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A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 HOWARD L. TKRRY, 
 
 3J ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 ST. I,OUIS 
 St. C1.AIR, PUBI^ISHER 
 
 1898 
 
T6 3^^Ji 
 
 20651 
 
r 
 
^d^n 
 
 Copyrighted 1898 by 
 
 HOWARD L. TEBKY, 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 lEG 7 - US 
 
 i'^^'A 
 
 :'#;^ 
 
TO MY SISTERS 
 
 GRACE AND BESSIE 
 
 This little book is affectionately 
 
 dedicated. 
 
"'And the words of that fatal song 
 Come over me like a chill ; 
 A boy's will is the wind's will, 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, 
 long thoughts.'' 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 Page 
 
 A Tale of Normandie 13 
 
 The Two Little ''J's" 51 
 
 The Loving Cup..... 53 
 
 The Ballad of Jennie Brown oa 
 
 To an Iron Bedstead.... ....58 
 
 Mien Eire, 59 
 
 Cupid — , 60 
 
 The Tomb of Washington 6 1 
 
 Lines 62 
 
 Ode to Hilarity ....,., 63> 
 
 The Delirium 64 
 
 A Song of Twenty-One,. 66 
 
 The Pessimist to His God , 67 
 
 To Homer 70 
 
 The Song of Wanton Wa- Wa 71 
 
 O, Canst Thou Not? , 74 
 
 The Last Oak of Sherwood Porest 75 
 
 An Invocation..., , 80 
 
 Song 80 
 
 Pespondency .... , ...... , . . . , 8 ). 
 
Uines on Leaving America .8^ 
 
 Only a Kiss 88 
 
 A Letter (To G- J. S.).... .89 
 
 The Girls at Home ,..,,,.89 
 
 Antithesis , ... 93 
 
 To a Rose ..,.,...., 94 
 
 Fragment. ., . 95 
 
 The Vision of the Wanderer . , . . ...... 96 
 
 Echo Song........ .,., , ,..,,,.99 
 
 The Dying Christian ,...,,,., 10^ 
 
 Colonial War Song 1^2 
 
 To A. G. G., M. D .,....,.,.,.. 10_3 
 
 Hymn to the Brave 104 
 
 An Evening Reverie ,,..,,,,.,,. ... 105 
 
 To My Earlier Rhymes..,,, ,,.,107 
 
 A June Bride ,,.,.,.,,,,,.,,, , 1 08 
 
 Fragment ,.,..,..,,..,,,,,,,.,., 108 
 
 O, Heart of Man ! ,. .. .,., . ,,,, ,.109 
 
 Mateless ...,,,,,..., ,.,,.,..,,,,., 110 
 
 A Sleigh Ride in the South,,, 112 
 
 A Panegyric ..,,,, — H^ 
 
 Yuledon ,., ,,.,..., H^ 
 
 Gone! Gone! Gone!,,,,.,, .,....ll-s 
 
 The Burned Letters ,,,.,,, H-^ 
 
 Song, "When First I Kissed That 
 
 Lovely Face," ,,,.,..,,,,..,....,,, ,120 
 The Weird Hermit,,,....,,,,,,,,,, .,.,.1^^ 
 
 The Cyclone , ..,., . 123 
 
 A Rural Home... ,..,,124 
 
 An Echo fro n Our Algebra Class,..,., i 2^ 
 
 Ned ., 12T 
 
 Room "41." .,..,.128 
 
 To Womankind 12U 
 
A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 ''A Tale of Normcindie," whose original title, " Begin. 
 aid and Genevieve,' was written in 1893. During the five 
 years intervening quite a number of changes have been made 
 throughout the poim, but the plot, scenes and time of the 
 tale remain the same. Previous to its publication Dr. John 
 Snyder gave the manuscript a careful revise, and criticism, 
 and advised re-writing the whole poem, and opening it with 
 rhyme. This was done, dividing the tale into ^ve cantos, 
 instead of four, as originally written. 
 
 For the careful editing, and many helpful suggestions 
 toward improving the manuscript, I am greatly indebted to 
 not only Dr. Snyder, but to Prof. Schuyler, of the St. 
 Louis High School, and to Mr. A. H. St. Clair, the 
 publisher. 
 
 H. T. 
 
H vTale of iRormanMe 
 
 "IVhat dire offense from amorous causes sprtHgt, 
 IV hat mighty contests rise from trivial things?** 
 
 ^.AND of the Franks, where Norman blood arose ! 
 On thy fair shores the tale I strive to tell 
 Is echoed forth, and all my current flows 
 § To that one spot where Ocean's ceaseless swell 
 Washes thy cliffs and laves thy rocky shore, 
 Like some wild tigress lapping at her young, 
 Tame in content, while in her dwells that roar 
 Which thou possess, and vent when thou art strung 
 Into the pitch of fury, which has been 
 To many a struggling soul its last, heart-rending scene. 
 
14 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 Far o'er the waters the last gleam of day- 
 Dies in its bosom, while behind a cloud, 
 Faint in her efforts comes the moon's soft ray, 
 Stronger and weaker, 'till at last a shroud 
 Of mist upon mist — arises, and the scene 
 Grows ever darker. But afar there glows, 
 The firmament and ocean set between, 
 A vessel's light, and with its motion throws 
 A far reflected glimmer on the waters' sombre miea. 
 
 Now higher rose the moon upon its way, 
 
 The elements on which it cast its light 
 
 Shone out in bold relief against the sky ; 
 
 ivising abruptly from the waters' edge 
 
 A promontory, great and grand to see, 
 
 With sides of cragged rocks and sharpened peaks 
 
 That many a storm has wrought its furies on; 
 
 And at its base a dashing rivulet 
 
 Gives forth its burden to the hungry sea. 
 
 There, to the left, a bight of half a mile, 
 
 And where it terminates, a fisher's hut. 
 
 Scarce thirty paces from its only door 
 
 A fishing smack was rocking on the deep, 
 
 And nets and lines lay drying on the sand. 
 
 Within the hut there dwelt a fisherman, 
 
 A widower for half a score of years, 
 
 And with him lived his daughter. 
 
 So dear she was that he had oft refused 
 
 Her many suitors from the neighboring towa. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 15 
 
 And she was beautiful, and bore the name 
 Of her lost mother — Genevieve it was. — 
 Just in the best of all the merry teens. 
 She knew it, and she knew her beauty, too, 
 And she was loved, and it was often said 
 There was a youth, who, at an earlier day 
 Her heart and soul were set on, and she loved. 
 
 Now out upon fche moonlit beach there came 
 A figure walking carelessly along. 
 On his young face a shadowy sorrow lay, 
 Mute symbol of a troubled heart within ; 
 And turning as he there was strolling on. 
 He gave a far-off look along the shore. 
 Then made his way unto a nook close by ; 
 There divers reeds and grasses grcAV around, 
 And cutting one of even shape, he made 
 A pipe, to which he tuned this little tale: 
 
 " Through twenty varied summers have I lived, 
 
 And learned the ways of Nature as they came, — 
 
 The good, the bad, and all her various moods. 
 
 And made a record of the strange events 
 
 That happened in my journey out of youth; 
 
 And then to think that every living soul 
 
 Weaves of the years a thrilling narrative, 
 
 And makes a novel writ without a pen ! 
 
 My thoughts now dwell on one unhappy love, 
 
 That while it lived brought heaven to earth for me I 
 
16 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 And life was jeyous, as a pleasant dream. 
 The little Maid who dwelleth in the hut 
 Built high upon the sands beyond the peak 
 Could tell the tale which I am telling now, 
 How in our younger days the love we bore 
 Unto each other and which stronger grew, 
 Until each for the other seemed to live. 
 The happy seasons came and went, but found 
 Us still Joined to each other by that love 
 But last, a day that seemed to have no sun, 
 So dark the great world did appear to me : 
 For we had quarreled, and in a girlish rage 
 She cast me off. 
 
 '' But yet, reluctant 
 To lose what had been ever dear to me, 
 And reasoning that she was yet a child. 
 And acting without Wisdom's guiding hand, 
 I pleaded with her, but I pled in vain : 
 And then I turned, but ere I dropped her hand, 
 I said, fast blinking to withhold a tear, 
 ' Farewell, my little one, yes, fare thee well, 
 And may thy life be happy ; but this act. 
 It will come back and hurt thee,' and I went." 
 Thus sung my Reginald, the innocent. 
 The youth of twenty summers, who had felt 
 The pangs of Cupid's arrow in his heart; 
 And finished, brooded over other days, 
 Those days of which his hejirt just sung its lay, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 17 
 
 And wondered if she had forgotten him. 
 
 For somehow would his inner thoughts foretell 
 
 That she still thought of him as she had done, 
 
 But was afraid to breathe the joyful word. 
 
 When love does linger, but is not returned, 
 
 Thou mayst know the devil's heart is light. 
 
 And oft my Reginald, all unobserved. 
 
 And with his heart deep yearning for that one, 
 
 Vented his feelings in a verbal stream : 
 
 " 1 wish I did not love thee ! there are times 
 
 When hell doth seem more welcome than this life; 
 
 For pains of body I can stand, — of heart 
 
 And worry, such as thou mak'st me to bear, 
 
 Are past endurance ! " 
 
 And after such a burst 
 He would reflect : " But still our sorrow, 
 Or e'en those moments when we feel ourselves 
 The victims of an unrelenting fate. 
 Scourged and tortured, baffled and beaten down, 
 Have yet their balance in a happier mood. 
 And all our sufferings, all our bitter pangs, 
 I d'^ believe with joy are compensated.'^ 
 
 As thus we found him wandering on the beach, 
 Full oft before our youth had done the same. 
 For he had come to meditate, and look 
 Upon the hut where Genevieve abode. 
 Now when that iilver lantern of the night 
 
1^ A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 That lights the milky highway through the stars 
 Had risen to the highest point, and cast 
 The shadow of the cliff upon the beach, 
 The youth rose rapidly and made his way 
 Down to the water's edge. There long he stood, 
 As if he saw a contest on the sea 
 And staid to see the issue. But in sooth, 
 He took no notice of the boundless deep 
 Nor of the moon that shone upon its waste ; 
 His eyes were turned far inward to his soul, 
 And saw the clouds that darkened up his life, 
 And then he wished a mighty wave would come. 
 And bear him out across the boundless sea, 
 That he might nevermore behold the shores 
 Of Normandie, the land he called his home. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 19 
 
 II. 
 
 Scarce had he turned to make his homeward way, 
 
 Than to his mind a final thought was borne, 
 
 Away from home to live ! The ships were near, 
 
 And anchored off the docks below the town. 
 
 He would apply at once for service, 
 
 And if successful leave this place of tears. 
 
 " If thou art troubled, shun familiar scenes, 
 
 And fresher scenes will drive the trouble out.'' 
 
 'Twas thus he argued. Up the lonely road 
 
 He made his way in silence and alone, 
 
 His brain a fire that glowed with different lights. 
 
20 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 Long at his gate he stood, and looked upon 
 
 The scenes of childhood he was bent to leave: 
 
 Below, the schoolhouse stood, which was to him 
 
 A stimulant that stirred his burning brain 
 
 To recollections of his earlier days ; 
 
 The moonlight played among the fallen leaves 
 
 Where he had romped with her in years before, 
 
 And how his heart would throb,when thoughts like this 
 
 Would come upon him, irresistable ; 
 
 For he believed there never was a love, — 
 
 E'en that of Abelard and Heloise — 
 
 So sweet and tender, so unconquerable. 
 
 It was too much ; for there are moments when 
 
 Remorse can conquer will, and howso'er 
 
 We struggle to withhold them, thoughts will rise 
 
 That lead us into arts which we regret. 
 
 And then iigain he moved and made his way 
 
 Into his room, and there, all noiselessly 
 
 He gathered in a bundle sundry things, 
 
 As youths are wont to do when they depart; 
 
 And searching for a moment, brought to light 
 
 The pictured face of Genevieve, which she 
 
 Had given him upon a summer's day. 
 
 When they together, like a tropic breeze, 
 
 Harmonious floated in a land of bliss. 
 
 But then a thought arose, that like a hand 
 
 Of some staunch guardian of the country's law 
 
 Placed firmly on a reckless trespasser, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 Now held our Eeginald in fearful bound : 
 
 How could he leave his mother all alone? 
 
 And then he said, although it pained him much, 
 
 " I will go to her ; she must let me go, 
 
 I cannot stay now that my plans are made ; 
 
 And Father from his cruise will soon return, 
 
 So naught will be the loss because 1 leave." 
 
 With that he 'roused her and explained it all, 
 
 Pleaded and coaxed within the chamber dim: 
 
 Remarked how short a time as yet remained 
 
 Before his father would be home again; 
 
 That he was grown, and she should not refuse, 
 
 And on and on till morning did appear, 
 
 But still she had the better argument. 
 
 Another day of coaxing Hill at last. 
 
 Reluctantly, she gave her sad consent. 
 
 And many a tear and melancholy word 
 
 She gave the morning that he left his home. 
 
 And as he made his way adown the road. 
 
 Unheard by other ears, this song he sung: 
 
 "1 said farewell once on a time, 
 But said the word with pain, 
 
 And every day I breathed that word 
 Until we met again." 
 
 But there was something in his throbbing heart 
 
 We cannot call remorse, although it bore 
 
 A close affinity. Remorse and joy, 
 
 And pride and sorrow, all were there in one; 
 
22 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 Mingling enthusiasm of that sense 
 
 Of feeling when at last the boyish traits 
 
 Do pass away, the soul does realize 
 
 Nature and powers of manhood are about 
 
 Asserting their authority, and the thought 
 
 That boyhood is no more, and though regret 
 
 Does hold us part in bondage, yet we feel 
 
 With pride, the moment comes th it brands the man. 
 
