BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 1891 
 
 i'Ml!04r. ISiliJJA: 
 
 9306 
 
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 *P*'!S..S.,RSa!!?„.9" Brownina a fantas' 
 
 3 1924 022 155 513 ... 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022155513 
 
APOLLO (EL HEATS 
 ON BROWNING 
 
 A. Fantasy and OtKer Poems 
 By CLIFFORD LANIER 
 
 Bostons RICHARD G. BADGER 
 THE GORHAM PRESS, 1902 
 
Copyright 1902 by Clifford Lanier 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Certain poems publislied herewith are reprinted 
 through the kind permission of The Chautauquan, 
 The Sunday School Times, Harper & Brothers, The 
 Independent, The Dial, The Youth's Companion, The 
 Nashville Visitor, The Alkahest, Lippincott's Maga- 
 zine, The Cottage Hearth, The Atlanta American, 
 The Montgomery Advertiser, The New Orleans 
 Picayune, and Leslie's Weekly. 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON 
 
APOLLO AND KEATS 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Apollo and Keats on Browning 9 
 
 Antinous to Hadrian 17 
 
 Died in Vacation 20 
 
 Time, Tireless Tramp 22 
 
 A Sea- weed on Deck in Mid-Ocean , . . 25 
 
 The American Philomel 28 
 
 Forest Elixirs 30 
 
 Friar Servetus 32 
 
 A Day at Wildwood 33 
 
 My People Feed 35 
 
 Obsequies 36 
 
 Death in Life 38 
 
 Courage ! Some Remain 39 
 
 Five O'clock Tea 41 
 
 Cargoes of Love 42 
 
 The Spirit of Art 43 
 
 Three Lions of Oertel 4j. 
 
 Wilhelmein 45 
 
 Acknowledgment 46 
 
 Love and Life 47 
 
 The Happiest 48 
 
 Hymn to the Great Artist 48 
 
 Metric Genesis 48 
 
 Sonnets 
 
 For Falstafif he is Dead Si 
 
 Prince Harry becoming King • Si 
 
 Joan of Arc S2 
 
 A Poet's Grave S2 
 
 Sonnet S3 
 
 Benvenuto Celleni S3 
 
 The Men Behind the Books S4 
 
 In a Library S4 
 
Sonnets 
 
 The Greatest of These is Love SS 
 
 The Gospel of Meditation 55 
 
 The First Confederate White-house 56 
 
 William L. Yancey 56 
 
 His Silent Flute 57 
 
 To a Poet Dying Young 57 
 
 A Modern Paracelsus 58 
 
 Puella Laureata 58 
 
 The Satirist Jay 59 
 
 Quatrains 
 
 Browning 63 
 
 The Opium Dreamer 63 
 
 The Great Teacher 63 
 
 Sorrow's Rainbow 63 
 
 Browning 64 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe 64 
 
 Keats and Fanny B 64 
 
 Transformation 64 
 
 Widowed 65 
 
 The Saviour's Good-bye 65 
 
 Dialect Poems 
 
 The Power of Prayer 6g 
 
 The Power of Affection 73 
 
 Uncle Jim's Baptist Revival Hymn 75 
 
 The Western Gate 76 
 
TO HER — 
 
 My lovely and steadfast comrade — Whose approval 
 has ever been my most welcome laurel {love's re- 
 serve yielding to the lures of Art), I offer this Vol- 
 ume. 
 
 LOVE'S RESERVE 
 
 TO WILHELMEIN 
 
 The poet, raptured, gazing wifeward, said : 
 
 "Thou art the self of Beauty to my sight ; 
 From dainty feet to glory-crowned head 
 
 Thy figure shapen is in lines of light: 
 With perfect rhyme those lithe arms, upward spread, 
 
 A pulsing couplet form in rhythm right ; 
 
 And o'er thy bosom drape the vestments white 
 Tenderly as words by music vestured. 
 If verse now had the graphic warmth of sun , 
 
 If Love could body what his heart would hide. 
 If thou wert less than wifely vestaled nun, 
 
 Dear love of thee might yield to Art's fond pride, 
 
 And, dressed in poet's breath, these veils aside. 
 Thou should'st be wife and poem merged in one." 
 
APOLLO AND KEATS ON BROWNING 
 
 A FANTASY 
 
 The god Apollo once met Master Keats, 
 And, greeting "howdye," passed the time o' day : 
 The god had quit Olympus for the street's 
 Diversion : tired of Heaven's celestial play, 
 The thefts of Mercury and high dead-beats, 
 Had seized his sun-spoked "wheel" and sped away 
 To seek in mortal haunts some novel thrill. — 
 As masks in German slums Dutch "Kaiser Will." 
 
 "Good morning, Pol !" The bright young mortal said ; 
 
 "How goes it with the gods these new, sad days ? 
 
 How fare Hyperion and the mighty dead? 
 
 And sweet Endymion in the Latmian maze? 
 
 Now Pan's no more, who makes his leafy bed 
 
 To woo soft sleep amid his flocks a-graze? 
 
 When you to great Olympus make return 
 
 I would go too : my yearnings fairly burn 
 
 To know some things that earthlings cannot tell : 
 
 For instance, who world-laureate next shall be? 
 
 Whether the crusty critic goes to Hel * * * 
 
 * * * Icon or to the sweeter Castaly? 
 
 You gossip with the Muses, and right well 
 
 You, instantly, can tell an ecstasy. 
 
 Or true or false, — pray tell me, is it true 
 
 That "Algy" Swinburne is endorsed by you?" 
 
 "Softly, sweet John,'' Apollo answers him : — 
 "I'm here for dots myself, and fain would know 
 The latest venturers in the rhyming swim. 
 And, on my way, I touched at Mars to blow 
 A while and mend my sun-"wheers" dented rim : 
 I met there Alfred Tennyson and Poe, 
 Just come to meet Rob. Browining, so they said, 
 And Lowell, Whittier, Emerson, — late dead." 
 
A smile suffused Keats' large blue eyes at this, 
 And on his cheek a hectic banner burned, 
 While he whispered : — "Esteem it not amiss 
 If I recall that since I've been inurned 
 I've made excursions here from skyey bliss, — 
 A bourne reputed whence none hath returned, — 
 Invited oft, ahem ! plagiarized by some, 
 I could not decently refuse to come." 
 
 "Pardonnez mot!" yawned Pol: "Don't mention it; 
 I guessed the reason of your being here ; — 
 Nolens volens; aha! but let us sit 
 And note the passing show : d'ye know, I hear 
 That high emotion now all runs to wit. 
 Or what these mortals thus esteem, — a mere 
 Rehash of jokes old Pan and Bacchus made 
 While shepherds piped within Arcadian shade. 
 
 There's little new beneath my sun, alas ! 
 Tho' moderns scatter news at lightning rate ; 
 Most recent poesy smells of midnight gas ; 
 Their fiction seems too realist of late, 
 "Affecting" greatly the tabooed Nefas; 
 Our Grecian stage was ruled by Fas, — high fate ; 
 Far is the cry to Zola's, Tolstoi's tale 
 From old-young Homer time can never stale. 
 
 Now Dante's veins run bitter blood as gall, 
 
 But Don Quixote reaches all our hearts ; 
 
 Your Milton's satans well deserve to fall. 
 
 For fighting Heaven with such old-timey darts; 
 
 Heigh ho ! Since Shakspere summoned passions all 
 
 To smile and strut their tragi-comic parts, 
 
 I've lost keen zest for literary news ; 
 
 Prythee, Mnemosyne! another Muse!" 
 
 Replied comrade Keats : — "Thanks, Sir, for the word I 
 
 Muse number ten you mean, I'm pretty sure : 
 
 But * * excellence, like hope, is long deferred. 
 
 And slow-maturing blooms in literature 
 
 Are longest sweet. Sometime ago I heard 
 
Thro' 'Lizbeth Barrett B., the lofty-pure, 
 
 That Mem'ry whispered, stammered, * * 'Robert 
 
 Browning', 
 As him her fair tenth child deemed worth her crown- 
 
 mg. 
 
 "Ah, yes indeed ! Now there's a man and poet," 
 Exclaimed Apollo, brusquely impolite ; 
 (Keats, tho' impatient, haply would not show it:) 
 "There's one who knows when, where and how to 
 
 fight 
 The malady souls have and do not know it. 
 I'm glad to learn this planet swims in sight : — 
 For psychic power a search-light ! In resource 
 Of thought, rhyme, rhythm, a true cosmic force !" 
 
 "But Beauty !"— broke in Keats, "and Beauty's all- 
 She-cares-to-know ! — the holiness of monked 
 A'Kempis' beauteous Truth in musical 
 Sound-shallops sailed by Fairy winds and junked 
 Chinesely ! How goes this line for metric fall, — 
 'And there my triumph's straw-fire flared and funked'? 
 'Tis his, I swear ; and, by Ben Jonson [^ I * * * * 
 At first spurt 'gan to think of idiotcy. 
 
 Where is the fitting sound to theme and sense. 
 The onomatopoeia singers chant ? 
 He makes remorseless drafts at mind's expense : 
 Who is it that "Sordello" does not daunt? 
 No soundfulness emit his lute-strings tense : 
 No flies on summer eves their murmurous haunt 
 Betray, nor magic casements charmed delude 
 This Titan of consummate altitude." 
 
 Thus Keats ;— and seemed like one a vision fled 
 With all the music of its waking dream : 
 He bowed his auburn head, brown-ringleted, 
 With such humility as doth beseem 
 One willing to be wholly perfected : 
 His slighting criticism to redeem 
 Or 'scape, he wished himself upon the back 
 Of his fire-nostrilled Carian steeds, jet-black. 
 
