OKLAHOMA

AND

OTHER POEMS

BY

FREEMAN E. MILLER, A.M.,

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE IN THE

AGRICULTURAL AND MECHANICAL COLLEGE OF

OKLAHOMA TERRITORY.

BUFFALO

CHARLES WELLS MOULTON

1895

COPYRIGHT, 1895,

BY FREEMAN E. MILLER, A.M.

PRINTED BY

CHARLES WELLS MOULTON,

BUFFALO, N.Y.

TO

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY,

IN AFFECTIONATE

MEMORY OF OTHER DAYS.

Our dearest joys forever flow

From fountains of the Long Ago,

That from the heights of pleasures past

Flood all the present valleys vast,

And with eternal glees provide

The future's endless ocean tide.

To ope each cage where a heartless age

Hath chained the birds of singing,

Till Love's own glee that is fond and free

Shall laugh where they are winging,—

Such is my wish. 'Tis true, hold I,

That songs, like birds, in bondage die.

CONTENTS.

OKLAHOMA [9]

THE RACE FOR HOMES [15]

AT PERRY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1893 [19]

"SING ME A SONG, O WIND." [21]

A CHRISTMAS CAROL [24]

YEARS THAT ARE TO BE [26]

IF WE DON'T OR IF WE DO [28]

DEAR SONGS OF MY COUNTRY [30]

JULY FOURTH [33]

"O, GENTLE SHADES OF QUIET WOODS." [35]

LOVE [37]

WINTERS ON THE FARM [39]

"O, WEAK AND WEARY WORLD." [41]

EX ANIMA [43]

"LO, ALL THE AGE IS RANK WITH WRONG." [45]

"LOVE, THOU GAYEST FANCY-WEAVER." [47]

THE FARMER [49]

"NATURE HAS A THOUSAND CHOIRS." [51]

THE WORKINGMAN [53]

GIVING AND FORGIVING [55]

"O, SACRED SOULS THAT GRANDLY SING." [57]

CHRISTMAS TIME [59]

TRUEST HEROES ARE UNKNOWN [61]

IF WE BUT KNEW [62]

HOPE [64]

DESPONDENCY [66]

IF LOVE WERE KING [68]

"SING ME THE OLD SONGS, MOTHER." [69]

TWO LIVES [71]

"AWAY, AWAY, FROM THE SULTRY WAYS." [72]

SPINSTERHOOD [74]

"SWEET FAIRIES FROM THE ISLES OF SONG." [75]

STANZAS [77]

"MAKE THE MOST OF THIS LIFE." [78]

"THE SONGS THAT MOTHER USED TO SING." [80]

"QUAFF THE GLASS, THE WINE IS RED." [81]

GOOD-NIGHT [83]

LIVE LIFE WITH LOVE [84]

DISCONTENT [86]

STANZAS [87]

THE WAY OF THE WORLD [89]

MY SHADOW AND I [90]

IN THE VALES [91]

THE WILLOW [92]

AT THE MILL [94]

SHADOW AND SHINE [95]

THE GROWTH OF SONG [96]

SPRING AND MUSIC [97]

COMPENSATION [98]

MY MOLLIE, O [100]

SING NOT OF BEAUTY [101]

AT EVENTIDE [102]

WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES [103]

WHEN THOU ART NEAR [104]

HE SLEEPS AT LAST [105]

WHEN FORTUNES FROWN [106]

WHEN WE SHALL MEET [107]

SWEET EYES OF BLUE [108]

HAD WE NOT MET [109]

A SONNET [110]

OKLAHOMA.—A SONNET [111]

ESTRANGED [112]

RECONCILED [113]

THE DYING HERO [114]

SONNET [115]

GREATNESS LIVES APART [116]

POEMS [117]

SINGER AND SONG [118]

TO ONE WHO PLEDGED HER FRIENDSHIP [119]

THE BANKS O' TURKEY RUN [119]

OKLAHOMA.

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Land, O, land of the Fair God,

Land where ancient, savage races

Through barbarian ages trod!

