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Whenever possible. thes9 have been omitted from filming/ I" se peut que certaines pages blanches ajouties lors d'une restauration apparais.vent dans le texte, mais, lorsque ceia signifie "A SUIVRE ', Ie symbole V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tabioaux, etc., peuvent dtre fiPmds d des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque Ie document jst trop grand pour dtre reprodult en un seul clichd, il est film6 d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant Ie nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants il'ustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 V I Pri( m jji'" 'm^ 'hm [QJ •.•<^^^,*^ 'ja^- ^ MERICAN EDI5ED BY • ' • J. E. U/etl^erell, B.f\, WITH PORTRAITS. Price 35 Cents. OEMS • • ♦ '■ ■ ''K^' t }, ™E COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED, TORONTO. " (Dmuia su^jcvat lOirtue.'* Hei'bert Fairbairn Gardiner, Hamilton, Ontario. i-HTEJ^ fliHEJ^JCflU P0EWS. LATER American Poems Edited by J. E. WETHE^ELL, B.fl. Editor of " Later Canadian Poems." ^ TORONTO : THE COPP. CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED. 1896. W4- 96300 Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the ye^r one thousand eight hundred and r.inety-six. by Thk CorP. Cuark Company (Limited), Toronto. Ontario, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture J preiace. This anthology, as its title suggests, is intended as a com- panion to the editor's earlier book, " Later Canadian Poems." The scope, however, of this collection of American poems is very much wider. American literature divides itself natu- rally into two epochs, — the earlier including the great names of Bryant, Whittier, Emerson, Longfellow, Poe, Holmes, Lowell and Whitman, — the later including all the living poets and their deceased contemporaries. This anthology, there- fore, embodies a collection of American poems written since about i860, omitting the work of those poets of the earlier epoch that continued to write after that date. The selections in this volume are quoted from the works of more than fifty authors. The number might easily have been increased to a hundred, but a manual such as this cannot be exhaustive. All the greatest writers of verse of the present epoch are, it is believed, represented here. Of the minor poets some readers may miss a favorite or two, but a cogent reason could be given for every omission. The present volume is intended mainly as a supplementary read- ing-book for Canadian High Schools, and that design has influenced the editor not only in his choice of poems but also in determining the limitation in the list of authors. The editor has taken care to include representations of the work of some writers of exquisite verse at piesent not iii preface. widely known in this country. Mi. Sladen's almost exhaus- tive anthology of "American Poets" published in 1891 (to which the present editor is much indebted) does not contain the names of John li. Tabb, Robert Underwood Johnson, Lizette W. Reese, Gertrude Hall, Harriet Monroe, Bessie Chandler, Stuart Sterne, Elizabeth Akers, Emily Dickenson, Emily Hutchinson, and others included here, who have done remarkable work, or v/hose poems for the first time have been offered to the public, in very recent years. In making his selections the editor has attempted to quote poems that adequately display the distinctive characteristics of each author. From the poems ihemselves, accordingly, the reader must get his estimate of the salient qualities and excellencies of each writer's verse. In the case of living authors, indeed, it might be invidious to undertake a com- parison of status or even of style. Th<.' portraits in the book are from photographs furnished by the authors themselves. To Mrs. Lanier's kindness is due the appearance in the volume of the picture of her lamented husband, Sidney Lanier, the greatest poet of the South. For obvious reasons only a few illustrations could appear, and the difficulty of making a selection was increased by the fact that several of the authors preferred to be repre- sented by their poems alone. Grateful acirnowledgments are due to the poets repre- sented in this book for the kind aid they have given the editor in getting ^he poems together, and for their generous permission to publish. J. E. W. JV Contents. Edmund Clarence Stedman. Tlie I land of Lincoln ' ' ,' Creole Lover's Song a The Doorstep g Fuit Ilium ■ g The Discoverer I , John James Piatt. Apart ,- The Buried Ring ,g William Winter. Nfy Queen _ 21 Sweet Bells of Stratford 22 Thomas Bailey Alurich. In Westminster Abl)ey 21; A ndromeda 26 Outward Bound 27 Identity 27 Qn an Intaglio Head of Minerva 28 y nt Contenta. V/iLLiAM Dean Howells. Thanksgiving Pack. A Springtime ' " X2 Dead ^ A Poet ^^ . . 35 The S)ng the Oriole Sinps ^ 35 Henry Ames Blood. The Rock in the Sea... 39 Aeram Joseph Ryan. The Conquered Banner . 43 Francis Bret Harte. The Angelus ■ •••. ^ Dickens in Camp 4^ Edward Rowland Sill. Opportunity • ci The Fool's Prayer - 52 James Herbert Morse. The Power cf Beauty Like a Star .... ^^ 57 Labor and lAte . 58 Joaquin Miller. Columbus Dakota .... ^^ 61 vi Contents. Sidney Lanier. • - ^ • "agb* My &pnngs 5^ Song of the Chattahoochee 66 The Marshes of Glynn . . 68 Richard Watson Gilder. A Woman's Thought ye The Sower «« My Love for Thee Doth March, etc 78 At Niagara jg Great Nature is an Army Gay 80 Maurice Thompson. In the Haunts of Bream and Bass ... 83 Farewell , go Will Cat -on. He? Clarence SteDman. ' The little hand outside her mufT— O sculptor, if you could but mould it !— So lightly touched my jacket-cu'lF, To keep it warm I had to hold it. To have her with me there alone, — '1 was love and fear and triumph blended ; At last we reached the foot-worn stone Where that delicious journey ended. The old folks, too, were almost home ; Her dimpled hand the latches fingered, V/e heard the voices nearer come, Yet on the doorstep still we lingered. She shook her ringlets from her hood, And with a "Thank you, Ned," dissembled, But yet I knew she understood With what a daring wish I trembled. A cloud passed kindly overhead, The moon was slyly peeping through it. Yet hid its face, as if it said, " Come, now or never ! do it ! do it !'' My lips till then had only known The kiss of mother and of sister. But somehow, full upon her own Sweet, rosy, darling mouth— I kissed her ! 7 Xater amertcan poems. Perhaps 'twas boyish love, yet stiM, O listless woman ! weary lover ! To feel ciice more that fresh, wild thrill, I'd give—But who can live youth over ? Fuit Ilium. One by one they died,— Last of all their race ; Nothing left but pride, Lace, and buckled hose. Their quietus mad2, On their dwelling-place Ruthless hands are laid : Down the old house goes ! See the ancient mans*^ Meet its fate at last I Time, in his advance, Age nor honor knows ; Axe and broadaxe fall, Lopping off the Past : Kit with bar and maul, Down the old house goes ! a jeOmunD Clarence Stc&main Sevenscore years it stood : Yes, they built it well, Though they built of wood. When that house arose. For its cross-beams square Oak and vvalnut fell ; Little worse for wear, Down the old house goes ! Rending board and plank, Men with crowbars ply, Opening fissures dank, Striking deadly blows. From the gabled roof How the shingles fly ! Keep you here aloof, — Down the old house goes ! Holding still its place, There the chimney stands, Staunch from top to base, Frowning on its foes. Heave apart the stones, Burst its iron bands ! How it shakes and groans I Down the old house goes I Xatcr Smerican poems. Round the mantel-piece Glisten Scripture tiles ; Henceforth they shall cease Painting Egypt's woes, Painting David's fight, " Fair Bathsheba's smiles, Blinded Samson's might, Down the old house goes ! On these oaken floors High-shoed ladies trod ; Through those panelled doors Trailed their furbelows : Long their day has ceased ; Now, beneath the sod, With the worms they feast,—- Down the old house goes I Many a bride has stood In yon spacious room ; Here her hand was wooed Underneath the rose ; O'er that sill the dead Reached the family tomb : All, that were, have fled,— Down the old house goes 1 lo J62>mund Clarence Stedman. Once, in yonder hall, Washington, they say, Led the New- Year's ball, Stateliest of beaux. O that minuet, Maids and matrons gay ! Are there such sights yet ? Down the old house goes ! British troopers came Ere another year, With their coats aflame. Mincing on their toes ; Daughters of the house Gave them haughty cheer, Laughed to scorn their vov:z, — Down the old house goes Doorway high the box In the grass-plot spreads ; It has borne its locks Through a thousand snows ; In an evil day, From those garden-beds Now 'tis hacked away,— Down the old house goes ! II Xatcr Bmcrican tocms. h Lo ! the sycamores, Scathed and scrawny mates, At the mansion doors Shiver, full of woes ; With its life they grew, Guarded well its gates ; Now their task is through,— Down the old house goes ! On this honored site Modern trade will build, — What unsf ^mly fright Heaven only knows ! Something peaked and high. Smacking of the guild : Let us heave a sigh, — Down the old house goes I 12 J65munD Clarence SteOmaiu The Discoverer. I have a little kinsman Whose earthly summers are but three, And yet a voyager is he Greater than Drake or Frobisher, Than all their peers together I He is a brave discoverer, And, far beyond the tether Of them who seek the frozen pole, Has sailed where the noiseless surges roll. Ay, he has travelled whither A winged pilot steered his bark Through the portals of the dark. Past hoary Mimir's well and tree, Across the unknown sea. Suddenly, in his fair young hour. Came one who bore a flower, And laid it in his dimpled hand With this command : " Henceforth thou art a rover 1 Thou must make a voyage far. Sail beneath the evening star, 13 m 'I : 3Utcr nmcticm pocme. And a wondrous land discover." —With his sweet smile innocent Our little kinsman went. Since that time no word From the absent has been heard. Who can tell How he fares, or answer well What the little one has found Since he left us, outward bound ? Would that he might return ! Then should we learn From the pricking of his chart How the skyey roadways part. Hush ! does not the baby this way bring, To lay beside this severed curl, Some starry offering Of chrysolite or pearl ? Ah, no ! not so ! We may follow on his track, But he comes not back. And yet I dare aver He is a brave discoverer Of climes his elders do not know. He has more learning than appears M -JlR'iJLafc'5 J6&mun& Clarence SteDman. On the scroll of twice three thousand years, More than in the groves is taught, Or from furthest Indies brought ; He knows, perchance, how spirits fare,*— What shapes the angels wear, What is their guise and speech In those lands beyond our reach, And his eyes behold Things that shall never, never be to mortal hearers told. 15 [ last lam and 3obn 3ame6 pintt [Born at Milton, Indiana, i8k. Poet inH ir...rn„iic» ir i last thirteen years (.88.-, 895) United StL^V^nraf-Cor"!"/:! land The poems selecteMi»»ih'wms»^m^»mmi aobn 5amc0 platt. She wore upon her hand the ring, Whose frail and human bond is gone— A coffin keeps the jealous thing Radiant in shut oblivion : For she, (beloved, who loved so well,) In the last tremors of her breath, Whisper'd of bands impossible — " She would not give her ring to Death." But he, who holds a newer face Close to his breast with eager glow. Has he forgotten her embrace, The first shy maiden's, long ago ? Lo, in a ghostly dream of night, A vision, over him she stands, Her mortal face in heavenlier lijrht. With speechless blame but blessing hands And, smiling mortal sorrow's pain Into immortal peace more deep, She gives him back her ring again — The new bride kisses him from sleep ! n cm fro lis! ■m MilHam HOinter. [Born at Gloucester, Mass., 1836. Poet and journalist. Dramatic critic of the New York "Tribune." The poems selected are quoted from " The Wanderers " by permission of the author and his pub- lishers, Macmillan & Co.] My Queen. He loves not well whose love is bold ! I would not have thee come too nigh : The sun's gold would not seem pure gold Unless the sun were in the sky : To take him thence and chain him near Would make his beauty disappear. He keeps his state, — do thou keep thine, And shine upon me from afar ! So shall I bask in light divine, That falls from love's own guiding star ; So shall thy eminence be high, And so my passion shall not die. 21 Xatcc amcrfcan pocme. But all my life will reach its hands Of lofty longing toward thy face, And be as one who speechless stands In rapture at some perfect grace ! My love, my hope, my all will be To look to heaven and look at thee ! Thy eyes will be the heavenly lights ; Thy voice the ger.tle summer breeze. What time it sways, on moonlit nights, The murmuring tops of leafy trees ; And I will touch thy beauteous form In June's red roses, rich and warm. But thou thyself shall come not down From that pure region far above ; But keep thy throne and wear thy crown. Queen of my heart and queen of love ! A monarch in thy realm complete. And I a monarch — at thy feet ! Sweet Bells of Stratford. Sweet bells of Stratford, tolling slow, In summer gloaming's golden glow, I hear and feel thy voicv< divine. And all my soul responds to thine. 