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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4ad9ea0 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55052 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55052) diff --git a/old/55052-0.txt b/old/55052-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 85ddfe6..0000000 --- a/old/55052-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2185 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bramble Brae, by Robert Bridges - -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/license - - -Title: Bramble Brae - -Author: Robert Bridges - -Release Date: July 5, 2017 [EBook #55052] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRAMBLE BRAE *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - - BOOKS IN PROSE BY - - ROBERT BRIDGES - - (DROCH) - - - OVERHEARD IN ARCADY - - Dialogues about Howells, James, Aldrich, Stockton, Davis, Crawford, - Kipling, Meredith, Stevenson, Barrie. Illustrated, _Fourth - Edition_, $1.25. - - - SUPPRESSED CHAPTERS, AND OTHER BOOKISHNESS - - CONTENTS: Suppressed Chapters--Arcadian Letters--Novels that - Everybody Read--The Literary Partition of Scotland--Friends in - Arcady--Arcadian Opinions. _Third Edition_, $1.25. - - - - - Bramble Brae - - - - - Bramble Brae - - By - Robert Bridges - (_Droch_) - - New York - Charles Scribner’s Sons - 1902 - - Copyright, 1902, by - CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS - - _Published March, 1902_ - - THE DE VINNE PRESS - - - - - To my Father - - - You called the old farm Bramble Brae, - And loved it till your hair was gray - And footsteps faltered while you trod - The sloping upland bright with sod. - It blossomed in your quiet life - With gowans from the Neuk of Fife; - And while you walked the waving wheat - You dreamed of heather and the peat. - You’ve gane awa! My spirit yearns - To hear you read the songs of Burns; - The melody I’ve faintly caught - Is just the lesson that you taught. - If any hear your gentle voice - In verse of mine, then I’ll rejoice - And sing along my stumbling way, - “He’s home again in Bramble Brae!” - - - - -CONTENTS - - -BETWEEN TWO WORLDS - - PAGE - -THE UNILLUMINED VERGE 1 - -FROM ONE LONG DEAD 4 - -FATHER TO MOTHER 6 - -THE CHILD TO THE FATHER 8 - -A PRAYER OF OLD AGE 10 - -THE RHONE GLACIER--SUNSET 14 - -JAMES MCCOSH 17 - -LE BONHEUR DE CE MONDE (_Plantin_) 18 - -THE HAPPINESS OF THIS WORLD (_Translation_) 19 - -R. L. S. 20 - -MCGIFFEN 22 - -AT THE FARRAGUT STATUE 25 - -NEWS FROM A MISSING LINER 27 - -FOR A CLASSMATE DEAD AT SEA 29 - - -BRAMBLE BRAE - -A TOAST TO OUR NATIVE LAND 33 - -THE TOWERS OF PRINCETON 34 - -ROOSEVELT IN WYOMING 36 - -UNCLE SAM TO KIPLING 38 - -A NEW YEAR’S WISH FOR THOSE WHO WRITE 40 - -TO CHLOE 42 - -TO THE ELF ON MY CALENDAR 43 - -CAPRICE 44 - -RETROSPECT 46 - -IN THE CROWD 47 - -REMEMBRANCE 48 - -OFF FORT HAMILTON IN SUMMER 49 - -OVER THE FERRY 50 - -BRAMBLE BRAE IN OCTOBER 52 - - -WITH FLOWERS - -ON A SPRAY OF HEATHER 57 - -THE HOTHOUSE VIOLET SPEAKS 59 - -A SONG 61 - -WHAT THE FLOWERS SAID 63 - -DIANA’S VALENTINE 65 - -WITH SOME BIRTHDAY ROSES 67 - - -WRITTEN IN BOOKS - -IN A VOLUME OF HERRICK 71 - -IN “SHAKESPEARE’S SONNETS” 73 - -IN “SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE” 74 - -IN GEORGE MEREDITH’S POEMS 75 - -IN “THE KING’S LYRICS” 76 - -THE SONG OF TEMBINOKA, KING OF APEMAMA 77 - -IN THE MANNER OF KIPLING 79 - -FOR A NOVEL OF HALL CAINE’S 80 - -IN “HELBECK OF BANNISDALE” 81 - -A CHRISTMAS GREETING 82 - -IN NICHOLSON’S “ALMANAC OF SPORTS” 83 - -IN NICHOLSON’S “CITY TYPES” 84 - -IN “THE GOLDEN TREASURY” 85 - -A VALENTINE 86 - -IN “HALLO, MY FANCY!” 87 - -THE BOOK SPEAKS 88 - -IN HERFORD’S VERSES 89 - -IN A BOOK OF GIBSON’S DRAWINGS 90 - -IN A VOLUME OF MISS GUINEY’S POEMS 91 - -IN “BARBARA FRIETCHIE--A PLAY” 92 - -TO C. H. M. AND H. H. M. 94 - -TO MY MOTHER 96 - -A BOOK’S SOLILOQUY 97 - -ENVOY 99 - - - - - BETWEEN TWO WORLDS - - On the dark decline of the unillumined - verge between the two worlds. - _George Meredith._ - - - - - THE UNILLUMINED VERGE - - TO A FRIEND DYING - - - They tell you that Death’s at the turn of the road, - That under the shade of a cypress you’ll find him, - And, struggling on wearily, lashed by the goad - Of pain, you will enter the black mist behind him. - - I can walk with you up to the ridge of the hill, - And we’ll talk of the way we have come through the valley; - Down below there a bird breaks into a trill, - And a groaning slave bends to the oar of his galley. - - You are up on the heights now, you pity the slave-- - “Poor soul, how fate lashes him on at his rowing! - Yet it’s joyful to live, and it’s hard to be brave - When you watch the sun sink and the daylight is going.” - - We are almost there--our last walk on this height-- - I must bid you good-by at that cross on the mountain. - See the sun glowing red, and the pulsating light - Fill the valley, and rise like the flood in a fountain! - - And it shines in your face and illumines your soul; - We are comrades as ever, right here at your going; - You may rest if you will within sight of the goal, - While I must return to my oar and the rowing. - - We must part now? Well, here is the hand of a friend; - I will keep you in sight till the road makes its turning - Just over the ridge within reach of the end - Of your arduous toil--the beginning of learning. - - You will call to me once from the mist, on the verge, - “Au revoir!” and “good night!” while the twilight is creeping - Up luminous peaks, and the pale stars emerge? - Yes, I hear your faint voice: “This is rest, and like sleeping!” - - - - - FROM ONE LONG DEAD - - - What! _You_ here in the moonlight and thinking of me? - Is it you, O my comrade, who laughed at my jest? - But you wept when I told you I longed to be free, - And you mourned for a while when they laid me at rest. - - I’ve been dead all these years! and to-night in your heart - There’s a stir of emotion, a vision that slips-- - It’s _my_ face in the moonlight that gives you a start, - It’s my name that in joy rushes up to your lips! - - Yes, I’m young, oh, so young, and so little I know! - A mere child that is learning to walk and to run; - While I grasp at the shadows that wave to and fro - I am dazzled a bit by the light of the Sun. - - I am learning the lesson, I try to grow wise, - But at night I am baffled and worn by the strife; - I am humbled, and then there’s an impulse to rise, - And a voice whispers, “Onward and win! This is Life!” - - And the Force that is drawing me up to the Height, - That inspires me and thrills me,--each day a new birth,-- - Is the Force that to Chaos said, “Let there be Light!” - And it gave us sweet glimpses of Heaven on Earth. - - It is Love! and you know it and feel it, my Soul! - For you love me in spite of the grave and its bars. - And it moves the whole Universe on to its goal, - And it draws frail Humanity up to the stars! - - - - - FATHER TO MOTHER - - - This is our child, Dear--flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone; - Here is the end of our youth, and now we begin to atone. - Now we do feel what their love was--those who have reared us and taught; - Now do we know of the treasures that neither are sold nor bought. - Here is the joy of the Race--joy that must grow out of pain; - Here is the last of our Self--now we are links in the chain. - Body of yours and mine no more is the measure of grief-- - All that _he_ suffers is ours--and increased while we cry for relief; - Yea, for our boy, our Beloved, we’ll yearn through the beckoning years-- - Toil for him, laugh with him, struggle, and pour out the - fountain of tears! - - - - - THE CHILD TO THE FATHER - - - Father, it’s your love that safely guides me, - Always it’s around me, night and day; - It shelters me, and soothes, but never chides me: - Yet, father, there’s a shadow in my way. - - All the day, my father, I am playing - Under trees where sunbeams dance and dart-- - But often just at night when I am praying - I feel this awful hunger in my heart. - - Father, there is something--it has missed me; - I’ve felt it through my little days and years; - And even when you petted me and kissed me - I’ve cried myself to sleep with burning tears. - - To-day I saw a child and mother walking; - I caught a gentle shining in her eye, - And music in her voice when she was talking-- - Oh, father, is it _that_ that makes me cry? - - Oh, never can I put my arms around her, - Or never cuddle closer in the night; - Mother, oh, my mother! I’ve not found her-- - I look for her and cry from dark to light! - - - - - A PRAYER OF OLD AGE - - - O Lord, I am so used to all the byways - Throughout Thy devious world, - The little hill-paths, yea, and the great highways - Where saints are safely whirled! - And there are crooked ways, forbidden pleasures, - That lured me with their spell; - But there I lingered not, and found no treasures-- - Though in the mire I fell. - - And now I’m old and worn, and, scarcely seeing - The beauties of Thy work, - I catch faint glimpses of the shadows fleeing - Through valleys in the murk; - Yet I can feel my way--my mem’ry guides me; - I bear the yoke and smile. - I’m used to life, and nothing wounds or chides me; - Lord, let me live awhile! - - And then, dear Lord, I still can feel the thrilling - Of Nature in the Spring-- - The uplift of Thy hills, the song-birds trilling, - The lyric joy they bring. - I’m not too old to see the regal beauty - Of moon and stars and sun; - Nature can still reveal to me my duty - Till my long task is done. - - O Lord, to me the pageant is entrancing-- - The march of States and Kings! - I keenly watch the human race advancing - And see Man master Things: - From him who read the secret of the thunder - And made the lightning kind, - Down to this marvel--all the growing wonder - Of force controlled by Mind. - - And this dear land of ours, the freeman’s Nation! - Lord, let me live and see - Fulfilment of our fathers’ aspiration, - When each man’s really free! - When all the strength and skill that move the mountains, - And pile up riches great, - Shall sweeten patriotism at its fountains - And purify the State! - - But there are closer ties than these that bind me - And make me long to stay - And linger in the dusk where Death may find me - On Thine own chosen day; - There’s one who walks beside me in the gloaming - And holds my faltering hand-- - Without her guidance I can make no homing - In any distant land. - - Some day when we are tired, like children playing, - And wearied drop our toys-- - When all the work and burden of our staying - Has mingled with our joys-- - With those we love around--our eyelids drooping, - Too spent with toil to weep-- - Like some kind nurse o’er drowsy children stooping, - Lord, take us home to sleep! - - - - - THE RHONE GLACIER--SUNSET - - - Like the uncounted years of God it rolls - From out the sky. The light of heaven shines - Upon its wrinkled brow, that seems a part - Of that stupendous dome of boundless blue - Where, like a pebble in the ocean depths, - This little world is lost. The sparkling sun - Plays gently in the deep green, icy clefts - Like moonlight in the tender eyes of one - Who looks to heaven to find her lover’s face. - Silent, serene, implacable it stands-- - A mighty symbol of the Force that moved - Across the surface of the youthful earth - And scored the continents with valleys deep, - As children write upon the yielding sand. - Back to the dawn of things its lineage runs-- - Countless ages back to that bleak time - When frightful monsters played upon the hills-- - Always the same, yet moving slowly onward, - In heaven its head, its feet upon the world. - The Rhone that trickles from the glacier’s edge-- - Makes valleys smile with grain and flower and fruit - And turns the wheels that forge the tools of trade-- - Is but the lash with which the giant plays - And spins the tops that swarm with struggling men. - “What is Man, that Thou art mindful of him?”-- - This pleasure or this pain, this wealth or want, - This tragic comedy we call our life! - - Across the meadows as the evening falls - A shepherd drives his sheep, and fondly bears - Above the rocky stream the weakling lamb; - The children hear the father’s kindly voice - And run to greet and cheer his late return, - While from his humble cottage gleams a light. - - The sheep are nestled in their sheltering fold-- - The door springs open to a welcome cry, - And all at last are safe within the Home. - - In cold and awful majesty it stands - Against the darkening sky,--Force without warmth, - Strength without passion. - But at the touch - Of homely human ways its terrors flee - And Force is swallowed up in Life with Love. - - - - - JAMES McCOSH - - 1811-1894 - - - Young to the end through sympathy with youth, - Gray man of learning--champion of truth! - Direct in rugged speech, alert in mind, - He felt his kinship with all humankind, - And never feared to trace development - Of high from low--assured and full content - That man paid homage to the Mind above, - Uplifted by the “Royal Law of Love.” - - The laws of nature that he loved to trace - Have worked, at last, to veil from us his face; - The dear old elms and ivy-covered walls - Will miss his presence, and the stately halls - His trumpet-voice; while in their joys - Sorrow will shadow those he called “my boys”! - - - - - LE BONHEUR DE CE MONDE - -(Copie d’un sonnet composé par Plantin au XVIe siècle.) - - - Avoir une maiſon commode, propre & belle, - Un jardin tapiſſé d’eſpaliers odorans, - Des fruits, d’excellent vin, peu de train, peu d’enfans, - Poſſeder ſeul, ſans bruit, une femme fidéle. - N’avoir dettes, amour, ni procés, ni querelle, - Ni de partage à faire avecque ſes parens, - Se contenter de peu, n’eſpérer rien des Grands, - Régler tous ſes deſſeins sur un juſte modéle. - - Vivre avecque franchiſe & ſans ambition, - S’adonner ſans ſcrupule à la dévotion, - Domter ſes paſſions, les rendre obéiſſantes. - Conſerver l’eſprit libre, & le jugement fort, - Dire ſon Chapelet en cultivant ſes entes, - C’eſt attendre chez ſoi bien doucement la mort. - - - - - THE HAPPINESS OF THIS WORLD - - FROM THE FRENCH OF PLANTIN - - - To have a home, convenient for thy life, - With fragrant fruit-walls in a garden fine, - Some children, some retainers, and rare wine; - To live serenely with thy faithful wife; - To have no debts, nor quarrels, nor legal strife, - Nor separation from dear kin of thine; - Expecting nothing from the Great, to shine - With modest light and just, where greed is rife. - - To live with freedom, yet to be devout, - Ruling thy well-curbed passions--and without - Ambition’s scourge to thwart thy regnant will; - Truly to worship God with ardent breath - Among His shrubs and trees on plain and hill-- - Thus pleasantly shalt thou at home wait Death. - - - - - R. L. S. - - - “_Where hath fleeting Beauty led? - To the doorway of the dead._” - All the way you followed her - Tripping through the palms and fir; - All the way around you flew - Splendid spirits from the blue-- - Dreams and visions lightly caught - In the meshes of your thought. - What a glorious retinue - Made that arduous chase with you! - Half the world stood still to see - Song and Fancy follow free - At the waving of your wand-- - While the echoing hills respond - To your voice. - - And now the race - Ends with your averted face; - At full effort you have sped - Through that doorway of the dead-- - But the hills and woods remain - Peopled from your teeming brain! - All that stately company - Linger where their eyes may see - Beauty fling the laurel o’er, - At the closing of the door! - - From _Suppressed Chapters_. - - - - - McGIFFEN - - THE HERO COMING HOME - - His body was clad in his uniform of Captain in the Chinese Navy, - and sent home to his mother at Washington, Pennsylvania. - - _Associated Press._ - - - I lent him to my country, - And he wore the Navy blue; - I bade him do his duty, - And he said he would be true. - - It’s home they say you’re coming-- - And it’s home you came to me - When you wore your first blue jacket - At the old Academy. - And the neighbors said, “How handsome! - What a sailor he will be!” - But I only drew him closer - In my coddling mother’s joy, - And said, “Well, what’s a sailor? - He’s my brave boy!” - - And then they told the story - Of his courage in the fight-- - How he ruled a heathen war-ship - And fought it with his might. - - It’s home he wrote his mother - When the smoke had cleared away: - “I can _see_--so don’t you worry-- - Though I’m riddled by the fray.” - And the neighbors said, “How glorious! - What a Hero is your son! - The world is all a-talking - Of the battle that he won!” - I said, “Well, what’s a Hero? - He’s my brave son!” - - And now to me he’s coming, - And he wears a Captain’s bars; - It’s a foreign nation’s uniform, - But wrapped in Stripes and Stars. - - It’s home at last you’re coming, - And it’s home at last to me. - You’re a hero and immortal, - And you fought to make men free. - But your heart is cold within you - And your dear eyes cannot see! - They say, “Be strong, O mother; - Proud laurels crown his head!” - Alas, what’s left of glory? - My boy, my boy is dead! - - - - - AT THE FARRAGUT STATUE - - - To live a hero, then to stand - In bronze serene above the city’s throng; - Hero at sea, and now on land - Revered by thousands as they rush along; - - If these were all the gifts of fame-- - To be a shade amid alert reality, - And win a statue and a name-- - How cold and cheerless immortality! - - But when the sun shines in the Square, - And multitudes are swarming in the street, - Children are always gathered there, - Laughing and playing round the hero’s feet. - - And in the crisis of the game-- - With boyish grit and ardor it is played-- - You’ll hear some youngster call his name: - “The Admiral--he never was afraid!” - - And so the hero daily lives, - And boys grow braver as the Man they see! - The inspiration that he gives - Still helps to make them loyal, strong, and free! - - - - - NEWS FROM A MISSING LINER - - TO A CONVALESCENT - - - Crawling back to port again, half her cargo shifted, - Just enough of fuel left to steam her to the pier; - Plunging through an icy gale when the fog has lifted, - Battered by the breakers, but her lights a-burning clear! - - Hope almost abandoned, days and nights she floundered-- - Nights when not a star was out and no sea-lights were near; - All the world believed her lost; men despaired, but wondered - How the liner could be wrecked and Kipling there to steer! - - Now she makes her harbor-lights, glides through seas enchanted-- - Whistles shrieking gayly and thousands at the pier; - On the bridge the Captain, pale and worn--undaunted! - “Welcome back to life again!” Hear the people cheer! - - - - - FOR A CLASSMATE DEAD AT SEA - - (W. F. STOUTENBURGH) - - - His voice was gentle and his eyes were kind; - No one among us but did call him friend; - Fond woman’s heart and student’s thoughtful mind - Together in him did with fitness blend: - And now he is no more! - - We blindly murmur at the bitter Fate - That summoned him in other lands to roam; - And when upon him Sickness wrought its hate - Half round the world, it brought him almost home, - To die when near our shore. - - We blindly murmur--but we only know - Calm rests his body in old Ocean’s deeps; - While we are groping in the mists below, - Serene his soul on other, cloudless steeps-- - Forever--evermore. - - - - - BRAMBLE BRAE - - - - - A TOAST TO OUR NATIVE LAND - - - Huge and alert, irascible yet strong, - We make our fitful way ’mid right and wrong. - One time we pour out millions to be free, - Then rashly sweep an empire from the sea! - One time we strike the shackles from the slaves, - And then, quiescent, we are ruled by knaves. - Often we rudely break restraining bars, - And confidently reach out toward the stars. - - Yet under all there flows a hidden stream - Sprung from the Rock of Freedom, the great dream - Of Washington and Franklin, men of old - Who knew that freedom is not bought with gold. - This is the Land we love, our heritage, - Strange mixture of the gross and fine, yet sage - And full of promise--destined to be great. - Drink to Our Native Land! God Bless the State! - - - - - THE TOWERS OF PRINCETON - - FROM THE TRAIN - - - There they are! above the green trees shining-- - Old towers that top the castles of our dreams, - Their turrets bright with rays of sun declining-- - A painted glory on the window gleams. - - But, oh, the messages to travellers weary - They signal through the ether in the dark! - The years are long, the path is steep and dreary, - But there’s a bell that struck in boyhood--hark! - - The note is faint--but ghosts are gayly trooping - From ivied halls and swarming ’neath the trees. - Old friends, you bring new life to spirits drooping-- - Your laughter and your joy are in the breeze! - - They’re gone in dusk,--the towers and dreams are faded,-- - But something lingers of eternal Youth; - We’re strong again, though doubting, worn, and jaded; - We pledge anew to friends and love and truth! - - - - - ROOSEVELT IN WYOMING - - TOLD BY A GUIDE--1899[1] - - - Do you know Yancey’s? Where the winding trail - From Washburn Mountain strikes the old stage road, - And wagons from Cooke City and the mail - Unhitch awhile, and teamsters shift the load? - - A handy bunch of men are round the stove - At Yancey’s--hunters back from Jackson’s Hole, - And Ed Hough telling of a mighty drove - Of elk that he ran down to Teton Bowl. - - And Yancey he says: “Mr. Woody, there, - Can tell a hunting yarn or two--beside, - He guided Roosevelt when he shot a bear - And six bull elk with antlers spreading wide.” - - But Woody is a guide who doesn’t brag; - He puffed his pipe awhile, then gravely said: - “I knew he’d put the Spaniards in a bag, - For Mister Roosevelt always picked a head. - - “That man won’t slosh around in politics - And waste his time a-killing little game; - He studies elk, and men, and knows their tricks, - And when he picks a head he hits the same.” - - Now, down at Yancey’s every man’s a sport, - And free to back his knowledge up with lead; - And each believes that Roosevelt is the sort - To run the State, because he “picks a head.” - - [1] Tall, silent old Woody, a fine type of the fast-vanishing race of - game-hunters and Indian-fighters. - - Roosevelt’s _The Wilderness Hunter_. - - - - - - - UNCLE SAM TO KIPLING - - (1899) - - Take up the White Man’s burden! - Have done with childish days. - R. K. - - - Oh, thank you, Mr. Kipling, - For showing us the way - To buckle down to business - And end our “childish day.” - We know we’re young and frisky - And haven’t too much sense-- - At least, not in the measure - We’ll have a few years hence. - - Now, this same “White Man’s burden” - You’re asking us to tote - Is not so unfamiliar - As you’re inclined to note. - We freed three million negroes, - Their babies and their wives; - It cost a billion dollars - And near a million lives! - - And while we were a-fighting - In all those “thankless years” - We did not get much helping-- - Well, not from English “peers.” - And so--with best intentions-- - We’re not exactly wild - To free the Filipino, - “Half devil and half child.” - - Then, thank you, Mr. Kipling; - Though not disposed to groan - About the “White Man’s burden,” - We’ve troubles of our own; - Enough to keep us busy - When English friends inquire, - “Why don’t you use your talons? - _There are chestnuts in the fire!