{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4178", "width": "2826", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "o^V-\\n4\\n^0^\\n^\u00e2\u0080\u00a21\u00c2\u00b0^\\nO. o o .,0\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2^o^^*^\\noVJIak* \u00e2\u0080\u00a2\u00c2\u00a9lis* -^7 oV\\n^^-n^. V\\n,^9 v\\nV *^o^\\nJ c\\n.A", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "/\\\\-^;r;\\\\.\\nJ^ o a^^^^^IP^ tt.\\n^o V\\nC\\no. o A\\nw \u00e2\u0099\u00a6TT.T* .0^ \\\\5. o..\u00c2\u00ab A\\no\\n/i. ^o\\\\^\\\\ v u/* -Trs* ,0\\nV \u00e2\u0080\u00a2b. *r^ -o r.,. *x- -o\\n..1- V^ -v^", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "THE BALLAD OF\\nMANILA BAY\\nAND other verses\\nBY\\nHORACE SPENCER FISKE\\nWITH ILLUSTRATIONS\\nCHICAGO\\nTHE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO PRESS\\n1900", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "TWO Copies recbivbd\\nMAY 7 -1900\\n8\u00c2\u00abgl\u00c2\u00bbt\u00c2\u00bbr of C\u00c2\u00bbpyiitht%\\nSECOND COPY. CXAc 2\\nq t f\\n61417\\nCOPYRIGHT 1900\\nBY HORACE SPENCER FISKE", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "TO EDWARD DOWDEN\\nAS\\nA SLIGHT RECOGNITION OF HIS HOSPITALITY AND HELP", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "PREFACE\\nT^HE writer s thanks are due to the editors of\\nthe Century Magazine, the Brush and Pencil,\\nand the Midland Monthly for their courtesy in allow-\\ning the use of copyrighted contributions and his\\nespecial thanks are due to Dr. Newell Dwight Hillis\\nfor his sympathetic criticism.\\nHe would also gratefully acknowledge the gener-\\nous courtesy of Daniel Chester French in permitting\\nthe use, as illustrations, of his remarkable Dewey\\nMedal and Death and the Sculptor; and he is\\nfurther indebted to Harper and Brothers for an illus-\\ntration from Harper s Weekly, and to Director A.\\nA. Stagg and Mr. D. P. Trude of the University\\nof Chicago, for the use of photographs.", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\nWar Verse\\nThe Ballad of Manila Bay 17\\nThe Charge of San Juan 23\\nThe Dash of Cervera 27\\nHome Again 28\\nCollege Verse\\nThe Ballad of the Pigskin 35\\nThe Genius of Football 41\\nThe Hull Gateway 43\\nA Song of the Midway Tars .44\\nAlma Mater 46\\nUpon the Diamond 49\\nTo a Professor of Greek 52\\nToboggan Song 54\\nThe College Mother 56\\nOld Gold and Cardinal 57\\nTo the P irst President of the College 61\\nThe Cry of the High Hurdlers 62\\nTo Milton s Mulberry Tree 64\\nIn King s College Chapel 65\\nMay Morning on Magdalen Tower 66\\nMagnus Thomas Clusius Oxoniensis 67", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "Chicago Verse\\nChicago 71\\nFrom a City Roof 72\\nApril from a Corner of the Columbian Museum 74\\nThe Home Express 75\\nLa Rabida 78\\nWinter s Windiest Corner 79\\nA Midnight Lake Whistle 81\\nA Midway Dash 82\\nThe Genius of Hull House 84\\nA Song of Labor 85\\nAspiration 86\\nA Song of Brotherhood 87\\nMiscellaneous Verse\\nA Night Song of the Camp 91\\nKate Shelley 93\\nSkaters Song at Night 98\\nCsesar, My Cat 99\\nOlympian Victors loi\\nThe Cycler s Song 103\\nA Woman of the Old School 104\\nNewell Dwight Hillis 105\\nA Fisherman 106\\nDestiny 107\\nSally in Our Alley 108\\nAncestral Worship 109\\nCharles Lamb s Beaumont and Fletcher II\\nSt. George s in the East iii\\nTo Mr. Gladstone 112\\nAlloway Kirk 113\\nSaeva Indignatio 114", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "Miscellaneous Verse Continued\\nThe Strolling Player 115\\nP om the Dome of St. Paul s 116\\nTo Shelley s Sophocles 117\\nThe Elegy Churchyard 118\\nAt Kenilworth .119\\nThe Martyr s Stake 120\\nIn the Orchard-Garden at Dove Cottage 121\\nA Wordsworth Memorial 122\\nPictures 123\\nSonnets on Sculpture\\nThe Columbian Quadriga 127\\nThe Statue of the Republic 129\\nThe Liberator 130\\nThe Lake-Front Volunteer 131\\nDespair 132\\nThe Ugly Duckling 133\\nThe Lowell Memorial 134\\nThe Scott Memorial 135\\nThe Lion of Lucerne 136\\nGanymede to his Eagle 137\\nThe Bronze Horses of St. Mark s 138\\nThe Hermes at Olympia 139\\nDeath and the Sculptor 141\\nA Trio of Dogs\\nTo Lord Randolph Churchill 145\\nA Modern Neptune 146\\nTo an American Rab 147", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "A Trinity of Children\\nA Young Philosopher 151\\nKissing the Rose 153\\nHarold the King 155\\nSonnets on Shakspere\\nFrom Anne Hathaway s Cottage 159\\nThe Two Roses 160\\nShakspere s Will 161\\nShylock to Salarino 162\\nKing Richard at Bosworth Field 163\\nAntony as an Orator 164\\nBrutus in his Tent at Sardis 165\\nLady Macbeth in Sleep 166\\nMacbeth on His Wife s Death 167\\nOthello s Message to the Venetian State 168\\nKing Lear on the Heath 169\\nProspero on his Magical Show 170\\nHamlet in the Churchyard 171\\nThe King s Jester 172\\nThe Death of Hamlet 173\\nTo-day for Me, To-morrow Death for You 174\\nNotes 177", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "ILLUSTRATIONS\\nFrontispiece Night Entrance into Manila Bay\\nAdmiral Dewey 17\\nThe Ideal American Sailor 22\\nA. A. Stagg 34\\nA Thanksgiving Game 36\\nThe Genius of Football 40\\nThe Hull Gateway 42\\nHerschberger and Kennedy 48\\nA. L. Chapin 60\\nThe Columbian Quadriga 126\\nThe Statue of the Republic 128\\nDeath and the Sculptor 140\\nA Young Philosopher 150\\nKissing the Rose 152\\nHarold the King i54", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "WAR VERSE", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "k\\n-Vi\\na\\nk\\nq;\\nk\\nk\\nQ\\nt::\\nV\\ns\\nw\\nP\\nw\\nQ\\nk\\nlii\\nPQ\\ni\\nQ\\nZ.\\nc\\no\\nH\\ng\\nt/2\\n[\u00c2\u00a3I\\n^1\\nU\\n2\\nZ\\ncS\\nC/3\\n0^\\nD\u00c2\u00a3\\nf-H\\nW\\nw\\nw\\na.\\nO\\n1\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1\\nd\\niz;\\nC\\n1", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "THE BALLAD OF MANILA BAY\\nYou must capture vessels or destroy them. Use utmost en-\\ndeavors. President McKinley to Commodore Dewey\\nAnd men by a million hearth-fires shall tell of Manila\\nBay\\nHow Dewey swept past the forts at night,\\nAnd struck the Dons in the flushing light,\\nAnd for freedom won the day.\\nIn Hongkong harbor, far away, beyond the Philip-\\npines,\\nThe Acting Admiral held his ships no stauncher\\nsea-machines\\nAnd the jackies grumbled and fumed and swore at\\nthe government s slow delay,\\n17", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "When the enemy lay so very near in the fair Manila\\nBay.\\nTill the President spoke beneath the waves e en hail\\nthe world around\\nAnd the Commodore caught with eager ear the deep\\nelectric sound.\\nThen he sailed away through the China Sea for the\\nisland of Luzon,\\nAnd he hunted hard in Subig Bay for the nose of a\\nSpanish Don;\\nAnd at midnight black his ships held off from their\\nvoyage to the South,\\nFor before them lay the battery lights and Manila s\\nyawning mouth\\nThe battery guns that shoot to death and the harbor s\\nsunken mines.\\nThe swift torpedo s deadly rush and the gunboats\\nbristling lines.\\nBut he darkened his ships and steamed ahead, past\\nthe grim Corregidor,\\nTill the showering sparks sent a signal high to the\\nforts along the shore\\nYet on he went like the march of Fate while Death\\nkept his watch below\\nAnd the sailors souls were stretched and taut for a\\nsight of their hidden foe.\\n18", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "The dawn flashed up from out the black, and through\\nthe early light\\nBehind the arsenal rose the hills the background of\\nthe fight\\nAnd the Commodore thought of old Vermont the\\ngreen hills of his home,\\nx\\\\nd the little town of his boyhood hopes, ere his feet\\nbegan to roam\\nAnd the battery smoke, to memory s eye, rose slow as\\nmorning mist\\nThat whitened the old home valley, by the sunlight\\nyet unkissed.\\nBut right before growled the Spanish ships, and the\\nloud Cavite guns,\\nAnd his soul went out in memory of the nation s\\nslaughtered sons.\\nAnd deep in the breasts of the sailors, at sound of the\\nforts of Spain,\\nLike an answering echo throbbed the cry: Remem-\\nber, remember the Maine\\nTill a mighty, ringing cheer arose, repeated from ship\\nto ship.\\nAnd the hearts of the gunners leaped in joy to let the\\nwar-dogs slip.\\nBut though the Spaniards shot and shelled with boom\\nand rifle crack,\\n19", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "And the Yankee gunners held their fire and waited on\\nthe rack\\nFrom the flagship s silent course nor turret nor spon-\\nson spouted flame,\\nAnd save your powder for closer range was the only\\nword that came\\nWhen off the Baltimore s steady prow a black mud-.\\ngeyser sprang,\\nAnd the mines! the mines! in a general cry,\\nthrough the startled ship-crews rang.\\nYet still straight on the Commodore moved for the\\nSpanish admiral s ship,\\nAnd every sailor knew right well that the Spanish flag\\nwould dip.\\nSuddenly burst a thunderous roar from the Olympia s\\nport-side guns;\\nThe smoke-fog rose they roared again they re-\\nmembered the nation s sons.\\nThrough the Spanish flagship tore the shells along\\nthe water line,\\nAnd everywhere the flames shot out their flaring fatal\\nsign.\\nIn fiery procession followed fast five ships of the\\nYankee line.\\nAs the Commodore swung his starboard guns for a\\npunishment more condign.\\n20", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "Five times past the flaming fleet and the belching\\nbattery smoke\\nAnd every time he closer swept, and hit with a heavier\\nstroke.\\nAnd when from the thickening powder-smoke he\\nrested in the sun,\\nTo view his loss and count his dead he found not\\nBut the Spanish Dons, as he cleared the smoke,\\nthought a coward ran away.\\nAnd split their throats in a jubilant cheer that echoed\\ndown the Bay.\\nYet the Commodore only smiled and said: We\\nhaven t begun to fight;\\nAnd in two short hours the Spaniards learned that\\nthe Commodore was right\\nFor their ships went down, or their ships burned up\\nlike bonfires on the Bay\\nAnd the batteries shut their blackened throats, and\\nthe i\\\\dmiral ran away.\\nAnd over the crumbling Spanish forts and the island\\nby the sea,\\nInstead of the Spaniards jaundiced flag the Stars and\\nStripes flew free\\nThe Stars and Stripes that float on high for liberty-\\nloving men\\n21", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "Stripes for their tyrant-wrongers, and stars for their\\ndarkened ken.\\nAnd the world rejoiced with a sudden joy for the\\nswift and awful blow\\nThat fell like a righteous thunderbolt on the Cuban s\\nruthless foe.\\nAnd men by a million hearth- fires shall tell of Manila\\nBay\\nHow Dewey swept past the forts at nighty\\nAnd struck the Dons in the flushing light,\\nAnd for freedom won the day.\\n22", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "THE CHARGE OF SAN JUAN\\nIf yon don t wish to go forward, let my men pass.\\nColonel Roosevelt\\nAt San Juan river down the trail, in bush or choking\\ngrass,\\nLay regiments of soldiers in a hot, disordered mass.\\nTo the left the hills that hide the sea; to the right\\nthe hills arise;\\nAnd straight in front frown hard and high the hills of\\nsacrifice\\nThe hills that poured from yellow pits a steady fire of\\ndeath,\\nAnd turned the soldier s waiting to a struggling gasp\\nfor breath.\\nThere in the golden sunlight waved a mile of forest\\ngreen.\\nAnd blue and red on the hill-tops slept the bungalows\\nserene\\nWhile off toward Santiago ran the barracks gleaming\\nwhite.\\nAnd the merciful flags of the Red Cross fluttered soft\\nto the soldier s sight.\\n23", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "But up above the rifle-pits, clear-cut against the sky,\\nLike an oriental temple, stood the house where men\\nmust die.\\nAn hour they lay on their rifles hot, and prayed for\\nthe word advance,\\nFor the sun was worse than an enemy and the peril\\nof mischance\\nThe twisting shrapnel burst about in a shrieking, piti-\\nless dirge,\\nAnd the hissing Mausers cut the grass as a steel prow\\ncuts the surge\\nAnd out from mysterious tree-tops close, behind in-\\nvisible smoke.\\nThe guerrilla s waspish bullet in a deadly humming\\nspoke.\\nThen men in line sprang forward hit, and sank\\nagain with a groan,\\nOr clinging to shoulder, torn and red, rolled over\\nwithout a moan\\nAnd back of the lines the stewards drew the wounded\\nto the streams\\nAnd laid them in rows on the muddy banks, with\\ntheir feet where the water gleams\\nAnd up and down the mounted aides went splashing\\nthrough the fords,\\nTill they fell from their horses, limp and dead, as if\\ncut by unseen swords.\\n24", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "Suddenly broke from the wooded line, behind the\\nNinth s array,\\nA colonel high on horseback, riding rough to save\\nthe day.\\nHis wide sombrero flew a flag of twisted polka-dot.\\nAnd straight behind, it floated blue a guidon for a\\nshot.\\nAnd he swung his hat as he shouted out to the men\\namid the grass\\nIf you fellows won t go forward now, just let my own\\nmen pass\\nBut those black soldiers, prostrate, sprang like hounds\\nupon a hunt.\\nAnd charged with the Rough Riders for the thickest\\nbattle-brunt.\\nAnd together they went forward black and brown\\nand army blue\\nThey, the scattered and impeded they, the strong\\nand desperate few\\nUp the steep and sunny hillside, through the grasses\\nsharp and tall,\\nCreeping on with slipping footsteps, smitten low with\\nSpanish ball.\\nStill the blue line mounted surely, moving like a rising\\ntide.\\nThough the hill-crest crackled fiercely with the flame\\nof Spanish pride.\\n25", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "Toward the top the fragments gathered for a sudden\\nburst of speed,\\nAnd the Spaniards saw before them fighters that could\\nfight indeed\\nFor they rose against the sky-line Spaniards pois-\\ning swift for flight\\nPoured one final volley hotly, and dashed downward\\nout of sight.