ffiAVEN ID • OT«'ER^ ' POEMS Rnnlr MS9^r fapvrighfN" /9y/J COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT AN EPIC OF HEAVEN AND OTHER POEMS BY EDWARD S. CREAMER Author "Adirondack Readings'* BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 83 5 BROADWAY, NEW YORK BRANCHES : ATLANTA. BALTIMORE. FLORENCE. ALA. l\ i"; 1^ Cop3'right, 1910, BY EDWARD S. CREAMER. (gClA288006 CONTENTS. An Epic of Heaven. 7 Poetry and the Poet lo Legend of the Sabbath 1 1 Intimations of the Future 13 The Deacon's Daughters 15 A Voyage with Darwin 16 Song of the Uplands 18 Outside the Narrows 19 Two Weeks in the Woods 20 The Boston Famine 21 Above CausaUty 23 On the Bronx 24 Tapestries , 25 Prometheus Bound . ., 26 The Legend of Love 2^ The Man in the Moon 29 The First Butterfly 30 The Woman in Camp 31 Sometime, Somewhere 33 An Incident in the Servian Army 34 The Robins' Anthem 35 After the Battle 36 Cardinal Manning's Paltry Purse 37 Roaming Through Woods 38 The Two Blossoms. 39 At the Gate 41 CONTENTS. The Three Kings 42 The Veteran to His Canteen 44 The Fall of Tantalus 46 A Wail for Walt Whitman 47 The Poe Cottage 48 The Unity of Man 50 After the Masquerade , 50 On the Front Platform 52 Genius 53 The Poet 54 Not Unknown Into Themselves 56 A Pillow of Pine 57 The Wild Rose 58 Received from a Child 59 To a Brother 60 Sweet Rest to Him 61 Thanksgiving Day 62 Song — Her Irish Blue Eyes 6;^ Apples Fall 64 John Howard Payne 65 Easter ^ 66 When George Gets Married 67 Idiosyncrasies 69 The Washington Statue 69 A Good Night to Sorrel 72 The Comforter 73 The Rock Road 74 The Sparrows 75 Helicon ., 75 The Bird of Hope y6 A Morning Thought -^y Indian Summer Days... yy On the Nile 78 CONTENTS. The Imprisoned Robin 79 On the Hudson 80 A Tawny Head from Egypt 80 Continuity ,. . 81 The Angelus 82 The Harp of Whittier 83 A Poet — Tennyson 83 Two Wreaths for Glasneven 84 The Wood Thrush's Song 85 To the Planet Jupiter 85 Ward's Shakespeare 86 The Catbird's Song 87 The Portrait 88 Christmastide 88 Ralph Waldo Emerson 89 Washington Rack, New Jersey 90 Creation 91 Warm Days in December 91 John Brown ; 92 Story's Semiramis 93 The Month of Months 94 On the Frontier 94 Eugene Fields 95 Well Brought Over from Holland 96 Some Divine Steps 96 My Horse 97 To the Shade of Walt Whitman 98 New York City 98 Passed Over the Bridge 99 Better Than He Knew 100 A Mid-Summer Thought 100 The Poem , loi Bells of Morning 102 CONTENTS. Never Saw the Stars 102 Music 103 A Village Maid 103 Book Catalogues 103 God 104 One Day 104 Theology 105 The Trend Toward the Sky 105 Brain Gone Astray 106 Destiny 106 One Faithful Listener 107 The Rainbow 107 A New Year's Night of Long Ago 107 Axk Epic of Heaven I. THE future life idea is innate, Roseate with gleams of vistas wonderful; Bestowed like sense of touch or that of sight, And in the numerous chambers of the brain Is about tangible as anything, — Life has no ending to the teeming soul. To bury Hope we meet with poor success. Human nature is not abandoned here. The valleys and the mountains of our dreams, Though many and though varied in their moods, Are not Imagination's progeny. The only limit to the spirit's sight Is that its case of flesh doth compass it. Our dreams are faintly markings of the truth ; There is no image but may not be real. Life and its possibilities we guess, And, gazing at our fullest, there is still Hills upon hills, far, far, beyond our ken. an dBpic of l^eatoen II. The principle of Motherhood cheers the heart. Caressing her first born the matron young — The two so innocent, so lacking art — Become a picture of true loveliness ; One of the purest sights bestowed on earth, Nor may the angels have a better one. In humble life, as in wealth's rosy ways, The glory is the same, of equal rank ; Nor strange that they're revered by a great church, Or that home's centered in their atmosphere. III. When in his growth man happiness attained. In lines of life which gave him fullest joy, Having the blood of fellowship in his veins He fervently would lengthen out its years; Picture it with his loftiest gifts of soul ; Therefore he built in earnest faith a state Supremely blest, to hold perpetual. A land where were united atoms pure ; A land where were united kith and kin ; A place of rescue from the grave and death. Within were angels glorified and rare With the Creator and the shining hosts. Within were souls once habitants of earth ; The chief wish of each nation fruitage found. Within were instruments and voices thrilled With all the harmonies mind may enjoy. 8 an (Epic of l)tmm All of the paraphernalia of our hopes Were harvested together in this land Of immense area-room enough for all, Deserving and desirous of its worth, Placed in the spaces, to be known as Heaven. IV. The coming to us of Jesus, the Christ, Whose character is illimitable ; The promise of the prophets and the seers ; The best thought of the peoples of all lands ; Is a grand volume of the sacred books, — A monument of celestial charity. The Son partaking of the Father's gifts; A path of safety and felicity. Though our opinions of Him may vary. May change through obsessions of care and doubt ; Of circumstances, of environments, That may shift like the colors in the sky. He is unchangeable as the trend of things; The Star of morning, heralding the good. The sublimest development by far That may be known within this planet's life. The wing of Faith, the Light of all the world; The sanctum sanctorum of the Temple ; Our divine Brother, more divine by far Than our mentality may conceive of, — We only partly know Him at our best. A demonstration, tenderly, to win, an (Epic of !^eaben To instruct, look up to and imitate — Though at our failings angels may well sigh — And draw us with the magnet of His love. V. The use and not abuse of faculties The body and the mind in exercise. The heritage of our humanity, Given to us in the Divine essay Under potential opportunities — Diversified with all the airs that blow — Is the natural acme of existence : The Hope of hope, the House not made by hands, Here or elsewhere — eternal in the Heavens! POETRY AND THE POET. AS the spirit never can Be utterly bestowed on man, Nor can his most persistent view Take in its every shifting hue, For its majesty might mock And its loveliness might shock, So its forms and apparitions, Lineaments and swift monitions Of heavenly beauty give a hint Or a half-toned mental print 10 an (Bpit of ^eatjen Of the glory and the power Of our life's most perfect flower. Thus the poet's fair ideal He will never all reveal; In the essence, in the soul, He can apprehend the w^hole; And in some inspired hour He may revel in its power; But his conscious modesty Will not let the worldly see. So he dresses his ideal Out in clothing bright and real; Plans the garments she shall wear, Shows the color of her hair ; Picks the jewel or the flower He would give her as a dower. While the truth complete he can Never yield to mind of man. Yet the earth receives some gleams Of divine light from his dreams. II II II LEGEND OF THE SABBATH. TO Michael the Archangel came the mandate, well To guide St. Paul through Heaven and then through Hell; They visited the Heavens and saw therein II an (Epic of l^eatjen Felicity and beauty with no stain of sin ; Each spirit there symmetrical and wise; Pure heavenly joyousness to all ears and eyes; St. Paul was happy, and aloud he cried: 'Tor this He lived, was crucified and died, And the result is ample for the deed Of Him by Whom from Death mankind was freed." The Archangel Michael with the great St. Paul Went down into the Hells, and saw them all. But the Apostle, at the fearful mark Evil had made, and with it all the dark Distress of soul, and bodily agony, Was shocked with sympathy, as he well might be, And to his escort earnestly he cried : ''Have they no respite here?" to which replied The Archangel : "No Sabbath know they here, But evermore these scenes of woe and fear." Then to the Master, prayerfully Paul said ; "Lord, I have seen the wicked, doubly dead, My heart, dear Lord, is burdened by their fate. Though their transgressions from Thy laws are great. Grant Thou a day of rest to these forlorn In memory of Thy resurrection morn !" And ever since, the wise are wont to say. The wicked rest in Hell each Sabbath Day. 12 9n (Epic of J^eat)en INTIMATIONS OF THE FUTURE. WHILE the soul is Idly musing, On thoughts not of its own choosing, Oft there come clear intimations, Intuitions, inspirations, Telling of a future life. Far beyond this mortal strife; And to-night, as we are going With the current gently flowing, Come lovely sentiments of peace, And the mind asks no release From the blessing of their charm. Holding us from every harm. We drift along the sacred walls, Where the ivy's verdure falls. And we think upon the graves Whose grassy brink the river laves, While the night is all around, And the stillness is profound. Save the moving, active part Of each palpitating heart. As we float upon the stream, In a sort of mystic dream. But see, as we approach our home, How the great cathedral dome, With its lofty golden spire. Wears a crown of seeming fire 13 an (Epic of IDeatien In the fluctuating light Gleaming from the north at night, With its colors green and red, Where the electric shafts are spread! And hark ! across the quiet waves, From the dim cathedral naves, Come sweet voices, singing lays. Quaint and sweet, of other days. When the Saviour and the saint Were on earth without a taint ; How the wonders that they wrought Were beyond all human thought; How their benisons abide, And how He w-as crucified. Now they move in happy staves — Those soft voices — o'er the waves ! Coming down from Jacob's stair. Where glide the blessed angels fair, Or God's children rest at night, Ere they mount into His sight. How calm, how sweet this singing! Surely from celestial lands, Over boundles golden sands. Are the echoes winging! They fall with soothing on the soul That has long with pains contended, Presaging rest, as when the goal Is reached and travail ended ; Where hope and faith do close in sight, Beyond our thought, of pure delight. 14 an Cpic of J^eatoett May we see and hear this way When shall come our closing day; When shall come the twilight hour ; When grows weak our vital power; When we're nearly done with life — With its sorrow and its strife ; When our hearts are waxing old, And even fears and hopes are cold, In our darkness and distress, Longing for God's tenderness. In that hour, oh, let there come A great brilliant light from Home, With rich love and blessings rife, Ushering in the better life ; Voices singing, may we hear. Hopeful pseans, calm and clear. From the mansions we shall see. Welcoming both you and me. II II THE DEACON'S DAUGHTERS. THE deacon had three daughters, lithe and fair. Girls with three-story heads, handsomely domed. Lovable, beautiful, spiritual, that could Bring down in joy the best of heaven to earth, And raise the hearts of earth in thanks to heaven. 