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SONGS OF HOME, 
 
 By M. E. Banta. 
 
 Menasha, Wisconsin. 
 
 Published by Phenix Press 
 
 1S93. 
 

 Jlt'T OF 
 
 MRfci. ;vJo. WRIGHT SEW A bl. 
 
 BY MRS. IDA IIUSTED HARPEE 
 
 LITERARY EXECUTOR. 
 
 1923 
 
My B»t()K 
 
 IS GRATEFIIIJ.Y AXI) REVKRENTLY 
 INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF HER 
 FROM WHOSE HEART MY OWX FIRST 
 CAUGHT THE LOVE OF ALL THAT WAS 
 BEST AXD MOST BEAUTIFUL, WHOSE 
 LOVK FOR ME WAS STEADFAST EVEN 
 UNTO DEATH — MY GENTLE MoTHER. 
 
CONTEXTS. 
 
 -*•*- 
 
 Aktermath. ........ 10;2 
 
 Am. is Well, . . . . • • • • ll» 
 
 Aloxe, .....■■■■ -'^ 
 
 At Rest, . . . . • • • • ■ ^^ 
 
 AuTUMX Revery. Ax, . . . • • • . :28 
 
 Betkothai,, . . ■ • • • ■ . (50 
 
 BiKDS Have Come Again, the, ..... 75 
 
 '■BiJEAKIN'G," ......•• 108 
 
 BitowN CoiNTv's Hills, ...... SS 
 
 '•By the Shining Big Sea Wateil"' . . ■ ■ ■ ^ri 
 
 CiiiLmiooD Memories, . . . • • .14 
 
 Chkist.mas Chimes, ....-•• ^■>^'> 
 
 COMMON^LlVES, 
 
 (.'ONd'EXSATlOX. 
 
 CuK'KET'fi Festival, thk. 
 
 Fauewkli. t<) thi: Old Vkau. . 
 
 136 
 100 
 131 
 
 Cii BoNo^ . . • • • • • • • '"^ 
 
 110 
 
 Gkuesome Raix. the. , . . • • ■ . •} 
 
 ;>a 
 
 IIaixtki). ...•■••• 
 
 Ho K(ii; I'Ui': Woons. ....••• HI 
 
 HiXTiN(i Paw Paws 
 
 11 
 
Ix* DKOEi.ii;rr.. ••...... 180 
 
 Ix Memokivm. . 
 
 Oi.i) Man's Mamhu; VI,. an. 
 ()i.i> YkahV Ai)i>iti:ss. Till., 
 
 SlNSIllNK. . 
 'I'd my r>Aia l!i>V. 
 'I'll Mv I AN un. 
 'I'd M\ Daiciii i;i!. 
 
 'I'o Ml UlSil'.AM), 
 
 id 
 
 .Ianiauv. ......... 125 
 
 Jest .IaivkV Oi.d Nance ...... 114 
 
 Lani> Bkyoni). the. . . . . .1) 
 
 ■ lovk an!) fuikxdship. ...... ir^s 
 
 Memohy's Pktiiu:, . . . . . . . s.'> 
 
 MlDSlMMKK. . . . . . , . .24 
 
 Mv Dooit.sTEP. . . . . . . . .17 
 
 My Kinodo.m, ........ -,7 
 
 ^Iy Mothki{, ....... .1 
 
 My Si'Ec :ta( i.i:s, ...... 35 
 
 Mv Sxrnio, . . . . . 4j 
 
 NEGI.K( T OK SVMl'ATIIV, THE, •.....'>•> 
 
 Nettie, ......... 3 
 
 NovEMiiEi;. ........ i'>:-5 
 
 (>4 
 
 I'aimink Wdijns, ....... SI 
 
 1{ain is ()vi;i; and (ioNi;. THE, ..... 13'i 
 
 Si.EET Stoum. the. . . . . . .71 
 
 Si .MMi:i; IJain. ■■...... Ci:l 
 
 97 
 
 '.t'i 
 
 73 
 
To Ome I Love, ....... 98 
 
 Town Clock, the, ........ 117 
 
 Two Moods, ........ 90 
 
 Under the Plum Trees, . . . . . . .78 
 
 Vale, ......... 94 
 
 Victorious, . . . . . . . .70 
 
 AViNTER Evening, ....... 83 
 
 Work While the Day Lasts, . . . . . .89 
 
PTJEFACE. 
 
 To only the few whose good hearts care for nw, will this 
 modest book be known. And even these may sometimes 
 think that silence would have been golden. Yet to its author 
 the love of beauty was given as much as to Tennyson, or 
 Riley, and tlie impulse of its expression would not be denied. 
 Th§ brown song sparrow pipes as assuredly in the iirst yel- 
 lowing sunshine of February, as the master-singer among the 
 magnolias in the fullness of summertime, and is he not wel- 
 come? So 1 — even I, dare to hold out my hand witli this 
 little book, the epitome of your friend 
 
 -M. E. Baxta. 
 
027^5 of Fion;©. 
 
jE^ongs of I^oniF. 
 
 Jvly yvlothier. 
 
 -^•^- 
 
 I hear a soft voice sweet and low, 
 
 Singing an old-time air, 
 Dreamy and sweet on the drowsy breeze, 
 
 Out in the moonlight fair. 
 "My Mother dear,'' — Oh, the silvery tones! 
 
 How they melt in my throbbing heart, . 
 With the living memories hoarded there, 
 
 Of the days when she, apart 
 From all of c^arth, was fondest loved. 
 
 And seemed its fairest part. 
 
 My >h)ther! Oii. 1 see her now. 
 
 With her fond and i)ensive smile, 
 And pure, dark eyes, so like this light, 
 
 When turned on her little child; 
 
 And I ne'er behold tlie moonlit night, 
 
 1 
 
soyas Ob HOME. 
 
 And the purple sk}' above, 
 Solemn and still in shade and light, 
 
 As the mingled look of love. 
 And shadowed depth of fondest care, 
 
 That in her dark eye strove. 
 
 Bat I dream, all hushed, with misty eyes. 
 
 Of her, and that distant day. 
 In childhood's home, so bright with bloom, 
 
 That mid the green trees lay; — 
 Our gray home by the winding road. 
 
 So near the dimpling stream; 
 Where from the porch through clustered trees. 
 
 We saw the tall spire's gleam — 
 How I long to see the spot once more 
 
 Bv sunset's rnddv iaeam! 
 
 
/Nettie. 
 
 -*•►- 
 
 Nettie, with the nut brown hair, 
 
 Wavy, rippling into curls, 
 With her soft, clear, ringing laugh, 
 
 She 's my queen of all the girls. 
 
 Nettie's cheeks are like the peach, 
 Her lips a ripe June rose between, 
 
 And oh ! her fond, shy, saucy eyes — 
 There lies the power of my queen. 
 
 There 's Helen with the midnight glance. 
 Starry and holy like the night ; 
 
 And Maud, whose hazel fills with dreams 
 But sweetest hers in mirthful light. 
 
 I tried one day to kiss the sprite ; 
 
 She shook her silken curls at me, 
 And laugliing, like a swallow fled. 
 
 Crying, "Oh, that can never be !" 
 
 8 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Ah, me ! I scarce know why it is ; 
 
 The joy that drew my life from me 
 Sends back the life tide lonesomely, 
 
 W hen Nettie thus flits off in glee. 
 
 My soul no more obeys my will, 
 But trembles as a bud half blown 
 
 Within the thrilling of the wind. 
 To her sweet voice's music toue. 
 
T1^c Qrucsorrje ^mr), 
 
 -^•*— 
 
 All day I have listened the grieving wind 
 
 From over the sodden plain, 
 As it shook and twisted the naked trees, 
 
 And swirled by the drifting rain. 
 Falling so dim with hollow roar, 
 
 Like the sea where breakers foam, 
 Or its long black swell on the shingle gray, 
 
 Where the fretted tide waves comb. 
 
 Through the monotone of the winter wind 
 
 Memory hears sweet voices low. 
 That only memory shall hear more, 
 
 From out of the long ago. 
 And the gray rain as a background shows 
 
 Old scenes that are only air ; 
 For time and faces have passed away — 
 
 I only, of all, am here. 
 
 I see, as I hear the voiceful wind, 
 In the depths of the dim gray storm, 
 
 A scene in tenderest contrast smile. 
 All flowery, sunny and warm, 
 
 5 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Under a spreading china tree, 
 
 In the southern sunshine's glow, 
 With cool verandas twining 'round 
 
 A cottage quaint and low. 
 
 Within, a childish mother sings 
 
 Her babe to smiling rest. 
 And two boyish arms, with pride and love, 
 
 Press both to his happy breast, 
 While the breeze hums soft in the jasmine's spray. 
 
 Blowing in on its sea-wet breath : 
 And in all the light, and bloom, and love. 
 
 Is no lurking hint of death. 
 
 The roses bloom like a paradise. 
 
 And great white blossoujs blow, 
 'Mid the glossy green of tbe* magnolia trees, 
 
 In odorous drifts of snow. 
 The myrtle sprays thro' their crimpled depths 
 
 Catch the shell-like pink of dawn, 
 And flowers blow with the many hues 
 
 Of the west when day is gone. 
 
 In a spreading live-oak, towering high, 
 
 Like a guardian standing near, 
 'Mid its curtains soft of silvery moss, 
 
 The mockbird's trill I hear 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Through all the long, bright summer day, 
 
 Till the evening stars appear, 
 And singing his matchless roundelay 
 
 In the moonliglit, still and clear. 
 
 Oh, stars that watch in the purple sky, 
 
 Sweet moon, so pale and pure, 
 iV waken these happ}^ sleepers to 
 
 The woe coming swift and sure. 
 For death is here — oh, gruesome rain! 
 
 There 's a dirge in your solenm roar, 
 With the minor strain of the wailing wind 
 
 Chording its deep chant o'er. 
 
 In mockery glows the coming sun 
 
 (Jn desolate, empty streets, 
 ^^^lere the dead-cart and its driver grim 
 
 Are the only life one meets. 
 And shrieks ring here, and sobs moan there, 
 
 And the sexton digs all day 
 NVhere the dead-carts leave their lonely loads, 
 
 'Mid the heaps of fresh dug clay. 
 
 In the cottage k)W 'neath the China tree 
 
 Now no girlish mother sings, 
 While the scented jasmine's starry spray 
 
 Blows in on the breeze's wings. 
 And the boyish father, too, is gone. 
 
 And the baby sleeps for aye, 
 
S SOXaS OF HOME. 
 
 Thougli the roses ])looin like paradise 
 Under the summer sky. 
 
 Oil, winter wind! — gray, gruesome storm- 
 Where are my vanished friends? 
 
 Where drifts the current of all the years? 
 Say whither my own life tends. 
 
 Are those voices dead forever and aye. 
 Or waiting for me somewhere? 
 
 \\'i]l the whole of vanishing life but be 
 Memory's pictures painted on air? 
 
TV)G L>3r)d Bc[^or)d. 
 
 ••*— 
 
 'I'lit'iT is a land, tliouuii none kiii)\vs wliei'f. 
 
 ( )v far. Hi- near, was cvcy sa'nl : 
 W'c naiiii' it liy ouv liopcs and tears. 
 
 And [)('<)|>lf il with all our <l»'ad. 
 A darklini!; sea, tlic realm of space. 
 
 Whose only shore lliat nivstie land, 
 Spreads, island studded with the stars. 
 
 J-letween us and its silent strand. 
 
 Not one otall our loved and lost 
 
 Has tver crossed twice that shiinnierin;^' sea. 
 To liind our bleedint;,- hearts with balm. 
 
 Or tell us what their late may he. 
 Hut still we ho|>eand weave tair ilretims, 
 
 The warj), that land of evermore. 
 The wool', dcatli's suhtile alchemy, 
 
 All loved and lost thinj^s to restore. 
 
 We think this world is passing fair. 
 
 And poet-natures feel how grand; 
 liut loftier blue o'er greener vales 
 
 Bends ervstalline above tliat land. 
 
10 soyas of home. 
 
 Piuk-purple flushed, its laountains rear 
 Their stately peaks sublime on liijili. 
 
 As sunrise of a halniy s})ring 
 
 Ne'er faded fVoin its ambient sky. 
 
 Tliere roll blue rivers, shadow fleckccl, 
 
 By clouds and never leafless trees, 
 Some home-loved trees of earth, perhaps, 
 
 That whisper to the fragrant breeze. 
 And there, beside their affluent tides. 
 
 All i)ain and wrong forever done. 
 ^Vander in youth's perfected grace, 
 
 l^ndyiag, all our loved and gone. 
 
 And liopes which mocked us long ago. 
 
 As dancing lights in lone fens cheat 
 The longing traveler's hope of rest. 
 
 Loves that went out. as light and heat 
 Under wild March's flying clouds. 
 
 Friendships v.'hich changed as falls the frost 
 On glorious -lur.e, and generous deeds 
 
 Wasted on churls — whole lives so lost; 
 There where death's shallo|) o'er the main 
 
 Its jihautom prow turns to the shore. 
 All wrongs a recompense shall righl. 
 
 To those who reach the evermore. 
 
fiur)iir)^ Paw Paws. 
 
 — ^♦*- 
 
 ^', 
 
 Down along the river valley 
 \\'here tlie fallen leaves lie thick, 
 Under maples dyed like sunset, 
 And red gums in crimson flame, 
 Come with me. The crooked river, 
 Blue with shade or lit with light, 
 Winds among its sands in beauty 
 Where the drooping el m.^ lean over, 
 Bv the white trunked sycamore. 
 It is sweet to stretch one's form, 
 Careless, on the green, cool bank, 
 Where through thinning leaves above us, 
 We can watch the light clouds swim 
 Through the mellow autumn haze; 
 While below, the nuirmuring water. 
 And around, the rustling breeze, 
 Lull to sleep life's fretful care. 
 This still hour on Nature's heart 
 Will give our childhood l)ack again. 
 And all life's toils and smarting ills 
 Take, as mothers wii)e off tears. 
 
 n 
 
12 SONGS OF ROME. 
 
 Let us go then, where the trees 
 Part, and pours the sunshine through 
 Full on bushes, tropic leaved. 
 Down among the fragrant foliage 
 Fallen new. their spicy wealth 
 May be found, all brown and golden. 
 Stoop and gather. As we break 
 H(raeyed lobes of melting marrow, 
 Fancy lightly {lies a^vay 
 Where the coral atol circles 
 Still lagoons in shining seas; 
 Flies to where the feathered palm tree 
 Gra(!eful lifts to glowing skies; 
 Where the tropic's lunuid fervor 
 Fosters fruitage rich and rare. 
 Strange this seems amidst our forest. 
 \\'ith no kindred growth anigh, 
 As some hardy exile lonely, 
 From a sriuny land alar. 
 While we search with eager fingers. 
 Hearts that throb with Nature's pulse, 
 All unheeded pass the moments, 
 Though the sunlight lower slants. 
 Scare more careless glides the squirrel, 
 Plumed and gracefu!, o'er tlie green; 
 Or more gleeful call the l)lue jays, 
 INlanv voic(^d. fri)m tree t^) tree. 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 13 
 
 Than ourselves when homeward wending, 
 
 Filled with autumn sights and sounds, 
 
 Glad with Nature's pure caresses. 
 
