Class. 
 
 
 Book. LI'^^ JJ 
 
 Cop}TightI?. 
 
 xl. 
 
 CfiEffilGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
IDYLLS 
 
 FROM 
 
 CHAMPLAIN 
 
 BY 
 ELLA WARNER FISHER 
 
 LeROY PHILLIPS 
 
 PUBLISHER 
 
 1918 
 
^t> 
 
 ,»' 
 
 Copyright, 1918 
 J^eRoy Phillips 
 
 AUG 17 1918 
 
 ,0)C!.A503148 
 

 N^ 
 
 r 
 
 
 LOVINGLY INSCRIBED 
 TO 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Mother Dear . 1 
 
 Lovely Champlain 4 
 
 Vergennes 7 
 
 On, Mansfield 9 
 
 In Allen's Bay 10 
 
 Our Last Ride 12 
 
 Farragi/t at Mobile Bay 14 
 
 The Church in the Valley 17 
 
 Relics 19 
 
 In the Borderland 20 
 
 A Picture 25 
 
 From My Window 26 
 
 The Legend of the Corn 27 
 
 The House on the Hill 29 
 
 Winter Clouds 31 
 
 Longing 32 
 
 Earth's Mission 33 
 
 On the Plain ^5 
 
 The Woe of St. Pierre 37 
 
 The Moonlight 39 
 
 October 40 
 
 Where? 41 
 
 The Otter 43 
 
 In the Twilight 46 
 
 The Homelight 48 
 
 A Prayer 49 
 
 In the Dark 50 
 
 Disappointment 51 
 
 On the Cliffs 52 
 
PAGE 
 
 Love 53 
 
 Verse 54 
 
 How THE West Began 55 
 
 Nor Yet Alone 56 
 
 When I Would Go 58 
 
 God's Smile 59 
 
 Our Name 60 
 
 Why we Love Verge nnes 62 
 
 Bells 65 
 
 Laying the Corner Stone 66 
 
 A Song 70 
 
THE VALLEY WAY 
 
 There are bards who soar on pinions light 
 
 'Mong satellites and stars, 
 Their songs with rapture thrill the night 
 
 In quivering beauty bars. 
 They bring before our enchanted gaze 
 
 Elysian fields so rare 
 We dream of Heaven. 'Twould be no amaze 
 
 To wake and find us there. 
 
 I may not descend into the deeps 
 
 Or soar above the heights ; 
 I may not walk the rugged steeps 
 
 Or indulge in aerial flights, 
 But I can travel the beaten road 
 
 Along the Valley Way; 
 I can chant some humble ode 
 
 For the folks of every day. 
 
 There may be those with a willing ear, 
 
 Who carry a heavy load. 
 Perhaps some sorrowing soul will hear 
 
 Along the Valley road. 
 While other bards soar far and high, 
 
 I will take the Valley Way ; 
 My song may reach the hearts close by 
 
 'Mong the folks of every day. 
 
MOTHER DEAR 
 
 Afar away 
 
 Some forgotten thread 
 In the dim past, 
 Do your remember, Mother dear? 
 The garments that we made? 
 The winding of the baste 
 Upon a spool 
 In the hour after school. 
 As we sat, you and I, 
 
 In that old familiar room 
 On a winter afternoon 
 So far away. 
 
 The evening fell. 
 
 Do you remember. Mother dear? 
 How those quiet evenings fell, 
 Enlivened by the readings 
 While our patchwork grew. 
 
 And on the children's stockings 
 Our knitting needles flew ? 
 Oft the storm without was raging, 
 But the fire was burning brightly. 
 Where we sat those hours together 
 In that cosy, well loved room 
 So far away. 
 
 [1] 
 
The summer came, 
 
 And a soft breeze stirred the curtains 
 At the open window hung. 
 From the doorway's ample vista 
 We could see the waving cornfields 
 And the clover bloom came floating 
 From the meadows 
 Where the scythes were being swung, 
 
 In those happy, hazy days 
 So far away. 
 
 Do you remember 
 
 We brought the table in. 
 You and I, Mother dear.? 
 And the tempting dinner spread 
 With its ample dishes filled. 
 Hungry men to satisfy? 
 
 While they ate with eager zest, 
 From the fair and teeming fields 
 The summer fragrance floated in. 
 
 To that old and cherished room 
 So far away. 
 
 Long and silent 
 
 Are the many years between. 
 
 And the scythes no more are swinging 
 In the meadows sweet with bloom. 
 Come the men no more at noonday 
 From their washing at the bench. 
 
 [2] 
 
To the spreading of the table 
 In that flower laden room, 
 For no backward tide is rolling 
 Save the memories sad and sweet, 
 And those days are gone forever, 
 As a volume that is finished 
 And complete. 
 
 The Reader sleeps. 
 
 On his grave the grass is waving, 
 Even now your hair is white — 
 Is it evening. Mother dear ? 
 
 Do others keep the fires burning. 
 Where we used to sit together 
 With the quiet and the peace. 
 Sheltered from the wind and weather, 
 
 In that memory laden room 
 So far away? 
 
 [3] 
 
LOVELY CHAMPLAIN 
 
 Faint are the traces 
 
 O, lovely Champlain, ^ 
 
 Of the limits that bound you ! 
 
 In the dim silent past. ] 
 
 On the rocks of your basin i 
 
 The records were cast '■ 
 
 Ere the finger of man ] 
 
 Was created to write. \ 
 When your waters were gathering 
 
 From forces unseen, \ 
 
 And filling the hollows j 
 
 The mountains between, j 
 
 By giant upheavals '\ 
 
 Your tides were confined, ] 
 
 Ere the sun of the morning ) 
 
 Arose on your face. j 
 
 Changing your moods i 
 
 O, lovely Champlain, ■ 
 The wide blue above you 
 
 Where scudding clouds sweep; j 
 
 The craft that sail o'er you i 
 
 While unruffled you sleep ; j 
 
 The water fowl swooping j 
 
 With bright wings outspread; ' 
 
 The age serried cliffs I 
 
 And the steep verdured hills, \ 
 
 [4] 
 
In faithful reflection 
 
 Your still deeps have caught, 
 
 All spread in a painting j 
 
 Of imagery rare. i 
 
 j 
 
 Changeful your moods, \ 
 
 O, lovely Champlain, ] 
 
 One touch of the wind \ 
 
 You are moving again, j 
 
 Your waters aripple ' 
 
 All studded with light, J 
 
 Like fine sheeted silver ] 
 
 Agleam in the sun. i 
 
 Your murmuring plaint j 
 
 Calling soft to the shore j 
 
 In lullabys luring | 
 
 To dreams and to sleep, i 
 All down the long valley 
 Where your bright waters sweep. 
 
 Grand is your wrath, 
 
 O, wondrous Champlain, ; 
 
 When the fierce winds sweep o'er you 
 
 From the mountains' steep crown. 
 