 And then our Eeginald did realize 
 
 That henceforth he must be in manhood's mood, 
 
 That is but felt by only those who have 
 
 Passed into it. Then in a jocund mood 
 
 He smiled at his own weakness, and because 
 
 He had been troubled by so small a thing. 
 
 Upon the bay there floated many a ship 
 Sporting the colors of the different lands. 
 And boarding one our youth his services 
 Offered for passage to its destination. 
 Nor was he disappointed. When the sun 
 Arose again, the scraping of the chains 
 Awoke him, and he joined the vessel's crew. 
 And now began the roughened sailor's work ; 
 But on the deck when night had settled down, 
 The men of many nations spun their yarns. 
 To which our Eeginald would lend his ear : 
 The tales of shipwreck on a desert coast, 
 The mighty storms that swept across the main, 
 The lack of food that overtook a crew, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 23 
 
 And piracies, and murders,— stirring tales 
 
 Told with the thrilling of a seaman's voice. 
 
 But day by day the wind that bore them on 
 
 Subsided, and at last the ship lay calmed. 
 
 For days and days the sailors cursed the luck, 
 
 And discontent against the captain rose, 
 
 Whose mood waxed rougher as the sea grew calm ; 
 
 And hour by hour disorder did increase 
 
 Until in mutiny the crew arose, 
 
 And drunk and frenzied brawled upon the deck. 
 
 But Reginald, through all this mad ordeal 
 
 Kept aft, and distant from the maddened crew, 
 
 And joining with the captain and the mate, 
 
 They quelled the riot, and the bark was saved. 
 
 The calm passed over, and each rising sun 
 Brought with it fresher winds to speed them on, 
 And three day's sailing brought them to a bay 
 Within the smallest of the Channel Isles. 
 Near Jersey, where they breed the gentle kine 
 Whose milk is fit for rare ambrosial. 
 As rich as that which crowned the ample shelves 
 Of Polyphemus in his cavern home. 
 The awful, one-eyed giant of the isle. 
 Who by Ulysses of his sight was robbed. 
 When now the cargo was all put ashore. 
 And Reginald in freedom found himself, 
 He saw the ship weigh anchor, nor regret 
 Once seized him ; he had cast his die and now 
 
24 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 All hopeful, yet not certain, bent his steps 
 Beyond the little port, and made his way 
 Far inland, caring little where he went. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 2 5 
 
 III. 
 
 Eive long and weary years have run their course 
 
 Since Reginald set foot upon the isle, 
 
 Bat still his thoughts dwell fondly on that one 
 
 Whom he had left in haste so long ago; 
 
 What though his heart was lighter, and the pain 
 
 It once had felt was now entirely gone. 
 
 Yet did sweet essence of that love remain, 
 
 And ever near his fondly pulsing heart 
 
 That treasured little picture he had kept. 
 
 He had but one companion on the isle, 
 
 An old enfeebled man, recluse and lone. 
 
 And he a hermit, of that Godly kind 
 
 Of quiet meditators who withdraw 
 
 Their person and their spirit from the world 
 
 And thus in abnegation look for light. 
 
 Our Reginald had found him when a storm 
 
 Was sweeping in its fury o'er the isle; 
 
 When seeing on the mountain side a nook, 
 
 He hurried there for shelter and for rest ; 
 
 And nearing it was startled by a sound, 
 
 Above the tempest's roar, — of human speech; 
 
 But fearing not, he entered, and a hand 
 
 Was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice 
 
26 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 Imperfect from disuse addressed him thus : 
 
 "Who art thou, friend? 
 Who'er thou art, rest here, for I am one 
 Who holds it sin to harm a beast or bird ; 
 Leave not this cavern while the rain doth pour. 
 I am thy friend, I say it once agdn, 
 So tell me who thou art, and whither go ? 
 And then he led our youth into a room 
 Dim lighted by a dying ember's flame. 
 And fuel was added and it brightened up, 
 And by its light he viewed his aged friend : 
 A massive frame once strong and vigorous 
 Now all unfleshed and bended by the years ; 
 White hair in tangled masses crowned his head, 
 Deep sunken in the hollow cavities 
 The piercing eyes of blackness kindled fire. 
 But yet a look of kindliness they had 
 That proved a tender heart beat low within. 
 A beard of twenty summers hanging down 
 Uncombed and tangled, brushed upon his clothes; 
 Wild were his features, and his life had been 
 E'en wilder, he with Nature had abode, 
 Eking his living from the lowly earth; 
 Herbs and berries and the crystal spring 
 Had been his daily nursing, and in prayer 
 And melancholy musings passed his days. 
 And standing there, but speaking not, they let 
 Their hearts pursue their way, which quickly found 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 27 
 
 A close affinity, and day by day 
 
 As they together lived, a strong attachment grew. 
 
 One day the hermit, calling to his mind 
 
 The hour he gave his welcome to our f lend, 
 
 Spoke tlius about it in his gratitude : 
 
 "T'is most a proverb, that to do what's right 
 
 Helps much yourself and he with whom it's donci 
 
 I gave you food and shelter in my cave, 
 
 I helped j^ou in your darkest hour of need, 
 
 I did for you what I would others have 
 
 Do unto me had I been as you were ; 
 
 Nor have you failed to make a just return. 
 
 As now my life is easier for your help. 
 
 Thus gaining good for one kind action done. 
 
 I almost swore an oath long years ago 
 
 To never set mine eyes on man again, 
 
 To live my life in deepest solitude 
 
 Away from all the haunts of avarice; 
 
 But oft I was compelled to look on men, 
 
 As they passed carelessly about my home. 
 
 But childishness now comes with hoary age- 
 
 And once again I love the human race.'' 
 
 And then did Eeginald his tale unfold. 
 
 He told him all the history of his life 
 
 From early boyhood to that very day, 
 
 And then the hermit would persuade his friend 
 
 To go again unto his Norman home, 
 
2® A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 But Keginald, with sacrificing heart 
 Resolved to stay and watch the aged man 
 Uatil his woiry pulse would beat no more, 
 For well he knew the ancient's death was near. 
 Bach evening through the balmy Autumn days 
 They sat and talked outside their earthern home, 
 And Reginald would oft repeat the tale, 
 How happy he had been in younger days, 
 And t lough he'd left that all might be forgot. 
 He found it was a thing that could not be. 
 Then darkened momenta came, that seemed to be 
 E'en darker than the others had been bright, 
 And then the hermit, as he drew a breath, 
 Spoke slowly to his friend these truthful words : 
 " Remember this, 'tis what all hearts must find ; 
 However pleasant is the honey's sweet, 
 The sting the bee can give will curdle it; 
 That many days of pleasure are effaced 
 By sudden sorrow that at times will come, — 
 The darkness shrouds the merry beams of light, 
 The weaker by the stronger is subdued." 
 
 Another year passed on in solitude 
 
 That slowly drained the hermit's cup of life , 
 
 And oft his brain would wander, and he spoke 
 
 Idle words, in wild confusion uttered, 
 
 'Till day by day insanity would show 
 
 Itself more plainly than the day before, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^-J^ 
 
 And Eeginalcl, bethinking proper food 
 
 Would better his condition, made his way 
 
 Down to the port one day in early fall. 
 
 At noon dark clouds had gathered o'er the isle, 
 
 And Eeginald made haste to gain the cave, 
 
 But long before he reached it came the storm : 
 
 In mighty sheets the rain was blown about. 
 
 And loud the thunders pealed from cloud to cloud; 
 
 Tr.e lightning flashed against the distant peaks 
 
 That stood half hidden in the lowering clouds, 
 
 And darker, ever darker grew the scene. 
 
 But still did Eeginald pursue his way, 
 
 A heart of love incased in bands of steel. 
 
 But as the hardest storms are oft but brief. 
 
 In one short hour the elements were clear, 
 
 And Eeginald, foot weary, reached the cave. 
 
 And with his tinder lit, he entered in. 
 
 But lo, the fire was out, the room was empty I 
 
 With knitted brow and fear upon his face. 
 
 And imagination painting horror 
 
 For him he loved, he hurried from the cave, 
 
 And looked in all directions, and he called, 
 
 But nothing answered save the echo's voice. 
 
 And then he searched the woods, and all about,— 
 
 Hour on hour he wandered o'er the paths. 
 
 Until his weary feet would go no more. 
 
 And he sank dowi to take th© needed rest, 
 
 With giddy brain and all things round hi n whirling. 
 
36 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 At hist he rose and walked, lie knew not where, 
 Until a sudden turning in the path 
 Brought to his eyes a wild and fearful sight : 
 A ghastly head with hair all smeared in blood, 
 Disheveled, flowing o'er a frightful face 
 Sunken and wretched, eyes that fury glared, 
 Distorted limbs writhed up by agony,— 
 All that was mortal of the hermit hoar 
 In wilder form than maddened brain can draw, 
 Hung in a path from lowly bending limb. 
 And Reginald, with face a deathly white. 
 Trembling and weakened, sunk upon the ground. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^1 
 
 IV. 
 
 With morning's light our Reginald arose, 
 Amd then prepared the body for its rest. 
 Wrapped in what garments he could find within, 
 He laid it in a grave within the room, 
 And made his way without to ne'er return ; 
 For who can linger, when before the eyes 
 Lies the chill mould from which the vital spark, 
 Like Noah's dove, went never to return? 
 Around about the cave were mouldering logs. 
 And here and there lay shrubbery and stones; 
 Before the entrance first the logs he placed. 
 And next the stones; and over these the brush; 
 And yet to hide it all were leaves and earth. 
 Till rustic art did vie with Nature's work, 
 
32 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 And then he said " 'Tis over, I will go," 
 And breathed a silent prayer before he left. 
 
 Along a seacoast road that lead into a town 
 
 Surrounded by modest hills, and far 
 
 O'erlooking ocean's boundless plain, 
 
 A man was walking, glancing here and there, 
 
 While on his face was curiosity 
 
 Bc^picted plainly, mingled with smiles, 
 
 Such signs as one displays when he returns 
 
 To early haunts When Time has wrought its change. 
 
 And quite bewildered by the strange aspect. 
 
 Often he stopped, and looking all around, 
 
 Would wonder if his course were leading right, 
 
 Then on again with leaping heart he went, 
 
 In happy mood along the path of old. 
 
 At last the little town appeared in view, 
 And Reginald then paused to see his home; 
 How changed it was. The scene in other days 
 That humble was, now all in splendor shone. 
 The fruit, that unattractive is at first, 
 Eipensand mellows with the summer suns, 
 Till last in luscious beauty issues forth. 
 Charming the eye and watering the mouth- 
 So Eeginald compared his place of birth. 
 He traced the street wherein he once had lived, 
 But where the lowly house he called his home? 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 3 3 
 
 With rounded domes, and all in Gothic style 
 
 A handsome mansion lorded o'er the place ; 
 
 Like Philemon, he stood upon the hill 
 
 And viewed the transformation Time had wrought. 
 
 "Is this my home," he said, " where once I lived ; 
 
 Can this be true, this change has taken place 
 
 Or are mine eyes deceiving, as in dreams "?" 
 
 Bat weary from the walk, he made his way 
 Down to a tavern nearest where he stood. 
 That he might there partake of food and rest. 
 And having reached it, the landlord placed 
 A chair before a table, and he filled 
 A glass with spirits, and in jovial mood. 
 All talkative as landlords ever are. 
 Began, not thinkinj^ whom he did address : 
 "How does it stand in your opinion now? 
 Think you the rascal who doth forge his name 
 And claims himself to be the absent son 
 Of her who died two years ago and left 
 Near half a million francs unto her son. 
 Besides a vast amount of other property, — 
 The finest that our city doth afiord, — 
 If he should e'er return unto the plac e. 
 Will prove he is the one, the lawful son ? " 
 But seeing that his guest would rather hear 
 Than answer to his questions, he went on. 
 " Perhaps you have not heard about the case, — 
 
34 
 
 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 Tlie case, the case ! Pve lived for fifty years, 
 But never heard the like of it before. 
 Have you not heard?" 
 
 His guest returned, "I have not.'^ 
 " What ! Then you must be a stranger in our town f 
 I see you are, then I will tell it all. " 
 And thea the landlord, with a serious main, 
 Seating himself beside our Reginald, 
 And filling both the glasses once again, 
 Explained the case that worried half the town. 
 "There died two years ago a widow here. 
 From worry o'er her husband and her son ; 
 The first upon the stormy sejis wa« lost, 
 The second, ere the mcUmcholy news 
 Had reached him, sailed away, believing that 
 His f ith(T would in one short Vveek return ; 
 But weeks passed into months, and months to years, 
 But neither came, and whilst thej were away 
 A close relation of this widow died. 
 And left to her vast monies and estates, 
 The last aa income brought and yearly paid ; 
 The lands were sold, and she who once was poor. 
 Became in wealth among the first in town, 
 And built the noble mansion you have seen 
 Standing midway between the shore and town ; 
 And bought wide spreading acres for a park 
 And yet 'mongst other things a fiisher's hut 
 
AMD OTHER POEMS. 35 
 
 She purchased, and enclosed, and guarded well ; 
 And to its former owner gave a home 
 That he and his one daughter there, migiii; livv. 
 In greater comfort. For she cherished much 
 This fisher's daughter, who had been to her 
 A source of comfort, and a guide and friend. 
 Now when her will was made, she certified 
 The house and sum should go unto her son, 
 If, in the years to come he should return. 
 The widow died; the son had not returned, 
 And vainly time and money have been spent 
 To trace him, or to gain some information. 
 And finally there came a youth in town 
 Who claims himself to be the rightful son. 
 And weeks and months of hearing have gone on 
 Before the lawyers to obtain the facts 
 And set the matter dear. Tomorrow will 
 The verdict be announced," 
 
 Could pen but tell the feeling that arose 
 Like some great wave to burst apart the dyke 
 That trembles to withhold it; could I give 
 Full color to the picture I would paint, 
 Portraying human feelings to the quick, 
 Such as there came to him who heard the tale, 
 Then would I be a master of that art 
 Through eons striven for, but seldom reached. 
 