22 TOJilUam TKHinter. As now I hear thee, even so My Shakespeare heard thee long ago, When lone by Avon's pensive stream He wandered in his haur ad dream. Heard thee, and far his fancy sped Through spectral caverns of the dead, And sought— and sought in vain— to pierce The secret of the universe. As now thou mournest didst thou mourn On that sad day when he was borne Through the long aisle of honeyed limes To rest beneath the chambered chimes. He heard thee not, nor cared to hear ! Another voice was in his «ar, And, freed from all the bonds of men, He knew the awful secret then. Sweet bells of Stratford, toll, and be A golden proniise unto me Of that great hour when I shall k'^ow The path whereon his footsteps go ! 23 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. tTbomaa Batle? ai&ricb. [Born at Portsmouth, N.H., 1836. Poet, novelist, and journalist. Editor of the "Atlantic Monthly," 1881-1890. The poems quoted were selected for this anthology by Mr. Aldrich, and are printed by special permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston.] In Westminster Abbey. Tread softly here ; the sacredest of tombs Are those that hold your poets. Kings and queens Are facile accidents of Time and Chance ; Chance sets them on the heights, they climb not there 1 But he who from the darkling mass of men Is on the wing of heavenly thought upbore To fiuer ether, and becomes a voice For all the voiceless, God anointed him ! His name shall be a star, his grave a shrine. Tread softly here, in silent reverence tread, Beneath those marble cenotaphs and urns Lies richer dust than ever nature hid Packed in the mountain's adamantine heart, Or slyly wrapt in imsuspecting sand. The dross men toil for often stains the soul. How vain and all ignoble seems the greed To him who stands in this dim cloistered air With these most sacred ashes at his feet ! 25 im Xater Bniertcau poemd. This dust was Chaucer, Spenser, Dryden this ; The spark that once illumed it lingers stili. O, ever-hallowed spot of English earth ! If the unleashed and happy spirit of man Have option to revisit our dull globe, What august shades at midnight here convene In the miraculous sessions of the moon. When the great pulse of London faintly throbs, And one by one the stars in heaven pale ! Andromeda. The smooth-worn coin and threadbare classic phrase Of Grecian myths that did beguile my youth, Beguile me not as in the olden days : I think more grief and beauty dwell with truth. Andromeda, in fetters by the sea, Star-pale with anguish till young Perseus came, Less moves me with her suffering than she, The slim girl figure fettered to dark shame. That nightly haunts the park, there, like a shade, Trailing her wretchedness from street to street. See where she passes — neither wife nor maid. How all mere fiction crumbles at her feet ! Here is woe's self, and not the mask of woe : A legend's shadow shall not move you so I 26 trbomas JSaileg Bldricb. Outward Bound, I leave behind me the elm-shadowed square And carven portals of the silent street, And wander on with listless, vagrant feet Through seaward-leading alleys, till the air Smells of the sea, and straightway then the care Slips from my heart, and life once more is sweet. At the lane's ending lie the white- winged fleet. O restless Fancy, whither wouldst thou fare ? Here are brave pinions that shall take thee far- Gaunt hulks of Norway ; siiips of red Ceylon ; Slim-masted lovers of the blue Azores ! 'Tis but an instant hence to Zanzibar, Or to the regions of the midnight sun : Ionian isles are thine, and all the fairy shores 1 Identity. Somewhere— in desolate wind-swept space- In Twilight-land — in No-man's land — Two hurrying Shapes met face to face, And bade each other stand. " And who are you ? " cried one, agape. Shuddering in the gloaming light. " I know not," said the Second Shape, " I only died last night ! " Xatcr Bmcrlcan pocme. On an Intaglio Head of Minerva. Beneath the warrior's helm, behold The flowing tresses of the woman 1 Minerva, Pallas, what you will— A winsome creature, Greek or Roman. Minerva? No! 't is some sly minx In cousin's helmet masquerading ; If not— then Wisdom was a dame For sonnets and for serenading ! I thought the goddess cold, austere, Not made for love's despairs and blisses : Did Pallas wear her hair like that ? Was Wisdom's mouth so shaped for kisses? The Nightingale should be her bird, And not the Owl, big-eyed and solemn : How very fresh she looks, and yet She's older far than Trajan's Column I The magic hand that carved this face, And set this vine-work round it running, Perhaps ere mighty Phidias wrought Had lost its subtle skill and cunning. 28 (Tbomaa JSaHeg al^r(cb. Who was he ? Was he glad or sad, Who knew to carve in such a fashion ? Perchance he graved the dainty head For some brown girl that scorned his passion. Perchance, in some still garden-place, Where neither fount nor tree to-day is, He flung the jewel at the feet Of Phryne, or perhaps 't was Lais. But he is dust ; we may not know His happy or unhappy story : Nameless, and dead these centuries, His work outlives him— tl ore's his glory ! Both man and jewel lay in earth Beneath a lava-buried city ; The counties:; summers came and went With neitixer haste, nor hate, nor pity. Years blotted out the man, but left The jewel fresh as any blossom. Till some Visconti dug it up — To rise and fall on Mabel's bosom ! O nameless brother ! see how Time Your gracious handiwork has guarded : 29 W^^- V ' 1 ; I Xater amcrfcan poeme. See how your loving, patient art Has come, at last, to be rewarded. Who would not suffer slights of men, And pangs of hopeless passion also, To have his carven agate-stone On such a bosom rise and fall so ! Milltam Dean Ibowelte* [Bom at Martinsville, Ohio, 1837. Poet and novelist. Editor of the "Atlantic Monthly," 1871-1881, The poems selected are quoted with the permission of the author and by special arrangement with his publishers, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston.] Thanksgiving. I. Lord, for the erring thought Not into evil wrought : Lord, for the wicked will Betrayed and baffled still : For the heart from itself kept, Our thanksgiving accept. 'f, II. For ignorant hopes that were Broken to our blind prayer : For pain, death, sorrow, sent Unto our chastisement : For all loss of seeming good, Quicken our gratitude. ^l 31 f I ./'i Xatcr American pocme. A Springtime. One knows the spring is coming : There are birds ; the fields are green ; There is balm in the sunlight and moonlight, And dew in the twilights between. But ever there is a silence, A rapture great and dumb, That day when the doubt is ended, And at last the spring is come. Behold the wonder, O silence ! Strange as if wrought in a night, — The waited and lingering glory, The world-old, fresh delight I O blossoms that hang like winter, Drifted upon the trees, O birds that sing in the blossoms, O blossom-haunting bees, — O green, green leaves on th*e branches, O shadowy dark below, O cool of the aisles of orchards, Woods that the wild flowers know, — ,1 1" I 32 •"""il'"IIMH|| MiUiam Dean ftowclla. O air of gold and perfume, Wind, breathing sweet and sun, O sky of perfect azure — Day, Heaven and Earth in one I- Let me draw near thy secret. And in thy deep heart see How fared, in doubt and dreaming, The spring that is come in me. For my soul is held in silence, A rapture, great and dumb,— For the mystery that lingered, The glory that is come ! Dead. I. Something lies in the room Over against my own ; The windows are lit with a ghastly bloom Of candles, burning alone, — Untrimmed, and all aflare In the ghastly silence there ! 33 ■ i: '■; l^^v Xj, ■ MB H§^^ 1 m j^H ^^Pj ^■^' ^H ^^H K ^^^^1 H^ ^H |9j ■ ■ ^^L!' ^1 1^1 ^H ^^^^H ^^1 IF V. ■.# Xater Bmerican poema. II. People go by the door, Tiptoe, holding their breath, And hush the talk that they held before, Lest they should waken Death, That is awake all night There in the candlelight ! III. The cat upon the stairs Watches -with flamy eye For the sleepy one who shall unawares Let her go stealing by. She softly, softly purrs, And claws at the banisters. IV. The bird from out its dream Breaks with a sudden song, That stabs the sense like a sudden scream ; The hound the whole night long Howls to the moonless sky, So far, and starry, and high. 34 WUUam Dean 1)owelId. A Poet. From wells where Truth in secret lay He saw t^^ midnight stars by day. " O marvellous gift ! " the many cried, " O cruel gift !" his voice replied. The stars were far, and cold, and high, That glimmered in the noonday sky ; He yearned toward the sun in vain, That warmed the lives of other men. The Song the Oriole Sings. There is a bird that comes and sings In the Professor's garden-trees ; Upon the English oak he swings, And tilts and tosses in the breeze. I know his name, I know his note, That so with rapture takes my soul ; Like flame the gold beneath his throat, His glossy cope is black as coal. 1Mi,ikl^k If 1 "1 Xater amcrlcan poems. O oriole, it is the song You sang me from the Cottonwood, Too young to feel that I was young. Too glad to guess if life were good. And while I hark, before my door, Adown the dusty Concord road. The blue Miami flows once more As by the cottonwood it flowed. And on the bank that rises steep, AnH pours a thousand tiny rills, From death and absence laugh and leap My school-mates to their flutter-mills. The blackbirds jangle in the iops Of hoary-antlered sycamores ; The timorous killdee starts and stops Among the drift-wood on the shores. Below, the bridge— a noonday fear Of dust and shadow shot with sun Stretches its gloom from pier to pier, Far unto alien coasts unknown. And on those alien coasts, above, Where silver ripples break the stream's Long blue, from some roof-sheltering grove A hidden parrot scolds and screams. 36 MH IQilltam Dean l)oweU6. Ah, nothing, nothing ! Commonest things : A touch, a gUmpse, a sound, a breath — It is a song the oriole sings — And all the rest belongs to death. But oriole, my oriole, Were some bright seraph sent from bliss With songs of heaven to win my soul From simple memories such as this, What could he tell io tempt my ear From you ? What high thing could there be, So tenderly and sweetly dear As my lost boyhood is to me ? 37 . ■/. ■■|| J.MB I MIi Ibcnn? Hmea BI006. [Bom at Temple, New Hampshire, 1838. The poem below appeared in "The Century Magazine" of August, 1883. It is quoted with the permission of the author. ] The Rock in the Sea. They say that yonder rock once towered Upon a wide and grassy plain, Lord of the land, until the sea Usurped his green domain : Yet now remembering the fair scene Where once he reigned without endeavor, The great rock in the ocean stands And battles with the waves forever. How oft, O rock, must visit thee Sweet visions of the ancient calm All amorous with birds and bees, And odorous with balm 1 Ah me, the terrors of the time When the grim, wrinkled sea advances, And winds and waves, with direful cries Arouse thee from thy happy trances ! 39 p» I' I 'ill i i I:. i I i I ! Xater Bmcrican poema. To no soft tryst they waken thee, No sunny scene of perfect rest, But to the raging sea's vanguard Thundering against thy breast : No singing birds are round thee, now, But the wild winds, the roaring surges, And gladly would they hurl thee down And mock thee in eternal dirges. But be it thine to conquer them ; And may thy firm-enduring form Still frown upon the hurricane. Still grandly tVont the storm : And while the tall ships come and go, And come and go the generations. May thy proud presence yet remain A wonder unto all the nations. Sometime, perchance, C lonely rock, Thou mayest regain thine ancient seat, Mayest see once more the meadow shine, And hear the pasture bleat : But ah, methinks even then thy breast Would stir and yearn with fond emotion, To meet once more in glorious war The roaring cohorts of the ocean. 40 i i tycnt^ Bmes JSlood. Let me, like thee, thou noble rock, Pluck honor from the seas of time ; Where Providence doth place my feet There let me stand sublime : O life, 'tis very sweet to lie , Upon thy shores without endeavor, But sweeter far to breast thy storms And battle with thy waves forever. '1 "i I 41 i^P» ~"3P?TEHgB!H55KBSRBHK!5P« ■IF Hbram Joeepb 1??an. [Bom in Norfolk, Penn., 1839. Died, 1886. Father Ryan's fame rests chiefly on his war poems, of which the one selected is the most celebrated. ] The Conquered Banner. Furl that Banner, for 'tis weary ; Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary ; Furl it, fold it, it is best ; For there's not a man to wave it, And there's not a sword to save it, And there's not one left to lave it Tn the blood which heroes gave it ; And its foes now scorn and brave it ; Furl it, hide it — let it rest. Take the Banner down ! 'tis tattered ; Broken is its shaft and shattered ; And the valiant hosts are scattered Over whom it floated high. Oh ! 