 Your loud angry waters \ 
 
 In foam crested swells, j 
 
 Come breaking to shoreward 1 
 
 Where the lines of white driftwood i 
 
 And the smooth pebbles lie, j 
 
 [5] 
 
Or where rocky confines 
 Rise defiant and grim, 
 And the wild eagle guards 
 Her brood from the storm. 
 
 But useless your fury, 
 
 O, angry Champlain, 
 
 You cannot be free 
 
 Though the boom of your anger 
 
 Resound like the sea. 
 
 Staunch cedars and pines 
 
 Stand fast on the beach, 
 
 Their voices in harmony 
 
 And sympathy blend. 
 
 Unheard is their calling 
 
 While the storm winds sweep on — 
 
 The play of the lightning 
 
 And the thunder's deep roll. 
 
 Seem but the echo 
 
 Of your own surging soul. 
 
 [6] 
 
VERGENNES 
 
 There's a beautiful valley along Champlain, 
 
 A sunlit vale of dreams, 
 Where Nature trails her garments fair 
 
 To the lilt of purling streams. 
 Adown the valley a river deep 
 
 Threading its swift and winding way, 
 Leaps over the boulders wild and steep. 
 
 In a tumult of foaming spray. 
 
 And ever the mists above it rise. 
 
 As in pristine days of old, 
 And the western sunlight filtering through 
 
 Turns it to cloth of gold. 
 The lure of its call drew Nature's child. 
 
 The swift footed Red Man, here ; 
 As through the tangle of forest wild 
 
 He chased the fleeing deer. 
 
 The White Man heard its murmuring call, 
 
 And his axe resounding rang. 
 The forest blossomed about the Fall 
 
 And the forge of the smithy sang. 
 A city he built on the hillsides there 
 
 And the hollows that lie between; 
 A spot endowed by Nature rare 
 
 Along the river's bright sheen. 
 
 [7] ! 
 
The city still stands about the Fall, 
 
 Its founders have passed away, 
 And many have heard the luring call 
 
 Since that dim and distant day. 
 There are grander cities beneath the skies. 
 
 But none that are half so dear, 
 Where shrouding mists o'er the waters rise 
 
 And beckoning wraiths appear. 
 
 [8] 
 
ON MANSFIELD 
 
 To the North from the din of the City, 
 
 The Monarch of Mansfield lies, 
 The scars of the centuries seam his face, 
 
 Raised high in the gleaming skies ; 
 Huge masses of rock rise defiant ; 
 
 Their outlines forbidding and wild, 
 And the winds sweep free and unbroken 
 
 Over Solitude's favorite child. 
 
 The lovers of Nature have found him. 
 
 The flaws in his armor thej^ know. 
 The rare mosses fed by cool waters. 
 
 On their way to the valley below ; 
 The nooks in the sweet SAvaying balsams, 
 
 The caves in his dark stony side, 
 The lake that he hid in his bosom. 
 
 The paths that to man he denied. 
 
 The lovers of Nature have found him. 
 
 From out of the east and the west. 
 Over boulders and brake and tangle 
 
 They come from valley to crest, 
 They watch the red sunset at even. 
 
 The glory of sunrise they know. 
 The glimpses of cloudland and Heaven, 
 
 And the silent world below. 
 
 [9] 
 
IN ALLEN'S BAY 
 
 O LIMPID sparkling water, 
 
 All shimmering in the Bay ! 
 Still rippling on the stony beach 
 
 As it did that distant day, 
 When here we raised our tent 
 
 Ere fell the eventide, 
 And the little woodland dwellers 
 
 To hidden nests had hied. 
 
 The fragrant pine and cedar 
 
 With boughs all interlaced, 
 For us a sheltering canopy 
 
 By lavish Nature placed. 
 'Twas here our rude board table 
 
 In jest and laughter laid. 
 Was circled by dear old faces — 
 
 May their memory never fade. 
 
 Right here's the very crevice 
 
 Where we piled the rocks up higher. 
 And hung our steaming kettle 
 
 Above a crackling fire. 
 Our bonfires cleft the darkness 
 
 When summer nights were warm, 
 And here our boats lay rocking 
 
 In sunshine and in storm. 
 
 [10] 
 
The faces gay and smiling, 
 
 Who'll smile at us no more — 
 We seem to see them once again 
 
 Along this dear old shore ; 
 Some are gone away forever, 
 
 In quiet graves they lie. 
 And some in countries far 
 
 For home in vain may sigh. 
 
 Reverently we are standing 
 
 With sweet memories all around. 
 And softly they remind us 
 
 That this is hallowed ground. 
 The twilight shades are falling — 
 
 The close of a radiant day ; 
 But voices still are calling 
 
 To us in Allen's Bay. 
 
 [11] 
 
OUR LAST RIDE 
 
 It was a country road that wound away 
 In long white stretches that summer day, 
 Nature lay locked in a calm so dead, 
 Not the stir of a leaf in the trees overhead. 
 
 With hanging head in the sultry heat 
 The horse went on with reluctant feet. 
 The wheels rolled slowly in deep white sand, 
 And an old man drove with trembling hand. 
 His hair was bleached with the passing years. 
 And his gaze intent, as one who hears 
 Some far off call with tightening dread 
 While life yet dear, holds by a thread. 
 
 And so we journeyed that sultry day. 
 
 But few we met on the lonely way. 
 
 The bridges were swept by recent rain. 
 
 And we drove out on the grassy plain, ] 
 
 Over the pebbles of the shallow bed \ 
 
 Where the crystal river noisily sped, \ 
 
 Then we came to a village street — | 
 
 Fit place for a hermit to retreat. 
 
 With silent houses on either side, ■ 
 
 And vacant windows open wide. 
 
 Doors on broken hinges slack ; | 
 
 Storm-swept clapboards beaten black; i 
 
 Grass grown yards and empty space, \ 
 
 Threw a strangeness o'er the place. \ 
 
One house there was, it looked almost new, 
 Where people lived and flowers grew. 
 
 A leaning bridge ; a ruined mill, 
 Its cumbrous wheel forever still; 
 Swallows circling about their nests 
 Cobwebs clinging to their breasts. 
 Bold and fearless within its shade 
 Bats and owls their homes had made. 
 A chattering squirrel perched aloft ; 
 A brown wren calling in accents soft ; 
 These and others within its shade 
 Happy and fearless their homes had made. 
 
 Where are they who once dwelt here? 
 And do their ghosts of nights appear? 
 Do leaning porch and mildewed walls 
 Resound to strange sepulchral calls? 
 And phantom feet o'er sunken floors 
 Pass in and out the creaking doors? 
 Just vacant houses and ruined mill. 
 And silence of nature, O how still ! 
 
 Then we turned in the grassy street. 
 And homeward jogged in the sultry heat. 
 Over long, lone stretches of deep white sand. 
 And an old man drove with trembling hand. 
 
 [13] 
 
FARRAGUT AT MOBILE BAY i 
 
 The enemy's forts a stern front wore j 
 
 Like sentinel guards on either shore ; ■ 
 
 Where the turbid waters to seaward sweep, ] 
 
 Destructive missiles lay buried deep. ] 
 
 Defiance blazed from each bristling gun , 
 
 Of the hostile fleet in the morning sun ; | 
 
 His battering rams awaited the fight, ] 
 
 Sheeted in armor and hidden from sight, j 
 
 And with bated breath in silence lay ] 
 Upon the waters of Mobile Bay. 
 
