7 5^ 



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Hollinger Corp. 
pH 8.5 



'PS 3533 

U7 S6 
1900 
Copy 1 



$onnet$ 



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-tiU^-A^'v. 



Copyrtghted igoo 
By Edward Quintard. 






Office of thd 

^" 9 61900 , 
kcgist«r of CopyMgBlIB 



T6 3^^^ 



60095 






SECOND COPY. 




5o J£. lb. (SI. 

F these poor words of mine, born of 
unrest, 

Find in thy heart, my love, one mo- 
ment's rest, 
Then without tear or sigh 

They are content to die, 

Having achieved, my love, their journey's quest. 

If these stray lines of mine, coming to thee, 

Breathe one fair thought, my love, coming from me, 

They have not lived in vain, 

Nor do they ask again 

Time to be heeded, or given a plea. 

If in this book of mine, thou canst but trace 

E'en but a line that reflects thy sweet face, 

Naught that the world may say 

Can my poor Muse dismay, 

And for my song must the world find a place. 




^be Sonnet 

SONNET is a little plot of ground 

In which the poet may pluck a dainty 

flower ; 

Or yet a golden vase all rimmed 

around 
With his sweet fancies; or yet again a bower 
In which for one short moment he may find repose. 
And yet methinks, within this narrow space 
Doth dwell more sweetness than the whole world 
knows; 

For as a gem that shows its lustrous face 
Upon the whiteness of some fair one's breast, 
Reveals a two-fold beauty and a grace 
Which all alone would be unmanifest, 
So in the sonnet, where the mind may trace 
The double beauty of the poet's bequest, 
To th' ear sweet music and the heart solace. 



^0 je, lb. (SI. 




EAR one, whose calm endurance of 
long pain 
Hath taught in silence what no word 

may say; 

Whose sweet assurance under sorrow's 

bane 
Fulfills life's greatest lesson day by day; 
Thy patient fortitude in hours of stress, 
When friends seem failing and the truth is spurned, 
Doth never falter, nor in grief's distress 
Is thy brave heart from justice ever turned. 
Scornful of wrong, despising all things mean, 
Thy mind on gentle ministrations bent 
Rises above all strife, and thus serene 
Awaits love's labor with a calm content; 
Thy only thought, the crowning of thy creed, 
The sweet fulfillment of a noble deed. 



Zo a S)ai0\> 




REAT bards have sung thy praises 

little flower, 

And greater yet to come shall thy 

sweet name avow; 

And man}' a king had given all his 

power 
Could he have been as blithe and free as thou. 
A thousand spring-times dance within thine eye, 
Dear little earth-star of the summer fields, 
And thy meek face uplifted to the sky 
Reveals a beauty which all nature yields 
To those, whose lowly lives in gentle ways, 
Unfretted by the pomp of witless pride, 
Move onward to the fulness of their days; 
Their faith unshaken and their hope as wide 
As the clear sky, which over man and flower 
Sheds the calm light of an eternal power. 




flDan an^ Opportunity 

HY sit we idle, musing on the hour, 

What craven thought doth bind us at 

its will ? 

Have we no strength to smite against 

its power. 
Knowing that love and hope are with us still ? 
Time gives the opportunity to man 
To shape his life for evil or for good; 
And he himself must use it whilst he can. 
Else will it perish in that mighty flood 
Of days and hours, seasons and lost years. 
O'er which men wail, and in bewailing lose 
The chance to rise up from their cringing fears 
To that achievement, which through sad abuse 
Of heart and mind hath loitered on the way, 
But which attained, heralds the new-found day. 




SoUtube 

E that would know the sweetness of 

the hour, 

When free from noisy tongue and 

jarring strife 

His spirit feels the calm content of 

power, 
Must seek still solitude and breathe its life. 
Yet not in cloistered walls nor lonely cell 
Doth its calm presence soothe the restless heart; 
Nor doth its spirit cast its magic spell 
Where destiny of man hath played a part; 
But where the silver-sandalled moon her way 
Across the sleeping sea in silence seeks, 
Or where the planet-lights resplendent play 
Like altar fires 'round some starlit peak; 
There, in the solemn silence of the hour, 
Is solitude, imperial in its power. 




®n IRcceipt of a Xtttle BooFi 

HOU sweet enchantress garbed in 

green and gold, 

What magic have thy lingering notes 

for me ? 

