LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. i]^r^..':iijp^ri3|ift[ Shelf..7l UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 3 1884 ^^.^nytA.^ *^^y^ Who from the pureness of his heart divining. Gave Asia that great " light which still is shining." Near sat the Gallilean, wrapt in tho't. With spear-mark in his side, and bleeding scars Of cruel nails within his palms; so wrought By frenzied bigots. O'er his head three stars Gleamed, bathing his ringlets with a radiant glow As Mary did his feet centuries ago. There, cross-legged, sat Mahomet. No fierce band Of Arabs now stood by with gleaming swords To force Al Koran's law at his command. Or carve on human breasts his glowing words. He hid his Koran when they counted noses. But kept his eye on much-mistaken Moses. Defense of Ingebsoll. 97 Here sat King David; near, the Hittite's wife, Batlislieba, whose fond eyes rested on her lord, Who, thro' David's perfidy, lost his life. Uriah, leaning on his broken sword Gazed on His Honor, then David, sighing, "If right be mine, to Hades Dave goes flying." There, the apostate Julian talked with Paine, Gazing with admiration deep, intense. Upon the books he'd on the table lain, Two volumes : Rights of Man and Common Sense. Here, the Third Innocent, with nervous fingers, Leaves thro' Rosseaii's Confession while he lingers. Close by the Clerk's desk Calvin scowled Upon Michael Servetus — stake-burnt, faint; Beneath the desk Elisha's bruins growled, Warning to boys who'd joke a scant haired saint. Loud Voltaire laughed, when him gray Humboldt twitted Abont recanting when the world he quitted. High on his own throne of grace sat Judge of all. Low fell his gaze, and seeing us he said: "Clerk! call the ease of R. G. Ingersoll — That infidel who hath a legion led. And we will give him o'er to his ' receiver,' As precedent for every unbeliever. " Iconoclast of holy things, and priest Of nature, thou, by the laws of God, shall be Given to Satan for all time, at least; For know thou art his rightful property. Indicted you stand beneath the Bible's ban. Read the indictment, Clerk ! " Thusly it ran: ^ The Pagan's Poems. Be it known I R. Gr. Ingersoll now stands Indicted oft for breaking oft the law Given Israel thro' servant Moses' hand — For Mossy had a most prodigious pay, — He hath defied the law of Great Jehovah By raising Hades when he's " half-seas-ovah." He also raised some other self-made gods, Knowing full well the First Great Laiv he broke ; That the said Ingersoll did take all odds. And openly of Heaven and Hades spoke ! And hath rebelled against the law of Moses, Holding women were sweeter than June roses. Yea! knelt before the sinful siren maids, Worshiping each and every one he saw In brightest sunshine or in sombre shade. Knowing full well he broke the Second Laiv. ' Bift he the Law hath ever been defying, Never before to win God's grace been trying. That the said Ingersoll hath blasphemed God E'er and anon, on Sabbath's holy day. And ever in such wicked paths he trod, Casting of laws the Third and Fourth away. The Fifth he broke in giving no honor, when He knew Jehovah was father to all men. That the said Bob hath, by his words and wit, By flowery eloquence and flow of rhyme. Cheated the hangman's noose by robbing it; Who averts penalty commits a crime! And he committeth crime who is crime shielding. Therefore he broke the Slxth^ — and stands unyielding. Defense of Ihgebsoll. 99 That he liatli broken these, it proved can be, By reading his " Oration on the Gods,'' Or ''Ghosts,'' or ''ShiUs;' or ''Hell," or "Liberty,'' (What mighty peas he shelled from puny pods!) And hath declared right underneath our noses. The chief of all mistaken men is Moses, That the aforesaid Bob — so styled on earth — Shielded the " Star-route s," committed crimes, Breaking the eighth, and ninth, and tenth, in mirth, No less than several baker's-dozen times. For they did and , and in court fought it. Coveted cash that was not theirs^ and got it. That the said IngersoU his sword hath drawn To free the slaves that were by Grod ordained To toil for man; and called on brain and brawn To help free limbs which the Almighty chained. That he hath denied the king's authority, Claiming for serfmen superiority. That he hath uttered treason 'gainst the throne Of the Supreme; and insurrection sought To aggrandize; and hath denounced alone All creeds and faiths, and all beliefs, and taught There never was evolved for mortal man A creed of supernatural origin. That the said Robert hath from time to time Held in contempt your Honor and the court. Defying and outlawing laws sublime — Those laws which do alone vile sinners thwart. Even unto death did violate the law. Cursing it, defying it, et cetera. 100 The Pagan's Poems. Judge : What say'st thou, prisoner — guilty, or no? Ingersoll : Your Honor, if it please the court, I pray My counsel 's here, with evidence to show My innocence. Sir, I have naught to say. I feel, your Honor, my counsel will acquit me, And silence on my part- doth most befit me. Judge to Pagan : 'Tis well. But who art thou who would defend Before this solemn court this Infidel? Think'st thou Jehovah's mighty laws to rend. And save thy wicked client's soul from hell? Art thou with holy laws so well acquainted. That thou canst keep thy client with the sainted? Pagan : If 't please the court, The Pagan I am named; I am no lawyer great, but fain would be. And tho' of being vain I am so blamed, I feel my case will set my client free. Knowing a little law, and much compassion, I enter in this case in legal fashion. Those of mankind who know me, know me well, A loving soul, that loves this beloved Bob; Who would go with him down to gaping Hell, And, if it needs be, him from Satan rob. Satan : Ha! ha! then wilt thou Pagan vain? Here's wi' thee. For I know well I'll get ye both soon, prithee! Defense of Ingebsoll. 101 Buddha to Pagan: Art tliou he wlio called me " wisest, best? " Called me "world-honored, compassionate Buddh?" . Extolled again the virtues east and west Of him who many human hearts subdued? To you my heart doth send a joyful pgeon! Christ : And art thou he who called me '^ Grallilean ? " Mahomet : Aye! Art thou he who called me "Arab swart,, Merelj'' a wandering son of Ishmael?" And hast thou come to mock me here in court, Thou maligning dog of an Infidel? Thou callest me a "fanatic pretender!'' I'll have thy blood, thou Infidel defender ! Judge : Order! Peter, bring Heaven's Attorney in To help this Pagan panel a jury; Satan may help — and may the best man win I Be cautious, friend Satan^ check thy fury. This young " limb of the law " may have a fly chance To beat this Nick out of his inheritance. Is Elihu, Heaven's Attorney, here?' Elihu: Here ! if it please the Court, ready for work ! Satan : And we will have enough to do ne'er fear. Judge : Then why waste words? Call in the talesman, clerk. {aside) By that set look in the Pagan's face I see Satan must fight hard, or lose hie property. 102 The Pagan's Poems. Clerli. : Fear! Fear : Here! Satan : Is your name Fear? Fear : It is my name. Satan : If't please the court I will accept the man; Elihu : Aye! Your Honor, we will accept the same. Pagan : But, if it please the Court, by Law's direction, I do object to him! Judge : State your objection! Pagan : This same Fear is my client's enemy. For him my client often hath exposed, Warning mankind to shun his company; And, knowing this, as well might be supposed. He will stand prejudiced against my client. And as a juror meet the Law defiant. Judge : The court sustains you for this once. Call on! Clerk : Liberty! Equality! Compassion! Satan : Your Honor, I object to this last one — He, knowingly divideth mercy's ration ^Twixt law and weakness; siding with the weakest E'en tho' they err, if they appear the meekest. Defense of Ingebsoll. * 103 Now I am one who to the law will stick, And I do know Compassion here, of old; Know that he is unstable, conscience-quick, And easily won by words of painful mold. I want this jury just and law-abiding. Proof against honied words or caustic chidinff. Pagan : Your Honor! If I may just here intrude — Satan : Nay! Interrupt me not 'til I am done! Grant me. Your Honor, this one boon: exclude Compassion now, and I am done. Thy son Is gviilty sure, and would be glad, thou knowest^ To e'en secure a jury of the lowest. Pagan : Your Honor! Judge : Proceed! If thou hast aught to say. Pagan : If't please the Court, do not exclude this man; Satan hath shown no cause so just it may Of right debar him from the jury^s ban. Had he a/oe to Law shown this Compassion, 'T were well ! But he's shown nothing of this fashion. He only showed Compassion hath a heart — That he is pitiful, forgiving, kind, And with the weaker plays the nobler part. But where would he a better juror find, If sweet words win him? There's little chance for me Against this King of Cunning — of Subtlety! 104 The Pagan's Poems. Elihu : If 't please tlie Court, sustain my colleague there, And oblige me; tlie Law must have its all. We must not yield too mucli in being fair, Or cheat friend Satan out of IngersolL Since IngersoU made preachers pay for prancing, Why let him fee the Devil for his dancing. Judge : Compassion is excused. Sweet Clerk^ call on ! Clerk : Love! Virtue! Self-denial! Ignorance! Pagan : Your Honor! I object to the last one; Will reasons give, if you'll give me a chance. Judge : Shake out some reason just, and try and make it More solid than the shell from which you shake it. Pagan : Thanks (?) Of all who have my client villified. This Ignorance is chief! He went among The high and low, mighty and mean, and lied^ And tried to bury Bob, "unwept, unsung." Of law and evidence he knows so little That Justice doth protest 'gainst his admittal. If Ave admit this man — Satan : May't please the Court ! Pagan : I have the floor just now — Satan : Which I will get! Pagan : But you will not, while Pagan holds the fort, Get anything, Sir Nick — Satan : I'll get you yet ! Defense of Ingebsoll. 105 Pagan : And if you do you'll let me go most gladly! Satan : Yes, I suppose you'd spoil the pottage badly. EUhu : Will the Court please sustain, or not sustain, One of these de'ils and let the case proceed ; Let Ignorance go out, or in; 'tis plain That neither Law nor Bob his aid do need. We have seen enough of him to prove, withal, He's foe to Law as well as Ingersoll! And grievously hath he the Law misled. By giving out for law what is not law; And oftentimes to Truth Error did wed, Producing offspring which no Grod e'er saw. He always, for a saint, a sinner poses, Making a million more mistakes than Moses. Judge : I see no reason why he should go out^ — Enter the jury. Ignorance. Call on ! Clerk : Justice! Morality! Charity! Doubt! Satan : Your Honor! Charity's Compassion's son. And having his father's failings, I object, For he would hang the jury I suspect. He, like his father, of 't the law o'erstepped, A foolish concience whim to satisfy; And hath, in bendmg law, proved an adept,, E'en but to heed a starving harlot's cry. No matter how vile is the beggar's station, Charity always dealeth him a ration. 8 106 The Pagan's Poems. Pagan : If 't please the Court ! A word ! The seeming tart Wisdom of this learned devil hath no weight — Because a man hath pity in his heart, 'Tho he hath seldom in the jury sate, Shall he be powerless to justice render? Shall we exclude him 'cause his heart is tender? Judge : Enough! Enough! The Pagan we sustain. Call on my gentle clerk — Clerk : Hypocrisy ! — Pagan : If 't please the Court, we do object again. And with the Court's consent, will willingly Substantiate the reasons we shall proffer Why he should not mete law to e'en a scoffer! Judge : Proceed ! Pagan : This villian with a pious face. Has in his heart not one grand principle; Tho' he pretends to be endowed with grace. Thou know'st he stands 'fore grace invincible. He praised this Bob for being brave, defiant^ Then spit upon the back of this, my client. He, to the widow at times money gave, But from her son exacted it again; — He whispered to the cringing coward knave "Thou art the hero of this sphere mundane !."- He said unto the fool, with tongue dissembling, '" All truth and wisdom 's in thy balance trembling." Defense of Ingeesoll. 107 Beneath an honest cloak he robs his friends, And in the halls of Justice takes a bribe; Within Shame's gilded den he her defends, And with her at all decency doth gibe; But when he sitteth down at Virtue's table. He rails at Mistress Shame in manner able. He has, with tearful eye and mourning face. Knelt by the victim of his treachery And sent petitions to thy throne of grace In her behalf — begging mercy of Thee For the poor, sinful, miserable creature That loved him once, but now pulseless in feature. To those who knelt around he counsel gave^ — In quavering tones, with awe-inspiring look, Told how the rocks and shoals beneath Life's Avave Might be avoided, if they read thy book; But know, your Honor, the truth and pith of it: Himself hath never read one tith of it. He fleeced the flock entrusted to his care — Despoiled the lambs, and to the shambles drove, Pretending to lead them to pastures fair^ He led them to that sinful, shameful grove Where, over Virtue's verdure, evils showered, — Taint not the jury with this canting coward! Sow, if you will, the cockle with the wheat — Grow worthless smut upon the tassling corn — Plant subtle poisons in the blossoms sweet. And in the human heart a caustic thorn — But in the name of gods — from Peace to Fury, Place not this slimy serpent in the jury. 108 The Pagan's Poems. Elihu : If 't please the Court, the same boon do I crave^ For I have seen enough of this vampire To want him out the jury — in his grave. He is a low, two-faced, dissembling liar, Who eyer sides with those that are the strongest, Or they who work the least, and pray the longest! I've seen him stand within God's holy house With face as honest-looking as the moon. Calling upon the moral folk to rouse. And help him battle the accursed saloon,— I found him, after he'd dismissed the people. Dead drunk within the shadow of the steeple. I have seen him, weak-kneed, two-faced poltroon. Hang round and boast of all his bravery. But when he walked^ alone, home 'neath the moon^ He walked in constant fear, lest each sound be The footstep of some ghost, or gnome, or demon, Seeking the form that ever felt Fear's tremon. Judge : ' Hypocrisy's dismissed. Call ! Clerk : Reason ! Time !• Elihu : If 't please the Court, for once I do object I For he who lifts the low, sinks the sublime. And equalizes all, will, 1 expect. Hang every jury thro' the centuries all, Or, with high reverence, acquit IngersoU. Defense of Ingebsoll. 109 For as tlie wheel of change ceasingly turned, Time made this Robert many friends indeed, And every day, to those whose friendship burned, Endeared him more. His unbelieving creed Unto impassioned humanity did swell. And they "smothered with roses" this Infidel. I want this jury just. No partisan Of his should be allowed to cheat the state. Your Honor knows that once thro'out the land Great congregations in God's churches sate, But as Robert came along with Time and Doubt, You remember how his preachers dwindled out. They made apostates of his pious sons ; His holy chalice drained; his temples razed. And in their stead erected pantheons, Wherein all sorts of deities were praised; Furnishing this Infidel with endless libel, Enabling him to contradict the Bible. Pagan : As far as I, your Honor, am concerned, I will admit the prosecution's plea; Feeling that ere Time all his leaves has turned, The world my client's innocence will see. Being so 'quit by Time 'fore lords and ladies. Sufficient is to cool the flame of Hades ! For what is sweeter than the sympathy And love of all the loving, human world? If shrined within the world's great heart he be. Why let a thousand gods their venom hurl! To him the love of man the gods' outreaches. And purer is than all the Bible teaches. 110 The Pagan's Poems. Some say that Time blots out the villain's shame, Humbles the mighty, and exalts the mean; I know he breaks the strange spell of a name, And from the weeds and stubble grain doth glean. He does not polish Wrong — he may forget him! But he does sanction weak Right, and abet him. Judge: He hath then prejudice, and must go out! Call yet another talesman. Clerk: Bigotry ! Pagan : If 't please the Court! Judge : Nay, Pagan, do not spout Let thy ^'unruly member" silent be. For Bigotry is every dogma's layman; Attending Esther full as well as Haman. Elihu: If 'it please the Court, the time doth grow apace, And millions more for trial here do wait; To examine each witness on the case Would occupy the judgment-day till late. I think Pagan will offer no denial To simply a fair plea on this fair trial. Satan : Well, what if he object a thousand times? Is justice wooed by this vain Pagan's beck? Does his dominion cover Heaven's climes, And from the noose save every rascal's neck? No! The Court of Heaven hath arbitrary power, By virtue of its right, to rule the hour. Defense of Ingebsoll. Ill Pagan : To evade law our purpose is not bent, The prosecution's motion we accept. Give us an hour's time and we 're content, For in Mosaic law we 've been often kept Deducing facts to Honesty's calm level. Comparing law of God with law of Devil. As for Sir Nick, his logic is intense; Well may he uphold arbitrary poiver! He shows thereby more silliness than sense — A spirit which makes great men slink and cower. I came not here a challenger defiant, But to prove innocent an honest client. Judge : It is enough. An hour we will grant. The Court of Heaven stands adjourned till then. While we are wasting Time with wit and cant. We should be meting law to nobler men. Peter : Oyez! oyez! Know ye, saint and sinner, Court rests an hour for justice's sake — and dinner 1 PART SECOND. Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended, but this one thing I do: for- getting those things which are behind, and reaching unto those things which are before. — FhilUpians Hi, 13. When Time upturned his hourglass again To let the sands dole off another hour, Scarce had the first grain fell when ope'd the door, And entered jury, judge, and legal power. Ingersoll walking with the " Man of Ferney," Satan — Peter — Pagan — and Heaven's attorney. In ermine clad, the judge resumed his chair; The jurors, sworn, entered the jury box. Peter arose, surveys the crowd with care. And then with gavel on the table knocks. Commanding silence, " Court now resumes!" said he. Then pales, as a cock's shrill crow comes o'er the lea. Aj)Ostate Julian smiled, and Moses laughed, John, the beloved, nudged Simon in the side; Peter's spare fingers clutched his sabre haft, He looked as though the cock had on him lied, Then nervously sat down again and wriggled. While all before the Court of Heaven giggled. Iscariot and Arnold then came in; Nick eyed them, scowled on Job, then turned his head And smiled on aspen Jael, who held the pin That stilled Sisera when his cohorts fied. Wise Solomon to Ruth paid his addresses. Smoothing with fingers fair her lovely tresses. Defense of Ingersoll. 113 With manner staid His Honor then arose, And with a few well-chosen words did ask An armistice 'twixt partisans and foes, Bidding the prosecution 'gin his task. Elihu, Heaven's attorney, then began His plea for the prosecution. Thus it ran : — ELIHU'S PLEA: , Gentlemen of the Jury: Long ago I plead a case 'gainst Job, as you all know. That plea shows plainly that I never draw My argument from cunning^ but from law ! And in this case, in which I've been employed, I'll offer naught but truth, pure, unalloyed. Tho' punishment alone will crime redress. Bight has no use for cunning or finesse. Believe me, I shall deal in truth; let them That handle error practice stratagem ! For we would rather lose case after case Than win a single one by methods base; Aye, rather have nine out of ten go free Than punish one that should not punished be. But, gentlemen, the prisoner at the bar Came from that nether sphere where passions are; Where Virtue in an empty bed doth sleep. Where Vice and Folly nightly vigils keep; Came from that orb where unbelieving Pride Hath, in its vanity, all truth denied. Where Malice, with swelled lip and livid face, Bittered Life's cup for half the human race; Where Jealousy doth play his galling part. Filling with anguish deep the human heart; 114 The Pagan's Poems. Where Wickedness and Wealth., like courtesans^, Allure with subtle kiss and velvet hands; Setting a snare that tangles and destroys, Lowers man's triumphs, and purloins his joys. That globe where Sin sits monarch on his throne,, Receiving homage from the millions prone; Where every virtue, every noble thought, Is, ere it springs divine, from conscience bought,, And hid in darkness, like a miser's gold. Which lies unbought, unborrowed, in its hold Until its owner dies, and unknown heirs Seize it and give it to the world as theirs. That planet where all mysteries lie dead; Where full-fledged atheism lifts its head; Iconoclasts essay to read the stars. And search beyond the circumambient bars. Where men no longer kneel 'fore gilded shrines. And empty churches hide 'neath trailing vines That thro' the chancel windows twine and creep Unnoticed, while the great religions sleep! No more for them now ring the deep-tongued bellss Their charming changes and their solemn swells. The crucifix and crosier reek with rust. The robes and books lay crumbling in the dust; The owl and bat rest on the altar rail. While o'er the pulpit drags the slimy snail; Unscared, the sluggish snake slips o'er the floor; A hand^ in years forgotten, barred the door! Ah, gentlemen, what wrought this mighty change? Whence came the frost that blighted this fair range? What creature interposed with ruthless hand, Defense of Ingebsoll. 115? And made the man a god — the god a man? Aye, revolutionized this nether sphere ! ''T^^as Heresy ! Behold! its priest is here ! That sinful zone of which I spake is his; Know ye; he helped to make it what it is. I simply said, he helped, but he did more To spread this unbelief from shore to shore; To swell and strengthen Atheism's band; To paralyze and gyve Religion's hand; To bring on creeds and faiths Destruction's rime;^ To save the scoffer and sink the sublime; To snare the clergy and their fair names smirch ; To rear the dome of Doubt and raze the Church ; To rent out Hades, and freeze Satan numb. Than any infidel in Christendom ! Therefore he stands indicted. I shall prove By that grand living law, which I do love, That he hath broken almost every clause Incorporated in the Ten Great Laws. If he break one, the Bible hath declared, That all are broken till they be repaired.* And as he never knelt in humble prayer, 'Tis plain he never~ did the law repair. I stand upon the law that Grod hath given: No scoffer or law-breaker enters Heaven. That he is both: — Here are his works as proofs I Works that from man were never held aloof: Here's an '^Oration on the Gods;" he gave Out God a petty tyrant; man a slave; Here is the text with which his speech began: "An honest god 's the noblest work of man!" =■■• James ii, 10. Matt, v, 19. 116 The Pagan's Poems. That line itself is Heresij ! It brings The Supreme Ruler after man-made things; That man-made anythings are noblest works, Is dogma even lower than yon Turk's. But does he cease with this one heresy? No! Almost every line is blasphemy! He says our God was born of Hate and Fears; The nectar of this God is blood and tears. That he is cold and heartless as the grave, And out of every ten bare one will save; And that wh«n martyrs die, to win his love, He sees them burn, but sits unmoved above. He says our God, compared to other gods. Is like a grain of sand compared to clods — That other gods have proven greater powers — That other gods have reigned in sweeter bowers — That other gods have ruled and passed away — That our God, in time, will lose his sway — That all the priests and powers God ordained. Will perish soon, forgetting that they reigned. He says: a god of Love would not command One son to devastate another's land; Would not instruct an army, on its raids, To spoil the wives and babes, and spare the maids A spoil unto themselves. As much to say That He who " giveth and taketh away " Dares not his fore-warned, sinful children slay, Even if they refuse him to obey. But God gave those commands. He knoweth why^ To question them alone is Heresy! Defense of Ingersoll. 117 Nor does his blighting blasphemy end here: — He touches every point to Christians dear, And follows his "Oration on the Gods " With scores of others which the world applauds: " The Mistakes of Moses ! " " Liberty ! " " Hell ! " "Skulls!" "Grhosts!" and others known fully as well. He scouts the tale of Jonah and the whale — Says Jesus could not stop a common gale — Laughs Babel's language theory to scorn, Claiming that language constantly is born — That Shadrach; Meshach and Abednego Would wilt before a common candle glow! That David was an amorous poltroon — That Joshua could not e'en bay a moon, Especially stop and back it, because The moon is ruled by changeless laws. He is a man wise in his own conceit, And with that wisdom led unwary feet. The Law doth say, none such will Heaven rule, — Such have not e'en the chances of a fool. But he is here, bold, and with paleless face, And doth a trial seek with wanton grace. He claims Pagan, his counselor, will prove His title to a mansion here above. But in my plea — so far as I have spake — I've shown you plainly he five laws did break; For he worshipped the memories of Voltaire, Shakespeare and Burns, and yonder quartette there: Goethe, Schlegal, Humboldt and Thomas Paine. These were the idols of his fertile brain. 118 The Pagan's Poems. Oft did he take God's holy name in vain, — Often did he the Sabbath day profane ; Nor honored he his father, for you know His father preached " Christ crucified " below. The Sixth Law reads " Thou shalt not kill!" It states Further, "He is a murderer who hates His brother^ and shall lose eternal life " — Fall as twigs before the pruner's knife. That he broke the Eighth^ Ninth and Tenth., this book Of great orations is a witness. Look ! His honied speeches, with their humor tart, Their oily logic, stole the world's great heart, Purloined from man many a prayerful hour. Pilfered the churches of their mighty power^ Robbed the communicant of faith and hope. And e'en the vaults of mystery did ope And scattered their contents. For many years He traversed thro' that " earthly vale of tears," Where Christ, the Prince of PeacC; was crucified. And hoTQ false ivitness, blasphemed., lied! He called Grod's ministers ignoble knaves. Who strive to keep Humanity as slaves; 'Said they, as churchmen, throttled every truth. Poisoned with error every fount of youth, ■Clouded the heavens with phantom and gnome. And filled with fear the cradle and the tomb. Sweet jurymen: We do a duty owe, Not to ourselves and law alone, but know There is another interested here. Of whom the prisoner never had a fear. To whom this brazen scoffer doth belong. Defense of Ingersoll. 119 Then, if you value Rights do Nick no wrong. That he by law is Nick's, you know full well; Nor is it mete that I should longer dwell Upon this ease. You know the prisoner's crime Hath not a parallel in all past time. Life never lost a scoffer more astute, Death ne'er obtained a more ungodly fruit; Genius was never prostituted so, Or logic woven from such looms of woe.. Never was irreligion so rampant. Or well sustained by blasphemy and cant; Never was the Supreme so rudely mocked, Or faithful, trusting souls so greatly shocked; Never did man do greater wrong than he — The knight errant of infidelity! Oood sirs: I leave the case within your hands. Certain it is the prisoner guilty stands; And when you to the juryroom withdraw, Render a verdict with regard to law, Finding the prisoner guilty. I thank you. Elihu ceased. John Calvin's bloodless face Gleamed for an instant with an hectic flush; King David walked across the open space, Magdalen smiled to see Bathsheba blush; The Nazarene turned his compassionate eyes Full upon Ingersoll, with pity and surprise. 120 The Pagan's Poems. Talmage and Beecher, like two loving pards, Sat deeply engaged in argument verbose; Mike McDonald took out a deck of cards But quickly put them back wben Pagan rose. The faces of all again resumed content, And Pagan proceeded with his argument. PAGAN'S PLEA. Your Honor., Noble Jurors, Fellotvs, Friends ! There is a point where ceremony ends, Where meaningless excuse is needed not. We will imagine we have reached that spot, And therefore offer none in our defense. But with our client's case at once commence. Gentlemen: 'Tis true the prisoner came Here from that sphere Elihu clothes with shame; A great part of the same we will admit, Denying tho' that Bob helped fashion it. For we, who know him, know, had he such powers. He'd make the world a paradise of flowers. Know, if our under world should feel his sway. Its pyramids of Vice would melt away, Its vacant churches turn to nobler schools To educate the King and priests — sad fools. Disease would hide its head beneath its wing. While health and happiness would soar and sing; Sweet flowers, fruits, and loving acts would grow Instead of thorns and thistles, weeds and woe. The bark of Life would never touch a shore. The Sphinx of Death would gaze on man no more. Defense of Ingersoll. 