UBnAni vr uuNuSESS. 
 
 7yr^^^ 
 
 
 _ ( 
 
 UNITED STATES OF A-HERICA. 1 
 
ODES IN OHIO 
 
IDYLS AND LYRICS OF THE OHIO VALLEY. 
 One vol. 8vo, gik top, $1.25. 
 
 LITTLE NEW-WORLD IDYLS, AND OTHER 
 POEMS. One voL 8vo, gilt top, $1.25. 
 
 THE GHOST'S ENTRY, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 One vol. 8vo, $1.25. 
 
 "Ptaii is the Poetic Voice of Ohio.^'' — ^PCiKKa 
 Taylor. 
 
ODES IN OHIO, AND OTHER 
 POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN JAMES PIATT 
 
 AUTHOR OF "idyls AND LYRICS OF THE OHIO VALLEY," ETC 
 
 %^ 
 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
 THE ROBERT CLARKE COMPANY 
 
 1897 
 

 Copyright, "1897, 
 By. JOHN JAMES PIATT. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
TO MY FRIEND 
 
 DR. A. W. WHELPLEY 
 
 LIBRARIAN OF THE PUBLIC LIBRARY 
 OF CINCINNATI 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Ode for the Cleveland Centennial Celebration . . i 
 
 Ode for the Opening of the Cincinnati Music Hall . i6 
 
 From an Ohio Valley Veteran 22 
 
 The Boys in Blue 28 
 
 The Old Piano's Player 30 
 
 Jenny's Way to Honor 32 
 
 Half-Lives 35 
 
 A Boy on Gambier Hill 37 
 
 Clio in the Capitol 41 
 
 Anarchy 43 
 
 j An Angel with a Broom 45 
 
 Otho in the Tomb of Charlemagne 47 
 
 Purpose 48 
 
 To My Father 49 
 
 The Old Woodman's Axe 51 
 
 Feudal Tenure 52 
 
 Ireland : A Seaside Portrait 53 
 
 I 
 
ODE 
 
 WRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF THE ONE HUNDREDTH 
 ANNIVERSARY OF THE FOUNDING OF THE CITY OF CLEVE- 
 LAND AND THE SETTLEMENT OF THE WESTERN RESERVE 
 IN OHIO : READ ON THE OCCASION OF THE CELEBRA- 
 TION AT CLEVELAND, JULY 2 2, 1 896 
 
 13RAISE to the sower of the seed, 
 
 The planter of the tree ! — 
 What though another for the harvest gold 
 The ready sickle hold, 
 Or breathe the blossom, watch the fruit unfold ? 
 
 Enough for him, indeed, 
 That he should plant the tree, should sow the seed, 
 And earn the reaper's guerdon, even if he 
 
 Should not the reaper be : 
 *' Let him who after a while, when I shall pass, may 
 
 dwell 
 In my sweet close, 'neath my dear roof instead, 
 Enjoy the harvest, pluck the fruit as well, 
 
2 ODE FOR THE 
 
 Though I myself be dead, — 
 For every other man is other me." 
 
 II 
 
 And praise be theirs who plan 
 
 And fix the corner-stone 
 Of house or fane devote to God or man, 
 
 Not for themselves alone. 
 
 — Not for themselves alone 
 The Pilgrim Fathers of the Western Wood, 
 Not only for themselves and for their own, 
 Came hither planting in heroic mood 
 The seeds of civil-graced society, 
 Repeating their New England by the sea 
 
 In the green wilderness. 
 From church and school, with church and school 
 
 they came 
 To kindle here their consecrated flame : 
 With the high passion for humanity, 
 The largest light, the amplest liberty, 
 (No man a slave, unless himself enthrall,) 
 
CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 3 
 
 The key of knowledge in the door of Truth 
 
 For eager-seeking youth, 
 With priceless opportunity for all, 
 (The tree of knowledge no forbidden tree,) — 
 
 Free speech and conscience free. 
 
 — Honor and praise no less 
 Be theirs, who in the mighty forest, then 
 
 The haunt of savage men, 
 And tenanted by ravening beasts of prey 
 
 Only less fierce than they, 
 (The fever-chill, the hunger-pang they bore, 
 Dangers of day and darkness at their door) 
 Abode, and in the panther-startled shade 
 The deep foundations of an empire laid. 
 
 The corner-stone they put 
 (Where he the patriot sage,^ with foresight keen. 
 Its fittest site on some vague chart had seen) 
 
 Of the fair Place we know — 
 Their capital of New Connecticut. 
 
 1 It appears that Dr. Benjamin Franklin, as early as 1754, had in- 
 dicated the mouth of the Cuyahoga, on Lake Erie, as an eligible 
 site for a future commercial and maritime city. 
 
4 ODE FOR THE 
 
 III 
 
 In the green solitude, 
 
 A hundred years ago, 
 The founder stood. 
 Hark, the first axe-stroke in the clearing ! Lo, 
 The log house with its civilizing gleam 
 
 By yonder Indian stream ! — 
 Such was the small beginning far away 
 
 We celebrate to-day. 
 
 IV 
 
 There were two prophecies. He the founder, he 
 Whose statue stands in yonder public square, 
 
 (He only came and went : 
 The city itself is his best monument,) 
 
 That lonely evening gleam, 
 
 Reflected heavenly fair 
 
 In the still Indian stream, 
 
 He saw, and prophesied, 
 
 With home-returning eyes: 
 A peaceful forest-shadowed town should rise, 
 
CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 5 
 
 Here by this azure Inland Sea, 
 With clustered church-spires, happy roofs half seen 
 Through leafy avenues of ambush green, 
 And school-house belfry — such he erewhile knew, 
 And the fond picture homesick memory drew. 
 In far New England by the Atlantic tide. 
 It was not long before the prophecy 
 
 Had grown reality : 
 That Forest City seemed a haven of rest — 
 
 New Haven of the West. 
 Another later came, in dreamful mood, 
 Where the tree-shadowed early village stood, 
 Who saw the flitting sails, the horizon-bound 
 Of the great Inland Sea before 
 Its open harbor door. 
 With the broad wealth-abundant land around; 
 (What wealth above of corn and fleece and vine ! — 
 What wealth beneath of myriad-gifted mine !) 
 To him another vision : prophet-wise. 
 With prescient eyes, 
 A great commercial mart he saw arise. 
 
