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POEMS OF PANAMA 
 
 AND OTHER VERSE 
 
 Founded upon Adventures 
 in the Wanderings of 
 One of Nature'' s Nomads 
 
 BY 
 GEORGE WARBURTON LEWIS 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 
 
 1916 
 

 I 
 
 I i 
 
 Copyright, 1916 
 Sherman, French (5r» Company 
 
 JUL 26 1916 
 ©CI.A437004 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 This little book is apt to remind some of us that 
 time flies. Can it be near twenty years back to 
 the peaceful^ prosy, self-containing United States 
 of the nineties? All the young fellows were read- 
 ing Kipling then, and getting the romance of far 
 tropical places in their blood, and the wander- 
 lust in their feet. If a young fellow had the itch 
 for writing, he got the brass band of Kipling in 
 his style — or what he hoped was his style. 
 
 Along came the little war with Spain. What a 
 brisk, dramatic little war it was ! Not much now- 
 adays, true, when war is made by machinery, with 
 a card system. But it took the young fellows of 
 the nineties away to lands full of color and strange- 
 ness, and opened up a new era for them and for us. 
 It is good to look back, if you are old enough, and 
 remember the spirit of that time. 
 
 George W. Lewis was one of the young fellows 
 out in Kansas. He must have read Kipling, for 
 the brass band can be heard in his verses. And 
 he must have dreamed about the far, strange 
 places, for when the chance came he enlisted and 
 went away to the tropics, and has been in the 
 tropics pretty much ever since. 
 
 First, to the Philippines, in Uncle Sam's khaki, 
 where Life and Romance lost no time in introduc- 
 ing themselves. Lewis and a fellow rookie 
 walked out to see strange Luzon, on a bright Sun- 
 day, and heard a smart pop-pop-popping some- 
 where over yonder, and the air roundabout became 
 full of bees, and presently they woke to the fact 
 
that this was romance and life — the little brown 
 brother out for target practice, and popping at 
 them! From there to China, and the Boxer re- 
 bellion, fighting shoulder to shoulder with Tommy 
 Atkins, the Hindoo, the Jap, the German, the 
 Frenchman. Then to the Canal Zone, of Panama, 
 where he was a lieutenant of police, and followed 
 the little brown wrong-doer into the jungle, there 
 to be lost, and famished, and shot; and thereafter 
 variously employed around the Golden Caribbean, 
 until he became '^ Jefe" (Chief) Lewis, of the 
 Insular Police of Porto Rico, a force remarkable 
 for what it accomplishes with small numbers. 
 
 This book of verse is a sort of by-product of 
 a life full of pictures, people and places. Mr. 
 Lewis has had the interest of a boy in everything 
 going on around him all the time, and his eye 
 and mind are as fresh as when he left the bottoms 
 of the Kaw for Manila. Now and again, in 
 Luzon trenches, or under Chinese pagodas, or out 
 in the Panama jungle, or lying in ambush for a 
 Porto Rican firebug, or watching the subtle under- 
 currents of Latin-American politics or intrigue, 
 there have been people and pictures and places 
 that became dominant and demanded expression, 
 and he has put them into verse for his own en- 
 tertainment, with no thought of publication. Then 
 came the idea that perhaps others might find 
 something vital in some of these things, at least; 
 for thousands of Americans have lived and la- 
 bored in the places where they sprang. So here 
 is the book. It is a very special book, for special 
 people, put out for those who know the author, 
 and also for many others who know the amhiente. 
 
 James H. Collins. 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 I have tried to write to the people 
 
 With my heart in my driven hand; 
 I have tried to sing my songs to them 
 
 In a tongue they could understand. 
 I have harked to the musical babel 
 
 Of voices that sing in my soul; 
 I have listened, oh, how intently! 
 
 To the lilt of paeans that roll, 
 That my mind and heart might distinguish 
 
 Through some wonderful inner ear 
 The soul's broken measures and discords 
 
 And set the true music out clear. 
 If my straining ear has betrayed me. 
 
 And my garnered gold be but clod — 
 I shall know, despite that, while gleaning 
 
 I journeyed in Songland with God! 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To Panama 1 
 
 Tropic Virus 2 
 
 Reverie from an Isthmian Car Window . . 7 
 Evening Soliloquy at Panama .... 9 
 
 The Man-hunt 11 
 
 Maiden of the Chagres 13 
 
 The Keeper of the Light 15 
 
 The Fire Undying .18 
 
 World- WRECK 19 
 
 In Lost Man's Land . 21 
 
 Lines of Least Resistance 23 
 
 The Parting 24 
 
 A Shooting Star 25 
 
 A Memory of Summer . 26 
 
 Leaven of Life 27 
 
 The Pilgrims 28 
 
 For One Exiled 29 
 
 BoRiNQUEN Dawn 30 
 
 Caprice of the Sea 31 
 
 Doughboy Dan 32 
 
 To Costa Rica 34 
 
 Shipmates 35 
 
 The Heights of Hern 37 
 
 The Phantom Troop 38 
 
 To A Withered Flower 40 
 
 Before a Haunted Ruin 41 
 
 To AN Old Sweetheart 42 
 
 In Vain 44 
 
 How We Let the Nicklin In 45 
 
 The Scourge 47 
 
 Charging the Hill 49 
 
 The Wonder-woman 50 
 
 The Dream-woman 52 
 
 The Search by the Sea 53 
 
 My Portion 55 
 
 The Vagrant's Epitaph 56 
 
TO PANAMA 
 
 Fair Panama, still do I love you 
 As ere the Trojan blond man carved your fame 
 With steel-tusked mastodons that hulking came 
 To crunch and rend your world-old granite 
 
 hills, 
 (To cure you of some minor infant ills), 
 
 And flaunt your freeland flag above you. 
 
 Bright maiden, could I but adore you? — 
 For always through the merging mists of time 
 I see you still as when Dame Fate sublime 
 Unrolled her scroll and gave you unto man, 
 A crimson, tiny inkling of her plan 
 
 To glorify the land that bore you! 
 
 Proud goddess, the great may implore you, 
 Kings lay their crowns in offering at your feet, 
 (For each would make his kingdom more com- 
 plete!) 
 But, child of fate, cleave to the Trojan e'er. 
 Though all the crowns in Christendom despair 
 
 Of conquest, callous-kneed, before you. 
 
