Part 7

Thus far without impediment I got, My sleek Pegasus on an easy gallop, Or ambling steady or on cosy trot Smooth-scudding o’er the airy fields of thought, As a Venetian gondola or shallop. To halt with sudden bump my pencil’s brought. “I can not tell a lie!” (Spring poems are “rot.”) Now all my pretty phrases come to naught. It’s just a shame! But then who would have thought-- Wild polar blizzards, snow and blinding sleet Beat my Pegasus and benumbed his feet? And, most unlucky mishap for a poet, The brute has got the studs and will not go it. One solid hour of labor have I lost-- I can’t write summer songs in winter’s frost. O April, sure you did not count the cost Of your confounded jag! I think you’re drunk! Well, bluster if you want to show your spunk. The Weather Bureau’s all turned inside out-- But pray clear up, Miss April, or clear out!

ODE ON THE DEATH OF LEO XIII.

DEDICATED TO MRS. MARY ANDERSON NAVARRO, LONDON.

I see before me the Gladiator lie: He leans upon his hand--his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony.

--_Childe Harold._

The Eternal City, shrine of many lands, Slow fades; before his dying gaze expands The Golden-streeted City, not made with hands; Hail him with waving palms and loving eyes, Heaven’s solemn choirs and sweet societies, While sobs below him the great church he trod-- “To Cæsar, Cæsar’s; God’s we yield to God.” Life’s duty done, he ends his manly part, Stop the great throbbings of that true, pure heart; Amid a sorrowing people’s prayers and tears, God greets the saint of two-and-ninety years.

Not for the lust of luxury and beauty, Not for the miser’s or the conqueror’s booty, But for the still small voice of duty Bravely did all temptation spurn The immortal Lion of Lucerne.

The Lion is at rest, With his awe-inspiring crest, In full-maned majesty and strength he has laid him down to rest. Of all earth’s mortal monarchs the bravest, strongest, best, His bright eye kindled with the love of Jesus and the Cross. Who gave mankind the Light Divine To save the world from loss.

His grand life work is o’er, And nations now deplore The Lion of the Vatican, the warrior of the cross, From Italy’s bay-indented shore To where Columbia’s eagles soar, Is heard the voice of weeping, For the Lion softly sleeping, The Lion of the Vatican, Who never feared the face of man-- The Lion o’er whose urn The mounting flames of glory burn; Who died in duty’s harness--the Lion of Lucerne.

He sleeps, but not forsaken, For the Judgment trump shall blow, Its blast of joy or woe. The nations of the dead shall rise And the Lion of the Vatican shall waken. Once in earth’s Gethsemane by all but God forsaken! With glory crested on his head and splendor in his eyes, The kingdoms gather round the great white throne To hear the final sentence Of all who seek or scorn repentance.

Long ere the dreadful conflagration Which shall consume each nation, Along each height or hollow shore, Loud shall reverberate the roar Which made the iron Bismarck bow Before the Lion’s calm, majestic brow; Which bade the hostile cannon cease And harmless pave the paths of peace, Who walked where princely Virgil trod And then like Enoch walked with God.

Be patient, then, O Zion! And wait the wakening of the Lion Be patient still, for soon Thy God shall grant the boon Of universal peace; And War’s red banner shall be furled Throughout all the world.

Paul Kruger’s diamond bribe[C] was worth The ransom of a hundred kings; Yet diamonds and pearls and all The riches of this world have wings; The Lion held God’s treasure fast-- Honor and truth and Heaven at last.

CHIABRERA’S EPITAPH.

Chiabrera, an Italian poet, is said to have written the following inscription for his tomb:

“Friend, I while living sought comfort in Parnassus; Do thou, better counselled, seek it in Calvary.”

The setting sun shone down the Apennines, Gilding Vesuvius and his purpling vines, And his dark collonades of whispering pines.

The tinkling bells of the returning flocks Rang through the lengthening shadows of the rocks And grateful coolness filled the shepherd’s walks.

The Star of Evening trembled in the West, Like a rich pearl on Beauty’s throbbing breast, And Heaven was all aglow with rapture blest.

