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' And looking off across the vast 
Wide ranges, stretching out be/ore." 

— P 17- 



flmrcs of tJpe "fed fiaoe 



Frank (L Hfeftl 



Julian, fllmais 

TOellmg & Cfegkms, ^«blisters 

1899 



library of C&rkgv*68% 
Offi 

Register of Copyrights 



?$l 



^% 



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51578 



Copyright, 1899, by Frank C. Riehl. 



MELLING & GASKINS, 

Printbrs and Binders 



»SCONS COPY, 



Jbrltratiim 



Wt\at fyappö bays in ftelb anb camp, 

IDtjen erst tfyese carious talcs mere tolM 
Wl\at recollections tr?ey recall 

(Df tjours tr^at tjelb life's purest aolb ! 
3n meagre recompense of all 

fElje roriter's part in tfyese fair joys, 
Proubly trjis volume is inscribeb 

do Captain fjarru, anb "(Erje Boys." 



Vxziutt 



HTO the very generous reception accorded by the 
public to my former book, "Poems of the 
Piasa," is due this second venture into the field 
of modern poetic .literature. Like the former 
volume, too, it is keyed in the reminiscent meas- 
ure of legendary and semi-historic themes as 
related to the passing of the North American 
Indian from the world's stage of action. 

Reared in a region where the traces of inhabi- 
tance by the Indians have not yet been obliterated 
by civilization, and are everywhere to be seen, the 
writer's earliest impressions were formed on this 
subject, and he early conceived the idea that here 
was a theme worthy of study and research which 
thus far had been practically neglected from the 
literary point of view. It was under this concep- 
tion that the Legend of the Piasa and other kin- 
dred poems, published in 1896, were written while 



the composer was engaged, as a boy, in the 
arduous duties of farm life on the old homestead. 
The indorsement of this work, first by personal 
friends, and later by a constantly widening circle 
of the reading public, has so far confirmed the 
writer's first belief as to prompt the preparation of 
the more pretentious tales which appear under the 
present title. 

The first poem, dealing with the conquest of 
the Illini by their old foes, the Iroquoi, is essen- 
tially historic, and covers an act in this tragedy of 
nations which, so far as the writer is aware, has 
never been consistently recorded. The other 
poems in this department are merely the fruitage 
of occasional thoughts, and versifications of vague 
legends gleaned in the periodical pursuit of this 
general subject. That they deal rather with the 
dark than the sunny side of life is no design of the 
writer's, but a necessary consistency with the 
character of the theme. 

The illustrations used in this book are exact 
photographic reproductions, and may convey to 
foreign readers some idea of the natural grandeur 
of this region about the confluence of the three 
great mid-continental rivers of America, the Mis- 
sissippi, Missouri and Illinois, and to local residents 



at least a pleasing suggestion of long familiar 
scenes. 

The miscellaneous poems in the latter half of 
this book are chosen from many occasional verses, 
and are printed in the hope that each, choosing 
according to taste, may find among them some- 
thing suggesting pleasant thoughts for an idle 
hour. 

Such is the mission, if it may be so called, of 
this modest volume, and if it meets with kindly 
reception fulfilling these thoughts, the writer will 
be well content. 

Very truly yours, 

FRANK C. RIEHL. 



Contents 

Anthelion 17 

Th* jfong nf Train iHfeier* 

Proem 20 

The Lone Cedar 21 

The Tragedy of Love 25 

The Fateful Prophecy 30 

The Camp of the Illini 35 

The Faith of Ineosa 39 

The Vision of Wunnista 44 

The Meeting of the Hosts 48 

The Coming of the Plague 53 

The Burial of the Dead 57 

The Mound of Mouaqua 61 



Taks nf ttiz OTtgxtmm 



The Wooing of Watalee 66 

The Demon of the Lake 82 

The Arraignment of Lo 88 

At Starved Rock 93 

The Title to America 96 

The Heart of Old Hickory 98 

Fetter Free 102 

The Wail of an Indian Queen 104 

Weseng and Wakehon 107 

A Nobleman of Nature 112 



13 



Far Frmtnm's Flag 



Progression 114 

m atilde of the manse 120 

A Song for Cuba 125 

The Sailors of the Maine 126 

The New Evangel 127 

Forward, Fellow Countrymen 128 

The Passing of Garcia 129 

The Coming of Peace .... 13° 



Vrxtms hi) the ~-ttlnv 



Kaskaskia — 132 

Pictures of Home 134 

Lovejoy 135 

Sing Me a Song 138 

A Shame of Motherhood 139 

The Lady Abigail 140 

Intuition 142 

At Two, and Two Score 143 

The Song of the Camp . . 144 

While Sitting in the Blind 146 

A Summons of Spring 148 

A Song of "Auld Lang Syne" 149 

A Twilight Reverie 150 

A Bachelor's Musing 152 

Out of the Depths 153 

Love and a Pipe 153 

To One Disconsolate 154 

The Benedicts' Ball 155 

Know One Another 157 

At Christmas Time 158 



M 



Prof. W. H. von Riehl 160 

In Memoriam '... 161 

To My Friend 164 

In the Faith 166 

A Volume of Verse 168 

Accomplishment 169 

To Own a Home 169 

Parting from the Seashore 170 

A Word from Thee 172 

Love Lorn 174 

God Bide With Thee 174 

Angling Quatrains 175 

For an Old Maid's Concert 176 

Of the New Year 178 

A Measly Sonnet 179 

The Song of the Bowler 180 

Occasional Thoughts 181 

The End of the Calendar 182 

Appendix 184 



15 



&ni\\zVxxm 



As one who on the fallow plain 

Stands gazing at the sunset hills, 
Beholds the evening shadows wane 

And all his soul with rapture thrills, 
The while the light of fading day 

In silhouette against the sky, 
By contrast with the twilight gray 

Recalls its glories, soon to die, 
So on the sombre heights of time 

That mark the record of his race, 
Methinks an Indian in his prime 

Leans on his horse in stolid grace 
And looking off across the vast 

Wide ranges, stretching out before, 
Reflects upon the val'rous past 

Of his proud people, — proud no more. 



II. 



The day was earnest, full of strife ; 

Marked by its round of toil and care, 
And death came near, and sorrow's knife 

Cut to the verge of calm despair ; 



17 



But faith was stronger, hope was true, 

While love brought victory from defeat, 
And in this retrospective view 

Comes back reflected, doubly sweet. 
So once the Indian : in his ire 

A demon of avenging fate, 
Sating with tomahawk and fire 

His thirst of cumulative hate, 
Yet was he noble, spite of all, 

And over his unhonored grave, 
Pause we in reverence, to recall 

He erst was true, as always brave. 



III. 



Though every sun that gilds the west 

Gives promise of a fairer morn, 
And every throb of vague unrest 

Attends some better thought, new-born, 
Yet, when achievements haply passed 

Are mirrored back in memory's eye, 
We tarry, fain to hold them fast 

As treasure-trove, with homage high. 
None doubts the universal plan 

That dominates the mortal race 
Foredoomed the Red Man, and began 

Through his defeat, a worthier place : 
But we, rememb'ring yet his might, 

Are prone to mirror what we may, 
Ere, in oblivion's starless night, 

The fair anthelion fades away. 



18 



Tlpe §0ng of Turin TOhIets 



Tftje Sxmg xrf Txiriu Katers* 

A Tale of Two Tribes 

PROEM 

Rest zve beside the crystal springs, 
And hea?'ken zuhile their music sings 

The sad traditions of the vale; 
A requiem for the nameless graves 
Where rests the dust of zvarrioj' braves, 

Whose cloivnfall marks the valorous tale. 

A?id, quaffi?ig of the zuaters pure, 
Will make the fatefid song seciire 

From skepticism as vue go; 
Since all the story, void of art, 
Has here its living counterpai't, 

In these tzvin foufitains, as they flo~v. 



Note I. — Appendix. 

20 



Tire \jrnz (HxriHr 



OIGH on the range of Eastern hills 
* * That bound the Illinois, 
There towers o'er the topmost cliff, 

In proud, majestic poise, 
An isolated cedar tree 

Which marks the final rest 
Of one who in his day was held 

The bravest and the best, — 
An Indian chief of Illini, 

Whose blood, in lieu of tears, 
Gave moisture to the germ that grew 

Through intervening years, — 



Forming a stem of rugged strength, 

Symmetrical and true, 
Holding its secret undisturbed, 

Which mortal never knew, 
Till one of the invading race 

Who first o'ercame this height, 



21 



On idle observation bent, 

Met here an awesome sight: 

Inwoven by the cedar's roots, 
And pinioned firmly there, 

The framework of a human form, 
In attitude of prayer.* 



But even as he fixed his gaze, 

In fascination bound, 
He caught, upon the evening breeze, 

A faint, familiar sound, 
When, through the maze, the tree was changed 

To living form and face, 
And greeted him a grizzled Chief 

Of that historic race. 
The breeze that played about the place 

Sighed softly in the leaves, 
And heard he, as a messenger 

Some sacred trust receives, 



These data of historic fact, 
So rescued from the vast 

Unknown and unrecorded tomes 
That shroud the Red Man's past: 



*Note iL— Appendix. 

22 



'The shade am I of Fighting Bear, 

Of Monesthon the sire, 
And many were the lusty braves 

Who sought my council fire; 
But came a time of winter moons 

When shadows dimmed the eye, 
And I was left, an aged man, 

Upon this rock, to die. 

'With heavy heart I stayed behind 

And saw my warriors go; 
But they who cannot fight must die, 

So wills the Manitou; 
Though Fighting Bear was killed with shame 

When down on yonder plain 
By wild Mouaqua's murderous hosts 

He saw his people slain. 
Then fell he on his face and prayed 

The Spirits to defend 
The brave traditions of his race; 

He saw the battle end 

'Mid every semblance of defeat, 

And bursting then his heart, 
He found his life transmuted so, 

A mournful counterpart, 



23 



To guard the olden glory. Now 

My spirit longs to see 
My noble sons, but they, alas, 

Come never back to me." 
So heard the stranger all the tale, — 

With reverential air 
Received, as from a source divine, 

The details, dark and fair; 

And promised in his heart to give 

These legends as they came, 
In justice to the fallen race, 

To hold their humble fame. 
His busy fellows plied their trade 

On field and stream below, 
While o'er Moauqua's waving plains 

Hung soft the evening glow; 
And to this idle dreamer came 

The inspiration then 
To pluck the eagle of his plumes, 

And wield the poet's pen. 



24 



Tlrs Traurig xtf L,nnz 



44 CEAR nothing, " called the warrior youth, 
* With all a hero's ire; 
"I fear not," rang the maiden's voice 

Above the funeral pyre: 
"Know that I cherish none the less," 

Cried out the lover's heart; 
"These tongues of flame bring no regret," 

Came back the woman's part: 
"Our love hath conquered — even — this." 
So passed his parting breath; 
And she with eyes that sought the sky: — 
"Love — conquered — even — death . ' ' 



Dread was the scene and sad the day 
When stern Mouaqua's hand 

Led these proud victims to their fate, 
And brought the burning brand; 

And they who answered at his beck, 
Accustomed to agree 



25 



With his behest in everything, 

Recoiled at this decree 
Which sent his nephew to the stake, 

And doomed with him to die, 
The winsome child of Monesthon, 

Great Chief of lllini. 

But most of all the throng perturbed 

Was Nottoway, the sage, 
Who stood apart and viewed the scene 

With deep, prophetic rage; 
Forsooth he saw beyond this hour 

The fruitage it must bring 
When vengeance, riding with the wind, 

Would shame the eagle's wing; 
And in the shadow of the cliff 

He offered fervent prayer 
Petitioning the Manitou 

His righteous wrath to spare. 

'Alas!" he cried, "that youth so brave, 

So full of manly fire, 
Must fall so ignominiously 

To sate a despot's ire: 
And maid so fair, for gentle love, 

Must perish in her bloom, 



26 



In manner that should better fit 
The meanest foeman's doom. 

O, Pequan, in thy dust I see 
Dread Retribution rise, 

And Ineosa's ashes plead 

For vengeance to the skies. 1 ' 

Lo! now Mouaqua's vibrant voice 

Rings through the quiet vale, 
And even those of stoutest heart 

Before his anger quail. 
'Ha! wolves and vipers! you would bring 

Nah-yan-tah's tribes to shame, — 
And mix the blood of Iroquoi 

With such degraded name: 
This whelp of an unworthy son 

Who shamed his better birth, 
Would stoop to wed an Illini, 

And grovel in the earth. 

'Say none he was of kin to me, 

On pain of instant death; 
His acts belied his mother's name 

With every venomed breath. 
Here have we come to wage the war 

Of conquest to the end; 



27 



And he who should have led the fight 

Turns traitor to defend 
A squaw of them we seek to slay; 

O, Spirits of the dead! 
Hurl all the spells of evil might 

On yonder burning bed!" 



He drew his bow and shot his shaft 

So strong and true of aim, 
That each was buried in the dust; 

When lo, distinct there came 
The sound of waters rippling through, - 

Each circle burst in twain 
And merged into a crystal flood 

That bubbled up amain. 
Who saw the wonder fled in fear, 

Save but the haughty Chief, 
Who stood in attitude of scorn, 

'Twixt awe and unbelief.* 



A moment moved, he saw the dread 
Which sat on every face, 

Then rallied with the force of will 
That marked his stubborn race, 



*Note III.— Appendix. 



And called aloud to Nottoway: 

"Thou clairnest to be wise, 
Read me the sign of victory 

That lurks in this disguise." 
But stood the sage with troubled mien, 

"Alack!" he said, aghast, 
'Here is no need of prophecy, 

The end hath come at last." 



29 



The Fateful VxxuphuQ 

"DEAD me this riddle/' said the Chief, 
*^ "Have done with woman's fears, 
Or I will sound a coward's knell 
About those craven ears." 
"Nay, Chieftain,'' answered Nottoway, 
"1 have no fear of thee; 
When thou in days of brighter moons 

Wast fairly just to me, 
My little wit 1 freely gave 

Whene'er occasion came, 
But it were more than folly now 
To shield this deed of shame. 

"Know then that thou has forfeited 

The Manitou's esteem, 
And thou shalt find thy fate beyond 

The bounds of yonder stream. 
Whom thou hast slain was more than all 

Thyself hast ever been; 



30 



He was the hope of Iroquoi, 
And should have led them in 

From war's wild carnage to the ways 
Of peace and happiness, 

Whence they departed erst when thou 
Didst lead them to transgress. 

'O, spirits of the warrior dead, 

Who fell in bloody strife 
To satisfy Mouaqua's ends, 

That reckoned not your life, 
Would Nottoway had fallen, too, 

Ere came this crowning deed 
Of murder, through a tyrant's zeal 

To sate his selfish greed: 
O, maids and matrons who have wept 

For lords and lovers dead, 
A deeper grief shall come ere yet 

Another moon hath sped. 

'O, solitude of singing pines, 

Beside the Inland Sea, 
An outcast in this dreary land 

Would give his life to be 
A nerveless atom in the vast 

Of that primeval shade, 



31 



Where despotism should not come, 

Nor avarice invade. 
Yet mine is only trivial pain 

To what this day must bring 
To every child of Iroquoi, 

Of fatal reckoning. 

