.V . . ^^ .A\ o ^/^/'^ .-^^^ .^^' ' ■ ^■ o c^ ^ ' "^' ^>. \>r /. ^ ft V ^ -^ ^TV V- N? cc, THE HAWTHORN TREE AND OTHER POEMS BY / NATHAN HASKELL DOLE Ir :>^\^?'(nwHT"'^^' Oa^/ NEW YORK : 46 East 14TH Street THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY BOSTON : 100 PURCHASE Street \- \ \ Copyright T. Y. CROWELL & CO. 1895 Thanks are due to the publishers of The CenUtry, Harper's Weekly, The hidependent, The Outlook, The Congregation- alist. The Neiv England Magazine, Donahoe's Monthly, Life, etc., etc., for permission to include various poems in this volume • ....... To H. B. D. CONTENTS h SONGS Page THE HAWTHORN TREE 3 LOVE AND MAYTIME 4 THE GRANITE CLIFF . . . . . . . . 5 THE OLD, OLD STORY 5 THE CLOSE OF A RAINY DAY . . . . . . 6 MY JOY 7 WILD ROSES 8 ARNE'S SONG 9 ON OGUNQUIT BEACH lO THE BROOK II THE SERENADERS 1 3 SERENADE — I I3 SERENADE — IL I4 SONG OF THE LONE BIRD . . , . . -15 AUF WIEDERSEHEN 1 5 Contents Page STILL MY HEART IS THINE 1 6 love's assurance 1 8 ALL THE BLOSSOMS GREET HER 1 9 IN MAY MY DREAM CAME TRUE 20 FERN GHOSTS .21 A FLIGHT OF HOURS 22 THE OLD STONE WALL 22 DREAM MUSIC 23 CONWAY MEADOWS 25 SUNSET 25 SPRING RAPTURE 26 SUMMER EVENING 27 SUMMER FLOWERS 28 AUTUMN IS QUEEN 28 AUTUMN MORNING 29 FORETASTE OF WINTER 3O AUTUMN SONG 30 THE LIGHTHOUSE-KEEPER 3 1 SONGS OF MAIZE 33 VERS DE SOCIETE THE POVERTY PARTY ....... 39 UNDER THE AWNING 4O LONG AGO 42 vi ContmtsJ Page SHELLING PEAS 43 CONFESSION 46 THE BEAU OF THE TOWN 46 THE PEALING OF THE BELL 48 BLOWING BUBBLES . » 50 AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY 53 SPEAKING FEATURES 55 SCHERZO 5^ MEMORIES 56 HAREBELLS 56 THE SWALLOW 57 THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE 58 MOONSHINE 59 ON THE STREET 60 A CAMEO 62 love's FIRE 63 LARKS AND NIGHTINGALES 64 TO CHLOE 65 ON RETURNING A BORROWED RING 66 SONNETS IN THE OLD COUNTRY CHURCH 7 1 RUSSIA •72 vii Contents? Page SIBERIA 73 TO AN IMPERILLED TRAVELLER 74 IN THE WILDERNESS 74 SORROWS 75 MIDSUMMER NOON 76 THE TOMB OF TIME 77 QUESTIONINGS 79 ^OLIAN HARP TONES 8 1 SAVONAROLA, 1 498 8 1 ELEGY 82 THE DREAMERS 84 BEETHOVEN 85 THE STORKS 86 THE REIGN OF SATURN 87 AT midnight's mystic HOUR 89 A pagan SONNET 90 EVENING 91 IN A CANOE 91 THE STORM 93 BREEZES 93 THE NETHERLAND MARTYRS, I535 . . . . -94 SPANISH SONNETS 96 PETRARCA DE SENECTUTE SUA I02 THE RIVER 103 Vlll Contents; PROPHECIES HERE AND THERE Page 104 104 109 109 IN MORE SERIOUS MOOD A RUSSIAN FANTASY SUNSET FANCIES THE PALACE OF PLEASURE 112 ROCKY NOOK II4 FROM A BALCONY II6 AURORA BOREALIS II7 TWO SUNSETS Hy to a beautiful nun ii9 perverted 122 the shepherds 122 fallen petals 1 26 off gloucester 1 27 glowing stars 1 27 discouragement 128 "as yesterday" i29 in the park i3o man's two wings 130 if we were to die together i3i the broken vow i3i ix Contents! Page THE HARMONY DIVINE 1 33 THE HEART I34 ON A PICTURE OF SUNSET IN THE ADIRONDACKS . .134 PEACE 135 AT MIDNIGHT BY THE SEA 1 35 THE abbe's dream . I37 THE DEATH OF AVRAHAM 1 38 PROPHETS . 141 A LEGEND OF SAINT ANTHONY . . . . ^ ^43 AN AUTUMN FRUIT I46 THE HEROES OF CUTTYHUNK I50 THE HAWTHORN TREE AT the edge of the hedge is a Hawthorn Tree, And its blossoms are sweet as sweet can be, And the bees are humming there all the day. And these are the words that I hear them say : — Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree ! All the breezes that breathe o'er those blossoms rare A burden of perfume happily bear ; And the songsters revel there all day long, And these are the words of their merry song : — Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree ! And a maid and her lover wander by As the twilight glories fade and die ; And they pause 'neath the fragrant boughs to rest, And above them sways the robin's nest : — Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree ! We too, they whisper, shall soon build a home 'Neath the azure arch of the infinite dome ; And we, all the day, shall sing like the birds. But with deeper meaning in music and words : — Sweet, sweet is the Hawthorn Tree ! LOVE AND MAYTIME LOVE, gentle Love, I am weary of waiting ! _j Why hast thou lingered so long on the way ? Birds mid the boskage are wooing and mating. It is May ! Cold was the winter with snow- plumy pinions, Holding our hearts in his insolent sway. Now he has gone to his icy dominions. It is May ! Brooks down the hillsides are leaping and singing ; - What makes their laughter so rollicking gay ? Why are the hedges with merriment ringing? It is May ! Love, gentle Love, I would welcome thee gladly, Yet far aloof from my roof thou dost stray. I cannot sing, for my song would sound sadly. It is May ! Come, gentle Love, bring me joy without measure, Make me thy debtor this jubilant day ! Here is my heart in exchange for thy treasure. It is May ! It is May ! THE GRANITE CLIFF ON the granite cliff we stand, As the sun is sinking slow ; What a wondrous purple glow Consecrates the sea and land ! Sails upon the changing bay, Trees upon the steadfast hills, Catch the glory as it thrills From the arbiter of day. As the glory fades and dies On the granite cliff we stand. Breathless, speechless, hand in hand, Love-light kindled in our eyes. Is our love like yonder glow Only for a moment's grace ? Will it fade and leave no trace Save the gray clouds wan and low? THE OLD, OLD STORY NO wind is stirring. There moves no leaf; A bird forsaken Pours forth her grief. The clouds hang heavy And darkly lower ; The rain-drops patter On grass and flower. Beneath the maple Beyond the glade, There come for shelter A youth and maid. His arm is around her, He holds her hands ; And what he whispers The bird understands ! THE CLOSE OF A RAINY DAY THE sky was dark and gloomy; We heard the sound of the rain Dripping from eaves and tossing leaves And driving against the pane. The clouds hung low o'er the ocean. The ocean gray and wan, Where one lone sail before the gale Like a spirit was driven on. The screaming sea-fowl hovered Above the boiling main, And flapped wide wings in narrowing rings, Seeking for rest in vain. The sky grew wilder and darker, Darker and wilder the sea, And night with her dusky pinions Swept down in stormy glee. Then lo ! from the western heaven The veil was rent in twain, And a flood of light and glory Spread over the heaving main. It changed the wave-beat islands To Islands of the Blest, And the far-off sail like a spirit Seemed vanishing into rest. MY JOY MY joy is like a sparkling stream That flows through flowery meadows, Whose waters here with sunlight gleam. And here are peaceful as a dream. Beneath the cooling shadows. ^ongs? My joy is like a wanton stream Without a note of sadness, And what care I if shallow seem The sunny waves that dance and gleam And sing their songs of gladness? WILD ROSES O'ER the wild-rose bush Humming-birds hover, Butterflies poise on the trembling leaves; Delicate petals, Parting, discover Yellow-thighed honey-bees, — dainty thieves) By the wild-rose bush Stands a fair maiden, Loving the flowers with rapturous eyes; Humming-birds vanish, Bees, honey laden. Dart away swiftly, forsaking their prize. Down the cool wood-path, Where the lane closes. Shaded by maples, rippling with song, 8 Comes the fair maiden, Laden with roses — Bright blooming roses to maidens belong ! ARNE'S SONG BEYOND the pine-topt hills My eager feet would wander; What dreams my spirit fills Of happy regions yonder ! I see the winged clouds float by; They sometimes rest upon the hills, Upon the pine-topt hills. And then they rise and fly Beyond the pine-topt hills. Beyond the pine-topt hills The clouds I fain would follow. Oh, how my bosom thrills To see the darting swallow ! I would delight to leave my herds Beneath the shadow of the hills, Beneath the pine-topt hills. And wander freely as the birds Beyond the pine-topt hills. "Beyond the pine-topt hills, Come, brother," sing the breezes; "For flesh obeys what spirit wills, And youth has what it pleases ! " "Come, brother," says the golden sun, And sinks behind the shadowy hills, Behind the pine-topt hills. And stars at night pass one by one Beyond the pine-topt hills. ON OGUNQUIT BEACH THE restless tide creeps up the sands; Like vanishing clouds the ships sail by, In eager haste toward beckoning lands Across the dark blue sea they fly. And standing on the idle shore We watch the sea, we watch the sky, Changeless and changing evermore — We two alone, my love and I. Our thoughts are deep, too deep for words : — We only with exultant eyes Follow the ships which, like great birds, Will proudly sail 'neath richer skies. lO We two would wander far away, Where jocund summer never dies, Where Love himself, each golden day. Holds in his hand some new surprise. THE BROOK ALL the dreary winter long, Heeding not the ice and snow, Sang the brook his happy song, Hushed and low : — "Spring's advancing; Winter goes; Sunbeams glancing Melt the snows. Airs entrancing South wind blows; Brooklet knows ! " Tinkling like a crystal bell Rung by fairies underground, With a sweet mysterious spell Did it sound : — "Spring returning; Joy is near; Sweet is yearning; II Dead is fear; Hope is burning All the year ! Spring is here ! " And the willows cold and gray, Leaning o'er the ice-bound stream, Heard its singing every day In a dream : — " Pussy willows, Sound asleep, Wrapt in pillows. Warm and deep. Life in billows; Feel it leap ! Can you sleep?" From the ground once brown and bare Forth the grass begins to look. Soft and fragrant is the air; Hear the brook : — " Birds are singing Merry glees; Boughs are swinging. Mild the breeze; Flowers are springing On the leas; — Just see these ! " 12 THE SERENADERS THE night wind sleeps, the leaves are still, The air is rich with breath of flowers; The moonlight creeps along the hill, — The waning moon of midnight hours. We wake the night with voice of song, Beneath the windows of the fair; The world is bright, and love is long. And youthful hearts are free of care ! SERENADE THE hour is late, and the moon Hangs faint and low o'er the hill, The great white stars in the sky Are shining calm and still. The houses and the street Are dark and silent and lone; But one light gleams through the night — My lady is watching — my own ! I lean on the wicket gate. And silently breathe a prayer, That the angels of the night May guard the dear one there. 13 S)ong0 SERENADE ' '' I ^IS evening, and the month is June X Like a golden shield the moon Hangs above the dark blue deep; Weary winds are lulled to sleep; Solemnly the breakers roar On the shadowy rock -bound shore: — Come with me ! Above us tranquil planets shine With a witchery divine, And the night's mysterious calm Seems to pour a peaceful balm Over all the sea and land : — Come, my maiden, hand in hand, Come with me ! The languid breeze, with dewy wings. Sweet perfume of roses brings; | All the air is rich with flowers Blooming in the mild night hours; All around, below, above. Dreams a rapturous dream of love : — Come with me ! 14 SONG TO THE LONE BIRD LONELY bird upon the tree, (Ah, the tree has not a leaf !) Thou dost sing so mournfully, Tell me why thy grief ! Lonely bird upon the tree, (Ah, the tree is stript and bare !) Comes no answer back to thee Through the frosty air? Lonely bird upon the tree, (Ah, the leafless tree is dead !) Hast thou but a memory? Has thy darling fled? Lonely bird upon the tree, (Ah, the tree will fall erelong !) All the meaning teach to me Of thy plaintive song ! AUF WIEDERSEHEN DIE Nacht enteilt ; der Mond verblasst; Im Morgenrof die Wolken gehen ; Die gokVne Stund'' flieht ohne Rast : — " Auf baldiges Wiedersehen ! " 15 Dock muss ich scheiden, liebes Herz ! JSIiemand kan7i seinem Loos efitgehen; Einen letzten Kuss mit siissem Schmerz Und dann: '"'' Auf Wiedersehen ! " The hour is late; low hangs the moon; The stars are fading from the sky; The golden night has sped too soon : — How can I say, "Good bye?" Yet must I leave thee, dearest Heart ! We may not vainly question why; One last embrace before we part, And then, " Good bye, Good bye ! " STILL MY HEART IS THINE OH, well do I remember How we wandered from the hill, And followed down the lonely path Beside the singing rill. At length we reached the lily pond Above the ruined mill. And there upon the bank we sat Where all was cool and still. i6 The breath of lilies sweet Crept round our calm retreat; The birds sang carols of love And in the branches above We heard the locust shrill. Ah! Love, 'twas love we found In every sight and sound, And Love must have his will. I know not what we whispered, Or if we spoke a word; The love song of the universe Was sung by every bird, And joy was echoed in our hearts At every note we heard. The music of the waterfall The branches lightly stirred. The lilies so white and pure Told that love would endure And youth would ever stay : — It seems but yesterday — And years have passed away ! Vet still thine eyes meet mine, I see the lovelight shine As tho' it were to-day ! And still my heart is thine. 