In them I hear the troubadours of old, 
The whispering wind and murmur of the sea; 
The song of spring, the skylark's note at morn, 
The huntsman's merry shout, the cataract's fall, 
The tread of armored men, and clang of horn 
Where knights hold revel in some ancient hall. 
The dreamy hush of eve steals o'er the fields, 
The maiden's sigh, the lover's dulcet tune 
Steals from some bower which the darkness shields, 
Whilst high o'erhead doth ride the harvest moon; 
Thus hast thou often charmed my grief away. 
And with sweet magic Winter turns to May. 




^0 a Crow 

ORD of the stubble and the up- 
ploughed field, 

Bold highwayman of man's well tilled 
demesne, 

Who levies toll and makes proud Nature yield; 
Impudent rascal with a clerk-like mien, 
Defier of the seasons' change and time. 
Whose ancient council antedates the law 
Of Saxon-witan or Cumaean rhyme. 
And thinks man's work is but to fill thy craw; 
Thy melancholy plumage 'gainst the sky 
The burnished day in silhouette doth draw, 
Whilst perched upon some leafless tree on high 
Thou utterest thy long-drawn plaintive caw. 
Thou guest of summer and the winter snow, 
Inquisitive and daring — wise old Crow. 




riDutabilit^ 

HEN I behold the constant change of 

things, 

How nature blooms and passes to 

decay, 

How seasons come and go and what 

time brings, 
And know that what now is must pass away; 
When I have seen the warring elements 
Beat down and shatter mighty cliffs of stone, 
Have seen the rain and flood destroy stern battlements, 
And earth reclaim their dust again its own; 
When on the walls of gray antiquity 
Uprise th' flowers of this year's gentle spring, 
And when those things on which men carve their 
destiny 

Take flight, swift as the swallow on the wing, 
Then do I know that only Truth and Love 
May live, where years and time alone can prove. 



Zo flDi? flDotber 




,,^, RIEND of my youth and of my later 
days, 



Who knew my childish bent and 

what I would attain; 

Whose loss was ne'er my loss, whose 

gain was e'er my gain; 
Guide of my better self and mentor of my ways; 
E'en now, as life's perplexity and deeper care 
Oft seem a barrier to a happy day resought. 
When to an open heart and mind fair Nature taught 
Those first great lessons, which for sterner paths 
prepare, 

Methinks I hear thy voice call through the rising 
night 

In sweet solicitude unto my burdened'heart: 
"Despair not, ever on, thou shalt achieve thy part; 
Nay, lift up but thine eyes and thou shalt see the 
light." 

And thus the voice, heard first in childhood's day, 
Guides now the man unto the better way. 



(^oncor^ 




RADLE of Freedom and the New 

World's thought, — 

Concord, whose soil is hallowed by 

the dust 

Of those, who never knew the un- 

tempered lust 
Of power; men whom the calmer reason taught 
That to think nobly one must nobly live, 
Whose mighty purpose with a holy deed 
Was ever sealed, whilst for their country's need 
Steadfast they strove, and striving did achieve ; 
Dear Town, whose happy bells their evening hymn 
Chime o'er the meadows, to that placid stream 
Which wanders ever on, like some fair dream 
Now seen in quiet splendor, now grown dim; 
Live on in peace and let the long-gone day 
Point men to duty and the better way. 




OULDER of nations; stern mentor of 

mankind — 

Adversity, grim mother of the great, 

Harsh nurse of genius and the master 

mind, 
Austere as winter and pitiless as fate; 
Maker of heroes and of deathless songs, 
At whose harsh knee the mighty sons of earth 
Were schooled, and taught the lesson of their wrongs; 
Beneath whose feet the psalms of life took birth. 
Thy rude blood flows within the veins of those 
Who dare attempt the pinnacle of fame, 
Nor dost thou let thy children know repose 
Until thy dictates conquered, they achieve a name. 
Relentless ruler of the human race, 
They know thy worth who meet thee face to face. 




Bccompltsbment 

HE day is lost that knows not some 

good deed, 

Be it the noble mind or the undaunted 

heart, 

That writes its act upon the eternal chart 
Of time, it matters not, if but the creed 
From which it draws its strength is fair and just. 
For he who seeks to carve his fame on stone. 
His name shall pass away and be unknown 
Before the shaft which mocks him turns to dust; 
But as man's language doth survive his race, 
So his good deeds anticipate far time, 
And thus outlive the long-forgotten clime 
Which gave him being, and perchance a place. 
For history is not of days or years. 
But of man's hopes and faith, his joys and tears. 




Zo Bab^ 3. (SI. 

