I mmi LEUVE THE immi i 
 
 ^^; COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. ri 
 
 I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. U 
 

 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY CHARLES A. FISHER 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 PRICE, $1.00 
 
 TO BE HAD OF 
 
 FRANK FISHER 
 509 NORTH 6ILMOR STREET, BALTIMORE. MARYLAND 
 
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 COPYRIGHT. 1903. BY 
 CHARLES A. FISHER 
 

 SOME IN EARNEST, SOME IN JEST; 
 
 CHOOSE WHICHEVER YOU LIKE BEST I 
 
 JUDGE IT ILL OR JUDGE IT WELL- 
 DO BUT BUY I 'TWAS MADE TO SELL. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 THE MINSTREL WITH THE SELFSAME SONG:— 
 
 The Minstrel 9 
 
 Innocence 11 
 
 June 12 
 
 Friendship 13 
 
 BHndness 14 
 
 The Book 15 
 
 Platonic Love 16 
 
 Love and Duty 17 
 
 The Kiss 18 
 
 Night 19 
 
 Day 20 
 
 Goodness 20 
 
 A Fairy Tale 21 
 
 Desire 23 
 
 Plea 24 
 
 Love's Abandon 24 
 
 Illusion 25 
 
 Farewell 25 
 
 Love Cannot Say 26 
 
 The Song 27 
 
 "Oh, Let Us Fly !" 27 
 
 A Dream 28 
 
 Compassion 29 
 
 Ode to Passion 30 
 
 The Picture 32 
 
 Afar 34 
 
CONTENTS— Continued. 
 
 Fame 36 
 
 Forget Me Not 36 
 
 Remembrance 37 
 
 Passion's Prayer 37 
 
 The Blooming Arbours by the Way 38 
 
 Banishment 39 
 
 Remorse 40 
 
 Heliotrope 40 
 
 Be Still, My Heart! 41 
 
 Regret 41 
 
 Panacea 42 
 
 Forgiveness 43 
 
 Epilogue 44 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:— 
 
 The Great Salt Lake 47 
 
 Reform 48 
 
 Pleasant Avenue 48 
 
 The Teacher's Lament ' 49 
 
 A Song of Attica 50 
 
 Hymn 52 
 
 Keats 53 
 
 Wedding Serenade 53 
 
 Alone, My Love, With Thee! 54 
 
 Serenade 55 
 
 Love's Coyness 56 
 
 With a Rose 56 
 
 Apology 57 
 
 Roses 58 
 
 The Swimmer 58 
 
 On to the Fray! 59 
 
 Minstrel Love 59 
 
 La Demievierge 61 
 
 THE PURE ITALIAN METHOD. (A Satire) 63 
 
CONTENTS— Continued. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS OF SONG TEXTS FROM THE 
 GERMAN:— 
 
 Maiennacht 69 
 
 Schoen Rohtraut 70 
 
 Der Tod und das Maedchen 71 
 
 Der Wanderer 71 
 
 Wanderschaft 72 
 
 Blut und Eisen 73 
 
 Ich wand're nicht 74 
 
 Ich hatte einst ein schoenes Vaterland 74 
 
 Lied 75 
 
 Ich liebe dich 75 
 
 The Asra 76 
 
 The Page 77 
 
 Ich grolle nicht 77 
 
 To Music 78 
 
 To Melancholy 78 
 
 Bitte 79 
 
 Wir sind des Herrn 79 
 
 THE MAID OF TULLN 81 
 
 ECHOES FROM THE ROCKIES:— 
 
 The Bishop's Vision 95 
 
 Scrambletown's Gift Organ 104 
 
 Diamond Rings 110 
 
 Old Gunnysack 114 
 
 Bachelor's Ten Commandments 115 
 
 H. A. Jones 116 
 
 Rocky Mountain Song 117 
 
 SALTWATER VERSE:— 
 
 Navy Song 121 
 
 My Chesapeake 122 
 
 The Wreck of the "Crest of the Wave" 123 
 
 Kedge's Straits 125 
 
 The Old Lighthouse Keeper 129 
 
CONTEXTS— Continued. 
 
 To Pilot a Star 131 
 
 Plea 134 
 
 Good Night! 135 
 
 Neptune's Tribute 135 
 
 Above and Below 136 
 
 Missing! 138 
 
 The Carrier Dove 140 
 
 The Clipper Ship 142 
 
 Helgoland 143 
 
 En Passant! 144 
 
 Use Borrell 145 
 
 A Scornful Song of the Sea 152 
 
 FOIBLES AND FANCIES: — 
 
 The Ballad of Betsy Patterson 157 
 
 Under the Willows 161 
 
 Emphatic 162 
 
 Devotional 162 
 
 Woman's Rights 164 
 
 Men and Birds 164 
 
 The Trusty Clerk 165 
 
 Independence 166 
 
 Two Themes from a Symphony 167 
 
 VERSES BY THE WAY: — 
 
 Truth 171 
 
 Comrades in Misery 171 
 
 The Sorrows of Eld 171 
 
 The Old Maid 172 
 
 Homesick 173 
 
 To the Tasmanians 174 
 
 Five Per Cent 174 
 
 Oh Mensch, bedenk das End! 176 
 
 Mercy 177 
 
 Suomis Sang 177 
 
 The Star-Dwellers 178 
 
 Without Song! 179 
 
THE MINSTREL 
 WITH THE SELFSAME SONG 
 
THE MINSTREL. 
 
 The day was young, and all the freshness of the dewy morning, 
 On early summer meadows sparkled in the sun's bright sheen, 
 
 When, as if risen from the earth, and without note of warning, 
 That strange, fantastic figure stood upon the village green. 
 
 Within his hand he held a pilgrim's staff, all gnarled and twisted. 
 His ruddy face a smile of gentle melancholy wore; 
 
 From 'neath a plumed courtier's cap, gray locks waved as they 
 listed. 
 With changeful breezes, — in his arm an ancient harp he bore. 
 
 Of noble mien and port, like princely forms that, on the pages 
 Of blurred and tattered parchments, in gray cloisters still 
 endure, — 
 Clad in forgotten garb that tokened long since vanished ages. 
 Such was this wandering minstrel wight — half monk, half 
 troubadour. 
 
 Grayhaired, yet keen of eye, in him youth and old age seemed 
 blended; 
 Like some quaint, dusty portrait stepping from an ancient frame, 
 He suddenly appeared and sang his song, and when he wended 
 His way from thence, no one knew whither, — nor from whence 
 he came. 
 
 On holy Sabbath days he sought some unfrequented village ; 
 
 Not for applause he sang, nor as one reckoning on reward, — 
 Where lowly folk found refuge from the week's bleatk toil and 
 tillage. 
 
 There did his harp resound in soft, sad, minor monochord. 
 
 9 
 
Of those who heard his song, some wept, some scoffed, while some 
 few, deeming 
 All Godless him who on the Lord's day earthly love extols, 
 Frowned darkly — did these pious wights — and charged him with 
 blaspheming, — 
 Churls trembling for their gold the week, the Sabbath for their 
 souls. 
 
 The minstrel gently smiled, as if nor tears nor frowns he minded, 
 Nor hearkened to the sighs, the threats, the murmurs of the 
 throng ; 
 
 His visage rapt, seemed unto human visage all but blinded, — 
 He saw not. — He but paused to tune his harp, and sang his song 
 
 And this his song, though varied, was as one that varies never, — 
 'Twas still the same, like twice a score of timbrels and one clang; 
 
 By some strange fate, this eerie bard seemed doomed to intone 
 forever 
 The selfsame song. And here who will may read the lay he sang 
 
 That summer day, to those who on the green in wonder hearkened, 
 Much marveling at the things that are and those that do but 
 seem ; — 
 
 But he, the unbidden bard, when on the fields the twilight darkened. 
 Took up his harp and vanished into shadow like a dream. 
 
 10 
 
INNOCENCE. 
 
 While youth is yet unseared, unsoiled, 
 And passion's venomed snare uncoiled, - 
 
 Life's skies all fair above us, — 
 'Tis so dehcious to be spoiled 
 
 By those who love us. 
 
 A warm affection, never cloying, 
 Awaits our coming and our going. 
 
 And eager welcomes greet us; 
 
 Upon the threshold, with loud joying, 
 The children meet us. 
 
 Ah, precious hearth where, pure as air, 
 The soul may soar, the heart from care 
 
 Be free ; where, night and morning. 
 Both thought and footstep flying fare 
 With ceaseless yearning! 
 
 Seek, youth, such dearly sacred haunt! — 
 
 With joy awaited, 
 Rebaptized at affection's font, 
 
 Thy comfort and thine every want 
 By love anticipated, 
 
 Thy path a fragrant homage strewing. 
 To higher aims thy spirit wooing; 
 
 Where lofty souls admire thee, — 
 In all thy thinking and thy doing 
 Nobly inspire thee. — 
 
 If in youth's vague, impetuous ways 
 This boon be thine, Oh, sing its praise! 
 
 And art thou of the gifted. 
 
 Oh, sing it through thy nights and days. 
 With voice uphfted! 
 
 11 
 
JUNE. 
 
 '' Come, let us go to Fairview Hill, 
 
 The children, he and you, 
 And gaze upon the drowsy town 
 
 And on the distant view. 
 
 '*The dusty streets are stifling hot 
 
 This summer afternoon. 
 On Fairview Hill soft breezes blow, — 
 
 It is the month of June. 
 
 ''The little ones may romp at will 
 
 Upon the green hillside. 
 While we lie on the grass, and dream 
 
 Into the eventide.". 
 
 Thus wouldst thou speak on summer days ; 
 
 And all thy heart was good , 
 And all thy soul with goodness glowed. 
 
 And loving motherhood. 
 
 And we three lounged together there 
 
 Upon the fragrant grass, 
 And watched, with his sleek flock of sheep, 
 
 The brooding shepherd pass ; 
 
 Beheld the fleecy clouds drift on 
 
 Across the far blue skies, 
 While, vainly, the dear little ones 
 
 Would chase the butterflies. 
 
 And he was lost in distant thought. 
 
 And you and I — who knows 
 What vague, unfashioned promptings then 
 
 Within our hearts arose; — 
 
 12 
 
What dreamy yearnings, like the still, 
 Warm breath of summer noon, 
 
 Deep down within our hearts were born, 
 Those gentle days of June! 
 
 Scarce did we dare the charm to break, 
 
 That lay on soul and sense. 
 He uttered, ever and anon. 
 
 Some thought of consequence ; 
 
 And then we pondered on his words, 
 While, joyous, frank and free, 
 
 The children stirred the echoes, as 
 They shouted in their glee. 
 
 And thou didst breathe a murmur sweet, 
 
 A prayer to the Unseen, 
 That all our days might be like this— 
 
 So peaceful, so serene! 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 There is a friendship, known to noble hearts 
 
 That worship in communion at the Muses' shrine; 
 
 Unlike the bond of those who but the parts 
 
 Of host and guest exchange, and drink each other's wine. 
 
 Free from caprice and no abatement knowing. 
 From envy ever free, and ever glowing 
 With ardour all divine. 
 
 Rare mortals, on unselfish mission bent! — 
 
 While man with man for sordid gain in compact plods, 
 Or seeks in friendship but emolument — 
 
 Your compact dies not when beneath the silent sods 
 
 13 
 
Ye lie; still through your works the spirit voices 
 A noble bond at which mankind rejoices, — 
 Ye are as demigods ! 
 
 Two towering rocks upon a stormbound shore, 
 
 United at the base, like things no more to part; — 
 Where thunders crash and where the tempests roar, 
 Where vain the breakers dash and vain the lightnings 
 dart — 
 Yet but a tender trifle — heark and wonder — 
 
 Could break such bonds, could cleave such souls asunder: 
 A woman's loving heart! 
 
 BLINDNESS. 
 
 He was my friend and loved me well, 
 
 And thou wert his by right. 
 Then whence was born that strange, sweet spell? 
 
 For though our proud hearts were not lowly. 
 Yet thine was pure, — thy thoughts were holy 
 In Heaven's sight. 
 
 He did not chide in wrathful scorn, 
 
 Yet must have seen full well 
 The love by which our hearts were torn. 
 
 Why did he smile so strangely, faintly, 
 While yet we deemed our love all saintly, — 
 Love, canst thou tell? 
 
 Or was he dumb for pity's sake, 
 
 Or could he smile at fate? 
 Or was it that he never spake, 
 
 While yet we loved so fondly, truly, 
 Because he feared to chide unduly 
 
 And could not hate? 
 
 14 
 
Or was it but a husband's pride 
 
 That grew from hour to hour? 
 Or did his soul, all mystified, 
 
 Resign itself to dumb indulgence 
 At sight of Love's undreamed effulgence 
 And Passion's power? 
 
 Or was he mute because he dreamed 
 
 Some high artistic fantasy, 
 Obhvious to Ijove's flame, that seemed 
 
 To grow more warm as Troth grew colder ;- 
 Sweet frenzy, waxing bold and bolder, — 
 Did he not see! 
 
 THE BOOK. 
 
 What book was that we read together 
 
 When we were all alone? — 
 Without was storm and wintry weather, 
 
 Upon the hearth the lurid embers shone, 
 Casting gaunt, fitful shadows on the walls. 
 
 What thrill, like tremor of a downy feather 
 
 That from some angel's wing swift from the heavens 
 falls, 
 
 Quivered beneath the limpid tone 
 
 Of thy sweet voice! Throughout the dimlit halls 
 
 The night was hushed, save when the wind made moan. 
 
 Dost thou remember, dear, — 
 
 What book was that we read alone, 
 When no one else was near? 
 
 15 
 
'Twas not some light, some dalliant version 
 
 Of lovelorn rhymer; not some dreamy, Persian, 
 
 Melodious lay of amorous delight. 
 
 Such as, in secret silence of the night, 
 
 The prudish trembling con and shyly hide 
 From prying glances in the fair noontide. 
 
 What was it moved our hearts unto the core? — 
 For thy great soul was far too purified 
 
 To be by aught but by the noblest stirred ; 
 
 The frivolous strain passed by thee all unheard, 
 
 And but the highest led thee to adore. 
 
 Why did thy firm, white hand let fall the book? 
 
 Why didst thou gaze on me with that far look,— 
 Ineffable? — Could there be lure in lore! 
 
 Our breathing ceased to stir the air. — 
 
 Was it some undefined, some mighty longing 
 That took us unaware, 
 
 Or but the simple cadence of sweet songing, 
 That bore us to the skies? — 
 
 Why was I spellbound by those eyes. 
 By that beloved raven hair 
 
 I could not else but gaze on; — how, — 
 Oh, say, how could I dare 
 
 To kiss thy brow! 
 
 PLATONIC LOVE. 
 
 Speak not to me of pure, Platonic love. 
 
 Ye, who by soaring fancies still deluded, 
 Dream that man's love can be of earth denuded ; 
 
 Pause ere ye prate of that ye wot not of. — 
 
 16 
 
If ye be two who deem that, high above 
 
 The vulgar passions of the common throng, 
 Your Hps may meet in love, your souls be strong 
 
 With holy sainthood of the Spotless Dove, — 
 Oh, then, fond hearts, too late to cry beware I 
 
 Far better ye had never made beginning; 
 In vain to shun the sorrow and the sinning. 
 
 When ye are swiftly borne, ye know not where.- 
 Ye can be nevermore what ye have been, 
 
 Nor can ye e'er repent you of the Sin. 
 
 LOVE AND DUTY. 
 
 If there were Love within thee, 
 And beside thee 
 
 The glowing flush of Beauty 
 That would win thee, ' 
 
 And faint the voice of Duty 
 From afar, to chide thee; — 
 
 Think, gentle youth. 
 What might betide thee, 
 
 Twixt Love and Truth I 
 
 What way thy spirit wended, 
 
 Naught to guide thee; 
 And still beside thee 
 
 A voice of anguish, blended 
 With joyful tears, like dew, 
 
 A palpitating bosom, close enfolded; — 
 Speak, youth, what wouldst thou do? 
 
 Where wouldst thou hide thee. 
 But with thy burning visage in that bosom moulded^ 
 
 To Beauty's charms add graces the most gracious — 
 
 All woman's noblest — to enthrall thee, 
 And when thy soul is soaring through the spacious, 
 
 17 
 
Unutterable altitudes of bliss, — 
 Thy senses all engulfed in agonies of Love — • 
 What if that far, faint Voice should call thee? 
 
 That Voice, from o'er the brink of the abyss, 
 
 Like to some fateful admonition from above, 
 Should sound, in accents growing loud and louder, 
 
 Its direful warning to appall thee, — 
 Wouldst thou renounce that fierce, ecstatic kiss. 
 
 Or would thy prideful love grow proud and prouder? 
 Speak, noble youth, what thinkst thou would befall thee 
 
 Upon those giddy heights? 
 
 Wouldst thou not fold her and enshroud her 
 With all thy ardent soul, — Oh, tell me this! 
 
 Would not all Love and Duty be confounded, 
 Though evermore that warning Voice resounded 
 
 Through all thy days and nights ! 
 
 THE KISS. 
 
 The twilight shades were gently falling, 
 And dark and darker grew the room 
 
 Where, side by side, we stood alone. 
 The evening bell kept calHng, calling; 
 
 With faint, oppressive monotone 
 It filled the crimson-curtained gloom. 
 
 Our lips were mute, nor dared to utter 
 
 The thoughts that in our bosoms seethed, 
 
 And we could feel — so close we stood — 
 The heart's fierce, palpitating flutter,— 
 
 Delicious agonies that would 
 
 Burst into flood, if we but breathed. 
 
 18 
 
What was it tore our clinging lips asunder, 
 
 When soul from soul that frenzied kiss had won! 
 
 What flung us on our knees in writhing shame, 
 While in the dusk the tinkling bell, like thunder, 
 
 Tolled through the heart's abysms that cry of blame : 
 ''My God, my God in Heaven, what have we done!" 
 
 Yet ere we parted, joy unbounded 
 
 Engulfed the throes of agony; 
 And each new kiss dispelled new fears, 
 
 The voice of Conscience all confounded, 
 When thou didst murmur through thy tears : 
 
 *' Now am I sure thou lovest me!" 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 The moon is low; the bloom of joy is on the night. — 
 
 To tread the dim recesses of some silent street. 
 Arm linked in arm, all heedless of the hour, how sweet! 
 
 'Tis dark and chill, yet in the heart what warmth and 
 light! 
 With slow, oblivious step to wander thus along; 
 
 What, though no moonlit prospect here of hill and dale, 
 No music of the lute, no song of nightingale, 
 
 While thus the heart is full of buoyancy and song! — 
 
 Hark! — Hear'st the solemn bell of the cathedral call? 
 
 Alas, did we come forth so late so soon to part! 
 Here in this mossgrown corner let our parting be ; — 
 
 Another kiss, — we are alone, — my sweet, sweet heart. — 
 
 ''Hush, love! What shadow creeps along the buttressed 
 wall?"— 
 'Tis but a sombre priest stalks t'ward the Sacristy. 
 
 19 
 
DAY. 
 
 Away with sadness! 
 
 Aye, let us laugh with joy, 
 For life is joyous, and we love; 
 
 The vials of Love's gladness 
 Have deluged us from Heaven above. 
 
 Allpotent Love, who called thee coy? — 
 What prayerful sage bemoaned thy badness? 
 
 Thou art a generous treasuretrove. 
 Found on a bleak and barren shore, 
 
 And all shall know thy sacred madness 
 And Sorrow be no more! 
 
 Most radiant of all things created, 
 
 Let all thy banners be unfurled ! 
 Not e'en the loveless shall be hated, 
 
 For thou art all Creation's mother. 
 By thy sweet will, all care and cark 
 
 Of humankind shall to the dark, 
 Profoundest depths of night be hurled, — 
 
 For when we twain embrace each other 
 We do embrace the World ! 
 
 GOODNESS. ! 
 
 "Oh, clasp my knees again, and pray ' | 
 
 That we may both be strong ; ,' 
 
 Oh, let me hear thy goodness say, 
 We two shall do no wrong. 
 
 i 
 
 '' Speak in thy rich, deep, gentle way < 
 
 And lay thy cheek upon my knee, i 
 
 And through thy broken sobs — nay, nay, 
 
 My dearest love, it must not be ! " ; 
 
 20 
 
A FAIRY TALE. 
 
 Three fishermaidens of the Rhine 
 Stood on the shore at break of day. 
 
 They gazed afar with wistful eyne 
 
 And sweetly sang : " Hear us, kind Fay! 
 
 " The sun is low and chill the morn, 
 Drive in the fishes, great and small ; 
 
 Oh, think on fisherfolk forlorn 
 
 And grant thy maids a bounteous haul ! " 
 
 Three blooming maidens; wondrous fair 
 Was one, like sunshine to the sight, 
 
 And one all draped in auburn hair, — 
 The third, like raven of the night. 
 
 They drew the net with eager hand 
 And when they opened it, behold! 
 
 A single fish lay on the strand, 
 As beautiful as molten gold. 
 
 " How odd ! I wonder how 'twould taste ! '*- 
 Thus spake she of the auburn hair. 
 
 " For shame, for shame ! " cried out in haste 
 The fishermaiden flaxen fair; 
 
 ''To think of boiling such a fish! 
 
 Quick — bear it home, — and there we will 
 Put it into the big glass dish 
 
 And set it on the windowsill." 
 
 And while they wrangled what to do, 
 The blackhaired maiden softly sighed, 
 
 Picked up the fish and gently threw 
 It back into the rushing tide. 
 
 21 
 
From where it sank there rose aloft 
 The Fairy on their startled sight. 
 
 She smiled, and spake in accents soft 
 Unto the maidens, thus : ''I might 
 
 *' To two of you unkindness show 
 Who would have been unkind to me ; 
 
 But let that pass, — yet you must know, 
 The darkhaired shall most favored be. 
 
 '' Choose now, you two, — what is your wish? 
 
 Supreme delight of Love, or ease 
 And peace. Thus speaks the fairy fish 
 
 Forgiving you, — choose as you please." 
 
 "Oh grant me comfort, peace and ease," 
 The blond replied. "And as for me," 
 
 Sighed Auburnhair, " Oh, what are these 
 Without Love's highest ecstasy! 
 
 Let me but know Love's keen delights! " — 
 "Why stands my ravenhaired so coy, — 
 
 Wouldst ken of Love the depths and heights? " 
 "Fain would I drain the cup of Joy, 
 
 " Would know the uttermost of bliss, — 
 Untrammeled freedom of the heart ; 
 
 Yet would I choose beside all this 
 To play the honored matron's part." 
 
 "Proud child, what dost thou ask of me? — 
 Thou wouldst, and yet thou wouldest not! 
 
 Such powers not to the fairies be. 
 Nor to the gods themselves I wot. 
 
 "Weep not, but treasure up thy tears, 
 My darkhaired maiden of the Rhine ; 
 
 For in the tide of coming years 
 A precious sorrow shall be thine ! '' 
 
 22 
 
DESIRE. 
 
 Why do thy moist and soulful eyes 
 
 Entrance with fond desire 
 My spirit sore, and tantalize 
 
 My tortured heart that would be free ! 
 Spellbound, I seek their dazzHng glow, 
 
 And dare within that liquid fire 
 To read Love's answer — yet I know 
 
 It must not be, it must not be. 
 
 Thy soft warm cheek of roseate hue. 
 
 Ah, would I might caress! 
 Thy blooming mouth — so sadly sweet — 
 
 Quivering with all Love's tenderness; 
 How would my burning kisses meet 
 
 Those parted lips that, with the dew 
 Of passionate breathing wet. 
 
 Blush with enticing witchery 
 And beckon me ! And yet — and yet, 
 
 It must not be, it must not be! 
 
 Again, again I turn my gaze, 
 
 And long upon the heaving billow 
 Of thy white breast my head to pillow,— 
 
 My soul adrift in dreamy maze 
 On that soft, creamy crested sea 
 
 Of loveliness. 
 
 Ah, hear me tell 
 My secret hopes, in whispers fond. 
 
 Of longed for joys that he beyond! 
 Cease, cease ! I feel — Ah, feel too well,- 
 It must not be, it must not be ! 
 
 23 
 
PLEA. ; 
 
 And still the lovely roses bloom 
 
 Upon thy cheek, and still they doom | 
 
 My soul to worship — still consume ] 
 
 My heart in anguish, sad and sable, 
 
 For fond hopes flown when doubt returns. ; 
 
 Still, still my heart with longing yearns, j 
 
 Still all my very lifeblood burns | 
 
 In love irrevocable. \ 
 
 Come, — lay thy soft warm cheek on mine, | 
 
 Thy lips unto my lips incline; — ! 
 
 Oh, come and let thy moist eye shine 
 
 Once more in joy unutterable! 'i 
 
 LOVE'S ABANDON. 
 
 ''Oh, look not on me with those pleading eyes — 
 Those eyes that haunt me in my very dreams. 
 
 When silent longing in their gazing gleams. 
 It stifles all the stern, repentant cries 
 
 That nightly unto Heaven my soul confess. 
 
 Lovebounden unto one, and ah, so loath 
 
 To break my duty and my sacred oath, — 
 Sweet friend, — help thou me in my helplessness! 
 
 Oft was I chidden for mine icy pride. — 
 Ah, heart of ice, all melted now and spilt, 
 
 Beneath thy gaze, upon the boundless sea 
 
 Of our great love ! Tis thine, beloved, to guide 
 
 That surging flood; — do with me as thou wilt. — 
 I cannot bear the thought of losing thee ! " 
 
 24 
 
ILLUSION. 
 
 "Sometimes at night I see two faces, — 
 
 Beloved, tell me, what is this? 
 Two kisses in one burning kiss, — 
 
 One Hving form, yet two embraces; 
 And through my quivering heart there chases 
 
 The tremor of a twofold bliss. 
 