Through thy story fancy traces

Facts above what fictions say,

Where the world with haste advances,—

Born are nations in a day!

Where the wigwam stood so lonely,

Lordly cities rise in might;

Where spread desert wildness only,

Fertile farms and homes delight.

Thou hast summoned to thy bosom

From the ends of all the earth,

All the youngest, strongest, bravest,

Full of will and wondrous worth.

O'er thy valleys grow the blossoms

Culled from earth's remotest sod;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Land, O, Land of the Fair God!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

There is music in thy name.

There is gladness in thy glory,

There is fondness in thy fame!

In the wonders of thy story

Shines the sheen of noble deed,

Brighter than the glare of battle

Where the warriors toil and bleed;

Ruling with immortal forces,

There is found the king of might,

Over all thy great resources

By the strength of truth and right.

With thy happy sons and daughters,

Live the virtues fair and pure,

And the better angels guiding

Keep their hearts and souls secure.

There are treasures in thy valleys,

There are treasures in thy hills;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

How thy name my bosom thrills!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Child of law and liberty,

Thou art always true and tender,

Thou art ever dear to me!

I will always praises render

To the grandeur of thy worth,

For the fortunes all presided

At the moment of thy birth.

Pleasures in their pure completeness

O'er thy pleasant prairies shine,

And the raptures run with fleetness

Through the happy vales of thine.

Thou art empress of the angels,

Thou art queen of all the gods,

And the happiness of heaven

O'er thy laughing valleys nods.

I will always crown with praises

All thy glories, O, my state;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Thou art greatest of the great!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Bravest are thy noble sons,

In the thunders of the battle,

And the roaring of the guns!

Flash of sword and musket's rattle

Never fearful terror gave

To the staunch and valiant bosoms

Of thy happy hosts and brave.

When the roars of hell grow louder,

And the mountains shake in fright,

In the lurid clouds of powder,

They are foremost in the fight;

And when bayonet and musket,

Sword and saber, slaughter cease,

They are tenderest and truest

In the silent ways of peace.

O, my state! A stream of greatness

From thy mighty people runs;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Bravest are thy noble sons!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Fairest are thy daughters fair,

In the thousand deeds of duty

Thou hast given them to bear;

Peerless is their wondrous beauty,

Bright with blushes as the rose,

Pure as petals of the lily,

White as newly-fallen snows;

And their voices bright with blessing

Banish misery and woe,

While their fingers' soft caressing

Soothes the fevers from the brow.

Souls are always blessed with brightness

Bosoms filled with goodly pearls,

Hearts forever harvest gladness,

In the glances of thy girls.

They are robed in golden garments,

Nature's vestments, rich and rare;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Fairest are thy daughters fair!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Sweetest are thy happy homes,

Smiling in the holy gladness

Which above thee always roams;

They are never linked with sadness,

They are never bound with pains,

For the sunshine of enjoyment

Rules the people of thy plains.

Songs are singing with thy maidens,

Music echoes with thy wives,

Rapture slays the grief that ladens

All the gladness of their lives.

Happiness is with thy husbands,

And thy swains are blest with joy,

While the fondest rapture rises

In the hearts of girl and boy.

Pleasures linger in thy woodlands,

Gladness on thy prairies roams;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Sweetest are thy happy homes!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Thou shall ever live in song;

Freedom, near to nature, raises

Temples that to thee belong;

Minstrels shall in merry praises

Wind their music o'er thy name

Till the voices of the ages

Shout for thee in wild acclaim;

They shall sing with tender pleasure

Beauty of thy daughters true;

Sing, in high, exultant measure,

Deeds thy sons in battle do.

Sages shall in wisdom offer

Full rewards of love to thee,

And shall crown thy land and people

Favorites of liberty.

All thy glory shall be shining

Through the cycles clear and strong;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Though shall ever live in song!

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Romance of the ages, thou!

Now, unknown; a moment later.

Kingly crowns upon thy brow!

Child of all the nations, greater

Shall thy splendors year by year

Grow unfading, bringing bounties

Full of happiness and cheer!

