANGEL'S MESSAGE. 
 
 Queried have I all the morning. 
 
 Sleepless, too, was all the night. 
 Asking, asking, still unanswered, 
 
 Am I, Oh! tell me, am I right? 
 
 171 
 
Shall I crush the hand which struck me 
 Such a heart benumbing blow, 
 
 While the tears repress'd are falling, 
 Will you tell me, yes or no? 
 
 Fiercely rising is the impulse, 
 Born of passions angry throes, 
 
 'Till the all absorbing feeling, 
 
 That a wounded heart but knows, 
 
 Bids me turn upon the slayer 
 Who has caused my bitter woe, 
 
 Yet an angel kindly whispers 
 To my spirit, never, no! 
 
 'Tis an asp among the roses, 
 
 Bound by friendship's golden chain. 
 
 Hidden by the film of malice, 
 Causes my undying pain. 
 
 And me thinks 'twere right to slay it. 
 
 For my heart is burning so; 
 Yet, an angel kindly whispers 
 
 To my spirit, never, no! 
 
 Wrong on wrongs, by wrongs inflicted. 
 Tendered with a vicious smile, 
 
 'Till my heart seems dead and frozen 
 By false friendships wasting guile; 
 
 Then 'twould seem a holy purpose 
 Rising from the deadly blow. 
 
 Bids me rise and slay the slayer, 
 But my spirit answers no ! 
 
 Through the long night lone and sleepless, 
 Moved by passion's burning flame, 
 
 With my heart more deeply bleeding. 
 Coming, going all the same; 
 
 Then, that vengeful thought arises. 
 
 As I deeply feel the blow. 
 But my guardian angel whispers 
 
 Never, never, never, no ! 
 
 172 
 
O poor human heart how blindly 
 God's own purpose thou dost dare ! 
 
 Here, when thou should uncomplaining 
 All thy fitful sufE'rings bear ; 
 
 Yet, again more painful frettmg, 
 
 Sinking deeper is the steel, 
 And I can't repress the anguish 
 
 Now that in my soul I feel. 
 
 Yet a half reproachful murmur 
 From my heart aches will arise, 
 
 Till a woe begotten shadow 
 Swiftly passes by my eyes. 
 
 With a look so sad remorseful. 
 That I tremble at its pain ; 
 
 For I see the hand that struck me 
 By its own remorse is slain. 
 
 Then to me the angles whisper 
 As the shadow reached the grave. 
 
 Would you have revenge your master 
 And be cursed like him its slave? 
 
 When they kiss'd my lips and left me 
 With the fleetness of a dove ; 
 
 While I thanked the holy angels 
 For her message and her love. 
 
 THE ONLY ONE LEFT IS JOE. 
 
 I have been looking aback boys. 
 For the mist has fallen away 
 That hangs o'er the ways of life boys 
 
 Since the days of frolic and play 
 We ran over the hills with glee boys. 
 And of us all I used to know 
 The only one left is Joe. 
 
 Now give me aback again boys 
 
 Life's spring with its bloom and flowers, 
 
 173 
 
And the harvest time with glee boys; 
 With its noonday gladsome hours, 
 For they were so full of hope boys, 
 I hardly think it is so 
 The only one left is Joe. 
 
 The school and the battlefields boys. 
 
 With the vict'ries won at play. 
 As over the forts of snow boys, 
 
 Or by the snow guns held at bay, 
 While swinging our hats with glee boys, 
 I can hardly think 'tis so 
 That the only one left is Joe. 
 
 They have all come back again boys, 
 
 And the loved and the lost are here. 
 While my heart seems young again boys, 
 
 O'erbrimed with the hopes and the cheer 
 We had in those olden days boys, 
 And I hardly think 'tis so 
 Now the only one left is Joe. 
 
 Yes, I remember the days boys 
 
 When each one went out in his way 
 To gather the sheaves of life boys, 
 
 And of some that went far astray. 
 But gathered e'er this to rest boys. 
 Yet can it be truly so 
 Now the only one left is Joe. 
 
 Now I am gazing aback boys 
 
 To changes I've met in my way, 
 With steps unsteady and weak boys, 
 And my head is so white and grey, 
 A change is nearing my feet boys, 
 And I am certain I know 
 There'll be no one left, not Joe. 
 
 174 
 
THE REMORSE OF ILLTEMPER. 
 
 Tho' I've sometimes said in rashness 
 That thy heart was never true, 
 
 But my heart then soon regretful 
 Owned the wrong it done to you. 
 
 Sometimes I have in my anger 
 Cursed thee with a fearful curse, 
 
 But when reason came to rule me, 
 
 Cursed the thought which gave it birth. 
 
 Sometimes in a thoughtless moment 
 When you've said some hasty thing, 
 
 I have yielded to my passions 
 
 Through the keenness of its sting. 
 
 When again by chance I've met you 
 And the heartache died away, 
 
 I have prayed to be forgiven 
 As I gladly would today. 
 
 Tho' I own a pang may linger 
 Where love used to rule supreme. 
 
 Yet I pledge my heart hereafter 
 All its rashness to redeem. 
 
 Now I see the wrong I done thee, 
 
 Rather that I done mj^self. 
 Then I shrink tho' I have done it 
 
 In my very shame from self. 
 
 GONE, GONE! 
 
 Gone, gone! and he would gladly staid 
 
 If I had only spoken 
 The words that then so lightly laid 
 
 Upon my heart now broken. 
 
 O foolish pride, deserving shame, 
 Unheard is now thy pleading. 
 
 His frozen heart I can't reclaim. 
 For it is dead to feeling. 
 
 175 
 
And I this pain alone must bear, 
 With my dear bought repentance, 
 
 That my poor foolish heart might share 
 A moment's brief indulgence. 
 
 To see his manly face turn pale. 
 
 Then flush again to crimson. 
 That I'm seeming just might rail 
 
 In senseless cold derision. 
 
 O hapless fate, to thee I'm chained. 
 
 From his stern look recoiling. 
 With mem'ry of my heart so pained, 
 
 So deathlike and destroying. 
 
 Now all my dreams of life are crush'd. 
 
 Yet he can never know it, 
 Nor yet how deeply I am cursed. 
 
 Nor, e'en how much I rue it. 
 
 Gone, gone! the hateful cants repeat 
 
 Till in my life is woven 
 The anguish of its own defeat 
 
 By long repentance proven. 
 
 O vi^ould that I ere sense pride 
 
 Had broke my life's sweet peaceful stream, 
 But ah me! I should have died 
 
 If this had not been but a dream. 
 
 THE AFFINITY OF SOULS. 
 
 What mystic thread of passion strung 
 Between thy loyal heart and mine ; 
 
 Re-echoes with the notes it sung 
 
 In old rememb'rance now of thine? 
 
 Its melodies so sweet to me 
 
 Was hymm'd with love 'twould seem must last. 
 But 'twould be better not to be 
 
 Than know it was forever past. 
 
 176 
 
O, do'st thou know that thou art cleft 
 From all that loving life apart, 
 
 And still to him so lonely left 
 
 Dost yearn to soothe his aching heart? 
 
 Canst thou entombed beneath the wave 
 Of death's destructive, hopeless lot. 
 
 Return here from the loathsome grave 
 To meet me with one loving thought? 
 
 Canst thou from o'er that desert shore 
 Above its breaking tempests rise. 
 
 And meet me as thou hast before 
 Save but the spectre of disguise? 
 
 Canst thou through realms of endless space, 
 Where countless suns forever burn, 
 
 With radiance beaming from thy face 
 Again to me with love return ? 
 
 I feel the sluggish pulse of life, 
 
 Now quickened with thy holy touch. 
 
 And dost thou now survive the strife 
 And feel for me as much ? 
 
 What message o'er that darkened void 
 To which my mortal eyes can see. 
 
 Hast thou in faintest whisper'd heard 
 And told the angels 'twas from me. 
 
 I know not, yet I truly know. 
 
