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 1914 
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 Voices of tfje 
 Silent TOnngg 
 
 WLiUiam ^tapleton Hong 
 
 
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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
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VOICES OF THE 
 SILENT THINGS 
 
 WILLIAM STAPLETON LONG 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 1914 
 
Copyright 19U, by William Stapleton Long 
 All rights reserved 
 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston, U.S. A. 
 
 CI.A380911 
 
 OCT 16 1914 
 
TO HER WHOSE VOICE, IN LOVE, HAS EVER URGED 
 
 ME ON TO SEEK ALL THAT IS HIGHEST AND 
 
 BEST IN THOUGHT AND FEELING AND IN 
 
 THE EXPRESSION OF THESE, AND TO 
 
 WHOM I OWE ALL THAT THERE IS 
 
 OF INSPIRATION IN THESE 
 
 LINES, I LOVINGLY AND 
 
 HUMBLY DEDICATE 
 
 THIS BOOK. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 To those who wonder that this volume should 
 be called, "Voices of the Silent Things," the 
 author wishes to explain that this alone seems to 
 express what were his own feelings when these 
 verses were composed. In collecting all of them 
 together in one volume under this head, he has 
 held to the idea that each one should be the voice, 
 whether in cry or song, of something, which other- 
 wise, could not have found expression. And tho 
 some of them seem to have come from his own 
 heart, in joy or pain or longing, this heart has 
 seemed to him, at such times, not a part of himself ; 
 using his own intelligence, but a separate some- 
 thing, different and distinct, finding utterance 
 through the virtue of its own emotion . And thus , 
 he wishes to eliminate himself and his own person- 
 ality, not through modesty, but because the reader 
 must know that a soul has spoken, if he would be 
 in sympathy with what has been said. 
 
 As to the Voices themselves, the author has little 
 inclination to offer excuses either for the form or 
 quality of their notes. He realizes that all men 
 sometimes have thoughts for which they can make 
 no attempt at expression. He realizes too, that 
 still oftener, perhaps, men feel, when in the act 
 of expression, that the words fall flat and lifeless 
 while they themselves grasp helplessly at the too 
 5 
 
PREFACE 
 
 subtle creations, or visitants, of their brains. And 
 still other than, or beyond these difficulties, there 
 is a realization of shadowy fancies and conceptions 
 which flit swiftly along the outer halls of conscious- 
 ness or hover vaguely above the dimmer realms 
 of thought. But they are not yet thoughts in 
 themselves, nor yet can they breathe in the ex- 
 pression of a thought. They too are Silent Things 
 and their voices are as yet, unheard. Perhaps 
 they suggest a song for the future or perhaps they 
 influence present songs. Certainly their flight 
 must ever cause a lingering pang of longing with 
 an attendant thrill of hope. In common with 
 other men, the author is very conscious of these 
 failings. Each reading of any single page brings 
 vague hauntings of rumbling discords and of 
 harmonies unattained. And when the whole is 
 summed up in prospect, he is more than grateful 
 for the refuge of a name; he is glad to retreat be- 
 hind the Silent Things, and let their Voices alone 
 be heard. 
 
 William Stapleton Long. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Part One 
 
 Poems of Longing 
 
 The Hermit's Prayer 13 
 
 Oh, Let Me Flee! 14 
 
 Perplexity 15 
 
 Loneliness 16 
 
 Could I but Know 17 
 
 Vacation Longings 18 
 
 Come Soon, Sweet Night 20 
 
 Part Two 
 
 Moments of Leisure 
 
 A View of Life 23 
 
 A Dream 26 
 
 Jack Jouett's Ride 29 
 
 Andromache's Complaint 35 
 
 Apostrophe to Life 38 
 
 Part Three 
 Sonnets 
 
 Consecration 43 
 
 Anticipation 44 
 
 What She Said 45 
 
 What He Said 46 
 
 Love's Dawning 47 
 
 Love's Morning 48 
 
 Visions of Love's Noonday 49 
 
 Vision of Love's Evening 50 
 
 Visions of Love's Morrow 51 
 
 Absent at Christmas 52 
 
 With a Gift 53 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Dedicat on (Of A Magazine) 54 
 
 A Cry from the Streets s 55 
 
 In the Gloaming 56 
 
 To the Dark 57 
 
 Part Four 
 
 Love Lyrics 
 
 To 61 
 
 To 62 
 
 The Spirit of Love 63 
 
 In the Moonlight 64 
 
 To Summer 65 
 
 Part Five 
 
 Occasional Pieces 
 
 Adonis, The Child of Spring 69 
 
 Old Virginia 70 
 
 To Christmas 71 
 
 The Christmas Time 72 
 
 Song of a Thoroughbred 73 
 
 Thoughts at Random 74 
 
 My Gift. 75 
 
 Whispering of the Boughs 77 
 
 Part Six 
 
 Rimes of College 
 
 Randolph-Macon 81 
 
 Randolph-Macon 82 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 To the Team 83 
 
 To the Cup 84 
 
 The Bells 85 
 
 A Toast 87 
 
 Phi Zeta Gamma Song 88 
 
 I Liber; Amid Vos Salutamus 89 
 
Part I 
 POEMS OF LONGING 
 
THE HERMIT'S PRAYER 
 
 Oh, for the wings of a chainless mind, 
 And the power of a soul that is free, 
 
 To soar like the breath of a Heavenly wind 
 Thru the realm of mystery. 
 
 To fold like the tents of an Arab of old, 
 
 And fade in a maze of transcendent thought; 
 
 Or fall like a shower of atomic gold, 
 
 And resume where the treasures of ages are 
 brought. 
 
 When the veil of the future is drawn from our view, 
 And the shackles that bind us are riven in twain, 
 
 Then to rise like a phoenix — deathless and new — 
 Search for the Hidden, and not search in vain. 
 
 13 
 
OH, LET ME FLEE 
 
 Oh, let me flee from the cold and the gray; 
 
 From the wavering, hungering throng; 
 Let me breathe out the life of my soul in a lay, 
 
 And live in the breath of my song. 
 
 Let me flee on balm-kissed winds of the South, 
 To a fairyland, dreambuilt bower, — 
 
 With a song in my heart, and a song in my mouth, 
 And a kiss for each lingering hour. 
 
 Let me dream then of love, and mymaiden-o'- 
 dreams; 
 
 Let me thrill with a rapture no less 
 Then I felt when the moon lit her own silver beams 
 
 In the bright eyes that dared my caress. 
 
 Oh, I'm tired of the rose that blooms only today 
 And fades with the warm flush of morning, 
 
 And I long for the gladness that lingers alway, 
 With a hope that sets only in dawning. 
 
 14 
 
PERPLEXITY 
 
 Oh, darkened Human Vision, Thou! 
 
 Why must the past, and passing years 
 Show only sorrows, hopes, and fears, 
 
 And leave the source of light so low? 
 
 Why must we pause with bated breath, 
 Implore for faith and hope to win; 
 Fall down before besetting sin, 
 
 And seek for life in hopeless death? 
 
 Our works are corals, pregnant bones, 
 Together knit, by Time, unchanged; 
 Uprising, ladder-like, arranged, — 
 
 Receding waves must leave them — stones. 
 
 Our life is but a rise and fall; 
 
 Our being but an is and was; 
 
 We grasp, we cling, we fear to lose, 
 But only gain in losing all. 
 
 15 
 
LONELINESS 
 
 Ah, Memory come to my slumber, tonight, 
 For this heart is so tired and lonely. 
 
 Thru all the long hours, let purest delight 
 Fill my dreaming with tho'ts of her only. 
 