15 an ©pic of i^eauen Humanity reached a his/her plane in them, Yet had no cause to blush at its success. Certes they had to eat, to drink, to sleep, To sew, to scrub, maybe sometimes to delve In the old-fashioned garden full of flowers ; Yet never seemed they wantinj^ much in that All indescribable that is from heaven, No less than earth, that subtile comeliness Belonging only to the high belongings Above the cadences of this great world. What shall we say about them, praise or blame? Blame them for glorifying this our earth? Praise them for blooming like three lovely flow- ers? Let us give thanks that such as they exist; Let us give thanks that we, too, are alive To comprehend, admire, and freely bless. ^^i ^^^i ¥r^h A VOYAGE WITH DARWIN. FROM the teeming, slimy masses Floating in the ancient seas, Till evolved through numerous classes, Craft for mightier destinies. Many a robust race had vanished In the slaughter to subsist — Many an appetite had been banished In the struggle to exist. i6 an (Bpit of ©eauen Until a time when were evolved Two craft, alike as brothers, Earth's highest type in them seemed solved- More complex than all others Ere this, that did the earth control, Within the eons rounded. All others seeming lacked a soul. Though myriadly they abounded. When off these two craft proudly sailed, First parallel courses took they ; But ere a score of centurief hailed For different prizes look they — Till different aim, with consequence. Wrought changes, now prevailing, That not surprising men of sense Doubt they looked alike when sailing. One with some permanence of course Lost its sails in winds that blow; And, lacking either mind or force, Beached in woods was, long ago. The other had a soul aboard, With activities to court New oceans, e'en when storms outpoured — Do we know as yet its port? 17 an (Epic of ^eatjen SONG OF THE UPLANDS. O BETTER a glimpse of a star That may never be reached but be hoped for; O better a grand life afar, That at least in the mind can be groped for, Than to have all the senses desire, And all that the passions require, But no more, but no more. O better a faith that can cope With the doubts of the world and can quicken ; O better a life that has hope To illume it, though poverty stricken, Than to have all that riches can hire Or buy, so to feast and not tire. But no more, but no more. O better a love that is blind. That can see in the loved one no badness ; O better a trust in one's kind, Spite of all of its folly and madness, Than to stand all alone mid earth's mire, Having food and raiment and fire, But no more, but no more. i8 an OBpic of ^eatien OUTSIDE THE NARROWS. T GAZE towards the far-off sea, -^ Nearly unknown it is to me ; Ships ride at anchor in its tide Or swiftly o'er its waters glide ; Some are so far they lose all form, Or look like snowflakes in a storm; While others rise so clear and near, They almost seem already here In port secure from furious gales. With sunshine on their folded sails. Oh ships, upon the further sea, Have you no news to give to me? Have you not seen from your lookout — Have you not hailed with w^elcome shout — Them that I knew in other days, That went beyond my mortal gaze? Oh, are they safely sailing now, With steadfast course and sturdy prow? Or meet they storms by night and day Mid rock-bound straits, far, far away? Some, it is true, seem near to me, Almost as on this earthly sea; Bright forms serene in pure array. That could not wholly pass away; While some, like shadows, float through haze More dimly than in other days. 19 an ©pic of ^eaijen God shield all those, whoe'er they be, That move upon that further sea ; And keep them from the evil blast, And bring them unto peace at last! II TWO WEEKS IN THE WOODS. TWO weeks in the woods, with nature's smile About to gladden us all the while. Away from papers we have to read, Away from railways we use in our need ; Away from the business that keeps us yet To grindstone of routine we would forget. Away from the work which is not all fun, Away from trials from which vv^e would run ; From books we must read, from lines we must write, From chairs we must use, from wrongs we would right, To the grand old woods a while we would steal. Remembering little, and let the wounds heal. Two weeks in the woods where to get the leaven That may raise our thinking somewhat toward heaven. Away from people we usually meet. The haste and the bustle of teeming street. The birds sing but simple songs, it is true, 20 an (Bpit of l^eaijen Through the branches, o'er head, the sky's but blue. But the lazy hours give nature a chance To get in her work just while the leaves dance. How wholesome and cheerful the life goes on Near the birch, the cedar and oak so strong; While distant we hear the innocent play Of the Riley children over the way. THE BOSTON FAMINE, ANNO DOMINI IT is not known unto this day Why Boston fasted ; but a ray Of knowledge comes to us betimes In an old chronicle of rhymes. There it is stated that "a field Crop failed." The annual yield, The lack of which filled Boston air With the sad music of despair, The legend fails to specify. And so to guess it we must try. Of corn and wheat there was a store. And cod and halibut were off shore; Of deer and bear meat could be found A plenty on the Common ground. Potatoes, peas, and cabbage grew Abundantly, and parsnips, too. 21 an (Epic of l^eaDen Alas, that on that hungry town Gaunt famine should come stalking down! The young and old in health declined. It seemed that cruel Fate designed To have this wholesome people die! 'Tis hard, to-day, to tell just why. The merchants sent to far and near For succor, and it would appear That succor came, but wild storms tossed The ship ashore, and it was lost. A second vessel failed to reach The harbor ; sunk off Salisbury beach. The famine spread at a frightful pace; It looked as if the robust race Of Boston town would fade away. And that her streets would grow green hay. Things got unto such fearful passes The women took to wearing glasses ; As if by merely shieldinc: sip-ht They might control the appetite. Much that in Boston ncnv we see Is doubtless pure heredity. The children in the district school Escaped unwhipped, for the ferrule. Within the master's weakened hand, Was harmless as a fairy wand. The deacons of the church could not Collect the pence, and tithes forgot. (Don't contradict! I know what I Am writing; history won't lie.) 22 an (Bpit of ^eatien *Twas hard to tell how it would end Did not the winds and tides befriend. A loaded sloop, with beans and pork, Got safely in from far New York. The bells were rung all up and down, And famine ended in that town. ABOVE CAUSALITY. WHERE ride the inner guides to-night? A snowflake fell upon my hand, Soft as a spirit's touch, and white, Brought back from the interior land Unto a mother's sight. I heard some strains of music when The moon sank o'er the wood, And if they never come again Their meaning well I understood : The singers once were men. Wouldst follow up the stair of beams — Good stars have dropped it for our kind — To mount above the land of dreams. Where reason permeates the mind. Where all exists and nothing seems? Ah ! pity for the soul of him Who never hears the saintly song, 23 an OBpic of J^cauen Nor sees the beings on the rim Of the great zone, where all belong- When life has reached the cherubim. m ON THE BRONX. HOW gayly, on this day of June, The Bronx flows, bowered in green, With trees and vines and birds in tune — A fresh and varied scene ! And in a shady nook there shakes A boat in trim attire ; Three maidens are within ; it makes A picture to admire. How charming are they all ! lithe forms, Arrayed in dainty dresses ; Tranquil of mind, no selfish storms Could dwell beneath those tresses ; And they are gathering sprays of flowers From drooping branches, laden With perfumed blooms, to cheer the hours, For youth is with each maiden. One with an oar (so archly faced) The boat to bank keeps press'd in ; Another, with fine features graced. On damask cushion's resting, 24 an (Bpit of ptaun Receiving" boughs from one who'd wake Dead hearts to life — a vision That could delight the poet Drake, Who thought this stream Elysian. O Bronx ! meandering toward the sea, Through shadow and through lightness, Never before thou'st seemed to me So full of life and brightness As at this time, 'mid birds and boat, With maidens gathering flowers ; Like elves of fairyland afloat, They bless the passing hours. TAPESTRIES. HERE in the room where oft I sit, And where I weave my webs, or knit The thoughts that come into the mind, When the imagination's kind. At times I'm startled at the way Surroundings with one's thoughts have play, Even the tapestry on the wall, That days we hardly note at all, Shows to one's moods a difference — A something almost kin to sense — Reflecting, like a looking-glass, Much that within the mind may pass. 25 an (Bpit of ^eatJen When the world seems to be my friend, And nothing happens to ofifend, The tapestry looks of pattern prim, As if 'twould never show a whim; Of placid outline, debonair, To breed contentment anywhere. But let, instead, things go awry, Which ever to avoid I try, Fiends from therein look out at me, And hold unnatural jollity, Enlarging parts that hardly hint Of form and face, and fleshy tint. Into queer shapes that broadly grin. And add unto what's ill within. PROMETHEUS BOUND. STEALING the fire from off Jove's throne, To help his kin, he here is shown, Bound in the chains he cheerily Endures, deprived of liberty. They whom he stole it for ne'er come To visit him in martyrdom, Where, with vulture — mental stress — He ponders on man's happiness. He pity hath; he knows his kind May not forever be so blind ; 26 an dBpic of l^eatien And, should his story fade away, His fire will burn and live for aye. The spark thou hast, O poet. Wait; Appreciation may come late : And heedless though the world pass by, No living thought will ever die. Alike in crowds or solitude, Be evermore thy strength renewed; Bear with the cheer m.ind will afford The light which is its own reward. II II II THE LEGEND OF LOVE. THE present age has legends, too, And rich as long ago, With skies as full of light and blue, And human hearts aglow With love, as when Boccaccio wrote Those quaint immortal scenes, Where through his changing fancies float A bevy of fair queens. I see the walls of memory's dome With pictures covered o'er ; I see thereon a mass of foam, A wreck, and rock-bound shore. 2.7 an OBpic of l^caben The past, once fair, now dim and pale. Looks shuddering in my face ; The glorious goals, once in my hail, Now fly from my embrace. I see the duties that I gave Unto the winds, flash by ; I see them mount on pleasure's wave, And move a-lee and die. The burdens that I cast away Come back with greater weight; I watch, but see no morning gray Dawn o'er the hills of fate. But comfort greets me even there. And one on whom I gaze Is lovely as the sylphs of air That tread the twilight haze; It is my gracious first, first love. Her whom I loved in youth. When on the tree of life above Still bloomed the flowers of truth. What rapture laughed about my heart When first I saw that girl ; With what a thrilling, throbbing start. My brain was in a whirl ! The life of those sweet moments pen Could ne'er express in rhyme ; The thoughts of love, that ruled me then. No fairv bells could chime! 