A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 But Eeginald was calm. While other men 
 Volcano-like, had burst their feelings forth, 
 He held his heart in leash, vvhilo in his soul 
 Hope, iear and joy marked their alternate power. 
 Then looking squarely in the landlord's face, 
 Demanded thus: "Good Sir, can this be true, 
 The tale you tell? Can you but give his name, 
 The name of this young scoundrel who has come 
 Like fox into a peaceful shepherd's fold. 
 Nursing a lie to gain him wealth and hell? 
 Is Eeginald Moreau the name he claims?" 
 
 "That is the name, the very name of him. 
 And thou a stranger — thou art wise to guess ; 
 But come, now, what does agitate you so? " 
 
 And thus to him did Reginald reply 
 
 Not in quivering accents, but as one 
 
 Full proudly clothed in truth and conscience clear. 
 
 "Wouldst thou believe an honest man, if he 
 
 Should speak s 'und truth unto thy list'ning ears ? 
 
 The truth, the tr .Ih ! I sa}^, and had the proof 
 
 To bind this truth and make it clear to you?" 
 
 " An honest man who spoke the simple truth ! 
 You are excited— why, 1 should believe ; 
 What were there left for me to do but that?" 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^7 
 
 " Well, then, give ear. I am that sought-for heir ! 
 
 f ea, do not interrupt, but listen yet : 
 
 Five years, three months ago I left tbis town 
 
 For reasons which I need not mention here; 
 
 Near Jersey, in the Channel Isles, I lived 
 
 And passed my years in dreary hermitage 
 
 Oaring for one who had protected me, — 
 
 A lonely anchorite. Some months ago 
 
 Insanity overtook him, and his death 
 
 Was his own deed. Now, when I laid him low. 
 
 Unto the island^s little port 1 went, 
 
 There lingered many weeks until a ship 
 
 Whose destination was this Norman town, 
 
 Dropped anchor in the bay. I boarded it 
 
 And soon again was was on my native soil. 
 
 Thus is my tale— a mere epitome. 
 
 And now I ask you, will you be my friend? 
 
 If courts can prove to you that I am not 
 
 Him whom they seek, Against all the proof I have, 
 
 Then I am yours to prosecute at will ; 
 
 But being right, as thou shalt see I am, 
 
 Tiien shall a rich reward accrue to you. '^ 
 
 Up rose the landlord, all his face aglow. 
 Excitement shaking all his portly frame, 
 And thumping on the tabl«, cried aloud, 
 " Young man, it is no trifling matter, this ! 
 The town is weary of prolonged suspense, 
 
38 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 And I, and all tlie honest citizens 
 Are doubting much this man's identity, 
 Who does assume himself the rightful heir. 
 Yes, I will be your friend ; but mark me well 
 Thou must have strong and able proof, 
 Or you will find yourself in atmosphere 
 That is not pleasant." 
 
 Then Reginald, 
 His mind subdued, his heart now much at ease, 
 Eeturned, "I have the proof; now give me rest, — 
 I have been worried and I need repose." 
 
 And when the sun, herald of mirth and toil 
 
 Illumined again the little Norman town. 
 
 The landlord woke his guest and breakfast served, 
 
 A7id hurried to the court a mile away. 
 
 Long rows of benches seated full, and all 
 
 The doors and corners of the court were filled 
 
 With bared-head spectators of every age. 
 
 Upon the bench the bearded judge was seen 
 
 And busy clerks with pen were seated 'round. 
 
 The gavel fell, and quiet settled doAvn, 
 
 The claimant was sworn in and asked to give 
 
 Once more and last his views in self-support. 
 
 And thus the court and judge he did address: 
 
 " 1 look not in this crowd for sympathy, 
 The people are against me here in town, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^^ 
 
 And in a weighty matter such as this 
 Sad is my heart that I have not a friend. 
 Five years ago I left this very town, 
 Pursuing various trades away from home. 
 A year ago I chanced to read a notice 
 Which had been circulated near and far 
 Demanding information of a youth 
 Who bore my very name, and who had left 
 This Norman town the year that I had left ; 
 And as I read, each line enthused me more 
 As it described his general appearance, 
 And that in every detail is as mine, — 
 Could I do else than come to the conclusion 
 That he who was demanded was myself! 
 Yet knew I not why he was wanted so. 
 For better or for worsen I reasoned deep ; 
 I had no guilt to weigh upon my mind. 
 And with an open conscience deemed it right 
 And but my duty to reply at once. 
 Then did I come, and what was my surprise ? 
 What was my joy, my inward happiness 
 To find myself the heir to an estate 
 Surpassing anything my youth had dreamed I 
 There is my tale. Can honesty avail 
 In such a world of calumny as this ? 
 I have no proof, and there is your pretext 
 To rob me of mine own. With open heart 
 
40 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 And wishing malice unto none, I deem 
 Myself the heir. At other time I gave 
 A full account of ancestors and birth 
 For you to work upon. I close, I ceftse.'^ 
 
 " He speaks glibly I " cried a spectator, 
 
 That started ripples through the crowded court, 
 
 '' Why, if I only had so good a tongue, 
 
 I might be heir to the fortune, too." 
 
 Just then there was commotion in the court. 
 
 The landlord leading Reginald along, 
 
 Bowed to the judge, and begged a moment^s speech. 
 
 " That man who has just spoken is a liar I 
 
 I long have thought it ; he's a forger, too, 
 
 No witness has he here in town or court. 
 
 While I will give my honor by this man." 
 
 Then pointing to the claimant, stung him thus : 
 
 " Look at his sunken head 1 His cheeks, they pale ! 
 
 See, court, it's guilt ! I wot his conscience now 
 
 Is pricking and is burning to the quick ; 
 
 But see, behold my man, see how his eyes 
 
 Are bright, and in his face is only truth, 
 
 Come now, my Eeginald, address the court." 
 
 And then our hero, with commanding mein. 
 
 Began in accents strong, and clear and true : 
 
 Nor faltered as he told them ample facts. 
 
 Full every detail of th' eventful past; 
 
AND OTHER FOEMS. 41 
 
 And many a note aad date that bore apaia 
 The history of the town, its citizens, 
 He showed clear knowledge of the woman who 
 Had left this will; of him who willed to her. 
 And so convinced the court by evidence, 
 By dates and figures that were not denied. 
 That he at once won confidence from all, 
 And then he turned, and in excited breath, 
 With leaping heart, and heated brow and cheek, 
 Casting his eye on every face around 
 At once quite fearing, and yet confide nt, 
 Asked of the judge, as well as those around 
 
 " Is there a woman living in this town 
 Who bore the maiden name of Audinot? 
 Genevieve Audinot ? 1 speak that name 
 For now, may hap, she has been married and 
 Does bear another. Is there such an one 1 
 For all my hope is centered in that name." 
 There was a movement in the crowded court, 
 A woman, pale and trembling issued forth, 
 " Reginald, O Reginald!" she cried, 
 " Can this be you, my pride in younger days ! 
 Can you forgive the wrong that I have done! 
 O Judge ! O Court! this is the rightful son, 
 i am the cause for all this trouble here ! " 
 
 The true nobility of mercy is 
 
 Shown in the circumstance that calls for it, 
 
42 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 j\nd he who mercy shows to those wbo have 
 Done injury to them, is good indeed. 
 Thus to a paining heart our Eeginakl, 
 The past forgot in happiness, replied, 
 "Dear Madam, thou art my salvation, now, 
 Should I refuse your hand and turn from you, 
 And use you only to make clear my name, 
 Then were my nature meaner than a brute's. 
 
 "Now listen, court, and Judge, while i essay 
 
 To prove myself and clear a tangled web. 
 
 But first, sweet woman, give thy present name.'^ 
 
 "It is Leclare; but call me what you did 
 
 Ten years ago when we were blithe and young."— 
 
 ''GenevievCj" he paused a moment, while 
 
 A thrill ot youthful love o'er spread him tiiere; 
 
 ''Now make your memory play a noble part, 
 
 And prove stid more the falseness of that v» retch, 
 
 And let us clear the world of such a lie 
 
 As he has dared to })ring upon its face. 
 
 Long yearsago you gave tome a scroll 
 
 Which bore the likeness of your handsome face, 
 
 Can you describe it ? Please to do it then " 
 
 There was a light and sparkle in her eye 
 
 And joy unmeasured shown upon her tace 
 
 All colored o'er and sweet to look upon. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 43 
 
 ** Oh, Judge !" she cried, I do remember well, 
 
 Hear but my voice a moment. Long ago, 
 
 Each franc that Father gave me I would save 
 
 Until my little hands would overflow 
 
 When I would hold them; with my money saved 
 
 I bought a little frame, of silver wrought, 
 
 With sweet forget-me-nots in gold around, 
 
 And it was beautiful, and pleased the eye, 
 
 And in the frame a little picture placed 
 
 Of mine own face, and in a childish mood 
 
 To Reginald I gave it, with a kiss." 
 
 A smile and ripple went around the court, 
 
 And Reginald, ecstatic, showed the scroll, 
 
 And it was like to that which she described, 
 
 And all the court in joyous cries arose. 
 
^4 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 V. 
 
 '^And DOW the threatening clouds have passed away 
 Leaving the sky in all its azure clear 
 And let us but rejoice o'er what has come." 
 Thus spoke sweet Genevieve to Reginald. 
 When after many years they found themselves 
 Oftce more together, and all unobserved. 
 A nd hardly giving Reginald a chance 
 To utter his own thoughts, continued thus: 
 ''Had I then known the sorrow I should cause 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 45 
 
 To dwell within a youtli wlio thus has shown 
 
 Himself to be as true and good as you. 
 
 I would have gladly severed from my arm 
 
 A hand, if it would have prevented such. 
 
 And then I married. Father died, and so 
 
 I had no one to help me on in life, 
 
 And thus to live I gave my heart away; 
 
 And he w;is good, but wanted perfect health, 
 
 And death at last did conquer over life. 
 
 He left me little, yet enough w^herewith 
 
 To live upon in this my little home 
 
 Which your dear mother gave to my loved sire. 
 
 O, Reginald, my prayers have long been filled 
 
 Witli pleadings for th}^ safety; they have been 
 
 Well answered in His ujercy and His love." 
 
 "And mine for tht^e. O Genevieve, my life 
 Since last we parted has been darkened much 
 By that last act of yours. Some men there be 
 Who can forget the pangs of early love, 
 Not such am I, and there still dwells in me 
 That early passion, less ardent, may be, 
 Caused by our separation, yet more sincere." 
 
 Thus did thej talk; their troubles and their feelings 
 Laid bare unto each other, and when night 
 Was well advanced, a whispered word or two 
 
46 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 A short embrace, and then, yoath's dearest dream 
 Was realized at last. 
 
 The day was set, 
 And then the merry news was spread around, 
 And all the town rejoiced to hear of it, 
 But ere the day, as they together satj 
 In childish tone did Genevieve confess: 
 
 ''One night in Dreamland, as I lay reposed, 
 
 A voice apprised me you were at my door, 
 
 'Reginald has come, go meet him now,' 
 
 And urged that I shoald go and greet you there. 
 
 But then I argue<l on the sport it gave 
 
 To hold you off, the more to draw you on: 
 
 To make you speak to me before I spoke. 
 
 And so to jest you for it afterward. 
 
 Zou know young girls do like to conquer boys, 
 
 To catch upon the ribbons of their heart 
 
 And sportively to pull them as they like 
 
 Then softiy came these words unto my ears, 
 
 So sweet they rose the notes are echoing now. 
 
 But first a question: You remember well, 
 
 The tale of Thisbe and her lover, how 
 
 They were divided by the wall of stone, 
 
 And could not see each other, yet they spoke; 
 
 And how, at last, when love would triumph well 
 
 They by the ravenous lion were devoured^ 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^^ 
 
 With pleasing smile to this he did assent, 
 And she went on in her sweet wonian^s voice. 
 Putting the Avords into a little air 
 She had composed Avhile oft repeating it: 
 
 '^Thisbe spoke, but could not see, 
 
 Here we saw, but would not speak; 
 It was but the passion weak — 
 
 Tell me, Muse, why such there be? 
 
 ''All the power is in your hand, 
 But it reaches not your heart; 
 Love you do, and loved thou art, 
 Then whv let the evil stand ? 
 
 "What think you, Keginald, of such a dream V 
 ''Tib such a dream as I would like to have, 
 Tis such a dream as one may have in youth. 
 Yes, well I am aware of girlish moods: 
 Tou will command us, then, with altered voice 
 Glide smoothly to entreaties, any way 
 To get ahead of us. You thought it sport 
 To give that sharp behest when you were young: 
 'Go off I I do not want you any-more ! ' 
 Then how you did entreat me in the court! 
 IVe found you out, your sex, both old and young 
 Does live serenely in the imperative mood." 
 
 "But all's forgiven !" they together cried. 
 
48 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 The week wears on, the day is most at hand, 
 And all the village gossips o'er the two, 
 For never had they heard of such a tale, 
 For never had they known so true a love; 
 And blessing be upon the rising sun 
 When with the ring these henrts together run. 
 
Part Second. 
 
 "Other Poems." 
 
AMD OTHER POEMS. 51 
 
 The Two Little "J's." 
 
 Oh, have you not heard of the two little "J's" 
 Who became so enamored by each other^s ways 1 
 Who met and who loved all in one little week, 
 Oh, have you not heard t Then of them I will speak. 
 
 Having known many maidens, having known many boys, 
 I have frowned on their troubles and smiled on their joys, 
 And often have written how Dan Cupid plays. 
 And now I shall write of the two little ^'J^s." 
 
 I have no intention to write a long tale — 
 Ah, well that I haven't for how I should fail; 
 And so to be brief, which is always the best, 
 ni begin with the "J" who came out of the West. 
 