_” - - - - - A NEW YEAR’S WISH FOR THOSE WHO WRITE - - - In this time of joy and cheer - When we greet the buoyant year, - Now, old friends, we cherish you, - Bless the dreams you’ve brought to view-- - Kindly fancy, happy thought, - Visions from the fairies caught, - Rhyme and story, song and play, - Fantasy for holiday-- - All the treasures of your mind - Spent to make the world more kind. - - While we grope in dark and fog, - Flounder onward through the bog, - You, serene upon the height, - Gambol in the cheery light-- - Toss your laughter from the steep, - Bringing hope to those who weep. - What fair visions brightly gleam - Through cloud-rifts! Your dearest dream - Clothed in beauty on the peak, - Waiting for the Muse to speak. - - Here’s our wish at New Year’s time, - Faint-expressed in halting rhyme: - For the men who dream and write - Make the future clear and bright; - Thaw the cynic from their heart-- - Love and faith are highest Art. - Let them picture with their pen - Not our _manners_ but our _men_. - Bless them all at New Year’s tide! - May their skill and fame abide! - And all women--charming, bright-- - Grant that they may never write! - - - - - TO CHLOE - - FOR A MENDED GLOVE - - - Fair Chloe looked upon the old torn glove, - Then touched its ragged edges with her fingers, - And lo! the rent was closed--as if for love - Sweet healing follows where her touch but lingers. - - If all the rents that follow Chloe’s eyes, - And all the hearts despairingly defended, - Were healed so soon--we’d straightway realize - That love and life are good as new when mended. - - - - - TO THE ELF ON MY CALENDAR - - - Sweet Elf, you’ll pipe a merry tune, - Make days and months all gladness; - The clear, bright note you sound in June - Will cheer December’s sadness. - - You’ll never pout on rainy days, - Nor when it’s cold will shiver, - But sit serene and sing your lays. - May Old Time bless the giver! - - - - - CAPRICE - - - Love laughed awhile, - And ridiculed my daring - To rashly crave a smile - From her, heart-whole, uncaring. - Oh, how Love laughed! - - Love angry grew - And spoiled her pretty features; - I was--she vowed it true-- - The most despised of creatures. - Oh, how Love frowned! - - Love dropped a tear, - Her anger with it falling; - I felt her blue eyes clear, - My heart and hopes enthralling. - Oh, how Love cried! - - Her tears Love dried, - And then she looked up sweetly; - No more her glance defied-- - I pressed my suit discreetly. - Love kissed me then! - - - - - RETROSPECT - - - At evening, when the breeze dies down, - And regal Nature doffs her crown, - When brown-limbed pines, like minarets, - Fringe all the hills, and tired day frets - To rest awhile--ah, then, I know, - Into a shadowed room you go, - And softly touch the organ keys; - While pale stars blink amid the trees - You sing a peaceful vesper hymn - That rises from your full heart’s brim; - Your kindly eyes are dimmed with tears-- - You wander through remembered years; - From gay to grave your fancies fly, - And end the journey with the cry: - _My heart played truant from my will! - I loved him then--I love him still._ - - - - - IN THE CROWD - - - A pair of brown eyes--no matter where, - In quiet street or crowded thoroughfare-- - Call up the image of your face to me. - All others vanish, only you I see; - Above the din of trade your voice I hear, - And merry laughter, ringing sweet and clear, - That fades into a smile away: - Thus are you with me everywhere and every day. - - - - - REMEMBRANCE - - - No, not despair of ever quite forgetting - The happy romance of those dreamy years, - The painful weariness of vain regretting - Through all life’s varied way of love and tear - Not this the gladness of my heart represses, - With shadow tinges still each sunny thought - The fancy that with poignant touch distresses - Is that by thee I am perhaps forgot! - - - - - OFF FORT HAMILTON IN SUMMER - - - Embrasured guns, like wearied hounds, all sleeping, - Their muzzles resting on the cool, green turf; - Along the Fort their peaceful watch now keeping - Above the mimic battle of the surf. - - And you, dear one, now that my suit is ended-- - Let passion slumber in your cool dark eyes; - The wiles by which your heart was well defended - Embrasured there look love on summer skies. - - - - - OVER THE FERRY - - ONOMATOPOETIC - - - Clang! Ting-a-ling! - Then a scream of the whistle. - Sob! Sob! Sob! Sob! - Heaves slowly the breast of the iron-sinewed giant; - And the swift paddles fling, - Like the down of a thistle, - White foam from their blades, while the waters defiant - Groan under their merciless tread; and the throb - Of the heart grows exultingly faster; - Now a race with a tug, and then it is past her-- - Glides under the bow of a stately Cunarder-- - The steel-lungèd giant breathing harder and harder - While nearing the wharves of the City of Vanity - To roll from its shoulders the load of humanity. - And up near the bow, with arms crossed on the railing, - The bold wind with kisses her fair cheeks assailing - And tossing her hair from her brow, stands sweet Jennie, - Who hopes on the way to the school to meet Bennie. - And what he will say she is anticipating-- - Her heart full of pleasure, her blue eyes dilating; - And what will she say? Ah, now she is blushing. - There he stands on the pier! How the people are crushing! - While out from the dock the churned waters are rushing. - But the song of the wheels is, “I love him--I love him!” - Then the pilot above - Signals “Clang! Ting-a-ling!” - And the slowing wheels sing, - “Oh, my love--love--love!” - Clang! - - - - - BRAMBLE BRAE IN OCTOBER - - - And now the corn has ripened at Bramble Brae, - And all the hosts are marshalled for Autumn’s fray; - The quaint old farm is changing its green for brown, - Save where the new wheat lifts itself to the light - And huddles in rows, like wrinkles in some old gown. - Along the lane the quail are running in fright - At sound of guns on the upland--the cautious dogs - Are coursing over the fields, and keen-eyed men - Watch for the whir of wings; the hickory logs - Are falling down in the clearing, while in their pen - The big swine gloat on the heaped-up trough; - In woods the dead leaves rustle, and red squirrels cough - And chatter and screech--chasing each other from limb - To limb, and gather their stores at the roots of trees. - And part of it all is a boy, and the heart of him - Glows with the sumach, and sings with the Autumn breeze. - Down in the valley the ancient village rests, - Drowsing along the curbs of its quaint old street; - High and peaked are the roofs, and antique crests - Are carved on the gables. Fair maids, discreet, - Sit on the porches and talk with the passing youth; - For Love goes by, sometimes in homespun clad, - And sometimes rich in the wealth of truth - That speaks in the heart and the eyes of the lad. - For none that pass are the eyes of the bonny girl - Except for him; she sits and waits by a climbing vine, - Reading the verses of some old bard; the pearl - She seeks is love, and only love is the wine - That colors her cheeks and snaps in her sparkling eyes - But the lad is shy, and dreams the livelong day - That love and his lady are proof against all surprise-- - So up on the hillside he longs for the village far away. - - * * * * * - - Many Autumns have glowed on the hillside there; - Slender saplings have sprung to giant trees; - Gray is his head and furrowed his brow with care-- - The heart of the man cries out to the Autumn breeze. - Dusk in the valley, and cold light on the hill-- - Brown is the sumach, the glory of youth has fled; - Drowsing cattle shiver, the night is chill, - Memory lives, but all of his hopes are dead. - Years has he wandered over the land and sea; - Friends he has cherished and lost, and women loved; - Always that vision haunted his fancy free-- - The dreamer worshipped, but never the vision proved. - Down in the valley the ancient houses sleep, - Dotted with lights that break through the evening gloom; - Dreams that stirred the face of the waters deep - Cover their eyes and flee to a welcoming tomb. - - - - - WITH FLOWERS - - - - - ON A SPRAY OF HEATHER - - - Far from its native moorland - Or crest of “wine-red” hill, - At sight or scent of heather - The hearts of Scotsmen thrill. - Though crushed its purple blossoms, - Its tender stems turned brown, - It brings romantic Highlands - Into prosaic town. - The clans are on the border, - The chiefs are in the fray; - We’re keen upon their footsteps - With Walter Scott to-day. - Peat smoke from lowland cottage - Floats curling up, and turns - Our dreams toward quiet hearthstones - And melodies of Burns. - And last our fancy lingers - With fond regret and vain - Where sleeps our Tusitala - Beneath the tropic rain-- - Far from the purple heather - Or gleaming rowan bough, - Alone on mountain summit, - “Our hearts remember how.” - - St. Andrew’s Day. - - - - - THE HOTHOUSE VIOLET SPEAKS - - TO A FAIR WOMAN - - - I’ve calmly lived my sunny little life - Under the crinkling glass, and free from strife; - The sky above and all around is blue, - And from this haven now I come to you. - - Fair Lady, tell me have I heard aright - That other flowers do not live so bright? - That in dark forests and by noisy streams - The pale wood violet sheds its purple beams? - - While we are merry in this fireside glow - My humble cousin shivers in the snow; - And yet a cricket whispered once to me - That _I_ the captive was--my cousin, free! - - Sometimes I’ve dreamed the cricket told me true; - I’ve longed for freedom and the pleasing view - Of moss-grown hummocks and great whispering trees, - With gold-winged songsters humming in the breeze. - - The dream is over--I have lived my day - Nourished in sun with other violets gay; - And now I’m borne afar to Paradise, - To find my haven in your gentle eyes. - - If I may touch your lips I’ll die content - Without one glimpse of freedom or days spent - In woodland dells; oh, murmur, while I fade, - Your own sweet mem’ries of the forest glade! - - Come, tell me quickly, for my brief hours pass; - What! _You too captive in a house of glass?_ - - - - - A SONG - - WITH A RED ROSE ON HER BIRTHDAY - - - _What the Rose thought:_ - Oh, to be one-and-twenty! - But I am a rose that must bloom for a day; - My life is like color and perfume in May; - To-night I shall fade in her beautiful hair, - And touch with my petals her proud neck and fair. - Oh, to be one-and-twenty! - - _What She sang, exultingly:_ - Oh, to be one-and-twenty! - To feel that the glorious days of my youth - Are only the promise of hope, love, and truth-- - That all joyful things in my bright future gleam, - And I am to _live_ them and find out my dream. - Oh, to be one-and-twenty! - - _What He wrote, sadly:_ - Oh, to be one-and-twenty! - To dream that the great world is still all my own, - And cherish again the ideals that have flown; - To follow them, hiding with cunning and art, - And find them all sleeping within her warm heart, - Her heart that is one-and-twenty! - - - - - WHAT THE FLOWERS SAID - - - Here are roses, red and white, - Each to speak what I would write; - For, when in your quiet room - You may smell their sweet perfume, - I shall whisper through these flowers - Fancy’s thoughts for evening hours. - Then, when in the crowded street - You and I may chance to meet, - I’ll discover in your eyes - What you’ve half expressed in sighs; - For if in your dusky hair - One red rose you deign to wear - I shall say, “I know that she - Wears it for her love of me.” - But if on your gentle breast - One white rose may dare to rest, - Then in rapture I’ll declare, - “That’s my heart a-resting there.” - But if neither red nor white - May your hair or gown bedight, - Still with confidence I’ll say, - “That is lovely woman’s way-- - What of life is largest part - Hides she deepest in her heart!” - - - - - DIANA’S VALENTINE - - WITH A BUNCH OF VIOLETS - - - _Good Saint Valentine, I pray, - While around this town you stray, - You will keep your eyes alert - For a maid who loves to flirt._ - - If among the hurrying crowd-- - Beauties fair and beauties proud-- - You should see one like a queen, - Eyes of blue, with golden sheen - In her hair that’s flecked with brown, - And a grace about her gown, - _That’s Diana!_ - - Catch her eye - As she’s gayly tripping by; - Say you know a sorry wight, - Slow of speech and slow to write, - Who would tell her through these flowers - That her eyes are bright as stars - In the blue; that her speech - Haunts his mem’ry (out of reach - Like their perfume faint but fine); - That her laugh is like rare wine. - As you leave her touch her lips; - Say that men are like old ships, - Easy towed, but hard to steer; - Then just whisper in her ear, - “Lovers change, but friends are true - Like these violets.” Then, “Adieu.” - - _This, Saint Valentine, I pray, - On the morning of that day - When you keep your eyes alert - For all maids who love to flirt._ - - ARCADY, February fourteenth. - - - - - WITH SOME BIRTHDAY ROSES - - - If I were not a speechless flower - I’d like to talk with you an hour - And whisper many pretty things - That thinking of your birthday brings. - - (For flowers can dream of happiness - While you their velvet petals press!) - But I can’t talk--I know a man - Who often vainly thinks he can, - - And what he wanted me to do - Was simply to look fair to you - And wish you joy--and then surprise - The gentle look in your dear eyes. - - - - - WRITTEN IN BOOKS - - - - - IN A VOLUME OF HERRICK - - - Dear old worldling gone astray, - You would rather sing than pray; - While you wore the preacher’s gown - How you longed for London Town! - When your head ached, then, alack! - You, repentant, gave up sack; - Old and worn you ruthlessly - Bade farewell to poesy; - Full, you never cared for food, - Sated, you were always good. - Julia’s beauties you rehearse, - Sing her charms in wanton verse, - But to make poor Julia thine - Not one pleasure you’d resign. - Flattering, you tried to please; - Generous, you loved your ease! - Dear old Herrick, you’re a Man - Built upon the human plan; - To the world your fame belongs - For the beauty of your songs-- - Glorious poet--not a saint-- - Lyric splendor without taint! - - - - - IN “SHAKESPEARE’S SONNETS” - - - The Sonnets--bound by Rivière - And newly illustrated! - As though the words that Shakespeare wrote - By outward dress are rated! - - The soul--the fine, immortal part - That lives without the binding, - Is something from the poet’s heart; - ’Tis here--and worth the finding. - - - - - IN “SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE” - - - In this book a woman wrote her heart-- - Etching there the image of a Man. - Faithful woman! But the years depart, - And love is dust, and life a broken span! - - - - - IN GEORGE MEREDITH’S POEMS - - - Here is a forest tangle-- - Rank weeds, luxuriant ferns, and giant trees, - All in a hoarse-voiced wrangle, - With creaking branches swaying in the breeze. - But if you care to listen, - Above the noise you’ll hear the piping of a bird, - Gay feathers in the tree-tops glisten, - And over all the sweetest music ever heard. - - - - - IN “THE KING’S LYRICS” - - - Behold “The Lyrics of the King”! - As though a crown on those who sing - Could make their music sweeter! - To-day we’ll choose the better part-- - The gentle music of the heart - That masters rhyme and metre. - - - - - THE SONG OF TEMBINOKA, KING OF APEMAMA - - TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON - - - Sing, my warriors, sing! men of the sharklike race! - Sing of the poet who came and greeted us face to face. - He from the cold, gray North, I, in these tropic isles, - Meet as brothers and bards, with eloquent songs and smiles-- - Meet as brothers, though singing words that are strange and proud. - Pale and wan is his face, while mine is a thunder-cloud; - But the heart of a man is hidden by neither language nor skin-- - To love as a man and a brother maketh the whole world kin. - The tales that he tells are of heroes who fought like braves - to the death-- - Bone of our bone are these heroes, the very breath of our breath! - Then sing, my warriors, sing! men of the sharklike race! - Sing of the poet who came and greeted us face to face! - - From _Overheard in Arcady_. - - - - - IN THE MANNER OF KIPLING - - - “Show me the face of Truth,” the Sahib said-- - “Show me its beauty, before I’m dead!” - “Look!” said the priest, “with unflinching eyes; - This is the World, and not Paradise. - Look! It is wicked, and cruel, and strong, and wise!” - - From _Overheard in Arcady_. - - - - - FOR A NOVEL OF HALL CAINE’S - - AFTER KIPLING - - - He sits in a sea-green grotto with a bucket of lurid paint, - And draws the Thing as it isn’t for the God of Things as they ain’t! - - - - - IN “HELBECK OF BANNISDALE” - - - The foolish story of a man and maid - Who loved each other but were dire afraid - To follow where their true hearts surely led - And, risking all things, bravely to be wed. - - What’s in a creed to keep two souls apart? - The universal solvent is the heart! - - - - - A CHRISTMAS GREETING - - - Good luck, good cheer, throughout the year! - A bright fire on the hearthstone burning; - A gleam of rose at evening’s close - When, wearied, you are homeward turning! - By ingle-nook a soothing book-- - A few old friends in Mem’ry’s castle; - A bit of rhyme at Christmas-time - To wish you fortune at your wassail! - - - - - IN NICHOLSON’S “ALMANAC OF SPORTS” - -(WITH VERSES BY KIPLING) - - - In all your Calendar of Sports - Why, Rudyard, do you slight the wheel? - Were you, then, never out of sorts - Until you felt the vibrant steel - Skim over miles of level track? - For youth, with all its hope and cheer, - When we’re a-wheel comes rolling back-- - And