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LO T E iV . 
 
 (A STORY OF THE ANCIENT CLIFF-DWELLERS OF 
 AMERICA.) 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 — BY— 
 
 KDSON BROUGHTON RUSSELL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 SHELTERED WAIFS. 
 
 ILLUSTEATED BY THE ADTHOE. 
 

 Two Cotiies Keceivea 
 
 DEC 30 1904 
 
 Ooyyr.gni cniry 
 
 (Ta-t-. 2-2.. /^oa 
 CUSS CL XXc. No: \l 
 
 J COPY B. 
 
 ■^. t:> 
 
 Copyright 
 
 by 
 
 Edson B. Russell. 
 
 Sept., 1904. 
 All rights reserved. 
 
(oUcu,,-^ /y /g^..,.*^..^^^ 
 
To my wife, whose constant aid, and inspiring ap- 
 preciation, have materially assisted me; 
 this volume is dedicated. 
 
To my wife, whose constant aid, and inspiring ap- 
 preciation, have materially assisted me; 
 this volume is dedicated. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Produced without the advantages of leisure, and in 
 a section of the world that is composed largely of raw 
 material, and unfinished, I am aware that, for the most 
 part, the contents of this volume partake of this form- 
 ative condition; therefore, if the reader will kindly 
 contemplate the "spirit," rather than the "letter," and 
 thus, possibly, derive some small degree of benefit, I 
 will feel repaid for my labor. Many of the verses 
 have been preserved here by the request of those who 
 would miss them, were they not included as a part 
 of this book; otherwise I would have rejected them. 
 EDSON B. RUSSELL. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Lotea 1-31 
 
 POEMS OF REFLECTION. 
 
 A Song 53 
 
 Autumn Text 51 
 
 Fate 36 
 
 Hope 40 
 
 Light 44 
 
 May Winds 39 
 
 New Year 54 
 
 Night 55 
 
 Old Age 40 
 
 Perfection 53 
 
 feerenity - - - 38 
 
 iSuntide 43 
 
 trhe Future 45 
 
 trhe Great Spirit 36 
 
 The Lotus Tide 35 
 
 The Past 42 
 
 Thought 52 
 
 To a Gull's Wing 47 
 
 Two Old Graves by the Sea 46 
 
 Unity 41 
 
 Uplifted 48 
 
 Want 38 
 
 When Christmas-Tide Was Born . . - 37 
 
 POEMS OF SENTIMENT. 
 
 A Boat and a Broken Oar 69 
 
 Ambition 60 
 
 Beyond 68 
 
CONTENTS— Continned. 
 
 God's ProphecT 64 
 
 Iroquois Burial 65 
 
 June Text "- 
 
 LiberTT 76 
 
 Life 57 
 
 Love - 61 
 
 Marguerite - - 62 
 
 Old Battle Flag 73 
 
 Soldiers' Memorial 63 
 
 The Waltzers 5S 
 
 Spirit of Humanity 61 
 
 Summer Land 59 
 
 The Watch . - 64 
 
 The Year Is New 77 
 
 To Colorado 71 
 
 Toiler Up the Rugged Way - - - - 70 
 
 To Our Flag - - - - 66 
 
 Transmutation 75 
 
 True Love Ever Lives 74 
 
 Truth 57 
 
 Veterans' Memorial 79 
 
 Visitors 73 
 
 Will He Wander Back? 67 
 
 Winter at Oettysburg 68 
 
 POEMS OF MATURE. 
 
 April's Moods 84 
 
 Fields of Corn 86 
 
 Indian Summer 87 
 
 In October S8 
 
 In Transitu 90 
 
 March - 90 
 
 Mature 83 
 
 October 86 
 
CONTENTS— Continued. 
 
 Pale Winter 88 
 
 Shells 83 
 
 The Bluejay 89 
 
 The North Wind 85 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 After-Storm Silence 95 
 
 A July Afternoon -------- 98 
 
 Closed Cities 112 
 
 Dead Old Year 112 
 
 Dem Good Old Times 115 
 
 Easter 110 
 
 Emerson 102 
 
 Grave of "The Countess" 100 
 
 Invocation . - . - 137 
 
 Island Santa Catalina 124 
 
 June 108 
 
 Let Them Wait 99 
 
 Lines to E. W. D. 119 
 
 Lines to M. M. E. for Violets 122 
 
 Memoria - . . . 132 
 
 Milking Time - 131 
 
 My Hope 123 
 
 Minnesota 109 
 
 Minnetonka 138 
 
 Music 136 
 
 Night on Lake Superior ------ 125 
 
 Our Aged Friends 133 
 
 Our Exposition 120 
 
 Planets and People 135 
 
 Premonitions 121 
 
 Resignation 126 
 
 Sea Voices 127 
 
 Song of the Lark 114 
 
CONTENTS— Continued. 
 
 Song of Life 93 
 
 Song of Estermonath 90 
 
 Starving for Fresh Air 141 
 
 The Buried City Ill 
 
 The Cabin in the Wood 118 
 
 The Chimes Meneelly Played 104 
 
 The Hours that Shine - 95 
 
 The Mountain 136 
 
 The Mountaineer 107 
 
 The Old Country Doctor 97 
 
 The Path 134 
 
 The Pemigewasset 105 
 
 The Poet's Message 123 
 
 The Sea 99 
 
 The Stage 117 
 
 The West 113 
 
 'Tis May 129 
 
 To a Scotch Primrose 94 
 
 To Music 128 
 
 W^hen the Yellow Chickens Hatch - - - 103 
 
 Who Are the Brave? 130 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 A Cliff Dwelling. 
 ^A Gull's Wing. 
 'Sea Storm, 
 "l^oat and Broken Oar. 
 ^Winter, Spring and Autumn. 
 ^The Sedges. 
 ' Sea Shell. 
 
 March. 
 
 The Profile. 
 
 The West. 
 
 The Shore. 
 
 Morning, Noon and Night. 
 ' Minnetonka. 
 
These eaveiued rocks, o'ei'-veiled with mellow age 
 Their vaulted secrets hold; 
 
LOTE^. 
 
 Here where the river hurries to the South, 
 
 Twixt frowning walls and high, 
 Where earth's brown bosoin feels eternal drouth, 
 
 Of ever cloudless sky ! 
 Where west'ring sun withdraws his glowing face 
 
 Behind the awful brink ! 
 While stealthy shadows cover all the space 
 
 Of Intervals, and sink ; 
 There is a silence, fitted to the scene, 
 
 Of loneliness apart, 
 And yet, these mighty cliffs so shorn of green 
 
 Suggest some human art. 
 These caverned rocks, o'er-veiled with mellow age, 
 
 Their vaulted secrets hold ! 
 And spread aloft, corroding page on page 
 
 Of life and love untold. 
 So, may the wings of poet-craft reveal 
 
 Some history obscure. 
 As, backward turned, in retrospect they wheel 
 
 Where mummied shards endure. 
 Too oft our thoushts like vandal hordes profane 
 
 Some simple ancestry. 
 As urged by cheap desire for paltry gain. 
 
 The mouldering heaps we pry. 
 
 Then sacred shall we deem each dwelling place, 
 
 Deserted now, and drear ; 
 Fit only for the tuneful minstrel's grace 
 
 To habitate and cheer. 
 Nor Pyramids, nor sculptured 
 
 Greece are old. 
 Compared with these low halls 
 That open from the frowning steep so bold. 
 
 And echoe back our calls. 
 Who gains the porch, intrusive hand shall feel 
 
 Thrust out in welcome way. 
 And glowing eyes peer down where staff and reel 
 
 Repose, in niche of clay. 
 Soft is the breath of spirit-souls who glide 
 
 Backward and forth, as when 
 The years were few upon time's early tide, — 
 
 These lives we now shall ken — 
 For, thru the rugged canyon-lips of stone, 
 
 The ancient voice of man 
 Finds passage-way to tuned hearts of lone 
 
 Seekers with gold-worn pan ; 
 — 11 — 
 
Or yet, perchance, to them inspired by art 
 
 Who trend the burro trail, 
 In search of treasure, from the sands apart, 
 
 And rugged prospects hail. 
 On hearth-stones, heaped with ashes, these have gazed. 
 
 Lit e'er Ionian flame 
 Cheered lone Abyla's shore, or warmly blazed 
 
 On Israel altar-frame. 
 Here love hath sat and dreamed, as love will dream 
 
 Of some bright destiny ; 
 Or, looked through window of an ember's gleam, 
 
 On the dim "yet to be." 
 And sorrow too, has gazed with streaming eyes 
 
 On faa:ot slow consumed. 
 With hope, or faith in pitying Paradise, 
 
 Albeit, such were doomed 
 To still keep 'aith without the blest reward. 
 
 While hopes to ashes burned ; 
 So, felt the freeman, slave or lord. 
 
 And equal portion earned. 
 
 Here flamed the taper in the earthern lamp 
 
 Far under shelving ledge. 
 In deep alcove with ceiling low and damp ; 
 
 Or, on the diz^y edge 
 Of parapet, to guide returning feet 
 
 From long belated quest 
 For berries ripe, or feathered flock, too fleet, 
 
 By fear of capture pressed. 
 Prom narrow door the pendant ladder hung 
 
 Till secret signal came 
 In rythmic measure soft ; or loudly sung — 
 
 Or slow repeated name. — 
 When fell the ladder, as the windlass willed. 
 
 The rush-clad feet with climb 
 Of stealth, came up, then all again was stilled 
 
 In silence, save the chime 
 Of clay-wrought bowls in musical array, 
 
 Made vibrant by the skill 
 And baton-tap, of one who loved to play 
 
 Successive rounds to thrill 
 The slumbering night, or stir to quicker beat 
 
 The heavv nulse of toil ; 
 When, on some level ledge in social meet 
 
 These tillers of the soil 
 Danced gracefully the dusky hours away. 
 
 Or chanted wild love-song. 
 Thrilled with a heart-full hope, and melody 
 
 Of bird notes strong. 
 And when the music ceased, each sought the hearth, 
 
 Accustomed well to seek. 
 And in his hammock-couch with cover dearth, 
 
 — 12 — 
 
Relaxed to dreams, in meek 
 Submission to tlie sootliing power of sleep. 
 
 So, night rolled slowly on 
 While constant town-fire waned to smokeless heap 
 
 Of scarlet coals e'er dawn. 
 Thus slumber blessed their simple lives full well. 
 
 And gave of nature's balm ; 
 
 But hark ! the sentry's horn with blaring swell 
 
 Breaks on the early calm ; 
 A thousand echoes from the canyons bound 
 
 Like winged things, and beat 
 Their pinions 'gainst the slumbering ear, and sound 
 
 The call to toil and heat. 
 The parched sweet nuts in hollow carven stone. 
 
 And roasttid sauash and corn. 
 With savory roots in garden lately grown. 
 
 To break their fast at morn ; 
 Then swift to field to loom and potter's clay, 
 
 Each with a cheerful mien 
 And providential thought pursued his way 
 The Winter's hoard to glean. 
 
 Relying on the earth to meet their needs 
 
 They wooed her bounties well : 
 And sowed the soil with choicest annual seeds 
 
 Their future stores to swell. 
 With many a ditch the intervals were crossed. 
 
 By patient toil contrived — 
 The irrigation arts that now are lost. 
 
 Long through those years survived — 
 So, bloomed the land, and blushed the autumn sky. 
 
 In peace around their world. 
 While chilling snows but seldom came to try 
 
 The valleys green, unfurled. 
 
 Ah, Bweet such life where peace has gently kept 
 
 The simple heart in tune 
 With nature round ; while latent passions slept 
 
 Past manhood's regal noon ! 
 And sweeter still the womanhood that finds 
 
 Her love exalted by 
 Deep sympathies, where nature closely binds 
 
 To her the rosary 
 Of virtue, made of fragrant flowers, and sheen 
 
 Of golden sunlight spread 
 On hill-slopes far, and river reaches green, 
 
 That fairies well might tread. 
 
 Among these scenes and simple people, dwelt 
 A richly dowered maid, 
 
 — 13 — 
 
AVhose loveliness the coldest heart would melt ; 
 
 With solden hair in braid. 
 With eyes, reflection of the heavens at dawn, 
 
 And tineli- moulded face ; 
 Around her form the feather-mantle drawn, 
 
 Behold perfected grace ! 
 Her lips breathed melodies to charm the ear 
 
 Of weary laborer. 
 Who turned the wheel, with little aught to cheer. 
 
 Save cadencies from her ; 
 And far awa>- were borne to river-isles — 
 
 Oft as the winds came down — 
 Her songs to light anon with hopeful smiles 
 
 The gardener-faces brown. 
 The matron at the loom her music heard, 
 
 And stayed the shuttle's course. 
 While in her bosom still more deeply stirred 
 
 The heart's divinest force ; 
 A yearning for a higher place and aim. — 
 
 Love, freshened as a flower 
 By summer rains, to her poor bosom came. 
 
 And thrilled her with its power. 
 
 All looked upon the maid as on a star. 
 
 Distant and bright and pure. — 
 Shedding effulgent light with grace afar — 
 
 And. like the star, as sure. 
 Daughter was she of Patriarch who made 
 
 Laws for the people there : 
 Whose councils all were cheerfully obeyed 
 
 That each his love might share; 
 But one there was, with great aspiring soul. 
 
 Who gained Lotea's hand : 
 Chosen for strength of mind, and self-control ; — 
 
 A leader in the band. — 
 Their vows were plighted by the mother-moon. 
 
 When summer breezes soft 
 Sent o'er the waves their moist and cooling boon 
 
 In runic voices oft 
 And stately as the river rushing on. 
 
 Their tided souls in love 
 Mingled and moved, by subtle powers drawn. — 
 
 The eagle and the dove. — 
 
 Who would not linger on the blissful theme 
 
 That kindles sacred fire 
 Within the heart ; while palaces of dream 
 
 To lofty heights aspire? 
 Divinely met, the fusing flame that sealed, 
 
 Glowed warmly evermore, 
 And through the years inspired and self-revealed. 
 
 The crucial trials bore. 
 
 — 14 — 
 
Time passed, and often to tbeir trystlng-place 
 
 They came with happy tread. 
 And many a plan of hope was made with grace, 
 
 And sweet love-secrets said. 
 In Zuma's heart there was a longing deep. 
 
 For glory and for fame, 
 Just for Lotea's sake, so she might keep 
 
 In memory his name ; 
 When for a distant realm he should depart 
 
 To offer friendly ties. 
 And barter with wild tribes In tented mart. 
 
 Beneath the eastern skies. 
 The sweet reliance of her soul he felt, 
 
 And, thrilled with ecstacy. 
 Unto her trust in gratitude he knelt 
 
 With vows of constancv. 
 For stronger yet, and with Intensive glow 
 
 Burned his desire for power, 
 Fed by a love that few poor mortals know. 
 
 E'en in the briehtest hour : 
 And so, high aims were born in Zuma's tbongbt. 
 
 As they are born and nursed 
 In other lives where love Lath deeply wrought 
 
 Thru noble souls athlrst. 
 
 What destiny would ye not gladly dare. 
 
 What dim nnlraveled waste 
 Would ye not press with eager feet to share 
 
 Briefly, (or much In haste). 
 Bucb love — exalted, tender and complete — 
 
 As blessed this princely youth? 
 Bat he I was he returning love as sweet, 
 
 As pure In very truth? 
 His heart was trtie : the river seeks with slow 
 
 And certain tide the main : 
 As sure the current of his love did flow 
 
 To her. unchecked by chain 
 Of custom in the dance and revelry, 
 
 When maids of darker hue 
 Cast witching glances in his steady eye, 
 
 Or, (deep designing), threw 
 The kiss of sin from circling shadows dim. 
 
 Where lounged the mateless throng. 
 Careless of name, and proud of shapely limb. 
 
 His love" was pure and strong ; 
 And so, from dawn of bll.qsful day till eve, 
 
 Time moved on holy wings. 
 And wove a halo sweetly over all. 
 
 In which the love-life clings. 
 
 The days of harvest glimmering on the plain 
 Saw sturdy swains astir, 
 
 — 15 — 
 
Who plucked and stored the ears of golden grain, 
 
 And Mies of provender. 
 And when the lields of all their fruits were shorn, 
 
 And moon-beams brightly lay 
 On steep and vale, and path where late was borne 
 
 To hamlets far away 
 The word of harvest festival to come; 
 
 There rose an ominous sound. 
 That roused to fear, and made the timid dumb, 
 
 As thou,sh the heart fast bound 
 Did chill to stone, and bank the scarlet tide 
 
 Within the bursting breast. 
 
 The note of war shrilled down the canyon wide, 
 
 And broke the midnight rest 
 Of slumbering age and dreaming youth, and sent 
 
 The Quivering echoes swift 
 Flrom cliff to cliff, till al! the air was rent 
 
 With many a ghostly riff 
 Through which the ghouls displayed the grinning mask. 
 
 And looked the skeletons of death ; 
 Above, below, around the lips that ask 
 
 With halting, bated breath ! 
 Whose hand shall raise to strike defensive blow. 
 
 Now that the nisrht is on? 
 Who is there "mong us strong to meet the foe. 
 
 And save us e'er the dawn? 
 Then strode Prince Zuma quickly past the door 
 
 Of fair Lotea"s home. 
 And snatched the horn that crouching sentry bore ; 
 
 Then springing to the dome 
 Of watch-tower strong lust on the dizzy verge. 
 
 He blew the martial call. 
 Three mighty blasts he blew, the more to urge 
 
 The lagging sling-men all. 
 His form erect, with fiaring torch he stood. 
 
 His dark eyes flashing bright. 
 And on the gathering, shrinking warrior brood 
 
 He poured magnetic might : 
 The arrows of the foe around him sped. 
 
 He heeded not. nor stirred 
 Until. — each trembling guard before him led. — 
 
 Keceived a warning word. 
 Then leaped the thunder from his horn once more. 
 
 And battle columns pressed 
 Like mighty billows to the circling shore. 
 
 Shields poised and breast to breast, 
 Down steep and brake and barren sand-knoll lift 
 
 Charged Znma's spearmen well. 
 Like heavy tempest aimed without a shift. 
 
 Upon the foe they fell. 
 While from the cliffs the slingraen havoc made 
 
 — 16 — 
 
Among the sabage hordes ; 
 Who fltd, — their slain they left, and, much dismayed 
 Plunged to uncertain fords. — 
 
 In close pursuit the banded spearmen swept 
 
 Till, warming in the east, 
 The early dawn up the horizon crept. 
 
 Then the pursuit had ctased. 
 There turned Prince Zuma to his trusted friend, — 
 
 His friend, Motanoza, — 
 And bade him to the resting ranks attend. 
 
 While he eer middle day 
 Return for food, for yucca-robes and 3i>ear8. 
 
 Then hailed they all the name 
 Of "Zuma brave," with glad acclaim and cheers. 
 
 While to the cliffs he c-ame. 
 Great was the joy in every heart that beat 
 
 Within that eyry town, 
 And tuneful voices sang his praises sweet, 
 
 Sang of his high renown. 
 While cedar sprays were garlanded and bung 
 
 In arches o'er the ways, 
 Where pressed his feet, and where the ladders swung 
 
 The welcome choral lays 
 Of youth, rolled out and down along the vale. 
 
 Where late the war-cry rang — 
 "Uail to the brave ! all hail, hail, Zuma, bail !" 
 
 Thus all his praises sang. 
 When all was done to gather arms and food 
 
 For yonder waiting band. 
 And hampered stores conveyed by footmen good 
 
 Poured down the bleached sand. 
 Prince Zuma turned for greeting once again 
 
 Within the palace ; where — 
 With glad eyes straying from the martial plain, — 
 
 Lotea stood, most fair. 
 
 No words convey the subtleties of soul, 
 
 Or tell the love most deep : 
 For feeling is yet deeper than the dole 
 
 Of sounds that lightly leap 
 From lips that have no olflce save to part. 
 