6 ODE FOR THE 
 
 With arms outstretching over land and sea, 
 And linking continent to continent 
 With bands of gold beneficent ; 
 The smoke of steamers, plying ceaselessly, 
 Bearing our harvest stores to far-off hands 
 
 In transatlantic lands ; 
 With interchange of goods and gifts divine 
 
 In rivalry benign, 
 Lo, peaceful navies, alien with our own ! 
 The foundry's plume of fire, a dreadful flower, 
 
 He saw, at midnight hour. 
 With ears that heard, as eyes that saw, the fore- 
 known, 
 He heard the hum of mighty industries, — 
 The vulcanic forge's echoing clang of steel, 
 
 The whirring wheel, 
 With other myriad sounds akin to these ; 
 And up and down, and everywhere, the beat 
 
 Of busy-moving feet, — 
 In thronged thoroughfares of Trade apart. 
 The throbbing of the Titan Labor's heart. — 
 
CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 7 
 
 He saw and heard : a transient shadow he, 
 
 But lo, the prophecy ! 
 The Genie's dream-built tower, in morning's ray, 
 In fable-world it shone — the City stands to-day ! 
 
 V 
 
 Whoever backward looks shall see 
 
 What wonder-working strange 
 
 Of ever-moving change ! 
 
 Lo, everywhere around we meet, 
 
 In every highway, every street. 
 New daily miracles of the century ! 
 The harnessed elements, with that elusive sprite. 
 The errand-running Slave, with world-compelling 
 
 might, 
 Obedient to man, and hurrying to and fro. 
 Wherever he would send, wherever wish to go ! 
 
 In every house at night 
 
 The enchanted lamp alight, 
 
 In each frequented way 
 
 Its keen celestial ray, — 
 
8 ODE FOR THE 
 
 New wonders of a new world, they rise from day to 
 day; 
 And all repeated, all reflected show 
 
 In the fair Place we know ! . . . 
 
 — A sigh for their sad fate, 
 
 For those red tribes, so late 
 Tenants-at-will of their vast hunting-ground, 
 
 That had nor mete nor bound 
 
 In the deep wood around. 
 
 Him, lord the forest knew, 
 On Cuyahoga's stream where glides his bark canoe ? 
 We have not banished quite their names from 
 
 stream and wood, 
 We cannot banish quite their ghosts that will intrude ; 
 
 We cannot exorcise 
 
 Their still reproachful eyes. ' 
 
 Pity we must their fate — 
 
 The inexorable doom 
 
 That gave our fathers room ; — 
 
 That they must fade. 
 
 Shadow-like, into shade. 
 So we might celebrate the city's founding here : 
 
CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 
 
 That they must disappear, 
 
 So we might celebrate 
 Their mighty wilderness our mighty State, 
 Among the brightest of her galaxy, 
 (With New Connecticut her chiefest pride,) 
 Mother of famous soldiers, statesmen tried, 
 (New Mother of Presidents, her well-beloved, 
 
 In camp and council proved.) . . . 
 — One time an alien fleet was hovering near, 
 (Let us be strong, and well protect our own !) 
 When on yon shore the school-boy at his play 
 
 Stooped down with hand at ear 
 
 By the lake-side to hear 
 
 The guns at Put-in Bay. 
 War summoned then and since again her sons. 
 (City and State, with common sympathies. 
 
 Unite in claiming these.) 
 
 Her Past is bitter-sweet. 
 Heroic grief, heroic gladness meet, 
 With memories proud in monumental stone. 
 
 In civic square and street : 
 Of him that hero of an earlier day ; 
 
10 ODE FOR THE 
 
 Of those her later, now her aureoled ones, 
 
 Her eager youth who went 
 To battle as to tennis tournament, 
 
 Not for themselves alone, 
 Not only for themselves and for their own — 
 
 For all men, us and ours ! 
 Returning but in sacred memories. 
 That ever green are kept and sweet with flowers ; 
 Of him the kindly neighbor, cordial friend, 
 (Now far uplifted from familiar ways, 
 Blameless and high above the stain of praise,) 
 Down-stricken at the Helm of Highest Trust. 
 
 (She keeps his honored dust.) 
 And many another worthy even as they. 
 Banded to sweep the nightmare dark and dire, 
 If with cyclonic broom — with earthquake, flood, 
 and fire — 
 
 From our great land away ! ^ . . . 
 
 — Old griefs and glories blend. 
 
 1 Commodore Perry, the soldiers of the Union army from Cleve- 
 land, President Garfield, and the antislavery leaders and agitators of 
 the Western Reserve are referred to in the foregoing passage. 
 
CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL II 
 
 VI 
 
 Into the Future — who shall look 
 
 Into that cloud-clasped Book ? 
 
 What strong miraculous spark 
 
 Shall pierce that deep-walled dark ? 
 Whoever forward looks shall see, 
 Mayhap, a vision, an enthusiast's dream, 
 Of this or of another century, — 
 The flower of each together here as one 
 
 Blossoming in the sun. 
 Whoever looks shall see, reflected there, 
 The features of her Past, oh, not less fair ; 
 The features of her Present, even more bright: 
 
 A city that shall seem 
 To bear aloft and hold a steadfast light : 
 With ampler domes of Science, Learning, Art, 
 
 In academic groves apart : 
 Earth-blessing commerce at her every door. 
 With sails that come and go forevermore : 
 The earthly Titan's sweltering toil made light 
 By the invisible heaven-descended might, 
 
12 ODE FOR THE 
 
 Goodf ellow or frolic sprite : 
 With myriad mechanisms faery-nice, 
 Beneficent art and dehcate artifice, — 
 All human goods and graces priceless wrought 
 
 In every house for nought 
 
 But a mere wish or thought : 
 
 The enchanted statue's grace 
 
 In every market-place, — 
 
 But Nature breathing ever, everywhere, 
 Her breath from flower and leaf, from park and pas- 
 ture fair : 
 Streets that are highways to green fields and woods, 
 
 With charmed solitudes. 
 