121 111 the abodes of men the birds would sing, Rejoicing with them in eternal spring. But Ingersoll hath never ruled it, hence The prosecution does not show good sense Imputing such a thing to this brave man, Who ever held a place in Virtue's van, — Who never faltered in a cause for Right, Or lost his way in Error's gloomy night. But ah ! He is the ''Priest of Heresy ! " So says the prosecution. Let me see! Of what does it consist? Is trutli a crime? Should mankind strangle every tho't sublime? Must these great tho'ts, that do the soul inspire, Tho' tuned, be silent as an untouched lyre? Or shall we voice them with melody fair. As when the lyre's notes enchant the air? Or shall we let Hypocrisy and Cant Jar, as a discord, in some mournful chant? Suppose the small republic of the heart Differs in views from other ones apart. Who, with love for truth and right, could say Which of the two shall yield and which hold sway? There's but one monitor for such a test, And it abideth in the human breast: — Co)%scieneel 'Twill make the same reply to each, "Do good, hold sway, and practice what you preach!'" This, by my client, was the law received, The only revelation he believed; For there was Brahm, Mahomet, Chrisna, Christ, Each with his own religion and device, — 122 The Pagan's Poems. Each with his morals, truths, philosophies. His principalities of pain and ease, His supercilious dogma, doctrine, doubt. Sanguine apostles, votaries devout. His paradise for faithful ones, his hells For heretics, apostates, infidels. "Now which is right? " my client asked his breast. Then took this path diverging from the rest, Promulgating Love, Truth, and Liberty,' — The prosecution terms this Heresy f Out of the tempest of chaotic creeds. Where Ignorance is robed and Reason bleeds; Out of the midnight of Despair and Hate, Where Fear triumphant reigned and Malice sate; Where Agony, with long-drawn tears and prayers, Seeking rest, found more hideous nightmares, My client came; teaching what few had taught Before: A moral state which none had wrought. Why, sirs, the histories of the world contain No greater evidence of greater brain; Their all-recording pages are not fraught With purer ideas or sweeter thought. 'tho' the world has listened thousands of years. No nobler words have entered human ears. Touching morality — honesty — truth — Cheering enfeebled age, directing youth. Heeding the widow's and the orphan's cry, -And doing mankind good! Sirs, I defy The prosecution to show, if they can, A nobler^ truer, gentler., braver man. Defense of Ingersoll. 123 But Gentlemen Jurors, Elilin says My client broke the Laws in many ways; That he hath broken almost every clause Incorporated in the Ten Great Laws; And that if he brake one^ the law declared All to be broken 'til they be repaired. The Bible sayeth: "There is not one man On earth that sinneth not!"* Now, if the ban Of Sin doth cover humankind, why all Who with the Bible stand, must with it fall. Ah; no! The law he gave is modified. The sin was counted naught if man applied In time for pardon. But to whom apply? The Bible gives the searcher this reply: "Touching the Almighty, what is He? " And furthermore, " What profit will it be To pray to Him? "t In Elihu's great plea ^Gainst Job on earth, this answer do vfe see: *" Touching the Almighty, we cannot find Him outrX Within my client's lofty mind No doubt these strong expressions found a way, And why not they, as well as others, sway His bright ideas? And, admit this Doubt, Who. joined by Reason, weeded Error out. And founded a republic in his breast; Ask your own conscience, it will answer best This mystic riddle! Let us turn, sweet friends. To other charges which this case attends, * Eccl. vii, 20. t Job xxi, 25. { Job xxxvii, 23. 124 The Pagan's Poems. Of broken laws, observe that, first, three Rest, like the first charge, on uncertainty — " Touching the Almighty, we cannot find Him out!'^ Bear, please, that axiom in mind. As to the Fourth^ you know they have not shown By argument of their, or Robert's own Acts or orations, that he broke the day — The holy Sabbath, as the Great Laws say. As to the Fifth. He rendered honor due! How many, honest jurymen, of you Travel to-day the paths your fathers trod? Worship to-day your honest parents' god? I doubt if there is one in court can say, The views my father held are mine to-day! Nor need they, for their honor is not proved By worshipping the things our fathers loved. Touching the Sixth. He killed no man, unless In war, to free the slaves from vile duress. Even admitting tliat the law so states As fact: " He is a murderer who hates His brother." * Robert hates no earthly man But democrats; he's a Republican; They cannot be his brethren; so you see He cannot hate his brethren. He is free From that vile charge. The last remaining three — Read his orations, sirs, and if there be A single utterance, expression, word, Touching one of the three laws you have heard The prosecution claim my client broke. We'll drop this case and call it but a joke. * I John iii. 16. Defense of Ingersoll. 125 His honied speeches — Elihu doth say — Stole from fond Earth her mighty heart away; Pilfered from man many a prayerful hour, And blocked the churches from the path of power; Thereby committing this infamous crime That hath no parallel in all past time. Who else can reason so? Where is the one Who, eagle-like, can stare the summer sun Until it blushes, or doth coyly quail? Where is the man can make the rose turn pale With trepidation? Or the oak's heart rend With tales of times when death and sorrow blend? We know not, gentlemen: but we can tell — E'en tho' we quaffed not from Nick's inky well A draught of subtleness — wherein this crime, Instead of being sin, has been sublime! My client did not hold that the abyss Had fathomed been by him; but he said this: — Touching a future life we do not know; Nor can we solve the mystery of woe. We cannot stay Death's cruel; ruthless hands — Our feet must kiss the Lethe's silent sands. Like threads wove in the loom of earthly grief, Within Death's web alone we find relief. At least from this, the present's load of woe. Beyond this pale hoiv can ive see or knoiv? Why then, my client said, let Error die. Slay Superstition, and uncloud the sky. Know ye, mankind remains, let the ghosts go; Hold Reason friend, and Ignorance a foe; Drive from the Eden of the human soul All that is fierce and wrong, mystic and dole; 126 The Pagan's Poems. Give Liberty to conscience, tongue, and brain,- Send Superstition hence, let Justice reign; Be lionest^ noble, generous and brave; Love all mankind, and hold none as a slave; Then Death will have no sting. This is the crime That hath no parallel in all past time. For tJiis, Hell stands agape — the heathen rage — Elihu shrieks ^' Revenge ! " Tho' every page That teems with love and pity, tenderness And sweet compassion, offers him redress. For this^ his charity is held as naught. His escutcheon, unsullied, bears a blot. Can you believe, sirs, that in Joy^s domain, Where long he labored, he should toil in vain? Can you believe that Heaven's pearly gate Can bar him out? That it should be his fate To dwell in Hades, infinitely damned. While Paradise with murderers is crammed? Is pain the recompense of charity ? Bondage the lot of those who make men free? Is it a changeless, stern decree of Fate, To exile loving souls to realms of Hate? Are those who battle Sorrow, Want, and Fear^ Furnishing fuel for this Satan here? I cannot believe it! I cannot think A loving Grod would such a vengeance drink, Grentlemen, now we leave the case to you. Feeling that you will render justice true; We ask no pity for our client here. More than he showered on the nether sphere; Craving no fairer judgment than he gave. Ere Nature led him to the silent grave. Thanks I Defense of Ingebsoll. 127 There was a silence deep within the court. But only for a moment did it dwell, For with an angry flush on his face swart^ Satan arose and broke the dreamy spell, Saying: "If there is aught that you would give to me, Most honored judge, let me answer Pagan's plea. " Tho' I am neither human nor divine, I only a few fleeting moments crave; I wish to speak, good sir, for what is mine, And has been ever since he found the grave! Give me a few minutes and I am content." The time was granted. So ran his argument: SATAN'S PLEA. Your Honor and Right Worthy Jurymen: No doubt my first appearance in the ken Of some of you, will fill your souls with awe; But I am coniC; sirs, to fulfill the Law, And only to the Law's extent will go — A friend to justice, but to fraud a foe. This Ingersoll 's a fraud, and he is mine According to the law of God divine. We made a solemn compact and agreed Tliat all who should refute the Christian creed, Or bodily the Ten Great Laivs defy. Or bear false witness, worship idols, lie, Or swear by Holy Ghost, or Heaven, or earth,, Profane the Sabbath day with work or mirth,, Or tarry with and drink too much of wine, Should be my pro]3erty. This Bob is mine! And, gentlemen, if I should lose this case, I'd lose my interest in the human race. 128 The Pagan's Poems. For if this Bob is not a guilty man, There ne'er was one since Christ succeeded Pan,- Since Brahmin priests inculcated the plot, Which warped the tenets that Grautama taught,- Since swart Mahomet triumphed o'er the cross Crushing the Crusader. Why, sirs, my loss Would be a disgrace to Theocracy, Tending to foster a Democracy, That would, in time, upturn the throne of Him Who beat me out of Job, in ages dim. If Bob were innocent, you might, quite well, Improve on Paradise and swindle Hell; But that he is guilty is so well known, Men question not. Elihu hath shown With all the fairness honest men can ask. And plainly proved — for 't was an easy task — That the indicted prisoner at the bar Is guilty as indicted. And so far . As that vain Pagan is concerned — I would that he were ready to be burned — What laiv hath he bro't to support the case He now defends? Why, sirs, upon the face Of his own argument these facts are plain: There roved a pirate on Religion's main, A bolder craft no sea had ever borne, A barque that held all other barques in scorn, One that preyed bravely on the bravest fleet, And never paled before the battle's heat; Before which even bold Discussion quailed And slunk away defeated. Defense of Ingebsoll. 129 This ship sailed Fearless of God or man for many years ; It heeded not man's pious prayers or tears, It asked no quarter and it offered none, But now? It rides within this port undone. Its black flag flaunts no longer in the breeze, And gone are its impious vanities. Where is the spirit now that once so free Impelled it on to triumph ? Can it be The Giaour is conquered ? Aye, and here he stands Begging sweet mercy at the monarch's hands. His hired counselor, with subtle speech, Pleads for the vessel stranded on the beach; That it may furl its seeming snowy sail. And ride at anchor safely in the vale, — A pardoned vessel, with a pardoned crew, — Rejoicing. Render now the justice due Me, as the party of the second part — So stated in said contract. Then my heart Leapeth with greater joy than I can tell, Joy that is deeper than the depth of — well, Of the ocean, incomparable and vast. Or of the sombre vale or mountain fast; Do so, for justice's sake, not mine alone. "Sweet sirs, how can wow-penitence atone? Or Virtue labor when sne hath no task? Or Mercy answer when no sinners ask? Or how can Honesty recline secure Within the heartless bosom of a Giaour? How can Love and Equality preside, When Poverty doth emulate with Pride? What can your verdict be? There is but one: " We find the prisoner — Guilty ! " I am done! 130 The Pagan's Poems. CONCLUSION, The judge arose and to the jury read His manifold instructions brief and just, And, closing with a clear, firm voice, he said,, " To you we now resign this solemn trust. Withdraw to your room, review the argument, And find a verdict — guilty or innocent. '''' Peter then led the jury from the box, Shakespeare, the immortal, arose and let McDonald have the chair beside John Knox; Mike pulled his purse and offered Knox a bety Forty to one, that Bob would be acquitted, But Knox neither bet, denied, nor admitted. Then Morrisey drew near and said, " Me bhoy, I '11 be af ther bettin' yees all ye loike ; Here's a cool thousand; houldthe tin^ McCoy !"^ ''Arrah! I'll niver bet wid yees," said Mike, "Ye played too foine a game in Seventy-Six, Declarin' all bets off! I knows yer tricks! " At this moment Peter returned and said, " The jury claim that they cannot agree." Elihu looked at Nick and shook his head. "Say," said the judge, "they must speak definitely; His guilt they must either afiirm or deny. We have not the time again this case to try." But it was vain. The men could not agree; And, reprimanded, they were dismissed all. How they stood might still be a mystery. Had Ignorance not let this morsel fall: " Bigotry and I the jury hung," said he, "Because ive believe Bob's Satan's property!" Defense of Ingebsoll. 131 This case sometime, somewhere, may be again Tried in some court we know not of; But, if 'tis Bob's request, the Pagan vain Again will prove his never-dying love; And with more knowledge and less affected grace, Prove Robert fit for glory, and win the case. L' ENVOI. Reader, remember, this 's but a day-dream! Nothing is here to scoff opinions true; We merely show things as they to us seem. Without meaning offense ; and if they who- This epic read, find any merit in it Worthy of their esteem, tvhy^ let me tvin it ! Bishop, III., March, 1884. Qfti^ccUanaou^ A FRAGMENT. ''Cross tlie street a maid is singing, As she thumps the ivory keys. Up the stairs the air comes ladened With the scent of boiling peas. By my window leaves of maple Ripple in the passing breeze, Bearing on its unseen bosom Fragrance of limburger cheese. Loud the dusky crows are calling, As they cross the normal leas. In the yard beneath my window, Mine host's boys the " billy" tease. While I'm thinking that the children Had better mind their q's and p's, I look out, my orbs of vision sight Of holy horror sees. For the boy with hair of auburn. Who the " billy's " neck would pat. Lies a heap in yonder corner, Knocked into a three-cocked hat. THE POET'S DREAM. The poet's nap is ended, love, And this is what he dreamed: The millenium had come. The dove To its mate much fairer seemed. The eagle sheathed his wicked claws^ And fed on berries rare. The lion closed his mighty jaws. And slumbered in his lair. The fish-hawk noticed not the trout That swam beneath its nest; The wildfowl glided all about The lakelet's placid breast. The tiger lapped the crystal flood That flowed by his retreat. He'd lost his appetite for blood, And water seemed more sweet. There by the stream where breezes blow^ The meek-faced goddess. Peace, Sat on her throne; a holy glow^ Bright as the " golden fleece," Shone down upon her, making all Feel animated love Break thro' the heart's steel-seeming wall,, Bright as the stars above. 10 Miscellaneous. Jo7 And in the grove, where Love, when born, First touched the human heart. There rose a song sweet as the morn — " Peace never shall depart ! Sorrow shall fade, and Joy return With Peace to reign again! The human heart with love shall burn, And swell the sweet refrain! Ring out the Old! ring in the New! Let every heart be glad! The thoughts ye think, the deeds ye do. Shall never more be sad. The hopes ye have, the joys ye lack, Shall be fulfilled in time ; He who on Error turned his back, Shall gaze on Truth sublime! Friendship shall live ! That potent spell That first charms those we meet. And holds them fast till Love doth tell The story old, but sweet. And when the secret once is told, The sacred ofl&ce filled. The hearts of gentle and of bold, Forevermore are thrilled. But Hate shall die a pangless death, Altho' it wronged mankind. And breathed its thrice-accursed breath. Within the noblest mind. And tho' it comes within our reach This wicked thing to end. Yet one and all should nobly teach Pity to foe and friend. 138 The Pagan's Poems. Compassion, like yon beauteous star That shines divinely there, Shall outstretch Orient's distant bar, And sham^ Revenge's snare. And Love and Law and Light shall beam, And save from tyrants' yoke The weak — " Alas! I did but dream. And dreaming, I awoke. rCoEMAL, III., Aug. 22, 1883. TO EMMA ETTER. Composed at the request of a Mend for his sweetheart. A true republic was my mind, No tyrant monarch here held sway; Here liberty could ever find A refuge, and within it stay. But this proud freedom felt a fetter When first I met thee, Emma Etter. Surpassing one! How thy dark eyes Have pierced the fortress of my heart; Fain would I barter Paradise, Trade Heaven in the unknown mart. For one sweet maid that I love better — That maid is thee, sweet Emma Etter. Bright are the silvery stars of night. But thine eyes have a brighter sheen. Soft are the tints of morning light. But softer tints mine eyes have seen On thy cheeks blended — my heart's debtor, E'er since I met thee, Emma Etter. Miscellaneous. 139 Strong was tlie fortress of my heart, I thouglit its adamantine walls Beyond the reach of Cupid's dart — Yea! further stretched than Tara's halls! But when Love's princess came, I met her — How my heart trembled — Emma Etter. Yet still I bade my troops be brave, I thought this modern Jean D'Arc Would never in dej&ance wave Her vict'rous pennon as a mark Of my defeat. Now I know better, For I am vanquished, Emma Etter. I am thy prisoner, lady fair, Maimed by a love-dart from thy eyes; Now, with thy beaut'ous raven hair, Bind mC; my love, Prometheus-wise. Bind me ! I will not strain the fetter To break from thee, sweet Emma Etter! P. S. —Forgive me, Emma, lady sweet! This seeming boldness on my part; But in these lines thine eye will greet The open secret of my heart. T tremble lest thou 'It think me debtor To thy resentment, Emma Etter! Lake Shoee, III., Jan. 18, 1884. THE PAGAN'S PRAYER. Infinite Universe — my Grod — Ideal! In this zone where all speech is free, I dare Kneel reverently and offer my appeal — List, then, unto Pagan's poetic prayer: Thou Grod, whose form fills all immensity. Whose laws do hold in space each wheeling sphere, Come! Shed truth and light with all intensity, And drive away from earth Error and Fear! From the face of this free, yet shackled land. Dispel the mists of superstitions low! And in return bring Love and Joy so grand — Let Honor hand in hand with Virtue go! Let Freedom and Fraternity entwine Around this world where Life and Death are kings I Teach man to live and have a life divine. Pure and untainted as the crystal springs! We feel that all the joys of life that be, Or are to be given unto mortal man. Insist that he shall have a conscience free. And strive to be magnanimous and grand 1 Miscellaneous. 141 Teach man to think, investigate, and turn Unheeding from the bigot's blighting curse, To Avhere the bright Promethean flame doth burn, Where man can worship Grod — the Universe! Thro' all the countless ages of the past. There were a few who recognized thy right. And in defence of love and law stood fast Thro' Error's darkness unto Reason's light! They felt the fagot's flame when Bruno died, When Torquemada ruled with cursed spell ! " D/e, Heretics ! " the bloody priesthood cried, And branded on their foreheads — Infidel! But now, to-day, priests cannot shackle tho't, They cannot close the avenues of Truth; For now, thy precious principles are taught. And man has dofEed the scanty cloak of youth ! Take now from Life the curse, from Death the sting, Man should be fearless even to tbe end! Then Freedom, Love, and Law thy praise will sing, "And all the glory will be thine!" Amen! Bishop, III., Aug. 4, 1882. VOLTAIRE'S SOLILOQUY. What G-od created this wheeling sphere, And guides it thro' infinite space? Sails he on the Christian's sea of fear, A corsair to the human race; Plundering Happiness — Liberty — Love — A pirate in purple ruling above ? Builded on what is this Nero's throne? How wide is this tyrant's domain? Has his bloody crown, his kingly zone, Been forged from a heretic's chain? Do the flames that around the martyrs rise^ Waft such a sweet incense up to the skies ? I see his church as a man-of-war, Lo! its black flag flaunts in the breeze; The chalice is filled with martyr's gore; Did an honest God sanction these ? And that Reason should be so long defied. While the honest millions suffered and died? Science and Reason I see dethroned, And Mercy and Honor down trod. Where the dying philosopher groaned The priests thanked a merciful God! I heard the appeal from their lips that fell: '' Curse him, God ! Heretic ! Infidel ! " Miscellaneous. 143 Agony's sweat, like the dews of Death, Gathers in huge drops on his brow; Back falls his head, he gasps for breath, Loosed is the rack of torture now! O'er the death-paling face the priesthood gloat, In the name of Mercy they cut his throat, I see Superstition hold the wand Over every nation, caste, and race; Before gods and ghosts the people fawn And kneel with blanched and tearful face; While the clergy, bearing Injustice's smirch, Rob the ignorant to support the church! What cursed idea snared man's heart, And clothed with knavery his brain. That loving hearts should be torn apart. Each doomed to wear a felon's chain? Has a god of Love created a Hades For the punishment of babes and ladies ? Liberty! Thou pleasing, happy thought ! Only a few more weary years And then will thy priceless gems be brought To free mankind from creeds and fears! Governed by Love and Law, the human race Will tear the cowl from Hypocrisy's face. Slowly^ surely, as the gentle dawn. Freedom of Thought is now nearing! On the face of Humanity wan The crimson of Joy is appearing! Of Love soon will the millenium be. And man will be really, truly free ! Teheren, III., June 20, 1882. A DRINKING SONG. Dedicated to "The Shyster Club.' Come gather, boys, around the board. Fill up your glasses to the brim; King Bacchus is a jovial lord, So let us drink the health of him! Then fill ye up The drinking cup, Pass one around to me! Here 's joy to those Who wear plain clothes — Kind-hearted, jovial, free! Here^s to the gallant volunteers! And to the boys that sailed the seas; Here 's to the braves who held no fears Of Southern guns and cruelties. Then fill ye up The drinking cup ! Drown in sparkling wine All sorrow's tears. All griefs and fears, That Death has made divine! Miscellaneous. 145 America, our country dear, We stand beneath tliy glorious flags ! And even with our winecups here. We hurl disdain on foreign rags ! Then fill ye up The drinking cup. Pass one around to me; Here's to the boys Who feared no noise. And made our banner free! Here 's to the good old pedagogue. Who never left us in a lurch ; Who never dealt in sweetened grog. But often dealt in stinging birch. Then fill ye up The drinking cup. Drink ye long and deep! - We won't go home While the pale moon And stars their vigils keep. Here 's to our parents dear and old, Who spanked us many dozen times; Whose hearts have never yet grown cold, Altho' we've roamed in foreign climes. Then fill ye up The drinking cup. Pass one around to me! Here 's to our Pa's, Our dearest Ma's. May their lives endless be ! 146 The Pagan's Poems. "Money is king!" all men agree, But in our liearts a woman reigns,. And we witli tliem can happy be. For true love eases tyrants' cliains. Then fill ye up The drinking cup, Pledge with ruby wine! Here 's to the girls With bangs or curls, May one of them be mine! Here 's to the babe whose nightly yell Chills all the marrow in our bones; Here's to "mine host," whose breakfast bell Awakens us with pleasant tones. Then fill ye up The drinking cup. Pass one around to me; Here's to "mine host,'^ Who loves us most When we don^t come to spree.. Here 's to the rich ! here 's to the poor ! Here 's to the high ! here 's to the low !. Here's to the man who'll kill or cure!* And here 's to crime's relentless foe If Then fill ye up The drinking cup, Drink in ruby wine ! Who loves nimi most, Will drink this toast. And sing, "All hail the vine!"' Bishop, III., March 10, 1882. * Doctor. t Squire. ADDRESS TO THE SWORD. On awakeuing and perceiving a sword standing in the corner of my bedroom at Moses EcJierd's, Topeka, 111., July 16, 1882. 0, thou grim, silent symbol of war, That I gaze upon with drowsy eye. Art thou the mighty excaliber That has triumphed where the eagles ^fly? What knight has borne thee in the savage fray, And with thee courageously hewn his way? Thou, the Nation's last-sought arbiter! Reveling in blood on battle's field, Glimmering where tumultuous War Hath shivered the lance and crushed the shield^ Where the fierce musketry and cannon peal, "Where men are iron, with nerves of steel!" List! I will " a tale unfold " to you: A hero hath grasped thy jeweled hilt^ A son of Freedom who dared to do And die, — thus cleansing a nation's guilt. A nation that boasted of being free, Tho' holding four millions in slavery. 148 The Pagan's Poems. A Hector burnished thee in his tent^ A Bayard wielded ye in the charge Where Liberty's sons in battle rent And shivered Secession's sullied targe. Now high ye rose, o'er the battle gleaming, Now flashed, and a foeman's blood fell streaming. Once ye were grasped by a son of Mars Who, in the humid midnight, bore ye; Brightly ye flashed, mocking the stars. As from thy sheath he rudely tore thee; On the foe he leapt, with heart swelling big. And in the darkness he murdered — a pig! Aye! Ye need not smile; the truth I tell, For ridicule oft flows with pathos; Strange things occur often, you know well Oft shines the moon as yet the day glows. Fierce fights the sun, tiny clouds obscure it. When mortal or beast could not endure it. But with my tale ! Thou'st endless kinship,- Great Caesar heard thy scabbard rattle. And often bore ye on his broad hip. Or swung ye fiercely in the battle; And with thy influence, lacking pity. Immortalized the Eternal City. The eyes of Cleopatra filled ye As from Marc Antony's girt ye swung. How oft her gentle touch hath thrilled ye. As round his brawny neck she clung. And heard him say, " Be thou true to me. For I would tvin as well as tvoo thee ! " Miscellaneous. 149 Thus, while being idle, ye, alas, Defended not his kingdom mortal; And ere three times the seasons pass. The foe hath entered in its portal; And while thy kinsmen stern betray him. Ye guard his flight, then coldly slay him ! Now tightly are ye gripped by Vandal, Ye do his bidding and are not loath. Or here; art resting on the sandal Of some sleeping, dreaming Visigoth, Here Timour wields thy scimeter brother, And heartlessly thou break'st another. Al Koran's law, by swart Mohamet And thy assistance, made felt its thrall; And — Hark! Whose voice runs up the gamut? " Breakfast 's ready!" — the women call. Friend Sword, of thy deeds no more can I say^ For after breakfast I have to make hay. EPITAPH FOR GUITEAU. A fool assassin rests 'neath this sod. Then spurn it, gentlemen and ladies; His trust and prayer went up to God, His dust and soul went down to Hades. Bishop, III., Sept., 1882. LINES. Composed upon my twentieth birthday, Oct. 1. 1881. 'Thrice welcome! anniversary of joy. Right glad am I tlio' still a boy, That I grew older as the world revolved. Thankful am I that my score Was in America, yea, more. Until death shall be they I am resolved. Freedom stood here fierce battle's brunt; Here "lipless famine laughed at want," And filled unknown sunken graves. With gallant transcendent volunteers. While a nation wept sad solemn tears On the death-pall of ennobled braves. This is the only government of the free, And could all creatures in it be For more than twenty fleeting years, I would that from their day of birth, All would see ninety years of mirth, Of love, and joy, but no heartfelt tears. But let the world move on for aye, And let not darkness, nor the light of day, Retard us in a deed or act of right. Be just in all the seasons of the year. When winter months, so cold and drear. Enrobe the earth in vesture white. MiSCELLANEO US. 151 When reapers sing 'mid gathered sheaves; When Nature paints the autumn leaves; When King Prosfs keen and withering breath Passes over the twigs and flowers, Slaying the leafy shades and bowers, Covering the earth with the cowl of death. Life's but a wilderness of love and hate; We meet and wed, but seldom mate. Yet pass away, as all things must Pass from life, from loved endowed, From mem'ries gentle as a summer cloud. To voiceless silence and pathetic dust. Bishop, III. TO LOVELY L- I sing of lovely L to-night. But she, I fear, at this late hour. Dreams of me only. Her delight Is but to find me in her power. It is mine, too. That power is arms, Loving and warm, whiter than snow, Which embrace me with subtle charms. Lifting me heavenward from below. No evil thinks, sweet L , tho' blamed Of vile misdeeds by viler lips. Tho' I'm no saint, I'd be ashamed To crave the bud base passion nips. But loving with lifers love every hour, And being so loved is more than power. IjAke Shore, III., Oct. 27, 1883. ODE TO "OLD BALDY." Baldy, you're getting old in years, . Time lias you by the forelock, And will you take, despite our tears, Where brutal clubs no more knock. You've been^ I ween, as grand a steed As ever mankind treasured; Your faithfulness, so like your feed, Was oft'times poorly measured. Down in the bottom, by the spring. We heard your deep, low neighing; Then to our mem'ry tho't would bring Your vague intent of staying. Tho' you were not a soldier fine, Nor yet heard cannon rattle. You've fought along the picket line. And brunted many a battle. You had your faults, full well I know, We might pull till leadstraps sever, His Innocence, the mule, ivould go. But you'd stand fast forever! Space will not let me here narrate Your months of joy and sorrow, When Jim, with you would cultivate, Or John would plow or harrow. But, bald-faced Judas, I'll forgive^ As o'er you with comb I go; Oh, may you, ransomed sinner, live. And remain our weal and — Whoa I !. Bishop, III., Sept. 2, 1881. iESTHETIC OSCAR. Dedicated to His Lunacy, Oscar Wilde. hail him, Prince of the ah ! — sesthete, crown him king of the sweet too-too! soak his soft head and bathe his feet, And give him a drink of sunflower dew. His love for the beautiful makes him mutter, "I'm the ideal of the utterly-utter!" hang your hat on his long, long chin! pull his jacket down to his knee! His pants are so short, his limbs so thin. That a school-boy's pants would make him three ! Ah ! But you know he's so utterly too, So we'll coronate him with a gilt horse-shoe. His sceptre shall be a sunflower stalk, His banquet shall be of sunflower seed. Sunflower petals and sunflower hock, With a thimblefuU of strychnine mead. And to make him a little more ah ! — aesthete, With a mustard plaster half -sole his feet. 0, Sullivan, break his long jawbone! 