 And the scent, to surfeit rich, 
 
 Of our paw paws, brown and yellow, 
 
 Seems the spirit of the falL 
 
 And our fair and statel}' forests; 
 
 Seems a subtle, sweet recall 
 
 Of the river, winding changeful, 
 
 Blue with sluido or lit with light 
 
 Of the sky, o'er tawny hill-tops; 
 
 Woods ablush to Autumn's kiss. 
 
 Where, amid their riven beauty. 
 
 Flooded by October's sun. 
 
 Slender trees stand, tropic leaved. 
 
 Golden vellow, all alone. 
 
Cl7ildl;jood JVlerrjoriGs. 
 
 -*■•*- 
 
 I remember with a pleasure 
 
 Very near akin to pain, 
 All tliat minified in mv cbildhnod, 
 
 Like a distant sweet refrain. 
 
 Like a minor sonii,' at dewfall, 
 By a voice 1 know and love, 
 
 From out of dusk}' distance, 
 ^Vith eve's ])urple sky above. 
 
 Our brown old liome lay nestled 
 Li tlie lap of ■circlino; hills, 
 
 Where the dandelion unlden 
 Grew thick alono; tlic rills. 
 
 The shaiU)Ws of the Locust tree,'; 
 
 Swashed lightly on the urass, 
 While the boughs with sighing I'ustle 
 
 Tapped the ui)-stairs window glass. 
 
 In the quaint, old-lash ioned garden 
 Grew hollyhocks and chives; 
 
 And a bencli beneath the cherry trees 
 Held up the yellow hives. 
 11 
 
SONGti OF HOME. 15 
 
 Oh, those old trees ^^'ere so })retty 
 lu their springtime snowy bloom, 
 
 With the young green glancdng through, 
 D'er the beehives humming rune. 
 
 W ill the purple apple blossoms 
 
 ICver smell as sweet again. 
 Or the robin in tiieir branches 
 
 Sound so musical as then? 
 
 Will the harel)ell and the oxli]>s 
 
 Ever nod so merry more, 
 As those my bare feet hunted then 
 
 The shadowed woodland o'er? 
 
 Ah mc! no more Til clamber 
 To search the swallow's nests; 
 
 Or catch the brooklet's shiners 
 Where the willow shadow rests. 
 
 Never watch the glowing sunset 
 
 Where the cloud-rifts gleam with gold, 
 
 Watch again for angel faces, 
 As with beating heart of old. 
 
 1 will say no more in twilight 
 
 With the watching stars above, 
 Thinking less wdiat mother taught me, 
 
 Than of ber Jierfeet love, 
 
16 
 
 soxas OF HOME. 
 
 "Now T lay Tiit%'" and "Our Father 
 Oh, the shiiple peaee ()t'th<'n! 
 
 It was sweeter than lite''s iiiHntss 
 Ever saxo t() me asiaiu. 
 
 ^}^S^^^ 
 
/vly Doorstep. 
 
 -*«♦- 
 
 This old, worn doorstep may not seem 
 To man}', a poetic theme, 
 Curved hollow where our feet have gone, 
 Beneath the stoop, wild briar grown; 
 But as I gaze out on the scene 
 80 long familiar, cool and green. 
 What varied visions, tin-onging fast, 
 Float shadowy from the checkered past. 
 'T was twenty years and more ago, 
 Since first I stood this stoop below, 
 Beside my young mate's sturdy form, 
 Our baby boy upon his arm; 
 Not then before us trees in Iduom, 
 Or billowy grasses waving plume; 
 No blossoms wooed the summer breeze. 
 No luscious fruitage on the trees. 
 But fancy's eyes saw all and more, 
 As we three stood within the door; 
 For youth is ricli in hoi>eful dreams. 
 And near and true tiie mirage seems. 
 
 17 
 
18 soyas OF llOME. 
 
 Another picture, (th, how s\v<>et, 
 
 Tlie yearning eyes of nieniory meet; 
 
 "r is autuimi, and the sky o'ereast, 
 
 Sifts the first snow ffakcs liglit and fast; 
 
 Tiie door llings open: o'er its sill, 
 
 Two boys the house with elani(»r lill; 
 
 (iuiek to my side they lauglung spring, 
 
 And with caress and kisses elina;. 
 
 "Oh. mother, see! 't is snowing fast, — 
 
 Look how it whirls the window i)astl 
 
 Hurrah! It gathers deep and white! 
 
 We'll have a splendid smi\vl)all tight!" 
 
 Oh, scarcly knew I in those da\'s 
 Of cliildish love and gladsome i)]ays, 
 
 flow hlest to have them near always. 
 
 Tears well and droj) my cheek ui>on. 
 
 For oh. my llUJc hoys are gone. 
 
 Two sturdy men who seem some other 
 
 Than those wild elves, still call me mothci^ 
 
 But yet my foolish heart makes moan. — 
 
 Those Vitlh' boys were all my own! 
 
 A later vison, fair and dear, 
 Oomes to me on my doorstep liere; 
 'T is my wet' gii'l with earnest face, 
 St'eking aiid loving Nature's grace. 
 From the wild l»(^e on secntfil clover. 
 
SONGHOFHOME. 19 
 
 To the soft cloud shapes floating over. 
 Or murmurous boughs or falling shower, 
 Dull worm, or painted fly or flower; 
 With love innate, to living things. 
 Her sweet child nature thrilling springs'. 
 Nothing in Nature she may see 
 But brings her questioning to me. 
 Oh! soul like harp ^olian strung 
 For all sweet things to play upon, 
 I tremble as the swift years go, 
 For all the pain such souls must know. 
 
 Another form, once tall and strong. 
 
 Comes slowly up yon path along, 
 
 The grave, white head is bent in thought. 
 
 The hands, clasped id!}', backward brought; 
 
 A strong face Avith a master's will 
 
 To grasp and conquer fortune's ill, 
 
 Turning the adverse to success, 
 
 Lilts u}) to me in tenderness. 
 
 Yes. his had been a marvelous skill 
 
 To bend life's elements to his will: 
 
 But well I know the old man's dreams 
 
 No longer were his prosperous schemes. 
 
 Backward throughout his many_days, 
 
 He, silent, traced life'sdevious WBys, 
 
 ]Marks how time robs us in bestowing. 
 
20 SOXOSOFJIOME. 
 
 His gifts but loss, resistless going, 
 Oh, hearts are poems magical, 
 And lives arc plays most tragical! 
 
 The holiest dream among Lhem all 
 
 Comes awesome as the twilight's fall, 
 
 When, solenm from the sky"s far blue. 
 
 Night's shadowed hush drops Avith the dew. 
 
 A form as frail as girlhood's slight, 
 
 A sweet, pale face with love alight. 
 
 And eyes that 'mind me of the night, — 
 
 So calm, so pure, so darkly bright; 
 
 ^Vith my wee daughter, hand in hand, 
 
 My dearest loves before me stand. 
 
 Ah! nerveless, vain, all words of mine 
 
 To picture love so near divine! 
 
 Enough that all things tender, true, 
 
 Pure, patient, point my thoughts to you. 
 
 Grander than is the bloodstained wreath, 
 
 W'oven to honor the warrior's death, 
 
 Sliould be love's chaplet for a mother's name. 
 
 That living sacrifice unknown to fame! 
 
 One saddest summer Sabbath morn, 
 
 That e'er from golden gate of dawn 
 
 The glowing da}- stole rosy through. 
 
 The angel Azrael beckoned you; 
 
 A Avhite-robed ani^el, tender faced. 
 
hONGS OFIIOME. 21 
 
 Strong,, beautiful in manhood's grace, 
 Came noislessly that solemn morn 
 Among our weeping band forlorn; 
 Softly your loving, dark eyes closed, 
 And hushed your heart in last repose; 
 Kissed gently, as a mother fond, 
 Your time- tired soul his breast upon, 
 Then with his glance of light abroad, 
 \\^ith flight like thought you were with God. 
 
TJ?c j^eglect of ^yn;patl;jy» 
 
 -<•*- 
 
 Our lives are full enough of pain, 
 
 Where'er the lines ])e cast, 
 For loss and wrong walk side by side 
 
 With each life to the last; 
 But for how much of numbing pain 
 
 Which smiling faces hide, 
 True, loving, tender, timely words 
 
 A blessing might betide. 
 
 I 've watched the world for many a year, 
 
 And this I see is true: 
 That each one struggles to be first. 
 
 The last one may be — you; 
 Yet there is good in human hearts, 
 
 And human love is (Sweet, 
 Though we are heedless in life's vusli 
 
 To stay the slipping feet. 
 
 So many weary eyes look out 
 
 On hueless, eraj^ty days. 
 And life is heavy to the feet 
 
 That walk these dreary wavs. 
 
SO,\GS 01' HOME. 23 
 
 God's love from out their leaden sky 
 
 Looks vague and coldly far, 
 Warm human love like sunshine seems, 
 
 Compared with evening's star. 
 
 I 've stood beside a marble face 
 
 Whose dear e_yes were asleep — 
 Whose lips were never hushed before 
 
 When I was wont to weep — 
 And keenest of my pain, the thought, 
 
 The words I 'd left unsaid; 
 Though strong to bear, I might have helped 
 
 My loving, loyal dead. 
 
 All, friend, remember life is short. 
 
 And sharp with manv a woe, 
 And pause to cheer with fiiith and love 
 
 Poor mortals as you go. 
 One kindly spoken, hopeful woi'd 
 
 Is worth all eulogies. 
 When broken heart and "dull, cold ears" 
 
 Care naught for flatteries. 
 
f/lidsuYr)rr)cr. 
 
 Over the stubble fields 
 
 Midsummer's sun fall white. The skj^ above 
 
 Bends pale and I'aint in the oppressive heat. 
 
 Under yon clump of trees, with not a leaf astir, 
 
 The herd p'oups listlessl_y. No restless life 
 
 In all the indolent scene, save by the. shrunken brook, 
 
 Where butterflies in golden bevies drink, 
 
 Or on the thistle tops, among the whitened weeds 
 
 Fringing the dusty road, the !)uinl)le-bee 
 
 Drones to the flashing goidfhich, swaying light 
 
 On silken seed tuft. Stirring tiie drowsy heat. 
 
 Pulses the August fly, its quavering tones 
 
 Ijifting and tailing in a dreamy swirl. 
 
 The birds are gone to leafv, dim retreats, 
 
 Whc^re sunshine enters bat in sli.id >\xy gliMius, 
 
 And not a silver note, h'om ticld or CDpse, 
 
 Rouses the swooning air. Tht' cornfields stand 
 
 Witiiin tlic (juivering lieat, litling their shrivelled blades 
 
 In piteous prayer for rain, tliat late 
 
 Rustled like plumed host tiieir dark green ranks. 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 25 
 
 All living nerves are captive to the spell 
 Narcotic, of pervading heat and hnsh. 
 Yet vague unrest, some undefined impulse 
 Torments the indolence, as yonder kine 
 Impatient whisk the flies. 
 
 A sun tipped cloud, 
 Low poised and billowy, in the hazy west 
 Startles the still heat with rolling throbs of sound 
 While golden blushes light its purple foam. 
 Lo, all the slumbrous tree-tops move 
 And nod together in the sultry breeze! 
 Gray clouds shade swiftly into black, 
 And fold on fold swell upward to the sun. 
 Obscuring soon its glare, while ominous blue 
 Floods the low west. And now abroad 
 The tender gloom of near approaching rain 
 Blends with a solemn, conscious hush. 
 The freshening wind's storm-scented breath 
 Blows balmy from the pearl fringed clouds, 
 Sweeping to earth far off, whence come 
 Avant couriers, like trampling steeds, 
 Dropping great crystals to the advancing roar 
 And whiteness of the descending rain. 
 
hr) Old /vtaj^'s /y^adrigah 
 
 -^•►- 
 
 Come out in the sunshine with me today, 
 Dear love, and wander once more away 
 Where velvety bees in buttercups drone. 
 And the brown thrush sings, let us go alone. 
 See the sky is as bright as beautiful eyes, 
 And its glory bends o'er a paradise! 
 For the May has come to the youthful year, 
 And only we two seem old, my dear, 
 'Mid the growing loveliness far and near. 
 Over there, where lilts the transparent green 
 Of beeches aglow in the sunshine's sheen. 
 Where fern fronds beckon, and purple bloom 
 Of wild phlox faintly the shades perfume- 
 In this temple pure, let our souls commune 
 With its veiled High Priest, who will call us soon! 
 For, though May has come to the youthful year. 
 We are as snow drifts, lingering here, 
 From the warmth and light to disappear. 
 
 My love 's no girlish, wild-rose face, 
 
 But I gather it close in my weak embrace, 
 
 26, 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 And, tremulous, smooth the thin white hair 
 That once was a wealth of spun gold rare; 
 And I scarce can see the eyes so bright 
 Ere they shadow^ with death's coming night; 
 For to us, after May, there shall draw anear 
 No riant June of a glad new year 
 This side of the sunset almost here. 
 But we hope while we wait alone today, 
 Our love all that lives of our vanished May^ 
 That the withered cheeks and worn forms hold. 
 Like yon prisoned worm in its cocoon cold, 
 A beauty no human lip hath told^ 
 In a form unguessed, shall arise and soar 
 In most glorious sunshine forever more, 
 Shake off, like that worm, our wrinkled clay, 
 Catchinsf hues undreamed in our earthlv Mav. 
 
/Kr) /KuiurY)r) I^cvcry, 
 
 There 's much tliat 's sweet left yet for nie, 
 
 Though life's sad autumn time it be; 
 
 For all fair things the Maker makes, 
 
 Each lovely form which nature takes, 
 
 Are pleasant still as long ago, 
 
 Mere constant than most friends below. 
 
 Back in the mellowing, 3'ellow light 
 
 Wliich first transfigures winter's l)light, 
 
 Upon the leafless tree tops high. 
 
 Traced sharply 'gainst the cold, clear sky, 
 
 Throbbing with nuisical ecstasy, 
 
 Tlie blue 1>ird comes each spring to me. 
 
 And romping jays witli varying note 
 
 Among the branches iiower-like iloat; 
 
 While, from the frost bleached medow near, 
 
 The lark's sweet whistle, loud and clear, 
 
 Blends with the homely robin's troll. 
 
