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 Copyright, 1SS7, 
 by 
 
 U Lothrop & Company, 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Paoe. 
 
 Taia, of Thebes 
 Thothmes, of Karnak 
 Nan-tze, of Ngan-king 
 Chum-sin, of Kin-yuen 
 Calyck, of Athens 
 Tvr'iveus, of Corinth 
 Claudia, of Rome 
 Vespasian, of Rome 
 Hadasseh, of Tiberius 
 Gamaliel, of Jerusalem 
 Gwench'lan, of Soissons 
 Friedmunda, of Chalons 
 Ranghilda, of Lunde 
 Sigurd, of Jomsburg 
 Zahra, of Bagdad 
 Abulcasen, of Damascus 
 Ltppo, of Florence 
 guistina, of ferrara 
 Gideon, of Tavistock 
 Audrey, of York 
 Gabrielle, of Toulon 
 Andre, of Paris 
 Jonathan, of Boston 
 Dorothy, of Philadelphia 
 
 ISOO B. I . 
 
 1500 B. C 
 
 SOO B. C. 
 
 800 B. C 
 
 4OO B. C. 
 
 400 B. C. 
 
 50 B. C. 
 
 44 B. C. 
 
 A. I). 90 
 
 A. I). 70 
 
 A. D. 475 
 
 A. D. 475 
 
 A. D. 85O 
 
 A. D. 85O 
 
 A. D. 1 150 
 
 A. D. I 150 
 
 A. D. 1434 
 
 A. D. I434 
 
 A. D. 1644 
 
 A. I). 1644 
 
 A I). I72O 
 
 A. D. 1720 
 
 A. I). l8 13 
 
 A. H. [Si 2 
 
 17 
 IS 
 
 2 3 
 24 
 29 
 
 3° 
 35 
 ■6 
 
 4' 
 42 
 47 
 48 
 S3 
 54 
 59 
 60 
 
 65 
 
 66 
 
 77 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Taia, of Thebes 14 ^ 
 
 Thothmes, of Karnak 15^ 
 
 Nan-tze, of Ngan-king 20 1/ 
 
 Chom-sin, of Kin-yuen 21 y 
 
 Calyce, of Athens 26 1/ 
 
 Tyrtteus, of Corinth 27 y 
 
 Claudia, of Rome 32 / 
 
 Vespasian, of Rome 33 
 
 Haoasseh, of Tiberius 38 J 
 
 Gamaliel, of Jerusalem 39 Y 
 
 Gwench'lan, of Soissons 44 v 
 
 Friedmunda, of Chalons 45 
 
 Ranghilda, of Lunde 50 
 
 Sigurd, of Jomsburg 51 
 
 Zahra, of Bagdad 56 
 
 Abulcasf.n, of Damascus 57 ** 
 
 Lippo, of Florence • 62 
 
 guistina, of ferrara 63 
 
 Gideon, of Tavistock 68 v 
 
 Audrey, of York 69 
 
 Gabrielle, of Toulon 74 
 
 Andre, of Paris 75 
 
 Jonathan, of Boston So 
 
 Dorothy, of Philadelphia Si 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/youthintwelvecenOOblak 
 
YOUTH IN TWELVE CENTURIES 
 
TAIA, OF THEBES. 
 
 I500 B. C. 
 
 Under the temple's shadow 
 
 Within her palace gates, 
 The golden snood of the virgin 
 
 Binding her thick black hair, 
 Calling her silken litter, 
 
 Taia the Theban waits ; 
 While hymning of priest and maiden 
 
 Soars through the quiet air, 
 Rising to Isis, the Giver, 
 As they march to the Sacred River. 
 
 Soon with the long train moving 
 
 Over the waiting lands, 
 Through waving tufts of palm-trees 
 
 Cooling the springs below, 
 Where the shade of the Sphinx falls grateful 
 
 Over the burning sands, 
 To their paeans of joy will be added 
 
 Her accents sweet and low ; 
 Rising to Isis, the Giver, 
 As they march to the Sacred River. 
 
THOTHMES, OF KARNAK. 
 