 And parting break the spell 
 That binds in union, heart to love-thrilled heart ; 
 
 So silence stooped to swell 
 The moment of their meeting unto hours. 
 
 Thai cradled their sweet hope 
 In dreaming bliss, and called angelic powers 
 
 The heavenly door to ope. 
 
 But duty walks with restless step the way 
 Where loiters love the while ; 
 
 — 17 — 
 
With stern advance it gains at last the sway 
 
 In hours that cease to smile. 
 So came at last the parting to the pair. 
 
 But with a hope it came 
 In visions of a future passing fair, 
 
 They thought no fate to blame. 
 Yet did a sadness come and flood with tears 
 
 The sweet I.otea's eyes, 
 For, lurking with that hope were om'nous fears 
 
 Which love alone descries. 
 
 A tumult rose within Prince Zuma's breast. 
 
 And, stepping then apart, 
 His proud form shook from foot to plumed crest, 
 
 Till war had left his heart; 
 No more he thought to lead his band away, 
 
 But cast his weapons there 
 On the worn ledge, resolved to ever stay 
 
 Close by his princess fair. 
 Then to the height of sacrifice arose 
 
 The maiden's willing sonl. 
 On her (frail thing) the goodly star bestows 
 
 What fear cannot control. 
 With kindling eye, her white hand raised and reached 
 
 Toward the southern plain. 
 And firmly poised, she earnestly beseeched — 
 
 "My prince, go back again ! 
 E'er yonder sun shall sink again, return ! 
 
 I trust you evermore, 
 Still in my breast the fires of love shall burn 
 
 For you on distant shore." 
 He felt his weakness by her measured strength. 
 
 He bowed and kissed her hand. 
 Again he stood erect, then spake at length — 
 
 "I go to lead my band." 
 The last word said, the last embrace, and then 
 
 The love-flash, eyes to eyes, 
 And wid'ning space with secret sign as when 
 
 A subtle message flies. 
 With hurried step adown the plain he went, 
 
 His thoughts still straying back. 
 While feelings strong within his bosom pent, 
 
 Still urged a fresh attack. 
 
 Again the Prince was with his martial band, 
 
 Again his name was cheered. 
 Astir for war the ranks on every hand 
 
 A splendid host appeared. 
 By victory flushed, impatient of delay, 
 
 Each soldier heard command 
 With tentive ear, then eager, wheeled away 
 
 Where foemen made their stand. 
 
 — 18 — 
 
Thrice e'er the sun in gorseous dyes had set, 
 
 The routed enemy 
 Had left their slain on hills, or lowlands wet ; 
 
 Compelled in haste to flee. 
 So, wearied as the night came slowly round, 
 
 A halt for rest was made 
 And soon the camp-fires gleamed with fitful bound, 
 
 Within a friendl.v "-lade. 
 The pickets by Motanoza were placed, 
 
 And yet in careless way. 
 For, post from post was all too widely spaced 
 
 An enemy to stay. 
 
 The revelry of victors filled the camp 
 
 As hours slipped away. 
 Until at last on earthly couches damp 
 
 The weary warriors lay. 
 The sharp clear stars looked down upon the scene 
 
 That slumber brooded o'er. 
 And saw at hand the river's flood serene 
 
 Far wld'ning from the shore. 
 "O when will cruel war forever cease. 
 
 And love forever be? 
 When will each truce or narrow stream of peace 
 
 Expand in endless sea?" 
 So auestioned Zuma in his fitful sleep 
 
 Upon the damp chill glade ; 
 So dreamed Lotea in her slumber deep 
 
 On couch of feathers made — 
 "Old is the story" not of love alone, 
 
 For war is still as old — 
 'Mong weeds of death the human plant hath grown 
 
 in stony soil, and cold. 
 
 The campfire, waning, shrank in embers few. 
 
 And silence filled the night 
 Save raven's voice, or wind that freshly blew 
 
 Soft winged from distant height- 
 All slept except Motanoza crouched low 
 
 Apart in thicket dense. 
 Expectant that the wily, watchful foe 
 
 Would break his weak defense. 
 To jealousy inclined, its fever burned 
 
 The bonds of friendship there. 
 Once had his heart for Zuma's friendship yearned, 
 
 But now he had no care — 
 The prince to him was but a barrier now 
 
 That shut him from her face — 
 "Should he be least and to Prince Zuma bow. 
 
 Not seek Lotea's grace?" 
 So asked Motanoza, and then — But hark ; 
 
 A sudden war-cry breaks — 
 
 — 19 — 
 
Out of the maze, the willow-glooms, the dark, 
 
 The thrilling clangour wakes ; 
 Into the camp then rush the savage hordes 
 
 With wild exultant yell ; 
 
 The guards awake, now seize their flint-edged swords 
 
 And rally prompt and well ; 
 But Zuma — where the Prince and leader bold? 
 
 They call ; he answers not. 
 Stunned by a blow, the savages now hold 
 
 Him captive where he fought. 
 Like Spartan men the guards withstand the charge, 
 
 Yet yield the vantage slow. 
 Until at last they reach the river's marge 
 
 Then backward press the foe. 
 Again their pillaged camp is surely won. 
 
 They cheer their victory ; 
 But where is Zuma; now the battle done. 
 
 The prince of chivalry? 
 In hot retreat their pris'ners urging on. 
 
 The savages depart, 
 And reach protecting heights e'er break of dawn 
 
 To ply their torture art. 
 
 Still did fatigue and hunger check and stay 
 
 Their villainous design ; 
 Until, In fear they pressed upon their way, 
 
 With thoughts almost benign. 
 Two helpless men with thongs their wrists about, 
 
 Walked willingly before ; 
 As living trophies of the night's quick route — 
 
 'Twould please their chief the more — 
 So spared, Prince Zuma and his guardsman friend 
 
 Were taken far away 
 Across the plains, where thorny herbs attend. — 
 
 They march for many a day. — 
 
 Canto IT. 
 Back to the camp, we find our sorry band 
 
 Searching, but still in vain 
 For him who strengthened them to bravely stand 
 
 Where foemen arrows rain. 
 The third morn came, then search for him was o'er ; 
 
 For now Motanoza 
 With feigned fatigue, sad information bore 
 
 Of what he truly saw : 
 For he, he too a prisoner was made. 
 
 That night of strange surprise," 
 Where valor's sturdy soul its part had played 
 
 In winning back the prize. 
 "But yesterday he saw the stake prepared 
 
 By brawny savage men, 
 
 — 20 — 
 
And tortures which he might perchance have shared, 
 
 Were put on Zuma then. 
 He saw him die, but midst the revelry 
 
 Of savase blind delight, 
 He slipped the watch, behind a friendly tree 
 
 And made escape in flight." 
 Thus by deceit and cunning, criminal, 
 
 Motanoza had won ; 
 Yet he who thinks such methods best is dull. 
 
 For soon his race is run. 
 
 Justice there is that cometh bye and bye, 
 
 'Tis subtle as the breath ! 
 And none can shun it, how-so-e'er they try ; 
 
 It leveleth as death. 
 
 Now slow and sad the homeward march began, 
 
 The mid-day sun hung low, 
 Out from the cliffs the gloomy shadows ran, 
 
 Funeral forms to show. 
 No more they thought to hear Prince Zuma's voice, 
 
 No more his horn would sound, 
 Again with them no more would he rejoice, 
 
 In autumn's festive round. 
 At day's decline their quickened pace had brought 
 
 Them to the village walls, 
 Where pent excitement o'er their absence wrought. 
 
 Burst forth in strident calls. 
 Full soon the news of Zuma's death was spread 
 
 To every threshold there; 
 And filled each heart with grief, and nameless dread, 
 
 That none may wish to share. 
 
 No tear was seen upon Lotea's cheek, 
 
 Yet, blanched her lips like stone ; 
 She made no sign, nor did she ever speak — 
 
 The shock of grief to own — 
 Month followed month, but still her eyes were dry, 
 
 Yet, paler grew her face, 
 And when alone, the deep distressful sigh, 
 
 The moan, the slower pace. 
 Told what the heart can suffer without tears. 
 
 Told of inteusest grief — 
 A grief that burrows deeper thru the years — 
 
 Than that by tears made brief. 
 
 C\NTO III. 
 Anon, the planting time in peace came round. 
 
 And then the harvest days. 
 Again the corn in tapered shocks was bound. 
 And gleamed thru autumn haze. 
 — 21 — 
 
Again the harvest festival was come. 
 
 Twelve weary months slipped hy. 
 And still Lotea's lips for song were dumb, 
 
 For only could they sigh. 
 Motanoza in vain had sought her love, 
 
 No favor had she shown ; 
 Still, still her love for Zuma, sure to prove, 
 
 She walked the paths alone. 
 
 And now when waked the music and the song. 
 
 The revelry of peace ; 
 Light passed the youthful, careless, mirthful throng, 
 
 In rounds without surcease. 
 The mellow wines were deeply, freely quaffed, 
 
 Until the social maze 
 Wove from the mugs o'er which the guilty laughed. 
 
 Set dullest eyes ablaze. 
 And when Motanoza had loosed his tongue 
 
 In howls oft brimming o'er. 
 His secret from his lips then quickly sprung — 
 
 Of part in g-uilt he bore — 
 Thus reckless of the consequence, he told 
 
 In boastful phrase and light. 
 To some boon friends, his plotting deep and cold 
 
 Upon that fateful night. 
 
 Justice ! justice ! we venerate thy name. 
 
 Whether in secret come. 
 Or jet perchance, in fierce consuming flame, 
 
 Completed be thy sum. 
 To some boon friends he told his treachery. 
 
 A secret now no more. 
 From oar to ear the tale v/as carried free 
 
 Like revelation lore ; 
 And as it spread, a deep and bitter hate 
 
 O'er-cast each honest brow, 
 And shadowed him with sure and vengeful fate. 
 
 Too sure for jesting now. 
 
 Motanoza now: roused by shrinking dread 
 
 O what awaited hiui. 
 If once again he show his guilty head, 
 
 Perceived a passage dim, 
 Down-winding where the cedar boughs drooped low ; 
 
 And this with agile pace 
 Slipped soft along, until he stood below 
 
 The cliffs in safer place. 
 He heard the calls of searching angry men. 
 
 Borne clearly from the height. 
 And thought to seek new habitations, then 
 on into the night. 
 
 — 22 — 
 
No more doth he return, he finds his end, 
 
 And his reward is just. 
 No mercy shall his wretched deeds defend ; 
 
 Nor meddle with his dust. 
 
 On learning what Motanoza confessed, 
 
 Lotea's heart grew warm, 
 Hope sang agaiu within her loyal breast, 
 
 And strength came in her form. 
 Her songs were heard where once all silently 
 
 She moved the ways along. 
 And many a soul rejoiced again to be 
 
 Where fell her new found song. 
 Thru all the weeks of winter speeding by, 
 
 She looked for Zuma, where 
 The western plain and mellow twilight sky 
 
 Blent in ideals fair. 
 
 The spring floods came, the elder blossoms sweet 
 
 Spread perfume far and near. 
 Upon the shore, the rushing waters beat 
 
 The olden music dear. 
 
 Here came Lotea as in days of old 
 
 Within the trysting place. 
 Where love's pure spirit still its place would hold 
 
 In fancied form and face. 
 Low drooping water-birches brushed the tide 
 
 O'er which the linnet sang ; 
 And high along the rugged canyon side. 
 
 The sturdv pinon spraug. 
 The aspen trembled on the interval. 
 
 As summer days grew hot ; 
 While on the sands the sage-brush, stiff and dull, 
 
 Filled each neglected spot. 
 The gardens near the moist half-hidden glade 
 
 Throve to maturity, 
 And every scene before the vision laid. 
 
 Was fairly set and free. 
 All things familiar to Lotea's eyes 
 
 Took on a brighter hue ; 
 Each passing day brought forth a fresh surprise 
 
 Or waked a rapture new. 
 Yet, why she thrilled she really could not tell ; 
 
 She only knew that deep 
 Within her soul, was an unfailing well 
 
 Of love and hope, to keep 
 A freshness and a glory everywhere ; 
 
 That sometime, somewhere, he, 
 (Prince Zuma) might with her unhindered share. 
 
 O grant that such may be. 
 
 — 23 — 
 
Sometimes the soul outruns the facts of life 
 
 And sees, forsooth, its fate 
 Writ clear above the poor world's senseless strife, 
 
 O'er things for which we wait. 
 Sometimes in dreams, truth comes to us so kind. 
 
 Our hopes to entertain ; 
 In waking then are we too weak and blind. 
 
 Such welcome news to gain? 
 Some souls there are,- — the sensitive and pure — 
 
 Who dream awake, and see 
 The things of life that do, and shall endure. 
 
 As grand reality. 
 Of such Lotea was, and felt assured 
 
 By high perceptive sense 
 That what she wished would somehow be secured 
 
 Through kindly Providence. 
 
 Thru harvest months she sang the old-time lays, 
 
 Melodiously sang ; 
 Sweet as the wind upon the pine-keys plays. 
 
 Her mellow numbers rang ; 
 And when, each day the sun had quenched his light 
 
 Behind the earth's broad breast 
 She sought the tower, from which to view the height 
 
 Of mountains in the west. 
 Where fancy found the dwelling place of him. 
 
 Who might some autumn eve 
 Come from the silence, far, and vaguely dim ; 
 
 Herself to glad receive. 
 
 The month of annual festivals was near. 
 
 Her loom, with shuttle swift. 
 Wove finer yet, the milk-weed fabric clear ; 
 
 To make her mantledrift. 
 The crvstal stalactite in rain-bow hue 
 
 Blazed on her throbbing breast. 
 And shot its arrowed orange, red and blue, 
 
 With rich effective zest. 
 Again the queen, chosen is she of all 
 
 The shapely maiden band. 
 And light the step that matches in its fall : 
 
 And white the tapered hand. 
 Now swells the music of the festive hour, 
 
 And sway the graceful forms. 
 Around the queen, the circle-wave of power 
 
 Rolls like the wave of storms. 
 
 C.\NTO IV. 
 But now, away in distant lodge, and cold 
 
 With stubborn thongs bound low. 
 Where savase men o'er him their councils hold. 
 Or bend the threat'ning bow ; 
 
 — 24 — 
 
Prince Zuma waits tlie pleasure of the Cliief 
 
 Or, of tlie f>aclicm liigh, 
 Yet only thinlss iiis life is now but brief ; 
 
 (Expecting still to die.) 
 No hope has he of clemency from those 
 
 Dark ones of cruel heart ; 
 This, on his life so surely soon to close, 
 
 Bears down with pang and smart. 
 They crowd around (the maids) to view his face; 
 
 With sounds and signs they speak 
 Of this "the chief of some strange foreign race. 
 
 Prostrated now and weak ; 
 Whose brother guardsman fell from sheer fatigue 
 
 On dreary cactus-plain : 
 And thus was left out from the camp a league. 
 
 To never rise again." 
 
 The council sat till night srew cold and late, 
 
 And when the morning came, 
 With deep surprise, he learned a happier fate 
 
 Declared his princely fame. 
 Than he had thought to hope, or even guessed. 
 
 nis gyves were kindly loosed, 
 And thongs that harshly cut his aching breast. 
 
 Relaxed were and truced. 
 
 Unto the Sachem's lodge he now was led ; 
 
 By kindly glance assured. 
 His gratitude he showed — as early bred — 
 
 For favor thus secured. 
 With humble bow he kissed the dusky hand 
 
 And freely, warmly piessed. 
 And made a sign, as ready for command ; 
 
 If by the Chief addressed. 
 
 The Sachem knew his gracious spirit then 
 
 and so, resolved to show 
 Good offices to Zuma soon, — or when 
 
 Their language he should know — 
 Now, anxious that the pale-faced prisoner 
 
 Should understand why he 
 Had not been burned, or tortured with the burr. 
 
 But from his bonds set free ; 
 The Sachem turned with wave of hand and spake- 
 
 Soft was his voice and low — 
 In quick response a maiden seemed to wake 
 
 From fur-bed white as snow ; 
 Advancing then she stood before the pair 
 
 In questioning surprise. 
 (A perfect face she bore — so darkly fair — 
 
 With midnight dreamy eyes.) 
 
 — 25 — 
 
The Chief then showed by sign significant, 
 
 How she had pled to save 
 The Prince, thus he found grace her wish to grant ; 
 
 With bearing gentle, grave. 
 The Sachem's love for her unmasked appeared ; 
 
 He signed — "My daughter, she" ; 
 Her sire's pride, it seemed she had not feared — 
 
 Her name was Winnole. 
 
 Time slowly passed and as the spring came round 
 
 The Prince more freedom had. 
 And soon he learned their language, sign and sound, 
 
 This knowledge made him glad : 
 For. could he not some fellowship obtain 
 
 Now with the dusky crew? 
 He sought the chase new favors still to gain 
 
 When he for such should sue. 
 
 The warriors all observed his prowess then. 
 
 Commending much his skill ; 
 When he did chase the cougar to his den. 
 
 Or mountain buck did kill. 
 His guards grew careless in admiring mood. 
 
 And ceased restraints to use ; 
 For "did he not provide tiiem with much food? 
 
 Should they for such abuse?" 
 The summer came, and then the autumn time 
 
 Its silent hours arrayed ; 
 Then winter with its keen and chilling rime 
 
 A part in nature played. 
 
 And now a Iwnd of friendship grew apace 
 
 "Twixt Zuma and the Chief — 
 Regard that well our later time would grace 
 
 Nor should its reign be brief — 
 And Winnole, who doubts what she. too, felt ; 
 
 Ofttimes she softly stepped 
 A-near the pair, (restoring wampum-belt, 
 
 So safely hid and kept 
 For Zuma, while he entered in the chase 
 
 Or sports, to try the strength 
 Of limb, or prove his power in friendly race.) 
 
 And love betrayed, at length. 
 
 When, on the plains fierce beat the summer sun 
 
 The camp was broken, and 
 Reformed again where mountain waters run, 
 
 Swift through the passes grand : 
 There often strayed Prince Zuma 'mong the pines 
 
 With Winnole ax guard ; 
 And plucked wild berries from the tangled vines. 
 
 Or rested on the sward. 
 
 — 26 — 
 
He understood her lov*- for hirn, 3'et told 
 
 The dusky maid his life; 
 Told of his love, that never could jn"ow cold 
 
 For one, his chosen wife. 
 Full oft they found themselves alone, where broke 
 
 Sweet fountains from the hilig. 
 Or where the song of linnet gently woke 
 
 The echoes into trills. 
 
 He still kept faith with her who dwelt apart, 
 
 And Winnole well knew 
 The ceaseless longing In Prince Zuma's heart, 
 
 For one alone, was true ; 
 And yet, she hoped the fates would favor her 
 
 In some mysterious way, 
 And In the bosom of the prisoner stir 
 
 A love for her, some day. 
 But when hi.s face jrrew thin, and paler still. 
 
 By constant care impressed ; 
 She thought no more to trespass on his will. 
 
 Or tempt his troubled breast. 
 In silence now, resolved her love to keep 
 
 For the fair prisoner's sake ; 
 She stepped within the shadows oft to weep ; 
 
 Suspicion not to wake. 
 
 At length the Sachem saw her silent tears, 
 
 And guessed their secret then ; 
 He hoped, however, to assuage her fears 
 
 Thru means that she would ken. 
 One day the Chief with Zuma made his plea 
 
 And offered much reward. 
 If he would plight his troth to Winnole ; 
 
 And give his truthful word. 
 Yet, tho the Sachem's words were eloquent. 
 
 And great his offered store. 
 Prince Zuma spurned the kindly Chiefs Intent, 
 
 And spake with him no more. 
 The night came on. and double guard was placed 
 
 Around the lodge where lay 
 The haughty Zuma v.'ho had proudly faced 
 
 Their Sachem, aged and gray. 
 In undertones, fierce savage threats were made 
 
 From circling war dance near. 
 And all the camp against him seemed arrayed ; 
 
 Still, "why should we have fear? 
 He only stood firm in the love that burned 
 
 Unquenchable and true ; 
 For her away, who.se heart no doubt still yearned 
 
 Each day to And him too." 
 Wblle thoughtful thus, within the lodge all dark, 
 
 A stealthy footstep came ; 
 
 — 27 — 
 
A step familiar, and a whisper — Hark ! 
 