 Take me back to the days when we wandered so 
 free, 
 She and I, thru the roses together. 
 Let me hear the sweet words that she whispered 
 to me, 
 As we talked of— the crops and the weather. 
 
 Let me hear her again, sing the songs that we 
 loved, 
 In the shadowy stillness of evening, 
 Let me catch once again the bright glances that 
 proved 
 Her soft whispers too true for deceiving. 
 
 Oh, take me to her, dearest Memory, Thou, 
 For I'm lonely, and tired and sad-hearted. 
 
 Let her fingers smooth out the hard lines from 
 my brow, 
 With a touch of the rapture, departed. 
 
 16 
 
COULD I BUT KNOW 
 
 Could I but know how warm spring rain 
 Can rouse the tiny seed-heart's rest, 
 
 And send a stem to breathe again 
 
 And bloom and fade on Nature's breast; 
 
 And could I know how life that's still 
 Can wake a thousand times again 
 
 To feel and know, and pulse and thrill, 
 In mingled ecstasy and pain. 
 
 Then I could reach beyond this veil 
 Of years in flesh that binds me here; 
 
 And sing where songs are not to wail; 
 And feel where sense is not to fear. 
 
 For I have felt, — I know not how — 
 That somewhere in the vast Has Been 
 
 Was something vaster than the Now — 
 That this and that, are all akin. 
 
 Are all akin, and yet how far 
 
 This frenzied fancy seems to span, 
 
 When wandering from earth to star 
 To find the destined course of Man. 
 
 For thru that cycle of star-lumined ways, 
 The worlds in concert, seem to move, 
 
 ExisteDces, in vast arrays, 
 
 Stretch out 'neath soft-hued rays of love. 
 
 17 
 
VACATION LONGINGS 
 
 Away with your pratings of calics and dances; 
 
 Of banquets and balls and receptions to come. 
 I long for the rapturous, soul-filling glances, 
 
 The songs and the smiles of the girls at home. 
 
 I long for the gate 'neath the old weeping willows; 
 
 For the moonlit path that winds thru the grove, 
 When the soft breeze of summer wafts love on 
 its billows, 
 
 And the stars seem to melt in an essence of love. 
 
 I long for the woods and the dreamful fancies 
 That fall from the wings of sweet dryads and 
 fays, 
 As they wind thru the maze of their light, airy 
 dances, 
 And silently fade in the depths of the maze. 
 
 I long for the cool, grassy bank of the river, 
 Where the foliage of June keeps back the June 
 sun. 
 
 There the soft rush of water goes murmuring, ever, 
 And drowning faint memories of duties undone. 
 
 I long for the close of a day as it passes, 
 
 When the wandering ones shall be gathered 
 again; 
 
 With Father all snug in his big chair and glasses, 
 And Mother to lead in some old fashioned strain. 
 
 18 
 
How sweet is the thought of these days hovering 
 o'er us! 
 How wild the pulsations of hearts that are 
 young! 
 For the glad hopes of youth hold rapture before us, 
 And love breathes pure in the songs that are 
 sung. 
 
 19 
 
COME SOON, SWEET NIGHT 
 
 Come soon, Sweet Night, and let me hear 
 The trilling of thine unseen choir; 
 And let mine eyes be dazzled by 
 j Thy lights; and let me feel the soft, 
 
 Delicious tingling of thy breath, 
 And cry again, Sweet Night, come soon. 
 
 20 
 
Part II 
 MOMENTS OF LEISURE 
 
A VIEW OF LIFE 
 
 For him whose soul is fed with rays of hope 
 Shed freely from a healthy view of life, 
 There is a solace in dark hours of doubt, 
 A radiant course, between him and the tomb. 
 A Father's love once placed his children here, 
 And tho these children sometimes seem to stray, 
 This Father's love, a guardian angel is — 
 Unseen, but surely guiding these poor souls — 
 "Lone wandering, — but not lost." 
 
 Hast thou dim visions of a life sublime? 
 And dost thou hear vague whispers from the past 
 That seem to bring back scenes of other days, 
 Before thy soul, ethereal and free, 
 Was summoned from some far-off, unknown realm 
 To be imprisoned in an earthly frame? 
 Or dost thou feel, when night is o'er the earth 
 And thou canst almost grasp the other worlds, 
 That, somewhere, in that dreamful fathomless, 
 Thou hast affiance with some kindred thing? 
 And from the lingering spirit of these dreams, 
 Dost thou not feel an inward rapture rise; 
 A voiceless pleading for a higher sphere; 
 A vain attempt to mingle with the void? 
 
 23 
 
Yet tho'ts like these come not to thee alone, 
 But thru the varied cults and creeds of Man, 
 And down the cycle of revolving Time, 
 These dreams have been companions to thy kind. 
 Our fathers, long before us, sought to climb 
 To freer, purer places in the air; 
 And struggling with the shackles of our flesh, 
 Have found that they must, after all, be men. 
 So can we not take their experience, 
 And armed with faith in God's eternal care, 
 Look calmly on the fact of our existence, 
 And strive to make this world a place of joy? 
 
 There is a smile upon the face of Earth, 
 And in the softened arching of the skies, 
 The mighty visage of a Maker seems 
 To smile back on His silent handiwork. 
 How small a part of this vast firmament 
 Is Man, the pigmy, mighty lord of all ! 
 He bears no semblance to a Titan brood. 
 And yet, enclosed in that Likened Form, 
 He feels the pulsing of a living soul. 
 This soul, a tho't from out the mind of God. 
 And now detached from that vast Infinite, 
 Has softened to finite earthly glow, 
 That needs must wait His breath to fan a flame. 
 
 24 
 
But tho we cannot compass as we wish, 
 A larger sphere of life and usefulness, 
 The closing touch of any earthly day 
 Need never fall upon us as we sit 
 In idle brooding, with no labor done. 
 Nor should the dreamful darkness of the night 
 Enclose us in the downy arms of sleep, 
 Unless the balanced actions of the day 
 Have made it fit that we should wake again. 
 To thee young man, just thinking of a life, 
 There is a gentle whisper, then a call. 
 Must it do more than merely sound thy name, 
 Before thy lips shall shout, I can and will? 
 Nay! rise from out thy dreaming and thy doubt, 
 Hold out a helping hand to those around; 
 Look not for pleasure at the wanton feast; 
 Nor search for glory in the thoughts of men. 
 Thou canst not find the Holy Grail to bring 
 Thee fame. But He who blest the widow's mite, 
 Is somewhere, waiting for thy broken crust 
 To feed the beggar — while thou bringest drink. 
 
 Yet do not shrink before a life of toil 
 Among thy kind. For tho thy heart may bleed 
 In bringing others cheer; vast legions of 
 God's angels hover 'round thy head. Go forth 
 Young man, and in the exaltation of 
 Thy hope, sing joyful anthems, and be glad. 
 
 25 
 
A DREAM 
 
 Enclosed once, in arms of soothing sleep, 
 I heard a voice peal out in loud command: 
 "Come, go with me, thou son of Mortal Man 
 And look on one whose works have made him 
 
 great." 
 I listened, thrilled with doubt and apprehension, 
 I trembled, tho the voice seemed soft and kind. 
 But then mine eyes beheld a godlike form 
 That seemed to fill all space with beams of light. 
 He spoke, and strains of purest harmony 
 Poured smoothly from the swift and fluent lips. 
 "Fear not my friend," he murmured gently, 
 "I bear no tho't of harm to fallen Man. 
 I only would that to me were entrusted, 
 The power to make him what he once has been. 
 My name is Fame, I rule, with power supreme, 
 O'er shades of those, who once the scepter swayed. 
 Cast off the weight of earthly fallacies 
 And train thine eyes to look on heavenly scenes." 
 He paused and turned, the sound died down. 
 Then led the way, like Hermes thru the air, 
 I followed, thrilled with awe and expectation, 
 And filled with tho'ts that lie too deep for words. 
 