\\nAnd there on the frowning ranch-house roof, high-\\nflung gainst the tropic sky,\\nHumanity s hope they lifted up with a far-heard jubi-\\nlant cry\\nAnd among the enemy s cartridges, in the soft earth\\nof the pits.\\nThey fixed the flags of the cavalry that fights but never\\nsubmits\\nWhile over the valley toward the sea, ashine in the\\nsouthern sun,\\nThey saw the walls of the city that would soon be\\nfully won.\\nAnd of Roosevelfs Rough Riders the fame grows\\nnever old\\nFor they climbed the hills of San Juan steep,\\nAnd won the tops with a sudden sweep,\\nIn the love of freedoi7i bold.\\n26", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "THE DASH OF CERyERA\\nIn close-locked waters of the Cuban bay,\\nHis fiery-hearted ships grown tame with fear,\\nHis strong-voiced sailors lifting now no cheer,\\nHe grimly waits the dawning of the day.\\nFor just beyond, in swift and fell array,\\nEach war-dog crouching low with listening ear\\nStill hopes his enemv is venturing near.\\nAnd gathers all his strength to tear his prey.\\nYet never admiral with steadier face\\nSailed out to greet his fate, already known\\nNor ran with swifter courage in the race\\nThat roared with cannon-shot and shook a throne\\nHe looked on Death as clad in sudden grace\\nAnd went to meet her in her chosen place.\\n27", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "HOME AGAIN\\nA Tale of Blue and Gray\\nFor US whose lives no battle sounds incite\\nWho walk memorial halls and only hear\\nThe echoes of a far-off clamorous fight\\nWho never greeted Death with sudden cheer,\\nNor felt the darkness falling on the light;\\nFor hearts like ours, untouched by hostile gun\\nTo strenuous action, rise memorial stones\\nNot for the dead, whose deeds are ever done,\\nWhose virtues sit on undisputed thrones.\\nAnd shine with flashing crowns themselves have won.\\nI\\nBehind the breastworks slept a brotherhood\\nIn heavy sleep, before the battle-morn\\nA southward mile, behind the blackened wood,\\nThe enemy low-couched amid the corn\\nAnd over all, on guard, the great moon stood.\\nThe sentineFs slow pace crept softly by\\nStopped short; his musket to his shoulder flashed\\n28", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "His lips swift parted for a sudden cry\\nAnd yet he stands at pause, as if abashed\\nBy some unflinching and superior eye.\\nFrom out the whiteness girt with Southern pine\\nA stern gray figure stepped in martial stride,\\nUnarmed, and gazing straight adown the line\\nOf hostile Union tents nor turned aside\\nNor deigned to marveling sentinel a sign.\\nHis hand an open letter lightly bore.\\nAnd as he brushed a roadside bush, it fell\\nThe whispered guards, their silent tents before,\\nHis opened but unseeing eyes marked well\\nHis fresh-scarred cheek that reddened valor wore.\\nIn sleep, this solitary soldier crossed\\nTwo regimental fronts; then slow returned.\\nAnd halted as in meditation lost\\nHis beard was black his deep eyes darker burned\\nTwo fingers gone plain-marked the battle s cost.\\nA hopeless sigh this gray-clad captain drew;\\nWho knows but that he dreamed of wife and\\nhome\\nAbout him stood his enemies in blue.\\nTheir bayonets glinting like the broken foam\\nAnd o er them all the white moon prayed anew.\\n29", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "Upon a thought the captain stood upright,\\nAnd through the Northern circle freely passed;\\nHis eyes straight on, yet still bereft of sight\\nHis measured steps bent campward, striding fast\\nTo wooded darkness through the glade s still light.\\nThey wondering watched him pass beyond their ken\\nThen from the letter learned his regiment\\nTwas written by his sick wife s laboring pen,\\nAnd these the final words her sad heart sent\\n*Our God, I feel, will bring you home again.\\nII\\nThe dawn-light touched the tents with pearl-like\\ngray\\nSlow rolled the yellow sun above the line\\nThen flashed from out the wood in grim array\\nTen thousand bayonets in the sunlight shine\\nAnd blood-red battle sprang to meet the day.\\nThe stubborn line stood fast before the blue\\nAll save the Alabama Tenth whose flag\\nWent forward as the battle s fierceness grew\\nAVhen suddenly the floating colors drag\\nAmong the dead, and then are lost to view.\\nBut with a shout a bearded captain sprang\\nTo snatch the colors, lifting them on high\\n30", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "And to his wavering soldiers forward rang.\\nAlas, alas it was his farewell cry;\\nThree bullets in the air his death-song sang.\\nIll\\nNow range the Northern victors o er the field\\nAnd stretched beside a flag a captain lay\\nHis hand the staff unwilling yet to yield,\\nHis cheek fresh-scarred, two fingers shot away\\nThe last night s wandering captain lay revealed.\\nThose Northern brothers in a separate grave\\nThis flag-wrapt hero laid to slumbers deep.\\nAn inscribed headstone showing him how brave\\nAnd sent the letter, lost in helpless sleep.\\nTo her whose love the selfsame letter gave.\\nBut hope deferred, slow-crushing to despair.\\nHer prayerful heart had stilled to sudden peace\\nAnd two high souls, in some diviner air.\\nWere home again, where breaking sorrows cease.\\nAnd those who wait are crowned with those who dare.\\n31", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "COLLEGE VERSE", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "A. A. STAGG", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "THE BALLAD OF THE PIGSKIN\\nTo A. A. Stagg\\nWhen the crowd has cheered the hostile teams and\\nthe band has played its best,\\nAnd roaring rooters warmed the lungs within the\\ncoldest breast\\nWhen hat and cane and flag and feet have marked\\neach rolling shout,\\nAnd the coin has told its little tale and the whistle\\nsounded out\\nThen the untried slippery pigskin lies at rest upon the\\nground,\\nAnd silence wraps the people with expectancy pro-\\nfound.\\nO the kick off and the tackle and the sudden- footed\\npunt,\\nAnd the stillness of the players on a down\\nAnd the plunging and the lunging in the swaying\\nbattle s brunt,\\nAnd the megaphonic cries of town and gown!\\n35", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "Now the ball comes floating downward toward the\\nfull-back s opening arms,\\nAnd he hugs it for a zigzag shoot through a host of\\nthreatened harms\\nBut the clutches of the tackle snap him hard upon\\nthe earth,\\nAnd the fumbled ball goes bobbing like a thing of\\nmock and mirth\\nTill the center-rush bends motionless above the rest-\\ning sphere,\\nAnd the fronting lines stand statuesque in hidden\\nhope and fear.\\nThen the mighty mingled scrimmage works its arms\\nand legs and feet.\\nHeaping heads and twisted bodies in a chaos most\\ncomplete\\nBut five yards is a journey for a head that isn t stone,\\nAnd harder than a wooden wall is a wall of human\\nbone;\\nSo the bleachers lift their megaphones to breathe a\\nbracing cheer.\\nAnd the rooters Hold em, Hold em, smites\\nthe player s anxious ear.\\nThen out from the mass of strugglers, like a comet\\nfrom its course.\\nShoots a runner on a tangent, with a catapultic force\\n37", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "And the field spreads fair before him as the path to\\nParadise,\\nAnd his soul leaps up to win it at the dearest sacrifice\\nFor he hears the yelling people and a mighty stride\\nbehind,\\nAnd he hopes to live forever in the football heart\\nenshrined.\\nBut his striding hot pursuer on the five-yard jerks\\nhim down,\\nAnd his hope burns low within him as he clutches for\\nrenown\\nYet he twists and squirms and struggles mid the\\ntrumpets blare and blast.\\nAnd the touchdown with his nerveless hands he\\nreaches at the last\\nAnd his head whirls like a pin-wheel and his eyes,\\nbewildered, close.\\nAs the chorus of the people lifts his name above his\\nfoes.\\nO the touchdown and the goal-kick and the sudden-\\nfooted punt\\nAnd the stillness of the player s on a down\\nAnd the plunging and the lunging in the szvaying\\nbattle s brunt,\\nAnd the megaphonic cries of town and gown I\\n3\u00c2\u00ab", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "THE GENIUS OF FOOTBALL\\nBill of Oriel, Oxford\\nThough born abroad, thou spirit of the sphere,\\nMid cloistered shadows of old Oxford walls\\nThat lift their grayness round those ancient halls,\\nWe recognize thy hovering presence here.\\nThy gamy eye looks out with wicked leer\\nThose sinewy legs were bent for punting balls,\\nAnd clutching fists for tackling men to falls\\nThy face pugnacious starts a sudden fear.\\nThou rt in the game for every blessed play.\\nFrom soaring kick-off, center plunge, to goal.\\nDelighting in the scrimmage and the fray\\nAnd whether keeping guard beside the pole\\nOr dashing round the ends to win the day,\\nThou art of every game the hustling soul.\\n41", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "THE HULL GATEWAY\\nUniversity of Chicago\\nNo porter s lodge along the Oxford High\\nOn proctor-shadowed student from his rouse\\nSo grimly frowned as thou nor blackened boughs\\nOn Dante losing, hopeless, earth and sky.\\nThy crocket-crawlers scare the helpless eye\\nThine anguished corbels twist their human brows\\nThy dragon kneelers bend to wicked vows\\nAnd high-perched finials threat the passer-by.\\nAnd yet through such as thou the race hath passed\\nTo freedom superstition s dreadful gate\\nliath oped upon the courts of truth at last\\nNor all the fears of an imagined fate,\\nNor all the goblin crew of error vast\\nCan shut the mind from learning s fair estate.\\n43", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "A SONG OF THE MIDIVAY TARS\\nMusic The Midshipmite\\nTwas in ninety-two, in an autumn light,\\nGo it Chica^^, yo ho\\nWhen Doctor Harper hove in sight,\\nAnd shoved out his anchor with keen delight.\\nGo it Chica^^, yo ho\\nHe had a small but gallant crew;\\nThey d manned the ropes when the winds blew, blew\\nAnd they were a brave and a favored few.\\nGo it Chica^^, yo ho\\nChorus Here s a deep-sea song, and a true, true\\nsong;\\nGaily, lads, now let her go\\nFor we drink to-night\\nTo the Captain s might.\\nSinging, Go it Chica^^, yo ho\\nThe ship s grown bigger, and so has her crew;\\nGo it Chica^^, yo ho\\nFor she has a world of work to do\\n44", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "To cruise round the earth for me and you.\\nGo it Chicago, yo ho\\nThe Captain has a right good eye\\nHe steers by the stars in the changeless sky\\nAnd he flies the maroon away up high.\\nGo it Chicsigo, yo ho\\nFrom young Chicago she sets sail\\nGo it Chicsigo, yo ho\\nShe feels old Michigan s favoring gale,\\nAnd she greets the future, Hail, all hail\\nGo it Chica^^, yo ho\\nThe Varsity ship sails every sea\\nShe touches at the port of each countree\\nAnd she s bound for truth and eternity.\\nGo it Chica^^, yo ho\\nChorus Here s a deep-sea song, and a true, true\\nsong;\\nGaily, lads, now let her go\\nFor we drink to-night\\nTo the Captain s might,\\nSinging, Go it Chica^^, yo ho\\n45", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "/ILMJ MATER\\nCollege Color Gold\\nThou art our true love, believe us,\\nMother that ne er did deceive us\\nx\\\\h, joy to be ever thine\\nMother of arts and aspiring,\\nCherishing ever\\nSons that have richest desiring,\\nDaughters that kneel at thy shrine.\\nShow us the gold of thy mintage.\\nMother and wine of thy vintage\\nGrant us to drink in thy name\\nMother of wealth and rejoicing,\\nBlessing forever\\nSons that thy praises are voicing.\\nDaughters that nourish thy fame.\\n46", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "HERSCHBERGER AND KENNEDY", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "UPON THE DIAMOND\\nMarshall Field, Chicago\\nIn vivid May and rustling June\\nWhen breeze s breath is like a tune^\\nO where can life be free?\\nWhere swings the bat,\\nWhere shoots the ball,\\nWhere rings the umpire s sudden call,\\nAnd curve and catch must settle all\\nUpon the diamond.\\nThe sunlight pours a golden flood across the grassy\\nfield,\\nAs up against a cloudless sky the grand-stand throws\\nits shield\\nThe umpire tosses out the ball, the batter takes his\\nstand\\nThe catcher walks a long ways back, the pitcher twirls\\nhis hand.\\nAnd the new white sphere goes twisting like a bullet\\nfrom a gun.\\nAnd the drifting crowds behind the ropes settle down\\nto see the fun.\\n49", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "Three times the batter hits the air in lieu of the whirl-\\ning ball,\\nAnd takes his seat with a heavy look at the umpire s\\nfinal call\\nThe second pounds a liner straight, that beats him to\\nthe base\\nThe third sends up a flier that seems made for climbing\\nspace\\nYet the center softly takes it in without the least\\ndistress.\\nAnd the hopeful ins have a whitewashed stone on\\nthe road to hard success.\\nThen the outs use all their brain power to find the\\nlittle curve,\\nAnd they learn that this is a little thing that can t be\\nfound by nerve\\nFor the sullen ball and the angry bat don t seem\\ninclined to meet,\\nAnd never an eager batter has a chance to use his\\nfeet.\\nSo the sides keep swinging back and forth, with now\\nand then a hit.\\nBut without a single fought-for score to cither s\\nbenefit.\\nThen the ninth it opens hotly with a triple-bagger\\ncrack,\\n50", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "And the runner makes the bases like a racer round\\nthe track\\nTill the catcher s fumble brings him in amid the\\nroaring cheers,\\nAnd the hopes of half the people change to soul-\\ndepressing fears\\nFor the aliens have a tally safe and the home team\\nhave an O,\\nAnd only half an innings left to beat the foreign foe.