 Who came out of the West bringing joy in his wake, 
 And brought it along for the other "J's" sake. 
 He isn't so old, but he's old for his size — 
 (Who guesses his age I should judge is quite wise.) 
 
 His face isn't noble but such as to suit, 
 A word the girls use, monosyllabic, "cute.'' 
 There's a curl in his lip and a light in his eye, 
 And a ring in his voice when he pitches it high. 
 
52 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 His temper is such as the temperate sun 
 
 Produces in those it shines brightest upon, 
 
 His spirit is active but calm in repose, 
 
 And for "J" Number Two he's the dearest of beaMX. 
 
 Now, "J" Number Two dwelleth here in our town, 
 She is pretty in silks, or in plainest brown gown. 
 Her hair is the kind that the artists of old 
 Would give to their nymphs, a shade lighter than gold. 
 
 Her eyes are bright blue, if I recollect well. 
 But what lies beneath them no genius can tell, 
 Although I have noticed while scanning them deep, 
 That out of their corners young Mischief does peep. 
 
 Now it chanced on a beautiful, bright summer day 
 That "J" Number One met the other young "J;" 
 And, Oh, were my pen ever able to tell 
 Of the rapid heart-beats, and the sighing as well. 
 
 Of the blushes of one, the brave looks of the other, 
 The manifestations becoming a lover, 
 But ne'er can I do it though hard I should try, 
 So I put my pen down and reluctantly sigh. 
 
 No pair ever loved half so deep or bo true, 
 The days went along, and the love affair, too. 
 They never grew cold, but they parted away, 
 And now is the end of my romantic lay. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 53 
 
 The Loving Cup. 
 
 The Loving Cup, the Loving Cup, 
 
 The Loving Cup with handles three, 
 
 O, fill me high the Loving Cup, 
 
 And let me drink, my love, to thee. 
 
 A king upon a journey went. 
 
 And while a-resting, he, 
 A peasant maid did water give 
 
 In cup with handles three. 
 
54 ^ TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 And how it did delight the king, 
 And how she smiod to him, 
 
 And how the king did eye askance 
 That maiden fair and slim. 
 
 The monarch tarried there about 
 And wooed the peasant maid. 
 
 And drank they deep the Loving Cup 
 Beneath the evening shade. 
 
 " And come with me, " he said at last, 
 " And follow me, " he said, — 
 
 Away with him she went, she went, 
 And did the monarch wed. 
 
 The Loving Cup, the Loving Cup^ 
 
 The Loving Cup with handles inree. 
 
 O, fill me high the Loving Cup, 
 
 And let me drink, my Lore, to thee. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS, 
 
 The Ballad of Jennie Brown. 
 
 This rhyme of mine is a rhyme of the time 
 When our fathers were boys like we, 
 And they wore their clothes — as 1 suppose— 
 With as much propriety. 
 
 There lived in a town a young Miss Brown, 
 
 A lady of style was she, 
 
 And the tale I tell, it once befell 
 
 Thj^s lady of quality. 
 
 There wasnH a man (so the story ran) 
 In the old New England Town, 
 Who was not aware of the lady fair 
 That was christened Jennie Brown. 
 
 Her hair was dark, and a heavenly spark 
 Would flash from her lovely eyes; 
 Her figure good, and as fine her blood 
 As nature could ever devise. 
 
 And many a dupe with awkward stoop 
 Had humbled himself to her; 
 And now and then the sensible men 
 ShA used her arts to lure. 
 
 Oh, as many loves as awkward moves 
 An elephant makes in a day, 
 Had young Miss Brown in the cozy town 
 Built o'er New England^s way. 
 
^^ A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 But she threw them off with a laugh and a cough, 
 And prepared the next to catch, 
 And she thought it fun, when the day was done, 
 This jilting her art would hatch. 
 
 But there came a day when the men that way 
 Had let her alone for good, 
 
 And the days she sighed, and the nights she cried, 
 In her lovely maidenhood. 
 
 The days went on, and her lovers were gone — 
 Were married many a year. 
 And she mourned her fate and her single state 
 With many a salty tear. 
 
 Her beautj^ of youth (I am telling the truth) 
 A¥as slowly fading away; 
 And she worried deep, and she lost her sleep 
 Until her locks were gray. 
 
 Her beauty was gone, and her cheeks were wan, 
 And her heart was sad, I'm sure, 
 When a happy scheme, like a sudden gleam 
 Aroused this maid demure. 
 
 She'd buy some locks from the milliner's stocks, 
 Of a lovely, golden hue, 
 
 And she'd paint her cheeks, like other freaks 
 Who have had the art to rue. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 57 
 
 She kept the locks in an ebony box 
 With jeweled hinges bright, 
 And every morn the locks were worM, 
 And she put them back at night. 
 
 And she was vain and young again — 
 At least she reasoned so, 
 And she went to a town, did Jennie Brown, 
 And captured a little beau. 
 
 Oh, a little beau named so-and-so, 
 So nice, so sweet, so small, 
 But he didn't know the dreadful woe 
 Into which he soon would fall. 
 
 She took him away, and her heart was gay, 
 And his the same, I fear; 
 But when the night revealed them right, 
 Oh, there was many a tear. 
 
 For the little boy, so nice and coy, 
 He wasn't a man at all; 
 And the little girl with the golden curl, 
 She wasn't a girl at all ! 
 
 Ana now ye maids with lace and braidi, 
 And beauty that cannot last, 
 Take while you can an honest man, 
 Nor turn them off so fast. 
 
58 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 To an Iron Bedstead, 
 
 (At College.) 
 
 O little bed, 
 
 With spread of red, 
 
 And many parts of iron on you, 
 Fu^ many a night, 
 A' tired and tiglit, 
 
 Fve laid me down to sleep upon you. 
 
 The roof above, 
 
 As if to love, 
 Slants over you, O bed a^ downy; 
 
 The while I sleep, 
 
 In dreamland sweet, 
 Thro^ hours o' night to early mownie. 
 
 By night or day 
 
 As there I'd lay, 
 I've kingly felt in sweet reposie; 
 
 Na pomp or gold, 
 
 But manifold 
 The joy o' feeling safe and cozy. 
 
 Oft through my head 
 Auld legends sped, 
 O' ancient knights and ladies airy, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 55 
 
 And crazy kings 
 Whose death cry rings 
 Still in my ears eno^ to searie. 
 
 O little bed, 
 
 With spread o^ red, 
 I love you as I love no other, 
 
 For while I sleep, 
 
 You me safe keep, 
 Ab I was kept once by my mother. 
 
 Mien Etre. 
 
 I have not seen a lovelier face than thine, 
 I have not known a kindlier heart than yours, 
 And though I roam me over many a clime, 
 In northern realm, or lovely tropic shores, 
 Still would I find not such toward whom I might Incline, 
 
60 A TALE OF NORMANDIH 
 
 Cupid. 
 
 O Cupid, Cupid, why so mean, 
 
 To pass so hard these hearts between? 
 
 Why with such stealth and treachery move. 
 
 Between two hearts once locked in !ove ? 
 
 Why in and out so wildly flee 
 
 And strike a being such as me ? 
 
 Oh, can it be that Venus gave 
 
 Such cruel tactics to her slave ? 
 
 Or can it be you pleasure find, 
 
 In acting so, for you are blind ? 
 
 O'er streams of life must ripples roll, 
 
 But you're the wave that wrecks my soul. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 61 
 
 The Tomb of Washington. 
 
 I stood before the hero's grave, 
 
 When quiet and solitude around, 
 
 A lovelier charm and beauty gave 
 To that beloved, historic ground. 
 
 When Autumn lent her myriad dyes, 
 And woodland odors filled the air, 
 
 I viewed the tomb wherein he lies. 
 So sad, so quiet, and so fair. 
 
 I saw within the grated door 
 
 The covered caskets where abide 
 
 At present and forever more 
 
 The wife and Father side by side. 
 
 The limpid waters down below. 
 
 The verdant woodlands pass J>nd kiss, 
 
 And spreading outward softer flow 
 As being sensible of this. 
 
 And up the winding path is seen 
 
 Through spreading branches high and low 
 That interwind in luxuriant green, 
 
 The ancient home, the portico. 
 
 The sense of greatness thereabout 
 
 With which the grounds associate, 
 
 Like inspiration, draweth out 
 A feeling nearly passionate. 
 
62 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 For o^er those very paths he trod , 
 
 His voice has echoed o'«r the land, 
 
 vVhen, guided by the hand of God, 
 He saved us from the tyrant hand. 
 
 Lines. 
 
 (Vfitteti on a fly leaf of acopy of Tennyson's In Memorian, given to G. J, S. 
 
 Kead, but for me, O Child, what here I give, 
 
 E*en though you may not for thyself desire 
 To put thy time upon it, yet believe 
 
 The spark that glows in me is of the fire 
 • 
 That forged these verses, pensive, half divine ; 
 
 For in my youth I poured o'er them and found 
 A solemn inspiration in each line, 
 
 A beauty, and a feeling, and a sound 
 
 That echoes through me. What ihou readest here 
 My lesson first in rhythmic line has been. 
 
 And though its sadness may invoke a tear, 
 I doubt not it will work thee good within. 
 
ANU OTHER POEMS. '8 
 
 Ode to Hilarity. 
 
 Our purses full, we owe no debt. 
 
 So let us all be merry, 
 A glass of ale our taste to whet, 
 
 And then a glass of sherry. 
 
 Come, fill up the glasses and loosen your wit, 
 
 For we'll sip and we'll laug'i 'til our aching sides split* 
 
 The evening is short and the hours fly along, 
 
 So give way to mcirriment, glasses and song. 
 
 The minutes have wings or they crawl like a snail. 
 
 If there's joy in the air or we sorrows bewail ; 
 
 No thoughts of the morrow or sorrow have we. 
 
 So merrily, merrily, merrily be. 
 
 The back log is straining the andirons below, 
 
 Every face with a smile does reflect the fire's glow. 
 
 No girls are around to tell tales of the spree, 
 
 ^Ml the more shall we merrily, merrily, lie, 
 
 * or Bacchus shall reign as he never before, 
 
 As his drug drifts us on to Oblivion's shore. 
 
64 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 The Delirium. 
 
 Here's a song for those in trouble, 
 And a way to get them out, 
 Blow the pipe, and break the bubble, 
 Drink the wine and jag about 1 
 
 For a moment court the devil. 
 Quaff the cup and drown your care 
 In the rum whose lowest level 
 Is in those that lie and swear. 
 
 Here's a song for you, my honey — 
 I have loved you, it is o'er; 
 Do not smile, it isn't funny, 
 Curse this endless Cupids's lore! 
 
 Break the bottle, fill the cup. 
 Here's a toast for you and me: 
 He must fall who would get up. 
 Let us drink it merrily. 
 
 Worms that glow in darkest corners. 
 Are but tokens of the worst : 
 Those that die and leave no mourners 
 Are the ones forever curst. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 65 
 
 Then forget the eight of Heavem, 
 There it isn't yours to dwell ; 
 Those that have not tried and strivem 
 Cannot hope for more than hell. 
 
 Then caromse, and be ye merry, 
 Since there isn't hope for you, 
 Drink the rum, the wine, the sherry, 
 Make one stomach hold for two ! 
 
 Break the bottle, fill the cup, 
 Here's a toast for you and me : 
 He must fall who would get up ! 
 Let us drink it merrily. 
 
CO A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 A Song of Twenty-One. 
 
 Pm twenty-one to-day, boys, I^m twenty-one to-day, 
 And oh, the happy Bchemes, boys, that in my fancy play! 
 The world is twice as bright, bovs, than I have known before, 
 The voice of friends is sweeter, too, a hundred times, and 
 
 more. 
 I've got the world before me, boys, and though they say it's 
 
 hard, 
 My Twenty-first has borne me strength no fate shall e'er 
 
 retard. 
 I dreamed when Ten that love was sweet,but oh, as it is now, 
 You can but know when Twenty-one has crept across your 
 
 brow. 
 Th* n fill for me the glasses boys, V\l do for you the same. 
 When you have reached your Twenty-first, the proudest 
 
 hour, I claim ; 
 And raise for me the glasses, boys, and tou h them while we 
 
 sing. 
 In ecstacy, the joy he feels who's Twenty -one in Spring I 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^^ 
 
 The Pessimist to His God. 
 
 " There is more truth in honest doubt. 
 Believe me, than in half the creeds." 
 
 O, tell me Muse, or gods of fabled strife, 
 What is this wandering journey we call life ! 
 I cannot reason deep, I am not such 
 A kind that God has made, possessing much 
 Deep reasoning and mystifying thought. 
 Stir, would I like to know, Why was my being wrought"? 
 
 Since truth, they say, of dust man was begun. 
 To dust return when this, the life is run. 
 Why, when he was created, didst Thou plan 
 A troubled career while through life he ran. 
 And dying, knows not whence he is to go, 
 But, conscious of some lin, fears that it is below ? 
 
 Reward of life, HelPs yawning chasm there ! 
 With Charon's beckoning hand in this, our lait 
 
 despair 1 
 Eternal fire, damnation, punishment ! 
 The guerdon of a weak hearths rash consent, 
 When, unaware, sin took it to beguile, "^ 
 
 And all succumbed to Pleasure's sweet, alluring smile. 
 
^8 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 I rose on earth, a weakling and unlearned, 
 I turned for aid, but everywhere was spurned; 
 I found all laws adverse to man's advance; 
 A waste of briars upon a wide expanse 
 O'er which I had to go, my hands and eyes 
 The instruments a roadway its making to devise. 
 
 And on I strove, with failure or success, 
 This weary heart to lighten or depress , 
 And here and there upon the broad expanse 
 A rose of beauty caught upon my glance : 
 And these were sorts of pleasure, but around, 
 To tantalize the passions arose a warning sound. 
 
