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diff --git a/26036.txt b/26036.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e7507b --- /dev/null +++ b/26036.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2312 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sylvan Cabin, by Edward Smyth Jones + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Sylvan Cabin + A Centenary Ode on the Birth of Lincoln and Other Verse + +Author: Edward Smyth Jones + +Contributor: William Stanley Braithwaite + +Release Date: July 12, 2008 [EBook #26036] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SYLVAN CABIN *** + + + + +Produced by K Nordquist, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + +THE SYLVAN CABIN + +[Illustration] + +EDWARD SMYTH JONES + + + + +THE SYLVAN CABIN + +A CENTENARY ODE ON +THE BIRTH OF LINCOLN + +AND OTHER VERSE + + +BY +EDWARD SMYTH JONES + + +WITH INTRODUCTION BY +WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE + +[Illustration] + +BOSTON +SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY + +1911 + + + + +Copyright, 1911 + +SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY + + + + +TO + +THE HON. ARTHUR P. STONE + +Justice of the Third District Court + +Cambridge, Massachusetts + +[Illustration: (signature)] + +Edward Smyth Jones +Boston, Mass. + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +A poet that comes through a unique experience, as so many poets have, +and very recently as the author of this volume has, arrives through +his personality rather than his work at a precipitate sort of fame +that may serve his talents well or serve them ill. To know that a man +was sent to jail as the consequence of a passionate desire to go to +college, and that that desire involved the tramping of dusty and +hungry miles, adds to the interest to the man that cannot fail in some +significant way to set a glamor upon the poet. Poetry is made out of +experience--the experience of dreams, of action, of desires and hopes +baffled on the inexplicable sea of circumstance; in these latter the +dream is as the spirit, and the man whose art becomes an expression of +all he has realized in living, his experiences become something more +than art, they are the subtle rendering reality that is truth. + +In these poems of Mr. Jones' it is that which gives them a unique +value because they are in a deeply essential manner the rendering of a +human document, as all poems must be, of an individual who speaks +universally. I emphasize this quality first because art registers its +worth by the vitality of its substance. If the substance be vital, +then its embodiment is artistically successful to the degree in which +the maker has felt his experiences. These poems, then, will come to +many readers with a freshness, with the appeal for a certain sympathy +that will compel attention. The opening poem which celebrates the +centenary of Lincoln's birth, with its fine imaginative sweep, is as +good as any poem I have seen which that occasion called forth. In it +is poetry that ought to assure Mr. Jones' future if circumstances +permit him to cultivate an art for which nature has so obviously +endowed him. "The Sylvan Cabin" in spirit may be said to characterize +the author's book; that upward striving toward the ideal, which taking +a personal expression in his own experience, in his own hopes, has +also a larger significance in voicing the aspirations of those for +whom, as is shown in many other poems, he becomes a voice, a +representative. + +Mr. Jones' work has already won for him the approbation of many +literary people, his poems having appeared from time to time in +various publications; this fact not only justifies his gathering them +together in this volume, but being so recognized must fill him with a +certain assurance for the future. To this I can only add that, good as +these are, they give us the hope for better from one who ought +certainly to go on and upward. + + WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE. + +_Boston, April 5, 1911._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +THE SYLVAN CABIN 9 + +LIFE IN A DREAM 22 + +THE MORNING STAR 24 + +TO ESTELLE 25 + +A SONG OF THANKS 27 + +NOT YET A POET 32 + +A BOUQUET 33 + +AN ODE TO THE SOLDIERS' AND SAILORS' MONUMENT 34 + +TO A FADED FLOWER 37 + +DAINTY DORA 39 + +THE VIOLIN 40 + +WOMAN 41 + +THE BACHELOR'S SONG 45 + +PUT NOTHING IN ANOTHER'S WAY 47 + +FLOATING WITH THE GALE 50 + +LULA JOHNSON'S SONG 53 + +A TRIBUTE TO DUNBAR 57 + +WERE I A BIRD 59 + +AN ODE TO ETHIOPIA 62 + +TO J. S. B. 72 + +THE MAYOR'S RING 73 + +WHAT'S THE USE? 74 + +O GOD, WILT THOU HELP ME IN SCHOOL? 76 + +BEHIND THE BARS 84 + +HARVARD SQUARE 86 + +THE END 96 + + + + +THE SYLVAN CABIN + +A CENTENARY ODE ON THE BIRTH OF LINCOLN + + +I + + O, fairest Dame of sylvan glades, +We come to pay thee homage due, +Embrace thee softly and to kiss +Thy lovely, long-forsaken cheeks; +To smooth thy flowing silver locks +And bind about thy snowy neck +A necklace golden studded full +With rarest gems and shining pearls. + Our eyes, though sometimes dimmed with tears, +In purer lustre sparkle forth +Whene'er they fall agaze on thee! +Our ears attuned to thy sweet lay +Catch every flowing, cadent note +And bear it ever safe within +Our rapturous hearts, which gladly leap +Whene'er thy name is called! +Deep in our souls the quenchless fire +Of love full brightly burns upon +The sacred altar, set apart +For sprite commune and sacrifice; +Whose high-priest tends with loving care, +And unto thee sweet incense burns. +Our tongues most gladly sing thy praise, +And from it ne'er shall cease--till all +The land be free! + + +II + + A century lonely hast thou stood +Here all forsaken and forgot! +All men failed thee to visit save +Some idle lover of sylvan haunts +Who trod, perchance, this hallowed spot, +And cast a pensive eye upon +This lovely glade, thy sole abode +(Full lost in these continuous woods), +And brooding o'er thy lowly lot, +Oft thus did muse: "This cabin lone +Here stands to tell the tale of him, +Back-woodsman brave, who having scaled +The mystic mountains ne'er returned +To them, though loved yet left behind; +But here he chose his last abode, +These gloomy woods whose blackness stands +Up hard against horizon's slope; +Grim, spectral, dreaded, and untrod +Save monsters great of savage mien, +That prowled, or crouched upon their prey; +Sent forth a vicious roar that fairly shook +Old Sylvia far and near, from vale +Through crag to mountain peak! + Upon this spot the redskin oft +Has danced his 'War dance' and his 'Feast,' +His face a reddish hue aglow-- +Long locks with eaglets' plumes bedecked; +His bow and never-failing dart, +And scalper dangling at his side. +More brightly gleamed his wary eye, +As braves the war-whoop loudly yelled-- +A sight more like the fiery fiends +From Pluto's ghastly shore returned +Than human blood and bone! + They all have gone and left no tale +But woe which hurled them ever hence +To that shore whence no bark returns. +Old Cabin, thou, a land-mark art, +Of human progress' steady march!" + + +III + + Of thee +Thus has time passed with naught more said; +For man in his pedantic art +Soars far in feeble flights