 [1] 
 
TROPIC VIRUS 
 
 A BALLAD OF PANAMA 
 
 Oh, the virus of the tropics — how it kills ! 
 Oh, the madness in the brain its curse instills! 
 Northman, know the potent draught that never 
 
 cloys — 
 Know, yet sip ye not the poison that destroys. 
 Man may laugh and mock at fate and have his 
 
 fling, 
 Though he knows that life is but a little thing — 
 Knows that one w^ry step will send him groping, 
 
 blind. 
 On a search for Something which no man may 
 
 find. 
 
 It was down in Colon town, then running wild, 
 Where the painted Cash street sirens fawned 
 
 and smiled. 
 That I first met Wild Bill Ervin — saw him 
 
 tried 
 In some hells where surest shots had drawn and 
 
 died: 
 Big Bill Ervin, whom the gods had nerved with 
 
 steel. 
 Made a tenement of tumult under seal. 
 Fired with all the fires volcanic of a soul 
 That could slumber, flame to hell-heat, brook 
 
 control ; 
 Ervin, whom the wiles of woman made a slave, 
 
 m 
 
Glad to serve for love, or fight and dare the 
 
 grave — 
 Gallant Ervin, who in love knew no retreat 
 Save the kind that leaves a red trail down the 
 
 street. 
 So came young Bill Ervin here to Panama — 
 Hadn't meant to stay, but then a face he saw 
 Whelmed his plans and drove him joyously in- 
 sane 
 When his great heart pumped the hot blood to 
 
 his brain; 
 And Wild Bill dreamed love's dream, nor did 
 
 he falter 
 When a sweet girl led him, dreaming, to the 
 
 altar. 
 She had wind-jammed down from Bocas, on 
 
 a dare. 
 And she effervesced with fun, this madcap fair ; 
 But a Bocas chap pursued her to Colon. 
 Just one man, a gambler, knew him — called 
 
 him " John." 
 There was something strangely forceful in this 
 
 man, 
 That compelled you as but hypnotism can. 
 He announced that he'd come down to " get his 
 
 share," 
 And no gambler was his match in " Gamblers' 
 
 Lair." 
 And he had his way with women, save a few, 
 
 [3] 
 
And he won the hate of men, as such chaps do. 
 Well, the devil had a nightmare, and was mad, 
 So he sought those imps of chance that counsel 
 
 bad 
 And conspired to have the gambler meet the 
 
 bride — 
 And to woo her and to win her to his side. 
 Ervin walked the streets and waited, with a 
 
 gun; 
 " Spiggoty " policemen vanished at a run. 
 There was wild anticipation of the fray; 
 There are those who still remember that great 
 
 day. 
 Just at dusk the gambler sauntered down the 
 
 street. 
 Careless of the direst fate that man may meet. 
 Wild Bill whipped a Colt's revolver from his 
 
 belt. 
 But the other knew the man with whom he 
 
 dealt. 
 For he shot his hands up quickly, with a smile. 
 Whereat we who stood in wonder there the while 
 Heard him laugh and drawl : " Just wait a 
 
 minute, pard ; 
 All I want's a chance to play the joker card: 
 You're about to singe yourself with your own 
 
 fire — 
 She's common — run up to Bocas and inquire. 
 Just lower away this battery at my snoot 
 
 [4] 
 
And ask your friends at Bocas before you 
 
 shoot!" 
 We who, spellbound, heard that challenge so 
 
 uncouth 
 Knew we needn't go to Bocas for the truth; 
 So we sprang and caught our hero, as he fell — 
 Dropped sheer from his private heaven — into 
 
 hell! 
 After that he sought the places least policed. 
 Where the halfbreed crooks and cut-throats 
 
 joined in feast; 
 And the deadly tropic virus touched his brain 
 And a raging tropic madness won domain 
 When the passion love had laughed at wandered 
 
 free 
 And he did the thing that shames humanity. 
 For he roamed the red-lit way where women 
 
 wait 
 And took him a turbaned " Patois " for a mate. 
 Then he drank a world of whisky, and he died 
 With but two or three old comrades by his side, 
 While the goddess who to him had been so dear 
 Pranced in lewd Cash street cotillons sans a 
 
 tear. 
 
 Over there behind the palms at " Monkey Hill " 
 Lies Bill Ervin, Wild Bill Ervin, cold and still. 
 Cash street music, ribald shouts and nightly 
 din 
 
 [5] 
 
Float up to him faintly as the trades sweep in. 
 And the wind-worn, guardian palm trees sway 
 
 and sigh 
 Like gaunt sages, grown too wise, that long to 
 
 die. 
 
 [6] 
 
REVERIE FROM AN ISTHMIAN 
 CAR WINDOW 
 
 ALONG THE PANAMA CANAL IN 1912 
 
 Past glassy pools that mirror back the 
 clouds, 
 Where wilding lilies flash and disappear. 
 
 Past mammoth cranes of France in rusty 
 shrouds — 
 Grim ghosts of hope that perished yester year ; 
 
 Past jungle silences that wake again 
 When wild things flee our engine's looming 
 form — 
 Past places where the broken hearts of men 
 Lie buried with the hopes that kept them warm ! 
 Past side-tracked trains, rust-red, that toil 
 no more, 
 Inclined like men by misery made drunk ; 
 
 And yonder by the sea's incurving shore 
 The rotting funnels of some ships long sunk. 
 
 In these same eerie depths of shadowed wood 
 French legions essayed for a dreamed-of goal. 
 They tossed the coin of chance in daring 
 mood — 
 And Fate's fiends chuckled wildly o'er their toll. 
 Oh, weary eyes that closed on work of woe. 
 Would it were mine to part the veil in twain, 
 That thou mightst open on this wondrous 
 show 
 
 [7] 
 
And know thy sacrifice was not in vain ! 
 
 Alas! brave men of France who toiled and 
 bled, 
 Thou couldst not turn when thou hadst faltered 
 long, 
 Nor ghosts confront in shrouds of rust and 
 dread 
 Where fears fantastic led thy feet awrong. 
 
 We found French guide-posts where cadavers 
 lay — 
 Gaunt skeletons of melancholy steel, 
 
 Like stark and fleshless hands that point a 
 way 
 And beckon doubting hearts to woe or weal. . . . 
 Ah, France, your fallen sons no more bewail ; 
 Posterity shall view our work in awe. 
 
 The hearts of hope for whom you blazed the 
 trail 
 Have reared a monument without a flaw ! 
 
 [8] 
 
EVENING SOLILOQUY AT PANAMA 
 
 The sun-strewn gold-dust on a west-blown 
 cloud 
 Is swept from sight as by a magic broom ; 
 Day folds tired wings within his twilight 
 shroud. 
 And yester moment's light is merged in 
 gloom. 
 