"Quite true, from your ideal-sensuous point 
 
 Of view, my friend ; virility run mad ; 
 
 His 'soul bade fight, whose sword-like words pierce 
 
 joint 
 Of mail and cleave the snaky folds of bad, 
 Elusive motive : — how he cries, 'Aroint 
 Thee, Satan! to old Mephisto!' Egad! — 
 Invents a brand-new instrument, this man, 
 Strung with, for wires, the nerves of Caliban. 
 
 Some singers fain would galvanize dead things 
 
 To artificial motion, reproduce 
 
 The tones of Sappho's mythologic strings. 
 
 By trick of form and rhetorician's ruse 
 
 To make us deem the bardic seer sings ; 
 
 But this one is Electron's self; the juice 
 
 Of Man's deep inmost spirit feeds his springs : 
 
 True sap of soul his forest boles enrings." 
 
 Thus speaking, the enthusiastic god 
 
 Sprang to his feet and 'gan declaim aloud 
 
 Some Browning verse, whirling his shepherd's rod 
 
 As if he stood alone on his own cloud, 
 
 'Stead of the peopled City's trim-set sod ; 
 
 And soon was jostled by the curious crowd 
 
 Of eager sight-seers pushing rank on rank. 
 
 Dead-bent on circling every new-found crank. 
 
 Unnoting he himself was cynosure. 
 
 He rattled off verse after verse with vim 
 
 And verve poetique, increasing with each newer 
 
 Line and piece: now 'twas a jubilant hymn 
 
 Homeric-like, anon a lyric pure, 
 
 And then some Russian wolfish legend grim, 
 
 "Ivan Ivanovitch," then "Prospice," — 
 
 That psean over death, Love's victory. 
 
 Friend Keats was an extensive traveller. 
 In flesh and out; had many a spectacle 
 Beheld, (of dream-knit knots unraveller 
 
And chief high priest of Mab's conventicle) ; 
 But here, forsooth, the gentlest caviller, 
 The mildest dude who e'er wore monocle 
 Might see how quite ridiculous it is 
 To chant dithyrambs in big modern Cities : 
 
 And that, too, garbed in very ancient dress 
 Of, say, some many thousand fashions syne; 
 Apollo's ample vestment's Greek excess 
 Was girdled by a goat-skin-leathern twine ; 
 And, as Musagetes, his tousled tress 
 Entwined, vine-like, his shouldered thrysus' tine : 
 Even Oscar Wilde went not with bow and lyre. 
 Which suit not metropolitan mire. 
 
 His comrade Keats was also out of style, 
 Whose trousers, cut antiquely, bagged at knees, 
 Smacked of his native, right, "tight little isle" 
 Where tailors shape pretty much as they please : 
 These clearly were two tramps, "plum-full" of guile. 
 Or madmen else whom officers must sieze : 
 In shorter time than takes to tell the tale 
 The bards were haled and tumbled into jail. 
 
 Time thus hath often dealt with sweetest, best, 
 
 Since Socrates the hemlock drank and died ; 
 
 'Tis strange the world knows not its loveliest — 
 
 ('Tis bridegroom Life denying Truth his bride) — 
 
 Savonarola, Bruno, all the rest 
 
 Of mortal Christs folly hath crucified : 
 
 At Peter's touch old lameness leaps uprisen, 
 
 Yet John and he are thrown in common prison. 
 
 Keats' sunny face was wreathed in smiles, for he 
 Enjoyed a joke even at his own expense: 
 Brightness he'd radiate like a star, nor he 
 Did ever lack for joyous mirth intense : 
 Imaging again aught glorious he saw, he 
 Reflected too Wit's soul and humor's sense: 
 "To jail "Theanthropos, without revoke. 
 For spouting Browning, oh ! this was a joke !" 
 
 13 
 
Theanthropos himself seemed not to know 
 That he was in arrest : the sacred stream 
 Of eloquence and song preserved its flow 
 Rippling and sparkling in the glancing gleam 
 Of his companion's eye and soulful glow : 
 Even gods might be absorbed in such a theme : 
 'Tis writ a Joshua made the Sun stand still 
 For slaughter: wreaks he now a peacefuller will. 
 
 The future was defied, the past ignored, 
 
 The present raptus held exclusive sway : 
 
 Reciters rarely know when friends are bored, — 
 
 And souls oft faint when they should watch and pray : 
 
 In Christ's last agony weak Peter snored, 
 
 E'en in the hour the Judas did betray : 
 
 Think not that young Keats yawned ; the jailers did, — 
 
 For Where's a spell to ope dull prose's lid ? 
 
 The stream of Browning-song flowed on apace : 
 Imagine Angel Michael, Heavenly strung — 
 The loftiest harp of the Angelic race, 
 Attuned to that Celestial song outflung 
 When morning stars sang back creative grace, — 
 And at Christ's coming solar arches rung; 
 Or think of Israfel whose "heart's a lute," 
 Or of our Georgian poet's wondrous flute : 
 
 Imagine one of these, enwrapt, inspired. 
 Should chant the plaint of "In Memoriam," 
 Or, 'mid the blaze of the Pendragon fired, 
 Speak the sublime farewell of Arthur, — ^balm 
 Of incense burnt with kingly love expired, — 
 Blest perfume of a soul, lust-wronged yet calm ! 
 So strangely sweet to Keats, so Heavenly odd 
 This siecle-fin poesy spoken by a god. 
 
 It seemed to him, — re-incarnated soul, — 
 
 To blend Heaven's high, with loveliest, joy of 
 
 Earth,— 
 All radiance of sounds in sea-like roll 
 And waves of deepest meaning, tensest mirth 
 
 14 
 
Of seas that shout to lands 'tween pole and pole, — 
 Music's perfect echo of the primal birth : 
 A lyric Avatar Keats thought he heard, 
 Marriage of music. Wisdom, — Art's last word. 
 
 A silvery brilliance in the air did sigh 
 In her own bliss, and one antiphonal shade 
 Of sound rhymed lip with her's for sympathy ; 
 Shapes infinitely merging grade in grade, 
 And voices, timbred multitudinously 
 Yet in one harmony superb arrayed. 
 Patterned a scene of psychic sight and sound, 
 And all Soul's ways one subtle union found. 
 
 Of this rare song sole auditor Keats seemed ; 
 
 Apollo the Choragus crowned, about 
 
 Whose chant, as from a central sun, there beamed 
 
 All harmonies men know, a melodic rout 
 
 Of tones and ethers, — radiant tones that gleamed 
 
 And ethers crescive to a vibrant shout : 
 
 Beethoven, Wagner, Shakspere, merged in one; 
 
 For was he not "whip" of th' omniscient Sun? 
 
 And thus it was until the close of day 
 When twilight's purple bathed their prison wall ; 
 Then lo! two sacred swans, (hue-changing grey 
 Of pinions that o'er snowy plumage fall). 
 Emerge from out the last soft Western ray, 
 Cloud-and-light-harnessed to a chariot-ball, 
 And uttering flute-notes with which cygnets greet, 
 Fold their flight's wings at rapt Apollo's feet. 
 
 Who Keats invites into th' opaline car 
 
 And grasps his rainbow reins, filmy as rays, 
 
 Saying: "Come, twin ether-traveller! See'st yon 
 
 star, — 
 Big Mars ! Let's visit him ere the next day's 
 Earthly dawn, and see how Martian poets are : 
 Repels us Earth : Mars' red-lined watery ways 
 My car and swans float on : Poor Earthlings sleep ! 
 Go we star-calling where deep calls to deep !" 
 
 15 
 
Whereat soft trillings of a fluted hymn 
 Succeed : the prison air a tinted mist 
 Resolves into : Earth-cloud could never dim 
 And lighten so to lovelier amethyst : 
 A woman's tear — from eyes with love's woe swim 
 And brighten so with love's spring gladness kissed : 
 Apollo's swans, and car, with Keats, his guest, 
 Have vanished quick into the fading West. 
 
 i6 
 
ANTINOUS TO HADRIAN 
 
 DONE AT BAESA, EGYPT, ABOUT I30 A. D., 
 
 Greeting, Hadrian, mighty and adored ! 
 
 Greeting! and then farewell. Patiently hear! 
 
 Apollo hath to mine own demon spoke, 
 
 And 'tis his Heavenly message that I pass 
 
 On to Thee. Thou, after I go, shalt say, 
 
 "No man had purer love than this one." I 
 
 For this do yearn my soul and agonize : — 
 
 Should any man do wrong that good may come ? 
 
 The high gods know their better from our worse, 
 
 And Romans deem that knowledge god-like, high, 
 
 That points the firm-knit mind, how, when, and where 
 
 To die ; that thrones the sovereignty of life, 
 
 Nowhere but in the strong-resolved soul. 
 
 These Christians stagger not at aught iAey hope; 
 
 I have Apollo's promise : that is sure ; 
 
 And since the God hath sworn by Styx and poured 
 
 Its waters in libation, he'll perform. 
 
 A new Arcadia openeth to mine eyes 
 
 Whereof but one man's heart hath ever dreamed, — 
 
 We have discoursed of him : — 'tis Christ alone. 
 
 He came from Heaven and brought upon his wings 
 
 The pollen of its flowers, its honied dew; 
 
 He came to say that God is love and light ; 
 
 That he who loveth not doth not know God. 
 
 If thou should'st ask me now, what god is this, 
 
 Saying, "There is no other God, save one," 
 
 I can but answer, "Jove, the Lord of all." 
 
 Thou know'st that we full oft have pondered this. 
 
 And said, — "the Old doth pass before the New : 
 
 Lo ! vanished Pan when Christ the lover came." 
 
 And yet Apollo speaks to me, compels 
 
 Me, pours a sad, sweet chrism on my head. 
 
 And seems to raise to his anointed lips 
 
 The trump of Revelation, saying, — "O Son, 
 
 The Roman world depends from one alone; 
 
 17 
 
Hadrian hath it bound by chords of strength, 
 
 But near to rounding is his circled life ; 
 
 Persephone demands him, Earth-complete: 
 
 The willing changeling welcome is to her. 
 