 It is the converse of the soul. 
 From that far world to this below. 
 
 O'er which God gives to love control. 
 
 THE SILENT NIGHT. 
 
 'Tis night, 'tis night, the silent night, 
 I'm gazing round with wonder. 
 
 At yonder stars in endless flight 
 Above the world in slumber. 
 
 177 
 
'TIs night, 'tis night, the silent night. 
 
 The weary world is sleeping. 
 While fond true hearts dream with delight, 
 
 And loyally are beating. 
 
 'Tis night, 'tis night, the silent night. 
 With worlds above me shining, 
 
 Down on the snow, with lamps of light. 
 From fields of silver lining. 
 
 'Tis night, 'tis night, the silent night, 
 And millions now are weeping. 
 
 Yet God beholds, with ceaseless sight, 
 And has them in his keeping. 
 
 'Tis night, 'tis night, the silent night. 
 
 Its voice to us is speaking. 
 Prepare the sheaves w^ith royal might 
 
 God's angels now are reaping. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 Now Autumn with her yellow hood 
 
 Has changed the summer green to brown, 
 
 And sullen rules where she then stood 
 With chill November's surly frown. 
 
 While summer with her virgin face 
 Hides in the sombre purple shade 
 
 And yearning with her tender grace 
 To kiss the frosty, jeweled glade. 
 
 She turns with an approving smile 
 To frolic with the sporting leaves. 
 
 Or half reluctant strays the while 
 Among the leafless swaying trees. 
 
 Or southward flies to fairer climes 
 Beyond the hills of frost and snow, 
 
 Where brooklets sing their drowsy rhymes 
 And breezes sweet with fragrance blow. 
 
 178 
 
Thus, too, when cares my heart besieged, 
 I've oft relieved the tortured mind 
 
 By fleeing to some favorite mead 
 
 Where friendship did its kinship find. 
 
 I then this- lesson well may learn, 
 
 When trouble rends my heart and head, 
 
 That creature care to which I turn 
 Ne'er yet my path to pleasure led. 
 
 If autumn with its surfeit cries. 
 
 More blades to blight and rills to bind, 
 
 Love will like summer's peaceful skies 
 Allays the troubles of the mind. 
 
 For life with all its seeming woes 
 
 May oft be dress'd in autumn's gloom 
 
 And yet beyond the autumn's snows 
 Lies sweet perpetual bloom. 
 
 MY FRIEND. 
 
 If for the want of some better employment 
 I've foolishly murdered one moment for you, 
 
 Pleasure so poor to be grudged its enjoyment, 
 I can hardly think, My Dear Sir, to be true. 
 
 You doubtless will say he's a little now off! 
 
 Swimming a current he never can buffet. 
 But go to old Styx, and while drinking your quaff 
 
 You'll see yourself then reflected a mullet. 
 
 A giant would hardly thus muddle his brains 
 
 When so soon he in Lethe's sweet waters could drink 
 
 So don't fret at the 'bore, nor yet at your pains, 
 You'll forget his coming while taking your drink. 
 
 The sight of a bigot is surely enough 
 
 If sadly I find such a creature in you, 
 To own that I see it, I own it is tough, 
 
 And yet, if it is so, some merit's your due. ^ 
 
 179 
 
A heart made so narrow a vision so blind 
 No broad superstructure can ever create 
 
 Yet God forgive if one thought in my mind 
 Unv^illing should give place now to hate. 
 
 TO RIDE ON PEGASUS. 
 
 If all the vexations and troubdes I meet 
 
 Might readily crush the most radical saint, 
 
 In this consolation there's something that's sweet, 
 No pleasures I purchased by making complaint. 
 
 Though vixicon and hades may their colloques hold 
 And open their gauntlets of terror may be 
 
 With their shafts wrought to burn, and tongues that are 
 cold, 
 It can never dissever this blessings from me. 
 
 In tempest of passions and worry of hearts 
 
 There's something that's never congenial I know. 
 
 Yet happiness comes if dissembling in part 
 To laugh at the bitter and let the world go. 
 
 To be a Cyclops and ride on Pegasus 
 
 No doubt would be pleasure that one would enjoy. 
 But riding a sledge, with trouble to drag us. 
 
 Would need be quaint wisdom to own it a joy. 
 
 Hurrah ! for the song that lightens my trouble, 
 Hurrah! for my nag that with wings never flew; 
 
 Nor yet work single, nor even draw double, 
 Nor e'en in his life time a load ever drew. 
 
 Hurrah! for the heart that contentment has found. 
 For heads that on pillows of stone soundly sleep 
 
 And fearlessly rest in the storm's v^^ildest sound. 
 
 With the laughter that laughs when the grumblers 
 weep. 
 
 180 
 
THE GOLDEN CHALICE. 
 
 Many worthless treasures sought we 
 Fondly in our hearts to nurse, 
 
 That we once esteemed as riches 
 Which ever after proved a curse. 
 
 Selfishiness and morbid passion, 
 Lust ill-tempered joined to creeds, 
 
 With ten thousand nameless nothings. 
 Never one that meets our needs. 
 
 Kindled by their moral presence 
 That consume us with their fire. 
 
 Following with a wild disorder 
 Consequences dread and dire. 
 
 Worshiping but self, our idol, 
 
 Cruel, selfish, insincere; 
 Making self the slain and slayer, 
 
 Both to perish on one bier. 
 
 Deep the Corsair thrusts we've suffered, 
 Vainly seeking chance for flight, 
 
 As these demons round us fluttered 
 Shutting out the rays of light. 
 
 Frightened by the incantations, 
 Making jargon clouds of dust. 
 
 Crowning failure of the harvest 
 
 Wherein once we thought to trust. 
 
 But there rose a chaplet radi'nt, 
 
 Which to life new brilliance brought, 
 
 And our idols quickly vanished 
 As our dreams had, into naught. 
 
 Wider, wider, grew its circle; 
 
 Brighter burned its beams of light; 
 Rose a cry above the tumult, — 
 
 Worship God! seek truth and right. 
 
 181 
 
THE MELODIES OF NATURE. 
 
 Harps of waves and summer breezes 
 Sweetly mingle in my ears; 
 
 Songs of stars and wild bird voices 
 Hushing my imagined fears. 
 
 Rythmic notes of brooks and rivers 
 Echo with their symphonies, 
 
 Ringing back with glad responses 
 In their chanting melodies. 
 
 Fragrance flung from rosy margins, 
 Valleys filled with sheep and kine; 
 
 Speaking of the wondrous nature 
 Wrought in all its works divine. 
 
 Glinting pearls with limpid beauty 
 Falling in the morning dews, 
 
 Forming wells of human gladness. 
 Gushing songs of joyful news. 
 
 Rich with wealth of untold goodness. 
 Singing soul-tuned prophecies; 
 
 Waking with their gladsome measure 
 All our hearts deep sympathies. 
 
 Greeting with a joyful greeting 
 Pilgrims down life's weary way; 
 
 Filling hearts with love and gladness 
 With their music day by day. 
 
 MY NEIGHBOR. 
 
 Last night in my fancy while roaming. 
 My neighbor I wandered to thee, 
 
 In hopes I might in the gloaming 
 Thy fairy sweet Orpheus see. 
 
 How strange the harp of thy muses 
 That rang in thy lodge then so clear, 
 
 Unkindly the moment refuses 
 
 To sing but one note I could hear. 
 
 182 
 
Thy songs, like waves oi the ocean, 
 
 Seem charmingly bless'd with the spell; 
 
 Awaking my soul with emotion 
 
 As in rapture around me they fell. 
 
 Didst thou then bid them when fleeing 
 Not to breathe then one note on my lyre, 
 
 And hush'd to silence the feeling 
 They woke with the fondest desire? 
 
 If often thy harp here reposes 
 
 At rest on thy mantle unstrung, 
 I'll wait near thy bow'r of roses 
 
 Again till some note they have sung. 
 