'These fountains, coming from the dust 

Of blighted life, proclaim 
That Pequan's death shall be avenged; 

And Ineosa's name 
Shall bless the waters evermore; 

But, first, a word of doom, 
It shall be whispered in his ear 

Who wears a victor's plume. 
So shall the price of life be paid, 

And when this word is said 
The victors, vanquished in the field, 

Shall mourn their glory, — fled. 

'What mean these lies?" Mouaqua cried; 

"Who dares thus answer me?" 
'I dare it," calmly spoke the sage, 

"And hear thou this decree: 
This marvel e'en proclaims that all 

Who for thy sins are dead 



32 



;il|p»*' 





• Rest we beside the crystal springs, 
And harken while tJieir music sings 
The sad traditions of the vale." 



-p. 20. 



Shall bar the happy hunting grounds 

To thine unworthy tread; 
And that, when in thy hour of might, 

The glory of renown 
Comes near to thee, a woman's hand, 

Perforce, shall strike thee down." 

"'Tis well that thou art done, indeed." 

The calm of savage rage 
Was in the monarch's voice and mien, 

Who knew no mental gauge 
That did not justify his course; 

And calling to the edge 
A score of half-bewildered braves, 

He pointed to the ledge, 
High on the snow-white cliffs above, 

Where showed a narrow cleft 
Of ingress to the solid rock, 

By Nature's forces reft.* 



'Bind him and bear to yonder height, 

Then lower to the cave, 
And leave him there to prophecy 

His carcass from the grave. 



*Note IV. — Appendix. 

33 



There will the vampires entertain, 

And mind his sage behest, 
While sing for him the rattlesnakes 

Their lullaby of rest,— 
Or first, mayhap, he may have heard 

What warmed his heart with joy, 
The last surrender of his friends 

Beyond the Illini. ,, 



34 



Tire <Eamp of H|£ Mini 



THE sun was gone behind the hills 
That fringe the Western sky, 
And through the forest came the sound 

Of waters rippling by; 
The breath of Autumn in the air 

Had toned the ripened leaves 
To every touch of coloring 

That Nature's garb receives 
Wl^n come the Indian Summer days; 

Within the range of wood, 
And looking out upon the plain, 

A thousand wigwams stood. 



Here were the hosts of lllini 
Camped in their last retreat; 

Pressed by th' invading Iroquoi, 
They had, with tact discreet, 

Avoided conflict 'till they saw 
The friendly waters flow 



35 



Between them and the enemy; 

Then every brave his bow 
Drew to the shaft, with firm resolve, 

Whatever might befall, 
To challenge the invaders, and 

E'en gain or forfeit all. 

Thrice had Mouaqua sought to break 

That phalanx of defense, 
And thrice was driven to retreat 

With evil consequence; 
So long victorious in his wars, 

The stern resistance here, 
Roused every passion in his breast 

To efforts more severe, 
And by the shades of night he vowed, 

Though every force deny 
The way, beyond the mooted stream 

To sound his battle cry. 

But last when from the vain attack 
His warriors sought the shore, 

Pequan the brave, who led the charge, 
Was with his men no more; 

First kinsman he, and next of rank, 
He pushed beyond the line 



36 



And failing, found a captive's lot. 

Thus balked in his design, 
Mouaqua sought a season's rest, 

And camping in the vale, 
Was counseled to abide the time 

For vantage to assail. 

So passed the dull moon to decline, 

And Monesthon the Great 
Prayed as of old Ouatoga prayed 

To conquer evil fate; 
Nor he who slew the awful bird, 

That knew but mortal prey, 
Was braver than the sturdy Chief 

Who held his place to-day. 
Long had he ruled his happy tribe 

In plentitude and peace, 
And saw with every passing sun 

His prestige still increase; 

But came the Red Men from the plains 

And waters far away, 
With nothing in their hearts but war, 

And passions but to slay; 
So were they driven from the hills, 

Their heritage of pride, 



37 



By slow degrees, to this retreat, 
And here they must abide 

Or either victory or death, 
Since never might the stain 

Come to an Illini of flight 
Beyond his own domain. 

So, nerved by every circumstance 

That moves to daring deeds, — 
By ties of home and fatherhood, — 

By every pulse that heeds 
The cries of manhood for revenge, 

Of weakness for defense, 
When tyranny invades the realm, 

And by the Indian's sense 
Of honor, every brave who sat 

About the council flame, 
Pledged every sense and spark of life 

To guard the nation's fame. 



38 



Tte FeüIt rrf ferrsH 



f^ LAD were the notes of cheer, when came 
^ The captive to the tent 
Of Monesthon, to learn his doom 

As pleased the chieftain's bent. 
Proudly he walked, with head erect, 

In deep contempt of thought; 
As one who staked his life, and feared 

Not death, nor pity sought, — 
Too much a master in the law 

Of warfare not to know 
That naught in its unwritten tomes 

Held mercy for a foe. 



But nothing would the Warrior Chief 
Of vengeance have to say; 

He sat in sorrow where his wife, 
The fair Wunnista, lay 

Afflicted with a grave complaint; 
And in his aching breast 



39 



Were caged the demons of despair, 
Which all the love confessed, 

That made his life a shining mark 
Of savage royalty, 

And won, long since, his captive bride 
To fondest loyalty. 

"Take thou the prisoner, my child/ ' 

He said, when they were come 
Unto his wigwam, "as thou wilt, 

Do with him, and the sum 
Of retribution he shall pay 

Can never half atone 
For all the evil he has done; 

Pray leave us now alone.' ' 
So came to Ineosa's choice 

The captive warrior's fate; 
But when she saw and sought to judge, 

It was, alas, too late. 

A higher force than mortal will 
Subdued the maiden's heart, 

When, gazing in that fearless face, 
She saw her counterpart; 

Love, like a giant, wound his chains 
About the twain, and there 



4 o 



They stood betrothed, ere yet a word 

Was uttered to declare 
The subtle bond. "Leave him to me," 

The damsel said, and turned 
To hide the flush of new-born hope 

That on her temples burned. 

Then spoke the stranger: "Fairest maid, 

I know not why I speak, 
Save by the challenge of command 

In those clear eyes; I seek 
No point of favor for myself, — 

A captive in the course 
Of honest warfare, I had thought 

To know the speedy force 
Of vengeance at thy people's hands; 

Yet something says to me 
That thou art mighty, and my fate 

Is somehow linked with thee." 

Then said the maid: "'Tis passing strange 

That I should tarry here: 
My hand should light thy funeral pyre, 

But e'en I know thy bier 
Shall herald Ineosa's death: 

Aye ! what is that we see ? 



41 



My father's people dare to chide ? " 

"Nay, fair one, fly with me," 
Low cried the youth ; the warrior guard 

Consulting, stood aside, 
Impatient that a woman's will 

Their prowess should abide. 

Again he urged: "Come thou with me, 

Princess of Illini 
In rank thou art, and I no less 

A prince of Iroquoi; 
Through union so, these wars may cease, 

And plenty as of yore 
Shall bless the people of the woods 

On every verdant shore: 
Mine uncle wields a tyrant's rod 

But thou, when we are wed, 
Shalt rob him of his lust for war, 

In thy great father's stead." 

"Nay, come," she said, "else naught can save;" 

And while her father prayed, 
She led him past her mother's couch 

Into a secret glade, — 
Wherefore she knew not, — e'en as now 

Who knows what love may do ? 



42 



And shortly on the peaceful stream 
She plied her fleet canoe, 

While swam the warrior underneath; 
And they who watched the shore 

Saw but a woman on the stream, 
And minded nothing more. 



43 



4 4 TVT AY, Sire, it was no idle dream ;* 
I saw the she -wolf come 
Before the lodge with gleaming eyes, 

And tongue of terror dumb; 
Thrice has the owPs portentous cry 

Rung wildly through the wood, 
And every call was echoed by 

The panther's wail of blood; 
When late the council fires were lit 

No smoke ascended there, 
But floated like a dismal pall 

Low on the evening air. 

"But yestermorn I saw the height 
Where waits thy aged sire, 

And carrion birds were hovered there 
As o'er a funeral pyre. 

When thy Wunnista came to thee 
From off the sun -land plain, 



*Note V. — Appendix. 

44 



She brought her people's arts, and these 
Have never worked in vain; 

Sad are the things I have to say, 

But whatsoe'er befall, 
'Tis spoken from the woman's heart 
Who gave thee all in all. 

"I see Mouaqua's myriads massed 

To conquer and betray; 
I see them looting in our midst 

Ere wanes another day; 
I see the form of Fighting Bear, 

Dead of a broken heart 
At witness of his sons defeat; 

I see the bitter part 
A fearless sage must feel to sate 

A despot's mad decree; 
I see his kinsman die for love, 

And then — and then — I see — 

'Ah, Sire, thou needst not fear for me ; 

The hand of death, indeed, 
Is on me now, yet this is what 

The spirits have decreed, 
And ere the end it shall be mine, 

Of this be thou assured, 



45 



To satisfy thy people's wrongs, 

And vengeance so secured, 
Wunnista will have done her work 

And found the pleasant shade 
Where wars are not, nor grief may come 

Nor pestilence invade. 

'Here on the morrow shall be waged 

The greatest fight of all, 
And he who gains the victory 

Shall gain it but to fall 
Ignobly by a woman's hand; 

While all he may have won 
Shall vanish into nothingness. 

My rede is nearly done; 
Thy last shall be thy greatest fight, 

With him thou fain would'st meet, 
Nor one of all the gallant host 

Shall perish in retreat. 

'Find now thy weapons for the day 

And bid the warriors cheer; 
While here the women's fervent prayers 

The Manitou shall hear. 
Nay, seek not Ineosa's couch, 

For, lack, she is not there; 



4 6 



Her milk-white spirit knows a realm 

Where all is fresh and fair; 
Her blood is on Mouaqua's head, — 

Let this inspire thy hand; 
Wunnista loves thee. Hark ! they come! 

Go now to thy command.' ' 



47 



Tlpe Meeting xrf Up? Hnsts* 

/^OLD gleamed the light of early morn 

^ Upon the fallow field, 

When stern Monesthon for the fight 

Took up his mighty shield, 
To find already in the camp 

The notes of wild alarm 
That told the enemy's advance; 

The river, all aswarm 
With bristling ranks of war canoes, 

Was lashed beneath the strain 
Of winds that shrieked across the waves 

And made resistance vain. 

Now sprang Monesthon to the fray, 

His sorrows laid aside; 
Again the fearless leader, robed 

In all his warrior pride: 
Above the tempest wild, his voice 

Was heard in stern command, 



*Note VI. — Appendix. 

4 8 



And soon upon the plain his host 
Assumed their sullen stand, — 

Their wives and children on the hills 
That stretched away behind 

Safe hid, — awaiting the attack, 
To any fate resigned. 

Soon landed, came the Iroquoi, 

A line of leathern shields 
Advancing in a solid front. 

Cried Monesthon: "Who yields 
This day to conquest or defeat 

Goes like a dog to earth, 
And forfeits wife, and home, and shames 

The prestige of his birth. 
Already Ineosa's life 

Is on yon demon's head, 
And he shall wear these regal robes 

Who lays his carcass dead." 

No more he spake, no time for speech; 

Mouaqua's ashen bow 
Sent forth an eagle -feathered shaft 

That laid a warrior low; 
Then sent Monesthon's doeskin thong 

A message as severe, 



49 



And now the doleful battle hymn 

Re-echoed, wild and clear, 
As leaped from every bow and shaft 

That told the sender's will, — 
The warrior-passion, murder-mad, 

To conquer or to kill. 

Nov/ shrieked the dying as they fell 

The names they cherished most; 
None asked for quarter, each content 

To perish at his post; 
And as the mighty conflict grew, 

And foe to foe drew near, 
The fleeting dart was laid aside 

For tomahawk and spear; 
The warriors of the noblest tribes 

That ruled in all the land, 
Here mingled in the awful throes 

Of conflict, hand to hand. 

So raged the battle, till the sun 

Was centered in the sky 
'Twixt morn and night; yet spite of odds, 

The sturdy lllini 
Held their position on the field 

With their intrepid Chief, 



50 



And victory promised her reward, 

When fortune brought relief 
Of warriors to the Iroquoi; 

And so the fight was won, 
Though still the brave defenders met 

Their foemen, live to one. 

Anon the lengthening shadows fell 

Athwart the bloody plain, 
When face to face the Chieftains met, 

Who now, in calm disdain, 
Surveyed each other briefly; then, 

With gory war-club, each 
Assailed the other, and they clashed 

With not a word of speech. 
Long had they sought to combat so, 

But never till this hour 
Were they confronted, man to man, 

To match their sovereign power. 

Thrice did they meet, and thrice did each 

Grave punishment sustain ; 
Again they struck, and each in turn 

Was stretched upon the plain. 
Monesthon first regained his feet, 

And stooping to impart 



51 



The last decisive blow, received 

An arrow in his heart. 
Then rushed his warriors to his side 

To rescue, or to die, 
And none went living from the field. 

So fell the Mini. 



52 



w 



ILD were the revels of the night 
When first the Iroquoi 
Ran riot in the captured camp, 

To plunder and destroy; 
The fruitage of an hundred moons 

Of unrelenting war 
Was theirs to portion out in spoil, — 

To seize and barter for; 
And naught so sacred anywhere 

They might not confiscate; 
So sacked they these deserted homes, 

'Mid revel and debate. 

One only place did they respect, 
The Wigwam of the Chief 

Late fallen, where Mouaqua lay 
And sought his wounds relief. 

By right of rank he claimed the whole 
Of Monesthon's estate; 



*£Jote VII. — Appendix. 

53 



And were his followers well content 

If this alone might sate 
His avarice, and they left him there 

E'en for the time forgot, 
While he, well sated with the day 

Of conquest, chided not. 

But lo! he wakens with a start, 

A weight upon his breast 
That racks him with a thousand pangs 

Of misery unguessed 
In all his days of mortal strife, 

And then anon he sees, 
Near by, in the uncertain light, 

A woman on her knees, 
Bent o'er the couch, with hand upraised 

As to some solemn vow, 
And move her lips, the while her breath 

Falls hot upon his brow. 

'I thank thee, Manitou," she said, 

"My race is nearly run." 
And then to him: "'Tis well, indeed, 

Thy evil deeds are done. 
Nay, spare thyself, thou canst not rise; 

Art not the first to fee! 



54 



The pangs of this malignant thing 

Which, through thy death, shall steal 

Its course through thy unhappy race; 
Mine was the lot accursed, 

But since thou art the conquering Chief, 
Thou must assume it first. 

" 'Tis vain to call them, they are deaf 

With murder, and design 
Of robbery and rapine, aye, 

Those gallant braves of thine. 
Forsooth! they have not long to live; 

When they shall come to thee 
For thy commands, thou shalt convey 

The Manitou's decree: 
That for the sins which they have wrought 

The race is doomed to die, 
E'en so, by force invisible. 

Heed well the message high. 