 Slowly repeats liis name. 
 "I come to lead the Prince to safer place, 
 
 Follow me ; follow me ; 
 This woman's mask a cover for your face — 
 
 Wrap in this robe and flee." 
 
 Two forms emerge and slowly move away ; 
 
 Past the grim guards they file, 
 In the faint light their woman-garments sway, 
 
 Suspicioned not the while. 
 Down to the spring, and thru the thickets dense 
 
 That flank a rugged hill ; 
 Swifter their pace, now urged by deep suspense, 
 
 And roused by freedom's will. 
 Far faint the sounds of savage revelry. 
 
 As now they thread their way 
 By rushing stream, that brooks no more to be 
 
 Locked in the mountain's gray. 
 
 All night they press with hurried footsteps on. 
 
 Thru sage and cactus briar. 
 Nor stay for rest, till opening of the dawn 
 
 Had set its eastern fire. 
 Then paused they 'neath a boulder on the plain, 
 
 Some parting words to say ; 
 Prince Zuma blessed the Sachems child again. 
 
 For helping him away. 
 "Now I return, ' spake Wiunole. "no more 
 
 My eyes may see your face ; 
 Love burns my breast, and scars my heart full sore, 
 
 That time cannot erase. 
 Go to your love, yon river leads to her ; 
 
 I go to deepest grief. 
 My heart for you its painful pulse will stir. 
 
 Nor ever find relief. 
 Go, white Prince ; go, to your loved princess fair ; 
 
 I pray you flee in haste, 
 And my poor soul will ever for you care, 
 
 While slow my breath shall waste. 
 Adieu, farewell !" and then she turned away 
 
 With deep distressful sigh. 
 With covered face, shut from the beams of day. 
 
 Sad was her hopeless cry. 
 "Such sacrifice must have reward sometime." 
 
 And Zuma's voice was sweet — 
 "Somewhere in friendship's realm, unmarred, sublime, 
 
 Our riven souls will meet." 
 His last words faintly fell upon her ear. 
 
 As stepped she farther out 
 Upon the plains all desolate and drear ; 
 
 Beyond his farewell shout. 
 
 — 28 — 
 
All day she toiled o'er silent mesas wide, 
 
 Where only raven's voice 
 Croaked thru the haze of ebbing autumn-tide ; 
 
 To fellows of his choice. 
 At last she came, (at setting of the sun), 
 
 Unto the mountain stream, 
 Her journey here at last is nearly done ; 
 
 She wakes from stupor's dream. 
 Harsh calls and threats arouse her. and she sees 
 
 The angry, cruel look 
 Of savages, who lear and harshly tease. 
 
 For she their camp forsook. 
 And slipped away e'en with the prisoner pale. 
 
 Yet, daughter of the Chief 
 They still must spare, and seek Prince Zuma's trail, 
 
 Avenging yet her grief. 
 
 To Wlnnole the weeks went slowly past, 
 
 And heart-ache still oppressed, 
 Her world grew dim, and from its spaces vast. 
 
 No healing reached her breast. 
 On the far peaks she went to weep alone — - 
 
 By danger's frown beguiled. — 
 Day after day she pressed the balanced stone. 
 
 Hung o'er the canyon wild. 
 Or on the ledge beside the spring sits she, 
 
 When twilight heralds night 
 And chants a death chant, with the memory 
 
 Of love's departed light. 
 At last too worn, too weak and frail to climb 
 
 She pines within the camp. 
 And gazes up the steeps of crumbling lime, 
 
 Where mist-wraiths gather damp. 
 
 One day in spring the camp was still and hushed ; 
 
 A sorrow brooded o'er. 
 The Sachem's head was bowed, his heart was crushed. 
 
 His child would speak no more. — 
 On ermine couch her thin form silent lay, 
 
 A soul deserted shard, 
 A thing but destined to at length decay. 
 
 And from that soul be barred. 
 On neighboring peak they reared a scaffold high. 
 
 And when the evening came. 
 They placed her there, up near the burning sky. 
 
 Repeating still her name. 
 
 Arrayed was she In mink and otter robe, 
 
 Festooned with wampum-shells, 
 Her hair contained the poppy's scarlet globe. 
 
 And hare-flowers, sapphire bells. 
 
 — 29 — 
 
In her thin hand was placed a tiny bow 
 
 With arrows in it set ; — 
 Gift from Prince Zuma e'er he chanced to know 
 
 Her sorrow and regret. — 
 Prepared with food for journeying afar, 
 
 Equipped full well to ;?o 
 Outward anon, to some mysterious star ; 
 
 No friend could say her "no." 
 Thus, Winnole had died, thus buried, too. 
 
 Lovo. trusting walks with death, 
 Still, still love's power the wine of life must brew, 
 
 Restoring pulse and breath. 
 
 Camto V. 
 Stir, in the cliffs the festival is high ; 
 
 Still move the dancers bland. 
 Unconscious that their Prince is drawing nigh, 
 
 Down on the river's strand. 
 "Hold there ! who comes," hoarse was the sentry's call. 
 
 "No enemy shall live ; 
 Our Prince was slain, beware, lest thou too fall ; 
 
 The countersign can'st give?" 
 
 Then Zuma spake, "A countersign have I. 
 
 Prince Zuma is my name." 
 The sentry heard, and could not well deny 
 
 Familiar voice that came. 
 The ladder dropped, the Prince went up in haste. 
 
 Full was his heart, and thrilled. 
 His speech was short, nor gave he time to waste 
 
 Till all his doubts were stilled. 
 To questioning the sentry told him all, 
 
 "Lotea, living still, 
 Waiting in peace. Prince Zuma's loving call ; 
 
 His councilings and will." 
 
 Then to the dance, a shout of joy resounds. 
 
 "Hail, Zuma Prince., hail, hail !" 
 The young men leap with swift competing bounds. 
 
 And joyously assail. 
 Bearing aloft their Knight of Victory, 
 
 While maidens sing his praise 
 In legends filled with high-keyed glory, 
 
 Or thrilling martial lays. 
 
 Into the space where danced the throng, they march ; 
 
 The Prince and Princess meet, 
 Under illuminated harvest-arch. 
 
 With fond embrace they s^eet. 
 The Patriarch, to view the scene was called. 
 
 And with his blessing free, 
 
 — 30 — 
 
Prince Zuma as a patriarcli installed — 
 Their ruler now to be. 
 
 Soon, flaming high, set all the cliffs along, 
 
 The marriage-fires burned ; 
 And, rose once more the festival of song 
 
 From olden legends learned. 
 Now stepped they forth, (the Prince and Princess fair). 
 
 And one. — a matron good — 
 Who tied the marriage scarf around the pair. 
 
 "Thus be it understood 
 The twain are one/' said she, "the link will hold 
 
 Thru future vears, 'twill be 
 Bond of their souls, when flesh shall palsy cold, 
 
 And great eternity 
 Shall cradled life enfold, as pigmy mite 
 
 Is held by yonder star. 
 It still will hold; like silk-weed cordage white, 
 
 These bonds untarnished are." 
 
 Then, brim the mugs with white pulque's richest brew, 
 
 While canyon-deep resounds 
 With merriment and shouts, swift passing thru 
 
 The night in wide rebounds. 
 Then wakes again the throbbing music low. 
 
 Prom earthen bowls atune. 
 And heaving bosoms white as drifting snow, 
 
 Whirl in ecstatic swoon. 
 
 The morning comes, the revelers retreat ; 
 
 Sleep overtakes at last. 
 And in their dreams the tuneful sounds repeat 
 
 And hold the sleepers fast, 
 So sleep they yet, the centuries away ; 
 
 Their fields no more to till. 
 Their quarried homes with changeless mould are gray ; 
 
 Their sleep grows deeper still. 
 
 31 
 
POENS OF REFLECTION. 
 
THE LOTUS-TIDE. 
 On Beading D. O. S. Lowell's "Journey up the Nile," 
 
 Constant, constant slips the tide 
 
 Past the muddy banks, and low; 
 Past the desert reaches wide, 
 
 Constant, constant, dull and slow, 
 Slips the tide, and shifts the sand 
 
 Where the tombs of Memnon rise. 
 Where the mossless pillars stand 
 
 'Neath the deeps of shadeless skies, 
 Flows the tide with solemn pace 
 
 Near by Isis, silent still; 
 Near by Thebes, with mummied race 
 
 Yet asleep in quarried hill. 
 Soft through Luxor's ancient aisles 
 
 Waft the ripple's monotone. 
 And where carven Philae smiles 
 
 Soft the Lotus-waters drone. 
 Domes where sleep the phophets old; 
 
 Towers where watched astronomer, 
 Still reflect their masses bold; 
 
 Charming still the floods astir. 
 Tvotus-pulse, with measure slow; 
 
 Over-lap of dream profound; 
 Veil of sensuous afterglow; 
 
 Echo's faintest, last rebound; 
 Such, O land! is now thy meed, 
 
 Hushed by countless centuries, 
 "Lethe still," thy races plead; 
 
 On thy breast the Lotus lies. 
 
 — 35 — 
 
THE GREAT SPIRIT. 
 
 There is a spirit round about us here, 
 
 Unnamed, unknown, unseen, 
 And all our efforts, weak through love or fear, 
 
 Move not the shodowy screen 
 That hangs impalpable before our sight 
 
 And shuts from us this power. 
 And yet, we feel, and sense, and guess the light. 
 
 And picture each, this hour, 
 Some fount in which we bathe, our souls to heal, 
 
 Or semblance of some good, to which we kneel, 
 Not as the slave, but as the equal heart, 
 
 Not separate, but of the good a part. 
 
 * * * 
 
 FATE. 
 
 O, softly singing, subtle sea 
 Of human hopes and destiny; 
 Thy luring note doth ever draw. 
 Through never changing, certain law. 
 
 To thee — as to the ocean's deep 
 The winding rivers onward sweep — 
 We rush, and find in thee at last, 
 Our haven; dim, unfathomed, vast. 
 
 36 
 
WHEN CHRISTMAS-TIDE WAS BORN. 
 
 In olden days, far back in pagan time; 
 When Troy was flourishing, 
 
 When Rome was naught, and Thebes was in her prime; 
 There was a hint of Spring 
 
 As from his southern trip the sun turned back, 
 To throw his quick'ning light 
 And heat, on shivering Earth, and mark his track 
 Again with short'ning night. 
 
 With length'ning day, and higher climb at noon; 
 And so, the people said : 
 "Osirus smiles; our god of day will soon 
 With flow'ry spring be wed." 
 And thus, the solstice of the Winter drear, 
 Was hailed with glad acclaim 
 By many tribes, as, surely drawing near, 
 The fir'y sun-wheel came. 
 Then, Odin, ushered in the Yule-tide joys, 
 Of festive dance and song; 
 
 Of feasts and games, and quaintly fashioned toys. 
 With cymbal .and with gong. 
 And Northward, over Europe far it spread, 
 — This Yule-tide revelry — 
 
 Until, at last, through Christian church it led 
 To Him of Galilee. 
 
 Thus, centered on ''the shining One," who cast 
 The truth-light upon man. 
 His birth-memorial-day was placed at last 
 Where Odin's feasts began. 
 So, out of ancient myth and festival, 
 Comes modern sacred morn, 
 Then, thanks to nature's glowing miracle. 
 When Christmas-tide was born. 
 — 37 — 
 
SEREITITY. 
 Serene they stand, yon mountains gray and old; 
 Crowned by the clouds, or snow. 
 In summer's blush, or winter's pallid cold; 
 Nor struggles do they know. 
 
 We look unto their lofty slopes afar! 
 
 Soft melting into sky; 
 
 And see bright Venus — love's symbolic star — 
 
 Upon their summits lie. 
 
 And as the twilight deepens round their feet, 
 
 May we the lesson feel 
 
 That they so grandly, silently repeat 
 
 To us, in woe or weal. 
 
 Whenever sweep the winds adverse and drear, 
 
 Along our earthly way; 
 
 Serene as yonder mountains, without fear, 
 
 Stand every storm at bay. 
 * * * 
 WANT. 
 How-so ever much we blame; 
 Wants oft blaze the way to fame. 
 From the Poet want hath wrung 
 Songs the sweetest ever sung. 
 With the Sculptor and the Sage, 
 Want hath dwelt, in every age; 
 And the world could never tell 
 Why they wrought and taught so well, 
 But I would that you should know 
 How the inborn talents grow. 
 'Tis through toil and want and pain, 
 Men their highest powers gain. 
 By the wants of deep desire 
 Genius builds its subtle fire. 
 — 38 — 
 
MAY WINDS. 
 
 Blow, winds of May! 
 Open the flower ejes, 
 Break mists, and bid them rise, 
 Unfolding fairest skies 
 
 Of all the year. 
 Down through the forest aisles 
 Blow warm, till beth-bloom smiles 
 
 O'er tangles sear. 
 
 Blow, winds of May I 
 Aeolian numbers low. 
 While rocking to and fro 
 The blossoms, white as snow. 
 
 Come from the west. 
 And, as the petals fall. 
 Oh, waft them one and all, 
 
 Softly to rest. 
 
 Blow, winds of May! 
 
 And bear the perfumed breath 
 
 Of buds that openeth 
 
 Upon the mounds of Death; 
 
 To aJl who grieve, 
 Be thou angelic wings 
 Whose subtle ministerings 
 
 Their comfort leave. 
 
 39 
 
HOPE. 
 
 Hope, like the day, hath wings. 
 Soon as its whisperings 
 
 Have touched our hearts. 
 Unbid it glids away, 
 E'en as the flight of day 
 
 When light departs. 
 
 As day unbid returns. 
 And morning gently burns 
 
 Her incense sweet. 
 So, hope will come again. 
 And be as dear as when 
 
 It vanished fleet. 
 
 * * * 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 Yonder the whit'ning shore of age 
 Lies dimly in the mellow light, 
 Like some unmarked, unwritten page, 
 Half sheltered from approaching night. 
 Nor flush of passion dyes the strand, 
 Nor proud ambition rears its fane. 
 Secure the pale sojourners stand 
 And peacefully survey the main. 
 
 Behind them lie the greener slopes 
 And rugged steeps of youth's desire; 
 The symbols of their ardent hopes. 
 The passage-signs of souls afire. 
 Before them stretch the realms of faith, 
 Across the mist enshrouded sea, 
 Inhabited by friendly wraith, 
 And hallowed by a life to be. 
 — 40 — 
 
UNITY. 
 At midnight on mj' couch I heard 
 The rushing winds go by, 
 As in procession grimly stirred 
 These heralds from the sky. 
 While up and down the branches swung 
 Their weird and shapeless hands, 
 In time with greeting slowly sung 
 To passing aerial bands. 
 
 I slept; and then J heard once more 
 
 The tramping of the storm, 
 
 That woke the echoes from the shore 
 
 Of ocean's spectral form. 
 
 I heard the voices of the deep 
 
 In unison with those 
 
 Of wind and storm that over-sweep 
 
 The world in night's repose. 
 
 Wild seemed the tumult, yet, withal, 
 
 A symphony came sweet 
 
 From out the billows' rise and fall, 
 
 Nor can I e'er repeat 
 
 The matchless melody that rung 
 
 From the a?olian train. 
 
 And moved the somber trees among 
 
 And chorded with the rain. 
 
 Lo! here, I said, in nature's ways 
 Is harmony sublime. 
 
 Through blasts at night and light of days 
 Or shocks of hast'ning time, 
 Is the eternal purpose still. 
 Relating perfectly 
 
 The modes of human course and will 
 With continents and sea. 
 — 41 — 
 
THE PAST. 
 
 On the narrow strip of land, 
 Where we in the present stand, 
 Twixt two oceans, deep and vast, 
 One, the future, one the past; 
 We ai'e prisoners cast away. 
 We are prisoners, and for aye 
 Looking: towards the rosy East, 
 Looking towards the crimson West. 
 We should question not the least. 
 Where; and where, abideth rest? 
 
 In the ocean at our back. 
 Showing naught of sign or track. 
 Without ebb or flow of tide, 
 Shoreless all. and endless wide; 
 In this dim Eternal deep 
 All our loves shall wake, or sleep. 
 All that we have felt or known. 
 In the past shall aye endure, 
 All that we may call our own 
 Resteth there, and is secure. 
 
 Blow, ye blasts; across life's bar. 
 Where our stranded vessels are. 
 Blow from off the future's main; 
 Bearing endless toil's I'efrain, 
 Break upon this bar; O wave 
 Of the future; firm and brave. 
 Yet, thou canst not cross this strip, 
 Second-wide, and frail as mist; 
 Brief as breath from pallid lip, 
 Or the shadow, light has kissed. 
 
 — 42 — 
 
So, a shelter all shall find 
 Where the Verities are kind. 
 Down behind the Isthmus bleak 
 Sink the strong, and sink the weak, 
 And in shoreless Paradise, 
 Built of deathless songs and sighs. 
 Men and nations, thoughts and things 
 Meet and mingle, thus, to be 
 Where the past in triumph sings 
 Through the long Eternity. 
 
 # * « 
 
 SUNTIDE. 
 
 This way the suntide sets, from Southern clime, 
 In-flowing from the springs of time. 
 And floods the brown Earth to its highest hills 
 With liquid life-renewing thrills. 
 
 Higher: higher, with subtle jiulse ajiace, 
 Drowning the lands with mellow grace. 
 Bearing upon its golden breast, the flowers 
 Of prairie plains, and woodland bowers. 
 
 O'erlapping then, the marge of Northern sea, 
 Where wakes no herbage, bird or tree; 
 List; list the crash of Ice-King's crystal throne, 
 And less'ning berg's dull monotone. 
 
 Whelmed in the thermal waves, nature renews 
 Its form of grace, and ruddy lines; 
 Leaving at last with Autumn, far and wide 
 Its fruits, stranded by ebbing tide. 
 — 43 — 
 
LIGHT. 
 
 Beauty thou forever makest, 
 In the world and in the soul, 
 
 And perfection ever wakest, 
 
 Rounding out and making whole. 
 
 Thou dost kindle without number 
 Fires that light the earth and sky; 
 
 Starry orbs that never slumber 
 Speak thy matchless majesty. 
 
 Countless shadows thou hast riven 
 
 With thy colors opulent, 
 And though far the night has driven, 
 
 Yet thy power is still unspent. 
 
 Through the moods of thy dissolving; 
 
 Pulsing circles without end — 
 Mysteries of life are solving; 
 
 Upward, man and all things tend. 
 
 Time in teons comes, to vanish, 
 
 While thou, steadfast, boldest sway, 
 From us, O forever banish 
 Blindness, by thy chemistry. 
 
 — 44 — 
 
THE FUTURE. 
 
 O, the mountains lifting yonder, 
 Through the valley-glooms of Earth! 
 There upon their lofty summits 
 Is where future things have birth. 
 
 Yonder, all our hopes are anchored; 
 Where the purple slopes ascend, 
 Where the soft mirage ideal, 
 All the distant peaks attend. 
 
 Though our lives be filled with darkness, 
 And our souls with sorrow's blight, 
 Oft we look unto the future 
 Where appears no sign of night. 
 
 For the sunshine gilds with glory 
 The imperian far ahead; 
 Leading ever to the longed-for. 
 Whither cherished hope hath sped. 
 
 As the winter, sure returning 
 To perfect the circling year; 
 So we, pass to life's renewal 
 Through the Death-frost and the bier. 
 
 Yet, beyond the stream of Lethe, 
 Still the future vast unfolds. 
 And through cycles without number; 
 Mighty stores of knowledge holds. 
 
