PS .(jL)5t5 3t Ti LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. #tM! t JMe//}k.lA53(= i f UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, f ; <1B>'%.<%>'^<^.^^-^-^<% <^^>^'%,<^<%-» m^'^'^'Oll >r s?^:'^^'?^^^' s .* Kir's <*'u '• * .-j5f%. ■'■'I'^S^'.^/''?'"'' ^^M^"' BO H EM E BY CHARLES STUART WELLES A loving couple, man and wife, Along a devious pathway plodding ! Such shall thy scutcheon be, ah ! Life,— Thought I, as after luncheon nodding Under the hedge. NEW YORK PUTNAM'S SONS :82 FIFTH AVENUE 1878 ^ -"-^ Copyright by C. S. WELLES 1877 A TARIS CONTENTS BOHEME . . . . . PAGE. 7 THE BOOK OF LIFE 13 THREE SONGS 16 JANUARIUS REX 18 COURAGE 19 MAY MORNING .... 21 HEARTS-EASE . . . . 22 A FLIRTATION .... 23 WITH MY PICTURE .... 24 WITH SOME PANSIES 25 A DESCRIPTION .... 26 CHRISTINE .... 28 ANONYME . 29 UN SOUVENIR DE PARIS 30 THE LILY AND THE VIOLETS 31 THE VOICE OF DUTY 32 THE FLOWER OF FRIENDSHIP 32 CONTENT 33 LOVE IS A FAY .... 34 CONTEf^TS. A STATUETTE A VALENTINE TO MY LOVE SERENADE SONG AN OLD BOUQUET ROSES THE BLOSSOM OCTOBER THE DREAM LAUS SALUTIS TO A FRIEND MONACO . the self-made worm a beautiful morninc The cloud THE RAIN VALE, MEA . TWILIGHT EVENING REVERIE A WOUNDED SPIRIT WHO C A PRAYER BORN TO THE PURPLE IN MEMORIAM L'ENVOI AN BEAR BO H E M E Le poete est semblable aux oiseaux de passage, Qui ne batissent point leur nids sur le rivage, Qui ne se posent point sur les rameaux des bois ; Nonchalamment berces sur le courant de I'onde, lis passent en chantant loin des bords, et le monde Ne connait rien d'eux que leur voix. — Lamartine. To Tragedy her coronet ! To Comedy her flowers ! Nor envy. either we, fair friend, No envious mood is ours ; For the tragic crown is weary. And the flowers forget their glee — So trip we on our even way, Bohemia's children we ! Bohemia's children we, and'love Her free range, fondly glad ; She laughs when life is merry. And she sighs when love is sad — So well she loves her mood of song, Be fortune dark or fair, No hollow sound of mockery In her free voice is there ! Nor Tragedy, nor Comedy, But goodly Life, sing we : Be ours a modest love — be ours Love's round of Melody ! No crowns bear heavy on our heads, No dead flowers mock our mirth ; But blithely trip we on our way — Bohemians of Earth 1 POEMS Chanter, rire, pleurer, seul, sans but, au hasard ; D'un sourire, d'un mot, d'un soupir, d'un regard Faire un travail exquis, plein de crainte et de charme, Faire une perle d'une larme, Du poete ici-bas voila la passion, Voila son bien, sa vie et son ambition. — Alfred de Musset, 13 THE BOOK OF LIFE. In balmy days I wander forth To some vine trellised nook, Amid whose leaves life's wondrous themes Are writ, in Nature's book. Ah ! why confine the eager soul In narrow bounds of life ? — Why trammel we the budding growth Of thought, with pruning knife ? 'Twas taught us in our childish years To glean the page of lore ; Ah ! had I learned these lessons less. My life were worth me more. I had not bartered glowing health For truth at second rate. Nor crammed the years in jealous haste To warp a better fate. - 14- 'Twere more to see the welcome sun Proclaim the Eastern day, To hear the calm, contented trees Whisper the hours away ; 'Twere more to breathe the dewy wind Which wafts its perfume by, To watch the happy little birds As merrily they fly. To pluck the rare and fragrant flower And study in its face The animation, perfume, mould. That fit it for its place ; 'Twere more to be a man of God, In Nature's honest sense, To be that Virtue which declares Itself life's recompense, Than teach the heart to be too wise ; More childlike we would dwell ; Oh ! better choose the open fields Of life, and love them well. For, Oh, this life is like a bridge, From whose high walls are seen The beauteous shores, at either hand The treacherous floods between ; And he who counts the many stones Which form the bridge's wall, May never reach the goodly fields, Or pass the floods ai all. Ah, life ! which fleeteth near and far, Hear thou this human sigh : Oh, child ! that thou wert born to live When thou art taught to die ! -i6- THREE SONGS. 