 Admiral Farragut our bright flag bore 
 
 On the fifth of August in sixty-four, i 
 
 From every staff of his ships of war ' 
 
 As they sailed across the harbor bar; \ 
 
 More thrilling sight not often is seen j 
 
 As they waved and fluttered in starry sheen. \ 
 
 Each burnished deck was cleared for fight 
 
 And spotless shone in the morning light, 
 
 From gulf to channel in battle array | 
 
 On the fair false bosom of Mobile Bay. ■ 
 
 The brooding silence in echoes awoke. 
 
 Over Fort Morgan rolled the angry smoke ; \ 
 
 Beneath the waters in a deadly mine ! 
 
 Lay the enemy's hidden torpedo line. j 
 Commander Craven the fray began 
 
 With the doomed Tecumseh leading the van ; I 
 [14] 
 
She quivered and poised an instant and then 
 With her crew of over a hundred men, 
 In a watery vortex was downward borne, 
 While loved ones still in the Northland mourn. 
 
 Then into the midst of the deadly shelling 
 
 Came Admiral Farragut his orders telling, 
 
 Far up the rigging, and then lest he 
 
 Become the prey of the hungry sea. 
 
 Was lashed to the shrouds on the Hartford's 
 
 deck 
 And sailed above the Tecumseh*s wreck ; 
 Above the perilous torpedo mine, 
 Where each missile raked his ships in line. 
 Then each in turn dropped harmless away 
 In the troubled waters of Mobile Bay. 
 
 As to right and left his brave ships fought, 
 
 Out of confusion good order he wrought ; 
 
 To right and left rose the battle smoke 
 
 And far inland the booming broke ; 
 
 Earth with bolted thunder was riven 
 
 When an angel left her place in Heaven ; 
 
 No mortal saw the wings she spread 
 
 Over the daring Admiral's head. 
 
 But unscathed he came through the dreadful 
 
 fray 
 On the wreck strewn waters of Mobile Bay. 
 
 [15] 
 
Each fort was silenced ; each bristling gun 
 That burnished shone in the morning sun, 
 Smirched and blackened at eve hung stilled, 
 And moans of the wounded the night air filled ; 
 Dead men lay where the living had been, 
 And a brooding hush fell soft on the din. 
 Peace is bought at the price of war, 
 And it settled over the harbor bar. 
 When Farragut, Heaven protected that day. 
 Won the battle of Mobile Bay. 
 
 [16] 
 
j 
 THE CHURCH IN THE VALLEY ■ 
 
 There's a moss grown church in the valley, \ 
 
 And ivy climbs over the wall ; 
 The tall grass grows over the threshold 
 
 Where the silent night dews fall. i 
 
 The old bell lies there in the turret, ; 
 
 And its musical chiming is still, ' 
 
 Once it awoke the glad echoes } 
 
 Through valley and towering hill. 
 
 Where is the rosy cheeked maiden 
 
 And where is the wrinkled dame, 
 Who every Sabbath morning 
 
 From over the meadows came? ' 
 
 And where is the grey haired sexton ' 
 
 Who stood on the belfry stair, I 
 
 And rang the old bell in the turret i 
 
 While the worshippers gathered there? i 
 
 Go out in the silent church yard, j 
 
 For there they are all laid low, ] 
 
 And there is the white-haired preacher | 
 
 Of fifty years ago. | 
 
 And there is the good old deacon, j 
 
 Who sat by the chancel rail i 
 And prayed the Lord to gather the grain 
 
 And burn up the wayward kale. ^ 
 
 [17] 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 ( 
 
 J 
 1 
 
There are grand churches in the City ; 
 
 The City that rose in a day, 
 And the old stone church in the valley 
 
 Is now but a ruin grey. 
 And the simple village people, 
 
 As they pass on the other side, 
 Will warn you in awe-struck whisper 
 
 To give it a margin wide. 
 
 As you stand in the gathering shadows 
 
 And list to each sound that you hear, 
 There's something indefinite stealing. 
 
 And fancy is morbid with fear ; 
 The wind rustles vague through the ivy 
 
 And over the tombstones bare, 
 And the spirit of buried ages 
 
 Seems keeping you company there. 
 
 You look for the white-haired preacher 
 
 With text book in his hand. 
 And the rush of a night bird past you 
 
 Seems a guest from another land. 
 The rats in the belfry daze you. 
 
 And you go with quickened tread 
 And leave the old church in the valley 
 
 Alone with its slumbering dead. 
 
 [18] 
 
RELICS 
 
 There's a nameless charm about them 
 
 The things of bygone days, 
 They are quaint and strangely fashioned, 
 
 Nor fit our modern ways. 
 We touch them with reverent fingers, 
 And our fond thought o'er them lingers. 
 And the ones who loved them so 
 Long ago. 
 
 There's a mystic charm about them, 
 
 The relics of days of yore. 
 But we shall do without them, 
 
 As those who have gone before. 
 When we are gone will some one care. 
 Or a thought on these old relics spare. 
 And wonder why we loved them so 
 Long ago.? 
 
 [19] 
 
IN THE BORDERLAND 
 
 I HAVE been in the house 
 
 Of my childhood to-day, 
 
 Exploring the rooms 
 
 Where I used to play. 
 
 The sunrise glinted pellucid gold 
 Through its eastern windows 
 And its doorway old, 
 Under the slant of its lowly eaves, 
 Where nest of the homing swallow cleaves, 
 
 I passed again, as once I passed 
 
 When the posts were straight 
 
 And the sills were fast, 
 
 Into the silent kitchen door. 
 
 And again I saw 
 The great dim fireplace. 
 The old oak floor. 
 
 The roomy pantry, dismantled and bare, 
 Once big and exhaustless. 
 With dainties to spare ; 
 The little bedroom that used to be mine 
 Sunken and mildewed 
 And silent as time — 
 Once draped with red peonies 
 And asparagus plumes. 
 Its broken paned window 
 The sunshine illumes. 
 
 [20] 
 
On into the parlor, my Grandmother's room, 
 Where shades of green made a semi-gloom. 
 
 And I saw again 
 Its wide open fireplace 
 And andirons bright. 
 Where the fire leaped high 
 On a wintry night ; 
 
 The flawless spare bedroom 
 
 With its fourposter staid. 
 
 Where Grandmother's star quilt 
 
 All spotless was laid. 
 
 I looked up the stairway, 
 
 Began its ascent. 
 
 It tottered and creaked 
 
 As upward I went. 
 
 To the dear old chamher 
 With its dormer window 
 Looking out on the East — 
 
 With a chair I oft climbed 
 To a seat on the sill ; 
 Its outlook and quiet 
 My need seemed to fill. 
 