of song +From Nature's heart, and thus he fails +With Nature's God to hold commune! + The bard has slept, dreamed many a dream, +But failed to dream one dream of thee. +High hangs his lyre on willow reed, +And sitting 'neath yon shady nook, +He fails to catch one note of thy +Immortal song that fills the air. +Awake, O bard, from sleep so deep! +Attune thy lyre; let Nature breathe +In her immortal breath of song; +Then wilt thou sing a song most sweet, +The song by Nature's vesper choir, +Through all the countless ages sung,-- +And still is singing day by day. +Then all the world will join thy sweet +Refrain in praise and ardent love +Of this fair forest Dame! + + +IV + + The nations all their day shall have; +Yet each in turn shall rise and fall, +As falls the dark brown autumn leaf; +Or as those dread sky-kissing tides, +Which toss frail barks high upon +Some ghastly, frowning storm-beat shore,-- +Though slowly, yet quite surely ebb away. + --Aye! Egypt fair once spread the Nile, +And green-bay-tree-like proudly flourished; +Her snowy sails sea-ports bedecked, +And deeply ploughed the rolling main, +Or clave the placid lakes, as does +The gentle swan, when some soft breeze +The bulrush stirs, flings its perfume +Upon the rippling silver waves! + Fair cities dotted here and there +Her vast domain. Her royal line +Of Pharaohs held the sceptre gold +Upon her all-emblazoned throne. + Now Egypt fair is wreck and ruin. +For, as fled on the flight of years, +The unrelenting Hand of time +Wiped her sweet visage off the globe! +Naught save the grim, grey pyramid, +Sublimest work of man, yet stands +To greet the rosy morn, with proud +Uplifted head, expanded chest-- +A death defiant scoff at time! +Yet hoary Time in his wild rage +Of wreck and ruin, like Jove shall hurl +His fiery bolts upon the head +Of pyramid with ire, and crush +And raze it to its base with scorn! + + +V + + Next Greece, the fairest nymph that trod +This belted globe upon, once shone +As shines the Morning Orb, long ere +The Dawn the rosy East has kissed; +High reared her sacred temples in +Olympia's shady groves, and built +There sacred altars to her gods. + Old Zeus and Phoebus oft here sat +In council with their fellow gods. +And Homer, fiery bard, was first +To smite the chords of nature's lyre; +Sweet sang he till the earth was filled +With rarest strains of rapturous song! + Then art and letters blew and blushed, +The fairest flowers of ages past, +Whose essence, spilled upon the breeze, +Is wafted still forever on +The twin deft with the flight of years; +And man in calm delight inhales +The fragrance of pure classic lore! + But Greece is gone! Her statues fair +Are mingled with the dust; each god +Has flown some fairer clime to rule, +Or, subdued, walks the dark abyss. + + +VI + + Then Rome, the gaudy Southern Queen, +On seven rugged, rock-ribbed hills +Securely built her throne. The world +Then saw a mighty power rise +In splendor great, as does the sun +On some young, swift-winged morn of June. +A brighter dawning seemed to break; +Another life was lived,--for through +The Roman vein there coursed a blood, +A fiery burning blood of ire, +That rose and conquered all the world. + Great Caesar led her legions forth +From victory on to victory, +And hung her royal pennons high +In tower, palace-hall, and throne; +The Roman sceptre swayed the globe. +Soft music soothed her savage ear, +Fine arts and sculptor were her toys, +And glory was her "starry crown." +But now we read the "Fall of Rome," +The doleful lay that tells the tale +Of all who thus have passed away. + + +VII + + To thee, fair Dame, we thus relate +The things which were but are no more; +That thou mightest know the worldly way, +And knowing, have no timid fear +To ever stir thy peaceful breast. +No fate like theirs awaits for thee; +For Fortune's maid shall tend with care +Thy every nod and beck--yes, place +Upon thy queenly brow a crown, +The "starry crown" by Freedom worn! + 'Tis true no flint rock ribs thy base, +No stone thy corner marks; for that +What carest thou? For boasted pride? +Thy frame is of the sturdy oak, +Inlaid with ribs of stately pine; +The Prince and Princess twain are they +Of all Columbia's giant woods. +The sylvan songsters sing thy praise +From dawn till set of sun, and then +The nightingale, the queen of song, +In praise of thee poureth forth her lay +Till every mellow silver note, +Far floating in the silent trees, +Is taken by an elfish choir, +And chanted softly to the moon. + The eagle her wee eaglets tells +Of thee, that they may freedom love; +Then soaring full beyond the clouds, +She looks with vaunted pride on thee. +So must thy spirit fill the hearts +Of all Columbia's youth, as once +It filled old "Honest Abe," thy son, +Thy pride--the first-born of thy love. +For when each lowly lad well knows +That ever upwards he may soar, +Beyond vain tyrants' galling sway +To fairer climes where Freedom reigns: +Then will the shadow of thy wing +For aye to them a shelter be! + + + + +LIFE IN A DREAM + + +There is nothing so sweet as our life in our dreams, + When we soar far on fancy's swift wing; +For a thing in our dreams is all that it seems, + And the songs are so sweet that we sing. +Ah! the sun shines the brightest, and stars twinkle lightest + At the moon in her silvery beams! + +There is nothing so gay as the life in our dreams, + With its joy and its laughter and mirth; +For the pleasure that teems is far greater, one deems, + Than any he finds in the earth. +There are homes are our natal, and nothing is fatal + In the beautiful land of our dreams! + +There is nothing so bright as the life in our dreams, + Far away from earth's trickery chance; +There the music's wild screams and the wine in its streams + Are both lost in the song and the dance. +Oh! our joy is the sweetest and life is completest, + Ah! the life in our beautiful dreams! + +There is nothing serene as the life in our dreams, + When the dove to his mate softly cooes +In the groves by the streams and the moon's silver beams, + Where the swain oft his maid gently wooes. +There the swains are the rarest and maids are the fairest, + And their love is as true as it seems! + + + + +THE MORNING STAR + +TO A. B. B. + + +Thou art, fair maid, the Morning Star, + The guide of dawning day, +And sendest diamond sparkles far + To wake the flowers of May. + +Thou makest earth to bloom anew, + A boon thou'rt wont to give, +And spillest out the morning dew, + That all may blush and live. + +Thou guardest with thy hand of might, + And never showeth frown; +Earth lullest sleep when cometh night, + And wak'st her with the dawn. + +Fair maiden, God hast given thee + All power near and far,-- +The rosy dawning's light to be, + The brightest Morning Star. + + + + +TO ESTELLE + + +Coy, sweet maid, I love so well, + Fair Estelle. +How much I love thee tongue can't tell, + Sweet Estelle. +But I love thee--love thee true-- +More than violets love the dew, +More than roses love the sun-- +Do I love thee, dearest one, + Dear Estelle! + +Ah! my heart love's passions swell + For Estelle! +How I love my actions tell + Thee, Estelle: +That I love thy smiling face, +And thy captivating grace-- +Love thy dreamy 'witching eyes +More