"O, brave Monesthon, thou hast seen 

The wonders of the land, 
Where everything is clear that erst 

Thou couldst not understand; 
Thy death was worthy of the race 

That slew the Piasa, 



55 



And evermore through life thy guide 
Was Nature's highest law. 

The end is near upon me now; 
Take thou the shining tome 

That points the way of parted souls, 
And lead Wunnista home." 

Long were the spoilers in dispute 

O'er all the household boons 
Belonging to the tribe that ruled, 

For many thousand moons, 
The regions where two rivers run; 

And when at last they came 
To learn the order of command 

And each record his claim, 
They found the foe invisible, 

E'en as Wunnista said: 
Here on the floor a woman's form, 

And there the Chieftain, — dead. 



56 



The burial xrf 1ft* QmA * 



r^ RIM was the spectacle revealed, 
^■"^ Of two proud armies slain, 
When shone the smiling sun of morn 

Upon the dreary plain: 
Their glory of contention gone 

To cold, immobile clay, 
The forms upon the sodden ground 

Shewed ghastly as they lay; 
And many a headless trunk was there, 

And many a painted face 
Looked from its gory gibbet down 

Upon the grewsome place. 



None were there for the Illini 
To pay the last respect 

Of decent burial, and they lay 
In uttermost neglect. 

But they of the victorious tribe 
Were set about to save 



*Note VIII. — Appendix. 

57 



Their dead from beasts and birds of prey; 

They digged a spacious grave 
High on the topmost Eastern hill, — 

The spear became a spade, — 
And there above the silent vale 

A burial crypt was made. 

First honored they their stricken Chief, 

Mouaqua, who had wrought 
The greatest conquests of the race 

In tribal wars, and brought 
His kingdom from the Erie's banks 

To Mississippi's flood, 
And left on every battlefield 

His fallen foemen's blood. 
His haughty bearing all forgot, 

His tyranny condoned, 
They saw in him their leader gone, 

And all his loss bemoaned. 

They made for him a mossy bed, 

And laid him in repose, 
About him all the trophies won 

From his defeated foes. 
The regal robe about his form, 

The war-axe in his hand, 



58 



Strung beads of pearl about his neck, 

And last the royal wand 
Upon his breast; then all about 

The first of them who fell 
With him in battle; so they paused 

To say their last farewell. 

Then bore they up the long incline 

Of all their warrior dead 
The mortal clay, and over each 

Some words of parting said. 
Great was the task of patient toil, 

And when the grave was filled 
They labored on the burial place 

A mighty mound to build. 
So long they wrought till over all 

The mounds that rose anear 
That, standing in comparison, 

Was easily the peer. 

This was, their last and greatest work; 

The triumph of their day 
Was centered in that sepulchre, 

And when they turned away 
They faced a frowning wilderness 

In leaderless dismay, 



59 



And stricken by the plague, relapsed 

To premature decay. 
All valor, all ambition gone, 

The struggling tribe recrossed 
The prairies to their native woods 

And there, anon, was lost. 



60 



CO ends the story, sad and weird, 
^ And countless years have rolled 
Their potent changes o'er the land 

Since first the tale was told; 
We of the race they never knew 

Stand here on sacred ground, 
While thoughts we falter to confess, 

Are born of facts profound: 
Irreverently we turn the sod 

That holds the Indian's bones, 
And gain by delving in the dust 

The knowledge that atones, 

In our opinion for the deed; 

The secrets of the past 
Are gathered from deductions through 

The rude Iconoclast; 
And finding thus, as we conceive 

The prestige, fame and place 



*Note IX. — Appendix. 

61 



Of these, the first Americans, 

We hold it no disgrace 
To count them peers in many things; 

And teachings here conveyed 
Of love of home and liberty 

May never be gainsaid. 

E'en yet we shudder to reflect 

What sacrificial pain 
They gave in honor of the dead; 

And not the least we gain 
In point of anthropology 

Is this, to know that man 
Uncultured, in the savage state, 

Here all the world outran 
In valour, strength and fellowship, 

And in the native dower 
To e'en perceive and comprehend 

An all-pervading Power. 

Now teem the rivers with the tide 
Of commerce, far and near, 

Grain-laden are the v/aving fields 
Where erst they hurled the spear; 

The fleet canoe is used no more, 
And where in forest shade 



62 



The sturdy skin -decked wigwam stood, 

A prouder race has made 
Its dwelling place. In all the land 

The Indian is no more, 
With none to do him justice, save 

In such uncertain lore. 

But mark we this in his behalf: 

He perished in the course 
Of honest war of self-defense, 

And by the subtle force 
Of nature in the tide of life. 

So let us turn away, 
And reconcile these lessons with 

The duties of to-day. 
'Tis well, on our contending course, 

To know that, even here, 
Was love as strong and man as brave 

And warfare as severe. 



63 




• High on the range of eastern hills 
That bound the Illinois." 

— p. 21. 



Teiles sf ttye TOigiram 



Tm facing of atlatakc 

A Legend of the White S w a n •• 

CAIR is the day and all the scene, 

New-decked in robes of tender green, 
Is thymy with the breath of spring; 
The migratory game birds wing 
Their way to lands of summer snows; 
While everything in Nature owes 
A debt of action, which to pay 
Speeds each upon its various way. 

On fair Glen Mary's circling hills, 
From cliff-crowned height to sparkling rills 
That ripple down the vale, and merge 
The Mississippi's restless surge, 
The warm sun shines caressingly; 
And conscience, waking, whispers me 
That — "Idle dreams will hardly grace 
The tide of such a time and place.' ' 



f \NoxE X. — Appendix. 

66 



'Nay,' ? saith the muse in quick reply, 
'We have a duty just as high 
As any who may tarry here; 
For man may know not any sphere 
Of work than his more pure and strong 
Who points a moral with a song. 
The eerie, uncouth tales that bide 
The gossip of the countryside, 
Of golden wealth these caverns keep 
And ghosts that walk when mortals sleep, 
And visions fair that long ago 
Were mirrored in the river's flow 
Are founded on a theme as rare, 
As rich with romance, sad and fair, 
As any that the legends name 
Of these old haunts of Indian fame." 



Recalling countless moons of time, 
In all its wild, barbaric prime, 
Mark we the scene, an Indian town 
Of wigwams, spreading from the crown 
Of woodland to the shining reach 
That marks the river's pebbled beach. 
No transient, make-shift camp is here, 
For every wigwam doth appear 



67 



A very parcel of the place 
Whereon it stands, and every face 
Is set with apathy that bears 
The common stamp of daily cares. 

'Tis noonday, and a warrior basks 
Limp in the sun, prescribing tasks 
For patient squaws who ne'er resent 
The lordly sway, and, well content, 
Fashion rude garb with simple grace 
Out of the trophies of the chase. 
A group of archers up the glade 
Is bent upon a clamorous trade, 
And most of life the scene affords 
Is furnished in their bandying words; 
Save yonder, where the builder hews 
The shapeless trunks to fleet canoes; 
Or at the arrow-maker's tent 
Where, by the weight of seasons bent, 
A grizzled man, no longer fit 
To lead the chase, is doomed to sit 
And fashion out by process slow, 
The flint that caps the hunter's bow. 

But mark you, yonder, skin-bedecked, 
There stands a wigwam all respect, 

68 



For therein dwells Ouasaga, seer, 
Of all the tribes abiding here; 
Him to consult, from far and near, 

Do those in trouble seek; 
And never, so the records say, 
Sent he a questioner away, 
Though some, indeed, brought scanty pay 

For what they bade him speak. 
To him are all disputes referred 
And final his deciding word. 

The fairest flower of all the dower 

Of tribal womanhood to be 
Was she who shared Ouasaga's bower, 

Was charming, winsome Watalee. 
His ward she was, an infant frail 
He found her once beside the trail, 
Then brought her home with manner mild, 
And reared her fondly as his child. 

So taught and cared for, soul and mind, 
'Twas nothing strange that she should find 
Herself at verge of womanhood 
An object fondly sought and wooed 
By amorous gallants of the tribe; 
But she was loth to circumscribe 



6 9 



m^m 



Her cherished liberty so soon ; 
Therefore she frowned on many a boon 
That other maidens would have prized; 
Yet two whom she of all despised 
Upon their suit were so concerned 
That she at last, as refuge, turned 
For shield to her protector's arm, 
And prayed him shelter her from harm. 
'Nay," spoke the savant, soothingly, 
'An Indian maiden needs must be 
A wife and worker when the time 
Has ripened her to woman's prime. 
But she shall have the right to choose, 
And all but one thou mayst refuse. 
Therefore this day I will command 
All youths who fain would win thy hand 
To lay some offering at thy feet; 
Then do thou choose, and be discreet." 



Anon came suitors by the score 
With gifts to wise Ouasaga's door, 
But none could any more than see 
A glimpse of winsome Watalee, 
Till came a youth of quiet mien 
Whom in the gathering none had seen, 



70 



And left his modest gift, and turned 

To go, when on his brow there burned 

The Indian beauty's modest kiss; 

Almost he took the act amiss, 

But she, to pledge his new-found bliss, 

Said, "Show that you can shoot with this" 

A brace of quivers — and he went 

While all were lost in wonderment. 



Then spake Ouasaga: "It is well; 
Let every hunter to the dell 
For quarry for the wedding feast; 
Woe be to him who bringeth least, 
And he who doeth best shall own 
Anon my fairest wisdom stone.' ' 
The chase was willing and intent, 
And many a fruitless shaft was spent, 
While many another shot went true 
At fleeting game that ran or flew; 
And when there came the muster call, 
More than enough there was for all. 
But when the festal fires burned, 
Three hunters yet had not returned, — 
The twain by Watalee most spurned, 
And he, the youth of modest bloom, 



71 



The happy one, the chosen groom! 
Ah! even then from out the gloom 
Emerged Makala, and upon 
His shoulder bore a spotted fawn. 
With conscious pride he threw the prize 
To earth before all envious eyes, 
And, urged, was nothing loth to tell 
His tale of how the kill befell. 

He finished, and Watalee stood 

Before him like avenging fate; 
Her bosom streaming fresh with blood, 

And in her eyes a burning hate. 
'He lies, by all the evil powers 
That wrench the woods in darkest hours; 
Mark here the proof.' ' She drew the dart 
Embedded from the creature's heart, 
That she but late with gentle voice 
Gave to the suitor of her choice. 
'The other rankles in the breast 
Of him who sought with sinister quest; 
Here stands a murderer and thief, 
And Watalee is wed to grief. 
They came upon him unaware, 
And slew him for his quarry there; 
But not until his bended bow 
Sent one to meet the ravens; — so!" 



72 



She would have stretched him in the dust, 
But old Ouasaga saw the thrust 
And parried it with practiced skill: 
'Nay, child, a woman must not kill," 
He said, and led her by the arm, 
To shelter, safe from chance of harm. 

Befell another evil chance 

As by malignant circumstance, 

That night, which called Ouasaga thence, 

And left the girl without defence. 

A courier up the river came 

And said, in great Ouatoga's name, 

The sage must come without delay 

Unto the Chieftain, miles away, 

Where he should give his counsel for 

The prospect of a tribal war. 

'My daughter," said he, ' 'would that I 
Might tarry with you, and defy 
The troubles that do harass thee, 
But here art safe, and even he 
Who murdered thy betrothed would dare 
Not harm thee by a single hair. 
Be brave; you need not e'en betray 
My absence for a single day." 



73 



He sought to steal away, but — no, 
Lynx-eyed Makala saw him go, 
And instantly his crafty mind 
A sinister campaign designed. 

Upon the morrow, ere the sun 

Shone fairly o'er the Eastern hills, 
He sought Ouasaga's tent as one 

Whose soul with purest rapture thrills. 
''Awake !" he cried, "fair Watalee, 
And mark what I have brought for thee.'' 
Then from his girdle he unrolled 
A beaded string of sparkling gold. 
'Prithee accept my tribute rare 
And these bright beads about thy hair 
Shall make thee envied ceaselessly, 
If thou wilt cast thy lot with me," 

'Where got you this?" she sternly said; 
'Hast robbed some temple of the dead?" 

'Nay, cruel maid, thy chiding save; 
A greater than Ouasaga gave 
To me his secret, and revealed 
Where he this treasure had concealed. 
He came here many seasons past, 
A wanderer from out the vast 



74 



Wide sunset regions, where he found 
These shining beads upon the ground 
By rushing rivers; thence he bore 
Them with him to this distant shore. 
And, dying, left them all to me, 
That I might win fair Watalee." 
'Who woos with murder in his eyes, 
Woos not for love, ,, the maid replied, 
'And I will nothing have of thee." 
'So be it, vixen, none shall see 
This wealth of rarest beads again, 
And you shall rue the hour when 
You cut Makala with your scorn; 
His vengeance is a gnawing thorn, 
And old Ouasaga is not here 
To guard thee with his magic seer." 



E'en so it proved, and deftly done, 
The ruling gossips soon were won 
To spread the feast another night, 
So he could conquer if he might; 
But when the fateful moment came 
And he returned to press his claim, 
The look of loathing on her face 
Spoke all the hatred of her race; 



75 



And when he with assurance said, 

'I have you now," she turned and fled. 

He followed quick with maddened pace, 
And to the river led the race, 
Where by the builder's boat she knew 
The moorings of a light canoe, 
Quickly embarked, her paddle flashed 
And out upon the waters dashed. 
Thus upward and athwart the stream 
She flew, the surface all agleam 
About her, and some lengths behind 
Came her tormentor like the wind! 
A race for life and liberty, 
And those who watched, aghast, to see 
Its awful import, prayed the girl 
Might somehow yet escape her peril. 
But one who held a broader view 
Beheld him foul her frail canoe, 
And saw her leap for life, then tossed 
A moment on the waves, then lost; 
And they beside the river's crest 
Heard: "Watalee has gone to rest." 

And what of him, the doubly curst, 
Of Indian outcasts now the worst? 



76 



He dared not to the tribe return, 
Foredoomed upon the stake to burn. 
The watchers saw him reach the shore, 
And no one e'er beheld him more. 
Bnt when that night the dismal cry 

Of lion gorged with human blood 
Was heard upon the hills on high 

Throughout that vast and lonely wood, 
Each warrior to his neighbor said, 
With meaning glance, "Makala's dead"; 
And, thinking of his doings fell, 
Methinks they added: "It is well." 



It was a welcome sad that met 

Ouasaga on his home return; 
And none there was who cared to set 

Watalee's friendly fires to burn. 
Slowly they told, with halting breath, 
The story of the maiden's death, 
While many came to share his grief 
And give their sympathy's relief. 
And when her funeral pyre at night 
Was kindled, many came to light 
Their mourning tokens in the flame; 
And with the rest a shadow came, — 



77 



The like of him who took her life, 
In seeming agony of strife; 
A moment stood as if in pain, 
Then raised its hands in gesture vain, 
Turned and strode off upon the stream, 
Retracing, in its troubled dream, 
The passage of that ill-starred race. 
E'en to the fatal meeting place, 
When, with a wail from echo drawn, 
It pointed upward and was gone. 
Again and thrice again it came, 
And once it spoke Watalee's name, 
But none who listened ever heard 
One sound beyond a single word. 