 Of these all were but beautiful, here and thert, 
 Albeit, nodded one extremely rare; 
 But as the power for lurring did enlarge, 
 Loud and severer rang the warning charge, 
 "Forbear, 'tis hell who takes a taste of these." 
 liiit feeling was predominant, and I took, my knees 
 
 Were weak beneath me, I had ta'en. and felt 
 That according to my deed I should be dealt. 
 But strength arose anon, and then I said, 
 "Why feared I so? what lies beyond the dead 
 Is all uncertain, we are on a sea 
 Of various disputes over that which is to b«. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 69 
 
 "And siding nowhere, have 1 not the ri^ht 
 To judge beliefs all wrong, and death a blight, 
 Wanting in all, and Hell a mighty sham 
 To make me move from what i rcully am? 
 But fearing it, and deeming it the measure 
 />f punishment for sin, make life devoid of pleasure. 
 
 "But being right have I not on this earth 
 Lived happily in all degrees of mirth, 
 And dying, find not hell my soul to take, 
 But mere oblivion tho goal at stake ? 
 While they that humbled flesh, nor drunk the cup, 
 What have they gained when this, their life, is given up ? " 
 
 I choose of two: a life of piety, 
 Or take my share as in society, 
 Forgetting the soul and loving but the flesh. 
 And weaving thicker, as I live, a mesh. 
 That be i wrong another life shall make 
 Of punishment thereof my soul entire to take. 
 
 Thus have I reasoned as my life wore on, 
 And of my various works, when I am gone. 
 Of what was good, how have they benefitted 
 This all corrupted earth, so badly fitted 
 To have the true nobility of good 
 That in the few doth rise and passionate the blood? 
 
Q A TALE OF NORMANBIE 
 
 What are the planets, are they worlds like this f 
 What is the mood of living, strife or bliss 1 
 If worlds they be. has the incarnate form 
 Of Him appeared, their sacrilage to storm ? 
 Or are there countries grandlier formed than the; 
 Where life's a glorious heaven, conformity and ease ? 
 
 I envy not some wild, untutored race 
 That lives without the fear of Judgment's face, 
 Nor the impoverished heathen, neither, yet, 
 The Orient ds 'neath their minaret, 
 Whose lives are spent as by the revelation 
 Of him at Mecca, with unstinted recreation, 
 
 I am content with wbat I am, but find 
 My mind in various ways most disinclined 
 To put belief in that which e'er has hung 
 A:? guidance o'er a world since it was young, 
 Teaching us ever the mystery of life. 
 Which in itself has been the point of endless strife. 
 
 To Homen 
 
 The lofty strains of the Scian bard ! 
 What though the countless years are run, 
 Those countless years his lines record 
 As fresh as when they were begun. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^^ 
 
 The Song of Wanton Wa-Wa« 
 
 "Written for E. A. W., with Apologies to H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 Should you ask me whence this story, 
 
 Whence this strange, unheard-of story 
 
 That I'm writing in this metre, 
 
 Just to please a lovely maiden, 
 
 Just to make a lovely maiden 
 
 Feel that life is less a burden 
 
 Bj the pleasure that it gives her, 
 
 I should answer, I should tell you, 
 
 From the brain of Wanton Wa-Wa, 
 
 From the brain of that strange creature 
 
 Whom the fates have surnamed ^'Wa-Wa'^ 
 
 Whom the fates have doomed forever 
 
 To a life that's strange and dreamy, 
 
 With his head all full of rhyming. 
 
 And his hands unused to labor. 
 
 He who sits and smokes the Peace pipe. 
 
 While the maidens dance around him, 
 
 Asking : ' 'Whence this mighty genius f 
 
 Whence this power of snatching fancies. 
 
 And the power of putting fancies 
 
 Into lines of even measure?" 
 
 Once, when Wa-Wa, sad and weary, 
 
 After many months of study. 
 
 Left his college and his study, 
 
72 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 Left the place to which the maiden 
 Oft addressed her pretty letters, 
 Sought the ease of Western country, 
 Sought the town wherein the maiden 
 Lives her life of fun and frolic 
 Came upon a summer morning 
 Came when all the bees were humming, 
 And the orchards were o'erladen 
 With the fruit that fair Pomona 
 Loves to tender in the summer. 
 Loves to watch in starry evenings 
 When the hearts of happy lovers 
 Hold communion with each other. 
 Each afraid to tell the secret 
 That is wearing them to pieces, 
 Such the time when wanton Wa-Wa 
 Went to seek the lovely maiden 
 Who had sent the pretty letters. 
 And had always closed the letters 
 With the sentence, ''I am weary". 
 Who had said she loved him dearly, 
 (With a love that is Platonic,) 
 But the maiden did not know it, 
 Did not know that Wanton Wa-Wa 
 Had so early come to see her. 
 Then when Wa-Wa all ecstatic. 
 Went with heart as light as fancy 
 
"AND OTHER POEMS. 73 
 
 To the house to find the maiden, 
 To the house wherein the maiden 
 Often entertained poor Wa-Wa, 
 He, young Wa-Wa, saw the maiden. 
 Walking with another fellow. 
 With a fellow that was handsome, 
 Handsomer than Wanton Wa-Wa, 
 j^.nd the heart of Wanton Wa-Wa 
 Sank as does a stone in water, 
 Sank with all its glory in it. 
 Sank and sank, and found no bottom ; 
 Then he turned, all hope departing. 
 Turned him from that cruel maiden. 
 And with strides that Polyphemus 
 Would have judged extremely mighty, 
 With a stride that some wild rabbit 
 Would have judged extremely rapid, 
 Fled, and uttered direful vengeance. 
 Uttered words that are not pleasant 
 All about that wicked maiden 
 Who had left poor Wanton Wa-Wa, 
 Left him for another fellow! 
 
74 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 O, Canst Thou Not ? 
 
 O, canst thou not, when night is low 
 And storms are blowing o'er the lea 
 
 Forget thyself a moment, O, 
 
 And let thy thoughts drift back lo mef 
 
 Or cannot swelling heart within 
 
 Oompell the rising of thy breast 1 
 
 Or but remorse for what has been 
 Eeturn again, like birds to neat? 
 
 Hast thou not in thine eyes a tear 
 
 That yet would fall for me? 
 Hast thou no kisses left, my dear, 
 
 That mine again shall be ? 
 
 And canst thou not recall the days 
 
 We spent at school of yore ? 
 While o'er thy brow sweet memory strays^ 
 
 Ne'er known so sweet before 
 
 Alas, we know not half the iruth 
 
 Of joys that fleeing be, 
 But when is gone this happy youth, 
 
 O, call them back with me. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 The Last Oak of Shervv'-ood Forest* 
 
 '' strike me not, O, sturdy woodsman, while as yet I am not 
 
 dead. 
 Centuries have rolled beneath me since I raised on earth my 
 
 head. 
 And I stand a lonely monarch — for my race has died away — 
 Looking on the stars at even and the busy world by day, 
 I have seen my comrades falling all around me, one by one, 
 So I ask you, leave me standing 'till my vital parts are run: 
 Then, when all my leaves have fallen, and my arms are 
 
 hanging low. 
 And I feel n<o more the rain drop, or the winter's sturdy 
 
 blow; 
 When my trunk is dry and splitting and my roots imbibe no 
 
 more. 
 Fell me, and, while I am falling, listen to my crash and roar. 
 With me then shall go the stories which the ages caused to 
 
 be', 
 From the Saxons' early ages through the days of Chivalry; 
 When I saw the fields around me soaking oft with human 
 
 blood, 
 Conflicts waged by greedy nations coming here from o'er 
 
 the flood; 
 When I learned the sign of battle in the night so clear and 
 
 still. 
 By the glimraering camp fires burning brightly on the 
 
 distant hill; 
 
76 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 When I saw the knights in armour on their chargers ride 
 
 afield, 
 And the hills returned the echoes when the brazen bugles 
 
 pealed. 
 England, garden thou of warfare, nourished with the nation's 
 
 blood! 
 All thy conflicts have I witnessed through my days of 
 
 hardihood. 
 Nightly would the Dryads gather 'round my trunk so huge 
 
 and st ong, 
 Like the Druids 'round their altar told in story and in song; 
 But no more I hear the bugle, nor behold the knight 
 
 sublime — 
 They are hurled away forever off the flying axis, Time ! 
 Then I saw the cities 'round me raise their spires high in 
 
 air, 
 And I often said within me: 'Slowly grows the world more 
 
 fair ; ' 
 But, alas, when all was gaining, I was losing day by day. 
 From the surging, restless progress slow my comrades died 
 
 away." 
 Here the lofty lord of Sherwood, as excitement in him grew. 
 Hurled upon the man below him all the horrors that he 
 
 knew : 
 
 "Where are thejrl I cry, I shudder; you have robbed me, let 
 
 me be ! 
 Use your axe upon another, strike not such an aged tree ? 
 
^'■When I saw the knights in armour on their chargers ride afield, 
 And the hills returned the echo when the brazen bugles pealed.'' 
 
 — Page 76 _ 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 79 
 
 I will hurl my limbs upon you, crush your dwelling with 
 
 my breath, 
 In your dreams I'll fall upon you, mock your agonies of 
 
 death, 
 If you cut a notch upon me with your tempered blade of 
 
 steel. 
 So again I tell you, leave me, ere my warning- words are real! 
 Ah, he hears me, every moment, like the years his form 
 
 recedes. 
 While my throbbing heart within me on a glorious future 
 
 feeds!" 
 
80 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 An Invocation. 
 
 Thou great Invisible that comfort gives 
 
 To him who seeks it on the bended knee 
 
 With open heart, in prayer that breathes and lives, 
 
 Look down with Thy compassion here on me I 
 
 Give me mine eyes, that I may see, 
 Give me mine ears, that I may hear, 
 And then I care not what were lost to me, 
 If this be answered, life wert really dear. 
 
 Song. 
 
 The moon is rising over the sea, 
 
 And my love, my love, he is coming to me, 
 
 In a shallow bark he is coming o'er. 
 
 And we soon shall meet on the moonlit shore. 
 
 And I'll hurry me down to the shore to-night, 
 And meet my love in the pale moonlight, 
 And he'll take me out on tlie lonely sea, 
 And we'll drift away in our bliss-to-be 
 
MSiD OTHER POEMS. ^^ 
 
 Despondency* 
 
 All the world has changed its color, 
 
 All the world is drear to me, 
 And the people whom I trusted 
 
 Are not what they seemed to be. 
 
 Were I ever once vivacious, 
 
 Were there lively soul within, 
 'Tis drunked to melancholy 
 
 By the things that might have been 
 
 The roses once their beauty showed 
 
 Upon the morning ray, 
 I pass them by unnoticed, now, 
 
 And turn my head away. 
 
 The hopes that were my guiding reins, 
 
 Have slackened in my hands. 
 And all the thoughts of future joys 
 
 Are scattered like the sands. 
 
 The ruins that behind me lie. 
 
 In darkness, of the past, 
 No more shall raise their crumbled sides, 
 
 And laugh at winter's blast ; 
 
 But lie where they have fallen. 
 
 Forsaken and forlorn, 
 V.nd dwindle into nothingness, 
 Of all their beauty shorn. 
 
82 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 Lines On Leaving America, 
 
 The poem was wriUen abjut a month before an expected tour of 
 Europe, and deals with the personal affairs and general opinions of the 
 writer. After having made all arranj^eraents for the trip, even to en- 
 gaging my stato room, seTerai circumstances prevent<-'d its pursuance. 
 
 Several expressions in the poem may suggest, that tlie writer pos- 
 sesses too good an opinion of his own ability; he has no such thought; 
 but. every writer, great or small, believes, and has a right to do so, that 
 he has gifts that are not homogeneous to all, and sinne it is the nature 
 of man not to acknowledge tiiis, deep injustice is ft-lt, modified by the 
 naturally strong and sensitive spirit of such persons. The poem was writ- 
 tan at one sitting, except four verses, and in a passion of love, disdain 
 and remorse, and under such compulsions, one is liable to express him- 
 self in a manner either boastful, or at least displeasing to others. But I 
 shall leave the poem as it is. — H. T. 
 
 "Oh! That the desert were my dwelling place, 
 With one fair Spirit for my minister, 
 That I might all forget the human race, 
 And hating no one, love but only her! 
 Ye Elements! in whose ennobling stir 
 I feel myself exalted — can ye not 
 Accord me such a being? Do I err 
 In dreaming such inhabit many a spot? 
 Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot." 
 
 Farewell, sweet land, America! my home, 
 Farewell, I've cast my lot with those that roam, 
 And howsoever fair the lands to see, 
 However grand the sights and ruins be, 
 Still, will the link that binds me to thy side 
 In me, where'er I go, eternally abide. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 83 
 
 And I have loved thee dearly, O my Shore ! 
 Th}^ hills and d.-des my lessons oft have been, 
 And now, departing, do I love then more, 
 And all Lay heart and soul leaps toward thy fading scene ! 
 
 Ad that is dear and ever shdl be dear 
 To me in my lost youth I leave with thee, 
 Whose recollections urge th' reluctant tear 
 That yet shall rise to fall beyond thy encompassed sea. 
 
 My life has not been what my God had meant, 
 1 grew unguided, like a plant that's wild. 
 To foolishness in youth I e'er was bent, — 
 Oh, that the ills of liie should seize a helpless child ! 
 
 I was am])itious in my early youth; 
 God knows it is not waning in me now! 
 And those that scorned it yet shall know the truth. 
 And find in future years there's something 'neath this brow ! 
 
 I've been deceived by those I trusted most, 
 I've loved, and treated kindly those I loved, 
 I've tried my best with all, but cannot boast 
 That what I've done for them, by them has been approved. 
 