 The earth soon fades thru fleecy clouds of mist. 
 The planets pass in waves of liquid gold. 
 But then I feel a change come in the ether, 
 And know that we are close to scenes of bliss. 
 Once more I hear the soft and silvery sound. 
 My guide turns round and speaks again to me: 
 "In this fair clime, Departed Greatness now 
 Lives free from tho'ts of sorrow and of pain. 
 Come now and see, and seeing, understand 
 

 That graves are not for souls that cannot die." 
 
 We came at last, into a pillared temple 
 
 Of massive marble, vast and beautiful. 
 
 And round the hall, as tho in consultation, 
 
 The lights of ages, proudly sit enthroned. 
 
 And all eyes turn unconsciously 
 
 To where the brightest one in all the throng 
 
 Sits calm and still — immovable — 
 
 His presence shadowing all the lesser spheres. 
 
 I need not name this central figure, 
 But only speak of him as he deserves; 
 For who can fail to know that Washington, 
 And only he might justify such praise. 
 His broad brow gleamed, irradiant; 
 His eyes were stern, set back, and full of fire; 
 His nose seemed like some ancient Roman's; 
 His lips were firm, as tho engraved in stone. 
 'Tis not so hard to speak of his appearance, 
 But how can I, who have no mint for words, 
 Give voice to tho'ts that surged so rapidly, 
 As I gazed upwards, raptured and enthralled. 
 My mind rushed back to scenes of war and trouble, 
 I saw him in the days "that tried men's souls," 
 First, fighting red men in the wilderness, 
 And then for country, home, and liberty. 
 Yet war alone, did not make him immortal, — 
 Napoleon made more children fatherless; 
 But Washington made light to shine in darkness, 
 And raising Freedom o'er a Tyrant's will, 
 He left an altar, where he found a throne. 
 He did not fight because he loved the battle, 
 He did not "wade thru slaughter to a throne" 
 He only fought, when war drove furiously 
 And duty gave the call he must obey. 
 27 
 
Just then I heard a long drawn murmur 
 Roll onward, like the sound of distant seas. 
 And then a voice broke o'er the assembly, 
 To crave attention of that august throng. 
 At length he spoke, the vast expanse 
 Caught up the sound, and passed the words along; 
 The hall resounded with the sound because 
 His words, his theme, his speech was Washington : 
 "All hail this One!" He cried, impassioned, 
 "Uniting wisdom, love and firm resolve. 
 He stands alone, himself a constellation 
 Of starlike virtues, he the sovereign star. " 
 I cannot write it as he spoke it then, 
 We have no words to voice such heavenly sounds. 
 But still sometimes, I hear the distant echo 
 Borne softly on the wings of transient tho't. 
 
 28 
 
JACK JOUETT'S RIDE 
 
 Prelude 
 
 Hark, while the heralds of glory in chorus 
 Sing of the ride of Jack Jouett the bold; 
 
 Listen to deeds of the heroes before us, 
 
 Deeds that the sires of our fathers have told. 
 
 Listen, and let their wild dangers and daring 
 
 Kindle anew all our patriot love; 
 Point out the founders of glory we're sharing, 
 
 Then with due rev'rence our gratitude prove. 
 
 Theirs was a wilderness, cursed by oppression, 
 Ours is a glorious continent State; 
 
 They in the shadow of death wrung a cession — 
 Peace and good will from a sentence of hate. 
 
 Proudly we've honored them, honored our heroes ; 
 
 All but one hero, theme of this song. 
 Pay then, the tribute our loyalty owes, 
 
 Hail him our hero, his glory prolong. 
 
 'Twas seventeen hundred eighty one, 
 And the warmth of June had just begun 
 To deck the hills and vales and skies 
 Of old Virginia. And the cries 
 Of feathered folk, in joy or fright, 
 Soothed the day or roused the night. 
 But hearts of men now burned with care 
 As Hope grew faint, and grim Despair 
 Hovered around with bated breath, 
 Banishing liberty, beckoning death. 
 
Philips and Arnold, foe and knave, 
 Coming up the James to Richmond, gave 
 Such fright that all in terror saw 
 Small hope for makers of the law, 
 Who then a second time adjourned, 
 And all their tho'ts to safety turned. 
 Both Gov 'nor and Assembly, fleeing still, 
 Came soon to peaceful Charlottesville 
 Where Monticello's crest serene 
 As old Olympus guards the scene. 
 
 And there two score of solons grave 
 Wisely pondered how to save 
 The Old Dominion from her foes, 
 And how to relieve her people's woes. 
 Right well they might, for council true 
 No wiser, truer men e'er knew, — 
 Among them Light Horse Harry Lee, 
 Nelson, and Harrison, and he 
 Whose wild-impassioned battle cry 
 Made freemen unafraid to die. 
 
 While these held council in the town, 
 From Monticello's height looked down 
 Great Jefferson, the illustrious sage, 
 Whose fiery pen, defying rage 
 And threats of king and tyranny, 
 Had once declared his country free. 
 On his advice now leaned the State; 
 And on his head, now England's hate, 
 Reflected, tho it fiercely gleamed, 
 To Patriots, a halo seemed. 
 
 30 
 
Soon Lord Cornwallis came in haste, 
 
 Laying Virginia farms in waste; 
 
 And then at old Hanover learned 
 
 The way his fleeing prize had turned. 
 
 Then Tartleton, dashing trooper, brave, 
 
 He called, and hurried orders gave : 
 
 "Ride with your troop, and swift, nor stay, 
 
 Till Gov'nor Jefferson and they, 
 
 Whose rebel necks so stiff are raised, 
 
 Shall, captive, bend 'neath British gaze." 
 
 No need for more, the trooper's face 
 Lit up and beamed around the place. 
 Then loud he called : " To horse ! my men, 
 The game's afoot, we'll ride again. " 
 All mounted then in haste, and all 
 Pressed willing spurs at Tartleton's call, 
 And galloped close with deafening tread 
 While Tartleton's big black courser led. 
 And ere the cock at midnight crew, 
 His rein at Cuckoo Tavern drew. 
 
 Short space he paused and scarce had gone 
 
 When Jouett, keeper of the Swan 
 
 In Charlottesville, on business there, 
 
 Hurried to find his good bay mare. 
 
 Then tightening girth and grasping rein, 
 
 His feet in stirrups pressed again, 
 
 And quick his voice, like love's caress, 
 
 As softly urged his bonny Bess, 
 
 Who sprang away with right good will 
 
 Along the road to Charlottesville. 
 
 31 
 
Soon out of beaten path he fled 
 
 Into a secret trail which led 
 
 Safe thru the woods and nearer far, 
 
 But grown unkempt in Nature's war. 
 
 From nearby trees long branches hung, 
 
 And tangled vines beneath them swung, 
 
 While crumbling trunks of ash and oak, 
 
 Tho lowly lain, still often broke 
 
 The courser's pace. And once entwines 
 
 A maze of bushes, wood, and vines 
 
 Around her feet. But soon the steed 
 
 Arose, and from the maze is freed. 
 
 Then lightly leaps o'er gullied waste 
 
 'Neath flowers and weeds, in ambush placed. 
 
 Her rider crouches close nor fears 
 
 The angry swinging brier that tears 
 
 His unprotected face. And when 
 
 The East is tinged with gray again, 
 
 The welcome light his hopes restored 
 
 And brought him soon to Milton ford. 
 