it is Summer all the year! - - - - - IN NICHOLSON’S “CITY TYPES” - - - The City’s roar is rising from the street; - The old, bedraggled “types” are shuffling through the strife; - They plod and push, and elbow as they meet, - And glare and grin, and sadly call it “life.” - - For us the fireside hearth is all aglow, - And those we love make up the life we know. - - - - - IN “THE GOLDEN TREASURY” - - - The year is old, the way is far; - I catch your image like a star - That’s mirrored in a crystal brook; - For love of you I send a book! - - - - - A VALENTINE - - - Though all the streams are white with frost - And all the fields with snow, - Though earth its greenery has lost, - And biting gales do blow-- - Still I’ll recall the summer hours, - The blue skies and the vine-- - The hillsides pink with Alpine flowers - To greet my Valentine! - - - - - IN “HALLO, MY FANCY!” - -(BY CHARLES HENRY LÜDERS AND S. D. S., JR.) - - - “Hallo, my Fancy! View Hallo!” - The nimble game has broken cover - And skims the valley to and fro; - By cooling brooks it seems to hover, - Then bounds along. “Ho, View Hallo!” - The huntsmen cry from brake to loch; - The chase grows ardent--“View Hallo!” - From quiet shelter echoes, _Droch_. - - - - - THE BOOK SPEAKS - - TO EUGENE FIELD - - - I’m keeping jolly comp’ny - In a room that’s full of books; - I’m cheek by jowl with Horace - And a lot of ancient crooks. - But the boys I like to play with, - When the boss takes off his coat, - Are the wild and woolly heroes - From Casey’s tabble-dote. - And when the lamp is lighted - And cosey hours ensue, - I talk with All-Aloney - And the little Boy in Blue. - But when the man that owns the books - Throws one kind glance at _me_ - I sing just like the Dinkey - In the Amfelula Tree. - - - - - IN HERFORD’S VERSES - - - To weep with those who weep is human; - We give our praises to the man of grit, - And honor with our trust the true man; - Let’s laugh a little with a man of wit! - - - - - IN A BOOK OF GIBSON’S DRAWINGS - - - You may turn these pages over, - Looking for the priceless pearl; - You may search from back to cover - For the finest Gibson girl. - You can save yourself the trouble-- - It’s no earthly use to look: - The charming girl who takes the medal - Is a-holding of the book. - - - - - IN A VOLUME OF MISS GUINEY’S POEMS - - - A maker of smooth verse and facile rhymes, - And lover of quaint legends from old times; - A joyous singer in New England bleak-- - Her heart is Irish and her mind is Greek. - - - - - IN “BARBARA FRIETCHIE--A PLAY” - - TO J. M. - - - We met her first in Arcady, - Where visions fair are apt to be, - Roaming beneath the arching trees-- - Her laughter cheering up the breeze; - Sometimes as gay as _Colinette_, - Then fond and sad as _Juliet_. - And when we’d had enough of anguish - She’d make us laugh as _Lydia Languish_. - No mask or mood was twice the same-- - Yet one fair face behind each name. - As that bright vixen of the mind, - The fascinating _Rosalīnd_-- - As _Imogen_ or _Viola_, - Or, best of all, sweet _Barbara_-- - Always the same alluring grace - And wit that sparkles in her face! - The road to Arcady is far - And sometimes lonely for a star-- - But all the phantoms of the air - And poets’ dreams that wander there - Would miss the welcome we extend, - Not to her Art--just to a friend! - - - - - TO C. H. M. AND H. H. M. - - - Here is the story-- - I haven’t half told it; - The fun and the glory, - A volume can’t hold it. - But this is a spray, - Withered leaves and pressed flowers, - From a faded bouquet - That was plucked in gay hours, - Within sound of the waves - Of the gentle Pacific, - Where Nature enslaves - And the days beatific - Are sandalled with gold - And wear gems on their fingers. - All the tale is not told - Which slow Fancy weaves, - But a faint odor lingers - About these dry leaves - That may bring recollection - Of prairie and loch - With a hint of affection - From - Yours ever, - DROCH. - - Dedication of _The Monterey Wedding_. - - - - - TO MY MOTHER - - - Long years you’ve kept the door ajar - To greet me, coming from afar; - Long years in my accustomed place - I’ve read my welcome in your face, - And felt the sunlight of your love - Drive back the years and gently move - The telltale shadow ’round to youth. - You’ve found the very spring, in truth, - That baffles time--the kindling joy - That keeps me in your heart a boy. - And now I send an unknown guest - To bide with you and snugly rest - Beside the old home’s ingle-nook.-- - For love of me you’ll love my book. - - Dedication of _Overheard in Arcady_. - - - - - A BOOK’S SOLILOQUY - - - My lady’s room is full of books - And easy-chairs and curtained nooks, - And dainty tea-things on a table, - And poetry, and tale, and fable, - And on the hearth a crackling fire - That welcome gives, and when you tire - Of pleasant talk you still may find - A tempting pasture where the mind - May browse awhile, and read the pages - Which poets wrote, or fools, or sages. - - And here I come to ask a place - Among these worthies, face to face! - To be allowed on some low shelf - To rest and dream, and pride myself - On being in such company-- - To watch fair women drinking tea; - And if, perchance, on some lone day, - The gentle mistress looks my way - And softly says, “Now I shall see - What’s going on in Arcady!” - Then I’ll rejoice that I’m a book - At which my lady deigns to look. - - - - - ENVOY - - THE SHEPHERD TO HIS FLOCK - - - The sun is warm upon the ridges now; - The way was rough and steep; - I’ll seek the shelter of a leafy bough - And watch my grazing sheep. - The smoke is rising from the valley there, - The hum of wheels and trade; - The stress of life is in the whirling air - While I pipe in the shade. - Where work is fierce amid the striving throng - And music’s voice is mute, - Some one may catch the echo of a song-- - The faint note of a lute. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bramble Brae, by Robert Bridges - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRAMBLE BRAE *** - -***** This file should be named 55052-0.txt or 55052-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/0/5/55052/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i15 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.iq {display: block; margin-left: -.45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i12 {display: block; margin-left: 11em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } - -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bramble Brae, by Robert Bridges - -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/license - - -Title: Bramble Brae - -Author: Robert Bridges - -Release Date: July 5, 2017 [EBook #55052] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRAMBLE BRAE *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/cover_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="353" height="500" alt="[Image -of the book's cover unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="c"><span class="smcap">Books in Prose by</span><br /> -ROBERT BRIDGES<br /> -(<span class="smcap">Droch</span>)</p> - -<p class="c">OVERHEARD IN ARCADY</p> - -<p>Dialogues about Howells, James, Aldrich, Stockton, Davis, Crawford, -Kipling, Meredith, Stevenson, Barrie. Illustrated, <i>Fourth -Edition</i>, $1.25.</p> - -<p class="c">SUPPRESSED CHAPTERS,<br /> <small>AND OTHER BOOKISHNESS</small></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Contents</span>: Suppressed Chapters—Arcadian Letters—Novels that -Everybody Read—The Literary Partition of Scotland—Friends in -Arcady—Arcadian Opinions. <i>Third Edition</i>, $1.25.</p></div> - -<p class="cb"><a name="Bramble_Brae" id="Bramble_Brae"></a>Bramble Brae</p> - -<div class="bbox"> - -<h1>Bramble Brae</h1> -<p class="cb"> -By<br /> -Robert Bridges<br /> -(<i>Droch</i>)<br /> -<br /><br /><br /> -New York<br /> -<span class="redd">Charles Scribner’s Sons</span><br /> -1902</p> -</div> - -<p class="c"> -Copyright, 1902, by<br /> -<span class="smcap">Charles Scribner’s Sons</span><br /> -———<br /> -<i>Published March, 1902</i><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">The De Vinne Press</span><br /> -</p> - -<h3><a name="To_my_Father" id="To_my_Father"></a><span class="eng">To my Father</span></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> called the old farm Bramble Brae,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And loved it till your hair was gray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And footsteps faltered while you trod<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sloping upland bright with sod.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It blossomed in your quiet life<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With gowans from the Neuk of Fife;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And while you walked the waving wheat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You dreamed of heather and the peat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’ve gane awa! My spirit yearns<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hear you read the songs of Burns;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The melody I’ve faintly caught<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is just the lesson that you taught.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If any hear your gentle voice<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In verse of mine, then I’ll rejoice<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sing along my stumbling way,<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“He’s home again in Bramble Brae!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><th>BETWEEN TWO WORLDS</th></tr> - -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#THE_UNILLUMINED_VERGE"><span class="smcap">The Unillumined Verge</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_001">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FROM_ONE_LONG_DEAD"><span class="smcap">From One Long Dead</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_004">4</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FATHER_TO_MOTHER"><span class="smcap">Father to Mother</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_006">6</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#THE_CHILD_TO_THE_FATHER"><span class="smcap">The Child to the Father</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_008">8</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#A_PRAYER_OF_OLD_AGE"><span class="smcap">A Prayer of Old Age</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_010">10</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#THE_RHONE_GLACIER_SUNSET"><span class="smcap">The Rhone Glacier—Sunset</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_014">14</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#JAMES_McCOSH"><span class="smcap">James McCosh</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_017">17</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#McGIFFEN"><span class="smcap">McGiffen</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_022">22</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#AT_THE_FARRAGUT_STATUE"><span class="smcap">At the Farragut Statue</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_025">25</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#NEWS_FROM_A_MISSING_LINER"><span class="smcap">News from a Missing Liner</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_027">27</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FOR_A_CLASSMATE_DEAD_AT_SEA"><span class="smcap">For a Classmate Dead at Sea</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_029">29</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th>BRAMBLE BRAE</th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#A_TOAST_TO_OUR_NATIVE_LAND"><span class="smcap">A Toast to our Native Land</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_033">33</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#THE_TOWERS_OF_PRINCETON"><span class="smcap">The Towers of Princeton</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_034">34</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ROOSEVELT_IN_WYOMING"><span class="smcap">Roosevelt in Wyoming</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_036">36</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#UNCLE_SAM_TO_KIPLING"><span class="smcap">Uncle Sam to Kipling</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_038">38</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#A_NEW_YEARS_WISH_FOR_THOSE_WHO_WRITE"><span class="smcap">A New Year’s Wish for Those Who Write</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_040">40</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TO_CHLOE"><span class="smcap">To Chloe</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_042">42</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TO_THE_ELF_ON_MY_CALENDAR"><span class="smcap">To the Elf on my Calendar</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_043">43</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#CAPRICE"><span class="smcap">Caprice</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_044">44</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#RETROSPECT"><span class="smcap">Retrospect</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_046">46</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_THE_CROWD"><span class="smcap">In the Crowd</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_047">47</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#REMEMBRANCE"><span class="smcap">Remembrance</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_048">48</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OFF_FORT_HAMILTON_IN_SUMMER"><span class="smcap">Off Fort Hamilton in Summer</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_049">49</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#OVER_THE_FERRY"><span class="smcap">Over the Ferry</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_050">50</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#BRAMBLE_BRAE_IN_OCTOBER"><span class="smcap">Bramble Brae in October</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_052">52</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th>WITH FLOWERS</th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ON_A_SPRAY_OF_HEATHER"><span class="smcap">On a Spray of Heather</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_057">57</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#THE_HOTHOUSE_VIOLET_SPEAKS"><span class="smcap">The Hothouse Violet Speaks</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_059">59</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#A_SONG"><span class="smcap">A Song</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_061">61</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WHAT_THE_FLOWERS_SAID"><span class="smcap">What the Flowers Said</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_063">63</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#DIANAS_VALENTINE"><span class="smcap">Diana’s Valentine</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_065">65</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#WITH_SOME_BIRTHDAY_ROSES"><span class="smcap">With Some Birthday Roses</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_067">67</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th>WRITTEN IN BOOKS</th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_A_VOLUME_OF_HERRICK"><span class="smcap">In a Volume of Herrick</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_071">71</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_SHAKESPEARES_SONNETS"><span class="smcap">In “Shakespeare’s Sonnets”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_073">73</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_SONNETS_FROM_THE_PORTUGUESE"><span class="smcap">In “Sonnets from the Portuguese”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_074">74</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_GEORGE_MEREDITHS_POEMS"><span class="smcap">In George Meredith’s Poems</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_075">75</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_THE_KINGS_LYRICS"><span class="smcap">In “The King’s Lyrics”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_076">76</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#THE_SONG_OF_TEMBINOKA_KING_OF_APEMAMA"><span class="smcap">The Song of Tembinoka, King of Apemama</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_077">77</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_THE_MANNER_OF_KIPLING"><span class="smcap">In the Manner of Kipling</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_079">79</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#FOR_A_NOVEL_OF_HALL_CAINES"><span class="smcap">For a Novel of Hall Caine’s</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_080">80</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_HELBECK_OF_BANNISDALE"><span class="smcap">In “Helbeck of Bannisdale”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_081">81</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#A_CHRISTMAS_GREETING"><span class="smcap">A Christmas Greeting</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_082">82</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_NICHOLSONS_ALMANAC_OF_SPORTS"><span class="smcap">In Nicholson’s “Almanac of Sports”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_083">83</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_NICHOLSONS_CITY_TYPES"><span class="smcap">In Nicholson’s “City Types”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_084">84</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_THE_GOLDEN_TREASURY"><span class="smcap">In “The Golden Treasury”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_085">85</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#A_VALENTINE"><span class="smcap">A Valentine</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_086">86</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_HALLO_MY_FANCY"><span class="smcap">In “Hallo, my Fancy!”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_087">87</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#THE_BOOK_SPEAKS"><span class="smcap">The Book Speaks</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_088">88</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_HERFORDS_VERSES"><span class="smcap">In Herford’s Verses</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_089">89</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_A_BOOK_OF_GIBSONS_DRAWINGS"><span class="smcap">In a Book of Gibson’s Drawings</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_090">90</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_A_VOLUME_OF_MISS_GUINEYS_POEMS"><span class="smcap">In a Volume of Miss Guiney’s Poems</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_091">91</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#IN_BARBARA_FRIETCHIE_A_PLAY"><span class="smcap">In “Barbara Frietchie—A Play”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_092">92</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TO_C_H_M_AND_H_H_M"><span class="smcap">To C. H. M. and H. H. M.</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_094">94</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#TO_MY_MOTHER"><span class="smcap">To my Mother</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_096">96</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#A_BOOKS_SOLILOQUY"><span class="smcap">A Book’s Soliloquy</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_097">97</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="indd"><a href="#ENVOY"><span class="smcap">Envoy</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_099">99</a></td></tr> - -</table> - -<h2>BETWEEN TWO WORLDS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">On</span> the dark decline of the unillumined<br /></span> -<span class="i0">verge between the two worlds.<br /></span> -<span class="i10"><i>George Meredith.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a>{1}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="THE_UNILLUMINED_VERGE" id="THE_UNILLUMINED_VERGE"></a>THE UNILLUMINED VERGE<br /><br /> -<small>TO A FRIEND DYING</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">They</span> tell you that Death’s at the turn of the road,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That under the shade of a cypress you’ll find him,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, struggling on wearily, lashed by the goad<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of pain, you will enter the black mist behind him.