 O God! it is the curse of some to be 
 Most unappreciative of an act 
 
84 A I'ALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 P^-'i-formed by those whose wish it is to see 
 Such persons benefitted, nor wish a guerdon back. 
 
 I have not much to live for in this world, 
 It is not what my youth had dreamed it was ; 
 Oh! how the truth of mature years has hurled 
 Those sweet and fair assumptions that are one's early flaws I 
 
 There is no one to mourn me as I go, 
 The friends I have, tliey will not miss me much. 
 And yet I love them dearly, and I know 
 Of one whose power it is to thrill me with her touch ! 
 
 But I have left her — if I ne'er return, 
 (And m}' returning were alone for her,) 
 Then may her heart but for a moment burn 
 For me in sad rememb'rance, then quench it with a tear ! 
 
 Child, thou hast been heaven unto me ! 
 And thou at times hast made my mind a hell; 
 Where'er my feet, my heart shall lie with thee. 
 
 And howsoe'er thy thoughts, I wish thee only well. 
 
 1 look with pleasure to the gladsome morn 
 When fair Columbia, again shall be 
 Revealed before me as the day is born, 
 
 And I shall step ashore with tales for them and thee. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 85 
 
 But if I do not come, and days wear on 
 Until a year unrolls itself again, 
 Then mayst thou say, "He went, and he is gone, 
 We warned him of the peril, but warned him a in vain.^' 
 
 And comiag back no more thou mayst know 
 A youth has died whose name was writ in tears; 
 Whose mind was not of earthly things below, — 
 A youth whose very soul glowed like the heavenly spheres. 
 
 None but a poet knows a poet's love; 
 None but a poet knows a poet's pain; 
 Oh, but the passions that my heart do move I 
 Oh, but the agonies that herein have lain ! 
 
 Class me as thou wilt, a bard or not, 
 I feel that God has given unto me 
 All that constitutes a poet's lot, 
 I feel the current now, and it came in infancy ! 
 
 Ah, daily, yes, and nightly do I see 
 Beings before me, not in flesh, but there 
 In various postures, beautiful and free. 
 Leading me on by gesture through mystic realms of aif. 
 
 I've written much in my short space of life, — 
 But little heed have people given it, 
 
8^ A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 And friend and foe alike hnve used the knife 
 To cut ambition's wings when they began to flit. 
 
 And 1 submit; but feel an inward pride 
 That what I've writ is not of common birth, 
 My thoughts on Inspiration proudly ride, 
 And carries me above the lowliness of earth. 
 
 And in that thought I glory and I feel 
 Within myself an exultation here, 
 And ihough I'rn naught to those with whom I deal 
 The atmosphere around is a hundred times more cleai- 
 
 I have not shown my feelings, they have been, 
 Like lonely Eremite, concealed to view, 
 But they hare wrought destruction here within, 
 That if for damage seek, an unseen power must sue! 
 
 Pve oft considered what it is that makes 
 The divers dispositions of the sane. 
 And how I've sorrowed for the heart that takes 
 The wealth of Croesus with the love of Cain ! 
 
 The world is all deception ; it is not 
 What it should be. the times are loose and vain 
 And Fashion is the worm that yet shall rot 
 The glorious patriotism and strength of former reign. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 87 
 
 We hear no more of deeds whose doings were 
 Echoed and lauded over land and sea; 
 No more the lofty harp, its dying slur 
 Is but the shadow of that which ne'er again shall be. 
 
 I can imagine, Christ, our Savior born, 
 How hard You struggled to impress the good, 
 That, like a crystal spring at early morn, 
 Fresh from Thy heart arose with essence of Thy blood. 
 
 And thus I've wished 1 were not living now, 
 But that my eyes an earlier time* had seen, 
 When fresh enthusiasm on the brow 
 Of this vain world arose and cast a grander mien. 
 
 But we are in His hands, it is not ours 
 To make our destiny, but like the flamef 
 To which the Hindoo maiden 'neath the stars 
 Intrusts her hope, we drift along all helpless to disclaim. 
 
 * The Renaissance. 
 
 t It was once the CHstom in India, and perhaps it still prtrails, for 
 the girls to assemble on the banks of a river at night after the depart 
 ure of loved ones upon a dangerous journey, or war. While thus gath- 
 ered they would set adrift balls of flame in dish-sbaped floats. In ex- 
 pectation they would watch them drift away; if they went beyond vievr 
 still burning, their bethrohed would return ; if they were extinguished, al 
 hope were lost. 
 
8« A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 Only a Kiss. 
 
 Only a kiss, that isn't much, 
 But, then, it was my all to me 
 
 And deeming it to be as such, 
 I thought, and gave that kiss to thee. 
 
 And since I gave it thee, my whole. 
 My life, my being, and my heart, 
 
 With love that riseth from the soul 
 Went with it, may it never part. 
 
 From thee, and if it do enrich 
 Thy precious self, so pure and good, 
 
 say it, it is thanks, the which 
 Alone imparts f happier mood. 
 
 1 live for thee, it seemeth though, 
 That thou wert made alone for me 
 
 And all the fires that in me glow 
 Are brightened by a look from thee. 
 
 Thou, whom above all others I 
 Find better, lovelier, dearer far, 
 
 Take what 1 give, and in reply, 
 Be mine; and as of old a star 
 
 Did guide the sages through the night. 
 So do for me, and ever tend 
 
 To lead me as thou deemest right. 
 And thus will love and duty blend. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 The Girls at Home* 
 
 )re are no girls like those at home 
 Such bonny girls as they be ; 
 1 though about the world you roam 
 Where other girls there may be 
 
 As beautiful, and charming too, 
 And bred as well, their blood as blue, 
 1 laugh and dance and gay be, 
 Your heart is strange, if they to you 
 th half the pleasure pay thee. 
 
 A Letter* 
 
 [ToG. J. S.] 
 
 Since you have written letters two, 
 And I not one have written, 
 
 I thought my part I'd better do, 
 And dare not risk the mitten. 
 
i^O A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 It^s very fine to turn a rhyme 
 To throw away or treasure, 
 
 Bui whereas the good in this of mine 
 I'm writing in this measure ? 
 
 There isn't any good, it's true, 
 It's all for fun, that'^s vanity. 
 
 The man that rhymes is often blue, 
 With symptoms of insanity. 
 
 But there are those who are not so, — 
 I try to be that kind, dear, 
 
 You'll find by how my verses go 
 Their style 's a strong reminder. 
 
 You sent me twenty kisses, say, 
 I do at once return ^em, 
 
 Since you have said 'twas all in play, — 
 Such kisses, why, I spurn 'em! 
 
 But if, wuen no one is around, 
 No gentlemen or misses. 
 
 You purse your lips, nor make a lound, 
 I'll take a dozen kisses. 
 
 And then to keep it quiet, as if 
 
 We both were bound in apathy; 
 
 For if they hear of it a whifF, 
 
 They'll tease ub both like taffy, see f 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 91 
 
 And now I ask you, have you done 
 
 The work I did command you ! 
 I know it isn't any fun. 
 
 But not till then Pll hand you 
 
 The circle beautiful that holds 
 
 The gem that sparkles rare, 
 That passionately couples souls, 
 
 The brave unto the fair. 
 
 Oh yes, I know you want it, well, 
 
 It is the way of mortals. 
 And many a soul for Mammon fell 
 
 Forgetting heavenly portals. 
 
 The world is all an awful fake, 
 
 The men and women fakirs, 
 Some strange religions do they make. 
 
 Yet are religion breakers. 
 
 A promise is an empty thing — 
 
 But one in ten will keep it, 
 Be careful every word you fling. 
 
 Or you may sorely reap it. 
 
 Fm not a cynic, yet I find 
 
 Mistakes in Nature's doings, 
 And though it's best to keep behind 
 
 Our pessimistic brewings, 
 
92 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 A little airing now and then 
 
 Will make you feel the better, 
 
 And though you get the scorn of men, 
 You still will hold the letter. 
 
 There is a class of men to-day, 
 I call them "Criticisers," 
 
 They always know the better way, 
 Yet are the worst advisers. 
 
 Some day, when I am quite a man 
 I'll put in print my verses. 
 
 And settle down as best I can 
 And listen to the curses 
 
 These critics write and hurl at them, 
 InWgry mood, and sneer, 
 
 The while I sit and surl at them. 
 
 And judge them deucedly queer. 
 
 But what care II I'm free and gay, 
 These critics to the devil ! 
 
 ni think of you, my love, alway, 
 And meet them on their level. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 93 
 
 And in my mouth I'll hold a pipe, 
 
 And I'll idly puff and say, 
 ''Oh, the world is bright for those who write, 
 
 And a hundred times as gay 
 As for those that can't, that rave and rant, 
 
 And worry their lives away! 
 I've got a muse that I often use, 
 
 And a girl that loves me, too, 
 So let the world about abuse. 
 
 My skies shall all be blue!" 
 
 Antitheses* 
 
 Should we applaud for that which is not good ? 
 Should we uproot a weed and call it food? 
 Should wise men bow their heads unto a dunce t 
 'Twould beat the four winds blowing all at once! 
 
94 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 To a Rose^ 
 
 Its petals are red, a soft deep red, like the lips of her that 
 
 gave it, 
 It wa8 plucked from her breast when the year wa^ born,^ — who 
 
 wonders that I save it ? 
 
 And she said : ^ 'Take this, and keep it, and remember me 
 
 by it, " she said, 
 But it takes not a rose nor a gift more rare her image o'er me 
 
 to spread. 
 
 The year was born, and young and fresh, like her, and we 
 
 stood in the hall, 
 And we were alone, and the lights were dim, and only the 
 
 cheery call 
 
 Of hitu who cried for the dance's change in the room across 
 
 was heard, 
 And we were t(» part and my heart beat low, and my eyes 
 
 with tears were blurred. 
 
 Sho had been to me as the dearest, sh« rejoiced and lightened 
 
 my heart, 
 And all too soon had the days worn on to the hour that 
 
 should see us part. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 55 
 
 And the rose with its petals red, 1 shall keep r as long as 
 
 I live, 
 For her heart went with it, I thought me then, and 1 still 
 
 have cause to believe. 
 
 She and the rose were young that niffht, and lovely in early 
 
 bloom, 
 But the rose is dead, for its life was short, and there yet may 
 
 come the gloom 
 
 O'er a heart that bursts when the dearest is lost, and hope 
 
 must sink like the sun — 
 For oh, she was kind and good to me and I love her for what 
 
 she has done. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 ■ Tis well to love, what though we do not win, 
 And through the years its memory to keep, 
 And, all oblivious to the worldly din, 
 Back to those moments in our dreams to leap. 
 
96 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 The y"isicn of the Wanderen 
 
 I wandered over many a hill 
 
 And dragged myself along, until 
 
 I rested at the close of day 
 
 Beside a woodland, far away» 
 
 Where man was seldom known to stray. 
 
 And then the radiant evening spread 
 Her transient splendors overne-id: 
 The moon, that, rieing o'er the height. 
 Plainer and plainer in my si^ht, 
 Each moment cast a mellower light, 
 
 'Till lastly, when the elocing day 
 Had changed its hue to leaden gray- 
 She reigned supreme; and lovelier yet, 
 As when the eye first beauty met, 
 A sight the mind can ne^er forget. 
 
 And there was stillness ail about — 
 No sound of bird, no childish shout; 
 But ail above, and all below, 
 As the dying wind would come and g*, 
 In sleep was Nature left to grow. 
 
 Dark shadows of the trees around. 
 Like specters crept upon the ground, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 97 
 
 And for a moment, nothing stirred, 
 Then, scarcely audible, a word 
 III unknown tongue I feebly heard. 
 
 And following quickly in its flight 
 
 A figure dressed in snowy white 
 
 Floated before me in the air. 
 
 Her arms and heaving breasts were bare, 
 
 Perfect in curvature, divinely rare. 
 
 And for a moment 1 was filled 
 With wonder, awe, and strangely thrilled, 
 My veins with gushing pulses swelled, 
 As if my death were slowly knelled. 
 As the strange view my brain impelled. 
 
 I know not how the minutes went. 
 For all my thoughts on her were bent; 
 But now I wonder at it all — 
 The shadows shrouding like a pall, 
 And then that low and phantom call. 
 
 With many a winning courtesy 
 She raised the fire of love in me. 
 She made it glow, she made it burn, 
 She made my inner passions yearn, 
 And drew them out to ne'er return. 
 
98 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 But lo ! she floated in the air, 
 And grasped her loosely flowing hair,— 
 Her drapery vanished in the night, 
 The goddess form was bared to sight, 
 Illumined by a gorgeous light! 
 
 sculptor, with thy art divine, 
 
 1 see thy masterpiece decline ! 
 O Michael Angelo, thy brush ! 
 A thousand fancies to me rush, 
 And all the noblest paintings blush! 
 
 That face! those arms! that figure? all 
 Have answered to the highest call, 
 And I have read the gods' decree 
 Thou art the loveliest of the Thref 
 And Paris gave the fruit to thee. 
 
 O, eyes that tears have never shed, 
 
 O, heart that sorrow ne'er has fed, 
 
 O, love and beauty manifold, 
 
 A diamond in a case of gold. 
 
 Art thou, art thou, ye heavenly mould ? 
 
 With throbbing heart the sight I viewed, 
 And, like the maiden who is wooed, 
 Afraid to utter thought or sound, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^^ 
 
 Afraid to mar the stillness ^round, 
 I lay, a prisoner, on the ground. 
 
 And then it was oblivion took 
 Possession of the lonely nook; 
 The trees around, the moon above, 
 The image of the idol, Love, 
 Had disappeared by magic move. 
 
 When morning light returned and found 
 Me lying there upon the ground. 
 She softly crept beneath mine eyes. 
 And cut the cord that languor ties, 
 And woke me from my wild disguise. 
 