 Sweetest of all the tuneful whole. 
 
 Whether on bright or clouded day, 
 
 The bro^\n wren's modest heartsome lay," 
 
 To me. tliese welcdmc, tuneful fri("nds 
 
 L8 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 29 
 
 Each coming springtime kindly sends; 
 And vernal breezes touch my hair 
 With sea-wet fingers, lingering there; 
 My brow their cool lips gently press, 
 Soothing me into tranquilness. 
 I love to dream and who may tell 
 Whether 't is but my fancy's spell. 
 That some of all my dead and gone 
 Come to me those soft Avings upon. 
 And all the flowers which languid swoon 
 On the warm breast of ardent June, — 
 And nesting birds, and bee hive's rune, — 
 Even the wee folk in the grass, 
 And weeds of summer as they, pass 
 l)(nvn under autumn's fallen leaves. 
 Where dying summer lingering grieves, 
 Greet me and cheer me, till one lay 
 Frost driven — the cricket sings at last 
 Beside my hearth to winter's blast. 
 
 And human love is left to me, 
 
 Saddened and cliaiiged tliough I may be, 
 
 With life's l)est hours all in the past; 
 
 WHicn oi its largess all at last 
 
 l>ut three or four to love me left — 
 
 Yet am not 1 ot all Ijcreft; 
 
 1 "in thankful, tliouoh so much alone. 
 
30 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 And feel my life work nearly done, 
 That when my pulses sliall be slow 
 And cease to thrill to all below, 
 I still can trust these three or four 
 To love me till I am no more. 
 
-^'^ 
 
 Down from the hospital's lonesome tower, 
 
 In wind or calm, sunshine or rain, 
 Come autumn, or spring, or winter time^ 
 
 Fell ever the sound of this sad refrain, 
 "Not a friend in the world! — alone! alone!" 
 
 Year in, year out, wailed this desolate moan. 
 
 There was woe as vast as the mighty waste 
 Of the hroad Atlantic's sullen deep, 
 
 When the north wind's might sets tempests loose. 
 Bearing wreck and death in its curbless sweep. 
 
 In this desolate cry from the tower lone, 
 "Not a friend in the world! — alone! alone!" 
 
 The story was never told to me, 
 
 What brought to this hospital's tower lone, 
 This frozen soul from a ruined life. 
 
 Making forever its desolate moan, 
 "Not a fi-iend in the world! — alone! alone!" 
 
 But I knew that despair had won its own. 
 
 And fancy pictured a woman fair, 
 AVitli every gift of womanhood rare. 
 
32 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 For the voice like a liute was clear and low, 
 That wailed from the tower its deathless woe, 
 
 Forsaken despair in every tone, 
 "Not a friend in the world! — alone! alone!" 
 
 What human wrong and loss had broke 
 The poor mad woman's heart in the tower, 
 
 Grated and all apart from her kind, 
 
 Shut up with despair to her dying hour? 
 
 I never knew — but when love is flown 
 
 From a woman's life tlien her life is done. 
 
Browip Couipty^s ^ills« 
 
 -*•»- 
 
 When burns the sumac's wandering flame 
 
 And gum and dogwood catch aglow 
 Oh, then, from out my lowland home, 
 
 To your fair heights what joy to go. 
 How sweet your echoing solitudes, 
 
 Where but the blue jay's fearless call 
 Startles a silence so profound, 
 
 One hears the ripe leaves' drifting fall. 
 
 October's hazy halo swims 
 
 Across the ridges to the sky, 
 From purple softness to the glow 
 
 Of gold and crimson nearer by. 
 Where, peering through the deepening shade 
 
 Far downward, dizzy slopes I see, 
 Glimpsing through thickets far below 
 
 The knotted roots of upmost tree. 
 
 The great oaks stand with lifted arms. 
 
 In mourning purple, as below, 
 'Mong withered leaves, the wee folks chirp 
 
 Their quavering death song, sad and slow. 
 
84 SOXGS OF HOME. 
 
 From out the sunshine's warm caress, 
 A cold breath, like a shivering si^i. 
 
 Troubles the forest, prophesying 
 The cold, white silence drawing nigh. 
 
 And yet I love them so tlie best; 
 
 Not when the dogwood spreads its white, 
 Or lush green tells of summer time, 
 
 Are Brown's fair hills so lovely quite. 
 We are attuned to minor tones. 
 
 Our light hath e'er a shadow sad, 
 And tears well often in the heart 
 
 When God knows we would fain be glad. 
 
 Oh, all the pettiness of life 
 
 Drops off when standing fjice to face 
 AV'ith Nature on the lonely hills — 
 
 Freedom's majestic dwellhig place. 
 A])ove life's moil their rarer air 
 
 •Though Autumn's bale fires redly burn. 
 Like wine our Jaded strength renews. 
 
 And childhood's peace and faith return. 
 
Jy^y spectacles. 
 
 Sad I pause in retrospection, 
 
 As I lift my glasses light, 
 Filled with sudden rueful wonder 
 
 That / need such aid to sight. 
 Surely not so many years 
 
 As this means, lie dead between 
 Life's glad morning and to-day, 
 
 Through these glimmering glasses seen. 
 
 Ah, but it is many a year, 
 
 Since I left the homestead gray, 
 Nestled by the river margin, 
 
 ^Vhere the elm and plane trees sway. 
 Where below, the droning mill wheel 
 
 Rhythmic measure kept all da}', 
 To the soft pour of the water 
 
 O'er the dam not far away. 
 
 Since I saw my fatlier standing. 
 
 Dusty, at the open door. 
 Hale and ruddy, gathering in 
 
 Cheerily liis golden store. 
 
 15 
 
36 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Since I saw my mother sitting, 
 
 Dream-eyed, at the eventide. 
 Resting in the flickering firelight, 
 
 Oftlie log-heai>ed ingleside. 
 
 Since the glossy pool I waded, 
 
 Where the white pond lily gleams. 
 Or witli })in-hooks tried lor fish 
 
 In rocky alder shaded streams; 
 Since with little sweetlieart Jen, 
 
 I sought where lifts the dogwood's snow. 
 For windllowers and wild violets. 
 
 Or sunnner cardinal's scarlet glow. 
 
 Brown eyes in a gypsy lace. 
 
 Tawny curls and low, hroad l)row. 
 Where in all the wide, wide world 
 
 Can I find the sweet face now? 
 Sometimes comes a silent woman, 
 
 BroM'n eyes dead with unshed tears, 
 Curls around tlie farrowed hrow, 
 
 But grizzled witli tlie (-ruel years. 
 
 Great drops splasli my spectacles, 
 Like autumn rain a-turn to sleet. 
 
 And, looking on life's downward slope, 
 I see where shore and ocean meet. 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 With shadowing hand I peer to see 
 The dear crafts that went out amain; 
 
 But not a white sail beckons me, 
 Or signals to my cry again. 
 
 M 
 
Cui Boi;)0? 
 
 ^•^ 
 
 What 's the good of life's enduring, 
 Striving, grieving, hopes alluring, 
 While all flies us in pursuing, 
 
 Like the mirage o'er the sand; 
 As the Aral) sees green palm groves 
 By blue waters as lie roves, 
 Receding ever as he moves, 
 
 So the hopes and joys of man. 
 
 With the Spaniard grave we query, 
 As life's disappointments weary. 
 Darken hope with storms so dreary, 
 
 Of life's total, "What 's the good?" 
 Since the voyagers beside us 
 Care so little what betide us, 
 For our very woes deride us 
 
 Why hold uj) and breast the flood? 
 
 Hope's delusion con:ies in childhood, 
 When it fires the thoughts and heart blood 
 With such radiant dreams of rare good, 
 
 When youth's stature sliall be won; 
 
 ys 
 
SONGS OF HOME. ' 39 
 
 Half the beauty of its sunrise 
 Falls undeeded on their child eyes, 
 Out of calmest, loveliest skies, 
 
 Never prized till it is done. 
 
 So the youth, the boy or maiden, 
 Nigh contemptuous of life's aiden, 
 Of life's morning, liower laden, 
 
 Dream their dreams of time ahead 
 When their fellows shall be lictors. 
 Serving, honoring them, the victors, — 
 Even maidens see such pictures, — 
 
 Till 3''outh passes and is dead. 
 
 Life's meridian is a battle, 
 
 Ah, 't is strange amidst its rattle, 
 
 All its surging strife and brattle. 
 
 Men and wonjen cari dream dreams. 
 But hope's mirage, bnmder, fairer. 
 Shapes its outlineSj nearer, rarer. 
 Though our sight, by tears washed clearer, 
 
 Knows tlicre 's much that only seems. 
 
 ^\'hen <)1<1 a_ge's locks ol snow 
 
 Shade sunk eyes that lose their glow, 
 
 When its thin voice quavers low 
 
 In life's time of saddest deartli, 
 
40 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Doth hope's vision false still glimmer, 
 O'er death's arid sands still shimmer, 
 Brighter grow as time grows dinmier, 
 
 In man's passage swift from earth? 
 
 Ah, my soul, will death's undoing 
 End at last hope's vain pursuing, 
 On its farther shore still viewing 
 
 The fair mirage reached at last? 
 'Neath the palm trees shall our feet rest, 
 By blue waters end our quest, 
 Hope's fruition calm the breast 
 
 When earth's journey shall be past? 
 
/vty Studio* 
 
 You think it is nonsense, friend Skeptic, 
 
 And laugli with amusement quite keen, 
 
 When I speak of the Author of Evil 
 
 As one to he really seen; 
 
 Come to my studio witli nie — • 
 
 I 've his portraits in many a light, 
 
 And, I think, when you 've looked at the pictures, 
 
 You '11 admit that my statement is right. 
 
 He 's a myth of man's ignorant fancy, 
 
 Whom facts will most easily slay; 
 
 There 's nothing but matter forever. 
 
 From planet to monad, you say! 
 
 Well, well, turn this picture about; 
 
 Here's a view U«t% you 've certainly seen. 
 
 Mark this man with his sinewy limbs, 
 
 And his face with dark glances keen; 
 
 Here 's his friend quite his equal in manhood, 
 
 l^ut women and liquor and play 
 
 Have roughened life's tides into rapids, 
 
 And its peace will l»e loundered to-day. 
 
 41 
 
42 SOXGS 01' HOME. 
 
 Behind tbeni 's a sinister figure. 
 Standing dark as the midnight hour, 
 And his eyes from a fathomless ])l-irkuo.-s 
 Shoot, starlike, their tkw*^, Ijaleiul power. 
 As formless as tempest's his figure, 
 But you know it incarnate iiate. 
 As he bends with commanding gesture, 
 An«l spells them with direful fate. 
 Look! here 's the companion sequel; 
 They have lost all their manhood's grace, 
 And a look of abjectcst horror 
 Has frosted, like age, one's face. 
 While the other is prostrate and pallid, 
 And writhing in death where belies. 
 Gleams a laugh like a sharp saber flashing, 
 As anger's black spirit flies. 
 
 And over this picture you '11 linger 
 And study with interest, I 'ja sure. 
 The girl is so 3'outhful and winsome, 
 So pretty and graceful and pure; 
 See the long, sunny curls on her shoulders. 
 Tlie face like a Ijlush rose in l)loom, 
 And true eyes like velvety pansies — 
 But beside her is standing her doom! 
 No longer repulsive the figure; 
 An Antin't^>us, slender and tall, 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 43 
 
 Whose breath, beyond Bacchus' vintage 
 
 Will fire her soul to its fall. 
 
 There 's a snare in the silken brown tresses, 
 
 Waving back from his brow broad and white, 
 
 And a spell in his deep hazel glances 
 
 Will lure her away from all right. 
 
 Like a twin of the lover she worships, 
 
 Fulfilling strong nature's behest, 
 
 Is the beautiful, treacherous spirit 
 
 Using love to perform his behest. 
 
 Turn away now your lingering glances. 
 And look on this gloomier sight; 
 'T is a great city's dingy purlieu, 
 And the time a dull winter night. 
 Only a grim, silent watchman. 
 Is keeping his tlismal beat. 
 And seen by the fog-shrouded gaslight, 
 ^^'ith a woman, dead-drunk, in the street. 
 Bloated and sodden and senseless, 
 All the thin, tangled hair unconfined, 
 And her pitiful rags lift and ilutter 
 In the piercing cold winter wind. 
 No Antinious now is beside her; 
 His work was well done on the morn 
 When her lalse lover, loathing his victim, 
 Flung her I'orth on society's scorn. 
 
44 SONGS OF IIOMK. 
 
 But passion and appetite blended — 
 A filthy and horrible thing — 
 With a coil like a poisonous serpent, 
 You see 'round the poor creature cling. 
 Alas! for the sunny haired maiden, 
 Whose face was a blush rose in bloom; 
 \Vhose eyes, like sweet English violets. 
 Breathed her soul out as they their perfume. 
 
 And here is a statelier i)icLaro, 
 
 The dwelling of riches and pride. 
 
 Where, regal 'midst laces and satins, 
 
 Soft colors and lights, stands a bride, 
 
 No exotic, wiiose delicate fragrance 
 
 Fills these halls witli a sensuous delight, 
 
 Is more faultlessly Ibrnied, or is fairer 
 
 Than this queen of the .sa^o/i to-night. 
 
 See her bend to the man who a})proaehes 
 
 With stateliest, courtliest grace. 
 
 And the man is her complement manly, 
 
 ^\'ith a noble and eloquent face. 
 
 Not one of the critical many 
 
 Who gaze on these beings so rare, 
 
 Would guess from their bright, smiling faces, 
 
 Their hearts beat with sharpest despair. 
 
 But she 's bartered aflection for jewels, 
 
 lier purity, truth and hor life, 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 45 
 
 For the pomp and the power of station, 
 
 With only the title of wife. 
 
 Her lover, whose passionate power 
 
 Held rale o'er the empire of thought, 
 
 She weighed in society's balance, 
 
 And it drew against riches as naught. 
 
 See this cynical creature of fashion — 
 
 Of most opulent elegance — 
 
 'T is Satan in fori a of a woman 
 
 Who thralls her with bold, lofty glance. 
 
 Here 's the sequel — a picture in shadow, 
 No light through the gloom any place; 
 But a church's vast, solemn stillness. 
 And a shrouded dead woman's face. 
 AVaxen flowers are wrought all about her. 
 In costliest, rarest device, 
 And the funeral blackness commingled 
 A great city's grief might suffice. 
 But really only one mourner 
 Stands woefull}^ dumb by the bier, — 
 Her soul in despairing posture, 
 ^Vith a fiend in his own shape near. 
 Death gave but a brief day's warning, 
 And her spirit, whence truth had fled, 
 Losing all reliance in goodness, 
 A scoffer, has passed to the dead. 
 
