x 
 
Wild Rose Petals. 
 
 Bv LYDIA M. JACKSON. 
 
 PY RIGHT % 
 
 171889 ;/^ 
 
 • TOPEKA, KANSAS: 
 
 THE GEO. W. CRANE PUBLISHINC4 COMPANY, 
 
 18S9. 
 
\\ 
 
 \^^ 
 
 r- (A 
 1. , \ 
 
 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1889, by Lydia M. Jackson, 
 in ttie ottice of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 The metrical sketches of which this vo]im:e is composed are 
 of sufficient variety to malve the worl^ interesting to the reader. 
 It contains tales from many lands, and which have never be- 
 fore been told. 
 
 A few of these poems have been published in the news- 
 papers of Kansas. "Custer's Last Charge," under the title of 
 "The Battle of the Little Big Horn," appeared in the Miami 
 Republicmi, a short time after the occurrence of that disaster. 
 "The Obi" was published in the Western Spirit, and "Sue 
 Mundy" and "Ambitious Nell" in the Topeka Commonwealth. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
WILD ROSE PETALS 
 
 AMBITIOUS NELL. 
 
 She has not reached the age of ten, 
 
 Her home is but a shanty, 
 Her knowledge for her age is great, 
 
 Her clothing worn and scanty; 
 She does the work required of her, 
 
 And then has time to ramble 
 With brother Ned about the field. 
 
 Into the bush and bramble, 
 Where he has set his partridge traps, 
 
 He holds the brush asunder. 
 And lifts the tangled, clinging vines 
 
 So she can scramble under; 
 And when they have a cree^ to cross, 
 
 He takes her on his shoulder. 
 For she is small and very light. 
 
 And he is three years older. 
 
 While after him she follows on, 
 Her soul is sometimes singing 
 
WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 A song which she has never learned; 
 
 And the great world is swinging 
 In such a way before her mind 
 
 That into it she's taken, 
 And placed where she has never been; 
 
 The farm life is forsaken, 
 And she is in a city great, 
 
 The great of earth around her, 
 All hardships have forsaken her, 
 
 The sweetest pleasures found her; 
 And all because the song is sung 
 
 She sings now without knowing, 
 The theme of which she knows not no:7 — 
 
 She only feels the flowing 
 Of music sweet within her heart, 
 
 It gushes like a river: 
 But this she knows, it will be sung, 
 
 A promise from its G-iver; 
 To make her faith both strong and firm, 
 
 He lifts her in that vision 
 That she may see the promised land, 
 
 May see the fields Elysian. 
 
 Oh! little Nell, ambitious Nell, 
 
 It is not what 'tis seeming 
 To climb to Fame's enchanting height 
 
 Of which you are now dreaming. 
 
BEN AND OTHO. 7 
 
 Could Ned but go before you there, 
 
 That you his steps might follow, 
 Could help you up the hillside steep, 
 
 And through the marshy hollow; 
 Could carry you the waters o'er — 
 
 But, ah! that is forbidden. 
 The prize you seek would then be his. 
 
 Your destined path is hidden, 
 So none but you can trace it out. 
 
 And you must pull asunder 
 The thorny boughs and lift the vines, 
 
 And, holding them, pass under; 
 Your feet will bleed, your hands be torn,, 
 
 A dreary journey making, 
 And after all, you'll sing your song 
 
 Because your heart is breaking. 
 
 BEN AND OTHO. 
 
 They were brothers, Ben and Otho- 
 Ben was plain in heart and mind. 
 
 While his brother was a genius, 
 Aud a prince among his kind; 
 
 Ben had little taste for learning. 
 Would have quickly left his book 
 
WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 For a chance to fish for minnows 
 With a bent pin for a hook. 
 
 Manhood brought to tliem no clianges, 
 
 Each remained what he had been — 
 Otho at tlie stars still aiming, 
 
 Ben still fishing with a pin. 
 Otho, strivino; for advancement, 
 
 Fouo-ht the foes ambition meets; 
 Ben, remaining in seclusion. 
 
 Drank contentment's sweetest sweets. 
 
 'Grood old age to each was given, 
 
 Each life's promise full received; 
 Ben had had the peace he wanted, 
 
 Otho had things achieved; 
 Ben had built himself a cottage, 
 
 Otho had a mansion fair; 
 Life had cost Ben scarce a struo-o-le, 
 
 otho bore a load of care. 
 
 All the world had heard of Otho, 
 
 Ben was known to only few; 
 Envy's shafts had tortured Otho, 
 
 Ben no persecution knew. 
 No one thought of Ben to hate him. 
 
 Few his love had ever spurned; 
 Few, to love him, thought of Otho, 
 
 Bosom friends had from him turned. 
 
SUE MUNDY. 
 
 Death went first into the cottage, 
 
 Otho saw his brother die, 
 Marked the love his couch surrounding, 
 
 Marked his peaceful brow and eye. 
 ''Vain," thought he, "is earthly glory, 
 
 Love or joeace does it transcend; 
 After all I am the loser, 
 
 Ben has passed me in the end." 
 
 8UE MUNDY 
 
 In the war of the Rebellion, 
 Somewhere near a range of mountains. 
 In a valley near a river, 
 Was encamped a Southern army. 
 
 Just beyond and near the mountains 
 Stood an old plantation mansion 
 In the shadow of tall chestnuts; 
 Dusky were its rooms, and hoary 
 Were its walls of stone and mortar; 
 And with age, neglect united 
 To efface what was of beauty; 
 Dust had gathered in the corners. 
 Cobwebs lined the walls and ceilings. 
 
10 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 Desolation was apparent: 
 The front portal never opened, 
 Weeds o'erran the lawn and garden, 
 Brambles grew within the orchard. 
 
 But still living in this mansion 
 Was the planter, with a remnant 
 Of his household — wife and dau2:hter. 
 And two servants, old and faithful. 
 
 In one wing of that old mansion 
 Lived the planter, wife, and servant; 
 Always had old Joseph served them. 
 He had spent his lifetime with them; 
 In the times when they were happy. 
 Cheerily had rung his laughter 
 In the kitchen, but when sorrow 
 Came upon them, he grew silent. 
 Tried to share his master's burden, 
 Served more tenderly and kindly. ' 
 
 In a far removed apartment 
 Was the planter's only daughter. 
 Who was just as sad and silent 
 As her parents were. Her servant. 
 Faithful Nancy, lingered near her. 
 And had been her sole companion 
 During two years of seclusion. 
 
SUE MUNDY. 11 
 
 It had been by the transgression 
 Of the daughter that the ruin 
 Of the home had been effected, 
 And misfortune had concealed her 
 From the world and from the household. 
 For two years no one had seen her 
 But that servant, faithful Nancy, 
 For two years her footsteps never 
 Had been heard within those hallways. 
 
 Her's had been a blissful childhood; 
 It was like a cloudless morning, 
 Like a morn in early May-time, 
 Into which there creeps no shadow; 
 And like lambkins on a hill side, 
 She and her twin brother Cecil 
 Played upon the sunny foot hills. 
 Held distinctly in remembrance 
 By the people of that region 
 Is the beauty of those children. 
 And the wonderful resemblance 
 Of the one child to the other. 
 
 Cecil had the home deserted, 
 Left it as the shadows entered; 
 With him all its light departed. 
 There was nothing left but sorrow: 
 
12 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 After that his voice forsook it, 
 There was never heard an echo 
 That had aught of gladness in it. 
 