Morning saw a desert sleeping,

Worn and wasted with distress;

Night beheld an empire keeping

Watch above the wilderness.

Progress with her wand of magic

Touched the sleeping valleys bright,

And they leaped with instant vigor,

Shaking out their locks of might;

Earth shall send her fairest blossoms

As a garland for thy brow;

Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

Romance of the ages thou!

THE RACE FOR HOMES.

APRIL 22, 1889.

Behold! As from the shades of night,

An army gathers full of might,

And strong with constant courage stands

'Tween civilized and savage lands,

Where, vast in power, the legion waits

The turning of the desert gates,

That men of might may enter in

And progress all her glories win!

Lo, where these thousands make assail,

The barren ages all shall fail,

And swift advancement far be hurled,

O'er sleeping empires and the world!

The morning hours haste hurried by;

Behold! The noon is drawing nigh!

The anxious host with careful eyes

Marks well each rapid hour that flies,

While hope, exulting, wildly rolls

The highest, such as filled the souls

Of Jason and his comrades bold,

Who sought the famous fleece of gold.

Upon the trampled grasses beat

Impatient steeds with restless feet;

The dins of harsh, discordant cries

Above the thrilling thousands rise;

Shrilly the scattered children call,

And soft the words of women fall,

While men with voices hushed and weak

Their low commands expectant speak;

Till suddenly a mighty cry,

A shout of warning, smites the sky:

"Attention! Ho,

Attention here!

Attention! Lo,

The noon is near!"

O'er hill and brake

Resounds the warning cry;

The moment great is nigh;

The hosts awake;

Awake, to strive with mad delight,

Awake to win the friendly fight;

And from the camps anear and far,

Where nervous haste and hurry are,

Vast legions gather on the plain,

While chaos and confusion reign;

The neighing steed with quickened pace

Impatient seeks the vantage place;

The slower ox with lightened load

Stands waiting in the crowded road.

And wagon, buggy, carriage, cart,

Vehicles formed with rudest art,

All forward, forward, forward dart,

Swift-forming on the level ground

Where most advantage may be found.

"Line up! Ho, there,

Line up, line up!"

The hurried order smites the air;

Above the silent prairies fair

Unseen progression holds her cup,

Filled to the brim with magic seeds

That harvests hold for human needs.

Excitement grows on beasts and men;

The saddle girths are tightened o'er,

The stirrups lengthened out once more,

And silence softly falls again;

Each bit and buckle, strap and band,

Is tested o'er with careful hand,

And man and beast in chosen place

Stand ready for the coming race;

The circling sun

His morning race has fully run;

A waving hand

Signals above the brief command

That sight and sense will understand,—

And open swings the desert land!

A shot! A hundred, thousand more

The grassy meadows echo o'er;

A shout! From countless throats a shout,

On rolling wings leaps madly out;

A yell, a raging roar, that flies

On bounding winds o'er hill and glen,

And 'round the land electrifies

A thousand living miles of men!

A mammoth stir,

A sudden dash,

Swift whip and spur

Together clash,

And wheels on wheels that totter crash!

They're off! They're off!

Away, away,

In mad array!

No stop nor stay!

The hurried charge they ride to-day

Would shame and scoff

The Tartar, Turk and Romanoff!

The race is on;

The host is gone;

The thronging legions madly ride

O'er hill and dale,

With hurried pace unsatisfied.

In fierce assail

Where none may fail;

And only phantoms dimly blent

Tell where the mounted armies went,

Like shifting shadows, faint and dim,

Or ghostly spectors, gaunt and grim,

Beyond the far horizon's rim!

Behold! Adown the valleys bright,

The last, lone straggler fades from sight,

And only hasty hoof-beats say

What thousands rode the race to-day;

What hosts, with hearts that build and bless,

Found homes amid the wilderness!

AT PERRY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1893.

Crowds! Crowds! Crowds!