'tis hard for us to fold it ; Hard to think there's none to hold it ; Hard that those who once unrolled it Now must furl it with a sigh. 43 u r-r Tf ft' llil 11 Xater Bmecican |^ocm0* Furl that Banner ! furl it sadly ! Once ten thousand hailed it gladly, And tt.i thousand wildly, madly, Swore it should for ever wave ; Swore that foeman's s'vord should never Hearts like theirs emwined dissever, Till that flag should float for ever O'er their freedom, or their grave 1 Furl it ! for the hands that grasped it, And the hearts that fondly clasped it, Cold and dead are lying low ; And that Banner— it is trailing ! While around it sounds the wailing Of its people in their woe. For though conquered, they adore it ! Love the cold, dead hands that bore it ! Weep for those who fell before it ! Pardon those who trailed and tore it 1 But, oh ! wildly they deplore it; Now who furl and fold it so. Furl that Banner ! True, it's gory. Yet 'tis wreathed around witli glory, And 'twill live in song and story, Though its folds are in the dust : 44 abvam a^osepb "RBam For its fame on brightest pages Penned by poets and by sages, Shall go sounding down the ages — Furl its folds though now we must. Furl that Banner, softly, slowly ! Treat it gently— it is holy— For it droops above the dead Touch it not — unfold it never, Let it droop then, furled for ever, For its people's hopes are dead ! 45 3franc(0 Bret Ibarte. [Bom in Albany, N.Y., 1839. Poet and novelist. United States Cons.'il at Glasgow, 1880-85. Has since lived in England. The poems selected are quoted by special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston.] The Angelus. Heard at the Mission Dolores, 1868. Bells of the Past, whose long-forgotten music Still fills the wide expanse, Tingeing the sober twilight of the Present With colou' of romance. I hear your call, and see the sun descending On rock and wave and sand, As down the coast the Mission voices blending Girdle the heathen land. Within the circle of your incantation No blight nor mildew falls ; Nor fierce unre. , nor lust, nor low ambition Passes those airy walls. Bon on the swell of your long waves receding, I t( ch the farther Past, — I see the dying glow of Spanish glory, The sunset dream and last ! 47 '•■ r;»- I I HI Xater American l>oem0. Before me rise the dome-shaped Mission towers, The white Presidio ; The swart commander in his leathern jerkin, The priest in stole of snow. Once more I see Portala's cross uplifting Above the setting sun ; And past the headland, northward, slowly drifting The freighted galleon. O solemn bells t whose consecrated masses Recall the faith of old, — O tinkling bells ! that lulled with twilight music The spiritual fold ! Your voices break and falter in the darkness,— Break, falter, and are still ; And veiled and mystic, like the Host descending, The sun sinks from the hill 1 1 Dickens in Camp. Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting, The river sang below ; The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting Their minarets of snow. 48 •'■ J. jfrancld JSret f)atte. The roaring camp-fire, with rude humour, painted The ruddy tints of health On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted In the fierce race for wealth. Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure A hoarded volume drew, And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure To hear the tale anew ; And then, while round them shadows gathered faster, And as the firelight fell, He read aloud the book wherein the Master Had writ of " Little NelL" Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy, — for the reader Was youngest of them all, — But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar A silence seen>ed to fall ; The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows, Listened in every spray. While the whole camp with " Nell" on English meadows Wandered, and lost their way. And so in mountain solitudes — o'ertaken As by some spell divine — Their cares drop from them like the needles shaken From out the gusty pine. 49 il^f'l Xatcr amcrfcan poemg. Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire ; And he who wrought that spell ?— Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish spire, Ye have one tale to tell ! Lost is that camp ! but let its fragrant story Blend with the breath that thrills With hop-vines' incense all the pensive glory That fills the Kentish hills. And on that grave where English oak and holly And laurel wreaths entwine, Deem it not all a too-presumptuous folly,— This spray of Western pine ! I![ \ H so r I if fi5war6 lRowIa^^ SilL [Bom at Windsor, Conn., 1841. Graduated at Yale, 1861. Died, 1887. The poems selected are quoted by special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston.] Opportunity. • This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream : — There spread a cloud of dust along a plain ; And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged • A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes. A craven hung along the battle's edge, And thought, " Had I a sword of keener steel — That blue blade that the king's son bears, — but this Blunt thing ! — he snapt and flung it from his hand. And lowering crept away and left the field. Then came th2 king's son, wounded, sore bestead, And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand, And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down. And saved a great cause that heroic day. 5? r f.i' Xatcc American pocma. i! if ! \'.i u4 The Fool's Prayer. The royal feast was done ; the kiiif' Sought some new sport to banish care, And to his jester cried ; " Sir Fool, Kneel now, and make for us a prayer 1" The jester doffed his cap and bells, And stood the mocking court before ; They could not see the bitter smile Behind the painted grin he wore. He bowed his head, and bent his knee Upon the monarch's silken stool ; His pleading voice arose: " O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool 1 " No pity, Lord, could change the heart From red with wrong to Ayhite as wool— The rod must heal the sin ; but, Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool 1 " 'Tis not by guilt the onward sweep Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay ; 'Tis by our follies that so long We hold the earth from heaven away. 52 jeowarD 'Rowland Sill. "These clumsy feet, still in the mire, Go crushing blossoms without end ; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend. " The ill-timed truth we might have kept— Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung ? The word we had not sense to say — Who knows how grandly it had rung ? " Our faults no tenderness should ask, The chastening stripes must cleanse them all ; But for our blunders— oh, in shame Before the eyes of heaven we fall. " Earth bears no balsams for mistakes ; Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool That did his will ; but thou, O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool ! " The room was hushed ; in silence rose The King, and sought his gardens cool, And walked apart, and murmured low, " Be merciful to me, a fool ! " 53 n pi ||: 3amc0 Ibecbert fiDorse. [Bom at Ilubbardston, Mass., 1841. Graduated at Harvard, The poems selected are quoted by permission of the author.] The Power of Beauty. Thou needst not weave nor spin Nor bring the wheat-sheaves in, Nor, forth a-field at morn, At eve bring home the corn, Nor on a winter's night Make blaze the faggots bright. So lithe and delicate — So slender is thy state, So pale and pure thy face, So deer-like in their grace Thy limbs, that all do vie To take and charm the eye. Thus, toiling where thou'rt not Is but the common lot : — Three men mayhap alone By strength may move a stone ; But, toiling near to thee, One man may work as three. 55 |! I <■ 1 III: m \i ■ Xatcr Smerfcan pocme. If thou but bend a smile To fall on him the while, Or if one tender glance, — Though coy and shot iskance,— His eyes discover, then One man may work as ten. Men commonly but ask "When shall I end my task?" But seeing thee come in 'Tis, " when may I begin ?" Such power does beauty bring To take from toil its sting. If then thou'lt do but this— Fling o'er the work a bliss From thy mere presence—none Shall think thou'st nothing done ; Thou needst not weave nor spin Nor bring the wheat-sheaves in. 56 '71 S&mce tctbcxt ifboxec. •* Like a Star." No spirit have I, when the moon is full, To run to greet it on the round earth's edge ; Nor, when the spring has mantled every hedge With all the marvel and the miracle Of blade, and leaf, and blossom, white as wool, Am I the first to cry aloud. All still, When others shout, I lie upon the hill. Beholding, maniple on maniple. The ranks unfold, —leaf, blossom, beast, and bird ; Yet in my heart a high priest chants his praise. Not less devout because it is not heard Of men who pass me on the public ways. I have no song,— no, not a single bar, — But my soul, sleepless, gazes like a star. 57 f later American f^oemd. .f Labor and Life. How to labor and find it sweet : How to get the good red gold That veined hides in the granite fold Under our feet — The good red gold that is bought and sold, Raiment to man, and house, and meat ! And how, while delving, to lift the eye To t'^e far-oflf mountains of amethyst, The rounded hills, and the intertwist Of waters that lis Calm in the valleys, or that white mist Sailing across a soundless sky. m^ i i Ml 58 r ma Soaquin mfllec (Cjncinnatus Heine Miller.) [Born in Wabash district, Indiana, 1841. Poet and journalist. Lives m California. Was led to adopt his pseudonym from havinc written in defense of Joaquin Mu-ietta, a Mexican brigand The poems selected are quoted by permission of the author.] Columbus. Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules ; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said : «« Now must we pray, For, lo ! the very stars are gone. Brave Admiral, speak ; what shall I say ?" "Why say, * Sail on ! sail on ! and on I'" " My men grow mutinous day by day ; My men grow ghastly wan and weak." The stout mate thought of home ; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek, " What shall I say, brave Admiral, say. If we sight naught but seas at dawn.?" ** Why you shall say at break of day, * Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on !'" 59 Xater Bmerican poems. They sailed, and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said : " Why, now, not even God would Know Sh'^uld I and all m}^ men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone, Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say — " He said : " Sail on ! sail on ! and on 1" They craledo They sailed. Then spoke the mate : " This mad sea shows its leeth to-night ; He curls his Hp, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth, as if to bite ! Brave Admiral, say but onf ffood word ; What shall ^e dvj when hope is gone ?" The words leapt as % leaping sword: " Sail Oil ! sail on ! sail on ! and on 1'' Then pale and w( i-h, he kept his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that night Pf all dark nights ! And then a speck— A light : a lighc ! a light ! a light 1 It grew, a starlit flag unfurled ! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn, He gained a world ; he gave that world Its grandest lesson : "On ! and on 1" ',3l£. 5oa(iuin asiUct. Dakota. Against the cold, clear sky a smoke Curls like some column to its dome. An axe with far, faint, boyish stroke, Rings feebly from a snowy home. " Oh, father, come ! The flame burns low. We freeze in this vast field of snow." But far away, and long, and vain. Two horses plunge with snow to breast. The weary father drops the rein,— He rests in the eternal rest ; And high against the blue profound A dark bird circles round and round. 6i i:1Ji il M w. Ml m-i I f i EY ^AMIER. m Si&ne*^ % anter* [Born at Macon, Georgia, 1842. Died in 1881. Poet and critic. Lecturer on English Literature at Johns Hopkins University, Balti- more, 1879-1881. His poems were not published in a volume till 1884. Through the courtesy of Mrs. Lanier and with the kind per- mission of Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, the poems selected are reprinted from this volume, •' Poems of Sidney Lanier."] My springs. In the heart of the Hills of Life, I know Two springs that with unbroken flow Forever pour their lucent streams Into my soul's far Lake of Dreams. Not larger than two eyes, they lie Beneath the many-changing sky And mirror all of life and time, — Serene and dainty pantomime. Shot through with lights of stars and dawns, And shadowed sweet by ferns and fawns, — Thus heaven ind earth toj^ether vie Their shining depths to sanctify. 63 r •ff* 3 , ^ P ; 1. im « i i -i 1 ' 1 1 1 1 i 1 Xater Bmecican poemd* Always when the large Form of Love Is hid by storms that rage above, I gaze in my two springs and see Love in his very verity. Always when Faith with stifling stress Of grief hath died in bitterness, I gaze in my two springs and see A Faith that smiles immortally. Always when Charity and Hope In darkness bounden, feebly grope, I gaze in my two springs and see A Light that sets my captives free. Always, when Art on perverse wing Flies where I cannot hear him sing, I gaze in my two springs and see A charm that brings him back to me. When Labor faints, and Glory fails, And coy Reward in sighs exhales, I gaze in my two springs and see Attainment full and heavenly. O Love, O Wife, thine eyes are they, — My springs from out whose shining gray Issue the sweet celestial streams That feed my life's bright Lake of Dreams. 