One charming day, while still they wept, 
Ouasaga, who of late had kept 
Long, lonely watches on the height, 
Sent up a shout of great delight, 
And pointed wildly up the stream, 
Where, shining in the golden gleam 
Of sunlight, gliding into view, 
They saw a score of great canoes 
With spreading wings of snowy white; 
Not all partook the sere's delight, 



78 



As some were seized with qualms of fear, 
While others went for bow and spear, 
But he was mightier than all 
And held them with a master-thrall, 
Commanding: "Peace! receive with me 
The messenger from Watalee." * 



Thus chanced it that the brave Marquette, 

And followers, that auspicious clay, 

First white men of the world to ride 

The rolling Mississippi's tide, 

Found such warm welcome and good cheer 

And faith among the Indians here. 

While humoring their own belief, 

He taught them of the Great White Chief, 

Who, biding high up over all, 

Is mindful of each creature's fall, 

With mercy deep and vengeance strong, 

To bless the right and punish wrong. 

Yes, Watalee had surely found, 

Ere now, the Happy Hunting Ground, 

And she would send a certain sign 

Which, through the Manitou divine, 

Should be to them a pledge of peace 

Whereby their grief for her might cease. 



*Note XIr—Appendix. 



Long did the paleface chieftain stay, 
And when he took his onward way 
Full many a token of good will, 
Of trinkets wrought by native skill, 
The voyagers received, and gave 
In kind, beside the peaceful wave; 
But ere they hoist the speeding sail, 
They left their blessing o'er the vale. 



Scarce had the squadron passed from view, 

When some one in the concourse drew 

Attention to a fair, white bird, 

And all stood silent; not a word 

Of comment fell from any lips; 

Here was a picture to eclipse 

All wonders, and with raptured eye 

They viewed the vision passing by. 

A swan it was, so white and fair 

That none of all who lingered there 

Had ever seen its like before; 

And when it touched the distant shore 

And disappeared, Ouasaga smiled, 

And wept, as any little child, 

A convert to the faith as pure 

As any tutor might secure. 



80 



Not for a moment questioned he 
But 'twas the sign from Watalee 
Which the white father had foretold, 
And it was all his heart could hold. 

Again and yet again it came, 

And Watalee they called its name. 

But lastly, just as day was done, 

It sailed as from the setting sun, 

A vision in the evenshine, 

And sang a matin so divine, 

So pure and rare with music sweet, 

Who heard it, stood with pinioned feet 

And marveled that their common ears 

Could catch such raptures of the spheres. 

Ouasaga, trembling, raised his eyes 

In reverence to the crystal skies; 

And then it seemed the wondrous throat 

Was stranded on the final note. 

It ceased, though yet a moment long, 

They caught the echoes of the song, 

And then the bird of snowy plume 

Was merged within the gathering gloom, 

And never to the eyes of men 

Was that fair scene revealed again. 



The gemcm af the I^ake* 

A Legend of the Far West 

"''"TIS true, white brother, what they speak," 

the friendly warrior said, 
"The serpent woman of the lake lias given up 

her dead. 
They found him in the stunted reeds that fringe 

the shallow shore, — 
A thing that moons of ages past has never seen 

before, 
And not an Indian in the land had held the story 

true, 
Had he not seen it, as did I, who tells the tale 

to you." 



On fair Wyoming's upland plains, where cloud- 
capped summits rise 

From verdant vale in whose embrace the Lake of 
Hatton lies, 



*Note XII.— Appendix. 

82 



This weird, strange legend is revered in supersti- 
tious awe 

By all the native Indian tribes, by whose un- 
written law 

It was decreed that none should speak, on pain 
of instant death, 

The name of her, the evil one, who held her 
court beneath 

The crystal surface of the lake, as sovereign of 
the dead, — 

A demon fair in woman's form, but crowned with 
serpent's head. 

Midway between the shores, deep down where 
plummet never fell, 

Within a jewel -lighted cave, she was content to 
dwell, 

Nor ever sought the surface save to bask in 
summer sun, 

Or when her minions brought her word of mis- 
chief to be done. 

In ages past a maiden fair, the tribal sages 

tell, 
Loved as a woman sometimes does, not wisely 

but too well, 

83 



And when her days of gladness came to sorrow 

and despair, 
She disappeared one gloomy night, and then the 

fatal snare 
First lured the hunter to his doom, who in his 

frail canoe 
Was tempted midway o'er the lake, and thence 

was dragged from view. 

So oft this tragedy recurred that sorrow spread, 

and woe 
Came into many a home tepee, and no one dared 

to go 
Upon the waters. Yet there came oft strangers 

who, unwarned, 
Were lured to an ignoble fate; and yet a few 

who scorned 
The prowess of the evil thing, went out to meet 

their doom, 
Till none might count the host that slept within 

that watery tomb. 

She held in bond of fealty the snakes and lizards, 

and 
They spied on all was said of her, with gift to 

understand; 

8 4 



The genii, sprites and fairy forms the nether world 

that hold, 
And fish and fowl were subject to the magic she 

controlled, 
All being agents to avenge, with penalty of 

death, 
The utterance of her proper name, with e'en the 

faintest breath. 



Who rashly spoke that fateful word on life had 

fickle hold: 
By piercing fangs or poison stings his fate was 

shortly told, 
And sorrow must pursue the tribe until, or soon 

or late, 
They cast the body in the lake her ire to 

satiate. 
So certain was the punishment that e'en the 

deepest shame 
Of cowardice could not provoke the whisper of 

that name. 



The learned sachems often met in council, to 

divine 
Some satisfying sacrifice to turn her fell design, 



85 



Until they learned that she but sought her lost 

love to proclaim, — 
To find a man of honest soul and pure, and 

spotless name; 
Yet this she could not hope to do, and while 

her quest should fail, 
All sacrifices they might bring would be of no 

avail. 

Thus held the monster of the deep her gloomy 
dynasty, 

And never could the nations hope to cut her 
fetters free ; 

But often when the tide of war brought cap- 
tives to their hands, 

They gaye them to the evil one, in thrall of 
leathern bands, 

And many an uninvited guest went down be- 
neath the wave, 

To meet the woman fiend within her subter- 
ranean cave. 

When at her will she might command the wild- 
fowl of the air, 

They proved the surest instruments of her so 
fatal snare; 

86 



Since lovers of the chase she sought, by old 

remembrance drawn, 
As like to meet her cherished wish. But now 

her might was gone, 
A traveller had crossed the lake and landed all 

secure, 
And this recovered body made her downfall 

doubly sure. 

"The long lost lover has been found," again 

the warrior said, 
"Or never had the haunted waves thus given 

up the dead. 
Now need the hunter in his quest avoid the 

deep no more, 
And fearless he may fix his camp upon the 

grassy shore; 
The serpent-woman is appeased, since all her 

sorcery 
Is centered in her new-found love, and Hatton 

Lake is free." 



87 



a 



Thx arraignment xrf ^ 



Y\7HAT answer, prisoner at the bar, 

Have you to make? The charges are 
As plaintiff states, that yestermorn 
You stole from him a sack of corn, 
And when arrested in the field 
You stubbornly refused to yield 
The booty, and by force of arm 
Did do the owner facial harm. 
The deed, if so, is one the book 
Of justice may not overlook, 
Yet, in the law, you have this chance 
To make your plea of self-defense; 
Be therefore plain, and briefly tell, 
In your own language, what befell." 



So spoke the Justice; in the court 
The throng of idlers, by report 
Of probable diversion drawn, 
Surveyed with curious gaze the wan, 



*Note XIII. — Appendix. 



Stern features of the luckless man 
Thus brought beneath the legal ban. 
But, meeting once those fearless eyes, 
Indifference turned to deep surprise: 
Here was no vagrant, common thief; 
Upon that brow both time and grief 
Had left their mark; the ruthless storm 
Of years had marred the stalwart form, 
Yet time, nor grief, nor garb he wore 
Could long conceal the stamp he bore 
In every line of form and face, 
Of that most persecuted race, 
Despoiled long since of these fair lands 
Where gleam the midland valley sands. 



At first he answered not a word, 
As if, indeed, he had not heard; 
Then, glancing slowly 'round the room, 
His features, like a cloud of doom 
Sweeping before the prairie fire, 
Foretold his burst of savage ire! 
'And I should answer here," he said, 
'To justice! No; my skin is red, — 
Red with the blood of those who came 
First to these lands, and red with shame 



89 



For what these eyes have made me see 
Since late the Spirit prompted me 
To journey from the hills afar 
Where now my driven people are, 
To mark that point the stories tell 
Where my brave sire, fighting, fell. 

'Am I a thief? I took the maize 
This varmint was allowed to raise 
On land that held my father's bones. 
I even marked the pebble stones 
Placed on the grave to guard the dead 
From beasts of prey, torn from their bed 
By these man-wolves, who digged beneath 
To find the beads and wampum wreath 
That, when the worthy warrior died, 
His fellows buried by his side. 
I found these relics all about 
Where he had delved and thrown them out, 
And left them, when he did not find 
Trinkets to satisfy his mind. 

'What does the white man's law for knaves 
Who rob the dead and open graves? 
All this 1 saw, all this and more, 
When this vile creature came before 



go 



My eyes, and struck, and called me thief. 

My heart was sore and sad with grief; 

I felled him as I would a beast, 

And I am shamed to have released 

My hold, until his corpse displaced 

The bones whose grave he had disgraced. 

"Long since I learned, a small papoose 
In captive school, the white man's use 
Of language, and his shameless arts, 
Too vile for simple, savage hearts. 
For him your justice does not fall 
Who robs the Indian of his all; 
But when a wanderer claims his bread 
From sacred soil, or shields his dead, 
The venom of your vilest wrath 
Must strike him in his weary path. 

4< I talk not of defiance; nay, 
The stronger arm must have its sway; 
The Indian's fighting days are past! 
His doom was sealed, his fate forecast, 
When, first deceived, he did not smite 
The hand that tricked him. May the might 
Of every blow that cowards fear 
Be on his head who brought me here." 



91 



He finished, and with heaving chest 
And folded arms across his breast, 
Stood gazing through and over all, 
Disdainful of his present thrall, 
A picture of divine despair; 
E'en as the panther in its lair, 
Sore wounded and without defense, 
Defying every consequence, 
And hurling in the face of death 
A challenge with its parting breath. 

Awed was the court; no sound was heard; 
The counsel offered not a word 
Of questioning; the Justice grave 
Seemed striving to suppress the wave 
Of sentiment that cast its thrall, 
So strangely potent, over all; 
But when, at length, the spell had ceased, 
He said, "The prisoner is released.' ' 
And from that motley concourse, then, 
There rose a fervent, glad "Amen." 



Q2 



w 



At Stanted Hrrrk* 



E stand upon the beetling cliff, 
Above the silent stream, 
Where now the fisher in his skiff 

Rows through the sunset gleam ; 
And fair below, to north and west, 

The valley stretches far, 
Grass-covered, to the distant crest, 
Where thrifty hamlets are. 

Soft comes the chime of vesper-bell, 

While gentle breezes blow 
And in the swaying cedars tell 

This tale of long ago. 
So eerie is the time and place 

That mirth is all suppresst, 
While standing o'er the narrow space 

Where nameless warriors rest. 



"Note XIV. — Appendix. 

93 



'Tis but to pause, — to sigh and say 

One sentence of regret 
For those brave hearts, whose ruling day, 

Like yonder sun, has set; 
Yet, as we break the mystic spell 

And turn to the descent, 
The echo of their last farewell, 

In all its grave portent, 

Comes faintly to the listening ear, 

As if to vindicate 
The cause of them who slumber here, 

In martyrdom of fate. 
They did but struggle for their own, 

And fell as much admired 
As e'er who gained the victor's throne, 

In regal robes attired. 

And down the royal steeps of time 

Their inspiration comes, 
Winged with the force of truth sublime 

From nature's living tomes, 
That, though the foe may scale the height, 

And in his might prevail, 
They, standing firm for life and right, 

Are victors, though they fail. 



94 



These warriors live in storied page 

Of legendary fame, 
The heroes of their day and age! 

Their conquerors who came 
So proudly, perished in the vast 

Of trackless wood and plain, 
With none to honor, or at last 

To sing their sad refrain. 



95 



The Title la America 



DEFORE the Grand Assize was brought 

The question of the nation's right 
To hold the native acres, wrought 

From Indian hands, by force of might. 

"And now, your Honor," counsel said, 
"The case is open to debate 
Wherein the lands that we have read. 

Embracing every sovereign State, 
Are sought in deed of title clear 

And fee, to Uncle Sam's estate; 
And the defendants, failing here, 

Forfeit the right to litigate. 
We call their counsel to respond, 

And let them show, if now, indeed, 
They hold a point of law beyond, 

That anv civil court should heed." 



96 



"Nay, I, by legal courtesy/ ' 

The younger barrister replied, 
"Appointed to defend the plea, 

Have naught to offer, nor to hide. 
My client and his heirs are dead; 

This great, wide nation is their grave; 
In every State their blood is shed; 

Yet, the usurper's fame to save, 
I will, as prima facie proofs 

Of death of former lords appear, 
Write my indorsement in the woofs 

As their quit-claim to title clear. " 

So hath the Red Man got his dues, 
For these broad acres we enjoy; 

And wampum he was wont to use 

Serves as a passing children's toy. 



97 



w 



The Hrart rtf ©W Hickxrrg* 



HAT ho! old friend! art dying, too? 
When last my feet were stayed 
Beside this mound of sacred trust 

I marked an ample shade, 
While now that rugged trunk is bare, 

And, pointing to the sky, 
Those branches, erst so green and fair, 
Are leafless and awry. 

How well I mind those random days 

Of effervescent joys, 
When we were wont to tarry here, 

As happy girls and boys, — 
To marvel at thy sturdy growth 

In childhood's careless way, 
And called thee Monarch of the Woods, 

With nothing to gainsay. 



*Note XV. Appendix. 

9 S 



And when the secret was revealed 

By one who, delving, found, 
In half- amalgamated dust, 

The meaning of the mound 
And thy surmounting majesty, — 

How proud we were to know 
So much of that unwritten lore 

Here marked, so long ago. 

Ah, yes! I see it plainly now; 

Thy mourning for the brave, — 
The stern companionship of them 

Whose bones in yonder grave 
Long since uncovered to disgrace, 

Were claimed by ruthless hands, — 
Hath touched thee to the quick of life; 

And this old trunk that stands 

Yet firm in process of decay, 

Prolongs their last appeal 
For right of eminent domain, 

That time cannot anneal. 
As fell the Red Man, guarding still 

The customs of his race, 
His forest prototype hath gone 

To its appointed place. 



09 



The heart of hickory theirs, that knew 

No bending but to break, 
And, parting, left a void of force 

That Nature ne'er can make 
Congenial, and the hickory heart 

That guarded their retreat 
E'en so defies the conquering host 

And crumbles at their feet. 