Upon his death-couch Chiabrera lay, Life’s waning lights across his features play Like the last beams of yon declining day.

And as departing day its glory shed Bright on the group which gathered round his bed, In faltering words the dying poet said:

“Chill blow the gales across the sea of Death, Upon my brow I feel their icy breath-- And the bright star of song forsakes my path.

“No more Apollo’s mount shall I behold-- The rainbow mist that round its summit rolled Fades into clouds all joyless, dark and cold.

“The groves are withered on Parnassus’ side; The fields are dead--the streams no longer glide, And every fount by fiery heat is dried.

“All dumb and shattered lies Apollo’s shell, Broke are the chords my fingers loved so well, Mourning the hand that wove their fairy spell.

“Dread Calvary! beneath thy sheltering rock Oh, let the gentle Shepherd of the flock Shield me in mercy from the tempest’s shock;

“There from the pelting storm and bitter blast, My weary soul its refuge finds at last. Behold the Cross! The pang of Death is past.

“Parnassus! up whose steeps I long have striven, Thy summit, by the thunder-tempest riven, Stops in the clouds--but Calvary’s rests in Heaven.”

ELEGY

On the death of Captain Bacon, Kentucky Volunteers, U. S. A., slain at Sacraments, Ky., December, 1861.

Oh, sacred mountain of Kentucky’s dead, Room in thy heart for Bacon’s honored head, Whose true blood streaming from his manly breast Shall dye with glories new thy marble crest, And caught by every sun upon the air Appeal to Heaven in everlasting prayer-- Prayer for the rescue of our outraged land, From dark rebellion’s impious sword and brand; Prayer for the fiery bolt by justice sped To fall in vengeance for our slaughtered dead; Prayer which, becoming of the winds a part, Through all the land shall stir the nation’s heart, And summon martial millions to the field A patriot host, the nation’s living shield.

Promethean sun! whose early splendors kiss These pillars of Death’s grand Acropolis, Of Boone the daring, Johnson stern and just, Hardin the true, and Daveiss’ glorious dust, Much-loved McKee, and gallant Henry Clay,-- Oft as thy torch illumes the morning gray Touch Bacon’s tomb with thy reviving fire And it shall answer thee like Memnon’s lyre, With an inspiring voice whose kindling strain Shall rouse Kentucky to avenge her slain, And shed his base assassin’s blood as free As yonder waves which hasten to the sea.

Oh, much-loved friend, for manly virtues dear, Untimely up yon hill ascends thy bier. We knew that _with_ or _on_ thy stainless shield We would receive thee from the battle-field! True to Kentucky’s and thy country’s call Thou wert the first to arm thee--and to fall. The plaintive dirge, the sob, the smothered groan Thrill the pained air with melancholy moan, While the slow river winding far below Whispers through all its waves the song of woe, And Frankfort’s echoing wall of cedared hills With mournful cadence all the valley fills.

TO THE LAW AND ORDER LEAGUE.

AFTER JUDGE BRUCE’S ADDRESS At Hopkinsville.

Take courage, ye people of order and law, Nor longer let Night Riders hold you in awe; Though your crops be destroyed, your barns burnt in ashes, Your women outraged, your backs scourged with lashes, Take courage! Remember that God reigns on high Who foredooms your tyrants ’neath His vengeance to die.

When bad men conspire, let all good men unite; All crime must be conquered by organized Right. Though Satan conspire to persecute Job, And muster all demons which travel the globe, Though disease, war, and whirlwinds on all sides surround And the wife of his bosom be treacherous found; Though Judas and High Priest ’gainst Jesus plot, Though Herod and Pilate His overthrow sought; Though King George and Lord North and base Arnold swear That Sam Adams and Hancock shall hang in the air; Though the flood shall a whole world of wickedness drown, Noah’s Ark shall land safely on Ararat’s crown. So virtue shall triumph, ’tis Heaven’s decree, And God’s law shall rule o’er the land and the sea Job sees all his losses by Heaven restored, Quelled Satan retreats at the frown of the Lord-- And Cornwallis at Yorktown surrenders his sword. And ye citizens banded for order and law No more let the Night Riders fill you with awe, Though croaking Glenraven plays the treacherous friend, And croaks at the crimes which he dares not defend, Though he reprimands gently his infamous tools, His _alibi_ G----s and his Paddy McCools. Remember, good citizens, nor harbor one doubt That your vengeance is sure and that murder will out-- That the scoundrels who whipped the bare backs of your wives Shall pay the full penalty down with their lives. Remember, Night Riders, your infamous wrong Was the wrong of an hour, but its vengeance is long; There are crimes so inhuman, ’twere a crime to forgive; Who scourges a woman ’twere a crime to let live. Your lash unresisted mangled woman’s tender back, And till death her avenger shall press on your track.

