Part 1

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MEMORIAL DAY

AND OTHER VERSE

(_ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED_)

BY

HELEN LEAH REED

AUTHOR OF SERBIA; A SKETCH NAPOLEON'S YOUNG NEIGHBOR THE BRENDA SERIES, ETC.

DE WOLFE AND FISKE CO. 20 FRANKLIN ST. BOSTON

COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY HELEN LEAH REED

_Entered at Stationers' Hall_

_This book is sold for the benefit of work for blinded soldiers_

THE.PLIMPTON.PRESS NORWOOD.MASS.U.S.A

TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON SOLDIER, SCHOLAR, FRIEND

The author thanks the editors of the following publications for the right to reprint certain poems of hers that they first published:

_Scribner's Magazine_, Horace III-29. _Collier's Weekly_, Horace I-14. _Poet Lore_, Horace I-11. _Chicago Interocean_, The Fading Vision. _The Christian Union_, Jack Frost and the Flowers. _New York Sun_, The Rivals. _Metropolitan Magazine_, Strength Renewed. _Christian Endeavor World_, Town and Country. _Boston Transcript_, Summer in London; His Monument; Memorial Day. _Boston Herald_, The Cry of the Women. _Ladies' Home Journal_, The Christmas Letter. _Woman's Home Companion_, Frightened. _The Delineator_, The Victim; A Modern Grandmother. _The Youth's Companion_, A Curiosity.

CONTENTS

_I_

_PATRIOTIC AND SERIOUS_

PAGE

_Memorial Day_ 1

_Flowers for the Brave_ 2

_His Monument_ 3

_Your Country and Mine_ 4

_The Grand Army Passes_ 5

_The Harvard Regiment_ 6

_Summer in London_ 7

_Serbia_ 8

_Canadian Trooper to His Horse_ 9

_The Cry of the Women_ 10

_Cassandra_ 11

_Song of Spring_ 12

_Life and Death_ 12

_Man of Today_ 13

_The Fading Vision_ 14

_The Titanic_ 15

_If Love were All_ 16

_The Rover_ 16

_Ah! Little Lake_ 17

_Severus Speaks_ 18

_Town and Country_ 19

_Strength Renewed_ 20

_At Miami_ 20

_Which_ 21

_The Blessed Dead_ 22

_Oak Leaves_ 22

_Self-satisfied_ 23

_My Vigil_ 23

_To Mrs. Julia Ward Howe_ 24

_The Soarer_ 24

_A Fancy_ 25

_The Shrieking Woman_ 25

_The Huguenot Lovers_ 26

_To John Townsend Trowbridge_ 27

_Weed or Flower_ 27

_To Thomas Wentworth Higginson_ 28

_II_

_LIGHTER VERSE_

PAGE

_Frightened_ 31

_The Christmas Letter_ 32

_A Victim_ 33

_Jack Frost_ 34

_A Curiosity_ 35

_The First Lie_ 35

_The Parasol_ 36

_A Modern Grandmother_ 37

_Signs for the Serious_ 38

_Trimming_ 39

_The Annex_ 40

_A Liberty Bond_ 41

_A Hero_ 42

_The Rivals_ 44

_III_

_FROM THE ODES OF HORACE_

_To Maecenas_ 47

_To Leuconoe_ 49

_Neobule_ 49

_The Hardy Youth_ 50

_To the State_ 51

_To Apollo_ 52

_To Diana_ 52

_To Melpomene_ 53

_Horace and Lydia_ 54

_To Censorinus_ 55

_To Thaliarchus_ 56

_To Chloe_ 56

_To Fuscus_ 57

_To Venus_ 57

_A Palinode_ 58

_Lasting Fame_ 59

_Religion_ 59

PATRIOTIC AND SERIOUS

_MEMORIAL DAY_

No warrior he, a village lad, needing nor words nor other prod To point his duty; he was glad to tread the path his fathers trod. Week days he worked in wood and field; with homely joys he decked his life; The sword of hate he would not wield, nor take a part in cankering strife. On Sunday in the little choir he sang of Peace and brotherly love, And as his thoughts soared higher and higher, they reached unmeasured heights above.