46 SONGS OF HOAIE. 
 
 Have you i)atience to look at another, 
 
 From among a collection so vast; 
 
 Wh3% daily the gallery is growing, 
 
 But, friend, we '11 make this the last. 
 
 'T is a homestead, where orchard trees cluster. 
 
 Ami orchard trees group o'er the stile, 
 
 Where sweet scented clover fields mingle 
 
 With golden grain, man}' a mile. 
 
 The sun has sunk redly in glory. 
 
 And the round moon rolled up in the east. 
 
 And the farmer is free from his toiling, 
 
 At home in the moonlight's broad peace. 
 
 On the breeze which bestirs the white curUiiu 
 
 Swells a song like a musical dream, 
 
 And we see through the wide open casement 
 
 A group, by tlie candle's dim beam, 
 
 A father, a son and a mother 
 
 Kneel softly in reverent prayer, 
 
 And the lad looks pure as a maiden. 
 
 And scarcely less daintily fair. 
 
 All is beauty and peace, and night's shadows 
 
 But deepen the sweet restful scene: 
 
 And the angels in white roljes and pinions 
 
 May pause to enjo}' it unseen. 
 
 But it passes; the great gothic college 
 
 Lapped in sward and l)right liowers around. 
 
 Where beautiful trees, old and stately, 
 
SOXas OF HOMPJ. 47 
 
 Tliniw cool shadows down on tlie ground 
 
 Is llie next; and a youth, lithe and slender, 
 
 Whose I'aee like a maiden's is lair, 
 
 W'itli gray eyes so dee]) and so hrilliant, 
 
 And riehes ot'hlaek curling hair. 
 
 When the sun shall go down in red glory. 
 
 And the I'oinid niodn roll u|> in the east, 
 
 The lime when he drinks :U this fountain 
 
 <)!' knowledge forever will cease. 
 
 'Moiig his fellows to-day he is vi.'to]", 
 
 ¥ov intelleet, delicate, strong, 
 
 Has Won him, in many a contest. 
 
 The first place in all of the thi'ong. 
 
 As lie ste[)s with magnetic power 
 
 Bef >rc the great listening mass. 
 
 How Ills deep manly tones of farewell 
 
 Thrills even his college class. 
 
 And eyv^: that are all unaeeustomed 
 
 To weep at such <-rH- hackneyed theme, 
 
 (lather jewels more 1-rilliant tlian diamonds; 
 
 And the grave (dd jirofessors seem 
 
 ( )versha<lo\ve(i with swift falling sadness, 
 
 As they waich his iiu[>assioned face. 
 
 And thrill to the magical power 
 
 t )\ thought, and the orator's grace. 
 
 ()h. heaven! l»esi<l<- him is standing, 
 
 *Jne aruj tlii'owii in careless embrace. 
 
48 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 The other, uplifted and holding 
 
 A goblet with Bacchante's grace, 
 
 His tempter, a l)eing alluring, 
 
 Her l)lush like the rosy red wine, 
 
 And her locks like the purpling cluster 
 
 So niuskily sweet on the vine. 
 
 But her eye has the charm of the serpent," 
 
 Though archly its swimming light laughs, 
 
 And h(;r lu'cath holds the poison of upas 
 
 For the lip whicli the red goblet quaffs. 
 
 Here 's the end. A gas jet is ))urinng 
 Dim and dismal, within a small room, 
 Where the carpet is tattered and faded, 
 Undusted for weeks, of a l)roon). 
 No fire to \varm or to cheer it, 
 Tliough shotted sleet rattles the |)ane, 
 And the wind, in a wild, gusty moaning, 
 Swee])s heavily I)y with tlie rain. 
 On a couch in tl)e t'orner reclining 
 A\'e can see, l)y the dim l)urning jet, 
 Is a man once of noblest presence. 
 And his wan face is licautiful yet. 
 But we kn(tw l»y its pallor so deathly. 
 And the sunken eyes' glittering light, 
 Thougli alone, with no pity to slirivc liim. 
 His s])irit must pass licnce to-nit;ht. 
 
SONGS OF HOMK. 49 
 
 By his side is a terrible figure 
 
 That curdles the blood to see; 
 
 All, no g(^blin of m3'thical fable 
 
 Could so fearful and hideous be! 
 
 His glance is a smouldering fire; 
 
 Blue flames are his thick curling hair; 
 
 And the glow of a white heat quivers, 
 
 Through the face of the specter there. 
 
 The eye of the poor dying victim 
 
 Discovers the murderous form, 
 
 And his shriek, in wild mortal horror, 
 
 Rings shrilly out over the storm. 
 
 Could ideas be drawn, as are figures, 
 
 Pity's tear drops would rain from your eyes, 
 
 As this tortured, despairing mortal 
 
 Recalls amid low wailing cries. 
 
 The scenes of his vanished promise — 
 
 Hell is grappling him now ere he diesi 
 
 He remembered the red sun sinking, 
 
 And the fuli-orbed, fair summer moon, 
 
 Flooding silvery a far distant farm-house, 
 
 And a pleasant, familiar old room, 
 
 Where the white curtain flutters and beckons 
 
 In the night breeze which voices a hynm, 
 
 Andthe whiteheaded, loving old couple 
 
 Softly praying within it, for him. 
 
 And he thinks, as the damned remember. 
 
50 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Of their lar-away graves, side by side, 
 
 In the elder and bramble-grown grave yard, 
 
 And curses that he had not died 
 
 When his cheek was as fresh as a maiden's, 
 
 And his heart was as pure and as true. 
 
 His young life, so hopeful at college, 
 
 Passes swift in a mournful review; 
 
 Alas! it was there that Bacchante 
 
 First held up her goblet to view, 
 
 And there that a beautiful maiden 
 
 First thrilled him with young love's dream. 
 
 And there on that old moonlit evening, 
 
 They blended their 3'oung lives' stream. 
 
 Can it be it was his hand that struck her — 
 
 He that ruined her whole life's grace, 
 
 And forced her to fly with her children. 
 
 And leave him alone in this place? 
 
 Oh, God! All alone! And dying! 
 
 Where now the obsequious friends. 
 
 Who flattered his noonday of power. 
 
 And used him for policy's ends; 
 
 Who netted his poor wavering footsteps, 
 
 And fettered his poor, feeble hands. 
 
 But used his great brain Avhile it lasted 
 
 To work out their own selfish plans? 
 
 Once they told him liis voice had a magic 
 
 To stir the "dear people," en masse, 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 51 
 
 And he was their watchword and glory — 
 
 Do they think so this sad night? Alas! 
 
 Fierce the casement is shaken by storm-wind, 
 
 And rattles the sleet on the pane, 
 
 ^\^lile a cold air, like blast- from the Northland, 
 
 Puffs the gas jet; and looking again, 
 
 That terrilile form goes out dimly. 
 
 As falls the poor agonized head 
 
 Of the victim, whose l)irthright was honor. 
 
 All alone— in the night — he is dead. 
 
 Have my portraits convinced you, friend Skeptic? 
 
 "They are fictions of fancy and paint." Well, 
 
 I know it is growing the fashion 
 
 To disbelieve Satan and hell. 
 
 Mayhap 't is that selfishness cultured 
 
 Is subtiler, and daintier too, 
 
 And its proud will would risk heaven sooner 
 
 Than fear liell, wrong's consequent true. 
 
 But yon west is aflame 'neath the blue, 
 
 And the moon like a cloudlet lies. 
 
 Awaiting its spirit, when gloaming 
 
 Shall deepen the crystalline skies. 
 
 My Skeptic, now shadows seem real, 
 
 And real things shadows I trow; 
 
 But the truth will be shaped for us sharply 
 
 Somewhere, at some time. Let us go. 
 
i( 
 
 By tV)c Sy)ir)'ir)Q ISig ^^a Water/' 
 
 In the forest, vast and somber, 
 In tlie pine forest, great and silent, 
 Columned like some ancient temple. 
 Dim and shadowy, receding — 
 In the northland of cool waters — 
 Came we and sat down alone. 
 Sailing in the still, blue heaven, 
 In the silence of the sunshine, 
 The wild eagle sees an ocean 
 From his poise on level pinions 
 High above, of changeless verdure; 
 Save Avhere spreads a sheet of silver 
 Rimmed with greener larch and birch trees 
 Plumy green, or white and spectral. 
 Silvery in the noontide whiteness — 
 Blue as bal>y's eyes at dawning, 
 When the wild loon's crazy laughter 
 Harshly startles wood and water^ 
 Trembling emerald, like a mirror 
 Giving back green forest shadows, 
 
 52 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 53 
 
 Ere the shell-like pink of sunset 
 Flushes wave and sky in blushes, 
 Ere the round moon through the tree tops 
 Trails a glowing path of glory. 
 Such the forest girted waters 
 Of the Northland's wooded lakes. 
 Here the wild duck flies securely 
 Out from sedge and dripping cedar; 
 The king-fisher dips and rises — 
 Shakes his chattering castanet — 
 Calling to his mate awaiting. 
 Here the red deer from the shadows 
 Cool, come to the plashy margin. 
 Gazing still with great eyes 'round them 
 On the limpid deeps about them, 
 Where they drink their fill, content. 
 Back in fern and fen are waters 
 Cold and hidden in the marshes, 
 Wliere mosquito's thin, wee viol 
 Shrills all day, and shrills in darkness. 
 Here the spotted brook trout's haunt is, 
 And the pheasant drums and wanders 
 In the time when berries ripen. 
 In the brief, bright summer time. 
 When the stars look down at midnight 
 Through the stillness and the darkness. 
 
54 SOXGS OF HOME. 
 
 Where the corpse flower ghastly blossoms, 
 White as death in stem, leaf, flower, 
 In the damp, black hemlock shadows 
 Shuddering sounds affright the darkness. 
 Quivering, wailing, answering mournful 
 To the wolfs lone howl afar. 
 Voices these of brooding darkness. 
 Solitude and woods primeval. 
 
^aurjtcd. 
 
 -<♦►- 
 
 My home is haunted, every room 
 
 Is filled with ghosts I cannot lay; 
 Strive as I may, they will not go, 
 
 But troop about me every way : 
 Upstairs and down they follow me, 
 
 And meet me on the stair, 
 And come between my book and me, 
 
 And stand beside my chair. 
 
 No sound falls from their silent feet 
 
 Through all the chambers clean and still; 
 They come and go as clouds in March 
 
 The withered fields with shadows fill. 
 Dear little forms, that earth nor heaven 
 
 Can give me back, from time and change; 
 And those who gladdened dawn and noon, 
 
 Whom Azrael took, and friends estranged. 
 
 Ah, time of dearth, chill winter time, 
 
 That holds entombed the summer weather. 
 
 Your sad winds moan through gloom and frost 
 And ye and I are drear together. 
 
56 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 But spring will brigliten hill and vale, 
 And may not I find life anew — 
 
 My shadows warm to living love, 
 In resurrection dear and true? 
 
Jvly Kir)^dorr). 
 
 -~^•^- 
 
 I have II kingdom — small, 't is true, 
 But it is every whit my own; 
 And ne'er, albeit in grander state, 
 Was king so safe upon his throne. 
 When like a hollow shell, the east 
 Turns pearly pink, I rise in peace, 
 And all the livelong day command 
 In perfect trust till night's surcease. 
 
 My ministers, the trooping months, 
 Bring lavish treasure to my feet. 
 And they, v/ith Love prime minister, 
 My palace for a queen make meet. 
 I feel — but words are weak to tell 
 The tribute seasons' varied charms, 
 From Winter, with his bright, cold looks, 
 To Spring, with roses in her arms. 
 
 But oh, I love the gifts they bring, 
 The painted fruits and scented flowers, 
 The flying clouds by shadows chased. 
 The moist wind from the April showers, 
 
5S SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 The splendor of the August sun 
 A-quiver o'er the bladed maize, 
 The sumac's and rock maple's bloom. 
 On hillsides in October's haze; 
 No less I love the white repose 
 Which changes each familiar place, 
 As when a strange, pale beauty falls 
 In silence on some long loved face. 
 
 My kingdom gives me hill and plain, 
 And woods and mountains, where the sun 
 Tips rosy heights in Avaking dawn. 
 Or purple crags when day is done. 
 Broad rivers roll, and brawling streams, 
 In light and shadow to the sea. 
 And that, with l)ellying white sails flecked. 
 The blue, broad ocean swells for me! 
 
 All this my realm is, by the right 
 Divinely l>orn of poesy, 
 But 't is not all my rightful dower, 
 Nor yet is it most prized by me; 
 My palace where my throne is set, 
 ^\'here faithful service bars out fear, 
 AA'here duty done, is diadem 
 Most precious, my heart is here. 
 
SONGS OF II OMK. o9 
 
 Soiuetinies I see a snarling pack 
 Of social tigers rage outside — 
 Oi'envv, malice, secret wrong, 
 And grudging selfishness and pride. 
 But they may gnash their bloodless teeth, 
 I laugh behind a safe redoubt, 
 For simple-hearted love and truth 
 Guard home and shut" the rabble out. 
 
 Yes I 've a kingdom, large enough, 
 And l)lest because it 's all my own. 
 Most blest, though some have grander state; 
 So safe and peaceful is my throne. 
 Wlien daylight meets the evening stars, . 
 And sleep in Lethe folds tlu^ day, 
 jNIay some pale loved one gone before 
 Remove all doubts and sho\v the wav. 
 
Bciroiy)ci\, 
 
 -*•>- 
 
 Mine, are you dearest. 
 Tender and true; 
 Mine all more steadfast 
 When years shall ensue? 
 my heart throbbing slow 
 Almost in pain, 
 What chills your thrilling 
 To sadness again? 
 
 Dear lips have told me 
 How I am loved, 
 Bidding me trust the faith 
 Time has not proved; 
 Yet in this twilight cold, 
 Starlit and still, 
 Wanders my restless soul, 
 Trembling and chill. 
 
 O, all my best life 
 
 Which you, dear, have waked 
 
 For joy or for sorrow, 
 
 On your love is staked. 
 
 6U 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Tliere 's a sigh (ni \uy lip, 
 Aiid my lieart is so still, 
 For the love that can save me 
 AVill vour heart fulfill? 
 
 Gl 
 
5urr)n)zr F^airj, 
 
 1\) tlio throbbing of the thunder, 
 
 Like tlie heart beat of warm June, 
 In the languor of its bkinhes, 
 
 Beats the summer shower's rune. 
 I ean see the bright lines shining 
 
 To yon far cloud's silvery rain, 
 Of the slanting crystal raindrops 
 
 That tinkle on the pane. 
 
