WILLIAM FRANCIS BARNARD / P I- i C ! 1/ Ui U3 21 C. H- ! U- X i s I 1 ~ a r 5 g 1 en£ o>S enS mS 03 S 0> K en g en? en? en 9 enS en $ en? en S3 en3 en 7 en? en S en?? THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA AT CHAPEL HILL ENDOWED BY THE DIALBCTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETIES PS3503 •A$850 T6 1913 va « This BOOK may be kept out TWO WEEKS ONLY, and is subject to a fine of FIVE CENTS a day thereafter. It is DUE on the DAY indicated below: THE TONGUES OF TOIL K5 J>3 "J THE TONGUES OF TOIL AND OTHER POEMS BY WILLIAM FRANCIS BARNARD SECOND EDITION THE WORKERS* ART PRESS CHICAGO 1913 Copyright, 1910 By WILLIAM FRANCIS BARNARD FOREWORD TpHE author of this volume has long treas- ured in intent the creation of a body of verse which should set forth, however imper- fectly, the spirit of the great cause of labor. Certain writings of William Morris, poet and craftsman, and the utterances of Tolstoy re- specting the relations of art to a common hu- manity, have helped to point the way, and now, at length, the fruits of his toil' are gathered to- gether in these pages. He cannot allow these poems to leave his hands, however, without bearing testimony to the truth, that the cause of labor, which is but the cause of humanity at large, is more inspir- ing to him, and more fruitful of results than any other source of creative effort has been. The red blood of a united race courses through his veins, and thrills him who sings the songs of toil, and takes a pleasure in the singing. The volume includes a few poems from the author's earlier book, "The Moods of Life". These are added because they are in peculiar harmony with the spirit of these pages, and because the volume in which they originally appeared was issued in a limited edition. (This is the second edition of this book.) B SZL CONTENTS PAGE The Tongues of Toil . • . . . 13 Francisco Ferrer ...... 16 The Hangman ....... 19 Joy and Labor ...... 22 To A. M. B 23 A Rhapsody 26 Progress . f . . . . . .29 Labor's Prayer to Woman . . . . 32 Margareta Martenez 33 The Revelation ...... 40 Labor's Answer ...... 41 Hope and Effort ...... 43 "Until You Are Born" ..... 44 The Defense of the Rag Doll ... 47 A Vision 49 Love and Hate ...... 50 The Meeting of the Winds .... 52 Two Powers ...... . 54 The Dead Financier ..... 57 A Judgment ....... 58 The Children of the Looms .... 59 IX. CONTENTS PAGE Slow, Slow ....... 62 The Newer Hemlock ..... 64 The Guillotine ...... 65 Failure ........ 69 The Death of a Toiler . . . . . y\ No Bondage for Me ...... 75 Mary Wollstonecraft ..... 76 Sacrament . . . . ... -77 Music ........ 79 Ardors ........ 80 The Thief of Time ..... 81 On an Infant Buried in Winter . . . • 83 Max's Friend ...... 84 To a Robin . . ..... 86 Looking on the Sierras .... 88 The Girl of the Rose ..... 89 1 1 v.m n of Labor ...... 90 To the Masters . . . . . qt I mi Roistering Knights .... 94 "So Cold!" ....... 97 The Voiceless Lyre ..... 99 To Fausta ....... TOO Rose and Lily . . . . . iot Invocation . . . . . . .102 A Warning ....... TO In a City Graveyard . . . . .107 CONTENTS PAGE Courage, My Heart "3 Warrior Truth .... • 115 Labor's Tragedy .... 117 To My Country .... . 118 What Shall It Profit a Man? 119 A Caged Bird's Song ' . . 122 The Baby's Smile 123 Place de la Concorde . 124 To the Enemies of Free Speech 127 The Red Flag ..... . 128 In the Hour of Execution . 132 The Abandoned Mill • 134 Ibsen ...... 143 A Desire ...... • M4 To the Cold ..... 146 The Agitator ..... • T47 The Challenge of Liberty . . 150 His First Snow .... • LSI Magdalene Passes .... [52 Plutus and Demos .... • 157 In Renunciation .... 158 The Modern Tyrant .... • 159 The Ruler t6o Friendship ..... . 161 To Certain Writers • 163 Announcement .... . 165 CONTENTS PAGE Compensation 167 The Last Word r68 Martyrdom ....... 171 November Violets ...... 173 Strike 174 A Day of Reckoning ..... 177 Wind of the Dawn ..... 178 The Bells 180 The Rooks 182 Greatness ....... 184 Waiting ....... 185 The Promise . . t . . . . .188 The Unspoken ...... 189 Humanhood ....... 100 Comrades ....... 191 XII. THE TONGUES OF TOIL IJO you hear us call from a hundred lands, Lords of a dying name? We are the men of the sinewed hands Whom the earth and the seas acclaim . We are the hordes who have made you lords, And gathered your gear and spoil ; ; And we speak with a word that shall be heard : Hark to the tongues of toil ! The power of your hands it falls at last, The strength of your rule is o'er. Where the might of a million slaves is massed To the shouts of a million more. We rise, we rise, 'neath the western skies, And the dawns of the east afar ; And our myriads swarm in the southlands warm, And under the northern star! 13 THE TONGUES OF TOIL We take no thought of the fears you feel, Nor the rage you hold at heart, Nor of all your strength of the gold and steel Enthroned at the gates of the mart. We have no care for the deeds you dare, For the force of your armies hurled; You stand but few, and we challenge you ; Strong men of all the world ! We served as your fools when time was young, And long, long, we forbore, Glad of the niggard boons you flung, The least of your ample store; But the gnawing pain of a starving brain Ts great as the belly need; We have learned at last from a hungry past The joys of a rebel deed ! We come, we come, with the force of fate; We are not weak, but strong. We parley not, and we cannot wait ; We march with a freeman's song. We claim for meed what a life can need That lives as a life should live ; Not less, not more, from the plenteous store Which fr^ee-born labors give ! 14 THE TONGUES OF TOIL We will shape a world as a world should be, With room and enough for all; We will rear a race of the wise and free, And not of the great and small. And the heart and the mind of humankind Shall drink to the dregs of good, Forgetting the tears of the darker years, And the curse of a bondman's blood ! In vain you soften the voice of greed ; In vain you speak us fair; The time is late, and we hark nor heed ; In gladness still we dare. Yield, then, yield, to the force Ave w r ield, To the masses of our might ; We are countless strong at the throat of wrong, The warriors of the right ! Yes, we are the captains of the earth And the w r arders of the sea; Of a race new born in nobler birth, The mighty and the free ! We clasp all hands, to the farthest lands ; We swear by our mother soil, To take the meed who have done the deed ! Hark to the tongues of toil ! 15 FRANCISCO FERRER \J NCE more time writes the truth in blood. in reddest blood, that all may see; Once more life gives her best to death to pay the price which sets men free. Once more the silent martyr's voice speaks louder than the thunder can, And echoes round and round the world, and thrills the heart of every man. Yes, Socrates accepts again the hemlock in his dungeon there, And Jesus, crowned by Roman thorns, writhes on his cross raised high in air; Fire meets a heart more hot than fire where Bruno's ashes crumble down, And hangman's gallows choke the breath, but not the love, of brave John Brown. 16 FRANCISCO FERRER "Let man see clear, and that he may, let all our children have the light !" This was the message Ferrer spoke, his word in superstitition's night. Is this the thing for which you killed; is this the crime he did, and died; Are such, are such black deeds of wrong, to which e'en mercy is denied ! You tyrants, trembling while you slay, see time's handwriting on the wall; Look on the words, and know they tell that kings and all their strength shall fall. Each stifled voice, it sounds your doom, each .shackled wrist shakes all your power; Each martyr drags you to the dust. There comes the people's triumph hour. And you, black priests, who wear love's mask, and if men doubt you, curse, and kill, Know this: although your victims bleed, their memories are potent still. Cringe at your altars; be afraid; beg heaven for its avenging rod ; The time is nigh which ends your power, which breaks you, as it breaks your god ! 17 FRANCISCO FERRER Come, little children, like the flowers; yon in- nocents he loved to love; Who filled his soul with happy dreams, the dreams he gave his days to prove. Hark to his story o'er and o'er, while tender eyes with tears are wet ; — A tribute of the love you bear, your promise never to forget. And we, the sires, the sons of men, whose children's children yet shall live, Who here would bring him worthiest praise, and all of honor gladly give, Would mark our foreheads with his blood, and all his sacred wounds would kiss — May we be equal to his faith, and worthy of the sacrifice ! They rise in myriads at his name, to (\o the work his faith began ; Ten thousand stand where Ferrer fell, to speed the cause of struggling man. Or live, or die in anguish keen, or madden 'neath the prison stone. They cease not from the battle here, till truth's last torturer lies., o'erthrowm ! 18 THE HANGMAN I HE hangman's hands are dyed with blood, And all they touch or hold Is stained and streaked with a clotted flood, E'en to his bloody gold ; • The coins that are paid for human breath And the lives which he has sold. In scarlet hue stand old and new, His clothes, his board, his bed; There is blood in the cup that he lifts up, And crimson is his bread ; And e'en his floors and walls and doors Are marked with gory red. The hangman's face is dull and grey, And soulless are his eyes; That he may live from day Jo day, Some fellow-being dies. The tears of the young are naught to him, Nor age's stifled cries. 19 THE HANGMAN He does not know the sob of woe ; Black fear he does not feel ; Hardly a word from his lips is heard, And his ears heed no appeal. His cruel chin reveals within A nature hard as steel. The hangman's thoughts are not of love, Nor are they yet of hate ; They do not lift themselves above The dungeon's iron grate. Their interests are the knotted rope And the heavy gallows weight. His mind is filled with the counted killed And the hope of more to come, And the price they fling when men must swing, Which makes a goodly sum ; For his reason waits on the law's black hates, And, save for this, stands dumb. The hangman's soul lies stiff and stark, The hangman's heart is dead ; And the need of friends is a burnt-out spark From which the flame has fled; For he is marked with murder's mark, And with blood upon his head. 20 THE HANGMAN In times of rest he knows no guest: Xo hand will touch him, none ! Nor woman mild nor happy child Greets him when day is done ; And he walks the night, a poison blight, An outcast of the sun ! 21 JOY AND LABOR PHE joy of labor, and the joy of song. Delight of pleasure, and delight of rest, And happy peace, the heart's full welcome guest, All these are one, like friends in gladsome throng. Nay, toiling brain and hands with sinews strong. Hot sweating brows, and heavy heaving breast, 'Tis unto work that nature yield's her best; Why do you, then, cry out upon a wrong? An answer comes from countless sons of toil, Borne as on mighty winds from everywhere, "Yes, work were sweet, if we might glean the soil, And own the things we fashion with our care ; But masters take our substance for their spoil : We are but slaves; the curse of work lies there !" 22 TO A. M. B. J\ LABOR of love you have given Through the long stretch of the years ; And cherished and trusted and striven. Nor yielded to shadowy fears, But smiled when your thoughts were of tears. The gladdest when hope walked before me, All constant when doubt dogged my feet, My comrade when effort outwore me. Amidst life's harsh stress and its heat ; How shall I your praises repeat? Sage in your youth with your learning, Full wise in your womanhood still ; Ever a prophetess, yearning For worlds which high dreams should fulfill, You have burned in your heart and your will. TO A. M. B. Spirit all staunch and heroic, O'erflowing with faith in mankind, You have borne with the will of a stoic The pangs which true service must find, And still kept serene in your mind. And with that high trust born of woman, Her soul's most miraculous part, That greatest of glories most human, You have poured out the wine of your heart. And strengthened e'en me for my part. Though the years have brought sweet with the bitter, And the tares have not filled up the sheaves, I have thought that your days had been fitter With more flowers of life mid the leaves, And with less of the fate that bereaves. Has the labor been worthy the doing? No happier boons did you miss? Is there no reason for rueing? Have I been worthy of this? Is it triumph, and not sacrifice? 24 TO A. M. B. Because naught of praise can requite you, Though all splendor of praise I afford, The fruits of my years must delight you And be your sole gift and reward. My harvest of song I accord. Take this, and let all be a token Of a love which still lasts and allures ; I give to your trust still unbroken Each song, though it dies or endures ; For myself and my songs all are yours. Take these, with my memories tender; Take these, with hope's star-scattered beams. Take all, with the visions of splendor That shine from the future in gleams — My highest, my holiest dreams. 