 Whither the workman pent 
 
 Flies from his toil, content : 
 
 With hanging gardens of delight 
 
 For all men's sense and sight. 
 Where they may see the dancing fountain's flower, 
 Faerily silvered, wavering in the moon, 
 And hear the wild bird sing his vesper hymn in 
 June, 
 
CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 13 
 
 Through the still twilight hour. . . . 
 
 — In that bright city then, 
 Himself one of a myriad multitude, 
 
 Shall the Good Citizen, 
 
 Who loves his fellow-men. 
 Who makes self-interest work for common good, 
 Dwell, and make beautiful his dwelling-place, 
 Striving to keep his city pure and clean. 
 With avenues to heaven its walls between. 
 
 Gentle, but strong and just. 
 He holds his vote a sacred gift and trust. 
 And every neighbor's sacred as his own, 
 
 Not bossed, or bought, or sold 
 For bribe of public place or private gold. 
 He knows his public duty, will not shirk 
 
 His burden of public work : 
 Public Affairs his pleasure, study, pride 
 Rightly to know and not ignore but guide, 
 Not leaving to ignorant, faithless hands to rule 
 City and court and school. 
 He gives his hand and heart 
 
14 ODE FOR THE 
 
 To make a sacred shrine the voting-place, 
 
 Not a foul huckster's mart, — 
 Where woman, if she please, may use her right 
 Inalienable as man's to speak, how still ! 
 A still small voice to execute her will, 
 And go with son or sire, without disgrace. 
 In Sabbath garments pure and dedicate 
 
 To home and child and State, 
 Even as at church to share their sacrament, 
 Guarding her world-old sphere beneficent 
 
 And share of government. 
 He builds for others, not for himself alone. 
 Not only for himself and for his own, 
 And gladdens with all good that comes to all, 
 
 Wherever it befall. 
 So the House Beautiful the poor man's home shall 
 be. 
 
 In that far, better day, 
 
 (Is it so far away ?) 
 
 The day we may not see. 
 
 Save only in prophecy, 
 
CLEVELAND CENTENNIAL 7$ 
 
 When, standing like that City on a Hill, 
 
 With few or peer or mate. 
 She shall be seen afar and known of all, 
 Our City Beautiful — Forest City still, 
 The seaside Capital 
 Of our proud Forest State ! 
 
ODE 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE OPENING OF THE MUSIC HALL ^ AT CIN- 
 CINNATI, ON THE OCCASION OF THE MAY FESTIVAL, 1 8 78 
 
 T70R ministries benign, 
 
 Complete, behold the gracious Temple stands, 
 Whose stately walls full, fortune-sowing hands 
 (Praise for the gift to the large-giving heart !) 
 Have builded in our eager Western mart. 
 
 Denying Traffic's greed and Mammon's shrine. 
 
 II 
 
 To what civic Good or Grace 
 
 Shall we dedicate the Place ? 
 — To Art and Industry, in friendly strife 
 
 Brightening and blessing life : 
 To smiling Toil, electric-fingered Skill 
 
 1 The gift of certain leading citizens to the city. 
 16 
 
THE CINCINNATI MUSIC HALL 17 
 
 (Aladdin's light bidding by the huge bondman done, 
 
 Dream-sandaled, tireless, still) : 
 
 To quick Invention's prompt device, 
 
 With mechanism airy-nice. 
 
 That, like the old fireside sprite. 
 Makes the wan maiden's task-work playful-brief, 
 Letting her sleep by night : 
 
 To all that lathe and loom produce : 
 
 To Flora's garland, Ceres' sheaf. 
 
 And every fruit of soil and sun 
 
 (With the blithe vineyard's temperate juice) : 
 
 To Sculpture's breathless-breathing charm, 
 
 And Painting's mirror soft and warm : 
 To each fair muse and every household grace : 
 
 To Use and Beauty bound in one — 
 We dedicate the Place ! 
 But first, to her, the Muse of Music, her 
 Whose speech all spirits in earth and heaven know 
 (The native tongue of each far-sundered nation), 
 The loftiest, lowliest human minister, 
 
 Exalting pleasure, soothing woe, — 
 
l8 ODE FOR OPENING OF 
 
 With heart, and voice, and organ's vast elation, 
 To her shall be its consecration. 
 
 Ill 
 From the wide doors of their rapt dwelling-places 
 (Whence ever-newly come their songs below. 
 
 And whither, hence, they go). 
 Look, what high guests attend our happy rite. 
 With earth - woven wreaths but sphere - enchanted 
 faces, — 
 The Masters of Delight ! 
 — First he, of the elder days, 
 Whom the great organ owns 
 With its vast-bosomed, earth-shaking, heaven-reach- 
 ing tones, 
 (Let the proud servant throb his loftiest praise !) 
 Next he, who built the mighty symphonies. 
 One for each muse, who, chaunting joy and peace, 
 Thrills us with awe and yearning infinite. 
 Picturing divine repose, love's world - embracing 
 height ! 
 
THE CINCINNATI MUSIC HALL 19 
 
 Then he, whose noblest strain 
 Brings Orpheus back to quicken earth again, 
 To conquer darkness and the dread under-powers, 
 Charming lost love from the deep doors of Hell. 
 And lo, the choral master, highest in fame 
 (A thousand voices lift to greet him well), 
 Who breathes sure faith through these frail hearts 
 of ours ! 
 And many another well-beloved name. 
 Ay, many another, comes with these, 
 Star-like, with spheral harmonies : — 
 Welcome each and all. 
 To our festal Hall ; 
 Long be its music-lifted dome 
 For their abiding souls the transient home. 
 