17 LOVE'S ASSURANCE WHENE'ER I look into thy calm gray eyes Thy love smiles to me from their depths serene. A heaven behind their curtain lies — A paradise; And there thy soul is seen, My queen ! Whene'er I hold thy shapely, firm, white hand, Its pressure accents what thy words impart. Else were it hard to understand. In all the land None knows what to my heart Thou art! Whene'er I walk in joyous thought alone Thou still art with me, walking by my side. The silence hears the very tone Whereby thou'rt known Across an ocean wide, My bride. Time cannot, distance cannot, break our bond; Here or hereafter thou art only mine; If here we part we meet beyond. Do not despond; Our love in worlds divine Shall shine. i8 ALL THE BLOSSOMS GREET HER ALL the blossoms greet her As she passes by; Roses bend to meet her, Daisies nod and sigh: — " She is far above us, No, she will not care; Will not stoop to love us — Maiden pure and fair." As she comes, the thrushes, Hidden in the tree. Break the noontide hushes With their minstrelsy : — "Will she deign to hear us? No, she will not care; Will not venture near us — Maiden pure and fair." And I wait, half hiding. In the bosky lane. Shall I speak, confiding In a hope that's vain? Birds have songs to sing to her, Flowers their perfumes bear. What have I to bring to her — Maiden pure and fair? 19 Now she draweth nearer; Roses crown her brow, All the birds sing clearer - They are answered now. And her gentle greeting Bids me not despair; How my heart is beating! Maiden pure and fair ! IN MAY MY DREAM CAME TRUE I SAT by the brimming river; Blithe and early was the spring; The waters danced and sparkled, And I heard the robins sing. The south wind stirred the branches Of the maples plumed with green, And the beauty of the springtime Filled with glory all the scene. Along the river margin Came a maiden pure and fair; The sunlight like a halo Touched her wayward golden hair, 20 The wild flowers bent to greet her As her footsteps kissed the grass, The wood-birds sang their sweetest When they saw the maiden pass. I sat by the brimming river And I watched its sunny gleams; Blue eyes and golden tresses Shone responsive in my dreams. A voice that spoke like music, In a tone my spirit knew, Awoke me from my dreaming, — And in May my dream came true. FERN GHOSTS UNDER the brow of Monadnock These ferns came up in spring, Curled like the crook of a shepherd Daintily blossoming. Pale, now, and yellow and ghost-like They linger like dreams of the past, They tell of a radiant summer And a love too sweet to last. 21 A FLIGHT OF HOURS TO-DAY from the south came a flight of hours Of golden hours with welcome wings; And where they passed grew fragrant flowers, And the sunbeams laughed on a thousand springs. The gnarled trees on the windy hill Put forth a wonder of radiant white; The meadow, yesterday bare and still, Was suddenly filled with the birds' delight. And maidens forgot to be shy and cold When they heard the birds, when they saw the flowers, And many a secret love was told — Because of a flight of sunny hours. THE OLD STONE WALL ACROSS the windy hill. And down the gentle valley Where the wind is hushed and still, And pleasant waters dally. Marked by stains of countless rains, Green moss and ivy clothing all. Stretches out my grandsire's pride — The old stone wall. 22 How often when a boy, When summer days were sunny, I sat in idle joy And ate my bread and honey. High o'erhead the white clouds sped ; I heard the black crows caw and calL Ah, what a cooling shade it gave — The old stone wall. And then one starry night The homestead I was leaving, And life for me shone bright, But my sweet lass was grieving: — "Do not weep, my troth I'll keep," I said to her, "whate'er befall." And so we kissed and parted by The old stone wall. DREAM MUSIC AS one who sees a vision In the watches of the night, A dream of things elysian. Of rapturous delight — As one whose life ideal Comes forth serene and bright. 23 g)ong0 The unreal more than real To the quickened second sight — Then, waking, has the yearning To dream the dream again, To know the sweet returning Of the form recalled in vain; So I awake from my slumbers With a vague unrest and pain, For strange celestial numbers, For a song with a weird refrain. It haunts me like a spirit From the vast halls of sleep, By day I cannot hear it. Its words I cannot keep. But oh ! if I might word it 'T would make thee smile and weep. With smiles that thou hadst heard it, With tears for its pathos deep. And when thou hearest the singing Of the merriest birds in May, Or the solemn church bells ringing In minsters far away. Then know that richer and sweeter Are the words of my roundelay, And its harmony completer Than any that minstrels play. 24 CONWAY MEADOWS WE sat mid the bee-haunted clover; The field was dancing with light; The wind sang under and over The bee-haunted blossoms of clover. The wind is a wanton rover — His heart is free and light. We sat mid the blossoming clover With the dreamy stream at our feet, And the willows bending over, And the lengthening mountain shadows Came creeping across the meadows — Dost thou remember, Sweet? SUNSET THE setting sun O'er cloud and hill His golden beams is flinging; The day is done. The mill is still, The robins all are singing. Oh, how their bosoms thrill, And how the woods are ringing 1 25 I sit alone, My window near, Alone I sit, half dreaming; The birds have flown. The stars appear, I see the mill-pond gleaming; The Past is with me here, My eyes with tears are streaming. SPRING RAPTURE THE air is stirred By winnowing wings, And every bird Exulting sings; Robin and jay With eager throats Bring in the day With welcome notes. Upon the sky Soft cloudlets sleep, And swallows fly From deep to deep; The wild geese cry In dizzy heights 26 And prophesy The spring's delights. The grass grows green On field and hill, And buds are seen With life to thrill. When everything Is full of cheer I too must sing, Tho' no one hear. SUMMER EVENING THE sky is aglow with colors untold, With a triumph of crimson and opal and gold, And wavering curtains woven of fire Are hung o'er the portals of Day's Desire. The sun goes to rest in his western halls And over the world the twilight falls. The breezes sleep on the grassy pond, And shadows rove thro' the grove beyond; The robins carol in rapture of love, And the martins dart thro' the splendor above. Oh twilight marvel ! mysterious hour ! Our hearts are swayed like the sea by thy power ! 27 SUMMER FLOWERS OH summer flowers, sweet summer flowers, Too soon ye fade away; Ye cannot hold the flying hours That make your little day. Oh summer flowers, fair summer flowers, Laugh while the skies are bright; And sip the rich, refreshing showers That cool the sultry night. Oh summer flowers, gay summer flowers, Be fragrant while ye may; Sweet while ye last are woodland bowers. But soon ye fade away. AUTUMN IS QUEEN THERE is a lane behind the hill That leads to woodlands hushed and still. The mossy path, o'er-trailed with vines. Slopes gently down 'neath murmuring pines. Its shady haunts are green with ferns. While now the brilliant maple burns. The asters and the goldenrod In royal colors proudly nod. 28 The barberry flaunts its ruddy fire, Red jewels swing from every brier. Great purple grapes in clusters hang Where late the wood-thrush sweetly sang. The Autumn, with her wand of gold, Will now her yearly revel hold ! AUTUMN MORNING THE morning air is chill with rain, The sky is clouded o'er, The foamy billows dash in vain Upon the reef-bound shore. The ships sail on across the bay, Careening in the wind; How brave and full of hope are they To leave the port behind ! The fisher, in his tossing boat, Heeds not the ocean wild; Wrapt snugly in his tarry coat He dreams of wife and child. But I sit lone upon the sands And watch the climbing tide; I long to fly to distant lands. Across the waters wide. 29 FORETASTE OF WINTER THERE'S a gleam of frost on the meadow, And snow on the hill beyond, And lightly, like a shadow, Lies the feathery ice on the pond. There's a chill in the breath of morning, A chill in the quiet of noon. And from cold gray clouds, like a warning Of snow, falls the call of the loon. AUTUMN SONG THE leaves fall one by one, Though the wind is dead and still, The gray clouds hide the sun. And the autumn air is chill. But what care you and I, my love, For all the changing weather? The darkest clouds may fly, my love. If we are still together. The birds to the South have flown. And their songs have ceased in the land. Silent — and bare — and lone The trees of the orchard stand. 30 But what care you and I, sweetheart, And why should moods annoy us ? The darkest days will fly, sweetheart, For our hearts are always joyous. The waves along the shore Are breaking upon the rocks. With melancholy roar, And despair as of battle shocks. But what care you and I, my love. For waves and gloomy weather? The darkest storms will fly, my love, And leave our hearts together. THE LIGHTHOUSE-KEEPER ON a barren isle in the midmost main. Where the waves chant ever their wild refrain, Uncheered by a tree or a single flower, Rises aloft my lonely tower. Afar rolls the sea, till it touches the sky; Afar the white-winged ships sail by; They rise and fall on the restless swell. And where they come from who can tell ? 31 By day they mark my lonely isle By the stately height of my granite pile; And at night they see the friendly gleam Of my yellow light o'er the billows stream. Winter and summer, year on year, Have I dwelt on this desert island drear; My mate and I have stood by the tower. And watched through the long nights, hour by hour. Storms have swept from the lowering east. The ocean has raged like a maddened beast, Treacherous fogs have gathered around, And deadened the alarm bell's mournful sound. Still by the lighthouse have I staid, And when danger pressed my heart has prayed. Knowing full well that the Father's hand Rules at sea and rules on the land. But ah ! when summer days have smiled I have longed for the voice of wife and child; But never a wife or child have I, And a lonely man I shall live and die. 32 SONGS OF MAIZE OH, sing of the corn — Of the yellow Maize, How it bends and sways In the breeze of morn, Tall and noble, with tapering spear, Curling leaf and golden ear; O'er the length and breadth of this bountiful land, Beautiful gift of the Father's hand. Fountain of blessings, Maize, to thee ! Sing we, bring we our lays to thee ! Joyous and eloquent praise to thee ! Pagans of triumph we raise to thee ! Hail to the corn ! Thou wert here to welcome the Pilgrim band Tost by the tempest and wearied sore, In that tiny bark by Courage manned. Guided by Fate to an unknown shore. When the Winter raged in his Arctic strength And bowed the forests with icy blasts, And their scanty stores were spent at length, And Death was the meed of their bitter fasts — 33 Then kernel by kernel the kind corn parched And burst from yellow to shell-like white, And under the wintry sky that arched Like doom above them, they praised God's might. Ill Cast without care In rudest rows. Wherever the share Thro' the clearing goes, Tall and fair The bright corn grows. Hew the trees down ! A cabin build ! Skies smile or frown. Thy land is tilled, And the mould rich and brown With the Maize is filled ! IV Skies grow gray; Short the day; With the sickle reap away I Reap the corn; 34 Bind in sheaves Ears and leaves; Rich the harvest man receives; It is Plenty's overflowing horn! Ripe and dry, Pile it high, Now the creaking wain goes by To the barn ! Fields once fair Now are bare. Only stubble lingers there ! On the floor, More and more, Bustling with the rustling store, Lay the corn ! Splendid gain ! Golden grain Flowing from the loaded wain ; It is Plenty's overflowing horn! Hither 1 merry men and maids ! Come at even, young and single ! Eyes will sparkle, cheeks will tingle, 35 'Tis the Autumn Husking-bee! Give your aid ! Who 's afraid, If a purple ear one see? Jocund speech and racy song, Ripples of light silvery laughter Circling round the dusty rafter; Who would ask Brighter task Than to husk with such a throng? Follows now the country dance; Strike up, Jerry, with your fiddle ! Swiftly up and down the middle Gayly skip, Smile on lip. Youth and maid, retreat, advance ! Then along the dusky lane. Minding not the nipping weather, Shy young couples stroll together. Love confest. Love is blest With the husking of the grain ! 36 THE POVERTY PARTY AUTUMN it was and the evenings were long; Sure it was time for a wee bit of fun; Music and dancin' can never be wrong When the day's labor is over and done. Twenty-four couple we gathered in all At the Poverty Party at Papineau's Hall. All of us poor folk, but all of us young, High beat our hearts with the joy of full lifej None of us lads but was secretly stung — Stung with the hope of possessin' a wife. Never again will such pleasure befall At a young people's party at Papineau's Hall. Cornet and organ made music divine; Smooth was the floor and bright the lamps gleamed; Brighter than stars did Peggy's eyes shine; She was the lassie of whom my heart dreamed, She was the gayest, the belle of the ball. At the Poverty Party at Papineau's Hall. Waltzes and schottishes, polkas and reels. Followed each other like gems on a crown; Peggy paid heed to my fervent appeals, 39 Ten times or more I wrote her name down. And I took her to supper and carried her shawl, At the Poverty Party at Papineau's Hall. Late was the hour when the party was done, Yet the last dance would none of us miss; Seein' 'em home was the cream of the fun. Peggy — she gave me her first little kiss. Now we are old, but we often recall The Poverty Party at Papineau's Hall. UNDER THE AWNING ^ ^^T^ WAS a summer evening, cool and charming; X Every seat upon the Common held its blissful twain; Boomed the beetles by them quite alarming. And the foliage rustled like the dropping of the rain. Perfumes from the buds of roses rising Woke ecstatic raptures from the rose lips of the fair. That soft hands were claspt is not surprising. Nor that waists were dipt and kisses stolen un- aware. 