\\nNow two are out the third leads off with a dainty\\nlittle bunt,\\nAnd the hardest hitter plants his feet to meet the\\nbattle s brunt.\\nLo, through the sky and over the fence the ball goes\\nclimbing fast,\\nWhile the pair of runners touch the plate amid the\\nblare and blast\\nAnd the people, standing, lift his praise on the wave\\nof a mighty cheer.\\nAs the jubilant team on their shoulders bear the\\nwinner of the year\\n51", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "TO A PROFESSOR OF GREEK\\nOn the Fortieth Year of his Teaching\\nOf old sat thunder-hurling Zeus aloft,\\nAnd scanned from far Olympus white\\nThe gathered world, rimmed with Aegean soft\\nAnd now he pondered long on human right,\\nAnd on the right divine, how long and oft\\nThese striving millions who shall teach them\\nRight\\nSo thought that thunder-hurling god above\\nThe rights of men, the law divine, that light\\nThat shineth from the depths of lasting love.\\nAnd beacons aye to Truth s eternal height.\\nI ll send a teacher, filled with love and law;\\nAnd in him keep fair wisdom s spirit-voice;\\nAnd ne er from him faith s shining star withdraw\\nTill men shall know themselves, and e en rejoice\\nIn him who all their needs and fears foresaw.\\nThen walked abroad in Athens market place\\nA philosophic man clad all in strength\\n52", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "He touched the scales of human pride and race,\\nAnd eyes, e er blinded, saw Truth s face at length\\nSocratic plainness changed to saving grace.\\nSo came among us, four decades ago,\\nA teacher, born of faith and hope and will\\nA Greek in taste, to hollowness a foe\\nIn front, a Zeus in purpose to fulfil,\\nA man, and all aglow with zeal to know.\\nThe wave-like verse of Homer rolling long,\\nSocratic sense, idyllic love aflame,\\nPindaric uplift, and the iron song\\nOf tragedy, his day s delight became.\\nAnd kept his soul and effort strong.\\nAnd who that sat within the old Greek-room,\\nAnd caught the keenness of that critic eye.\\nAnd felt the crucial question s coming doom,\\nDid not prefer a prayer to Zeus on high.\\nAnd flunk with shaking knees amid the gloom\\nAnd so the olive and the laurel bough\\nNe er wreathed for truer victor in the race\\nOf life s great game nor Periclean brow\\nE er wore a truer or a finer grace\\nThan towering, swift-eyed Zeus is wearing now.\\n53", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "TOBOGGAN SONG\\nWritten for a College Club\\nMusic Fra Diavolo\\nTo-night, how crisp the air;\\nHow scintillates the star- dust!\\nWhat sport so rich and rare,\\nWhat sport to rub off mind-rust!\\nRefrain Hurrah! Hurrah!\\nTo-night, how crisp the air!\\nChorus Hurrah! Hurrah! To-night how crisp the\\nair!\\nOg-tobog-to, to-bogganing,\\nOg-tobog-to, to-bogganing,\\nOg-tobog-to, to-bogganing,\\nTo-night how crisp the air!\\nYou ll hear the bogs, the bogs, the bogs,\\nthe b-b-b-b-b-b-bogs\\nHa! Observatory sliding,\\nShooting down the hill.\\n54", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "To shoot, to dart, to glide,\\nDown Astronomic hill-side\\nTo feel the rhythmic ride,\\nDoth lift a merry flood-tide.\\nChorus\\nIt fills us with a song.\\nDoth this toboggan sliding\\nCome, bear the song along.\\nThe frosty stars are guiding.\\nChorus\\nThen be a passenyVz/r\\nOn this toboggan night train\\nBe blithe, be debonair,\\nBe subject now to joy s reign!\\nChorus\\nBrave lads and lassies fair,\\nThere s poetry in living\\nCome, banish cloudy care.\\nIn sliding s no misgiving.\\nRefrain\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Hurrah i Hurrah\\nTo-night, how crisp the air\\n55", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "THE COLLEGE MOTHER\\nUpon the threshold of the future stands\\nThe College Mother, casting yearning eyes\\nBehind her where the past in fruitage lies,\\nAnd seeking for her sons in many lands.\\nEach year of fifty has she raised her hands\\nIn blessing on her sons grown strong and wise.\\nTheir forward-looking faces toward the skies.\\nTheir steady hearts still echoing her commands.\\nAnd while she follows them with tender gaze\\nAdown the vista of the vanished years.\\nShe stretches forth her hands to younger days,\\nConcealing all her sweet memorial tears\\nFrom sons and daughters eager for her bays.\\nAnd stirred with sounds of battle in their ears.\\n56", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "OLD GOLD AND CARDINAL\\nDedicated to the members of a college class\\nWith apologies to the author of Yellow and Blue\\nSing to the colors of sun and of wine\\nHurrah for the Golden and Red\\nGolden the nuggets of Tornia s mine,\\nAnd fit for a sovereign s head\\nGolden the sun as he dips in the wave,\\nAnd red is the glow of Mars planet brave.\\nHail\\nHail to the colors of sun and of wine\\nHurrah for the Golden and Red\\nRed is the rose lifting fair her round face,\\nA kiss coming soft from the South\\nRed was the wine of the Lesbian race\\nThat tinted the rosiest mouth\\nRed is the light gleaming out in the night\\nTo flash its high scorn at old ocean s might.\\nHail!\\nHail to the colors of sun and of wine\\nHurrah for the Golden and Red\\n57", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "Here s to the college by whom we swear\\nAnd here s to the hearts she has led\\nHere s to the girl with the golden hair\\nAnd cheeks so bewitchingly red\\nRich sun and red Mars together combine\\nTo tell us life s joys should e er intertwine.\\nHail!\\nHail to the colors of sun and of wine\\nHurrah for the Golden and Red\\n5\u00c2\u00ab", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "A. L. CHAPIN\\nFirst President of Beloit College\\nBy Lor ado Taft", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "TO THE FIRST PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE\\nRead at the Semi-Centennial of Beloit College\\nUnveiled in marble, touched by master hand\\nTo Greek-like calmness, look forever now\\nUpon thy college blessing with thy brow\\nOf benediction what thyself hadst planned.\\nThrough six-and-thirty years thy hope far spanned\\nThe college future, and thy prayerful vow\\nOf love and lifelong labor did endow\\nHer life with faith and strenuous command.\\nThy careful strength stood round her like a shield\\nThy balanced brain kept knowledge as her goal\\nAnd with thine upward finger on the field\\nOf stars, thy spirit traced as on a scroll\\nThe thought divine that softly lay revealed,\\nAnd led her by the greatness of thy soul.\\n61", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "THE CRY OF THE HIGH HURDLERS\\nAt a Ravenswood meet three runners were a tie over the last\\nhurdle\\nWith bodies bowed, with breath drawn in,\\nWe re waiting for the sound;\\nOur hot hearts shake the start to make\\nAnd leave the clinging ground.\\nWe re coming, coming, coming, like the old Olympics\\nfleet,\\nFor we ve sworn to smash the record in the race;\\nAnd we re leaping, leaping, leaping, like the hunter:^\\nin a chase.\\nAnd we spurn the heavy ground with flashing feet.\\nThe pistol cracks we burst our bounds.\\nWe re working arms and feet\\nOur heads go back as on the track\\nWe stretch fresh racers fleet.\\nThe hurdles lift their menace high\\nLike walls to break our flight\\nWe mount the air, a hidden stair.\\nAnd shoot their easy height.\\n62", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "And now we feel the final pull\\nA triple struggle hot\\nWe catch the cries, we feel the eyes,\\nAnd we hit er up a jot.\\nWe spurt as one, we rise abreast.\\nLike horses o er a hedge;\\nWe hear the cry: A tie, a tie\\nWe ll drink to each a pledge.\\nWe re coming, coming, coming, like the old Olympics\\nfleet,\\nFor we ve sworn to smash the record in the race;\\nAnd we re leaping, leaping, leaping, like the hunters\\nin a chase^\\nAnd we spurn the heavy ground with flashing feet.\\n63", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "TO MILTON S MULBERRY TREE\\nIn the Garden of Christ s College, Cambridge, England\\nO propped and breaking tree in that sweet peace\\nOf Christ s From Milton s hand men fain would\\nthink\\nThy earliest life upsprang a living link\\nWith those melodious days whose songs increase\\nIn sweetness with the years. For him release\\nFrom noisy battle came not from the brink\\nOf civil slaughter conscience could not shrink\\nTo win for self alone a soft surcease\\nAnd doomed to night forever, still he sang,\\nHis vision kindling at the throne of God.\\nLike thy great planter, thou hast felt the pang\\nOf sorrow Winter smites thee with his rod;\\nYet still thou drink st the sunlight, and dost hang\\nThy leaves for nightingales, where once he trod.\\n64", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "IN KING S COLLEGE CHAPEL\\nCambridge, England,\\nWhere, according to tradition, Cromwell s men once stabled their\\nhorses\\nNeath those high towers and fretted battlements\\nI walked and sat within where carved in stone\\nI saw the arms of kings, the rose full-blown,\\nThe chained portcullis, and the crown. My sense.\\nBorne backward to the times of turbulence.\\nHeard now no more the organ s swelling tone.\\nBut to the solemn air a sound unknown\\nThe clang of hoofs in that magnificence.\\nWhen on my dreaming eye there strangely fell.\\nThrough all the glories of that lucent tide,\\nA sudden shadow to unloose the spell\\nAnd from the vaulted dimness floated wide\\nThe white wings of a dove as if to dwell\\nIn light and music, Peace were glorified.\\n65", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "MAY MORNING ON MAGDALEN TOWER\\nOxford\\nThe tender morning light is touching thee\\nO tower; thy stony feet the people throng;\\nThe Cherwell wooes thee with its winding song,\\nAnd eager whispers breathe from every tree.\\nFor thy stern heart with lofty song will be\\nSoon broken pouring on the world a strong\\nExultant psalm to Him who smote the wrong\\nAnd stirred in men unceasing jubilee.\\nAnd now we drink thy Latin music deep\\nThat floods the fragrant air with golden tone,\\nDown dropping on a world still lost in sleep;\\nThe browsing deer their shyness now disown,\\nAlong the walks the waters softly creep.\\nAnd Addison s sweet spirit seems not flown.\\n66", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "MAGNUS THOMAS CLUSIUS OXONJENSJS\\nInscribed on Great Tom, Oxford, England, 1680\\nO mighty curfew-ringer clanging slow\\nThy century of strokes that nightly close\\nAll college portals calling to repose\\nThe wearied day that is yet loth to go\\nWhat fateful centuries of weal and woe\\nSince first thy vibrant, deep-toned voice arose\\nHow many a royal knell thou st rung for those\\nWho drank the people s life, thou canst not know!\\nIn ears of early greatness thou hast swung\\nThy quickening message; in the prayerful heart\\nThy voice hath been a prayer; and thou hast rung\\nTo many a deadened conscience, life; thou art\\nTo reveling youth another reveling tongue,\\nAnd age doth find in thee its counterpart.\\n67", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "CHICAGO VERSE", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "CHICAGO\\nErect, commanding, like a goddess born.\\nWith strength and beauty glowing in her face\\nAnd all her stately form attired in grace,\\nShe stands beside her lake to greet the morn.\\nBehind her, rustling leaves of yellow corn\\nThat whisper richest comfort to the race\\nAnd neath her gaze, the waters purple space\\nA thousand flashing sails with light adorn.\\nStill in her sight shine visions of the fair\\nImmortal Art illuming human ill,\\nAnd far-eyed Science blessing with her care\\nWhile through her soul, in purpose to fulfil,\\nAnd reach her highest hope beyond compare.\\nThrobs deep and strong the strenuous cry I will.\\n71", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "FROM A CITY ROOF\\nSouth Park, Chicago\\nOn the deck of my big night steamer, aloft in my low\\nsea-chair,\\nWrapped round with a southern softness and breath-\\ning a sweet sea air,\\nI sail of a summer evening beneath a starry sky,\\nAnd wonder long at the beauty that never passes by.\\nFor I see on the far-off Temple a crown of softened\\nlight\\nThat rests like a golden glory on the city in its\\nmight\\nAnd off at the harbor s entrance, where the piers push\\nlong and dark.\\nThe red and yellow beacon flashes out its shining\\nmark.\\nAnd down past the lone Rabida, below the reddened\\ncloud,\\nFlame up the leaping torches where the ranks of labor\\ncrowd\\n72", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "Till my eye goes wandering lakeward where the con-\\nstellations move\\nOf the hidden ships that pass and their pilot s eye\\napprove.\\nThe Midway s glittering pageant, reaching down from\\npark to park,\\nShoots a thousand cycle-signals through the scintil-\\nlating dark\\nAnd the studious windows shining in the Varsity s\\nlooming walls\\nMark off in mellow outline the gray old Gothic halls.\\nAnd all below me gleam the lights of a myriad city\\nhomes\\nThat are dearer to the city man than a myriad glit-\\ntering domes\\nFor the faces there are glowing with a love that keeps\\nhim strong\\nAnd comes to his wearied heart and brain like the\\nsweetness of a song.\\nSo, when the night comes down above the city streets.\\nAnd silent-shining star his silent brother greets,\\nOn the deck of my lofty roof I love to take my sail.\\nAnd watch the passing lights and the stars that never\\nfail.\\n73", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "APRIL FROM A CORNER OF THE COLUM-\\nBIAN MUSEUM\\nDecorated with figures from the Parthenon\\nThrough the willows foremost freshness\\nThe white-winged clouds go sailing\\nIn their depth of blue unfailing,\\nAnd I marvel at the beauty new begun\\nI hear the soft waves lapping,\\nI see the leaves unwrapping,\\nAnd the centaurs fight above me in the sun.\\nThe world is new-created.\\nBy a touch that I am feeling.