 ''Oh, torture of this love in sorrow, — 
 The bliss of Heaven, the pangs of Hell ! 
 
 New terrors e'en from joy to borrow, — 
 In nightly anguish doomed to dwell ! — 
 
 But when you greet me on the morrow, 
 Then, dear my friend, then all is well!" 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 How often have I said farewell 
 
 And vowed I would return no more ; 
 
 Yet came anon and found — Ah well, — 
 And found thee waiting at the door? 
 
 Though to repent us, both be fain, 
 And both dissimulation loathe; 
 
 I tell thee, love, it is in vain. 
 
 For we are helpless — helpless both ! 
 
 No pardon where is no regret ; — 
 The sin is, Ah, so wondrous sweet! — 
 
 Farewell for aye, my love — and yet 
 Tomorrow finds me at thy feet. 
 
 25 
 
LOVE CANNOT SAY 
 
 Within the crimson-cushioned pew ] 
 
 We sat on still Good Friday morn; — I 
 
 A thousand hearts bewept anew | 
 
 The sufferings by the Saviour borne, — i 
 
 But not the heart of me and you, — i 
 
 Love cannot mourn. j 
 
 And oft within that sacred place ' 
 
 The organ, echoing far and near, ! 
 
 Brought God with mortals face to face; . 
 Thine eye would drop a rapturous tear, 
 
 Yet heard we not that song of Grace, — 
 
 Love cannot hear. j 
 
 I 
 
 We two sat at the play together; — j 
 
 Why in thy heart this anxious fear ! 
 
 Without was storm and wintry weather, — ] 
 
 Dost thou recall the Book, my dear? 
 
 A guilty spouse to tragic death ' 
 Was doomed. Ah, love, what makes thee 
 
 tremble? ^ 
 
 'Tis but a play, — why hold thy breath? — j 
 
 These be but actors who dissemble; I 
 
 Let them be killed, and let them kill ! \ 
 
 What love were that we could portray, j 
 
 If we but dared I For Love can sway j 
 
 With gentler voice and simpler skill 
 
 Than all this ranting in a play. i 
 
 Love can do all things, dear, but pray — . 
 
 For what is good or what is ill, : 
 
 Love cannot say! ' 
 
 26 
 
THE SONG. 
 
 They sing of Guinevere and Launcelot, 
 They tell of Tristan and of fair Isolde; 
 
 Of queens and lovelorn knights, I know not what, — 
 Songs ever new, like tales before untold. 
 
 The lovers and their bards — Ah, well away! — 
 Were laid long since beneath the silent mold; 
 
 And yet these tales seem as of yesterday. 
 
 What cares the world, — one love the less, the more! 
 
 He who has suffered cannot choose but sing — 
 To-day as yesterday, forevermore. 
 
 Like some strange warbler on perennial wing. 
 Though heart of Love be crushed into the dust, — 
 
 That ancient lay must chaunt from shore to shore, 
 Must sing the selfsame song, because he must. 
 
 '^OH, LET US FLY!" 
 
 ''Oh, let us fly; 
 
 Far, far across the trackless sea 
 To some strange country, you and I ! — 
 
 I cannot live this living lie, 
 
 I cannot bear to part with thee ! 
 
 "Oh, let us dare 
 
 To face the world and banish ruth, — 
 To love as do the birds of air 
 
 And hve, no longer doomed to bear 
 
 This hideous torment of untruth ! 
 
 ''Oh, fly with me! 
 
 I have no more to lose, to give ; 
 All that was mine I gave to thee. — 
 
 Once from this dastard shame set free, 
 
 Oh, then to love — Oh, then to live! 
 
 27 
 
"Ah, do not fear, ; 
 
 For that mine eyes with tears are wet, j 
 
 Remorse shall ever creep anear. i 
 
 Let worst betide, ne'er shalt thou hear j 
 
 The stifled murmur of regret. I 
 
 «' Oh, let us fly! j 
 
 E 'en to some bleak and desert strand, — ;, 
 
 What waste is bleak when Love is nigh? — 
 But that, with free, uplifted eye, 
 
 We two may wander, hand in hand. ; 
 
 * * What need of vow — 
 
 Of plighted oath our troth to keep ! j 
 
 What oath could plight us closer now? " — ! 
 
 Hush, — hark, beloved, — hearest thou | 
 The children moaning in their sleep! 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 Last night, my love, I had a wondrous dream — : 
 
 We two met at the gates of Paradise 
 And stood where countless hosts throughout the skies, 
 
 In endless circles round the Throne Supreme, 
 Assembled on the awful Day of Doom. 
 
 ''We thank thee. Father, for the gift of Love — 
 Whence came it if it came not from above? 
 
 Its anguish we have known, its joyous bloom. 
 And all its sin." — 
 
 The multitude gave ear. 
 And hushed, in silence hearkened to our story. 
 
 Then hand in hand we knelt, but not in fear. 
 
 "One boon we crave, Thou Everlasting One, — 
 Oh, banish us forever from Thy Glory, 
 
 So thou do part us not; — Thy Will be done!" 
 
 28 
 
COMPASSION. 
 
 ''Once did I scorn the erring 
 
 With righteous scorn. 
 Should some forlorn, 
 
 Some sinful sister, faring 
 Adown the bitter path of shame. 
 
 Have sought me in those austere days 
 And knelt for pity at my gate, 
 
 She had found naught but blame. 
 No gleam of mercy had she met, 
 
 No soothing hand, outstretched to raise 
 Remorseful misery from the dust, — 
 No voice compassionate. 
 
 "Ah, my beloved, God is just! — 
 
 Oh, whither art thou flown, 
 Thou marble pride of earlier years ! 
 
 To pity now that heart of stone 
 Is melted in contrition's tears, 
 
 That haughty spirit gentler grown. 
 
 * * Faint heart, all crushed beneath the stress 
 
 Of Love's strong weakness, canst thou find 
 No comfort from above? — 
 
 Wouldst thou know woman's tenderness, 
 Shun thy proud sisters, chastely blind 
 
 To passion's ruth! 
 Seek those who know of Love 
 
 The sweetly bitter truth, 
 And unto these confess 
 
 Thine anguish. — They will bind 
 Thy wounds; — guil t makes us wondrous kind. " 
 
 29 
 
ODE TO PASSION. 
 
 Hear us, Oh Passion, thou whom we adore, — 
 
 To thee, to thee alone is all our song! 
 We are of those thy potent wing hath borne 
 
 Unto the empyrean pinnacles of Joy; 
 But from that brief and brilliant ecstasy 
 
 To be cast down to darkness and to dust; — 
 And yet we worship thee. 
 
 From whence art thou? — 
 
 Art thou from God? How, then, canst thou unclasp 
 Hands clenched in prayer, uplifted to the skies, — 
 
 Within God's very temple turn the sobs 
 Of penitence from out their Heavenward course, 
 
 Unto the footsteps of thy lurid throne! 
 Thou canst not be of Satan's handiwork. 
 
 For Hell itself could borrow from thy flames, 
 And would, but that thy tortures are so sweet. 
 
 Sects come and go, religions pass away. 
 
 And priests still curse thee by their various gods; 
 Age after age would govern thee with things 
 
 That men call Laws, — would bind with frigid oaths 
 Thy wild, despotic turbulence. And thou! — 
 
 Thou smil'st, but by such vain devices veiled 
 From mortal ken, upon thine eminence, 
 
 Whence, as from ambush, thou dost rule mankind. 
 
 Youth is thy sport, yet heads all gray with eld 
 
 Bow down to thee. Some die not having seen — 
 Not all can bear to gaze upon the Sun — 
 
 These let'st thou pass unscathed, nor dost thou deign 
 Unfold the fullness of thy glowing might 
 
 To all the many myriads that do grope, 
 Twixt joy and sorrow, to a common grave; 
 
 To some thou art but as the mellow glow 
 
 30 
 
Shed by the moon upon a summer night, — 
 
 These do give thanks to God for what thou gav'st, 
 And long not for the joys of Paradise. 
 
 But he whom thou hast chosen for thine own, 
 
 To whom thou hast displayed thy majesty 
 In all its awful glory and despair, — 
 
 He who hath stood upon thy dizzy peaks 
 And kissed thy dazzling hand, e'en as it hurled 
 
 His prideful heart from those exquisite heights 
 Down to confusion and to utter gloom; — 
 
 He who hath worshiped thus can kneel no more. 
 To him nor throne, nor altar, like to thine, 
 
 For what is in the Heavens above and all 
 That lurks down in Damnation's deepest depths, 
 
 That hath he known; — henceforth his song is thine! 
 
 He cannot fly thee whom thou dost exalt , 
 
 Nor would he if he could. He can but sing 
 Thy praise, though he unto the senseless void 
 
 Were doomed to sing. 
 
 Thou art Immensity, 
 And all that was, and is, and is to be! 
 
 The ages fade away, and still are born 
 Anew; but thou art ancient as the Air. 
 
 Meseems when Chaos was thou must have been, 
 And from impenetrable night arose 
 
 That hymn of homage. Passion, unto thee , 
 That song of songs than which none other is — 
 
 The song that, echoing through the rolling spheres, 
 Shall still re-echo in the dome of Time, 
 
 Till all things fall to naught and Earth, all spent. 
 In cold, illimitable Space shall swing 
 
 Among the fragments of the Universe. 
 
 31 
 
THE PICTURE. 
 
 What greater sin than wish another dead 
 
 Whom we have wronged, yet cannot help but love! 
 
 No secret ever was between us twain, 
 
 Save that dark shadow on the hearts of both 
 That neither dared to lift. There was a time 
 
 We worked in cheerful emulation side by side 
 And sang and painted through the speeding day. 
 
 Whate'er conception thy high spirit wrought, 
 Still was I joyful sharer in the thrill 
 
 Of birth, — the artist's noble recompense; 
 And when the day began to wane, she came — 
 
 A gracious inspiration and repose. 
 Then did we linger in the twilight hour, 
 
 My noble friend, to hear thee sing my songs. 
 
 But now there is a painting ihou wouldst hide 
 
 From us, and thou hast grown so pale and wan, — 
 
 Dost work alone from early dawn till dark. 
 These many months. So little do we heed 
 
 Thy coming and thy going now, that all 
 
 This anxious caution thou mightst well have spared; — 
 
 How long since we have asked thee what thou dost! — 
 
 Ah, Love is selfish and considers naught. 
 Wrapped up within the all-engrossing ban 
 
 Of its own ecstasy, and to the world 
 
 And its great deeds in sweet oblivion lost! 
 
 Rude was the wakening from our ardent trance 
 When, on that doleful day, we found thee prone 
 
 Before thy mighty canvas stretched, as one 
 
 Whose hand shall hold the palette nevermore. 
 
 Nor was there need thou grasp thy brush again, 
 
 Forsooth, for, what thy cunning hand had wrought 
 
 32 
 
Unto completion in those lonely hours, 
 
 Was of a mastery thou couldst reach no more 
 In all thy days; the picture, that must needs 
 
 Bequeath thy name down through the lands and years 
 To all who love the beautiful and great, 
 
 And bring wealth's independence to thy door. 
 Who knows it not or has not heard the theme: — 
 
 ''Francesca Rimini!" 
 
 Observe them well ! 
 The farfamed lovers in this tragedy. 
 
 Their features in ethereal beauty limned, 
 That, hke a blessed halo, crowms the dross 
 
 Of grievous wrong wrought by voluptuous flesh. 
 
 Great wast thou in thine injury, my friend, — 
 Far greater in the magic of thine Art! 
 
 As thine unconscious models have we sat. 
 And thou, — thou hast immortalized us both! 
 
 Thy pencil thou hast dipped into our hearts. 
 Yet with soft pity swathed the dole of Sin; — 
 
 As noble as thyself is thy revenge! 
 
 We spake no word, but bore thee to thy couch. 
 And through the weary days and dismal nights 
 
 Nursed thy faint spirit back to light and life. 
 
 Scant service this! What less could we have done 
 
 For some forsaken wretch, o'ercome with toil. 
 Whom Fate had cast, exhausted, at the gate? 
 
 Oh, hadst thou been less gentle all these years ! 
 
 Oft in repentant moments have I wished 
 The gods had moulded thee of lesser clay. 
 
 Why hast thou not confronted me long since, 
 In all the justness of a mortal's wrath? 
 
 Into thy clenched fist fain had I thrust 
 The cold, avenging steel, that should have sent 
 
 My guilty soul down to deserved doom. — 
 
 33 
 
What hideous fancies come to haunt the brain 
 
 In silent night! — 
 
 The fever now is past, 
 And balmy midnight breezes gently waft 
 
 Sweet odours from the garden o'er the couch, 
 Whereon his wandering spirit long has tossed, 
 
 Now in deep convalescent slumber wrapped. 
 We stand beside him and our glances meet; — 
 
 Oh, fierce, despairing gleam of loving eyes! 
 Have weary vigils hellish promptings strewn 
 
 Within the brain, to drive us mad indeed? 
 Are ancient chronicles come true again, 
 
 That thus some demon of the nether world 
 Can by unholy magic warp the soul 
 
 Of sinful man, until his sense discern 
 The speech of monstrous beast and ominous bird! 
 
 Hark to the burden of the raven's croak. 
 That hoarsely through the casement floats, from out 
 
 The dank, remorseless gloom of murky night — : 
 " Would, he would wake no more — would wake no more! " 
 
 AFAR. 
 
 'Tis done, and we shall meet no more; 
 
 And there has been no last farewell — 
 No agony of parting kiss, 
 
 Of Love's despair no parting knell. 
 
 Still dreams the town within the grey, 
 
 Dank haze where night and morning meet. 
 
 The Autumn chill is on the air ; — 
 I wander down the silent street. 
 
 The meads are fresh with newmown hay, — 
 I wander through the dewy dawn ; 
 
 The harvest scent is on the fields, — 
 I wander on — I wander on. 
 
 34 
 
 i 
 ] 
 
The birds are piping gleeful songs 
 
 And there is music in the rill, 
 The plodding toilers fare afield; — 
 
 T wander on across the hill. 
 
 The hill of sweet familiar paths, 
 Where erst we loitered to and fro. 
 
 In those fair days of innocence. 
 So far away — so long ago. 
 
 The sun has broken through the mist, — 
 All nature murmurs joyously; 
 
 Oh, God, is it thy will man should, 
 
 Of all that breathes, most wretched be? 
 
 When in Thine Image mortal man 
 Was fashioned by Thy high decree. 
 
 Didst Thou foredoom him to despair — 
 Didst Thou ordain man's misery? 
 
 When Thou didst plant Love in his heart. 
 Didst Thou the seeds of Evil strew, — 
 
 Or pleased Thee but to have him sin 
 So that he might for pardon sue? 
 
 If I offend Thee with my cry, 
 
 Send down Thy lightnings from above. - 
 Flash fell destruction on my head ; — 
 
 What is this life without this Love ! 
 
 To suffer man to scale the heights 
 Of bUss, then steep his soul, all shent, 
 
 In lasting guilt — That canst Thou do. 
 Great God, — and Thou Omnipotent! 
 
 35 
 
FAME. 
 
 Love, thou wouldst see me great for thou art proud of me, — 
 And yet ambition is but as the things of air; 
 
 Less boots the praise the many sing aloud of me 
 
 Than silent censure some few chosen hearts may bear. 
 
 Far better thou prepare at once the shroud of me 
 
 Than that my soul should cringe to do the deeds men 
 dare 
 
 For sake of that vain eminence the world calls Fame. 
 
 Is not to say, ^'I will not!" greater than "I will?" 
 
 Wouldst have me climb ignoble paths to power until, 
 
 Mayhap, the fickle throng shall shout thy lover's name, 
 While better names abide in proud obscurity? — 
 
 Nay, let me wander still and sing from door to door, 
 
 Of that great love of ours, till I can sing no more; — 
 Say, dearest heart, is not this fame enough for thee! 
 
 FORGET ME NOT. 
 
 Three little flowers of simple form ! 
 What can they be? 
 She gave them me 
 One evening as we parted, 
 
 With a slight pressure, soft and warm, 
 Of her dear hand, and tenderhearted 
 
 Glance of moist eyes that dimly spake : 
 
 '' It is a trifle I would have you take, 
 And keep with you." — I kissed her brow, 
 
 I said — I know not what. — 
 But as I gaze upon them now 
 
 The flowerets speak: ''Forget me not!" 
 
REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 Weep, weep the bitter tear 
 
 For the joy of the days that are gone, 
 Weep, till the eye is dull and blear 
 
 And the visage is pale and wan ! 
 
 Wail, wail for the ancient woe 
 
 That shall ever rise again, 
 The Sin and the Sorrow of long ago,— 
 
 The passion, the bliss, and the pain ! 
 
 Weep and wail for ever and aye 
 
 O'er the hopes and the joys that have fled; 
 For my only joy is to weep and sigh 
 
 Where the shades of memory tread ! 
 
 PASSION'S PRAYER. 
 
 Blow, blow 
 
 The drifting snow, 
 Thou rugged wintry gale! 
 
 Lift my soul with a keen delight, 
 Bear me along in thy dizzy flight, 
 
 Midst the sleet and the hail ! 
 
 Come, with compassion 
 Congeal my passion — 
 
 Gather me up in thy icy arms— 
 Away, o'er the plains and the howHng sea, 
 Bear me, and bury my agony 
 
 In the Lethe of Winter's storms! 
 
 37 
 
Delicious dumbness 
 
 Shall, with cold numbness, ' 
 
 Memory in sweet oblivion steep ; I 
 
 And, borne afar on the northern blast, \ 
 
 My love and my grief shall find at last j 
 
 The joy of a painless sleep. 1 
 
 I 
 THE BLOOMING ARBOURS BY THE WAY. j 
 
 There are some niches on the road of Life | 
 
 Whence one may view the strange procession as it 
 
 passes, — J 
 
 Gaze with contempt upon the bitter strife \ 
 
 And sip his wine, and dally with the lasses. i 
 
 Fair blooming arbours all along the way, , 
 
 Affording solace unto whomsoever chooses; j 
 
 The brimming beaker, beckoning us to stay, 
 
 Its roseate refuge unto none refuses. ' 
 
 Drink! And thou seest, as figments of a dream. 
 The frantic throng to gilded baubles e'er aspiring. 
 
 Confounding things that are with those that seem — 
 Still hastening from enjoyment to desiring. 
 
 Drink! Thou shalt see, as one who stands aloof — \ 
 
 For in good wine there lurks such subtle necromancy — | 
 
 Men's eager toiling, Fate's own web and woof, 1 
 
 Are but vain trifles to thy ruddy fancy. i 
 
 i 
 
 Thou glidest like a god through verdant vales. 
 
 Where languorous, swimming eyes invite thee debon- ] 
 
 airly; 
 Thou hear 'st the rapturous song of nightingales, 
 
 Mid groves of asphodel discoursing rarely. • 
 
 38 ; 
 
Oh, seek them, ere with dismal Sabbath chimes 
 
 And sombre dirges, idle mourners gather, thronging 
 
 Around thy palUd corpse! Seek them betimes, 
 These joyful bowers, so full of blissful songing ! 
 
 Resolve, thy sad heart shall no more repine, 
 Shall in I.ethean ecstacy ingulf its sorrow; 
 
 Aye, crush the luscious fruit and quaff the wine, — 
 But reck not of the wakening on the morrow! 
 
 BANISHMENT. 
 
 If I but knew that thou wert dead. 
 
 Thy charms all in the tomb enshrined- 
 
 No more with ceaseless longing fed. 
 My heart could be to Fate resigned. 
 
 If I could think of thee as flown 
 Where the eternal requiems roll, 
 
 Then might I claim thee for mine own — 
 A chastened idol of the soul. 
 
 But thus to muse on thee afar, 
 In visions feel thy kiss anew; 
 
 To see thy smile in every star. 
 Thy tears in every drop of dew — 
 
 To hear in Music's every strain 
 But echoes of departed bliss, 
 
 Yet know we must not meet again; — 
 What cruel punishment is this! 
 
 30 
 
REMORSE. 
 
 Take thyself hence, gaunt, sombre spectre of Remorse! 
 
 Mine eyes the shadow that thou castest cannot see, 
 Where shades of resignation and austerity 
 
 For so long time have held their cold, relentless course. 
 Save when some joyous gleam from recollection's source 
 
 Has gilded all my way with visions of the rarest. 
 The tears I sometimes shed are not of those thou bearest, 
 
 And all thy terrors in that flood lose all their force. 
 Bar thou the rugged pathway at the midnight hour. — 
 
 Say fervent love is sin and passion is a crime; 
 Let direful dread be written on thy ghastly brow, — 
 
 A single vision then shall vanquish all thy power. 
 And I shall feel in memory of a joy subUme, 
 
 My heart is no abiding place for such as thou! 
 
 HELIOTROPE. 
 
 Ah, dear remembrancer of vanished joys! 
 
 Why dost recall with fullness of thy scent 
 Far memories of a heedless, high content. 
 
 And ecstasies so deep they fain would cloy? 
 Thine odours rise like incense to the sky 
 
 From glowing embers of an altar fire. 
 Where once blazed fierce the flame of Love's desire. — 
 
 She loved thee too ; none knew but she and I, 
 
 How well! — 
 
 Oft wast thou with the red rose mated. 
 Her bosom heaving 'neath the flower of flowers ; 
 
 And bloom and perfume-haunted sped the hours 
 That rapture bore to hearts all rapture sated. — 
 
 Emblem of Joy, but nevermore of Hope 
 Art thou, rich, sombre scent of HeUotrope! 
 
 40 
 
BE STILL, MY HEART. 
 
 Be still, my heart, to bursting filled! 
 Nay, voice them not, the joys that thrilled 
 
 Thy secret echoes — Ah, so long 
 Oh, hide the shrine where thou hast knelt; 
 The ecstasies that thou hast felt 
 
 Are far too sacred, e'en for song. 
 
 REGRET. 
 
 Again the spell of Love I feel. 
 
 Anew soft eyes would tempt me kneel 
 
 At Love's sweet shrine — 
 So warm the radiance of their glow — 
 But not, Oh, love of long ago, 
 
 But not like thine. 
 
 Forms of the grace that seraphs knew 
 With lovelit tears, like blessed dew 
 
 Dropped from above, 
 Would gently smooth the brow of care. 
 And Ah, full well they love, but ne 'er 
 
 As thou didst love! 
 
 Oh joys, long drifted into gloom! 
 No more the rich red roses bloom ; 
 
 No more for me 
 The keen delights that thrill the heart. 
 Nor, distant love — where'er thou art — 
 
 Noryet for thee! 
 
 41 
 
The memory of a bliss long flown, 
 The souls' devotion, all our own 
 
 In days of yore, — 
 These in sad cadence prophesy, 
 When joy would wake again, that I 
 
 Shall love no more. 
 
 PANACEA. I 
 
 Sing thou the heart's own song. 
 
 Sing of the endless throng \ 
 
 Doomed to perennial wrong, \ 
 
 Burdened of Earth. ; 
 
 Seek thy tranquility | 
 In Art's utility ; — 
 This thy nobihty. 
 
 This be thy worth! 
 
 I 
 
 Yet, lest thy soul wax proud, 
 
 Wrapped in its dreamy cloud, 
 
 Toil with the toiling crowd , I 
 
 This be thy pride ! ] 
 
 Art thou not one of them, j 
 
 Son of the son of them, ' 
 
 Whom dar'st thou shun of them, j 
 
 Scorn or deride? j 
 
 World and the care of it, ; 
 
 Falsehood and flare of it,— 
 
 All the despair of it , 
 
 Cease to bemoan. \ 
 
 Soulsoaring, wing from it, | 
 
 Beg not a thing from it, { 
 
 Sturdily wring from it ! 
 
 Bread, all thine own. | 
 
 42 i 
 
Seek thou Art's purity. 
 Heaven's futurity — 
 Blissful security! — 
 
 What is't to thee? 
 Strive not for wealth or fame ; 
 Life's but a tawdry game, 
 Fate of a deathless name, 
 
 Who can foresee? 
 
 Learn thou to see thyself, 
 Care but to be thyself, 
 Battling to free thyself 
 
 From earthly wrong; 
 Must thou partake of it, 
 Then for the sake of it — 
 Lest thy heart break of it — 
 
 Sing thou thy song. 
 
 FORGIVENESS. 
 
 Where, o'er the shadows and the gloom, 
 
 The lofty peaks majestic loom. 
 Where, down the everlasting mountains 
 
 Clear waters dash from snowy fountains- 
 O'er cloudless heights, the eternal stars 
 
 Smile brighter on man's prison bars ; 
 W^here, in that Heaven-encircled eyrie 
 
 Of pure serenity, the fiery, 
 Torn soul to peace may be renewed ; — 
 
 In yon aerial solitude, 
 Where man is done and God begins, 
 
 There is forgiveness for our sins ! 
 
 43 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 Thus sang the bard, doomed to that theme's perpetual repetition. — 
 The song had ceased, the minstrel vanished quite, yet far and 
 nigh 
 All through the dreamful night, like sacred murmurings of con- 
 trition, 
 A mystic, myriadvoic^d chorus echoed from on High: — 
 
 Oh, mortal man, forever striving and forever erring — 
 Ne'er shall thy willful pride the balm of consolation win, 
 
 Beneath thy highest crouches still the demon, soul-ensnaring 
 And in thy best, thy very noblest, lurks the germ of Sin. 
 
 Not by the goodness of thine upright heart, by righteous living. 
 Seek, Oh, vain creature of a day, to escape the chastening rod; 
 
 Hope not by Charity, not by the paths of generous giving, 
 Thy quaking spirit may at last behold the Living God. 
 
 Hope not at all, nor fashion out of thine own vague contriving 
 A Heaven, where piteous fear may crave perennial reward ; 
 
 Doomed on earth's crumbling crust to crawl, forever struggling, 
 striving, 
 Hope not through Hope to view the awful Visage of thy Lord. 
 
