IpS 3513 
 .0584 
 
 ITT 
 1909 
 
 ICopy 1 
 
 : 
 
 First Edition- 
 
 THE 
 
 TROUBADOUR 
 
 By 
 
 F. DOUGLAS GORDON 
 
 OHiCAQO. ItLINOIS 
 1909 
 
 Publisher 
 
 JOHN E. PURDUM 
 
 CHiOAGO, ILL. 
 
 i . i i i it:> ii I I — 
 
 : 
 
Arh 23 1909 
 
 it^l^i^^m 
 
 THE 
 
 TROUBADOUR 
 
 BY 
 
 F. DOUGLAS GORDON 
 
 ^ ^S >\ 
 
 Publisher 
 John E. Purdum, Chicago, Illinois 
 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 m 
 
 ^r 
 
 ^■^ 
 
 
 ^.'^'^jMWt 
 
 m 
 
 i^r 
 
 /f^f 
 

 Copyright by 
 
 PURDUM AND GORDON 
 
 1909 
 
 j LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two OoDies Received 
 
 APR 23 1U09 
 
 :CLi?S /T. XXC. No. 
 
N 
 
 Dedicated 
 To THE Noblest Woman I know 
 My Mother 
 
SAUCE FOR THE GANDER! 
 
 T, HE publication of this pamphlet is the 
 VV direct outcome of a little friendly 
 encouragement at the right moment. 
 For some months I had been planning 
 a booklet containing a few of my 
 writings. I had discussed the matter with 
 a number of my friends. Meeting one of 
 them one day, I inquired of him confidentially 
 as to what the others thought of the venture: 
 "What do they say?" said I. "Say," said he, 
 "why, they don't say anything — they just 
 laugh." 
 
 I was delighted. 
 
 It is well to have cheerful, encouraging 
 friends. 
 
 The cold, indifferent person is a pneumatic 
 brake on the wheels of progress. 
 
 About a year ago I sent some of these 
 creatures of my brain to an editor in Ala- 
 bama, who returned them with a criticism in 
 which he stated that the "stuff" was crude 
 and hinted that the writer was a fool. 
 
 t 
 
I had too much noble self-assurance, 
 however, to consider this person's verdict as 
 final, since I had been informed, some ten 
 years ago by a learned gentleman that he did 
 not know whether I was a fool or a philos- 
 opher. 
 
 A word from the wise is sufficient. 
 
 Another friend suggested to me that all 
 truly great writers preface their books with 
 an apology, and that I must surely not neg- 
 lect this important consideration. I was 
 greatly perturbed over this new responsibil- 
 ity. 
 
 I felt that my efforts needed no apology 
 and tried to convince my friend of the fact. 
 
 Argument was in vain. I finally suggest- 
 ed that we look the manuscript over, think- 
 ing that the excellent and beautiful senti- 
 ments might best plead their own cause. 
 
 My friend was quite willing that we do 
 this but regretted that he was in a great hurry 
 and pleaded that we both think the matter 
 over for a couple of months. 
 
However, after the most strenuous ef- 
 forts, I induced him to peruse one of my gems. 
 
 I could tell by the melancholy aspect of 
 his countenance that he felt how false had 
 been his position. ''My friend," said I, "my 
 only apology for writing these sentiments is, 
 that for years they have clamored for utter- 
 ance and now that I have gotten rid of them I 
 feel a great calmness, a great comfort — in fact 
 I feel better." "I have no doubt of it," said he. 
 
 I had won. 
 
 Some persons may cavil as to the appro- 
 priateness of the title of this pamphlet. The 
 troubadour, robbed of all the glamour and 
 romance with which the loving hand of time 
 has so kindly endowed him, was simply a 
 hobo with a harp who howled hungrily his 
 more or less tuneful! ditties at the feastive 
 boards of those who could afford to feast. He 
 was a wandering medium by which verse 
 was distributed — hence this creature of print 
 and paper is in the truest sense a troubadour. 
 
 The Author. 
 