 The voices I heard in my dreaming 
 Must ring from some heavenly shrine ; 
 
 For the ecstacy woke was a feeling 
 Of sweetness I know was divine. 
 
 I vainly have waited their coming. 
 
 Till dream and the music were gone; 
 
 And the thought felt when awaking 
 
 Then pierced through my heart like a thorn. 
 
 Yet God may in kindness not given 
 
 The spirit to waken my lyre; 
 For poets must breathe from heav'n 
 
 The power to pleasure inspire. 
 
 Why should I murmur and sorrow 
 If the muses their favors decline; 
 
 I'm glad the grief that I borrow 
 My neighbor can never be thine. 
 
 CAN SEE, YET BLIND. 
 
 Oft friendship's eyes but blindly see 
 The faults that reason would condemn, 
 
 While sterner judgment is more free 
 To point with heartless scorn to them. 
 
 183 
 
Assurance, too, with pity's gaze 
 
 Oft makes approval doubly sad ; 
 For wisdom with its wiser ways 
 
 Cannot confound the good and bad. 
 
 My truant muse in art so young. 
 Yet I must own to loving well; 
 
 If ne'er one hymn that thou hast sung 
 From Orpheus' lips has ever fell. 
 
 If fickle chance might briefly lend 
 
 Some charm of joy that it had known; 
 
 I've failed to find one honest friend 
 
 Within whose heart the truth 'twould own. 
 
 Tho' hope a moment's charm might crave, 
 And seemly without just offense; 
 
 Yet, reason would more kindly save 
 The failure of my fruitless sense. 
 
 Nor yet, in truth, can I deny 
 
 The pleasures that oft come from them; 
 Nor in my heart can quite rely 
 
 On what my reason may condemn. 
 
 Tho' daily now more frail appears 
 The scanty measure of my gain ; 
 
 And yet if 'twas o'erbrim'd with tears 
 I'd own 'twas gladness mixed with pain. 
 
 THE FATED PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 My farm, said he, is all run down. 
 
 My fences gone to rack; 
 But swine like these when sold in town 
 
 Will bring the money back. 
 
 My father once this land did own 
 And raised good stock and grain ; 
 
 But, since I drew of Brown the loan 
 It will not grow a cane. 
 
 184 
 
Yet soon I'll have a house like Brown 
 And have a coach and four ; 
 
 For I shall live, Sir, then in tov^n. 
 With servants at my door. 
 
 You see that I have struck the vim 
 
 That is, Sir, sure to w^in ; 
 And I w^ill buy a v^^atch and chain, 
 
 For gold w^ill soon come in. 
 
 Here is jovial thriftless by his sty. 
 
 Sat idling time away ; 
 And called to every passer by 
 
 That chanced to hear his say. 
 
 Thus on he ran so full of cheer 
 
 I own I felt surprise ; 
 That one as he environed here 
 
 Should have such blinded eyes. 
 
 I paused to hear the rustic's thought 
 
 As on he went to say: 
 ''These hogs this very day I bought 
 
 Of my near neighbor Grey." 
 
 "They are. Sir, of a special breed; 
 
 I'll be a millionaire; 
 For they will burrow in the mud 
 
 And will not need my care." 
 
 HOW VAIN THY WORTH. 
 
 Vain are thy gifts persuasive world, 
 If faith and hope are but surmise. 
 
 And man, like atoms, on is hurled 
 Till he is lost or, rather, dies. 
 
 If death is but the only chance 
 
 And life no more when here 'tis past! 
 
 What is the good of this brief trance 
 If knowing first it cannot last? 
 
 185 
 
If I was but, when I was born, 
 
 Like the north-wind that sullen blows, 
 
 What is my life then but a thorn 
 
 Dead as the earth from which it grows. 
 
 Less than the roe that wand'reth free 
 From all the burdens that I bear, 
 
 While Nature wantons in its glee 
 And laughs at grief I have to share. 
 
 And still of this I'm left in doubt, 
 As brooding o'er my swift decay. 
 
 And as a boat that's tossed about, 
 No harbor has where safe to lay. 
 
 POVERTY WITH PLENTY. 
 
 He is sitting in his mansion, 
 
 With its walls bedecked with gold ; 
 Nursing his unreas'ning passion 
 
 That has made his life so cold. 
 
 And within his heart is hunger. 
 That nigh borders on despair. 
 
 Brooding o'er his scanty measure 
 When there's fullness everywhere. 
 
 He has health, and life, and reason. 
 That might bring him joy 'tis true; 
 
 Yet to him, so out of season. 
 
 He still yearns for something new. 
 
 Thus he's poor, so poor with plenty, 
 That he has a beggar's heart; 
 
 Spurns his footman, fears his sentry. 
 Eking out a miser's part. 
 
 Would you live the life he's wasted, 
 Wasted for his worthless gains? 
 
 Be like him to sorrow fated, 
 
 Cursed with all his ceaseless pains? 
 
 186 
 
Would you share with him his treasure 
 For the price that he has paid? 
 
 Share his joj^s of meager measure 
 That so soon to him must fade? 
 
 Pray for him, his heart-sick hunger, 
 If his faults you can't condone; 
 
 Pray for those whose greed for plunder 
 Has turned their hearts into stone. 
 
 PARMASSUS. 
 
 Beyond 3^on rim of rosy mist 
 Parmassus' lofty summits rise ; 
 
 Vet flowing round its golden disc 
 Are deadly streams in deep disguise. 
 
 Yet firm astride Pegasus' back 
 
 Rides many a hapless foolish swain 
 
 O'er fancy's rocky narrow track. 
 
 Till they with grief and shame are slain. 
 
 Still rushing down the stream they go 
 With senseless dreams in swift pursuit; 
 
 Lured by ambition's wanton woe 
 Until their tuneless harps are mute. 
 
 Yet truant Muse thy tempting song 
 Shall many a hopeful heart yet slay ; 
 
 That will still with its limping gong 
 In sad illusion chase thy lay. 
 
 For sweet will still thy whispers ring 
 With accents that around them fall ; 
 
 Yet ah, what grief to them 'twill bring 
 To find thy notes to them are gall. 
 
 Up many a steep and rugged hill 
 
 I've sought in breathless haste to climb; 
 
 But what avails the hum.an will 
 
 To one who threads the steeps of rhyme. 
 
 187 
 
What nameless joys spring in the soul 
 Whose touch awakes the mystic lyre, 
 
 That from Appollo's temples roll 
 O'er many a lonely songster's pyre. 
 
 O cruel vampire, in the heart, 
 That grasps it with an iron hand, 
 
 Whose pains do deeper pains impart 
 No earthly mortal heart can stand. 
 
 Thy sweetest songs like gladsome May, 
 So rich with their persuasive store, 
 
 Fall doubly sad to him who may 
 Ne'er sing one note forevermore. 
 
 Yet sing, sing on, thou mystic myth. 
 My loss is but thy rightful gain; 
 
 You justly share the royal bliss 
 That has thy foster brother slain. 
 
 O FAIRY SYLPH. 
 
 O fairy sylph wast thou as true 
 
 As memory makes thee ever? 
 Or has some fated winds to you 
 
 Blasted thy sweet life forever? 
 
 Have no false thoughts, betimes renewed, 
 Returned with half reproving fears. 
 
 And left thy rosy cheeks bedewed 
 
 To rasp thy heart with grief and tears ? 
 
 Has wealth of love, — 'twas thine in youth- 
 Revealed by every thought and glance, 
 
 Retained its sacred pledge to truth 
 
 Despite the storms and fates of chance? 
 
 Has glimpse of years, returning fast. 
 The holy vows you used to prize. 
 
 Revealed a faithless love at last 
 
 And sundered all life's sweetest ties? 
 
 188 
 
Ah no, methinks such treasured worth 
 Must still thy latest breath inspire, 
 
 And hold as sacred as at birth, 
 So truthful was its first desire. 
 
 No winds that changing fate can send, 
 By mis-chance or fortune driven. 
 