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I can walk with you up to the ridge of the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And we’ll talk of the way we have come through the valley;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down below there a bird breaks into a trill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a groaning slave bends to the oar of his galley.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You are up on the heights now, you pity the slave—<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a>{2}</span>“Poor soul, how fate lashes him on at his rowing!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet it’s joyful to live, and it’s hard to be brave<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When you watch the sun sink and the daylight is going.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We are almost there—our last walk on this height—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I must bid you good-by at that cross on the mountain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See the sun glowing red, and the pulsating light<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fill the valley, and rise like the flood in a fountain!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And it shines in your face and illumines your soul;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We are comrades as ever, right here at your going;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You may rest if you will within sight of the goal,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While I must return to my oar and the rowing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We must part now? Well, here is the hand of a friend;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I will keep you in sight till the road makes its turning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Just over the ridge within reach of the end<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of your arduous toil—the beginning of learning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a>{3}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You will call to me once from the mist, on the verge,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Au revoir!” and “good night!” while the twilight is creeping<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up luminous peaks, and the pale stars emerge?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yes, I hear your faint voice: “This is rest, and like sleeping!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a>{4}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="FROM_ONE_LONG_DEAD" id="FROM_ONE_LONG_DEAD"></a>FROM ONE LONG DEAD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">What</span>! <i>You</i> here in the moonlight and thinking of me?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is it you, O my comrade, who laughed at my jest?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But you wept when I told you I longed to be free,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And you mourned for a while when they laid me at rest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’ve been dead all these years! and to-night in your heart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There’s a stir of emotion, a vision that slips—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s <i>my</i> face in the moonlight that gives you a start,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It’s my name that in joy rushes up to your lips!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes, I’m young, oh, so young, and so little I know!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A mere child that is learning to walk and to run;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While I grasp at the shadows that wave to and fro<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I am dazzled a bit by the light of the Sun.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a>{5}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I am learning the lesson, I try to grow wise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But at night I am baffled and worn by the strife;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am humbled, and then there’s an impulse to rise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a voice whispers, “Onward and win! This is Life!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the Force that is drawing me up to the Height,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That inspires me and thrills me,—each day a new birth,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is the Force that to Chaos said, “Let there be Light!”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And it gave us sweet glimpses of Heaven on Earth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It is Love! and you know it and feel it, my Soul!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For you love me in spite of the grave and its bars.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And it moves the whole Universe on to its goal,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And it draws frail Humanity up to the stars!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a>{6}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FATHER_TO_MOTHER" id="FATHER_TO_MOTHER"></a>FATHER TO MOTHER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">This</span> is our child, Dear—flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here is the end of our youth, and now we begin to atone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now we do feel what their love was—those who have reared us and taught;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now do we know of the treasures that neither are sold nor bought.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here is the joy of the Race—joy that must grow out of pain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here is the last of our Self—now we are links in the chain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Body of yours and mine no more is the measure of grief—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All that <i>he</i> suffers is ours—and increased while we cry for relief;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a>{7}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yea, for our boy, our Beloved, we’ll yearn through the beckoning years—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Toil for him, laugh with him, struggle, and pour out the fountain of tears!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a>{8}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="THE_CHILD_TO_THE_FATHER" id="THE_CHILD_TO_THE_FATHER"></a>THE CHILD TO THE FATHER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Father</span>, it’s your love that safely guides me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Always it’s around me, night and day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It shelters me, and soothes, but never chides me:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet, father, there’s a shadow in my way.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All the day, my father, I am playing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under trees where sunbeams dance and dart—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But often just at night when I am praying<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I feel this awful hunger in my heart.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Father, there is something—it has missed me;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I’ve felt it through my little days and years;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And even when you petted me and kissed me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I’ve cried myself to sleep with burning tears.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a>{9}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To-day I saw a child and mother walking;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I caught a gentle shining in her eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And music in her voice when she was talking—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Oh, father, is it <i>that</i> that makes me cry?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, never can I put my arms around her,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or never cuddle closer in the night;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mother, oh, my mother! I’ve not found her—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I look for her and cry from dark to light!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a>{10}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="A_PRAYER_OF_OLD_AGE" id="A_PRAYER_OF_OLD_AGE"></a>A PRAYER OF OLD AGE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O <span class="smcap">Lord</span>, I am so used to all the byways<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Throughout Thy devious world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The little hill-paths, yea, and the great highways<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where saints are safely whirled!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there are crooked ways, forbidden pleasures,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That lured me with their spell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But there I lingered not, and found no treasures—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though in the mire I fell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now I’m old and worn, and, scarcely seeing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The beauties of Thy work,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I catch faint glimpses of the shadows fleeing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through valleys in the murk;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet I can feel my way—my mem’ry guides me;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I bear the yoke and smile.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’m used to life, and nothing wounds or chides me;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lord, let me live awhile!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a>{11}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then, dear Lord, I still can feel the thrilling<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Nature in the Spring—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The uplift of Thy hills, the song-birds trilling,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The lyric joy they bring.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’m not too old to see the regal beauty<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of moon and stars and sun;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nature can still reveal to me my duty<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till my long task is done.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O Lord, to me the pageant is entrancing—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The march of States and Kings!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I keenly watch the human race advancing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And see Man master Things:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From him who read the secret of the thunder<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And made the lightning kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down to this marvel—all the growing wonder<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of force controlled by Mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a>{12}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And this dear land of ours, the freeman’s Nation!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lord, let me live and see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fulfilment of our fathers’ aspiration,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When each man’s really free!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all the strength and skill that move the mountains,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And pile up riches great,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall sweeten patriotism at its fountains<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And purify the State!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But there are closer ties than these that bind me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And make me long to stay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And linger in the dusk where Death may find me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On Thine own chosen day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s one who walks beside me in the gloaming<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And holds my faltering hand—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Without her guidance I can make no homing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In any distant land.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a>{13}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some day when we are tired, like children playing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And wearied drop our toys—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all the work and burden of our staying<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has mingled with our joys—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With those we love around—our eyelids drooping,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Too spent with toil to weep—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some kind nurse o’er drowsy children stooping,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lord, take us home to sleep!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a>{14}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="THE_RHONE_GLACIER_SUNSET" id="THE_RHONE_GLACIER_SUNSET"></a>THE RHONE GLACIER—SUNSET</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Like</span> the uncounted years of God it rolls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From out the sky. The light of heaven shines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon its wrinkled brow, that seems a part<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of that stupendous dome of boundless blue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, like a pebble in the ocean depths,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This little world is lost. The sparkling sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plays gently in the deep green, icy clefts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like moonlight in the tender eyes of one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who looks to heaven to find her lover’s face.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Silent, serene, implacable it stands—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mighty symbol of the Force that moved<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across the surface of the youthful earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And scored the continents with valleys deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As children write upon the yielding sand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Back to the dawn of things its lineage runs—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Countless ages back to that bleak time<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a>{15}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">When frightful monsters played upon the hills—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Always the same, yet moving slowly onward,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In heaven its head, its feet upon the world.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Rhone that trickles from the glacier’s edge—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Makes valleys smile with grain and flower and fruit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And turns the wheels that forge the tools of trade—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is but the lash with which the giant plays<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And spins the tops that swarm with struggling men.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“What is Man, that Thou art mindful of him?”—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This pleasure or this pain, this wealth or want,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This tragic comedy we call our life!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Across the meadows as the evening falls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A shepherd drives his sheep, and fondly bears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the rocky stream the weakling lamb;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The children hear the father’s kindly voice<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And run to greet and cheer his late return,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While from his humble cottage gleams a light.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a>{16}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sheep are nestled in their sheltering fold—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The door springs open to a welcome cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all at last are safe within the Home.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In cold and awful majesty it stands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the darkening sky,—Force without warmth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strength without passion.<br /></span> -<span class="i12">But at the touch<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of homely human ways its terrors flee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Force is swallowed up in Life with Love.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a>{17}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="JAMES_McCOSH" id="JAMES_McCOSH"></a>JAMES McCOSH<br /><br /> -<small>1811-1894</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Young</span> to the end through sympathy with youth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gray man of learning—champion of truth!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Direct in rugged speech, alert in mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He felt his kinship with all humankind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And never feared to trace development<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of high from low—assured and full content<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That man paid homage to the Mind above,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Uplifted by the “Royal Law of Love.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The laws of nature that he loved to trace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have worked, at last, to veil from us his face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dear old elms and ivy-covered walls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will miss his presence, and the stately halls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His trumpet-voice; while in their joys<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sorrow will shadow those he called “my boys”!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a>{18}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="LE_BONHEUR_DE_CE_MONDE" id="LE_BONHEUR_DE_CE_MONDE"></a>LE BONHEUR DE CE MONDE<br /><br /> -<small>(Copie d’un sonnet composé par Plantin au XVI<sup>e</sup> siècle.)</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Avoir</span> une maiſon commode, propre & belle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Un jardin tapiſſé d’eſpaliers odorans,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Des fruits, d’excellent vin, peu de train, peu d’enfans,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poſſeder ſeul, ſans bruit, une femme fidéle.