2R an (Epic of i^eatoen THE MAN IN THE MOON. WHEN the silvery orb of the night is near full, You may see on its face, late or soon, That effigy vague known to children and scalds As the Man in the Moon. This man in the moon sits aloft in a tree, And one of his functions up there Is to wait on the mythical Queen of the Night, A woman that's fair. This woman's a goddess with many a name, But Cynthia's the one I admire ; She reigns through the hours after the sun Has put out his fire. The man in the moon watches sharp to be sure When the shepherd, her lover's, asleep, Endymion by name, who pastures his flock Where Latmos is steep. Fair Cynthia gently comes down when he sleeps To kiss him most lovingly there; And who wouldn't wish such a shepherd to be. To be kissed by the fair? Yet they who are wiser than old-time romance, Dare tell us the man and the tree, 29 m OByfc of IJ)eat)en When viewed through the telescope vanish from sight, And are deaa as can be. But Science, avaunt ! in the man and the tree, And Cynthia, loving and bright, We firmly believe, though not ours is her kiss In the moonshine to-night! P THE FIRST BUTTERFLY. BRIGHT flutterer, with golden name, Freckled from gentle dun to flame. How hast thou dared to venture out Ere the buds begin to sprout? When underneath the sheltering bower, Arbutus hath not shown her flower, Creeping from the modest moss, With her brilliant leaves of gloss : When as yet within the brook, Leaves lie pressed as in a book, Held within the Ice King's arms Clasped about their frozen charms ; Why wert thou not wise to wait Till King Frost should abdicate? Till the bluebirds pipe in tune, 30 an (Cpic of J^eatien Till the May looks on toward June, Till the dandelion's yellow Lends the lawn a radiance mellow ? These few hours of sunshine warm May prelude a fatal storm, Bringing frost or bringing snow ; Where, then, frail one, wilt thou go? Robin's forty times as strong, Yet we do not hear his song. THE WOMAN IN CAMP— 1854. THE sight of a woman was rare in those days ; So Deep Canon Camp was set in a blaze When the rumor was started, and sent by each door — A woman had got there the evening before. The excitement spread wide, away on the breeze Rose racket and cheers, to where the red trees Shadowed the gulches, for the thoughts of each man Were intent on the woman, not on pick, nor on pan. Ah, never a miner within all the camp But out toward the cabin which held her would tramp ; 31 • an (Bpit of !^eat)en Eager the gathering, they envied, ah yes, The fellow who caught but a glimpse of her dress. The husband, nonchalant, came to the crowd. And as he appeared Jim Blonde spoke aloud : "Fetch her out here, Lord bless her, she's a surprise ; We hunger to see her ; it's good for weak eyes." "My wife she is sick, and I, too, feel bad, Been robbed by the Indians, lost all that we had." But Jim Blonde, the speaker, said in reply, "Bring out the woman, we won't let her die." She came to the front, her face in a smile That went to the heart of each miner mean- while ; And welcomes were given, some rough, and all strong. Mid waving of hats, and cheers loud and long. Three thousand, in gold, was raised there and then Given, with pleasure, by rough-bearded men ; Well, the sun will melt ice, and woman can make The heart of a Midas to melt for her sake. 32 an (Epic of l^eatiett SOMETIME, SOMEWHERE. NE'ER tell us that all the endeavor We make shall bring fruitage never; That there's no such place as heaven, That sinners cannot be forgiven, That sin, like the wound on the finger, May heal, but the scar will yet linger, Nor vanish through years or tears. The answer speaks never to doubt us, Endeavor reaps harvests about us ; While happiness comes to the masses, And fire may restore wilted grasses. When wrong to the stubble-field's righted, It blooms as it ne'er had been blighted, A meadow of fragrance for years. m ^.f m AN INCIDENT IN THE SERVIAN ARMY. HOW the General's heart-blood leaped and run As a letter from home brought the news That his wife was well and his new-born son ; All his home in his mind he reviews, And a gleam of a tear comes to his eyes, A gleam more of pleasure than pain ; His wife and his babes are as Paradise ; He'd deem himself there if home again. .3.3 an (Epic of l^eatjen A soldier now, a prisoner bound, Before him sullenly is brought ; Minus two fingers has been found : Done that he'd be discharged, 'twas thought. Denied, however, that the deed Was by himself or a coward's brand; A comrade helped him in his need ; But he'd not name him by command. "Art not ashamed," the General asked, "Thus dastardly to hurt thy hand. Our army in its work sore tasked, The Turks upon our Fatherland?" "Dear General, pardon," he replied, "I've fought the Turks, ne'er shirked before, And bravely charged where thousands died, But I'd see wife and babes once more." "Indeed," scornfully returned the chief, "Thy leave of absence I'll make long; So say thy prayers, and make them brief. Prepare to die for this great wrong." A soldier guard was here drawn out Before the prisoner, under ban. Who crossed himself, stood grave and stout, For not a coward was this man. Forgetting something he went o'er And placed within the General's hand Some money pieces, three or four ; He said, "My all — I own no land, 34 an (Epic of i^eatoen Let them be given to my wife When of my wretched death she hears/' "Go," said the General, "take thy life To her," his eyes brimmed round with tears. II II II THE ROBIN'S ANTHEM. IN the lowest limb of a tall oak tree Two robins have biiilded their simple nest. Some straw and some mud, and some twigs we see — In it is the hurry of life expressed? It doth answer its purpose, as a brood Of hungry youngsters are living there. Their bills are wide open, eager for food, That lazy progenitors might despair. In the later summer you'll hear their song. Their mellow anthem, melodious and choice — ' When their young, now matured, the sounds prolong — All the orchard's alive as they rejoice. When the sun hath rested over the hill A concert they give ; each tries to excel The other, and with tongue, throat, breast and bill, Sing "Glory ! glory !" and they do it well. 35 an OBpic of l^eaben AFTER THE BATTLE. THE sun has vanished in the west, Leaving scorched plains and heights at rest, While cooling breezes earth invest. The twilight fades above the hill, Where we to-day have fought our fill, And where the enemy is still. Fair Cynthia begins to throw. From the soft crescent of her bow, Her showers of silvery shafts below. While hills and valleys, meadows, streams, Lie beautiful bene^ith her beams. Like pictures in a painter's dreams. And hark ! there comes upon the ear The whippoorwill's low note, so near. So sadly sweet and coldly drear. It throws a gloom upon the heart More than could any song of art, Giving the soul an inward start. Ah, sad bird ! mournest thou what is fled — Something to which thy heart was wed? Or is it for the battle's dead ? 36 an (Epic of ^}tmtn If for these dead, oh, sing away Till morning comes, with streaks of gray Upon his chariot's ruddy ray, For they with heroes now belong, And slain for right or slain for wrong, Are worthy of the sweetest song. Ah! must thy music cease so soon? Faint and more faint thy low notes swoon^ Slow dying with the dying moon. Perhaps upon life's checkered shore. Where thought at least can upward soar. Thy mournful voice we hear no more. And yet methinks I hear thee still, Lingering about yon distant hill — 'Tis fancy, not the whippoorwill ! II II II CARDINAL MANNING'S PALTRY PURSE. THIS august personage of ripened age, Through whose good hands vast fortunes passed for years, Had fed the poor so bountifully well. Had wiped the tears from off so many eyes. That can we marvel at him, almost bare, 37 3n Cpit tf l^uHtu Or (A Q Q Q RCA\nSG ZV^'.Wr- WOOD: R OAMIXGer V 1= m mood. A oystal srrj^ an Cpic of t)ta\}tn Meandering off in discipline, While sun rifts o'er it beamed. And so a thought in some careless breast. Secret almost and sure, Is found when God's rays on it rest, A crystal rivulet pure. pee THE TWO BLOSSOMS. TWO blossoms grew upon one tree, And both of them were dear to me. I watched them through their budding time. And through their beauteous early prime. A torrid tempest came one day, And deadly ruin marked its way. Alas ! it struck the weaker one. And soon its bloom and life were gone. Under the burning breath it fell. ''Mid tears of those who loved it well. The other still stands brave and strong. At mom, at noon, at vesper song. 39 9n (Bpit of ©eatjen To It the fatal fever bane Was only nutriment and gain. It grows so hale, so sweet, so fair, Amid God's all-embracing air, Its life at each and every stage Adding more beauty to the age. Oh, soul of man ! go search and see If thou canst question Diety. I bring two blossoms to that shrine, Two of the dearest ones of mine. O Father Mind ! can we not clasp Thy answer in our mental grasp? When both have done v/ith this blue dome And entered to Thy higher home, Shalt Thou not love the weaker flower As much as that which lived its hour? Shalt Thou not make the weak one grc And gain all that is missed below ; While through the epochs of all time We hail Thy equal love sublime? 40 an (JBpic of J^eatoen AT THE GATE. ALONE, and by the garden gate she stands, Watching the tender twihght as it lends To our good earth a dreamy atmosphere, That in these cahnly sweet September days Enters the soul like echoes of old hymns, Which we have heard in twilights of the past, Giving contentment with this world of ours. Her forehead fair is fanned by gentle gales; Her yellow hair is waving in their waves ; And her fair person, in the mellow air, Looks like a denizen of Paradise Just dropped to earth to see it go asleep, With all its millions, in the armis of Night. She has no lover yet, but in her mind There has grown up a vague, uncertain dream Of what perchance her other part may be ; And, like a lonely bird in early spring, Her gentle breast is fluttering for its mate. So in her musing, at this twilight hour. While star by star comes out into the night, And planets seem not a day's journey off. She's wishing that the world may grant to her Some one to fill the niche within her heart, That has been vacant, but not known before- Some sweet and ardent nature that will love Her for herself through all the coming years. 41 an (Epic of ^eauen THE THREE KINGS. THERE dwelleth three Kings in this world, and their thrones Are held well in place by their people's desire, Who need them, and of them do seldom e'en tire, But unto their honor peal bell and burn fire, And unto their glory pile monument stones. One King lives ensconced on the valley's best site. His fields without labor with great riches teem, And pleasure within his frail court reigns su- preme. His subjects think Hfe but a sensuous dream, And few of them know of the wrong and the right. Another King lives by the hill top, and he Has mansions superb, that his subjects have built; Much blood have they bravely in giant wars spilt. They learning encourage, and have sense of guilt- Make earth gayly blossom, take life from the sea. The King of the Mountain lives close to its top, His subjects in temples find rapture and rest; 42 an (Epic of l^eatoen And often they reason on ways which are best To win from the Hill King a now and then guest ; But stony's their soil, and it yields a poor crop. The King of the Valley has subjects who tire Of surroundings that cease to please them, and far They wander till reaching the Hill, where they are Brought into the palace upon the King's car — For part of their journey is through woods of fire. The life in the Valley's replenished from earth ; The King of his vineyards thinks well of and boasts, And his women and wines he merrily toasts. The King of the Hill, from the valley out- posts, Gets men who've grown tired of the land of their birth. Some subjects the King of the Hill, too, has lost, Who weary of living 'mid war, feast and gold, Have wandered far up where the Mountain stands cold In purity (nevei to be bought or sold). Though their feet sorely bled as rough fields were crossed. 