40 ^er0 De ^otittt I too sat with Mary 'neath the awning, While the sickle moon with Venus gemmed the golden West; And I felt the tender passion dawning, Like a moonrise o'er the heaving ocean of my breast. "Dearest Mary, wilt thou be my star, pet? Yes, I vow, 'tis thou alone on earth whom I adore ! When we're married, Mary, not a carpet Need we have upon our lovely inlaid wooden floor!" Ah ! how confidentially we whispered. Cheek to cheek, while melancholy toads chirped in the trees. And our mothers not the slightest lisp heard As they sat within the parlor, talking charities. Many years are garnered since we planned it, That our house should have no carpet on the inlaid floor. Gentle reader, canst thou understand it? I was six then, and my neighbor, Mary, she was four. 41 LONG AGO I REMEMBER the grove near the village Which the brook ran murmuring through, And the shady retreat by the still edge Of the pond where the willows grew. In springtime, in summer, I went there — I wonder if any one knew Of the many long hours that I spent there, First with Mary, and then, Maud, with you ! The flowers that grew on the hillside Seemed fragrant as those of Cathay, The breeze o'er the bright daffodils sighed — Or were they but buttercups gay? The pond the lily-pads covered. The lilies gleamed white in the sun, And above them the dragon-fly hovered, Like the flash of a scintillant pun. Ah, Maud, how the birds used to sing there, In the trees that kissed overhead ! Kissed? We never did any such thing there — "'Twas too improper," you said. But I brought you gay flowers by the lapful, And wove graceful crowns for your hair, While you filled the band of my cap full, And gave me a garden to wear. 42 Oft we sat on the slope (eating sorrel !) While the wind in the pine branches sobbed, And the mischievous squirrel would quarrel With the robin whose nest he had robbed. But we thought not of quarrels in those years, Nor heeded the sighs of the pine, Any more than the chubs mid the osiers Ever dreamed of the fish-hook and line ! SHELLING PEAS (A Summer Idyl.) AT the back door of the kitchen, Sitting on the foot-worn sill, Looking toward the pine woods which in Beauty crowned the westward hill, Thrilling 'neath the necromancy Of the south wind in the trees. Sat together Nick and Nancy, Eager rivals, shelling peas. On the chestnut tree a squirrel Chuckled o'er his stolen nut. While two robins saw some peril (They could not have told you what) 43 ^ttsi tit ^otittt In the actions of a kitten Chasing her elusive tail : — Other rustic sights, unwritten, Charmed them as they stormed the pail. Now, while Nancy's peas still held out, Nick had reached his very last. And with all his panful shelled out From his lap the dish he cast, Scaring off the careless neighbor's Chickens from the strawberry bed, Startling Grandma at her labors With the butter in the shed. Then Nick took from blushing Nancy Half the peas as yet unshelled (He could in the polished pan see Pouting sweet rebellion quelled !) And together fingers nimble Quickly finished up the work. "Look," cried Nick, "here is a symbol! In this pod predictions lurk." So he broke the smallest pea-pod : It contained two little peas. "See, my Nancy, we may reap odd Stalks of truth from things like these ! 44 These two peas are you and I, dear, Dwelling in one pod of bliss, Cool it looks and green, inside here; Would you like a home like this? " Round the slender waist of Nancy Nick's insinuating sleeve With a thrill of joy, I fancy, Stole, and waited not for leave. And upon her lips he printed (In large type) a fervent kiss. While a sob from Nancy hinted Her deep ecstasy of bliss. Hark! the cockerel from the Jones's Barnyard sings his loudest lay. And the Bantam cock intones his Wishes for "the happy day." And the half-oblivious couple Heed not jibe of beast or bird, Or the father coming up hill — Is not "Young Love " too absurd? 45 Wtt$ tt ^otittt CONFESSION IT was a charming day, my dear, An August day some years ago; From me you ran away, my dear, Down thro* the shaded walk you know. I saw your fluttering drapery White mid the sun-fleckt trees like snow. I followed to the grapery And there I found you all aglow. And when I kissed your cheek, my dear, To pay you for the way you sped. You pursed your lips to speak, my dear; Do you remember what you said? You said, "I love" — ah! yes, you did, Why then, I pray, this tell-tale red? You said, " I love " — confess you did ! — **'I love sweet grapes ' was what I said." THE BEAU OF THE TOWN HE once was young and gay, — A beau. But that was long ago; To-day He is very old and gray. 46 His clothes were once the best; His tile Was at the top of style; His vest Was flowered upon his breast. He then was tall and slim; His eye Made all the maidens sigh For him. It now is bleared and dim. He drove a handsome pair Of grays, And all men sang his praise; The "heir" Had plenty and to spare. He now is poor and lame And bent; His sunshine friends all went, And shame To take their places came. The flowers upon his vest Are rags; His coat is torn and sags. The rest May easily be guessed. 47 Wttsi He ^otittt His youth was spent in vain; His age Is like a blotted page; His bane Was sparkling bright champagne. THE PEALING OF THE BELL MY little lady went one day A-sailing in a yacht Upon the waters of the bay — 'Twas summer time and hot. The wind at first had promised well, And filled the spinnaker; But ere they reached the Point it fell The craft seemed not to stir. The skipper stood beside the wheel, And cocked his weather eye, And wet his thumb if he might feel A zephyr wandering by. And while they drifted with the tide A mile or so from shore, My little lady multiplied Her stock of naval lore. 48 Wtts tic §>ociete She learned the different kinds of rig That on the deep are seen — "Hermorphodite" and sloop and brig, Schooner and barkentine. She learned the terms that so confuse A maiden country bred : That " sheets " on ships they do not use To make a sailor's bed. That "come in stays" means merely "tack," That booms are said to " jibe " — And many more which from the lack Of space I can't describe. And when a breeze sprang up at last, And gently 'gan to sough. She gazed at bowsprit and at mast. And cried, "She springs her luff !" The skipper let her take the wheel, And steer the bonny craft; How proud the pilot fair did feel! How merrily she laughed ! Now " starboard " and now " hard-a-port " The wheel was swiftly turned. (Yes, steering was her special forte, I since have surely learned !) 49 Wtt$ He ^otittt The breeze it blew, the blue waves danced, The graceful yacht careened, And still the burning sunbeams glanced From brow and nose unscreened. What wonder that when morning came (The cruise a past delight !) My fair one's face was all aflame, Her dainty nose a sight ! But when the cuticle came off (Her nose was retrousse) ^ I felt inclined to laugh and scoff, As fondest lovers may. "My dear," said I, "you know full well What sore distress I feel, And yet *t is proper that a belle Like you should sometimes peal." BLOWING BUBBLES AH ! how far away and dreamy Are the summers of my youth; Ere I knew that life was seamy. Ere I learned the bitter truth. 50 Wtt$ tie ^ociete Golden-colored, free from troubles Were those days of long ago — But they vanished like the bubbles That we children loved to blow. Often to the mossy house-top, High among the swaying elms, (Where no moment did the boughs stop Fencing as for airy realms), Would we bring our bowl of water And our fragile pipes of clay — I and our next neighbor's daughter (She is dead now) — little May. All around us rival thrushes Revelled in the lists of song. And the locust in noon hushes Shrilled his trumpet loud and long. Far above us swept the swallows In swift races through the sky, Mid the cloud-land hills and hollows, Playing hide-and-seek on high. Far below us lay the river With its placid azure gleam. Where the sunbeams all a-quiver Scarce disturbed its peaceful dream. 51 Every rock and tree and dwelling, And the orchard, row by row, On the hillside upward swelling. Had its counterpart below. We could see the shadows racing With the sunshine, frown with smile, Where the lindens interlacing Made a Gothic minster aisle. And the quaint unpainted steeple Of the church that faced the green Seemed to watch the buried people Like the guardian of the scene. On the house-top sat we gayly Blowing bubbles, unconcerned. As like vessels fashioned frailly Off they sailed and ne'er returned. Breezes swept them in derision On their brief and brilliant flight; Then they vanished from our vision Like young hopes of dear delight. Still I see that scene before me, And the fine old country-seat. And remembrance rushes o'er me, With its bitter and its sweet. 52 Radiant hours of childish pleasures Catch the sunlight as ye will, Youth and age have different measures, But our joys are bubbles still. AMATEUR PHOTOGRAPHY I FELL in love with Phyllis Browne; She was the nicest girl in town. Her father had a bank account Of a superfluous amount; And so the more I thought of it The clearer seemed the benefit That such a union would confer At least on me — perhaps on her. For she was pretty ! Such a nose ! Such grace of curves ! Such tint of rose ! Such sylph-like elegance of pose ! Such sunny eyes of heavenly blue, With little cherubs peeping through ! Such golden bangs ! Oh, every such Was the superlative of much ! And educated ! She could speak Italian, Spanish, Volapuk, 53 French, Russian, Swedish, Danish, Dutch, Choctaw and Sanskrit, Latin, Greek; And every language born of Babel To read or speak them she was able. So learned, pretty, — rich besides. Yes, she would be the gem of brides ! And I, tho' poor, had every taste The wealth of Croesus would have graced; So I resolved to risk my fate In winning such an equal mate. At first my chances promised fair; She met me half-way everywhere; Accepted my civilities. And sometimes made me ill at ease When I, on parting, held her hand. And felt that mute "You understand," Exprest by just the faintest squeeze. (I can not think she was a flirt, And yet she did it to my hurt !) One day I crost the Rubicon And went to win my paragon. I rang her door-bell, inly bent On knowing if she would consent. She sent me down a little note. The coolest that she ever wrote. 54 Wtt& tit §)octete " Excuse me, please, from seeing you, I've something else that I must do; I'll see you later if we live." I asked the footman if he knew Why such an answer she should give. The servant shrewdly shook his head; "She's busy, sir," he gravely said, '^Developing a negative." SPEAKING FEATURES WHENEVER I talk with my sweetheart She speaks with her great brown eyes; And if (and 'tis often) I'm witty, A gladdening smile replies. If (rarely) I grow sentimental. And out-Romeo Hamlet the Dane, With a golden-lined cloud on her forehead She frowns me to wisdom again. And if I sing her some love song. And show all the feeling I can, The rose on her cheek is her "Thank you " : — Oh, I am a fortunate man! 55 Wtt$ De g)ociete SCHERZO WOULD I keep the "I" from sight? Ay, I would blind it. For when self I lose aright, Then alone I find it. MEMORIES A FADED flower will touch the key Of many a sacred memory : A yellowed note, a crumpled glove, Will call up visions of young love. And make the heart beat fast again At sweet remembrance mixt with pain. HAREBELLS HOW wild the steep along the hill Where rocks grow bold and bolder ! There harebells grow in fond alliance With pine trees looking down like giants, And every little crevice fill With purple bells that yet are still While nodding sweet defiance To every chance beholder. 56 tBttsi ue ^otittt THE SWALLOW OF all the birds that swim the air I'd rather be the swallow; And, summer days, when days were fair, I'd follow, follow, follow The hurrying clouds across the sky, And with the singing winds I'd fly. My eager wings should need no rest If I were but a swallow; I'd scale the highest mountain crest And sound the deepest hollow; No forest could my pathway hide. No ocean plain should be too wide. I'd find the sources of the Nile, I'd seek the Liukiu Islands, Climb Chimborazo's snow-capt pile, And Scotland's rugged Highlands; I'd skim the sands of Timbuctoo; Constantinople's mosques I'd view. I'd revel mid the Isles of Greece — The pride of old Apollo, And circle round the bay of Nice, If I were but a swallow. And haunt the sunny fields of France — The vineyards merry with the dance. 57 Wtxsi De §)ociete I'd see my shadow in the Rhine Dart swiftly like an arrow, And catch the breath of eglantine Along the braes of Yarrow; I'd roam the world and never tire If I might have my heart's desire. THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE ON the elm branch gayly swinging Where the tender young leaves curl, Sits a Golden Robin singing : — " Pretty girl, Pretty, pretty, pretty girl." All day on the branch above me While the purple leaves unfurl, He is asking: "Dost thou love me, Pretty girl, Pretty, pretty, pretty girl?" Then he hears his brown mate's answer From the hedge that skirts the lane : " Catch me, catch me, if you can, sir, I can fly, though I am plain." 58 But he cares not as he swings there Mid the springtime's rush and whirl; Still he blithely clings and sings there, " Pretty girl, Pretty, pretty, pretty girl." MOONSHINE THE red moon hangs on the sky Like the shield of a viking bold, And across the ocean waves Lies a track of molten gold. It leads to the sea-king's realm, Beyond our eager sight, And there is his palace of pearl And his throne of diamond bright. His chariot, dolphin-drawn, And his Tritons with puffed cheeks, Have never come to our shores Since the days of the gallant Greeks. By the crest of the weed-fringed reefs No Naiads comb their hair, Nor now do the Sirens sing So treacherously fair. 59 But follow that path of light Beyond the tumbling main, And there will the mermaids dance And the Sirens sing again. ON THE STREET AS I walked the street, Melancholy, lonely, Came the vision sweet For a moment only. Not a star was out, Tho' the day was ended; Darkness as of doubt From the clouds descended. All my work had failed, I was worn and weary; Skies of joy were veiled. Night fell black and dreary. Not a soul I knew In the mansions splendid; Tithes of bitter rue In my heart were blended. 60 t3m ue ^octete Then I caught the gleam Of a heavenly vision, Brighter than a dream, Of a scene elysian. 'T was a homelike room, Rich and warm and cosy; Thro' the evening gloom Streamed the firelight rosy. Children sat around, Gladness on their faces; There, thought I, abound All the Christian graces. Then a maiden fair Came to draw the curtain. Breathless stood I there. Trembling and uncertain. With her hand upraised And her pure face lifted, Spirit-like she gazed Thro' the darkness rifted. Then the curtain fell : But that scene of gladness Worked a magic spell On my cloudy sadness. 