25 A RHAPSODY. f\ RIOT of violets under the trees. With cool curving branches above them : Wild apple blossoms and cavalier bees To daunt them and dazzle and love them ; Winged clouds in the sky and the sun on the grass ; White birches poised over the river. Which here is all smooth like a shadowing glass, And there, is all ripples, aquiver ; Soft wind making waves on the wheat as it goes; A bird in a tree top, aswinging, Too glad to find voice till its heart overflows And floods in a torrent of singing What wonder that two 'neath the spell of it ali, And wrought with the wine of June weather. Must rapture at heart till they tremble in hand With the passion which draws them to- gether ! 26 A RHAPSODY. What wonder that eyes falter low and then rise In quest of the truth in those faces. Ere they strain breast to breast, and then shudder apart From the sting of the sweet of embraces ! What wonder that these, who wend forth to the streams And the hills and the green forest covers. Blushing maiden and youth, should move as in dreams, Till they kiss, and know well they are lovers ! Forget, yes, forget all the world with its wrongs. Young hearts in your ecstasies splendid, And suit your warm lips to the happier songs Which sound as all sorrow were ended ! There is labor enough on the steeps of the years ; There is time and to spare for reflection ; Taste, taste of your joy ere time loosen your tears, And know one full day of perfection! 27 A RHAPSODY. Here, while rich gifts of the summer have birth, Let sound the first strains of love's story. Sweet dreaming world, be praised for your worth, And this, that completes all your glory! 28 PROGRESS \\/lDE through the unknown world, Where moved the primal man In leash of all his lusts, His life without a plan, A voice of thunder speech Rolled forth in majesty, "Lo, ye shall know the truth And the truth shall make you freee !' And the cave man faced the beasts, And watched the moon wax old. And snatched the lightning's fires To tame the bitter cold ; And turned his stumbling mind In thorny paths of thought, And touched his fellow's hand, And knew himself, and wrought. 29 PROGRESS Up through the ancient night, Dim with the wrath of gods, Who bade man not to learn, And held avenging rods, Vast tones called round the earth And o'er the tidal sea, "Lo ye shall know the truth And the truth shall make you free !" And superstition's chains Fell as dissolved in mist ; For bravest reason's dawn The gods could not resist. And all their thrones seemed fears, And their strong wrath but dreams As each dread shadowy power Died in the morning gleams. Out of the break of day, Amidst the great crowned kings, Where steel-strong cohorts stood As if with guardian wings, A word thrice bold rang forth To men on bended knee, "Lo, ye shall know the truth. And the truth shall make you free !' 30 PROGRESS And the kings shook with a doubt, And the rulers shrank with dread. Where the might of hope stood up To strike oppression dead ; And all their hands forbore. And swords were sheathed in rust, Where robes and crowns at last Lay trodden in the dust. Here, where the day shines fair And lights all wisdom's deeds, Strength, that hath done with fear, The beckoning future heeds, Harking the potent call From the lips of destiny, "Lo, ye shall know the truth And the truth shall make you free !" The world's worn order goes, And the world's fresh heart beats strong. While error scarce can stand Amidst his fleeing throng. And life still proudly dares, Where, fair in fadeless youth. With conquest in its eyes, It marks its leader, Truth ! 31 LABOR'S PRAYER TO WOMAN MOTHER of Earth, hearest thou thine offspring cry? Seest thou their grief-crushed faces turned to thee? They gasp for succor in their agony ; Stay thou: they beg, "Help, Mother, or we die !" Yes, serfs in chains to masters throned on high. They toil, and count their hours in misery, Cursing the thought that thou couldst let this be, Coudst let life's sweet young hopes prove but a lie. These are thy children still, though larger grown ; Then, with a mother's love, a mother's hate, Rouse ! and for thine old ignorance atone, Which taught these, e'en through love, to bear this fate. Wrong mocks and laughs ; it must be over- thrown ; Then gird thy loins for war ! The hour is late. 32 .MARGARETA MARTENEZ Vy HERE ruthless Diaz held his sway By grace of power and greed of gold. And owned the might to save or slay, And humbled all who said him nay, Full often is her story told. She stood anear the high-walled mill, Before the barred and padlocked gate, Where men and women, cowed and still, Dared hardly more than breathe, until The lords within should speak their fate Among the starving workers, where They saw the masters' piled-up bread ; Weeping upon their hopeless care, Hungry among the hungry there, She heard them beg that they be fed. 33 MARGARETA MARTENEZ Those who, many months before, Had left their places at the looms, Dragging their feet across the floor, Drooping and heavy through the door, Like corpses creeping out of tombs. The slaves, whose niggard pittance won Through tortured hours of murderous strain, Had scarce sufficed from risen sun To bear them through till day was done, And still renew their lives of pain. And now they came with broken vows To plead for tasks which they had spurned ; Begging the pittance greed allows To such as have no heart to rouse, But dumbly take what they have earned. "Give us to eat," the starving cried; "Then will we work what way ye choose. Have pity, Masters, in your pride, And we will all our woes abide, And please you hence, nor more refuse ! 34 MARGARETA MARTENEZ "Give us to eat, — a crust of bread ; Famished we are and cannot work; And we will pay you when we're fed, With double tasks, to eat your bread ; With double tasks, and will not shirk!' Thus they beseeched. But scornful ears Were turned to catch their pleading tones. Came back reply to sighs and tears ; Came back black words, and jests and jeers, And looks of hate, to all their groans. "Dogs! Would ye eat and will not pay? And from whose bounty will ye eat? Open your ears and hear us say: Go, get your food along the way, And munch the refuse of the street ! "Dogs, get your food howe'er ye will ! Did ye lack water, do ye think That we would for your begging spill, And stand and see ye have your fill? Ye should die thirsting for one drink !' 35 MARGARETA MARTENEZ A silence fell upon them there, The silence of a freezing fear. Their faces blanched with hopeless care Their eyes stood at a glassy stare, Too dry with grief to drop a tear. The fathers thought of wife and child, And shook with inward agony; Daughters stood distraught and wild ; And strong sons silently reviled ; While mothers groaned, and thought to die. A silence fell. — What maid is she Who steps out from the faltering crowd With hand upraised and manner free, With look of might and majesty, Whose voice is clear and bold and loud? "Brothers and sisters !" hear her cry, "These would not longer that ye live, But only laugh if ye must die. Yea, they rejoice at groan and sigh : Ask not for aid, such will not give. MARGARETA MARTENEZ "They scorn your pangs; they taunt and jeer They bid ye starve and find no aid. If ye have hearts, why stand ye here? See yonder bread, so near, so near ! — Go, take and eat ; nor be afraid ! "They name ye dogs, mere curs that crawl, Fit for the kennel or the pen ; Which do not bite, but bark and bawl ! If ye indeed be men at all, 'Tis time to prove that ye are men ! "Hark to my word, and give good heed : Early or late we all must die: — If ye are of the human breed, Though it should be your last brave deed, Strike one good blow ! Ai\d so will I !" They stared upon her ! In her face A look shone forth which strengthened all. A shout ; and in a moment's space They swarmed defiant round the place, And threw themselves against the wall. 37 MARGARETA MARTENEZ "Beat down those bars !" the maiden cried ; And loud the blows crashed at her word. They carried beams from every side ; And not one hand could be denied, So by her spirit all were stirred. Tis Margareta, soul ablaze. She leads them through the crumbling wall They loot the stores ; they rend and raze ; Their fast endured for many days, Like wolves upon the bread they fall. Full swift the tyrant's soldiers came, And shot them as they triumphed there ; But through the smoke and rifle flame From dying lips there rose the name Of her who well had made them dare. They bound her arms, nor shed her blood. And bore her whence none knows till now ; But let them do whate'er they would, They could not match the humanhood Of the high soul behind that brow. 38 MARGARETA MARTENEZ It matters not if she be dead, Or unto awful torture hurled, And worse to be, hang o'er her head, Since all men know the things she said, And the words she spoke ring round the world. v 39 THE REVELATION 1 HE bruised rose shall yield more sweet Than erst it could impart; And love shall fill, as is most meet, A bruised heart. Through its own woe the heart shall learn The sorrows of the earth; — Thenceforth its life with love shall burn : It knows the worth. 40 LABOR'S ANSWER t^EACE, peace," when there is no peace; When Mammon sits enthroned, And he who tells of a world for all Is driven forth and stoned. For there's little of calm or friendship's balm, Or joy of a kindly deed, Where man is sold for a price of gold And bound in the chains of greed! "Peace, peace," when there is no peace ; When the battle for work means life, And men must tear at each other's throats By the law of the club and knife. For they gather slight yield of the forge and field, Or spoil of the mine and mill ; And the pittance of each but helps to teach The fear of his brother still ! 41 LABOR'S ANSWER "Peace, peace," when there is no peace; When the millions shout, "How long?" And the armies rise at the masters' will To keep their kingdom strong. For the rifles flash, and the Maxims crash, And the gleaming swords descend; And woe they bear to the hearts that dare Their birthrights to defend ! "Peace, peace," when there is no peace ; When the peoples drink salt tears, And feed on their hearts, that throb with woe And break with the cruel years. For the children cry, and their mothers die, And the fathers droop with care, And curse each day in a dumb dismay, Till the night comes with despair ! "Peace, peace," when there is no peace; When the whole world reeks with war. By the soul of man that awakes at last, What peace do you clamor for! Comes a noble fight ; 'tis a fight for right : We are ready to our last breath ! There shall be no peace till our wrongs may cease, Though we battle to the death ! 42 HOPE AND EFFORT ||OPE is of the valley; effort stands Upon the mountain-top, facing the sun. Hope dreams of dreams made true, and great deeds done; Effort goes forth with toiling feet and hands To attain the far off sky-touched table lands Of great desire ; and till the end is won Looks not below, where the long strife, begun In pleasant fields, met torrents, rocks and sands. Hope ; but when hope bids look within her glass, And shows the wondrous things which may befall, Wait not for destiny, wait not at all, Xor sink in hesitation's deep morass : Sound thou to all thy powers a trumpet call, And staff in hand strive up the mountain pass. 43 '•UNTIL YOU ARE BORN" [Written when the Canadian government postponed the execution of Angelina Napolitano until her child should be born.] UNTIL you are born, my baby; Till my travail pain be done. And I hear on the hammered gallows The sound of my death begun ; Till the day of your birth they keep me, Despairing beneath their scorn. Until you are born, my baby ; Until you are born. Until you are born, my baby; Till you breathe, and smile, and cry; Till the hour when my arms would fold you They will not let me die ; Till your first soft breath must part us. And they kill me at early morn. Until you are born, my baby; Until you are born. 44 "UNTIL YOU ARE BORN" Until you are born, my baby; Till you wail in your mother need, While the pitiless bell tolls slowly The hour of their heartless deed ; Till they snatch you away from my bosom. My bosom racked and forlorn. Until you are born, my baby; Until you are born. Until you are born, my baby ; Till the hour of my death be due, Till the hangman takes me to kill me ; — So good he will not kill you. Till I see you, and hold, and kiss you, And sing to you while I mourn. Until you are born, my baby; Until you are born. Until you are born, my baby; Until every pang I feel Burns fierce as the fire of torture Or rends like the ripping steel. Till I tear at my breasts in anguish, And the jailers the death watch warn. Until you are born, my baby ; Until vou are born. 45 "UNTIL YOU ARE BORN" Until you are born, my baby; Until I must sob "good-bye;" Till I beg them to kill you with me, And let you die as I die ; Till I feel that but life is cruel ; And madden on that last morn. Until you are born, my baby; Until you are born. 46 THE DEFENSE OF THE RAG DOLL VI O, I don't want to play with you ; You call my doll a "fright." I know she's got shoe-button eyes, And her arms ain't sewed on right, But I don't hear a word you say. You touch her if you dare ! You nasty, mean, stuck-up old thing! And you needn't laugh; so there! My mama cut her out for me. She has got mouth and nose ! You needn't say she ain't. Your pa Buys dolls for you, I s'pose. You mind your business ; that's her name ! Make faces, I don't care. You nasty, mean, stuck-up old thing! Alnd you needn't langh ; so there ! 