A cry for Freedom rent the Land-- "Our Country calls, come, come, 'tis War; Together let us firmly stand;" he answered, though his heart beat sore At leaving home, and kin, and one in whose fond eyes too late he read That life for her had but begun with the farewells he sadly said.

A half a century has passed-- and more--since all those myriads fell; For he was one of those who cast sweet life into a Battle's hell. The village has become a town, brick buildings the old graveyard gird; Of him who fought not for renown, no one now hears a spoken word, But on the Monument his name in gold is lettered with the rest. Without a sordid thought of fame he to his Country gave his best.

Strew flowers, then, Memorial Day for him, for all who for us fought. With speech and music honors pay; teach what our brave defenders taught. And now our sons are setting out; the call for Right rings to the sky, "Our Country! Freedom!" hear them shout, re-echoing their Grandsires' cry.

_FLOWERS FOR BRAVE SOLDIERS_

Flowers for brave soldiers, Flowers for those who gave us A Country undivided. Flowers for the dead!

With flags we are marking Their last earth-dwelling. Our hearts are bending In gratitude, While we are praying That this our Nation Pass safe through peril, Through deadly war.

Flowers for brave soldiers-- Flowers for those who loved us, Flowers to their memory, This fair spring day!

_HIS MONUMENT_

From top to pedestal you scan it lightly-- Capped head to lettered base--and you are smiling. What see you there to set your lips a-quiver? An awkward figure cut from ugly granite, Aye, roughly hewn, as if unhelped by chisel, This peaceful man of war, sculptured grotesquely. Still--there is metal in the gun he is holding, And in the cannon balls piled up before him-- The artist's symbols of a real soldier. Yet jeer no longer! Before you is a soldier of the Union, Crowned with the tears and prayers of many mourners. The Village set him here for all to honor, Here, in the centre of their foot-worn common, Where on long, summer evenings boys at baseball May gaze and gaze, and make him an example; A hero they would follow. Beholding him I see no granite figure, But face a man who fought to save his country, Whose heart was pierced when wife, and child and mother Clung to him closely in that tearful parting. Yet brave he marched away while flags were fluttering, Though in his soul he knew that never, never, Might he again see those he loved so dearly, Nor look again upon the old white steeple, Upon the little streets and shabby buildings Straggling unevenly toward the Common; Or if he came back, he'd be maimed and battered, Subject to hateful pity. Therefore I smile not at the queer, gaunt figure, The tilted cap--the wide and baggy trousers, The long loose overcoat, the dangling knapsack, This is the man who fought to save our country! Who, in his millions, marched from every village, From every city of our mighty Nation; Who heard the drums and trumpets blithely playing-- "Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching." So there it stands--thank-offering of a people-- Whether of rough-hewn stone, or bronze, or marble-- Proving our debt to those who saved the Union, Pointing the way for those who'd like to follow-- Who to the death would fight were we in peril-- The Soldier's Monument!

_YOUR COUNTRY AND MINE_

Sing of America, sing of our Country! Land of two oceans, of palm-tree and pine! Firm as the rock of her towering mountains, Free as her rivers from Heaven-born fountains, Unafraid as her eagle,--as true to the line; Sing of our Country,--your Country and mine! Sing of America,--self-governed Country! Dear Land, thou to tyranny never wilt bow; Ever with thee the oppressed have had haven; While Freedom droops, thy true sons are not craven; Look! They are fighting to honor thee now, With Victory and Peace to bejewel thy brow. Sing of America,--loving humanity! "Avenge ye the slaughtered!" Heed ye her decree; Ye who have reaped of the father's brave sowing, High hold your flag when the war winds are blowing! Safe for all men keep the path of the sea; Secure in their rights help small Nations to be. Fight for America, noble America! Liberty, Justice, and Truth--the divine,-- Carrying onward,--her lamp proudly burning-- Craving no empire, intrigue ever spurning, Over the Earth shall her beacon-light shine! Fight for our Country, your Country and mine!