 1500 B. C. 
 
 Brtng forth the chariot, Strabo, 
 
 And deck the steeds with pride ; 
 To-day amid my father's train 
 
 In princely garb I ride ! 
 No more for me our boyish games 
 
 Or comrades' jocund call, 
 No more with fleet foot in the race 
 
 To chase the flying ball — 
 Who once puts youth's bright garments on, 
 
 Lays childhood's joy aside. 
 
 Now for the clash of shield and lance, 
 
 The shock of legions hurled 
 On gory fields, till victory rests 
 
 With standard fair unfurled ! 
 Thou dread Osiris ! who doth watch 
 
 Above the deeds of men, 
 Inspire my soul and nerve mine arm 
 
 Till in me lives again 
 The spirit that raised Egypt up 
 
 As Mistress of the World. 
 
THOTHMES, OF KARNAK. 
 
NAN-TZE, OF NGAN-KING. 
 
 800 B. C. 
 
 To wander in the gloaming 
 
 By the Yangtse's yellow sands 
 To fret the shining plumage 
 
 Of my pheasant's golden wing, 
 To hear the bittern croaking 
 
 Across the marshy lands, 
 Or mid the banyan shadows 
 
 To hear the bulbul sing, 
 
 — What else is left to fill 
 
 A maiden's heart and hands ? 
 
 Roses of love and pleasure 
 
 My brother's coming greet ; 
 Glad for his hand's strong clasping 
 
 The warrior's glory waits, 
 Over his fortunate pathway 
 
 The sun shines fair and sweet, 
 Joy of the future beckons 
 
 And opes her welcoming gates, 
 
 — What path but sorrow lies 
 Before a maiden's feet ? 
 
 17 
 
CHOM-SIN, OF KIN-YUEN. 
 
 SOO B. C. 
 
 Little I care for the glamour 
 
 And fame of princely deeds ! 
 Little I care for the glory 
 
 And tinsel of soldiers' joys ! 
 Rather I'd chase the 'ball 
 
 With the noisy chattering boys ; 
 Or measure my gaudy treasures 
 
 Of pipes and kites and toys, 
 Lying in golden sunshine 
 
 On mats of rushes and reeds ! 
 
 Plague on the ruby button 
 
 And peacock feathers of state! 
 — When murderous hordes of the Mongols 
 
 From over the mountains come, 
 Striking with barbarous strength 
 
 In fury savage and dumb, 
 Let others go forth to meet them 
 
 With spear and dagger and drum, 
 I'd rather look out on the battle 
 
 From behind the sheltering gate ! 
 
mmmmam 
 
 NAN-TZE, OF NGAN-KING. 
 
CHOM-SIN, OF KIN-YUEN. 
 
CALYCE, OF ATHENS. 
 
 4OO B. C. 
 
 Under the marble arch 
 
 Of the inner court remote, 
 Harking the pealing music 
 
 That rings in the joy-bells' note, 
 While in the street without, 
 
 And the thronging market-places, 
 They welcome the crowned lord, 
 
 Victor of games and races, 
 With surging thunders of sound 
 
 And clamor of hoarse glad throat, 
 
 — What is it all to me, 
 
 Barred from life's tumult sweet, 
 Hearing but echoes of all 
 
 That passes in hall or street ; 
 Ah ! but for one swift glance 
 
 Where his glorious path rejoices 
 Through arches triumphant of palm 
 
 And jubilant greeting of voices ! 
 To drop one red, red rose 
 
 To be crushed by his conquering feet 
 ' 23 
 
TYRT^EUS, OF CORINTH. 
 
 4OO B. C. 
 
 [Outside the Sacred Grove of Jupiter.) 
 
 O day beloved of gods and men, 
 
 In happy omen rise ! 
 Smoke on the altar-stone of Zeus, 
 
 O joyous sacrifice ! 
 For now within the Sacred Grove 
 
 The chanting priests proclaim 
 The opening of those lofty rites, 
 
 Whose end shall give to fame 
 Another hero, and to Greece 
 
 One more immortal name ! 
 
 See how the thronging athletes press 
 
 The fair Olympian meads ; 
 Boeotian wrestlers ; and the straight 
 
 Swift race that Sparta breeds ; 
 Strong charioteers of Thessaly ; 
 
 And Thracian spearsmen brave ; 
 — - Ah ! if but once mine ardent foot 
 
 Might press the stadium's pave 
 
 What higher gift of gods or men 
 
 Could hope or glory crave ! 
 24 
 
CALYCE, OF ATHENS. 
 
