PS 2364 N13 P6 Copy 1 POEMS By MRS. ELIZABETH MARKHAM An Oregon Pioneer of 1 847-1 857 Portland, Oregon THE J. K. GILL COMPANY 1921 POEMS By MRS. ELIZABETH MARKHAM An Oregon Pioneer of 1 847-1 857 Portland, Oregon THE J. K. GILL COMPANY 1921 Dedicated to by the OREGON PIONEER ASSOCIATION '^ (o l^ "5 "A 4, FOREWORD THE VISIT OF EDWIN MARKHAM to his native land revives many pleasant and interest- ing recollections. As a child of five he went away with his parents. Now he returns as a mature man who has achieved a world-wide fame that reflects honor upon his family, distinction upon the place of his birth, and is most gratifying to its citizenship. As another son of an Oregon Pioneer, I trust it will not be regarded as temerity on my part, if I aid in extending to our distinguished visitor a hearty and fitting welcome. A prompting incentive is the fact that his parents and mine made the long and wearisome journey across the plains in 1847 in the same immigrant train. His mother was held in high esteem by mine. I have frequently heard her speak of Mrs. Markham's culture and ability; also of her literary work, some of which was done under peculiar difficulties during their long hegira westward. She told me that I could recognize Mrs. Markham's writings by the initials "E. M."— Elizabeth Markham. When I first met Edwin Markham, July 8, 1915, at a reception tendered him at the Panama-Pacific Ex- position, San Francisco, in the Oregon building, I related the foregoing and other incidents, which nat- urally interested him very much. He requested me to get as many of his mother's poems which had been published in Oregon as I could. Agreeable thereto, I have gladly collated the accompanying poems, and given the names and dates of the papers in which they were published, all of which were found in the archives of the Oregon Historical Society. Oregon admires, loves and welcomes her distin- guished son. J p ^gg [5] A Contrast on Matrimony 1 The man must lead a happy life, 2 Free from matrimonial chains, 3 Who is directed by a wife 4 Is sure to suffer for his pains. 1 Adam could find no solid peace, 2 When Eve was given for a mate, 3 Until he saw a woman's face 4 Adam was in a happy state. 1 In all the female face, appear 2 Hypocrisy, deceit and pride ; 3 Truth, darling of a heart sincere, 4 Ne'er known in woman to reside. 1 What tongue is able to unfold 2 The falsehoods that in woman dwell ; 3 The worth in woman we behold, 4 Is almost imperceptible. [6] 1 Cursed be the foolish man, I say, 2 Who changes from his singleness ; 3 Who will not yield to woman's sway 4 Is sure of perfect blessedness. To advocate the ladies' cause, you will read the first and third, and second and fourth lines together. E. M. Oregon Spectator, June 15, 1848. L7J Hearts May Warm the Winter Hearts may warm the winter, Hearts will melt the snow ; If, while hopes are freezing. Friendship be not so. Worlds of ice may bound us. Hearts will break their chains, While our friends surround us, While their love remains. Household gods lie scattered Round the ruined hearth. Do we mourn them shattered, Do we weep their dearth? No ; if love but cheer us On our withered way ; Friendship, too, keep near us, What of their decay? E. M. Oregon Spectator, January 11, 1849. [8] The Maiden's Dream On the banks of the Willamette She saw her love standing, In the shade of the tall evergreen ; So dear to her heart Was that form so commanding, But the dark waters rolling between. She saw him awaiting Most gracefully bowing. And hastened that she in return — Some token might give him. Of confidence in him. With rapture her bosom did burn. And as she was straying The zephyrs were saying, As they float at the brink of the stream- Oh, maiden, forbear. Not a sigh or a tear. When, lo, she awoke from her dream. E. M. Oregon Spectator, February 22, 1849. [9] Imaginary Ship Wreck By MRS. E. MARKHAM What sound is it arrests our ear? Is it the accents of despair, It is the sufferers' dying prayer, A tempest on the sea. The howHng winds, the distant cry. The piercing shrieks, the tearful eye. The seas are rolHng; must they die And perish in despair? Is there no hope, no arm to save, On the land or on the wave ; Dangers, death or distance brave, To chain the