 IV 
 
 Hark ! as if the morning-stars were singing 
 O'er the first glad Six Days' Task divine — 
 
 What rapturous sounds are these 
 
 Of quickening ecstasies ! 
 
/ 
 
 20 ODE FOR OPENING OF 
 
 Earth, from her dark spell-bound slumber break- 
 ing, 
 
 To the sun's far-journeyed kiss awaking, 
 Lo, the blissful palpitation 
 Of the newly-warmed creation ! 
 With a myriad mingling voices 
 All the electric air rejoices ; 
 All about, beneath, above, 
 Rings the tender note of love ; 
 Everywhere, around are heard 
 Fountain-laughter, song of bird, 
 Insect-murmur, wild-bee's hum, 
 Bleat of flock and low of kine ; — 
 Airs of new-born Eden bringing. 
 With her lilting, light-heart lay, 
 Dancing, singing, 
 May is come ! — 
 Open doors and let in May ! 
 Let Nature's full delight 
 
 Join with our banded joy, and crown our gracious 
 rite! 
 
THE CINCINNATI MUSIC HALL 21 
 
 V 
 
 To this fair civic Hall, 
 Year after year, 
 New multitudes in many another May 
 Shall throng, repeating the bright festival 
 
 We celebrate to-day. 
 With happy rites to peace and culture dear ; 
 Nor absent be our city's Patron then, 
 
 In spirit, nor absent now — 
 Commending loftier-lowlier ways, 
 The still, clear plainness of heroic days : 
 He after whom the founders, putting by 
 Swords wherewith late their sacred rights were won 
 (Associates they and friends of Washington), 
 And, building here in the fierce wilderness, 
 
 Beneath the Indian sky, 
 The home we love and ask of Heaven to bless, 
 Called it for him, the soldier-citizen. 
 
 The Roman at his plough ! 
 
FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 
 
 HIS LETTER ADDRESSED TO THE EDITOR OF " THE SCIOTO 
 GAZETTE : " READ BY APPOINTMENT, AT THE ANNUAL 
 CONVENTION OF THE OHIO VALLEY EDITORIAL ASSOCIA- 
 TION, AT CHILLICOTHE, OHIO, JUNE 12, 1 87 4 
 
 CAN'T come, Bond ; I wish I could, but no — I 
 
 cannot come ; 
 
 Maria ('twill be our seventh boy) — yes, I must stay 
 at home. 
 
 But — well, I '11 rub my glasses, just, and write a line 
 
 or two. 
 Though little I can say, I guess, that you '11 think 
 
 strange or new. 
 
 My glasses I must rub a bit — queer things have 
 
 taken place 
 Since first, a raw apprentice here, I took my stand 
 
 and case. 
 
 22 
 
FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 23 
 
 I 'd read the " Life of Franklin," then, a ten-year 
 
 country boy, 
 And got my father's leave, so loath, to learn great 
 
 Ben's employ. 
 
 That 's sixty years come April next — not very long, 
 
 I think ; 
 But, Lord ! what light has shone abroad since then 
 
 through printer's ink ! 
 
 My old hand-press, though twenty years disused, I 
 
 keep it yet — 
 *T would take a week to-day on it to print this week's 
 
 " Gazette." 
 
 Yes, the old hand-press twenty years a good-for- 
 nothing 's been. 
 
 Yet in my hand I sometimes feel the lever-spring 
 thump again ; 
 
 And sometimes too, asleep, I seem once more a 
 
 slender lad 
 Behind it, with the inky task so long ago I had. 
 
24 FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 
 
 Puff, puff ! — buzz, buzz ! — whiz, whiz ! — all *s busy 
 
 now : steam, wheels, and fire ! 
 Click, click ! another crazy sound — that Hebrew of 
 
 the wire ! 
 
 — Think of it ! th' Alleghanies, then, it took a 
 
 week to cross ; 
 The news from Washington grew old ; — well, now 
 
 't were no great loss ! 
 
 Ohio then was the Far West — long since *t has 
 
 farther gone : 
 Now, Lord! to get out West, it's queer, you run 
 
 into the dawn ! 
 
 The grand old woods they howled with wolves, the 
 
 roads were sloughs forlorn, 
 And Cincinnati Deacon Smith and Halstead 
 
 were n't born ! 
 
 The mails on horseback took their time to cross the 
 wilderness : 
 
FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 25 
 
 Paper was hauled a hundred miles before it got to 
 press. 
 
 Hows' ever, those were good old times — we 'd giants 
 
 in those days, 
 And such a plant as honesty 'twas not so hard to 
 
 raise. 
 
 Things were a long sight better, Bond — we 'd 
 
 patriots fit to quote ; 
 In courts opinions weren't bought; the Lobby 
 
 did n't vote. 
 
 We 're fallen on evil days, I think there 's something 
 
 ails the sun : ^ 
 (We want some money, that 's a fact, and something 
 
 must be done !) 
 
 The press was manlier then ; it had a soul to call 
 its own, 
 
 1 An expression of the day — a season of unusual heat with nota- 
 ble sun-spots. 
 
26 FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 
 
 For corporations not tongue-tied — those bodies that 
 have none. 
 
 Free passes then were things unknown ; they let us 
 
 nowadays 
 On any shaky railroad line — well, they go "a — 
 
 long — ways." 
 
 Bond, say a word or two for me — say I'm with 
 
 Halstead there ; 
 Had I to Chillicothe come, by George ! I 'd paid my 
 
 fare. 
 
 (That is, if this here annual had n't yet a while to 
 
 run — 
 Yet, hang it, if I think next year I '11 ask another 
 
 one!) 
 
 But, pshaw ! what use in talking more .? I stopped 
 my press to write ; 
 
FROM AN OHIO VALLEY VETERAN 27 
 
 The form is waiting in its bed. Respects to Put.^ 
 Good-night. 
 