1. REPOSE. The shadows of darkness surround me, While I dream of the beautiful day, And the mornings a sluggard have found me, As sleeping and dreaming I lay ; And I sigh at each thought of awaking The slumber my being is taking. Yet I joy that a little while longer My spirit may blissfully sleep — May rest, and in resting grow stronger, A fruitful outstarting to reap. So I dream while my young years are numbered May I joy that I rested and slumbered ! DESIRE. Unspeakable longing pervadeth my breast, As I wake from my slumber and rest, An ineffable yearning, a hope undefined, Enchanteth my wondering mind ; And desire searcheth wildly — a sateless behest, The pursuit of a phantom with feverish zest. Ah, well ! and I think, 'tis unnatural so To determine existence ; but lo ! Do I turn to the phantom my brother pursues, It seems only more vague and diffuse. Oh, my friend, dost thou fashion thee ghosts in the sun — In the dark of death's dungeon, say, will there be none ? III. ACCOMPLISHMENT. I awoke from the dreaming, the slumber of youth, I awoke to the day's vivid truth. I awoke to discover that youth was a dream ; Ay, and manhood — my manhood did seem Yet of unstable purpose, unfruitful desire, And my day dreams sped formless as vapors of fire. I awoke ! I awoke ! For my manhood doth seem No longer the ghost of a dream — So fiercely I followed each shade to its dell, And fastened each truth in its well. Oh friend who would'st capture thy phantom of fate, Push onward, and boldly — 'Tis never too late ! JANUARIUS REX, A National Toast. Inscribed to Janus, a Latin deity with two faces, looking forward and behind. Le Roi est mort ; vive le Roi ! Messieurs, Come, favor your peace, for the Prince is here ! Sprung from the shroud, sprung from the bier Of the dead old King — of the dead old year — Come, favor your peace with the new King ! Eighteen, Seventy-six ! — Hear,, hear ! Anno Domini ! — sounds severe ; But what does that matter ? His title is clear. For the crown rolls down to the Prince New Year — Stand ! fill to the peace of the old King ! Ah ! and you sigh, and what ! even a tear. As you fill up a toast "To the merry Old Year !" Bah ! you murder old love in the hurrying cheer That you halloo aloud for the new to hear — Down ! down at the feet of the new King ! Down with you, fawning with bend and with leer ! Down with you, sycophant, stifle your fear ! Have care ! whisper lowly your " Happy New Year ;" And beware ! lest you drown in your crocodile tear — In the glorious reign of the new King ! 19 COURAGE. Hurrah ! my brave lad, To your work with a will ; There are worlds yet to conquer, Fames yet to fulfill ! What ! can't you be Caesar — You can't be a King ? Well, be a brave Prince, then. More glorious thing ! Dare to be honest And equal and true ; Dare to be manly In all that you do — Ah ! you'd be Shakespeare ? Well, if you can't sing. Just deal in plain talk, lad, A very good thing ! And don't be discouraged. If weaker ones sneer At some petty failure ; But choke back the tear ! Tell them to try it, And let your words ring Strong, with faith born Of a heavenly King ! But let not the weak, lad, Nourish the pain If words illy spoken In vain, in vain — Speak to each tenderly, Gentleness brings Courage, to triumph In loftier things ! So may all conquer, lad, Rising amain. Courageously triumphing Over all pain — Brother on brother Relying must cling ; Each to each other A Prince, not a King ! - 21 A/A V MORNING, Never great Phoebus, proud father of light, Though his glorious presence all time doth adorn, From the blushing repose of the hymen of night. Ushers forth fairer child than this gentle May Morn ! Come, pet May Morning, in roseate calm — Come, when life's hoar frosts mine aged eyes dim — I would sing cheerfully May Morning's psalm With grey December's sad evening hymn I HEARTS-EASE. Whom may I love ? — shall my love be This lowly flower so near to me, Or, as I rise in loftier pride, May I not win some courtly bride ? Once I was young and love was free, — Oh, had this flower bloomed then for me ! But now I'm grown so high and tall, I see rich fruits hang from the wall ; I see rare flowers in windows wide ; Ay ! but a world sees these beside. For other stalks, as tall as I, May peer within these windows high. Ah ! pretty flower, close by my side. Forgive my slight, forgive my pride — That thou shouldst bloom for me alone ! Oh ! love's conceit is all its own. -23 A FLIRTATION, Sweet maid, with eyes of softest brown. From thy high windows looking down, Need'st fear not thou the stranger guest Who probes thy glance with tender quest ! Oh ! know'st thou,. Love, the reason why This power Divine gleams in thine eye, That every glance from eyes of thine, Awakes responsive fires in mine ? Known language of kin souls that meet — E'en from the first, communion sweet Between them dwells and that fond hour Forever re-asserts its power. O glowing orbs of mellow light, Whose beaming glances glad my sight, Why look down from thy windows high With love's