Some force of stern, primeval law 

Is here, more broad and deep 
Than all inductive might of mind 

May compass in its sweep; 
The strength was given to destroy, 

But not to make amends, 
Or comprehend the horoscope 

Of what this theme portends. 

This only may we understand, — 

That majesty had fled 
In that grotesque affinity, 

Revealed through faces dead; 
And nothing in the scope of care, 

Nor any touch of art, 
Can save the hickory from its doom 

To share the Indian's part. 



How far that moral shall prevail, — 

If there will come a time 
When we must feel the hand of fate 

As crushingly sublime, 
Exacting even recompense, — 

Alas! we may not tell, 
And dare but hope at last to hear 

The watchword: "It is well/' 



Fetter Fror 

4 4 |\JAY, we may not tarry longer in my brother's 

shining halls, 
For the Indian soon grows weary of your suffo- 
cating walls, 
Piled in rows of baked adobe, making up the 

mighty town; 
We have seen the Great White Father, and 

his power and renown 
Must respect the poor petition that we came to 

lay before 
Him in council, interceding that he desecrate 

no more 
Of the scanty reservation for the Nation set 

aside, 
To the greed of his invaders, who our homes 

would override. 
Peace be with the pale -face brother; may he 

never be bereft, 
Nor deny our right of title to the little we 

have left. 



Bring the ponies now, brave warriors; let us 
mount again and feel 

Proud and peerless, as the pebbles crunch be- 
neath the mustangs' heel; 

To the broad, unmeasured prairies, where the 
eagle's piercing note 

Sounds his challenge of derision to the cow- 
ardly coyote. 

Free as air and wind and weather, let us live 
it out, and scorn, 

As our fathers did before us, all commands of 
service born ; 

Shame the pale-face in his palace, and the 
Manitou on high 

Will preserve the Indian's freedom, though, de- 
fending it, we die. ,, 



103 



Thx HU ail of an InxliEtt djxtmt* 

VES, paleface, me will take the coin you give, 

Though nothing to my people ever came 
Of good through yours; but Helahdee must live, 

If only thus to show the Indian's shame 
Of shameless degradation and decay, 

Through evil Mahho of the white man's art; 
That took my husband and brave youths away, 

With poison keener than the venom dart. 

How have we suffered, dare you ask of me? 

O, that my lost Matotopa were here; 
But yonder his Pokomokon, long free, 

Hangs with Mahkee, dust covered. Have no 
fear, 
An Indian mother may not strike the foe, 

Not even to avenge her murdered sons; 
And even Helahdee would bide her woe 

That from her heart, a bloodless fountain, runs. 



*Note XVI.— Appendix. 

104 



Long since Petemday and Maloheho 

Have joined them on the Happy Hunting 
Grounds, 
And Ampah and Warrahpa soon must go 

With Shakoko and Koka to the bounds 
Of that high world, Kopeskoday that sings; 

Where grows Wukmiser from the unturned sod, 
And where Marahka's kindly favor brings 

More generous favors than the white man's 
God. 

Here once was fair, when all the hills were green 

And prairies stretched beyond Mahsishe's flight, 
And in the vales the grazing herds were seen — 

The Indian's meat and comfort, life and light; 
When uncorrupted here he ruled supreme 

And knew no danger in his native art; 
His mind unclouded by the fatal dream 

Of deadlier weapons than his honest dart. 



But came Okeechedee, the white man's friend, 
And brought the demon waters in his hand, 

To steal the warrior's reason, and pretend 

To trade; and robbed him of his native land. 



105 



The Father's simple child, he could not tell 
That he who spoke so fairly was a thief; 

And through his free-born charity, he fell; 

What more to say? Spare now a Meha's grief. 

We weep alone, unpitied and unwept, 

By them who laid our warriors in the dust; 
And widowed all the days since they have slept, 

We pray the Father's compensation just." 
So sits Helahdee, prating in her age 

To every comer to her lone tepee ; 
Read we the tale, and blushing, turn the page, 

For truths that burn are never soft to see. 



1 06 



Hllescug and ^ITakchun 

A Legend of Indian Summer 

DHHOLD, Wakehon dreams again; Weseng 

has touched his eye; 
Can not my brother see him nod, behind the 
hazy sky? 

Matotopa is old, more old than all the white 

man's ways; 
Yet may he smoke his pipe of peace and tell 

of older days. 

Yes, many, many moons ago when first my 

fathers came 
It was, when they beheld him droop, the 

mighty one by name, — 

Saw clouds of smoke obscure his face, his eye, 

no longer clear, 
Look stupidly upon the earth, unfit to be 

severe. 



107 



Glad had the days of harvest been, the for- 
ests broad and still, 

Did teem with game of every kind to tempt 
the hunter's skill; 

The fields all brown with husks of maize, and 

ran the rivers clear 
With plenty, where the fisher went to wield 

his agile spear. 

Well had Ta-ren-ya-wago wrought, with Wa- 

kehon, the sun, 
And proudly he surveyed his work of all the 

seasons, done; 

His temper had been fair and true, and so had 

prospered all, 
With naught to hinder through his wrath when 

blighting storms befall; 

He smiled upon the Medway feasts, where all 

the people came 
To dance the month of Sturgeon out, and praise 

the Sun-God's fame. 



1 08 



But now he had been all too kind, so mus- 

ing, he declared, 
They must repay the Manitou, who in his grace 

had fared! 



Aye, even as these warrior braves, his spirit 

would unbend; 
By means becoming, he must think, how best 

to reach this end. 

Then lighted he his calumet,— his mighty pipe 

of peace, — 
And gathered through the soothing draught a 

plan of glad release. 

' 'Tis well/' he cried, "1 will away across the 

mellow plains 
To find my brother Peboan, the Winter, where 
he reigns, 

And we together shall unite to blight these 

verdant leaves, 
To choke the rivers where they run, and crush 

these golden sheaves; 



log 



The snows shall fly and winds shall blow, and 

over all the land 
No saucy birds shall sing their songs, where 

frozen wigwams stand. 

The patient Seegwun, he of Spring, shall labor 

with his might, 
And 1 shall laugh to see his pains to set my 

mischief right/ ' 

But soon, alas for Wakehon, unused to heavy 

thought, 
He wearied and was overcome by Weseng, sly, 

who brought 

His magic wand of sleep, and sealed his eyes 

in peaceful rest, 
And left him; while the merry world smiled at 

the royal jest. 

The winds laughed softly in the woods, and 

Nature paused, well pleased, 
Conspiring to prolong the spell, her every want 

appeased, 



While still the Sun-God smoked and dreamed, 

and from his calumet 
The wreaths of somber haze arose, till all the 

hills were set 

As in a mist of falling spray, and everything 

defied 
The wrath of lazy Wakehon, who wakened not 

to chide. 



So came, my brother, what you call the Indian 

Summer days; 
Matotopa has smoked his pipe, and now must 

go ; but prays 

That when the calumet shall fail, and Wake- 
hon awakes 

His anger may be satisfied through memory that 
takes 

Some reflex from the fading day; — and Peboan 

may bear 
No icy retribution that Seegwun may not repair. 



& NxtbTemEti xrf Xntuxz 

A MAN by Nature taught to teach 

Her truest, tenderest art, 

And all his passions, all his hopes, 

Were near to Nature's heart; 

Unostentatious in his ways, 

Yet with a soul as fine 
As ever brought the ways of man 

In touch with the divine; 

Untutored in the lore of books, 

But in those kindly eyes 
Was more of knowledge, deep and true. 

Than with the worldly-wise ; 

No thought was his of recompense, — 
No fear of praise or blame, — 

But every creature in distress 
Seemed happy when he came. 

Yet, most of all I honored him, 

With selfish fealty, 
For his own friendship and esteem, — 

For what he was to me. 




' Where shozved a narrow cleft 
Of ingress to the solid rock. 
By Nature's forces reft." 

— P- 33- 



f er F room's Hot 



1*r;agr;essixro* 

A May Day Meditation 

C EATED at the old piano in an hour of careless 
^ ease, 

Naught designing, idly thrumming on the faded 
iv'ry keys, 

Comes a strain of mystic music, far-familiar, 

soft and low, 
Like the perfume of sweet flowers from the 

fields of long ago; 

Running like a thread of silver through the 

tangle of the maze 
That has marked my life's wayfaring since the 

dawn of other days, 

Till I feel its thrall upon me with a firm, resist- 
less hold, 

In a flood of revelations brimming o'er with 
memory's gold. 



*Noie XVII. — Appendix. 

114 



How it touches, how it thrills me in a subtle, 

strong embrace, 
With its breath of youthful friendships; — many 

a half-forgotten face, 

Fair ideals fondly cherished, hopes that lan- 
guished in their prime, 

Loves that flourished for a season in a brighter, 
sunnier clime, 

Fragments of ungarnered fancies pointing toward 
a higher end, 

Touches of divine emotion that I could not com- 
prehend, 

Mingled, clamor for expression in the chord of 

iv'ry keys, 
Through the touch of idle fingers in this hour 

of careless ease. 



Wafted through my study window on this balmy 

morn of May 
Comes the swell of martial music, sounding faint 

and far away; 



115 



And it fills my heart and thrills me with a 

cadence all its own, 
Keyed to notes of reminiscence of the heroes 

we have known ; 

Incidents of brave endurance at the bivouac, on 

the field, 
Where our soldiers bore the banner of the Union, 

ne'er to yield. 

Scenes of valor unrecorded where unnoted mar- 
tyrs died 

While the night's unfriendly silence e'en their 
parting plea denied. 

'Tis the day for their remembrance, when we 

go with flag and flowers 
To the hillsides where they slumber, 'mid the 

glory that is ours 

In the fruits of their achievement, to recall their 

noble fame 
And to offer each his tribute in the chorus of 

acclaim. 

So the nation pays its tribute, gladly, proudly, 
once a year, 

And the day with each returning has a mean- 
ing doubly dear, 

116 



While the anthem of fair tribute warms the hearts 

of them who weep, 
And the May-flowers deck the hillsides where 

the fallen heroes sleep. 

>£ %< %. %. %. 

Hark, again the tramp of thousands, to the 

roll of marching drums. 
With a new-made hymn of battle, where a 

grand young army comes! 

Now the people turn attention from their trib- 
utes to the dead 

To review the long battalions, where they go 
with stately tread, 

'Tis another call as holy as the cause of sixty - 

one, 

While the veteran sire, surviving, sends his 

blessing with his son. 

But the country stands united for the issues of 

to-day, 
And the flag they bear to conquest serves alike 

the blue and grey. 

So the nation, strong, triumphant, takes the 

field to meet the foe, 
Fearless in its word proclaiming, e'en that all 

mankind may know, 

117 



That the light of human freedom fostered in 

this Western world, 
Shines as clear as when oppression from its altar 

erst was hurled. 

Thus Columbia's sons are marching from the 
midlands to the sea, 

And the bugle of their coming sounds the chal- 
lenge of the Free, — 

Keys the soldier's new evangel, in an anthem as 

sublime 
As the holiest consecration on the muster-rolls 

of time. 

•v 'p >f» 'K <£ 

E'en again the boys are marching, home return- 
ing from the field, 

Garbed in all the martial glory of the brave, 
who scorned to yield 

E'en the prestige of a battle; while the con- 
quering heroes' crown 

Comes to us through their achievement, in a 
halo of renown. 

Proudly we go forth to meet them, all the 

ardor unconcealed 
That we gave them when they left us, though 

as heroes unrevealed. 



118 



So again experience teaches that our land in 

darkest hour 
Well may place complete reliance in its sturdy 

manhood's flower. 

From the verdant fields of Cuba, and from 

Porto Rico's ways, 
And the far Pacific Islands, swells a new-born 

song of praise, 

Keyed to long familiar music, writ with Free- 
dom's golden pen, 

As a theme of inspiration to this world of 
warring men. 

So our heritage of promise from the days that 

went before 
Yet augments the nation's grandeur, growing 

still to more and more! 

Thus the language of progression seals the story 

of the past; 
And a people's proud possession aye shall hold 

its meaning fast. 



ixg 



mXuixHt af lire TOansr 

A Tale of the Cuban War of Independence 



o 



N Olayita's fatal field, 

Where hero's blood was shed to shield 
The patriot army, forced to yield, 

When Spanish legions came ; 
A tablet by the mountain side 
Marks where a woman's heart defied 
The spoilers of her home, and died 
For Cuba's name and fame. 



When from Havana's buttressed walls, 
Where tyrants ruled in gilded halls, 
Weyler proclaimed his iron thralls 

New from the court of Spain, 
And gave his raiders bluff command 
To slaughter with unsparing hand; 
The fairest homes in all the land 

Were leveled to the plain! 



No manse in all the wide domain 
Of Santa Clara ever gained 
A prouder heritage than reigned 

At Agramonte Hall; 
But when the rapine of the sword 
Came down with the invading horde, 
It fell, though its intrepid lord 

Had loyal been withal. 

With murder lurking in the air, 

No plea was marked, no fervent prayer 

For clemency was heeded there; 

The Captain's grim behest 
Was filled with ardor in the trust 
Of compensation from the dust 
Of plunder, and the savage lust 

That thrills the craven's breast. 

So fell the house, and floors were red 
With blood of its defenders dead, 
And none escaped, save one, who fled 

In terror to the wood; 
Within her heart the raging pain 
Of sorrow, sprung from crimson stain 
Of slaughter, crying out in vain 

Against the crime of blood. 



Thus was Matilde, once the queen 
Of many a noted festal scene 
Within her father's house, and e'en 

The first among the fair, 
An orphan of that fateful hour 
When tyranny denied the dower 
Of freedom, and o'ertried the power 

Of Cubans to forbear. 

In bitterness of soul she thought 
Of what their loyalty had brought, 
And pledged a resolution fraught 

With grief-envenomed hate, 
To give the best she could command 
Of means and force of heart and hand, 
An offering to her native land, 

And share her country's fate. 

None marked the maiden as she sped, 
Or heard the burning words she said, 
Who had been reckoned with the dead 

Beside her fallen sire; 
But fortune willed her greater fame, 
And when the patriot army came 
She volunteered her family name 

With patriotic fire, 



122 



When Maceo beheld her there 
He paused in momentary prayer 
That war's great ravages might spare 

Such blameless innocence; 
But when she told her grewsome tale 
The soldier felt his manhood quail 
And pledged his forces to assail 

The foe in her defense. 

Before the morrow's sun they met, 
When saw the leader with regret 
That, where the battle's gauge was set, 

He could not hope to win; 
And, seizing victory from defeat, 
He gave the order to retreat, 
But called for volunteers to meet 

The Spaniards rushing in. 

Then sprang within the blighting storm 

Of leaden hail, a fragile form, 

And yet a few, with pulse as warm, 

Their lives in sacrifice 
Surrendered there in Cuba's name; 
Meanwhile the native army came 
With reinforcements, to reclaim 

The battle's awful price. 



123 



Too late! Alas, the dauntless band 
Of heroes who had dared to stand 
The brunt of combat, hand to hand, 

Had made their last defy; 
But one, the foremost of them all, 
The bravest, and the last to fall, 
Asked to surrender, spurned the thrall 

With Cuba's battle cry. 

