Ne'er did a throng of braver men

In war clash hilt to hilt,

Than sought the smiles of beauty then Round Aunt Jemima's quilt.

This work of art my aunt esteemed
The glory of the age;

No poet's eyes have ever beamed

More proudly o'er his
page.
Were other quilt to this compared,
Her nose would upward tilt;
Such impudence was seldom dared
O'er Aunt Jemima's quilt.

Her dear old hands have gone to dust,
That once were lithe and light;
Her needles keen are thick with rust,
That flashed so nimbly bright.
And here it lies by her behest,
Stained with the tears we spilt,
Safe folded in this cedar chest-
My Aunt Jemima's quilt.

PHYLLIS

[FROM THE SAME.]

THE singing of sweet Phyllis
Like the silver laughing rill is,
And her breath is like the lily's
In the dawn.

As graceful as the dipping

Summer swallow, or the skipping

Of a lambkin is her tripping

O'er the lawn.

FROM "A WINTER DAY"

[FROM THE SAME.]

PENT in his lair until the storms be past,
Sequestered from the north wind's stinging blast,
The bumble bee in cozy slumber dreams
Of mossy dingles and soft rippling streams
O'erhung by flowerets waiting to be won
When blue-eyed Spring leads back the ardent sun,
And Winter's restless wrath is all forgot
Neath spell of primrose and forget-me-not.
The cricket too hath buried in the mould
His Autumn sorrow from a world a-cold;
Or else a guest beside the cottage hearth
He wakes again his minstrelsie and mirth;
And as he gaily sweeps his elfin lyre

His lay finds answer in the crackling fire,
Which echoes back his summer-toned refrain
Of joyous revels in the golden grain.

WILLIAM HAMILTON HAYNE

[BORN in Charleston, South Carolina, March 11, 1856, the son of Paul Hamilton Hayne (q.v.). He was educated mainly at his home "Copse Hill" near Augusta, Georgia, where he still resides. He began to publish verses in newspapers and magazines in 1879, and has since been a steady contributor. His poems were collected in "Sylvan Lyrics and Other Verses” (1892).]

A CYCLONE AT SEA1

A THROAT of thunder, a tameless heart,
And a passion malign and free;

He is no sheik of the desert sand,

But an Arab of the sea!

1 First published in The Independent. By kind permission of the publishers and the author.

THE YULE LOG

He sprang from the womb of some wild cloud,
And was born to smite and slay;

To soar like a million hawks set free,

And swoop on his ocean prey!

He has scourged the Sea 'till her mighty breast
Responds to his heart's fierce beat,

And has torn brave souls from their bodies frail
To fling them at Allah's feet.

Possessed by a demon's lust of life

He revels o'er wrecks and graves,

And hurtles onward in curbless speed, -
Dark Bedouin of the waves.

"SLEEP AND HIS BROTHER DEATH"1

JUST ere the darkness is withdrawn,

In seasons of cold or heat,

Close to the boundary line of Dawn
These mystical brothers meet.

They clasp their weird and shadowy hands,
As they listen each to each,

But never a mortal understands
Their strange immortal speech.

THE YULE LOG2

OUT of the mighty Yule log came
The crooning of the lithe wood-flame,-
A single bar of music fraught

With cheerful yet half-pensive thought,-
A thought elusive; out of reach,

Yet trembling on the verge of speech.

493

1 First published in Collier's Weekly. By kind permission of the publishers and the author.

2 First published in The Cosmopolitan. By kind permission of the publishers and the author.