 Echo Song* 
 
 The echoes rise o'er Bended Knee, 
 
 And mock the wayward call, 
 They travel on o'er rock and tree, 
 
 They cry to you they cr}- to me, 
 And quiver as they fall. 
 
 They travel far where voices weak 
 
 Require the strength to go; 
 Nor wait to rise with morning's streak, 
 
 But hurry on from peak to peak. 
 By day or night, in calm or blow. 
 
ItO A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 The voice is true to every note, — 
 
 Impartiiiliy clear, 
 And rises from a mystic throat, 
 
 Upon the mountain side to float 
 And charm the listening ear. 
 
 And who doth know the mystic tongue ? 
 
 Who knows the Arcade's tale ? 
 The nymph who 'round Diana clung. 
 
 When loud the cries of huntress rung, 
 In chase o'er mount and dale. 
 
 As then, so now, the echoes cry, — 
 Go hear them if you will, — 
 
 Across the air the voices fly. 
 
 In valley low. on mountain high, 
 
 Along, exulting trill. 
 
 The Dying Christian. 
 
 **Sce" said Addison on his death bzd, 
 "See how a Christian can die.** 
 
 There's a paining in his throat, 
 And a tear upon his eye, 
 
 And the doctors plainly note 
 That his final hour is nigh. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. JOl 
 
 Through the curtain comes the moon, 
 
 And it shines upon his eyes. 
 Across the bed, alas, too soon, 
 
 Where the dying Christian liesc 
 
 There's a twitching in his gown, 
 
 And his breathing's hard and slow, 
 And a gloom has settled down. 
 
 For his life is ebbing low. 
 
 Hark ! he murmurs; do you hear 
 
 What his breath has power to tell ! 
 Now I closer place my ear, 
 
 And he whispers. ''All is well." 
 
 Awful words they are to me, 
 
 For I know that all is wrong; 
 But he means he'll happier be 
 
 Ere the night has ebbed along. 
 
 Now I kiss his sunken face, 
 
 And I stroke his icy brow, 
 And I take a last embrace, 
 
 For I feel he's going now. 
 
 See! his bosom falls and heaves, 
 
 And he turns his eyes above, 
 And he whispers, as he leaves, 
 
 "All is brightness, all is love." 
 
102 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 Colonial War Song. 
 
 Hear ye the British yell ! 
 See ye the work of hell ! 
 Who is it here can tell 
 Where it will end ? 
 
 Now in our country's name, 
 Ever think of her fame. 
 Let not a nerve be tame, 
 
 Your death missiles send ! 
 
 j May every bullet sped, 
 
 i Made of the molded lead, 
 
 Strike some rash Britou dead. 
 Thus lay them low ! 
 
 They who have dared to face 
 America's bravest race. 
 Quick find a resting place 
 j Where the roots grow ! 
 
 / See how our eagle flies 
 
 Straight in their quaking eyes, 
 While their lion trembling lies 
 Stretched on the ground ! 
 
 ! We do their power defy, 
 
 ' Long will our children cry 
 
 I Words that shall never die, 
 
 "Our liberty's sound I '^ 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 10* 
 
 To A. G. a, M. D. 
 
 (from college). 
 
 I said in Eobert's letter that I'd write to you to-day, 
 And now I'm going to do it for I've got a lot to say, 
 I've got permission from the Prex to take a better room. 
 And four good windows has it got — there isn't any gloom! 
 It measures twenty feet in length, and just about as wide. 
 And burners four for gas it has, a closet large beside; 
 A double bed whose mattress is some twenty years of age, 
 But that I do not kick about, for here they're all the rage! 
 I'm working over Cicero and pegging in the gym. 
 And half a thousand other things with energetic vim. 
 The weather here is pesky, too, and changing every duy. 
 And what 'twill be in twenty hours the prophets couldn't 
 
 say. 
 The Juniors are debating on their promenade to come, 
 And our hearts are beating over it as beats a martial drum. 
 The Preps are keeping low by night, and scattering by day, 
 Avoiding dire encounters and the awful tricks we play. 
 I don't suppose you've patients had to try your youthful 
 
 skill; 
 They know that "meds" who aren't old are liable to kill ! 
 I'm studying and cutting up and having Jolly times. 
 And when the evening hours appear I scribble idle rhymes; 
 And I'm looking to the future with a careless kind of air. 
 Yel^hoping to espy a face that's beauteous and fair, 
 
104 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 For manhood years are coming on, and dreams are in my 
 
 head 
 Of dropping all this studying and seek a girl to wed. 
 But there ! I've written long enough to make you fellows 
 
 merry; 
 Good bye, good night, good luck to you, from 
 Your devoted 
 
 "Terry." 
 
 Hymn to the Brave* 
 
 The fotlowfng poem occurs in a prose work — **Th.c Magic "Wound^- 
 of the atithor^s, and is sung by a child of six years. 
 
 From the dark shadow of Death I was taken 
 
 By the strong arms of the brave and tha true ; 
 
 'Midst the wild storm when all hope was forsaken, 
 Mother, from death I've come back unto you. 
 
 Weave from the olive a crown for the hero. 
 
 Gathered when sweet with the fresh morning dew ; 
 Why dost thou weep, dear, and what dost thou fear, O ? 
 
 Mother, from death I've come back Hnto you. 
 
 Bright be the days of the youth who has saved me. 
 
 Long be the years of his life to ensue ; 
 Deep in my heart shall his fair name engraved be. 
 
 Mother, from death I've come back unto you. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^05 
 
 An Evening Reverie. 
 
 Somehow I love those simple songs 
 
 That call us back to youth again, 
 When Time has stoPn that jewel away, 
 
 And left us longing, all in vain. 
 
 They call a sadness to the mind, 
 
 A sadness calm, serene, and sweet. 
 And back again to youth we go 
 
 On fancy's wings, so smooth and fleet. 
 
 We see the olden haunts again, 
 
 Where oft we passed with careless tread ; 
 We see the church, the school, the ground 
 
 Where lie our unforgotten dead. 
 
 And how the tombs in number grow ! 
 
 How many a heart o'er them has wrung! 
 So many were not there before 
 
 They were not there when we were young. 
 
 Ah me, it is a mournful tale, 
 
 A tale that but the heart can know, 
 So deep the feeling borne within 
 
 The thought in words can never flow. 
 
106 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 But e'en in sadness there is that 
 
 Which in itself is sweet and good; 
 
 And rising from the throbbing heart, 
 It spreadeth o'er, as with the blood. 
 
 Now every change we see about 
 Is but improvement of the old; 
 
 But still, to me, the old is best, 
 
 For brass that's polished is not gold, 
 
 And many a newer face we see. 
 
 And many a newer song is sung 
 
 By those new faces hail and gay; 
 
 That were not here when we were young. 
 
 But should we mourn o'er what is gone, 
 And cause an hour, a day, of blight? 
 
 ^\'hen hope is seen for us before, 
 
 Oh, let not darkness shroud the light! 
 
 O Youth, adieu, a tear to thee! 
 
 I still a future have in store 
 To lead my thoughts another way, 
 
 And cheer me on to more and more ! 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 107 
 
 To My Earlier Ryhmes, 
 
 Dear niirsliDg rhymes I 
 
 You children of my childish brain, 
 That found your birth at various times, 
 
 I do not think you came in vain, 
 
 O, idle dreams, 
 
 That would not stay where you were born, 
 But welleth forth in verbal streams. 
 
 My school book fly leaves to adorn. 
 
 O, youthful lore ! 
 
 I once believed you quite sublime, 
 And counted on a goodly store 
 
 Which thou wouldst bring from Fortune^s clime 
 
 How sadly wrong! 
 
 But still I love you none the less — 
 The cold, hard world may pass you on, 
 
 Nor heed you for your simple dress. 
 
 But you are mine ! 
 
 There's many a son;i^ in sweeter key, 
 Of fuller praise, of nobler rhyme, 
 
 (But what care I I heir birth or clime?) 
 Not one is half so dear to me. 
 
108 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 A June Bride^ 
 
 I'm aware that you know you are fair as the day, 
 And are drawing the love frotn the hearts all around yoUr 
 You are young, you are sweet, and your bridal array 
 Is proof of the word that forever has bound you. 
 
 And I read in your eyes, all aglow with enlightment. 
 And seeing the happiness that will ensue, 
 The thought that is hidden beneath the excitement — 
 -'Here's a heart that is pure, that is loving and true." 
 
 'Tis wrong to be envious, said one of the sages, 
 
 I blame not the man who envies the groom, 
 
 He who has followed his heart's longing rages, 
 
 B!.''.T( d the thorns of the bush, plucked the rose in its bloom! 
 
 FRAGMENT, 
 
 When I behold the firmament at even. 
 And see the constellations there divine, 
 Each star does seem a portal into Heaven, 
 Through which the light of Paradise does shine. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. l09 
 
 O, Heort of Man! 
 
 We have our faults; I ask not why, 
 
 And we are blamed from day to day, 
 
 But when it comes our turn to die. 
 
 Behold! they blame us not, but say: 
 
 He led a good and simple life, 
 
 He was a friend both kind and dear, 
 
 And through his days of toil and strife 
 He kindlier grew from year to year. 
 
 O, heart of man, how strange you are ! 
 
 You give not when ^tis wanted most. 
 But when we die, thou goest far, 
 
 And turn thy words to idle boast. 
 
 If thou art really proud of one. 
 
 And deem him to be truly dear, 
 
 O, better let your words be none. 
 
 Than those you cannot later bear. 
 
 No epoch loves its greatest man 
 
 With all the love he may be worth ; 
 
 For centuries has run the plan, 
 For centuries it will go forth. 
 
110 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 flow many a bard sublime has been 
 
 The object of a jeering world. ; 
 How many a soul has borne within 
 
 The stings of insult at him hurled ! 
 
 But when the cold earth many a year 
 Has lain upon the mouldering form, 
 
 His worth the tribute of a tear 
 
 Commands from hearts that then are warm. 
 
 Mateless, 
 
 Perched on a limb when the woods weru still, 
 Heard I a robin mournfully trill; 
 Hour after hour as they passed along, 
 Gave I my ear to the robin's song. 
 
 Low and sad, as a funeral dirge. 
 Differing so from the song of birds, 
 I was awakened, heart and soul, 
 To learn the why of the robin's toll: 
 
 There on the ground a little way. 
 Downy and soft, a body lay; 
 Black and white and breast of red, — 
 Kobin redbreast lying dead. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. m 
 
 Higli on the branch, with look serene, 
 Lowly warbling, viewing the scene, 
 Heart of anguish ready to burst, — 
 But. i)oor bird, are you the first? 
 
 There in a hut by the lonely sea, 
 Mother and widow, and children three, 
 Bending low by the candle light. 
 Peering at death with salty sight, 
 
 While without the sea winds blow, 
 Bringing to many wreck and woe; 
 Angry the breakers dash and roar. 
 Washing his shattered ship ashore . 
 
 There in a richly furnished hall, 
 Lieth a figure under a pall. 
 While on the floor is kneeling down, 
 Bride of a year in mourning's gown. 
 
112 A TALE OF NORMANDIE: 
 
 A Sleigh Ride in the SoutL 
 
 The snow has fallen in the South, 
 The first for twenty years, 
 And one on going up the street 
 The merry sleigh bell hears. 
 
 Kow, in a Southern village, 
 Where grow the roses fair, 
 Live Anthony McAlgers, 
 And Clara D. Leclare. 
 
 Anthony loved his Clara, 
 And Clara loved him so. 
 That they agreed together 
 To try the new born snow. 
 
 So out into the country, 
 
 A dozen miles away— 
 
 (It took them half an hour to go. 
 
 So swiftly flew the sleis^h ! ) 
 
 Swift Nancy pulled the cutter 
 Over the roadway slick. 
 Along they went so lively 
 O'^^r moor and frozen creek. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 113 
 
 Said Ton}^ "Tis a blessing, 
 A sleigh ride such as this, 
 We do not have one often," 
 He onded with a kiss. 
 
 So taken up, those lovers. 
 In what the other said, 
 They noted not how fiercely 
 The sun shone overhead. 
 
 And fast the snow was melting 
 Beneath the solar ray ; 
 And fast the mud was forming, 
 And slower went the sleigh. 
 
 At twelve o'clock, Oh, goodness ! 
 When Tony looked around, 
 He clutched his Clara in affright — 
 No snow was on the ground ! 
 
 Poor Nancy knew the diff'rence. 
 And pulled and puffed in vain. 
 And struggled in the heavy mud 
 To get them home again. 
 
 J3y luck, a smithy's shop 
 This couple chanced to meet, 
 And so they stopped, but not, I say, 
 To shoe the horse's feet. 
 
1.4 A TALE OF NORMANDJH 
 
 A happy thought struck Tony — 
 Once more he easy feels, 
 As when he sees the smithy 
 Adjust the sleigh on wheels I 
 
 And then this happy couple 
 Again got in the sleigh, (?) 
 And with a word to Nancy, 
 They homeward made their way. 
 
 A Panegyric; (For 'Jack/') 
 
 What dost thou see ia woman's face, 
 Only the lines of baaaty's trace ? 
 Seest thou naaght that oehind it lies, 
 The mind, however hard it tries 
 To fathom, finds that it defies 
 All effort ? 
 
 I do not know, I do not care 
 What others find in faces fair, 
 Since I have found beneath that brow 
 More than I ever dreamed, till now, 
 Was His intention to bestow 
 ^Tpon us. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^^^ 
 
 My thoughts are weak, ray senses poor, 
 Yet 'neath that brow I findeth more 
 Of worldly good, all innocent 
 Than I could deem Wiis His intent 
 To give his creatures, to content 
 Man's fickleness. 
 
 Base affectation claims no part 
 To quench, like water, that bright spark 
 Of self-unconsciousness. She is as one 
 Born for my guidance; were she gone 
 I were in darkness and alone 
 Mid apathy. 
 