TME TM@OISAP@eiK 
 
 llilUlilUi 
 
 I^^^^M^* 
 
 o 
 
 I 
 
 o 
 
 Page 
 
 Nightfall in The City 8, 9, 10, 11 
 
 Song of The Night 12, 13 
 
 Ode to Death 14, 15, 16 
 
 Song of The Nightingale 17, 18 
 
 Mildred' s Dimple. 18 
 
 The Wretched 19,20,21 
 
 Bell Song 22, 23 
 
 Harp of The Winds 24, 25, 26 
 
 Ode to Faith 27,28,29 
 
 Song of The Sea 30, 31 
 
 Mildred, My Valentine .._ 32 
 
 O O 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
NIGHTFALL IN THE CITY 
 
 'ER the city of the prairie 
 The twilight swiftly falls, 
 As the winter day is waning 
 Beneath its canyoned walls. 
 
 Where the early lamps 'lume dimly, 
 With blurred, uncertain light, 
 
 The black mass of tangled traffic 
 That pushes through the night 
 
 And the pallid faces moving 
 
 In strong, resistless flow. 
 Through the thicker gathering darkness 
 
 That settles dense and low. 
 
 While a roaring as of battles 
 Throbs dully on the air 
 
 Of the clamor of the millions 
 Who seethe and struggle there. 
 
 c 
 
NIGHTFALL IN THE CITY 
 
 Multitudinous the shadows 
 
 The throng weaves in and out; 
 
 Never ending, ever changing, 
 Like winds that shift about. 
 
 As the night shade claims the city, 
 
 The hour grown later still. 
 From the throat of a gale comes ringing 
 
 The song of breakers chill. 
 
 Like a paeon down the distance, 
 
 Upon the northeast wind. 
 There is flung the gusty chorus 
 
 Of Titans none may bind. 
 
 Strong the tang of oozy caverns 
 Reeks dankly down the breeze, ' 
 
 From the boiling, slimy currents 
 Of Michigan's frothy lees. 
 
NIGHTFALL IN THE CITY 
 
 Harsh the clanging car bells quiver 
 
 Out on the frigid air, 
 That would swifter urge the traffic 
 
 Above the city's blare. 
 
 While the human stream grown thicker 
 From thousand 'scrapers poured, 
 
 In a dang'rous crush is sweeping. 
 An eager, homing horde. 
 
 For 'tis nightfall in the city; 
 
 The day's long task is done 
 And the weary workers leaving 
 
 'Till rising of the sun. 
 
 And 'tis thus the night shade closes 
 Down in the short day's wake. 
 
 O'er the city of the prairie 
 Beside the wintry lake; 
 
 10 
 
NIGHTFALL IN THE CITY 
 
 Whence the drowsy song of breakers, 
 
 Monotonous and low, 
 Comes with pulsing from the eastward 
 
 With steady beat and slow. 
 
 Soon the mart lies all deserted; 
 
 The looms of commerce sleep : 
 And the silence only broken 
 
 Where restless breakers leap. 
 
 Then the frost grows keen and keener; 
 
 The waif alone's outcast; 
 And the city's wrapt in slumber, 
 
 It's strife forgot at last. 
 
 11 
 
SONG OF THE NIGHT 
 
 IGH o'er the hill floats the moon, 
 
 Lullaby songs breathe the 
 
 winds, 
 
 Gently the gnat's wing doth 
 
 croon, 
 
 Wooing to sleep weary minds. 
 
 The stars shine forth with lustre bright 
 
 As a mystic's fond dreaming, 
 To light the dome of sombre night 
 
 With their rays afar streaming. 
 
 'Mid ancient trees a still pool lies. 
 
 On its face dark reflected 
 The night wind sways with quiv'ring sighs 
 
 The soft fronds there projected. 
 
 Its moonlit face is mirror bright 
 
 For God Pan and his dryads. 
 Who gather there at dead of night 
 
 To hold rev'l with his naiads. 
 
 12 
 
SONG OF THE NIGHT 
 
 The perfume breeze on languid wing, 
 Wafts echoes of their voicing, 
 
 And drowsy brooks do softer sing, 
 And smile at their rejoicing. 
 