 In the army he enlisted, 
 And he was in that division, 
 Which at this time was encamping 
 By the river near the mountain. 
 He had proved a worthless soldier, 
 And moreover had committed 
 What the martial law considers 
 Crime, and doomed was he to suffer 
 Death upon a certain morning. 
 
 News of that had reached the homestead; 
 
 From the broken hearted parents 
 
 Eose their bitter cries united. 
 
 Which were heard e'en by the daughter. 
 
 And her heart at once responded. 
 
 Love and pity for her parents, 
 
 Her undying love for Cecil, 
 
 Woke a self-denying spirit. 
 
 That has been but seldom equaled. 
 
 Quickly were her tresses loosened. 
 And the servant at her bidding 
 Cut away those shining tresses. 
 Cut her hair as near like Cecil's 
 
SUE MUNDY. 13 
 
 As her lack of skill permitted. 
 
 Then in soldier's garb she dressed her. 
 
 In a suit left there by Cecil, 
 
 When he was at home on furlough. 
 
 This was covered by a garment 
 
 Of her own, and her mantle. 
 
 Then, attended by her servant, 
 O'er the mountains rode Sue Mundy. 
 Following a rugged pathway 
 That to her had been familiar. 
 It was in the early morning 
 That she entered Cecil's presence. 
 And, as had been her intention. 
 Had with him a private meeting, 
 During which she put upon him, 
 For disguise, her robe and mantle; 
 And say they that tell the story, 
 'Twas a wond'rous transformation — 
 He was Sue, and Sue was Cecil. 
 
 At her bidding, he departed 
 
 From the guard house, 
 
 Passed the sentries unmolested, 
 
 And he gained his home in safety. 
 
 Then immediately fled northward; 
 
 As a refugee he wandered, hither, thither, 
 
14 , WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 Always followed, always haunted 
 
 By a thought that was half painful, 
 
 In it Sue was ever present. 
 
 But ' twas strange that he had never 
 
 Gruessed her purpose, that he never 
 
 Once had thought what she intended. 
 
 But had always, always wondered 
 
 What had been the final issue 
 
 Of what she had done so strangely. 
 
 Truth sometimes evades the searcher 
 Till he wearies of the seeking;, 
 Then it quits its place of hiding 
 And presents itself unbidden. 
 So, as by an inspiration, 
 Cecil saw the whole intention 
 Of his sister, saw it plainly; 
 Every word and every gesture 
 Had to him a distinct meaning. 
 
 "Go home," said she, '-you've a place there." 
 He those words had not forgotten. 
 But till now saw not their meaning. 
 In his parents' hearts the place was 
 That she briefly designated, 
 And, besides, a further meaning: 
 That as she was not there needed, 
 
THE OBI. 15 
 
 That as she was but an outcast, 
 That her death would be as nothing — 
 In his stead that she would perish. 
 Cecil turned his footsteps homeward, 
 Went back to the old plantation, 
 Went back but to hear the story, 
 That he knew too well already; 
 Went to have the wound made deeper 
 In his heart, remorse inflicted. 
 And the story was all told him. 
 That the plot had been successful, 
 That the fraud was not detected, 
 And that she had perished for him. 
 
 THE OBI. 
 
 "What is the Obi? One of the most melancholy rivers on earth, 
 so say the few European travelers who have ever seen it roll its 
 turbid waters through the wilderness; its monotonous banks a 
 dreary succession of swamps and dismal pine forests, and hardly 
 a living creature to be seen but cranes, wild ducks and geese. If 
 you address the same question to one of its few Kussians who have 
 settled on its banks, he answers, with a devout mien, 'Obi is our 
 mother.' " 
 
 Hear us, O, stranger, and cease to deride 
 Our Obi, though dark and repulsive she be; 
 
16 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 Dull is her voice and turbid her tide, 
 But Obi we love, for our mother is she. 
 
 Stranger, why need a true mother be 
 
 A beauteous one to be loved by her child? 
 
 Why should she be fair, from sorrow be free? 
 And loved is she not who never has smiled? 
 
 We are her children, some dark and some fair. 
 On none does she smile, but she blesses us all; 
 
 The prince or the peasant, at home or elsewhere, 
 For every comfort on Obi must call. 
 
 When the wild tundra is covered with snow. 
 Then near to this mother we shelter and rest; 
 
 When the warm wind from the southern lands blow 
 She gives us our food afresh from her breast. 
 
 CUSTER'S LAST CHARGE. 
 
 Up the valley rode the soldiers, 
 Up the glen they rode in silence. 
 Save the clicking of their sabres. 
 And the trampling of their horses. 
 On them gleamed a rosy sunlight. 
 On them blew the breath of summer. 
 
CUSTER'S LAST CHARGJ'. 17 
 
 And their spirits vied in brightness 
 With the light that gleamed upon them. 
 Onward up the valley rode they, 
 Foremost was the fearless Custer, 
 Who with falcon eyes watched closely 
 For an ambush of the foemen, 
 For the footprints of the red man; 
 But no trace could he discover, 
 And it seemed no human being- 
 Had a home within that region. 
 
 Suddenly a hill they rounded, 
 Lo, behold, at rest before them, 
 Lay a peaceful Indian village. 
 Lay the wigwams of their foemen; 
 Only for a moment paused they. 
 Animation thrilled their leader, 
 And the bug-le's martial music 
 Bore his mandate through the valley; 
 Through the valley ran the war cry. 
 From his wigwam came the savage; 
 Thousands as from ambush springing 
 Custer's band at once surrounded. 
 Soon those soldiers saw their error, 
 Saw the fate that lay before them, 
 And began that awful conflict, 
 That has never had an equal; 
 
W^ILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 -Men who had long fought as soldiers 
 Fought there as maddened tigers; 
 For each knew that he was fighting 
 For his life and not for glory. 
 On that day which dawned so peaceful. 
 Burst a storm of madness; 
 Never in the spacious heavens, 
 Raged a tempest more terrific; 
 With it was no crashing thunder, 
 But there flashed the deadly lightning; 
 With it was a sound appalling 
 Which continued without ceasing. 
 
 Oh, that glen., so dark and gory! 
 Hundreds lay there bleeding, dying; 
 Custer's men had mostly fallen; 
 Custer was himself expiring. 
 Suddenly a cry of triumph 
 Rang throughout the savage army, 
 As they charged that feeble remnant. 
 Only one survived that onset: 
 Fortune wrapped him in a mantle. 
 And fate led him from the conflict; 
 With a foeman's cloak around him. 
 Crept he from that bloody valley. 
 
THE EGYPTIAN AND THE HEBREW. 19 
 
 THE EGYPTIAX AND THE HEBREW. 
 
 One the daughter of a ruler, 
 
 And the other of a slave, 
 They, regardless of their stations, 
 
 Each her heart the other gave; 
 And the slave child with her beauty. 
 
 And the other with her pride, 
 Love had placed upon a level. 
 
 They were playing side by side. 
 
 As the full, round moon was shining;, 
 
 And the land was full of light, 
 Proper was it for the children 
 
 To be playing after night; 
 And moreover, little Judith 
 
 Had a secret she must tell: 
 She was going to leave Egypt, 
 
 And must bid her friend farewell. 
 
 At her father's house assembled 
 Was another Hebrew band. 
 