\\nAnd a love that is revealing\\nA wonder and a beauty never done;\\nThe grass is greening ever,\\nThe birds are ceasing never,\\nWhile the centaurs fight above me in the sun.\\n74", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "THE HOME EXPRESS\\nBless me this is pleasant,\\nRiding on a rail\\nWhen the city s rush is over, and the monthly ticket\\nshown,\\nAnd the platform s crowd has scattered like the leaves\\nin autumn blown,\\nThen the engine feels the throttle, as the racer feels\\nthe whip.\\nAnd sends its drivers whirling for its little homeward\\ntrip.\\nO the home train, and its quiver, aitd its shoot along the\\nlake,\\nAnd its gladness that the day is nearly done\\nAnd the tumbli77g of the wave crests as they flash and\\nswiftly break\\nIn the last, lo7V, level shini?2g of the sun I\\nThe clean-cut man of business eyes his fresh-bought\\npaper close,\\nCulling out the world s wide doings from the padded\\nnews verbose\\n75", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "And the bargain hunter, sated, sits ensconced amid\\nher gains,\\nComplacent o er the patent fact of her superior brains.\\nThe trainman punches tickets with his swift and easy\\nair.\\nLike the man that knows his business of getting\\nevery fare\\nAnd he calls the Hyde Park station in the strong\\nfamiliar ring\\nAs he inward thrusts his body through the car door s\\nsudden swing.\\nMeanwhile the conversation of the women from the\\nclubs\\nIncreases with the train speed and the whirling of the\\nhubs;\\nAnd the latest sociology or Kipling s virile verse,\\nOr city art and garbage their gossip intersperse.\\nAnd the judge of human nature, as he notes their\\nfaces fair.\\nKnows these are they whose strenuous wills can\\nstrongly do and dare\\nAnd his inner eye sees visions of immortal Art s wide\\nsway\\nAnd clear-eyed Science gazing on a fairer, sweeter\\nday.\\n76", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "So the city s strong-faced thousands spin adown the\\nsteel-set bed,\\nWith the two red signals rearward and the yellow on\\nahead\\nTill the engine feels the throttle neath the station s\\nglittering light,\\nAnd gladdens waiting home-hearts at the gathering\\nof the night.\\nO the home train, and its quiver, and its shoot along the\\nlake,\\nAnd its gladness that the day is fairly done;\\nAnd the tumbling of the wave crests as they flash and\\nswiftly break\\nIn the twilight and the moonlight just begun\\n77", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "LA RABIDA\\nJackson Park, Chicago\\nAlong the Palos shore where rose the head\\nOf rocky Rabida against the sky,\\nColumbus with his little son passed by\\nTo beg at convent door for rest and bread.\\nHis eager feet from court to court had sped,\\nFrom churchly scorn and learning s blinded eye,\\nTo find at last a hope that would not die,\\nWithin the sacred walls where life was fed.\\nAnd here in that wide land he greatly found.\\nAbove the murmur of the inland sea,\\nLa Rabida still stands on gracious ground,\\nOutreaching arms of pity to the plea\\nOf childhood ill and mother love profound,\\nAnd breathing hope in all her breezes free.\\n78", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "IVINTEH S WINDIEST CORNER\\nMasonic Temple, Chicago\\nThe East wind fights the West wind,\\nAnd the North wind fights them both,\\nAnd the triple scrimmage thickens through the day\\nAnd a thousand twisting currents in a fierceness\\nnothing loth\\nCheer the airy strugglers onward to the fray.\\nAnd the guileless walker westward,\\nStepping strong along the stones,\\nButtons taut his heavy coat across his chest\\nYet he knows not what will rend him through the\\nmarrow of his bones,\\nWhen the fighters on the corner grip his breast.\\nNow his new hat hits the gutter\\nAs it bobs beyond his view.\\nAnd his desperate feet fly up against the air;\\nAnd his arms go fiercely clutching for the maddened,\\nwhirling crew\\nThat are snatching at his coat and hatless hair.\\n79", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "Then, beware the high-topped corner,\\nWhere the winds fight night and day.\\nAnd the downward currents cheer the fight along\\nFor your hat and feet and body are a simple little\\nprey\\nWhen the North and East and West are gripping\\nstrong.\\n80", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "A MIDNIGHT LAKE WHISTLE\\nChicago\\nI dreamed I sailed through rocking seas remote,\\nAnd felt the engine s vibrant heart below\\nThe salt breeze blew across the bounding boat\\nThe smitten crests went flying to and fro.\\nAmid the vastness of the night I woke,\\nAnd heard a whistle, far and sweet and deep,\\nOf smitten waves and engine throbs it spoke;\\nI dreamed again and sailed through seas of sleep.\\n8i", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "A MIDWAY DASH\\nAfter J. B. D., Chicago\\nOld Hiram settled it at last\\nThe time was two too dee-vil-ish fast\\nRobe-wrapped and capped, with faces bold\\nAgainst the sharp, aggressive cold.\\nWe struck the ice-paved Midway floor\\nBreeze-swept from off the windy shore.\\nAway the course spread smooth and free\\nWhere westward rose frost spire and tree\\nAnd gray walls lifted on our right\\nTo mark the swiftness of our flight.\\nThe lines grew taut, the breeching drew.\\nAs J. D. s legs did all they knew;\\nHis splendid head was flung in air,\\nHis moving tail said *Come, who dare\\nHis stride stretched long and sure and true.\\nAs straight behind his hoof-beats flew\\nHis nostrils breathed defiant breath\\nAs if he feared nor Time nor Death.\\n.82", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "Our cheeks burned red, our ears froze white,\\nOur eyes were swimming with the sight;\\nBut still our hearts exulted high,\\nLike storm birds shooting through the sky.\\nFor his body swung in a steady flight\\nLike a master spirit fleet\\nAnd his breath was the breath of fiery might.\\nAnd the wind was in his feet.\\n83", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "THE GENIUS OF HULL HOUSE\\nHalsted Street, Chicago\\nGirt round with misery careless of the light,\\nA motley mass still needing to be one\\nIn civic hope and happier life begun,\\nHer guiding spirit draws from out the night.\\nShe knows the worth of comfort and delight\\nTo win the soul to sit beneath the sun\\nAnd strive for things that only should be won,\\nForever leading with a clearer sight.\\nFor always to her aid she calls sweet art\\nThat loves the temple of the human soul.\\nTo free the mind and bless the wearied heart\\nAnd by a human hand-touch her control\\nBecomes of e en the humblest life a part,\\nAnd helps through one the purpose of the whole.\\n84", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "A SONG OF LABOR\\nA song for the builders of beauty,\\nThe rearers of temple and spire\\nA song to the strong men of duty\\nWho shape the world s future in fire.\\nSing, sing to the women, the mothers.\\nThe weavers of life and of fate\\nThe sisters who toil for the brothers.\\nAnd open to hope the white gate.\\nA song to the brain that devises,\\nAnd bends nature s will into law\\nA song to the brain that suffices\\nIts purpose from many to draw.\\nSing, sing to the thinkers and hewers,-\\nTo brothers of brain and of brawn\\nA song to the world s mighty doers\\nWho work for a hastening dawn.\\n85", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "ASPIRATION\\nSouth Chicago Rolling Mills at Night\\nOut flaming like a giant s torch at night,\\nIlluming sky and cloud with mounting fire,\\nShoot red and swift and sudden, high and higher,\\nThe furnace flashings of a molten might.\\nBeneath in shadowy spaces, barred from sight,\\nThe sweaty shapes of Labor toil for hire,\\nIntent to get what clamorous mouths require,\\nGrim strugglers in life s fierce and endless fight.\\nBut upward from their souls springs radiant hope\\nTo win the sky of promise and of peace.\\nThough now below their lives in blackness grope\\nAnd like the furnace flash that speaks release.\\nTheir spirits leap into a clearer scope\\nWhere stars forever shine on toil s surcease.\\n86", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "A SONG OF BROTHERHOOD\\nWe re born of one great mother,\\nAnd we drink one common air,\\nAnd brother joined with brother\\nSings away all carking care.\\nChorus For the stars once sang together a sweet\\nfraternal song,\\nAnd the rivers, rushing seaward, their har-\\nmonies prolong\\nA thousand leaves are murmurous in the\\nmusic of one tree.\\nAnd mother-nature lulls to sleep one great\\nhumanity.\\nWe toil and moil together.\\nAnd we think on anxious years\\nIn storm and stress of weather\\nLet us sing away our fears.\\nChorus\\nBrothers in what s before us.\\nBrothers in birth and death\\n87", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "One loving sky bends o er us,\\nLet us sing with joyous breath.\\nChorus For the stars once sang together a sweet\\nfraternal song,\\nAnd the rivers, rushing seaward, their har-\\nmonies prolong\\nA thousand leaves are murmurous in the\\nmusic of one tree.\\nAnd mother-nature lulls to sleep one great\\nhumanity.\\n88", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "MISCELLANEOUS VERSE", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "A NIGHT SONG OF THE CAMP\\nEagle s Nest Bluff\\nSpread your blankets round the camp-fire, where the\\nleaping flames aspire,\\nAnd the sparks fly up to greet old ruddy Mars\\nCatch the music of the night wind stirring soft each\\nleafy lyre,\\nAs it breathes fraternal whispers from the stars.\\nWatch the stiff old-family mulleins nod their heads\\nathwart the dark\\nLike the pride of aristocracy decayed\\nWhile the working Sinnissippi moves along without\\nremark,\\nTurning wheels, yet bearing sky and richer shade.\\nFor the whip-poor-will s sweet sorrow lean a sympa-\\nthetic ear\\nAs below the bluff it calls remote and sad\\nWhile the katydid keeps harping on its one rough\\nnote severe,\\nAnd the crickets pipe their chorus clear and glad.\\n91", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "And above the sounds of night-time list the story s\\nghostly end,\\nWhen the teller s gruesome voice grows low and\\nstrange\\nNor forget to swell the laughter, like a friend that\\nhelps a friend.\\nAt the joke that only friends can interchange.\\nAs the reddened embers crumble in the ashes gray\\nand soft,\\nAnd the watchful stars wink faster in the sky,\\nLend a voice in fullest measure to the song that goes\\naloft\\nWhen the campers sing the joys that never die\\nO the fir e- flash and the star -dust and the wind\\namong the leaves^\\nAnd the mystery of all the secret night\\nAnd the beauty close about us that our mother\\nNature weaves^\\nAnd the sweetness that she pours for our delight!\\n92", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "KATE SHELLEY\\nAn Iowa Incident\\nThree toilsome years she tilled the barren farm,\\nA girl of twelve, by violent death bereft\\nOf father s, brother s strong supporting arm\\nA mother s heart in widowed weakness left.\\nAnd none to save the home from threatened harm.\\nThree long, brave years the roughened hills she\\nwrought.\\nBehind the plow the white horse guiding slow\\nThrough furrowed oat field marking all untaught\\nWhere yellow corn should stand in rustling row.\\nAnd planting as the need the season brought.\\nThe children with their books she cheered at night,\\nIlluming what their tired brains could not see\\nAnd when their heavy eyelids barred from sight\\nThe wavering page, she sat alone, to be\\nHerself a struggler up the hills of light.\\n93", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "II\\nDay after day thick fell the sheeted rain\\nAround the little farm the streamlet fought\\nIts broadening way to burst its earthen chain\\nAnd with its torrent fingers grimly caught\\nThe shuddering bridge and shook it all amain.\\nRun engine to Boone and back again was all\\nThe message said yet much of meaning lay\\nThat tempest night in the train despatcher s call,\\nMoingona to Boone that slept five miles away,\\nAnd twenty bridges trembling to a fall\\nFrom out her stall old Number Twelve was led,\\nTo trace the track above the torrents roar\\nAnd through the black her searching headlight sped\\nIn steady course Des Moines wide waters o er.\\nAnd on the farm its arrowy radiance shed.\\nSlow crept the engine, then, o er Honey Creek,\\nThat flung its yellow^ tide about the farm\\nIts writhing current now no longer weak,\\nBut striking at the bridge with mighty arm,\\nIntent some deadly vengeance swift to wreak.\\nIll\\nAlone that night, to the beating storm attent.\\nAn engine s dying shriek the young girl caught,\\n94", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "The timbers crash and the hiss of steam unpent\\nThe- bridge is gone the pusher s in, words\\nfraught\\nWith dreadful death to the train already sent.\\nFrom mother and home the shawl-wrapt girl stept\\nbrave,\\nHer lantern, star-like, trembling through the\\nnight,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAlong the slippery bank that, floodwashed, gave\\nNo beaten path to gust-blown, flickering light\\nBut the blackness glowed with the burning hope to\\nsave.\\nAlong the broken bridge she crept far out,\\nAnd o er the flood her wavering lantern swung,\\nTill from the drifted tree-tops rose a shout\\nOf helpless men that to the branches clung,\\nAnd blessed her as a light in darkest doubt.\\nShe bade them hope, while eastward swift she ran,\\nA double hope, to save the coming train\\nBefore her swung the mighty river s span.\\nSix hundred feet fierce-swept with wind and rain,\\nA danger that a stout heart might unman.\\nHer lantern light flared out in sudden blast\\nHer bleeding hands, benumbed by yellow spray,\\n95", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "Clung tie by tie, as on her knees she passed,\\nAnd felt the shaking bridge beneath the sway\\nOf beating driftwood gainst the abutments cast.