43 an (Epic of J^eatjen The King of the IMoiintain has subjects who go From his temples so vast, where steps to the sky Are winding away to the bright belts on high ; And there reigneth a Prince whose people ne'er die, Though all served a time 'neath the three Kings below. II II THE VETERAN TO HIS CANTEEN. I BRING you out, my old canteen, Many long years have passed between The time I saw you last, old friend. I love to think that at my end You may be present, generous one, That gave until 3^our all was gone. And filled again your good quart pouch For march, for battle, for the couch. Of all the friends Fve known or seen, None was your better, old canteen. Dost recollect, when we held the bridge, When Hayniman crept o'er the ridge, Crushed by a sword blow in the head? How kind you were, for when he said That he was thirsty, all you had You gave in welcome, and were glad 44 an OBpic of ^eauen That you could ease his thirst. We sighed At his misfortune. Well, he died. Much of the war's grief have we seeii^ You and myself, my old canteen. I well know when I saw you first; I had not then been much athirst; You were respectable looking then. I know I was much younger when I grasped you in my hand, and slung You o'er my shoulder ; we were young. Moth eaten now's your dusty coat, And partly rusty is your throat ; But no ne\v one shall come between Our old-time love, my good canteen. You know the men who kissed your lips, Some died in battle ; some in ships Have ventured far from port ; and some Still wear the uniform, hear the drum. Some turned from the good drink you gave- One fills I know a drunkard's grave. Some in the fight for daily bread Are quite successful ; some are dead. Few better men were ever seen Than shared your love, my old canteen. 45 an (Cpic of ^eatien THE FALL OF TANTALUS. A KING of the past was Tantalus ; The gods who held court on Olympus Invited him once to their tables To dwell in their glory and sunshine. He thought that he now was their equal ; And, fired by brimming tankards of nectar, His mind was disturbed and unbalanced — Far better he never had lifted. He worshipped his children and loved them; But mightier far his great passion, His desire for the greatest gods' favor — A child, his beloved, he slaughtered. The furies were gathered, and drove him Down deep in the hells for his rashness, To stay till the dead shall be quickened, To suffer in hunger and torment. And the gods still dwell on Olympus ; They need not man's foolish performance. But he who seeks truth and acts justly, Mav freely nartake at their tables. 46 9n (Epic of ^catsen A WAIL FOR WALT WHITMAN. GONE over the border land to the haven of rest, tired voyager ! Old mother earth is gracious, and she received thee with open arms. She knows her children at sight, and loves and glorifies them, And in her embrace she took thee to keep at her heart forever. Who would not be such a poet, to be loved by such a mother? Who would not be such a son, to feel such a mother's attractions? Thou wert narrow as sin, yet broad as the uni- verse's pulse beats. To sing that grime and shine, even as flower and gem were perfection. A passionate heart hadst thou, with love for thyself and thy kindred, Who were of the high and low, no special exclu- sion for any ; And if there were few tears shed on thy grave, in the Jersey clearing, It may not be because worthier ones are lying unwept and forgotten. Another's not left with us now to show the full glory of freedom; 47 an (Bpit of IDeatien The flight from the classic and prim to the freshness and grasses of nature ; The might of the ocean, the factories exalting and vengeful, The great spirit of cities, and the audacity even of prairies ! ^# THE POE COTTAGE, FORDHAM, N. Y. SO here is where the poet once did dwell? And we admire the house because he slept, Lived, loved and suffered in it ; where so well For years he ably worked ; ah, here he kept This poor unfortunate at his work up hill; Impracticable, with the poet soul Supreme and earnest, gathering to his will The magic images he would control. This humble cottage him a shelter gave ; Roses of Sharon like these met his glance; Sprays of these trees he saw in moonlight wave ; This lawn and shrubbery aided him in ro- mance. Here did this alchemist of beauty live, And turn earth's usual clays unto pure gold; And unto rhymes such brilliancy did give, Thev're so immortal, they shall ne'er seem ^old. 48 an (Epic of r^caben Where Whittier lived, in honor now is held ; The home of Longfellow is sanctified. Each maker of true poetry's a weld Uniting men in brotherhood far and wide. So, cottage, feel thou not unconscious proud ; Genius has lived and struggled 'neath thy roof: Though thou'rt not yet a magnet to the crowd, That thou wilt be some time it needs no proof. Could Edgar Poe once more return to earth. Surprised would he be at his glowing fame ; Few giant minds, foreign or native birth, Have in fame's temples now a mightier name. Long may his cottage home be kept intact Wherein his labors did the world enrich; Discoverer of a weirdness to attract, Apostle of a beauty to bewitch. THE UNITY OF MAN. MAN cannot raise alone, More than can float a stone; The environments of life Bring him peace or bring him strife. Though he strive with great desire, In his burning heart of fire, With his mind in wild delight, In the selfishness of might, 49 an OBpic of l^eatien To arise above his kin, And to shun them in their sin, With diseases of the town That he would forever frown — Ah ! the wavelets of the air Will convey them even there, Where his palace lifts its head, Where he rests on downy bed — Ah ! the passions of his brain May there m.ake his labor vain; Or the outside world of thieves May conceal beneath his eaves. And when nio^ht is o'er the earth May disturb him in his mirth; And his talent and his gold May not save him in his fold, Nor secure his lifelong- lease, Nor impart to him much peace; For he'll find the low must rise To the height of his own skies Ere his heaven is secure — Ere he ceases to endure ; For throughout all nature's plan Is the Unity of Man ! AFTER THE MASQUERADE. A YOUTH in London at a masquerade All dressed up as a prince, his part well played, 50 an (Epic of U)eatjen Greatly enjoyed the dance With a princess of France, A witch from the bizarre times Of castles and romance rhymes. So overjoyed was he At the rainbowed royalty Which his dress bestowed In its shimmering load, His mind went astray, In some wayward way. And he really believed He was Wales himself, With the power and pelf; He was so deceived. Next morn, ere the hour of nine by the clock, At the palace door he tried to knock, Arrayed for the pageantry. And all feathered and free. Claiming entrance there As the rightful heir Born the crown to wear. Poor head ! turned strange through the power And the charm of a gala hour; Arrested, put past lock and key ! All for his tinselled pedigree. Let us have pity for this son of earth ! Shall we say, alas, for his simple birth ? Ay, the birth of one is the birth of all ! 51 an OBpic of ^eatien The Saviour was born in an humble stall, And what czar or prince or chief is he Who can claim a nobler pedigree? II II p ON THE FRONT PLATFORM. IT rained, and when I got aboard That car, the lowering weather Made every one feel dull and cross. We were alone together, The driver and myself ; I passed My nickel through the door ; his throat Was in a muffler, and he looked Betwixt a southwold and a shote. He smiled good-naturedly, then took From out his ample waterproof An orange ; 'twas a splendid sphere — He held it from his mouth aloof — "My teeth are watering all day long To eat this juicy fruit," he said; "I got it on my early trip — On such food are the favored fed." "Why not indulge and eat ?" I said ; "This self-denial's hardly right." "Nay," said he; "you should see my boy; He is, indeed, a comely sight. 52 an (ffipic of i^eaijen Of two years old he lacks a month. I've a swing off, an hour, at seven; I eat my supper at my home, And there I get a slice of heaven. "When I get home, though somewhat tired, I try to be myself a while. And when I toss this to my boy, You'll see that merry youngster smile. I'll think no more of the freezing weather, The lagging hours, the little pay, The comforts of the millionaires — "You're getting off — well, friend, good dayT II II II GENIUS. I ASKED three men I met one day. What genius was? — their hairs were gray And much experience made them sage, And they were bright lights of the age. One said it was a "food from Heaven, That came to some with extra leaven.'* Another said 'twas "work, and will To do and dare, and life fulfill." The last one shook his hoary head — "Genius is death" — 'twas all he said. Well, here we have three thoughts forsooth; So tell me man, or hopeful youth, 53 an (Epic of l^eaDen Which of these three hath spoke the truth ? Or, is each one hke to a stream That images each Hving scene — Thro' which its moving in a dream — Giving but to the voyager, Be he poet or philosopher, Whatever come before the eye — Whate'er he sees in passing by. Is genius then so very fine Not to be measured by a Hne ? A something secret to mankind — Outside the standard of the mind? Beyond the compass, well-known rule — Almost synonymous with fool — Projecting thought, ideal, sublime To live throughout the coming time ; From Homer, with the Trojan War, That lives tho' kings have gone; To Clarke that put "Night's mantle on, And pinn'd it with a star." THE POET. FEW can know well the mind of him who sees The unwritten Scripture in the works of God ; Whose sight can reach far out into void space And see the secrets hidden in the stars, 54 an €pic of beaten And read the records of the human heart, Beating the same beat through a milhon years. He, the true poet, is a mystery Unto himself as to the common crowd, He lives his life not in the realm of sense, But in the realm of soul ; he gives his hours Freely to work that will in time uplift Out of the sloughs of doubt the growing man. Unto the crowd he seems to dwell alone; But who would deem him lonesome when he hath Bright forms around him, coming ever, going — Heroes and sages, women divinely fair — All those called by his brain forth from the depths. The saints and saviors, and the kings and queens ? All houseless may he seem unto the crowd; And yet within his mind a palace stands. Filled with the richest furniture and gems, And marbles pure from unknown fairy lands, And carpets like fair lawns in May or June, And ceilings with the frescoes of the skies. The crowd may deem him lacking harp and reed; And yet the music of the universe He hears, and voices filled with melody From far-oiT planets come to cheer his soul, 55 an dEpic of IJ)eaDen And symphonies borne to him, on the wind, From islands by whose shores the mermaids sing. Unto the crowd, he seldom travels far ; And yet all nature comes before his eyes. He sees the battle in the distant field ; He sees the mighty storm, where ships go down; He sees the dreary mountains of the moon ; He sees the spread of knowledge through the world. He hath nor God nor heaven, unto the crowd, And yet his thoughts flow upward straight to Him, The Mind that rules the system of the spheres, That works eternally but for the best ; And his soul holds communion with the lost Who dwell somewhere beyond the mortal stars. NOT UNKNOWN UNTO THEMSELVES. WHERE'ER they be, rich or hewers of wood Bound to a wheel for aspiring toward Thirsting for things that fade ever away, Building up hopes to come down every day; 56 an OBpic of ^tmm Be they well or ill, let them laugh or groan, The gods to themselves are never unknovv^n. If they're seated with Jove to eat and sup, Or drink the lees from the tyrant's cup ; If they dream Elysium's peaceful dream, Or are shut in dungeons without a gleam, They still have pleasures, however alone ; The gods to themselves are never unknown. The wind may whistle, the storm may come on. And the sun, the moon, and the stars be gone ; The mind can survive, it has its own shore, O'er which the ocean of death cannot roar. Ye cannot deprive it of what's its own ; The gods to themselves are never unknown. A PILLOW OF PINE. I REST on a pillow of pine, brought home from the summer mountains ; The balm of its needles is soothing, and grate- ful I feel to the hands, The tender and thoughtful hands of the friends that gathering remembered me. And yet the aroma it yields takes me further than summer mountains, Takes me down to the forests of pine in Vir- ginia and North CaroHna. 