 Had completed preparations 
 For departure from the land; 
 
 They were all in meditation, 
 Save the little ones that slept, 
 
20 WILD ROt^E PETALS. 
 
 And they noticed not that Judith 
 Outward from the circle crept. 
 
 Happy with their lotus blossoms 
 
 Were those children in their play, 
 And the moments went by swiftly 
 
 And sweet slumber stayed away; 
 Neither of them thought of danger, 
 
 Even Judith knew not why 
 Blood stains marked all Hebrew houses 
 
 From Egyptian that were nigh. 
 
 Of their households each the first born, 
 
 Yet those children did not know, 
 'Gainst such ones by blood unshielded 
 
 There had been pronounced a woe, 
 But they cast their lotus blossoms 
 
 In amono; the rushes hio-h, 
 At that moment when Death's angel, 
 
 As appointed, crossed the sky. 
 
 When that cry went up from Egypt, 
 
 When that midnig-ht work was done, 
 Israel's households were unbroken, 
 
 With that strange exception, one; 
 Not till then did they miss Judith, 
 
 See that she had gone astray — 
 Dead they found her, with her playmate,. 
 
 Where they had been at their play. 
 
GRAN DMOTHER' S TnEA:SUnE. 21 
 
 Judith, with her raven tresses 
 
 Wrapped about her shoulders fair; 
 The Egyptian, witli her jewels 
 
 Gleaming in her braided hair; 
 To the slave child with her beauty, 
 
 And the other with her pride, 
 Death had given equal stations, 
 
 They were lying side by side. 
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S TREASURE. 
 
 G-randmother 's at the window. 
 
 With knitting in her hands. 
 And Kitty sits beside her, 
 
 Or at her elbow stands; 
 Takes up the fallen stitches 
 
 Which grandma cannot see, 
 Who at the time is thinking 
 
 Of what is yet to be. 
 
 That face close to her elbow, 
 That little golden head, 
 
 Is such a sweet reminder 
 Of one among the dead — - 
 
 Her own beloved Bessie, 
 Who, fifty years ago, 
 
9 WILD BOSE PETALS. 
 
 Was J aid away in winter 
 
 Beneath the drifting snow. 
 Though all those years have vanished, 
 
 And memory has lost 
 Most of its precious treasures, 
 
 No shadow yet has crossed 
 And dimmed that little picture; 
 
 Unfaded is that hair; 
 That face has lost no dimple, 
 
 And every smile is there. 
 
 Long years she mourned her darling,. 
 
 Her tears scarce ceased to fall, 
 But now of late she's happy. 
 
 And does not weep at all; 
 She knows her journey's ended, 
 
 That she has but to wait, 
 To be again with Bessie, 
 
 The op'ning of a gate. 
 
 THE LEPER OF NAZARETH. 
 
 The place was that old city, 
 The time that long ago, 
 
 When man had found no refuge 
 From sin and earthly woe; 
 
THE LEPER OF NAZARETH. ^S 
 
 And Nazareth was humble, 
 
 Sat low among the hills; 
 Of treasure small her portion, 
 
 And large her share of ills. 
 •No good comes out of Nazareth," 
 
 Had long a saying been, 
 And all men thought her only 
 
 A dwelling place for sin; 
 She was herself unconscious 
 
 That there was aught of worth 
 Within, around, about her, 
 
 "When out of all the earth. 
 But she alone was chosen 
 
 To hold the G-erm of Truth. 
 The very Christ was with her 
 
 And mingled with her youth: 
 That eldest Son of Joseph, 
 
 That thoughtful, tender One, 
 Who was to those a helper 
 
 Who otherwise had none; 
 A brother to all children. 
 
 Unto the weak a sta}^; 
 He shared with them their pleasures 
 
 And kissed their tears away; 
 No other child was like him, 
 
 Nor has there ever been 
 
24 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 One that could see as he saw 
 The hidden thoughts within. 
 
 In Nazareth was living, 
 
 At that time long ago. 
 The children of a household, 
 
 And this of them we know: 
 There were but two, a brother, 
 
 A sister, young and fair, 
 He was her sole protector, 
 
 And she his only care; 
 Bound were their hearts together 
 
 By love so firm and strong. 
 That faults could not it weaken, 
 
 Nor sever it could wrong; 
 But grief had early found them, 
 
 As it does soon or late — 
 An exile was the brother, 
 
 His was the leper's fate. 
 The Christ Child to the sister 
 
 Made haste to bring relief. 
 To speak words that would comfort, 
 
 That might assuage her grief. 
 None else had balm for healing 
 
 A heart so sick and sore; 
 Her brother had departed 
 
 And could return no more. 
 
THE LEPER OF NAZARETH. 25 
 
 In that lay all her sorrow, 
 
 What was it one could say 
 That would be aught of comfort, 
 
 That could such grief allay? 
 But said the Christ Child to her, 
 ' ' The time is near at hand 
 When G-od himself will succor 
 
 The helpless of this land; 
 Wait with full hope and patience 
 
 The many years there be 
 Till his time is accomplished, 
 
 And the Messiah see." 
 
 The maid, although attentive. 
 
 Did not his meaning gain: 
 His words she heard, but to her 
 
 Their meaning was not plain; 
 And so she asked the question, 
 "What will he do for me?" 
 Said Christ, "He '11 cleanse thy brother, 
 
 And send him back to thee." 
 
 An unexpected promise, 
 
 But yet she did not doubt 
 His word, nor did she ask him 
 
 How he the same found out; 
 She simply took for granted 
 
 That he the future knew, 
 
26 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 And that those words prophetic 
 In all respects were true. 
 
 Long years those were; she waited 
 
 And yet she waited on, 
 Her only thought to comfort 
 
 The loved one who was gone; 
 Sent to him food and clothing 
 
 Which she by labor earned, 
 Had also sent the tidings 
 
 She from the Christ Child learned. 
 
 The years now numbered many 
 
 The leper had been gone; 
 Christ was a child no longer. 
 
 But yet the time passed on. 
 That he was the Messiah, 
 
 No one had heard him say. 
 But still he toiled among them 
 
 As patiently as they; 
 Was still the son of Joseph, 
 
 And w^orked at the same trade. 
 And seemed to those who knew him 
 
 No higher claim had made. 
 Yet he was not like others, 
 
 To such did he belong ! 
 His words were those of wisdom^ 
 
 And sweet as those of song; 
 
THE LEPER OF NAZABETH. 2T 
 
 No man had been his teacher. 
 
 And yet he others taught; 
 His knowledge was unbounded, 
 
 Its imperfections naught. 
 
 Oft had the sister seen him 
 
 As passed the years along; 
 Him as a child remembered 
 
 So gentle, yet so strong; 
 The child she thought a prophet. 
 
 And now what was the man; 
 The question was perplexing 
 
 As through her thoughts it ran. 
 And she had asked a rabbi 
 
 To make some matters plain : 
 The time of the Messiah. 
 
 And further to explain 
 The nature of his mission, 
 
 What kind of man he 'd be, 
 What good would he do Israel; 
 
 Those subjects pondered she. 
 
 The rabbi had made answer: 
 
 The time had fully come, 
 So he thought and some others. 
 
 Though doubted yet by some, 
 That had been set by prophets 
 
 For the Messiah's birth; 
 
28 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 A kingdom he 'd establish, 
 The grandest on the earth; 
 
 A prince he'd be of Judah, 
 Of David's royal line; 
 
 Some think," the rabbi added, 
 "That he will be divine." 
 