 Can e'er that hallowed mem'ry rend, 
 For it must be writ in Heaven. 
 
 A HAPPY HOME. 
 
 In yonder ivy covered shade 
 
 Bright happy faces now are seen. 
 
 And flowers with sweet fragrance bloom. 
 There 'neath their ample banks of green. 
 
 Where art and wealth with nature join 
 
 •To build a peaceful happy shrine. 
 While I with halting gaze survey 
 A home so bless'd and so divine. 
 
 Where nature has her wond'rous gifts 
 Profusely to each one bestowed ; 
 
 And wealth of heart and wealth of mind 
 In golden streams have freely flowed. 
 
 There love and friendship loyal meet 
 Without one false dissembling smile, 
 
 For culture marks each kindly face 
 
 And mirth and pleasure reign the while. 
 
 Long may their gladness rule supreme 
 With love and laughter dwelling there. 
 
 Without one tear to mar their joy 
 Or cloud of grief or sorrow share. 
 
 Some unknown pen of them may write 
 A tribute to their genial worth. 
 
 And save from darkness and for thee 
 
 Their names, their virtues, and their mirth. 
 
 189 
 
SATAN IN NEW DRESS. 
 
 There is a hero smirk and true, 
 
 And all the world now bows to him ; 
 He is preaching, and he's praying, 
 He is robbing, and he's slaying 
 Just to make the world now better 
 With his bible and a fetter, — 
 All for God 
 He plies the rod 
 Of his religion. 
 
 Would you know this Christian's name, 
 
 That is known so far with shame ? 
 I will tell you, if with pain. 
 
 For they used to call it Cain, 
 Tho' they've changed it just for bluff, 
 For it read so hard and rough. 
 While for God 
 He robs and slays 
 For his religion. 
 
 As he sings his hymns and prays 
 For the bless'd millen'al days, 
 
 Here at home, or over there, 
 Where the Boers and Bolos are 
 
 That with blood he may baptize. 
 Heathens he may Christianize, 
 
 For a holy sacrifice — 
 
 To his religion. 
 
 Now the prince and president 
 
 Say his creed is excellent, 
 Full of glory as the sun. 
 
 Armed with Bibles and a gun ; 
 Made immortal by his trust 
 
 In the God whom all here must, 
 While he cries, keep up the fight. 
 
 All but heathens know 'tis right 
 Here to do their Maker's will. 
 
 For the strong the weak to kill, 
 That the world may be made better, 
 
 190 
 
By the spirit and the letter 
 Of his religion. 
 
 TWIN BROTHERS OF MINE. 
 
 If endeavor has proven but efforts in vain 
 
 In search of the life I now^ seek to find, 
 Yet am lost in the myth that now covers my bram, 
 
 For I find in my search that my eyes are so blind. 
 
 Yet, here, life from life nov^ does surely appear 
 In the life of the tree and the man and the mind. 
 
 So my life, born of life, is to me full of cheer, 
 In search of that life I hope yet to find. 
 
 The sweet hidden life of this beautiful flower. 
 
 Whose sweetness so kindly now gladdens the day, 
 
 Inspiring my heart in so lonely an hour. 
 Cannot as its bloom ever perish away. 
 
 For each one that grows in the forest or field. 
 And clings to the branch of its own mother vine, 
 
 Does lessons of wisdom most graciously yield, 
 
 And in some way unknown are twin brothers of mme. 
 
 So contentment now shares with my troubles apace, 
 Tho' seeming at times but to scarcely exist. 
 
 No shadows, if real, it does not displace 
 
 With beams of such brightness no doubts can resist. 
 
 MY FRIEND'S OPINION. 
 
 "A little off," he blandly said. 
 
 With caustic, mystic air. 
 And poised aloft his pond'rous head. 
 
 This friendly wiseac'r. 
 
 He scanned each thought, then beat the time, 
 Wrote "plus" here, "minus" there. 
 
 Said "Bad the measure, worse the rhyme," 
 My friendly wiseac'r. 
 
 191 
 
"A little off, and badly mixed; 
 
 Well, well, I do declare, 
 I don't see how it can be fixed," 
 
 Said friendly wiseac'r. 
 
 "But read right on, I like to hear, 
 
 Tho' I've no time to spare, 
 And then — the thought is not quite clear," 
 
 Said this great wiseac'r. 
 
 "Strange one who writes as much as you 
 
 Can't make a hit somewhere, 
 But here nor there is merit due," 
 
 Said this great wiseac'r. 
 
 I own a pang then through me flew 
 But none that pang can share. 
 
 While he talked on, "Do as I do," 
 Said my friend wiseac'r. 
 
 "A little off. I can't tell why 
 
 You talk and reason fair. 
 But when you write, away you fly," 
 
 Said friendly wiseac'r. 
 
 I looked at him from jib to main. 
 What was and was not there. 
 
 Then through my heart there stole a pain 
 For this great wiseac'r. 
 
 THE NEW RENAISSANCE. 
 
 Nature and Truth, bespeak a change, 
 Of purpose and of thought; 
 
 When knowledge, with a higher aim. 
 Will to the world be taught. 
 
 Commercial genius now alone, 
 That works for gold and gain ; 
 
 Sits clothed with purple on its throne. 
 That's built with tears and pain. 
 
 192 
 
The Knowledge that gives Commerce pow'r, 
 
 The public mind desires; 
 And sordid impulse rules the heart, 
 
 That greed of wealth inspires. 
 
 The evolution now of thought, 
 
 At slow evolving pace; 
 Moves on the higher lines of truth, 
 
 To wrong and greed displace. 
 
 The literature to raise the world, 
 
 From selfishness and lust, 
 Lies now beneath the jargon wheels 
 
 Of greed and passion crush'd. 
 
 Now persecution's iron hand 
 
 Awaits with burning torch ; 
 And passion with a fiercer glance 
 
 Cries for the Order March! 
 
 While Anarchy, a scrowling dupe, 
 
 A blinded fiend stands; 
 And waits with ready will to strike 
 
 With cruel, bloody hands. 
 
 O, Reason, haste! thy laggard steps. 
 And Freedom, light thy flame; 
 
 Let Justice, tempered now with love. 
 In Mercy truth proclaim. 
 
 That when the new Renaissance comes, 
 With Freedom's glorious beams; 
 
 The lion and the land will rest, 
 Fulfilling prophet dreams. 
 
 Then Heaven let all nations bow 
 
 Before thy throne to thee. 
 That angels may the truth proclaim 
 
 To make earth's children free. 
 
 193 
 
WILT THOU? 
 
 Wilt Thou, O Lord, the veil remove 
 
 Between my love and me? 
 It will a stronger anchor prove 
 
 To draw me nearer Thee. 
 
 And do Thou ne'er my hands release 
 While to Thy arms I hold; 
 
 And may my faith the more increase 
 In Thee ten-thousand fold. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT. 
 
 Beautiful thought, beautiful thought, 
 That comes through the gates ajar: 
 
 As from the angel-lips 'tis caught 
 Brought down by the morning star. 
 
 Beautiful thought, that softly swells 
 
 To me on the evening chime. 
 Then ring the bells, then ring the bells, 
 
 'Twill shorten the bridge of time. 
 
 Beautiful dream, beautiful dream, 
 To gladden the drowsy night; 
 
 While sweetly in the rosy beams 
 Adrift on the wings of light. 
 
 Beautiful thought, beautiful thought. 
 
 Coming from over the sea; 
 This new-made song the stars have brought 
 
 Ad own from the blest to me. 
 
 Then ring the bells, then ring the bells, 
 
 Back to them over the sea. 
 And as the answering message swells 
 
 They'll know that it comes from me. 
 
 194 
 
GRANT AND MT. McGREGOR. 
 
 4. sacred holy fane shall be McGregor's crown, 
 A shrine to which reverent millions turn ; 
 
 Made immortal by a hero's great renown 
 As slowly out his dying moments burn. 
 