_THE GRAND ARMY PASSES_

Behold a long procession passing proudly, And yet no glittering pomp adorns its way, Only the emblems of our States and Nation, Only the flags that floated on the day These men, our men, trod upon fields of glory;-- The tattered flags that this Grand Army bore For the Republic--flags that furled and faded To their old vividness our hearts restore. The line of veterans once firm and crowded, The long, long line is wavering and thin; With faltering steps Old Age speaks mutely to them Youth marched abreast when they were mustered in.

Oh, Comrades of the Campfire and the Council, Oh, Comrades who in peril won your fight! Honor to you and to your dead companions, You risked your all for Liberty and Right! Fraternity and Charity your watchwords, And Loyalty to this our own dear Land! Our flag you have, the brazen star, the eagle Undying symbols for your gallant band. Look at them, youths and maidens, as they pass you, While old-time war-tunes break upon the air, And staring crowds applaud; read ye the message That from the past these veterans nobly bear, "Our gift--the gift of Freedom to the Nation, Our great Republic would entrust to you, Cherish it fondly, keeping it untarnished, That, in the Future, looming on our view, You with the World may share your gift of Freedom."

This is the message that our youth must con, While the Grand Army, answering its last roll-call And laying down life's weapons, passes on.

_THE HARVARD REGIMENT_

We saw the Regiment, alert and strong, In marching line, on Soldiers' Field today, Ah! ready they to battle with the wrong;-- This flower of youth--eager and brave and gay.

And we, on-looking, cheered them as they passed, And we, down-heartened, prayed a silent prayer, Gazing upon them with a grim forecast, And many a sad-eyed mother watched them there.

Proudly they turned, and at attention stood, Or shouldered arms while war-like music thrilled. "Alas!" we listened in unhappy mood! "Why should these boys in martial ways be skilled?"

No comfort for our grieving was revealed, Until we looked across the valiant line To the old College, far beyond this Field That honors men who fell at Freedom's shrine.

"Oh, ancient College, that so long hast bred Son after son to heed his Country's call. The answer to our questionings is read-- In yonder Tower of your Memorial Hall."

_SUMMER IN LONDON_

Oh, the noise of Piccadilly--its rumble and its roar! A tide of life's broad ocean surging toward the shore. Who once has listened, ever can hear its long refrain With haunting echo drowning or dirge or flaunting strain. Who heeds it, in his vision may see a world-throng pass-- And over there the Green Park with laughing lad and lass; While weary men and women and careless youth go by, Where windows glow and glitter, and in the evening sky A crescent moon is watching the laughing lass and lad. The long, warm London twilight! Happy they are, though sad. With kiss and tear they are parting. 'Tis late--the rush and roar-- The life of Picadilly is waning--is no more.

Ah, the dark, the cold, the stillness of the trenches in the night, Where freezing men are crouching in the lull before the fight. Then for one the calm is broken by the rumble and the roar Of far-off Picadilly, and in dreams, as oft before, He sees her who wept at parting. What was that? A whining shell? Once a man--that huddled horror! He was smiling as he fell.

Summer has returned to London. Now the Green Park gleams anew. Cheers and tears together mingle--but the breaking heart beats true. Blare of trumpet!--blood and fire!--so her hero marched away. Happy lad and lass they parted--now the pitying sky is gray. Blood and fire! Through its heroes shall a nation live again. Blare of trumpet! But in silence aching hearts must bear their pain. Ah, the stillness of the trenches! ah, the rumble and the roar! Cheers and tears by England offered for the lads who come no more.

_1915_

_SERBIA_

Serbia, valiant daughter of the Ages, Happiness and light should be thy portion! Yet thy day is dimmed, thine heart is heavy; Long hast thou endured--a little longer Bear thy burden, for a fair to-morrow Soon will gleam upon thy flower-spread valleys, Soon will brighten all thy shadowy mountains; Soon will sparkle on thy foaming torrents Rushing toward the world beyond thy rivers. Bulgar, Turk and Magyar long assailed thee. Now the Teuton's cruel hand is on thee Though he break thy heart and rack thy body, 'Tis not his to crush thy lofty spirit. Serbia cannot die. She lives immortal, Serbia--all thy loyal men bring comfort Fighting, fighting, and thy far-flung banner Blazons to the world thy high endeavor, --This thy strife for brotherhood and freedom-- Like an air-free bird unknowing bondage, Soaring far from carnage, smoke and tumult, Serbia--thy soul shall live forever! Serbia, undaunted is, immortal!