0, Ryan, hit him a sweet, sweet whack! Down by the sea where the sad waves moan, Let him sit down on a carpet tack. Ah! yes, he'll rise higher than noonday's sun, 'Til ether and he are blended in one. 11 154 The Pagan's Poems. I send him back to Ultima Thnle, Or silence for aye his wide, wide mouth; get him kicked by a " Kaintnck muley," That will knock him galley east or south. We wish to befriend you^ sweet aesthete child, For we love you distractedly, " Hoss-car " Wilde. too, too utterly Oscar Wilde ! In United States you'll find some fools Who admire your ways, aesthetic child. And over the sunflower sickly drools. You can easily make money from such as those, By rubbing the sunflower under their nose. JitiHOP, III., March 8, 1882. TO A DIVINE (?). What were eternity, false priest. If half thy canting words be true? I 'd rather die like any beast, Than enter Paradise with you! Think of the woman wronged and left With the young fruit of thy false love; Her heart broken; her life bereft. Rev'rend! If Justice reigns above, May you — I'm praying — get your dues ! May in turn taste the bitter bowls Which Fate fills for those who abuse The confidence of trusting souls. For how could Mercy mete your groaning, When she but sees thy victim moaning? THE SHERMAN SOCIETY. Standing serene on a sandy height, Is a little school-house snrnamed " Trout's," Where rising statesmen, on Friday nights, Meet in debate and political bouts. Here youth and beauty attention lend When low-keyed speakers have the floor. Knowledge and eloquence, sometimes, blend. And doubly proud is the conqueror. Joy is a wealth not hard to secure; Its bounteous streams flow free for all. They who lack it are very poor, For torrents upon the meanest fall. For pleasure we meet in this little house, Regardless of mud or roads unknown: — Grirls afraid of a " horrid mouse," Boys afraid to go home — alone. We meet to wile the fleeting hours, With noble aim and purpose grand; We meet to deck life's path with flowers. And stand in friendship, hand in hand. Still may the streams of knowledge pour. For some may have a nation's trust, Or may lead hosts on fields of gore. Before they pass to voiceless dust. Bishop, 111., Jan. 15, 1S32. COMMEND ME. Commend me to the boy who tries To make this life a blessing, And lights with love his parents' eyes,, Their fondest hopes expressing. Commend me to the man whose hand Is strong on war-plains gory; Who weds a woman pure and grand, And crowns his life with glory. Commend me to the winning lass Whose riches are her graces; For she disdains with those to pass. Whose wealth is naught but faces. I see a maid with temper mild^ Devoid of choleric passion; Who scorns not rude misfortune's child,, Nor trades her brains for fashion. Commend liie to that maiden fair — Mine eyes see none above her — I know no jewel half so rare, Because, you see, I love her! MiSCELLANEO US. 157 €ommend me to that couple old, Who braved life's wintiy weather; Who shared each other's love and gold, And crossed Death's stream together. Commend me to the gay buffoon^ Who lacks of merit more than ivit, Eather than to that artless loon, That two-faced canting hypocrite ! Commend me to the foe who pays Me measure back for measure; And likewise to the friend who says, " My purse is at your pleasure." Commend me to the friend who loans When I am forced to borrow, Who does not say, in doubtful tones, "I'll see, come back to-morrow!" Like Job, I one time had three friends. And they, sweet friends, had money; Says I, "Help me to unite ends." Says they, ^'Not muchhj., sonny!" While Fortune my few wants supplied, They hovered near — bald eagles; But when I needed them they sighed. And slunk away like beagles. Fate! give me sickness, hatred, pain, Rather than they, diurnal ! And should these friends join Heaven's train. Give me Hades eternal! Havana, III., May 10, 1884. PROGRESS AND POVERTY. Written upon the fly-leaf of Henry George's " Progress and Poverty.' Onward its steps dotli Progress trace, Priests cannot hold it fast! The fear that ruled the human race^ Must abdicate at last. For progress hath given unto man The alchemy of might, So now he may extract a plan To lead the world aright. The clay hovel it turned to brick. Walled beautiful and high; And reared on pillars high and thick^ A dome that reached the sky. It took the beggar's ragged gown. Turned it to silken cloth; It tore the thrones of kingcraft down, And spilled the witches' broth. Nature's forces it bound as slaves — They turn a million wheels; Plows, with her steamships, ocean waves,, 'Til all ports grate their keels. Confined the lightning's spark in wire, Brought the two worlds to face; Drew the crude metals from the fire, Fashioned in beauteous grace. Miscellaneous. 159 Silenced the war-cry of the Hiiii, Subdued the Islam vain, O'ercame the haughty Saracen, Expelled the Moor from Spain. Entombed that teacher of Pity Who " gave all Asia light;" And o'er the Eternal City Followed the eagle's flight. Lo ! the Grrecian walls it lowered, And o'er them foul weeds grow. The Romanized Britons cowered When Northmen left their snow. But now ? They stand as masters strong. The Norse kings roam no more, Their unmarked graves are scattered 'long The Scandinavian shore. This is the light — the dark side see: Behold how near the same Is the pinched face of Poverty, Still wearing pale Want's maim. In yonder palace's shadow there An orphan froze to death; The breeze that winds yon attic stair, Clogs a limp widow's breath. The men with muck rakes toil on still, The crown they do not see. Wealth doth again her coffers fill. And sneers at Charity. Why is it, tho' advancing wealth On every side we see. That men are robbed of joy and health By Want — by Poverty? IGO The Pagan's Poems. Ahrinian figlits with Ormuzd still, The Viking braves the snows, And on the Greatheart's armor chill. Still ring the clanging blows. Upon Osiris Typhoon scowls. The Visigoth still wars. And day and night the Vandal prowls Where Eoundheads nurse their scars. Laice Shore, III., May 10, 1883. ^ LINES TO MY COUSIN, MISS F. J. K. Live forever, gay jovial coz! Attended by Virtue and Love; For every queen that is_, or was. Without them would nothing prove. A woman sublime and truly grand, Grives wealth to him who receives her hand. Coz, be noble and grand to-day _, . For to-day reaches unto Death. Let Scorn and Slander have their say. They are only wasting their breath; For Calumny cannot stain the gem That decks a virtuous diadem ! The present alone is the field In which all our battles are fought; A pure heart, like an iron steel. All perils and dangers will fraught. And true happiness will reign supreme, As free from dross as the sunny beam. Teheran, III., June 23, 1882. KEENAN'S CHARGE. Tlie eve 'fore "Stonewair' Jackson died, When murd'rous cannon thundered, Bold Keenan rode, while by his side Galloped his brave three hundred. Some one shouted " Howard is routed ! "" Confusion reigned as fierce they fought; "Left battery, here! Fire! to the rear! Pass your pieces ! March forward ! Trot ! The frightened bugler caught the word " Trot!" and sounded it the more; Naught else but Babel then was heard. As on came Jackson's massive corps. Trampling the dying, Scourging the flying. And Sickles was yet a mile away; While coming nearer, Distincter, clearer, They heard the wild rebel ^'"hooray!" 162 The Pagan's Poems. Beyond the woods the sun had set, But thro' them, in the thickening gloom^. Stonewall's fierce troops came faster yet, Elated at the " Northeners " doom. Yankees surrounded! Chaos confounded! " Beneath the war-clouds rolling dun." Now in the twilight, Brunting the fierce fight, Up to the front rode Pleasanton. Still onward rushed the fierce platoons. Proclaiming " victory! " every yell. There was Keenan with his dragoons! Were they Winkelreids? Who can tell?' "Those pieces align! 0, for some time! " Would brave Keenan get it — or die ? '''"Forward!" he thundered. Grallant Three Hundred, At twenty thousand throats they fly! Stonewall faltered — " In heaven's name," He said, " What by that charge is meant? "'' But when no more bold riders came, Keenan died with his regiment. Altho' they were slain. They died not in vain. For time was gained as down they rode. Noble Three Hundred! Pleasanton thundered, "Fix, prolong, with canister load!"" Miscellaneous. 163 Stonewall Jackson's legion quailed Before tlie sirocco of death That from the Union cannon hailed, Hotter than Hades fabled breath. Then loud rose a yell, And glad the news fell, Sickles had come with his brave corps; Loud our guns thundered, But the Three Hundred Had fallen, to rise never more! There lay dead the brave Three Hundred — Lay like harvest's scattered sheaves. They simply died — nobody blundered — Their lifeblood stained the withered leaves. Praise men like these, Who stood as trees . When the woodman lays the ax on. Soldiers wondered How three hundred Checked the brave, intrepid Jackson. Bishop, III., April 13, 1882. AUTOGRAPH. The heart 's a little thing 'tis true. And may be light; but others weeping. And low on bended knees will sue — "Fair lady, trust it to my keeping!" But have a care for suitors clever. For one regret may last — Forever! INCOGNITO. I left my home on a wintry morn, Of wealth and knowledge was I in quest; I roughed my way toward the setting sun — To the great broad prairies of the west. Of coin I had little; friends were feW; "A bum," all styled me, small and gritty; By my appearance every one knew That I was a strang^er in the city. All along the line I beat my way. And slept at night on box-car floors ; Securing, sometimes, one meal per day, For I wouldn't beg at farmhouse doors^ — For Yanks were not born to heg for bread. Nor were they born to sue for iDity, — Nor in supplication bow my head. When I was a stranger in the city. Caring but little for snow or sleet. And praying for neither good nor ill, I traveled with footsore, weary feet, Till I reached the town of Centreville. Into the depot I bent my way, A tired, rain-soaked, youthful Chitty, With brazen cheek took a calm survey. For I was a stranger in the city. Miscellaneous. 16& I dried my clothes, and tlie marshal sought, And hnnted long ere I found him. But I found him, and at once I thought He 'd a marshal cloak around him. Down town we went, and he turned me loose, — Don't imagine I'll say something witty, — For he turned me loose in the calaboose, Lo! I was a stranger in the city. The following morn he sent his son, Inviting me to his breakfast board; Amazed, I queried, '' Why does this one, Who knows me not, treat me as a lord?"' Ah ! he was a man noble and true. Whose heart was easily turned to pity For his fellow creatures, and he knew That I was a stranger in the city. Yes, I ivas strange, and he took me in And treated me as a friend and brother,. For he had in similar cases been. Away from dearest home and mother. We called on a friend during the day. Whose daughters were charming and witty^ And they insisted that I should stay. For I was a stranger in the city. I stayed, and saw Cupid's arrow pass. And sever two warm young hearts in twain:: My own_, and that of a blue-eyed lass That I ne'er expect to see again, I hope that virtue may adorn her. Who gave to me her love and pity. I'll own it: — I loved Allie Horner — When I was a stranger in the city. 166 The Pagan's Poems. And of the man who befriended me When I was friendless, hungry, and cold. With him may Father Time lenient be. But ah! his name I have not yet told. He lives in Centreville, County Wayne, Indiana. This ends my ditty; Archibald Lytle was my friend's name, And I, am A Steakgee IK THE City. SisHOP, III., Marcli 7, 1882. ' " BOB INGERSOLL." Who is this man, " Bob IngersoU," About whom we so often read? Is he the man whose motives all Are bent in tireless, grasping greed ? Is 't he who robbed Manhattan Bank ? Or has he slain a fellow creature ? Or played the guileless shepherd's prank, And fed the ewe lambs a la Beeclier? No ! He is a friend to all the poor. And renders aid with lavish hand. He wants a government secure. Love and Free Thought thro'out the land. He says "" There is no might but Right," And '' Man should have a conscience free." He wants "a creed to stand the light." A meaner man ne'er was! D'ye see? Bishop, III., Marrh 3. IS'^i. PLEA FOR THE VEST. My mission is to teach you tlie art of "In and Out-door Decoration," to dress :sesthetically in blouse and knee-breeclies, and doff that superfluous garment — the •Vest.— Oscar Wilde. All! you'll cabbage my vest, will you, Wilde? Wbat ideas are housed by you cranks! My — ray — vest, you sad jBsthetic child; No, I'll hang to my garment, Os; thanks! Throw my broad-brimmed gray hat in the fire; Take my shoes along with the rest; Yea, embezzle my wardrobe entire, But leave, oh! leave me the Vest! That vest was the pride of my childhood. When first I donned male garb. I s'pose (0, whisper it, Os^ in the Wilde-wood) 'Twas made of my father's old clo'es. 'Twas mate to a pair of jean breeches. That hang in the clothes cupboard there ; Nine hundred and ninety-nine stitches Completed this second-hand pair. It is the prop of my life, sesthete ! Around it fond memory clings; Far more useful to me than my feet, A storehouse for ninety-nine things. See ! It fathers my watch-chain so nice, My toothpick, toothbrush, and cigar; A card with mysterious device, Lo! " Grood for ten cents at the bar." 168 The Pagan's Poems. You'll find in my left lower pocket, To my heart the next nearest place, A handsome wee cameo locket^ Containing my early love's face; And encircling it is a ringlet That I plucked from her auburn hair. Take, Oscar, take the dear thing — let. But my vest, Wilde Englishman, spare. I know you have big money, Colonel, And gall to make up for the rest. But, as Jackson says, " By the eternal!" You 're left when you tackle the vest! 1 've no doubt but you think you are right. But I know very well you are left^ And you '11 find ere the close of the fight. The vest is too dreadfully heft. In private, Os, a word with you, please, I have some advice to bestow: Gro, corner a limburger cheese — There's strength in the cheese you well know. Many skippers are there in their might. And they are more harmful than these; 'Tis the strong, not the weak, you should fight; Drop the vest, Os, and go for the cheese ! Oscar, sweet aesthetic donkey. Let up on the vest scheme, I pray ! Your Darwin's sad tale of the monkey, Is sadness enough for a day. Don't fill Sorrow's cup to o'erfiowing With infinite, utterless woe ! But leave us the solace of knowing The time-honored vest shall not go. Bishop, III., Sept. 19. 1883. A POME ON SPRING. SUBLIME AND SAD. O that mine enemy had teen at home during spring cleaning. At last! at last! beautiful spring, Thoii hast returned, and the woodlands ring With the songs of birdies, boys and bees. And rosy-cheeked maids, and sich as these. The birds fly high and the birds fly low; The hired hired girl kneads the spongy dough; The carpet hangs on the clothes-line there, Beaten to rags by a maiden fair — A freckled maiden with auburn hair. The gooseberry blossoms scent the breeze. Where Hans devours the limburger cheese; The house-dog worries the old-gold cat. The kitchen stove and the pater spat. He stands on a chair with boiling blood, 'Till the pipe fells him with a sickening thud. He wishes himself a lifeless corse, And tries his best to die &f remoi^se; He tries to die — but fails, of course. 12 170 The Pagan's Poems. The sad moon sliines witli a silv'ry slieen Where the blonde mule grazes on the green; The clover bends under humming bees, While " may-queens " hang on the gates and sneeze. The air is ladened with sweet perfume, For Spring is decking stern Winter's tomb. In smiling gardens, by smiling leas. Spring chickens are scratching up the peas, Garlic and onions^ and sich as these. The pink peach-blossoms wither and fall; The small boy falls from the garden wall. Like a rising tide, a swelling sea, Grreen apples overcome — Where is he — ? Ask that old man repainting the barn — Ask that old lady dying the yarn. They say he's gone — he died — poor thing! Slain by an apple, way last spring! Verily, truth do we poets sing. A lovely knoll with grasses teeming; A long-haired springtime-poet dreaming; A world of shadows; a sinking sun; An editor with a Parker gun! A loud report; lo! silence pervades, A mound appears in the sombre shades. All that was beautiful once, and dear. And poetical, lies buried here, Slain by an editor on his ear. 3. .MCE SiiOEE, III., May 19, 1884. €. B. FARWELL'S ADDRESS TO THE BOLTERS. Stenographically taken at a distance, o la Shakespeare. Friends, Half-breeds, and Independents! Loan me your ears — at eiglit per cent. I came to bury Grrant — not to praise him! The evil politicians do hang to them; The good — rarer than hen's teeth — Lives after them. So mote it be with Grant. Here, with the will and consent Of Lord Roscoe and other stalwarts, Came I to say my little speech At Jim Blaine's funeral. Had Logan KnoAvn what I was wont to say. He never — or hardly ever — Would have yielded me the floor. For Logan is a son-of-a-gun ! So are they all sons-of-guns ! Logan says that Grant is not ambitious; Logan is a prevaricator — if you know What that is ; and he 'd best soak his head. Because he can't back it, knowing That I can lick him on four feet square, Yes, Logan is a brick, you bet! You all know mighty well, At Washington they offered this same Grant Some bull pups. He took them just took quick! Was not this ambition? Correct! 172 The Pagan's Poems. But Logan says lie is not ambitious; But Logan is a son-of-a-gun ! And liis reputation for truth And veracity is questionable; So be the rest on 'em! When Belknap cried, Old Useless wept, And said, "Let all the guilty ones escape;" And you bet they escaped. Here, gaze on this Sanhedrim, Run by the stalwart machine ! See what a grip the gushing Conklin has! Look how the envious Cameron runs his clique. And here the well-beloved Logan sits With a bob-tailed flush, et cetera. Ah ! Logan is — [Here Logan knocks him down.] So are they all. Ahem! They used to rule the roost in this old Commonwealth. I gave them the g. b. In my feeble mind! [Pulls a rag out of his pistol pocket.] Here is Jim Blaine's duster! Ah! well do I remember, It was not in bleak November, When each red dod-gasted ember Cast a ghost upon the floor — Burning a hole through the carpet — AYhen first he put it on. It was the day before he got walloped At Cincinnati. A short time before " Pope Bob " knighted him,, " An armed warrior, a plumed knight.''^ Miscellaneous. 173 Look here ! Here is a — Well., I'm dinged., If it isn't a Mulligan letter! Well, never mind, Jim is all 0. K. [Walks down among the kickers.] If you have coin to chip Prepare to chip in now, for we Can buy a nigger mighty cheap! He votes with Tom Ochiltree's mob, The same which brought here Flanagan, Whom the beloved Logan cussed. But Logan is n. g.! So are they all! [Goes back upon the rostrum.] Sweet friends ! dear friends ! do n't let Your angry passions for a moment rise, Or scrap with Johnny Logan! Do n't get so high upon your ears At my impassioned palaver. I do not possess the science of My Lord Roscoe, or I would make Chicago howl by moonlight. [The Chair announces the nomination of G. and A.] Gentlemen, I pass ! Let Pope Bob Write my epitaph. Selah! Bishop, III., June, 1882. A PARODY. Inscribed to " Stuffix.' Der cliug vat held der sclmapps vas broke,. Der schnapps vas all spilled out; He dinks it vas some gruel choke Of some mean drunken lout. He saw der viskies on der floor, It filled his heart mit pain; It slopped his gup of sorrow o'er, He nefer smiled again. Ver vy he nefer smiled some more, Ve can't eggs-ectly dink; If viskies run roun' mit der floor, Yas handier to drink. But he svored off, I do n't know vy, Hey offered schnapps in vain; He vould n't drink — he vas n't dry. He nefer smiled again! Red eyes vas caused by visky strate; Red noses gomes from schnaps ; Bote make der boys gif up der fate, Und knocks dem off der props. He reasoned dus, vile many dinks Yas passing mit his brain; He reffused seven visky drinks — He nefer smiled again! Miscellaneous. He driiiked himself mit lemonade, Also iced milk uiid tea; He sipped sweet cider in de shade, Und tried to happy be. He liffed. For life may long be porn Ere dem'prance breaks der chain. But dasted not der chuse of gorn — Ne ueffer smiled again! Bishop, III., Aug. 30, 1881. A SONNET. Mt Son: A moment lend your ear, I have some advice to bestow, Which may you profit, if you '11 hear. As 'long the path of life you go. " Be thyself! " first — if thou art true — If not, Be True ! and then, Thyself, With honest thoughts thy mind imbue, For honesty is more than pelf. Love thy country; love thy neighbor; Has he a daughter — love her best. Proclaim thy virtues not with tabor Or sounding brass from east to west. But let thy actions show thy beauty. In simply doing icell thy duty. Lake Shoee, III., Oct. 28, 1881. DIVIDED — A PARODY. A dry-goods store with a sliam stone front, A counter up-piled with shoddy goods, And all the fixings that women want. From piebald collars to brindle hoods. A dudist clerk with bottle-green eyes, That were bias-cut long years ago; A stare as vacant as Paradise, And hair as white as the beautiful snow. A country girl with a freckled arm, Auburn haired, and a mole on her chin — The lone heiress of a splendid farm. And, Dame Rumor says, a pile of tin. And old-gold cow with a stumpy tail, A maiden milking, divine and coy; Missing half-time the milking pail. But gassing away to the clerking boy. A yaller mule with a paint-brush tail, Backing in rifle-range, meekly mad; A cyclone shock! A falsetto wail! And a dry-goods clerk is sore and sad. A maiden's heart yields maiden's pity. The clerk feels richer than old Rhine wine, A parson living in the city Hath bound them with Hymen's link divine. Miscellaneous. 177 A panic comes, — away goes riclies — But it brings a sawyer's lioss and saw; A man with tattered shoes and breeches Supports wife, babes and mother-in-law. A building up town with pea-green screens, He's making inerry, raising a din, Shelling the money out of his jeans For Bourbon whiskey and Old Tom gin. A calaboose with a hard-oak floor. Diet of water and mouldy bread; A gaunt wolf entering at the door; And an ill-starred wretch in awful dead. A shallow grave in the Potter's field, A fatherless family paupers made; A heart despairing, a blotted shield, A story half told^ a tune half played. A moral is here misguided youths Who marry for something else than love ; In my parody lie hidden truths Which may be handled without a glove. Beware of the maid with freckled arms! Steer clear of a sawyer's hoss and saw! Avoid dude clerks with twenty-cent charms, Bourbon whiskey and mothers-in-law! Lake Shore, III., Feb. 17, 1883. "BASCOM." A citizen of Bishop lay snoozing in the West! There was lack of Waldron's music, there was lack o£ Meyer's best; But a " scribo" stood beside him as he gayly snoozed away And wrote with active Faber each word that he did say. The snoozing layman faltered as he grasped some unseen hand, And said, " Upon the Fourth I'll be far from my native land ; Send a telegraphic message to that distant burg of mine, For I came here from Bishop, hard by the Wabash line! "Tell those jovial kids at Bishop^ when I sought this: western land I did not think they'd organize ' dot leetle Sherman pand;' I did not think they'd celebrate the nation's natal day With me in. Old Missoury, three hundred miles away. " But since I must be absent^ give them a gentle rub, Ask them if they've forgot Bascom who named the Shyster Cluh? Alas! How little mankind knows of human or divine — But he made Rome howl at Bishop, hard by tlie Wabasli Line! Miscellaneous. 179 " Ask them if they recollect that spell when I was on my ear? I simg a dozen songs so well and washed them down with beer. It seems to me they can^t forget when I was Mogul Grrand, And called the dances right, you bet, in that far distant land! "But now they cannot count me in when evening's shade appears, And the music of Dan's violin falls on their unwashed ears ; For I'll miss that high-toned pic-nic, and — and — that black-eyed girl of mine. There goii»g to have at Bishop, hard by the Wabash line I Bishop, III., June, 1883. DEATH OF CAMERON. Far on the left, liidden from view, Beaver broke Charley and Agnew, Tho' there the Pennsylvanian Was solid still for Cameron. They threw the ballot-box aside And hard the party claymore jDlied. 'Twas vain! for Bourbons on the right. With broad grin, cheered the bolter's fight.. Just then a fierce banana peel • Slipped 'neath the Wolfe of Union's heel. The Wolfe of Union fell! Yet still Don Cameron's black-snake flew With stinging crack, while fiercer grew Around the battle yell. The bolter's slogan rent the sky! A Wolfe ! a Lockwood ! was the cry, And loud the whisky stunk. Advanced, forced back, now low, now high, The ballots rose and sunk. Where bought repeaters cast their votes; Where the bulldozer's dulcet notes Vowed " Cameron's kerplunk!" And now to Harrisburg there rode Two henchmen soaked with gin; The same car bore a helpless load, A beaten boss within. MiSCELLANEO US. 181 His hand still held the whip divine, His breath smelled of cigars and wine, Dragged from beneath the bolters' feet, With empty purse and prestige beat, The haughty look, the plumage gone! Can that be mighty Cameron? Young Quay his vest then did pull down,. And turning to his friends around. Said, ^'By gee-whiz! he's gone! For we ca^n very plainly see That his ' machine ' got the g. b. ; Grood-by to Cameron!^' " Unnurtured Quay, thy growling cease, He's senator,^' said Oliver. "Peace!" When wiped his chin, he felt free air, Around 'gan Cameron wildly t' stare: "Where's Colonel Quay? Oliver, where? Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ? Redeem my prestige ! vote again ! Yell 'Cameron to the rescue!' Vain! Last of my race in politics. We '11 rule no more by subtle tricks. Yet my last thought is Office! Fly! To Simon bear my signet ring. Tell him a bar'l along to bring. Oliver, to Lord Roscoe hie ! Cooper lies stiff, too full to curse. And empty is his flask and purse ! George Lear is down, and I am full, Hartranft alone the wool can pull. Let Rawle charge 'gain the bolters'* front,, With stalwart Beaver of Bellefonte. 182 The Pagan's Poems. Charge full upon tlie 'kickers" ' host Or victory and Keystone's lost! Must I bid twice ? Hence ! cleave the air, Leave Cameron here alone — to sivear! " They parted, and alone he swore, 'Till a drunk repeater ope'd the door And heard his palaver high flown, As half he murmured — "Is there none Of all my State has nursed — Collector or State Senataire, Assemblyman or Postmastaire, Bulldozer or repeater scum. To bring me here a jug of rum To slake my dying thirst?" Scarce had this music left his mug, Than the scum repeater grabbed a jug. And to a bar-room ran. Forgot was master, whip, and fight, Forgot was high, ambition's light. Forgot the dying man! With back bent head the jug he drained. As thro' his teeth the rum he strained. The fight that for a space did fail, Now, trebly thundering, swelled the gale, And '^' Pattison I '"' they cry ! The shades o'er Cameron's visage skip. And fire his bloodshot eye. And as an oath escaped his lip, He shook the fragment of his whip And shouted, ''' Treachery T "Die, brave old guard! Wolfe's work is done," Were the last words of Cameron. ■Bishop, III., June 1, 1SS2. JIM jBLEDSO'S pard. Requi-sca< in pace. Wall, yes, I'm arter yer, parson! So get yer prayer-book an' lets walk; We want yer down tliar at Carson, Fer to sling us some buryin' talk. Fer down thar in Fancber's back yard, We bad a big racket last niglit, And Lawson, my war-lovin' pard. Was killed at tlie close of the figbt, Yer see, Lew started tlie riot By wbackin' Big Jim on the nib. An' to get tbings settled down quiet, Jim whetted his knife on Lew's rib. You bet ole Lew was a knifer. But he could n't stan' to Big Jim ; Fer Jim was an army fifer. An' tough as a hick'ry lim'. Yes, Lew was reckoned a hard 'un. But there's lots in the camp that's wuss; Yet, by ! I'm beggin' yer pardon, I did n't intend fer to cuss. But Lew was the slickest feller That ever flipped pasteboards, I b'lieve ! An' when he played for the "yeller," He 'd only three jacks in his sleeve. 