 Ages unborn shall to thy temple bow 
 
 With glad remembrance of a hero's fame, 
 
 While in solitude upon thy lofty brow 
 It stands guardian of his honor'd name. 
 
 There 'neath gold fleck'd fields of northern lustrous skies 
 His pangs the pines responsive sighing morn; 
 
 The moon and stars with tender pity as he lies 
 Reverb'ant cry from God's celestial throne. 
 
 A nation's heart his painful sufferings share, 
 
 As pulsing on his ebbing current flies, 
 While each billow does some kindly message bear 
 
 Columbia's hero as he slowly dies. 
 
 Ah, more! kindred hearts of war-worn comrades weep, 
 
 And loyal to their leader sadly bow; 
 Or hushed, in stillness their weary vigils keep, 
 
 And list'ning wait in breathless silence now 
 
 As from McGregor's fane the sad requiems ring 
 
 Their echoes, which the mourning world now hears, 
 
 While mournful on each trembling vesper wing. 
 There falls the tribute of a nation's tears. 
 
 PROGRESSIVE THOUGHT. 
 
 Impelled by instinct born of God, 
 The leaders here of thought, 
 
 Oft on their cheerless marches move 
 By truth and reason taught. 
 
 Yet hope inspires their languid steps 
 With courage as they pass. 
 
 Though hissing voices ring the while 
 From an unthinking mass. 
 
 195 
 
The consciousness of human love 
 Their purpose will inspire, 
 
 Though thwarted oft by obstacles 
 Can never quench desire. 
 
 With reason it disperses doubt 
 
 As on the ages move, 
 Though if diverting lines appear 
 
 Their errors it will prove. 
 
 The impress of the progress made 
 Will hold the world in trance, 
 
 By reaches of its wond'rous strides 
 Through change of circumstance. 
 
 In unformed thought if now unborn 
 Its truth the world will own, 
 
 To guide man's onward destiny 
 In reaches yet unknown. 
 
 The impulse that is planted here 
 Will, with increasing sway, 
 
 Dispel the errors of the past 
 And end in clearer day. 
 
 The mighty energies inwrought 
 
 Within the human mind. 
 Here yet will forge the burning chains 
 
 To wrong and error bind. 
 
 Truth, love and liberty will reign 
 By strong abiding thought. 
 
 Though anti-Christ may loudly cry, 
 His cry will come to naught. 
 
 The righteous laws of providence 
 Subserving Nature's plan. 
 
 Will be the only horoscope 
 To lead here mortal man. 
 
 196 
 
NO FANCIES OF THE MIND. 
 
 The moments quickly pass away, • 
 
 The day, too, soon is gone; 
 December soon will follow May 
 
 And night give place to dawn. 
 
 The cheek which wears the sweetest bloom 
 
 May, too, the soonest fade. 
 And thoughts which only bring us gloom 
 
 Are those we should evade. 
 
 MY COMRADS IN SUFFERING. 
 
 My heart aches, now for the sorrows 
 Of the poor, and the homeless here, 
 
 With no bright sunsets at evening 
 
 Nor mornings with promiise of cheer. 
 
 For those now chasing the phantom 
 That sports on the currents of fame. 
 
 Wrecked by the fables of fortune. 
 So faithless, its purpose and aim. 
 
 For those on life's cliff rim'd borders 
 With pinions flung wide to the breeze; 
 
 To sink in the rock-bound billows 
 And shallows of life's stormy seas. 
 
 THE OLD SOLDIER. 
 
 Forget not his valour if telling again 
 Of battles he won and the enemy slain. 
 
 If his steps now are feeble— his eyes lost their fire, 
 His soul is still burning with martial desire. 
 
 The mem'ry of battles how lives in his heart 
 
 Recounting the deeds where he bravely took part, 
 
 197 
 
Awaken'd by thoughts of their glory and fame 
 
 When then, for a moment his eyes flash with flame. 
 
 Smile not at his weakness, if sometimes 'tis seen 
 Repeating the story of an old battle scene, 
 
 For quickly his comrads are passing away. 
 
 Yet they will be honor'd and live on as today. 
 
 You'll soon cease to wreathe with green laurels his brow, 
 Yet oft to his mem'ry twine ringlets as now. 
 
 Awaking your hearts with the patriot's fire 
 
 That filled his brave soul and your own will inspire. 
 
 NEW FOUND JOY. 
 
 One half our lives we chase vain thoughts to flatter 
 
 Our imagined dreams. 
 Turning from joys, to ever vanish after 
 
 Crossing its unbridged streams, 
 We hearken to earths' gleeful songs and singers 
 
 In pain or laughter. 
 Not list'ning to the spell bound fate that lingers 
 
 All unchanted after. 
 
 Until, unwisely, in the sunset. burning 
 
 Out life's dim treasures, 
 We wait fearful with subtle anguish turning 
 
 Seek vainly new pleasures, 
 'Till frightened by shadows of our lost visions, 
 
 With fait' ring step we gaze, 
 At the strange errors of our untaught reason 
 
 Across the fading ways. 
 
 Which in our gross vanities of vanity 
 
 Help becloud the day. 
 Question, then, our trustfulness and sanity 
 
 Along life's blind steep way. 
 Fleeing from the spect'ral follies of the past, 
 
 Gilded with alloy. 
 Until we are sandalled with God's love at last 
 
 And drink its new found joy. 
 
 198 
 
RETROSPECTION. 
 
 Its gladness comes still, if its brightness is clouded 
 Above the mad tempest of darkness and storm. 
 
 For a halo of sunshine oft leaves it enshrouded. 
 Revealing in glory her face and her form. 
 
 Farewell to the hopes my fancies were gilding 
 
 With roses whose bloom here will never bloom more, 
 
 If then unprofaned in my blindness when building, 
 And still now as then I no less will adore. 
 
 For the blush on her cheeks in its innocence smiling 
 With beauty, and sweetness, are ever my own. 
 
 Which ever now over the darkness is rising 
 
 With fervor as true, as when first it was known. 
 
 YESTERDAY AND TOMORROW. 
 
 Now yonder field with deeper 
 
 Tints is painted 
 That in the lush soft grass are seen 
 
 And flow'rs with lips of 
 Sweeter fragrance scented 
 
 Are smiling in their beds of green. 
 
 Yesterday was clear with 
 
 Golden sunlight falling, 
 On honey'd lips of smiling flow'rs, 
 
 Today the raindrops on the 
 
 Roof are falling. 
 With gloom to fill the listless hours. 
 
 Today mem'ries swift o'er 
 My soul are sweeping. 
 With low'ring clouds more darkly cast 
 While thus their streams 
 
 199 
 
Of falling rain are weeping, 
 The veering winds are driving past. 
 
 AMERICA. 
 
 God's chartered ruler thou wast made 
 The uncrowned child with freedom free, 
 
 To share his matchless heritage 
 Of love, and truth, and liberty. 
 
 In thee it was where freedom gained 
 The climax of a world's renown. 
 
 On seas, and shores, with liberty 
 Thy humbles youmen here to crown. 
 
 No tyrant arm will dare to strike 
 
 This child with freedom's love aflame, 
 
 Though envy grudges it the might 
 And glory of its youthful fame. 
 
 Thy muses yet with harps will sing 
 
 As sweetly as Britanias' lyre. 
 When Scotias favorite songster sang 
 
 Upon the braeis and banks of Ayr. 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF LIFE. 
 
 God has awoke thy sleeping soul 
 As spring awakes the flow'rs. 
 
 To wing it to its heav'nly goal 
 With Christ's reviving power. 
 
 Thy earthly form to fade away 
 
 Its life to end in death, 
 My spirit life knows no decay 
 
 Nor need of mortal breath. 
 
 Though it was here in weakness sown 
 It now is raised in powers. 
 
 200 
 
Ten thousand years will now be known 
 As once a fleeting hour. 
 
 "'Oh ! grave where is thy victory, 
 Oh! death where is thy sting?" 
 
 For death unveiled the mystery 
 Through Christ our soverign king. 
 