than planets love the skies, + Wee Estelle! + +Now I smite my lyre to swell + For Estelle; +Music's most entrancing spell + O'er Estelle. +With my fingers on my keys, +Like the balmy morning breeze +Stealing softly through the grain, +Will I gently wake a strain + For Estelle! + +How I love my little belle, + My Estelle! +Deepest in my sacred dell + Is Estelle! +I esteem my maiden love +More than angels high above, +More than demons in the sea; +Love is light and life to me, + And Estelle! + + + + +A SONG OF THANKS + + +For the sun that shone at the dawn of spring, +For the flowers which bloom and the birds that sing, +For the verdant robe of the gray old earth, +For her coffers filled with their countless worth, +For the flocks which feed on a thousand hills, +For the rippling streams which turn the mills, +For the lowing herds in the lovely vale, +For the songs of gladness on the gale,-- +From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,-- +Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks! + +For the farmer reaping his whitened fields, +For the bounty which the rich soil yields, +For the cooling dews and refreshing rains, +For the sun which ripens the golden grains, +For the beaded wheat and the fattened swine, +For the stalled ox and the fruitful vine, +For the tubers large and cotton white, +For the kid and the lambkin frisk and blithe, +For the swan which floats near the river-banks,-- +Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks! + +For the pumpkin sweet and the yellow yam, +For the corn and beans and the sugared ham, +For the plum and the peach and the apple red, +For the dear old press where the wine is tread, +For the cock which crows at the breaking dawn, +And the proud old "turk" of the farmer's barn, +For the fish which swim in the babbling brooks, +For the game which hide in the shady nooks,-- +From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,-- +Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks! + +For the sturdy oaks and the stately pines, +For the lead and the coal from the deep, dark mines, +For the silver ores of a thousand fold, +For the diamond bright and the yellow gold, +For the river boat and the flying train, +For the fleecy sail of the rolling main, +For the velvet sponge and the glossy pearl, +For the flag of peace which we now unfurl,-- +From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,-- +Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks! + +For the lowly cot and the mansion fair, +For the peace and plenty together share, +For the Hand which guides us from above, +For Thy tender mercies, abiding love, +For the blessed home with its children gay, +For returnings of Thanksgiving Day, +For the bearing toils and the sharing cares, +We lift up our hearts in our songs and our prayers,-- +From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,-- +Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks! + + + + +NOT YET A POET + + +Aye! many a rhyme my pen has flown, + In oblivion, all unknown; +Still many more, perchance, I say, + Float on in one unbroken lay-- +But ask me naught of where or when, + Long as they ring in hearts of men! +Dear friend, I say these words to you, + Which through the ages will be true: +Though I have power to combine + These subtle rhymes of each sweet line-- +Yet, I shall never live to see, + The title "POET" given me! + + + + +A BOUQUET + + +A blossom pink, a blossom blue, + Make all there is in love so true. +'Tis fit, methinks, my heart to move, + To give it thee, sweet girl, I love! +Now, take it, dear, this morn and wear + A wreath of beauty in thy hair; +Think on it, when from bliss we part-- + The emblem of my wooing heart! + + + + +AN ODE TO THE SOLDIERS' AND SAILORS' MONUMENT + + +Thou most majestic Queen of sculptural art, + What learned architect designed thy throne? +Who traced thy stately form in head and heart, + And sent the sculptor forth to carve the stone? +O speak, fair Queen, for thou art not alone; + Ten thousand unseen voices join refrain +That softly floats in one melodious tone, + As sweet as any ancient harper's strain + In odes to Indiana's silent victors slain. + +Thy court well marks the conquest of the West, + A citadel sprung out the forest wild, +A mecca where the pilgrims quietly rest: + Each dame's content--content each sportive child; +The fiery redmen nevermore revile, + Nor haunt the footprints of thy daring sons, +Whose noble spheres are widening all the while, + Like as some brilliant star its orbit runs + And sheds on earth its light down from a thousand suns. + +Thy throne emblazoned with the rarest jewels, + Each wall adorned with battered coats of mail, +Choice relics of some bloody fields or duels, + A legend or some untold battle tale. +I see the scouts go forth upon the trail, + And soldiers charging over battlements-- +The weeping mother sends to God her wail; + While passion's rage the mortal heart laments, + The dove of peace is caged in direst banishments. + +But see yon arms, full flushing victory + Brings hope, and joy is ringing everywhere +Beneath the "starry banner of the free," + That shields her children from the tyrant's snare. +The peasant turns him to his lowly fare, + The rich pursues wild phantoms at his ease, +The rustic plies his long-forsaken share, + And lo! the dove is cooing, "Peace, sweet peace;" + For Mars has snatched his bolts from out the rosy East. + +And when the last familiar scene has gone, + And brightest dawn has kissed the sable night, +Then thou shalt smile on faces yet unborn, + And be to them a gleaming beacon light; +For Might shall fall and on his throne sit Right, + When bloody wars and petty strifes have ceased; +Then thou shalt don thy spotless robe of white, + And say to man as hostess of the feast: + "My brother, sheath thy sword; the end of life is peace." + + + + +TO A FADED FLOWER + + To a violet that faded on my coat at Natchez, Miss. March + 8th, 1902. + + +Alas! thou lovely floweret wee, + Fate blew a blighting breath +Upon the delicate form of thee,-- + Thou'st met untimely death! +Thou blowest, blushest nevermore, + To drink the dews of night; +Thy sweet though short-lived life is o'er, + Thou seest no more the light. + +'Twas vain! aye, vain! the selfish strife + That drooped thy purple crest; +Some swain or maiden took thy life, + To deck a love-lorn breast. +Ah, floweret wee, the God who made + All in the earth and sky, +Decreed that thou should blow and fade,-- + All else should live and die! + +Now, he who wails the floweret's fate, + And all the rest of man, +Must meet that fate, aye soon or late, + And scale their measured span. +We are but flowers that blush and blow, + As flight of years rolls on, +With time and tide's cold ebb and flow-- + 'Tis said--"He's dead and gone!" + +For as the maid clips off the stems + Where once the flowers have been, +So angels pluck earth's rarest gems, + Immortal souls of men! +The flower fadeth into air, + From whence its life is given-- +But man's soul shining rich and rare + Ascendeth into heaven. + + + + +DAINTY DORA + +TO D. M. M. + + +Greeks once sang a lovely song + To their maiden Cora; +But my lay floats soft along + To my Dainty Dora. + +Frenchmen sing of Anne Belle, + Romans