 45 — 
 
TWO OLD GRAVES BY THE SEA. 
 
 Upon a ridge of thirsty, shifting sand, 
 
 Two lonely graves are these, 
 Where briny waters meet the barren land, 
 
 And ever wails the breeze. 
 Where distant surf calls unto surf more near, 
 And solemn sounds pervade the atmosphere. 
 
 Two sunken slates still mark the spot where rest 
 
 The wasting forms of men, 
 Who sailed upon the restless ocean's breast 
 
 Its distant isles to ken, 
 And homeward bound, to rough New England coast, 
 Met fogs off Grand Manan — death's dreaded ghost.- 
 
 Old be their graves, yet, when the rising tide 
 
 Creeps up the sandy reach. 
 They gaze upon the waters spreading wide. 
 
 And slowly pace the beach^ 
 I look upon them as they calmly tread 
 The grassless shore, and cannot think them dead. 
 
 Waiting, still watching seaward, who may know 
 
 What hopes still swell each breast, 
 At morn, or noon, or when the sun is low, 
 
 Red'ning the hill-fringed west, 
 What ships may rise to signal them again 
 
 Out of a far, unfathomed, viewless main? 
 
 46 
 
Wing of the Northern gull 
 From which I i)ln<k this quill I 
 
TO A GULL'S WING. 
 
 Wing of the Northern gull, 
 From which I pluck this quill; 
 When wind and waters lull, 
 Thy pulse is almost still. 
 But when the storm-King, grand, 
 Sweeps over sea and land, 
 Thy flight, in circles wide 
 Is fearless 'gainst the tide. 
 
 All day, preceding storm, 
 The sailor's eye doth mark 
 Thy white and swinging form. 
 Above his rolling barque. 
 Far from the stable shore. 
 Strong pinion; thou dost soar; 
 Unmindful how the deep 
 Dark waters roll and leap. 
 
 Thi'ough thee, O, pinion white; 
 My heart doth stronger beat. 
 And brighter grows the light 
 My soul would rise to meet. 
 Through thee, I feel the power. 
 That in the tempest-hour 
 Can nerve the weakest wing 
 Or soul, for conquering. 
 
 — 47 
 
UPLIFTED. 
 
 Last eve how narrow the whole world seemed 
 How common the stars that faintly beamed. 
 The sunset was tame as cloudless noon. 
 All dreary and blank and pale full moon; 
 I slept a dreamless and heavy sleep. 
 And when the night-shades had ceased to keep 
 Vigils o'er moorland valley and hill, 
 I arose in doubt, with weakened will. 
 Blind to the beauties of sovereign day. 
 Deaf to the warblers of sweetest lay. 
 
 The fair day lengthened till shadows crept 
 Out of the forest where they had slept 
 Through the hot mid-day, and fields all bare 
 Glowed with a harvest that sickles spare. 
 A change passed o'er me. an astral shower 
 Uplifted my soul on wings of power; 
 And harvests untouched by laboring swain 
 Smiled on the bosom of Fancy's plain; 
 Waved in the branches of fruitless tree. 
 And southerly winds were ripe, for me. 
 
 There's a world mid-way 'twixt life and death, 
 We enter on dream's enchanting breath; 
 It lies unbounded by substance kno\NTi, 
 Is filled with flowers that once have grown 
 Low under our feet on common clay. 
 And harvests of fruits, of grain and hay. 
 In years agone are ^le^e revealed — 
 Ah, long do they lie from us concealed — 
 Unshorn by sickle, untouched by time, 
 They bear the beauties of every clime. 
 — 48 — 
 
And so I entered that mystic state; 
 
 My doubts now vanished, with all their weight; 
 
 Freshness and beauty were everywhere; 
 
 Fields seemed limitless, woodlands most fair; 
 
 I climbed the hillside through pasture lands 
 
 Where the view of vale and plain expands; 
 
 By a singing brook I loitered long, 
 
 And drew this lesson from its low song: 
 
 "However lowly thy lot may be. 
 
 Have courage, and smile and sing, like me. 
 
 "Though r-ugged and rough the mountain's side. 
 
 With tireless song I onward glide; 
 
 The brambles are dense and roots are strong. 
 
 Dark are the forests, the way is long. 
 
 Still to the ocean I seek my way 
 
 Through darkness of night and glare of day; 
 
 'Neath shackles of frost and winter's snow, 
 
 Through wilderness wastes I whirl and flow, 
 
 Onward forever, the sea doth draw 
 
 All rivers and streams by tractive law." 
 
 The influence strong of ocean wide. 
 Far up the river to mountain side, 
 Through nature's habit we surely find, 
 However the stream may curve and wind. 
 With man abiding, this law holds good, 
 And through all nature the fatherhood 
 Of God approacheth and holds its sway 
 In every mortal through hidden way; 
 Infinite goodness man thoughtless seeks, 
 Natural as ocean is sought by creeks. 
 
 49 
 
The rune of the brook I dream today 
 Is the roar of the ocean far away; 
 Its tuneful waves on a tiny bar 
 The song of a sturdy mariner; 
 The pattering leap from rock to rock 
 Swells into wildest breakers' shock, 
 And moss-banks rising up from its rim 
 Are rocky headlands, distant and dim; 
 I see the glancing, silvery stream, 
 Broad as the endless sea of my dream. 
 
 I listlessly rock on swelling surge 
 
 While bending o'er the pebbled verge; 
 
 Strange distant islands lands purple with haze, — 
 
 The leaves on the shoals of plastic clays; — 
 
 Full many a ship completely manned 
 
 Sails down the brook to my dream's fair strand. 
 
 As beetle or fly go hastening past, 
 
 With bark for a ship, and twig for mast, 
 
 The life of the sea is in each stream, 
 
 And worlds grow larger when mortals dream. 
 
 Better the idle dreams of an hour, 
 
 If they lift the soul above the lower 
 
 Of doubt and distrust, of strife and pain; 
 
 Than a thousand years for worldly gain. 
 
 Fancy is better that selfish strife. 
 
 Soaring is better than plodding life; 
 
 Dreaming is profit and doth reveal 
 
 The universal, unchanging seal 
 
 Of wisdom, that stamps each passing day 
 
 With a potency, a living ray. 
 
 50 
 
AUTUMN TEXT. 
 
 The fall-tide overlaps the hill, 
 And mellow days distill their wine, 
 Fields in the valley, ripe and still. 
 Through leagues of haze but dimly shine, 
 October hath a pensive mood; 
 Her subtle frost's lethean touch 
 A spell doth cast upon the wood, 
 That fills its aisles with solitude. 
 
 Mark now, the slow decreasing beat 
 Of nature's pulse through every scene. 
 O'er-strewn with leaves in close retreat. 
 The brook frets onward neath the sheen 
 Of rose-warm skies, the stir of wings 
 Amid the half-bare branches, raise 
 Belated birds from hidden springs 
 And tell of southward journeyings. 
 
 O, Sabbath spell, of all the year! 
 Sweet fall the echo's through thy breath. 
 Though woods and fields are growing sear, 
 Such, surely, are not signs of death. 
 Transmuted to the realm of thought, 
 Thy palsied scenes burst into bloom; 
 And stretch (with fairest prospects frought) 
 Where sleety storms and frosts come not. 
 
 Though dropping leaf in whispers sad 
 A prophecy of winter makes, 
 It falls to make the world more glad 
 When nature from its sleep awakes. 
 The blush of roses, pink and red, 
 — 51 — 
 
(Though vanished from such tender form) 
 Still lingers in the sky outspread, 
 When flowers fade, and birds have fled. 
 
 And so in life's eternal round 
 There is no loss of good or truth, 
 From pale endurance, thought shall bound 
 Unto the clear quick brain of youth. 
 There shall it grow in broader light 
 Than rests on stranded, wasting things; 
 Revealing colors strong and bright, 
 Uplifted to a common sight. 
 
 The journeyings to spring are ours, 
 From waning warmth of sun to May — 
 From nakedness to regal bowers 
 Each soul doth wing its destined way. 
 Not aimless do our seasons ply 
 Their endless changes, drear and fair; 
 But spur the better thought to try 
 More splendid voyages bye and bye. 
 
 THOUGHT. 
 
 Thought is the light'ning of the soul. 
 That flashes on the way, 
 (Where sullen clouds of life unroll) 
 With penetrating ray. 
 
 So is the murky night of time 
 Cleansed of its ignorance. 
 And destiny unfolds, sublime, 
 In hope's undimmed expanse. 
 — 52 — 
 
PERFECTION. 
 
 Each, perfect of its kind, 
 Fulfils the law; 
 Nature's eternal work 
 Betrays no flaw. 
 
 * # * 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 A song for bleak November, 
 Whose bounding breezes chill, 
 
 Sigh through the naked forests, 
 And sweep the browning hill. 
 
 A song for hoary thistles 
 
 And leaf -banks, sear and grim; 
 
 For unmasked brooks and heathlands 
 And pools where wild duck skim. 
 
 Deserted nests still clinging 
 In friendly stunted thorn, 
 
 And creaking reeds akimbo 
 
 'Mong withered stalks of corn. 
 
 Make melancholy music, 
 
 Like ghosts of Adrain's hall, 
 
 And bow their doubtful welcome 
 To Winter's gathering pall. 
 
 53 
 
NEW YEAR. 
 
 Hush, hush, the year is born, 
 We stand upon the threshold of a realm untried; 
 
 Again descends a morn 
 Which prophesies and sings midst winter's frosty tide. 
 
 Go from the city's din 
 To where the naked woodlands skirt the frozen stream, 
 
 There summer 's gentle kin 
 Stir in their semi-sleep, thrilled with a sweet new 
 dream. 
 
 If thou wouldst hear the song. 
 Divine the dream; seek nature and her circling train 
 
 Of seasons, endless, strong. 
 Awake, look up, like flowers after snow and rain. 
 
 * * * 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 'Tis night, becalmed like sleep of death. 
 Deep, strangely mute, nor sigh, nor breath 
 Doth stir the mystery profound; 
 Whose veil of shadow folds around 
 
 All but the stars, 
 Alike its benedictions fall 
 O'er vale and hill, and traffic hall, 
 
 Soothing all jars. 
 
 Dost love the day, and deem its power 
 More worthy than the vesper hour? 
 Yield, man! and lay thy work aside; 
 Peace will be thine, while shadows hide 
 
 Earth's offerings. 
 Haste not, O, soft-robed night, but stay! 
 O'er-shadowing the pomp of day 
 
 With thy broad wings. 
 — 54 — 
 
POEMS OF SENTIMENT. 
 
LIFE. • 
 
 I know not really what thou art, 
 
 But know O life! we cannot part; 
 
 Death's curtain does not fall between 
 
 My sight and that on which I lean. 
 
 By law united, we shall be 
 
 United thus eternally! 
 
 Nor beat of heart, nor thought, nor breath, 
 
 Nor thou, dear life, art lost in death, 
 
 The body, which doth waste and die! 
 
 It is not thou, it is not I; 
 
 I am the center, thou the shield. 
 
 We are devinely linked and sealed. 
 
 Where thou wouldst go, I sure am there. 
 
 And whether "night or morning," share 
 
 With thee sorrows and tears, or birth 
 
 Into the glories not of Earth. 
 
 * « * 
 
 TRUTH. 
 Eternal truth, whose laws encompasseth 
 The soul, the body and the fleeting breath, 
 Our lisping tongues can never hope to tell 
 From whence proceeds thy everlasting spell. 
 
 Love? Thou art love! thou art its power and grace, 
 Thou dost endow with light, the beaming face, 
 In passing cloud, and in the sunset fair. 
 Or, in the deepest night, we feel thee there. 
 
 O, passive truth, unyielding, awful, grand, 
 At last thou bring'st the tribes of every land 
 To know thee well, and wisdom giveth all, 
 Else death would be, and make of life a pall. 
 •Answer to "Life," by Mrs. A. R. Barbauld. 
 — 57 — 
 
THE WALTZERS. 
 
 Sounds of revelry awaken 
 The slow pulses of the night, 
 And the slumbering air is shaken 
 By the tread of dancers light, 
 Swell the varied chords sonorous, 
 As the gliding waltzers swing, 
 And a sweet nocturnal chorus 
 Steals abroad on stately wing. 
 
 There's a movement like the ocean 
 Sounding on its endless rim. 
 And the grace inspired motion 
 Of each shadow dark or dim 
 Wakes the heart to action stronger, 
 Casts its burdens all away. 
 For the soul can pine no longer, 
 Where such revel holds its sway. 
 
 As though by Apollo haunted. 
 Glide the waltzers pair by pair, 
 'Till the place seems all enchanted 
 By the spirits of the air. 
 Circle into circle enters 
 Like the fancies of a dream, 
 And their swift dissolving centers 
 Pass like ripples o'er a stream. 
 
 They who tread the mystic measure 
 Heed not how the moments speed. 
 For, its all-absorbing pleasure 
 Fills the soul for every need. 
 And through music's mellow mazes, 
 Led by sweet concording powers, 
 — 58 — 
 
Every heart doth sing its praises 
 Unto pleasure-brimming hours. 
 
 Chide them not, O, ye who sadly 
 
 Look upon the festal play, 
 
 Though they chase and whirl so madly. 
 
 And the moments fling away, 
 
 Youth and strength, and love and beauty 
 
 Are for naught and worthless here. 
 
 If they mean but sober duty, 
 
 Without heart inspiring cheer. 
 
 When the music is forever . 
 
 Hushed, that thrills young hearts to-night, 
 
 And the grave shall rudely sever 
 
 Life from form, and form from sight, 
 
 There will be a glad reunion, 
 
 In a brighter, grander hall, 
 
 And the bonds of blessed communion 
 
 Will unite the waltzers all. 
 
 * * * 
 
 SUMMEELAND. 
 
 Land of perpetual flowers! 
 
 Thy fragrant breath I feel. 
 O land, from thy fresh bowers 
 
 What power comes to heal! 
 
 No frosts e'er touch the bloom 
 
 Eternal on thy shore; 
 No clouds e'er cast their gloom 
 
 On hills that stretch before. 
 
 — 59 — 
 
O land! the waves that reach 
 Thy low white mystic strand, 
 
 Make music on the beach 
 Sweeter than seraph band. 
 
 My soul grows hopeful, strong; 
 
 'Waked by thy prospects fair; 
 And so, repeats the song 
 
 That thrills thy hallowed air. 
 
 # * * 
 
 AMBITION. 
 
 A burning fever of the mind, 
 Illusive phantom, stubborn, blind, 
 It plants the soul with poison weeds; 
 And sows the world with sorrows seeds, 
 Accursed thing ambition is. 
 That fills our life with miseries, 
 
 To genius, it is pall and blight, 
 To duty, it is ruin's night, 
 It strangles honor, and the good. 
 Dethroning man and womanhood; 
 It shuns no measure, mean or base, 
 Whereby to gain the sought-for place. 
 
 Disease of nation civilized! 
 Nothing should be so little prized. 
 Nor love, nor pride, nor trembling fear 
 Should wait upon ambition's bier, 
 When he lies dead and ever still; 
 No more to rule, command, or will. 
 
 — 60 — 
 
SPPRIT OF HUMANITY. 
 
 To be iinselfisb in both tbougbt and deed, 
 
 Forgetful of no good, 
 And e'er responsive to anotber's need 
 
 Of love, or hope, or food; 
 Be strong of will, to eballange wrong 'gainst those 
 
 Of weak defense, and swift 
 To step before the tyrant's heartless blows. 
 
 His slaves to shield and lift. 
 To blame not those who fall, misfortune's prey, 
 
 Nor censure they who trip. 
 Such be the spirit that controls alway, 
 
 The thought, the hand, the lip 
 Of him who feels and lives humanity, 
 
 And knows full well the worth 
 Of throbbing hearts, and struggling souls at sea 
 
 Upon this grim old earth. 
 
 * * * 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 What makes the mists aglow with light. 
 Or star-gleams through deep sorrow's night; 
 Or yet, the intimations fair 
 Of hope's fulfillment, wildly rare? 
 
 What flushed extravagance is this. 
 That reckless, brews the wine of bliss; 
 And pours into each melting hour 
 The subtle draughts of life and power? 
 
 O, is it not a master wand 
 Distilling virtues, pure and grand? 
 Methinks 'tis love; that hightest goal. 
 And sweetest perfume of the soul. 
 — 61 — 
 
MARGXJERITE. 
 
 Sing of Greek, or Albion daughters; 
 Of the faces fair and sweet, 
 But I know of one who's fairer. 
 And her name is Marguerite. 
 
 Not a face severely classic, 
 Such as crowd the halls of art, 
 Surely hers hath softer lighting; 
 Eadiance from a noble heart. 
 
 Yes, the poet well might ponder, 
 And in rhythms seek to trace 
 To their varied subtle sources. 
 All the natures of her grace. 
 
 In her life, the breath of summer 
 Lingers with the winter's chill. 
 And the ripples of a fountain 
 Meet an ocean, deep and still. 
 
 Sober Autumn, ripe and mellow, 
 Wreaths in harvest gold her brow. 
 While through all this wealth seem stealing, 
 Perfumes from the Springtime's bough. 
 
 Music, of the gliding measure. 
 Threads its way through martial strain, 
 Hopeful chords of courage speaking. 
 Mingle with the sad refrain. 
 
 Aye, within her life completed; 
 Strong in contrast yet subdued; 
 
 — 62 — 
 
Opposites in nature's phases, 
 Balance find in sweetest mood. 
 
 Pure and modest as a flower, 
 Firm in action, true and just. 
 Sympathies in broadest measure, 
 And a soul that keeps its trust. 
 
 Sing of Greek, or Albion daughters; 
 Of the faces fair and sweet, 
 But I know of one who's fairer. 
 And her name is Marguerite. 
 
 * # * 
 
 SOLDIERS' MEMORIAL. 
 
 Lowly their forms are laid 
 
 On sunny hill, in woodland shade, 
 
 Deep in the tent of rest. 
 
 All silently upon the breast 
 
 Of Earth they lie; 
 
 Beneath the summer sky. 
 
 The bugle's blast no more 
 
 Shall call them where the volleys pour. 
 
 Nor break the stillness where. 
 
 Armored in dust, alike they share. 
 
 With lethal breath, 
 
 The comradship of Death. 
 
 The flow'ry wreaths we bring; 
 While songs of memory gladly ring 
 Our thoughts of gratitude, 
 And o'er the scene all gently brood 
 Their spirits bright, 
 Free from the battle's blight. 
 — 63 — 
 
THE WATCH. 
 I watch far down upon the dreary headlands of life's 
 
 stormy coast; 
 Albeit, men declare the light, and of our civil sunrise 
 
 boast. 
 The atmosphere is heavy with the dun robes of 
 
 hypocricy 
 That bar the light of truth from us as fogs shut out 
 
 the light of day. 
 
 Hopeful, I watch! for hope alone can measure the dark 
 distance, spread 
 
 With ruin wrought by selfishness, by greed and shrink- 
 ing dread 
 
 That lies between the awful wastes of our relentless 
 savagery 
 
 And the sweet morn of "Peace on Earth," in that (but 
 dreamed) fair yet to be. 
 
 * * * 
 
 GOD'S PEOPHECY. 
 
 Last eve, at sunset when the twilight came, 
 
 I saw a mighty belt of light 
 Stretch far athwart a sky devoid of flame; 
 
 And deeply piled with clouds of night. 
 
 No tongue ought venture to a theme so great; 
 
 And yet, I said, "God prophesies." 
 Across the background of man's wars and hate, 
 
 Dim with the wrongs of centuries; 
 With shaft of light. Omniscience points the way 
 
 Through still unfathomed mists of life; 
 To where shall dawn for man, unclouded day. 
 
 Born of a love that knows not strifie. 
 — 64 — 
 
IROQUOIS' BURIAL. 
 