64 Sl^nes Xantcr. Oval and large and passion-pure And gray and wise and honor-sure ; Soft as a dying violet-breath Yet calmly unafraid of death ; Thronged, like two dove-cotes of gray doves, With wife's and mother's and poor-folk's loves, And home-loves and high glory- loves And science-loves and story-loves, And loves for all that God and man In art and nature make or plan. And lady-loves for spidery lace And broideries and supple grace And diamonds and the whole sweet round Of littles that large life compound, And loves for God and God's bare truth, And loves for Magdalen and Ruth, Dear eyes, dear eyes and rare complete- Being heavenly-sweet and earthly-sweet, — I marvel that God made you mine. For when He frowns, 'tis then ye shine 1 6S II! Xntcr Bmcrtcaii poemd« Song of the Chattahoochee. |i!| {ii> Out of the hills of Habersham, Down the valleys of Hall, I hurry amain to reach the plain, Kun the rapid and leap the fall, Split at the rock and together again, Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, And flee from folly on every side With a lover's pain to attain the plain Far from the hills of Habersham, Far from the valleys of Hall. li All down the hills of Habersham, All through the valleys of Hall, The rushes cried Abide ^ abide ^ The willful waterweeds held me thrall, The laving laurel turned my tide, The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay The dewberry dipped for to work delay, And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide. Here in the hills of Habersham, • Here in the valleys of Hall. 66 StDiicg Xanter. High o'tr the hills of Habersham, Veiling the valleys of Hall, The hickory told ine manifold Fair tales of shade, the popl: tall Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign, Said, Pass not, so cold, these manifold Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, These glades in the valleys of Hall, And oft in the hills of Habersham, And oft in the valleys of Hall, The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl, And many a luminous jewel lone — Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist. Ruby, garnet and amethyst — Made lures with the lights of streaming stone In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, In the beds of the valleys of Hall. But oh, not the hills of Habersham, And oh, not the valleys of Hall Avail : I am fain for to water the plain, Downward the voices of Duty call — 67 T k. .ok* V IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 4 <^ s \Q l.f 'M 1.25 I u liii i^ mil 2.0 f2.2 Ui Hi I U ■UUU 1(1 f 1.8 14 111.6 6" ^M 'ei % >^ ^\^>-:^ ^y^ ^ ^ v^ ^.w^ V'*' ^^ >* o 7 C Sciences Corporation 23 WiST MAIN STREET WfEBSTr^R, NY. 14580 (716) 472-4503 ' Bia iw «» w»i »- iw » m l'^ ii i ■ 1 ;;;■ ji! Xatcr amecican poems. Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main, The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn, And a myriad flowers mortally yearn, And the lordly main from beyond the plain Cal's o'er the hil'.s of Habersham, Calls through the valleys of Hall. H' The Marshes of Glynn. Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven With intricate shades of the vines that myriad-cloven Clamber the ^orks of the multiform boughs,— Emerald twilights, — Virginal shy lights, Wrought of the leaves to allure to the whisper of vows, When lovers pace tnnidly down through the green colonnades Of the dim sweet woods, of the dear dark woods. Of the heavenly woods and glades. That run to the radiant marginal sand-beach within The wide sea-marshes of Glynn ; — Beautiful glooms, soft dusks in the noon-day fire, - Wild wood privacits, closets of lone desire, ^8 SiDnei? Xaniec. Chamber from chamber parted with wavering arras of leaves, — Cells for the passionate pleasure of prayer to ihe soul that grieves, Pure with a sense of the passing of saints through the wood, Cool for the dutiful weighing of ill with good ; — O hraided dusks of the oak and woven shades of the vine, While the riotous noon-day sun of the June-day long did shine Ye helO n.e fast in your heart and I held you fast in mine : But now when the noon is no more, and riot is rest, And the sun is a- wait at the ponderous gate of the West, And the slant yellow beam down the wood-aisle doth seem Like P. lane into heaven that leads from a dream, — Aye, now, when my soul all day hath drunken the soul of the oak. And my heart is at ease from men, ai-d the wearisome sound of the stroke Of the scythe of time, and the trowel of trade is low, And belief overmasters doubt, and I know that I know, And my spirit is growu to a lordly great compass within, That the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn Will v/ork me no fear like the fear they have wrought me of yore When length was fatigue, and when breadth was but bitter- ness sore, Xater Bmertcan pocma* I li- Hi u'i i And when terror and shrinking and dieary unnamable pain Drew over me out of the merciless miles of the plain, — Oh, now, unafraid, I am fain to face The vast sweet visage of space. To the edge of the wood I am drawn, I am drawn, Where the gray beach glimmering runs as a belt of the dawn, For a mete and a mark To the forest dark : — So : Affable live-oak, leaning low, — Thus — with your favor — soft, with a reverent hand, (Not lightly touching your person, Lord of the land !) Bending your beauty aside, with a step i stand On the firm-packed sand, Free By a v/orld of marsh that borders a world of sea. Sinuous southward and sinuous northward the shimmering band Of the sand-beach fastens the fringe of the marsh to the folds of the land. Inward and outward to northward and southward the beach lines linger and curl As a silver- wrought garment that clings to and follows the firm sweet limbs of a girl. Vanishing, swerving, evermore curving again into sight, 70 StDiieg Xanler. Softly the sand-beach wavers away to a dim grey looping of jight. And what if behind me to westward the wall of the woods stands high ? The world lies east : how ample, the marsh and the sea and the sky ! A league and a league of marsh-grass, waist-Ligh, broad in the blade, Green, and all of a height, and unflecked with a light or a shade, Stretch leisurely off, in a pleasant plain, To the terminal blue of the main. Oh, what is abroad in the marsh and the terminal sea ? Somehow my soul seems suddenly free From the weighing of fate and the sad discussion of sin, By the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn. Ye marshes, howcani^id and simple and nothing-withholding and free Ye publish yourselves to the sky and offer yourselves to the sea ! Tolerant plains, that suffer the sea and the rains and the sun, Ye spread and span like the catholic man who hath mightily won And sight out of infinite pain God out of knowledge and good blindness and purity o" of a stai 71 n. F »i ill II 1 'i i iii h Xater Bmerican poeme* As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod, Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of God : I will fly in the greatness of God as the marsh-hen flies In the freedom that fills all the space 'twixt the marsh and the skies : By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends in the sod I will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of God : Oh, like to the greatness of God is the greatness within The range of the marshes, the Hberal marshes of Glynn. And the sea lends large, as the marsh : lo, out of his plenty the sea Pours fast : full soon the time of the flood-tide must be : Look how the grace of the sea doth go About and about through the intricate channels that flow Here and there, Everywhere, Till his waters have flooded the uttermost creeks and the low-lying lanes, And the marsh is meshed with a million veins, That like as with rosy and silvery essences flow In the rose-and silver ever, ing glow. Farewell, my lord Sun ! The creeks overflow : a thousand rivulets run Twixt the roots of the sod ; the blades of the marsh-grass stir; Passeth a hurrying sound of wings that westward whirr ; 72 SlDncB Xanicr. Passeth, and all is still ; and the currents cease to run ; And the sea and the marsh are one. How still the plains of the waters be I The tide is in his ecstasy. The tide is at his highest height r And it is night. And now from the Vast of the Lord will the waters of sleep Roll in on the souls of men, But who will reveal to our waking ken The forms that swim and the shapes that creep Under the waters of sleep ? And I would I could know what swimmeth below when the tide comes in On the length and the breadth of the marvellous marshes of Glynn. 73 ' I IRlcbarb TKIlateon mbcv, [Born at Bordentovvn. New Terser iRaa n^^f j i- Sn.ce I88c editor-in-chief of '^S'^-'X^fe ''tTo poems selected are reprinted from " Five Books of Snt";},.^u the kind permission of The Century Co?Nevv Yolj ^ A Woman's Thought. I am a woman— therefore I may not Call to him, cry to him, Fly to him, Bid him delay not ! Then when he comes to me, I must sit quiet ; Still as a stone — All silent and cold. If my heart riot — Crush and defy it ! Should I grow bold, Say one dear thing to him, All my life fling to him, Cling to him — What to atone 75 im iifii Xater Bmerican pocmft. Is enough for my sinning ! This were the cost to me, Thiii were my winning — That he were lost to me. f ? Not as a lover At last if he part from me, Tearing my heart from me, Hurt beyond cure — Calm and demure Then must I hold me, In myself fold me, Lest he discover ; Showing no sign to him By look of mine to him What he has been to me — - How my heart turns to him, Follows him, yearns to him. Prays him to love me. Pity me, lean to me, Thou God above me ! 76 l^tcbatd KllatBoti Wilder. The Sower. I. A Sower went forth to sow ; His eyes were dark with woe ; He crushed the flowers beneath his feet, Nor smelt the perfume, warm and sweet, That prayed for pity everywhere. He came to a field that was harried By iron, and to heaven laid bare ; He shook the seed that he carrifed O'er that brown and bladeless place. He shook it, as God shakes hail Over a doomed land, When lightnings interlace The sky and the earth, and his wand Of love is a thunder-flail. Thus did that Sower sow ; His seed was human blood. And tears of women and men. And I, who near him stood. Said : When the crop comes, then There will be sobbing and r-ighing, Weeping and wailing and crying, Flame, and ashes, and woe. 11 ,,,l %ntct Bmericatt pcem0. i II. It was an autumn day When next I went that way. And what, think you, did I see, What was it that I heard, What music was in the air? The scng of a sweet-voiced bird ? Nay— but the songs of many, Thrilled through with praise and prayer Of all those voices not any Were sad of memory ; But a sea of sunliL-^ht flowed, A golden harvest glowed, And I said : Thou only art wise, God of the earth and skies ! And I praise thee, again and again, For the Sower whose name is Pain. f 1 " My Love for Thee Doth March Like Armed Men." My love for thee doth march like armed men. Against a queenly city they would take. Alo.ig the army's front its banners shake ; Across the mountain and the sun-smit plain 78 "Ricbart) 113310011 (BUt>cr. It steadfast sweeps as sweeps the steadfast rain ; And now the trumpet makes the still air (|iiake, And now the thundering cannon doth awake Echo on echo, echoing lotd again. But, lo ! the conquest higher than bard e'er sung : Instead of answering cannon, proud surrender ! Joyful the iron gates are open flung And, for the conqueror, welcome gay and tender ! Oh, bright the invader's path with tribute flowers, While comrade flags flame forth on wall and towers ! At Niagara. 1. There at the chasm's edge behold her lean Trembling as, 'neath the charm, A wild bird lifts no v,'mg to 'scape from harm ; Her very soul drawn to the glittering, green, Smooth, lustrous, awful, lovely curve of peril ; While far below the bending sea of beryl Thunder and tumult— whence a billowy spray Enclouds the day. 79 If!" t:i; Xater American poems. JiHi^ II. What dream is hers ? No dream hath wrought that spell ! The long waves rise and sink ; Pity that virgin soul on passion''s brink, Confronting Fate, — swift, une'^capable, — Fate, which of nature is the intent and core, And dark and strong as the steep river's pour. Cruel as love, and wild as love's first kiss ! Ah, God ! the abyss ! II ■ \l\ "Great Nature Is An Army Gay." Great nature an army gay, Resistless marching on its way ; I hear the bugles c' iar and sweet, I hear the tread of million feet. Across the plain I see it pour ; It tramples down the waving grass ; Within the echoing mountain pass I hear a thousand cannon roar. It swarms within my garden gate ; My deepest well it drinketh dry. It doth not rest ; it doth not wait ; 80 ■RicbarO mateon (Bilder. By night and day it sweepeth by ; Ceaseless it marches by my door ; It heeds me not, though I implore. I know not whence it comes, nor where It goes. For me it doth not care— Whether I starve, or eat, or sleep, Or live, or die, or sing, or weep. And now the banners all are bright, Now torn and blackened by the fight. Sometimes its laughter shakes the sky, Sometimes the groans of those who die. Still through the night and through the livelong day The infinite army marches on its remorseless way. 8i f I;, if! ! MAURICE THOMPSON. flDaudce tTbompeon. [Born at Fairfield, Indiana, 1844, The poems selected are quoted by permission of the author and by special arrangement with his publishers, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston.] In the Haunts of Bream and Bass. I. Dreams come true and everything Is fresh and lusty in the spring. In groves, that smell like ambergris, Wind-songs, bird-songs never cease. Go with me down by the stream. Haunt of bass and purple bream ; Feel the pleasure, keen and sweet, When the cool waves lap your feet ; Catch the breath of moss and mould, Hear the grosbeak's whistle bold ; See the heron all alone Mid-stream on a slippery stone, 83 !i m M Xater Bmecican poema. Or, on some decaying log, Spearing snail or water-frog, Whilst the sprawling turtles swim In the eddies cool and dim ! II. The busy nuthatch climbs his tree, Around the great bole spirally, Peeping into wrinkles gray, Under ruffled lichens gay, Lazily piping one sharp note From his silver-mailed throat ; And down the wind the catbird's song A slender medley trails along. Here a grackle chirping low, There a crested vireo ; Every tongue of Nature sings, The air is palpitant with wings ! Halcyon prophecies come to pass In the haunts of bream and bass. «4 Maurice (Tbompeon. in. Bubble, bubble flows the stream, Like an old tune through a dream. Now I cact my silken line ; See the gay lure spin and shine — While, with delicate touch, I feel The gentle pulses of the reel. Halcyon laughs and cuckoo cries, Through its leaves the plane-tree sighs. Bubble, bubble flows the stream, Here a glow and there a gleam, Coolness *all about me creeping, Fragrance all my senses steeping, Spicewood, sweetg'im, sassafras, Calamus and water-grass. Giving up their pungent smells Drawn from Nature's secret wells ; On the cool breath of the morn Fragrance of the cockspur thorn. 