 Unmolested the birds 
 Plad builded their nests. 
 The riot of sunrise 
 Lay bright on their breasts ; 
 [21] 
 
They fluttered and flew \ 
 
 In frightened dismay, \ 
 
 While I carefully threaded i 
 
 My onward way ^ 
 
 To the wide front chamber, 
 My Grandmother's pride, 
 Where her gnests of honor 
 Oft came to abide. 
 
 / tiptoed across its clattering floor, i 
 
 Its walls and its windows were 
 
 A chaos of ruin and nothing more. ; 
 
 In those far-a-way days \ 
 
 When my small feet strayed ; 
 
 Across its threshold, like one arrayed j 
 
 In some act forbidden, j 
 
 I backed to the door 
 
 Close watching for goblins ] 
 
 I felt must be there, ^ 
 
 Precipitate fled, the chUls \ 
 
 Down my spine, 1 
 
 The wind in my hair, ] 
 
 In the big front yard j 
 
 There now is no trace, i 
 
 Of the flowers whose fragrance ] 
 
 Once filled the place. ! 
 
The sweet old-fashioned things I loved, 
 Each side of the walk 
 That led to the door 
 
 Are gone. 
 
 But the old stone step 
 Worn smooth by the feet 
 That will tread it no more, 
 Lies just as it lay 
 In my childhood days 
 So far away. 
 
 The lilacs are gone 
 
 And the climbing rose 
 That festooned the window there. 
 The sunsets fall with the bright blaze 
 Of glory rare. 
 
 The purple deeps of the twilight lie 
 As they used to lie on summer nights. 
 When living forms passed to and fro 
 In the homey blaze of cheery lights. 
 
 Those days are gone 
 
 And the forms are gone 
 Once our love and care ; 
 The spirit of things 
 That once have been, 
 Are vanished like empty air. 
 [23] 
 
We shall find our loves 
 In the Borderland, 
 
 It is not so far away ; 
 Its homes yield not 
 To stain or spot 
 Of ruin or decay. 
 
 [24] 
 
A PICTURE 
 
 The water laps softly on the beach, 
 And from my feet a shimmering track 
 Sparkles and scintillates 
 Across the Bay in the moonlight. 
 Back in the dim woods 
 Are shadowy aisles 
 Where the crickets are singing, 
 And now and then a fflow worm 
 Glistens in the path. 
 
 fc>' 
 
 There are no lights in the Cottage; 
 
 The broad Lake lies silent 
 
 Beneath the stars ; 
 
 The pines nod softly to each other, 
 
 For God has descended from His Heaven. 
 
 [25] 
 
FROM MY WINDOW 
 
 Winter rain came pattering down, 
 
 It soaked the roofs of the grey old town, 
 
 The skies turned a dark and sullen hue, 
 
 The air grew a little keener too ; 
 
 The snow fell light as thistle down. 
 
 And whitened the earth so bare and brown ; 
 
 It flurried about each skeleton tree, 
 
 And with every passer-by made free ; 
 
 It coated each roof in spotless white. 
 
 And on each shrub clung fast and tight. 
 
 The rifts in the clouds wore a lovely blue. 
 
 The air grew a little keener too. 
 
 On a silent town in spotless white, 
 
 The moon smiled down from her dizzy height. 
 
 Through feathery aisles of orchard trees. 
 
 Over roofs of patient quiet bees. 
 
 On the fences and over the lane. 
 
 Out on the meadow's level plain. 
 
 The fettered brooklet showing through, 
 
 The mountain tops in the distant blue; 
 
 All in their snowy dress of white. 
 
 And the smiling moon on her dizzy height. 
 
 [26] 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE CORN 
 
 In the golden days of Harvest | 
 
 When skies are blue and fair, i 
 Beyond the purpling hill tops, 
 
 When a chill's in the bracing air. ■ 
 
 Among the nodding cornfields | 
 
 Russet and red and gold, 
 Autumn, in robes of beauty. 
 Lingers before the cold. 
 
 1 
 
 'Tis said in the old time legend j 
 
 When the Harvest moon is bright, j 
 Out of the Happy Hunting Grounds 
 
 Into the whispering night, ; 
 
 Come the allied Indian forces ' 
 
 In feathered dress of yore, i 
 
 A spectral, weird procession j 
 
 To lead the dance once more. j 
 
 They move in solemn rhythm ■ 
 
 And sway with every breeze, ] 
 
 Their lithesome, sinuous motions \ 
 The grace of savage ease; 
 
 They shake their rustling fringes, j 
 
 And nod their feathered plumes, | 
 
 And all their gaudy trappings | 
 
 The moonlight soft illumes. j 
 
 [27] 
 
And so when the corn is standing 
 
 In shocks on the moonlit ground, 
 
 And the night wind roams among them 
 
 With a mournful, moaning sound. 
 
 They come in strange procession 
 
 With feathered dress of yore. 
 And chant some old time melody 
 As they lead the dance once more. 
 
 [28] 
 
THE HOUSE ON THE HILL 
 
 A House with wmgs on either side^ 
 
 Crowning the hill where tall elms sway^ 
 
 Whose many whispering voices 
 In soft cadences die away. 
 
 Its call goes forth from an open door 
 
 As many a call has gone before ; 
 
 The maimed, the lame, the ill and blind. 
 
 Like weary pilgrims come to find 
 
 A surcease from their haunting pain — 
 
 The boon of life and health again. 
 
 Of such was I. Through its open door 
 
 I passed, as many had done before, 
 
 Weary and ill in body and soul, 
 
 A suppliant praying to be made whole. 
 
 At shut of even in the semi gloom. 
 
 An Angel passed from room to room; 
 
 Her touch brought hope to' the heart of the 
 
 weak. 
 And the blush of health to many a cheek. 
 Now and then by some stricken bed 
 An instant she paused and pitying said, 
 " You can bear no more. Come home with me. 
 From this broken body I'll set you free." 
 The two passed out like a fleeting breath 
 And this is the Passing that men call Death ; 
 
 [29] 
 
The unseen Nurse who comes each night, 
 And no man sees when she takes her flight. 
 
 Through endless days and nights of pain, 
 
 When shadows clouded my weary brain, 
 
 She subdued my heart's wild throbbing strife 
 
 And quelled the turbulent channels of life. 
 
 I saw her not. She spoke no word, 
 
 I only knew that my pulses stirred. 
 
 And life and health infused again 
 
 The broken structure where despair had lain. 
 
 The Angel that men call Death is Life ; 
 
 To some she brings peace from endless strife; 
 
 She comes by day and oft by night. 
 
 But no man sees when she takes her flight. 
 
 She may return at no distant day. 
 
 But my work will not unfinished lay, 
 
 Since she gave to me to feel once more 
 
 The sweet pure air of the open door. 
 
 A House with wings on either side. 
 
 Crowning the hill where tall elms sway^ 
 
 Whose many whispering voices 
 In soft cadences die away. 
 
 [30] 
 
WINTER CLOUDS 
 
 Dark sullen clouds are lifting 
 
 Fantastic shapes on high, 
 In changing masses drifting 
 Across the wintry sky. 
 Lifting, 
 Drifting, 
 
 Ever shifting 
 Across the wind swept sky. 
 