fire beaming from thine eye ? -24- Why peer into my heart of hearts, Why pierce me with thy burning darts, Why wake to life this gentle flame In one who ne'er may breathe thy name ? " Auf wiedersehen !" Sweet maiden, thou Hast looked into my heart, I trow ! Thou'lt haunt me till the day I die — Ah cruel tender, soft brown eye ! WITH MY PICTURE. Oh place it in a pretty frame, Upon your mantle shelf ! Then kiss it once for me, my flame. Then — kiss it for yourself. -25- IVITH SOME PAN SIRS. Although every verdant rhymer, Who commends himself as poet, Thinks to add a charm of music To his flowers ; but don't do it — Still I've gathered, too, a bouquet For a lady, made of Pansies, And a same infatuation Flatters me to write some stanzas. For I fain would please my lady ; But yet not as they, — I know 'em, Who have sent her fewer flowers And an awful lot of poem — I would have her smile on Charlie, Not as through a shower of stanzas, But as on a little rhymer With an awful power of Pansies ! 26- A DESCRIPTIOM. My Love shall be a Lady born Who would in full possess my heart. And she'll my love with love adorn And love me wholly, not in part ; For we might sorry, sorry be. If less love fell to her and me. My Love shall own a form of grace, That grace Love-Artist pines to win — - The animated form and face That breathes of heart and soul within. So shall my own Love truly be A goddess which enchanteth me. My Love shall mass her wealth of hair O'er fairest brow, and glowing cheek Fresh tinted by the woodland air With blushes playing hide and seek ; And these, rare charms, shall surely be Sweet bonds endearing her to me. -27- My Love shall look from deep, deep eyes — Wide, open orbs, with drooping lash ; Her loving glances meet replies Shall send me, gleaming flash for flash. Sweet, sweet communings these shall be, Unto my Lady-Love and me. My Love tvs^o ruby lips shall own, As ruby-red as red can be ; Their nectar, sipped by me alone, Shall prove the love she bears for me. Her lips the seal of love shall be To bind her evermore to me. My Love shall own all these beside : White, glistening teeth, a taper chin, A brow, without, both full and wide, A cultivated mind within ; — Sweet Paragon of Love, ah ! me, May I not prove unworthy thee ! 28 CHRISTINE. A FAREWELL. Thy love I may not win — Thy heart thou canst not give Yet in thy smile I live, Christine ! Smile on me, then, my queen — Thy smile thou mayst bestow, Ere from thy side I go, Christine ! Ere lone I go, Christine, Far, far away from thee, Smile yet again, on me — Christine ! Ah ! thou art fond, I ween, Of one who may no more Thy very smile adore — Christine ! -29- ANONYME. So gently fell her words Upon my charmed ear, 'Twas like a song of birds Unconsciously we hear. So calmly fell her gaze Upon my wondering eyes, 'Twas like a misty haze That veils the summer skies. So lightly fell her hand Upon my open palm, 'Twas like a fairy's wand Dispensing heavenly balm. So softly fell her sigh Upon my tender heart, I did not say good-bye ; I could not bear to part. So like a dream, yet real, That hour fell on my life, I cannot wake to feel She is another's wife. ^3o- UN SOUVENIR DE PARIS. " On ne badine pas avec ramoui*." — -French Play, Oh ! to the souvenir — Oh ! to the land ; Oh ! to those moments of soft allure ; Ah ! little angel, whose ruthless hand Pointeth this moral of love's demand — • On ne badine pas avec I'amour ! Oh ! to love's musing ; and oh ! to the maid ; Oh ! the low whisper, confidingly pure Of one whose image may never fade. Whose voice remaineth, yet as it said — On ne badine pas avec I'amour ! Oh ! to the sisterhood fates — a sigh ; Oh ! to the bosoms whose sighs endure ; Hear to the voices of grief which fly Beseeching of heaven that Love might die — On ne badine pas avec I'amour ! Ah ! little cupid, thy sportful test Speedeth its arrow too swiftly sure ; How hast thou wounded a tender breast, With this thy wanton and harrowing jest — On ne badine pas avec I'amour ! 