 A moment's pause, the courser drank, 
 
 Then plunged upon the further bank, 
 
 While Jouett called to passersby : 
 
 "The British come! To arms!" or "Fly!" 
 
 Two weary miles alone remained, 
 
 And in ten minutes more he gained 
 
 The lofty goal, where Jefferson 
 
 His morning meal had just begun, 
 
 And with his noble family sate 
 
 To entertain their guests of state. 
 
 32 
 
But quick the hasty call he heard, 
 
 And with a gracious smile and word 
 
 Their pardon craved, and coming out 
 
 Upon the porch to ask about 
 
 The noise, saw Jouett where he stood, 
 
 All torn, and streaked with dust and blood. 
 
 " What ho, my friend ! " he cried, amazed. 
 
 "What peril prompts such desperate haste? 
 
 "The British, Gov 'nor, Tarleton's nigh, 
 
 And I have come to bid you fly. " 
 
 No further pause did Jouett make 
 For tired horse or rider's sake, 
 But turned his steed and quickly hied 
 Full gallop down the mountain side. 
 A few wild moments more and thru 
 The startled streets he rode, and drew 
 His rein before the gliding Swan, 
 Then gave to idlers on the lawn 
 Quick warning of the coming foe 
 And bade them to th' Assembly go. 
 
 And straight was wild-eyed tumult borne 
 Thru each defenceless street that morn. 
 The Assembly met, adjourned, and fled, 
 While Jouett with the fleeing sped 
 Safe o'er the Ridge to Staunton town, 
 And laughed as British steeds gave down. 
 The Gov'nor quick his family sent 
 To Blenheim, he more slowly went; 
 Then joined them and at Amherst paused 
 While Tarleton cursed the flight he'd caused; 
 
 33 
 
And when the foiled foe had gone, 
 Jack Jouett rode back to the Swan, 
 And there began to feel the pain 
 Of tired limbs and wounds and strain; 
 But happy 'cause of duty done — 
 His rulers saved, a contest won. 
 The Assembly voted spurs and sword 
 And grateful thanks upon him poured, 
 Which he received from Jefferson 
 As token of his midnight run. 
 
 34 
 
ANDROMACHE'S COMPLAINT 
 
 And is it thus that gods assume the right 
 To hurl vile torments on a weaker race? 
 Ye highly throned sons of monstrous birth, 
 And ye supremely throned o'er all the rest, 
 Zeus, Almighty, Creator, Zeus the Just. 
 Ah! Zeus the Just — author of Justice and 
 Of law. Is there a law, too high for thee 
 To crush? Alas, that I should feel thy wrath, 
 When I, in all humility, alone 
 Wast proud to be Hector's Andromache, 
 His own beloved. Yet did I offer insult 
 To the gods? or did I fail to sacrifice, 
 With holy rev'rence, all thou didst 
 Require? Nay! even I wast pure; and as 
 I loved my Hector, I loved thee, and all 
 The gods, and did adore the awful name 
 Of Zeus. But she — Ah! fatal she of Troy, — 
 Nay, not of Troy, — of Sparta, Helen the 
 Beautiful; whose cursed beauty did undo 
 Us all. But was she pure, and did she love 
 The am'rous Swan, her father Zeus? For her 
 Thou didst decree vast Troy must fall; and all 
 The princely sons of Teucer's race must die 
 The victims of a broken vow. But yet 
 Not all didst thou decree. For thou wast still 
 A god, and not a goddess, and couldst not lend 
 The lashing fury of thy spleen to fall 
 Upon the helpless heads of womankind. 
 But even then thou couldst have laid a check 
 Upon fell Juno's wrath, when she wouldst send 
 Into a loathsome death in life, the lovely 
 
 35 
 
Daughters of Priam's house, when they, with 
 
 hearts 
 Afire with anguish for their absent lords, 
 Must stay behind the fancied safety of 
 Their bowers. Thou didst onetime have a heart 
 Of melting tenderness and pity for 
 Our kind. What change did come, that thou 
 
 couldst not 
 Send Hermes with a message to these bowers 
 That Troy must fall? Then we indeed more 
 
 peace 
 Had found. For on the morning of that day, 
 These woman's hearts, their womanly frames had 
 
 sent 
 And at the peril of their princely lords, 
 These woman's breasts had caught the angry darts 
 And been a sheath for thirsty Grecian swords. 
 But thou didst give full sway to Juno's spleen. 
 And when my Hector fell before that Greek, 
 E'en death thou didst deny his other heart — 
 And I must live! Ah! live indeed — without my 
 
 Hector ! 
 But can I say my Hector now? or am 
 I his? Alas ! does he still love his own 
 Andromache? O Death! why dost thou wait? 
 Why dost thou leave this heart of Hector's stay 
 To press the bosom of a victor lord? 
 When in the fiery glance of that lord's eyes, 
 Methinks I sometimes catch exultant gleams 
 That glow from fierce Achilles' ire, as when 
 He rode triumphant o'er my murdered love. 
 And must this son his father's wrath still hold, 
 That as he uses fell usurped power 
 
 36 
 
To prostitute our ties of deathless love, 
 
 He still can mock dead Hector's shade 
 
 And rob the furies of their destined rite? 
 
 Oh, let me die. I do not ask for hope 
 
 In death. I do not even ask to find 
 
 My lord. But in the darkness of some cave, 
 
 I long to weep away my shame — and die. 
 
 37 
 
APOSTROPHE TO LIFE 
 
 O thou unknown and gently budding Life, 
 I see thee in the rosy-tinted dawn, 
 As petal after petal dost unfold; 
 And all the wandering zephyrs of the morn 
 Seem laden with the nectar of thy breath. 
 Thou art not gloomy, stern, and cruel, Life. 
 'Tis only in the frozen hearts of men 
 Thou seemcst cold. The chill of winter and 
 The shades of night have now no part in thy 
 Majestic loveliness. But thou art now 
 Accompanied by the gladness of a lark's 
 Refrain. The vari-colored robe of spring 
 Adorns thy path. And here, a little babbling 
 Brooklet trickles on to lend its chord 
 Harmonious to the merry tinkle of 
 Full many sweet-toned instruments. 
 
 38 
 
But Thou 
 Art grand and awful, Life. The rumbling peal 
 That heralds each new day, rolls slowly on — 
 And 'tis a constant call to higher things. 
 We hear, and visions of a troubled world 
 Succeed. And yet thou 'rt not a tossing sea 
 Of turmoil and of strife. The unquiet minds 
 Of men have made the city's roar. But thou 
 O Life, hast higher joys than these. To thee 
 The voice of love is raised expectantly; 
 And whispering, it tells of evening quiet 
 And holy calm, around the fireside glow. 
 The glimmer of a taper lights the scene 
 And sends a ray to light the world outside. 
 'Tis thus, O Life, that thou art truly filled 
 With rapture. And in thee are joys, unknown 
 To those who wander in the miry maze 
 Ambition spreads. But when to man shall come 
 Diviner tho'ts of peace, the restless longing 
 Of awakened souls shall search for love, 
 And find that love is life. 
 
 39 
 
Part III 
 
 SONNETS 
 
CONSECRATION 
 
 I pray Thee, Lord, for some great task to do. 
 
 A task of larger weight and measure than 
 
 The tasks that thou didst give, at first, to Man, 
 
 When he the joys of Paradise o'erthrew. 
 
 I feel not now, a longing for the praise 
 
 And cheers of men, that come for things achieved. 
 
 I would not stride o'er ruins of things believed; 
 
 Nor seek my light o'er all the rest to raise. 
 