184 The Pagan's Poems. An' Lew was awful big hearted — A better cbap never drew breath; But when a racketed git started, Yer bet he stayed in 'till the death ! An' when he shot fightin' Tom Kidder Fer crackin' my mug with a stool, He went an' married the widder, An' sent all the youngsters to school. Wall, here we are now at Carson, An' here's the boss ranch o' the camp; Take suthin' warm wi' me^ parson, Fer the air is chilly and damp. Don't drink ! Wall, now yer jokin'^ I alius stan' in on a treat. Eh? Yer say drinkin' an' smoking' Soon gits a bloke offen his feet? I reckon yer skull 's about level, Fer drinkin' hurt pardner and me; We wasn't askeered o' the devil, Whenever we got on a spree. Wall, let 's along to the boneyard — A region my fancy ne'er suits — This corpus, here, is my pard. With the shooters stuck inter his boots. Now give him a send-off, parson; Say he was the best o' the boys; Could fite any bloke in CarsoU;, An' was n't askeered o' a noise. Now give him him an away-up racket — Yes, dod cuss their ornery souls! No, yer won't be asked to back it. 'Cause I've shot Big Jim full o' holes I Bishop, Tli., March IS, 1882. LEORA AND JACOB. Composed by request for J. A. F.'s sweetheart. Leora and Jacob — lovely pair! — Courted in Dalton City. He praised lier eyes and nut-brown liair, She praised liim, — out of pity. He swore by all the Muses nine That she alone could dance well, She vowed that he was part divine And that he was no dam — sel. Said he, " I'll send a song to her — 'Taint mine, but she won't know it,- I tell her 'fore she pulls my fur, ' My love, I keeps a poet ! ' And this is what the poet wrote To satisfy Faust Jacob, Whose voice is good for any note The lyric muse can rake up: '' I love you more, Leora sweet. Than bumble-bees do honey, Far more than tripe or pickled feet, . Much more than pewter money. Fresh lager beer is flat and stale Before thee, my love's reaper; I'd gladly live my life in jail If you would be my keeper. 13 186 The Pagan's Poems. "How can I tread Life's path alone? The idea sets me crazy! Without my sun, my star, my moon, Without my Dalton Daisy ? Forbid it! Much mistaken Mose Thou knowest we are lovers; There is no eye, no cheek, no nose. That I would praise above hers, " To me you're sweeter than the rose That grows in Dalton's garden; I love you thro' and thro', Jove knows, From gloves to ' dolly-varden.' So do not tell me that my life Must seek a path diverging; I want you, Daisy, for a wife. Say ' yes ! ' love, wait not urging. " Behold me bow on bended knee, My heart is yours, love, take it! Be quick! before in idle glee Suspense doth open break it! For there's a secret in it, dear," That holds affection deeper Than that which I have shown you here. Will 'Ora be its keeper? LA.KE Shore, III,, Sept. 14, 1883. TO LILY. With a volume of Burns, on her twenty-second birthday, April 7, 1884. Surpassing one! I see the flowers That do the sweetest bloom, Deck for a day the leafy bowers, Then seek the silent tomb, Alas for them ! Cold earth they meet Ere dew-drops thrice fall tears; Bnt|thou hast bloomed surpassing sweet For two and twenty years. A half-blown rose, with petals fair, May charm some lovers eyes. While some behold in pansies rare The gems of Paradise. Some in the daisy's pearls and gold Serenest beauty see, A Lily, twenty-two years old. Is good enough for me. Burns sweetly sang of Bonnie Jean^ And Poe of Lost Lenore; Milton, with sightless orbs hath seen His love at Heaven's door. But Pagan, tho' a lesser bard Than these three bards of old, Finds in the Muses' flower-yard A Lily pure as gold ! 188 The Pagan's Poems. Sweet Lily, may thou ever bloom Untouched by frost or blight, Until stern Nature calls thee home Unto the dreamless night; And may thy purity, as now, Forever bide with thee; And be the poet's Lily thou, Throughout Eternity ! The Pagai^, Lake Shore, III. TO A CRUCIFIED HAWK. How you have fallen ! Once you sailed On your strong pinions free and high. Up from the hedge where bunny quailed. You seemed a gnat 'twixt earth and sky. Oft preyed you on a weaker one, . But Vengeance came with Time along; You fell before the fowler's gun! Now you are weak who once was strong. Like dying Randolph say, '"'' Remorse ! '''' It suits you better than those screams; Then quickly die, for here your corse Must hang, — ^^a bad life's fruit, it seems. This is the lesson that all tyrants feel, When power 's abused it 's bound to reel I Teiierf.n, TLL.,0ct. 19, 1883. TO A YOUNG LADY, Who pinned this stanza in my hat: "If for a maiden young and fair Yonr heart in fondness melts, Who talks of dress and diamond rings, And thinks of nothing else; Who hates to do a stroke of work, But loves to sing and play, Give up all thoughts of wedding her. You'll never make it pay! " I tliaiik you mucli, fair monitor, For the advice yon gave, Aud if my answer be quite blunt, Your pardon do I crave. My love is not afraid of work. Yet " loves to sing and play,'" And should I win her heart and hand, I'll vow to "make it pay." My love thinks not of vanities, Nor ''talks of diamond rings;" But far from it! Her line of thought Embodies nobler things. Her life is like a star that leads Unto the perfect day — A solace to a heart like mine, I'll vow to " make it pay." The hope that's been the hope of worlds Reigns in my bosom too; The vistas that do sweeten life Are ope'ning to my view, All my morrow's bright effulgence, My sunshine of to-day, Lies in the casket of her love, Think tjou it ivill not pay? Lake Shore, III., May 17, 1884. LEILA. There's a maiden sweet in southern climes, Whose vision flits before my eyes; I see her now as in olden times, >With beaming face of sweet surprise, And brown eyes shining like golden ore, Red lips, that sung a sweet refrain, Or would say, when parting at the door, "Grood might, my love! come back again! "^ How could I resist such welcome words? Could I withstand this queen of grace. With voice as sweet as twittering birds. And handsome, rosy, winsome face ? The smile that brightened those dimpled^cheeks,. Robbed e'en existence of its pangs; But 0, how often she 'd speak to me : "Let me go, love! you'll muss my bangs." Many a time, in the mazy ring, * We tripped with light, fantastic feet; Often on Solomon's gate we 'd swing, Talking in accents low and sweet. We talked as lovers have talked of old, And little thought of worldly gain; Laughing, she said, " You '11 have to hold Me, 'cause I'm standing on the chain! " Miscellaneous. 191 Could I refuse sucli a sweet command, And light with scorn that loving eye? No; I obeyed her with thrilling hand, For earth was heaven when she was nigh. Hours were moments, and Time an elf^ And Love's sweet stream flowed as the Gila, When she wrote me notes, signing herself, ■"Yours till death doth us part, Leila!" But Fate hath decreed that I must roam And lose the smiles of that winsome face; But all the enjoyments of love and home Can't rob my heart of its idol's trace! And though I may roam in distant climes. Friendship with others bind or sever^ Hearts I may win, or lose, sometimes. But her's is an others /or^er/ HOP, III., Jan. 19, 1882. A BANANA PEEL. Smiling it lay on the village street, But a citizen by it sped. As it slipped beneath a granger's feet^ And stood him on his head. It spoke as the granger hove a groan : " I am the power behind the tliroivn! " BROWN-EYED JEAN. Composed for a friend. 'T was years ago when first we met, When first by me your face was seen; Those sweet brown eyes I can't forget, Which won my heart to you, dear Jean. I came across the hills of sand, I saw you in the mazy ring; And should I roam a distant land, My meniVy sweet to you would cling. A season passed. We met again; You charmed me with your queenly grace. Your brown eyes stole my roving brain. And Cupid's arrow left its trace. Within this heart of mine so wild, Love's reapers found a field to glean. My warm affection, like a child, Knelt down to you, my brown-eyed Jean. I felt your sweet, bewitching charms. And saw with love your brown eyes fill; And as you nestled in my arms, I felt your heart with rapture thrill. I kissed your handsome, dimpled cheek. While ruby lips pressed mine I ween ! For ecstasy I could not speak, Nor could my happy brown-eyed Jean, Miscellaneous. 193 And now to you, my Jeanie dear, I leave our future joys and griefs; With throbbing heart I wait to hear You pass, or touch, Affection's reef. If you'll but give me to me your heart. Your course you '11 ne'er regret, I ween. We'll live, and love, and never part — What answer you, my brown-eyed Jean? Bishop, III., June 25, 1881. MEYER AND UNDERWOOD. There's a kid in our village named Meyer, He possesses a temper like fire; He was caught on the fly, By a whack in the eye, That raised it nigh two inches higher! There's another chap, we understood. Whose name seems to be Underwood. He got wrathy at Fred, And punched well his head, As 'tis known how a " city boy " could. Bishop, III., Feb. 1, 1882. TO MISS MINNIE McC- Dear Pat : Whin Joy runs away wid yer lieart, An' laves ye no burden to pack, An' whin wid the loved ones ye part, Expicting no more to come back; Thin think av the roarin' ould times Yees had wid our free, aisy clan. Now scattert in tin different climes. An' wid aich one a woman, or man. Och, Pat! you swate innercent crathure,, Your swateness is killin' me, shure; Do n't lave me alone wid ould Nathure, To slide down life's could c6llar door. Fer, be jabers, I'll niver forgit ye, Fer I thinks o' yees airly an' late, Would ye answer me, " Yis, ye bet ye,'" If I 'd ax ye " Let 's consolidate ! " If yees won't, thin think o' the lad Who writ these lines in yer book; He was slick, but not very bad, But terribly swate on the " cook." His mim'ry fer yees will awaken Long afther the rist o' the crowd; An' he '11 get yees a " forty-graf " taken Av his own silf, laughin' out loud! Bishop, III., Sept. 29, 1881. TO MISS LULU G. KEPFORD. Who sent me a handsome houquet of flowers on my twenty-first birthday. I received tlie flowers which you sent me, With your wish of " many happy returns Of the clay " that marks my majority, And lifts the young oak just above the ferns. Thanks ! a thousand for your kind rememb'rance,. And the fragrant and beautiful boquet. If that stern trinity. Luck, Fate, and Chance, Decree not, I'll attempt you to repay. I would that all a -century might live Before they feel the " swarthy angel's"" breath; Or you at least, who did these flowers give. In your behalf I will appeal to Death: Stay, silent spirit of the scythe and glass; Stay where the poisoned Upas flowers are blown. Or in the vale thro' which Lethe doth pass. Or where the Grorgon turneth all to stone. Come not when youth and joy, with rosy cheeks. Are wandering where the buds and blossoms are^ Too full of Love's own ecstasy to speak. Or note the waning of the evening star. 196 The Pagan's Poems. , €ome not wlien modest youth unfolds his love To her whose presence is the "lamp of life;" When the silence of the coy, sweet trembl'ing dove, Doth give the answer that makes her his wife. come not when the fond embrace and kiss Doth seal the vow that binds forever more; come not when their barque of earthly bliss^ Hath just been launched from Love's eternal shore. come not when the youthful, happy swain Has knelt where holy incense lades the air; Where God's vicegerent maketh one of ftvain^ And binds the nuptials with an empty prayer. Come not when youthful matron bends the knee To kiss the dimpled firstborn in its crib; When joyful father bendeth low to see The babe — flesh of his flesh, rib of his rib. Come not when patient pilot holds the wheel, With strong arm guides the vessel's iron prow. When thrifty husband whirls the fact'ry wheel, Or in the narrow furrow guides the plow. But come, remorseless swarthy angel, when Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow. Surely thy presence will be welcome then, To bear away the bittered cup of sorrow. Aye, come when age hath touched our tired hearts; Come when the last blown rose sheddeth its bloom. We '11 gladly cross the river then, that parts Life's transient day from Death's eternal gloom. Lake Shoee, III., Oct. 1, 1882. TO MY LITTLE HOSTESS. Unconsciously you played for me, While I listened enraptured, Unto " The Cottage by the Sea," Where I was almost captured. And then those " Beautiful Gates Ajar,"^ That lead to the " Golden Stair," You rendered like an opera star. As you did the " Sweet Hour of Prayer." " Somebodj'-'s waiting ! " Ah! that's me! Could I take your gentle warning. And " From the wrath of Satan flee ! " And " Go to church in the morning," Where notes of joy ever pealing Up toward each glittering star, Giving to the soul a feeling That the beautiful gates are ajar. Ah! you have finished playing, I could have listened till morn, Tho' my thoughts were homeward straying, They were, you know, in a horn! Strive to be perfect in other things That lay 'long the path of Right, And for the joyous songs you sing Accept my thanks. Good night. Mason City, III., Sept. 14, 1882. STELLA. Stella — A Stab. Some sing of love, some sing of mirth, Some sing of soft spring weather, Some sing of summer's gentle birth, When blossoms bloom together, Some sing a gay^ autumnal song. When trees don red and yellow; I sing of one — I may do wrong. But I must warble — Stella! What theme's more lofty than a star? What's sweeter than its splendor? Altho' the sun is warmer far, I think the star more tender. And tenderness contains more love And more of friendship mellow Than all that's warm or strong above. Yet none's above thee — Stella! And altho' I might paint thy charms, The work deserves a master; I feel that mine were next to harms I'm such a poet-aster. But if I rightly read your face I take you for no Dell'ah, But one whose nobleness and grace Alone exceeds a Stella. Miscellaneous. 199 'Tis grand to know that in this life We sometimes meet the gentle, Who knoAv of naught but goodness rife Spiritual and mental; Who only with the virt'ous pass But speak a common fellow; May blessings fall on such a lass, For thou art one such — Stella ! Then pardon me, tho' strange to you, I whisper my desire — That you'll accept, for friendship true. One that will stand the fire; And recollect, tho' circumstance Presents some other fellow. Esteem for you my tho'ts enhance, And fills my day-dreams — Stella ! And should a cold and cruel Fate Lead us in paths diverging, I hope that in the " future state " Friendship will need no urging. That while Life's tempest on you pours, You may have an umbrella To shield you thro" its stormy hours. And one to hold it — Stella ! Normal, III., Aug. 15, 1883. TO MISS ELIESE E- Who sent me a sweet potato, Oct. 24, 1882. Dear Friend Eliese, That's if you please — I tliank you for the favor You proffered me In sending the Potato of sweet flavor. It filled my heart With joy to part The rind of that "sweet tater; " The luscious meat I quickly eat And — had the night-mare later. I slept and dreamed; To me it seemed That we were on the ocean; We all got drunk, The boat then sunk, And all was wild commotion. The waves I fought. My eye then caught, I thought, an alligator; But making bold, I caught a hold^ And lo! 'twas a "sweet tater!"' Miscellaneous. 201 To shore I went, And homeward bent, When suddenly I stumbled. I broke my back, My neck did crack, A " tater-vine " me stumbled. And then, seeming, I ceased dreaming Of love — and green tomatoes ;: My pulse was hot; Tied in a knot Was I by sweet potatoes. There were three crows Sat in three rows — 'Bout them we Ve often sung — But I, poor boy, Was filled with joy, When straio:htened out in one. God bless the girls. With bangs or curls. Or cheeks like ripe tomatoes. Most all that live^ WilP' taffy "give, ^Viifeiv give sweet potatoes. Lake Shoke, III., Oct. 25, 1882. 14 JUANITA AND JAIRUS. " Altho' these lines separate us — Forever." It seemed that Fate had so decreed, That they shoukl meet in early years, Unconscious that their hearts should bleed, As down their cheeks coursed sorrow's tears; Unconscious that Love's bonds would sever, And isolate their hearts — Forever! They loving lived as swains before Have lived and loved, unconscious still That pain and anguish, held in store, Too soon would swell a saddened rill, To lave their lives with sorrow ever^ And wreck their ship of joy — Forever! They met — would they were spared the day They sought to' win each other's love — Where erst in life's romantic play Lovers had met their vows to prove. The same sweet song they chanted ever Before Grrief's Lyre was struck — Forever! They met unequal on Life's stage. She far above in finite glory — The goddess of a golden age — And stands the same thro' out the story. ^' Freedom of Thought " their paths did sever. And closed Affection's tome — Forever ! Miscellaneous. 203 Juanita's* parents feared a God, And taught his precepts to their child; She early passed beneath the rod, A maiden pure und undefiled As dews that fall from Heaven ever. And pure may she rerawa. ^-Forever! Jairus't ne'er passed beneath the rod. His trust to none but her was given; Truth was alone his only god. The fireside alone was heaven ; Reason he served. Religion, never, .And Reason he will serve — Fo7'ever! When first they met she did not ask Him for religion or for creed. For dogma or for sacred task. His love alone she found in need. And so they said. Death can but sever, Hearts we'll exchange for aye — Forever! They loved. Where erst the wild-bird's note Pealed weird, like wild Orpheus' lute; The vesper song from 'poor-will's throat Was garnered with Love's ripening fruit. Ah! they were happy! thinking never Affection's sun would sink — Forever! Now, hand in hand, they roamed the fields; They plucked the daisies on the hill; To flames of love alone they yield. And pause beside Affection's rill. No earthly hand, they thought, could sever 'The hearts that now are twain Forever! * Wah-ne-tah. f Ji-rus. 204 The Pagan's Poems. Beneatli the willows by the spring, Where doves and robins cooed and sung, Their merry voices gaily ring, And mingle with the leaves among. 0, that the thorn had touched them never! And poisoned not their hearts — Forever ! They bowed before Affection's shrine, Clasped in each other's loving arms; The warb'ling birds, the flow'ring vine, Could not dispel the maiden's charms. They felt secure, no friends (?) endeavor Should blight their earthly hopes — Forever! Once on the blessed Sabbath's morn, When songbirds trilled their matin lays^. And wind swept thro' the tasseled corn, To waft her tender song of praise. She sung "^ Would that we had met never," Aye! would they'd lived unknown — Forever! With thrilling hand of love he pressed Her fragile fingers 'twixt his own; With other hand her cheeks caressed. While from both eyes affection shone. For them that song was written never, The day they met, they'd bless — Forever! The voiceless silence of the tomb Was never deeper than their love. Pure as the tint of Heaven's dome Were early vows thej'^ sought to prove.. Unfeeling _/r/ewf/s (? ) and schemers clever Could shatter not their dreams — Forever! Miscellaneous. 205 They wandered thro' Elysian fields; No human speech could paint their joy; The grand influence Virtue yields, A man was making of the boy. Each noble precept, each endeavor, She bound around his heart — Forever! Juanita wept when Jairus left To roam, unknown, in Southern climes; Sorrow the hearts of each bereft. As came the tho'ts of olden times. "" But," said they then, " no hand can sever The hearts that Love hath bound — Forever!" Say not that absence turns the heart, That presence governs Love alone; For when we with the loved ones part We do but leave Affection's throne. The cords of Love we do not sever Or lose the heart's ideal — Forever! They met again, as of olden time, Again they "loved and sung of yore," Again they walked thro' fields sublime And pledged anew their vows once more. €ould they forget ? Aye, would they? Never! The golden cord was fast — Forever! A sweeter incense ne'er was breathed Than that with which Affection teems; A grander queen was never crowned Than her who haunted Jairus' dreams; And thro' his brain there flitted ever The^thoughts of her he'd love — Forever! 206 The Pagan's Poems. Fair Venus did Adonis love, And Cleo' brave Marc Antony; Paul and Virginia well did prove That Love 's the wand of Destiny. That Death alone true hearts can sever, And dry Affection's fount — Forever! Yet may the fairy queens hold sway O'er fabled siren, nymph, and faun; The cliffs of Avon, dull and gray. May harken for Love's dying swan; But yet the Augean hostler never Could separate true hearts — Forever! No strength divine or might of man Can check or turn Affection's rill; No martial hosts, or stately van Can bend true Friendship's iron will. And some think Death has failed to sever Hearts that true Love had bound — Forever! Now o'er the grass-clothed hills they roam^ Admiring Nature's works sublime; Now borne beneath the azure dome They hear the church-bell's silv'ry chime; And thence they hasten, Joyous ever, Tho' not to join their lives — Forever! "Hear me, Juanita," Jairus said, " I can not boast of wealth and store. But love I give, and thou shalt wed An honest heart, if nothing more; A golden chain no hand can sever Shall bind our hearts for aye! — Forever !''' Miscellaneous. 207 The beaming of her handsome face — The candor of her love-lit eye — The gentle kiss — the fond embrace. Alone gave the wished-for reply. Nor dreamed they that the thorn wonld ever Pierce deeply all their joys — Forever! Juanita left the old homestead, An ardent annt's desire to meet; As lambs are to the shambles led When schemers guide unwary feet. "Free thought," her friends (?) used as the lever To split the rock of Love — Forever! Jairus, a zealot rude may be. We'll own he has peculiar ways, He'd rather be with his tho'ts free Than "monarch of all he surveys;" He 'd rather with his best friends sever Than live a hypocrite — Forever! The match-maker's devoted zeal He held in the most sublime scorn, Of their schemes did as little feel Afraid, as of a "judgment morn." He thought no loving friends (?) endeavor Could isolate their loves — Forever! She knew in pocket he was poor. That he feared neither God nor man;: This knowledge made him feel secure Against the wily schemer's plan. He felt Wealth's sycophants could never Seduce the heart he 'd won — Forever! :208 The Pagan's Poems. But^Pate, who issues stern decrees And rules with tyrant's iron hand, Who mocks at prayers and bended knees, Loosened Affection's tender band. And with rude hand their hearts did sever, Creaking the golden bowl — Forever ! They parted. Still it may be best To turn aside from Love's highway, When shadows, falling toward the west, Disclose a gloomy, darker day. "'Twere better far their hearts to sever. Than join Life's two extremes — Forever! 'Twere best if they had never loved — Better if they had never met To have their young affections moved; Best they'd died unknown! But yet Tier precepts he '11 remember ever, And they his life may bless — Forever. Jairus, loved wisely, not too well Before Fate broke the golden bowl; Breaking as well the magic spell That was charming an honest soul. Tie was honest, and his endeavor Was to make free men's thoughts — Forever ! No more a maiden's love could hide His thoughts behind a church's mask; And Ignorance, thou wast defied, When he sought Reason for a task. Farewell to creeds, to dogmas ever. Hypocrisy farewell — Forever ! Miscellaneous. 209 Farewell, Juanita! fare thee well! Other arms may press thee nearer, Another may feel the magic spell, None other can love thee dearer! And]may you feel the thorn's pang never, But live in happiness — Forever! Farewell, Jairus! and may Fate see That you win another's heart, And may your life a poem be — A poem with a better part. Farewell both! For schemers clever Have rent your hearts in twain — Forever ! So they parted on Love's highway, Sund'ring the bonds loving and fond, But then, perhaps, some future day Will join their hearts in the Beyond, Where true love can be severed never, And hearts are one for aye. Forever! IBiSHOP, 111., April 10, 1882. ODE TO THE BEAUTIFUL. Inscribed to A. H. Kreiling, an honest man. The beautiful all men do love, And kneel, adoring, at its shrine; Its potent power tends to prove A theme so grand, that hand of mine Can never trace on snowy sheet The feeling which the theme inspires;- Can never, in poetic feet, Arrange the ode my heart desires. Among the beauties loved by man, And honored by the true and brave, Grrand, splendid woman leads the van; Man's joy and solace to the grave; The light of every hearth and home Where harmony and true love reigns. She conquers men's desire to roam; She share's his griefs and soothes his pains. Grander than Greek or Roman, still Nobler than storied nymph or faun. Sweeter than daisies on the hill. She loves man e'en when fortune's gone. Tender and true, ne'er to be spurned, Man's heart she holds until the last Gray hair has to the silver turned. And roses from the cheeks have passed. Miscellaneous. 211 To woman, next, charming the soul. Comes Music's sweet ecstatic notes; Sweet melodies and cadence roll From nightingale and boblink's throats. For when Orpheus tuned his lute, The lark and thrush began their lays, The robin left the tempting fruit. And joined the tender song of praise. Music! Thou hast charms at best, To lure the eagle from his perch, To sooth the rude barbarian's breast. To split a rock (or bust a church). Then tune again the Orphean lyre; touch once more the ivory keys; For Music doth njan's soul inspire With 'ts sweet and tender symphonies. peal once more thy joyous notes. Deft toucher of the organ keys ! The carols of the wild bird's throats Can ne'er excel thy melodies. lure and charm till sirens fall Into the nectar Joy doth quaff; But know! thy strains are discords all Compared with Woman's happy laugh! The laugh that makes the bright eyes speak; That strengthens love and drowns our fears; That fills with dimples her soft cheek. Enough to hold all Sorrow's tears. The '^ yielding planks of the ivory floor," No grander, sweeter tunes inspire Than her's, who sang to me in yore, A song that lit Love's deathless fire.* * The WMp-poor-Will. 212 The Pagan's Poems. The flowers, too, are fair to see — They lend a perfume to the breeze : From modest daisy on the lea To blossoms of the orchard trees; From honied harebell in the grove To violets beneath the bowers, — Each principle we hate or love Is represented by the flowers. The ivy and the columbine, The creeper with its ruby cloak. The cypress and Madeira vine, Like woman, cling to hearts of oak; Like her, do cling when storms have rent. Sundered, and crushed the mighty heart; Tho' elements their rage have spent. They cling and sooth 'til Death doth part. The mignonette and sweet woodbine Rival the pink carnation's sweet. The locust and the passion-vine With rich perfume the senses greet. Sweet is the rose with caustic thorn. And water-lilies by the mill; But clover and the tasseled corn. Are to the farm-boy sweeter still. But, cherished by the loving swain, The moss-rose and forget-me-not Have equal place; while in their train The pansy 's by the poet sought. He holds aloft his velvet prize That mocks the Heaven's azure hue, But rivals not the maiden's eyes Who bade the poet's heart "Be true!" Miscellaneous. 213' The mighty monarchs of the wood Stand beautiful above the fern; The logs with moss and Satan's food Are beautiful 'mid boulders stern. The crystal, pebble-bottom spring With joy the traveler's bosom fills; The carols, which the song-birds sing, Half-free the pilgrim of his ills. With all the Beautiful we see A sign of tenderness and grace; The flower, boulder-spring, and tree, Have beauty that no hand can trace. The brooks flow thro' the stony vale, Nor cease until they fill their part; While Man but stems Time's tide and gale Adoring Beauty, Nature, Art. Bishop, III., Feb. 14, 1882. A TRAVESTY. Tell me, my red-haired friend, Who drinks at my expense, Do you not know some realm Where whisky costs ten cents? Where candidates are flush And drinking men as well? Where lager beer doth gush? — There's plenty down in H — avana. Gin, beer, and rum, best boon to tipplers given. Are found, dirt cheap, within the gates of H — avana. MY FIRST LOVE.— THE RESULT. Man is born to trouble even as the sparks fly upward! — Paine. When first I saw lier, lovely maid, Possessing step like Venus, A snowy neck with gold o'erlaid, — Then Cupid stepped atween us. And as I gazed upon her face Her beauty me enraptured. So with a wholly gracious grace, I'll own my heart was captured. Thenceforth for me, a song of love Kept in my fond ear ringing, rSweet as the lark when it above The gentle dawn is singing. I love you, love, with all my heart. Can we not live together? Or must we drift Life's stream apart In celibacy's weather? how I longed to tell to her My bosom's hidden secret. And have her heart to mine recur With love pure as egret! Would circumstance — that heartless elf Who placed her far above me — ■Give me a chance to place myself Where she miffht know and love me? Miscellaneous. 