s^\ &^^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Chap. Cop3Tiglit No. Shelf_.L_(3r-7 H S UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. V'-'- e- Y5 ii 6^ GriS Copyright, 1896 BY ARTHUR GRISSOM t Ube Tknicfccrbocfeer iptegg, Iftevp Jgorfe TO MY SWEETHEART FRIEND. AND WIFE PREFACE.* A certain Bard (as Bards will do) Dressed up his Poems for Review. Atistin Dob son. Short is the date, alas, of modern rhymes, And 't is but just to let them live betimes. Pope. *For the privilege of republishing these verses, special acknowledgment is due to the editors oi Leslie's Weekly, Life, Truth, Vogue, Town Topics, Godefs Magazine, Munsey's, Overland Monthly, Dramatic Mirror, New York Herald, and The Chap-Book. V CONTENTS. PAGE At Cupid's Court. The Waif 3 Princess Charmynge 6 Evening in Broadway 8 The Debutante . . . . 10 To an Old Portrait . . . . 12 A Gentleman of the Old School 15 Vie de Societe i6 Wedded i8 My Lady's Boudoir . 20 Ideals 22 Above H^ Fancie Worke 24 Grandma's Wedding Gown 25 A Glimpse .... 27 Blase 28 Vivette 30 The Passing of the Modern Momus 32 To an Old Guitar . 34 Romance at Ten 36 A Fashionable Graduate . . 38 A Coquette's Ruse . . 40 The Lucky Gown . . 41 Before the Ball . 43 Contents PAGE Retribution 44 A Love Song . 46 The Old-Fashioned Girl . 47 My Lady of the Marigold 49 To Julia .... 51 On Julia's Red Fan 52 Ballade of Spring Departure 53 Ballade of Forgotten Loves 55 A Fan Fancy . 57 At the Bal Masque . 58 Dalliance 59 Souvenir de Jeunesse 60 A Cynic's Conclusion 61 With Her Red Lips So Like the Rose 62 Songs in Season. A Spring Song .... 65 Primavera 67 Under the Red Lily 68 The Happy River . 69 Love-Notes 71 Under a Sunshade . 74 Coaching 76 Aboard the Bumble Bee 77 Pressing Autumn Leaves 79 The Archery Match 81 Bohemia and Bohea 82 A Lovers' Quarrel . 84 The Sleigh-Ride 86 Skating Song . 88 Contents For Valentine Heirlooms Ivory Miniatures. An Ivory Miniature White . Potpourri The Bride Spring in Tuscany The Artist Identified In Seville The Ballet Dancer Fancy A-wing. In Italia .... Aholabeh In the Highlands The Homesick Wanderer Hafiz .... Chrysanthemum Felicia of Mexico . Varia. Lay of the Modern Minstrel To Emma Fames No. 10, Arcady A Predicament Nocturne "I Love You" The Scribe's Sweetheart PAGE 90 9^ 95 96 97 98 99 100 102 103 104 107 no 112 115 117 119 121 125 127 129 131 133 134 136 Contents PAGE Fairy Tales .... . 137 Futile Intuition 139 A Message .... . 140 A Woman's Love . 142 " Your Sin will Find You Out" 143 Reconciliation 144 Too Natural .... 145 The Poet's Farewell 146 A Fling at Poets 147 Plaint of a Poet 148 AT CUPID'S COURT. THE WAIF. \X/HITE ladies, proud and great, Sweet ladies and most dear. Bend from your high estate, And hear me, ladies, hear ; A moment stay the dance, I, Cupid, at the door, Beseech you for a glance. One tender word implore ! A homeless stranger I, An outcast of the storm. So cold in passing by I needs must stop and warm ; Please drive me not away. And do not frown, or scold. Have pity, ladies, pray, I am so cold — so cold ! Once, in a happier time, I was a welcome guest 3 :iBeau£ and Seller In every home and clime With youth and beauty blest ; And ladies great as you, In jeweled silks and lace, Esteemed me fair and true, And blushed to kiss my face. Ah, those were happy days ! But all their joys were vain ; Maids wearied of my ways, And gave me cold disdain, Because, forsooth, there came My rival, base and bold, Who stole their souls. His name ? His name — ah, me ! — was Gold. Since then, from sun to sun, I *ve wandered far and near, A vagrant maidens shun. And flout, and spurn, and fear ; Yet would I do no harm. Kind ladies, this I swear. More than to teach the charm Of living to the fair ! 4 Bt CupiD'6 Court Behold, my broken bow, My quiver's need of darts ; I know not where to go To find unselfish hearts ; Please, ladies, bid me stay, The snow is cold and high, Have pity, ladies, pray. Have pity, or I die ! PRINCESSE CHARMYNGE. C HE is Belle of all ye Towne ! "Whenne she Comes & Goes, How h' rivalles frette ande frowne ! What a general bowynge downe Of y« Beaux ! She is fayre, & franke, & swete, Scarce beyond h'' teenes ; But adourers at h'^ feete Fynde h"^ sovereigntie compleat As a queen's. Whenne she smyles or spekes, y^ aire Semes to thryll with Songe ; Yf for one she semes to care AUe besyde are inne dispaire At y^ wronge ! Who colde saye w^- She will wed ? Will he ryches owne ? 6 m CupiD's Court Will he, whenne y^ vows are sayde, Askynge for a hearte, instedde Get a stone ? Ah, my Secrett will not downe ! Yett — how can it be ? She, y« beautie of renoune, She, ye Belle of alle y^ Towne, Loves but Me ! EVENING IN BROADWAY. 'T'HERE is hurrying up and down, There is laughter in Broadway, For the beauties of the town Now are trooping to the play ; They are come from Murray Hill, From the houses tall and fine By the Park and where you will, From their dinners and their wine. You can mark them as they go By their stately swing and dash, You can hear their laughter low. You can see their jewels flash ; They are robed in silks and furs. They have not an earthly care — Debutantes and dowagers, All are happy, all are fair. And the men who walk beside, With their sable cloaks thrown back, 8 Bt CupiD'5 Court Showing bosoms white and wide In relief against the black, With their boots of fleckless gloss, Lofty hats and silvered sticks, Think no more of gain and loss, Games of greed or politics. There is joy in every breast, Hope is sweet when eyes are fond, Life is now a careless jest, And no sorrow lies beyond. Are there souls in misery ? Who remembers in his mirth ? In the glow of lights they see Naught of all the gloom of earth. Note the shifting up and down Of the pageant in Broadway, All the beauties of the town Trooping gayly to the play ! Will a mimic scene compare With their own, do you suppose ? Now they vanish, and the air Smells of violet and rose. THE DEBUTANTE. DETWIXT the blooming and the bud, As 'twixt the dawnlight and the day, She, radiant with youthful blood, Stands on the verge of womanhood, Seeming to say : •' Behold me ! I am chaste as light ! Behold me ! I am very fair — Yea, I am fair in all men's sight, A flower no shame or sin may blight, Mocking despair." I know this, having lived thus long : To human eyes the fairest thing In all this world of woe and wrong. Is maidenhood — incarnate song. Symbol of spring. I know this, learned of all-wise Time : God's masterwork it is ; I know lO i at CupiD'0 Court 'T is sweeter, fairer, more sublime, Than aught else told in rune or rhyme Written below. Believing this, as all men must, I marvel at the ill man hath To be a traitor to her trust, To poison her sweet lips with lust, Knowing God's wrath. II TO AN OLD PORTRAIT. (by a modern cynic.) ^ OOD lady, you were once, I 'm told, A famous belle, of many graces, Who won the hearts of young and old, And loyal praise in royal places ; Who danced, coquetted, played, and sung, Until your maidenhood departed, Were wed, but passed away while young. And left a hundred broken-hearted ! A nice and proper record — yet You 'd nowadays be voted stupid ; Now really, did you ^uiie forget To give at least one shock to Cupid ? Dear me ! how could you please the men. And make a lasting reputation. Without o'erstepping, now and then. The narrow limits of your station ? 12 Bt Cupid's Court That 's why you died so soon, of course, 'T is often so with those so moral ; If you had only tried divorce, And told the public all the quarrel ! If you had gone upon the stage. And sung falsetto in the chorus, Heigho, but you 'd have been the rage — And still would live to plague and bore us ! 'T is said that you were true and frank, And ne'er indulged in tales misleading, And never smoked, and never drank. Nor suffered ills from over-feeding ; That when you went about at night, To ball or play, where tongues are spiteful, You kept your chaperon in sight, Yet seemed to think your life delightful ! 'T is also said you sometimes took A friendly interest in your neighbors, And that — oh, horrors ! — you could cook, And knew somewhat of household labors ; That once you sewed a button on Your husband's shirt — a servant's duty — And once you waked and rose at dawn — Yet managed to preserve your beauty ! 13 J5eau£ anO JBellcs Good lady, here I lift my hat In meek obeisance to your virtue ; Believe me when I venture that Your modesty in nowise hurt you ; You make it plain to me, at last — The thought is strange — almost alarming- A woman not bizarre or fast May yet be admirable and charming ! I 14 A GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL. WOU would not think to see him there That he had passed threescore and ten So straight he stands, so bright his eye- So much more grand than other men ! His courtly mien, his knightly grace. The gallantry he ne'er forgets, Are so distinguishing you think That he was born with epaulets ! He brings to mind the storied days Of chivalry in feudal lands, When cavaliers in lace and gold Bent low to kiss their ladies' hands. One fancies that when Death shall come And pluck his sleeve, with sombre nod, With hand upon his heart he '11 make A grave obeisance to his God ! 