 And voluntary Expiation sweet 
 
 As deepest-hearted brew of lily wine 
 
 That bubbles honied for the bee's delight. 
 
 She pulls the bloom — vicarious sacrifice — 
 
 And sinks enchanted down to realms of Dis. 
 
 Thus when the body dies it is new born : 
 
 The perishing dissolves, and then begins 
 
 The living flame that never shall be quenched. 
 
 Do thou for Hadrian, thy friend, this boon ; 
 
 He knows it not, nor will he till thou'rt gone ; 
 
 Then shall his gratitude, a flame eterne. 
 
 And love of all the Roman world light up 
 
 A bright new star, whose kindling flashing beams 
 
 The very gods, as flamens majores, 
 
 Shall seek to light their sacred torches with : 
 
 As thou descendest in the holy stream 
 
 To-morrow, Lo ! thy star the zenith climbs 
 
 To wheel with circles of the Heavenly powers. 
 
 Teach men by this that thou can'st dare to die 
 
 For him thou lovest, lord of thy brave soul : 
 
 Thou savest Hadrian, and he the world." 
 
 Thus breathes Apollo, and my demon yearns 
 
 To bloom, effulgent rose and lily star. 
 
 O Hadrian ! my span I yield to thee. 
 
 Let not true friendship's purity be stained 
 
 With aught of impure memory: High Arts 
 
 Of Painting, Sculpture, Poetry forbid ! 
 
 Forbid it Emperor, Apollo, Jove ! 
 
 Let carven stone in forms immortal tell 
 
 To all the cycles yet to be of men 
 
 The story of our tragic deathless love ! 
 
 Thou know'st what commerce of the mind we had. 
 
 Pluto, Persephone, Apollo, ye 
 
 That guide me through the golden Bybline mists 
 
 Of sacred Nile beyond the founts of light, 
 
 Where dwell the primal sources of all life. 
 
Ye only may replace my Hadrian ! 
 
 Once more and we had pierced the riddle dim 
 
 That vexes all the ages : Christ ! How strange 
 
 That yon despised Jew should come so near 
 
 To mine eternal laurel with his crown, 
 
 Whose every point a ruby love-tear shines ! 
 
 He came unto His own ; they knew him not. 
 
 Antinous hath been a prince of earth : 
 
 Youth, Beauty, Luxury's soft down and all 
 
 That riches, all that termless power, can buy, 
 
 All joy that from divine Amalthaea's horn 
 
 Of Plenty flows, — Concord, Abundance, Peace: — 
 
 All exaltation, art, and wisdom give, 
 
 Like wings, to float the soul to high delight : — 
 
 All these were mine. I yield them all to love. 
 
 No man hath greater love than this, my friend. 
 
 Antinous doth give his mighty all. 
 
 Life, passion, lust, emotion, body, mind, — 
 
 That thou, dear Atlas of our Roman world. 
 
 May live thy span of life and love, plus mine ; 
 
 That all the juices of thy ripened age 
 
 Shall bound with vigor of mine apriled youth ; 
 
 That thy hoar wisdom wedded to my wit. 
 
 Thy science to my youth's prescience knit. 
 
 Thy knowledge joined to that youth hopes to know, 
 
 Thine age to dotage come without defect 
 
 Of dotage, thy defect perfect become. 
 
 May render thee, all-potent Hadrian, 
 
 True Demiurge and lord, Rome's demigod. 
 
 To rule all peoples and her might maintain : 
 
 Greeting, Hadrian, mighty and adored ! 
 
 Hadrian ! Antinous now sighs farewell! 
 
 19 
 
DIED IN VACATION 
 
 The sweet boy's eyes are shut in death: 
 A flower-strewn pillow rests his head: 
 No more his child-lips voice the breath 
 Of romp and laughter : he is dead. 
 
 How listless droop the boughs he played 
 Among ! Softly the pigeons coo ! 
 One frolic Sun — space seeks a shade 
 To question sadly if he knew 
 
 Whither Lanier has gone, — to school? 
 
 To learn humanity's last gain 
 
 Of teaching, and the latest rule 
 
 Of life's sharp quest and labor's pain ? 
 
 Ah no ! the fruit of Knowledge now 
 He eats in Heavenly gardens where 
 No angel stands with frowning brow, 
 With flaming sword and right arm bare. 
 
 He lingers now on play-grounds large, 
 Whose games enchant with mystic spell, — 
 In Paradise by crystal marge 
 Of campus turfed with asphodel. 
 
 His merry prattlings are not heard 
 That gave all hearts contagious mirth : 
 No more his elfin smile and word 
 Lighten the leaden air of earth, — 
 
 Where now the lonesome wren complains,- 
 The red-bird calls for his play-mate : 
 The jay alone harshly arraigns. 
 And sparrows sit disconsolate. 
 
Say'st thou, Antinous is dead, 
 For whom the plum and peach trees grew ? 
 In whose behalf the clouds o'erhead 
 Drew "hop-scotch" figures on the Blue? 
 
 For whom the gulf-warm Southern breeze 
 Played hide-and-seek with many a turn, 
 And led him where youth faintly sees 
 Mysterious dawns of Manhood burn? 
 
 O, quick intelligence and fine ! 
 Lithe fingers deft as ever wrought! 
 O, sense of life like bubbling wine ! — 
 Heart aspen to all winds of thought ! 
 
 Thy spirit felt a blame as shame, 
 And frowns of love a stinging stroke : 
 Till sunshine of forgiveness came 
 Thy heart in soft contrition broke. 
 
 So sensitive to changeful life, 
 Thine was the changing artist's mind : 
 With thought, wish, mood, emotion, rife, 
 To generous pity ever kind, — 
 
 How meltingly a call to tears 
 Dissolved thy being ! and sympathy 
 Was April quick with hopes and fears : 
 Such tenderness did live in thee ! 
 
 And thee no impish thought impure 
 Besmirched, nor malice tore with glee : 
 Thy heart with innocence was sure, 
 And guilelessness was found in thee ! 
 
 Such loveliness were loth to fade 
 In nothingness and dreamless night: 
 O, visit where thou briefly played 
 And bring us glimpses of The Light ! 
 
Say not, Antinous is dead, 
 Most beautiful of Sons of Men ! 
 Say rather he hath bUthely sped 
 Awheel to yonder star, — again 
 
 He shall return and quickly bring 
 Account of his aerial run, 
 E^ch incident of happening 
 In orb and planet near the Sun. 
 
 Such happiness can never fade : 
 And never can he tire at play : 
 Supernal light, transcendant shade 
 Now make angelic holiday. 
 
TIME, TIRELESS TRAMP 
 
 Time, thou running tramp so fleet. 
 If thou would' St only lag awhile ! 
 
 1 pause to ease my weary feet 
 And thou hast sped a mile. 
 
 How long a journey may I take 
 With thee? Is Hfe but just one stage? 
 
 Our next inn, death? New life, the break 
 Of dawning age on age ? 
 
 Millenial eons round, like flowers. 
 
 Thou must have known in bud and bloom, — 
 And secular days from crescent powers 
 
 Waning to sunless gloom. 
 
 Didst chat with Luna ere she grew 
 So chastely sad and ghostly cold 
 
 About her fairness ere she knew 
 "The wrinkle" of growing old? 
 
 Art come to age's memory yet ? 
 
 Wilt gossip of thine earlier days? 
 The middle countless years forget 
 
 And sing us primal lays ! 
 
 A hundred thousand springs eclipse 
 In blank forgetfulness. Retrace 
 
 Some million stades, and on thy lips 
 And round thy youthful face 
 
 Let speak the word, let shine the light 
 That sang and shone when stars were born I 
 
 Wert thou Beginning's eremite 
 Unwed, alone, forlorn ? 
 
 How old wert thou when Adam played 
 With Flora and the Fauns and Pan ? 
 
 What time throned Jah from lustrous shade 
 Spake music unto man ? 
 
 23 
 
Beyond do vaster oceans roll ? 
 
 How long canst thou expect to be? 
 All time thy body, timeless soul. 
 
 Hath reached maturity? 
 
 Thou seem'st a Jack-o'lantern thought, 
 E'er dancing over fens of fern, 
 
 Fitful, afeared of getting caught, 
 And dark when thou should'st burn. 
 
 Did God exhale thee while he slept. 
 The very vapor of his breath. 
 
 That, breath of Life, thou yet hast kept 
 The Elfin-ness of Death? 
 
 24 
 
A SEAWEED ON DECK IN MID-OCEAN 
 
 Brave tangle, color-glinting weed, 
 Thou stayest not our huge ship's speed 
 One little whit. Thine atom's need. 
 
 We heed it not. 
 Could not Leviathan's vast greed 
 
 Spare thee one spot? 
 
 Fierce winter gales thy cradle shook, 
 Within some isle-sequestered nook; 
 Thine ancestors there refuge took 
 
 Against the storm, 
 To parent safe from alien look 
 
 Thee nested warm. 
 
 Did thy forbears Columbus know. 
 When that discoverer long ago. 
 Solemn with prophecy of wo, 
 
 His deck did pace, — 
 Whose caravels and pinnace slow 
 
 Sargasso trace ? 
 
 Mayhap they 'scaped De Soto's keel. 
 Whose enterprise of sword and steel 
 Is brave with hopes his Spaniards feel 
 
 Of empires grand, 
 Yet desperate for wo or weal 
 
 (Hidalgo band) ! 
 
 Or did they look on Wesley born 
 To larger fate, yet now forlorn. 
 For still delays Conversion's dawn? 
 
 And Oglethorpe, 
 Who quits with store of oil and corn 
 
 His easeful dorp 
 
 25 
 
To found asylums in the west 
 For debtors and all sore-oppressed? 
 Ye, fervid zeal, good English breast! 
 
 Ye loved e'en weeds: 
 Your very heart-throbs beat and pressed 
 
 For human needs ! 
 