 THE ESSENTIALS OF MIND. 
 
 It needs an active forceful brain 
 
 To gather food for fruitful thought, 
 
 As nitrogen to push the grain 
 
 By handiwork of Nature wrought. 
 
 To force expansion of the mind, 
 
 And utilize its unused powers. 
 As potash softens sand to bind 
 
 The growing grain and stems of flow'rs. 
 
 Though oft in fields of richest soil 
 
 Will lodge and fall the growing grain, 
 
 Without phosphorus aid and toil. 
 
 As will a sluggish, thoughtless brain. 
 
 That here will be like headless wheat 
 Or cobs that grow without the corn. 
 
 And always sure to meet defeat 
 Without the phosphate in it born. 
 
 Thus Nature in her wisdom here 
 Has kindly too, outlined the plan. 
 
 Where mind can reach the highest sphere 
 In the development of man. 
 
 Yet too the mind will fade away 
 
 If lacking concentrated will. 
 And is as sure to meet decay 
 
 As frost will here the flow'rs to kill. 
 
 201 
 
WIDOW JONES. 
 
 The Widow Jones has been to town, 
 And now gone home a laughing, 
 
 For all the people followed her 
 With open mouths and gapping. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 The gray and blue now join the cry 
 For Union stars wave o'er them. 
 And there is glory now for all 
 With freedom's arm around 'em. 
 
 The Widow Jones was always kind 
 To all our boys with Teddy, 
 And even in their hardest pinch 
 She with her help was ready. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Yes, Mother Jones has broke the wall 
 Between the Reb and Yankey, 
 
 And Now we own them partly right 
 If we were somewhat cranky. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 THE DECEITFULNESS OF APPEARANCES. 
 
 She's lovely with her winsome eyes. 
 With sparkling floss of golden jets, 
 
 Clear as the bright blue azure skies 
 When twilight's rosy plumage sets 
 
 Lust'rous on the closing day, 
 
 Where gems of starry splendor play. 
 
 And, too, her lips exquisite smile. 
 
 While flaws of temper she's conseal'd, 
 
 Seem flushed with sweetness all the while. 
 Her heart of icy flint congealed, 
 
 'Till some light word is thoughtless said 
 Then all her gracious smiles are dead. 
 
 202 
 
And her bright eyes so full of mirth 
 
 Have changed and left their wizzard scroll, 
 
 That you believed were not of earth, 
 Are like the hardness of her soul. 
 
 That burns with mad and vain desire 
 Like oracles of raging fire. 
 
 While her sweetness now, wild in flight 
 Bewails more madly with despair 
 
 And her brief springtime of delight, 
 Her wanton coldness seems to share. 
 
 As deeper, deeper, sinks the thorn 
 
 That kills with sorrow and with scorn. 
 
 WRITTEN IN MEMORY OF THE LATE DR. 
 HENRY LUMMIS. 
 
 Stop stranger, view the sacred close 
 
 Where rests a holy man. 
 Whose virtues pillow his repose. 
 
 Thy mortal eyes may scan. 
 
 The measure of his genial worth 
 
 Is in God's records writ. 
 Known as a royal son of earth 
 
 By wisdom, truth, and wit. 
 
 To honor had a sovereign's claim 
 Of knowledge's wondrous store. 
 
 With titles to immortal fame 
 Yet loved his fellows more. 
 
 Then bow above this hallow'd shrine 
 
 Dear stranger stop and weep. 
 For angel forms unseen divine 
 
 His silent watches keep. 
 
 203 
 
WENT AND BOUGHT HER BONNET. 
 
 She said with smiles yet pointed 
 
 Now, Jim is the time, 
 He was so disconcerted 
 
 He thought at first to climb. 
 
 She Indignantly objected, 
 
 Said no sir, now, today! 
 As oft he had regretted 
 
 I knew he must obey. 
 
 He shyly Intimated, 
 
 Tomorrow, won't it do? 
 She seemed more aggrevated 
 
 And fierce her temper grew. 
 
 Her eyes with fury flashing 
 Then glistened with their fire. 
 
 That threatened such a mashing 
 He dare not face her fire. 
 
 Though inwardly dissenting. 
 
 Gazed at her angry face 
 That tears and smiles were flushing 
 
 With loveliness and grace. 
 
 He borrowed twenty dollars. 
 
 Knowing he was in it. 
 Then did as many others 
 
 Went and bought her bonnet. 
 
 SUGGESTED BY SEEING MY LITTLE GRAND 
 
 DAUGHTERS BAKING SAND PIES THE 
 
 DAY BEFORE STARTING TO THE 
 
 PACIFIC COAST. 
 
 Dear sweet little darlings 
 
 Baking sand for pies. 
 Brighter than the sunbeams 
 
 Warming up the skies. 
 
 204 
 
Full of life and laughter 
 
 Busy as the bees, 
 Passing round the dishes 
 
 Feigning bread and cheese. 
 
 Where will they be tomorrow 
 
 Whirling far away, 
 Thinking of the dinner 
 
 That they had today? 
 
 Who for me can answer 
 Questions full of fears, 
 Hushing up my gladness 
 With a flood of tears. 
 
 They are in God's keeping 
 
 Always in his care. 
 Ever, every moment 
 
 With Him every where. 
 
 He will keep my treasures 
 
 Safely in his fold. 
 Precious little jewels 
 
 Pure as purest gold. 
 
 On the snow-kiss'd mountains 
 
 Or in oceans deep. 
 He will keep my darlings, 
 
 I've no cause to weep? 
 
 WILL MAN LIVE ON? 
 
 Will man live on in his despair 
 
 And gainst misfortune cope, 
 While every moment doom'd to share 
 
 New failures of his hope. 
 While deeper grows the deep unrest 
 
 That does more strongly bind. 
 The viper to his aching breast 
 
 With tortures for the mind? 
 
 205 
 
Oh ! torments that the world has curs'd 
 
 Immersed in its deciets, 
 Have now thy limits reached their worst 
 
 Or bade but new defeat, 
 Each, exceeding now the past 
 
 Accented with its woe, 
 Will they live on until the last 
 
 While new afflictions grow? 
 
 JIM AND I. 
 
 He always meets me with a smile 
 And grasps my empty hand. 
 
 While it is cold as is the rock 
 On which our feet may stand. 
 
 Yet his warm touch imparts to mine 
 
 A half unspoken joy. 
 And in my heart I wish like Jim 
 
 I was a happy boy. 
 
 Yet I have learned enviroment 
 Don't make a happy heart. 
 
 That Jim and I are much alike 
 Yet each must act his part. 
 
 THY CRUEL HEART. 
 
 Thy cruel heart but ill befits 
 Thy fairy loveliness of face. 
 
 Or willow'y form with softest touch 
 And tender sweetness of its grace. 
 
 Yet cold as Greenland's frozen breath 
 The pearly frosty jewels kiss. 
 
 For the vailed witch'ry of thy lips 
 Would freeze the proffer of a bliss. 
 
 206 
 
O why can mortal virtue now 
 Disguise a truant heart so vile, 
 
 Whose charms can only breed a tear 
 If 'tis concealed beneath a smile? 
 
 May God forgive the wanton soul 
 That would absue its native charms 
 
 And make unworthy to unfold 
 Its myth of beauty in my arms. 
 
 TO HAROLD SPENCER. 
 
 Where'er thy steps may turn my boy 
 May fortune smile upon thy face, 
 
 And genius fill thy heart with joy. 
 
 Crowned with a wreathe of manly grace. 
 
 Let not ambition's pride and cares 
 Make thee e'er less a man than now, 
 
 If caught within their tempting snares 
 Ne'er to their baneful impulse bow. 
 
 For deep beneath their blissful dreams 
 A viper hides within their charms. 
 
 And lures thee by their tempting beams 
 To crush thy heart and stay thy arms. 
 
 Yet charge me not, my youthful friend. 
 