sang of Flora; +But I sing my song to tell + Of my Dainty Dora. + +Scotchmen sing their songs to move + Mary or Debora; +But I sing my song of love-- + Love for Dainty Dora. + +Poets now a song may give + Psyche or Lenora; +But I'll sing long as I live + Just for Dainty Dora! + + + + +THE VIOLIN + + +Thrice hail the still unconquered King of Song! + For all adore and love the Master Art + That reareth his throne in temple of the heart; +And smiteth chords of passion full and strong +Till music sweet allures the sorrowing throng! + Then by the gentle curving of his bow + Maketh every mellow note in cadence flow, +To recompense the world of all its wrong. +Although the earth is full of cares and throes + That tempt the crimson stream of life to cloy, +Thou mak'st glad hearts and trip'st "fantastic toes," + And fillest weary souls with mirth and joy-- +The soul-entrancing cadence of thy strings +Proclaims thee Song's unconquered "King of kings"! + + + + +WOMAN + + +I call thee angel of this earth, + For angel true thou art +In noble deeds and sterling worth + And sympathetic heart. +I, therefore, seek none from afar + For what they might have been, +But sing the praise of those which are + That dwell on earth with men. + +For when man was a tottling wee, + Snug nestling on thy breast, +Or sporting gay upon thy knee, + Oh, thou who lovest him best; +An overflowing stream of love, + Sprung at his very birth, +And made thee gentle as a dove, + Fair angel of this earth. + +Thou cheerest ever blithesome youth + With songs and fervent prayers, +And fillest heart with love and truth + A store for future cares. +Thou lead'st him safely in his prime, + True guide of every stage, +And then at last, as fades the time, + Thou comfortest his age. + +Like as the sunshine after rain, + Far chasing 'way the mist, +Thou soothest human grief and pain, + Fleet messenger of bliss. +In battles where the sword and shield + Full lay the mighty low, +Thou hov'rest ever o'er the field, + To ease life's ebb and flow! + +Thou standest, ever standest near, + Before man's waning eyes, +An angel true to him more dear + Than all beyond the skies! +No fabled sprites of chants and creeds, + Nor myths of bygone years, +For thou suppliest all his needs + And wip'st his briny tears. + +So, if he quail in desert waste + Or toss life's stormy sea, +He turns his tear-stained eye in haste + For one fond glimpse of thee. +He longs to hide beneath thy wing, + And nestle on thy breast; +He lists to hear thee softly sing + Him into peaceful rest! + +Oh, sing aloud Mt. Zion's songs, + To cheer each languid heart; +For now some feeble spirit longs + Thy blessings to impart. +And thus thou keepest the Master's will, + And showest all thy worth, +Through loving kindness thou art still + The angel of this earth! + + + + +THE BACHELOR'S SONG + + +While I keep my lonely hall, +You are welcome one and all, +As I sing my little song; +Stay, I'll cheer you all day long-- +And sow my bachelor-buttons, +And sow my bachelor-buttons. + +While this world is wild with glee, +Chime I now my song to thee; +In my bosom lurks no care, +I can loiter everywhere-- +And sow my bachelor-buttons, +And sow my bachelor-buttons. + +Oh dear, what a happy life +For the man who has no wife, +To bind with sore distresses, +And silk and satin dresses-- +While he sows his bachelor-buttons, +While he sows his bachelor-buttons. + +His heart is ever merry, +His way is bright and cheery; +No peevish baby crying, +No jealous wife a-sighing-- +While he sows his bachelor-buttons, +While he sows his bachelor-buttons. + +Ah! praise the God who hath given +A life so much like heaven; +Quit it? Oh no, I'll never, +But live happy forever-- +And sow my bachelor-buttons, +And sow my bachelor-buttons. + + + + +PUT NOTHING IN ANOTHER'S WAY + + +Put nothing in another's way, + Who's plodding on through life, +But fill each heart with joy each day, + With peace instead of strife. +So then let not a missent word, + Or thought, or act, or deed +Be by our weaker brother heard + To cause his heart to bleed. + +Put nothing in another's way, + It clear and ample leave; +For words and actions day by day + Life's great example weave. +'Tis then not meet that we should think + That we are solely free +In manners, dress, in food, or drink, + Or fulsome revelry. + +Put nothing in another's way, + Just learn the Christian part +To let a holy, sunny ray + Shine in thy brother's heart. +Help him to bear his load of care, + His soul get edified-- +'Twas only for the soul's welfare + That Jesus bled and died. + +Put nothing in another's way, + Ye who are sent to teach; +No dark cloud cast across the day, + Ye who the gospel preach. +Ye twain must set the truth aright + With joy and peace and love; +For in your souls shines forth the light + From Jesus Christ above. + +Put nothing in another's way, + Beloved Christian friends; +On through your toils, and cares, still pray, + Till life's fleet journey ends. +When at the resurrection dawn + Eternal life is given, +We'll get our harp, our robe, our crown, + The star-lit crown of heaven. + + + + +FLOATING WITH THE GALE + +TO MY LOST BROTHER + + +Ships the angry sea is lashing; + But I launch my little bark, +Though the thunder peals are crashing, + And the sea is pitchy dark! +See by lightning's vivid flashing + How to shift my tattered sail-- +Far across the billows dashing, + I am floating with the gale. + +CHORUS + +Floating, floating, floating ever + On the stormy deep blue sea, +Far from father and dear mother + And, true love, away from thee! +Go, ye zephyrs, sweetly laden, + Cheer my loved ones in their wail; +Tell my wee sweet bright-eyed maiden + I am floating with the gale! + +When the siren maids are waking, + And are singing wild sea songs, +Dear, they start my heart to aching, + For its love to thee belongs. +Now my love-lorn soul is shaking + With a spell of bitter wail, +And my heart is sadly breaking, + For I'm floating with the gale! + +CHORUS + +Now my hopes are fading ever, + Gloom is chasing 'way the bliss; +Dear, I know that I can never + Come thy ruby lips to kiss! +But my heart will cling forever + To that love I oft did hail, +For those ties I can not sever, + Though I'm floating with the gale! + +CHORUS + +Dear, my heart is ever longing, + Longs surfmen my bark to save; +Through my brain these thoughts are thronging, + Of a grave beneath the wave; +Of loved ones my heart is wronging, + And the belly of the whale; +'Round my soul their ghosts are thronging, + As I'm floating with the gale! + +CHORUS + +Dear, I fain would be returning + To the cove just where thou art, +While my languid breast is burning + Light and love full out my heart! +But cruel Fate my hopes is spurning, + And winds blow against my sail; +While out Death my life is burning, + I'm still floating with the gale! + +CHORUS + + + + +LULA JOHNSON'S SONG + + Written in Quinn Chapel, A. M. E. Church, Ninth and Walnut + Streets, Louisville, Ky., Wednesday evening, October 16th, + 1907, while Miss Lula E. Johnson was singing "Ave Maria." + + +I have heard the mock-bird singing when the orchards were in bloom, +And the sweetness of his music made the peacock don his plume; +Ay! I've heard cock-robin-redbreast