47 THE DEFENSE OF THE RAG DOLL That's nothin', if your folks are rich ! You're "made of rags," I guess. No, she don't have to "go barefoot, And wear a dirty dress !" She's got three dresses and a hat — All that she needs to wear. You nasty, mean, stuck-up old thing! And you needn't laugh ; so there ! You stop, now, peekin' through our fence ! What's that mean thing you say? N'ya, nya, nya, nya, nya, nya, nya, nya S I'm here, and I'll just stay. If you keep 'busing dolly so, I know I'll say a swear ! You nasty, mean, stuck-up old thing! And you needn't laugh ; so there ! No, I don't want to see your doll, • If she can move her eyes ! Dolly, you're the dearest thing ; And she just tells big lies! My dolly's just as nice as yours, If she ain't got any hair. You nasty, mean, stuck-up old thing! And you needn't laugh ; so there ! 48 A VISION I N DREAMS I saw the world's old sorrow fade, A cloud of error lifted from man's soul. The golden idol crashed in dust; the whole Of pride and envy, hate and fear obeyed A world-wide will and vanished. Unafraid. Man clasped his brother, in the sweet control Of Love, who, leading from the gates of dole, Had given him new sight and perfect aid. I saw great hosts marshalled on many a plain, Their banners marked with "Love hath vic- tory !" .Sweet anthems pierced the skies in glorious strain And echoed on and on most rapturously. The wonder woke me. With the vision's wane A voice spake to my ear, "This yet shall be." 49 LOVE AND HATE L OVE met with Hate beside the porch of time, As both went forth to traverse every clime. They parted at the parting of the ways; ' Love bade farewell, nor knew Hate's baleful gaze. I And Love was glad of sunlight and moonlight, But Hate loved only darkness in the night. Love stood entranced while sang tlr enrap- tured birds; Hate stopped his ears, and murmured bitter words. Love worshipped where the flowers were fair to see; Hate turned away and sought some misery. Love laughed when rain fell on the fair, green earth, But Hate within his heart wished for a dearth. 50 LOVE AND HATE Love lingered where the fields would yield in- crease; Hate hoped for blight, that harvest joys might cease. Love came at last and saw himself in men, And made no sound, for joy; nor wandered then; Hate later came; and looking, mad with rage, Made himself known, and would in war en- gage; Love gazed upon him, and he fled away, As flees the night before the face of day, And lived in ambush ; making bitterness, Envy and scorn, and woe, and all distress. But love, because of his pure soul, was glad In all the myriad blessings that time had ; And so drew in new life with every breath; But Hate drank his own poison till his death. 51 THE MEETING OF THE WINDS I HE Northwind met with the Southwind On the wide ways of the sky, And the air turned frost as the clouds were tossed To in confusion lie ; For the Northwind raged at the Southwind To buffet her where she flew, But the Southwind smiled like one beguiled As her flower-sweet breath she blew. The Northwind turned to the Southwind, And saw her that she was fair; With laugh of delight, with eyes of night, And back-blown, sun-bronzed hair. And the Southwind knew him, the Northwind, And saw him that he was strong; With face to command, and a mighty hand To whip his gusts along. 52 THE MEETING OF THE WINDS The Southwind sang to the Northwind, "I am warmer than love, or fire, And I know thy goal is the Southern Pole, But thou art my heart's desire ;" And the Northwind answered the Southwind, "Wanderer, wait with me then: Thy singing is sweet; 'tis well that we meet : Make me thy music again." The Southwind kissed to the Northwind, And the Northwind clasped her hands ; While the wrath was hushed of the gales that rushed Full wild o'er the seas and lands. And there, twixt the earth and heavens, At twilight or at morn, Midst waftings from flowers in far-off bowers, The delicate spring was born. 53 TWO POWERS TP HE power of wrong Is iron strong; Is the power of right, then, weak? The power of right Is a greater might Than thou canst think or speak. Each claims the world. Right's word is hurled That it bears fear of none : But wrong foregoes War, till it knows Some foul advantage won. Where'er they clash, And great blows crash, Wrong, fearful, counts each friend Let friends be few, Let none be true. Right battles till the end ! 54 TWO POWERS They struggle still Through well and ill ; Wrong tricks its every blow. With brave sword hand Right still would stand In fair fight with its foe. Through time's full length Wrong guards its strength As if it feared its fate ; Right risks its all, To stand or fall, With patience which can wait. Once wounded sore, Wrong strives no more, But trembling with its smart, Flees from disdain, To staunch its pain, And hide its coward heart. On every field Where it must yield, Right fears no mortal thrust, But rises there Still strong to dare, Though stricken to the dust! 55 TWO POWERS Wrong's falsest power Fails hour by honr, And ever stands at bay ; But the heart of right It thirsts for fight, Grown stronger every day. Till one by one Lies flee the sun, And the war-worn years are sped. And the last bold deed Is right's good meed, And wrong sinks, stricken dead. The power of wrong Is strong, thrice strong. And the fearful cringe and cry ; But a blow shall fall To end it all, Ere the years of man go by ! 56 THE DEAD FINANCIER LlAR by half truths which thou hast said, Trickster by hid snares that thou hast spun, Thief by treasures vast which thou hast won, Hypocrite by the mouths that thou hast fed, Tyrant by the cause which thou hast led, Murderer by the wars thou hast begun, Monster by all deeds which thou hast done. Thou later Nero, thou art foiled and dead ! Now may the horde of gold men stare, and see The due reward that falls to monstrous lust ; While still the peoples struggle to be free, Though hired swords in streams of blood should rust, Contempt at last shall come to all like thee, Whom death hath choked and flung into the dust ! 57 A JUDGMENT **WE lives before his day!" the carpers cry: "The man would outstrip even time and fate !" Who waits for warring years to pass him by, And lets right stand or fall, has lived too late ! 58 THE CHILDREN OF THE LOOMS ()H, what are these that plod the road At dawn's first hour and evening's chime. Each back bent as beneath a load. Each sallow face afoul with grime? Nay, what are these whose little feet Scarce bear them on to toil or bed ! Do hearts within their bosoms beat? Surely, 'twere better they were dead. Babes are they, doomed to cruel dooms, Who labor all the livelong day ; Who stand beside the roaring looms Nor ever turn their eyes away; ^ Like parts of those machines of steel : Like wheels that whirl, like shuttles thrown ; Without the power to dream or feel ; With all of childishness unknown. 59 THE CHILDREN OF THE LOOMS Brothers and sisters of the flowers, Fit playmates of the bird and bee, For you grow soft the springtime hours ; For you the shade lies 'neath the tree. For you life smiles the whole day long; For you she breathes each breath in bliss, And turns all sound into a song; And you, and you are come to this ! Is't not enough that man should toil To fill the hands that clutch for gold? Is't not enough that women moil, And in life's summer time grow old? Is't not enough that death should pale To see men welcome him as rest ; But must the children drudge and fail, And perish on the mother's breast? See, lovers, wed at tender eve ; See, mothers, with your new-born young; See, fathers — if ye can, believe ; From infant blood, lo, wealth is wrung ! See homes ; see towns ; see cities ; states ; Earth, show it to the skies above! Lovers who pass through rapture's gates, Are these, are these your fruits of love? 60 THE CHILDREN OF THE LOOMS O man, who boast your lands subdued, Your conquered air, your oceans tamed, Who mold all nature to your mood, Look on these babes and be ashamed ! Dull looks from out each weary face, Cold words upon each little tongue, — Dead lives that know not childhood's grace, Grown old before they can be young. Hear, world of Mammon, brutal, bold, Gorging with life the maw of greed, Measuring everything by gold, The good deed with the evil deed — The pangs of suffering childhood's care, Now coined in coins to fill a purse, These things shall haunt you everywhere, And rest upon you for a curse ! 61 SLOW, SLOW ^LOWj slow, the long hours go; Slow comes the day; But hard, hard, the strength must strain That drives the night awav. Slow, slow, the rivers flow ; Slow swells the tree ; But strong, strong, with pressing urge, Their force strives on to be. Slow, slow, the great airs blow; Slow comes the wind ; But long, long, the powers must toil Which follow close behind. Slow, slow, and to and fro, Move all the oceans wide, But vast, vast, must be the stress That dwells within the tide. 62 SLOW, SLOW Slow, slow, doth wisdom grow; Slow conies the right; But staunch, staunch, must effort stand To move things with its might. Slow, slow, our life we know : Slow comes brotherhood ; But brave, brave, be human hearts To win the world for good. 63 THE NEWER HEMLOCK /yi EN do not now, as once to Socrates, Proffer the hemlock's draught, the grave's cold bed, To such as shame the time, whose lips have said The hard, cold truths that shake the world's dull ease; Nay, they know craftier means to silence these ; — For truth will live though truth's friend's are struck dead, And weaken not, but wax in strength, in- stead — Another drink they give, with other lees. Some strong man wars with power; they offer place ; Or spurns the lusts of wealth ; they pour him gold. These teach him to avert, or steel his face, Amidst the marts where all is bought and sold, Until, inured to baseness, he grows base, And scorns what he had died for, glad, of old ! 64 THE GUILLOTINE 1793 Tyi ORNING breaks there in the east; The stars pale in the sky. And we shall see a marriage feast Before the sun comes high. The guests e'en now are on their way; Those voices which I hear Are joyous all. Make holiday, My friends, I lend an ear! Yes, time has come when I must wed ; The barber told last night Of how the service would be said 'Twixt dawn and candle light. The priest will all his vestments wear; And I, with hands behind, Shall bow and kiss the maiden there Who's wholly to my mind. 65 THE GUILLOTINE They gather round the altar now Outside the barred gates. Great store of choicest gifts they show For him who harks and waits. Yes, sing! This is my marriage morn, And song should usher in That day, a bridegroom, cleanly shorn, His willing bride shall win. Scarce thirty years of life are mine, But I am amply wise; I know the water from the wine, And the spirit from the eyes. And glad am I the hour is here When I must know the rest — With naught to learn there's naught to fear The end be happiest! Scarce thirty years, and I have learned Man's strange, unstable heart; Whom once he loved full oft is spurned From all the world apart. Whom once man loved, at last may gain As payment for his strife, Bars and thick walls to hide his pain, Or kiss of keenest knife. 66 THE GUILLOTINE How fair my Love is, tall and fair ; And calm in every hour! She's standing like a lily where, Within her secret bower, She's made all ready for my kiss By faithful hands and kind. In truth, the thought of it is bliss, A rapture of the mind! Good Jailor, help me here to dress; My coat is streaked wifch mud ; This knitted kerchief, I confess, Was dipped in royal blood! Give now my cap of liberty; At last my garb is well. 