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8EC0N0 COPY, 
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?m\h and PeDDles 
 
 ft Collection Ot 
 
 Poems in Paiciies 
 
 GLtLftlSD KtRNESTftFFE, 
 Roamer and Rambler / 
 
 IIN THE 
 
 OverHllls 0! Ouaray. 
 
 Verbum Saoienies! 
 
 My Pegasus is hardly bridle-wise. 
 But frolics freely just where Fancy tlies. 
 Now takes a lane and now a by-way. 
 But rarely sticks to any highway:— 
 Now over hill and holt and hollow. 
 But time-worn ruts disdains to follow; 
 And when you"d put him through his paces- 
 Will very soon kick out of traces. 
 But. worse than any other flaw— 
 My Pony Pegasus, wont ■draw"—: 
 I don't mean chariots— but his -neigh.' 
 Refers, alas, to— "drawing pay." 
 
 Poor food is Poverty for love or laughter: 
 Funds and not Fame, is what I hanker after. 
 Demure Danae mocked at Zeus' power. 
 Until he woo'd her with a golden shower. 
 
 Even y(jur ■ Laureat" could not live 
 On all the laurels" Fame could give:— 
 No ••cent-I-meant" can help my Muse to sup. 
 Unless my Pegasus would promptly -pony up. 
 
 LAKE CITY. FLA. : 
 HERBEKT L. DOUD. PRINTER: 
 
 1W»9. 
 
27350 
 
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 TW(}im»*)Ki»t«dCtVEQ. 
 
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 MAiU 01899 
 
 ■A LLC^ ( 
 
ERRATA (for "Pearls and Febhles.") 
 
 Our "Proofreader" having migrated to the Philippines as a 
 Missionary {ivith a musket) we fear our Orthography ruay be a 
 little out of gear, but our State Senator (who can read^ tho he 
 never does write), having read more or less carefully our great 
 Opus, as an able Aristarchus, points out a few errors, which he 
 claims may possibly be picturesque, but not altogether conven- 
 tional. The intelligent reader will doubtless observe that our 
 Ys are so wise — they have drop'd their tails; and our fs manage 
 to find their way — even when no dots given them. As our chief 
 object in life is to please everybody, from Boss to Bootblack, 
 we make the following corrections: 
 Page. 1. 16th line not you but your, etc. 
 
 1. 19th line not mistery but mystery, etc. 
 
 2. 8th line not but but hutt, etc. 
 6. 27th line "never misses,''' etc. 
 
 16. 6th line not yon but you, etc. 
 
 17. 11th line Goddesses, etc. 
 
 18. 25th line fate a.nd fetter, etc. 
 18. 28th line not loose but lose, etc. 
 
 20. 7th line in "Loltee" she weaves, etc. 
 20. 11th line in " with waving, etc. 
 
 22. 13th line in "The Quest" this life, etc. 
 31. 9th line in "Cashmere" joawpers, etc. 
 
 35. 23rd line robed in verdure, etc. 
 
 36. 17th line in "Lily Witch" that seem, etc. 
 
 37. end of 9th line in the "Minstrel" a comma, etc. 
 
 38. 5th line who built the, etc. 
 
 . 49. 2nd line long time losing, etc. 
 
 57. 6th line in "Cascadia" /ar seas, etc. 
 
 59. 22nd line 3facrea's, etc. 
 
 63. 22nd line winding alleys, etc. 
 
 73. end of 8th line a. full stop, etc. 
 105. 3rd line from last a martyr, etc. 
 120. 2nd line if time you lose, etc. 
 123. In "Jenny" comb yer har, etc. 
 137. 11th line goes pity Pat, etc. 
 149. end of 7th line in "Panorama" a. full stop, etc. 
 And others "too numerous to mention." 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Here let me strinj>" you, as though they were pearls. 
 Some puns and proverbs — , that old boys and "iris 
 Can "runninu- read,*' unless they chance to run 
 To seed and seediness, as some have done. 
 In which sad^ case — they'll likely miss the fun. 
 For no one sure a Poet's pith divines 
 Unless he's wit — to read "between the lines. "" 
 
 If you'll but mix your diamonds in with ^^ravel 
 No f/raj/enf ''<joose"" the difference can unravel. 
 But swallows both — simply to ease his gizzard: 
 It takes some extra wits, you see, to know a wizard. 
 Or even (for the world is full of silly folks) — 
 To sift the jewels safely from his jokes. 
 
 And if, when Wisdom lauyhinyly his story tells — 
 You only see the Foolscap and the Bells — , 
 Forsooth 'tis you fault if when stars he"d show 
 You take them simply for a .lackolantern's jrlow.— 
 Proud fools, who get their addled pates in such a muddle 
 No ))iist — or mistery — could make them see a rainbow in a ])uddle. 
 
 But if you'll study closely my libretto. 
 You'll tind that Truth shows often best i/t jxffo: 
 Carved on a cameo — Jove and Juno meet. 
 And one small bud holds beauty all complete: 
 So do not fancy that short-metre means short-wits: 
 "Tis not the bigg'est sword that gives the hardest hits: 
 The heaviest club might fail, where the light dagger's jioint 
 Would reach the vitals through the mails close joint. 
 
 If we aim right — not reckless — but reliant — 
 We, too, like David, with a pebble may lay low some giant. 
 When a chap goes out gunning for a "goose" 
 A cannon would not be of any earthly use: 
 And to hit flying Follies — on the wing — 
 
 Wisdom's forged thunderbolts less well adapted than Wit's sting. 
 Long-winded Verities become too much perplexed: 
 So here I shirk the ••Seriiiou'^ — and but give the "Text:" 
 And if it doesn't tit i/oirr Fo/fij — try the nextl 
 
 With ••Light Artillery" let our Wars be won: 
 Tupper's "Proverbial Philosojjhy" we'll shun; 
 Such ponderous pretensions were of less avail 
 Against our Marksmen than old Shirts — of Mail: 
 Folly's old btunde)-bnss may hit or miss. 
 But Wit's Sharp-shooters do not trust to this! 
 
 Let Ignorance build high walls to hide from sight 
 His lunacies and lecheries:- lleason's Dvnamite — 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Struck by Truth's Sceptre (thanks to print and printersi) 
 Leaves of his Bastile but a pile of — splinters. 
 
 One needs no broad-sword. — just to spit a "goose." 
 And Truth not blindly wields the cudgels of abuse: 
 If his brave shafts well sharpened are by Wit — 
 Though aimed at random still the sore they'll hit: 
 Follies so spread themselves when forth they strut, 
 Such barbs may miss the "■brain^^ — but hardly so — the "but:" 
 And that — as all Experience shows — is just the end 
 To which all fools and follies somehow tend. 
 
 This is no barbecue of basted beeves, 
 Nor do I claim to harvest Learning's sheaves: — 
 A little "lunch" — not lordli/ "feast" is mine: — 
 Mere "merry thoughts" and "toasts'" washed down with wine,— 
 A few chance wheat grains picked from out the ohatf: 
 And if some "bitters" now and then we quaff. 
 'Tis but to give us (ippet'ite — to laugh. 
 
 Not Death in our Court of Last Appeal 
 Stands threatening sullenly with Rope and Steel: 
 The Pillory — not the gallows — holds the rogue. 
 And mocks the miscreant with an epilogue 
 That points the moral with /h'.s nhaiiie: — no whip 
 Save that of Conscience scores hira: but we slip 
 On his clipped poll — (that thus the story tells) 
 Until he mend — the Foolscap and the Bells. 
 
 We codify in couplets — all our laws. 
 Match rhymes with reasons. — songs with •ancient saws:'" 
 Paint you in pithy Puns — Better and Worse. 
 And punish culprits with a venonied verse. 
 The Good shall gayly quaff' Song's sparkling "'Sillery"" 
 (That sort of shampain is, you knv)Vv-. real pleasure .') 
 The Evil hang their heads in some Poetic Pillory. 
 That gives them for repentance always life and leisure. 
 
 Unless you can prove very plainly — Purgatory. 
 (And even some "Shining Lights'" contend that that's a story) 
 A man once hanged (we'll say) by the Law's Sentence. 
 Might miss by half an hour's defer'd Repentance. 
 Eternal grace and glory:— \fet that were odd. 
 For then the ".Tury" damned him hopelessly — :ind not his (xod. 
 
 To Caesar render what to Him belongol — 
 And yet if Heaven has righffi— the World too has itii—torongs: 
 To Brutes some hnifal laic we fain must tlx. 
 Or let the Devil himself trumi» all the tricks: — 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 But if your mind is not of that coarse stuff 
 That only winces when the chains are rough; — 
 You'll own that Honor grants the best Reward, 
 And Shame hangs higher than the Hangman's cord: — 
 So if you read my Pun's and Proverb's — pith — 
 You'll find their moral is no empty myth. 
 
 A Princely Soul — that Death and Danger scorns — 
 Dreads more than these the roses hidden thorns; 
 And finer natures — when by chance they err — 
 To lash defiant, yet res^jond to spur 
 Of those incentives — that — when Fate suborns — 
 Honor — wears Christ-like as a Crown — of Thorns. 
 
 Your "dolts" will doubtless hold that I grow daft and dafter 
 Because I think a lesson better learned for laughter: 
 But mock no teachings — though in motley drest — 
 If T but give mv bravest and my best: 
 ( "lowns often hide beneath a priestly cowl, — 
 And doubtless sometimes even Syren's scowl; 
 Rich pearls may shimmer in the rudest shell: 
 So take my Textn for just what — Truths flipy tell.' 
 
 If "'Sermons in Stones" — my "Pebbles"' too. 
 May preach their parables to you: 
 But he who dreads the battling breeze 
 Seeking safe ports in shallow seas, 
 Shall never find the "Pearls" that keep 
 Their gifts for those that dare the Deep. 
 I paint my i)ictures with a thousand tints. 
 And give you room for many hopes and hints. 
 But doctors differ as do learned divines, 
 And so I give you choice of many lines: — 
 A wider gamut than the Bard oft sings 
 Who gives but Echoes of familar things. 
 Indeed most poets get into a muddle 
 Because they cannot see reflected in a puddle 
 No wider than your hand — the Heaven's expanse: 
 They cannot read the stars, nor see the faries dance 
 By moonlight. But my guidance trust. 
 And thou shalt soar above the darkness and the dust 
 To Realms of Fancy. And believe me this. 
 For Higher Spirits is no weary wilderness 
 Of emj)ty phantoms. Hope and Trust and Love — 
 Are Angels three. I'll bring you from above: 
 And Wit and Humor, though no spirits rare — 
 Will brighten lives that else might learn despair. 
 If you have heads not heavy, hearts as soft as girls. — 
 You'll find fair pickings in my "'Pebbles and Pearls." 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 THE FEATHERED FH^DLER. 
 (THE CAT BIRD OR CHATTER WIT.) 
 
 In the mornings on my apple trees the merry cat-birds sing, 
 And at dusk a pair of whipoorwills flit and flute about the spring 
 That bubbles in a hollow, — where the dogwood blossoms flash 
 Through the crimson of the maple and the growing green of ash. 
 Have you ever heard a cat-bird just singing at his best, 
 When the apple-blooms begin to blush and the wind is in the west? 
 The mocking-bird more famous is, — and a certain skill he shows, 
 But the clever cat-bird taught him half the music that he knows. 
 Is there any need to tell you that a bird who sings like that 
 Should have borne a sweeter cognomen than the common one 
 
 of "cat?"" 
 He is ever gay and garrulous when the buds begin to shoot. 
 A sort of feather'd fiddler. — with songs brighter than his suit. 
 He gives himself no citj' airs like your crib'd and caged canaries. 
 Whose trillings seem but lessons learned.- a theme that never 
 
 varies: — 
 Our Songster wears a slaty suit. — not dainty white and bufl'. 
 But when he trills — upon the hills — his airs are sweet enough— 
 To lure me from my narrow room out yonder — where the breeze 
 Breaks into rippling laughter low — soft whispering to the trees. 
 And through the budding boughs, that make a window for my 
 
 dreams. 
 Above the slopes of nearer hopes — Love's fairj- fabric gleams. 
 That song brings back the golden days, when always "on a lark." 
 I was happy as a cat-bird is from dimmest dawn to dark: — 
 And like that feathered frolicker — I loved — in leafy nooks — 
 To tune my songs to rustling boughs and ripi)lingsof the brooks. 
 Do you know — 1 think the cat-bird, with his merry mocking ways. 
 Was a jolly-jovial fiddler in the long forgotten davs.- 
 A minstrel of the market — who sang his songs for all. 
 And oftener housed in peasants" hut than princely house or hall: 
 A fiddler of the common folk, whose coat was hodden gray. 
 Who tramped the country walks and lane.^ for many a summer 
 
 day. 
 Who went through life a-loitering and picked up chijjs of 
 
 chance. — 
 A merry wedding now and then, and now and then a — dance: 
 A dance for rustic revellers — in villages of theitch. 
 Where the hearth was ever wide enough and the door u])on the 
 
 latch, 
 Where no one ever met you with a sneer or proud rebuff 
 Because your coat was worn and torn and made of homespun 
 
 stuft'.— 
 A fiddler he of hamlets gray — or ripening fields of green — 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Where bearded rye leaves always room for the ])oppy blooms 
 
 between, 
 And thou<ih the stately corn-stalks wear plumed '"tassels"' and 
 
 pink "silk," 
 They welcome "rag'<fed Robin"" still, and others of that — "ilk."" 
 And when this merry Fiddler died, the Gods (who knew him best) 
 Gave his soul a pair of restless wings — a slaty coat and vest — , 
 And bad him sinjj his merry songs for ever midst the trees. 
 For in their prosy Paradise — how should he feel at ease"? 
 His litanies had never been but those that lovers learn 
 When tickle maidens some times frown — or parents prove too 
 
 stern: 
 No solemn psalms he knew- nor hyms — save such the wildwood 
 
 knows 
 When the nightingale by moonlight breathes his "'soul out to"" 
 
 the rose. 
 Some plaintive little airs were his — of Love by Fate undone. 
 But these he'd match with madrigals — a dozen sweet for one: 
 He knew the wedding marches that made glad hearts faster beat, 
 And a score of rustic dances that would spur the laziest feet. 
 But in heaven all these pleasures, as the priests and parsons say. 
 H'ould never be permitted by the Gods that rule to-day: — 
 There"s dignity and decorum there, and "Oratorios"" 
 Perhaps, and rich and righteous folk — wearing all their finest 
 
 clothes. 
 Bat what would old St. Peter say. whose vigor never Hags, 
 At opening' Heaven's golden Gate to a Fiddler decked in rags"? 
 To a fellow whose chief joys had been gay waltzes — giddy wines — 
 And such mad music as would drive the sad Saints from their 
 
 shrines"? 
 The Godheads (with a wisdom that they do n(jt always show) 
 Decided this old Fiddler"s soul should have some chance below — 
 In this world — where foolish gayety mocks at the Fates so grim, 
 So they wisely, very wisely — made a— Cat-bird out of him. 
 And that's the reason when you hear the Cat-bird sing' his song' 
 His notes are merry as the May, and last the whole day long:. 
 And that's the reason why amid the woodlands (if by chance 
 I hear a cat-bird's merry call) I always want to dance: 
 But as 1 am a Poet, working hard for fvinds and fame. 
 Don't let the public know it, for 'twould surely blast my name: 
 Though were I sure Hereafter, when my soul slips from its shell. 
 That the Gods (who think medafter) would treat me quite as well 
 As they did that Fiddler — frankly, I'd take at once the chance: 
 Let others hold the dollars- if I onlv hold the Dance. 
 
PEARL.S AND PEBBLES. 
 
 A POET IN PATCHKS: 
 
 I'm jes a sort o" .sin<jer — (like a cat-bird or a thrushi, — ) 
 A roamin" whar the foainin" o" the racing- rapids rush: — 
 Not a poet — and I know it — but that needn't make me blush, — 
 For I'm mighty sure I never hed much show at schoolin' sence 
 I jus begun a "farmin" — " that is — "sottin on a fence'" — . 
 Whar I picked up all the larnin" to which I makes pertence. 
 My only books (and bibles) was blossoms, birds and brooks. 
 And even now my han-write (to figger facs) — jes' looks 
 As if I war a practicin' at "hangers'' still and "hooks." 
 But, Stranger. 1 kin tell it straight (as every nabor knows) 
 Whar — when mad March grows tamer — the yearliest Hower 
 
 grows. — 
 Jes" a little bunch u" blushes — what ain't afeared of snows. 
 Ye"ll find 'em on the mountings — when fus the bob-o-link 
 His glees begins to giggle — by yander brindled brink 
 O" crumblin" clift — in clusters what beats all paint fer pink. 
 An' when the bonny blue bird comes — ye'll fine (onlike the rest) 
 He's allers drest up spick and span — a wearin' o" his best: — 
 And tho' he skercely wisnered it — I know jes' whar"s the nest. 
 And way beyant the chesnut woods — whar only "balsams" grow. 
 The snow birds jes" a wastin" win' to chaffer roun" me so. 
 Kaze — I needs no path ner pilotin" to pint the way ter go: 
 Whar the moss is thick an" thrifty — tho" thar"s tangles on the 
 
 track. 
 I kin walk without much speerin" to that fiat-toit'd "tamarack."" 
 Out in among the shadders show you aigs I never crack. 
 I fine the sunny hollers whar the walnuts love to grow. — 
 The hills whar bloomin' chestnuts in .June is sure a show. — 
 Windy ridges whar the "sarvice"" never " nisses"' — as I know. 
 I've tackled all the tallest "tops" — an" clum' the cliftiest sides: 
 An' every crick — a slidin' slick — I know jes" whar hit glides: 
 Kin' pilot yer to hollers, too, whar still the "Sang-root" hides. 
 The songs o' birds — the sorter songs fer which I mosly keer'd. 
 Tho' names o' most o' them, in course. I never even heer'd; — 
 You wouldn't fine a many nests in which I never speer'd. 
 Even the queerious city-folk — what's allers on a rush — 
 Ef they'd even half's much lime as tin — would meb})e stop an' 
 
 hush — 
 Ter listen to a cat-bird"s fun or Hutin" of a thrush. 
 But I reckon its a wastin" work to give yer bline folks winks. 
 Our city swells wont see no charms onless in coin — what chinks. 
 Fer money's ring the only thing of which some people thinks. 
 But as fer me the very wins weave words as sweet as kissin'. 
 The shaded brooks go gossipin' as hyar and thar they glissen. 
 An" when the feathered folks begin — I kin but love and lis"en. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 There flits and flirts a rust brown wren— hardly a finyer long,— 
 A leetle but a lively chap;— at first it pears most wrong 
 That out o' sich a tiny throat should flow sich floods o' song-. 
 The Blue-bird in his feathers fine — sings jes' the other way: — 
 Across the brown fieTs flickerin' — a flash of sky astray — 
 So soft he goes a whisperin' — those low murmurins in May. 
 About the oak-land edges flits a bigger yaller breasted chaj), 
 A coat of slaty brown is his'n, with sorter coal-raarks on his 
 
 cap: 
 His cry a croak — a whistle short — and then at wunst a sudden 
 
 drap: — 
 As tho' by some ole mountain mill the mossy flume had sprung 
 
 a leak, — 
 Hit gives at first a choky cry — and then a sorter sudden creak. 
 An" what's more stunnin", say. than starlins? Oh. them's the 
 
 maddest merriest chaps, — 
 What lives like lords — in good accords — on other peoples cribs 
 
 an" craps: — 
 Tricked out like army ossifers — a wearin" scarlet shoulder-strains. 
 Jes" listen "till 'em chucklin" thar, as on the wheat they sway 
 
 an' swing: 
 No wonder they air never .sad- whilst summer lasts an" ( 'orn is 
 
 King: 
 For them the year — from May to Alay— is jes" one solid chunk 
 
 o' Spring. 
 In deeper shadders o" the trees — a call akin to theirn — 
 The rambler — ef he's lookin" out- amid the leaves may laii^u. 
 But glimpse o" him in woodlands dim is mighty hard to airn. 
 Ye'il hear "em callin' loud enuf — an" answerin' allers, too. 
 But only whar the woods in .Tune the thickest shadders threw: — 
 They flit aroun' in coats of brown — agin the cloudless blue. 
 Then whar the corn is silkin" — and bees a buzzin' go — 
 Ye'U find a fancy little chap dressed up in indigo: — 
 Blue back an' breast, brown tail an' wing — hit beats the worl' 
 
 I know. 
 An' 'till the laurel blooms begin to dra]) inter the rills. 
 When Darkness like a sperit slips atween the holler'd hills. 
 Almos' as thick as lightnin" bugs — ye'll hark the whipoorwills. 
 But mornins when the jew is jes a shimmerin" on the grass, — 
 And every spider spins a string o' pearls too fine to las, — 
 Ahl stranger — . that's the time to hear the birds begin to gas. 
 Fus' — when the fog is still in streaks — ye'll hear perajjs the 
 
 peewees' plainin'. 
 An' ne.x the cat-bird strikes in fast — to show "em that it — aint 
 
 a rainin". 
 An" las' the wren: — an' ef ye're peert — his ju})ilee don't need 
 
 explainin'. 
 
PEARUS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 You see. m}- larnin's lean, not loufj". -no sort o" silver}- singer 
 sich 
 
 As them who rime all ribbanded and allers reasonably rich: — 
 My doggerel — like my other duds — I yarns and darns jes" stich 
 b}- stich. 
 
 My singin" robes — as folks must know — air somewhat frail an" 
 
 faded: 
 But then my "patches" never was a-meant ter be peraded 
 Whar Romeos rayther over-ripe mek love to .Juliettes rayther 
 
 jaded. 
 
 No painted palaces air mine — . but bloomin" wt)ods that Heaven 
 thatches 
 
 With gray lims twisted and green vine, and light to lift (ye'll 
 tind) the latch is 
 
 To them who come to hear me chirp or chyme my carols and 
 
 my catches. 
 Not likeyer oppery airs is our'n (whar every silvery note means 
 
 money) — 
 
 But jes' like thrushes singin" because the worl's so sai)py— sweet 
 an" sunny. — 
 
 Or like a martin flyin" roun a bee-tree— haply — huntin" honey. 
 Yer bus'lin towns would never suit a wanderin' soul — like me: — 
 Them crowds would scare me far atield as any bird or bee; — 
 1 love the windin' lazy lanes — the forests — fresh an' free. 
 An' taint no wonder — to my wits fer under forest eaves — 
 By night an' day, in March or May. thechangein' Season weaves 
 Fables for me in flowers gay an' lesson'd lore in leaves. 
 An' even' when the frosty films come fetterin' the brooks 
 I fine more time for studyin' rime in some sweet lassie's looks: 
 For love — is like a liberry — to him who's short o" books. 
 I've long hearn tell o' Poets swell a playin' on their liars. 
 An' ef that kinder hinstru-weyi^ their fine-spun fancy fires. 
 Why let 'em "pick:"' my truthful hart don't harp on sich desires. 
 A dulcimore — what's painted red jes" suits my country taste: 
 Hits middle jes' pinched in a bit — 'minds me o' Mandy's waist, — 
 The waist — what kinder braced me up whenever I embraced. 
 Yer see — them twisted fiddle-strings is jes" like fingers — four or 
 five — 
 
 An' rightly teched and tackled, boys, the singin" cat-gut seems 
 
 alive 
 With all that Hope kin help us to — with all that hearts kin hive. 
 An' when I chune it keerfuUy — an' git the properest pitch 
 To sing o' birds and blossomin' — o' lassies, love an' sich. 
 In spite o" what the Gods may stint — I strike it ripe and rich. 
 Fer yer see I'ze got a darlin'— what is peert and full o" pith. 
 Named Amanda Arizony (an' whilst waitin' let's say Smith): — 
 An' when we're sittin" kinder clost — my arms a beltin' — . with 
 Lips willin" still a thrillin". — she never says no word: — 
 But from some little incidents— that now an" then occur'd. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 'Twas evident jes' what I meant, tho" only sighs was heard. 
 For love you see (twix you an' me) — is like the blue bird's song. 
 That fer his mate jes' fixes fate — altho' its never long': — 
 When nests air made — we hunt the shade — to send the Hunters 
 
 wrong". 
 An' when our time for cooin" comes (an' who would miss a mateVi 
 The little nest — whar we shall rest — wont be upon a gate 
 What every peerin' fellow kin be pryin' soon an' late. 
 No! we'll leave to cats — an" christians (of the fashionable sort) — 
 The "caterwaulin" — common at a weddin' what is thort 
 To be a rale High Menial — : I prefers 'em — shy and short. 
 Ye can trust me — that the sweetest thing's — by prince or peas- 
 ant uttered — 
 To willin' hearts (in fits an' starts) by tender fancies fluttered. 
 War never shouted boldly out — but onlv — shyly — stutterd. 
 An' so the true-love songs I sing — aint like a nobby necklace. 
 With settins rich fer jewels which air fiery and fleckless; — 
 But hyar a pebble — thara pearl — an" strung on ruff an' reckless. 
 In fak— a sorter jack-daw's nest — stray flint as well as flower, 
 Picked up peraps — by road or ridge — in many a idle hour: — 
 Gay pebbles from some shiny brook — or blooms from shady 
 
 bower. 
 An' if — as Master Wiseman says— they largely lack poetic pith, 
 Nor dar to claim with genteel genius any sorter kin or kith, 
 Leastways they fits the narrower wits o" Mandy Arizony Smith. 
 So I'm contented (in my way) as any rusty rustic Thrush, 
 What loves to wing it far afield — a singin' to his ''Bashful Bush," 
 An" never pears to worry muchef all the worl" don't hiirk an' 
 
 hush: 
 Sings softly — shyly — : trills an" tricks — he knows not, nor the 
 
 lesson'd arts. 
 But flutes away like lovers whose fond follies come by fits an' 
 
 starts, 
 For Heaven alone can teach the tone to touch and turn the 
 
 tenderest hearts. 
 
 Your World o" Wit and all its ways to rustic Reason seems a 
 quip:— 
 
 In such a dance of change an" chance I guess I"d lightly loose 
 my grip: 
 
 Your ladies silken soeks an" x/'g/iK — might lure me from my las- 
 sie's lip. 
 
 Who leaves the rut may loose the road, an' so I'll stick to coun- 
 try ways: 
 
 My brow is hardly broad enough to bear the weight of gilded 
 bays: — 
 
 My coat's the cat-bird's slatv suit — an' not the motley of the 
 
 jay's. 
 So, 'til the las gray shadder falls a-blottiu' out my day, 
 I reckon these old cabin walls — will never see me stray 
 Fur from the woods whar mockin" call — the cat-birds, alius gav. 
 
SECTION I. 
 
 Uorey Hand. 
 
 IN LOREY LAND. 
 
 As I read the olden story, beckoning^ waves a lily hand. 
 And I follow luring Lorey to the realms of Faery Land. 
 Where the giant blossoms shimmer in the golden vesper light. 
 Whispering, as the day grows dimmer, subtile secrets of the 
 Night. 
 
 Where the woods by Dryads haunted, tind in ever\' leaf a 
 tong'ue, 
 And the brooks, like Nymphs enchanted, couch the purple flags 
 
 among : 
 Where the songs of Syrens blending with the breezes blossom 
 
 laden, 
 Lure the feet through paths extending to the portals of Love's 
 Aiden. 
 Ah! could tireless feet forever travel up those flowery 
 ways. 
 Where the frosts of Winter never dull the glad and golden daysl 
 There the pulses beat with passion, palsied ne'er by cark or care, 
 And the blind Love's never dash on — or a thistle — or a snare: 
 
 But advancing, and untiring, thread the labyrinthine 
 ways. 
 Still enjoying, still desiring Love in every flckle phase: 
 Happy heart on heart reposing. Sorrow's tears are kissed away. 
 And Hope's dreamy eyes unclosing — see the Dawn of Deathless 
 Day. 
 Lorey lures, and Love must linger, scanning all her covert 
 charms, 
 Counting every rosy finger — budding bosoms — dimpled arms: 
 Blind to all the sullen Sorrows haunting many a narrow niche: 
 Death may dim the far To-morrows, but — To-day is — ripe and 
 rich. 
 
 ELFIN PUCK : 
 
 There sits a little wrinkled Elf in the wild woodlands by himself. 
 Near the braw brook that beams and bubbles he's brewing- 
 trials — tricks and troubles. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. U 
 
 With cunniny juu-ylery and jokes — . to vex all proud and pros- 
 perous folks: 
 Ahl surely those are lap"d in luck who tind a friend in Eltin Puck. 
 He hates your heartless — haujjhty g'races, — your courtiers with 
 
 false hearts and faces, — 
 Your plethoric Doctors stuffed with latin.— your proud dames 
 
 decked in silk or satin: — 
 Nor less your dandies dilletanti (whose wardrobes are by far 
 
 less scanty 
 Than are their wits), and maidens souring even before their 
 
 time of flowering. 
 But the fond lover fool'd by flirts, — the shy maid hiding all her 
 
 hurts, — 
 The peasant toiling in the sun — whose weary work is never 
 
 done — : — 
 Even the homeless wanderer, or open handed squanderer: — 
 All men astray in Misery's muck, these find a friend in Elfin 
 
 Puck. 
 He loves the children at their play, — the weary Pilgrim — sad 
 
 and gray,— 
 The sinner by the i)riest unshriven— by Fate on stormy coast- 
 lands driven, — 
 The kindly heart that yet lacks wit.— the Mourners round 
 
 Death's Door that sit, — 
 The lover shy— who dares not show it. —and even (now and them 
 
 a — Poet. 
 But if you wi>h to win Puck's pity. — "twere vain to seek hi:n in 
 
 the city: 
 In midst the busy trade and traffic you need not seek for signs 
 
 seraphic 
 Of Hope or Love or Friendship's token: all these are banished 
 
 thence or broken: 
 Where everything is bought or sold — the only talisman is — Gold. 
 But Puck, that wrinkled little Elf. sly chuckling — softly to 
 
 himself. — 
 You'll only find in leafy nooks hearkening the hymns of breeze 
 
 and brooks: 
 Couched on some mossy rock he sits and weaves his spells in 
 
 broken bits 
 Of light and shadow — love or loss: for even Cupid bears his 
 
 Cross. 
 And if some lass has proved too cold, or you — by mischance — 
 
 overbold 
 Have frightened off (as men oft willi shy ho])es that fain seek 
 
 cover still: — 
 Bring here to this green gracious wood your paragon of wo- 
 manhood: 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Address \'Our prayers to Eltin Puck, and soon Love's prodig'ies 
 
 you'll pluck. 
 Thouji^h erstwhile colorless and cold — how ri]ie her roses now 
 
 unfold. 
 In spite of limbs and leafy thatch — her cheeks some errant sun- 
 beams catch, 
 And with unwonted fires burn: with every step she grows less 
 
 stern; — 
 Thoug'h her proud heart would fain rebell. she feels the forests' 
 
 subtle spell. 
 Your elfin friend, sly Puck, unseen — with silent wing's slips 
 
 through the green 
 And takes a coigne of vantage near the curls that kiss that 
 
 rosy ear: — 
 Though all the drowsy woods are hushed— mark how she started 
 
 then and blushed: 
 Quick! whilst her blushes come and go. be sure her lips will 
 
 ne'er say — No. 
 Puck knows the humors of the Sex. and too great prudence 
 
 would but vex 
 These vigins — who themselves sf) shy. — yet love Lotharios who 
 
 defy 
 Their rosy wrath: forget Love's woes, and snatch kind kisses 
 
 spite of Noe.H : 
 No lovers laid by — on the shelf — who trusts to Puck — the Wood- 
 land Elf 1 
 
 ••LOLTEE !' 
 
 Luring '"Loltee."" where "'Linville'' flows. 
 When the moon is in flower and stars unclose. 
 
 Sits under the cliffs of "Namonda:'" 
 With songs the softest — and eyes that sink. — 
 She weaves her spells, by the river's brink. — 
 
 For those who in woodlands wander. 
 She sits and sings in the darkest dells. 
 Weaving the warp and woof of spells 
 
 That are subtle — soft and tender: — 
 But her sweetest songs are alone for him 
 Who comes when the silvery moonbeams swim 
 
 O'er the tides that fence and "fend her. 
 Above her tresses — of raven hue — 
 The cascades dazzle the Darkness through 
 
 With a gleam as of Day's first dreamings: 
 And around her bosoms — but shyly shown — 
 The foaminy flash of the falls is thrown — . 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 18 
 
 Like a mist to conceal Love's scheminfifs. 
 For love is a lore, and a lesson to learn, 
 Though hearts are breaking and lips may burn, 
 
 And the Famished are dying daily:— 
 There are stinted strivings that leave us lame, 
 There are ashes crumbling under the tiame, — 
 
 But the Dance of Death goes gayly. 
 With roses above and thorns below,— 
 With hates that dally and hopes that go,— 
 
 Like the wrestling rapids' thunder: — 
 Above is the dower-like foam that Hies 
 In rainbow'd jewels to sunlit skies, 
 
 But the deeps of Despair a.re'-under. 
 And "Loltee'' sits where the ripples run- 
 Golden at noon in the glittering sun - 
 
 Wanly white in the gloaming;— 
 Biding her time for the coming of him. 
 Who is watching and waiting through shadowings dim 
 
 For the Rest that comes after the Roaming. 
 Is life then better with all of its snares— 
 Than Death that conquers and cancels cares,— 
 
 Soft Peace after conflict and scheming? 
 If she love thee, clasped close to the balm of her breast, 
 "Loltee" will cradle the Weary to rest 
 
 In a slumber too perfect for dreaming! 
 
 SHADOW BIU)OK. 
 
 Shy Shadow Brook from leafy nook comes, lea])ing down and 
 
 laughing, 
 From fountains where, in moments rare, you'll tind the Fay-folk 
 quaffing 
 
 The sparkling drafts of woodland wine— wherein Dawn's 
 dazzling diamonds shine. 
 In coverts green where Dryads screen their kisses, under cover 
 Of boughs and blooms in freckled glooms that lure a lingering 
 lover. 
 
 You'll tind fair maidens of the mist, who melt when once 
 by sunlight kissed. 
 And those who find their fair ones kind where woodland wilds 
 
 and ways are. 
 Need never wait on fickle Fate, for kind as Night- the Days 
 are: — 
 
 And where the forest flowers grow— if Love were lucky 
 — who would know? 
 
14 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 i 
 
 The Stars above shall watch for Love, hut never would betray 
 
 him. 
 And in this nook should day lii;ht look these shadows would be- 
 wray him. — 
 
 His sentineTd sunbeams quite astray- though kisses 
 woo'd us all the way. 
 Like errant Elf, from shelf to shelf of rocky hill-side tripping, 
 Neath forest-eaves of thick-thatched leaves, shy Shadow Brook 
 comes slipping, — 
 
 Comes wrinkling over rocky bars, comes tinkling in a 
 storm of stars. 
 And in and out. and all about — beneath the boughs and bowers. 
 With now and then in Shadow Glen the Hush and Hash of 
 Howers. 
 
 (That through the woodland's twilight show- like stars 
 that just begin to blow) 
 Comes Shadow Brook, and bids me look through all the forests 
 
 shady 
 (With lips apart and beating heart) to find that lissome lady 
 
 Whose bosom is the fountain whence Life drains Love's 
 sweet incontinence. 
 Shy Shadow Brook, where e'er 1 look I see thy cascades rip- 
 pling. 
 A storm of stars o'er pebbly bars. — where gleams and glooms 
 are stippling 
 
 The leafy twilight through and through with arabesques 
 of gold and blue. 
 And oft and oft some Loltee soft, with violet eyes aud golden 
 
 tresses, 
 Slips through the leaves and wooing weaves her ha])iiy spells 
 with soft caresses. — 
 
 Low whispering: ''Though the World go wrong— I'll 
 soothe thee with my sylvan song.'' 
 Fair Dryads, too. their vows renew, and bid me welcome to their 
 
 bowers; — 
 Let all the Pates unleash their Hates -if but these woodlands 
 
 keep their flowers 
 
 Fresh for me. and their nym])hs consent with kisses to 
 
 my heart's content. 
 With Loltee shy, and Lorely — to courtships soft consenting. 
 Why should I care if other fair prove cold and unrelenting? 
 
 To glad hearts housed where blossoms blow— the world 
 seems but a Shadow Show. 
 I look askance at fickle Chance— on lives by leagured Hatreds 
 
 harried. 
 Whilst here I find fair Nature kind, and never once a kiss mis- 
 carried: — 
 
 For no wide World of Woes 1 look, hut drink my dreams 
 
 from Shadow Brook. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. l-J 
 
 TUMBLIN' PUN ! 
 
 ( "ame ever a marlder. merrier brook from rorky niclie in a mbmi- 
 
 tain nookV 
 And slip])ing' and sliding' — how it siiook 
 
 Its silver sides with laughter, growing ever daft and dafter 
 As out of the shadow into the sun with a gladsome glitter slid 
 
 ••Tumblin" fun." 
 Where the firstling Hash of its clear fount gushes the Nixies 
 
 have woven a cradle of rushes, 
 And above, where many a bubble swims, the Drvads have locked 
 
 their lissome limbs: 
 Soft shadow stipples the rollicking ripi)les that young Pan sucks 
 
 from Mountain nip])les: 
 And churning and challing — and leaping and laughing — 
 Out of the shadow into the shine comes •■Tumblin' fun"" as wild 
 
 as wine. 
 He comes with a writhe and a wriggle from under the flowers 
 
 and ferns. 
 With a gush and a gurgle and giggle- he twists — and twines — 
 
 and turns: 
 And as you listen and look at the flashing and flying brook. 
 Where under the ledges gray and stern the eddies ^hamp and 
 
 the cascades churn. 
 Into milky mist, — see the llainbow's Bridge spanning the shad- 
 ows from ridge to ridge. 
 And "'Tumblin" fun"" with his race half run, launches far out. 
 
 with a leap and a shout. 
 Over the giddiest verge of the crags where the rent clouds hang 
 
 like old battle-flags: 
 With a scream like a hawk on warring wings — with a gleam like 
 
 the flash that the thunder fling's. 
 In a g'iddy dance down the crag"g"iest steep— tumbling and toss- 
 ing like an avalanche 
 Of white thunder — that "though it may shiver and blanche — 
 Makes no pause e'er it ])lunges deep into the de])ths where the 
 
 shadows sleep 
 As dim and dusky at sunniest noon -as when stars startle the 
 
 pallid moon. 
 Down from the towering heights above — like a lover lea])ing to 
 
 kiss his love — , 
 (;)ut of the glitter into the gloom where echoes linger and shad- 
 ows loom. 
 With half of his league-long life out-run —, comes wrestling 
 
 with rainbows — "Tumblin" fun." 
 There, out of the gloom and into the glow, wearing above him 
 
 wreaths of snow 
 
hi PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 ( Milk-white ])luraes in the dauntless crest of the fearless Knig'ht 
 
 who hath battled the best), 
 Through the widening ravine where the hemlock spires catch 
 
 the latest glint of the sunset fires: 
 Where the level meadows are green with grass and broader 
 
 reaches the blue skies glass, 
 Where lances of maize shake gay tassels over cardinal flowers 
 
 and fields of clover: 
 As over the banks you lean and listen to the ripples that gurgle 
 
 and glint and glisten. 
 Yon can hear this wonderful Mountain Elf chuckling and whis- 
 pering to himself: 
 Laughing and chaffing with every bud that minors her charms 
 
 in his crystal flood. 
 Loitering lazily, wandering mazily in and out, with his mimic 
 
 billows 
 Weaving an arabesque under the willows: — 
 Here giving the flags— tall and stately — a jostle. 
 There turning to hearken the song of the throstle. 
 And now kissing the Violet's olue eyes unchidden — 
 Though under leaf'd lids so demurely they're hidden: 
 Mocking and mirroring the clouds and the skies: 
 Whispering tales to the trout where he lies. 
 Or chasing the Harlequin Butterflies. 
 Thus, ever heedless and headstrong still, 
 With never a thought of the Miller or Mill: — 
 Half forgotten his race down the ridges 
 As he slyly slips under green banks and gray bridges: — 
 So onward, sunning himself the while — , 
 His loud laughter softened now into a smile: 
 With all of his course now nearly run — 
 River-ward wrinkling — with never an inkling 
 Of the turning of wheels and the work to be done — , 
 Goes dancing and glancing— "Tumblin" fun." 
 
 THE BROOKS BEN I SON I 
 
 With a ripple — ripple — ripple — flows the crystal brooklet clear; 
 A draught of it's a tipple that would make you laugh a year — 
 Laugh a year just thinking over half the happy things you've 
 
 seen 
 With the flowers and the fairies — housing under roofs of green. 
 There's the Kalmia — with its cuplets — dimj^led cuplets — pale 
 
 and pink. 
 From which the Faery-folk, you know, when thirsting take a 
 
 drink: 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 And then there's rosv "Rhodo." t(i(). (Rhododendron is her 
 
 name), — 
 Though her cheekss are somewhat freckled— she's but fairer for 
 
 the same. 
 A rustic maid is "Rhodo." and she loves the forests shady, 
 But I'll match her matchless graces with the higfhest. haught- 
 iest lad}': 
 She shows a dainty dimple through her blushes faintly freckled 
 As she laughs to see the trout Hash by, with crimson star spots 
 
 speckled. 
 There are Dryads, too, in woodlands still, and if you were a 
 
 poet—. 
 Not a pithless, pale philosopher -. without a doubt you'd know- 
 it: 
 But since the world's grown old and gray and men the Deities 
 
 defy. 
 They shun the brazen light of day, and have grown daily doubly 
 
 shy. 
 But if you've faith in ancient Gods, or even old time Godesses, 
 Within the furthest forest nooks, without or bark or bodices, 
 You yet may catch them stealing out to watch the nodding 
 
 flowers. 
 Or wandering o'er the airy ])eaks half veiled in mists and 
 
 showers. 
 They bring to this sad wintry world the dreams of some ))rime- 
 
 val Spring, 
 As by some cascades brink — uncurled- -in naked lovliness they 
 
 sing:— 
 From some fond Dryads bosom, by Love unbodiced first — , 
 At touch of lips— this lustrous — leaping — laughing brooklet 
 
 burst. 
 No wonder such a tipple should turn a poets" head. 
 For a draught from such a nipple were a spell to wake the dead I 
 Where the Sunbeams softly stipple all the shadows with stray 
 
 stars, 
 As the dewy diamonds ripple over pebbly shoals and bars, — 
 I can hear, above the singing of the waters at my feet, 
 A whisper as of loving sighs that make my pulses beat: 
 And as, through bough and blossom overhead, the Zephyi slips. 
 A benison of kisses soft is laid upon my lips. 
 
 With a ripple — ripple — ripple — flows the brooklet cool and clear: 
 A draught of it's a tipple that would make you laugh a year, — 
 Laugh a year just thinking over half the revels you have seen 
 With the fairies and the flowers— under rustic roofs of green I 
 
18 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 THE FAERY LADY OF ('ONNALEESE. 
 
 Ilavine more rough and rocky never cleft 
 
 With shadowy depths bhie mountain slopes asunder: 
 A grim gra.y gorge where echoes still the thunder. 
 
 Whilst yet again the sunbeams weave a weft 
 
 Of luminous haze above the woods: where under 
 
 The garrulous gleam of cascades (that scarce left 
 
 One opalescent pool of milky foam bereft—) 
 
 Come leaping into life, a moment's misty wonder. 
 
 (iray crags above, and where the light yet linger'd — 
 
 Touched with such glow — as tho' Aurora lingered 
 Their solemn brows, soothing their silence olden: 
 
 But here below, — the pebbly pools that darkle 
 
 Scarce catch from phantom falls the faintest sparkle. — 
 Nor at its crest — the tallest spire of pine gleams golden. 
 
 The feathery ferns droop low along the ledges, — 
 
 Above the lichend walls and moss-grown angles: — 
 Whilst olive-green above the briars tangles — 
 
 The rhododendrons — by the rivulet's edges — 
 
 Thick cluster, rooting gray rock and green ripple 
 
 With leafage sombre as Night's shadow, altho" showing 
 Still scattered clusters of pink |)etals blowing: — 
 
 Cups filled with drowsy sweets for fays to taste and tipple. 
 Yea! — who doth drink of this most subtle nectar — 
 •Shall lie with "Loltee" and yet not susi)ect her, — 
 
 Shall kiss her lips and welcome fate and letter: — 
 
 Shall dream tumultuous dreams — with neither clue i 
 
 ending, 
 Shall lavish lust and life nor ever heed its spending,— 
 
 Shall loose his last— and truest love — yet not regret her. 
 
 Ahl — drinking this sweet drowsy draught— I hearken 
 The woodland's heart — that pulses under petals: 
 Blue violets whisper to me softly, and rough nettles 
 
 Grow scandalous — as twilight shadows darken. 
 
 The Tulip tree — its pale green goblets brimming — 
 
 With wines of Lorey-land — bids welcome meetly — 
 With lyre-leaves all in tune in chorus sweetly — , 
 
 Whilst dulcet dreams the light of day is dimming. — 
 Soft dawns the Night — as fruit or flower unfolding. 
 And everv bud at heart a hidden kiss is holding, — 
 
 A fragrant kiss that every wise doubt hushes. 
 
 Where the veiled cascades furthest showers sprinkle, 
 I hear the Lady Loltee's fooftall tinkle,— 
 
 And sighs just soft and sweet enough for hidden blushes. 
 
 Like covert Nymphs — that fear some Faun's surprising — 
 Or ])rying Cupids -, now the cascades show 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 19 
 
 Scarce one ])eile streamer of tumultuous snow: — 
 And the tall hemlock o'er the tireenwood risinij — 
 Like some grotesque cathedral spire towering", — 
 
 Catches no further giint or g^leam of Sunset tire: 
 
 Night darkens desolate, and yet Desire 
 Finds Love's o'ershadowed Eden fre^h and tiowering. 
 
 From all the Greenwood's gossips emulous 
 
 (Here where lip'd flowers and lidded leaves are trerauloas 
 With winds blown free from starry fields afar) — . 
 
 I learn the heart-secrets of these tell-tale trees: — 
 
 The plaintive Pine calls— murmurous to those long" lost Seas 
 Where the Palm's fans unfold beneath a tropic Star. 
 Here.— where the cascades driven foam is falling — . 
 
 Under a dusky rhododendron's leafy roof. 
 
 Fancy — a Fairy — weaves a wondrous woof. 
 Whilst thro the Dusk the whipoorwill is calling 
 To silent woods — that hide shy whispering fountains. 
 
 "Tis here the Witch of C'onnaleeskee sits and su])s. 
 
 Drinking to me from motley clustered cups — 
 Plucked late from giddiest slopes of grayest mountains: — 
 
 Freckled with green are these frail cups of pink, 
 
 From which with longing, loving lip I drink 
 To fairest witch, I wiss, — in all the land of P"'aery. 
 
 But who can rightly read a woman's witching eyes 
 
 When stars shine soft in gulfs of Summer skies. 
 And lights are lures. — and shadows veer and vary. 
 T drink of the rosy cups that thickly cluster 
 
 At the pebbly brink where the rhododendrons cling. 
 
 And I hear the songs that the sprites and fay-folk sing. 
 While the shadows deepen, and the stars grow large in lustre. 
 Nearer and nearer — the cascades gleam and glimmer 
 
 Through veiling vines and dusky spires of spruce: — 
 
 And the starry zone of the faery Lady is loose. 
 As she stands where the ripples about her .shine and shimmer. 
 
 And she looks and smiles as I quaff and quaff, — 
 
 Whilst the riotous racing ripples laugh — 
 As they swirl down swift and swifter. 
 
 Her eyes grow black and her lips grow red, 
 
 And the white flood swirls to my heart and head — 
 As my arms embrace — and lift her. 
 Swifter and swifter the hurricane hurls 
 
 The driven billows from cliff to cliff: — 
 
 Bat the Lady Loltee hath launched a skiff: 
 Its ropes are the daintiest string's of pearls, — 
 Its sail is a white cloud — silver rimmed — , 
 
 ( !iose reefed as we glide (like a sickle mooTi 
 
 Through the driving wrack of a storm in .lunei — 
 
20 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 With its silver prow on the shadows limned: — 
 Swee])ing through showers of edd3an(j spray. 
 Flaunting" a tlag" like the flowers of May. 
 
 Blind Hope, our Pilot, still stands steady, 
 
 Tho' I catch a glimpse of the wild abyss 
 As the Faery Lady yields me a kiss 
 
 From red lips — always ready. 
 
 Let the levin leap from the precipice. 
 
 Let the thunder shout from crag to crag: 
 My Witch of the Waves — hath nailed her flag 
 
 To a mast that the fierciest storms but kiss. 
 