 How long, thou tiny lichen, thou 
 Sea-alga tossed above our prow 
 And rudely kept by strangers now 
 
 From out thy home. 
 Hast known Time's furrowing ocean-plow 
 
 Divide the foam ? 
 
 What jetsam, flotsam, of sad wreck, 
 That lately graced some freighted deck 
 Of souls who danger little reck 
 
 As even we. 
 Hast thou seen, sorrowful, weedy speck, — 
 
 Lost, tossed at sea ? 
 
 Wood mosses tame ken not the strife. 
 The warfare waged for merely life. 
 Wherewith thy battle here is rife 
 
 'Mid wind and wave : 
 Their days are joys of folk house- wife 
 
 From birth to grave. 
 
 Thine is the warrior-martyr's fate. 
 To bleeding fall without the gate 
 Of Israel, die, and, with no date 
 
 On sandy tomb. 
 To lie, and to the ages prate 
 
 Of war's sad doom. 
 
 Such would be, if this meager art 
 Thine only record were. Thy heart 
 Be comforted ! A better part 
 
 May yet befall. 
 Impaled upon an expert's dart 
 
 Against the wall, 
 
 26 
 
In some museum's richest niche, 
 Thou shalt high lore of science teach, 
 And secrets of huge ocean preach, — 
 
 Gain out of loss ! 
 Beyond the heaven, thou yet shalt reach, 
 
 Of weed or moss I 
 
 27 
 
THE AMERICAN PHILOMEL 
 
 Ah, sweet, our mocking-bird, 
 
 The many-tongued ! 
 From highest top of yon church pinnacle, 
 Whose ghttering point thus quivers into song, 
 
 His voice ! 
 The church's faith and love 
 
 Now seem to blossom in 
 Nor flower nor odor, but in sound. 
 Gone is the day, passed with its Sabbath forms: 
 The zeal of Sunday-school in children's eyes, 
 Blazing to kindle bright the farthest isles, 
 Now fades in children's dreams this summer night, 
 And yields their fane to loveHness of song. 
 
 Balm-breathing harmony, 
 What tenderness is thine ! 
 
 The air is all ethereal ; 
 The moonlight soft affection's sweetest smile : 
 The fragrant trees are Beauty's ministers. 
 And dewy lawns lie tearfully a-dream. 
 
 Sweet, bird-blown flute, 
 Thou weavest poesy and lore in one, — 
 
 Religion, history, and song. 
 
 Wild-flowers, and wheat! 
 An Indian maiden with the heart of Ruth, 
 Withheld by tribal hate from joy and love. 
 
 And pining faithfully. 
 Might utter such a plaint as thine 
 
 Now is; anon 
 Some antique Miriam's triumph swells 
 In rising, crescent, cymbal-clashing notes. 
 Joyous, outringing as a peal of bells. 
 
 28 
 
An alabaster box of Music's nard 
 Upon the feet of Love thou shatterest : 
 These drops of dew are fragrant with its sweet ; 
 These pendent boughs seem blessing hands ; 
 Out of grim shadow benedictions come ; 
 
 Moonlight like Christ's forgiveness beams: 
 Thy heavenly throatings whisper to the soul 
 
 Undying faith, supernal, — 
 
 Love eternal. 
 
 29 
 
FOREST ELIXIRS 
 
 Inhaling strength with every breath 
 Soft blown across the mountain way, 
 
 I stroll where autumn's crimson death 
 And Summer's resurrection say 
 
 The annual rhyme of death and life. 
 
 Smooth winds the road o'er covert glade, 
 On upward slope, by varying strife. 
 
 For mastery of light and shade. 
 
 Here greenery hath conquered all. 
 And dominates a world of love ; 
 
 Yon distant hill is mighty thrall 
 Of mastering blueness throned above. 
 
 Here find I quiet rest I seek 
 Far from the turbulence of men, 
 
 And mildly importune the meek 
 Faun- voices of the Woodland glen; 
 
 Where think not that the woods are still ; 
 
 For whomsoe'er can overhear 
 Each runlet speaketh, and each hill, 
 
 A music hid from carnal ear. 
 
 The dumb rocks hint their history; 
 
 And myriad winged things float past 
 With messages of mystery 
 
 Sent from the dim leaf-shadowed vast. 
 
 All tender moss that steadfast clings 
 To warm the oak-root, mantle-wise, 
 
 Some answer has to questionings, 
 Repose for restless subtleties. 
 
 30 
 
If I would stanch an anguish sore 
 That contumely's thrust hath made, 
 
 Or into wounds mild healing pour 
 Away from battle-fields of trade, 
 
 I walk amid these leafy balms — 
 Wood distillations magic breeds — 
 
 Upborne upon the upheld palms 
 Of elfin greenwood — Ganymedes, 
 
 And learn how thought is kin to prayer,- 
 That grace, as juices from earth's sod, 
 
 Flows through the veins of spirit where 
 Man's soul doth feel the touch of God. 
 
 31 
 
FRIAR SERVETUS 
 (a paraphrase) 
 
 The monk Servetus sits alone 
 Within his small, unfurnished cell; 
 
 Few comforts were this hermit's own — 
 This anchorite of book and bell. 
 
 Communion brings companionship. 
 
 And lo ! he is not all alone ; 
 A greeting trembles on his lip 
 
 For that which sudden round him shone. 
 
 In ecstasy of great delight 
 
 He bends to grasp his Saviour's hands ; 
 Big, joyful tears spring at the sight; 
 
 He knows not if he kneels or stands. 
 
 Alas ! Now strikes a hateful sound. 
 
 The jingle of the postern door; 
 It Stings him like a poisoned wound, 
 
 And summons him to feed the poor. 
 
 A curse upsprings within his heart; 
 
 A dark frown shadows o'er his face ; 
 The menial task, the drudge's part 
 
 Calls yonder; here is Christ's high grace. 
 
 He goes with pang and footstep slow, 
 Is long detained by hunger's moan ; 
 
 He hastens back from mortal wo 
 To kiss the bare stone where He shone. 
 
 What tender voice breaks on his ear? 
 
 The light is as of Easter morn : 
 "As thou didst go, I still am here ; 
 
 Hadst thou remained, I had been gone." 
 
 32 
 
A DAY AT WILDWOOD 
 
 TO D. AND V. C. C. 
 
 We walked where Wildwood cools mid-summer heat, 
 
 Low curt'sies Cumberland to her lady high, 
 
 And from a Titan's apron at her feet, 
 
 Lays each good year's increase of husbandry. 
 
 We gazed across yon field of white and gold — 
 Ancestral acres aliened by Fate — 
 Each one a swelling mound of memories old. 
 Commemorating them the good and great, 
 
 Who gave her birth, for which she gives back Fame ; 
 We peered into the eyes of portraits rare. 
 Some large of name, some tender — sweet, aflame 
 With soft affection's glow and beauty fair. 
 
 We heard discourse of distant scenes and lands, 
 Of heroes who had loved and died : Tear-mist 
 Suffused us, as, where Monte Sano stands. 
 Haze-curtaining clouds oft dim his amethyst. 
 
 And we had wept in woful sympathy 
 For ills that spare not any sons of men, 
 But for her laughter's mirthful symphony 
 That tunes the voiceful air of "Wildwood" glen. 
 
 33 
 
This day, this crowded hour of joy and life 
 Was scarce a glimpse into her palace heart ; 
 (who looks into that palace, treasure-rife. 
 Will linger long, reluctant to depart.) 
 
 We lived this hour and went our homeward way. 
 Yet not without a fervent prayer: — That ye, 
 Whose wit and wisdom Wildwood blends, aye may 
 Grow liker Wildwood and this vale-rich lea. 
 
 For grand simplicity sublime: In soul 
 And heart beyond most spirits mete or bound ! 
 May ye for years unwind a love- writ scroll. 
 Of happier life than mortals e'er unwound ! 
 
 34 
 
MY PEOPLE FEED 
 
 "Till body up to spirit work." — Milton. 
 
 Aforetime to young David, 
 
 Lineaged of God-like breed 
 By likeness to God's heart, 
 Through captains wont to lead, 
 There came the high command, "My people thou shalt 
 feed." 
 
 Man hungers in all time 
 For more than meat and mead. 
 
 His want is manifold : 
 There craveth many a need 
 To him who would obey, "My people shalt thou feed." 
 
 To gather richer harvests, 
 
 Increased from finer seed; — 
 To grow the rose, large life. 
 From circumstance, base weed — 
 Annoint for such emprise who would "the people 
 feed" ! 
 
 And David, princely seer, 
 
 Of God's own heart indeed, 
 Oft sought to fill the mouth 
 
 Of that diviner greed 
 That prays with fervency, "Let truth thy people feed." 
 
 This is a bardic task, — 
 
 The poet's urgent need : 
 How far all other life 
 Soul-satisfyings exceed 
 God knows, and he who sings with psalms, "God's 
 own to feed." 
 
 35 
 
OBSEQUIES 
 
 JEFFERSON DAVIS, NEW ORLEANS, DECEMBER II, iSSQ. 
 
 With God's supernal light his form is clothed, 
 
 Naught save his mighty shade remain to us 
 
 And that immortal bloom — a martyr's fame. 
 
 Mid cannon used no more for dealing death ; 
 
 With rifles, sabers crossed for solemn grief. 
 
 Not for the dread engendering of war; 
 
 With music's soulful chant thro' voice and trump. 
 
 And eloquence inspired of simple faith ; 
 
 With every trapping true and holy grief 
 
 Can prompt, and floral tribute kings of earth 
 
 With Indian wealth might buy, but not evoke 
 
 From wining gardens of a continent ; 
 
 With loyal offerings of a people's heart, 
 
 From all the sunny Southland stretched between 
 
 Louisan gulf and bounding oceans, sent 
 
 To breathe love's blessed fragrance and to weep 
 
 Womanly dew-drops of spontaneous woe — 
 
 His eidolon is sadly borne along 
 
 To where the chiseled form of Jackson stands, 
 
 Eternal sentinel of loved and lost: 
 
 Near him, the knightliest of a later time, 
 
 Who bade them bind the wounds of foemen first, — 
 
 Like Sidney, waved aside the draught of life 
 
 With smiles — "Tonight we quaff the Tennessee"). 
 
