Class _^^^>3-l£. 
Copyright N"^^^Z^/_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




Where a taper erst lighted dispersed tlie gloom 
From the only small window that faced on the sea."' — See Page 40. 

Fmnfispiccc. 



A CANDLE-LIGHT 

AND OTHER POEMS 



SY 



LOUIS SMIRNOW 



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THE 



Bbhcy press 



Condon 



PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 

NEW YORK 



montreaS 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 
Two Copies Received 

WAY. 13 1901 

COPVWQHT ENTRY 

TyutM n '?<>/ 

CLASS^^tv XXc. No. 

913 y 

COPY B. 






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Copyright, i9o»» 

by 

THE 

Hbbcy presd 



Co mp beiODed sister 

flora 

tKse, tRougi) not tfte test 

pet tfte first fruits of 

mp labors* 

are aeaicated* 

CDe JIutDor 



Advertisement to a Candle-Light 

The author purposes to produce a collection of 
poems under the general title of ^Tortraits From 
Life," in which will be treated actual events or in- 
cidents that may be worthy of recording. That 
such incidents are not wanting, daily experience 
furnishes abundant evidence. Should we, then, 
neglect the sublime and the beautiful or even 
the ugly and terrible, because they are coexistent 
with us? On the contrary, nothing more con- 
cerns man than Man. For if we attempt to look 
into his life we behold there Infinity, and when 
we look into his soul we perceive the sublimity of 
Heaven on the one hand and the depravity of 
Hell on the other. When, therefore, we present, 
however slightly, to our discerning minds some pas- 
sages of the universal drama, in varying degrees, 
now comical and now tragical, that is being un- 
interruptedly enacted on the stage of the world, 
we at once treat of a subject a grander or more 
important than which there is not. 



Advertisement to a Candle-Light 

Kealizing that Reality, from its very nature, is 
more deserving than Ideality, however lofty the 
latter may be carried on the wings of imagination 
and art, there seems to be no need of apology for 
intruding poems like these on the notice of the 
public, on whose reception, however, of the first 
ones shall depend the appearance of those to fol- 
low. 

New Britain". 

Note —This poem was written in spare intervals be- 
tween July 17 and October 15, 1899, while a larger work 
was being prepared. The third canto was written in 
the last twelve days. 



BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 

Dr. L, Smirnow was horn in 1874- ^Q edu- 
cated himself, making the world his school and 
mankind his tutor. He chose the medical pro- 
fession and entered Yale Medical School when 
quite young, paying his own way through college, 
and graduxiting in 1895,-^ During the next year 
he served a term with one of the large hospitals in 
Connecticut and then opened an office in New 
Haven, A little later he removed to New Britain, 
devoting his leisure time to literary work, and 
within two years produced an epic poem which 
is a monumental work. As a result of a recent visit 
to the West Indies, he has written "Martinique" 
and other poems in this collection. In childhood 
he was a phenomenal scholar in Hebrew and used 
to he exhibited hy his tutors as an example of 
their ivorh 

THE PUBLISHERS. 



CONTENTS. 



rAGi 

A Candle-Light ii 

Abused by the World 60 

Facetious Snowflakes 62 

To My Niece 64 

Seclusion 66 

In Despair 71 

Where Is the Word ? 73 

Can It Be ? 75 

Some Thoughts on a December Day 76 

Shades of Darkness, Why Delay?. 87 

Shortly After 89 

After Reading Walt Whitman 91 

Too Fond of You, But Still 96 

But Now, My Child, Good-by 97 

The Path of Life 107 

Oh, Faint Not, Heart ! 109 

An Odd Moment iii 

A Snow-Drift 114 

End and Death Synonymous 118 

Epigram 121 

Blow On, O Winds 122 

Spring Is Coming 124 

The Hours 126 

Betwixt the Clouds 129 

My Wither'd Plant 133 

The Day of May , 136 

The Letter that Never Came 138 

Spring 140 



Contents. 



FACB 

Fatality 146 

A Thought 150 

The Tears, They Are Many ; the Smiles, They Are 

Few 151 

A Message t 154 

Onward, Still On 156 

•• Ella " 159 

Where Rest the Souls as Good as Thine 162 

A Doctor-Rogue 163 

A Butterfly Far Out to Sea 166 

The Triumph of Death 168 

Au Sans Pareil 169 

In Yon Tiny Cottage 170 

My First Fishing Expedition 172 

Oh, Tell Me, Heart, What Ails Thee Now ? 179 

He's a Little Depressed at the Top 182 

Save the Jewels ! 184 

Dainty, Sainty Little Maid 185 

I Love Thee, and Hate Thee, O Sea 187 

The Orphan Child 189 

Martinique 191 

Heigh-ho ! I'm Here Again 198 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



A Candlk-Light Frontispiece 

PAGE 

The Departure 38 



A Storm at Sea 44 

The Dead 51 

A Snow-Duipt 115 



A CANDLE-LIGHT 

AND OTHER POEMS 



A Caadle-Lighr 

Canto I. 

I RELATE here no story of triumph and fame, 
Nor of conqueror's glory nor conqueror's name, 
Nor of heroes who fought in the battles of men, 
Nor of such that wrought change by the use of 

their pen. 
Nor of them that wild regions of earth can explore, 
Nor of those that to nations teach wisdom and lore, 

* The real facts of the case are briefly thus : A sailor, 
going on a voyage, desired his sweetheart to light each 
night a candle in her window, until he returns. He 
was never seen or heard from again; but his love kept 
her word up to the time she died, at the age of about 
seventy, requesting of her survivors still to continue the 
light in the lattice. All other incidents and characters 
are fictitious additions for the elaboration of the story. 

it 



A Candle-Light 

Nor of them that great fortunes and wealth have 

amass'd. 
Or that, pleased with success, were not pleased to 

the last. 
I shall tell no great deeds by small people achieved, 
Nor of favors or boons from weak monarchs re- 
ceived, 
Nor of courtiers' obeisances, nimble and low. 
Nor of ladies of court with attendant and beau, 
On her right, on her left, in the front and the rear, 
Ever waiting upon her each day of the year. 
Nor of subjects that ceaselessly trouble the mind. 
Nor of questions that constantly stir up mankind, 
But of human affection in purest of form 
That's untainted by passion nor weaken'd by storm, 
Nor diminished by years of mischance and ill-fate. 
Nor abolished by death who is never too late, — 
Although death in his hurry cuts everything short, 
Save the love of the victim whom just he had 
caught. 
And our scene shall not be a palatial chateau 
On a landscape serene or a quiet plateau. 
Nor a millionaire's home nor a rich man's abode. 
Nor a nobleman's house on a nobleman's road, 
But a cottage as lowly as lowly they are 
On the coast of the sea, from the billows not far. 



12 



And Other Poems 

Where the forcible surgings, assailing the shore, 
On the rough broken rocks spend their rage ever- 
more. 
In that hut lived a fisherman sturdy and old, 
Who has counted his summers a score treble-fold, 
And his winters as many, for winters come next 
To the summers, uncalled for, unwished for, un- 

ask'd. 
But though stooping with age and oppressed by 

hard toil, 
He could brave the rough sea and the tempest'3 

turmoil, 
And for days on the crest of the billows be toss'd. 
And for weeks in his pinnace alone be the host. 
That no rocks and no shores and no land and no 

men 
Would appear in his thought nor loom up in his 

ken. 
But as still the wild winds with a fury would rise 
A strange light, as of magic, would flash from his 

eyes, 
And as still the great waves would be high with 

the blast 
He would yet open sail, well securing his mast, 
Hauling taut on the shrouds, that the forcible 

wind 
Still might bear him as fast as a toy on whirlwind. 
13 



A Candle-Light 

For he knew that at home were two children of his, 
One a daughter, his life, and a son all his bliss. 
That depend on his income and eat of his bread. 
And for whom to provide he must work till he's 

dead. 
For the one is so young and the. one is so fair. 
That she well might be called the sweet queen of 

the air. 
And their mother, devoted and true to the last. 
From the earthly abode into heaven has pass'd. 
For some six years ago she was drowned in the sea 
While attempting to save a wrecked party of three ; 
For she, too, was as brave as a woman can be 
That was born and raised up on the turbulent sea. 
Two sweet children have lived in the fisher- 
man's hut 
That was cozy and snug as the shell of a nut 
For the worm that is in it, devouring the core. 
And believing the world to be good evermore. 
But these children nor knew of the world or its 

goods. 
Nor of men with their variant, troublesome moods. 
Nor of cities or towns, nor of empires and kings, 
Nor of creatures, though human, with serpentine 

stings, 
Nor of flatterers, liars, deceivers, and fools. 
Nor of vipers and murderers, passion's weak tools, 
14 



And Other Poems 

For the one was so young and the one was so fair, 
That she well might be called the sweet queen of 

the air. 
Thus the first was the boy, but eight years to his 

age, 
With marked features betraying his good lineage, 
So robust and so healthy, a picture of life. 
Well prepared for the future, the future's great 

strife ; 
And his face was angelic, his countenance mild, 
And his brow was serene, was the brow of this 

child. 
While the clusters and curls of a blond-golden hair 
Overhung most profusely his head everywhere. 
And his name we'U call Henry, the good name of 

old. 
To which millions responded, — a legion untold; 
But if you should dislike so prosaic a name, 
Or complain that it is unromantic and tame, 
I wiU point to the monarchs, and princes, and 

lords. 
And to noblemen, gentlemen, dwellers of courts, 
Both in England, Spain, Italy, Portugal, France, 
All great warriors, fighters with shield and with 

lance ; 
Though prosaic their names, their great lives so 

decoy, 

15 



A Candle-Light 

That this name might well suit for a fisherman's 
boy. 
But his sister, an angel, her Vesta we'll call, 
So resembling the goddess, if semblance be all 
In the features and form and the carriage and 

mien. 
Even then she a radiant goddess might seem. 
But her nature was precious and constant and true, 
And so kind and so mild as can be but a few. 
And so innocent, guiltless, unknowing the false. 
And so trusting, relying, obeying the calls 
Of a pure noble heart that has tasted no gall, 
Nor had known of the ways of a miserly thrall. 
And her countenance shone like the face of the 

sun. 
So congenial, friendly, with smiles overrun. 
With her lips like silk threads of a cardinal hue, 
Like the roses her cheeks, and her eyes were deep 

blue. 
Of that depth of the heavens when, moonlit, the 

night 
Is relieved from its darkness by heavenly light. 
And her chin wore a dimple, — a beautiful thing, 
For which sons of rich men would give up every- 
thing. 
And her nose, in proportion, set well in its place, 



te 



And Other Poems 

That the whole seemed not less than a goddess's 

face. 
While her auburn long tresses, now gold and now 

brown. 
From her head in rich quantities loosely hung 

down. 
That like some lovely nymph of the woods she ap- 
peared. 
Or like one of those maids that in oceans are 

reared. 
For of such we have read and of such we have 

heard. 
And the presence of such we have often inferred. 
For when rocking and tossing on mountain-like 

waves. 
Or else wandering, lost, 'mid the dark sylvan caves, 
A strange, wild fascination takes hold of our souls. 
And a yearning, resistless, our senses infolds. 
And we linger awhile, though endangered our lives, 
And we stay yet a moment, which moment de- 
prives 
Us of valuable time that might be of great use. 
For which all to account or to render excuse 
We are forced to suppose that the mermaids and 

nymphs 
So enchant or bewitch us whenever a glimpse 



17 



A Candle-Light 

Of their haunts we obtain, that we'd follow them 

far 
To their bottomless dwellings wherever they are. 
And it must be related how Vesta would oft 
On her father attend; if the latter once coughed, 
Or complained of a headache, a pain or a stitch, 
She would make him a plaster of Burgundy 

pitch, 
A strong lotion for rubbing his sea-fretted limbs, 
A good potion to drink, — a cup full to its brims 
Of decoctions, infusions, and spirits and wine. 
That might cure all the cough and procure sleep 

divine. 
Out of which the poor sufferer wakes with delight. 
When his illness is gone and his spirits are light. 
She would smoothen his brow and would dry his 

wet hair. 
And would wait on him, tend him, and give him 

such care. 
Both in health and in sickness, that oft he believed 
He in Paradise rested, else greatly deceived. 
But the boy was her charge, was her brother, the 

child, 
"Whom ''my boy'' she had named, and "my pet" 

she had styled ; 
Over whom with a sister's affection she watched, 



J8 



And Other Poems 

Over whom with a mother^s distraction she 

watched, — 
For she was to him sister and mother in one ; — 
And with tender caresses she'd wake him at morn. 
And with tender caresses she'd rock him at eve. 
And, thus fondling him, oft to his bedside would 

cleave, 
Sweetly smiling and cooing till both, in a deep 
Quiet revery falling, are fallen asleep ; 
Of whom one was so young and the one was so fair. 
That she well might be called the sweet queen of 

the air. 



Canto II. 

It was morning, and early the first sunny ray 
Brightly danced on the face of the velvety bay. 
That, surrounded by rocks, to the right was dis- 
posed 
And that, fanned by the cool matin breezes, yet 

dozed 
The sweet slumber of nature, and dreamed the soft 

dreams 
Of inanimate things, while the shadows, it seems, 
Were conversing inaudibly, whispering low. 
And relating how nightly they glide to and fro ; 

J9 



A Candle-Light 

While the shrubs and small trees that grew few 

and apart. 
For 'mong rocks so they grow, were each wooing 

with art. 
The voluptuous, flirting, and sensuous gale. 
That with mists from the mountains descends in 

a veil. 
All things kissing, embracing, enshrouding them 

all. 
And refreshing the great ones, reviving the small. 
To the left was the sea, the great, mighty expanse. 
Over which was presiding, as far as our glance 
Could detect, a soft solitude, calm absolute, — 
Scarce a ripple was raised on the surface so smooth. 
Scarce a splashing was heard at the base of the 

crags. 
Scarcely blew the brisk wind, although seldom it 

lags. 
But white vapors were rising most slowly and still. 
In the air full expanding, ascending until 
Both the sea and the sky are united in one. 
Or 'twixt sky and the sea a fine webbing is spun 
That excludes almost all of a ship from our view 
Which lay anchored far off on the wavering blue. 
By the distant horizon illusion which lent 
It a charm, as if heaven and ocean have blent. 



20 



And Other Poems 

And the ship is named Enterprise, this ship of old, 
Of which often the hold was intrusted with gold, 
From the north frozen mines by great labor ob- 
tained, 
Or with silver that years in the earth was con- 
tained. 
Or with diamonds and pearls from the shores of 

Ceyl6n, 
Or remains and antiques from remote Babylon, 
And oft souls of frail men formed the cargo of 

weight 
Which this good ship, though loth, ever led in good 

faith 
To success and achievement, though fighting most 

brave 
The rough tempests, men's souls, gold and silver 

to save ! 
Yet that morning this vessel there motionless 

stood. 
With her sails tied to masts that were many a rood 
To the sky, though her colors were flung to the 

gale, 
With her helm quite a-weather, if ready to sail 
But awaiting a favoring wind, while the sun 
From behind her spread out like a fan, and begun 
To shoot forth golden beams that were brilliantly 
bright, 

2t 



A Candle-Light 

And that, spreading throughout, were dispersing 

the night. 
On a rough rocky eminence beetling his top 
Far above the calm surface, where thinly the crop 
Is of daisies and pansies, the thyme and the rose, 
And where thinly the shrubage despairingly grows, 
A young child ^mid the shadows was running at 

play 
And fast chasing a butterfly, beautiful, gay. 
And most brilliant in colors, which, seeing its 

plight. 
With its fluttering winglets now doubled its flight. 
Oh poor, innocent butterfly, beautiful thing, 
'Tis thy beauty that harms thee, and love is the 

sting 
Whereby oft thou art stung, whereby oft thou art 

hurt. 
Although far better treatment is thy true desert. 
But our love is a poison, our kindness a bane. 
Which afford less of pleasure than sorrow and pain. 
And this child was none other than Henry our 
boy. 
On the top of the precipice skipping with joy 
While on pleasure intent, nor was he there alone. 
But nearby, 'neath a tree, on a moss-cover'd stone, 
Sat his sister, his guardian, facing the sea. 
Deeply thoughtful and lost in profound revery, 
22 



And Other Poems 

And beside her a sailor-lad motionless stood, 
Also thoughtful and sunk in a sorrowful mood, 
With her hand clasp'd in his, in his eyes a blank 

stare. 
And his features betraying some worry and care. 
If we were simple rustics we^d come to the 
front 
Their acquaintance to make, not designed to af- 
front. 
Nor their peace to disturb, but just simply to ask 
Them what ails them, what think they, what is 

now their task. 
But we, urbanized, polished, as ever we've been, 
We would think this simplicity a social sin ; 
Nathless, wishing to know of them all we can 

know. 
We, of course, will betake us to bushes that grow 
Close behind them, — as always polite people do. 
Unobserved there observing and hearing these two. 
This young sailor seemed slightly above 
twenty years. 
By a twelvemonth her senior, yet surely appears 
More like one who in life as in prudence matured, 
With his mind in sincerity firmly secured. 
Of a manly appearance and strong, noble frame. 
He commands admiration, respect, and that same 
Well-disposed inclination which lastingly serves 

23 



A Candle-Light 

For the honor of one who such honor deserves. 
For being fair both in nature, in mind and in face, 
What more, then, could he summon to claim from 

us grace ? 
Or what more, then, display than a masculine mind 
With a feminine heart in one person combined? 
But there standing near by the young maiden that 

sat 
On the moss-cover'd stone, I must tell it, though 

flat. 
That his masculine mind and his feminine heart 
Were at war with each other, each wishing the part 
Of supremacy, like some old neighboring feuds 
'Twixt which Rivalry her awkward presence in- 
trudes. 
Then both bursting upon him with furious stress. 
He seemed eager to speak, as you now almost 

guess. 
Yet restrains, then attempts, and then, lifting his 

head, 
With his hand pointing far, he thus nervously said : 
"Yonder lies the good ship that must bear 
me away. 
Quite away beyond regions where men never stray 
Nor yet musingly linger, as often they do 
When no danger awaits them, no tempests are due. 



2^ 



And Other Poems 

But our journey will be a tempestuous one, 

And the seas will be rough ^neath the tropical sun ; 

And the seas will be rough ^neath the north frozen 

moon, 
And the streams will be high with the Asian 

typhoon, 
As from harbor to harbor we'll rapidly sail. 
And no port of the world our strong vessel will 

fail; 
But ere I will return a full year will elapse, 
And a year of one's life is a terrible lapse." 