 Out from the vacant, velvet dome of night. 
 As through an azure portal there ajar, 
 
 With twinkling radiance the gods to light. 
 Swings forth His Majesty the Evening Star. 
 
 Low down as to illume my native spires. 
 
 The North Star hangs his faintly-glowing 
 light. 
 
 How wan thy blessing from these frontier fires ; 
 How heavenly thy homeland dower to-night! 
 
 Square-trimmed against the turquoise firma- 
 ment. 
 The Southern Cross rides like a phantom 
 kite. 
 Oh, for a stairway to thy low-hung shrine. 
 My prim, bejeweled Empress of the Night ! 
 
 Close o'er the mount where bold Balboa went, 
 The Giant Dipper lifts his vacant bowl 
 
 That yawns as on a ghastly mission sent 
 To swallow up the combination whole. 
 [9] 
 
Some favored seraph's diamond-clustered toy. 
 The Little Dipper stares, unwinking, down, 
 
 And bluely clamped above mad Morgan's Buoy, 
 Job's Coffin dour bepalls the stellar crown. 
 
 The cricket and the night-bird cease from song, 
 A slow wind, moaning, drones up from the 
 coast, 
 
 And silence all unseemly and awrong 
 
 Descends upon Night's multi-mannered host. 
 
 A sullen cloud-rack northward flies apace, 
 (A message from some groaning ship at 
 sea?), 
 
 And as a veil drawn hides a siren's face. 
 The Wonder-world of Night is lost to me ! 
 
 [10] 
 
THE MAN-HUNT 
 
 FOLLOWING THE CANAL ZONE 
 BLOODHOUNDS 
 
 I SAT all night by a lonesome trail, 
 
 While shimmered a crescent moon, 
 With the jungle roof a silver sea 
 
 In a land of cricket rune. 
 I watched through the night with leaping pulse. 
 
 For we guessed he'd pass that way — 
 A man, 'twas said, with his hands still red. 
 
 We'd trailed with dogs that day. 
 
 I watched the vanguard of creeping dawn 
 
 Rout many a goblin crew, 
 And my low-ebbed courage rose and laughed 
 
 As the imaged things withdrew. 
 They slunk like the souls of sinful men 
 
 When God looks out of the East, 
 They skulked away in the growing day 
 
 Like felons new-released. 
 
 I sat all night by a lapping stream, 
 
 A molten and moonlit sea, 
 Whose swirl had swallowed the scent that led, 
 
 And the brutes howled mournfully. 
 But dawn rang wild with a fresh-trod trail 
 
 That threaded a mountain's face. 
 And sullen men surged onward again 
 
 And brute-wile set the pace. 
 
 [11] 
 
On, on toward the heights the whirlwind race 
 
 Rived open the vine-locked way. 
 Crashed panting through wildering mazes 
 
 That roofed out the blank white day. 
 Grew wan-eyed and tattered the hunters, 
 
 Yet flagged not the pressing chase ; 
 And clouds drooped low like a veil of woe 
 
 To hide man's black disgrace. 
 
 A granite crag on the mountain's crest 
 
 Stood out over dizzy space, 
 Hung sheer o'er a canyon black as soot — 
 
 Fearsome and horrible place; 
 And straight to this aerie of wind-whims. 
 
 Of winds that now loitered to laugh, 
 The blood-wild pack kept the trodden track - 
 
 The hangman in behalf. 
 
 A spent, wild thing that had been a man 
 
 Crept out on the granite shelf ; 
 Vaguely it pondered what lay beyond 
 
 And oh, how it loathed itself! 
 Canyon and chaos spread out below — 
 
 With forgetfulness, sweet and kind. . . . 
 Trembly of limb, from the granite rim 
 
 The dogs peered down and whined ! 
 
 [12] 
 
MAIDEN OF THE CHAGRES 
 
 A SONG OF WOUNDED LOVE IN 
 PANAMA JUNGLES 
 
 Softly still the palms are sighing 
 In the lazy south sea trades, 
 
 Faintly still a heart is crying 
 From the sleepy Chagres glades ; 
 
 Dimly as far echoes winging, 
 Dying as but echoes can. 
 
 Still the same wild song comes ringing 
 Of a maiden and a man. 
 
 By the dreary Chagres lapping. 
 O'er and o'er she croons her lay. 
 
 And her bare foot's rhythmic tapping 
 Charms the lizards in their play. 
 
 Untamed creature, wild and winning. 
 Jungle flower so wondrous fair. 
 
 Don't you know our world of sinning 
 Down beside the Chagres there? 
 
 Oh, of truth what joyous spurning 
 By a trusting, simple heart! — 
 
 Hope a-race beyond the turning 
 That was vain before the start. 
 
 But the brown foot, weirdly wooing. 
 Where the waning flood-tides ran. 
 
 Taps in rhythm with her cooing 
 Of a maiden and a man. 
 
 [13] 
 
Maiden of the Waste, despairing, 
 Save your wild young heart its pain ; 
 
 Maybe, down from far worlds faring, 
 Maybe — he will come again ! 
 
 Idol of the wasteland winning. 
 Nor were goddess of compare. 
 
 Don't you know our world of sinning 
 Down beside the Chagres there ? 
 
 Softly still the palms are sighmg 
 In the lazy south sea trades. 
 
 Faintly still a heart is crying 
 From the sleepy Chagres glades; 
 
 Dimly as far echoes winging. 
 Dying as but echoes can, 
 
 Still the same wild song comes ringing 
 Of a maiden and a man. 
 
 [U] 
 
THE KEEPER OF THE LIGHT 
 
 Have you ever listened and held your breath 
 When the night was still as the halls of death, 
 
 And a throbbing sea that broke at your door 
 Was bringing you memories o'er and o'er — 
 
 Have you listened as I, with each dull throb, 
 To catch from the waters a broken sob? — 
 
 A token you knew you never would hear. 
 Yet for which you'd listened from year to year ! 
 
 The wreckage of the ship that lost my Love 
 
 I heaped and burned — sweet solace ! — here 
 
 above ; 
 
 And then my life was plunged in utter gloom. 
 
 I went like one condemned who nears his doom. 
 
 I learned a tongue that silence teaches all 
 The squeally, squally things that fly or crawl. 
 I loved to hear the night-birds' mournful 
 psalms. 
 And watch the pallid moonlight on the palms. 
 Ah! sometimes when the Southern Cross rode 
 high 
 A tropic moon would light this drooping sky. 
 And always then I found myself — how 
 vain ! — 
 Here seated, half expectant, ears a-strain ; 
 
 But dream-gods beckoned never from the sea. 
 And so I put my hopes away from me. 
 