TYR'ITEUS, OF CORINTH. 
 
CLAUDIA, OF ROME. 
 
 50 B. C. 
 
 dawn of the gods beloved 
 How rarely thy coming thrills — 
 
 To-day we go to the villa 
 
 On the crest of the Alban Hills! 
 Freely I change for its freedom 
 
 The splendor of court and hall, 
 The splash of the marble fountain, 
 
 The glow of the pictured wall, 
 The mirrors of shining silver — 
 
 Gladly I leave them all. 
 
 1 tire of the glittering sameness 
 That marks the splendid town ! 
 
 But there, through golden vineyards, 
 
 Fair cascades sparkle down, 
 Branches of cypress and olive 
 
 Tangle the sunshine still, 
 The wood-doves coo in the branches, 
 
 And sweet leaves dance at will 
 To the hymn of the Vestal Virgins 
 
 On the beautiful Alban Hill. 
 
 . 29 
 
VESPASIAN, OF ROME. 
 44 b. c. 
 
 " Come forth ! Come forth ! my Titus," 
 
 The young Vespasian calls : 
 u Nor rest, nor sleep, have place to-night 
 
 Within the city's walls ; 
 The gates are choked with crowding, 
 
 The air is rent with cries, 
 A thousand torches' flaming light 
 
 Defy the gloomy skies 
 Where the great Consul, done to death 
 
 By Brutus' dagger, lies ! 
 
 " Drop from your hand the unrolled chart, 
 
 And fling the stylus by ; 
 What are such teachings worth to us 
 
 When such a man could die ! 
 More than all fame their lore can bring, 
 
 Give me to say instead 
 — What time the thin white frosts of age 
 
 Shall rest upon my head — 
 * A boy, in Rome, mine eyes once looked 
 
 Upon our Caesar — dead i ' 
 
MMMMl^jM 
 
 CLAUDIA, OF ROME. 
 
VESPASIAN, OF ROME. 
 
HADASSEH, OF TIBERIAS. 
 
 A. D. 9O. 
 
 Come to the house-top, Rachel ! 
 
 The waning day droops low ; 
 Wrap round thy braids the Tyrian scarf, 
 
 For cool the night winds blow ; 
 And bring thy light stringed nebel 
 
 To aid the sad sweet song 
 That sings in every Jewish heart 
 
 Its tale of grief and wrong — 
 While o'er the lake Gennesareth 
 The red sun sinks to meet its death ! 
 
 Bid from the inner terrace 
 
 Amrah, the bond-maid, bring 
 Fresh wheaten cakes and honey. 
 
 Clear water from the spring ; 
 Here we will take our evening meal, 
 
 And rest, till floating by 
 The pale moon sails her magic boat 
 
 Across the deep blue sky, 
 And in the lake Gennesareth 
 The red sun sinks to meet its death ! 
 35 
 
GAMALIEL, OF JERUSALEM. 
 
 A. D. 70. 
 
 O YERUSHALAIM the Holy ! 
 
 The crown of thy peace is fled ! 
 Under the yoke of the spoiler 
 
 The pride of thy life hath sped ! 
 Low are the climbing arches 
 
 Of thy Temple wondrous fair, 
 Like a sheaf of silver fountains 
 
 That rose through the sunlit air, 
 And under the wreck of its glory 
 
 The priests of thy faith lie . dead ! 
 
 From the place of our power and gladness, 
 
 Whither we go who knows ? 
 From halls of our fathers to bondage ; 
 
 From arms of our mothers to blows ; 
 To chains and thirst and hunger ; 
 
 To toil on the strangers' shore ; 
 To serve at the Roman's table ; 
 
 To bend at the Roman's oar — ■ 
 Jehovah ! Thou God of the Mighty ! 
 
 Remember thy people's woes ! 
 36 
 
HADASSEH, OF TIBERIAS. 
 
GAMALIEL, OF JERUSALEM. 
 
GWENCH'LAN, OF SOISSONS. 
 