 We ride where the wild waves pause for breath 
 
 And we laugh as we look at the Rainbows dance; 
 Midst the whitening thunder she gives me a glance 
 
 That would gladden the grimmest glooms of Death. 
 With a rush and roar where the billows leapt — 
 Into the depths of the Darkness swe])t 
 
 Under the gleam of the foam: — 
 
 The Skiff' sinks deep, and fair Loltee sighs 
 As she covers with kisses my lips and eyes: 
 
 O I welcome mv true love. Home I 
 
 LOLTEE. THE LINVILLE LOREYLEY I 
 
 Where limpid Linvilie's fountain wells — beneath crags high 
 
 and hoary. 
 Fair Loltee weaves her witching spells — and tells the same old 
 
 story: 
 A story ever new — yet old. that turns hearts daft and dafter: 
 The fair false glitter — that's not gold. — whole worlds are strug- 
 gling after. 
 When evening hours grow dark and dim — stars clearer — zephyrs 
 
 crisper, 
 Besides the fountains bubbling brim, harki Loltee's rippling 
 
 whisper I 
 She waves a web of foam and mist — of star-light and white lilies, 
 A veil the moonbeams softly kissed — where Linville's ri])pling 
 
 rill is. 
 And there she sits.- and there she sings, half luringly — half 
 
 laughing. 
 And offers from her bubbling springs — a draft for all men's 
 
 quaffing: 
 With weaving hands and winning smiles, she lures them softly 
 
 sighing. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 And whispers dreams of Eden isles, where Love knows no de- 
 nying. 
 Light hearts are captured soon and kissed, won by charms not 
 
 too chary; 
 And when she casts her veils of mists she blinds the wise and 
 
 wary: 
 With winning smiles and waving hands, — this witch (of the 
 
 waves begotten), 
 Lures all to her grot, on whose golden sands — her lovers lie dead 
 and forgotten. 
 
 As you sit by the fount where the troutlings swim 
 
 You hearken the same old story, 
 Of wanderers lured into grottoes dim — , 
 Bv a fair but faithless Lorev. 
 
 THE INDIAN ECHO MAID. 
 
 Katalsta, the Indian Echo Maid, lives in the rocky nooks. 
 
 In cliifs and crags above the shade of sylvan glens and orooks. 
 
 Long ages past, one April day, the chief's fair daughter from 
 her bower 
 
 Stra3'ed, ever seeking by the way to Hnd the magic Fairing 
 Flower: — 
 
 The Flower that keeps all graces fresh — the heart still young 
 though Old Time flies: 
 
 But none, to this day, born of flesh have plucked this bloom that 
 never dies. 
 
 Lured on — still on — from hill to hill — from rill to rill — by beck- 
 oning blooms, 
 
 Each footstep led ■ her deeper still into the forests endless 
 glooms; 
 
 There lost to life and lost to love, and yet so winning and so 
 fair. 
 
 That the Great Spirit — who above rules all the realms of u])per 
 air. 
 
 Ravished her beauty, claimed the grace that made ( 'ohutta's 
 Vales rejoice, 
 
 But left, to cheer her mother's race, the sweetness of her 
 daughter's yoice 
 
 And thus when maids or warriors cry ■"Katalsta"' to the listen- 
 ing hills, 
 
 Soft answering from the pitying sky, comes back a sound that 
 charms and thrills. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 So when the' Indian maidens sin<>' beneath Sahkonaija's blue 
 
 walls, 
 The echoes, that the breezes brinjir, are said to be "Katalsta's 
 
 calls." 
 
 THE QUEST OF THE HAPi'Y ISLES ! 
 
 Long leagues from land, in sight no strand. — what seek ye on 
 
 the Silent SeaV 
 No silvery beach these billows reach, tho" winds are blowing 
 
 fresh and free: 
 Through cloudy drifts— no headland lifts its rocky crest to meet 
 
 the sky: 
 Beyond the roar of waves no shore — within the ken of keenest 
 
 eye. 
 No drifted dunes fence dark lagoons, no palm trees quiver in 
 
 the breeze: — 
 For days and weeks no rugged peaks — rise dim above these 
 
 empty seas. 
 Your yearning eyes may sweep the skies from east to west from 
 
 north to south, 
 Yet gleams in sight no beacon's light. — the ])ilot finds no har- 
 bor's mouth. 
 To Love's far Isles how many milesV — what length of leagues? — 
 
 how can I say I 
 Your Pilot Hope might blindly grope a thousand. — and yet miss 
 
 the wa}'. 
 His flag unfurled delies the world of warring water — near and 
 
 far. 
 And through the drift of clouds that lift, he smiling marks 
 
 Faith's Polar Star: 
 A bright sign set, to show that yet Love hath a guide beyond 
 
 this Ife: — 
 An Eden Land on whose fair strand — the billows never break in 
 
 strife, 
 Where flowery calms beneath the palms welcome the storm- 
 tossed wanderer home. 
 And Beauty's breast allures to rest— the heart that never more 
 
 shall roam. 
 Ol hearts of fire, that never tire, that storms nor seas can daunt 
 
 or break, 
 Spread your bold sail to every gale, and follow Love for Love's 
 
 own sake: 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 23 
 
 Your guidino; star still gleams afar, no land to north — south — 
 
 east or west: 
 But no waves whelm with Hope at helm, and storms at last 
 
 shall sink to rest. 
 Thouijh levins leap and billows sweep, though shoreless still the 
 
 deeps may roll. 
 No happier fate than thus to sha])e life's course towards the 
 
 Golden Goal: — 
 A Heaven exempt from (iods that tempt — with dulcet fruit of 
 
 blind desire, 
 Where Mercy, and not Hate, shall stand to open wide the Gates 
 
 of Fire. 
 
 TO BKTULA, A DRYAD '. 
 
 No wood's a wilderness to me, no summer meadow bare is, 
 For Dryads house in every tree, and in the flowers are fairies; — 
 When e'er their mystic rings I pass I hear them whispering in 
 
 the grass, 
 Arid when the noon-tides shades are sleeping — I see the timid 
 
 Dryads ))eeping. 
 Not she who houses in the Oak — with dusky eyes and darker 
 
 hair — 
 Who loves to hear the ravens croak, and sheds her leaves for 
 
 leopard's lair: 
 But Betula so fair and fresh —whose tresses sunbeams can en- 
 mesh, — 
 A dainty Dryad tall and trim, of sunny leaf and souple limb. 
 Her homje is gray, her roof is green — as often crumbling castles 
 
 are: 
 And siiall she have no liege, this Queen, to sing her praises near 
 
 and fary 
 Yea! underneath the April Blue I hear the lone Cuckoo! Cuckool 
 Who as he hits on flickering wings of Betula and her beauty 
 
 sings. 
 And hidden in her i)endent boughs -that tremble with the 
 
 wind's soft wooing 
 (As though she — heart stir'd- heard my vows) a pair of ('u])ids' 
 
 doves are cooing: 
 And on her roof-trees greenest crest -tossed softly by the sigh-- 
 
 ing West — 
 The happy lark a paean sings of all the gifts that April brings. 
 As when a leaflet feels the tide of the Air's azure river. 
 Though softly stole 1 to her side — her limbs began to quiver: — 
 
24 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 She shook her boughs from crest to root as though she felt the 
 
 brown buds shoot 
 That gave us promise of the Spring — with all its Loves that 
 
 kiss and cling. 
 There in the budding boughs her doves began anew their lures 
 
 and loves, 
 And listening I could hear them coo- "You love us all. and she 
 
 loves you I" 
 And soft the woodland stealing through — I heard the cuckoo 
 
 crying:— 
 "You love the maid and she loves you: there is no need of sigh- 
 ing!" 
 Ah, if she trembled then I wiss 'twas but the dread of some lost 
 
 kiss. 
 Fearing that later frosts might nip the passion-flowers of my lip: 
 An Eden are the Woods to me, nor field nor forest bare is: 
 A Dryad lives in every tree, the flowers are full of fairiesi 
 
 SWEET PSYCHE AND THE SOUR PRUDES ! 
 
 In trembling hands she holds the lamj) that burns less brightly 
 
 than her hopes. 
 Whilst Cupid .(that divinest Scamp) who — spite of youth — 
 
 "knows all the ropes'" 
 That Passion twists, sweet maids to "rope in," — snores, though 
 
 he keeps his eyes half open. 
 And Psyche blushes rosy-red. though quite convinced that no 
 
 one sees her: — 
 She scans the God from foot to head, and all his ri])ening graces 
 
 please her: 
 Though with shy fears her heart is shaken— she almost wishes 
 
 he would waken. 
 His curls of golden-brown astray, — his white hands idly droop'd 
 
 at rest; 
 And yet their curve — she dares not .s«.(/ yet ^A/«A-.s'— would fond- 
 ly fit her breast, 
 Whose billows whilst she looks and lingers long for close clasp 
 
 of searching fingers. 
 Furtive — she scans that charm and this: — the pouting lips, the 
 
 long-lash'd lids: 
 She fain would take one farewell kiss, but yet her maiden pride 
 
 forbids, — 
 Though doubting whether "tis not stupid — to miss her chance of 
 
 rousing ( 'upid. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 25 
 
 Some pleasant dreams his slumbers bring^: — see dimples deep- 
 ening in his cheekl 
 
 And lo, around her bold arms cling, and kisses leave no chance 
 to speak: 
 
 Indeed she was in such a Hutter — not even protests could she 
 utter. 
 
 If Poets tell you Cupid Hies— at sight of Psyche. — 'tis a fable: — 
 The giddy God still always tries to help the Graces when he's 
 
 able, — 
 Though sometimes he. 'tis true, refuses to share o?)r couch with 
 
 all the Muses. 
 And shall poor Psyche for her sins be damn'd by all the coming 
 
 Ages? 
 Forbidden to show her shapely shins? — Un-winged aud cabined 
 
 in close cages":' 
 Because lean spinsters choose to grumble at hearts that in the 
 
 darkness stumble? 
 O! sour sisterhood of Spinsters, not thus the generous Gods 
 
 shall scourge her; 
 In spite of martyrs and of minsters — , the very sins that pain 
 
 shall purge her: — 
 'Tis not mft hearts, but those that linrd* )i~ior which the Gods 
 
 can tind no pardon. 
 
 THE BASHFUL BUSH. 
 
 i'-shrankia" or sensitive plant.) 
 
 In rtowery fields of juicy .June— when the day long and lush is. 
 And yqu can hear the frog's basoon beneath the rustling rushes. 
 If you will seek the leafy lanes of fields afar that daisies star — . 
 
 Or where some brooklet gushes: 
 There, midst the Summer's fiery Hush -like a lass shy and 
 
 shrinking. 
 You'll find the rustic Bashful Bush its lissome leaflets linking 
 With many a common wayside weed: yet not a rose in garden 
 close 
 
 Seems fairer- to my thinking. 
 In sunny fields one afternoon— when listening to the thrushes 
 That softly sang — tune after tune— unseen amid the bushes, — 
 I saw (it was in early June) a Bashful Bush— with flowers aflush — 
 
 Aflush — with rosv blushes. 
 
26 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Beneath the thorns and thistles there she seemed a-search for 
 
 cover. 
 Like some shy maiden half aware the Gods would soon discover 
 Her hidden hopes, and so ensnare the heart that waits — yet 
 
 fears the Fates. 
 
 And dreads not love — but lover. 
 The Bashful Bush that shrinks from touch seems like some yet 
 
 unlessoned maid 
 (Even now and then you may find such) throu<ifh love of Ver}- 
 
 Love afraid, 
 As though such bliss mig^ht be too much, too bright the Sun 
 
 whose wooings won 
 
 The shyest blossoms from the shade. 
 The Thistle hath its spiteful spines and thorns the berried Briar: 
 Brave Oaks shall guard their virgin vines, but maids are — some- 
 times — shyer: 
 In nooks where soft the sunlight shines, the Bashful Bush with 
 
 blooms ablush — 
 
 Desiring much — yet dreads Desire. 
 Touch but her leaves — they shyly shrink from hands that fain 
 
 would hold her, 
 But underneath the blossoms pink her prickles brown — are 
 
 bolder: 
 And so her lover's lead to think — des])ite her blush— her heart's 
 
 a-hush 
 
 To all the tales he told her. 
 
 But the next time you take that path — (whilst listening to the 
 
 thrushes — ) 
 Dare all her prickles mimic wrath, and only trust her — blushes: 
 In love 'tis just the aftermath that better shows (between the 
 
 rows — ) 
 
 Where Love's fair flower Hushes. 
 
 And when those lissome leaflets shut as though they meant to 
 
 shun you. 
 Their sudden shyness — rightly put — will only ))rove they've done 
 
 you 
 As they'd be done by: — Hymen's Hut loves no carouse with 
 open house. — 
 
 When once the God hath won you. 
 The Violet's but a sweet coquette — betrayed in quiet places. 
 Because 'tis safer there to let you gather all her graces: 
 But once upon your bosom set tlicse. leaves discreet keep record 
 sweet 
 
 Of Love's first touch — no time erases. 
 Ah, trust me. (who am learned in lore the Giddy (iod hath 
 taught me) — 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 That Beauty always shuts the door once clear that she hath 
 
 cau<»'ht me: — 
 The laug-hin^ lass that lures a score— no blushes brings, and 
 
 keeps no stint's: — 
 
 With cheaper charms she bought me. . 
 The maid who truly loves is she who bribes you with no kisses; 
 If with her charms she makes too free — be sure the mark she 
 
 misses: 
 The wooing Vine that clasps the tree, yields but a draft to turn 
 
 you daft 
 
 With merely Bacchanal blisses. 
 But trust the timid maid whose ways are like the Bashful Bush 
 
 a-bloom; 
 Amid the quiet fields she stays — half hid mid briar and brake 
 
 and broom: 
 She yields not lightly: summer daj's must wait and woo "til 
 
 May's quite through 
 
 Before she breathes a faint perfume. 
 But once a-quiver with Love's touch, it thrills her every fibre 
 
 through: 
 No question here of "more'" or "'much,'" but — all that I^ove e'er 
 
 hoped or knew. 
 Ah, Heaven grant me some dav such — true, tender maid — of 
 
 Love afraid — 
 
 Because — if Man — he's — Master, too. 
 
 FITZCilGGLE FAY (^F FUN! 
 
 A sittin" one cold winter night — a si])pin' •• "Simmon beer." 
 
 My fancy took a frolic flight: — I saw the ))Icter clear. 
 
 The winds were wrastlin" wild without, the fire-light flashed 
 
 within. 
 And in the ingle nook — I doubt — thar sot— as sure as Sin I 
 A little weazened, wilted wight, not hardly four-foot good. 
 Onless you added to his height — the two on which he stood: 
 And these were shod with •"tooth-pick toes'" — turned u\) to 
 
 touch his shins: 
 He wore a suit of motley clothes:--his face was clad — in grins. 
 The widest grin I ever saw. — it stretched from year to year: — 
 He reached to me a wrinkled paw: — was friendly, that much 
 
 clear: — 
 And so the little shock I felt at si<-h a suddint sight. 
 From fear began to mix and melt into some better plight. 
 No danger — being friendly vvitii — even the Kobold King, 
 
28 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Who iy no potentate of pith — , but jest a weazened Thing, 
 They say, like this small Elf who came to share my ing-le-nook: 
 I even dared to ask his name: — his little fat paunch shook, 
 Laid fing-er to his ruddy nose, tossed his red shock of hair. 
 Showed his white teeth in two long rows, his red tongue wag- 
 ging" there: 
 And at his hip, where no sword hung, he tapped a "dulcimore" 
 With many a fiery ribband strung: — on its brown face it bore 
 In diamonds set — of ancient text — a name he told in signs 
 That for a time my wits but vexed, until in clearer lines 
 His fingers traced upon the wall — letters, that one by one,^ 
 As close I conned them one and all, "Fitzgiggle, Fay of Fun'" — 
 Spelled out: though 1 mav well have missed (being an unlarned 
 
 man) 
 The inner import: — then he kissed his fingers, and began 
 To tune his jeweled dulcimore. Even the strings unstrung 
 Sounded like ripples on some shore, or birds that twittering sung. 
 And as he touched it, more and more, the wondrous music 
 
 woke: — 
 The songs of larks that lightly soar, — the cat-birds merry joke. 
 The thrushes rippling roundelay, — the mockbirds' April glees, 
 And mixed with these the breeze's play — on sylvan harps or seas. 
 But when his fingers plucked the strings — and mastered all 
 
 their tones, 
 Aly fancy fiedged with wider wings soared skyward through 
 
 the zones 
 That girdle little worlds like ours:— I heard the singing Spheres, 
 Saw Eden opening with its flowers — that fence unfading years. 
 Now with a sadness touched to tears, now with love's sweetness 
 
 fraught, 
 Now with a mockery of sneers, now by fierce passions wrought; 
 And then anon from grave to gay, from fears to frolic fancies. 
 Until the very Night seemed Day and life's limp — set to dances. 
 Then came the sadder notes once more — ; he shook his head and 
 
 wriggled. 
 Unstrung the ti-nkling dulcimore — . looked up — then down, and 
 
 trio" cried" 
 
 With finger on his ruddy nose — gave me a wink — one only. 
 And vanished midst the drifting snows — left me to vigils lonely. 
 The Snows are falling" white without — , the firelight fading 
 
 fast within. 
 The dream is over, and I doubt — Fitzgiggle's music and his 
 
 grin; — 
 Yet is not even Fancy's dream — a better gift than Facts that 
 
 grovel"? 
 The Heavens helj) me to some scheme — that brings Hoi)e's help 
 
 to hall or hovel. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 29 
 
 THE KING OF YVETOT ! 
 (PROM THE FRENCH.) 
 
 In Yvetot of old lived a King by History almost forgotten, 
 Ever crowned (as gay Troubadours sing) by .Jeannette with a 
 
 night cap of cotton, 
 And he followed the fashion (as Chroniclers state) of going to 
 bed early and getting up late: 
 A monarch so worthy — who never had quarrels — 
 Might safely afford thus to '^ sleep on his laurels.'' 
 Four "square meals" a day would content him — though he lived 
 
 in a Palace of Straw, 
 Taking all the good things Heaven sent him, and believing that 
 
 Love was the — Law; 
 He trusted to Luck — "went it blindly."' tinding Fortune dealt 
 ever most kindly 
 
 With those who, being happy to-day, would not borrow 
 A shadow of doubt or despair from the morrow. 
 He had no extravagant tastes— except perhaps Woman and — 
 
 Wine: 
 He liked to embrace willing waists and to sip the glad juice of 
 
 the Vine: 
 His wars took but amorous shape as his only ••munition" — was — 
 "grape:" 
 
 When by Beauty besieged he would open the campaign 
 With a white tlag of truce and a basket of champaigne. 
 As his ways were so winning with all — whether counted as dam- 
 sel or dame, 
 "Twas but just that his people should call "His Highness" —^Af?/y 
 
 "Father:" the name 
 Was less rarely a fiction than fact: I but. touch on this subject 
 with tact. 
 And but whisper discreetly that his subjects most loyal 
 Had fair reason to claim that their "Blood" might be 
 "Royal." 
 Though thus aiding to peoi>le the Earth— no neighbor he cared 
 
 to despoil: 
 Less ambitious of Money than Mirth— he much i)refered S'lni- 
 
 sJmie to Soii; 
 "To live and let live!" was his Code, though with Kings this is 
 seldom the mode: 
 Strange to say the fii'sf tears by his good subjects shed 
 Were not — because he was living — but because he was — 
 dead. 
 His Memory his people revere, and to show their true love for 
 
 his Line, 
 As His Highness ever 'velcomed good cheer and the generous 
 gifts of the Vine: — 
 
3(1 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Where ever of yore a "Bush"" showed where good liquor might 
 lighten life's load, — 
 Now his Portrait is seen, smiling down on each grumbler, 
 With a Cask for his Throne and for Sceptre a — Tumbler: — 
 And the Inscription records with perpetual pride 
 That his subject regretted him fi rut — when he — Dird! 
 
 L()VKR"S LANE 1 
 
 Like arms that threaten to embrace the hedge rows bordering 
 
 Lover"s Lane. 
 Eachjside they run an equal race, and if from kissing they ab- 
 stain — , 
 "Tis just to leave between green boughs scant space, where 
 
 shyest loves may house. 
 Hiding their fluttering wings from those who"d fret with thorns 
 
 the fairest rose. 
 The hawthorns hedge the narrow lane as jealously--as walls in 
 
 Spain 
 Would guard a dusk-eyed damosel: — but here our truant fairs 
 
 rebel 
 Against duennas — stiff and stern; here dainty maidens lightly 
 
 learn 
 The lessons bird and blossom teach — in ways more eloquent 
 
 than speech. 
 The sunshine falls — a golden rain — adown the length of Lover's 
 
 Lane; 
 On either side — plum, pear and peach — with budding branches 
 
 over-reach, 
 And blossoms white, and blossoms |)ink. weave flowery fancies, 
 
 link by link. 
 Leading from earth to realms that seem — the Paradise that 
 
 lover's dream. 
 Green willows watch the winding lane— that wanders bv a wim- 
 
 pling brook, 
 That twists and turns and comes again, in slow meandering, to 
 
 look 
 Once more on that fair face, now bent above this nether firma- 
 ment, 
 In whose blue depths her bluer eyes make mockerj- of the azure 
 
 skies. 
 The flowers are golden (not the grain) when first we follow 
 
 Lover's Lane. 
 The rose is ripe (but not the rye) when virginal kisses — . soft 
 
 and shv 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 31 
 
 As any uncag-ed birdling^, bring- to Love the benison of Spring, 
 When Hope soars ready to defy — the shadows of the darkest 
 
 sky. 
 Too lateV — The Heavens may close above, but it is never too 
 
 late for love: 
 For Love, whose natal month is May, — is never daunted by delay, 
 Knowing; the ripening hours shall bring the bridal blossoms of 
 
 his Spring: 
 And Hope, whom prouder Gods disclaim, knows every foot of 
 
 Lover's Lane. 
 Ahl Hope, if not too long delayed, but deepens desire in man 
 
 or maid: 
 Let sweet Expectancy increase day after day, in growing peace. 
 As do these flowers: petals mute — that slowly ripen into fruit: 
 ( 'ontent shall have a surer reign by lingering long in Lover's 
 
 Lane. 
 Love's ripening is the (Jolden Gain to those who know that 
 
 Lover's Lane 
 Goes winding in and out: — no straight ])rim avenue with guard- 
 ed gate, 
 But devious turns — that way and this, to help blind lovers gone 
 
 amiss: 
 Fruition should not come too fast--if you would have Love's 
 
 favors last. 
 With Luck or Learning you must haste, nor let one precious 
 
 moment waste, 
 B^or Fame and Fortune travel far. whilst every blazon leaves its 
 
 scar: 
 But Love's a kinder King than these, and lets you wander at 
 
 3'our ease: — 
 Your richest guerdon — dearest gain — rijie roses plucked in 
 
 Lover's Lanel 
 
 A BALLAD OF MEPvE GASH IN CASHMERE! 
 
 In the Vale of Cashmere, I have often been told. 
 There's no guili — I mean — gildii^g — , it's all "solid gold": 
 Pearls are common as plums, diamonds — big as your thumbs- 
 (Though the fact to some folks might seem queer) 
 
 Decorate all the dust-piles in charming — Cashmere! 
 Were Gold — there — as Here — such a wonderful Witch, 
 No doubt even all the "poor-folks would be "rich": — 
 Turn the clods — in a flash — you could pocket the cash: 
 Even p( iipers spend miUiouH a year 
 
 In this beautiful Vale of < 'ashmere. 
 
PEAKLS AND PEBBLP^S. 
 
 With US — Kiny"is wear on their /uad-s golden crowns. 
 But thei-e by the pocket-full fincjered by clowns; 
 For pot or for platter — a "fortune" they scatter, 
 And even the meanest of Misers would sneer 
 
 At the saving of Ca.^h in Cashmere. 
 Indeed to be accurate strictly, but curt, — 
 In Cashmere mere cash is far cheaper than — Dirt: — 
 No beg'ffar would pine for the Golden Calf's shrine: — 
 Though there are certain "calves" (now Silenus don't leerl) — 
 That are worshipedsometimesby the Saints of Cashmere. 
 Where rocks run to rubies — and the pebbles are pearls. 
 And the Nautch-girls with diamond-dust powder their curls. 
 Where no beggar stops {hough a "sovereign" drops — : — 
 No wonder they hold that "Ten Thousand a Year" — 
 
 Is but a "beggarly pittance'" in this golden T'ashmere. 
 Indeed — , when it comes to — or lending — or spending 
 Gold untold in Cashmere, it is simply un-ending: — 
 A mere '■^question of cash^'—not of— '^ House'' or of •'■Hash'' ! 
 Is a saying that gayly and daily you'll hear-- 
 
 In this diamond-dusted — gold-crusted —precious Vale 
 of Cashmere. 
 
 THE KISS OF KILLARNEY \ 
 
 Sure, we all will agree, that far over the sea. One Island there 
 is worth a visit. 
 
 "Tis Erin's green isle, where e"en Sorrow will smile, and Pover- 
 ty charms us: — why is if? 
 
 Has St. Patrick left there some soft charm in the air that — 
 along with the Serpent — hath banished 
 
 Grim Care and gray Doubt? — Love and Hope growing stout, al- 
 though Comfort and Cash have both vanished? 
 
 What eyes are so sweet as the gray eyes you meet by 
 the shores of the Lake of Killarney? 
 
 What rose buds compare with the lips you find there. — sweet 
 monthfulls of bliss and of blarney- 
 
 Lol no ghost, but a grace shall you meet face to face, and be- 
 lieve me 'tis not at Kilkenny: 
 
 No shileleh she swings, and the potheen she brings you can buv, 
 if you choose, for a penny. 
 
 In her eyes as you gaze, for a penny she prays, and 
 whilst musing "sure Barkis is willing," 
 
 You catch a shy smile — half grace and half guile, and blush- 
 inglv offer- -a shilling. 
 
PEARLS AND PKBBLES. -i'-i 
 
 Minus bonnet and shoes, will this Godess refuse the gifts that 
 
 the Lord of Luck scatters? 
 Or with tierce eyes a-flash — will she pocket the cash, as she 
 proudly sweeps off in her tatters'? 
 
 Should you offer a kiss — would she take it amiss? with 
 her lips breathing" scorn would she spurn it? 
 Or — a woman of sense — would she make no pretence, but if she 
 
 disliked it — return it? 
 See! she holds out her hands, as in tatters she stands: by Heav- 
 
 ensl she smiles, and a dimple 
 Lends a charm to her 'v.heek'" — that no language can speak; 
 to yield seems as safe as 'tis simple. 
 
 To spare you a doubt she will not even pout, and whilst 
 you are blundering blindly, 
 Lest you let the chance slip, purses up her red lip, with — "A 
 
 penny a kiss, thank you kindly!" 
 Not a prude w^ho would sulk — at such blisses in bulk, more un- 
 
 wordly by far than unwilling: 
 E'en a miser's pinched palms, when a Godess asks alms, would 
 give — wasting wildly — a shilling. 
 
 Tossing back her A-ild curls, rosy lips turn to pearls — as 
 she laughs a laugti — soft, sweet and airy. 
 And you hardly feel sure — if these charms that allure — be the 
 
 wiles of a witch or a fair}'. 
 But these lips and these limbs — where the rosy blood swims — 
 
 are the lips and the limbs of no vision: 
 All this glamour and grace you can safely embrace, undaunted 
 by Death or Division. — 
 
 Blue eyes to a Saint you may fittingly paint, for 'tis 
 doubtless the color of Heaven: 
 And orbs dark as Night will thrill with delight, or Hash like the 
 
 thunder-launched levin: — 
 But the eyes of all eyes i:hat my fancy would prize are the gray 
 
 eyes of Er'^n's fair daughters, 
 Half grave and half gay, lights and shadows at play, like the 
 gleam of Killarney's blue waters. — 
 
 And where can eyes smile as in Erin's green isle? — where 
 else are lips so full of blarney? 
 Where else cheaper charms, fresher cheeks, fonder arms, or 
 
 Kisses — like those of Killarney? 
 As to Names, not a word from my li])s shall be heard, though 
 
 the Gossips were all in High Session: 
 But the How, When and Where I may safely declare, as I know 
 
 you are men of discretion. 
 Shall I whisper the end of this story, ray friend, that comes 
 
 from far over the water? 
 But, No! — He was rash, showed a shilling m cash, and we. at 
 the least, should "'show quarter." 
 
34 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 LKo hard: 
 
 Look at the sinew v limbs of him, his bladed clavvs in velvet 
 
 sheathes: 
 No draifon half as dread or j^rim, supple as any snake that 
 
 wreathes: 
 The fire in his eyes as fierce as fiame before the lava Hood: 
 Those dajfger fangs, a-hungered. pierce the very citadels of 
 
 blood. 
 No wrathful Hercules could twist the sinews of his fearless 
 
 heart: 
 No arm of steel or iron wrist could ever rend those fangs apart: 
 What furnaced fire, urgent, wrought this beast from welded 
 
 steel and stone? 
 What anvil, — and what hammer brought into fine shai)e this 
 
 fiesh and bone":* 
 What flame, from some hot crater's throat, first ran in riot 
 
 thro" these veinsV 
 What eyes have ever yet dared gloat, in safety, on this 
 
 strength in chains? 
 What reckless God-head, in fierce glee, first dared to breathe 
 
 insatiate breath 
 Into this frame, that, once set free, were strong' enough to 
 
 master Death? 
 What wedded Force and Fire met in darkness, linked in sinewy 
 
 lust, 
 Whilst life in eddying currents set its seal upon the quickening 
 
 dust? 
 What ample woomb — with life flame seer'd and earth-quake 
 
 riven — panting hard. 
 Shook when the natal hour neared, and brought forth — shud- 
 dering Leo-pard? 
 What fearful symmetrj^ is this, — what beauty and what 
 
 strength of frame? 
 And yet — the softest lips that kiss shall teach him love, and 
 
 make him tame: 
 A child shall lead him by the side of quiet waters, and a maid 
 Shall couch upon his spotted hide, and touch and turn him — , 
 
 unafraid. 
 
 THE DEAD HAMADRYAD ! 
 
 Though April's tears at last are over and May begins to smile 
 
 at times, 
 And Love that nice but naughty rover prepares to quote the 
 
 same old rhymes 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 35 
 
 And sinjT the hackneyed songs he sang five thousand years ago — 
 
 or more: — 
 Here where the clamor and the clang — the dust and din — the 
 
 full half score 
 Of inharmonious urban noises rise in a wretched racket round 
 
 me: — 
 Lol — on my garret window poises a Butterfly. 
 
 The Spring hath found me 
 Even here amid the bricks and buildings — the troubled turmoil 
 
 of the city: — 
 Here, too, the Spring lays sunny gildings on roof and steeple. 
 
 Perchance in pity 
 This wanderer fluttered to my room to gladden me with jewel- 
 ed wings. 
 And lure me from my growing gloom to fields afar where mavis 
 
 sings 
 And May's sweet marvels — one by one —unfold their secrets to 
 
 the svni 
 
 On grassy banks by bubbling springs. 
 Here mid the city's dust and din to me alone comes stealing in, 
 A tip-toe, softly as some breeze, — a Dryad from the leafy trees 
 I cannot see — yet know grow greener with every added hour of 
 
 May-time. 
 My pulses wake, my wits grow keener: 1 feel the dawning of a 
 
 Day-time 
 That chases far the gathering shades; even I— in dreams — may 
 
 find some play time 
 And ramble through the green of glades, forgetting all the toil 
 
 and trouble 
 
 That Doubts and Debts so often double. 
 Lol — on my heart she lays her hand and on my lips she lays her 
 
 mouth. 
 And whispers tales of Love's lost Land that flames and flowers 
 
 further South: — 
 Whilst here the ice still chains our rills and snows the house- 
 tops whiten, 
 There — robed in verdue stand the hills and lilossoms bloom and 
 
 brighten. 
 Wrapped in my dreams — the city fades. 1 ramble through the 
 
 greenest glades, — 
 A sweet bewilderment of boughs where shadows seem to dream 
 
 and drowse. 
 Whilst sunshine sifts the leafage through in arabesques of gold 
 
 and blue: 
 And where the the thickets thicken fast unstir'd by winds — or 
 
 even winglets — 
 I find mv long lost love at last -. blue eved with golden ringlets. 
 
36 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 She wears a crown of buds alone, but as I press her ros}' mouth 
 F^ach bud into full flower hath blown — as though they felt the 
 
 wooin" South 
 Wind blow upon thein warm and bland. 
 But when I took her by the hand to lead her to Love's rosy 
 
 bowers — 
 Through the soft silence of that Land where Years are Days 
 
 and days are hours: — 
 Lol — as I looked upon her face. I saw her cheeks grow strangely 
 
 pale; — 
 There fell between us in that place a mist of tears, like some 
 
 dark veil 
 Of woeful weaving, and her crown — erstwhile as roHij as the 
 
 Morn"s, 
 Now — as her eyes sank sadly down — T saw had faded into — 
 
 thorn^< ! 
 
 THE LILY WITCH. 
 
 A gray vvorld where the saw ])almettoes fret the flat woodlands 
 with stillettoes 
 
 Of green that yet is hardly vernal: 
 The pillar'd pines (when winds are winging) the self-same song 
 of lost seas singing, 
 
 Theii dirge eternal. 
 The '"barren" dips, — a basin shallow 
 And at its centre — dark and cool — the mirror of a placid pool. 
 Fringed round with grasses sere and sallow. 
 Above two giant oaks are bending. 
 And there — the pines— the skies — all show reflected in the 
 depths below, 
 
 The real and unreal strangely blending: 
 Lol at my feet I see with wonder the heavens (a blue gulf) 
 
 opening under. 
 A placid pool amid the pines — where soft the winter sunlight 
 shines, 
 
 No breeze its blackness ripples: 
 And every leaf and every limb — clear as the upper world — not 
 dim — 
 
 Here the clear sunlight stipples. 
 Two live-oaks with wide arms outspread 
 Freckle with leafy links the gleam of cloudless skies that seam 
 
 to dream 
 Of summer glories long since dead. Yet here no golden leafage 
 shed. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 37 
 
 And in this wintry color scheme even the frailest frost would 
 seem 
 
 An alien tint, though over head 
 And underneath (skies blue as June's) — draped with hoar 
 
 mosses in festoons. — 
 See, midway in this glossed lagoon floats one white cloudlet — 
 like the moon 
 
 Amid a night that knows no star: 
 The ripples ruffle in a ring that sets the lily-pads a-swing, 
 And murmurs whisper near and far. 
 Lo! with her tresses trickling pearls. 
 White bosom'd but with shadowy eyes, I see some Water 
 Witch arise: 
 
 Around her — flower by flower — unfurls 
 Her guardian lilies. Lures her lips 
 To catch all watchers who behold her beauties — that like 
 blooms unfold: 
 
 And he who once her sweetness sips. 
 Locked in her arms — forgets life's schemes, content to taste 
 the fruit of — Dreams. 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 
 (GOETHE.) 
 
 "Before my Palace portals, hark! — what sound is that awaking? 
 
 "Methinks, no lilt of early lark — his merry matins making, 
 
 "But some good Minstrel: — haste my pag"e, and win this song- 
 ster for our cage: — 
 
 "We've lures well worth his taking.'" 
 
 With easy grace the Minstrel comes, the King and court salut- 
 ing: 
 
 "O, Monarch, this proud pageant dumbs my music's modest flut- 
 ing:; 
 
 "Brave Knights that love to do and dare, gay courtiers, and 
 these ladies fair 
 
 "Like flowers — ripe for fruiting." 
 
 "This scene too brilliant far — for one, whose life— like mine — 
 with sorrow sharing: 
 
 "Hath found more shadow far than sun in lands less blessed 
 than this wayfaring. 
 
 ••Dazzled by unaccustomed light, still shall 1 bl-indiy strive, 
 aright 
 
 "To sing of Love and Lovers daring.'" 
 
 The tremulous chords the Minstrel woke with fingers faltering 
 first, but after 
 
 The waves of melting music broke in rippling glees — half love 
 — half laughter: 
 
38 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 The Knijrhtis luoked np — the revellers hushed — the ladies all 
 looked down and blushed: - 
 
 The song grew daft and dafter. 
 
 "Now, by my Sword and Sceptrel" cried the King "this song 
 
 well worth the hearing! 
 "Sir Minstrel, what e'er else betide — this chain of gold well 
 
 worth the wearing; 
 "With cunning hands you strike the chords that win fair ladies 
 
 and fine lords: — 
 
 "Take this — a Monarch's friendly fcuriny.'' 
 "O, King, though grateful for the grace, such gift were wasted 
 
 on a Singer 
 "Whose heart finds far more fitting place for housing in the 
 
 woods where linger 
 "The uncaged birds, — than in these Halls where Glory counts a 
 
 thousand thralls: 
 
 "For gold, O. King, I'd raise no finger'' — . 
 "Nor lift my arm to win a Crown for which my head is hardly 
 
 fitted. 
 "Brave Knights who strike brave foemen down, grave Council- 
 lors (not lightly witted) 
 
 "Who bend beneath a Kingdom's care, — let these the fetters 
 
 of such favors wear; 
 
 "Aud leave my littleness and loss unjiitied." 
 •'I sing but as the birdlings sing who hid^ their hopes in leafy 
 
 bowers: 
 "No golden gifts I crave, O. King, to gladden my unlaurel'd 
 
 hours; — 
 "Yet one grace would I claim as mine, — a bumper of the Royal 
 
 Wine — , 
 
 "A bumper crowned with flowers." 
 
 The gay Cup Bearer brought the draft; — the ripe red wine the 
 Singer sips: — 
 
 "O! — Happy House, where this isquatted — a daily dole for laugh- 
 ing lips! 
 
 "Who holds this this but a trifle spent — hath reason to be well 
 content 
 
 •"If Fortune's winds so ever waft." 
 
 BOY AND BROOK. 
 (FROM THE GERMAN.) 
 
 Boy: Whither away so fast and gay, bright stream? 
 
 By bowers green and boulders gray you glint and gleam: 
 But why in such impatient haste"? you've ample to wait 
 and wastel 
 
 Brook: Erst T could heedless stop or stay by marsh or mead: 
 
 But now they will not let me play: my strength they need: 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 39 
 
 And I must hasten, laboring still to turn the wheel of 
 yonder mill. 
 Boy: With eager flood you onwards press, on labour bent, 
 And yet, if you could only guess what passion meant, 
 You'd linger here 'til evenings shade, and prattle of the 
 miller's maid. 
 Brook: At sunrise I can see her look from her low lattice. 
 
 And then within the happiest brook she bathes; ah, that is 
 Delicious, and her bosom's snow would make the iciest 
 waters glow. 
 Boy: If thus she thrills with passions tire your billows cold. 
 How can hot blood resist desire — to have and hold 
 Her lovliness within such space as happy arms can just 
 embrace? 
 Brook: Ahl when she bathes my billows burn, they seethe and 
 bubble. 
 And faster still the wheel I turn, — my strength is double: 
 Bearing her image on my breast, I strive and work with 
 added zest. 
 Boy: And when the parting comes at last, do waves rebel? 
 
 The happy moments soon are past; she laughs — farewell! 
 Yet doubtless with a loving look, she'd fetter even an er- 
 rant brook. 
 Brook: Ahl hard it is to part, forgot — forever:—- 
 I wind but slowly from the spot, and never 
 Would leave had I the power to stay my tides about her 
 limbs allway. 
 Boy: Companion of my joys and woes, we now must part: — 
 Go, tell her what the brooklet knows of my sad heart; 
 What my tongue dares not say. repeat 
 
 When next your ri])ples round her meet. 
 
 PIXY AND nixie: 
 (FROM THE GERMAN.) 
 
 Under the leafy linden-trees dance youths and maidens in 
 wreathed rows. 
 
 And— strange to say— amid all of these, a couple are dancing 
 that no one knows; — 
 
 A youth— who is slender and pale as deathvvith a maiden lis- 
 some and strangely fair. 
 
 Foot it as lightly as though some breath from faery coverts 
 had blown them there. 
 
 Like wavering shadow or wreathing mist— they trip so lightly 
 no footsteps fall; 
 
40 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 About and around where ever they list, whilst the youths and 
 
 maidens are wondering all. 
 And the lissome maid — so strangely fair — whispers her partner 
 
 a word or two: 
 "On your cap a blossom methinks you wear that never in 
 
 earthly gardens grew! 
 " 'Tis the wonderful Water Lily. I'm sure, that blooms in the 
 
 Ocean on but one spot: — 
 "And you are a Merman — longing to lure some mortal maiden 
 
 into your grot: 
 "Beware. OI beware, my Merman gay lest the witches' weaving 
 
 prove too scant, 
 "And the winds that are watching — sweep thee away — like a 
 
 billow that breaks on adamanti" 
 About and around wherever they list, they dance in a witching 
 
 and wonderful way. 
 And the pale youth nudges his partner: "Hist! listen fair lady 
 
 to what I say, 
 "Listen sweet damsel until I have done: — why arc your cheeks 
 
 so foam-white and fair? 
 "And why do the dew-drops fall one by one — from the tangled 
 
 locks of your amber hair? 
 "I knew you at once, fair cousin mine, though to judge by the 
 
 modest way in which 
 "You glanced and danced, who else could divine you were pure- 
 ly and surely a Water Witch?" 
 They knew each other, alas! too well: the lady courtesied. the 
 
 youth bowed low. 
 Where the thickest gloom of the shadows fell — as the eager 
 
 dancers come and go, 
 A flash like the tire of foam, — a knell like the wash of waves 
 
 that thunder: — 
 Strange silence falls like a witch's spell, all pause and stand 
 
 in wonder. 
 Two shadows flit across the grasss — , two mist-wreaths mingling 
 
 melt away: 
 And many a trembling lad and lass — quite lost their wits that 
 
 witching day! 
 
 THE ANGLER. 
 
 (FROM THE GERMAN.) 
 
 The waters gush, the ripples gleam, a fisher sits thereby, 
 His line droop't careless in the stream — that seems another sky: 
 And as he looks and listens there, the crystal depths divide: 
 A water-witch, with golden hair, cleaves thro' the drowsy tide. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 41 
 
 To him slie sings, to him she sighs: "Why lure with cunning skill 
 "My finny brood to these warm skies — whose burning splendors 
 
 kill? 
 "How sweet it is — did'st thou but know — where all my fin'd folk 
 
 swim, 
 "Thou wouldest straightway plunge below — into my grottoes 
 
 dim." 
 "Doth not the Sun— (and Moon, his bride) love bathing in the 
 
 sea? 
 "Returning with the morning tide but brighter still to thee? 
 "Do not these breathing waves invite, — these depths so clear 
 
 and blue, 
 "And even thine own face — doubly bright in this eternal dew?" 
 The waters gush, the ripple gleams — his naked foot dedews: 
 His heart beats gladly as in dreams — that love's first kiss re- 
 news: 
 To him she sighs, to him she sings, in accents soft and sweet; 
 Half yielding, and half drawn — he springs where ripples part 
 
 and meet I 
 
 LAOCOON REVISED. 
 
 Wind your amorous arms about me, OI beautiful maiden mine. 
 Let your lissome limbs caress me as an oak is embraced by a 
 
 vine: 
 O! happier Laocoon, this beautiful serpent wreathes 
 Its loving and lingering coils about the happiest man that 
 
 breathesi 
 
 A BALLAD OF THE BILLOWS. 
 (adapted from the GERMAN.) 
 
 The blue sea lips the yellow sand—, the moonlight glints and 
 
 gleams; — 
 A youth lies prone upon the strand, and dreams love's rosiest 
 
 dreams. 
 From depths, where coral grottoes keep their shadows ever 
 
 dim, 
 Rise seven Nymphs that wondering peep through dripping 
 
 locks — at him. 
 
42 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 They fancy that the youth sleeps sound: his crossed arms hide 
 
 his eyes: — 
 With footfalls hushed — thev circle round and whisper their — • 
 
 surprise. 
 One, bolder than the rest, draws near, Angering a curl astray: 
 Another listens close to hear — what mortal heart-beats say; 
 She feels the warm breath from his lips, and hears his pulsing- 
 heart. 
 But not the softest whisper slips — between — to maice her start. 
 One, leaning on the wanderer's staff, looks down at him and 
 
 sighs: 
 Another — with a half-hushed laugh — looks up with longing 
 
 eyes: 
 This laugh sounds like the waves that break in music on the 
 
 shore, 
 That sigh is like the winds that make sad murmurings ever 
 
 more. 
 As soft as breezes from the South one kisses his drooped palm: 
 Another, bolder, on his mouth, lays lips whose breath is balm. 
 Yet she who loved him best- -but sighed: — could she but work 
 
 her will — 
 Couched deep beneath the tossing tide — his heart would soon 
 
 be still. 
 Good heed the gallant youth doth take, (whilst thus they sigh 
 
 and kiss) 
 Not over early to awake — lest some sweet gift he miss. 
 And yet the one he fancies best — is she who only sighs: — 
 'Tis well perhaps he never guessed the price of such a prize. 
 
 PALM AND PINE ! 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 Far North, amid the sunless snows, there stands a solitary Pine: 
 Across the wastes the Ice-wind blows, and strange Auroras 
 
 shine! 
 Far South upon a sun-lit strand there stands a solitary Palm: — 
 Eternal summers glad the Land, and wooing winds breathe balm ! 
 Its featherd fronds the soft winds woo, and dazzling sunlight 
 
 glows, — 
 But the Palm dreams its summer through — of dark pines midst 
 
 white snows. 
 And when the pale Aurora gleams in titful intervals of calm. 
 Amid the wastes that dark Pine dreams of that far sun-kissed 
 
 Palm! 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 43 
 
 THE ASS AND THE ARTIST. 
 
 In days of old once Baalam's Ass 
 
 In wandering- round (he'd "gone to grass") 
 
 Chanced on an Artist of renown — 
 
 Making sketches near his natal town: 
 
 And less to show his love of art 
 
 Than just to cheer the painter's heart 
 
 (Who might feel hurt should he omit 
 
 To give his private views of it) — , 
 
 Our Donkey leisurely surveys 
 
 And kindly spares a little praise: 
 
 But ends by adding: — I must say 
 
 Your sketch is labor thrown away: — 
 
 I note you're an Impressionist, — 
 
 True Nature therefore you have missed: — 
 
 Your pictured Idealities 
 
 Can't match the real Realities: — 
 
 Ah! could you see Me "draw a cart," — 
 
 Why then you'd realize — True Art. 
 
 THE HOUSE THAT .JACK BUILT. 
 
 This is the ('ottag^e that ( 'upidon built, with beams of gold and 
 
 shingles of g-ilt: 
 The walls of the whitest bricks from Bath, of odorous cedar 
 
 plank and lath; 
 Rosewood shutters and mahogany i)illars,in the style of superb 
 suburban villas. 
 
 And this is the Cow with the golden Horn -that a Hot- 
 tentot Hebe milks at morn: 
 Such kine as you'll find twice "half seas over'" on the Devon 
 
 downs — knee-deep in clover; 
 Her milk is as white as a flower-de-luce, and the cream as rich 
 as a "Charlotte Russe.'' 
 
 And this is the Poodle (old Dog Tray) who barks at the 
 cow the live long day: 
 And this is the Rat that eat the Corn that was grown for the 
 
 Cow with the golden Horn: 
 And this is the beautiful tortoise-shell Cat— that tilled her fur 
 with that rodent rat. 
 
 And this is the Hottentot Hebe who the foaming milk 
 from the udders drew: 
 Her plaited, twisted and wooly locks are as fine as the fleece of 
 Merino flocks: — 
 
44 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Her complexion isn't in tints-but — shades, — black as the Deuce 
 (the Deuce of Spades). 
 
 And this is Psyche, in satin and silk, who lives in the 
 cottage, and drinks the milk; 
 Her's is the tortoise shell cat that purrs, and the Poodle that 
 
 cuts the common curs: — 
 She sings gay songs in her gilded cage, and lures the Simple as 
 well as Sage. 
 
 And this is the Jack who leased the House: he entered 
 therein as a heedless mouse 
 Might venture into a Trap whose Bait were a bribe to out-bal- 
 ance any fate: 
 Now he sits and sulks in his Cottage of gilt, and wishes the 
 Durned thing never was built. 
 
 In spite of the gifts that gold can get, in spite of the 
 Sevre porcelain set. 
 In spite of the Cow — the Cat — the Poodle—. .lack thinks him- 
 self an awful noodle: 
 Vows Psyche's but a lean virago, and swears he'll soon skip 
 for— Chicago. 
 
SECTION 
 
 tn tbc <S»verblHs of ©ttaray. 
 
 OTTARAY OR THE CHEROKEE HIGHLANDS. 
 
 The blue of thy mountains — the green of thy hills — 
 The flash of thy fountains and the foam of thy rills — 
 The glow of thy sunsets and gleam of thy skies — 
 Makes thee fairest of all lovely Lands in mine eyes, Ottarayl 
 
 Thy billowy ridges a shelter and shield, 
 With leafy leagues girdling each fallow and field 
 Of thy brook-braided valleys, where the blue smoke above — 
 Like incense hangs over the hearth stones of Love — in Ottaray. 
 