 And now what thought the sister? 
 
 Had Nazareth a prince? 
 One of the line of David? 
 
 Lo! she had found out since 
 She had the rabbi questioned, 
 
 That that might truly be: 
 Of such descent was Mary, 
 
 And Joseph's wife was she. 
 And then she watched that Workman, 
 
 As he went to and fro — 
 Was Jesus the Messiah? 
 
 Oh, how she longed to know — 
 And caught a glimpse of grandeur, 
 
 A courtliness of mien, 
 A beauty that was G-od-like 
 
 No other eyes had seen. 
 
 But still the years were going, 
 And when would that time be 
 
 Of which he once had spoken 
 And promised she should see? 
 
THE LEPER OF NAZARETH. 29- 
 
 That he was the Messiah 
 Was very plain to her; 
 Why should she not go to him? 
 A thought would then occur 
 That he himself was waiting, 
 
 For what? Did she not know! 
 She had not quite forgotten 
 Those words of long ago. 
 When he of the Messiah 
 Had spoken unto her, 
 Of time and it accomplished, 
 
 A fixed time it was clear; 
 The time when all his power. 
 
 In his control would be; 
 'Twas that for which he waited. 
 And for which waited she. 
 
 He had returned from Cana 
 With glory on his name; 
 Astonished people talking. 
 
 Far wide had spread his fame. 
 Then to him said the sister, 
 ' ' In very truth art thou 
 The One so long expected, 
 
 And so much looked for now. 
 The hope of all the ages 
 Is centered but in thee; 
 
WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 And, as thou art almighty, 
 Send brother back to me." 
 
 He looked at her and listened, 
 
 Then calmly made reply, 
 ' Thy words are true, O woman. 
 
 The very Christ am I; 
 Blest art thou in believing; 
 
 In what thou hast not seen; 
 Thy brother this day cometh: 
 
 Thy faith has made him clean." 
 
 THE GREEK'S DEATH SONG. 
 
 Far from thee I'm dying, my own Ariana, 
 And yet thy fair form seems plainly in sight; 
 
 The sunbeams of morning were playing around me, 
 But now, in their stead, is a holier light. 
 
 A glorious region before me is lying. 
 At rest in the arms of a beautiful sea; 
 
 That mystic Elysium is so like Morea, 
 It must be a vision of Greece that I see, 
 
 I'm crossing the sea now, the waves are all sleeping, 
 The breezes blow on me from off of the shore, 
 
MEMORY'S PICTURE. 31 
 
 A mellow light falls from the heavens above me, 
 A silvery sheen lies the waters all o'er. 
 
 Oh, fair, is yon region with forest clad mountains, 
 The hills and the vales in perennial green; 
 
 The glory of Greece is death now unveiling. 
 That I may behold what I never have seen ? 
 
 Ah ! can I be dreaming and this an illusion, 
 This scene but a vision before me that lies; 
 
 How long I have yearned to see Greece in her beauty, 
 And now on her glory I'm feasting my eyes. 
 
 That land I am nearing, my home, Ariana, 
 For it is the home of the soul that I see; 
 
 I'll not be an exile on reaching yon harbor; 
 No longer be bound, but unfettered and free. 
 
 MEMOEY'S PICTURE. 
 
 In memory's fair castle, 
 
 Which oft I wander through, 
 
 Are kept some scenes of childhood 
 Both interesting and true; 
 
 Hung where by chance I find them, 
 Not in succession placed; 
 
32 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 Some well preserved and vivid, 
 Some others are defaced. 
 
 Ofttimes are placed together 
 
 A cloudy winter day, 
 The snowflakes gently falling, 
 
 And then a scene from May; 
 And summer follows autumn — 
 
 The times are mixed up so 
 That I have lost my reck'ning, 
 
 And wander to and fro. 
 
 One scene of all I love most 
 
 Belongs perhaps in June; 
 A night of regal splendor, 
 
 High hangs the crescent moon. 
 Its light makes fair the hill tops; 
 
 Within the vale below, 
 A mist from off the river 
 
 Looks like a bank of snow. 
 
 A child is at a window. 
 
 The wind blows back his hair. 
 
 His happy eyes are lifted, 
 A sound is on the air; 
 
 From down beside the river. 
 From out among the trees. 
 
HIS MOTHER'S LOVE. 
 
 Comes up the noise of laughter 
 Borne on a southern breeze. 
 
 It sounds for all the world like 
 
 That there are boys at play; 
 There's one begins the laughing, 
 
 And then not for away, 
 Is heard a laugh in answer; 
 
 But to the child it 's plain 
 ' Tis owls, and they are hooting 
 
 Because there '11 soon be rain. 
 
 HIS MOTHERS S LOVE. 
 
 Adown the broad way leading 
 
 To Ruin's open gate 
 A youth was pressing forward, 
 
 At sin's most rapid rate; 
 To save him none was able, 
 
 His friends had ceased to plead; 
 All vain had been their efforts, 
 
 No warning would he heed. 
 And they had turned and left him; 
 
 His father turned away; 
 But there was one that lingered. 
 
 There was one that w^ould stay; 
 
34: WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 His mother drew the nearer, 
 Her love for him became 
 -^ The stronger, more enduring, 
 
 As greater was his shame. 
 
 He hurried on to Ruin, 
 
 Through filth, through mud and mire: 
 Her love him swiftly followed, 
 
 And did not faint nor tire. 
 Although oft wounded sorely, 
 
 Oft bruised by cruel blows. 
 Her love he could not weaken — 
 
 Weak such love never grows. 
 At no time did it leave him, 
 
 Was always at his side. 
 And from the gaze of others 
 
 His shame it tried to hide. 
 
 He reached the gate of Ruin, 
 
 Her love was with him there. 
 And flinging to him entered 
 
 That city of despair; 
 Went where love is a stranger — 
 
 That close-barred prison cell, 
 Made ready for that being 
 
 Already doomed to hell; 
 Went with him to the scaffold. 
 
 Where pity could not go — 
 
A MISTAKE. ' 35 
 
 The rights of justice claiming 
 None should compassion show; 
 
 E'en when his life departed 
 Her love would not depart, 
 
 But in his grave, dishonor. 
 His mother left her heart. 
 
 A MISTAKE. 
 
 Upon the beach lived Tessa, 
 
 Of it a part was she, 
 As much as waves and wavelets 
 
 Were part of the great sea; 
 They laughed and played together 
 
 The wavelets and the child; 
 The winds were their companions, 
 
 The gentle and the wild. 
 
 And thus the years went onward, 
 
 The child a woman grew; 
 Still winds and wavelets loved her, 
 
 They, too, another knew. 
 He came from o'er the waters. 
 
 From out beyond the sea; 
 To woo and win sweet Tessa 
 
 His mission seemed to be. 
 
36 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 Whenever he was coming, 
 
 The winds the tidings bore, 
 Unto those waves awaiting. 
 
 With Tessa on that shore. 
 At last they sent a message 
 
 That he was on the sea; 
 That he a bride was bringing 
 
 As sure as sure could be. 
 
 ' T would break the heart of Tessa, 
 
 A thing which should not be; 
 That ship must not reach harbor. 
 
 They'd sink it in the sea. 
 So winds and waves together. 
 