 « 
 
 How the riant -Tune rejoices 
 
 In the warm and balmy rain, 
 From the wood that standeth solemn 
 
 Before tlie smoky plain. 
 To the l)rick and mortar cities. 
 
 ^V'llose wealth and woe grow still, 
 While the showers from the bosom 
 
 Of the summer clouds distil. 
 
 Like a benison the murmur 
 On the roof drifts down to me. 
 
 All life's dead and desolate days, 
 All its pain and passion flee; 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 63 
 
 For the fingers of the shower 
 That play on 2300I and stream, 
 
 Touch my jangled nerves with lethe, 
 Till existence seems a dream. 
 
 Now the rumbling of the thunder, 
 
 Like a roll of distant drums, 
 Beats retreat, but still in flashes 
 
 Rosy lightning southward comes. 
 With a sun burst sudden silence 
 
 Cuts the shining lines in two 
 When the green earth, bright with flowers, 
 
 Seems an Eden, fresh and new. 
 
Tt?G Old Year's fKddrzz<,. 
 
 -<•*— 
 
 The last bright beam of day 
 
 Lingered within the opal west. 
 
 High in the still, clear air above 
 
 Poised the pale moon, and trembling stars, 
 
 As dimmed the amber west, like diamonds glowed, 
 
 In heaven's far depths. Silent and swift, 
 
 Night's shadow swept abroad, and not a sound 
 
 Stirred on the icy air, save in the lonely woods. 
 
 The owlet's hoot, or by the stream, the snap 
 
 Of shooting frost. Old Earth had wrapped a robe 
 
 Of frozen white about her and she slept. 
 
 Pallid and prone, the dying year delayed. 
 
 And beckoned with lifted arm and backward glance 
 
 The dead years gone — like wreathing smoke — 
 
 And thus he spoke — 
 
 "It seems but yesterday 
 
 The bluebird in the wild March wind. 
 Swaying on sunny tree tops, whistled merrily. 
 
 The deepening sunshine smiled with golden glow, 
 
 Brightening the faded landscape, while 
 
 52 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 65 
 
 On distant hills the buds took browner hue. 
 
 Red maple tassels drew the roving bee 
 
 To sun kissed woods, whose sheltered spots 
 
 'Mong fallen leaves showed early violets. 
 
 ^Meanwhile, the crocus, tho' some lingering snow 
 
 Spotted the sward and slopes on sunless hills, 
 
 Brightened the garden borders, and anon 
 
 Soft winds from southern lands and flowers 
 
 Stole hither, and shook out the April bloom. 
 
 Oh, then the air, like a cathedral vast, 
 
 Was full of incense and sweet harmony! 
 
 The peewee and the wren sang all day long, 
 
 Their modest hynm of love and happiness, 
 
 And the brown" robin told of coming showers; 
 
 While in the fields the yellow meadow lark 
 
 Sang to the sunshine in full hearted joy. 
 
 Among the apple Idooms, a cloud of bees 
 
 Made murmurous melody; across the fields 
 
 The red-bud's blushes and the dogwood's snow 
 
 Spread airly, while farther on 
 
 Beside the rocky stream, hillgirt and lone. 
 
 The angler tried his skill. Soon furrowed fields, 
 
 Across })lack mold, showed tender rows of green, 
 
 A\'lnch the -June sunshine warmed to lusty growth. 
 
 Hustling, dark l)laded, and beplumed, 
 
 Tiien. roval rose^^ came, earnest of summer time 
 
66 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Of still, bright days, wide poured o'er deepest green, 
 
 Where basking amid the indolent heat, 
 
 All nature seemed to dream the hours away. 
 
 Above, the white clouds sailed like argosies, 
 
 Their shadows trailing o'er the fields. 
 
 While o'er the cottage porch, and manse's grounds, 
 
 A fragrant wealth of bloom was spread. 
 
 Anon, sudden gloom swept o'er the sky, 
 
 And muttering thunder rumbled in the west; 
 
 Pink forked lightning shot irom cloud to cloud, 
 
 Followed by rattling peals. Then solemn gloom 
 
 Crept o'er the scene, expectant, hushed. 
 
 And human hearts beat slow with nameless awe, 
 
 Tiii, smoking white, the distant shower fell fast 
 
 And great bright drops preluded near approach. 
 
 Then fell the deluge — house roofs smoked, 
 
 Hollows poured cascades, and the streamlets roared; 
 
 Each thirsty leaf was drenched, and cornfields bowed. 
 
 Scarce knew the sun, returned ft-om rolling clouds, 
 
 The lainting scene it lelt an hour ago! 
 
 Next came sweet Autunm, beautiful and sad. 
 
 In gold and crimson, orange and russet brown. 
 
 Majestic stood the woods as some grand queen, 
 
 Yet mournful in her state, as of tlie bride of death. 
 
 Soft summer winds sLill kissed Jjcr scarlet lips, 
 
 Bat l)reatlie!l a sijIi tiir )ugh all lun- bright decav. ' 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 6/ 
 
 At night the hoar frost tipped>r»t^silvery rime 
 
 The boughs, the green sward and the sloping roof; 
 
 Like gay seducer, kissed the verdure fresh, 
 
 And left a ruin where it found all fair. 
 
 Shriveled and brown, the oak leaves hung aloft. 
 
 Where squirrels sped and sought their winter store 
 
 And deep within the naked leafless wood, 
 
 The hunters gun and baying hound were heard, 
 
 While children 'mid the heaps of rustling leaves, 
 
 With shout and laughter, sought the fallen nuts. 
 
 Soon o'er the sky dark leaden clouds were spread, 
 
 And wailing blasts the rifled earth swept o'er. 
 
 The jays in conclave, noisly complained, 
 
 And in the orchard, robbed of all its wealth, 
 
 \W'\i\\ taps mysterious, tlie sapsuck climbed. 
 
 And then, from northern wastes of snow, 
 
 Where the weird light of borealis streams; 
 
 And the cold sun ne'er climbs the zenith up 
 
 Come fluttering fairies of the winter time! 
 
 Bus}^ and cheerful, 'gainst the coming storm 
 
 When darkened clouds shake out the feathery snow, 
 
 And all the land is frozen white and dead. 
 
 The new year leaped triumphant on the earth, 
 
 Grasping the Old Year's hand, one second e'er 
 
 He turned and joined the tlironging shades 
 
 Out to Eternitv. 
 
To /yly Baby Boy. 
 
 -^•^- 
 
 I have a new darling 
 
 So sweetly fair, 
 AMth great glorious eyes 
 
 And soft wavy hair. 
 
 His lips are like cherries 
 Or strawberries sweet, 
 
 It fills me with ecstacy 
 When our lips meet! 
 
 His cheeks are a sea shell 
 
 Of pearliest pink. 
 And his smile is a love fount 
 
 I blissfully drink. 
 
 The clasp of his arms 
 
 Is a lethe divine 
 Soothing all care 
 
 From this heai't of mine. 
 
 Never a purer love 
 Since long ago, 
 
 . 68 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 69 
 
 Came sweet as morning 
 With rapturous glow. 
 
 Not since a babe myself, 
 
 Sweet child like thee, 
 Clasped to her bosom 
 
 Mother held me! 
 
Victorious. 
 
 -*•►- 
 
 Shake out the folds of our once haughty banner, 
 
 Lift it in triumph ye breezes once more; 
 Sunsliine of heaven again proudly gild it, 
 
 There are worthy sons 3^et of the sires of yore! 
 
 Take up the cry all ye sad ones who waited, 
 Grieving in gloom for our country and them. 
 
 Now ye have cause for a proud exultation, 
 
 They have battled like heroes, your brave western men. 
 
 In the blaze of the cannon, the thick rain of shot. 
 
 These, whose footsteps yet lingered at home almost warm. 
 Moved like veterans of battle, tho' conn-ad es were dying, 
 And the cold winter sky rained a pitiless storm. 
 
 Yes, fling out our Hag on its own native breezes, 
 And shake out the shadows it silently caught; 
 
 We have cause now for pride in its starry out waving. 
 In the battle our strong western lieroes have fought. 
 
 Yet toll the bell one passing knell 
 
 For the true hearted, 
 Who fought so well, and figliting fell, 
 
 The conquering departed. 
 
 /U 
 
TV)G Sleet Storn), 
 
 -^•►- 
 
 Hither I draw my rocker 
 
 Beside the window pane, 
 To look with my little darling 
 
 Out on the winter rain; 
 How solemnly slow it falleth. 
 
 Misty white through the darkened air 
 And it sobs like a grieving spirit, 
 
 Pouring out its ])laint in prayer. 
 
 Look deary, at yonder branches, 
 
 How thickly strung with gems— 
 And even the blackened weedstalks 
 
 Have pearls strung on all their stems. 
 Glittering pendants fringe the eve-trough. 
 
 From many a freezing stream. 
 And the ground is a-glare with crystal 
 
 Of a wondrous pearl like gleam. 
 
 Yon fon^st trees that erstwhiles 
 Looked like giants grim and vast. 
 
 Tossing their black arms angrily 
 To the 1 fitter winter l)last. 
 
72 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Now stand in fairy vestment. 
 White and dainty as bridal lace, 
 
 And the gloom of the cold storm wraps them 
 In calm majestic grace. 
 
 Can it be, oh thou leaden sky 
 
 Dropping thy wintry tears 
 Epitome of our lives 
 
 After youth's gladder years — 
 Can it be that the selfsame sun 
 
 Which glowed in the bright June days, 
 Yet treasures behind thy clouds 
 
 The wealth of his summer rays? 
 
 Let us draw the curtain darling;. 
 
 And stir the cheerful fire. 
 Shutting out the stormy weather 
 
 And pile the hickory higher! 
 What matters it my deary, 
 
 That the scene is drear and cold. 
 While mother looks in your eyes dear, 
 
 And vou sweet, her arms enfold! 
 
To JVty fiushar)d. 
 
 -*•» 
 
 I love to sit at eventide, 
 
 When chance has left me lone. 
 And idly dream and dreamily hear 
 
 The night winds outside moan; 
 To sit beside the wood fire's flames, 
 
 And mark its cheerful roar. 
 While with expectant heart I wait 
 
 For footfalls at the door. 
 
 The toil of busy da}' is done, 
 
 And in the inviting bed, 
 In softest, sweetest rest is laid 
 
 Each darling little head. 
 They 've flung their little garments there, 
 
 Their shoes upon the floor — 
 I see them smiling as I wait 
 
 For footfalls at the door. 
 
 How many busy years ago 
 
 I sat and questioned fate 
 ^^'hile blushing and with beating heart, 
 
 Waiting as now I wait. 
 
 72 
 
74 SONGS OF nOMK. 
 
 But I was fair and slender tlien, 
 And now my youth is o'er 
 
 Yet still with loving heart I wait 
 Those f(iot falls at the door. 
 
 We 've had our share of toil and pain, 
 
 And heart ache too, from wrong, 
 But we WVVe one in heart and soul, 
 
 And he was wise and strono,'. 
 So tho' the years have left their scars. 
 
 And more than half are o'er. 
 My heart heats strono;er while I wait 
 
 Those footfalls at the door. 
 
 He 's coming, for I hear the gate, 
 
 And down the garden path, 
 The quick, firm step I know so well. 
 
 Coming back home at last. 
 Ah heart be glad! he's smiling there. 
 
 And pray for years, before 
 Those welcome steps shall cease to bring 
 
 That true heart to the door. 
 
T1?G Birds /^ave Cor^e /K^a'ir}. 
 
 -<•>- 
 
 Tlie birds have come again, 
 
 Those blossoms of the air, 
 Lured back by brightening sunshine. 
 
 From tropic regions fair; 
 From shining woods, which slumbered 
 
 In heated, trembling air, 
 Festooned and sweet with many 
 
 A climber rich and rare! 
 From glossy groves of orange 
 
 With odorous fruit of gold. 
 From pale green, shining rice fields, 
 
 Back to their haunts of old — 
 Haunts loved so strong and strangely 
 
 ^^'hen all is bare and cold! 
 
 The blue-bird like some orchid. 
 Swings on the locust spray. 
 
 But no flower's richest incense 
 Is sweet as his wild lay! 
 
 How it gushes in its gladness 
 Against the deep blue sky. 
 
76 SO^GS OF HOME. 
 
 Though the ruthless March wind buffets 
 
 The tossing boughs on high. 
 And out from the leafless forest, 
 
 Or the reddening maples nigh, 
 I hear with a spell of gladness, 
 
 Tlie sugar bird's sweet cry, 
 And over the corn field frozen, 
 
 I hear the noisy crow, 
 And it is a sound of promise. 
 
 For winter wanes, we know. 
 And the jays come trooping, noisy. 
 
 To the orchards in and out. 
 Though they, yet gay and hardy. 
 
 Have tarried still about. 
 
 When the flush of early morning, 
 
 Tints the marvelous frost robe white, 
 Which spreads the sward with silver, 
 
 And the sprays with crystal bright, 
 All through the day's chill sunshine. 
 
 Till stars shine out at night, 
 I hear the sparrows singing, 
 
 So cheerily and sweet 
 As it mattered not the morrow 
 
 Might be drear, with clouds and sleet. 
 The bravest of the early throng. 
 
 And first, a hardy sprite, 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 ii 
 
 His modest beauty I love best, 
 And best his song so bright. 
 
 Oh dear, brave, little singer, 
 Out on the bushes bare, 
 
 I would I had your courage — 
 Your faith in pain and care! 
 
L/rjcJcr iy)c P\un) Trcc<,. 
 
 Under the plum trees I stand alone. — 
 
 Ah me, it seems not that a year has flown; — 
 
 For there where the fitful sunshine breaks, 
 
 Hangs the rich fruit in purple flakes! 
 
 And above them bends the selfsame sk}^ 
 
 With the Autumn clouds drifting darkly by, 
 
 Hiding betimes the tender glow. 
 
 Of the golden sunshine as they go. 
 
 And yonder woods as I turn around, 
 
 Are catching the same sad tinge of brown; 
 
 And the jays are calling iu garulous glee. 
 
 To their answering mates from tree to tree. 
 
 There 's a sound like a sigh in the cool wind's play, 
 
 That brings heavy tears to my eyes to-day; 
 
 For it seems so the same, just the same as then, 
 
 That I catch myself turning to you again, — 
 
 And emptiness stands beside me alone. 
 
 And I cry as I feel you are wholly gone — 
 
 Dear mother, who loved me for years and years, 
 
 Do you see, do you heed my despondent tears; 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 79 
 
 Can you see my lieart full of pain and regret, 
 For the sorrowful happening since last we met, 
 And its struggles to reach a higher way 
 That will bridge over death to Eternity? , 
 Oh reach out and help me, so helpful and true, 
 And pray God to help me climb upward to you! 
 