85 w -»i i: ! 1 IP' Xater Bmecfcan poeiud. IV. I see the morning-glory's curl, The curious star-flower's pointed whorl. Here the woodpecker, rap-a-tap ! See him with his cardinal's cap ! And the querulous, leering jay, How he clamors for a fray ! Patiently I draw and cast, Keenly expectant, till, at last, Comes a flash, down in the stream, Never made by perch or bream, Then a mighty weight I feel. Sings the line and whirs the reel ! V. Out of a giant tulip-tree, A great gay blossom falls on me ; Old gold and fire its petals are, It flashes like a falling star. A big blue heron flying by Looks at me with a greedy eye. 86 fp flSaurlcc (Tbompson. I see a striped squirrel shoot Into a hollow maple-root ; A bumbie-bee, with mail all rust, His thighs puffed out with anther-dust, Clasps a sh. .nking bloom about, And draws her amber sweetness out. Rubble, bubble flows the stream. Like an old tune through a dream ! A white-faced hornet hurtles by, Lags a turquoise butterfly. One intent on prey and treasure, One afloat on tides of pleasure ! Sunshine arrows, swift and keen. Pierce the maple's helmet green. VI. I follow where my victim leads, Through tangles of rank water- weeds, O'er stone and root and knotty log. And faithless bits of reedy bog. 87 fi ■I f SI,;, Xater Bmerican poema* I wonder will he ever stop ? The reel hums like a humming top ! A thin sandpiper, wild with fright, Goes into ecstasies of flight, Whilst I, all flushed and breathless, tear Through lady-fern and maiden's-hair, And in my straining fingers feel The throbbing of the rod and reel ! Bubble, bubble flows the stream, Like an old tune through a dream I VII. At last he tires, I reel him m ; I see the glint of scale and fin. I lower rod— I shorten line And safely land him ; he is mine ! The belted halcyon laughs, the wren Comes twittering from its brushy den. The turtle sprawls upon his log, I hear the booming of a frog. 88 Aaurice ttbompaon. Liquidamber's keen perfume, Sweet-punk, calamus, tulip-bloom, Glimpses of a cloudless sky Soothe me as I resting lie. Bubble, bubble flows the stream, Like low music through a dream. Farewell. • Farewell ! It is no sorrowful word, It has never had a pang for me. Sweet as the last song of a bird. Soft as a wind-swell from the sea. The word Farewell I part with you as oft before I've parted with dear friends and sweet. And now I shake (forevermore) Your memory's gold-dust from my feet. Farewell ! farewell ! 89 m ff I f I • 11'' 1 P 2'i Xater Bmertcan pornis. Soon I shall find a new sweet face, And other eyes as pure and strong As yours are now, and then a space Of life that ripples into song, And then farewell ! Farewell ! farewell ! Throw me a kiss ! How fast the distance throws between I Now memory fades — a film of bliss, A far-off mist of silvery sheen : Good-by ! farewell 1 4 r: m 90 mm Carleton. [Bom in Michigan, 1845. Poet and journalist. The two poems selected are quoted by permission of the author.] Hear the Drums March By. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, hear the drums niaich by ! This is Decoration Day ; — hurry and be spry 1 Wheel me to the window, girl ; fling it open high ! Crippled of the body now, and blinded of the eye, Sarah, let me lioten while the drums march by. Hear 'em ; how they roll ! I can feel 'em in my soul. Hear the beat — beat — o' the boots on the street ; Hear the sweet fife cut the air like a knife ; Hear the tones grand of the words of command ; Hear the walls nigh shout back their reply ! Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, hear the drums dance by I Blind as a bat, I can see 'em, for all that ; Old Colonel J., stately an' gray, Riding slow and solemn at the head of the column ; There's Major L., sober now, and well ; Old Lengthy Bragg, still a-bearing of the flag ; There's old Strong, that I tented with so long ; 91 ■w Hli Xater American poema* There's the vvhole ccowd, hearty an' proud. Hey ! bovs, say ! can't you glance up this way ? Here's an old comrade, crippled now, an' gray ! This is too much. Girl, throw me my crutch ! I can see — I can walk — I can march — I could fly ! No, I won'/ sit still an' see the boys march by ! =5ii^ I'illi^ Oh ! — I fall ard I flinch ; I can't go an inch 1 No use to flutter ; no use to tvy. Where's my strength ? Hunt down at the front ; There's where I left it. No need to sigh ; All the milk's spilt ; there's no use to cry. Plague o' these tears, and the moans in my ears ! Part of a war is to suffer and to die. I must sit still, and let the drums march by. 'I! 11: UtI I, ffi; Part of a war is to suffer and to die — Suffer and to die — suft'er and to — Why, Of all the crowd I just yelled at so loud, There's hardly a one but is killed, dead; and gone 1 All the old regiment, excepting only I, Marched out of sight in the country of the night. That was a spectre band marched past so grand. All the old boys are a-tenting in the sky. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, hear the drums moan by ! W 92 mm Carleton. Autumn Days. Yellow, mellow, ripened days, Sheltered in a golden coating ; O'er the dreamy, listless haze, White and dainty cloudlets floating ; Winking at the blushing trees, And the sombre, furrowed fallow ; Smiling at the airy ease Of the southward flying swallow : Sweet and smiling are thy ways, Beauteous, golden Autumn days ! Shivering, quivering, tearful days, Fretfully and sadly weeping ; Dreading still, with anxious gaze, Icy fetters round thee creeping ; O'er the cheerless, withered plain, Wofully and hoarsely calling ; Pelting hail and drenching rain On thy scanty vestments falling ; Sad and mournful are thy ways. Grieving, wailing Autumn days 1 93 'ff^ mi> I ; ^ ^ 3obn B* Z^bb. [Bom at "The Forest," Amelia County, Virginia, 484?. Be- came a priest ot the Catholic Church in 1884. For many years a ^acher of English m St. Charles College, Ellicott City. Maryland Ihft poems selected are quoted by permission of the author.] The Swallow. Skim o'er the tide, And from thy pinions fling The sparkling water-drops, Sweet child of spring ! Bathe in the dying sunshine warm and bright, Till ebbs the last receding wave of light. Swift g'.ides the hour, Bat what its flight to thee ? Thine own is fleeter far ; E'en now to me Thou seenx'st upon futurity anon To beckon thence the tardy present on. 95 f III if if < .11 i'li f I' .I'i 4i K ! I I M I I Ml 1 1 8 Xatcc Mmcticm pocme» The eye in vain Pursues, with subtle glance, Thy dim, delirious course Through heaven's expanse : Vanished thy form upon the wings of thought, Ere yet its place the lagging vision caught. Again thou'rt here, A slanting arrow sent From yon fair-tinted bow, In promise bent ; As when, erewhile, the gentle bird of love Poised her white wing the new-bom land above. A seeming shade, Scarce palpable in form, Yet thine, alas, the change Of calm and storm ! The veering passions of my stronger soul Alike the throbbings of thy heart control. For day is done, And cloyed of long delight, Like me thou welcomest The sober night ; Like me, aweary, sinkest on that breast, That woos all nature to her silent rest 96 The Playmate. Who are thy playmates, boy ? " My favourite is Joy, Who brings with him his sister, Peace, to stay The livelong day. I love them both, but he Is most to me." And where thy playmates now, O man of sober brow T " Alas 1 dear Joy, the merriest, is dead. But I have wed Peace, and our babe, a boy, N?w-born, is Joy." 97 ( 11 ll il !' Xater Bmerfcan poems* Indian Summer. Dulled to a drowsy fire, one hardly sees The sun in heaven, where this broad smoky round Lies ever brooding at the horizon's bound ; And through the gaunt knolls, on monotonous leas, Or through the damp wood's troops of naked trees, Rustling the brittle ruin along their ground, Like sighs from souls of perished hours, resound The melancholy melodies of the breeze 1 So ghostly and strange a look the blurred world wears, Viewed from the flowerless garden's dreary squares, That now, while these weird vaporous days exist, It would not seem a marvel if where we walk, We met, dim-glimmering on its thorny stalk. Some pale intangible rose with leavts of mist ! 3, t Ifi ■n- r 100 1 1 je&dac f awcett To an Oriole. How falls it, oriole, thou hast come to fly In tropic splendor through our northern sky ? At some glad moment was it nature's choice To dower a scrap of sunset with a voice ? Or did some orange tulip, flaked with black, In some forgotten garden, ages back, Yearning toward heaven until its wish was heard Desire unspeakably to be a bird ? Gold. No spirit of air am I, but one whose birth Was deep in mouldy darkness of mid-earth. Yet where my yellow raiments choose to shine, What power is more magnificent than mine ? In hall or hut, in highway or in street, Oliedient millions grovel at my feet. ID! it 1 Ir ^1 'iPi' Xater Bmerican pocme. The loftiest pride to me its tribute brings ; I gain the lowly vassalage of kings ! How many a time have I made honor yield To me its mighty and immaculate shield ? How often has virtue, at my potent name, Robed her chaste majesty in scarlet shame ? How often has burning love, within some breast, Frozen to treachery at my cold behest ? w Yet ceaselessly my triumph has been blent With pangs of overmastering discontent ? For always there are certain souls that hear My stealthy whispers with indifferent ear. Pure souls that deem my smile's most blind excess, For all its lavish radiance, valueless ! Rare souls, from my imperious guidance free, Who know me for the slave that I should be ! Grand souls, that from my counsels would dissent, Though each were tempted with a continent ! i ¥ i 102 ' 1 :eO0ar fawcctt. Ivy. Ill canst thou bide in alien lands like these, Whose home lies over seas, Among manorial lialls, parks wide and fair, Churches antique, and where Long hedges flower in May, and one can hark To caroUings from old England's lovely lark ! Ill canst thou bide where memories are so brief. Thou that hast bathed thy leaf Deep in the shadowy past, and know strange things Of crumbled queens and kings ; Thou whose dead kindred, in years half forgot, Robed the grey battlements of proud Camelot ! Through all thy fibre's intricate expanse Kast thou breathed sweet romance ; Ladies that long are dust thou hast beheld Through dreamy days r^eld ; Watched in broad castle-courts the merry light Bathe gaudy bimnerct and resplendent knight. And thou hast seen, on ancient lordly hwns. The timorous dapi,?ed fawns ; Heard pensive pages with their suave lutes play 103 n" 1 1; ii riii Xater Bmedcan l^ocntd. Some low Proven9al lay ; Marked beauteous dames through arrased chambers glide, With lazy and graceful stag-hounds at their side. And thou hast gazed on splendid cavalcades Of nobles, matrons, maids, Winding from castle gates on breezy morns, With golden peals of horns, In velvet and brocade, in plumes and silk, With falcons, and with palfrey white as milk. Through convent-casements thou hast peered, and there Viewed the meek nun at prayer ; Seen, through rich panes dyed purple, gold and rose, Monks read old folios ; On abbey-walls heard wild laughs thrill thy vine When the fat tonsured pi iests quaffed ruby wine. O ivy, having lived in times like these, Here art thou ill at ease ; For thou art one with ages passed away, We are of yesterday ; Short retrospect, slight ancestry is ours. But I n 7 dark leaves clothes history's haughty towers ! 