tyrant down ? Again they bend their suppliant knee. And gazing fearful on the sea, Imploring heaven to set them free, And bring them safe to land. [10] Confusion reigns mid such alarms, To give up life with all its charms ; To sink in death's cold icy arms, With terror must be fraught. On that frail bark one sparkling gem Outshines the costly diadem ; No royal blood, compared with him Is worth a transient thought. The heavens were lit, the lightnings gleam, And round their ship a fiery stream ; The ocean yawned — a fearful scream — She sank beneath the wave. The omen bird now flaps its wrings And tidings from the ocean brings O ! who can touch the trembling strings Or chaunt the funeral dirge. Oregon Spectator, October 18, 1849. [II] The Departure Adieu, adieu, the Ocean Bird Has took her flight to yonder bay, And ploughing through the foaming surge She bears from us our friends away. That glittering gold is dearly won, That disunites congenial minds. Our fathers, husbands, friends and sons, Have fled to California's mines. A weeping mother bathed in tears. In black despair her bosom swells. And wrapped in dark foreboding fears, A mother's love, what tongue can tell. It's like the thornless, budding rose. Its treasures are as yet untold ; It's lasting as Mount Helen's snows. And purer than the virgin gold. [12] She heeds no dangers, toil, or death, Nor fears to search the desert's wild. And in her last expiring breath, Her richest prayer is for her child. The father leaves his happy home, Let fancy paint the parting scene. His weeping consort sad and lone, The troubled ocean rolls between. He leaves the babes he loves so dear. To search for wealth that golden ore, One lingering look, a sigh, a tear, They part, perhaps to meet no more. Blow, blow, ye winds, a pleasant gale, And speed them on their trackless way. Ye Ocean Bird, unfurl your sails, Till safe in San Francisco's Bay. Time's rolling wheels pass swiftly by, And usher in that happy morn. On every breeze we'll send a sigh, A prayer to God for their return. Oregon Spectator, November 1, 1849. [13] My Native Home By MRS. ELIZABETH MARKHAM The thoughts of home my bosom thrill, I love my native country still — Her flowing streams and gushing rills, Her sunshine and her storms. And birds of sweet melodious strains, Her summer showers and autumn rains ; I love her wide extended plains. In nature's loveliest forms. Her flowing rivers wide, and deep, In majesty and grandeur sweep To the Atlantic's rolling deep. Their tribute there to pay. And when my heart was sad and lone. Through her sweet groves I love to roam To hear the wild bird's merry tone — Her plaintive melody. [14] I loved the briar and roses fair, That scent alike the morning air ; I loved to kneel with those in prayer — Heirs of immortal rest. To guide my steps a father near, And brothers kind and sisters dear To kiss away the falling tear. With arms of love caressed. Like incense on the morning air Arose for me a mother's prayer, And time rolled on without a care To check my youthful glee. Where now's the cherished ones I knew ! They have vanished like the morning dew, Tho' scenes are changed, yet fancy drew Their portraits on the mind. A marble slab both long and wide Now marks the spot, so sure a guide, Where parents sleeping side by side. The weeping willows bend. [15] Tho' now concealed beneath the earth They taught me — O! their matchless worth- To love the land that gave me birth — The banners of the brave. The names of those illustrious ones, Who fought bold Briton's haughty sons. Their blood was spilt, the conquest won, Columbia's sons were free. Their deathless fame, — that patriot band — In golden letters truth shall stand While Stars and Stripes sweep sea and land, Our land of liberty. Oregon City, November i6, 1849. Oregon Spectator, November 29, 1849. [i6] Voice of Intemperance I rove through the city Or prowl on the plain, And boast of the innocent Victims I've slain ; Of my widows and orphans, The tears they have shed ; Of desolate hovels, And hearts that have bled ; Of minds once enlightened, In the ranks of the brave ; Of the fate of the monarch, Or the death of the slave. When I ride on the ocean Or sail on the lake, I mark down the millions That folloAv