6i Framed in rosy light, Still that unknown maiden Beams upon my sight, When with grief I'm laden. As I walked the street, Melancholy, lonely, Came the vision sweet For a moment only. A CAMEO QUEEN PENELOPE all the day. Weaves a robe of glistening white; "It is almost done," her suitors say, "Soon shall we feast on the wedding night.' But in silent hours as her tears fall fast. She ravels the woof, she begins anew; And thus fly the years until at last Odysseus comes, her hero true. A garment of snow Dame Nature weaves, And when at night her spirit grieves Her tears melt the woven snow away; She begins again on another day. The north winds cold are the suitors bold But Summer comes ere the year grows old. 62 Wtts tie g)ociete LOVE'S FIRE WHAT a glowing fire Young Love kindles With the fuel Of desire! When 't is fairly started How he tends it ! When it dwindles How at first he mends it! Is he tender hearted? Nay, he's cruel: For at last When the novelty is past, Weary grown Of the dying embers, He no more remembers That the fire was once his own. Lets the flashes Fade in ashes Gray and cold ! Young Love soon grows old — And that ends it. 63 LARKS AND NIGHTINGALES ALONE I sit at eventide; The twilight glory pales, And o'er the meadows far and wide Chant pensive bobolinks. (One might say nightingales !) Song-sparrows warble on the tree, I hear the purling brook, And from the old "manse o'er the lea" Flies slow the cawing crow. (In England 'twere a rook!) The last faint golden beams of day Still glow on cottage panes And on their lingering homeward way Walk weary laboring men. (Oh would that we had swains !) From farmyards, down fair rural glades Come sounds of tinkling bells. And songs of merry brown milkmaids, Sweeter than oriole's. (Yes, thank you — Philomel's!) 64 tBtt^ tie ^ocittt I could sit here till morning came, All thro' the night hours dark, Until I saw the sun's bright flame And heard the chickadee. (Alas ! we have no lark !) We have no leas, no larks, no rooks, No swains, no nightingales. No singing milkmaids (save in books) The poet does his best. It is the rhyme that fails ! TO CHLOE SEE ! I have returned thy picture As thou didst request. But I hold another, better, In my breast. If I would, I can not send it; It will not depart. 'Twas thyself who didst engrave it On my heart. 65 Wtt$ ue ^otittt ON RETURNING A BORROWED RING IF, while the world lay wrapped in sleep, And midnight stars begemmed the sky, From some far cavern dark and deep. Where delve and toil the Genii, My potent will could hither bring A giant ready to obey, By reason of my lady's ring And the strange magic of its sway : — What should be then my swift commands? What errands should he haste to run? What should he bring from Orient lands, Or trackless realms beyond the sun? Ah ! he should bring me sparkling gems In golden caskets chaste and rare. And brilliants set in diadems To glitter in my lady's hair. And every morning in her room A jar of roses he should set, Awaiting but her smile to bloom With fragrant crystal dewdrops wet. All should be lavished at her feet Without her knowing whence they came. And in her joy my love would meet A recompense without a name. 66 Wtt^ lie g>ociete But vain are wishes; rings are vain; No talisman wakes magic powers, And idle fancies bring but pain To lonely hearts in weary hours. So I my lady's ring restore : — 'T is but a band of yellow gold Through which I see the world and more So much the circlet small can hold ! And if to me the Genie came, I were his slave (as I am thine !) — How could I dare to breathe thy name E'en should my longing lips incline? 67 ^onnetjs IN THE OLD COUNTRY CHURCH IS it a dream? Am I once more a child? In this old church I worshipped long ago ! Again I feel the strange, delightful glow That filled my young heart with a radiance mild, While from the organ-loft the tones, beguiled By skilful hands, harmoniously flow, Now swelling high, now welling faint and low, As tho' harsh discords all were reconciled ! Outside, the graceful elm boughs softly sway; Thro' the open windows breathes the summer breeze; And in the hush before the people pray I hear the murmur of a myriad bees. Is it a dream? Am I a child to-day? It verily seems so, as I bow my knees ! Ah ! golden hours of childhood gone forever ! My brown-eyed, quiet little maiden there Who feels but knows not what is meant by prayer The time must come when she too will endeavor Her weary heart from sad to-days to sever, 71 To lift the burden of a present care; Then will she to the Father's house repair To find sure comfort. May it fail her never ! The summer breeze will sweep the cloudless sky; The yellow bees will hum among the elmsj The mellow organ tones will swell and sigh; The priest will speak his words of counsel sweet To guide the wandering soul to heavenly realms: And thus each age its marvels doth repeat. RUSSIA " Russia ! Russia ! I behold thee from my wondrous beauti- ful distance." — Gogol. SATURNIAN mother ! why dost thou devour Thy offspring, who by loving thee are curst? Why must they fear thee who would fain be first To add new glories to thy matchless dower? Why must they fiee before thy cruel power, That punishes their best as treason's worst — The treason that despotic chains would burst — That makes men heroes who in slavery cower? Upon thy brow the stars of empire burn; Thy bearing has a majesty sublime. Thy exiled children ever toward thee yearn; 72 Nor should their ardent love be deemed a crime. O, mighty mother of men, to mildness turn, And haste the advent of a happier time ! SIBERIA " A LL hope forego, O ye who enter here ! " /~\ Here winds are sweet with breath of myriad flowers, The skies arch blue o'er lands of richest dowers, And all the fairest gifts of earth appear. All hope forego ? Why, surely hope, not fear. Should view this land, whose belting Ural towers With wealth of gold and precious stones, and powers Of mighty rivers winding far and near ! Yet look ! What mean those melancholy trains Of desperate men and sad-eyed women, looking back To bid that awful bourne a last farewell? O hear those groans, those sighs, those clanking chains. As on they drag along the hopeless track That leads, if not to death, to worse than hell ! 7Z TO AN IMPERILLED TRAVELLER UNFLINCHING Dante of a later day, Thou who hast wandered thro' the realms of pain And seen with aching breast and whirling brain Woes which thou wert unable to allay, What frightful visions hast thou brought away : Of torments, passions, agonies, struggles vain To break the prison walls, to rend the chain — Of hopeless hearts too desperate to pray ! Men are the devils of that pitiless hell ! Men guard the labyrinth of that ninefold curse ! Marvel of marvels ! Thou hast lived to tell, In prose more sorrowful than Dante's verse. Of pangs more grievous, sufferings more fell, Than Dante or his master dared rehearse ! IN THE WILDERNESS AS one who, wandering thro' some tropic land, Content with all the tropic's languorous ease. Amid the tangled maze of giant trees Chances on ruined temples, vast and grand, 74 On broken sculpture hurled on every hand, — The fallen column and the crumbling frieze, — ^ By man abandoned countless centuries. And marvels and can only silent stand, — So I, rejoicing in thy sunny heart, Loving the danger of thy radiant eyes, Have heedless strayed into a realm apart, Deep hidden in thy life, — a ruined realm Of joys and hopes which years with death o'er- whelm, — And sorrow fills me with a dumb surprise. SORROWS THE clouds which fleecy are and silver-lined, As high above us joyfully they fly. And seem like living creatures in the sky, Sporting and racing with the free, glad wind. When near us are but mists, damp and unkind. Which gloom the azure heaven, and coldly lie Upon the hills and fill the valleys. Ay, Thus sorrows are within the human mind. For other's woes are tinted with romance; We watch them from afar and feel them not. Excepting as they shade the sun by chance, 75 And add new zest to our delightful lot. But let them on us like a storm advance, How swiftly then our gladness do they blot ! MIDSUMMER NOON I BENEATH the noontide sun the valleys lie, Swooning with heat and full of golden light; The swift-winged swallows cease their busy flight, Slow shadows across the dreamy landscape fly, As fleecy clouds drift o'er the azure sky. The robins sing no longer in the trees; From the wild alder floats the hum of bees; A locust shrills upon the elm near by. The sweet-toned bell up in the square church tower Breaks on the silence, and the wooded hills Repeat the sound, which of the resting hour To mowers laboring in the hay-fields tells; Hanging upon some low-limbed tree the scythe, To lunch they hasten, weary and yet blithe. II Beneath the shadow of an old oak tree. My friend and I lie on the velvet grass : Amid the leaves the whispering breezes pass. And the small crickets chirp incessantly. 76 g)onnet0 The distant, cloud-like mountains we can see, Heaped on the west in deep diaphanous mass; And at our feet — a living sea of glass — The pond is sleeping in tranquillity. Silent we are. The calmness of the scene, The quiet beauty of the summer day, Says more than any words that we can say. Silence means more to us than speech can mean. 'Tis joy enough against the oak to lean, And dream the perfect hours of peace away. THE TOMB OF TIME IT was the midnight hour. I stood alone Beneath the stars in a deserted land, Where cold winds swept across the wastes of sand. Amongst the meagre herbage making moan. I saw a pyramid of polished stone, Black as the blackest ebony, and grand As though it had been built by God's own hand; A gloomy temple Death might call his own. A portal was upon the northern side. And fiery letters in an unknown tongue; 77 bonnets? And from the arch a flaming censer hung, Which threw a baleful radiance far and wide. I saw the massive gates were open flung, — I wished to enter, but my courage died. And as I pondered trembling, lo ! there came Across the yellow sands a solemn throng; The air was burdened with a mournful song, And torches, flaming with a ghostly flame. Weird shadows cast upon an ebon frame. Whereon a coffln lay with trappings hung. With slow and solemn tread they moved along, And reached the portal of the mystic name. They entered and I followed. With a clang The gates shut to, and thro' the vaulted hall The awful echoes, thundering, rang and rang, And died away in tones funereal. Then on my ear did saddening music fall, And tear-choked voices with an organ sang. Ill A dirge they sang unto the year just dead, — The old year which had reached the Tomb of Time. I heard the organ and the voices chime. But not a dead year lifted up his head. 78 bonnets? Silent they lay as when they first were laid, With all their records of good deeds or crime, In niches fated by a Fate sublime; For Fate by even Time must be obeyed. I saw them lying there, all cold and still Each in his place, — dead years, the vanished past. I saw the places kept for coming years Where crownless they should lie beside their peers. And lo ! I saw there was one less to fill. For in his place the Old Year lay at last. QUESTIONINGS THE PESSIMISTIC ANNIHILATIONIST FETTERED to earth and powerless to fly, I envy those white clouds with wide-stretched wings. Who, scornful of us earth-born, grovelling things, Exult in all the freedom of the sky. For what of liberty have such as I ? What is the comfort aspiration brings. And what the glory that the poet sings? What can man do but lay him down and die ? 79 g>onnetsf On all sides are we closely hedged about. We know not such a boon as liberty. Fools we ! to dream of ever being free. Our highest aspirations end in doubt. Our so-called glory is a mockery; And Death itself is but a blotting out. THE PANTHEIST What! Death a blotting out? Yes, thou art right; But so the stars are blotted out at morn, When in the east the joyous Day is born, And from her presence flees the gloomy Night. The stars are lost in more effulgent light. And what is life on earth but night forlorn? So when the day of death comes, Night is shorn Of its small glory by Day's greater might. Dost thou not think that over all is One — A God, who rules amid the seeming rout. Who curves the steadfast circle of the sun. And whirls the myriad flaming worlds about? Canst thou, then, think thy life forever done, Because at death thy candle seems put out? 80 ^OLIAN HARP TONES " solvitur acris hyejnps grata vice veris et favoni.^^ THE south wind thro' my open window blows. It trembles into music on the strings Of an yEolian harp, and sweetly sings A quaint and mystic song, which louder grows. Then dies away, until so soft it flows. We hardly hear it. And the voice is Spring's! She to the waiting Northland comes ! She brings The modest Mayflower and the fragile rose ! E'en now the birds among the trees are flying, And now the willows clothe themselves in green, And many a crocus in the field is seen. Far off unseen we hear the wild goose crying. The world is filled with Spring's own smile serene; For thus she greets us, swiftly hither hieing ! SAVONAROLA, 1498 AS on some noble mountain height I stand And see the promise of a golden day. While still the vales below are cold and gray. And night hangs brooding o'er a sleeping land. 81 bonnets? I, conscious of the glory near at hand, With burning eyes of faith, exultant, stay To catch the first glimpse of the godlike ray Ere down the mount it leaps in progress grand. Awake, ye dormant nations, now awake ! Behold the sun of Truth is risen on high ! Out from the bonds of superstition break. And claim the splendid prize of liberty! Forget the dead past for the future's sake; Where falls the broken tree, there let it lie ! ELEGY I THE air is full of mournful melodies. As if the birds had left a song behind — A requiem which the melancholy wind, Transforming to ^olian harmonies, Repeats in whispers to the sobbing trees. Hark to the elegy of unwept tears — Of struggling hopes and of despairing fears — A poem played in tender minor keys. The summer days are gone — the birds are fled. Upon the field and hill the grass is brown. The yellow leaves come fluttering softly down, 82 bonnets? And rustle on the path beneath the tread. The glories which were once the Summer's crown Are vanished, and the Summer now lies dead ! The trees were royal in their autumn gold — Their robes were rich with orange and with red, Their banners proudly to the winds were spread, And to the Frost-king waved defiance bold. Yet now no more their boasted power they hold. Their little day of royalty was sped, Their little gleam of glory quickly fled. As passed the kingdoms of the kings of old. With leaden clouds the sky is dark and gray; The rain falls on the faded, yellow leaves. With bitter teardrops saddened Nature grieves — She weeps because her beauty fades away. Is this the future which the buds of May Gave promise of? Ah, smiling Spring deceives ! m Yet as the day is drawing to its close. And as the Sun sinks in the arms of Night — Among the clouds appear great rifts of light, And all the gray is glorified with rose, 83 The hue of hope, which fainter, fainter, grows, Until at last it vanishes from sight. Then on the yellow sky, divinely bright. The sickle moon above the horizon glows. How soon forgot the sadness of the day ! Night hides beneath the shadow of her wings The presence of the demon of decay. And throws her mantle over dying things; The spirit of life and love stirs in our clay, For we behold Night's star-dust in endles? rings And only see the stars — Night's coronet! THE DREAMERS SOME men are dreamers born; their mystic souls In visions never realized are wrapt. They for the life around them are inapt, Like hermits idly reading mystic scrolls. Where angel heads glow with their aureoles. Or strange lands are mysteriously mapt With mighty streams and mountains thundercapt, Or where the organ fugue silently rolls. 