57 an (Epic of l^eatien Again I ride a horse and sleep in the woods and by roadways ; Again I am with companions and implements of warfare ; I hear the drum and the fife, and the bugle's call to action ; The batteries belch their fire, and the squadrons charge like demons, And from rude-made breastworks come showers of lead like hailstones. While the flag goes up or down as success crowns our endeavors. The wounded lie in the forest, but a fire is eat- ing its way there ; While helpless they lie till consumed in the ter- rible havoc. And men are dying with thirst in the grime of the conflict unending, While the night stops only awhile the carnage and belchings of cannon ; And I lie on a pine needle bed, under the bright stars of heaven. II II II THE WILD ROSE. npHE wild rose that by roadside grew -■- Made friends with dust and rain, Companions of the breeze and dew Of country field and lane. 58 an (Epic of J^eatjen Though grown in hungry earth and stone Some nourishment it found, And, modestly, it would atone By cheering the dull ground. As if to rival garden plant Each tint it sought to cull, And was well able to enchant When it blossomed beautiful. RECEIVED FROM A CHILD. AS others were writing our little one Said, "To papa she, too, would write;" Making an effort, and when it was done 'Twas sent in an envelope white. Ah ! what pleasure it gave to receive it, For its circles my heart entwined; Though few words were therein to relieve it, And its paper had not been lined. 'Twas a quaint and beautiful letter. Brimmed full of young effort sincere; Where's the father from youngster got better, Or one to be treasured more dear? For a talisman choice I will choose it, And when shaken by passions wild 59 an (Epic of lj)eatien For my safety I'll gladly peruse it, This letter received from a child. She informs me the folks at home love me. That she wishes that I were home; That she prays to the angels above me To watch over me while I roam. Though but part of the alphabet's in it, And to many it seems a scrawl — They could never tell where to begin it — Yet I can understand it all. II II I TO A BROTHER. 13 ELIGIONS of the world accommodate -^^ Most every being who would walk him straight. If one's not suited where so much is shown He has the power to make one of his own. The Protestant, the Catholic, the Jew Are brothers in their worship ; it is true The forms are different, but each sincere heart Hath worshiped the Creator from the start. The kindly, blessed Father of us all Hath every child of earth within His call ; 60 an (Bpit of J^eatjen And while some go this, and some go that way. He is the judge to say the one astray. We worship and are sanctified thereby ; Get nearer to the Father while we try. Though finite is our grasp, our staff a reed. We get the manna from the heavens we need. Bow your head here, or bow it over there, The Father's love is present everywhere. O, brother of my heart ! bow where you will, E'en though we differ, you're my brother still. f^.- <5f^ »^^ "^SJP ^iir ^4^ SWEET REST TO HIM! SWEET rest to him, tender and bright. Last mighty Captain of our fight ! His country owes him boundless praise For faithful service all his days, With sword and brain true to the right. When treason rose in deadly might This gallant, fearless modern knight, In duty sought the battle's blaze ! Sweet rest to him ! In these last years, with hair grown white. To see him was a pleasing sight. Children were happy in his gaze ; Women and warriors sought his ways; 6i an (Epic of ^eatien His gracious manners gave delight- Sweet rest to him ! THANKSGIVING DAY. AT the gateway of the winter now comes Thanksgiving tide. In the glory of its atmosphere, its pie and tur- key pride, And it is most becoming that its cheer should far and wide abound, E'en going to the humblest home where'er it may be found. In olden time Thanksgiving was for harvests poor or good, The corn, the pumpkin, wheat, and all that gave a liveHhood, For poor returns the Pilgrims held up their hearts in praise, Far greater should our thanks be that live in these glorious days. Then welcome be Thanksgiving with its mani- fold feasts and joys ; Under many a homestead roof now gather the girls and boys ; And though some of us fail somewhat in har- vests where we strive, 62 an ©pic of ^eaben We should be thankful for our hopes, and that we are alive. Then pass around the turkey, the mince and ap- ple pies; Don't slight the poor and needy if in wisdom you'd be wise, To relieve distress our people have only to be told, For Lord be thanked the human heart is yet as good as gold ! SONG— HER IRISH BLUE EYES. SWEET Maggie Magill, she lives on a hill, Her father's farm is next to mine ; I met her oft when I drove to the mill, Her hair was like gold in the bright sunshine. Away from her now in a foreign land, Where many a maiden one's constancy tries, I long for a touch of her small, friendly hand, I sigh for a glance of her Irish blue eyes. Sweet Maggie Magill, when coming away I ask her to promise my bride she will be ; She gives me her word ; what more could she say? That when I come back she will marry me. 63 an (Bpic of l^eatoen My heart to her keeping I fondly surrender, She of all lasses the treasure and prize ; Ah! would she were here, so gracious and ten- der! Oh for one glance of her Irish blue eyes ! APPLES FALL. )nniS evening in the country, A In the mild September hours. And we linger in the odors Of the autumn fields and flowers. The cricket and the katydid Have brought their song and call. And in the orchard gloaming We may hear the apples fall. Why do the apples fall this way? Who knows the reason why? Or why that meteor yonder Leaves the arches of the sky? But even the little sparrow's end Is known to the Lord of all ; And we meditate w^ith nature As we hear the apples fall. 64 an Cpic of ^eatien JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. His remains were brought over from Tunis, at the expense of Mr. Corcoran, of Wash- ington, D. C, and were reinterred, with appro- priate services, at the beautiful Oak Hill Ceme- tery, June 9, 1883. BACK to the land that gave him birth, He's brought to rest forevermore, To mingle with his mother earth. Back from the far Tunisian shore. Here we'll his sacred dust entomb, Beneath his own loved flag unfurled ; But who could tomb his song? 'Twill bloom Long as mankind live in the world ! What sailor, 'neath the stars or sun, Wherever he may chance to roam. Or soldier, when the battle's done, But in his heart loves '*Home, Sweet Home?" The emigrants who leave the land That gave them and their kindred life, The thousands landing on our strand. All love the song with home so rife. Yet he who wrote it seldom could Claim that he had a home. His song To publishers brought fortunes good. While he with poverty lived long. 65 an ©pic of JJ)eai)en Now he IS back unto his own ; A generous man advanced the means, And after three decades have flown, His dust is 'mid famihar scenes. Ah ! if his gentle spirit sees From the immortal homes on high, Retaining yet his faculties, This does his soul much gratify. Poor wanderer! back to home again, To rest 'neath flowers and showers of June, Thy simple song from simple men And women shall not perish soon. EASTER. WHETHER as in old church romance On Easter morn the sun would dance, Spiritual eye can see this day The angel roll the stone away From the tomb door, and so set free The Christ foretold by prophecy. And from the body's earthly prison Proclaim the news that ''He has risen !" Yes, He hath risen ! and may, too, All who their selfishness subdue, To rich and poor, to wild and tame, 66 an (Bpit of i^eatien Obscurely housed, or known to fame, Alike He's brought — ah ! blissful sight — This immortality to light ; Thy neighbor love as self and God, And little matters it how thou'rt shod. Blessed Easter! for it all years long, Be welcomed in with joy and song! Rejoice ! it preaches to the earth, Beyond the tomb there is a birth Of soul triumphant — life and breath. That never can know aught of death! Rejoice ! Hosannas joyful rise To Christ, the pathway to the skies! II II II WHEN GEORGE GETS MARRIED. Wedding of George H. Rowe and Ida Belle Wood of Brooklyn, N. Y. WHEN George gets married how they will sigh. The numerous girls ; they'll not tell why Though they must know one only can Be properly married to a man ; And love must always make a choice — At least one heart can well rejoice. November, with her bonny airs. Is now about us ; month for pairs 67 an (Epic of ^eatjen To act conjointly and not lurch, But meet together at the church ; The wedding march, the service said, The ring put on and they are wed. When George is wed the lovely one Will have a prince to lean upon ; And he will have a lovely dame. Worthy a hero and his fame. The fact is in the very air That they're a handsome, well matched pair. When George gets married how the press Will write him up, it can't do less ; This scion of the fourth estate Has been its worker long and late. In pleasant and in stormy days, And will be sure to get its praise. In ruby and in amber wine We'll toast the pair. Ay, 'twill be fine To see them on their wedding day, Fresh as two blooms of hawthorn spray, Starting a journey not all mirth, But just the best one of the earth. Healthy and happy in their prime — The Lord be with them through all time! Peace and the robust one Good Cheer To be their guests for many a year. 68 an (Bpic of 5)eaben IDIOSYNCRASIES. A SOLDIER of the Cross once had a dream, After a battle, resting by a stream : He saw, upon his way, an Infidel With blood which flowed from wounds both deep and fell, A hand quite powerless, and a dragging limb That yielded but a burden sore to him, Trying to reach the stream to quench his thirst. The soldier felt like slaying him at first. But drops like rain now falling from the sky Caused him to turn a sudden glance on high; And in the blue — 'twas clear — he saw a face Bearded but lovely, with a divine grace. Whose lips still smiled and spoke to him: "Oh spare Thy brother ; what thou hast that let him share !" And strange about the soldier it may seem That when he woke he thought it not a dream. II II II THE WASHINGTON STATUE. Erected at the W^illiamsburgh Bridge Plaza through the generosity of ex-Congressman James R. Howe. 69 an (Cpic of !^eaben IN th* wondrous gallery of famous men Which Time, Creation's artist, hath turned out, Not one of them of greater worth we ken Born to vicissitudes of faith and doubt, Not one whose mission splendid was to rout King George's government for Liberty's To compare with Washington, who could mount The high hills of men's hopes, enjoy the breeze And view America and her destinies. He saw the liberal sunshine o'er the hills, Which promise gave to all of work and hope ; And he beheld the tyranny which kills, Become oppressive, that would slyly grope And strangle free thought by its narrow scope. Swelling the world with all of fret and care, That taxes, without freedom, was a rope Of rotten strands, too fragile to ensnare, Unable to hold pioneers anywhere. The glorious risings of those soul-tried times! The episode at Boston when was thrown The tea in harbor. Independence chimes And Patrick Henry's voice are northward blown — The news of Lexington has southward flown! Brave colonies ! in efforts hard and long, 'Mid foes in ambush and those better known. Staunch bulwarks ! and advance guard, good and strong, To all republics, struggling against wrong. 