Suddenly here as if come from the clouds

That faded away as they came;

Mad acres of people aflame

With thirst for a morsel of land;

Wild hunters of fortune, whose game

Is ever escaping the hand;

Vast, countless, uncountable throngs

With restless, unrestable feet,

That hurry the ways, full of agonized wrongs,

For the conquest of happiness sweet;

Wild seas of ambition whose waves of desire

On their obstacles mighty continually beat,

Where neither the shore nor the ocean is fixed;

Like thunderous songs of a choir,

Whose murmurs in music repeat;

And confusion and chaos are terribly mingled and mixed.

Dust! Dust! Dust!

Borne in the arms of the gathering gust,

And whirled on the wings of the wind,

The eyes feel the blight of the blind,

And horror comes into the heart;

For nature is far more unkind

Than the thousands that struggle apart.

Dark, wild, inescapable dust,

In fiercest, untamable clouds,

That men into misery helplessly thrust,

And bury in agony-shrouds;

A simoom of sorrow whose pestilent breath

To the strong and the weak, to the young and the old,

Brings despair that is reckless of possible gain,

And the awfullest anguish of death;

Till the soul in its rage uncontrolled,

Droops low in the horrible sickness and sorrow of pain.

But out from the clouds,

Out from the agonized dust that enshrouds;

True kings shall arise who shall reign

In homes on the populous plain!

Great cities shall gather and grow

In glories that never shall wane,

Far over the valleys below.

With merry yet measureless might

They conquer the waste with the gladness that brings

To the desert the newest delight.

The barren shall bloom as the rose, and the land

That is sleeping, a wilderness wasted and wild,

And dreaming to welcome its master's command,

Shall leap at the touch of his hand,

His voice shall obey as a child!

"SING ME A SONG, O, WIND."

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of musical cadence sweet,

Which in the wood around

Shall often and oft repeat;

Soft as an angel's song

That never can give annoy,

Which in the balmy notes

Shall tell me its tales of joy.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of countries beyond the sea,

Which in thy wand'rings oft

Thou pass with a footstep free;

Lands that are ever green

'Neath blaze of the tropic spells,

Bright with their blessed suns,

Where summer forever dwells.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of groves with a verdure fair,

Waving their boughs of green

O'er solitudes grand and rare;

Groves with a stillness sweet,

With cheering and cooling shades,

Where from its cares the race

May rest in the leafy glades.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of birds with a plumage gay,

That with their carols sweet

Give praise to the God of day;

Music of sad refrain,

Though fond in its tender chime,

Thou in thy travels wide

Hast heard in a fairy clime.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of crystalline brooks at play,

Which with the murmurs low

Make sweetest of sounds all day;

Winding through meadows wide,

And blossoming fields between,

Fringed with the willows tall

On emerald banks of green.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of flowers that are fond and fair,

Filling the fields of earth

With beauty and fragrance rare;

Wafting an incense pure

On every breeze that blows,

Drawn from the lily's heart

And soul of the royal rose.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

Of man in his brightest homes;

Tell if he there meet joy,

Wherever his longing roams;

Tell if there's e'er a place

Where, all his ambition spent,

He toils throughout all his days

And knoweth no discontent.

Sing me a song, O, Wind,

For I am a-weary now;

Life, with its woes and cares,

Hangs heavily on my brow;

Sing me a song of cheer,

My heart that is sad to ease;

Sing in thy brightness and joy

With heavenly harmonies!

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

The brazen bells of laughing lands

In swelling echoes wildly ring,

And over seas and hoary strands

This Christmas carol sing.

"Awaken, O, heart of the race,

To bountiful riches from Eden above,

Till roses of beauty and lilies of grace

Shall sweeten the languishing bosom with love;

Till virulent sorrow and venomous hate

Their poisonous curses of misery cease,

And rapturous fortune, felicitous fate,

Have rule in the musical meadows of peace.

"The voices of morning to men,

In passionate whispers of bounteous glee,

Are pulsing the gladness of Christmas again

O'er plains of the prairie and sounds of the sea;

Rejoice and be happy, O, languishing soul,

In limitless treasures of marvelous cheer,

Till ravishing murmurs of lullabies roll

Through all of the sorrows that sadden the year!