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">N’avoir dettes, amour, ni procés, ni querelle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ni de partage à faire avecque ſes parens,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Se contenter de peu, n’eſpérer rien des Grands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Régler tous ſes deſſeins sur un juſte modéle.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Vivre avecque franchiſe & ſans ambition,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">S’adonner ſans ſcrupule à la dévotion,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Domter ſes paſſions, les rendre obéiſſantes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Conſerver l’eſprit libre, & le jugement fort,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dire ſon Chapelet en cultivant ſes entes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">C’eſt attendre chez ſoi bien doucement la mort.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a>{19}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="THE_HAPPINESS_OF_THIS_WORLD" id="THE_HAPPINESS_OF_THIS_WORLD"></a>THE HAPPINESS OF THIS WORLD<br /><br /> -<small>FROM THE FRENCH OF PLANTIN</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To</span> have a home, convenient for thy life,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With fragrant fruit-walls in a garden fine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some children, some retainers, and rare wine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To live serenely with thy faithful wife;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To have no debts, nor quarrels, nor legal strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor separation from dear kin of thine;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Expecting nothing from the Great, to shine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With modest light and just, where greed is rife.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To live with freedom, yet to be devout,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ruling thy well-curbed passions—and without<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ambition’s scourge to thwart thy regnant will;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Truly to worship God with ardent breath<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Among His shrubs and trees on plain and hill—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus pleasantly shalt thou at home wait Death.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a>{20}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="R_L_S" id="R_L_S"></a>R. L. S.</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“<i>Where hath fleeting Beauty led?</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>To the doorway of the dead.</i>”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the way you followed her<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tripping through the palms and fir;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the way around you flew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Splendid spirits from the blue—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreams and visions lightly caught<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the meshes of your thought.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What a glorious retinue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Made that arduous chase with you!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Half the world stood still to see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Song and Fancy follow free<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At the waving of your wand—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the echoing hills respond<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To your voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a>{21}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i15">And now the race<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ends with your averted face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At full effort you have sped<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through that doorway of the dead—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the hills and woods remain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peopled from your teeming brain!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All that stately company<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Linger where their eyes may see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beauty fling the laurel o’er,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At the closing of the door!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="indd3">From <i>Suppressed Chapters</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a>{22}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="McGIFFEN" id="McGIFFEN"></a>McGIFFEN<br /><br /> -<small>THE HERO COMING HOME</small></h3> - -<p class="c"> -His body was clad in his uniform of Captain in the Chinese Navy,<br /> -and sent home to his mother at Washington, Pennsylvania.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>Associated Press.</i><br /> -</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I <span class="smcap">lent</span> him to my country,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And he wore the Navy blue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I bade him do his duty,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And he said he would be true.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">It’s home they say you’re coming—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And it’s home you came to me<br /></span> -<span class="i4">When you wore your first blue jacket<br /></span> -<span class="i6">At the old Academy.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the neighbors said, “How handsome!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">What a sailor he will be!”<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But I only drew him closer<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In my coddling mother’s joy,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And said, “Well, what’s a sailor?<br /></span> -<span class="i6">He’s my brave boy!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a>{23}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then they told the story<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of his courage in the fight—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How he ruled a heathen war-ship<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And fought it with his might.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">It’s home he wrote his mother<br /></span> -<span class="i6">When the smoke had cleared away:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">“I can <i>see</i>—so don’t you worry—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Though I’m riddled by the fray.”<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the neighbors said, “How glorious!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">What a Hero is your son!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The world is all a-talking<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Of the battle that he won!”<br /></span> -<span class="i4">I said, “Well, what’s a Hero?<br /></span> -<span class="i6">He’s my brave son!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a>{24}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now to me he’s coming,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And he wears a Captain’s bars;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s a foreign nation’s uniform,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But wrapped in Stripes and Stars.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">It’s home at last you’re coming,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And it’s home at last to me.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">You’re a hero and immortal,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And you fought to make men free.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But your heart is cold within you<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And your dear eyes cannot see!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">They say, “Be strong, O mother;<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Proud laurels crown his head!”<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Alas, what’s left of glory?<br /></span> -<span class="i6">My boy, my boy is dead!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a>{25}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="AT_THE_FARRAGUT_STATUE" id="AT_THE_FARRAGUT_STATUE"></a>AT THE FARRAGUT STATUE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To</span> live a hero, then to stand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In bronze serene above the city’s throng;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hero at sea, and now on land<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Revered by thousands as they rush along;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If these were all the gifts of fame—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To be a shade amid alert reality,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And win a statue and a name—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How cold and cheerless immortality!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But when the sun shines in the Square,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And multitudes are swarming in the street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Children are always gathered there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Laughing and playing round the hero’s feet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a>{26}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in the crisis of the game—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With boyish grit and ardor it is played—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’ll hear some youngster call his name:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“The Admiral—he never was afraid!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And so the hero daily lives,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And boys grow braver as the Man they see!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The inspiration that he gives<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still helps to make them loyal, strong, and free!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a>{27}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="NEWS_FROM_A_MISSING_LINER" id="NEWS_FROM_A_MISSING_LINER"></a>NEWS FROM A MISSING LINER<br /><br /> -<small>TO A CONVALESCENT</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Crawling</span> back to port again, half her cargo shifted,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Just enough of fuel left to steam her to the pier;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plunging through an icy gale when the fog has lifted,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Battered by the breakers, but her lights a-burning clear!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hope almost abandoned, days and nights she floundered—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nights when not a star was out and no sea-lights were near;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the world believed her lost; men despaired, but wondered<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How the liner could be wrecked and Kipling there to steer!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a>{28}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now she makes her harbor-lights, glides through seas enchanted—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whistles shrieking gayly and thousands at the pier;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the bridge the Captain, pale and worn—undaunted!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Welcome back to life again!” Hear the people cheer!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a>{29}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FOR_A_CLASSMATE_DEAD_AT_SEA" id="FOR_A_CLASSMATE_DEAD_AT_SEA"></a>FOR A CLASSMATE DEAD AT SEA<br /><br /> -<small>(W. F. STOUTENBURGH)</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">His</span> voice was gentle and his eyes were kind;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No one among us but did call him friend;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fond woman’s heart and student’s thoughtful mind<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Together in him did with fitness blend:<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And now he is no more!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We blindly murmur at the bitter Fate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That summoned him in other lands to roam;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when upon him Sickness wrought its hate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Half round the world, it brought him almost home,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">To die when near our shore.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a>{30}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We blindly murmur—but we only know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Calm rests his body in old Ocean’s deeps;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While we are groping in the mists below,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Serene his soul on other, cloudless steeps—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Forever—evermore.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a>{31}</span> </p> - -<h2>BRAMBLE BRAE</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a>{32}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a>{33}</span> </p> - -<h3><a name="A_TOAST_TO_OUR_NATIVE_LAND" id="A_TOAST_TO_OUR_NATIVE_LAND"></a>A TOAST TO OUR NATIVE LAND</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Huge</span> and alert, irascible yet strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We make our fitful way ’mid right and wrong.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One time we pour out millions to be free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then rashly sweep an empire from the sea!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One time we strike the shackles from the slaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then, quiescent, we are ruled by knaves.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Often we rudely break restraining bars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And confidently reach out toward the stars.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet under all there flows a hidden stream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sprung from the Rock of Freedom, the great dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Washington and Franklin, men of old<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who knew that freedom is not bought with gold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is the Land we love, our heritage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strange mixture of the gross and fine, yet sage<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And full of promise—destined to be great.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drink to Our Native Land! God Bless the State!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a>{34}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="THE_TOWERS_OF_PRINCETON" id="THE_TOWERS_OF_PRINCETON"></a>THE TOWERS OF PRINCETON<br /><br /> -<small>FROM THE TRAIN</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> they are! above the green trees shining—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Old towers that top the castles of our dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their turrets bright with rays of sun declining—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A painted glory on the window gleams.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, oh, the messages to travellers weary<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They signal through the ether in the dark!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The years are long, the path is steep and dreary,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But there’s a bell that struck in boyhood—hark!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The note is faint—but ghosts are gayly trooping<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From ivied halls and swarming ’neath the trees.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Old friends, you bring new life to spirits drooping—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your laughter and your joy are in the breeze!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a>{35}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They’re gone in dusk,—the towers and dreams are faded,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But something lingers of eternal Youth;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’re strong again, though doubting, worn, and jaded;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We pledge anew to friends and love and truth!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a>{36}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ROOSEVELT_IN_WYOMING" id="ROOSEVELT_IN_WYOMING"></a>ROOSEVELT IN WYOMING -<br /><br /><small> -TOLD BY A GUIDE—1899</small><a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor1">[1]</a></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Do</span> you know Yancey’s? Where the winding trail<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From Washburn Mountain strikes the old stage road,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wagons from Cooke City and the mail<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unhitch awhile, and teamsters shift the load?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A handy bunch of men are round the stove<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At Yancey’s—hunters back from Jackson’s Hole,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Ed Hough telling of a mighty drove<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of elk that he ran down to Teton Bowl.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Yancey he says: “Mr. Woody, there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Can tell a hunting yarn or two—beside,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He guided Roosevelt when he shot a bear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And six bull elk with antlers spreading wide.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a>{37}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But Woody is a guide who doesn’t brag;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He puffed his pipe awhile, then gravely said:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I knew he’d put the Spaniards in a bag,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For Mister Roosevelt always picked a head.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“That man won’t slosh around in politics<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And waste his time a-killing little game;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He studies elk, and men, and knows their tricks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And when he picks a head he hits the same.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now, down at Yancey’s every man’s a sport,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And free to back his knowledge up with lead;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And each believes that Roosevelt is the sort<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To run the State, because he “picks a head.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Tall, silent old Woody, a fine type of the fast-vanishing -race of game-hunters and Indian-fighters. -</p> - -<p class="r"> -Roosevelt’s <i>The Wilderness Hunter</i>.<br /> - -</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a>{38}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="UNCLE_SAM_TO_KIPLING" id="UNCLE_SAM_TO_KIPLING"></a>UNCLE SAM TO KIPLING<br /><br /> -<small>(1899)</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Take</span> up the White Man’s burden!