70 an (Epic of J^eatien The Valley Forge of hunger and of cold, Of bleeding feet in snow, 'mid bleak distress, Shall never in our minds and hearts grow old, But ever claim our grateful tenderness. The General and his ill-clad men we bless ; For love of right they battled long and sore ; We thank them for their fortitude and stress. Men of great parts ! how lovingly we pore O'er history that your gallant deeds explore ! When victory came, securing well earned peace, The conqueror of Cornwallis bade farewell Unto his armies, to enjoy a lease Of quiet citizenship. But it fell To him to be selected, to excel As our first President ; to uphold the state.. A watchful, faithful, fortunate sentinel. In every function to be truly great, A knightly man, one of the kings of fate.. Here hath been built memorial eloquent To remind people of his work and fame. This man of men most opportunely sent Within God's providence to earn a name Second to none — all patriots to aflame. And while we look upon his effigy In lasting bronze, this man of giant frame,. With two-fold gratification may we see In its proportions fame and form agree.. 71 an (Epic of l^eauen A GOOD NIGHT TO SORREL. MUSING to-night on former years, The war unto my eyes appears And 'mid its memories — hopes and fears — My mind goes back to Sorrel. That faithful war steed's now no more, That me through dangers safely bore, Yea, through the raids and battles' roar; For dauntless was good Sorrel. When the war ended, his fine head He laid upon earth's chilly bed, And soon he slumbered with the dead; And so breath left poor Sorrel. Why did he so ignobly die? He that so oft heard bullets fly, While shells burst through the sulphurous sky; Ay, why did they spare Sorrel? Stout horse ! he bore me o'er the soil, On many a weary march of toil, While the hot sun made the blood boil; But through it all went Sorrel. He oft has chased guerilla bands O'er ditches wide and swampy lands, And helped to fetter traitors' hands; For swift was my good Sorrel. 72 an (Epic of J^eatjen He, too, has charged with flying- feet, And followed up the dire retreat, Where the rebels got so badly beat; Ay, you were there, brave Sorrel! Poor horse! you're now at peace. The strife Of man no more affects your life, That with all nobleness was rife ; And so good night, brave Sorrel! THE COMFORTER. THAT shadows fall upon the soul of men, Under monotony of suns and stars. Cannot gainsaid be by philosophy, Yet know we they are shadows — nothing real. Minds are not made of clay or putty, to Be shaped by every trifling circumstance. The Builder shaped each vessel for a sea Unknown but partly to another one. Nor can an accident, or incident, Take from each one the freight he gladly bears. That from the Father comes to each one born. The glorious ingrain heritage of all. The spiritual illumination, that From the development of the upper brain. Is at man's trying hour the Comforter That lights him onward to the realms of bliss. 73 an (Epic of ^eatjen THE ROCK ROAD. Watchung, New Jersey. HAST ever been blessed with a summer abode, A cottage or bungalow on the Rock road? A tired one's paradise, lovely and calm, With rural advantage of field and sky farm. The songsters of woodland and meadow com~ bine, With human sojourners, to make it divine. A life-giving breeze, seen and felt everywhere, Shakes the perfume from trees in the exquisite air. The Rock road has different levels to go; Some steep, and some easy, all curved to go slow. A serpentine ascent, to give exercise, The traveler enjoying the scene of each rise. The people who dwell there are earnestly great Lovers of nature ; it augments each estate. One hardly may blame them, in scenes fresh and gay. To feel they are rich as the hours pass away. 74 an (Bpit of l^eatoen THE SPARROWS. OUTSIDE my garret window there's a roof, And there the Hvely sparrows love to come, These wintry days, eager to get a crumb. Though feathered warm, in brown and gray, not proof Are they 'gainst hunger. From a ledge aloot They flurry down, alert and frolicsome; And then, again, they're sober-eyed and glum, Anxious that I should give for their behoof. They are abused by some, I freely own ; And when I gave food I have seen them flare Away a while, as if they had a fear Of unexpected harm ; but ne'er a stone ^ Would I throw at these gossips of the air, That this dull weather fills with chatty cheer. A HELICON. POET bound for distant Helicon, - To quaff the nectar of its many springs, A draft of which lays bare the soul of thmgs, O'ertook another deviously wandering on. Approving not such waywardness, he said :^ ^'Straight have I come through jungle, city, mire, 75 3n dEpic of l|)eatoen Seldom my progress matching my desire ; The road seems long; how has thy journey sped !" The other answered, "1 have sought the field Where birds made melody, where flowers were fair; While rock, and tree, and leaflet, sun and air. Gave me new dreams not hitherto revealed." And thus each one thought his own road the best, While far away loomed Helicon in the west. II II II THE BIRD OF HOPE. GOING through the park I hear thy cheerful song, Sweet bird of hope, song sparrow. At thy leisure Er®^ other birds come with their treasure, Ere robins clear and blackbirds harsh and strong And bluebirds meek, in thickets yet do throng, Advance guard of the spring, thy dainty meas- ure, Though wintry winds prevail, thou singst with pleasure. The bud and leaf and flowers will come along. Sing, little teacher, to encourage us Whom the March winds are chilling to the core : Who see no spring nor evidence of flowers. 76 an (Epic of l^eauen Ah! could we doubtful days enliven thus, As thou dost on yon leafless branch so hoar, Our world would fuller be of happy hours 1 A MORNING THOUGHT. AS when at morn, through chilly rain and mist, We look to W'here the mountain lately stood, Yet cannot see it in its cloud-capped hood, Howe'er believing 'twill be yet sun-kissed; So when in darkness and affliction, God, We cannot always see Thy loving face, Nor can Thy goodness in life's shadows trace ; But as w^e know the sunshine o'er the sod Will come again, restoring to our sight The vast and solemn mountain, tall and lone, Grand as Olympus, Jupiter's old throne, So learn we when our darkness turns to light, And drear foreboding changes to a smile. That Thou hast been about us all the while. II II II INDIAN SUMMER DAYS. THE fowler's shot resounds through pleas- ant air. The maples have put on their red and gold, The purple haze envelopes wood and wold 77 an dEpic of l&eatjen And makes the homeliest things look soft and fair. The corn stands in the shock for winter's food, The cows graze lazily along the stream, The distant mountains now much nearer seem Than when the summer heats did o'er them brood. The growing colt frisks gayly through the field, Nor thinks of toil in store for him and me ; A sluggish feeling calms our energy And makes the mind to dreamy fancies yield. Over the well won trophied autumn's shield The Indian summer spreads its tapestry. ON THE NILE. ?npWAS on the Nilus, waiting for the wind -■- To favor sail — impatient to be gone — John Christian said, ''O this is most unkind! Let's pray the wind to change that we may on." Hassan Mohamet, of the boat, replied: "Let us content in that it blows aright." **Nay," said the other, with no wish to bide, **We want a difif'rent wind — this looks like spite." Hassan Mohamet said, *Tt may seem so ; But I have faith that God does shape the way, 78 an ©pic of r;)eatien Whether to North or South this wind may blow. And makes it right for somebody to-day." John Christian bow'd his head — he thought a prayer — And somehow dropp'd his selfish wishes there. THE IMPRISONED ROBIN. HE heard his cry this morning, and his wail Was like the sad song of the whippoorwill. It may be in his prison cage he still Hath memories of the fields ; recalls the tale — So sadly sweet, filling the wood and vale — The lonesome night bird sang at vespers, till He deems it is his own. His joyous thrill And natural pipings seem to be in jail. How different from his notes when, wild and free, He sang his happy greetings to his mate. And pleasure seemed the business of his days ! No night bird's acts were mimicked in his ways When he strode o'er the lawn in pride elate. Or filled the air with melody from a tree. 79 an (Epic of ^eauen ON THE HUDSON. THE glow of perfect day unconscious lies O'er Hudson's wide expanse this autumn tide, When Nature's banners, streaming far and wide, Are mirrored in its waters with the dyes Of Indian summer's painting — darks and brights — Enveloping the prospect, till we seem Wrapped in the splendors of an Orient dream. O River ! whose soft waves reflect all lights, By farm and palace where mankind may dwell. Happier than by the Shannon, Thames, or Rhine, Could I have but a cottage to call mine On thine enchanting banks, it would be well ; Where musing, from earth's tumults I'd be free To watch thy peaceful journey to the sea. A TAWNY HEAD FROM EGYPT. Metropolitan Museum of Art, Central Park, N. Y. THERE rude curiosity cannot e'en debase It rests, this marvel from the antique land 80 an (Bpit of J^eatoen Of pyramid and sphinx, and palm and sand, |(With tufts of hair, warm-bronze, within a case,) An illustration of the dominant race That swayed the world for centuries, and that planned Archives of art and catacombs to stand 'Gainst all Time's efforts laboring to efface. These sightless sockets once with love-light shone ; This brow command has given men among. And with its intellect may have given tone To governments — ay, even touched our own; While Hps, that might have greeted wife and young. Are now with brain that thought, with voice that sung. O CONTINUITY. UR honored parent would be ninety now, Though many a lengthened year has passed away Since in death's harvest he was gathered, gray, Having had enough, no doubt, to fret his brow. I never deem him dead, but still endow Him with all faculties in vi2:orous play; With aspirations in their fullest sway; 8i an (Epic of i^eauen And fruitful works that hang- upon Hfe's bough. Each year I add a new year to his days : The difference is but Uving here or there In that great country wdiere they never die. But evermore are youthful in their ways ; No wrinkles fret from labor or from care, For all soul-longings blossom in the sky. II II THE ANGELUS. TWO simple souls stopped by a peal of bells. Amid the evening shades softly de- scending, As homeward from their daily labor wending, They pause to pray while the sweet cadence swells ; Two souls sincere, though lacking in book sense. But knowing well the world invisible. Listening, they hear more than the solemn knell Of sounding chimes to wake their reverence ; So worshipping and spiritual they appear. Devout brain fibres of the very life Are stimulated in the man and wife, And they love God and feel the heavenly sphere ; They have no science raising mental mists To blind the truth divine, that God exists. 