 13 
 
ODE TO DEATH 
 
 EATH the soft, chill touch of thv 
 caress, oh Death, 
 Struggles not the aching, heart- 
 sick soul; 
 Sweetly steals oblivion o'er the 
 weary mind. 
 Gladly yielding unto death his dole. 
 
 Calmly sinks the tired spirit to its rest. 
 
 To its silent slum.ber gently sent. 
 Free from strife and care, it flees in eager joy, 
 
 With eternal quiet well content. 
 
 In the dim, dank grave, the cloistered cell of 
 death, 
 
 Dwells the peace of halls deserted quite; 
 In its confines broods the Spirit of the Past 
 
 Shrouded in the lulling gloom of night. 
 
 What tho' worms in revel, cluster foul and slime 
 'Round the once fair temple, fair no more. 
 
 14 
 
ODE TO DEATH 
 
 'Tis the commo.n lot of things that live and die. 
 Shall the senseless clay in fear abhor? 
 
 Friend thou art, Pale Death, since once to meet 
 we must, 
 
 Welcome thou to all who wisely think: 
 Like a leaf upon the current wanders life, 
 
 Who would then from death in terror shrink? 
 
 Softly falls the curtain closing life's grim play, 
 Fainter in the distance sounds its strife, 
 
 Past are fev'rish turmoil and its efforts vain. 
 Salve Death! Vale to thee drear life! 
 
 As the deepening shadows slowly gath'ring 
 round. 
 Cloud the golden rays of sunshine bright, 
 One regret steals o'er the soul that loved its 
 smile ; 
 That it ne'er will brighten death's long night. 
 
 15 
 
ODE TO DEATH 
 
 Yet the soft, chill touch of thy caress, oh Death! 
 
 And thy beck'ning finger lean, shall be 
 Welcome still to him who reads life's riddle 
 right 
 
 And so doing longs from life to flee. 
 
 16 
 
SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE 
 
 NE summer night while wander- 
 ing far 
 Through wooded glades, by 
 swamp and swale, 
 There came to me 'pon zephyrs 
 'sweet 
 The mellow song of the night- 
 ingale. 
 
 O'er nodding branch and sleepy rill 
 The moonlight hung its silv'ry vail ; 
 
 All tired nature seemed atune 
 
 To the rippling throat of the nightingale. 
 
 The gushing flood of distant song 
 
 Bore forth to me a mystic tale 
 Of bliss departed long ago, 
 
 But sung of still by the nightingale. 
 
 The moonlight glancing over all 
 
 Streamed shadows black o'er hill and dale, 
 As minstrel forth his soul soft poured, 
 
 Enchanted throated nightingale! 
 
 17 
 
SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE 
 
 With melancholy sweet I sighed 
 
 Through balmy, starlit nights to sail 
 
 'Pon rivers calm, past wildwood isles, 
 
 All bathed in the strains of the nightingale. 
 
 MILDRED'S DIMPLE 
 
 O, I know what the dimple 
 Is, there in your chin, 
 
 Little girl, 
 
 Little girl. 
 
 Little girl: — 
 
 'Tis the nest that the Elves tucked 
 A sleepy pearl in, 
 
 Little girl, 
 
 Little girl. 
 
 Little girl. 
 
 18 
 
THE WRETCHED 
 
 N dank and darksome places, 
 
 Iw^^ With pinched and desp'rate 
 I®) faces, 
 
 «^' The light of hunger shining 
 In pallid cheeks and pining; 
 With hearts that yearn and sicken 
 And bodies weak and stricken 
 
 Dwell the v/retched. 
 
 In foul and noisome places, 
 Bereft of comforts, graces, 
 Their children starving, dying. 
 Their hearts grown sore w^ith sighing, 
 Their souls by mis'ry shrunken. 
 Their eyes by hunger sunken. 
 
 Dwell the wretched. 
 
 In strange and grewsome places. 
 Of lives you'll find the traces 
 
 19 
 
THE WRETCHED 
 
 Where children lived and sickened, 
 Their stunted souls ne'er quickened, 
 Their bodies bent with weakness, 
 Where death is met with meekness, 
 ' Dwell the wretched. 
 