"Though summer has gone from the earth,

And silken embraces of velvety snow

Are folding the blossoms of beauty and worth

In wretched surroundings of wearisome woe;

Let innocent joys in their sweetness abound

And silvery cadence in melody start,

Till rapturous fortunes with pleasure surround

The aims of the soul and the hopes of the heart.

"Let youth with its yearning engage

All vigorous passion that lives in the breast,

While tearful remembrance of tottering age

Finds halcyon harbors of comforting rest;

Let silver of years with the ardor of youth

Be going again through the temple of joy,

While palms of amusement and laurels of truth

Encircle the hearts of the maiden and boy.

"Let happiness reign with the race;

There's never a reason for sorrowful tears,

Kriss Kringle has come with his fatherly face

To comfort complaining humanity's fears;

Let music go 'round and the beautiful smile

Bring gladsome delight to the bosom of bliss,

Till gentle enjoyments unbroken beguile

The souls of the sad with their coveted kiss.

"Though crystalline frost on the trees,

Though ice on the river and snow on the plain

Are freezing the breath of the shivering breeze.

The heart has Nepenthe for all of its pain;

For Christmas is king, and his bountiful hand

Is giving its treasures to mountain and lea,

And gentleness rules on the billowy strand,

And reigns in the far-away isles of the sea."

This is the carol that swells

Over the meadows and brakes,

From brazen throats of the pealing bells

When Christmas morning wakes.

YEARS THAT ARE TO BE.

Wild years that are to be

The sad completion of my weary life,

In ghostly mantles of despairing strife

Your phanton dimness darkly shadows me!

Gaunt demons dancing from your horrid halls

Entwine my soul in gloomy arms of woe,

While mystic fancies to my madness show

The monsters on your walls.

Your forms are skeletons,

Whose bony hands with mortal fingers play,

Where grinning skulls are heaping on the way,

And airy specters meet the timid ones;

Death drops his arrows from your sullen skies,

Destruction dances in your noisome shades,

And in the dreadful darkness of your glades

The horrid shriekings rise.

There in your cycles are

Dark valleys where my weary feet must go,

Though devils of disaster hurl and throw

Their awful sorrows from the fortunes far;

No hands of pleasure can presume to part

The clouded curtains of impending care,

And hissing serpents of insane despair

Pour poison in my heart.

O, years that are to be,

Among your solitudes I, dreaming, grope;

My life's the shade of unaccomplished hope,

My heart's a ghoul that feeds on agony!

No strains of music call my tears away,

No smiling star illumes the awful night;

Ambition weeps; my soul draws without light

My shameless feet astray!

No soothing welcome floats

Between your marble lips, nor sweetly rise

The tender songs of gentle melodies

From croaking caverns of your iron throats;

But from your dirges of destructive pain,

Wild clash of wretched sound is borne to me,

Where death and failure, tears and misery,

In robes or anguish reign.

But my heart hopes to find

Some infant joy for woes that sorrow did,

Some faded garland on some coffin lid,

To cheer the wildness of my broken mind;

Some angel pleasures in your realms must roll,

Some laughing life, some music, in your glooms,

Shall gladness give, amid your ghostly tombs,

Mad Future, to my soul!

IF WE DON'T OR IF WE DO.

If we don't or if we do.

What's the odds to me and you?

Fame is e'er a heartless jade,

And her slaves are poorly paid;

Weary hearts and soul's distress

Are the prices of success;

All our stations sadness view,—

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

Our deservings will accrue;

We must pay the fullest price,

For each virtue and each vice,

And each life for every thing

Must an equal portion bring;

Justice shall our deeds review,

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

Fortune to our worth is true;

Trophies that enshroud our clay,

Scarce are worth the price we pay;

Shame doth small endeavors share,

Fame and glory, toil and care;

Earth floats but an equal crew,

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

What's the diff'rence 'tween the two,

When our souls have gone to God

And we sleep beneath the sod?