 Green and level the meadow-land stretches away 
 'Til it dips to the willow-fringed brooklet, and gray 
 Gleam the quivering aspens, that (by wanton winds won) 
 Bare their silvery leafage and limbs to the Sun — in Ottaray. 
 
 With gay tassels decking the close-folded "ears", 
 The bladed Maize rustles — a field-front of spears; — 
 The weir-wolves of Famine shrink away from the fold 
 When Mondamin's host wave their banners of gold— in Ottaray. 
 
 Where mimic gales billow the amber-ear'd wheat. 
 Gay poppies Hoat — flashing — a fairy-like fleet; 
 And with fluttering winglets — that flower-like rover — 
 Beau Butterfly woos that coquette — blushing ( Clover — in Otta- 
 ray. 
 
 But fairer than all the brave blossoms that bring 
 To the wayside a welcome, are the flowers that cling 
 To the Heart of the Highlands: — Epigea. whose blush 
 Would rival an Angel's, and Rhododendrons a-flush — in Ottaray. 
 
 Kalmia's touched with the tints of sweet lips we have 
 pressed. 
 Violets blue as the modest eyes lovers like best, 
 Leopard-lilies red-clotted, — Orchis tossing gay plumes. 
 And the Vine's hidden clusters breathing spicy perfumes, — in 
 Ottaray. 
 
 Not less gracious than these — but more royal — grand 
 trees: — 
 Oak — maple and hemlock — lynn and chestnut, leaf'd seas 
 Deep as ocean's green billows: whilst the •'lash-horn's'" dark 
 spire. 
 
46 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Above the j»^ra}' cra^s, darey the storms frost and tire — in 
 Ottaraj'. 
 
 Where else are such woodlands in all the wide world? 
 Leafy leg^ions advancino; with their banners unfurled; — 
 Th^y cover the lowlands — they shadow the rills, — 
 A sea of green surging o'er valleys and hills — in Ottaray. 
 
 Like young braves who have still their first war-locks 
 to win, 
 Ash and Balsam the Battle in (Uoudland begin; 
 Less rash— not less ready — warriors asking no truce — 
 Climb the Forest chiefs bravest, sturdy Birch and tall Spruce: 
 There Lynn and Beech stand in the fore front of fight, 
 Here an old bearded Oak clinging climbs to the height: 
 There a phalanx of Chesnuts — like gay squires advance. 
 Whilst the Lash-horn dares heaven with the loom of his lance 
 —in Ottaray. 
 
 But in vain shall the Lords of these leaf'd Legions lift 
 Their lances of green to yon summits, where drift 
 In wild eddies the cloud-wrack where the fierce levin leaps 
 In a torrent of thunder down the giddiest steeps — in Ottaray. 
 
 No stalwart oaks shadow those rocks stern and scar'd, 
 No sentinel pines on those summits keep guard; — 
 Yet Rhododendrons (as rosy as a maiden's first blush) 
 Crown Sahkonaga's chieftains when June leaves are lush; 
 And where the bold crests of these rocky crags dare 
 The Thunderbolt's wrath and the Powers of Air, — 
 The Kalmia holds up its clusters of pink 
 
 Dimpled cups from which Fairies (who tipple) might drink: — 
 The tremulous heather-bell shakes on its stem, 
 And Bluet and Violet the green turf begem — in Ottaray. 
 
 The gray crags of thy mountains — the green crests of 
 thy hills— 
 The flash of thy fountains and the foam of thy rills: 
 The bloom of thy Valleys, the blue of thy skies, 
 Makes thee fairest of all lovely Lands to mine eyes: — 
 Of all the fair South Land from summit to sea. 
 There is none like thy billowy Highlands for me. — Ottaray. 
 
 THE HEART OF HIWASSEE ! 
 
 Between grassy top'd Tuni — and wooded Tuskeeg — 
 Tusquitta — goes winding for many a league. 
 
 Rippling under the high "RafterVl Ridges:'" — 
 And from where Chorgeh's charms the wise anglers allure 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 To the fallows of Haigler— and fields of McClure, — 
 
 You will find oftener fordings than bridg-es. 
 Chorg-eh— under the spurs where the dusk hemlocks grow — 
 Comes down with a flutter of foam— like white snow — 
 
 To the waves of the witched Nantahayleh: 
 But Tuskeegee — and Tuni — and soft Santoolee — , 
 With a bickering of bliss — and a gurgling of glee, — 
 
 Through the fields of Tusquitta— flow gayly: 
 Come dimpling — and wimpling — three woven in one. — 
 Now gray in the shadow — now gold in the sun — . 
 
 Or foaming o'er boulders all mossy: — 
 But — over the sand-bars — and over the gravel, — 
 The further they wander the slower they travel — 
 
 From the Highlands — to help fair Hiwassee. 
 To help the Hiwassee — (wrestling "River of Strength") — . 
 Coiled and curved like a Serpent — , with the leagues of his length 
 
 Sweeping fast from Hightower — past Tray: 
 But lower it lingers: and when its tides meet — 
 By dull Gonaosah the brown Konnaheet— 
 
 No longer it foams on its way. 
 Nay! — it dallies as though 'twere half lost in the hills, 
 And — waiting — it wanders to gladden the rills 
 
 From a hundred green forested hollows: 
 Then turbid and tumbling — every murmur a moan. — 
 It wrestles and writhes under fangs of gray stone, — 
 
 As the fast flying Sun God it follows. 
 Follows far — ever flashing with widening swerves. 
 'Til the Serpent of Silver — and all its lithe curves 
 
 Lavs coiled under Chilhowee's clitT: — 
 There it winds itself close — as its powers increase. 
 Ever nearer the Lady of lost — ''Connaleese." — 
 
 Who is guiding her frail phantom skiff' — 
 Through rapids that whiten and eddies that churn, 
 Through channels where lovers shall never more learn 
 
 To steer clear of grim death and disaster. 
 But Hiwassee the fair Witch can never resist — : 
 To his bed — for her bridal — she comes to be kissed. 
 
 And confesses him — monarch and master. 
 Bearing tribute brought free from the Cherokee rills. 
 Hiwassee sweeps on from the heart of the hills. 
 
 Forgetting Tusquitta — Tuskeeg — and Tuni: 
 And the Lady of Connaleese beats her white breast. 
 As her Lover goes wandering into the West — 
 
 In search of the Sunset and Sea. 
 Oh, let me hark back to the Highlands loved best — . 
 Where Hiwassee still holds as a sign on his breast — 
 
 Sahkonaga's summits — glassed clearlv: — 
 
48 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 There — under the blossoms and under the bouyhs. 
 
 Hope whispered Love's story. Heaven harkened my vows 
 
 To the lass — I love daily — and dearly. 
 I brought her as emblem of virjjinal love — 
 A Hower that blooms on crests soaring above, — 
 
 Rhododendron — the Queen of Tusquitta; 
 Not a whisjjer of blushes its blossoming shows, 
 White — as foam or as frost — or as mid-winter snows. 
 
 On the gray crags — the buds gleam and glitter. 
 You may search through the woodlands of Towns or of Cla}-, 
 Prom Kolosko's great roof to the thickets of Tray, — 
 
 Cr where cascades leap down in their lustre: — 
 But whether below where the white thunders leap, 
 Or whether above — iWhere the crags crown the steep, 
 
 Not the wilds hold another such cluster. 
 A blossom more white never bloomed on the peaks; 
 Though you rambled the ridges for days and for weeks, — 
 
 None rarer — how e'er far you wander: — 
 And as to the lass — on whose breast they repose, — 
 Her cheeks match the Rhodo — her lips mate the rose,. 
 
 And none could be fairer or fonder. 
 Let the Lady of Connaleese watch on her cliffs, — 
 Singing soft as she sees how the hurrying skiffs 
 
 Slip down — and the fishermen after: — 
 On the crests of Chilhowee — she waves her white arms, — 
 Lures her lovers — to ruin — with graces and charms, — 
 
 Then mocks at their loss with her laughter. 
 But here — where for many a flowery league — 
 The forests bend over — Tuni and Tuskeeg"— 
 
 Beneath the green "balds'" of Tusquitta, — 
 I have found a fair maiden as pure as the snows, — 
 With cheeks like the Rhodo and lips like the rose. — 
 
 And I'd much rather kiss her — than quit her. 
 
 WHEN THE CHESTNUT AND SOUR-WOOD BLOOM ! 
 
 Clear weather after clouding, after shadow — sunshine breaks 
 Through the sad and sombre shrouding — that Sorrow ever 
 
 makes: — 
 Ahl Yesterda}' was bitter — with its trials and its tears, 
 But today the dew-drops glitter, and the sun-light charms and 
 
 cheers: — 
 The "CJardinal-caps" are brightening tcj crimson by the rills. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 49 
 
 And the chestnut blooms are whitening — with the sour-woods — 
 
 on the hills. 
 Luck — after lony^-time loosing, — Love — after Friendship lost; — 
 Comes still a time for choosing — t'wixt flowering time and 
 
 frost: — 
 The Gods — if "growing blinder — may sometimes miss their mark. 
 And Fate prove somewhat kinder — to lives lost in the Dark; — 
 And hearts at last may lighten — , in spite of earthly ills — , 
 When the chestnut blossoms whiten- -with the sour-woods — on 
 
 the hills. 
 The outward light and glory of the Summer gilds the gloom 
 Of that sad and solemn story — that we call — in blindness — 
 
 Doom; — 
 Doom — Destiny — or Dying? — yet what is — Death"?— who knows? 
 The Darkness still denying — a glimpse through Gates that 
 
 close: — 
 Can the Gods take delight in — the pang that — cursing — kills — , — 
 Though the chestnut-blooms still whiten — with the sour-woods 
 
 on the hills? 
 Is this World — wide or narrow — the only aim and end? 
 Ol Hates that hurt and harrow — hearts that vainly seek some 
 
 friend, — 
 Some love — not ever shrinking from the pangs of death and 
 
 doubt: — 
 Lethe is dismal drinking — if the Gods but bar us ont 
 From Edens we'd delight in — if—, when the heart-beat stills—. 
 We saw the chestnuts whiten-with the sour-woods — on the 
 
 hills. 
 How can we sanely sunder — that Better World from this? 
 Above us, or far under, — where lies your realm of bliss? 
 Too fine for human fancies — or feelings — Angels are: — 
 I'd rather take my chances — in some less distant star 
 Whose glories would not frighten my shy soul into chills: — 
 Some — World — where chestnuts brighten — with sour-woods — on 
 
 the hills. 
 I would not be a carper, but your Parson's Paradise 
 Needs a far better Harper than I am: — if — advice — 
 The Gods would but permit me to give them now and then, 
 I'd find a place to fit me — , not with the ''Upper Ten," 
 But with those Souls that lighten the time with laughing trills, 
 When the chestnut blossoms whiten — with the Sour-woods — on 
 
 the hills. 
 Your Heaven's frescoed too finely for a man of narrow means. 
 Who cannot sing divinely, and whose Sunday-suit is "jeans": — 
 Few faults I find your Creed in, and b.indly might believe 
 If but your promised Eden — were not without an Eve. — 
 Who fondlv could delight in— sweet roses and clear rills — 
 
50 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 In chestnut-blooms that whiten — with the sour-woods — on the 
 
 hills. 
 I try to wisely ponder — when priest or parson preach — ; — 
 But why set Heaven up yonder — beyond my Fancy's reach? 
 Some nearer Star would serve me, — more Graces and less — grace; 
 But these grim Gods un-nerve me. and daunt me from the 
 
 place: — 
 Such dazzling glories frighten,— the "pace is one that kills": 
 In my Heaven chestnuts whiten— with the sour-woods — on the 
 
 hills. 
 And if these pompous preachers — would tell but what the}- know. 
 Not reckless over-reachers — who want to make a show — . 
 They'd own up — , that the Ending— to them — like us — was 
 
 dark: — 
 Hope — dull shafts blindly sending to reach an unseen mark: — 
 But, sure my heart would lighten, — if — beyond all earthly ills — 
 I saw the chestnuts whiten — with the sour-woods — on the hills. 
 Give me my bliss by inches, — my Heaven just bit by bit. 
 If this world ever pinches too close my wish or wit; — 
 For still I love things mirthful, love Woman and love Wine, 
 And want my Eden and earth — full of bliss not too divine; — 
 Saints I could scarce delight in: a too full bumper sjjills: 
 In my Heaven chestnuts whiten — with the sour-woods — on the 
 
 hills. 
 
 THE -'BENISON" OF THE •' BEECH '•. 
 
 Where ''Shonnyhaw"s"" clear ripples show — lustrous in sunlit 
 
 places — 
 There "Elk" soon hnds a fuller How. and many a brook embraces. 
 Whose waters, but a half-mile thence — beneath the laurel 
 
 thicket- 
 Had never mirrored tield or fence — nor passed a wall or wicket. 
 From "Kullasaja's"' pyramid, above the "Needles" hoary. 
 To where, by forests half-way hid, the "Rider" tells his story — 
 Pictured on gray crags of the "Beech'' — , lies "Banner Elk's" 
 
 fair valley: 
 And thence, his cascades finding s])eech. '"Elk" makes a sudden 
 
 sally. 
 Goes winding under "Blood (lamp's" ridge, through ever- 
 deepening hollows. 
 With here and there a rustic bridge, and still the highwaj- 
 
 follows 
 For good eight miles, or maybe nine (some fords, but not a ferr}-). 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 51 
 
 To that far-famed magnetic mine beneath the "'Hump" — 
 
 "Cranberry." 
 From level meadows, lush with grass and gem'd with scattering 
 
 flowers, 
 Sloped high above the eastern pass, oft' veiled with flying 
 
 showers, 
 See! "Yonah-Wayah's'" cliff-crowned crest dares the storm's 
 
 echoing thunder, 
 And bold "Dunvegan," further west, looms like a shadow under 
 Great "Yonahlossee's" serried line of crags, so far uplifting — 
 They catch the sunset's golden wine, though lower mists go 
 
 drifting 
 Like fairy fleets with shadowy sails, adown Watauga's mazes, — 
 Or where the Eeseeola veils her diamonds under daisies. 
 For "Yonahlossee" rules and reigns o"er many a winding river, 
 Looks far across the fading plains where sultry sunbeams 
 
 quiver. 
 Sees the world under, like a map that lights and shadows lie on; 
 And furthest "Tryon's" azure cap, as fair as some far Zion. 
 But "Banner Elk"' claims still the "Beech." its nearest, noblest 
 
 mountain: 
 And if the ':Buckeye" sjiring you reach you'll quaff' his coldest 
 
 fountain: 
 Between his "Pinnacles'" of gray where winter's bleak winds 
 
 wrestle, 
 The breezes blandly blow to-da}' and dainty blossoms nestle. 
 If here "Klonteska"s" crest you climb — gray crags above green 
 
 beeches — 
 You'll find the rhapsodies of rhyme, nor pictured fancy, reaches 
 Even half way to those heights, that show wide worlds of 
 
 purpling wonder 
 That with their glories all aglow, lie hill and vale far under. 
 A grassy glade set fair between grim crags, by beech-woods 
 
 girdled: 
 A garden's space of summer green, where white mists climbing 
 
 curdled 
 To lustrous cloud, as though to hide from prying eyes the 
 
 places 
 Where, soft and sylvan, still abide our woodland nymphs and 
 
 graces. 
 And dare the boldest poet paint this scene with all its glories? 
 From "Valle Crucis' " flying Saint to Linville's laughing 
 
 "Loreys"? 
 From "Cloudland." shining like a star, to White Top's grassy 
 
 highlandV 
 Or where the "Blowing Rock's" gray scar lures legions to our 
 
 SkvlandV 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 I 
 
 The green of woods, the gra}' of rocks, bold lig'hts and shadows 
 
 tender: 
 White thunders where the cascade mocks the tempest's wrath: 
 
 the splendor 
 Of azure hills and purplino" vales that melt in misty jjlory: 
 The poet — nay. the painter — fails to tell you half the story. 
 So, pilgrim, you who read this rhyme, before you grow much 
 
 older. 
 Take staff and scrip and straightway climb ''Klonteska's'" 
 
 long-sloped shoulder: 
 Nor rest until you reach his crest: thence view the realms far 
 
 under. 
 Extending north, south, east and west — a world of ))ur])ling 
 
 wonder! 
 And if you |)aint your Rden fair (as men will from their 
 
 dreamings). 
 When your hopes darken to despair at life's unfruitful 
 
 schemings. 
 Come here and house your heart a while beneath ''Klonteska's" 
 
 beeches. 
 Forget the world, its grief and guile, and hrirn what Nature 
 
 teaches. 
 The Silence that no scandal stirs with false or cruel stories: 
 The sunlight that no shadow blurs (here glooms are lesser 
 
 glories): 
 Pair flowers will friendships never mar: and when the twilight 
 
 darkles. 
 For Hope, look iipicnrd where Love's star above the lost world 
 
 sparkles. 
 
 SUNSET PROxM KLONTESKA (THE BIG BEECH). 
 
 Behind the crags that crown his rugged crest 
 There lies a little grassy reach of green glade shadowed by 
 
 low beech: 
 A nook where eagles well might nest above the clouds, or safe- 
 ly breast 
 The wild winds that from yonder "Roan"' — to the green ridges 
 of the ''Stone" 
 
 Sweep gathered thunders from the West. 
 Seel the storms ever widening wings a hazy hurrying shadow 
 flings. 
 
 Blurring the Landscape's lines: 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. ^ 53 
 
 With white mists curling — coiling— the Depths below seem 
 boiling, 
 
 And not one sifted sunbeam shines. 
 The Storm King wrestles with the dim 
 White shadows of a thousand shapes — : mist mountains — cloudy 
 caverns — capes — 
 
 Phantoms that swiftly rise and swim 
 Above the sunless gulfs; when — lol — 
 The gloom is shot quite through and through by one bold sun- 
 beam from the Blue: 
 
 And through the wreathing mists below, 
 (As on some breach in tottering walls of (Uoudland's castles) 
 swift there falls 
 
 A sunburst and the Daylight rallies: 
 Light's legions are victorious, and there below — gleam glorious 
 The green and golden valleys, 
 Braided with rills — the nearer hills. 
 (Where oak and lynn and chestnut cluster) out-vie the boasted 
 
 beryl's lustre; 
 
 But further — where the sunlight fills 
 Wide vales, and summits fading far 
 Melt into depths of silver'd mist,— the World seems one great 
 Amethyst: 
 
 A richer — rarer — brighter Star 
 Than this poor pallid earth of ours. Fairer than tints of sum- 
 mer flowers 
 
 The skies where Eve her first star sets, 
 And the far vales of Estatoe a deeper tint of purple show 
 Than April's crowding violets. 
 What pageantry of Paradise 
 Lies luminous before our eyes beneath a breadth of burnished 
 skies. 
 
 Where clouds of every strange device. 
 Piled up in temples and in towers. 
 The fierce horizon widely belt with colors magical, that melt 
 
 Into a svin-flushed foam of flowers. 
 Nearer a thousand vernal hints of all the emerald's varied tints 
 
 In valleys lying far under: — 
 But dim seem these to the violet vales and the rosy peaks 
 where the sunset pales 
 
 To a purpling World of Wonder. 
 
 .TOLLY .JULY 
 
 Today the Chestnut wears its ])lumes though .Tune is bareh' 
 over. 
 
I 
 
 54 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 The Sour-wood is white with blooms, the fields are sweet with 
 clover. 
 
 And thunders wake the bluest sky to tell the cominisr 
 of July. 
 The wild rose blushes in the hedge. *Gold Becks the meadows 
 
 framinj^. 
 And by the rivulet's alder 'd edge the *C'ardinal Caps are flaming: 
 Bobwhite blithe whistles in the rye t . tell us daily— 
 "tis .July. — 
 Come out from close and crowded rooms ye laggards and limp 
 
 ladies. 
 And breathe this air and these ])erfumes in groves where leaf- 
 iest shade is: 
 
 'Twixt shine and shower the moments fly when days 
 grow sultry in July. 
 From cities full of dust and din, come seek these leafy covers. 
 Where now the Summer songs begin, and lassies seek new 
 lovers: 
 
 For flckle as the changing sky these errant damsels 
 in July. 
 Who needs a nest in days like this? the woods can give us shelter; 
 No frosts to frown down every kiss, and days like this must 
 melt her: 
 
 Learn sweeter songs, and never sigh for jilts or .Tuliettes 
 in .luly. 
 This season, with its shower and shine, teaches us fast for- 
 getting: 
 Your lass to day — to-morrow's mine: let's change without 
 regretting: 
 
 Cupid hath wings, so let him fly from rose to lily in July. 
 Hark to the Neean-vreeah bird, still singing of last summer: 
 But this — another song is heard to welcome each new comer: — 
 For faded flowers who would sigh when new blooms 
 bless us in July? 
 
 *Golrt Becks, are Kudheckias, and Cardinal caps the scarlet Monarda. 
 
 THE WEATHER WITCHES ! 
 
 Between ''Roan'" and "Seenoyah's" pyramid 
 The Weather Witches are weaving to-day over the Blue 
 broad scarfs of gray, 
 
 And the Balsam belt of the "Black's" is hid. 
 There is never a glimpse of '"Celo's" crown. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 And under frayed fringes of trailing mist, here and there by 
 the shyest sunbeams kissed, 
 
 The forested spurs slope dimly down 
 Half hidden, in thunderous shadows that loom with stormy 
 tints of a gathering gloom 
 
 With the levins lances shot through: 
 And over the crests and under the clouds — the Weather Witches 
 are weaving shrouds, 
 
 Gray warp through a woof of blue. 
 
 OLD ROAN, THE "HERDSMAN OF THE HILLS. 
 
 Like some gigantic Herdsman of the Woods, 
 Taking his noon-day rest, and lying prone. 
 Thus broad and brawny — shoulders up Old Roan 
 Above the vernal valleys where our Robin Hoods 
 May find long leagues of forest to one foot of field; 
 A Leafy Land, where Love finds coverts still, 
 Each vale its river — each ravine its rill, 
 And many a ridge for shelter and for shield. 
 Roan couchant (resting from some old world shock 
 That once up-heaved the adamantine rock) 
 
 Now. half in dream, o'er looks the mist that fills 
 A thousand valleys: and. behold! he sees- 
 Muzzled with rocks and maned with tossing trees — 
 Shoulder to shoulder, countless Herds of Hills. 
 
 HEARTS OF FIRE AND SOULS OF SNOW ! 
 
 A gorgeous pageant this: the sun just set — 
 But sunlight gleaming on the summits yet. 
 
 And dusk still golden in the winding vales. 
 Above, both east and west, the clouds unrolled. 
 Hold, in their hearts of grey, a gleam of gold. 
 
 And further still— the blushing heaven pales 
 To tints that bring me memory of seas. 
 
 Placid and pure, about some Land of Palms. 
 
 Where purpling islands— belted by blue calms- 
 
56 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Outvie the glory of the tropic Antilles. 
 
 See, yonder Alps of cloud-land towering 
 
 From depths of gloom to dizzy heights that wear 
 Such radiance — as though Heaven's glory there 
 
 With flames of endless Dawns were flowering 
 Into such days as only those shall know 
 Whose hearts are fire — but whose souls are snow. 
 
 THE HUMMING BIRD ! 
 
 Blue billows belt the Antilles — the palmy isles of Southern 
 seas — 
 
 Whence came last May a visit 
 The ruby-throated Humming-bird, whose wings — athwart the 
 blue sky blur'd — 
 
 Show like some flower exquisite 
 Against the painted chalices, 
 Into whose depths his dagger dips: or. like a sudden sun-gleam, 
 slips 
 
 Away — to seek new palaces. 
 Built up of blooms to harbor him from dawn until the dusk 
 
 grows dim. 
 No wonder this Winged .lewel thrives, for every opening 
 
 flower hives 
 His honeyed stores when these fade out he'll find again his 
 Palms no doubt. 
 
 THE FRINGED GENTIAN OF THE NANTAHALEH 1 
 
 What fairest flower dare I match or mate 
 With eyes like thine of melting blue beneath fringed lashes 
 
 peeping through? 
 Soft eyes that lured me to my fate, —sweet eyes I've learned to 
 
 love of late. 
 Not violets wet with morning de'w. nor skies — for these no 
 Loves pursue 
 
 Through light and shadow, whilst I sate 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 My heart with sweeter gifts than Hope, for Heaven has drawn 
 my horoscope, 
 
 Predicting gayly — kisses daily: 
 Not with the buds that in tame gardens ope, 
 But with one growing on a wild mountain's slope, — 
 
 The blue-fringed Gentian of the Nantahaleh. 
 
 ••CASCADIA.'" 
 
 (THE OVERKILLS OF OTTARAY.) 
 
 •'Land of the Cascade^"' that flash as they fall from cloud- 
 shadowed crests to fair valleys below, 
 Though far fade thy mountains I hear thy streams call — leap- 
 ing thunderbolt's robed in the radiance of snow; 
 From out of the shadows that darken the heights — like meteors 
 they dazzle the sunniest day: 
 
 Though thy forests share half of the gloom that- is 
 Night's, not the stars can outsparkle this diamond- 
 ed spray. 
 There is "Toxav^ay" tossing and tumbling in turn, still winding 
 
 and finding the vales he loves best; 
 And ''Tallulah," through granite gates — sombre and stern, 
 
 rushes seeking for seas that are never at rest; 
 And "Toccoa"' the Beautiful, fair as a maiden, veils her brow 
 like a bride that the heavens have won. 
 
 For "Beyond" there is ever some mystical Aiden, where 
 unfading blooms face an unsetting sun. 
 ■"Nantahaylee" will tarry not long with "Tuskona,"' hasting 
 
 down from the heights decked in plumes and in pearls; 
 Surely those, who in Ottaray's highlands have known her, can 
 
 remember the gems that she wore in her curls! 
 There is "Tumblin'fun," too, merriest elf in the world, comes 
 bubbling and babbling in gushes of glee; 
 
 And "Shadow-brook," under her coverts uncurled, is 
 whispering shyly her secrets to me. 
 "Chatooga" — the Chaser — is chafing and churning 'neath gray 
 
 "Isundayga's" cliffs — dizzy and dim. 
 Where the "Rose of the Ridges" soft blushes are burning with 
 
 love for the foam-flakes that swirl as they swim; 
 Where "Sornook" lifts lordly his crown in the West o'er the 
 hills of "Sevier" and the Highlands of "Swain," 
 
 "Luftee" weds willing waters that sally in quest of the 
 Chieftain that never shall rule them again. 
 
58 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 I 
 
 Where '"Wayah" goes winding' the cascades are flashing: where 
 
 "Zehleeka"' races — see the flame of her falls: 
 "Catawba" is dancing, aud "Kullsajah" dashes — like a warrior 
 
 advancing when the clarion calls: 
 "Cattaloochee" — so clear — laughing leajjs from his "Ledges," 
 where the fir forests shadow the "Cherokee Trail"; 
 
 And fair "Swannanoa," too, sweeps from the edges of 
 crags that the Eagles alone can assail. 
 "Watauga" hath waters that stay not nor dally, "Ahchaya" 
 
 hath arrowy legions in "Ashe": 
 "Hiawassee" goes gleaming from valley to valley, and "Tuck- 
 
 aseege" tosses white thunders that flash; 
 ".locassee" hath woo'd with soft kisses her streams, and "Kon- 
 naheet" opens wide arms to her lovers: 
 
 There are homes for glad hearts where the "Pacolett" 
 gleams, and "Linville" hath lures that a jioet 
 discovers. 
 •'Namonda's" fair "Rose of the Ridge" wears no thorn, though 
 
 his shadow}' "Tower" sunset never hath kissed: 
 And above, white "Tigoma," that welcomes the Morn, flashes 
 
 over green glens like a meteor of mist: 
 Far under the levin-scar'd slopes of "Old Scaly" tinkles "Tes- 
 sentee" softly her songs as she goes, 
 
 Wliilst "Cheovvah," glancing and glistening gayly, 
 
 brings "Tennessee's" valley a wreath of her snows. 
 
 Fair Land of the Cascades, — that laugh as they leaj) from 
 
 shadowy summits to welcome the sun. 
 The hearts that have known thee shall ever more kee]) sweet 
 
 memories of glens, where thy rippling brooks run • 
 Like Nymphs silver-sandal'd, veiled only with mist: and the 
 Noon-dav shall strip even these from the limbs 
 
 Of the Lurlines and Loltees — who love to be kissed 
 
 where the foam of the diamonded waterfall swims. 
 
 As a Bride that is veiled, seel — the waters come glancing, come 
 
 racing and rippling with the sunniest smiles, 
 For the Nymphs of Cascadia, dimpling and dancing, are luring 
 
 us now with their witchings and wilesl 
 Ah. he who has tasted the draft that these Lories bring fresh 
 from the founts where the Mist Monarch reigns. 
 
 Shall never forget — or their graces — or glories — whilst 
 the summer of life still brings sap to his veins. 
 
 Note.— Tuskona is Big Ridge Pole: Isundayga is White Sides: Sornook 
 is Mt. Guyot of Smokeys: Wayah is Big Pigeon R. ; Zehleeka is French 
 Broad R. : Ahchaya is New R. : Konnaheet is Valley R. : Namonda is Chim. 
 ney Mt. ot Linville gorge: Tigoma i:. Linville Falls. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 59 
 
 THE " BONNY VISTA ," OF GRAND FATHER MT. 
 
 Above North Cove the mountain walls shut in. the glen grows 
 
 narrow, 
 Down rockier steeps the river leaps — swift as an Indian's 
 
 arrow: • 
 In dappled greens what glorious scenes of "hanging forests" 
 
 shading 
 To glens half dark at noon-tide's mark, — a leafy league 
 
 cascading 
 In billows dee,p, that seem to leap in foliaged avalanches 
 From yon blue gleams to where the stream's white thunder — 
 
 bubbling — blanches. 
 Down mountain wall a "Forest Fall,"' not "hanging woods" — 
 
 but "hurling," 
 The forests sweep—from steep to steep — to kiss Catawba 
 
 purling: 
 In coiling curls the river swirls, each ))ool grows clearer — 
 
 colder: 
 With every ridge a narrower bridge would span from bank to 
 
 boulder: 
 And so it shrinks: the silvery links grow scantier with each 
 
 winding. 
 'Til near yon crest the stream shall rest in founts too deep for 
 
 finding". 
 But just when lost — the last ridge crossed, comes Linville's 
 
 leap and laughter. 
 To lure us still from hill to hill, — fair Loltees following after : 
 Syrens that sing by every spring, — fairies in every hollow : 
 By Love bewitched, by Luck enriched, beckonings we blindly 
 
 follow. 
 But Linville waits with unbar'fl gates — between the mountain 
 
 passes. 
 To woo us still from hill to hill — to homes of Highland lassies : 
 Lassies most fair — deft, debonair, — and these once seen we'll 
 
 dally 
 A month at least to flirt and feast in Linville's laughing valley. 
 If there you find one to your mind, sweeter than any sister. 
 Climb to Macrae'e by winding ways, and at the Bonny Vista. 
 Touched by the grace of that fair place, — (if she hath heart to 
 
 soften 
 And Love prove leal) kisses you'll steal, — I dare not say how 
 
 often. 
 For by these crags no lover lags: the ])lace, the ferns and 
 
 flowers — 
 The melting view from green to blue — the clouds that shift — 
 
 the showers : 
 
60 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Nay, even the stones in "blarney" tones, all seem but softly 
 
 sig-hing :— 
 " Your fee a kiss from every miss I" — nor mind the maids 
 
 denying : — 
 For though discreet, the maiden sweet, will pay the price 
 
 twice over; 
 Nay, — if you're bold, and claim ten-fold, — gay Love, the little 
 
 Rover, 
 Though she may pout, will help you out. until you've kindly 
 
 kissed her. 
 For that's the fee paid " f '. O. D." at " U. G's Bonny Vista." 
 
 I 
 
SECTION III. 
 
 1fn the Underbills of tiarltobee* 
 
 TARKOEE, OR CATAWBA LAND. 
 
 Where clear Catawba first breaks out, beneath the slopes of 
 
 Blue Ridge bracken, 
 The wanderer hears its cascades shout— a dozen miles — before 
 
 they slacken, 
 For Daby brooks — like baby boys— are always ready for a riot; 
 Youth ne'er is niggardly of noise— but Age grows temperate 
 
 and quiet. 
 Time chides the chafing stream ; each mile its prudent lesson 
 
 teaches, 
 And here, where "Greenlee's'* levels smile in ever lengthening 
 
 reaches, 
 Catawba curves the corn-lands through where shade and sun- 
 shine stipple 
 The glassy pools with gray and blue, and hardly shows a ripple. 
 Above on many a wooded hill the pines lift dusky lances 
 O'er shadowy glens where many a rill in Kalmia coverts glances, 
 Half hidden, and but half, too,— heard, for over painted pebbles 
 (Low as the chirping of some bird) — the streamlets tune their 
 
 trebles ; 
 Tune sylvan songs in minor keys and with soft shimmer glisten 
 Beneath the shadow of broad trees ; — and if you'll look and 
 
 listen. 
 You'll find the little brown-clad wren — with his gray throat 
 
 aquiver — 
 Sings louder than — in the green glen — the brook that joins the 
 
 river. 
 For here we have no Alpine land — with grim crags o'er us 
 
 darkling, — 
 With wild ravines and glaciers grand — and crowns of white 
 
 snows sparkling : — 
 No I — our fair Land of Tarkoee, where still our footsteps 
 
 wander 
 Along the levels of Greenlee, — gives you but glimpses — yonder — 
 Of sunlit summits far away — the bulwarks of our sky-lands; 
 
62 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Whilst eastward. — as thou<rh half astray, — lost sentinels of the 
 
 Highlands — 
 Just rip])le sometimes into view. — a world of woodlands airy 
 And mel'Ling waves of misty blue. — faint glimpse of realms of 
 
 Faery. 
 Afar the pines of Pamlico echo the blue sea's billowy thunder 
 With leafy murmerings long and low : but Iiere no cruel surges 
 
 sunder ; 
 No seas are ours, but bonny brooks that only need a foot-log 
 
 crossing. 
 With cabins nestling in shy nooks, and Mondamin's pink tassels 
 
 tossing 
 Where every happy valley shows long lines of lifted lances, — 
 Green javelins that Plenty throws against Want's grim 
 
 advances : 
 So in this Leafy Land we find Contentment humbly housing — 
 Where hands are willing and hearts kind, though Wit and 
 
 Wisdom drowsing. 
 O I lovely, leafy Tarkoee. what homes can match with ours V 
 (1 1 ( "oast Land keep thy stormy sea. and we shall keep our 
 
 ttowers ; — 
 Nor would we barter rustic ease for all the city's splendor : — 
 Life's simple joys can always please if hearts are brave and 
 
 tender. 
 
 THE CATAWBA RIVER. IN TARKOEE. 
 
 As Catawba tirst came tumbling from the ridges of the "Blue," 
 With its spumy cascades scumbling all the shadows through 
 
 and through. 
 You'd have thought it (had you caught it) some wild frolic of 
 
 the elves; — 
 Tripping — slipping— like the dri])ping of white cascades from 
 the shelves 
 
 Of the overhanging crags — 
 Where the clouds are torn to rags. 
 But youth is always brawling— though Age may come to 
 crawling — : — 
 
 And e'er a dozen leafy leagues are spent. 
 In coils and curves of quiet and content, 
 Catawba winds so mazily— so languidly and lazily. 
 You'd have thought him (had you caught him) 
 Some drowsy Merman nodding— by the (Jod of Slumber kissed, — 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 63 
 
 Or some patient Pixie plodding" from the Mountains through 
 
 the mist. 
 It is hardly twenty arrow flights from yonder billows blue 
 To these levels — where the river bites the valley-lands in two; 
 With a crescent here of meadow-land and there a curve of 
 
 corn. 
 And here a shelving strip of sand— and there a hedg'e of thorn: 
 With now and then the willows in a fringe of sunny g^reen, 
 Or sycamores with white bleached bark — or gray-stemmed 
 
 beaches— dense and dark, — 
 Or oak — or belted birch that lean to kiss the further shore — 
 
 and screen 
 
 The naked Nymphs our woods have won 
 From too warm wooings of the Sun. 
 Here too beneath the feathered boughs of Hemlocks dusky 
 
 shadows house, 
 And feathered fays from leafy caves dip low and almost touch 
 
 the waves 
 That here no longer wrestle — 'till their fire turns to foam, 
 But the ripples seem to nestle as though they felt at home 
 In these pools and river reaches with their pebbly bars and 
 
 beaches — 
 Under low banks where the gra])e vines twist their lissome 
 
 tendrils as they list: — 
 
 The stream that erstwhile hurried — 
 Flecked with foam-flakes— flayed and flurried — 
 Goes now curving in and curving out — as though it fairly were 
 
 in doubt 
 Whether it were not really best to sto)) awhile and take a rest, — 
 To take a rest in Tarkoee — two hundred miles from surf and 
 
 sea. 
 Above the winding valleys — where the Corn King shakes his 
 
 lance, — 
 Above the rivered valleys — where the dallj'ing dimples dance, — 
 A hundred woodland summits, — green with oak and plumed 
 
 with pine, — 
 Hedge in the bladed levels where the winding waters shine : 
 And a score of baby brooklets — that the leafy shadows stipple — 
 From a score of hidden nookiets — with a rustle and a ripple — 
 Slip down a score of glens to greet the river — that a-rest 
 Seems waiting — where the valleys meet — to take them to his 
 
 breast. 
 And then Catawba, winding through the levels of Greenlee 
 Shall bear his tribute — finding far from here 'the sounding sea: 
 Bearing to the Ocean's willows — perchance some song' or sigh 
 Of the Nymphs — who 'neath the billows — kiss therii)])les racing 
 
 ing bv : 
 
64 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 For the Dryads — weaving- flowers beneath their tented vines, 
 As they listen to the showers and the murmurs of the pines, — 
 Hear the Nereids playful plashing, where the foam-flecked 
 
 breaker curls, 
 As they dance mid billows dashing — and deck their dripping 
 
 locks with pearls. 
 So Catawba, first a-leaping from the Ridges of the Blue, 
 E'er a dozen miles — comes creeping — lazily the levels through; 
 And he dawdles and he dallies — loath to leave the vales and 
 
 valleys — 
 Where the willows wait his coming and the pines sigh sad 
 
 farewells ; — 
 And even the bees— a-humming — in the blossom's nodding bells — 
 Tell him (as do the birds) — in songs that need no words — ; — 
 
 That the nearer flow his waters to the endless — friend- 
 less Sea — 
 The further from his daughters in the Vales of Tarkoee ! 
 
 THE LEAFY LANES OF LYNN. 
 
 Fair Pacolet, — not far the fount whence thy clear tides come 
 
 flowing ; — 
 Here mirror'd clear, see Tryon's Mount, but, if a breeze comes 
 
 blowing. 
 This mimic picture soon would pass — like visions from some 
 
 magic glass. 
 Above thy tides may fume and fret, or break in flake white 
 
 foamings, 
 But here the wider levels set some measure to thy roamings ; — 
 And gentler ways and winds begin e'er reached the leafy lanes 
 
 of Lynn. 
 Between wild Wari'ior and Melro — thy tides forget their tether. 
 But where the lowering ridges show the dusky pines that 
 
 feather 
 The foot-hills, — winding Pacolet — seems loath to leave the 
 
 mountains yet. 
 And so — through levels widening out — a good three miles of 
 
 valley — 
 The hurrying river seems to doubt the wisdom of this sally, 
 And half-way turns — with tides grown slack — as though bent 
 
 now on wandering back. 
 But never shall thy tides return- -how e'er thy waves may 
 
 wander, 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 65 
 
 Until, O I Pacolet,— thy bourne is found— where mermaids 
 
 blonder 
 Than any mountain lass shall woo thy shy tides to the shoreless 
 
 Blue. 
 Yet who can blame thee, Pacolet, for lingering in these High- 
 lands, 
 Though all thy gathering tides are set to seek the sunlit 
 
 Islands, 
 Whose silver sands embrace the Sea — that — thirsting — waits 
 
 for streams like thee ? 
 I, too. though cradled by that shore, where the blue billows ran, 
 Where Yucca's daggers blossoms bore 'neath the Palmetto's 
 
 fan, — 
 I, too, have learned to love the brooks cradled in yonder 
 
 mountain nooks. 
 I love the woods where first in spring whitens the pale Puccoon, — 
 The fields where blue-birds softly sing, — or — 'neath the amber 
 
 moon — 
 Prom hollows of the leafy hills— come vesper chaunts of 
 
 whipjjoorwills. 
 Fair is the Sea, its sifting sands — the breathing billows as they 
 
 break — , 
 But fairer still these Mountain Lands, whose surges, as they 
 
 tower, shake 
 Above long leagues of leafy seas, that break in blossoms to the 
 
 breeze. 
 Sweet are the Leafy Lanes of Lynn — with violets broiderd fair, 
 Or — if some bolder quest you'd win — see ! — Tryon. towers, there 
 Like some gray Sentinel — silent set — to watch the Vale of 
 
 Pacolet. 
 Let the Sea's syrens softly sing old songs, they'll ne'er 
 
 recall me. 
 For here, where mountain harebells spring I'll bide what e'er 
 
 befall me. 
 And seek what favors I may win beneath the Leafy Lanes of 
 
 Lynn. 
 
 COATAPvA GLEN ! 
 I. JULY. 
 
 The summer's full-fledged foliage cools — in beryl'd depths of 
 placid pools — 
 
 Its glories green and golden : 
 
66 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 And where the cliffs impending frown, deep gulfs go ever dark- 
 ening down 
 
 To dusky grotts -like niches olden 
 In mossed cathedrals housing saints ; — and — where the gray 
 green glimmer faints 
 
 To phantom'd mists of mirrored skies, 
 Half felt — half fancied — softly gleams some meteor from the 
 land of Dreams, — 
 
 Some hint of dumb lips and veiled eyes ; — 
 And in the deep — dim — darkling niche — lo ! — Lurline lurks, — a 
 Water Witch. 
 
 II. OCTOBER. 
 
 Where Coatara's cascades tinkle 
 Shy songs and soft — beneath the cliffs,— the painted leaves — 
 like faery skilTs — 
 
 Go drifting where the star-beams twinkle, — 
 Or sunrays glint in pools unrippled, 
 Whose lucid lovliness unfold in arabesques of red and gold. 
 
 With blue or gray sky stippled. 
 Castanea, when her burs are brown, sends showers of golden 
 
 leafage down ; 
 And though the Summer's glories dwindle — like flowers aflame 
 the forests kindle : 
 
 No sad and sere October ours ; 
 Though the skies turn from gold to gray, bold Autumn faces 
 death to-day — 
 
 Decked out in flames and flowers. 
 But lovely Lurline in her pool must feel it growing rather cool. 
 
 And lovers — for like reason — 
 She'll hardly have a chance to catch — until the leaves begin to 
 thatch 
 
 The woods — some time next Season. 
 
 III. JANUARY. 
 
 No tinkling cascades silvering skip 
 Adown the mountain's terraced ledges ; though faery folk in 
 
 tiny sledges 
 Drive teams of bats that need no whip, and Elfin skaters slide 
 and slip 
 
 In grotesque rows across the snows 
 That fill the glens and crevices of all our big "Ben Nevises." 
 White owls with many a weird to-whoo ! — on silent wings go 
 circling through 
 
 The shadow land — on every hand, — 
 That here with hemlocks darkle — and there with moonbeams 
 sparkle. 
 
 I 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 67 
 
 Against the gray of leafless limbs— what shapely shadow- 
 sways and swims ? 
 A wandering — wavering- — ghostly grace, — with soft sad eyes 
 
 and phantom face? 
 'Tis Lurline, maiden of the mist, whose lips no living lover 
 
 kissed ; — 
 'Tis Lurline, who is beckoning, but if you loose no reckoning, 
 And take a "wood rat's" sage advice, you'll not try melting 
 
 hearts of ice. 
 Nor with a phantom try to flirt — however short her shift or 
 
 skirt ; 
 And in her grottoes — damp and old — I'm sure you'd catch your 
 death of cold. 
 
 Summer, when all the chestnut's feather, — 
 Giving sign of fair and friendly weather. 
 Is — by all odds — the rightful season — as shown by every rhyme 
 
 or reason — 
 For wooing maids, who — if they're kissed can surely nevermore 
 
 be — mist ; — 
 And misty misses who would miss? They can't be caught and 
 can't be kissed ! 
 
 Await the days of jovial June, and then beneath a 
 milder moon 
 In these deep pools — now locked in ice — I'll show you something 
 
 new and nice. 
 Then in these rocky basins — brimming — you'll find some lively 
 
 Lurline swimming ; 
 Lovely enough and light and airy — but not a phantom nor a 
 
 fairy ;— 
 A likely lass, who — if you're bold, you'll never find .so curt and 
 cold— 
 
 But that — when June days swelter — 
 With kisses you can melt her. 
 For here in Coatara's glen — I'll prove it by a Poet's pen, 
 From May 'til August's ending you'll find Love's reign 
 extending ; — 
 
 But when the first frost comes he flies 
 To summer realms and softer skies ; 
 
 And leaves to fairies and to fools 
 The frosty favors of these pools. 
 
SECTION IV. 
 
 Creed and ConfessionaU 
 
 PROGRESSION ! 
 
 Progression is the Faith I hold, from death to life in changes 
 manifold : 
 
 And if we rightly strive a slow uplifting" 
 In evolution's spiritual from sphere to sphere : though from 
 our earthly stand-point none see clear 
 
 The Heavenly Goal to which all souls are drifting, 
 Borne on a tide wider than all our worlds. 
 Spread but your sails to catch the guiding breath of God that 
 wafts us through the Gates of Death 
 
 To realms unseen — where we shall gather pearls 
 On shores of isles that know — nor fear — nor frost: — 
 There lies a Heaven fenced by fadeless Palms : — after long 
 tempests weathered — follow calms, 
 
 And Heaven is won by souls that once seemed lost. 
 Not this the End, nor yet that Life to Come ; the Soul can 
 speak, and Nature is not dumb: 
 
 Death's Silence grows more eloquent than speech. 
 Life's garish day reveals things near not far, and only Dark- 
 ness shows us star on star — 
 
 Giving us glimpses of bright worlds beyond the reach 
 Of souls in fleshly fetters : freed from these — 
 On wider wings shall not the spirit soar above life's dim twi- 
 light to some fairer shore, 
 
 Crowned by unfading palms and kissed by stormless 
 
 seas, — 
 Death but the Darkness of one — Narrow Day ? 
 There shall be many Dawns and many Nights, e'er errant souls 
 — however high their flights — 
 
 Shall reach those realms where all through Love obey. 
 Not the Next Life, nor that Beyond it — ends — the Glorious 
 Goal to which the Spirit tends. 
 
 What vain pretence of mortals this, — that after life, at once 
 comes Bliss 
 
 To those who blindlv kiss the C^ross. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 69 
 
 What vanity and blind conceit to fancy new-fledged souls 
 shall meet 
 
 At — death redemption for all loss. 
 Nay ! between God — who reigns above 
 And Man, what hosts of spirits rise to bar us from those 
 furthest skies 
 
 Where rules the Majesty of Love; 
 Angels, Arch-Angels, Cherubim : — 
 And we^through cycles slowly rise, through ages striving, e'er 
 our eyes 
 
 Dare face the Glories girdling — Him, — 
 Who in the hollow of His Hands— holds fast all peoples and 
 
 all lands. 
 O, silly sinner, do you think between this Life and That— one 
 link—-, 
 
 But One Night darkening — then the Day? 
 Only one narrow gulf to span between His Majesty — and — 
 Man,— 
 
 Between the Potter and the Clay ? 
 Your priests and parsons, fools or knaves, 
 If they had heads' or hearts would know that Souls to larger 
 stature grow— ^ 
 
 But slowly, and no blind Faith saves. 
 But rather Reason — open-eyed — , 
 That fathoms all the depths in reach : — and thus at last shall 
 learn the speech 
 
 Whose Shibboleth shall serve as guide 
 To Eden's—, that leagued Deaths divide from mortal frailty 
 
 and pride. 
 Deaths many darkening, world above world we rise, 
 Yet even there above us still extends God's shoreless Skies : 
 Angels, Arch-Angels and the glorious Cherubim ; — 
 , Yet none of these — shall ever reach the Throne of Him 
 Whose glory never dies. 
 
 MY FAITH ! 
 