Here he finished, and Vesta, suppressing a 
sigh, 
Softly framed this consoling and tender reply : 
^*It is strange that thou, living for years on the 

sea. 
On that deep, throbbing heart, where thou ever 

wilt be 
For the love of its splendor, as oft thou hast told. 
Yet, moreover, because it forever must hold 
As so long it has held of thy parents the bones. 
Whose sad death is bewailed by the wind's fleeting 

moans ; 
Thou, who often the roughest of weather didst 

brave 
As the roughest of tempests, would once, meseems 

save 

25 



A Candle-Light 

Thee the trouble of sailing the sea. Yet behold ! 
O'er the ship the bright sun sheds his purple and 

gold, 
And smiles lavishly on the brave crew ! then rejoice 
And cheer up, for the omen is good, and a voice 
Speaks encouragement from the great deep; from 

above 
God will watch thee, protect thee, and send thee 

His love." 
"If it seems strange to thee, it does not so 
to me. 
For which reason my words more explicit shall be. 
Seest thou yonder black crow -with adventurous 

wing 
On the smooth surface flying a roundabout ring? 
She would fain in the deep silent waters descend 
For a fish or a crab, if she upward could wend ; 
But the fear of her losing the light in the air 
Quite prevents her descending the ocean to dare. 
I recoil not from sea nor from storm-breeding 

gales, 
Nor from hardship or toil that my station entails, 
Nor demur I to leave there the rough, rocky 

strand ; 
But the thought that my treasures remain on the 

land. 
All my riches, my glory, the jewels of my crown, — 
26 



And Other Poems 

That my soul's aspirations, my hopes are laid down 
At the mercy of winds and caprice of the seas, — 
That thought vexes and renders me so ill at ease." 
A short pause now ensued, of the two neither 

spoke, 
Till, impatiently growing, the silence he broke; 
"And though suns may oft shine on the ship's 

noble masts. 
It prevents not the coming of seafaring blasts; 
And though Providence often may watch us on 

deck. 
It not always prevents us becoming a wreck. 
And a year is so long and one's life is so short, 
That we sailors prefer oft remaining in port." 
Vesta sighed now most certainly, ask me not 
why, 
And a tear bright as dew she wiped quick from 

each eye; 
Though I know not the reason, I heard not the 

cause. 
But her answer now due will reveal, I suppose, 
To our full satisfaction the motive thereof; 
Thus she spake these sweet words like a whispering 

dove: 
"Yet be patient, let nothing distract thy good 

mind; 
When unshaken the Will it is easy to find 

27 



A Candle-Light 

The Way leading to triumph and brilliant suc- 
cess; 
Therefore let not vain fancies thy spirits oppress; 
Nor mere fears thy brave heart with vain sorrows 

depress. 
For such trifles oft broken have many a plan, 
And have often wrought havoc with many a man, 
While deceived was their purpose, their hopes aU 

dissolved. 
Life's endeavors unfinished, life problems un- 
solved." 
"It is true what thou say'st,'' he with ardot 
exclaimed, 
*'And I'll heed the advice thou so kindly hast 

framed ; 
Yet but tell me one word, 0, dear Vesta, do say. 
Wilt thou think of me somewhat when I am away ? 
Also when, the year ending, I shall have returned, 
Wilt thou be somewhat glad when thereof thou 
hast learned ?" 
Quite surprised by such query and taken 
aback. 
Just that moment the proper reply did she lack, 
And could simply say coldly, as say would the 

most: 
**A strange question thou askest; the answer thou 
know'st." 

28 



And Other Poems 

The advantage her answer afforded was plain, 
Which to grasp and make use of he would not re- 
frain ; 
Hence he stooped close behind, o'er her shoulder 

then bent. 
His right arm 'round her neck he most cautiously 

sent. 
His left hand hers still pressing, though pressing 

more tight ; 
Should you think him too bold you were certainly 

right. 
But perhaps we must blame now his feminine 

heart. 
Or the fact that he soon for a year must depart, 
But whatever the cause, it is certainly true 
He pressed close as his theme he essayed to pursue. 
"Since thou so much presumest," is what he 
replied, 
"On my knowledge of thee, let me not be denied 
That same privilege, by which, when granted it is. 
My discourse may be guided, nor guided amiss. 

"Canst recall it to mind, long ago, when of old 
We were playmates about here, and pleasures un- 
told 
On us waited from morning till late in the eve. 
And much-needed repose in the night did relieve 



29 



A Candle-Light 

Our non-anxious minds? Though mere children, 

I hung 
On thy path, thou as well at my side ever clung. 
Each the other admiring and loving so well, 
As of gnomes and of gnomides the stories they 

tell; 
Nor our parents objected, but rather were glad 
To behold our young hearts with young love run- 
ning mad. 
"I was reared for the sea and the life it de- 
mands, 
And was trained by a brave sailor's strong tawny 

hands. 
That me guided through dangerous passes of youth 
As through dangerous passes of sea; they made 

smooth 
All the rough ragged waves of the seafaring life. 
And so fashioned my nature that it be not rife 
With the failings and faults of a land-lubber's life. 
For that sailor was none but my father and he 
This unflagging, kind vigilance kept over me. 
And my mother encouraged me in this good work, 
And enjoined on me never my duties to shirk; 
Yet demanded that often to home we return. 
Which, when done, to satiety soon would I learn 
Of the comforts and pleasures of home, and the 

bliss 
Of a motherly blessing, a motherly kiss. 

30 



And Other Poems 

"Yet thou, Vesta, wert ever in mind as in 

sight, 

And when once, on a terrible, storm-beaten night. 

The black sea swallow'd them that I loved so well. 

For me, too, seemed to sound the hoarse funeral 

bell. 
And the grave stood wide gaping my corpse to re- 
ceive. 
And grim death was at hand me of life to relieve. 
For naught else could I see than gross shadows and 

grim, 
And fantastic appearances, cloudy and dim, 
As if arms were raised beckoning up from the sea, 
And their voices, though drowned, seemed yet call- 
ing for me. 
That I thought I would follow them to the great 

deep. 
The same fate to obtain, the same fortunes to reap ; 
Then I thought of thee, Vesta, as if in a dream 
I could see thee in tears, and distressed didst thou 

seem, 
That I said to me, 'Hold ! let no rashness occur ; 
For if not for thyself, thou must live still for 
her/ " 
He moved forward to see the effect it pro- 
duced. 
And beheld her face bathing in tears thus induced 

3J 



A Candle-Light 

By the tale so pathetic ; then, growing more bold, 
On his knee by her side the remainder he told : 

**Since then, Vesta, thou wert of my life the 
sole hope. 
Of my days the sole light, that whenever I grope 
In the dark underpasses of human affairs, 
Full despairing, and burden'd with burdensome 

cares. 
If it be in the East, if it be in the West, 
On what sea or what country my soul feels de- 
press' d. 
But thy name I need mention, of thee I need think, 
And distress and despair instantaneously sink 
Into utter oblivion, past and forgot ! 
Thus thou lightest my life and mak'st lighter my 
lot. 
'^Nor reject now my pleadings, nor harden thy 
heart. 
Oh, forbear, my dear Vesta, to give me the smart, 
For — nay — ^yes, I must tell it ; I come a great way 
At thy angel-like feet my heart's contents to lay ; 
And believe me I love thee, ah yes, though a plain. 
Common sailor, 'tis true, yes indeed, 'twas not sane 
Thus to tell, but in Heaven they make it, they 
forge 

It, and, ^" Eising she here interrupted : "Oh, 

George ! 

32 



And Other Poems 

Canst thou cherish the feelings I cherish for 

thee?" 
"May the heavens attest to my word !" answer'd he. 
Long they stood in each other's fair arms 
close embraced, 
Neither utter'd a word; on each brow could be 

traced 
Utmost happiness, such as true lovers can feel 
That at last their long hidden affections reveal. 
As when one in ecstatic emotion is lost 
O'er a kinsman or friend, to make sure that his 

host 
Is still present he clasps him more tight to his 

breast. 
So now George, this young sailor-lad, frequently 

press'd 
The fair Vesta against his emotional heart, 
And as often caress'd her with tenderest art, 
Yet distrusted his senses, believed not his eyes. 
Not believing, and therefore demanded thuswise: 
"Is it true, then, my angel, my darling, my 
joy, 
Is it true that thou lov'st me, and couldst thou 

employ 
Thy good heart and fair mind in a cause all my 

own. 
Or have our sep'rate causes in one lately grown?" 

33 



A Candle-Light 

"It is true, my dear friend, now the spark is ap- 
plied, 
And our hearts as our causes together are tied 
By Love's strong, indissoluble bands. By that 

Light 
After which my soul ever aspires, by that Might 
All things ruling, by Heaven that spreadeth above, 
I declare now my constant, unwavering love. 
May the angels deign solemnize this with a song, 
For I know, all things equal, it cannot be wrong.'* 
And to this he retorted: "I swear by the sea 
Which I love, and the stars which our guidance 

must be. 
That my word is most true, my affection most 

pure, 
Which the length of my life shall not fail to en- 
dure; 
And whatever may chance and whatever may 

change, 
These resolves in the future shall nothing de- 
range. 
"Lo ! I look in thine eyes,'* he exclaimed as he 
paus'd, 
"And behold in each one a vast sea ! I feel lost 
In their depth, I feel lost in their height, so im- 
mense 



34 



And Other Poems 

Their extent! like the shoreless and floorless ex- 
panse. 

All serene are their surfaces, peace there abides ! 

Nor are surging their waves, nor are rising their 
tides ; 

And thy brow spreads above them as calm as the 

sky, 

Fraught with deep meditations, exalted and high. 
Be thou ever my loved one, my angel, my sprite. 
So that thee I will worship and ever will dight 
In rich garlands of roses and lilies and th3^me. 
And forever adore thee. And the length of time 
That I must be away, in all parts of the earth, 
On all streams, on all seas, either sorrow or mirth 
Breed the soil, breed the clime, good or bad be my 

lot. 
Still my thoughts as my mind shall be fixed to this 

spot." 
"And so, too," she made answer, "wherever 
thou art. 
In the cold, in the heat, thou bear'st with thee my 

heart. 
And my eyes shall still follow thee, land in, land 

out. 
With my blessings pursuing, — thereof be no doubt. 
But, ah ! must thou go forth? My heart is not at 

ease 

35 



A Candle-Light 

When I think of thee braving the harassing seas.'* 
"Be thou comforted ! fear not my voyage at 
large, 
I myself fear it not ; though exacting my charge. 
Still I prize such a life. One thing, love, will I 

pray ; 
When I am to return, a full year from this day. 
Thou wilt place in thy lattice a taper whose light, 
Like a star, will direct me in darkness of night. 
And if winds or rough seas our good vessel delay. 
Be thy heart not oppressed nor assailed by dismay, 
But just light in thy window the candle each 

night. 
Till, arriving, I may in the night see its light." 
"This be sure will I do, and remember, I 
pray, 
Where the lattice permits the light's glimmering 

ray 
To shine out on the sea, sits thy love there alone. 
Disconcerted, dejected, dishearten'd and prone 
To unpleasant distemper, until the year's close. 
Thou returning, will bring to her cheerful repose." 
"Be, my fair, of good cheer," he replied, "nor 
admit 
To thy heart this chagrin or vexation unfit. 
Let us hope and be patient, for patience and hope 
In the end will of happiness broaden the scope. 

36 



And Other Poems 

But farewell now, my darling, my love, say 

good-by ! 
Of the morning the veil is uplifted, and nigh 
Comes the sun to the top of the masts on yon ship ! 
I must hasten my steps to start out on our trip." 
A right friendly farewell she him bade, and 
him blessed, 
As becomes an occasion when friendship is pressed, 
Till they finally deemed it was time to depart, 
And he did, after many attempts, really start 
On his way, going down a curved precipice, steep 
And inclined, 'mong the cliffs in the canyon-like 

deep 
Of the mountains; still downward and downward 

he went. 
And his path seemed a winding and endless de- 
scent 
Through the thin sloping meadow, like some be- 
witched shore 
A charmed ocean encircling a thousand times o'er. 
At last he is discerned like a small tiny speck 
At the foot of the mountain, approaching a neck 
Of the sea that stretch'd out like a natural moat 
Well protecting a fortress, then enter'd a boat 
Him awaiting, immediately plying the oars, 
When the mountains receded, receded the shores. 



37 



A Candle-Light 

Far above stood his sweetheart down-looking 
at him 
Disappearing far off in the shadowy, dim, 
And deep distance, that seems without length, 

without end, 
Without breadth, without measure, whereto all 

things tend 
That are dubious, doubtful, and unascertained, 
And where Chance, Fate, Illusion dwell self-en- 
tertained. 
Soon this distance grew out of proportion and he. 
Scarce discernible, came to the ship on the sea, 
The ship we have named Enterprise, boarded her 

then, 
And she, soon setting sail, went from sight of all 
men. 
Vesta stood long in silence and ceased not 
to gaze 
On the closing horizon where floated a haze 
And closed over her George and the ship. A deep 

sob 
Left her breast, well she knew, well she felt the 

heart's throb. 
And upweird as a fountain the tears to her eyes. 
Yet remained there and flowed not, as clouds in 

the skies 
Keep the rain in suspense, any moment to fall. 

38 



And Other Poems 

At this instant came Henry and joyous did call 
To her, having of sorrow or care not a thought : 
"Sister, see what I have ! a nice butterfly caught 
In the bushes beyond ; I will tear off its wings 
And then try, '' "Heavens! don't, my good 

child; on these things 
Have compassion, have mercy ; how beautiful they ; 
Has it harmed thee ? or hurt thee ? or stung thee ? 

do say ! 
Let it go, let it fly, make it free, it will thank 
Thee so much, " Nothing more could she say, 

but just sank 
To the ground, her hands cover'd her face, her 

long hair 
Flowed about, and her weeping was lost in the air. 



Canto III. 

A year now had elapsed, and fair Vesta is seen 
In her chamber alone 'mid the dark sylvan scene 
Of the evening's soft hour, when the tranquil de- 
cline 
Of the sun emits faint mellow light on the line 
Of the mountains ; deep shadows with silence hold 

sway 
On the landscape, the sea is engulfed in the spray 
39 



A Candle-Light 

That is thinly spread over its blue, sleepy face ; 
'Tis the hour when the wandering Spirits embrace 
Their good chance to appear on the earth once 

again, 
And the shades of the dead, reappearing, remain 
Over night, till at morning they flee with affright ; 
Not a soul dares to stir or walk out in the night, 
Or attempt to look into the darkness, but must 
E"cr pray to the Lord and in Him ever trust. 
So thought Vesta while sitting alone in her room 
Where a taper, erst lighted, dispersed the gloom 
From the only small window that faced on the sea, 
While upon a small table was placed, as might be, 
A vase full of grand flowers of elegant scent, 
Roses, daffodils, pinks, lilacs, and peppermint. 
Also sweet-smelling herbs of all kinds; while no 

less 
Was prepared a repast and warm drinks, I confess 
To hot coffee and tea and the like, for the one 
To arrive by the sea ere the coming of dawn. 

Now the darkness descended and blacken'd the 

And all things on the earth were as dark, while on 

high 
Were the stars all extinguished, the moon in a 

cloud : 



40 



And Other Poems 

The waves rose in their height ; the wind whistled 

aloud. 
And the night was most stormy, yet Vesta reck'd 

not, 
But walked quietly in her small chamber about, 
Sitting down, then arising and looking outside, 
Through the window or door which, now opening 

wide. 
She could see but the darkness and hear but the 

roar 
Of the wind and the wave beating loud on the 

shore. 
Robed in white silken gown neatly trimmed to the 

waist, 
A pink rose on her breast, the hair dressed in good 

taste. 
All of grace, all of beauty, she seemed not unlike 
The fair Cynthia seeking, or waiting belike. 
For her young mortal lover far down in the cave, 
Never ceasing him making immortal to crave. 
Slowly went the slow hours of the night, slowly 

tolled 
The bell-buoy on the sea, ever slower there rolled 
The slim hands on the clock, pointing now toward 

one. 
Then at two, and at three, but it never had done 
Before this two short hours into more than a day ; 
4J 



A Candle-Light 

But yet would it reach four without further delay ? 
Shall it point farther still, or forever here stay? 
In her chair she at last fell asleep; yet the 
morn 
Lacked an hour to his birth, but the fury and scorn 
Of the winds now subsided and hoarse grew the sea, 
Calm returned, peace descended, and Dawn with 

a glee 
Fled from east toward west with alarming great 

speed, 
And spread over the land. Eusset Morning now 

freed 
From his nocturnal lair hastened fast toward noon ; 
The sun rose, the birds sang, the leaves rustled, 

and soon 
The midday in full splendor from heaven arrived, 
When a raven, belated, athwart the house dived 
Through the air, loudly croaking, — bad omen, no 

doubt, 
Which now Vesta aroused, and she glanced all 

about, 
Then walked out of the house to find him whom 

she sought. 
But no trace could she find, and no tidings were 

brought. 
Many days did she spend in this vigilant 
watch, 

42 



And Other Poems 

All av/ake in the night, in the day walking much 
On the shores of the sea, on the heights of the land, 
On the tall rocky hills that were ranged on each 

hand. 
Long and tedious weeks passed away, and three 

months 
Now expired, yet fair Vesta, expectant, not once 
Ceased to watch and to hope and to kindle the 

light; 
But he came not by day and he came not by night. 
The bleak month of November arrived, when 
the storms 
Assume menacing aspects and terrible forms. 
Yet she feared not nor heeded the storm nor the 

cold. 
But one drear afternoon, when a horror untold 
Swept the face of the land, she walked out to the 

cliffs, 
Thence to see if among the yachts, frigates, and 

skiffs. 
That come from the horizon there comes not that 

Ship 
Of proud crest and bold sails, homeward from the 

long trip. 
On whose deck is her sailor, her darling, her boy ; 
Him to meet with stretch'd arms and a heart full 

of joy, 

43 



A Candle-Light 

With a smile and a blessing, yet chiding withal 
For delaying so long and neglecting to call. 

In a plain snowy-white silken gown was she 

dressed, 
With two white and pink roses adorning her 

breast ; 
But the wind blew the roses in fragments away. 
And inflated her gown like a sail on the bay, 
And undid her long hair, and blew harsh in her 



If to tell her how hopeless and sad is her case. 
Then she knelt on the turf and prayed, weeping, to 

God, 
And her tears gushing forth hotly fell on the sod, 
While the clouds from above slowly dropped their 

own store. 
And the wind moaned and wailed louder yet than 

before. 
Yellow leaves from the trees fell in heaps on the 

drift. 
The sky loured, the clouds heaved, and the ocean 

did lift 
His wild clamoring tongues to the mountains, 

whence Jove 
Freed his thunder and lightning at pleasure to 

rove 
In this desolate chaos of nature pervers'd ; 
44 



And Other Poems 

A black squall rose anon, and the rocks seemed to 

burst 
With the blast that was beating against every side. 
And the scene was most terrible. Vesta then 

cried : 
"Oh, all-merciful Lord, save my love on the sea '/' 
And the echo remurmur'd, "my love on the sea." 
She arose and went swift to the house, for the 
rain 
Came in torrents, and Henry alone did remain. 
Doubtless fearing the storm; now she open'd the 

door 
And thus heard the child pray as he knelt on the 

floor: 
"God of Heaven, oh, save our good father at sea,'' 
And she thought how unlike her own prayer 

prayed he. 
Him she clasped in her arms and sank down in a 

seat, 
And him bathed in kisses and tears, as was meet. 
While the squall and the tempest augmented in 

force, 
The loud thunders and lightnings pursuing their 

course. 
And the rain seemed to fall without any remorse. 



45 



A Candle-Light 

Six months more sped away and our maiden 
grew sad 
And disheartened and pale, now in gray dresses 

clad 
And demurring aspect, often sighed she and wept. 
Never fully she woke, never fully she slept ; 
While Neglect took possession of all in the hut, 
Settling firmly therein, and Discomfort did shut 
The door over all pleasanter things ; she as well 
Was much changed, very listless and cast in a spell 
Of unceasing dejection and gloom unrelieved, 
While her father no more her attention received; 
Now his meal she forgot, now his bed overlooked. 
And her brother, her child, even, also was booked 
For the same; and their home was most dull and 

uncheer'd. 