104 3obn Dance Cbene?. [Bom at Groveland. New York, i8,8. Librarian of the New- Sn'o'fSaSE.T ^'" '■""-^ ="'"«' - "-'«' "^ P^'- To a Humming- Bird. Voyapfer on golden air, Type of all that's fleet and fair, Incarnate gem, Live diadem, Biid-beam of the summer day, — Whither on your sunny way ? Loveliest of all lovely things, Roses open to your wings ; Each gentle breast Would give you rest ; Stay, forget lost paradise, Star-bird fallen from happy skies. los 1,' |; iu 1 1 1 '' ^ • fm ^m I S li 1 ■:. 1 Xatcr American |>oem0. Vanished ! earth is ndt his home ; Onward, onward, must he roam, Swift passion-thought, In rapture wrought, Issue of the soul's desive, Plumed with beauty and with fire. The Beeches Brighten for Young May. The beeches brighten for 'j oung May, And young grass shines along her way ; Joy bares for her his sunny head, Leaned over brook and blossom-bed ; The smell of Spring fills all the air, And wooing birds make music there. Though nought of sound or sight does grieve, From quiring morn to quiet eve, My crowding thoughts are forward cast : This loveliness — it cannot last. The merry field, the ringing bough, Will silent be as voiceful now ; io6 $obn IDance Cbcncg. Chill, warning winds will hither roam, The Summei-'s children hasten home : That blue solicitude of sky Bent over beauiy doomed to die, Ere long will, pitying, witness here, The yielded glory of the year. "I Need Not Hear." I need not hear each night-wind loud Go moaning down the wold, I need not lift each bleachen shroud From bodies white and cold. Call not, O naked, wailing Fall, O man's unhappy race ! One drifting leaflet tells me all, 'Tis all in one pale face. 107 '|!.J i i: -ill 11 1 if I ,^s.V w Buflcne f tel^ [Bom in St. Louis, Missouri, J.S$o. Died, 1895. Poet and journalist. The poems selected are quoted by the author's permis- sion, obtained a few months before his death.] The Dreams. Two dreams came down to earth one night, From the realm of mist and dew ; One wa'i a dream of the old, old days, Ana one was a dream of the new. One was a dream of a shady lane That led to the pickerel pond, Where the willows and rushes bowed themselves To the brown old hills beyond. And the people that peopled the old-time dream Were pleasant and fair to see. And the dreamer he walked with them again. As often of old walked he. Oh, cool was the wind in the shady lane That tangled his curly hair ! Oh, sweet was the music the robins made To the springtime everywhere ! 109 ir^' liii"'' Mi Xater Bmetfcan poems. Was it the dew the dream had brought From yonder midnight skieSj Or was it tears from the dear dead years That lay in the dreamer's eyes ? The other dream ran fast and free, As the moon benignly shed Her f, olden grace on the smiling face In the little trundle bed. t lil For 'twas a dream of times to come — Of the glorious noon of day — Of the summer that follows the ceaseless spring When the child is done with play. And 'twas a dream of the busy world, Where valorous deeds are done ; Of battles fought in the cause of right, And of victories nobly won. It breathed no breath of the dear old home, And the quiet joys of youth ; It gave no glimpse of the good old friends Or the old-time faith and truth. no But 'twas a dream of youthful hopes, And fast and free it ran, And it told to a little sleeping child, Of a boy become a man I These were the dreams that came one night ; To earth from yonder sky ; These were the dreams two dreamers dreamed- My little boy and I. And in our hearts my boy and I Were glad that it was so ; He loved to dream of days to come. And I of long ago. So from ^ur dreams my boy and I Unwillingly awoke, But neither of his precious dream Unto the other spoke. Yet of the love we bore those dreams Gave each his tender sign : For there was triumph in his eyes— And there were tears in mine ! in flfir M Xater Bmetican poems. The Humming Top. 4:% *i«!l'" The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet song To my dear little boy at play — Merrily singeth all day long, As it spinneth and spinneth away. And my dear little boy, He laugheth with joy When he heareth the tuneful tone Of that busy thing That loveth to sing The song that is all its own. Hold fast the string and wind it tight, That the song be loud and clear ; Now hurl the top with all your might Upon the banquette here ; And straight from the string, The joyous thing Boundeth and spinneth along, And it whirrs and it chirrs, And it birrs and it purrs, Ever its pretty song. 112 Will ever my dear little boy grow old, As some have grown before ? Will ever his heart feel faint and cold, When he heareth the songs of yore ? Will ever this toy Of my dear little boy. When the years have worn away, Sing sad and low Of the long ago. As it singeth to me to-day ? I* .'I , • ■-' ■! Shuffle-Shoon and Amber- Locks. Shuffle-Shoon and Amber- Locks Sit together, building blocks ; Shuffle-Shoon is old and gray, Amber- Locks a little child, But together at their play Age and Youth are reconciled, And with sympathetic glee , Build their castles fair to see. 113 '■I * }fi I m M i ill' Xater Hnxrican poems. " When I grow to be a man " (So the wee one's prattle ran), " I shall build a castle so— With a gateway broad and grand ; Here a pretty vine shall grow, There a soldier guard shall stand ; And the tower shall be so high, Folks will wonder, by and by !» Shuffle-Shoon quoth : " Yes, I know ; Thus I builded long ago ! Here a gate and there a wall, Here a window, there a door ; Here a steeple wondrous tall Riseth ever more and more I But the years have levelled low What I builded long ago \" So they gossip at their play. Heedless of the fleeting day ; One speaks of the Long Ago Where his dead hopes buried lie ; One with chubby cheeks aglow PrattlethoftheBy and By; Side by side, they build their blocks— Shuffle-Shoon and Amber- Locks. 114 JBwQcnc #ie[0. 3 Swing High and Swing Low. Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow — It's off for a sailor thy father would go ; And it's here in the harbor, in sight of the sea, He hath left his wee babe with my song and with me: " Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow r^ Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow — It's oh for the waiting as weary days go ! And it's oh for the heartache that snnteth me when I sing my song over and over again : " Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow /" " Swing high and swing low " — The sea singeth so, And it waileth anon in its ebb and its flow ; And a sleeper sleeps on to that song of the sea Nor recketh he ever of mine or of me ! " Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow — ' T was off for a sailor thyjather would go /" i»5 w % Hi k i! ,1 r • ,i Brio SSatea. [Bom at East Machias, Maine, 1850. Graduated at Bowdoin College, 1876. The poems selected are quoted by permission of the author. The Sonnet is the poet's own favorite from " Sonnets in Shadow."] "We Must be Nobler." We must be nobler for our dead, be sure, Than 'the quick. We might their living eyes Deceive with gloss of seeming ; but all lies Were vain to cheat a prescience spirit-pure. Our soul's true worth and aim, however poor, They see who watch us from some deathless skies With glance death-quickened. That no sad surprise Sting them in seeing, be ours to secure. Living, our loved ones make us what they dream ; Dead, if they see, they know us as we are ; Henceforward we must be, not merely seem. Bitterer woe than death it were by far To fail their hopes who love us to redeem ; Loss were thrice loss that thus .their faith should mar. 117 % pff' ■m II 1 t 1 * ! J ' 1 1 i •Hi W:¥^ pi !: 1 1 ifi i ■ : J' }:; . T35t ' l. 1 ■ , i ■''\ 1 . L., ' Xatcc Bmericaii poenid. A Shadow Boat. Under my keel another boat Sails as I sail, floats as I float ; Silent and dim and mystic still, h steals through that weird nether-world, Mocking my power, though at my will The foam before its prow is curled, Or calm it lies, with canvas furled. Vainly I peer, and fain would see What phantom in that boat may be ; Yet half I dread, lest I with ru '^ Some ghost of my dead pa ine, Some gracious shape of my lost youth, Whose deathless eyes once fixed on mine Would draw me downward through the brine ! ii8 IRobcrt intn&erwoob Sobnaon* [Born in WashinKton D.C., 1853. Author of "The Winter IZTk^'^''' J """^' ^'"^'"'*''^^' ''y '^'he Century Co., New York '•TlfeC«Z';^''^^'"""'^''1r'''' '^' ^'"^""^' department of lUe Century, and since i88i its associate editor. The uoen^s are quoted by permission of the author. J ^ Hearth-Song. When November's night comes down With a d ik and sudden frown, Like belated traveler chill Hurrying o'er the tawny hill,— Highei, higher Heap the pine-cones in a pyre I Where's a warmer friend than fire? Song's but solace for a day ; Wine's a traitor not to trust ; Love's a kiss and then away ; Time's a peddler deals in dust. Higher, higher Pile the driftwood in a pyre I Where's a firmer friend than fire ? IT9 HBHIPI f ■; i fiiiiilii feiii 1 I Xater Bmedcan poema. Knowledge was but born to-night ; Wisdom's to be born to- ^riorrow ; One more log — and banish sorrow, One more branch — the world is bright Higher, higher Crown with balsam-boughs the pyre 1 Where's an older friend than fire ? Love in the Calendar. When chinks in ApriPs windy dome Let through a day of June, And foot and thought incline to roam, And every sound's a tune ; When Nature fills a fuller cup, And hides with green the gray, — Then, lover, pluck your courage up. To try your fate in May. Though proud she was as sunset clad In Autumn's fruity shades, Love too is proud, and brings (gay lad !) Humility to maids. Scorn not from Nature's mood to learn, Take counsel of the day : Since haughty skies to tender turn. Go f.-y your fate in May. I20 Though cold she seemed as pearly light Adown Decenber eves, And srern as night when March winds smite The beech's lingering leaves ; Yet Love hath seasons like the year, And grave will turn to gay,— Then, lover, harken not to fear, But try your fate in May. And you whose art it is to hide The constant love you feel : Beware, lest overmuch of pride Your happiness shall steal. No longer pout, for May is here, And hearts will have their way ; Love's in the calendar, my dear, So yield to fate— and May I October. Soft days whose silver moments keep The constant promise of the morn. When tired equinoctials sleep. And wintry winds are yet unborn : What one of all the twelve more dear— Thou truce and Sabbath of the year? 121 fjrn- Xatet Bmecican f>oem0. More restful art thou than the May, And if less hope be in thy hand, Some cares 'twere grief to understand Thou hid'st, as is the mother's way. With mists and Hghts of fairy-land Set on the borders of the day. And best of all thou dost beguile With color, - friendliest thought of God ! Than thine hath heaven itself a smile More rich ? Are feet of angels shod With peace more fair ? O month divine ! Stay, till thy tranquil soul be mine. t iti '! To-morrow. One walks secure in wisdom-trodden ways That lead to peaceful nights through happy days — Health, fame, friends, children, and a gentle wife, All Youth can covet or Experience praise, And Use withal to crown the ease of life. Ah, thirsting for another day, How dread the fear If he but knew the danger near ! 122 Another, with some old inheritance Of Fate, unmitigated yet by Chance, - Condemned by those he loves, with no appeal To his own fearful heart, that ever pants For newer circlings of the cruel Wheel I Ah, thirsting for another day, What need of fear If he but knew the help that's near ? 123 ■I»W Samuel mfnturn pecft, thre^e^'o^^he^^n'j;!?'''' '^'%^^'"'' '^^4. The poems selected are tnree ot the authors own favorites and are quoted by his ocrmi.; sion 'A Knot of Blue'' from "Cap and Bells'' (,886) amMe A Knot of Blue. For the Boys of Yale. She hath no gems of lustre bil^ht To sparkle in her hair ; No need hath she of borrowed light To make her beauty fair. Upon her shining locks afloat Are daisies wet with dew, And peeping from her lissome throat A httle knot of blue. A dainty knot of blue, A ribbon blithe of hue, It fills my dreams with sunny gleams,— That little knot of blue. 125 wsam I : Xater Bmecican poema. I met her down the shadowed lane, Beneath the apple-tree, The balmy blossoms fell like rain Upon my love and me ; And what I said or what I did That morn I never knew But to my breast there came and hid A little knot of blue. A little knot of blue, A love knot strong and true, 'Twill hold my heart till life shall part, That little knot of blue. I ill US' "^ ij "" I! i. I Mignon. Across the gloom the gray moth speeds To taste the midnight brew, The drowsy lilies tell their beads On rosaries of dew. The stars seem kind And e'en the wind Hath pity for my woe, Ah, must I sue in vain, ma belief Say no, Mignon, say no ! 126 Wl\\ Samuel Ainturn pech. Ere long the dawn will come to break The web of darkness through ; Let not my heart unanswered ache That beats alone for you. Your casement ope And bid me hope, Give me one smile to bless ; A word will ease my pain, ma belle^ Say yes, Mignon, say yes 1 The Grapevine Swing. When I was a boy on the old plantation Down by the deep bayou. The fairest spot of all creation, Under the arching blue; When the wind came over the cotton and corn, To the long slim loop I'd spring With brown feet bare, and a hat-brim torn, And swing in the grapevine swing. Swinging in the grapevine swing. Laughing where the wild birds sing, I dream and sigh For the days gone by, Swinging in the grapevine swing. 