 The moon bad set in the cold grey west, 
 
 And the early dawn was dim: 
 When they laid her low in the mound to rest, 
 
 With plaintive chant and hymn. 
 Around them stood, with their great forms bowed, 
 
 And with silence wrapped about; 
 The sturdy oaks, and the pines high browed, 
 
 All passive and devout. 
 
 Then spake the chief, with his dark head bare; 
 
 "We have gathered here my braves, 
 To guide the soul of Oleta fair, 
 
 Free from this land of graves. 
 The Great wSpirit calls, his voice is deep, 
 
 We must wish her here no more; 
 Though our hearts be sad, and we must weep. 
 
 Let us speed her on before." 
 
 "Let go the bird* : and its flight shall guide 
 
 Oleta's spirit through the wood: 
 O'er the dim waters, stormy and wide, 
 
 To where our warrior spirits, good, 
 Wait for her coming, their council talk. 
 
 Let go the bird and watch its flight. 
 It shall pass the fierce swift sparrow-hawk, 
 
 Out towards the fading gloom of night." 
 
 *Tt Is said of the Iroquois, and otiier Eastern tribes, 
 tliat a feature of the burial ceremony, was that of freeing 
 a bird over the grave, that It might guide the spirit of the 
 deceased to the "happy hunting-grounds." 
 
 — 65 — 
 
"The radiant hills of yonder land 
 
 Shall hold the echoes of her voice, 
 She soon will join our increasing band, 
 
 In hunting-grounds where all rejoice. 
 With light canoe she will part the spray 
 
 Of crystal rivers, deep and clear; 
 Or, far in the forest shadows stray 
 
 And trail the fawn, without a fear." 
 
 "When parching heat of the summer noon 
 
 Shall cease, along yon purple vale: 
 And from the heights, the autumnal moon 
 
 Sheds o'er the wigwam's, silver pale: 
 From yonder land she will journey back, 
 
 A message bearer from our dead. 
 Her spirit takes the Eternal track, 
 
 Now, from its cage the bird has sped." 
 
 * * * 
 
 TO OUR FLAG. 
 Flag of the patriot-souls of our fathers; 
 
 Flag of our country, for freedom unfurled; 
 Still thou dost float as liberty's beacon, 
 
 O'er the rich plains of the great western world. 
 
 Born from the deeps of relentless oppression; 
 
 Flower of truth, with thy magical glow, 
 Stir us again with the patriot spirit, 
 
 Truer than any that monarchies know. 
 
 O, when the dark clouds of war hovered over; 
 
 When treason assailed, in hatred and scorn, 
 A million brave men stepped swift to thy shadow, 
 
 A million true women of love's dream were shorn. 
 
 — 66 — 
 
Yet, out from the smoke of the battle have risen 
 Stars that are new, on the blue of thy plain; 
 
 May never they dim in mists of contention 
 May never they set in darkness again. 
 
 Symbol of progress, inspire our people 
 
 With love, that will stand for justice and right, 
 
 For brotherhood's law and human advancement. 
 Still onward and up, the future to light. 
 
 Dost thou, with all thy white stars, still assure us 
 That tyranny's ban shall never have place 
 
 Under these skies that so kindly bend o'er us, 
 In the fair lands that are ruled by thy grace? 
 
 Then wave, noble banner, on winds that respond 
 
 With power that raised thee through heroes and fire; 
 Spread forth thy broad wings o'er thy sons and thy 
 daughters, 
 And lead them upward to truths that are higher. 
 
 * * # 
 
 WILL HE WANDER BACK? 
 Will he wander back some day, some day. 
 From the land of dreams, the land of sleep; 
 And, parting again the curling spray 
 Of the unseen tides that 'round us sweep; 
 Will he kiss my cheek and grasp my hand? 
 O, will he speak from that hidden land? 
 
 Some day, dear heart, he will wander back 
 From the land of dreams, the land of sleep, 
 And, taking again the misty track 
 That winds to the river, broad and deep, 
 He will cross, and you will hear him speak; 
 He will grasp your hand and kiss your cheek. 
 — 67 — 
 
WINTER AT GETTYSBURG. 
 
 I am crossing the line to the cold white camp, 
 In physical armour, no picket confronts me, 
 I see not the gleaming of fires or lamp; 
 Though a stillness like night hangs over and haunts 
 me. 
 
 The cannon is silent, no more in these hills 
 Shall war's desolution break forth in wild clashes, 
 The form of a hero, each shallow trench fills; 
 But his spirit is free from the mildewed ashes. 
 
 Drift over them gently, and over them deep 
 Ye snows of December, while nature reposes. 
 They heed not our winter (O, why do we weep); 
 They care not that summer has gone with its roses. 
 
 Drift tenderly over the mounds on this hill, 
 Fill up the dark furrows, and fallen leaves cover, 
 Raise up your white barracks, protecting them still, 
 (The patriots) brother, and husband, and lover. 
 
 They vanished like dew 'neath a desert's hot blast, 
 
 (I need not recite here the desolate story) 
 
 So, softly around them, a benison cast. 
 
 Each sodden tent mantle with emblems of glory. 
 
 * * * 
 
 BEYOND. 
 Beyond the lines of mortal sense. 
 The flowing tides of providence 
 Waft onward every good desire 
 To sweet fulfillment, through the fire 
 Of loss appear new promises, 
 And from decay new things arise. 
 
 — 68 — 
 
(). then, who dreaiiKMl of a tempest. 
 Of a bleak and lockv shore? 
 
A BOAT AND BROKEN OAR. 
 
 I sing you a song of billows 
 That break on a rugged shore, 
 Of a clouded sky and tempest, 
 Of a boat and broken oar. 
 So, hush; and list to the sobbing 
 Of tides as they come and go; 
 They weary not, eternally, 
 Of rocking, solemn and slow. 
 
 I sing of a ship sea-worthy, 
 
 And fleet as a long-winged bird, 
 
 Of a crew of hardy sailors. 
 
 Who laughed when the deep was stirred, 
 
 Who sang, when the sails were filling 
 
 In the forest-sheltered bay, 
 
 With breezes fair as e'er came out 
 
 On the mighty sea to play. 
 
 O, then, who dreamed of a tempest, 
 Of a bleak and rocky shore? 
 Or of waves, that coldly whisper. 
 Of the hearts that beat no more? 
 Who dreamed that e'er the soft twilight 
 Of evening should scarce be flown, 
 The rushing of storm would mingle 
 With the sailor's dying groan? 
 
 Alas, alas for the sobbing 
 Of tides, as they come and go, 
 They weary not, eternally. 
 Of rocking solemn and slow. 
 And slowly they rise, in telling 
 To a dark and rugged shore, 
 — 69 — 
 
TO COLORADO. 
 
 (First to adopt equal suffrage for Women). 
 Well (lone! sons of the sun-kissed state! 
 To suffrage grant our gentler kind, 
 In breaking down the prisoning gate 
 Of old dogmatic rule and grind. 
 
 O, people loyal to the truth, 
 In justice balance cast and weighed, 
 Thou lendest now thy strength and youth 
 To progress, much too long delayed. 
 
 We hail thee; crowned with righteous deed. 
 The stalwart race whose love of right 
 Beams like a star through fogs of creed. 
 Or beacons, set amidst our night. 
 
 Like thine own mountains, thou dost reach 
 O state, above our selfishness, 
 And through thy people's voice doth teach 
 The law that should the whole world bless. 
 
 Shame on all men who claim the right 
 To bar the way to equal place — 
 Of woman with her clearer sight, 
 Without a blush of deep disgrace. 
 
 The beast in man is still at war 
 With higher sense of love and law, 
 Yet comes the day when he no more 
 Such lines of selfishness will draw. 
 
 — 71 — 
 
Bright Colorado, as tliy name, 
 
 The page of history thou hast made. 
 
 It flashes up a cleansing flame, 
 
 A sword of truth, a pruning blade. 
 
 Lead on, O, broad, bright people, lead; 
 For as thy mountains crown the land, 
 (Pirst to respect our woman's need.) 
 Crown of the century thou dost stand. 
 
 * * * 
 
 JUNE TEXT. 
 Month of the million shuttled loom; 
 Swift, yet in silence weaving 
 The circlets green, and crowns of bloom, 
 O'er cottage porch and vaulted tomb; 
 Thou hast no sign of grieving. 
 
 Then why should we despairing, grieve 
 At changes in life's pattern. 
 That come anon as swift we weave; 
 For soon or late, we shall retrieve 
 (Like thee) the waste of Saturn. 
 
 And then shall bloom within the heart. 
 The flowers of youth Eternal ; — 
 No more to be of death a part, 
 Or goal of winter's snowy dart, — 
 In blossom-lands, supernal. 
 
OLD BATTLE FLAG. 
 
 Flag of our nation; thou hast kept 
 Liberty's pledge on sea and land, 
 Those who, in chains of slavery wept, 
 Stretched to thee the sable hand, 
 
 And thou didst heed them, thou didst save 
 For Columbia's hosts so brave 
 Fought beneath thy shadowing fold; 
 E'er we thought to call thee old. 
 
 Flag of our fathers, may it be 
 Sign of broadest liberty. 
 Cherished alike by all who tell 
 Stories of its magic spell. 
 
 « * * 
 
 VISITORS. 
 
 They come! they come! 
 The shadowing forms, 
 Across the wastes of night, 
 And the soul awakes, 
 And glows and warms. 
 Before those phantoms white. 
 
 They come I they come! 
 On aeriel wings. 
 To shores of sense and time, 
 And the doubtful heart 
 Takes hope, and sings 
 Its song of truth sublime. 
 
 — 73 — 
 
TRUE LOVE EVER LIVES. 
 
 Under rainbows, you and I, 
 Trod, one day, a pathway bright, 
 From fair flowers the butterfly 
 Spread its gauzy wings in flight. 
 Fragrant air from bloom distilled, 
 All the groves and meadows filled. 
 
 On our left and right were strewn 
 Unbound sheaves of golden wheat. 
 And the path was overgrown 
 Near the wood, with roses sweet. 
 In the copse beside the lane, 
 Softly sang the thrushes twain. 
 
 From our thoughts had flown all care. 
 Nature's trance upon us fell; 
 And we, loving, loitered there. 
 (Every heart its dreams will tell. 
 If another, less intense, 
 Shows a proper confidence.) 
 
 Doubting not that either would, 
 In the years slow passing by, 
 Ever be less understood, 
 Much we trusted, you and I, 
 And the warblers seemed to say, 
 "Life is all a holiday." 
 
 Now the snow is on the hill, 
 
 Frosts have seared the summer flowers, 
 
 And a spirit, dread and chill, 
 
 — 74 — 
 
Haunts the winter ruined bowers; 
 Garnered are the yellow sheaves, 
 And the rose has shed its leaves. 
 
 Butterfly with neverless wings 
 In the hollow hearted thorn 
 By a death attraction clings, 
 And its sleep will have no morn, 
 Summer loves and butterflies 
 Die beneath the winter skies. 
 
 Seasons come and seasons go, 
 But true love grows never less, 
 Winter hurls his darts of snow, 
 Summer dons her flow'ry dress, 
 Yet, the soul from these apart, 
 Rules the action of the heart. 
 
 Give me, then the love that warms 
 'Neath the adverse strokes of fate, 
 That, unyielding 'mid life's storms, 
 Proves its power as truly great; 
 Such is not of place or clime. 
 And outlasts the shocks of time. 
 
 * * * 
 
 TRANSMUTATION. 
 
 Out of the dregs of sorrow 
 Out of the throes of pain 
 Burst the blooms of tomorrow 
 Arise the things that were slain. 
 
 75 
 
LIBERTY. 
 
 Out from the heart Eternal, 
 
 With movement slow, sublime, 
 I heard a deep voice, echo 
 
 Along the shore of time. 
 No wavering accent struggled 
 
 With ought of earth or air. 
 For, through the realms of Nature 
 
 Was freedom, everywhere. 
 
 My soul was filled with gladness; 
 
 With boundless hope and peace, 
 I said: "This voice is Holy 
 
 And may it never cease." 
 I turned unto my brother. 
 
 And asked if he, too, heard 
 The splendid revibration 
 
 Of that exalting word. 
 
 But lo ! he looked up sadly. 
 
 With questioning sincere, 
 His face was stamped with slavery 
 
 And apprehensive fear. 
 He did not hear nor feel it — 
 
 The sound that came to me — 
 The note that thrilled with power: 
 
 The voice of Liberty. 
 
 With words he made no answer. 
 But pointed to the domes 
 
 That rose througout the city: 
 Of mammon's palace homes. 
 
 I caught the subtle meaning 
 All silent in his heart, 
 
 — 76 — 
 
And knew that man could never 
 With liberty have part. 
 
 Until, all rule abolished, 
 
 All statutes set aside, 
 The ''golden law" adopted: 
 
 He by such law abide. 
 When justice springs spontaneous. 
 
 Unchecked by selfishness; 
 Then, with the truest freedom 
 
 The law of love will bless. 
 
 Then, from the heart Eternal 
 
 With movement slow, sublime: 
 Peace with its benediction 
 
 Will light the wings of time, 
 And, out of sin and sorrow, 
 
 Released from error's ban, 
 Shall rise a mighty future. 
 
 With liberty for man. 
 
 THE YEAR IS NEW. 
 (Inscribed to my Wife.) 
 
 Dearest; the year is new. 
 And the roses silent sleep, 
 But the hearts that are most true 
 All their vows of love will keep. 
 
 Though snows are deep, 
 
 Still, love will keep. 
 Though the roses fade and wither, 
 Love survives the stormy weather, 
 
 — 77 — 
 
And its fires still keep bui'iiing. 
 And the soul renews its yearning 
 Howsoe'er the seasons run. 
 
 Dearest; the year is new 
 And its harvests are to grow, 
 We ai-e drinking of life's rue, 
 Barren fields, in pain we sow. 
 
 Yet, green will grow 
 
 The fields we sow, 
 Not in vain this painful sowing, 
 For. the seed in silence growing. 
 Bursts anon its gloomy prison, 
 And — as other forms have risen, 
 Thus, puts forth the flower and fruit. 
 
 Dearest; the year is new, 
 But its music now so slow. 
 Soon will shake the honey — dew 
 From the summer's loaded bough. 
 
 From world of gloom 
 
 To world of bloom. 
 Thus, the miracle of living 
 Comes by what the soul is giving. 
 Love, its winter-vigils keeping 
 Prophesies a joyful reaping. 
 And fulfills its holv trust. 
 
 — 78 — 
 
VETERANS' MEMORIAL. 
 
 Once more the bright perennials bloom upon the 
 sodded hero graves, 
 
 Once more the rusty muskets boom, and starry baimer 
 lightly waves. 
 
 The veterans marching down the lanes advance with 
 labored, halting tread, 
 
 The glory of the battle wanes, and mounds with flow- 
 ers are garlanded. 
 
 Their less'ning numbers, aged and grey, file past, this 
 fair Memorial Day. 
 
 Along the crowded avenue, like hoary ghosts of youth- 
 ful pride. 
 
 The shattered guardians of the blue, swing feebly on, 
 with measured stride. 
 
 Oh grant that when they too have passed through 
 portals of the yet to be; 
 
 Beyond the reach of battle blast into the dim Eternity, 
 
 Some kindly hand with bloom and bay will deck their 
 graves Memorial Day. 
 
 — 79 
 
POEMS OF NATURE. 
 
•'I gathered them where the grev mew cal 
 On the shore of the siren sea." 
 
NATTIIIE. 
 The mystery of it all 
 
 Comes in bud and bloom from Spring to Fall; 
 The sear leaf and snow from Fall to Spring; 
 And through it all the measured swing 
 Of time, and night and sun, 
 With the endless chain of moments 
 That so unceasing run. 
 
 * * * 
 
 SHELLS. 
 I gathered them where the grey mew calls, 
 On the shore of the siren sea, 
 Where the damp mist and sunshine falls, 
 Where the surf rims out from the lea. 
 
 I gather them when the storm had passed, 
 With its mutterings deep and grim. 
 When the light broke forth o'er the waters vast, 
 And the crags were reflected dim. 
 
 In the sounding throat of evened rocks, 
 After the tide had slipt away. 
 When the shore-surf with its deafening shocks 
 Had left the nooks of circling bay. 
 
 I gathered them, on the steaming sand; 
 Their rainbow hues were upward cast, 
 A glowing line on the bleaching strand 
 After the fury of the blast. 
 
 And so, I bring them with wash of waves 
 From the shore of the siren sea, 
 With the hollow echoes of the caves, 
 And the cry of gulls o'er the lea. 
 — 83 — 
 
APRIL'S MOODS. 
 
 The fleecy cloud is moving slow, 
 
 Across the sapphire spaces; 
 Its shadow on the Earth below, 
 
 O'er hill and valley races. 
 
 Who doubts that we are nearing May 
 Through devious turns of weather; 
 
 When sunny hours, and cloudy day 
 Are all mixed up together? 
 
 The crow is calling from the grove 
 Where under-shrubs are budding, 
 
 And bees again begin to rove. 
 
 While streams, their banks are flooding. 
 
 The ant runs up and down the stalk 
 Of last year's bane, or thistle. 
 
 And builds its barracks by the walk. 
 Where grass begins to bristle. 
 
 To thickets dense the frost retreats. 
 And south-slopes warm are growing; 
 
 The pulse of life more quickly beats. 
 For winds more soft are blowing. 
 
 The golden glint on purple woods. 
 And veil of fleeting showers. 
 
 Express in perfect way, the moods 
 That pass through April's bowers. 
 
 — 84 
 
Thou bi'ingest the odor of bright green sedges, 
 And voices of brooding brant and crane. 
 
THE NORTH WIND. 
 
 Bearing morn's perfume from the fields of clover 
 To assuage the fevered pulse of man, 
 Bringing notes from distant wailing plover; 
 And from meadow blackbirds' noisy clan. 
 
 Swinging the boughs where nests are not deserted, 
 Gentl}^ and in rhythmic rise and fall; 
 Measured with silvery voice concerted 
 (Answer to the golden-robin's call.) 
 
 Lifting the hairbells on their stalks so slender, 
 Swaying hedges twixt the fields of corn, 
 Breath of clouds and Summer's northern splendor; 
 In what land mysterious wert thou born? 
 
 Didst come from Huron, or Superior's vastness? 
 From wave-gnawed cavern or island bank? 
 Was't thou born in some primeval fastness; 
 Where tamaracks stand, solemn, close and rank? 
 
 Thou bringest the odor of bright green sedges 
 And voices of brooding brant and crane; 
 That camp upon the wild, lonely edges 
 Of marsh wastes, and wat'ry portage chain. 
 
 And so, methinks that southward thou hast traveled, 
 Through the grey still hours of the night. 
 And thus to many a leaf unraveled. 
 The deep secrets of thy birth and flight. 
 
 85 — 
 
FIELDS OF CORN. 
 
 Solemnly whisper, and feelingly sigh, 
 Under the heat of the midsummer sky, 
 Gracefully bowing to rise in the breeze, 
 Like motion of waves on the breast of seas. 
 
 Toss up your arms, oh ye cereline hosts, 
 And mimic the weird, grim play of the ghosts; 
 Odorous, tender and dewy at morn. 
 Rich are thy banners, broad fields of the com. 
 
 Solemnly standing through autumn's still days 
 In the wide valleys so purple with haze. 
 Dry and unbendingly, stiff, and austere, 
 Picture so desolate, closing the year. 
 
 Yet, thou art bountiful, giving thy gold, 
 Greater in value than any have told; — 
 Picturesque still, in the wintery morn 
 Are the dim rows in the fields of the com. 
 
 * * * 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 When tints of russet blur the plain, 
 
 And silver mists, all undisturbed, 
 Stretch through the spaces far amain; 
 
 When summer's spreading vines are curbed 
 And flare their fires along the stream, 
 
 Like burning spheres of some weird dream. 
 
 Then do I know October rests 
 
 The loom of change upon the land. 
 
 And weaves the gorgeous-colored crests 
 Of blushing shrubs on every hand, 
 
 And plies with Nature's subtle skill, 
 The shuttles of her mystery still. 
 