 Sweet solace these ! Yet not by deed, nor hope, nor Faith's pro- 
 fession 
 Art thou the far sublimity of the L^nknown to know. 
 Nay, wretched mortal, through the thorny paths of thy trans- 
 gression. 
 Through Sin's abasement and thine utter helplessness of Woe, 
 
 In night profound, with thine own tortured soul communing 
 lonely, 
 
 Shalt thou attain those starry heights, ethereal and serene; 
 Discern shalt thou from Misery's abysms, and from these only. 
 
 The marvelous beneficence of Him, the Great Unseen! 
 
 Oh, blessed sinner, hast thou seen? Henceforth naught can 
 appall thee. 
 
 All undismayed, thy soul invites the inevitable doom ; 
 On all thy ways thj^ cheerful heart, whatever may befall thee, 
 
 Awaits the welcome summons that shall call thee to the tomb. 
 
 44 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
THE GREAT SALT LAKE. 
 
 From o'er the distant, snowclad mountain peaks, 
 
 The sudden dawn breaks on thy vast expanse; — 
 It wakes thee not from out thy mystic trance 
 
 Of slumbering ages. No memento speaks 
 Of ancient peoples, long since gone before, 
 
 To stir within the human heart anew 
 Immortal hope. On all thy lonely shore 
 
 No timestained footprint greets the wanderer's view 
 No trace of deeds, no history; — 
 Grim silence here, and mystery ! 
 
 Above thy leaden bosom mounts on high 
 
 The noonday sun, as with a vengeance fierce 
 
 The callous secrets of thy heart to pierce. 
 Or scorch them from thy plains of alkaU, 
 
 Where night all dewless falls on barren wastes. — 
 
 Mysterious Spirit of the Great Salt Lake! 
 
 Before thee none hath bent, his thirst to slake 
 In thy forbidding surge, — no creature tastes 
 
 Life's sweets upon thy brackish borders bare; 
 Beneath thy dense, inhospitable tide, 
 
 No living thing can live. 
 
 Hark! Far and wide, 
 There is no sound upon the evening air, 
 
 Though long the sun has sadly sunk to rest 
 Among the gorgeous splendours of the West; — 
 
 Nor, since the dawn of morning, was there heard 
 A single tuneful note of beast or bird. 
 
 What churlish Demon art thou, that abhors 
 
 The sound of all God's creatures all the day, 
 And when soft, soothing night unfolds its doors, 
 Wouldst still in cruel silence sit. Oh, say? — 
 Fell spirit of Eternal Doom, 
 There is no echo in this gloom! — 
 
 47 
 
Across the rank and salty marge, there blows 
 The gentle breeze of balmy night. But not 
 
 With whisperings, as where the pine tree grows, 
 Nay, — scarcely felt, as of joys long forgot, — 
 
 A faint, far sense of loneHness and ache; 
 It ruffles not the bosom of the Lake. 
 
 And on the island crags and on the brush, 
 There lies the stillness of an awful hush; 
 
 And o'er the murky waters broods 
 The Spirit of vast soUtudes. 
 
 REFORM. 
 
 Prometheus burst his chains in sacred rage, 
 Fired to that deed by pity for mankind. 
 
 And, to the wrath of proud Olympus blind, 
 Began at dawn men's sorrows to assuage. 
 
 He banished serfdom's blot from history's page; 
 
 The incubus of toil that weighed on man, 
 Into oblivion, with high-ordered plan, — 
 
 Youths' rash injustice, sordid fears of age,. 
 War's fierce contention,man's mean pride, he swept. 
 
 From more than godlike labors of a god. 
 He sank exhausted. When again he trod 
 
 At morn the mountain heights, the Titan wept. 
 Chaos spread through the vale its hideous thrall ; — 
 
 Greed and Ingratitude had ruined all. 
 
 PLEASANT AVENUE. 
 
 I love to walk on Pleasant Avenue, 
 Alone, on mellow summer afternoons; 
 
 Mayhap, some bird its tender note attunes 
 L'nto the stillness, but the sounds are few 
 
 48 • \ 
 
 1 
 
That flutter here subdued upon the breeze. 
 
 Dim, sober mansions, halfway up the hill, 
 Hide in dense foliage ; cool, broad, shadows fill 
 
 The silent path beneath lowbending trees, 
 While in the distance, undulating, green. 
 
 The Mississippi bluffs, farstretching, greet 
 In soft serenity the grateful view. 
 
 Across the lowly settlements between. — 
 Ah, could all paths be simple thus, and sweet 
 
 As thine, thou placid Pleasant Avenue! 
 
 THE TEACHER'S LAMENT. 
 
 And one, his soul with bitterness distraught, 
 
 Did chide the immortal gods, blaspheming loud. 
 
 His garb was mean, his spirit — Ah, so proud! 
 Of that lorn band was he who vainly sought 
 
 To lift men's minds to loftier flight,— he taught. 
 
 ''Ye gods above. Oh make them less perverse. 
 
 These mortals unto song so deaf; so blind 
 To beauty, lest our striving come to naught! ". 
 
 From out a cloud Minerva rose to view : — 
 ''Dejected wight, spare us thy puny curse! 
 
 Give thou thy best unto the chosen few, — 
 The rest leave to the gods. — 
 
 Poor humankind. 
 
 By vanities and trivial cares enchained, 
 Seeks but to be amused and entertained." 
 
 49 
 
A SONG OF ATTICA. 
 
 Oh, whither are ye flown, ye happy days | 
 
 Whose memory echoes still throughout the ages, j 
 
 Ye sunny morns, when the applauded lays | 
 
 Of poets, and the wisdom of the sages j 
 
 Beneath the great Palaestra's dome arose, 
 
 Resounding through the marble porticoes! 
 Oh, whither are ye fled, ye ancient days 
 
 Of Hellas, full of grandeur and repose! 
 
 Ye sound no more, ye mighty hymns of praise 
 
 To great Olympian Jove, that at the close 
 Of day, sung by the many-voiced choir, j 
 
 Elysium to bUssf ul audience woke ; ] 
 
 When with loud chauntings, wafted high and higher, 
 
 The whiterobed chorus of the Vestals broke 
 The solemn stillness of the Parthenon ! — 
 
 Ah, ye are gone, — forever are ye gone! 
 
 Phoebus his course has run, 
 Shadows fade one by one ; — 
 Slowly the summer sun, 
 
 Hiding his crest. 
 Gilding the azure skies. 
 In the blue waters dies — 
 Where far Atlantis lies, 
 
 Sinking to rest. 
 
 Where rippling fountains play. 
 Brave youths and maidens stray ; 
 Evermore gather they, 
 
 Gracious to see. 
 Heark'ning the tender tale. 
 While through the scented vale 
 Whispers the nightingale — 
 
 Love's ecstasy! 
 
 50 
 
All through the dells along 
 Fairies and dryads throng, 
 Sound the perennial song : — 
 
 ''Beauty and Youth!" 
 And from the gods above 
 Hums, through the sacred grove, 
 Attica's hymn of Love, 
 
 Freedom and Truth! 
 
 Moonlight, that softly glows. 
 Zephyr, that gently blows 
 Flush of the red, red rose, — 
 
 Venus, are thine! 
 All earth shall sing to thee, 
 Garlands shall bring to thee. 
 Lovingly cling to thee. — 
 
 Goddess divine! 
 
 Oh, whither are ye fled, ye blissful hours 
 
 That long ago bloomed fair on Hellas' strand ; 
 
 When rare fantastic shapes through perfumed bowers 
 Unceasing sped ! Ah, vanished past recall, 
 
 Ye days of Wisdom and of Love, when all 
 That life bestowed was beautiful and grand ! 
 
 Where now is heard the martial strain 
 When argosies from o'er the main, 
 
 With heroes cheering round the mast, 
 Returned from Asia's fields of glory 
 And, sweeping round the promontory, 
 
 In fair Piraeus anchor cast ! 
 
 51 
 
Where now is thy triumphal throng 
 Of laureled victors, famed in song; — 
 
 The deeds that fired thy Epic Muse! 
 The multitudes that greeted loudly 
 The gorgeous pageants, moving proudly 
 
 Along thy templed avenues ! 
 
 Where now the dirge that then did mourn 
 The slain, who on their shields were borne, 
 
 In triumph to a hero's rest, 
 While through the gloom, glad paeans singing, 
 The warrior's soul its flight went winging 
 
 Toward the Islands of the Blest! 
 
 Ye are no more, ye glorious days of old. 
 Ye golden days of Attica, the queenly, — 
 
 Of Attica, the beautiful and bold 
 
 That, o'er barbaric chaos throned serenely. 
 
 Long ages all this gracious beauty bore ! 
 Ye will return no more — Ah, nevermore ! 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Alas, the dreams that youthful fancy wrought, 
 
 Alas, the bitter pang of after years, — 
 The plans of goodness that have come to naught, 
 The vistas of the future, dimmed with tears! — 
 When joy is dead and hope blooms but to die. 
 Be thou my consolation. Lord most high! 
 
 Oh, who would dread the coming of the hour 
 
 That bids us part from earth and all its woes : 
 Vain emptiness of wealth and pomp and power, 
 The bUght of care and joy's illusive throes, 
 And all of hot ambition's restless lure? — 
 Who, who would Nature's burden still endure? 
 
 52 
 
Great Ruler of the spheres, Omnipotent! 
 
 When it shall please Thee to release my soul — 
 In awe and reverence still before Thee bent — 
 Ope Thou the pathway to the radiant goal 
 And let thy glorious Image, from afar, 
 Call me to dwell where the eternal are ! 
 
 KEATS. 
 
 His tender spirit breathed, in accents soft, 
 
 Of lovelorn melody. Full deep he quaffed 
 The bitter cup of longing unappeased 
 
 That, Ah^too soon his fragile frame consumed. 
 In ardent flights his lovesick fancy pleased 
 
 To soar, and deep-dyed roses ever bloomed 
 In all his song. He loved, he dreamed, he sighed,- 
 
 And thus our gifted Adonaeis died. 
 
 WEDDING SERENADE. 
 
 Sing to the bridegroom, sing to the bride, 
 
 Two that are one today; — 
 Sing to the joys of the eventide. 
 Hail to the happy day ! 
 
 Greet them with shouts of mirth, 
 Knowing affection's worth, 
 Hoping the joys of earth — 
 Loving and blest, 
 Two hearts at rest. 
 
 53 
 
Sorrow will come to them soon or late, 
 
 Sadness of tear and sigh; 
 Shadowy woofs from the loom of Fate, 
 Clouds in a summer sky. 
 Beauty and youth decay, 
 Passion must yield its sway ; — 
 Sweeping the clouds away, 
 Peaceful and pure, 
 Love shall endure. 
 
 ALONE, MY LOVE, WITH THEE! 
 
 I love to walk the silent shore, 
 
 Alone, my love, with thee. 
 And watch the restless river haste, 
 Swiftfooted, to the sea. 
 
 Oh, would that I could ever drift 
 
 Where naught but waters moan, 
 Upon its gentle bosom borne 
 With thee, my love, alone! 
 
 Oh, that we two could float afar 
 
 To some fair southern isle, 
 Where Pan in all his glory reigns 
 And hamadryads smile ! 
 
 All hidden from the ken of man 
 
 In that far southern sea. 
 How sweet to cull the Lotosfruit — 
 Alone, my love, with thee! 
 
 54 
 
SERENADE. 
 
 In the shadow of thy portal, 
 
 Swayed by hope and fear, 
 See, thou sweet, enchanting mortal, 
 
 See thy cavalier ! 
 
 Silvery the moonbeams ghsten 
 
 Through the sighing trees, — 
 Come, Oh come, and list — Oh listen 
 
 To the plaintive breeze ! 
 
 See the murmuring brooklet shimmer, 
 
 Bathed in floods of light, 
 See the twinkling stars that glimmer 
 
 Through the silent night. 
 
 Art thou timid, art thou fearful? — 
 
 Tell me, love, Oh tell! 
 Night, with dewy breezes tearful, 
 Keeps her secrets well; 
 
 And the trees, in silence sombre. 
 
 Shade the mossy bowers. 
 Where nor moon, nor stars can number 
 
 Joy's swiftfleeting hours. 
 
 And the brooklet ever hurries, 
 
 Sees not you nor me ; 
 What it hears, ere dawn it buries 
 
 In the distant sea. 
 
 Linger not then, love, come haste thee. 
 
 Morning's crimson blush 
 Soon shall part us; — come, and taste thee 
 
 Sweets untold, — hush — hush! 
 
 55 
 
LOVE'S COYNESS. 
 
 Thou lov'st me, aye? — 
 
 I read it in that stifled sigh; — 
 
 Then why dost say me nay? 
 Oh, cease to pine, 
 Lay thy warm cheek on mine, 
 
 And I will charm thy cares away. 
 
 Nay, — do not weep! 
 
 Who would such lovefull glances steep 
 
 In floods of bitter tears? 
 Come! Hide thy face 
 Upon my breast ; — in fond embrace 
 
 I'll banish all thy fears. 
 
 And must thou reason, 
 
 In Love's full-flooded season 
 
 Of Springtide joys and bhsses? 
 Thy sweet mouth pouts ; — 
 Lend me awhile thy doubts 
 
 And I will smother them in kisses. 
 
 WITH A ROSE. 
 
 Turn not with scornful smile away, 
 
 In proud disdain. 
 
 Look once again 
 
 And take the gift. Though small 
 
 It seem, yet among all 
 The flowers that bloom this day 
 
 On hill or heath. 
 
 There's none like unto this. 
 
 56 
 
Do thou but breathe 
 
 Upon it and 't will tell, 
 In passionate accents that could pale 
 The sunset glow, a secret tale 
 
 Of tender meetings and of fond farewell. 
 Oh, wouldst thou kiss 
 
 Its blushing brow, it would reveal 
 
 All that its crimson pulses feel 
 Of summer bliss. — 
 
 Then do not spurn the loving token 
 Of thoughts that must remain unspoken, - 
 Of fervent longing's mute appeal! 
 
 Ah — blessed lot! — 
 
 A day upon thy bosom sweet 
 
 To rest; then, withered at thy feet, 
 
 To pass away, — forgot! 
 
 APOLOGY 
 
 Oh, chide me not — Oh, chide me not! 
 
 And is thy heart so cold, 
 And wilt thou ever on me frown 
 With eye severe? I gladly own 
 
 Thy beauty made me bold. 
 Condemn the ardor of my glance 
 And passion's wild exuberance; 
 T-et lovelorn slavery be my lot, — 
 But chide me not— but chide me not! 
 
 Oh, chide me not — Oh, chide me not! 
 
 Why wilt thou ever seek 
 To force those pretty lips to pout, — 
 Why suffer baneful scorn to flout 
 
 The bloom upon thy cheek? 
 
 57 
 
Oh, let me fold thee in my arms, 
 
 That I may feel the thousand charms 
 
 That in thy heaving bosom hide ;— 
 
 Then mayst thou chide, — then raayst thou chide ! 
 
 ROSES. 
 
 Red and white and variegated 
 In their hues, the roses bloom, 
 
 Odorless or perfumesated ; 
 In the crimsontinted gloom 
 
 Of Evening, — on the bosom of the morn, 
 With fresh dewdrops mated. 
 
 But more soothing far than any, 
 
 Fairest fair of all the many 
 
 In the lap of verdure born 
 
 Were the Rose without a thorn ! 
 
 THE SWIMMER. 
 
 Joyous and lithe. 
 Beautiful, blithe. 
 
 As she floats on the wave, is she; 
 And the rise and the fall 
 Of her form, enthrall 
 
 The bright foamcrested sea! 
 
 Where the billows dash. 
 Her white arms flash 
 
 With a reckless, dizzy glee, 
 And her dark eyes gaze 
 With a luring blaze, 
 
 That seems to beckon thee. 
 
 58 
 
Knowst thou the lay^ 
 So sad, so gay; 
 
 The ancient melody 
 Of the soft sea air, — 
 Of the mermaid's snare. 
 
 And the breakers by the sea? 
 
 ON TO THE FRAY! 
 
 The young knight of Arne was blithe and gay 
 As out of the castle he galloped away. 
 On the balmy morn of a summer day. 
 
 To the battlefield. 
 When he came where the lovely maidens dwell. 
 In the cloistered turret's lofty cell, 
 A tear from an open casement fell 
 
 On his shimmering shield. 
 
 But he saw it not, as he rode along 
 At the head of the brave and stately throng, 
 And a measured tramp with the battle song 
 The chargers kept: — 
 
 " We sweep on the foe like the mountain flood, 
 Till our arms shall reek in his crimson blood I " 
 A maid at the open casement stood, 
 And sighed and wept. 
 
 MINSTREL LOVE. 
 
 A tuneful voice came from the prison ringing, 
 Borne forth on pinions of heroic melody. 
 
 In endless song, as if it would go winging 
 Its flight on — on. in all Eternity, — 
 
 59 
 
On — on, nor ever would be still : 
 ' ' My life was song and Death shall find me singing I — 
 The scaffold looms upon the hill. 
 
 "Long have I waited for this day of pleasure. 
 
 Unto your monarch my last message bring ; 
 Tell him a king may buy a queenly treasure 
 
 But minstrel love is mightier than a king, 
 And true hearts' love will have its will ; — 
 
 Old monarchs are not fit for Love's sweet leisure.'^ 
 
 The scaffold looms upon the hill. j 
 
 "Turn them away, with cross and benediction, 
 
 The friars that come in sable gaberdine. 
 Tell them, proud hearts will love without restriction, \ 
 
 And that the doom of minstrel and of queen ] 
 
 With joy, but not with dread, can fill 
 
 Two hearts that glory in Love's fond conviction." 
 The scaffold looms upon the hill. 
 
 " Yea, tell the holy monks we do believe them — 
 
 That after death the spirit upward flies. i 
 
 Heaven's joys! — Who could more fervently conceive j 
 
 them ' 
 
 Than lovers at the gates of Paradise, \ 
 
 Where angels, who have felt the thrill ] 
 
 Of earthborn love, are lingering to receive them? " '• 
 
 The scaffold looms upon the hill. i 
 
 i 
 
 "Go, tell your lord I loved her, queen supernal 
 
 Of all that gracious womanhood could be; — ] 
 
 My queen! — And would proclaim it, though the , 
 
 infernal ; 
 
 Soul tortures of the damned were his decree. < 
 
 Come, Death ! — Our love thou canst not kill. — j 
 
 Our souls shall meet tonight in the Eternal." — | 
 
 The scaffold looms upon the hill. | 
 
 60 ■ ■ \ 
 
A woman's corpse was borne, when night was heavy, 
 By muffled minions to the royal tomb. — 
 
 Ere dawn the graybeard king, of wars and levy 
 Discoursing with his knights, sat in the gloom 
 
 Of the great, dim, ancestral hall, — 
 
 And o'er the scaffold's prey there screeched a bevy 
 
 Of carrion kites high carnival. 
 
 LA DEMIEVIERGE. 
 
 Ah, maiden fair, 
 
 Thou, with the golden hair 
 Where once throned virgin radiance I 
 
 Thou, with that furtive boldness in thine eyes 
 Where erstwhile shone deep wistful innocence, 
 
 Clear as the lambent azure of the skies! 
 
 Too late! In vain to cry beware, 
 
 For thou hast forfeited the grand surprise — 
 Hast made a barren compromise 
 
 With Conscience — hast forestalled 
 The sacred ecstasy, 
 That on thy bitter sense so soon has palled! 
 
 All turned to ashes now and dross. 
 The precious magic and the mystery. 
 
 The joy that should be clear, profound and sainted, 
 Thou hast with curious calculation tainted 
 
 And Love, whose fairy wings their dainty gloss, 
 Their priceless bloom, before the baneful blight, 
 
 Borne on the breath of cunning sophistry, 
 Have shed, — Love has forsaken thee! 
 
 Gl 
 
Ah, Love is fled; — 
 
 Sweet Love has taken flight ! 
 Didst hear his parting moan? — Sweet Love is dead | 
 
 And thou hast murdered him. Stillborn, *• 
 
 His tender spirit vanished in affright 
 
 And will return no more. Yet, all forlorn, 
 His pallid ghost shall, through the restless night : 
 
 In tantalizing visions, haunt thy bed j 
 
 And mock thee on the morn. i 
 
 What boots thy modesty demure, i 
 
 But to delude thyself with vain hypocrisy — 
 
 Thou in defilement pure, ] 
 
 In purity defiled ! I 
 
 Love will return no more to thee | 
 
 Though, by new sophistries beguiled. 
 
 Thy heart — half wanton half in virgin pride — . 
 
 Seek still to woo him back unto thy side. ] 
 
 The bloom from off the rose, 
 
 The gorgeous glamour of the Eventide 
 And all the dehcate, delicious throes 
 
 That in the moonlit, starrystudded night 
 Fresh maidenlonging only knows, — 
 
 These hast thou idly banished from thy sight 
 And thou shalt know them nevermore. 
 
 Thine empty heart shall sicken to the core, 
 And angels weep to see thy plight. 
 
 Far better thou hadst yielded up thine all 
 In reckless passion, though unworthily, 
 
 To one whom thou couldst love with all thy soul. 
 Aye, better far, to dandle on thy knee 
 
 A bastard babe to soothe thee in thy fall. 
 In Love's abandon generously begot — 
 
 62 
 
A gleam of consolation in thy dole — 
 Than thus to seem what thou art not , 
 
 Than thus to play the virgin role 
 
 Of Innocence, still hiding what thou art. 
 
 Nor maid, nor mistress, thou, somewhat too good 
 For noble scorn, and to be wooed — 
 
 Too low ; — of Heaven and thine own heart 
 A thing despised, and apart! 
 
 THE PURE ITALIAN METHOD. 
 
 (a satire.) 
 
 There is no easier occupation 
 
 Than teaching others how to sing, 
 
 All other work is but vexation ; — 
 ''Voice Culture" is the thingl 
 
 Get a piano (you may hire it 
 
 Of any music-dealing man) 
 And furniture — you may acquire it 
 
 On the instalment plan. 
 
 A cardboard sign, ''Signor Fan-Tutti/' 
 (In colors of the brightest hue) 
 
 You paste upon your door with putty, — 
 Or mucilage will do. 
 
 Set up some plaster bust — say Mozart's — 
 Though classics be beyond your ken; 
 
 You know how fashion bows to those arts 
 It knows least of — so then ! 
 
 63 
 
Your flowing hair, with curHng irons 
 
 1 
 
 (All artists should have flowing hair), ^ 
 
 Twist out of shape, and (like Lord Byron's) 
 A rolling collar wear. 
 
 With best of cloth and cut, completely 
 Your scanty wardrobe re-enforce! 
 
 A man like you must dress up neatly 
 And rich — "on tick," of course. 
 
 Now groom yourself, put your best coat on, 
 And seek some fashionable church, 
 
 Sing something sacred they all dote on ; — 
 They're always in the lurch 
 
 In church-choirs, for some cause or other. 
 
 A signor's welcome any way. 
 But they would welcome any brother 
 
 Who sings and asks no pay. 
 
 Sing as you please, but sing with volume, 
 Make all the noise that you can make 
 
 Till up and down the spinal column 
 They feel the creeps, — 'twill take! 
 
 Soon comes the social invitation — 
 '' Dear Signor, will you, such a day 
 
 Sing for our special delectation?" — 
 Accept without delay. 
 
 The old Italian repertory 
 
 Will do, if sung with tour de force, 
 
 Of love and moonshine, the old story 
 Repeat without remorse. 
 
 Soon you will be the chief attraction 
 In all the town: — the sight of sights; 
 
 64 
 
Swell lunatics will form a faction 
 Known as ''Fan-Tutti-ites." 
 
 Now at your creditors' appearance 
 Don't worry, friend, about the funds; 
 
 Remember, nerve and perseverance 
 Are chloroform to duns. 
 
 With all distinction and politeness 
 
 Receive them in your studio; 
 Tell them with bows and grave contriteness 
 
 That Count Foldudio, 
 
 Your uncle, Lord of Calabresi. 
 
 Sends your remittance by the moon. 
 He's short this month but then, he says he 
 
 Will send the money soon. 
 
 Or tell them Prince di Pimpernellos, 
 
 Sole owner of the Isle Corfu, 
 Is your god-father, and no fellow's 
 
 As thick with him as you. 
 
 Thus throw persuasion's net around them 
 
 And keep it up from day to day. 
 Style and big names will soon confound them, 
 
 Confound them any way ! 
 
 See how the tide of female fashion 
 The handsome signor overruns! 
 
 Italian song's so full of passion! — 
 So're they — the married ones. 
 
 Let them come tripping to your studio 
 
 And sing awhile — do, re, mi, fa, 
 Repeat the tale about Foldudio, — 
 
 Teach them an Aria. 
 
 65 
 
■i 
 
 You needn't know a word of English, 
 
 May mix up V with W, j 
 
 One vowel from t'other scarce distinguish, — ^ 
 
 Don't let that trouble you. I 
 
 i 
 For singing, d — n the Anglo-Saxon, ! 
 
 All but Italian d — n as well, j 
 
 And point to Chaucer' nd Andrew Jackson j 
 
 Who couldn't even spell. 
 
 ! 
 
 A voice that's just a little plastic, .] 
 
 A little bit of do, re, mi. '•• 
 
 Good looks, a conscience that's elastic, — 
 
 That's all one needs, — vou see? • 
 
 The rest will follow by induction ; 
 
 Go right ahead, you're sure to win. 
 All else is learned without instruction, — 
 
 Just rake the shekels in ! 
 
 This is the first and last injunction: 
 Don't fail to mark the lessons down! 
 
 To charge them high without compunction, 
 Brings fortune and renown. 
 
 An easy mind good for the health is, — 
 
 Your property make portable 
 Therefore, and see that all your wealth is 
 
 With ease resortable. 
 