31 THE LILY AND THE VIOLETS. A FABLE. A Lily bloomed in a gardener's bed Of Hearts-Ease and sweet Violets shy, And nodded her queenly and graceful head In arch conceit, to the passers-by. And one reached over ; who longed to clasp This fair, white lily, which bowed away Her supple bosom beyond his grasp — In fickle breezes which blew that day. Ah ! the free winds of destiny freshen at will ! And the stranger, aweary, went humming a song ; And the breezes kept blowing and blowing, until — The pale Lily wearied, with bowing so long. Then the shy, modest Violets whispered together : 'Tis nice — being little ; for no one may blame Us, with flirting ; and all the wild weather, Which blows by, shall leave us — forever the same. -32- THE VOICE OE DUTY. The voice of duty calls me From cherished dreams of pleasure And duty thus enthralls me, Yet yields me up a treasure. It whispers : find together Thy pleasure in thy duty, And Life shall be forever A thing of joy and beauty. THE E LOWER OE ERIENDSHIP. Flowers, blooming in a day. Pale ere night in mild decay ; But there is a sturdy flower, Which blooms long — yet in the hour Fades, to mock whose wanton knife Plucks it from its fruitful life — Friendship is a flower to prize ; For, if broken, it soon dies. 33 CONTENT. Hast never thou, dear friend, an earnest faith That some long loved ideal shall prove true ? Sometimes my soul longs for some nameless thing, Until I think it even must be real ; For my heart faints beneath its wild desire. But then I say unto my fainting heart : Thou hast not lived this other, wondrous dream Life holds for thee. Look up, courageous soul. It is too soon to die, of heart ache, child ! And then I look, to rest my tired eyes, Upon this nearer world of loveliness — When lo ! e'en as they drooped 'mid other scenes Do they forget them, in these joys ; and rise To idolize a worthier counterpart, Which yields yet fondly back, with lingering look From loving eyes to loving eyes, more love To feast upon, until — Love is content. 34 LOVE IS A FAY. Love is a Fairy, child ! love was a star ; In heaven's bright Eden this star was a twin, And stars are Fairies ; — roaming afar, Love strayed unto Earth and was welcomed in, Love is a Fay who thus chanced upon Earth, Forgetting his way in the boundless blue ; His soul-lit glances speak his birth. As, eager, he wanders the wide world through. Wanders forever, yet may not find That other love which was all to him. That other Fay whom he left behind. Yet is ever before him in distance dim. Searching he looks, with his heavenly art, In each maiden's eyes till a luminous light Illumines their lives and each tender heart Glows ever true, like a star of night. -35- Ever he wanders and never grows old ; And never a maiden escapes a day When, however disguised, his glances bold Shall change her into a loving Fay. Happy the maiden who learns to know When the Fay is disguised in a true lover's breast ! And happy the hero whose loving eyes glow With the luminous light of a Fay possessed ! 36- A STATUETTE. Worn and downcast, sorrow laden, Lonely in a foreign land, Found I this pale, love-lorn maiden Prostrate in the desert sand. Why this lingering fate, we wonder — Doth this live that man may know Love was even crushed asunder. In those ages long ago ? Yet though crushed and long forsaken, Love is fair as purest snow, And its firm heart lives, unshaken By the rude weight of its woe ; And though weary and neglected. Love hath lines thou knowst not of- Hast ne'er found thine own dejected, Waiting statuette of Love ! -37 A VALENTINE. I. When she, for whom I write, has heard The fairest thought I may express — Fond thought, clothed in the simple dress Of one sweet word, May peace be her's ! And peace be thine, As e'en comes to some love-lorn bird With errant mate, sweet little word, — Bird valentine ! II. Go to her — as the leaflet flies To earth's warm, welcoming bosom, where It finds contented peace ; and there Forever lies — Or, as a feather from above Speeds on light zephyrs to the breast Of some fair lake, to float at rest ; Go ! sweet word — Love. 38- TO MY LOVE, AT THE TRYSTING PLACE, Not for a price I sing, Nor yet to fleeting fame, Only for thee I form — • For thee I need not name — Such joy a song may bring To thy heart, pulsing warm | Unto thy gentle voice I modulate this song^ Unto thee only might My heart its theme prolong, In sounds of sweetest choice. To win back wild delight ! Under our Tryst I pine, Sweet Love, and sing to thee In lone and quiet mood. So sing, my Love, to me — Sing only song of mine In thy heart's solitude ! -39- Sing thou to me alone ! In solitude compose, Sweet Love, thy tuneful voice- Only thy fond heart knows Measures that mine hath known, Who bids thy love rejoice ! So breathe back to my heart Music to measure mine, — Thou, whom my soul reveres ! Lonely for thee I pine ; Only thy matchless art Can charm away my fears J 40 SERENADE SONG. How softly sounds my sweet guitar, As o'er the silvery lake I glide Beneath the favorite, love-lit star Of summer time and evening tide ! How clear the night, how cool the air ; No lowering clouds this evening mar ; Thou moon