 Among the sea rocks swore — 
 And rent the ship asunder 
 
 As it drew near the shore. 
 
 The bride with golden tresses 
 
 They gave unto the deep. 
 That from the eyes of Tessa 
 
 Her beauty they might keep; 
 That he had been so faithless 
 
 Their Tessa should not know, 
 So bride and bridal raiment 
 
 They sent at once below. 
 
 The much detested lover, 
 For their own Tessa's sake. 
 
THE RESURRECTION. 37 
 
 Was cast up by the billows, 
 
 That she his grave might make; 
 
 And sit and weep beside it, 
 As those are wont to do 
 
 Who lose by death a loved one 
 Who has in love been true. 
 
 As do unwary mortals. 
 
 So blundered wind and wave — 
 The drowning of her lover 
 
 Poor Tessa ne'er forgave; 
 The truth which they had hidden 
 
 They could not now reveal — 
 The deep had sealed the secret, 
 
 And would not break the seal. 
 
 THE RESURRECTION.* 
 
 The hours of night are ended, 
 Dawn lights the eastern sky; 
 
 Across the hills two ansi:els 
 Toward G-olgotha fl.y; 
 
 ' Tis Resurrection morning, 
 The Lord of Life must wake; 
 
 - Suggested by a work of art. 
 
38 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 Commissioned for that purpose 
 They go death's seal to break. 
 
 They go the grave to open, 
 
 To let the Lord arise — 
 Those crosses on yon summit 
 
 Have caught their searching eyes; 
 Toward them they are flying 
 
 With sweep of mighty wings — 
 The reign of death is ended, 
 
 Forth Life Eternal springs. 
 
 So one has told that story 
 
 That to us is so dear, 
 And nature it rehearses. 
 
 At spring time of each year; 
 "When winter's time is ended 
 
 We hear the sweep of wings, 
 O 'er all the land graves open, 
 
 And life forth from them springs. 
 
 Those resurrection angels — 
 
 The winds whose warming breath 
 Grives life unto the lifeless, 
 
 And ends that reign of death, 
 The reign of dreary winter — 
 
 Remove the seals of frost, 
 G-ive back from graves we're watching 
 
 Those forms concealed — not lost. 
 
THE PORTRAIT. 39 
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 A dreary night in winter, 
 
 A heavy fall of snow, 
 A sweeping wind from northward, 
 
 A steady, rosy glow 
 Of light in Monticello, 
 
 A sound of dancing feet. 
 And ringing joyous laughter 
 
 In midst of music sweet. 
 Marked Otho's New Year banquet, 
 
 In Monticello, old. 
 Where long had been the custom 
 
 A yearly fete to hold. 
 Its lords had thus for ages 
 
 Made glad the old and young; 
 The glory of those banquets 
 
 Was long by poets sung. 
 
 The heir of Monticello 
 
 That eve brought home his bride 
 A fair-haired, pretty creature 
 
 Whose blue eyes opened wide 
 With joy and exultation 
 
 In that delightful scene, 
 Within that grand old castle 
 
 Where she was to be queen. 
 
40 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 The spacious rooms were lighted 
 
 As with the light of morn, 
 That rosy light that follows 
 
 The gray light of the dawn; 
 A fragrance as of summer 
 
 Pervaded all the air — 
 The perfume of the flowers 
 
 That were in blossom there. 
 
 But there was one attraction 
 
 Which in itself was small, 
 That in effect outweighing 
 
 Was greater than them all — 
 That portrait yonder hanging; 
 
 Those eyes so true to life — 
 They followed Otho fondly. 
 
 And haunted his young wife; 
 So strangely true and tender, 
 
 So dark and yet so fair, 
 No soul had power to fathom 
 
 The love depth that was there; 
 Those long, dark, flowing tresses 
 
 The wind had blown apart. 
 Those ruby lips just ready 
 
 For speech therefrom to start. 
 
 That portrait Otho painted, 
 That beauty he had wrought, 
 
THE PORTRAIT. -tl 
 
 That canvas with its treasure 
 
 He from a distance brought. 
 He once had been a rover, 
 
 Had crossed the ocean o'er, 
 A searcher for mere pleasure, 
 
 For that and nothing more. 
 A land girt round by water, 
 
 A distant southern clime. 
 Was oft his destination, 
 
 He sailed there oftentime; 
 His brushes and his canvas 
 
 He carried with him there, 
 And added to his pleasures 
 
 By copying the fair. 
 
 More than his other pictures. 
 
 That portrait- was to him; 
 A presence it attended, 
 
 Or was it fancy's whim ? 
 For he had loved the maiden, 
 
 Loved still of her to dream; 
 That she from off the canvas 
 
 Looked at him, it did seem. 
 
 And so his bride was thinking, 
 Although she understood 
 
 Why followed the eyes after, 
 G-o where she could or would. 
 
4,2 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 But yet there was a something 
 
 Produced a feeling queer; 
 Those love-lit orbs had language 
 
 Which spoke of him to her; 
 And she could not help asking 
 
 Of whom the portrait was, 
 And was surprised that Otho 
 
 To think of name should pause. 
 
 That night that maid was standing 
 
 Beside a southern sea, 
 The full round moon was shining. 
 
 The wind was blowing free; 
 Warmed by an endless summer, 
 
 Cooled by a dashing sea, 
 That night where she was standing 
 
 Was fair as night could be. 
 Gf Otho she was thinking, 
 
 Yet little did she know 
 Of him or his surroundings — 
 
 She never had seen snow 
 Or felt the cold of winter; 
 
 Wide was the space between 
 The dream that she was dreaming 
 
 And Monticello's scene. 
 She knew that he had loved her, 
 
 And that was all she knew; 
 
THE PROMISED ONE. 43 
 
 Her heart kept up the saying, 
 
 That to her he was true; 
 That he would still be coming 
 
 As he had always done, 
 She doubted not, for doubting 
 
 She had not yet begun. 
 Of that time she was thinking 
 
 When he last went away, 
 She on the beach was standing 
 
 While he sailed out the bay; 
 Her heart he carried with him, 
 
 In fancy followed she, 
 For thought must ever follow 
 
 The heart where'er it be. 
 
 THE PROMISED 0>^E. 
 
 Israel bowing down to idols, 
 
 Judah sunk in sin as low, 
 Felt the scour gings of affliction — 
 
 Were in thralldom and in woe; 
 Sought relief, but failed to find it, 
 
 Every effort proving vain; 
 Sin retained its hold upon them, 
 
 Filling pleasure with its pain. 
 
44 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 But, while looking down the future, 
 
 Some were fortunate to see 
 GrOcVs Anointed to them coming, 
 
 Their Deliverer to be — 
 Saw Him plainly in the distance; 
 
 Mighty was He, strong to save; 
 He would bind the broken heart strings 
 
 And would liberate the slave. 
 And the seers, still looking downward 
 
 Through the ages yet to be. 
 Still continued to speak of Him, 
 
 Whom approaching they could see; 
 Wonderful they sometimes called Him, 
 
 Counsellor, the Holy One, 
 Prince of Peace, the G-od Almighty, 
 
 Who was ere time had begun. 
 
 And the people watched and waited 
 
 For that happy time to be — ■ 
 From his prison looked the captive. 
 
 His Deliverer to see; 
 Hope revived the broken hearted. 
 