84 Alas, these dreamers ! How the world goes by them, With ail its living joys and living sorrows. And as they watch for never-coming morrows, They lose what ought to bless and sanctify them. For while the Future dazzling promise borrows, The wasted golden Present lingers nigh them. BEETHOVEN WHERE art thou now, O master, where art thou? Is thy soul busied with the harmonies Which God hides in those rolling stars of his, Silent to us — to thee apparent now ? Where art thou now, O master, where art thou? The world has missed thee long, and none there is To be, like thee, the Priest of Mysteries, And wear the diadem upon the brow. And yet the world is full of thee. Thy name Is synonym for highest in thine art. And brighter thro' the coming years shall shine. Would I might add a little wreath of mine — Alas, how insignificant a part — To place within the temple of thy fame. 85 bonnets; n I love the ocean's glorious symphonies In nature's everlasting solitudes; The deep adagio of its peaceful moods; Its light allegro when the white caps rise; Its minor when the sunset zephyr dies; Its mighty major when the storm cloud broods And sweeps the straining harp-strings of the woods, And far on high the foaming water flies 1 So when Beethoven's magic music swells, Like voices of the angels heard in sleep, My spirit to its utmost depths is stirred As though a more majestic sea I heard. As though some sunken city's silver bells Swung palpitating in the purple deep. THE STORKS AT midnight, when the sleeping world is still, And bright-eyed stars, like watchmen, guard the sky. And look down calmly from their posts on high O'er field and forest, ocean, stream, and hill, — 86 From ruined tower and long-deserted mill Uprise the friendly, wide-winged storks, and fly Straight to the sunny lands which southward lie, Beyond man's ken, beyond all thought of ill. Man would not harm them : they are sacred things. Their scarlet bills and scarlet legs are known From Nile to Ganges; and from Rhine to Rhone Is heard the flapping of their dusky wings. They are affection's symbol; for. Love sings, The mother stork will perish for her own. THE REIGN OF SATURN " aurea prima sata est aetas qua vindice nulla sponte sua, sine lege^fidem rectumque colebat." THE legend says that in the golden time When Saturn's sceptre blest the blooming earth. Men's hearts were filled with overflowing mirth, And love and peace dwelt in that happy clime. For never yet had thought of war or crime In simple guileless bosoms had its birth, And never yet had cruel, wasting Dearth Dared enter where reigned Plenty in her prime. 87 Men lived as brothers, and their lives were long; Their lives were free from discord, free from care. All day the woodlands echoed to the song; And sounds of feasting filled the evening air. And often came the glorious gods among These happy men, their sweet delights to share. **postquam Saturno tenebrosa in Tartara tnisso sub Jove mundus erat." But Jove against his father Saturn rose. And harshly drove him from his ancient throne. Then wandered forth the crownless god alone, His hoary head bent low with weight of woes, Leaving his kingdom to his sons, — his foes. Sad was it for the world when he was gone. Peace from the mourning earth, and joy were flown. War on the heels of Hatred followed close. And Famine spread her black wings o'er the land. O then, those miserable men were fain To have their father Saturn come again; Were fain to have the feet of Plenty stand In her old Temple; and dread Famine bound. Alas ! alas ! their wishes were in vain. AT MIDNIGHT'S MYSTIC HOUR AT midnight's mystic hour I climbed the hill Whose farther slope dips gently to the shore. Like a vast prayer the solemn ocean's roar Rose ceaseless from the rocks; all else was still — So still that I could hear the young grass thrill As from the whispering night air, warm once more, It won the impulse from the ground to soar — As if, poor rooted thing, it might at will ! A few great stars begemmed the tender sky. And, like the swords of serried Seraphim Drawn up for battle far away from earth, The Northern Lights flamed to the zenith high And swept in triumph to the horizon's rim, While in the east a meteor died in birth. I flung myself upon the dewy ground And fixt mine eyes upon the mighty maze Of twinkling constellations, and the blaze Of flaming swords that crossed without a sound — So far, so weird, so changeful, in profound 89 §)onnets; Obedience to the unknown Power that sways The universe, and that the planets praise As swift they circle in their endless round. There as I prostrate lay and strove to scan The scope of those fierce forces bound to law, And felt the joy of inexpressible awe At such a divine weft of rhythmic plan, A tiny night moth fluttering by I saw And wondered if God had less care for man. A PAGAN SONNET THE silent mountains, purple robed, like kings. Stand waiting for the coming of the night. They feel her solemn presence as the light Fades slowly from their crowns. The sun-god flings His last red beams, tingeing the silver wings Of clouds rejoicing in their eastward flight. Will they be first to see his chariot bright Emerging from the ocean, when he brings His bride, the Day, to glad the world again? Ah ! soon they vanish from our yearning sight, In darkness flying on, their fate the wind. The rosy hues of hope are fond and vain. Fate is relentless; love is quenched in night. Farewell, ye clouds, to your own future blind ! 90 ^onntte EVENING THE crimson glow has faded from the west; Deep shadows lie along the glassy stream, In whose cool depths green banks and daisies dream Of green banks and of daisies which are blest With real existence and with perfect rest, While they themselves are not, but only seem. The katydids pipe up their cheerful theme; The bird is sleeping in her woven nest. And near her sighs the melancholy breeze. The fire-flies, like lost, wandering Pleiades, With intermittent light dart through the trees. The evening stars smile down with radiant eyes, And fiery swords wave on the northern skies. As if to guard the Aurora's Paradise. IN A CANOE I DOWN in the sea caves sinks the dying sun. The restless waves are tinged with Tyrian hue. And purple clouds are hung upon the blue Of heaven, until the heaven and sea are one. Where ends the sea? Where is the sky begun? I, floating in an Indian canoe, With all these glories round me, with the view 91 Expanding as the waves I ride upon Lift up their haughty heads, could I not sail, Until I reached the line where sea and sky Are blended into one infinity? Could I not float out on the sea of space. And learn new wonders from behind the veil Which hides from us God's everlasting face? The day fades and the solemn, mystic night Broods with her thousand stars upon the ocean; The winds are hushed, — calmed is the waves' commotion; The crescent moon pours out her jar of light Upon the waters. Clouds as silvery white As angels' wings, float with the softest motion Across the sky and pay their deep devotion Unto their queen, enthroned on heaven's height. O Sea — thou symbol of almighty power! O Night — thou majesty of majesties! My soul is humbled at this solemn hour, Surrounded by thine awful mysteries. May my vain yearning slowly die away As dim Night took the sceptre from the Day. 92 THE STORM FROM some far valley of the West arise The storm clouds like the hordes of Tamerlane, And marching on in awful silence gain The zenith-posted fortress of the skies. The courier wind on winged courser flies And brings the pelting volleys of the rain. And then the loud-voiced thunder bursts amain And echoes on the circling hills, and dies. The mighty hosts of Nature cannot spare. They hasten on to work their destined death — Across the summer seas the darkness sweeps. The white- sailed boats go down before its breath; From heaven the jagged lightning blindly leaps Nor heeds the agony of human prayer. BREEZES SOME people meet us like the mountain air, And thrill our souls with freshness and delight; And others are like cooling winds of night To fan the heated brow of busy care; 93 And some are like the summer breezes, rare With perfumes, breathing from the gardens bright Where flowers are blooming, far beyond our sight. And so we know the gardens must be fair. And such we welcome when the day is done, And gentle melancholy seasons mirth, When fading tints across the gray sky run. And darker shadows brood upon the earth. Then deep heart confidences have their birth, And holy, life-long friendships are begun. THE NETHERLAND MARTYRS, 1535 AMID the flames their souls were full of cheer. And, facing the dark mystery of death, Unflinchingly they clung unto their faith. No whit relenting at the beck of fear. And while the crowd stood round to mock and jeer, These martyrs blest them with their dying breath, Remembering what the Holy Scripture saith : — For they were noble men although austere. 94 They died — unhonored for their constancy. Brave men were they; yet no one mourned or wept. They suffered for the sake of liberty; And in their death, their deathless fame is kept. But had they lived, their story would have slept Uncared for in the tomb of history. The faith they held was bigoted and blind. The God they worshipped was a cruel God. A rugged and a weary path they trod; And life's delights they, murmuring not, resigned. So when the summons came to leave behind Life's bitterness, they bowed beneath the rod, And gladly laid aside the fettering clod — A martyr's never-fading crown to find. Their names are lost to us, but their example Flames like a beacon thro' the mist of ages. And bids us bravely stand when men would trample Upon our faith, and overthrow our altars; When fiery persecution round us rages. And when our courage under trial falters. 95 SPANISH SONNETS FOR many a day my heart no song has sung, For many a day my lips no music made; The harp which oft of old my fingers played Is silent, with its silver strings unstrung. Ah, wearily the sad days drag along, With never a ray of joy their gloom to cheer; Alone I sit and mingle sigh with tear; Alone I sit and nurse my fancied wrong. But mayhap she, the cause of all my woe. Is grieving that her lover comes not near. Is sadly wondering why she doth not hear The low notes of his dulcet serenade Beneath her window ere the sweet stars fade — Come, heart of mine, I pray thee let us go. Beneath my lady's window soft I crept; The music of far waters lulled the night; On high the queen moon walked in garments bright, And up the east lordly Orion swept. Beneath my lady's window watch I kept, 96 bonnets? And let the slow hours wing their silent flight, The while I envied e'en the moonbeams white That kissed my spotless lady while she slept. The rosy flush of morn was swiftly stealing Across the mountains as I turned away, And lo, I saw her by her casement kneeling. With palms together prest to greet the day; And matin-bells across the fields came pealing, And all the world in glittering sunlight lay. ni I hied me home and sang my songs once more; I took my dusty harp and tuned it well. And when I touched its strings, there came a spell Upon me such as song-birds feel that soar High toward the sun and all their heart outpour In sweet, melodious strains, which rise and swell, And to the world their rapturous joyance tell. So played I as I ne'er had played before. For though I had but seen her from afar, Yet did my heart know that she prayed for me. For mystic soul-communings oft there are. More faithful than mere human speech can be. And ere I saw her, from the pole a star Fell, like God's benediction, silently. 97 ^nntt$ IV The golden moments fly like yellow bees, Which come with honey from the daisied field, The golden moments all their sweetness yield, Their flowery sweetness, honeyed memories. Ah ! memories, too sweet for perfect peace. Unless I share them; yet my lips are sealed. Would not the charm be lost if I revealed That name, to me so full of harmonies? No hour, no moment, in the livelong day, But is weighed down with honeyed thoughts of thee. Imprinted on the night's page, dim and gray. Thy smiling face, thine eyes, thy form, I see. The music of the ocean far away. Without thy name in it, discord would be. I wonder if none wonder why I smile, As thinking of my love I walk the street. And see not, neither hear the folk I greet, But only see my one love all the while. 98 I traverse many a long and joyous mile Of fragrant groves, whose checkered branches meet; T/iey know, they tell me of my maiden sweet; My heart with songs of her the birds beguile. 