Kindred grasses wave and creep

Where the prince and pauper sleep;

We shall have our six-feet-two,

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

We but dust and ashes brew;

Labor, trouble, toil and strife

Weave within each human life;

Sorrows cloud the younger years;

Age is bowed with cares and tears;

Accidents in fame are few,—

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do.

Fate to our deserts is true;

If we fail, or falter not,

Every life deserves his lot;

Every human, small or great,

Buys with current coin his fate;

What's the odds to me and you,

If we don't or if we do?

DEAR SONGS OF MY COUNTRY!

Dear songs of my country! How sweetly thy measures

Come stealthily stealing o'er mountain and wave,

To sweeten the riches of liberty's treasures

And thrill with their numbers the hearts of the brave!

To move in wild glory the souls of a nation,

Till men are together so happily hurled,

That millions are bound in fraternal relation

And brotherhoods rule in the ranks of the world.

Such praises ye offer our heroes and sages,

So grand is the greatness that lives in thy strains,

That small is the fame of the far away ages,

So sunken in tyranny, fettered in chains.

For freedom ye strive and ye struggle for glory,

And Liberty—Liberty still is your theme—

And glad are your lips with the national story,

Which warriors have written on forest and stream.

Dear songs of my country! The soul patriotic

Ye fill with the wishes of mighty emprise,

Till conquers he tyranny harsh and despotic,

Or first in the front of the battle he dies.

Ye offer him laurels, ye crown him with praises,

Who falls in the fight with his face to the foe,

And gratitude over his sepulcher raises

The marbles eternal of national woe.

Your strains are as high as the cloud-covered mountains,

As deep as the ocean, as wide as the land,

As pure as the murmurs of silvery fountains,

But loud as the roar on the billowy strand.

Our deep-furrowed prairies, our ship-laden rivers,

Our ax-ringing forests, our steam-shrieking bays,

Swell high in your music, for all are free givers

To freedom's true grandeur and liberty's praise.

How fondly, dear songs of my country, ye cherish

The struggle heroic, the God-shapen deed,

That nothing of worthiness ever may perish

But live to the time of humanity's need!

Afar from the realms of the centuries olden,

Ye summon with gladness the glories of years,

To greet every hero with cadences golden,

And sing every sage that in greatness appears.

The ages may falter thee, Land of my Birth,

The years may thy grandeur and glory betray;

But long as thy songs murmur over the earth,

No forces can carry thy splendors away!

Then live, ye dear songs of my country, forever,

With voices eternal to utter her name,

That cycles may never her liberty sever,

Nor trample her greatness nor crumble her fame!

JULY FOURTH.

Hail, glorious morning of Columbia's birth,

Celestial dawn of freedom! There shall be

In recognition of thy wondrous worth

By mighty millions this side of the sea,

Triumphant crowns of laurel wreathed for thee!

Welcome thy mammoth pageants, welcome all

The choral songs and melodies of glee,

The swelling shouts of praise that gladly fall

From mighty multitudes in anthems national!

High hangs the sacred banner, and the stars

Dance in the sunshine, while the breezes play

Around the glory of the hallowed bars

Gleaming in white and crimson; music gay

Floats from the patriot host and cheers array

Great shouts around its foldings. Long in state,

Flag of the brave and free, wave o'er this day

To bring the world rejoicings which await

The natal hours of might, the day we celebrate!

How fears the tyrant in his capital,

As myriad wires throb with the nation's tale!

How despot trembles in his castled hall,

When liberty's wild shouts of power prevail,

And give their gladness unto every gale!

Fetters and chains dissolve in holy trust,

Scepters and swords in puny weakness fail,

While crowns and thrones make monumental dust,

And kingly Might is dead, Oppression downward thrust.

Wide float thy wondrous pæans; loudly range

Thy songs of holy rapture; and the roars

Of deep-mouthed cannons echo wild and strange

Through shouting cities; Patriotism pours

Her full libations on the trembling shores,

Till earth reels with her triumph; and the voice

Of millions mad with merriment far soars

From sea to ocean with entrancing noise,

Till nations hear the cry and continents rejoice.