E A, thou art beautiful and wondrous fair 
Dear child, thy parents' happy count- 
erpart, 

Who in thee see the wishes of their 
heart, 
The fond fulfillment of an earnest prayer. 
Sweet pledg-e of God unto the world new-given; 
Fresh and unblemished as th' flower at dawn, 
Whose petals opening to the light of heaven. 
Reflects a loveliness no poet hath drawn. 
Dear little child, whose tiny world doth grow 
From day to day with each increasing need, 
Whose happy innocence again doth sow 
New hope in hearts worn with life's sterner creeds. 
Thy love is ours, and we again in you 
Renounce old age and find our life anew. 



fIDemorp 




HE sunlight streaming over ruined 

towers, 

Staining with dying spenders where 

it falls, 

Speaks the new life unto the passing hours. 
Thus doth soft music stir through ancient halls. 
Sweet the remembrance of departed years. 
Dear, ah, how dear ! the last fond lingering kiss; 
Wild the regret and bitter deep the tears 
That speak to us of other days than this. 
'Tis thus ! Time leaves our lives a broken lute 
O'er which sad memory plays its scattered strain. 
Sobbing its burthen to our hearts all mute. 
Tears start to tired eyes and once again, 
In life's hushed choir and deserted ways 
Echo the voices of departed days. 




%\ncQ on flD^ Birtb^a^ 

NOTHER year hath gone, another 

come; 

And what hast thou accomplished 

for the boon? 

What hast thou yet to show, what 

little sum 
Of worth; or is it yet, alas! too soon? 
Up, up my heart! long hast thou loitered on th* way; 
Too much hast thou turned from the bitter fight, 
Left undone many things, forgot to-day, 
Thought too much of the morrow and its might. 
Therefore gird on new strength and rouse unto the 
task; 

Renew thy hope, let faith be found in work; 
Let not the love of ease be cause to shirk 
Stern duty; let no rightful need twice ask 
Thy bounty; but each act, let it be heir 
Unto a thought whose cause is just and fair. 




®n tbe :Beeinntng of a IRew l!?ear 

jHAT are these things that men call 

days and years ? 

What is this Time that holds imperial 

sway 

Over the human heart, its joys and 

tears ? 
What mean these years o'er which we laugh and pray? 
Are they the fragile cord on which men thread 
Their little deeds of evil and of good, 
Or the mad whirlpool in which Hope lies dead, 
At which Love stands bereft and destitute ? 
What are these things brave heart to thee? Still, still 
Press onward through the world of fret and care; 
Let faith guide duty, and each day fulfill 
The work allotted to its rightful share. 
Then will a year seem but a day's sweet heritage, 
And time, a step on life's eternal pilgrimage. 




^0 a 2)ea^ f ielb HDouse 

OOR little thing ! hast thou met fate 

so soon ? 

Too often didst thou trust the human 

heart. 

From Nature didst thou ask thy tiny 

boon, 
'Twas ruthless man who crushed thee at the start. 
Thou hadst a home; God giveth such to all, 
Even the humblest. Ah me, the cruel wait 
Of those small mouths, at whose untimely call 
Thou wentest forth, leaving thy loving mate. 
Alas the blow ! O worse than thoughtless man, 
So swift to take what thou canst ne'er return. 
Thy rashness hath usurped the mighty plan 
Which only fools and madmen dare to spurn. 
The humblest life which Nature doth design 
Hath its just reason and its cause divine. 




ZTbe jevenina Star 

HOU darling of the crimson-tinted 

West, 

Thou lovely star, resplendent as a gem, 

Whose lustrous fire upon the swelling 

breast 
Of Ocean burns unquenched; of the bright diadem 
Which crowns the calm, majestic brow of Night, 
Thou art the brightest of its orbs by far. 
The pallid splendor of thy jeweled light 
Gleams like the beacon on some distant bar. 
Guiding the weary mariner to rest. 
When on my life the darkening shadows fall, 
And to attain seems but an idle quest, 
Teach me to be as thou art, calm in all; 
Let me not fail through any sad despair, 
Knowing that He who guides thee hears my prayer. 



Evenino 




HE sun goes down beneath the glow- 
ing West, 

The hour, beautiful and wondrous fair, 
Falls like a benediction on the 
breathless air, 
Whilst heart and mind responsive seek their rest; 
Upon the darkling waters of the sea, 
The lights all glorified stream from afar, 
And in the distance the pale evening star 
Gleams with a deep and solemn mystery. 
O matchless hour, when earth and sea and sky 
In sweet accord unite in holy symphony, 
And all fair Nature breathes in solemn ecstasy, 
Thrilled by the touch of an immortal tie. 
Then doth man's spirit walk in calm delight. 
Clothed in the strength of an eternal might. 



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