 And his bonds forgot the slave; 
 With such faith they watched and waited 
 
 For the Mighty One to Save. 
 
 Ages by the years were builded, 
 Yet that faith but little waned, 
 
THE PROMISED ONE. 45 
 
 For Jehovah, in His wisdom, 
 
 It with promises sustained. 
 They His messages not doubting, 
 
 He had been to them too true; 
 Every struggle, every trial, 
 
 He had safely led them through. 
 But at last there came a silence, 
 
 Not a word the stillness broke; 
 The last prophet had departed 
 
 Who of the Messiah spoke. 
 'Twas a long, unbroken silence. 
 
 In which centuries went by; 
 To the watchers 'twas prophetic 
 
 That the Promised One was nigh. 
 
 Day and night, within the temple 
 
 Were those righteous men of old. 
 Waiting for the time appointed 
 
 When their Lord they would behold; 
 And the faithful sons of Levi 
 
 Did not fail to search the face 
 Of the stranger at the altar. 
 
 Hoping there to find a trace 
 Of that beauty they were seeking, 
 
 Which their hearts so yearned to see, 
 Thinking that in fair young manhood 
 
 Grod as mortal man would be. 
 
46 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 Oft the priest-heart had a secret — 
 
 Some fair face that he had seen, 
 Some young hunter of Judea 
 
 Or a shepherd from the green, 
 Who had come into the temple, 
 
 Suddenly, as would the Lord, 
 But had suddenly departed 
 
 Without explanation word. 
 Kingly was he in his bearing, 
 
 His eye brilliant, yet benign; 
 Every look and every feature 
 
 Seemed to show he was divine. 
 To the priest 'twas like a vision; 
 
 He to wonder did not cease; 
 Could that stranger be no other 
 
 Than the promised Prince of Peace? 
 
 Thus the centuries had vanished — 
 
 'Mid such scenes had passed away. 
 In the temple was one watcher, 
 
 Long had been there, night and day; 
 To him was the promise given 
 
 He should live his Lord to see; 
 He was waiting for the purpose 
 
 At His coming there to be. 
 One day, looking at the strangers 
 
 Crowding through the temple door, 
 
A SACHEM'S LAST VISIT TO GLEN IRIS. 47 
 
 His dim eyes fell on a woman, 
 
 In her arms a Babe she bore. 
 We know not his expectations, 
 
 What had been his fancies wild, 
 But now said the Spirit to him, 
 "That is He, the Holy Child." 
 
 A SACHEM'S LAST VISIT TO GLEX IRIS, 
 
 [The confederacy, known as the Six Nations, was by the Indians 
 themselves called the Longhouse. The Senecas, whose dwelling 
 place was the valley of the Genesee, were the guardians of the 
 west door of the Longhouse; while the Mohawks, who occupied 
 the Hudson valley, guarded the east door. The council house of 
 the confederacy was at Glen Iris, by the Genesee river.] 
 
 As the sun set, Tomochichi 
 
 Slowly the low hills descending 
 With his daughter, Mionoma, 
 
 To the glen his way was wending; 
 On Glen Iris he was looking, 
 
 Of it speaking to his daughter. 
 And he pointed to the river, 
 
 To the dashing, falling water — 
 To the falls of Monashasha. 
 "See," said he, "that veil of brightness. 
 It conceals the fallino- river; 
 
48 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 It is all a gleaming whiteness 
 As thou seest, and the water 
 
 That is falling has a story, 
 That to it a name has given; 
 
 Though that legend's age is hoary, 
 Mionoma hast not heard it." 
 
 And the daughter answered smiling 
 "Surely it was never told me." 
 
 Then that evening hour beguiling 
 Tomochichi told the legend 
 
 To his well beloved daughter. 
 Told the tale of Monashasha, 
 . That had named the falling water. 
 
 "When my people," said the sachem, 
 "By the G-enesee were living — 
 They possessing all this valley, 
 
 None as yet the pale face giving — 
 Looked the cunning eye of evil 
 
 On the young, devoted husband 
 Of the lovely Monashasha; 
 
 He a most devoted husband, 
 Till the evil one had purposed 
 
 From his wife his love to sever; 
 To regain it she endeavored, 
 
 But regained it never, never. 
 
A SACHEM'S LAST VISIT TO GLEN IRIS. 4,^ 
 
 "While she was with sorrow stricken, 
 
 Came and went the days of summer; 
 Winter followed, but its shadows 
 
 In the valleys ceased to slumber; 
 And the springtime with its brightness 
 
 Covered all the land with gladness — 
 Yet in midst of the rejoicing, 
 
 Lingered Monashasha's sadness. 
 But the plunging, dashing river, 
 
 Ever called^ her, called her thither; 
 All the time she heard it callinp': 
 
 ' Monashasha, come thou hither, ' 
 And it gave her the assurance 
 
 That into the land of pleasure 
 Swiftly would its current bear her; 
 
 That for her awaited treasure 
 In the mystic land of plenty; 
 
 To that land beyond the mountains 
 That her sorrow could not follow; 
 
 That beside the streams and fountains 
 Rest and pleasure waited for her. 
 
 Then she on the river lightly 
 Placed her craft, which gayly floated; 
 
 On it gleamed the sunlight brightly, 
 Gleamed upon the child and mother 
 
 That it down the stream was bearing. 
 
50 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 They who from the shore beheld them 
 
 Of their fate at once despairing, 
 Called to Monashasha vainly; 
 
 For she heeded not their warning, 
 And 'twas vain to hope for rescue, 
 
 As the water that was falling 
 Wrought the current into swiftness; 
 
 Downward was the river leaping 
 In its unrelenting power, 
 
 Mother, child, canoe still keeping; 
 And with it they hastened downward, 
 
 While the spray with airy lightness, 
 Rising from the dashing water. 
 
 Covered them with gleaming whiteness. 
 
 "Monashasha's spirit lingered, 
 
 And her name it still is singing 
 O'er the rushing, falling river, 
 
 Softly murmured, wildly ringing. 
 In the song that's ever changing." 
 
 "Yea, I hear it," said his daughter. 
 Listening with wild emotion 
 To the noise of falling water. 
 
 Tomochichi stood in silence. 
 
 When the tale he told was ended; 
 
 Clad was he in warrior's costume, 
 But his bow he held unbended, 
 
A SACHEM'S LAST VISIT TO GLEN IRIS. 51 
 
 And the arrows in his quiver 
 
 Long; had been but few in number; 
 He was looking on the valley, 
 
 Where the shadows soon would slumber. 
 Not unlike the gloom of twilight 
 
 Was the cloud of native sadness 
 Which upon his brow had gathered; 
 
 But with it a gleam of gladness 
 Mingled, as his arms extended 
 
 In a gesture of that meaning; 
 And his eyes were on the valley, 
 
 All its precious beauty gleaning; 
 But that gladness quickly faded. 
 
 And his brow was darker growing, 
 As his former thoughts returning 
 
 Were their darkness outward throwing,". 
 Mionoma watched him calmly. 
 
 As his eyes were sternly ranging 
 Up and down the quiet valley, 
 
 Their expression never changing 
 From that which they last had taken. 
 
 From him but one moment turning;, 
 She looked down along the river. 
 
 Saw there cottage tapers burning. 
 "Why do earth-stars so much differ 
 
 From those in the heavens shining? " 
 
52 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 She asked gently of her father. 
 