 And keep the racket up till when you 
 Of these good folks may disapprove, — 
 
 Or they of you, signor, — and then you 
 Pack up some night and move. 
 
 66 
 
TRANSLATIONS OF SONG TEXTS 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
MAIENNACHT. 
 
 From the German of Muth. 
 
 Wake with array 
 
 Of moon and magic, 
 Thou night of May! 
 
 The torrents gush with mystic flow, 
 The hilltops glitter with Ught aglow, 
 
 And, like some fay, 
 Glides through the vale 
 
 The night of May. 
 
 And mellow are 
 
 Postillion tones 
 That sound afar. 
 
 Of rosy hours a lover's lay 
 They sing to thee, Oh balmy May. 
 
 And soft there start 
 On budding wings 
 
 Within the heart, 
 May-blossomings. 
 
 Thy splendour bright. 
 
 Oh, let me vie\y. 
 Thou gorgeous night! 
 
 Send once again, Oh Nightingale, 
 Heart-echoes thrilling through the vale. 
 
 I dream again 
 Forgotten joy, forgotten pain, 
 
 On fairy wing 
 Oh, come, thou wondrous night of Sprmg; 
 
 My drooping eyelids softly close. 
 And cradle me in thy repose. — 
 
 Keep watch till day. 
 Thou ever splendid night of May ! 
 
 69 
 
SCHOEN ROHTRAUT. 
 
 (MOERIKE.) 
 
 Oh, how is King Ringang's daughter hight? 
 
 Rohtraut, fair Rohtraut. 
 And what doth she the hvelong day — 
 
 For she cannot sew, aye, nor spin alway? 
 Goes fishing and hunting. 
 
 Oh, that I were a hunter now — 
 Fishing and hunting were sport, I trow! 
 
 Be silent, my heart, be still. 
 
 Erelong the lad in hunter's garb, — 
 
 Rohtraut, fair Rohtraut, — 
 In Ringang's royal service bode. 
 
 And on a handsome steed he rode 
 With Rohtraut a-hunting, 
 
 Oh, that I were a prince said he; 
 Rohtraut, fair Rohtraut, my love should be. 
 
 Be silent, my heart, be still. 
 
 And once they rested beneath an oak. 
 
 Then laughed fair Rohtraut, — 
 '' Why gaze on me with lovelorn stare? 
 
 Come kiss me, kiss me, if you dare! " 
 Ah, the poor lad started! 
 
 Yet thinks, I may if I but list, 
 And straightway fair Rohtraut's lips he kissed. 
 
 Be silent, my heart, be still. 
 
 Anon in silence home they ride. — 
 
 Rohtraut, fair Rohtraut. — 
 Then beat his heart exultingly. 
 
 And if thou empress come to be, 
 N'er shall it rue me. 
 
 Ye thousand leaves that the breezes sway, 
 Ye know I've kissed her Hps today! — 
 
 Be silent, my heart, be still. 
 
 70 
 
DER TOD UND DAS MAEDCHEN. 
 
 From the German of Claudius. 
 
 Pass by me, thou fierce Spirit — 
 Hence, ghastly skeleton ! 
 I am so young— Ah, leave me; 
 Oh, touch me not,— begone! 
 
 Give, tender child, thy hand— I am thy friend ; 
 
 Nor fierce am I, nor would alarm thee; 
 
 Be of good cheer— clasped in my arms 
 
 In gentle sleep, naught e'er shall harm thee! 
 
 ''DER WANDERER." 
 
 From the German of Schmidt von Luebeck 
 
 I come o'er hills and blooming leas. 
 
 Through misty vales, o'er foaming seas— 
 
 I wander on, am seldom gay — 
 
 My heart still questions, ''where away?" 
 
 Methinks the sunlight here is cold. 
 
 The blossoms faded,— life is old,— 
 
 Their speech but sound ; their gaze a stare— 
 
 I am a stranger everywhere! 
 
 Beloved goal, where art thou flown? 
 Sought still, and felt, but never known! 
 The land where hope dispels life's gloom, 
 Where flowery gardens ever bloom ; 
 Where friends stand on the peaceful shore 
 And the departed rise once more! 
 The land that speaks my native tongue. 
 Oh land, where art thou? 
 
 71 
 
I wander on, am seldom gay — 
 
 My heart still questions, '' where away*! " 
 
 In ghostly tones respond the Fates : 
 
 *' Where thou art not — there Fortune waits." 
 
 WANDERSCHAFT. 
 
 (W. MUELLER.) 
 
 To wander is the miller's joy; — 
 A sorry miller sure were he 
 Who never cared the world to see, 
 And wander. 
 
 The water runs along the race, 
 It gurgles with a merry chime 
 And keeps a-wandering all the time, 
 The water. 
 
 The millwheels turn around and 'round, 
 Around and 'round the livelong day; — 
 It never makes them tired, they say — 
 The millwheels. 
 
 The pebbles e'en, they try their best, 
 Vie with the water in the race 
 And strive to spin a swifter pace — 
 The pebbles. 
 
 To wander, wander. Oh, — the joy! — 
 So master dear and dame, goodbye, 
 God bless you both ! And off am I 
 To wander. 
 
 72 
 
BLUT UND EISEN. 
 
 (h. grieben.) 
 
 Break forth then, thunderbolts of war! 
 Let Blood and Iron settle, 
 
 With main and might, 
 
 Who's in the right. 
 And test our German mettle. 
 
 Press on, press on in storm and stress,- 
 Each man unto his station. 
 
 With war alarms — 
 
 To arms — to arms ! 
 Thou soUd German nation. 
 
 Oft have we sung, in merry strain, 
 ''Die Wacht am Rhein" together; 
 
 Now, hand in hand. 
 
 For Fatherland 
 Our blood shall drench the heather. 
 
 The God who made the iron to grow 
 Would have no slaves about him ; 
 
 Then forth we go 
 
 To meet the foe, 
 With fire and sword to rout him! 
 
 So help us God's own mighty power 
 In throes of bloody battle! 
 We will not quake. 
 When Heaven shall shake 
 With cannons' thundrous rattle ! 
 
 73 
 
ICH WAXD'RE NICHT. 
 
 Why should I wander, wherefore 
 
 With others forth to roam, ' 
 
 With those I do not care for, i 
 
 While sweetheart stays at home? ] 
 
 They seek out hill and hollow \ 
 
 And sing of mount and mere, j 
 
 But then, why should I follow? ] 
 It is so lovely here ! 
 
 They tell of marvels growing 
 
 Elsewhere, both great and small ; i 
 Of grapes in sunset glowing — 
 
 I do believe it all. I 
 But wine from distant presses, ^ I 
 
 Does it not reach us here? ! 
 
 Where I, 'mid soft caresses, | 
 
 May quaff it with my dear. i 
 
 The great world and its splendour \ 
 
 I do not care to see ; I 
 
 Her dear eyes, blue and tender, ^ 
 
 Are Heaven itself to me, ^ 
 
 And more than all the pleasure j 
 
 Of spring, her smile can give. .! 
 
 Oh, thou my only treasure, j 
 
 Oh, where else would I live ! ] 
 
 ICH HATTE EIXST EIN SCHOENES 
 VATERLAND. 
 
 Once was I happy in my native home, 
 The oak there reared its lofty head, 
 The violets lowly grew; — 
 It was a dream. 
 
 74 
 
And when in time to foreign lands I came, 
 I found a maiden, beautiful, 
 Her eyes with Love aglow : — 
 It was a dream. 
 
 She kissed me and in my own native tongue- 
 You'd scarce believe how dear to hear — 
 She spoke : '' I love but thee ! " — 
 It was a dream. 
 
 LIED. 
 
 (otto tiehsex.) 
 
 Ah. to the soul that a memory fills. 
 
 Earth is a garden fair ; 
 Well for the heart that true love thrills, 
 
 Blooming forever there ! 
 The bird that can naught but twitter and fly 
 
 And float through the sunny day, — 
 Had it not Love, how could it sigh 
 
 In song its tender lay? 
 
 And had not the flower the sun's warm light, 
 
 How could it gaily blow? 
 Were not my heart with Love made bright, 
 
 Where were its joyful glow? 
 And how could it ever know heartease 
 
 If not by tears bedewed? — 
 Then let me o'er fond memories 
 
 In silent sadness brood ! 
 
 ICH LIEBE DICH! 
 
 Thou, all my thought. 
 My very soul's existence; 
 
 75 
 
Thou, all my hope — 
 
 My heart's first ecstasy ! 
 
 Sole earthly call 
 
 To which my fond heart listens, — 
 
 I love but thee, 
 
 I love but thee — 
 
 But thee, in life 
 
 And in Eternity ! 
 
 THE ASRA. 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 In the eventide the Sultan's daughter. 
 She of wondrous beauty. 
 Daily came unto the fountain, 
 Where the cool, white waters ripple. 
 In the eventide, the young slave 
 Daily stood beside the fountain 
 Where the cool, white waters ripple. — 
 Daily grew he pale and paler. 
 
 Once at evening strode the princess 
 T'ward the slave, with hasty question: 
 "What thy name is, thou shalt tell me. 
 And from whence thou, — who thy people!" 
 
 And the young slave spake : 
 
 My name is Mahomet — 
 
 I am of Yemen, 
 
 And my tribe is that of Asra — 
 
 They who perish when they love. 
 
 76 
 
THE PAGE. 
 (he:ine;.) 
 
 There was a grim old monarch, — 
 
 His gray head bowed by time and tide ; 
 
 Alack, the poor old monarch ! — 
 He took him a fair young bride. 
 
 A page there was, full handsome. 
 
 Blond were his locks, gay was his mein ;- 
 The silken train, he bore it 
 
 Behind the lovely queen. 
 
 Knowst thou the ancient story — 
 The tale so sweet, so sad to tell ? 
 
 Both he and she must perish ; — 
 Alas, they loved far too well ! 
 
 ICH GROLLE NIGHT. 
 
 (hkine:.) 
 
 I do not chide. 
 
 Though break my heart in pride. 
 Loved one, forever lost, — 
 I do not chide. 
 
 Though dazzling thou. 
 With brilliant gems bedight, 
 In thy heart's gloom 
 There falls no gleam of light, — 
 Full well I know. 
 
 I do not chide. 
 
 Though break my heart in pride- 
 
 77 
 
In dreams again I found thee, 
 
 Saw in thy soul the hopeless night that bound thee, — 
 I saw the serpent at thy bosom gnaw ; 
 Thy pain my love, thy misery I saw.— 
 I do not chide. 
 
 TO MUSIC. 
 
 (SCHOBER.) 
 
 Oh, gracious Art, in dismal hours how often 
 
 Hast thou, when life was bound in toil and tears, 
 
 With balm of Love my bosom deigned to soften — 
 Hast raised my drooping soul to higher spheres! 
 
 Ofttimes a sigh that from thy harp hath drifted, 
 A faint and holy chord of sweet attune, 
 
 To bhss of happier days my heart hath Hfted, — 
 Thou gracious Art, I thank thee for the boon! 
 
 TO MEIvANGHOLY. 
 
 (lenau.) 
 
 ^lelancholy, dear attendant, 
 Pensively lingerest thou near ; 
 
 Be my bright star in the ascendant, 
 Or obscured, — still thou 'rt here! 
 
 Oft thou lead'st where crags are rifted, 
 Where the eagle lonely soars 
 
 Where the pinetops high are lifted 
 And the mountain torrent roars. 
 
 Then I hear my lost ones speaking 
 Through faint mists of memory, 
 
 And, thy gentle bosom seeking, 
 Steep mine aching heart in thee. 
 
 78 
 
BITTE. 
 
 (lenau.) 
 
 Eyes of dark and tender lustre, 
 
 Orbs that hold my spirit bound- 
 Beam upon me gravely, gently, 
 Dreamy depths of night profound! 
 
 From my sight, in sable magic. 
 Veil this world with darkness o'er, 
 
 So ye hover still above me — 
 Yc alone, — forevermore! 
 
 WIR SIND DES HERRN. 
 
 (SPITTA.) 
 
 We are the Lord's, in Hfe and death, forever, 
 We are the Lord's, who died that we might live. 
 
 We are the Lord's— no power from Him shall sever, 
 We are the Lord's, who for us all did give. 
 
 We are the Lord's, let us in our behaviour 
 
 Acknowledge Him, in heart and deeds and words. 
 
 He lived for us, for us he died,— our Saviour! 
 Then may we truly say, we are the Lord's. 
 
 We are the Lord's in danger and in sorrow, 
 
 That gleam of hope his boundless grace records ; 
 
 It beams through darkness like the dawning 
 morrow, — 
 That everblessed word,— we are the Lord's! 
 
 We are the Lord's ; our Lord will not forsake us 
 When yawns the grave and earth no help affords. 
 
 Even in death no evil shall o'ertake us, 
 For it is ever true, — we are the Lord's! 
 
 79 
 
THE MAID OF TULLN. 
 
THE MAID OF TULLN. 
 
 It was upon a warm midsummer morn; 
 
 The Danube swiftly sped upon its way. 
 A tourist throng from near and far away — 
 
 A motley company— sped with it, borne 
 Upon the great side wheeler's ample decks, 
 
 A panting, eager, restless, guidebook crowd. 
 They raised their parasols and craned their necks. 
 
 While some hired cicerone bawled aloud 
 The things noteworthy on the river banks, 
 
 Whereat they chattered all among themselves, 
 By twos and fours and nines and tens and twelves— 
 
 A very Babel of confused tongues — 
 You scarce could hear the guide; and Oh, what lungs 
 
 That cicerone had ! 
 
 ''Nay," said I, ''thanks!' ' 
 And seek below a cool, secluded seat — 
 
 Distraction's refuge and secure retreat — 
 Behind the starboard paddlebox, and gaze 
 
 Enraptured on the blooming, vineclad hills, 
 The tinted houses and meandering rills 
 
 That sparkle faintly through the morning haze. 
 And ever and anon there rises. 
 
 To greet the eye with glad surprises, 
 A castle on some distant eminence. 
 
 And, borne away on fancy's pinions, 
 I dream of lords and lordly minions, 
 
 Who, in the fierce old feudal days. 
 Charged up yon rugged hillside path 
 
 With eyes of flame and sword of wrath. 
 And, through the hidden forest maze 
 
 On some bold, chivalrous pretense. 
 Bore off the luckless maiden hence, 
 
 Out of vile bondage in the lofty tower. 
 To some much grander castle down the stream; — 
 
 For it was ever thus: power against power! 
 
 83 
 
And thus I sit in peace, and thus I dream, 
 
 And bUnk in indolent contentment at the view 
 
 Of this fair, fleeting panorama of the shore, 
 Rid of that cursed cicerone and his crew. 
 
 It seems 'twere well to live thus evermore, — 
 In silent contemplation thus to speed 
 
 Forever down the tide — 'twere rest indeed! — 
 No yesterday, today — no whence nor when, — 
 
 " Ach, guter Herr, ja — Sie entschuldigenV ^ — 
 
 A smiling dowager accosts me thus, 
 A comfortable soul, her face all beaming 
 
 With unction and with perspiration streaming. 
 Her figure ample as an omnibus; 
 
 A matron florid, fat and fifty-four. 
 And just behind her, gazing at the shore, 
 
 A pensive maiden stands, a graceful child. 
 Like to the damsel of my dream of day, 
 
 With two broad chestnut plaids down to her hips. 
 Her cheek aflush, great eyes of deepest blue, 
 
 A gently heaving bosom, two red lips, 
 So sweetly parted, as her longing eyes 
 
 Rest on the hazy castle far away. 
 
 In Austria 1 would do as Austrians do. 
 
 So I get up and say, "Gnae' Frau, hitV schoen/' 
 And lift my hat; Whereon with ponderous sighs, 
 
 Like some leviathan in pain. 
 Her monstrous sort of picnic hamper 
 
 The matron heaves up on the seat, 
 Kerthwack! And damp and damper 
 
 Her kerchief grows, as still it sops 
 The moisture from her countenance; — 
 
 " Ach, ist das heiss/" and down she flops, 
 While still complaining of the heat. 
 
 Exhausted at my side, kerflump! 
 
 84 
 
It shivers all my fairy trance, 
 
 My blissful dream of far romance, 
 And makes the heavy hamper jump 
 
 A foot or two; and I am glad 
 That benches here are what they are, 
 
 For strength and durability. 
 And now she starts to talk like mad 
 
 Of blood relations, near and far. 
 Of houses, gardens, vineyards three. 
 
 And money in the funds, ''you see,'' 
 Of birth and marriage and of death — 
 
 A family history in a breath. 
 
 ''That child? Oh, no, das ist nicht mein; 
 
 That girl is Minchen; she's my ward, 
 But not my child, ach nein, ach nein, 
 
 She comes to work for bed and board; 
 I brought her down from Linz, you see,' ' 
 
 And leans to whisper in my ear : 
 "She comes from Coblenz on the Rhine; 
 
 Das Minchen ist ein Fiiidelkind.'' ' 
 
 Lone child of Love, how pensively, 
 Her coarse skirt fluttering in the wind. 
 
 She looks across the rushing river! 
 And I can see her full lips quiver, 
 
 And in her eye I see a tear. 
 
 The stream rolls on, and on we ride, 
 The matron's tongue speeds on apace; 
 
 No power can stem that gushing tide. 
 No stopper cork that ceaseless flow, 
 
 That pours like water through a sieve. 
 
 "We go to Tulln; that's where we live," 
 
 And I can read it in her face, 
 Now she will ask me where I go, — 
 
 85 
 
" Und Sie, mein Herr, wo geh'n S'ie hinT ' 
 "I," said I, ''madam— /cA/—7iac/i Wienr 
 
 "So far as that!" says she, ''Ah, then,— 
 Sie kommen dann wohl von Berlin?' ' 
 
 I shake my head, — "Not so, good dame/' 
 'Tis plain that she will guess again, 
 
 A pleasure it would be a shame 
 To rob her of. — " Ach, dann vielleicK 
 
 Aus Solmen, Olmen, Unkenteichf — 
 And names a dozen towns or more 
 
 In this fair land of Austria. 
 
 And Minchen still looks at the shore 
 And drops her tears into the stream. 
 
 "No," said I, "madam, further still, — 
 
 Ich komme noch viel weiter her.' ' 
 ^'Noch weiter f says she, " Sof — Ach ja, 
 
 Von Bayern dann, von Dettelhachf ' — 
 "I come from far across the sea,' ' 
 
 Said I. " Was, — weii von ueherm Meer! 
 Ach, Joseph und Maria, ach. 
 
 Da sind Sie aus Amerika!' ' 
 And claps her hands in childish glee, 
 
 ^^ Mein August Sohn der ist ja da; 
 Komm', Minchen, komm' mat her geschwind,- 
 
 Was stehst du da, was gaffst du da? — 
 7s des e' sonderhares Kind. — 
 
 Der Herr kommt aus Amerika;'^ 
 And Minchen comes and makes a ' ^Knix, " — 
 
 An oldtime courtsey, — Ah, so sweet! 
 And looks down shyly at her feet. — 
 
 ' ' Was stehst du da, und guckst nach nix?' ' 
 
 I take the maiden's hand in mine: 
 
 "Sweet maid from Coblenz on the Rhine, 
 Come sit ye down beside o' me!' ' 
 
 80 
 
And that fat woman rattles on 
 
 With wondrous volubiUty, 
 I fear she'll talk me quite to death; — 
 
 A dozen questions in a breath, 
 As if she had her soul in pawn 
 
 To all the powers of purgatory, 
 And needs must talk it into glory, — 
 
 And never pauses for reply. 
 At last she ceased, and with a gasp — 
 
 A sterterous, elephantine sigh, — 
 She opened up the hamper clasp 
 
 And vowed that she must surely die 
 Of hunger, if she didn't eat, 
 
 *' Und Ach, Maria mein, der Durst/' ' 
 And took out yards of Wienerwurst, 
 
 And Schinken, cheese and lots of things, 
 And laid them all down at her feet ; 
 
 A monstrous ryebread, chickenwings. 
 Two bottles of Dalmatian wine 
 
 And several others from the Rhine, 
 Some strong, sweet beer in bottles, too. 
 
 Like licorice, such was its hue. 
 We helped her just for fear she'd burst, 
 
 For she could eat for three times two. 
 And, Oh Gargantua, what a thirst! 
 
 'to^ 
 
 But nothing lasts for aye below; 
 
 You can't forever keep on drinking, eating. 
 For Time is fleet and ever fleeting, 
 
 And nothing comes but it must go. 
 
 At last the poor old creature fell to blinking 
 Her drowsy eyes, and said she was a-thinking, 
 
 When one has eaten one should take a rest. 
 
 And I responded, ''Yes, no doubt 'twere best, — 
 
 A wholesome custom, most assuredly/' — 
 
 And trusted she'd have pleasant dreams sans number; 
 
 87 
 
Whereon the dame composed herself to slumber, 
 And left the world to Minchen and to me. 
 
 Ah, could we comfort all that are afflicted 
 
 And right the wrongs that evermore shall be, 
 In what ifair hues man's lot could be depicted, — 
 
 How happier far the days for you and me! 
 If he who left this blossom, rare and sainted. 
 
 To thrive among an unacknowledged brood, — 
 To bear the foundling's mark, forever tainted, 
 
 And waste youth's bloom in odious servitude; — 
 What would he not do now to set her free ! 
 
 What misery were his, — if he could see! 
 
 She did not turn her face away, 
 
 But spoke in her mild, German way, — 
 
 So innocent, so fair; 
 
 She told me of the distant Rhine, 
 
 She placed her little hand in mine, 
 And kept it there. 
 
 She told me of the convent wa5^s 
 
 And how the nun's high songs of praise 
 Float on the evening air; 
 
 Of avenues that gently wind 
 Round beds of roses, and how kind 
 
 The sisters were. 
 Of some fair garden on a hill. 
 
 And how your very heart would thrill 
 From thence, or from the dormitory. 
 
 To see the Rhine in all its glory. 
 
 But these dear memories seemed to make her sad. 
 And suddenly she checked her pretty story 
 
 And, lifting up her great, soft eyes to me. 
 She said , indeed she would be very glad 
 
 To hear about that land across the sea, 
 
 88 
 
From whence I came, the land of which she'd read 
 When at the convent o'er some volume poring, — 
 
 The land so wide, so gloriously free, 
 Where there was room for all and room to spare; 
 
 Land where the noble redman's stately tread- 
 Here our fat dowager began a snoring, 
 
 Like to a sawmill in the open air, 
 And puffed and whistled most prodigiously; 
 
 All in her sleep. Whereat, of course, we smiled; 
 And thus, as down the Danube still we sped. 
 
 We cheerfully the afternoon beguiled, 
 The while the sun sank lower in the sky, — 
 
 We two, this charming Findelkind and L 
 
 Talked of the Indians and the ponderous bear 
 And of the w^olves that prowl in winter there; 
 
 Of hunters' joys and woodlands dark and dense, 
 Of summer nights beneath a canvas tent, — 
 
 Of soft, warm summer days of lone content, 
 
 Passed on the shore of some great, gleaming lake. 
 
 She gazed at me in lovely innocence. 
 
 And, with a saintly rapture, gently spake: 
 ''How beautiful all this must be 
 
 In your great land across the sea. 
 Where summer days are all so fair, 
 
 And where the great, primaeval woods 
 Are full of such grand solitudes! 
 
 I wonder, Ach, mein lieber Herr, 
 Indeed, good sir, I wonder sheer 
 
 Whatever made you come out here!' ' 
 
 Ah, Minchen, dear, man is a strange, 
 Unhappy creature, and on change 
 
 Still bent is he, — 
 Nor e'er contented with his lot; 
 
 89 
 
Still evermore where he is not. 
 There would he be. 
 
 And Minehen sat awhile in pensive mood, 
 
 Her dreamy gaze fixed on the sunset hues 
 That glowed upon the distant evening sky. 
 
 Then softly murmured she: ''Oh, that one could 
 The soaring pinions of the eagle choose 
 
 And o'er the sea to some far country fly! 
 To some far distant land to wander 
 Beyond the burning sunset yonder, 
 Known unto none and no one knowing, never 
 
 To come back here across the wide, wide mere. 
 But near that silent lake to live forever;' ' — 
 
 And clasped her hands — ^' AchGott,wies€hoendaswa('r\'" 
 
 ''But how about the Indians, child,' ' I said, 
 "Die wilden Woelfe und die grimmen Baeren?^ ' 
 
 "Oh sir, indeed, I should not be afraid, — 
 
 " Ach nein, mein Herr, Ach, nicht wenn Sieda waerenf" 
 
 "Tulln, Tulln,' ' the pompous purser cried. 
 "Ach, TullnV ' the handsome maiden sighed, 
 "Are we already there?' ^ 
 While stewards hurried to and fro. 
 
 And "Tulln" and "Tulln," above, below, 
 Re-echoed everywhere. 
 
 " Rueckwaerts aussteigenl " bawled the guard, 
 
 And on the bridge the captain: "Hard, 
 I say, helm hard aport!" 
 
 And, what with all this sudden roaring, 
 Our dowager now stopped her snoring, 
 And woke up with a snort. 
 
 "Adieu, und hat mich sehr gefreut, 
 Man trifft doch immer nette Lent. — 
 
 90 
 
Wo ist denn nur das IClnd? — 
 Und gruessen Sie mir aber ja 
 
 Mem' August, in Amerika. — 
 
 Nun, Minchen, komm' , geschwind/' * 
 
 The years have come, the years have gone, 
 
 The Danube river still flows on; 
 And oft I see, as in a dream, 
 
 When evening shadows fall amain, 
 Our boat from TuUn pull out again. 
 
 I see, as we swing down the stream, 
 Far up a steep and narrow street. 
 
 That hamper huge in triumph borne 
 By some tall wight with nimble feet, 
 
 Behind whom, waddling all forlorn, 
 A fat old woman tries in vain 
 
 To keep the giant's sturdy pace. 
 