15 VIE DE SOCIETE. C HE boasts a crest and coat-of-arms ; Her grandsire fought at Bunker Hill ; By virtue of her wealth and charms She rules her gilded world at will ; Her life is one of fine display, Indulgence and extravagance ; She only lives from day to day To dress, and drive, and dine, and dance. And while she shines at play or ball, Or at her own exclusive teas, Or chats throughout a morning call Of courts, chiffons, and coquetries, Her husband, as he goes and comes, Sends now and then his best regards. And finds diversion in his chums, His clubs, his cognac, and his cards. So, like the lilies of the field. They toil not, neither do they spin ; i6 i Bt CupfD'6 Court ** A bore ! " they say, and yawn, and yield To each ' ' smart " folly, fad, and sin. And what has life for such as these ? Not I have envy or regret ; I have my pipe, my ale and cheese, My brush, my garret, and Favette ! 17 WEDDED. T WAS married last night, my dear fellow— You remember sweet Isabel Wright ? Of course — 't was at old Monticello You brought us together that night. The waltz was " The Love of a Siren " ; So trustful and warm was her hand, I laughed as I quoted from Byron Of " vows that are traced in the sand." You know how my love was a passion From the moment we met at the ball ; Both favorites of fortune and fashion, We reigned in that glittering hall ! I fancy we caused a commotion, As we swept past the guests of degree, While she sweetly concurred in my notion That the sirens were all in the sea. She gave me her promise that season, 'Neath the moon, on the sands of the shore i8 Bt CupiD's Court I loved all the more for the reason I had ne'er loved a woman before. Naught is sweeter than love but requital — Gossip called us a well-mated pair — I was lacking in naught but a title, And she was angelically fair. Yes, married — 't was in sound of the ocean ; She was regal, my boy, she was grand ; I shall never forget my emotion As I watched her and thought of the sand. She posed with the grace of a fairy. Like a statue in marble I stood ; — She was wed to the Marquis Old Harry, And I, to my bachelorhood ! 19 MY LADY'S BOUDOIR. *• Calebs quid agam ? " — HORAT. A SWEET and subtle, rare perfume, That seems to charm the wayward sense Like some weird witch's strange in- cense, Pervades the silence of the room. One swift, shy look doth these reveal : Much rare old lace from inner France ; Some gay mementos of the dance ; A curious old-time spinning-wheel ; An ivory curio from Japan ; A winged god from buried Rome ; A sealskin from a Northland home ; A worn prayer-rug from Ispahan ; 20 at (IupiD'6 Court The harp of some quaint Tyrolese ; A mandolin from sunny Spain ; A seagull, stuffed, that winged the main- A host of queer things such as these. Soft cushions, pictures, curtains rare ; A couch for which a queen might sigh ; All things that please the artist's eye. And luxury is everywhere. It seems a glimpse of things above, A bit of heaven dropped to earth ; A place that might give hallowed birth To wondrous witcheries of love. I trespass on forbidden ground, — I must discovery beware ; When sounds her step upon the stair I '11 haste away, and not be found. I steal one look — a shameful sin I I feel the danger of delay, But when I start to go away, I hear my lady's voice : "Come in ! " 21 IDEALS. •THEY did not meet in glittering hall, At birth and beauty's court, Nor yet at banquet, play, or ball, The scenes of Fashion's sport ; Nor anywhere among the throng Of gilded Folly's slaves, Whose queens make wealth the cloak of wrong. Whose kings are secret knaves. They did not meet among the flowers All in a garden fair, Where birds and bees beguile the hours, And love is in the air ; Where Nature dons her richest robe. To charm all eyes that see, And groups the graces of the globe In bowers of Arcady. Bt CupiO'6 Court They did not meet in foreign climes, 'Neath cold or sunny skies, 'Mid Scottish hills or Spanish limes, Or where sweet Como lies ; They did not meet in summer, spring, In winter, or in fall ; Ideals are aye evanishing — They did not meet at all ! 23 ABOVE HR FANCIE WORKE. /^OQUETTE ! Above h' fancie worke H' fancie strayes from lace to lovers, & who shalle saye what deepe plans lurke Withinne h' hearte, as Cupid hovers Aneare to aide, with readye bowe, Inne layinge some new lover lowe ? 24 GRANDMA'S WEDDING GOWN. f O ! here is grandma, just stepped down From the picture on the wall, Dressed in her famous wedding gown, To attend the fancy ball ! No wrinkle mars her dear, sweet face. She looks, with cheeks aglow, Just as she looked, in pearls and lace, Seventy years ago ! No wonder she was worshipped then In all the country-side ! No wonder hearts were broken when She wore this gown, a bride ! And, oh ! to-night she 's just as fair As when she wore it so. With girdled waist and powdered hair, Seventy years ago ! The satin, once of spotless white, Is yellowed with the years ; 25 J8eau£ anO JBelles The veil that fell in folds of light Is stained, but not with tears ; For grandma's life was one long May, As free from ill and woe As was her perfect wedding-day, Seventy years ago ! To-night, in all her youth and grace, For all to praise that see, The old love-light upon her face, She comes to dance with me. Ah, rose so like the parent flower ! Full soon our love shall know The joy that crowned her bridal hour, Seventy years ago ! 26 A GLIMPSE. TJE spoke of Love as a snow-white dove ; And this morn, as I raised mine eyes, A dove, snow-white, flew by in sight, And was lost for aye in the skies ! 27 BLASE. LJE finds no joyance in a rose That graced an hour a fair one's tresses, He laughs at love, as one who knows That maids were only made for dresses ; He tells you looks are ladies' lies, That pledges bore unless they 're broken, And as for tears and tender sighs, They only painful stays betoken. He lives, he says, an age too late. For this one's hero is the fanner, And seeks relief in slurring fate Because not born a knight in armor. Life nowadays is all a blank, Containing not one new sensation ; And what 's a million in the bank ? Why, nothing but an aggravation ! Dear ! dear ! I cannot quite agree With all he says, because — well, Polly 28 I Bt CupiD's Court Is not so great and fine, may be, But she makes life seem mighty jolly ! I dare say I 'm a simple wight To think her pretty, true, forgiving, But I retain my appetite. And find a real delight in living ! 29 VIVETTE. T 'M sure I cannot understand Just why I love my love Vivette, She 's not the least bit great or grand, Like many ladies I have met ; She 's not o'erwise, and never thinks How great /am — the little minx ! And laughs if I dare broach a threat — She has so many faults — and yet — And yet — She 's most provoking now and then, And says I shall not call her " pet " ; Somehow I do it soon again — It is j-^ easy to forget ! And all the while I wonder why, When she is but Vivette, and I Am — well, am /, and I regret That I have told my love — and yet — And yet — 30 Bt CupiD^s Court It is the strangest thing I know That I should love this sly Vivette ; Why, she refused me long ago — And she a most pronounced brunette ! Is 't not absurd ? — and when I 've said None but the fairest blonde I 'd wed ? And I 'm entangled in her net More every day ! 'T is wrong — and yet — And yet — What shall I do ? I think I '11 say : "Good-bye, Vivette — good-bye, Vivette, Hereafter I '11 remain away, And all your little ways forget ! " She will not care — she '11 only laugh, " Pray don't be sad on my behalf," She '11 say — and then a kiss I *11 get. I think she 's very bold — and yet — And yet — 31 THE PASSING OF THE MODERN MOMUS. " Momus was the god of raillery and repartee ; at the feasts of the gods he played the buffoon. His office was to reprove the faults of the gods, which he did in so sarcastic a manner as to put himself out of i&vOT."-~I>wz£-At''s Mythology. M IRTH and music now have ceased, And we '11 drink a standing toast To the Momus of our feast Who amused and vexed us most. Lo, our Folly's king is dead, And the comedy 's at end ; Ring the curtain ; bow the head ; Friend or foeman now is friend. Fate provided fittingly The finale, as it chanced ; Dancing as he bade us we, He was dying while we danced. 32 Bt CupiD^s Court Harlequin and sage in one, Clown and king, but never knave Yet what noble deed was done ? Who will weep above his grave ? Will the merry host he led Honor him as great of men ? Drain the glass once to the dead ! Ho ! the dance begins again ! 33 TO AN OLD GUITAR. T TAKE you up with reverence, Although you 're rather scarred and seamy, And never more will charm the sense With strains inspiriting or dreamy ; Methinks if you were tuned anew, — You can't be, so 't is but a fancy — The only music made by you Would be a tender plaint for Nancy ! L,ong, long you 've lain in gloom and dust, But many a memory round you lingers ; You once were loved, and how you must Have thrilled at touch of Nancy's fingers ! She played you as she played with hearts, For ah, my lady was capricious, But though love's wounds have grievous smarts, I vow her playing was delicious ! 