 [15] 
 
And here alone lived I, but God knows how — 
 No pitying angel knew me then as now. 
 
 One night those waters there below broke 
 o'er; 
 Hell rose on earth in seas that smashed this 
 door! 
 But hope for me was dead out on the deep, — 
 So finally, things secure, I fell asleep. 
 
 I dreamed here in this chair, despite the roar. 
 That off the light a ship was on the shore ; 
 And when I waked — so help me God, 'tis 
 true! — 
 There stood an angel, pointing toward the blue. 
 
 I plunged alone into an open boat. 
 That only One had power to keep afloat. 
 
 From Neptune's hoary clutch one soul we 
 won — 
 She wsis a girl, a goddess of the sun, 
 
 So bright was she, and fair, and warm her 
 smile ; 
 And, weary, ill, she rested here a while. 
 
 Sped many days ere I divined the plan : 
 Glad angels, loving as but angels can. 
 
 Had thus implored the Master of the Sea : 
 " To him, we pray, give one as bright as we." 
 
 So on an eve of moonlight here above 
 I told her of God's planning and my love. 
 
 And when she raised her eyes and looked at 
 me 
 
 [16] 
 
I read in them a message from the sea. 
 
 Her soul, alight with love, shone out, star- 
 clear, 
 And something touched in me a note of fear. 
 
 For, true as I'd suffered the pain, the cost, 
 'Twas she — my own — frojn the Land of the 
 Lost! 
 
 [17] 
 
THE FIRE UNDYING 
 
 Sometimes when memory's dying rose 
 Puts out fresh petals in a magic way, 
 
 Then does earth's gray perspective close 
 For me; then speaks a voice that seems to say 
 
 All o'er again words fragrant still as flowers ; 
 And once again the same dear eyes, 
 
 The laughing lips that mocked my soberer 
 hours. 
 Conspiring in love's sweet surprise. 
 
 Are near my cheek — alas, now pale ! 
 Save when that scented memory returns 
 
 The tragic mind-man to regale 
 With e'er-abiding love that glows and burns 
 
 As burns God's own eternal sun on high — 
 As love that, only with the soul, can die ! 
 
 [18] 
 
WORLD-WRECK 
 
 1915-1916 
 
 The bloated, one-eyed god of war 
 Had flung his crimson banners far ; 
 O'er moor and mart and fertile field. 
 That moiling nations might not yield, 
 He'd touched the tinder with his brand 
 And, e'er responsive to his hand. 
 Had sprung ten million, fit and well, 
 A-thirst the war-god's bloat to swell. 
 
 Despairing Hope, a-top the world. 
 
 Gazed down on mites that swarmed and swirled. 
 
 For riot, ruin, wreck alert — 
 
 Whose standard was " the bloody shirt." 
 
 The earth within, the earth without. 
 
 Quaked with a turmoil wild of doubt, 
 
 A tempest no man sought to check 
 
 Of world-annihilation, wreck. 
 
 And as the Angel of Despair 
 Her pinions drooped in pity there. 
 Repellent, dire, appeared the god. 
 And Hope saw marked upon the sod 
 Where grim the hoofed vandal stood — 
 Two cloven tracks dark stained with blood ! 
 Then fixing Hope with devilish stare. 
 The god his hell-born scheme laid bare. 
 
 [19] 
 
He pointed to the seething mass, 
 
 Whose sires, long dead, had wooed this pass, 
 
 And hissed with breath of forked flame : 
 
 " Those millions now shall face their shame ; 
 
 They with their lives and by their seed 
 
 Shall pay the price of envy, greed. 
 
 Each suckling babe of yonder ilk 
 
 Shall drink of blood for want of milk ! " 
 
 And as the one-eyed god spoke thus 
 Of you and me and all of us, 
 Hope saw the millions down below 
 Spring eager for the studied blow — 
 Saw men all maimed by men's machines. 
 Saw legions lost in sickening scenes — 
 Man's devastation, Man's desire — 
 Spectacle of a world on fire ! 
 
 That man his own, at least, might spare. 
 The angel would have asked in prayer, — 
 But lo ! Hope stood aloft alone. 
 Above earth's vast, embattled zone; 
 While down below ten million men 
 Surged and recoiled and surged again; 
 And nations reeled and nations fell. 
 But all still nursed their home-made hell! 
 
 [20] 
 
IN LOST MAN'S LAND 
 
 Stark stared the waste in the furnace-flare 
 Of the sun, as in blank surprise, 
 
 And we prayed for water and gasped for 
 breath 
 As the fitful phantom of grinning death 
 
 Danced monstrous before our eyes. 
 
 Our brave bell camel, sent back at last, 
 Too famished its rider to bear. 
 
 Bore with it the maps of a region vast 
 And some scrawled farewells — that would be 
 the last ! — 
 
 From three wretches thirsting there. 
 
 And what of the countless fights we'd won. 
 Daring the death that stalked us grim? — 
 
 Not fights of folly for glory or ease. 
 But fights that had blazed a way, if you 
 please — 
 
 Though labored and long and dim. 
 
 But all that our bleeding hands had built. 
 And the much that our minds had planned. 
 
 Was crumbling to dust as our bones would 
 be — 
 As the hopes of those waiting o'er the sea 
 
 A message from Lost Man's Land. 
 
 [21] 
 
And some day cities would rear their spires 
 From this sand that burned to the bone ; 
 
 And there would be water, and who would 
 care 
 That the bones of an engineer lay there 
 
 As the city's corner-stone? 
 
 Far o'er the unwatered waste one day 
 As the vampire sun settled red, 
 
 A lone bell camel with death in its eyes, 
 Groaning and falling and struggling to rise. 
 
 Brought back the gift of the dead. 
 
 There were not enough gold in earth, nay. 
 Though of gold were the sea-sands bright. 
 
 To dry up the tears of the desert's cost 
 Or atone for the still forms lying lost, 
 
 Alone in the desert night. 
 
 But cities rose from the hard-won waste 
 That fate dedicated to three. 
 
 And children now romp in the sacred sand 
 That is for the founders of Lost Man's Land 
 
 Forever their tomb to be! 
 
 [22] 
 
LINES OF LEAST RESISTANCE 
 
 TO THE TROPICAL TRAMP 
 
 He followed the lines that resisted least, 
 
 For some virus of hell had touched his brain ; 
 
 He calmed his fears when the struggle had 
 ceased, 
 Mutely accepting his portion of pain. 
 
 What spell of what siren his soul so cursed? 
 