\\nIn long reverberation o er her head\\nThe thunder burst and down the blackened skies\\nThe twisted lightning like a meteor fled,\\nTo deepen darkness to her dazzled eyes,\\nAnd fill her woman s heart with stronger dread.\\nThe bridge at length slow-passed, she onward sped,\\nMoingona s sleeping station to forewarn\\nHer laboring heart, by distant beacon led.\\nLeaped up with courage and a hope new-born,\\nAs through the night she pressed with swifter tread.\\nAnd now the station lamp she breathless passed.\\nAnd on her head its golden blessing fell\\nFor roaring through the rain the engine cast\\nIts flaring headlight, and its brazen bell\\nClanged out the cry that would have been its last.\\nFor rescued travelers she scarce delayed.\\nHer burdened heart yet laboring to save\\nAnd with their eager engine, unafraid.\\nShe backward ran to drowning men, that brave\\nStill clung, and trusted in her promised aid.\\n96", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "And one she saved in granite set her name,\\nTo speak his gratitude through crumbling time\\nAnd wide was flung the commonwealth s acclaim\\nIn golden seal and poet s sounding rhyme,\\nTo tell the world a girl s unwonted fame.\\nFor torch-like rose her deed above the night,\\nTo stir men s hearts and lift their heavy eyes\\nTo flash on shadowed lives the sudden light\\nOf fame that comes from daring sacrifice,\\nAnd show how weakness may itself be might.\\n97", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "SKATERS SONG AT NIGHT\\nWhen glass-like glints the cracking ice\\nAnd shines a skater s paradise\\nWhen eager air breathes keen delight,\\nAnd diamonds dart from starlit night\\nLeave, leave your care\\nWhat sport so rare\\nChorus Our blades, they flash, our bodies swing.\\nLike Time and birds we re on the wing\\nThe frosty stars their music sing\\nAnd we we ll make the welkin ring\\nFor life s a day a span a song,\\nAnd fierce the fight twixt weak and strong\\nYouth s hour-glass swift its course doth run\\nFrom happy dawn till set of sun.\\nTo joy give way.\\nWhile yet you may.\\nChorus Our blades, they flash, our bodies swing,\\nLike Time and birds we re on the wing\\nThe frosty stars their music sing\\nAnd we, we ll make the welkin ring 1\\n98", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "C^SAR, MY CAT\\n(With variations)\\nScat in Pace\\nGone from among us, O\\nCaesar, my cat\\nGone, for you had to go,\\nScared by a lifelong foe,\\nCaesar, my cat.\\nInto the world so white,\\nCaesar, my pet\\nFlung on a Sunday night\\n(Tears dim my eyes to write)\\nCaesar, my pet.\\nOh, what a howl you made,\\nCaesar, my life\\nGainst such an ambuscade,\\nGainst such a cat crusade,\\nCaesar, my life\\nWhen shall an ermine coat,\\nCaesar, my pride,\\n99", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "(On which I used to dote),\\nClothe a more princely throat,\\nCaesar, my pride\\nWhen shall such shapely grace,\\nCaesar, my charm,\\n(Mixed with no fighting trace)\\nSleep soft in feline race,\\nCaesar, my charm\\nCaesar, my sweet, sleep warm,\\nCaesar, my soul\\nRest neath the winter storm\\n(Peace to thy furry form\\nCaesar, my soul.\\n100", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "OLYMPIAN l^ICTORS\\nI stood on the slope of Kronos gray, above the Olym-\\npian plain,\\nWhere swift Alpheus still pursues his vanishing love\\nin vain.\\nAnd wondered deep at the picture rare revealed by\\nthe German spade\\nA picture aglow on history s page with colors that\\nnever fade.\\nFor I saw below me the Stadium, alive with flying feet.\\nAnd banked humanity gazing hard at the naked run-\\nners fleet\\nAnd every city s son at prayer that his own shall win\\nthe race,\\nWhile a life s ambition flushes warm on every athlete s\\nface.\\nAnd off toward the curve of the Cladeus, in the\\nsacred Altis walls.\\nRose the pillars of that temple vast whose god for-\\never calls\\nlOI", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "The victor to bend at his throne, and be crowned with\\nHercules olive bough,\\nAnd go forth with the fame of his glory bound about\\nhis leafy brow.\\nAnd then, methought, amid the throng the gray\\nHerodotus read,\\nAs young Thucydides followed rapt his history s\\ngolden thread\\nAnd soft in the temple s shadow the high-browed\\nPlato walked.\\nWhile girt with a wondering multitude the sovereign\\nSocrates talked.\\nThen slow past my eye through the Altis a stately\\nprocession moved.\\nWith the psalm of the victor leading on the athletes\\nthat stood approved\\nUp the steps of the temple and on to the feet of Zeus,\\nWhere the purpled judges placed the crowns Athena\\nalone can produce.\\nAnd up from the free-born races, the lovers of beauty\\nand strength.\\nFrom the trembling western river through the Altis\\nsacred length,\\nA tide of resounding plaudits swelled full to old\\nKronos feet.\\nAnd played in the porch of Echo with a murmur long\\nand sweet.\\n102", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "THE CYCLER S SONG\\nThe morning s breath blows softly cool\\nAdown the shady road\\nThe birds are piping by the pool\\nA happy, golden ode.\\nNow draw your breath, and fill your soul\\nWith liquor from the sun\\nNow spurt and push, ply, spin, and bowl,\\nAnd snatch a world of fun\\nNight settles softly o er the world\\nHaste, haste, the day is done\\nThe flag of light is almost furled\\nNow dies the blood-red sun.\\nAnd life s a race then dash apace\\nTo win the olive crown\\nWho wins the day may well be gay\\nTo wear his rich renown.\\n103", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "A IVOMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL\\nThy hands were rough with drudgery s daily round\\nThy body weary with the tasks of life\\nAnd all the cares of mother and of wife\\nThy feet in paths of poverty were found.\\nThy hope with sweet religion sure was crowned\\nThy duty, with all slothful ease at strife,\\nSaw all the woes with which the world is rife,\\nAnd labored to bind up each bleeding wound.\\nNot easy in thy faith, like present dame.\\nThou couldst not be indifferent to fate\\nBut human lives from weakness strove to claim\\nAnd thy wide heart, with selfless love innate.\\nDivinely felt another s sin and shame\\nStill praying with a spirit strong and great.\\n104", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "NEWELL DIVIGHT HILLIS\\nThe poetry of earth is never dead. Keats\\nSo wrote the poet on a winter s night,\\nWhen from the hearth there shrilled the cricket s cry\\nThat seemed a sound beneath a summer sky,\\nAnd filled his drowsy sense with summer light.\\nAnd when amid the stress of mortal fight\\nMen hear the preacher s words that beautify\\nThe truth, they feel that part of us is not to die,\\nAnd strive for that which still is out of sight.\\nFor in his words are strength and beauty blent\\nThe beauty of the poet and the seer.\\nThe strength of life on other lives intent\\nAnd whether men his message only hear.\\nOr take it to their hearts divinely sent.\\nThey love the man and his strong soul revere.\\n105", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "^A FISHERMAN\\nAnd I will make you fishers of men\\nA lover of the woods and streams and sky,\\nThe quiet lake neath evening s level light\\nAnd all of Nature s summer sound and sight,\\nThou look st upon her with a poet s eye.\\nAnd when from drifting boat thou st cast a fly\\nTo wait with eager heart for sudden bite\\nWhere all the depths of mystery excite,\\nThou still hast joy, though all the fish go by.\\nAnd when red summer suns have sunk to rest\\nAnd thy true preacher s work has come again.\\nWith tender care thou rt happy in the quest\\nOf human souls and with thy golden pen\\nThou searchest for the good in every breast,\\nStill largely loving all that s best in men.\\n1 06", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "DESTINY\\nFrom the German\\nSeasons vanish, years go whirling,\\nCradle changing so to grave.\\nMen are born, then bloom and shrivel,-\\nComing, going, like the wave\\nLike the pulsings of our life-blood\\nCoursing swiftly through the heart\\nHappy he in life s short drama\\nWho is master of his part\\n107", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "SALLY IN OUR ALLEY\\n(Moved)\\nWhere has our Sally gone to live I fear\\nShe s left forever now our alley here,\\nWhere time and oft we walked together close,\\nAnd gaily spurned the common earth, and gross,\\nDull-eyed humanity. No more I see\\nHer glancing down the alley, like a bee.\\nBent on the sweets of life her piquant feet\\nNo longer peer, like mice, and swift retreat\\nHer clinging styles no longer strike the eye\\nThat, doting fondly, sees her ne er go by.\\nAnd. so, twixt cup and lip, I ve made a slip\\nThat s dashed the cup to earth. Time s now a whip\\nThat hits me hard and never quits. Why cry\\nOur alley has another Sally. Fie\\nio8", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "ANCESTRAL WORSHIP\\nEgyptian wrappage or the Grecian urn\\nDid once perpetuate a father s clay,\\nPreserving through slow centuries and gray\\nThe human remnant for the hope eterne.\\nAnd what the fires of funerals could not burn,\\nNor time s insidious tooth gnaw quite away,\\nBecame a shrine of virtues where might pray\\nThe latest sons, and of their fathers learn.\\nBut we, grown wiser, plant a family tree.\\nAnd neath its broadening branches sit us down\\nContent to trace a noble pedigree.\\nUnapt to win a rich and high renown\\nContent to dream of knights armed cap-a-pie.\\nYet hoping from the sky to see a crown.\\n109", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "CHARLES LAMB S BEAUMONT\\nAND FLETCHER\\nIn the British Museum is Charles Lamb s copy of Beaumont\\nand Fletcher, in which this note is written I shall not be long\\nhere, Charles I gone, you will not mind my having spoiled a\\nbook in order to leave a relic. S. T. C.\\nA book beloved by those two hearts sincere,\\nAnd bought so dearly in the grinding stress\\nOf poverty how many a fond caress\\nIt felt from that fine spirit, year by year\\nHow oft o erpored^ the frequent marks appear\\nAs speaking chroniclers of tenderness.\\nAnd margins eloquent do oft address\\nThe listening heart, responding with a tear.\\nAnd for its dower it hath from him who wrote\\nThe Mariner, those words of pathos deep\\nAnd humor sad that hovering death denote\\nSuch solemn words as point to mortal sleep\\nWhere dreams may come, in some dim land remote\\nWhence souls return no more to them that weep.\\nno", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "ST. GEORGE S IN THE EAST\\nI^ondon\\nYe London poor, whose haggard lives grow old\\nIn noisome wretchedness, whose sunless day\\nSlow sinks to starless night if ye could pray\\nYour own first prayer, what would it first unfold\\nA plea for life for right to live from cold\\nAnd famine free for God s own sunlight aye\\nTo shine on us, and melt the gloom away\\nFor e en a little play, a little gold.\\nAnd to your prayer the closing words would rise\\nFor human love, in yearnings strong and deep.\\nAnd -brotherhood with all the sweet and wise\\nUntil Time s stifling walls your souls o erleap.\\nAnd mount where Truth, unveiling to the eyes\\nOf Faith, forever beckons up the steep.\\nIll", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "TO MR. GLADSTONE\\nLondon, 1893\\nO veteran warrior In this clamorous time\\nOf hatred, thou dost beat the surges high\\nWith all the eager force of years gone by,\\nAnd rid st the raging storm with faith sublime.\\nCanst thou have found, in this inclement clime,\\nThe fount of fabled w^aters that defy\\nTime s shriveling touch or doth thy soul outfly\\nThe eagle s wing, and sunward keep its prime\\nBest-hated and best-loved may thy right arm\\nStill strike the foeman home, till that sad Isle\\nTo westward self-controlled this wild alarm\\nShall cease, and on a happier union smile\\nSo shall thy life wear one more fadeless charm.\\nWhen men through thee their hatreds reconcile.\\n112", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "ALLOWAY KIRK\\nScotland\\nTho girt with solemn graves and guarding still\\nThe ashes of its name, tho consecrate\\nTo worship and the tale of human fate,\\nAnother destiny must it fulfil.\\nA roofless ruin, where the wind its will\\nDoth follow and the storm doth pour its hate,\\nNo more staid worshipers shall it await.\\nOr swing its soundless bell towards Carrick Hill.\\nFor on black nights within it shines a fire.\\nWhere mad-eyed witches whirl in wildest dance,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nNot to the breathings of Apollo s lyre\\nBut Nick s shrill bagpipe do the hags advance\\nWhile Tam, bewitched, ignores their coming ire.\\nAnd Meg s swift eyes are lit with frenzied glance.\\n113", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "SAEk^ INDIGNATIO\\nFrom Swift s own Epitaph\\nWhere madness fierce no longer tears the heart,\\nThou liest, Dean, in thy cathedral grave,\\nAs still as any stone along the nave\\nOr that thick-lying darkness where thou art.\\nThe torch-flare that did make the shadows start\\nAt midnight, when the bearers ghostly gave\\nThy b\u00c2\u00a3)dy to its bed, was not more slave\\nOf gust than thou to thy life-lasting smart.\\nYet now thou sleepest calmly, by the side\\nOf one who knew thy passion s secret force.\\nAnd knowing, watched its wildest waves divide\\nInto the calm of love, or deep remorse\\nGrown deeper when herself, thy secret bride.\\nBy midnight torch was borne a wasted corse.\\n114", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "THE STROLLING PLAYER\\nBefore the Home for the Blind in Dublin\\nNor any song of great and high intent\\nNor music intellectual dost thou play,\\nStanding before those walls that shut the day\\nFrom eyes that never on the daylight bent\\nAnd yet from out thy brazen instrument\\nThou pourest melodies that melt away\\nThe dark, and make those blinded eyes survey\\nThe seraphs on some earthly mission sent.