34 m CuplD'a Court I envied you a bit, mayhap, Your power to please, and sweet successes, When you reclined upon her lap, Responding to her soft caresses ; /kept my distance, bashful lout ! And eyed my buckled shoon dejected. Until my cousin cut me out — A thing I 'd really not expected ! And then, when afterward I learned From Nancy's sister's chiding letter, (The which, I own, I kissed, — and burned), That she had really loved me better, I had some trouble in my side That puzzled Doctor Sheley greatly ; It grew so bad when Nancy died, I 've never got quite well — till — lately. Heigho ! my eyes are getting weak ; Confound me, I 'm a soft old noddy ! I did n't know the past could speak So touchingly of anybody. Ah, me ! To think her old guitar Should turn up here ! — a priceless token. Although defaced by seam and scar. And broken, as my heart was broken ! 35 ROMANCE AT TEN. VOU were the Lady of Kiss- Again, And I was the Prince de Grand ; You of the odious Ogre's den, And I of the Beautiful Land ; You were the maiden divinely fair Locked in the castle tower, "While I was the knight who rode by there, And caught from your hand a flower. Do you remember the rescue brave ? — My climbing the latticed wall, With oath that I should the maiden save. Or else in my own blood fall ? And how you were borne, on the old gray mare — You riding behind, astride — Away to the regions afar and fair, As Lochinvar bore his bride ? 36 Bt Cupid's Court The years have plodded along apace, And our paths have led us apart, But how could I ever forget your face When you never returned my heart ? Has twenty forgotten the joys of ten, And the way to the Beautiful Land ? Ah, still you 're my Lady of Kiss-Again, And I am your Prince de Grand ! 37 A FASHIONABLE GRADUATE. ROMAUNT OF A SIMPLE WIGHT. "T IS very sad to read of woe, And sad to write of trials and tears, But ah, my grief will overflow Unless to sympathizing ears I pour it forth — a dismal tale — Each word will give your heart a wrench ; This is the burden of my wail : She says her sweet things all in French ! For instance, if I question " When?" " ye suis bien prete,'" she murmurs low ; What can a fellow answer then ? How can I say I do not know ? In language plain and old I speak The eager love that naught can quench, While in a manner most unique. She says her sweet things all in French ! 38 Bt CupiD's Court She loves me, that I know full well, I 'd swear it by the Book of Grace, The fact her tender glances tell Whene'er she rests them on my face ; And once, too, in a billet doux She wrote it, and the truth to clench She sweetly signed it " Tout a vous."— She says her sweet things all in French ! I do not mind when they are writ ; I take my French book from the shelf, And close and hard I study it Until I know some French myself ; But when in passion on my knees, Her hand in mine, they make me blench I think I 'd rather have her sneeze Than say her sweet things all in French ! Ah, pity me, who hearts possess Of tender sympathy for those Who weep and wail their sore distress, Without cessation of their woes. I vow I '11 violate the laws By suicide, in some low trench ; Thus end my wasted life, because She says her sxoeet things all in French ! 39 A COQUETTE'S RUSE. C HE promised me, " No word of mine Shall cause your faith in me to dim ' And then, above her glass of wine, I saw her look at him. 40 THE " LUCKY GOWN." T^HIS, dear, I call my " lucky gown," This symphony of pink and white ; With happy heart I 've got it down To wear when Willy calls to-night. 'T is not so beautiful, I know, As others here, and not so new ; I wore it first — oh, long ago ! But then — the old friends are the true. Some gowns, you know, however fine, A girl will strangely learn to hate, — 'T is so with several of mine, — They always seem unfortunate ; While others, it appears, are blessed — One 's sure to have good times in them ! Why, this one is worth all the rest ! I love it — every stitch and hem ! 'T was made for Clara's wedding-day ; I was her dearest friend, you see, 41 JQeauj anD OBellcs And when she threw her bride's bouquet, It fell directly upon me ! I wore it next to Grace's ball ; That was a very swell affair ; I had such fun ! And — that 's not all — You know I first met Willy there ! I think I '11 wear it just once more To-night — there, I must hurry down ; Who '11 say what Fortune has in store When one wears such a fateful gown ? Now, dorCt you think it looks quite well ? Oh, my ! I 'm trembling so ! — who know5 But Willy, yielding to its spell, May feel encouraged Xo— propose / 42 BEFORE THE BALL. r\EAD in an alien land, and alone ! Shot by a bravo, swarth and bold ; — Dead ! Is it true ?— and I loved him so ! Though bought by another's gold. I am ready, Lisette, am I not— almost ? And now — my rings and my furs are here ? Ah, yes— there— thanks ! I 'm perfect, you say ? — I '11 be down in a moment, dear ! Dead ! he is dead — and I sent him away. And I loved him as only a woman loves ! Dead, and alone ! — I 'm coming, dear ! — Lisette, will you button my gloves ? 43 RETRIBUTION. CHE tempted me, because her mouth was sweet. Because I loved the languor of her eyes ; She was so fair, so fair, from face to feet, How could it be, I ask you, otherwise ? She tempted me, and through my quick- ened blood Ran riot all the ardor of my soul. And o'er my face up-rushed the fiery flood That told the secret I could not control. She smiled to see how surely love betrays ; She was so wise in all the world's sad ways. Could you have seen her tender, glorious smile, And read the pleading language of her look, No more than I would you have guessed the guile That marred the pages of her heart's closed book. 44 * i Bt CupiD*0 Court I did not know — I was so blinded then— My faith had never known the blight of loss ; I did not know that smiles naay murder men, And that the gold of beauty may be dross, I was the prey with which the tigress plays ; She was so wise in all the world's sad ways. What meed of triumph and what joy were hers She best may tell who saw my pain and shame ; All honor that a love betrayed confers Redounded to the greatness of her name. But in that piteous aftertime when Fate Decreed her faith should be as mine de- nied, And chance disclosed her doomed and desolate, I saw how poor a thing had been her pride. Thus God provides His vengeance and re- pays ; She was so wise in all the world's sad ways. 45 A LOVE SONG. /"^ O to, sad fears of love 's harsh reign ; If love a bondage be, 'T is sweeter far to wear the chain Than rule a kingdom free ! Go to, all cold, unreasoning pride ; False dignity, away ! The joy is mine for which I sighed, And I 'm a slave to-day ! 'T is well the hollow creeds of youth Have passed away so soon, 'T is well to learn the happy truth While life is in its June ; And when I look into her eyes, So fair a world I view, I know that love has made me wise To be forever true ! 46 THE OLD-FASHIONED GIRL. ■CHE'S only an "old-fashioned girl," she says, ( Is it not enough to disgrace ? ) An " old-fashioned girl" with womanly ways, And a winsome and womanly face ; A girl who is innocent, modest, and sweet. Who is sensible, earnest, and true — The kind that will surely be obsolete In another short year or two. She is n't ambitious for questionable fame, She does n't ape man in her dress. She does n't read books that have a bad name, Nor herald her " views" in the press ; She does n't use slang, nor smoke cigarettes, Nor loudly expound "Woman's Rights," She shuns all the fads of the "fashionable sets," And " home " is her chief of delights. 47 JSeauj anO :SBc\\cb She 's only an " old-fashioned girl," you see, And not in the least " up-to-date," But she is the kind of a girl for me, And the kind that I want for a mate. I know it is very " old-fashioned" to say Your wife is a " saint from above," — But I own I am fond of her " old-fashioned " way, And proud of her "old-fashioned" love! i t i 48 MY LADY OF THE MARIGOLD. lUlY Lady of the Marigold is fair to look upon, The fairest queen in all the sunny West ; Her eyes are like blue violets, all dewy in the dawn, Her tresses like the marigold that 's pinned upon her breast. She wanders in the garden ; the birds attend her there ; The roses lend their color to her cheeks ; The sunlight lingers lovingly upon her flow- ing hair, And all the flowers lean to hear the music when she speaks. My Lady of the Marigold wears neither silks nor lace ; Upon her wrists there gleam no costly bands ; But knight or king ne'er knelt before a queen of gentler grace, 49 :JiSeau£ aiiD Mciice To sue for priceless favors from her white and jeweled hands. My Lady's radiant jewels are two bewitching eyes ; Her gold she plucked beneath her window- shrine, And oh ! the wealth of tenderness that in her action lies, When in my hand she places hers, and lifts her lips to mine ! My Lady of the Marigold, I love you well and true ; I ne'er again, O love, will leave your side ; My world of cold hypocrisy shall not enfetter you, Eut in some far and lovely realm alone we two shall bide. We '11 dream beside blue waters, that dance upon the shore ; Our ships will be white clouds that sail the sky ; The marigolds will bloom for you, the birds sing evermore, And all the world — the happy world — will be just you and I ! 