All because her young sailor had yet not appeared. 

On a Sunday her father was home ; as he sat. 

His boots oiling, he glanced at his girl standing at 

The small window that looked on the sea, and his 

eyes 
Became dim and obscured, her observing thuswise. 
Then he said : "My dear daughter, of late I took 

note 
Thy demeanor so changed and thy nature so smote 
With unusual sadness. Disclose to me, then, 



46 



And Other Poems 

What oppresses thy spirits, whence comes it and 

whenr 
''It is nothing, dear father ; this sadness you see 
By the dull dreary weather is brought upon me." 
"Say not so, my good lass. This gray head 
is too old 
Not to know of some things which in vrords are not 

told. 
Whilom thou wert so happy and bright as a fay. 
Singing, dancing, rejoicing the length of each day, 
Now art downcast, if galled, and bear'st ever thine 

eye 
On the ocean's broad face, as if thence to descry 
Of thy Saviour the advent, while here every night, 
If to search Him or guide Him, thou keepest a 

light. 
Tell thy father, my girl, after what dost thou seek ? 
Mayhap he can assist thee; delay not, but speak.'' 
Then she turned and walked up to him, fell 
on her knees. 
And besought thus : "Oh, father, I am not at ease, 
Yet forgive me, I pray, for not telling ere now, 
But if ever thy blessing I needed, I vow. 
Oh, dear father, I need it most now.'' This she 

said, 
But could gay nothing more, and she burrowed her 

head 

47 



A Candle-Light 

In his lap and wept bitterly, bitterly sobbed, 
And her heart seemed abreaking, so strongly it 

throbbed. 
**God be with thee, my lassie,'^ he comforted her 
As he placed his browTi hand on her head, "naught 

deter 
Thee from telling thy father thy plight." So he 

bade. 
And she told him of George and the vow he had 

made, 
And the pledge she him gave, and their mutual 

consent, 
And their love for each other, and each one's intent 
To remain true forever, forever most true ; 
His departure and promised return overdue ; 
The real cause of the candle-light did she explain, 
And the cause of her sorrow and sadness made 

plain. 
Then her father consoled her as well as he could. 
And the seaman's vicissitudes made understood, 
And related long stories of fate and of chance. 
And of luck and adventure and sailors' romance. 
How at last all goes happy, as this case will be ; 
He remember'd George well, a good laddie was he, 
And he meant to give Vesta to him as a bride, 
Yet she need not despair, but in hope still abide ; 
He himself will go scouting the seas and perhap3 
Will yet meet him ere many a day will elapse. 
4$ 



And Other Poems 

So it was, and the fisherman sailed many days. 
Many months did he sail on the rivers and bays. 
On the sea and the ocean in quest of the one 
Who long since from the sight of all men has been 

gone. 
Of all sailors he met, of all vessels he saw- 
He demanded some clew, and attempted to draw 
Information concerning the ship Enterprise, 
And they gave him some tidings of her ^neath the 

skies. 
In the northern cold waters above Labrador, 
Past the straits and the islands, the haven and 

shore, 
Down the mighty Atlantic, 'round Cape of Fare- 
well, 
North to Iceland, there stopping some cargo to 

sell; 
And another declared that he saw her come thence 
Past the islands of Britain and harbors of France, 
Then at Lisbon put in for repairs. Others yet 
Saw her passing the Strait of Gibraltar and set 
Out for Malta, there passengers taking, and sail 
Toward Smyrna and Cyprus with baggage and 

mail ; 
Through the Isthmus she passed, so a captain de- 
clared, 



49 



A Candle-Light 

'Twixt the continents sailing, the tempest her 

spared. 
Though the tempest was great; then at Bombay 

she stopped, 
Sailed the coast of wild Africa, anchor then 

dropped, 
As some told, at the Cape of Good Hope ; later on 
She was spied at the mouth of the great Amazon ; 
And one saw her at Eio Janeiro, a third 
Saw her making Cape Horn; the Pacific was 

stirred 
By her pov/erful crest; she was Vhelmed in a 

squall 
On the waters misnamed, but escaped safe withal, 
Then was heard of at Feejee, was heard of again 
'Mong the islands more north, but was never since 

then 
Either heard of or seen by the seafaring men. 



In this way ten long years have been spent, 
and one eve. 
When the darkness to nature an aspect did give 
Of unqualified mourning and sombre distress, 
Our old fisherman, clad in the fisherman's dress, 
On his sloop lying stretched, with his face to the 

sky, 

50 



And Other Poems 

His hands crossed on the chest, slowly came sail- 
ing by 
The curved shore, and then drifted to right on the 

bay, 
Where his children discover' d him dead the next 
day. 
He was buried near by the lone hut; there 
alone 
Was he laid, with no monument or sculptured 

stone 
To mark out his cold grave, yet the grass-cover'd 

mound 
On the hill was by Yesta most easily found 
Where she daily brought flowers, the fresh-smell- 
ing growth 
That the valley would yield, and she often was loth 
To depart, but for hours there alone so she wept 
That her tears well could penetrate to the grave's 
depth. 
To the same occupation took Henry, now 
grown 
To be twenty ; equipped for his trade, he did own 
All utensils, his father's at first, a good boat. 
Many nets, a strong sloop, and more such that can 

float 
Both by sail and by oar, over deep, over shoal, 
With great speed, yet amenable to his control. 

5J 



A Candle-Light 

Other fishermen meanwhile arrived on the spot 
And made settlements, yet thereby Henry lost not. 
For enough were the fish and full wide was the sea 
To permit of the trade more extensive to be. 
They made settlements there and a village did 

build 
Which they Bleakville have named; soon its har- 
bor was filled 
With tugs, schooners, and vessels of many a kind. 
And the steam-cars were running thereto. As we 

find 
In such cases, the village grew up to a town. 
While its commerce increased every year. As the 

crown 
Of their glory was Vesta esteemed by each soul, 
And their pride, too, she was, for she played a 

chief role 
In the town ; taught the children at school, helped 

the poor. 
Sang in church, kept the post-office, made a detour 
Now and then ^mong the people their mites to 

collect 
For sick sailors and seamen who suffered neglect. 
Still she lost not her charms and her beauty yet 

had. 
Wherefore many a villager nearly ran mad 
With the love for her; many an one paid his suit 
52 



And Other Poems 

Wooed and lost, while she told each one that her 

pursuit 
Is "to hope and be patient, for patience and hope 
In the end will of happiness broaden the scope.'^ 
And one day a rich broker, concluding some 
deals 
For a car-load of whales and a car-load of seals, 
From the city arriving, thought what precious 

thing 
To the city a token from here could he bring. 
He was shown many opals and rubies and gems. 
Many diamonds and pearls set in gold diadems. 
But these are not the best of all gifts; so he 

thought 
As he strolled on the street ; then appeared, though 

unsought, 
A strange vision before him ; a goddess of light 
In the street stood full radiant, — glorious sight. 
Bending over a child that lay hurt on the walk 
And that, sickly and pale, was scarce able to talk. 
If this goddess has wings they are closely con- 
cealed 
By her dress, but her vestments and visage revealed 
Her true nature, a heavenly form ! gifted so 
With rare beauty and heaven's own attributes. Lo ! 
She stoops over and picks the child up with a kiss ; 
Bears it tenderly on to such place where there is 
53 



A Candle-Light 

Good provision and succor for cases like this. 
Then he followed her footsteps and followed them 

close, — 
As if drawn by invisible powers he goes, 
And then enter'd the house where the goddess de- 
layed, 
But soon found that this goddess is a mortal maid, 
And none other than Vesta; so charmed was he 

then 
That he thought a fair angel dwelt here among 

men. 
Far below fall the opals, gems, diamonds, and 

pearls, 
Here sweet Heaven itself to his senses unfurls ; 
What more rare or more precious a thing could he 

take 
Than so lovely a bride as she truly would make ? 
He accordingly told her his heart's burning flame, 
His unlimited wealth and illustrious name; 
He would make her as happy and rich as a queen, 
And would furnish a palace the best ever seen 
Of fine marble and granite, with gardens around, 
Where will riches and luxuries ever be found. 
And attendants and servants and maids will 

abound. 
She herself will go dressed in the costliest silk. 
By rich jewels adorned, pearls as white as pure 

milk, 

54 



And Other Poems 

And large diamonds and rubies imbedded in gold, 
Trimmed with fabrics that by Orientals are sold. 
She will live a most happy and fortunate life. 
If she only would say that she would be his wife. 
Himself young and quite handsome he might well 

expect 
Her reply in the positive, in which respect 
He found he was mistaken, for, thanking him 

much. 
She refused him and added with exquisite touch: 
"I must put in my lattice a taper each night. 
Till, arriving, he may in the night see its light." 

Of all things we regret in the passing of years 
Are the years themselves, passing if oceans of tears 
And unnumber'd raised hands, all imploring their 

stay. 
Are unworthy a cause for their steps to delay. 
At the threshold of life ourselves once do we find 
Then all passes like some panorama, and blind 
Is the eye that discerns not the flight, and the ear, 
Too, is deaf that the passing of life cannot hear. 
We entreat yet a moment, implore yet an hour. 
We beg prostrate before the eternal great Pow'r 
That our time be extended, however though short ; 
We have learned our hard lessons, our battles we 

fought, 

55 



A Candle-Light 

And will profit now by them and wisely live well, 
If some years but be granted wherein we might tell 
Our experience to others ; but no, 'tis too late ! 
Soon our end is decreed by implacable Fate, 
Which consigns us to that from which first we 
were made. 
Vesta found her years fleeting as swift as a 
sail 
On the wind, — she her fiftieth birthday could hail ; 
But, more sad to relate, as fast flitted her charms, 
And her beauty now waned. That first sign which 

alarms 
Genteel people, that silvery turn of the hair. 
Lighted on her fair head, and she now was awars 
That old age is advancing, advancing too fast, 
And her future will soon be a thing of the past. 
Her face wrinkled, cheeks sunk, and the eyes be- 
came dim, 
Her hands brown, and her form became stooping 

and slim; 
All joy vanished, the thrill of her heavenly voice 
Died away ; for no pleasure or cheer had she choice 
Or desire, but despaired of all hope, yet hoped on. 
Perhaps fate will decree that George finally may 

come; 
So she placed yet each night in her window the 

light. 
But he came not by day and he came not by night. 
56 



And Other Poems 

Decades two made the mark; an old woman 
we find 
In a fisherman's hut all alone, almost blind 
From much weeping, gray, weary, emaciate, weak, 
And forlorn, doubled up, almost crouching, a freak 
Of some sort she appears; quite rheumatic and 

lame, 
She keeps much to her bed; health on her has no 

claim, 
Nor yet seems to have had for some years. Now 

her part 
Is completed, her duties are done, thpugh her heart 
Is oppressed with severe disappointment and grief ; 
Her mind suffers all torments and finds no relief. 
She walks out in the nightfall, unable to sleep. 
And, unable to rest, all day long does she weep ; 
Her misfortunes were great and her pleasures were 

slight. 
And her life seemed a watchful, continuous night. 
Unrequited her patience, her kindness unpaid ; 
Unrewarded her labors, her fortunes unmade. 
Now forgotten and lost by the ones she once help'd, 
And neglected by all, in deep silence she felt 
The cold cruelty gnawing her heart. In the street 
Were the gamins pursuing her, as with bare feet 
And in tatters she walked; they would snatch out 

her crutch 

57 



A Candle-LightJ 

And assail her, and mockingly tease her, as such 
Village urchins can do. And they named her the 

witch, 
Or the sorceress, famed in her art to be rich ; 
Well instructed in magic and learned in its rules, 
As beseems the arch-queen of the paupers and 

fools. 
It was rumored in town that she often consorts 
With the demons of night, and that nightly she 

sports, 
Turning young at her will, with the rest of her 

train, 
As they dance 'round their caldrons again and 

again. 
She was heard by one talking when no one was 

near. 
And in forests conversed, as if forests could hear ; 
And one saw that she fed once a hare, once a bird, 
Doubtless that was the devil transformed ; she was 

heard 
Shrieking forth incantations; and oft in the dark 
Has been seen from the shore a small boat to em- 
bark. 
While her house, why, 'tis known even to every 

child. 
Is possessed by the demons ; there orgies most wild 



58 



And Other Poems 

Of the ghosts and the spirits take place, there they 

meet 
In assemblage, hold council, and each other greet ; 
For proof, go to the house any time of the night, 
And you'll see in the window is burning a light. 
So lived on our poor Vesta that once was so 
fair. 
And that once could be thought a sweet queen of 

the air. 
Thus she sufferM while living, but suffered not 

long, 
For a year or two later her illness a strong 
And firm hold on her took ; there she lay to arise 
Nevermore, yet for months linger^ on in this wise. 
Then at last, her hour knowing, she called Henry 

up 
To her bedside and said : "Dear brother, the drop 
Of life's essence is ebbing away, and my soul 
Must depart. Who knows whither? Who knows 

of its goal? 
I have suffer'd in patience, in hope did I live, 
And will die now in peace if thy promise wilt give 
Still to keep in my lattice a taper each night, 
That, in case he arrives, he may yet see the light.'' 
And, by Henry assured, she turned once in her bed, 
Then collapsed all exhausted and silent and dead. 



59 



A Candle-Light 



Abused by the World 

A FLOWER sweet, with colors bright, 
Shining at day as well as night. 
Its fragrance transcends mountain-height, 
Is so much abused by the world. 

Its virtues are for common good. 
To some it is a kind of food. 
Yet it is treated cruel and rude ; 
Oh ! how abused by the world I 

It enlightens the thoughtful few, — 
Empowers their bodies anew, 
'Twill reach a climax in time due ; 
But oh ! how abused by the world ! 

Bees, dragons, reptiles, what a heave! 
Its friends and foes, they ask no leave; 
Taking all, but have naught to give, — 
Oh ! what an abuse by the world ! 
60 



And Other Poems 

I weep for thee, thou precious gift, 
Thou that can high the world uplift, 
I weep that thou art in this drift 
Of dreadful abuse by the world. 

Courage ! courage ! floweret sweet. 
In the near future thou wilt lead, 
Everywhere thy goodness wilt breed. 
When there'll be no abuse by the world. 

New Haven, December, 1895. 



6i 



A Candle-Light 



Facetious Snowflakes 

Happy seem the snowfiakes 
As they dance in the air ! 
bKipping and slipping, — ^but descending, 

They with pure whiteness cover the lair. 
They tumble and leap while 

Bnoy'd by the gentle breeze, 
And sliding and gliding, — but falling. 

They crown with whitecaps the leafless trees. 
Skipping and sliding, 
Slipping and gliding. 
Verily flying with joyance fair ! 
Bouncing and falling, 
Leaping and crawling. 
Speak, ye snowflakes, know ye no care ? 

They spake not and said naught. 

But just fell to the ground, 
Shifting, and drifting, and roving, as 

They mournfully glid from mount to mound. 
And Earth, Men, Horses, Trees, 

And all things else of note, 
62 



And Other Poems 

Became enrobed in purit}- white, 

As the little snowflakes downward smote. 
Shifting and drifting, 
Koving and falling. 
Faithfully spreading Truthfulness pure ! 
Whitish bedecking 
All Earthly speckling, — 
Is it of use ! Say, are ye quite sure ? 

They spake not and said naught. 

But just fell to the ground. 
Shifting, and drifting, and roving, as 

They mournfully glid from mount to mound. 

New Haven, February 20, 1897. 



63 



A Candle-Light 



To My Niece 

My dearest child, though young in years, 
In limbs not strong, in features delicate. 

Your brow bespeaks the intellect of peers. 
Your gleaming eyes show wisdom intricate; 
While kindness, love, and virtues infinite 

Do rest upon thy comely little face, 

Imparting to it everlasting grace. 

And when the gloomy hours of weary days 
Steal in upon me like a winter night, 

Approaching gently, in your cunning ways. 
You stand inquiring; pleading at my side: 
You ask me why I'm silent, why I sighed, 

You wonder at my sad, despairing mood. 

And say you'd help me if you only could. 

You climb my knee, though not through my behest, 
And say no more but, in a quiet way. 

You rest your head upon my heaving breast. 
And thus perceive the heart that under lay : 
Its violent throbbing and its dreadful sway 

Disturb your peace, — as if you felt the smart, 

But nay, you feel it not, you know it not. 

64 



And Other Poems 

You cease your childish questions of the sun, 
The moon, the stars, fire, water, and the like, 

And lovingly, as oft before you've done. 
You steal your little arms around my neck : 
And this position did I prize and reck 

When absorbed I sat in thoughts both grave and 
deep. 

And you immersed in sweetest, quiet sleep. 

New Haven, July, 1897, 



^ 



A Candle-Light 



Seclusion 

Musingly sat I alone in my room. 
No one disturbing the prevalent gloom. 
The streets are so quiet, abandoned by all, — 
Vacant, like Eameses after its fall. 
Some neighbors are sleeping and some out of town, 
Others betook them to witness a clown. 
Who, mornings and evenings, in rain or in shine, 
Is ever disposed to produce Art divine. 
If only a shilling, a penny or two. 
He gets from each visitor, — claiming it due. 
Cajoling the people he blinded their eyes. 
And fooled them and tricked them through magic 

device. 
And made for them rabbits and birds and some 

swine. 
And all things that properly come in his line ; 
All of them living and breathing the air, — 
All of them beautiful, polished, and fair. 
The people stand gaping, — the fools that they are ! 
They see him not taking thcni out of a jar. 

66 



And Other Poems 

The clown disappears and one else takes his 
place, 
One with a kindlier, happier face. 
Dressed quite in fashion, he's all in a glee, — 
For higher the person the greater his fee. 
He talked to them politics, business, and trade, 
And told them how fortune and money is made. 
"Fortune just knocks,^' says he, "once at each door. 
Take her then, else you will see her no more/' 
And with this most sensible, finishing clause. 
He left amid hearty and cheerful applause. 

Others then came to deliver their parts, — 
All with emotional, big, and kind hearts. 
Whatever they said and whatever they did 
Had better be left as though under a lid ; 
Only to look at, to frown or to smile. 
At so much detestable, genuine guile. 

Sitting alone in my room, quite alone, 
I hear from afar that the trumpets are blown. 
People are shouting and children cry loud. 
Horses are neighing, and all are as proud 
As were the Egyptians when, back from her march. 
Was Isis within her celestial barge ; — 
After she traveled for many a mile. 
Across the Nyanza and down the great Nile, 
In search of Osiris, who, nailed in a box. 
Lay hid in the waters or under the rocks. 

67 



A Candle-Light 

But why this excitement, this foolish affray ? 
Ah, I forget 'tis electioning day. 

And mingled with shouts of joy come from 

below 
Echoes so strange, and still stranger they grow 
As I listen intentively ; hark ye and hear ! 
You do not distinguish these murmurs, I fear. 
Come they from out of the Earth's entrails deep ? 
Are they the rumblings an earthquake may reap? 
Or are they the groans from the suffering mass 
Who, ghost-like, before us do constantly pass ? 