'Twas only yesterday I saw my love, 'Twas only yestermorn I saw my own, Beside her open casement sitting lone. With eyes fixt on the mountain heights above. She saw me not, and I gazed from afar, As one who worships the pale evening star. VI The deepest, cruelest love is love unspoken, Which battles with itself — passion with passion; White fire with lurid fire — in such fierce fashion That love's self dies, and lo ! the heart is broken. And yet the steadfast spirit gives no token, Tho' red-rose cheeks may pale, tho' lips grow ashen; Like thin-faced monks who lash without compassion Their quivering limbs to punish sins unspoken. Keep silence, oh, my heart! be thou no traitor; Betray not thy wild struggles, thy wild yearning. Yea, let thy agony seethe as in a crater 99 Hidden by flowering vines far down is burning The lava seen but by the All-discerning. Great is thy love, fond heart — my will is greater. VII Maybe in God's own time, when time is past, Love incomplete shall be made full and round By perfect joining of lost parts, and crowned By the rich jewel of God's love at last. But why should we endeavor to forecast The problem of the future? Life is bound With adamantine chains. We hear no sound From those who vanish in death's awful vast. Were it not best, then, once, only once, to speak — To kiss; then part as if the past were not? Life has no deeper vengeance on men's hearts to wreak. Nay, silent suffering is a nobler lot. I will be strong because I am so weak; Though I should die for Love's sake — for Love's sake. VIII How the fresh raindrop on the grass-blade flashes ! Behold the sunbeams on the river dancing ! See the swift swallows thro' the deep sky glancing ! lOO Hark, how the fountain in the arbor flashes ! How Nature mocks us as we sit in ashes ! I thought she wept with me — now is she lancing Her bitter shafts of sunshine down, enhancing My griefs! O Nature, how thy joyance clashes! Yet why? The dimmest star-heart sympathizes With our distress; and mayhap through our sorrows Our poor love purer, higher, nobler rises. Love on in silence, then, O heart ! and grieve not, For after sad to-days come happier morrows. That love is lost believe not — oh, believe not! IX The sun sinks down behind the purple hills And delicate clouds in golden radiance glow; The splendor brightens o'er the sea below. And all the conscious world with beauty thrills. The sea is calm; the sighing south wind stills, The ripples on the beach scarce come and go, As slowly up the sands the waters flow And the full tide the crescent harbor fills. Alone I sit upon the rocks, alone And watch the light upon the headland far — It kindles like the silvery evening star. lOI The phantom ships sail on and fade away As night broods o'er the silence of the bay; And still I sit and think of thee, my own. PETRARCA DE SENECTUTE SUA: A PARA- PHRASE quas humilis ienero stylus oltm effudit in aevo perlegis hie lachrymas, et quod pharetratus acuta ille puer puero fecit mihi euspide volnus, omnia paulati?n consujnit longior aetas, vivendoque simul morimur, rapimurque manendo, ipse mihi coUatus enifji non ille videbor ; frons alia est, moresque alii, nova mentis imago, voxque aliud sonat : pectore nunc gelido calidos miseremur amantes iamque arsisse pudet. Veteres tranquilla tumultus mens horret, relegensque alium putat ista locutum. The tears which in my callow youth I shed Long since are dried; the wound made by the dart Of Love, the archer, on my boyish heart Is healed. The summer of my life is dead, And one by one its idle joys are fled. Like Death, our daily living bids us part From all we once held dear. O Time, thou art Our Fate, which drives us with relentless tread ! I02 The old self that we knew is now no more. The brow is wan; fond habits suffer change; The mind has other eyes; the voice is strange. Our cold hearts pity lovers passionate; We blush that once we burned. Old loves we hate; And former vows we deem another swore. THE RIVER THE river is a moody human thing; It laughs whenever the sky is sunny blue, While from the sky it takes a richer hue. Nothing it does all day but laugh and sing, And toss its diamonds like a wayward king. And if the day is dark and sad, then too The river mourns the hours of sadness through, And seems dissolved in tears of murmuring. It is a sympathetic, soulless soul — A creature touched by every passing breath, For future sunshine it has little faith — Remembers not the past. Now is its whole. Though it knows not, it rushes to its goal — Its goal the mighty ocean's living death. 103 PROPHECIES SWEET is the homage which the south winds show — Sweet is the piney incense which they bring To delicate, proud harebells, as they swing Their graceful heads, a-nodding to and fro. The organ tones o' the sombre pines is low — Low the prophetic hymn their branches sing. Is it a sound of the ocean murmuring? Does it reach the river in its ceaseless flow? Beneath the brooding banks the waters stay; Entranced, they listen to the oracle Which of the sea the sun-fleckt pines foretell — Singing the doom to which they haste away. Thus mortals, hurrying to Eternity, Catch sometimes a faint sound of its vast sea. HERE AND THERE T HE sunshine slants across wide fields of green, The wind drives bendino: billows o'er the grass Chased by the shadows of white clouds that pass Like kindly dragons down the blue serene. 104 g)onnets? Afar the dreamy mountains hedge the scene, Ethereal in their opaline transparent mass : Not with my naked eye nor with my glass Can I redeem the miles that lie between. If on yon cloudlike mountains I should stand, The land would lie as though upon my palm — The rivers — silver ribbons, the blue lakes calm Like mirrors echoing sunny gleams of skies; And far away my village, like a band Of little pearls, where this fair valley lies. 105 9!n ittore ^eriouss jEooD A RUSSIAN FANTASY O'ER the yellow crocus on the lawn Floats a light white butterfly. Breezes waft it ! See, 't is gone ! Dushka, little soul, when didst thou die? SUNSET FANCIES WHERE glows the sunset Like a fiery ocean Do you see the islands, The Hesperides? Green are their palm trees, Somnolent in motion, Musical in silence. Bending in the breeze. Many are the herds there On the meadows straying — Snowy-fleeced sheep, Wide-horned kine. Many are the red deer On the hillsides playing; See how they leap ! How their antlers shine ! 109 3In ^ott g)eriou0 £pooU See, in the tree-tops Splendid birds are flashing, Living gleams of color, Living tongues of flame ! See the lofty fountains Musically plashing — Diamonds are duller. Every drop's a gem ! Shaded by palm groves. Halls of alabaster Strangely carved with stories Of departed days. Sculptured by chisel Of no earthly master. Glow with golden glories. With precious stones ablaze. They are the mansions Of the old Immortals, Exiles from earth Long centuries ago. Amaranthine wreaths Crown their pearly portals; Never-dying mirth Is theirs, never thought of woe. IIO 3lln ^ott Serious? ^ooD There Ganymede, For the gods reclining On golden couches, Bears the jewelled bowl; There the ancient poets. In white raiment shining. With rhythmical touches Wake the harp's deep soul. There is Athene Standing by her altars, Grave and sublime. Watching o'er her fane. Faith in her godhead Never wanes or falters; She in good time Will be worshipped again. There is the Temple Of the good Apollo, Where light like wine Spouts in living jets. Round the vast rotunda Scarce the eye can follow To the heights divine Of starred minarets. Ill 3|n £0ott ^ttioxx^ ^oou Out in the ocean Of the sunset glowing Have you seen this vision — Those Islands of the Blest? Have you seen the temples, Seen the fountains flowing, And the hills Elysian In the purple west? Now darkness gathers; Night with sable pinions Forever shuts away That glimpse of Paradise. Jealously guarding Her infinite dominions. Keeping from day The secrets of the skies. THE PALACE OF PLEASURE WE have read in legends of old Of palaces built in a night; With walls of glittering gold. And roofs of crystalline light; With stores of treasures untold, Collected from deep and from height. 112 3In ^ore ^tmn& £pooD At sunset the site is a waste Of tangled, unfmctified ground, By fens and quagmires defaced, Where reptiles and serpents abound : — A paradise spoiled and debased; No rose sheds its fragrance around. At midnight assemble the powers : — The gnomes and the djinns from the earth. The fairies that lurk in the flowers, The Titans that forge works of worth. The weavers of magical bowers. To build the beautiful birth. In silent and cheerful array. In orderly cohort and line, ' The workers their master obey. By his will, without signal or sign, The wizard exhibits the way. As tho' by a wisdom divine. The briers and brambles are banned, The marsh is transformed to a lake, Tall trees on the avenues stand. Clear fountains in rivulets break. A new paradise blooms in the land Ere the birds in the morning awake. 113 3In £pore g^erious? ^ooD Foundations of marble are laid; Like visions arise the fair walls; Silken tapestries now are displayed; Long mirrors show jewel-set halls; The chambers, richly arrayed, Are thronged with obedient thralls. And thus when the magical car Brings home the prince and his bride, All things in readiness are To welcome their lord and their pride. And music swells, echoing far. And banners and pennants float wide. The Palace of Pleasure is done. In a night it is built. In the day It will vie with the light of the sun. In an hour it may vanish away. So joy like a cobweb is spun. The prince and his bride — where are they? ROCKY NOOK THROUGH his breezy bower of leaves Gleams the golden oriole, Pouring out his joyous soul As his hanging nest he weaves. 114 31n ^ore ^ttion& £pooD In the sunny fields the quail, Hiding deep mid nodding flowers, Whistles for the coming showers — Cheerful tho' his omens fail. O'er the meadow hovering, Near the winding brooklet's brink, Trills the lyric bobolink — Our Anakreon on the wing. See ! upon the topmost leaf Of the maple on the hill He is swinging, singing still. Like a soul that knows no grief. How the air with perfume swoons ! Humming dart the yellow bees From the flower-clad apple trees; All their lives are honeymoons. Insects chirp amid the grass. Swallows twitter as they fly Arrowlike across the sky, And the crows call as they pass. Thro' the night the whippoorwill Threatens from the linden tree, And the voices of the sea All the solemn silence fill. 115 3lln ^ore g^etiousf ^ooD Silvery music from the brook, Rapturous singing from the field. Golden moments dost thou yield, To thy lovers. Rocky Nook. FROM A BALCONY I SEE a patch of woodland, A hill which hovels crown, A wide brook overflowing With waters dull and brown. Then black lines of a railway With swift trains thundering by; Like comets manned by demons In headlong speed they fly. Below me is a courtyard. Unshaded by a tree; A mournful bush in the corner Is its only shrubbery. And there a withered leaflet Spins round in the fitful wind, Like a sad gray ghost imprisoned, No exit can it find. ii6 31n ^ore ^txion^ ^ooti The type of many a mortal, That wan leaf has no rest, And I think that a grave in the churchyard For you and me were best. AURORA BOREALIS IN the cold midwinter night. O'er the frosty northern sky Gather spectral armies bright. See them march and wheel and fight — Fight and fall and die ! So the mystic hosts of thought Thro' my soul at midnight gleam; Valiant battles then are fought, Doughty deeds are swiftly wrought. Is it all a dream ? TWO SUNSETS ONCE before I saw a sunset From this rocky hill, Saw the valley deep and misty, Saw the mountains blue and still. And the crimson clouds above them With the sunbeams thrill. 117 3In ^ore ^eriou0 £pooD But 'twas not so much the sunset Which ensouled the place, As it was the glow and glory Beaming from thy raptured face, Wistfully, unconscious of me, Gazing into space. Now once more I see the sunset (Years have had their flight), See the misty valley darkling. See the mountain's purple light, And the dusky-shadowed pinions Of the eagle. Night. But alone I see the glory ! Dearest, thou art far ! And the clouds grow black and heavy Shutting out the evening star. And my heart is sad and weary. Crushed by Fate's stern bar. Though I know that day returneth, And the night is gain. Yet I cannot lift the burden Of the present's grief and pain. Darkness closes in around me — Courage, trust, are vain. ii8 31n ^ore ^txiou$ spooD TO A BEAUTIFUL NUN FAIR Nun, that slowly wanderest Thro' byways of the town, Tell me the thoughts thou ponderest, Demure, with eyes cast down. The world around is beautiful; No joy to thee it brings, Because thy spirit dutiful Is set on heavenly things. The sunlight is not vanity, Nor pleasure sign of ill; Bright greetings of urbanity May tender heartstrings thrill. . But all these things are naught to thee; Such visions thou must shun. Another code is taught to thee, Thou solemn-vestured Nun. Thy talents, — make no use of them To win the world's applause; Such use were but abuse of them To hurt Religion's cause. 119 31n ^ott g)mous? ^ootj Thy voice, tho' rich and glorious, Must not in mirth take part; Thy hands must be laborious In charity, not art. Thy face would grace society, Thy hand be sought in love; But all thy realm is piety; Thy heart is fixt above. Yet calm and unregretfully Thou goest on thy way, As tho' desire were met, fully. In that one word "obey." No thought of earthly joy disturbs. For earthly love must cease; No trivial annoy disturbs The current of thy peace. Surrounded by thy purity As by an angel's arm. Thou passest in security Amid all sin and harm. Sweet bride of heaven, abidingly Thy thoughts all heavenward flow; And thus alone, confidingly, Thou walkest here below. I 20 The sombre garb thou wearest here, The rosary, the cross, — Symbol of what thou bearest here, — Make all things seem but dross. Above, the wedding raiment waits. The crown, the promised spouse; For all the loss the payment waits, The answer to thy vows. For this thou hast forsaken all Thy beauty might have won; For this alone hast taken all The sorrows of a Nun. Fair Nun, my heart acknowledges A pang to see thy face. I care not for theologies, I only care for grace. And yet I would not change thy lot To that of mortal bride. Let God alone arrange thy lot And in thy heart abide. 