 Somewhere the sun is shining — 
 
 Must be they've turned to gold, 
 For the fringes of their lining 
 Our longing eyes behold ; 
 Shining, 
 Lining, 
 
 Intertwining, 
 Our watching eyes behold. 
 
 With dark days ever coping 
 
 Behind the frosted pane. 
 Our waiting hearts are hoping 
 'Til Springtime comes again, 
 Groping, 
 Coping, 
 Hoping 
 'Til Springtime comes again. 
 
 [ai] 
 
LONGING 
 
 I STOOD on the city's pavement, 
 
 And looked with dizzy eyes 
 On the piles of cement and marble 
 
 Towering to meet the skies. 
 I heard the din and clatter ; 
 
 The clamor and rush and rattle, 
 Like the tread of a mighty army 
 
 And the swelling surge of battle. 
 
 And I longed for the quiet country. 
 
 The smell of the new mown hay. 
 The lanes where once we traveled. 
 
 That led o'er the hills away. 
 The farm house back in the meadow. 
 
 And the waving fields of grain. 
 The golden fruit of the orchard 
 
 And to feel like a child again. 
 
 [32] 
 
EARTH'S MISSION j 
 
 j 
 
 The Earth I 
 Is a great teacher. 
 The best results 
 
 Are obtained by cultivation; i 
 
 From the products of her surface ] 
 
 Man builds his home; | 
 
 She yields sustenance ! 
 
 For his support, 'i 
 
 And warmth for his comfort. ! 
 In her cool embrace 
 
 Man lays away his dead, i 
 
 And she reduces 
 
 His bones to dust. ' 
 
 She drinks up the blood of battles, ; 
 And sends therefrom 
 
 The sweet aroma \ 
 
 Of the wild flowers. | 
 
 The Earth 
 
 Is a great teacher, 
 
 And man may take 
 
 A lesson therefrom; j 
 
 The best results \ 
 
 To the mind of man, | 
 
 Are obtained by cultivation. ] 
 
 He must be trained i 
 
 In the way of good ; ] 
 
 [33] 
 
He must be taught the inspiration 
 Of Purity and Truth, 
 
 Lest into his soul creep lust and murder, 
 And man become a leper. 
 Let him take a lesson from the Earth — 
 Both are the creation of God, 
 And Purity and Truth 
 Are His attributes. 
 
 [34] 
 
ON THE PLAIN 
 
 Whispering winds 
 Among the pines, 
 
 Sighing sad and low, 
 Gathering haste 
 O'er snowy waste, 
 Wailing as they go. 
 
 Faring forth 
 From the north, 
 Bitter, biting cold, 
 Fiercely beat 
 
 The stinging sleet 
 E'er the day is old. 
 
 O'er the plain 
 A man drew rein 
 
 In the raging storm. 
 Flickering life 
 In feeble strife 
 
 Essaying to be warm. 
 
 A shuddering sound 
 In fierce rebound ; 
 
 A long and curdling wail, 
 Upon the track 
 A coward pack 
 
 Coming through the gale. 
 
 [35] 
 
Morning fair, 
 Sky so clear, 
 
 Sunlight seeks in vain 
 The hurtling fate; 
 The thirst insatiate 
 
 Of the empty, silent plain. 
 
 [36] 
 
THE WOE OF ST. PIERRE 
 
 Long the Southern sunshine glinted 
 
 The roofs of St. Pierre, 
 Mont Pelee's sheltering slopes were tinted 
 
 With tropic flowers rare. 
 Ships came and went, a gala lot, 
 
 And men passed to and fro, 
 And life was bright in this island spot 
 
 As anywhere one may go. 
 
 But one fatal morn Mont Pelee broke 
 
 The vials of his wrath. 
 To death the sleeping town awoke 
 
 In grim destruction's path. 
 The monster vampire swooping down 
 
 Poured out his molten fire. 
 And of the helpless unwarned town 
 
 Made a blackened funeral pyre. 
 
 A flood of awful burning death 
 
 Rolled out upon the sea; 
 Ships were engulfed with every breath 
 
 From shaking Mont Pelee. 
 The decks with shriveled men were massed, 
 
 The cordage to ashes fell. 
 And over all a darkness cast. 
 
 Like the very depths of Hell. 
 
 [37] 
 
Storms may beat and gales may blow, 
 
 'Til gales shall cease to be ; 
 Ships may come and ships may go 
 
 O'er the island studded sea — 
 The sunlight woos that quiet grave 
 
 And vainly thrills the air — - 
 Nor ocean beating wave on wave, 
 
 Can waken St. Pierre. 
 
 [38] 
 
THE MOONLIGHT 
 
 There are some things 
 
 We cannot speak. 
 
 When the moonlight lies white 
 
 On the frozen ground, 
 
 And long shadows 
 
 Have their fling, 
 
 We may turn low the light 
 
 In a warm homey room. 
 
 And sit at the window 
 
 And think, 
 
 And drink 
 
 And absorb, but — 
 
 There are some things 
 
 We cannot speak. 
 
 [39] 
 
OCTOBER . 
 
 ,1 
 
 Month of russet and red and gold, i 
 
 Shining days just edged with cold; * 
 
 Purple sunsets and sweet still night ; j 
 
 Skies that are blue and stars that are bright ; 
 
 Hazy sunlight and golden sheaf ; I 
 
 Mellow apples and falling leaf ; ; 
 
 Busy farmers and lowing kine ^ 
 
 Out in the rowen meadows fine ; • : 
 
 Flocks of fowl in their southward flight; j 
 
 Furry marauders at work all night. 1 
 
 Whispering winds that wail and sigh | 
 
 That all things bright are born to die ; s 
 
 Fragrance of dying departing things ; ^ 
 
 Rustling of red leaves where ivy clings ; 
 
 The woodman's axe through the forest ringing; i 
 
 The glad housewife at her first fire singing ; 
 
 O fair October ! in robes divine, 
 
 To link the seasons must ever be thine. \ 
 
 [40] 
 
WHERE? 
 
 Where is God? 
 
 Is He hid away 
 In the dim old aisles 
 Where shadows lav? 
 
 What answer gives 
 
 The whispering breeze 
 That plays among 
 The vibrant trees? 
 
 The trilling notes 
 
 Of happy birds? 
 The lowing of 
 
 Contented herds? 
 
 The dreamy rhythm 
 
 Of yon purling stream? 
 The Lake's fair bosom, 
 Its waves agleam? 
 
 Vale and valley 
 
 And rolling hills? 
 Woodland slopes 
 And shaded rills? 
 
 Grey piles of rock 
 
 Where mosses grow? 
 Grand mountain peaks 
 White capped with snow? 
 
 [41] I 
 
The heavenly blue | 
 
 Of yonder sky ? j 
 
 The fleecy clouds 1 
 
 Enmassed on high? j 
 
 The answer trace : 
 
 In sacred scroll, j 
 
 A responsive echo 
 
 In the soul. 
 