 N. B. — Sub rosa^ Bond, my boy — can't you make 
 
 Congress see 
 Why papers through the county mail should travel 
 
 postage-free } 
 1 Mr. Putnam, another Editor at Chillicothe. 
 
THE BOYS IN BLUEi 
 
 TWO PROCESSIONS 
 
 /^^ ARFIELD, not only these do vote for you, 
 ^■^ Not only these, survivors tried and true, 
 Vote as they fought, the loyal Boys in Blue : 
 
 Not only these, who bore through shot and shell 
 The flag whose tatters keep their story well 
 (New hands upheld it when the old bearers fell). 
 
 Another mighty host comes marching slow 
 
 From their long bivouacs in the grass and snow — 
 
 By these they fought and suffered long ago. 
 
 1 A great political demonstration of the Grand Army of the Re- 
 public at Cincinnati, a few nights before, and in favor of the elec- 
 tion of General Garfield as President of the United States. 
 
 28 
 
THE BOYS IN BLUE 29 
 
 Through every street they march with silent tread, 
 (Quicken the living, ye the Living Dead !) — 
 Look, the same tattered flag is overhead ! 
 
 What captains lead them ! — names well-kept as won. 
 (Lincoln looks down, as often he has done, 
 To see their marching-past, at Washington : 
 
 He votes with them and these.) — The tried and true, 
 They vote ; the dead, as living, vote for you, — 
 Vote, Garfield, as they fought, the Boys in Blue ! 
 
THE OLD PIANO'S PLAYER 
 
 AT A COUNTRY HOUSE IN OHIO 
 
 TT stands here in the empty house. . . . What 
 
 dream-wrought tones are these ! 
 Her fingers from the Past are reached, and wake 
 
 the enchanted keys. 
 
 Lo, shapes of grace, an eager group, about her lightly 
 
 press : — 
 What pulses music-quickened beat ! O eyes of 
 
 tenderness ! 
 
 Sweet-hearted songs arise from sleep. The spell of 
 
 Youth and Love 
 Warms long-hushed lips again with speech : old 
 
 dreams to music move. 
 30 
 
THE OLD PIANO'S PLAYER 3 1 
 
 Yes, the gay hearts are ashes now, responsive long 
 
 ago. . . . 
 To phantom fingers on the keys lost voices ebb and 
 
 flow! 
 
JENNY'S WAY TO HONORS 
 
 AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT: PANHANDLE RAILWAY 
 
 A WANDERING child by the railway goes, — 
 Her nameless name now the wide world 
 knows. 
 
 She sees where the crawling flames of drought 
 Have sapped the bridge with its timbers stout. 
 
 ' A cablegram from Indianapolis, Indiana, dated May 30, states 
 that Jenny Carey, ten years old, living with her parents at Munksford, 
 has just received the medal of the French Legion of Honor for sav- 
 ing a train on the Panhandle Railway, laden with over seven hundred 
 passengers, bound for the World's Fair at Chicago, last summer. 
 While walking along the line, she discovered that a trestle bridge 
 across a deep ravine was on fire, and had become impassable. She 
 thereupon took off her red flannel petticoat, ran along the track to 
 meet the express then nearly due, and as it came in sight waved her 
 petticoat as a signal of danger, causing the driver to stop the train. 
 Among the passengers were several Frenchmen, who on returning to 
 France brought the child's remarkable action to the notice of Presi- 
 dent Carnot, with the result mentioned above. 
 
 London, June, 1894. 
 
 32 
 
JENNY'S WAY TO HONOR 33 
 
 The trestle bridge o'er the deep ravine 
 Burning, and soon it will fall, she has seen. 
 
 The World' s-Fair Express is rushing near, — 
 Its far-drawn thunder she soon must hear. 
 
 Seven hundred lives are its priceless freight, — 
 What harvest of Death if her sign be late ! . . . 
 
 But the driver sees her ! She ran to meet 
 The roaring train with her brown bare feet. 
 
 Swiftly she hurried along the track. 
 Flagging the flying earthquake back ! 
 
 " Danger before ! " — The driver saw, 
 While brake and throttle obeyed his law, 
 
 A little girl waving her petticoat red. 
 Like the Terror-signal of France, ahead. 
 
34 JENNY'S WAY TO HONOR 
 
 The long train, shuddering, stood still. (Half seen 
 In a blur of smoke lay the dread ravine.) 
 
 Seven hundred lives were its priceless freight, — 
 What harvest of Death were her flag too late ! . . . 
 
 Honor to France, that honors her deed 
 With its highest tribute, the nation's meed ! 
 
 She saved the lives of many, — by chance 
 With these were grateful sons of France. 
 
 Her Errand of Mercy shines far with fame, — 
 
 In the Legion of Honor France writes her name. . . . 
 
 What deed by gartered knight of old 
 Fitter to picture in Book of Gold } 
 
 Paint me the mighty train, — shall it speed 
 To its doom .? — what help at its utmost need ? 
 
 A little girl waving her petticoat red, 
 Like the Terror-signal of France, ahead ! 
 
T 
 
 HALF-LIVES 
 
 I 
 WO were they, two ; — but one 
 
 They might have been. Each knew 
 The other's spirit fittest mate, apart. 
 Ah, hapless ! though once jealous fortune drew 
 Them almost heart to heart, 
 In a brief-lighted sun. 
 
 II 
 So near they came, and then — they are 
 So far ! 
 They seemed like two who pass 
 Each on a world-long journey opposite. 
 Their two trains hurrying dark 
 With far-drawn roar through the dread deeps of 
 night, 
 
 35 
 
36 HALF-LIVES 
 
 (Oh, faces close — they almost touched, alas ! 
 Oh, hands that might have thrilled with meeting 
 spark ! 
 
 Oh, lips that might have kissed ! 
 
 Oh, eyes with folded sight. 
 
 Dreaming some vision bright !) 
 
 In mystery and in mist. 
 