At I^est, 
 
 ^•^ 
 
 How peacefully they sleep, 
 
 Low in their grassy bed, 
 With folded hands and dreamless eyes, 
 
 The quiet dead. 
 
 For them life's fight is o'er, 
 
 Its rcinkling hatreds done, 
 No wrong nor pain shall move them more 
 
 Under the sun. 
 
 Sad footsteps slowly seek 
 
 Their lowly couch and part 
 With reverent hands its waving green, 
 
 O'er the still heart. 
 
 Their love is sealed and slirifred, 
 
 Made sacred by their doom 
 Nor human ruth nor greed will rob 
 
 The insensate tomb. 
 
 Ah! if to living hearts, 
 
 Such charity were given. 
 Despite the sorrows of this world 
 
 Life might be heaven! 
 
 80 
 
Pari'ir)^ Words, 
 
 -**»- 
 
 When lovers part at eventide, 
 
 To meet again tomorrow, 
 With laughing lips and baclcward glance, 
 
 Undimmed by thought of sorrow, 
 Ah, then as glows the sickle moon, 
 
 And soft distils the dew, 
 \\'hat other word so fitting sweet 
 
 As "Love adieu, adieu.'" 
 
 When true friends part, whose lives in one, 
 
 Like rippling streamlets blended. 
 As clinging hands and tearful eyes 
 
 Bespeak that all is ended, 
 Ah, then beneath life's summer noon. 
 
 Or Autumn's stormier sky, 
 What word so fond on friendship's lips 
 
 As ''Friend, good-by, good-by." 
 
 \\'hen o'er some life knit to our own, 
 
 Death's darkness settles stilly, 
 As fades the lovelight from their eyes. 
 
 And falls the clasped hand chilly, 
 
 81 
 
82 SOI^GS OF HOME. 
 
 With raining tears and aching loss, 
 That years may not dispel, 
 
 The tortured heart throbs to the lips, 
 "Farewell, beloved, farewell." 
 
Wii;)ter Evcj^ii^g, 
 
 -*»^- 
 
 I am watching the amber gloaming, 
 
 Of a bright mid-winter day, 
 And I see the gold and rose color 
 
 Fade from the West away, 
 Through the interlacing branches, 
 
 Like lace o'er silken sheen, 
 The fading glory trembles 
 
 To twilight's opal green. 
 
 And while it changes, quivers 
 
 A star out in the glow, 
 And faintly a curve oi" silver 
 
 Bends near it like a bow, 
 Shooting with deepening lustre, 
 
 Pale gleams of liglit around, 
 >Vhich sharpen the wavering shadows, 
 
 Black and broad upon the ground. 
 
 Where the braided brooklet rimpled 
 
 In June toward the sea, 
 I hear the frost's sharp kisses. 
 
 And owl's lone monodv, — 
 
 S3 
 
84 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Deep in the forest's darkness 
 How it shudders in the'giooni, 
 
 Quavering across the moonlight 
 Like a prophesy of doom. 
 
 Where are the buds of beauty 
 
 That bloomed in summer time, 
 Shaking perfume on the breezes 
 
 As in some southern clime — 
 Brown leaves, rain sodden, onl}', 
 
 Lie frozen on the mold, 
 And bleached weeds rattle ghostly 
 
 In the North wind's icy cold. 
 
 Faded all summer's beaut}'. 
 
 But in its stead, sublime, 
 The grander hues and outlines 
 
 Of northern winter time. 
 Thus may my life be fashioned 
 
 As fades its youth and bloom 
 Its outlines and its sunset, 
 
 Be grandest near the tomb. 
 
JVIer^ory's Picture, 
 
 -^•^- 
 
 There is a spot in memory, 
 
 Forever dear to me, 
 I liave not seen for many a year, 
 
 And never more shall see. 
 But fancy's art restores it still. 
 
 That scene of long ago, 
 Among its grand old circling hills. 
 
 And river's rythmic flow. 
 I see again the gray old home, 
 
 TiOw bi'OAved with jiorches round, 
 Half hid among the clustering trees 
 
 With blooming creepers bound. 
 The garden filled with luscious fruits, 
 
 Sweet herbs and old time flowers, 
 The orchard fair, with peach and pear 
 
 Or bloom in drifting showers. 
 The hills are green that lap it in 
 
 Against the sapphire sky, 
 AMiere sail the snowy summer clouds 
 
 Above their summits high. 
 
 85 
 
86 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Across their steeps, through leafy woods, 
 
 And fields of lush green grass, 
 Where feed the glossy jnild eyed kine. 
 
 My childish foot steps pass 
 To where the river's white sands glow 
 
 'Mid nmny a shifting bar, 
 Across its deep blue glassy tide, 
 
 Where shadows trail afar, 
 Or sunshine sparkles on the rusli 
 
 Of shallows winding swift, 
 AVith gurgling murmur in and out 
 
 The meeting bar's slight rift. 
 The spring beloAV the yard is deep, 
 
 Its brooklet broken oft 
 By frequent ledge of shelving rock, 
 
 In cascades falling soil. 
 It wanders where the restless light, 
 
 At nightfall's darkened hour. 
 Of marsh fire lightly lifts and fioats, 
 
 And l)]ue wild lillies liower. 
 And there, where fringy willows droo]), 
 
 And sc<?nt the wandering breeze, 
 The blnckl)ird. with bis red tipped wings. 
 
 All day trolls in the '^'>^^$. 
 Beyond it leaves the ipiaggy t'vn 
 
 For b(»ttoiiis rich and black, 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 87 
 
 Where, shining, rustle pkimed corn fields 
 
 And stand the meadow stacks. 
 There too, broad Avoods with thickets laced, 
 
 Where odorous grape vines cling. 
 And blushing crab, and snowy plum, 
 
 Their dainty perfumes fling 
 Beyond the brakes and woodlawn green 
 
 Upon the breath of Spring. 
 And here among sweet smelling leaves 
 
 That rustle as we walk, 
 We seek the paw paw, golden brown. 
 
 Beneath its leafless stalk, 
 Where looking up the maples flame, 
 
 In gold and glowing red, 
 Beneath October's artist tou(,'li, 
 
 Like sunset overhead. 
 The Indian-arrow, like some gem. 
 
 By cunning craftsman made. 
 Hangs rosy, pendant on its shrub 
 
 Outside the forest's shade. 
 We gather it, and coi-al haws. 
 
 From wild rose by the wav. 
 With golden tangle from the fence. 
 
 In many a graceful spray. 
 To where the hill road, homeward bound, 
 Climbs steep o'er ledges grav. 
 
SS SOXGS OFJIOME. 
 
 Ah, Nature's wealth, unstinted, rich, 
 
 Within my apron piled 
 By loving hands which take my own. 
 
 And lead me as a child; 
 A\niat else has ever seemed so good 
 
 In all life's changeful space. 
 Since much is past, .a^ these sweet things, 
 
 And mother's loving face. 
 From some green hilltop might T see, 
 
 As sinks the western sun. 
 Behind the hills in golden mist. 
 
 Wliile stars come one by one — 
 Once more across the wooded vale, 
 
 Wind stirred in mimic waves, 
 \\'liere winds the river's tangled light 
 
 A bout my loved ones' graves. 
 Of all who made this dear (^Id scene 
 
 So beautiful to me. 
 But one is lelt; they sleej) in peace 
 
 Witliin that wooded lea. 
 The blight of time is over nil. 
 
 Aye, even over me, 
 But while I live, that scene will be 
 
 A clijinuelt'ss liieinorv. 
 
Work W\)i\c i})e Day basts. 
 
 Work while tlie day lasts, 
 
 Night comes apace, — 
 Toil nor encouragement 
 
 There shall have place! 
 Dearer than diamonds 
 
 Each priceless hour, 
 Making life's transient day, 
 
 Failure or power. 
 
 Flowers are thick ahout, 
 
 Fragrant and fair, 
 Sunshine makes glorious 
 
 The blue fields of air; 
 Though hope be fainting, 
 
 With waiting and care. 
 Use the good offered, 
 
 And baffle despair. 
 
 Many the foes of life. 
 Stabbing its peace. 
 
 Virtue and vigilance 
 Can work surcease; 
 
 89 
 
90 
 
 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Hold out till evening comes, 
 
 Worn tho' you be, 
 Soon sinks the western sun, 
 
 Night sets vou free. 
 
It) lAcn)Qricirr), 
 
 Dead — while the h'ail nt.scs lingering live 
 And breathe in the sunshine, existence is sweet. 
 Dead — in the spring time tho' under June's sky 
 Spring's promise and sunmier's glad fruitfuhiess meet. 
 
 Dead — tho' yon little bird swings in the sun. 
 
 Its glad carol swelling in measureless glee, 
 
 'xMid flower's perfume, and the sunshine's deep glow, 
 
 It is ]>liss breathes his song just to live and to be. 
 
 White as ghost-tlowers in twilight pine w<iods. 
 He lies in deaths shadow, in silence ibr ave, 
 No throb breaks his rest, still and cold as the snow. 
 When it silently spreads under winter's dark sky. 
 
 \h, sweet may the waking be over the sea. 
 That swells between us a..nd the land of the leal, 
 Where the hopes that are withered here blossom anew. 
 And the s(^rrows which wound us fortn^er will heal. 
 
 1)1 
 
To Jvty Daugt^ter. 
 
 I have a treasure, only deatli 
 
 I trust can ever rob me of; 
 So precious, that in}' human heart 
 
 Yearns with it up to God in love. 
 As sunshine bursts o'er silver clouds, 
 
 Or crystal waters gush in light, 
 This dear love springs spontaneously 
 
 In prayer, up to Almighty might. 
 
 She is the l)lossoiu of a life 
 
 Hard bnfllbted by many storms, 
 A crimson rose in Autumn time. 
 
 'Mong falling leaves, and naked thorns. 
 In her, I see the sliadowed glance 
 
 Whose love lit a Madonna face, 
 In benison through childhood's day; 
 
 And hers the pure and simple grace 
 Of one, whose eyes were blue as dei»lhs 
 
 ( )f sunnner skies in nn'al .Tunc 
 Ahis of all, my Autunm rose, 
 
 Alone Is leit to me in Itloom! 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 93 
 
 And yet not so — this pure deep love 
 
 Has won me as no creeds could do — 
 And with her face upon my heart 
 
 I look up for the others too, 
 And feel that I shall find them yet 
 
 With her dear hand warm in mine own 
 I see with simple, natural faith, 
 
 And every dreary doubt is flown. 
 
 So even death can only part 
 
 My treasure from me for a space. 
 Since thro' its preciousness, my heart 
 
 Has sought and found a biding place. 
 As sunshine bursts ( )'er silver clouds 
 
 Or crystal fountains gurgling bright, 
 Maternal love instinctively 
 
 Springs upward into heavenly light. 
 
ValG. 
 
 l^id'st over know ;i iviendshii) (li(^? 
 
 I have, all, well-a-dav, 
 I thought it all my own. and it 
 
 Is dead and gone today! 
 No spasm crossed its smiling face 
 
 Or heaved its tranquil breast. 
 For me was all the loss and pain, 
 
 The mourner's lone unrest. 
 
 Tt was no fault of mine it ilied, 
 
 T saw with nuinl) disjnay 
 The wrong \vhich like a, seri>ent crept 
 
 And sih^ut coiled to slay; 
 I thought that heart was good and true. 
 
 Else mine were not so sore, 
 Vet love hy wrong or coldness touclied 
 
 Can perfect he no more 
 
 Pride drops her [toppies on my ))row, 
 
 Why make such useless moan, 
 
 "T is hest to put away the dead 
 
 An<l leave them there alone, 
 '.II 
 
SO?iGS OF HOME. -^^ 
 
 One last farewell, above this grave 
 No soft rains will fall on, 
 
 No white stone lifted heavenward, 
 Mark what is dead and gone. 
 
Two Jvtoods. 
 
 I am tired, oh Futlier of all, 
 
 And I lift up my hands to Heaven, 
 
 PraN'ing life's burdens may fall, 
 And rest be eternally given. 
 
 Rest from endeavors that fail, 
 Hopes strangled in tears and strife, 
 
 Loves torn when no tears avail, 
 Quick and l)leeding away h-om life. 
 
 Storm-beaten and weary of all 
 I long for unchanging rest. 
 
 Where feeling or thought ever can 
 Shake and torture my living breast. 
 
 I beat on yon storm-locked sky 
 With the })angs of a great desire, 
 
 'Till cleaving its gloom, my cry 
 
 Brings succor from wrack and nnre. 
 
 For I am aweary of all 
 
 That befalleth us under the sun. 
 
 And I long as a traveller worn, 
 
 For rest, when tlie day is done. 
 96 ■* 
 
Sur)sl;)ir5G» 
 
 -^•>- 
 
 Gay little spring birds so merrily trilling 
 Out in the bare old brown clierry tree, 
 Ye gather the sunshine in cr3'stalized melody, 
 And scatter the jewels in scintilant glee. 
 
 There's a deep golden tenderness out in to-day 
 Half sweet, half pathetic, like long, long ago, 
 When a child, T threw open the casement to listen 
 Tlie robins loved song in the cedars below, 
 
 'T is a pleasure so sad as the like a wave 
 
 A 
 
 Flows back into memory, 't is almost a woe. 
 
 1 look in the deeps of the far away blue, 
 
 Like a glorified sniile in its soft bending glow, 
 
 And my soul bursts in song as the Mooing south wind. 
 
 Awakens and shakes out the flowers ablow. 
 
 'T is a beautiful world, and simply to be 
 
 Is bliss, and I joy in the glorious sun. 
 
 With the careless ephemera taking faint heed 
 
 TlKit at sunset the sunshine and day will be done. 
 
To O9G I L)OVG» 
 
 -^•^- 
 
 A sunbeam shines athwart the clouds, 
 
 Though cold and darkly drifts the storm, 
 At worst 't is but a stormy day. 
 
 Tomorrow may be fair and warm; 
 Today is not tfie only daj^ 
 
 The sun may shine tomorrow dear, 
 And where the clouds hang heavy now 
 
 Tomorrow may be crystal clear. 
 
 Our sun drops low within the west, 
 
 And where its fading glories burn 
 The sweet good years of youth went out, 
 
 Yet tho' they never can return. 
 Today is not the only day. 
 
 Somewhere — I hope so truly dear, 
 Is something better than we know 
 
 Or ever dreamed of, living here. 
 
 Life is a tangled skein to me, 
 
 I only know my dreams are sweet, 
 
 And feel the comfort of the strong 
 Life that throughout nature beats. 
 
 98 
 
SO^GS OF HOME. 99 
 
 That is "the varied God," my soul 
 
 Like a dumb baby on its mother's breast, 
 
 Is hushed and comforted, to leave 
 Unstraightened all the tangled rest. 
 