mv wake. [17] To the mother that weeps O'er the fate of her son, I boast of the chivalrous Deeds I have done^ The oceans of blood And tears I have spilt, And witnessed cruelty, Sorrow and guilt. At a breath or a touch Of my magical wand. The mighty are fallen — Their wealth I command. The home of the happy Is wrecked at my name ; The spoils of the wealthy Is the height of my fame; The brow of the beautiful, Lovely and gay, I have mantled with shame And stamped with dismay. [i8] The maid on her lover Looks down with disdain For the ties that had bound them I had severed in twain. The pride of man's heart, Her music and song, Is turned into wailing As I entered the throng. The voice of his children, As they sport in the dale, At the sound of the revel Is swept from the vale. But I felt my influence Begin to decay. When the cold water army Was set in array. But her ranks are so broken Her chieftains are fled, That Fve taken fresh courage And hold up my head. [19] My health is improving, I feel no alarms, Since the cold water army Have laid down their arms. E. M. Oregon City, December 20, 1849. Oregon Spectator, December 27, 1849. "n.: %. [20] The Dream of Ambition By MRS. ELIZABETH MARKHAM The dream of ambition ! Ye sloth, hear the sound, Cease digging in darkness like moles in the ground ! Break off those strong fetters ! lift up your dull eye ; And learn ye this lesson, the sun shines on high. No longer go creeping like snails on the ground ; Preferment by sluggards has never been found. The dream of ambition, young man, hear the call. Nor suffer intemperance your souls to enthrall. Be wise, shun the viper, it wounds you, it kills — The poisonous infection produced by the still. Disdain such pollution, stand firm on your guard ! In life a high station, in death a reward ! Washington and Franklin, have you read of their names? How they arose from obscurity to a pinnacle of fame. Till their fame does resound upon sea as on shore? At the name of our Washington how the cannons do roar. [21] Napoleon's ambition would conquer a world, But down from that pinnacle the tyrant was hurled. Let youth then take warning; seek fame and renown By conquering their follies, their vices bring down. No ignorance or darkness pervades o'er that mind Where talent, ambition and virtue combine. O ! glorious ambition ! O ! who could forbear To nourish that plant in his bosom with care? Its a gem worth possessing, when well understood. It leadeth man up to the throne of his God ; He will gird on his armour, prepare for the fray. Lose life, perhaps honor, in winning the day. He will never cease rowing up the river of fame Till his bark reach the fountain — the summit attain. The dream will cease then, and the tale will be told And engraved on his tombstone in letters of gold. Oregon City, January i, 1850. Oregon Spectator, January 10, 1850. [22] Woman Written for amusement and handed to the Spectator only by especial request. No light that shines in yonder sky Can cheer the soul like woman's eye ; No depth of seas, no shifting sands Contain in them such wealth for man. Nor earth can with her mines impart No purer gold than woman's heart ; The orphan boy by her is fed, She lingers round the dying bed. And man while sinking to the tomb, She cheers him on through death's dark gloom By her unfeigned and gentle love, She makes the dying pillow smooth. And with her hands and tender care, She forms the shroud for him to wear; And with her sweet consoling voice She makes the sorrowing heart rejoice. [23 J With sleepless eye and noiseless tread, She guards the nursling's cradle bed ; And woman's love is a holy light, Time cannot dim its radiance bright. Distance nor dangers, threatening, smart. Cool the affections of her heart ; She visits where the prisoners dwell, In their low, damp and darkened cell. Kneels at their couch, Avith streaming eye Points them to mansions up on high ; The scene on Calvary she explains, The dying thief's repenting strains. The bleeding Lamb, the glittering spear, And Roman soldiers hovering near ; The crown of thorns in mockery made And placed upon his kingly head, His acts of love, his dying breath While in the agonies of death, Cries to the thief, thy soul shall be This day in paradise with