 No narrow and niggardly Faith this of ours, that the intel- 
 lect cramps, and all sympathy sours 
 
 With blind prohibitions of innocent things ; but a Creed that 
 shall teach you the width of those wings — 
 
 Hope and Love, the twin pinions that bear to the goal of Gold- 
 en Fruition the gift of a Soul. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 No blind faith shall lead us in ways where we stumble, though 
 
 Reason shall help us always to be humble ; — 
 The light that is in us— though faintly it burn— shall give us 
 
 the power to love and to learn 
 That Trust with its lessons, and Truth with its rules, may keep 
 
 us apart from the friendship of Pools. 
 That there's a God over us, maybe a score, Nature teaches too 
 
 often to let us ignore ; 
 But if we are modest — we will not pretend — the Highest lives 
 
 only next door — like a friend. 
 Some Angel or Demiurge governs and guides, but not the Great 
 
 King of the deep cosmic tides 
 That sweep beyond reach of the dimmest stars seen when the 
 
 Darkness reveals what the brighter days screen ; 
 This alone might well teach us — if wise to mistrust — that sem- 
 blance of Verity fashioned from Dust, — 
 Which we mould into Idols, and worship forsooth, as Divinities 
 
 wielding the sceptre of Truth. 
 Yea, things that are hidden the Darkness reveals ; but we 
 
 never shall break all Eternity's seals : — 
 So far shalt thou go, but a limit is set to the billows that foam 
 
 into fire and fret 
 On the coast of Creation. Man's aspiring flight beats its wings 
 
 in despair at the Limits of Light. 
 Yet enough if we know never Lawless is Life ; and under the 
 
 semblance of struggle and strife, 
 In the depths we can fathom at times the increase of the 
 
 growth of all graces, the promise of peace, — 
 The fulfillment at last of fruition that brings the glorj' that 
 
 fiowers despite stabs and stings. 
 For after the Battle — the Victory comes, not crowned with 
 
 War's laurels — or the din of Fame's drums : — 
 Not without — but within — is the guerdon we seek ; 'tis the 
 
 heart — not the lips — that shall evermore speak 
 In our behalf to the Godheads above, whose mission is Truth, 
 
 and whose mastership — Love. 
 
 PAY THY DEBTS! (AGREED). 
 
 Popes — Bishops — Priests and Parsons, — "birds of pray," 
 That fatten on our faiths and follies ; — sweep away 
 The cob-webs of your crazy creeds, and these 
 False Prophets and fictitious Saints — you'll find 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. "71 
 
 Are— at the best— but blindest Leaders of the Blind. 
 
 They neither know the jjates of Heaven, nor keep its keys. 
 
 In old cathedrals, let but choral services invite 
 
 The weary soul ; — not sermons now — but song 
 
 Shall with its inspiration touch the listening throng. 
 
 Hearts — moved by Music's tuagic sweetness, learn delight, 
 
 Delight lures Love, — and Love — in turn — shall lead 
 
 To higher hopes than these your parson's preach. 
 
 Turn churches into schools, and there let Wisdom teach 
 
 That Truth must triumph over Falsehood's Creed. 
 
 One Great Commandment, — Heaven the highest sets ; — 
 No Trinity, but Three Words of Wisdom :— Pay Thy Debts! 
 
 That is, pay all thy obligations — that in life are due ; 
 
 Not merely cash, but courtesy, consideration ; and this clue- 
 Follow so closely — that no honest man can say 
 
 You left him poorer by one worthy word unsaid 
 
 That might have helped him ;— by thy wiser kindness led. 
 Lost in life's darkness — yet he finds the better way 
 
 By this grace guided, that thy loving lips shall give, 
 
 Even though hands be empty. Truth and Love are more 
 Than all the riches that Success can store : 
 
 Stripped of these two best gifts, t'were endless death — to live. 
 
 Your grim Jehovah, with his ancient curses crowned, 
 
 Nay, even Christ the crucified, or Buddah— nobler still, — 
 These cannot save or damn us; 'tis only Man's Own Will, 
 
 Sole saving salt and sanctifying grace — yet ever found 
 
 For souls that strive, battling with wrongs or blind regrets: 
 But verily — Shall Heaven credit him — who — always— Pays 
 His Debts. 
 
 Yea ! Pay Thy Debts I Three little words in one. 
 
 No Trinity yet ever by a mystic madly spun 
 From flimsy fictions into warp and woof 
 
 To make a shroud, wherein to wrap dead souls 
 
 That blindly struggle for bewildering goals. 
 
 Can guide thee safely. 'Tis Unreason's proof 
 
 To claim, that just because we cannot understand 
 By human reason your inhuman Trinity — 
 This Christian conundrum, hence must be Divinity. 
 
 Nay I in your guilty game I see the Devil's hand, 
 
 Who loves a Fool, and Folly ever preaches. 
 
 If this Unreason we must worship first, — 
 Why then let riper Reason ever be accursed ! 
 
 Your nonsense, Parson, rather over-reaches ; 
 
 And simply proves that Fools must be Jehovah's pets I 
 Against this Lie— I set a stronger Truth : O 1 Sinner, Pay 
 Thy Debts ! 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 MY POLYTHEISM! 
 
 One God ? — Nay I many, if you mean 
 The spirits sovereign between 
 
 This world and God's White Throne above. 
 This world, yea, wider worlds than ours 
 Shall bud — and bloom— and fade like flowers, — j 
 
 E'er mortal souls shall master love. 
 And learn the secrets, — hidden deep 
 
 Within the ages yet ungrown ; i 
 
 For there shall harvests still be sown j 
 
 A thousand cycles after Sleep 
 Hath sealed our eyes to life's delights. 
 
 And if we rise, as some shall do, 
 
 To wider hopes and loves more true, 
 Even there Deaths lead to higher flights ; 
 
 And greater Gods with wider powers, 
 
 Create worlds fairer far than ours. 
 
 A MODEST SOUL ! 
 
 I would not face the Godheads great, 
 Enough for me — if Angels wait 
 
 To guide my Soul to Edens, where 
 Still lingers some such light as breaks. 
 When o'er this world the morning wakes. 
 
 And summer sunlight fills the air. 
 Your glorious Heavens are too far ; 
 
 I would not sever quite from this 
 
 Small world, where yet some transient bliss 
 Hath touched my spirit. Yonder Star 
 That sees this world — (though dimly) — might 
 
 Serve as a home for souls like mine. 
 
 That are not longing to outshine 
 The Cherubim — who veil their sight 
 
 Before the Lord who rules above : — 
 
 I ask no "laurels," — only — love ! 
 
 SERMONS IN STONES! 
 Idling? — yes, idle — as the Gods above, who rule. 
 A Dreamer ? — yes : why should I not ? Your fool 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 73 
 
 Can never dream ; — he thrives on dullest deeds ; 
 
 But I have aspirations — winged for wider range : 
 
 I roam in Fairy lands, where every glimpse is strange, 
 
 And fairest flowers spring from Fancy's seeds. 
 
 Your dullard says the Rose is but a rose that bears 
 More thrifty thorns than blossoms ; — to his eyes 
 There is but twinkling emptiness in star-lit skies ; 
 
 To him— the world is half coarse pleasures,— half but sordid cares 
 
 But I — in woodlands listen to the undertones- 
 Set to the music of the rippling rills^ 
 That whisper soft secrets to the silent hills : 
 I hear Love's music pulsing in the fragrant flowers ; — 
 See — if not all — yet golden glimpses of diviner powers ; 
 
 Find wisdom in the babbling brooks — and sermons even in stones. 
 
 Sermons in stolid stones — and songs in dainty flowers, 
 Counting my beads in buds — t'wixt dawn and dark ; 
 
 Even the lustrous lily — or the lilting lark — 
 
 Give me some hint and hope of Heaven ; — glimpse of higher 
 powers 
 I catch in every wind that harps on the tense trees ; 
 
 In the wild chantings of the thunder showers, 
 
 Or in the darkness half divine — of star-lit hours, — 
 
 Listening the lullaby of billows on the shoreless seas 
 
 That dimly stretch into the Far Unknown. 
 
 Swift through the Darkness by some lost wind blown. 
 Comes my ship sailing with its white wings spread : 
 
 Though all my treasures stored in this frail bark, 
 
 I have no fears ; beyond the shadows, mark ! 
 
 The Beacon shines — like some fair star ahead. 
 
 THE INTENT DAMNS OR SAVES ! 
 
 Some men are witty — some are wise, 
 Some trust to truth — some live on lies. 
 
 Growing fat on falsehood and deceit ; 
 But whether for good deeds or crimes. 
 We fain must use our brains at times, 
 
 Lest Dullness doom us to defeat. 
 And he who misses evil ends, 
 
 Not from a lack of wish or will, 
 
 But from sheer want of sense or skill, 
 Not less deserves what Heaven sends — 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLKS. 
 
 In shape of penalties. This fact 
 You may rely on ; — the intention, 
 Whether of Heaven's or Hell's invention, 
 
 Weig;hs more with God — than any — act. 
 
 THE T.AST IS FIRST ! 
 
 The wicked in this world inherit 
 Too oft the good things due to merit, 
 
 Success is a mis-leading test. 
 Sin weareth silk and Saints but serge ; — 
 If all the proudest pews we'd purge. 
 
 You'd find the Biggest were not — Best. 
 The Lord oft chastens those he loves. 
 
 Thus purging from their souls all dross ; 
 
 And oft salvation comes through loss : 
 The hawks of this world chase the doves. 
 Who wins — is oft enough the worst : — 
 
 The Devil plays with loaded dice. 
 
 But in that promised Paradise, 
 The First is last, the last is First. 
 
 SAINTS IN SILK ! 
 
 Self-righteous ministers of grace 
 Who only preach to paying pews. 
 
 What message can you bring to us ? 
 Your silken Sainthood dare not face 
 The labors meant for rustic thews. 
 
 Nor touch the sores of Lazarus. 
 Your church, where Croesus falls asleep 
 
 Between the chaunts in cushioned ease, 
 
 Cares for the Shepherds, if you please. 
 But hardly for the wandering — Sheep. 
 You have not sown, and yet you reap ; 
 
 In dainty lawn — on unpatched knees — 
 
 Ye pray : "Lord, we are not as these 
 Who offer common service cheap, 
 
 "But Dudes divine, with manners nice, 
 
 "To fit a genteel Paradise." 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 75 
 
 THE CROSS ROADS ! 
 
 In life usually there are but two roads to choose, 
 And if one leads us right, t'other's certain to lose 
 The Pilgrim; both cannot well lead to the goal 
 That is set by the Gods for the wandering soul. 
 If on Lucre and Luck your aim only is set. 
 You must follow the fashion of — get and forget; — 
 But if for the Best and the Highest you'd live, 
 You must stick to the principle — give and forgive. 
 
 SUCCESS NOT THE TEST OF MERIT ! 
 
 When God evolved Creation's Plan, 
 He made one slip: — 'twas — making Man, 
 
 That worse than fool, a Beast with brains; 
 Who sets his wits to find a way 
 To make the better fellow pay 
 
 For every guilty scoundrel's gains. 
 With Fraud can Honesty contend? 
 
 Can Truth prevail against leagued Lies? 
 
 Brute Force — the Weak — or Best defies. 
 And modest merit — few defend. 
 Yet, just because here triumphs Sin, 
 
 And Wrongs so often mastering Right, 
 
 Fair days must follow on this night ; — 
 A better World where Worth shall win, 
 
 And Frauds be taught Success no test 
 
 Of what the Godheads rate as — Best. 
 
 PRAYERS IN FLOWERS! 
 
 O ! Flowers wisely taciturn, 
 What lessons might we daily learn 
 
 From the sweet incense of thy blooms : 
 No garrulous and vain pretence, — 
 No tithes — in turn — as recompense, 
 
 Tho' Heaven whispers in perfumes. 
 Gould these false followers of the Lord, 
 
 But listen to the sermons sown 
 
 On every sod where blooms have blown. 
 
76 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 They yet might learn the Heaven's accord 
 To those whose souls in silence search 
 
 The woodlands, signs and symbols shown 
 To guide them to the Great White Throne, 
 Far better than your Gilded Church. 
 
 MERIT IN THE MUD. 
 
 Some folks are better than their luck, — 
 Perhaps they aim too high and miss ; — 
 Saints seldom thrive in worlds like this, 
 
 Merit sticks often in the muck. 
 
 Your fellow gifted with most pluck 
 
 May be the biggest scamp of all ; — 
 
 Or Weaklings win where strong men fall :- 
 
 Twixt Good and Bad 'tis "nip and tuck." 
 
 Foul weeds, whose fruit at best is bad, 
 Poisoning with filth the very air. 
 Fools plant and tend with closest care. 
 
 Whilst growths — with God's own glory clad — 
 Fragrant and fair — in beauty rich — 
 You'll find a wilding in some ditch. 
 
 WIT'S WOES. 
 
 A little wisdom is no very great mishap. 
 
 But he deserves — not only our prayers — but pity. — 
 Whom — the gods blindly handicap — 
 
 With— being not only wise, — but witty. 
 
 DAWN AFTER DARKNESS! 
 
 O ! kindly Heaven, lend thy Light 
 
 To guide me thro' the deepening Night 
 
 Of storm and stress — of doubts and fears ; 
 Lost in the darkness — though I grope. 
 Still gleams afar the Star of Hope, — 
 
 Love's sunshine yet may dry my tears. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 77 
 
 The answering clasp of friendly hands, 
 Kisses that might all cares console, — 
 Not mine to know ;— a strug-gling Soul — 
 
 Lost in dim paths of unknown lands, — 
 
 Burthened with sufferings and sin : — 
 Yet far above the shadowy vales, 
 Where now the last star's radiance pales, 
 
 I see the Summito I must win. 
 
 CONTENT ! 
 
 The sparrow sings his roundelay, 
 
 And I am quite content to-day 
 To pause awhile and ponder 
 
 On what may be these hopes that stray 
 
 Like sunbeams through the stormy gray 
 That veils blue mountains yonder. 
 
 The Day I know must end in gloom ; 
 Life only bides with us awhile, 
 Love, too, will not forever smile : — 
 
 No man foreknows his death and doom ; — 
 
 Yet in one narrow heart there's room 
 
 For Heavens unending : False or true,- 
 Above the skies are blessed with blue, 
 
 Below the earth bewitched with bloom. 
 
 EVOLUTION 
 
 When I die I shall sigh with the winds through the trees. 
 
 As a wave — I shall lave the green shores of blue seas ; 
 
 From the dust I shall thrust folded buds to the sun 
 
 When the May-time brings day-time to the Shadows we shun. 
 
 On the wing I shall sing with the birdlings that flit 
 
 O'er the "slashes" where flashes flame of flowers just lit; 
 
 After death with the breath of lost winds I shall breathe. 
 
 And my dreams with the streams and the blossoms enwreathe. 
 
 From the brook I shall look with the trout through the glass 
 
 Of the deeps to the steeps where the halcyons pass ; 
 
 My home is the foam of the cascades that know 
 
78 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 They must leap to the deep of the lakelets below. 
 With the mist-morning- kissed — I shall soar to the Blue, 
 Melting- out like a doubt from kind hearts that are true ; 
 Borne aboye by the love, that forg-ets the old scars, 
 I shall shine — half divine — throug-h the lig-ht of yon stars. 
 
 CANT AND COMTE ! 
 
 When it comes to these puzzles of Philosophasters — it is hard 
 
 to discover the "Thought;" 
 Kant declares that Non-entity masters, and Comte declares 
 
 "nothing is naught." 
 It's Mud in a mist and a mizzle, or at least all a phantom or 
 
 fog ;— 
 Life's a sham, Hell not even a "sizzle," and Heaven, of course, 
 
 is "incog." 
 Whether Nothing is naug-ht — or life's curse, — I really can 
 
 never decide on ; 
 But if Everything's naughty — that's worse, with so many 
 
 hobbies to ride on. 
 If Messiahs of Myths we could muzzle — perhaps we mig-ht yet 
 
 read the puzzle 
 Of whether the hole in the wall would still stay — if the tvhole 
 
 of the wall were once taken away. 
 For Matter's the Wall we can never climb over — to see whether 
 
 T'' other Side'' s cockles or clover : 
 And Metaphysic's the Hole that, what ever we do, no one in 
 
 the World has yet ever — seen through. 
 
 SATAN ON SUNDAY ! 
 
 Sunday has come, the "day of rest," 
 When each one does his very best, 
 
 I mean, of course, in dress : — the bonnets- 
 Might break some poorer woman's heart ; 
 Such works of millinery art — 
 
 Merit — if not long psalms — yet sonnets. 
 To our own business we attend 
 
 Six days ; the seventh — our labors 
 
 We all devote to our neighbors ; 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 79 
 
 And — whether foe — or whether friend— 
 The greater part of Sunday spend 
 
 In proving' by precept (not example) 
 
 That our charity is ample, 
 And their transgressions without end. 
 
 If Satan had the choice of — One Day, 
 
 I'm sure he'd say t'was — "strictly Sunday !" 
 
 THE FASHIONABLE FURIES ! 
 
 I send you a sketch of the Furies, their snaky locks curled in 
 
 fine fashion ; 
 You really might take them for Houris — until — they got into a 
 
 passion. 
 They are civil and civilized Misses, their Torches now never 
 
 a-light ; 
 Even curses they cover with kisses, and their only "bite" now 
 
 is — "back-bite." 
 They don't run amuck like a savage and leave you disfigured 
 
 in death. 
 They don't raise a racket and ravage, but poison you — just 
 
 with a breath. 
 
 FLOWER AND STAR ! 
 
 Thou art like the Spring's first rose, 
 That but faintly its fairness shows ; 
 Through the dusk of Despair like a star 
 You shine on me. Sweet, from afar. 
 
 I have i^lucked the red Rose but no longer 
 Is the breath of its bloom so sweet ; — 
 
 Would the Star, too, turn to ashes, 
 O, Love, if it fell at my feet ? 
 
 PROVIDENCE ! 
 
 Our little pond was nearly dry 
 
 And we feared our "gudgeons" all would die. 
 
80 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 So we all of us prayed with one accord 
 
 For a "■little rain," and behold — the Lord 
 
 Has sent us now such a roaring- gale 
 
 It would swamp an Ark and frighten a — whale I 
 
 CAITIFF OR KING ! 
 
 Art thou caitiff, Death, or art thou King? 
 Minion or Master at the Narrow Gate 
 Where Hope and Doubt stand, and between them — Fate,- 
 
 To whose veiled Altars smiles and tears we bring? 
 
 True I crowned Pride trembles at thjf lightest frown, 
 And sceptred Soldiers cringe before thy Throne: — 
 Yet serge-ciad Sorrow calls thee half her own, 
 
 And gaunt Despair — in mockery — wears thy Crown. 
 Lives that are rich and royal dread thee most, 
 And Croesus cares not much to play the host 
 To even thy Kingship — sovereign and sublime; 
 
 But clowns who — housed in cabins — sup with Care, 
 
 Their leaner feast will gladly with thee share:— 
 Death and Despair are friends in every clime. 
 
 THE UNBIDDEN GUEST ! 
 
 What step upon my threshold falls? What unknown voice is 
 
 this that calls ? 
 Too late : — I'll not unlock my Gate — what e'er befalls. 
 Who Cometh through the Shadows gray? If rambler sad or 
 
 reveller gay, — 
 Belated rover, day is over : — Farewell ! — away ! 
 A voice in accents soft replies : — I visit men in various guise ; 
 There are who name my favors Fame, yet tell no lies. 
 And others (craven hearts are these) call me Despair; life's 
 
 bitterest lees 
 They'd rather drain — in pallid pain — than hear my pleas. 
 Some call me Darkness, and some Doubt; — few welcome me 
 
 with song and shout ; — 
 Gray hairs or gold — the Young and Old — would bar me out. 
 Yet there are some (these know me best) who always call me — 
 
 simply — Rest; 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 81 
 
 At set of sun why should they shun — this Silent Guest ? 
 
 And there are Souls, of essence fine, that call me Love, and bid 
 me twine 
 
 My cypress sprays with life's g^reen bays: — their hearts are 
 mine. 
 
 But whether Hut— or whether Hall, Love's wicket or his Lord- 
 ship's wall, — 
 
 Doors open at my breath, — for I am Death — who comes to All. 
 
 THE YEAR DETHRONED ! 
 
 To-night the Old Year dies the death ; 
 White snows — like shrouds about him cling- : The King- is dead ! 
 Long live the King I 
 
 The New Year draws his first faint breath : 
 The echo of the mid-night bell rings out a welcome — and a — knell. 
 
 Thus Life and Death a breath divides : — 
 The Old and New lie close together ; and scarcely know we yet — 
 well — whether 
 
 The current of these changing tides 
 Will bear the barks we launch to port, or wreck them ruth- 
 lessly — in sport. 
 
 What hostage hath the Past to give 
 For certainty of future good ? And even if the dead lips could 
 
 Breathe on Hope's dust and make it live, — 
 How could we trust so false a thing — as this dishonored — dying 
 King I 
 
 What Honors should such Kings receive ? 
 Ignoble Royalty that wins the sufl'rages of all the Sins 
 
 That unto erring mankind cleave ? 
 What Burial? — Such as gibbets give to Knaves that help the 
 Vultures live ! 
 
 Nine men are false — and one is true ; 
 One man hath brains — and nine have ''brass" ; 'tis thus it often 
 comes to pass 
 
 That lying Kings, Old Year, like you. 
 Are robed in purple, and receive the worship that makes — fools 
 believe. 
 
 Stilettoes are more dangerous things 
 Than Bayonets in the Battle's front ; — we, who have borne 
 War's heaviest brunt, 
 
 Dread the false Serpent's covert stings. 
 
82 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 And know not how to face the Foe — that strikes us in the 
 darkness so. 
 
 And dare we welcome this New King^ 
 With paeans of triumphal Song? Will Fraud be fettered? — 
 Right be strong ? 
 
 Will his attendant hours bring 
 Some better gifts than gilded lies — wherewith to dazzle our 
 sad eyes? 
 
 Will He be made of daintier dust 
 Than the Old Year's corrupting clay ? — Is this the Dawning 
 of a Day 
 
 That hides beneath its rugged crust — 
 Glad gleams and gifts ? — As Summer's Rose sleeps curtained 
 under Winter's snows ? 
 
 The feet that trod the olden ways 
 Must measure still the New Year's path : — what chance that 
 now the after-math 
 
 Shall match the harvest of those days 
 When royal years — through golden reigns — kept no lean 
 "gleanings" for their gains? 
 
 They brought us blessings manifold, 
 And asked but — "honors" in return: but now the lordliest Hand 
 must earn 
 
 Such guerdon as bold Rogues would hold 
 A fair exchange for venal votes that help'd to patch their 
 ragged coats I 
 
 The "Dollar Deity" alone 
 Can now our naked Wrongs redress: — the "One true PropheV — 
 is — Success ! 
 
 Can Honesty — or Truth alone 
 For Failure, or the lack of dross — wherewith we plaister every 
 
 loss? 
 
 Falsehood in Truth's white robes is dressed, 
 Hate's Sword is scabbarded in Gold ; Honors are bartered for — 
 and sold, 
 
 And "Purity" becomes a jest — 
 When Sharpers frame our Legislation, and "Patriots" cry 
 for — compensation. 
 
 New Year, whose minutes but begin 
 With the last echoes of the Bell ;— after we've rung the Old 
 Year's knell, 
 
 Shall desolate dirges ring you in ? 
 Shall Freedom pass beneath the Spears, whilst Hope looks 
 blindly through her tears ? 
 
 How dare we trust 3^ou, bantling King. 
 Whose race hath turned to evil ways? — We loved you in the 
 olden days 
 
 When Time had better gifts to bring : — 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 83 
 
 But now we know the cruel years — have left their "laurels" — 
 in arrears. 
 
 Yet Hope hath wings and will not stay — 
 Caged by Care's rusty prison bars : — Love, too, looks upwards 
 to the stars — 
 
 Previsioning the promised Day ; — 
 And Faith— with Freedom— hand in hand— still blindly seek 
 some Eden-land ! 
 
 VIXIT. 
 
 He — who tastes of the bounties of Bacchus — if not rescue — 
 
 finds respite from Care, 
 Whilst Love's loose libations but rack us with the bitterest 
 
 drafts of Despair, 
 For Beauty, how e'er you may find her — (with even her Christ 
 
 she coquettes) — , 
 Though she smile when with blossoms you bind her, as fast as 
 
 theij fade — she forgets. 
 The Blood of the Vine brings us blisses, friendly fires that 
 
 warm us — not burn ; 
 But Cupid — who covets all kisses from unlessoned lips quick to 
 
 learn — 
 Enkindles a flame that soon scorches the willing wings eager 
 
 to soar : — 
 Safer far are the flickering torches the Furies may bring to 
 
 your door. 
 Glad Reveller, believe me, these "toddies," and the wine-cup 
 
 (in spite of its lees) 
 Will drive you less daft than the bodies— unbodiced — of the 
 
 Sirens you squeeze : — 
 Press the "grapes" — and their sap sweet and sunny — shall 
 
 lighten the burdens you bear ; 
 Press the "girls" — and nor mercy nor money — shall rescue your 
 
 soul from the snare. 
 Gay Bachelor, stick to the tipple whose sparkles lend stars to 
 
 Grief's Night, 
 But beware of that bosom — whose nipple feeds thee first with 
 
 the fruits of Delight; 
 Fair Lurline is luring the rover, — at first with some semblance 
 
 of zest. 
 But the_^s//i«(/ and funis soon over, and this gudgeon strung 
 
 up with the rest. 
 
84 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 The drafts Eros pours from his vases — when the heart with 
 
 some honeyed hope beats, 
 Is a philtre — a poison that crazes with its subtle and sinister 
 
 sweets; — 
 But here a Fountain of Fun— ripples rosy — , with too honest a 
 
 blush for a girVs: — 
 Love's lessons seem prudish and prosy — when the Wine God 
 
 is — ^:>a/y«<i?j^ our pearls ! 
 Our "pearls" — from some dazed Poet ravished, — who had cast 
 
 them away for a sigh 
 From lips that had studiously lavished their sweets on the 
 
 Follies that fly:— 
 For say what you will, though you stickle for the faith of these 
 
 frail Amorettes. 
 There is naught in the World — half as fickle — as Sly Blondes — 
 
 save your slyer — Brunettes. 
 The God, whose gifts always can please us. — like Wine — in cool 
 
 caverns was nursed : — 
 Then— Hail to Thee — dimpled Dionysius ! — in the Vinyards red 
 
 harvesting's versed ; 
 Learned long in the lore of light Laughter, and all that the 
 
 Muses should know ! 
 Let the beardless Boys blindly run after Blind Love — with his 
 
 blundering Bow I 
 When you feel Cupid's clutch on your throttle, your sole chance 
 
 is to straightway entwine 
 Loving arms round the neck of — a Bottle, — put its mouth to 
 
 your lips, and resign 
 Yourself to the rosy seductions of that charming old — " Widoin 
 
 Cliquot," 
 Who will give you the wisest instructions— how to banish the 
 
 Boy— with his Bow. 
 The envious lover begrudges his friends even halves in a hug, 
 But the generous tippler just— "nudges" his neighbor, and 
 
 offers the ".Jug;"— 
 A "jorum" whose magic o'ermasters the wands of the wizards 
 
 of old. 
 For it crowns with Luck's "laurels"— Disasters, and gilds Life's 
 
 gray gloaming with gold. 
 Never trust the uxorious urgings of Hymenaeus— the Devil's 
 
 own imp ; — 
 His philtres are poisons— whose purgings leave you leaner- 
 lame — languid and limp: — 
 But 7*erfi— lies the gift that shall gladden— and all of life's sor- 
 rows assuage, 
 Like the Lamp of that lucky Aladdin— that only burned 
 
 brighter with age. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 85 
 
 Then Hail to Thee !— Bacchus of Meros, - most jovial of the 
 
 juniors of Jove ! 
 Away !— with the triflings of Eros— and the webs that his wor- 
 shipers wove ! 
 Midst the mesh— like some specious old spider— sits the Siren 
 
 whose charms are but cheaU, 
 And the ogre— Lust — lying beside her — could the Devil defy in 
 
 deceits. — 
 With the Vine's green curls festooned above us, — libations we 
 
 drink on our knees : — 
 These— "bubbles" to the ladies who love us,— and their lovers 
 
 may look for the lees ; — 
 For he who trusts Beauty's beguiling — will later — or sooner — 
 
 repent : — 
 There is danger ahead when she's — smiling; but your doom is 
 
 the curse of — consent. 
 Not "Love," but this "Liquor" commend me should my days 
 
 gather griefs as they go. 
 It's fires shall warmly befriend me when Lust's roses are buried 
 
 in snow ; 
 Not for wanton and wayward Cy there— raise we altars and 
 
 decorate shrines ; — 
 But to Bacchus, whose gifts are less chary — life-long thanks 
 
 for the Blood of his Vines I 
 
 The Muses outnumber the Graces ; grant Love three— hut the 
 
 "Nine" are our own ! 
 Fickle tides on Time's shore leave no traces, beauty fades as a 
 
 blossom when blown ; 
 But when silver threads mix with the sable, and after sweet 
 
 songs come sad sighs, 
 Let us stick to our glasses whilst able : — 'tis " here " Heaven's 
 
 true respite lies. 
 
 To the fairest who fooled us — the bubbles, — she was fickle and 
 
 fleeting like these ! 
 To the rival — who poached in our stubbles— and bag'd our 
 
 birds, — leave the lees ; 
 But the Blood of the Vine — as it gushes— brings new life to 
 
 my heart — as I sip ; 
 Content with the Wine's honest blushes, — I shall envy no rosier 
 
 lip. 
 
 Life — like Time — has its circle of seasons: — spring — summer 
 
 and Winter's cold blast ; 
 First roses grow ripe and then — reasons, and 'tis safer to stick 
 
 to the last : 
 What pangs have the "Pettycoats" brought me in the days 
 
 when mv callow heart broke : — 
 
86 PKA.RL.S AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Thank Heavens I — the flirts have all taught me — that such love 
 
 is no — serious — Joke. 
 What jealousies — doubts and denials, — what a timorous hope- 
 is first love I 
 In spite of all troubles and trials — this "serpent" we swear — is 
 
 a — Dove ; — 
 We would cage the gay bird — lest it flutter away on its dear 
 
 little wings ; — 
 Though — "love" 's more like — a rose in the gutter — ; — fades 
 
 attvat/s, and sometimes — has stings. 
 But fed by the bounties of Bacchus — how fat and how funny 
 
 we grow ; — 
 None of Jealousy's doubtings to rack us, — no rivals to envy 
 
 — ; — oh, no ! 
 For we welcome all bibulous Brothers who will join us in 
 
 bumpers like these ; — 
 Though perhaps, long ago, ^/ie«r sweet mothers only sighed — 
 
 when we gave them a squeeze. 
 Dionysius, Mirth-maker and — master, L.ord of Laughter and 
 
 Father of Fan ! — 
 Thou canst deck with ripe roses — Disaster, and the sap of thy 
 
 Vines — from the sun 
 Draws a magic — whose glory transfuses lame life with the 
 
 ichor of Gods, 
 And aided by Thee and the Muses, -Heaven's sweets are 
 
 distilled from dead clods. 
 Though the shadows grow darker and denser, and we know 
 
 that our Heavens must fall. 
 Let us make fleeting pleasures intenser as we draw nearer 
 
 Death with his pall ; — 
 The poorer we are — the more trouble — the more need for the 
 
 loealth of this Wine, 
 That makes us see all blisses double, and shrouds Doubt in a 
 
 Darkness benign. 
 If this be the last Hour granted by the Fates — that are blinder 
 
 than Love, 
 Let these spells open visions enchanted of Hope's Home — 
 
 shining radiant above : 
 Let us welcome Death — crown him with roses ; he is dull, — let us 
 
 cheer him — not chide, 
 E'er the Gate of the Grave-yard uncloses — New Worlds, — 
 
 whether narrow or wide. 
 For why should we dread deeper Slumber-after draining Life's 
 
 cup to the lees ? 
 Sober Fools I have known — without number —praying daily for 
 
 help — on their knees, — 
 Though the Fates are as deaf as an adder, and Death harvests 
 
 both Winter and Spring : — 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 87 
 
 Is there aught half as silly— or sadder— than the dotard whose 
 
 lean fingers cling' — 
 To the crumbs that the chances have left him ?— both his vir- 
 tues and vices dim dreams ? — 
 For the pilfering Years have bereft him— of even Time's miser- 
 ly schemes; — 
 Between Death and the Doctor he crouches, hoping still- 
 though he daily despairs, 
 For his heart — if he has one— avouches such delay is but 
 
 swindling — his heirs : — 
 Or if pocket as light as his pate is — still less cause for delusions 
 
 like these ; — 
 He should welcome his fate— if his fate is to sail Death's 
 
 unpiloted seas, — 
 To cast loose from this World— with its troubles, steer'd by 
 
 Hope to some Planet afar — 
 Where perchance some kind God even doubles the few blisses 
 
 we taste on this Star. 
 Even he — who has ne'er owned an acre, — whilst he lived — 
 
 lacking land to the end, — 
 May tind that some gay "undertaker" or grave "sexton" may 
 
 turn out a friend ; — 
 For 'tis likely — whatever his station — he will then, own his " six 
 
 feet by three '" — . 
 Which is more than do most of the Nation — if the rest of the 
 
 world are like me. 
 'Qvitjust because " life " is uncertain, cinA just because " Luck " 
 
 is so lame, 
 When Death comes to draw down the curtain,— e'er he filched 
 
 the last flickering flame — 
 I would ask for a bumper a-brimming, — and e'er the long 
 
 farewell was told, 
 Thoug'h my head might be drowsily swimming, I would toast 
 
 Hope — who never groivs old! 
 Twenty years of Life's lilies and roses are worth all the World's 
 
 Wealth at three-score ! — 
 I follow no bald-headed Moses— with a forty year famine in 
 
 store ! — 
 But Death's draft I'll not shun if he'll mix it— with the sweets 
 
 that would Godheads entice: 
 Then inscribe on the " Marble " but—" Vixit I " He Has Lived, 
 
 and such luck should suffice. 
 What one word could so picture the story of a life by kind 
 
 Destinies crowned. 
 Not with the sere "laurels" of Glory, but of "Love's" that 
 
 so seldom are found ; — 
 Light loves for light hearts, and the— flowers — that Fame ever 
 
 foolishly scorns 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Because they are bent by the showers and cannot defy you 
 
 with thorns. 
 Though the silly World trumpet his praises, — I envy no Cjesar 
 
 his sword ; — 
 He, too, must lie under the daisies, and all the jjrim Victories 
 
 scored 
 Shall leave but a wailing and weeping for the brave blood so 
 
 wantonly shed : — 
 Perchance it may trouble his Sleeping when those Legions 
 
 shall marshall their Dead ! 
 I envy no Orator oily — the tangles be ties with his tongue ; — 
 With a dinner before me — and doily — with some vintage not 
 
 foolishly young, — 
 I should never waste time on long speeches to prove I'd less 
 
 honor — than wit: — 
 That there's "Truth in the tipple !" Time teaches, and that's 
 
 why I never would quit. 
 Your fair ones sufficiently facile to " woo " without wanting to 
 
 "win,"— 
 Your "wits" who enliven the wassail, but refuse with the 
 
 "soakers" to — sin, — 
 Your Poet — whose " pearls " are no pickings from out of the 
 
 dunghills (like some) : — 
 Ah I — these are my friends ; without trickings of Fashion or 
 
 Fame — let them come. 
 Let them come when m,?/ "frolic" is ending, not to weep — or 
 
 my fate to bewail. 
 But friendly hands — freely extending — to wish me a final — 
 
 " Wass hael ! " 
 One last sip of Life's vintage together, then " slip cable," and 
 
 however winds veer — 
 In those Seas — yet unshored — sure the weather can't be worse 
 
 than it often is here. 
 Then comrades — ever true — and oft trusted — , your "memories " 
 
 I ask — not your " tears," — 
 For the casket was fast growing rusted, though its gems may 
 
 still sparkle for years ; — 
 And this is no mere " ipse dixit " — I hope— , if but good wine 
 
 I've quaffed : — 
 For my " epitaph" — just simply " Vixit ! " which means that 
 
 he lived — once — and — laughed. 
 
SECTION V. 
 
 She $ulistan* 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE FOOLS BY THE FLOWERS ! 
 
 And do you fancy, ask the Flowers, we are unfeeling as a Stone, 
 Not knowing even Suns from showers ?— With no sensations of 
 
 our own ? 
 With no life touched by tremors sweet ? — Unthrilled when 
 
 April casts her spells? 
 Rubbish to trample 'neath your feet,— to spurn and crush — like 
 
 empty shells ? 
 Our leaves you say are "lungs;" if so—, are not our petals 
 
 lips that woo 
 The Zephyrs as they come and go,— as any fickle maid might 
 
 do?— 
 Can we not revel in the bliss of April's Pledge that June 
 
 fulfills ?— 
 Like Love, who from one stolen kiss — a thousand sweeter joys 
 
 distills ! 
 When nightingales their airs compose, and all the moonlit 
 
 woods are hushed. 
 Do you suppose the nodding Rose hath never listened, whilst 
 
 she blushed ? — 
 And half awake and half adream, guessed at some secrets (as 
 
 you've done), 
 That even the brightest stars that gleam have never shed 
 
 much light upon ? 
 Self Worshippers ! — as blind as silly ; — how vain you mortals are 
 
 of powers 
 No reasonable Rose or Lily would envy e-ven the meanest 
 
 flowers : — 
 The Might to do amazing Wr'ongs, and yet the Matbiess not to 
 
 know it ; 
 Such Ignorance to Man belongs;— the Gods must shudder when 
 
 they show it ! 
 Yet still there be some pure and true amid the rabble lost to 
 
 reason. 
 To whom, when Death shall fall like dew, there dawns a far 
 
 Diviner Season 
 
90 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Than Life'vS short Summer-time, and these fair Souls fed full by- 
 Heavenly showers 
 
 Shall make their Homes in tented Trees, or house their hearts 
 in scented Flowers. 
 
 BIRTH OF KALMIA AND RHODODENDRON. 
 
 The Fairy of the Falls one day, half in earnest — half in play — 
 
 Woo'd the Forest Queen of Flowers with his showers ; 
 'Neath a veil of iris'd mist — many times her lips he kissed. 
 
 Won and woo'd her by the g^leam of his stream. 
 When the Winter's snows were spent, close within a leafy tent 
 
 Found a momentary rest on her breast. 
 Arched his bow of silver sheen — 'til it touched her robes of green ; 
 
 Poising- on the precipice — stole a kiss. 
 Laid his beard of foaming snow — on her bosom's warmer glow, 
 
 And his eddying pulses thrilled — passion filled : 
 Through her leafy limbs there ran tides of summer, that began 
 
 Burgeoning in bud and bloom and purfume. 
 When the Dawn of April broke— all her sleeping soul awoke 
 
 To the bliss of blossoming bud and motherhood ; 
 E'er the Ides of June she felt all the mother in her melt, 
 
 Bearing to the God of Waters— gift of daughters. 
 Near the ripple and the rain — bore her lover daughters twain ; 
 
 Never came there fairer birth to gladden Earth : 
 Dusky Rhododendron one, freckled by the summer's sun. 
 
 Cradled on a crest she lies— near the skies. 
 Where the mists and rainboWs mix — over gorges deep as Styx — 
 
 Where the hemlock's spire looms — there she blooms. 
 And the other, Kalmia fair, blushing in the sun-lit air, 
 
 Wreathes about the gray crag's brink buds of pink. 
 Decks with blossoms ripe and rich — many a rocky grott and niche. 
 
 Lavishing her dimpled graces in wild places. 
 Even where the cascade leaps — laughing down the giddiest 
 steeps, — 
 
 There these dainty sisters bring— blossoming. 
 ********* 
 
 Woo'd by every mountain breeze. Maidens of the Mist are these ; 
 
 By the flashing of the foam is their home ; 
 Where the cascades dancing bows hover over eddying snows. 
 
 There these Maidens of the Mist I have kissed. 
 Not in all your gardens gay— where the fettered fountains play 
 
 Could you find another pair — half as fair. 
 Not the lily's fleckless snow, not the rose's ripest glow. 
 
 E'er could match these rustic lassies of the Passes. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 91 
 
 Where through clouds that wildly drift— rugged crags their 
 crests uplift, 
 Kalmia's dimpled blushes bring — dreams of Spring; 
 And beside the water falls, where Katalsta answering calls, 
 
 Rhododendron's freckled flowers— face the showers. 
 Kalmia, fill thy cups that cluster with the Summer's limpid 
 lustre, 
 Let thy dimpled buds the while blush and smile ! 
 Freckled Rhododendron dower— crag and cliff with many a 
 flower ; 
 Thou art Apalachia's Rose, blooming where the cascade's 
 snows — shimmering — shower. 
 
 THE TEA ROSE ! 
 
 No blonde is this beauty of mine, what ever may be Gossip's 
 
 guesses, 
 But the tints of the Tea-roses shine in her cheeks and Night 
 
 glooms in her tresses; 
 No Lancaster Roses I praise in spite of their ruby red glintings, 
 No Rose of York lives in my lays, though fleckless and fair be 
 
 its tintings. 
 But in gardens where Love daily delves in spite of "Jack 
 
 Frost" and his "zeroes," 
 You'll find, guarded by April's gay elves, that fairest of 
 
 fiowers— the "Tea Rose;" 
 The Tea Rose, — that dainty brunette whose blush is not bloom, 
 
 but a shy light 
 Like the glow of the Sunset half met by the star-clustered gloom 
 
 of the Twilight. 
 Pallid pink with a touch of pale fire, or dusk gold with a blush 
 
 shining under ; 
 So paint me the flush of Desire when love dawns on us first as 
 
 Life's Wonder. 
 Though tender the Tea Rose's tint as embers that burn under 
 
 ashes, — 
 Of warmth there is never a stint and through pallors the red 
 
 passion flashes- - 
 Like a half stifled sigh on the lips that we kiss whether cold 
 
 or consenting. 
 Knowing well that in spite of eclipse the stars are already 
 
 relenting : 
 See, — under the saffron-like gold of the petals that curl and 
 
 that cover 
 
92 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 The heart of its heart — fold on fold- -there lingers a blush that 
 
 a lover 
 Would welcome as Love's Flag of Truce ; for Cupid— is such a 
 
 vain varlet 
 He shows no white Flower de Luce, but flaunts ever banners of 
 
 scarlet. 
 Let juvenile Juliettes wear modest violets plucked from close 
 
 covers, 
 Or if riper — twine into their hair white lilies, — as signs to their 
 
 lovers 
 That not vet hath Love's summer time come : but when the 
 
 Heart's flower uncloses 
 Beauty need not announce it with fife and with drum, but 
 
 simply wear crowns of Tea Roses : 
 Tea Roses are Cupid's particular pets, and he wreathes in the 
 
 gloom of glossed tresses 
 These buds, ever borne by the sweetest coquettes to signal 
 
 Hope's happiest guesses. 
 
 PINKIES ! (Claytonias) 
 
 E'er May's madrigals begin — thriftiest woodlands still but 
 thin,— 
 
 Poplar leaf 'd, but hardly lynn : 
 Mornings March, but in the aisles of the forest April smiles 
 
 Through the gray of greenless miles. 
 Here, where Trillium's musk is blent with the Epigea's scent, 
 
 As my wandering footsteps went 
 Down a rocky glen, behold I — not the Jessamine's cups of gold, — 
 
 Not the tintings manifold 
 Of Azaleas ; — but such flowers as the Fairies in their bowers 
 
 Nurse through April's dawning hours. 
 See, within the grayest dells, late awoke by Spring-time's 
 spells, 
 
 Fair Claytonia's bonny bells; 
 In a double row they nod gayly o'er the greenless sod : — 
 
 So can Heaven crown a — clod ! 
 Touched by April's wand of gold, here the brownest burial 
 mould 
 
 Wonders — leaf by leaf — unfold : 
 And a Poet well might think, without losing many a link, 
 
 These were Pixies clad in pink. 
 Reason not, but trust my rhymes : Heaven hath her chosen 
 times 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 93 
 
 When to ring the witching- chimes. 
 Standing on a gray crag's brink, from brown Monkey-cups I 
 drink 
 
 To the Pixies — clad in pink. 
 And, though you may think it odd, there's a flower in every 
 clod 
 
 Where I see the Pixies nod. 
 You may aim at other ends, but a Poet's spirit blends 
 
 With the flowers: — we — are — friends. 
 Let the World say what it will, in the Forest's centre still 
 
 I shall babble to the rill. 
 Under neath the Greenwood Tree— all the blossoms beckon me ; 
 
 Through the shadows still I see 
 Little Pixies, one and all, dancing by the Water-fall ; 
 
 And I hear them when they call. 
 Cast thy scrip and statT aside : here the green woods open wide ; 
 
 Let a Faery be thy bride : 
 Here not even a star shall wink— though Love's deepest 
 draughts you drink 
 
 With the Pixies clad in pink. 
 
 IRIS AND EPIGEA ! 
 
 Not here the .Jessamines clamber and the air with odors All, 
 But Lillettes — half gold — half amber — hang their bells beside 
 
 the ril) : 
 Not Magnolia's goblets filled are with the fragrant fires of 
 
 Spring, 
 But a thousand scents distilled are where the Highland Faeries 
 
 swing 
 In the misty moon-lit dances 'neath the hills of Ottaray ;— 
 And a thousand budding fancies woo in April — day by day. 
 There's the Iris violet scented — plucked beneath Saluda's pines, 
 Long e'er Pacolet consented to the wreathing of her vines : — 
 And Epigea's fragrance even March dare not deny. 
 Though the winds — like tattered vagrants — house beneath the 
 
 grayest sky : 
 Oh ! the Iris robs the Violet, and shy Epigea shows 
 That even March can pay a debt to Summer's ripest rose. 
 Wreathed in Rachel's tresses raven — let the Jessamines star 
 
 the Dark, 
 But she — whose name's engraven — where no prying eyes can 
 
 mark, 
 From Epigea's cluster — steals the blush that softly glows, 
 
94 PEARLS AND PEBBLKS. 
 
 And her blue eyes match the lustre that the sky-kissed Iris, 
 shows : 
 
 Where Pacolet g'oes wimpling — beneath gray Tryon's crest» 
 I find two rose cheeks dimpling, — two lips I'love the best. 
 
 VERNAL- VEINED PARNASSIA I 
 
 When golden-rod and asters deck 
 
 With gaudy tints the woodland ways. 
 When late September's amber haze 
 Veils the blue slopes, and many a fleck 
 (Though green the thickets by the beck) 
 Of crimson leaf begins to blaze, ^ 
 Precursor of those bleaker days — 
 That leave the woods a russet wreck — 
 Strip'd of their greener glories : — lo ! — 
 There buds a blossom white as snow — 
 
 Yet showing vernal veins between : — 
 Parnassia, that by brook -sides blow, 
 Pair as some maidens that I know, — 
 And like them, too, a— little green. 
 
 XEROPHYLLUM ! 
 
 Here, where the Heavens and Highlands meet, — 
 
 Where the Maids of the Mists and the Mountains 
 Drink deep from the undimmed fountains 
 
 That are cold as December's snow and sleet : — 
 
 Here, wjiere the living Thunders beat 
 Their bolts on the anvils splintered 
 Of the crags where the gray Gods winter'd : — 
 
 Where the cloud — (like a winding sheet 
 Or a shroud for a dead World) — clings 
 To the peaks where the Panther springs : — 
 
 'Neath the crags where the lightnings fell. 
 To these grim gardens the summers bring, 
 White as the flash of the lost Swan's wing, — 
 
 The grace of the Mountain Asphodel. 
 
 SANGUINARIA ! 
 
 By the rude wooings of this boisterous March first won, 
 
 'Neath splinter'd crags that frayed ferns thinly plume. 
 See ! — midst the meagre shadows of the greenless gloom- 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 95 
 
 The "Bloodroots" budding snows, — nursed by a niggard Sun, 
 That--by the Cloud King's legions— hath been half undone. 
 
 Nor yet hath April — on her leafy loom — 
 
 Woven the Bridal robes with color and perfume, — 
 And March but dimly dreams of blossomings begun. 
 But, — despite darkness and the dismal days, — 
 Here buds a Bridal Blossom — that might well be May's, 
 
 A chalice — chastely whiter than June's pallid lilies bring ; 
 On the brown slopes — beneath the grizzly grays— 
 This Firstling Flower — nursed by frosty Fays — 
 
 Smiles earliest welcomings to the wakening Spring. 
 
 TO THE WILD CRAB-APPLE. 
 
 Crab-apple, like a rustic lass, 
 
 Thin clad, in kirtle gray and green, 
 Stands in the woodlands, hardly seen 
 
 By half the dolts who hurrying pass. 
 
 But he who loves the grass that grows, — 
 The budding boughs and flowery gems, — 
 Shall stop to mark these knotted stems ; 
 
 Where, midst a hundred buds of rose. 
 
 White streaked with pink, a score of flowers- 
 (E'er yet Suns shine thro' April showers) 
 
 Face March winds bleak and icy. 
 Of all the Garden's Graces, none 
 As fair as this fresh country one, — 
 Whose breath is sweet and spicy ! 
 
 CLEMATIS. 
 
 What silken curls are these that cling 
 
 And coil above the brooklet's bank ? 
 