 Where rolls the turbid torrent 
 Of crime and vice abhorrent. 
 Where child and man and woman 
 Are more like beasts than human ; 
 Where spirits hard and bitter 
 Exist in filth and litter 
 
 Dwell the wretched. 
 
 'Mid gaslit dens foul reeking 
 There may be found for seeking 
 The spots where plagues slow linger. 
 The dread white Death's lean finger. 
 Where air's unfit for breathing 
 And discontent is seething, 
 
 Dwell the wretched. 
 
 20 
 
THE WRETCHED 
 
 If only by some river 
 Where water lilies quiver, 
 In balmy breezes waving 
 Their stems the water's laving, 
 The children could be playing 
 'Neath trees all gently swaying. 
 Their childish lips all voicing 
 Their welling soul's rejoicing, 
 Their hearts all bubbling laughter 
 Or sweetly sleeping after; 
 The world would be the brighter 
 For tender hearts made lighter. 
 
 21 
 
BELL SONG 
 
 N hearts overcharged with misery 
 Far too great for the lips to tell, 
 There seethes a torrent acid, 
 At the wail of a far-off bell. 
 The wail of the bells; 
 The distant bells. 
 
 The tears that pride would stifle, 
 
 How they sear with their efforts fell; 
 To burst the bonds that hold them 
 In mad sympathy with the bell. 
 Funereal bells; 
 The dirge-toned bells. 
 
 .\h. bells so filled with sorrow! 
 
 Can you speak but to knell, to knell? 
 The tears flow bitter, scalding, 
 To the wail of the bell, the bell. 
 The melancholy bells; 
 The sombre bells. 
 
 22 
 
BELL SONG 
 
 I list' to hear thy music 
 
 And I yearn 'neath its spell, its spell 
 For things forgot by mankind, 
 
 But recalled by thy voice, oh bell. 
 Recalled by the bells; 
 The magic bells. 
 
 Thy chimes so sweet are mournful. 
 
 For thy spirit reads well, reads well. 
 The aspirations fruitless 
 
 Of the breast of the man, oh bell. 
 Oh, soul-feeling bells. 
 Thou sweet-voiced bells. 
 
 'Neath moonlit, starlit heavens, 
 
 Has my breast surged a-hell, grim hell. 
 At stinging, barbed reminders 
 Of thy maddening voice, oh, bell. 
 The maddening bells, 
 The moonlit bells. 
 
 23 
 
HARP OF THE WINDS 
 
 HE murmur soft of music sweet, 
 With cadence mournful, 
 weirdly sad, 
 One moonlight eve mine ear did 
 greet 
 With lingering chords, divinely 
 mad. 
 
 So wayward breathed the fitful strains, 
 Methot their accents voiced by dreams, 
 
 And listening to the wild refrains, 
 
 I sought the fountain of their streams. 
 
 As peering thru the garden dim, 
 I strode its em'rald carpet o'er 
 
 And moonlight flung my shadow slim. 
 My seeking, wondVing eyes before, 
 
 I saw a harp by zephyrs swayed 
 Beneath a bough, by cords uphung. 
 
 Whose strings, by hidden fingers played 
 The magic music forth had flung. 
 
 24 
 
HARP OF THE WINDS 
 
 Entranced I listened to its lay, 
 The melting cadence of its sound, 
 
 So melancholy, never gay, 
 A thrall, my heart had thrown around. 
 
 Its quiv'ring strings by sighs seemed wrung; 
 
 They voiced their sorrows to the night; 
 Beneath the skies their woes they sung. 
 
 Where streamed the mellow moon's soft light. 
 
 The evening's wand'ring minstrel breeze 
 Had taught this harp the art of song^ 
 
 That mourned alone beneath the trees 
 In tones so wayward, faint yet strong. 
 
 The searching pathos that it breathed 
 
 In melting beauty, soft and low, 
 Combined with thoughts that in me seethed, 
 
 Bade fancies' hues in radiance glow. 
 