chirping on a sunny day, +And the skylark soaring skywards, merrily sing his festal lay; +And the brown thrush and the bluebird thrill their little treble notes; +All the woodland songsters pouring songs of gladness from their throats-- +But not one has touched so deeply, and not one has last so long +As the ever ringing cadence of sweet Lula Johnson's song! + +When the breeze has ceased to whisper and the night is soft and still, +Save the awe-provoking shrilling of the ghastly whippoorwill, +As the moonbeams pour down brightly on the woodland, hill and dale, +I oft listen at my window to the queenly nightingale; +But no song of merry woodland, neither hill, nor dale, nor dell, +Has ever smote my bosom, nor has made my spirit swell, +Like the soul-inspiring music that so softly glides along +Oh! so softly and so gently in sweet Lula Johnson's song! + +Oh! my soul has caught the music, as it softly floats along-- +Ah! the soul-entrancing music of sweet Lula Johnson's song! +If my feet shall ever falter, it shall cheer me on my way; +Ay, sustain and give me comfort,--make my feeble spirit gay. +All we need to have, my brothers, in our war of peace 'gainst strife, +Is the cadence of sweet music sprinkled in to sweeten life; +It will sweeten all our bitters, which now seem so very long, +If we have it soft and gentle, as sweet Lula Johnson's song. + +In the lonely hours of midnight, when fair Luna 'gins to pale, +I have heard her songs a-ringing, floating softly on the gale. +And I hope when dawns the morning, when I draw my fleeting breath, +When my friends are gathered 'round me, and my eyes are closed in death-- +Ere you throw the sods upon me, on my never-heaving breast, +While my body's lying silent and my soul is seeking rest-- +Then I'll wing straight home to glory, for the journey won't be long, +On the spirit-wafting music of sweet Lula Johnson's song! + + + + +A TRIBUTE TO DUNBAR + + +The sweetest singer once thou wast, but art no more; + An elf thou wast of what thou now shalt be, +Where thou art in realms of that celestial shore; + There thou shalt sing through all eternity. + We, peerless bard, bewail thy loss + And shed heart-broken tears, + Though meekly thou hast borne thy cross + And winged the flight of years! + +Thrice blessed singer, wrapped in heavenly bliss, + Of earth's poor souls thy fortune who can tell? +Perchance thy splendid lot be solely this: + To change thy lute with the angel Israfel! + If so, then smite thy golden strings + With fingers nimble, strong, + Till all along fair heaven rings + With cadence of thy song! + +Thee tyrant earth once held, imprisoned soul, + That suffered tortures of relentless strife, +Fair heaven now holds within her sheltered fold, + And gives thee robe and harp--eternal life! + Grant him, O God, unfaltering breath + To sing from heaven afar + A song to cheer our souls in death-- + The peerless Paul Dunbar! + + + + +WERE I A BIRD + + +Were I a bird free born to fly + Aloof on two wee, downy wings, +My canopy would be the sky + When rosy morn its dawning springs. + +Were I a bird I'd sweetly sing + Earth's vesper song in tree-tops high, +And chant the carol of the Spring + To every weary passer by. + +Were I a bird, the sweetest voice + That human ear has ever heard,-- +The mocking-bird would be my choice, + For he's the sweetest singing bird! + +Were I a bird my life would be + In keeping with the Will divine-- +I'd sing His carols full and free + In spreading oak and cony pine! + +Were I a bird through air I'd roam, + Just flitting on the morning breeze, +In search of summer's sunny dome, + To live contentedly at ease. + +Were I a bird I'd sing a tune + For farmers seeking shady rest +Beneath the spreading oak in June, + In swinging boughs that rock my nest. + +Were I a bird I'd scale the cliff + When dawns the bleak December day, +Far from the ice and snow I'd shift + Until the fairest day in May! + +Were I a bird, a mocking-bird, + The King of birdie's singing sons, +My music would fore'er be heard + As I sweet sang to cheerless ones. + +Were I a bird I'd seek my rest + When jocund Day blows out his light; +In boughs that hover o'er my nest + I'd sweetly sing, "Good Night, Good Night!" + + + + +AN ODE TO ETHIOPIA + +TO THE ASPIRING NEGRO YOUTH + + After years of patient study and historical research, I have + made the following deductions of parts played by the + Ethiopian in the annals of history, under the caption, "An + Ode to Ethiopia." It is true that questions will rise + regarding the racial identity of some of my characters, in + view of historical statements which place them with the + Caucasian race; yet I firmly believe, were impartial history + written, my claims would be justified. However, Time, the + great Arbiter, will finally decide the equity of my claims. + + +I + +Thou Sovran Queen of Afric's sunny strands, + I smite my lyre to sing thy praise unsung; +In strains far sweeter than seraphic bands, + A lay deep in my bosom's core is sprung. +Fair Queen, although my years as yet be young, + Deep thoughts and musings of thy history old, +Where odes and fiery epics long have hung, + Live centuries in my immortal soul + And strike sweet Lydian measures on my harp of gold. + + +II + +Therefore, my song floats softly up to thee, + Full soft as those sweet zephyrs of the spring, +Of which it was and is and still must be, + The sweetest of aeolian strains that ring! +I breathe it on the soft sea winds which bring + Their cooling treasures from the rolling deep; +They 'fresh my brow and make my sad heart sing + And ever lure my drowsy eyes from sleep, + And bid thy vesper chorist strictest vigil keep. + + +III + +Of all the nations that have trod the earth, + In civil states or in the forest wild, +Thou wast the first of real enlightened birth, + Born in fair Egypt on the spreading Nile. +In valleys fertile, sunny climates mild, + Thou sternly taught the "chosen" Hebrew race-- +Madonna sheltered with her Holy Child, + Who came to plead man's all unworthy case, + And drained His sacred heart, earth's vilest sin efface! + + +IV + +Long ere the Grecian oped his classic lids + Or mould' true beauty with artistic hands, +Thou reared upon thy plains the lofty pyramids, + With sphinx and obelisks 'decked thy burning sands. +Aye! Queen, thou then wast hailed in all the lands + Long ere vain Babel 'fused the human tongue +In dialects rude of wild barbaric bands; + Thou soared to Wisdom's realm, her sceptre wrung, + And reigned the wisest queen the nations all among. + + +V + +Thou first taught man the mystic sciences probe, + To scan earth's apex, median, and base; +Thou, too, inscribed the belt around the globe, + And made deep tracings on its hoary face. +Well fixed each angle, arc, and line in place, + Then soared thou far into the "milky way," +Far in the bright, celestial span of space, + Where orbs and planets all their homage pay + Unto the sun, the ever reigning "King of Day." + + +VI + +Once in great splendor did thy Pharaohs rule + In Egypt, with her glory flown of yore; +They laid foundations of the mundane school, + And taught the art of governmental lore. +And then from thy great military store + Thou sent the gallant Hannibal to war, +Taught Romans