121 31n ^ore g>eriousf ^ooD PERVERTED A LITTLE, innocent, white-winged Cloud Flew out across the summer sea. And there was met by a surly crowd Of Fogs and Tempests. She tried to flee. "Now join us," cried a menacing form, "Or else thy beauty we destroy! " When back she came with the hosts of storm Destruction was her only joy. THE SHEPHERDS I SHEPHERDS, have ye heard the story? Shepherds, did ye see the light? All the sky was filled with glory; Hill and vale were bright. Shepherds, we our flocks were keeping On the upland pasture ground; All the world around was sleeping; There was not a sound ! 122 3In ^ore g>eriou0 ^pooD in As we stood alone and listened To the silence near and far, Suddenly before us glistened, In the East, a star. IV Brighter in its swift ascension Than the planet or the moon, Soon it claimed our rapt attention ; Night was turned to noon. In affright we drew together. All we shepherds on the hill, And our wonder questioned whether It should bode us ill. VI When it came and hung suspended. Blazing over Bethlehem : Every rock, with radiance splendid, Sparkled like a gem ! 123 31n £pore ^eriou0 £pooD VII When we found ourselves surrounded With a bright angelic throng, And above us, round us, sounded Loud a wondrous song. VIII Harps of gold and crowns undying, Robes of white and jewelled wings! On our faces we are lying While the seraph sings : IX " Peace on earth ! Good will to mortals ! Christ the Lord this day is born; He hath passed the heavenly portals, Glorious is this morn ! "Blessed tiding to all nations! God hath sent to ransom them. Go and find him ! Loud ovations Sinof in Bethlehem ! " 124 31n ^ott Serious? ^ooD XI Then the mighty angel chorus Clove the air with sweet acclaim; Swelled the hymn, resounding o'er us, Hailing Jesus' name ! XII Shepherds, we have straightway started. Leaving on the fields our sheep. To discover, joyful-hearted, Where the Babe doth sleep. XIII Seek with us the blessed Stranger ! Come adore the heavenly Child Lying in the humble manger. Pure and undefiled ! xrv Angels, wondering, hover o'er him; Costly gifts the Magi bring; And the rabbis bow before him, Mutely worshipping. 125 31n ^ore Serious; ^oou XV And his gentle virgin mother Holds him closely to her breast; On the earth there is no other Woman half so blest. XVI Shepherds, now you know the story Of this wondrous Christmas morn. Let us also share the glory Of the King new born. FALLEN PETALS o N the ground — on the dewy ground — Lie the apple blossoms strewn around. Yesterday — only yesterday — All the boughs with fragrant blooms were. gay. But a wind — a dark wind — arose, And they fell — drifting like the snows. So thy heart, with hope's petals strewn, Misses now the blossoms thou hast known. Never fear ! The fruit will load the tree. And Life's autumn bring some good to thee. 126 31n ^oxt g)mousf ^ooD OFF GLOUCESTER UPON the lifting curve of the sea The fishing fleet drifts dreamily, And the sky looks down with its tenderest smile; And the ocean, forgetting his craft awhile, Takes the ships on his heaving breast And brings them into the port of rest. GLOWING STARS TELL me, glowing stars on high. Do I perish when I die? Or shall I be ever I ? Will my spirit have re-birth And regain the things of worth When my dust returns to earth? Ye too perish, ye too fall : Flash a moment — then the pall : Is that typical of all? Boundless depths of glowing spheres, Changeless in the changing years. Seem to negative our fears. 127 31n ^ore g)criou0 ^ooD Yet your changeless is all change ! Fleeting, flying on, ye range Thro' the vortex vast and strange. Other creatures, other men, Cling upon you, live — and then Do they die and live again? DISCOURAGEMENT SAID the glowworm : " I, A creature of fire, Cannot touch my desire; However I yearn and try To meet and greet My winged sisters high In the sky — I can only burn and die ! " Said the firefly: "I, A creature of light, Cannot wing my flight Thro' the luring night To my calmer sisters high In the sky ! 128 3In ^ore Serious; ^pooD I can only fly Over field and flower For my little hour, And die like a sigh." Said my fervent soul : "I'm a creature of light and fire; But why — why should I aspire ? For ne'er may I rise higher Than the glowing coal On the funeral pyre, And Death is my goal ! " "AS YESTERDAY" A SWEET young mother fell asleep and died : She left her children to a stranger's care; Yet scarcely had she reached the other side When all her dear ones gathered round her there. A Spirit saw the wonder on her face : — "They lived on earth their rounded lives," it cried, "But Heaven knows naught of measured time or space : — A hundred years have vanished since you died ! " 129 3|n £pore Serious? ^ooD IN THE PARK THE dry leaves rustle on the ground With weird, mysterious, whispering sound. What is the secret that they tell? "We are hapless ghosts of leaves that fell From bliss remembered all too well, And now by winds of Fate are whirled Around a dead and frozen world." MAN'S TWO WINGS (Paraphrased from De Imitatione.') WHEN life seems dreary, And thou art weary Of earthly things — If then thou yearnest In holy earnest, For what peace brings, Thou mayst soar to heaven On pinions given To souls like thine: Simplicity And purity Will be for thee Those wings divine. 130 3In ^ore Serious: ^ooD IF WE WERE TO DIE TOGETHER IF we were to die together Should we wander hand in hand Thro' the dark mysterious gateway To the unseen land? Should we comfort one another In the strangeness of the way, Till our eyes beheld the brightness Of the dawning day? Were it so my heart would never Fail me at the thought of death. Never would a pang of doubting Haunt my parting breath. Life or death with thee to share it Gives no room for fear — I were blest in joy or sorrow — Whether there or here. THE BROKEN VOW THE youthful monk, Aloysius, Knelt alone in his gloomy cell, And scourged his quivering body As the shades of evening fell. (He heard the vesper bell.) 131 3In £pore g)erious? ^ooti A solemn vow he had taken To renounce all earthly love, And to keep his heart turned ever To the Christ on the cross above. (O Spirit send thy Dove !) But it chanced that athwart his pathway A beautiful woman came, And the one sweet glance that she gave him Had set his heart aflame. (The Tempter wrought the shame !) In spite of prayer and fasting, Of sackcloth and of rod. The vision of the maiden Rose 'twixt him and his God. (Thorny the path he trod !) He heard the solemn chanting Of monks in the chapel dim, But the secret voice within him Is louder than their hymn. (His eyes with hot tears swim.) Pater noster rang their voices; Salva me murmured his sighs : — "But to rest on the maiden's bosom Were worth all Paradise ! " (The inward voice replies.) 132 3(In ^ott ^tmu& ^oou When the monks next morn assembled, Aloysius was not there; His vow to God he had broken — He had fled from the House of Prayer. (O Love, it was thy snare !) THE HARMONY DIVINE OvTTOTe dvarOiv Thv Albs dpfiovlav dvdpQv irape^iacn ^ov\al. Never shall the plan of mortal man disturb the harmony of Zeus. — AISCHULOS : Prometheus Des7notes. HOWEVER wrangling men may war Or jangling discords jar and mar God's Symphony eternal, A law-engendered purpose runs Throughout a universe of suns, Each with its song supernal. The Harmony divine ! No plan Conceived by heart of mortal man Disturbs its progress splendid. For as the hurrying years revolve The most discordant notes dissolve In triumph never-ended. "^11 31n ^ott ^etiou0 £poou THE HEART multa 'in hoc mundo sunt et haec omnia cor humanum satiare non possunt. — Hugo de St. Victor. THE world is a kingdom of beautiful things; Yet possession of wealth only fosters the pride ! No lasting content it brings even to kings; By heaven alone is the heart satisfied. ON A PICTURE OF SUNSET IN THE ADI- RONDACKS ON mountain summits and on clouds is glowing The glory of the sunset; in the valley The waveless waters of the river dally, And shadows darker and more deep are growing. Hushed are the winds; the tall elms bending Above the glassy stream are motionless As if entranced at their own loveliness, With dreamy colors in the cool depths blending. There is no sound; the robins ceased their song As sunset slowly faded from the sky; Music and joyousness to day belong — 'T is fitting that in silence day should die. 3|n ^ott Serious; ^oou PEACE In la sua vohmtade e nostra pace. — Paradiso, III, 85. PEACE? Can we find it in this world of trial, Where battles fierce and every form of ill And pain and sorrow and hard self-denial Our checkered lives from birth to death must fill? Peace? Peace? How sweet the word and tender ! Its very sound should wrangling discords still ! And I might find it if I would surrender Myself and my will to His perfect will. AT MIDNIGHT BY THE SEA WE sat at midnight on the shore, The waves were breaking at our feet With solemn, low, continuous roar, — The red lights on the fishing fleet Rocked to and fro against the sky. We saw the mist-wreaths hurrying by, Like loving things compelled by Fate To seek some distant, unknown state; The moon shone on the waters far, And o'er the golden waste a bar 135 3|n spore ^tmn$ £pooD Of shadow of deep purple lay; The ofifing was a silvery gray, From which the black-backed islands rose Like ocean monsters in repose. Alas, alas ! no words can tell The sadness which upon us fell; No trick of rhyme can half express The tearful, melancholy mood Born of the boundless solitude. The marbled sky seemed pitiless; The sad waves breaking on the shore Were moaning for the nevermore — The awful unattainable — As down the rocks the slow tide fell. The mist-veil seemed to shut from sight Some deeper mystery of the night; The very light the white moon gave Made shadows deeper on shore and wave. I have seen times when inner sight Seemed opened on the infinite, As if the flower of God's great plan Were slowly blossoming for man, So that my soul began to see Some clew unto the mystery Of what it really means to be. 136 3|n ^ore ^ttion& ^ooD Not so that night. The darkness drew Like mist about my soul. I felt That there was nothing that I knew. My soul within me seemed to melt ! Thus by the shore we walked — we two, As slow the mystic hour crept on And the tide turned and the moon was gone. THE ABBA'S DREAM THE Abb^ Michael dreamed one night That heaven was opened to his sight, And first among the radiant throng Which filled the streets with praise and song He saw a man whose reckless might Had seamed his earthly life with wrong. The Abb^ saw not streets of gold, Or splendid mansions manifold, Or sea of glass, or jewels rare, Or pearly gates beyond compare, Or hosts of angels richly stoled; — He only saw this sinner there ! The hymns of triumph reached his ears, But brought no solace for his tears; ^37 31n £pore g>erious? ^oou Peace from his jealous soul had flown :■ "My life is spent for God alone," He cried; "and yet this man appears Among the nearest to the throne." But ere he woke he heard a voice, Which said unto his heart: "Rejoice! The diamond which is full of light Was once a coal as black as night ! Judge not the means which God employs To make the wrong bloom into right." THE DEATH OF AVRAHAM HURMAZD ! Almighty Lord ! A flying rumor said That Avraham was dead : — Drawn from the scabbard 's the sword; Loosed from the bow is the cord; The wine from the pitcher is poured; The casket loses its hoard. Thus, yet not thus, from man, When he has finished his span, Falls neglected, despised, The body he long has prized. 138 31n ^oxt ^ertou0 ^ooti It crumbles into dust: — Consumed is the scabbard by rust; The bow is broken for fire; The pitcher is lost in the mire; The casket is tost in the brier. Hurmazd I Almighty Lord ! The flying rumor said That Avraham was dead. Hearken the Mage's word! Solemnly spake the sage, Bent low by thought and by age : — I watched as Avraham 's soul Passed from his body's control. Asks an eager fool of the wise : — "What was its form as it fled And joined the hosts of the dead? " The master, unrufifled, replies : — " Form it had none. When you said, Days agone, 'Lo, here is our friend,' You thought not of mouth or of eyes, Of hair, of color, of size, — So now it was at the end, (The end of suffering, sinning, But death is new life beginning !) 