 But I would find some hidden needs which burn 
 
 With voiceless agony, the human heart j 
 
 And lifting then, the mystic veil impart 
 
 A balm, for which the tossing spirits yearn. 
 
 Oh, then to Thee may this poor soul return, — 
 
 So full of tender pitying love Thou art. 
 
 43 
 
ANTICIPATION 
 
 As free as winged birds of air 
 That lightly rise and softly skim 
 The dizzy clouds; as cherubim 
 That dream and live without a care; 
 So I sometimes, can feel the surge 
 Of boundless freedom pulse along 
 These veins. And bursting into song 
 Of joy and hope, forget the dirge 
 That man so oft must hear, in this 
 His earthly pilgrimage. And then, 
 In fancy, I can hear a strain 
 That brings another world to this. 
 The world to be now seems now is, 
 And souls, imprisoned, live again. 
 
 44 
 
WHAT SHE SAID 
 
 The stars are shining, Sweet, why seem so dull? 
 The nightbirds sing of joy, why stay so sad? 
 And if the eyes that love, restrain the full 
 Intention of their glance, why not be glad? 
 For love that's worth the winning, must be sought 
 And eyes that wander, must be shown the eyes 
 That love. And hearts that love not must be 
 
 taught 
 To love. And all must learn the joy that lies 
 In hearts that knowa kindred heart, attune; 
 And feel a kindred tnrill, in joy and pain; 
 And know the way, when parting comes too soon, 
 To wait and love, till meetings come again. 
 My heart is free, teach it to love, and then, 
 I'll teach thee more of love, and be thine own. 
 
 45 
 
WHAT HE SAID 
 
 Ah, Love, I know that I am dull and sad. 
 
 And yet, I feel that all is not of pain, 
 
 For why should I in childish faith be glad 
 
 And feed a hope that lingers but in vain? 
 
 I know that love is sometimes wooed and won 
 
 By deeds of might and softly whispered words. 
 
 But how can I whom Love has all undone, 
 
 Find deeds and words, which only Love affords? 
 
 Let him that loves not sing of love. And let 
 
 The careless heart make others care. But I, 
 
 A helpless slave to love, can only fret, 
 
 And live, and love thee, as the days go by. 
 
 And in this sadness, all my joy must lie; 
 
 But still, in silence, I will love thee yet. 
 
 46 
 
LOVE'S DAWNING 
 
 Dimly above the fading afterglow 
 
 Of youth and youthful loves, I see, or seem 
 
 To see the rising glory of a far off gleam 
 
 Whose parent orb with certain sweep and slow 
 
 Ascends the starry heavens of my soul; 
 
 Until its beams no longer dimly shine, 
 
 Nor leave a seeming in their obvious sign, 
 
 But in a golden wavelike radiance roll. 
 
 And I, though blind, in blinded ecstasy, 
 
 Like sun-adoring Magi to the Sun, 
 
 Fall now devoutly with my prayer begun, 
 
 In worship that is not idolatry, — 
 
 Worshipping Thee, mine earthly, Holy One, 
 
 Divinely human,|still divine to me. 
 
 47 
 
LOVE'S MORNING 
 
 Dimly I saw Thee, now full clear I see 
 As thru the windows of our souls that light 
 Pours in ethereal waves to bear this sight, 
 Charged with devotion, love, and constancy. 
 Then there was seeming, now, in truth, I know, 
 And knowing, thrill with mingled joy and pain, — 
 Joy that o'erwhelms me, bears me up again, 
 Then racks me with the fierceness of its flow. 
 Know then if each wild longing could express, 
 In gemlike words, this vast unuttered love, 
 Thine ears would tingle as such words would 
 
 prove 
 Its breadth and length and depth of tenderness. 
 Nor need a forced imagination move 
 Those words to breathe a whisper of excess. 
 
 48 
 
VISIONS OF LOVE'S NOONDAY 
 
 Dimly again between the radiant beams 
 
 Of present morning, glorious and real, 
 
 Full many rare and lovely visions steal. 
 
 And first this Love's effulgent Noonday seems 
 
 To flit before me, beckoning apace, 
 
 And sometimes pointing out a struggle won, 
 
 For wealth or fame, or busy plans begun; 
 
 And sometimes to a likeness of thy face. 
 
 But always in the cycle of my thought 
 
 As it anticipates the rush of years, 
 
 Whether it finds a smile or bitter tears. 
 
 Thy soul and mine in rip'ning love are caught 
 
 As one, unmindful of Time's dark'ning fears, 
 
 Serenely trusting what each day has brought. 
 
VISIONS OF LOVE'S EVENING 
 
 And dimly still a fainter vision waits 
 Beyond the portals of Love's Noonday dream, 
 Thru which, at last, the grayer fancies stream, 
 As Evening stillness hovers round the gates. 
 Our day seems drawing nearly to its close; 
 Our Present mingles strangely with the Past. 
 Yet to the Morrow, many glances, cast, 
 Prove that the mortal tenders what he owes. 
 And softly, soon, the dreamful shades alight, — 
 A twilight covering in a tender gloom, 
 Guarding the sacred myst'ries of the tomb, 
 When our twin souls are tingling for a flight 
 Into the fulness of a boundless room, 
 Beyond the shadows of abounding night. 
 
 50 
 
VISIONS OF LOVE'S MORROW 
 
 And still more dimly from beyond that night 
 
 To my poor eyes next comes a wond'rous glow 
 
 Of far-off radiance from a realm aglow 
 
 With dazzling splendor, bursting into sight. 
 
 As hand in hand, we tread the cloud-paved way, 
 
 At first with childish wonder and with fears, 
 
 Until a newborn grace and strength appears 
 
 To greet the rosy opening of the day. 
 
 And still, with long-used tenderness, we move 
 
 With life in Love's Tomorrow just begun, 
 
 Serenely tuned to let the rising Sun, 
 
 Of each successive day-existence, prove 
 
 Our souls, tho sep'rate, still forever one 
 
 Thruout our long eternity of Love. 
 
 51 
 
ABSENT AT CHRISTMAS 
 
 It seems tonight that I can feel a soft 
 
 And subtle tingling in the dark, and soon 
 
 A wordless joy comes on and on, as oft 
 
 Mine ears catch distant bellnotes, all attune 
 
 To choral symphonies that pulse along 
 
 The snow-clad hills. But far away I know 
 
 Are many hearts expanding with a song 
 
 Of Yuletide gladness. And the Christmas glow 
 
 Upon the hearth, sends out to all its own 
 
 Red tribute to the genial time. And lest 
 
 My heart be chilled, because it is alone, 
 
 I'll think of thee, my Love, and be possessed 
 
 Of dreamland fancies, and enraptured fly 
 
 To meet thee, hovering in a dreamland sky. 
 
 52 
 
WITH A GIFT 
 
 I bring thee this mute token to declare 
 
 That I have tho't of thee, and wish to pay 
 
 Some tribute to the one who prompts each prayer, 
 
 And lends a spark for each half-whispered lay. 
 
 Yet I would not bring thee a gift, in pride, — 
 
 A trifle, this; but still a token, sure, 
 
 Of love's expression which my heart has tried, 
 
 But all in vain, because that love is pure. 
 
 Take this, I beg, and let it, silent, tell 
 
 The story that my lips cannot express. 
 
 And maybe it, in silence, will excel 
 
 The tales which some, in honeyed words confess. 
 
 Whate'er betide, I cannot love thee less, 
 
 If they find words to plead with thee too well. 
 