Then rally, O citizens, from border to border, One phalanx to fight for Law, Justice, and Order. Kentucky has no place for the Night Rider’s foot; What patriot tongue does not scorn to be mute? Remember all history repeats the same tale, That the wicked shall fail and the righteous prevail. Unite! and your deeds shall be crowned with success, Cheered on like old Scotland by “Bruce’s Address.” Yes; though Lucifer, “Star of the Morning,” rebel, His doom shall be closed in the torments of Hell. “Black Hands,” Mafias, and Night Riders, birds of one feather, Must go to the prison or scaffold together.

“WITH THY SHIELD, OR UPON IT.”[D]

DEDICATED TO COL. R. M. KELLY, SUPERINTENDENT OF THE NATIONAL CEMETERY, LOUISVILLE.

[The loss of a shield was regarded as peculiarly disgraceful by the Greek soldiers. The dead were borne home upon their shields. “Return with thy shield, my son, or upon it,” was the heroic injunction of a Spartan mother.]

Sound, trumpet sound! The die is cast! The Rubicon of fate is passed! The loyal and the rebel hosts, Kentucky, throng thy leaguered coasts, And on the issue of the strife Hang peace and liberty and life; All that the storied past endears, And all the hopes of coming years; The startled world looks on the field. Thou canst not fly--thou dar’st not yield-- Then strike! and make thy foeman feel Thy triply consecrated steel, And with or on thy shining shield Return, Kentucky, from the field.

Strike! though the battle’s dead be strown O’er land and wave from zone to zone; Strike! though the gulf of human blood Roll o’er thee like the primal flood. Treason at home--beyond the sea-- Its ally, ancient tyranny, Democracy’s relentless foe, Aim at thy heart their deadliest blow; Freedom’s last hope remains with thee, Oh, army of democracy; Then lead thy martial hosts abroad In the grand panoply of God, And with or on thy shining shield, Return, Kentucky, from the field.

Wave, banners, wave, and let the sky Glow with your flashing wings on high; There’s music in each rustling fold Sweeter than minstrel ever told; Oh, who that ever heard the story Of all our dead who fell in glory, Still pressing where the starry light Streamed like a meteor o’er the fight, Till their expiring bosoms poured The red libation of the sword, Would leave Kentucky now, or thrust Her beaming forehead in the dust, Where treason’s reptiles writhe and hiss Like fiends shut out from Eden’s bliss? Better the freeman’s lowliest grave Than golden fetters of a slave; Then with or on thy shining shield, Return, Kentucky, from the field.

If bribed by lust of power or gold Thy country’s welfare thou hast sold, Iscariot-like thy name shall be In Freedom’s dark Gethsemane; Disgrace and fell remorse shall plow Eternal furrows o’er thy brow; By angels, men, and fiends abhorred, Like Judas who betrayed his Lord. Outcast at home--across the sea Shunned like a leper thou shalt be, No spring shall slake thy burning thirst, The fire shall shun thee as accursed Day shall be cheerless--no repose At night thy swollen eye shall close-- Lift to indignant Heaven thine eye, Curse God in black despair, and die! Kentucky, hast thou son so base, Thy fame unsullied would disgrace? Attaint his blood, disown his race, His line, his very name efface. Then charge! thy grand battalions free From all attaint of treachery-- Charge on thy foes! make all the air Vocal with freedom’s holiest prayer, And with or on thy shining shield, Return, Kentucky, from the field!