82 an dBpic of it)eatoen THE HARP OF WHITTIER. SOME chords, which seemed from a celestial lyre, Found long ago by a New England boy, Were by him made into a harp, his joy, On which he played in rapture tones of fire. Knowing the source from which had came its strings, He consecrated it to right 'gainst wrong, Against slavery of every sort its song ; The brotherhood of man it grandly rings. Full-grown the man forsook not the great task. And much of love of country and home life Are sweeter for his songs, which are so rife In offering wisdom in its sunniest bask. Now past the confines of the earth he sees The stars immortal o'er the cypress trees. A POET— TENNYSON. BRAIN fibred all for poesy, in this Slow humdrum age of science, work he w^ould Creating noble forms on which he could Bestow a worth immortal. Granite, gneiss 83 an dBpic of !S)eat3en And sandstone of the mind, all gave him bliss Inspired with soul of beauty, brotherhood ; Then consciously, yet modestly, he stood Enlarging right and joy that none need miss. Wrought by his glowing faculties, manifold, Old ruins changed to homes for singing birds ; Sleepers of old romance new life began ; The glories of the future were unrolled ; Fair women dead again spoke golden words, And songs were born to cheer the perfect man. II II m TWO WREATHS FOR GLASNEVEN. I DREAMED two wreaths I brought into Glasneven To place upon two graves, well honored there ; Graves of great hearts who did the work of heaven Striving for equal rights against despair. Awaking, I remembered one had fought To free his countrymen oppressed for creed, And never wearied till what he had sought Was gained at last, so grandly did he plead. The other was a stubborn patriot, yet The leader and the master of a band Of men, love-bound, fighting that they might get All freemen's risfhts for their beloved land. '&' 84 an (Bpit of J^eauen speed, shadowy wreaths, to deck the mounds where dwell The mortal parts of O'Connell and Parnell. THE WOOD THRUSH'S SONG. OFT have I listened to thy song, sweet bird, Trying to learn it so that 1 might sing It to myself long after in the fling And turmoil of the city, but a word Or note I learn not; thine enraptured strain, So filled with beauty, strength and cadences, Has with it so much tree, and lawn, and breeze. And consonance, that all my task's in vain. As difficult to learn it as the song Made by the streamlet down the mountain side, Rising and lowering in a rhythmic slide, Tinged by the zephyrs which the sounds pro- long; But, like to it, it lingers when away, Within the mind, and haunts us many a day. m m m TO THE PLANET JUPITER. MAGNIFICENT orb, great Jupiter ! that With regal splendors glow the evening skies. Paling red Mars, that soon to sink he lies 85 an Cpic of l^eatien Beyond our ken — the dark West caverns at. Bright one, dimming the constellations' trail, Whether accompanied by five moons or more, Whether cooled off or fiery thine outpour, In thy supremacy thou wilt not fail To be the planet sphere of majesty! And, certes, thou'st to be the interpreter, Unto the worshipful astronomer, To much unknown now in our solar sea ; While nations yet unborn shall in thee find An object of sublimity to the mind. II II p WARD'S SHAKSPEARE. Central Park, N. Y. HERE can we see the Poet's noble brow That cheers the Centuries! — a great spa- cious tower, Showing mankind, what darkly was ere now. The native source of his supernal power. The long black mystery is there cleared away ; We no more can marvel since this is here. Why his mental photographs are the sway — The glory of the world — without a peer ; Or, why he magically read the heart, And with clairvoyant vision saw through all The workings of the mind, in every part. Be it in king, or clown, or great, or small, — 86 an (Epic of !^eat)en Pshaw ! such a face and head on man to-day Could make great Hamlet but a schoolboy's play. W W ^ THE CATBIRD'S SONG. MA-YAA, ma-yaa," I hear the catbird cry- ing From out the thicket during day's warm hours, When partly resting his melodious powers, Near cornfields waving in the zephyr's sighing. But hear him in the morning hours rejoice. In middle summer, when his young are grow- ing ! Behold him then from yonder spruce spire throwing His melody about in marvellous voice! Alto, soprano, mezzo, high and low. How frolicsome this homely fellow's notes Break on the ear; and hear him when he quotes From other birds, the rascal mimics so. And he improves the others' trill or call, For if he only tries, he beats them all. 87 3n OEpic of J^eaijen THE PORTRAIT. HOW like a placid morning- is this face, So full of healthfulness and rosy light, The eyes filled full of tenderness, and bright With an expression showing inward grace. Yet closer look, and see that line on line Hath Time engraved upon this countenance Of trial and struggle, which may e'en enhance The beauty of these lovely forms divine. The morning landscape in the sunshine dress'd Once past the fearful storm which shook the earth. Looks calmly now, after its rain-washed birth, In all the glory of its beauty blest ; And, though about are many marks which tell Of the storm's doings, yet is it not well ? II II II CHRISTMASTIDE. PEACE and good will toward men! Blest Christmastide That brings to famished thousands a good meal; While even those immured in cells, that steal From others for a livelihood, now bide At tables loaded with the best of fare. 88 an OBpic of ^eatjen Children unused to luxuries and joys Now have abundance, are e'en bless'd with toys, For did not Christ take such unto His care? The laborer sick, his family hungry, cold, Is now remembered ; wood and coal, and rent, And flour and meal, and fowl to him are sent By them that know the genuine use of gold ; Whose eyes have seen the shepherds watch by night, Or read the Sermon on the Mount aright. m W W RALPH WALDO EMERSON. COULD I depict the marvel of thy lines I would be almost equal to thyself ; So content I must be to admire thy pelf Of Nature's coinage that thy skill entwines Through all thy sayings, prophecies and pasts. Thy mind can claim equality with them. The giant seers and poets, that like masts, Well rigged and sailed, are set 'twixt bow and stem On earth's great deck, inciting mankind on To emulate their spreading sails of thought. While breezes from the purer spheres are brought To swell the canvas, that the weak may con, The strong wax stronger, the rose grow more red, And the material man rise from the dead. 89 an (Bpit of ^eatien WASHINGTON ROCK, NEW JERSEY. HERE on this giant rock, backed by this wood. He viewed the hostile red coats of the foe. Led by Cornwallis on the plains below. Noting their movements, while concealed he stood. What a vast prospect was before his eyes, Where now fair plains and pleasant towns abound ! Yonder's the gray of Staten Island Sound, And here the Raritan low winding lies. New Brunswick's but a dozen jumps, you'd think, O'er there the towers of Brooklyn Bridge so tall; Yonder stands Liberty enlightening all ; And there's the gusty ridge of Navesink. How varied are the scenes which spread be- low, Where Washington once stood and watched the foe. 90 an (Epic of ^eatjen CREATION. A SINGING bird one day upon a spray Seemed happy for the pleasure in his heart The singing gave him. So let the poet im- part His song of many chords in his own way, Whether of cheer, or dole, of fact, or fay. And although sometimes singing to the mart, With love of approbation in his art, What matter if true music's in his lay? Songs from his inner self abroad are tossed; A hearing for these winged souls he be- speaks ; And whereso'er he goes, listeners he seeks, As otherwise their melody might be lost, A thinker said, in words of high sequence, "A poet must create an audience." II II II WARM DAYS IN DECEMBER. THE warmth hangs o'er the naked, bare- limbed woods, Enmantling them in garments of blue haze ; And even the ruts made by the springtime floods When that Apollo with his golden rays 91 an (Epic of l^eatien Sent melted snow in runlets down the hills And watersheds, swelling the little streams To treble their capacity of rills, Appear like ancient gold with ruddy gleams. Some vigorous maples yet retain their leaves, Proud of their mottled dress of fading sheen ; And the slow-running brook his way yet weaves By fir and myrtle, and through sods yet green. Some migratory birds in cosy nooks yet stray Where sheltered glades abound and south winds play. JOHN BROWN. NATURE has her own way to move man- kind, Taking for heroes righteous ones of earth. Clothed in the ruggedness of right from birth, Of radical proclivities which bind Fast to the task she teaches they must do, And wealth, nor ease, nor beauty ever frees Them from the work which warms their ener- gies. Their raiment may be rough, their food part rue, Their pilgrimage on earth be 'mid despair; They may be called fanatic, fool, or worse. And their intentions may be deemed a curse 92 an OBpic of i^eatoen To shatter much in life thought good and fair; Yet working for the right they miss God's frown, — The shackles of each slave were on John Brown. II II II STORY'S SEMIRAMIS. THERE in a modern city sittest thou, The queen that some four thousand years ago Had built the walls of Babylon ; thy fair brow Crowned with Assyria's jewels; a great foe, And conquering princess, that brought 'neath thy sway Persia and Egypt, and their mighty force, And north to where Caucasus stood at bay. And east to where the Indus found its source, Within the present age again thou'st won. The Teuton, Anglo-Saxon, Celt and Dane, And children of them all, a race begun, Acknowledge thy great powers, accept thy reign, And crowd the portals of the courtly scene Where, in thy wondrous beauty, thou art queen. 93 9n (Bpit of ^eaben THE MONTH OF MONTHS. THE air is teeming with the life of June ; The insects hum about the fragrant grass; The robin and the catbird pipe in tune, And the wood sparrow cheers the wild morass. The distant hill-tops seem to lie serene Within the sunshine of the glorious day, Like Eden's mountains lovely in the sheen Of Paradise's splendor far away. The roses' perfume from the garden wall, The clover's breath from the green meadow near, The bobolincoln with his flirting call, The pleasant atmosphere, blue, dry, and clear; Yes, all the living things which sing or croon Proclaim thee of all months the sweetest, June. ON THE FRONTIER. TWO giant minds have stamped the mental world, Instructors of our times and times to be; Toiling to bring mankind to harmony, Smoke from each study on the frontier curled. They searched more for finality than growth. Not for the footprint but the thought of God, They worshipped wisdom in the chastening rod 94 an (Epic of ^eatjen That scars transgressors ; and yet both Felt Beauty as she moves through cycles vast, And knew the hopefulness that cheers us here In our promotion toward the perfect sphere; They loved the future and esteemed the past. Revere their lives, O man ! for ne'er again Will this old world contain two lovelier men. EUGENE FIELDS— TERR^ FILIUS. WHAT sweeter epitaph can there be used O'er any grave, let fame be great or small, Than what is true of him, and not abused? "He was a friend of children, one and all." O friend ! who hath environed a new life, I never saw to know you, but a sort Of sympathetic fellow feeling, rife With human ties, hath brought us in rapport. A vacant place, impossible to fill, Owing to the quaint flavor of his brain. Was made when Death this Roman vase did spill, And so was lost rich wine to entertain. In him the child and man were reconciled, And in his death I pity every child. 95 an ©pic of l^catjen THE WELL BROUGHT OVER FROM HOLLAND. FRONTING a bluff beside the Tappan Zee, Surrounded by green sward, bubbles a spring- Wherein the traveler, or the bird on wing, May quench his thirst and quaff cool purity. Above, in Wolfert's Roost, once lived a King Of Romance, he whose magic pen could bring The Hudson Dutchman back for us to see, The village vroow, or New Amsterdam grandee. He drank of your sweet waters, humble fount, And made you famous ; even children tell The whimsical story of the imported well. You bubble merrily beneath Van Tassel's mount And wayfarers still seek you, for your fame, And for the love of Diedrich Knickerbocker's name. U W W SOME DIVINE STEPS. THE essence of all things that dwells on high. To whom the human soul oft turns for balms, Lets downward to the earth, in storms or calmsj Steps which gives superb prospects to the sky, And stimulate humanity to pry Into Divinity — its suns and fanes. 