 53 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 (Written for the first issue of a Teacher's Magazine) 
 
 All ye whose hearts have felt a tender thrill 
 When little out-stretched hands, for little feet, 
 Seek aid; whose love makes even cries seem sweet, 
 And bids an answer to each "Why?" instill; 
 And ye with minds, by larger tho'ts inspired, 
 Whose learning seems, for Learning's self, a goal, 
 Reached only by a shedding-out of soul 
 Along a path where lesser minds have tired; 
 All ye to whom a worker's call is clear, 
 To whom in service all of joy is found, 
 Here let your labours, your successes sound; 
 Here bring your sorrows, bring your triumphs 
 
 here. 
 Until these sorrows all shall disappear, 
 And greater triumphs, multiplied, abound. 
 
 54 
 
A CRY FROM THE STREETS 
 
 Crowns, titles, honors, pride and wealth, 
 All these ye have, and with them all 
 That makes ye able to attain 
 These things. But we have poverty, 
 Disease, and death, and opportunity 
 T 'increase our woe, by squeezing out 
 Each drop of our life's blood to feed 
 Your pride, — and still ye mock our pain! 
 Do ye call this equality 
 Before the law? And do ye feel 
 No pang, when hungry waitings come 
 From orphaned millions to arouse 
 Your sleep ? Awake, ye men in power, 
 Before our land is drenched in blood. 
 
 55 
 
IN THE GLOAMING 
 
 The day is done, and I, in loneliness, 
 
 Prepare to rest and to lament that I 
 
 Am friendless and alone. And all around 
 
 The deep vast stillness of the night comes down, 
 
 And in my soul 'tis dark, and no friend comes. 
 
 But hark! I feel a change, and now the air 
 
 Is charged with friendly tones and pulsing lights, 
 
 And I am glad. For from yon pond, the frogs, 
 
 In jolly chorus, serenade the sad 
 
 And plaintive whip-poor-wills; and then I hear 
 
 Blythe katy-dids with merry cherupings 
 
 That mingle in the dreamsongs of the brook; 
 
 And then the twinkling stars and lightning bugs 
 
 And all, in unison, bid me "Good Night!" 
 
 5Q 
 
TO THE DARK 
 
 O Thou great Dark, I love thy calm, 
 And my heart loves the fulness of 
 Thy great immensity, and loves 
 The boundless reach of thy great pulse, 
 As it, in wild unmeasured throbs, 
 Envelops all the world. But Thou 
 Art not loved all for majesty, 
 In awe. For in my soul, I feel 
 The purest love of all, and my 
 Soul loves thy quiet and calm and rest, 
 And loves the love that lingers in 
 The stillness of thy still night air. 
 Thy stillness and my soul are one, 
 And I am filled with peace in thee. 
 
 57 
 
Part IV 
 LOVE LYEICS 
 
TO 
 
 "I meet thy pensive, moonlit face," 
 
 When thrilled with dreams of bliss divine. 
 
 And thru the stillness of the place, 
 Come whispers from thy soul to mine. 
 
 Ah ! could my soul but find expression, 
 And could my tongue its message tell, 
 
 High Jove himself would laud the cession 
 Of love that rings so 'wildly well.' 
 
 'Tis not enough to say, I love thee; 
 
 'Tis not enough to call thee mine; 
 Or try with honeyed phrase to move thee, 
 
 When thou art queen of dulcet line. 
 
 Thou art my light, my love, my life; 
 
 The very hope and soul of me; 
 The heavenly calm of earthly strife; 
 
 The sweetest balm of misery. 
 
 61 
 
TO 
 
 I seemed to hear thy voice, just then, 
 
 Speaking to me. 
 I seemed to see thy smile again, 
 
 Melting for me. 
 And now I seem to feel thy hand 
 
 Clasped into mine, 
 And flowers and birds all understand 
 
 That I am thine. 
 
 Yes, I am thine, and all my soul 
 
 Tingles for thee. 
 Wilt thou be mine, and let thy soul 
 
 Tingle for me? 
 Ah, then in rapture, sweet, and sweet content 
 
 Sweetly we'll love, 
 And joyous days, all blissfully spent, 
 
 This rapture will prove. 
 
 m 
 
THE SPIRIT OF LOVE 
 
 No human hand can now restrain 
 The love that thrills my heart; 
 
 That rouses my enraptured brain, 
 And quickens every part; 
 
 That cleanses this poor human heart 
 
 From base, ignoble pride, 
 And e'en forgives the fiery dart 
 
 That wounds my aching side. 
 
 My heart's dear love now bids me strive 
 To win life*s wreath of fame; 
 
 To grapple life, and grappling. live 
 With high and lofty aim. 
 
 What tho foul Opposition flings 
 
 Rank insults to my pride ! 
 Lo ! I can scorn such little things — 
 
 Their burning hate deride. 
 
 63 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT 
 
 The deep, blue vault, ablaze with light 
 Of myriad worlds in boundless space, 
 
 Encompassed all, that Sabbath night, — 
 The moon shone only in her face. 
 
 Yet what cared we for worlds or stars? 
 
 Our love had made this one our own. 
 Of course, there may be girls on Mars; 
 
 But then — the moon upon her shone. 
 
 We walked along, my arm thru hers. 
 
 I felt a soft warm hand in mine. 
 And thus we moved, two worshippers, 
 Two hearts before one common shrine. 
 
 She did not tell me that she loved. 
 
 But as I vowed my love supreme, 
 Her eyes and trembling silence proved 
 
 Her soul responsive to my dream. 
 
 And then the joyous consciousness 
 
 That she was mine, and mine alone, 
 
 Found utterance in a long caress; 
 
 Her lips pressed closely to my own. 
 * * * * 
 
 Sweet night, thou'rt gone. But still so near, 
 Thou seem'st a holy thing; and I 
 
 In wonder, half akin to fear 
 Gaze dimly thru thy mystery. 
 
 64 
 
TO SUMMER 
 
 Thy passing was sweet, dearest Summer. 
 
 But sweeter by far, e'en than this 
 
 Were the rapturous, heavenly moments of bliss, 
 
 When whispers of love 
 
 Came down from above, 
 To sweeten the joy of a kiss. 
 
 There's a lingering thought, dearest Summer, 
 
 Now dwelling always in my mind, 
 
 Makes me wonder if any fair one of her kind 
 
 Were ever so fair 
 
 As the maid who was there 
 When heaven and earth were entwined. 
 
 There are some who may say, gentle Summer 
 
 That a dove or a lily white fawn, 
 
 Or the dew-laden breath of thy flowers at dawn 
 
 Are sweeter to thee 
 
 Than her smile to me, 
 Or memories of moments now gone. 
 
 But borne on thy breezes, sweet Summer, 
 And tossed on thy fanciful wind, 
 A wandering, lingering fancy I find, 
 
 Which says that the dove 
 
 Is her emblem of love, 
 And the flowers are thoughts from her mind. 
 
 65 
 
 
Part V 
 OCCASIONAL PIECES 
 
ADONIS, THE CHILD OF SPRING 
 
 Hear as we sing to thee, lovely Adonis, 
 Gladly the weeping ones hail thee again. 
 
 Long have we wept, and long wailed in thine 
 absence; 
 Come fairy choruses, join our refrain. 
 
 Sad is the world when thy sleep is unbroken; 
 
 Bare is the earth when thy flowers are dead; 
 Lasting our shame, did we hail not thy coming, 
 
 Coming with Graces encircling thy head. 
 
 Where hast thou lingered, O lovely Adonis, 
 Leaving all nature so crisped and sere; 
 
 Grieving the heart of thy loved Aphrodite, — 
 Queen Aphrodite, the fairest of fair? 
 
