Class _tS3-5I^<^"" GopightN^- /^^/ COPffilGHT DEPOSrr. «A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF" "A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF" By ERNESTINE L. R. COLLINS THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY BOSTON, MASS. -ifeo'^" ^l^f^ Copyright, 1921 The Cornhill Publishing Company OCT -b 19^1 §)CIA627304 FOREWORD I've collected and culled my rhymes And garnered them into a sheaf — The echoes of pastimes brief — Stored away in rhythmical chimes. They to others will be of less worth Than to those who are dearest to me — My friends and posterity — When I shall have passed from the earth. No heights nor depths are revealed In my verse, nor knowledge abstruse, But of things near at hand I've made use, Things which to my fancy appealed. I have never above the clouds soared, Or hobnobbed with Venus and Mars. Or tried to outsparkle the stars. Nor the heart of the sun explored. I have walked in the valleys of thought And plucked the stray blossoms that grew, While leisurely wandering through: These into my sheaf I have wrought. And if they their purpose attain — To amuse, perchance, for awhile, And the reader from ennui beguilt My efforts have not been in vain. Ernestine L. R. Collins, Clinton, Mo. "A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF" THE KATYDID When night's invisible choir comes out; Each singing his favorite strain, The katydid puts all the rest to rout With his peevish, incessant refrain. "Katy did — Katy didn't — she did" — says he Just as plain as words can be. Oh, the Katydid is a saucy wight And he wears a coat of green, His stridulous notes are heard all night From beneath his leafy screen. "Katy did — Katy didn't — she did" — says he From his perch in the maple tree. All day he sits in his quiet nook With never a word to say. But at night, from his perch where none can look, He scolds and chatters away. "Katy did — Katy didn't — she did" — says he High up in the maple tree. I A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF No wonder his voice is harsh and coarse And sounds like the rasping of saws, For he carps all night until he is hoarse. With never a moment's pause. *Katy did — Katy didn't — she did — she did" — He pipes 'neath the green leaves hid. Who Katy is or what she has done. Or whether she didn't or did, Could never be learned by anyone From this caviling katydid. 'Katy did — Katy didn't — she did" — says he From his perch in the maple tree. I can tell you a secret about katydid. For I've learned some curious things. About how katydid's voice is made — They say it is made with his wings. And that's why his voice never tires when he sings, For he says Katy did with the click of his wings. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 3 FAIRY SONG Two little fairy sprites In a shell asleep. Rocked by the zephyrs light Sailing o'er the deep. In their tiny fairy boat Made of rainbow hues Sweetly dreaming as they float On their aerial cruise. Over them the moonbeams pale Shed a mellow light, Guiding their bark so frail Through the stilly night. Whither now, O whither roam In your silvery shell? Surely Ye must hither come From some Fairy-dell. Where so lightly dance the fays Among the flowers fair, Underneath the moon's soft rays To music quaint and rare. Made by harps aeolian With strings of finest hair By the tiniest spider spun^ And fanned by softest air. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF And the trumpet-flower's sweet notes. Blown by elfin sprites, Till the merry echo floats Along the distant heights. And chimes of lily-bells at morn Ring their joyous peals, Blent with elfin harp and horn, A mystic music yields. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF IN MEMORIAM He came to us in winter time When ev'rything was chill and drear. Like a golden ray of sunshine Bringing with him light and cheer. Oh^ how we loved our darling babe — A precious gift from Heaven sent. No, not a gift, else he had stayed. But only for a moment lent To keep as a most sacred trust; But why, I never could explain That when we'd learned to love him most He should be taken back again. We guarded him with tenderest care Like the most fragile flower from birth. Too delicate and frail to bear The chilling atmosphere of earth. His little life was so entwined With mine, it seemed a very part, Though gone from earth, nor death, nor time, Can ever take him from my heart. 6 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Yes, gone — as all must some time go ! Why do I grieve when all is vain? I cannot tell, I only know I should not wish him back again To share the ills in life's unrest Which all must soon or later know — I try to feel 'tis for the best. But oh, I can't — I loved him so. The music of his voice — so sweet — In baby tones to us so dear, The soft tread of his tiny feet Seem ever echoing on my ear. The little shoe with broken string, The picture books he loved so well, The fondest recollections bring. For each a story has to tell. His little crib, how oft I seek, And little playthings laid away. In silent eloquence they speak A meaning more than words can say. No plans for future life we had But he was foremost in each thought, But now alas ! a change most sad Thy hand, O destiny, hath wrought. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF And though we try to reconcile Ourselves unto thy stern decree, The heart is yearning all the while His baby form once more to see. Ah, well, we know that he has gone Unto a brighter, happier home. Where sing bright birds of sweetest song, And flowers in fadeless beauty bloom. And when we've done with earthly care, And reach the mystic river side. Our darling boy will meet us there And o'er it safe our bark will guide. 8 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF CHILDHOOD DAYS Oh, the happy days of childhood In the meadows or the wildwood ! In the meadows decked with flowers Passing many golden hours. Romping in their childish glee Chasing butterfly or bee. Or by winding brooklet straying In its crystal waters playing. Wading in with feet all bare Hunting pebbles quaint and rare. Floating tiny boat or ark Made of bits of chip or bark, Thinking naught of time or place, With the streamlet keeping pace Following their fairy craft, Which the breezes gently waft, Onward through some sunny glade. Skirted by the greenwood shade. Finding here a cool retreat Sink upon some mossy seat And rest awhile their tired feet. Oh, the golden days of childhood By the streamlet in the wildwood! Careless, happy, light, and free Sitting 'neath a spreading tree, List'ning to some sylvan tale A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 9 Whispered by the gentle gale — Whispered by the gale so softly Murm'ring through the treetops lofty, Down through branches swaying, swinging. Tales of joy to childhood bringing: Of little nests on branches high That none who pass may chance to spy The little eggs that in them lie. And of birds that watch them carefully. Guard and watch them all day long And trill the while their joyous song. Tells how sunshine and the showers Deck the woods with grass and flowers — Anemones and violets blue With golden butter-cups of dew. Thus like butterflies so gay Pass our childhood hours away, Never have they care or sorrow But will fade with coming morrow. Sleep to youth is more than wealth Bringing peace and rosy health, Which they will find when they are old Cannot be bought with precious gold. The rose of health and sparkling eye The gold of Ophir cannot buy. Then let us not begrudge them pleasure But fill their cups with heaping measure. 10 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF All too soon will youth forsake them; All too soon will care o'ertake them^ As adown life's stream they float Like their fairy pleasure boat. Left to drift upon the tide Onward to the ocean wide. For as the streamlet to the sea Is childlife to the yet-to-be. But ay! though childhood's happy hours Are transient as the summer flowers, Who does not feel the painful truth That sweetest joys have passed with youth? A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 11 AN APRIL SONG Glad April's come with dewy eyes That smile through sparkling tears, And bluer are the bending skies, And greener earth appears. Capricious month, with promise rife Of sunnier days to come, All nature quickens with new life, And bursts each bud in bloom. Yet, fickle youth, we love thy face With all its varying moods: When sun and shade each other chase Across the fields and woods. I love to watch the white clouds fleet. And sudden dashing showers; It makes the balmy air so sweet With breath of new-born flowers. The crocus peeps from 'neath the snow And opes its lily-cup, To catch the sunshine's golden glow That brings the warm sap up. 12 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF And sweety wild flowers of every hue Are springing everywhere. Thej?^ bask in sunshine^ drink the dew. And breathe the soft warm air. The violet with nod, and bend, And rim of azure blue, In rainbow harmony doth blend With softest yellow hue. The flower that poets love so well. Emblem of purity And truth, which oft together dwell In lone obscurity. E'en Shakespeare who of mighty kings And deeds of statecraft wrote Scorns not the violet, but sings Its praise in sweetest note. The dandelions, with saucy air. The lawns and yards run o'er. And hj the dusty highways stare. Or peep in our very door. Fair flowers, sweet messengers of spring, We hail ye with delight. And give ye a glad welcoming For making earth so bright. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 13 For it would be a gloomy place Should ye not lend your smile That beams upon each cheering face Which coyly peeps the while From leafy nook or tangled maze, Or in the sun's broad glare, Or bending o'er the brook to gaze, Upon thy image fair. In climes where winters linger long, Spring-beauties quickly follow Retreating snows, ere scarcely gone From sheltered nook and hollow. I've sought them on the rugged steeps Where they were wont to grow. And clambered o'er the banks where sweeps The river far below. These trophies of the early Spring Were held by me most dear, As nature's sweet peace-offering, — The firstlings of the year. Whose breath ascends like incense sweet From altars verdure-clad. While scattering beauty at our feet And making all earth glad. 14 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF For when are decked the fields and woods In colors bright and gay, The birds pour forth, in perfect floods. The joy they cannot stay. As if in gratitude and praise To Him who rules o'er all, Who gives the valley-lily grace And notes the sparrow's fall. Then for these beauties manifold. May we as grateful prove, And in God's handiworks behold His wisdom, power, and love. For lo ! in every blade of grass. Or in each tiny flower. Or summer breeze, or wintry blast, We recognize His power. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 1. COSMIC ENERGY What is the power that drives man on — An inner force he must obey — Which prods him onward day by day Until the longed-for goal is won? An energy that stirs within That makes one feel that he has shirked His duty if he has not worked. Which doing will contentment win. 'Tis not ambition's vain desire For glory, worldly power, or fame, And sometimes has no special aim Except to urge to something higher. May it not be creative power Innate in man — a divine spark — Like to a seed sown in the dark That pushes to the light to flower? And if he will but hearken to This cosmic urge which all possess In some degree, greater or less. Naught seems too great for man to do. 16 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF All things in nature's vast domain Unlock their secrets to his will, Guided by scientific skill, Ever his goal he will attain. He voyages beneath the sea Or through the air to heights unknown. In regions where no bird has flown. And where no rivalry has he. The highest mountain peaks he scales As if to read the starry lore Over which men nightly pore Before the sun their glory pales. The polar lure which men, obsessed, But whom the ice king long defied. Has finally been gratified. For he has yielded to their quest. This energy which dwells in man Is the same force which worlds creates. Developing to higher states Through cosmic evolution's plan. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 17 Lines Written for Shakespeare's Birthday. Kead at the annual banquet of the Clinton Shalcespeare Class, April 23d, 1890. Another year has swiftly passed away Bringing another anniversary day. And once again with cheerful hearts we meet, Again our friends with kindly welcome greet. Well pleased to share with them for what 'tis worth Our celebration of the great bard's birth. Inscribed in evergreens, behold his name — A fitting type of his undying fame Which time has not with its accustomed rigor Had power to blight, but lent immortal vigor. A fame which burns and glows with steady blaze, And sends athwart two continents its rays. Peerless he reigns, the brightest star that shines Within the galaxy of the world's great minds. Howe'er, in me 'twould be presumption bold To eulogize a name whose virtues told So oft has rendered it a household word Where'er the English language may be heard. Yet we who've dabbled at his fountain's brink And of its priceless waters joyed to drink, Our grateful tribute of respect would pay And hail with pleasure this, his natal day. May it ever be a day of joy and mirth And none forget the "gentle Shakespeare's" birth. And may his name be heard on every tongue. 18 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF By coming bards his praises ever sung; For bard^ historian, and sage divine. Essayist and orator, and, in fine, The keenest wits and wisest sages Have borrowed inspiration from his pages. Or, to use a figure which all well know. Have lighted their taper at his candle's glow. Then all before his mighty genius bow And bind the laurel leaf upon his brow. Again we hail his natal-day with joy, And yield to merriment without alloy. Again, kind friends, with hearty acclamation We welcome you to our celebration. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 19 ROSES AND DIMPLES Whence came the dimples and the rose In baby's cheek? The story goes: An angel passing by one day Beheld a child that sleeping lay In a shady nook — a lovely sight; He paused a moment in his flight — "Behold! what a lovely child is here! It has been stol'n from Heaven I fear." Thus spoke the angel drawing near. As if the truth he wished to prove If 'twere of earth or heaven above. He kissed its cheeks like lilies fair. And left the bloom of roses there. Then touched them with his finger tips Just at the corner of its lips. From where he then his hand withdrew, Two little dimples quickly grew. Angel dimples, baby's ruse To coax us when it smiles or coos. The angel then no longer whiled. He recognized a mortal child. Viewing his work with keen delight He quick resumed his onward flight. That's how comes the rosy hue In baby's cheek, and dimples, too. 20 A GARNLRED AUTUMN SHEAF THE MOON FLOWER AND FOUR-O'CLOCK The modest moon flower shrinks and pales Before the day king's burning kiss. But to the queen of night unveils Her charms in all their loveliness. But not so meek the four-o'clock. Coquettish little miss. Who dons her most bewitching frock And sallies forth at four o'clock To greet the sun's warm kiss. And basks within his waning light, Until he says farewell When he retires to rest at night, Then, reigns as evening belle. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 21 OLD FASHIONED FLOWERS I love the dear old fashioned flowers That in my youth I knew, That all along the garden walks And in the front yard grew. Where little mounds of moss rose stood Whose blossoms, white and red, With feathery foliage rank and green O'er all their surface spread. Among the prettiest flowers that grew Dianthus pinks were our delight. Their petals red in varying hue Tipped with picot edge of white. And ragged-robbins of every hue With bleeding-heart, and cockscomb red, And marigolds, and asters grew In the old time flower bed. A dainty flower in shim'ring white Was lady-in-the-green Who, shrinking timidly from sight, Peeped through a lacy screen. 22 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF A homely flower with sober face As old-maids-wreath was known; Though stiff and awkward, held its place Among the flowers then grown. Along with mourning-widows, grave Gowned in velvet black as night — Contrasting with the touch-me-not, Or lady's slipper pink and white. How graceful was the cypress vine That to a trellis clung Its foliage delicate and fine With scarlet bells o'erhung. The soft winds through the poppies blew Fanning their drowsy odors 'round And toying with their fragile leaves Scattered them o'er the ground. Morning-glories in brilliant mass. As lovely as a dream, No other flower can surpass In wealth of color scheme. But like the moon flower, hides its face As if in very scorn Of the rude day god's ardent gaze. And blossoms with the morn. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 23 They clambered o'er the windows, where In wanton joy they swung, And out upon the morning air Their myriad blossoms flung. And roses, still the queen of flowers. Did everywhere abound, Though new varieties are ours None prettier are found. The hollyhocks with slender stocks Abloom from top to toe, With sunflowers, stood like sentinels Guarding the flowers below. 24 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF TIME'S MISSION "O Father Time, I pray thee check thy pace, I cannot follow thee in this mad race. The mile-posts seem to fly away so fast I scarce can see them while we're rushing past. I fain would pause to take the rest I need Whilst thou advancest with increasing speed. When first I met thee in the long ago I thought thy lagging steps were all too slow, Then I besought thee to increase thy gait To catch some bauble I could scarce await. Thou didst refuse my summons to obey But kept the even tenor of thy way." Thus I entreated Father Time, in tears. Whose head is hoary with the rime of years. But though I begged him but a moment stay He heeded not but quickly sped away. And as he hastened with me o'er life's stage Thus spoke he with the wisdom of a sage : — "Back in remotest ages' uncut leaves Where memory reacheth not, nor mind conceives. Before creation's dawn, indeed, I was, — Coeval with the great creative cause. And from my loins the myriad worlds have sprung That down the centuries untold have swung A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 25 O'er trackless voids of deep abysmal space^ Whilst I with measured tread moved on apace. I could not, if I would, pause in my course, Onward impelled by some resistless force. Therefore thy praj^ers or tears alike are vain To move me, or my onward march restrain. "I'm called Tierce spirit of the scythe and glass,' For with my thrifty blade o'er all I pass: But ever in its wake spring lovelier flowers. My slipping sands tell off the passing hours. I bring the seasons in continuous round, To days, and years, and centuries, give bound. I'm also called 'tomb-builder' and 'gnawing-tooth/ 'Remorseless grim destroyer/ and in sooth, I do destroy, crumble, and topple down The grand achievements which man's efforts crown. E'en Mother Nature with her mobile face Owes to my hand each new more perfect grace. With mighty spasms and internal shocks, I rend and crush her adamantine rocks. Level her mountains, grind her cliffs to sands. Smoothing her features with my rugged hands. 'My mission is perpetual change, to bring. That higher orders, Phoenix like, may spring From out the ashes of the vnouldering past — Each new creation higher thon the last. 26 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF I work not always with a hand so rude But slowly polish and refine the crude. Some time it will be better understood, I always labor for the general good. I heal all griefs and bind the wounded heart ^^ ith Lethean balsam to remove the smart. "In nature's cosmic processes I find I may seem cruel when I would be kind. Thus, when I gently furrow brow and cheeks, And slowly thread thy locks with silver streaks, Make dim thine eyes, thy faltering feet to grope And totter feebly down life's sun-set slope, — I do but wear thy prison bars away That hold thee in this prison-house of clay. "But when I've opened wide thy prison door Into the boundless infinite thou'lt soar To that mystic realm in Celestial Spheres, Seen by the inner vision of your seers. And I shall still forever be with thee As thou advancest throughout eternity. For though it has been said in days of yore The time would come when time would be no more, It is a paradox as one may see: I always was — and always I will be Cliief executor of His divine will — Progress, through change, my mission to fulfill." A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 27 THE WILD ROSE The sweet breathed wild rose, queenly flower, Wears a pink flush on her face: The flush of pride in her royal power Which she wields with quiet grace. Not like the stately garden rose Whose proud majestic mien An air of haughty grandeur shows Unlike our prairie queen: Who reigns with modesty o'er all With undisputed sway; Not circumscribed by fence or wall — Her realm, the world's high way. 28 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF MEDITATION UPON DEATH The time will come some day when I must go — Must follow in the wake of all the earth The shadow-path of death: I fear not though. For death is but the process of rebirth. And all must meet it at earth's journey's-end — Some early and some later in the day — Then why not greet it as a welcome friend That comes, to guide us o'er the unknown way Into the higher life, inherited By all? — the reflex of our life below — Such life, as by our deeds, is merited As surely as we reap just what we sow. What should concern us chiefly is the thought: — How much of good have we accomplished here. Or service to our fellowman have wrought. Or have we softened grief or quenched a tear? What though our sphere of usefulness be small? Our home, perhaps, may claim our chiefest care. If we have done it well, though that be all, 'Tis something to have done out duty there: A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 29 Our children reared — with all that this implies — To give them watchful care by day and night, To guard them from all harms that may arise, And guide their footsteps in the paths of right. Our duty done should banish every fear, And somewhat take away the sting of pain At parting with our friends and loved ones here To meet them later on the spirit-plane. Some sage has said: "Seek truth wherever found, Whether on Christian, or on pagan ground." An aphorism just and wise, in sooth, For none may claim monopoly on truth. Who seeks the truth comes nearer to the light. Who trusts the intuition of the soul Will never wander very far from right, For truth will guide him to the Heavenly goal. I like to think or dream with Tennyson That good will be the final goal of ill. I trust that all will share God's benison. That evil will succumb to His good will. Love begets love, and pity softens hate. And mercy works more good than vengeance can; These three, therefore, if we but cultivate, Will bring to earth peace and good will to man. 30 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF The longing for life's continuity The promise of fulfillment doth imply. There could be no desire were there no way The hunger of the soul to satisfy. The sluggish worm that crawls along the ground, Falling asleep within his cerecloth rolled, In due time bursts the bonds which wrap him 'round, And soars aloft on wings of shining gold. So when I lay me down to quiet sleep — The outer senses all forever stilled — I trust to waken from my slumber deep To find my fondest dreams are all fulfilled. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 31 America's Reply to John McRae's "In Flanders Fields" Sleep on, ye brave in Flanders field. Your blood has not in vain been shed. It has our covenant with ye sealed; There, too, our sons have fought and bled, And now lie numbered with the dead. In Flanders fields. Fear not that we shall break our plight, Your comrades, tho from distant lands, Who have espoused the cause of right, Will seize the torch dropped from your hands. And from your couch where poppies blow. And soft winds whisper through the grass, We'll backward hurl the stubborn foe — Our watchword thine, "They shall not pass." Nor fear but we'll defeat the foe. For right must triumph over wrong; Then sleep in peace where poppies blow. And larks still bravely sing their song In Flanders fields. 32 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF A RHYME OF THE FRENCH TEAPOT When I was young, and went to school, The teacher showed us how our maps Were shaped like many curious things, To impress them on our minds, perhaps. And I remember plainly how We all agreed the shape of France Was almost like a teapot formed, It seemed, by some strange rule of chance. The knob of the lid was at Calais, The spout extended out to Brest, The handle was Alsace-Lorraine, The pot, of course, was all the rest. Of this French teapot's sad mishaps. The story I will now relate. Of all its triumphs and defeats. And final ending up to date. About two thousand years ago The German hordes of robber bands Poured down across the River Rhine And seized upon these Gallic lands. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 33 Then Caesar came to aid the Gauls; He piled the German dead in heaps And drove the rest across the Rhine Into the swampy forest deeps. It chanced this Alsace and Lorraine — The handle of the French teapot — The Germans always coveted As of all France, the richest spot. And therefore, as the years passed by. Between these rival states there grew A jealousy, and hate, and spleen. That kept them ever in a stew. Through many wars that came about. Contending for these envied lands. They have been like a shuttle-cock Tossed back and forth between their hands. Bismarck, the Prussian chancelor. Ambitious to make Prussia great. Two wars provoked, and conquest made; Increasing thus the Prussian state. Encouraged thus, with scarce a pause. Napoleon Third, he bated next. To find some semblance of a cause. For "The wicked never lack pretext." 34 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Napoleon Thirds hot-headed man. Fell in the trap as soon as laid; Was quick defeated at Sedan, And for his rashness dearly paid. 'Twas then, in eighteen seventy one, The Germans seized Alsace-Lorraine, Five billion francs indemnity. Beside, succeeded to obtain. And France bewailed her grievous loss. For they had spoiled the teapot's shape. She built a monument of grief And draped it o'er with mourning crepe. The Huns, this mourning did resent, And took her sorrow for revanche And thought, by way of punishment. Another war on her they'd launch. And so they drank unto "The Day" When they should try the trick once more, And take the cover off the pot This time, and for more wealth explore. For four long years they tried their skill. But all their efforts failed, alack! They could not get the cover off And had to gfve the handle back. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 35 They routed them at every point Where "Hindy" stretched his famous line, Nor gave them time to pause for breath Till they had goose-stepped 'cross the Rhine. Now France's teapot is intact, The handle has come back to stay. Nor need they fear the Boche again Will try to touch the knob, Calais. Her mourning statue France undraped. And placed a wreath upon its head: No more she wears the mourning crepe Save only for her noble dead. And though her land is scarred and torn, France will no longer wail and pine: With British Tommies and Yankee boys, She now keeps "Watch Upon The Rhine." And while in Alsace and Lorraine Again the French flag proudly floats. The dogs of war, the Huns unchained. Are tearing at their masters' throats. And "Deutschland Ueber Alles" no more Will urge them to the battle fray; Their dream of world dominion's o'er. — No more they'll drink unto "The Day." 36 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF SHE AND HE She hears the brooklet laugh and sing 'Neath sun and shadow dimpling Or hears it softly murmuring When over pebbles wimpling. To him 'tis but a noisy brook Forever onward going. Upon its face he sees no look But only water flowing. The breezes whisper in her ears Strange tales of wood and ocean: No voices in the breeze he hears But only air in motion. The rain that fills each flower-cup To her is God's sweet nectar; To him the earth it softens up From drouth a sure protector. When strolling by the meadow brook, Soft winds through reeds a-singing, The lingering echoes of Pan's pipe She fancies still a-ringing. No vagrant music greets his ears Nor notes from Pan's pipe blowing, The only music that he hears Is far-off cattle lowing. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 37 She dwells upon Parnassus Height And drinks Castalian water And gathers wild flowers with delight Like Ceres' lovely daughter. Such glamourie he cannot know But he is like the many Who dwell below like old Pluto She like Proserpine. Beware of him, O maiden wise, — If thou art Ceres' daughter — Who looks not toward the azure skies But down on mud and water. S8 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF DEEDS VERSUS CREEDS Why bicker over man-made creeds That mystify and cloud the mind? Better are kindly words and deeds To smooth the pathway of mankind. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 39 HONOR AND VIRTUE Honor, whose aim is men's regard, No step to cause a blush would take: While virtue is its own reward And does what's right for right's own sake. To further quote the sage, Voltaire, "Honor is common, virtue, rare." 40 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF EDITH CAVELL Not all the heroes^ in battle fell In Argonne wood, on Marne, or Somme, None braver died than Edith Cavell, The martyr nurse of Belgium. Midst roar of guns, and screaming shells. Comrades in battle rush the foe, Buoyed up by shouts and battle yells To victory or death they go. Alone, against a prison wall. Calmly she took her seat, nor spoke. No kindly face before her stood To give her courage and fortitude, Only sinister faces all. Of those who dealt the fatal stroke. Her mission was a sacred one — To minister with gentle hand To victims of the ruthless Hun — Invader of a peaceful land. Victim herself of jealous hate She fell, a martyr to the cause Of justice and humanity. The highest of God's sacred laws. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 41 Most nobly has she earned the name Of "Belgium's Florence Nightingale." English alike they share like fame And glory, which time cannot pale. Aghast with horror, the world beheld This crime which to the whole world cried. It steeled the heart and nerved the hand, With victory the world replied. Victory over tyranny, Victory for the weak and small, Victory for humanity, For justice meted out to all. Edith Cavell, thy name will live On history's page, that all may know The noble service thou didst give. Rendered alike to friend and foe. And bards thy story will relate, Thy heroism and thy sade fate. And tears of sympathy will flow. 42 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF SWEET VIOLETS Dear little violets, by soft winds fanned. Hiding away so modest and shy, As if to avoid the vandal hand That would pluck ye from your native land, The law of love ye understand For with fragrance sweet ye reply. O let me die when the violets bloom — Sweet violets, violets dear, Scatter them gently over my tomb Scattering away all grief and gloom For think me not in the narrow room. Though I may be lingering near. O bury me where the violets grow — Sweet violets, so full of grace. So early and so late to blow Sometimes covered by winter snow Waiting for it to melt and go Ere they peep from their hiding place. O plant sweet violets on my grave — Sweet violets, violets dear. Where their blossoms may nod and wave Tho' rains may fall, and storms may rave; Kind nature will her darlings save To lend to the earth their cheer. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 43 PREFACE TO TRANSLATIONS I am indebted to the French and German poets for the larger part of my book. The work of rendering their poems into Eng- lish has been so fascinating to me that it has left less time for original work, by which circum- stances the reader may probably benefit. When I made my translations of these poems I had no intention of publishing them, but be- cause of the beauty and excellence of thought contained in them, I have decided to publish them in order to share them with others from whom they might otherwise remain locked up in a foreign tongue. I trust they have not suffered so great a loss in the translation but that they may be read with interest and pleasure. As they are mostly from the classics, there are presumably other English versions with some of which mine may compare unfavorably. Neverthe- less I have decided to let the readers judge for themselves as to their merits. I would call special attention to the "Songs of Ossian" because of the curious fact that, having been first translated into English from an alleged Gaelic text which is no longer extant^ if it ever existed, there can be no English version except it come through some one of the foreign languages 44 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF into which McPherson's text was translated. It will be seen, therefore, that any English versions that may exist must necessarily differ widely from each other, as also from McPherson's English text. These songs of Ossian are but fragments of a long epic poem, "Fingal," purporting to have been written by Ossian, a Gaelic bard of the third century. I hope the reader will pardon the seeming presumption on my part if I give a brief account of McPherson's "originals" and the controversy which followed their translations into English: which facts are doubtless familiar to literary critics, but may not be so generally known to the lay reader. McPherson, a Scotchman and a good Gaelic scholar, travelled through Scotland and the Hebrides accompanied by two other Gaelic schol- ars, collecting old Gaelic manuscripts from among the people, also many oral recitations which he took down in Gaelic. When his translations of them first appeared in England they were received everywhere with in- tense enthusiasm and were translated into nearly all the principal European languages. The bitter controversy which soon arose over the authenticity of McPherson's "originals" is a long chapter well known to literary students. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 45 Both sides of the controversy, which was waged for many years, were supported by the most em- inent scholars of the times. Although later investigations exonerated Mc- Pherson from the charge of literary forgery and established, for a time at least, the authenticity of Ossian and his poems, the question in dispute is likely to remain a mooted one. The latest word that I have seen still dis- credits McPherson and declares Ossian to be a myth. I am inclined, however, to side with "the few people of intelligence north of the Tay, who still indulge the pleasing supposition that Fingal fought and Ossian sang." Whether spurious or genuine, the lofty senti- ment, wild beauty of imagery, original and pleas- ing similies, which abound in Goethe's version, from which I made a metrical translation, entitle them to a place in any collection of poetry. 46 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF TO A PURSE (From the French of Emile Augier) By darling hands wrought daintily, Little threads of silk and gold, Charming thyself, yet more two-fold For the dear hand that made thee. Then fear thou no request from me A meagre treasure to infold. But little gold have they who rhyme. But should they heaps of it obtain. Thy dainty net-work it would stain. A fate less vulgar shall be thine For thou shalt be the sacred shrine Of my poor heart and brain. Thy silken meshes tho' not gold Perfumed sonnets shall contain — Confidences 'tween us twain That no other shall behold. And within each tiny fold Shall lie conceal'd our joy or pain. And when old age the source shall chill. Whence issue all our joys and woes. And when no more with ardor glows The soul, nor feels love's tender thrill, I'll ope thee, little purse, here will The treasures of my heart repose. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 47 TO CREATE (From the French of Paul Bourget) Days succeed days, and weary years shall shed Their leaves like withered roses sear and dead Ere I shall hold within my feeble grasp The treasures which, alone, I long to clasp, — Fame and genius — Yet, how enraptured, quite, Am I with letters, my supreme delight! How thrills my heart with every word and thought. With so much pain or pleasure they are fraught! How ardently I've spent my nights and days To catch a fleeting thought or turn a phrase ! When April skies a smile of promise wear. And perfumes sweet float on the balmy air As soft as woman's breath, I oft retire From all, subduing all but one desire. Ready to die, so does it fascinate — Rebellious words to conquer — to create! Create! and feel the words throb on the page. And hear them thrill with love or hiss in rage. In them, 'twixt joys and sorrows to vibrate. With them, like God within the universe, be able to create. 48 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF A MARCH ROSE (From the French of Lucian Pate) The wind whirls and scatters about The leaves of the spring time past: It strews the walls and leaves broadcast With these shiverers put to rout. Its breath is soft and warm, howe'er, Already the violet opes Its tender leaves on southern slopes, Announcing spring is near. The wood looks bare and dead. All grey and bare is the hill. And the crows call loud and shrill. Beclouding the sky o'erhead. Meanwhile 'neath the sheltering hood Of a trellis, a lone rose floats, A chaffinch from a neighboring wood Is piping his clarion notes. 'Tis the morning watch of the year Ere the grand reveille sounds, The frost-king, in his nightly rounds, Takes the flowers that too soon appear. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 49 The fickle sun a warm caress Bestows, sometimes, at others, cold. The snow spreads over field and wold The soft folds of its fleecy dress. Cricket and grasshopper repose. Each in his quiet hiding place. While lifting up its happy face. Behold the Bengal rose! Beaming away with quiet grace — Too venturesome, I feel assured. Poor dear ! the spring hath it allured To the frost-king's chill embrace. 50 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF TIME'S FLIGHT (From the French of Paul Bourget) I know a pretty spot on the high seashore, Where the sweet-scented thyme grows wild at your feet, Where sea, rocks, and sky in the far distance meet. And the soul at its ease can dreamily soar. I took you there with me one bright day ere- while, — Beneath your broad hat which your charms well displayed. Your loose flowing locks a sweet picture made, While the sea, so serene, like a god seemed to smile. Your dainty black boots pressed lightly the grass. Your soul looked out from the depths of your eyes, Which seeing, I felt a desire arise, Slowly forever these sweet hours to pass. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 51 THE SEA (From the French of Lamartine's Meditation XIV) Borne ever along toward a distant clime In eternal night driven onward for aye, May we not pause on the ocean of time, Cast anchor a single day? The year has scarce ended its course, O Sea! Near thy waves which she was to see again. Behold ! I sit me alone here with thee Where thou sawest her sit then. Thus, didst thou groan 'neath the rocks that day, And thus, 'gainst their bold rugged flanks didst beat, And thus, the wind scattered the foaming spray O'er her beloved feet. That night we voyaged alone 'twixt thy shores. Thy dark waves reflecting the sky o'er-starred. No sound save the rhythmic dip of the oars The solemn stillness marred. Sweet music suddenly fell on my ear From the charmed shores reechoed the sound. The waves paused to listen — a voice to me dear Let fall these words profound: 52 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF "O Time^ happy hours, suspend thy flight! Speed not so quickly away. Let us taste to the full the swift delight Of this our happiest day! "Enough poor unfortunates here below Implore thee onward forever to speed, Carrying with thee their sorrow and woe. Of the happy then take no heed/' But I ask in vain for a moment's stay For time takes quickly its flight. Then I cry aloud: "Not so fast, I pray!" But Aurora dispels the night. Let us love and enjoy the fugitive hour, Haste and be happy then while we may. Man has no port and time has no shore. It flows and bears us away. O Time, can it be that these moments of bliss When love fills the soul with its rapture sublime Can slip from our grasp with like speediness As those filled with sorrow and crime.? What! must thou not leave us a single trace! What ! passed quite away — lost, forever more ! O cruel Time, dost but build to efface. And naught to us restore.? A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 53 Eternity, fathomless, dark abyss. Where are the days thou hast swallowed from sight ! Speak ! wilt thou give back life's sweet ecstasies That have yielded to thy might? O Sea, sombre forest, rocks hoary with age That time may yet spare awhile from its blight, O Nature, preserve thou on thy ample page Some token of this blissful night. Be it in thy repose or thy mad unrest Or thy laughing shores that thou keepst a trace, O Sea, in thy pines or thy rocks' bold crest That bend o'er thy placid face, May it be in the winged zephyrs' flight. Or the sounds that echo from shore to shore. In the stars on the silvery brow of night That whiten thy surface o'er. May the rushes sighing a sweet refrain, And the fragrant breezes murmuring low. And all the sounds that are heard, proclaim, "They loved in the long ago." 54 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF COLD LOVE (From the French of P. Bilhout) Stern winter with his mantle white The slumb'ring earth had covered o'er, When sitting by my fire one night I heard a tapping at my door. "Who's there?" " 'Tis I," replied some one, "Make room for me by the fire, please, I'm little Cupid, Venus' son. Let me in quick! or I shall freeze." — "Pass on then — Pass on then. Master Cupid, please. To love, I've lost the art, alas! In solitude I dwell at ease. — Pass on then, Master Cupid, pass." The rogue tapped louder than before While with a piteous voice he said, "If I'm found frozen at your door My blood will be upon your head. It is so little I implore" — His voice was trembling as he spoke. A blast of wind that shook the door The ice upon my hard heart broke. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 55 — "Come in then — Come in then, Master Cupid, please, You may for just a moment stay. Warm yourself quick, and take your leave. Come in then. Master Cupid, pray." The rascal near the fire sped With the greatest freedom in the world. And saucily looked up and said, "See my blue eyes and gold locks curled.?*' Thus was installed within my heart That love which me the rude winds bore, For he's forgotten to depart And I forgot to ope my door. — "Remain then — Remain then. Master Cupid, do. The winter will be long this year. And here 'tis warm and cheery, too. Remain then. Master Cupid, here." 56 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF LIFE'S SECRET (From the French of Arvers) Life hath its secret, my heart doth conceal it. Love o'er me hath quickly its magic spell wrought^ But she who hath caused it, knoweth it not. As my love is hopeless, I must not reveal it. I shall ever be near her though all unperceived, Ever close at her side, yet alone in my woe. I shall thus to the end pass my time here below — Daring nothing to ask, having nothing received. God has made her kind and gracious to all. She walks her own way, nor hears my heart call — This murmur of love 'round her pathway ascend- ing— The stern voice of duty conscientiously heeding, She will say, while this sonnet to her she is read- ing, "Who then, is this woman .^'* yet naught compre- hending. A GARNERED AUTNMN SHEAF 57 SONNET TO AN AMERICAN LADY (From the French of Fontanry) Beneath the mantilla in vain thou mayst hide Thy long golden locks and delicate brow. Of this burning clime no daughter art thou, Thy soul, above all, here a stranger doth bide. The proud senoritas have dark fearless eyes, Perhaps more of fire in their sparkling glance. While thine a glistening tear doth enhance, And in their far depths is the blue of the skies. In Spain are no forests like thine so grand Here let not the breath of Afric's hot strand The young bud wither so rosy and fair. In this soil where love doth the soul consume. Flower of the north, just budding in bloom. Guard the heart's pure dew with tenderest care. 58 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF MEMORY (From the French of Dumas, fils) Wouldst overtake me? Knowest thou who am I? I am the swift gazelle: I weary the wind whose speed I excell When pressed by the Arab o'er the desert I fly. But I'm swifter than thou or aught else in the world. I'm lightning, and clouds I rend: I crumble the mountains, make blind, and death send. Yes. I surpass all for by God I am hurled. Ah well, I deceived thee: I'm the loftiest tree Upon a mountain so high That solitude only as companion have I: No bird e'en is able to soar up to me. What matters ! I go where a bird cannot fly, I am the snow, soft and white. I can, spite of thee: on thy branches alight. From below I come not, but from regions on high. Knowest thou once for all, I'm the heart grown old Where flowers no longer may bloom. I'm the dark night to which dawn will ne'er come. And no more for me does the dim future hold. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 59 Therefore, from the future I come not to thee. For that gentle thought am I That the hardest of thoughts can never put by. Then open to me, for I'm sweet memory. 60 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF CANTICLE (From the French of Racine) My God, what strife in me doth rage! Two adverse natures dwell in me. One would, being full of love for Thee, That I to Thee my heart engage. The other 'gainst Thee war doth wage. And teaches me disloyalty. The one with gentleness is blest — To Heavenly things is all inclined, And by God's love touched and refined, Would that I count for naught the rest. The other with an equal zest To earthly things inclines my mind. At war with self, alas, what thought I Where can I find a peaceful state? I will, and yet, O cruel fate! I will, but ne'er accomplish aught. The good, I love, have never wrought, But do the evil that I hate. O Grace! O Ray of Light divine! Put these two selves in harmony. Give me the power to break gently That stubborn will opposed to Thine. Make me thy slave, O Father, mine, And from death's bondage set me free. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 61 AN EVENING REVERIE (From the French of Paul Bourget) The soft evening breeze murmured low through the trees. And the ivy vine shook o'er the pagan deities — Their grim marble forms half hidden from view: It sighed through an ash and its russet leaves stirred. In a sombre fir tree it sadly whispered, And fanned the green shoots freshly moistened with dew. In the grass the frail Easter daisies reclined. By their white collarettes they were clearly defined With a mingling of fawn tints and buttons of gold. The speedwell opened its chalice pale blue, And close by the garden arose in full view Against the grey sky a church steeple old. On this evening in May to the old church I strolled. On whose dingy walls stained and covered with mould, I saw an old fresco that was painted of yore. 'Twas a virgin's profile with eyes full of thought, And long drooping lashes by a master hand wrought : 62 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Of these eyes there remained but a shadow — no more. And I mused, as I listened to sweet songs of love By invisible birds in the branches above, Pouring forth their glad songs on the air fresh and pure, That this lovely profile now almost effaced Which a genius unknown had so delicately traced, Could not at the most but a few years endure. And I fancied there oft, in our visions sublime, Are sacred ideals which we painted some time In our heart — to all real things superior. Like this ancient fresco, they are fading away. Irreparably so, as passes each day. O wreckage of our cloisters interior! O grief, to preserve thus in this sacred fane But the brand of that which once kindled to flame ! O remorse, for having these visions survived ! Just enough cherishing as a sacred duty O'er which we may weep their perishing beauty — A madonna's profile to which Aves are sighed. And the evening shades fell which night's chorus brings. With the beating of leaves by myriads of wings. The more the flowers shed their sweet fragrance around. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 65 The more the birds sang and all life was astir Swimming the air with hum and murmur, And more stars shone out from their dusky background. And behold, what befell on that glorious spring day ! The grief in my heart almost faded away, When I thought, — all must die, — all revive, — e'en the flowers. The birds and the grass, and the leaves on each tree; O Spirit of nature, can it, indeed, be — This renewal shall reach not to these hearts of We can not know all, — life's mysterious birth. Nor whither we go from our sojourn on earth — Where vain hopes and fears our whole life con- trol. But who will dare say there is naught to hope, then. Beyond the horizon of mortal man's ken. And that death is awaiting both body and soul? Man's nature protests against death, in the ex- treme : All ardently sigh toward a Father Supreme, 64 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Who will gather us to Him beyond earth's con- fine: 'Tis to Him that arises our thoughts most sublime: In Him^ when we're freed from ravening time, Shall we not realize a renewal divine? A rejuvenating of our forces long spent, A happy awak'ning of these frescoes ancient — The pious ideals of days long gone by? It may be effaced, this madonna mortal, But the rare type of beauty, which served as model To the old Christian master, smiles at him in the sky. Nothing can perish of the beauty of earth. Life's fertile springs gush eternally forth. A perpetual spring shall the pure ever know. How it pours forth on this balmy spring night In floods of gay blossoms making all things de- light ! And thousands of years have not lessened its flow. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 65 SPRING WITHOUT ROSES (From the French) The earth is aweary of winter's harsh reign. The gard'ner laments with a voice full of gloom, "Ah, the rude hand of winter the young spring has slain. And the roses will not be in bloom." The roses will bloom not, short time was required. In mourning to clothe the queen month of the year. The earth in gay garments will not be attired. No fete days will greet us with cheer. The earth owes to May the skies' tender blue. The spring's rosy smile, its breath's sweet perfume. For a time the May skies may take on a dull hue If the roses should not be in bloom. The earth, indeed, roses to true lovers owes. For no other flower so fragrant has proved. 'Tis the only flower worthy, when plighting of vows. To be offered to one's best beloved. And I fear, ah, I feel a mysterious fate Some fatal spell weaves that between them may come. In the heart in the spring will love germinate If the roses should not be in bloom .^ 66 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA (From the French of Leconte De Lisle) Calm^ grey, and vast, the sea doth far extend: Without beginning 'tis and without end. Its boundlessness the eye explores in vain; Nor night, nor day, dwells on the wat'ry main. No line of foam its placidness doth mar. In heaven's dome gleams not a single star. No sudden flash of light or slightest ray — 'Tis not the dark of night or light of day. The sea-bird's flown, the dwellers of the deep Upon its bosom have been rocked to sleep. Around, above, profoundest solitude And drowsy languidness o'er all doth brood. But now, a white light toward the eastern skies, Above the sea's far rim begins to rise. And like a cloudlet in its gentle flight From which forth issue flakes of fleecy light. It floats, and breaks, and scatters far and wide. And brightens all the sky on every side, — Now whirls and falls again, a wildering maze — And sheds o'er all a soft translucent haze: Through which a feeble light begins to peep And tremble on the bosom of the deep. Now o'er the pearly skies the moon doth glide. And darts her silvery arrows far and wide. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 67 THE SIESTA (From the French of Heredia) Not a sound of insect mars the calm serene. In the wood all are sleeping oppressed with the heat. A mellow light sifts through my leafy retreat Like the shifting shadows o'er velvet moss- green. Down through the leafy dome the wand'ring rays peep. O'er my lids half closed with the languor of sleep A thousand soft lights a rosy net-work form, Now length'ning, now broad'ning, o'er shadows soft and warm. In the shimmering light which the sun's rays trail. Swarms of gay butterflies on gauzy wings sail, Drunk with sweet odors and dazzling sun-beams. Then with listless fingers I grasp the bright strands. In their golden meshes entang'ling my hands, Thus imprisoned, I'm borne to the land of dreams. 68 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF OCTOBER (From the French) Ere winter dons her icy coat And veils the sky with vapours chilly List to the wood bird's farewell note. Behold the rose that lingers still. October marches with slow tread, That autumn's splendors may remain. Her hazy purple and golden red A solemn beauty still retain. Thou knowest it may not longer bide. Though nature wears a plaintive smile. Awake, sad heart, throw cares aside And fleeting hours with hope beguile. Weave golden dreams in fancy's loom Ere winter blusters at our door. And in a cold and icy tomb Crushed hopes, with dead leaves, covers o'er. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 69 NOVEMBER (From the French) A captive of winter's stern reign, Neath a dull November sky. Weary of hopes long deferred, I sit Watching the birds southward fly. I fancy they're cold and wet, poor things! But in sun-kissed lands far away They can shake the cold rain from their wings And bask in the sunbeams all day. My soul like the warbler is sad And droops under rainy skies: But the sun which maketh it glad Is the glance of two soft bright eyes. From which I am exiled afar More a martyr than birds, for I fain, Like them, would on swift wings fly But am fettered with duty's strong chain. 70 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF SAVITRrS VOW; OR, PERSEVERANCE (From the French of Verlaine) To save her husband's life, Savitri vowed to God To stand erect three days and nights entire. Nor move a limb till this time should expire, But stand as rigid as an iron rod. Nor Surya's scorching beams, languor, nor sleep Which Chandra sheds at midnight over all. Could make her falter or her courage fall, But nobly did she strive her vow to keep. When darkness like a cloud obscures our sky. Or malice aims at us her cruel darts. Then, like Savitri, let us steel our hearts Against adversity, and our aim make high. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 71 THE BROOK (From the German) Brooklet flowing, Onward going, Ever farther in the chase — Wavelets shimmering, Dancing, glimmering, As they leap from place to place. No drop may stay But urged away It pauses never day or night. Gaily singing, Onward springing. Soon it vanishes from sight. Waters flowing, Always going, May with life's hours well compare: All unheeding, Moments speeding, Which to children irksome are. Thus it preaches And us teaches To hold life's morning hours more dear — For soon they're run, They wait for none, And never more will reappear. 72 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF FLOWERS (From the German of Schiller) Children of the gladsome sunbeams, Flowerets of the grassy mead. Born to pleasure and sweet day-dreams — Ye are by nature loved, indeed. Gay your dress 'broidered with light, Gay did Flora you bedight In splendors of the rainbow's hue. Grieve, dear children, of the springtide! Soul she hath to you denied, And ye dwell in darkness, too. Nightingale and lark do sing To you of true love's blessed charms. While sportive fairies lightly swing And woo each other in your arms. And did not the goddess Flora Curve for you your crown of glory Swelling to the thrill of love? Weep, dear children of the springtide! Love she hath to you denied. Love, that blessing from above. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 73 But when mother's stern commands Banish me from Nanny's view — When I pluck ye with my hands, To her a love pledge to be true, Life, and speech, and soul, and heart — Dumb messengers of love's sweet smart — Are by this touch infused in ye. The mightiest of gods inweaves Into your silent sensuous leaves His own divinity. 74 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF ENTERTAINMENT (From the German of Uhland) I put up at a wayside inn — The host a jolly fellow — An apple branch had for a sign With apples golden yellow. It was a friendly apple tree With whom I stopped to eat, He furnished me right cheerfully With juicy food, and sweet. And winged guests were welcome too Who sang with wildest glee. And hopped and skipped from bough to bough And feasted royally. My rest was sweet, my bed of moss — As soft as down was made. The host then covered me across With a cool and grateful shade. I asked what recompense would he, He waved me in protest. O blessed be that goodly tree From root to topmost crest. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 75 THE LORELEI (From the German of Heine) I know not what it means or why Myself so sad I find. A legend from the times gone by Keeps running in my mind. The air is cool and it darkles And softly flows the Rhine. The crest of the mountain sparkles In the evening's pale sunshine. A maid sits on a rocky height — Her beauty wondrous rare — Her jewels glint in the waning light. She combs her golden hair. She combs it with a golden comb And chants a song the while — A weird and winsome melody — Which doth the soul beguile. The boatman in his little skiff Is seized with a wild delight. He sees not the fatal rocky reef^ But only the maid on the height. 76 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF I fear me the boat and boatman Will be engulfed ere long. This will the Lorelei have done With the witchery of her song. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 77 ODE TO SPRING (From the German of Schiller) Welcome, pretty youngster. Thou Nature's child indeed ! With thy full flower basket Thou'rt welcome on the mead. Ah, yes, thou art again here, And art so dear and sweet, It gives us so much pleasure Again with thee to meet. Rememberest thou my sweetheart? What, dearie, thinkest thou? My sweetheart loved me then, dear. My sweetheart loves me now. For her so many blossoms I've begged of thee before, I come again to ask thee. And thou, thou'lt give me more? O, welcome pretty youngster. Thou Nature's child indeed ! With thy full flower basket Thou'rt welcome on the mead. 78 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF THE HOSTAGE; or, DAMON AND PYTHIAS (From the German of Schiller) To Dyonisius, the tyrant, one day. Came Damon with dagger concealed. The bailiff soon forced him to yield. "What wouldst thou do with the dagger? say!' And Damon replied in a haughty way: "The town from the tyrant set free." "For this thou shalt swing from a tree." "I'm ready/' quoth he, "the gallows to face And beg not my life you may spare: Yet wouldst thou grant me one prayer I'd pray thee for three days of grace, Till my sister's hand in her husband's I place. My friend here as hostage will stay. If I fail, he the forfeit will pay." Then smiled the king with a cunning leer, And after a moment's delay He said, "I will grant you this stay. But know when the time for thee to appear Has passed away, and thou art not here. Thy friend must die in thy stead. But no harm shall fall on thy head." A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 79 Then he said to his friend: "The king hath de- creed That I must my crime 'gainst the state With my life, on the cross, expiate. To grant me three days of time he agreed. That I to my sister's wedding may speed. Remain here as surety for me Till I come when thou shalt go free." The true friend in silence the other embraced: Then obeyed his friend's earnest petition. While the other went forth on his mission. And ere he three times the morning red traced. His sister's hand in her husband's he placed: And hasted with fear in his soul Lest he might not in time reach his goal. Then pours unceasing the rain o'er the land. From mountains the torrents go roaring, And brooks into rivers are pouring. And he comes to the bank with staff in hand. The whirlpool has wrested the bridge from the strand. And thund'ring billows are breaking. And creaking timbers are quaking. Now desperate he toiled 'long the oozing sand. But as far as the eye could explore. Or the voice might be sent to the shore, 80 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF There pushed no boat from the farther strand, To bear him onto the wished-for land: No boatman the ferry to guide, And the stream turned to sea wild and wide. He sinks on the bank and weeps and prays. With hands raised to Zeus he cried: "O make the wild billows subside! The hours are speeding, and at midday stays The sun, while pours down his burning rays. If I cannot reach him in time. My dear friend must die for my crime." The waters increased their angry mood. And wave upon wave dashed high. And hour upon hour passed by. Then seized with strange fear, a moment he stood. Then plunged headlong in the roaring flood, And struck for the farther shore. God pitied and brought him safe o'er. He gained the shore and onward strode. And thanked the Lord for his pity. When suddenly ruthless banditti Sprang out of the dark and gloomy wood. They bar his pathway, thirsting for blood. They brandish a club in his face. Thus checking his hurrying pace. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 81 "What would ye," he cried, and paled with fright; "To give you I have not a thing But my life which belongs to the king." Then he seized the club from the nearest wight, "For my dear friend's sake, God pity your plight!" And three with stout blows he laid out, And the others he put to rout. And the sun shone red like a burning brand, And from endless toils profound, Exhausted he sank on the ground. "O hast thou kindly from the robbers' hand. And the wild flood brought me to blessed land! And must I now of thirst perish. And my friend die whom I should cherish?" But hark! a tinkling sound makes him thrill. He pauses a moment to listen. When lo, he sees something glisten. As forth from the rocks and adown the hill Comes bubbling and chatt'ring a sparkling rill. With delight he bends o'er the brink. And slaked his thirst with a cooling drink. And the sun peeped low down the sky, And painted the shim'ring meadows With the trees' gigantic shadows. And he sees two travelers passing by, With hurrying steps they seem to fly. Then heard he the words they said: "By this hour he must be dead." 82 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF And fear lent wings to his flying feet. With anguish he is sore distressed. The evening red glows in the west, And falls on the spires of Syracuse. Then comes to meet him Philostratus, The keeper of his house and folds. Who with horror his master beholds. "Turn back, thy friend ere this is slain. Thou'dst better thine own life save. E'en now they're digging his grave. Hour upon hour he waited in vain. With hope in his soul, thy coming again. No tauntings the king could make. His faith in thy honor could shake." "And though I'm too late, yet hasten I must. For though I cannot set him free United in death we shall be. Of this shall the bloody tyrant not boast. That friend to friend, his life could not trust. He may sacrifice two, in sooth^ On the altar of love and truth." When the sun went down, he stood at the gate. The cross erected he found. And the gaping crowd standing 'round. With the rope 'round his friend awaiting his fate. He parted the throng with a striding gait. "Hold hangman! I'm come!" shouted he, "Spare my friend who is hostage for me." A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 83 And astonishment stirred the throng to cheers. Both wept in each other's arms With a mingling of joy and alarms. And everyone's eyes were wet with tears^ And the marvel was brought to the monarch's ears. Whose heart with pity o'er-wrought He had them before him brought. He looked them o'er with admiring gaze ; Then said, "You have gained your end And won my heart, and a friend: For I would your comrade be always. And faith is, indeed, no empty phrase; And would'st thou grant a prayer to me The third in thy bond I'd be." 84 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF ALPINE MELODY (From the German of Schiller's Wilhelm Tell) The sea laughs inviting to bathe in its surf: A fisher boy sleeps by its side on the turf. He hears a sweet ringing Like the flute's silvery notes. Or angel choirs singing Which from paradise floats. And as he wakes in rapturous glee High up on his breast wash the waves of the sea. And a voice from the deeps Cries, "Dear boy, dost thou know I allure him who sleeps To my kingdom below?" (First Variation) Ye meadows, good bye ! Ye pastures, so sunny! The herdsman so bonny With summer must hie. We go to the mountains, we come again soon When the cuckoo calls and the woods are in tune. When the earth is a-bloom with flowers fresh and gay, When the mountain streams flow, in May, lovely May. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 85 Green pastures^ good bye! Ye valleys^ and mead. The herdsman must speed For Autumn is nigh. {Second Variation) The avalanche thunders, and tremble all things While the bold hunter, fearless, o'er dizzy heights springs. And onward he strides O'er icefields all sheen: No spring there abides. No shrubs ever green. And under his feet lies a nebulous sea. The hamlets of man no more discerns he. Alone through cloud-rifts The earth is revealed. Deep under the mists — A broad, verdant field. 86 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF WINTER SONG (From the German) Why liest thou so stilly bedight In thy soft covering of white^ Dear^ gentle, mother Earth? Where are the gladsome songs of spring. And summer birds on glancing wing, Thy gala robes and festal mirth? Thou slumber'st now so bare and cold. The tender flocks leave not their fold To graze o'er vale or steep. The hum of bee, the purling rill. And song of bird are hushed and still. — Yet, art thou beautiful in sleep. From twig and bough a shimm'ring stream Of lights, by thousands, glint and gleam Where'er the eye can see. Who has prepared for thee thy bed. The covering so lightly spread Bedecked with hoar-frost filigree? A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 87 Thy Father above with tender care For thee thy garments doth prepare. He guards thee day and night. Then slumber thou in perfect rest, He'll wake the weary when 'tis best — Renewed their strength and light. And soon His breath will o'er thee sweep And wake thee from thy dreamless sleep — Rejuvenated thou. Again reglorified thou'lt stand With smiling face and generous hand, And garlanded thy brow. 88 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF THE THORNTREE (From the German of Ruskert) A little tree stood in the wood In weather good and weather bad. It had no leaves like other trees But thorns alone it had. The thorns were always pricking. The tree began thus speaking: "All my comrades, as you know, The prettiest foliage adorns, While I am clothed from top to toe With only prickly thorns. If I might dare to be so bold, I'd wish for leaves of purest gold." It slept that night, as I've been told. And woke next morn in perfect glee. For there it stood with leaves of gold — A splendid sight to see. It proudly spoke then, "Without doubt I've the only gold leaves here about." At evening, as might have been feared. There passed a gold thief through the wold With a great sack and heavy beard. Who saw the leaves of shining gold. He stripped them off and soon was gone And left the bare tree there alone. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 89 The tree with grief then hung its head And in a voice of sorrow said, "I feel ashamed before the rest Who, all in pretty leaves, are dressed. If my wish now might come to pass I'd wish for leaves of clearest glass." The tree then went to sleep again And early woke again with glee, For it had leaves of glass on then, A splendid sight to see! Then spoke the tree with joy, "I know No other tree e'er glistened so." Alas ! a whirlwind fiercely blew, Which more destructive proved than thieves. It quickly passed the forest through And shattered all its leaves. There lay the sparkling leaves of glass. Scattered and broken in the grass. The tree then spoke as in the past, "Behold this sad disastrous scene! The other trees much longer last With foliage of green. If I might wish again, I'm sure I'd choose green leaves which long endure." 90 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Then slept the tree again at e'en And woke again with morning light. And there it stood with leaves of green, And laughed with pure delight, And said, "Now have I leaves, indeed. To be ashamed I've no more need." There came an old goat through the wood And toward the tree she quickly sprung. She sought for grass and other food To feed her young. She saw the leaves, and (what must shock) She ate them up close to the stalk. The little tree again was bare And musing sadly thus he said: "For any leaves no more I care. Or yellow, green, or red. If I could have my thorns again I'm sure I would no more complain." And sadly slept the tree again And woke soon as 'twas light, There saw itself in the bright sunshine And laughed, and laughed, outright. The other trees then laughed also. To it, it made no difference though. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 91 Wherefore laughed the thorntree then? And wherefore laughed his comrades so? Why, in the night 'twas clothed .again With thorns from top to toe. And any one who doubts it should Go out and see it in the wood. But touch it not if you should go. Why not? Because 'twill stick, you know. 92 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF THE GERMAN MUSE (From the German of Schiller) No Augustine Era flowered, No Medici their favors showered With smiles upon the German art. No fostering care around it thrown It grew and; blossomed all alone, Nor princes' favors lent it heart. From Germany's most valiant son, From great Frederick, the favored one, All unhonored it went forth. Exulting with a glowing heart The German may proclaim j his art Self-nurtured by inherent worth. Therefore mounts to loftier height German genius in its flight — With the German bard inborn. And with sense of fullness swelling. From his heart's depth freely welling He laughs restraint of rules to scorn. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 93 RECOGNITION (From the German of Vogl) A weary trav'ler with staff in hand Comes home again from a foreign land. His hair is unkempt, and bronzed his skin. Whoever would know him, or kith or kin? On the old turnpike he enters the town: He leans on the gate, looking wistfully 'round. The tollman, who once was his friend, alas. With whom he had oft drained a social glass, Remembers him not as he sees him now — So bronzed by the sun are his cheeks and brow. With a nod he moves farther down the street And shakes the dust from his weary feet. From the window his sister's dear face he spies. "Happy greeting to thee, blooming maiden," he cries. But, alas, his own sister remembers him not, So bronzed is his face with the sunbeams hot. Then onward he goes, unable to speak. While a glistening tear rolls down his dark cheek. Then totters his mother a few steps before, "God bless thee !" he cries, and can utter no more. But see! his old mother is sobbing for joy And cries, as she falls on his neck, "My dear boy!" However sunburnt or changed he may grow. The mother's heart ever her own boy will know. \H A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF SPRING'S RETURN (From the German of Tieck) The young Spring forgets not to come back again, And swallows and storks wing homeward their flight: Tho' winter has hardly relinquished his reign, This happy child wakens, and laughs with delight. r ■ ■ r ■ / : i k He hunts up his playthings from corners remote Which winter has hidden or mislaid, I ween, And tunes to sweet music the nightingale's throat, And dresses the forest in robes of pale green. \ He touches fruit trees with a glowing hand. He climbs high up on the apricot wall. Like snow, the white blossoms ope at command. And he gleefully laughs that they come at his call. ^17^ iwwwi He goes to the forest and lies down to sleep: His warm breath exhales o'er the cold, dewy sod; Then around his red lips the strawberries creep. And in the low grass the violets nod. How the valley laughs in the morning dew. With its mingled tints of rose and blue! A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 95 Then into the garden with fast barred gate, He climbs o'er the fence, nor waits for time; He likes not for keys, or for aught else to wait. No wall for him is too steep to climb. He clears the snow and ice from his way, And cuts it off from the box-hedge, too, Nor stops to rest at the close of day. But merrily toils the whole night through. Then he calls aloud to his school-mates dear, "Why tarry ye in the earth so long? Have I not asked you to join me here, To frolic and sport with mirth and song?" The lily reached forth her white hand at request; The tulip in head-dress answered the call; The modest rose blushed as she joined with the rest — Cowslips, and other flowers, great and small. * * * * But soon the Spring kissed them a fond farewell. "I must up and be gone, alas," he cried. For with them longer he might not dwell: Then the flowers drooped on their stems and died. He said to them sadly, "My work is done. The swallows have come at my request. They'll bear me away to the land of the sun, In the odorous fields of Ind, I'll rest. 96 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF "I am too small the fruit to pluck, And to strip the vine of its purple weight, With the scythe the golden grain to cut. Therefore the Autumn I'll send }^ou straight. *T'm only a child, and love to play; Hard work I am never disposed to do, But, when you are tired of Winter's long stay. With joy and delight I'll come back to you. "I'll take the birds with me when I depart: When the harvest is o'er, what should they do here ? Adieu, adieu, where there's love in the heart The joys of spring are eternally near." A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 97 THE CHILDREN IN THE WOODS (From the German of Poui) Three children once stood by the way Who should have been at school that day. They talked of this and that with zest — How learning was a tiresome pest. Then said they in a careless mood, ''Oh, let us go unto the wood ! The animals are used to play. Then let us romp with them today." So they invited the animals all To play with them, both great and small. "We're sorry, but, indeed," said they, "We really have no time to play." The beetle droned, " 'Twere fine, I guess. To roam with you in idleness. But I must build a bridge of gras^. The old one's no more safe to pass." The mouse spoke softly as he could, "I'm storing away my winter food." The dove, as busy as the rest. Was carrying twigs to build its nest. 98 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF The hare then nodded and declared He could not from his work be spared. "My little tail is soiled, look! I must go wash it in the brook." The strawberry blossom softly said, "This pretty day must serve me stead To ripe my fruit, to make it sweet, That I may give the beggar to eat." They then bethought the brook to hail^ "Thou, chattering idly through the vale, Come play with us, be with us gay." The brook, astonished, answered, "Nay." "Ay ! if you children only knew ! I know not what to think of you! I've naught to do, you mean to say.^* Yet, rest I not through night or day. "Man and beast, wood, vale and mead. Hill, and plain, of me have need. All must drink whate'er their lot. Brew, and stew, and cleanse the pot. "Cradles rock, and mill-wheels drive. Lumber cut, ore pulverize. Great ships bear, yet never tire. Spin, and weave, and put out fire. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 99 "I cannot tell all that I do, I can no longer stay with you. You see, I have no time to play." Thus spoke the brook and sped away. Their patience had been sorely tried When they at last a finch espied. Which sat upon a twig and swung. In careless glee he ate and sung. They called, "Sir Worthyman, how so! The prettiest songs you seem to know, For cert, you are a merry soul. Then come with ois and take a stroll." "Zounds! then have I heard aright? You children seem to me not bright. Here all day have I hunted flies, And busied myself otherwise "To gather food to feed my young, And now they must to sleep be sung. Thus with my brother choir today I sing my merriest roundelay. "But say, what reason could there be That you so ill have thought of me? Turn back, you idlers, I implore. Disturb the people here no more." iOO A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF From beast, and bird, and flower, and brook, This lesson home the children took. That pleasure is a recompense Acquired alone by diligence. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF lOl MIGNON'S SONG (From the German of Goethe's Wilhelm Meister) Knowest thou the land where the lemon trees grow ? Where under dark leaves golden oranges glow, Where 'neath the blue skies the soft zephyrs play. Land of the sweet-scented myrtle and bay? Knowest thou the place? Far away, far away, O, my belov'd, with thee let me go! Knowest thou the house with great pillars like snow Whose broad hall and chambers in the mellow light glow. With white marble figures whose gaze seems to say, "My poor child, what have they done to thee, pray !" Knowest thou the place? Far away, far away, O my protector, with thee let me go! Knowest the mountain, a white mist enshrouds ? Where the mule threads his way o'er a path in the clouds, 102 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Where the old dragon brood make their lair in the rifts, And the swift mountain torrents leap over the cliffs? Knowest thou the place? Far away, far away. Take me there with thee, O father, I pray! A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 103 THE SONG OF THE BELL (From the German of Schiller) In the earth embedded fast Stands the mold formed out of clay. Today the great bell must be cast. Comrades, haste, make no delay. From the brow aglow Streams of sweat must flow. Shall the work the master, praise, The blessing comes from Heaven always. To work which we with zeal perform A good word seems not out of place, While conversation lends a charm The work flows on with merry pace. Then let us carefully reflect What through man's puny strength is wrought, And no man can deserve respect Who brings not to his work full thought. This, 'tis which most adorns man — hence, His mind, wherewith to understand, That he may feel with keener sense What he creates with his own hand. Make a fire of pitch pine timber Which must thoroughly be dried That the flame compressed inward 104 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Reach the molten ore inside. Boils the copper stew, Add the tin thereto, That the bell food, thus refined, To flow more smoothly be inclined. That which the hand of man hath power To build deep underneath the ground, High up within the belfry tower Proclaims him with sonorous sound. And down the ages it shall ring, And myriads shall hear its voice Attuned to those who sweetly sing, Or those who weep or who rejoice. Whate'er to mortals here below A changeful destiny may bring, The bell's tongue, swinging to and fro. Proclaims afar with brazen ring. See the bubbles rising thickly As the mass moves to and fro. Toss some potash in it quickly. Thus promote its liquid flow. For from foam quite free Must the mixture be. That the metal, clear and pure, A full, pure tone will thus insure. When ring the joybells far and wide They greet the babe whose tender charms A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 105 Are budding in life's morning-tide Which it begins in slumber's arms. And time concealeth from his sight His destiny, or dark, or bright. The mother-love which guides while warning Tenderly watches his golden morning. The years fly by with arrow speed, The proud youth bids the maid adieu And wildly through life rushing fast He traverses the whole world through. And radiant in her youthfulness— A heavenly image wondrous fair, His cheeks aflame with bashfulness, He sees the maiden standing there. A nameless yearning fills his heart, He wanders forth with trembling lip, The gathering tears unbidden start. He shuns his boyish comradeship. Blushing, he follows her footstep's lead, Her greeting thrills him with pleasure keen, He plucks sweet blossoms on the mead With which he crowns her his heart's queen. O tender longing, blissful hope! O youth's first love, O love's first kiss! The gates of Heaven seem to ope. And thrills the heart with heavenly bliss. O could the glorious fresh spring-tide Of youth and love forever bide I 106 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAf' Now the pipes to brown begin Let us dip this splinter in. If we see it glazing o'er Then 'twill be quite right to pour. Comrades now make haste, Let us test the paste. If the brittle will combine With the soft, 'tis a good sign. Where hard and soft shall coalesce, Where strength unites with tenderness There, gives the true ring, pure and strong. Then prove, who would for aye be plighted. If heart to heart be firm united, For fancy's short, repentance, long. Lovely 'round the bride's locks clinging Sport the orange blossoms white. When the wedding bell's glad ringing Summons to the solemn rite. Ah, the happiest day of life Ends life's happy May, 'twould seem. With the wreath and bridal veil Dissolves the sweet illusive dream. For passion must fly. But love must endure. The blossom must die. That the fruit may mature. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 107 And man must go forth ^nto unfriendly life, Must labor and strive, Must plant and produce \nd acquire with sharp use, With efforts untiring Good fortune acquiring. Thus man's possessions forever are growing. His granary with bountiful stores is o'erflowing, The rooms increase, the house is extended. And therein presides The prudent housewife — The mother of the children — Who wisely doth reign In the domestic domain. She teaches the maidens, Restraining the boys. Her hands with devotion Are ever in motion, Increasing their gains With laborious pains. Her odorous presses with treasure are filled. In spinning and weaving her hands are well skilled ; And gathered within this spotless shrine Are shimmering wools and linens fine. She turns to good all this shimmer and shine Nor rests she ever. 108 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF And the father with happy gaze From his dwelling's far-seeing gable All his worldly wealth surveys. He sees his acres broad well tilled, His barns and sheds to their utmost filled. And the granary with blessings o'erflowing And fields of waving corn growing. And boasts with pride profound To be as firm as the ground — Against misfortune's shock His house is firm as a rock. — But to fickle fortune's might Our faith we should not plight. For misfortune speeds on wings. The casting now may be begun, See the scallops in the breach, But before we let it run Let us make a pious speech. Pull the plug therefrom. God protect our home. Smoking in the handle's bow The fiery mass begins to flow. With what beneficence is fire fraught When to do man's will 'tis taught, Whate'er he builds or by what power, He owes it to this heavenly dower, Yet, fearful is this heavenly gift A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 109 Which left unwatched its bonds may rift. And swiftly move its path along — Nature's hand-maid free and strong. Woe, when loosened in its wrath. For none may dare dispute its path As onward like a thing of sense Through crowded streets the monster flies, For nature's willful elements The handiworks of man despise. Out of the clouds Fall blessings choice And rain down dashes. Out of the sky with rumbling voice The lightning flashes. Dost hear it whimper in the tower high? The storm is nigh ! Red as blood is the sk}^; That is not the red of day ! What a tumult Up the street ! Smoke and heat ! Fiery pillars tow'ring high Through the streets go rushing by Wind-swept reaching toward the sky. Lnrid as from furnace flashing Glows the air, rafters crashing, Timbers starting, windows creaking. Children wailing, mothers shrieking. 110 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Cattle bawling^ From wreckage crawling. People fleeing all affrighted. Bright as day the night is lighted. Here and there men combine. Form in line; Through their hands the pail now hurling, Water dashing, streaming, swirling. Howling comes the storm a-whirling, Seeking out the roaring flame Which rattles on the parching grain. On the spacious granary falls. On its timbers, roof, and walls, Onward in its madd'ning flight As if the very earth 'twould grasp And carry with it in its clasp. Stretching to the Heaven's height Giant great! Hopeless fate! Yields man to the power of God, Bending 'neath the chastening rod He sees his life's work swept from sight. All burnt down Is the town. Rude couch of the wild storm! In the blackened window holes Dwells horror's crown. And the lowering clouds look down From above. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 111 A single glance At the measure Of the wreck of all his treasure Sends man ere he makes advance. Whate'er with the fire's wrath is sped One consolation still has he: He counts his dear ones carefully And see ! there lacks not one dear head. Earth has received it now complete. Haply the mold was filled aright. Will it our expectations meet, Our diligence and skill requite? What if some mistake Has caused the mold to break? Perhaps while we have just conferred Some mishap may have occurred. Into the lap of Mother Earth Entrusted we this manual deed As the sower trusts the seed, And hopes to see it spring to birth For a blessing by Heaven decreed. More precious seed, with all endearment. Confide we to the lap of Earth, Hoping it may burst its cerement And blossom in a happier birth. 112 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF From the steeple tolls the bell — A requiem with solemn knell, Whose plaintive echoes from the dome Guide the wand'rer to his last home. Ah_, the dear one — 'tis no other Than the loving wife and mother Whom death snatched away so rudely From her husband for the tomb — From the little brood of nestlings Which she bore him in her bloom. Which she watched with mother's pride Growing daily at her side. Ah, the dear home's little band Is shattered — gone is mother-care, For she dwells in the shadow land Who was once the mother there. And it lacks her gentle guiding Her tender watchfulness and care. Stranger hands will be presiding But mother-love will not be there. While we leave the bell to cool Let us from all labor rest, Sport like birds in shady pool. Enjoying all with keenest zest. Twinkle star of beauty, Free from every duty ! Delights the boy, the vesper ringing. The master, though, no respite bringing. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 115 Gaily through the woodland gloam Turns the footsteps of the wand'rer Toward his happy cottage home. Homeward turn the bleating sheep And the cattle — Sleek and glossy broad browed cattle — Come home lowing — To their accustomed manger going. Enters now the swaying wagon With grain laden, Gay with leaves, Upon the sheaves A wreath is placed, And the young folks now to dancing Fly in haste. Mart and street have ceased their din And around the social light All the household gathers in And the town gate closes tight. Now darkness like a pall Spreads out over all, And the trusting man inviteth Now to sleep, Tliough the wicked it affrighteth, For the eyes of the law their vigil keep. Holy order, blessings brings. Heaven's daughter, which like things Together binds, and doth create 114 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF The civil glory of town and state. And from the wild and desert places Calls herein the savage races. Enters in the poor man's cot Softening his accustomed lot. And hath inbred the dearest band — The love of home and fatherland. A thousand busy hands in motion Help each other with delight. And in violent commotion All their forces quick unite. Master and men with like ambition 'Neath freedom's banner standing fast, All content with their condition Defiance at the scorner cast. Labor is man's ornament. Blessing the price for labor spent. Moral worth honors a king. Toiling hands, us honor bring. Blessed peace, and Happy concord. Tarry, tarry. O'er our state keep kindly guard ! Never may the day appear When warring hordes shall enter here Laying waste our peaceful vale. Nor the heavens A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 115 Which the sunset russet paints With its beams^ From the hamlet or the city Reflect the fierce flames' ruddy gleams. Let us break the mold apart. Its purpose having been fulfilled. That we may feast the eyes and heart On its smooth and shapely build. Swing the hammer, swing. Make the mantel spring! If the bell shall rise on high The mold must into pieces fly. The master may with proper blow Destroy the mold with his own hands. But woe, when like a volcano The molten ore shall burst its bands ! Blind, raging with a thund'rous roaring, Its jDrison bursts in fiery wrath. As from the jaws of hell outpouring It spews destruction in its path. Thus, when crude forces senseless reign. No plan can shape or form attain. Thus, when the rabble for freedom strive. Peace and welfare cannot thrive. Woe, when the frenzied mobs uprise. And rend their chains with riotous hand! 116 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF And through the streets with maddened cries. They hurl the devastating brand. They seize the bell-rope with wild applause Whose clangor echoes their shoutings hoarse, Devoted but to a peaceful cause, The watchword now incites to force. Freedom ! equality ! they shout aloud. To arms the peaceful burgers fly: The streets soon fill with a lawless crowd And murd'rous bands are hovering nigh. And women turn to savage beasts And sport in horrors with a feverish glow. They tear the heart with tiger's teeth, Still quivering, from the hapless foe. Nothing sacred more remains. All holy bonds are rent in twain. The good give place unto the bad And all the vices have free reign. Dangerous is the tiger's tooth, Or to beard the lion in his cage. But horror's very crown, in sooth. Is man when in a frenzied rage. Woe, to those who to the blind The heavenly torch to give presume! It lights him not^ and unconfined. The city to ashes will consume. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 117 Great joy hath now to me been given- Like a golden star of night, From the husk, all smooth and bright, See ! the metal kernel's riven. From top to rim it gleams Reflecting gold sunbeams. And the coats of arms and shields Praise the skill the builder wields. Come in, come in, Companions all, form in line and listen While we the new bell christen. Concordia its name shall be. To sweet communion, from the steeple May it assemble a happy people! And this henceforth shall be its duty For this 'twas made and formed in beauty: And high above all earth life soaring Where heaven's azure is unfurled— A neighbor to the thunder's roaring— 'Twill border on the starry world. And it shall be a guiding voice Like star-groups 'mong the heavenly spheres Which in their creator still rejoice And guide the ever circling years. And only to eternal things May it dedicate its voice sublime, And hourlv on swift beating wings 118 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Come into touch with fleeting time. May it with destiny unite — Though heartless, and without sensation — Accompany from its lofty height All life's various mutations. And when its clang strikes on the ear, And lingering echoes die away, So teaches it that naught endures As into the past sinks each today. Now to the bell ! all pull the rope And lift it from its resting place, That we may give it freer scope To soar into the deeps of space. Pull the rope ! now pull ! It moves ! now let her swing ! IMay it joy to the city bring. And peace proclaim with its first ring. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEATH 119 THE DISTRIBUTION OF THE EARTH (From the German of Schiller) "Come take the world, it shall be thine/' cried Zeus To man — from his Olympian throne above — "For an inheritance and eternal use. But share it with fraternal love." Then all bestirred themselves in quick pursuit Of whatsoever they desired to claim. The farmer seized the fields of grain and fruit. And young lords through the wood stalked game. The merchant packed his warerooms with dry- goods, The abbot took his portion in old wine, The king blockaded bridges and all roads And cried: "The tenth of all is mine." At last when each had gathered in his share, From some far-off retreat the poet came. Alas, all things were seized on everywhere And naught was left for him to claim. "Ah! am I then forgotten quite?" he cried. "Thy dearest son forgotten, I, alone!" And loud his lamentations rang on every side As at Jove's feet he fell full prone. 120 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF "If thou in land of dreams" — the god replied — "Lingered too long^ thou must not quarrel with me, Where wert thou when man did the world divide?" "I was," the poet spoke, "with thee." "My eyes gazed on thy face with such delight, Such heavenly harmonies did my ears entrance. Forgive one, who, bedazzled by thy light. Has lost his just inheritance." Quoth Jove then, — "Since the world has given away, And harvest, game, and marts are mine no more, Dost thou with me in Heaven wish to stay Thou'lt ever find an open door." A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 121 SPRING SONG (From the German of Wackernagel) Behold where comes the joyous Spring! On swallows' wings 'tis soaring, With birds all 'round it fluttering, Their gladsome songs outpouring. And noiselessly the butterfly On gaudy wing goes flitting by. In swarms they fly, The fields of air exploring. The wood a youthful air puts on. New life the Spring is bringing; And mountains old their new hats don On which green crests are swinging. In every crevice, small or deep. Cleft in the rocks or mountain steep. Where sunbeams peep. There, fresh young buds are springing. Which beam with joy on all below. Where the wood with praise is hymning. They greet the morning's ruddy glow, Or twilight gently dimming. And when night dews begin to fall, With kindly hand these blossoms small Present to all Their cups with nectar brimming. 122 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF The earth and sky seem beautified, From out each chalice showing, While music rings on every side. And zephyrs soft are blowing. High over all in skys of blue The laughing Spring, while sweeping through. Drops fragrant dew From tresses long and flowing. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 12S THE BRIDE OF MESSINA (From the German of Schiller) Now have I from her arms just torn myself. But still will I with her be occupied. For she shall go with me to some bazaar Where Moors, the splendors of the Orient, In silken stuffs, and works of art display. First will we dainty 'broidered sandals choose. To deck the delicate and well-formed feet. Her robe shall be of India's choicest weft — Bright shim'ring as the snow on Aetna's crown — Which 'bout her j'^outhful, rounded limbs shall float As filmy soft as vapors of the morn. And next, her girdle shall of purple be With threads of fine spun gold o'erwrought That gently 'neath her bosom shall confine The flowing tunic 'round her slender waist. A silken mantle let us add thereto In color of the palest purple hue. Caught at the shoulder with a jeweled brooch. Nor yet must we forget the golden band That 'round her snowy arm would joy to clasp. Nor yet the pearl and coral ornaments — The gifts of sea nymphs from their treasure- troves. 124 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF A coronet shall circle her fair brow, In which the emerald-greenish light Faint mingles with the ruby's fiery glow. Now from her locks the fleecy bridal veil Soft flows like mist-clouds 'round her queenly form. Thus, with the myrtle wreath her brow now bound, She stands a beauteous whole completely crowned. •X- -Jf * * And now the finest palfrey, I possess, Bring from my stables forth, its color be The purest white like him, Apollo rode. And let his housings all of purple be — The bridal richly set in precious stones. For he must bear upon his back my queen. Now hold yourselves in readiness in knightly pomp arrayed, And to the joyful sound of horns and bells Your princess you shall homeward proudly lead. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 125 SONGS OF OSSIAN (From the German of Goethe's prose translation of an English version of the original Gaelic text.) Star of the twilight hour, whose mellow light So softly twinkles in the western sky! Thou liftest up thy head above the clouds, Thou movest majestically along the hill. What seest thou on the heath? The winds are still. The rumbling of the distant torrent's heard. The waves play peacefully against the rocks, And drowsy hum of insects fills the air. What seest thou lovely light, that laughing dis- appears ^ The waves surround and bathe thy lovely locks. Adieu, ye tranquil rays adieu, and thou, light superb of Ossian's soul, appear. And it appears in all its dazzling glory. 1 see departed friends: they gather 'round On Lora, as in days long passed away. Fingal comes and like a misty pillar moves. Around him are his heroes. See, the bards, Ullin, with silver locks, and stately Ryno, Alpin, lovely singer, and thou, Minona, — How changed ye are, my friends, since those fete days 126 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF On Selma, where we each with other vied For honors of the song, like zephyrs which By turns the lisping grass bend on the hill! There in her beauty stepped Minona forth With eyes cast down and brimming o'er with tears — Her floating locks tossed by the wanton wind Which blew from off the hill. The warriors' souls Grew dark and sad as her sweet voice arose, For oft had they the tomb of Salgar seen, And oft the dark abode of white Colma. Colma, abandoned there upon the hill. Alone she sat with her melodious voice Awaiting Salgar's coming as he promised. But night is gathering fast about her, list! The voice of Colma on the hill alone — Colma " 'Tis night ! — I am alone — lost in the storm. The wind howls fiercely on the mountain-top, The torrent roars and plunges down the rocks. No hut protects me from the dashing rain. Abandoned am I on this stormy hill. "Step forth, O moon, from out thy cloudy mask! Shine out stars of the night ! Let thy faint rays Conduct me to the spot where rests my lover A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 127 From weariness attendant on the chase. His bow unstrung beside him hangs. His dogs Around him pant, and must I sit alone Upon these rocks above the swollen torrent Which vies in roaring, with the wild night-wind I Yet hear I not the voice of my beloved. "Why tarries my Salgar? Has he his word forgotten ? The rock, the tree, the roaring torrent is here. At night's approach thou promised to be here. Alas, where hast thou wandered, my Salgar ! With thee would I have fled, abandoning all — A father and a brother with their pride. Tho' enemies our families have been long, Yet are we none, nor ever were, O Salgar mine! "Silence awhile, O wind. Be still O torrent wild! Cease but one little while, that through the vale My voice may ring and make my rover hear! Salgar! 'tis I who call. Here is the rock, The tree, Salgar my love, and here am I! Why tarriest thou so long? "But see ! The moon Shines out, the flood glints in the vale below. The rocks stand stark and grey upon the hill. But yet I see him not upon the height. His dogs before, announce not his approach. 128 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Here must I sit alone: — "But who are these Stretched out upon the heath? — my best beloved! my brother! Speak^ O my friends ! — They answer not. What torture to my soul ! Ah^ they are dead ; Their swords red with the slaughter! O my brother. My brother^ Why hast thou my Salgar slain .^ O my Salgar, Why hast thou my brother slain? Ye were so dear — both were so dear to me! O thou wert beautiful upon the hill, Among a thousand wert thou beautiful! And thou wert terrible in battle's rage. Answer thou, my own beloved, my voice hear! But ah, they're dumb, forever dumb and cold, — Cold as the clod — the bosom of my loved ones ! "From rocky hill or stormy mountain heights, Speak, spirits of the dead, Oh, speak to me! I'll tremble not. Where hast thou gone to rest ! In what dark mountain cave canst thou be found! No voice I hear responsive to my prayer. The wind bears me no answer from the dead, "I sit in grief and wait the morn in tears. Dig the grave, friends of the dead, but close it not until I come. My life fades like a dream away. Here should I stay behind. Here will I dwell With my dear friends, the leaping torrent near. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 129 When night comes on the hill^ and sweeps the wind Along the heathy my spirit there shall stand And weep the untimely death of my true friends. The hunter from his leafy tent shall hear me — Shall hear my wailing voice, and fear and love it. For sweet my voice shall be to my true friends. They were so dear, both were so dear to me!" 'Twas thy song, Minona, Thorman's sweet daugh- ter. Our tears flowed for Colma, and we became sad. Ullin then with harp appeared and gave us Alpin's song. Sweet was the voice of Alpin The soul of Ryno, like a ray of light. But both now sleep within the narrow house. No more in Selma shall their voices echo. Once, Ullin, when returning from the chase, Before had fallen these two heroes brave. Listened to their rival songs upon the hill, Their songs were sweet, but sad, for they bewailed The death of Morar, first among the heroes; Like the soul of Fingal was the soul of Morar. His broad sword, like the sword of Oscar. He fell alas! His father sorely grieved. His sister wept his fate, — Minona wept. Minona, sister of the valiant Morar. Before the song of Ullin she withdrew. As when the moon in the west a storm foreseeing, 130 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Conceals her head behind a wat'ry cloud. I touched the harp of Ullin for a song of grief. Ryno "Hushed is the wind and rain, serene the midday sky. The lazy clouds drift idly by and dissipate. The shimmering sunlight^ fleeing, gilds the far hill-tops, Red flows the mountain stream into the vale below. Sweet thy murmuring stream, but sweeter the voice I hear. The voice of Alpin 'tis, lamenting for the dead. His head with age is bowed, and red his streaming eyes. Alpin, sweet singer, why sit'st thou on the hill alone ? Why like the moaning forest wind, dost thou lament. Or like the noise of waves that lap the distant shore?" Alpin "My tears are flowing, Ryno, for the dead. My voice sobs for the dwellers of the tomb. Slender art thou on the hill and beautiful Art thou among the sons upon the heath ! But thou wilt fall like Morar, and upon A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 131 Thy grave the sorrowful will sit and grieve. The hills will then forget thee, and thy bow Unstrung will lie unheeded in the hall. And thou wert swift, O Morar, as the roe upon the mountain, And awful as a meteor in the sky. Thy wrath was a storm, thy sword in battle Like sheet lightning flashed, and lighted up the heath. Thy voice was like the mountain torrent after rain, Or the thunder's voice on the distant hill. Many fell before thy arm, and the flame Of thy wrath consumed them. But when thou from The wars returned-thy voice-how peaceful it was Thy face was like the sun after a storm Or like the moon's soft silvery light serene. Thy breast, as the sea when the winds are hushed. "But narrow now and dark is thy abode. With but three steps I measure off thy tomb. O thou, who wert so noble and so great! Four mossy stones are thy sole monument. A blasted tree, long waving grass, through wh.eh The wind low whispers, marks to the hunter s eye, The lonely spot where sleeps the mighty Morar. No mother hast thou to beweep thy death. No sweetheart, tears of love to shed for thee. 132 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Dead is she who bore thee — daughter of Mor- glan. — "But who is this who rests upon his staff? Whose head with age is white^ whose eyes with tears are red? Thy father 'tis, with brow so sad^ O Morar! The father of no son save thee, Morar! He oft has heard thy valiant deeds extolled. And of thy fallen foes full oft has heard, And of thy glory, too, but not thy wounds. Weep, Morar's father, weep, thy son hears not. Sound is the sleep of the dead — their pillow, dust! Heeds he not thy voice, nor wakens at thy call. O when will morning dawn within the grave! To say to him who slumbers there, "awake" ! "Adieu, noblest of men, thou warrior bold ! Ne'er will the battle-field see thee again. Thy flashing steel no more shall light the wood. Thou leav'st no son behind to bear thy name; But it shall be preserved in epic song: And future bards shall sing of Morar's deeds. The heroes sent forth lamentations wild. But Armin's grief was keenest of them all. It called to mind his son's untimely death, Who fell in life's bright morn. Carmor sat near Armin, Carmor, prince of far-famed Galmal. Thus spoke he then to Armin, sobbing there: A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 133 "Wherefore weep'st thou, Armin? Who needs weep here, Where music stirs and animates the soul Like floating mist-clouds rising from the sea, Which, gently trembling, o'er the valley falls. And flowers and all the face of nature bathes? Then bursts the sun in all its splendor, forth, And mist-clouds disappear. Why art so sad, Armin, who rules o'er sea-begirt Gorma?" Armin "Yes, sad am I with best of reasons, too, Carmor, thou hast no son, no blooming daughter lost. Colgar, the valiant, lives and lovely Amira-- Most beautiful maiden she! And green The branches still, O Carmor, of thy stock! But Armin is the sole one of his race. Dank is thy bed, and deep thy sleep, O Daura . When wilt thou awaken with thy melodious voice. Awake! ye winds of autumn, wake! and blow O'er the gloomy heath. Torrents, leap and roar! Howl storm, and rend the summit of the oaks ! Slip through the shifting clouds, O moon ! Reveal And hide alternately thy pallid face! Recall to me the hoTroys of that night _ 134 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF When perished both my children. Then Arindal, The mighty, fell, and Daura, dear one^ perished. "Daura, my daughter, how beautiful wert thou, — As the placid moon on the hills of Fura ! White as the drifting snow, sweet as the breath of morn! Thy bow was strong, Arindal, thy spear swift In the field, thy glance, like mist on the waves. Thy shield flashed like a fire-cloud in the storm. "Armar^ famed in war^ wooed the lovely Daura, And haply won^ full soon, her young heart's love. And friends looked gladly on with joy and hope. Erath, Odgall's son, looked on with wrathful ire; His brother had been slain by Armar's hand. In boatman's guise he went to meet Daura. His bark danced gaily o'er the swelling wave. White his locks with age, peaceful his earnest face. 'Most beautiful of maids,' said he, 'Armin's lovely daughter, there on the rocks near by. Where peeps the red fruit through a leafy screen, Awaiteth Armar his loved-one's coming. I come, to guide her to him o'er the sea.' "She follows to this lonely trysting place. She calls out 'Armin!' but he answers not. The rocks reverberate her voice alone. 'Armar^ my love, why thus torment my soul? Hear, Armath's son ! 'tis Daura's voice that calls !' "Erath the traitor, laughing, fled to land. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 1S5 She lifted up her voice and called aloud. 