A BOY ON GAMBIER HILL 
 
 THE RHYME OF AN OLD FRESHMAN, ADDRESSED TO A 
 MIDDLE-AGED ALUMNUS : READ IN RESPONSE TO A TOAST 
 AT A BANQUET GIVEN TO HON. STANLEY MATTHEWS, AS- 
 SOCIATE JUSTICE OF THE UNITED STATES SUPREME COURT, 
 BY HIS BROTHER ALUMNI OF KENYON COLLEGE, AT CIN- 
 CINNATI, JUNE 21, 1 88 1 
 
 'T^HE elm is green and glad in leaf — 
 
 'T is June ; the season 's come again 
 (Ah, homesick Memory's idle grief !) 
 
 When first I took the flying train, 
 Fledged from the fond home nest. Renewed 
 
 Mix my dull pang, my eager thrill. 
 'T was morn ; when evening fell I stood 
 
 A boy on Gambler Hill. 
 
 What dreams of young ambition bold 
 
 Stirred my light blood with wings of pride ! 
 
 Webster yet spake. Clay was not cold, 
 And — there were orators untried ! 
 37 
 
38 A BOY ON GAMBIER HILL 
 
 Old Kenyon's Genius pointed, far, 
 Her sons elect to cross and crown : — 
 " This wears the soldier's shoulder-star,^ 
 And this the Judge's gown." 
 
 The Freshman, my old friend, you knew 
 
 (His case, I think, was somewhat hard), 
 Remained an Under-Graduate ; you 
 
 Passed an alumnus, happier-starred. 
 Ah, half a life-time lies between 
 
 (The rocket sparkled : here's the stick) ; 
 I know, yes, yes, what might have been — 
 
 A thought that cuts the quick ! 
 
 — Arma virumque cano : Lo, 
 
 " Small Latin " — mine 's not far to seek ; 
 Menin ae'idi^ Thea, (so 
 
 Homer begins — and ends ?) — " less Greek ! " 
 Well, let me rest content : if you 
 
 Sucked her full milk, impute no crime ; 
 
 1 General R. B. Hayes, President of the United States, an invited 
 guest, not present. 
 
A BOY ON GAMBIER HILL 39 
 
 She was my Alma Mater too — 
 Mine, weaned before my time ! . . . 
 
 Where are the boys, the boys we knew ? 
 
 Let 's call some names. Ah me, grave men, 
 No doubt, shall answer. *' Old boys .? " True. 
 
 (Some showed, d' you mind, " the Old Boy " then !) 
 Where'er ye wander, wide apart 
 
 On life's rough road, or flowery track, 
 O fresh of face, O blithe of heart, 
 
 Come back, come back, come back ! 
 
 Good flesh and blood, I know, some still 
 
 Draw vital air, with flower and fruit. 
 As when we fought on Gambler Hill 
 
 The war of Troy, and Ilium fuit. 
 Ho, Holland ! (English church-doors, " Here ! " 
 
 Echo — warm friend, and Irish bard !) ^ 
 
 1 Rev. Richard George Holland, a native of Cork, having gradu- 
 ated from Kenyon College in 1856, studied for the English Church 
 at St. Adian's, Liverpool, was a curate at Faversham, in London, at 
 Canterbury, etc., and, unknown to me, died, ten years before the date 
 of these verses, at Limerick. He was an eloquent preacher and a 
 good writer in both prose and verse. 
 
40 A BOY ON GAMBIER HILL 
 
 Ho, Chapman, Romans, Sterling ! (clear 
 Each answers) — ho, Tunnard ! 
 
 — " We younger brood are getting gr — " Eh ? 
 
 (Speak for yourself, John !) Nonsense ! — well. 
 We are not growing younger. Nay, 
 
 Fear not the wholesome truth to tell. 
 In fresher hearts our pulses beat, 
 
 Our spent dreams grow and quicken still — 
 Ay, boys of ours may each repeat 
 
 The old boy on Gambier Hill. 
 
 Our joys in them may spring again, 
 
 Our boyish griefs have ebb and flood ; 
 They, too, shall take the flying train 
 
 With quick wings fluttering in their blood ; 
 Old Kenyon's Genius point them, far. 
 
 Her sons elect to cross and crown : — 
 ** This wore the soldier's shoulder-star, 
 
 And this the Judge's gown." 
 
CLIO IN THE CAPITOL 
 
 SEEN AT SUNSET FROM THE LIBRARY WINDOW 
 OPPOSITE 
 
 [Franzoni's Clock, with the marble sculpture of the Muse of 
 History, Clio, listening and writing, upon a winged chariot, — one 
 wheel of which, supported by the hemisphere of a globe, is the 
 clock-face, — stands over the northern entrance of the Old Hall of 
 Representatives, now assigned to the statues and portraits of our 
 great public men at Washington. Through the centre of this Old 
 Hall is the passage from the Rotunda of the Capitol toward the 
 present Hall of Representatives.] 
 
 TTERE, looking down, I see her Grecian grace, 
 
 With the still halo of the last, low ray, 
 Motionless, beautiful, in the Sacred Place, 
 While the late-jarring footstep floats away. 
 
 Lo, on the winged chariot where she stands ! — 
 (Its hurrying wheel notes the quick hour's hushed 
 flight. 
 The half -globe beneath it) — in her patient hands 
 The open book, the pen applied to write ! 
 41 
 
42 CLIO IN THE CAPITOL 
 
 In the Old Hall the men have changed to ghosts 
 Whom erst she marked — who marked her not, 
 perchance, — 
 
 And there below, for those long-vanished hosts, 
 Show marble shape and pictured countenance. 
 
 Daily across yon floor, long since so loud 
 
 With partial schemes and strifes of public breath, 
 
 To the New Hall new-jostling statesmen crowd 
 Through that White Congress of undying death. 
 
 Men of the Past ! your word her pages show — 
 She heard, she saw, she knew you there, indeed ! 
 
 Oh, ye New-Comers, eddying to and fro. 
 Behold the still Recorder, and take heed ! 
 