 Oblivious to a sense of fame. 
 Though in oblivion I may end 
 
 Without so much as known my name. 
 
 Truth's magic power ne'er proves as false 
 Nor lapse of time brings it decay; 
 
 Though oft like maze of dazzling waltz 
 'Twill wander in its devious ways. 
 
 Its sun will set in cloudless skies 
 Brightened by love's eternal flame. 
 
 For yond its twilight ever lies 
 
 A crown, crowned with immortal fame. 
 
 207 
 
Smile not at my ambrosial dreams 
 That lures in vain my rustic lyre 
 
 Tomorrow's sun may bring no beams 
 Nor hopes to burn with youthful fire. 
 
 Take my good will, if not my lot, 
 A rustic life and bootler's way, 
 
 The brightest flowers are prone to rot 
 And sometimes soonest to decay. 
 
 GOD MARKS THE LINE. 
 
 How true it is God marks the worth 
 Of all our human prayers, 
 
 For every one is judged and known 
 Here by the fruit it bears. 
 
 WITHOUT A CROWN. 
 
 Here lies a man of much renown 
 Yet few here knew his real worth, 
 
 Although he died without a crown 
 He was a Nero from his birth. 
 
 CHRIST BEFORE PILATE. 
 
 Led a vicarious sacrific 
 
 Before that cruel clan, 
 A free and holy ofiEering 
 
 To save his fellow man. 
 
 208 
 
RING BACK ACROSS THE SEA. 
 
 Man is but a wandering waif 
 
 Upon a shallow sea, 
 Afloat upon the drifting waves 
 
 That were, and are, to be. 
 
 I spurned what others did enjoy 
 
 And loved my harder lot. 
 To find its fruits were often pain 
 
 Its pleasures soon forgot. 
 
 I've waited at the poet's shrine. 
 
 To hear divinely sung, 
 And found the songs to please my heart 
 
 Were for another tongue. 
 
 Ambition oft her curtain raised 
 And smiled yet 'twas in vain 
 
 It only left a deeper sting 
 And yet to smile again. 
 
 NO NOT FOR ME. 
 
 How often by this sacred fane 
 
 My sleepless dreams have laurels won 
 As bright as when the ocean waves 
 
 Their golden robes of morning don ; 
 Yet lost again, they were to be 
 
 And not for me, no not for me! 
 
 From out affection's holy shrine 
 
 There flows a swifter, deeper stream, 
 
 Of love to bless each human heart 
 Far sweeter than ambition's dream. 
 
 That floats across life's carnal sea 
 But not for me, no not for me! 
 
 My harp sounds like the winds low moan 
 
 That breaks the charm of every lay. 
 Without the notes of joyous song 
 
 209 
 
Here to a listening ear repay, 
 For it can't sing nor revel free 
 No not for me, no not for me ! 
 
 When sorrow holds no longer sway, 
 A sweeter strain rings in my song 
 
 Some weary wayworn soul to cheer 
 
 Which here with pain has suffered long. 
 To help its lifeboat o'er the sea 
 But not for me, no not for me ! 
 
 When love with anguish and despair 
 Awakes at dawn with early day, 
 
 From out the midnight's darker gloom 
 To wander in the new-born day, 
 
 'Twill sing with hope to make it free 
 But not for ne, no not for me ! 
 
 HOPE MUST HIS HEART HAVE FED. 
 
 The light of genius in him burns 
 
 At war now with his fate. 
 As he indignant sadly turns 
 
 From those who spurn his state. 
 
 Has wealth and castle only worth? 
 
 With poverty of mind, 
 If fortune's idol is from birth 
 
 To truth and honor blind? 
 
 His wealth of genius far outweighs 
 
 The heraldry of show, 
 Tho' sorrow ever marks his ways 
 
 With misery and woe. 
 
 Some future age will yet deside 
 
 This empty, heartless shame. 
 And worth and genius gloryfied 
 
 Will wear a wreath of fame. 
 
 210 
 
CELESTIAL FORMS. 
 
 Celestial forms here fill my room 
 
 Now to me unseen, 
 O, could my poor dim mortal eyes 
 
 But penetrate the scene. 
 
 How many faces long I've loved 
 Would to me then appear, 
 
 Instead of these cold silent walls 
 Which look so lone and drear. 
 
 For then my lips would cease to sigh 
 And tears no longer flow, 
 
 To see the ones I long to see 
 That now are here I know. 
 
 GOOD BYE. 
 
 Good bye my friends, for I'm away 
 For long I've waited here to find, 
 
 The truth as wand 'ring day by day, 
 Until my eyes are nearly blind ; 
 
 Yet through my blindness I can see % 
 The shore where I shall soon be free. 
 
 Good bye my friends, 'twas once so bright 
 When flatt'ry clinging to my arms, 
 
 I walked in rosy beams of light 
 
 And listened to her whispered charms 
 
 That well nigh changed to stone my heart. 
 Then say good bye, my friends, we part. 
 
 Now on the wings of light afloat 
 
 I hear the sweet Elysian voice 
 Yet will not in my gladness quote 
 
 The songs which make my soul rejoice, 
 Re-echoed back with joy to me, 
 
 To thrill my heart with ecstacy. 
 
 211 
 
Oh! grimsome death where is thy sting? 
 
 A new bright gladsome life has woke, 
 The new sweet songs the angels sing 
 
 I dare not in my rapture quote, 
 Which rings through all eternity 
 
 Where all are love-bound there to me. 
 
 For pain and death don't reach so far. 
 No human foot-steps there have trod ; 
 
 'Tis far beyond the evening star. 
 In worlds now sacred to my God, 
 
 And all along its sylvan lines 
 The morning star forever shines. 
 
 Good bye my friends, no sad good bye, 
 For go my way, I must alone ; 
 
 Where you ere long the same as I 
 
 Will seek for thee a new hearth-stone. 
 
 In that bright world where all are free. 
 That was and is, and is to be. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Page. 
 
 Nature ^ 
 
 Idle Wild ^ 
 
 In Mem'ry of Mrs. Mercy M. Tabor Curtis, Wife of the 
 
 Author, who died Sept. 9, 1894 12 
 
 Where My Failing Eyes Can See 12 
 
 Mystery J^ 
 
 An Ode to the Soul 1-5 
 
 The Course of Time 1^ 
 
 With Her Bare Brown Feet 18 
 
 The Land of the Roses 19 
 
 Though Collars of Gold Thy Oppressors May Wear 20 
 
 To the Honorable William Kennedy 20 
 
 That Heartbroken Man 23 
 
 It Was Niigh Fifty Years Ago 24 
 
 Dreaming of Mother 26 
 
 As If 'Twere Mine 27 
 
 A Fellowship With Pain 2^ 
 
 Life Has More Good Than 111? 29 
 
 These Simple Lines 29 
 
 This New Fangled Religion 30 
 
 Desire ^ J 
 
 A Sycophant ^1 
 
 At the Grave of The Hon. James H. McMurdo 32 
 
 A Christmas Prayer 33 
 
 An Ash and Elm ^^ 
 
 Wonderland ^| 
 
 The Goodness of God j8 
 
 Fox River from Below Kimberly 39 
 
 Caesar Crossing Rubicon 39 
 
 Cloverette J^ 
 
 This Wonderous World 41 
 
 God Must Know ^ J 
 
 Whispers of the Soul 44 
 
 Awaken Isdore 45 
 
 The Friends I Meet 4b 
 
 Burns ;^ 
 
 To Scott 4^ 
 
 Up to God 4^ 
 
 By Fanuel Hall 49 
 
 When the Cry of Sumpter's Fallen 5^ 
 
 To Melvin ^4 
 
 A Farmer's Wife ^^ 
 
Page. 
 