And when, at last, the day was done, — 

The sanguinary conquest won, — 

They found her there, the orphaned one, 

Matilde of the manse. 
So sad it was that not an eye 
Which saw her thus, in death, was dry; 
But something holy from on high 

Shone in that parting glance. 

They wrapped her in the silken shroud 
Of Cuba's flag, in tribute proud, 
And bore her thus, in silence bowed, 

With reverence to the grave. 
Brave Senorita! who shall know 
How much the hosts of freedom owe 
That mound, where Southern breezes blow 

From soft Atlantic's wave? 



124 



A Song ftfr (Ilittm 

pOD speed ye, Cuban patriots! 
Ye hold the self-same cause 
That drove Americans to arms, — 

The highest, holiest laws 
Of right to cherish, have, and hold, 
What each may gather of life's gold. 
When tyrant greed steps in and says: 

"The larger tithe is mine," 
And justifies this penalty 

By right of might divine; 
Making no pledge of fair return, 
The fires of hatred quickly burn. 

And out of trying times like these 

Is patriotism born; 
Great armies marshaled, battles fought, 

And dynasties uptorn. 
So was it when Cornwallis came, 
And Weyler's fate must be the same. 
Not long the tyrant can persist, 

And you must win the fight; 
For with the modern God of wars 

'Tis right that maketh might, — 
We hearken by the Southern sea, 
The glorious message: "Cuba's Free." 



125 



Tlte Sutlers rcf i\[t ^Xmnt 

OARK! to the thrum of muffled drum that 

marks the funereal tread, 
In sorrow bowed beside the shroud which bears 

the nation's dead. 
Unlooked the call that found them all stationed 

at duty's post; 
No parting word of them was heard for those 

they honored most; 
But o'er their graves the sad sea waves that 

sweep with ocean's swell 
From native land, in accents grand, repeat our 

proud farewell. 

Whose'er the blame, theirs but the fame of 
duty nobly done, 

Though by the might of soldiers' right they 
fired not a gun; 

'Tis ours to find if aught designed in treachery- 
was there, 

And if so be, on every sea for vengeance to 
declare; 

But honor's star, in peace or war, shining, 
shall never wane 

For them who sleep beyond the deep, beside 
the Spanish Main. 

126 



TtrE "Xeux gxmugEl 

44 '~FO arms! to arms!" the summons comes, 
Where clear the bugles blow; 
"To arms!" repeat the rolling drums, 
"We fear not any foe." 
United in one phalanx grand, 
From midland to the sea, 
Ten million soldiers strong, we stand 

Behind the land's decree. 
None ever knew defeat who bore 

That flag upon the field; 
Proud victory marches on before, 
And who oppose must yield. 

On to Havana! where the stain 

Of tyranny more deep 
Than war's dread carnage, saving Spain, 

Makes all creation weep. 
As God's evangel, in the name 

Of liberty and light, 
Yon flag is chosen to proclaim 

The passing of the night. 
Woe be to any who gainsay 

Its right, on land or sea, 
While dawns the glory of the day 

That sets fair Cuba free. 

127 



Faruiartl, FeIIctui (Emtninnuim 

CORWARD, fellow countrymen, rally for the flag! 
Raze the Spanish battlements where its colors 

drag; 
Sound the knell of tyrant force, strike for liberty, — 
Send the peal of freemen's zeal ringing o'er the 

sea; 
Cheer the wearied patriot host on fair Cuba's isle 
To the last victorious charge; bid the orphaned 

smile ; 
Wipe from out the Western world every bloody 

stain 
Left of Spanish villainy; VINDICATE THE 

MAINE; 
Fight as erst our fathers fought, let the slogan be : 
Might is right for love and light, over land and sea. 



128 



ThB -Passing of (fcxxzm 



LJE is gone, the lion-hearted, 

Fallen when the fight was done; 
For his warrior soul departed 

Sounds anew the signal gun. 
Peace! the noble fight is ended, 

And we pause beside his bier 
For the cause which he defended, 

With a momentary tear; 
While in tender approbation 

Of the newest flag that flies, 
Waits the homage of a nation 

Where the gallant Garcia lies. 



129 



N 



TItb (Ürrmtug xtf r $mzz 



OW soars again the Dove of Peace 
In triumph o'er this happy land; 

And never bird in glad release 

Proclaimed a victory more grand. 

In every war our arms have fought, 

When instruments of peace were signed, 

We marked some fair achievement wrought 
For betterment of humankind; 

But now in every sphere and clime, 
Where lately pealed the battle's gun, 

Rings Liberty's enlightened chime, 

Keyed in accord to God's "Well done!" 



130 



Vttzmz hg tip Wim 



DY old Kaskaskia's lonesome towers, 

Surrendered to decay, 
We loitered through the random hours 

That filled an idle day; 
And, conning the historic lore 

Of its so bright career, 
We marveled as we stood before 

Those wind-swept ruins drear. 

Here made the pushing pioneer 

His first successful stand, 
When Indians drew the knife, through fear 

To lose their chosen land; 
Here, from a crude, log- fashioned fort 

And wooden palisade, 
There rose a town of wide report — 

The seat of Western trade. 

When other posts v/ere fixed beyond 

The river at its gate, 
And when the star of empire dawned 

Upon the maiden State, 
'Twas here they brought the sov'reign seal 

Of office, and the might 
Of Justice, tempered to reveal 

The scope of learning's light. 



*Note XVIII.— Appendix. 

132 



So thrifty once, so proud and ware, 

So full of life; and now 
Within yon church long since no prayer 

Has marked the sacred vow; 
Gone is the pomp of Church and State, 

And where in gilded halls 
Once rang the challenge of debate, 

The stalking heron calls. 

By slow, insidious, constant wear, 

The Mississippi's tide 
Has swallowed up those acres fair, 

As with vindictive pride; 
And comes the time, nor distant far 

Lest special effort saves, 
When these old landmarks as they are 

Must sink beneath the waves. 

Farewell, Kaskaskia, we shall hold 

Thy story ever dear, 
And children, when thy fate is told, 

Will give attentive ear; 
We may not analyze thy blight, 

Nor how nor why it came, 
But of thy passing Time will write 

On finest scrolls of fame. 



133 



Tictitr^s rrf Hrxmt 

CCENES about the old home: 
^ Never quite so fair 
Were they in the old days 

When 1 tarried there. 
Through the gates of childhood 

Down the path of youth, 
Memory, prone to wander, 
Finds new forms of truth. 

Erst, within the portals, 
Ere the strife began, 
Eagerly, the boy cried: 
"When I am a man." 
Now, a moment pausing, 
Sate with life's alloy, 
Wistfully the man says: 
"When 1 was a boy." 

And these printed pictures, 

Simple things of art, 
Find their way and welcome 

Deep into my heart; 
Standing as a landmark 

Where no light appears, 
To my bark reluctant, 

Drifting with the years. 

134 



>*Ä 





"Scenes about tJic old liome." 

—P. 134- 



w 



HENE'ER the world's great heart is stirred 
By brilliant conquest won, 
Its pulses beat to cries unheard 

When nobler things were done; 
Ne'er shone a deed of great avail 

Athwart the tide of years, 
But marked a stain in Honor's trail, 
Bathed in a nation's tears. 

Where virtue glows has evil stood 

In contrast of design, 
In its own hour accounted good, 

Nor hardly less divine; 
And aye, who first assailed its force, 

With might to cry it down, 
Pursued an unresponsive course 

And earned the martyr's crown. 

Mankind moves slowly by degrees, 

On life's ascending way; 
And he who writes the best decrees 

Has little meed to-day. 
Justice must weep and Mercy pray 

With fervor unconcealed, 
Ere, in the light of broader day, 

The hero stands revealed. 



*Note XIX. — Appendix. 

135 



II. 

Such was our Lovejoy; so he braved, 
When none would dare advise, 

The darkest consequence, and saved 
His country's rarest prize — 

The right of freemen to proclaim, 
With liberty of speech, 

Whatever truths in honor's name 
They may incline to teach. 

Not of the race he dared defend, 

Defenseless in their chains, 
The ripest fruitage of the end, 

His work to-day obtains; 
Though every grateful heart enshrines 

His name — all freedmen bless — 
More brightly through this nation shines 

Its independent press. 

Priceless the heritage he gave, 

And we, these many years, 
Indifferent to the martyr's grave, 

Bring now these tardy tears, 
With gift of art in polished stone, 

To herald far and wide 
Those principles which he, alone, 

For us defending, died. 



136 



III. 

Yet compensation, coming late, 

Is nothing less divine; 
The homage of a grateful State 

Marks this a pilgrim shrine — 
A landmark by the path of life, 

Where he who comes may read 
The key to Lovejoy's noble strife 
In his undying creed: — 

The right of man, with due respect 

To all accepted laws, 
To speak as conscience may direct 

In any chosen cause; 
For this he stood, for this he died, 

A martyr in the name 
Of Liberty; though erst decried, 

Now crowned with lasting fame. 

Proud stands the shaft that marks his rest; 

Proud in our minds are we, 
Our debt of gratitude confessed, 

Its majesty to see. 
E'en so the lesson it imparts 

From Alton's hallowed stand 
Shall aye inspire all patriot hearts 

In this enlightened land. 



137 



Sing HUv u Sung 

r^OME, sing me a song, my darling, 
^^ A song of the olden time, 

When love was a budding blossom, 

And life an unwritten rhyme. 
Aye, sing me a song of echo, 

And let us recall again 
The questions, the hopes unspoken, 
And longings that thrilled us then. 

Sing over the old, fond story 

Of happily random days, 
When we from the walks of childhood 

Were led in converging ways. 
Sing softly, while in the measure 

I trace the responsive strain 
Of music attuned to labor, 

And trust that was never vain. 

Sing slowly, and hold the rhythm 

That plays through the magic bars, 
And glows with reflected visions 

As bright as the midnight stars. 
And gratefully sing, for sorrows 

And crosses and qualms of pain, 
That, tried in the test of action, 

Were turned to the gold of gain. 

138 



"J wish't 'at I tould go to sleep!" 

* God bless the little one, 
All unregarded in the throng, 

Jostled and overrun; 
Pretty, petite and four years old, 

With face divinely sweet; 
What weight of trouble seems to crush 

Those tired baby feet! 

"O, fank you, sir!" with quiv'ring lip 

And wonder-blinking eyes, 
She takes the proffered chair, and sinks 

In slumber's paradise. 
The careless mother, where is she? 

To pleasure seeking prone, 
She dances with the gay, and leaves 

Her darling thus alone. 

O, bane of motherhood, that e'er 

The name were so abused, 
And woman's holiest privilege 

So shamelessly misused! 
O, helpless childhood, pity, God, 

And with Thy might protect; 
When inhumanity can sink 

To such supreme neglect. 

139 



Tire L,axly Abigail 

T 1TTLE Lady Abigail, 

Why these bitter tears? 
Sorrow should not know thee yet 

In these tender years; 
Join the playmates waiting there, 

Dry those pretty eyes, 
Seeming crosses now may prove 
Blessings in disguise. 

Bonnie Lady Abigail, 

Pining all alone, 
Can thy spirit mourn, indeed, 

Joy so early flown? 
He hath played thee false? Ah, well, 

There are nobler men! 
Virtue hath its own reward ; 

Love will come again. 

Fearsome Lady Abigail, 

Worry not thy head 
Over those foreboding words 

That the doctor said! 



140 



Mercy watches by thee, and, 

Through the night of cares, 
He who marks the sparrow's fall, 
Heeds a mother's prayers. 

Mournful Lady Abigail, 

Sorrowed now indeed ; 
In the garb of widowhood, 

Well thy heart may bleed; 
Yet, a stronger arm of love 

Guardeth even here 
In the gloomy vale of grief; 

Trust, and never fear. 

Patient Lady Abigail, 

Sitting so forlorn, 
Look within thy heart and find 

There the faith of morn. 
Life hath nothing of despair 

When its course is pure; 
Light and hope inspire, while 

Faith shall make secure. 



141 



jttluiiixrtt 

DREAMED a dream so wondrous fair 
Words may not tell, nor fancy see; 
My life's divinest hopes were there, 

And all my soul had longed to be! 
I wakened, and in dread despair 

Came back to stern reality. 

Then was my thought: this world is woe, — 
Its virtues false, its promise vain; 

Till conscience wept, and even so, 
My heart o'erflowed in bitter pain. 

I closed mine eyes to think, and lo! 

A voice that whispered: " 'Tis thy gain." 

Whence came the sound I never knew, 

But all the tenderness it bore 
That marked my vision, and the view 

Of something holy gone before; 
And, holding this assurance true, 

I go my way, and fear no more. 



142 



"M 



E don't like the Sand-man, papa," 
My wee one says, two summers wise ; 
And when I ask why, he answers: 
"Dest 'cause he frows dust in my eyes." 



O, beautiful faith of childhood! 

How much I would give to reclaim 
The pulse of its glad, fresh promise, 

Unwitting position and fame. 

When labor and loss and worry 
Oppresses, and slumber denies, 

How gladly I'd greet the Sand-man, 
Were he to throw dust in my eyes. 



M3 



Ttte Sang nf tht (Eantp 
i. 

/^AMPING out! what rarest pleasure of the 
^ sportsman's golden leisure 

When he bids a brief adieu to worldly care, 
And is lost amid the glory of creation's primal 
story 

In the woodland, miles away from anywhere. 



II. 

When the morning sunlight gleaming o'er the hills 
with all the seeming 
Of the light that warms Arcadia's verdant 
shore, 
Marks a vision to inspire in the heart the native 
fire 
Of the free-born race that ruled these realms of 
yore. 



i 44 



III. 

Here, in perfect peace and quiet, nurtured on the 
frugal diet 
All dependent upon skill with rod and gun, 
Flow the richest founts of reason, where no hint 
of mortal treason 
Ever dawns between ; the courses of the sun. 

IV. 

Draw the fire and turn the spittle, stir the coffee 
(just a little), 
Sink the oven in this bed of mossy loam; 
While the bonfire, brightly burning, starts, per- 
chance, an instant's yearning, 
For the scenes that light the glowing hearth 
at home. 

V. 

Reminiscent songs and stories, oft rehearsed with 
added glories, 
Greet the ears of night with melody and jest; 
Till the final, crowning number yields to Nature's 
touch of slumber, 
And the forest sings its lullaby of rest. 



145 



TCIe Sitting in t\\z Blind 

\A7HILE sitting in the blind, alone, 

Just watching my decoys, 
I feel the subtle ecstacy 

Of all a hunter's joys; 
The memories glad of other days 

Come tripping through the mind, 
And rests the spirit, satisfied, 

While sitting in the blind. 

The whirring of the widgeon's wing, 

The whistle of the teal, 
And echo of my trusty gun, 

Are music just as real 
As concerts of the rarest price 

That kings and queens may find, 
And bring a goodlier return, 

While sitting in the blind. 

146 



With trigger set and steady hand, 

And every sense alert, 
I wait the passing of the birds, 

And nothing may divert 
The eye's intentness on the scene 

As, coming with the wind, 
I time the mallard's headlong flight, 

While sitting in the blind. 