\\nFor in thy heart for aye the thrushes sing,\\nAnd in thy soul the skylark weaves his flight.\\nUprising on the song that lifts his wing,\\nSuch harmonies as fill thee with delight.\\nWhich thou revivest, and canst softly bring\\nTo simple hearts grown heavy with the night.\\n115", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "FROM THE DOME OF ST. PAUL S\\nLondon\\nThese deep-walled streets whose crowded channels\\nsurge\\nWith ceaseless tumult, rolling at the feet\\nOf this unshaking temple, while the beat\\nOf its great bells is sounding a swift dirge\\nIn their wild currents, from the outmost verge\\nOf hope, life plunges to its last retreat,\\nThinking to reach oblivion complete.\\nAnd in the sullen roar its sorrow merge.\\nThrough these vast windings, what tumultuous fears.\\nWhat sudden madness, what despair have swept.\\nWhat reddened waves of murder mixed with tears\\nHow vice upon the innocent hath crept.\\nAnd anarchy loud hissed in frightened ears,\\nAnd poverty its bitter anguish wept\\nii6", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "TO SHELLEY S SOPHOCLES\\nThe book, now in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, was found in\\nShelley s hand after the body was washed ashore\\nO Book, death-gripped by him whose drowning hand\\nStill loved thee, though the envious waters caught\\nHis fragile li fe in mad embrace untaught\\nTheir swift and mounting passion to withstand\\nDost thou still feel the hard Italian sand\\nThat marred thy form beloved thy form so fraught\\nWith rare and stately beauty that he brought\\nThee only from the sea-depths to the strand\\nThou canst not feel the elements, yet still\\nHis dying hand s last pressure thou must feel\\nAnd thy deep tragic heart for a}/e must thrill\\nWith thoughts thy great creator doth reveal.\\nAnd his high song and flaming love whose will\\nThe groaning world s wide misery would heal.\\n117", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "THE ELEGY CHURCHYARD\\nStoke Pogis, England\\nThe curfew past, the evening star its light\\nSheds soft upon me, as I ope the gate\\nOf that dim churchyard, treading lone and late\\nThe chambered home of Death and human blight.\\nThe turf yet heaves with graves unmarked, the white\\nDeath-fingers upward point, the owl of fate\\nFrom yonder ivy-blackened tower the state\\nAnd pride of man still hoots, and loves the night.\\nBut in that high-built grave, mother and son\\nJoined now forever, sleep in deathless peace.\\nThe guardian elms about for he hath won\\nFor all that mortal scene an endless lease\\nOf life by his brief epitaph, and none\\nHath need to mark for men his glad decease.\\nii8", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "AT KENILIVORTH\\nThese ruins that were once embattled power,\\nThat once the king s own fighters back could hurl,\\nAnd o er whose walls did proudly once unfurl\\nThe king s own banners from each frowning tower\\nWhat gives to them from fame the richest dower\\nThe simple, old, old story, how an earl\\nIn secret loved a sweet, bewitching girl.\\nAnd hid her from his queen in leafy bower.\\nAnd so, although the banquet hall s forgot,\\nAnd noise of knightly tilting in the yard,\\nThe tender heart of man still loves the spot\\nWhere Leicester loved, and keeps in its regard\\nGrim Mervyn s Tower forgetful of the plot\\nTo crush a life unhappy, evil-starred.\\n119", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "THE MARTYR S STAKE\\nIn the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford\\nWe shall this day light such a candle by God s grace in Eng-\\nland as I trust shall never be put out. Latimer to Ridley,\\n1555.\\nThou blackened chronicler of hate whose chains\\nFast held the torch that dying lit the world\\nIf thou couldst speak the pain that through thee\\nthrilled\\nOf those two heroes burning at thy side\\nIf thou that shining prophecy coulHst flash\\nThat calmly shaped itself before the flame,\\nAnd feel the shriveled weight of Ridley s life\\nDown rolling at his dead companion s feet\\nIf thou couldst still be conscious of his gaze\\nWhose eyes from Michael s Tower were bent on thee,\\nAnd hear his painful prayer for those two souls\\nThat led his own to death\\nThou dst fill the world again with horror, and\\nThine anguished cry would nerve the battle gainst\\nSwift-springing bigotry that never dies.\\n120", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "IN THE ORCHARD GARDEN\\nAt Dove Cottage, Grasmere\\nNot Arthur s rock-sprung seat and Silverhow,\\nNor Easedale s shining wedge and Helm Crag s\\nwall,\\nNor White Moss on whose pools the sunsets fall,\\nFor these men linger not neath blossomed bough.\\nNor thou sweet primrose, and not such as thou\\nThe daffodil and daisy nor yet all\\nThe thrush s music and the cuckoo s call\\nThis orchard-garden with its charm endow.\\nHere in his self-hewn seat did Coleridge sit.\\nOr in sun-sprinkled shadows stretch his soul\\nHere walked De Quincey in a dream unwrit,\\nAnd he who loved the stars about the pole\\nHere Wordsworth watched the linnets round him flit.\\nAnd yielded all to Nature s sweet control.\\n121", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "A WORDSWORTH MEMORIAL\\nWhen men memorial words would lift to thee,\\nTo speak to aftertime undying praise,\\nReviving in the tribute that they raise\\nWhat thou to them didst give in poesy\\nLet them not merely say that thou art he\\nWhose verse upon the lives of men still lays\\nIts benediction beautiful in phrase\\nAs sunlight on the grass or on the sea\\nBut let them say as well, that men to know\\nThy calmness, close by Easedale Tarn should sit,\\nAnd drink the silences that from it flow;\\nTo feel the beauty that thy lines transmit.\\nShould stand on great Helvellyn, while the glow\\nOf dawn-cloud breaks in glory never writ.\\n122", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "PICTURES\\nA Stratford swan afloat by elms and spire\\nHelvellyn s sunrise tinting all the lakes\\nAnd Chillon s castle when no wavelet breaks\\nIts deep reflection these my heart s desire\\nAnd lion lifting wings that never tire\\nAbove the moon-paved waters isle that wakes\\nFrom purple pillows when Vesuvius shakes;\\nAnd wingless Nike framed in sunset fire.\\nAnd having seen long journeyings now past\\nI walked beneath mine own benignant skies,\\nAnd talked with men that round the world had cast\\nA curious gaze yet to my sad surprise\\nMy pictures slowly faded, till at last\\nI turned and saw them in a poet s eyes.\\n123", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "SONNETS ON SCULPTURE", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "THE COLUMBIAN QUADRIGA\\nBy Daniel Chester French\\nO stateliest glory of the Peristyle,\\nQuadriga of the victor Bearer bold\\nOf him whose eye prophetic saw unfold\\nA world of beauty, brilliant with the smile\\nOf the Creator. ^^Bear him yet awhile,\\nThe nations cried departing New and Old\\nUniting in a gratitude untold\\nTo him whose purpose nothing could beguile.\\nBut from the murmurous song of inland sea,\\nThe sculptured whiteness of fair Honor s court.\\nAnd the Republic s presence calm and free,\\nThou didst upbear him to a star-lit port.\\nUpon a flame-cloud like a seer of eld,\\nAnd all the people sighed as they beheld.\\n127", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "THE STATUE OF THE REPUBLIC\\nBy Daniel Chester French\\nEngirt with dreamful beauty thou didst stand,\\nBy day and night illumined, and thy feet\\nThe gathered nations thronged with homage sweet--\\nThe world s hope shining in thine outstretched hand.\\nThe nations left thee there upon the strand\\nTo isolation splendid and complete\\nThe flames rose round thee with their withering\\nheat\\nAnd touched thy flashing beauty to a brand.\\nYet still unscathed thy spirit could not die,\\nAnd o er the land thy rising genius leads,\\nAnd summons all to freedom and the sky;\\nLike thine own eagle that no respite needs.\\nBut sunward mounts with ever clearer eye,\\nThou dost persuade to high and higher deeds.\\n129", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "THE LIBERATOR\\nSt. Gaudens Lincoln, Lincoln Park, Chicago\\nUprisen from his fasced chair of state,\\nAbove his riven people bending grave,\\nHis heart upon the sorrow of the slave,\\nStands simply strong the kindly man of fate.\\nBy war s deep bitterness and brothers hate\\nUntouched he stands, intent alone to save\\nWhat God himself and human justice gave,\\nThe right of men to freedom s fair estate.\\nIn homely strength he towers almost divine,\\nHis mighty shoulders bent with breaking care.\\nHis thought-worn face with sympathies grown fine\\nAnd as men gaze, their hearts as oft declare\\nThat this is he whom all their hearts enshrine,\\nThis man that saved a race from slow despair.\\n130", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "THE LAKE-FRONT VOLUNTEER.\\nChicago\\nGreat men become types. The people single them out\\nwith the ready common sense which belongs to no man, but to all\\nmen Logan is our Great Volunteer. George R. Peck\\nHigh-lifted on his fiercely mettled steed,\\nAflame with fight and patriotic fire,\\nHe flings aloft the volunteer s desire\\nThe flag of men that crave a splendid deed.\\nHe learned the sorrow of a race unfreed\\nHe saw uncounted sacred lives expire\\nHe heard the groanings of a slaughter dire\\nAnd conned the horrors of a soldier s creed.\\nAnd yet aloft he signals alt the free\\nTo guard the weak, redressing human wrong\\nE en on the suffering islands of the sea;\\nAnd never from that right hand, gripping strong.\\nShall fall the flag of hope and victory\\nStill leading on to peace and patriot song.\\n131", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "DESPAIR.\\nBy Lorado Taft\\nThough bowed above thine everlasting grief,\\nThy loosened locks in sorrow dropping low,\\nThy Greek-like beauty touched with secret woe.\\nWe cannot pray for thee a swift relief.\\nFor beauty is at best so rare and brief,\\nThe gift supreme that only gods bestow,\\nAnd snatch from us ere yet we fully know,\\nThat of our all we count it e en the chief.\\nAnd while with thee we cannot chose but mourn,\\nAnd ask that to thy heart the years will bear\\nSome sweetness that shall make it less forlorn\\nWe yet would keep thee in thy sorrow fair,\\nAnd thank the gods that thou wast ever born\\nTo make us all in love with deep despair.\\n132", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "THE UGL Y DUCKLING\\nHans Christian Andersen, Lincoln Park, Chicago\\nBy Johannes Gelert\\nBeside his swan in happiness serene,\\nHis pencil waiting for some fairy thought\\nThat out of his sweet fancy he has caught,\\nHe sits forever mid his world of green.\\nUncouth and homely as the duckling mean\\nWhose early ugliness long sorrow brought\\nAnd yet for swan-like beauty ever sought,\\nHis plainness is to children s eyes unseen.\\nFor o er their spirits waves his wondrous wand\\nThat guides them to a realm undreamed before,\\nWhere marvel holds them in its sweetest bond\\nAnd while above his books their faces pore\\nAnd follow with their eyes ashine and fond.\\nThe great world s children love him evermore.\\n133", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "THE LOWELL MtMOR/AL\\nIn the Chapter-House Entrance, Westminster Abbey\\nWhere once did pass the makers of the law,\\nFit type of that yet higher law men know\\nAs truth, thou gazest calmly, poet foe\\nTo all the false and mean thy swift eye saw.\\nAbove thy face unchanging, mid the awe\\nOf that dim cloistered stillness, visions glow\\nOf dreaming knight and slavery s overthrow,\\nSuch visions as thyself didst love to draw.\\nAnd round thy head, with Lincoln s still doth shine\\nGreat England s flag illumined thought to men,\\nHow hearts, unnarrowed by a sea- drawn line.\\nMay love their own with loyal voice and pen.\\nYet loving still sweet freedom s earlier shrine,\\nAnd all the glories of a wider ken.\\n134", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "THE SCOTT MEMORIAL\\nEdinburgh\\nO masterful magician, mid the world\\nThyself created, sceptered with the wand\\nThat viewless rules the heart how far beyond\\nThy Gothic throne thy sovereignty s unfurled!\\nWhere mediaeval fighters madly hurled\\nRelentless shock, where Katrine s waters fond\\nEmbosom that sweet Isle, where glove was donned\\nAnd helmet, and the smuggler s smoke upcurled,\\nThese are thy rightful realm, and misty moor\\nAnd glowing chivalry, the hearts of kings.\\nThe beauty and the bravery of the poor\\nAnd to thy throne, a happy vassal, clings\\nThe heart of Maida, wishing to be sure\\nIf thou hast closed thy book for better things.\\n135", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "THE LION OF LUCERNE\\nBy Thorwaldsen\\nO dying fighter for the fleur de lis\\nThy ebbing heart struck through with frenzied spear\\nBeats free forever from reproach or fear,\\nIn silent, ineffectual agony\\nNot fruitless tho thy alien king to thee\\nWas worse than enemy in front and rear,\\nThan all the roarings of the cannoneer\\nAnd all the black-browed Marseillese could be.\\nNot fruitless for thy causeless martyrdom\\nDoth quicken the dead stone to ceaseless speech,\\nTelling the heart not weakly to succumb,\\nBut like red steady Swiss to close the breach\\nWith valor, tho by numbers overborne\\nAnd god-like fall in loyalty foresworn.\\n136", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "GANYMEDE TO HIS EAGLE\\nSuggested by Thorwaldsen s Relief\\nO splendid eagle, from Olympus white\\nAbove the blue JEgea.n hast thou flown\\nThrough those far spaces flying all alone\\nBy sunlit day or long and starless night\\nThou must be wearied with thine earthward flight,\\nAnd thirsty with the heat of burning zone\\nAnd this pure draft from out the living stone\\nIs all I have thy labor to requite.