 A. D. 475. 
 
 Trained for the chase and the foray ; 
 
 Fearless in clanger and woe ; 
 Eager for strife and for glory ; 
 
 Cruel to slave and to foe; 
 Light is his foot in the dance 
 
 When cymbal and harp-notes call, 
 But swift from his hand in battle 
 
 The rain of the spear-points fall — 
 Hoch ! for the son of Chararic ! 
 
 Hoch ! for Gwench'lan the Gaul ! 
 
 Eyes of the hawk look forth 
 
 From under his martial crest ; 
 Steel is his sinewy arm ; 
 
 Fire is the heart in his breast ; 
 Hither the silver armilla, 
 
 And hither the chain of gold, 
 For young is the boy in years, 
 
 But valor hath made him old — 
 Hoch ! for the son of Chararic ! 
 
 Hoch ! for Gwench'lan the Bold ! 
 4 1 
 
FRIEDMUNDA, OF CHALONS. 
 
 A. D. 475. 
 
 Llantildis ! Llantildis ! 
 
 Now wherefore dreaming there, 
 While onward to the Field of Mars 
 
 Press Jarl and Prince and Frere ! 
 Doth our dull life so many strands 
 
 Of joy and brightness hide 
 Thou canst forego so brave a sight 
 
 As when the warriors ride, 
 At joust and tournay playing, 
 
 To silver trumpets braying ! 
 
 Nay ! never heed thy tresses ; 
 
 The braids are smooth and bright ; 
 Snatch thy long mantle from the bench 
 
 And set thy veil aright ; 
 Nor care to-day if in the web 
 
 No single stitch is set, 
 Nor if against the cage's bars 
 
 Thy pet birds moan and fret, 
 — But haste where sword-strokes flashing, 
 
 Beat time on bronze shields clashing ! 
 42 
 
gwench'lan, of soissons. 
 
FRIEDMUNDA, OF CHALONS. 
 
RANGHILDA, OF LUNDE. 
 
 A. D. 85O. 
 
 Look at my bracelets, Gudrun, 
 
 Heavy with gold and pearl, 
 Snatched from the dead white arm 
 
 Of a timid Danish girl ! 
 And here be necklets of silver 
 
 And tunics of silken sheen, 
 Torn from the regal treasure 
 
 Of some pallid Eastern queen, 
 And brought from red fields of slaughter 
 To the feet of the Sea King's daughter ! 
 
 Cover the floor with rushes, 
 
 Kindle the fires in the hall, 
 Hide with the broidered arras 
 
 The beams of the smoke-stained wall ; 
 Freyga ! Mother of Heroes ! 
 
 Thanks for thy bounteous hand, 
 That wins for us spoil and glory 
 
 On the shore of the stranger's land, 
 And brings from the blood-stained water 
 New joy for the Sea King's daughter! 
 47 
 
SIGURD, OF JOMSBURG. 
 
 A. D. 85O. 
 
 Down through the Drontheim fiord 
 
 Sail the ships lightly, 
 On their decks shield and sword 
 
 Shine, gleam brightly, 
 Viking and hero stand, 
 
 Armor on shoulder, 
 Stern eyes and stature grand 
 
 Awe the beholder — 
 How doth my heart beat high, 
 With them to fight or die ! 
 
 When flows the mead at night 
 
 And scalds are singing- 
 Deeds of the Norseman's might 
 
 To harp-strings ringing, 
 If in the song of fame, 
 
 Of good blows telling, 
 I could but hear my name 
 
 In wild shouts swelling — 
 Thor ! for that moment high, 
 Glad at thy feet I'd die ! 
 
RANGHILDA, OF LUNDE. 
 
SIGURD, OF JOMSBURG. 
 
ZAHRA, OF BAGDAD. 
 
 A. D. I I 50. 
 
 Now who hath seen my Zahra ? 
 
 Too long" hath she been roaming, 
 And dancing to the castanets 
 
 Beneath the date tree's shade ; 
 Here waits the empty water-jar 
 
 And soon will fall the gloaming — 
 But who can put a woman's head 
 
 On shoulders of a maid, 
 Or teach that life's true measure, 
 Is Duty first — then Pleasure ! 
 
 Oh daughter, little daughter ! 
 