50 TO JULIA. (in imitation of herrick.) JULIA ! Since your lips are red From the rose that on them bled Since your breath is sweet as wine Sipped from cups of eglantine ; Since your mouth, a Cupid's bow, Seems with blissful love aglow — Tempting, as a mouth should be — Guess I '11 take a kiss or three ! 51 ON JULIA'S RED FAN. U OW very strange ! This fan was white, When on it I began to write, But lo ! it blushed a rosy red On hearing what I — might have said ! 52 BALLADE OF SPRING DEPARTURE. CAREWELLto Town— the Season's done ; Farewell to banquet, ball, and play, Farewell to folly and to fun, And all that made the Season gay ! The time has come to hie away Beyond the pale of Fashion's throng. Our steamer leaves at break o' day — We 're going to do the Contin^w^/ 'T is not good form for anyone Who aims to be of vogue au fait. And with the swagger set to run, At home or club to longer stay, So close the blinds without delay. And let us pack and haste along ; With vast importance and display We 're going to do the Contmong I Our tour at Havre will be begun, We'll be at Buda-Pesth in May, 53 JBcnui an& 36elle6 At Berne we '11 view the rising sun, In Rome the old Flaminian Way ; Beside the Rhine we mean to stray A fortnight — which we may prolong ; Let all the Papers know, we pray, We 're going to do the Contin^w^/ l'envoi. Servants, now don't the truth betray. For that would be exceeding wrong); Though bound for Jersey, still we say We 're going to do the Contin<7«^ / 54 BALLADE OF FORGOTTEN LOVES. COME poets sing of sweethearts dead, Some sing of true loves far away, Some sing of those that others wed. And some of idols turned to clay ; I sing a pensive roundelay To sweethearts of a doubtful lot, The passions vanished in a day — The little loves that I 've forgot. For, as the happy years have sped. And golden dreams have changed to gray. How oft the flame of love was fed By glance, or smile, from Maud or May, When wayward Cupid was at play ; Mere fancies, formed of who knows what? But still my debt I ne'er can pay The little loves that I 've forgot. O joyous hours forever fled ! O sadden hopes that would not stay ! 55 JBeauj and JSelles Held only by the slender thread Of memory that 's all astray. Their very names I cannot say, Time's will is done ; I know them not But blessings on them all, I pray — The little loves that I 've forgot. Sweetheart, why foolish fears betray ? Ours is the one true lovers' knot ; Note well the burden of my lay — The little loves that I 've forgot. 56 A FAN FANCY. (Rondeau,) f J PON her fan where Cupids play At blind-man 's buff in droll array, A bit of rhyme he dares to write Whose theme is Love, and Love's delight Oh, bold, bad man ; what will she say? And while she reads he looks away, To awkward doubts and fears a prey ; "Oh fool ! " he thinks, " to love indite Upon her fan ! " He starts to go ; she bids him stay, Then blushes, sighs, and — names the day ! Ah, clever maid ! ah, happy wight ! Behold a couple's lives made bright By just a couplet light and gay Upon her fan ! 57 AT THE BAL MASQUE. DEHIND her mask two dancing eyes Glance up at me in shy surprise That I, who love her, should presume To clasp her in the brilliant room, Where sounds of mirth and music rise, And claim her as my own fair prize ; True love is fooled by no disguise ! I caught her smile, her lips' perfume Behind her mask ! As well, true love hath enterprise, Else, Prince ( who on all lovers spies ), How come we in this bower of bloom. Where, all unnoticed in the gloom, I steal a kiss from lips love-wise, Behind her mask ? 5B DALLIANCE. (Triolet. J 1 THOUGHT to write an epic grand, Instead I turned a triolet ; With the old masters close at hand, I thought to write an epic grand ; A flaming rose was in demand, But pleased, I plucked a violet. I thought to write an epic grand, Instead I turned a triolet. 59 SOUVENIR DE JEUNESSE. f CAUGHT a rosebud from her hair, She bent her head in sweet assent ; Trembling — she was so wondrous fair — I caught a rosebud from her hair ; How kind she was on that dim stair ! While asking for the love it meant I caught a rosebud from her hair. She bent her head in sweet assent. 60 A CYNIC'S CONCLUSION. C HE loves not me, forsooth, It is only Love she loves ; Ah, yes, it is all the truth — She loves not me, forsooth. Only my strength and youth, My presents of gowns and gloves She loves not me, forsooth, It is only Love she loves. 6i WITH HER RED LIPS SO LIKE THE ROSE. "1X7 IT H her red lips so like the rose, (I kiss the rose's petal tips) And she so tempting near, who knows, With her red lips so like the rose, But by mistake (she must suppose It so), I kiss instead her lips ! With her red lips so like the rose, Why kiss the rose's petal tips ? 62 SONGS IN SEASON. 63 A SPRING SONG. /^H, Peg is a winsome lassie, And Peg is gentle and shy, And Peg has the sun in her ringlets And the blue of the sea in her eye. I found her down in the meadow, On a morn when the spring was young, And I kissed her lips a score of times, And this is the song we sung : Ohone ! but U 'j time to be merry ; hey ! but it 's now to be glad ; For I'm in love with my lassie, And she 's in love with her lad ! And the day it was fair and balmy, As the days that the poets sing, And we found the path through the woodland By the old forgotten spring. Where once before in the summer That passed away too soon, 65 JBeauj an& JSelles We gathered the yellow jonquils, And sang this happy tune : Ohone ! but it 's time to be merry ; hey ! but it 's now to be glad ; For I 'm in love with my lassie. And she 's in love with her lad! And Peg with her shy, sweet dimples, Playing hide-and-seek with her smiles, Gave me her hand for safe-keeping As we sat on the meadow stiles ; And I filled her arms with daisies, And I filled her lap with yew, And all the long way homeward We sang of hearts that are true. Ohone I but it 's time to be merry ; hey ! but it 's now to be glad ; For I 'w in love with my lassie. And she 's in love with her lad ! 66 PRIMAVERA. I IGHT laughter ringing sweet, The sound of dancing feet, A burst of song ; A girl as dear to me As sunlight to the sea. From guile and grief as free As rose of wrong, What though the throstle sing, For very joy of spring, With silvery note, The music that I hear Is sweeter and more dear Than e'er charmed mortal ear From thrush's throat ! O, hasten, blooms of May ! O, hasten, nuptial day And honeymoon ! When to my yearning breast My loved one shall be pressed. And love be crowned and blest In life's long June ! New York, April 2, 1895. 67 UNDER THE RED LILY. A SHEAF of Easter lilies lies Beneath my dear donzella's head, And blue as fair Italia's skies, Blue iris lilies form her bed. While, with its crimson lily, flies The flag of Florence overhead. The Easter morn is more than fair. And all the land in glory gleams ; Glad anthems fill and thrill the air From birds and bells and singing streams, And from the white cathedrals where The "City of the Lilies" dreams. This day I know what joy may be, As in my loved one's bower I bide. And lo ! the fairest flower to me Of all the flowers of Eastertide, Is this fair maid of Tuscany, This tiger-lily at my side. 68 THE HAPPY RIVER. LIOW dreamily the swift hours go ! I lie beside the Happy River, And watch the vagrant water's flow, The pale, sweet lilies nod and quiver — This day when all the June is fair With bonnet blue and vesture vernal, With roses twining in her hair, And in her eyes a peace supernal. Oh, you who plod the city's streets, And give your lives to toil and traffic, Can never, with the soul of Keats, Know pleasure so divine, seraphic, As I, who dream the hours away. Where linnets sing and lilies quiver, In blushing June's embrace, to-day, Upon the banks of Happy River. The murmuring water soothes and calms The soul that erst was tossed by passion 69 JScauj anD ^Belles Above me tender southern palms Have spread their arms in loving fashion ; My couch is all of myrtle made, The myosotis blows me kisses, The linnet, from a frond-fa9ade, Has set in tune my own heart's blisses. The June is young ; her breast is warm, Her breath with fragrant blooms is laden, The robe about her vestal form Is sensuous with the sweets of Aidenn ; And ah, June's lips are red with love. And oh, June's heart is faithless never, I think God made the stars above To crown my June a queen forever ! Unknowing all of life's despair. Unconscious of the world's distresses, I here repose, without a care, Enraptured by my June's caresses ; I am content with what is best, I praise and bless the All-wise Giver, My world is where my head doth rest Upon the banks of Happy River ! 