 What devil's enchantress thus lured him 
 on? — 
 Nor passion nor penance nor wander-thirst 
 
 Can ever reveal where his soul has gone. 
 
 Damned to the region of torture and tears 
 By the grisly phantoms he recked not of. 
 
 And under the night-lights of wasted years 
 Has perished forever his power to love. 
 
 O friend of the days that are dear and dead, 
 Comrade e'er faithful when strong hearts 
 were tried. 
 Come back from that Realm of Unreason 
 Dread 
 And prove that the Goddess of Dreams has 
 lied. 
 
 [23] 
 
THE PARTING 
 
 I WATCHED my mates right proudly march 
 To swell the battle-line. 
 
 Then I was " short," " light,'' and the like. 
 But now the chance is mine ! 
 
 Ah, yes, I know what going means — 
 The trench, the freezing cold; 
 
 Blood on bright blade and bayonet-sheen. 
 And rotting back to mold. 
 
 But I'll laugh at poison gas-waves 
 That steal up with the dawn. 
 
 If you'll keep on a-loving me. 
 Sweetheart, when I am gone. 
 
 I never knew the power of love 
 Till you and England free. 
 
 One loving, one in desperate need, 
 Stretched forth your arms to me. 
 
 We're off ! — On with the devil's dance ! 
 Don't, sweetheart ; please don't cry ; 
 
 Your love and England's will be there — 
 Somewhere in France — good-bye ! 
 
 [24] 
 
A SHOOTING STAR 
 
 Last night I watched a little star, 
 Which you and I mayhap had oft surveyed. 
 Hurled from its radiant throne 
 Through unimagined space 
 And plunged into abysmal depths undreamed, 
 While in its wake an instant showed 
 A pallid, pointing finger 
 Across the stellar void. 
 
 What, oh, might mean that wonder-work ef- 
 faced ! 
 Out into vasty space 
 Did I gaze long with troubled eyes 
 To where that finger pale 
 Had limned the chaos whither now returned 
 What had but chaos been ! 
 
 [25] 
 
A MEMORY OF SUMMER 
 
 You came to me when summer skies were fair ; 
 Yet softly bluer were your eyes than they. 
 
 The miracle of dawn was in your hair, 
 And sunset's crimson on your arched lips lay. 
 
 As though the Master Hand that them did 
 tint 
 Had solved the riddle that is in men's hearts, 
 
 And pledged His realm to spare no pains nor 
 stint 
 Of glory that His wizardry imparts. 
 
 But one brief summer was it mine to know 
 And ponder all your marvels ere you went ; 
 
 Then, as each little joy preludes some woe. 
 You vanished as a rose that leaves its scent. 
 
 O evanescent flower of misty dreams, 
 For me no memory blooms that sweeter seems ! 
 
 [26] 
 
LEAVEN OF LIFE 
 
 I KNEW her here, ah, such a little while ! 
 Yet always I have felt I knew her smile, 
 Her ringing laugh, her eyes that worked such 
 
 spells — 
 I've always felt I knew them somewhere else. 
 
 Of such a face I would I truth could speak : 
 
 So much it charmed it startled, sooth to tell ; 
 
 So much it had of girl's unguessed technique 
 
 It held me wondering captive in its spell. . . . 
 
 Ah, grifBn days ! — world-old, they seem to me. 
 
 Yet she is here beside me now as then ! 
 
 I stare into the vacant past and she 
 
 Smiles back in token of what might have been. 
 
 She lives, for aye, a memory apart — 
 
 One sweet regret that leavens still my heart. 
 
 [27] 
 
THE PILGRIMS 
 
 Oh, for a glimpse of the trails we trod 
 When our lives were young and our hopes were 
 high! 
 We roamed with Nature and prayed to God, 
 And took our rest on the virgin sod. 
 As summer hurried by. 
 
 Ah, the trail was never too long, lad, 
 For our hearts were full and our blood would 
 sing. 
 We dreamed the dreams of the youthful mad 
 And thanked our Lord for the health we had — 
 For 'twas a joyous thing. 
 
 We left those trails at the summer's wane 
 For a home on the heights where Youth comes 
 not. 
 We passed for aye through the autumn 
 lane — 
 We would have turned, but alas ! 'twas vain ! — 
 And sombre was our lot. 
 
 Now the trails so long disused are lost. 
 And the feet they knew have wandered afar ; 
 The weeds and waste where the pilgrims 
 crossed 
 Tell now no tale of the journey's cost — 
 Or where those pilgrims are ! 
 [28] 
 
FOR ONE EXILED 
 
 Soft, scentless flowers of tropic vale. 
 
 Blown in the jungle wild, 
 Ask of thy mistress in Distant Dale 
 
 A pardon for one exiled. 
 
 Guard thy sweet beauty for her as fair. 
 
 Ravish her eyes as bright; 
 Plead for a throne in her gold-brown hair. 
 
 Touch thou her lips — but light. 
 
 Teach thou her wonderful laughing eyes 
 
 Each rare exotic hue, 
 Pledge thou the realm of thy alien skies 
 
 On the trust that guides thee true. 
 
 Spare no caress of thy psychic art. 
 
 Win for the doomed reprieve ; 
 Turn back thy petals and bare thy heart, 
 
 Wither and take thy leave. 
 
 Gone is my herald from tropic vale. 
 Riding a hope flung wild. . . . 
 
 Come has a message from Distant Dale — 
 A pardon for one exiled ! 
 
 [29] 
 
BORINQUEN DAWN 
 
 PORTO RICO 
 
 A FLAME leaps out of the purple east 
 When the sleepy-voiced night is declining; 
 
 Then clad in vestments of fete and feast, 
 The rejuvenate sun-god is shining. 
 
 Dun clouds lift slow from each verdured hill ; 
 Peon armies to market are streaming; 
 
 'Neath coffee-trees lurks night's fragrant 
 chiU, 
 For the warm crystal daylight is gleaming. 
 
 [30] 
 
CAPRICE OF THE SEA 
 
 The sea lay trembling like a soul afraid ; 
 A great, gaunt bird careened and wheeled in air ; 
 
 Into the sun I watched a far ship fade, 
 Then I too, like the sea, was trembling there ! 
 
 A fortnight winged away, and then at last. 
 Adrift in lonely ways that seamen shun — 
 
 The splintered, slime-wrapt remnant of a 
 mast! 
 They sought, alas! but found no trace of One. 
 
 Another day beside the sea I strayed ; 
 I walked forlorn and kissed a lock of hair. 
 
 Then on the sand the sun a shadow made — 
 The same gaunt specter-bird was hovering there. 
 