how bright, and oh ! how fair- How softly sounds my sweet guitar ! CHORUS. My sweet guitar ! my sweet guitar ! How softly sounds my sweet guitar ! My slight canoe is wafted far Before the gentle summer breeze ; Along the shore my sweet guitar Awakes an echo 'mid the trees — Faint echoes of low sounds, that are Sweet answering voices to my soul — Awake ! thou soul of my guitar, Thy sweetest strains of oriole ! -41- CHORUS. Awake, fond soul of my guitar, Thy sweetest strains of oriole ! O thou, whose echoing tones rejoice My spirit worshipping afar, To thee I lift my trembling voice, For thee I tune my sweet guitar ! For thee, sweet love, my waiting boat Drifts idly 'neath love's guiding star ; Sweet love ! breathe low each answering note- Breathe softest tones, my sweet guitar ! CHORUS. My sweet guitar ! my sweet guitar ! Breathe softest tones, my sweet guitar ! 42 AN OLD BOUQUET. Though the flowers wither, love. Other flowers as fair Grow upon the heather, love, To adorn thy hair ; To adorn thy bosom, love. Than whose tender blush Never flower yet hath blown With a daintier flush ! Though the flowers wither, love. When their scent has died We will gather fresher flowers, To adorn thy pride ; But when chilling winter, love, Summer flowers shall doom. Thou shalt bloom yet daintily — For thy lover bloom I Though the flowers wither, love. Listlessly depart. Thou shalt bloom, thyself a flower. Fragrant as thou art ; -43~ Blushing as a fresh rose, love, In the morning light, Pure as waxen cereus, Blossoming at night ! Though the flowers wither, love, Budding hopes arise Whispering that a Spring of Love Shall delight thine eyes — Bend thy fond eyes nearer, then. With thy gentle art, And rare flowers of love shall bloom For thee, in my heart ! JWSES. No chaplet but roses my darling shall wear. Roses and roses and roses rare — Roses of white in her raven hair ; Roses of red on her bosom fair ; Roses and roses and roses rare — My darling's a rose, and the posies declare That roses can only with roses compare ; So no wreath but roses my darling shall wear. -44- THE BLOSSOM. AN ALLEGORY. There are fruits which wither upon the stem — And these are maidens, whose love is strong, And pure and loyal ; who suffer so long For their faith in men, that they die for them. There are fruits which mellow to rot again — And these are harlots, whom fateful gales Have tempest-tossed, till resistance fails And they fall in the wiling of pitiless men. There are fruits which ripen in harvest time — And these are women, whose budding flower Doth bloom to full being in love's own bower ; To be culled in the might of a lover's prime. Oh ! these flowers e'en may wither in long despair, Or, ruthlessly shaken, prostrate them there ; But the blossom which buddeth, ripe fruit to bear — This, this were a flower to watch, and wear ! -45- OCTOBER. October days are fair, Sweet-Heart, The rarest of our year ; Too soon the gorgeous hours depart — Fresh tinted by God's beauteous art, Too soon they disappear ! Alas ! swift life, e'en all too soon Spring's girlish charms were flown — The glorious bloom of flowery June, 'Neath Summer's roseate high-noon Too speedily was blown ! For yet not June with maiden air Might reign, love's courtly queen ; But thou, October ! thy gold hair Doth crown thee Woman, passing fair, Aye ! passionate, I ween. Though day-flres burn thy gold hair dun And moon-beams pale thy brow, Aurora, dipping in the sun, Yet tips thy breasts and lips, Fond One, More red than ever now ! -46- More ripe, more full thy pulses flush With passion, Love, and pride ; While yet mine own veins, mantling, rush In answerment — 'tis but the blush Of modest love, my bride ! Of strong love, earnest love, I ween ! More fair love's radiant charms Are grown to fullest joys serene, When nestles Summer's maiden queen In Autumn's princely arms.- -47- THE DREAM. A halo of glorious gratification Comes in a vision, of light and elation — Came to me burning with fever and craving, Came to me mad with delirious raving. I dreamed I was frenzied of Love, I was lying Numbed to despair, and forsaken, and dying Alone, — No ! demons were there and they bade me Quaff to the fill of the liquor they made me. 'Twas drugged ; and like pitch in the heat of the burning, Seethed my hot blood with unspeakable yearning, When lo ! the still voice of repose whispered lowly : Peace shall- be unto thee — peace, calm and holy ! Sweetly this angel of Love smiled before me. Softly her mantle of peace fluttered o'er me ; Fading the night, all its demons departed. Bright beams a morrow u))on the sad-hearted ! Sleeping I dreamed ; do I dream in awaking — What is it comes to me with the morn breaking ? Sleeping I dreamed that Love fell from her sphere ; Waking I dream that my darling is here. 48 LA US SALUTIS. A NOON-DAY HYMN. There is a calm which health alone bestows — A genial calm which virtue only knows — A glorious sense of freedom, in repose. 