 Ib that young bosom love lies deep, 
 And sympathy that knows not sleep; 
 On that young heart is written "Good,'* 
 Should all the virtues mingle blood 
 Here is such being as they would 
 Make withal. 
 
 A Beatrice to ennoble rhyme. 
 With all improvement of the time 
 Since he of Italy did praise 
 In sweetest panegyric lays 
 That being of his earlier days 
 Through ages sung. 
 
116 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 Yuledon* 
 
 Oh, here is a beautiful fleur-de-lis^ 
 
 That I plucked in the garden of Yuledon 
 
 And I've carried it here, O my Love, tor thee, 
 With a note from the warden of Yuledon. 
 
 *'0h, what can it mean ? " she exclaimed, as she ran 
 To my side, flushing o'er at the meeting, 
 
 As a maiden will flush when the brow of a man 
 Her own unexpectedly greeting. 
 
 But I said not a word as I gave her the note, 
 Thac was sealed most secure by the sender; 
 
 And I caught the faint sigh that escar)ed from her throat 
 As she stood by my side, tall and slender. 
 
 Her l:iiry-like fingers tore open the seal. 
 
 And the letter unfolded before me. 
 And then, while her voice did the story reveal, 
 
 What a joy, what a passion, spread o'er me ! 
 
 V/hat a glow on her face ! What a light in her eye I 
 When she finished the note, came upon her; 
 
 And I felt the sweet breath of a passionate sigh, 
 And I dared to believe I had won her; 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 117 
 
 For often the heart is aware of a fact 
 
 Yet untold, but by actions around it, 
 Anu my soul and my heart were together intact 
 
 With the truth e're the moment we found ii. 
 
 The letter was short, and she read it aloud: 
 "He is dead," said the warden of Yuledon: 
 
 "You are free, he was slain 'mid the battle's fierce clouds- 
 Come at once to the garden of Yilledon." 
 
 ^'O, Alice,'' 1 cried, "we are free, let us go, 
 
 'Tis a blessing that H eaven has given, 
 And what is our future, oh, soon shall we know. 
 
 If we reach the fair garden this even." 
 
 On, onward we weni over hill and o'er dale, 
 And our hearts and our steps were in union 
 
 No ship did more lightly o'er fair waters sail. 
 As we sped, with our hearts in commuriion. 
 
 For he who was slain was a suitor that Fate 
 
 By a monarch's decree, set between us ; ! 
 
 But Alice for him ever cherished a hate, 
 
 That was known to all those who had seen us. 
 
 And Alice, O, Alice, now sweet and how fair! 
 
 A princess, yet queen in her bearing, 
 And back to that moment my musings repair — 
 
 To that beauty and grace she was wearing. 
 
^^ - A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 An hour passed along, and an hour, and an hour, 
 
 'Till at last, all aglow witli exertion. 
 We stood in the garden beneath a fair bower, 
 
 And awaited the warden's assertion. 
 
 Then he came, then he came, and our hearts were aglow- 
 
 A passionate madrigal beating ; 
 Behind him a priest with a step firm and slow 
 
 Was coming to sanction the meeting. 
 
 rhe priest gave a blessing and offered his hand, 
 And paused, while the warden of Yuledon 
 
 Approached, when as if by a magical wand, 
 I awoke in the garden of Yuledon ! 
 
 Gone! Gone! Gone! 
 
 Gone ! Gone ! Gone ! 
 
 And the echo answers me still : 
 Gone! Gone! Gone! 
 
 And over beyond the hill 
 Is a mould of clay where the violets stray, 
 
 And Dearest lying chill. 
 
 Gone ! Gone I Gone ! 
 
 And never to come again : 
 Gone ! Gone ! Gone ! 
 
 And the thought brings dull, drear pain ; 
 For the joys that were and ihe days with her, 
 
 I call them back in vain ! 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 119 
 
 The Burned Letters. 
 
 Oh, it was wrong, it Avas cruel in me, 
 
 To have burned the letters I had so long, 
 
 For now in them the beauty I see, 
 
 And tlie ashes of each are murmuring, ' 'wrong. ^ 
 
 "I have so many", I often said, 
 "Pll keep just one from every name;'^ 
 And that one thought, so foolish, led, 
 Many a treasure into the flame, 
 
 Now years have flown, and those who then, 
 
 In a childish, happy and careless way, 
 Thought of the words that guided the pen, 
 Have passed, oh sorrowful, passed away. 
 
 Forgive me if my lines are trite, 
 Speaking of those who have gone before; 
 But in my heart I deem it right, 
 As years go on to love them more. 
 
 Now oft to tears have 1 given away, 
 And weighed myself with sorrow and blame; 
 For many a time I curse the day, 
 I gave those letters unto the flame. 
 
i20 A TALE OF NORRIANDIE 
 
 SONG. 
 
 * When First I Kissed That Lovely Face."' 
 
 When first I kissed that lovely face, 
 It seemed that Nature and her race 
 Of fairy artists vied their skill 
 To make the fairest, and to fill 
 That single mould with all the good 
 That makes the charm of maidenhood. 
 Again I kiss that face today. 
 Some forty years have passed away. 
 The brows are knit, the locks are gray, 
 And round about it wrinkles stray — 
 The heart has lost its childish play, 
 The bloom of youth forever gone. 
 But still my love for her lives on. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^^I 
 
 The Wierd Hermit; 
 
 He lingered oft where crumbling bones 
 Have lain for ages past, 
 Or where the ocean's dismal moans 
 Against the crags are cast. 
 
 He comfort found in haunted dells, 
 Whose legends 'gan full long ago; 
 To sit among its rocky cells 
 And list with pleasure to the blow 
 
 Of maddened winds of stormy night. 
 And see the huge trees all around 
 Go trembling in the whirlwind's flight 
 And crash upon the cankering ground. 
 
 He held communion with his soul; 
 He reasoned deep on life and death; 
 He found a grandeur in the whole 
 That conquers utterance with the breath. 
 
 He studied deep the lovely scene 
 That Nature gave him day by day, — 
 The beauty of the forest's green, 
 The flower, its flourish and decay. 
 
122 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 No outward care possessed his mind, — 
 He knew but Nature, that was all. 
 To everything without was blind, 
 The wood he found his dearest thrall. 
 
 It taught him many a lesson deep. 
 It gave him food, and shelter, too, 
 It lulled him, with its tones, to sleep, 
 It charmed bim when it loudly blew. 
 
 So many a year in solitude 
 He lived with Nature, no one near, 
 And last when Death did there intrude, 
 He went, and no one shed a tear. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. ^^^ 
 
 The Cyclone. 
 
 I am the cyclone, 
 God of the West winds, 
 Fly I immeasura.bly 
 Swift o'er the country. 
 I am God's weapon 
 When He is angry, 
 O'er village and city 
 I'm sent on His errand. 
 Dealing destruction, 
 Death and wild carnage 
 Midst a weak people 
 O'er whom I am master. 
 Oaks on the mountain 
 Tremble before me. 
 Sway and snap sharply, 
 And crash to the valley. 
 Lake, stream and ocean 
 Are tossed into fury. 
 Scattering broadcast 
 Spray to the Heavens, 
 Ships are like feathers. 
 And founder before me ; 
 Temples of granite 
 Massive and lofty. 
 Tumble and crumble 
 When swift I pass o'er them. 
 
124 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 I am the Wind God, 
 I am the terrible 
 I am God's weapon, 
 The bellows of Hades. 
 
 A Rural Home, 
 
 The sun is set; the day is done, 
 
 The flocks are feeding in the bara, 
 
 And o'er the snowy fields away 
 Die the echoes of a horn. 
 
 The curtains down, the lights are lit, 
 And 'round about the kitchen fire 
 
 Playful children romp and shout, 
 And beg a story of their sire. 
 
 Adown the chimney comes the wind, 
 And blows the flames in wild estate, 
 
 And now and then the pop^ is heard 
 Of nuts a-roasting in the grate. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 125 
 
 And waking cat and dog at once 
 
 They glance into each other's face — 
 Across the threshold in a bound, 
 
 The children joining in the chase. 
 
 A bell resounds; the noises cease, 
 
 Each goes to his accustomed place, 
 A father^s voice is softly heard, 
 
 And bowed their heads in simple grace. 
 
 Upon the table deftly set 
 
 By Margerie, a goodly wife, 
 The plain and simple rural fare 
 
 Productive of a sturdy life. 
 
 Without, the snow in layers deep 
 
 Is oddly heaped and piled around. 
 And winter winds a-moaning loud, 
 
 Outpour a wild and ghostly sound. 
 
 But what care they for this, within ? 
 
 Let Boreas bluster out of door ; 
 They're strong in faith as well as limb, 
 
 And all are hardened to the core. 
 
 They live their good and simple life. 
 
 Away from Trouble's tireless hand, 
 And free from Learning's influence. 
 
 Are monarchs o'er their little land. 
 
126 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 An Echo from Our Algebra Class* 
 
 At Rugby Academy St. Louis. Mo. 
 Within the bounds of reason there exist 
 Some things that seem unnatural to me, 
 And why is it our teacher does persist 
 In teaching us, is what I cannot see. 
 
 Well does he know our class comprises fools. 
 ■ Yet does untiringly, from day to day, 
 With X and Y in strenuous voice he rules. 
 In vain to drive it in our mortal clay. 
 
 Day after day at certain hour we rise. 
 
 Slow marching to the board with bowed head; 
 
 Mathematicians ! can you not devise 
 
 A study that will not forerun such dread 1 
 
 Yainly we labor nightly by our lamp, 
 Work and rework, use paper by the rolls, 
 Till the fire's out and all the room is damp — 
 Spenser, O, Spenser, have pity on our souls! 
 
 Where is the good in algebraic lore '? 
 Why use our brains, our energy, our time 
 In learning such, when men have lived befo 
 V\^it]K>ut it 1 Are the questions of my rhyme. 
 
 "Down with it!" the voice of boyhood cries: 
 "Down with Algebra, we want no morel" 
 Across the water may the echo rise, 
 And terror strike along Algeria's shore ! 
 
AND OTHER POliMS. '-'' 
 
 Ned. 
 
 I'm lazy, people say it, an' I reckon it is true, 
 
 An' I'm alliiz roamin' far away when there is work tu do ; 
 
 But its Natur' made me lazy, where's th' help, I'd lilie to 
 
 know? 
 Ef yur'e born a dunce or genius, let th' course o' natur' 
 
 grow ? 
 "No use tryin' tu avoid it, Natur's bound tu have her w;'.y — 
 Ef yur'e doomed, thet's all about it — work is work an' play 
 
 is play. 
 Folks have said I'm simply worthless, better hed I died at 
 
 birth- 
 Little comfort does it give me, little chance fer hoiiest 
 
 mirth ; 
 But I've got er heart within me thet's as soft and good as 
 
 their'n. 
 An' thet heart fer God an' country more'n their'n does throb 
 
 an' burn. 
 An' it hfis er feelin' in it thet I kinder can't express — 
 Somethin' good an' elevatin', like o' which they'd never 
 
 guess ; 
 And I reckon thet they'll know it when my spirit's gone 
 
 away, 
 When I help th' myr'id others tu increase th' mounds o' 
 
 clay; 
 They will know it, they will see it, an' confess that lazy Ned 
 Had er better self within him never known till he wuz dead. 
 
128 A TALE OF NOEMANDIE 
 
 Room "41." 
 
 ( At College. ) 
 
 Old Key ! I've turned you many a time, 
 And thrown ajar the pendant door, 
 
 And passinj^ to this room of mine, 
 When idle mused o'er college lore. 
 
 Full forty years have come and gone 
 Since first a student kept the lair, 
 
 And turned the key from dawn to dawn, 
 And climbed the old and crooked stair 
 
 As I have done, and yet may do, 
 
 And dreamed, perhaps, as I have dreamed 
 
 The days, the months, the long years through, 
 'Till last the final morning beemed. 
 
 (), Time, what changes have you wrou^rht? 
 
 Where are they now who then were here ! 
 Mnyhap life's battle some have fought, 
 
 And mouldering lay beneath the bier. 
 
 But one I know who lived herein, 
 
 When fewer things to cheer there were, 
 One who a friend and help has been — 
 Meus Latinus magister. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 129 
 
 And for that reason do I prize 
 
 Th« room and haunts of "Forty-one," 
 And thoughts of it will e'er arise 
 
 Within me till my setting sun. 
 
 To Womankind; 
 
 In Altissima* 
 
 Fair womankind! God's loveliest handiwork. 
 
 To you these fancies of my mind I owe. 
 
 Thou hast been subject for my airy muse. 
 
 Thou hast been rapture to a lonely heart; 
 
 Thy charms have thrilled me, and full many a time 
 
 When sheer alone, imagination only 
 
 Being my mind's absorption, thy loveliness 
 
 Incarnate rising near, has swelled my heart 
 
 And stirred the embers of a dormant brain 
 
 Until, unable to withhold the thoughts 
 
 That e'er arise, I give them loosened rein, 
 
 And, in the rhythmic line, however poor, 
 
 My heart enjoyed to g'we them habitation. 
 
130 A TALE OF NORMANDIE 
 
 To the lone heart, contrite in itself, 
 
 Thy touch and voice are as the rain of Heaven 
 
 Upon the parched Arabic sands; thy form, 
 
 All graceful and in silence gliding by 
 
 Is as a vision, a sweet dream of youth 
 
 Likened to that of pure Endymion. 
 
 And that sweet love which thy young breast contains 
 
 Poured out for charity, or love's dear self, 
 
 Is as the balm of Heaven. O God, 
 
 It is a glorious thing, this love. 
 
 Which thou hast planted in the breast of man, 
 
 It is the essence, the sweet incense rising 
 
 From Thine Own Self, and these lair forms we have, 
 
 Sweet womankind, absorb it, and for them. 
 
 Next to Thy son, a man should render thanks 
 
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