State of the “Dark and Bloody Ground,” The trumpet peals its final sound Down every mountain height arrayed Comes thundering on the long brigade; By every valley, pass, and river, Sabres and bayonets flash and quiver; Shame to the faithless son who falters When impious hands assail their altars, And fill each fount of happiness With waves of woe and bitterness; The dead their august shades present By Frankfort’s Battle Monument; Not now their souls can be at rest, Though in the Islands of the Blest-- “Remember us,” their voices cry, “When comes the hour of conflict nigh,” And with or on thy shining shield, Return, Kentucky, from the field.

CONFIRMATION AT ST. ANDREW’S.

[TO AGNES, LOUISVILLE.]

I send this morning, Agnes dear, A white and fragrant flower, Emblem of maiden Hope and Love, In Confirmation’s hour. O, may the blessings which descend This moment on thy head On thy pure virgin heart and soul Like precious fragrance shed.

I in life’s evening gloaming walk, Thou in the morning bright, Night’s blossoms I unfolding see, Thou the Auroral light-- Yet all my heart in sympathy Attends thy morning dreams, For well I know the bitterness Of life’s delusive streams.

A morning calm, a storm at eve, At morn we joy, ere night we grieve: So when the falling April showers, Bringing the joy of birds and flowers, ’Neath the quick brush of golden sun Catch rainbow colors one by one, The liquid gems quick fade away In dismal vapors cold and gray.

Lo, Juliet’s girlish bridal bed With funeral flowers is quickly spread Ere the brief marriage vows are said. Sleeping in Capulet’s vault below Her wedding night with Romeo. Not “True Love’s Course” alone, but Man’s, Never ran smooth since Time began, Even ’mid the thunder shouts of friends McKinley’s breast the bullet rends.

Wisdom, Wealth, Pleasure, Glory, Power, Made Judah’s king rejoice: Song, dance, and wine flowed free,--“Now comes God’s judgment!” spoke a voice, For earth is vain and life is frail Since first the world began; To fear and serve the living God Is the whole lot of man. Drink then, sweet Agnes, from the Fount Of Christ’s Eternal Truth, Till He shall bear thee o’er Death’s stream To everlasting Youth.

THE CHRISTMAS FLOWER.

ON A FLORAL CARD.

Far sweeter than the rose Which all the year round blows On Cashmere’s fragrant bosom, Is the fair flower which grows Amid December snows;-- ’Tis friendship’s Christmas blossom.

Its loving arms expanding, The Christmas cross is standing, The guide-post of the ages, To point to realms of glory And charm with simple story The children and the sages.

Red rose and pallid lily, Pansy and daffodilly, Chrysanthemum and myrtle, Around the cross are clinging With wooing and sweet singing Of nightingale and turtle.

The frozen Arctic splinter Shot from the bow of winter Will lose its power to harm us, While dreams of childhood’s Christmas, ’Twixt heaven and earth an isthmus, In nightly visions charm us.

The angry gale may shatter Sweet Cashmere’s rose and scatter Its leaves o’er vale and river; The Christmas flower shall thrive As long as Love shall live, Forever and forever!

TO THE SOLDIERS OF GENERAL DUMONT’S COMMAND.[E]

NASHVILLE, TENN., 1862.

Ye soldiers of the Union With holiest valor fired, To shield the land whose sacred cause Your father’s souls inspired-- Strike at yon black rebellion, Like a thunderbolt of dread, For the safety of the living And the memory of the dead!

Bright Banner of the Union! By beauty’s fingers wrought, Around the world thy lesson Of glory has been taught. It tells of deathless battle-fields, To fame and freedom dear, And speaks of peace and happiness To man’s enraptured ear.

Bright altar of the Union! Around thy spotless shrine, We swear disunion ne’er shall touch Thy offering divine! For our dead would sleep dishonored And the living have no hope, If in rebellion’s starless night Our land were doomed to grope.

Charge, soldiers of the Union, In truth’s eternal might, Ye strike not for the lust of power, But liberty and right. The present and the Future plead-- The past full well ye know-- Strike home as your forefathers struck And Heaven will guide the blow!

THE TWO GORDONS.

Dedicated to Mrs. Anna M. D. Gordon, Medical Missionary at Mungeli, India.

“Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task has done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.”