Wave on, thou flag of freedom, and this day

Still live in hearts of nations! O, thou Land,

Where Man was first the monarch, where the sway

Of birth exalted first was broken, stand

To guard the helpless with a mighty hand,

And give the weak protection; scout the ban

Which tyrants utter, and with growing band

Of noble freemen serve thy primal plan,

And bind all nations in the Brotherhood of Man!

"O, GENTLE SHADE OF QUIET WOODS."

O, gentle shade of quiet woods,

Where nature dwells in leafy halls,

I love the sacred voice that falls

In music o'er thy solitudes!

Within thine arms the weary heart

Is hidden from the toils of men,

And pleasure makes ambition start

Into a nobler life again.

Among the fragrant shadows throng

With all the riches of their truth,

Glad echoes from the days of youth

And mingle into laughing song;

While angel fingers touch the keys

That slumber in the silent breast,

Till mem'ry wakes her lullabies

And childhood fancies rock to rest.

Again the hours of early joy

Upon the aged years intrude,

And dance amid the summer wood

The golden dreamings of the boy;

Again the songs of wonder thrill

The days of life with gladness wild,

And lofty visions fondly fill

The longing fancies of the child.

Enchanted choirs of baby years,

Sweet dirges from the cradle's keys,

The glories of your harmonies

Impel my secret soul to tears!

The roses of my fancies fade

Into the dust of wicked strife,

And all the promise boyhood made

Has proved the desert of my life.

O, fragrant woods of happy times,

Fair children of the glowing days,

How sweet the music of your lays

Is mingled into fairy chimes!

Ye lisp again the songs of yore,

The stories of my infant years,

And throw a sweeter cadence o'er

My hoary sorrows and my tears!

LOVE.

Angelic theme of ancient lays!

By Doric hills, Athenian vales,

The nations bound thy brows with bays

And fanned thy cheeks with scented gales;

While golden lamps illumed thy shrines

Beside the Tiber and the Po,

Till anthems thine were taught to flow

Along the Alps and Appenines.

The souls of sages and of slaves

Were faithful servants unto thee,

Whose rapture soothed the Grecian waves,

And kissed the islands of the sea;

And bounding on from strand to strand

It crossed the coasts and climbed the slopes,

To place a crown of tender hopes

Upon the vine-clad Roman land.

Great empress of that early time,

Glad ruler of the gentle souls,

Each year is changed to raptured rhyme

That o'er thy laughing bosom rolls;

For cycles as they sink to rest

So closely guard thy joy and truth,

That fondness and immortal youth

Give sweet embraces to thy breast.

Thou goddess of the Paphian shrine,

Cytheran queen of Ion's isle,

Fair Venus from the land of wine,

The races love thy dewy smile;

While silent hills and dewy glades

Bear praises on each breeze that blows,

Sweet as the breath of morning rose

That blossoms in the woodland shades!

Then crown, O, Love, these later days

With mystic charms of wondrous bliss,

That lived when thou wert wreathed with bays,

And nations hungered for thy kiss!

No more thy temples tower above,

But lives and bosoms hold thee dear;

Then come with all thy worth of cheer

And gentleness, O, mighty Love!

WINTERS ON THE FARM.

Glad winters on the olden farm!

How raptures from those early times

Commingle into fairy chimes

Which gently banish cries of harm!

My fainting soul finds rest the whiles

Within the arms of memory,

And tender scenes of boyish glee

Transform my sorrows into smiles.

How brightly beamed the pleasures then,

When frigid fingers came to throw

A wintry winding sheet of snow

Around the silent homes of men!

But happiness found no alarm,

For safe with cheer, secure with love,

She gladly grew and sweetly throve

Through winters on the olden farm.

With merry bells and busy sleighs,

That sung and flew o'er icy vales

And climbed the hills as fleet as gales,

Like singing phantoms died the days;

Or then with coat and muffler warm

Sweet children glided on the lake,

Or chased the rabbit through the brake,

In winters on the olden farm.

How glad the joys at eventide

When 'round the hearth-stone's pleasant heat

The simple song in music sweet

From loving voices floated wide!