'Tis in your hand, the second key; Unlock, unlock my cell! My bride has left her tiring place ; Hark, how the people shout! The swaying crowd would see her face; It is a joyous rout. Again now, "Vive la Guillotine!" How sweetly sounds her name. Who weds with her is proud, I ween; He weds a noble dame! 67 THE GUILLOTINE Do I regret when death is nigh The service which I brought? Now, that the hour has come to die, Was all too dearly bought ? Mankind, my brothers, I forgive. This my reward shall be: A wiser race sometime shall live, When the peoples can be free. She comes down from the cart at last, With him who does the deed. The time is nigh, the past is past; Well may all measures speed ! She takes her place where men can look And greet us when 'tis done, And say, "How well his kiss she took; None fairer 'neath the sun!" My bride awaits me ! Hist ! A sound Far down the corridor! That heavy tread upon the ground ; Ten guards have I, or more! You honor me, good fellows all ; Five on each side, quite dumb. The bell rings on the prison wall — I come, Sweet Love, I come ! 68 FAILURE \\/HO, then, hath failed? That one who tries To reach life far above his eyes ; Who longs to do the worthiest things, And 'gainst all difficulties flings The power and strength that make a man ; That one who would complete what faith began, But, climbing on, overcoming all, Bursts his strong heart, and reels, to fall Before some last vast summit still unsealed? He hath not failed! There is a triumph in defeat; And noble sorrow's tears are sweet. The high heart raptures, though it break In stress of agony's fierce ache. Yes, when all strength, all will is spent In strife where truth and honor both are blent, The sense of worth, the thought that all Was risked for good, to stand or fall — These things turn blackest ruin that may be, To victory! 69 FAILURE Who, then, hath failed? Tis he whose deeds Scorn truth and right; who hears nor heeds Our fear, our faith, or wrath, or love. Whose iron ambition strives above All measures of all good and ill; A frenzied ego with a poisoned will ; Who gains his joy, his life, his light In triumphs of a monstrous might! Though 'neath a world-wide power his shame be veiled, He, he, hath failed ! 70 THE DEATH OF A TOILER I T was the morning that she died. For weeks, in sorrow, We watched beside her broken life, fearing each morrow. The white plague's brand had struck the mark, and on her features Had set the seal that harshly pales the fairest creatures. And now we knew that she must go ; her breast's faint moving Told us she was beyond all help, all save our loving. A smile was on her open lips, and she was sleep- ing; Our hearts with vain regrets were torn, and we were weeping; 71 THE DEATH OF A TOILER But as we raised our eyes and saw her face ex- pressing The calm of coming death, we rose, our tears repressing, And learned how death could come most like a friend, relieving; Not as in horrid guise, relentless and bereaving. She woke, and turned to us an eye so lit with gladness That we forgot that grief could be, or even sad- ness; And listened, as in broken speech she told how sweetly The touch of peace lay on her life, resigned com- pletely. "The work, the wearying work, is done, at last is ended ; There are no new things to be made nor old ones mended ; 72 THE DEATH OF A TOILER "The rush, the crowd, the heat, the roar of wheels is over, And I can feel above my head the blowing clover. "How sweet to fold my worn-out hands and lie in quiet, Far from the factory's stunning whirl and strain- ing riot. "For ah, I'm lying in Death's arms, and while I'm lying I hear him whisper: 'You shall rest; for this is dying.' "Dear rest, dear surcease; only calm, and that forever, I long for now, a dreamless sleep that endeth never. "All pain is gone; and now it seems, while life is ceasing, That what is best is mine at last, with death in- creasing/' 73 THE DEATH OF A TOILER And soon she could not longer speak; but lay, still smiling; Our hearts and thoughts from what had been, and was, beguiling; Still smiling, and with eyes fixed on us still, ap- pealing For soft compassion on the longing she was feeling; Until, with one soft sigh and one last smile, she parted From us, who but an hour before were broken- hearted. We closed her eyes, and did not weep, for she had taken A sweet nepenthe for her pain, and would not waken. 74 NO BONDAGE FOR ME £HAINS are not other than chains, Though fashioned of gold, I cry ; Nor is liberty less than a boon, Though I have but a cup and a crust. Better a bed in the fields. And a man's heart, at dawn in the sky, Than a luxury great as a king's, Where a voice ever utters "Thou must!' 75 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT I N chains the heart of beauteous woman lay, Subdued to man, and robbed of half its power ; Love, that should spring up sweetly like a flower, Aborted lived, midst blasting and decay. Whose life broke forth, she perished in dismay ; Who spoke of freedom soon must sadly cower, Seeing the brow of her taskmaster lour, His hand upraised to smite her or to slay. Among those slaves abject, one, brave, arose And cried, "Behold! this shall not always be; Woman, arise; only the bold are free!" Nor insults, heavier bonds, nor bitter blows Availed to still her, where, midst daunted foes, She stood with eyes that saw futurity. 76 SACRAMENT I N the early August hours, Where the poor and humble pine, Tenderly she touched the leaves On a morning glory vine. Soft she wet the thirsty blooms That struggled with the parching heat, And o'er the crumbling window ledge Bent and kissed them for their sweet. Nigh on noon, where mills clashed loud, Slowly draining human veins, Broodingly she dried the tears Of childhood wound in labor's chains. She stroked the lean, sob-shaken hands, Laved and cooled the little cheek, And mother-like, with pillowed breast, Gave her heart to help the weak. 77 SACRAMENT With the ending of that day, Home from all the toiling throng Near to night's brief hours of rest, Low she sang a comrade song, Sang its glad words o'er and o'er, Musing midst her cares and fears, And while her voice ebbed to a sigh, Consecrated faith with tears. All the joy she had of flower^, All her childward watchfulness, All her trust in times to come, Seemed to merge, a power to bless. Such, who thrill to all fair things, Such, whose arms as shelters be Such, whose faith outlives hard fate, Such will help us to be free. 78 MUSIC A/l USIC, the language of the soul, Which words can never teach: A miracle of sound, that gives The unutterable to speech. 79 ARDORS TPHE sea's voice as it challenges the shore — The shore's voice as it echoes back the sea — - A cry sent up where awful power must be, And then a long, reverberate, answering roar. Attack upon resistance o'er and o'er: These titans aye contend for mastery ; And, as I hark, I think for you and me, My comrades, strife until our heads are hoar. But, though powers front us like the waves, nor rest Nor hush themselves a moment, like the land That fails not though it conquers not, we stand, Fearless, and scorning e'en the mightiest; Waving, where men can see, a token hand That shows the heart still staunch within its breast. 80 THE THIEF OF TIME ^\I HO has not had his noble dreams Of strong and fair endeavor ; Who has not cherished freedom's schemes And planned high triumphs ever? Who has not oft in youth, and still Through manhood's ample stages. Felt all his untried heart and will Aroused by noble rages? Toil's great ideal shakes the hand, And lights the soul with beauty, Ridding us take a brother's stand, And make its care our dutv. But there's a voice, a tongue of fate, Which halts us in our striving, Alnd warns "Beware! A task too great: Your purpose is not thriving." 81 THE THIEF OF TIME Or sounds, prolific in excuse, Still pleading for postponement; And justifies each day's abuse By promising atonement. When we would face our tasks, it tells. "Your time will come tomorrow." And when we doubt our strength, it knells, "Man cannot work in sorrow." Condemning all the means that are, For those in distance nearing, It holds us from attainment far, While power is disappearing. And so youth flies and manhood flies, And worth has shown no token. Till life in retrospection lies, And we are grey and broken. 82 OX AN TNFANT BURIED IN WINTER TpHE flowers which in their buds must die. They droop ere blossom time goes by. The tender turf, it spreads their biers ; The rainbow clouds drop gentle tears; While with soft sorrows of the spring The younger winds their dirges sing. At end they find a covering pall Neath rose leaves, that upon them fall. This life which in the bud lies dead, This smiling babe whose breath has sped, Why must it to earth's bosom go, Midst freezing winds and driving snow? Its life's soft springtime but begun Neath brightest beams of love's warm sun, It should have ended its brief hours In halcyon days of opening flowers. 83 MAN'S FRIEND VLI HO dares to leave the life of private ends, And on himself the world's great burden take, Who tramples selfishness, and turns to make All men his friends, In the large service of the common weal, Virtues he needs of high and noble name ; — He should possess such scorn of praise and fame As martyrs feel ; He should have faith too great for doubt to harm, Patience all untouched through passing years, And wisdom that makes jest of doubts and fears, Unmoved and calm. 84 MAN'S FRIEND If he have these, and love, no fate can come To make his work as though it had not been; It serveth much, though Death should step between And strike him dumb ; Or he be fall'n, and none know where he fell. Crushed by the power that he would fain have served. E'en out of silence he speaks who hath not swerved ; His work is well! 85 TO A ROBIN MELODIOUS bird upon the bough, Tell me the secret of thy glee ; With tears at heart and clouded brow, I linger, listening to thee. I pause, bewildered at thy soul, Which pours itself in strains so high Upon this world of doom and dole; Where sorrows live and raptures die. Thy pleasures, too, are mixed with pain ; I have my griefs, and thou hast thine. Thou sufferest from the wind and ram; In famine thou full oft dost pine. Thy nested young, perhaps, are dead, Or thy blue eggs were stolen away ; But still thou liftest up thine head To carol to each dawning day. 86 TO A ROBIN Hast thou a strength that I must miss: Or inner light which knows no dark? Dost thou command some purer bliss Which naught adverse has might to mark, That thou art aye, as now, serene, Despite whatever fates may fall? Hast thou some good in all things seen, And sweetly singest each and all? Or art thou of the vagrant glad, Who rarely feel the touch of fear; Too blithe within to e'er be sad, Or hold a vanished joy too dear? Say, dost thou quick forget thy woe, And lightly lilt o'er thought's emprise? Seems it true wisdom not to know, And fatuous folly to be wise? Thou answerest not, but still dost sing As though thy heart would burst with joy. Whate'er thou art, glad, winged thing, Grief cannot hurt thee or destroy. T harkening stand, and sobs repress, Where hope is brief and life is long, To wonder o'er thy lightsomeness And envy thee that happier song! 87 LOOKING ON THE SIERRAS INTERNAL winter lives on that far height; Immortal summer fills this vale below; But those vast peaks of pure, unstained snow Look down where lush flowers bloom and birds delight, And rich fruits ripen sweet through summer's might, Their solemn presence harmonizing so, With these in gracious contrast. Gaze; and know That man is ever noblest in man's sight When, midst those acts familiar, fair, and good, The flowers of fellowship shown day by day, He still maintains his strength, his hardihood Of life, and keeps his individual way Austerely : through the grandeur of his blood Scorning to basely rule, or to obey. 88 THE GIRL OF THE ROSE LIKE a rose you are with that rose in your hand ; With that rich red rose in your hair. And that rose of love in your heart, dear Heart- Speak; may I gather it there? Wet let it be with the dew of love's tears ; Holding no worm of guile ; And, giving it odor sweet, my Sweet, Make it mine with a smile ! 89 HYMN OF LABOR I HE world was made with labor: Strong fusing air and fire Strove before the years had birth, With awful deed and dire, And wrought from primal chaos Amidst the ancient night, The seas and shores which are the earth, And shapes of morning light. Yea, bound in frenzied orbits, The solar substance sped With travail of the moons and stars, And planets live and dead; And wombed and birthed in anguish, As heirs of all its toil, Earth's vale and hill and ribs of rock, And the rivers in her soil. 90 HYMN OF LABOR Life was formed by labor : From out the bubbling ooze, By cosmic ferment molded well, And tropic suns and dews, With stress of chemic struggle Were built with warding care The potent pow r ers of earth and sea, And the wings of all the air. Yea, through the mystic process Of crystallizing form. To green growths sprung across the land, And bloods of cold and warm, The vital stream of being In flooding effort swirled. And beast and bird and swimming fish Made animate the world. Man was wrought by labor : Fierce things of growth and might, Where warring species held their sway, Keen-eared and clear of sight ; Toiled in craft and cunning And strength of ripening brain, Till rose the form that grasped the world And made it his domain. 