Louder and louder these echoes become, 
Till mountains and meadows resound with the 

hum. 
The rocks and the forests are shook by the blast 
That comes from the east and the north and the 

west. 
And up from the south there come currents of 

air, — 
Thundering they come as a message they bear 
To all of the people on earth to be found. 
To masters and servants, to freed and the bound; 
To destitute mothers and fortuneless babes, 
To toilers who always, like fluctuant waves. 
Ceaselessly labor and patiently wait : 
To all who may love and to all who may hate 
To hear of this message, — it comes all the same, 
63 



And Other Poems 

And brings with it warnings that have as their 

aim 
To guide and instruct in a happier life. 
Where needless our struggle and merciless strife ! 
"Take heed I'' cried this message as onward it 

sped, 
"Take heed, for your bodies on weakness are fed ; 
Your conscience is drenching in guilt and in 

crime ; 
Your feet do not tread but in sleet and in slime. 
You cheat and you kill, and you lie and you rob. 
And yet wish to wear Truth's purity garb ! 
Beware, ye men, lest on some future day 
You'll witness your works with the deepest dis- 
may. 
Possessed will you then be by sorrow and grief. 
But naught will avail nor afford you relief." 

Thus thundered the warning which bounded 

through space, — 
Exhorting, advising the whole human race. 
And fleeting still faster, it doubled its speed, 
While loud rang the echo: "Take heed, oh, take 

heed r 
But the people, they heed not this warning, 

forsooth ! 
They hear not the prophet foretelling the truth. 
The people, these people ! they're out on the streets 
69 



A Candle-Light 

To choose for them masters, to vote for their 

chiefs ; 
To see the great Jugglers, the Clowns and the 

Fools, 
And join in their gamings and play with their 

tools. 
Secluded, I find me alone at my hearth, 
And, being alone, I can best see the mart 
Where men are in dealing with flesh and with 

blood, 
And barter their honor for dirt and for mud. 
Secluded, I hear well the rumblings through 

space, — 
Methinks that the Judgment has come for this 

race. 

New Haven, 'August, 1897. 



70 



And Other Poems 



In Despair 

When all the hopes have left me, — 

When none remained behind 
To cheer me in my sorrow 

And soothe my troubled mind ; 
When all the floral beauties 

Imagination gave 
Have vanquished, like oeloved ones 

Within a dismal grave; 
When all that was is over. 

And mirth and joy depart, 
'Twas then my head was drooping 

And heavy was my heart. 

'Twas then, in time of trouble, 

When all things changed to worse, 
So treated harsh by fortune 

That Hunger was my nurse ; 
My friends have then deserted. 

And left me quite alone 
To battle in the tempest 

And fight the dragon-drone : 
7J 



A Candle-Light 

Heavy indeed it weighted 

Upon my weary form, 
Yet none there were to sympathize 

Or help me in the storm ! 

The day has passed and faded, 

And darkest night encroached. 
While, stealthily and serpent-like, 

Despair had then approached; 
Without a hope for the future, 

No light to show the way, 
No staff to lead or guide me 

But that would lead astray : 
I sat thus brooding, thinking. 

And endless grew my thoughts ! — 
Despairing, thinking, brooding. 

Till drowned in Sorrow^s draughts. 

New Haven, October U, 1897. 



72 



And Other Poems 



Where is the Word 

Oh ! if but one word would stand for all 
The grief and troubles of my soul, 
How terse, how sharp the word would be I 
And full expressing misery. 

If but one word would stand for all 
The grief and troubles of my soul, 
How great, how vast that word would be ! 
Of depth no less than deepest sea. 

Ah, the grief and troubles of my soul. 
Which seem not ended therewithal ! 
For from my loved ones tidings come 
Of sad mishaps and broken home. 

Such sad mishaps, oh! sad indeed 
When helpless people are in need. 
And grim disease their hearts doth bleed, 
While death in fate's decrees they read. 

73 



A Candle-Light 

Avaunt, thou cruel, frightful thing ! 
Avaunt, Death, thou mortal sting ! 
They are yet young, they must still live, 
They must yet life their children give. 

Oh ! if but one word would stand for all 
The grief and troubles of my soul, 
'Twould save me writing all this down, 
And spare perchance a groan or frown. 

But not a single word, nor thought. 
Can stand for all these things have wrought 
Within my soul, — my heart and mind; — 
There are no words of such a kind ! 

New Britain, December 11, 1897, 



74 



And Other Poems 



Can It Be 

Oh, dear me, 
How can it be 
That mortals like we 
Be happy and free ? 

Oh, can it be, — 

Mortals like we 
Be happy and free, 
Like gods of the lee ? 

But, were we 
Happy and free. 
Then all men would see 
A good destiny. 

Happy and free 
All men must be ; 
Then part with the fee 
That's called for, with glee. 

Part wi' the fee, — 
Span the wide sea, 
Then all men will be 
Most happy and free. 

New Britain, December 21, 1897, 
75 



A Candle-Light 



Some Thoughts on a December Day 



It is a dreary day, so all confess, 

And all dejected feel and sorely sad, — 

Because such dismal days as this depress 
All spirits, if divine or human clad. 

An autumn day it is, and all things here 
Attest to it, as speechless things can do ; — 

The winds, the mists, the rain, the weather drear. 
The dark gray billows moving to and fro. 

II- 

So dismal, naked, lonely stand the trees. 
Upright, yet bending low before the gale ; 

Below are thickly strewed their once-green leaves, 
Now flying in the air like bouncing hail. 

The little saplings, bending to the ground. 
Obeisance pay to wild destructive force. 

The little shrubs and bushes on the mound 
Are much disturbed, as if by some remorse. 
76 



And Other Poems 

And low and lower come the thick black clouds, 
Enveloping the Earth in fleecy folds, 

Till all seems wrapt in mourning shrouds, 

Yea, all, — from greatest rocks to smallest molds, 

From deepest valleys to the mountain-tops, 
From sea to land, from land to meadows vast ; 

While flowers, herbs, and many growing crops, 
Uprooted, flee before the gallant blast. 

So fiercely blows the howling, savage wind, 
As to uproot the earth was its design. 

Or with destruction great the heavens rend, 
And bring about at last the world's decline. 



in. 



While through the streets or on the road you seem 
To move within a medium dense and gray ; 

Your vision dimmed, scarce lighted by a beam 
From hidden light, yet know that this is day. 

And know this be an autumn day, the worst 
Of any days that autumn offers up ; 

A gift to man to make him feel he's cursed, 
And make him taste from Xature's bitter cup : 
77 



A Candle-Light 



To make him feel what melancholy is, 
How well morose and dreariness compare, 

And make him long for what he could not miss, 
And make him wish for death's abhorrent 
snare ; — 

For this is not the autumn of the year 
Alone, but also of the Human Life, — 

A season which is filled with hate and fear 
Arising from that endless, bitter strife. 

An endless, bitter strife, for such it is, — 
A long, continuous, unbecoming war. 

Where one's misfortune makes another's bliss, 
And one man's wine is but another's gore. 

This double autumn makes it doubly sad. 
And casts a gloom around us far and wide, 

Which, like a shadow flapping overhead. 
Comes and goes, even as the moving tide. 

IV. 

The rain, admixed with snow, falls languidly. 
If loath to spread itself on muddy soil, 

The housetops, walks, and streets appear to be 
Belabored well by Natiire's ceaseless toil. 

75 



And Other Poems 

Some dirty pools lie stagnant in the street, 

And hollows, nooks, and crags with mud are 
fiUed; 

The pavements are bedecked with odious sleet, 
As if the Titans here their venom spilled. 

I sit and look upon this dreary scene, 

While gazing through bedewed and sweating 
panes, 
And feelings in me rise no more serene 

Nor less disturbed, though no disorder reigns. 

'Disorder, discord, in my breast is not. 

Yet otherwise the contrast striking seems ; — 

Without, the tempest wages battles hot; 
Within, the heart doth flutter as it deems 

To overcome its pains by violent means : 
Outside, accumulated fogs and mists 

Exclude the sun with all his shining beams; 
Within is hope shut out and gloom exists. 

V. 

My room is dark and cold and desolate. 

And in the fireplace the wood is burned; — 
The fire out, the ashes cold remained, — 

The walls are moist, as if to weep they^ve 
learned. 

79 



A Candle-Light 

A chill so thrilling cold creeps over me, 

And freezes all my blood, my heart congeals. 

Nor yet takes leave until my memory 

Is well impressed with aught that it reveals. 

For this is not a chill of simple mold, 
But from the human flock does it arise. 

And strikes some gentle folk as well as bold. 
And claims some noblest men as its due prize. 

Yea, mankind thus affords its gratitude 
To many men who live and toil for them ; 

Neglecting if they do not persecute. 
Forgetting if they do not torture them. 

I need not mention here what happed to those 
Who suffered thus, or reached an early grave ; 

Too dark the deeds ! too hideous to disclose 
The hundred-handed monster in his cave. 



TI. 



Some strange, vague feelings in my heart abide 
And cruelly play about its tender nerves. 

Yet mock its groans, and wantonly deride 
Its plaintive tones as it in anguish stirs. 
80 



And Other Poems 

The strangest feelings ! the which to explain 
I need for language seek or likeness find. 

Yet to unravel them I must abstain, 

For that would but disclose my inmost mind. 

Conflicting feelings, which thus seem to say : 
"Thou art despised, yet must thou love the 
more; 

They sneer at thee in this December day, 
Yet must thou love them even as before. 

"When all the world their backs have turned on 
thee. 

And torture, hoot, or jeer thee as they may. 
Oh, treat them fully to your sympathy. 

And think that this is their December Day.'* 

While others rise and murmur silently: 
"We rather pity them, but love them not; 

Acquiescence oppose we strenuously, 

Nor do we court the martyr's bitter lot." 

VII. 

Thus ever and anon these opposite 

And diverse feelings of my inmost heart, 

Dispute between them problems intricate 
And wish to solve for me that very part 



A Candle-Light 

Which I myself for years have tried to solve. 

Hark ! listen to the souiids confused without, 
As if some avalanche that, in dissolve,* 

Among the Alps with mirth doth play about ; 

Or rather if a milliard swarms of bees 
Are humming greatly over flowers sweet; 

Or many thousand crows among the trees 
Are fighting fiercely over carrion meat; 

Nay, worse, as if ten thousand vultures strong, 
A carcass seeing by some weeds unfurled. 

Are screaming wildly as they downward throng : — 
Such is the clamor of our noisy world. 

This noisy, busy world, incessant thing ! 

No rest, no peace, no happiness, no joy. 
No blessings which prosperity can bring. 

Nor any short 7'eprievement\ to enjoy. 

The busy world, — well, she concerns me not. 
E'en as with me herself does not concern ; 

I'd rather be unnoticed and forgot 

Than aught of grief and trouble more to learn. 

*I.e., in the act of dissolving; being dissolved, 
f For reprieve. 

82 



And Other Poems 

Unnoticed and forgot indeed I am, 

By friends deserted, if friends I e'er had ; — 

No cheering voice, no living, feeling gem 
To luminate the gloom and pleasure add. 

No living soul to bring its soothing balm. 
And quell the turbulence within my breast ; 

No gentle wind the raving waves to calm, 
And bring some comfort to a ship distressed. 

VIII. 

Alone thus in my chamber cold and dark. 
Depressed, discouraged, and in full dismay. 

Though quite resigned to Fate's deciding mark, 
I spend my hours of this December day. 

Farewell, ye visions of my mind, farewell ! 

Adieu, 3^e images of youth and hope. 
The years are flying fast, the ages swell. 

We both are now on a digressing slope ! 

Too soon, alas ! too soon our goal is reached, 
And now at last we have our parting ways. 

Too soon is hope and happiness impeached, — * 
Yet, one more kiss, another fond embrace 
* I.e., hindered. 

63 



A Candle-Light 

Before our course in life is finally sealed. 

The fact is firm, — ^the one we so abhor. 
For Fate has never yet her laws repealed ; 

Immutably they stand and e'er endure I 

'^Immutably they stand," the echo rings. 
And all the elements can prove it so. 

The wasted lands, the floods, the dried-up springs, 
The deserts wild to Fate their state do owe. 

Forever they endure, — the laws of Fate, 

Since rocks and seas, in time, their places 
change. 

For where the surging billows rolled of late 
Now towers in the air a mountain range. 

Great Empires, States, and Kingdoms live, then 
die. 

And Nations rise and fall as Time turns. 
Nineveh, Memphis, Carthage buried lie 

Beneath a vast and shapeless mass of ruins;* 

Alike the peoples which there lived and thrived, — 
Assyrians, Egyptians, and Carthag'ans, — 

Though each for immorality have strived. 
In oblivion went down with all their plans. 

* Of Carthage not even the iniins remain, and its site 
is a factor of dispute. 

84 



And Other Poems 

Thus in the valley of Oblivion 

All things are doomed at last to meet and stay, 
And ever sleep, as did Endymion 

In Latmian cave, nor wake to light of day. 

And d3rriasties, kings, monarchs, all are hurled 
Adown the sloping precipice of Time, 

Forgetting now their aims, their strifes, — the 
world. 
Its riches, grandeur, and its role sublime. 

So heavenly bodies, suns, moons, and stars. 
Alike ourselves to changes are consigned; 

Throughout the Fates ride their chariot cars, 
And deal with things the way they feel inclined. 

IX. 

Beside these things sublime and endless great 
Myself when vied,* I think, "What am I then?'' 

And when I notice still their changing state, 
Their glory, then their dark decline; and when 

I hear of Nations great and powerful 

That once held sway, but now forever gone. 
Their cities, shrines, and temples wonderful. 
Dispersed, as mist before the light of morn; 
*J.e., compared. 
85 



A Candle-Light 

And when I see that Nature's monuments 
Crumble away and shift from place to place, 

Eesigned, I bow my head in reverence, 
And wait to follow in that shady trace 

Which leads all men to their eternal rest ; — 
There in the deep to lie and change to clay 

And pass to better state, and then to best, 
To think no more of this December day. 

New Britain, January 20, 1898, 



86 



And Other Poems 



Shades of Darkness, Why Delay 

A SONG. 

Shades of darkness, why delay ? 
Come and bear me far away. 
Bear me far across the seas ; 
Over mountains, valleys, trees; 
Over cities' towering spires; 
Over floods and over fires; 
Over mean and harmful things. 
Bear me lightly on your wings. 

Bear me to that land sublime ; 

To that place where dwells no crime ; 

To the shores where joy is life; 

To the halls where bliss is rife; 

To that place, winged steed, 

Bear me quickly, speed, oh ! speed. 

Shades of darkness, why delay ? 
Come and take me far away. 

Take me from this seat of hell; 

From this place where furies dwell ; 

57 



A Candle-Light 

From this world of woe and toil; 
From this hall of waste and spoil ; 
From this field where death-knells ring, 
Take me quickly on your wing. 

Take me where the fairies live ; 

There the sun delight may give; 

There is Justice, Truth, and Love ; 

There, perhaps, in peace I'll move ; 

There, wherever that may be, 

Take me over rapidly. 

New Britain, Februa/ry 2, 1898. 



88 



And Other Poems 

Shortly After 

I. 

Sitting, 
Eeflecting, 

On what has been passing 
Not more than a fortnight ago; 
Thrilling 
And chilling 
Comes up that strange feeling. 
And moody and weary I grow; 
Vivid, 
So livid, 

My fancy would have it, 
And memory imparts with its smart ;- 
Fever' d. 
So wearied, 

That countenance shrivel'd, 
That weakness and fast-failing heart. 

II. 

Pending, 
Eeturning, 

Is ever that evening 
Of mournful and terrible scene; — 
Blowing 

And howling. 

The Elements scowling, 
With noises of tempest between ! 

Z9 



A Candle-Light 

Woeful 

And mournful 

And endlessly doleful 
The sick-room in darkness appeared ; 
Scornful 
And harmful 

And terribly wrathful, 
With vengeance seemed Nature upreared. 

III. 

Weeping, 
Unspeaking, 

The children were seeking 
Some comfort within the bare room ; 
Mourning, 
Consoling, 
With friendly condoling, 
The walls stood immersed in their gloom; 
Tending 
And bending. 

And bringing, and taking, 
I walked back and forth in the room; 
Sighing 
And moaning, 

And coughing, and groaning, 
Were heard in the silence and gloom. 

New Britain, February 24, 1898. 
90 



And Other Poems 



After Reading Walt Whitman 

Human passions ever striving, 

striving to an endless goal. 
Now 'tis one thing, now another, 

now a dozen things in one, 
Now 'tis riches, worldly riches, 

moneyed riches of the Earth, 
Now His love and now 'tis power, 

or some other fervent wish. 

In the lonely meadows roaming 

with a sweetest love in hand. 
In the thickest meadows sitting 

with his love so closely press' d. 
Closely press'd against his bosom, 

lip to lip so gently press'd, 
Now a word so sweet and tuneful, 

now a sigh so longing sweet, 
While the breezes, gentle breezes 

whisper low about their ears. 
And the grass-blades, leaves, and flowers, 

will not give the secret out. 
9t 



A Candle-Light 

Or the counter with the drawers 

and the money stocks therein. 
Silver coins and heaps of golden, 

golden coins in many heaps, 
And the packages of greenbacks, 

silver-notes and bank-notes true, 
And the checks and drafts and papers 

which beget him wealth anew. 

Or some high seat in the Commons, 
or the house where Senate sits, 

Or some other seat of power, 
or some influential place, 

By which he might the world subdue, 
and be master of the race. 

Such the hopes and aspirations, 
such the wishes of the soul, 

Always hoping, always wishing, 
always yearning to that end, 

Never cease his expectations, 

never fail his hopes nor will. 

But at last there is a failure 

as misfortune once steps in, — 

Ah ! misfortune, mean misfortune, 
fickle fortune thou art here ! — 

92 



And Other Poems 

But the soul still suSers, suffers, 
suffers still that weakling soul, 

Till a phantom, plump and sturdy, 
comes and takes a place therein. 

Comes the phantom dress'd so nicely, 
sembling much that other thing, 

And, alluring Will and Eeason, 
makes the soul to stoop to it. 

Happy now, soul ! weakling ! 

happy thou in low estate ! 
With a phantom close embracing, 

or a thing in substitute ; 
A substitute in form or fancy, 

shielded much by tinsel gold. 
Outward show its only virtue, 

ostentation is its creed, 
While debauchery and vices 

are its chief and greatest meed. 

But his soul did long for something, 
long for what he could not get. 

Till at last a kindred object 

in his arms there lay embraced; 

See the cheeks so flushed and blushing, 
pulse rebounding in his veins! 

93 



A Candle-Light 

Eyes so flashing, forehead glowing, 

graceful curls flow down his head; 
Now he smiles and now he whispers, 

sighing now such happy sighs. 
While still closer, closer pressing, 

pressing close that substitute; 
No Elysium nor gardens, 

and no Paradise for him, 
'Tis his highest, chiefest moment, 

happy moments these to him; 
Till at last his life is wasted, 

wasted now his vital force, 
And he stands and looks around him, 

sees the wreck and knows the cause. 

Now ^tis done and all is over, 

past is now the passion wild ! 

While he wonders, much bewildered, 
at the fearful, stormy past. 

What now ? soul, weakling thou, 

what must follow after this ? 
miserable mortal ! 