 Where weeds are standing ripe and rank, 
 And grape-vines tented tangles fling 
 A broader shadow on the spring, — 
 
 Where — o'er the dimpled mosses dank 
 
 Bent low — the cooling draught I drank. 
 
 (What better gift could fairies bring?) 
 Look you ! — what lass, however fair, 
 Red lip'd— ripe-bosomed— standing there 
 
 Ready to grant a parting kiss, — 
 Could show you silkier coils and curls 
 (Decked with Dawn's diamonds and Night's pearls ! 
 
 Than this "curled darling"— Clematis ? 
 
96 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 WATER-NIXIES ! 
 
 These flowers fair — whose pallid petals show 
 
 A virginal whiteness veined with vernal green, 
 By brook-sides budding — where a leafy screen 
 
 Hides them from even soft September's temperate glow 
 
 Of sunbeams sifted through an amber haze : — 
 " Parnassias " called by botanists and books ; 
 But I, being quite bewitched by their sweet looks — 
 
 That lure me on — through deepening woodland ways, 
 Have found a better name by far, I think, 
 For these shy flowers by the brooklet's brink, 
 
 In nooks best fitted for the fairies — fair and tricksy ; — 
 This braided blossom — hidden in dim woodland nooks, 
 Starring so whitely banks of fern-border'd brooks — , 
 
 I call — in half heard whisi)erings — only — "Water Nixie." 
 
 SKYWAKER VIOLETS ! 
 Where clear Skywaker down from Tryon slips. 
 
 With gleams .the shyest shadows stippling, — 
 
 As all its liquid rhymes come rippling 
 Like faery bumpers — bubbling up to meet your lips : — 
 There, in the mossiest nooks, where Oberon trips 
 
 Star lit fandangoes for a firstling frolic 
 
 In bowers bare — yet bewitchingly bucolic, 
 A dainty Violet begins to bloom — in half eclipse. 
 Pale gold its satin'd petals stain, 
 With here and there a purple vein — 
 
 That — not in vain — should sue for sonnets ; 
 For now, when Easter comes again, 
 And April skies are washed with rain, 
 
 Titanias need their new Spring Bonnets. 
 
 WOODLAND WOOINGSl 
 The forest is my home, and these tall trees 
 
 Stout friends of mine : — elm — chestnut — pine — 
 Maple and oak — , and linden — whose leaves shine 
 Soft silvering to the touch of every breeze ; 
 And even closer to me than all these 
 
 Stand lesser growths of shrubbery and vine. 
 Whose stems and gems about me twist and twine. 
 With all the leafy laceries one sees 
 In thrifty thickets, where soft — sunny gleams 
 Steal shyly in to brighten summer dreams 
 
 Of gladsome hopes and golden hours : 
 There — quite forgetting all life's tangled schemes, 
 Lulled by the music of the woodland streams, 
 
 I woo my dainty lady-loves— the opening flowers. 
 
SECTION VI. 
 
 jflower and jflamc* 
 
 DISCREET, NOT DUMB. 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 Drinking tea, of Love's power they tattled perforce, 
 
 Some pun'd and a few were pathetic; 
 Sentimental were the ladies as a matter of course. 
 
 And the gentlemen somewhat aesthetic. 
 A stout Senator, wiping his bottle-nose, said : — 
 
 That love ought to be always— p^a^on/c, 
 But his stately spouse shook very faintly her head, 
 
 And smiled a smile slightly — sardonic. 
 A Parson held stoutly that love was a snare 
 
 To the flesh— unless kept on low diet; 
 A young lady asked why ? with a simpering air. 
 
 Then blushed, and kept pointedly quiet. 
 A countess, whose cups would invariably mount 
 
 To the seventh — with other material, 
 (Her husband — by the way — I may say was — "wo coiwf' 
 
 Whispered : '" Love is a passion etherial ! " 
 A very young man, with a blighted moustache, 
 
 ( Who'd taken shares in the last Prima Donna ) 
 Vowed Venus loved best bold defiance and dash ; 
 
 " Awful nice, you know now, 'pon Honah ! " 
 A widow whose weeds were a cunning device, 
 
 ( She was one of those buxom and blond ones ) 
 Sighed : "Love is the saintliest Paradise 
 
 To the hearts that are faithful and fond ones. " 
 But a bachelor gruff, who was wrinkled and red. 
 
 Whose loves had all suffered eviction, 
 Grimly smiled as he turned to the widow, and said : — 
 
 "Why Madam, you know Love's a fiction !" 
 Had you but been there, oh, my Lady so proud. 
 
 Though learned in all of love's blisses. 
 No word had you breathed, to that gossiping crowd. 
 
 Of the least of Love's comforts and kisses. 
 
98 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 THE VALLEY OF DELIGHT ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 As I came through the Valley of Delight 
 
 Where lovers always dally, — in a blossom border'd alley 
 Of a rosy little maiden I caught sight — 
 Of a darling little damsel blonde and bright : 
 
 Without a bit of guile she was biding there awhile 
 Bent on catching fickle Cupid in his flight ; 
 With a simper and a smile — she was sitting on the stile, — 
 Bent on winning some young wooer — wrong or right. 
 Her flowing robes were lovely loose and light. 
 
 Blue her eyes and gold her tresses; as to her heart? — well 
 guesses 
 In describing lover's fancies and Love's flight, 
 And in painting a poetic passion's plight, — 
 
 Would some sombre shadow add, for you see it is a fad 
 
 To swear love's blisses always bring a blot or blight. 
 
 As though all lover's had to face a fate too bad 
 For even Beauty's kisses ever to requite. 
 But if her rosy lips were half a-pout, 
 
 Her spirits seemed to rally when down the smiling valley 
 Came gay Cupid not too shyly with a shout, — 
 Came Love's Lordling scattering roses all about : 
 
 And she never cried a bit — , and she never once said " quit !" 
 Nor seemed in any way at all put out^ 
 Though he kissed her — and she seemed to think it fit; 
 
 Yes ! — she never cried a bit, and she never once said- " quit ! " 
 Nor seemed in any way inclined to pout — 
 Though he kissed her there's no room at all for doubt. 
 
 STELLA 
 
 Twinkle — twinkle little star, winking at a lover, 
 Can you see us from afar, and our wants discover ? 
 Do you wonder, little star, what we do and what we are. 
 Watching from your home on high men who kiss and maids 
 who sigh ? 
 
 If your eyes were "speaking eyes," all the world 
 would listen. 
 Fortunately you are wise, and you only glisten ; 
 If dear Stella I should kiss, do not whisper Luna this ; 
 Watch and give me then the wink, but don't mention what you 
 think. 
 
 Twinkle — twinkle little star, watch and wink and wonder. 
 But don't whisper what we are ; — that would be a blunder ; 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 99 
 
 After all though love may be but mere moonshine, still you see 
 
 Even trifles — like a kiss — sweet are in a world like this. 
 
 When sweet Stella's lips I kiss, how her bright eyes 
 soften, 
 
 Yet you know in spite of this lovers " see stars " — often : 
 Twinkle — twinkle little star up above the world so far, 
 Look and listen if you will, but for Heaven's sake — keep still. 
 Curtained in contentment, dear, let me play the lover, 
 Though the prying stars may peer, — what can they discover? 
 Shut the casket's jealous lid ; gifts like these the heart keeps hid. 
 Prying Sun nor peeping Star — shall our blisses mark or mar. 
 Not the envious Moon shall learn half our hidden blisses. 
 Nor the jealous stars that burn — yearning for your kisses. 
 If a star fell, Stella, say, would it our bliss betray ? 
 Kind clouds, wheresoe'er you are, curtain every prying star. 
 Clouds and curtains are discreet, and they help a lover : 
 Would you strip her on the street, and her charms uncover? 
 Nay ! — the brightest things that are, blazing Sun or beaming 
 
 Star, 
 Shall not, with inquisitive gleams, "make light" of our happy 
 Dreams ; 
 
 Stella, thou my star, — I'd keep 
 Curtained close as Night doth Sleep. 
 
 TO THALIARCHUS. 
 (HORACE.) 
 
 Soracte stands sheeted in snow, and the forest — stripped of 
 
 leafage — gleams gray, 
 The river — ice-fettered below — is surgeless and silent to-day : 
 Heap the hearth with the fagots that blaze, brim the bowl 
 
 from the generous jars. 
 That have held for a thousand glad days, the wine that now 
 sparkles like stars. 
 
 Leave the storms to the Gods, who can still wild waters 
 and winds — if they list, 
 'Till the pine stir no leaf on the hill, and the ripples but pout 
 
 to be kissed; 
 Take no thought for the cares of to-morrow, and forget 
 
 to-day's griefs if you can, 
 Let Hope bear the half of life's sorrow, and Love lighten the 
 labors of man. 
 
 The Furies perhaps are behind us, and surely — the Fates 
 are before ; 
 But to-day, Thaliarchus, we'll wind us such wreathes as the 
 Sybarites wore ; 
 
100 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Whilst the winter still keeps under cover the blossoms that 
 
 May shall give birth, 
 Friendly firesides offer the lover — full measure of pleasure 
 
 and mirth. 
 
 As the fire woos warmly the air 'til it glow like a 
 tropical calm, 
 
 Love's ardors shall melt the cold fair 'till her lips bloom in 
 
 kisses of balm ; 
 All times have their pleasures and pains, yet the darkest 
 
 nights still leave us stars 
 To guide us: — all losses have gains, but Victories too bring 
 
 their scars. 
 
 Thaliarchus, the skies are o'er cast, and the bitter cold 
 winds bleakly blow, 
 
 But the haven is near us at last, and the beacon-light reddens 
 the snow ; 
 
 On no grating hinges the door opens harshly, but welcoming 
 wide : 
 
 A shadow glides over the floor — , and a Dream of Love stands 
 at my side. 
 
 Say, what is this? Fancy or Fairy? Half hidden in 
 shadowy gloom ? 
 
 ' Tis Chloe, of charms not too chary, whose lips are like rose- 
 buds in bloom ; 
 
 In the dim nook near the threshold she stands, slyly laughing, 
 and feigns she would fly, 
 
 But I fetter her fast with fond hands, and the rest you may 
 guess, if you try. 
 
 THE BIRTH OF BEAUTY'S DIMPLE ! 
 
 One day as Cupid's mother lay supine, 
 
 Sipping cool Nectar from a shell of pearl, 
 Upon the sparkling draft within the cujd — a curl 
 
 Fell — , rippling all its rubies, and the face divine 
 
 Bent o'er the goblet's circlet caught the broken line 
 Of light reflected, shadowed on her cheek 
 In semblance of a dimple. No lips that speak 
 
 The tongues of Men — could tell how fair and fine 
 That dimpling shadow lay upon a face 
 That from the rosy mirror seemed to catch new grace, 
 
 Lending an added beauty to the fair design 
 
 Of Love incarnate. On the shadowed place 
 Her finger pressed, and left the gracious trace 
 
 Of the gay dimples that the Loves wed to Wine. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 101 
 
 NKxHT IS LOVpyS NOON ! 
 
 There is a summer in Youtli's blood that makes 
 The heart a tropic garden, where are bowers 
 Close interwoven of such passion Howers 
 
 As Aphrodite for her crowning takes. 
 
 There is an April in the heart, that shakes 
 A rain of rose leaves down on flying Hours 
 That bring Life gifts of moon-beams soft, and dowers 
 
 Young Love with gladness when he first awakes. 
 Oradled on breathing billows that invite 
 Such dainty dreams, that happy Night 
 
 Would keep her stars for ever burning. 
 
 But the Gods cursed the World with Light, 
 And all Love"s happiest dreams took Hight 
 
 At Da3-"s Returning. 
 
 HEARTS WILL DO WHAT HEARTS HAVE DONE ! 
 
 Eyes as blue as svimmer air, rippled locks of golden hair : 
 
 Foolish heart, beware I beware I 
 Know that in those shadowy eyes Cupid, taut half sleeping, lies: 
 
 Wake him not with softest sighs. 
 Boy he only is in name : Venus, that imperial dame, 
 
 Gave him arrows tip'd with flame : 
 Taught ]:im many a loving wile, hearts -nay, heads too, to 
 beguile 
 
 With the magic of a smile : 
 Taught him how to ape affection so that it escape detection 
 
 E'en from Wisdom's close inspection. 
 Rosy lips you should not trust; Beauty, as we all know, must 
 
 Wither— fade and turn to dust. 
 Foolish youth, beware I beware I lest some fickle maiden fair 
 
 As the blossoms in her hair. 
 
 Snare thee. Ruddy lips tell lies, danger lurks in dazzling eyes. 
 Falsehood breathes in tender sighs. 
 
 Cunid gilds his prison bars, bates his lures with eyes like stars: 
 Dangerous arms in amorous wars. 
 
 Why bid youth these dangers shun ? Never yet obeyed me 
 one ! 
 
 Hearts will do what hearts have done I 
 
 ONLY LOVE'S DUES ! 
 
 I would 3'ou were a drop of Dew -and I a Beam from yonder Sun ; 
 No other lips should si}> of ))oii. I fancy, after I had done. 
 
102 PKA.RLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 BLOSSOM AND BUTTERFLY ! 
 
 A closed bud is the chrysalis, 
 
 But, when the wooing Zephyrs kiss, 
 
 The folded petals wide unfurled — 
 
 Go wandering through the garden-world. 
 Like butterflies are blossomings, 
 Lacking but lechery of wings ; — 
 Why should they wander near or far ? 
 
 Love is a rose-bud — not a star. 
 Gay Cupid — arch and artful — claims 
 A score of flowers and of flames, 
 Yet when Doubt's darker hours begin 
 
 He'll find no nooks to nestle in. 
 Glad lovers — like gay butterflies — 
 Seek every hour some newer prize, 
 Woo Lily, Rose and Violet, — 
 
 Collect all dews but pay no debt. 
 Let others seek a thousand posies 
 Could I but rest where one sweet Rose is ; 
 One narrow garden-close can fence 
 
 Enough for Love's best reverence : 
 It needs no wider world than this 
 To hold the heaven of a kiss ; 
 And jealously, in narrow niches. 
 
 Passion would hide his rapes and riches. 
 Within Hope's chrysalid close pent 
 The ficklest wings shall rest content. 
 And, like a bee in blossom furled, — 
 
 Love need not seek a wider world. 
 So through Love's summer days I'll hive 
 The sweets to keep my heart alive 
 When the stern Fates, that ne'er relent,, 
 
 Send " winters of sad Discontent." 
 
 THE MORE WING— THE LESS STING ! 
 
 They say that Love hath fickle wings ; — I fear this is an 
 
 error : — 
 Were he but " flighty " all his stings would loose full half their 
 
 terror. 
 If in my heart he once found rest — the Wanderer might stay, 
 And what I dread most is just lest — he'd never fly away. 
 Love as a lodger now and and then would fit in very patly, 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 103 
 
 But house-room for twelve months — or ten — I shall deny him 
 
 flatly. 
 True Friendship is a quiet guest— content with modest trifles, 
 But Cupid always wants the Best— and all your treasures rifles ; 
 Heaven help the man who opens wide all doors to this gay 
 
 rover, — 
 Your purse— your principles— your pride— he'll steal, then throw 
 
 you over. 
 
 If Cupid only used his wings— like butterflies that 
 squander 
 Attention on a dozen things they chance on as they wander. 
 It then might prove no dangerous task to sometimes offer 
 
 shelter ; — 
 To drop the mantle and the mask, and let fly helter skelter 
 Your heavy Virtues— that are said to save us from upsetting; — 
 We then might share some Beauty's bed— yet leave her 
 
 without fretting. 
 But 'tis this Cupid with ciip'd wings, whose knots no Time 
 
 untethers, — 
 'Tis he — with all his rites and rings— conventional fuss and 
 
 feathers — 
 Who fills me with such dread and fear that — if I saw him 
 
 drawing near — , 
 
 Could he not fly— I'm sure I could,— and always wanted to— and 
 would. 
 
 Give me my bliss in little bits, that knocks your long 
 feasts silly ! 
 Behold this Butterfly that flits from red Rose to white Lily : — 
 To him each golden morning brings an Eden with no jealous 
 
 walls ; 
 But only take away his — wings — and there your Caterpillar 
 
 crawls. 
 Dull Hymen needs a crutch no doubt — to limp through his 
 
 dominions. 
 But how would Cupid get about should you curtail his pinions ?-^ 
 Stripped of his wings he stands confessed — as poor a Hymen as 
 
 the rest : — 
 To show my good sense and my skill— when he can't fly — why 
 
 then I will. 
 
 TOO GOOD— BY HALF ! 
 
 As faultless as a folded flower, — 
 
 No fleck nor flaw her beauty dims ; — 
 Her lovely lips and lissom limbs 
 
104 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 The Cxods with no new grace could dower. 
 
 No Danae — won by golden shower 
 
 Rained down upon her from above — 
 Is this— the lad}^ that I love : — 
 
 No flippant Nymph to g"ild an hour 
 
 With lickle smiles and fond suurgestions. 
 Her purity — Doubt never questions 
 
 With faintest whisper of detraction. 
 
 I must confess though i sad reflection ) 
 That such a model of perfection 
 
 Can drive a lover — to Distraction I 
 
 A ROME() OF THE RIDGES I 
 
 I never knowed a lot o" things, but don't much miss a lack o' 
 
 larnin' ; — 
 Ef my wit's lame fer want o" wings, I don"t lack lights enough 
 
 consarnin" 
 What loads in life I'm bound to lift an' so I jes' let matters 
 
 drift. 
 I ain't by any means a scollard. and hef to make my '• mark " — 
 
 a signin' : 
 But I wus never cuffed and coUar'd, 'cepin' by teachers for not 
 
 minin' 
 My Reads an" Rites: and I'm a guessin' a lickin' costs less 'an 
 
 a lesson. 
 I'd alius rather be out doors, an" fancy playin' more "an prayin", 
 But still I works my reg'lar chores, and don't shirk plowin' — 
 
 hoein' — hayin' : — 
 Guess, too. I'd git as fur as any — to toss a pint — or turn a 
 
 penny. 
 For Sceneries I care no "chaw." but I hev' jes" a sneakin' 
 
 notion 
 I'd like ter git so fur to saw the Whale Pond, what they calls 
 
 a Notion, 
 Too see the steam canoes a tossin' ; but mountings air too 
 
 tough a crossin". 
 I'm tole down South air lands as flat, for miles an' miles, as 
 
 our medder. 
 With no hills higher nor my hat, an' only cricks to cross, 
 
 instead 'er 
 These "Roughs," whar folks aint so partickler. and hez their 
 
 corn fields pcrpendicklar. 
 I aint much ])urty. but I'm peert as an}' feller of my inches. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 10;' 
 
 And niver yit got badly skeert when Hate piles in or Hunger 
 
 pinches ; 
 The parson's plan I may not foller, but hits I'll take an' 
 
 never holler. 
 Even mammy niver called me — sweet, an' I'm as bad at style 
 
 as study : 
 
 With half the handiest gals I meet it's hard to help me to a — 
 
 •' Huddy,'' 
 But sartain sure I'm niver missin' when Mandy's mouth made 
 
 up fer kissin". 
 When Mandy Evelina winks, wunst is enuff — without undressin" : 
 She need'nt shout out all she thinks — ter make it mighty 
 
 interessin : 
 An' ef the filly aint a balkin". why wat's the use o' spurs — 
 
 nor talkin' "? 
 I aint no dyked up dude, you bet, but. Mandy, I'se got meat 
 
 and muscle 
 Enough to help through Dry an' Wet, an" if you'll trust me 
 
 through the tussel, 
 Though I aint got as yit a ''co))per," I'll house ye honey, 
 
 sweet an' proper. 
 Bald heads kin" plank you down a pile, an" scollards prove all's 
 
 rite by rulin'. 
 But all I asks fer is a smile, which furder goes nor skeems nor 
 
 skoolin' : 
 An' ef you'll whisper •• willin.' ■' Honey — , why Devil take the 
 
 missin" money : 
 I aint no dude , I aint no ' Donis, but Mandy, I'm no sham or 
 
 shirk. 
 An' through life's vyge I'll i)r()ove no Jonis. 'coz I kin wait and 
 
 I kin" work ; 
 An" ef you'll only jine me, Mandy, you'll fine me allers mighty 
 
 handy 
 About the house to do the chores, an' keep things thrivin" 
 
 out o' doors. 
 
 A POET'S CONCEIT ! 
 
 Were you but once my own sweet bride, 
 
 Cupid ( who's held to be rather a rover ) 
 Would bandage his wlnglets, and stay at your side. 
 
 At least "till the Honeymoon, dear, was quite over. 
 No pouts should make patience or passion less. 
 
 I would bear like a martye your kicks or curses, 
 But I'd sue at once for divorce, I confess, 
 
 If ever vou failed to-~fi(f>/nrr mif I'pr.te.v. 
 
SECTION VII. 
 
 ZhM<i and dborn. 
 
 NEW YEARS AND— OLD I 
 
 ' Tis "Merry Christmas" so they say, as such on faith I'll 
 
 take it, 
 Though 'tis to me as sad a Day as Memory can make it ; 
 The visions of the Past arise, and my sad heart remembers 
 The hopes and fears — the smiles and sighs — of all those dead 
 
 Decembers. 
 'Twere vain to hang the Mistletoe: — no lips beneath it — 
 
 meeting 
 Will e'er recall that Long Ago when happy hearts were 
 
 beating :-- 
 Both faith in Heaven and trust in Love I then had, but 'tis 
 
 over : — 
 In those days I was "hand and glove " with Luck, and lived 
 
 "in clover." 
 I had a "chateaux" ( 'twas in Spain), and hopes and hearts 
 
 in plenty ; 
 But things have gone " against the grain" since I was one 
 
 and twenty : 
 Ah! Hope has learned at last to doubt, and Love wields Scor- 
 pion lashes ; 
 Too soon the Yule-log glimmers out, and leaves me only — ashes. 
 For those who have both fires and furs the Christmas Days 
 
 seem jolly. 
 But in my cold heart Memory stirs and makes me melancholy ; 
 No "gobbler" shall I "gobble up," nor "mince-pies" — mince 
 
 thereafter 
 Whilst filling high the crystal-cup with champaigne's liquid 
 
 laughter. 
 But though the Christmas chimes awoke faint echoes of ^>ns^ 
 
 pleasures ; 
 The new Years that my dreams evoke are full of old-time 
 
 treasures, — 
 Hope's Happy New Year, whose dawn breaks after Donbt's 
 
 dark December. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 107 
 
 Shall bring me every g-ift that makes hea.rts— willing— to 
 
 remember. 
 Beneath unfading mistletoe 1 claim unfailing favors ; 
 Still the old roses bud and blow, — the old love never wavers ; 
 Again my heart takes holiday, and learns from Faith to borrow 
 The little— { that is — much) to pay the debts we owe to-morrow. 
 Kriss Kringle may leave -'Empty Socks." and Christmas 
 
 wear no — holly, 
 But Faith fears not the Storms and shocks that wreck more 
 
 reckless Folly : 
 O ! glad beneficence of Hope,— a bud even frosts leave sappy 
 And sweet — with dews from Heaven's cope : — New Years, are 
 
 always — happy I 
 
 GROWING GRACES. 
 
 March gives us only half-way hints of what shall be Sprino's 
 
 April tints. 
 And these are but the shadows faint of those wherewith glad 
 
 May doth paint 
 Her petals, and ripe .June shall show a richer green and rosier 
 
 glow. 
 Whilst August, — whose broad shoulders bear gold Harvestings, 
 
 seems doubly fair: 
 Each month thus prophesies in turn v.-hat promised pageant 
 
 Heaven proposes, 
 And from the Violet's bud we learn the coming glory of the 
 
 Roses. 
 So, too, the months that come and go add to your cheeks a 
 
 warmer glow; 
 But with these growing charms that tickle my fancy, sweet, 
 
 you grow more fickle. 
 Indeed, as you grow old and older you seem less kind and some- 
 what colder. 
 Ah 1 much I fear by next September old lovers you will scarce 
 
 remember; 
 If thus your feelings fade and fall as do the flowers in 
 
 November, 
 There'll be no passion left at all to woo and warm me in 
 
 December. 
 O 1 Darling, how I wish you would stop growing sweeter if you 
 
 could ; — 
 Already you're so very charming that it is really quite 
 
 alarming. 
 
108 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 And if each pas8in<i' month hut arras your citadel with stronger 
 
 charms. 
 What hope for mortal man to wrest Love's dearest secret 
 
 from your breast V 
 Alas I — I felt that I was lost -the tirst time that I saw 3'ou : — 
 If Christmas turn Love's lire to frost — New Year will hardly 
 
 thaw you. 
 An anyel may be very nice, but if locked out from Paradise, — 
 In spite of all that parsons teach. I prefer roses I can reach 
 ( Despite their thorns ) — to "laurels" much, if these set far too 
 
 hiuh to touch : 
 Who envies Tantalus his draug^ht that ever must remain 
 
 unquaffed 
 Though at his \^^s the bubbles break '?- -'Tis thus you lure and 
 
 leave me : 
 But vengeful Heaven some day may break false hearts that so 
 
 deceive me. 
 
 CUPID'S c;ottage: 
 
 Cupid's Cottage is a crazi/ hut where Folly finds a welcome 
 
 shelter, 
 Its creaking" doors are never shut--until our Hopes ily helter 
 skelter, 
 
 Seeking' some roofage that can otter a softer couch and 
 safer cotter. 
 In dismal corners spiders lurk, the blinds are loose, the roof is 
 
 leaking' : 
 Drafts "douse the glim " and leave in mirk twin'd hearts each 
 other blindly seeking. 
 
 For even Hope could not discover one sheltered nook to 
 nest a lover. 
 The tit-bits that the larder held gave hungry Lust the leanest 
 
 luncheon : 
 Trust, from the '" ingle-nook'' expelled by jealous Doubt ( who 
 wields a truncheon ) . 
 
 Seeks warmer welcome in the places that are not 
 haunted by the Graces. 
 How sour Psyche grows, who sets her napless board with 
 
 empty dishes : 
 In vain she fusses — fumes and frets for — fried the verv last 
 goldfish is. 
 
 And, since she broiled the pet Canar}-, the '"crumbs of 
 comfort" seldom vary. 
 How crK.^fi/ Cu\nd grows who finds that •' crusts "' not buttered 
 are bv blisses : 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 109 
 
 No long-er flattering Fancy blinds his vision, and the wilderness is 
 As bare and barren of fruition as hearts that never 
 learned rendition. 
 Love cannot shut these doors at will to bolt out Poverty and 
 
 Sorrow ; 
 To Cupid— Hymen brings a bill that he must pay in full 
 tomorrow ; — 
 
 When Care, with threatening frown, approaches the 
 Loves drive off in gilded coaches. 
 Ah, there is little food ( for sport ) in such a very crazy cottage ; 
 Cupid will soon forget to "court, " and Psyche sours on poor- 
 man's— pottage :— 
 
 How gladly Love would change (grown thinner) a feast 
 of kisses for — one dinner. 
 There's no romance in rustic meals— in broken cups and empty 
 
 platters, 
 And every heart that hungers feels (in spite of hopes that 
 Fancy flatters)— 
 
 That Love without some golden guerdon will not long 
 bear a heavy burden. 
 Then let us take what Cash can give, and welcome gladly gilt- 
 edged olfers ; 
 A host of untold pleasures live locked fast and prisoned in close 
 coffers ; 
 
 Capid would bag but silly sparrows had he no golden- 
 headed arrows. 
 Poor Love ! if pennyless— how poor ! Say, how would Cupid 
 
 look in tatters ? 
 Reason would drive him from her door, and Hope would turn to 
 other matters ; 
 
 Beauty would let no lover court her who could not 
 stand— 1 me3.n—s>( pjjort her. 
 The better-half of married bliss means— not "our deserts," 
 
 I'm sure,— but dinner ; 
 Folly may fatten on a kiss, but Cupid only grows the thinner. 
 Fast losing all his pristine vigor, his wings alone 
 growing daily bigger. 
 If you would keep the Fickle Fair kind and contented for an 
 
 hour. 
 Woo them in .Jovial style, and snare their fancies with a 
 " golden shower " ; 
 
 Even the Gods have found that passion can oft be won 
 but in this fashion. 
 Can Cupid live on pork and beans? In hodden gray would 
 
 Psyche lure us '? 
 Where Sorrow sows there Love but gleans the trodden sheaves 
 that scarce ensure us 
 
110 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Afjainst the Lenten fasts that leaven the life whose 
 
 honey-moon seemed — Heaven. 
 
 Cut Cu])id, friend, and trust to Cash, a rival Cod who serves us 
 better ; 
 
 Rather than Passion's lecherous lash, that scourges, choose the 
 g'littering fetter 
 
 That chains us ; only golden ringlets can tether fast 
 Love's errant winglets. 
 Seek shelter, if you need it, where Wealth builds gay Halls or 
 Power grim Castles ; 
 
 The heart may find safe shelter there — where Love can bribe a 
 thousand vassals : 
 
 But Cupid's cottage, larder'd leanly will house a hiingrij 
 
 heart but meanlv. 
 
 A POST BELLUM CHPJSTMAS CHAUNT ! 
 
 How shall we greet you this Christmas, Saint Nick ? 
 
 With clamor of crackers and feasting of pies ? 
 Shall we surfeit on egg-nog until we grow sick, 
 
 And forget, for a time — that we're weary and wise V 
 Shall we make — like the Russians — a rushin'' advance 
 
 On "Turkey "—whose " merry thought" often predicts 
 That even the ugliest girls have a chance, 
 
 And bachelors gay may become Benedicts ? 
 Shall stockings be filled to the garter with gifts 
 
 For the •' legions " of chubby-cheeked "infantry" — say V 
 Shall we find under cover of Winter's white drifts 
 
 The joys that make even the saddest hearts gay '? 
 Shall the Ledger be laid, with gaunt Care, on the shelf. 
 
 And the " Imp of the Inkstand " take rest for a while ? 
 Shall we turn for a moment from profit and pelf, 
 
 And invest, just /or change, in the wealth of a smile V 
 Shall the " Ule-log " be lit on the hearth, as of old. 
 
 While the " mistle-toe " shadows discreetly kind lips'? 
 Shall diffident lovers grow suddenly bold 
 
 As they squeeze " lady-fingers " — just iced at the tips ? 
 Shall we bury old strifes in the grave of the year 
 
 Whose life is so rapidly ebbing away ? 
 Shall the shadows of Sorrow now suddenly clear, 
 
 And the sunshine of Hope gild this glorious day ? 
 Shall we gladden the " Ragged " with generous alms, 
 
 Shall we cheer the sad-hearted with smiles and with songs ? 
 Shall ever-yreen hollies wreathe ever-green palms, 
 
 And Hope bear the half of our troubles and wrongs ? 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. Ill 
 
 In a word:— shall the Dawn of this Sanctified Day 
 
 Bring peace upon earth and good will towards all ? 
 If so — sad December shall rival glad May, 
 
 In spite of the Hakes and the flowers that fall. 
 Let us turn from the battle-scathed wastes of the Past, 
 
 Trusting still that somewhere in the Desert ahead. 
 There lies an oasis, where we at the last 
 
 Shall again find the blooms of the Springs that are dead. 
 
 IN THE ATTIC OR ONE AND TWENTY : 
 
 Long years a.i.ro in this small attic — I first learned Life's hard 
 
 lessons early ; 
 Then I was " rosy "not " rheumatic " — , and Love— though Luck 
 
 seemed often surly — 
 Pull fed me on his daintiest dishes ( bon-bo7i.s not beef-stenks 
 
 grace his larder ) ; 
 Had Pate then granted all my wishes perchance my life had 
 
 been but harder : 
 But Time brings help and hope in plenty when we are only 
 
 One and Twenty I 
 'Twas but a garret dim and dusty, a narrow nest for such wide 
 
 wasting 
 Of golden dreams, but Youth is lusty, and happy hearts are 
 
 always hasting 
 After Spring's butterflies ;— light pleasures that lure us on 
 
 through laughing hours: 
 Better than all Wealth's hoarded treasures is Love's full 
 
 foison flushed with flowers, 
 And Passion L'ives us gifts in plenty when Love is young — at 
 
 One and Twenty. 
 Here on this couch of checquer'd patchp.s, Doris my earliest 
 
 kisses counted ; — 
 No lamp we needed then — nor " matches, " — no gifts of gold or 
 
 silver-mounted 
 
 Gewgaws to deck us : in our tatters— we kissed as oft and slept 
 
 as soundly 
 As though we'd sup^d on golden ))latters — . by favoring Fortune 
 
 dower'd roundly : 
 Yea I Beauty showers her pearls in plenty when hearts are 
 
 young — at One and Twenty. 
 Here at this window— low and narrow — the morning beams stole 
 
 in to wake us : 
 No debts or doubts had we to harrow our souls, or sordid cares 
 
 to make us 
 
112 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Hate the recurrinjj' dav's th^it brought us, "tis true, scant j>"ifts 
 
 but scantier ijrievings ; 
 And our friends — the spar.-ows — tauglit us that even we had 
 
 " crumbs " for " leavings '' : 
 Ah ! Heaven gives us feasts in plenty from Love's own larder — 
 
 at One and Twenty. 
 Here, standing" at this narrow casement, I see my old love toss 
 
 her ringlets : 
 In Love's " tirst Fall" there's no abasement; the flightiest 
 
 hearts wear angel winglets. 
 And soaring over all that's sordid — the frailest draw us nearer 
 
 Heaven, 
 And teach us — every kiss accorded uaboug'ht — is given to Lust 
 
 as leaven 
 For all his sins :--kisses in jilenty are "Sacraments "—at 
 
 One and Twenty ! 
 Alas! I dare not longer linger in such an empty Shrine as this 
 
 is ; — 
 I touch with faltering foot and finger the place made sacred 
 
 by old blisses : 
 All of my Gold — nay, all my Glory — I'd barter for one year of 
 
 passion, — 
 To learn again the old sweet story that used to stir me in such 
 
 fashion 
 When Doris' kisses gave in ])lenty — as maidens will — to — 
 
 One and Twenty. 
 Farewell dear garret — dim and dusty, whose shadows hold these 
 
 phantoms olden ! 
 My limbs no longer now are lusty, my dreams no longer glad 
 
 and golden : 
 The fire burns out and turns to ashes, — the flowers fade and 
 fall and moulder ; 
 At night Love's star no longer flashes, my heart is growing 
 
 cold and colder : 
 Ah me, I'd now give gold in plenty for — "Poverty" — at — 
 
 One and Twenty I 
 
 CUPID CRUCIFIED ! 
 
 I strive to paint in fitting shape the fancies of Love's earlier 
 
 time, 
 But still the richest tints escape — that bravely colored Passion's 
 
 prime ; 
 I cannot catch the golden gleams that lit the paths that lovers 
 
 trod. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLfiS. 113 
 
 And all those olden loves and dreams lie buried under liowerless 
 
 sod. 
 The lips that Faith once deified— have long since wedded been 
 
 to dust, 
 And Cupid hath been crucified—, and Hearts have felt Hate's 
 
 dag'ger thrust ; — 
 
 Remembrance is our deepest ill, and endless life were endless 
 loss, 
 
 For Love, the God, is writhing- still in agonies upon the Cross. 
 
 Happy the clown whose hunger needs only the "flesh-pots, " — 
 not the " fire ," 
 
 Who only sows the common seeds that ripen into coarse Desire ; 
 
 Were Passion but a flower's flame — up-shooting from the sun- 
 kissed clod. 
 
 Lust's gifts were all we'd care to claim — , whilst mocking Love 
 --" a jealous God. " 
 
 But shun the Syrens' subtle snare, their lures to loss will surely 
 lead; — 
 
 Ever of '■'■jealous Oods,'" beware—: their blisses make the 
 
 blind heart bleed : — 
 As Christ — with mortal agonies quailed between two felons 
 
 crucified, — 
 So Cupid on a Cross is nailed with thievish Lusts on either side. 
 Doubt the God whose "Commandments" bring — the rankling 
 
 stings of endless woes ; 
 Edens — where Eves — like Syrens sing — show " crowns of thorns " 
 
 on every— Rose : — 
 Safer life's toiling than the toils false Beauties weave to mesh 
 
 poor man ; — 
 
 Around each kiss a Serpent coils, — and every bliss brings some 
 
 new ban. 
 Mirth is a Monarch — debonair — , with laughter laid upon his 
 
 lips ; — 
 Hope, too, Joy's east off robes may wear, and Faith forget 
 
 Fate's scorpion whips: 
 But Love is the lost Thief deified by Lunatics in love with Loss; — 
 Cupid, at best, tho "crucified" — is but a — Coxcomb — on a — 
 
 Cross ! 
 
 PHANTOM CALLS ! 
 (PROm THE GERMAN.) 
 
 The clod-hopi^ers — clerks — and coal-heavers are out in their 
 
 Sunday array ; 
 Petty tradesmen in " broadcloth " and "beavers" smirk and 
 
 smile, saying " what a fine day ! " 
 
114 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Cupid, deeentlij clad, shoots dull arrows at the dull Bourgeoisie 
 
 as they pass, 
 Who are '■'charmed''^ by the song^s of the sparrows and a peep 
 
 at brown trees and j^reen jjrass. 
 But I — alas I — drape every casement with the dismalest — 
 
 dustiest crape. 
 From dim garret down to dark basement all is put in funereal 
 
 shape ; — 
 The "Philistines," outside — enchanted -enjo}' what small 
 
 pleasures they may. 
 But my heart and my house are both haunted, and my Dead 
 
 Past is calling to-day. 
 My wrecked Soul never cries — never cringes, but faces the 
 
 grim, ghastly gloom :— 
 Though my door opens not on its hinges — oale phantoms throng 
 
 into my room : 
 Lost friends enter silent.— eyes dimmer with death than of old 
 
 with — life'ti tears : 
 Of all the old smiles not a glimmer steals in through the dust 
 
 of dead years. 
 Lost loves — empty phantoms — enfold me with arms that are 
 
 livid and lean : 
 Pale and breathless the lips that once told me all that Passion 
 
 and Pleasure could mean. 
 Old friends, how your dusty bones rattle, how hollow your dim 
 
 staring eyes I 
 You, who fronted so bravely Life's Battle, can ye tell me 
 
 where Eden-land lies ? 
 Old sweet-heart, thy bosom is bony, that mouth that once 
 
 smiled can but " grin, " 
 Those eyes — once so starry — are stony: — no blush— though I 
 
 chuck thy poor chin : 
 Lost love, canst thou lift the Dark Ourtain. can those lips — 
 
 that of old would entice — 
 Whisper any glad secret. — make certain -the Dream of my 
 
 Soul's Paradise ? 
 But my Phantom Friends — always and on^v— shake their 
 
 '• skulls; " no deep secrets they tell. 
 They leave me unanswered and lonely, slipping back to some 
 
 Heaven — or Hell. 
 Is life's ending but dead Dust and Ashes, — not even Hate's 
 
 Hell for a hope ? — 
 Afar some dim star faintly flashes — as through the blind 
 
 shadows 1 grope. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 115 
 
 A BLANKET MORTGAGE ! 
 
 There's nothing more fickle and frail—and fond 
 Than a brunette unless its a — blonde ! 
 
 THE SPHINX OF LOVE 1 
 
 ( HEINE.) 
 
 This is the fairy forest where lissome lindens make, 
 
 Wind wavering", silvery gleamings — like moonlight on a lake ; 
 
 And from the grey-green leafage, as from an emerald sea, 
 
 The dryads fair are peeping — with wondering eyes at me. 
 
 The nightingale sang softly of love, and all its woes, 
 
 And listening, sad and silent, white petals shed the rose ; 
 
 White petals, frail and faded — pale gems that deck the dead, 
 
 With dew-pearls over laded, soft tears the twilight shed. 
 
 The nightingale sings ever, now grieving and now gay. 
 
 And listening, I can never forget Love's April-day : 
 
 His races and his rambles in this weird wood of old. 
 
 Where, under thorniest brambles, the brightest blooms unfold. 
 
 Thus lingering and listening, onwards I slowly went 
 
 Thro' moon-lit meadows, glistening, where dew-deck'd blossoms 
 bent ; 
 
 And caught, where sombre larches and tremulous lindens stood, 
 
 A glimpse of towers and arches — half hidden in the wood. 
 
 There, fenced about by forest, a silent castle stands, 
 
 Its cloud-like crests and towers not reared by mortal hands ; 
 
 Its rows of rayless windows seemed sad and hollow eyes. 
 
 Its gate, a stern mouth — silent, its bridge — a "bridge of sighs." 
 
 Death and Despair, grim Devils, no fitter place could find 
 
 Wherein to hold their revels o'er wrecks of human kind : 
 
 Before this castle's portal, twin'd shape of Love and Hate, 
 
 Half beast and half a mortal, a couched Sphinx lies in wait. 
 
 Limbed lion-like, and ready — tho' now the muscles pause — 
 
 To hold the victim steady beneath her cruel claws : 
 
 And yet. the head a — woman's, with eyes that lure us on. 
 
 And bosomed with such billows as Love would rest upon. 
 
 A gracious face, and splendor of luring, love lit eyes. 
 
 With lips that seemed too tender for aught but sobs — or sighs : 
 
 The nightingale sang paeans of love that thrilled the night, 
 
 And leagues of blushing roses bloomed sudden into sight. 
 
 My blood pulsed quick and quicker, my heart stood on my lips ; 
 
 The roses blossom'd thicker, like stars at Day's eclipse : 
 
 All fears and dangers spurning, T leaped to meet her kiss ; 
 
 Dazed, dazzled, blindly burning — I faced the dark abyss. 
 
 Could eyes so soft deceive me ? could lips so sweet betray y 
 
ll(i PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Nay ! Love would never leave me, nor Beauty lead astray ! 
 As on her mouth of marble my burning- lips were pressed, 
 I felt the new life ting-ling from lips of stone to breast : 
 The lifeless lips grew burning, the pallid cheeks w^ere flushed. 
 The jeweled eyes seemed yearning — Lhj' still the voice was 
 
 hushed ; 
 The lion claws (heart rending), left life enough for— love, 
 And pain and pleasure blending, wed Hell to Heaven above. 
 O ! pain and pleasure measureless ! sweet martyrdom and 
 
 welcome woe I 
 Without love, life were treasureless, and Death the only hope 
 
 we know ! 
 And yet whilst lips are blending kisses that hearts enmesh. 
 The cruel claws are rending the citadels of flesh. 
 The nightingale still sang to us : "O ! Sphinx, say what is love ? 
 "Is it Hell that trembles under us V Is it heaven that g-leams 
 
 above ? 
 "Hopes quicken, glad nerves tingle, but after pleasure — pain: 
 "Philtres and poisons mingle : is it loss, O, Sweet, or gain ?" 
 O ! beautiful Sphinx, you hold me, trembling, twixt temptings 
 
 and tears I 
 Read me the riddle, unfold me the secret I've sought for years ! 
 Tho' the cruel talons rend me, the craving lips shall kiss; 
 Whilst Death's white arms befriend me, dying I burn with bliss. 
 
 TERPSIPHONE, THE MOCKING BIRD ! 
 
 The leafage near my window stirr'd, and a spicy breeze blew 
 
 after ; 
 The lapsing tide on the beach I heard, and the wavelets' 
 
 rippling laughter : 
 As a coral spray in the green Sea's caves — half cover'd with 
 
 dusky mosses, — 
 Athwart the pines, where the sea-wind waves, the maple's 
 
 crimson tosses. 
 The beech is like amber faintly seen thro' the gleam of emerald 
 
 billows, 
 And down by the brook a brighter green drapes daintily the 
 
 willows ; 
 The bittern's cry comes hoarse and harsh — where the bayou's 
 
 silver fringes 
 The tawny levels of the marsh, that the touch of April ting-es. 
 Faint as the tint on a snow drop's tip is the green of the way- 
 side briars, 
 When cassina beads are still red as the lip that the heart of 
 
 man desires ; 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 117 
 
 White, as tho' frosted with fallen snow, are the thickets of 
 
 plum that lighten 
 The shadowy dusk that the pine-trees throw o'er the paths 
 
 that my feet delight in. 
 The flowers have come and the frosts have gone, not snows now 
 
 — snow-drops only : 
 Jonquils as bright as the east at dawn, and wild violets in 
 
 copses lonely: 
 Roses bud and the hyacinths blow, and the breeze is sweet and 
 
 musky 
 With the breath of the muscadines that grow in the wood 
 
 lands — dense and dusky. 
 The wind comes soft as a maid's caress when first she trusts 
 
 her lover, 
 And sweet is its breath as the lips we press— or the charms 
 
 blind hands discover ; 
 The mocking bird on the roof-tree sings, and the sea in the 
 
 sunlight glistens ; 
 My Soul stands tranced, with its folded wings, and my glad 
 
 heart looks and listens. 
 She comes ! she comes ! with the April bud, with the sunlight 
 
 and the glamour : 
 She comes I she comes I and it thrills my blood, tho', my lips 
 
 can only stammer : 
 She comes I she comes I thus the Mock-bird flutes — on the 
 
 maple's red-spray rocking : 
 But alas 1 Hope's flowers bear no fruits, and the false bird is 
 
 but mocking. 
 The flower may bud, and the fruit may bloom, and the days 
 
 grow gay and golden. 
 But my heart is only an empty room — haunted by memories 
 
 olden : 
 The Rose to May its incense brings, the Lily silvers the summer: 
 But my lily has stains, and my rose has stings, and I look for 
 
 no new comer ! 
 
 A POOB BACHELOR ' S CHRISTMAS REVERIE ! 
 
 'Tis Christmas, the birthday of Charity. Ned, and turkeys and 
 
 texts are in fashion to-day ; 
 Young Christendom slips over-early from bed to empty the 
 " stockings " that make a display 
 
 Of such " fatted calves " as we rarely can face 
 
 When the limbs of their owners they chastely embrace. 
 
118 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 The Mistle-toe bough is hunjj up in the Hall, and a legion of 
 
 boys are on watch for the girls ; 
 A sisterly kiss is — well— no kiss at all, Vjut cousins ( who cover 
 their blushes with curls 
 
 As they vainly endeavor to give them the slip ) 
 Have charms that lure even a juvenile lip. 
 The Young are all vocal with innocent joy as they startle old 
 
 chanticleer out of his sleep ; 
 No pies can now surfeit — no candies can cloy, and the pulses of 
 life seem to laugh as they leap ; 
 
 The Future to them seems an Eden of Bliss 
 Where Roses would smother the Serpent's first hiss. 
 Their Past is as short and as sweet as a kiss, and why should 
 
 the Future not rival its joys ? 
 Hope is always prophetic, and Life cannot miss its guerdon of 
 gifts ! — so think always the boys 
 
 As they count up the treasures St. Nicholas brings : — 
 
 Ah me I girls and boys are the true Queens and Kings I 
 
 But we who are older have learned that the crust covers often 
 
 but scant " crumbs of comfort " indeed ; 
 The gifts the Past brought us have crumbled to dust, and even 
 Love's Eden is running to weed ; 
 
 Long after the roses have faded — thorns sting ; 
 Ah ! Love is a — liar ; — only Luck is a— King ? 
 Long ago our Yule-logs to ashes have turned, and the maids 
 
 that we kissed (like the mistle-toe boughs 
 Whereunder discreetly Love's lessons we learned ) have 
 withered and wilted; old loves and old vows 
 
 Have gone with the buds and the blooms of old Springs, 
 
 Swept away by the storms that Life's winter-time brings. 
 
 We can't "mince the matter :" our pies are all crust, our eggs 
 
 are all addled, and curdled the "flip;" 
 In Stockings (however well filled) we don't trust, and all our 
 turkeys have died of the "pip:" — 
 
 In vain we recall the old Holiday times; — 
 Now the bells seem to ring only dirges — not — chimes. 
 We sit ( our efforts all ending in " smoke " ) and sip our " grog " 
 
 in lugubrious style ; 
 Ah I Punch without Judy — is but a poor joke that scarcely 
 could quicken the " ghost of a smile " ; 
 
 Not the ripest old rum, nor the dearest cigars 
 Can make us forget the old Battles — and — scars ! 
 The Boy ( with the Wings ) has flown off long ago, the Old Man 
 
 ( in tatters ) looks in at the door : 
 The Dead World lies wrap'd in its shroud of white snow, and 
 the winds seem to sob — Nevermore ! Nevermore ! 
 Our Yule-log is ashes, our Mistletoe fades, 
 And — another sad Christmas steals oft' to the shades ! 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 119 
 
 CHEAP CHARITY. 
 