70 LOVE-NOTES. \X7HEN I hear her laugh, I think Of the rippling of a brook, Starred with blooms along its brink. When into her eyes I look. To my charmed sense arise Dreams of tender, sunlit skies. When she speaks, I hear the note That outpours at sudden dawn From the startled thrush's throat. When her lips mine rest upon, All my senses seem to reel, And I know not what I feel. II. " If thou wilt tell me, dear," she said, " How many stars there be. 71 JBeauj anO JBcUes I '11 tell thee all the golden thoughts I have each night of thee." " Oh, countless, then, thy thoughts," I said " Of thee I have but one : Merge all thy stars in one great star And that is mine, the sun." III. " O RAVEN, why are you silent? And why do you coo, O Dove? " " Lo, one is sad, and one is glad ; For we are the moods of love ! " IV. In the deep, still garden close She leaned to my kiss, And hers the sweet shame of the rose That crimsons in bliss. When the Great Prince comes in his gold From gardens above. And the dewy, flushed petals unfold In fulness of love. 72 Songa in Season " Dear, thou art the white rose," I said, " And Love is the sun ; Is not the rose happiest red? Love's will be done." V. Oh, June is a sweet, red rose, With love on its petal tips, And June has grace and a rare, fair face, And a kiss on her fragrant lips. The buds have burst with their joy, The dumb stars dance their delight. For I love my June, and our honeymoon Shall last fore'er and a night ! 73 UNDER A SUNSHADE. C YES that are languid and dreamy, Lips that are temptingly red, Cheeks that are dimpled and creamy, And tresses silken of thread — (Mine is the chief of disgraces, Loving the vision I viev*^ ! ) Ah, 't is the fairest of faces Under this shade of ^cru ! Blossoms that breathe of a bridal, Born of the redolent night, Wafted of winds to my idol, Just for her dainty delight. (What if I yield to temptation? Who could resist it ? Could you ? ) Ah, what an artist's creation Under this shade of ecru ! Truly a model to measure, Fashioned by angels above, 74 Songs In Season Truly a poem of pleasure, Aye, and a lyric of love ! (Never a time like the present — No one v^^ill see if I do — ) Kissing 's exceedingly pleasant Under a shade of ^cru ! 75 COACHING. 'T'HE musical trumpet's blast, — The sound of laughter gay, — Then word to start is passed, And the tally-ho rolls away. Out of the city's street, Far from the noisy throng, Into the country sweet. It rumbles gayly along. Over the cool green hills, And down through the wooded dales, Fragrant with daffodils, And vocal with calling quails. Happy each youthful face, Merry the mirthful wits, And lo ! in the footman's place, Trumpeter Cupid sits ! 76 ABOARD THE "BUMBLE BEE.' M OW, sailor, spread your fleecy sails, And steer for the open sea ; There 's never a boat this day afloat, As fair as the Bumble Bee ! And Marjorie, fair Marjorie, Stands laughing at my side, Her blue eyes bright for pure delight As over the waves we glide ! To-day we bid good-by to care. And leave the world behind ; On such a yacht it matters not If nev^r a port we find ! For Marjorie, fair Marjorie, Has pledged her heart to me. And where we go, why care to know, This glorious day at sea ! Then, sailor, hoist the spinnaker, And every stitch of sail, 77 3Beaux anD JSeUes And with a song we '11 fly along, And kiss above the rail ; For Marjorie, fair Marjorie, This day was wed to me, And so no drone of a chaperon Is aboard the Bwnble Bee ! 78 PRESSING AUTUMN LEAVES. T^HE sumac glows a brilliant red By tossing plumes of golden-rod ; The painted frondage overhead Is fluttering downward to the sod ; Last night there was a frost ; to-day The world is full of loveliness As through the woodland aisles we stray, Gathering leaves to press. We loiter gaily up and down, At every step we find a prize ; " Here *s one," I say, " of deepest brown, To match the velvet of your eyes ; Here 's one of gold, to match your hair, And here is one of scarlet hue To match your lips " She cries : " Take care ! Base flatterer, you ! " 79 JBeauj anD JBclles I like the work of pressing leaves With one so fair as Rosalie ; What fine suggestions one receives ! The which are acted on by me. I cannot tell just what occurs, For that, dear me ! would not be best, But you can take my word — and hers — More than the leaves are pressed ! 80 THE ARCHERY MATCH. C HE fits the arrow to its place, She bends the bow with skill and grace, The feathered shaft lets fly : A look of triumph lights her face, — The score 's a tie ! Dan Cupid, who 's a bowman true. Then boldly tries what he can do To bind the tie fore'er ; Result : the world declares the two A well-matched pair ! 8i BOHEMIA AND BOHEA. 'T'HE witch who brewed with cunning art Some draught of love above a flame, And chanted runes to charm the heart Of false gallant or fickle dame, Had not the wondrous power, I vow. Of magic and of sorcery Possessed by her who charms me now — The little witch who brews me tea ! 'Mid cushions made of eider-down, With all the busy world afar, I watch her, in her pretty gown. Bend smiling o'er the samovar ; No incantation it receives, Her words have naught of mystery, But what a blissful spell she weaves — The little witch who brews me tea ! Ye gods that drank of nectar bright. Come down and have a cup or two, 82 Songs in Season I think you '11 find the flavor right — 'T will seem like good old times to you ! However happy up above, Try once Bohemia with me ; But I reserve the right to love The little witch who brews me tea ! Hallowe'en. 83 A LOVERS' QUARREL. (Sonnet.) Scene : The Library. Time : Christmas Eve Guy {entreatingly) : And are you angry still, my sweet Marie? Marie {coldly) : Miss Marston, if you please — do not forget. Guy {bitterly) : 'T were better far if we had never met ! Marie {cuttingly) : Quite true ; — we need not meet again, need we ? Guy {striding up and down) : I wish that Lovelace girl was lost at sea ! Marie {sarcastically) : How cruel, when last evening she was '' Fetr' Guy {tu9-ning toward her) : I did not mean it, dear — I much regret — 84 Songe in Season Marie {moving away) : Shall you attend our church's Christmas tree ? Guy (suddenly) : Who hung that green upon the chandelier ? Marie {defiantly) : I did, but be assured I'll not go near ! Guy {approaching) : Why, you are now — I warn you that — Marie {holding her ground) : Good-by ! Guy {exultingly) : Oh, no, sweet ! you must pay Marie {faintly) : How dare you ? — Guy ! ( Twenty minutes later) : You dear old stupid ! — thought I did not know That I was standing 'neath the mistletoe ! 85 THE SLEIGH RIDE. \A/HEN all the world is robed in white And merry night By moon and stars is rendered bright, And everywhere the sleighing bell Rings out to tell The tale that lovers love so well, With joy I capture pretty Flo, And off we go Across the glittering fields of snow. Our sleigh just large enough for two Who want to woo, And keep unfrozen while they do. I place my arm, in comic haste. About her waist. And find her lips just to my taste. She shows no traces of alarm. For what 's the harm ? Thus on we speed past cot and farm. 86 Songs tn Season How swiftly now the moments fly ! The miles go by, We notice not the darkening sky. Heigho ! what now ? 'Mid laugh and shout We 're tumbled out, The snow is cool, beyond a doubt ! We climb again into the sleigh, Then in dismay We quickly learn we 've lost our way ! Yes, lost our way ; alas, alack. We can't go back — Down comes a storm upon our track ! In yonder cottage shines a light- It 's hardly right. But there we '11 have to spend the night. And who should answer at the door But Parson Bore, Who 's oft seen runaways before. And — well, I don't know what is said, But all turn red, And Flo and I, we— just get wed ! 87 SKATING SONG. A S swift and light as a bird in flight She skims o'er the glistening lake, And her skates keep time in a merry chime To the music her red lips make ; Stray snowflakes fly from the frosty sky, Caressing her cheeks and hair ; While sweet and strong in a skating song Her voice rings on the air : Glow, i7ioon, glow. And twinkle, stars, on high; Blow, winds, blow, As over the ice we fly ! Blow high — blow low — No lass is cold with a lover bold, Heigho I Heigho ! With a swinging stride I gain her side, And gather her hand in mine ; 88 Songs in Season And I shout aloud, to the jocund crowd A challenge they can't decline. Hurrah for the race ! We set the pace, With never a slip or fall, And a click and a clash as our runners flash Far in advance of all ! Hurrah ! Well done ! The race is won ! No further the need for haste ; Then her roguish glance betrays the chance, And my arm steals round her waist. Oh, such the delight of a winter's night, When the course is clear and long ; And the skates keep time in a merry chime To the rollicking skating song : Glow, V10071, glow. And twinkle, stars, on high ; Blow, winds, blow. As over the ice we fly ! Blow high — blow lotv — No lass is cold with a lover bold, Heigho I Heigho ! 89 FOR VALENTINE. AA/HAT shall he send for valentine? A rose, a verse entitled "Mine" — A song of love, a bleeding heart, Pierced by a deadly Cupid's dart — A fan of rare old lace from France, Like La Valliere used in the dance — A dainty ivory miniature Of Louis Quinze or Pompadour — A gemmed aigrette that she may wear To crow^n the splendor of her hair — A buckle, filigreed and chased. To clasp the belt about her waist — A bonbonniere — a case for cards — A book inscribed " With best regards" — Which best would please the maid divine ? What shall he send for valentine ? If best the maiden he would please. He should, perhaps, send all of these ; But no ! He '11 send (his purse is flat) A kiss, and let it go at that ! 