 To a Lady 56 
 
 Mildred 56 
 
 To Grenevieve 57 
 
 To Ada 57 
 
 To Clinton and Raymond 58 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. G-eorge Downey at Parting 59 
 
 My Country , 59 
 
 I Cannot Honor War 60 
 
 Columbia 61 
 
 Mr. So and So 62 
 
 The Meadow Mole 62 
 
 In Memoriam 64 
 
 To Mrs. Hannah Barnum 66 
 
 The Sun Had Set .66 
 
 If My Faults are Legion 67 
 
 Is There So Poor a Soul 68 
 
 Visions 69 
 
 O Pallas ■ 70 
 
 Away With the Visions 71 
 
 Marguerite 72 
 
 A Usual Occurance 72 
 
 At Twilight 73 
 
 The Meeting at the Spye 75 
 
 Hall and I 77 
 
 One Backward Step 78 
 
 There Is a Charm 79 
 
 Elsinore 79 
 
 Why Did You Wake Me, Darling 80 
 
 On the Snow Crested Hill 81 
 
 Why Own To Discontent 82 
 
 Nothing, Nothing More 84 
 
 The Friend Who Laughs 85 
 
 The Widows of Boer-Land 85 
 
 To Whom Shall I My Homage Pay 86 
 
 Columbia 87 
 
 A Calm .^ 88 
 
 Hope 88 
 
 Hopes 89 
 
 Ambition 89 
 
 Fame 89 
 
 Suggested By Reading An Annonymous Poem 89 
 
 I've a Cloister , 90 
 
 The Birth of Christ 91 
 
 Britania Weep 91 
 
 Dear Zell 93 
 
 The Cottage by the Sea 93 
 
 At Close of Day 94 
 
 Infatuation 95 
 
 A Thought 96 
 
 To a Flower 96 
 
 To Hattie 97 
 
Page. 
 
 She Sings With the Stars Tonight 99 
 
 To Eliza 99 
 
 A Sonnet 100 
 
 To Mrs. Hannah Barnum 100 
 
 To the Memory of Mrs. Mate Curtis Cunningham 101 
 
 God's Radium Light 101 
 
 The Power of Thought 102 
 
 Clinton Curtis in the Rocky Mountains, Reading a Let- 
 ter from His Mother, Mrs. G. L, Curtis 102 
 
 To Myrtle 103 
 
 Nell 104 
 
 At Plymouth in 1852 105 
 
 To a Blade of Grass 106 
 
 Are You? 107 
 
 How Strange 108 
 
 I Pray For 108 
 
 If— 109 
 
 Writers of The Bible 110 
 
 The Disadvantages of Ignorance 110 
 
 Liberty Imperishable Ill 
 
 Speak Kindly Ill 
 
 The Illusiive Power of Beauty 112 
 
 To A. M. S 112 
 
 Kiss My Lips 112 
 
 We Castles Built 112 
 
 What Stronger Pledge? 115 
 
 The Leper ; 115 
 
 Bless'd Is The Man .116 
 
 Passion and Selfishness 116 
 
 To Providence 117 
 
 The Inspiration of a Smile 118 
 
 Anger 118 
 
 Mike's Proposal 119 
 
 Old Remembrances 119 
 
 The Flight of the Najades 120 
 
 Nature Could I? 120 
 
 Behind All Forms of Life 121 
 
 The Fruiits of Ignorance 121 
 
 Invisible Companionship 122 
 
 Life's Vital Streams 123 
 
 A Desire For Truth 124 
 
 Carry Me Back 125 
 
 Her Face Was Like — 126 
 
 To a Flower 126 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. George Downey on Their Leaving for 
 
 Michigan 127 
 
 Roses 127 
 
 Life 128 
 
 If Mine— 128 
 
 Humanity 128 
 
 Truth and Error 128 
 
Page. 
 
 Teach Me, O Lord 128 
 
 What Have I To Say? 129 
 
 The New Year 129 
 
 I Woke 130 
 
 Gram and 1 130 
 
 The Old Year and the New 131 
 
 The Follies of Fashion 132 
 
 Sir Galahad and Harriman 133 
 
 We Two Are One 133 
 
 Beware of Him 134 
 
 The Old 134 
 
 War 135 
 
 I'm Almost Big As You 136 
 
 Is 137 
 
 Life's Sweetest Fruit 138 
 
 Build High 139 
 
 Where Is The Master? 140 
 
 A Lonely Lot 140 
 
 Life Is No Phantom , 140 
 
 Be Bless'd the Face 141 
 
 Distrust 141 
 
 Falsehood 142 
 
 The Gem of Her Bower 142 
 
 Forbid the Thought 143 
 
 On Yonder Purple Hills 144 
 
 Truth 145 
 
 The Instability of Matter or Mind 145 
 
 Solitude 146 
 
 To the Reader 146 
 
 An Apostrophy to the Sitars 147 
 
 The Stars and Genius 147 
 
 To the Memory of Judge Sam Ryan 148 
 
 Exhortations 148 
 
 The True Man 148 
 
 That, Troubled Thought 149 
 
 O World 149 
 
 The Greed for Gold '. 149 
 
 Nature and Mind 150 
 
 Do Well Your Part 151 
 
 Is and Ever Is to Be 151 
 
 The Siberian Exile 152 
 
 To a Smiling Beauty 153 
 
 To Mrs. R. L. D. Nickerson 155 
 
 Poverty of Heart 156 
 
 Deceptive Tears 156 
 
 Jack's Mission 157 
 
 To Miss B 158 
 
 A Late Discovery 161 
 
 The Victory of Christian Faith 161 
 
 Hard Scrable's Complaint 162 
 
 To Wyodene 163 
 
Page. 
 
 Cora Williams 164 
 
 From Whom the Thoughts 165 
 
 I'm Tired of Fretting 166 
 
 The True Gold 167 
 
 Give Your Best Endeavor 168 
 
 The Instability of Time 169 
 
 My Secret 169 
 
 Let Me Take 'oor Glasses Ganpa 170 
 
 The Empress of the Seas 171 
 
 The Angel's Message 171 
 
 The Only One Left Is Joe 173 
 
 The Remorse of Illtemper 175 
 
 Gone, Gone : 175 
 
 The Affinity of Souls 176 
 
 The Silent Night 177 
 
 Autumn 178 
 
 My Friend 179 
 
 To Ride on Pegasus 180 
 
 The Golden Chalice 181 
 
 The Melodies of Nature 182 
 
 My Neighbor 182 
 
 Can See, Yet Blind 183 
 
 The Fated Philosopher 184 
 
 How Vain Thy Worth 185 
 
 Poverty With Plenty 186 
 
 Parmassus 187 
 
 O Fairy Sylpy 188 
 
 A Happy Home 189 
 
 Satan in New Dress 190 
 
 Twin Brothers of Mine 191 
 
 My Friend's Opinion 191 
 
 The New Renaissance 192 
 
 Wilt Thou? 194 
 
 Beautiful Thought 194 
 
 Grant and Mt. McGregor 195 
 
 Progressive, Thought 195 
 
 No Fancies of the Mind 197 
 
 My Comrads in Suffering 197 
 
 The Old Soldier 197 
 
 New Found Joy 198 
 
 Retrospection 199 
 
 Yesterday and Tomorrow 199 
 
 America 200 
 
 The Mystery of Life 200 
 
 The Essentials of Mind 201 
 
 Widow Jones 202 
 
 The Deceitfulness of Appearance 202 
 
 Written in Memory of the Late Dr. Henry Lummis 203 
 
 Went and Bought Her Bonnet 204 
 
 Suggested by Seeing My Little Grand Daughter Baking 
 Sand Pies the Day Before Starting to the Pacific 
 Coast 204 
 
Page. 
 
 Will Man Live On? 205 
 
 Jim and 1 206 
 
 The Cruel Heart 206 
 
 To Harold Spencer 207 
 
 God Marks The Line 208 
 
 Without a Crown 208 
 
 Christ Before Pilate 208 
 
 Ring Back Across the Sea 209 
 
 No, Not for Me 209 
 
 Hope Must His Heart Have Fed 210 
 
 Celestial Forms 211 
 
 Good Bye 211 
 
SEP 15 &^ 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div.