tactics never known before, + And filled their hearts with ever-cowering awe, + And bowed their haughty heads to thy majestic law. + + +VII + +But in this age is writ another story; + Then pen of arrogant, vain Caucasian sage, +Has thee full robbed of thy immortal glory, + And smeared thy name on History's sacred page! +Forsooth, the Book, once closed for many an age, + Is opened by thy sons--though fraught with pain-- +The curtain's drawn; they rise upon the stage; + And their valiant deeds and blood shall wash the stain + As clean as April showers wash the dusty plain. + + +VIII + +I sing now of thy heroes of today, + Thy sturdy warriors and thy gallant knights, +Who charge into the thickest of the fray, + And die for country and their free-born rights,-- +For orphans, widows and their little mites. + Thus, Attucks brave, without a moment's pause, +(While reeled the Nation in her darkest plights) + Full bared his breast in Freedom's holy cause, + First fell and tore the code of Tyranny's cruel laws! + + +IX + +Now, if my lay is yet not sweet enough, + I'll bid a gentler, subtler strain awake, +And sing of fights with Jackson on the Gulf + And Perry's hard-fought battle on the Lake! +Of fights in fen and moor and hoary brake, + On Lookout Mountain and the rolling main-- +Through searing blasts of bleak December's flake, + And drenching torrents of fair April's rain: + Their valiant deeds are springing ever up amain! + + +X + +They fought, the Union from State's Rights to free; + At Vicksburg, Wagner, and Port Hudson lent +Their aid; their deeds at Pillow and Olustee + Rose surge on surge like ocean billows rent! +The praises of the gallant Ninth and Tenth + Will ever rise and soft float to the sky-- +They bagged Old Bull in Rocky Mountain tent; + Then stormed the Spanish block-housed Hills on high, + And bade the tyrant Spaniard's heaving heart to die! + + +XI + +"High time, my Haitian islet must be free!" + Great Touissant thus his declaration tacks; +Then drives proud Frenchmen into the yawning sea-- + "The bravest whites, by bravest of the blacks." +Brave Maceo pursues the Spanish packs, + And Aguinaldo, in the mountain wilds, +Pours shot and shell into the tyrants' backs-- + They save her throne and Freedom on them smiles, + True heroes, and the Fathers of their sunlit Isles! + + +XII + +Thy sons have triumphed in the Halls of State; + Hamilton and Douglas were the first to gain, +With lightning eye and tongue of thunder great, + The civic lead of thy illustrious train. +Next Bruce and Revels, senatorial twain; + John Lynch and Small emit a brilliant light, +And Langston, Pinchback, Cheatham all remain; + With Dancy, Vernon, Anderson, and White, + Liang Williams, Lyons, Terrell stand for "Civic Right." + + +XIII + +In science's realm with Banneker we start, + Then read on Medicae's emblazoned wall: +"Dan Williams here first stitched the human heart!" + Close by the names of Curtis, Boyd, and Hall. +But others list'd and heard Invention's call, + In all its sweetness of the days of yore, +And Woods, the greatest foreman of them all, + Shouts on his voyage with Black and Baltimore: + "We come! we come! good Dame, thy region to explore!" + + +XIV + +"I, too," said 'Monia Lewis, "can make a man!" + Then mould' his form with most artistic ease-- +But all aeolian strains Blind Tom could scan, + And play as softly as the South Sea breeze +Upon his major and his minor keys! + Good Douglas gently wakes the violin's song, +And White leads home the zephyrs from the seas; + While Coleridge-Taylor with an art more strong + Full finds the key-note of Dame Nature's vesper song! + + +XV + +If shady nooks in Poesy's realm they choose, + Or barks to drift the smooth, prosaic stream, +There Phillis held communion with the Muse, + And Chesnutt woke the "Colonel" from his dream! +Max Barber, Thompson, Knox and Fortune beam; + Great Braithwaite scales the classic mountain heights, +And Cooper, like a beacon light, will gleam; + While Dunbar, sun-like, sheds his holy lights + In dazzling splendor on his solar satellites! + + +XVI + +These brilliant names shall never fade away: + Emblazoned in the sacred Hall of Fame, +They shall remain till dawns that direful Day, + The valid seal beneath thy sacred name. +Deft Tanner, artist, ever blazing flame, + With Pickens, Bruce and Locke of classic dell, +Old Truth and Harper, Yates and Ruffin came, + And Walker, Terrell, Williams, known so well + Long ere Marie had taught the hoary world to spell! + + +XVII + +The learned Scarborough writes the classic Greek; + Dean Miller thinks in calculations cold; +While Cogman writes the annals of the meek, + DuBois reveals the secrets of the Soul! +But all shall read in letters gilded gold: + "Who teaches head and heart and hands, has won +The priceless boon, the guerdon of the goal, + The portion due thy most illustrious son, + Tuskegee's seer and sage, the noble Washington!" + + +XVIII + +Thy songs inspire and cheer the human soul, + Still plodding forth in search of Beulah's vale; +Lead wondering lambs into the Master's fold, + When Flora Burgeon's notes far float the gale! +Though Patti Brown we loud applaud and hail, + And Hackley's voice is heard in every land,-- +Black Patti is the queenly nightingale + That leads the chorus, as they singing stand + As Miriam stood, to sing thee to the "Promised Land!" + + +XIX + +I see the Prophet's mandate to the land, + In golden letters glit'ring in the sky: +"Fair Ethiopia shall stretch forth her hand, + Her sons shall sway the earth long ere they die!" +As swift as lightnings with the storm-clouds fly, + To light the path celestial feet have trod: +So be thy soaring to the realms on high, + When mortal feet no more shall tread this sod, + And thy holy spirit wings its homeward flight to God! + + + + +TO J. S. B. + + On seeing her December 25th, 1904, after two years' travel. + + +Take, fair maid, these simple lines + From my pen; +Think of strollings 'neath the pines, + Which have been-- +Long and lonesome were the days + We were apart, +But may Love, now, have her sways,-- + Bind heart to heart! +O'er main to isle and back to land + Have I been; +Beheld on either hand + A maiden queen: +But none with captivating charms + Like thine; +None to nestle in her arms, + Love of mine! +Charms unto thee God gave + To banish strife; +To glorify and save + One sweet life-- +Take this, dear, before we part + From this bliss; +'Tis but love flowing from my heart, + Thine to kiss! + + + + +THE MAYOR'S RING + + +I hold a token in my hand, + A very tiny thing; +And yet within its golden band + A thousand memories cling. + +Aye! thrice ten thousand memories cling + Of signal victories won, +Enshrined within this little ring, + Reward of duty done. + +I ever shall this token prize, + And wear it with true grace-- +The tie that binds the kindred ties + Of friendship race to race. + +And when I soar full through the skies, + Yet ever will I cling +Within the gates of Paradise + This sacred little ring! + + + + +WHAT'S THE USE? + + +Oh! What is living but moving about, +Buoyed up with hope and crushed down by doubt? +What is the draught of breath we harp on as life? +Naught but a sip of peace, a cup full of strife-- + What's the use? + +What is the place we call our home, "sweet home"? +Naught but a span of space where one may roam: +Night's pitchy corner; a hard crust of bread; +Cot for your feeble limbs, pillow your head-- + What's the use? + +Now, what is loving but acting a fool? +And what is quitting?