 [42] 
 
THE OTTER 
 
 When Nature wakes to beauty, 
 
 Space thrills with droning bees, 
 And gentle summer breezes 
 
 Play among the trees. 
 Fishing boats and pleasure launches. 
 
 Sailing craft and steamers grand 
 Gem the bosom of the Otter 
 
 Like a scene from fairy land. 
 
 Would you quaff the thrilling nectar 
 
 From the deeps of Nature's cup? 
 Take a trip adown the Otter 
 
 Ere the busy world is up; 
 Ere the sun along the valley 
 
 Dries the dewy fields of night. 
 Watch the wild and timid creatures 
 
 Coming forth into the light. 
 
 Chattering flocks of hungry blackbirds 
 
 Settle 'mong the nodding corn, 
 The eagle soars on lofty pinions 
 
 Fearless in the early morn ; 
 Birds unknown and birds familiar, 
 
 Blend their notes along the stream — 
 Glides your boat in raptured silence. 
 
 Like the music of a dream. 
 
 [43] 
 
Looking back on many ages ' 
 
 Otter's waters flow serene, 
 None of us may know the stages 
 
 Or the varied change of scene. 
 We but guess how long the Red man 
 
 Fished upon this quiet water, | 
 
 When the dense primeval forest 
 
 Darkened all the shining Otter. 
 
 When the white man's flint lock musket 
 
 Sent its first resounding call, 
 Pioneer axes swung in rhythm 
 
 To rear a village at the fall, j 
 
 Rocks of ages, smooth and polished, I 
 
 Standing silent, grim and tall, \ 
 
 Breaks the Otter reckless o'er them, | 
 
 Foaming, thundering at the Fall. ■ 
 
 Men of iron will and courage ; 
 
 Wrought far past the eventide, , 
 
 Ere McDonough's fleet went sailing 
 
 Down the Otter's shining tide; 
 Cut their way around the British j 
 
 In the darkness of the night, i 
 
 Where they blocked the river's entrance, i 
 
 And routed them in flight. 
 
 From Widow Story's historic cave , 
 
 To Fort Cassin's storied shore, '\ 
 
 The Otter has been the water way j 
 
 For men and deeds of yore. j 
 
 [44] I 
 
What scenes await the future years 
 Adown Time's coming ages 
 
 We know not, neither can we guess 
 The varied, changing stages. 
 
 Men come and go — are laid to rest. 
 
 Not so our storied river. 
 Unswerving on its steady course 
 
 It flows and flows forever. 
 Fond memory weaves a golden thread 
 
 Along this shimmering water, 
 Endearing all its winding way — 
 
 Our peaceful shining Otter. 
 
 [45] 
 
IN THE TWILIGHT 
 
 The; sun hangs low in the beautiful west, 
 And over the earth in her green robes dressed, 
 Is falling the holy hush of rest 
 
 Like a prayer on the wings of the soul. 
 
 The bleating of sheep and the lowing of kine 
 From the pasture slopes and the woods of pine, 
 Are stilled by the farmer's thatch and vine 
 Where the flocks lie down to rest. 
 
 The deep toned bell from the quaint old tower, \ 
 
 Over the village roofs in swelling power ] 
 
 Is tolling forth the matin hour, j 
 
 With an answering thrill in each man's j 
 
 breast. i 
 
 The dark woods lie on every side ; 
 The grand hills rear their heads in pride. 
 In the holy hush of eventide, 
 They worship in temples of air. 
 
 On the hill, in the valley, the village lies ; 
 Its peaceful spires through the foliage rise 
 In the ruddy glow of the sunset skies — 
 A pastoral picture fair. 
 
 [46] 
 
My soul bows down in the hush of the hour, 
 In reverence accepting His deep, subduing 
 
 power, 
 And each trembling leaf and folded flower 
 Are bowed in worship too. 
 
 [47] 
 
THE HOMELIGHT 
 
 Set the light burning, 
 Keep the home warm 
 For the sake of the dear one 
 Out in the storm. 
 
 The world is a battle field, 
 
 They who earn bread 
 Must wrest it by toil 
 
 With hands or with head. 
 
 Set it burning, my dear, 
 Let its radiance shine. 
 Make the home homelike. 
 Thy task is divine. 
 
 The smile of good cheer. 
 
 The soft word of praise, 
 The neatly clad housewife, 
 The small thrifty ways. 
 
 Make the home beautiful 
 
 And keep the hearth warm, 
 For some one who's toiling 
 Out in the storm. 
 
 Set the light burning. 
 Thy task is divine, 
 Over thine own life 
 Its halo will shine. 
 
 [48] 
 
A PRAYER i 
 
 O God, I 
 
 Teach me 
 
 To take mine inheritance. \ 
 
 To reach out 
 
 And accept I 
 
 From Thy hand, I 
 
 All \ 
 
 Thou hast intended 
 
 For me. 
 
 O God, 1 
 
 Teach me 
 
 From this full measure, 
 
 To mete out ] 
 
 To others j 
 
 Who, courage lost, j 
 
 Are j 
 
 Blindly groping 
 
 For Thee. ! 
 
 [49] 
 
IN THE DARK 
 
 I LAY in the dark 
 
 And watched the lights of the town, 
 
 Between them and my open window 
 
 Great trees swayed gently in the wind, 
 
 They made a moving fret-work 
 
 Of leaves 
 
 On the wall, 
 
 And the white hangings 
 
 Of my bed. 
 
 My eyes flew wide open 
 
 At the strangeness 
 
 Of the thing. 
 
 As they advanced 
 
 And receded, 
 
 I lay and watched them 
 
 In the dark. 
 
 [60] 
 
DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 We made a pact, 
 
 You and I, 
 
 The sun shone 
 
 And it transfigured our path. 
 
 We came to the forks of the road, 
 
 You said this way, 
 
 I said that, 
 
 And tho we came this way, 
 
 I still think it is wrong. 
 
 For it leads thru a land 
 
 Where there is no sunshine. 
 
 I love the sunshine — 
 
 And the cup you gave me to drink — 
 
 What was in it? 
 
 The lees are bitter, bitter. 
 
 And there is a taste of ashes 
 
 In my mouth. 
 
 [51] 
 
ON THE CLIFFS 
 
 We sat on the cliffs at sunset 
 And gazed o'er the lake so fair, 
 
 With never a breeze disturbing 
 The silent evening air. 
 
 The sky was clothed in splendor, 
 In hues of pink and blue, 
 
 And the water blushed in answer, 
 A beautiful roseate hue. 
 
 Dark cedars stood like sentinels 
 Along the rock bound shore. 
 
 And down in the clear still water 
 We saw them reflected o'er. 
 
 The hills rose far in the distance 
 And fair green isles we saw, 
 
 An enchanted panorama — 
 A picture without a flaw. 
 
 Then slowly the bright hues faded. 
 The light went out of the west, 
 
 The night and its sad sweet voices 
 Folded the place in rest. 
 
 [62] 
 
LOVE 
 
 She thrills the soft breeze of the morning, 
 
 That stirs like a whisper, the trees, 
 
 And the gold that embays the bright petals. 
 