me. [24] Yes ! Woman's love is a holy light, Time cannot dim its radiance bright ; A brilliant star that God has given, To lead man's erring feet to Heaven. In every age since time began, Her chastity unrivalled stands ; And virtue's reins she will control, Till stars and planets cease to roll. E. M. Oregon Spectator, March 21, 1850. [25] Road to Oregon We left our friends in foreign lands — Our native country dear; In sorrow, took the parting hand And shed the falling tear. For Oregon, three cheers they gave. From us to disengage — Fearing that we might find our graves Amidst the sand and sage; Or met by cruel savage bands, And slaughtered on the way — Their spectred visions, hand in hand, Would round our pathway play. To the Pacific's temperate clime Our journey soon began — Traversing through the desert sands Towards the setting sun. [26] On Platte the rocks like battlements, Were towering tall and high ; The frightened elk and antelope Before our trains would fly. And herds of buffalo appear — On either side they stand; Far as our telescope could reach, One thick and clustering band. O'er sinking sands and barren plains , Our frantic teams would bound — While some were wounded, others slain, Mid wild terrific sound. And in these lone and silent dells The winds were whispering low ; And moaning to the Pilgrims, tell Their by-gone tales of woe. Deserted on those mountains wild, No ear to hear his cry — Near by a spring, on a rude bluff. They laid poor Scott to die. [2/] Unaided grief and blighted hope, Midst savage beasts of prey — The fate of poor deserted Scott Is wrapped in mystery ! Our toils are done, our perils o'er — The weary pilgrims' band Have reached Columbia's fertile shore — That far-famed happy land. O'er mountains high and burning plains, Three thousand miles or more — We are here ; but who can e'er explain Or count the trials o'er? Such clouds of mist hang round the scene, O'er which we have no control ; It's like a half-remembered dream. Or tale that's long been told. E. M. Oregon City, December, 1850. Oregon Spectator, January 9, 1851. 28 Lines Composed whilst the Lot Whitcomb made her first ascent of the Rapids. Lot Whitcomb is coming! Her banners are flying — She walks up the rapids with speed ; She ploughs through the water, Her steps never falter — Oh ! that's independence, indeed. Old and young rush to meet her, Male and female, to greet her, And the waves lash the shore as they pass. Oh ! she's welcome, thrice welcome. To Oregon City ; Lot Whitcomb is with us at last. Success to the Steamer, Her Captain and crew ; She has our best wishes attained. Oh ! that she may never While running this river Fall back on the sand bar again. E. M. Oregon Spectator, June 5, 1851. [29] Friendship The rosy dreams of life may change, And death may bring affliction ; True friendship with her arms of love May hold us up from sinking. And friendship is a fountain where Springs up a Heaven-born treasure ; The heart o'ercharged with grief and care Count her a priceless treasure. Give us old friends with kindred minds, Tho' far from home we are straying; Tho' fortune frown and wealth decline, We'll grieve not their decaying. Tho' youth and beauty fade so soon, And death would seem so near us; Our morning sun go down at noon — May friends be there to cheer us. Within the altar of our hearts Our God to man has given The richest germ he could impart To be matured in Heaven. [30] Let others stretch their tiny arms And grasp for fame so fleeting; For me, I own the blissful charms Of Friendship's holy greeting. Oh what of all those lordly halls, Or elevated stations? We ask no stronger, safer walls Around our habitations Than friendship's star whose radiant beams Our feeble steps attending; Or golden crowns all set with pearls, Their various colors blending. And when the sands of life have run — - Our feeble voices failing, Our labors and our toils are done. And we are homeward tending. When time with us draws near the close And all our days are numbered. Our hearts forgiving all our foes Lie down in dreamless slumber, [31] May loving friends stand round our bed To soothe our dying pillow, And Jesus hold our sinking head While crossing Jordan's billow. E. M. Oregon Statesman, June 13, 1851.