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have done with childish days.<br /></span> -<span class="i12">R. K.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, thank you, Mr. Kipling,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For showing us the way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To buckle down to business<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And end our “childish day.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We know we’re young and frisky<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And haven’t too much sense—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At least, not in the measure<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ll have a few years hence.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now, this same “White Man’s burden”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You’re asking us to tote<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is not so unfamiliar<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As you’re inclined to note.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We freed three million negroes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their babies and their wives;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It cost a billion dollars<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And near a million lives!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a>{39}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And while we were a-fighting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In all those “thankless years”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We did not get much helping—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Well, not from English “peers.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so—with best intentions—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’re not exactly wild<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To free the Filipino,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Half devil and half child.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then, thank you, Mr. Kipling;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though not disposed to groan<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About the “White Man’s burden,”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ve troubles of our own;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Enough to keep us busy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When English friends inquire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Why don’t you use your talons?<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>There are chestnuts in the fire!</i>”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a>{40}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="A_NEW_YEARS_WISH_FOR_THOSE_WHO_WRITE" id="A_NEW_YEARS_WISH_FOR_THOSE_WHO_WRITE"></a>A NEW YEAR’S WISH FOR THOSE WHO WRITE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> this time of joy and cheer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When we greet the buoyant year,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now, old friends, we cherish you,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bless the dreams you’ve brought to view—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Kindly fancy, happy thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Visions from the fairies caught,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rhyme and story, song and play,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fantasy for holiday—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the treasures of your mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spent to make the world more kind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While we grope in dark and fog,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flounder onward through the bog,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You, serene upon the height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gambol in the cheery light—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Toss your laughter from the steep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bringing hope to those who weep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What fair visions brightly gleam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through cloud-rifts! Your dearest dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clothed in beauty on the peak,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waiting for the Muse to speak.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a>{41}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here’s our wish at New Year’s time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faint-expressed in halting rhyme:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the men who dream and write<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Make the future clear and bright;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thaw the cynic from their heart—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Love and faith are highest Art.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let them picture with their pen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not our <i>manners</i> but our <i>men</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bless them all at New Year’s tide!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May their skill and fame abide!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all women—charming, bright—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Grant that they may never write!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a>{42}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TO_CHLOE" id="TO_CHLOE"></a>TO CHLOE<br /><br /> -<small>FOR A MENDED GLOVE</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> Chloe looked upon the old torn glove,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then touched its ragged edges with her fingers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lo! the rent was closed—as if for love<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweet healing follows where her touch but lingers.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If all the rents that follow Chloe’s eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all the hearts despairingly defended,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were healed so soon—we’d straightway realize<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That love and life are good as new when mended.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a>{43}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TO_THE_ELF_ON_MY_CALENDAR" id="TO_THE_ELF_ON_MY_CALENDAR"></a>TO THE ELF ON MY CALENDAR</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sweet</span> Elf, you’ll pipe a merry tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Make days and months all gladness;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The clear, bright note you sound in June<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Will cheer December’s sadness.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You’ll never pout on rainy days,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor when it’s cold will shiver,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But sit serene and sing your lays.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May Old Time bless the giver!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a>{44}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="CAPRICE" id="CAPRICE"></a>CAPRICE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Love</span> laughed awhile,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ridiculed my daring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To rashly crave a smile<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From her, heart-whole, uncaring.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Oh, how Love laughed!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Love angry grew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And spoiled her pretty features;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I was—she vowed it true—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The most despised of creatures.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Oh, how Love frowned!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Love dropped a tear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her anger with it falling;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I felt her blue eyes clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My heart and hopes enthralling.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Oh, how Love cried!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a>{45}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her tears Love dried,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And then she looked up sweetly;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more her glance defied—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I pressed my suit discreetly.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Love kissed me then!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a>{46}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="RETROSPECT" id="RETROSPECT"></a>RETROSPECT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">At</span> evening, when the breeze dies down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And regal Nature doffs her crown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When brown-limbed pines, like minarets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fringe all the hills, and tired day frets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To rest awhile—ah, then, I know,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into a shadowed room you go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And softly touch the organ keys;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While pale stars blink amid the trees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You sing a peaceful vesper hymn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That rises from your full heart’s brim;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your kindly eyes are dimmed with tears—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You wander through remembered years;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From gay to grave your fancies fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And end the journey with the cry:<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>My heart played truant from my will!</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>I loved him then—I love him still.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a>{47}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_THE_CROWD" id="IN_THE_CROWD"></a>IN THE CROWD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A <span class="smcap">pair</span> of brown eyes—no matter where,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In quiet street or crowded thoroughfare—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Call up the image of your face to me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All others vanish, only you I see;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the din of trade your voice I hear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And merry laughter, ringing sweet and clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That fades into a smile away:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus are you with me everywhere and every day.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a>{48}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="REMEMBRANCE" id="REMEMBRANCE"></a>REMEMBRANCE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">No</span>, not despair of ever quite forgetting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The happy romance of those dreamy years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The painful weariness of vain regretting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through all life’s varied way of love and tear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not this the gladness of my heart represses,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With shadow tinges still each sunny thought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fancy that with poignant touch distresses<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is that by thee I am perhaps forgot!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a>{49}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OFF_FORT_HAMILTON_IN_SUMMER" id="OFF_FORT_HAMILTON_IN_SUMMER"></a>OFF FORT HAMILTON IN SUMMER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Embrasured</span> guns, like wearied hounds, all sleeping,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their muzzles resting on the cool, green turf;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along the Fort their peaceful watch now keeping<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above the mimic battle of the surf.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And you, dear one, now that my suit is ended—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let passion slumber in your cool dark eyes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wiles by which your heart was well defended<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Embrasured there look love on summer skies.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a>{50}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="OVER_THE_FERRY" id="OVER_THE_FERRY"></a>OVER THE FERRY<br /><br /> -<small>ONOMATOPOETIC</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">Clang! Ting-a-ling!<br /></span> -<span class="i6"> Then a scream of the whistle.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sob! Sob! Sob! Sob!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heaves slowly the breast of the iron-sinewed giant;<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And the swift paddles fling,<br /></span> -<span class="i6"> Like the down of a thistle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">White foam from their blades, while the waters defiant<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Groan under their merciless tread; and the throb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the heart grows exultingly faster;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now a race with a tug, and then it is past her—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glides under the bow of a stately Cunarder—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The steel-lungèd giant breathing harder and harder<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While nearing the wharves of the City of Vanity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To roll from its shoulders the load of humanity.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And up near the bow, with arms crossed on the railing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bold wind with kisses her fair cheeks assailing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tossing her hair from her brow, stands sweet Jennie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who hopes on the way to the school to meet Bennie.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a>{51}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And what he will say she is anticipating—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her heart full of pleasure, her blue eyes dilating;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And what will she say? Ah, now she is blushing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There he stands on the pier! How the people are crushing!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While out from the dock the churned waters are rushing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the song of the wheels is, “I love him—I love him!”<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Then the pilot above<br /></span> -<span class="i6"> Signals “Clang! Ting-a-ling!”<br /></span> -<span class="i6"> And the slowing wheels sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">“Oh, my love—love—love!”<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Clang!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a>{52}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="BRAMBLE_BRAE_IN_OCTOBER" id="BRAMBLE_BRAE_IN_OCTOBER"></a>BRAMBLE BRAE IN OCTOBER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> now the corn has ripened at Bramble Brae,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the hosts are marshalled for Autumn’s fray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The quaint old farm is changing its green for brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save where the new wheat lifts itself to the light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And huddles in rows, like wrinkles in some old gown.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along the lane the quail are running in fright<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At sound of guns on the upland—the cautious dogs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are coursing over the fields, and keen-eyed men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watch for the whir of wings; the hickory logs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are falling down in the clearing, while in their pen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The big swine gloat on the heaped-up trough;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In woods the dead leaves rustle, and red squirrels cough<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And chatter and screech—chasing each other from limb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To limb, and gather their stores at the roots of trees.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And part of it all is a boy, and the heart of him<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glows with the sumach, and sings with the Autumn breeze.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a>{53}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down in the valley the ancient village rests,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drowsing along the curbs of its quaint old street;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High and peaked are the roofs, and antique crests<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are carved on the gables. Fair maids, discreet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sit on the porches and talk with the passing youth;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Love goes by, sometimes in homespun clad,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sometimes rich in the wealth of truth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That speaks in the heart and the eyes of the lad.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For none that pass are the eyes of the bonny girl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Except for him; she sits and waits by a climbing vine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reading the verses of some old bard; the pearl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She seeks is love, and only love is the wine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That colors her cheeks and snaps in her sparkling eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the lad is shy, and dreams the livelong day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That love and his lady are proof against all surprise—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So up on the hillside he longs for the village far away.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a>{54}</span> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">. . . . . . . . . . . .</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Many Autumns have glowed on the hillside there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slender saplings have sprung to giant trees;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gray is his head and furrowed his brow with care—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heart of the man cries out to the Autumn breeze.