 Here to the threshold of all-pacifying death. 
 
 Where effigies are dust by human love, 
 
 Whither comes life to moan sweet, long farewells 
 
 To those that, sun-lit, take the heavenly road ; 
 
 Here in this chaste republic of the dead. 
 
 Where earthly grandeur clasps the loving hand 
 
 Of mortal humbleness, and all are free 
 
 From e'en the shackles of mortality : — 
 
 A people's loyal hands and tearful hearts 
 
 Bring him to sleep, to dream, to live again 
 
 In doubled life of heaven and earthly fame — 
 
 36 
 
Bring him who never sought excuse nor plea 
 To bar his manful championship of truth ; 
 Who never whispered "Pray excuse me !"* till 
 Gently repels he proffering hand, for now 
 His God's imperious orderly, great Death, 
 Commands him bivouac with the mighty dead : 
 All hearts are still in sunset's fitting hush ; 
 No breath of scorn would blur the crystal calm. 
 Vale, soldier ! Sunlike through gleam and storm 
 Thy spirit strove and shone ; thro' death's brief night 
 Sunlike it circles to the brighter dawn. 
 
 * These words were whispered on his death-bed. 
 
 37 
 
DEATH IN LIFE 
 
 'Tis eight o'clock in the morning, 
 The culminating moon at west; 
 
 A perfect day from its dawning, 
 As e'er maternal night expressed. 
 
 The soft wind blows with thrilling zest, 
 And all around in earth and sky. 
 
 Blithe sunshine makes it manifest 
 God's thought today is ecstasy. 
 
 If wine expressed from heavenly fruit 
 Had winnowed through cloud-filters laced, 
 
 And had been miracled to suit 
 
 Some finer sense than mortal taste, 
 
 It might give life, as does this air; 
 
 Apollo's strings were not more tense; 
 September murmurs everywhere 
 
 With trills of faint-heard instruments. 
 
 As if the sounds of all past days, 
 Ascending through the scale of time. 
 
 Had lost all accents save of praise. 
 And reached the height of perfect rhyme. 
 
 The mime-bird sings, outspreads his wings 
 On wavy curves from tree to tree; 
 
 UnrufBing by his airy swings. 
 And by his carol's melody 
 
 The lake of grass or aught it holds ; 
 
 Now close he whirs o'er yonder head : 
 Upsprings his foe ; one stroke ! He folds 
 
 His wings — the lilting voice lies dead. 
 
 O crystal Source of perfect thought ! 
 
 This comfort in my heart distil 
 From bleeding Nature, parable-fraught, 
 
 That death's not ill, but Wisdom's will ! 
 
 38 
 
COURAGE! SOME REMAIN 
 
 Day's timid winds have taken flight 
 And fluttered thro' cloud lattices of light; 
 Delays one bolder breath of eve. 
 As loth to leave; 
 
 Yon cloud of doves, now fleeing fast, 
 Within far western vistas, dim and vast, 
 Leaves one of more courageous breast 
 Than all the rest. 
 
 In autumn, twilight of the year 
 November's icy fingers clutch, and drear 
 Frost eats all nuts and oaken mast, — 
 Yet one will last 
 
 The maddest blast of winter's rage ; 
 And frail bamboo, with waxen feuillage, 
 In shivering vigil waits the sun, 
 A Red-Cross nun. 
 
 Tho' summer's fiery greed hath dried 
 The pear tree's sap till scarce one bloom abide 
 To tell of spring's embroidery, 
 All do not die; 
 
 For some will woo October's grace. 
 Forgive his moody days and smile apace 
 At his June-aping ways, and kiss 
 When his wish is. 
 
 When that mysterious plague, the dread 
 Germ — millioned midge dance, tropic gendered. 
 Seethes all the air with ghouls ; Debauch 
 His pitchy torch 
 
 39 
 
Enkindles for the time's despite, 
 And frenzied refugees thread Panic's night ; 
 Then some high souls, affusing Christ, 
 Bid maelstrom whist. 
 
 Such loyal hearts, when all else flee. 
 And tumult, armed, throngs Hope's Gethsemane, 
 And Faith must die, turn eyes of mist 
 Toward Him, the Christ. 
 
 40 
 
FIVE O'CLOCK TEA 
 
 (on presenting a tea urn) 
 
 Life's haply come, my dear, for you and me. 
 To just this stage of cozy afternoon tea; 
 We've tasted bUthe youth's many a fete, 
 'Tis sweeter now — the duo tete-a-tete. 
 
 If e'er the boiling urn was brewed too hot 
 Love's soothing curd would cool the silvern pot; 
 Life tenders some its wine unlike mine, thine, 
 Whose tenderness makes life a draught divine. 
 
 Infusing, steeping love in our lives, dear. 
 Thy fellowship extends a daily cheer; 
 Spiceful as Orient leaf, thy sweetness lures 
 Like fruit of island bowers : thy charm endures. 
 May life continue, sweet, for you and me 
 One glorious chat o'er deep-drawn, fragrant tea! 
 
 41 
 
CARGOES OF LOVE 
 
 The soul is proven every day; each hour 
 Life holds a mete-wand up to me and you, 
 
 To test the spirit's depth and girth and power, — 
 Whether the seasoned timbers hold yet true. 
 
 Of ember fineness this divining-xod, 
 The cargo silken-rich, the ballast gold ; 
 
 The ship-holds swell with freightage dear to God, 
 Pure samite tinct of heaven in bale and fold. 
 
 We are the ships (our unsure voyage Time) ; 
 
 They sail from Birth, and touch awhile at Death. 
 Our Coan silk, e'er sought of every clime 
 
 To vesture mart and home, airy as breath. 
 
 Is given, not bought with aught beneath the sun : 
 Its consignor hath sure been God above; 
 
 The loom is Christ whereon it may be spun. 
 And all earth's isles be clothed with cloth of Love. 
 
 42 
 
THE SPIRIT OF ART 
 
 Shapeless, yet with Ravana's twenty hands ! 
 Invisible weaver at a mighty loom 
 Weaving the fabric of humanity's doom. 
 
 Whose broidered hem is bright with bord'ring strands 
 
 Of color, tone and subtly patterned shapes ! 
 
 Teach us the secret of thy finger's skill ! 
 
 Preach us a truth — art genius or self will ? 
 Weave us a cloak, revealing what it drapes ! 
 
 Unlike the patriarch, thou hast much wine 
 And art not drunken. Shem, Japheth — we 
 Must backward grope in trembling modesty 
 
 And clothe this shining nakedness of thine. 
 
 For whoso wise, and with a reverent heart. 
 Will strip himself to lend thee of his dress. 
 Shall know the blessing of thy tenderness. 
 
 And dwell forever in the tents of Art. 
 
 43 
 
THREE LIONS OF OERTEL 
 
 "ex ungue leonem" 
 
 Potency asleep, a-dream in every limb ! 
 His large Thor-hammer paws upon the earth 
 Caress it as a plaything, kitten-like for him, 
 Did his big bulk of slumber wake to mirth. 
 
 With what complete surrender of his selfish all, — 
 The wind-tossed pleasure of each wayward hour,- 
 Doth yonder cub his childish play let fall 
 And close against Sleep's tawny shoulder cower ! 
 
 But thou, pale lioness with uplifted face ! 
 Art thou a woman prisoned in that guise? 
 For unfierce watchfulness and human grace 
 Of high maternity have lit thine eyes. 
 
 44 
 
WILHELMEIN 
 
 A PORTRAIT 
 
 A patient sadness in the lovely face 
 That melts to tenderness within the eyes. 
 Now dark, now bright, as in the dew drop lies 
 A shadow brightening in a sunny place : 
 Shy dimples in the cheeks that come and go 
 As laughter rises from the brimming heart : 
 Soft folds of lustrous hair ; lips half apart 
 As if a kiss escaped and left them so: 
 One fair hand thrown aside in careless gesture 
 To grasp the rose down-fallen in her vesture: — 
 The rose is passing sweet yet lacks it grace 
 To keep me longer from that sweeter face. 
 
 45 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
 
 TO ALL WHO LOVE SIDNEY LANIER 
 
 As in one planet-mocking globe of dew. 
 May lucent glow the full-spanned arc of blue : 
 
 Since one clear stroke of Time's star-guiding bell 
 Unending happiness or woe may tell : 
 
 Since came a world of light from just one word 
 Of God, and all the stars of Morning heard : — 
 
 Then let one murmured word for me express 
 A fervent round of grateful tenderness. 
 
 46 
 
LOVE AND LIFE.* 
 
 Life leadeth Love along the world's strange way : 
 
 The one is bright of cheek and hair and eyes : 
 
 Dim shadows round the other interplay 
 
 And weave their darkness : where surely should be 
 
 The smile expectant, welcoming blest surprise, 
 
 Pale sorrow, wan, emaciate and gray 
 
 As were a hopeless Rachel's pallid skies. 
 
 And ashen as despair, veils carefully. 
 
 Light garments Life and paints her ripeness gay : 
 
 Will Love her darkling body lose, and rise 
 
 On viewless wing, and vanish utterly ? 
 
 *Watts' Painting, Kensington Museum. 
 
 47 
 
THE HAPPIEST 
 
 If now the Master of the feast should stand, 
 Seeking the happiest at life's festal board. 
 
 To crown him King with garlands and to hand 
 To him the joy-brimmed, silver, carven gourd 
 
 Of happiness to quaff — whose should it be? 
 
 His, rich in pleasures gathered from all parts 
 Of earth? Nay, nay, the happiest is he 
 
 Who garners joy from joys of others' hearts. 
 