 Here lies the wheat for kneading, 
 And there thine idle shuttle 
 
 Rests empty by the loom ; 
 O who hath seen my Zahra 
 
 Or whither is she speeding ? 
 Alas ! 'tis hard to look for fruit 
 
 When youth is all abloom, 
 Or teach that life's best measure, 
 Is Duty first — then Pleasure! 
 
 53 
 
ABULCASEN, OF DAMASCUS. 
 
 A. D. 1 1 50. 
 
 Fleet foot of the desert ! 
 
 Thou steed of my pride ! 
 'Tis the voice of thy master 
 
 That calls to his side ! 
 With the star of the prophet 
 
 Set fair on thy brow, 
 And thy swift step as light 
 
 As the bird on the bough, 
 Like the flight of an arrow 
 
 Afar let us ride. 
 
 The crescent grows dim 
 
 As the cross waxeth bright, 
 The sun of our people 
 
 Is sinking in night ; 
 Still, still, as we bound 
 
 O'er the sand of the plain, 
 My steel at my side 
 
 And my hand on thy rein, 
 I find the lost glory ! 
 
 I feel the old might ! 
 
 54 
 
ZAHRA, OF BAGDAD. 
 
■■■Ei'i .TTSIHIB 
 
 lllllilliiliilf 
 
 L 
 
 ■'■■■ ■■■: ', ; ly* 1 I. ,-...■ 
 
 ABULCASEN, OF DAMASCUS. 
 
LIPPO, OF FLORENCE. 
 
 a. d. 1434. 
 
 Blue is the wonderful sky 
 
 Of Firenze, the fairest of cities, 
 
 Clamor of voices and bells 
 
 Rings through the jubilant air, 
 
 Banners are hung on the walls, 
 Poets are singing their ditties, 
 
 While Cosmo the Medici rides 
 With his retinue, lordly and fair, 
 Through welcoming shouts of the square ! 
 
 And out to the farthest gates 
 
 Surge laughter and music blended, 
 
 And into the darkest lane 
 
 Creeps something of sunshine and glee; 
 
 Nay i let them talk as they will 
 
 Of times and of men more splendid, 
 
 Never were days of the world 
 More wondrous than those I see, 
 With their promise of glory for me ! 
 59 
 
GUISTINA, OF FERRARA. 
 
 A. D. I434. 
 
 Here in the convent garden, 
 
 With pencil and with books, 
 I commune with the glory 
 
 And the souls of other times ; 
 I read delight and beauty 
 
 In nature's loving looks, 
 And weave my maiden fancies 
 
 Across my poet's rhymes — 
 Here in the convent garden 
 
 With pencil and with books. 
 
 And if sometimes like summer clouds 
 
 Across a summer sky, 
 Vague longings, — swift as shadows, 
 
 Across the sunshine- — creep, 
 To join the laughing maidens 
 
 Who carol dancing by, 
 As on the bright campagna 
 
 They watch the browsing sheep — 
 'Tis but a passing summer cloud 
 
 Below a summer sky ! 
 60 
 
LIPPO, OF FLORENCE. 
 
- 
 
 i ,, ?iii'i5ii';-»f , 'Nr ; ffc ; ~4i! | yJI ; /f i; 
 
 
 GUISTINA, OF FERRARA. 
 
GIDEON, OF TAVISTOCK. 
 
 A. D. 1644. 
 
 A plague take all this fooling 
 Of musty books and schooling, 
 'Tis well enough for coward folk 
 
 Whose blood is pale and poor ! 
 And out on all their preaching 
 Of learning and of teaching ! 
 'Tis honor lifts the gentleman 
 
 Above the paltry boor — 
 Red honor, snatched from fields of blood, 
 
 Like this of Marston Moor ! 
 
 Full well my tongue rehearses 
 Brave Greek and Latin verses, 
 But glad I'd put such prating by 
 
 If thus I might secure 
 To be but three years older, 
 To stand with gun on shoulder, 
 And strike for holy England's right 
 
 One good blow strong and sure 
 Beside my sire, on such a field 
 
 As this of Marston Moor ! 
 
 65 
 
AUDREY, OF YORK. 
 