 Spring, thou art lovely, the Loves all in chorus 
 Sing sweetly of peaceful delights in thy clime; 
 
 And the glad songs of birds, and the perfume of 
 roses 
 Now mingle to throb in a rapture of rime. 
 
 69 
 
OLD VIRGINIA 
 
 * ; ' ! %k ; ; br^ 
 In the lap of Dame Fortune, like Canaan of old 
 Was a spot like a cloud in a sunset of gold; 
 Lulled sweetly to rest by the long ocean roar, 
 And tempered divinely by winds from the shore, 
 Was old Virginia. 
 
 The abode of a courteous, cavalier race, 
 Lovers of leisure, art, and the chase; 
 Fondly embosomed in green-crested hills, 
 And lulled into rapture with silver-tongued rills, 
 Was old Virginia. 
 
 Andjher sons'heard the cry of their state in her 
 
 need; 
 Rushed armed to the field, to struggle and bleed; 
 Found fame in the glorious morn of the fight, 
 And vanquished lay still in the dark bier of night, 
 In old Virginia. 
 
 But today her descendants still live on her soil; 
 And rising in ready response to their toil 
 Her turrets and spires shout aloud to the world, 
 That Dixie still lives, — tho her banner is furled, 
 In old Virginia. 
 
 70 
 
TO CHRISTMAS 
 
 Swiftly fly from the dead today, 
 
 Moments of time. 
 These hearts in fancy seem to stray 
 To the moments that roll in a living rime, 
 When the gladdest day in all the year 
 Brings sweetest joys, and peace, and cheer — 
 
 At Christmas time. 
 
 Nestle beneath thy robe of white, 
 
 Slumbering earth. 
 The world's ablaze with a Wondrous light, 
 And glad tongues herald the lowly birth 
 Of a Holy One here, in the long ago; 
 Who still in our hearts by the fireside glow, 
 
 Brings joy and mirth. 
 
 Welcome us joyfully, loved ones at home — 
 
 Christmas is here! 
 Singing glad carols, together we come, 
 From the place of toil to one that is dear. 
 Brothers and sisters, guests, welcome all; 
 Hear the sweet little ones merrily call : 
 
 Christmas is here ! 
 
 71 
 
THE CHRISTMAS TIME 
 
 "The time draws near the birth of Christ, 
 The moon is hid, the night is still; 
 The Christmas bells from hill to hill, 
 
 Peal to each other thru the mist." 
 
 The air is chill, the trees bend low, 
 All nature teems with silent cheer. 
 Impatiently we linger here; 
 
 Toward home our hearts are wont to go. 
 
 How gladly do we hail the day 
 
 That tingles thru our hot young blood; 
 That thrills with joy our saddest mood, 
 
 And makes the melancholy gay. 
 
 How gladly do the wild bells ring! 
 But far more glad than they 
 The heart of man in joyful lay, 
 
 Lifts up a happy voice to sing. 
 
 It sings of joy, and peace, and love, 
 Of hope that is, of bliss to be; 
 It swells with praise, O Christ, for Thee, 
 
 Our Savior here, our God above. 
 
 And may it reach that higher strain, 
 The shepherd's note of humble praise, 
 When angels sang, in other days, 
 
 Of "Peace on earth, good will to men." 
 
 72 
 
SONG OF A THOROUGHBRED 
 
 Ah, Master, I'm waiting to hear you 
 Say, "G-e-up!" as you did long ago. 
 
 I'm wanting to love and to fear you — 
 Come on, take the reins, let us go. 
 
 I'm tired of the pasture and stable, 
 Where life is so easy and slow; 
 
 Let me speed with the winds, while I'm able- 
 Come on, take the reins, let us go. 
 
 Come on, while my blood is a-tingling, 
 Come on, let the keen breezes blow. 
 
 Let your voice and my hoof -beats be mingling,— 
 Come on, take the reins, let us go. 
 
 Let us speed as in days when you loved me 
 
 And not the new-fangled auto; 
 When my faithfulness often has proved me,- 
 
 Come on, take the reins, let us go. 
 
 Come on, let my teeth grip the blue steel; 
 
 Let us seem to be one as we go. 
 And I will feel all that you feel, — 
 
 Come on, take the reins, let us go. 
 
 73 
 
THOUGHTS AT RANDOM 
 
 The tired day is near its end, 
 
 And peace is given to everything, 
 And I, in quiet joy can lend 
 
 My soul to all the night may bring. 
 
 There's a thrill in the songs that fall 
 In golden strains from the dying sun; 
 
 And in all the joyful tones that call 
 To the weary one whose work is done. 
 
 There's a joy on the moon-kissed hills, 
 And in beams that dance on the bay; 
 
 There's a soul in the laughing of rills 
 When their ripples are gliding away. 
 
 And the world is a harp, with strings 
 
 That are vibrant with heaven-tuned joys; 
 
 And the chorus of earth in the symphony rings 
 With the spell of an unheard voice. 
 
 74 
 
MY GIFT 
 
 Ambition once reigning supreme in my soul, 
 Demanded a tribute to prove that my love 
 
 Prized nothing more dear than a place on the 
 Scroll, 
 Which nothing, She said, could ever remove. 
 
 I sought for the brightest and rarest of gems 
 To furnish the treasure with sparkling delight; 
 
 The sweetest of flowers, I culled from their stems, 
 To mingle their fragrance with pleasure to 
 sight. 
 
 And all that is sweetest and fairest and best, 
 Beautiful, pure, or seeming to be, 
 
 I gathered with care, and laid with the rest, 
 A tribute of love and devotion from me. 
 
 But a demon came in the shades of the night, 
 From the moss-covered shelves and caves of 
 the sea, 
 
 And fled with the tribute, my soul's delight, 
 And left no part of the treasure to me. 
 
 75 
 
And then as my soul bowed down in despair, 
 And railed at a fate that could bring such a loss, 
 
 A heavenly Visitant stood by me there, 
 Pierced by nails on a glorified cross. 
 
 "Hast thou no gift for the Crucified One; 
 
 No tribute to bring, no love labor due? 
 Did the Father heart bleed in vain for a Son; 
 
 Or dost thou think there is nothing to do? 
 
 "Rise out of the earth-born scenes of a day; 
 
 Be deaf to the siren-like pleading of Fame; 
 Come thou unto Me, for I am the Way 
 
 To those who believe, and trust on the Name." 
 
 I heard and then turned to the Holy One there; 
 
 "Must I leave the quiet of rest and a home?" 
 He lovingly answered, "Thy burdens I share." 
 
 And I murmured, "My Savior, I know, and 
 I come. " 
 
 76 
 
WHISPERING OF THE BOUGHS 
 
 We are not still as the dreamful dark, 
 Nor silent as clods of our Mother. 
 
 We awake with the song of the glad young lark 
 And carol our love to each other. 
 
 We laugh when the sunbeams dance gayly around 
 
 To gild the green leaflets all over. 
 And we quiver in time to the musical sound 
 
 Of bees in the warm hearted clover. 
 
 We throb when the wild unnoticed beat 
 Of the soft vocal stillness around us 
 
 Is quickened to life as the echoes repeat 
 
 The soft whispers of boughs that surround us. 
 
 But some day we'll die — as all must die; 
 
 Yet why should that bring sorrow? 
 For then we'll bud and bloom and sigh 
 
 In blossoms that breathe on the morrow. 
 
 77 
 
Part VI 
 RIMES OF COLLEGE 
 
RANDOLPH-MACON 
 
 Randolph-Macon, Hail to Thee! 
 May our love and loyalty, 
 O'er the altar of a mind, 
 Ever keep Thy name enshrined. 
 Fount of knowledge, Source of light, 
 Guide and Beacon to the right, 
 In our hearts we hold thy praise; 
 From our hearts, this strain we raise. 
 