Impoverished man! 
How fearfully these passions play with thee! 
Far first upon the highest mountain cliffs 
Thou wafted art by awful winds, 
94 



And Other Poems 

Then from there by force tremendous 

to the valley thou art sent; 
As on wavers distorted waters 

floats a light and weightless mass, — 
Now it dips and now emerges, 

now it sinks and now comes up. 
Upward, downward, forward, backward, 

every way ^tis toss'd about, — 
So art thou, man ! mortal ! 

drifting so on Fortune's wave. 

What must follow ! did I ask it ? 

see, the tale unfolds itself ! 
See his cheeks so pale with sorrow, 

and his eyes with tears are dim. 
Features downcast, shame betraying, 

tremble now his limbs from fright ; 
Tremble they like wings of pigeons 

that have just escap'd the hawk. 

Tremble not, soul affrighted! 

tremble not, but gather strength! 
Ah, he hears not these advices. 

Oh, poor, miserable man ! 

New Britain. Written in the evening of April 
U, 1898. 

95 



A Candle-Light 
Too Fond of Yoa, But Still 

A Song. 

Too fond of you to let you go, 

But still, but still, alas! 
The world demands, demands, demands, 

And that must come to pass. 

Then come more nigh and say good-by. 

And kiss, and kiss the last ; 
The world demands, demands, demands. 

And that must come to pass. 

Good-by, my love, good-by, my dove, 

But yet one more caress; 
The world demands, demands, demands, 

And it must come to pass. 

Behold that Barge, the Devil's scourge, 
That flames while sailing past ; 

The world demands that I embark. 
And that must come to pass. 

Then come more nigh and say good-by. 

And kiss, and kiss the last; 
The world demands that I embark, 

And thus it comes to pass. 

'New Britain, May 11, 1898. 
96 



And Other Poems 



But Now, My Child, Cood-By 

But now the pleasant days have passed away 

And we must part anon for years to come. 
Therefore to yon a word or two 111 say 

That may in future time of use become ; 

When on a certain day more still and calm 
Than most of latter days were wont to be, 

You'll sit and read and understand the sum 
Of these few words that I address to thee, 
Then you will understand; and then you'll think 
of me. 



When you will learn to read and read aright. 
And learn to look for things between the 
lines ; 
When years have passed and passed their child- 
hood bright, 
And Wisdom starts to ope to you its mines ; 
When womanhood your lovely form ent\vines 

97 



A Candle-Light 

And shows up Life in all reality; 

And when, my child, as if with strongest 
wines, 
Your head will reel with its perplexity, 
Then turn to read these words; and then youll 
think of me. 

.When all the dreams of childhood are no more. 
But sterner problems come to forward view; 
When fancied images and tales of yore 

Will be replaced by phantoms quaint and new ; 
When bitter disappointments crowd on you 
And show their signs of human misery ; 

Or when, perchance, more happy moments 
grow 
And bring you well-deserved felicity. 
Then may you read these lines and also think of 
me. 

And then, mayhap, a vision, dim and blurred. 
Will faintly spread itself, like distant mist. 

And will recall some names that oft you heard. 
And faces which so often you have kissed. 
But which, just then, in dreams alone exist; 

And from recuperative memory 

May spring some words that often you have 
lisped, 

98 



And Other Poems 

And you may wish to know who taught them 
thee, 
Then read these lines again, and then you'll think 
of me. 

Then, if another vision take the field 

And show a grewsome scene that once took 
place ; — 
Your sire on death-bed lain with wounds un- 
healed, 
While all the friends, with downcast, moun- 

ful face. 
Saw but Despair afloat in cloudy space ; 
Yourself were fled, though through much in- 
quiry 
You kept yourself informed about the case : 
A hand yet came and changed it all to glee ; 
If you will know, then read these lines and think 
of me. 

And when in distant lands and foreign climes 

You hear an echo of a loving word, — 
Though vague and undefined, like far-rung 
chimes 
Whose dying notes can only just be heard, — 
While gentle waves that through the air have 
stirred 

LcfC. 99 



A Candle-Light 

Will bring you proof of boundless sympathy, 

And will inform, what else must be inferred, 
That human love is an infinity ; 
If then you read these lines you'll also think of me. 



You go, my child, 'tis fate that bears you on. 
And this same fate may bring more happy 
days. 
For, men's affairs are sure to change anon 
And on each morrow show a different phase; 
But where you go, or what you do, always 
Be sure to love the truth, the truth alone ; 
And if you find how difficult the ways 
That lead whereto those pearly gems are grown, 
Yet still keep on, and soon you'll have them as 
your own. 



Beasts may cross your path, and clouds may 
gather round. 
And fools may come to give their quaint ad- 
vice; 
The storms may rage and Falsehood shake the 
ground ; 
And mean Hypocrisy may seem so nice 
The while she tries to plant her sordid vice ; 

JOO 



And Other Poems 

And cold Indifference, to a great degree, 

May try her influence to exercise : 
But beasts, and storms, and foul hypocrisy. 
Before the beacon-light of Truth must ever flee. 



Beneath the current of our earthly lives 

There runs a mystic stream of vital force ; 
It runs and leaps and foams and swiftly drives 

The ship of Being on its wayward course ; 

Just what it is, or where its hidden source. 
Or whither it does ultimately tend, 

No man can say, nor find the secret doors : 
Yet this is known, that all things with it blend 
And destined seem forever on it to depend. 



Its name or substance is not understood. 

Its form unseen, its nature hid from view ; 
It has no outward shape nor ever could, 

Nor is it white or black or red or blue ; 

It does not die, nor change, nor split in two, 
Nor ever falters, but does still advance. 

And forces thus its recognition due. 
And proves itself a faculty of sense 
With gratification of self as its chief essence. 



\0\ 



A Candle-Light 

This secret force or hidden faculty 

May just as well for good as evil serve, 
And may conduce to endless misery, 

Or bring one happiness without reserve; 

'Tis thus the case if we but well observe 
The inward state of man, we'll soon reveal 

That every one, according his deserve. 
The good or bad within his soul does feel, 
Exactly as he did with his own conscience deal. 



Thus some there are, themselves to gratify, 

Eesort to meanest methods known to man ; 
They swindle, cheat, and kill, or rob and lie. 

And cause as much discomfort as they can ; 

They murder husbands, rob the widows then, 
And lastly take the orphans to enslave ; — 

They carry to the end the cruel plan. 
And even trample down the good and brave. 
And never cease for pelf and wanton gold to crave. 



Yet others, gentle, good, and ever kind. 
Are often found, who do far better things ; 

Toward good-will and peace they are inclined, 
And treat mankind as if a tribe of kings ; 
They help the helpless vessel when it sinks, 

102 



And Other Poems 

And do not leave the passengers to die; 

They forge and then unite the friendship's 
links, 
And seek to bring 'mong men a happy tie; — 
But this they also do themselves to gratify. 

The motive is the same in either case, 

The consequences not at all the same ; 
In both pure selfishness with ease we trace, — 

The one's being harmful, all disgrace and 
shame. 

The other's, though, a credit to his name. 
But are they all as happy in our sight? 

Not so, indeed! The one's destructive game 
Preys on his conscience both by day and night ; 
The other rests in peace and in assured right. 

Thus human conscience tells the right from 
wrong, 
And shows the proper course to be pursued ; 
Torments the wicked minds with weapons 
strong. 
But fosters strength and hope in men of good 
And makes their fervent spirits unsubdued. 
But he alone is happy who has not 

A guilty conscience, or a mind too crude ; 
He'll then be pleased to see his chosen lot, — 
A blessed name and reputation free from spot. 

J03 



A Candle-Light 

And such an one will ever find his soul 

Serene and quiet and in happy state; 
And if the earthly fortunes from him roll, 

And disappears the wealth he had of late; 

And if he loses, too, his high estate, — 
His name and title like his fortune spent, 

His friends have fled, and fled his loving mate, 
While Grief and Sorrow follow their intent ; — 
Still in his guiltless soul he's happy and content: 

Because his conscience tells him not of woes 

By him on many wretched people wrought ; 
His mind recalls him not some bitter foes 

Nor bloody battles that he may have fought; 

Compunction or remorse is not his thought 
Who was on doing good forever bent : 

And thus, when Gloom and Pain make 
strange consort 
And drive him fast toward the bitter end. 
He still can say that he is happy and content. 

I say these things to you that you may know. 

And learn to tell the pure and true from false. 
And see that out of goodness good may grow. 
But meanness like a stealing viper crawls 
And stings the victim who, thus stung, soon 
falls ; 

104 



And Other Poems 

Your loving heart and intellect sublime 

Will hate the cruelties of selfish thralls. 
And will perceive how wrong and great their 
crime 
Against humanity, which they have waged all time. 

My child, the carriage waits for you outside, 

The luggage ready, groom is in his seat. 
And down the harbor, on the surging tide, 
There rolls the bark that waits your coming 

feet; 
And farther still, the cars that run by heat 
Will soon appear and bear you far away ; 

To new and distant shores you then will 
speed. 
Where now your father watches night and day. 
And walks the open fields, and grudges the delay. 

Then come and say good-by, and print your 
kiss, 

And pass your little arms around my neck; 

Thus fondly, sweetly, like a little miss 
That does her mother silently bedeck 
With kisses, ever, ever without check: 

And I, returning still what still I get. 

Will watch that you, my child, may never lack 

My offices nor service which may set 
You in man^s favor, that you may be happy yet. 

JOS 



A Candle-Light 

Your eyes are filled with tears you know not 
why, 
The sobs come forth though you are innocent ; 
'And now your little brother stands close by, 
Whose loving looks with those your own do 

blend 
And seem to ask me what we thus intend ; 
As in a dream his lovely visage looms, — 

His golden locks, his smile, his rosy hand, — 
Ah, well, enough ! too far the mind now roams ; 
Go, go, — like minstrel-birds that leave their winter 
homes. 

'New Britain, May I4, 1898. 



S06 



And Other Poems 



The Path of Life 

'Again^ the torrents flow ; 
Again the cold winds blow; 
Again the dark clouds grow ; 
Again I sit on a dismal rock, and watch them as 
they go. 

Once more the gloom collects; 
Once more the willow becks; 
Once more the sapling cracks; 
Once more I sit on a dismal rock, observing the 
trodden tracks. 

The one south-north is pressed. 
And one runs east and west; 
But which is worse or best, 
I sat and thought on it very long, but still I have 
never guessed. 

The one to Limbo leads. 
The other to Hades, 
But where their starting heads, 
I sat and looked for a distance great, but lost 
them as winding threads. 

^The world went passing by ; 
The men and women nigh; 

107 



A Candle-Light 

In arms their children lie ; 

They went and marched so swiftly on, I knew not 
exactly why. 

A number went this way. 
And some the other way ; 
Yet none made slight delay . 
But why they hurried as they went, I could not 
with reason say. 

The rain but made them wet ; 
The winds their limbs did fret; 
The storm made awful threat ; 
Yet wind, and rain, and awful storm were melting 
beneath their tread. 

Some stopped to snatch a rose. 
And some for slight repose. 
But some with grace to pose; 
And others still found time enough to dally with 
their spouse. 

But, weather-beaten all. 
They answer some one's call. 
And march to their swift fall ; — 
They answer a voiceless call, and blindly are made 
to f aU ! 
New Britain. Written in the afternoon of 
July IS, 1898. 

t08 



And Other Poems 



Oh, Faint Not, Heart 

Oh, faint not, heart ! oh, faint not, heart ! 

But bear the ecstasy; 
Mistake it not, it is no smart. 

But simple joy for thee. 



Just joy, though great, yet oh, don't faint. 

But bear it peacefully; 
She has come back, came back the saint, 

Returned thy own Marie. 



Eeturned her Spirit pure alone. 
Which like a phantom seemed ; 

As if a queen upon a throne. 

So grand she looked, I deemed. 



"0 phantom, phantom, tell me true. 
Art thou of her I loved? 

Art thou of her whose death I rue ? 
Of her, my dead beloved?" 
i09 



A Candle-Light 

''I am the one, nor am I dead. 

But in a monast'ry 
I live my life, though dull and sad. 

In longings deep for thee." 

"Then art thou dead, oh, dead indeed. 

And lost to all the world ! 
Nor hast thou thus obtained thy meed : 

Why hast thy life thus spoiled?" 

I heard no answer, but away 
The phantom sped most free. 

While I was left to roam and stray. 
And search for my Marie. 

New Britain, July 21, 1898, 



no 



And Other Poems 



An Odd Moment 

I START to write to-day. 
But know not what to say, 
Or what commence or how to end my letters of 
to-day. 

So mixed my thoughts appear, 
Disorder'd seems my gear. 

And all my efforts null become, or so to me 
appear, 

For how can your mind work 
When different things there lurk? 
When other members are at odds your mind can 
never work. 

Think of this and that comes up. 
Now a fool and now a fop, 
Now a daisy, now a lark, now a luring thing 
comes up. 

nt 



A Candle-Light 

This you write and that goes down. 
Call for white and you get brown, 
Paint a face, an ass appears; write a line, 'tis 
full of jeers. 



Even as the traveling man. 
Without a compass, map, or plan. 
Goes wearily his way until he's led quite far 
astray. 



And now a cross-way lies 
Outstretch'd before his eyes. 
He knows not where to go, and in his thoughts 
alone he hies. 



He thinks he's gone quite far. 
And stops to thank his star, 
When suddenly he looks around and sees he went 
not far. 



Then starts to reason out 
If he should turn about. 

Or to proceed, or right or left; he cannot think 
it out. 

it2 



And Other Poems 

This is the shortest way, 
But that's the best, he'd say. 
And so he argued with himself the rest of that 
long day. 

Until the night had dawned : 
So there he made his haunt, 
Upon the road to rest awhile, because the night 
had dawned. 

New Britain, September 1, 1898. 



m 



A Candle-Light 



A Snow-Dfift 

I STOOD alone upon a hill 

Quite far removed from man's abode, 
Where neither spring nor gentle rill 

Upon the steep rocks ever rode. 

If ever spring or gentle rill 

About these cliffs were wont to play, 

They are now dead, they are now still. 
Quite frozen on this winter day. 

The hoary peaks were freezing cold. 
The dales were filled with falling snow. 

The scattered trees, an age too old, 
Despaired, it seemed, to further grow. 

The weeds were cropped, the grass was nipped. 
The naked twigs were crushed and broke ; 

Alone the blast but surged and skipped. 
In which fierce demons laughed and spoke. 

n4 



And Other Poems 

All things were frightful, wild, and fierce. 
And I^ature seemed a wasteful void; 

As if the storm the earth would pierce. 
And render it a thing destroyed. 

The desert far about gleamed white. 
While darkness hovered overhead; 

And in the distance of the night 
A dirge seemed ringing for the dead. 

The moving shadows floated fast 
Across the mantle white and pure; 

Methought that phantoms swiftly passed 
Of them that were but are no more. 



Methought I saw the ghosts again 
Of them that lived but now do not, 

That once have toiled and hoped in vain. 
But now have ceased and are forgot. 



The fleeting spirits sped near by, 
Returning still as still they ran; 

I could not tell the reason why 
I feared me as they thus began: 

n5 



A Candle-Light 

"We come from far and come from near. 

And, ever going, still are here. 

The living wish that they were dead. 

We therefore are thus far ahead. 

But having long in earth now lain. 

We wish we were alive again. 
Restless, restless human beings, 
Hopeful, watchful living things, 
Ever wishing for the Night, 

Which, when it comes, you wish for Light. 

You wish for this and wish for that, 

And wish for aught you know not what. 

Oh, restless, restless human bees. 

At work among the cumbrous trees. 

Beset with sorrow, hope, and grief. 

You suffer, yet have no relief. 

But we are free from pain and toil. 

And thus have most of Nature's spoil. 

We sport with blasts and ride on winds. 

And merry dance our airy limbs. 

We hope not, hence we nothing lose; 

We want not, as we nothing use. 

We're pleased and happy, as you'll know 

When you some day to us will go. 

Then will we dance a merry round. 

When snow again is on the ground. 

116 



And Other Poems 

We come from far and come from near, 
And, ever going, still are here. 
When once again the clouds appear, 
You^ll come and see us, do not fear/' 

1 stood alone upon the hill. 

Abashed and pierced by cold and dread; 
The while the snow-drift raged on still, 
The dirge yet ringing for the dead. 

New Britain, November 27, 1898, Written at 

2 A, M. of a snow-storm night. 



m 



A Candle-Light 



End and Death Synonymous 

A FRAGMENT. 

'Whatever a beginning had 

Must also have its end, 
And whatso once with birth has mef. 
With Death must also blend." 
Thus reads wise nature's cruel law; 
Nor breach, nor intermitting flaw, 
Admits the sad decree. 
And earth, and stars, and planets great, 

And men with beasts alike. 
Must bow to one great common fate. 
And take what chance may strike; 
ITor moan, nor sigh, nor thus bewail, 
Nor wish for aught that can avail, 
But letting all things be. 

And as those things their end do meet 

Although of life knew not. 
So, too, all things that knew Life's sweet. 

Through Death with life must part. 



And Other Poems 

And in the end 'tis all the same 
If End or Death is thus to blame 

For such a dissolution; 
Nor think they of their kin behind. 

If either beast or tree, 
Or rock or one of human kind. 

Or shining star it be. 
They think not of their kin behind. 
Who trouble, fret, and are so kind 

To hope for restitution. 



Thus was it many years ago. 

When gods outnumbered men; 
And naked nymphs went to and fro. 
Evading huntsmen's ken; 
And spirits blithe did flitter by. 
And stones could speak and trees would cry,- 
Was then the golden age; 
Then Cronus reigned, the godly son. 

With Ehea, wife of his, 
Such joy, such good was ne'er outdone, 
Nor ever so much bliss ; 
Then gold was cheap, yet none in want, 
All earth was an Elysian haunt, 
And wisely ruled the sage. 



it? 



A Candle-Light 

Content were all, from man to frog, 

The rocks and dales were green, 
The sky was clear, unblnrred by fog. 
The rivers flowed serene. 
Nor war was known, nor battleships 
For distant shores or perilous trips. 
No murder, theft nor rage; 
But change there came and this was End, 

And end alone, — ^not death, 
For how can things that lived not mend 
If not by mystic breath? 
Yet find you much of difference here 
When End and Death you see from near? 
Did cease or die the sage? 

1898. 

« % m jh .♦ 



120 



1^^ 



And Other Poems 



Epigram 

The clouds, though mute. 

Their own salute, 
And often meet each other; 

But people don't. 

Or can't, or won't, 
Salute or greet a brother. 



1898. 



t2i 



A Candle-Light 



Blow On, Winds 

Blow on, fierce and savage winds ! 

Nor cease for want of breath; 
Nor spare yonr strength, nor turn you mild, 

Nor fear lest you prove death. 

Come, blow your pangs and discord notes 

Into a heart of woe; 
Into a frail receptacle. 

Where heartaches come and go. 

Blow louder, fiercer, louder yet, 

Nor cease for bitter groans; 
Pour in your sighs and anguish-wails, 

Pour in your rueful moans. 

Pour in your ails and raking pains. 

Where welcomed they will be ; 
Your mournful, scornful, angry tunes. 

Your careless symphony. 

122 



And Other Poems 

Blow on, fierce and savage winds! 