_A CANADIAN TROOPER TO HIS HORSE_

Rest here, my horse, the night is dull,--the blood-sick stars are gone, Listen, for thou like me wert bred in far Saskatchewan. And this September night at home, under a happier sky, The bursting yellow sheaves upon the unbounded prairie lie. Bread, bread--the staff and stay of life--'tis what the wheatlands yield; But only death and agony are gathered from this field.

There's respite now, but ah! good friend, before another day, Although our bodies may be here, we, we, how far away! We've ridden many a weary mile, together we have fought For Freedom, honor and the right, and anything we've wrought Our Country to the Empire will still more closely bind. Ah! where the reddened maple leaf is fluttering in the wind, There is my heart, oh noble horse, and may we gallop free Some day again in Canada, our Land of Liberty.

The night drags on toward the dawn, and far on yonder plain I hear the throb of musketry, I feel its echoing pain. I see the star-shells breaking, and nearer than their flare, A wreath of deadly smoke points out that once a town was there. Look, brother horse, the night is past, and glorious is the dawn, Away with peril! We'll ride on for our Saskatchewan. With day comes hope, and though again the sky with blood is red, We'll ride against the enemy, for Victory lies ahead, Aye! for the Empire--Victory that thou shalt help to bring. And for the Allies Victory--on earth what greater thing!

_THE CRY OF THE WOMEN_

A new year dawning on a warring world! And many fight, and many pray for peace; But yet the roar of battle will not cease, Still man against his brother man is hurled.

So we who wait--we women in our woe, Who wait and work--who wait, and work, and weep-- For us there is no rest, for us no sleep, As our sad thoughts are wandering grim and slow,

Across those dreary fields where far away Our hero myriads bleed and burn and die, We lift our hearts toward the pitying sky-- Dawns there no hope upon this New Year's day?

_1915_

_CASSANDRA_

Of all the luckless women ever born, Or ever to be born here on our earth, Most pitied be Cassandra, from her birth Condemned to woes unearned by her. Forlorn, She early read great Ilium's doom, and tried, Clear-eyed, clear-voiced, her countrymen to warn. But--she Apollo's passion in high scorn Had once repelled, and of his injured pride The God for her had bred this punishment,-- That good, or bad, all things she prophesied Though true as truth, should ever be decried And flouted by the people. As she went Far from old Priam's gates among the crowd, To save her country was her heart intent. Pure, fearless, on an holy errand bent, They called her "mad," who was a Princess proud. "Alas, the City falls! Beware the horse! Woe, woe, the Greeks!" Ah! why was she endowed With this sad gift? Able to pierce the cloud That veils the future,--in its wasting course She could not stop the storm. Bitter the pain When those she loved and trusted--weak resource-- Her prophecies believed not; when the force Of all her pleading spent itself in vain. Poor Maid! She knew no greater agony When dragged a slave in Agamemnon's train. And though she fell--by Clytemnestra slain-- She smiled on Death who eased her misery. For oh--what grief to one of faithful heart It is--to know the evils that must be. Helpless their doom to make the imperilled see, Unskilled to shield them from the fatal dart!

_SONG OF SPRING_

On every bush are roses blooming, everywhere the nightingale To his love again is warbling plaintively his oft-told tale. Now within our balmy garden dances the tall cypress tree, And the poplar never ceases clapping his slim hands in glee. From the height of every bough-tip you can hear the turtle sing, With loud voice proclaiming gaily the glad coming of the spring. On the head of the narcissus gleams as bright his diadem, As the crown of China's Emperor decked with many a costly gem. Here the west wind, there the north wind, in true token of their love, At the feet of yonder rose lay treasure poured down from above. All the earth with musk is scented, and musk-laden is the air. Everything proclaims that daily now draws nearer spring the fair.