215 Ah, yes! We wandered in the park, My heart beat like a hammer; Says she: " It 's growing rather dark," I answered, with a stammer, '""Ahem! yes; may — I — see — you home?" Says she, " Yes^ sir, with pleasure." Grosh! how ray heart leaped in its tomb, And beat a double measure. Long, long we swung upon the gate, A couple o' times I kissed her; And thrice she whispered, " 'Tis quite late, I must go in now, mister." I stroked her fuzzy fuzzees down. And said, "You need not hurry!" '"Ah, yes! " says she, "but pa's up town, And may come home quite merry!" "" Let him be merry, then," say I, If merry is his nature — " Then some one seized me by the tie. And said, " Ye blarney crathure, Yees must have kissed the blarney stone. Ah! yees shall see me merry; I '11 kick yees higher than the moon, Or me name's not Pat Kerry." He wrapped me twice around a tree. Then threw me o'er the railing, He made a football out of me. And kicked me thro' the palings. He took me to a " cop " sergeant, Who placed me in the " cooler," He said while Bid was his No slick-tongued Yank should fool her. 216 The Pagan's Poems. Long years have passed, I've older grown,. Altliough I am no clinic, I choose to tread Life's paths alone, The folks call me a cynic. But when you bear what I have borne, And linger by Love's ferry, You '11 pray for Gabe to toot his horn Before "Pa comes home merry." Bishop, III., Sept. 7th, 1883. CLEMANTHE. A traveler asked a Hindoo slave That toiled on Ganges' plain, " Has Brahma you a promise gave That you will meet again The wife and children loved and lost, And buried in the glade ? The friends who left Life's care and cost,, Who rest beneath the shade? " The Hindoo's countenance turned sad^ His quivering lip was still; He sobbed, and then his heart seemed glad,. He checked the briny rill, And said; " Clemanthe promised me That when Life's weary train Has reached the ports where Fate's decree,, My loved I'll meet again. Miscellaneous. 217 " I Ve asked of yonder frowning height, Covered with grasses green; I Ve questioned of the stars of night, That cast a silv'ry sheen; I made inquiry of the streams That ripple toward the main; They answered me, 'Aye, so it seems^ Iran, we '11 meet again.' " I 've questioned of the thrush and lark, And of the birds of night; I Ve asked of midnight's solemn hush,, And of the noonday bright. I queried of the passion-flower, The rose, with thorn of pain. The banyan-tree, the leafy bower, All said, ' We '11 meet again.' " The traveler and the Hindoo part. But Iran's words had moved A chord within the traveler's heart For those he lost and loved. He prayed he might in future years, In spite of dogmas vain. In spite of doctrines, creeds and fears, Meet his beloved again. We cannot drown a grief with words. When lingeringly we part; 'Tis vain, when Death his armor girds,, And hurls his flaming dart. The tide of Life we cannot stem, Nor break Time's endless chain. But 0, the joy, if we with them Could only meet again. Bishop, III., Feb. 10, 1882. 15 JACKSON'S ADDRESS. Stand by the cannon! Stand, Tennesseans! For by the Eternal ! our power '11 prevail. Guard algainst infantry! Charge the plebians^ There's no need for us Yankees in Britannia's jail. Who dares to stand back? Are you free-born afraid? Recollect Bunker Hill, Concord, and Lexington; Recollect Put's brigade; think of the stand they made, Stood like adamant ! Volunteers, stand by the guns ! Let Packenham come! Rally, boys, to the fight, For, by the gods! we could stem the Almighty's tide; Rally around the flag! shell-pierced blue and white, And gore-striped by heroes who, defending it, died ! Died 'neath the leaden hail, or in Britannia's jail, Or fell on the decks when they met on the ocean ! Ha! here they come! but in the charge they'll fail To o'erwhelm, or in awe hold a freeman's devotion. ('S'death! how they fight! Muzzle the guns wi' grape! Resist them! Ha! By the Eternal they falter! I'See the blood-reddened ranks our guns tore agape! Packenham's down! We've John Bull by the halter - We've whipped the Britons! Huzzah Tennesseans! You have won fadeless laurels forever and aye — You've defeated the war-loving, aggressive plebians And destroyed the prestige of Britannia to-day! Bishop, III., May 3, 1882. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. Born in Ajaccio, on the Island of Corsica, August, 1869. Died on the Island of St. Helena, May 5, 1821. In Ajaccio, on Corsica's isle, When the rocky shore the waves beguile. Stands a house not far from the city mart, Where lived once Sir Charles Bonaparte; And here, on a sultry August morn. Earth's greatest martial chief was born. Tho' first thro' many trials passed. He reached the height of Fame at last; He filled the world with panics and fears. He deluged Europe in blood and tears; For to hold all earthly thrones in scorn. Napoleon Bonaparte was born. The world first saw him in Toulon's fight, There beheld him arrayed in genius bright; Then in the thronged Parisian street He marched, the fierce canaille to meet. At Lodi's bridge, on Italia's plain, They saw him bloody victories gain. 220 The Pagan's Poems. They beheld him nest in Egyptian sands, Quelling the dauntless Mameluke bands. Returning now to his sunny France He embarks his all on the sea of chance — He overthrows the Imperial throne And beggars the kingly robber drone. He captures now Marengo's height, At Ulm and Jena leads the fight, — Of Auerstadt and Eylau now he boasts, Now turns to crush the Austrian hosts. Wagram is won, and Friedland's plain Lies covered with heaps of mangled slain. The bearded Russian he scourges now. And the " iron crown " rests on his brow. His words are law; the nations obey As he ruleth the tenor of his way. The king of kings ! The peer of peers ! He governs Europe for many years. And ever near him, awaiting- commands, Are the hearts of oak and willing hands Of such as Kleber and gallant Ney — " The bravest of brave! ''' — and bold Desaix, The brawny Soult, the fierce Massena, Menou, and Mortier, who bled at Jena. Stern old Victor among first and best, Moreau and Keilerman among the rest; Louis Buonaparte, Junot and Fouche, Suchet, the suave, Marmont and Grrouchy^ Dupont, Bernadotte, Murat, the vain, Eugene, the noble, and Joseph of Spain. Miscellaneous. 221 Misfortune comes sternly to one and all, And no man ascends so high he can't fall. So we see him defeated, and borne away To the Isle of Elba for life to stay; He stays one year and then returns. And the " allied nations " again he spurns. Back to his banner and white cockade Comes his war-loving Polish Brigade ; Back to him rushes his old command. The Imperial Guard — a Spartan band; Back to the field where tricolors wave Comes "gallant Ney; the bravest of brave." And marching now with his stately van Comes brawny Soult with his iron clan. The army moves on until they come To the works at Ligny in Belgium; They storm the fortress at Quatre Bras, Led by the intrepid Marshal Ney. Darkness the vistas of carnage close, And the soldiers lie m sweet repose. But ere daylight ushers in the morn. The drummer's beat and bugler's horn Awaken the French — to duty call — Napoleon must triumph if millions fall. Forward they march ! Each soldier knew Their foemen waited at Waterloo. *' Beneath the war clouds rolling dun" They espied the forces of Wellington Drawn up and quite anxious for the fray, Calm and serene as the summer day. 222 The Pagan's Poems. Proudly the French advance to the fight, Their bayonets gleam in the early light, The allied hosts are filled with wonder^ They bleed and die while the cannon thunder,' Napoleon orders his Son of Mars To charge with the fearless L'Hussars. Like a thunder-bolt from a clouded sky They charge on the guns — they bleed and die ; For the allied hosts like Spartans stood And covered the fields with fire and blood. Defeated, mangled, covered with scars. Few, few, return of those fierce hussars. Napoleon now calls his battle-scarred And orders a charge on the English Guard, But, cool and sarcastic as Chatham, Wellington orders ""Up Guards, and at 'em!'^ Frenchmen could not tarry. In sore defeat They seek their safety in wild retreat. Napoleon, tho' his heart was stout, Is vanquished now; he joins the rout. And pushing thro' the terrified van, Seeks to escape from the Prussian clan. In safety he reaches Fontainebleau, But his bravest died ! Great cause for woe I Europe now breathes a sigh of relief, She fears no longer the daring chief. Laughs at the ideas, scorns the law Of the greatest man she ever saw. Successful Britons! Well may you smile, When he's exiled to Helena's isle. Miscellaneous. 22S" At St. Helena, for six long years, They guarded this man of Fate and tears. Till the Angel Death came o'er the deep, And gave him rest in the dreamless sleep. The sleep of Death that knows no waking, No sweet sunshine, no storm-clouds breaking. He was dead! The proud heart ceased to throb! And France gives vent to a choking sob. Dead ! An emperor robbed of his throne, Lieth in death where the sad waves moan. Silent is Earth's grandest martial man ! Future, produce his peer, if you can! Bishop, III., May 1, 1881. ' TO A stingy miser man I loathe ! A stingy maid I would not love! Great Jove! preserve me from them both. Place me below or else above With him who "makes the goddess groan." I want no equal fellowship. Nor would I any sweetheart own Who would not let me taste her lip. You say you will not ? Then let me Unshackled go ! I would not dwell With you in Heaven ! I'd rather be Kissing, in Hades, Lovely L . My love is not a love of lewdness. For next to women I love goodness! Lake Shore, III., Oct. 21, 1883. REPLY TO "OLD CITIZEN." Thou art indeed a luckless one If most all men thy friendship shun; There must be some cause. Don't be grieved With me for asking how you've lived. Has your life been all it might be — Stainless and pure, from blemish free? Have you answered Poverty's moan? Or have you lived for Self alone ? Have you avoided subtle tricks? Steered clear of duns and politics? Have you gave alms with hand divine? Have you helped Truth's glad light to shine? Lent you a hand to help the weak? Wiped you a tear from Sorrow's cheek? Are you acquaint with Charity, The only virtue of those three? If you've observed these every one, 'Tis strange that men your friendship shun; But persevere, and you will find A warm friend — in a happy mind! You may not boast of gems or ore. May not have worldly pelf or store. But you can praise with tongue and lip The right hand of true fellowship. Lake Shoee, III., Jan. 9, 1883. ^onnei^ SONNETS TO THE PUBLIC. While half the world was clothed in sleep, I courted oft Poesy's muse: She bade me nightly vigils keep, And con in rhyme my thoughts and views. She said: "If you true manhood claim — If you would light eternal fires. Show up man's glory and his shame. His sinful weakness and desires — Paint not in beatit'ous platitudes The virtues few he doth possess. And hide his faults. Ingratitude Will shrink thy coward conscience less. Remember, now, if thou seekest Fame. Man hath two phases — glory — shame! WHAT? Adami, created by Brahm, And placed in Ceylon's garden, Was shortly brought to grief and shame By Heva, who we pardon. But we have said, and swore to it. Few of her daughters have her grit. The Pagan's Poems. TO E. E. Sweet flower of Love ! fair Beauty's queen, This is again thy natal day! Thou hast at last found sweet sixteen, And may thou sixteen ever stay. For aye may snow be on thy brow; For aye thy lips be cherries red; And may thy silken curls, as now, For aye adorn thy pretty head. For aye may blisses be thy lot, Thy joys swell as the rising tide. And may thy faults, if thou hast aught. Forever "lean toward Virtue's side!" And remember through the future time The Pagan who wrote this simple rhyme. TO SHAKESPEARE. Shakespeare ! Thou mortal half divine ! Silent in death, but living still; Would thou could'st teach this muse of mine My lines with deeper thought to fill ! Who dares to seek thy emulation In Poesy or Drama's art? Whoe'er can hope thy elevation? In playing Nature fill thy part? Thou prince of human nature's actors, Thy feet shall ever tread her stage. Thou chief of literary factors. Thy works shall live a deathless age ! And after the brimstone, hail, and rain. Phoenix-like, Shakespeare will rise again. Sonnets. 229 TO LOVELY L. Fair maiden! pardon me if I, In my way, too familiar be. To-niglit, while Luna's hanging high, I dedicate these lines to thee ! To tell a dream which me befell On yesternight. A fact, 'tis true ! I dreamed myself bound by a spell I could not break whate'er I'd do. Methought Dan Cupid said to me, "If you would break this magic spell Forthwith I'll furnish you the key." '^ Giv't me," said I. Said he, " 'T is well. Your heart hath departed from its cell Unto the keeping of " I won't tell. TO ISHMAEL. I sing of Ishmael to-night — Whoever he may chance to be — I often watch him in the fight. And hear him called " Humanity." Upon his helmet fall the blows Of subtle Wealth, Priestcraft, and King; I ever hear, where'er he goes. Their lances on his armor ring. Ishmael^ let me grasp your hand. If true thou art Humanity. My heart is beating with yours, and My hopes are for your victory ! Fight on^ brave heart ! for Human Bight Must shatter the phalanxes of Might! 230 The Pagan's Poems. TO "MISS JEALOUSY." Your lieart 's a miser. It would grasp, And ask for more, all coins of Love. Within it, with many a clasp And lock, you hold Love's treasure-trove. And still art stingy. For you ask Me to forswear my other loves; And to perform this greedy task, You tell me they are soiled doves; That they are foolish, fickle, blind. And mingle with low company, And are not suited for a mind Like mine. cease thy flattery. By St. Cecilia and the Muses nine. The one you l^ate the most^ is the most mine! TO BURNS. Sweet Scotia's bard of blissful love, I dedicate this name to thee, For thou did'st find Love's treasure-trove. And let mankind thy " Vision " see. Ye showed its follies and its joys. The danger of an amorous kiss. The touch that Virtue oft decoys, The love that melts in married bliss. How nobly woman plays her part. How subtle man can her deceive. How heartlessly he breaks her heart, And leaves her o'er her wrongs to grieve., Yea! much thou'st seen, and learned it well. Experience taught it thee hersel' ! Sonnets. 231 TO LOVELY L. A true republic was my mind, No tyrant monarcli here lield sway; Here Liberty could ever find A refuge, and within it stay. But all! a lass of lovely mien Laid siege and captured all my troops, Made good her title as my queen, By binding me witli love-made loops. How could I struggle to get free, When love and white arms held me fast ? In Love I lost my liberty, And abdicated power at last. Then hail ! the reign of the poet's queen ! The sweetest monarchy I e'er had seen! TO AN ORGANIST. touch those ivory keys again, Fair player. Let thy melodies Bring out the sweetness of the strain That bides in Handel's symphonies. For music hath that subtle spell Which charms the heart, pleases the ear. And lends a soothing sweetness — well, A sweetness like thyself, my dear; Who hath this music in thy soul, How light thy fingers touch the keys ! Sweet in my ear thy carols roll. Each rivalling, each me well doth please. Thou art Orpheus, and thy playing For aye would keep my spirit straying! 232 The Pagan's Poems. A QUERY. "Does death end all? " That is a question I cannot answer, nor can you. Beyond the mere uttered suggestion Lie mists my eyes cannot see through. Immortality of the soul! "What is the soul? "" Here preachers'^pause, And answer, with a heaven-ward roll Of eyes to finish out the clause, Did Plato know? Sometimes I think I '11 pause beside his logic's stream And of its subtle waters drink; But then something dispels the dream, For from the lips of the wisest fall: "Man is but mortal. Death ends all! " TO A DUDE. Dude! Please come a little nearer. And let me thy strange isms court all, Tho' there be much 1 value dearer, I would know if thou art mortal. Gentle Dude! lend me thy glasses, That I may observe thy being. Thy skull reminds me of an ass's. Void of sense save that of seeing. Thy speech resembles Darwin's monkey; Thy intellect is dwarfed beside. I must place thee, gentle donkey, Below the ape, whate'er betide. I doubted Darwin's dogma nearly, But now 'tis demonstrated clearlv. SONXETS. 233 TO . Last uiglit we dwelt in Paradise, Yet eat not of forbidden fruit; Within its gates, beneath its skies, We saw no Belzebub astute. Why are we banished then, to-night? Why is, an edged sword at the gate ? Our Paradise was our delight; The two-edged sword just now is Fate; Our arms were the confining walls. But now they cannot stretch the mile That 'twixt our daytime exile falls. So we lose Eden for a while. But before another week 's attained. We will see this "Paradise Regained!" A MISTAKE. Dark, sullen clouds o'erhung the fields, Like the grim funeral pall that 's spread When Death's chill frost the blood congeals; But what cared I ? Within the shed. Hidden behind the market cart, I waited for sweet Clara Belle. She came, I heard her beating heart 'Fore on my ears her footsteps fell. " Sweet Belle," said I, " I'm glad you 're here." I hugged her; she expects as much. " Grott in Himmel ! " fell on mine ear, Ye Muses nine! The girl was Dutch! Instead of Belle, it was Wilhelm's frau, Who came out to milk the brindle cow! 16 234 The Pagan's Poems. TO JUDGE B . Who declared the Civil Right's Bill unconstitutional. The negro is a "nigger" still! So you think, Judge. Well, this is sad! lio! Sambo can no longer fill The white man's place. He smells too bad. Does he? Have you forgot his vote? Have you forgot the winning way He has? And how a dollar note Gets him down fine on 'lection day? Reverse your ]udgment_, or go west; Flee from the nigger wrath to come! The "coon" has donned his fighting vest; Hark! hear the banjo's trum. He tries his "razzer" on his thumb. He has the power to drive you to — well. If you doubt his strength., just take a smell ! ^ulu ^emhlet A EOMANCE IN EHYME. FOUNDED ON SOME OP THE FACTS OF TO-DAY AND THE FICTION OF TO-MOKROW. AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO MISS LULU GRACE KEPFORD A LADY OF THE MOST EXQUISITE CHAEACTEE, AMIABLE DISPOSITION AliTD REFUSED SENSIBILITY. WHOSE LOVE IS THE STAR THAT LEADETH ON TO HIGHER ASPIRATIONS AND NOBLER THINGS, THE AUTHOR LULU KEMBLE. CANTO FIRST. Nay, tell me not that henceforth our lives must severed be, Altho' stern Fate hath sent forth an immovable decree! It cannot reach beyond this to that land beyond the sea; It cannot blight the sweet bliss of an eternity! —Lulu Q. Kepford. Fast the heavy dews were falling o'er a thousand braided bowers, — Sweet the humid air was teeming with the scent of sum- mer flowers; Coy the silv'ry stars were peeping from behind the fleecy clouds, While the sad and mellow moonbeams robed the trees in snowy shrouds. In that silence born of twilight, when the last day- gleam is hid. And the weird notes of the poor-will echo those of katy- did; When Morpheus throws his mantle over half the dark- ened world. And the tired sails of human barques for sweet repose are furled, 240 The Pagan's Poems. Slowly stealing thro' tlie shadows toward a rustic ivied bower, Was a youth who seemed intent as tho' some fascinating power Dwelt within the vine-clad portal, and with sweetest siren song Charming angel, de'il, or mortal, hade him come, nor tarry long. Now he pauses in that darkness_, lit alone by glow-worms' gleam. Uttering a mystic signal not unlike a night-hawk's scream. Ere the three shrill notes are echoed, there appears, as by command, Thro' the rich green ivy cluster a small, snow-white^ jew- eled hand. Thrice it waves. The crouching figure in the shadow of the firs Joins his love within the bower and his lips have met with hers, "Now, Rob, quit your silly kissing; I can but a moment stay. For the folks may find me missing; are you really going away?" Said the maiden, coyly gazing, in the young man's sun- browned face, " Are you really going to Texas ? Is it such a jolly place?"" Lulu Kemble. 241 " Yea, Sweet Lulu, I am going, and won't be back for many years. Ob, quit crying! I was joking! Let me kiss away tbose tears. ''I of course will go to Texas; but wliat difference will tbat make? I would never make tbe venture if it were not for your sake. "I can never rise to power — never rise to wealth or fame, Here, I must remain a farmer, without knowledge, with- out name. "Lulu, let me choose the better — better for your sake and mine — For I cannot, 'will not., stifle every breath of truth divine. "Here, your father tracks and hounds me; calls me worth- less infidel, Just because I'm independent, and my honest thoughts will tell. *' He has even told you harshly you must ne'er more speak my name. Or have correspondence with me — shun me as a child of shame. "But wait, darling! Time brings changes, and let's hope our skies be fair; There are joys within the future just as well as grief and care. 242 The Pagan's Poems. " I will start southwest next Monday, and likely stop in Iowa, Schools are plenty, teachers wanted, so the Hawkeye papers say; "And last night I had a letter from my old teacher at B -, Says he 's going to give his school up and will intercede for me; " He'll resign his post on New Year, and instruct a higher- school, He has always been a true friend, doubtless learned the " golden rule." " He said this would be an opening if I ever wished to* teach, And as it is in his power he will place it in my reach. "Don't you think our sky looks brighter? " and the young man laughed aloud As he finished his preamble. O'er the girl's face passed a cloud. "Rob, dear," said she, gazing sadly in the young man's reckless face, Altho' the thought of parting left a seeming solemn trace, " You are oldest, you know better what is best for you and me. And if Fate hath so decreed it, I will bow to her decree. Lulu Kemble. 243 " And father informed me yestre'en that your visits here must cease, And if you 'd insist on coming you must pay for your caprice. " 0, Rob, dear, what is the reason that our love must be debarred ? I alone here, and you roaming, like some mortal evil- starred; "Here, with riches, I sit weeping, all my bright hopes screened in dread; Tell me not the love I bear you after parting will be dead! ^'And, Rob, tell me not that henceforth our lives must severed be, Altho' stern Fate' may have sent forth an immovable decree ; "For it cannot reach beyond this to the 'land beyond the sea;' It cannot blight the sweet bliss of an eternity! " It seems to me, thus far our lives are of Hope and Mem'ry made, Tho' the Hope is bright as morning's light. Memory hath sadness' shade; " Mem'ry is sweet to those who love when it is filled with gladness ; But, Rob, has ours been so filled? Nay, it is tinged with sadness." 244 The Pagan's Poems. ''Well, never mind," said lie, kindly, ''I am sure the time will come When I shall have power and riches and you for queen of home." ' Just then the shrubhery rustled. Lulu with start and tremble. Gasped "Pa!" In the arbor hustled her father DeWitt Kemble, "Ha, Lu, you here? cooing, billing, like a sick dove with a hawk!" Said he fiercely; then called, "Here, Ring!" Rob thus far stood like a stock. ^' Here, Ring! " once again called Kemble, as he turned with flashing eyes. Rob had reason for to tremble, for a dog of monstrous size Leaped into the arbor, eager to obey Kemble's com- mand. From Lu's bosom flashed a dagger, presto! it was in Rob's hand. Not too soon. The mastiff's eyes gleamed in his own; he felt his breath; A flash, a blow — then the blood streamed and the canine sunk in death. Speechless Kemble stood a moment at this unexpected deed, Then he hissed, " The de'il be in it, for this act your heart will bleed!" Lulu Kemble. 245 "Likely, Kemble," said Rob coldly, tben embraced the frightened girl — Kissed her cheek, then uttered boldly, " When you wish your venom hurl; "Loose on me alone the torrent; do to me, if aught ye do; Vent on me your spleen abhorrent — let me bear the cross for Lu." "Lulu," said her father, "leave us!" She left. Altho' stepping light Her heart was heavy. A greivous look crossed Kemble's yisage white. Rob turned coolly, " Grood-night, Kemble ! I alone respect your age. So I leave you, sir, to tremble in the whirlwind of your rage." Thro' the shadows he departed. To the dog the master turns ; The defeat which first had smarted, now with intense fury burns. But the leaping flame of passion dies away within his breast, And, as it is Nature's fashion, aft' the storm he seeketh rest. Sought the silence of his chamber and the softness of his bed, Where Morpheus overpowers e'en the sad that mourn their dead. 246 The Pagan's Poems. DeWitt Kemble was a farmer, ricli in most thiags of the world, The husband of a splendid wife, and the father of six girls. Madeline, a perfect coquette. Lulu, fairest of the fair, Laughing Jean, and gold -haired Chloris, modest Kate and tricky Clare. Never was a couple prouder of the lot decreed by Fate In the way of lovely daughters than this farmer and his mate. And it was their fond desire that their dears might wedded be To the scions of a kingly race, like that beyond the sea. Aye! Or they might marry a countryman if he had acres broad; At least a reverend clergyman who taught the Word of God. Now Madeline bade fair to fill her parent's fond desire, For suitors high and rich came oft to flatter and admire. But sober Lulu, loveliest maid, passed all these suitors by, And in life's commoner walks beheld the " apple of her eye." He was a strong-limbed farmer boy, with an orphan's her- itage. But, as his fellow-workers said^ " uncommon peart for his age." Lulu Kemble. 247 He liad come from an eastern city and settled in Illinois State, With the firm set resolution of becoming rich and great. He had worked on the farm for Kemble, and met his daughter Lu, And being thus thrown together, friendship to deeper love grew. They were, Sundays, constant companions from morn till dewy eve, And shortly the country people did their names together weave. But whenever the country gossip Miss Lulu's praises sung, Rob Jackson received a '' lashing " from the same dissem- bling tongue. Thus for over a year unnoticed by Kemble's jealous eyes. Our lovers dwelt in a sweeter realm than Milton's Para- dise. But alas! for them; the spoiler came, and the deputy of Fate, From affection's Eden banished them, and strove to bar the gate. But you 've heard " love laughs at locksmiths," well, this was our lovers' case, And for this reason they were found in their midnight trysting place. 248 The Pagan's Poems. He saw in the lovely Lulu the incarnation of good; She saw a bold young cavalier in him who before her stood. Foremost among Lulu's suitors bold, who sought her heart and hand, Was one who had Apollo's face, and the wit of Talley- rand. He was young, wealthy, and gallant_, owning acres stretch- ing far; Lulu's father from his heart wished she would marry Brace Lamar. But fair Lulu looked upon him only as her father's friend, And accepted, with reluctance, the nice gifts he chose to send. For her father had commanded that his proffered flowers and books Should at all times be accepted with kind thanks and lov- ing looks. Brace Lamar, howe'er, regarded Jackson with no kindly eye. For Jackson, in a rustic brawl, once had smote him hip and thigh. And when Lu, tho' loving peace, had learned the causes of the fight. Brace received the consolation that Rob Jackson served him right. , Lulu Kemble. 249 Now it liappened in the morning following the incident Which has been before narrated, Brace Lamar to Kemble's went, And pausing at the mansion door, overheard with much delight, Kemble to his wife recounting the affair of yesternight. ^'So, Rob Jackson's going to Texas," Lamar chuckled to himself; " He will go and win himself a name, and likely worldly pelf. "Well, my best wishes go with him," giving his moustache a twirl, "But, egad! I'll play my cards fine^ and confiscate the girl. " I know Jackson has the Yankee grit to be a man of brains. And he who crosses swords with him must suffer for his. pains. • " But Brace Lamar, egad, has money, and money has the power To defy this subtle Yankee, and pluck his prairie flower.""" While Lamar was thus soliloquizing. Lulu ope'd the door,, And seeing who the caller was, cast her eyes upon the floor. And coolly bade him enter in, and remove his coat and hat. With a half-forced laugh he seized her hand and pointed to the mat: 17 250 The Pagan's Poems. "There's Welcome on the mat," said he, "cannot you bid me the same? " "Oh! I suppose so," said she frigidly, "because your name "Is papa's by- word, and I believe he 'd by it swear; Just step into the parlor, sir, you '11 find my papa there." " No, thanks," said he, " I merely called a few words to speak to you; There will be a fishing party next Thursday at the slough, "And I should be immensely pleased to have your company; That, Miss Kemble, is my business here, will you accom- p ny me r " Oh, I suppose so; many thanks, sir, for your remembrance kind; If you please to call on Thursday morning, me you '11 ready find. " Yes, the morning is delightful ! would be pleased to have you stay; Oh no! I shall not insist as you have other work. Grood day!" As he turned away she could not help but curl her lip in scorn. And sneeringly say: "My escapade he surely heard this morn. Lulu Kemble. 251 " But what care I for Brace Lamar, his houses, servants, or land? There's one I love — my Jackson true! he has my heart and hand! " And e'en tho' it should break proud hearts, I '11 ne'er turn him away; Go, thrushes dear, sing in his ear, and sing what you've heard me say! " CANTO SECOND. But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom has tied. Or like tlie snow falls on the river, A moment white, then melts forever; Or like the rainbow's lovely form, Evanishiug amid the storm. — Burns. 