 When flowerets unfold to the sun. 
 
 All the shadowy places are shining 
 
 With a wonderlight fair to behold; 
 
 The glare of the noontide is softened, 
 
 That lies on the meadow's rare bloom. 
 
 And I float as a gossamer bubble 
 
 Down the wane of the afternoon. 
 
 When evening shuts down like a mantle, 
 And wraps me in softest repose. 
 She comes like the down of the thistle 
 And twines in my hair the red rose. 
 
 [53] 
 
VERSE 
 
 It may be a song, a fragment of prayer ; 
 
 A quaver of bird carol in the air ; 
 
 A whisper of leaves in a maple's shade ; 
 
 A glint of sunshine across a glade; 
 
 The ripple and purl of dappling streams ; 
 
 The hazy memory of happy dreams; 
 
 A dewy rose on a summer morn ; 
 
 The hush of nature where love is born. 
 
 A woodland path that once you knew, 
 Where anemone and violet grew; 
 The perfume wafted from a flower; 
 A bit of comfort in sorrow's hour — 
 These are the things for a poet planned, 
 Couched in a language men understand. 
 
 [54] 
 
HOW THE WEST BEGAN 
 
 From the sunrise land of a thousand hills ; 
 From the lure of rivers, lakes and rills ; 
 From the farms along New England's waters, 
 Went forth her sturdy sons and daughters, 
 That's how the West began. 
 
 Across prairies drear and lonely. 
 Each dragging day a few miles only. 
 Belongings packed in a wagon van — 
 
 That's how the West began. 
 
 New England's men and women too, 
 The ones who went to dare and do. 
 Thru sweat and toil and often tears. 
 They were the Western pioneers — 
 
 That's how the West began. 
 
 A little shack on the rolling plain. 
 The stress of toil, the sting of pain. 
 The pluck and vim of the Eastern man — 
 That's how the West began. 
 
 [55] 
 
NOR YET ALONE 
 
 I DWELL among dear familiar things, 
 Your gifts and mine; 
 Souvenirs of happy days ; 
 Keepsakes from those now dead ; 
 Things brought from lands and climes 
 Where our varied journeyings led. 
 
 Now you have gone 
 
 And left me here alone. 
 
 Yet not alone. Among fond memories 
 
 I dwell in sweet content ; 
 
 The happy voices of children dear, 
 
 Their songs and laughter. 
 
 Plaints and woes 
 
 Again I seem to hear. 
 
 Oft I pass from room to room 
 
 Where their belongings are ; 
 
 I touch them lovingly and think 
 
 How they are doing things 
 
 Out in the world afar; 
 
 Their letters come, a welcome break 
 
 From books galore, and dreams, 
 
 And work so light and varied 
 
 It but a pastime seems. 
 
 [56] 
 
When I too pass out 
 
 There will be none to live ' 
 
 Among the things you left. : 
 
 Returning feet of wandering ones i 
 
 May echo here once more; 
 
 Or maybe loneliness will creep I 
 
 Into the empty rooms, | 
 
 And no footprints will disturb i 
 
 The dust upon the floor. ' 
 
 I love the room ! 
 
 That once was yours, '\ 
 
 Its window toward the town ; ] 
 
 I bring my work to linger here i 
 
 In the stillness sweet, ' 
 
 You seem so very near. j 
 
 Fond memories are mine j 
 
 With dreams and books galore; | 
 Content and peace 
 And letters dear, 
 How could I ask for more? 
 
 [57] 
 
WHEN I WOULD GO 
 
 When the summer breeze is soft and light 
 Before the coming -of the night; 
 When the sunset lures me home to rest 
 With my windows open toward the west. 
 When the flowers fold their leaves to sleep 
 And twilight shadows softly creep, 
 And softly trail from sifting wings 
 A dimness o'er familiar things ; 
 
 Through the gathering dusk of coming night 
 My soul would wing its outward flight, 
 For me, dear children, do not weep. 
 But all the loving memories keep 
 Of days gone by and days unborn ; 
 Fill well the places you adorn. 
 
 [58] 
 
GOD'S SMILE 
 
 The dismal rain was falling 
 
 From out a leaden skj, 
 And mournful winds were calling 
 
 To waters rolling high. 
 
 But when the rain clouds lifted 
 
 And showed the rifts of blue, 
 My heart grew lighter, lighter, 
 
 God's smile was shining through. 
 It touched the sodden landscape 
 
 And all the trembling leaves, 
 'Til they shone in dewy splendor — 
 
 A fretwork of spangled weaves. 
 
 It kissed the pulsing waters 
 
 And broadened o'er the plain, 
 Refulgent on the mountain tops 
 
 Its glory shone again. 
 My heart grew lighter, lighter. 
 
 As I opened its sombrous door, 
 And glory filled a sanctum 
 
 Where shadows lay before. 
 
 [59] 
 
OUR NAME 
 
 You have heard them tell, O children ! 
 
 In the misty long ago, 
 How our fathers struck for Freedom 
 
 A strong decisive blow; 
 How they seized a rusty musket ; 
 
 In the furrow left the plow ; 
 Hunger bore and grinding hardship 
 
 With the death damp on their brow. 
 
 'Tis a thing we should remember 
 
 Traced on History's solemn page, 
 Why our hero, Ethan Allen, 
 
 In that dim and distant age. 
 Named our fair and ancient city 
 
 For a man in sunny France; 
 For the old Green Mountain heroes 
 
 Never did a thing by chance. 
 
 Count De Vergennes, our namesake. 
 
 Made the history of this land. 
 For our fathers, struggling handful, 
 
 He made firm and loyal stand. 
 He detained the pressing orders 
 
 The King of France detailed ; 
 Refusing to help the Colonies 
 
 'Til all Louis' ships had sailed. 
 
 [60] 
 
The King decreed that Franklin 
 
 Should not enter Paris gate, 
 But the same friend, ever watchful. 
 
 Saw the message came too late. 
 That he stood in staunchest friendship 
 
 By our sainted Franklin's side, 
 Is an all sufficient reason 
 
 For an homage true and wide. 
 
 Vergennes gave us Count De Rochambeau, 
 
 With his brave twelve thousand strong, 
 Holding back King George of England, 
 
 Helping right a grievous wrong. 
 Through him America received 
 
 Its beloved Lafayette, 
 Whose effective aid to Washington 
 
 We never shall forget. 
 
 And this is why, O children ! 
 
 That this favored spot of earth. 
 With its cloud capped mountain setting 
 
 And its shining river girth. 
 Caught the soul of Ethan Allen 
 
 With a name he cherished dear ; 
 On your memory deep inscribe it ; 
 
 Count De Vergennes, or Charles Gravier. 
 