E'en in the intervals of rest, 

With nothing else to do, 
Yielding to introspective mood, 

1 catch the broader view 
Of life in all its meaning, till, 

To any fate resigned, 
I feel a monarch for the nonce, 

While sitting in the blind. 

So speeds the time on wings as fleet 

As any duck that flies, 
'Mid pleasure's richest, ripest zest 

A sportsman's zeal implies; 
All careless of the world's affairs, 

Nor to its ways inclined, 
I envy not a soul on earth — 

While sitting in the blind. 

147 



fr Sumnttttts üf Spring 

\A7HEN comes from out the sunny South 
The whisper of the voice of Spring, 
And o'er the rolling river's mouth 

The whistle of the mallard's wing, — 
When breaks the lake in glad release 
Of winter's grip of ice and snow, 
And Nature's every force unbends 
Beneath the sun's returning glow: 

There comes a yearning to my heart 

As of some creature to be free, 
Long captive to a cruel part; 

And every sound that speaks to me 
Across the casement, with the wind, 

Seems as a message from afar 
To seek the woods, — the fields, — and find 

Where those divine emotions are. 

"Come forth, come forth," they seem to call, 

Till throbs the blood in every vein; 
And in a trice, forgetting all 

Dull cares, these promised joys to gain, 
I turn my hand to rod and gun 

And wend away on field and stream, 
All careless how life's course may run 

While wrapt in this Elysian dream. 

148 



& Sxrug 0f "Aittd L>cwg &gttE" 

44 COR Auld Lang Syne/' she sang the song 

With depth of feeling fine; 
And fell the music on my heart 

With power most benign. 
The flush upon her fair young face 

Wakes memories so divine, 
They bear me back in raptured trance 

To "Days of Auld Lang Syne." 

Their spell surcharges all my soul, 

And I would fain resign 
My being to that dream -bright world 

Whose after-glories shine 
Like star-gems in the crown of night; 

Yet she may not divine 
What dear unrest her words impart, 

Who sings of "Auld Lang Syne." 

Sing on, fair child, nor e'er suspect 

The anguish that is mine; 
For thee 'tis yet untasted rue, 

For me the seasoned wine : 
But I would have thee not omit 

The pathos of a line, 
Since life is more to thee and me 

Through "Days of Auld Lang Syne." 

149 



& TwriligW ^tntxxz 



'HTIS the close of the day, and the twilight is 
1 falling, 
Overshrouding the glow in the West; 
While out over the river the whip-poor-will's 
calling 
To its mate to come forth to the quest. 



Now the noise of the bustle for pelf is declining, 
For awhile all contention may cease; 

And below the fair lights of the city are shining, 
As the beacons of comfort and peace. 

For the nonce we are left to the bent of full 
pleasure, 
And are bound to no social decree, 
While we revel, heart-glad, in this moment of 
leisure, 
And reflect what it is to be free. 



150 



Then the moon, coming out of the East in its 
glory, 

Silver-touches the sable of night, 
And forgetting the day with its troublesome story, 

We are lost in a trance of delight. 

Thus whenever the world with its maddening 
plunder 
Is too much for the mind to endure, 
An' you go from its passions and crosses, out 
under 
The blue sky, where life's fountain is pure. 

From the man -ridden mart to the heart of true 
Nature, 

Where the Ego is shamed by the Whole, 
Joy, surrounded and bounded by all nomenclature, 

Like a mantle, envelops the soul. 



151 



AH, woe is me in my lonely life; 

And why so alone, say you? 
Because 1 was foolish and spurned my fate, 

When erst it was kind, nor knew 
The consequence of a scornful mien, 

When fortune is prone to woo. 

One summer's day in the long ago 

I stood in a forest dell 
And felt the pulse of a waking love — 

The touch of its magic spell — 
But steeled my heart to the tender tale 

That Cupid was fain to tell. 

The fairest hope 1 had dared to hold, 

There proffered, I would not see; 
Till shamed, love's messenger went away; 
And now o'er the sounding sea 

Of life's drear voyage, his vain appeal 
Comes mockingly back to me. 



152 



®ut xrf Hie gbeplfcs 



CALSE Love, that poisons tender trust, 

False Hope, that steals away 
Life's nectar from the soul of Youth, 

False Friendships that betray 
The pledge of sacred confidence; 

Alack, and well-a-day, — 
A Trinity of Evil, these, 

By whose infernal spell 
Are wrought the darkest deeds of sin, 

And of this triad fell 
Are half the crimes that people earth 

With progeny of hell. 



w 



RAPPED in the fragrant smoke wreaths blue, 

My thoughts their fairest theme pursue; 
And by this pledge of Friendship true, 
I smoke my pipe, and think of you. 



153 



Tu (Due ^iszxmsjcrtutz 

COME things there are in every life 
^ That one were happy to forget, 
Sounding the depths of memory's well 

With leaden plummet of regret, — 
Things we have said or failed to say, 

Have done, perchance, or failed to do, 
Which deaden pleasure's richest draught 

With bitterest aftertaste of rue. 

Mankind is ever prone to err; 

But e'en the fact of conscious pain 
Proves that the fault was not in vain, 

And makes its author conqueror: 
Who finds his folly gains a place 
For truth and light and manly grace. 



154 



Tte ftetwrticis' fttfll 



TTHEY went to the Benedicts' ball, 

And happy they were, each and all; 

Life's worries forgetting 

And nothing regretting, 
They danced, at the Benedicts' ball. 

No foibles and follies were there 
That Fashion is wont to declare, 

No formal restrictions 

Of hearts' predilections 
Of choice, at the Benedicts' ball. 

A program informal and free, 
Of dances delightful to see, 

Went through to the measure 

Of unalloyed pleasure 
And cheer, at the Benedicts' ball. 



155 



No envious rivalries here, 
Through youth's disposition to fear 

Of some one more favored 

In dress or behavior 
Or charms, at the Benedicts' ball. 

These loves are long-tested and true 
In life, and there's nothing to do 

But yield to the dower 

That giveth this hour 
Of glee, at the Benedicts' ball. 



156 



^ütrrui ®nz ^matter 

UOW sad it is, what bitter pain, 
When souls by love's command 

United once, are rent in twain 
For lack to understand. 

Earth has power to wound so deep, 

No sorrow so unjust, 
As theirs who, misconceiving, weep 

For unrequited trust. 

Know one another: speak the thought, 
Nor fear the truth it shows; 

For doubt and silence lead to naught 
But cumulative woes. 

Be brave, be plain, and never fear 

The all -confiding truth, 
Which leads to understanding clear, 

And sweet, perennial youth. 



157 



o 



£1 (Eftristwas Tto 



Christmas bells, 
5 How glad their swells; 
What joy foretells 

Their silver chime, 
Of royal cheer 
And precepts dear 
That hover near 

This holy time. 

What wealth of things 
Their cadence brings 
While angels' wings 

Do hover near; 
And perfect love 
From heav'n above 
Doth seem to move 

All creatures here. 

158 



O, raptured cries, 
And sparkling eyes; 
What sweet surprise 

They do confess; 
As each fond heart, 
All void of art, 
Betrays its part 

Of happiness. 

And all life's gold 
These moments hold 
Doth but enfold 

The peerless gem 
In mercy's crown 
Of blest renown, 
That erst came down 

At Bethlehem. 



159 



Trtrf. TO. H. trait mm 

I/'INSMAN by name and by the bond 

Of work in a congenial sphere, 
I fain would lay, in tribute fond, 
One fragrant flow'ret on thy bier. 

Thine was the meed of true renown, 

Which they may gain who best achieve, - 

Of simple worth the ample crown, — 
That none unworthy may receive. 

Yet e'en the rarest gift we bring 

Is worthy only in degree, 
Since all who now thy praises sing, 

Exalt themselves in honoring thee. 

Would that the world had more as great, 

As truly noble men as thou; 
And never knightly honors sate 

With fairer grace on kingly brow. 



1 60 




' So great he was, though young of years. 
So broad of nature and of mind." 

—p. 162. 



hi ftfenrariam* 



\X7HAT gloom of sadness in our hearts, 

What weight of sorrows over all, 
Paling the light of nobler arts 

With shattered hopes, beyond recall; 
What boundless deeps of grief are here, 

And tears that flow with anguish rife, 
Where lately was such wealth of cheer 

And gladness in the joy of life. 

From out the zenith of our hopes, 

From fields of promise nobly fair, 
Hath come one stroke of Fate that ope'd, 

At once, the vials of despair. 
Words are but feeble to extol 

The breadth of manly worth we mourn; 
The voiceless language of the sou! 

Alone may mark the message borne. 



*Note XX. — Appendix. 

161 



So great he was, though young of years, 

So broad of nature, and of mind, 
So modest yet, though none his peers, 

And ever to the right inclined; 
Chief of the tribe that owned him king, 

Light of the home that loved him well, 
And pride of those true friends who bring, 

In this dark hour, their fond farewell. 

He faced the world to do his part, 

And did it, and whate'er he found 
Of good, was treasured in his heart, 

Shrined in his depths of love profound. 
Unscathed by every rule that stands 

For good account in earth's career, 
He stood serene, with ready hands 

To duty's call, and boundless cheer. 

We most shall miss who knew him best, 

And shrew the fate that spurned his worth; 
Yet in our weakness, self-confessed, 

Some comfort comes, to sorrow's dearth; 
For, although sharp the contrast be 

As we stand helpless by his grave, 
Yet are we richer in degree 

Through the example which he gave. 

162 



And they who mourn him most of all, — 

Who reared and loved him but to lose, — 
Have something treasured up withal 

That even fate may not abuse, — 
His memory sealed within their breasts: 

And nothing in the world's rough round 
Can mar that image where it rests, 

With radiant wreaths of laurel crowned. 



163 



o 



Ta m% Frtttttl 



FRIEND of mine, who, tried and true, 
* Through all these years, on devious ways, 
Have canceled friendship's every due, 

Alike to fair and stormy days; 
What memories mark the penless page 

Whose language speaks for us alone, 
Of scenes and themes that grow with age 

To sacred sequence, all our own. 



Since erst we met, in callow youth, 

Through happy chance, by college bowers, 
Much have we gleaned of sober truth 

That marks life's path, by thorns and flowers; 
And more than by those books of rules. 

Of sums and subjects, oft abstruse, 
Since have we learned, in broader schools, 

Of knowledge and its proper use. 



164 



Many there were whom, grave or gay, 

We greeted in congenial mood, 
And all in turn have gone their way, 

Indifferent or misunderstood. 
E'en to our mutual minds there came 

Dread hours of doubt that neared despair, 
But ne'er distrust nor fear could claim 

The innate kinship that was there. 

The touch of sympathetic souls, 

Though oft they tarry far apart, 
Gives substance to the fairest goals 

That mark the empire of the heart; 
And we who labor with our cares 

By fields that else were dark in dearth, 
Find in this bond that shares and bears, 

The fairest flower that gilds the earth. 



165 



I 



4ti Ihx Faitti* 



A/\ UST I thus early go the way 

Where all earth's glories fade? 
Unto that far, mysterious day, 

Through intervening shade. 
So fain I was to linger yet, 

For just a little while; 
That aims whereon my hopes were set, 

My work might reconcile. 



The world to me was ever kind, 
Was all so bright and fair; 

And every whispering breath of wind 
Held promise rich and rare; 

And I, the guerdon to receive 

That crowns the minstrel's lay, 

So much had promised to achieve, — 
So much to sing and say. 



*Notk XXI. — Appendix. 

1 66 



Yet love hath answered all I gave, 

And at its holy shrine 
I learned the power of loss to save, 

Through sorrows most divine. 
Thine arm, though oft my lips were dumb, 

Was ever true to me; 
And not complaining, now I come, 

My Nature's God, to Thee. 
Life's roses bloom in silhouette 

Where all its thorns are gone; 
And knows the spirit no regret, 

Beyond the after-dawn. 



167 



A BOOK of verse, a simple gift, 

But years of patient toil and thought, 

Fine sifted from the heart and mind, 
Upon its pages are inwrought. 

Not any token of esteem 

Of fair design that I might send, 
Could more express my fondest hopes 

To grace the wedding of a friend. 

Thus, as the symbol of the years 

Of truest friendship we have known, 

Schoolmate, this little volume bears 

My life's best wishes, all your own. 



168 



^tarxrmptis ftmEtti 

/^\F life the best that man achieves 
^-^ And most persuasive of content, 
Is his who on his work receives 

The verdict of accomplishment. 

The ripest fruits ambition bears, 

Where life's rewards are lost and won, 
Are gained when cherished fame declares, 

Approving, "It was nobly done/' 



Trr ©um e Hrxmt 

TO own a home, and be therein 

The monarch of its bright domain, 
To have and hold by frugal care, 

With naught to lose and all to gain; 

However humble be the hearth, 

To know this spot is all my own, 

Means more to me in sweet content 
Than glory on a gilded throne. 

169 



Parting fr#m Itpe Stmshnx:** 



OOW quiet now these halls in their surrender! 
The guests are going home, but yet awhile 
They tarry on the beach, with feeling tender, 
And give the friendly seas a parting smile. 

I, too, would spend the farewell hour, bringing 
My thoughts, down by the waters, quite alone; 

And listen to the mighty ocean singing, 
The grandeur of its music all my own. 

"Deep as the seas!" who hath the under- 
standing 
The guarded secrets of its vast to find! 
Seems as a host of voices, reprimanding: 
"How great is Nature, and how weak man- 
kind!" 



*Note XXII.- Appendix. 

170 



Here marked I many a glad young mother 
dreaming, 

Her gaze abstracted on the billows' reach; 
She saw her blessings in those eddies gleaming, 

Beside her babies, playing on the beach. 

Ah, trusting mother, ne'er may sorrow scatter 
The happy group, here gathered on the strand; 

Nor may you know those biting words that shatter 
When "Happiness is like the fleeting sand." 

Anon, in sadder mood, its music sounding, 

No more responsive to youth's lithesome glow, 

It speaks of life's unfathomed deeps rebounding, 
And of this lifetide's ebb, and of its flow. 

Aye, often on the lifestream, darkly speeding, 
Feel we the lack of friendly hand to save; 

The world oft lets its children fall, unheeding, 
Cast on the strand unmarked by careless wave. 

Not so the sea; with tireless endeavor 

It aye reclaims its own, and doth defend 

Its elements in unity forever. 

How great, O Nature, is thy teaching's end! 



171 



$t ^Xttfrtl From Thxt* 



DE kind again, dear heart, and look at me, 

And teach me to forget thy cold command; 
Thy hasty word did wound me painfully, 

And how it pains, thou canst not understand. 

Right well I know thou wouldst not hurt me, 
dear, 
And yet, and yet it burns into my soul, 
And it hath cost me many a scalding tear — 
This one harsh word that thou couldst not 
control. 

E'en if the whole wide world should me disown, 
With proud indiff'rence I would bear the loss; 

What is't to me? But thou, dear one, alone, 
Thou must not me with cutting phrases cross. 



♦Note XXIII.— Appendix. 

172 



O, dost thou know what joy there is for me 
In one kind word from thy dear lips and 
heart? 