'Twas to sluggish Illinois banks the fishing party drew, Where the placid shaded waters bore the name of " Ha- ven's Slough." ^&^ Here the lassies spread the table-cloth while laddies cast the line Beside a crystal, bubbling spring, sweeter far than Tokay wine. In a pretty skiff, the "Fairy Shell," sat Jackson and Lamar - — Bob was trolling. Brace was rowing^ anon smoking a ciarar. Brace Lamar had met with Jackson as from Kemble's he went home. And kindly told him of the party, inviting him to come. Lulu Kemble. 253 " For Miss Lulu Avill be present," said Brace with a savage smile. "Now come, Jackson, she'll expect you!" with a laugh he crossed the stile. So to-day they fished together. Brace seeming uncommon kind; K-ob, with honest friendship, thinking not of schemes that lay behind. "Rob, old boy," said Lamar kindly, "the}^ tell me you're going west; I hate to see you go away, but you know your business best. " What do you intend to follow? " "Follow? why I don't know yet," Said Jackson. " I suppose the first and best thing I can get." " How would ranching strike your fancy? I've an interest in a herd Feeding now in southwest Texas; if 'twould suit you, say the word, " For to-night I '11 make arrangements^ and to-morrow we • will leave/' Said Brace; Jackson turned his face, and Lamar chuckled in his sleeve. Brace continued: " You and Lulu stay to-night with Jean and I; Stay at Grray's till dark, that Kemble may not see you passing by. 254 The Pagan's Poems. " I '11 tell Kemble, Jean, my cousin^ wanted Lu to stay all night; He, of course^, will not suspicion, and we '11 get this thing all right." " You 're a daisy, Brace, old fellow/' and Rob, choking, gave his hand. Then reeled his line, for the ^' Fairy Shell " had kissed the marge's sand, Where lovely Lu, with roguish glance, stood waiting with a stick, " Oh, you awful boys," said she, ''now wash, and come to dinner quick!" Soon seated by the table, spread upon the velvet grasses, Were half a score of jolly boys, and just as many lasses. Now, of all griefs that overwhelm us, what is there that can steal -Them in a more seductive way than a jolly woodland meal. You may talk about your lovely girls, with bonny hair and eyes. With cherry lips as pure and sweet as the fruits of Para- dise; You may talk of queens and houris, but we '11 take for woe and weal. That, lovely girl, that spotless pearl, that can cook a good square meal. Lulu Kemble. 255 Loving ladies, gentle reac'c", is your poet's grandest fault, For we believe with Voll^dro,* that of this life they are the salt. The soft embrace, the sweeter kiss, is heaven for the sin- ners ; We 'd leave our book to kiss the cook, but hardly leave our dinners. In accordance with the subtle scheme which cunning Brace had laid, Rob accompanied home the Misses Grray, and until twi- light stayed. And just as the distant city clock was striking the hour of eight, He kissed the cheek of his charming Lu within the schemer's gate. Ah! how splendidly he passed the night with Lulu, Brace^ and Jean, Till the rosy streaks of sunny light athwart the east were seen. For once, thief-like, he loved the night, and dreaded re- turning day. Which would banish him from her he loved, who knew but what for aye! On the morrow when Ormuzd came forth^ the victor of the fight, And closed again the glassy slopes with his glimmerings of light; * Women are not only men's repose, but his joy — the salt of his \Me.— Voltaire. 256 The Pagan's Poems. When the skylark joyously arose above the meadows fair, And ladened with carols soft and sweet the half-enchanted air; When the dewdrop on the daisy's* breast shrank from the sun away, And the robin sang, exultingly, its tender matin lay; When the maple's coat was crimsoning before the autumn breeze — (How few have thought of lessons taught b}^ these mute, these tongueless trees.) ( There 's pathos deeper in fading leaves than human lips can speak, It touches the heart and brings a tear to glisten on the cheek; It says: "You who now are beautiful must wither and fade away; Must turn to mold on the bosom cold of clammy, dream- less clay.") On the morrow, mystic morrow, ere the shadows eastward fell; Ere the noonday air resounded with the soulful dinner bell; Brace and Jackson parted company with fair Jean and lovely Lu, Loving forms from loving eyes were soon in distance lost to view. '■' Michaelmas daisy. Lulu Kemble. 257 Soon tlie iron horse, with shriek and snort, was rushing o'er the plain, Bearing many a heart that beat with joy, a few bursting with pain. Aye! one of each class together sat within the self-same car, We recognize them — moody Jackson and talkative Lamar. Now the train is gliding rapidly along the river's brink, Keeping time in tiresome rhyme, klinkity klink, klinkity Mink! Shaking, quaking, music-making, high and low, ebb and flow, Friends leave taking, fond hearts breaking, singing low its joy or woe. O'er the prairie like a fairy, gleam and glide from side to side, Rocking sadly, screaming madly, man hath vied its vain- less pride! Lo! still it speeds^ this steed of steeds, over meads and through ravineS; Steaming, gleaming, hissing, flying, meter-changing with the scenes. Often stopping, loading, dropping here and there a burden fair^ Here a mother, there a brother, sister, father, wedded pair. 258 The Pagan's Poems. * Yerdant grangers, gamblers^ rangers, common thieves and congressmen. Every nation, every '"station, verges in our traveler's ken. But on looking out tlie window, grander panoramas sweep. To the right hand speeds the river^ purling, whirling, eddied deep. Here and there the margins overhung with a myriad o£ flowering vines, Underneath sit patient anglers watching carefully their lines. And anon white sandy beaches strewn with shells and drifted wood_, Stretch beside us. Here are ruins where a fisher's cottage stood. In a mighty drift lodged near it are the fragments of a. skiff. Just behind it, like a giant i^owning," stands a rocky cliff. On the left hand stretch out fertile fields of yellow ripen- ing corn, Or sprouting wheat^ dotted with stacks, for Cornucopia's horn Has showered upon the husbandman the blessings it doth hold, And lined his honest, worthy palm with glittering, shin- ing gold. Lulu Kemble. 259 Here tliey pass a country sclioolliouse snug ensconced be- neath the hill, Near it, sparkling in the sunlight, gleams a tiny, rippling rill; Barefoot boys with upturned trousers wade it, playing boyish pranks; Tender buds, to bloom as women, loiter on its em'rald banks. 'Neath the oak-tree on the playground two urchins engage in fight. Other boys rush from all quarters to observe the novel siffht. But the steel steed finds no interest in tarrying awhile, And, ere the teacher parts the boys, they have won an- other mile. Now they pass a cemetery with its solemn,, sombre spell, Its resting palaces of those ones that once were loved so well; Its marble pillars and granite shafts rise regal, serene, lone, Bearing the names of voiceless dust graved upon its sculptured stone. We have left the river country and now ragged hills appear; Night on noiseless wings approaches and the pale moon rises clear. 260 The Pagan's Poems. Brace, contented, woos tlie goddess from her lord, Mor- pheus' arms ; Rob sits thinking of his future and of Lulu Kemble's charms. Hark! A dreadful crash! A woman's shriek pierces the evening air, It fell upon Rob Jackson's ear like the keynote of des- pair; The engine whistled fiercely, the sleeping passengers awoke. The train slacked up — once again a woman's scream the silence broke. Rob was first to reach the spot from whence the cry of anguish pealed. He saw a sight which for a moment almost his blood congealed: Before him in a mass confused, lay a man, two girls, a team, The wagon smashed in countless pieces, then rent another scream. Quick he stooped and raised the fragile form from which escaped the cries, Lamar came up and curtly said, "Grad! a nymph from Paradise!" Then turned, and with other passengers helped to clear the wreck away. While Jackson, upon his overcoat the swooning girl did Lulu Kemble. 261 Then rushing to a neighboring brook dipped water in his felt, And hurrying back sprinkled her face, then down beside her knelt, Chafing her hands, her wrists, her brow, with a strange anxiety. Until the feverish flush of life upon her face saw he. There she lay, coming again to life, her bosom heaving slow^ Decked with satin and orange blossoms, white as the driven snow, More like a princess lying in state under that spreading tree Than the bride's maid of an hour ago, as Rob found her to be. She ope'd her eyes, gazed upon Rob with a wild and frightened stare, With a tiny white hand pushed she back her golden, glossy hair. "Where am I?" said she, with trembling voice, a voice as low and sweet As Lulu Kemble's. "Why am I here? Please help me to my feet." "Lie still," said Rob, "you're hurt^ I fear; your team was struck by the train. The wagon smashed, the horses killed, and you thrown out. Have you pain ? " 262 The Pagan's Poems. Said he, as she strove to rise but with a groan sank back again, •'Oh, no!" said she, but they're dead., my cousin Bess and Harmon Lane." Jackson, turning, saw them lying on the soft grass calm and white, Silent, still as fallen statues in the soft, serene moon- light. Standing by them were the passengers that took them from the wreck; Brace Lamar came quickly forward in reply to Jackson's beck. The girl, fainting at this moment, did not hear the words of dread That came in answer to Rob's query, "Yes," said Brace, '''they are dead! "That young Grerman fellow yonder_, walking in the forest glade, Is their neighbor; he is going to their home for other aid." When the faintness again vanished the girl ope'd her azure eyes. And to Jackson's several questions with alacrity replies: *^ They're my cousins; they were married only one short hour ago, I was bride's maid; we were going home — the rest — Oh, God! — you know. Lulu Kemble. 263 " With my cousin I've been staying on a visit here since spring- In North Iowa is my home, and my name is Eliese King." At that moment scores of neighbors came in wagons to the scene, And with tender hands they lifted np the corpses from the green; And upon a leafy litter, made of plaited hickory boughs, They bore Miss King with all tenderness that sympathy allows. As Jackson, apart, was looking after the retreating band, He saw, above the litter, waving adieu, her tiny hand. The engine whistled, each passenger again resumed his seat. Once again the noisy steed resumed his grand progressions fleet. Brace Lamar soon entered dreamland; Jackson^ smoking his cigar Sat"in meditation silent, gazing on the Northern Star. On the star discerning fancy saw two faces blending tremble — Gold hair, blue eyes — brown hair, blue eyes — Eliese King and Lulu Kemble. But fair Lulu's shineth longer, tho' Eliese's Grerman face. Rudely banished from his day-dreams, in his night-dreams finds a place. 264 The Pagan's Poems. "She's as beautiful," said Brace Lamar, on the ensuing morn, "As Lulu Kemble, whom I thought the loveliest ever born." "Her form is among the loveliest that ever swept my view," Said Jackson, " but I rather think the princess of all is Lu! "But yet — Hang sweet Eliese's face! I 'most felt Cupid's dart. For when she waved a parting hand it touched the cords of my heart." CANTO THIRD. Learn wisdom then. The frequent feast avoid, for there, with stealthy tread, Temptation walks, to lure you on till death at last the banquet spread. And shun, oh, shun, the enchanted cup, though now the draught like joy appears, Ere long it will be fanned by sighs, and sadly mixed by blood and tears. — Anon. In due time our brawny worthies readied the Pecos' sunny- slopes, Where they halted, each indulging in his respective hopes. Brace Lamar's: that some years' absence would, no doubt^ change Lulu's love. Rob's: that Fate might on him smile, enabling him his vows to prove. Far as the eye could penetrate east, slick-sided cattle fed, On the west a snow-capped mountain above its fellows raised its head. Near, the purling Pecos, freighted here and there with birch canoe. Reflects back a fishing red man of a deeper copper hue. 18 266 The Pagan's Poems. Swarthy rustlers, mustang-mounted, issue from the chap- par el. From the forest, close behind them, comes the cow-boys' lusty yell. One glance backward cast the rustlers, then the blood- dyed spurs sink deep, And their jaded steeds rush by us as the pent tide's loos- ened sweep. Close upon them, like grim death, the wild pursuing herd- ers press; Turn our steeds and let us follow till we find them in du- ress. The game's afoot! 'Tis human game, and human blood must pay These heartless hunters for their chasing — here "moun- tain laws " hold sway. Nearer, nearer, gain we on them^ how the warm winds fan our cheeks! Fierce, exultant, yells the cow-boy; not a word the rustler speaks. Above the din and tumult we hear a carbine's spiteful crack. And the hindmost rustler's mustang falters, falling in his track. In a moment, ere the fallen rogue can draw a second breathy We sweep o'er him, but a rancher's aim has left him cold in death. Lulu Kemble. 267 The pursued, ha! we are on tlieni, as they turn like hunted stags; Or as eagles meet the nester when he scales their native crags. 'Tis the meeting of the thunderbolt with an electric spark! 'Tis the striking of a monsoon when it overtakes the barque ! ""Tis the striking of Thor's hammer as the rocks he doth assail ! Or an avalanche's vengeance, only on a smaller scale. Farewell, rustlers! Ah, we fear, dead sirs, ye ne'er more can fare well, Ye such tragic parts can play no more in such a tragic spell. Tho' we canonize but heroes, ye the hero's courage had, More 's the pity, that such courage lived in hearts of men so bad. Now, since the excitement 's over, bearded cowboys gather near Brace and Jackson, and our worthies gaze in awe, or half in fear. • Rob, howe'er, makes explanation, and, with Brace, sighs a relief. When one, laughing, says, " Senor Lamar, I am your cow- boys' chief. 268 The Pagan's Poems. " My men and I did tliese rustlers chase from early morn till now, But we got tliem and feel well paid, they '11 steal no more, I vow.' "There, Pedro, drop that antelope! Bravo! your arm's still staunch ; Stake the plugs ; we '11 eat our dinner now, then seek affain the ranch." Riding hack close to the forest's edge, they picketed their steeds. And soon with spitted antelope satisfied their common needs. The steak, though not so nicely served as Delmonico could boast. Was, judging by the relish shown, an exceeding royal roast. Jackson feasted_, half enraptured by the wild romantic scene; A motley group, indeed, was gathered around him on the green. Near Lamar sat JuanCampana, the dashing cowboy chief; A brave rider, a dead shot, a terror to the cattle thief. Near Campana sat Gonzales, a fierce snake-eyed Creole; Near him, sprawling on the ground, lay Ivan Davilitch, a Pole. Lulu Kemble. 269 Close by Rob sat Matthew Saiif ord^ once a cashier of New York, And leaning 'gainst a mesquit tree stood Pat Finnerty, of Cork. Pedro, a greaser, two Yankees, three half-breeds, and a Scot, Finished out the band of cowboys, an interesting lot. Most all listened with indifference as Brace to Campana told Of his journey to the southwest, and its happenings man- ifold. But when Jackson from his satchel drew a flask of Bour- bon fine, And handed it to Finnerty, how their seeming dull eyes shine. O'er Pat's honest face a broad grin swept, and a twinkle 'scaped his eye. He bowed to all, then said to Bob, " Here 's looking at ye, me bhoy." What an influence hath the devil that a bottle hides; How cunningly is laid the snare where the knave of knaves abides. How jovial are the comrades when they drink of Satan's well! But look within the curb, my friend, you ''11 catch a glimpse of hell! 270 The Pagan's Poems. Thou lovely devil ! distilled sorrow, what pictures you can paint; Would that Man, with all his weakness, with you ne''er been acquaint. . Would your blighting hand had never touched the human brain divine — (Will I take something? Aye! thanks! a little syrup, please, in mine.) Thou ruby viper. Wine ! How, to their sorrow, men adore thee; How they meet Momus divine, then quarrel and jangle o'er thee! We '11 have none of thee, red demon^ with thy sly seduc- tive ways; For, altho' you please men's palates, you have held them down i^Aree days. When again the cowboys mounted to pursue their home- ward way, "Patrick," said the chief, Campana, "these men go with us to-day. " They can ride the rustlers^ mustangs; you may take the others back; They borrowed them at Brackettville, they belong to one- armed Jack." " Brace," said Jackson, " take my satchel^ I'll jog back with Finnerty." " You 're a gintleman," says Pat; " I 'm glad I met the likes o' ye." Lulu Kemble. 271 Turning eastward, Pat aiiu Jackson o'er the prairie dashed away, Passing by the little hollow where the slaughtered rust- lers lay. " Gobs," said Pat, "■ that divil 's living," and he whipped his pistol out; " But he '11 nivir live to crawl away while Finnerty's about." "Hold," said Jackson, "please don't shoot him; let me ask the rogue his name; For to murder him in cold blood, Pat, would be a burning shame." Rob dismounted from his horse, and to the wounded man drew near. The fellow ope'd his eyes, but showed not the slightest sign of fear. But giving Rob and Pat a look which showed hatred unto death, He gripped the handle of his bowie and drew it from its sheath. "Hold!" said Rob, "I'm not a thief, nor came I back to see you die; But saw you moving, heard you groaning, as I was riding by. "I'll assist you; is there anything that I can do for you?" " Yes," said he, '^ go away, and leave me stare, till death, •the heavens blue. 272 The Pagan's Poems. " I 'm an eagle^ let me die with my eye upon the snn; Go again with your young army, and ride down some other one ! ^' There were twelve of you, three of us; we were whipped, but what's the odds? Jesu ! I 've a wife and daughter in the ' Garden of the Gods; " "Have you any message," said Rob, "to your wife and child to send?" ■'Yes," said he, "that of the string of life at last I've reached the end. " Tell them that a cowboy shot me, you came by and saw me die; That I sleep in Pecos' valley; but, please, do not tell them tvhy. " Stranger, once I was an honest man; that was some years ago; I had a good position then, but I fell from grace, you know. "I loved whisky; curses on it! It's the keystone of all woe, It has dragged my soul from Heaven, sinking it in Hell below! "If I'd listened to my mother's voice which said to me "Beware!" I would never have fallen into temptation's snare; Lulu Kemble. 273 *'But too late! too late! my life's blood stains the withered prairie grass; Ah ! Ave can never live again the hours that by us pass ! ^'My name is Walter Somerset; I was once a county clerk In the commonwealth of Maryland, but whisky did its work. *' I fled, — my bondsman followed me, but he sleeps beneath the sods, I killed and buried him one day in the ' Garden of the Gods; "I married a ranchman's daughter then, that's twenty years ago; I tried to brace up and be a man because she loved me so. "We have one daughter, Susie, she is eighteen years old to day, — Oh, God! It would break her gentle heart to hear the words I say, "I am a wealthy ranchman; I made it robbing other men; Among the Colorado hills I've a herd would fill your ken. "I'm a King in Colorado, here; a "rustler" on the sods, Farewell to those who love and wait in the ' Garden of the Gods!' " And farewell, stranger, fare-thee-well ! we again will never meet; Do not touch me; leave me lie here with the rank grass as my sheet. 274 The Pagan's Poems. "You will tell my loved ones of me? You will keep the rest I said? You will — you will — " His breathing ceased; one gasp and he was dead! Jackson left him as he wished and silently they rode away. Finally the spell was broken by the guileless Finnerty: — "Gobs! That fellow was a bad man from the ^Grarden av the Gods,'' For his sowl, be gobs ! I b'lave ould Nick ud rather take the odds. " Now, I'll bet you forty drinks av tay that prilgrim is'nt dead; He's wounded purty bad, I'll 'low, but he has a, level head. "I happen to knoiv him; he is a King ; Barton King's his name ; He's the slickest thafe in Texas, but I understand his game. " He tuk us both fur tender-fate, and tried to work upon our hearts; ' I've seen him play his games afore; Och! he understhands his parts. " You bet yer loife he's slick, me bhoy, fer he is the fraud of frauds, Why, gobs ! me bhoy ! There not one ranche in the ' Gar- den av the Gods ! ' Lulu Kemble. 275 " Now we'll stake our nags beliind this knoll and go back there agin, I will warrant yees Bart. King's 0. K., except a little pain. " Now git down on yer hunkers, bhoy, be careful what ye do, Fer if that pilgrim gits a chance he'll let daylight shine thro' you." Rob felt skeptical. He thought the man was dead beyond all doubt. But then, thought he, this Finnerty surely knows what he's about. So he crept cautiously along beside of versatile Pat, Till Finnerty whispered in his ear, "Be gobs! an' how is that?" Rob's eye followed where Pat scarce could point for laugh- ing so. Behold ! Bolt upright sat the corpse of one short hour ago. His carbine rested on his knees; his bowie was in his hand; There he sat, indeed a hearty corpse, a rustler, a brigand. Pat drew his pistol. Rob said nothing. Then came a whip-like crack. And he who cunningly feigned dying, was dying, for a fact. 276 The Pagan's Poems. They arose; walked back behind tbe knoll and mounted once again; All night they rode, but in the morning at Bracketville drew rein. Thro'out the sultry day they slept, but when came even- ingtide And fair Luna once again looked down upon the prairies wide, When Dame Nature spread her dewy mantle, glossy, sparkling damp, They retraced the beaten trail which led toward the mountain camp. When Finnerty related their event with cunning King, The laugh it raised at Rob's expense made the sombre forests ring. Jackson noticed tho''^ when Pat declared, "Be gobs! I saled King's sight," That the snake-like eyes of the creole gleamed with a savage light. In a few days Rob on duty went, as agent for Lamar^ And when Brace bade him "Good bye!" between the pufEs of his cigar He said, " Jackson, you must watch yourself among these lances free, " For the way things now are running here, is far from pleasing me. LuLV Kemble. 277 " If you cliance to notice things are not just what they ought to be, Drive the herd to San Antonio and telephone to me. " I'll arrange it with my partners and just tell them how it stands, And at the proper time you'll have proper power in your hands. "Good-bye!" and Brace, walking off, spake to himself with silent lip, " I'll offer Rob these temptations, and the chances are he'll skip." CANTO FOURTH. Never yet Share of Truth was vainly set In the vi^orld's wide fallow; After hands shall sow the seed, After hands, from hill and dale, Reap the harvest yellow. — Whittier. "Is it but three months," said Lulu, "since my dear Rob took his leave? Let me see! 'Twas near September's end, and this is Christmas eve; " Only three months ! For goodness sake, how slowly time passes me! How happy chime those passing bells ! I wish my heart was as free. "I wonder why Rob does not answer the letter I wrote him, I've watched for an answer so long that my eyes are growing dim. "Oh! just to think he has been away for at least three full months, And during all that weary time he has written to me — once. Lulu Kemble. 279 *' I feel alarmed, indeed I do, for I heard Brace telling Pa That many guiltless men have died by the horrid ' moun- tain law,' " Surely something must be wrong, or Rob would have written ere now; He promised every week to write, and he never breaks a vow. " How happy I should be if I would receive a note to-night, More it would be of value to me than all these jewels bright. "Would I had never seen the gems — that riches had ne'er been mine; For to-night I might be happier with Rob and love divine. " For Love deeper lies than diamonds; is richer than rubies rare; Is purer far than the milky curls that bind the princess' hair. " There was never built a wall yet that true love could not surmount ; In the hardest human trials it has sprung a streaming fount. " Streams may dry, chasms may yawn, and mighty moun- tains crumble low; Death may snap the thread of Life, and stop, for aye, the wheel of woe; 280 The Pagan's Poems. " Seas may arise, turn into vapors, and witli clouds sliroud the sky; But True Love ! It is eternal ! it can never, never die ! " Whirling spheres may leave their courses, and fixed stars may die away; Father Sun may let his gentle beams on earth no longer stray; " Sister Moon may hide her lovely face, and from her orbit hie; But True Love ! It is eternal ! it can never, never die I ^'' Love is farther stretched than Orient's circumambient bar; Look ye from the farthest planet, there it shineth still afar. "Mother Earth it doth encompass like unto the milky way; It is boundless as the infinite — it will never lose its sway. " Love is stronger than the tempest when it wakes creation's sleep. Hurling on the rocks and reefs the mighty surges of the deep; "Yet is milder than sunlit morn — the opalescent skies — It has buried generations, but it never, never dies! " Life's the mightiest of sea shores that before Death's deep doth lay; Men are sands that lie upon it, they have felt Love's wielding sway; Lulu Kemble. 281 '' They have bloomed, faded and withered as a flower before the frost, 'Though they have passed away to dreamless sleep their Love was never lost; "It has broken bars of iron, it has pierced armors of steel. Performing wonders such as no human lips could e'er reveal; " It has given life, has taken life^ made equal low and high, It has proven thro' the cycles it is that which ne'er will die. " 'Tis the amaranth, ne'er dying, that perfumes the uni- verse, — 'Tis the balsam God gave unto man to mitigate his curse; '"Tis the flower that bloomed in Eden; aye! it blooms in Eden still. It has blossomed sweet for seons, and for seons ever will! "There is no earthly treasure that beyond true love can reach — There is no single religion that doth purer precepts teach. " For it teaches that those unions which are purest in this life Are those where Love divine uniteth two fond mortals — man and wife. 19 282 The Pagan's Poems. *' It has sought me in a station which, the world exalts — calls high; It has proffered me, from humbler walks, ' the apple of my eye;' " It has made me scorn those riches which give luxury and ease. It betrothed me to as manly heart as beats a manly breast. ''Yea, it tells me with its silent tongue that he will come to me And that I, as wife, shall grace his life, and with him happy be." "While Lulu was thus soliloquizing Chloris ope'd the door, Coming in as one the oil upon the troubled sea to pour. She held a letter in her hand which caused Lulu's heart to throb. For she saw by the address the epistle was from Rob. With nimble fingers and happy heart the letter she did ope, With feelings kin to a drowning man's seeing the star of hope. ' Please read the letter, love," she to the fair-haired Chloris said, Chloris, seating herself beside Lulu, Jackson's letter read: Lulu Kemble. 283 "Deaeest Lulu: Six times I've written, yet I've not heard from you — Despair has whispered in my ear, 'You have lost your lovely Lu!' "I cannot believe it! I've banished the tho't from my brain, And concluded, "tho' ye slay me, I'll love thee," and write again. " 'Tis only three days till Christmas and then I'll be leaving here For Iowa to teach Grafton's school for the ensuing year. "You see my ranching is over, as Lamar his herd has sold, I got a handsome commission — two hundred dollars in gold. *'We drove the herd to San Antone'; it was a terrible drive ; In a battle with the 'rustlers' we lost of our cowboys five; "Of our men Gonzales, a Creole, was a "rustler" on the sly, Campana tho't so and kept on him an ever watchful eye. "In our band there was an Irishman whose name was Finnerty, He was as fearless and daring as ever man could be; 284 The Pagan's Poems. "He rode a little in advance when we met the rustler pack, And Gonzales, the Creole, killed him by shooting him in the back; " Then Juan Campana, the chief, riding by the Creole's side, Planted his dirk in Gonzales' bosom — he in an instant died. " The way the battle opened 'twas diificult to understand Which was a friend or foeman, which was cowboy and which brigand. " Let the poets sing of the free and easy life in the free zone — That there is the utmost freedom tho' I willingly will own; " But where the easy part comes in to me is a mystery. Unless it be easy dying — from which I would fain be free. "Let the poets take their standing ground on Fiction's lofty mount, — Let them serve their readers nectar from Exaggeration's fount, — " Let them paint their glowing pictures in language pleas- ing and strong, — Let them come West — I'll warrant you they'll sing a different song. Lulu Kemble. 