 And far behind adown the lane, 
 
 I see an angel maiden's face 
 In sadness turned toward the stream, — 
 
 A kerchief fluttering in the breeze; 
 And, faintly from afar, I seem 
 
 To hear a holy cloister bell 
 From out a grove of poplar trees, — 
 
 Farewell, sweet maid of Tulln, farewell! 
 
 91 
 
ECHOES FROM THE ROCKIES. 
 
 Originally written 
 for the exclusive entertainment of 
 
 SCRAMBLETOWN. 
 
THE BISHOP'S VISION. 
 
 And in them days lived Bishop Lumkin 
 
 In his brick mansion on the bench. 
 His head was Uke an old prize pumpkin, 
 
 His great big nose, it had a wrench 
 From right to left and back agin, 
 
 And when he looked at you, he glowered 
 From under eyebrows black as Sin. 
 
 His ugly mouth was seamed and soured 
 With calculating his percents, 
 
 His hands was like a pair o' hams, 
 His ears looked like big shells o' clams. 
 
 And warts and bumps and lumps and dents, 
 Like hills and canyons, you could see 
 
 Upon his physimahogany. 
 
 When he walked 'round to git his rents 
 
 Once every month, with them two bunions 
 On his big feet, like Spanish onions. 
 
 And shuffled down the street so tall, 
 With shoulders like a buffalo ; 
 
 Dressed all in black from top to toe 
 And measurin' seven foot over all, 
 
 His heavy jaw set firm and grim, — 
 No wonder folks was 'fraid o' him. 
 
 He got the cash by hook or crook. 
 
 And when he made a loan or two. 
 He opened up his great big book, 
 
 To put down when the notes come due. 
 And Caleb Lumkin's lowest figger 
 
 Was by the month at two per cent, 
 On excellent security, 
 
 And so his bank account got bigger. 
 And everywhere that Caleb went 
 
 He fetched that book with him, did he, 
 
 95 
 
A-shufflin' up and down, and 'roun' 
 The dusty streets of Scrambletown ; 
 
 And when at night the bishop cUmm 
 Up Sinai hill, with weary tread, 
 
 Some mean, sarcastic gentiles said. 
 He took the book to bed with him. 
 
 Besides his rents and stocks and lands, 
 
 Old Caleb had a healthy fam'ly, — 
 You couldn't count 'em on both hands. 
 
 There was Jemima, Jane and Em'ly, 
 Three gals like flagstaffs on a hill. 
 
 Sue, Sal and Nell, all big and bony 
 And Eben, Philemon and Bill, 
 
 Bob, Aaron, Lehi, and Moroni, 
 Melchisedec and lank Lamoni — 
 
 That boy he was a son of a gun, — 
 Joe, Nephi, Abraham and Phil, 
 
 And Brigham was the youngest one. 
 
 In them there early Mormon days, 
 
 The bishops hadn't learned to know 
 Napoleon, Caesar, Cicero; 
 
 They never cared much anyways 
 'Bout Washingtons and Henry Clays, 
 
 But babies kept a-comin' so 
 That names was at a premium. 
 
 So when a fresh male squaller come, 
 In fam'lies where they'd used up Joe 
 
 And Jim and John, then they was liable 
 To baptize from the Mormon bible, 
 
 And when that stock was wellnigh spent 
 They'd draw upon the Testament. 
 
 Old Lumkin, he was big and tall, 
 His wife she was so lean and small. 
 
 With pale red hair and back all bent; 
 She looked so weak and frail and thin, 
 
 Jest like a piece o' porcelin. 
 
 96 
 
But don't you trust them tender creatures 
 
 O' womankind that look so weak, — 
 Them women with the smearkase features. — 
 
 Don't count upon their bein' meek. 
 No — don't you fool yourselves, my boys, 
 
 I'm up on matrimonial joys; — 
 Them big fat women is all right ; 
 
 They may rave round and scold a bit 
 Or make believe they've got a fit, 
 
 And sometimes, maybe, they'll show fight,- 
 But they're a comfortable sort. 
 
 You let on easy — jest make sport 
 When they flare up, and in the main 
 
 You find they'll soon come round again; 
 A flash o' lightnin' and some thunder. 
 
 And then comes sunshine after rain. 
 
 But that thin kind that makes you wonder 
 They don't kerflummix in a heap, — 
 
 The kind that don't know how to weep. 
 With look so dry and brokenhearted; — 
 
 Say, boys, when that there kind gits started, 
 All you kin do's to stand from under! 
 
 Jane Lumkin woke one Sunday mornin',- 
 
 She thought she heard a kind o' roar; 
 She saw the bishop on the floor, 
 
 A-prayin' like all everlastin' ; — 
 '' Oh, Jane, my dear, I've had a warning 
 
 A warnin' from the Lord most high,'^ 
 And kept a-moanin' and a-castin' 
 
 His rollin' eyes up to the sky. 
 '' I thank you. Oh, ye saints in Heaven! — 
 Last night about a half-past 'leven, 
 
 I had a vision, darling Jane," — 
 He looked jest like he had a pain. — 
 
 97 
 
" What did you have? " with some decision 
 Says Jane to him. '' Dear Jane, a vision ! 
 
 I saw the saints in Paradise 
 With these mine own unworthy eyes." 
 
 And then he talked like Sunday preachin' 
 
 Fer fifteen minutes on a stretch 
 And praised the Lord, and kept a-reachin' 
 
 His folded fists up to the skies, 
 While Jane looked on in some surprise. 
 
 Told how an angel come to fetch 
 Him from his bed at half-past 'leven 
 
 And took him on his back to Heaven, 
 
 And showed him sights would make you rave 
 
 Fer very joy and holy shiver, — 
 Jane lay there silent as the grave ; 
 
 You couldn't see a muscle quiver. 
 
 Then Bishop Caleb he got brave 
 
 And started in to tell her how 
 The prophet, Joseph Smith, had said: 
 
 ''You're only Bishop Lumkin now, 
 But brother dear, be not afraid 
 
 And learn to read your title clear 
 To glitterin' mansions in the skies, — 
 
 And mansions on the earth likewise. 
 Lay up below increasing store, 
 
 Fer thou shalt live fourscore and more; 
 The presidency of a Stake, 
 
 High Priest, Seven of the Seventies, 
 Th' Apostles Council at Salt Lake, 
 
 All these the Prophet Smith decrees," — 
 All this fer Caleb 'fore he'd die ! 
 
 And Caleb praised the Lord most high 
 
 And told how Brother Joseph told, 
 How that the saints was sore offenaed 
 
That, while the bishop laid up gold 
 
 He hadn't properly attended 
 Unto the matrimonial end. 
 
 ''Go forthwith, brother Caleb, wend 
 
 Thy way, and unto thee have sealed, 
 Before the fuUmoon shines anew, — 
 
 Ere yet the ploughshare breaks the field, - 
 A Mrs. Lumkin number two. 
 
 Prosperity awaits thy seed, — 
 Thus is it by the Saints decreed ; 
 
 Increase, therefore, and multiply!" 
 
 The bishop praised the Lord most high, 
 But ere he wended forth his way, 
 
 He thought it jest as well to stay 
 
 In Heaven for supper with the Saints. 
 
 Jane Lumkin she made no complaints, 
 
 But took the saintly rigmarole 
 All in without a single word ; — 
 
 You might a' thought she hadn't heard. 
 She simply wended forth her way 
 
 The same as any other day. 
 And every time that Caleb stole. 
 
 From out the corner of his eye. 
 His hang-dog, glowerin' squint at her, 
 
 Jane looked at him and softly smole 
 A queer and saintly kind o' smile, 
 
 A smile so gentle, yet so sly, — 
 As sweet as honey, green as bile; — 
 
 Poor Caleb felt uneasy, fer 
 No matter how he'd try and try. 
 
 He couldn't seem to recollect 
 That he had ever seen before, 
 
 That smile upon her countenance. 
 
 99 
 
But he was of the Mormon sect, — 
 
 A Mormon Bishop to the core, 
 And didn't mean that any poor, 
 
 Weak vessel should, by any chance, 
 Upset a bishop's privileges. 
 
 He could have sixteen wives or more, 
 Of various nations and all ages, 
 
 If he had money to support 'em! 
 He didn't have to go and court 'em. 
 
 Like them who couldn't afford but one; — 
 He had the money, — that's enough, — 
 
 A Bishop, yes, and with the stuff! 
 He'd like to see the son of a gun 
 
 Of any shriveled Mormon mother, 
 Could frighten him from sealin' on 
 
 Another, yes, and still another! 
 
 He waited 'bout a week or so, 
 
 Expectin' she would simmer down, 
 Then in the forenoon come up town 
 
 And sneaked in at the kitchen door. 
 Jane Lumkin was a-rollin' dough, 
 
 And when she saw him, smiled agin 
 Exactly as she'd smiled before. 
 
 And swung her great big roUin' pin, 
 All smeared around with dough and flour. 
 
 *' What brings you home at this here hour? " 
 Says Jane, a-lookin' straight at him. 
 
 That question almost knocked him flat; — 
 She didn't use to talk like that! 
 
 Then he commenced to glare and glower, 
 And bubblin' over at the brim, 
 
 Begins to talk : — 
 
 ^' Rash woman, heed 
 
 The precepts by the Saints decreed ! 
 
 100 
 
I've come expressly fer to tell you 
 That that affair is settled now, 
 
 That is to let you know, as how 
 She will be scaled to me next week ; — 
 
 To let you know, it were as well you 
 Bowed down before the saintly law 
 
 Your stubborn neck, obedient, meek, 
 In due humility and awe. 
 
 Fer if you don't, you know, to hell you 
 Will find your obstinacy leadin'. — 
 
 My new wife has jest come from Sweden, 
 A young, angelic, fair-haired thing; 
 
 As gentle as a newborn lamb, 
 And she can play, and she can sing. 
 
 Her presence will be as the balm, 
 Of Gilead to our home, d'ye hear? 
 
 She's jest arrived here with her brother — 
 Two converts to our holy faith : — 
 
 And she will treat you like a mother. 
 Now, don't you go to actin' queer! 
 
 Be humble and submissive, dear, 
 As you have always been. 
 
 What saith 
 
 The Lord of Hosts? Mosiah 3, 
 ' Respect the Prophets' holy cause,' 
 
 Verse 24 : — ' Bow down to me. 
 In due obedience to the Laws. 
 
 Let not vain hopes thy heart beguile.' 
 Her name is Ingeborg Johanna, — 
 
 Now stop that everlastin' smile, 
 And praise the Lord of hosts. Hosanna! " 
 
 The bishop pulled out his bandanna, 
 
 And mopped the sweat from off his brow. 
 
 But Jane she didn't praise a bit. 
 Although her smile had faded now. 
 
 101 
 
She pointed to a chair. "You sit 
 
 Down there/' said she, " and hearken how 
 I had a vision, good as you, 
 
 And maybe jest one better too. — 
 This morning, at a half-past seven, 
 
 The angel Gabriel come from Heaven, 
 In answer to my urgent prayers. 
 
 And blowed upon a long, brass horn. 
 
 'Awake, thou meek and humble soul,' 
 
 Cried he, ' thou unto trouble born. 
 Weighed down with duties and with cares. 
 
 And all across his face there stole 
 A radiance, made my blood run cold. 
 
 ' Thou weary mother, wan and worn 
 And hounded by the devil's snares. 
 
 Be bold, dear sister Jane, be bold! ' " 
 
 And told him that the angel told 
 
 Her everything that Caleb said. 
 And if he should bring home to wed, 
 
 That Swedish blonde, called Ingeborg, 
 She was to knock her on the head 
 
 And git her ready fer the morgue. 
 
 ''And be thou not afraid of sin. 
 
 Dear sister Jane," said Gabriel, 
 "But swipe her with the rollin' pin. 
 
 And if that pumpkin-headed lout. 
 Your bishop-husband, kicks, jest tell 
 
 Him Gabriel knows what he's about. 
 He gits his orders way above 
 
 Old Joseph Smith and all the Saints. 
 Don't let him bully you, my love ; 
 
 When Caleb quotes Joe Smith, the Prophet, 
 You tell him he may go to Tophet. 
 
 Don't you mind Caleb's holy plaints, 
 
 102 
 
Jest tell him to go up the spout ; 
 
 Nev' mind his Hallelujah shout. 
 And ef he tries that game agin 
 
 Or comes some other scheme on you 
 Why jest you take the rolUn' pin, 
 
 My sufferin' Jane, and knock him out;- 
 Jest smite him boldly on the snout, 
 
 My gentle Jane, that's what you do." 
 
 And Gabriel, smilin' sweet, withdrew. 
 
 And all the folks who didn't know 
 
 The inside facts about this business, — 
 This solitary wife o' his'n, as 
 
 They couldn't make it tally no 
 How, thought the matter rather queer 
 
 That this rich bishop all his life. 
 Right in this Mormon centre here, 
 
 Had sealed to him one only wife ; 
 While other bishops, high and low. 
 
 Sealed unto them five, six and seven 
 To build up Zion here below. 
 
 And some as high as ten and eleven ; — 
 It made the people wonder so. 
 
 And Caleb lived fer years and years, 
 Accordin' to the Prophet 's brief, 
 His property it grew and grew 
 
 As from the records it appears, 
 And he rose to be of the chief 
 
 And saintly Mormon counsellors ; 
 Fulfilling thus, as you kin see. 
 The Prophet Joseph Smith's decree. 
 
 But Gabriel had his innings too, 
 
 Fer though Jane kept on doing chores 
 
 103 
 
Fer her old pumpkinheaded sinner, 
 Yet after all she came out winner. 
 
 By George, that woman had the grit! 
 She never would let Caleb worry 
 
 Her into any dyin' fit ; — 
 Jane she was never in no hurry 
 
 To pass her checks in, — not a bit! 
 And she lived long enough to bury 
 
 Him in the Mormon cemetery. 
 
 Old Caleb died a saintly death. 
 
 They say, and with his latest breath 
 Forgive his enemies, and then 
 
 Sailed fer his mansions in the skies. 
 But these things are beyond our ken. 
 
 Perhaps he squeezed in anyway, — 
 Maybe he got to Paradise ; — 
 
 But then you can't most always say,- 
 He may have gone the other way. 
 
 SCRAMBLETOWN'S GIFT ORGAN. 
 
 The Methodist parson of Scrambletown, 
 He strutted up and he strutted down 
 The central aisle of the bran' new church, 
 A-workin' his arms like a pair o' flails ; — 
 He exhorted the flock from the altar rails 
 And finally climbed to his pulpit perch. 
 And there he hollered till he was hoarse, — 
 He smote the cushion with all his force. 
 At last he shrieked as he glared aroun' : — 
 (It was in the days of the property boom) 
 ''Beloved brethern, who will assume 
 The cost of an organ fer Scrambletown ; 
 A church pipe organ, all bran' new? 
 
 104 
 
My prosperous friends, 'twill cost but a few, 
 A paltry five thousand dollars, or so. — • 
 Right here sits the richest man I know, 
 The richest man in a booming town ; — 
 Stand up, beloved brother Stuff! — 
 They say that Scrambletown is rough, 
 But rough or no, an angel's crown 
 Awaits the man who will put dow^n 
 His name fer this here triflin' sum ; — 
 Brother Stuff, the crown it waits fer you ! " 
 
 Around the church there went a hum, 
 
 As they looked at Stuff in his big front pew. 
 
 And old Colonel Stuff he says,'' Oh yes, 
 
 I kin pay fer the orgin, I rather guess, 
 
 Ef the rest o' you all will lift the debt 
 
 Onthenewchurchbuildin'.That'swhat,— youbet!" 
 
 And the preacher he says, '' Now, God bless 
 
 You. brother Stuff! As fer the rest 
 
 The Spirit tells me I can get 
 
 From twenty of you, each five hundred. 
 
 There's none of you," the parson thundered, 
 
 ''That wants to leave this house unblest," 
 
 And worked himself into a sweat. 
 
 "Now thirty more, two fifty each!" 
 
 That man knew more than jest to preach — 
 
 And so down to the twenty-fives 
 
 He goes, and finally arrives 
 
 At ten. "The Lord, you see," he cries, 
 
 "Would not the widow's mite despise." 
 
 And then he lifts his hands to pray : — 
 
 "Oh Lord, now glorify this day ! " 
 
 "Amen!" they shout, and some "Yea, yea!" 
 
 The Reverend Wesley Cushionsmiter, 
 
 He walked around with a smile much brighter 
 
 Than any smile you ever seen. 
 
 105 
 
He looked so big and he talked so keen, 
 
 Like he had the world where the hair was short ^ 
 
 And runnin' a church was jest mere sport. I 
 
 Next day he wrote to the organ man ; — ' 
 
 Four fellers come 'way from Michigan, 
 
 All loaded up with pipes o' tin. 
 
 They tore things out and they put things in, 
 
 And turned that church all upside down — ; 
 
 That Methodist church in Scrambletown, — 
 
 A-workin' early and workin' late. | 
 
 And when the thing was got set up, ] 
 
 The parson passed the communion cup I 
 
 Fer money to buy a memorial plate ; 
 
 Of silver, to tack on the organ front, — ; 
 
 A sort o' brotherly love donation I 
 
 To Colonel Stuff by the congregation, — " 
 
 (It turned out the size of a fishin' punt), ; 
 
 A plate inscribed with the touchin' motto : — 1 
 
 ''Presented by our dear brother, Lott, O. - 
 
 Stuff, to the Scrambletown M. E. church." 
 
 In a week or two come the big fandango — 
 
 They engaged the great Proff. L. Slambango i 
 
 Smith, an organist from Salt Lake, j 
 
 Who guaranteed to make things quake. ] 
 
 The show commenced at eight o'clock, I 
 
 When the organist got up on his perch, 
 
 And the place was full up, chock a block i 
 
 With the hoot-volee o' Scrambletown. 
 
 The organist he slid up and dow^n 1 
 
 And made her snort with his feet and fingers, — I 
 
 They called the piece a '' feug by Bock." — j 
 
 Then the Methodist Hallelujah singers j 
 
 Feuged with the organist in cahoots, ! 
 
 While several young, boiled-shirt galoots 
 
 106 ■ 
 
Passed 'round a reg'ler programmee, 
 
 Jest like the Variety Concert Hall — 
 
 A printed paper, where you kin see 
 
 The pieces they sing before the ball. 
 
 The ladies sold tickits and took the tin, — 
 
 The people paid fifty cents to git in. 
 
 In the middle the preacher begins to pray 
 
 And told 'em the church had come to stay. 
 
 Then the singers they all begin to shout 
 
 While some dudes they passed the hat about, 
 
 And all of us had to pay to git out. 
 
 But before we got, the Reverend gent 
 Brought down his fist on the Testament, 
 And preached on a fav'rite theme o' his'n : — 
 ''The polygamists down in Salt Lake jail," — 
 And his wrath broke forth in a screechy wail ; 
 Every Elder, said he, ought to be in prison, 
 To hell with the Mormons and damn the Pope 
 And told 'em fiat, that their only hope 
 Was to git to Heaven by the Methodist way. 
 
 Now, after a year or so and a day 
 The organbuilder he wanted his pay. 
 But as by that time the boom was busted 
 And most o' the Methodist flock had dusted, 
 You couldn't collect the price of a louse; 
 Fer a silver dollar looked big as a house. 
 
 Then the Reverend's anger was immense 
 And he up and calls a conference. 
 And sends a notice to everyone 
 Of his beloved congregation. — 
 We boys all went to see the fun. — 
 Jest sizzlin' hot with indignation, 
 You bet your life, was that skypilot. 
 
 107 
 
He says, fer any camel to j 
 
 Go prancin' through a needle's eyelet, J 
 
 Was easier, " than fer such as you \ 
 To squeeze in at the golden gate ! " 
 
 And then he ripped the silver plate \ 
 
 From off the organ front, and threw : 
 
 The thing a-rattlin' on the floor. j 
 
 Old Stuff he got up in his pew ; — - ; 
 
 He picked that plate up with a smile, , 
 
 Right off the carpet in the aisle, ' 
 
 And walked off grinnin' to the door. ' 
 
 You couldn't phaze a tough old limb , 
 
 Like Stuff, a-flingin' plates at him. i 
 
 But the Reverend gent got allfired hot, , j 
 
 And glared around with a venomous glance | 
 
 As he opened the book at the very spot ; 
 
 He'd marked fer a hot tamale text, '\ 
 
 St. Paul to the Thessalonicans : — 
 
 '' All ripe fer hell, and w^ho goes next? " j 
 
 I don't exactly recollect. 
 
 But it was some words to that effect. \ 
 
 'Fore long the said four Michiganders ; 
 
 Come back agin to Scrambletown, ; 
 
 And pulled old Stuff's new organ down ; j 
 
 With a borrowed truck from Bishop Farr's, 1 
 
 And the help of a team and Slimjim Saunders ! 
 
 They carted the thing to the railroad cars. ; 
 
 Then the Reverend Wesley Cushionsmiter : 
 
 He screw^ed his voice up tight and tighter, | 
 
 And made shrill moan, like a sick coyote, j 
 
 And the atmosphere and the cushion smote ;— ] 
 
 He knew his job, he was no beginner — \ 
 
 He flung the curse and he hurled the bans ; 
 
 108 \ 
 
At the head of every old toughened sinner, 
 And down to hell he sent 'em all 
 With that bully Epistle from old Saint Paul, — 
 St. Paul to the Thessalonicans. 
 
 And soon thereafter it come to pass — 
 
 As the prophet remarks in the book o' Mormon- 
 
 That the mortgagee, old Reddy Gorman, 
 
 He went around and begin to sass 
 
 The Reverend gent fer his ready cash, 
 
 He wanted his money, that's what, — he said, 
 
 And threatened the Reverend's mug to smash ; 
 
 At which the skypilot waxed sore afraid. 
 
 And the mortgagor and the mortgagee, 
 
 Somehow or other, they couldn't agree. 
 
 The latter party, he felt quite blue ; — 
 
 Though the people all said 'twas abominable, — 
 
 He didn't know what the hell to do, 
 
 So he run the church fer a livery stable. 
 
 And old Lott Stuff was jest the man 
 
 To smile out loud at the parson's rage. — 
 
 The sinner — he lived to a green old age 
 
 And died on the Congregational plan ; 
 
 While the Reverend gent sought a change of air 
 
 And accepted a call some otherwhere. 
 
 Fer the Reverend Wesley Cushionsmiter 
 
 Even if he was a seasoned, tough 
 
 And double-lined old Devil fighter; 
 
 What could he do with a case Hke Stuff? 
 
 And what was the good to bawl, and to maul 
 
 The pulpit cushion fer such a man 
 
 Who had no faith in the Spotless Lamb, — 
 
 A feller who didn't care a snap, 
 
 Who didn't give a C. G.damn 
 
 Fer the ancient epistle of old St. Paul — 
 
 A sinner who wouldn't give a rap 
 
 Fer a dead and gone Thessalonican ! 
 
 109 
 
DIAMOND RINGS. 
 
 There was us four — Si Smith and me, and Mike 
 
 Magoon and Steve. In that old schooner '^ Ike " 
 
 It was, we come that day from Syracuse 
 
 To Fremont Island in the Great Salt Lake, j 
 
 To tend to business there about some sheep. j 
 
 When we had fixed the deal, we couldn't well refuse ] 
 
 To stop all night, because there was a breeze -\ 
 
 Right dead agin us. So we had to take 
 
 Things as they was. And as we couldn't sleep 
 
 Jest yet, we laid there takin' of our ease, j 
 
 A-thinkin' of God's country in the East, j 
 
 And smoked our pipes on that damstinkin' shore, 
 
 A-iookin' on the sluggish lake, — us four. ; 
 
 And all around so deadlike and so still. 
 
 No single sound from north, south, west or east — ■ i 
 
 No livin', movin' thing that came or went; — 
 
 The air across the water blowin' chill. 
 
 And all the stars out in the fundament. 
 
 Nobody said a word, fer Mike Magoon | 
 
 He smoked a while and then looked at the moon - 
 
 And smoked some more, and Si he didn't speak i 
 
 To speak of nohow, bein' so much with sheep ; 
 And Steve Renonc — not ten words in a week ] 
 
 Would that man talk, but then Steve thunk a heap. ' 
 
 And Steve Renonc could talk jest like a book 
 When he'd a mind to, and he'd mount and ride j 
 
 The wildest cayuse anywhere, and cook , 
 
 The finest soup from tough old bullock's hide. \ 
 
 He was a smart, sarcastical galoot, { 
 
 Was Steve, and mighty allfired quick to shoot. ' 
 
 They say he had some scrap with eastern folks 
 Before he come to Utah, maybe so. — 
 
 110 j 
 
Who knows, who cares much 'bout them things out 
 
 here. 
 I know, Steve Renonc wouldn't stand no jokes 
 From eastern tenderfeet, — that's what / know. 
 
 Long time ago, yet I remember well, 
 To Salt Lake come a chap with kinder queer. 
 Long tangled legs and great big, Roman nose- 
 It roamed all down his face. — He starts to tell. 
 Between the drinks at Albuquerque Bill's, 
 About young Renonc, this and that and those, 
 And talks a lot o' stuff there kinder loud, 
 And says if Renonc hadn't a been so proud, 
 He needn't gone from Boston, o'er the hills 
 And far away. Then Steve he jest come in. 
 And walked up quiet to the crowded bar; 
 And in a minute you could hear a pin 
 Drop in that crowd. 
 
 Soon as the feller chanced 
 To spy Renonc, he twisted and he pranced. 
 Jest like a kangaroo that's got a fit. 
 And bowed, and come cavortin' up to him ; 
 ''Why, Mister Stephen Renonc, how d'ye do?" 
 And Steve he says, a-smilin' sorter grim, 
 ''I do assure you, sir, I don't know you. 
 And I will thank you if you'll jest admit 
 That I have never seen you, sir, before;" 
 And pulls his gun, which was to say, — "you git!'' — 
 That chap lit out to westward that same day. 
 And Utah never saw them legs no more. — 
 That was jest Steve's aristocratic way. 
 