\\nBut yet I envy thee thy lonely way\\nAmong the clouds and o er the far blue sea,\\nThrough thick black night and reddening dawn of\\nday;\\nFor thou didst come from Zeus, where all must be\\nForever fair and safe from swift decay\\nAnd when thou dost return, I pray take me.\\n137", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "THE BRONZE HOUSES OF ST. MARK S\\nVenice\\nTriumphal horses that so long ago\\nBeside the Bosporus their chariot drew\\nTill that blind victor doge their beauty knew,\\nAnd snatched from out the city s overthrow\\nSix centuries of sunset they did glow\\nFair as Apollo s horses to the view,\\nWhen swift adown the westering slopes of blue\\nThey flash to drink the night s deep overflow.\\nBut splendid war-steeds still the victor s eye\\nAlluring, they must stand beside the Seine,\\nA soldier s ruthless dream to glorify\\nUntil he fell and they once more might gain\\nThat place of peace within the sunset sky\\nWhere pigeons coo the saint s resplendent fane\\n138", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "THE HERMES AT OLYMPIA\\nBy Praxiteles\\nIn sympathy dost thou divert the boy,\\nHis mother by his father strangely slain\\nRevolving now thy wand to entertain\\nThe chubby wine-god with a new-found toy\\nOr dost thou see with what exultant joy\\nThe Thracian nymphs the Zeus-sprung child will\\ngain\\nIn all the fruitful arts of life to train\\nHim whom thou now so lightly dost convoy\\nHowe er it be, this only do we know\\nSweet knowledge of a thing more sweet for years\\nA thousand, mid the river s overflow,\\nThou st held the happy boy whose eager ears,\\nIn Hera s temple, caught so long ago\\nThe echoes vast of multitudinous cheers.\\n139", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "DEATH AND THE SCULPTOR\\nBy Daniel Chester French\\nHis spirit with the wings of genius fanned,\\nAnd inspiration kindhng in his face,\\nO Death thou canst not touch him thus apace\\nWith thy remorseless, petrifying hand\\nFor e en already at his sweet command\\nThe Sphinx grows gentler, breathing to the race\\nThe mystery of life, and all the grace\\nThat crowns it in the far and shadowed land.\\nStand not imperious, Death; let genius do\\nWhat only genius can, nor make thine own\\nThe mind s unfinished vision yet how few\\nTo their completed work thou sparest prone\\nTo strike the master down in eager view\\nOf his creation, near perfection grown.\\n141", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "A TRIO OF DOGS", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "TO LORD RANDOLPH CHURCHILL\\nEdward Dowden s Dog\\nO wrinkled, large-eyed statesman filled with might\\nThough showing to thy friends a glowing heart\\nAnd sorrow bowed in tears when they depart,\\nLike thy great namesake thou dost love a fight.\\nFor if the Gothic cook but heave in sight\\nThy blood is up, and like a sudden dart\\nThou fliest, speeding hot with secret smart.\\nAnd lifting hair and voice to maddened height.\\nHow canst thou hate a cook as twere a cat\\nIs she a Parnellite, that thus much gall\\nThou showest though she feed thee sleekly fat\\nThou biased politician let her call\\nThe magic name of Balfour ne er so pat,\\nThou dst fight her from the table to the hall.\\n145", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "A MODERN NEPTUNE\\nNo brazen-footed horses dost thou drive,\\nLike that old god upon the far blue sea;\\nNor round thy chariot-wheels in flashing glee\\nDisport the dolphins as they arch and dive.\\nYet with a snow-white steed dost thou arrive\\nBefore the gate, beneath the mighty tree\\nNor unattended canst thou ever be^\\nSince with thee ride some guardian spirits five.\\nOn lawn or porch, or winking at the fire,\\nIn phaeton or bank where er thou art;\\nRetrieving balls, or, touched with sudden ire.\\nAssaulting hot cigars, thou play st a part\\nThan ancient sea-god sweeter far, and higher\\nHe ruled the sea, thou rul st the human heart.\\n146", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "TO AN AMERICAN RAB\\nFrom his Friends\\nNor Byron s Boatswain nor the silken Flush\\nOf England s laureled poetess nor he\\nThat watched by dying Ailie s bed to see\\nThe knife s swift issue and to feel the hush\\nOf life s still sea, I say thou need st not blush\\nWith these to have compared thy pedigree,\\nThy virtues, or thy beauties rare. For we\\nKnow well thy Gordon line, thy sudden rush\\nO er stubbled field, thy quivering nose low-bent.\\nThy flag-like tail flung wide. And Veil we know\\nThy deep-set, solemn eye aglow attent\\nUpon the family or the field. We owe\\nThee praise for love, and faith magnificent.\\nAnd bless thy heart s perpetual overflow.\\n147", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "A TRINITY OF CHILDREN", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "A YOUNG PHILOSOPHER.\\nThou best philosopher\\nOn whom those truths do rest,\\nWhich we are toiling all our lives to find.\\nWordsworth.\\nFolding his rabbit gainst a happy heart,\\nAnd greeting all mankind with winning smile\\nAs if from its wide woe he did beguile,\\nHe would to all his happiness impart.\\nNo learned theologian crammed with art,\\nAnd looking on the world as something vile\\nWhere he, forsooth, must linger yet awhile,\\nHe loves the world e en when the tear-drops start.\\nFor in his soul God s sweetness doth abide\\nUntouched with bitter sorrow or with sin\\nAnd all his loving nature opens wide\\nTo drink the sunlight to his heart akin,\\nUnknowing aught that his young life should hide.\\nWhere all is light and loveliness within.\\n151", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "KISSING THE ROSE\\nA human flower her lips against a rose,\\nShe seems a sylph-like part of that sweet place\\nWhose garden beauty breathes upon her face\\nAnd round her all its summer softness throws.\\nA rarer picture artist never chose\\nThan that dear fairy child s unconscious grace\\nx\\\\mid the leafy garden s soft embrace,\\nWhere sun in search of shadow ever goes.\\nHer lustrous eyes drink deep the sky s rich light\\nHer chubby fingers clasp the richer flower\\nThat blushes at the kiss her lips invite\\nAnd like a golden heart within the bower\\nHer sunny curls shine soft upon the sight,\\nA human picture past all painter s power.\\n3i", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "HAROLD THE KING\\nAnd a little child shall lead them\\nHis rounded face on some fair vision bent\\nThat deepens in his eyes their dreamy light\\nAnd fills his golden head with figures bright,\\nHe sits a youthful king, omnipotent.\\nTo autocrat no stronger sway is lent\\nThan rests in this young monarch s changeless\\nmight,\\nWho rules his own in a celestial right\\nAnd binds his subjects with their own consent.\\nFor childhood s power, unconscious though it be,\\nTranscends the limits of man s proud estate\\nThat forces duty by a hard decree\\nAnd sweet soft mouth, and eyes that pleading wait\\nFulfilment of their least desire to see.\\nRule human hearts by a deep law of fate.\\n155", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "SONNETS ON SHAKSPERE", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "FROM ANNE HATHAWAY S COTTAGE\\nWhere her descendant, the aged Mrs. Baker, was still living\\nThe voice of that sweet woman now was still\\nUpon the carven bed and chimney-seat\\nHer words had rested with a love complete\\nHer hand of antique flowers had plucked my fill.\\nIn those wide fields my senses felt no thrill\\nOf battle only the rosy silence sweet\\nOf sunset, and the lamb s sad human bleat\\nAnd on my eye the flash of daffodil.\\nTwas Shakspere s flower, and to my inner eye\\nBeneath those elms benignant came a youth\\nWith eager feet and as he passed me by\\nI marked his ardent face, his gentle ruth,\\nAnd genius kindling on his forehead high\\nTwas Shakspere going to his love in truth\\n159", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "THE TWO ROSES\\nIn Shakspere s School at Stratford\\nRed-hearted rose of white, white-hearted rose\\nOf red their petals blending on the wall\\nOf that old Council Chamber sign to all\\nOf Stratford s joy o er fresh-united foes\\nFrom timbered panels still they speak of those\\nWhose blood like water wasted at the call\\nOf rose-defenders, casting wide a pall\\nO er stricken England till the mad wars close.\\nBut by their armed red and dying white\\nThey once did stir a youth s dramatic fire.\\nWhose widening mind could feel each maddened\\nfight;\\nTo each heroic hope could swift aspire\\nCould shake with desperate terror of the flight.\\nAnd taste the glorious lust of vengeance dire.\\n1 60", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "SHAKSPERE S WILL\\nSomerset House, London\\nI sought through Shakspere s city far and wide,\\nFor Shakspere empty quest for any trace,\\nIn London s labyrinth where interlace\\nThe currents of the world, of that full tide\\nOf love and life called Shakspere. There abide\\nNo cherished shrines to which the human race\\nMay make its loving pilgrimage the face\\nOf Bankside strange hath grown, and Southwark s\\npride\\nLies leveled in the dust. Yet last of all.\\nUpon the Thames, deep down neath barred door,\\nI saw a tattered testament men call\\nIt his and stranger than all ancient lore\\nI read the doubtful name amid the scrawl\\nMore precious grown than mine of golden ore.\\ni6i", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "SHYLOCK TO SALARINO\\nHath not a Jew eyes Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimen-\\nsions\\nStrong type intense of a yet stronger race,\\nThat through the centuries of ceaseless hate\\nHave still been proudly masterful and great\\nWe feel the misery of thy long disgrace.\\nAnd in the hardness of that eager face\\nThat unafraid looks in the eye of fate,\\nAnd seeks its deadly vengeance through the state,\\nOur common human nature we can trace.\\nAlike with Christian hast thou hand and eye,\\nAnd body fed with the same daily food,\\nAnd with like pain and poison dost thou die\\nIn home-love wounded by ingratitude\\nAnd round thy human heart wild passions fly\\nOf avarice and hate a harpy brood.\\n162", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "KING RICHARD AT BOSIVORTH FIELD\\nI shall despair. There is no creature loves me\\nAnd, if I die, no soul shall pity me.\\nAfflicted with grim ghosts that rise at night\\nOf brother, helpless nephews, hopeless wife,\\nHis conscience with accusing horrors rife,\\nHe cries aloud in terror of the sight.\\nAnd now, adream, he seems to lose the fight\\nHis horse is gone, his wounds bleed in the strife\\nHe pleads with Christ for pity on his life,\\nAnd all his sins with lashing tongues affright.\\nAlone, unloved, he feels himself undone\\nSelf-hated, and accused by all his past,\\nAnd conquered ere the battle is begun\\nHis soul stands faint, with murderous guilt aghast,\\nAnd looks upon his deadly triumphs won\\nAs fiends to whelm him in one ruin vast.\\n1^3", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "ANTONY AS AN ORATOR\\nI have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,\\nAction, nor utterance, nor the power of speech.\\nTo stir men s blood I only speak right on.\\nA mighty populace about him prest,\\nWhose maddened, vengeful cries rise high and\\nhigher,\\nLike leaping flames amid a fresh-stirred fire,\\nAnd every passion sways at his behest.\\nAloft upon their fury s whirling crest\\nHe rides the storm his subtle words inspire,\\nAnd guides to vengeance, swift and sure and dire,\\nLike some fierce god impelling every breast.\\nFor Brutus words have vanished like a smoke\\nBefore the wind of his inspired breath\\nThat stirs the blood of fickle common folk\\nAnd while they hang on every word he saith.\\nTheir eyes and hearts see every traitorous stroke\\nThat stabbed their mangled Caesar to his death.\\n164", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "BRUTUS IN HIS TENT AT SAUDIS\\nThis is a sleepy tune.\\nIf thou dost nod, thou breakst thy instrument\\nI ll take it from thee and, good boy, good night.\\nAlone at night in his commander s tent,\\nSleepless he broods upon his dead wife s fate,\\nAnd all the terrors of approaching hate,\\nAnd craves a strain from Lucius instrument.\\nBut tired young fingers o er the music bent\\nAbove discordant strings now hesitate\\nAnd boyish eyes, adroop with slumber s weight,\\nSee wavering figures out of dreamland sent.\\nAnd that imperious man who ne er could brook\\nThe thought of tyrant in his native land,\\nAnd bore with scorn old Cassius iron look,\\nStirred not the sleeping boy with his command,\\nBut took his instrument, and o er a book\\nBegan to turn the leaves with tender hand.\\n165", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "LADY MACBETH IN SLEEP\\nThe innocent sleep,\\nSleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care\\nBalm of hurt minds. Macbeth.\\nYou see, her eyes are open. Doctor.\\nAy, but their sense is shut. Gentlewoman.\\nWith open but unseeing eyes she goes,\\nA taper lighting her remorseful way,\\nThat murderous night may look more like the day.\\nLess rife with images of all she knows.\\nFor ghosts will walk far worse than armed foes\\nOf those that mad ambitions foully slay,\\nInvited Banquo, Duncan old and gray.\\nAnd Fife s sweet wife amid her children s woes.\\nAnd though her opened eyes still sightless are.\\nAnd gaze unmeaning neath the taper s light,\\nThat inner eye sees visions from afar\\nThat blood-red rise through every dreamful night,\\nVisions of murdered guest, and king, and wife.\\nAnd all the spectral horrors of her life.\\n1 66", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "MACBETH ON HIS WIFE S DEATH\\nShe should have died hereafter\\nOut, out, brief candle\\nLife s but a walking shadow a poor player.\\nThat struts and frets his hour upon the stage,\\nAnd then is heard no more.