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dusk in the valley, and cold light on the hill—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brown is the sumach, the glory of youth has fled;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drowsing cattle shiver, the night is chill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Memory lives, but all of his hopes are dead.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Years has he wandered over the land and sea;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Friends he has cherished and lost, and women loved;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Always that vision haunted his fancy free—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dreamer worshipped, but never the vision proved.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down in the valley the ancient houses sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dotted with lights that break through the evening gloom;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreams that stirred the face of the waters deep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cover their eyes and flee to a welcoming tomb.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a>{55}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="WITH_FLOWERS" id="WITH_FLOWERS"></a>WITH FLOWERS</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a>{56}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a>{57}</span> </p> - -<h3><a name="ON_A_SPRAY_OF_HEATHER" id="ON_A_SPRAY_OF_HEATHER"></a>ON A SPRAY OF HEATHER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Far</span> from its native moorland<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or crest of “wine-red” hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At sight or scent of heather<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hearts of Scotsmen thrill.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though crushed its purple blossoms,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its tender stems turned brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It brings romantic Highlands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Into prosaic town.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The clans are on the border,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The chiefs are in the fray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’re keen upon their footsteps<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With Walter Scott to-day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peat smoke from lowland cottage<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Floats curling up, and turns<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our dreams toward quiet hearthstones<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And melodies of Burns.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a>{58}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And last our fancy lingers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With fond regret and vain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where sleeps our Tusitala<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath the tropic rain—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far from the purple heather<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or gleaming rowan bough,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alone on mountain summit,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Our hearts remember how.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="indd3">St. Andrew’s Day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a>{59}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="THE_HOTHOUSE_VIOLET_SPEAKS" id="THE_HOTHOUSE_VIOLET_SPEAKS"></a>THE HOTHOUSE VIOLET SPEAKS<br /><br /> -<small>TO A FAIR WOMAN</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I’ve</span> calmly lived my sunny little life<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the crinkling glass, and free from strife;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sky above and all around is blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from this haven now I come to you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fair Lady, tell me have I heard aright<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That other flowers do not live so bright?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in dark forests and by noisy streams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pale wood violet sheds its purple beams?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While we are merry in this fireside glow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My humble cousin shivers in the snow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yet a cricket whispered once to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That <i>I</i> the captive was—my cousin, free!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a>{60}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sometimes I’ve dreamed the cricket told me true;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ve longed for freedom and the pleasing view<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of moss-grown hummocks and great whispering trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With gold-winged songsters humming in the breeze.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dream is over—I have lived my day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nourished in sun with other violets gay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now I’m borne afar to Paradise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To find my haven in your gentle eyes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If I may touch your lips I’ll die content<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Without one glimpse of freedom or days spent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In woodland dells; oh, murmur, while I fade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your own sweet mem’ries of the forest glade!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come, tell me quickly, for my brief hours pass;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What! <i>You too captive in a house of glass?</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a>{61}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="A_SONG" id="A_SONG"></a>A SONG<br /><br /> -<small>WITH A RED ROSE ON HER BIRTHDAY</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>What the Rose thought:</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4">Oh, to be one-and-twenty!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I am a rose that must bloom for a day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My life is like color and perfume in May;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-night I shall fade in her beautiful hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And touch with my petals her proud neck and fair.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Oh, to be one-and-twenty!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>What She sang, exultingly:</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4">Oh, to be one-and-twenty!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To feel that the glorious days of my youth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are only the promise of hope, love, and truth—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That all joyful things in my bright future gleam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I am to <i>live</i> them and find out my dream.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Oh, to be one-and-twenty!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a>{62}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>What He wrote, sadly:</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4">Oh, to be one-and-twenty!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To dream that the great world is still all my own,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cherish again the ideals that have flown;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To follow them, hiding with cunning and art,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And find them all sleeping within her warm heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Her heart that is one-and-twenty!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a>{63}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WHAT_THE_FLOWERS_SAID" id="WHAT_THE_FLOWERS_SAID"></a>WHAT THE FLOWERS SAID</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Here</span> are roses, red and white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each to speak what I would write;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, when in your quiet room<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You may smell their sweet perfume,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall whisper through these flowers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fancy’s thoughts for evening hours.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, when in the crowded street<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You and I may chance to meet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll discover in your eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What you’ve half expressed in sighs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For if in your dusky hair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One red rose you deign to wear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall say, “I know that she<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wears it for her love of me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a>{64}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But if on your gentle breast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One white rose may dare to rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then in rapture I’ll declare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“That’s my heart a-resting there.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But if neither red nor white<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May your hair or gown bedight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still with confidence I’ll say,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“That is lovely woman’s way—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What of life is largest part<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hides she deepest in her heart!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a>{65}</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="DIANAS_VALENTINE" id="DIANAS_VALENTINE"></a>DIANA’S VALENTINE<br /><br /> -<small>WITH A BUNCH OF VIOLETS</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Good Saint Valentine, I pray,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>While around this town you stray,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>You will keep your eyes alert</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>For a maid who loves to flirt.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If among the hurrying crowd—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beauties fair and beauties proud—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You should see one like a queen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eyes of blue, with golden sheen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In her hair that’s flecked with brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a grace about her gown,<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>That’s Diana!</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">Catch her eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As she’s gayly tripping by;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say you know a sorry wight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slow of speech and slow to write,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a>{66}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who would tell her through these flowers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That her eyes are bright as stars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the blue; that her speech<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haunts his mem’ry (out of reach<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like their perfume faint but fine);<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That her laugh is like rare wine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As you leave her touch her lips;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say that men are like old ships,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Easy towed, but hard to steer;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then just whisper in her ear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Lovers change, but friends are true<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like these violets.” Then, “Adieu.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>This, Saint Valentine, I pray,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>On the morning of that day</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>When you keep your eyes alert</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>For all maids who love to flirt.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="indd3"><span class="smcap">Arcady</span>, February fourteenth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a>{67}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="WITH_SOME_BIRTHDAY_ROSES" id="WITH_SOME_BIRTHDAY_ROSES"></a>WITH SOME BIRTHDAY ROSES</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">If</span> I were not a speechless flower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’d like to talk with you an hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whisper many pretty things<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That thinking of your birthday brings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">(For flowers can dream of happiness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While you their velvet petals press!)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I can’t talk—I know a man<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who often vainly thinks he can,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And what he wanted me to do<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was simply to look fair to you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wish you joy—and then surprise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gentle look in your dear eyes.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a>{69}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a>{68}</span> </p> - -<h2><a name="WRITTEN_IN_BOOKS" id="WRITTEN_IN_BOOKS"></a>WRITTEN IN BOOKS</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a>{70}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a>{71}</span> </p> - -<h3><a name="IN_A_VOLUME_OF_HERRICK" id="IN_A_VOLUME_OF_HERRICK"></a>IN A VOLUME OF HERRICK</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dear</span> old worldling gone astray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You would rather sing than pray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While you wore the preacher’s gown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How you longed for London Town!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When your head ached, then, alack!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You, repentant, gave up sack;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Old and worn you ruthlessly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bade farewell to poesy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full, you never cared for food,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sated, you were always good.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Julia’s beauties you rehearse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sing her charms in wanton verse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But to make poor Julia thine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not one pleasure you’d resign.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flattering, you tried to please;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Generous, you loved your ease!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a>{72}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dear old Herrick, you’re a Man<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Built upon the human plan;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the world your fame belongs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the beauty of your songs—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glorious poet—not a saint—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lyric splendor without taint!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a>{73}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_SHAKESPEARES_SONNETS" id="IN_SHAKESPEARES_SONNETS"></a>IN “SHAKESPEARE’S SONNETS”</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Sonnets—bound by Rivière<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And newly illustrated!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As though the words that Shakespeare wrote<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By outward dress are rated!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The soul—the fine, immortal part<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That lives without the binding,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is something from the poet’s heart;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Tis here—and worth the finding.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a>{74}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_SONNETS_FROM_THE_PORTUGUESE" id="IN_SONNETS_FROM_THE_PORTUGUESE"></a>IN “SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE”</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> this book a woman wrote her heart—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Etching there the image of a Man.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faithful woman! But the years depart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And love is dust, and life a broken span!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a>{75}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_GEORGE_MEREDITHS_POEMS" id="IN_GEORGE_MEREDITHS_POEMS"></a>IN GEORGE MEREDITH’S POEMS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">Here is a forest tangle—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rank weeds, luxuriant ferns, and giant trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">All in a hoarse-voiced wrangle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With creaking branches swaying in the breeze.<br /></span> -<span class="i3">But if you care to listen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the noise you’ll hear the piping of a bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Gay feathers in the tree-tops glisten,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And over all the sweetest music ever heard.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a>{76}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_THE_KINGS_LYRICS" id="IN_THE_KINGS_LYRICS"></a>IN “THE KING’S LYRICS”</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Behold</span> “The Lyrics of the King”!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As though a crown on those who sing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Could make their music sweeter!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-day we’ll choose the better part—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gentle music of the heart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That masters rhyme and metre.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a>{77}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="THE_SONG_OF_TEMBINOKA_KING_OF_APEMAMA" id="THE_SONG_OF_TEMBINOKA_KING_OF_APEMAMA"></a>THE SONG OF TEMBINOKA, KING OF APEMAMA<br /><br /> -<small>TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sing</span>, my warriors, sing! men of the sharklike race!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sing of the poet who came and greeted us face to face.