139 31n ^ore ^txion^ £poot> "As the formless form of the soul Of Avraham drew near the goal To which thro' life he had aimed ('Zadeehah,' the Just^ was he named), A breeze with fragrance laden Breathed from the robes of a maiden Stately and gracious and fair, Who came to welcome him there. " She was the soul of his deeds, His charities, faithfulness, prayer, Self-sacrifice, meekness, and love: The growth of a thousand seeds, For all that is best in us breeds Greater perfection above. But the bad destroys as it feeds, Like canker or ruthless decay. " Then the maiden led him away. As a father is led by a daughter, Thro' pleasant asphodel meads. By fountains of life-giving water, To the grove of Hurmazd the Great. " ' Well done ! Thou hast won in the strife ! New joy now begins and new life, 140 3(ln ^ore g)mou0 ^pood My son ! ' was the welcoming word That the wondering Avraham heard As he bowed in the presence of Fate.' r PROPHETS (To THE Memory of John Greenleaf Whittier.) N every age have men been sent To be a nation's ornament, — To bring the Graces down to earth, To sing new songs of love and mirth, To make the pictured canvas glow, To bid full streams of music flow. To shape dead marble into life. To lead vast hosts from strife to strife. The annals of the world abound With lives which deathless fame has crowned. But while each age, each nation claims Its noble roll of splendid names, Once in a century appears The flaming torch of God-sent seers, As comets fling their threatening blaze Athwart the fixed stars* silvery rays. When tyrannies oppress a land. When crimes abound on every hand, 141 3ln £pore Serious? £pooo When righteous laws in the dust are trod, When men forget that God is God, — Then with his whip of scorpion stings, The prophet his stern message brings; To pride, so soon to be brought low. Foretells the coming of the woe; Awakes the conscience, lulled to sleep, With thunders snatched from Sinai's steep. To seers like these mere beauty seems Like forms and colors seen in dreams : Rich houses, bright and comely dress, The dainty fare of palaces. The vaunted triumphs of the arts. The traffic of the crowded marts, Are false enticements to be spurned, Are tinsel dross that must be burned. And so they come in camel's hair, With locusts for their homely fare; And in the market-place they stand And preach destruction to the land : "Repent! repent! " they loudly cry, "The judgment of the Lord is nigh!" The heedless mob refuse to hear, The triflers jest, the cruel jeer; And soon the hurtling stones are flung To still the inconvenient tongue. " My prophets, O Jerusalem, 142 31n ^ore ^ttions £poou Where are they? Ye have stoned them ! " But, tho' the prophet sinks in death, The Lord's word never perisheth. The fated doom leaps forth at last; And when its awful work is past, The prophet, who its course foretold, On whom the fathers' sins were rolled, Is by their children's children named As one in whom God's voice had flamed. A LEGEND OF ST. ANTHONY ST. ANTHONY had fasted much and prayed,— Had spent long years in desert lands alone, Afflicting his lean limbs with punishments For evil thoughts that came against his will; Forever watching for the slightest stain That might appear upon the shining gold Of his pure life, that at the latter day. When he must render it unto his Lord, He might receive his Lord's most grateful praise. And now he was grown old and sorely bent; His frame was feeble and his eyes were dim, His long hair and his beard were white as wool. And as he sat before his hermitage 143 31n ^ore ^ttions ^pooli At eventide, and saw the red sun sink Behind great masses of dark purple clouds, Down in a sea of sand, the glad thought came That soon his pilgrimage below would close. Soon would his sun go down in clouds of glory. He raised his eyes to heaven and spoke in prayer: "Lord, I have lived apart from sinful men; I have not soiled my life by intercourse With filthy pleasures which the bad world loves. To prayer and fasting have my days been given, My nights to penance for e'en thought of sin. Temptations have I struggled with, oh Lord, But never have I fallen, no, not once. When Satan came with all-alluring wiles I yielded not, nor have I ceased to fight His open warfare, till at last I stand Triumphant in my hard-earned victory. What more remaineth now for me to do? Am I not holy more than other men? Am I not ripe to garner into heaven? I pray thee let my long probation cease, Now, Lord, I pray thee, take thy servant home." When he had ceased, a gentle voice replied: " Nay, Anthony, in Alexandria, A cobbler, Paulus, lives, who has more cause 31n £pore Serious? ^ooD For boasting of his holiness than thou." He marvelled at these words and pondered long. The night he spent in scourging his poor flesh Until the blood flowed down his trembling limbs. And ere the sun rose from the ruddy east, St. Anthony had grasped his oaken staff, And wandering thro' the weary wastes of sand He sought the city, Alexandria. At length, when many days and nights were past, Before a lowly cottage door he stood, And gained admittance to the humble room Where dwelt the cobbler with his family. " I come to see a man who has more cause To boast of holiness than Anthony; Now show me thy good works, that I may judge. And if convinced, though old, may learn of thee." The cobbler, Paulus, answered in surprise : "Nay, I have done no good works that I know; I live contented in my poverty. My hands I strive to keep from idleness. I teach my children to be truly kind. And bring them up to love their father's God. I gather them about me when I pray. But as for ^good works,' nay, I have done none." 145 31n £pore g>eriousf £pooD Then Anthony was sore amazed, and prayed : " Oh Lord, expound to me this parable. How is this cobbler holier than I, Who have lived sinless all my ninety years, And uncontaminated by the world? " Then suddenly the scales fell from his eyes; He saw how he had lived in selfishness, How cowardly it was to leave the world And spend his long life on himself alone. And Paradise seemed far away from him Who late had prayed his Lord to take him home. His life seemed wasted, and he wept aloud. Then had the Lord compassion on the saint, And speedily He took him to his rest — His aged saint, who at the end of life Had learned the lesson of humility. AN AUTUMN FRUIT OUR good old dominie was fond of flowers. It was because his life was beautiful, I think, that nothing that had beauty failed To touch him and to make his soul respond. And so, because I could not do great things. Nor bear the heat and burden of the day 146 3|n ^ore Serious? ^ooD By working in the vineyard of the Lord, On peaceful Sabbath mornings, when the dew Still sparkled on the bending blades of grass, And made me think of jewelled scimetars, Wielded by fairies in Titania's court, I cut the sweetest blossoms I could find — Red roses, clambering up the trellised wall, And pinks from out my little garden plot. And bright-eyed pansies, gentians, violets. And sometimes modest wild flowers from the wood, Which, cool and shady, climbed the village hill. From springtime, when the wild arbutus came (Brave little beauty hiding 'neath the snows), Thro' the long summer till the violets died. And when the pine-o'ershadowed river banks Grew purple with proud harebells, and the fields Were thick with royal hosts of goldenrod — Each Sunday morn I brought my offering And laid it on the altar in the church. And when our dear old dominie would come — I see his white hair and his mild eyes yet — And linger for a moment just to catch The delicate breath of heliotrope or rose, I saw the peaceful look of thanks to God For sending such sweet things into the world, And had my own exceeding great reward. And one day, when a little child was brought 147 31n £0ott g)eriou0 ^oou For holy hands to consecrate to God, She leaned out from her mother's arms and took A single pearl-like lily from the vase — Herself a lily blooming into life; And then a tiny bird came with the breeze In thro' the window, and upon my flowers It lighted like a blessing sent from God. But now the birds have gone to warmer climes, And sing their matin songs on orange trees; The goldenrod has faded from the field, And from the boughs the chill wind shakes the leaves. O glorious fruit of autumn — red-ripe corn, And bending barley, heavy-headed wheat. And russet apples, chestnuts with the burrs Half opened by the fingers of the frost ! glorious days of autumn, when the sun Swims in a golden haze, and o'er the hills The grass is slowly changing ruddy brown ! 1 went among the fields and thro' the woods. And plucked a dozen ears of full-ripe corn; I filled a basket full of forest leaves, Glowing with all of sunset's richest hues. And red-leaved boughs of oak, with acorn cups And stalks of grasses with their yellow seeds. And ferns from hollows by the brooklet's side — And bound the wheat and' heavy heads of rye. And all the grains that bounteous autumn gives. 148 And so I made an offering for the Lord, And laid it on his altar in his church. And when the Sabbath came, my heart was full. How calm the river lay beneath the banks. With grazing cows and vine-clad cottages Reflected in the mirror of its tide ! No breeze stirred in the tree-tops; yet the leaves Came fluttering downward one by one. The boys Walked thro' them with the keen delight of youth In crisp, sharp sound, and longed to run and shout. How mournfully the bell was tolled that morn, As if it felt the prescience of some grief ! Oh, what a prayer went winging up to God, As if the good old man, like Moses, stood Upon a Pisgah height, and talked with him. And brought his people's sorrows and their joys And laid them calmly at their Father's feet! And then his sermon — ah, it seems to me As if I ne'er should hear his like again! It was his last. For ere the sun was set The Reaper with his sickle keen had come And garnered him as grain full ripe for God. 149 3(ln £pore ^eriou0 ^ooU THE HEROES OF CUTTYHUNK [The British brig Aquatic from Cuba, bound for Boston, went ashore on the Sow and Pigs Reef off Cuttyhunk about half-past four o'clock on the afternoon of Friday, Feb. 24, 1893. The United States Life-saving Crew deemed the exploit of rescue too dangerous to attempt in the hurricane that was blowing and the high sea that was running. But a volunteer crew of six men — Captain Timothy Akin, Jr., Frederick Akin, Isaiah H. Tilton, Joseph Tilton, WilUam Brightman, and Hiram Jackson — attempted to put out to the wreck in the Massachusetts Humane Society's life-boat. They had gone only a short distance when they were swamped, and five of the men were drowned. Their families were left in the direst poverty, and immediate steps were taken in Boston and other cities to relieve their necessities and provide for their future. Universal sympathy was aroused, and the fund quickly amounted to over fifteen thousand dollars.] " "ly /TEN ! there's a brig ashore on the reef: J_V J Come, bear a hand for their relief ! The Life-saving Crew have turned back, For the wind is fierce and the billows are black ! But we can get there, never fear ! Who of you men will volunteer?" Thus spoke a seaman, bronzed and brave, Ready and strong to do and save. Five fishermen shouted their "I," "and I ": — Who of them thought or feared to die ? 150 31n £por^ ^mottsi £pooU They followed their leader down to the shore To enrich the world with one gallant deed more. Parents' and children's and loving wives' Joy and sorrow, hung on those lives; But tho' love for mother or wife or child Might beckon them back from the tempest wild, Yet still with faces set and stern, To Humanity's task they gallantly turn. No time for farewells : no parting word Thro' the roar of the hurricane surf would be heard; In silence they launch the great life-boat : It glides down the shelving beach, is afloat ! With sturdy arms they stand to the oars Nor heed the cold billow that over them pours. They are off ! they are off ! thro' the threatening comb, Strong as Fate, white-crested with foam That hides them from sight, that blinds them, that strives To swallow up their puny lives ! Again they rise, they conquer; the skill Of man with the aid of his dormant will Master the frenzied seas which roar With baffled rage on the ice-bound shore. Again and again they rise, they sink In green-black hollows which seem to shrink Under the mass of the toppling wave That covers the yawning of the grave ! 151 3|n ^ott ^eriou0 $pooU And the wind adds his fury to ocean's might. Great God ! how it shrieks in its swooping flight ! Against such allies man's strength is vain: With their utmost force no inch they gain. Up, up they mount; the crested wall Of solid green once more may fall And still they live; see! see! they bend With strokes of iron; must they spend Their manhood's might and still not save Those nameless strangers from the grave? One false stroke is their doom; if caught By yonder toppling mountain, naught Beneath the pitiless sky can help Those hapless heroes flung like kelp Amid the weltering waste of brine That stretches beyond the horizon line ! There 's a glare of sunset in the west. But the howling tempest knows no rest, And now like a horrible harpy the wind With a sudden swoop comes from behind. With his grasp like steel the captain is true To instinctive swerve; the hardy crew Make one last effort : but they are lost ! — Like a feather the life-boat is lightly tost On the edge of that monstrous shuddering wave, Then swallowed up in its curling cave. 152 3|n ^ore S)eriou0 ^oou And still on the reef the wrecked brig hung, Still the freezing crew to the rigging clung While the doomed ship strained, while the timbers crackt Beneath each breaker's cataract, And every moment seemed their last; But when the terrible night was past Every man was safely landed From the rocky sty where they had stranded. For the sea had accepted the sacrifice : Five gallant lives were the costly price. Death is the portion of mortals all : Sooner or later it must befall, And whether it comes by sea or land Makes little odds as the world is planned. 'T is a moment's anguish and then release! An instant's warfare followed by peace! But alas for those who are suddenly left : Of father or husband or lover bereft, With poverty staring them in the face. With none to take the bread-winner's place. Ah ! but the world loves heroes ! Now Is the chance for the world its love to show! " Come to the rescue ! Pour your gold ! Prove that the world's heart is not cold! 153 Kin £pore Serious? ^ooD One of those men who went straight to heaven Left seven children — a motherless sev^n! Give of thy wealth that never need Of home or bread make their young hearts bleed ! Thus rang the appeal and the answer glowed And the saving tide of sympathy flowed ! Now once again we have seen defeat Crowned with victory lofty and sweet; And tho' that boat and crew were sunk 'Neath the waves that environed Cutty hunk, The wreck of that vessel raised on high A deed of worth that shall never die ! 154 x^^r, -7 -JJ -^^ \ <. .% X^^.. " 9 1 .0- C^ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process ■>- \ Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide ^ ^~^ Treatment Date: Feb. 2009 ^^^ "% PreservationTechnologies „ ■> ^ A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIO s '^ ^ // ' 111 Thomson Park Drive .,^^ .0' ^ %. .^V^' .V.J ^'^% >•?% ■^ ''■i'-' x'f' "%. '' ■0' V 'c^. * , H o ^ 'A .> s*"^ C » '^ '■ . ■."^SiP^ '-' ^-^<^'' ,^M!E: ^s^ .'«#.'= ^-.^^^ V' m^ "oo^- v^^ ^c^. ^% ' ^ --^^ ^ ^l'^^'^ ^ 0_\ rC. J, '/- * » I \ * v"" , ,j , ,