--Producing a rule: +Break short the flight of Dan Cupid's swift dart, +Aimed at the core of an innocent heart! + What's the use? + +Say, what is marrying but getting in trouble? +Trifling 'way joy while your sorrow is double? +What, then, is your state my friend, after you've wed? +Naught but a vial of wrath poured upon your head! + What's the use? + +Ah! what is batching but living a man; +Sporting and sleeping--just running his plan? +Come when he's ready, and go when he please-- +Brain's full of joy, his heart is at ease-- + See, that's the use! + + + + +O GOD, WILT THOU HELP ME IN SCHOOL? + + + On Saturday, March 1, 1902, I left Alcorn and went home in + order to earn money enough to defray my expenses for the year + 1902-03. I began work as soon as I reached home and labored + on father's farm until the last week in June, 1902. I had + seen by that time that there was nothing to be realized from + that source but disheartening failure. + + I then acted as agent for the "Zion Record," published by + Rev. R. A. Adams, 39 St. Catherine Street, Natchez, Miss., + until August 20, 1902. Knowing that there was a dormitory to + be built for girls at Alcorn, I went there, hoping to get + work and to be there when school opened. On arriving, I + failed to get employment. I had no money. The Boarding Hall + was run by boys who stayed over summer. Finding I was + unemployed, they refused to let me take meals with them. + There I was--friendless and penniless--without a bite of + bread and nowhere to lay my head. To drive the wolf of + starvation away and to keep from being devoured, I made + arrangements with President Lanier to cut wood for something + to eat, until school opened Sept. 2, 1902. + + When school opened, the Faculty met the first day and + distributed the positions to the eligibles. On going down to + the Hall to take my first meal, to my surprise I found I had + been awarded the position of waiter. To hold a position, or + even remain on the Campus, one must matriculate within three + days after school starts, if there when it opens, or after he + arrives, if not. I then wrote home for the matriculation fee + ($13), as I had labored there all summer. As that letter was + sealed my destiny was sealed in it. It was one that hauled my + anchor of hope; yes, one to bring glad tidings of great joy + and crowning success, or the gloom of disastrous failure. + Thus, having my hope sealed, I wrote across it "In Haste!" + + The night of its return was a dark, rainy one. As all sat + discussing different events that had transpired since the new + session had begun, suddenly a whistle was heard. How our + hearts throbbed with gladness as we exclaimed, "There, that's + the mail!" Dear reader, you cannot imagine how overjoyed I + was. I knew that bag contained a letter for me; so anxious + was I to receive it I did not trust anyone, but rushed to the + office, and ere long my name was called. + + I opened it then and there, with an eager look for a green + piece of paper styled a "Money Order." I looked, but found it + not. All hope vanished; joy faded; and gloom hovered over + me--a feeling I never before had, nor since, and I hope never + again to have, electrified my body. It was then raining at + full headway: the lightnings flashed; the thunders pealed out + peal after peal, each succeeding one louder than the first. + By this time all had gone to bed but me. I thought thought + after thought, prayed prayer after prayer, sent up cry after + cry, shed tear after tear. I went to bed, but could not + sleep. I then thought of this subject: "O God, Wilt Thou Help + Me in School?" After writing it, my feelings were changed, + the gloom was dispelled, and 'Smiling Hope' returned with + joyous tidings of happiness and a blissful future. + + +O, God to Thee, who knowest all things, + To Thee each being his praises brings, +In heaven, or earth, or sea, or sky-- + To-night to Thee I raise my cry. + +To-night as Thou doth know the why, + The why I make each tearful sigh-- +Hast Thou not crowned and blest my way? + Why'st Thou forsaken me to-day? + +To-night while in my deepest grief, + I calmly wait Thy sweet relief; +Thou knowest I have done my best, + Oh, give my pondering soul some rest. + +To-night, O God, grant all to know, + For man to reap he first must sow; +To know to have both bread and wine + He must reap all at harvest time. + +To-night, O God, to Thee I plead, + Thou must protect me, guide and lead +Through this which is my darkest night + To a day when Thou shalt give me light. + +To-night my soul does bleed with pain, + As murky clouds drip down the rain! +O God, heal me of this heart ache, + For thy dear Son Christ Jesus' sake. + +To-night me compass grief and fears, + To-night while drip heart-broken tears; +There seems to be no one to save + My weeping soul from chilly grave. + +To-night as I, Thy servant, pray + To Thee, to turn my darkness day, +And change my many blinding fears + To brighter hope for future years. + +O restless soul, thou canst not sleep, + For, ship-like, thou art tossed the deep; +Aye, tossed by surge of mighty wave, + With none to share and none to save. + +O God, in Thee I now believe, + Since life in Thee I do receive; +I pray Thee now with trembling fear + To my sad soul draw near, draw near. + +O God, Thou knowest this night I dread, + As 'twere to number me with the dead-- +I plead to Thee as by a rule, + O God, wilt Thou help me in school? + +To-night, O God, the darkest gloom + Hangs o'er me like a cloud to doom; +I cry while sitting on this stool-- + O God, wilt Thou help me in school? + +This wide world o'er my mind doth roam, + So many miles away from home, +With thoughts thread-like wound in a spool-- + O God, wilt Thou help me in school? + +Dear Lord, I ask of Thee one boon, + Pure as the light of "harvest moon"; +And cry as when bathed in a pool-- + O God, wilt Thou help me in school? + +While time and tide flow o'er my mind, + For wisdom, Lord, I ever pine; +But not in folly of a fool-- + O God, wilt Thou help me in school? + +Oh, may I now look up and smile, + As children, mirthful all the while, +When playing in the shade so cool-- + O God, wilt Thou help me in school? + +When life's long journey nears its end, + And friend so dear must part from friend, +To bathe deep in Thy living pool-- + O God, wilt Thou help me in school? + +Oh days of woe, oh do relent, + For all my sins I now repent, +To bathe in Siloam's ancient pool-- + O God, right now help me in school. + +Ah, when this stormy life is o'er, + I'll moor my bark on th' eternal shore; +Then shall I cross life's mortal pool, + And God will then help me in school! + + + + +BEHIND THE BARS + + +I am a pilgrim far from home, + A wanderer like Mars, +And thought my wanderings ne'er should come, + So fixed behind the bars! + +I left my sunny Southern home + Beneath the silver stars; +A northward path began to roam, + Not seeking prison bars. + +I sought