91 HYMN OF LABOR Yea, with red feud and ravage Of saber tooth and claw, With banding of the pack for might And rilled or starving maw ; From floundering saurian's welter, Through grin and screech of ape, Struggled the deathless seed of life Up to a human shape. And man hath made with labor: From his wild primal hour, Potent in transforming deeds, He hath wed will to power; Through war and peace untiring, To industry and art, Spending the might of all his thought And the hope of all his heart. Yea, tried in stress of effort And passions wise and vain, His zeal hath gathered wisdom's seed From fruits of joy and pain. His millioned cities echo; His ships have pathed the sea; And with bent brows he toils to make The world that yet will be. TO THE MASTERS yOU drive your beasts of burden forth to drink? You herd your oxen, each one to his stall ; You whip and goad until they heed your call? You own, and use? Are these your cattle? Think ! Although the while they cringe to you and shrink, And watch their fate in your least finger-fall, Mistake not, lest they rise and ravage all, And your vast piled-up power to chaos sink ! The earthquake gives slight time to ward its shock ; But racks the earth, nor warns of where or when ; The hurricane, that makes the city rock, Speaks not with previous voice unto your ken ; Vesuvius and ^Etna horror mock, And tidal waves. Think : these you crush are Men! 93 THE ROISTERING KNIGHTS YVfE'VE won the castle, Knights at Arms They who were here have fled ; And Fate, which keepeth us from harms, Hath made it ours instead. But hie not to tell Court and King, Who dream our battles clang; Let us rejoice and feast and sing, And King and Court may hang; May hang; And King and Court may hang ! Now bring wine flagons to the board, And serve good meat around. Each weary knight unbelt his sword And cast it on the ground. You, young Esquire, roar out a song; And let the sweet lute twang; We'll rest ourselves, or right or wrong And King and Court may hang; May hang; And King and Court may hang! 94 THE ROISTERING KNIGHTS Much have we done for Court and King; What give they in return? Our lives such deem a little thing While they new pleasures learn. Oft did they dance and sing and quaff When far our battle rang; Let us win pleasure now, and laugh ; And King and Court may hang; May hang; And King and Court may hang! I think betimes we are but slaves ; And how is it with you? I feel anon that we are knaves Another's will to do. T doubt we need a King, or Court; — Ah, sharp is memory's fang! Our sorrows die while we're at sport ; And King and Court may hang; May hang; And King and Court may hang! 95 THE ROISTERING KNIGHTS Who always would his armor wear? Who always hold a lance? This day a truce to fight we swear; Our foes are far as France. Up with the cup, my Comrades all! Each heart forget its pang. We'll pledge to joy whate'er befall, And King and Court may hang; May hang; And King and Court may hang ! 96 SO COLD! j/YfAMA, why don't we get up; Why do we sleep all day? I want my warm milk and some bread, And then I'll run and play. Mama, light the fire; please, please! When Papa comes he'll scold. See, Mama, how the windows freeze; And I'm so cold, so cold ! Mama, have my new shoes come, And a little warmer dress ? The other children, they've got theirs ; They'll like them now, I guess. Mama, shall I light the fire? I can; I'm six years old. Mama, you won't answer me, Oh, I'm so cold, so cold ! 97 SO COLD! Mama, hear the whistles now ; Can't we get out of bed? Oh, Mama, your geranium Has turned all black; it's dead! Mama, where's your wedding ring, All made of shiny gold? Mama, you don't love your girl ; And I'm so cold, so cold! Mama, I am hungry now; I'll tell you just once more. You know we need our milk and bread ; We'll buy some at the store. And just a little way down there Is where the coal is sold. I'll stay in bed and wait for you, Oh, I'm so cold, so cold! Mama, why don't Papa come? When he kissed us good-by He went out for "little while" — Poor Mama; now, don't cry; I'll be good. When Papa comes I'll tell him not to scold. Mama, take me in your arms ; Oh, I'm so cold, so cold ! 98 THE VOICELESS LYRE Vl/HO hath seen, where roses bloom, Beauty sent to sudden doom By the storm, with thunder knell, Which from the blue sky strangely fell- Who knows what ruin there may be, Let him hearken now to me. Poets, born full in the smile Of Nature, may not know the while, The wind of scorn, the flood of blame, Contempt, neglect, unearned shame, That fall like storm upon the flower, To blast them in greed's iron hour. Thou, who, when the gladdening song Sounds no more, awaitest long That rapture and that melody, Deeming not that they could die — Wait no more, nor count the hours; Think of storms and ruined flowers. 99 TO FAUSTA I F thou wouldst find and hold the best Of all that life can give, Wouldst still the questions in thy breast- If thou wouldst truly live, Go, search the world for pleasure. Up ! Range wide, o'er land and seas, Till life shall pall, a splendid cup Drunk to the bitter lees. Then, then return; and haply there, Where first thy quest began, Thy soul's own voice shall reach thine ear ; "Behold, thou art a man ! Go forth for weal of human life: Toil with the toiling throng! Thou only liv'st in noble strife; But there, art glad and strong!" 100 ROSE AND LILY |^ OSE and Lily, little maids, Wisely were they named. He surely had a prophet's aids, And should as one be famed. Who saw them in their mother's arms Ere they had strength to creep, And conjuring with spells and charms, Found them names to keep. Coming, going, night or morn, Resting, or at play, Still as made for them are worn Their names, for all must say, Rose is like the blushing rose — Red cheeks, dark eyes and hair; While Lily like the lily grows, Tall and very fair. 101 INVOCATION N IGHT bird in thy bower, Sing, sing me a song. Give joy for an hour, For sorrow is long ; As long as the life that we live here, and only dark death is more strong. Sing softly and low; Like the voice of a stream, Or the music we know In the depths of a dream: The sweetest of all things unreal, the rarest of raptures that seem. Sing memoried peace; Chant love's tender might. Sing, sing, and not cease Till thou thrillest the night. And all the soft airs move atremble, responsive to purest delight! 102 INVOCATION And my life shall be stilled % As a babe on the breast, While desire is fulfilled By visions most blest, And ecstacies nameless but glowing, which haunt where the heart knoweth best. I ask not for thought ; I plead not to know ; For my being is wrought With the truth that brings woe: By all of the wisdom wdiich helps not, save by teaching hope how to forego. Nay, joy may not live If thought lingers near. Thy music now give, Kind bird, to mine ear ; And ever its cadence shall soothe me from thought and its pangs while I hear. 103 INVOCATION The dew bathes the grass, And the wind cools the tree ; Hast thou nothing, alas, Hast thou nothing for me? I, who wait for thy cadence at twilight, and offer my spirit to thee? The moon comes not yet, But the stars are white fire, And fitly are met With the soul of desire. 'Tis the time for thy song, oh, my poet, who touchest a heavenly lyre. Ah, gladness ! Remain ! Ah, melody mine! Again, yet again, Thou singer divine: My soul is as though thou hadst made it; the glad tears I weep now are thine! 104 A WARNING |J NCROWN while ye may, ye Rulers and Kings; Hide your heads from the wrath to be : Time hath in store for ye bitter things! Hear ye the echo of pain as it rings? 'Tis the voice of those who will yet be free. Uncrown while ye may, ye Rulers and Kings. Men endure your laughter, your taunts and stings ; But be not loud in your jubilee : Time hath in store for ye bitter things! For Wrath cometh near ; and the wind of her wings Is heard in the air as the sound of the sea! Uncrown while ye may, ye Rulers and Kings. 105 A WARNING "Surely," ye whisper, "Man but clings To his customs, and sleeps." So it is with ye. Time hath in store for ye bitter things! When man his servitude from him flings And bursts his bonds, will ye think to flee? Uncrown while ye may, ye Rulers and Kings ; Time hath in store for ye bitter things! 10(> IN A CITY GRAVEYARD [ HE yellow grass is short and thin ; Grey-brown the ivies coil; The fume-choked trees yield little green To the gardener's hopeless toil ; And there are no flowers, for they could not bloom Upon the sickly soil. 'Tis a tiny square between two streets Where a human river falls, And the city's turbid current beats As in strife against its walls; Where the dead are crowded in their tombs, And know not what befalls. The pall of fog and sulphurous smoke It droops down through the air Like a cloud of grief on a worn-out heart, Too stunned to feel or care. It droops and drifts till it hides the sun, That strives to dispell it there. 107 IN A CITY GRAVEYARD The birds they live where skies are blue, For they cannot carol here. They never come, when the spring is new, Their nests of young to rear; And you cannot hark to their happiness When the dawn of day is near. The city shoulders the little plot And hems it in its place; The roar of traffic fills the spot And would not give it grace ; And greed casts short and envious looks, As measuring its space. And all is damp and dark and cold, And the stones lean left and right. The graveled walks are green with mould And gruesome to the sight. But the rails that crust with crinkled rust, They shut the dead in tight. They shut the dead in where there comes No gush of clover meth. They shut the dead in from the sky And from the summer's breath. They shut the dead in by themselves, To die a double death. 108 IN A CITY GRAVEYARD They die twice o'er who, covered here, In noxious being lie; Where dust may scarce return to dust While all the years go by. Yes, those who hide them in their holes Condemn the dead to die. For those who lie where winds are fresh, And where the heavens are blue, They live again in flowers, or trees, Or meadows sweet with dew. Yes, nature takes them to herself And forms their lives anew. The rivers run, the green hills rise, The harvests ripen there; The goodly rain falls from the skies: All things are free from care; And worn things die and new things live, And growth is everywhere. But those who lie where city streets Halt and close them round, They lie like stones that do not change But cumber all the ground. They lie and shrivel in their shrouds, By alien fetters bound. 109 IN A CITY GRAVEYARD They lie, dry clay in earth as dry, Refused by hardened men A home in the earth which gave them birth And would welcome them back again: With brick and iron and stone hemmed round As in some prison pen. It is a dreadful life to live In the cruel city's hold; For hope and faith soon falter there And love itself grows cold ; And simple trust is turned to lust As it hears the lie of gold. It is a dreadful place to live Where men no kindness learn, But only breathe for the thought of gain, Each taking the gambler's turn; And wildly win, and madly lose, Till their hearts to ashes burn. It is a fearful place to live Where men go thronging by With nerveless haste in every step And hunger in each eye ; It is a sorry place to live, — But what a place to die! 110 IN A CITY GRAVEYARD To die amidst the roar and rush, Where God Gold grinds the street, And knows no resting and no hush Nor sunset shadows sweet, But only sighs and raucous cries Where waves of commerce beat. To die, and lie in this cursed ground, Where nothing fair is met; Where never sounds a pleasant sounds Nor flower of life is set; To die with but one good last thought — That to die is to forget. Come greed, come Mammon ; it is yours ; Stretch close your measures o'er, And pile the walls which guard your gold Thrice higher than before. Nay, let this mock of life and death Be seen not any more! Build till your streets are dim in shade; Heap wealth until it rust ; Strive while the better things of life Are laughed at in their dust. Hoard till your poisoned heart and brain Are wearied with their lust! Ill IN A CITY GRAVEYARD Then let a newer world be born, Well worthy of mankind ; With room to hope, with room to love; With place for heart and mind. With space to live, with space to die, And no good left behind! 112 COURAGE, MY HEART £OURAGE, my heart, amidst the battle here! Ever its winter season hath the year; Rouse, rouse thyself, and fight on without fear ; At last the flowered springtime will appear. Courage, my heart ! Courage, my heart, and fail not in the fight! The day is struggling in the bonds of night ; Yield not one step ; nay, dare all with thy might ; The hours are counted that shall bring the light. Courage, my heart ! Courage, my heart, and let deed follow deed! Slow is the increase of the long-sown seed ; Hear no dark words, and no forebodings heed ; The harvest days will come and bring their meed. Courage, my heart ! 