INDIAN SUMMEE. 
 
 Let poets sing 
 
 Of budding Spring, 
 
 And "ode" the summer roses, 
 
 I tune my lays 
 
 To Autumn days, 
 
 As fair October closes. 
 
 Though fashions scorn 
 The golden corn 
 
 That yonder valleys cover. 
 Of honest fields 
 Which labor yeilds, 
 
 I am an ardent lover. 
 When sleety rains 
 Have swept the plains, 
 
 And cleared the skies of trouble, 
 I love to trace 
 The rustic grace 
 
 Of browning woods and stubble. 
 The lazy nod 
 Of goldenrod, 
 
 As pales its yellow lustre. 
 The serpentine 
 Suspended vine, 
 
 With many a scarlet cluster. 
 
 The broken gleams 
 Of pasture streams 
 
 Through leafless thorn and thistle. 
 The echo bounds 
 Of varied sounds, 
 
 The quail with shrilly whistle. 
 
 — 87 — 
 
The call of crow, 
 And distant low 
 
 Of heather ranging cattle, 
 The bugle strains 
 Of feathered trains, 
 
 That move in lines of battle. 
 
 The dizzy whirr, 
 And throbbing stir 
 
 Of strutting partridge-drummer, 
 Such sights and sounds, 
 In constant rounds, 
 
 Are praising Indian Summer. 
 
 * # ■* 
 
 HAIL, WINTER. 
 
 Hail, Winter! with thy solemn train 
 
 Of ice-encumbered days, 
 Thou hast most surely come again 
 
 Through thine accustomed ways. 
 From polar wastes, the chilling wind 
 
 Hath brought us snow and sleet. 
 And through the woods, (November thinned,) 
 
 I hear thy hastening feet. 
 Thy hosts are gath'ring on the hills. 
 
 By ghostly banners led. 
 Each grim aeolean chord that shrills 
 
 Above the summer dead 
 Proclaims, thy rule is over all. 
 
 Like one vast shadowing wing! 
 Until fair April's tender call 
 
 Shall wake us into spring. 
 
 — 88 — 
 
THE BLUE JAY. 
 I hear the cheery blue jay's call, 
 
 Across the Winter's drift; 
 And from my heart the shadows fall, 
 
 While memories, sweet, uplift. 
 
 The brooks find voices in his notes. 
 
 The winds are soft again, 
 Again the azure gently floats 
 
 Its founts of summer rain. 
 
 I see the orchard-banners white. 
 Hung out on many a slope; 
 
 And lowlands bear their colors bright; 
 As symbols of our hope. 
 
 Again the bluebird sweetly sings. 
 
 Again the plovers pipe. 
 And — though the icy mantle clings — 
 
 With Spring their notes are ripe. 
 
 I bless thee, bird of hardy race. 
 For cheer that thou has brought; 
 
 None other shall usurp thy place. 
 Within my heart and thought. 
 
 * * * 
 
 IN OCTOBER. 
 A mist of purple blurs the hills, 
 And all the distant valley fills. 
 
 The year breaks forth in radiant smiles. 
 And Earth spreads out her golden miles. 
 
 The roving winds now hold their breath, 
 And air is sweet with scents of death. 
 
 Again the painted forests blush. 
 And shiver in the the om'nous hush. 
 — 89 — 
 
IN TRANSITU. 
 
 The thunder of the restless waves, 
 
 The billows shock 
 
 "Gainst frowning rock: 
 The hollow rune of dismal caves, 
 And crying gulls, on wing adrift 
 In bighting winds that northward shift. 
 
 These are attendants in the train 
 
 Who lead the van 
 
 Of winter's clan. 
 Xow, brown December, o'er the plain 
 Comes slowly, and with measured tread 
 Swings icy svmbol's o'er the dead. 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 I hear the swelling music 
 
 Of wind-harps rudely strung, — 
 Intrusive voices joining 
 
 In songs so often sung. 
 The Winters dying echoes 
 
 And April's herald strains; 
 The Norther's fitful wailing, 
 
 With pattering of rains. 
 Now is a chord of sadness. 
 
 Now is a sweep of power. 
 March reigns, and suits her music 
 
 To changes, every hour. 
 
 — 90 
 
hear the swelling music 
 Of wiiid-liiUps indely strung. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
SONG OF LIFE. 
 
 When light unveiled her radiant face 
 And wrapped the world in her embrace; 
 When into place the planets swung 
 This song the Heavenly choir sung: 
 "O sacred pulse; O law divine; 
 All purpose and all power is thine, 
 
 Death, never; 
 Life ever and forever." 
 
 And still that grand triumphal song 
 Thrills through all nature, deep and strong, 
 And still vibrating high and low, 
 It sets the continents aglow; 
 And in the ocean's sob and roar 
 It sounds, and speaks forever-more: 
 
 "Death, never; 
 Life ever and forever." 
 
 O, human soul, — a spark of love — 
 Around thee. Earth environed, move 
 Kaleidoscopic forms to-day. 
 Tomorrow thou art on thy way 
 To fairer plains, and sweeter skies; 
 And still the thrilling anthems rise: 
 
 "Death, never; 
 Life ever and forever." 
 
 93 
 
TO A SCOTCH PRIMEOSE. 
 
 O! flower of that rugged isle 
 Across "Atlantic's roar," 
 Thou wak'st within my languid soul 
 The northern strains once more. 
 
 How sounds the voice of stern acclaim, 
 Far o'er thy native hills; 
 While through the vales the pibroach rings 
 Its note that wildly thrills. 
 
 I see again stern warriors clothe 
 Their sinewy arms in steel. 
 I hear the groan of foemen grim 
 That 'neath their broad swords reel. 
 
 The bale fires flash from crowning rocks 
 Their warning, far amain; 
 And o'er the moor of "Caloglen," 
 Wild is the tocsin's strain. 
 
 I see again clear waters kiss 
 The "sunny banks of Dee," 
 And hear (the ragged coast along) 
 The dashing of the sea. 
 
 The bending wood upon the slopes 
 That hem the winding "Ayr," 
 Give back again the poet's song, 
 In echoes sweet and fair. 
 
 Thy warriors, statesmen, poets come 
 Of strong and noble race, 
 
 — 94 — 
 
And who, I ask of other states, 
 Could ever fill their place? 
 
 I hail with joy the winds and waves 
 That beat on northern strands ; 
 Yet, bless old Scotia's hills and vales 
 Above all other lands, 
 
 * * * 
 
 AFTER-STORM SILENCE. 
 
 The thunder has gone from the spent rain-cloud, 
 The light in the valley is dim. 
 The wind is asleep — once stormy and loud. 
 And fitfully harsh with the trees it bowed 
 O'er the pools that filled to the brim. — 
 
 All silent and sweet is the vesper hour; 
 
 And deep, as the vault of the sky. 
 
 The soul now awakes and thrills with the power 
 
 That hurls the red bolt, when the storm cloud's lower 
 
 And the spirit of God seems nigh. 
 
 * * * 
 
 THE HOURS THAT SHINE. 
 
 The hours that shine are the hours of youth. 
 When the world is filled with love and truth. 
 When the rainbow spans each tiny cloud 
 That floats away like a sailship proud. 
 
 The hours that shine are the care-free days 
 When the young heart sings its first love-lays; 
 And singing, builds with fanciful art 
 That wonderful realm of heart. and heart. 
 — 95 — 
 
SONG OF ESTERMONATH.* 
 
 Hail, hail Osti\ra*s** festival! 
 The buds are swelling now; 
 Faint signs are on the interval 
 Of green, to wreath her brow. 
 
 The brooks grow musically swift. 
 And sweep the dank debris. 
 Far where the river-flood doth lift, 
 In foaming circles free. 
 
 Then brim her bowl with glowing wine, 
 As brims the whirling stream: 
 For buds are on the early vine. 
 And Spring's no more a dream. 
 
 Spread forth the feast of Esteral!*** 
 (The feast of warmest cheer.) 
 Make way for joy without delay; 
 The opening of the year. 
 
 The bloom of life is on her face. 
 She comes 1 our Morning Queen, 
 The trailing mists of night, — her grace 
 Has banished from the scene. 
 
 *The Anglo-Saxon name for April. 
 **The mythical goddess of pagan Easter time. 
 ***The same as Ostara. 
 — 96 — 
 
THE OLD COUJJTKY DOCTOB. 
 
 ^In memory of Dr. John Hnddoth.) 
 O, the sniky old, and the old roan mare — 
 On the long hill dashing down — 
 And the doctor grey; while hia head, half bare, 
 VVith hat tipped back on hig crown, 
 Sways forward and back, sways to left, to right. 
 Xor cares he how rough the road- 
 He comes like a king, to bid sickness •'take flight, 
 And lightens the sof rer's load. 
 
 I can hear the song that he osed to croon, 
 As he planged, and swayed and swung 
 Behind the fleet mare on the road at noon; 
 Behind the mare when darknens hung 
 From the starless sky, and the heavy cloud 
 Its muttering gusts sent down- 
 O, I fancied then, his heart was more proud 
 Than heart -beats under a crown. 
 
 But his pride was all for his faithful steed. 
 
 And the sulky strong and plain; 
 
 For he never slackened their reckless speed 
 
 Or tightened the careless rein. 
 
 Twas always a race, and a race with death, 
 
 To bafBe the vampire grim; 
 
 To rescue the ^^ight with a fleeting breath, 
 
 Or bandage a broken limb. 
 
 Ah, the years are swift and they multiply. 
 To shroud the way at last; 
 
 And the foam flecked steed with the flashing eye 
 Has gone, like a full-spent blast; 
 — 97 — 
 
And the dim mists rise in retrospect, where 
 The old doctor blazed the way 
 For those who shall come on the mission fair, 
 The pains of man to allay. 
 
 And I sometimes think, that the road he sped 
 
 Still lengthens away, afar; 
 
 To the fair realms where are dwelling the dead; 
 
 Where Heavenly hospitals are. 
 
 And I sometimes think I can hear him sing, 
 
 As he comes this way again. 
 
 With the promptings good, from his heart's well 
 
 spring, 
 To check the sufferer's pain. 
 
 * * * 
 
 A JULY AFTEENOON. 
 
 The cricket gives his tireless song 
 From out the creviced ledges, 
 From many a bunch of sunburned grass. 
 And from the dusty hedges. 
 
 The slant sunshafts through gath'ring clouds 
 On waving corn are glancing, 
 And sparkle on the river's breast. 
 Where tides are slow advancing. 
 
 The peace that reigns this afternoon. 
 Has filled the scene completely. 
 And nature's voice through everything, 
 Breathes music, soft and sweetly. 
 
 — 98 — 
 
THE SEA. 
 
 Yes, the sea first gave the voices 
 To the human passions wild, 
 And it taught the note of sorrow 
 By its sobbings low and mild; 
 Then it waked a subtle longing 
 In the lonely savage breast. 
 That still lengthens out the future 
 Through the endless unexpressed. 
 
 Where the bard trod shores Ionian; 
 Under skies so opulent, 
 Where Arcadian tides rise darkly; 
 By the narrow passes pent. 
 Where the thermal current ever. 
 Sends its soft'ning breezes out; 
 And the Tropic's pomp and splendor 
 Echoes back the breaker's shout. 
 
 We still find that mighty spirit 
 Restless ever, ever strong; 
 That compels to noble action. 
 That inspires to lofty song. 
 Still we find the sea, creator 
 Of the grandest types of thought; 
 Stirring still to high endeavor 
 Fearless souls who falter not. 
 
 « * * 
 
 LET THEM WAIT. 
 Outside the gates of beauty, let them wait, and wane 
 and die; 
 All jealousies and passions. 
 Encumbent is the duty that may hail from out the sky 
 Which love imperial fashions. 
 — 99 — 
 
GRAVE OF "THE COUNTESS." 
 November's breath pervades the earth, 
 The evening air is chill, 
 The pale full moon comes slowly forth 
 Above the sleepers' hill. 
 
 All solemnly, like sentries, stand 
 The dark plutonian pines, 
 Their watchful guard on either hand, 
 The moonlight clear defines. 
 
 Long since a poet's rjth'mic verse. 
 The simple story told. 
 And need 1 here, the tale rehearse. 
 Inscribed on record old? 
 
 The tangled vines which once o'er-spread 
 The lowly mound of her 
 Who Francis Vipart won and wed; 
 Have vanished, while the stir 
 
 Of restless, curious pilgrim feet 
 Have chafed the sacred place! 
 As waves on herbless shore do beat 
 In wild resistless chase. 
 
 The poet's art has touched the chord, 
 Of common clay a part; 
 For love reveals to wight or lord. 
 The music of the heart. 
 
 The power of numbers well he knew 
 Would bring to dullest eyes 
 
 — 100 — 
 
The slate which briars overgrew, 
 And thus immortalize. 
 
 *Mai'y, unknown to-day would be 
 Beneath this crumbling stone, 
 But dreamer called humanity 
 To make her life its own. 
 
 The river as of yore flows on, 
 And mirrors ''bridge and spire," 
 Neglected heath, and sloping lawn, 
 The alder's autumn fire. 
 
 "The white-haired villager," apart 
 From worldly haste and din, 
 Now reaps, with gracious reverent heart. 
 The bounties good to win. 
 
 "The fisher-man and smith" have come. 
 In silence here to rest, 
 Where all within is ever dumb; 
 Save nature's throbbing breast. 
 
 "The skipper's horn" no more shall wake 
 "The toll-man" from his dream. 
 For o'er them bends the seared brake. 
 And sweetbriar's scarlet gleam. 
 
 The days and nights alternate, shed 
 Their lights and shadows here, 
 And life and death, by nature wed 
 Reveal the birth and bier. 
 
 A new life stepping from the old; 
 Lives on the things that fade, 
 — 101 — 
 
The forms now changing into mould, 
 Prepare for springing blade. 
 
 So, prouder men come on apace; 
 Unconscious of their debt, 
 And vandal hands these stones deface, 
 By homespun goodness set. 
 
 Ill venerates the hast'ning crowd. 
 The grave of sire or maid. 
 For human hope ne'er makes a shroud, 
 ''They died," yet are not dead. 
 
 And lingers still, the golden ray 
 
 Of love's perennial flame; 
 
 To glance along our soulless way. 
 
 Our sophistries to shame. 
 *"Mary Ingalls, wife of Francis Vipart, of Guadalope. 
 Died Jan 5th, 1807 — Aged 21 j^ears." Inscribed on 
 headstone, Haverhill, East Parish. 
 
 * * * 
 
 EMERSON. 
 Dweller upon the heights far reaching and sublime, 
 On whose uncovered peaks no clouds of passing time 
 Shut down, nor shadowed spell weaves in its darker 
 
 thread 
 'Mong golden warp and woof, where e'er thy thought 
 
 hath led, 
 Thy hope doth anchor men to things most truly just! 
 Breaking their slavish chains, freeing from lethel rust, 
 So dost thou lead the train of struggling thoughts of 
 
 mine 
 Upward, slowly upward to grander thought of thine. 
 _ 102 — 
 
WHEN THE YELLOW CHICKENS HATCH. 
 When the lambkins are a-crying 
 
 On the barren pasture knoll, 
 And the "pesky" crows are trying 
 
 To pre-erajjt some sunny goal. 
 When the lark sends word he's coming, 
 
 By his bluebird messenger, 
 When the brooks are just a-humming, 
 
 And the buds begin to stir. 
 
 When the pussy-willows slender 
 
 Have put on a greenish hue, 
 And the crocus, pale and tender, 
 
 Just begins to catch the dew. 
 W^hen the robbins come a-hopping 
 
 In the soggy garden-patch; 
 And their greetings are a-swopping, 
 
 Then, the yellow chickens hatch. 
 
 When the rhubarb is a-breaking 
 
 Through the moist and mellow soil; 
 And the larkspur is awaking, 
 
 And the bees begin to toil. 
 When the lazy wind is shifting. 
 
 And blows softly from the south, 
 Bringing clouds that, trailing, drifting. 
 
 Make us sure there'll be no drouth; 
 
 And in fact, when sudden showers 
 
 Patter on the stancheon shed; 
 And the air suggests the flowers 
 
 Not yet risen from the dead. 
 When the blackbirds are collecting 
 
 In the elms — a noisy batch — 
 Last year's haunts a-recollecting; 
 
 Then the yellow chickens hatch. 
 _ 103 — 
 
THE CHIMES MENEELLY PLAYED, 
 lu peiisivo ivtrospoi'tion 
 ily tbonjxhts tonight aiv lod 
 Wlioro. through tho vanishod seasons 
 Of music soft I troad 
 
 Though c\Oi\i\ tho echoes linger 
 My memory %Yithin, 
 Of flute notes rich and mellow, 
 And wailing violin. 
 
 Of harp with drowsy tinkle. 
 Of lute and low guitar; 
 I hear still deeper music 
 Than these faint echoes are. 
 
 Than soothing dulcet numlKn-s. 
 Or vesj>er serenade. 
 Sweeter to me. and In^tter, 
 The chimes Meneelly played. 
 
 Though martial strains still linger. 
 And overtuivs sublime 
 Stir with their mighty pulsings 
 The heart of waning time. 
 
 Though luimnii voice i>nia])ture 
 My soul with melody. 
 Till fountains of the spirit 
 Pour forth their ecstacy, 
 
 Still, through the thrilling measures 
 By genius fair arrayed. 
 Swell on the chords of memory 
 The chimes Meneelly played. 
 — 104 — 
 
Where the "old man" on his shoulders 
 Lifts the riven granite peak. 
 
THE PEMIGEWASSET. 
 
 Hollowed 'moDg the northera mountains, 
 
 Only lit hy mid-day beam. 
 
 Filled with rush and rune of fountains, 
 
 Is the cradle of the stream, 
 
 Where the "old man'* on his shoulders 
 
 Lifts the riven granite peak, 
 
 'Till the clouds rest on the boulders 
 
 Which the strong-winged eagles seek. 
 
 Where Eternal walls imprison, 
 
 Woods primeval, dark with pines, 
 
 Holding back (where they have risen) 
 
 Mossy titans to their lines. 
 
 Where the white birch, like a spectre 
 
 Leaning o'er the tiny lake, 
 
 Draws from thence the mountain nectar, 
 
 That doth keep its heart awake. 
 
 Where the winter-spirit lingers 
 In rude caverns, deep and still, 
 While the summer's busy fingers 
 Clothe with green the vale and hill. 
 Under grim and awful ledges 
 (Mighty pillars of the earth), 
 From Lake Profile's liquid edges, 
 There the river hath its birth. 
 
 Downward, downward to the ocean, 
 Now its journey is begun, 
 Ever with a tuneful motion. 
 Clear and swift the waters run. 
 
 — 105 — 
 
Be it day, or darkness over, 
 Burning noon, or twilight gray, 
 It doth onward (as a rover) 
 Keep its solitary way. 
 
 White with foam and dark with shadows, 
 
 Droning past the hermit's door 
 
 Through the stretch of Campton meadows 
 
 To the falls of Livermore 
 
 Sweeps the river, shallow, winding, 
 
 leaping then, to lower lands 
 
 And a broader channel finding, 
 
 Loiters on the Plymouth sands. 
 
 Slowly now, yet scarce delaying. 
 Stirring darkly, broad and deep, 
 Like a restless giant, swaying 
 'Gainst the prisoning bank and steep, 
 Met by creeks with mellow voices, 
 It doth keep a rugged track 
 'Till its gathered host rejoices 
 In the stately Merrimack. 
 
 Thus, the picture of thy beauties 
 (River of New^ England's pride,) 
 Mingled with life's sober duties. 
 Flows before me like a tide, 
 And in dreams I see thee sweeping 
 Downward, downward to thy rest, 
 Nature's Earthly phases keeping. 
 And with Heavenly moods impressed. 
 
 — 106 
 
THE MOUNTAINEEE. 
 