 HYMN TO THE GREAT ARTIST 
 
 Watery seas He folds in a vesture of cloud 
 And the hearts of their shells be molds. 
 
 Till these utter their multiple music aloud, 
 And rapture of speech bursts the clod that he holds. 
 
 For dumbness is not of the work of the Lord : 
 Star spaces and far feel the breath of his flute. 
 
 Day breathes to the night, night fugues all abroad. 
 Where far-streaming star-beams are strings of his 
 lute. 
 
 METRIC GENESIS 
 
 The poet brings not something out of naught ; 
 
 He breathes into a dream; — Lo! — Adam — ^Thought I 
 
 Dumb lonesome thought for want of music weeps. 
 And rhythm — Eve — discloses as he sleeps; 
 
 Whence God does set his seal upon the pair — 
 Speech Eden is, with Eve and Adam there. 
 
 48 
 
SONNETS 
 
"FOR FALSTAFF HE IS DEAD" 
 
 Doth better grow the world since roguish Jack 
 Marshaled his motley crew, befooled his pal, 
 And played disgraceful pranks with Princeling Hal, 
 
 And passed ? Alack ! there yet be cakes and sack. 
 
 Old Knight, of nature did thy mischiefs smack ; 
 How broad the laugh, how big thy generous heart ! 
 If large the bad, larger the nobler part; 
 
 And thy forgiveness huge as was thy back ! 
 
 Still War's alarums vex, as yore in France ; 
 
 New players match new rackets to the balls, 
 And Tennis yields to hazards Red and Black; 
 Sweet life is shaken by fresh gales of chance ; 
 
 Above the storm's hoarse voice the gambler calls. 
 And ginger's hot, tho' passed is honest Jack. 
 
 PRINCE HARRY BECOMING KING 
 
 ". . . Consideration like an angel came, 
 And whipped th' offending Adam out of him." 
 
 Well, go thy ways, old Jack ! Death is to all. 
 
 To win fair France go I ; thou goest to — 
 
 Whither? Nor Hell nor Heaven can say thee no; 
 The one thou'lt turn to other ; an chance befall 
 Thou'lt rob Apollyon of his funeral pall ; 
 
 And, with Seraphic George and Michael, lo ! 
 
 Thou'lt marshal buckramed Angels rank on row 
 Beyond those Ancients' longest roster call. 
 
 And now, 'tis not thou parting but Prince Hal; 
 
 Ambition babbles of green fields o'er sea ; 
 Dies all unkingly in me past recall. 
 Great England's christom child and King, I shall 
 
 To Harfleur on. Saint George and Victory ! 
 Fame's triumphs are for some. Christ died for all. 
 
 51 
 
JOAN OF ARC 
 
 In simple faith and majesty of mind, 
 Amid Domremy's cots, this child of France — 
 Of Gaul, shot thro' with feudal circumstance — 
 A missal whose illuminations bind, 
 With saintly texts of Mediaeval kind. 
 Pictures whereon faint souls might look askance — 
 This maid is born, dreams, prays and seizes lance. 
 And leads the van, that haply France may find 
 And crown her Dauphin King. A homely land 
 Had Merlin prophesied would give her birth. 
 And visions glorified this rustic world. 
 Whence learned she this strange greatness of com- 
 mand? 
 Oft, rimming pools, tall lilies are unfurled ; 
 Sometimes the highest Heavens touch lowliest earth. 
 
 A POET'S GRAVE 
 
 As now I pace to yonder hallowed ground, 
 Where slanting sunlight through the tinted trees 
 Hushes to ethereal whispers every breeze. 
 
 And seems angelic every forest sound, 
 
 I pause, uncertain if this earthly mound 
 By violets glorified and these lilies. 
 Be not heaven's portal that now opes and frees 
 
 My raptured soul from all this mortal round. 
 
 It was a poet who once slumbered here. 
 And poet's dreams remain where they have slept 
 The dreaming men call death. Immortally 
 
 They frame to harmony that atmosphere 
 Heaven throbs to them and otherwise had kept 
 Till shrivel earth and sky supernally. 
 
 52 
 
SONNET 
 
 To Mrs. Vinnie Ream Hoxie on leaving Montgom- 
 ery, December i6, 1888. 
 
 Fame, honor and remembrance live in time 
 
 For those who worthily have sung or wrought ; 
 One name is chapleted with blooms of rhyme. 
 
 Another festooned o'er with braids of thought 
 Essaying fame, the mailed soldier stamps, 
 
 And prints an image rude of cruel deeds ; 
 Forgiving Love forgets his frowning camps, 
 
 And writes in moss her lovliest creed of creeds. 
 To us you bind yourself with triple chain, 
 
 Sculptor, poet, above all else a friend! 
 Thus recollection strives to soothe our pain. 
 
 And would with tenderness our grief amend — 
 "To all the world she speaks in shapes of Art — 
 For us she rhymes our souls with her own heart !" 
 
 BENVENUTO CELLINI 
 
 Thou, sculptor, bravo, craftsman cunning, bold. 
 
 Musician, poet, man of many parts. 
 
 Thy time's most fervid lover of such arts 
 
 As body forth rare forms in bronze and gold ! 
 
 Epitome of them who leave the old. 
 
 And ever seek fresh ventures of new marts ; — 
 
 Bom where the flowing Arno streams and darts. 
 
 To warm in sun his flower-dipped waters cold : — 
 
 Thou art the type of bankrupt souls' sad loss. 
 Who come so close to fortune and true gain ; 
 Like fallen angels shut from out Heaven's gate 
 They miss Elysium by a coin's toss, 
 And glory straitly missed redoubles pain : — 
 Thine art, Christ-touched, had been immaculate! 
 
 53 
 
THE MEN BEHIND THE "BOOKS" 
 
 From cabined walls of close-ranged dusty shelves, 
 
 Whereon the effigies of great thoughts are 
 
 In print, mine inner sense would break the bar 
 
 And find the treasury of their inmost selves; — 
 
 Shakspere's, while visioning midsummer elves 
 
 With queen Titania in her wee nut car ; 
 
 With dreaming poets range from star to star, 
 
 Or plunge in caverns plumbing science delves; 
 
 To gaze beyond this pale on Keats' dear soul, — 
 
 Endymion 'mong the stars of Beauty's sky; 
 
 On Milton's hearing Heavenly battles roll ; 
 
 Thro' Wordsworth's, know each tender flowerets eye; 
 
 With humble workers study moss and clod. 
 
 And with brave singers feel the breath of God. 
 
 IN A LIBRARY. 
 
 O love of books, what comradeship is thine! 
 
 What stimulus of strife without its sting! 
 
 Here old Time's warriors their trophies bring 
 With scent of classic fields and hint of brine 
 From Faery oceans. Fancy's eglantine. 
 
 The towers of Romance whereround memories 
 cling. 
 
 With song-breaths poets' hearts cease not to sing. 
 And stories told of men become divine. 
 Who would not cleave the actual life in twain 
 
 And yield Imagination this her due? 
 
 To act the petty round is only half 
 Of life and keeps our living small and vain. 
 O choose we wisely what the mind may quaff. 
 
 And catholic life in books is sweet and true ! 
 
 54 
 
GREATEST OF THESE IS LOVE 
 
 We know not the very heart of the lute; 
 We only hear the beat of music's wings — 
 The garment's rustle as it shaping clings 
 About the bodied soul — whether low flute 
 Or trumpet's large world-full resounding bruit 
 That summons to enchant the state of kings; — 
 We hear the organ's far-drawn murmurings, 
 But from the holiest Holy all is mute ; 
 Maybe we host an angel unaware ; 
 We cherish knowledge, tongues and prophecies, 
 Forgetful how these vanish into air 
 Whereof they frame their winning mysteries. 
 Love, love alone, in music, life, and art, 
 Remains the angelic friend-guest of the heart. 
 
 THE GOSPEL OF MEDITATION 
 
 Thou art considerate, O Solitude ! 
 
 So truly bland thy welcome is for me 
 
 That on thy privacy I must intrude : 
 
 Why smilest thou on my poor company, — 
 
 Because thy cloisters oft my sweet joys be? 
 
 Yea, therein swarming fancies free do brood. 
 
 And images do people pleasantly 
 
 Arcadian forests. Ah ! thy neighborhood 
 
 Brings magic balm to heal the ailing soul : 
 
 No sordid changer trades within thy court, 
 
 Nor sacrifice ungrateful therein brings. 
 
 Hushed voices thro' thine aisles this message roll : — 
 
 "Whate'er is lovely, pure, of good report 
 
 And true, ye meek of heart, think on these things !" 
 
 55 
 
THE FIRST CONFEDERATE WHITE HOUSE, 
 MONTGOMERY, ALA. 
 
 Memento-hallowed of heroic Lost, 
 Nor time, nor rust hath power to despoil, 
 Nor hate besmirch thee with deflow'ring moil 1 
 
 The pain of martyrs made thy priceless cost. 
 
 With outpoured blood of brave Confederate host. 
 And free-will offerings pure of corn and oil; 
 Thus thou art worthy countless lovers' toil ; 
 
 Who suffered all for love now love thee most. 
 
 Reborn, rechristened, and by love new-made. 
 Thou art the dearer for what ruin wrought; 
 
 With thee let treasured memories be laid 
 For keeping, as to shrines our dead are brought ; 
 
 Let Truth of history gem thy casket gold. 
 
 And thou stay ever new, yet ever old. 
 
 WILLIAM L. YANCEY 
 
 Type of a wondrous line that wrought and passed ! 
 Ripe product of the ancientest seeds that grew 
 In eldest lands, yet native to our new 
 
 Old South ! Lover of his kind, nurtured in caste. 
 
 Conservative, tho' fierce iconoclast ! 
 Aristocrat, defender honor-true 
 Of humblest slave who e'er injustice knew; 
 
 Afraid of no man, but at wrong aghast ! 
 Perfervid prophet to a fervid age, 
 
 He uttered words that flamed his fiery time: 
 The state-craft launched on oratory's rage 
 
 Floats derelict mid war's mad surge and grime; 
 Yet Truth, for love of history, shall save 
 This magic flotsam of secession's wave. 
 