113 COURAGE, MY HEART Courage, my heart, strive on for mastery! The winds and waves have strength upon the sea ; Remember that thou hast been bold and free ; The ship at length shall in its harbor be. Courage, my heart! Courage, my heart, and be thou staunch and strong ! The things are many which would work thee wrong; Beat bravely now, and breast thy foes in throng ; For thou shalt triumph. Sing the victor's song! Courage, my heart ! 114 WARRIOR TRUTH 11/ ITH proof's linked armor on thy breast, And words like swords to ward thee well, And shield of daring, that can tell Of all the strifes which thou hast pressed, Alert and ever without rest, Fronting the false I see thee wait, The fire of challenge in thy heart And in thine eye the look of fate. Or friendless 'neath the colder stars, Or pilloried in the sun's hot glow, Or vile betrayed by Judas foe, Or bound and gagged behind steel bars, Or swathing round thy cruel scars, Or bleeding, with life pouring fast, Thy spirit none could overwhelm Through all thy countless combats past. 115 WARRIOR TRUTH Nay, thou art mightier than the might Of every form of legioned lies ; Vaster in strength than hills that rise And pierce the heavens with their height Greater than day or than the night; Triumphant from thy first drawn breath, Till torture hears thy battle song Immortal on the lips of death! 116 LABOR'S TRAGEDY p*OR tragedy seek not the mimic stage; Look thou on men who fall 'neath Plutus' gyves ; These, robbed of manhood, hunger's battle wage, Giving for beggars' crusts their beggared lives ! 117 TO MY COUNTRY j A M ERICA, who foughtst one tyrant down, And paid thy blood until thy slaves were freed, Lo! thou hast wrought full good in many a deed Of liberty, nor trusted king or crown. There have been lapses ; on thine high renown Dark stains are dyed ; but thy true sons, thy seed, Who to thy grandeur harken with glad heed, Weep at thy sins, and o'er each folly frown. Now wilt thou strike this monster, Mammon, dead, That blinds a people as kings did of old. Nay, though the tempter sue thee, tireless, bold, Be not to shame and sin and darkness wed; But with thine hosts, on love of freedom fed, Arise, and end the tyranny of gold ! 118 WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT A MAN? 117HAT shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul ; Shall sell all he is, save his might and the lusts of the flesh, for mere glittering dole? Which of his countless possessions shall equal and pay for the loss he abides, For the just sense of truth, and innocent hopes of good hap, and worthiest prides? Who would give his good feelings, pure thoughts, clean purposes sure, the clear- ness within, For the tithes of black evil, the interest of falsehood and pillage, the wages of sin? 119 WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT A MAN? How can one find him delight in the counting of gold and the measure of lands, While he may not go forth with true kindness at heart of his heart, and good deeds in his hands? When shall it seem to him well that his tribute comes quick and his coffers are sure, As he sees haggard hunger stalk by and the look of dismay in the eyes of the poor? Whom shall he look to for friendship or for comradely words through the lengthen- ing years, While the power of his will upon men shall but teach them to watch in hatreds and fears ? Whence may peace come to him smiling, and bid him have rest, with his burden made light, Nor the hours of his sleep still torture and tear with remorse in the midst of the night? 120 WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT A MAN? Where shall he flee that his brand as of Cain shall be hidden nor seen any more, And the ghosts of his love and his trust shall not rise from their graves, and accuse o'er and o'er? Why shall he wish, then, to live, or have hope of himself, or seek any goal — What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul? 121 A CAGED BIRD'S SONG SIT and I sing with unmoved wing; But though these be golden prison bars, Oft I am sad when you think me glad, With thoughts of the air and the sun and stars. I long to be free ; and your love for me Is stained with the wish to hold me here. When I dream I could stay, still I must obey; For you trust me not, and your heart is fear. I cannot forget if I would — and yet — I should love you well if you loved me more. Now I sit and I wait for an unlocked gate, Then out into sunshine to sing and to soar! If you cage me and hold till my wings grow old, I shall not be yours, whatever your art: With this longing of mine I shall pine and pine; You will have my body, but never my heart! 122 THE BABY'S SMILE THE baby's smile, so strangely sweet, It makes me wish, the while, For worlds where I should ever meet The baby's smile. Born of pure joy; so free from guile: Flower of a heart whose beat Is ever true midst good and vile. Where men go masked, white with deceit, Where shameless deeds defile, One thing shows flawless and complete- The baby's smile! 123 PLACE de la CONCORDE (PARIS) I O the roll of a drum See the tumbrels come, In irony's parade; Each cart with a crew Whose brows drip dew, Whose cheeks to ashes fade. 'Tis the sun of day: Night fades away, And the breeze flows freshly by; The song of a bird O'erhead is heard, But these are doomed to die ! With a curse and a frown They bid them down, Each for his turn to wait; And none stands long, Of weak or strong, For death has lust to sate. 124 PLACE de la CONCORDE See! Necks are bared, And the blade prepared Which rolls good heads in the mud. The guillotine It is quick and keen, For it loves to taste warm blood. And the killer who works, He stoops and jerks, And lifts a lump on high, And dangles a head, Alive, though dead, With its slowly closing eye. A score lie still ; And the mob, at will, Shrieks vengeance or despair. Hark: hear the mash Of the feet asplash In the gory runnels there! They come, they come, Bound, gagged, and dumb; And murder waits. . . . What ! . . . Oh ! 'Tis the fountain's plash ;— And its crystal splash; — And the water's dripping flow. 125 PLACE de la CONCORDE 'Tis the carriage wheels; — And the muffled peals Of a bell struck far away; — And the people clad For a fete, and glad With the joy of a holiday. Tis a lofty stone, That stands alone, And not death's dread machine, In a little plot Which marks the spot Where stood the guillotine. And the Place shines fair In the springtime air, And the chestnut blossoms blow- Twas another day, In the far-away Of six score years ago ! They died for pride; For truth they died ; They died for good, and ill; But though their pain Lives not again, Their memories bleed here still. 126 TO THE ENEMIES OF FREE SPEECH A S well to lay your hands upon the sun And try with bonds to bind the morning light; As well on the four winds to spend your might; As well to strive against the streams that run; As well to bar the seasons, bid be done The rain which falls ; as well to blindly fight Against the air, and at your folly's height Aspire to make all power that is be none. As well to do all this as to impeach Man's tongue, and bid it answer to the schools; As well to do all this, as give us rules, And bid us hold our words within your reach; As well all this, as try to chain man's speech. So others learned before ye lived, O fools! 127 THE RED FLAG JjANNER of crimson waving there, Thou shalt have full homage from me ; First among flags thou gleamest fair. Symbol of love and of life made free. The nations have chosen standards of state To flaunt to the winds since time began; Emblems of rivalry, pride and hate ; But thou art the flag of the world, of MAN. i Red as the blood of freedom's dead, Thy hues might well have flowed from their veins. Red as the one blood of man is red, Holy thou art in thy sanguine stains. Holy as truth and holy as right; Sacred as wisdom and sacred as love; Worthy the rapture that lifted to light Thy glorious shape where it ripples above. 128 THE RED FLAG Unto the spirit of friendliness Thou wast fashioned, to comfort man's hun- gry thought; To shine for the deeds that alone can bless, And the life of brotherhood nobly wrought. Unto the spirit that rends the gyves And shatters the bonds that make men slaves ; The spirit that suffers and sinks and strives, Till it strengthens hope, till it lifts and saves. Thou art no new thing; thou hast waved from of old. Thou hast seen the day be born from the night ; And hast streamed for truth where the truth was bold As time fled on to the future's light. Beyond all the seas, on many a shore, Thou hast buttressed the heart and stiffened the hand To struggle for fellowship o'er and o'er, From the youth to the age of the eldest land. 129 THE RED FLAG Thou hast called to battle! Yea, thou hast led Where men have followed, forgetting fears; And hast solaced the dying, and graced the dead, Stained with blood and with dust and tears — Blood, a full tribute paid for peace; Tears shed free o'er humanity's wrongs, While faith in thy cause, that could never cease, Met tyranny's swords, and fell, singing thy songs. As thou art loved, thou art loathed, full well; Loathed and cursed by the lords of power. Ever they name thee the flag of hell, And rage in the fear of thy triumph hour. But their grasp grows weak on the wills of men; Their armies falter ; their guns are rust ; As from prison, and labor and poverty's den Thy hosts speak NO to their crumbling lust. 130 THE RED FLAG See! Now there greet thee ten million eyes, And lips uncounted smile to thy red. Yes, those who bow to thy crimson dyes, Are myriads more than all of thy dead. Lo ! The young clap hands at thy bright unrest ; And the child in arms it leaps in its glee. Nay, babes unborn, 'neath the mother's breast, Are given and pledged to thy cause and thee! Banner of freedom, and freedom's peace, Float in thy beauty, in sign of the day When ravage of power and conquest shall cease, And mouldering tyranny pass away. Who would not all for thy promise give? As I gaze on thy folds one wish have I — To love thee and honor thee while I live, And fold thee around me when I must die! 131 IN THE HOUR OF EXECUTION I S this what we must bear, O Freedom, Mother, To see thy face and but to touch thy hand? Is there no easier way? Must death another take, and yet another, While tears and lamentations through the land Show the great price we pay? Yet, if it must be, Freedom, none say nay. See, Thou, these waiting for the hangman's halter ; — These friends of man, must these be given to death? Freedom, we ask again! If in the sacrifice we do not falter, Wilt thou repay us for their strangled breath ? Wilt thou come nearer men? Thou wilt, we hope. With groans we give these, then. 132 IN THE HOUR OF EXECUTION The debt is paid! — Thy martyrs lie before us, Their mute lips speak thy words into our ears, And bid us seek thee far. Freedom, we know thy sun shall yet shine o'er us; And looking up, exalted, through our tears, We cry, beneath thy star, "Take these! Take us, if need be; thine we are!" m THE ABANDONED MILL LONG has it hidden, hushed and still, Beside the river here. The sagging doors swing to and fro; The roof is gone, the walls are low, And half in dust lie beam and sill, Rain-wasted many a year. You hardly find it where it stands And slowly crumbles down, Vine-wreathed and circled round by trees, Like some walled garden filled with ease, It lies up the verdant lands, A blur of mellow brown. The dam that pent those waters tight No labor could redeem. The water gates they lift no more, But o'er them amber waters pour; And the flume that once shaped all that might, Lies buried in the stream. 