Nor heed a mortal's cry ; 
Blow louder, fiercer, louder yet. 

Like storms that cannot die. 

New Britain, January 25, 1899, 



J23 



A Candle-Light 



Spring Is Coming 

Wake, my love, for Spring is coming, 

Trees are budding. 

Grass is springing. 

Birds are singing, 

And the ground is moist with dew: 

Is moist with dew, with dew the ground. 

Whose verdant mantle grows anew. 
While hills with shrub and bush are crowned, 
And dales with buds and bloom abound. 

Wake, my love, from thy long sleeping, 
Spring is creeping, 
Gently leaping. 
Slyly peeping, 
Peeping through the window-panes: 
The window-panes that glow with light. 
While many showers and drizzling rains 
Are yet to come with days most bright. 
And bring the pleasant summer night. 

J24 



And Other Poems 

Let thy winter's slumber cease now. 
For the season 
Knows no treason 
And with reason 
Comes about; in time about: 
And wakes each sleeper with a start, 

While setting gloom and cold in rout, 
Makes every dismal day depart, 
And brings glad sunshine to each heart. 

New Britain, March 16, 1899. 



125 



A Candle-Light 



The Hours 

The hours do fly 
So swiftly by, 

And leave no room for leisure; 
For now they hie, 
And now they try 

To give you shorter measure. 

So swift they run, — 
There is no fun, 

I tell you candid maxims; 
For soon they're done 
That just begun 

To count your days and actions. 

And as they haste 
Into the waste 

Of years so long forgotten. 
They make you taste 
Of life's sweet paste, 

And then declare 'tis rotten. 
t26 



And Other Poems 

Declaring thus, 
They make no fuss. 

But end your days all sudden; 
And bring you hence, 
Beyond the fence. 

Where some before have trodden. 

They make short work. 
And never shirk 

Their duty, all too humble; 
And like the Turk, 
Ot careful clerk. 

Can trip without a stumble. 

Then ends your life 
And all your strife. 

As if youVe never striven; 
And friend, child, wife. 
By Death's shrUl fife, 

Are also thither driven. 

!For who can hold 
The hours so bold 

That run with speed of thunder? 
Or who infold 
The things untold 

That fall and break asunder? 
J27 



A Candle-Light 

Nor these nor those 
Could we inclose, 

Or keep from playing hopper; 
Hence as it goes 
We must suppose 

Is just the thing most proper. 

New Britain, March 18, 1899. 



128 



And Other Poems 



Betwixt the Clouds 

When" clouds obstruct the sky. 
And darkness draws more nigh, 
And rain or snow is threatening to descend; 
When winds blow discord notes 
And seas bear ill their boats, 
And waves and storms grow dark with their intent ; 
Then leaves my spirit this poor clay. 
To roam in space, or where it may. 
At night, at morn, or close of day. 

And I become transformed. 
My spirit changed, deformed. 
Or vaporized into a fleeting blast; 
Then all myself is lost. 
As dew upon the frost. 
Or raindrops on the ocean's surface vast ; 
And, leaving then this mortal clay, 
I roam in space by night or day, 
All helpless, though without delay. 

t29 



A Candle-Light 

So strange and sad a plight 
I wish no mortal wight, 
That him may fail such pain and toil and grief; 
For 'tis unsafe as dust, 
Hazardous to intrust 
One's soul to tempests, e'en for moments brief: 
Yet as I leave this form of clay, 
And soar still upward, night or day, 
Some force unseen do I obey. 

A force unseen impels. 
As if by magic spells, 
And sends me, all-unwilling, through the air; 
Then, passing out of self, 
I gambol like an elf. 
And skip between the clouds and billows there; 
For, leaving, as I do, this clay, 
I also leave all that is gay. 
Into the gloomy heights to stray. 

And there my place I fix. 

Where earthly murmurs mix 
With heav'nly sounds and voices from on high; 

Then words of hope and fear 

Assail my listful ear, 
And all that's being said in their reply : 
J30 



And Other Poems 

For when I leave this mold of clay. 
Into the distant heights to stray, 
I must need hear what angels say. 

And murmurs soft and faint, 
As if a stifled plaint, 
Kise from the earth and on the tempest speed ; 
And these then louder grow. 
And frame these words most slow: 
''We suffer, oh, we suffer, and we bleed !^' 
As likewise when I left this clay 
Into the cloudy heights to stray, 
I heard them those same words to say. 

The answer from above 
Descended like a dove. 
And spoke in accents sweet a soothing word; 
It whispered mild and low 
To those adown below, 
And said : ''We heard you ; ah, we heard, we heard V* 
For, though I left my form of clay. 
And went in fancy here to stray, 
I yet can know what Spirits say. 

"Then what remains for us,'' 
On earth was questioned thus, 
"Who ever fall and stumble 'neath the yoke ? 

m 



A Candle-Light 

What shall we now perform, 
Or how withstand the storm. 
And how subvert cruel Nature's fatal etroke ? 

For we, frail creatures of the clay. 

But born to live a single day, 

We suffer till we pass away." 

And the retort came then: 
"Let all the living men 
Improve their souls and cultivate the mind; 
Then pain and grief and woe 
To the four winds will go. 
And happy days will come upon mankind: 
And 3^e, though creatures of frail clay. 
Will yet rejoice in your short day, 
And live a life most bright and gay/* 

These things I truly heard. 
This pleasant, cheerful word. 
As well as the complaints that rise from man ; 
And now and once again, 
When I 'mid clouds remain, 
Advices new declare some new-laid plan: 
For, though I am but mortal clay, 
I yet can leave it when I may. 
Into celestial heights to stray, 
And listen to what Spirits say. 
'New Britain, April, 1899. 
J32 



And Other Poems 



My Withered Plant 

Drooping and withered and low, 

My favorite stands; 
Its slender leaves shrinking below 

The gathering bands, 
Like weeds that in midwinter grow 

On overflowed lands. 

Oh, what can I do for my plant, 

Forsaken that seems? 
Its flowers, its freshness and scent 

Have left it like dreams; 
Its life-giving sap is all spent, 

Like tropical streams. 

Will water bring back to it life, 

Or fresh morning dews? 
Will sunshine rekindle its life. 

That all things renews? 
Or must it succumb to the knife 

Of deadly abuse? 

J33 



A Candle-Light 

I add to it cool, sparkling balm, 
From deep mountain springs; 

And set it at evening 'neath calm 
And sliado\\7 wings; 

While mornings with dew I embalm: 
Its yellowish sprigs. 

I tend it and rear it with care, 

Like tenderest child; 
I bring it ^mid breeze and fresh air 

Of seasons most mild; 
And set it in sunshine's warm glare, 

When showers subside. 

I bring for it pebbles and sand 
From southernmost seas; 

I feed it on richest of land 
From muse-haunted lees, 

And bathe it in vapors as bland 
As midsummer's breeze. 

But none of these things can avail 

My plant to revive; 
Its roots and its branches so frail 

No more can survive; 
And I, though attempting, yet fail 

New means to contrive. 
J34 



And Other Poems 

I lift up its low-drooping head 

And kiss it awhile; 
Then seeming before me is spread 

A mother's hard trial, 
Who, holding her child that's half dead. 

Affects yet a smile. 

For wither'd and lifeless and cold 

My darling appears; 
Like some gentle lamb of the fold 

That's trembling with fears, 
When, knife in hand, cruel and bold. 

The slaughterer nears. 

New Britain, April, 1899. 



J35 



A Candle-Light 



The Day of May 

The harbinger of gladness rose 

One early hour in May, 
And on his wing with song he chose 

To usher in the day. 

He chose with sweetest song proclaim 

The day that is to come, 
So that all things their share may claim 

Of Spring's refreshing balm. 

Flies high the lark on agile wings; 

Disperse the thin, white mists; 
Respond the leaves while Zephyr sings ; 

Forsake the birds their nests. 

The dawn now breaks, and darkness flees 

To Night's obscure abode. 
And on the tops of hills and trees 

The sun's first rays then glowed. 

The mountains were imbued in gray 

And silver-shining light, 
While on the surf the rising spray 

Was pure and snowy white. 
J36 



And Other Poems 

The marble sky was clear and blue, 
The ground was beryl-green; — 

Young Nature donned her freshest hue, 
As never yet was seen. 

The morning star, with fading eye. 
Glanced down upon the earth. 

Then vanished in the azure sky, 
As if of lesser worth. 

Then in the east the rising sun 
Sent forth his golden rays. 

And soon his daily course begun, 
As he is wont always. 

And all the fields and all the land 

Awoke to new delights, 
And in the dales and on the strand 

Were seen resplendent sights. 

And people young, in bright attire, 

Were welcoming the day; 
For nothing more could they desire 

In that fair month of May. 

'New Britain, April 2k, 1899. 
137 



A Candle-Light 



The Letter That Never Came 

One day in the earliest hour, 

Ere aught was awake or astir, 
A lady sat lone in her bower 
Awaiting the letters to her, 
Out of which, with a white, trembling hand. 
She might pick just the one from a friend. 

She sat there, most anxiously waiting 
To hear the good letterman's tread. 
While secretly joy contemplating 
When once that sweet letter is read; 
For how good is a word from an one 
Than whom kinder or better are none. 

The time is now past for the dawning; 

The letterman did not appear: 
And now it is late in the morning, 
Yet is not the carrier near. 
Oh, how careless and stubborn is Fate! 
To thus make that sweet letter so late. 
t38 



And Other Poems 

The noon of the day is now passing, 

And messages reach every home ; 
A note, or a word, or a blessing, 
From Europe, from Venice, from Eome: 
They rejoice in assurance of bliss. 
And extract from each sentence a kiss. 

But this is denied to our lady. 

Who pensive sits, silent and sad; 
And lo ! how the night is so speedy 
In closing the day, good or bad. 
But alas ! oh, alas for the name ! 
That sweet letter that day never came. 

carrier, faithless and cruel. 

How durst thou thus fail in thy task? 
How canst thou, like some senseless mule, 
Eef use what a lady does ask ? 
Yet alas ! ay, alas just the same. 
For that letter that day never came. 

!2Vew Britain, May 20, 1899, Written for a young 
lady on request 



139 



A Candle-Light 



Spring 

Thou yearly minister of happiness; 
Dispeller of dejection and distress; 
The hope of youth and comforter of age; 
The theme for wit, philosopher, and sage ; 
Thou whom all praise, yet praise not half enough ; 
Whom poets sing, yet seem to mock and scoff, — 
For thou thyself art poesy and song, 
Surpassing all the mortal minstrel throng; 
On thee the whole world showers lasting thanks, 
As trees their fruit upon the river banks. 
Where, drinking largely, they as large repay 
With spice and blossom when 'tis blossom day ; 
Thou, then, gentle Spring, the joy of earth. 
That bring' st delight and giv'st to Beauty birth; 
That deck'st the ground with verdure fresh and 

green, 
And mak'st the waters as the sky serene; 
That renovat'st all things and bring' st new life. 
Empower' st weaklings, fit'st them for their strife; 
Of thee, all-prevailing, heav'nly thing. 
Do I, poor mortal, now presume to sing. 

140 



And Other Poems 

I strike my lute and bid my harp to thrill, 
That its vibrations all the air may fill. 
For lo ! how love and life and joy and bliss 
Float on the breeze and on the breezes kiss. 
They float thereon with angel wings outspread, 
By seraphs follow'd and by seraphs led, 
And of their scents abundantly send forth, 
To bathe the globe in this delightful froth; 
While with their breath, that's tender as 'tis sweet. 
They issue blessings as they softly breathe. 
So that the world by their quick touch revives, 
And things long lifeless now take on new lives. 

Eevives the world, the lifeless and the live. 
And for perfection all at once do strive. 
The hoary meadows and the blasted fern. 
The silent rocks and mountains vast and stem. 
The earth inanimate and valleys deep 
Where silence reigns and winter shadows sleep. 
The slumbering seas and sluggish river streams, 
The frozen landscape breeding winter dreams. 
All these as well as every other thing 
Become at once transformed by gentle Spring. 
In greenest livery the mountains dress. 
The leaf-topped orchards v/ear new loveliness; 
And in the earth the germinating seeds 
Prove that o'er Death Life still his triumph leads. 



Hi 



A Candle-Light 

The valleys now with flow'ry beds are filled, 
Wherein the brilliant sunshine is instilled. 
While slumbering seas and sluggish river streams 
Run swift their course as lightning's flashing 

beams ; 
Their foam in vapors spreading on the way, 
And sweetest fragrance seems their downy spray. 

The water-fowls, between the air and sea 
Dispute their place and know not where to be ; 
For 'tis as pleasant to be here as there, 
And just as good in water as in air. 
Here all the finned and web-toed creatures swim, 
And leap and frolic, and the bottom skim. 
There birds of flight their wings give ample use, 
While gentle Zephyrus his breath lets loose. 
Then tongue-shaped petals and fresh, pointed 

leaves 
A rustling concord play, while 'neath the eaves 
And in the tops of trees the warbler sings, 
That all the air with tremulous music rings. 
Hence soft and liquid warbles, full of cheer. 
In mellow strains fall lightly on the ear. 
The happy robin gives his voice full sway. 
And cheerfully inspires the rising day. 
The cardinal, the bluebird, and still more 
Of the wing'd throng their joy profusely pour. 



142 



And Other Poems 

The twittering sparrows and those of their kind 
Construct their humble homes, though softly lined, 
That there with ease they may repose by day, 
And by the night may chirp their amorous lay. 
The while the woodcocks, in a giddy round, 
Go circling aimlessly above the ground, 
As if in ecstasy their wits they lost. 
And heed nor trap nor snare at any cost. 

So, too, all other beings are full of joy. 
And wist not how their time best to employ. 
The squirrels leap up and clamber down the trees, 
The rabbits linger in the tufted lees. 
The hare, the fox, and others of the field. 
To utter happiness their senses yield. 
The fleeting chamois and swift-footed deer, 
The lively antelope that quails with fear. 
Nor quail nor fear upon the lofty peaks. 
Where naught is heard save eagles' passing shrieks. 
And on the prairies ruminating herds 
Full jolly ramble, like the flocks of birds. 
While down the hills, upon the shady side, 
The shepherds tend the objects of their pride; 
For rams and lambs and ewes must ever be 
The pride of shepherds as their ecstasy. 
They tend their flocks, — ^these youthful, rustic 

swains. 
And all day long chant their melodious strains, 
H3 



A Candle-Light 

While rural scenes by them are highly praised, 
And rural objects to the sky upraised. 
Nor fail they to proclaim in ardent airs 
Their stirring passions and their love affairs, 
While those that are the cause of all their love 
Are more extolled than are the gods above; 
That neither gods, nymphs, nor Elysian shades. 
Compare in beauty with these mortal maids. 
So strange a charm in Spring resplendent lurks; 
So great a change on beast and man it works. 

Great is the dreadful fear that smites our souls 
When from the north the wind impetuous rolls. 
And swoops upon the highland and the plain. 
That woods and thickets bend before the strain. 
Then terrible are forests, thus disturbed, 
When with the storm the growling beasts are heard 
That deeply there lie crouching in their caves. 
And with their voices aid the traveling waves. 
Yet when mild Spring arrives, behold the change ! 
Behold the transformation all so strange. 
The woods and forests that were erst so dark, 
The leafless trees with their decaying bark, 
Nor dark nor leafless are, nor now decay, 
But freshly bloom as brightly shines the day. 
The sylvan brutes that nestle in their lairs, 
'As leopards, jaguars, lions, wolves, and bears. 



144 



And Other Poems 

That prowl about most terribly and grim, 

And ceaseless howl at dusky evening dim, 

Nor prowl nor howl, nor terrible appear, 

On this the mildest season of the year. 

But mating, as they do, at early morn. 

Or when the crescent moon inclines one horn. 

They dally, smile, and show their pranks and 

wiles, 
That young and happy Nature with them smiles. 

Nor need we wonder, for when Pyrrha and 
Deucalion stood on the barren strand, — 
The flood being past, but of the human race. 
Except this pious pair, was left no trace, — 
Seized with regret, observiog this great waste. 
At last the oracle's advice embraced. 
And threw behind their backs their Mother's bones. 
That human beings might rise from out these 

storugs ; 
And human beings, men and women, rose 
In wondrous numbers, as the story goes, — 
But yet, when that occurred 'twere doubtless th,en 
The time of Spring, for thus alone could men. 
All hale and living, from dead stones arise. 
And take to life and to new enterprise. 
As never could be done in better wise. 

II ew Britain, May, 1899, 
ti5 



A Candle-Light 



Fatality 

A GRIM, black terror o'er my head 

Doth hover constantly; 
With sable wings far overspread 

Is foul Fatality. 

And where I trend and where I hie. 

It runneth after me; 
And where I stand and where I lie 

Is there Fatality. 

I wend me here and wend me there, 
And seek the Night's obscured lair; 
Then, weary grown of toil and care, 
I throw aside this wild despair 
And seek for people debonair 
And good and gentle, thinking there 

I'll find some sympathy ; 
I seek for faces kind and fair. 
Or friends that might for once declare 
That by their hearthstones I might share 

H6 



And Other Poems 

The pleasures — which to me are rare — 

Of hospitality: 
But in the Night's obscured lair, 
^Neath friendly roofs, as everywhere, 

Besides Fatality. 

To Pleasure's luring roads I turn 
My hasty steps, with hopes to learn 
What balm would fill my ready urn, 
What comforts could my soul discern; 
Perhaps at last Til cease to yearn 
For the unknown, and for me earn 

Kepose and constancy : 
All that which I ere long did spurn, 
The hidden walks where rose and fern 
Glow in the passion blasts that burn 
Deep through one's soul, where men oft learn 

Kegret's deep mystery; 
These, then, I tread, but ah, the stern. 
Gaunt, spectral form I soon discern, 

Of grim Fatality. 

Disgust and terror fill my heart. 
While nature gives a second smart; 
Then, stagg'ring 'neath this sudden dart 
Of fatal arrows, to depart 
In grief and sorrow now I start, 

J47 



A Candle-Light 

Yet striving by all human art 

To ease my misery : 
Away from men, from Traffic's mart. 
From friendly roof, from friendly hearth, 
Dropped is now Pleasure's mazy chart, — 
^Tis books, 'tis books now play the part 

Of my good company: 
But from the book-shelves I upstart, 
'Mid dusk and dust, behold the tart 
Grim fiend, Fatality. 



Distracted and alarmed I fly, 

^With arms outstretche'd for help I cry; 

Oh, help a wretch, ye standers-by ! 

Drive off the beast that hovers nigh ; 

Behold his clutches in my thigh. 

His fangs now in my throat, — I die ! 

Ah me ; oh, misery : 
Unheeded, to my kin I hie. 
For sure, I thought, I could rely 
On them to heed my pleading sigh. 
That they at least attempt and try 

Dispel this infamy: 
But oh! no sooner them I spy, 
Alas! with them, too, I descry, 

Abides Fatality! 

US 



And Other Poems 

Ah, deathly, horrid, fatal fiend, 

grim Fatality ! 
What when my scatter^ hopes are gleaned 

And blasted all by thee ? 

What when thou this frail soul subdu'st. 

And thou its master be? 
What when this frame at last imbu^st 

In endless misery ? 

Wilt thou still mock, thy victim scorn. 