'Tis not the day-noon sleep which triumpheth- The dumb quiescence of abated breath Because of gluttony ; for this is Death. It is that peaceful Life the sunlight feels, While softly forth its gentle spirit steals Into creation ; and new life reveals. Health is To Be — the goodly latitude Of universal love and gratitude — The blissful sense of God's beatitude — The glowing sense of fitness for the task Of living — aye ! of dying ; nor doth ask Abatement, controversy, or a mask. Oh God ! who teachest men as men to be, We have our goodly health and love in Thee — Our joys, delights in Thy complacency ! 49 TO A FRIEND, ABOUT BEGINNING A LONG VOYAGE. If it were only attuning choice measures In metrical cadence to gladden the ear, That were sweet pleasure — my memory treasures Melodies still it might please thee to hear, But now it is more than a pleasure, again To awaken my lyre to its tenderest art ; For unto a measure of music I fain Would sing thee a sentiment fresh from my heart : Though, in life's currents, familiar forms vanish, And toward nearer objects our new courses tend, Yet may this absence our Friendship not banish From fond recollection, my darling old friend ! 50 MONACO ; OR THE GAME OF LIFE. As the last wagers are being placed upon the gaming tables of Monaco, as at Baden-Baden, immediately before the turning of the roulette-wheel the croupier cries : Le jeu est fait ; riejt ne va plus ! This signifies that that game is finished, and the players must abide its issues before staking again. It is a monotonous dirge, and to many grimly emblematic of the occasion of its use. I. The game of life is a droll affair, To these merry-go-rounders of roulette and loo Yet grave is the dole of that monotone air — Le jeu est fait ; rien ne va plus ! '* The game is finished !" — ah, sad refrain That, plaintive, echoes the wide world through ! Hush ! hush to the sorrow that shrieks in vain — Le jeu est fait ; rien ne va plus ! -51- Hot youth is there, with its quick blood red ; Cool age is there, with its thin veins blue ; And ever the same song-sermon is said— Le jeu est fait ; rien ne va plus ! Ah ! the song and the sermon are ever the same. The same sad song, and never a new ; The same gay sermon — -a merry game — ^ Le jeu est fait ; rien ne va plus ! III. The swift round circle of fate is spun, For Life or Despair — but a moment, or two ! Then the echo falls back from that Victory won^ Le jeu est fait ; rien ne va plus ! But the Failure — ah ! brother, hast fallen so low Thou dost stoop to these alms ? Aye ! 'tis even true : Bah ! '' Lend me a shilling, I've LOST ?" ah ! NO.— - Le jeu est fait ; rien ne va plus ! 52 THE SELF-MADE WORM. I brought my grist from the little stone mill, Which nestles so cozily under the hill, And sings its own song to the rhyme of the rill ; While the creaking old wheel beats the time with a will. I sifted the meal from the freshly ground grain. And I said : I will make me some bread, for my brain. Thence I made it, and ate it, and flourished amain. And I kept a small leaven to make it again. Then I thought I might style me a self-made man, For didn't I sift the meal from the bran ? Well, I went soon again, as the swift mornings ran, And bless me ! what think you I found in the pan ? Why, only some worms ; and one ugly, fat worm, Down under the meal. Gad ! how he did squirm At the touch, and he spoke — that he spoke I affirm ; For I heard him quite plainly. And thus spoke the worm : -53- You think I am little, O short-sighted man ! And you feel very big, as a man's feeling goes ; Yet you greatly mistake, if you think that you can Thus, with impunity, tickle my toes. I'm a self-made worm. And I yield me to none, Dwell they high in the sky or low under the sea ; For there is no family under the sun, With such a pedigree — worms though we be. We are self-made worms — ha ! ha ! to exist Forever and ever ; what, ho ! you affirm Your wee genius — -hold ! mark me, the gist Of a self-made man is a little white worm ! And when your wee year, in Death's visiting round, Shall have paid you the grace of its grim caravan, I will tickle your toes in your home underground — Ha ! Ha ! you have seen your own ghost Mr. Man ! -54' A BEAUTIFUL