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He from the cold, gray North, I, in these tropic isles,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meet as brothers and bards, with eloquent songs and smiles—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meet as brothers, though singing words that are strange and proud.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale and wan is his face, while mine is a thunder-cloud;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the heart of a man is hidden by neither language nor skin—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To love as a man and a brother maketh the whole world kin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a>{78}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tales that he tells are of heroes who fought like braves to the death—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bone of our bone are these heroes, the very breath of our breath!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then sing, my warriors, sing! men of the sharklike race!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sing of the poet who came and greeted us face to face!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="indd3">From <i>Overheard in Arcady</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a>{79}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_THE_MANNER_OF_KIPLING" id="IN_THE_MANNER_OF_KIPLING"></a>IN THE MANNER OF KIPLING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="iq">“Show me the face of Truth,” the Sahib said—<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“Show me its beauty, before I’m dead!”<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“Look!” said the priest, “with unflinching eyes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is the World, and not Paradise.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Look! It is wicked, and cruel, and strong, and wise!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="indd3">From <i>Overheard in Arcady</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a>{80}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="FOR_A_NOVEL_OF_HALL_CAINES" id="FOR_A_NOVEL_OF_HALL_CAINES"></a>FOR A NOVEL OF HALL CAINE’S<br /><br /> -<small>AFTER KIPLING</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> sits in a sea-green grotto with a bucket of lurid paint,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And draws the Thing as it isn’t for the God of Things as they ain’t!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a>{81}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_HELBECK_OF_BANNISDALE" id="IN_HELBECK_OF_BANNISDALE"></a>IN “HELBECK OF BANNISDALE”</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> foolish story of a man and maid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who loved each other but were dire afraid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To follow where their true hearts surely led<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, risking all things, bravely to be wed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What’s in a creed to keep two souls apart?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The universal solvent is the heart!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a>{82}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="A_CHRISTMAS_GREETING" id="A_CHRISTMAS_GREETING"></a>A CHRISTMAS GREETING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Good</span> luck, good cheer, throughout the year!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A bright fire on the hearthstone burning;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A gleam of rose at evening’s close<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When, wearied, you are homeward turning!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By ingle-nook a soothing book—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A few old friends in Mem’ry’s castle;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bit of rhyme at Christmas-time<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To wish you fortune at your wassail!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a>{83}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_NICHOLSONS_ALMANAC_OF_SPORTS" id="IN_NICHOLSONS_ALMANAC_OF_SPORTS"></a>IN NICHOLSON’S “ALMANAC OF SPORTS”<br /><br /> -<small>(WITH VERSES BY KIPLING)</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> all your Calendar of Sports<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Why, Rudyard, do you slight the wheel?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were you, then, never out of sorts<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Until you felt the vibrant steel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Skim over miles of level track?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For youth, with all its hope and cheer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When we’re a-wheel comes rolling back—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And it is Summer all the year!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a>{84}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_NICHOLSONS_CITY_TYPES" id="IN_NICHOLSONS_CITY_TYPES"></a>IN NICHOLSON’S “CITY TYPES”</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> City’s roar is rising from the street;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old, bedraggled “types” are shuffling through the strife;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They plod and push, and elbow as they meet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And glare and grin, and sadly call it “life.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For us the fireside hearth is all aglow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And those we love make up the life we know.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a>{85}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_THE_GOLDEN_TREASURY" id="IN_THE_GOLDEN_TREASURY"></a>IN “THE GOLDEN TREASURY”</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> year is old, the way is far;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I catch your image like a star<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That’s mirrored in a crystal brook;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For love of you I send a book!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a>{86}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="A_VALENTINE" id="A_VALENTINE"></a>A VALENTINE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Though</span> all the streams are white with frost<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all the fields with snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though earth its greenery has lost,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And biting gales do blow—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still I’ll recall the summer hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The blue skies and the vine—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hillsides pink with Alpine flowers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To greet my Valentine!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a>{87}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_HALLO_MY_FANCY" id="IN_HALLO_MY_FANCY"></a>IN “HALLO, MY FANCY!”<br /><br /> -<small>(BY CHARLES HENRY LÜDERS AND S. D. S., JR.)</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Hallo, my Fancy! View Hallo!”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The nimble game has broken cover<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And skims the valley to and fro;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By cooling brooks it seems to hover,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then bounds along. “Ho, View Hallo!”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The huntsmen cry from brake to loch;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The chase grows ardent—“View Hallo!”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From quiet shelter echoes, <i>Droch</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a>{88}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="THE_BOOK_SPEAKS" id="THE_BOOK_SPEAKS"></a>THE BOOK SPEAKS<br /><br /> -<small>TO EUGENE FIELD</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I’m</span> keeping jolly comp’ny<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In a room that’s full of books;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’m cheek by jowl with Horace<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a lot of ancient crooks.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the boys I like to play with,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the boss takes off his coat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are the wild and woolly heroes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From Casey’s tabble-dote.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when the lamp is lighted<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And cosey hours ensue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I talk with All-Aloney<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the little Boy in Blue.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But when the man that owns the books<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Throws one kind glance at <i>me</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">I sing just like the Dinkey<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the Amfelula Tree.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a>{89}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_HERFORDS_VERSES" id="IN_HERFORDS_VERSES"></a>IN HERFORD’S VERSES</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To</span> weep with those who weep is human;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We give our praises to the man of grit,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And honor with our trust the true man;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let’s laugh a little with a man of wit!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a>{90}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_A_BOOK_OF_GIBSONS_DRAWINGS" id="IN_A_BOOK_OF_GIBSONS_DRAWINGS"></a>IN A BOOK OF GIBSON’S DRAWINGS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> may turn these pages over,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Looking for the priceless pearl;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You may search from back to cover<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the finest Gibson girl.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You can save yourself the trouble—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It’s no earthly use to look:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The charming girl who takes the medal<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is a-holding of the book.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a>{91}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_A_VOLUME_OF_MISS_GUINEYS_POEMS" id="IN_A_VOLUME_OF_MISS_GUINEYS_POEMS"></a>IN A VOLUME OF MISS GUINEY’S POEMS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A <span class="smcap">maker</span> of smooth verse and facile rhymes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lover of quaint legends from old times;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A joyous singer in New England bleak—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her heart is Irish and her mind is Greek.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a>{92}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="IN_BARBARA_FRIETCHIE_A_PLAY" id="IN_BARBARA_FRIETCHIE_A_PLAY"></a>IN “BARBARA FRIETCHIE—A PLAY”<br /><br /> -<small>TO J. M.</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> met her first in Arcady,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where visions fair are apt to be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Roaming beneath the arching trees—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her laughter cheering up the breeze;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sometimes as gay as <i>Colinette</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then fond and sad as <i>Juliet</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when we’d had enough of anguish<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She’d make us laugh as <i>Lydia Languish</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No mask or mood was twice the same—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet one fair face behind each name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As that bright vixen of the mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fascinating <i>Rosalīnd</i>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As <i>Imogen</i> or <i>Viola</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, best of all, sweet <i>Barbara</i>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Always the same alluring grace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wit that sparkles in her face!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a>{93}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The road to Arcady is far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sometimes lonely for a star—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But all the phantoms of the air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And poets’ dreams that wander there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would miss the welcome we extend,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not to her Art—just to a friend!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a>{94}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TO_C_H_M_AND_H_H_M" id="TO_C_H_M_AND_H_H_M"></a>TO C. H. M. AND H. H. M.</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Here</span> is the story—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I haven’t half told it;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fun and the glory,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A volume can’t hold it.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But this is a spray,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Withered leaves and pressed flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From a faded bouquet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That was plucked in gay hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within sound of the waves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the gentle Pacific,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Nature enslaves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the days beatific<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are sandalled with gold<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And wear gems on their fingers.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the tale is not told<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which slow Fancy weaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But a faint odor lingers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">About these dry leaves<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a>{95}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i4">That may bring recollection<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Of prairie and loch<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With a hint of affection<br /></span> -<span class="i8">From<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Yours ever,<br /></span> -<span class="i12"><span class="smcap">Droch</span>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="indd3">Dedication of <i>The Monterey Wedding</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a>{96}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="TO_MY_MOTHER" id="TO_MY_MOTHER"></a>TO MY MOTHER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Long</span> years you’ve kept the door ajar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To greet me, coming from afar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long years in my accustomed place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ve read my welcome in your face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And felt the sunlight of your love<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drive back the years and gently move<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The telltale shadow ’round to youth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’ve found the very spring, in truth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That baffles time—the kindling joy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That keeps me in your heart a boy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now I send an unknown guest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To bide with you and snugly rest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beside the old home’s ingle-nook.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For love of me you’ll love my book.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="indd3">Dedication of <i>Overheard in Arcady</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a>{97}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="A_BOOKS_SOLILOQUY" id="A_BOOKS_SOLILOQUY"></a>A BOOK’S SOLILOQUY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">My</span> lady’s room is full of books<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And easy-chairs and curtained nooks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dainty tea-things on a table,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And poetry, and tale, and fable,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on the hearth a crackling fire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That welcome gives, and when you tire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of pleasant talk you still may find<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A tempting pasture where the mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May browse awhile, and read the pages<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which poets wrote, or fools, or sages.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And here I come to ask a place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among these worthies, face to face!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To be allowed on some low shelf<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To rest and dream, and pride myself<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On being in such company—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To watch fair women drinking tea;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a>{98}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if, perchance, on some lone day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gentle mistress looks my way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And softly says, “Now I shall see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What’s going on in Arcady!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then I’ll rejoice that I’m a book<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At which my lady deigns to look.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a>{99}</span></p> - -<h3><a name="ENVOY" id="ENVOY"></a>ENVOY<br /><br /> -<small>THE SHEPHERD TO HIS FLOCK</small></h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> sun is warm upon the ridges now;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The way was rough and steep;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll seek the shelter of a leafy bough<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And watch my grazing sheep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The smoke is rising from the valley there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hum of wheels and trade;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stress of life is in the whirling air<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While I pipe in the shade.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where work is fierce amid the striving throng<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And music’s voice is mute,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some one may catch the echo of a song—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The faint note of a lute.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - 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