 Happy he, whose lot is cast 
 
 'Mong the mountains, gray and old; 
 Where rude winter blows his blast, 
 
 And the spring-buds late unfold; 
 Where the elemental strife, 
 
 And the native Eagle's call 
 
 Far above the waterfall 
 Stir hoarse echoes into life. 
 
 Happy he; for there will find 
 Respite from the gloom below. 
 
 Troubled only by the wind 
 Fresh and pure, forever so. 
 
 Oft below, the misty cloud 
 
 With it's trumping thunder's roar, 
 While the torrents grimly pour. 
 
 Hugs the valley like a shroud. 
 
 Yet, above the torrents, he. 
 
 Matchless floods of light beholds. 
 
 Pouring on the drapery 
 
 And the cloudy billow-folds. 
 
 Grandeur feasts his fearless thought, 
 And the gods of freedom speak 
 Truths from every sun-kissed peak, 
 
 Lifting 'round, sublimely wrought. 
 
 On the upland's tender green, 
 
 Mantle of the virgin sod, 
 Sheltered, snowy walls between. 
 
 Where no slave has ever trod, 
 Happy he who there doth stand 
 
 Strengthened by the upward climb 
 
 'Mong the crags that laugh at time; 
 Viewing all the valley-land. 
 — 107 — 
 
JUNE. 
 
 Warm days make the heart grow 
 And June fills the sympathies full. 
 
 The head, from cold white snow 
 
 Draws lightning, and the power to rule. 
 
 But now is June, and sweet it is to me. 
 
 To feel within its wondrous melody. 
 
 Buds swell and burst in bloom, 
 
 Trees stretch their fingers to the sun, 
 
 Softly the aerial loom 
 
 Weaves on, and spiral threads are run; 
 
 Full are the cups, while o'er and o'er the bee 
 
 His drowsy song sends forth in revelry. 
 
 As from a viewless strand 
 
 A benediction fills the air, 
 Uprising through the land. 
 
 List thee to Earth's mighty choir! 
 By hands untouched, a million harps resound, 
 And life springs up where only death was found. 
 
 O June! could we abide 
 
 Forever in thy realm of love; 
 No need were ours to hide, 
 
 The heart's complaint, or stronger prove, 
 To meet King Winter with his frosted crown; 
 For the flowers look up, and the sun looks down. 
 
 108 
 
MINNESOTA. 
 Source of rivers; laud of lakes: 
 I thy son, give greeting here, 
 In my breast there feebly wakes 
 Praise of thee, yet half in fear, 
 For a greater bard hath sung 
 Of thy richly tinted skies, 
 Of the generous vestures, flung 
 Where thy broad dominion lies, 
 Mother-land, I long have known 
 Thy greater nature and its strife; 
 'Mong thy wildest scenes, have grown 
 The affections of my life. 
 
 Gently soothed by summer airs 
 Strangely stirred by winter's blast; 
 Thought of mine most willing, bears 
 What upon me thou dost cast. 
 Move me then to speak thy name 
 With a pride that is but just, 
 I would give a wider fame 
 Unto thee, a deeper trust. 
 
 Resting (full of youthful grace) 
 By "Superior's" crystal wave, 
 Sweet reflections of thy face 
 In the cooling waters lave. 
 And thy mantle spreading far 
 South and West with regal sweep. 
 Spangled o'er with many a star. 
 Fringed with many a rugged steep; 
 Makes a peerless home of health 
 For a mighty family — 
 
 Holds a boundless store of wealth 
 For the millions yet to be. 
 — 109 — 
 
Land of tempests, wild and swift 
 And of days serenely sweet. 
 From whose bosom broad, doth lift 
 Endless fields of waving wheat; 
 I would not forego the charms 
 Of thy changeful ministerings, 
 Nor exchange for "tropic palms" 
 Rudest life that from thee springs. 
 
 Give me labor without ease 
 And a home upon thy soil, 
 Bather than the "lotus-breeze" 
 That benumbs the mental coil, 
 Rather than the luxuries 
 Of eternal fruit and flower, 
 I would choose thy clime, that gives 
 Freedom with its arm of power. 
 
 * * * 
 
 EASTER. 
 "He arose," as we in truth shall rise, 
 Above the images of sense, 
 Above the death-clods, sickness, sighs. 
 Into the living soul's surprise, 
 Unto the spirit, go we hence. 
 
 "He burst the bonds of death," and we 
 As sure, the bonds of fear shall break. 
 Into "the substance" full and free, 
 Into the life and love, will be 
 Our birth, when truth within shall wake. 
 
 "He triumphed o'er the wasting grave." 
 Immortal things cannot decay, 
 And not for time along, He gave 
 The mighty lessons that shall pave 
 And light forever, God's sure way. 
 — 110 — 
 
THE BURIED CITY. 
 
 I am Talhanset, and I come, 
 
 From far Cramedian's plain, 
 I've met the darkening clouds that sweep, 
 
 Across the troubled main. 
 I've trod the shining sands amidst 
 
 Sweet Aben's richest bowers, 
 And breathed their peace, with brow aflame 
 
 In sunset's golden showers. 
 
 Now, all is changed to arid scene, 
 
 Time in his circling flight, 
 Has spread upon the level lands 
 
 A robe of dreary blight, 
 And on the sloping hills of Zan, 
 
 The breakers of the sun 
 Koll ever down, in torrid waves; 
 
 As quenchless fires run. 
 
 No more the frail icera blooms. 
 
 To fill the air with love. 
 No more the towering palm doth bend 
 
 Its cooling boughs above. 
 No more the silver streamlet's course 
 
 Doth pass the palace door. 
 And gladen banners on its banks. 
 
 The wind shall kiss no more. 
 
 Ah, not again fair Nadanee, 
 
 For thee a sun shall rise. 
 To paint the fleeting mists of morn 
 
 With hues of Paradise. 
 And not again thy marble halls 
 
 Shall ring with happy tread; 
 — Ill — 
 
For, with the sands of desert wilds 
 Thy walls are overspread. 
 
 Long is thy sleep fair Nadanee; 
 
 No hand hath rung thy knell, 
 Thou silent city of the plain, 
 
 I bid thee now, farewell: 
 
 * * * 
 
 DEAD OLD YEAR. 
 
 Old year is dead, 
 
 His vassals fled, 
 
 Low are the echoes of his dirge 
 
 From wood, and hill, and ocean-surge. 
 
 Old year is dead, 
 
 No more his tread 
 
 The blushing flowers of June will stir; 
 
 Oblivion holds his calendar. 
 
 * * * 
 
 CLOUD CITIES. 
 
 On the misty steeps of the distant cloud, 
 
 A city rises fair. 
 
 Whose spii'es, domes and minarets, 
 
 Are fashioned from the air. 
 
 And softly from the aerial courts. 
 
 Sweet strains of music rise, 
 
 O, who can tell the wond'rous charm 
 
 Of those wild melodies? 
 
 112 
 
The west, the west; the broad fair west. 
 Where the millions" feet are turning. 
 
THE WEST. 
 
 The west, the west, the broad fair west, 
 
 Where the millions' feet are turning, 
 
 Where the new-made hearths of pioneers 
 
 Like beacons bright are burning, 
 
 Where boundless plains are swept by winds 
 
 Unstained by slavish story, 
 
 And mountain peaks still wear in peace. 
 
 Their matchless robes of glory. 
 
 The west, the west, the mighty west. 
 That fears no base oppression; 
 Throws open its asylum gates 
 To all the world's procession. 
 There's freedom in its bracing air, 
 The leaping cascade speaks it; 
 An unchained spirit stirs the heart 
 And brain of him who seeks it. 
 
 The west, the west, the youthful west, 
 
 With giant arms unfolding, 
 
 In regal strength, and purpose grand. 
 
 The nation's life is moulding. 
 
 To-morrow's worth, and wealth and power; 
 
 Yes, all the future ages. 
 
 With earnest thought, will gladly pay 
 
 Their tributes to its sages. 
 
 113 — 
 
SONG OF THE LARK. 
 
 Over the meadow-lands flashing with dew, 
 All the wild heather and woody dells through, 
 Floating upon the soft zephyrs of May, 
 Rising in triumph to meet the new day; 
 Up to the sunlight and out of the dark. 
 Hark! hark! 'tis the song of the lark. 
 
 Rolling in billows of slivery notes 
 O'er the fresh fields, where the drowsy mist floats, 
 Touching the shores of our indolent sense 
 With new impulse of life, from a fair providence! 
 Swift as an arrow sent sure to its mark. 
 Hark! hark! 'tis the song of the lark. 
 
 Putting the chords of the spirit in tune 
 With nature's great heart, and unceasing rune, 
 Opening the gates to the ideal land, 
 Placing our feet on its infinite strand,. 
 Waking, renewing the hope that was stark, 
 Hark! hark! 'tis the song of the lark. 
 
 Blessed be the matin of grey meadow-bird 
 From valleys of bloom; wherever 'tis heard 
 'Twill cast a bright spell on drearysome way 
 As beams of the sun o'er dark waters play. 
 Up from the low-lands to heavens blue arc. 
 Hark! hark! 'tis the song of the lark. 
 
 114 — 
 
DEM GOOD OLE TIMES. 
 
 Ole Abe he's gone to glory, 
 He's got dar safe an' sound; 
 A singin' wid de angels, 
 An' kinder loafin' round. 
 
 O, dem ole times were lubly, 
 Dey were de bes' I knowed; 
 Sometimes we danced i)lantations, 
 Sometimes we sorter hoed. 
 
 How well does I remember, 
 We made de possum scratch, 
 An' chased de water-mellions 
 All 'round de cotton patch. 
 
 But I'ze gwine to tell yo. 
 One thing I 'member sure; 
 A hookin' water-mellions 
 Wid Abe, an' Jimmy Dorr — 
 
 Yo' see de night was darksome, 
 We creep'd along de road 
 Close to de worm-fence corner — 
 Inside de mellions growed. 
 
 I says to Abe, "Your 'sperience 
 Must be ob 'vantage sure; 
 Yo' trow de mellions ober 
 To me, an' Jimmy Dorr." 
 
 An' Abe he clira'd right ober 
 An' settled down to work; 
 Fo' he on such o'casions 
 Was not incline' to shirk. 
 — 115 — 
 
We waited dar a minit, 
 An' den we heard a howl 
 Er screech, er hoot er somefin 
 Jes like er crazy owl. 
 
 An' den I says to Jimmie, 
 "Jes listen; mighty still, 
 Ole Satan, he's er comin', 
 A commin' down de hill. 
 
 "For doan yo' hear de screech-owl; 
 An' doan 30' hear 'im hoot? 
 Hits time dat we's er flyin', 
 Er gettin' on de scoot !" 
 
 An' so we scratched de grabble — 
 I guess we scratched hit fast — 
 Until we reached de stable, 
 An' in de doar at last, 
 
 While all de time behind us, 
 Ole Satan he was dar, 
 Er stompin on de turnpike, 
 An' salin' in de air. 
 
 I tell yo, hit war scaresome, — 
 De way dat Satan come^ 
 My bar stood right strait upwards, 
 My heart beat like a drum. 
 
 An' wen we got well cohered 
 Wid fodder an' wid hay, 
 We head im come er bouncin' 
 Eight ober in de bay. 
 
 — 116 — 
 
An' den I'ze sure we's goner; 
 As sure as shootin' dead, — 
 For, in another rainut 
 I know'd he'd fine our bed- 
 Den Jimmy up an' holler'd, 
 "O Lord, we didn't steal; 
 We didn't go er hookin' 
 Inside de mellion fieP." 
 
 An' den we heard er lafifin'. 
 Er rollin' on de floarl — 
 Yo see 'twas Abe, er foolin' 
 Jes Abe, an' nuffin moar. 
 
 * * * 
 
 THE STAGE. 
 
 How great the office of the stage, 
 The common prophet seldom sees; 
 Until Utopia's golden age 
 Shines through its winged accessories; 
 Until its moral leverage 
 Presents, in heart ai)pealing act, 
 Enforcing theories of sage, 
 Philosophies and living fact. 
 
 Then play the part by love assigned, 
 Play hero, or play humbler part. 
 Still striving to inspire the mind 
 To deeper worship of the art. 
 Still working nature's miracle 
 Before the half-believing crowd. 
 With purpose and with strength of will, 
 Till every soul applause has bowed. 
 — 117 — 
 
THE CABIN IN THE WOOD. 
 
 Did I ever tell you, friend, 
 Where my paths of fancy end? 
 Come with me where dryads dwell, 
 And my secret I will tell. 
 
 Follow me through banks of bloom; 
 Woven in the summer's loom, 
 Through the clover-fields and wheat. 
 Past the woodchuck's snug retreat ; 
 Out beyond the busy stream, 
 Where the osiers, scarlet gleam. 
 On and on, by secret way 
 'Mong the heaps of meadow hay; 
 Still among the brakes and glades 
 'Till we reach the upland shades. 
 
 Over yonder to the west 
 Where the scene is all at rest. 
 Where the forest stretches far, 
 Where the constant shadows are, 
 Where the notes of whip-poor-will 
 Echo back from bordering hill, 
 There, the cabin in the wood. 
 Holds my sweetest solitude. 
 
 If by cares you are beset, 
 And your cheeks by tears are wet; 
 Does life's way seem drear and long? 
 Listen to the cabin song: 
 
 "Echoes bounding far and near, 
 Every season of the year: 
 — 118 — 
 
Echoes, echoes, sweet and bland, 
 This is fancy's echo-land. 
 
 "In the bosom of the copse. 
 Found again are vanished hopes. 
 Cradled here, and ever young 
 Are the loves that "Homer" sung, 
 Here, O rest! and breathe that peace 
 Which shall bring of care, surcease." 
 
 * * * 
 
 LINES TO E. W. D. 
 O, friend of mine, whose mellow lays 
 Steal o'er my soul like incense sweet. 
 Recalling scenes of olden days 
 That, like the echoed sounds, repeat. 
 Repeat and spread, and warm and glow 
 Through retrospective forest isles; 
 Through vistas of the valleys low, 
 Or where the regal upland smiles. 
 Anon I may not see your face 
 In common way, or social place, 
 Yet, through the circle of the years; 
 Of seasons drear, or sunny fair. 
 Through sorrow's sombre vale of tears, 
 Or joyous highland's lighter air, 
 I still may feel the cordial hand 
 Extended through your lyric rhyme; 
 And know, that still your heart is bland. 
 And singing, couplets for old time. 
 So shall I cherish every song, 
 Though distance hold, and time be long. 
 
 — 119 — 
 
OUR EXPOSITION. 
 
 Where the Mississippi glances 
 
 Into falls of foam and spray, 
 Where the power-wheel advances 
 
 Ever by the current's sway, 
 Where the low, continuous thunder 
 
 Of the foundry and the mill, 
 (Voice that fills the world with wonder,) 
 
 Brooks no halt of hand or will. 
 
 We have reared the spacious arches. 
 
 Of Industrial Palisade; 
 (Sign of swift, triumphal marches, 
 
 To the van of Arts and Trade.) 
 We have placed the broad foundation 
 
 Of this pride of coming years. 
 For the use of every nation. 
 
 On the Earth's wide hemispheres. 
 
 Europe sends her choicest treasures 
 
 Hither, through "Atlantic's roar," 
 And in friendly contact measures 
 
 Hers with what we have in store. 
 From the Orient, strange and distant, 
 
 China lends us varied wares, 
 And, to commerce, less resistant. 
 
 Freely in the contest shares. 
 
 Afric, to display is lending 
 
 Silken goods and carvings old, 
 And, a dusky hand extending, 
 
 Offers ivory, gems and gold. 
 Come they from the lands of Summer, 
 
 Or from climes of snow and sleet, 
 To all toil, and every comer. 
 
 Welcome here! We warmly greet. 
 — 120 — 
 
This vast hall shall show the powder 
 
 Of the hands by genius skilled, 
 And its dedication hour 
 
 Heralds good, to all who build. 
 Hail! then, to "our Exposition," 
 
 May its aims grow never less; 
 It has come of just ambition, 
 
 That must strengthen and progress. 
 
 Set the wheels of peace in motion, 
 
 For their use these arching piles. 
 They shall speak our true devotion 
 
 To success, that on us smiles; 
 They shall hum a mighty chorus. 
 
 To the nations, far and near. 
 Who have planted banners o'er us, 
 
 With the flag we love and cheer. 
 
 # * # 
 
 PREMONITIONS. 
 
 'Tis night! I hear the rush of wings 
 That tell of autumn journeyings, 
 And from the deep mysterious sky 
 Comes down the wild brant's bugle cry. 
 
 O, wintry winds! that keenly sweep 
 The billows of the northern deep, 
 I feel thy coming, like the race 
 Of scurrying hounds upon the chase; 
 
 Too soon thy baying breaks the bland 
 Delicious silence of the land; 
 Too soon thy driving snows will fall.— 
 A cheerless mantle over all. 
 — 121 — 
 
LINES TO M. M. E. FOR VIOLETS. 
 
 Your violets set me dreaming, 
 "The first tribute of the Spring," 
 Little floral faces beaming, 
 Little voices whispering! 
 "We are people of the forest 
 Come to peep, — with starry eyes — 
 'Mong the grand-dames of the florist, 
 And the human mysteries." 
 
 "We are people of the woodlands 
 Where the sylvan fairy dwells; 
 And the n^-ads with their mist-hands, 
 Ring the honeysuckle bells. 
 With our white and yellow tapers 
 We have lighted oft, the shades 
 For their acrobatic capers; 
 For their vesper serenades." 
 
 For these tender little plant souls 
 I must thank you friend of mine; 
 Looking in their petal life-goals, 
 We will own, they are Divine; 
 They have come to me so sweetly 
 Like Angelic presence, quite. 
 Captured thoughts and heart completely; 
 Bobbed me of a dreary night. 
 
 122 
 
THE POET'S MESSAGE. 
 
 Read from the pen of the Poet, 
 
 What his soul has poured in rhyme. 
 
 Read what he marks on the pages 
 Of the book of endless time. 
 
 Read what he says of his longings, 
 Of his heart when filled with fire 
 
 From the altar of deep passion, 
 Or from love's supreme desire. 
 
 And I will be soothed and rested. 
 
 My soul will be filled with truth, 
 That shall brace ray lagging pulses 
 
 With the bounding tides of youth. 
 
 MY HOPE. 
 
 My hope is an Angel, whose tireless wings 
 
 Move quick in response to the heart's whisperings, 
 
 It crosses the billows of life's misty sea 
 
 To bring the green olive branch, back unto me. 
 
 Outranging the tempests and passions of man, 
 
 It brooks not our bondage, but breaks every ban. 
 
 If lost, in the night, or the mazes of doubt; 
 Hope comes to the rescue, and leads the way out. 
 Before it is sunrise, and e'er it is dawn 
 This Angel of hope leads faithfully on. 
 Up over the mountain obstructing the way 
 Hope mounts in her regal flight, meeting the day. 
 
 — 12.3 — 
 
ISLAND SANTA CATALINA. 
 
 O, island in Pacific's deep, 
 How fair thy form appears. 
 
 How soft the outlines of thy steep 
 That into cloudland rears. 
 
 Near the horizon's western verge 
 
 Thy veil of purple runs, 
 And white the line of shore and serge, 
 
 Beneath the circling suns. 
 
 Fair Catalina of my dream; 
 
 Amid thy mellow scenes 
 The life of herds and sea-birds teem. 
 
 Where vine and olive screens. 
 
 The ceaseless murmur of the waves 
 That wash thy silvery beach. 
 
 And hollaw roar of watery caves. 
 To me more grandly teach 
 
 Than rolling prairies, endless wide. 
 
 Or stretching woody bands 
 That fields from fields afar divide, 
 
 Within these wintry lands. 
 
 Thy vales can never dreary grow. 
 For lack of opening flower. 
 
 Nor frost, nor chilling winds and snow 
 Assail thy vernal bower. 
 