 Fostering Mother, Friend of youth, 
 Ever pointing to the truth, 
 Thou wilt turn our wandering gaze 
 To the better, nobler ways; 
 Thou wilt nerve our feeble hands, 
 Loose the chafing, thralling bands, 
 Leave us trembling, joyful, free; 
 Randolph-Macon, Hail to Thee; 
 
 81 
 
RANDOLPH-MACON 
 
 There's music in the name we love, 
 
 Randolph-Macon ! 
 A thousand prayers now soar above, 
 
 For Randolph-Macon. 
 Away from Thee, we oft may rove, 
 But never may Thy name remove, 
 The name of names that memory wove, 
 
 At Randolph-Macon. 
 
 Our debt to Thee can ne'er be told, 
 
 Randolph-Macon. 
 We see the dawn of life unfold, 
 
 At Randolph-Macon. 
 And as we gaze, we'll soon behold 
 The distant clouds all fringed with gold, 
 For out in life we'll feel the mold 
 
 Of Randolph-Macon. 
 
 We're sheltered now beneath thy wing, 
 
 Randolph-Macon ; 
 But soon a long farewell we'll sing, 
 
 To Randolph-Macon. 
 And when these pinions out we fling, 
 May we from Thy traditions bring 
 A thought, a soul, a living thing, 
 
 From Randolph-Macon. 
 
TO THE TEAM 
 
 Hail to the team, now in triumph, advancing! 
 
 Hail to the trophy so proudly displayed! 
 Brighter than sunbeams, and swifter are glancing 
 Beams from the pennant that never can fade. 
 Hail to the rooters there! 
 Hail to the players rare! 
 Hail to the pennant that never can fade ! 
 
 83 
 
TO THE CUP 
 
 Thou long sought token of triumphant play 
 
 In classic mold, a truly royal gem. 
 To thee we tune the victor's joyful lay, 
 
 And proudly place thee in our diadem. 
 What deeds of valor hover round thy frame! 
 
 What youthful heroes, seeing thee afar, 
 Have tingled with the subtle call of Fame, 
 And fought for thee in bravely mimic war! 
 What wondrous punts! What rushing plays 
 
 to stem! 
 What long resounding billows of acclaim! 
 
 84 
 
THE BELLS. 
 
 (In imitation of Poe.) 
 
 Hear the wild and joyful bells, — 
 Victor bells ! 
 What a tale of mighty prowess their incessant 
 ringing tells. 
 
 In the listening ear of Night, 
 
 How they shriek out their delight! 
 
 Without power to sing or speak. 
 
 But they shriek, shriek, shriek — 
 And the tune 
 Is a ringing, burning answer, to the message of the 
 
 wire. 
 In a clamorous invitation, in a call to build the fire. 
 
 Build it higher, higher, higher, 
 
 And with Fish that never tire, 
 
 Make it rattle, rage, and roar; 
 
 Make it burn, and blaze, some more, 
 While the boys gladly singing, march around. 
 
 O you cup, cup, cup, 
 
 Now that all the rest are up 
 In the air, 
 
 Let the victors ring the bells, 
 
 For their triumph proudly wells 
 From the gladness in the music of the bells, 
 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, 
 From the wild triumphant ringing of the bells. 
 
 85 
 
Hear the early morning bells, — 
 Rising bells. 
 What a world of resolution, their unearthly call 
 compels ! 
 In the frosty, sleepy dawn, 
 How we cuddle, stretch and yawn, 
 At the melancholy summons in their tone. 
 But soon the weird refrain 
 Soothes us back to sleep again, 
 
 And we dream 
 Of the future and a girlie; 
 She who dwells down in that bosom, 
 All alone. 
 But then tolling, tolling, tolling, 
 
 In a dreary monotone, 
 Comes another summons rolling, 
 
 And the sleeper's heart's a stone. 
 Yet he neither wakes nor sleepeth; 
 Neither rests supine nor creepeth, 
 But he lays in stupor, listening 
 
 To the bells. 
 For a shade of darkness tolls, 
 And the call to chapel rolls, 
 And it rolls, rolls, rolls, 
 Rolls a call for every hour in the day. 
 And 'tis Hilliard then who yells, 
 In the racket of the bells; 
 Counting time, time, time, 
 In a Randolph-Macon rime 
 To the mad expostulation of the bells, — 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 Bells, bells, bells,— 
 To the challenge, and the summons of the bells. 
 
 86 
 
A TOAST 
 
 I do not drink to starlit dreams 
 
 That gleam and glow and fade in mists 
 
 With Phosphor in the morn. Nor do 
 
 I drink to love that Cupid plights 
 
 At Hymen's shrine. But I would pledge 
 
 A cup to fairer bonds; to bonds, 
 
 Unseen, unless in mental vision; 
 
 To bonds, unfelt, unless in rapt 
 
 Communion. To mystic bonds 
 
 That nourish love, unselfish and 
 
 Divine. Here's with a cup to this 
 
 Eternal Brotherlove, that springs 
 
 And blossoms in the sunlit morning 
 
 Of our manhood, and growing then 
 
 Into the fuller flower, becomes 
 
 Immortal in the motto of 
 
 Our bonds. Sigma Phi Epsilon, 
 
 Loved and cherished, bless us as 
 
 We drink to thee. 
 
 87 
 
PHI ZETA GAMMA SONG. 
 
 (Written for that Sorority) 
 
 Phi Zeta Gamma! 
 
 Hear us sing to Thee again, 
 
 Blest mystic motto 
 
 Be our sweet refrain. 
 
 In our hearts forever 
 Living are the ties we love; 
 Ties that Time can never 
 From our hearts remove. 
 
 Hear us, Phi Zeta Gamma! 
 As we sing our love to Thee; 
 Bless us, Phi Zeta Gamma, 
 In sweet unity. 
 
 In blest communion, 
 
 Many hearts by Thee made true, 
 
 Now pulse in union, 
 
 Pulse in rapture too. 
 
 For to Thee, our Mother, 
 All Thy children gladly sing 
 Of the joys no other 
 To these hearts can bring. 
 
 Hear us, Phi Zeta Gamma! 
 Lend Thine ears to joyful praise. 
 Bless us, Phi Zeta Gamma, 
 Through all coming days. 
 
 88 
 
I LIBER; AMICI VOS SALUTAMUS 
 
 (Written for a College Annual) 
 
 Go little book, and may thy pages bear 
 
 To all, the greetings that we leave with thee. 
 May happy thoughts and joyous memories be 
 
 Companions to thy journey, everywhere. 
 
 And do not linger if the day be spent, 
 
 And darkness seem to steal along thy way. 
 But journey on to friends of yesterday, 
 
 The good and bad, rich and improvident. 
 
 For all alike have felt the hot blood rise 
 
 When Alma Mater's sons swept back her foes. 
 And all alike have wept to see them lose, 
 
 And joyed again to grasp the hard earned prize. 
 
 And so we ask that all will go with thee, 
 Back to the magic Alma Mater land, 
 Where joys and sorrows linger hand in hand, 
 
 And heedless youth holds wrinkled age in fee. 
 
 Friends, we salute you, and as friends implore 
 You to receive this labor of our love; 
 This pictured echo of the classic grove, 
 
 Where sages nod and hurl the reverend lore. 
 
 Ah! friends and classmates of this august year, 
 Our work is done, the book is thine, and thine; 
 To you the task of censure we resign, 
 
 With greetings for each one who gazes here. 
 
 89 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 (724)779-2111