 And hope that where our sun goes out, 
 
 May be a radiant open door, 
 The past, at most a stormy day 
 
 Forever and forever o'er. 
 Though all the air is dark with storm, 
 
 And day sinks low within the west, 
 Tomorrow brings another dawn. 
 
 And it may be of all the best. 
 
Corrjpcrjsatior). 
 
 -*•*- 
 
 jNIy heart is full when numbers come; 
 
 I sing not when I' m gay, 
 But when the shadows of mv life 
 
 Fall round me grim and gray; 
 
 When glittering hopes have burst to froth, 
 
 Like bubbles on the air, 
 Leaving my emptj' longing soul, 
 
 Naught but life's sordid care; 
 
 When through the mirage over life. 
 
 Pain pierces to the sand, 
 Whose barrenness alone is true, 
 
 With unrelenting hand; 
 
 When falls athwart life's waning hour. 
 
 Long shadows of unrest. 
 The sense of unexerted strength, 
 
 And failure for the best; 
 
 Then through those shadows grim and gray. 
 Comes from I know not where, 
 
 A spirit, whispering sweetest things,. 
 But viewless as the air; 
 
 100 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 101 
 
 And I am comforted, and sing, 
 Tho' weak the strains may be 
 
 To other ears, who cannot know 
 The sweet things shown to me. 
 
Ajtcrn^att;. 
 
 -4»i 
 
 A cricket sang on the cozy hearth 
 
 Of a fireplace broad and deep, 
 Where the rings of the backlog, hnge and black, 
 
 Showed a century's backward sweep; 
 And the leaping flames and curling smoke 
 
 Through the forestick's bulky pile. 
 Was cheery welcome that wintry day 
 
 As the warmth of a loving smile. 
 
 Through the small deep window near at hand, 
 
 The winter sky gloomed in, 
 Where the first snow blossoms shook their bloom 
 
 Through the treetops bare and grim ; 
 But the firelight laughed on the log-lined wall 
 
 And the dressers shining row, 
 And even the musket hung aloft 
 
 Glinted bright in the peacelul glow. 
 
 A woman sat by the cabin fire, 
 
 With a hand on either knee, 
 Her hair as gray as the snowy sky 
 
 Of a winter's day could be; 
 
 102 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 103 
 
 And the fitful firelight leaped and fell 
 O'er the quaint old woman's face, 
 
 Her sad brown eyes, so deep witli thought 
 Gazing into the fireplace. 
 
 "Ah me! it is five and thirty years 
 
 Since we kissed and said good bye, 
 ^Mlere the laurel blossoms clustered pink 
 
 Underneath the sweet June sky. 
 Yet I seem to see the speckled trout 
 
 'Mong the rocks of the mountain stream 
 Where the honey suckle, white and sweet. 
 
 O'er shadowed its shining gleam. 
 
 And I look in the tops of the fragrant pines 
 
 As they whisper sweet and low. 
 With your arm around me as we kissed 
 
 And parted so long ago. 
 For father had met with sad reverse. 
 
 And the great stone house was sold, 
 Where some of our kith and kin had dwelt 
 
 Till the lionie was gray and old. 
 
 And o'er the mountain toward the sun 
 When it sinks by the evening star, 
 
 Through trackless forests, of many a league, 
 We must take up our way afar. 
 
 'T was weeks on weeks we floated on 
 Through the endless forest gloam. 
 
104 SONGS OF nOME. 
 
 Till we stopped at a fort on the river liank 
 And started t(^ l)uiiJ a lionw. 
 
 Only a cabin rude and low, 
 
 With the wiUl woody thick around, 
 And father's hands unused to toil, 
 
 To clear up and till the ground. 
 But once, on a day I '11 never forget. 
 
 There rode on a splendid hay 
 A strong young settler to our door. 
 
 And ofl'enKl to help and stay. 
 
 And father was glad and mother snnled, 
 
 And bad me ])e good to Dent, 
 For he was the son of the richest man 
 
 In all of our settlenient. 
 He was ruddy and tall, and very soon 
 
 I knew why he cajue to stay, 
 Bat ah, my thoughts were over the hills 
 
 'Mor.g the laurels far awav. 
 
 And I told him it could never l)e. 
 
 But little he seemed to heed. 
 And never a longed tor letter came 
 
 T.) help in my sorest need; 
 But at last a neighbor Ijrougiit us news 
 
 From the hills wiiore the trout streams ran. 
 And r heard in a da/.e the cruel words, 
 
 ".Jolin Paul is a married man!"' 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 105 
 
 Ah me! what mattered ray faithful lioart 
 
 Or Dent's rough hack wood's ways, 
 I eould give plenty and rest and peace 
 
 To father's and mother's days. 
 It was so little to mc, I thought, 
 
 For I was twice shipwrecked then, 
 When I kissed my mate by tlie rocky stream 
 
 In my old home's mountain glen. 
 
 And I married Dent. Wrong is never right, 
 
 I learned to my bitter shame, 
 When two weeks later o'er all those leagues 
 
 My first love letter came! 
 Tlie treacherous savage in his wilds. 
 
 And the mighty river's sweep 
 Had spared and sped, whilst I — oh God, 
 
 Had failed my trotli to keep! 
 
 The years have come and the years have gone, 
 
 And I sit b}'^ the fire's dull light, 
 With bleaching head in a cabin liome. 
 
 Widowed and poor tonight. 
 My children gone to distant homes^ 
 
 And Dent fills a drunkard's grave, 
 For rough though he was, he knew full well 
 
 That duty was all I gave. 
 
 And father's and mother's gray hairs went 
 \Mth sorrow down to the irrave. 
 
106 SONGS Oh HOME. 
 
 And I think the wrong which had ruined me, 
 
 Their conscience never forgave; 
 For back where the tront stream glinted bright, 
 
 Near my dear old mountain home, 
 My mate, unmated, was dwelling still 
 
 In \Mealth and honor — alone. 
 
 Oh I sometimes wish I could see him yet. 
 
 Though my hair is bleaching last, 
 In spite of the wrong and dreary years 
 
 That parted us in the past. 
 I wonder is that my son come home 
 
 Who walks to mv cabin door? 
 Thank God for the light of a loving face 
 
 \Vhen my old heart beats so sore! 
 
 'T is a stranger with a furrowed fsfpe 
 
 And hair like milkweed's floss. 
 But courtlier than my cabin door 
 
 Before has stepped across; 
 One piercing look, and at his feet 
 
 Like a shadow still and gray, 
 She sinks while the wood-fire's welcoming light 
 
 Lifts and falls in fitful play. 
 
 Like clover bloom in the Autumn time 
 
 Wlien frosts are coming fast. 
 To these fading lives with their hearts of youth 
 
 Came a fruitful bloom at last; 
 
SOSas OF HOME. 107 
 
 And the ('I'icket sang as mad witth joy 
 In the firelight's laughing light, 
 
 Wiiile the gray old man and woman stood 
 Heart to heart in t!ie winter night. 
 
■'Breakirig/' 
 
 -^•►- 
 
 Breaking, as breaks tlie autumn clouds 
 
 Where the sun sinks low of a changeful day; 
 Breaking, as breaks the slirinking wav^es 
 
 Of ebb-tide on the seashore gray. 
 Once fair to see, now fading fast, 
 
 Pathos o'er all familiar ways. 
 Changed, yet the same as she softly moves 
 
 In the \vork 3'et left for her winter dnys. 
 
 A solemn dream in lier old eyes dwells 
 
 iVs bright with tears through her glasses seen, 
 F'or she lives far more in the sweet bygone, 
 
 Though dead, than today where her graves are green. 
 Yet her voice is sweet with old tijne love 
 
 When cares or pains or sorrows stir, 
 Yet who ever hears her merry laugh 
 
 As they did when ''the children" played nigh her? 
 
 Her step grows slow, for haste is done. 
 
 Ah me — ah me! thai it must be so^ 
 For alas — she has^^lew loves left 
 
 Who need that she come <:»r that she go! 
 
 108 
 
so.\GS OF II cm h\ 10<) 
 
 For one, June's splendor lies brown and sere, 
 November's rime over beard and head. 
 
 And she and her loving long loved ways 
 The best that is left of his vanished dead. 
 
 I know theoLiest of her restless liands 
 
 So gladly l)usy not long ago, 
 Tliough oft times prest till a sigh escaped 
 
 At the hours so swift, and hands too slow; 
 They seek unthought tlie vanished hands 
 
 Some, ever reaching and clinging so 
 Her life seemed theirs, and the losing them 
 
 Ijeft only the husk of long ago. 
 
 Ah those who dutiful, sometimes come, 
 
 Back with new loves she never bore, 
 Though reverent, are not the ones who seemed 
 
 All, all her own in those days of yore. 
 Like bells in the twilight faintly rung. 
 
 Like music that drifts and melts away, 
 Like the scent where a scattered rose has bloomed, 
 
 Are the memories of ages waning day. 
 
FarGWcll to tVje Old Year. 
 
 -<•►- 
 
 Passing, as we mortals [kiss 
 
 Viewlessly a way, 
 Smiling wanner every snnrlse, 
 
 Sadder day by day. 
 
 In the air thv sln-oud is weaving. 
 
 Desolate winds make moan, 
 And the dark sky pall-like bendeth 
 
 Where thon dyest — .alone. 
 
 Farewell, in the very shudder 
 
 Of thy knell, 
 Hearkening, shall a peal of welcome 
 
 Steal and swell. 
 
 Other days oi breeze and blossom, 
 
 And shower, and sun. 
 Shall fill the summer green with gladness 
 
 As thou hast done. 
 
 Flowers Avill spring above the dead 
 
 At rest with thee, 
 The coming close above the gone, 
 
 Unmindfully. 
 
 iiu 
 
jio fortJ^c Woods! 
 
 -*•*— 
 
 Out of the madding crowd, 
 
 Away from toil and care, 
 On the might of white winged steam, 
 
 Away through tlie July glare; 
 What hope and promised peace 
 
 In the stretch of the iron track 
 To the northland's wind swept lakes, 
 
 And its hemlock shadows black. 
 
 Cast not a thought behind 
 
 To the cornfields, waving black, 
 Or the white heat quivering o'er 
 
 The Wheatland's golden back; 
 And not a backward thought 
 
 Of the busy, dusty ways, 
 Where thick walls mesh the sun, 
 
 And hold the burning days. 
 
 But on with strong desire 
 
 Where blue waves lap the shore, 
 
 And jagged pines keep watch 
 
 On the white beach ever more; 
 111 
 
112 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 Where Norway columns red, 
 Lift dusky arches high, 
 
 Murmurous as summer seas, 
 Under a cloudless sky. 
 
 There where no axe has clett. 
 
 In solitudes profound, 
 The sinuous trout streams run, 
 
 Darkling the rocks around; 
 And l)y some lonely lake 
 
 The red deer antlered stands, 
 'Mid flowering lily-pads, 
 
 Beyond its hoof-marked sands. 
 
 When evening's sun sinks low, 
 
 In deeps of rose and gold. 
 When wierd loons shriek high 
 
 In strong fliglit swift and bold; 
 When mellow whip-poor-wills 
 
 Make sweet the thicket's gloam, 
 And through the clear crisp dusk 
 
 The whizzing night-hawks roam- 
 
 Thert pile the resined logs 
 
 'Till red flames flush the night. 
 
 And showers of sparks on high 
 Glow each tall pine aliglit; 
 
 As jest or stories pass 
 
 From lip to lip witli zest. 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 113 
 
 Like children out of pclinol 
 Recline in cnrelfss rest. 
 
 Then tliink in l)lest content, 
 
 Of summer's quivering heat, 
 On field and i)arc]iing plain. 
 
 And tlu'onging, dusty street; 
 Fair gleams the forest tent 
 
 Against night's starry crcwn. 
 And sweet its hendock couch 
 
 As monarch's hed of down! 
 
Jest Jakc^s Old j^a^ce. 
 
 -^•►- 
 
 Conie four and I must be a stirrin' — 
 
 Though makiii' soap 's my restin' spell 
 For Brock and Spot, and Crummie cow, 
 
 And Red, and Brindle with the bell, 
 ?\Iust all be millved, and breakfast got, 
 
 And dishes washed, and in the sun 
 The milk things sot, to sweeten 'em 
 
 Before the mornin's work is done. 
 Some folks would think — no, kind o' doubt- 
 
 My play spell anything but fun, 
 A totin' water i'rom the branch 
 
 From sun-up to the setting sun. 
 But Lor'! the blue and bendin' sky 
 
 »-5eenis just to laugh away up there. 
 And clouJs sail white and lazy by 
 
 Across the shiny upper air! 
 If I can't loaf, it rests me some 
 
 To see these things that do have fun, 
 Prom birds and posies to the clouds. 
 
 All pleasuriu' in the April sun — • 
 
 114 
 
SOJ^GS OF HOME. 115 
 
 I stop a minute by the branch 
 
 To hear it lap among the stones, 
 And quile clown on a mossy log, 
 
 I say, to rest a mite my bones — 
 But on tliat limber twig a bird 
 
 All black and oi-ange weav^es a nest. 
 Jest like a basket, cunnin' tiling, 
 
 And sings like it would bust its vest! 
 And friskin' up a hickory tree 
 
 I see a gray squirrel's bushy tail, 
 And 'cross the worm-fence hear Bob White, 
 
 In the old meddar from a quail. 
 Now Jake, he laughs at wemen's whims. 
 
 And jest considers work or trade. 
 But I.or'! I want you friend to tell 
 
 \Miy all these purty things are made. 
 I think sometiines when T 'm alone. 
 
 If I \1 a had a better ciiance, 
 That maybe — maybe I VI a made — 
 
 Oh nonsense — only Jake's old Nance! 
 But though I 'm homely and I 'm old 
 
 My heart most l)usts for something more. 
 Sometimes, than I have ever seed. 
 
 Or known or felt, it gits so sore! 
 A woman has a hard time shore 
 
 A keepin' house, upstairs and down. 
 
116 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 And raisin' youngones, till the streaks 
 
 Come grizzly where her head was hrown; 
 Bat hardest yet of all, is when 
 
 The younguns, men and wemen grown, 
 Without a tlioiight of all tlut'fdone, 
 
 bkfi off and leave her old and lone, 
 riake says good reddence — he is glad 
 
 They '11 make their salt and he kin rest, 
 But I — maybe I am a fool — 
 
 But 't seems all loss and heart-break jest, 
 I hope the preacher tells the truth, 
 
 Where once a month I git to hear 
 'Bout rest and love beyond the vale, 
 
 But I can 't make it seem quite clear. 
 I think our souls get withered up. 
 
 When all the love goes out, and none 
 Comes back, or next to none. 
 
 And makin' soap is counted fun. 
 