 [61] 
 
WHY WE LOVE VERGENNES 
 
 A Rebel Patriot paused one day 
 Beside yon cataract's foaming spray. 
 A few small houses stood beside 
 The river's swift and turbid tide ; 
 A few small houses and that was all, 
 Clustered for safety about the Fall. 
 What was it he saw that his pulses fired .^ 
 What was it he felt that his soul inspired? 
 In the wilderness lay this sunlit glade, 
 A hallowed spot by Nature made; 
 A little spot where the trees were felled, 
 But Ethan Allen in vision beheld 
 A busy city beside the Fall, 
 And obeying at once the insistent call. 
 He secured a charter to hold forever 
 This charming spot beside the river. 
 
 That's why we love Vergennes. 
 
 May it bring to us a thought of cheer. 
 It was not because of the numbers here; 
 The heritage that is handed down 
 To us, who live in this quaint old town. 
 Is mightier far than the millions made 
 In the sweating toil of the shops of trade. 
 The beaten way our fathers trod 
 Lay close to Nature and Nature's God ; 
 The quiet homes and the simple life ; 
 The absence of turmoil, crime and strife ; 
 [62] 
 
The ready sympathy and right good will ; 
 Each man and woman with a place to fill, 
 That's why we love Vergennes. 
 
 The song birds flit among our trees, 
 Their glad notes mingle with the breeze ; 
 A little earlier they come 
 To make with us their summer home. 
 The wild flowers bloom not far away 
 Where meadows spread their green array ; 
 The woods and hills enclose us round ; 
 The mountain peaks our vision bound, 
 And gorgeous sunsets down the west 
 Herald the night's approaching rest. 
 When peace and quiet settle down 
 Like a benediction o'er the town. 
 
 That's why we love Vergennes. 
 
 The Sabbath is a little holier here. 
 Its bells ring out in cadence clear. 
 The pave is worn with passing feet 
 As they call and call with a meaning sweet. 
 The song of praise ; the hush of prayer ; 
 The belief in a Heavenly Father's care, 
 Form a tie of brotherhood true and tried. 
 And all men worship side by side. 
 Each man's better self awakes 
 When the Sabbath stillness o'er us breaks. 
 That's why we love Vergennes. 
 
 [63] 
 
Among the friend^ we cherish dear, 
 Some go out each passing year ; 
 On the hillside green they sweetly rest, 
 The peace of God on each still breast. 
 A mound of earth ; a gift of flowers ; 
 Each hallowed dead, they still are ours ; 
 Inert and silent, tho they lie. 
 They bind us with another tie. 
 
 That's why we love Vergennes. 
 
 The dearest spot in all the earth 
 Is the goodly land that gave us birth. 
 The charm of home has a strong appeal ; 
 It binds the heart with bands of steel, 
 And if we go out to criticise 
 Some loiterer waits to put us wise ; 
 We easily find the things we seek ; 
 Some spot in our brother's armor weak. 
 This was not in the vision the Patriot saw, 
 But a city of homes without a flaw; 
 The ready sympathy and right good will ; 
 Each man and woman with a place to fill. 
 And, friends, " it is up to you and me " 
 To make this place what it ought to be. 
 That's why we love Vergennes. 
 
 Read at Old Home Week celebration July second, nine- 
 teen hundred sixteen. 
 
 [64] 
 
BELLS 
 
 One Sabbath eve at leisure sweet, 
 
 Through a village street I strolled, 
 While the bells from the neighboring churches 
 
 For evening service tolled. 
 Sweetly the chimes were calling 
 
 The people forth to pray. 
 And the shades of night were falling 
 
 That lovely autumn day. 
 
 The matin bells are ringing 
 
 Through the shades of the soft twilight, 
 Sweet old time memories bringing 
 Home to my heart to-night. 
 My pulses thrill as I listen, 
 I love their music so ; 
 They carry me back to other days, 
 And the bells of long ago. 
 
 [651 
 
LAYING THE CORNER STONE 
 
 We have gathered in the sunshine 
 
 'Neath the blue September sky, 
 With yon cloud-capped mountain setting 
 
 And the river rolling by ; 
 And perchance there are some in Heaven 
 
 Who once this place have known, 
 Who would like to bend and listen 
 
 As we lay this corner stone. 
 
 Fit spot for a temple of knowledge 
 
 On this beautiful sloping lawn. 
 With its great trees whispering overhead 
 
 And its entrance facing the dawn, 
 Where many feet may go in and out; 
 
 The weary, the sated and old. 
 And eager boys and girls who seek 
 
 For the aid its shelves will hold. 
 
 And when the hues of sunset 
 
 Entranced the senses hold. 
 And all its western windows 
 
 Shine out like burnished gold. 
 When evening shadows stealing 
 
 And stars in the heaven shine. 
 And man for a hand of guiding 
 
 Comes in touch with the Divine, 
 
 [66] 
 
It is then we may remember 
 
 This pleasant place of rest, 
 And find the thoughts of other men 
 
 Whose feet the way have pressed ; 
 Who have struggled with the problems 
 
 We are daily called to meet ; 
 They have traced the opening chapters 
 
 We may the book complete. 
 
 And shall we not gladly cherish 
 
 A memory true and fond, 
 Of one who has crossed the portal 
 
 To the unknown world beyond? 
 'Tis a privilege and a duty 
 
 To honor his name to-day, 
 Whose generous gift enables us 
 
 This corner stone to lay. 
 
 His thought went out to benefit 
 
 The people he lived among, 
 And tho so few of them understood. 
 
 Warm in his heart it sung; 
 This quiet one of the blameless life 
 
 Who planned for others cheer. 
 Will continue to live in other lives 
 
 With every passing year. 
 
 [67] 
 
And when the subtle changes come 
 
 That over towns will creep, 
 And when our children's children 
 
 In quiet graves do sleep; 
 This beautiful hall will still be here 
 
 A blessing to mankind, 
 In whose treasures every passer-by 
 
 A helpfulness may find. 
 
 O, sons and daughters of old Vergennes 
 
 And part of a noble state, 
 Whose bracing air and grand blue hills 
 
 Lead up to Heaven's gate ; 
 You are sharers in this benefit — 
 
 For you this liberal plan ; 
 May you rise to fill your privilege 
 
 And help your fellow man. 
 
 When all the wealth and pomp of earth 
 
 Like mists have passed away. 
 When fanes and domes and spires 
 
 In dust and ashes lay ; 
 The deeds of love from man to man 
 
 On Eternity's boundless shore, 
 In fadeless glory still will shine 
 
 As stars forever more. 
 
 [68] 
 
To-day as we stand on the hillside j 
 
 'Neath the blue September sky, 
 Framed in by the western mountains j 
 
 And the river rolling by; ] 
 
 May we come within the radiance i 
 
 Around the Great White Throne, 
 For the faith, the hope and charity, 
 
 As we lay this comer stone. 
 
 (Read at the laying of the corner stone for the Bixby ] 
 
 Memorial Library at Vergennes, September 21, 1911). I 
 
 [69] 
 
A SONG 
 
 There's a song in the air, 
 
 I can hear the sweet notes, 
 It's ringing in joy 
 
 From hundreds of throats ; 
 It invades the deep quiet 
 
 Shut up in my breast, 
 And now I am longing 
 
 To sing with the rest. 
 
 THE END 
 
 [70]