a higher, holier life, + Which never virtue mars; +But Fate had spun a net of strife + For me behind the bars! + +My mother's lowly thatched-roofed cot + My nobler senses jars; +And so I seek to aid her lot, + But not behind the bars! + +'Tis said, forsooth, the poet learns + Through sufferings and wars +To sing the song which deepest burns + Behind the prison bars! + +Thus I resign myself to Fate, + Regardless of her scars; +For soon she'll open wide the gate + For me behind the bars. + +I plead to you, my fellow man, + For all who wear the tars; +To lend what little help you can + To us behind the bars. + +O God, I breathe my prayer to Thee, + Who never sinner bars: +Set each immortal spirit free + Behind these prison bars! + + + + +HARVARD SQUARE + + +'Tis once in life our dreams come true, + The myths of long ago, +Quite real though fairy-like their view, + They surge with ebb and flow; +Thus thou, O haunt of childhood dreams, + More beauteous and fair +Than Nature's landscape and her streams, + Historic Harvard Square. + +My soul hath panted long for thee, + Like as the wounded hart +That vainly strives himself to free + Full from the archer's dart; +And struggled oft all, all alone + With burdens hard to bear, +But now I stand at Wisdom's throne + To-night in Harvard Square. + +A night most tranquil,--I was proud + My thoughts soared up afar, +To moonbeams pouring through the cloud, + Or some lone twinkling star; +And musing thus, my quickened pace + Beat to the printery's glare, +Where first I saw a friendly face + In classic Harvard Square. + +"Ho! stranger, thou art wan and worn + Of journey's wear and tear; +Thy face all haggard and forlorn, + Pray tell me whence and where?" +"I came--from out--the Sunny South-- + The spot--on earth--most fair," +Fell lisping from my trembling mouth-- + "In search--of--Harvard Square." + +"Here rest, my friend, upon this seat, + And feel thyself at home; +I'll bring thee forth some drink and meat, + 'Twill give thee back thy form." +And then I prayed the Lord to bless + Us, and that little lair-- +Quite sure, I thought, I had found rest + Most sweet in Harvard Square. + +"I came," I said, "o'er stony ways, + Through mountain, hill and dale, +I've felt old Sol's most scorching rays, + And braved the stormy gale; +I've done this, Printer, not for gold, + Nor diamonds rich and rare-- +But for a burning in my soul + To learn in Harvard Square. + +"I've journeyed long without a drink + Nor yet a bite of bread, +While in this state, O Printer, think-- + No shelter for my head. +I mused, 'Hope's yet this side the grave'-- + My pluck and courage there +Then made my languid heart bear brave-- + Each throb for Harvard Square." + +A sound soon hushed my heart's rejoice-- + "The watchman on his search?" +"No!" rang the printer's gentle voice, + "'Deak' Wilson in from church. +O'er there, good 'Deak'," the printer said, + "The wanderer in that chair, +Hath come to seek the lore deep laid + Up here in Harvard Square." + +"It matters not how you implore, + He can no longer stay; +But on the night's 'Plutonian shore,' + Await the coming day. +I'm sorry, sir," he calmly said, + "Though hard, I guess 'tis fair, +Thou hast no place to lay thy head-- + Not yet in Harvard Square!" + +"Good night!" he said, and we the same-- + I sighed, "Where shall I go?" +He soon returned and with him came + An officer and--Oh! +"Now sir, you take this forlorn tramp + With all his shabby ware, +And guide him safely off the 'Camp' + Of dear old Harvard Square." + +As soon as locked within the jail, + Deep in a ghastly cell, +Methought I heard the bitter wail + Of all the fiends of hell! +"O God, to Thee I humbly pray + No treacherous prison snare +Shall close my soul within for aye + From dear old Harvard Square." + +Just then I saw an holy Sprite + Shed all her radiant beams, +And round her shone the source of light + Of all the poets' dreams! +I plied my pen in sober use, + And spent each moment spare +In sweet communion with the Muse + I met in Harvard Square! + +I cried: "Fair Goddess, hear my tale + Of sorrow, grief and pain." +That made her face an ashen pale, + But soon it glowed again! +"They placed me here; and this my crime, + Writ on their pages fair:-- +'He left his sunny native clime, + And came to Harvard Square!'" + +"Weep not, my son, thy way is hard, + Thy weary journey long-- +But thus I choose my favorite bard + To sing my sweetest song. +I'll strike the key-note of my art + And guide with tend'rest care, +And breathe a song into thy heart + To honor Harvard Square. + +"I called old Homer long ago, + And made him beg his bread +Through seven cities, ye all know, + His body fought for, dead. +Spurn not oppression's blighting sting, + Nor scorn thy lowly fare; +By them I'll teach thy soul to sing + The songs of Harvard Square. + +"I placed great Dante in exile, + And Byron had his turns; +Then Keats and Shelley smote the while, + And my immortal Burns! +But thee I'll build a sacred shrine, + A store of all my ware; +By them I'll teach thy soul to sing + 'A place in Harvard Square.' + +"To some a store of mystic lore, + To some to shine a star: +The first I gave to Allan Poe, + The last to Paul Dunbar. +Since thou hast waited patient, long, + Now by my throne I swear +To give to thee my sweetest song + To sing in Harvard Square." + +And when she gave her parting kiss + And bade a long farewell, +I sat serene in perfect bliss + As she forsook my cell. +Upon the altar-fire she poured + Some incense very rare; +Its fragrance sweet my soul assured + I'd enter Harvard Square. + +Reclining on my couch, I slept + A sleep sweet and profound; +O'er me the blessed angels kept + Their vigil close around. +With dawning's smile, my fondest hope + Shone radiant and fair: +The Justice cut each chain and rope + 'Tween me and Harvard Square! + + _Cell No. 40, East Cambridge Jail, + Cambridge, Mass., July 26, 1910_ + + + + +THE END + + +Though man through life so swiftly wends, + And o'er its journey runs his race; +Though rough, or smooth, or 'round the bends, + In distance putting fleetest friend: +Alas! there comes a halting place, + A place of rest--the journey's end! + + + + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes + +Original variations in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have +been retained except for the following three changes: + +Page 29: A comma was added after banks for consistency. + (From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,--) + +Page 62: Caucasin was changed to Caucasian + (statements which place them with the Caucasian race;) + +Page 65: Pharaoahs changed to Pharaohs. + (Once in great splendor did thy Pharaohs rule) + +Page 22: In the line: "There are homes are our natal, and nothing is +fatal," the first "are" may be a typo for "our." Left unchanged. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sylvan Cabin, by Edward Smyth Jones + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SYLVAN CABIN *** + +***** This file should be named 26036.txt or 26036.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/0/3/26036/ + +Produced by K Nordquist, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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