 So grim and gray this phantom looked to me 
 My hands, a-tremble, dropped the wisp of hair, 
 
 And as a wind-gust gave it to the sea 
 The bird soared near and croaked at my 
 despair. 
 
 I went and sat where I had dreamed with One. 
 Pink sea-shells drifted shoreward with the swell ; 
 
 One, bleached, I chose, as I had often done. 
 And lo ! her name was carved upon the shell ! 
 
 [31] 
 
DOUGHBOY DAN 
 
 Written after a night attack by the insurgents at San 
 Fernando, Philippine Islands, when the author was a 
 member of Funston's " Fighting Twentieth " Kansas 
 Regiment, 
 
 Don't ye hear the trumpets blaring Doughboy 
 Dan? 
 
 Out o' bed an' into boots, me fightin' man. 
 In that flood o' moonlight shinin' 
 
 There's a million Mausers whinin' — 
 
 Somethin' doin', Doughboy Dan. 
 
 Can't ye see 'em in the moonshine. Doughboy 
 Dan — 
 Each a patch o' shadow like a picture man? 
 
 Makes ye think they're only playin', 
 'Stead o' killin' an' a-slayin' — 
 Watch 'em careful. Doughboy Dan. 
 
 Now ye're at 'em, chargin', swearin', Doughboy 
 Dan; 
 Keep your head an' snap ^em runnin', if ye 
 can. 
 Gee ! how they do keep a-poppin' — 
 Never slackin' nor a-stoppin' — 
 Hell ! they've hit ye. Doughboy Dan ! 
 
 Hike ye back to some " first aid " chap, Dough- 
 boy Dan — 
 None could wind his muslin on a gamer man 
 [32] 
 
But wait — there ain't no use to run ; 
 
 Jes' bring the chaplain, he's the one — 
 Ye're a goner. Doughboy Dan! 
 
 Don't ye hear the taps a-playin', Doughboy 
 Dan? 
 
 It's the red tape end o' ev'ry fightin' man — 
 How sort o' still ye somehow keep ; 
 
 Seems like ye're layin' there asleep. . . . 
 Good-night; sleep light, Doughboy Dan. 
 
 [33] 
 
TO COSTA RICA 
 
 O GALLEON captains, for centuries dead, 
 Who guessed the golden way thy conquests led? 
 
 Blest be the dreams this Eldorado won. 
 Twice blest the fragrance of this summer sun. 
 
 The blue soft beauty of these kindly skies 
 Vies with the glory in the maiden's eyes. 
 
 Who, coffee-gleaning, basket poised on arm, 
 Hints at the marvel of her homeland's charm. 
 
 O Costa Rica ! land of dower divine ; 
 Graced of the gods thy every plant and vine ; 
 
 Touched by the magic of abundant yields ; 
 Sprung from the chaos of embattled fields. 
 
 Whereon now dream-eyed oxen fatly browse. 
 Or love's young twain exchange their sacred 
 vows. 
 
 Oh, would 'twere fate that I should here 
 remain, 
 Nor be more favored than yon artless swain. 
 
 Who, goad-stick wielding, guides his oxen on 
 Sans dreams of greed or empires lost or won ! 
 
 Alas for hopes that fire our hearts with zeal 
 And drive us hence to grope 'twixt woe and 
 weal! 
 
 Yet backward on this Eden oft I'll smile. 
 Where Fortune pampered me a little while. 
 
 [34] 
 
SHIPMATES 
 
 Jacky, the Sea Gtdl, an' Cap'n Moran — 
 Two little cogs in the great world's plan ! 
 The Cap'n ranked gold-dust while Jack rated 
 
 sand — 
 The sparklin'est gold-dust that ever was 
 
 panned ; 
 An' Jacky lived simply, as deep-seamen can, 
 Knowin' one worldly idol — oV Cap'n Moran. 
 Thus Damon an' Pythias, after a plan. 
 Was Jacky, 'fore-master, an' Cap'n Moran. 
 
 In a fortnight's fog that had grounded her 
 
 twice, 
 The Gull rammed her nose in a wedgin' o' ice. 
 Where she lay poundin' helpless, her shrieks 
 
 ringin' out 
 Like yells from the furnace they preach us 
 
 about. 
 Well, nobody knowed how the thing did 
 
 befall — 
 The seas was a-drenchin' an' freezin' us all: 
 " He's over — the skipper ! " they yelled — but 
 
 stand by ! — 
 Jack leaped from the rail as they uttered the 
 
 cry. 
 
 Jacky, the Sea Gull, an' Cap'n Moran — 
 Two little cogs in the great world's plan ! 
 [S5] 
 
We laid Jacky peaceful in a cove by the 
 
 Horn — 
 His life had been 'tuned to breakers fo'lorn; 
 An' the skipper we draped in a casket o' gold. 
 To match with his nature so kindly, so bold ; 
 An' the battered ship Sea Gully like some tipsy 
 
 man. 
 Staggered north — leavin' Jacky an' Cap'n 
 
 Moran. 
 
 [36] 
 
THE HEIGHTS OF HERN 
 
 A PINK wild flower on the heights of Hern — 
 On the dizzy heights of Hern : 
 
 Slave of a whim, of a dryad's whim — 
 For love had mastered and maddened him — 
 
 He balanced himself on the crater's rim, 
 On the cloud-swept heights of Hern. 
 
 An eagle wondered and watched above, 
 While her laugh rang tauntingly. 
 
 For he knew that men-things, mad with love. 
 Reck not of poise nor perils thereof. 
 
 Throw caution and care to the winds above, 
 On the dizzy heights of Hern. 
 
 A pink wild flower on the heights of Hern 
 That lured in a wondrous way, 
 
 And she, to try him and test his worth. 
 Flouted his courage with mock and mirth — 
 
 Till tragedy grinned a-top the earth, 
 On the bald, bare heights of Hern. 
 
 And that was a hundred years ago. 
 Yet the eagle still is there. 
 
 And oft in his dreams he wakes and screams. 
 Though no man walks where the rimrock 
 gleams, — 
 
 For ghosts now lurk in the sunless seams 
 That cleave the heights of Hern. 
 
 [37] 
 
THE PHANTOM TROOP 
 
 Why scuttles the lizard in sudden affright 
 From warring hoof-beats that wake not the 
 
 night ? 
 Why cringes the coyote from hostile array. 
 To skulk with his kindred, heart-fearful, away ? 
 Why dies the cry of the whippoorwill 
 In a startled, strange, discordant trill? — 
 The ghost troop of horsemen is charging the 
 
 hill! 
 