 56 
 
HIS SILENT FLUTE. 
 
 TO S. L., 1881 
 
 Each life is tinct with joyousness and pain: — 
 
 A web of measured silences and sound 
 
 In subtle plan of patterns deftly wound, 
 
 And with a heart of love is Music. Rain, 
 
 Sunshine, are tides of one wavering Main 
 
 Whose throbbing bears the prow of life to port : 
 
 E'en on the parapet of Hatred's fort 
 
 Some bruised violet of love will fain 
 
 Its banner wave for Brotherhood and God : 
 
 Such alternates do fleck the whole vast round: — 
 
 A star, a comet lost is a planet found: 
 
 This comfort would I take from star and clod, — 
 
 I hear it murmuring from his silent flute, — 
 
 "Death is not death, but life that's briefly mute." 
 
 TO A POET DYING YOUNG 
 
 s. L. 
 
 Much like some mountain-springing crystal rill, 
 Or burgeoning of trees that bravely climb 
 The sunniest crag of all ; now like the mime 
 Of mock-bird trilling gaily, then death-still. 
 As if his mate-bird's answer hushed his trill, 
 Or some god whispered in his ear, " 'Tis time 
 For holy meditation," — so thy rhyme 
 Did falter seeking beauty and love's will. 
 Too short, ah ! sadly short, thy days for song, 
 For work, for prayer, for far-envoyaging thought. 
 Ah, me ! no time nor strength for righting wrong 
 Thy soul well knew man's apathy had wrought. 
 Thou couldst but trill, as thou didst limp along. 
 High hints of music's heaven thy soul had caught. 
 
 .S? 
 
PUELLA LAUREATA 
 
 Maker of novels, drama and of song : 
 Trident-swayer of emotion's trembling sea ! 
 Thou fragile masterdom of ecstasy, 
 Serenely floating yon high waves among ! 
 Feminine Prospero, whose magic tongue 
 Doth wing Sprite-Ariels of Poesy 
 And vassal Calibans of fantasy. 
 Till seems the sea a charmed isle up-sprung : 
 And maiden thoughts Mirandas are, whose grace 
 Appeals to wonder, to our love and praise, — 
 In beauty far out-speeding e'en the spite 
 Of swift detraction ! Bide in such high case 
 The woman still thou art for tenderest ways. 
 And reign, girl — Prospera, an isle's dehght. 
 
 A MODERN PARACELSUS 
 
 All hidden lore of Nature's school he knew, 
 A Paracelsus grave with subtle skill 
 To probe and find the body's inmost ill, 
 
 Turning to joyful health the ailment's rue. 
 
 Physician's wit and art the sourest brew 
 Of chemic drug may sweeten, and his touch 
 Send healing from the hem ; who loveth much 
 
 May work such miracles as angels do. 
 
 Alas ! within the mind a demon lurked. 
 As, legends tell, wrought in the pommeled hilt 
 Of Paracelsus' sword. Yea, Tophet burned ; 
 
 His health- winged smile a leer became ; there worked 
 Through all his veins a keen infecting guilt : 
 Evanished skill when love to hatred turned. 
 
 58 
 
THE SATIRIST JAY 
 
 Thou strident orator of peopled wood, 
 Light-bringer in dusk aisles of oaken green, 
 Thou scornful-throated wrangler, prankt in sheen I 
 When out of leaf-hid sylvan solitude 
 Thou puttest on high airs of social mood 
 And archest crest, thy steel-blue eyes between. 
 Mayhap of birds thou'rt Swift, satiric Dean 
 Of feathered citizens that nest and brood. 
 Thou winnest love ; whom will not lovers bless ? 
 With birds their Stellas and Vanessas live. 
 Art wretched thou as that great satirist? 
 Doth woe infect the tenderest caress 
 Thy victimed sweethearts fondly, freely give, 
 As, King of wit. Swift, was by ruin kissed ? 
 
 59 
 
QUATRAINS 
 
BROWNING 
 
 With him it is not hearsay — how that one 
 
 Of olden time commanded halt the sun : 
 
 Revealings his within his own soul furled ! 
 
 He knows that God's in, thro', and o'er His world. 
 
 THE OPIUM DREAMER 
 
 The drowsy poppy from Earth's sleep hath caught 
 Vagaries that with Heavenly visions teem : 
 De Quincey ! thou distillest from all thought 
 The very juice of thought — coherent dream ! 
 
 THE GREAT TEACHER 
 
 A thought of science, — brightest light is dark, 
 Till earthly air infuse the Heavenly spark 1 
 And spake the Teacher : — "Seek with love and find 
 The very wisdom of Christ's heart and mind !" 
 
 SORROW'S RAINBOW 
 
 How bright the light, when sorrow's storms are still I 
 In this the Deluge finds a counterpart. 
 
 That bliss shall follow woe is Heaven's sweet will; 
 And tears, smile-lit, make rainbows in the heart 
 
 63 
 
BROWNING 
 
 Thou world-explaining optimist, a Job 
 That ne'er desponds and feels all joy, all pain, 
 
 From palm-aphid's to Shah of all the globe ! 
 Who riddles loves not — sings with thee in vain I 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 Dreaming along the haunted shore of time 
 And mad that sea's jEolian song to sing, 
 He found the shell of beauty, rhythmic rhyme. 
 And fondly deemed its sheen a living thing. 
 
 KEATS AND FANNY B 
 
 A star beheld an image in a spring 
 His own beams robed in heavenly vesturing ;- 
 Out-burned his fire, and faded from the sky : 
 The clear earth-rill purled on indifferently. 
 
 TRANSFORMATION 
 
 The humblest life that lives may be divine ; 
 Christ changed the common water into wine. 
 Star-like comes Love from out the magic East,- 
 And Life, an hungered, finds his fast a feast. 
 
 64 
 
WIDOWED: ALONE IN MANILA 
 
 Ten thousand miles of sea to reach her child ; 
 
 One hour for kneeling at her husband's gravel 
 Pray Heaven that all contrariant winds be mild ! 
 
 Her soul lags here ; her heart sways o'er the wave. 
 
 THE SAVIOUR'S GOOD-BY 
 
 (a paraphrase.) 
 
 Within my Father's house all mansions are ; 
 Where I abide there shall ye also dwell : — 
 Transcending cloud and sea and earth and star, 
 To comfort you the Spirit comes afar. 
 
 65 
 
DIALECT POEMS 
 
 Two of these dialect poems by Sidney and Clifford 
 Lanier are reprinted from "Poems by Sidney Lanier.' 
 through the kind permission of Messrs. Charles 
 Scribner's Sons. 
 
THE POWER OF PRAYER: OR 
 THE FIRST STEAMBOAT UP THE ALABAMA 
 
 BY SIDNEY AND CLIFFORD LANIER 
 
 You, Dinah ! Come and set me whar de riber-roads 
 dey meet, 
 
 De Lord, He made dese black-jack roots to twis' in- 
 to a seat : 
 
 Umph, dar ! De Lord hab mussy on dis blin' ole nig- 
 ger's feet! 
 
 It 'pear to me dis mornin' I kin smell de fust o' June : 
 I 'clat, I b'lieve dat mockin-bird kin play de fiddle 
 
 soon! 
 Dem yonder town-bells soun's like dey was ringin' in 
 
 de moon ! 
 
 Well, ef dis nigger is bin blin' for fohty years or mo', 
 Dese ears, dey sees de world, like thru' de cracks 
 
 dat's in de do': 
 Fur de Lord has built dis body wid de windows side 
 
 an' fo'. 
 
 I know my front ones is stopped up, and things is 
 
 sort o' dim : 
 But den, thu dem, temptation's rain won't leak in 
 
 on ole Jim : 
 De side ones shows me Earth enuff, aldo' deys mon- 
 
 s'ous slim. 
 
 An' as fur Hebben, — ^bless de Lord, an' praise his 
 
 holy name, — 
 Dat shines in all de corners of dis cabin just de 
 
 same 
 As ef dat cabin hadn't nary plank upon de frame ! 
 
 Who call me ? Lissen down de ribber, Dinah ! don' 
 
 you hyar 
 Somebody hollin "Hoo, Jim, Hoo!" My Sarah died 
 
 las' y'ar : 
 
 69 
 
Is dat black angel done come back to call ole Jim 
 fom hy'ar? 
 
 My stars, dat cain't be Sarah, sho ! Jes' lissen, Di- 
 nah, now! 
 
 What kin be comin' up dat bend, a-makin' sich a 
 row? 
 
 Fus' bellerin' like a pawin' bull, den squealin' like a 
 sow? 
 
 De Lord 'a 'mussy sakes alive, jes hear, Ker-whoof, 
 
 Ker-whoof — 
 De Debbie's comin' round dat bend, he's comin' sho' 
 
 ernuff, 
 A-splashin' up de water wid his tail an' wid his hoof ! 
 
 I'se pow'ful skeered : but neversomeless I ain't gwine 
 
 run away : 
 I'm gwine to stand stiff-legged for de Lord dis 
 
 blessed day : 
 You screech an' swish de water, Satan ! I'se a gwine 
 
 to pray. 
 
 O Hebbenly Marster, what thou wiliest, dat mus' be 
 
 jes so: 
 An' ef thou hast bespoke de word, some nigger's 
 
 bound to go : 
 Den, Lord, please take ole Jim, an' lef young Dinah 
 
 hyar below ! 
 
 'Scuse Dinah, scuse her, Marster: fer she's sich a 
 
 little chile: 
 She hardly jes begin to scramble up de homeyard 
 
 stile : 
 But dis ole trav'ller's feet bin tired dis many a many 
 
 a mile! 
 