 The amber west that sunset fires 
 Beyond thy farthest lines, 
 
 — 124 — 
 
Shows all in golden mystic spires; 
 Thy hills "set thick with pines." 
 
 And, often when m}' weary eyes 
 Would rest from stormy scene, 
 
 I close them; dreaming of thy skies 
 So warm with summer sheen. 
 
 * * * 
 
 NIGHT ON LAKE SUPERIOR. 
 
 The sable pinions of the night 
 
 Brood o'er the sobbing deep, 
 
 A few faint stars with fitful light. 
 
 Their doubtful vigils keep; 
 
 And rolling slowly up behind 
 
 The lights of Grand Detour, 
 
 With lurid flash, and fresh'ning wind- 
 
 The storm-cloud cometh, sure. 
 
 Anon the high artillery 
 Breaks silence far and near, 
 And startled echoes wildly flee 
 Through hollow atmosphere. 
 Then silence deeper than before 
 Fills all surrounding space 
 Until, again the thunder's roar 
 The quietudes displace. 
 
 At every moment nearer draws 
 The midnight thunder-storm. 
 With intermittent awful pause 
 Of threat'ning giant form; 
 O, when the tempest-shaken sky 
 With pall of darkness o'er — 
 — 125 — 
 
Kneels down, with heavy sob and sigh, 
 Far out from sheltering shore; 
 
 Then doth the mortal speech grow dumb. 
 
 And coldness wraps the heart, 
 
 The very soul and spirit numb; 
 
 And lips with pallor part, 
 
 But look! the cloud is breaking there 
 
 Beneath the polar star. 
 
 And yonder swings a crescent fair; 
 
 Where mists are wide ajar. 
 
 Far and more faint the thunders roar. 
 
 The wailing shrouds are still, 
 
 From East the morn's first heralds soar 
 
 And hearts expectant thrill, 
 
 Thus may life's night of sorrow be 
 
 Assuaged by some surprise 
 
 Of parting cloud, or prophecy 
 
 Of beaming hope's uprise. 
 
 * 
 
 EESIGNATION. 
 
 Not to injustice should we yield, 
 Kesigned to laws too human; 
 
 But, in that far diviner field 
 Of nature, man and woman 
 
 May well adjust the soul and heart 
 
 To higher law and better part. 
 
 Not to the hard and selfish sway 
 Of tyrants will, enslaving, 
 
 Or to the worn-old custom's way 
 With veneration's paving; 
 — 126 — 
 

 
 ^ 
 
 ^^■har dost thou say. O Seal 
 To the white shore of sand. 
 
Should we entrust our liberty; 
 
 Or yet, our conscience, full and free. 
 
 But in the deeps of soul and sense 
 Is law, we cannot banish; 
 
 It joins us to a Providence 
 
 That lasts, while nations vanish; 
 
 This, we may trust, for it is kind, 
 
 And blesses him who is resigned. 
 
 * * * 
 
 SEA VOICES. 
 
 What dost thou say, O sea! 
 To the white shore of sand, 
 When breathes the soul of thee 
 In accents low and bland? 
 
 What dost thou whisper. Sea: 
 To summer moon afar, 
 When ripple waves of thee 
 Along yon silver bar? 
 
 What dost thou shout, O Sea: 
 To the dark tempest cloud; 
 When breaks the surge of thee 
 On headlands high and proud? 
 
 What dost thou sing, O Sea: 
 While rocking slow, and slow. 
 And ever solemnly; 
 The forms we needs must know? 
 
 — 127 — 
 
TO MUSIC. 
 
 Fair Queen of the Celestial powers 
 
 In splendor garmented, 
 
 Thine arms are filled with deathless flowers, 
 
 To strew where mortals tread. 
 
 No note of thine shall fail to warm 
 The weary-hearted here, 
 And none shall falter in the storm 
 If thou dost but appear. 
 
 Thou art the palpitating wings 
 
 Of hopes, that rise anon 
 
 From sorrows dark and bitter springs 
 
 To meet returning dawn. 
 
 And nations held in bondage long 
 Arise to deeds sublime, 
 Their chains are broken by a song 
 Or melt in martial time. 
 
 And yet, thy greatest unexpressed, 
 We wait with faith, to hear 
 An anthem swelling East and West, 
 And surely drawing near. 
 
 O then shall wake that loftier strain. 
 And waking, never cease 
 The matchless chords when Love shall reign, 
 Grand overture of peace. 
 
 — 128 — 
 
'TIS MAY. 
 
 O, list, the winds! the mid-day breeze, 
 List to the chords of awakening trees, 
 Or, look on blue of clearest skies, 
 And green of Meads with their flow'ry eyes. 
 Up from the south there came one day, 
 The spirit of bloom, and now 'tis May. 
 
 The hammock-nest of Oriole bright 
 
 (The centre of all its song and flight) 
 
 Grows deep and rounded hour by hour 
 
 Like swelling buds, in the Oaken bower. 
 
 Sing sweet, sing soft, O, happy bird; 
 
 For hearts grow light when your song is heard. 
 
 The swallow drifts on slender wing. 
 
 And dips its breast in the floods of Spring. 
 
 The nesting notes of Lark fall clear, 
 
 As he mounts the air from meadows near; 
 
 And slow, the Plover-whistle shrills. 
 
 In the fallow fields that skirt the hills. 
 
 Come, let us lay our cares aside; 
 And roam the interval reaches wide. 
 Come, let us live again youth's dream, 
 That wafts the soul where memory's teem; 
 For Earth is fresh with bloom to-day 
 As of old, when all the year was May. 
 
 129 
 
WHO AEE THE BRAVE? 
 
 Who are the brave? 
 They labor 'neath the factory's arch. 
 
 In every clime they stoop or stand. 
 Behold the toilers' painful march! 
 
 The face of want, the calloused hand. 
 
 Who are the brave? 
 Not those who spring to grasp the sword, 
 
 When war's alai-m is spreading wide; 
 But they who struggle without word 
 
 Against a subtle, woeful tide. 
 
 Who are the brave? 
 They face the money-tyrants' scorn 
 
 Half -clothed and starving — look and see!- 
 And patiently await the morn 
 
 That frees the hosts of industry. 
 
 Who are the brave? 
 They toil from morn to midnight hour. 
 
 In garret and in cellar damp: 
 They are the slaves to moneyed power, 
 
 And eat the crust in misery's camp. 
 
 Who are the brave? 
 The mighty throng that yet shall force 
 
 Old barriers to a level grade. 
 For justice in its onward course 
 
 By human greed can not be stayed. 
 
 — 130 
 
MILKING TIME. 
 
 The cows come up from meadow lands, 
 As eastward slow the shadows creep, 
 The sky grows red with crimson bands 
 O'er gray hills, where the hid sun stands, 
 And twilight cometh, cool and deep. 
 
 The milkmaid calls from pasture lane: 
 
 "Come Brindle! Bloss! come Bess I come Sue I" 
 
 And dim woods echo back again 
 
 The silv'ry words in softened strain, 
 
 To groves across the river blue. 
 
 The drop of bars, with triple fall. 
 And low tin-ton of milking pail. 
 The whip-poor-will's lone plaintive call 
 Beyond the row of poplars tall. 
 Receive responses from the vale. 
 
 All slow and sweet night gathers round 
 Till silence folds the sleeping plain; 
 Save from the meadow lands the sound 
 Of singing frog, by distant drowned 
 Into a murmurous refrain. 
 
 Now dreams the maid, the scene anew. 
 
 And calling from the pasture bars: 
 
 ''Come Brindle! Bloss! come Bess! come Sue!" 
 
 A shadowy train swings into view 
 
 Under the pale light of the stars. 
 
 And then, from o'er a mystic stream. 
 New voices fall ui)on her ear, 
 Bright faces from the shadows gleam — 
 The people of her land of dream 
 In garments white and fair appear. ^ 
 — 131 — 
 
MEMOEIA. 
 (Lines to a Friend, Accompanied by a Bouquet. 
 Be this the mission of the flowers. 
 To lift thy memory's chamber latch 
 
 With perfume, drawn from heaven's far skies 
 To bring thee odors of sweet days, 
 
 That youth has tinged with fadeless dyes, 
 To stir the dream fire in thy heart 
 Till it doth live, in truest art. 
 
 Remembering the orilays 
 
 That rose from meadows fresh and fair, 
 The birds that swing on willow boughs, 
 
 Half drunk with May's delicious air; 
 The hum of burly bumble-bee 
 From sodden field and orchard tree. 
 
 The lowing herds, the bleating flocks, 
 And sudden dash of fleeting showers. 
 
 The tranquil sky at even-tide, 
 
 And languid pace of mid-day hours. 
 
 The broad eaved barn, where rose the din, 
 
 Of swallows when the hay came in. 
 
 The prairie-lily, scarlet plumed. 
 
 And osier, tufted o'er with white. 
 The undulations (like the sea) 
 
 Of fields that stretch beyond the sight. 
 The cloud mirage, uplifted dim 
 Against the sky's inverted rim. 
 
 The far off crimson of the west 
 
 That filled thy soul with fairest dream, 
 The moon's pale light that melted through 
 The twilight shades, with steady beam 
 — 132 -- 
 
The broad-eaved barn, wliere rose the din 
 Of swallows when tlie haA' came in. 
 
And distant call of whip-poor-will, 
 When summer nights were cool and still. 
 
 Remembering these early scenes, 
 
 Thy soul shall drink the draughts of peace; 
 And thought shall rise on stronger wing, 
 
 While burdening cares and doubts will cease. 
 Remembering, remembering 
 Will keep thy heart in childhood's spring. 
 * * * 
 OUR AGED FRIENDS. 
 (Dedicated to my poet friend, James G. Clark.) 
 Down the westward slope of the land of years, 
 
 They are going, they are all going. 
 And trust has taken the place of their fears, 
 For they look on the fields of their sowing. 
 
 The fields where they toiled when their souls were 
 strong, 
 
 And they strove for the heart's ideal, 
 When the pride of their strength was in each song 
 
 That shall wake on the strand of the real. 
 
 A mellower light beams over this slope, 
 
 Than shone through the gate of their morning 
 
 On the hills of youth, the hills of their hope, 
 And for them is a fairer day dawning. 
 
 The frost of the years, like silvery spray 
 Has crowned them, and they are all going. 
 
 They are slowly, silently slipping away 
 On the tides, that never cease flowing. 
 
 They step (one by one) from the earthly track 
 And across the stream, but not forever. 
 
 For the tide that takes them, brings them back, 
 And the bond of love, death can not sever. 
 — 133 — 
 
THE PATH. 
 
 By the upland hedge of bloom. 
 Through the knee-deep pasture ferns, 
 Where the dark pines, scattered, loom, 
 Where the summit lily burns; 
 Winding in and out among 
 Sycamore and alder tree. 
 To the left of adder's tongue, 
 To the right of medley — 
 Bog and thorn and calimus. 
 Hazel clump and meadow green, 
 Under marsh vines' j^ndant truss. 
 With its variegated green; 
 So my youthful feet were led. 
 In the summer time of yore. 
 With the future bright ahead. 
 To a country schoolhouse door. 
 
 Who can measure since those days 
 
 The dim wilderness of doubt, 
 
 Threaded by a thousand ways, 
 
 Only one path leading out. 
 
 Yet. through all the years of strife 
 
 And belated promises. 
 
 If my tangled path of life 
 
 Sometime lead where beauty is, 
 
 I shall be full satisfied. 
 
 And pursue with willing feet 
 
 Still the way, where shadows hide. 
 
 On and on to sunshine sweet. 
 
 — 134 — 
 
PLANETS AND PEOPLE. 
 
 Out from the dim uncertain 
 Into the world of stars, 
 Out from the fiery vapors 
 Came Venus, Earth and Mars, 
 Out from the star-mist chamber 
 They circled, one by one: 
 To plow the deep unmeasured, 
 Drawn by the mighty Sun. 
 
 A troup of children, banished 
 To frigid outer zone, 
 Hurled from the parent bosom, 
 In spaces all unknown, 
 Onward, and onward ever, 
 By hidden forces swung. 
 Cleaving unbounded spaces 
 In grandeur yet unsung. 
 
 O, human soul: the planets 
 Are symbols of the power 
 That give to thee an endless 
 Unbroken life, and dower. 
 Forever on the borders 
 As speeds our mother Earth — 
 Thou, art a spark celestial: 
 By law Divine, hast birth. 
 
 Out from the dim uncertain 
 Into external life, 
 Thrown from the mighty center. 
 To finite planes of strife. 
 Out from the silent chamber, 
 — Dark to the mortal sight — 
 Into the great unfathomed 
 Filled with Eternal light. 
 — 135 — 
 
MUSIC. 
 
 O, music, sweet music; 
 Fair child of the infinite, 
 Born in bright realms 
 Where the sun ever shines; 
 Thy harmonies mingle 
 In life's varied musings. 
 And cling round the heart 
 Like clinging of vines. 
 
 * * * 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 I arose from sleep of a million years, 
 On the couch of the briny seas, 
 And shook from my sides the watery sheath 
 As the wind shakes the dew from the trees. 
 I caught the shafts from the sun in the East 
 On my head, and my stony breast, 
 And stood, unmoved by his fiery gaze 
 Till he sank in the billowy West. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Symbol am I of immortal things 
 That sing from the open sky, 
 Look up to me from the lowlands low. 
 That your hope may never die. 
 
 The sobs of the surf first greeted me then, 
 And its voice rose hoarsely and loud 
 When the air grew thick with the vapor's veil 
 And lightning flashed from murky cloud. 
 On lonely ages I have looked and sung 
 E'er man in mortal form had birth, 
 — 136 — 
 
E'er continents rose with their rolling hills, 
 Or woods made green the rocky Earth. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 As a sentinel, I stand and survey 
 The world, through mists when storms are born, 
 Or watch with the stars, till silent and slow 
 They melt in the glory of morn. 
 To mariner, lone, on the curling main, 
 To pilgrim lost on pathless moor, 
 I am truth and strength and unfailing guide, 
 And for seons I shall endure. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Symbol am I of immortal things. 
 That sing from the open sky. 
 Look up to me from the lowlands low 
 That your hope may never die. 
 * ■* * 
 INVOCATION. 
 O, sum of life! come touch the strings 
 
 Of soul and sense, 
 Come, when the heart in rapture sings, 
 
 Of love intense. 
 Come, with the river's stately flow, 
 
 When souls are sad! 
 Warming their pulses, till they glow 
 
 Renewed and glad. 
 So shall we praise in poesy 
 
 The deathless force 
 That guides all worlds, with potent sway. 
 
 Upon their course. 
 So shall we rise in thought to where 
 
 Hope claims its own; 
 And discords ne'er disturb the air 
 With music sown — 
 — 137 — 
 
MINNETONKA. 
 
 Change has touched the silver sands, 
 And the nerve of restless hands 
 Has transformed the border lands. 
 Only the unruflfled deep, 
 Only skies o'er-arching keep. 
 
 History, in waves that run 
 'Neath a full resplendent sun; 
 And, vs'hen day is passed and done. 
 Still repeat it to the shore — 
 Tale of years, now gone before. 
 
 Thrilled and stirred to human speech 
 As in folds they upward reach, 
 Now, a legend thus they teach: 
 "Centuries have rolled away, 
 Still, to us 'tis but a day. 
 
 Since the warrior IJmpali came, 
 
 Seeking peace, and fish and game, 
 
 Seeking respite from all blame; — 
 
 For he loved a chieftain's maid. 
 
 And, with her had hither fled. 
 
 '^Winnebago, wa« the squaw, 
 And her name, Monetowa, 
 Sioux was Umpah, and he saw 
 
 That the chief would seek redress. 
 So they sought the wilderness. 
 
 "Northward, toward the polar star 
 Pressing forward fleet and far 
 
 — 138 — 
 
'Till they saw a crystal bar; 
 
 The two wayward lovers strode 
 Seeking for a safe abode. 
 
 "Late one sunny afternoon 
 
 Of a day in middle-June, 
 
 (Month they called the flower-moon) 
 Maid and warrior reached a hill 
 That o'erlooks these waters still. 
 
 "Then, the view before them spread 
 Cheered their hearts, dispelled their dread, 
 Thanked they Manitou who led 
 
 Safely from the chieftain's hate, 
 To the lodge of 'Water Great.' 
 
 "Minnetonka now was found, 
 And her waves did leap and bound 
 With rejoicing, at the sound 
 Of the voices naming her 
 From the western ridgy spur. 
 
 "Here they dwelt for many a snow, 
 Chased the deer and caribou. 
 Taught the use of spear and bow 
 
 To their sons; whose sinews strong. 
 Kept these sands from tresspass long." 
 
 Backward borne on wings of dream, 
 
 Past and present only seem 
 
 Mixing shadows, in the beam 
 Of a light that fuses well 
 Living fact, and fancy's spell. 
 
 — 139 — 
 
Thronging back to thee again, 
 Comes that simple race of men, 
 Glassy bay, and bordering glen. 
 Welcomes keel of light canoe, 
 Yields to tread of hunter crew. 
 
 Knee-deep wades the thirsty deer, 
 And its form is mirrored clear, 
 With the rush, and sedgy spear; 
 
 Where the wild brant rears her brood, 
 
 In the fringes of the flood. 
 
 Weird and wild the binding spell 
 Wove in loom of ebb and swell 
 From the margin, up the dell 
 
 Leaf to leaf, and limb to limb. 
 Handed through the forest grim. 
 
 When the watches of the night, 
 Hang aloft their torches bright. 
 When, to ashes soft and white 
 
 Council fires have slowly waned, 
 
 And the tribes in sleep are chained. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Ah! the dusky lover's moon 
 From the sky has passed too soon. 
 Yet, for us they left a boon, 
 In the name that hovers o'er 
 Like a spirit great and pure. 
 
 So our days are still as sweet 
 (Looking on the winged fleet, 
 Eesting in the cool retreat.) 
 
 As when Minnetonka drew 
 
 Only eyes of darkest hue. 
 — 140 — 
 
Gi'cissy knoll ami willowcd brook. 
 Forost aisles, and an< icnt nnok. 
 
Fashions of a prouder race 
 
 All the wilder scenes replace; 
 
 Filling with a studied grace 
 
 Forest aisles, and ancient nook, 
 Grassy knoll, and willowed brook. 
 
 Future years will still unfold 
 Beauties that no verse hath told. 
 And thy brimming cup will hold 
 
 Draughts of health for worn and weak, 
 Who they gracious bounties seek. 
 
 Northern winds will ever bear 
 From thy bosom, broad and fair, 
 Music numbers soft and rare: 
 Melodies from off thy strand 
 To the sultry southern land. 
 
 * * * 
 
 STARVING FOR FRESH AIR. 
 
 Starving to death are the children, 
 Starving, the aged and gray; 
 Starving to death the people all 
 Who live in the cities to-day. 
 There may be bread for the children; 
 Bread for the white haired sire, 
 Meat and bread for all to dine. 
 Yet their blood is lacking fire. 
 
 Their brains grow dull and aweary. 
 Their nerves are drawn with pain; 
 They struggle and strive for something. 
 Something they never gain. 
 Have they gold, uncounted millions? 
 — 141 — 
 
Such, starve, for air that's pure; 
 As they loll in hives of crystal 
 Degen'racy cometh sure. — 
 
 O, flee from the house and palace; 
 
 Live in the open air. 
 
 Throw wide the windows of your room, 
 
 And learn the cold to dare. 
 
 Feast, feast on the food of heaven; 
 
 Fresh, and sweet and good. 
 
 The air that is pure will save you! 
 
 Thou starving multitude. 
 
 Into- your veins that are shrunken, 
 
 Take oxygen anew; 
 
 Strive for it as you strive for wealth, 
 
 To nature's laws be true; 
 
 More noble shall your thoughts become. 
 
 More sweet your nightly rest. 
 
 The vital flame again will burn 
 
 More warmly in your breast. 
 
 142 
 
/J ii)04 
 
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