 He, at once her thought divining, 
 Answered with his usual sternness: 
 "Those are torches thou art seeing, 
 Burning in the pale man's wigwams. ' 
 
 No more said he, and it being- 
 Late in evening, he descended 
 
 ^^n untrodden pathway leading 
 To the ancient house of council 
 
 In G-len Iris. And not heeding 
 Mionoma's weary footsteps, 
 
 He of her at once demanded 
 Fagots to be quickly gathered, 
 
 And she did as he commanded; 
 And while she the fagots gathered. 
 
 By the council house he waited. 
 Long she was the wood procuring. 
 
 And their entrance there belated. 
 
 By the western door they entered — 
 
 'Twas that sachem's right to enter 
 Thus into that house of council. 
 
 Then the wood into the center 
 Piled they in that ancient fashion 
 
 Of the fires of council lighted 
 By sachems of the Longhouse. 
 
 But the wood was left unlighted 
 
A SACHEM'S LAST VISIT TO GLEN IRIS. 53 
 
 For a while; and Tomochichi, 
 
 In the darkness mutely sitting, 
 Heard a warrior's stealthy footstep, 
 
 And a form, not small nor flitting, 
 Entered, crossed the eastern threshold. 
 
 Then he flint and steel with vigor 
 Struck together; sparks flashed brightly 
 
 'Midst the fagots, and the rigor 
 Of the darkness then dispelling. 
 
 Brighter grew the flames and brighter, 
 Backward were the shadows creeping. 
 
 As the room grew slowly lighter. 
 Visible became the objects 
 
 That with darkness had been covered. 
 And an aged Mohawk chieftain 
 
 Tomochichi then discovered 
 As the one that softly entered. 
 
 Opposite they sat, and sternly 
 Looked across the burning fagots 
 
 At each other, and each firmly 
 Kept the stillness unmolested, 
 
 Neither speaking, till discerning, 
 By the flame's unclouded brightness, 
 
 That the fagots were all burning. 
 
 Slowly then rose Tomochichi, 
 And he spoke unto the other 
 
54 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 As a chieftain to a chieftain 
 
 Should have spoken. Said he, -'Brother, 
 I came not into Glen Iris 
 
 On that purpose which was duty 
 That a sachem owed my people 
 
 When they dwelt amid the beauty 
 Of this valley. Then the nations 
 
 Of the Longhouse were united. 
 And their strength was as the mountain's. 
 
 It was here their vows were plighted; 
 From each nation came a sachem 
 
 To G-len Iris; here assembled 
 They in council, in which could be 
 
 No injustice, naught dissembled. 
 All things did they for the welfare 
 
 Of their people, thus sustaining 
 They the greatness of the Longhouse, 
 
 Its security maintaining. 
 At its western door my people 
 
 Sat as watchers, while, my brother. 
 Yours the eastern door protected. 
 
 But our people to another 
 Have all yielded. From the eastward 
 
 Came the pale race, like in numbers 
 To the leaves of early spring time 
 
 While the winter's spirit slumbers 
 
A SACHEM'S LAST VISIT TO GLEN IRIS. 55 
 
 Yet within the upland forest; 
 
 But as rapidly increasing 
 As the leaves do when the sunbeams 
 
 Shine more warmly, but not decreasing 
 When their brilliancy has ended. 
 
 Like the foliage of summer 
 They are over all this valley; 
 
 Like the pebbles o'er which murmur 
 All the thousand streams of water. 
 
 And the red man has departed 
 From the forest, hills and valleys 
 
 Of his father's land, and parted 
 Are the nations of the Longhouse; 
 
 At its western door no longer 
 Sit the Senecas, my people. 
 
 For that door exists no longer. 
 
 "That, my brother, is the reason 
 
 That this visit to Glen Iris, . 
 In this unpropitious season. 
 
 Is not for the ancient purpose; 
 I came not upon that duty — 
 
 Not to meet my brother sachems 
 Here in council, but the beauty 
 
 Of this valley brought me hither. 
 All my people love it dearly, 
 
 And they tell unto their children 
 
5Q WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 Of the flashing spray and pearly 
 
 That arises from its river, 
 Which has never yet been weary 
 
 But is ever, ever leaping. 
 Even when the winter dreary 
 
 Chills and deadens all around it. 
 I came hither unattended 
 
 Save by her my last descendant; 
 Tomochichi's race has ended 
 
 In this daughter. She the youngest 
 Of my children, and surviving 
 
 All the others. Death came early 
 To my wigwam, then depriving 
 
 Me of many, but not taking 
 My beloved one, but bereft me 
 
 Of him afterward, and darkened 
 All the life which time had left me. 
 
 " Consolulu had no equal 
 
 As a warrior — he was braver 
 Than all others; than the aged 
 
 Chieftains was he even graver. 
 As a hunter none excelled him, 
 
 With more softness ever treading 
 On the rustling leaves of autumn. 
 
 When they were with swiftness threading 
 
A SACHEM'S LAST VISIT TO GLEN IRIS. 57 
 
 Forest pathways. The far reaching 
 
 Of his vision, the unswerving 
 Of his purpose and his boldness 
 
 Made him ever well deserving 
 To be proudly designated 
 
 As the eagle of my people; 
 He the idol of my w^arriors, 
 
 The beloved of all my people. 
 
 ' There was war within this valley, 
 
 There was strife throughout the region 
 Where the pale race held dominion. 
 
 And the warriors were a legion 
 That each chieftain led to battle. 
 
 Then unto my people slyly 
 Came a pale face, and with silver 
 
 Bought my favor, and thus wily 
 Gained my promise that my warriors 
 
 With his people be united 
 In the war they then were waging. 
 
 All my braves I then invited 
 To the war dance at my wigwam. 
 
 All that night in pleasure spending; 
 Then within the morning early 
 
 I saw Consolulu wending 
 With my warriors, the path leading 
 
 From my wigwam, from me parting, 
 
58 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 In the costume of a chieftain. 
 
 As is custom ere departing 
 On the war path, he his mantle 
 
 I had given him in token 
 Of my love, returned he to me. 
 
 Lined with feathers, soft, unbroken, 
 Was that mantle; feathers plucked 
 
 From off an eagle, signifying 
 By their softness my love, which is 
 
 Undecreasing and undying. 
 
 ' Consolulu passed then from me. 
 
 And returned unto me never; 
 And I from that early morning 
 
 Sat before my wigwam, ever 
 Watching, watching, through the forest. 
 
 Waiting for his coming; spending 
 Thus the gladsome, glowing seasons. 
 
 And so vainly, vainly lending 
 Life to hope that now has perished. 
 
 During many days of summer 
 And of winter that then followed 
 
 His departure came the murmur. 
 Oft the roaring of a battle. 
 
 From beyond the forest, seeming 
 To me always as containing 
 
 The war cry of Consolulu. G-leaming 
 
A SACHEM'S LAST VISIT TO GLEN IRIS. 59 
 
 Colors saw I, and 'twas told me 
 
 That I saw the streaming banners — 
 Ensigns that the pale faced warriors 
 
 Bore above their chieftains. Being 
 Sure that there was Consolulu, 
 
 Looked I for his crest appearing, 
 But my eyes discerned it never; 
 
 And when summer's end was nearing. 
 For his footsteps I would listen, 
 
 But he came not. Time grew weary, 
 And all things grew white and deathlike, 
 
 All the days were pale and dreary; 
 Still came not my Consolulu, 
 
 Though his warriors were returning 
 To their wigwams. Life crept into 
 
 Time again; my heart's sore yearning 
 Kept from it the warming sunlight; 
 
 Winter is therein remaining. 
 And my life of summer's gladness 
 
 Not a ray of warmth is gaining. 
 