MORNING. " Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit." — Vir-gil, Oh, never the sky so sweetly blue, Nor ever the red sun's disc so bright, Oh, never the morning with roseate hue Enchanteth my spirit with cheerier light ! Glad life is glowing ! though sin be sad When the beaming sky is all so blue ; For men are weary, as men are glad. When Cometh the morning with roseate hue, And the sun shall beam \vith as happy a face, When I am stricken with gloom and pain ; — Put I'll think of this hour in its beautiful grace, And press back my sorrow and grief again, -55- THE CLOUD, Ruddy day is dying ; Breezes, softly sighing, Soothe the air ; Golden leaves are gleaming- Sunset rays are beaming Everywhere ; But yon dark cloud, flying O'er the fair land lying, Ah, so bright ! Darkens soon the golden Sunset glow beholden, — E'en as night ; And chill, sombre sadness Palls upon the gladness Of the hour. Ay ! but see, descending — The dry Earth befriending — A sweet shower. Shall not, thus, befitting Tears come, kindly flitting All lives o'er? Drink ! sad Heart confiding- In God's love abiding, Sigh no more ! -56- THE RAIN. A REQUIEM, Drip ! drip ! drip ! Dreary rain ! Still, the slow drops slip Down the window pane. Dead ! dead ! dead ! Even hope ! O'er a lonely bed Blooms a grassy slope, And the ripe showers start From the floods above — So my tearful heart Weeps its buried love. Weep ! weep ! weep ! Weary tears ! So wan memories creep Down the darkling years. 1 -57- VALE, ME A ! Why dost thou leave me, why thus depart, Thou who art dearer Than life to my heart ? Why dost thou leave me Deserted, alone — Hist to the winds, love. Hear how they moan ! Like the wild winds, love, Wailing at night. Groaning and moaning 1 long for the light — Light of my life, love, Fading away, Why dost thou leave me To long for the day ! -58- TWILIGHT, The kindly sun beams through the mist With features bright, As gallantly he stoops to kiss The world good night ; And leaves me in the twilight gray, In errant mood — A weary pilgrim, seeking calm In solitude ! My heart, so tired within me, seemed To plead for this ; To glide among my favored haunts And know the bliss Of indolence, as in life's boat I drift and think : How merciful, that wavering souls Upon the brink Of sorrow, may thus turn to Thee Oh God ! — heart-calm To seek, reposing at Thy shrines ! Not church with psalm ; But at Thy sectless altars, spread All o'er the earth, Where all may kneel to bless Thee that Thou gav'st them birth ! -59- May bless Thee that 'mid anxious doubts, And woes they feel, This thing they know ; that unto each Thou dost reveal Thy love, in earth's minutest charms ! So, floating on, Past stately pines and cedars tall, I see, anon. This weary willow bending down To cheer some chill And nestling shrub, for they are friends In sadness still ! Green ivies, arm in loving arm, Strong trees entwine ! Sweet violets, in courtship with Each languid vine, Upon their soft and mossy bed Of love recline ! All nature hath her friendships still — As I have mine : For newly beautiful life seems Now, to my soul ! Like these scenes mirrored in the lake — ' A perfect whole ! 6o E VENING. In Heaven fair Luna, Queen mother of light, Sits, robed in her favorite silver and white ; And, far through the limitless, bright-starred blue, Her brilliant effulgence expandeth my view. Oh, Infinite space, — in those fathomless skies What measureless thought of Eternity lies ! What glorious thought of that wonderful deep Lifts outward my vision from Earth's fevered sleep ? I think of that evening thus wondrously bright, Spell-bound — as an endless and beautiful night, When Life shall thus slumber in calm ne'er to cease And dream the great dream of that Heaven of peace \ -6i- RE VERIE. Cosily reposing, brother, By the calm hearth's cheery blaze. Fancy pictures many another Golden scene of brighter days : Fancy pictures many another Silvery scene from memory's page — Golden scenes of youth, my brother. Silvery scenes of honored age ! Mark the gorgeous spirit glowing In yon dark and gloomy frame ! Know'st thou not that life's outgoing Fleeteth as this flickering flame ? Aye, thine own prevision, roaming With each errant gleam of light, . Courteth lovingly the gloaming And the mystery of night ! Oh, while yet fond fancies nourish Fairest dreams in length displayed. Bright life's glowirig embers flourish But to flicker, faint and fade — -62- Leaving many a scene impainted, Many a promise unfulfilled, When the fertile brain hath fainted And the fiery heart is chilled ! Ay ! even