--General Gordon’s epitaph, from “Imogen’s Dirge,” in Cymbeline.

General George Gordon, Khartoum, Egypt, January 26, 1885. Reverend E. M. Gordon, Hopkinsville, Ky., June 2, 1908.

In the mystic land of Egypt, In the streets of old Khartoum, O’er the grave of martyred Gordon Does the rose of England bloom; By Mahdi, the false prophet, Borne down in hopeless strife, The Christian hero Gordon Laid down his priceless life.

Thou Circean Cleopatra, Of legendary Nile, Luring to death the Roman Prince By thy pernicious smile A wine-inflamed and sensuous girl, Frenzied by passion’s giddy whirl, Thou once dissolved and drank a pearl Inflamed by bacchanal applause, Unworthy of a sovereign’s cause. Hadst thou the pearl which Gordon found-- The pearl of boundless price-- The healing drink had cleansed thy soul Like Magdalen’s sacrifice. Egypt redeemed had hailed the morn To a new life forever born,

And in thy glittering diadem Had shone the Cross--the hallowed gem Worn by the Babe of Bethlehem, Nor Africa had sent her fettered slaves To fatal fields and mines and Middle Passage graves.

From the mystic land of India, In the flower of stalwart manhood, Another Gordon came-- Counsellor, preacher, teacher-- The foster son of Hopkinsville, Fearless and without blame; No gem in India’s richest mines Shot forth a purer flame.

India’s best civic honors He calmly put aside-- “I serve the Man of Galilee, Who upon Calvary died. Nor wealth, nor fame, nor earthly prize From Him shall me divide, For I am bidden a chosen guest To the Lamb’s holy marriage feast To stand by Heaven’s own bride, And I wear the rose of Sharon, As I stand by my Saviour’s side.”-- O Hopkinsville! Thy foster son, Priest, teacher, the poor leper’s friend, Is thy eternal pride!

A yawning gulf once sundered Rome’s Forum--’twas Jove’s will; Quoth the high priest, “Rome’s dearest gift Only the gulf can fill!” Leap, Curtius, on thy frantic steed, In panoply and plume, Down the dark gulf--it closes up, And thou hast met thy doom; High in Olympic halls great Jove For the martyred youth makes room.

Immortal sacrifice! thy fame Shall fly o’er every sea; The loud seas shout to every land: “Great souls are more precious than golden sand, Or all the pearls on the ocean strand, And they sparkle as gems on God’s right hand; Death swallowed Curtius, but death itself Is swallowed in victory.” And Curtius and the Gordons twain, And all who in duty’s strife are slain, Shall live immortally, And the harps of love shall sound their praise In the choir above In sweetest melody.

Immortal is the sacred prize Of him who for his fellow dies. Leap--not to death--a leap for life Was thine--far, far above the strife And stress of Earth’s uncertain life-- Ungrateful oft to truest worth, Too oft the rabble’s hate or scorn or mirth.

Curtius! thou bearest not the sword or shield Of bloody war, but to the psalms Of poets’ harps thou wavest the palms Which demi-gods in glory bear, Walking the green Elysian fields Forever free from toil or care, Chanting a soul-inspiring song, While pilgrims to thy shrine the Eternal City throng.

Listen, O missionary brothers, The mighty Christian brotherhood Who toil in surplice, gown, or hood, The rulers of each English-speaking nation Proclaim the watchword of Salvation; Monarchs become Evangel-nursing mothers; The doves that perch Within the belfry of the Church Turn carrier-doves; their rustling wings Fan every breeze with song; soft sings Victoria’s low and gentle voice, In tones which make mankind rejoice; Of India’s Empress, England’s Queen, Unsullied Sovereign she of brow serene, Proclaims the law of Christ, her realm’s foundation. Gladstone repeats the lofty proclamation: England’s star-bannered colony, Home of the upright, brave and free, The States so wisely ruled by Washington-- Like England lit by never-setting sun-- Send from Columbia’s far-winding shore The peaceful words to Hague of Theodore; The Rose of Sharon’s fragrant hedge Shall guard our borders, surest pledge Of universal lasting peace, And love shall reign and bloody wars shall cease.