 ' ' It was told me, Consolulu 
 
 Fell in battle in that glowing 
 Season when the sky is cloudless 
 
 And the brooklets have ceased flowing. 
 Since that I have seen arising. 
 
 At that time, at that time onlv, 
 
60 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 In the east a star whose brightness 
 
 Is surpassing. It is lonely 
 In its beauty, in its glory. 
 
 Sharing neither with the other 
 Stars that cluster all around it. 
 
 I have seen within it, brother, 
 Consolulu's spirit, in the 
 
 Warrior's fiery ardor glowing. 
 Gazing at me; ever on me 
 
 Recognition's smiles bestowing. 
 
 "I am weary, brother, weary 
 
 Of my life so slowly tending 
 To its close, for it is dooming 
 
 Me to see my nation's ending. 
 Lengthy are my dreary moments. 
 
 While my nation's time is fleeting; 
 Rapidly expire my people 
 
 While I linger, death ne'er meeting, 
 But instead my life's extended; 
 
 And I see in not the distance, 
 Moving rapidly toward me, 
 
 Is that time, and no resistance 
 Can impede its swift advancement. 
 
 Shadows that precede tomorrow 
 Make the darkness of this evening; 
 
 So 'tis sadness, that as sorrow. 
 
A SACHEM'S LAST VISIT TO GLEN IRIS. 61 
 
 Long has rested on my people — 
 
 Shadows of that time approaching — 
 And they know what is portended 
 
 By what on them is encroaching. 
 Well they know the time is nearing 
 
 When the red man shall no lon2:er 
 Tread the earth, nor on the waters 
 
 Float his crafts, for to the stronger 
 He his very life has yielded; 
 
 With him are his children dying. 
 Soon removed will be his wigwams, 
 
 And that land of his now lying. 
 Yet ungiven to the pale face. 
 
 To the same will then be ceded; 
 Names he gave to lands and waters 
 
 Will by others be succeeded. 
 And then time will cease preserving 
 
 His traditions — his existence — 
 Leaving not a trace, a vestige, 
 
 That can give the least assistance 
 In his memory's preserving. 
 
 Darker is the evening growing. 
 And the moments yet to follow 
 
 Darker shadows will be throwing, 
 Until dawn, and night is ended. 
 
 Morning then will bring a gladness, 
 
Q2 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 And the earth with it will cover, 
 
 Night dispelling with its sadness; 
 So the shadows of our sorrows 
 
 Will be ever darker growing 
 As the end comes near and nearer, 
 
 Which the moments' ceaseless flowing 
 Is with swiftness bringing onward. 
 
 Of it death will be the ending 
 And the Spirit Land the morning, 
 
 With whose happiness transcending 
 All of this life will be covered." 
 
 Said he softly: "Here, my brother, 
 Are now burning the last fagots 
 
 As a council fire, another 
 Shall not even, as an emblem 
 
 Of the ancient, be thus burning. 
 Tomochichi to Glen Iris 
 
 Nevermore will be returning." 
 
 Tomochichi 's speech there ended, 
 
 And he sat then darkly gazing 
 Down among the burning fagots 
 
 That were yet all brightly blazing, 
 Until rose the other chieftain 
 
 Who had yet preserved the sternness 
 That he wore on first appearing; 
 
 Said he, with habitual firmness: 
 
A SACHEM'S LAST VISIT TO GLEN IRIS. 
 
 ' • I "m a Mohawk, as my brother 
 
 Readily at first discovered; 
 I'm the chieftain known as '^ Raven" 
 
 By the paleface. ' ' As uncovered 
 Has been most the past, my brother, 
 
 By your words, it is but needless 
 That I, too, should be refering 
 
 To the same. And am I heedless 
 Of propriety's demandings 
 
 In now calling your attention 
 To the incidents remembered 
 
 By my people, of which mention 
 Was not made by you, my brother? 
 
 Of the Longhouse you have spoken 
 With correctness; of its greatness, 
 
 G-uarded by us until broken, 
 Was the union of its nations. 
 
 Then our people were united 
 By a stronger tie than friendship, 
 
 Kept unbroken by vows plighted 
 In the councils of Glen Iris; 
 
 Still existed that relation 
 After had the wily pale face 
 
 Rent your nation from my nation. 
 
 ' ' But my people that intrusion 
 Of the pale face unforgiven 
 
64 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 Left, and there was no illusion 
 
 Wrought that served for the allaying 
 Of their anger. But your's yielded 
 
 Even after all this valley 
 He had taken, and he wielded 
 
 Over you the wand of power. 
 And when came that people, brother, 
 
 From the east to war with this one, 
 Your's loved this and mine the other. 
 
 It was then that tie was severed 
 That had been our nations holding. 
 
 Firmly holding close together, 
 As two brothers, each one folding 
 
 Arms of love around the other; 
 Those pale nations then were waging 
 
 War by all the lakes and rivers, 
 And in midst of battles raging 
 
 Met our warriors; yours were fighting 
 For this people that is living 
 
 Yet within this valley, righting 
 Thus the wrongs they had inflicted 
 
 On you. Mine were then their foemen: 
 Seneca and Mohawk fought there, 
 
 One against the other. Omen 
 Was it of the coming evil. 
 
 In the struggle, oft were cleaving 
 
A SACHEM'S LAST VISIT TO GLEN IRIS. 65 
 
 One unto the other; fatal 
 
 Wounds each from other's hand receiving. 
 Conscious only of the languor 
 
 And the vagueless gloom preceding- 
 Death are yet the victims, although 
 
 From them are their lives receding. 
 
 "When no longer rang the war cry^ 
 
 When the time of strife had ended, 
 Mine went northward with that people 
 
 From the east, and with unbended 
 Pride, and with unsmothered ans'er . 
 
 Looked we backward on the victors; 
 Hated we alike this pale race 
 
 And your people. They were victors, 
 While mine and the other nation 
 
 Were the vanquished. And long lasted 
 That strong hatred; but it ended. 
 
 For the weary years have blasted 
 Every germ of cherished vengeance. 
 
 To G-len Iris, naught of malice 
 Is the heart of Raven bearing, 
 
 But is as the sacred chalice 
 
 Which contains the holy life blood. 
 
 It is. as does that, enfoldinp;. 
 As with unalloying silver, 
 
 Memories that it is holding. 
 
66 WILD ROSE PETALS. 
 
 And which have impelled me hither. 
 
 Vivid yet is all remaining 
 In the mem'ry of the Mohawk; 
 
 Thinks he yet of all pertaining 
 To the union of our nations; 
 
 Sees he yet this place of dwelling 
 Of your people, and is ever 
 
 To his children, ever telling, 
 Of that river in the mountains, 
 
 Where the Mohawk arm defended 
 From the foe the eastern portal 
 
 Of the Longhouse; and when ended 
 Were the labors of his people. 
 
 On the margin of that river. 
 Kneeling, prayed they for a blessing, 
 
 And gave thanks unto the G-iver. ' ' 
 
'Sag'' ^