 There, out of the night where the sage-clusters 
 
 rise. 
 As though strangely dropped from the vault of 
 
 the skies, 
 With never a slogan nor word of command, 
 A white troop of cavalry shadows the sand. 
 Grave-faced and grim, of aspect to thrill. 
 Gleaming blades drawn, God's awe to instil. 
 The phantom troop soundlessly glides up the 
 
 hill. 
 
 Now climbing the slope where its bleached bones 
 
 were found, 
 Stark, monumental, jutting out of the ground. 
 The troop becomes riderless, crumbles away 
 From scathing of foemen unseen in the fray. 
 A victory 'twas for mind and will. 
 For gods that tradition honors still. 
 Whose graves are strewn on a lone, high hill. 
 
 [38] 
 
When night's luminaries besilver the plain 
 The phantom troop faithfully comes e'er again, 
 And ever as long as death's siren shall lure 
 The spectacle direful shall also endure. 
 Few but the coyote and whippoorwill 
 Still witness the miracle, know the thrill 
 Of that tragedy wild on a lone, high hill. 
 
 [39] 
 
TO A WITHERED FLOWER 
 
 In a lonely, neglected bower 
 Where Romance and Love abide, 
 
 A poor little world-weary flower 
 Has committed suicide! 
 
 A creeper, 'neath velvet bloom drooping, 
 Half-sadly essaying at mirth. 
 
 Its lily heart broke with the stooping. 
 And, with'ring, it vanished from earth. 
 
 Ah, long it had groped, tendriHaded — 
 To climb there was nought in that wold. 
 
 So slowly it sickened and faded — 
 The world was so callous and cold; 
 
 And finally, weary of living. 
 And knowing that perish it must. 
 
 It wound down its own slender body 
 And strangled itself in the dust. 
 
 Flower, would I had known thee at morning. 
 Than when the gray shadows of Night 
 
 Had cast their black pall without warning 
 And hidden thy beauty from sight. 
 
 [40] 
 
BEFORE A HAUNTED RUIN 
 
 Grim high walls, forlorn and old, 
 I love you for the ghosts you hold ; 
 
 Each tendril of your lichened shroud 
 Hides some lost soul that cries aloud. 
 
 Upon your time-worn face so gray, 
 So mottled by earth's passion play, 
 
 I read your tale of wraiths and bats 
 And phantoms gamboling with your rats. 
 
 Grim high walls, forlorn and old, 
 I love you for the tales you told 
 
 When, decades flown, your tenants gay — 
 Now mouldering where the ghoul-mice play 
 
 Gave ear to your horrific tones 
 As in the night-wind wild your moans 
 
 Rose like the wails of Death's banshee — 
 To chill the hearts of mine and me. 
 
 Grim high walls, forlorn and drear, 
 I love you for the sounds I hear 
 
 When in the silent hours of night 
 Men stand aghast in wildest fright. 
 
 As ghosts from out their ancient palls 
 Parade your long-deserted halls. 
 
 And grin their ghastly grins to see 
 Their haunts have made a friend of me. 
 
 [41] 
 
TO AN OLD SWEETHEART 
 
 All night I rode through the chilling mists 
 
 By the side of a sad-voiced sea ; 
 And oh, how lonely my heart had been 
 
 Had my love not come with me ! 
 
 A lass of my nomad wanderings, 
 
 Who had led me to lands afar. 
 Rose up and raced o'er Borinquen hills 
 
 Abreast of my flying car. 
 
 I stretched forth a hand as we sped on, 
 
 But alas ! she was far away. 
 Though she threw back a kiss in token 
 
 Of the things she wanted to say. 
 
 And once in the brooding hours ere dawn 
 
 When my heart would have crossed the sea, 
 
 I caught her peering between the palms — 
 As jealous as she could be. 
 
 But oh, what a comrade she has been 
 Whom I met under tropic skies, 
 
 Who lured me out of the bleak white North 
 By the spell of her wondrous eyes ! 
 
 And oh, what solace and cheer was she 
 
 At night on the battle plain. 
 When after a day of blood and death 
 
 We guarded the winrowed slain! 
 [42] 
 
So dear, let us ever be comrades, 
 
 Though the stakes bring us gain or loss ; 
 
 Be thou of my fortunes the mistress, 
 My sweetheart — the Southern Cross ! 
 
 [43] 
 
IN VAIN 
 
 Dawn in the heart of the Haytian hills, 
 Streamers of gold on the Haytian plain : 
 
 Pageant of splendor that thralls and 
 thrills — 
 Would all thy beauty were not in vain ! 
 
 Flower-decked carpet on purple hills, 
 Aster-plumes nodding on verdant plain. 
 
 Drifts of lily-scent where the wind wills, 
 Fragrant wild roses that bloom in vain. 
 
 Indian summer on Haytian hills. 
 Low-floating smoke-rack on Haytian plain — 
 
 God save the weak, for the fiend that kills 
 Is sating his lust for blood again. 
 
 Rivers of red in the Haytian hills, 
 Wild roses crushed by the dead on the plain. . . . 
 
 Glad land that the poet's dreams fulfills — 
 Would all thy beauty were not in vain ! 
 
 [44] 
 
HOW WE LET THE NICKLIN IN 
 
 The key to Gandara was held by the foe, 
 Her banks with brown warriors invested, 
 
 And cut off from aid — we'd too long de- 
 layed — 
 Nieklin's march north was contested. ... 
 
 The comp'ny was cheering; Samar heard the 
 din — 
 The Seventh was marching to let Nicklin in. 
 
 Gandara's flood raged like a demon possessed ; 
 Our bancos forged on through the torrent. 
 And now we were creeping 'twixt ambushed 
 banks 
 Where festered the vermin abhorrent. 
 
 Crash ! burst from lantakas, — strange can- 
 non of tin — 
 At last we were battling to let Nicklin in. 
 
 It seemed that the thunder rolled low on the 
 flood 
 And the lightning ran rife o'er the lea. 
 
 That heaven and earth were in league to 
 destroy 
 And Mars was a-roaring in glee. . . . 
 
 Bolos, scrap-iron and wreckage of tin — 
 It seemed that our Nicklin should never get in. 
 
 [45] 
 
But the night and the fight kept a secret well, 
 If they lost us some gallant men, 
 
 For the roar in the dark and the belching 
 spark 
 A beacon to Nicklin had been. . . . 
 
 Dismantled lantakas, scrap-iron and tin — 
 Lukban was beaten and Nicklin was in ! 
 
 [46] 
 
THE SCOURGE 
 
 Written during the Philippine cholera pestilence. 
 