 There she remains, with listening face and pen 
 Ready to give the patriot's deathless dower : 
 
 Look ! — living, speaking, acting, passing men ! — 
 The Eternal Present on her Flying Hour ! 
 
ANARCHY 
 
 T~^READ is the hour when giant Mob, mad child 
 
 of Liberty, 
 Blows his volcanic trumpet-blast, and shakes the 
 
 land and sea. 
 
 Not when Pompeii danced or dreamed, with spasms 
 
 and groans of earth 
 Sprang fiercer light, rushed darker night, to quench 
 
 her moans and mirth. 
 
 The hurricane, that holds its breath a century in 
 
 mid-air. 
 Breathes palace -gates and castle -walls away like 
 
 gossamer. 
 
 43 
 
44 ANARCHY 
 
 Murder usurps the judgment-seat, while Justice 
 
 writhes in prison, — 
 Lo, from the corpse of Government its soul, the law, 
 
 has risen ! 
 
AN ANGEL WITH A BROOM 
 (in the house beautiful) 
 
 A DUTCH PICTURE 
 
 A SLEEP, I had a dream : 
 Awake, as it did seem, — 
 While the gold-breathing dawn 
 Lit dewy lane and lawn 
 V/ithout, and on my wall, 
 Within, rose-light did fall, — 
 I saw there in my room 
 An Angel with a Broom. 
 Careful, from side to side. 
 Her gentle task she plied ; 
 Motes, risen as slant rays streamed, 
 A mist of cherubs seemed : 
 These, like a halo, wore 
 45 
 
46 AN ANGEL WITH A BROOM 
 
 That Sweeper of my floor. 
 — Then I awoke, in sooth. 
 To know the happy truth 
 How Love, with holy Duty, 
 Gives Use its heavenly beauty. 
 I saw within my room 
 An Angel with a Broom : 
 " Pray, what is it you do ? " 
 " I keep this House for you." 
 
OTHO IN THE TOMB OF CHARLEMAGNE 
 
 \ T /"HEN Otho, in the tomb of Charlemagne, 
 Faced the gigantic Skeleton, alone 
 With orb and sceptre, crowned, upon his 
 throne — 
 The mighty king who had not ceased to reign — 
 Shaken with sudden fear, he saw, instead. 
 Death, crowned, with orb and sceptre there, 
 and fled ! 
 
 47 
 
PURPOSE 
 
 OTRONG in thy steadfast purpose, be 
 Like some brave master of the sea, 
 Whose keel, by Titan pulses quickened, knows 
 
 His will where'er he goes. 
 Some isle, palm-roofed, in spiced Pacific air 
 He seeks — though solitary zones apart, 
 Its place long fixed on his deep-studied chart. 
 Fierce winds, your wild confusion make ! 
 Waves, wroth with tide and tempest, shake 
 His iron-wrought hull aside ! 
 However driven, to that far island fair 
 (His compass not more faithful than his heart) 
 He makes his path the ocean wide — 
 His prow is always there ! 
 48 
 
TO MY FATHERS 
 
 ON HIS EIGHTY-FOURTH BIRTHDAY 
 
 TF I could grace your name with fitting verse, 
 To-day, you are eighty-four, should prompt to 
 write, — 
 The frost of all those years upon your head. 
 Their flower (and not less white) within your breast. 
 Here, far-off, sitting by an exile's fire. 
 While dull November sows the dark with rain, 
 (All this loud sea, all that wide land between !) 
 My blood beats quick, my heart is proud, to hold 
 That our great Country, which to make and keep 
 Your sire and your sire's sire each gave his life. 
 And you, if need had been, a soldier too. 
 Had offered yours (as sons of yours have done ; 
 
 1 Then a resident of Montana, hereditary Member o£ the Society of 
 the Cincinnati in the State of New Jersey. Ob. June i8, 1893. 
 
 49 
 
50 TO MY FATHER 
 
 Not I, indeed) — although in private ways 
 
 Your hours, peace-breathing, passed with silent voice 
 
 In homely tasks like his of Roman fame — 
 
 Called never yet a purer patriot son, 
 
 Owned never yet a worthier citizen. 
 
 QUEENSTOWN (CoRK), IRELAND 
 
 November ii, 1889 
 
THE OLD WOODMAN'S AXE 
 
 IN KENTUCKY 
 
 T AM the old Woodman's axe. His stalwart arm 
 (The old Backwoodsman Morgan, his I mean), 
 A bloodless but a mighty conqueror's, 
 Has swung me long, and look what we have 
 
 wrought : 
 The savage wood, the abode of savage men, 
 Shrill day and night with roaming beasts of prey, 
 Has vanished, shadow-like, with all its shade, — 
 And see, instead, what mighty harvest fields. 
 Where golden tents of Plenty thickly stand ; 
 What flower-sweet meadows fragrant-breathed with 
 
 kine. 
 Or tremulous with bleat of new-dropped lambs ; 
 And, look ! yon clustered cottage-roofs and spire ! 
 
 51 
 
FEUDAL TENURE 
 
 ON AN ESTATE NEAR EDINBURGH^ 
 
 A N old estate bestowed on some one dear 
 
 (For love, not gold, Love his best boon be- 
 stows), 
 The deed provided only — year by year — 
 The tenant should make payment of a rose. 
 
 1 Vide Margaret Warrender's Walks Near Edinburgh. 
 52 
 
IRELAND 
 
 A SEASIDE PORTRAIT 
 
 A GREAT, still Shape, alone, 
 
 She sits (her harp has fallen) on the sand, 
 And sees her children, one by one, depart : — 
 Her cloak (that hides what sins beside her own !) 
 Wrapped fold on fold about her. Lo, 
 She comforts her fierce heart, 
 As wailing some, and some gay-singing go, 
 With the far vision of that Greater Land 
 Deep in the Atlantic skies, 
 St. Brandan's Paradise ! 
 Another Woman there. 
 Mighty and wondrous fair. 
 Stands on her shore-rock : — one uplifted hand 
 Holds a quick-piercing light 
 That keeps long sea-ways bright ; 
 S3 
 
54 IRELAND 
 
 She beckons with the other, saying " Come, 
 
 O landless, shelterless, 
 Sharp-faced with hunger, worn with long distress : 
 
 Come hither, finding home ! 
 Lo, my new fields of harvest, open, free. 
 
