I see the Austrians mustering where Or by the Danube; and they swear The crafty Chancellor, outworn, Who guards the German state, in scorn Watches the French frontier, bis thorn; Looks north to the Crimean gates, and eastward to The Golden Horn. Europa waits the signal, swells From Britain to the Dardanelles, POET OF EARTH Оn, be not ether-borne, poet of earth; As ne'er to know the darkness of the night, Thou, too, must drink of sorrow and delight, God's service lies not out of reach, and heaven Of other souls, divinely gifted, given THE WAITING CHORDS She sang in laughing rhythms sweet; Now made her breast with passion stir; And thrilled the waiting chords in her. Fresh millions to her warrior camps, and Uplifted like a quivering dart, millions more, For ships and shells. Till on her mighty, martial field Is still concealed! Great Sovereign of the earth and sea, The reign supreme of Liberty, One moment poised the tones on high, To tell the language of her heart, And swell the pan ere it die. She smote the keys with will and force, Vied with the tumult of her song. Her eyes flashed with the burning theme; Draw thou the veil that dims our sight, When the wild endence died in air, light thou our eyes, That we may see! CHARMIAN, 16 Feb., 1888 And all the chords to silence fell, I knew the spirit lurking there The secret that had wrought the spell. So seems it to my musing mood, So runs it in my surer thought, That much of beauty, more of good, For thee the rounded years have wrought; That life will live, however blown Like vapor on the summer air; That power perpetuates its own; That silence here is music there. Amelia Walstien Carpenter THE RIDE TO CHEROKEE It's only we, Grimalkin, both fond and fancy free, So do your best, my beauty, for a home for you and me; For you the oats and leisure, for me the pipe and book, With sometimes, just at sunset, the long gray eastward look. For once there was another: ab, Kathrine! who shall say What wilful fancy seized you that sunny summer day; You turned and nodded, smiling as you went gayly by, And the man who strolled beside you had braver front than I; 8 With the fierce light falling hotly on his face and yellow hair. A rush—a shout; he's falling; God help the man that 's down As the wild steeds thunder onward, on the hard earth baked and brown. On, on; and look, Grimalkin! we're safe, 't is victory! We'll stake the claim and hold the home, here in the Cherokee. |