(_Versified from a Persian paraphrase._)

_LIFE AND DEATH_

"Death after life" shall we sigh as we say it, Sigh as if death were the end for us all, Pale at the thought, as in silence we weigh it, Yield our dull souls to it, bending in thrall?

"Life after death"--look ahead, weakling spirit-- Sure is the way to a world that is ours. Death is fruition, why then should we fear it? Death--the fruition of life's budding powers.

_MAN OF TODAY_

For thee he thought, The Greek, who by the sea Lay in his lithe-limbed grace, as dreamily He gazed upon the sky begemmed with stars, And pondered mysteries. Ah, few the bars To stop that lofty spirit in its flight Compared with those that lock our souls in night. For thee he thought! For thee he wrought, The Tyrian, who of old His rich web wove of purple dye and gold; Whose little bark, outstanding many a storm, To ruder lands the spirit and the form Of Eastern culture bore. Ah! what we owe To him today, let sage and poet show. For thee he wrought! For thee he fought! The Saxon, who upheld The freedom of our race; whose broad-ax felled Imperial legions in the forest dim Where loud his war-cry rang--a noble hymn For manhood's victory over regal pride, On the sad day when mighty Varus died. For thee he fought! For thee He taught! The Nazarene who bore The burden of the world, who by the shore Of Galilee His words of wisdom spake Whose life a pattern for our life we'd take, Whose words, re-echoing to remotest time, Shall lead us on toward a height sublime. For thee He taught! Man--man! thou heir of all the ages, thou, Man of today! uplift thy drooping brow! Think, work, fight, teach--thine heritage pass on Tenfold increased. He'll reap who has foregone Life's little, limited delights,--in measure As selfless he has sown his earthly treasure.

_THE FADING VISION_

The vision fades--dome, pinnacle and tower, All the white beauty of the lake-side dream, The artist's ideal, the poet's theme Vanish away. Yet for no fleeting hour

Was this proud fabric raised. The crumbling wall Entombs not memory's treasure, and we hold This truth dear as the miser his loved gold, Dome, pinnacle and tower cannot fall.

No marvel this, that memory holds fast Such beauty, passing beauty seen before, The grace and charm of every clime and shore, Strength of today, the glories of the past,

All met in one great whole--for not alone Man's hand the wonder wrought, but soaring high His spirit, like the bird that cleaves the sky, Knew naught of obstacle from zone to zone.

Deathless his work. Age shall repeat to age The story of the city by the Lake. And as the waves that on the near sands break Reach far-off shores, so on the pictured page

Throughout remotest time, serene in pride, Wearing her crown of glory, shall be seen Stately and fair, Chicago, Western queen, With all the Nations gathered at her side.

Gladly they met, each teaching and each taught, Light-skinned or dark-skinned from the West or East. Peoples unlike, as at a loving feast, Distant no more, united in a thought.

Columbia! this thy lesson, learn it well-- The comity of Nations; this the plan Of God from time's first dawn, that man with man, Bound in one brotherhood in peace should dwell.

Great Voyager, whose caravels outsped Man's swiftest fancy in those earlier days! If, looking far beyond the curving bays Of this new world thy glowing spirit read

That here there stretched a mighty continent Where a sure haven for mankind should be, Small didst thou count thy peril on the sea, Well knowing what thy sufferings had meant.

For it was thine to turn toward the West The worn old-world, and westward as the star Of Power moves, nor tyranny nor war Its fires sustains--it shines for the oppressed.

The vision fades--dome, pinnacle and tower-- Yet fades not like the substance of a dream-- Nation to Nation, State to State shall seem Drawn to each other closer through its power.

_1893_

_THE TITANIC_

Out of the misty North A stealthy foeman stole; Far from the haunted Pole On the wide sea went he forth,

And he met a giant ship As he scoured the sea for toll It cannot reach its goal Crushed in his icy grip.

"Of every four just three" This was his deadly dole. Unseen he called the roll Ah! a cold grave is the Sea.

Yet the Sea is not the end, And Life is not the whole. Over each heroic soul Shall Eternity extend.

_IF LOVE WERE ALL_