90 HEIRLOOMS. T^HIS ivory casket, jewel set, That grandma cherished to the last In satin sweet with mignonette, Contains the treasures of her past. She was a famous belle when young — For she herself has told me so — And when her wedding chimes were rung Full many a heart was wrung with woe. I lift the lid and scan them o'er — Dear souvenirs ! — with reverent gaze ; It is like opening the door Of grandma's heart in other days. If each could tell its own sweet tale ! But all are silent now as she, And darkness shrouds the narrow vale 'Twixt memory and mystery. Here is the chain that round her throat Was fastened at the king's command ; qi JBeauj anO ^Belles Here is the letter grandpa wrote When he besought her for her hand ; Here is the locket, pierced, that chanced To save him from a British gun, And here a glove, worn when she danced The minuet with Washington. I know no more ; I only know She loved each one as some old friend, And that, because she willed it so, I, too, shall guard them to the end. She gave no gold to mine or me, But left, instead, a heavy debt Of love, that keeps her memory As fragrant as the mignonette. February 22. 92 IVORY MINIATURES. (SQNNETS.) 93 AN IVORY MINIATURE. I F Karl Huth wrought of old with greater grace, Or with a skill more marvelous and rare, 'T was not because inspired by one more fair, Or one of more divinity of face. Some cunning master hand that thrilled to trace The beauty of Dubarry and V^alliere, When Watteau reigned, and France had not a care, By this may well have won immortal place. Within its dainty frame oijletir-de-lys, The crossed white lilies of the Bourbon lance, It seems to Speak, with dreaming eyes, to me Of all the vanished glories of romance, Of days when kings held court beneath a tree, And nights when Love was conqueror of France ! 95 WHITE. I IKE pure white rose-leaves are her cheeks in hue ; Of snowy velvet is her sumptuous gown, Lace garnitured and edged with eider- down ; Upon her throat pearls gleam like sun-kissed dew ; Her ermine cloak half hides a white suede shoe, While valley lilies and white violets crown The splendor of her beauty, whose re- nown Is great as that which Titian's models knew. As slowly she descends the marble stair, A radiant vision in the brilliant light, She looks like some white statue fraught with breath ; And I, who marvel she can be so fair, Know that her vestal soul is just as white, And that she will be faithful unto death. 96 POTPOURRI. A QUAINT old jar of flowered cloisonne, That cost a fortune in Satsuma's mart, And long and patient vassalage to art, Has graced her mantel, lo, this many a day. And since that rapturous night long passed away When first she played the debutante's shy part, The roses she has worn above her heart Have found repose within this lacquered clay. O fragrance of unnumbered happy nights ! What memories of conquest you recall, Of merry throngs, of music and of lights, Of smiles and whispered vows when love was all ! Ah, faded petals of her heart's delights. Dropped one by one since that first perfect ball! 97 THE BRIDE. A S snowy white and cold as edelweiss, That blooms in solitude on Alpine steeps, Or in the solemn Schwarzwald's silent deeps, She looks, in truth, like some fair flower of ice, As to the altar of her sacrifice The measure of the melody she keeps. Impassive, while her rebel spirit weeps Like some lost soul barred out of Paradise. Then as she hears the sacred service read, " Whom God hath joined ..." the mockery of it all Brings to her lips a smile of utter woe ; She dreams this is her funeral day instead, And that her bridal raiment is a pall ; The envious world applauds, and does not know. 98 SPRING IN TUSCANY. *THE hills are sown with stars of cyclamen, And dew-gemmed cups of wild anem- ones, And near and far the gold acacia bees Drone drowsy answer to the lark and wren, And to the happy songs of maids and men, While through the laurel and the myrtle trees Gleam dreamy vistas of blue, sun-kissed seas. And all the Land of Love is glad again. Like Virgil, chanting strophes to the skies, In pillowed ease on blooms of asphodel, Beneath the lattice of a bowered tourelle I lie content, and feast my happy eyes ; Ah, surely, surely, this is Paradise ! . . . Yet where is Dante, and where Raffaelle ? 99 THE ARTIST. O E wrought with patience long and weary years Upon his masterpiece, entitled " Fate," And dreamed sweet dreams, the while his crust he ate, And gave his work his soul, his strength, and tears. His task complete at last, he had no fears The world would not pronounce his genius great, But poor, unknown — pray, what could he create ? The mad world laughed, and gave not praise, but jeers. Impelled to ask wherein his work was wrong, He sought, despairing, one whose art was dead, 100 fvocg /Rtntatures But on whose brow were wreathed the bays of Fame ; The master gazed upon the picture long ; " It lacks one thing to make it great," he said, And signed the canvas with his own great IDENTIFIED. A SLEEPING sylphid one fair day I found In Daphne's fragrant bowers (the Poet saith), Most strangely like my own Elizabeth, And with her hair in wreaths of roses bound. So tranquil her repose, so sweet, profound, But for the soft susurrus of her breath, I should have deemed such perfect peace was death. And flung myself, despairing, to the ground. So strangely like my own sweet love was she, I bent and kissed her red lips o'er and o'er. As flowers are sipped of honey by the bee, And spoke the name of her I most adore ; She oped her eyes, and smiling up at me, Exclaimed in rapture : " Please do that some more ! " IN SEVILLE. 'THE earth is bathed in fragrance of the moon, Seville is drunken with the sweets of sleep, But one, a pretty youth, doth vigil keep Beside love's lattice with guitar in tune. He sings a strain, melodious and sweet, To wake his love, who comes with greetings warm, A pale mantilla round her queenly form, And broidered brodequins upon her feet. Her lips meet his in breathless, swift caress ; They see not jealous, gleaming eyes that peer From out the shadows of the cypress near. Nor hear the oath two savage lips express ; But when at morn she seeks the scented shade, She finds him prostrate, in his breast a blade ! 103 THE BALLET DANCER. (BY A JOHNNY.) I ITHE-LIMBED and lissome and all lovely she, Swift-footed as a gleam of glancing light, Bare-bosomed, and with glittering gems bedight, And garbed in snowy gauze to shapely knee, She sweeps and swings to luring melody, In graceful pirouettes of dazzling white. While I — cannot believe her human quite, And lean and look, and marvel as I see. flitting fairy of another world, Ethereal creature of a sylphic sphere ; Wilt leave me now with brain so dazed and whirled, And angelwise, soar off and disappear ? 1 will not from my heaven thus be hurled ! I '11 meet you later and we '11 have a beer. 104 FANCY A-WING. 105 IN ITALIA. /^ OLD dawn 'twixt Alps and Appenines ! Gold dawn on vales and olive trees, And pent in golden celandines, Blown sweet by winds from southern seas ! Birds chant their matins to the skies, Perched high on old castello walls, And everywhere the sunlight falls Glad anthems and hosannas rise ! Across the Jiower-bespangled grass She walks amid the peasant throngs With lifted face to ?norning mass. Outpouring all her soul in song. White arum-lilies deck her breast. And for her vestaV s diadem. Upon her flowing tresses rest Some stainless stars of Bethlehem. Dim clouds of gold and amethyst Across the azure zenith creep, 107 JSeauj anD JSelles And vanish in the golden mist, Like white feluccas on the deep. High noon 'twixt purple peaks and sea, And silence, save for cooing doves. As lovely as the painted Loves Of Orpheus and Eurydice, She lingers in the scented shades To eat her figs and drink her milk. The fairest of the Tuscan maids, With dreaming eyes and hair of silk. With lips as red as tulip-bells Amidst the maize in time of May, And fragrant as the asphodels That bloom where Dante sleeps for aye. The vesper chimes have ceased to ring. The gold has changed to silver light, And Philomel begins to sing Gay ritornellos to the night ; In vine-hung ways are heard guitars, And youthful laughter, low and sweet, And love-words, never obsolete. Low-murmured to the witness stars. 1 08 3fanci2 B*1IDlin9 Beneath the silvered lichen leaves She lifts her lips for his caress. With love that dies not, nor deceives^ And knows no law but happiness ; ' T was love like this that Sappho sung On Lesbian hills long, long ago, A nd that, when Italy's art was young. Was known to Michael Angelo ! 