The mellowed apples gave a charm,

While pop-corn white and cider bright

With worlds of laughter lent delight

To winters on the olden farm.

Thrice happy nights and happy days,

Sweet isles of pleasure in the past,

May long your hallowed moments cast

A sacred sunshine o'er my ways!

And where life leads me, gladly arm

My soul with angel songs of bliss,

With true embrace and holy kiss,

O, winters on the olden farm!

"O, WEAK AND WEARY WORLD!"

O weak and weary world

Forever struggling on,

When will thy toils in comfort be impearled,

When will thy sorrows and thy cares be gone?

When shall the races, all ambition dead,

Forsake the stony slope and rocky steep,

And in contentment sweetly wed

The joys that never sleep?

O, weak and weary world,

Long hast thou toiled in vain;

The smoky fumes of woe are darkly curled

With endless troubles and enduring pain;

When will thy bosom, faint and helpless grown,

Rest sweetly in the balmy bowers of ease?

Avoid the woes that constant groan

And follow shapes that please?

O, weak and weary world,

Why search the hills and seas?

All Nature is in secrecy enfurled

And thou canst never solve her mysteries;

Thou canst not understand nor comprehend

Her varied movements nor the intricate,

The systems that so far extend,

Creation wide and great.

O, weak and weary world,

Why more attempt advance?

Long have thy forces in confusion whirled

In circles through the misty maze of chance;

The nations rise and sink in sepulchres,

Thy peoples perish in a common grave;

Progression dies, perfection errs,

Wrong rules the wood and wave.

O, weak and weary world,

Let thy ambition rest!

Long have defeat and gloomy ruin twirled

In dark embrace the purest and the best;

Destruction is thy portion, death thy part,

Ashes thy glory, and thy splendor dust;

Then ease the longings of thy breast;

Serve pleasures well; and trust!

EX ANIMA.

The gloomy hours of silence wake

Remembrance and her train,

And phantoms through the fancies chase

The mem'ries that remain;

And hidden in the dark embrace

Of days that now are gone,

I see a form, a fairy form,

And fancy hurries on!

I see the old familiar smile,

I hear the tender tone,

I greet the softness of the glance

That cheered me when alone;

The ruby chains of rich romance

That bound our bosoms o'er,

I still can know, I still can feel,

As they were felt before.

I name the vows, the fresh young vows,

That we together said;

What matters it? She can not know;

She slumbers with the dead!

Again the fields of fate I sow,

As she and I have sown;

I dream again the same old dreams,

But I am left alone!

The twining grasses verdant wreathe

Above her silent grave;

The rose and violet over all

Their purest blossoms wave;

Unbidden from their fountains fall

The tender tides of tears;

A sorrow winds among the days,

And chains the passing years.

My life commingles shine with shade,

The lily with the rose,

And in my heart a loathsome weed

Beside each lily grows;

Through every thought, through every deed,

The somber shadows play;

And I am sad, alone and sad,

And life is never gay.

"LO, ALL THE AGE IS RANK WITH WRONG."

Lo, all the age is rank with wrong!

The nations kneel to monstrous might,

And horrid cries that haunt the night,

Have hushed the notes of happy song;

Mankind the deepest truth has missed,

The best emotions have grown dim;

We praise the God that dwelt in Christ,

But crucify the man in him.

Laws, noble, good, and great at first,

With plan perverted, bind again

The regal rights of mind and men

And prove of tyrants far the worst;

With blinded eyes is Nature made,

And knows her constant purpose crossed,

While crafty Jacob plies his trade

And Esau finds his blessing lost.

Earth yields her fruits in ample store;

Her children all are heirs that trace

Their lineage through the royal race,

And all her wealth is theirs—and more;

But one with cunning hand controls

The portions that his brothers fed,

While thousands—just and worthy souls—

In aimless anguish cry for bread!

No royal blood by caste or creed,

No pride of place, no gild of gold

Can warm the weak, accursed with cold,

Or light the awful nights of need;

Labor alone can blessings bring

To crown the brows of freedom's brave;

The toiler is the truest king,