285 " There 's no poetry in being in the saddle for five days, Not a whit in sleeping there in some forty different ways. " This poesy comes tumbling " down with a dull, sickening thud," When you have the clouds for cover and a mattress of the mud. "There is money to be made! Of course. But is that all of life? Nay! To me a higher calling beckons onward to the strife. " Here, man is a selfish creature, living for himself alone, But for me, of nobler vineyardsf let the gates be open thrown. "Let the civilized barbarian pursue the beaten track In search of Fortunatus'' purse till Death, only, drives him back. "My ambition seeks a higher sphere — beyond the orb of Self, And the wealth of my desires is not store-houses of pelf. " But to summits that are loftier a bright star lures me on. And beyond, methinks, that brighter realms appear to me anon. " And my hope, the hope of ages, is that I sometime may be. By some effort of my own commended to Humanity! 286 The Pagan's Poems. ^' Who is richer than the man who has the love of human kind? Who dies happier than he who leaves the world in tears behind? " What are golden harps or jeweled crowns to such a man as he Who proved himself a champion fighting for humanity? " Go with me over the world to-day and sound the hearts of men, — Read those volumes of the Silent Great that verge within your ken; " In the Vedas, Shasters, Bibles, and Al Korans you will see. They are the conquerors of the world who serve humanity! "Enough; I fear I tire you with my prosy philosophy. But ' as the hart pants for the brook,' so my heart yearn- eth to be " Back again within the garden where meanders Learning's brooks ; Back again with lovely Lolu, human beings, and my books. " By the new year I '11 be lodged at B , within Iowa's line; By the the way, B 's the burg where lives that protege of mine. " My protege^ that is the lady I wrote to you about. Who so narrowly escaped death when the train caused that sad rout. Lulu Kemble. 287 " Now, Lulu dear, please answer this, and do not tarry so long; Why did you not answer the others; has anything gone wrong? " If you knew how much of sunshine your pen throws in my lone way. You, with your accustomed charity, would write me every day. " Love to you — to friends best wishes, and defiance to my foes. As my letter is a lengthy one T feel constrained to close. "But remember, Lu, for you alone my heart shall ever throb As in the past so in the future, I remain^ yours ever — Rob." Madeline the room had entered as Chloris the letter read, When 't was finished she looked at Lulu^ and sagely shook her head: "Ah! alas for you, my lovely Lu, 'your cakes are dough,'" said she, " For Jackson will court that German girl, his protege at B . "You silly thing, to sit there crying until your eyes are red. Do you suppose a thought of you ever enters Jackson's head? The Pagan's Poems. " He 's but a man as other men, and this love of his so dear, Is like unto a magnet's power, only strong when very near. " Why he 's an unlearned boor compared to handsome Brace Lamar, And as far below him as a grain of sand 's below a star. "Brace is handsome^ rich, gallant, and good; what more could you desire? " Then spoke Lu: " The boor — the grain of sand — the one that I admire ! " And burying her face within her hands she sat as one of old. Refusing to be comforted by Chloris with hair of gold. Madeline sat down beside her^ and her arm around her threw, Saying in gentler tones, " Come, I was only joking, Lu! "Rob is good; a splendid fellow, and he may be rich some day. I 'm too sorry that Pa's violence has driven him away. " But I know he loves you. Lulu, and you in his bosom reign, And I 'm sure that in a short time he will come to you again. Lulu Kemble. 289 " Please, do n't cry, I 'm awful sorry tliat I spoke so meau to you; Come, clieer up ! for pa is coming. Let me hide your let- ter, Lu." " What 's the matter now?" said Kemble, as he sat down by the grate. Cunning Madeline adroitly did the incident relate. While she talked he gazed steadfastly at the embers in the grate; His strong frame trembled, while his face livid grew with settled hate. He looked at Lulu, then broke forth with speech and ges- ture wild: " Rather than have you marry him I would bury you, my child. " I had hoped that I could give my children luxury and rank; But alas! my hopes are shattered by a simple childish prank! *' And she whom I have cherished vdth the fondest paternal care, — Loving even more than life itself — now drives me to despair. *' Oh! must this crushing truth be seen? will this adventurer wild — This rambling, gambling libertine, be the husband of my child? 290 The Pagan's Poems. " Supreme! Oli, tell me truthfully, it is but a cursed spell! It will not be! I shall not see her marry this infidel I ^'Oh! can it be? It is fate's decree that makes me raving- wild; Oh, must I see him wedded be, and her to my sweetest child? "Mother Earth mix with my ashes; bear me to chaos again Before this cursed atheist steals the idol of my brain! " Oh ! despair let loose thy torrents ; let their eddies seethe and curl; Let them drown my broken spirit before he marries my girl. " Styx of the world, let thy stream hurl thro' the channel of my heart. Before my girl, my spotless pearl, forsakes me and dwells apart!" DeWitt Kemble bowed his head, seemingly overcome with grief. Lulu, from her breaking hearty wished death would come to her relief. With an effort she arose, and walking to her father bent, She said: "Pa, I'll never marry Rob^ except with your consent ! " CANTO FIFTH. And then I think of one who in her youthfnl beauty died, The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. In the cold moist earth we laid her when the forest cast the leaf. And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief. — Bryant. It was evening. Snow was falling in myriad fleecy flakes. In the corner Chris sat smoking, while Frau Gretchen turned the cakes. John had fed the sleek, fat horses, and was making down their bed; Fritz was milking patient Brindle in the straw-roofed cattle shed. Little Grus and sister Mina filled the great red box with wood; By the stove a red-cheeked maiden slowly doffed her cloak and hood. "Mother, let me pour the coffee," said she as she hung them up, "For I hear the boys a-coming, and they'll want a steam- ing cup." 292 The Pagan's Poems. As she spake the gate swings open and its frosty hinges twang *'Grood night! good night!" it seems calling, till it closes with a bang. Then around the supper table with its steaming viands spread, Seats the father and his children while the good wife cuts the bread. Now Eliese has poured the coffee for her father and the boys, When suddenly they hear the watchful Caesar make a noise. On the porch some one is shuffling — now he raps the panels thin. Then ope's the door and enters to the farmer's' gruff "Gomin!" To them all he is a stranger, common-sized, well-dressed and fair, With a round, smooth face so jolly, and a look devoid of care. Slowly now he doffs his beaver, a broad-rimmed one, colored gray, Saying, " Stranger, I'm a pilgrim, in the storm I've lost way;" •"I will pay you for my lodging if you '11 share your roof with me; Though not a tramp, I am tramping to my destination B ." Lulu Kemble. 293 "B ," said Chris, "Vy, yes! Here, Gretchen, took dis young man's ofergoat; Always room 'round mit my dable, und Shon's bet vill held you bote. '^Eliese, pour oud him some coffee! Grretchen, pass dose sauer-kraut ! You bet, stranger, auld Grris Koenig turns a stranger sel- dom oud. '"' Veil, vat might your name be, stranger, und vat for you go mit B^ ?'' And old Chris pushed from the table and took Mina on his knee. "My name's Jackson — Robert Jackson — and I'll teach the school at B , Finish out the term for Grafton " — "Veil," said Chris, " you do n't told me ? " Ich been glad me gif you velcome ! koom in mit der oder room Vile the vimens vash der dishes ve vill smoke. Koom, mister, koom." By the warm hearth Jackson seated; old Chris handed him a pipe, — A quaint, old-style, German heir-loom, flowered china with gilt stripe. Then a pouch of fragrant " Durham " laid he on Rob Jackson's knee, Jackson felt quite glad he'd wandered from the road that led to B . 294 The Pagan's Poems. For awhile both smoked in silence, old Chris seeming lost in thought; Rob, exploring his surroundings, wondering at his lucky lot. Now he gazed on Chris intently, thinking of his broken speech. Smiling at his nose of carmine — waist round which no arm could reach. Or he looked at little Mina as she clasped her father's hand. Or shook her golden curls again from out their velvet band. To Jackson she seemed as gentle as the flow'rs that deck the springs, So beautiful, sweet and modest — a wee cherub without wings. Chris and Grretchen, happy couple, had been married thirty years, Out of seven blooming children only two had sought their tears. Bart.., the eldest, ran away when he was seventeen years old. So Rob learned that evening when Chris his family's hist'ry told. They had never heard of him so the family mourned him lost, When Chris said " Barty a strange feeling o'er the mind of Jackson crossed, Lulu Kemble. 295 And the vision of a "rustler" who had died on Pecos' plain Like a phantom wierd, fantastic, flitted thro' his wand'ring brain. And he almost said "J^ve seen him!" but he caught his tattling tongue; Only mothers know how Rob's words would a mother's heart have wrung; And listened how blue-eyed Ludwig passed six merry sum- mers thro', But when autumn leaves were fading, with the leaves he faded too. Brawny John, a bashful fellow, had gone to the village store, Fritz, a very imp of mischief, played with August on the floor. Soon the little fellow tired and crept up the creaking stair To his bed of downy feathers and was lost in dreamland there. Now matronly Grretchen enters with her knitting in her hands; Once again the door swings open and behold! a Venus stands! Coy Eliese, the eldest daughter, with a wealth of golden hair, Cheeks that mock the summer roses, naive, eighteen, hand- some and fair, 296 The Pagan's Poems. Stood before him in the lamplight, with a pitcher in her hand, Stepped beside him blushing, smiling, set the pitcher on the stand, 'Cross the floor with step like Juno, again to the kitchen goes, And returns with empty glasses, into which the cider flows. All around they bump their glasses, drinking deep the health of Rob; To old Chris Eliese turns smiling, " Pa, does he not favor Bob?^' "Ya! he do look shust like Ing'soll, 'cept he don't vas hardly bald;" And as Fritz stepped in the kitchen, after him his father called: " Fritz, my boy, bring oop some apples, and der chug of vishky stoud, TJnd dose keards from off der mantel, we vill haf some sevend-oud." Then they gathered round the table, joining in a social game, And the German, farmer's family soon were calling Rob by name. Rob and Eliese played as partners against Fritz and jovial Chris, With as fair a partner who would not indulge in sports like this? Lulu Kemble. 297 Anon Chris would shake with laughter, that is, when he'd won the game. And his small steel-gray eyes sparkled brighter than a candle's flame. "" Hearts are trumps," Rob looks at Eliese as she coyly lifts, her cards. A dozen thoughts flit through his brain like the rhyming^ of the bards. Hearts are trumps. Aye! in life's springtime, when the buds of Friendship bloom. And the richness of their fragrance fills the heart with sweet perfume. When Love is the monarch reigning in the kingdom of the soul. And Cupid wins the younglings to his ultimate control. When it rules the throngs are silent, like the footsteps of the night. Fleeing from the sun, which rising, ushers forth the morning light. Hearts are "passed." Time "makes it Diamonds f now frosts begin to fall. And where Love divine was cherished Greed hath crept and blighted all. But its empire, too, is fleeting, for the " Club '^ — token of war — Steps into Life's strange arena, breaking down the daz- zling bars. 20 298 The Pagan's Poems. Like when " bower cards " in " euchre " oftentimes do lose the points; So the knight, with love and lucre, wars, and vultures pick his joints. 0, existence ! Why so fickle ? Janus-faced — now storm, now shade! Love, and Grreed, and War have ruled us, Death now "turns" the ruthless Spadel This sweeps all stakes. Seek no further ye that doubt a future state. Here all joy or sorrow endeth; here ends Love and Hope and Hate. Are wrongs righted? Are prayers answered? Has Sin from his covert fled? Are these dreams of our blighted? Ask not mortal — ask not dead. All these crowding, vivid fancies, came before Rob as he played. And bathed in the smiling sunshine of this petite German maid. Quite forgotten was fair Lulu as the evening passed away; Quite true Madeline's prophecy concerning his " protege." Ten o'clock. Chris rose slowly now with Mina in his arms. Pulling his chair to the snug hearth there his sleeping darling warms. LvLU Kemble. 299 Fritz draws off his boots and jacket, mut'ring " Hope the lambs won't freeze," And steals up the chilly stairway, leaving Jackson and Eliese. Staid Fran Gretchen quits her knitting, and takes Mina to her bed; John comes bursting in the kitchen with his awkward heavy tread. "Veil," said Chris, "ven you bin schleepy, you can go oop stairs mit Shon; Ve musht get oop in der mornin', deres be blenty vork to done." Jackson took this hint good natured, and bidding them all good night. He followed bashful John who walked before and carried the light. And soon with Morpheus' siren maids, who do nightly vigils keep. He sought enjoyment, dozed and awoke, sought to, but could not sleep. He heard the wind whistling through the trees, the swish of drifting snow, Then croup-like coughs of long duration from some wee thing below. Finally he thought of Mina, and arose his clothes to don, When he heard the stair door open, and the farmer call- ing " Shon!" 300 The Pagan's Poems. " Gret oop; Slion! Right avay, quick, my boy, and for der doctor gae!^' '' T 'm coming, sir! ^' said Jolm^ " coming, sir, right away/' How dreadful that command! How it makes the heart qualmy and sick, To be wakened from sweet sleep, and hear '^ Go for the doctor quick!" The doctor came and friends drew near, but Death count- ed all as naught. For croup, the infant's assassin, bore off all that love had fraught. And when morrow came it showed a form silent in Death's repose. Whose placid features rivalled the alabaster of the snows. In the room where last night Mina joined in reveling and mirth. To-day a little casket treasured her from the frozen earth. And he, who had beloved and cherished her with fond paternal care. In his bedroom, weeping like a child, was battling with despair. When 'twas eventide Chris feebly rose and came into the room, The picture of a broken heart, curtained in agony's gloom, Lulu Kemble. 301 And kneeling beside the lifeless form of her whom he loved so, His heart poured forth, in his mother tongue, the torrent of his woe: " Lift the pall ! my heart is broken 'neath an overload of grief. And my eyes receive no token that can give my soul relief. " I see the hand invisible hath touched my living flower. And, Oh, it was not loathe to cull my blossom from its bower. " Ne'er I thought Death's hand divining, as it sweeps the starry scroll. E'er could blur that diamond shining as the sunlight of my soul. " As its brilliant beams inclining to my nature's darkest place. Was its roughness e'er refining, blotting out each evil trace! ■St "Leave me, friends! Oh, Mina, lieben! must my heart drink of this woe? Has the day-star of my' heaven lost for aye its God-like glow? " Will its brightness, ever cheering, shed no more its beams for me ? Burn no more with flame enduring unless in Eternity? 302 The Pagan's Poems. "Will the Unknown grant me — can Fate grant me — Death, a joyful boon? Bid me! I await Thy mandate: ' Gro before the great Triune.' " Go before the Triune clasping my beloved Mina's hand, And feel her warm fingers clasping mine. Can Thou me thus command? "Yesternight, I sat so joyful with my darling on my knee, But to-night, 0, stars of heaven! that look coldly down on me, " Canst thou, in thy orbits endless, light the pathway where her soul Journeys guideless, fruitless, friendless, from my broken heart's control? "Tell me! are thy rays attending her sweet soul beyond the gloom? Do thy heaven-lit fires, descending, guide her to a dearer home? " O'er my heart wan Fear is quaking ! What is life or love to me? Life is but the sad waves breaking — melting in eternity I ^'' Love has left my heart repining, yearning for a golden Thro 't the soul waiteth refining ere flies to realms of joy! Lulu Kemble. 303 "" Thou wert Love ! Oh, Mina, liebeii ! and they tell me thou art dead! Why was Love e'er to me given? or, since given, why has 'tiled? "Some have said, 'Love is eternal,' that 'it never, never dies ! ' But alas! I see diurnal some one's Love o'er Lethe hies! "If Love had eternal being; if its blossoms never die. Why is it that friends constrain me, to give Mina, ' Love, Good-bye ? ' "Mina! Mina! Love is strong^ but it soon away must hie, And the loving face which beamed for me must leave my ken for aye! " But, if Immortality is true, I'll meet thee when I die; Good-bye I prison of the soul I loved! Oh, Mina, love! Good-bye ! " Strong men with sympathizing hearts, cheering him, led him away. Sitting on the bed by Rob, he sobbed, " Vill you bleese mit me sthay? " Then drew something from his bosom and laid it in Jack- son's hand. With convulsive sob he said, "Dot ish lieben Mina's pand!" 304 The Pagan's Poems. 'Twas the velvet zone from which her curls last night she'd shaken free, Laughing with childish joy while sitting on her father's knee. Rob could scarce restrain the tears aroused by Chris's stifled sigh And words of sorrow, " I dinks she vas too beautiful to die!" "Say, Mishter Rob! Vill you blease do dis — ve don't vas Grristians here — But vill you not spoke somedings, pleace, nice aboud mine Minadear?" " I will do the best I can," said Rob, " since we hold kindred views, But even tho' we differed widely, I could not your wish refuse." CANTO SIXTH. The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music and the voices of the young; And life shall pass me in its mantling blush, And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung. But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shall come To meet me. — Willis. When morning came, a bleak, cold day, to the churchyard thro' the snow, Drew a funeral train, with faces depicted deep with woe. Little Mina was a favorite at every neighbor's hearth, And to-day they came to pay to her the last homage on earth. When they reached the little chapel, white among the evergreens. Middle-aged, gray-haired, and feeble, lads and lassies in their teens Sadly drew within and listened to the words which Jack- son said. As with voice choked with emotion he paid tribute to the dead: 306 The Pagan's Poems. "My Friends: 'Tis not our place to upbraid inviolable laws, And unknown to us are the secrets connected with, this cause. "We cannot fathom the infinite; before Death we stand dumb; Tho' we know Death's angel hovers near, we know not when he'll come; " For over the couch of Love he hovers with his tireless wings — Into the sweetest blossoms of life he sinks the deadliest stings; " He breaketh often the golden bowl, the silver cord as well. And fathoms that Love which deeper is than human tongue can tell. " Altho' we speak of Death, my friends, yet how little do we know The mysteries which enshroud it are far deeper than our woe? "Within its labyrinth we lose again and again our way, For beyond the ken of mortal eyes eternal laws hold sway. " She who lies here in Death's embrace was sweeter than the flowers. For she was of that fragile race that decks this life of ours. Lulu Kemble. 307 "Her wishes were her parent's wills; lier actions their desires ; Her eyes, which looked but to obey, glowed with eternal fires. "But alas! Those eyes which sparkled once as brightly as the sun, Are henceforth glazed f orevermore ; and unknown to this sweet one "Are they who loved her when Life kissed her, as sun- beams kissed the corn. And who now stand by with throbbing hearts this broken cord to mourn. " These marbled cheeks were ruddy once, even as a rose in bloom, But grim Death, the final arbiter, hath sealed them for the tomb. " These half-closed ivory lips did once rival the cherries, red; But the Sphinx of Death hath touched them, now, be- hold their tints have fled. "Like the sweet notes of the thrush that falls upon the traveler's ears, — Like the 'lullaby' a mother sung ago in bygone years. "Or like honey which the bees extract from sweetest buds that bloom, Was the sunny mind, the life of her, who sanctifies this tomb. 308 The Pagan's Poems. " Her form and face were beautiful, but the beautiful must die, And it seems that those which sweetest bloom, about the soonest die; " And those who appear in life to us the sum of all delight, Pass, ere their beauty 'gins to wane, unto the dreamless night ! " Those who have lighted our pathways like unto the lamp of life. Who loved and cheered us on to loving sacrifice and strife. " Those who glittered as a star benign, as sunlight to the soul, Like the shooting of a comet, passed from us beyond con- trol! " Eestrain yourselves, sweet friends, for we at last with all love must part, — There's yet much in life to stem the Alpine torrents of the heart. t "While one blossom fades another springs, blooming sur- passing sweet! Altho' Mina's lips be silent, other's songs your ears will greet. *'I only knew this fragile lily but for a few short hours. But then I recognized in it the sweetest of all Love's flowers ! Lulu Kemble. 309 " And I can most truthfully reiterate her father's sigh — His words of sorrow — ' I thought she was too beautiful to die.' " I know how vain it is for us to offer our sympathy; It cannot assuage the grief of those who weep so bitterly. " But, sweet mourners, if a solace doth in human hearts accrue, All we have flows from our bosoms unstemmed, boundless, unto you! " Cease thy moaning. Little Mina has not lived her life in vain. Death to you is lenient still, although it broke Affection's chain; " But the sunlight of sweet Mina's life remains to you — a trust ! Becalm! Cheer up! Hear the edict: '.E'ar^/i to ear^/i, a^?6? dust to dust! ' Soon Mina, who had lived and loved, was laid in earth away From lips which kissed, from hearts which cherished, and would cherish her for aye ! And they who had wept briny torrents upon her icy tomb, Listened to the consolation Rob extended them at*home. " Bear up," said he, " the wealth of worlds could never lure her back! She can never hear these breaking sobs, these moans, .'Alas!' 'Alack!' 810 The Pagan's Poems. '^ I know 't is hard, but do not weep ! she, whom memory- endears, Altho' torn from life and love, she's also freed from pains and tears! " *'You bin such a vrend of mine," said Chris, "I nefer vill forget ; I expose you dont vos got some boarding blase to stop mit yet; *' Of you dinks, mine vrend, mit in mine house you could yourself content, I would like for you to stay, und it vould gost you not one cent!" " Thanks, a thousand," said Rob Jackson, " I would so much like to stay, But I never once could think of it, unless you will take pay." Old Chris seized his hand with honest warmth, his broad face beaming bright, ^' You vill stay mit me, mine vrend, und ve vill make dose dings all right." All the week there reigned within that house a silence deep, profound; For they who lodged within were by a mutual sorrow bound. They could not enjoy mirthfulness, nor could they forbear the spell; They could only miss that sunny face that all had loved so well. Lulu Kemble. 311 On the following Monday morning Rob opened tlie vil- lage school, With some thirty little martyrs of the birch and rattan rule. On Friday to the Literary Society he went, And carried off the honors for logic, wit and argument. How he enjoyed the freedom this new professian offered him ! What splendid opportunities to now cultivate his whim. His whim — his hope — that high ambition — to be a man of brains ! An educated giant, free from poverty's galling chains. For Jackson believed that the wise crow, Bushanda, truth did tell; That crow which had viewed the universe, and knew all things so well! It told Yishnu's eagle bearer that thro' many pains we live. But it has been left for Poverty the keenest pangs to give. Truthful crow, thought Rob one day^ there is no pang like poverty! (Truthful crow, we poets think, who seldom do a dollar see.) " Truthful crow," said Rob, " to-day I will a lesson learn from theC; And will henceforth build to save my Lu from want, from poverty! " 312 The Pagan's Poems. In the evening John a letter brought, and handed it to Rob, As his eye ran over the address he felt his pulses throb; And turning so the inquisitive might not his features view, He opened and read the letter — of course from lovely Lu. ^'' My dear Bob : — Your welcome letter came to hand on Christmas eve; Of the six which you have written, only two did I receive. "I believe you've written the letters of which you've just told me. But that only ttvo have reached me is to me a mystery. " Oh, Rob dear, my heart is broken! I must lose thee, lover true! I must lose thee^ Rob, my darling! but my heart remains with you! " Do not chide me. Could you know it all, I think you would forgive; But the fiat has gone forth, and we apart, my king, must live ! "Pa and ma will never yield, for they grow sterner every day; Rather than have me marry you they would bury me, they say! Lulu Kemble. 313. "0, liow can I disobey them, and deny their tears and prayers ? Oh, my love ! my heart is yours, but my 'obedience is theirs ! " Do not say I do not love you, for I love you more than life. And the dearest hope I cherish is, that I may be your wife. " But it seems the vovrs I made I shall be unable to prove, For my parents, you know, Rob, loved me when no one one else would love. "Madeline your letter read to pa; it almost broke his heart; He prayed that grief might slay him ere I should dwell from him apart. '^ I promised him — a promise that would alone his heart content — That I would never marry you Rob, except with his con- sent ! "How can I give you up? Oh, God! the struggle is hard, my king! The arrow of love has been to us naugKt but a poisoned thing. "It has poisoned both our lives, our hopes, our aspirations high; Would to Grod that we had never met, or that we now might die! 21 314 The Pagan's Poems. " But piercing these sombre clouds wliicli drift between us as a dream^ Like a struggling ray of ligbt, Hope sends to me a tran- sient gleam. " And tlie barriers between us, wliich now tower to the blue, Have a tendency to totter — they can he removed hy you ! *' You value independence, Rob, but I think there are ex- tremes, And that you have adopted them, so, at least, to me it seems. " Be a little more forgiving, and less independent, too, For truly they form the barriers which stand between us two. " You Ve never tried to please my folks, wonder not then at this state; Your denial of their wishes but intensifies their hate. " But; Rob, I feel that pa's consent can he sometime loon hy you ! Strive to win it., Rob, and leave me not your broken-hearted Lu." Sweet Eliese, who ever kept on gallant Rob her lovely eyes. Read the language of his thoughts, their mingled sadness and surprise. Lulu Kemble. 315 After lie had sat some time without giving word or sign^ Rose, and going to the table poured for him a glass of wine. *'You are feeling bad," said she, "here, take a sip of wine, I'll take interest in your welfare, as you once took in miney '^As I once took in yours!" said Rob, gazing on her face sublime ; "Yes!" said she, "you 're not a stranger here, I kneio you all the time! " . "Thanks to memory," said Rob, "for it the past to pres- ent brings. In spite of men, or angels, or principalities, or things." " Come," and she gently touched his arm, " and a waltz for you I'll play; I have never touched the organ since you came here New Year's day." CANTO SEVENTH. The days of the nation bear no trace Of all the sunshine so far foretold; The cannon speaks in the teacher's place, The age is weary with work and gold. And high hopes wither and memories wane. But that brave faith hath not lived in vain. —Frances Brovm. Seven years have passed away since Jackson taught the school at B ; Passing through a Lone-Star city, just across the Street we see Quite an unpretentious sign, but one that will attention draw. It reads, Robert Jackson^ Attorney and Counselor at Law. In an armchair by the window, Vane, a law student, re- clines. With a copy of Coke's Institutes, poring o'er its lines. So busy he scarce notices the man who opes the door, Until he again has closed it and walked half-way 'cross. the floor. Lulu Kemble. 317 "Good-day, sir! a pleasant day, sir," said he, with a vacant stare ; Youthful Blackstone raised his eyes and answered, rising from his chair, " Very pleasant, yes. Be seated^ pray. Jackson will soon be back_, For I saw him but a moment since cross o'er the railroad track. " He is going down to Houston to call out a res:iment^ Having made a grand success of it everywhere he went. " He 's already raised three regiments, and this will be the fourth ; He 's the finest orator that ever came here from the North!" That moment , a small negro boy entered, saying " M'arsa Vane! Mars' Jackson done gone dis minute to Houston on de train, " An' he say dat I shall tell yer for to kim down dar to- night, Fer der telefun chaps say dar's gwine to be a nawful fite! " De British hab got Galves'un ! Heah's de lates' papah, sah! Gosh ! Mar'sa Vane, Mar'sa Jackson he hab done gone to de wah!" 318 The Pagan's Poems. " We'll see, Cuffee. Order supper. You may go along to- night," Said Vane, as Cuffee rolled his bright eyes with evident light. 