127 IT li I i Xatcr Bmcclcan poems. Out — o'er the water-lilies bonnie and bright, Back — to the moss-grown trees ; I shouted and laughed with a heart as light As a wild-rose tossed by the bi eze. The mocking-bird joined in my reckless glee, I longed for no angel's wing, I was just as near heaven as I wanted to be, Swinging in the grapevine swing. Swinging in the grapevine swing, Laughing where the wild birds sing, — Oh to be a boy With a heart full of joy, Swinging in the grapevine swing I I'm weary at noon, I'm weary at night, I'm fretted and sore of heart, And care is sowing my locks with white As 1 wend through the fevered mart. I'm tired of the world with its pride and pomp, And fame seems a worthless thing. I'd barter it all for one day's romp, And a swing in the grapevine swing. Swinging in the grapevine swing. Laughing where the wild birds sing, I would I were away From the world to-day, Swinging in the grapevine swing. 128 lb* C. Bunner* peKioi^f • '^''' P°""' '"^""'^ ^""^ '•«P""t«J by the author's The Heart of the Tree. AN ARBOR-DAY SONG. What does he plant who plants a tree? He plants the friend of sun and sky ; He plants the flag of breezes free ; The shaft of beauty, towering high ; He plants a home to heaven anigh For song and mother-croon of bird In hushed and happy twilight heard— The treble of heaven's harmony— These things he plants who plan'.s a tree. What does he plant who plants a tree? He plants cool shade and tender rain, And seed and bud of days to be, And years that fade and flush again j He plants the glory of the plain ; He plants the forest's heritage ; The harvest of a coming age ; The joy that unborn eyes shall see— These things he plants who plants a tree. J 129 'I' ' f i I I J 1 1 Xater Bmcrlcan poems. What does he plant who plants a tree ? He plants, in sap and leaf and wood, In love of home and loyalty And far-cast thought of civic good — His blessing on the neighborhood Who in the hollow of His hand Holds all the growth of all our land- A nation's growth from sea to sea Stirs in his heart w* o plants a tree. Ill An Old-Fashioned Love-Song. Tell me what within her eyes Makes the forgotten Spring arise, And all the day, if kind she looks, Flow to a tune like tinkling brooks ; Tell me why, if but her voice Falls on men's ears, their souls rejoice ; Tell me why, if only she Doth come into the companie All spirits straight enkindled are, As if a moon lit up a star. 7>// me this thafs writ above, And I will tell you why I lo%>e, 130 1>. C. JSunncr. Tell me why the foolish wind Is to her tresses ever kind, And only blows them in such wise As lends her beauty some surprise ; Tell me why no changing year Can change from Spring if she appear; Tell me why to see her face Begets in all folk else a },'race That makes them fair, as love of her Did to a gentler nature stir. Tell me why, if she but go Alone across the fields of snow, All fancies of the Springs of old Within a l{)ver's breast grow bold ; Tell me why, when her he sees, Within him stirs an April breeze ; And all that in his secret heart Most sacredly was set apart. And most was hidden, then awakes, At the sweet joy her coming makes. Tell me what is writ above ^ And I will tell you why I love. 131 u ili^l Cbarles Ibenr? lu^cr0. [Born in Philadelphia, Penn., 1858. Died, 1891. The poem quoted IS said to have been the author's favorite piece] The Four Winds. Wind of the North, Wind of the Norland snows, Wind of the winnowed skies, and sharp, clear stars- Blow cold and keen across the naked hills, And crisp the lowland pools with crystal films, And blur the casement squares with glittering ice, But go not near my love. Wind of the West, Wind of the few, far clouds. Wind of the gold and crimson sunset lands- Blow fresh and pure across the peaks and plains, And broaden the blue spaces of the heavens, And sway the grasses and the mountain pines. But let my dear one rest. »33 "i ir :iflil:i I 1 Xater Bmeiucdn tf^ot^nt^. Wind of thp East, Wind of the sunrise seas, Wind of the clinging mists and gray, harsh rains- Blow moist and chill across the wastes of brine, And ''hut the sun out, and the moon and stars, And lash the boughs against the dripping eaves, Yet keep thou from my love. But thou, sweet wind ! Wind of the fragrant South, Wind from the bowers of jasmine and of rose — Over magnolia glooms and lilied lakes And flowering forests come with dewy wings, And stir the petals at her feet, and kiss The low mound where she lies. r|l ill t., ! II i L' 134 Samea Benjamin Ikenpon* [Born at Frankport, New York, 1858. The poems selected quoted by permission of tlie author.] ^ selected are A Sea Grave. Yea, rock him gently in thine arms, O Deep ! No nobler heart was ever hushed to rest Upon the chill, soft pillow of thy breast- No truer eyes didst thou e'er kiss to sleep. While o'er his couch the wrathful billows leap, And mighty winds roar from the darkened west, Stlli may his head on thy cool weeds be pressed, Far down where thou dost endless silence keep. Oh, when, slow moving through thy spaces dim Some scaly monster seeks its coral cave, And pausing o'er the sleeper, stares with grim Dull eyes a moment downwards through the wave, Then let thy pale green shadows curtain him, And swaying sea-flowers hide his lonely grave. 135 T : - a* Xater Bmerican l^ocma. 11 .1 I IbWBw £,r "My Love is Like the Vastness of the Sea." My love is like the vastness of the sea, As deep as life, as high as heaven is high, And pure as an unclouded summer sky, And as enduring as eternity. My love is that which was, and is to be. Which knows no change, and which can never die , Which all the wealth of Ophir could not buy, Yet free to one as light and air is free. O Love, thou putt'st to shame the nightingale ; Thy lips, like bees, are fraught with hydromel ; Than lilies are thy bosom is more pale ; Thy words are sweeter than a silver bell: Yet time from thee thy beauties shall estrange : But this my Love can never suffer change. IRIcbarb jeu^ene Burton. author.! ^ "^ '•' '"^P'"'"'^^! by permission of the The City. They do neither phght nor wed In the city of the dead, In the city where they sleep away the hours ; But they lie, while o'er them range Winter-blight and summer-change, An-i a hundred happy whisperings of flowers. No, they neither wed nor plight, And the day is like the night. For their vision is of other kind than ours. They do neither sing nor sigh, In that burgh of by and by Where the streets have grasses growing cool and long ; But they rest within their bed, Leaving all their thoughts unsaid, I^eeming silence better far than sob or song. No, they neither sigh nor sing, Though the robin be a-wing, Though the leaves of autumn march a million strong. 137 « IT --^T^ I li :i i ■• 3 m Xater Bmerican poema. There is only rest and peace In the City of Surcease From the failings and the wailings 'neath the Sun, And the wings of the swift years Beat but gently o'er the biers, Making music to the sleepers every one. The»*e is only peace and rest ; But to them it seemeth best, For they lie at ease and know that life is done. |i 'S 138 1 V. Ifranh ©empater Sberman. [Born at Peekskill, New York, i860. The poems selecteH nr. his publishers, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston.] Breath of Song. From the minster's organ-loft, Floating down the shadowed nave, Comes a stream of music soft, Falling as a weary wave Falls upon the beach of sand, Murmurous and sweet and bland, Bearing from the mighty sea Messages of melody. There, alone, the organist Lets his listless fingers go Lost in a melodious mist — O'er the key-board, to and fro : There, half-dreaming in the gloom, Sits the weaver at his loom, Weaving with the threads of sound Music-woof the warp around. 139 :sy 1 1 1 i 1 Xater American pocmd. AO unconsciously he hides Strains familiar in his theme When a master spirit glides Through the uoorway of his dream : Mozart, Kandel, Chopin, or Harmony's great conjuror — Rapt Beethoven ! — each is part Of the dreaming player's heart. So the poet dreams, nor heeds Who may listen, who may hear ; Following where Fancy leads, She alone to him is dear : Omar, Keats, Theocritus, In his voice may speak to us From the realm of ages dim — These are in the heart of him ! Poets in the fields of Time, Since the world began, have sown Wide the precious seeds of rhyme, And to us to-day are blown Oclors from these poem- flowers — Seedlings of the later hours — Blossoming the fields along, Breathing the sweet breath of song. 140 jTranft Dempster Sberman. The Library. Give me the room whose every nook Is dedicated to a book, Two windows will suffice for air And grant the light admission there ; One looking to the south, and one To speed the red, departing sun. The eastern wall from frieze to plinth Shall be the Poet's labyrinth. Where one may find the lords of rhyme From Homer's down to Dobson's time ; And at the northern side a space Shall show an open chimney-place, Set round with ancient tiles that tell Some legend old and weave a spell About the firedog-guarded seat, Where one may dream and taste the heat : Above, the mantel should not lack For curios and bric-a-brac,— Not much, but just enough to light The room up when the fire is bright. The volumes on this wall should be All prose and all philosophy, 141 1 ■! i-i 11 Xater Bmerican poems. From Plato down to those who are The dim reflections of that star ; And these tomes all shot'.lu serve to sho-v How much we write — how little know; For since the problem first was set No one has ever solved it yet. Upon the shelves toward the west The scientific books shall rest ; Beside them, History; above, — Religion, —hope, and faith, and love : Lastly, the southern wall should hold The story-tellers, new and old ; Haroun al Raschid, who was truth And happiness to all my youth, Shall have the honored place of all That dwell upon this sunny wall, And with him there shall stand a throng Of those who help mankind along More by their fascinating lies Than all the learning cf the wise. Such be the library ; and take This motto of a Latin make To grace the door through which I pass : Hie habitat Felicitas / 142 i ^fraiih Dempster Sbecman. Attainment. From the marble of his thought Are the poet's fancies wrought Into forms of symmetry, Into rhyme and melody : Not by any magic feat Comes the statue forth complete ; Only patient labor, long, Can create the perfect song ; Only love that does not tire Can attain its high desire, — Love that deems no gift of time Wasted, so it win the rhyme One elusive word to start Life within the lyric's heart. Still the Parthenon for us— Jewel of Pentelicus Fashioned centuries ago — Shines with undiminished glow ; Still the resurrected bust, Buried ages in the dust, Holds to-day its honored place By the marvel of its grace ; H3 lil(lT^ 1 ■ A i Xater Bntcrican poems. So the poet's song shall shine For the jewel of one line ; So his lyric shall endure lie the carven marble pure. Toil he must if he would win Heaven's gate and enter in ; Labor of a life-time give That the sculptured verse shall live ! 144 canton Scor(ar&. [Bom at Clinton, New York, i860 Th*» n«»ma «,. . 1 printed by the author's permisMon J ^^""^ '^""'^^ "^ '^• The Hunter. Through dewy glades ere morn is high, When fleecy cloud-ships sail the sky, With buoyant step and gun a-shoulder And song on lip he wanders by. He feels the cool air fan his brow, He scents the spice of pine-tree bough, And lists, from inoss-encrusted boulder, The thrush repeat her matin vow. Afar he hears the ring in - horn, And, from the rustling fields of corn, The harvest music welling over, Greeting the autumn day, new-born. In pendant purple globes he sees The wild grapes hang amid the trees, And, from the last red buds of clover, The darting flight of golden bee^. 145 ■Iff*'' 1 1 ] Xater Bmerican poems. He marks the fiery crimson gleam On wide primeval woods, that seem Like armored hosts with banners flying That march when weary warriors dream. Before him long-eared rabbits pass Like shadows through the aisles of grass; From copses, wren to wren replying, Utter for him a morning mass. He does not heed the partridge's drum, The squirrel's chattering, nor the hum Of myriad noises that, incessant, Down dusky forest arches come. He crosses quiet nooks of shade, With flickering sunlight interlaid", Where, when outshines the silver crescent Flit by the pixies, half afraid. Thus on and on he blithely speeds, Through briery brake and tangled reeds, Thinking of Robin and his bowmen And all the archer's daring deeds ; Til) 'neath a slope by vines o'ergrown. Where, in the ages that have flown, The redmen slew their swarthy foemen, He stands beside a pool alone. 146 Clinton ScoUarO. Deep in the thicket, dense and dim, That skirts the water's rushy rim, He crouches !ow and keenly listens For sound of hoof or stir of hmb. At length he sees within the sheen Of trembling leafage, darkly green, A lustrous eye that softly glistens. And then a head of royal mien. The startled hillsides sharply ring, And answering echoes backward fling, While prone, upon the earth before him, A proud red deer lies quivering. He swings his prize to shoulders strong. Then homeward swiftly strides along; The great blue skies a-smiling o'er him. And all around the birds in song. Behind the woods the sun creeps down. And leaves thereon a crimson crown ; From sapphire portals, pale and tender, Venus o'erlooks the meadows brown. And now that shadows hide the lane Where rolled tlye orchard-laden wain, His weary feet upon the fender. He slays the red deer o'er again ! 