And laugh eternally ? 
Thou fierce and ghastly, gaunt, hell-born, 

cruel Fatality ! 

New Britain, July, 1899, 



U9 



A Candle-Light 



A Thought 

Every city has its graveyard. 

Every homestead has its grave; 
In the graveyard dear ones slumber. 

In the homestead dear ones weep: 
Weep the youngsters, sleep the dead ones, 

Aches the mother's beating heart, 
Till, beweeped, for the cold graveyard 

She as well does soon depart. 

November 20, 1899. Written on a passenger train 
to New York, while observing a cemetery on the 
way. 



150 



And Other Poems 



The Tears, They are Many; the 
Smiles, They are Few 

Mt misfortune or fortune, I cannot say which, 
Is to notice the woes in which people are rich; 
All the heartrending woes of a suffering man 
Who despairingly lingers on lifers sullen span, 

Reattempting the tempting life ever anew: 
Or the widow's deep sob, or the orphan's deep 

moan, 
And the dying man's whisper of faltering tone ; 

For the tears, they are many; the smiles, they 
are few. 

And they come to me, come to me, old and the 

young, 
Their sad tales to relate with such sadness that 

clung 
At my heart more than once, and produced such 

a pain 
That I scarce could recover my senses again, 
Or recall that good cheer wliich to mortals is 

due: 

i5t 



A Candle-Light 

And their sad, bitter stories with patience I heard, 
That my blood with mad vehemence greatly was 

stirred ; 
For the tears, they are many; the smiles, they 

are few. 



Oh ! how sad is the life of the poor and the blind ; 
For the first cannot live, and the latter not find 
The high-road to the castle where dwells the king 

Life; 
Ay, sad, sad is the painful and parallel strife 
Which abates not nor fails with each day to 
renew : 
But the poor in the streets their own miseries sing. 
And the poor at my door their new miseries bring ; 
That the tears, they are many ; the smiles, they 
are few. 



I walk out 'mong the people and hear them com- 
plain 
Of their ill-breeding lot in a dolorous strain. 
And I enter their homes, and I sit by their hearth, 
And I hear out with patience the sorrow and smart 
Which afflicted their lives with a burden undue : 



152 



And Other Poems 

In the streets, in the shops, in the mansion and 

hut. 
Is the passion of strife and the grim daily nit ; 
And the tears, they are many; the smiles, they 

are few. 

And my breast feels oppressed and discovers no 

rest, 
And my mind is tormented and greatly distress' d. 
While the blood trickles down from the sides of my 

heart. 
And compels a sensation which fain I would part 

If it did not return ever fresh, ever new : 
For the people, they tell me their life-during 

throes. 
And their ceaseless, recurrent, though changeable 

woes; 
That my tears, they are many; my smiles, they 

are few. 

'New Britain, 'Janimry SI, 1900, 



J53 



A Candle-Light 



A Message 

Whoever finds me, by the waves upcast, 
Will read these lines, perchance, with eyes 
aghast. 
The World moves on, and Nature every day 
Is newly born and quickly dies away; 
One Thing exists that does all things comprise. 
And Space and Matter in its bosom lies ; 
Therefrom all else proceed, both good and bad, 
And back return, both j:o one fountain-head: 
So as the World moves on, as Nature lives. 
As that One Thing its Essence freely gives 
To all its endless broods of progeny 
That lived and shall live through Eternity, 
So Man, unmindful of all consequence. 
Should give the Eule its free predominance. 

If this enigma you cannot resolve, 
The Ocean will the mystery dissolve. 
Go to the spot where you discovered me 
And send me drifting on the boundless sea, 
Then, when I disappear, still follow out 
My destined course, but purge you of all doubt, 
J54 



And Other Poems 

And think how far, how wide I shall be borne 
Upon the billows, lone yet not forlorn, 
Then ask the waves what shall their purpose be 
To waft me thus through all Infinity, 
If ever they shall stop, if ever cease. 
Pervert the Eule and rest in stagnant ease. 
Then they will answer with a mighty roar, 
^^We shall roll on as we have rolled before/' 

July 7, 1900. Written aboard the "'Ella" and 
set afloat in a sealed flash on the Atlantic Ocean^ 
29° N. lat, 61" 50' W, long. 



\SS 



A Candle-Light 



Onward, Still On 

Onward^ still on, the watchword goes. 
Which sends me ever hence, 

That ere I find some slight repose 
Anon I'm banished thence. 

Onward, still on, from land to land 

I wander on my way. 
With none to heed or understand 

My sad and tuneless lay. 

iTuneless and sad the lay I sing. 

And broken is my harp; 
Untoned the voice, untuned the string, 

The accent bitter sharp. 

For where I go no harmony 

Of living sounds I hear. 
But fearful notes of irony 

And people's hateful sneer. 
i56 



And Other Poems 

And we, poor singers of these days 

Of barter and of trade, 
We cannot sing of other lays 

Save what the times have made. 



Hence as I go from shore to shore, 

From place to place I go, 
I hear the watchword evermore 

Of onward, ever so. 

Here to the ocean driven, then, 

I spend my weary hours. 
Far from the homes of wretched men, 

'Mid Nature's wildest powers. 

Ocean, Ocean, boundless Sea, 

I pray thee, tell me, do. 
Is there a place of rest for me^^ 

Or must I ever go? 

Ocean, Ocean, boundless Sea, 
Why heaves thy bosom so? 

Beats thy great heart in sympathy 
For him that on must go? 
157 



A Candle-Light 

ITay, as I roll upon thy face 

Some comfort I perceive, 
For here I think I find a place 

At least for short reprieve. 

Then pray receive what I can give, 

And store it in thy depth ; 
^Tis but a tear dropped in the eve 

When here I sat and wept. 

And when I'll think that thy great heart 

Is swelled by tears of mine, 
I'll be content my bitter part 

I should not quite resign. 

Ocean, Ocean, rise not so, 

Nor cast this angry frown. 
Else I'll believe that I must go 

Once more still onward, on. 

Aboard the ''Ella" on the Atlantic Ocean, July 
IS, 1900. 



158 



And Other Poems 



Ella, Ella, skipping ship, 
Going on a Southern trip, 
From New York to Martinique, 
Greater fortunes there to seek. 
Bear me thither on thy breast, 
Gently as you would a guest, 
For on shore I was not used 
To be very much abused. 
Seasick was I not ashore, 
Homesick was I not before; 
Seasick, homesick, know you what 
This may mean, or know you not? 
But the sea no doubt to thee 
Is what land may be to me, — 
A good home and haven's rest. 
Full of blessing and possessed 
Of good cheer and comfort's store, 
Giving life for evermore. 
So, sweet Ella, if you were 
Never seasick, please deter 
From thy jumping, frolic's game. 
This high romping, be more tame, 
J 59 



A Candle-Light 

That I may like thee abide 
In repose and peace beside. 

Ella, Ella, three-mast bark. 
Hasting to thy Southern mark, 
Stontly built and well preserved, 
Five-and-twenty years well served 
On the ocean far and wide. 
Like the ebbing of the tide, 
^Way upon the China seas. 
Then among the Caribbees, 
Next upon Atlantic's face, 
[N'orthward still thy course to trace, 
^Mong the nations there to trade. 
That thy fortunes may be made. 
Then on some far western shores. 
Thou deliver' st up thy stores. 
South and N'orth America, 
All around wild Africa, 
On the Black and Baltic seas, 
Sailing, cruising at thy ease, 
'Mong the Tartars, Eussians, Turks, 
Merchants French and English clerks, 
Here to deal and there to trade. 
That thy fortunes may be made. 

But now, Ella, faithful ship. 
Going on thy Southern trip, 
Staves and lumber in thy hold, 
Merchandise the worth of gold, 
160 



And Other Poems 

Taking far and guiding well. 
That at profit they might sell, 
Trom New York to ]\Iartinique, 
Speed thee fast and speed thee quick. 
While the crew that carry thee 
Are true devils of the sea. 
Pive are black and two are tan. 
Each one passing for a man. 
But thy officers, though white. 
Are in nature black as night. 
Captain is a reprobate, 
Worse than captain is the mate; 
Drinkers both and old in sin. 
Loose in speech, in morals thin. 
But the second mate must be 
Wholly in obscurity. 
Such a rascal never yet 
'Mong the nations have I met ; 
Three wives having, in good style. 
Seeks more victims to beguile. 
ISTor would he stop short of aught 
That may happen in his thought. 
And who knows what happens not 
In the thoughts of such a sot ? 

But, dear Ella, speed thee quick 
To the port of Martinique. 
Aboard the ''Ella/' Atlantic Ocean, July IS, 
1900. 

\6i 



A Candle-Light 



Where Rest the Souls as Good as 
Thine 

Far, far away on Nature's brink 
Lie golden isles that never sink; 
Outpeering each a thousand times, 
Eesounding wide with silver chimes, 
And angels' songs of rhythmic rhymes. 

Sunshine beams ever on these isles, 

Mere time beguiling with its smiles. 

In the interior are seats of gold, 

Eeserved for many hosts untold; 

Nor plain these seats, but trimmed with fine 

Onyx and pearls that brightly shine. 

Where rest the souls as good as thine. 

Aboard the '*Ella," Atlantic Ocean, July IJf., 
1900. 

Note. — The first letters of these lines spell a name. 
\62 



And Other Poems 



A Doctor-Rogue 

In the valley of the moonlight, 

Far removed from water^s edge, 
Lies a city rich in sunlight. 

Rich in wealth and nature's pledge; 
And this city from her nature 

Is the "Iron City" called, 
For the most her manufacture 

Is from iron into gold. 

Hearing highly toward heaven 

Are the chimneys of the shops. 
And of churches cones eleven, 

With their belfries and their clocks ; 
But the highest toward heaven 

Rising are the scents and smells 
Of saloons some eighty-seven. 

These in dens and those in cells. 

Vainly were you in that city 

Should you miss the best to see, 

Should you miss him 'twere a pity. 
Miss the Doctor-Rogue to see; 

J63 



A Candle-Light 

For of all the rogues that even 
Lived upon this earthly frame, 

!N"one could be so rash and clever. 
None so perfect at his game. 

It is he that through the alleys 

Smiling comes and cringes low. 
It is he that often sallies 

Through the town with face aglow; 
On his lips a smile is beaming, 

But his heart is filled with gall. 
That when hating it is seeming 

That he loves and blesses all. 

Nodding, fawning, bowing, smiling. 

Cheerfully your hand is pressed. 
While he thinks how best beguiling 

You for his own interest; 
Tending sick and treating sickness. 

He knows when 'tis well to cure, — 
When the patient's purse in thickness 

Is reduced all well and sure. 

Going, then, from house to household, 

He takes care of every purse, 
That none fatten more than threefold 
Ere he drains it of its curse; 
164 



And Other Poems 

So tKe hypocrite of nature 

Newest victims ever finds, 
OSe who's bent and slim of stature ; 

Writ his name is in these lines. 

Aboard the "Ella" on the Atlantic, July IJf, 
1900. 



165 



A Candle-Light 



A Butterfly Far Out to Sea 

On its beautiful winglets of purple and blue 
A poor sea-loving butterfly eastwardly flew. 
And it sped on its perilous journey alone. 
Undisturbed by the breeze upon which it was 

blown, 
For it loved an adventure as new as 'tis strange 
O'er the foam of the ocean and billows to range. 
How delightful the breeze and how pleasant the 

day 
For this creature of summer, this insect of May. 
And it stretches its winglets as far as it might. 
That its exquisite colors may shine in the light ; 
And it skips and it prances and dances with glee 
O'er the prospect of finally crossing the sea. 
Never butterfly risked an adventure so great, 
IN'ever insect with Nature attempted debate. 
And so fine was the breeze and so pleasant the 

day 
For this insect of summer, this creature of May. 
t66 



And Other Poems 

But not far from the shore, scarce the journey 
began, 
[A. strong gale sent its breath the deep waters to 

fan, 
[A.nd the billows rose high to encroach on the sky. 
And the clouds gather'd dark on the ocean to lie. 
All things changed their appearance and mad grew 

the hour, 
Wide resounding the fury of natural pow^r. 
Then the butterfly feared to advance on its way, 
And attempted returning to land and to day ; 
To the gardens of flowers, to harbors of rest. 
Back where butterflies should be, as for them is 

best. 
But alas ! oh, alas ! 'tis too late to recall 
That which has been accomplished, which must 

now befall. 
For as by the light breeze it was firstly decoyed. 
So upon the strong gale it was killed and de- 
stroyed. 

Aboard the "Ella," Atlantic Ocean, July 16, 
1900, 



167 



A Candle-Light 



The Triumph of Death 

The whistling frog, the creeping snake, 
The humming spider and the scorpion, — 

All of the fatal brood that make 

Their homes beneath the constant tropic sun ; 

These, with their humming and their whistling 
cry, 

Impart a lesson infinitely high. 

They seem to teach and seem to say, 

That in those regions even where the light 

Bequeaths great beauty on each day, 

And struggles to abolish darksome night, 

E'en here the everlasting strife takes place 

^Twixt Nature's highest and her lowest race. 

They seem to say and seem to teach 

That in the land where Beauty lingers long. 

Where plants the highest stages reach 
Of growth luxuriant and fragrance strong, 

There, too, there most, abounds immortal Death, 

Lives in each glare, and dwells in every breath. 

Martinique, W. L, July 22, 1900, 
168 



And Other Poems 



"Au Sans Pareil 



99 * 



A DISTANT land; a little shop 
With tiny windows at the top ; 
Small wares and bric-a-brac in bins; 
Two caps on shelves, three stocking twins; 
Three little chickens in a cage; 
Four fishes swimming in a rage; 
Some cabbage, beets, Napoleon^s bust; 
Old medals, coins, and iron rust; 
Quaint books and curiosities ; 
Perfumes and soap ; a box of cheese ; 
Silks, cotton, paintings, eggs, and drugs; 
Two flasks of wine, of gin three jugs: — 
This wondrous store that thought it nice 
To have ^^Au Sans Pareil" as its device. 

Martinique, W. /., July 23, 1900. 

* Inscribed over the door of a small variety store in 
St. Pierre, Martinique. 



i69 



A Candie-Light 



In Yon Tiny Cottage 

A SONG. 

In yon tiny cottage dwell twain maidens, 

Twain maidens, twain maidens dwell there ; 
They be of my soul the only cravings, 
So bonny these lassies and fair. 

And when I went out, 

In darkness and doubt, 
To saunter one eve on the road, 

Their shadows, meseemed. 

Like angels have gleamed 
•Within their well-lighted abode. 

And then it was that I loved these maidens, 

These maidens, twain maidens I loved; 
For both had lang hair as black as ravens. 
And eyes like of lassies beloved. 
But when I returned. 
Though all my soul burned^ 

J70 



And Other Poems 

I halted and asked me this quest : 

Love they me as well. 

Why will they not tell? 
Or play these fair elfies in jest? 

Love they me as well. 
Why will they not tell? 
Or play these fair elfies in jest? 

West Wimted, Conn., August 18, 1900, 



t7i 



A Candle-Light 



My First Fishing Expedition 

My friend and I, one sunny day. 
Set out a-fishing on the bay. 
If bay or pond or little brook 
I did not take the pains to look. 
For I had more than I could do. 
And so did he, and so would you. 
In keeping out a watchful eye 
Upon the pond and on the sky. 
And on the fish and on the shore, 
Still thinking what will come before. 
But list and hear how it was all, 
What happed to us, what did befall. 
And if you find you cannot laugh 
I should much grieve in your behalf. 
And pray you go to some good leech 
Who soon may to your liver reach, 
Then purge it of the bilious mumps. 
And cleanse it clean of cheesy lumps, 
And send afresh the portal blood, 
And expurgate hepatic mud, 
J 72 



And Other Poems 

Dilate the tubes, expand the lobes. 
And set therein fresh infant hopes, 
That it may serve its purpose good 
And be anew in working mood; 
Then he may likewise tend thy splee% 
And make it pink instead of green ; 
Tune up your heart and set its strings, 
And get in order all such things. 
That you may then appreciate 
Such tales as I will now relate. 
Well, it was on a sunny day 
When we went fishing on the bay ; 
No thought had we of rain or storm, 
Or trouble in whatever form, 
That in our finest clothes we dressed. 
And donned whatever was our best. 
Our hats were straw, our suits were light, 
Our bosoms starched, our collars white. 
But of umbrellas thought we not. 
Nor that ill chance may be our lot; 
So fine the day, so clear the air, — 
No fog nor cloud was anywhere. 
And this was, too, my first attempt 
At such affairs, — the fish exempt, 
I must admit, from much abuse. 
Which pray receive as my excuse. 

J73 



A Candle-Light 

My friend had therefore promised me 

That we should empty out the sea. 

And rid it of its living freight, — 

If only they will see our bait. 

We^ll catch the eels, we'll catch the trout. 

Catch all save whales, we had no doubt. 

So two large buckets put we on 

The seat of our light phaeton. 

And started to the pond or bay 

On that fair summer, sunny day. 

Miles upon miles we rode and rode. 
And rocked and tossed in gleeful mode. 
Until at last we reached a spot 
Where some do fish, but all should not. 
Alighted we, all gay-attired, 
And went into the boat we hired, 
But first we started to prepare 
The fishing tackle that was there. 
Whereon to catch the frolic game. 
Secure and firmly keep the same. 
But oh, the inexperienced hand. 
What torments must it not withstand ! 
The hooks into my fingers hooked, 
And pierced my flesh, that I have looked 
All scratched and bleeding, and my clothes 
Were often rent, you may suppose. 

174 



And Other Poems 

But worse than that, I nearly caught 

From my friend's head, — the killing thought! 

With my own hook, his, — shall I say ? 

His true right eye, alack the day ! 

Nor was this all; the lines were far 

Too long for me, and like a spar 

The rod did seem, so much in length. 

And equal to a mast in strength. 

At last we rowed out on the sea, — 
That kind of sea where frogs may be. 
And as we did so in the sky 
The darksome clouds came sailing by. 
We rowed and rowed for a good spot 
Where some do fish, but all should not; 
And then we anchored 'mong the weeds. 
As here, 'tis said, the king-fish leads 
His court and kingdom, where we might 
Catch thousands of them ere the night. 
And so the clouds have anchored there, 
Above our heads, low in the air. 
These clouds, we said, will pass anon, 
And we once more will see the sun. 
Hence joyfully we dropped our lines 
Within those circumscribed confines. 
I need not tell, I feel the shame. 
Entangled how those lines became 



175 



A Candle-Light 

That neither knew which one was his, 
Which rod, which line, if that or this. 
My first attempt, though, it was yet. 
Which pray recall and don't forget. 
I caught a fish, 'tis true, just one. 
And then I thought how well l\e done; 
It was a tiny mackerel. 
And oh, so young, it seemed as well 
To send it back to whence it came, 
That it may earn itself a name. 
So I returned it to the sea, 
In peace to live, unharmed of me. 
My friend then likewise one had caught, 
A pickerel, for which he fought 
Most valiant, and lastly did 
Unhook him and securely hid 
In the great pail, but when once more 
We dropped the lines, how it did pour ! 
Pour what — the fishes ? No, the rain. 
That came as from a water-main. 
What could we say, what could we do, 
But hasten back without ado ? 
So up we gathered all our store 
And swiftly reached the reeking shore, 
But then the rain at once did stop 
And shed, it seemed, its final drop. 