109 AHOLABEH. \ A/ HERE cool Rohini's waters flow From haunts in Himalayan shades To Gunga's sacred tide below, Through gardens and resplendent glades, Wherein gay sunbirds whirr and swing From flower to flower on tireless wing, And golden orioles tilt and sing Of love through all the day, — The Sakya Rose is blossoming, Aholabeh ! Aholabeh ! a hope attained ! A rose-white Princess passing fair ; Her small, soft hands are henna-stained, A garland binds her scented hair ; Her soorma-lustred lashes seek To veil the love that burns her cheek, The love too great for lips to speak, And strong to live alway ; 4fancs BsTKIling For kissing them thy gods grow weak, Aholabeh ! Tall Prince, whose kriss is keen to kill The tiger crouched in kusa-grass, Not Krishna thou, to have thy will At sylvan sport with her, and pass ; No gift of fruits or frankincense, Of champak, musk, or ornaments Of nakre or of gold, contents, But faith of thee for aye ; All pride in meek magnificence, Aholabeh ! Then build thy house of ganthi-flowers, Set stolen stars against their blue. Build heaven for her in earthly bowers. And sheathe thy sword if thou wouldst woo. Lo, in the garden of her sire She waits for thee in bride's attire, With downcast eyes and lips of fire. The Light of Himalay, The soul of all the world's desire, Aholabeh ! IN THE HIGHLANDS. T^HE sweet Loch Lomond finds a bed Within the Highlands' warm embrace ; Ben Lomond lifts his tawny head To kiss the harvest moon's fair face ; The flowering fields look up in love To all the amorous stars above. Oh, pluck some purple ling for me. And one white daisy bring for me. And sing forme, and sing for me, ' ' Glenogie " and ' ' Prince Charlie ! " A perfect peace lies on the moor, The tender myrtle drapes the dune, And Philomel's sweet overture Has set the banks and braes in tune ; All Scotland is a bonnie bride, Whose dreamful sighs her joys confide. //ow gude to hear the skirl 6* pipes O'er bracken, burn, and barley, 112 When Donald plays and Janet sings " Glenogie " and *' Prince Charlie ! " By limpid lake half hid from light, Embowered by the heather blooms, My Highland lassie sits to-night And quaffs with me the night's perfumes, Her soul and mine in harmony With all we hear and all we see. " Threescore o nobles rode up the king's ha\ But bonnie Glenogie ^s the pride d" them a\ WV his milk-7vhite steed and his bonnie black e'e ; Glenogie, dear mither, Glenogie for me ! " With eyes more soft than eyes of dove, And breath more sweet than whin or thyme. She lifts her lips in languid love, And with my lips constructs a rhyme ; — How wondrous is a wistful word With earth and sky in rapt accord ! " 7 7/ to Lochiel, and Appin, and kneel to them, Down by Lord Murray and Roy of Kil- darlie : 113 JSeauj and JSelles Brave Mackintosh^ he shall Jly to the field wV them, — These are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie ! " Ah, ne'er shall wane this harvest moon, This night of nights shall last for aye, And though I know a Spain's hot noon, Or in the Northland have my day, Ben Lomond still will tower above, My lassie kiss my lips in love. " Down thrd the Lowlands, down wV the Whigamore, Loyal true Highlanders, do7vn wV them rarely ! Ronald and Donald, drive on wV the broad . claymore Over the necks o' the foes d Prince Charlie ! Follow thee I follow thee I wha wadna follow thee, Kingd the Highland hearts, honnie Prince Charlie ! " 114 THE HOMESICK WANDERER. /^H, for a breath of bracken and heather, As up from the south the spring comes by ! Oh, for a walk in the glad warm weather, Under the blue of Scotland's sky ! Oh, for the sound of the laughing waters, Kissing the Highlands' crags of gray, And a sight of the fairest of Scotia's daughters — The lass that loved me in Colonsay ! *' Fhir a bhata I Fhir a bhata ! " / can hear the boatmen singings In my ears the pipes are ringings " Fhir a bhata ! Fare thee well ! " Oh, to live over the olden story, Told of bonnie and braw McPhail, Who left the Isle for the fields of glory. Bearing the ruby that would not pale, 115 ascauj anD 3Qcl\C6 Would not change till she that waited Proved unti-ue and drifted away, And joy was theirs when the two were mated, And he was the hero of Colonsay ! *' Fkir a bhata ! Fhir a bhata ! " ' T was the last sweet sound, I mind me, Heard as Ulva paled behind me, — ''Fhir a bhata ! Fare thee well ! " How would it be with the nameless rover, After his years on the barren main ? Never may he live the old tale over, — All his battles have been in vain ; Sadly my eyes in the moonlight glisten, Heavy my heart through the weary day. As ever and ever I seem to listen To voices behind me in Colonsay. " Fhir a bhata I Fhir a bhata ! " — And that sound of boatmen singing In my ears ivill e'er be ringing, — " Fhir a bhata ! Fare thee well ! " Ii6 HAFIZ. "IX/HEN Hafiz sang in Samarcand, Through tender twilights, sweet with balm, Trooped star-eyed youths and maids to hear, And woo 'neath citron-tree and palm ; The nightingales were awed and mute ; Peace brooded over all the skies ; And sweeter than a magic lute His glad notes rang, or broke in sighs. The spell of love was on the land When Hafiz sang in Samarcand. II. Where Hafiz sleeps by bastioned walls The poppies set the fields in flame ; White asphodels above his breast Speak silently his sacred name ; 117 JSeauj anD JBelles In rose-wreathed bowers rough songs are heard, And ribald laughter over wine^; A ruffian slays, for one mad word, His rival at a wanton's shrine. Then in the dusk sad silence falls Where Hafiz sleeps by bastioned walls. Hi CHRYSANTHEMUM. /CHRYSANTHEMUMS! In dear old days When I was such a happy man, And wandered in the pleasant ways, I once sojourned in far Japan ; Where Ti Turn, of the satin eyes And luring grace, each morn would come To bring me (ah ! the sweet surprise !) A Japanese chrysanthemum ! My mus?nee knew my every wish ; How charmingly she served me tea, With her own picture on the dish, — Less sweet and dainty, though, than she ; And when I gave a kiss for this In token of reward, Ti Tum Gave me another soon — that is, A Japanese chrysanthemum ! We lounged for long in fields of flowers. We sat together in the shade ; 119 JBeauj anO JBeUes I ne'er have known such happy hours As those for me my musmee made. 'T was an ideal life to lead ! — Of all delights the very sum ! And she was fair — herself, indeed, A Japanese chrysanthemum ! And when the dreamer ceased to dream, And all his idols turned to clay, No after joys could e'er redeem The hours his musmee laughed away. And did I leave her in Japan ? And did she not my own become ? I have her still — upon a fan ! — My Japanese chrysanthemum ! So you may wear the flower you choose, The pink or pansy, rue or rose. But pardon if I 've different views, In memory I this one chose ; Not for its fragance do I care, 'T is not so beautiful as some, But I am quite content to wear A Japanese chrysanthemum ! 1 20 FELICIA OF MEXICO. pv ARK as the dawn on the still, wide water, When the fog and the mist hang low, Was the face of the Southland's beautiful daughter, Little Felicia of Mexico ; Aye, as the languorous dusks and olden Over the Guadalquiver's tide, But bright her eyes as the starlight golden The night in the Southland glorified. Sweet as the breath of the myosotis, Little Felicia's lips, and red ; Born was she of love and the lotus. Deep in June in a peri's bed. Stole from the Sun his warmth and languor, Stole from the flowers their beauty and sweet, Leavened her love with a spirit of anger, Learned of a cougar that played at her feet. 121 aseaus an& :Bellc6 Little Felicia — the saints befriend her ! — Lost her heart in an evil hour, Loved vi^ith a love that vi^as true and tender, And joy was all of her bridal dower. Where was the Sun with protecting favor? Where was the cougar with deadly claws ? Ay de mi ! there was none to save her, — Well had she died in the cougar's jaws ! Down by the sea where the soft warm water Kisses the banks with murmurous sighs, Perished the Southland's beautiful daughter, Canopied only by peaceful skies ; But ah ! not alone, for lo ! beside her He who had wooed her and wrought her woe Lay dead from the sting of the Spanish spider, — Little Felicia of Mexico ! 122 VARIA 123 LAY OF THE MODERN MINSTREL. I DO not sing the martyred brave, Who dared and died for liberty, Nor those who breasted wind and wave To Avin a world across the sea ; Nor yet the knights of olden days, Whose name and fame were England's pride, Whose valor poets vied to praise, And every victory glorified. I do not sing the fair and fond, Whose charms both king and slave have sung. Whose sceptre, Love, since being dawned, Has swayed the hearts of old and young ; Nor is my lyre attuned to laud The worth of wealth, or wit, or wine. Which shallow sonneteers applaud At ten or twenty cents a line. 125 JSeauj anD JBellcs I do not sing of snow nor spring, Of flowery fields, nor moonlit glades, Of birds that whirl on tireless wing Through all the summer's lights and shades ; Of none of these ; they 're out of date ; I 've laid them all upon the shelf ; My theme is one of greater weight — I sing of nothing but Myself ! 