\\nHis boastful banners on the outward wall,\\nHis castle frowning on his loathsome foe\\nThat waits by fateful Birnam wood below\\nHe hears the cry of women in the hall.\\nHis great queen s death drops like a sudden pall\\nUpon them, wailing in their woman s woe\\nHer woman s greatness, Death s dire overthrow.\\nAnd all the majesty their hearts recall.\\nYet on his heart, as hard as armor plate,\\nGrown desperate in his citadel of stone,\\nTis but an echo of all human fate\\nAnd to him friendless, hated, and alone,\\nMid thickening terrors of a falling state,\\nLife seems as empty as a bauble throne\\n167", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "OTHELLO S MESSAGE TO THE l^ENETIAN\\nSTATE\\nSpeak of me as I am\\nOf one that loved not wisely, but too well\\nof one whose hand,\\nLike the base Indian, threw a pearl away\\nRicher than all his tribe.\\nA sword of ice-brook s temper in his hand,-\\nEngirt with faces stricken and dismayed,\\nAnd of his mighty passion yet afraid,\\nThe murderous Moor waits nerveless and unmanned.\\nFor now his mindless furies understand\\nWhat deadly blunder jealousy hath made\\nThat on her spotless, patient couch is laid\\nHis murdered wife, whose death he madly planned.\\nHer white face mutely speaks his judgment dire.\\nAnd seems from heaven s height to cast him low\\nFor fiends to snatch in penitential fire\\nAnd all the pain remorse can undergo\\nStrikes through his hopeless soul and heart s desire,\\nEre gainst himself he gives the fatal blow.\\n1 68", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "KING LEAH ON THE HEATH\\nWhere the greater malady is fixed the lesser is scarce felt.\\nBarred out from all the castle s warmth and light\\nBy she-wolf daughters fierce against their sire,\\nAnd helpless neath their steady crushing ire,\\nAlone he stands amid the crashing night.\\nHis thin white hair he tears in his despite\\nAnd as the blackness splits with heaven s fire\\nAnd pounding thunders crack with menace dire,\\nHis roofless head he prays them swift to smite.\\nBut outward tempests, to the inward storm\\nThat rages over base ingratitude.\\nAre all unfelt by that imperial form\\nAnd chilling floods that dash in deadly feud.\\nTo filial coldness, seem but raindrops warm,\\nIn that old king s insane remorseful mood.\\n169", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "PROSPERO ON HIS MAGICAL SHOPV\\nAnd our little life is rounded with a sleep.\\nThe lovers eyes with wonder all aglow\\nAt his rare vision waved from out the sky,\\nOf fairy figures dancing sweetly by,\\nHe swiftly ends his fleeting magic show.\\nAnd Juno, Ceres, nymphs and reapers go\\nAs if they ne er had flashed upon the eye\\nBut like poor human kind they strangely die\\nWhen they in fair achievement most bestow.\\nAnd, in his sight prophetic, battlement,\\nCathedral, homes of kings, the good green\\nearth,\\nShall in one mighty ruin all be blent\\nNor any trace of mortal love and mirth\\nShall last beyond that ultimate event\\nWhen men shall sleep unconscious of their birth.\\n170", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "HAMLET IN THE CHURCHYARD\\nThe very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in this\\nbox and must the inheritor himself have no more\\nThe ghastly humor of a graveyard clown\\nWhose grunting ballad rises from the grave,\\nAnd then a skull the moldy earth upgave,\\nMayhap a lawyer s stuffed with dirt, and brown.\\nA buyer of much land about the town,\\nIn Hamlet s thought that by this jowling knave\\nIs knocked about the mazzard like a slave,\\nAnd ne er a single head-shake nor a frown.\\nHis very deeds a coffin-box might fill,\\nSo spacious his possessions of the earth,\\nAnd every voucher framed with nicest skill\\nAnd yet, alas with all his landed worth,\\nAnd all the items of his close-drawn will,\\nHe s shoveled out, a thing of mock and mirth.\\n171", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "THE KING S JESTER.\\nWhere be your jibes now Your flashes of merrimeni\\nthat were wont to set the table on a roar Hamlet.\\nA fellow of quick mirth and richest jest,\\nThat wasted on the sexton s bended head\\nA flagon of old Rhenish, rare and red,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nBy that same sexton now is dispossessed.\\nUpon his back a thousand times as guest\\nHe s borne the boyish Prince with bounding tread,\\nAnd through the royal halls hath gaily sped,\\nAnd now by that same Prince he s found at rest.\\nHe once did shoot his gibes with sharpest wit.\\nSing songs of wine and love in happiest glee,\\nAnd start the smiles of those he aptly hit\\nAnd now no wit, no song, no laughter free.\\nBut ghastly grinning of the earthy pit,\\nBemocking his own fate and Time s decree.\\n172", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "THb DEATH OF HAMLET\\nThe readiness is all. Hamlet.\\nThe rest is silence. Horatio.\\nStruck low, in treachery, to thine early end,\\nBy him thou call dst a brother and forgave,\\nThou liest on the margin of the grave\\nAnd speakst thy message to thine only friend.\\nIf Death to thee one hour would even lend\\nIf his swift mandate thou couldst still out brave,\\nAnd tell to all what thy full heart doth crave.\\nThe world with bated breath would thee attend.\\nBut her whose brother leagued against thy life\\nThou st seen laid low in her last resting-place\\nAnd thy dead mother now no more his wife\\nWhose body lies with upturned murderous face\\nIn thy long sleep now rest thee from the strife,\\nAnd dreamless silence wrap thee in its grace.\\n173", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "TO-DAY FOR ME, TO-MORROW DEATH\\nFOR YOU\\nAt the opening of the Stratford charnel-house, in 1880, a\\nskull was thrown out, bearing the inscription, Hodie mihi, eras\\ntibi.\\nTo-day for me, to-morrow death for you/*\\nAs if through Yorick s lips dead Shakspere spoke\\nAgain, there rise the sickening words that choke\\nOur aspiration and our wills subdue.\\nBut still the Stratford meadows shine with dew;\\nThe swan of Avon glides with unseen stroke\\nThe listening sky the elm-tops still invoke\\nThe rooks are flying, just as once they flew.\\nStill Nature richly gives, and calmly brave\\nAsserts to life her immemorial right\\nAnd still from out the poet s stone-bound grave\\nThe hope of life arises, and the light\\nOf every dawn that floods through choir and nave\\nBrings radiant immortality from night.\\nSee note.\\n74", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "NOTES", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "NOTES\\nKA TE SHELLEY\\nOn the night of July 6, 1881, in the midst of a violent\\nstorm of wind and rain, Kate Shelley, a girl of fifteen, left\\nher home on Honey Creek, near Moingona, Iowa, and dis-\\ncovered that an engine, sent to test the bridges between\\nMoingona and Boone, had plunged through the bridge into\\nthe swollen stream. Two of the crew were drowned, but\\nthe engineer and brakeman still clung to an uprooted tree\\nthat had come down with the driftwood.\\nEncouraging them to hold out, she ran to the high\\nwooden bridge, six hundred feet long, spanning the Des\\nMoines river. The ties of the bridge were three feet apart,\\nso that in the night it was necessary for her to crawl on her\\nhands and knees. Her lantern was put out by a gust of\\nwind, and the occasional lightning flashes blinded her.\\nShe finally reached the station at Moingona in time to stop\\nthe Chicago and Northwestern passenger train. Returning\\nwith a rescuing party on an engine, she also succeeded in\\nsaving the drowning men.\\nThe state of Iowa, through its legislature, recognized\\nthe remarkable bravery of the act by presenting her a gold\\nmedal and a passenger on the rescued train. Dr. Henry D.\\nCoggeswell of San Francisco, dedicated to her a monument\\nin Dubuque.\\n177", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "In May 1890, through the efforts of the Chicago Tri-\\nbune, something over nine hundred dollars was raised by\\npopular subscription and presented to Kate Shelley, who\\nwas thus enabled to lift a mortgage on the Shelley farm.\\nFor three years preceding that eventful night Kate\\nShelley, b}^ the accidental deaths of her father and brother,\\nwas compelled to do the rough work of the farm the\\nplowing and planting, and at the same time she was\\nencouraging her younger sisters and brother in their school\\nwork and doing what she could for her own education.\\nTHE HERMES AT OLYMPIA\\nThe Hermes of Praxiteles was found embedded in a\\nthick deposit of clay in the cella of the Heraeon, the oldest\\ntemple at Olympia and sacred to Hera, or Juno. He is\\nsupporting on his left arm the infant Dionysos, or Bacchus,\\nand in his right hand, which has been restored, he is sup-\\nposed to be holding either the caduceus or a cluster of\\ngrapes, to amuse his charge, the young god of wine.\\nTHE BRONZE HORSES OF ST, MARK S\\nThey are supposed originally to have adorned the\\ntriumphal Arch of Nero, and afterwards that of Trajan.\\nConstantine sent them to Constantinople, and on the con-\\nquest of the city the Doge Dandolo brought them to Ven-\\nice in 1204. In 1797 they were carried by Napoleon to\\nParis, and in 181 5 they were restored to their former place\\nby Emperor Francis of Austria.\\n178", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "LORD RANDOLPH CHURCHILL\\nA dog more familiarly known as Randy, and now\\nalas departed this life, was a pug belonging to Professor\\nEdward Dowden of Trinity College, Dublin, who in poli-\\ntics is a Liberal Unionist. Randy had been taught, at\\nthe word Parnell, to turn his head contemptuously away\\nfrom a juicy piece of roast but at the sound of Balfour s\\nname he snapped it up in the twinkling of an eye.\\nTO-DAY FOR ME, TO-MORROW DEATH FOR\\nYOU\\nFrom the Century Magazine^ April 1896\\nRed Horse Hotel, Stratford-on-Avon,\\nDecember 22, 1894.\\nMy Dear Sir I have now the pleasure to reply more\\nfully to your inquiries respecting the opening of the ancient\\ncharnel-house of Stratford church.\\nOn the morning of December 4, 1880, I was in the\\ncompany of my friend, Alderman James Cox, J. P., then\\nmayor of Stratford-on-Avon, when we were informed that\\nthe charnel-house had been opened we at once walked\\ntogether to the churchyard to see what was going on there,\\nand witnessed what we considered an extraordinary pro-\\nceeding. The vault had been opened, and appeared to be\\nfilled with a solid mass of human bones, through which a\\nman was engaged in cutting a channel and throwing out\\nthe bones, which were being removed by another man for\\nburial in another part of the churchyard. We had not\\nstood there many minutes before a skull much whiter than\\n179", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "the others was thrown out at our feet. This was picked\\nup by Mr. Cox, and we at once noticed the inscription\\npainted across the forehead Hodie mihi, eras tibi. The\\nskull was taken home by Mr. Cox and sent to the vicar,\\nand remained in the church for a long time afterward\\nand this can be vouched for by our parish clerk, Mr.\\nWilliam Butcher, with whom I have talked the matter\\nover within the last few days.\\nThis charnel-house was a vault beneath the ancient\\nsacristy of a more ancient church than the present one\\nand when the chancel, or choir, was rebuilt by Dean Bal-\\nshall in the year 1465 the sacristy was allowed to remain\\nin connection with the church until it was pulled down in\\nthe year 1800, with the exception of the vault, which was\\narched over below the level of the churchyard and this\\nvault extends to the chancel wall, which I think alone\\nseparates it from the Shakspere vault. As soon as the\\nchurchwardens heard that the charnel-house had been\\nopened, they at once ordered it to be closed, so that it\\nreally was not uncovered many hours it was, however,\\nseen by many Stratfordians, and I find that Mr. Savage, the\\nsecretary and librarian of the Birthplace, has a memoran-\\ndum of the event in his private diary, and he was one who\\nsaw it open, like myself. Moreover, the newspapers of the\\ntime recorded the event fully, and I have a distinct recol-\\nlection of a notice in the Stratford-on-Avon Herald and\\nMr. Savage tells me that he sent a copy of the Birming-\\nham Gazette to a friend at the time, which contained an\\naccount of Stratford church and the finding of the bones.\\nThere can be no doubt that the skull I have referred\\n180\\n^107", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "to was removed from one of the altars in the church at the\\nReformation, and was then thrown into the charnel-house,\\nwhich at that time had an opening into the church. I find\\nit was customary for skulls with similar inscriptions to be\\nplaced on altars prior to that period.\\nI trust I have been sufficiently explicit in my remarks,\\nfor I assure you that it gives me much pleasure to record\\nan event so interesting to my native town and if it is\\nnecessary to strengthen my assertions, I may mention that\\nI am now an alderman and have been twice mayor of this\\na:ncient borough. Yours faithfully,\\nW. G. COLBOURNE.\\nHorace S. Fiske, Esq., Chicago.\\ni8i", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "JvV\\n0\\nr-^*\\npvi,.\\naO\\nv^\\ni\\n*.-7.T\u00c2\u00bb .A\\nV\\n1\\n5^\\nV,.\\n,0\\nb. \u00e2\u0099\u00a6vT.T* A\\no\u00c2\u00bbJI\u00c2\u00b0*, O\\nL .V\\nb V*\\ns^\\n-t\\nJ", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "(O- -t^ A -i.\\no\\n^oV*\\n0^ *vt:;t\u00c2\u00bb a\\n^0^\\n0,\\nolS- l\u00c2\u00bb-\\n.*^\\\\!i^*\\n-^-TTT*\\n*\u00c2\u00bbi.;r^% ^-e\\nf o\\no Jk\\n5^^-^v -i;^\\nCfantvitle, Pa.\\nSepf^-Oct 19a!\\nW\u00e2\u0082\u00ac \u00c2\u00abB OuaJ^lr fSooTO\u00c2\u00a9", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4064", "width": "2753", "jp2-path": "balladofmanilaba00fisk_0194.jp2"}}