 Now when I found it gittin' rather drear 
 
 A loafin' there and mopin' at the moon, 
 
 I turns around and says to Mike Magoon, 
 
 ''Wake up there, Mike Magoon," says I, "look here. 
 
 What would you do if you had piles o' gold? " — 
 
 111 
 
Not as I b'lieved he'd answer right away, — ■ 
 Not much ! — It gen'ly took Mike half a day J 
 
 To start his jaw, and to dig out the mould 
 From off his talkin' apparatus. Time 
 
 And time agin, I've knowed his tongue to balk, \ 
 
 And bein' all ready, hesitate to talk. — 
 Steve said one day, Mike's silence was subhme, — 
 And what Steve Renonc said was gen'ly right; 
 Mike always took his time. I 
 
 But my remark j 
 
 Woke up old Silas Smith. Gold was the spark 
 To set old Si ablaze. — That day and night 
 He had been drinkin' some, which made him doze, i 
 
 But at the magic word, old Si arose j 
 
 And set up on the sand, all straight and stiff. 
 Says he : '' Jest what I's thinkin', boys, and if \ 
 
 I strike it rich I'll travel 'round the world ; 
 I'd wait fer nuthin', but start off at once 
 
 And go to Yurrup, and then bust the bank 1 
 
 At Monte Carlo " — Steve's lip kinder curled. | 
 
 ^' Oh yes," he says, '' you damn old rusty tank, I 
 
 And drink yourself to death in eighteen months." j 
 
 We filled our pipes and waited fer Magoon. — \ 
 
 At last I says to him : I 
 
 ''Say Mike, how soon j 
 
 Before you'd move when you have got the pelf? j 
 
 How would you spend your dough? " says I, and Mike I 
 
 Looked out across the water, dreamylike, 
 And talked like one a-talkin' to himself : 
 
 ''Back in Newbrasky is a girl I know; — J 
 
 Down in Uintah, where the fruit trees grow, i 
 
 There is a place, some day I'm goin' to buy," — ^ 
 
 And then he stops, and starts agin, " and, maybe, 
 In course o' time, perhaps, there'll be a baby," — 
 And cuts off short, and says no more. i 
 
 And Si , 
 
 He shuts his eye and kinder tries to wink, j 
 
 112 i 
 
And, holdin' up his flask to Mike Magoon, 
 
 He sings out, hoarse : '' Down in Uintah Valley, 
 
 ril Uve in clover with my Bridget Nally." — 
 
 ''Shut up!" says Steve Renonc, ''you drunken loon.'* 
 
 And Si shuts up and takes another drink. 
 
 Now my turn come and I begun, I think. 
 
 Jest like most people, when they are befooled 
 
 With dreamin' rich, like Vanderbilt and Gould, 
 
 To tell some dam fool things that I would do. 
 
 If I had lots o' cash. — No matter now. — 
 
 Then Si he says, '' Now Steve, it's up to you." 
 
 '' Oh bosh," says Steve, '' It's no good anyhow, 
 And what's the use of all this foohsh jaw? 
 You chaps '11 never have enough of gold 
 To buy a ticket back to Omaha. — 
 Except Magoon,— he stows his wad away,"— 
 And flings a rock out in the lake. And old 
 Si Smith says,'' Come now,Steve,don't spoil the game, 
 Ef you had lots o' gold, now, come now, say- 
 How would you play your hand now, all the same? 
 Ef you had sold them mines down in Tooele 
 Fer twenty miUion dollars? say — to hell! " 
 Steve Renonc kinder snorts, and then he smole 
 A bitter kind o' smile. 
 
 "If I must play 
 Your dam fool game," he says, " I'd spend the whole 
 Darn blessed pile o' gold fer diamond rings." 
 And Steve picks up another rock, and flings 
 It far off in the gloomy, ghtterin' lake. 
 
 "J. C!" says I, "You couldn't wear 'em, Steve; 
 Leastwise not all at once,"— "You jest believe 
 I'd wear 'em, "says Renonc, "and I would take 
 I hem stones to Denver, and I'd have 'em cut, 
 Each stone with edges on it like a knife,"— 
 And Steve stood in the moonlight, straight and tall, 
 113 
 
And spread his strong, long fingers out ; '' that 's what ! 
 I'd fill 'em full — both hands — yes, thumbs and all. 
 With them same diamond rings, you bet your life! " 
 
 '' The hell you say ! " says Si. '' You'd be a sight 
 With all them rings a-bristlin' on your hands, 
 A-stalkin' round in Denver, day and night ! — 
 But then I guess you'd go to furrin lands, 
 And show your diamonds to the Pope at Rome," — 
 
 ''The Pope be damned!" — and Steve's mouth kinder 
 
 twitches ; — 
 '' Then, boys, I'd take the fastest train fer home, 
 And shake hands with them east ern sons o' — guns ! " 
 
 OLD GUNNYSACK. 
 
 On the outskirts of the village 
 
 In a tent, all by himself, 
 Lived old ''Gunnysack," the hermit. 
 
 Hankered not for power and pelf, 
 Did odd jobs from morn till evening, 
 
 Slept all night on rough hewn logs ; — 
 Was beloved of all the children, 
 
 And a friend of all the dogs. 
 
 Proud was he, of lofty bearing, 
 
 Strong and tall, and gaunt and lank; 
 Stalked abroad with scornful visage, 
 
 And they called the man a crank. 
 And the mighty hated, feared him. 
 
 For he spake both well and true : 
 But the poor, strange dogs all loved him, 
 
 And the little children too. 
 
 114 
 
Spake the truth upon the highway, 
 
 As he felt it in his heart, 
 Scourged all hypocrites and sinners 
 
 With a keen and stinging smart. 
 Pompous priest and polished pagan, — 
 
 He consigned them all to hell ; — 
 ' ' Gunnysack, " loved by the children, 
 
 And by all the dogs as well! 
 When at last this fierce old hermit. 
 
 In his tent lay down to die, 
 Law and Order and Religion, 
 
 All together, heaved a sigh. 
 And they sank him in the marshland, 
 
 To a dirge, croaked by the frogs:— 
 *'Here lies one, loved by the children 
 
 And beloved of all the dogs!" 
 
 BACHELOR'S TEN COMMANDMENTS. 
 
 Take good care of your digestion, 
 Don't be ashamed to ask a question. 
 Fear not Death nor Hell ; don't fret, 
 Keep clear of borrowers and debt, 
 Don't expect too much of life, 
 Don't fool round with another's wife. — 
 Perhaps you've heard all this before; 
 Hearken to it, friend, once more. — 
 Work by day and sleep by night. 
 Speak up boldly for the Right. 
 Love the poor — the rich be damned, — 
 Jesus Christ did so command. 
 
 These the ten a man should treasure. 
 Add two more, just for good measure : 
 Smoke your pipe and drink your toddy, 
 Don 't care a damn for anybody ! 
 
 115 
 
H. A. JONES. I 
 
 '1 
 Of all the onnery new galoots ? 
 
 That come to Scrambletown that summer, \ 
 
 The meanest cuss, — you bet your boots — ; 
 
 Was H. A. Jones. He was a hummer ! '] 
 
 This Jones he was the biggest liar j 
 
 In all that country, all aroun' ; 1 
 
 And by the high celestial choir, ; 
 
 The liars there was hard to down, — i 
 
 In Scrambletown. ; 
 
 They say he come from Alamosa, i 
 
 And he put on a lot o' style, ] 
 
 He was rigged out — you would suppose a ^ 
 
 Trim chap like that had made his pile. 
 He worked in Real Estate and Loans 
 
 And knew a shady trick or two, i 
 
 And hustled round, this H. A. Jones, ! 
 
 To do up all that he could do — ' 
 
 And so would you. j 
 
 Now there was lots o' Joneses there, ] 
 
 About that time. Seemed just like hell j 
 
 Had sifted Joneses on the air. I 
 
 So people, this Jones for to tell 
 
 From other Joneses, all a rustling | 
 
 In corner lots and mortgage loans, j 
 
 Said, when they saw H. A. a-hustling, j 
 
 " See that?— That's ' Alamosa Jones',"— j 
 In dulcet tones. 
 
 This Jones he wasn't much for show, — i 
 
 He had no beauty spots or dimples, — ' 
 
 But everywhere where they could grow, 
 
 He had a lot o' fiery pimples, i 
 
 116 i 
 
 1 
 
Like young volcanoes on the splutter. 
 
 Of course it wasn't hardly fair, 
 But '' Pimply Jones/' you'd hear folks mutter. 
 
 You see, he wasn't populer — 
 The onnery cur! 
 
 And then they found another name, 
 
 Built on H. A., them two initials; 
 But if I was to tell the same. 
 
 Them new municipal officials 
 Would run me in. It's easy guessed, 
 
 And this the poUce might allow; 
 But if you've never been out West, 
 
 You'd never guess it anyhow, — 
 Say, could you now? 
 
 ROCKY MOUNTAIN SONG. 
 
 Oh, for the breezes of the Rocky Mountain height! 
 
 Oh, for the soaring of the eagle in his flight! 
 Where the peaks are all aglow, in the everlasting snow. 
 
 And the stars shine brightly through the dewless night. 
 Oh, for the Rockies, where you live without a care! 
 
 Oh, for the canyons and the mountain lion's lair! 
 Where the skies are ever blue and nobody cares for you. 
 
 And the scalawags drift in from everywhere. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Farewell, the wooded hill; farewell, the blooming vale; 
 
 Farewell, the ebbing and the flowing of the tide. 
 Adieu, the sandy shore and the fierce Atlantic gale. 
 
 And the harbor where the ships at anchor ride. 
 Farewell, my charming eastern love, farewell! 
 
 Adieu, dear memories of pleasure and of pain! 
 
 117 
 
Farewell, ye crowded streets, where care and trouble 
 dwell, 
 Oh, the Rockies! — Let me see them once again! 
 
 Bear me, my cayuse, through the desert and the hush. 
 Far through the balmy night, where mountain torrents 
 gush; 
 And the sands shall be my bed, with, the saddle 'neath 
 my head, 
 While the coyote's mournful wail floats o'er the brush. 
 Oh, for the Rockies, where the tenderfoot is flayed! 
 
 Oh, for the country where the thimblerig is played! 
 Where the Mormon elder thrives with his half a dozen 
 wives, 
 And the gambler and the hobo never fade. 
 
 Give me the Rockies, where the sun shines all the year! 
 
 Give me the western maid, who loves without a tear! 
 With her style so debonair, and her wealth of fluffy hair, 
 
 And a hand that guides the broncho without fear. 
 Dear are the joys of youth that vanish one by one. 
 
 Green are the meadows where the eastern rivers run.— 
 Oh, but once again to ride, with my rifle at my side, 
 
 On the trail that leads toward the setting sun! 
 
 118 
 
SALTWATER VERSE. 
 
NAVY SONG. 
 
 A health to thee, old Ocean gray ! 
 I love beneath thy dashing spray 
 To sail into the dawn of day, 
 
 Upon thy flood; 
 To see, when day is drooping low, 
 Upon thy bosom's restless flow, 
 The sunset's fierce expiring glow 
 
 Burn red as blood. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Drink to the glory of the brave ! 
 
 Dark looms the shadow of the grave, — 
 
 Red is the goblet's glow. 
 
 And blood is red and hell is black, 
 
 And damned be he who turns his back 
 
 Or quails before the foe. 
 
 My pledge to thee, old Ocean drear, 
 I love thy thundering voice to hear, 
 And see thy flashing visage cheer 
 
 To bloody fight, 
 While deeps engulf the lurid wrack 
 And deafening peals of battle crack 
 Thy heaving breast,— Oh trackless track 
 
 To glorious might! 
 
 To Perry, Lawrence and Paul Jones 
 What paeans, wafted o'er thy zones, 
 Oh wave, in fierce triumphant tones 
 
 Break on thy crest ! 
 To Farragut, Decatur, — loud 
 Thy surges chant; to all the proud 
 And valiant hosts that in thy shroud 
 
 Forever rest! 
 
 121 
 
My pledge to thee f orevermore ! 
 Oh let me cleave thy billows hoar, 
 And when I hear the cannon's roar 
 
 Call o'er the deep 
 To battle, victory and the grave, — 
 Then let me die among the brave, 
 And sink beneath thy seething wave 
 
 To endless sleep! 
 
 MY CHESAPEAKE! 
 
 When shadows fold the northern woods, 
 
 Beneath a dismal sky, 
 And o'er the lake the lone loon broods 
 
 With melancholy cry, 
 I long again to see the gleam 
 Of thy fair waters, and to dream 
 
 Upon thy shore the hvelong day — 
 
 My own beloved Chesapeake Bay ! 
 
 I see the wildfowl on the shoal, 
 
 I feel the balmy breeze, 
 Methinks, I hear the Oriole 
 
 Sing in the holly trees ; 
 And with faint murmurings, strangely near, 
 At eventide I seem to hear 
 
 The Spirit of thy waters speak — 
 
 My dear, my distant Chesapeake ! 
 
 A vision fair of stately ships 
 
 A-saiUng to the sea, 
 Of beaming eyes and loving lips ; 
 
 A soothing melody 
 Of warmth and beauty everywhere — 
 No chill upon the summer air. 
 
 No chill upon the heart, so bleak — 
 
 Ah, Chesapeake, my Chesapeake ! 
 
 122 
 
To see once more upon thy shores 
 
 The rich magnolias bloom, 
 To see the great sad sycamores, 
 
 The fireflies in the gloom, 
 The ripeness of the luscious peach ; 
 To hear that low, soft, Southern speech — 
 
 Oh, when shall I behold the day. 
 
 And thee, my noble Chesapeake Bay! 
 
 When shall I see thy waters lave 
 
 The seagull on the wing. 
 And hear, across thy moonlit wave. 
 
 The dusky boatmen sing? 
 And am I nevermore to sail 
 On thy white bosom, through the gale, 
 
 Where thy proud rolling waters seek 
 
 The Ocean main, my Chesapeake! 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE ^^CREST OF THE WAVE. ' 
 
 The ''Crest of the Wave ' ' was a fine new ship. 
 And as from the posts her hawsers sUp, 
 
 The song that only the sailor sings. 
 Floats o'er the bay— a '' heave and a ho 
 And a heave again, and away we go," — 
 
 As the ship from her mooring swings. 
 
 And the sailors run at the captain's beck, 
 As he stands at the rail of the quarterdeck 
 
 In the freshening morning breeze. 
 The new white sails in the sunlight gleam 
 While the trim ship glides into the stream, 
 
 Bound out to the southern seas. 
 
 123 
 
Though young in years, yet firm and brave | 
 
 Was the master bold of the ''Crest of the Wave/' ' 
 
 And he seemed so glad and proud j 
 
 Of his handsome ship, as he waved his hand 
 To his friends on the fast receding strand, 
 
 And smiled on the cheering crowd. 
 
 i 
 
 Not many months had passed away, 
 
 When out from the Capes of the Chesapeake Bay 
 
 The pilots bent their sail. 
 To where, in a storm of the night before, 
 A homebound ship on the reef-locked shore 
 
 Was cast away, in the gale. 
 
 On the brink of the desolate, wreck-strewn strand 
 Two corpses lay in the ghttering sand ; 
 
 They gathered them in a shroud, — 
 The master and mate of the ' 'Crest of the Wave. ' ' — 
 Ah, woe for the young, the noble, the brave. 
 
 The daring, the handsome, the proud! 
 
 And woe for those who are left behind, — 
 The tender and loving of womankind. 
 
 Whose hopes are engulfed in the sea; 
 Who have pondered the day and dreamed the night 
 Of a fullrigged ship on her homeward flight, 
 
 And the joy that was to be. 
 
 Oh, great is the weight of human woe. 
 And deep is the anguish that women know 
 
 In their hearts' own misery. 
 But greater than these and deeper far 
 The surges' unfathomed mysteries are, — 
 
 The silent depths of the sea. 
 
 124 
 
The tides are flood, and the tides are flown, 
 And the wind in a gruesome undertone 
 
 Sighs over the sailor's grave; — 
 The sun goes up, and the sun goes down, 
 And the seasons and sands and breakers drown 
 
 The wail of the '^Crest of the Wave. ' ' 
 
 KEDGE'S STRAITS. 
 
 The queerest pilot on the bay 
 
 Was old Sam Lamb of Hankmatank ; 
 He never had a word to say. 
 So long and lank 
 
 Was Sam, no berth would fit his height. 
 
 So just before he went to sleep. 
 He'd have to fold his bones up tight. 
 All in a heap. 
 
 And he was one, was Captain Lamb, 
 By trouble ne'er a whit perplexed ; 
 
 He didn't seem to care a d 
 
 What happened next. 
 
 His mouth was shut up like a clam, 
 
 Excepting when he ate and drank. 
 Or took a chew, — this Samuel Lamb 
 Of Hankmatank. 
 
 One time there crawled in through the fog 
 
 A freighter, come from Zanzibar; 
 Her captain was a jovial dog, 
 A joll}^ tar. 
 
 125 
 
He was so fat he scarce could walk — ■ | 
 
 His ship, the Mars of I jverpool ; 
 
 He tried to make this pilot talk, J 
 
 The blarsted fool! j 
 
 High on the bridge the pilot stood, j 
 
 His head up almost out of sight ; j 
 
 The steamer's whistle " booed "and '^ booed," \ 
 
 All through the night. ' 
 
 "I say, my man, where's Kedge's Straits? " 
 
 The master shouts it up on high, I 
 
 And then expectantly he waits j 
 
 For Sam's reply. i 
 
 The fog comes down as thick as rain, — 
 " I say, d'ye think we'd better sound 
 The captain tries him once again ; 
 The pilot frowned. 
 
 '* 'Tis Kedge's Straits I most do fear, 
 
 So tell me where it is. Sirrah ! " 
 Cried this bold, trading buccaneer 
 From Africa. 
 
 The pilot still made no reply ; 
 
 "Assuredly the beggar's dumb," 
 The captain thinks, "suppose we try 
 A nttle rum." 
 
 ?" 
 
 And pipes the steward for some grog, | 
 
 To limber up this pilot's tongue; i 
 
 The ship, at ten knots through the fog, . j 
 Bowls right along. 
 
 Into the pilot's saffron face 
 
 He sees the steaming liquor flow. 
 
 126 1 
 
"She'll never stand this blooming pace, — 
 Say, dontcherknow! 
 
 And where is Kedges Straits, you cur; 
 
 Why won't you tell me where we are? " 
 Thus bawled the angry mariner 
 From Zanzibar. 
 
 For though a stranger in this mere 
 
 And this his first trip to the States, 
 He knew he'd have to keep her clear 
 At Kedge 's Straits ; 
 
 And, by the way, we must confess, 
 
 Perhaps he wasn't such a fool, 
 This master of the Mars (S. S.) 
 Of Liverpool. 
 
 But Sam spake neither aye nor nay 
 
 Nor cared for skipper nor for crew. 
 And when he'd stowed the grog away. 
 He took a chew. 
 
 The captain. Oh, he swore amain 
 
 And frightful language spluttered forth. 
 And called for ^' Kedge 's Straits " again; — 
 Sam pointed north. 
 
 '' But where and when? " he shrieked anew, 
 This skipper, furious and fat, 
 
 ''You d d old yellow mummy, you, 
 
 Come, tell me that ! " 
 
 And d d the pilot and the crew 
 
 The ship, the fog, and his own eyes, 
 Then, with an oath of lurid hue, 
 He d d the skies, 
 
 127 
 
And spent the night and half the morn 
 
 In blasphemy and sacrilege ; 
 The pilot smiled in silent scorn, 
 High on the bridge. 
 
 Nor did the captain's efforts prove 
 
 Successful towards afternoon. 
 And then 'twas plain he couldn't move 
 This pilot loon. 
 
 So now the skipper ceased to bawl- 
 It wasn't any use, you see — 
 But on his crew began to call, 
 Immediately. 
 
 The fog came down with all its strength. 
 
 And up the bay the steamer sped ; 
 You couldn't see but half a length, 
 Or so, ahead. 
 
 ''This pilot is so taciturn. 
 
 At Kedge 's Straits we'll strike the bar; 
 The chap don't know nor care a durn 
 Just where we are. 
 
 The fog is thick — I will be brief — 
 
 We're twenty-two foot even keel, 
 
 On Kedge 's Straits we'll come to grief; 
 
 That's how I feel." 
 
 Thus spake this brave old mariner, 
 
 And added just a word or two: 
 ''Pray now, consider and confer, — 
 What shall I do?" 
 
 The sailors shout with one accord : 
 " Oh, Master, let us heave the lead, 
 
 128 
 
And heave the pilot overboard;" — 
 '' Heave 'way ! " he said. 
 
 Thus stoutly give the word, did he, 
 
 While forward rushed the doughty crew;- 
 Just then the ship stopped suddenly 
 With much ado. 
 
 And at the moment when she hit, 
 
 (It did seem just a trifle late) 
 Old Captain Lamb drawls out : '' That's it,- 
 That's Kedge's Strait!" 
 
 THE OLD LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER. 
 
 Deeprooted in its bed of rocks, 
 
 Amid the shifting sands, 
 As one that Ocean's fury mocks, 
 
 The hghthouse stands. 
 
 And off beyond the dismal dunes 
 
 The keeper's cottage Ues, 
 AVhere, sadly 'neath the changeful moons, 
 
 The stormwind sighs. 
 
 A tried and sturdy keeper he 
 Who guards this lonely shore; 
 
 He is as old as well may be — 
 Fourscore and more. 
 
 On yonder knoll his loved ones sleep. 
 
 A wife and daughters three ; ^ 
 And yet he never stops to weep — 
 
 Ah no, not he! 
 
 129 
 
As one whom storms have ceased to vex, 
 
 This hoary keeper stands; 
 Stout as the timbers in the wrecks 
 
 That strew the sands. 
 
 He saw each to perdition sail 
 
 On wings of evil luck ; 
 Recalls the name, the rig. the gale, — 
 
 And how she struck. 
 
 Two sons lie buried 'neath the wave 
 
 And no one cares for him. 
 Except it be that shiftless knave, 
 
 His helper Jim. 
 
 Jim helps the old man tend the light. 
 And calls him '' Captain Pap," 
 
 And when the old man heaves in sight, 
 Jim takes a nap. 
 
 So far apart their musing lies, 
 Both men are grown quite mute, 
 
 But sometimes, when the sunlight dies, 
 Jim plays the flute ; 
 
 And then the lighthouse keeper dreams. 
 
 With gaze afar and fond. 
 Off eastward, where the starlight gleams, - 
 
 And far beyond. 
 
 The tender steams in from the sea, 
 
 Pap's larder to renew, 
 Each month, and then he speaks, may be, 
 
 A word or two. 
 
 And when she leaves he follows her 
 With calm, indifferent gaze, 
 
 130 
 
Until her smoke is but a blur 
 In twilight haze. 
 
 And off to westward, barren land, 
 And eastward, barren sea ; 
 
 Above, around, on every hand, 
 Immensity ! 
 
 The old man climbs the lofty stair 
 
 His feet so oft have trod, 
 To sit beneath the flashlight's glare,- 
 
 Alone with God. 
 
 TO PILOT A STAR! 
 
 Ten pilots afloat in the pilot boat ; 
 
 And so dense the murky night, 
 Who can tell so far : is 't a twinkling star, 
 
 Or a ship 's faint signal light ? 
 
 As the craft creep in from the sea, and win 
 
 The lee of the curving capes 
 Is't strange, if a star on the waves afar 
 
 The flare of a flashlight apes ? 
 
 Dip the ragged coil in the pot of oil 
 
 And flash it over the rail ! 
 So the stranger bark sail safe in the dark, 
 
 Till she hear the pilot hail. 
 
 Ten men in the stern, each waiting his turn 
 
 To board the incoming craft 
 In the yawl, with four stout chaps at the oar, 
 
 And a pilot steering aft. 
 
 131 
 
''Lumbago MeKew, now it's up to you!" 
 He grumbled it through his beard ; 
 
 ''And there's no pre/^;ir^ when it's your turn nest- 
 Who says old McKew's af eared? 
 
 "The Hell of it is — damn this rheumatiz! — 
 
 And I wouldn't care a durn, 
 But me old bones crack — the pain in me back ; — • 
 
 But, damned if I '11 miss me turn ! ' ' 
 
 And away they broke with a steady stroke, 
 
 Out over the sombre sea — 
 Did the longboat's crew — old Cap McKew 
 
 With the lantern on his knee. 
 
 But soon they returned, for no flashlight burned- 
 No ship to be seen or heard; 
 
 And the longboat's crew looked devilish blue, 
 Not one of them spoke a word. 
 
 But the old man roared, as he climbed aboard : 
 
 "Aye, a rum old crew ye are. 
 To put out the boat and to take and tote 
 
 Me off to pilot a star!" 
 
 Then he swore anew, till the air was blue. 
 
 In a downright sulphurous way ; 
 Just how he abused and the language used, 
 
 I rather decline to say. 
 
 But after a w^hile he began to smile : — 
 "Hark, me boys, I've got a wish! — 
 
 When I get too stiff to jump in the skiff, 
 To spear the bonita fish, 
 
 132 
 
When I get too old, in the Winter's cold 
 
 To take my turn on the tide, 
 When there comes the time that I cannot climb 
 
 Up the big black steamship 's side ; 
 
 When I'm weak of limb and my eyes grow dim, 
 
 So I cannot tell ahead. 
 In the scudding flight through the stormy night, 
 
 A ship's green light from her red; 
 
 When I fear the wail o ' the eastern gale, 
 
 And I wish I were below ; 
 When I hear the call o' the four-oared yawl. 
 