thus life's dream doth find us, With the golden genial glow Of youth but reverie behind us And our fires fast waning low ! Even thus — wan mysteries, shading Dreaming c} es with shadowv liands ; Wandering starlets, diml\ fading Into distant wonder lands ! -63 A WOUNDED SPIRIT WHO CAN BEAR. A wounded spirit who can bear — Who may yet death's portal dare ? When woe's sorrows gloom life's path, What soul its requital hath ? Ah ! who can brave th' insidious thrust, Which wounds a spirit's holiest trust — When fondest hope resolves to air, A wounded spirit who can bear ? A wounded spirit who can bear — Oh ! when the dreams of Earth were fair, Oh ! when the tongues of men were rife With praise of an unbroken life. Ah, when then falls the cruel frost ! When Genius palls — love's labor lost, ■ Oh God ! when none this blow may share, A wounded spirit who can bear ? rV wounded spirit who can bear — Hurt unto death, as a wounded hare It glideth away, to hide its shame Where none may know it — even its name. -64- So wouldst thou creep to the welcome fire Bearing with thee thy broken lyre ; Dumb is thy heart in its chill despair — Thy wounded spirit no more may bear ! A wounded spirit who can bear — Lo ! but the promise of God is fair : Come unto me — thou faithful one, Whose weary courses are even run ! Lo ! but the portal of death is grand With visions bright of that heavenly land, Courage ! A haven of peace is there — Whose wounded spirit no more may bear I -65- A PRAYER. Though cheerful flowers of brightest dye Perchance might deck my dungeon tomb, I should not less uneasy lie Within that dark and haunted room — There, where no light of heaven can fall Athwart the dumb crypt's dreadful gloom But where the worms about you crawl, The ghosts of an untoward doom ! No, I should rise to haunt the day, The day or night of such as dared. Thus, coldly, bury me away In a damp grave by goblins shared ; For there are ghosts who will not stay Within the tombs where demons dwell, Where ghoulish vipers on them prey — If hell there be, then this were hell ! -66- Give me to fade in air away, A spirit to its spirit doom — Give to this corse of cheerless clay A glorious pyre that shall consume All mortal mould, from whence I may Ascend in light and airy bloom — Speed, speed me on my heavenly way, And save me from the loathsome tomb ! 67 BORN TO THE PURPLE. The heart of a giant Norway Pine Glows on my hearth with its dying flame But who shall say that this heart of mine Is not ennobled by its shame ? I''()r thus (l()(li tlic wcikcst, lioniclicst tiling l')c;ini with glories the ])nn(l might see ; And thus even 1 lind voice to sing- That which the pine-log sings to me. For Oh ! the great voice of my Norway fire Doth teach thee, whosoe'er thou art : Mayst thou, too, chant from thy gorgeous pyre In the glowing pride of as full a heart ! Mayst thou, too, merit thy purple robe — Fit cerement for thee who, dying, sings ! Thou art the royal spirit of a globe ; And in the pride of heart all may be Kings ! -68 IN MEMORIAM. Although it be not ours to grace With rarest flowers this friend so dear Still we who loved him fain would place Some flowers upon his honored bier. For rarest flowers not always prove Immortal wreaths for whom they bloom , The bitter tears of constant love Fall oftener on the flowerless tomb. Yet while the heart is weighted low With grief for him we may not seek ; And while the voice is freighted so With choking sobs, it cannot speak ; Still might we weave, with loving touch, A simple crown of wayside flowers — He loved familiar forms so much He would not spurn this wreath of ours -69- His life, so full of homely tasks, No sordid pride nor impulse knew ; His was the love which only asks True love again, brave heart, how true ! So do we love him still in death — The genial soul who knew no wrong ; He smiles, as though with dying breath He blessed our loving flowers of song. Peace, brother, by Affection blest ! Beside thy pyre we kneel to pray That thou, whose spirit is at rest. Wilt lead us in the perfect way ! -70- L ENVOI. AN AFTER-THOUGHT Not giants all — Whose blunt nibs scrawl l.ife's pages, crossed again And pointed with worn pen ! Nor pigmies still — Whose faint strokes fill Spare lines, so finely spun They scarcely seem begun ! But hast thou wrought One shapely thought, Or yet one sentient deed — Sown one enduring seed — Blest be thy wit, Which hallows it ! Praise God, who gives it birth — This heavenward flight of earth •.-'.•'■4 > .• "•. -i r>' LIBRARY OF CONGRESS ilMlllllllllilllllli 018 603 052 7 i\\Y\x\.\\\v.Vs\wv.