 I'se wuffless as de rotten pole of las' year's fodder 
 
 stack : 
 De rheumatiz done bit my bones : You hear 'em crack 
 
 an' crack? 
 
 70 
 
I cain't set down 'thout gruntin' like 't was breakin' 
 o' my back. 
 
 What use de wheel, when hub an' spokes is warped, 
 an' split, an' rotten? 
 
 What use dis dried-up cotton-stalk, when Time done 
 picked de cotton? 
 
 I'se like a word somebody said, an' den done bin' for- 
 gotten. 
 
 But Dinah! Sho dat gal jis like dis little hick'ry tree: 
 De sap's jes' risin' in her: she do grow owdacious- 
 
 lee — 
 Lord, ef you's clarin' de underbrush, doan' cut her 
 
 down, cut me ! 
 
 I would notjiroud persume — but I'll des boldly make 
 
 reques' : 
 Sence Jacob had dat wrastlin' match, I boun' to do 
 
 my bes' : 
 When Jacob got all underholt, de Lord, he answered 
 
 Yes! 
 
 An' what fur waste de vittles now, an' th'ow away de 
 
 bread, 
 Jes' fur to strength dese idle hands to scratch dis ole 
 
 bald head ? 
 T'ink of de 'conomy, Marster, ef dis ol Jim was dead ! 
 
 Stop : — ef I don' b'lieve de Debbie's done gone up de 
 
 stream ! 
 Jes' now he squealed down dar: — hush! dat's a 
 
 mightly weakly scream ! 
 Yas, sir, he's gone, he's gone : — he snort way off, 
 
 like in a dream ! 
 
 glory hallelujah to de Lord what reign on high ! 
 De Debbie's fairly skeered to def, he done gone flyin' 
 
 by: 
 
 1 know'd he couldn' stand dat pra'r, I felt my Mars- 
 
 ter nigh ! 
 
 71 
 
You, Dinah: ain't you shame now, dat you didn' 
 
 truss' to grace? 
 I heerd you thrashin' th'u' de bushes when he showed 
 
 his face! 
 You fool, you think de debble couldn' beat you in a 
 
 race? 
 
 I tell you, Dinah, jes as sho as you is standin' dar, 
 When folks starts prayin', answer — angels drops 
 
 down th'u' de a'r. 
 Yas, Dinah what 'ould you be now, jes 'ceppen' fur 
 
 dat pr'ar? 
 
 72 
 
THE POWER OF AFFECnON ; OR, VOTING 
 IN ALABAMA 
 
 What dat you say ? Haynh ? vote for you ? ain't nuv- 
 
 ver seed you buffore ; 
 I don' know what to call you by: my name? hit's 
 
 uncle Sim. 
 Don' tel me nuffi'n 'bout votin', Boss, I'se fur ole 
 
 Marster shore: 
 He nuvver went back on dis black chile : I ain't gwine 
 
 back on him. 
 
 Would you exert de fren' dat fed you, howsumduvver 
 
 poor 
 He got his se'f, an' gin' you work, when work was 
 
 mon'sous slim? 
 Don' tel me nuffi'n 'bout votin', Boss, I'se fur ole 
 
 Marster shore: 
 He nuvver went back on dis black chile: I'se gwine 
 
 to stay 'bout him. 
 
 When de creek was up an' drowned de corn, an' riz 
 
 to dis here door, 
 Who gin' me 'lasses an' meal an' sich? Congress? no 
 
 more'n dat limb. 
 Don' tel me nuffi'n 'bout votin', Boss, I'se fur ole 
 
 Marster shore: 
 He nuvver went back on dis black chile : I'se boun' to 
 
 stick roun' him. 
 
 De word's bin saunt fum up town dar, dis two, free 
 
 days and more. 
 How we 'uns is to vote : (Yaas, sir, Pintlala'l make 
 
 you swim;) 
 Don' tel me nuffi'n 'bout votin', Boss, I'se fur ole 
 
 Marster shore: 
 He nuvver went back on dis black chile : I'se gwine to 
 
 vote 'side him. 
 
 73 
 
Convenshun dis ! Convenshun dat ! 'an black men on 
 
 de floor ! 
 1 aint nuvver seed no forty yit; is't kase my eyes is 
 
 dim? 
 Don' tel me nuffi'n 'bout votin', Boss, I'se fur ole 
 
 Marster shore: 
 He nuvver went back on dis black chile : I'se gwine to 
 
 shares wid him. 
 
 I 
 I'se voted ev'ry 'lection yit for Elkal rights; I'se tore 
 My insides out a hoU'rin fur em; I'se yit ole nigger 
 
 Sim; 
 Don' tel me nuffi'n 'bout votin'. Boss, I'se fur ole 
 
 Marster shore: 
 He nuvver went back on dis black chile : I'se gwine to 
 
 bawl fur him. 
 
 Mehaly, she kin read de news (my wife, but you don' 
 
 know 'er,) 
 She says de Rads jis loves us nigs, like gar fish loves 
 
 de brim; 
 Don' tel me nuffi'n 'bout votin'. Boss, I'se fur ole 
 
 Marster shore: 
 He nuvver went back on dis black chile : I'se gwine to 
 
 use 'long him. 
 
 t 
 Dey's rid our votes to offis 'till our backs is skinned 
 
 an' sore; 
 Dey's fooled young mules wid collar straw, dey caint 
 
 fool uncle Sim; 
 Don' tel me nuffi'n 'bout votin', Boss, I'se fur ole 
 
 Marster shore: 
 He nuvver went back on dis black chile : I aint gwine 
 
 back on him. 
 
 74 
 
UNCLE JIM'S BAPTIST REVIVAL HYMN 
 
 BY SIDNEY AND CLIFFORD LANIER 
 
 Sin's rooster's crowed, Ole Mahster's riz, 
 
 De sleepin' time is pas'; 
 Wake up dem lazy Baptissis. 
 
 Chorus: Dey's mightly in de grass, grass, 
 Bey's mightly in de grass. 
 
 Ole mahster's blowed de mornin' horn, 
 
 He's blowed a powerful bias' ; 
 O Baptis' come, come hoe de corn, 
 
 You's mightly in de grass, etc. 
 
 De Meth'dis' team's done hitched ; O fool, 
 
 De day's a-breakin' fas' ; 
 Gear up dat lean ole Baptis' mule, 
 
 Dey's mightly in de grass, etc. 
 
 De workmen's few an' mons'rous slow, 
 
 De cotton's sheddin' fas' ; 
 Whoop, look, jes' look at de Baptis' row 
 
 Hit's mightly in de grass, etc. 
 
 De jaybird squeal to de mockin'-bird : "Stop! 
 
 Do'n gimme none o'yo' saas ; 
 Beter sing one song for de Baptis' crop, 
 
 Dey's mightly in de grass," etc. 
 
 An' de ole crow croak : "Do'n' work, no, no ;'' 
 But de fiel'-lark say : "Yaas, yaas, 
 
 An' I spec' you mighty glad, you debblish crow, 
 Dat de Baptissis's in de grass, etc. 
 
 Lord, thunder us up to de plowin' match. 
 
 Lord, peerten de hoein' fas' ; 
 Yea, Lord, hab mussy on de Baptis' patch, — 
 Dey's mightly in de grass, grass, 
 Dey's mightly in de grass. 
 
 75 
 
THE WESTERN GATE 
 
 Gold in the morn. Silver shine at noon. 
 
 Gold after noon ! 'Tis twilight now ; 
 Dusk wanes the day; old voices croon. 
 And pale the aureole on age's brow. 
 Fitful the flame upon the cottage fire 
 Burns like the heart of chill desire; 
 The limbs with ache like worn-out timbers creak, 
 And scarce the smoke may climb the chimney peak. 
 Dim sounds of uproar that the Present makes 
 Come through the window ; Memory fonder shakes 
 Old sides to laughter and old hearts to tears ; 
 All brave delights of youth give way to fears ; 
 Grandchildren romp not with the glee of yore; 
 A sadness never felt before 
 
 Creeps in the mind ; the hand clasps not as strong ; 
 New songs sing not as that old song, 
 Clear with the truth 
 Of candid youth, 
 And sweet forsooth 
 As the limpid, twinkling sheen of the Romance well. 
 Or sweetheart-gospels lovers tell — 
 As truest chime of the marriage bell, 
 As loveliest child-bloom ever fell 
 
 From gardens where home-blisses grow 
 And joys of heaven with angels dwell 
 
 And Love's uncankered roses blow. 
 
 Cometh now life's afterglow ; 
 
 O'er yonder sun the clouds drift slow 
 Like sleepy birds that seek the nest 
 On drowsy-moving wings almost at rest, 
 So smooth their flight into yon darkling West. 
 
 76 
 
Gold in the morn. Silver shine at noon. 
 Gold after noon ! New soft lights beam 
 Whereof the heart of youth may merely dream ; 
 Pearl, amber, lucent sard are in yon gleam. 
 In circles ever moveth life around 
 Without decline ; eve puts no term nor bound ; 
 Age at old portals is await 
 For that new scene beyond the gate. 
 This little grain of life was sweet ; how grand 
 The planetary round of God's new land ! 
 
 77 
 
Mr. Badger's Ne-w Poetry 
 
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 TKe Great Procession, and otKer Verse* for and 
 about cHildren. i6mo. $1.25, full leather, Eigned by author, 
 
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 signed by author, I2.50. 
 
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 Apollo and Heats on Bro-wnin^, A. Fantasy, and 
 other Verses, l2mo., $1.50. 
 
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 English Lyrics of a Finnish Harp, l2mo., $1.23. 
 
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 Thoughts Adrift, i2mo., |i,oo. 
 
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 TKe Dancers, and otKer Legends and Lyrics, i6tao. 
 $1,25, full leather, sig^ned by author, $2,50. Special edition with 
 origixial autograph poems. Prices on application. 
 
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 A ne*w voltjine of Poetry, i2mo., $1.50. 
 
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