 25 
 
HARP OF THE WINDS 
 
 Ah, voice o' the winds! thy yearning heart 
 Outpouring sorrows, gently stirred 
 
 To nobler aims ere he did part, 
 
 The soul of him who chancing heard. 
 
 26 
 
ODE TO FAITH 
 
 AR beyond the realms of reason 
 
 Lies the shadowland of faith, 
 Where dwells Hope, the Angel 
 
 Watchful, 
 O'er the land without a wraith. 
 
 Oh, thou shadowland so restful! 
 
 Would that I might find release 
 From my wxary soul's dark burden ; 
 
 That I, too, might learn thy peace. 
 
 Just to feel the peace of childhood. 
 Just to ease the aching throat; 
 
 Just to shed the tears that throttle. 
 Just to quell the fiends that gloat 
 
 O'er the discontent of reason 
 Of the man who vainly hopes 
 
 As he strives to vanquish misery 
 In the darkness where he gropes. 
 
 27 
 
ODE TO FAITH 
 
 I have wooed thee, Faith, but vainly, 
 I have sought thy land so fair, 
 
 But the welling floods of anguish 
 Have alone been vouchsafed prayer. 
 
 In the w^atch of eerie midnight 
 
 Have I sought to reach thy shore, 
 But thou else had ne'er existed, 
 . Or thou wouldst not listen more. 
 
 fJast thou seen the darksome river, 
 Formed by man's all-garnered woe, 
 
 Lit by phosphorescent vapors, 
 O'er its bosom festooned low? 
 
 Hast thou heard the wail of children, 
 And the sob of mothers weak; 
 
 Was my purpose not for their sake. 
 As for mine, I thee did seek? 
 
 28 
 
ODE TO FAITH 
 
 Oh, to thee, fair Faith, man cometh, 
 Though he strive to touch thy hand , 
 
 Does it matter what his motive 
 That he get thy magic wand? 
 
 Still thy smile will lure the mystic, 
 And thy peace will shine through men , 
 
 As the ages sweep majestic 
 Far beyond their puny ken. 
 
 29 
 
SONG OF THE SEA 
 
 
 I 
 
 ^N the flush and the still of the 
 morn, 
 By the murmuring lips of the 
 
 ^js sea, 
 
 UJ As the shadow of night crept for- 
 lorn 
 
 
 O'er the brink of the earth far away 
 
 'Fore the breath of the wakening day, 
 Came a sense of the infinite calm 
 
 Of the spirit that broods o'er the sway 
 Of the ocean : my soul felt its balm. 
 
 In the beauty and peace of the scene 
 There was tranquil content, and the charm 
 
 Of big waters at rest; ah, the sheen 
 Of its bosom shown glowingly warm. 
 
 In the blue like a cloudlet afloat 
 
 Swings the gull 'bove the waters serene 
 
 And anon 'cross the wave shrills his note 
 As in flight o'er his prey he careens. 
 
 30 
 
SONG OF THE SEA 
 
 And the song of the waves as they flow, 
 
 Is of islands afar o'er the seas 
 Where soft winds of sweet perfumes do blow, 
 
 Where is life in calm joy and in peace. 
 
 Sweet they sing of the palms and the sands. 
 Of the birds and the fruits and the flow'rs, 
 
 Of the bliss near divine of those strands 
 And the passage of swift, careless hours. 
 
 Of the past and the future they sing 
 
 And their song grows prophetic in strain, 
 
 Like an anthem their melodies ring 
 
 Forth a promise to me. Sweet refrain! 
 
 In the flush and the calm of the morn. 
 By the murmuring lips of the sea, 
 
 As I wandered alone and to mourn 
 Was a promise of joy made to me. 
 
 31 
 
MILDRED, MY VALENTINE 
 
 Dreamland is thine, 
 Dreamland is mine: — 
 The night wind sings to you and me. 
 
 My heart is thine, 
 Is thy heart mine? 
 O hark, the moonlit melody! 
 
 O Mildred mine. 
 My love is thine: — 
 The song's my love, MoonflowV, for thee. 
 
 32