96 an ©pic of i^eatoen Homer, that glorious step, how grand to try And climb it ! From Dante's step e'en the plains Of the departed can be kenn'd. Shakespeare's Shows diversity in entireness. Milton's Shows scenes sublime. Goethe's in beauty rears. And lovely views give Burns' and Emerson's. The needs of souls find here and there a rise Of steps divine to help them to the skies. II II MY HORSE. MY horse I sometimes think of; where is he? Companion in the war for many a day. His graceful, glossy flanks of ruby bay, His delicate head, with eyes that beamed on me Good-naturedly and friendly, or in plea? Fleet-limbed and full of courage for the fray. Enduring in the march, though long the way ; Through hunger, dust ,and thirst; where may he be? I doubt he lives. Myself am somewhat gray. And man has tvv^ce the travel of a horse. Fm glad I think of him without remorse, For kindly was he used in service long. I'm glad we parted friends ; I heard his neigh Over the peach field, like a farewell song! 97 an ©pic of ^eatoen TO THE SHADE OF WOLT WHITMAN. THOU lover of the cosmos vague and vast, In which thy virile mind would penetrate Unto the rushing, primal springs of fate, Ruling alike the future, present, past ; Now, having breasted waves beyond death's blast, ^ New Neptune's steeds saluted, white and great, And entered through the glorious Golden Gate, And gained the fair celestial shores at last. Still worship'st thou the Ocean? thou that tried To comprehend its mental roar and surge. Its howling as of victory, and its dirge For continents submerged by shock and tide. By that immortal ocean now what cheer? Do crews patrol and save the same as here? ff ;*f;i <^1 -ii- -ii- 'ii' NEW YORK CITY. SITTING at rest, great city of the West, Almost surrounded by strait, river, bay; Absorbing all that come and with thee stay ; Making true lovers of earth's very best. Who cannot praise thee too much in their zest. Old Hendrick Hudson could not in his day Dream of this growth so great ; for then blue jay 98 an Cpic of ^eatoen And forest birds abounded, and could nest. At times thou seemest too soft and easy going.. Giving thy sons and daughters too free times ; But when they go too far thou makest them smart ; Rewarding them who good deeds have been growing, Punishing them found guilty of foul crimes. Beneath thy vesture beats a great, kind heart. fl II II PASSED OVER THE BRIDGE. WATCHING, through vigils long, the arch of light Spanning the bridge, uniting cities large, Who doubts his mind took note of all the charge Approaching dissolution with its blight Had put upon him? Through the long sad nights He mused on life, death and eternity. Beyond these shadows, where the soul would be Enraptured at the glorious heavenly sights. He thought of this and them he'd leave behind To all the moil and duty of this life. Their future meeting, far from earthly strife; And, gazing on this arch, in his clear mind In time he saw the bridge lights to that shore Where pain, and death and sorrow come no more. 99 an (Epic of ^ea\3en BETTER THAN HE KNEW. A BAD man in his garden found a weed That caused him trouble, so he thought he'd take And cultivate it, so that he might make It more a source of misery by its seed, And thereby trouble neighbors, good and bad, Much valued time he spent in labor hard. Developing this thing in his back yard ; And vi^hen he deemed this noisome weed he had Grown to perfection, as to smell and size, To injure much his neighbor's cheerful grounds. When night had spread her mantle on his rounds He went, scattering its seeds. To his surprise His culture had developed pleasing powers — Each plant grew up the home of fragrant flowers. A MIDSUMMER THOUGHT. WE love this earth, somehow, if young or old; And though 'tis often censured, still 'tis ours, And though weeds multiply, it has its flowers, With climates ranging wide from heat to cold; loo an dEpic of ^eatoen And he must lack the mind's true scope who can Go through all without a grateful thought At the concordant comeliness that's wrought On sea and shore, mountain and plain, for man. Sometimes I think that earth will ever keep Us chained unto its bosom, strangely wed; That when unto dim eyes we may seem dead, Our souls will still be active, not asleep. But living in the essence ; conscious, too, That 'neath us is the sward, and over us the blue. m w w THE POEM. 'npHOUGH singers are many, with songs of -■- cheer. The poem's not born every day of the year. Earth's corners are searched well to find the seed, And the finder thereof is rare indeed. The rich or the poor, clear eyed or the blind, One or the other the treasure will find : Will give it a name — it has its own wings — To start on the journey the comfort it brings. lOI an (Epic of l^eatien BELLS OF MORNING. EACH morning, as I lie in bed, I hear a far-off bell's sweet tone Welcoming the day gleams, rosy red, And telling me that night has flown. So one, upon his dying bed, Hears bells of a celestial tone Welcome the soul far overhead. And telling him that death has flown. II II II NEVER SAW THE STARS. WE read that "Ninus never saw the stars." Rivers of gold were his and armies great, And jewels, wines and raiment to elate. But these possessions were his eye sight's bars. Those stars, which beautify the upper court, Should we neglect for lamps of gain and spoil ? Better the beacon guiding honest ships Than wreckers' torch at an unworthy port. Better the Polar star in steady moil. Than comet flaming in erratic dips. 102 A M an (Epic of t^eatien MUSIC. LL things had reached creation, but stood still, Awaiting the Divine creative sign To move with life eternal ; and His will Chose music for the signal, gift divine ! II II II A VILLAGE MAID. YRA hath beauties pleasant to behold; Her silken crown's adornment for a queen ; Her eyes are windows where the soul is seen '^ Her mind's a store of treasure, good as gold ; Her heart is to be won, you say, not sold. Never before beneath earth's arching skies Was such enchantment in a maiden's eyes; And yet she's in the market to be sold. Never was village maiden such a prize, Who bids? Bid high, in love, not gold. II II II BOOK CATALOGUES. OOK catalogues : I here confess Their publishers I often bless. My modest purse may be too thin ^ To buy the treasures named therein ; 103 B an (Epic of peahen The giant names I love not less. Books from the era of Queen Bess, Marlowe and Shakespeare in new dress ; Abbott or Addison may begin Book catalogues. Big names or little, nevertheless I muse on what each may express ; In cloth, morocco, or calfskin, Ah, how I love to read within ! Knowledge is there ,and cheerfulness ; Book catalogues. GOD. WHAT giveth its taste to the cucumber? What bestoweth perfume on the helio- trope ? What with beauty endoweth the maiden? What wdth stars doth enjewel the midnight? What food groweth in the beards of the wheat? Say Nature, Evolution, what you will, But how much simpler is the grand word, God ! II II II ONE DAY. T^EATH came along one day •*-^ And asked his pay : The life of a child. 104 an (Epic of l^eaijen In this world, right and left, Parents are thus bereft, The child but smiled. Shall we, too, smile, And after a while Be reconciled? m II THEOLOGY. WORSHIP of God is laudable; His truest name is audible, So that the spirit ear may hear. Hell is the fitting recompense Of uncouth actions, lacking sense, Stifling the laugh, causing the tear. Heaven is the fruit of fruitfulness, The answer of true life, to bless ; Work and development are here. %^' %g W , THE TREND TOWARD THE SKY. SOME years agone a would-be seer pro- claimed That he was witness and he saw the sight 105 an ©pic of i^eatien Of spirit form o'er sufferer, illness maimed, And when death came he saw it take its flight. This truth or fancy had a strata sound. Of late X-ray experiments 'tis writ, That when life left the body it was found A shadow-substance rose and went from it. BRAIN GONE ASTRAY. BRAIN gone astray, he ends his earthly days, And deems that life to him is ever over. Do we, now left behind to blame or praise, Believe the human soul can run to cover ? DESTINY. WHETHER we see it in the lowly snake, Or in the wisdom of the primal cause, 'Tis all the same — we sleep, and dream, and wake To opening vistas of earth's splendid laws. Who now shall say that some of us are not Held back in check, or moved to effort grand. By power supreme, that we can never blot, Or grasp in fullness or its force command? io6 an (Bpit of J|)eai)en ONE FAITHFUL LISTENER. HE dipped his pen into his heart and wrote Poems that few would hear or under- stand ; Like some wild song bird in a lonely land Pouring abroad its sweet and soul-thrilled note. And yet perchance on that untravelled way Some unknown soul may greet liim with a look Of thanks intense for something in his book That on the mind has thrown a sunny ray. Better one faithful listener than a crowd Of soulless ones, half-hearted, shouting loud. II II II THE RAINBOW. THE rainbow, with its colors seven, Makes the fairest arch of heaven When the rain is nearly done Opposite the shining sun. II II II A NEW YEAR'S NIGHT OF LONG AGO. O NE New Year's night of long ago I heard the ringing bugles blow Over the wide Virginia field, 107 Zn (Epic of l^eatjen Which we and war had forced to yield, At times camp ground and frozen bed ; At times a burial for our dead. One New Year's night of long ago I heard the tattoo bugles blow, Artillery and cavalry, So different, yet in harmony. Their music I can ne'er forget; I seem to hear them ringing yet! Gone are the brave who held that field Across whose frost the bugles pealed ; Comrades are they in tents more white Than marked Virginia's soil that night. Yet as on that night of long ago I hear once more the bugles blow. io8 OUR NEWEST ISSUES By Wilbert C. Blakeman. The Black Hand 1.50 By John W. Bennett. Roosevelt and the Republic 1.5O By Hon. Joseph M. Brown. (Governor of Georgia.) Astyanax — An Epic Romance I.50 By John Tracy Mygatt. What I Do Not Know of Farming 75 By Esmee Walton. Aurora of Poverty Hill I.50 By Josephine Merwin Cook. Bandana Days .75 By Howard James. The Wraith of Knopf and Other Stories Z.OO By George Fuller Golden. My Lady Vaudeville and Her White Rats.... 2.00 By J. A. Salmon- Maclean. Leisure Moments i.oo A Stricken City 50 OUR NEWEST ISSUES ^$^v^?^ y^^ y;^SS^ y^i^ 5^ 0(0 o/oYo cj^o?^ ^l^oio ^g?o 0^^0(0 y'2^ By Alexandre Erixon. The Vale of Shadows 1.50 By Mrs. Josephine M. Clarke. The King Squirrel of Central Park (Juvenile) , .60 By William N. Freeman. St. Mammon • 1.50 By Mrs. I. Lowenberg. The Irresistible Current 1.50 By M. Y. T. H. Myth. Tales of Enchantment i.o© A Tale Confided by the Woods 75 By Ida Blanche Wall. Comedy of Petty Conflicts 1.25 By Elizabeth Helene Freston. Poems (portrait) beautifully bound i.oo Italians Fornarina (leather) 3.00 Compiled by Dan\un W. Esmond. Poetry of Childhood, by Paul Warner Esmond (Memorial Edition) 1.50 OUR NEWEST ISSUES ?^^^^u >^^ ^^f^ ^^^oPo^^oo)ot^o)^o m By James A. Ritchey, Ph.D. Psychology of the Will $1.50 By Charles Hallock, M. A. Peerless Alaska z.OQ By Dwight Edwards Marvin. Prof. Slagg of London 1.50 The Christman 1.50 By Caroline Mays Brevard. Literature of the South I.50 By Susan Archer Weiss. Home Life of Poe (3d ed.) 1.50 By Irving Wilson Voorhees, M.D. Teachings of Thomas Henry Huxley (2d ed.) . i.oo By Mrs. Annie Riley Hale. Rooseveltian Fact and Fable I.oo By Hon. D. W. Higgins. The Mystic Spring I.50 By Edith Nicholl Ellison. The Burnt-Offering ..,. x^Af VM SS ^510 One copy del. to Cat. Div. LIBHAMT ^jr O^JIMUriCOO 018 603 887 3 * ■' ' ■ i-tiJ.liiiM-lil'tRKtlll' •ilt'il.v ■■■spiiL... ■ i i i lii i mm *lil