TipG TowT) Clock. 
 
 -*•>- 
 
 Up in the sunshine, high in the wind, 
 
 Up in the downpour of shower and storm. 
 
 Up where the snowflakes fly with the frost 
 Or lightning heats thro' the languor warm, 
 
 All seasons and times I hear thy bell 
 
 Like a watch at sea, chiming "all is well." 
 
 Like a dream I see the sweet bright daj's 
 When the air held surfeit of apple blooms, 
 
 And the wheat but promised at summer-tide 
 A winter store from its bearded plumes, 
 
 Alas! where drifted youth's glorious spell 
 With the years you took, oh robber bell! 
 
 The sickle rusts by the gathered grain 
 And hoar frost falls on the stubble bare, 
 
 The larks no more their dappled breasts 
 t^hall swell in song, in the summer air. 
 
 Ah me! ah me! we loved them well, 
 
 But they Avent as you called, oh drear}' bell. 
 
 Up in your tower you rule the town 
 Below, and call to it out of the sky, 
 
 117 
 
lis 
 
 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 For we love and do as you grant lis time, 
 We triumph or fail, we are born and die; 
 
 You gather the hours, our years you tell. 
 And we drift awav as vou toll our knell. 
 
AH i$ Well. 
 ^*>^ 
 
 When stars are in the solemn ^ky 
 And darkness broods upon the deep, 
 
 As plows the ship through awful wastes, 
 The night-watch wakes while others sleep. 
 
 And o'er the waters toss and swell, 
 Muezzin-like calls "all is well." 
 
 When winds, like furies, shriek and rage 
 And beat the black sea into foani, 
 
 B\^ hissing masts and staggering decks 
 And breaking waves that surge and comb, 
 
 The night-watch strikes the timely bell 
 And hushes tear with "all is well." 
 
 The master's vigil on the bridge, 
 Slow pacing, scans the sea and sk}- , 
 
 And like a benediction sweeps 
 
 The moonshine's glory from on high; 
 
 In storm or calm, the night-watch bell 
 Rings out assurance, ''all is well." 
 
 Oh what to those who go in ships 
 Upon the deep, from home and love, 
 
 119 
 
120 
 
 SOyCS Ob HOME. 
 
 His God-like promise in the dark 
 
 Keeping and caring up above! 
 Father! Beyond the oceans swell 
 
 Faith's night-watch whispers "all is well." 
 
Tt?G Cricket's Fcstival- 
 
 -*•*- 
 
 There 's a festival of music 
 
 iVll iinlieralded begun, 
 ^^'hel'e was only dew and silence 
 
 At the setting of the sun. 
 But you hear the wee musicians 
 
 Playing now where 're you go, 
 And their castinets are beating, 
 
 And their viols tramming low; 
 How they rasp their tiny fiddles 
 
 With a shrill insistant bow; 
 And pick their airy banjoes 
 
 ^Vhere tb.e rippling grasses tiow, 
 With a vibrant din and clamor 
 
 Mark their measures fast and slow. 
 When midsummer's sun pours hottest 
 
 Through the long, long, fainting day 
 Or night's purple sky is girdled 
 
 With the jewelled milky way, 
 Hear th.e fairy viols pulsing 
 
 In the harvest fields of liay— 
 
 121 
 
122 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 While the meadow sparrow gurgles 
 
 His andante tenor lay 
 'Till the silver moon hangs shining 
 
 On the rosy hem of da3^ 
 
 Where the hone3'suckle clambers 
 
 Surfeit sweet beside the door, 
 Lilts a quavering tremolo 
 
 Shaking, trilling o'er and o'er; 
 All the fervid summer hours 
 
 Tells his lovelay with a will, 
 Yet grows sadly slow and slower 
 
 When the days come short and chill, 
 And the thrumming all is silent 
 
 In the grass on lea and hill. 
 Little poet ot the bushes,* 
 
 Oh my Meister of the throng, 
 ^^'itll persistence never faltering, 
 
 With a courage ever strong. 
 How you shame the bard faint-hearted. 
 
 Who is trolling you this song! 
 Would your loving inspiration 
 
 Throvigli life's season were her part. 
 Singing ever, optimistic, 
 
 'Till th(^ cold cYv\)t to her heart. 
 
 *The bush cricket. 
 
j^OVGJTjbGr. 
 
 -<»K- 
 
 Tlie darkened sky bends low, 
 
 To hilltops sere and brown, 
 And from the naked trees 
 
 The last dead leaves drift down. 
 The dust whirls in the gust 
 
 And rustling leaves fly fast, 
 And in the air is token chill 
 
 Of snowllakes on the l)last. 
 
 Out in the stubble-iields 
 
 The quail in coveys feed 
 In silence, for no boastful note 
 
 Proclaims tin- proud cock"s lead; 
 Aud from tlic rifled wtxids 
 
 The timid ra.bl)it hops, 
 A]n\ ior tlic brown thrush now the ci'ow 
 
 Calls harsh from 1>nre tree tops. 
 
 lic^idc the shrunken broolc. 
 
 Nestled in verdure d('c]i. 
 One little kce[tsake of the sjtring, 
 
 A damU'lioii. asleep: 
 
124 SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 And from the hazel copse 
 Flute-throated sparrow song 
 
 Bursts for a minute, as in June 
 It rang the land along. 
 
 But all the day is gray, 
 
 And naught can make it seem 
 That yesterday October's gold 
 
 Was bright by hill and stream. 
 And when its sullen gray 
 
 Is gashed by sullener red 
 At eve, low in the west, 
 
 Sweet autumn will be dead. 
 
Jai;)uary, 
 
 *•►- 
 
 Pale falls the sunshine of the winter's day 
 On whitened fields and forests hare and gray. 
 
 For days the air has hlossomed white with snow, 
 And gathered soft on hill and vale below. 
 
 The river's deep tide ever rolling on. 
 
 And brook that leaps the roelcs, alike are gone. 
 
 No life in all the desolate stillness stirs. 
 
 No timid wild thing runs, or swift wing whirs. 
 
 In haunts of man, the crisp white of the street. 
 Rings olHn bells beneath the hurrying feet. 
 
 ( )n sunset's pallid glow I darkly trace 
 The twiggy tree-tops, like a silken lace. 
 
 And darkness falls, and in the deep, cold sky, 
 The stars seem frozen, still and bright on liigh. 
 
 12b 
 
Con)n)Or) Uiv€5. 
 
 -<•►- 
 
 My song shall be for the common folk, 
 
 And everyday lives and brains, 
 Who are born in this world and live and die, 
 
 Just as it shines or rains; 
 Coming because they have to come, 
 
 And living they know not why, 
 To suffer the ills of their little day. 
 
 And, clinging to life, to die. 
 
 No storied marble recites their tale 
 
 Of trial, of triumph, or fame, 
 Or tells if tlieir lives were right or wrong, 
 
 Or treasures their nameless name; 
 Yet were oidy the few whose names are great 
 
 The wardens ol'thne and earth, 
 Both land and sea were''i)rimal waste, 
 
 And gloiy had never birth. 
 
 For warriors must hnve a serried host 
 
 Of these nameles ones to wield, 
 Or never renown from war liad ])een, 
 
 And nevev a l)altle-field; 
 
 12ti 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 12/ 
 
 And kings would miss tlieir high e^stute, 
 And their crown, and throne, alone — 
 
 For those common folk are the ruler's might 
 And their arms uphold the throne. 
 
 They plant and reap, and weave and build, 
 
 And tlie world with lightening span, 
 \\'()rking with myriad hands and might 
 
 What else were a fruitless plan. 
 From sea to sea, and across the sea 
 
 Speeds the power their hands have wrougljt. 
 And without them these mighty gifts of toil 
 
 For men. would have come to naught. 
 
 Thrice l)lessed the meek in spirit are, 
 
 Obscure though their earthly way, 
 For the struggle and envy of prouder lives 
 
 Ne'er poisons their peaceful day ; 
 And at last when the great and small shall lise 
 
 From out of the leveling sod, 
 Earth's mighty may suffer a great surprise 
 
 At the judgement liar of God! 
 
bovG a9d Friei^dslpip. 
 
 -^•>- 
 
 Love is a summer's day 
 
 Shiiumering in its heat; 
 Its sky bends radiant 
 
 Unfathomed deeps above. 
 Drunken its ardent breath 
 
 As wine and poppy mixed, — 
 Yet wooed Avith milder light, 
 
 Bird songs and early bloom, 
 In cool and dewy morn, 
 
 "Till hour by hour overcome, 
 Heedless the swooning noon. 
 
 Faint 'mongits roses, yields 
 Through all it depths, the tyrant sun 
 
 Blending the day and sunshine into one. 
 
 Friendship, October's is, 
 
 Its fullness, and its peace! 
 Chaste is its l)reath of balm 
 
 And calm its mellower sky, 
 Soft haze<l its fruitful boughs, 
 
 And veiled its hardy flowers. 
 
 128 
 
SONGS OF HOME. 
 
 129 
 
 Yet hath it warmth and light 
 And rich witli a})ple.s piled, 
 
 And golden grain its day, 
 Lo! all of the October time 
 
 Hipens and sweetens for another's sake. 
 
Ir) DGcen^ber. 
 
 Do-t thou know 't isiK^arly Cliristinns. 
 
 And what arc yo\ir thoniilits alioiit. 
 Climbing guyly on my window 
 
 fn tlio sunshine jroiu without? 
 'Twas but yestenhiy tlio snowllakos 
 
 Whirled and riuttcred in the blast, 
 And the dead lea\-es, and bare ln-anches 
 
 Show that sunnuertime is past! 
 All thy gauzy kitli and kindred 
 
 From their sumnuM- haunts have fled, 
 And with autumn's latest blossoms. 
 
 Pale chrysanthemums, are dead. 
 Now what kee})S thee on my windtnv 
 
 Out ofdogdays left behind, 
 Buz/Jng gayly. though so little. 
 
 And the last one of thy kind? 
 Why with summer-time insistance 
 
 Dost tliou scramble o'er my bo(jk. 
 Or with plucky importunity 
 
 Fill my spectacles outlook? 
 
SO.\as 01' ITOMK. 131 
 
 Dost tliou seek thy vanislied comrades 
 
 On this white leafs lettered breast. 
 Or life's losses, and its crosses 
 
 B\' a fellow feeling guessed, 
 In my eyes? Oh waif of sunnner, 
 
 Soon the mercury will fall 
 'Till the world is dead and frozen, 
 
 And the sky hang like a pall. 
 
 'T is no use thy brave pretending — 
 
 Stouter hearts have bowed to fate, 
 When their longing found fulfillment 
 
 Never more, or all too late — 
 Yet mayhap like thee 't were wiser 
 
 To accept the Avintry sun, 
 An<l its dearth, with cheerful seeming 
 
 'Till life's little dav is done. 
 
 t "' t 
 
T\)c J^a'ir) is Over apd Qorje, 
 
 1 \ , 
 
 'I'lic rain is over and f^onc. 
 
 The olouds are l)reakin;j; a.v 
 And a hint of sunshine glints 
 
 In and out their shiftinsj- phiv. 
 The wren pipes liis mellow note 
 
 Above where the daffyV blow, 
 AV'ith the ro1)in's rollicking song 
 
 .Vnd the jveewee's nii;;or low; 
 A thrill stirs the warm grei'u day, 
 
 Where silence an hi>ur ago 
 In gloom, frou) the wcejdng clouds 
 
 Swept over the scene below. 
 
 The rain is dver and gone, 
 
 And the win<l is gathering l)aek, 
 \\'i*h swift invisilde lourli, 
 
 Tlie lightning's drapery black; 
 Pouring out the sunshine l)r<»ad, 
 
 Over golden ti<dds oi' grain. 
 Dark rustling tiejds of maize. 
 
 And green, kiiu^ dolteil [»Iain. 
 
 l::ii 
 
SOXGS OF ITOMK. 
 
 
 Where brooded an \\o\\x ago 
 In languid drowsy rei>ose, 
 
 The spell of midsummer's heat, 
 The moist breeze westward blows. 
 
 The rain is over and gone, 
 
 The storm clouds are rolling liack. 
 Settling low in the steely north, 
 
 A wind writhed and sullen wrack. 
 Yon gold and crimson fire 
 
 That wanders the liillsides. lldls 
 In showering sparks that kindle 
 
 The ivy clambered walls, 
 And the woods, and waysides lonely 
 
 And down bv tlie riverside. 
 
To JVIy Carjary 
 
 -<•»- 
 
 As sweet as yellow daffodils 
 That early light the borders ( liij], 
 And cheery as the sunshine's glow 
 That deepens when the March winds blow. 
 Though clouds hang low, 
 And all around lies silent snow, 
 Thy liquid, rippling bell like chime, 
 That swells and fills the lonely time. 
 
 Unmindful thou 'rt prJSoncd, and 
 No deeps of blue thy wings expand. 
 No bo^ky shades, no nesting mate, 
 In slumberous isles of occnn wait, 
 
 And (tnly iiie. 
 
 An alien, loves to l>ide witli thee, 
 Yet thou couldst show the proud and great 
 How gayly thou dost conquer fate! 
 
 I stand rebuked by thy sweet song. 
 
 Thou wee weak heir of ancient wrong, 
 
 Whose heart in thrall can 1»eat so liigh 
 
 And scatter gladness free, while / 
 
 is-i 
 
SOXGS OF HOME. 
 
 135 
 
 Forever and forever sigh, 
 Oil lii^lit of other days gone hy. 
 Oil hearts that sleep, oh hearts grown cold, 
 Oh dearest vears when I am old! 
 
 A 
 
 
Cl^r'istrrjas Cliirr)GS, 
 
 Ring out mellow ("liristnias bells 
 Message sweet for nil to hear — 
 
 Stay our selfish rush and straggle 
 One l)rief (lay in all the year. 
 
 Ring out 'till all h(!arts shall hearken 
 They are bretheren on this day, 
 
 And the scars and stains of passion, 
 Wrong and rancor put away. 
 
 Peace on earth — good will to men, 
 Ring out clearlv mellow chimes, 
 
 Thrilling every heart to feeling 
 Love and charity, from the time. 
 
 Stay our feet "till we rrmemhcr 
 All nuist go one eoiinnon way. 
 
 And the connuon lot of mortals 
 Clouds alike our little day. 
 
 Peace on earth — good will to meii. 
 Let it light the wintry gloom 
 
 With a glow beyond the sunshine, 
 Fairer than tlie snnnner's l)loom. 
 
 v.% 
 
 H 64-94 
 

 
 
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 • ^^'"<.. 
 
 HECKMAN 
 
 BINDERY INC. 
 
 ^^ JAN 84 
 
 N. MANCHESTER, 
 INDIANA 46962 
 
 
 
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