 By winds of blessing blown. 
 Whose golden corn-blades shake from sea to sea - 
 Fields without walls that all the people own ! " 
 
 QUEENSTOWN (CoRK), IRELAND 
 
 March, 1883 
 
MR. AND MRS. PIATT'S POEMS. 
 
 Idyls and Lyrics of the Ohio Valley. By John 
 
 James Piatt. Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt top. Price 5s. ($1.25.) 
 
 " There is a genuine strain of native inspiration in ' Idyls and Lyrics of 
 the Ohio Valley.' " — The Times (London). 
 
 " The highest compliment we can pay to these simple yet beautiful idyls 
 is that they have created in us a desire to make a pilgrimage through the 
 Ohio Valley. . . . The charm of the volume is its clear, manly, and exquisite 
 simpUcity. Mr. Piatt is a poet of whom America ought to be proud." — 
 The Glasgow Herald. 
 
 " ' The Pioneer's Chimney ' and ' The Mower in Ohio ' (to mention two of 
 the most striking pieces) — the first, a poem of the great Westward emigra- 
 tion ; the second, a poem of the struggle between North and South — can 
 scarcely fail to live." — The Spectator (London). 
 
 Little New-World Idyls, and Other Poems. By 
 
 John James Piatt. Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt top. Price 5s. ($1.25.) 
 
 " That book was praised for its peculiar American charm. It was odorous 
 of the Western earth and air. Equally so is the present volume." — The 
 Glasgow Herald. 
 
 " The lyrics in the present volume breathe the same spirit of liberty which 
 so characterizes the idyls of Western life. Mr. Piatt's muse is intensely na- 
 tional in the best sense of the word. His inspiration finds its most fitting 
 theme in the young life of America. It is thus that the poems entitled ' In 
 War Days and After ' touch the highest level in the book before us." — 
 The Freeman'' s Journal (Dublin). 
 
 " They are fresh and simple as Nature itself. . . . The book is sure of a 
 hearty welcome here." — The Scotsman (Edinburgh). 
 
 MRS. PIATT'S POEMS, 
 
 " A Golden Harvest." — The National Observer (London). 
 
 Poems. By Sarah Piatt, author of "An Enchanted 
 Castle, and Other Poems." 2 vols. Small crown 8vo, cloth, gilt 
 top, with portrait. Price 5s. ($1.25.) 
 
 " Mrs. Piatt is admittedly sui generis^ and her work has the value which 
 always attaches to what is first-hand and original in art. Her tender woman- 
 liness is perhaps not the least of her attractions, in these days especially, 
 when what are called ' feminine qualities ' are temporarily at a discount. It 
 is not long since we gave a cordial greeting to the poetry of one whose 
 marked literary ability in no way detracted from her personal charm — that 
 adorable wife and mother, Helen, Lady Dufferin. Mrs. Piatt's volumes 
 deserve a no less warm welcome, and will assuredly receive it, . . . We con- 
 fidently recommend our readers to place them, with as little delay as may 
 be, in a cherished corner of their shelves." — The National Observer. 
 
" Mrs. Piatt's two volumes of poems stand out as interesting and remark- 
 able. This is not the first time that we have had the pleasure of dwelling 
 upon the excellence of this American authoress. With her perfections all 
 English-speaking countries have rung ; and justly so, for she stands supreme 
 as the woman who has mightily and musically succeeded in her endeavors to 
 voice the inner emotions of her own sex and the pretty wonderings of chil- 
 dren." — The Literary World (London). 
 
 " The books are charming readings." — The Scotsman. 
 
 " The volumes are full of gems such as this." — The Christian World 
 (London). 
 
 " They are full of music and womanly tenderness." — The Guardian 
 (London). 
 
 An Enchanted Castle, and Other Poems: Pic- 
 tures, Portraits, and People in Ireland. By Sarah 
 
 Piatt. Small crown 8vo, cloth, gilt top. Price 3s. 6d. ($1.00.) 
 
 " Perhaps it may not be too much to say that no more notable or charm- 
 ing book of verse has ever been contributed by a foreign resident to illustrate 
 some aspects of the life and romantic atmosphere of Ireland." — The Queen 
 (London). 
 
 " Certainly we owe this American woman a debt of gratitude for her 
 book." — The Independent (Dublin). 
 
 " The writer touches the life, but happily not the politics, of Ireland with 
 a pen which is felicitous, sympathetic, and melodious." — The Times. 
 
 " A book which every poetry lover will want to possess." — Sylvia^ s Jour- 
 nal (London). 
 
 London: LONGMANS, GREEN & CO. 
 
 And New York, 91-93 Fifth Avenue. 
 
 The Ghost's Entry, and Other Poems. By John 
 James Piatt. Crown 8vo, cloth. Price 5s. (^1.25.) 
 
 " Mr. Piatt's poems have an unfailing dignity in thought and expression. 
 They have the simplicity, and something of the largeness, of the untamed 
 Nature amid which he was born." — The Speaker (London). 
 
 Child's-World Ballads, and Other Poems. By 
 
 Sarah Piatt. Crown 8vo, cloth. Price 5s. ($1.25.) 
 
 " Of Mrs. Piatt's volume of poems it is difficult to speak with moderation. 
 The * child's-world ballad ' which opens the book, and which is called ' Seven 
 Little Indian Stars : an Iroquois Legend of the Pleiades,' is one of the love- 
 liest flowers in literature." — The Academy (London). 
 
 Westminster (London) : 
 ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO. 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper p^cess. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Ox.de 
 Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 
 (724)779-2111