 And I rather wouldn't go; 
 
 When I've had my fill o' the good and ill," — 
 
 And his gaze went off afar, — 
 "Then set me afloat in the old longboat. 
 
 To drift off on to a star!" 
 
 133 
 
PLEA. 
 
 Hail, ever young and restless Sea, 
 Vast emblem of perennial birth — 
 Hail, All-Embracer of the Earth ! 
 Let me once more embark on thee ; 
 
 Once more, with keenly cutting keel 
 To cleave thy flashing, f oamlit crest ! 
 Imbue me with thy youth and zest, 
 The joy of living still to feel ! 
 
 Thou bourne of rare felicity — 
 Let dalliant breezes from the West 
 Attend once more thy whilom guest ;- 
 Chant thy refrain of heedless glee ! 
 
 Oh, let thine every echo be 
 Reverberate with Olympian mirth. 
 Vast fountain of refreshing worth — 
 All hail, rejuvenating Sea ! 
 
 134 
 
GOODNIGHT ! 
 
 Now I lay me down to sleep, 
 Consign my troubles to the deep 
 And trust all may be well ;— 
 A flimsy iron shell 
 Between me 
 And Eternity! 
 
 NEPTUNE'S TRIBUTE. 
 
 Old Neptune shook aloft his trident 
 
 And roared, in accents hoarse and strident : — 
 
 Ye wretched wights, draw near- 
 Come all to lee ! You see in me 
 
 The Tax Collector here. 
 
 Though most of you I know but slightly, 
 'Tis not my style to speak politely ; 
 
 I'll have my fee, by George! 
 With gripes and groans, you pampered drones, 
 
 Come, pony up— disgorge! 
 
 All you who felt a little qualmy 
 
 And took some physic, to forestall me, 
 
 Come, give your breakfast up — 
 The physic, too ; and live to rue 
 
 If you should dare to sup ! 
 
 Of dear old friends aboard, some few ones 
 I see on deck— and several new ones— 
 
 Whose stomachs are exempt ; 
 To tax the crew and captain, too, 
 
 Were folly to attempt. 
 135 
 
But for fresh lubbers from the city 
 I've not a salt sea drop of pity — 
 
 Your tribute, if you please! 
 Pay up, you there, who cannot bear 
 
 The Nectar of the Seas ! 
 
 ABOVE AND BELOW. 
 
 Oh ye, down below, deep in the hold! 
 Condemned still to bear travail untold, 
 
 With fury of flame ever to cope, [ 
 
 Bereft of the sky, barren of hope; \ 
 
 From eight until twelve, twelve until eight, ] 
 
 Begrimed and bespirt, bared to the skin — j 
 
 Oh, shovel and stoke, early and late ! i 
 
 The furnace without, torment within, i 
 
 Make haste with the coal, stir with the rod ; | 
 
 Alert and aglow, dare not to nod ! j 
 
 For who is it cares whether ye sleep — j 
 
 The ship must onward, over the deep. \ 
 
 i 
 
 But we above, like gods, o'er the shimmering waves go ■ 
 
 prancing, i 
 
 Lolling at ease in the balm of ethereal light ; 
 Like Walhall's heroes, with goddesses drinking and 
 dancing. 
 Careless and free in the calm of the midsummer 
 night. 
 
 Ye stewards and cooks, scurry and flit! \ 
 
 Prepare ye the rare, toothsome tidbit ; | 
 
 On deck and below, sound of the gong ] 
 
 To hear and to fear — hurry along ! j 
 
 136 
 
At beck and command, noiseless and fleet, 
 To serve and to bow, smiling and neat ; 
 Fetch viands the best, white wine and red ! — 
 For though we be gods, we must be fed. 
 
 And ye down below at the machine, 
 Mid clatter and din, toiling unseen. 
 Like cogs in the wheel, each in his place ; — 
 2Vnd ye at the dial, prodding them on, 
 From dawn until night, eve until dawn, — 
 The engines must speed, hurry the pace ! 
 
 Ye toilers on deck, aloft and aloAV, 
 At boatswain's whistle speed to and fro! 
 To scrub and to scour, active and mute, 
 Off duty and on — stand and salute! 
 All night and all day, question is not ; 
 Obedience and toil — such is your lot. 
 
 Oh, ye on the bridge, high o'er the deck, 
 Who strive to avert ruin and wreck ! 
 Bespangled with gold, silent and grim. 
 Ask not if the sky foul be or fair. 
 Watch on through the night, cheerless and dim, 
 Peer out through the fog, harrowed Vvdth care ! 
 
 Four hours on and four hours off ; 
 
 Ye earn your pay while storm winds scoff. 
 
 Above and below, toil — ^all ye braves! 
 That we may be free, ye must be slaves. 
 
 Oh ship, thou'rt like to yon planets, that one with 
 another 
 
 Speed ever on — through the pitiless element hurled — 
 Each one for himself and taking no heed of his brother ; 
 
 Epitome thou of man's life and the way of the world ! 
 
 137 
 
Behold, far ahead ! Is't the faint, shy glimmer of morn- 
 ing- 
 Is it the gleam of the surf on the treacherous bar? 
 
 Oh, say, is't the peaceful light of a happier dawning, 
 Or, oh ye gods, is it Ragnarok, flaming afar? 
 
 MISSING ! 
 
 The stars are dim, and dark the sea, 
 
 The ship ploughs onward through the gloom ; 
 
 The night winds sigh caressingly — 
 Below, the fires fiercely fume. 
 
 The fiery furnace fumes below, 
 To make the troubled waters boil, 
 
 Where, smeared with grime and all aglow, 
 A score of naked wretches toil. 
 
 The darkened decks are silent all. 
 
 The very shrouds seem steeped in sleep ; 
 
 Dense stillness, like a funeral pall. 
 
 Broods slumbrous o 'er the restless deep. 
 
 But far below, the engines throb — 
 Like huge, unwilling monsters groan ; 
 
 And o'er the waters steals a sob. 
 Like troubled spirits, making moan. 
 
 Oh, didst thou hear that dolorous sigh 
 
 That in the peaceful night arose ? 
 Oh, cruelly poignant cry 
 
 Of anguish, yearning for repose ! 
 
 Is this a thing of human shape 
 That to the sea its dole would tell, 
 
 Or is it some huge, swarthy ape, 
 Thrust upward from the pit of Hell ? 
 
 138 
 
All stripped and blackened to the waist, 
 His seething bosom heaves and pants; 
 
 The balm of Heaven his nostrils taste, 
 To him the soothing billow chants : — 
 
 Come adown into us, 
 Thee would we win to us ; 
 Thou shalt be kin to us, 
 
 "Weary of woes! 
 Down in the deep with us 
 Come thou, and keep Avith us ; 
 Balmy the sleep with us, 
 
 Cool the repose. 
 
 He feels within his surging blood 
 The fever of the torrid zones ; 
 
 He gazes on the cooling flood, — 
 The fire of Hell is in his bones. 
 
 ' ' A blissful song ye sing to me ; 
 
 Fain would I plunge into the foam. — 
 I have a son in Germany, 
 
 A wife and daughter toil at home. ' ' 
 
 Ah, we do mourn with you. 
 Sorrow is born with you, 
 All is forlorn with you, 
 
 Lowborn of Earth. 
 All is so sad with you. 
 No one is glad with you, 
 Men must go mad with you — 
 
 Curst from your birth ! 
 
 * * Methinks I hear the angels sing ! 
 
 Oh, wave, that sweetly sings and sighs, 
 Thy crest is like an angel's wing, 
 
 Thy breeze the breath of Paradise ! 
 
 139 
 
*'0h, darts of flame that fiercely flit, 
 
 Like angry demons through my brain. 
 At thought of that accursed pit ! — j 
 
 I zi'ill not go below again!" 
 
 Come thou anear to us, 
 IMortals are dear to us ; 
 Plunge without fear to us, 
 
 Down in the deep. 
 All who in anguish rave j 
 
 Let lapping billows lave, i 
 
 Lulled on the naked wave, I 
 
 Cradled in sleep ! i 
 
 ^ # * * * * ; 
 
 He vaults across the starboard rail : - 
 
 *' Farewell, good wife in Germany'" 
 
 And no one by, to tell the tale — \ 
 
 No one anigh, the sight to sec ! I 
 
 Tzi'o Bells floats faintly up on high j 
 
 And dies away, like parting knell; '. 
 
 And then the lookout's mournful cry: — ; 
 
 "Two Bells, and all is ay ell,— all's well!" ! 
 
 THE CARRIER DOVE. 
 
 From whence — thou gentle, timorous thing ?- 
 We spy it 'neath thy fluttering wing — 
 Thy message, at a glance : 
 From France ! 
 And could thy weary heart but tell 
 All that thy marvelous flight befell, 
 Our wonder 'twould enhance. 
 Perchance. 
 
 140 
 
Ilowcouldst thou, leagues and leagues from shore, 
 Above the fierce tornado soar — 
 
 Through storm and darkness speed — 
 Indeed ? 
 What didst thou muse on, hastening high, 
 Still on and on, 'twixt sea and sky ; 
 What do, when thou hadst need 
 To feed? 
 
 W^hen shrieked the osprey overhead. 
 Did not his shadow strike thee dead — 
 So frail a thing and slight — 
 AVith fright? 
 Where didst thoii slake thy thirst by day- 
 Or didst thou sip the brackish spray? — 
 For sleep, where didst alight 
 At night? 
 
 Accept, thou daring, dainty thing. 
 Our ship's most tender welcoming! 
 For thy courageous feat, 
 'Tis meet 
 Thou at the captain's table sit 
 And through the gorgeous cabin flit ; 
 Have every tidbit sweet 
 To eat. 
 
 At will to range ; to bill and sip 
 At every idle damsel's lip. 
 And anywhere to woo, 
 In lieu 
 Of distant mated loves ; to play 
 And dally here and there, as they 
 In France are said to do — 
 Crrroo — crrroo! 
 
 141 
 
Soon shall we reach the shores of France, 
 "Where bide thy cousins and thy aunts, 
 Thy women folks and men ; 
 And then 
 AYe trust, in freedom thou wilt fly. 
 Nor be so silly as to hie 
 Back to thy captor's den 
 Again. 
 
 THE CLIPPER SHIP. 
 
 Oh, welcome sight ! 
 Whence comest thou, with all thy stunsails set, 
 
 Thou brilliant harbinger of light ; 
 And whither art thou bound? 
 
 Thy shrouds all gleaming wet. 
 Fleet winged and without sound, 
 
 Like some fair spirit on the breezes borne ; 
 So dost thou burst from out the night profound — 
 
 Thou beauteous messenger of morn ! 
 
 But thou dost tremble on the wave ! 
 Has some obscure, swart demon, from his cave 
 
 Of darkness, filled thee with affright. 
 That thou dost shiver, like a thing pursued ? 
 
 Mayhap, some fiery, uncouth knave 
 Thy more than earthly beauty viewed. 
 
 As thou camest scudding through the starless 
 night? 
 Some brutal ogre of the unwilling wave, 
 
 Late come upon the seas, with power imbued 
 To belch forth flame and soot, would in his might — 
 
 Though thy white wings for mercy sued — 
 Force thee to his remorseless sway, 
 
 Cut short thy free and joyous flight, 
 And claim a ruffian 's prey ! 
 
 142 
 
Entrancing spectres of a bygone day ! 
 Ah, they have wellnigh chased you from the main, 
 
 All with your dazzling whiteness once bestrewed; 
 And sail ye swiftly as ye please, 
 
 Your flight is still in vain ! 
 Your days are numbered on the deep. 
 
 And when the last of your fair sisterhood 
 Shall, wingless, to oblivion creep. 
 
 To moulder in some oozy solitude — 
 To sail no more again! — 
 Then shall the cheerless elements complain ! 
 
 The salt sea waves shall weep; 
 O'er Ocean's barren breast the fruitless breeze 
 
 Shall sigh, like some great goddess in her pain, 
 For all that left her with the last of these. 
 
 Her pride ; — 
 
 For Romance, vanished from the Seas ! 
 
 HELGOLAND. 
 
 Thy crown is all with verdure green. 
 Enthroned o 'er depths of emerald sheen- 
 Guardian of solitudes marine 
 
 That compass thee on every hand — 
 Oh Helgoland, lone Helgoland ! 
 
 Thy sands are of a silvery white 
 That lures, afar into the night, 
 The seabirds in their dizzy flight 
 
 To rest upon thy sacred strand — 
 Oh, holy Isle of Helgoland! 
 
 Thy frowning front of sombre red 
 Is hid in gloom, when day is dead; 
 Then flares thy beacon overhead, 
 
 Athwart the surge, like firebrand— 
 Oh Helgoland, lone Helgoland ! 
 
 143 
 
Staunch isle beneath the northern sky ; 
 Long may thy colors flaunt on high, 
 Thy beetling cliff the storm defy, 
 
 Thy beacon still unshaken stand — ■ 
 Oh Helgoland, lone Helgoland ! 
 
 EN PASSANT! 
 
 While the moon is beaming brightly 
 And the ship is bounding lightly, 
 On the billows borne along — 
 Bn passant, en passant ; 
 Query not of means or measure, 
 Fold her close, the blooming treasure, 
 Seize the tempting cup of pleasure, 
 • Bn passant! 
 
 Silent darkness all around is, 
 On the deck no single sound is 
 
 Save *' three bells'^ upon the gong — 
 Bn passant, en passant. 
 Moistened eyes are flashing seaward; 
 She is leaning, longing thecAvard, 
 All her scruples blown to leeward, 
 Bn passant. 
 
 O'er the salt sea, growing crisper, 
 Sighs a faint aeolian whisper : — 
 
 ''On the wave there is no wrong!" — 
 
 Bn passant, en passant. 
 Panlike echoes from old Ocean, 
 Mermaid songs, like soothing lotion. 
 Lull to painful-sweet emotion, 
 
 Bn passant. 
 
 144 
 
Oh, ye carkers on the shore and 
 Oh, ye clods upon the moorland, — 
 Here's the Rest for which ye long! — 
 
 Bn passant, en passant. 
 Still for worthless baubles strive ye, 
 Cunning vanities contrive ye ; 
 Till the priest be called to shrive ye, 
 
 Bn passant. 
 
 What would ye with power and riches ? 
 Tis the sea alone bewitches 
 With the magic of its song — 
 Bn passant, en passant! 
 With your dignity and dicker 
 May your souls grow sick and sicker ; 
 Life is but a candle 's flicker, 
 Bn passant! 
 
 Come, my love, upon the billow, 
 Let thy bosom be my pillow, 
 And a fig for all the throng ! — 
 
 Bn passant, en passant; 
 Freedom seek from roof and rafter 
 In Love's low, melodious laughter, 
 And the joy that follows after — 
 
 Bn passant! 
 
 ILSE BORELL. 
 
 L 
 
 Oh, Use, why did you play with me ? 
 Why didn't you come and stay with me, 
 
 As your eyes and your sighs said you longed to do ? 
 And if my wooing were so amiss, 
 
 145 
 
Oh, why give me back that long, long kiss 
 
 That I gave, in the depths of the night, to you! — 
 Was that done well, 
 Use Borell? 
 
 So close to my heart — so near, so dear ! 
 Alone on the deck, and far and near 
 
 Not a sound, but the sigh of the balmy breeze 
 That mingled with thine, oh Swedish maid — 
 My head on thy heaving bosom laid — 
 In the magical night of the northern seas ! 
 Oh, mystic spell — 
 Use Borell! 
 
 Oh, Use, how I did sue to you ! 
 
 Yet Love could scarce have been new to you — - 
 
 To a maiden confessing to twenty-eight ! 
 Didst deem man's love no secure abode — 
 A fleeting fancy — an episode; 
 
 An affair in which woman must calculate ? 
 Say, wilt thou tell. 
 
 Use Borell? ' 
 
 Is't always thus in your frigid North, 1 
 
 Or doesn't Love's fervent flame burst forth i 
 
 But when hearts are afloat on the treacherous j 
 
 waves ? ] 
 
 Does Love take flight when ye step ashore — i 
 
 Is Sweden as chill as Elsinore, i 
 
 And as icy the slumber in Scandia's graves j 
 
 As thy farewell — j 
 
 Use BorelH j 
 
 II. 1 
 
 Cheeks aglow — i 
 
 Maiden, oh ! \ 
 
 Waltzing so neat and fleet ; i 
 
 146 
 
Stars aloft, 
 Murmurs soft ; 
 Music so sweet ! 
 
 Fancy free, — lurch to lee — 
 Steer round the binnacle, my boy ! 
 Poised on the pinnacle of joy, 
 Dearest, are we ! 
 
 Tease her to 
 
 Please her, and 
 
 Fold her and 
 
 Hold her fast ; 
 
 Lest, on the slippery deck, 
 
 Ye come to wreck ! 
 
 Fancy free — lurch to lee, — etc. 
 
 Dancing through — 
 Time to woo, 
 
 All may do as they list ; 
 On the sea 
 Kissing 's free — 
 
 Who would resist ? 
 
 Fancy free — lurch to lee, — etc. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, sing once more that melody 
 
 Of th}^ far northern clime ; 
 And let me con it o'er with thee — 
 
 The rhythm and the rhyme ! 
 
 Methinks my soul is borne afar. 
 
 When I do hear thee sing — 
 With thine, beyond the Northern Star, 
 
 Upon angelic wing! 
 
 147 
 
Oh, when I hear thee sing that song, 
 
 So weirdly gay, it seems 
 My heart doth float with thine along — 
 
 With thine, in elfin dreams. 
 
 To thy sweet lips mine ear must bend 
 
 And hearken, as before ; 
 And lips and hearts and souls must blend 
 In murmurs, o'er and o'er. 
 
 Oh, sing once more that tender lay, 
 
 That melancholy strain; 
 That melody, so sad — so gay — 
 
 Oh, breathe it once again ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 There's a glad refrain on the soft sea air, 
 
 Use Borell, Use Borell ! 
 There's a song of ecstacy on the breeze, 
 A refrain of two words, and they are these, — 
 All around and about me everywhere — 
 Name that the winds intone so well : 
 
 Use Borell, Use Borell ! 
 
 Oh, I read it high in the starlit night — 
 
 Use Borell, Use Borell ! 
 Far adown in the wave I see it glow ; 
 See the name aflame in the ebb and floY,% 
 Like an image agleam with dazzling light ! 
 Tell me, who taught the stars to spell, 
 
 Use Borell, Use Borell? 
 
 Oh, I hear it afar, like bells that toll — 
 
 Use Borell, Use Borell ! 
 Naught, from Ocean's swell to the vaulted skies, 
 
 148 
 
Save that toning for aye, that beatifies 
 All the firmament in its ceaseless roll — 
 Clang of a mad, melodious spell — 
 Use Borell, Use Borell ! 
 
 V. 
 
 A ship that glides in silence on, 
 A midnight, like the light of dawn ; 
 A hiding place midst boats and spars, 
 And, over all, the moon and stars ! 
 
 A sheltered nook for thee and me, 
 A sigh, a kiss, a tender hand ; 
 Strains of soft music from the band — 
 A lovelorn northland melody ! 
 
 Below, a chant of sailormen, 
 And fluttering pennants high above; 
 A long and fond embrace, and then — 
 A fleeting summer night of Love ! 
 
 Oh, night of nights, that cannot fade 
 From out the heart, thou Swedish maid ! 
 That night of joy, without a word ; 
 All up that glimmering fairy fjord ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 I saw thee last at Elsinore. — 
 
 Since then I see thee everywhere, 
 
 Mine Use of the chestnut hair! 
 Yet I shall know thee nevermore. 
 
 At sea thou worest a veil of brown, 
 A jaunty cap and sailor coat, 
 
 Stout hosiery and a pleated gown ; 
 When we were blissfully afloat, 
 
 149 
 
And leaned together on the rail, 
 
 So fresh and dauntless was thy mien — 
 
 Thy ringlets fluttering in the gale — 
 I took thee for a mermaid queen. 
 
 But thou didst see another sight, 
 
 Oh, Elsinore, cold Elsinore ! 
 When Use, in the dawning light — 
 
 Arrayed, like others by the score. 
 
 In high-heeled boots and stiff straw hat. 
 In fashion's flounces and all that — 
 
 Demurely tripped across the planks, 
 Extending fingertips and — "thanks"! 
 
 Oh, what are thanks and fingertips 
 To him who, through Elysian nights, 
 
 Has known ineffable delights — 
 Has sipped ambrosia of the lips ! 
 
 And Elsinore, say, what art thou, 
 
 That thou durst wound me to the core ? 
 
 Hast thou not mischief made enow. 
 Erstwhile, perfidious Elsinore ! 
 
 Thou'st been a fraud since Hamlet's day — 
 Hast filled the ages with thy gloom ; 
 
 Hast gulled the nations with a play 
 
 And countless fools with Hamlet 's Tomb ! 
 
 Oh, Use, all thy frippery doff 
 And cast it in Ophelia 's grave ; 
 
 Oh, take that prim, stiff straw hat off, 
 And let us hie back to the wave ! 
 
 Gowns shalt thou have of tailor-fit, 
 And caps and hosiery galore, 
 
 150 
 
If, Use, thou wilt only quit 
 This rigid, frigid Elsinore. 
 
 A sailing yacht I'll buy for thee. 
 
 And we will laugh the world to scorn, 
 
 Acruising o'er the southern sea 
 Twixt Cancer, dear, and Capricorn. 
 
 We'll build us, near the ocean tide, 
 
 A villa in a garden fair ; 
 A castle on the mountainside — 
 
 And likewise castles in the air. 
 
 We'll sail the tropics, hand in hand. 
 And sparkling wines together quaff; 
 
 The crew shall skip at thy command, 
 But — take that prim, stiff straw hat off ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thou art Love's scourge and Passion's snare, 
 A pang, to test what heart can bear ; 
 My torment thou and my despair. 
 
 My bane and blight ! 
 Yet I, most scathed of mortal men, 
 I still adore thee, now as then; — 
 Thou gavest me back my Youth again. 
 
 For one short night ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 There's a distant star in the northern heaven, 
 
 In the selfsame place alway ; 
 Near a cluster of stars that number seven, — 
 
 It is always there, they say. 
 
 There's a diamond ring, on a finger placed 
 In the northlight's eerie sheen; 
 
 151 
 
And the scar on my heart the stone has traced, i 
 
 Will be always there, I ween. j 
 
 IX. I 
 
 Art thou the bard that brings good cheer, 
 
 With songs from o'er the sea! i 
 
 Come hither, friend, and let us hear 
 Thy tuneful minstrelsy ! 
 
 Hail, noble minstrel, here's to thee! : 
 
 Thou art a bard divine ; 
 The Crown art thou of IMinstrelsy 
 
 And high reward is thine ! ; 
 
 Thy beaker let me fill again 
 
 And festive fare thee forth ! ^ 
 
 But, sing no more that sombre strain ] 
 
 Of folklore, from the North ! ] 
 
 I know, 'tis but a simple thing, ] 
 
 Nor would I do thee wrong; — • ^ 
 
 Lend me the harp and let me sing ! 
 Thou dost net know that son.f^. 
 
 A SCORNFUL SONG OF THE SEA. 
 
 Knowest thou my voice ? — I am the Sea ! 
 I sing the song of Liberty — 
 
 The song I've sung through countless ages. 
 And thou, thou hear'st not Freedom's voice; 
 Nor w^hen its gleeful lays rejoice. 
 
 Nor when portentously it rages. 
 
 152 
 
Thou art the monster they call ''Land"! 
 Oh, yea, I know thy fickle strand ! 
 
 Full many a ship with valiant master 
 Hast thou sent out across the main — 
 Fraught with the hope of sordid gain — 
 
 Luring brave men to their disaster. 
 
 Were't not for me, thj^ grimy crust 
 Had long since withered into dust. 
 
 Came not my clouds, thy wastes bedewing, 
 Thy fields were barren long ago — 
 Wept not my vapors o'er thy woe, 
 
 Thy misery to fresh life renewing. 
 
 Thou art not worthy of their tears. 
 Fell haunt of trouble, den of fears ; 
 
 Where mortals, seeking mirth, grow mirthless, 
 Where man in ceaseless folly plods. — 
 I am beloved of the gods ; 
 
 Thy gifts lack Freedom and are worthless ! 
 
 The ever youthful moon loves me, 
 And often strives, in amorous glee. 
 
 With glittering arms to draw me to her. 
 And I do clasp her, as we ride 
 Together on the bounding tide. 
 
 And sing a song to win and woo her. 
 
 And as upon thy scurvy shore 
 
 My festive breakers dashing roar, — 
 
 At sight of something so amazing, 
 Come timorous lovers from their caves — 
 Some of thy fearsome, shamefaced slaves — 
 
 In tremor of delight agazing. 
 
 All night I stretch beneath the stars — 
 Commune with Venus and with Mars, 
 
 153 
 
Lost in serene celestial musing ; 
 The while thy minions bend in toil, 
 Dustborn and cleaving to the soil, 
 
 In hope all hopeless, joy refusing. 
 
 With thee the bondage and the strife; 
 "With me is Freedom and the life 
 
 Untrammeled ! Not for greed my waves are, 
 Thou nest of cowards and of prudes ! 
 The brave know my vicissitudes ; 
 
 For dauntless souls alone my graves are. 
 
 Bestow thy dead with puny dirge, — 
 Mine is the Eequiem of the Surge ! 
 
 Abode of tinkers and of tailors, 
 Continue still to sing my praise ; 
 Else, all thou'rt good for anyway 's 
 
 To raise potatoes for the sailors. 
 
 16< 
 
FOIBLES AND FANCIES 
 
THE BALLAD OP BETSY PATTERSON. 
 
 And here's a tale you have heard before, 
 From the ancient borough of Baltimore, — 
 
 Lang syne, my Baltimore ! 
 The song of a plucky girl who won 
 
 The hand of a princely cavalier ; 
 
 'Twill wring your heart to the core, to hear 
 The Ballad of Betsy Patterson. 
 