147 I w %titcK Bmcrfcan poems. The Snowdrop. You ask why Spring's fair first-bont flower is white Peering from out the warm earth I<:)ng ago, It saw above its head great drifts of snow, And blanched with fright. iU Pomona. At noon of night the goddess, silver-stoled, Came with hght foot across the moonlit land, And breezes soft as blow o'er Samarcand Stirred her free hair that glinted like clear gold ; Sweet were her smiling lips, as when of oid Vertumnus wooed her on the grassy strand Of some swift Tuscim river overspanned By sunny skie? that knew no breath of cold. So when the door of dawn grew aureate, And broken was the dim night's peaceful hush By harvesters uprisen to greet the morn, They knew Pomona had passed by in state. For on the apples was a rosier blush, And on the grapes a richer lustre born. 148 canton Scollar^ The Statue. As perfect in their symmetry as thine, O inarticulate marble lips, were those My love once raised to mine, yet tinged with rose And freighted with a redolence divine. Her poise of head war queenly ; fair and fine Her alabaster arms that shamed the snows ; Her gracious bearing had thy pure repose, And stately was she as the forest pine. Knowledge sat throned upon her regal brow, Round which her tresses rippled, bright as gold ; Sweet as a songbird's on a budding bough The liquid voice that from her lips outroiled ; But lo ! there came an awful change, and now Thou, in thine icy hush, art not more cold ! >- 149 1 ' M^ ■Ricbarb Ibovep. «uEho"oJ"hl"'r„to'4'^i ''"' ^"^ """"'^ "- -'-'«> "^ '"e The Wander- Lovers. Down the world with Mama ! That's the life for me ! Wandering with the wandering wind, Vagabond and unconfined ! Roving with the roving rain It: unboundaried domain 1 Kith and kin of wander-kind, Children of the sea ! Petrels of the sea-drift ! Swallows of the lea ! s Arabs of the whole wide girth Of the wind-encircled earth I In all climes we pitch our tents, Cronies of the elements, With the secret lords of birth Intimate and free. ^5' nt' 'n 14 ifh-l Xatcr American |>ocm0. All the seaboard knows us From Fundy to the Keys ; Every bend and every creek Of abundant Chesapeake ; Ardise hills and Newport coves And the far-off orange groves, Where Floridian oceans break, Tropic tiger seps. Dov.n the world with Marna, I'arrying there and here 5 Just as much at home in Spain As in Tangier or Touraine ! Shakesp'^" Vs Avon knows us well, And the ^ittgs of Neufchatel ; And the ancient Nile is fain Of our coming near. Down the world with Mama, Daughter of the rur ! Marna of the subtle grace, And the vision in her face ! Moving in the measures trod By the angels before God ! With her sky-blue eyes amaze And her sea-blue hair I IS2 ■\ "- ' *Rlcbar5 Iboreg. Marna with the trees' life In her veins a-stir ! Marna of the aspen heart Where the sudden quivers start ! Quick-responsive, subtle, wild ! Artless as an artless child, Spite of all her reach of art ! Oh, to roam with her ! Marna with the wind's will, Daughter of the sea ! Marna of the quick disdain, Starting at the dream of stain ! At a smile with love aglow. At a frown a statued woe, Standing pinnacled in pain Till a kiss sets free ! Down the world with Marna, Daughter of the fire ! Marna of the deathless hope, Still alert to win new scope Where the wings of life may spread For a flight unhazarded ! Dreaming of the speech to cope With the heart's desire ! ^53 n » [:"r '«s i i Xater Umcu^m pocme, Marna of the far quest After the divine ! Striving ever for some goal Past the blunder-god's control ! Dreaming of potential years When no day shall dawn in fears ' That's the Marna of my soul, Wander-bride of mine ! 154 1 I. -! A ••-^^- ^^:^'^-^Xt\ fll>abi6on 3, Cawein. [Born at Louisville, Kentucky, 1865. The poems quoted were selected by the author for this anthology.] The Old Inn. Red-winding from the sleepy town, One takes the lone, forgotten lane Straight through the hills. A brush-bird brown Bubbles in thorn-flowers sweet with rain ; Wind-shivers wave the wrinkled grain ; The cautious drip ot upper leaves Dips under leaves that drip again. — Above the tanj^led tops it heaves Its gables and its haunted eaves. One creeper, gnarled to bloomlessness, O'er-forests all its eastern wall ; The sighing cedars rake and press Dark boughs along the panes they sprawl : While, where the sun beats, comes the drawl Of hiving wasps ; a bushy bee Gold-dusty, hurls along the hall And hums int ^ crack. — To me The shadows see*- ^ too scarerl to flee. 155 ■^" :^":--£^^s- '|,r r'r Xater Bmcrican poeme. Of ragged chimneys martins make Huge pipes of music ; twittering here They build and roost. — My footfalls make Strange stealing echoes, till I fear I'll meet my pale self coming near, My phantom face as in a glass ; Or one men murdered, buried — where ?- Dim in gray, stealthy glimmer, pass With lips that seem to moan "Alas." From " Intimations of the Beautiful." II. The gods of Greece are mine once more 1 The old philosophies again ! For I have drunk the hellebore Of dreams, and drei^ms have made me sane- The wine of dreams ! that doth unfold My other self, — 'mid shado'vy shrines Of myths which marble held of old, Part of the Age of Bronze or Gold, — That lives a pagan 'mid the pines. 156 Dead myths, to whom such dreams belong ! O beautiful philosophies Of Nature ! crystallized in song And marble, peopling lost seas, Lost forests and the star-lost vast, Grant me the childlike faith that clung— Through loveliness that could not last- To Heaven in the pagan past, Calling for God with infant tongue ! LXVI. The song-birds ? are they flown away ? The song-birds of (he humnier-time, That sang their souls into the day, And set the laughing days to rhyme ?- No catbird scatters through the hush The sparkling crystals of its song : Within the woods no hermit-thrush Trails an enchanted flute along, A sweet assertion of the hush. H7 Xatcr Bmerican pocma. All day the crows fly cawing past ; The acorns drop ; the forests scowl : At night I hear the bitter blast Hoot with the hooting of the owl. The wild creeks freeze ; the ways are strewn With leaves that rot : beneath the tree The bird that set its toil to tune, And made a home for melody, Lies dead beneath the death-white moon. IS8 leilsaDctb Hftera [Mrs. Akers Al en was born at Strong, Maine, 1832. Her first husband was Paul Akers, the famous sa-lptor. The no " quotSl has been revised for this anthology by the uthor.] ^ The Sunset Bird. Is it a dream ? The day is done, The long, warm, fragrant summer day; Afar beyond the hills, the sun In purple splendor sinks away ; The fire-fly lights her floating spark, While here and there the first large stars Look out, impatient tor the dark ; The cows stand waiting by the bars ; A group of children saunters by Toward home, with laugh and sportive word. One pausing as she hears the high Soft prelude of an unseen bird— " Sweet — sweet — sweet — Sorrowful— sorrow/ul-^sorrow/ul / " 159 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) fe 8!?4. /. .<;' % ,.V !■ '^^ // ^ i^j^"^ .^'-,^4. f/. f/> ^ ^ LO I.I 1^ 12.2 ■ 56 ■tt u |40 2.0 1.8 lli^ i^ m 'm Va /a 'V> ^ r r ^j? V Photographic Sdences Corporation 73 WEST MAIN STRSET WEBSTEk, NY. 14580 (7r6) 872-4S03 ^^^^^ iV ^^ V lV ^>^ ;\ ^ ■^ ^ ■1 ' iti %ntex Bmcrican ipocms. Hist ! how that clear, aerial tone Makes all the hearkening woodland still ! Dear twilight vo'ce that sings alone ! And all the child's quick pulses thrill ; Forgotten in her heedless hand The half-filled berry-basket swings ; V/hat cares she that the merry band Goes on and leaves her there ? He sings ! Sings as a seraph shut from heaven And vainly seeking ingress there, Might pour upon the listening even His love, and longing, and despair ; " Sweet — sweet — sweet — Sorrowful — sorrowful — sorrowful ! " Deep in the wood, whose giant pines Tow3r dark against the western sky, While sunset's last faint crimson shines, He triUs his marvellous ecstasy ; With soul and i^ense entranced, she hears The wondrous pathos of his strain, While from her eyes, unconscious tears Fall softly, born of tenderest pain. What cares the rapt and dreaming child That duskier shadows gather round ? JOG :eU3abctb Mhcte, She only hears that flood of wild Melodious, melancholy sound — " Sweet — sweet — sweet — Sorro7t>/ul—sorrow/ul— sorrowful ." O, wondrous spirit of the wood ! No sky-lark, bearing up to heaven His morning-hymn of gratitude,— No nightingale, that chants at even Amid the red pomegranate-blooms — No bjibul, in his fragrant dell Where Persia's rose-fields breathe perfumes, Knows half the passionate tale you tell To hearts which never can forget ! O, lonely voice among the pines, She hears its ringing music yet When sunset's last faint crimson shines— " Sweet — sweet — S7veet — Sorrowful — sorrowful — sorrowJulJ" Down from immeasurable heights The clear notes drop like crystal rain, The echo of all lost delights, All youth's high hopes, all hidden pain, All love's soft music, heard no more. But dreamed-of and remembered long— i6i L J r°jB »*' ' * El fc Xatcr Bmerlcan poems. Ah, how can mortal bird outpour Such human heart-break in a song ? What can he know of lonely years, Of idols only raised to fall, Of broken faith and secret tears ? And yet his strain repeats them all — " Sweet— -sweet — sweet — Sorrowful — sorrowful — sorrowful .'" Ah, still amid Maine's darkling pines, Lofty, mysterious, remote. While sunset's last faint crimson shines, That singer's resonant echoes float ; And she, the child of long ago. Who lisiened till the west grew gray, . Has learned, in later days, to know The mystic meaning of his lay ; And often still in waking dreams Of youth's lost summer-times, she hears Again that thrilling song, v hich seems The voice of dead and buried years — " Sweet — sweet — sweet — Sorrowful — sorrowful — sorrowful .' " ?§? m^ . : Ml ' is ANNE REEVE ALDRICH. Hnne IReeve aiMiclx [Born in New York City, 1866. Died in 1892. The poems nuoteW are selected from the posthumous volume, "Songs ahout Lile Love, and Death," and are reprinted with the permission of Lharles bcnbner's Sons, New York.] A Crowned Poet. In thy coach of state Pass, O King, along: He no envy feels To whom God giveth song. Starving, still I smile, Laugh at want and wrong: He is fed and crowned To whom God giveth song. Better than all pomps That to rank belong, — One such dream as his To whom God giveth song. Let us greet, O King, As we pass along: He, too, is a king To whom God giveth song. 163 Xatcr Bmcrican |>oem0. Insomnia. would God call a halt,— one moment's halt To that procession marching through my brain ! 1 would awake in thankful quiet, lie And watch the long defile begin again ; Would make no further dry-mouthed moans for sleep ; Would take up patience in sweet hope's default, And mutely bear the burthen of the hours, — I*" God would call a halt,— one moment's halt ! The Ring. Hid in an antique box. With faded leaf and flower (The only fitting gifts Of love that lives an hour), Gemmed with a diamond tear For joy that could not cling, Behold the word inside, For " Toujours" says the ring ! 164 annc "Reeve 2llOricb. She sometimes lifts the lid, With light and careless laugh. And reads the lying word, Love's mocking epitaph. She has no sighs or tears For such a foolish thing As love dead long ago, Yet—" Toujours," says the ring ! But in soft nights of May The proud and silent heart Owns to itself a truth, And spurns its wonted part. It cries out for the grace Of one departed spring, " Toujours," admits the soul, And '* Toujoiirs^^ says the ring ! •m A Little Parable. I made the cross myself whose weight Was later laid on me. This thought is torture as I toil Up life's steep Calvary. 165 '1 h Xatcr Bmcrlcan pocme. To think mine own hands drove the nails 1 I sang a merry song, And chose the heaviest wood I had To build k firm and strong. If I had guessed — if I had dreamed Its weight was meant for me, I should have made a lighter cross To bear up Calvary. i66 Cbaiiottc mekc Bates. [Rom in New York City, 1838. Slie assisted Lonefellow i piling his " Poems of 1-laces." Died in 1889.] in com- Love's Rivals. I. Love, who devoutly lovest me, I knew well when I wedded thee That, soon or late, Death would come knocking at the gate, Our happy breath to separate ; And thou or I Some by and by Would hear throughout an empty heart The awful echo— "Till Death part." I knew how idly one must wait Were either laid in stony state, Where lid nor lip is stirred. The great Divorcer's voice once being heard. 167 \fp m Xatcv amcvtcan pccmtj. II. Ah, me ! why did I never diink How often I imist touch the brink Of such ;i woi- ? For lovely Sleep I count a foe 1 When in her arms thou liest low, Deaf, l)lind and dumb Dost thou become. My eyts may beam on thee in vain When tliinc have felt Sleep's lotus chain ; Unheeded I may come or go Whenever she will have it .>o. True Love, I doubly wec]), Seeing i have two rivals, Death and Sleep. i68 Bc66ic CbaiiMcr, stifnlvt "^"rr*""' ^'""'^'^ ^"''' ''«'•" "' ''■•^'•'^^i^. N. Y., where she still lives. I he poems selected are quote