176 



And Other Poems 

What was there now for us to do 
But try once more, and wouldn^t you? 
Of course you would, and so did we 
Put out again upon the sea. 
Yet as we came to that same spot 
Where some may fish, but I will not, 
Behold once more the rain comes down 
And changes us from dude to clown. 
But now, we thought, we must outwit 
This frisky rain, if we but sit 
And wait till it will pass away. 
Quite soon, no doubt, ere close of day. 

We sat and sat, and waited long. 
But it rained still and it rained strong. 
That I thought it will never stop 
And never cease its stores to drop. 
Deciding, then, it will not cease 
We made for shore with little ease, 
When, oh, the pain ! as there we came, 
All dry and clear the air became. 
Then we returned to sea once more, 
When down again the rain did pour. 
So growing wroth now, in a sort, 
W^e finally gave up the sport, 
And turned back to our soaking mare 
And dripping team that still was there, 

J 77 



A Candle-Light 

Hitched fast and started quickly home, 
The horse being cover'd o'er with foam, 
The team with mud and we with both, 
That now to think of it I loathe. 
We came into the house so wet 
As never any man was yet; 
Then hung our clothes before the fire. 
That they might be a little drier. 
Ourselves to bed to cure the cold 
That firmly took on us a hold, 
While in the pail that finny cuss 
Was pleased with his revenge on us. 

West Winsted, Conn., August 20, 1900. 



178 



And Other Poems 



Oh, Tell Me, Heart, What Ails Thee 
Now 

Oh, tell me, heart, what ails thee now, 
That art supposed to be at rest? 

Here on the mountain's lofty brow 

Discern'st thou aught that is not best? 

Beneath this daily crystal sky 

That smiles with pleasure all along. 

Or in these groves where shadows lie, 

Diseern'st thou aught that may be wrong E 

Lo ! how the breezes whisper faint 

And tell of love that is to be, 
While from afar thy patron saint 

Bespeaks the life that waits for thee. 

The roses bloom, the saplings sprout. 
New life to them the season brings; 

While from the ground the crops come oul^ 
As if upborne by hidden wings. 

i79 



A Candle-Light 

All else is joyful, all serene, 
And happiness is quite complete; 

The droves, the flocks, the herds are seen 
In common joy fulness to meet. 



The birds sing loud their songs of love. 
The wind sighs soft and murmurs low; 

Full jolly are all things above, 
And happy creatures all below. 



Then why, heart, dost thou not cease 
Thy agitation all so wild? 

Or stop awhile thyself to tease 
With the emotions of a child? 



"Alas !'' my heart said to my soul, 
"What thoughtless query askest me I 

How can I rest when, on the whole. 
The world is full of misery? 



"And while thou rest, behold not faf 
Are millions wretched, restless men; 

And while thou feed'st a million are 
Unfed and hungry in thy ken. 



And Other Poems 

^^And as thou liv^st death waits thee still, 

As it awaits all things alive ; 
Hark, how the widows' voices thrill ! 

How weaklings cry, how orphans strive I 

"And talk'st thou still to me of restP 
The heart continued as before; 

The soul then pleaded this request, — 
"Oh, cease, my son, and speak no more.'^ 

West Winsted, Conn., 'August 22, 1900. 



(81 



A Candle Light 



He's a Little Depressed at the Top 

A SELF-LOViN"G joung fellow in town. 
Be whatever his name, Jones or Brown, 
But a character recognized well 
As the worthless, nonsensical swell, 
Eepresenting a class of his own. 
In all places from hovel to throne, 
May be seen any time of the day. 
Anywhere, attired most any way. 
In what species of animal kind 
Can we look its true likeness to find? 
To what order of genus shall it 
By its habit most properly fit ? 
But I fear that a place quite unique 
Must be made for this natural freaky 
And its family's own little nook 
Be produced in Biology's book. 
For the sake of the Naturalist 
I will give here its character-list: 
Legs and arms it has two, each as long 
As those that to chimpanzees belong; 

J 82 



And Other Poems 

Slender-bodied and wiry and thin, 
Feeding largely on products of sin; 
Its neck long, its face smooth, the skin wan; 
Eemote semblance still bearing to man. 
Although more like the apes, and yet less, 
Since its features can nothing express — 
^Tis a little depressed at the top, 
This peculiar, unnatural fop. 

West Winsted, Conn., August 22, 1900. 



183 



A Candle-Light 



Save the Jewels 

The Holy Week in ultra-holy Spain 

Was celebrated with great pomp and show, 
And at Madrid a long and endless train 

Of dark processions wandered to and fro; 

To them the Eegent Queen herself did go, 
And with her presence emphasized the fact 
That Spain is what she was in word and act. 

While at Seville, the clouded province town, 
Full populous of myth and fable false. 

Where Error's shadows never cease to frown 
On darkling streets and city's gloomy walls, 
There solemn priests and bishops, clad in palls. 

Went slowly marching to the church-bell's gong, 

Hard followed by a melancholy throng. 

Religious ensigns and black gonfalons 

And effigies were carried in advance. 
And the bejewel'd Virgin, for the nonce. 

Was brought this high procession to enhance ; 

But lo, the Virgin burns ! what foul mischance ! 
"Ah, save the jew'ls !" the bishops shouted then. 
"Ay, save the jew'ls !" responded all the men. 

West Winsted, Conn., August 23, 1900. 

Note.— On the last day of March, 1898, occurred the 
incident related in this poem. 



And Other Poems 



Dainty, Sainfy Little Maid. 

A SONG. 

Dainty^ sainty little maid. 
Whither hast thou lately strayed ? 

Is it meet 

That thy feet 

Should betray 

All the way, 
By the tiny, tiny footprints, whither thou hast 
strayed? 



Thither have I followed thee, 
That same evening, by the sea; 

Was it meet 

That thy feet 

Should make way^ 

Ere the day, 
Disappearing, and me leaving lonely by the sea? 
J85 



A Candle-Light 

Sainty, dainty little maid. 
By a goblin-shadow stayed ; 

Where thy feet. 

Very fleet. 

Make no way 

All the day, 
Paralyzed by goblin-shadows by which thon ar 
stayed. 

West Winsted, Conn., August 23, 1900, 



tZ6 



And Other Poems 



1 Love Thee And Hate Thee, Sea 

Contemplating the strength of thy arm; 
Thy bewitching and natural charm; 
The wild speech of thy eloquent tongue ; 
Thy great voice that through ages hast rung; 
The fierce breath from thy nostrils that comes; 
Thy pure sprays like medicinal balms; 
Thy huge lips that hang fast on the shores ; 
Thy vast mouth that all energy stores; 
Thy great head like the sky-lifted dome ; 
Thy vast thorax for milliards the home; 
And thy great multitudinous eyes, 
That are ever alert with surprise; 
Thy vast body that stretches beyond 
All dimensions that men ever found; 
Thy great heart that eternally beats; 
Thy vast brain that works wonderful feats : 
When I think all these things are of thee. 
How I love and adore thee, Sea ! 

Then I think of the wrecks at thy cliffs, — 
The yachts, frigates, and steamers and skiffs; 

J87 



A Candle-Light 

Of the lives that are lost on thy face ; 
Of those perishing in thy embrace ; — 
Armies swallowing year after year, 
Unreserved and without any fear; 
Of the thousands that die at thy feet, 
Whom thy waves to eternity beat; 
Of the seamen who suffer thy blight ; 
Of misfortune thou causest at night; 
Devastations which thou dost produce ; 
And the terror which thou dost induce; 
And the monsters whom harbors thy breast; 
The wild sharks whom thou feedest at best; 
All that foul and abominate kind 
In thy bottomless bosom we find: 
When I think in this manner of thee, 
How I hate and abhor thee, Sea I 

West Winsted, Conn., ^August 23, 1900, 



iSS 



And Other Poems 



The Orphan Child 

Hush, my baby, do not cry, 
Mother^s spirit hovers nigh; 
And thy father^s spirit, too. 
Hovers closely, near you: 

Each one praying. 

Praying, praying. 
That their baby be at rest ; 

Each one saying. 

Saying, saying, 
"Sleep, my infant, in thy nest/' 

Hush, baby, weep no more. 
Cease thy grievances to pour; 
And refrain to seek the breast 
Of thy mother, there to rest: 

She is coming. 

Coming, coming. 
In the moments of thy sleep ; 

Ever trying. 

Trying, trying, 
Her maternal watch to keep. 
tS9 



A Candle-Light 

Hush, my infant, sleep, oh, sleep, 
While the angels sentry keep; 
Thee to guide, and guide thee right, 
Through this long and earthly night ; 

Ever fighting. 

Fighting, fighting, 
All this worldly, darksome way ; 

Ever striving. 

Striving, striving. 
Through the Night into the Day. 

West Winsted, Conn., August 23, 1900. 



i90 



And Other Poems 



Martinique 

A REVERIE. 

Upon" the mighty Ocean pearls are strewn 
Abundant from vast Nature's fertile lap, 
Each lustrous shining, verdant, grand, august, 
In tropic regions of the Newer World. 
Full luminous the sun, with lavish mien, 
Smiles radiant and warm the whole year round. 
Them rendering like gardens of the East 
Where naught but summer is beheld, and spring 
Perennial lives complete cycles through. 
Pearls of the sea, these Caribbean Isles, 
And Martinique the grandest of them all, 
Where lofty mountain ranges span the land 
High rearing toward heaven their great peaks. 
Eternally by cloud-caps decked that lend 
Additional enchantment to the soil. 
Warm shines the sun, and all the tropic day 
Is filled with new and ever-growing life. 

t9t 



A Candle-Light 

But it was Night that was not usher'd in 
By twilight, and the Darkness was intense. 
Strange is the hour, oh, wondrous strange, when 

Night 
From out her eastern lair emerges and 
Outspreads her dark, impenetrable wings. 
Silence accompanies, and deep Solitude, 
Her sister, comes conversant all the way. 
Then is the time when souls take wing, and 

Thought, 
In any land, soars to exceeding height. 
But here on this enchanted island strange 
Environments produce sensations strange. 
And new conditions, elsewhere unobserved. 
Produce phantasmagorial results. 
The stars on high are but the eyes malign 
Of evil spirits that rise from below, — 
So may the native Creoles think, and the 
Pale moon, the sorceress of heaven, sheds 
Maliferous effulgence and black light.* 
Umbrageous shadows of the mountains drown 
All nether things in an obscured veil, 
And earth and sea and trees and foliage 
Assume unnatural, fantastic forms. 

* The inhabitants of the West Indies are very super- 
stitious, and demonology reigns among them at present 
as it did in Europe during the Middle Ages. 

i92 



And Other Poems 

Behind each bush a spirit lurks, and each 
Tall tree a zombi harbors ; goblins walk 
The alleys, zombis haunt the houses, ghosts 
And apparitions meet the wa3^farers. 

'Midst such a sea of mystery St. Pierre, 
The chiefest city, lies. High-tow'ring peaks 
Rise sheer above her, garlanded by clouds. 
With mounts volcanean surrounding, in 
Whose darksome caves the fer-de-lance, cobras. 
And deadly spiders fester in their slime. 
Morne Rouge, the sullen mountain, on one side. 
And Piton Gele on the other, with 
The Morne d'Orange facing on the sea, 
Whence the good Virgin all the seamen guards.* 
Betwixt these three, down in the valley just 
Outside the town, on a sequester'd spot. 
Our little bungalow lay slumbering. 
Lulled by a multiple, composite voice. 
There in the valley of Savanna, hard 
Where gambols the Savanna stream, while on 
One side tall mountains rise and, opposite. 
Plantations stretch beyond the eye, where, too. 
The Jardin des Plantes flourishes close by, 
There chose my friend, f in the small bungalow, 

* A statue of the holy Virgin is placed on this high 
mountain for the purpose of protecting all the souls at 
sea. 

t Hon. A. C. Yates, United States consul at the time. 

i9Z 



A Candle-Light 

His habitat betimes to make, allured 
By Nature's wilderness. And on a night 
We sat in the enchanted darkness, and 
Our presence, not beholding, felt the more. 

Silent I sat enraptured, and my soul, 
Amid the vagueness of its depths, knew not 
Its bounds of mirth. Deep in the depthless heart 
Of Nature where it chanced me not ere this 
To be, among the tropic growths, the ferns 
Luxuriant, the wondrous palms, the huge 
And variable fronds, the ceibas here, 
Palmettoes there, and fruit-trees all around. 
There in the fullness of all things my heart 
Leaped mad with joy. Hard by the door and 

^neath 
The paneless casements limes abundant stood. 
That mingled their sweet scents with mangoes and 
The bread-fruit and the fig-trees that grew there. 
Which fragrance scented all our chambers through. 
A thousand voices fed our hearing sense. 
That from the ocean on the east and from 
The Caribbean Sea to west, the woods 
That crown the awful mountains, trade-winds that; 
Come whispering from distant lands and tell 
Of things unknown; innumerable birds 
Their diverse melodies poured out, and harsh, 
Low ululations, hootings, screcchings, and 
194 



And Other Poems 

The crickets' chirrup, the hoarse croak of frogs, 

The madden'd roarings of the river, all 

United into one great echoing 

And undulating song, the like of which 

Cannot be well imagined. Wonderful 

Be3^ond all comprehension Nature is 

When every object takes a living form, 

And every leaf or petal has a tongue ; 

Then who ca*n know what secrets are revealed, 

Or what deep mysteries unearthed? In 

Their musical, quaint language, what grand things 

They tell incomprehensible to man ! 

And then, methought, I heard weird melodies 
Arising from the body of the Earth ; 
Attentively I hearken'd, and it seemed 
That all the songs of generations past, 
E'en since this globe has harbored Man, in strange 
Fantastic tones, in languages as strange. 
Have now found issue through the foliage. 
Through reeds and bamboo stalks, attempting to 
Give utterance to songs forgotten since. 
But all at once these varied songs did blend 
Into a chorus most harmonious. 
And high toward the sky the song reared its 
Gigantic notes, and Heav'n rebounded. Earth 
Felt deep the exultation, and her breast 



i95 



A Candle-Light 

Heaved with emotions deep. The moiintains 

leaped 
For joy, and the great hills pranced full with 

glee. 
The Southern Cross^ the guardian above, 
And wayside temples, shrines and images, 
The guardians below, all seemed to speak 
Approvingly of the weird midnight hour. 
The shadows silently were musing, and 
The shades did softly flitter to and fro; 
While airy phantoms, strange, unnatural, 
As if the sheeted dead rose from their graves, 
Came marching through the air in file of long 
Processions, endless, chanting solemn hymns. 
Then peering in the darkness I perceived 
No things familiar, but so much transformed. 
Beyond all recognition. Objects seemed 
Inverted, trees stood on their heads, the hills 
Did taper downward, sky below and sea 
Above, that the delusion was complete. 
Dense vapors charged the atmosphere, and sheets 
Of gases render'd vision difficult. 
The glow-worms, sparkling, seemed like seraphim 
In the far distance, and the falling stars 
Gave the appearance of embattled hosts. 

We ceased discoursing over the Sublime, 
The goodness of man's nature, grandness of 
196 



And Other Poems 

His Soul ; we stopped conversing on the hopes 

And fears of human kind, the wickedness 

Of many and the good of some ; we ceased 

Philosophizing of the hidden things, 

The mysteries of the Divine, the deep 

And hidden purpose of all things, the ways 

Of Nature and her secret lore: all these 

Were overruled by the vast mystery, 

The awful beauty of the sable Night. 

Silent I sat enraptured, and my soul 

Amid its depths knew not its bounds of mirtH, 

New Britain, September 5, 1900. 



Note. — The reason of this poem being written in 
blank verse rather than rhymed will undoubtedly appear 
plain to every reader and needs no comment or explana- 
tion. But it may be stated here that rhyme is often a 
hindrance in poetry rather than an auxiliary of it, 
since it arrests attention and draws the understanding 
from substance to form. Teach not the art of music to 
the birds of song ; attempt not to purify the pure crystal- 
line waters from an upwelling spring ; turn not a river 
from its course ; modify not the utterances of the philoso- 
pher by the intricacies of ambiguous words ; and trim 
not thy speech with fancy embellishments, lest in the 
abundance thereof the speech itself be lost. So, too, 
hinder not the even and swift flow of thought, nor the 
ready coming of language by any artificiality of sound 
that you may impart to it, for surely the former shall 
only be marred by the latter. It was this rule that the 
author has instinctively followed in writing the above 
poem. 

i97 



A Candle-Light 



Helgh-Ho! I'm Here Again 

In the great distance of the world 
Have I stepped out with heart unfurled 
To Pleasure's stores, Enjoyment's gift. 
That into Paradise may lift 
The soul oppressed, the mind subdued, 
And make them thrill with life renewed; 
The lessons of Experience gain. 
With Wisdom's text to stock the brain. 
That all the world may make a man, — 
A man the world, if that he can. 

'Neath tropic suns, 'neath southern moons, 
To the loud ocean's martial tunes. 
Upon hot sand, on the hot beach. 
Or in dark woods w^here night-owls screecK 
Far in the day, mistaking quite — 
So dark it is — the day for night ; 
From all these places to derive 
The goods whereon such places thrive. 
Then wearying of trav'lers' ways, 
Of angry seas, of tropic days, 
I turned my face toward the home 
Which late I left- abroad to roam. 
A dull, hoarse whistle made it known 

t98 



And Other Poems 

We Have arrived on soil our own, 
And soon the engine's bells declare 
Our destination ended there. 

With lissom heart and lighter feet 
We stepped into the well-known street, 
Myself and a small foreign dog, — 
My only friend, a hairless rogue; — 
To greet the people whom I know. 
And be saluted as I go. 
How bright the streets, the town how gay, 
How clear the sky, how fine the day ! 

So glad to see all folks again. 
The lady friends and friendly men. 
And they, all they, were, too, so glad, 
That with pure joy their hearts were mad. 
And welcomed us, the dog and me. 
Back into town ; what joy to see ! 
A pressing hand, a friendly smile, 
A nodding head, a bow of style ; 
"Hail ! welcome back," some of them said. 
And, thanking them, I shook my head. 

But soon I came to my dear place 
That seemed possessed of some new grace 
Which never I before discerned, 
Or some new charm which just I learned. 

Ascending, then, the stairs with joy, 
I felt myself again a boy, — 
)99 



A Candle-Light 

So happy and so full of glee, 
For I returned where I should be. 
Quick I unlocked the slumb'ring door. 
And threw it open as before 
I never oped a door so wide, 
That with surprise the hinges sighed; 
But then, on entering, behold ! 
Blank Vacancy, thrice manifold, 
Stares in my face, and Loneliness 
Declares aloud his full distress 
At my long absence, and proclaims 
His methods new and latest aims. 
Silence and Blankness rule the house. 
That naught but echoes could I rouse 
To knowledge of my presence here. 
At this old place devoid of cheer. 

Here, little dog, my only friend. 
Here will this roof its shelter lend, 
'Midst empty darkness, sullen void. 
For a brief moment misemployed; 
A shelter both for thee and me. 
Till we again put out to sea. 

Neiv Britain, September 10, 1900. 

Note. — AM new words in this volume are printed in 
italics. 

THE END. 



200 



May > 28 l^^l 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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015 988 881 2 ^