'O father, brother, Armin, Arindal, Oh, is there none to hear and save his Daura!' "Her voice rang o'er the sea. Arindal heard. My son Arindal heard and quickly came, All covered o'er with booty of the chase. He sprang adown the hill with bow in hand. His arrows hanging dangling at his side. His five black hounds leaped joyfully about him. He saw the bold Erath upon the shore. He seized and bound him to an oak tree fast. Thus firmly bound, Erath filled the air with groans. "Arindal launched his bark upon the waves, To rescue Daura from the lonely rock. Then Armar came in wrath, an arrow seized — And with well poised aim he sent it speeding home. It pierced thy heart O Arindal, my son! Thus perished thou in trait'rous Erath's stead. His bark but touched the rock when he, expiring, fell. Thy brother's blood flowed at thy feet, all warm. Which was for thee a piteous sight, O Daura! "The waves soon crushed the bark. Into the sea Leaped Armar, his beloved to save or die. A storm-wind struck and lifted high the waves. He sank beneath to reappear no more. "I heard my daughter's shrieks upon the sea-beat shore. 136 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Long and loud she wailed, nor could I rescue her. The whole night long I stood upon the shore. I saw her dimly through the moon-light pale. The whole night long I heard her piercing cries. Loud roared the wind, the rain dashed 'gainst the rocks, But fainter grew her voice ere morning dawned. And died away as dies the evening breeze. Low murm'ring in the grass upon the rocks below. She died of grief, and left Armin alone. My strength in war is past, my pride, as father, fallen. "When storms descend in fury from the moun- tain heights. And fierce north winds pile high the foaming surge, I sit and gaze with fascination strange. Far out upon that lonely sea-girt rock. Oft through the moon's pale shim'ring light, I see The spirits of my children, hand in hand. In sweet and solemn concord passing by. "O why awaken me, sweet breath of spring! Thou wooest and speak'st. 'I'm charged with dews from Heaven.' "But the time of my with'ring draweth near. Near, the storm that shall strip me of my leaves! Tomorrow when the wanderer comes who saw Me in my beauty, his eye 'shall seek me. Shall seek me in the field, but shall not find me." A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 137 (From Schiller's Mary Stuart) Mary and her maid in the park of Fotheringay Castle^ where Mary is imprisoned. Maid : You hasten^ Lady, as if you had wings : So fast, indeed, I cannot follow — wait, pray. Mary: O let me enjoy this new freedom so sweet, Let us be children together once more. And try once again the light winged feet As swiftly we skim the green meadows o'er. Can it be I am free from my cell cold and bare? Hold me no more the dread dungeon walls? Let me drink of the free and heavenly air And bask in the sunlight that over me falls. Maid: O my dear Lad}^, your dreary prison house Is only just a little widened. The walls which shut us in you do not see Because the trees' thick foliage conceals them. Mary : O thanks ye friendly trees, thanks be to you That my grim prison walls ye hide from sight! O let me fancy that my dreams be true ! Wherefore awake me from such visions bright? O'erspans me nature's blue ethereal dome While free and fetterless the eye can roam O'er trackless voids of Heaven's immensity. 138 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF There^ where the grey and misty mountains rise. The boundaries of my kingdom may be seen. Yon hazj^ cloud that toward the Southland flies Shall hover o'er loved France's valleys green. Swift sailing cloudlet far up in the blue. Oh that I might rise and take passage with you! Take my fond greetings to the land dear to me. I am a prisoner, in bondage I pine, No other herald can I claim as mine. Through the blue ether your pathway lies free. This proud queen holds not dominion o'er thee. Maid: Ah, dear Lady, you are quite beside yourself, Your long imprisonment doth make you rave. Mary: There a fisherman fastens his boat to the land. Through this mean craft I might freedom attain, j\light be safely borne to some friendly strand If needy man could be tempted for gain. Richly would I repay him with treasure — A haul should he make, as he's ne'er made before. His nets should be filled with o'erflowing measure Would he but take me to some far off shore. Maid: An idle wish — for see you not from far Our footsteps close are followed by a spy? A black and cruel mandate banishes All sympathetic creatures from our path. Mary: A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 139 Good Hannah^ no^ believe me, not in vain Has been the op'ning of my prison door. This favor is to me the harbinger Of greater good. I feel a premonition That 'tis the hand of love, the which I thank. Lord Leicester's powerful arm I recognize. My freedom they will widen by degrees — From small to greater, will accustom me — Till I at last shall see the face of him Who has removed my bonds forever more. Maid: This paradox I cannot reconcile. They bid you yesterday prepare for death. Today as suddenly your freedom give. I've heard it said, when prisoners' chains are loosed, It signifies they're soon to be set free. Mary: Hear'st thou the hunter's horn? Dost hear it ringing — Loud hallooings as through the green fields they race? O could I, upon my proud courser springing. Respond to their shoutings and join in the chase! Hark! Hark! how familiar the voice that I hear, That with painfully sweet remembrances thrills ! How oft it has made the blood leap to my face When up in the Highlands in my Scottish hills Which echoed the shouts of the hunter's mad chase. 140 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF (Translation from Schiller's Mary Stuart.) Meeting Between Mary and Queen Elizabeth^ in the Park of Fotheringay Castle. Elizabeth: How is it^ my Lords? Who was it then that did announce to me One bowed with grief? A haughty pride I find In no way softened by misfortune's touch. Mary (aside) : So be it! I will humbly bear myself. Begone, thou foolish pride of a noble soul ! I will forget both who I am and what I suffer, and at her feet, who brought me to Such depths of grief and shame, will throw myself. (Turning to the Queen) Heaven hath decided for you, sister, In triumph sits the crown upon your brow. And I adore Him who hath raised you up! Yet, sister, show your magnanimity ! Let me not languish here in such disgrace! Your hand stretched forth gives me the queenly right To lift myself from this abyss of shame. Elizabeth : You're in your proper place. Lady Mary, A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 141 And thankfully I praise God for his grace That He hath not so willed that I should lie A suppliant at your feet as you do now at mine. Mary: Think on the instability of things. And gods there be who punish the proud in heart! Then hear and honor them whose awful might Hath cast me humbly grovling at your feet.— Then in the presence of these witnesses Honor yourself in me, for in my veins. As in your own, the blood of Tudor flows. Then desecrate it not !— O God in Heaven! O stand not there; cold, inaccessible. As the bold rock-cliff that towers high and steep. On which the ship-wrecked mariner, with hands Out-stretched while vainly struggling, seeks to grasp ! My hfe, my destiny, my all, depend Upon my words, the power of woman's tears. Unbind my heart, that I may move yours to Some show of pity! for when you gaze on me With that cold stare, shud'ring, the heart shuts up. The stream of tears is choked, and all the prayers That I would say are frozen on my lips. Elizabeth: What would you say to me. Lady Stuart. You've wished to speak to me and I forget The Queen, meanwhile, the sorely injured Queen. 142 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF The sister's pious duty to perform. Moved by a generous impulse, grant I you The consolation of this interview. I justly blame myself that I so far Have condescended, for, as you well know. You've plotted for my death through treachery. Mary : With what shall I begin? How shape my words. That I may touch your heart, yet injure not.^* O God ! put power and healing in my speech. And every thorn remove lest it should wound! Yet for myself I cannot speak without Accusing you, and that I will not do. You have with great injustice treated me. For I am queen as well as you, yet you Have kept me as a common prisoner. A suppliant I came to you, and you The sacred laws of hospitality. The people's sacred rights scorning in me. Shut me within a prison cell, and friends And servants from me ruthlessly did take. They stood me at the bar of a disgraceful tri- bunal — No more of that — but let oblivion hide Forever the base indignities I bore. I'll call it all, then. Providence: And you are not to blame no more am I. Some wicked demon has our hearts possessed. And kindled there the old time bitter hate A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 143 Which in our tender youth had sundered us. It grew with us and wicked men have fanned It to a dangerous flame^ and frenzied zeal Hath armed the meddling hand with sword and knife. — But this is the accursed fate of queens, That when disjoined, the world seems out of joint, And Furies all discord and hate let loose. But now no stranger tongue doth mediate. And we stand face to face. Now, sister, speak ! Yes, sister, speak and name to me my fault, And I will satisfy your every charge. O, had you let me speak that time when I So eagerly did seek your eyes in vain! It had not gone so far, alas ! And this sad meeting ne'er had taken place. Elizabeth : My good star warned me^ luckily, in time. The adder in my bosom not to warm. Accuse not destiny, but your black heart. The bold ambition of your house, accuse. No enmity had e'er between us come Till your proud uncle, base ambitious priest. Whose insolent hand toward every crown is stretched. Stirred up this feud: deluded you to wear My arms, and my queen's title to usurp, And with me wage a bitter strife unto 144 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF The death. Whom has he not against me sum- moned ? The tongues of wily priests and people's swords, — The pious weapons of fanaticism — Even now^ within my kingdom's peaceful bounds, The flame of insurrection's blown to me. But God is with me, and the haughty priest Is foiled in his attempt. Though at my head Was aimed the murderous shaft, it falls on yours. Mary: I'm in God's hands, and can you boast so cold And bloodily of your tyrannic power? Elizabeth : And what should hinder me.^ Your uncle gave A precedent to all the queens of earth, How one should with his enemies make peace. In St. Bartholomew I find my school. Then what to me is blood-relationship Or people's rights? The church all sacred bonds Dissolves. I practice only what your priests Do teach. What surety can you give to me If I your bonds should generously unloose? In what stronghold could I your pledge confine The which St. Peter's keys could not unlock? My only safety lies in force, for with The serpent brood no covenant can be made. Mary: Oh, this it but a wretched vain distrust! A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 145 You ever have but as an enemy And stranger looked on me. Had you declared Me as your lawful heir, as is my due, You had in me a faithful relative And friend, in gratitude and love preserved. Elizabeth: Your friendships, Lady Stuart, are abroad. Your kindred, to the papacy belong. The monk your brother /is. — And you, my heir Declare ! The treacherous snare you spread for me And for my people, a cunning Armida! The noble youths of this, my kingdom, you With cunning craft have wantonly ensnared, That all have turned unto the rising sun. And I Mary: Reign thou henceforth in peace, for every Claim upon this realm I here renounce. Alas ! my spirit's wings are rudely clipped. No more do€s greatness lure — You've compassed your design. I'm but the shadow of my former self. My long acquaintance with the prison-cell Has crushed my spirit. You've wrought the ut- most harm On me, destroyed me in my early bloom! Then, sister! make an end and speak it out. 146 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF Say the word that you have come to say; For I cannot believe that you have come Your humble victim cruelly to scorn. O speak this word ! but say to me, "You're free. You've tasted now my power's extremity. Now learn my magnanimity to honor." But say it, and my life and liberty I'll as a present from your hands receive. One word makes all as if it ne'er had been. O speak, and let me not so long await! Woe be to you should not this word end all! Are you not come with blessing on your wings, And like a God from me depart — sister! O, not for all the wealth of this proud realm Would I before you, as you before me, stand! Elizabeth: Do you confess at last that you are vanquished? Is your intriguing really over, with no More murders under way? Will no adventurer For you his wretched knighthood hazard more? It's over with you, Lady Stuart, and you'll Intrigue no more. The world has other cares. None cares to be your husband number four. For you your lovers kill as well as husbands. Mary: Sister, Sister ! O God ! God ! give me self control ! A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 147 Elizabeth: This is the gross indignity, Lord Leicester, That no man lets unpunished pass nor would Another woman dared arraign me thus. 'Tis cheap to win such notoriety. It little costs to be a universal beauty— to be all common, No more, indeed, than common be to all. Mary: This is too much! Elimbeth: Now show us your true face. Till now 'twas but a mask. Mary: The frailties of humanity and giddy youth— For power has dazzled and misguided me — I never have denied. Hypocrisy, I have with queenly candor still despised. The world has known the worst of me and I Can say that I am better than report. Woe be to you! should once the cloak of honor Be removed wherewith you seek to hide The wanton pleasures of a riotous life! Not chastity have you inherited. For 'tis well known for what virtue your mother, Anne Boleyn, the bloody scaffold did ascend. Shrewsbury (stepping between) : 148 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF O God ! and must it come to this ! Is this The moderation, the submissiveness, Lady Mary? Moderation ! I've borne all any human mortal can. Begone, thou meek and lamb-like passiveness ! To Heaven flee long suffering forbearance ! Then burst your bonds, break forth long smould'- ring hate! And, thou, who to the basilisk its death Glance gave, lay on my tongue the venomed shaft. The throne of England by a bastard is Profaned; the noble-hearted British folk By a frivolous, vain buffoon is disgraced. Did justice reign, you'd lie here at my feet, Low groveling in the dust, — for I'm your queen. A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 149 L'ENVOI Go forth, to bear a message of good cheer. Thou must with modest bow the great world greet. If thou with pleasing thought can charm the ear Thou mayst a kindly welcome hope to meet. Speak not in whimsical, newfangled phrase, That seeks to hide the lack of thought or art, But speak as did the bards of olden days The language that will best thy thought impart. A well turned phrase, with diction choice and pure, Beauty of thought, in language clear and terse. Will stand the test of time, longer endure Than all the vaporous prattlings of freak verse. Thy task to entertain, tho' small and weak. Thou must fare forth and for thine own self speak. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS lliiiiillliiiliiiiillililllliililiiiiilllliliilli 018 602 640 8