'Tis like the oil that calms the stormy sea, 
A healing balsam for the keenest smart. 

Oft has a single cheering word of thine 

Guided and warmed me through the darkest 
days, 

A talisman — a watchword most divine, 

When wearily 1 walked in untried ways. 

And when, sometimes, my own good will doth 
fail, 
What pride and strength comes from thy 
counsel just; 
It nerves to courage new that cannot quail, 
For thou hast builded well — in thee I trust. 



173 



OVE beckoned to me, but I saw not the sign; 
*~* He would have embraced me, but could not 
divine, 
Since I was indifferent then. 

He looked at me fondly, and longed to endear, 

He called my name softly, but I did not hear, 

Till, weeping, he left me; since when — 

I list' for his footfall, but ever in vain; 
Where goes he? I know not; alone in my pain, 
I know but, — love comes not again. 



<5nxl «ixte TOtth: Tte£ 

f~* OD bide with thee! No other hail 

Hath so much meaning grace; 
God bide with thee! No other hail 
So suits all time and place. 

God bide with thee! When this salute 
Heart-warm is spoken fair, 

God would defer to this salute 
As much as any prayer. 



174 



fugling (Quatrains 

INCONGRUITY 

CTOOD the bard in contemplation by the softly 

^ purling stream, 

Where each gentle undulation shone with sunlight 

all agleam; 
And he wondered how these glories, where Truth's 

echo seemed to dwell, 
Could give rise to all the stories that home-coming 

anglers tell. 



SELF-PUNISHED 

The man who does not love the hook and reel, 
And varied pleasures rod and line afford, 

Lacks life's best recreation, nor may feel 
The inspiration of its rich reward. 

AS WALTON SAID IT 

Doubtless the Lord, as gentle Walton said, 
Of certain luscious fruitage, foliage hid, 

A nobler sport than angling might have made, 
But doubtless, I am sure, He never did. 



175 



o 



Far Hti (Old ^HitTs dtfttrert 



LD maids are we, by stress of fate, 
Single of heart, but not of mind; 
By mutual impulse, e'en though late, 
To matrimony all inclined. 



Believing as the poet said, 

That all things yield to force of will, 
We feel, although our teens are sped, 

That we may stoop to conquer still. 

Therefore in conclave we are met, 
To counsel what is best to do; 

Simply to spread the waiting net 
Of chance, or boldly to pursue. 

Cupid, alack! we know not why, 
Denies the service of his dart, 

And we've no power to blind the eye 
Or pierce the captive husband's heart. 



176 



Yet, by the grace of seasoned wit, 

We have a scheme, — I may not tell — 

That will succeed, though Cupid sit 
Forever pouting in his cell. 

'All things shall come to them who wait"; 

But we have waited over long, 
And, lest the rescue come too late, 

We formulate this motto strong: — 

In spinster quest all things are fair, 
And now that we have cut the ice, 

We boom the market, and declare: 
For each a man at any price. 



177 



©f lb* Nzw %mx 

5 '"TIS New Year; mark the joyous chime 

Sounding its welcome through the night, 
To this most recent Child of Time, 

That cometh, crowned with morning light. 
So moves the universe of God, 

That through the course of ages sung, 
There shone, and shines where'er men plod, 

The lamp of promise, ever young. 

And aye our pledges to achieve 

With worthier purpose each new year, 

Makes us the stronger to receive 

The fullness of life's guerdon here; 

Since every effort fair and pure, 

Brings might to conquer and endure. 



178 



Y\7HEN Fate made up her list of maladies 

With which to torture and afflict mankind, 
She fashioned with vindictive, spiteful mind, 
Yet could not guard 'gainst certain remedies! 
But when the mess of evil stuff was spent, 
She took the dregs of each, and mixing these, 
Her final fling of hatred to appease, 
She called it measles, and was well content. 
Had I a friend who of some dread disease 
Must suffer, I would wish him aught but this! 
Had I a foe, and vengeance to appease, 
I'd pray that of all evils he might miss 
Thy miasmatic, shameless, mongrel sting, 
Thou stealthy, sneaking, plebeian, devilish thing! 



179 



Ttpe Sxrag xrf t\\z Btfxuter 

YKTELL sighted, well pointed, three steps and 
deliver; 

And mark, if the ball goeth fair, 
A moment of waiting, a word of approval, 

It scores for a strike or a spare. 

A miscalculation, a pause or a fumble, 

The ball with its chances is lost; 
Regret and resolve, and with merciless promptness 

The scorer is counting the cost. 

How true to life's game, where each aims at ideals 
Which only the best may achieve; 

And surely well-earned are the marks to their credit 
That singly the players receive. 

Ah, yes, it were well, if the sum of life's story, 
When lastly the Judge shall declare, 

Might tally a strike on the high plane of purpose, 
Or, leastwise, leave something to spare. 

1 80 



PURPOSE 

Who has a purpose well in mind, 

And holds its course with steady hand, 

Is certain, soon or late, to find, 
It's best reward at his command. 



IN DEGREE 

To have without kindness 
Is little received; 

To gain without labor 
Is nothing achieved. 



VALE SCIENCE 

If there's contagion in a kiss, 

As scientists would have us fear, 

Science hath little chance, I wiss, 
Ever to make its title clear. 



181 



Thx Kftd xrf ttoe QMeuxlar 



A LACK, and alas! I discover 
^ To-night a new lesson of age, 
As, turning my calendar over, 
I come to the very last page. 

So long, while its leaflets were falling, 

I carelessly marked its career; 
But now, with abruptness appalling, 
It heralds the end of the year. 



A year, with its days, months and seasons; 

How quickly its passing is told; 
A year, with its loves and its treasons, 

Its record of dross and of gold. 

I sang in the Springtime of flowers, 
Rejoiced in the Midsummer prime, 

And gloried in Autumn's rich dowers, 
But recked not the passing of time. 

182 



Yet now, that its labors are over, 
The crosses and losses I knew 

Are merged in the thyme of the clover 
That came in the breezes that blew 

O'er highway and byway, while slowly 
The leaves turned to yellow and brown; 

And each has a niche that is holy 
In memory's crypt of renown. 

O, year that is past, I am dreaming 
Of all thou wast pledged to obtain; 

O, life that is mine, in the seeming, 
How much of thy promise is vain! 

E'en so, as the steeples are chiming 
The change from the old to the new, 

The Master Musician is timing 

The pulse of the false and the true. 

And so, as I turn the leaf over, 
I learn a new lesson of age; 

Then eagerly grasp the bright cover 
That holds a new calendar page. 



183 



^jnxenriix 



Note I. — The scenes and incidents in the following poem 
are based upon historical fact, so far as known from old 
chronicles, and from knowledge gained by the late Professor 
William McAdams in his personal researches in the region 
covered. It is therefore not entirely mythical, and many of 
the salient points will be readily recognized by students of 
Indian history and settlers in the valley of the Illinois. 

Note II. — There are many evidences that the cedar tree 
was a particular favorite with the Indians who formerly 
inhabited this region. They made many of their implements 
of its wood, some of which is taken from mounds in the shape 
of old trinkets by delvers to-day ; and frequently, too, old 
stumps are found clinging to the crags on the Mississippi and 
Illinois bluffs, as hewn down ages ago by the aborigines. 

Note III. — The Twin Springs on the Illinois river are 
located directly opposite what is known as Six Mile Island, 
and at the base of the immense hills on the summit of which 
are the mounds of the fallen warriors of whose last battle the 



184 



following pages treat. The water is famed for its excellent 
quality, and camping parties in this region almost invariably 
stop in the immediate vicinity. 

Note IV. — This cave was investigated but a few years 
ago by a party of summer excursionists, who were able to 
reach it only by means of a long ladder of forty feet. At the 
entrance was a huge boulder that left but a small crevice 
open, and within on the stone floor, recumbent on its back, 
was the skeleton of a man. The only inhabitants of the cave 
were thousands of bats. The evidence was conclusive that in 
some long forgotten day a man had been imprisoned and left 
there to die. 

Note V. — All Indians were in their wild state believers 
to a greater or less extent in things supernatural, and their 
lives were often swayed by the simplest of natural happenings, 
which they could not or would not logically interpret. It was 
this same characteristic which inspired and gave such prece- 
dence to their medicine men and so-called sages, whose words 
are potent even to-day among the semi-civilized tribes of the 
far West. 

Note VI. — The plain, now a beautiful farming region on 
the Calhoun county side of the Illinois river, where the last 
great battle of the Illini and Iroquoi was fought, and where 
the former tribe fell, still bears many evidences of the conflict 
once held there. Formerly thousands of arrow heads, toma- 
hawks and other stone implements were found there by 
archaeological relic hunters, and there can be no doubt that the 
greatest battle in the aboriginal history of the valley was 
fought here. 

i8 5 



Note VII. — We have the recorded testimony of the sur- 
vivors of the once powerful tribe of Iroquoi that after the 
conquests which at one time promised the subjugation of the 
entire country, and which culminated in the destruction of the 
Illini, the tribe became plague-stricken, of small pox, and 
rapidly sank into comparative oblivion. And the same 
authorities attributed this visitation to the wrath of the 
Manitou for their sins of aggressive warfare. 

Note VIII. — Among the many mounds crowning the 
lofty hills of the Illinois and Mississippi rivers within a few 
miles of this historic point are a few, and particularly one, in 
which the skeletons taken out prove them to have been the 
victims of war, as in many cases the skull was crushed and 
arrows still sticking in the brittle bones. The trophies taken 
out were also more varied and of different character from 
those found in mounds known to have been made by the 
Illini. 

Note IX. — As stated in the text, archaeologists have 
entirely cleaned out the famous mound, and the relics taken 
therefrom are to be found in the State and many public and 
private museums of Illinois. The curious visitor, however, * 
can still find enough to convince him, and the view from the 
crest of the mound is one of the grandest to be found any- 
where in the country. 

Note X. — Glen Mary, more commonly known as Hop 
Hollow, occupying a great sweep of picturesque valley front- 
ing on the Mississippi about two miles above Alton, 111., has 
long been the abiding place of fantastic legends, some of them 

186 



original with the later inhabitants, but all probably inspired 
by the weird traditions that came with its conquest from the 
Red Men. The story of a buried treasure somewhere within 
these rugged hills is commonly known, and testimony as 
to supernatural inhabitants would not be hard to get among 
the dwellers in the vicinity. These data, while hardly fitted 
to a scientific treatise, are readily adapted to an Indian tale, 
and serve to embellish in this case the legend of the great 
white swan, a bird held sacred among many tribes of the race. 

Note XI. — Marquette's history of his first voyage down 
the Mississippi tells of just such a meeting with the Indians in 
a beautiful valley in this vicinity, and of their kindly reception 
of his first teaching of "the white man's God." 

Note XII. — This legend is the fruitage of an Illinois 
hunting party's entertainment of a native nimrod, on one 
of its camping trips after Western great game. The author 
can vouch only for the fact that the original narrator told it in 
all sincerity. 

Note XIII. — This scene actually took place in a court 
room of a Western State some years ago. An Indian was 
arrested for vandalism, tried and acquitted on the grounds 
given. 

Note XIV. — The legend of Starved Rock has been fully 
told by other writers and its repetition here would be super- 
fluous. These lines represent simply the reflections of the 
author on a visit to the famous cliff at the headwaters of the 
Illinois. 



187 



Note XV. — The "old man of the woods" who first 
suggested this idea to the writer was, like most men with 
a pet theory, quite positive that some grim relationship 
existed between the hickory tree and the Indian ; but what- 
ever may be the scientific value of this suggestion, it is a 
patent fact that this species of our native timber will not bend 
to cultivation, and its death begins with the first turning of the 
virgin soil about its roots with plowshare or spade. 

Note XVI. — The Indian phrases used in this poem are in 
the true language of the Mandans, a once powerful tribe of 
the plains west of the Missouri river. Key to Indian words : 
"Me" — I; "Helahdee" — The Pure Fountain; "Mahho" — 
Spirits; "Matotopa" — The Four Bears; "Pokomokon" — 
War Club; "Mahkee" —Shield ; "Petemday" — Buffalo ; 
"Maloheho" — Bear; "Ampah" — Elk; "Warrahpa" — Beaver; 
"Shakoko" — Mink; "Koka" — Antelope; "Kopeskoday" — 
The Shell; "Wukmiser" — Corn; "Marahka" — The Sun; 
"Mahsishe" — The War Eagle ; "Meha" — A Woman ; "Okee- 
chedee" — The Evil Spirit. 

Note XVII. — This and the several other poems under this 
caption are some thoughts suggested by the stirring themes 
and incidents incidental to the late Spanish-American war. 

Note XVIII. — Until within the past year the scenes of 
this poem might be seen by any visitor to the site of the 
oldest city in Illinois and once proud Capital of the State ; 
but time, neglect and the encroachments of the river have now 
almost obliterated the last land-marks, and Kaskaskia is only 
an historical reminiscence. 



i83 



Note XIX. — This was the dedication ode at the consecra- 
tion of the monument to the martyr E. P. Lovejoy, at Alton, 
111., Nov. 8, 1897. The shaft occupies one of the finest 
prospects on the high hills of the city, and is a magnificent 
memorial of a grateful State to a brave man. 

Note XX. — There comes into one's life sometimes a 
bereavement so crushing as to mark an epoch and leave a 
wound that it seems time cannot anneal. Such was the death 
of Henry Rand Schweppe, May 28, 1899, not only to the near 
relatives and friends who best knew him, but to the community 
in which he lived. Born October 4, 1875, his twenty-three 
years of life were marked by the noblest effort, a degree of 
accomplishment not reached by many, and an unwavering 
friendliness and sincerity of character that made him univer- 
sally esteemed. He loved, also, the field and camp ; was 
president of the Black Hawk club, and the acknowledged 
leader of the society circles in which he moved. Death came 
to him in Black Hawk county, Iowa, and he met its summons 
in the happiest hour of his life, in a train wreck, while on his 
way to Minneapolis to place the engagement ring on the finger 
of his promised bride. It is hard indeed to reconcile such 
sorrows to the eternal fitness of things, unless it be in the 
consciousness that he contributed in his day more to the 
sum of the world's happiness and good than is achieved by 
many whose work is measured by the fullness of the allotted 
span of life. 

Note XXI. — Suggested on reading of the death of a 
young poet, whose work had already attracted wide attention. 

Note XXII. — This is a translation of one of the recent 
poems of Mrs. Marie Raible, of Alton, 111., who is acknowl- 



edged to be one of the foremost among German poets of the 
day. It represents as well as a translation can, the beauty of 
thought and symmetry of diction which have won for her an 
enviable fame. 

Note XXIII. — This and the two succeeding poems are 
translations from the German, respectively, of Hedwig, 
Countess Rittberg, Johanna Ambrosius and Julius Sturm. 

General Note. — While most of the matter in this book 
is here published for the first time, the author takes this 
opportunity of expressing his appreciation for previous publi- 
cation and permission to reprint some of the subjects, to the 
publishers of the American Journal of Education, Outing, 
Recreation, The American Angler, and the daily papers of 
this city. 



190 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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