126 TO EMMA EAMES. TTHOU conquerest all our hearts, and then Bidst us adieu for larger spheres ; We can but say : '■'■ Auf wiedersehen. Come back to us in future years ! " Auf wiedersehen ! But ere the sea Has borne thee from us for long days, A farewell gift I bring to thee — A simple wreath of honest praise. No frankincense, or myrrh, or gold, No songs like the immortal Keats' ; But flowers that you may kiss and hold — A wreath of tender marguerites. How often, in a careless hour, I 've looked at lilies, musingly. And thought : " Had lilies voice of power. How wondrous sweet that voice would be !" 127 JBeauj anD JiScllcs And when I heard thee, flower of youth, With all thy sweetness, grace, and art, Lo ! 't was the lily's voice, in truth, And still it echoes in my heart. I place my garland at thy feet — A grateful gift — with eyes still wet With tears for gentle Marguerite, For Elsa and for Juliette ! May, 128 NO. 10, ARCADY. "T* IS no design of mine, God wot. That I should be forever " broke," But there 's a time I envy not The best that comes to wealthy folk ; 'T is when, at Mistress Polly's board — You know the house, lo, Arcady — I share with other guests her hoard Of bread, and cheese, and beer — and glee. We gather there on Sunday nights, A jolly crowd of eight or nine, And all have healthy appetites, Since most of us forget to dine. Then what a feast awaits our eyes ! There 's everything the heart can wish ; The world is just the shape and size Of Mistress Polly's chafing dish ! I never yet have understood The source of Mistress Polly's art, 120 JBeauj anD ^Belles And why her rarebits are so good They never fail to reach the heart. I 've supped at times — say once or twice — With big-bugs at Delmonico's, But things have never tasted nice — Just why, Magician Polly knows. Come round some time to No. lo, And be bohemian — what say ? You '11 find no place that 's better when You want to drive dull care away. Bring all your jokes and funny things To add to Mistress Polly's cheer ; We '11 have a banquet fit for kings Of toasted bread, and cheese, and beer ! 130 A PREDICAMENT. C HE is very dear to me, She is all the world, I ween, What think you her name may be ? — Josephine ! You would guess it by her looks. You would know it by her air, She is like the girls in books — Very fair ! You cannot resist surprise When you 're told this fairy queen. Has the sweetest hazel eyes Ever seen ! And you will rejoice to know That her cheeks were made to bite, That her skin is like the snow, Soft and white. And her lips are full and red. Like the berries of the mead ; 131 aseauj anD :fBcl{e6 " None but you I '11 kiss," she said, " No, indeed ! " But this witch is full of guile, For she added, not in fun, " Even you must wait awhile, Till we 're one ! " Did the like you ever hear Since your great-grandmamma's day. When all girls were prudes, I fear ? — Did you, say ? Tell me, please, what I 'm to do, To my prayers she will not hark ; Shall I die and go straight to ? (Question mark ! ) Ah, there 's little hope for me, So why rail at unkind fate ? Maybe your advice would be, — Simply wait! But I cannot well comply, So she never can be mine, For she 's only six, and I — Sixty-nine ! 132 NOCTURNE. JVAOONLIGHT. and the madness thereof, and the love ; Moonlight and peace below, and moonlight and peace above ; The trees have sighed and are silent, the seas have sunk into sleep, And who that looks in the sky's fair face could think that the sky could weep ? 133 "I LOVE YOU." l_I OW many fleet, sweet years have passed Since that glad hour she deigned to say — Hath time been slow, hath time been fast ? Men live a lifetime in a day. I still can feel her hand in mine, Her warm caress in swift delight, — How many years ? Hath time no sign ? Or did it all occur last night ? Last night ! It seems a faint, sweet dream ! Last night ! And I have not grown gray I feel the thrill, the joy supreme I knew when first I heard her say — Cold — is it cold ? I did not know ; I thought the blast a tender tune, I saw the falling flakes of snow, But thought them blossoms of the June. Stand closer, for mine eyes grow dim. Perhaps, who knows ? the end is near ; 134 IDaria I wonder if she thinks of him Her three words gave a life-time's cheer. Last night ! I hear the music yet, I kiss her lips, I hear her say — God, tell me, does a soul forget When it goes forth to endless day ? 135 THE SCRIBE'S SWEETHEART. r\ FLATTERING tongue of fair Susanne! She calls my poems " pipes of Pan," She laughs at all my jokes, and sees In each some wondrous qualities ; To her my stories are the best With which the world was ever blest ; My books, she says, should all be found In every house above the ground ; In short, I 'm Byron, Tennyson, And Swift and Shakespeare all in one ' Ah, flattering tongue of fair Susanne ! If she were but the editor man ! 136 FAIRY TALES. " O^^^ °^ ^ ^^^^ ' " ^ "^3,gic phrase, That brought the light to eager eyes In careless childhood's golden days, When we were happy and unwise ! When gnomes and giants, sylphs and sprites, Abode in towers and forests grand, In that old realm of youth's delights, The wondrous realm of Fairy-land ! Then Princes dressed in cloth of gold. And Princesses were strangely fair ; To castles gloomy, weird and old, Oafs dragged their captives by the hair ; Queens rode on palfreys that had wings ; Knights went to war in ten-league shoes, And half the men on earth were Kings, — The other half formed Retinues ! Oh, Fancy-land of happy youth ! Thy joys, alas, are all too fleet ; 137 aBeauj anD JBelles By years so fraught with cruel truth Our disillusion is complete. But even yet, how strange and dear The wonders of that golden clime, And how our pulses thrill to hear Those luring words, " Once on a time ! 138 FUTILE INTUITION. " M IGHT has a myriad eyes," So runs the legend old, But Love has a myriad more, I hold- And still Love is not wise. 139 A MESSAGE. T T is too much to ask you to forgive, For bitter silence, like rank weeds, has grown Between us for so long, that though I live A hundred years I cannot half atone. Nor by the magic of regretful deeds Change into flowers of trust the bitter weeds. But could you for a little space forget All that has happened wrong, and live again Those happy hours when one pale violet Of all you brought me to my bed of pain. Was more to me than favor of a king, Because your love spake in the little thing ; And mount with me once more those creak- ing stairs To that high room where all the old books lay, 140 Daria Where, all forgetful of the world and its affairs, Our love found speech upon that perfect day, And where, like Romola and Tito, first Our lips assuaged each other's burning thirst ; — Could you forget, I say, but for a space, The after-wrongs that tore us far apart, I think the old sweet love would light your face, And there would be a glad song in your heart ; And if you knew how deeply I regret, You were not you, unless you did forget. 141 A WOMAN'S LOVE. "T* IS you that have brought me sorrow, And stained my life with tears, That have made to-day and to-morrow As dreary and long as years ; You are false to the faith we plighted, And swore by the stars above, And the wrong cannot be righted — But this is the pay of love ! Yet I am only a woman, To love while ever I live, And be it divine or human, Should find it joy to forgive ; One rapturous hope I cherish In all my grief and unrest. That ere I shall fail and perish, You will clasp me again to your breast ! 142 YOUR SIN WILL FIND YOU OUT. /^H, well for the joy, — It is sweet ! It is sweet 1 The sin is in bud, Its heart in retreat. Alack for the joy ! For time will disclose The shame of the sin. As the heart of the rose. 143 THE POET'S FAREWELL. T^HEY say my muse has flown for aye, And that my poet's day is done, That I am but a " sinking sun," Who sang so sweetly yesterday. My masters know . . . Yea, it is o'er, With broken heart I close the book, Put by my pen with one last look. And turn away to dream no more. What now, beloved, remains unsaid ? One wish, perhaps, before the end — That you will think of me as friend^ And call me fair when I am dead. 146 A FLING AT POETS. I F I had a girl with golden hair, And teeth of exquisite pearl, And eyes that were gems, resplendent, rare, Do you know what I 'd do with that girl ? I 'd carry the beautiful, precious thing Right down to a jeweler's place, And I 'd sell her quick for what she would bring As an ornament to her race. 147 PLAINT OF A POET. T N good old times the Poet's lot Was one of honor, pride, and praise, And poesy was not a blot On one's fair name, as nowadays ; Alas ! this unregenerate age Has no respect for Homer's art. And deems all Poets need a cage, Or dwelling-place from men apart. An inoffensive chap am I, Who have my hair cut now and then, And dash off things about the " sky," And "snow," and "Spring has come again " ; And everywhere I chance to go By sneers and scoffs I am attacked, Folks nod at me and whisper low : " Oh, he 's a Poet ! " meaning " cracked." 148 t)arla One friend alone has proven true, And once I said : ' ' Pray condescend To tell me how it happens you Deign be a modern Poet's friend ?" He grasped my hand. " Because, to wit You 've been maligned in hut and hall ; I 've read all things you ever writ, You 're not a Poet, sir, at aJ.1 ! " THE END. 149 g^;;j^^;-^i^^ ;■ ■ ■■.f^{0^^i I •«• '»<»*>.5-