 I do not ask your heart to choose, deny me love but g^rant me 
 
 kisses; 
 Your virtue could not largely loose — by liberal grants of such 
 
 small blisses ; 
 Even modesty need never blush, for kisses leave no scars to 
 
 brand you : — 
 Just close your eyes, — and hopes that hush my trembling heart 
 
 will understand you. 
 I shall be richer far and yet — no poorer you for all this giving ; 
 If life no gifts from love could get — no life were merely worth 
 
 the living ! 
 The crumbs you give me who would miss? — Not those who 
 
 levy on Love's larder : 
 And yet — debar'd from all of this — I'd hope, and hug you all the 
 
 harder. 
 Which, if you will but fairly judge me, — not even a prudent 
 
 prude should grudge me. 
 For me your daintiest cates have icing, but even your coolness 
 
 is enticing : 
 Laugh at my love, it will not dwindle ; your coldest kiss my 
 
 heart would kindle. 
 But if you're really anxious now— to cure me of this passion, — 
 I think that I can tell you how to do it in short fashion : 
 Drop other lovers from your list, pattern your passion after 
 
 mine ; 
 Insist on being courted — kissed — told hourly you are sweet — 
 
 divine ; 
 Grow jealous, ogle, sigh, leer, languish: and if you'll stick to 
 
 this a week, 
 I'm sure, we'd part without much anguish, and in a month we 
 
 wouUln^t speak. 
 
 THE MESSAGE ! 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 Good Squire, pray thee, saddle quick and mount my swiftest 
 
 steed ; 
 To Duncan's Keep — thro thin and thick, straight ride, and 
 
 spare no speed : 
 There slip in through the postern gate, ask page or loitering 
 
 knave. 
 Which of their Lord's fair daughters mate with Lancelot — the 
 
 brave. 
 
120 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 And if they say 'tis Lady Clare, so bring me quickly news; 
 But if 'tis Lady Anne — the fair, less loss if time you loose : 
 Ride back as slowly as you may, speaking no word aloud ; — 
 But with you bring a Friar Gray, and with you bring a shroud. 
 When you return — wasting no word — to me that white shroud 
 
 bring ; 
 My heart already will have heard — the muffled Death-bells 
 
 ring. 
 
 NO DOUBT OF IT. 
 
 The Past is a dream, and the Future a doubt, and the Present, 
 
 no hands can hold it, 
 For lovers who sigh and ladies who pout — have bartered and 
 
 bought and sold it. 
 Luck is a trap for the wary, and love is a lure for the fool : 
 Even, Hope- -with his help grows chary — when the head and 
 
 the heart grow cool. 
 Yea I Luck is a liar — a lure is love, and kisses— like cash— oft 
 
 counterfeit ; 
 I have my doubts of a Heaven above, but as to a Hell— there's 
 
 no doubt of it. 
 
 DIS-HEARTENED. 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 To your sunny eyes my pet I will sing a canzonet ; 
 From my pen a couplet slips when I write about your lips: 
 To that bosom's breathing snow (when at peace I rest upon it) 
 It were easy work you know — then and there — to write a sonnet ; 
 And upon your Heart, 'tis clear, (even if it were abad one) — 
 I could write a Volume, dear, if, you know, you ever had oi\e. 
 
 "AT BAY!" 
 
 Hunted by all the hungry Hates 
 
 That lie in wait for wounded souls. 
 Hearkening a knell that ever tolls ; 
 
 What help for hearts that see the golden Gates 
 Of Love shut fast ? and even Pity doles 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 121 
 
 But mean and miserly alms to him who waits 
 In patience only panoplied : — no suffering sates 
 
 The dagger that a Coward's hand controls. 
 Your cunning Reynard — spite of all mishaps, 
 Will oft escape the Huntsman and his traps ; — 
 
 He has his den, and dodges every way ; 
 But once your pack of puppies find a Stag, 
 To hunt him down — the hounds will never lag : 
 
 He suffers most— who boldly stands at bay ! 
 
 FICTION AND FACT ! 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 Ah, could the Roses only guess my grief since Bertha scorns 
 My suit, I'm sure their tenderness would spare me all their 
 
 thorns ; 
 If the sad Nightingale but knew the griefs that Love can 
 
 bring. 
 He'd perch upon a grave-yard yew, too sad by far to sing; 
 If the bright eyes of stars could mark the sorrows caused by 
 
 love. 
 They'd close them fast — less through the dark Despair should 
 
 reach above : 
 But flowers and stars and nightingales my grief can never 
 
 know ; 
 She alone knows it — who unveils her face to mock my woe. 
 ****** 
 
 Unless your Rose — your Nightingale — your Star — prove better 
 
 than such Sinners as we are. 
 Love's miseries such sympathy would get as Hereunto my Hand 
 
 and Seal I set : 
 Ah, could the Rose your secret guess and learn what maid your 
 
 passion scorns. 
 Instead of fragrant tenderness you'd feel the stab of all her 
 
 thorns : 
 And did the Nightingale but learn how soon your hopes had 
 
 taken wing. 
 Mocking your miseries, he'd turn them into madrigals and sing ; 
 And did the bright-eyed Stars perceive that you were wanton- 
 ing with woe. 
 Believe me, they would never grieve ; they know that Love was 
 
 always so : 
 And did the lass who worked you ill but fancy you were soft as 
 
 this, 
 She'd offer you perhaps a "p/^^ "—, but not a — sugar-coated 
 
 ''kiss:' 
 
SECTION VIII. 
 
 id's Cloisters* 
 
 YOUR " LOOK OUT " -IF YOU—" LOOK IN " 
 
 As Mother Eve, in spite of Eden's blisses, 
 Wearied at last of Modesty's shy kisses, 
 And (bored by Adam's too platonic wooing") 
 Began to pry about, and kept pursuing 
 
 . That venomous atrocity — the Serpent " Curiosity ;" 
 She got, you know, into a fearful mess, 
 
 And blushed to find she really had no dress : 
 
 Though this a shortage (as perhaps you've guessed) 
 
 That has been dearly paid for and — rf dressrd. 
 
 As (since they've moved into more fashionable quarters) — 
 
 That's not a fault we'd charge against her Lovely Daughters. 
 
 And (as 'tis written) the Apron Eve invented 
 (I wish all women with that^^rmen^ still contented) 
 Was but an outward sign and symbol, just to show 
 The inward graces that she shyly hid (you know) 
 Might have a higher value if well advertised : 
 'Tis thus the modest Petticoat was first devised. 
 As the Fair knew the charms — that naked — failed, | 
 
 Would lightly win all lovers if — discreetly veiled. | 
 
 With such sly hints her ear the Serpent won ; ' 
 
 And if, sweet girls, like dangers you would always shun, 1 
 
 When Cupid's Portal opens on your rout, ] 
 
 If you " look in " — remember 'tis your own " look out I " i 
 
 Therefore, ye prudish damsels, take my kindly hint, i 
 
 At Cupid's Cloisters do not even slyly squint ; \ 
 
 Or, should you choose to pluck Forbidden Fruit, i 
 
 If you're no Vestal and the modest Veil won't suit, j 
 
 Why drop deceptions ; let no fig leaf cover 
 The gifts wherewith you lure a bashful lover. 
 
 As I have warned you from this chaste " Preserve " j 
 
 At least be frank; own up — , without reserve, j 
 
 That I at least shall merit no reproach 
 If in Forbidden Fields you choose to prowl and poach, 
 
 " Cloisters " like these for Vestals ne'er were meant : 
 Here the Lord Abbot — Love is, and our Saints relent. 
 Granting to each and every sinner's song or sigh 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 123 
 
 The " airs and graces " envious Gods so oft deny, 
 Because they know 'tis only Woman's Kiss 
 Can make this world of ours rival even Heaven's Bliss : 
 But—, if you face the privacies of Passion's Paradise, don't pout 
 Because we hint you know quite well what you're about ; 
 Indeed the matter leaves no room at all for doubt : — 
 'Tis only when Love is no^ "taken in" — that he feels quite 
 " put out." 
 
 JUPELESS JENNY ! 
 
 Ah, Jenny, ain't you peert and purty ? an' Jenny, aint you 
 
 darling, dirty ? — 
 But whar's the odds ? the saftest shower kin wash the stains 
 
 from any flower. 
 An' ye're a Flower, Jenny dear, — none sweeter hev' I saw'd 
 
 this year ; 
 With jes' the smearin' of a smile ye'd bribe a. bee to buzz a 
 
 mile. 
 Ah ! Jenny, yourn's a rosy lip. ef only jes' you would'nt — "dip" ; 
 Now don't git inter sich a huff — bekase I sez ye're "up to 
 
 snuff." 
 Ah, Jenny, ef you'd clean yer teef , an' war a nice big handker- 
 chief, 
 An' wash yer face, an' comb yer hair, an' stick a sprig of ivy 
 
 thar. 
 An' sport a pettycoat less siled : — you'd take the cake, or I'll 
 
 be biled ! 
 Your cheeks air freckled, an' your ban' has got a sorter black 
 
 an' tan ; 
 But "freckles" — , them's the peertest thing the laurels ever 
 
 showed this spring, 
 A trick they larned from you no doubt ; so, Jennie darlin', 
 
 don't you pout. 
 
 An' ivy buds, if they could speak, would say they copied 
 from your cheek 
 Them dimples in their rosy cups, whar every bee his busiest 
 
 sups ; 
 Nice chinks — that when the summers come air full of honey as 
 
 a — " gum "; 
 An' ef they're sober when they're through hits more than ever 
 
 I could do. 
 
 O, Jenny, reef your skirts a bit, an' let me see your 
 shimmy's fit, 
 Don't hide them ankles; — and them feet t'er tread the wine 
 
 press, dear, would beat 
 
124 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 The bes' that ever trod in France, the jolliest juice that makes 
 
 men dance. 
 
 O, Jenny darlin', don't be ill bekase my fingers can't be 
 still : 
 When anybody's bodice fits — as tight as your'n it tempts my 
 
 wits 
 Ter fine a better way ter brace the buddin' rosebuds restin' 
 
 place. 
 For sartin never sweeter gifts was ever hid by tattered shifts 
 Than them white bowls with buddin' tips that fingers fondle — , 
 
 whilst my lips 
 Air' pressed so close to yourn — no bee could steal one honeyed 
 
 breath from me. 
 
 O, Jenny, don't now skole and skoff, but take them tat- 
 tered garments off; 
 A rustic lassie should not grieve at bein drest like Mother Eve ; 
 Jes' let me help ye to unloop — the tangled tatters of your jupe. 
 Wall'd in by thickets thrifty thatch, no lookers here to lift the 
 
 latch ; 
 Thar aint no eyes nor ears to lissen when you an' I gits close 
 
 f er kissin : — 
 Blush, not bekase ye fear surprise, but jes' to doubly charm my 
 
 eyes 
 With roses that jes' allers bring a hansell' to Love's yearliest 
 
 Spring. 
 
 O, Jennj, if one cheek I kisses, jes' turn the other, 
 straightway ; this is 
 True Gospel, an' if you git vexed, why darlin, I kin show the 
 
 text. 
 Ef sour prudes an' parsons say, tis wrong to love you anyway, 
 Why ask'em how kin Heaven be won by folks who ivonH do as 
 
 they'd be done by. 
 
 GRUB AND GRACES [TWO NICE) ! 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 How to honor " His Honor " these dames knew at least ; 
 
 They gave to myself diUdi my "Genius " — a feast; — 
 
 The soup was just spicy enough to be pleasing. 
 
 The iced wine — like som,e damsel — half fire — half Jreezing. 
 
 So rare was the roast and the turkey so fat, — 
 
 That I loosened a button for this and for that ; — 
 
 The salad as r/rcen and well dressed as some Miss :— 
 
 May Heaven defend her, who gave me all this ! — 
 
 Then after the Hermitage white— the champaigne 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 125 
 
 Closed bravely and brightly this pleasant campaign ; 
 
 I got my deserts too, perhaps somewhat more, 
 
 For they opened their hearts to me - wide as their door. 
 
 One gave me sweet kisses, and the other not less 
 
 Than the dearest of favors your fancy could guess ; 
 
 Thus well matched — if not mated — what more could I do 
 
 Than to say I was sated, and make my Adieu ? 
 
 There are limits beyond which no fellow can go, 
 
 Unless he give Bond to the Devil you know ; — 
 
 And tho' I can throttle two bottles with ease, — 
 
 'Tis' harder at once — two fair ladies to please. 
 
 In such cases after one's thro' with the eating, 
 
 I' hold that re-treating is safer than "treating"; — 
 
 Unless both one's conscience and muscles are tough, 
 
 One Dame at a sitting — for me — is enough ! 
 
 By a^oo lucky Lover. 
 
 THE THREE PRUDES ! 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 On yonder terraced mountain a noble Castle stands. 
 
 Wherein dwell three fair ladies : — I've kissed their lips and 
 
 hands. 
 Saturday I kissed Lady Clare, and Lady Anne on Sunday, 
 And Lady Laura smothered me in her white arms on Monday. 
 On Tuesday— these three Ladies— gave a fete at their chateau, 
 And ail the neighboring Noblemen were bidden to the show ; 
 But — I — was not invited, though all the neighbors knew 
 How well theij had requited the little / could do! 
 
 TURNED OUT ! 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 The bottles are empty, the breakfast is over. 
 
 The ladies are very much heated and flushed : 
 Under bodices ( loosened by Love the gay rover ) 
 
 What secrets the trespassing day-light hath hushed : 
 What ivoried shoulders gleam under white laces, 
 
 What glimpses of bosoms — , like the waves of the sea 
 Ever bearing fond Fancy away to the places 
 
 Where the harvests of Hope hive their honey for me: 
 Milky billows — half hidden beneath the white bodice — 
 
 Surge soft, and my happy heart suddenly beats 
 A quick " reveillee '" ; but my Grace and my Goddess — , 
 
 Laughing, shroud themselves under the blankets and sheets. 
 Not content with this even, they draw close the curtain, 
 
 And before, T have quite closed (half doubting) the door, 
 As I look in and listen, I hear an uncertain — 
 
 Soft sound — , that I fancy, can be but a^snore. 
 
SECTION IX. 
 
 ^aifs from HUoods and HUaysides. 
 
 THE DREAMER! 
 
 1 am a Dreamer : througfh Faery Land I roam in fancy from 
 
 strand to strand : 
 My ship a crescent moon that sails o'er cloudless oceans, where 
 
 no gales j 
 
 Ruffle the calms — that fair and far — belt these new realms, 
 
 where — star on star — 
 In archepelagoes of twinkling" light, lay — (girdled by the 
 
 dreamy Night, 
 Whose darkness veils our purblind eyes) the Golden Secret of 
 
 the skies. 
 
 lama Dreamer: though grim Doubt will sometimes 
 shut the star-light out. 
 Fair Fancy guides me (when I grope) to those far Heavens, 
 
 where sweet Hope 
 Sits regal on a jeweled throne, that Love may claim as half his 
 
 own ; — 
 And though Life sometimes "holds his breath" — to list the 
 
 whisperings of Death, 
 'Tis but the pause before we leap— into that Eden Land of 
 
 Sleep : — 
 
 A Sleep — still full of golden dreams. We lie on lilies 
 by the streams 
 That sing the songs the Angels sung when yet the World was 
 
 fair and young. 
 E'er hungry Hate — grown drunk with tears — , with scorpion 
 
 stabs and poisoned sneers — 
 Made mockery of Trust and Truth ; damned with deceptions — 
 
 guileless Youth, 
 Trampling Hope's roses : — Hate that scorns all harvestings — 
 
 save that of — Thorns. 
 
 But I, a Dreamer, lost in dreams, — forget— forego — 
 your studied schemes 
 Of selfish avarice : your silly hates, that lock out Love, and 
 
 dare the Fates 
 And Furies, whose fierce torches burn — the barriers that per- 
 chance might turn 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 127 
 
 The cruel onset of a Flood, that yet shall drench your World 
 
 in blood : — 
 I see the growing gloom and grief, so fly to Dream Land for 
 
 relief. 
 
 Yea !— Dreamland is the only realm, these storm tides 
 shall not overwhelm ; — 
 There in a Paradise of Palms— the white shores belted by blue 
 
 calms, — 
 Peace, the fair Queen of Silvery Seas—, brings every sail a 
 
 favoring breeze 
 To waft even fickle Fortune's baric towards beacons shining 
 
 through the Dark ; 
 And though our only captain — Hope,— Faith guides where Love 
 
 could only grope. 
 
 I am a Dreamer : sailing far — from cloud to cloud — 
 from star to star — , 
 In realms that know an endless day, through years that bloom 
 
 from May to May ; 
 With Hope ahead (Hates left behind,) though Love they say 
 
 (and Luck too) blind. 
 My shallop — fragile though it be— rides like a Nautilus the 
 
 sea ; — 
 Nor shall its' silken sails be furled — 'til I have reached that 
 
 Other World; 
 
 That Other World, beyond the reach of fools that prate 
 and frauds that preach : — 
 That World— where no revengeful God as sceptre bears— an 
 
 Aaron's rod — 
 Which writhes to life in serpent guise : Such Gods but bring 
 
 us loss and lies. 
 The Lord of Love, in that far realm, lets not Hate's tempest 
 
 overwhelm 
 The wrecked soul — clutchingat the straw of Gospel lie— or 
 
 Gospel law. 
 
 I am a Dreamer : — better dreams, than empty hopes or 
 sordid schemes ; — 
 
 The tangles that blind liars tie about their own necks, 'til they 
 die 
 
 In self made halters. Better gales (if there be such) to test my 
 sails ; 
 
 Better the risk (if risk there be) — of voyaging on Doubt's dark- 
 est sea, 
 
 Than delving as these worldlings must — in graves that hold but 
 death and dust. 
 
 I am a Dreamer : — let me dream that far beyond Death's 
 Gates — there gleam 
 Fair constellated stars that shine as messengers from Lands 
 Divine :-- 
 
128 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Ah, let me dream if dreams be this — dim premonition of a bliss 
 
 That even Love can hardly know in realms where life is linked 
 with woe : 
 
 On this sad Earth the Darkness "^rows, but far above the Bea- 
 con glows ; 
 
 'Tis there at last the sails are furled — that bear me to some 
 wiser World. 
 
 MOUNTAIN VERSUS FOUNTAIN. 
 
 Says the Fountain to the Mountain : How sorry you must be 
 
 That you cannot follow me down the Valley to the Sea. 
 Says the Mountain to the Fountain : Why even yonder Eill 
 
 Is better than a rill that can never once stand still. 
 Fount : — No wonder you look blue, 
 
 Standing there the whole year through with vot a thine/ 
 to do. 
 Mt : — I would'nt give a rush 
 For your gossiping and gush — that but helps to make a — 
 slush. 
 F : — You great big lazy Lump, 
 Don't you wish that you could jump, or spout even like a 
 pump ? 
 M : — You conceited little brook, 
 
 I wonder how you'd look if my rocky sides I shook '? 
 F: — Just shake away old "Top" 
 
 Until your summits drop; that would never make Mr stop ! 
 M : — You're a flippant little thing ; 
 
 What ever time may bring, storm or sunshine, still you sing. 
 F : — When about your brow the breeze 
 
 In a temper shakes the trees, — ^Aaf adds glamour to my glees. 
 M: — Prove your character and force, 
 Try to 1-ise above your source; but you never could, of 
 course I 
 F : — Your rude crest but rough rock shows. 
 
 Or the Winter's sheeted snows ; but — the Valley holds the 
 -Rose. 
 M : — Your doivnivard course I fain would check. 
 Save you from impending wreck; leaping so, you'll break 
 your neck. 
 F: — Nay, your Highness [not "your Grace"), 
 
 I know well my surest pace ; who rests won't win the race. 
 M : — The root of Reason still is Rest ; 
 To keep one's proper place is best, and this the truest — high- 
 est test. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 129 
 
 The faster that you fly and flee— the sooner shall your ending 
 be, 
 
 Lost in the depths of yonder Sea. 
 F : — Nay ! you stand sullen and alone, 
 
 Hard-headed, — v^ith ?i a heart of stone; and so you sternly 
 "hold your own." 
 
 But where my firstling- fountains spring I hear the sweetest 
 Syrens sing 
 
 Soft songs, that ever rise and ring 
 With wooings softer than all speech, to lure my ripples into 
 reach 
 
 Of billows belting yonder beach. 
 Stand firm and laugh to scorn my glees, but I love better 
 laughing leas 
 That lead me softly to the Seas. 
 Upon some Nereid's foam-white breast at last my wandering 
 ripples rest, 
 
 And dream the dreams you never guessed. 
 Your solitary grandeur chills, but I hug half a hundred hills 
 
 Before the Sea my singing stills. 
 To you the Glory of the Heights; — to me the ever changing 
 sights. 
 
 As far I flash in foamy flights — , 
 From glens above, where ripples quiver, until my wand'ring 
 waves deliver 
 Their tribute to the rolling River. 
 
 WIND WORSHIP! 
 
 O, White Wind, frayed with foamy froth, blown bleak and 
 
 bitter from the North, 
 Where — churn, along the barren verges, gray ice-wrack torn 
 
 by stalwart surges 
 That swing like hammers on the rocks — , rent by the thunders 
 
 of fierce shocks 
 Of storm swept Seas, — stretched gray and grim to the horizon's 
 
 shadowy rim : — 
 O, Wind blown bleak from moorlands bare — , hearing thy 
 
 clarion cry, I dare 
 All dangers, facing to the front and nerved to meet the Bat- 
 tle's brunt. 
 Bold Wind, wild wrestling with the waves, he ne'er was lost 
 
 who feels thy frost. 
 Nor laggard — like silk-sandal'd slaves; thy white breasts nurse 
 
 but hearts of braves ! 
 
 O, Flame Wind, blown from sunset skies, beyond thy 
 Gates what fair Land lies ? 
 
130 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 What shining shores beyond that West where rises many a 
 iiery crest? 
 
 Tossed capes of clouds that fence far Seas locked round some 
 lost Hesperides I 
 
 O, Hesper, when Night's shadow flings Death's Darkness widen- 
 ing, on thy wings 
 
 Bear roe through Twilight's gathering stars to realms where 
 Love shall know no scars. — 
 
 O, Wind of Visions softly sent from silvering shores of 
 Orient ; 
 
 O, dim Wind, from the East blown far with rising of the Even- 
 ing Star ; — 
 
 O, Shadow Wind from realm of Dreams, pulsed with the whis- 
 pering of streams — 
 
 The tinkling of faint bells that swing like flutterings of some 
 drowsy wing ; — 
 
 O, East Wind, veil the dazzling days with white mists blurring 
 all the ways, 
 
 Whilst hushed hearts listen to the lilt of lullabies from 
 some chalice spilt — , 
 
 Some Chalice filled with Witch's Wine — that thrills with mad- 
 ness half divine. 
 
 O, Euros, from dim Orient, thy sighs with Dreams of Death are 
 blent. 
 
 O, South Wind, silken soft and sweet ! O, Flower Wind 
 whose glad pulses beat 
 
 In time and tune to fluttering throngs of birds tha^t bring their 
 chorus'd songs 
 
 To greet the blossoming billows blent with sunshine fair and 
 flowers' scent : — 
 
 O, Wooing Wind, when white clouds drift and sunbeams lure 
 and shadows lift, 
 
 And flower-gems jewelling the grass nod to the^Zephyrs as they 
 pass ;— 
 
 There would I bid my lady love list to the cooing of the dove, 
 
 Learning soft songs the birdlings teach without the need of 
 harsher speech. 
 
 O, Sweet Wind, blow Love's shallop far o'er purple seas from 
 star to star ! 
 
 The lessons happy hearts would learn — the blossoms teach us, 
 too in turn : 
 
 Forgetfulness of sordid tasks, — to scout the pledges Prudence 
 asks, 
 
 To banish Wisdom to his den — and blindly savor lust again ; 
 
 Our pilot Love — whose lures entice to paegentries of Para- 
 dise. 
 
 O, Wind blown softly from the South, lay on my lady's rosy 
 mouth 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 131 
 
 Thy bland-breathed benison, and bring- to weary hearts the hopes 
 
 of Spring. 
 
 O, Wind of Flower Land, aflush with braided blooms that 
 burn and blush, 
 Blown from blue skies and bluer seas — with whispered secrets 
 
 of the trees — 
 With stories stolen from the flowers, — (that tell their lore to 
 
 listening showers) — 
 With madrigals and roundelays the birds sang first in April 
 
 days : — 
 O, Flower Wind, when Darkness lifts, — these are thy glories 
 
 and thy gifts ; 
 Thy wooing wings bring bliss and balm — from seas of Pearl and 
 
 lands of Palm. 
 
 A CRABBED CHRISTMAS ! 
 
 Thank Heaven, Ned, that Christmas comes but once a year to 
 
 fleece us ; 
 A " poor man's-pudding " has no j)lu)ns; — they all belong to 
 
 Croesus : 
 For those who have both fires and furs the Yule-tide may seem 
 jolly, 
 
 But in my heart sad Memory stirs, and makes me 
 melancholy. 
 This racket of a thousand squibs, these boys and bugles 
 
 blowing, 
 These babes that lay aside their bibs before they quite stop 
 
 evolving ; 
 This " Infant-ry advance " that makes a hubbub at the table, — 
 That stuff down candies — comfits-cakes — as long as they 
 are able : 
 In short this "Topsy-turvy Time." when cafes and crackers 
 
 mingle. 
 Has much less reason, sure, than rime, in spite of old Criss 
 
 Kringle. 
 To one whose Bank account is i)ius ; — whp dines on truffled 
 turkey, — 
 T'will do, but not for this "poor cuss," a worn and 
 wearied "Workey." 
 Criss Kringle may be generous, but still of fraud, it savors 
 That no glad gifts he brings to us who most require such favors ; 
 Old Money-bags gets gifts of gold, his Madame silks and satins, 
 And every cherub in her fold finds his socks filled at 
 matins. 
 
132 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 But I, God help me, what have IV Scant hope that Love and 
 
 Laughter, 
 Who now so curtly pass me by, may still make friends here- 
 after ; 
 Lean Luck is mine, and Love now limps, --I've sat and sup'd 
 with Sorrow ; 
 
 But 'spite the Devil and his imps, from Hope even 
 Begjjars borrow. — 
 
 When 7ioses freeze who cares to kiss ! — The Mistletoe's appall- 
 ing : 
 What sadder season, too, than this,— both flakes and flowers 
 
 are falling ; 
 My heart and head have both grown gray, — I feel Fate's 
 scorpion lashes, — 
 
 My Yule-log glimmering burns away and leaves me 
 only — ashes. 
 
 I dream of Fortunes' golden hoard,— of Beauty's lips — like 
 
 cherries, 
 But vain to hang above my " board " the holly's festive berries ; 
 Yet — though these Christmas chimes have brought but echoes 
 of past pleasures, 
 The "iVe?f-Years " that my fancies wrought — are full 
 of old-time treasurers. 
 
 Those "Happy New Years"—, yet unborn, shall come like 
 
 cradled Kinglets, 
 Their rose-bud crownlets bear no thorn; — like Love, they wear 
 
 gay winglets ; 
 Each lucky — loving — laughing Year— a fitting mate for Cupid, 
 Who knows that life should hold some cheer for even 
 the Poor and Stupid. 
 
 rhey bring me back my boyish dreams. (I'm now past forty- 
 seven), 
 My lady-love still faithful seems, — I've trust in Hearts and 
 
 Heaven ; 
 My socks are filled, my larder smiles at half-forgotten dishes, 
 
 And scores of friends come scores of miles to bring me 
 — " Happy Wishes !" 
 
 "Old Nick" is but "Saint Nick's" poor kin,— ■a. crabbed- 
 crusty fellow ; 
 But Hope, whom Famine cannot thin, is merciful and mellow; 
 He brings me drafts from Helicon, and though To-day breeds 
 Sorrow, 
 
 Through breaking clouds I see the sun that gilds a glad 
 To-morrow ! 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 133 
 
 BIS MARK ! 
 
 He was no Soldier, yet beneath his spell 
 One Empire tottered, and another fell; 
 
 A third— cradled amid the battle's fiery flame — 
 He forged into a Falchion fierce,— that wields 
 A power wider than Germania's fields; 
 
 Thus more than doubling all his earlier fame. 
 O, Bismark, man of Blood and Iron thou. 
 
 Kings were but baubles that thy broad breast bravely bore, 
 
 And yet the Thing thou hast created, lessoned in thy lore, 
 Fetters thee with thy Conquests ; and on thy brow 
 They set a sign of scorn and jeer'd. The blind Fates diced: 
 
 Thy doom, to fall before the puppet thou hads't throned. 
 
 Statesmen, like Saints, once blindly stumbling, may be 
 stoned. 
 And Thorns shall crown this "Savior" who was no meek 
 
 " Christ ". 
 
 TO THE RED-SHOULDERED "BLACKBIRD." 
 
 Though sable be the Starling's suit, he's never sad, — nay 
 
 scarcely sober, 
 In merry madness — hardly mute from budding March to brown 
 
 October ; 
 Though wild and windy be the day, — hark to his ringing 
 roundelay : — 
 
 Refrain : — Chu-cha la-la la-la la ! 
 What scarlet epaulettes he wears,— his rank I fancy — "Quarter 
 
 master." 
 As battle's brunt he never bears, and runs away from all 
 disaster, — 
 Content with plenty and with peace, and lands to live 
 on — free of lease. 
 By ditch or dike, among the reeds, you'll hear him solos gayly 
 
 singing. 
 Or in a chorus that scarce needs — much fancy to seem 
 Flower-fays ringing 
 
 Spring's birth-day bells : no merrier bird in all the 
 world was ever heard. 
 When the low level rice-fields still are brown with rows of 
 
 russet stubble, 
 "Boss'- Blackbird— knows that Man will till the fallows flat, 
 and toil and trouble 
 
 Be borne to make the harvest fair, which he will 
 surely laryeUj share. 
 
134 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 What recks he of the labors Ions' it costs to win the Har- 
 vest's guerdon ^ 
 Nor frost nor freshet saddens his song, — he keeps no cares, and 
 bears no burden ; 
 
 Broad-acred Lordsof Land, sings he, plough — sow and 
 reap — alone for Me. 
 When thro' the shadowy green of pines the Jessamines gleam 
 
 like sunbeams mellow, 
 And crimson crowns the Trumpet-vines, and Wampee tufts 
 show jets of yellow : 
 
 Hark !— to the Starlings as they sing glad welcome to 
 the Dawn of Spring. 
 Their glees too simple far to suit the halls where pipe your 
 
 caged Canaries, 
 But not the Mockingbirds, that flute a flood of song that ever 
 varies, 
 Can match these liquid gu7'glings, -ga.y as ever was 
 Youth's roundelay. 
 O I merriest of the birds that sing, to thee I send this kindly 
 
 greeting ; 
 Thou hast no Elagle's width of wing, thy loves and lives are 
 both but fleeting, , 
 But, w^hether skies be blue or gray, thy gay songs lilt 
 the live-long day. 
 Thy fluttering flight no cage confines, no worldlings to thy glad 
 
 glees listen, 
 But when, amid the oaks and pines, I see thy glossy feathers 
 
 glisten, 
 And hear thy rippling roundelay, — Hope greener seems and 
 
 Time less gray ; 
 Sad shadows fade, and sunshine dowers an endless May with 
 
 fadeless flowers ; 
 Though bleak winds blow, and frosts may sting, — thy songs are 
 prophecies of Spring : 
 Chu-cha la-la la-la la ! Chu-cha la-la la-la la ! 
 
 RYMETTES. 
 
 No sonnet, if you rightly scan it, 
 
 As this shall end — where that began it- 
 
 In quartrains twain. 
 In defter fashion I would show it 
 As workmanship of some true Poet, 
 
 Who — not in vain — 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 135 
 
 Picks here and there a pearl or petal, — 
 
 A ruby now and now a rose, 
 
 With touch of sunshine — tint of snows — 
 Or gold perhaps, — to show his mettle ; 
 For even Graces take to gilding: 
 
 And so I weave from dusty prose 
 
 This dainty Shrine, that surely shows 
 Your bard hath some idea of building. 
 ****** 
 
 And how would you build this dainty Shrine — 
 
 To house from shower and too much shine — 
 Your Graces and your Syrens ? 
 
 Pillars, or pillows, which were best — 
 
 When Love is the host and Beauty the guest 
 That your Bower of Bliss environs? 
 
 So unstable is always Love 
 
 That to steady his Shrine as best I know, 
 The heavier quartrain I place below — , 
 
 And the lighter triplets above. 
 
 And so with a Double Three for Crown, 
 
 And a Double Four for a steadier base, — 
 You'll see that the Poem and Plan I trace — 
 
 Is a " Sonnnet " — , but — upside doivn ! 
 
 If you will, at the end, in a couplet caught, 
 Comes your Epilogue — as an afterthought. 
 
 YE GRAMMAR SCHOOL " KID "! 
 
 You may prate of Professors so learned and wise, or of " Proc- 
 tors" so grumptious and grave, 
 
 Of "Gownsmen" addicted to syrens and sighs, — or even of 
 "Juniors" — who shave; — 
 
 But the best of the bunch I should certaiuly say (though his 
 virtues are often- times hid), 
 
 So funny and fat — and so giddy and gay, — is surely — the Gram- 
 mar School " Kid ". 
 
 Professors are good at "professing" no doubt, — all reverend 
 " Digs " or learned Doctors, 
 
 And for prying and prowling and "finding things out" — com- 
 mend me, of course to the "Proctors"; 
 
 The giddiest "Gownsman " will do for a "mash", even "Jun- 
 iors" will flirt when they're bid, 
 
 But you never will find signs of any such trash in the heart of a 
 Grammar School " Kid ". 
 
 What's the good of girls anyhow? Put to the test— they are 
 lacking in brains and in bones : 
 
136 PEAKLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 A few of theni look fairly well when they're dressed, but they 
 
 cannot " catch balls "' or " throw stones "; 
 They like dressing' and dolls, but can't whistle or whittle, of 
 
 fancies and freaks they can never get rid ; 
 The Big girls might do well enough, but the JAtile can never 
 
 inveigle a Grammar School " Kid ". 
 No being more blessed in this world of woe — than a boy not 
 
 yet in the — '•'■ tickleish teens'^; 
 Give him plenty of " grub " and a chance to " grow " and he'll 
 
 never ask what Tomorrow mean>i : 
 Passion and Pelf — and Science and Art you may keep shut fast 
 
 under lock and lid, 
 For these mysteries deep won't trouble the heart or head of a 
 
 healthy Grammar School " Kid ". 
 A bloody price must we pay for Glory, Wisdom hath wept over 
 
 all we know, 
 Even Wealth might tell us a long-winded story beginning with 
 
 Wrong and ending with Woe ; 
 Every Gambler who wins Life's puzzles and prizes must repent 
 
 him of half of the things that he did, 
 And if we'll ignore the mere question of sizes, who's half-way 
 
 as Great a.s the — Grammar School "Kid". 
 
 THE PATHETIC POEM OF PAT AND POLL. 
 
 Pat's passion certainly was patent — , rather erotic and erratic. 
 But Polly's love (if any) latent, at least she didn't grow exstatic; 
 For Pat was poor and Polly vowed — in language really quite 
 
 emphatic — 
 That though she wasn't over-proud — her boudoir ne'er should 
 
 be an attic. 
 In such a suit she saw no csnts ; to wed in want were idiotic : 
 Poor Pat her harshness loud laments, and swears she is not 
 
 Pat-riofic. 
 In vain he sues, in vain pursues, grows desperate ('twas quite 
 
 dramatic) — ; 
 His heart and home she would not choose, and hinted both were 
 
 too room-attic. 
 Hymen well housed is good enough, but Cupid in a crazy cottage 
 Would be a " tender " rather tough to damsels not yet in their 
 
 dotage. 
 So Pat determined to grow rich — if possible — by strict fair 
 
 dealing, 
 But should Luck leave him in the ditch — why then he'd have to 
 
 take to stealing. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 137 
 
 Betwixt our " innings " and our " sinnings " — one little S— can 
 
 not much matter, 
 To " peculations " — for our winnings — we add an S— should For- 
 tune flatter ; 
 This way or that — our Hero wins ; so keep your doubts for such 
 
 poor devils 
 As have not cents to hide their sins, and cannot pay for routs 
 
 and revels. 
 Now Polly, learning of Pat's luck, and of her youthful follies 
 
 sick, 
 Hinted, to Patrick she was "stuck" on him, which was not 
 
 not Polly-tic : 
 My heart goes pitty-pat for you, she wrote him on rose-tinted 
 
 paper ; 
 But Pat, who'd learned a thing or two cut quite a different sort 
 
 of caper. 
 No doubt, (he said in his reply) — your heart goes pitty-j)at, 
 
 Dear Polly, 
 And I shall frankly tell you why — though it may make you 
 
 melancholy ; 
 Your heart says " pitty pat," my dear, that's "pat" for me, 
 
 and makes me jolly' 
 But if you read my meaning clear — it soon will say but — pitty- 
 
 Folly ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Don't be too polly-tic like Poll, the hapless heroine of this ditty. 
 But when Love brings his protocol — why sign — if not from love 
 — from pity ! 
 
 ST. VALENTINE—! 
 
 (Prom a ripe Romeo to a juvenile Juliette.) 
 Some Saints are so serious — solemn and sage — 
 That I'd fear to invoke them — whatever my age ; — 
 So rusted and wrinkled — so decrepit and old — 
 They forget (in their Winter) blooms can ever unfold : 
 If you're young they insist Cupid ne'er could enmesh 
 A heart that was really so — " awfully fresh " ; — 
 If old they would pillory all of your pleas, 
 Laughing loud at a Bald-head who plumped on his knees, 
 Though the lassie he worshiped the prettiest Miss 
 
 That ever or never denied you a kiss. 
 Indeed most of the Saints are a crabbed old lot. 
 Who revile all Romances as rubbish and rot ; 
 All Sentiment's silly, all Passion pretence^ 
 Hearts were made to be harnessed to Dollars and Sense : 
 
138 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 All Romeos are "rakes " that one never should risk 
 Within reach of a Juliette either bonny or brisk ; 
 They've banished the Boy with the Bow (I mean " beaux, ") 
 And even Lord Hymen himself must — " go slow," 
 For, if nothing more easy than tieing a noose, 
 
 It's the Devil himself if you want to — get loose. 
 Its awfully easy to give — "good Advice," 
 And pleasant to follow, no doubt, if Ws nice, 
 But I'd much rather have my "head turned" (in a waltz) 
 Than to con over daily my fa.ilings and faults. 
 Of course Roses have jrrickles, and Lilies have stains, 
 But what is the use of one's fingers (and brains), 
 If we can't sometimes snatch at the Pleasures that fly 
 Without being "wrapped on the knuckles" — (Oh my !) 
 'Til we fain cry "Enough," and succumb to the scourges 
 
 Of the Saint who pretends — if his lash pains — it purges. 
 No doubt the World's wicked, and I'm glad that it's so. 
 Were it not, I am sure, 'twould be awfully slow, 
 For the Saints, who quote aptly each text and each verse— 
 From Charity's kisses to Magdalen's curse--. 
 Would leave us no margin where a foothold might fix 
 Between Paradise Lost and the Storms of the Styx. 
 
 Believe me, one Saint in the Calendar stands, 
 Who giving soft counsel — makes no surly demands ; 
 His Shrine to the Old and the Young he uncloses. 
 And helps us to barter even wrinkles for roses. 
 Says he (winking) what ever the sillj^ may say. 
 If Cupid won't help you — Cupidity may : 
 And tastes dift'er ; some palates are tickled with tripe, 
 And some juvenile Juliettes like their Romeos ripe : 
 In fact (says he) women less fond are — than fickle, 
 And where one wants a i^lum, t'other longs for a pickle. 
 
 Indeed, he said slyly (as he glanced at my pate) 
 You'll ne'er be "snatched bald" by the hands of your mate ; 
 Then he added : — I hope you won't feel quite un-nerved 
 If I add (though I hardly would say "well preserved") 
 You're well "pickled," and look tough enough to endure 
 What ever fair luck or fond lass you secure ; 
 Even if you are Sixty and she but Sixteen, 
 Some Ruths are content leaner Harvests to glean. 
 
 Pate tempers the wind to the Lamb that is shorn ; 
 And if that "ancient relic," your heart, has been torn 
 By some dear little Rose-bud that is slyly unclosing. 
 This Day, of all days, is the one for proposing. 
 So changeful are all these gay charmers, perhaps 
 She may even prefer you to some of those chaps, 
 Whose verdancy such, that the cleverest cows 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 139 
 
 Would be ready at once on their greenness to browse. 
 
 Trust the Doctor whose doctrine you can read as you 
 run ; 
 There's nothing that changes not — ^under the sun ; 
 Winds and waves are the emblems of pain and of pleasure, 
 A trifle to-day is tomorrow a treasure ; 
 Though frosts may now bite and the clouds scatter snow, 
 Tomorrow the roses long banished may blow. 
 
 Fair lady was never yet won by faint heart; 
 The "slow coach" often wins by just "getting the start:" 
 If age has its trials^ why youth has its trips ; 
 'Twixt the jug and the jorum there are all sorts of slips. 
 In your "best bib and tucker," old boy, make your bow, 
 And though she may leave you and laugh at you now. 
 Time's a regular turnspit, and Virgins will veer 
 Like the vanes on the steeples at this time of year : 
 With patience and push trust the "Weathercock's sign," 
 And you yet may be Somebody's Last Valentine. 
 
 QUEEN JESSAMINE! 
 
 E'er "Valentines" can help shy maids, or blushing beaux em- 
 bolden, 
 
 Queen .Jessamine in her forest shades unwinds her tresses 
 golden ; 
 
 Though blustering March hath not begun to whiten waves or 
 
 willows. 
 Though April's showers — that woo the sun — still sleep on cloudy 
 
 pillows ; 
 
 Still through the woodland's lichened grays ( like sunbeams 
 after showers ) 
 
 Queen Jessamine makes a bonny blaze with flame and 
 flash of flowers : 
 A golden glow of fragrant flame where Cupid — late from 
 Snow Lands 
 
 Can thaw his frozen wings and claim warm welcome from our 
 Low Lands. — 
 
 Here Christmas wears no ermined snows to cloak his 
 violets under. 
 And even the New Year brings a Rose as gift — to make us 
 wonder: 
 
 Queen Jessamine gladdens into gold about the forests' verges, 
 And Love's heart — (that was growing cold) again beats fast 
 
 and urges. 
 With pillared pines her Palace walls shut out the wild winds' 
 
 wrestlings, 
 
140 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 And soft the sad-voiced Ocean calls to wake her golden nest- 
 lings, 
 Sweet baby buds — shot through with tints that rival Danae's 
 
 shower : 
 Not all the millions in our mints — can out shine one fair 
 
 flower. -- 
 
 Fair Jessamine holds her court — as Queen— within the 
 woodlands shady, 
 In dainty robes of glossy green ( she's every inch a lady ! ) — ; 
 No rosy lips breathe incense near as sweet as she can offer: 
 Her bevied blossoms shine more clear than coins in Croesus' 
 
 coffer. 
 These kindling blooms of fragrant flame foretell the winter's 
 
 ending, 
 Though winds of March have not grown tame and April buds 
 
 need tending. 
 
 As Heralds of your coming soon — yet scarcely much 
 before you — 
 The Violets come to "tie your shoon," and ( like ourselves ) 
 
 adore you ; 
 A few Houstonias here and there — a few Michellas only — 
 E'er you have gladdened earth and air — begem the woodlands 
 
 lonely. 
 Long e'er proud Glycene displays her robes' empurpled 
 splendor. 
 You come to gladden dimmer days with graces sweet and 
 
 tender. 
 Your leafy sprays tor Loves make place — only to snare their 
 
 winglets ; 
 Adonis, hurrying from the chase, trips — tangled in your ringlets; 
 Endymion, waking from his dreams, had he but seen you sooner. 
 Won by your blossoms' golden gleams, had ne'er loved Lady 
 
 Luna. 
 
 ***** it- 
 
 Queen Jessamine, when my failing feet through weary ways 
 
 have led me 
 Back to those bowers — sadly sweet — where first your flowers 
 
 fed me 
 With magic drafts of woodland wine ( that fired my dreaming 
 
 fancies, 
 Unravelling secrets half divine— of Dryads and their dances) — ; 
 Oh, then amid the pillar'd pines, whose mimic surges lull me, — 
 Wreathe me about with all thy vines, and flowery cup-lets cull 
 
 me ; 
 From thy gold goblets ( buds that brim with Lethe's subtle 
 
 juices ) 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 141 
 
 Let me sip Sleep, 'til eyes grow dim, and limbs have lost life's 
 uses. 
 Then closer wind thy tendrils long, and lace thy limbs 
 about me : 
 The Pines shall chant my burial song- to thee, who ne'er dids't 
 
 doubt me ; 
 No winding sheet — no coffined clay, no flimsy crapes to mock 
 
 me. 
 But as buds thicken day by day, closer thy leaves enlock me. 
 
 Triumphant over Death and Dust, made one with all 
 thy flowers — 
 And blossoming on Fate's crumbling crust — , through all Time's 
 
 circliiig hours ; 
 My Soul shakes out its widening wings, escaped from Life's 
 
 close prison. 
 And with the blooms of endless Springs, my Heart hath 
 re-arisen. 
 
 SENSE— NOT— SENSATION 1 
 
 My church a leafy — broad-bough'd Beech, 
 
 My pulpit is a — bench : — I teach 
 The "Newer Dispensation." 
 
 Though it may give to some offence, 
 
 My Doctrine — I insist is — Sense, 
 Instead of mere — sensation. 
 
 No easy-going faith — the crutch 
 
 On which our human lameness leans : 
 If you would know what Heaven means. 
 
 Trust not these parsons overmuch, 
 
 Who tell you that mere "protestation", 
 Unctious but empty pledges given, 
 Will ever save the soul unshriven : — 
 
 Without some sense — there's no — salvation. 
 
 IN OSCULO SANCTO ! 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 Of old I held, when lovers' hearts athirst 
 
 Found lassies' lips the loss could lightly leaven. 
 
 That these fair founts of pleasure from the Very First 
 Were pre-ordained by mandate of High Heaven. 
 
 Kisses I sought then, not alone to please 
 
 My own fond wish, nor even to flatter Beauty, 
 
142 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 But — in all seriousness — as following Fate's decrees, 
 Not for mere dalliance, but diviner — Duty. 
 
 But Kisses now I know are alltogether needless. 
 Like many other ( far less pleasant ) thing's ; 
 
 And so I snatch the flying pleasures heedless 
 
 That the lame Lord of Love, gay Cupid, brings. 
 
 THE "SPLATTERDASH." (waterfall.) 
 
 Did ye ever see a "splatterdash" a spranglin' and a sprinklin', 
 
 A 'ranglin" and a 'rinklin' — a tossin' an' a twinklin' '? 
 A world o' waters gone to smash, from out the darkness with a 
 
 dash 
 A leapin like a livin drift o' winter snows from clift to clif t ; 
 By no means lame and lazy — , but canterin down as crazy 
 As any colt which fus' time feels the tech o' spur and clinch o' 
 
 heels. 
 Tho' rayly "pony"'srayther tame to picter sich a flyin flame 
 Of flashin— crashin — dashin foam; mayhaps hit better flts a 
 
 pome 
 To say : — a "painter" in a leap — when pilin inter white-faced 
 
 sheep, 
 Or when some gray hawk slips the sky an' makes the fur 
 
 an' feather fly. 
 
 But sich a rush and sich a roar I never ever seed before, 
 As this here spurnin — churnin — burnin' white flame a-flash — 
 A rollin' rash of this plum crazy — "Splatterdash !" 
 
 NOT JUPITER MY GOD, BUT CUPID.— 
 
 In Heaven they call it bliss eternal. 
 In Hell (far under) — pangs infernal. 
 
 On Earth— this earth of ours — love. 
 And yet, I tell you — on my oath, 
 I'm sure it is'nt one — but both ; 
 
 The Devils below and Gods above, 
 Both brought, as tribute to this passion ; — 
 
 One — Jealousy's sharp dagger thrust. 
 
 The other — Joy and Hope and Lust, 
 Moulded in some far sweeter fashion 
 Than ever Friendship could pretend to. 
 
 Say what you will of Truth and Trust, 
 
 This Fire, kindled out of dust. 
 Best warms life's currents ; and we bend to — 
 
 — Not Zeus, with his threatening thunders, 
 
 But Cupid — with his — blissful blunders. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 143 
 
 APRIL -AIRS— NOT GRACES! 
 
 I'm not one of the privileged Poets of Spring, and hope they 
 
 wont think me officious ; 
 But is this the right sort of Weather to sing of so wildly, and 
 
 dub it delicious ? 
 Are bland — blue and balmy forever the skies ? Is there never 
 
 a snow-fall or flurry ? 
 Does this Season Seductive "throw no dust in our eyes" as the 
 
 wicked winds scamper and scurry ? 
 Does a "melting mood" ever give promise that May will soon 
 
 deck in green leafy livery 
 The woodlands ? Can you not merely sing it but say that you 
 
 have not felt lately quite shivery ? 
 With a Spring that is only half sunshine, — half snows, are you 
 
 sure Winter's palsied and puling ? 
 Can you find in your gardens one solitary Rose green enough to 
 
 trust such April fooling ? 
 Nay ! — a few venturous Violets ( that doubtless feel blue ) and 
 
 Snow-drops alone deck Spring's bowers. 
 For April is less of a Syren than Shrew, who brings us more 
 
 frost-bites than flowers. 
 That the First month of Spring is all Mud we're aware, and, 
 
 save Almanach makers, all know it ; 
 But the Second, too, is a delusion and snare to the picknicker 
 
 and to the poet. 
 To-day it is Winter — to-morrow 'tis Spring, you never can 
 
 keep it in tether : 
 Why the veriest flirt is a less fickle thing than this often be- 
 rhymed April Weather. 
 