 To US it all seemed passin' strange 
 
 To see comrades goin' down, 
 An' faces turnin' purple 
 
 That had been a healthy brown. 
 Each looked at each, dumb, helpless like, 
 
 Knowin' what the Fates had done 
 When they laid our cap'n doctor 
 
 Stark and still at Blockhouse One. 
 
 True, another doc. was comin'. 
 
 But he'd cert'n'y lost his way — 
 An' a hundred men a-dyin' 
 
 At Daraga by the bay ! 
 One there was who cursed the death-sneak, 
 
 Brandin' it with words that scorch — 
 Called it all 'twixt earth an' heaven 
 
 That can sear as hell's own torch. 
 
 This was aged Sergeant Brennan — 
 
 He had lived but to despise 
 Any form of grim disaster 
 
 That comes sneakin' in disguise. 
 But at ev'nin' in the half-light, 
 
 In the bamboo quarters there, 
 I heard a murm'rin' sound an' looked — 
 
 01' Brennan, deep in prayer! 
 
 [47] 
 
Thus we knew the grizzled sergeant, 
 
 Ripe with doughboys^ doubtful lore, 
 Had a heart behind his buttons — 
 
 Though we'd questioned it before. 
 An' that night I dreamed of angels. 
 
 Made of godless men at bay, 
 An' saw at mom a surgeon's ship 
 
 Just anchoring o'er the way ! 
 
 [48] 
 
CHARGING THE HILL 
 
 'TwAS at our friend Meldonlco's, 
 Where the Shining Lights get lit, 
 
 That the Kernel was a-tellin' 
 Of the fights that he hed fit. 
 
 He charged a fortressed hill five times, 
 And ever it seemed queerer — 
 
 Each time the plucky Kernel charged, 
 He got a little nearer! 
 
 The waiter wisely brought more grape, 
 And when it ceased its fizzin' 
 
 The Kernel, loaded, waved his chair, 
 At last the hill was his'n ! 
 
 [49] 
 
THE WONDER-WOMAN 
 
 To my lonely Caribe island 
 Came a woman, wonder-moman; 
 
 Came a woman out of Smile-land 
 That, I thoughty was more than hitman. 
 
 Mind no man could meet or measure, 
 Lips that lured while they forbade; 
 
 Eyes that reigning queens would treasure 
 Witch's eyes, that drove you mad. 
 
 Athlete, madcap, princess, preacher, 
 Whom no mental probe could gauge; 
 
 Queerly paradoxic creature 
 Whose anomalies were " the rage." 
 
 Yearned I for her brilliant flashes, 
 Gasped I at her play with men ; 
 
 She could walk through death and ashes 
 Where their blithest hopes had been. 
 
 But the law of love's equation 
 On this shining, shallow ball. 
 
 Flouted my insane persuasion 
 And adjusted things for all. 
 
 Once in France I caught her sighing : 
 " Oh, if only he were here ! " 
 
 " Here am I," quoth I, replying, 
 " I will guard you — have no fear ! " 
 [50] 
 
I said, " Why not hunt a preacher, dearest? " 
 Smiling fondly through glad tears, 
 
 " Can't ; " the charmer laughed her queerest ; 
 " Fve been married fifteen years! " 
 
 [51] 
 
THE DREAM-WOMAN 
 
 After all my years of despairing, 
 When the colors of life had run gray, 
 
 A woman from distant shores faring 
 Invaded my world one day. 
 
 I had hoped but hardly expected 
 That Dan Cupid might thus stack the cards - 
 
 Provide for me whom he'd neglected. 
 That she and I might be pards. 
 
 And this was my dream-girl — I knew it ; 
 She was all that a woman could be. 
 
 I dreamed of her when I could do it 
 And she, I knew, dreamed of me. 
 
 One night while the gray world was dozing 
 Matters reached an embarrassing pause. 
 
 Bent-kneed, I was fiercely proposing — 
 " You're dreaming! " she cried. And I was! 
 
 [52] 
 
THE SEARCH BY THE SEA 
 
 An application of Poe's unique style, as interpreted 
 by the author. 
 
 Down here by the scintillant, sorrowful sea 
 I come to commune with a soul that is free — 
 Child-soul that is free. 
 
 I watch here, O triumphant, traitorous sea, 
 And marvel that ever such monster could be, 
 Though friends once were we. 
 
 Give me back, ocean, one lock of brown hair, 
 Glad token of soul-love to soothe this despair — 
 From her prisoned there. 
 
 Mid shell-ruck and pebbles, O surf of the sea, 
 Your fingers are seeking some message for me — 
 That much I can see. 
 
 How changeful, how mood-mad this wreck- 
 littered shore! 
 I never saw seaweed drift in here before — 
 No, never before. 
 
 Ah, sea, you've remembered; we used to be 
 
 friends; 
 You broke faith, you traitor, but this makes 
 
 amends, 
 
 Yes, this makes amends. 
 
 [53] 
 
And kneeling, I rob from the lolling sea's lair 
 A great, burnished skein of salt-crusted brown 
 hair — 
 
 O beautiful hair! 
 
 O clinging, bright-shining entwinement of 
 
 brown — 
 Sweet message of love that the sea could not 
 drown ! 
 
 Message from Heaven, 
 Sorrow to leaven, 
 Sent down! 
 
 [54] 
 
MY PORTION 
 
 I SEEK naught save to win the love of all man- 
 kind — 
 
 To know at last that I leave else than gold 
 behind, 
 
 To feel, as lulled to sleep by earth's last soft 
 refrain, 
 
 That by some act my life was not quite all in 
 vain. 
 
 To know that on Hope's tablet here I left some 
 message graved. 
 
 To know that I, in all the years, a single soul 
 have saved! 
 
 [55] 
 
THE VAGRANT'S EPITAPH * 
 
 *' Change was his mistress^ chance his counselor, 
 Love could not keep him, duty forged no chain ; 
 The wide seas and the mountains called to him, 
 And gray dawns saw his camp fires in the rain. 
 
 " Dear hands might beckon, aye, but he must go; 
 Revel might hold him for a little space. 
 But, turning past the laughter and the lamps. 
 His eyes must ever catch the luring face. 
 
 ** Dear eyes might question, yea, and melt again. 
 Sweet lips aquiver, silently implore; 
 But ever he must turn his fateful head. 
 And hear the other summons at the door. 
 
 ** Change was his mistress, chance his counselor. 
 The dark firs knew his whistle up the trail ; 
 Why tarries he to-day? And yesternight 
 Adventure lit her stars without avail." 
 
 * Author unknown. 
 
 [56] 
 
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