 A. D. 1644. 
 
 Swift with the dexterous needle, 
 
 Slow with the clumsy pen, 
 Poor in the knowledge of books, 
 
 But rich in the knowledge of men ; 
 Learned in housewife lore, 
 
 Skilled as nurse and as leech, 
 Pure and sweet in the soul, 
 
 Strong and true in the speech — 
 Many a Master of Arts 
 
 Could Audrey the Puritan teach. 
 
 Wholesome in person and taste, 
 
 Prudent and formal and kind, 
 Swift of temper and wit, 
 
 Slow of fancy and mind, 
 Lofty and proud with the rich, 
 
 Humble and fond with the low, 
 Loving and leal to the friend, 
 
 Haughty and fierce to the foe — 
 Blessed and fair is the land 
 
 Where maidens like Audrey shall grow. 
 66 
 
GIDEON, OF TAVISTOCK. 
 
AUDREY, OF YORK. 
 
GABRIELLE, OF TOULON. 
 
 A. D. I72O. 
 
 O the court of the king ! 
 Only to tread in its measures, 
 Only to join in its pleasures, 
 Feel its bright witchery round me, 
 
 Take what its riches can give ! 
 Here may be love true and tender, 
 ikit the dull weight of this splendor 
 Hangs like a fetter about me ; 
 
 There at the court one could live ! 
 
 Fleetly my fancy takes wing ! 
 Here is but dullness and duty ; 
 There is the glamour of beauty. 
 Here is but sameness and longing, 
 
 There all that gladness can bring. 
 Here drag the wearisome hours ; 
 There dance the days through the flowers- 
 O but to breathe of their fragrance 
 
 At the beautiful court of the king ! 
 71 
 
ANDRE, OF PARIS. 
 
 A. D. I720. 
 
 To-day we ride to the hawking, 
 
 In the forest of Fontainebleau, 
 I at the king's right hand 
 
 With his hooded bird on my fist, 
 And the train of Ladies and Lords 
 
 On palfreys curveting slow, 
 Or bounding through hedgerow and field 
 
 Whither their fancies list, 
 And falcons with silver bells 
 
 Leashed at pommel and wrist. 
 
 And the hollowed-eyed, hungry canaille 
 
 Will gather to see us pass ; 
 Little we care for their silence 
 
 And less for their muttering cries — 
 While the ladies' silken gowns 
 
 Will brush the dew from the grass, 
 As they listen to sonnet and song 
 
 In praise of their lips and their eyes, 
 And the murmur of joy repeats 
 
 The laugh of the summer skies. 
 V- 
 
GABRIELLE, OF TOULON. 
 
ANDRE, OF PARIS. 
 
JONATHAN, OF BOSTON. 
 
 A. D. I813. 
 
 And so the Shannon in battle 
 
 Has taken the Chesapeake, 
 With Lawrence her brave commander 
 
 Mortally hurt in the fight ! 
 Well, let them joy in their spoil ; 
 
 Poor are our people and weak, 
 But poorer and weaker before, 
 
 We forced them to yield us our right, 
 And the soul of a nation is stronger 
 
 Than armor or sinew of might ! 
 
 Often my Gran'ther has told 
 
 The tale of the olden time, 
 The starving at Vallev Forge, 
 
 The battle-fields piled with slain, 
 The marching a-thirst and a-cold, 
 
 The story of deeds sublime ; 
 Let England forget, an' she will, 
 
 The record they wrote so plain, 
 The land they bought with their blood 
 
 Shall never be hers again ! 
 
 77 
 
DOROTHY, OF PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 A. D. l8l2. 
 
 Come hither, child, this minute, 
 And leave that jingling spinnet, 
 There's no such music in it 
 
 As these rumors strange and new ! 
 This talk of warlike nations, 
 And hostile declarations, 
 These calls for arms and rations — 
 
 Is there no part for you 
 But routs and balls, when Freedom calls 
 
 For loyal hearts and true ? 
 
 Call Nancy as she paces 
 The minuet's slow graces, 
 Bid Patty from her laces, 
 
 Her patches and her frills ; 
 We need the time they're spending 
 For making and for mending, 
 For knitting and for tending, 
 
 For ready hands and wills, 
 'Till Peace once more from shore to shore 
 
 Makes glad our happy hills. 
 78 
 
JONATHAN, OF BOSTON. 
 
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 DOROTHY, OF PHILADELPHIA. 
 
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