 A RAINY SEASON'S "FLORAL FAIR" ! 
 
 Beneath the fickle showers and smiles of April skies 
 We spread a feast of flowers to sate the hungriest eyes ; 
 Roses whose blushes borrow the hue of maiden's cheeks, 
 "Hearts-ease"' for those who sorrow, — "two-lips" for him who 
 
 seeks. 
 Jack Frost no longer frowning — gets in a melting mood ; — 
 Young Spring shall have his crowning — though eastern winds 
 
 blow rude : 
 Though our "Raining Monarch" blusters — light heads and 
 
 hearts shall swim 
 Above these dewy clusters — like beads at bumper's brim. 
 Of "dry times" no curmudgeon can justly grumble now; — 
 
144 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 "Oddtish'' or "gold" or "gudgeon'" — have "swimming heads" I 
 
 trow : 
 We've "raining" oelles and beauties in "water'd silks" of course, 
 And "wetter uns" whose duties are "divers" — out in force. 
 April's first follies over, her "wild oats" safely sown, 
 Shall henceforth "live in clover", fair as a rose full blown ; — 
 She brings us these "wall flowers" (though sallow some are 
 
 sweet) — , 
 Shy violets for Love's bowers, and "coxcombs" for the street. 
 Still charmingly coquettish her "rain beaux" smile through 
 
 tears ; 
 Now penitent — now pettish — from sad to glad she veers : 
 To some she brings ripe roses, to some from Cupid's plot 
 Pied pansies or gay posies : — to me — "Forget me not ! " 
 
 By a Blue Belle ! 
 
 PUPPETS—! 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 The Work of Creation but scarcely begun, in a "Week," all 
 
 these marvels, and— Man, 
 But ages before the first glimpse of the sun — God had map'd out 
 
 the place and the plan. 
 Yet Creation itself but a bungle at best, worlds like this it is 
 
 easy to tinker ; 
 Mind, Moral and Method alone can attest to the worth of 
 
 the Artist and Thinker. 
 To proove you, what even a trifle will cost to the Godheads 
 
 that ruin and rule, 
 I would mention that ages of labor were lost — in just planning 
 
 a — Flea — or — a Fool. 
 
 A PLEA FOR APRIL FOLLY ! 
 
 Let April winnow from the snows the "ides of March" are sure 
 
 to bring, 
 Some faint far promise of the Rose that nestles in the heart of 
 
 Spring ; 
 But now in these her earlier days — that lingering frost still 
 
 often frets, 
 I'd rather seek the fireside's blaze — than fields afar for violets. 
 In spite of all that poets sing, in spite of even Almanachs 
 That tell us always "March is Spring," I have my doubts as to 
 
 the. facts ; 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 145 
 
 Even — when after weeks of slush — the skies g-leam out with 
 
 sudden lustre, 
 No rose-buds in our gardens blush— though here and there the 
 
 snow-drops cluster. 
 And here and there the jonquills gleam— the first stars after 
 
 Winter's night ; 
 
 And Love no doubt begins to dream of May and maidens with 
 delight ; 
 
 But, soft, my happy dreamer; wait ! you need some serious sort 
 
 of schooling ; 
 Spring still keeps locked her garden gate, and this is only — 
 
 "April Fooling." 
 
 Ah, there are sages in all schools — frost-bitten like our firstling 
 
 flowers, 
 Who cannot see that "April fools" — are always best for "April 
 
 showers" : 
 Ti's true Time ripens — but 'twill rust ; Heaven gave us youth 
 
 for play-time : 
 If after all the End is Dust — keep bright this golden May-time. 
 What follies "April Days" may bring shall hardly merit 
 
 scourges, — 
 Gay pranks and jokes that bear no sting; nay, morel Frank 
 
 Fun but purges 
 The sullen doubts that wintry glooms have nursed: — forget old 
 
 troubles. 
 
 And if but scant our April 6too//?s— Hope soon the harvest 
 doubles ! 
 
 AUTUMNAL RAINS ! 
 
 Oh, the rainy — rainy day, with its shadows grim and gray. 
 
 And the drizzle and the drip of endless showers ; 
 
 Save the "Marvels of Peru"— that love the darkness and the 
 the dew, 
 
 Hang their gems on dripping stems — the drooping flowers. 
 Where the Lickstone's shoulders lift, see the fleecy fogs adrift, 
 
 And Sunneehaw at noon stands sadly shrouded; 
 Fair Pisgah's pyramid in the ghostly gloaming hid. 
 
 And Judykulla's dusky crown is clouded. 
 From the Richland to the Roan, from Steecoah to the Stone, 
 
 Warp and woof of gray the Weather-witches weaving; 
 Yea, the sunless hours rue— the passing of the Blue, 
 
 And the shadows for the sunshine lost— are grieving. 
 The ripple of the rain — in a soft but sad refrain. 
 
 Mourns the passing of Love's legend soft and tender; 
 To the funeral of the Years, these showers bring their tears. 
 
 And in darkness mourn the death of Summer's splendour. 
 
146 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 SEPTEMBER, 
 
 When soft September's sunbeams shine 
 
 From hazy heavens, — the muscadine 
 Makes all the woodlands musky ; 
 
 And if beneath the leaves you look 
 
 Tliat overarch the lapsing brook — 
 You'll find the clusters dusky, — 
 
 That tell us that the ''■August reign" 
 Of royal Summer soon shall cease : 
 Then comes the Autumn's painted peace. 
 
 The pageantries of gold — that stain 
 
 The "hanging woods" of Ottaray 
 
 With such rich liveries— that Sprin'g 
 Shall seem a faded flowerless thing — 
 
 Beside the flames that burn to-day. 
 
 FLOWER FAYS ! 
 
 The "Floss-folk" — live in flowers, in the Lily and the Rose, 
 They come with April showers after flitting of the snows ; 
 You will find them on the highways — in gay gardens— on green 
 
 hills—. 
 But the fairest haunt the by-ways, and the borders of the rills. 
 Some have dusky eyes and tresses, some are blond with eyes of 
 
 blue, 
 But Love need waste no guesses as to which are false or true ; 
 There are no fickle fond ones to lure you to your loss ; 
 The brunettes and the blond ones, on beds of fern or moss, 
 Will grant you fragrant kisses when you catch them in their 
 
 shifts, 
 Woo'd in leaf-wreathed wildernesses that hide April's dearest 
 
 gifts. 
 Their hearts will never harden, their kisses never cold, 
 Though you greet them in the garden, or woo them in the 
 
 wold ; 
 Though modest — ever gracious to their lovers ( not a few ) — , 
 And. if gossips are veracious, their sweet souls are — drops of 
 
 deiv. 
 As sunbeams drink the showers, sip these souls of faery bloom 
 'Till your spirit with the Flowers — mingles passion and perfume. 
 
SECTION X. 
 
 (BUaninss from Old jficlds. 
 
 LIFE'S "LEMONADE" OR SWEET AND SOUR. 
 
 Here song-lets ( smiles and softer sig^hs ) the Poet in a posy ties; 
 A prickle here — a petal there, for bloom and briar both shall 
 
 share 
 Your leisure, if you would beguile a yninute — or perhaps a mile. 
 
 For here, are bound ( in tightest tether ) gifts for both sad 
 and sunny weather ; 
 So take your chances — sweet or sour ; who'll face no thorn will 
 
 filch no flower, 
 And despite dallyings and doubts — , the sweetest kisses follow 
 pouts. 
 
 A Hive is this, where many a sting protects, perchance, 
 some sweeter thing-: 
 A maid in whom there is no sjiicing — if not an "ice" — has too 
 
 much "■icing ; " 
 Who never gives you "pepper" proses; a few thorns help both 
 
 rhymes and roses : 
 So do not grumble if my tints — not always full of heavenly 
 
 hints ; 
 The Dial that no shadow throws — will never tell you— half it 
 
 knows. 
 
 THE TUMBLES OF TUMBLIN'FUN ! 
 
 'Twixt the "Elk" and the "Snake" lies a nook in the rocks 
 Just under the edge of the clouds, — where the shocks 
 Of the thunders roll loud from the "Beech" to the "Stone," 
 And the levins leap far to the ridge of the "Roan : " 
 There the Nixies, not far from the "balds" of the "Rich," 
 Have cradled midst ferns, in the narrowest niche, 
 An Elfin-brook, born of the Snows and the Sun ; 
 A rollicking — frollicking- tippling and rippling — 
 Riotous — wrestling— sort of a nestling, — 
 
 The racing rivulet — "Tumblin'fun." 
 The "Snake" uncoiled all of his leagues of length. 
 
148 PEARLS AN"D PEBBLES. 
 
 The "Elk" shook his antlers, proud of his strength : 
 
 The Thunder shouted, the Leven leap't. 
 
 The Clouds first pouted, and then they wep't ; 
 
 But, down in the nest that the Nixies wove, 
 
 The Elfin Brooklet laughed and throve : 
 
 'Twixt the "Snake" and the "Elk'' standing dark and stern, 
 
 Couched on pebbles, and fringed with fern, 
 
 With liis dimples turned to the dazzling Sun, 
 
 Lies, kicking and cooing, "Tumblin'fun." 
 O, "Tumblin'fun," is a giddy, gay Elf : 
 Slipping and sliding from shelf to shelf, 
 Where ( like the rags of old Battle-flags ) 
 Tattered and battered by winds, mists hung. 
 With never a quake for the "Elk" or the "Snake," 
 There "Tumblin'fun" — with his life but begun. 
 Twisting and twining, shimmering and shining. 
 Scoffed at their scowlings, and shouted and sung. 
 As he leaped — with a laugh, — from the Thrones of Thunder, 
 
 To the widening glens in the vales far under. 
 With never a quake he looks up at the "Snake," 
 With never a quiver looks down to the River, 
 And laughs in his glee, fearless and free. 
 Though the thunders may shout and the levins may shiver : 
 His mane of foam tossing, like a wild steed he leaps. 
 Bantering — cantering still down the steeps. 
 
 Like an avalanche sweeps 
 In u'hiti^ thunders of snow to the Valleys below. 
 
 And he cares not a whit, though the "Elk" would shun, 
 With a shudder, the depths where "Tumblin'fun" 
 Rushes down, with a wave of white arms and a kiss, 
 To the stern lips of stone of yon precipice. 
 Whence he leaps ( like a panther on his prey ) 
 In a reckless wrestling storm of spray. 
 Like a shaft of light — like a sheet of snow — 
 
 From the grays above to the greens below. 
 Lei the "Elk" toss his antlers far over the trees ! 
 Let the "Snake" raise his crest 'til he looks to the Seas : 
 Yet — slipping and sliding — this gay little elf. 
 Dropping and dripping from shelf to shelf. 
 As he looks at "Their Highnesses," laughs to himself. 
 And down the ledges goes dashing away 
 
 In a flash of foam and a shower of spray. 
 He laughs aloud, in a gale of glee. 
 For the Stream, in its dream, would forever be free ; 
 No shadows can startle, no thunders stun 
 
 The reckless riotings of "Tumblin'fun." 
 Like the dance of a lance— when the legions advance — 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 149 
 
 And the War Eagles scream, with a g'ush and a gleam 
 
 Through the gloom of the glen — to the flat of the fen ; 
 
 Ever faster and faster, with never a master, 
 
 Coiling and curling — sveeeping and swarling — 
 
 Purring and purling — twinkling and tinkling — 
 
 Dimpling and wimpling — rippling and wrinkling — 
 
 Scampering — skipping— trilling and tripping — 
 
 Fuming and fretting, but ever coquetting, and never forgetting 
 
 To gurgle and giggle — to writhe and to wriggle — , 
 
 To the meadows so gay from the Highlands dun, 
 Deliriously dancing, comes "Tumblin'fun." 
 
 PANORAMA FROM BIG BEECH MT. NO. CA. 
 
 See, from "Cloudland's" white walls on the dark rainy 
 
 "Roan"— 
 To where the "Seenoyah's" — their Sovereign enthrone, 
 "Kahnawga" — whose slopes (of the shadowest blue) 
 Mask the last southward crest of the range — , ("Chesscanoo"); 
 And a tented "top" — half way a-tilt — further West., 
 *'Ogle-meadows" — whose fountains crown even the crest, 
 
 Nearer — mile after mile — dip the valleys of "Toe", 
 And shapely the "Spear-tops" twin'd pyramids show 
 Where the — "Great Estatoee" — , over all of his fellows. 
 Stands bold in the breach t'wixt the "Blacks" and the "Yel- 
 lows". 
 
 Far West in soft surges the "Unaykas" rise, 
 Half cloaked by the clouds and half kissed by the skies ; 
 And northwards from these — wider still to the view 
 "Chuckeynolas" — where "Estatoe" breaks his way through. 
 
 Gleams "Kaunayrock's" bald — , whitening over the spurs 
 Of the greenest of glens that Virginia calls hers. 
 From the "Iron's" blue wall, rising softly — by inches,, 
 Beyond Abingdon look, where the Gate of the "Clinch" is ; 
 And if skies are quite clear, and the looker, too, lucky, 
 
 Perchance he may catch a faint glimpse of — Kentucky. 
 From the "Snake" and the "Elk" (that shall never out-run 
 The riotous racing of gay "Tumblin'fun" — ), — 
 From "Blowing Rock's" crags- -gleaming gray beyond "Boone", 
 Look afar to the dim "Oakanoahs" — that swoon 
 In the amethyst air, — 'til they melt into and merge 
 With the vales of the "Yadkin" — on the horizon's verge. 
 
 Mark the "Devil's Claw"under the bold "Hanging Rock", 
 And "Dunvegan's" grim crags that seem almost to mock 
 The "Grandfather", jutting up under his— "Nose" — : 
 
150 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 (Ah, when //fi catches cold you may look out for bloivsl) 
 
 Then "Wanteska"— "Kullsajah" and the "Needles" not 
 far, — 
 And the "Table's" dim cliff, and the "Hawksbill's" dark scar. 
 Yonder's "Jonases' Bald Ground", — and the "North Cove" 
 
 dips there 
 With its marble cliff's under the wild "Winding- Stair". 
 Beyond these see the "Hunchback", and the low "Hill of Doe" 
 
 That sunders the waters of "Linville" and "Toe". 
 There is "Shagyycoat" (barely his scar'd slopes you see) 
 
 Overlooking- Catawba Land, fair— "Tarkoee". 
 Far and faint, lifting southwards his faded blue cap, 
 Isthe Shaker and Quaker' of "Hickory-nut Gap" ; 
 And yet more remote — like some dim — distant Zion, 
 
 Mark "Saluda's" soft slopes, and the blue tent of — 
 "Tryon". 
 From the "Clinch" to where "Chuckey" and "Zehleeka" meet, 
 There lies a broad — beautiful realm at your feet, — 
 Extending from where eastwards rises "Pilot's" sharp crest 
 To the "Cumberland's" cliffs — fading far in the West. 
 
 No fairer Land surel3f than this, where the hills 
 Are feathered with forests, and braided with rills ! 
 The Mountains that over these green valleys rise 
 Ever woo'd by the winds are, ever kissed by the skies ; 
 And the homes and the hearts that they shelter shall hold 
 
 Gifts sweeter than glorj^ and richer than gold. 
 Here are crests to be conquered, and "laurels" that long 
 To crown every lover who echoes my song : — 
 Shy "Shonnyhaw" brings you the best of her flowers. 
 And "Banner Elk" shields you from storms and from showers. 
 Oh come ! from "Klonteska's" crest feast your glad eyes 
 On the greenest of Lands neath the bluest of Skies : 
 See ! — under us "Shonnyhaw" dances and dallies. 
 And "Elk" in white arms holds a score of fair valleys. 
 Where "Enohla's' white thunders flash brighter than mist. 
 There are blooms to be culled, there are maids to be kissed : 
 And "Banner's Elk", belted by mountains extends 
 
 A summei'i/ Welcome to hosts of ivarm Friends. 
 
 [Note: Seenoyahs the Black Mts; Kahnawga is Mt. Mitchell: Chessca- 
 noo is Clingman's Peak; Great Estatoee is Bright's Yellow; Kaunayrock is 
 White Top; Virga. Oakanoahs are the South Mts: Wanteska is Flat Top; 
 Kullsajah is Sugar Mt; Shaggycoat is south end Linville Mts: Zehleeka is 
 French Broad river; Shonnyhaw a brook, and Enohla cascades near Ban- 
 ner's Elk, Watauga Co., No. Ca. Klonteska is the Big Beech Mt. Chuck- 
 eynola Mts. on Tennesee line south of Chuckey river.] 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 151 
 
 RICHLAND CREEK ! 
 
 The "Richland" runs — the "Richland" ripples, — the sunlight 
 stars — the shadow stipples 
 
 The rapids above and the reaches below ; 
 From the heart of the hills of Haywood the stream ( in its 
 striving's) stray would 
 
 To the valleys — where "Pigeon's" flow 
 Makes never a murmur under 
 The arms of the elms o'er-arching ; so the flood as it grows, 
 goes marching 
 
 To the chant of the Summer's thunder: 
 From the "Judykulla" Highlands — 
 From the glens of "Junalusk," through the dewy dawn and the 
 dim-lit dusk — 
 
 To pine-plumed shores and palmettoed islands 
 That belt the shores of the Sea that dreams through the fiery 
 summers of flashing streams. 
 
 [Note: Judykulla the Richland Balsams; Junaluska the Plott Bal- 
 sams.] 
 
 SHOWER LAND. 
 
 Ah, this is surely Shower Land ; 
 These mountain bosoms nurse the mist that blurs the heaven's 
 
 amethyst ; 
 A bright and bonny Bower Land, a fair and fragrant Flower 
 
 Land, 
 Where the rains falling as they list a thousand thrifty buds 
 have kissed 
 
 To blossoming life in our Land : 
 Yea, our Land of Ottaray, where even in August April's sway 
 
 The frosty breeze may sometimes bring : 
 The banner'd clouds in bold array still keep the sovereign Sun 
 at bay. 
 
 And Summer holds a tryste with Spring. 
 
 APRIL IN OTTARAY ! 
 
 In leafy lands of Ottaray 
 (What ever Almanachs may say) 
 Already it is marvelous May : — 
 Where erst but purp'ling grays were seen 
 Now brighten tints of golden green. 
 
152 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 And where the errant sunbeams stray 
 Blossoms are doubling every day ; — 
 A thousand lips of fragrant flowers 
 Console with kisses April's showers, 
 And whisper soft — with glad divining — 
 "Behind the clouds the sun is shining !" 
 
 From valley's lap to mountain's cap 
 Each bough and blossom feels the sap 
 Of summer, thrilling from their roots 
 To burgeon out in buds and shoots. 
 In leafage cradling baby blooms 
 Clothed in soft colors and perfumes ; — 
 In fair fond flowers whose hearts are niches 
 Ripen the Summer's hidden riches : — 
 In pulpy peach — and purple berry, — 
 In apples crisp — and crimson cherry, — 
 In mellow meat and milky ear — 
 To crown the glad and glorious Year. 
 
 From rocks above to rills below 
 A thousand blossoms bud and blow, 
 A thousand painted petals gleam 
 On every hill — by every stream : — 
 Some seeking sunshine-some the shade, 
 Some deck the glen and some the glade. 
 
 Here buds as white as milk unfold. 
 There shines a star of dusted gold ; — 
 Here crimsons gleam — there purples glow — , 
 Here painted sunshine — there pale snow. 
 Her beauties Nature never stints, 
 Her palette shows a thousand tints—, 
 From rose or rainbow to a gleam 
 Pale as white lilies in a dream. 
 
 Every sweet tint that Beauty knows — 
 Of crimson lip or cheek of rose — 
 Or bosom's snow, — can here be seen 
 Dappling and decking all the green; 
 The purpling tints of sunset skies, 
 The blossoming blue of maiden's eyes; 
 A harvest happy Loves might glean, 
 
 Mixing the gold of the Spring-tide's hours 
 With the gleam and the grace of these beautiful hours;- 
 Were Cupid an Artist — thus should he 
 Paint in bloom of bright blossoms the World for me. 
 
 Behold ! — to wondering sight unfurled — 
 The fairest flowers of all the world; — 
 
 The gamut of their graces run 
 
 From gloom of shadow to glint of sun, — 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 153 
 
 From leafy coverts of russet gray 
 To breezy sumtoits that dare the Day ; — 
 From lowly valleys to mountain spires — 
 Where linger the sunset's farewell fires. 
 O ! pallid Lily and painted Rose, 
 Only the soul of a lover knows 
 The secrets that your hearts disclose, 
 And the end of all Desires. 
 
 THE ROBIN OF ROUNDABOUT GAP! 
 
 Have you heard of the Robin of Roundabout Gap ? 
 He will perch on the towering trees — and flap 
 His wings like a cock : and every fool knows 
 There is trouble behind when the Robin crows. 
 Yes, — "crows" — and as loudly and as clear — 
 As ever at dawn did — chanticlere : — 
 If you doubt there be ever some sad mispap — 
 You will find the blood dripping in Roundabout Gap. 
 When we hear that crowing — (it bodes no good) — 
 We search up and down — all the depths of the wood, 
 For under the leafage — we know there lies — 
 A bloody corpse stiff — with its staring eyes ; 
 Yes ; the glazed eyes staring, — the lips drawn back, 
 But with never a sign of the murderer's track ; 
 What those lips might tell — could they once unclose- 
 Only the Robin of Roundabout knows. 
 Though yonder the Robin of Roundabout sits — 
 Not the best marksman who ever aimed hits. 
 And he were a Wizard who could trap 
 The crowing Robin of Roundabout Gap. 
 If no danger lurks, — if no death stings. 
 The Robin of Roundabout — softly sings, — 
 But if clapping his wings — he crows amain, — 
 Thread the thickets at'once and j^ou'll find the slain. 
 Afar in the woods of Watauga and Ashe 
 Hate grows hotter — and heads are rash, 
 And the surest sign of a dread mishap 
 Is the "crowing" of the Robin of Roundabout Gap. 
 
 A MID-SUMMER PSALM. 
 
 In coverts by .June's leafy largesse still shaded 
 The Kalmia and Coltsfoot have flower'd and faded. 
 But elder-blooms whiten the field-faring brooks. 
 
154 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 And the Alpine rose buds in the far mountain nooks. 
 
 The wild rose is ablush on the slope of bare hills, 
 
 And the grapes hidden sweetness in fragrance distills, 
 
 Whilst deep in the glens, midst the greenest of glooms, 
 
 Spiraea lifts lightly the snow of her plumes: 
 
 Or if there be aught wearing feathers more fine 
 
 'Tis the Star-lance's spikes, — just begining to shine 
 
 Like some good Fairy's wand, or white sceptres of Gods — 
 
 That spurn not, — but kiss — into color the clods. 
 
 Waves of woodland are rippling with winds from the west, 
 
 And the chestnut tree creams into foam at its crest 
 
 When June's ripening hours, — already half-told^, 
 
 Bid the harvester gather the grain — that is — gold. 
 
 In the friendliest fashion fore-gather — the bees 
 
 With the lowliest herbs and the loftiest trees : — 
 
 From the poplar's green cups if the wine hath been spilt. 
 
 If no sour-wood whitens and the linden blooms wilt, 
 
 There is no lack of lures for the brown-belted rover 
 
 Should he ever grow weary of — "living in clover";-- 
 
 For the chinquapin tassels are thick by the way. 
 
 And the white Ceanothus dapples dimly today 
 
 With its fine mealy clusters the slopes flashing erst 
 
 With Spring's heralds —Azaleas — , the fairest and first. 
 
 If no woodlands blaze now into blossoms, like those 
 
 That came — burning to meet — and to master our snows, 
 
 Yet now by the way-side, with hardly less lustre, 
 
 The orange-red umbels of Asclepias cluster, 
 
 And farther afield — where the hot sunshine falls, 
 
 The Bashful-bush shows fluffy — fragrant — pink balls, — 
 
 Dainty blooms — rounded quite to symetrical spheres, 
 
 Little worlds star'd with gold, and too rosy — for tears : 
 
 A "Fairy-land" these, — not for giants — but mites, — 
 
 A "cosmos" for Cupids too small for "our lights." 
 
 Yet Heaven perchance, in a space less than this 
 May enfold in soft souls — an Eternity's bliss. 
 And the fragrance unseen, incense born of the flowers, 
 Bear a meaning and mastership deeper than ours. 
 These thick crowded florets Ceanothus now shows. 
 Or where fair Spiraea sheds shyly her snows — , 
 Could we see them more clearly, as the Gods did of old, 
 Reading wisely the secrets — painted petals unfold ; 
 Throned there — in the heart of some flower — unseen, 
 We might yet find some clue to what Heaven may mean 
 In giving to brutal Man blindly the power 
 To crush better things than himself — like this flower; 
 This dimly seen— dainty — diminutive thing — 
 That shuts in its heart all the secrets of Spring ; 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 155 
 
 Whose fragrance an incense more pure than our prayers, 
 Whose white beauty g'uiltless of sins or of snares. 
 Heaven give me the heart to see half-way the Heights 
 That climb sky-ward above the blind gloom of our Nig-hts, 
 And g'uided by hints — that the flowers have given 
 I yet may escape the World's sins and be shriven. 
 
 THE VOLCANO AND THE ICEBERG ! 
 
 A fiery Volcano — wearing a plume of smoke — 
 
 At whose rocky base blue billows in snowy thunders broke, 
 
 Looking- down on the seas far under— heheld (and it made him 
 
 sigh)— 
 In rainbow'd raiment flashing, an Iceberg sailing by. 
 Icebergs in petticoats ( ahem ) are not so very rare, 
 And this one quite resembled them, as frosty but more fair; 
 She was decked in dazzling diamonds — amethysts blue and 
 
 emeralds green. 
 And wore her crown as haughtily as ever did a Queen : 
 An iceberg and a nice berg was she, but no coquette ; 
 Indeed she seemed less ice-cream sweet than acid of sherbet; 
 Her nurture and her nature cold, and she didn'nt care a straw 
 For lovers, for you see their warmth might bring about a thaw. 
 Warm-hearted all Volcanoes are, perhaps hot-headed too. 
 And this one longed to kiss this nice berg — sailing through the 
 
 Blue; 
 He prayed the fickle God of Winds might bear her within 
 
 reach, 
 And send her waltzing giddily — along his belt of beach. 
 But the haughty Iceberg — what cared she for his lava or his 
 
 love? 
 She was wintry hearted — fancy free and with Jack Frost hand 
 
 and glove : 
 Who could "freeze'' to a Volcano? Better Boreas for a beau. 
 Or an aged and not too amorous Alp — bald-headed — crowned 
 
 with snow. 
 But the Fates are fond of follies, — and the God called ^olus 
 Had a sort of fickle friendship for love-sick Vesuvius ; 
 So to suit the lover's sighings — the wayward windfall shifts. 
 And shorewards — ever nearer — the dainty Iceberg drifts. 
 She feels her marrow melting 'neath wooing winds that blow, 
 Her waist some lover's belting with arms that are not snow ; 
 Indeed she's "in a melting mood,"— for even Ice Queens dare 
 
 not say no, 
 When once they're in the clutches close of a vigorous Volcano. 
 
156 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 With such a fiery lover — haughtiest Beauties must unbelt : 
 She mutely owns her master, and at once begins to melt; 
 And as she looks and sees the lord and lover she hath won, 
 Behold her diamonds fall and fade — like dewdrops in the sun. 
 See !-the bold Volcano towers, looking- down in restful calm 
 O'er white beaches and blue billows — and long leagues of 
 
 feathery palm : 
 But where is the glittering Queen of Ice once warmly wooed 
 
 and kissed ? 
 Why, truth to tell you in a trice, she now is hardly — mist. 
 
 MORAL : 
 So modest maidens listen, and take to heart this lore : 
 Hot headed fellows often win — as they have won before — 
 With burning words and kisses as fiery as you please ; 
 But to such lovers, tender misses, you cannot safely "freeze." 
 
 MES YOU AND ME ! 
 
 I 'low — 'tis pow'ful pleasant sot — a lot o' we'uns roun" the pot — 
 A chawin'and a chattin' — a lookin' and a lattin', 
 But, wal I 'low — ye know jes' how 
 It's allers better two than three, ef's only allers— you and me. 
 A jolly crowd's a jolly thing, — less chance to sigh an' more to 
 
 sing,— 
 A happy-hearted hollerin' — with funny fancies follerin'. 
 
 But, wal I ijuess — ye know the res' — 
 Thar ain't no crowd I ever see — , honey — I'd change for--"you 
 
 and me." 
 Thar's Jason Jones, sharp as a briar ; — and Hiram Higgs — a 
 lovely liar ; 
 
 When they're a gassin' — 'tis suruassin' — , 
 But, wal I 'low — ye know jes' how — 
 I'd liefer by the fireside be— a sottin' close't — jes' you and me. 
 Thar's Daisy Price — a purty gal, — an' sweet as sorghum Simon's 
 
 Sal; 
 A peert an' pleasant couple, — soft — sly — and sweet and sou pie : 
 
 But, wal I guess — you know the res' — , 
 Though with them gals the fun is free — I'd liefer have it — you 
 
 and me. 
 And thar be Margy Callowajs she's neat an' handy — so they say ; 
 Who gits her '11 win— a lot o' "tin" — ; 
 But wal, I 'low — you know jes' how,— 
 Even if Margy would agree — , I'd liefer have it — you and me. 
 An' then thar's Dolly ; you knows her ; she's jes' the sort to 
 make things stir : 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 157 
 
 She's allers gay — nor says one — nay ! 
 But, wal I guess — you know the res' — 
 She's brisk as any gal should be — it 'pears a most like — you and 
 
 me. 
 Now Tempe don't fly oflf ahd flout — ; come, honey, don't be 
 proud and pout ; 
 
 Thar ain't no hurt in sech a flirt — ; 
 And — wal I 'low — ye know jes" how — , — 
 A sottin' close't — jes' knee to knee — what's all the worl' to you 
 and me ? 
 
 Yes I thar's but one gal that I've met — the peertest and the 
 purtiest yet ; 
 
 Like yourn her eyes, — she's jes' your size ; 
 And, wal I guess — you know the res' ; — 
 She favors you — like T to T ; and makes one-half — of you and 
 
 me. 
 It's wastin' life to be at strife ; — come Tempe say, you'll be my 
 
 wife ; 
 Though we've no crop — we'll kinder swap — ; — 
 
 An' wal I 'low you know jes' how — 
 A blossom blooms fur every bee ; so let's "A?'?'e honey,'''' you 
 and me ! 
 
 PIGS IN THE PATCH ! 
 
 If your fence is'nt tight, or the lumber too light, 
 
 Or the garden-gate left on the latch, 
 When you later return you are likely to learn- 
 That the "Pigs have got into the patch I" 
 When husband and wife, growing weary of strife. 
 
 Decide a brief respite to snatch, 
 One goes East and one West — for a holiday rest. 
 
 Look out for the "Pigs in the patch !" 
 When a fellow forgets to settle his debts, 
 
 If ever the constables catch 
 The scamp on the wing, in falsetto he'll sing — 
 
 "Oh ! the pigs have got into the patch !" 
 If a youth is too free with his cash on a spree, 
 
 Kills the goose that might golden eggs hatch. 
 After counting expenses, if he comes to his senses. 
 
 He will find there were "Pigs in the patch !" 
 When a fast — fickle maid finds her roses all fade, 
 
 Not a single beau left of the batch, 
 ,Tho 'twill little avail, — she will weep and bewail — 
 
 That the "Pigs had got into her patch !" 
 If you won't delve and dig, but just gamble and swig, 
 
 Trusting luck to mend holes in the thatch, 
 
158 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 With your fences all down, — every fellow in town 
 Knows you allways have "Pigs in your patch I" 
 
 But if you'll deal fair should'ring' always your share, 
 'Tis-nt often you'll meet with your match ; 
 
 With the lassie you love, and a good roof above. 
 You will never have — "Pigs in your patch ! " 
 
 MY PRINCESS OF WALES! 
 
 Ah, Elsie, darling, Wales hath lost in you her fairest flower, 
 Atlantic's waves you safely crossed to come and bless my 
 
 bower. 
 My bower 'raid the laurel groves of myrtle-girdled islands — 
 A score of hundred miles away from heathery hills and high- 
 lands. 
 Your amber locks are like the sands about our myrtle covers, 
 Your lips are red as sea-weed strands that mermaids give their 
 
 lovers, 
 No shell upon the beach is flushed with such a roseat splendor 
 As are your cheeks when Night lies hushed, and languid loves 
 
 grow tender. 
 Your breasts are whiter than the foam that plumes the 
 
 tossing billow : 
 Ah, who could seek a sweeter home— or find a softer pillow ? 
 Your arms can circle all the bliss that Earth dare steal from 
 
 Heaven, 
 And though we thrill to Passion's kiss — true love such lust will 
 
 leaven. 
 Methinks the showers falling oft on far Welsh glens and High- 
 lands 
 May be but plainings sad and soft for Elsie of the Islands, — 
 Sweet Elsie who hath left poor Wales to mourn her loveliest 
 
 daughter, — 
 The maiden fair — \those shallop sails to me~across the water: 
 The mountains of your highland home must gather darker 
 
 shadows. 
 And where your feet were wont to roam how flowerless now the 
 
 meadows ; 
 The brooklets murmer sad and low, and where you used to 
 
 ramble 
 I'm sure that fewer blossoms blow upon the wayside bramble. 
 Perchance yon cloud that softly sails across the airy ocean 
 Bears spirits from those distant vales ( 'tis just a poet's notion ), 
 Sad spirits who have missed you long, and now come hereto 
 
 proffer. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 159 
 
 The self-same worship, true and strong, that lovers — always 
 
 offer. 
 If this were so, and could clouds bear — like ships — your old 
 
 time lovers, 
 I'd trust no sky that was not clear, but hide you in close covers 
 Should but a hands breadth of white mist sail over yonder 
 
 billow. 
 Still dreading lest you might be kissed by ghosts who "wear 
 
 the willow." 
 'Tis well that Wales is far away with all its tears and showers, 
 With all its gallants — grave or gay, with all its cots and towers ; 
 Here fenced by waves that match your eyes, — and sands---like 
 
 your gold tresses, 
 No envious lovers can surprise our follies and caresses. 
 Ah, Elsie, darling, turn your eyes from those far heathery 
 
 Highlands, 
 And mark the glory of our skies — the verdure of our islands ; 
 Here we shall wreathe the sunny Year from June to June with 
 
 flowers. 
 And never touched by frost — or fear — forget to count Love's 
 
 hours. 
 
 NOCTES AMBROSIANAE. 
 
 Day is but a sunburnt giant, battling with a thousand foes ; 
 Night — a mistress proud— yet pliant, soothing him to soft repose: 
 Day is only good for labor, burning hours of work and woe ; 
 Night— , is just the sweetest neighbor — that a man would care 
 
 to know. 
 After Day's glare, comes the gloaming, and the earliest star 
 
 that shines 
 Guides the wearied wanderer roaming to the daintiest of 
 
 Love's shrines : 
 When the twilight shadows darken, dainty fingers "strike a 
 
 match," 
 And the damsels blushing, hearken, to the lifting of the latch. 
 Lunar-like the lamp-light glistens, jealously the curtains fold ; 
 No eye sees and no ear listens whilst sweets taken are and 
 
 told. 
 Day with all its toil is over, all its petty jibes and jars ; 
 Love, the lusty little rover, welcomes nightingales and stars. 
 Prisoners forget their fetters, Princes lay aside their crowns, 
 Beggars envy not their betters. King's grow happy as their 
 
 clowns ; 
 Night, with star-tip'd wand bewitches all the Shadowy Land, 
 And the saddest love enriches with both Heart and Hand. 
 
160 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Hopes no longer faint and sicken, hands no longer delve, 
 But the happy pulses quicken at the stroke of Twelve : 
 Love's discreetest signal this is, ringing in his reign; — 
 In the dark lips meet blind kisses — that no longer feign. 
 Heart, though Life may lose its glitter, and though Lust may 
 
 lose his kiss, 
 Though the Day be black and bitter. Night — will surely bring 
 
 us bliss. 
 
 THE SILLY SHEPHERD ! 
 
 (FROM THE SPANISH.) 
 
 To a rustic Shepherd passing by a tender damsel breathed a 
 sigh:— 
 
 ! gallant youth, here nests a dove ; canst thou not find some 
 
 cage for love ? 
 Nay, damsel, should my feet delay my sheep would soon all go 
 
 astray, 
 And frightened far your dove would fly, — for neither cage nor 
 
 coop have I. 
 
 1 tender shepherd, no such task should hinder thee when 
 
 maidens ask ; — 
 See ! — on my lips a rose I've laid ; come pluck and plant it e'er 
 
 it fade. 
 Nay, damsel, 'mid the mountain rocks go wandering far my 
 
 fleecy flocks ; 
 And that frail rose would droop and die. for no gay garden 
 
 grounds have I. 
 O, shepherd, though thy flocks begin to stray, but list my 
 
 mandolin ; 
 It's tender tones perhaps may touch a heart that's prudent 
 
 overmuch. 
 Nay, damsel, other sounds I hear, the wandering wolves are 
 
 drawing near ; — 
 And should those chords my rude hands sweep their wail would 
 
 only make thee weep. 
 O, shepherd, sure thy heart is hard, and I, alas, am evil 
 
 star'd ; — 
 But see, this goblet of glad wine may better lure than lips 
 
 like mine. 
 The shepherd paused, he touched the brim, his heavy head 
 
 began to swim : — 
 Yea, damsel, if there's wine like this, for every cup I'll grant 
 
 a kiss. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 161 
 
 Nay, silly shepherd, when I would — unwilling — stolidly you 
 stood : — 
 
 Now thou art willing- — I am not ; I'll waste no kisses on a sot ! 
 Go haste thee hence and find thy sheep; my Dove, Rose, Song 
 
 and Wine I'll keep, 
 And kisses too, for those who prize — even more than these — 
 
 a maiden's sighs. 
 Begone dull shepherd, I'd not weep though wolves should 
 
 snatch thee from thy sheep; 
 
 To offer charms like mine to churls methinks like feasting pigs 
 on pearls ! 
 
 TO NARCISSUS : A VALENTINE ! 
 
 Dear Narcissus, in vain would I fetter the fancies evoked by 
 
 your smiles. 
 Yet hope is quite bankrupt and debtor to the heart you have 
 
 won with your wiles ; — 
 You are safe from the pangs of true passion, from the thorns 
 
 that beset Beauty's Rose : — 
 You pluck us in lover-like fashion — , then blight our blooms — 
 with your — snows. 
 You hold that a beau just suits Cupid, whilst for belles only 
 
 Folly could care ; 
 
 We women— of course— are too stupid to drive such a heart — to 
 despair : — 
 
 Who loves us is certain to languish, but who lures us with sem- 
 blances sweet, — 
 We adore — for the sake of the Anguish, — and captives we bend 
 
 at his feet. 
 What we have— that we value but slightly ; what we have not 
 
 we always adore ; 
 If you'll treat our likings but lightly,— Pique will soon open 
 
 Prudery's door:-- 
 Love us truly, and still we shall grieve you; tantalize us with 
 
 doubts, and you'll snare 
 The hearts that would else but deceive you : — We love not 
 
 unless we — Despair ! 
 If still you would gather Love's pleasures unfretted by thorns 
 
 or by stings, — 
 Under lock keep your heart and its treasures, and — like Cupid — 
 
 use ivisely your — Wings. 
 Oh ! Narcissus, what counsel were wiser — than this : — Sip your 
 
 Woman like — Wine ; 
 Take your drafts by the ^^gilV not the '^gcyscr'\ and be your 
 
 own — True Valentine ! 
 
162 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 ROSE-BUD AND ROSE ! 
 
 The mother is "fair fat and forty" 
 
 A widow — fast — fickle and fond ; 
 
 The daughter, too youn<j to be haughty, 
 
 Is a dear little flaxen-haired blond : 
 
 'Tis hard to decide (without taking advice) 
 
 For the one is so naughty, the other so nice. 
 
 The one, is a matronly Hebe whose charms 
 
 Are rich and ripe, racy and ready ; 
 
 The other a Sylph who but flies from your arms 
 
 Because still too shy to stand steady 
 
 And face Cupid's cohorts ; but the day and the hour 
 
 Are coming when she, too, will burst into flower. 
 
 And which is the dearest, 'tis hard to decide, 
 
 Between olown Rose and Rose-bud I waver. 
 
 Like the Donkey with trusses of hay on each side, 
 
 I hardly know which — first to savor : — 
 
 To lose either one or the other I'm loath, 
 
 So to make matters sure, I must — marry th' m both. 
 
 LOVE'S A REBEL VOLUNTEER ! 
 
 Amorous accidents may thrill with a momentary flame, 
 
 But compared with those that fill earnest efforts — , they are 
 
 tame ; — 
 Keep these transient joys for those who have known no deeper 
 
 bliss : 
 I will pluck no wildingjose — that each truant breeze can kiss. 
 Take your time ; — premeditate — even every trifling touch ; — 
 In true love — all gifts are great, and the sim^^lest things are 
 
 m.ufh : 
 When you kiss me, do it, dear, with your heart upon your lips; — 
 I would rather have a tear than the draft that Hope but sips. 
 Fill your bumpers to the brim, then I'll drain them to the lees; 
 Deeps in which I cannot swim are too shallow for Love's seas: — 
 If your kisses you would stint, half denying — whilst you yield — , 
 Take them to some Miser's mint, — let them there be signed 
 
 and sealed. 
 But if you would have me hold— all your kisses at full cost. 
 You must lavish love untold — whether hearts be won or lost ; 
 Love is not a passion pent — in the walls that Duty rears : — 
 Favors — for a lover meant— must be strictly — -"volunteers." 
 What are captured kisses worth ? — Fettered favors who would 
 
 claim? 
 Better far denial's dearth than the fiction of a "flame": 
 Your conscripted Cupid ne'er — fought a battle fairly won : 
 Love's a '•'•Rebel Volunteer", daunted only — whenyourun! 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 163 
 
 OUR BABY KING ! 
 
 Only his smiles and tears can si^eak ; so soft and simple, 
 
 With the daintiest dimple 
 In each chubby cheek. The mimic Monarch of a week ; 
 A cradled Autocrat, so funny — frolicsome and fat, 
 
 Purring like a kitten — soft and sleek. 
 And all true lovers in the land bow to the bauble in the hand 
 
 Of this our bantling-, Baby King, 
 Whose rosy reign and riotous rule shall last until he goes to 
 school. 
 
 And then his Crown may need some tinkering. 
 
 THE RHYME OF THE RAIN ! 
 
 How sweet it is in summer time, when the sun's ardor over- 
 powers, 
 To hear on drooping leaves the rhyme — the rippling rhyme of 
 
 August showers. 
 The soft refrain of whispering rain that comes to wake and 
 
 woo the flowers, 
 The murmurous rush — that brings a hush to even the noisy 
 
 noon-tide hours. 
 How sweet it is in August's glare, when fierce the fiery sunlight 
 
 beats. 
 The shower's sudden dusk to share — that sweeps across the 
 
 dusty streets : 
 To feel the thunder-scented air bring April freshness to "the 
 
 heats. 
 And roses, drooping in despair, reviving — double all their 
 
 sweets. 
 When ripening rounds the Harvest moon, and tasks of weary 
 
 reapers done, 
 How welcome comes the daily boon — red setting of the sultry 
 
 sun. 
 And when the shy light of the twilight brings soft refrains of 
 
 rippling rains, 
 (A poem paUering on the j-oo/— )Sleep weaves a silken warp and 
 
 woof — 
 Of dreams — that keep all cares aloof — , and bring us only golden 
 
 gains. 
 
 A GOLDEN MARCH ! 
 
 Our Southern spring-tide comes in March, beneath the bluest, 
 
 blandest arch 
 That ever woke with dazzling gleams Love from his dreams: 
 
164 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 A softer haze than Autumn's fills the levels wide and Lowland 
 
 hills, 
 As when from altars offering's rise to win the skies. 
 The Poplar tunes her lijied leaves, the pine in duskier tresses 
 
 weaves 
 The spikes that hold the golden gift the South-winds sift 
 In shyest showers shed unseen through all the garniture of 
 
 green ; 
 And, — pond or pool — however dim'd — gleam golden rim'd: 
 Rich framings round the deeps that glass the dimpled Dryads 
 
 as they pass. 
 Who wear their kirtles still too slim to hide a limb; 
 So that a lover, who would woo them, hath now best chances 
 
 to undo them : 
 Dryads — (like damsels) — at their best — when half undressed. 
 And so I love the Spring's shy poutings, when fickle smiles but 
 
 toy with doubtings, 
 And where the golden pollen drifts Love needs no shifts. 
 The Dryads now (half naked) show the charms close veiled 
 
 when roses blow ; 
 Winter's long penitence just past — the feast is better for the 
 
 fast. 
 From Jessamine's golden goblets quaff, and let Love drink his 
 
 fill and laugh, 
 For maids are amorous and arch— in golden March. 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 O, golden days of glad October, 
 
 How soon ye grow sad — sere — and sober, 
 
 How fast grim Winter follows : 
 The golden-rod the frost-fire mars, — 
 The aster shows but dim-lit stars, 
 
 And hardlj' in the sheltered hollows 
 Still here and there a maple flashes 
 Like Summer's fire beneath its ashes, 
 And now and then a gentian gleams 
 On the brown banks of half-strip'd streams. 
 The White Wind with its fleecy showers 
 Will pinch and pluck our last loved flowers. 
 And brown leaves— falling one by one — 
 Whisper sad farewells to the sun. 
 
 THE VASE AND THE VICTIM ! 
 
 No Heathen Chinee, oblique eyed. 
 Could take in "china" greater pride 
 Than I did ; and Luck's lottery 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 165 
 
 (Though never blessed with too much pelf) 
 
 Had broug-ht me quire a lot of delf, 
 
 Of ancient mugs and jugs, and various sorts of Pagan pottery. 
 
 In days of old (it must be told) I had the Antiquarian craze, 
 
 But years had passed e'er I amassed enough to buy' a Chinese 
 Vase. 
 
 A fellow (who I never knew) some tippler in the tantrums, — hit 
 
 My Vase, and made an end of it; 
 
 But quick I pounced upon the j^up, 
 
 Into his ribs my fists I dug; — 
 
 He broke my "vase"' — , I mashed his "mug". 
 
 And knocked him doum, which "knocked him up/'' 
 
 Justice (it is my firm conviction) 
 
 Is simply now a "legal fiction", 
 
 But faith in big fools never ceases : 
 
 They cited saivs from Rome and Greece, 
 
 They bound him over to "keep the peace". 
 
 Whilst I but kept the pieces. 
 
 If in my rhymes you find a flaw, 
 
 And swear no moral you can draw. 
 
 Not mine the wit that largest lacked. 
 
 Some games are won by growls and guns. 
 
 But there are winning points in puns, 
 
 And Laughter has her "laurels" too; — 
 
 If you can't see that this is true, — 
 
 Like my poor Vase your head is — "cracked." 
 
 A GAME OF "CRICKET" LOST I 
 
 With idiotic iteration'' s artful aid 
 
 The homely critic in congenial shade, 
 
 Like sanctimonious would-be saints that drone 
 
 Their nasal homilies persistantly--(your parson 
 
 Himself a "fire-brand"— harps hourly on "arson"—). 
 So this small nuisance in drear monotone 
 
 With cheerless chirp— the night's best hours disturbs 
 Hour after hour — night after night — , 
 Prom twilight's twinkle to dawn's growing light; 
 
 His self-appreciation — nothing curbs. 
 
 You cannot find him — in some cranny hid ; 
 
 Unlike the miauling cat--no flying stones — or shoes — 
 Will fright the fellow : — there's one chance to choose; 
 
 Burn down the House, and then you may perhaps get rid 
 
 (If lucky — counting peace and quiet at its proper worth-) 
 Of this infernal — much belauded — "Cricket on the 
 hearth." 
 
166 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 The "cricket's in the hearth," confound him, 
 But if by chance — I could impound him, 
 
 I'd make him sing a different ditty I 
 Night after night his strident numbers 
 Excite my wrath— and break my slumbers ; 
 And now. without the slightest pit}'. 
 Could I but find the crack or cranny 
 
 Wherein he raises such a racket, — 
 I would not merely "dust his jacket" — , 
 But teach him — that his ways uncanny — 
 A crime alone that death could cancel. — 
 
 If sorry singers should be "altered", 
 If prosy parsons should be "haltered" — 
 (Hanged if you choose — in choir or chancel) ; — 
 
 What fate deserves this strident strumraer 
 Who keeps me cursing — all the summer ? 
 