 'Twas a himdred years ago, or mo', 
 When the Emperor Nap was all the go, — 
 
 Ah me, Alas and Yv^oe ! 
 He cracked his whip and he made them smart. 
 
 The tottering Kings on their rotten thrones ; 
 
 He shook and shivered their dry old bones— 
 The little Corsican Bonaparte. 
 
 And in that dear old IMaryland town 
 There lived a beauty of great renown, — 
 
 Ree-rah, of great renown ! 
 And Betsy Patterson was her name. 
 
 From far and farther, the knee to bend, 
 A stately throng of young suitors came — 
 
 The Chivalry all, of Maryland. 
 
 But Bonnie Bessie was not at home ; 
 
 She preferred to wait for Prince Jerome, — 
 
 Jee — joy, for Prince Jerome ! 
 Who, with some sportive young blades from Prance 
 
 Had cantered over from Washington 
 To show Society how to dance, 
 
 And to woo our Betsy Patterson . 
 
 The Prince drank enough champagne for three ; 
 For he was a Prince of high degree, — 
 High, lov: — of High Degree! 
 
 157 
 
While his big brother, Napoleon, 
 Was knocking monarchs down, one by one, 
 Appointing Bonapartes in their stead; 
 So the Prince was just the thing to wed. 
 
 Patterson pere raised hullabaloo : — 
 "I'll disinherit you if you do, — 
 
 AVee, wah — Oh, wed and woo ! 
 Oh, folderol and fiddlededee; 
 
 What do I care for an upstart prince? 
 
 Break off the match or I'll make you wince ; 
 Old Maryland's good enough for me!" 
 
 A fine old Irishman, sure, was he. 
 Who cared not a fig for royalty, — 
 
 Eee-rah, for Royalty ! 
 Had ships afloat and money to burn, 
 
 Believed in God and the merchantman. 
 And didn't give a colonial durn 
 
 For Prince Jerome and his French Can-Can. 
 
 But Betsy married him anyway ; — 
 
 Come one, come all, on our wedding day, — 
 
 Wee — woe, our Wedding Day ! 
 The Moles, the Fishers, the Turviance, 
 
 Young Bump, van Cuyler and Delacour : 
 The rich and famous, the proud and poor — 
 
 They all came riding, to drink and daunce. 
 
 De Courcey Poe, McMurray of O, 
 
 The little French consul, Jacques Labaud, — 
 
 Flow, flow — champagony, floAv ! 
 Tarr Teackle of U and Jones of Q, — 
 So many there were, I name but few ; 
 They all salute young Bonapartee, 
 Does Maryland's aristocracy. 
 
 158 
 
But Bess discovered, when all was done, 
 
 They hadn't invited Napoleon,— 
 Nee — naw, Napoleon ! 
 
 Who didn't like it at all, they say; 
 
 He learned of the pranks of Prince Jerome 
 And ordered his gay young brother home — 
 
 Did this Napoleon Bonaparte. 
 
 Alas, alas, for beautiful Bess ! 
 
 They tied her Prince to a poor Princess, — 
 
 Boo-hoo, the poor Princess ! 
 And taught him to mind his Ps and Qs ; 
 
 They charged him with ' ' Contumelia, ' ' 
 Then gave him champagne, to cure the blues, 
 
 And made him King of Westphalia. 
 
 'Twas a royal saturnalia — 
 
 This shortlived reign in Westphalia, — 
 
 Woe's me, Westphalia! 
 He drank champagne in a regal way 
 
 And earned the homage of high and low. 
 For, "Immer Instick!'' he learned to say; — 
 
 And what more, pray, need a King to know 
 
 To Betsy Patterson, all forlorn, 
 
 In course of time a young prince was born, — 
 Pee-po, a prince was born! 
 
 She sailed for France in a great big ship, 
 AVith bags of money and lots of hope ;— 
 Managed, indeed, to persuade the Pope, 
 
 But Bonaparte had them on the hip : — 
 
 ''I am the Boss, abroad and at home, 
 And what do I care for Popes at Rome ?— 
 
 Poo-pah, Pee — Popes at Rome ! 
 I am the Pope in my own countree ; 
 
 159 
 
I am the Emperor Nap of France, j 
 
 I play the fiddle, the rest must dance." i 
 
 Thus spake the Emperor Bonapartee. j 
 
 When Betsy came sailing up the strand, I 
 
 He sent her right back to Maryland, — \ 
 
 Ah me, my Maryland ! 
 And there she stayed for many a day ; 
 Hoarded and schemed in a tireless way. 
 Dreaming the dream that was not to be : — 
 The throne of France for her progeny ! 
 
 When old man Patterson's life was spent. 
 
 They found his Last Will and Testament. — 
 
 Ta-ta, Last Testament ! j 
 
 ' ' My daughter Betsy has willfully ^ 
 
 Brought down much sorrow upon my head; I 
 
 Disobedient, headstrong," — so it read — | 
 
 "She mustn't expect a cent from me." \ 
 
 But Betsj^ lived on, the rest all died ; 
 The gritty old dame the Fates defied, — - j 
 
 Fee-foh, the Fates defied ! \ 
 
 She saw the Imperial Monarchy bust > 
 
 And all the Bonapartes in the dust, ' 
 
 Except her own ; her progeny came. 
 If not to a throne, to wealth and fame. 
 
 The ballad is done. Let each one now 
 His moral draw, as best he knows how, — 
 
 Mee-mo — Moral enow ! 
 Take care of your money and your health, 
 Don't give up the ship — keep gathering wealth; 
 And many things you'll see come to pass, — 
 And all your enemies go to grass ! 
 
 160 
 
UNDER THE WILLOWS. 
 
 Blackeyed Beauty, come along with me, 
 Sit we Tinderneath the willow tree ; 
 
 While the others dance and play, 
 
 Let us softly steal away — 
 Come, my darling, to the willow tree ! 
 
 Like velvet is the grassy mound. 
 
 There we may sit upon the ground ; 
 
 Down beside the little brook. 
 
 In a dim and cozy nook, — 
 Blackeyed Beauty, come along with me ! 
 
 Blackej^ed Beauty, bonnie, bonnie dear. 
 
 While I hold your hand, you needn 't fear ; 
 Do not look so chidingly. 
 Come with me confidingly, 
 
 To the willows come with me, my dear ! 
 Oh, all their music is so loud, 
 AVhat care we for the merry crowd ? — 
 What, if they be missing you, 
 So that I be kissing you — 
 
 Come, my dearest, never, never fear ! 
 
 Blackeyed Beauty, do not be so shy — 
 Let me kiss that tear from out your eye ! 
 
 Never mind what gossips say — 
 
 Devil take them anyway ; — 
 Come, where we can hear the willows sigh ! 
 
 There like true lovers w^e may rove 
 
 All through the dusky willow grove ; 
 
 Not a thing to flurry us 
 
 And no one to worry us, — 
 'Neath the willows, darling, you and I ! 
 
 161 
 
EMPHATIC. 
 
 He never simply said his say, 
 
 However slight its import were, 
 As you and others would prefer 
 
 To fashion speech — 'twas not his way; 
 You never heard him uttering 
 
 So sparsely what the brain had bred. 
 He didn 't simply say a thing, — 
 
 He zvent to zvork, and he took, and he said. 
 
 He didn't even go and do, 
 
 As some of us, perhaps, have done. 
 His acts and notions, every one, 
 
 From his emphatic point of view 
 Took shape, and all his utterance bid 
 
 Plain parlance hide its shrunken pate. 
 He didn't merely perpetrate, — 
 
 He zvent to zvork, and he took, and he did. 
 
 DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 Credo is ringing. 
 Heavenward winging; 
 
 Shouting devoutly from the score. 
 
 Voices, a dozen say, or more. 
 All loudly singing, 
 Cooped in a pen : — 
 
 Ven-turi-tiiri, Sae-ciiU-culi, 
 A-A-A-men, Amen! 
 
 Ven-tiiri-turi, Sae-culi-culi, 
 A- A- Amen! 
 
 Sopranos flighty 
 Praise God Almighty; 
 
 162 
 
One-two-three, triping to their fate — 
 Leader, when will you change the gait ? 
 
 Oh, hoity-toity ! 
 
 Tell us, oh when ? 
 
 Ven-turi-titri, Sac-ciili-culi, etc. 
 
 Tenors, so knowing, 
 
 With fervor glowing, 
 Altos, so doleful and morose, 
 Warble the melody jocose ; 
 
 Clucking and crowing — 
 
 Rooster and hen : — 
 Ven-turi-turi, Sae-cnli-cuU, etc. 
 
 Basso profuso ! 
 
 We thought you knew so 
 Well how to point the pious way ; 
 How came you by this flippant lay ? — 
 
 How could you do so, 
 
 Caro mio hen! 
 Ven-turi-turi, Sae-culi-culi, etc. 
 
 Some day you'll chance to 
 
 Die, and advance to 
 Where Old Nick forks 'em on the wing ; 
 He will teach all of you to sing. 
 
 And how to dance, too, — 
 
 Oh then— Oh then ! 
 Ven-turi-turi, Sae-culi-culi, etc. 
 
 Priest at the altar, 
 
 Dost thou not falter ? 
 Dost thou too pander and incline, 
 As with Communion divine 
 
 Thus play and palter 
 
 Women and men ? 
 Ven-turi-turi, Sae-culi-culi, etc. 
 
 163 
 
YrOMAN'S RIGHTS. 
 
 TVhat Woman 's Rights are these ye want ? — 
 To stand in line and cast your vote, 
 The while your blush the rabble note, 
 
 Fresh from the politician's haunt? 
 
 What is this Suffrage ye demand? — 
 To sit in Councils of the State, 
 Where patriot boodlers congregate ? — 
 
 To bear a torch behind the band ? 
 
 What would ye with your Woman 's Rights ? 
 Walk ye not still your own sweet ways, 
 And lord it o'er us all the days — 
 
 Yea, dear my love — and all the nights? 
 
 MEN AND BIRDS. 
 
 I wonder, as I sit and munch, 
 Beneath the elms, my frugal lunch : — 
 ' ' Why do the sparrows always bunch 
 
 Up there, right overhead of you, 
 AVith all their nasty fuss and muss ! ' ' 
 I ask one saucy little cuss ; 
 ' * What, what, sir — did you speak to us ?— 
 
 'Tis not for love or dread of you ; 
 
 Mankind's assurance, 'pon my word — 
 To put a question so absurd 
 To any self-respecting bird ! — 
 
 We gather here to please ourselves ; 
 And (not your patience to abuse !) 
 I trust my candor you'll excuse. 
 If I inform you that we choose 
 
 These noble trees — to ease ourselves." 
 
 164 
 
THE TRUSTY CLERK. 
 
 In Frankfurt on the Main there lived 
 
 An old and trusty clerk; 
 For thirty-nine laborious years 
 
 He worked from morn till dark. 
 
 To help the house grow rich and great, 
 No task that he would shirk ; 
 
 He kissed his fetters, hoped and toiled, 
 Like many another clerk. 
 
 For, surely his reward must come ; 
 
 Some day he 'd make his mark 
 As junior partner in the firm — 
 
 Oh, trustful, hopeful clerk ! 
 
 You never heard him laugh or sing, 
 Nor saw him smile or smirk ; 
 
 He never took a holiday — 
 This steady, sober clerk. 
 
 Till, like some thing that came ashore 
 
 With Noah, from the Ark, 
 He seemed — so old and dry and odd — 
 
 This fossil of a clerk ! 
 
 At last, when forty years had flown — 
 Full forty years of work — 
 
 The firm, in honor of the day, 
 Discharged the bald old clerk. 
 
 But, as a token of esteem. 
 They gave this faithful clerk 
 An Inkstand with their Qoat of Arms - 
 Value : — some forty mark. 
 
 165 
 
INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 This is jiiy life 
 And I will live it mine OAvn way. 
 
 Nor mistress, maid nor wife 
 Shall compass me with vain, unAVorthy bands — 
 
 Shall hold unreasoning sway ; 
 Nor any man, however high he stands, 
 
 To blind obedience shall compel. 
 
 Some thing or two I can do well. 
 
 Wherewith to serve my fellowman; 
 Say, hast thou need ? 
 Then pay my price, who will and can ; 
 
 The rest may do without my wares. 
 I labor not for greed 
 But for just recompense ; he fares 
 
 But ill who yearns for wealth. 
 And ceaselessly for riches plods. 
 I daily pray unto the gods 
 
 Alone for health — for health ! 
 
 Few can be great, 
 
 The many may be good. 
 Some needs must wrestle in the throes of thought. 
 
 Some must draw water, must hew wood — 
 Each one according to his fate, 
 
 Each one according to his powers — 
 Existence is with labor bought ; 
 
 The mead yields grass — the garden flowers. 
 
 It matters not 
 
 What be my lot. 
 
 So that the doing be well done. 
 
 So that I sell not all my hours. 
 For bed and board and wine ; 
 
 It matters not — it is all one. 
 
 166 
 
But some days must be mine — 
 My very own ! 
 
 Then am I free 
 
 To say and do as pleases me. 
 
 Nor need I shun 
 
 The gaze of any woman 's son ; 
 
 May wealth as well as honors spurn, 
 
 And manfully and cheerfully 
 Fare forth each morn afresh, to earn 
 My living and my liberty. 
 
 Oh, braggart bard, take back thy boast ! 
 
 Haste, thy dependence to confess, 
 Nor dare poor hirelings thus to slur ; 
 
 Thou, foremost of the servile host — 
 Thou very pink of slavishness — 
 
 Dependent on a publisher ! 
 
 TWO THEMES FROM TSCHAIKOWSKY'S SIXTH 
 SYMYHONY (PATHETIQUE). 
 
 Andante (first movement). 
 
 Sing once again, with sombre songing, 
 That strain of luiiversal longing! 
 
 Oh, for the morrow. 
 
 Dawning in sorrow. 
 With grief on grief forever thronging ! 
 
 Sing, oh my heart, by sorrow wounded, 
 By misery harrowed and surrounded; 
 
 Lest thou still languish 
 
 In utter anguish — 
 In dole be utterly confounded! 
 
 167 
 
Oh hear the voice of my complaining, 
 
 Ye, for whom Hope still blooms, sustaining 
 
 Mortals, still groping — 
 
 'Gainst hope still hoping — 
 When there is naught of Hope remaining ! j 
 
 j 
 
 Oh countless souls, all woebeclouded, ] 
 
 By Fate relentless onward crowded; i 
 
 Dolor shall haunt ye, • 
 
 False hope shall taunt ye, I 
 
 Till in oblivion all be shrouded. l 
 
 Allegro con grazia (second movement). ; 
 
 Thou wouldst not love in June ; 
 Yet now thou wouldst attune 
 Thy heart to dreams agone so long, 
 It scarce remembers — 
 Ha ha, ha ha, ha ha — hearken, hearken ! 
 How drear the Autumn breeze 
 Soughs through the leafless trees ! 
 
 What is the burden of its song, i 
 
 While sad Novem.ber's | 
 
 Shadovs^s in the mocking twilight darken ? \ 
 
 Heart, void of joyous Spring ! — | 
 
 Now nevermore to sing, j 
 
 Save in sad cadence plaintively ; j 
 
 Hearthglow but chills thee, j 
 
 Over bleak December's embers creeping. 
 Song of the nightingale 
 Throbs through the verdant vale. 
 
 Surcease of pining offers thee — 
 No more it thrills thee ; I 
 
 Nightingale and Spring but find thee weeping | 
 
 168 I 
 
VERSES BY THE WAY. 
 
TRUTH. 
 
 Everything is ever changing, 
 
 Life is but vicissitude ; 
 Cease, vain thought, thine endless ranging, 
 
 With the quest of Truth imbued ! 
 
 Gaze upon the heavens yonder. 
 And into man 's soul as well — 
 
 Down into its depths — and ponder 
 Things that are unchangeable ! 
 
 COMRADES IN MISERY. 
 
 Oh pardon me that I refuse to weep. 
 
 When thou layst bare thy wretchedness and woe. 
 
 Thou speakst not to deaf ears ; I know — I know 
 How unkind fate the patient heart may steep 
 In depths of imdeserved misery. 
 
 My tears could once have mingled with thy tears, 
 But in my passage through the insensate years. 
 The world has roughened me and toughened me ;- 
 I feel no more thy sorrows nor mine own. 
 
 Come, dry thy tears and lock thine arm in mine ; 
 
 While still the heart may love and still may hate, 
 What folly, friend, to sit apart and moan ! 
 Fill up the bumpers with the blood-red wine 
 
 And let us drink defiance unto Fate ! 
 
 THE SORROWS OF ELD. 
 
 Old man, thy gait is feeble grown, 
 Thy trembling soul has almost flown 
 
 Its earthly mould ; 
 
 Aye, thou art old — 
 
 Some eighty-four or more, I'm told. 
 
 171 
 
Thou gazest on the firmament, — 
 
 The stars their beauty nigh have spent ; 
 
 Thine eyes are blear, 
 
 The glad new year 
 
 They nevermore shall see, I fear. 
 
 At threescore ten, the prophet saith, 
 Prepare to greet the Angel Death ! 
 
 The gods, at sight 
 
 Of thy sad plight, 
 
 Must think thou liv'st in sheer despite. 
 
 Thine heirs are waxing seer and sad ; — 
 Canst thou recall when thou wert glad ? 
 
 Ah, know'st thou why 
 
 Thy children sigh ? — 
 
 Perhaps, old man, 'twere best to die ! 
 
 THE OLD MAID. 
 
 An old maid sat at eventide 
 
 And gazed toward the setting sun. 
 
 And watched the schooners, as they hied 
 Into the harbor, one by one. 
 
 And watched the fair-haired children play 
 And shout, upon the babbling shore; 
 
 ^'I knew it, when he left that day, — 
 I knew he would return no more ! ' ' 
 
 A stately bark puts out to sea. 
 
 Buoyed by the sailors' cheering lays; 
 
 The old maid gazes wistfully. 
 As one remembering distant days. 
 
 172 
 
"Had I but one such fair-haired boy, 
 Like him that plays there in the sands,- 
 
 Oh God — to know a mother's joy!" — 
 The tears drop on her folded hands. 
 
 The twilight darkens o'er the dunes, 
 The noisy urchins homeward flee; 
 
 The circling seamew hoarsely croons, 
 The bark is but a speck at sea. 
 
 ''And though his father never came, 
 I would not grieve, I would not pine ; 
 
 Mine were the joy and mine the blame,- 
 If but an only child were mine ! ' ' 
 
 The twilight shades are seaward flown,- 
 "Had I but done him all his will!"— 
 
 The darkening night is darker grown ; 
 The Seabreeze blows so dank and chill. 
 
 HOMESICK. 
 
 Oh, take me where the weeping willow 
 
 Sways in the gentle breeze, 
 Where I can find a grassy pillow 
 
 Under the rustling trees ! 
 Oh, take me where the waters bubble 
 
 Up from the cooling spring; 
 Let me forget all care and trouble, 
 
 Hearing the robins sing ! 
 
 There, where the skylark rises, soaring 
 High on the dewy air. 
 
 Songs o 'er the blooming meadows pouring- 
 Take me, oh take me there ! 
 
 173 
 
Here is no kindness and no pity, — 
 
 Oh, all my heart is sore ; 
 Take me far from the noisy city, — 
 
 Take me back home once more! 
 
 Back, where the watercress is growing 
 
 Close by the dripping well ; 
 Once more to hear the brooklet flowing 
 
 Down through the purling dell. 
 Once more to loiter, free and cheery, 
 
 All down the shady lane ; 
 I am so weary — Ah, so weary, — 
 
 Oh, take me home again I 
 
 TO THE TASMANIANS. 
 
 A merry people once were ye, 
 Afar in your Pacific haunts — 
 
 When ye were wild, when ye were free ; 
 When yet your plaintive chaunts 
 
 The paleface guest did move to tears! 
 Then did the blithe Corrohherree 
 Provoke his ravished heart to cheers; 
 Aye, then did melody 
 
 In every island echo thrill 
 
 The stranger, pensive and surprised. 
 But 3^e are sullen now and still — 
 
 Now ye are civilized ! 
 
 FIVE PER CENT. 
 
 I spoke of friendship's early days, 
 Of memories, looming through the maze 
 Of busy years ; for it was long 
 Since we had met. 
 174 
 
Of profits — some prodigious sum; 
 Of many thousands more to come — 
 This was the burden of thy song. 
 And thou didst fret 
 
 To see me in such seedj^ guise ; 
 Oh, thou hadst drawn the lucky prize, 
 While I, old friend, — well — to be sure, 
 Yes — I was poor. 
 
 I spoke of boyhood's harmless joys. 
 And felt as if we still were boys, 
 
 Down in that dear old Southern town— 
 Ah, long ago ! 
 
 Thou didst not relish boyish pranks ; 
 Thou didst discourse of bonds and banks 
 And of thine influence and renown, — 
 An hour or so. 
 
 We dined and supped at thy expense ; 
 Thy gorgeous habiliments, 
 
 All fashioned in the latest mold, 
 Were lined with gold. 
 
 I spoke as one whose heart is full, — 
 Thou spakest of the rise in wool. 
 I did recall the noble dreams. 
 Together dreamed 
 
 By us, in callow days of youth — 
 Echoes of Grandeur and of Truth ! 
 
 Thou didst talk much of golden schemes 
 That thou hadst schemed. 
 
 But when I begged some trifling sum, 
 It seemed at once to strike thee dumb ; 
 All thou couldst utter there-anent 
 Was: — "Five per cent!" 
 
 175 
 
OH MENSCH, BEDENK DAS END. 
 
 At Mainz there is a fountain old, 
 
 Close by a market-place; 
 And each and every thirsty wight 
 
 This legend there may trace. 
 
 Imbedded in the rusty mould 
 That time and tempest lend — 
 
 This admonition, quaintly put: — 
 ''Oh Mensch, bedenk das End!'* 
 
 And hundreds daily stop to drink — 
 An endless, chattering throng — 
 
 And thoughtlessly they turn from thence 
 And, heedless, pass along. 
 
 To them 'tis so familiar grown, 
 
 They scarce do apprehend 
 That well-worn message from of old : — 
 
 "O/i Mensch, bedenk das HndT 
 
 The pilgrim, coming unawares 
 
 Upon this ancient spring, 
 Is startled into revery — 
 
 He lingers, pondering. 
 
 His soul before these simple words 
 In reverence needs must bend; 
 
 He cannot rid him of the spell: — 
 "Oh Mensch, bedenk das BndT 
 
 It follows him upon his way, 
 Where e'er his footsteps tend — 
 This solemn warning of the fount : — 
 "Oh Mensch, bedenk das EndT 
 
 176 
 
MERCY. 
 
 If there be not forgiveness in this world 
 
 Where all is fraught with error and with sin, 
 How may we hope for peace beyond the grave ; 
 When life's swift sails forevermore are furled 
 And our frail bark to darkness enters in, 
 Engulfed forever in oblivion's wave? 
 
 How can we hope for freedom from remorse, 
 As we grope vaguely onward through the haze ? 
 How can we bear the accusing lightning's dart 
 If stormy vengeance still attend our course, 
 Resentment's venom hiss along our ways — 
 If there be not forgiveness in the heart? 
 
 How can we dare to drift serenely on 
 
 Thorough the shadow of advancing gloom, 
 And gently breathe a last regretful sigh, 
 Recalling tender joys, long since agone — 
 
 Faint, odorous waftings of a rapturous bloom — 
 If there be not forgiveness up on High ! 
 
 SUOMIS SANG. 
 
 Free translation of the ancient song of Finland. 
 
 Hark the melody sonorous 
 In the vaulted spaces o'er us — 
 
 That is Suomis Sang ! 
 See the lofty pine trees soaring. 
 Hear the foaming torrents roaring — 
 
 That is Suomis Sang ! 
 
 Through the distant valley straying. 
 List the murmuring streamlet playing- 
 That is Suomis Sang! 
 
 177 
 
Here above no ill can wound us — 
 Sacred spirits hover round us ; 
 That is Suomis Sang! 
 
 Mark the Sun's majestic splendor! 
 Spheric rhapsodies attend her — 
 
 That is Suomis Sang! 
 Through the Northlight's mystic gloaming 
 Shadows great and small go roaming ; 
 
 That is Suomis Sang! 
 
 Everywhere that Voice is ringing, 
 Of our Guardian Spirit, singing — 
 
 That is Suomis Sang ! 
 Dost not feel ecstatic gladness? 
 Dost not feel the thrill of sadness ? 
 
 Hearken — Suomis Sang! 
 
 TO THE STAR-DWELLERS. 
 
 How fare ye yonder in the eternal sky, 
 
 Ye dwellers on your bright, celestial spheres? 
 Do ye, like us, sail ships upon j^our meres, 
 
 Forever restless round your planet fly ? 
 
 Do ye, like us, contentious traffic ply. 
 
 Or are your days beyond the need of gold, 
 Your nights all slumbrous ? Say, do ye grow old, 
 
 Like mortal man? Oh, tell us! Do ye die? 
 
 Your life must be all placid and serene, — 
 Ye — floating thus afar among the stars I 
 
 Oh nay, ye cannot sin, like earthborn clods 
 
 That pray, remorseful, to some power unseen — 
 
 Ye denizens of Venus and of Mars — 
 
 Methinks ye must be dearer to the gods ! 
 
 178 
 
WITHOUT SONG! 
 
 Through all the agonies of the soul, 
 With its loving and longing — 
 
 'Neath all the anguish of human dole- 
 Flows the solace of songing ; 
 
 Mellifluous strain of redeeming worth 
 To the bitterness clinging — 
 
 Oh, who could bear to abide on earth 
 Without song, without singing! 
 
 179 
 
JUL 8 i308