'Twas the year John Bull against United States did war declare, The result of correspondence on the Panama affair. When the North and South, united, felt patriotism's glow, And sustained the troth we plighted as the " doctrine of Monroe." As the Panama canal was the centre of the affair, John Bull, with his usual shrewdness, massed his well- manned frigates there. No sooner had war been declared than he swept within our ports And, as well might be supposed, reduced our few remain- ing forts. But when he landed and endeavored the country to in- vade. He encountered foemen that were truly worthy of his blade. It was at this needful moment that Rob Jackson's elo- quence Touched the fagot to the slumbering flame and raised four regiments. Lulu Kemble. 319 (But let ITS drop this history and return to our romance; If youVe never seen this epoch yet perhaps you'll have the chance. When Democracy resumes sway, just as sure as currents flow, Foreign potentates will recognize the " Doctrine of Mon- roe!") After Cuffee withdrew, the stranger began to question Vane, Giving him the vague impression he desired hist'ry plain; That if he wanted biography of all beneath the sun. And stern Fate would grant him one alone, Roh Jackson's tvas the one! ^'Did you know him?" questioned Vane. "Yes," said the stranger, "years ago. But I lost all sight of him and have forgotten him, you know," "Are you kin to him?" Vane queried^ and the stranger made reply, "Not exactly; but I might have been if — well no matter why!" "Well," said Vane, "Til tell you all I know: I've known Rob now six years, Ever since he came to study law with Greneral Villiers; 320 The Pagan's Poems. "He studied eighteen months and was admitted to the bar; His ability in law affairs is now known near and far. "He is now Attorney General^ and was State Senator^ But he's going to resign the place to take part in the war. " And at Houston he will make a plea for volunteers to- night. If he's in war as in other things, he'll be the de'il to fight. ^' If he'd been but two months older he'd be gov'ner of the State, He received the nomination, but you see he's too blamed straight, " For he rose before that convention — I tell you he's the stuff — And thanked them for the honor, saying, 'J am not old enough ! ' " Some tho't it was his modesty and that he would keep it still, But altho' he has a woman's heart he has a lion's will. " And when they found he'd told the truth, Old Villiers said, ' Well, I'm blowed, 'E might 'ave kept that to 'imself, nobody would 'ave knowed!'" Lulu Kemble. 321 Said the stranger, "If he makes a call for volunteers to- night, I should like to go down there with you if it will be all right." "Why, certainly!" replied Yane, "I'd like to have you go with me; As an old acquaintance I know Rob would you so like to see." " I suppose an introduction will be necessary quite," Said the stranger^ " my name's Kemble." Vane observed him turning white. "But I think Jackson will know me tho' 'tis years since we met last, Tho' my knowledge of him tells me that he ne'er forgets the past." "Kemble?" mused Vane to himself, "I think I've heard that name before; Let me see — I found a picture once upon the office floor. " It was the picture of a girl with features austere and calm. And as Rob took it from me he said, 'She made me ivhat I am!'' "I think he called her Lulu Kemble; I don't remember tho'; But I know she was as beautiful as the Northern lilies grow. 322 The Pagan's Poems. "But as to tliat — no matter; I'll find out wlio this chap is, And more about that picture^ when Jackson spots this fellow's phiz." Thej; with Cuffee, ate their suppers and boarded then the Houston train; As they neared the city they could hear the martial music's strain. When they reached it flags were flying, drums were beat- ing in the square^ And the chivalry of Houston was fastly gathering there. On the left side was a platform raised some feet above the walk, And around this people gathered to hear Rob Jackson talk. As he stepped forth hushed silence fell and not the slight est noise was heard, Till he broke the painful silence with his customary word: " Freemen ! Let me a few words say ! You must know the time has come When we who live and love must fight for our country and our home. '"Twas wisely said, 'there's a time to sing, to dance, to pray, to smite ! ' We've sung our songs, we danced, we prayed, now comes the time to fight ! Lulu Kemble. 323. '' Or will ye tamely yield? No! My better judgment tells me No ! Then forward_, Sons of Freedom, and by morn well meet the foe! " Johnny Bull may enslave sepoys, naked rhyots, pariahs, But he never can a nation ruled by democratic laws. " I'd rather take my chance with Death than with a cursed King ! I'd rather spill my free-born blood, and have my knell to ring, " Than to bow my neck to tyranny and have it rule this land. And know that I against it have not even raised a hand 1 '■ What is life or love to him who has no country of his own? Has not Heaven itself lost prestige by boasting of its throne ? "Rather than a British monarch give us the regime of Hell; Democracy was born in us, with it only can we dwell ! " The volume of British conquests is a history of shame ! Her spoilations of the conquered are too infamous to name, " She 's placed in almost every province a Hastings or a Clive! 'Twere better far to loin and die than be vanquished and alive ! 324 The Pagan's Poems. "Examples of English perfidy yet fill tlie common thought; Scarce a year ago the Irish with their blood their freedom bought; " Honest men, heroic men, that were to Ireland a pride, Strung their hearts on British sabres or in British bastiles died, " Leave humility to poets; your property to your wives; Your country lies a prey to Britons — defend it with your lives ! "For who would be a vassal, whom Nature created a peer? Who die an ignominious death who was not born to fear? "Even now, within our hearing, British troops ransack a town, Insulting beauty, plundering and burning our houses down; " They honor not age, nor virtue, and heed not the infant's cries ; Behold the blush of shame and ruin burning yon South- ern skies! "List! You can hear the sullen 'boom' of their artillery plain, — Is there a man whose heart can hear it without a pang of pain? " Is there a man so lost to honor, family, country, home. That he can coolly turn to his work while British cannon boom ? Lulu Kemble. 325 "How tliey call and call us, till the heart bursts, almost, with suspense; For we can but know against them our brethren hold the defense ! " Great hearts, high hopes and strong endeavor! your coun- try needs you now. And you the sacrifice must ofEer, tho' it be Jephtha's vow. "Parental age and loving wives, stand between you and the foe; If you love and honor them why strike, in their defense^ a blow! "If ye have neither parent or wife, your country's love attends; Greater love hath no man than he who lays down his life for friends!" He ceased. The plaudits which followed him made all the torches flare. And shook with the strength of Hercules the stillness o£ the air. And they who had listened^ obeying no word, command or sign But rolling drums and squeaking fifes, fell into battle's line. Vane and Kemble pressing through the crowd toward where they last saw Rob, Found a line of circumvallation presented by the mob. 326 The Pagan's Poems. In the midst of wliicli they saw him standing on the plat- form's plank^ The governor pinning on him the emblem of a colonel's rank. Jackson now pressed through the crowd, and it so hap- pened that he drew Toward the spot his friends had taken to obtain of him a view. As he met them he reached out his hand, with a cheery laugh to Vane, Saying: "Farewell, friend and brother, till I meet with you again. ■" You may run the office. Vane, and to the courts deal out the law. For I, as Ebony Cuff would say, ' had done and jined de wah!'" [."An' may I go wid yer," said Cuff, " Marsa Vane can tend yo' team? " "Yes," said Rob, who smiled to see the light of joy on Cuff's face beam. ""Jackson," said Vane, '^here's a friend who came to see you ere you go." Kemble dropped his eyes upon the ground, his face turned pale as snow. Jackson looked at him a moment, and then spoke and reached his hand. "I the past have buried, Kemble; let me now friendship command." Lulu Kemble. 327 *' So have I, Robert/' said Kemble, " but unworthy now I feel; I have wronged you deeply, Robert, and for pardon will I kneel!" "Egad, no!" said Rob, "that fitful dream forever has me passed. Let us part as we 've now met — friends — for this chance may be our last. "I've no desire, sir, to go to battle and there be Slain, and leave behind me in the world one single enemy. " The bugle calls! we part. But know that whate'er our path attends, Tho' we have been bitter foes for years we part to-day as friends. " But a moment, DeWitt Kemble, one request I ask of you. Where'er, whoever she is, commend me to your daughter Lu!" " My daughter Lulu," said Kemble, " pines away her sweet young life! Ah! I have rued it a thousand times that she's not Rob Jackson's wife! "I've hunted you for these three long years — hunted and prayed for you; If there be yet love in your heart, come back to my lovely Lu!" 328 The Pagan's Poems. " Kemble," said Jackson^ " true love, to me^ is that which never dies! And altho' for seven years I have not set on Lu my eyes, " Yet my love for her is still the same, eternal, strong, and true. Farewell, Kemble ! I must go. Commend me to my lovely Lu!" CANTO EIGHTH. And there was mounting In hot haste ; the steed, The mustering squadron and the clattering car, Went pouring forth with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks or war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Koused up the soldier ere the morning star ; While thronged the citizen with terror dumb. — Byron. Wlien the morning broke with mellow light, its bright, transcendent sheen, Piercing through the forest shades, beheld a fierce and warlike scene. Men of every class and calling stalked impatient here and there; Patriots fired by country-love, ambition and despair. There were men who only go to war because their neigh- bors go; There were men who feel at heart alone ambition's fervid glow; There were men — heroic men — who''d willingly lay down their lives To defend their earthly Heavens and Grods — their fire- sides and wives. 22 330 The Pagan's Poems. There were some who fell in rank as mere excitement's consequence, Or had listened, with boiling blood, to some speaker's eloquence. There were men to whom vain glory seemed the monarch of the sky^ Who'd plant a shrub in Memory's realm that should never, never die. Here a man who yesterday worked out a fine upon the street Stood beside a bank cashier beneath the orange blossoms sweet. There a gambler and a clergyman were standing side by side. Not the first time in the world's history that vice and virtue vied. Here a carrier of bricks by a Don Senor stood beside, A striking illustration of where Poverty rivals Pride. There were lovers and haters of men — of high and low degree. But the same flame lit every bosom — " Country and Lib- erty!" Country and Liberty ! Words that warmed Man's heart thro' every age. Giving the history of the world full many a glowing page; Lulu Kemble. 331 Words tliat implant the noblest thoughts — dividing the men from beasts; Words that have the kingcraft fraught, and have broken the charms of priests. Country is Liberty's dowry, and they who would win her hand Must be of the great, strong-hearted race, and make a strong demand. For Liberty is a maiden coy, who must be wooed ere won; Aye, men must go down thro' blood to death — rush on the leveled gun! They must not quail where wielded sabres are smeared with blood and hair; Fate issued a stern decree: "The brave alone deserve the fair." She seems not to care for her ownself, even if Death attends : She knows in her heart the noblest men lay down their lives for friends! These were the thoughts of those brave, strong men, who walked with anxious pace, Half wishing for the conflict when their foes they'd meet face to face. Loud the bugles ring! the war-drums roll! the fife's soft notes fall sweet, And earth trembles 'neath the ironed hoof and the tread of martial feet, 332 The Pagan's Poems. For just bursting into sight, away across tlie prairie green, The red-coated British soldiery comes bursting on the scene. The strained eyes of the militia for a moment on them dwell, Then arose, strong and lustily, a loud defiant yell. Ere it dies, the Britons' voices echo it back to the ear, Setting teeth and clinching hands, paling cheeks, tho' not with fear. There 's a momentary silence, there 's a momentary pause, Then a gunner in the Yankee ranks a tightened lock- string draws. "5oom.'" And the grim cannon belches forth the grape and canister, And the mighty moving armies into noisy conflict stir. And scenes of dire and awful carnage upon the vision break. While the very earth and heavens with the thrilling tumult quake. Darker grows the cloud of battle; louder still the clash of steel; Never do the banners falter only when the bearers reel. In the smoke and blaze the gunners stand reeking with sweat and grime. Pictures of stern sublimity — if terror can be sublime. Lulu Kemble. 333 In the solid lines the infantry, baptized in leaden rain, Charge with bayonets — fall back — load and fire — and charge again. After hours of fiercest fighting slowly back the British fell, And above the din of conflict rings the Yank's exultant yell. But suddenly the British halt and their slogan echoes back A cry that almost blanched the cheeks powder smoke had painted black. A lull ensues. Upon their ears bursts the rattle of the drum. And from the timber on the left British reinforcements come. As the surges of the ocean rush upon the rock-bound shore. They sweep down in wild confusion on Rob Jackson's motley corps. Colonel Rob is everywhere, with hand to help and voice to cheer; Where the red streams flow the fastest he is fighting without fear. Men around him wilt like prairie grass before the wasting flame. And dying, turn their eyes to him, fondly uttering his name. 334 The Pagan's Poems. He is wounded badly now, but will not leave the battle- field, '' Boys, lift me on my horse," says he, " I would rather die than yield!" S'death ! how they fought ! The British chief at last drew off his men. And vistas of the battle-field sweep before our sickened ken. Tender hands care for the wounded — tender hands bury the dead; On the graves of fallen heroes tears of sorrow deep are shed. For three days the trains run steady bearing to Houston the maimed. And the glad news of the victory thro'out the world is famed. But he whose name is spoken wherever the tidings are sent. Touches the border-land of Death within a hospital tent. There he lies listless, unconscious, his bare bosom heaving low, His face, where powder has not burned, gleaming with a hectic glow. His clothes are torn, his sabre broken, his hair matted with gore, His head, his arm, his shoulder, wrapped in the bandages of war. Lulu Kemble. 335 In the tent a quietness reigns, and as the morning twilight steals^ By the lowly couch a woman, deep veiled, watches him and kneels. Kneels beside him with her veiled face buried in her tiny hands, Ne'er noticing the surgeon till he, speaking, beside her stands, ''Ahem! The worst is over; he made a change for good last night; If we can but keep him quiet, I think he '11 pull through all right.'' As the doctor left, the woman kissed the wounded soldier's brow. And sighed, " They have parted us, my king, but I am with you now. "If Death conquers you he'll break my heart; aye, tear it from my breast, Then will we meet to never part in the kingdom of the blest. " Life is short, but Fate is kind, and Love eternal has its fruits. The citadel of joy is reached most times by devious routes. " If supreme delight should come again, what treasure could he bring, That could please me more than now to know, you '11 live for we, my king? 336 The Pagan's Poems. "Yours is tlie face which I saw last, years ago, one Sunday morn — Ah ! I must wait till quiet rest fills this form with strength new born ! " She arose and stepped without, her noble work to carry on. She was of that angel legion that in peace to war have gone. She was of that band of seraphs that have flitted to the bed Of the soldier, wan and dying' and have eased his fevered head. A month has passed, and Colonel Jackson is on his feet again. And on another field of battle is urging on his men. War again is making havoc; Death is reveling in sport; And a line of living valor closes in the Briton's fort. 'Tis a mystery that tyranny such heroes can produce; That godlike intellect and courage will pander to abuse; That man, endowed with such courage and wisdom as Britons are. Will, in defense of tyranny, throw away their lives in war. In a rude built fort such heroes stood^ facing an equal foe, Where the very air seemed blazing with battle's fiery glow; Lulu Kemble. 337 Where men lay in lieaps^ mangled and slain, with eyes forever sealed, Unconscious of the living's fate when murderous cannon pealed. But at last they died! They would not yield. Honor such bravery! Honor them! tho' they went down to death defending slavery. Honor these heroes' slayers ! They fought for Liberty and died! A thousand died! A thousand lived to maintain the na- tion's pride, 'Mong the living still was Rob, who walking o'er the bat- tle's plain, Paused before a small intrenchment where fell thickest leaden rain. As he passed, a soldier prone, seared and gashed with many a scar. Said "My God! lift me Rob Jackson. Know ye, I am Brace Lamar! " Lift me, comrade, I am dying ! Let me clasp again your hands; Thro' the gloom my soul is flying! swiftly ebbs my life- time's sands. *' Tho' my life-blood slowly trickles like the rain-drops from the eaves. Long, too long, the stream has rippled; how it stains these withered leaves. 338 The Pagan's Poems. "Comrade, if you can, forgive me for the wrongs I've heaped on you! Were another lifetime given me that I might these wrongs, undo. " My past life has been a midnight reeking foul with bitter wrong. Tell me^ will the coming daylight make my spirit bright, and strong? " Had I lived thro' Past divinely now 'fore Death I would not blench. But would meet him cool, sublimely, here within the fort-^ ress trench! " Tell me, comrade, ere I leave thee, that the past is all forgot ! That those things I did to grieve thee from thy memory's, book you'll blot! "We, in private life, were foemen, I unworthy of your your steel; Let us part as brother yeomen, we were such on battle's, field! "I am dying, Jackson, dying! You will leave me at life's end, Like Voltaire to his servant sighing: ''Farewell^ my faith- ful friend.'' " Would that I were even worthy of the sneers that Vol- taire won! I might feel that in existence I one worthy deed had done. Lulu Kemble. 339 "Let the poet say I'm dying for my country and its flag; But the truth there's no denying, what care I for yonder rag? " Five long years I loved and cherished Lulu Kemble more than life, And I left no stone unturned that might win her to me as wife. "Bu-t she loved you, Jackson, more than me, and never would consent, But you will now know how glad I was when you to Texas went. " I received the letters you wrote her, she never got but three — Oh, I have wronged you deeply, Jackson, that Lulu might love me. " I laid my plans with utmost care, I told her you had writ- ten me You were going to be married to your protege at B . " Then she wrote a long, long letter, but that letter ne'er reached you, — I knew it was this single card that would win me lovely Lu! " Then I pressed my suit again; she said that her love dwelt apart, But that I might have her hand if I 'd take it without the heart. 340 The Pagan's Poems. "I accepted the condition, and we would liave married been, But somehow her father found that I, too, was a ' child of sin.' " He heard that you were rich and great, and knew Lulu loved you still, And protested 'gainst my wishes with his usual iron will. *' He left one day, no one but Lu knew whither he had gone. And Lu sent me back one day the ring I'd placed her hand upon. ^' For her father came back and told her that he had seen you here. And then, Rob, there hied away from me all that had made life dear.* *' You were wounded in the battle, it was her that nursed you thro'. She is yours now; she is mine no more! Fareivell^ my lovely Lu ! '"''Farewell!''' The dying lips were silent, the breath came hard and fast. And like a tired sphere unmounted, he to the Unknown passed. Then a hand as soft as eider-down on Jackson's shoulder fell, And he, turning, saw the nurse who had attended him till well. Lulu Kemble. 341 For the first time from lier hidden face the heavy veil she drew, There stood she whose love had ruled his life — his long- lost, Lovely Lu ! The dying story of Brace Lamar had been, too, heard by her, But with forgiveness they buried him, and they his mourn- er's were. CANTO NINTH. O change thy thought that I may change my mind; Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove. Make thee another self for love of me. That beauty still may live in thine and thee. —Shakespeare. Ae fond kiss and then we sever, Ae fond kiss and then forever. — Burns. A year lias passed. The war is o'er, and civilian life again Pinds tlie soldier busily employed with hammer, plow or pen. Where once the din of conflict jarred, where armies tried their powers. The earth is clothed "with smiling fields or decked with fragrant flowers. The school-boy of B , as home he comes, this strange announcement brings: ■"Jackson, the Governor of Texas, is visiting Oris King's! " The citizens gather in groups at the corners of the street. For Dame Rumor thro' the village passes with flying feet. Lulu Kemble. 343 And the tongue and lips of gossips are burdened with ram or rife: *' Rob Jackson came to town to-day to make Eliese King his wife!" "Have you heard the news? The Governor of Texas stopped with King, And I'll bet my life, before a week the wedding bells will ring." "Do you remember Rob Jackson, who taught the school here years ago? Well; I've heard it from the lips of some I feel assured do know, "That he has come on business here — left the gay world's giddy whirl For a few weeks' recreation, and to marry Oris King's girl! " Jackson had quietly left the town and walked out to King's farm, In mystic dread, as tho' ,some Circe had thrown o'er him her charm. He reached it, but with some hesitation he faltered at the gate; "1 would to heaven!" he muttered low, "her love were even hate!" As he neared the house he passed a bower beneath the % maple trees, And in a hammock, half dozing o'er a letter saw — Eliese. 344 The Pagan's Poems. 'Twas a model for the sculptor wishing symmetry and grace, For the beauty of her form rivaled the beauty of her face. 'Twas a picture! But no artist could blend colors half so well As those checkered tints of sun and shade that o'er her idly fell. As he gazed he felt his heart with many deep pulsations throb. He spake. She started up, looked at him, then fainted, gasping — "JSo5.'" He caught her in his manly arms and her to his bosom pressed; Light the load his arms upheld, heavy the heart within his breast. He tasted the sweetness of her lips, then kissed her pallid cheek, And spake in her ear over again, "Speak to me, Eliese! Speak!" She opened her eyes, looked in his face with look divinely glad. Then spake to Rob with a voice that seemed to him sub- limely sad: "You've come at last? Please let me go! we'll sit in the hammock there; I think Fate must have sent you here as an answer to my prayer! Lulu Kemble. 345 "I prayed last iiiglit — if I must see you — that I might see you soon, And even coaxed Grus to go to B and look for you at noon." "If you must see me?" said Rob, "and have you^ too, like me, grown cold? Has another's love led you astray, like misers after gold?" "Have J, like you, grown cold?" she queried, "surely you do not mean That henceforth you will not love me ? My letter you must have seen? "Miss Eliese,/ said he, "I love you still, far more than any friend. But it seems to me that all our love must in sweet friend- ship blend. " I do not wish Love's golden chain forged into fetters of Hate, But think it best for us to bow unto the decree of Fate!" And while she listened he told to her the story of his life, How Lulu Kemble, long ago, promised him to be his wife. How schemers had planned; how plans had failed; how she to him was true; How he was wounded and left for dead but she had nursed him thro'. 23 346 The Pagan's Poems. When lie liad finislied, a happy light stole o'er Eliese's face, And twining her arms around his neck with one sweet, soft embrace. Said, " Perhaps you've told your life to Lu in Othello's humor fit, And she, a Desdemona fair, learned to love you learning it. "Mr. Jackson, I have ever loved — and ever will love — you, But my love has never been as deep as that she holds for you. "And altho' I still desire your esteen and friendship true, I could never hope to fill the place held by your ' Lovely Lu!' " But 'tis needless that in anger we should drift apart to- day. Or that we should pluck the flowers and plant thistles by the way; " Nor need we be as passing foes, like the eagle and the dove. Or let friendship fall below the level of Platonic love. "I, too, have a story. Listen! I will tell it to you now: Just before I saw your handsome face another had my vow; Lulu Kemble. 347 "He was my ' first love ' — first love is deep — you still do feel its spell — And altlio' I tliouglit I loved ijou most, I love liim full as well." Tlius she talked on, telling liim how hard it was for her to say She " was another's," when they parted eight years ago to-day. The man who'd won her heart had gone to Australia years ago. He was coming back to claim her now — the letter told her so. "I read it twenty times," she said, "in memory fresh to keep; 'Tis the one 1 hold, and did hold when you found me here asleep. " Let us go into the house, since we are now Platonic friends, And henceforth, with purest friendship, for our false love make amends." Rob seized her hand, and pressing it to his lips, whispered "Amen!" And thought to himself what misery, thro' error, might have been! At King's house Rob Jackson lingered the remainder of the week. Until a noble fellow came and kissed sweet Eliese's cheek. 348 The Pagan's Poems. " She is happy, now," he mused, " and may she henceforth happy be! Farewell ! ideal of second love, my heart, at last, is free ! " May Love, the conqueror of the world, bring solace to your heart. And fill Life's bitterest cup with bliss ! Farewell, sweet one! We part! " And ah ! my Lovely Lu, for us the entrancing day appears, When our fond hope will be realized after these many years " Foi time has strengthened that deep-laid love from which all joys accrue; After the stormy day of life we enter Love's haven, Lu!" CANTO TENTH. O lady! there he many things That seem right fair, below, above, But sure not one among them all Is half as sweet as Love : Let us not pay our vows alone, But join two altars both in one. —Rolmes. The ruddy sun is slowly sinking behind the western bars, Giving a luster to the soft entrancing splendor of the stars. The staid whip-poor-wills are wheeling in great circles o'er the lea; While the noisy choir of frogs send from their realm dis- cordant glee. From the maple trees the songs of katy-dids fall on the ear; From the dewy grass the cricket's timid chirp arises clear. In a rustic trellised bower, hidden most by ivy sprays. Sits a gentleman and lady talking over by-gone days. 350 The Pagan's Poems. "Years have passed," said lie, "since last we met within this ivy bower, When your father and his mastiff burst on us with their fell power. ^'When the pater, as we called him, suddenly upon us dashed, And a beardless youth of onescore years came nearly being thrashed. "What a silence came upon us as we stood with bated breath, 'Till a youth went forth to victory, and a dog down to death ; "Ah, yes! and while I think of it, there is one I've not yet seen. What 'come of her? where lives she now? I mean Brace's cousin Jean." " See,'"" said Lulu, pointing, " what to us a tiny spark ap- pears, Is her kitchen lamplight ; she's been married almost seven years. " Brace sold out to Howard Chandos — that's the name of Jeanie's man — He had borrowed Chandos' money, and of course in hi& debt ran. " Just a month before war was declared, Chandos closed in on Bi'ace; Brace sold all of his property, including the home place. Lulu Nemrie. 351 ^' But come, let iis go in, the atniospliere is damp, And I see that in the parlor Madeline has placed the lamp. ** When you left here, you well know, she was, indeed, a heartless elf. But the last five years have made her different from her former self. "All the girls but Claire are married; she, like me, a spins- ter is. But now," she pressed his hand, " my beloved is mine, and I am his." 'Twas but a day till the wedding bells pealed merry, loud and long, And DeWitt Kemble's mansion echoed with music and with song. And he who was the Lone-Star State's colossal pillar and pride. Was accompanied to his Texan home by an accomplished bride. L' ENVOI. Reader! most that is here is fiction, yet much of it is true. And the history of a thousand loves is that of Lovely Lu. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS lllliilllillillll 018 597 839 4 f ^ «; $^) ,#r