 A "MERRY THOUGHT !" 
 
 Always to a dinner-doomed Turkey, 
 
 Christmas days must seem mournful and murky — , 
 
 Could he know (whether cooped up or hobbled). 
 
 Though a "gobbler" himself, he'd be — gobbled ; 
 
 Fact, I'd rather be one of the greenest of geese, 
 
 Than "Turkey" thus triumphing over all " grease. " 
 
 No stuffing could ever console me at least 
 
 For being the daintiest dish at the feast ; 
 
 And I'm sure if this Turkey his grim fate foresaw. 
 
 Every grain that he gobbled would choke in his craw. 
 
 Ah, there in the midst of the Holiday scene. 
 
 Sits a poor Poet picking his "merry-thought" clean; 
 
 And when later the "flip" Christmas flippancy brings, 
 
 Our "Mascotte" the "Gobble song"— heartlessly sings. 
 
 THE AMBITIOUS HAWK ! 
 
 A Hen Hawk having seen the sweep of a great Eagle on a 
 
 sheep — , 
 Made up his mind a little mutton should on "Feast Days", at 
 
 least, be put on 
 His table, too; lamb now and then would prove a pleasant 
 
 change from Hen. 
 Surveying thus a lambkin fat he swooped down hungrily on 
 
 that. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 167 
 
 Begins a vigorous attack with fierce claws clutching- at his 
 back. — 
 
 Alas, he got his hands too full, his talons tangled in the wool; 
 The lamb he could not lift of course, nor had he quite sufficient 
 force 
 
 To break loose. And whilst struggling thus, the Shepherd 
 
 Dog— impetuous — 
 Rushed in, and seizing fast his nape — soon shook him so much 
 
 out of shape — 
 That scarce a plume was left to tell — how he had feasted — or 
 
 how fell : 
 The Lamb escaped with just a scratch, but hapless "Harrier" 
 
 found his match. 
 
 MORAL ! 
 Before you plan your fight — or feast — , count carefully the 
 
 cost at least, 
 Or if not, you too may get "wool'd" — and have your finest 
 
 feathers pulled: — 
 Some luxuries, however, nice, are^nt altogether worth the price. 
 
 A MIDSUMMER MADRIGAL. 
 
 Midsummer days are coming, days of passion and perfume, 
 And the bees are all a humming- -for the sour-woods in bloom; — 
 'Tis the time for wearing dusters — if the weather is'nt damp, 
 When the chestnut's creamy clusters — whiten round the wood- 
 man's camp. 
 It is sultry oft and sunny — in the Blue Ridge "Underhills" ; 
 Just the days for hiving honey — from the flowers Summer fills, — 
 Fills with gold dust somehow ravished from the Sunshine of 
 the Gods, 
 
 Fragrance and flowers lavished — day by day — on clowns and 
 
 clods. 
 Oh ! the winter has its pleasures — by the fireside after frost — , 
 The Home with hidden treasures — that seem richer for their 
 
 cost. — ; 
 The Spring time has its flowers— fairer seeming if most rare, 
 And the Autumn's golden hours — life's fullest harvest bear. 
 But what so rich and rosy — as the Summer's golden prime ? 
 All other days seem prosy — , dullest blank verse after rhyme — , 
 Compared with this glad Season, — when the tide is at its 
 
 flood, 
 When God gives right and reason for each berry and each bud. 
 'Tis Fulfilment — fine and fitting : first Frosts — then Flowers next; 
 And the Gods — in sunshine sitting — even they were not 
 
 unvexed 
 If Fruitage came not after — as a glory, and the goal 
 
168 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 To those who leap with lau<>;hter to meet the wakening" of the 
 
 Soul : 
 There may be After-comers — ^whose wisdom so fine-spun — 
 They know the ripest Summers at the end shall be undone ; — 
 But I— contented hearken to the birds that blithely sinj;- : — 
 No coming Nights shall darken — the hopes these hours bring. 
 The Gods may some day sunder— my Soul from all this bliss, 
 And Sorrows whelm me under — in some bottomless abyss; 
 But tomorrow with its terrors shall not steal these joys away: 
 Let the Future pay past errors, — I shall hug my hopes today. 
 Through the clouds that gather grayly show beyond fair gulfs 
 
 of blue, 
 Where my ship sails ever gayly— to the havens that Hope 
 
 knew; — 
 If Wintry days are coming. Love shall gild the growing gloom : 
 Hark I the busy bees are humming, and the World is all in 
 
 bloom I 
 
 GLIMPSE OF A SEA STORM ! 
 
 You see her with her sunny smiles 
 
 That gladden all her white-shored isles, — 
 
 A waveless Heaven of Blue for miles : — 
 
 But wait until a breadth of cloud 
 
 ( No larger than your hand ) shall shroud 
 
 The Sun, when lo I — that sea up yonder — 
 
 Where clouds ( like ships ) begin to wander j 
 
 In fleecy fleets — swift sailing there J 
 
 In bays and gulfs of rippling air, — 1 
 
 Shows shadows gathering like grim ghosts j 
 
 About dim Cloudland's craggy coasts. 
 
 And after such a breathless space 
 
 As coursers feel just e'er the race, — 
 
 Such silence as seems almost heard j 
 
 E'er gathering armies— onward spur'd — 1 
 
 Meet midway in some battle-field I 
 
 Where every heart by Hate was steel'd : — \ 
 
 So pausing — , surgeless spreads the Sea, i 
 
 So breathlesss looms the lowering sky ; ' 
 
 But when the levin lights the lea — , 
 
 The wicked Winds let loose on high 
 
 Tear the cloud curtains into tatters, : 
 
 And wide the Ocean's spin-drift scatters : 
 
 Heaven and Earth seem rent asunder 
 
 With rush of waves and roar of thunder. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 169 
 
 KATINKA'S SONG. 
 My love is like a violet within some gracious garden set, 
 Where sunbeams softly siftino" through the lidded leaves wake 
 eyes of blue 
 
 That lure me yet. 
 My love is like a lily rare woo'd softly by some amorous air. 
 Preening her petals one by one— that flash like white plumes 
 in the Sun, — 
 
 She is so fair. 
 
 Lo ! my love comes with flying feet : white fingers clasp and 
 
 red lips meet; 
 No flower — tho' far and near one seeks can match the roses of 
 
 her cheeks, — 
 
 She is so sweet. 
 
 My love is like a rich ripe Rose half hidden in some garden- 
 close. 
 
 Whence I would banish even the bees, lest they might sip the 
 honeyed lees 
 
 A lover knows. 
 
 Lo I my love comes, and all things seem set to soft music ; blue 
 skies gleam 
 
 With added lustre ; the very breeze — sings in the silence golden 
 glees 
 
 To match Hope's Dream I 
 
 FAITH LOST! 
 
 Bereaved of hope — bereft of charms — 
 I mark the loveless days pass by : 
 Choked thunders mutter in the sky, 
 
 And shake my soul with dim alarms. 
 
 No gracious heart — no guiding hand 
 To bring me happiness or help : 
 Storm driven — like the ragged kelp — 
 
 Fading and frayed on ocean's strand : 
 
 A waif — disclaimed by land and sea, 
 
 With scarce a foothold — yet not free ; — 
 
 Wrecked on wild shores where billows toss. 
 
 A cloud may hold the rainbow'd shower. 
 
 A clod may cradle April's flower : — 
 
 But hearts once lamed — can learn but loss. 
 
 GRACE AND GUDGEON ! 
 A most angelic Angler, but who baits 
 
 Only for "gudgeons" : — if you doubt me — try her ; 
 The wiser sort — "odd fish" perhaps, pass by her; 
 
170 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 But flippant tins — that do not fear tlie Fates— 
 
 With "swimming heads" — and dazzled by desire. 
 Rush to a feast — where fulness never sates: 
 And the fool dangling- on the line— gyrates. 
 
 Learning, too late, that "Lorey" needs no fire 
 Wherewith to fry the "friend" — she citches. 
 Nay I — she will serve them up in batches, 
 
 A beau for every bait she's dangling 
 In these "deep waters." "Under hatches" 
 Keep your heart housed, and safe from "matches", 
 
 You then may laugh at her sly angling. 
 
 .JILTED ! 
 
 The months were miserly and mean until May came, and he was 
 
 lavish 
 With gifts of scented gold and green : yet, sad at heart, no lips 
 
 I ravish. 
 Glad bells ring out, gay flowers flout, and birdlings sing the 
 
 same old fable : 
 But men will doubt — , and women pout; and all Life's joys are 
 
 draped in sable. 
 Humanity is Vanity, — Friendship is false, and Love a liar ; 
 No man of solid sanity will ever trust a maid's desire I 
 Why should I say Love's but a myth, — and swear Life's blooms 
 
 are dead and wilted ? 
 But this : — "il/i.s.s Jones" is '^'^Madam Smith": — and / have been 
 
 supremely jilted I 
 
 WARE ! WATER-WITCH ! 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 Crests above and crags below — mirrored in the placid river, 
 And my shallop drifting slow — where the sun-lit ripples quiver : 
 All above — the summer skies into white clouds curdled. 
 And below an islet lies— by white lilies girdled. 
 But beneath the gleam and glow— full of light and lustre. 
 Ware the Water Witch !— all know, none can safely trust her: 
 Life above and loss below—, thus the maiden weaving 
 Spells, whose witchery is woe ;— grace that turns to grieving. 
 Castles grim and summits dim under shadows shifting : — 
 How the foam-flakes, eddying swim,— where my shallop- 
 drifting — 
 Ever nearer to the race of the rapid's thunder :— 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 171 
 
 Luring- Loltee, one embrace — e'er they whelm me under I 
 
 Let the waters do their worst, — ever unrelenting-, 
 
 If — I only capture first — kisses, coy consenting ; 
 
 Life were better lost than love ;— Hope by Death undaunted—: 
 
 Here the darkness, but above — dawn of — Days enchanted. 
 
 LOVE AND LAUGHTER. 
 
 Every sensible man loves and laughs when he can. 
 
 For the Gods Love and Laughter both gave us ; 
 Since first out of Dust they made Man in disgust, 
 
 No other gifts ever could save us. 
 Let the Stern Gods refuse all the Virtues they choose. 
 
 And damn us (as usual) — thereafter ; 
 If they leave us these Two of the Graces 'twill do, — 
 
 Soft-eyed Love and sweet rosy-lip'd Laughter. 
 These two Blessings alone for all ills will atone, 
 
 Ever gladdening life's desolate places; 
 
 The stern Virtues we'll spare without feeling despair, 
 
 But we cannot dispense with the Graces. 
 We can live without wealth, we can live without wives. 
 
 Quite needless are Science and Sense, 
 But Love to gladden our hearts, Laughter to brighten our lives. 
 
 With these two we can never dispense. 
 
 NO SUCH GOOSE ! 
 
 (HEINE.) 
 
 I Stand on the Mountains high, aesthetic and artistic; 
 Were I but a bird, I sigh, in a manner that's rather mystic. — 
 Were I a swallow how oft the billowy breezes breasting. 
 Would I fly to thy bosom soft, and seek me a nook for nesting : 
 I would wing me to thy fair breast were I but a swift or swallow, 
 For thy heart's just the place for a nest, so soft — and warm — 
 
 and lioUoiv. 
 Were I but a nightingale I would sing thee sweet songs and 
 
 sonnets ; — 
 Mere "moonshine" — poetic and pale — of blossoms — and beaux — 
 
 and bonnets ; 
 Were I (and perhaps I am) a Goose or rather a — Gander, — 
 With such sentimental sham, to thy soul I would sweetly 
 
 pander ; 
 Flirtation is surely thy forte. — Affection's — offcotatton; — 
 
172 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 To make of true feelin<j' sport — , granting kisses in com2)en.<ia- 
 
 f/'o/i : 
 Thou<i-h;Folly rules tlie Age, were I the silliest Sparrow, 
 For me thy gilded Cage would alwaj's be too narrow 1 
 
 TWO OF A KIND! 
 
 What I might say to thee to-daj' 
 
 Would hardly help or hurt tomorrow, — 
 Short loves like ours cannot borrow. 
 For Faith soon learns we never pay 
 Our debts, when we can run away : — 
 We are not war-like grenadiers, 
 But rather more like gay cashiers 
 W^ho skip to Canada — and stay. 
 
 We might as well not waste our sighs, 
 And Where's the wit of swapping lies — 
 When all the World is quite aware 
 Both you and I — are fast and tickle : 
 And as you are not worth a " nickle, " — 
 I must confess I don't much care I 
 
 DEFEAT IS NOT DISHONOR ! < 
 
 If the wicked were always lioltroons, — the good brave, j 
 
 This World would have needed no Saviour to save ;— j 
 
 If Wrong ever the Battle had blindly begun, ) 
 
 Long ages ago Right would surely have won. 
 
 'Tis Just because Scoundrels have brains and are bold, 
 
 That your honest folk so often slaughtered or sold ; — 
 
 What an insult to thank God for victories won — I 
 
 When we know— Might — not Right— helped to all we have done. 1 
 
 The cannons of the army, all know, we rely on,-- 
 
 Not clerical canons, or the power of Zion. ! 
 
 If God ever war'd in behalf of the Right, | 
 
 Not — powder — but prayers would soon finish the fight. i 
 
 Shall the hounds thank the Lord when they've captured the ' 
 
 hare ? 
 
 Or the falcon, that harries the dove-cote, declare j 
 
 God on his side ? — Perhaps so, but if this be true, { 
 
 Might is Master of All, and the best thing to do j 
 
 Is— frankly to own up — that our Ruler above I 
 
 Is a Jewish .lehovah — , not a Being of love. i 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 173 
 
 Oh I ye Pharisees, have ye no semblance of soul ? 
 
 Is that World the Ending-, and this World the goal ? 
 
 "Whom the Lord loves he chasteneth;" "the Last shall be 
 First:"— 
 
 But Haters and Hypocrites these are— accursed ! 
 
 EXCELSIOR ! 
 
 Between God's Majesty and Man, as life's ignoble ends I scan, 
 
 My Soul rejects the imputation 
 
 That Death alone the one division between this Life and Lands 
 Elysian. 
 
 Between Creator and Creation 
 
 There must be many thousand stages. 
 
 To give us even half solutions of Heavens highest evolutions, 
 
 Forever rising through the Ages, 
 
 To help us climb the Heights, ascending 
 
 Slow step by step (no quick transition through even a Christ's 
 interposition) 
 
 To where the Lord, wide arms extending, 
 Welcomes such Spirits as have won full growth through cycles 
 of the Sun. 
 
 ORTHODOXY 
 
 As long as you call bigotry true orthodoxy. 
 Believing Paradise can e'er be won hy proxy, 
 
 I'll stick to Creeds that have some show of reason. 
 Your faith blindfolded, and your sins wiped out 
 Because you haven't sufficient sense to doubt, 
 
 Against all sentiment and common sense is treason. 
 Your own Christ said it : — .Judge of every tree 
 
 By its own fruitage. See I this Christendom, 
 
 Where Might is always right, and Honor overcome 
 Mourns for the ages when Sant men were safely free: 
 The Golden Age, e'er Priest and Parson ruled — ' 
 
 Hypocrisy a King and Hate his crown. 
 
 Death to this Tyranny I Let us trample down 
 The legioned Lies wherewith we've long been fooled. 
 
 CLERICAL MONOPOLY. 
 
 O, Priests and Parsons, why so keen to draw a mystic line 
 between 
 
 Your Gods in Threes — and mine in Thirties? 
 
174 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Trusting less Truth than Trinity, you Doctors of Divinity 
 
 May find the trick a Nessus' shirt is. 
 
 One "Maker" pleases silly clods 
 Who hold themselves so very his^h, between their Glory and the 
 sky 
 
 No room for any lesser Gods. 
 
 Your Priest and Parson want to be 
 The only "middle-men" to trade between the Maker and the 
 Made, 
 
 And keep a lock on all the "Three" : — 
 But (let's say) Thirty Gods arisen, 
 No Church could pen them all in prison ; — 
 
 And even a Sinner, too, might find 
 
 Some God (or Goddess) to his mind. — 
 
 DESTINY 
 
 Are the Gods patient ? — Never I and what need ? 
 Where the firm fiat — with unerring speed 
 
 Creates or crushes. Yea ! — the Gods wait 
 No weary hours on the sluggish tide 
 To bear full-freighted barks to havens wide ; 
 
 Nor need they flatter frowning Fate. 
 They launch their thunders and the lightnings leap; 
 
 The Gods are watchful, yet they need not speak. 
 
 Hate's hidden hand is wary, for 'tis weak. 
 And blind Revenge — frail foes may find asleep, — 
 And slake the daggers thrust e'er lids can lift : 
 
 But why need Gods be patient ? Nay, not these 1 
 
 So let us spread our sails to every favoring breeze; 
 The storm once stirring, death the surest gift ! 
 
 IF THIS WORLD OUR BEST ! 
 
 To know this Life the All and End, 
 
 I once thought — , could but surely tend 
 
 To make us worse and lower. 
 Yet though he plough both wide and deep, 
 One harvest only shall he reap — , — 
 
 Knovi^s well the Wisest Sower. 
 And just because one chance alone 
 Is his, he labors shade or sun; 
 
 Whereas — if there were more than one. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 175 
 
 He'd prove — forever— but a drone. 
 
 So — were we sure no Heaven above, 
 No future chance of endless bliss, 
 We'd harder strive to make of this 
 
 A Home more worthy of our love. 
 
 BRAVER THAN GODS! 
 
 Shall later Dawn or Darkness come ? 
 The Fates are blind, and Death is dumb ; 
 Only afar the faintest gleam, — 
 A flickering hope or fading dream. 
 Hereafter never sun or shower? — 
 Or — final Fruitage of Life's flower? 
 But be it Ripening or dull Rest, 
 Surely the Gods above know best I 
 And it were worse than vain to sorrow 
 That our To-day hath no Tomorrow : — 
 If not, then braver than the Gods, 
 We shall not weep because we're clods; — 
 In this the Maker yields to Man : — 
 We can face Death ; He — never can. 
 And yet, must this not be a lie : — 
 The Gods less brave than you and I ? 
 If Victory never can be ours, 
 We'll put to shame the Higher Powers, 
 And prove that mortal men ovitvie 
 The Gods who damn, yet — dare yiot die ! 
 
 THE ''DEVIL" VERSUS THE "DIVINES." 
 
 In dreams — to me the Devil came. 
 Not looking sour and sinister, 
 But — like a High Church minister. 
 
 Well dressed — glib-tongued — by no means lame. 
 
 In mien and manner dignified ; 
 
 No hints of Hell — no threats of burning, — 
 Never long-winded — yet his learning 
 
 Shone clear without a taint of pride. 
 
 Why in the devil — he should call 
 
 On such a "poor devil" as me, at all. 
 Is what left wonder in the lurch ; 
 
 Until at last, to my dismay, 
 
 He told me in the plainest way — 
 
 He wanted me-"to join the Church." 
 
176 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 JEHOVAH. THE TEMPTER ! 
 
 How can I be in worship zealous, 
 Of your .Tehovah. vain and jealous. 
 
 Who damns the many, and saves the few V 
 Revengeful — passionate — unforgiving;: 
 Who tempts us daily whilst we're living. 
 
 And when we're dead, becavise we're true 
 To our convictions, kindles fires 
 
 To torture souls that, if not seeing, 
 So made and moulded by this Being 
 Who pulls his puppets with the wires 
 Strung — , not to suit our mortal fancies. 
 But as this Despot wills. If this is 
 The only road to doubtful blisses, 
 With lesser Devils I'll take my chances. 
 Better an open foe who slays us, 
 Than one who tempts and then betrays us. 
 
 WORLDLY WISDOM. 
 
 All kind of wise sayings the wiseacres give 
 
 Who would teach us the best way to prosper and live; 
 "Doctors differ'', — a very old jest is : 
 
 Some preach to us Prudence, and some prefer Push, 
 
 Few, indeed it is true, think that under a bush 
 To hide our brilliance the best is: 
 
 Indeed most worldly people who've studied the facts. 
 Will tell you, if Fortune you'd master be bold, 
 "Brass" is almost as precious as silver and gold, 
 
 And Modesty always from Merit detracts. 
 
 Some insist that the Lord will take care of his sheep; 
 Trust to Providence, but that is much like a Turk 
 Who believes that Fate's something much stronger 
 than Work ; 
 
 A creed Calvanistic, dark — dismal — and deep. 
 
 But — if you'd be happy, and keep out of debt, — 
 
 This settles the matter: — learn to "get" and "forget." 
 
 DETERIORATION, OR A WAG ON " WAGGING. 
 
 ( HEINE. ) 
 
 In this Degenerate Age Nature, herself, doth grow 
 Un-natural, perverting her best gifts and powders; — 
 Of old Man only lied, but now we know 
 All things are false, from Friendship up to Flowers. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 177 
 
 Let Others praise the Violet's modesty, I know 
 Too well how little truth there is in that old story ; 
 Though under cover of green hedges— best they grow, 
 They long for gayer gardens and for wider glory. 
 The Nightingale that sings is said to woo 
 His lady-love, the blushing Queen of Roses, 
 But this ( like all the rest of it ) is quite untrue ; 
 She never blushes, and he never once proposes. 
 In fact, if you'll but listen to his song, you'll note 
 He trills and quavers in a way quite operatic. 
 And blushing Roses are by far. less apt to dote. 
 Than show their thorns — in fashions more dramatic. 
 Translated Truth has been to some far sphere, 
 And even Faith (like Works) -we tind is flagging: — 
 So false have all things grown, I almost fear 
 To trust an honest Dog — whose tail is ivagging. 
 
 APE, OR ANGEL ? 
 
 Surely Man was ne'er made in the "image of God,'' 
 
 Though we swear he is "famous and free" ; 
 
 In suite of its flowers — a clod is a clod. 
 
 And but burlesque "Immortals" are we. 
 
 We may say what we choose. 
 
 We may hope what we can, 
 
 But Man's built on no principle— pattern or plan 
 
 That would give to the Intellect spiritual clues, 
 
 Or prove we were more than some hasty design 
 
 Made perhaps by some Demiurge — demi divine. 
 
 Mark well, that in Man still the typical Ape is, 
 
 And Death, not an Isthmus at all, but a Cape is : — 
 
 Though as through the Devilish Darkness we grope, 
 
 We may pray it shall prove still a— "Cape of Good Hope.' 
 
 AN OLDEN TRINITY ! 
 
 Death is no new Divinity, but one of an olden Trinity : 
 
 First Life — that quickens e'en the clod; 
 
 Then Love — who grows to be a God ; — 
 
 Then Death — dumb Death — who tells no tales 
 
 Of whether Life or Love prevails : — 
 
 Yet, groping through the Dark, we must 
 
 Put faith in Faith, and trust to Trust I 
 
178 ' PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 HEROICS : 
 
 In a battle "taint the tig-htin" but the gittin'' kiUccI whTit flurries 
 me ; 
 
 In a shower 'taint the rain but the giit'm' wet what worries 
 uje : 
 
 'Taint the whiskey that I inosh' miss, but the "feelin' fat and 
 funny:" 
 
 I don't objeck to bein' poor, but what I mine's — the monei/. 
 
 I'd never curse— I, d never kick — ef things was allers fair, 
 
 'An the Good Lord guv me jes' my pick ; I only asks my share : 
 
 I only wants a showin' ef it's jorum — jupe — or jig; 
 
 When the pan begins a fryin' I claims my slice uv pig, 
 
 A bit uv all that's goin'— the leetle and the big : 
 
 I donH keer hoio you share 'em ef you allers share 'em so 
 
 As I gits jes' what I wanted in this Wale of Life below. 
 
 Tho' I aint no Saint a try in to '' give the Lord a shoiv, " 
 
 Yet I aint afeard o' dyin' ( not in battle but in bed, ) 
 
 Ef it warn't them pesky chances uv stayW so long dead : 
 
 In fack ter paint the picter, an' give you all the fax, 
 
 I wants to git the hicoine, but I — hates ter pay the tax. 
 
 OCTOBER'S CHRYSANTHEMUMS ! 
 
 When elms are bare and oaks turn brown — 
 
 Just e'er the end of Autumn comes, with clusters of Chrysan- 
 themums 
 
 Grow gay the gardens of the town. 
 
 Though sharp frosts bite and black skies frown 
 
 And bleak winds strip the purpling "gums", down even in the 
 narrowest slums 
 
 Their blossoming radiance seems to crown 
 
 The dismal darkness of sad days with such a blaze 
 
 Of glory — as might match with May's: 
 
 Here dazzling disks of gold, and there clusters as fair 
 
 As White Dawns turned to whiter Days. 
 
 "FALL'S" FLOWERING. 
 
 The skies are sunlit b]ue, save where 
 (Clear cut as antique cameos — and pale as ever Parian snows) 
 
 The sculptured clouds, in upper air. 
 Woo not too shyly this bold breeze that comes, blown cool 
 
 from frozen seas 
 In Frost-land, where no golden bees shall ever hive a blossom's 
 
 share 
 Of heart-hid honey. And below see leagues of forest gleam and 
 glow 
 
 In red and gold : — 
 The year is dying, yet behold a wealth of petal'd disks unfold 
 To mock the "Coming of the ('old". — 
 
B IBasbet of Chips. 
 
 How delightful the "gudgeons" must feel when they^re dang- 
 ling 
 At the end of the line, when fair Angels go angling ; 
 Some fish for the Foolish and some for the Wise, 
 But yon catch them both with your "hooks and eyes." 
 
 Though every Rose must have its Thorn, in spite of all our 
 
 wails and woes, 
 This consolation none should scorn, that every Thorn may have 
 
 its Rose. 
 
 T'wixt the mouth and the mug there is many a slip, 
 But even blind kisses will — light on the lip. 
 
 SnoUy's just that sort of civilized "pup" 
 
 (Less common in country by far than in town), 
 
 Who, not only "hunts up" the fellow who's up, 
 
 But want's to "hunt down" the poor fellow who's down. 
 
 Few folks so wise but what the'll paint 
 
 Their /ot'or/^e Sinner — as a — Saint; 
 
 They have the "courage" of their convictions, 
 
 Though most folks know they're simply fictions. 
 
 Our Grave3^ard fence we'll not begin. 
 Because you see, without a doubt, — 
 Those outside don't care to — get in, 
 And those inside — can't well — get out. 
 
 Your social 2^reteniiions simply humbug and hocus; 
 Your "Family tree" an — "old chestnut" or loiucusx : 
 And (mark me !) the Missing Lynx (prowling round loose) 
 Soon catches your— Genealogical goose. 
 
180 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Lock thy lucre in and smother every J03' that helps us live : — 
 Yet, "one hand must wash the other"; — if you care for gctf'nuf 
 — Give. 
 
 Goini;" doirn hill who needs the Devil's whip? 
 But cVnnhinfi up — even Saints can't — skip. 
 
 To inherit ])orc)ifal acre.'< is always rather rare, 
 
 But of parrntal ache>i my boy, you'll likely g^et your sliare. 
 
 Not even the Bible can we trust ; — I wish I'd left it on the shelf : 
 They damn me, yet my sin was just — "Loving' my Neighbor as 
 myself." 
 
 Soft hearts get but hard hits from Love : a "melting mood" is 
 
 Luck's worst foe : 
 If you would win. i<pem fire above, but let your heart be ice 
 
 below. 
 
 The naked Truth had better hide her shins ; 
 Your well-dreased Lie is what a welcome wins. 
 
 'Tis best to nteal hearts when you. can. no honest work can 
 
 earn them : 
 If maids' affections you would keep, you never fiYvouid.— return 
 
 them. 
 Ah, men will change from year to year, who can this truth 
 
 gainsay ? 
 But women, too, will change, my dear, and 'tis from day to day. 
 
 He only is safe from heart's anguish who lays his old loves on 
 
 the shelf, 
 And laughs at Miss Lydia Languish, content with adoring 
 
 — Himself. 
 
 In times remote and and further off — his children called him — 
 
 "Father", 
 But as the wonder smaller grew — (and babies common.— rather), 
 "Papa" became the usual term (as many a household shows), 
 And now 'tis simply "pa?/per" as every poor man knows. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 181 
 
 See, yonder sits a Doctor grave, as grave as grave can be, 
 Whose pills no patience e'er could save, a true Grave Doctor he ; 
 Patients no longer will consent, you see, to trust him, and no 
 
 wonder, 
 For Patience '■'■on a MonumenV is he, and they are Patients — 
 
 ' ' under. ' ' 
 
 We cannot trust Them — high or low, Rnd— blindly — they 
 
 refuse to trust Us; — 
 And why? — well Justice, as you must knoiv, is never just them — 
 
 but — Just us. 
 
 From Truth he never cared to stray ; he'll prove it by the 
 
 whole Consistory : — 
 But if not, I can only say — He must have just j^layed hell with 
 
 History. 
 
 If you would rather watch than weep,— untroubled by life's 
 
 heaviest cares, 
 When Love grows drowsy — let him sleep : his snores are safer 
 
 than his — snares. 
 
 The Fox began the goose to praise — until he'd safely caught 
 
 her ; 
 So wyly chiefs the courage raise of those they lead to slaughter, 
 And frauds with flatteries adorn the "block-heads" they 
 
 expect to rob : 
 But spare me "s^w.^i»,f/ with the corn"— if you would ^'choice 
 
 me with the co&." 
 
 If on one cheek you're smitten, the other straightway turn; 
 This is the Lord's law written— so plainly all can learn : — 
 Therefore, if I in parity, should kiss you ( though you're 
 
 loath) — , 
 You should in Christian charity hid me to kiss them both. 
 
 Our garden is certainly very small. 
 But assuredly better than none at all. 
 Says my sweetheart, —laughing gayly :— 
 If no Eden is ours — No Serpent at least, 
 No fruits on which we're forbidden to feast, 
 And our Roses, my dear, are "Daily." 
 
182 PEAKLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 True tvorth — and winrting — rarely quite accord : 
 Chance makes the Hero, and mere luck the — Lord. 
 
 We have lived, lured by all of the Loves to the end, 
 To fair Woman we've done as we wished to be done by ;- 
 If our Sweethearts can bar us from Heaven, my friend, 
 I should like to know who it could ever be won by ? 
 
 In spite of all the sages and the doctor's skill, 
 
 Love's but a " chill and fever" ( but fever first and later ehiU] 
 
 It's very " catching-, " but I'm sure it— cannot kill, 
 
 And so I'll risk the " petti-coat ," and refuse the " i)ill. " 
 
 To get the measure of the mind is after all not hard to find, 
 
 If tested by this simple rule : — 
 Who cannot think we should not quiz, 
 For such an one an idiot is, 
 
 But he who — ^v^ll not tkink's — a FooL 
 
 hXlpujipies bark, some dogs, too, bite, 
 x\nd even frauds and fools will fig^ht : 
 But if your record clean you'd keep 
 Never risk "wrestling with a sweep'''': 
 The w/i/^fs^ robes the easiest hurt — 
 In battles fought with dogs and dirt. 
 
 To Cupid and Cupidity, add Mourning and Mirth, 
 
 And t'will give you z. flattering picture of Earth ; 
 
 But if you catch glimpses of Heaven above. 
 
 You'll find Truth is its monarch, and its only queen Love. 
 
 Love's matches some good folk prefer — to even those of 
 
 "Lucifer", 
 Yet I can prove they're much the same; — without a scrc(j)e 
 
 you'll findno— /ame ; 
 At least from Love but few escape— until they've got into a 
 
 "scrape": — 
 You'll burn your fingers with his "matches", unless you take 
 
 your bliss in snatches. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 183 
 
 Whatever you ^et— , a. mere pinch or ^.plateful, 
 
 Whether little or much, don't be too green and grateful : 
 
 Unmerited gifts only show as a rule 
 
 (This applies to the Givsr alone, so keep cool !) 
 
 The— greater the favor the bigger the Fool. 
 
 Truth should be kept— like jewels rare— on state occasions but 
 to wear, 
 
 For if t'were held in daily use,— fools oft would put it to abuse. 
 In a Well's depths Truth lives 'tis said,— for there alone she 
 "holds her own"; — 
 
 As Falsehood rules on Earth instead, her motto is: "Let Well 
 alone I" 
 
 Of manners nice, but rather hasty notions, 
 Priscilla seemed like certain doctors' potions, - 
 Of sickening sweetness : — coat 'em as you will. 
 Prudery's pretention, and a pills a pill. 
 
 That "Pegasus" would win the race. Fame freely bet and paid 
 
 his "ante", 
 But Glory soon to Grief— gave place, when in stalked Death on 
 
 Rosinante ; — 
 Unless Life gives fair chance to show it. Luck may thus blight 
 
 your brightest Poet. 
 
 Fact often halts on broken crutches, 
 But Fiction's /eoi — is this; — she flies : 
 A half told story quite as much is 
 As half a dozen lively lies. 
 
 Speak good words for a friend from beginning to end. 
 
 Not one in a dozen will stick, 
 But by handling the spud, and relying on mud. 
 Doubt can daub it on heavy and thick. 
 
 When ladies are relenting and blushes come and go, 
 
 A jjout is half consenting, a sigh is — hardly "No"; 
 
 Then words are merely masking with Love behind the screen 
 
 Ah, what's the use of asking when a kiss tells all you mean ? 
 
184 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 Fair lady, with manifold plaisters and pills, 
 Old Death I succeeded in tricking, 
 And so thoroughly cured you of all of your ills, 
 That you're not only alive now — but kicking. 
 
 Should you meet her abroad or at home, in a crowd, 
 She's an ''Iceberg in petticoats" — prudish and proud: 
 But the tropics of love in lier arms I have felt, 
 And under warm kisses this Iceberg will— m,e^^. 
 
 Tho' she's just "pretty as a peach", 
 
 Experience still may prudence teach. 
 For she has some little drawbacks — all peculiarly her own : 
 Your every doubt disarming, at first you'll fihd her charming, 
 But like the "peach" I spoke of, at heart you'll find a "stone". 
 
 There's a " last rose of Summer"-—, but the lai^t thorn still 
 
 clings 
 Through Summers and Autumns, and Winters and Springs. 
 
 That miracle of old of the " Loaves and the Fishes " 
 Has mystified one of my miserly friends ; 
 
 With the thinnest of drinks and the leanest of dishes, 
 To the role of Amphitryon still he pretends. 
 
 Love's " Three Rs " when taught us, one seldom forgets : 
 First — Romancing, next— Raptures, and lastly— Regrets. 
 
 No Hope can help us when Distrust assails : — 
 Favors hut fettei's are when true Friendship fails. 
 
 You plead your suit in fiery fashion, but sue in vain for Sue's 
 
 surrender ; 
 Yet you might win, in spite of passion, by simply oflfering 
 
 " legal tender /^ 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 185 
 
 Lucinda likes og;les and stares, and — smirking — all mankind 
 she faces ; 
 
 She gives herself 2M of the " airs, " but the Gods have denied 
 her the — "graces." 
 
 So hard they kick, so loud they bray, 
 These Donkeys I should like to slay — ; 
 But no; — if fairly clean you'd keep, 
 You must not " wrestle with a sweep :" 
 Don't waste your thunderbolts on trifles; 
 li^ools should be killed with — rhymes — not rifles. 
 
 The Devil in front I do not so much mind. 
 
 But it's devilish hard to watch the — Devil behind. 
 
 More dangerous far to handle than the fiercest dynamite, 
 Is your CO -scientious Idiot, who knoivs he's — always right. 
 
 Whether we travel /«.s'< through life, or lingering limp( " f esti- 
 
 na lente" ), 
 After the struggle and the strife, comes Death's sweet — "dolce 
 
 far niente. " 
 
 'Tis Freedom's follies that give Royalty a longer lease of 
 
 Wisdom's loyalty ; 
 Did Nobles never do ignoble things, we'd still be ruled forever 
 
 by great Kings : 
 Were Might — the bold servitor only of the — Right, 
 Crowns would.be heavy, but all Scej)tres— light. 
 
 Thqugh you condemn me as a " rake, "not even this my temper 
 
 sours, — 
 For that is but a "tool, "you know, that " curries favor" — 
 
 with the — flowers. 
 
 At "Twenty-one " a man is stir e he knows j list all about if; 
 At "Thirty " he still thinks he does, at "Forty" — , though, 
 
 he'll — doubt it : 
 At " Fifty " (if he's living still) he knows he doestiH, and — 
 
 never will. 
 
 If you would give at all, give quick, to-day ;— 
 Tomorrow is not yours, nor mine, the Sages say. 
 
 If Love ( as it oft does ) begins with a lack and a lass, my friend^ 
 With alctsf and aZacA; /—Cupidity vows it will always end. 
 
186 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 I believe in nothing- on Earth, nor yet in the Heavens above, 
 Save your kisses (that little are worth,) and that there is — 
 nothing like love. 
 
 Aristarchus can prove you by hook and by crook. 
 
 That the "binding" is better by far than the "book;" 
 
 A blemish or blot, at a glance, he detects; 
 
 (Even the Sun is not spotless and has glaring defects). 
 
 'Tis, with him, not a question of "heads" but of "feet"; 
 
 Your "reasons" may lack if your "rhymes" are complete. 
 
 If polished enough, even pebbles may do, 
 
 Though the "pearls" no doubt pilfered from Gentile or Jew. 
 
 If your Is not all dotted— Ts carefully crossed. 
 
 Whatever your learning — your "laurels" are lost. 
 
 £pilodue« 
 
 SPECIAL MOTICE. 
 
 As the Publisher of this Collection of pilfered "Pearls" 
 and unpolished "Pebbles", exhausted both his jiatience and 
 pelf in gettinp- out this Elegant Edition, the Author has found 
 it necessary to enter the field himself as a retailer of rattle- 
 trap rhymes and a Peddler of "Prose and Worse.'" Those 
 desirous of securing these precious Gems and Jokes (all of 
 them guaranteed strictlj original,— some even aboriginal) 
 should apply before the close of the Century to 
 
 Cleland tkernestaffe, S^omphinsville, 
 . . * .Staten Hsland, Dew Voi*!)* 
 
 Single Volumes, hound in paper, 
 186 pages $1.00 Free Silver. 
 
 Liberal discount off for car-load lots. 
 
 These J?n de siecle Rhymes, full of passion, pathos and puns, 
 at the price named, are "cheap as chips." 
 
 They are going off now "like hot cakes"; only a wagon 
 load or two left, and these will hardly supply the demand from 
 the Antilles and Malaijria alone, not to mention the great 
 State of Buncombe, where "poetic Souls" are as ''common as 
 2ng tracks." 
 
 Call early and often or you may find nothing left but the 
 "White Man's Burden", or what is almost as bad, the "Black 
 Man's bust" [in Ebony). 
 
 Yours (more or less) truly, 
 
 CLELAND KERNESTAFFE. 
 
 TOMPKINSVILLE, N. Y. 
 
INDEX TO PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 No. 1. Pearls and Pebbles (Introductory) Page 1. 
 
 2. The Feathered Fiddler ' ' 4. 
 
 3. A Poet in Patches. " " 6. 
 
 SECTION I;— LOREY LAND. 
 
 4. In Lorey Land 10. 
 
 5. Elfin Puck 10. 
 
 6. Loltee 12. 
 
 7. Shadow Brook 13. 
 
 8. Tumblin' Fun 15. 
 
 9. The Brook's Benison 16. 
 
 10. The Fairy Lady of Counaleese 18. 
 
 11. Loltee, the Linville Loreley 20. 
 
 12. The Indian Echo Maid 21. 
 
 13. The Quest of the Happy Isles 22. 
 
 14. To Betula a Dryad 23. 
 
 15. Sweet Psyche and the Sour Prudes 24. 
 
 16. The Bashful Bush 25. 
 
 17. Fitzgiggle, Fay of Fun 27. 
 
 18. The King of Yvetot 29. 
 
 19. Lover's Lane 30. 
 
 20. A Ballad of mere Cash in Cashmere 31. 
 
 21. The Kiss of Killarney 32. 
 
 22. Leo-Pard 34. 
 
 23. The Dead Hamadryad 34. 
 
 24. The Lily Witch 36. 
 
 25. The Minstrel 37. 
 
 26. Boy and Brook 38. 
 
 27. Pixie and Nixie 39. 
 
 28. The Angler 40. 
 
 29. Laocoon Revised 41. 
 
 30. A Ballad of the Billows 41. 
 
 31. Palm and Pine 42. 
 
 32. The Ass and the Artist 43. 
 
 33. The House that Jack Built 43. 
 
 SECTION II;-IN THE OVERKILLS OF OTTARAY. 
 
 34. Ottaray or the Cherokee Highlands 45. 
 
 35. The Heart of Hiawassee 46. 
 
 36. When the Chestnut and Sour-wood Bloom 48. 
 
 37. The Benison of the "Beech." 50. 
 
 38. Sunset from Klonteska (the "Big Beech." 52. 
 
 39. Jolly July: 53. 
 
 40. The Weather Witches 54. 
 
 41. Old "Roan", the Herdsman of the Hills 55. 
 
 42. Hearts of Fire and Souls of Snow 55. 
 
 43. The Humming Bird 56. 
 
 44. The Fringed Gentian of the Nantahayleh 56. 
 
 45. Cascadia 57. 
 
 46. The "Bonny Vista" of Grandfather Mountain 
 
 SECTION III;-THE UNDERHILLS OF TARKOEE. 
 
 47. Tarkoee. or Catawba Land 
 
 48. The Catawba River in Tarkoee 
 
 59. 
 
188 
 
 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 49. Tbe Leafy Lanes of Lynn 
 
 50. Coatara Glen 
 
 SECTION IV;— CREED AND CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 51. Progres.sion 
 
 52. My Faith 
 
 53. Pay thy Debts 
 
 54. My Polytheism 
 
 55. A Modest Soul 
 
 56. Sermons in Stones 
 
 57. The Intent—Damns or Saves 
 
 58. The Last is First 
 
 59. Saints in Silk 
 
 60. The Cross Roads 
 
 61. Success not the Test of Merit 
 
 62. Prayers in Flowers 
 
 63. Merit in the Mud 
 
 64. Wit's Woes 
 
 65. Dawn after Darkness 
 
 66. Content 
 
 67. Evolution 
 
 68. Cant and Comte 
 
 69. Satan on Sunday 
 
 70. The Fashionable Furies 
 
 71. Flower and Star 
 
 72. Providence 
 
 73. Caitiff or King? 
 
 74. The Unbidden Guest 
 
 75. The Year Dethroned 
 
 76. Vixit 
 
 SECTION V;— THE GULISTAN. 
 
 77. Dedicated to the Fools, by the Flowers.. . 
 
 78. Birth of Kalmia and Rhodendron 
 
 79. The Tea Rose 
 
 80. Pinkies (Claytonia) 
 
 81. Iris and Epigea 
 
 82. Vernal-veined Parnassia 
 
 83. Xerophyllum! (Asphodel) 
 
 84. Sanguinaria (Blood-root) 
 
 85. To the Wild Crab-apple 
 
 86. Clematis 
 
 87. Water Nixies (Parnassia) 
 
 88. Skyuca Violets 
 
 89. Woodland Wooings 
 
 SECTION VI;— FLOWER AND FLAME. 
 
 90. Discreet not Dumb 
 
 91. The Valley of Delight 
 
 92. Stella 
 
 93. To Thaliarchus 
 
 94. The Birth of Beauty's Dimple 
 
 95. Night is Love's Noon 
 
 96. Hearts' will do what Hearts' have done. 
 
 97. Only Love's Dews 
 
 98. Blossom and Butterfly 
 
 99. The more Wing— the less Sting 
 
 100. Too good— by Half 
 
 90. 
 91. 
 92. 
 93. 
 94. 
 94. 
 94. 
 95. 
 95. 
 
 97. 
 
 100. 
 101. 
 101. 
 101. 
 102. 
 102. 
 103. 
 
PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 192 
 
 101. A Romeo of the Ridges , 104. 
 
 102. A Poet's Conceit 105. 
 
 SECTION VII;— THISTLE AND THORN. 
 
 103. New Years and Old _ 106. 
 
 104. Growing Graces 107. 
 
 105. Cupid's Cottage _ io8. 
 
 106. A Post-bellum Christmas 110. 
 
 107. In the Attic or One and Twenty 111. 
 
 108. Cupid Crucified 112. 
 
 109. PhantomCalls 113. 
 
 110. A Blanket Mortgage ._ 115. 
 
 111. The Sphinx ot Love 115. 
 
 112. Terpsiphone, the Mocking Bird 116. 
 
 113. A Poor Bachelors' Christmas Reverie 117. 
 
 114. Cheap Charity 119. 
 
 115. The Message 119. 
 
 116. No Doubt of it! 120. 
 
 117. Dis-heartened 120. 
 
 118. At Bay 120. 
 
 119. Fiction and Fact 121. 
 
 SECTION VIII;— CUPID'S CLOISTERS. 
 
 120. Your "look out" if you "look in" 122. 
 
 121. Jupeless Jenny 123. 
 
 122. Grub and Graces (too nice) 124. 
 
 123. The Three Prudes. 125. 
 
 124. TurnedOut! 125. 
 
 SECTION IX;— WAIFS FROM WOODS AND WAYSIDES. 
 
 125. The Dreamer 126. 
 
 126. Mountain Versus Fountain .. 128. 
 
 127. Wind Worship 129. 
 
 128. A Crabbed Christmas 131. 
 
 129. Bismark 133. 
 
 130. To the Red-shouldered Blackbird 133. 
 
 131. Rymettes 134. 
 
 132. Ye Grammar-school Kid 135. 
 
 133. The Pathetic Poem of Pat and Poll 136. 
 
 134. St. Valentine 137. 
 
 135. Queen Jessamine 139. 
 
 136. Sense not Sensation 141. 
 
 137. In Osculo Sancto 141. 
 
 138. The "Splatterdash" 142. 
 
 139. Not Jupiter my God, but Cupid 142. 
 
 140. April— Airs— not Graces 143. 
 
 141. A Rainy Season's "Floral Fair" 143. 
 
 142. Puppets! 144. 
 
 143. A Plea for April Folly 144. 
 
 144. Autumnal Rains 145, 
 
 145. September 146. 
 
 146. Flower Fays (Floss-folk) 146. 
 
 SECTION X;— GLEANINGS FROM OLD FIELDS. 
 
 147. Life's Lemonade, or Sweet and Sour 147. 
 
 148. The Tumbles of Tumblin'fun 147. 
 
 149. Panorama from "Big Beech" Mt.. No. Ca 149. 
 
 150. Richland Cr., No. Ca 151. 
 
 151. Shower Land 151. 
 
193 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 
 
 152. April In Ottaray , 151. 
 
 153. The Robin of Roundabout Gap, Ashe Co., N. C 153. 
 
 154. A Mid-summer Psalm 153. 
 
 155. The Volcano and the Iceberg 155. 
 
 156. ' Jes You an' Me ! 156. 
 
 157. Pigs In the Patch 157. 
 
 1.58. My Princess of Wales 158, 
 
 159. Noctes Ambrosianae 159. 
 
 160. The Silly Shepherd 160. 
 
 151. To Narcissus (A Valentine) 161. 
 
 162. Rosebud and Rose - 162. 
 
 163. Love's a Rebel Volunteer 162. 
 
 164. Our Baby King 163. 
 
 165. The Rhyme of the Rain 163. 
 
 166. A Golden March 163. 
 
 167. October! . 164. 
 
 168. The Vase and the Victim 164. 
 
 169. A Game of "Cricket" Lost 165. 
 
 170. A "Merry-thought" 166. 
 
 171. The Ambitious Hawk 166. 
 
 172. A Mid-summer Madrigal 167. 
 
 173. Glimpse of a Sea Storm -- 168. 
 
 174. Katinka's Song , 169. 
 
 175. Faith Lost 169. 
 
 176. Grace and Gudgeon 169. 
 
 177. Jilted! 170. 
 
 178. "Ware! Water-witch! 170. 
 
 179. Love and Laughter 171. 
 
 180. No Such Goose . 171. 
 
 181. Two of a Kind 172. 
 
 182. Defeat is not Dishonor 172. 
 
 183. Elcelsior! 173. 
 
 184. Orthodoxy 173. 
 
 185. Clerical Monopoly , 173. 
 
 186. Destiny 174. 
 
 187. If this World our Best? 174. 
 
 188. Braver than Gods!-. 175. 
 
 189. The Devil versus the "Divines" 175. 
 
 190. Jehovah the Tempter 176. 
 
 191. Worldly Wisdom 176. 
 
 192. Deterioration, or a Wag on "Wagging" 176. 
 
 193. Ape or Angel? 177. 
 
 194. An Olden Trinity 177. 
 
 195. Heroics 178. 
 
 196. October's Chrysanthemums 178. 
 
 197. Falls Flowering! 178. 
 
 198. A BASKET OF CHIPS 179-186. 
 
 199. EPILOGUE (Special Notice) 186. 
 
 SEE ERRATA. 
 

 
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