134 THE ABANDONED MILL They left the city's stony street, Mid profit's might and sway, And brought the worship of base gold Where green lands stretched and rivers rolled ; And builded here beside the wheat, Among the flowers of May. They builded here. They choked the flood, 'Their turbines sucked it through. The stunned woods echoed back the roar And whine of shapes that picked and tore, And spun and wove, with crash and thud, That warp and woof be true. But Nature welcomed not their din ; Her virginal clean life Was far too full of gentleness ; She startled at their noisome stress ; As though her heart were torn within Bv all that alien strife. The dyes ran turbid from the vats, Polluting all the air. They stained trie waters ghastly green, 135 THE ABANDONED MILL And scummed the pools with purple sheen. The fish all fled, and noxious gnats Swarmed cloud-like everywhere. No ; Nature saw her own depart, To wait in sorrow far. Her pleasant airs, her butterflies, Her birds that gladdened earth and skies, They vanished, and she felt the smart Like an unhealing scar. She set her borders round about, And stayed not more anear; Mourning darker days begun, And dreaming on sweet seasons done. Only the stream clove in and out, Through lands all dead and sere. The mill roared on from spring to fall, And round to spring again: Daily the sun rose in the sky, Yet never did the tumult die. It almost seemed men would forestall The months, nor let them wane; 13G THE ABANDONED MILL Forgetting rest, and toiling still, As though they might not wait; As if to struggle were the end To which all life was born to bend; The iron measure of the will, The very law of fate. Full hard they strove by day and night To shape their produce fair ; And by the scores the young and strong, Man and maid in anxious throng, Toiled at the task with merging might, Sore wearied with their care. Full hard they strained through dust and din, And struggled still for pelf; But hour by hour they failed to hold Their grasp upon the hoarded gold: Their substance piled up high within, In box, in bale, on shelf. No; Mammon's might would not endure Save where the cities ward. They could not barter what they wrought, 137 THE ABANDONED MILL Nor could they win the power they sought. They could not make their profits sure, Though striving long and hard. Upon a day no din arose To shame the rising sun. No winding labor plodding down, Emptied the hillside little town ; And each man spoke as one who knows That wearying tasks are done. No smoke fled from the chimney more ; No stains befouled the stream ; No noxious odors choked the air And left the spring winds poisoned there And rock and turf and wave and shore Seemed waiting in a dream. Yes, that great voice at last grew still Upon a morn in May; And there the owners came and stood, Debating over mill and flood ; Disputing on their venture, till A fortnight passed away. 138 THE ABANDONED MILL They freed the stream; they stopped the wheels ; They barred the portals tight; They covered o'er, as though in tombs, The silent spindles, cards and looms, The shining shuttles and the reels, And shuttered out the light. And thus they left it, with their host, To come not back again. They left it, master, artisan; They left it, to a single man. Long years it stood, the mocking ghost Of all their labors vain. Long, long it stood; they came not back, And none remained to tell. The floors began to sag and sink; And in the walls showed many a chink; And every chink yawned to a crack; Until it, crumbling, fell. It stood, then fell; and Nature now, As if in pity's guise, Has covered o'er the walls with green, 139 THE ABANDONED MILL And aisles where Mammon walked be- tween ; And makes it all her own somehow, Half hidden from her eyes. Gone are the signs of price and pelf; Gone every usurer. The wild rose blooms atop the wall ; There flutters near the cardinal ; And the lizard lies and suns itself, And harks to the grasshopper. No more the sweating worker strains Through weary rounds of toil: Not here he wishes day were done ; Not here he sighs at set of sun, And feels the blood ache in his veins Because of marring moil. No more the master counts his hoard Or reckons on his loss ; Young trees are springing where he stood And only thought of his own good ; And in the vault, where wealth was stored. The floor is velvet moss. 140 THE ABANDONED MILL The steel' shapes lie in blistering rust; But o'er them, for a sign, With random clasp and careless grace, As holding them in half embrace, Trailing bright trumpets in the dust, Wild honeysuckles twine. And murmering bees are busy here, And rainbow butterflies ; And winds go wandering to and fro With softest voice, and gently blow; While like great sails, now far, now near, White clouds float in blue skies. The children play beside the wave And shout all glad and free; Startling the fish, which keep them cool In many a deeper channeled pool ; And cattle stand and drink and lave With woodland liberty. The pleasant fields anear have life, Where farmers stir the soil; Where singing plowmen guide their shares, 141 THE ABANDONED MILL And live their day with lightest cares Not serving in some alien strife, But simple, wholesome toil. And all around are sun and shade And the river's pleasant voice. The quiet of pure harmony Upon the whole earth seems to lie From morning till the day is stayed, And the watching stars rejoice. It is an ardent hour in June, Of wedded earth and skies ; And all that is seems wholly blent, As if perfection thus were spent: As if life here had sought a boon, And shaped a paradise. 142 IBSEN HT HOU warrior who hadst for captain, Truth, Who, reared to knightly service, shrank at from naught Of all the deeds whence victory is wrought, But stoutly heldst thine own in age and youth, Thou wast indeed of those whom power indu'th With Titan strength ; in double darkness fraught With giant falsehoods thy long fight was fought, But these found in thy hand no touch of ruth. Now is the end, with peace unknown before; For Death hath come and said, "Enough: give o'er." Fold then, at last, thine arms across thy breast And take the soldier's well-earned boon of rest; Which, when all honor his, there is no more, And after war's long ardor, seemeth best. 143 A DESIRE LET me be loved ! I do not ask for fame, Or grandeur of a splendid hollow name Cut deep in bronze or marble to forgetfulness ; Rather than be a Caesar, Angelo, Or Croesus to whom seas of wealth must flow, I would be one that all his fellow men might bless. The Earth grows full of deeds which stagger thought, And vast achievements unto wonder wrought — The works of might which challenge awe or bid us fear ; But what are such to acts that find their end In giving every man the world for friend, And bring time's best-of-gifts, the golden age, more near? 144 A DESIRE Nay, what are victories over land and sea, The air subdued, invention's mastery, Life's means increased, and each gigantic mar- velous plan; Nay, what are all the triumphs of the past Save as they serve to form one race at last, And merge their ripe results in free confederate man! Let me be loved. Yes, give to me his heart Who treasures in his breast the artless art To put one wish, one word on every living lip ; Let me be him, and have his gracious mind, Whose power finds fruits in arms and hearts entwined, Whose monument at last is world-wide fellow- ship. 14-5 TO THE COLD [\ O more your lukewarm praise to martyrs give, Ye men who drowse while warring- worlds pass by; These men faced wrong like men, and died to live, While ye, born soulless, do but live to die! 146 THE AGITATOR VI/'HERE hurrying thousands meet, And pour in living streams on either hand, Amidst the strident street, With set and stubborn face he takes his stand, The lesson to repeat Of evil days and acts which curse the land. Indifference cools him not; And jeers and blows he takes, perchance, beside. Brave, he accepts his lot; At worst he meets it with a martyr's pride. To bear, he knows not what, He seeks the crowd and will not be denied. 147 THE AGITATOR His voice is loud and strong, And vigorous gestures add their potent force, As to the restless throng He pictures clear corruption's crafty course, Or challenges the wrong, Which in some unjust privilege finds its source. A true son of the soil, And feeling, as the hard-pressed masses feel, The things which mar and spoil , And bind life down with bonds as strong as steel, He knows the men who toil, And truth to these he can most clear reveal. No knotty theories He offers to the listeners who attend, Or generalities, Which glitter with the gilt that fine words lend; He sets forth what he sees So simply that who hears can comprehend. 148 THE AGITATOR The deep philosopher, The pedant wise, whose wisdom makes him cold, Instructs, but cannot stir The heart of work, whose hope is tired and old; But this one strives to spur The rebel in the blood and make it bold. He lifts the common thought, And e'en the common heart up to the light ; Till, by his teaching wrought To understand their wrongs and know their might, Plain men at last are brought To rouse in truceless struggle for the right. 149 THE CHALLENGE OF LIBERTY NOW, Man, Arouse ! Awake ! Put the sleep from off thine eyes ; At last the Dark of Ages dies. A flush mounts in the eastern skies; The Morn begins to break. Hear thou, Arise ! Arise ! That mad dream of thy Kind — The dream that life must feed on fear ; That man to man may draw not near; That Thou art born to hatred here — Nay, put it out of mind. Be thou of better cheer! Let thy doubts be done. Master and Slave shall be no more ! Around the Earth, from shore to shore, Cry, "Comrades, come! Time's night is o'er!' Then turn and greet the Sun, With Glory all before ! 150 HIS FIRST SNOW I-IER sweet babe laughs where he lies At the snow floating down from the skies. At first with a look of surprise He gazed at the thing of strange guise ; Questioning; making replies; Brow-puckered, to criticise. He exclaimed. Then we saw in his eyes An expression of wondrous surmise. Was his thought that some hand very wise For him a new joy did devise? He crowed, and attempted to rise. But time, unrelenting, denies Strength unto forms of such size ; So he stretches his hands toward the skies And looks and laughs where he lies. 151 MAGDALENE PASSES VI^ HAT one is this, that bears the brand of shame within her breast, And wanders through the mocking land, de- nied a place of rest? What one is this, your hue and cry pursue with withering hate, Until her best hope is to die, nor meet a harder fate? This, this is she who hides her head in shame to gloom the sun ; Who waits, as in their graves the dead, until the day is done ; Whose tasks make pitiful the dark, and dread- ful all the night, And leave her spirit stricken stark and crushed at morning light. 152 MAGDALENE PASSES Beneath the show of silk and lace her form is spare and shrunk, And through the rouge upon her face see how her cheeks have sunk. Her lightsome laugh hides not her thought; her brow is scarred with care. And her flashing rings with jewels wrought, but gild and grace despair. Has she no tears to weep for grief, no voice to cry with woe, No memories panged beyond belief for joys of long ago? Has she no tortured dreams to smart, no an- guish for her brow, Has she no broken bleeding heart, that you must curse her now? Is here no innocence o'erthrown, no wrecked sweet maidenhood. No sense of loss, like heavy stone, to make her doubt all good? Are here no woman's ruined charms, no dead and withered breasts? Are here no hapless, vacant arms, which should lull babes to rest? 153 MAGDALENE PASSES And what are you, who at her gird, and deem yourself unstained? Do you forget your black, false word, the righteous act disdained. Your lust of power, the debtor's tears, cold hunger's starving cries, And all the evil of your years, that clamors to the skies ! Your horror is a veil to wear and cover o'er your deeds ; Your wrongs are pointing at you there, though none their presence heeds. Your vileness would itself deny in falsest hate of hers ; Gaze at yourselves with inward eye, you whited sepulchers ! Repent ! Your vanity betrays, and wrenches reason strong, Until it warps the truth to ways which shape a right of wrong ; But every sin is still a sin ; and if your hands be shriven, Her heart is not more black within, and she shall be forgiven. 154 MAGDALENE PASSES You ask not where those siren lips learned their unworthy skill, Nor reck of how shame's black eclipse obscured her purer will. You think not whence fair thoughts like flow- ers gave room to passions low; You know not of her girlhood's hours; you do not care to know. Nay ! But the truth cries for the light, and struggles to be heard ; The story of her bruise and blight shall out in burning word — Yours was the power which crushed that grace and gave it to despair, And the mask of beauty on that face, your hands have painted there ! She was the temple of your lust, the altar of your greed; The sacrifice of faith and trust you made with careful heed. She was the price of pleasure's worth, the weight against your gold, Where love and truth repine in dearth, and all is bought and sold. 155 MAGDALENE PASSES And will you loathe your work at last, and spurn her with disgust? And shall your pride blot out the past and hide her murdered trust? And will you brand upon her brow the deeds which she doth do? Speak ; will you dare to hate her now, who weeps, and pardons you? Nay, no more scoff to see her sink, nor laugh upon her tears ; You shall not hand hate's baneful drink, and mock her with your jeers. Bow down and hide your heads for shame, and for your acts atone, Accept your guilt ; abide your blame ; nor cast a single stone. And crimson sin shall balance sin, and none shall be denied, Till every heart is soft within and humbled in its pride. And each with each shall equal stand, and all be one in worth, Till every hand shall clasp a hand and love shall fill the earth. 156 PLUTUS AND DEMOS DLUTUS hath riches of untold degree; He goeth to bed in gold, and riseth up ; And Demos, ah, none live so poor as he, Who knoweth not if he shall dine or sup ! Plutus hath wheaten loaves and dainty fare ; Plutus hath raiment fine, and purchased art. Demos grows old in youth with withering care ; But Demos, though 'tis broken, hath a heart. 157 IN RENUNCIATION £?ARTH'S winter hath the friendly sun, Which smiles upon the snow; And bright on bending boughs of trees The fresh frost blossoms blow. Earth's winter hath the fields asleep, Which hear no freezing wind, And willing streams that patient creep Where icy fetters bind. Heart's winter hath the glow of thought That flames to comprehend, And will which nobly scorns to break, The while it yields to bend , Heart's winter hath the unruffled soul Whose labors may not cease, And life still making toward its goal, Filled with the strength of peace. 158 THE MODERN TYRANT |~| E doth not gather armies in his hand, With generals and captains formed for fight, And swooping down with hosts in steeled might, O'erwhelm a nation and lay waste its land ; Nor through wars' treacherous wiles doth he command To slaughter freedom's servants in the night, And thus by stealth break every sword of right- Not with shed blood doth he the truth with- stand. His hosts are shaped of heaped coins of gold Dazzling a people drunk with tricks of power; His generals and captains, shame's true flower, Are bribes to silence men who else were bold; Who now sit calm, complaisant, hour by hour To see truth trafficked in, and honor sold ! 159 THE RULER |N comradeship his nature has no part; The power to rule and scorn is all his aim. "Give me a throne which crushes mankind's heart And let my glory be the whole world's shame !" 160 FRIENDSHIP \X/E cannot rise too high for this; We cannot fall too low. Or praised as gods, or in the dust, It follows where we go. It is not gained through noble deeds It shrinks not from life's hurts. Too humble 'tis for pride to taint, Too great to seek deserts. Its sacred solace all accept Nor ponder on the cause ; It is of things that ask no rule, That stand above the laws. Of things upon no judgment built ; No weighing of the mind — The hunger of the human heart To treasure still its kind. 161 FRIENDSHIP Amidst the loathing and the scorn Some hands will faithful be; If honors thicken, such will yet Give love's simplicity. Our morning sun, it shines when strength Keeps failure from us far; And when we sink, and strive no more, It glows, our evening star. 162 TO CERTAIN WRITERS VOU, who write for the past — realists, poets, romancers, Waifs of a time that has fled, or lingers a mo- ment, to go — You pause in the grey of this dawn like a rout of poor mountebank dancers, Who feel themselves out of place, and whose antics none relish or know. For this is the new day of Earth, and the spirit of comradeship, waking, Springs from its centuried bed and hastens, majestic, to light; Lo! the hand of its strength is athrill with the rendering of things and the breaking, As it crushes the lies of the past and sweeps them away to the night. 163 TO CERTAIN WRITERS Here the fresh heart of mankind, turning away from your heroes And heroines great by a code; with thrones, and a world in the dust — Turning away from your true and your false, all your plebs and your Neros, Spurns on them outworn and rotting, and laughs at their hope and their lust. Yes, a strong Titan, new born, your hoary old customs disdaining — Your rights and your wrongs, your shadow- like virtues and sin, Heartens itself for its tasks, the gaining of things worth the gaining, And with a fresh song in its mouth bends glad o'er the work and begins. What can you give of the dead, that is not as dead in the giving? All this old life on our minds weighs down and is heavy as lead. Away with these mummies that mock, and as you live, write for the living! Or if you are weak with the old, lie down and be still with your dead. 164 ANNOUNCEMENT THE days are calm. By this sve know What Spring late whispered to the snow. "Begone and let the wild flowers blow!" The sun grows warm upon the earth That naked lay in death and dearth. And lo, the young green grass in birth ! A smell of mold is in the air, Blown from the hillside plowman's share, Which doth the fallow ground prepare ; Loud laugh the brooks; the soft air plays; The silver pussy-willows raise Their heads along the winding ways ; Anemone and violet Await the call which they must get, Low hid where woods and fields are met; 165 ANNOUNCEMENT The swelling twigs on every tree Announce the leaves ; the summer bee Comes forth and hums as he were free; The birds grow glad about the door; Each morning brings another score To live the happy seasons o'er ; And whoso hears and sees these things, His winter care away he flings, And sings, and labors while he sings. 166 COMPENSATION I F I may have none other hope than this, That my life will not prove all void and vain. But show ripe fruit and worthy when its wane Calls truth to witness, much I must bear to miss ; I shall have need to turn from thoughts of bliss And set myself a stoic strength to gain ; Have need to laugh at weakness, welcome pain, And hold the world's cold frown e'en as her kiss. If I may have none other hope — Ye deeds In which we prove ourselves of finest mold, Too great for praise, too pure for lust of fame, Ye still shall bring to man, now, as of old, That fair reward, the greatest of all meeds, A lofty joy, commensurate with the aim! LG THE LAST WORD 4 *\^HAT do you say; my 'life's last hour's at end; The gallows wait' ? — Oh, yes ; it is so ; yes. Excuse me. Just that moment ere you came I heard a small child cry, out there, beyond The walls ; there is a window there, I think ; And on the instant, as it were my child In sudden danger, I forgot myself, You, these cell bars, the hour, my deed, my doom, And listened breathless, if the cry should come Again, or I might think the toddler safe In its father's arms. No doubt it crossed the street Before a motor car, and just escaped, Or fell and bruised its forehead — little thing! — Or lost its penny. Well, its grief is o'er; It does not cry now. Someone soothes it ; yes. "Shall I go with you now? There's something 'first' ; You'll 'read the warrant'? Stop; there is no need : — Unless it's legal. — Well then, very well. 168 THE LAST WORD I killed the man. My blood was hot with drink , I wanted gold ; I killed him. Two shots ; two ; — And he was dead. — Was that a child's cry? Hark! Someone please look ! — I struck him. He is dead : And I must die. I do not grudge to pay ; I owe it all, and you are here to take. "Hold but one moment. Listen : oft, like now, I clear forget these hands, drilled to do wrong, And leave my worthless self an instant here And go far back, where, once a child like that, I lived and pleasured. Or I see myself Without an evil thought, a whistling boy; Hands in his pockets, fingering marbles, or A dime, perhaps, with mother's leave to spend it For what he wished. And then I smile and smile, And am no more myself ; all changed, all new ; Without a blot ; without an evil thought, Till I come back — and here's the thing I am: A beast ; a viper ! "Wait — one question comes. How did it happen; how did it begin? I did not seek it ; no, I did not dream That such as I am lived in all the world! 169 THE LAST WORD "Can you, sir, tell me? Father, you're a priest; I do not pray; but I will ask you this: Can you explain it? — There! That voice again! It cries for 'Mama!' — Poor — well, let it go; You're tired of waiting. Murderers' questions ; pshaw ! But still, a little boy — how could it be? "Yes, read the warrant. Yes. I'm ready now. Hear that child sob! — Hush, dear! — It stops. — Read on !" 170 MARTYRDOM TO look for the truth with an open mind, Bravely leaving the lies behind; Suffering doubt, and, even worse, The pangs of superstition's curse — Or to hide the truth 'neath falsehood's crust, And let your mind corrode in rust, Fearing to know, and clinging still To the dreams which work your nature ill ; Reason and wisdom rejected; — come; Which is the greater martyrdom! To utter your thoughts before all men ; Speaking full freely with voice and pen; True to the truth, while it brings to you But cold contempt or a harsh taboo — Or to lock your lips, all worth resigned, While you make a grave of the fruitful mind ; And fawn on the knee with the fawning crowd, The shallow-souled and the narrow-browed; The price of your silence a slave's ease; — come; Which is the greater martyrdom ! 171 MARTYRDOM To act as you think; untrammeled and bold; To do and to give, or refuse and withhold; Enduring scorn, or things more fell ; The mob perhaps, or a prison cell — Or to chain your hands to your chained lips, And crouch, your manhood in eclipse ; For the whip of a custom to come or go ; To the idols of force your head bowed low ; Your payment a server's existence; — come; Which is the greater martyrdom! To live for the right though the whole world blame; Taking no thought of fame or shame ; Fighting; and falling if you must; Your face to the wrong as you sink in the dust — Or to sell your heart and your soul for peace. And get for your gain a longer lease Of a life which at most can be but a lie; Bound in shame till it rot and die ; All of its potencies palsied ; — come ; Which is the greater martyrdom ! 172 NOVEMBER VIOLETS ^MONG the ruins of the year they stood; Blue, delicate blossoms and their bright green leaves, Summer was dead, and Autumn with her sheaves Had laughed and gone when, smiling in the wood, I saw their faces. "Beauty's hardihood !" I cried, rejoicing. "What strange woe bereaves Man, that too oft he slackly stands and grieves, Aimless, and murmuring, life hath little good?" If we have power in us, it is a joy That we may spring like blossoms from the mire; There is a rapture in the high employ, Early or late, through gracious days or dire. There is a glory, time cannot destroy In facing all with hearts which never tire! 173 STRIKE ^ONS and daughters born of toil, Whom the proud, the rich despoil, Will you longer starve and moil, Driven like dumb beasts? Comes a time for this to end : Selfish power shall surely bend ; No more mind and body spend For their idle feasts. You have begged, and you have plead With swollen powers on plenty fed; New slaves were ready in your stead :— They coldly bade you go. You have ceased work here and there — On locked doors they let you stare. Now you can but yield, — or dare To make wrong feel and know ! 174 STRIKE Let all service halt. Be done ! Day by day, yes sun by sun, None shall labor, no, not one, Nor heed them any more. Clasp each comrade hand in hand; Be as friends throughout the land ; Swear an oath to staunchly stand Till all their rule is o'er. They have strength, but so have you ; They are bold, be you, then, true ; Wrong is grey, your hope is new : Yield not, and they yield. You have life, and you have light ; You have truth, and wisdom's might ; On your side there stands the right ; Learn the right to wield ! Starve and smile, nor break with care Fail not, though your backs be bare, Nor shelter greet you anywhere — Victory loves the brave ! Let them crowd their prisons well ; Let their tortures taste of hell ; Triumph shall ring through the knell, Though you find a grave. 17; STRIKE Think, think, only of your cause: Care not for the world's applause ; Fear no vile enjoining laws ; Strong be heart and brain. Strong until the masters pale, Strong until their, power must fail, Strong until their hands shall quail 'Neath your grand disdain ! Strike at forge, at mine, at mill ; Strike at loom, at lathe, at still : Be the prospect well or ill, Stand unitedly ! Power and arms and gold defy; Strike against the social lie; Strike until oppression die : Strike for liberty ! 176 A DAY OF RECKONING PEACE? Nay, not always! War for men, not peace, When liberty becomes an empty sound ! Let rage rise up, art, labor, science cease, And forth, thou cleansing wrath, to battle- ground ! 177 WIND OF THE DAWN W' IND of the morning-, young and free, Flown o'er the headlands in from the sea, Winning thy way through the dim half dusk. Sweet with salt and the sea flowers' musk, Refreshing Day as she cometh there, Cooling her hands and kissing her hair, Waking her world where it lies in sleep With the tonic breath of the western deep, How didst thou know that Night had with- drawn, Wind of the dawn; How didst thou guess in thy far clime. Wind of the morning time? Wind of the daylight, when the moon Faltered, to fail after night's high noon, Did Morning beacon with purpling sky, As the dark with its dreams and its dews swept by. 178 WIND OF THE DAWN Over the headlands and out to the sea, Far through the gates of the mist, past thee? Then didst thou heed her, and hasten on Back o'er the road that pale Night had gone, Sounding thy vigorous herald horn, Wind of the morn? Was it thus that thou earnest; was this thy way, Wind of the dawning day? 179 THE BELLS |-