THE SUNDAY OliEGOZJflAN. PORTIiATfD, JANUARY 7, 1917.
POETIC GEMS CULLED BY CHANCE FROM MANY SOURCES
Lovers of Verse Contribute Poems on Varied Subjects for Enjoyment of The Oregonian Readers.
8
A NUMBER of contributors sent In
New Year poems, which arrived
too late for the New Tear page.
Among thes- were copies of belated
Christmas poems also. The limits of
space make It Impossible for us to
continue these seasonal poems, but we
desire to acknowledge our Indebted
ness to the contributors for their In
terest. Among the requests that have come
In recently are several for poems that
liave been reprinted on this page al
rpaiy, such as "Thanatopsls." "Curfew
Shall Not Ring Tonight." "The Water
That Has Passed" and others.
Among the requests for poems that
have come in the following: are a few:
".My Ain Countree." which begins, "I
am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary
Often whiles."
"The Pilot." requested by J. T. Simp
son, of Sheridan, who also asks for
"The Slave's Dream."
"Castles in the Air." requested by
yv. A. Ball, of Spokane. "Washington.
"Three leaves of Shamrock," wanted
by Esther Waldorf.
Miss Bernice Jones sends "My Sweet
heart Went Down With the Maine,"
which was recently published, and re
quests "Her Little Boy In Blue," a
eong of the Spanish War- times.
Ralph Dunn, of Bend, asks for the
Indian eong, "Falling- Leaf," which
troes in part: "Falling Leaf, the breezes
Whisper, daughter of an Indian chief."
Mrs. Mary Rogers, of McJkftnnvllle,
requests the whole of the poem In
Which tho following lines occur:
Ob be not the first to discover,
A blot In the fame of a friend, x
A flaw in the faith of a lover.
Who's heart may be true to tha end.
"We none of us know one another.
And oft Into error we fall.
Bo let us speak well of our brother.
Or let us speak not at all.
A smile or a sigh may awaken.
Suspicion most false and undue.
And thus our belief may be shaken.
In hearts that are honest and true."
An entertaining ballad from the old
English is sent in by Miss Dora A.
Nettleblad, of Aberdeen.
KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF
CANTERBURY.
An ancient story I'll tell you anon.
Of a -notable prince, that was ealled
King John;
He ruled over England with main and
with might.
For he did great wrong, and maintained
little right.
And I'll tell you a story, a story so
merrye.
Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye:
How, for his housekeeping and high
renowne.
They rode poste for him at fair London
towne.
An hundred men, the King did hearsay,
The Abbot kept in his house every
day;
And fifty golde chaynes, without any
doubt.
In velvet coats waited the Abbot about.
"How now. Father AbbottT I heare
it of thee,
Thou keepest a farre better bouse than
me;
And for thy housekeeping and high
renowne,
X fear thou work'st treason against
my crown."
"My liege," quo' the Abbot. "I would
it were knowne.
I never spend nothing but what Is my
owne;
And I trust your grace will doe me
no deer
For spending of my owne true-gotten
gear."
"Tea, yes. Father Abbot, thy faulte It
is highe.
And now for the same thou needest
must dye;
For except thou canst answer me ques
tions three.
Thy head shall be smitten from thy
bodie.
"And first," quo' the King, "when rm
in this stead.
With my crown of golde, so falre, on
my head.
Among all my liege men, so noble of
birthe.
Thou must tell to one penny what I
am worth.
Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt.
How soon I may ride the whole world
about;
And at the third question thou must
not shrink.
But tell me here truly what I do think'
"Oh, these are deep questions for my
shallow wit.
Nor can I answer your grace as yet
But If you will give me but three
weeks' space.
Til do my endeavor to answer your
grace.
"Now three weekes space to thee will
I give.
And that Is longest thou hast to live;
For unless thou answer my questions
three.
- Thy life and thy lands are forfeit
to me."
Awav rode the Abbot, all sad at his
word:
And be rode to Cambridge and Oxen-
ford:
Rut never a doctor there was so wise,
That could with his learning an answer
devise.
Then home rode the Abbot for comfort
so cold.
And he met his sheperd a-going to
fold:
"How, now, my Lord Abbot, you are
welcome home.
What newes do you bring us from good
King John?"
"Sad newes, sad newes, sheperd, I must
C i VP.
That t have but three flays more to
live:
For if I do not answer him questions
three.
My head will be smitten from my bodie,
The first Is to tell him, there In his
stead.
With his crown of golde so fair on
his head,
Among all his liege men,
hlrtb.
so noble of
To within one penny of what he Is
worth.
The seeonde. to tell him, without any
Hnubt
How soon he may ride this who!
world about.
And at the third question I must not
ahrlnice.
But tell him there trulye what he does
thinke.
"Now cheare up, sire abbot. Did you
never heare yet
That a fool may learn- a wise man witt
Lend me horse and serving men an
your apparel
And I'll ride to London to answere
your quarrel.
"Nay, frowns not, if It hath bin told
unto mee,
I am like your lordship, as ever may
bee;
And If you will lend me your gowne.
There is none shall knowe us at fair
London towne."
"Now horses and serving men thou
shalt have.
With sumptuous array most gallant
and brave.
With crosier and miter and rochet and
cope.
Fit to appear "fore our fader the Pope."
"Now, welcome, sire abbot," the King
he did say,
'Tls well thou'rt come to keep thy
day:
For and if thou canst answer my ques
tions three.
Thy life and thy living both saved
shall bee.
And first, when thou seest me here In
this stead.
With my crown of gold so falre on my
head.
Among all my liege men so noble of
birthe.
Tell me to one penny what I am
worth."
For thirty pence our Savior was sold
Amonge the false Jews, as I have bin
tola;
And twenty-nine Is the worth of thee.
For I thinke thou art one penny worser
then nee.
The King he laughed and swore by St.
Bittel.
I did not think I had been worth so
llttel!
Now secondly tell me, without any
aouot.
How soone I may ride this whole world
about.
"You must rise with the sun and ride
with the same.
Until the next morning he rlseth
agalne:
And then your grace need, not make
any doubt.
But In twenty-four hours you'll ride
it about.
The King he laughed and swore "by
Jone,
did not think It could he gone rone
so soone!
Now from the third Question thou
must not shrinks.
But tell me here truly what I do
thinks."
"Yes, that I do, and make your grace
merry;
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canter
bury:
But I'm his poor sheDerd. as nlatn
you may see.
That am come to beg pardon for him
ana lor mee.
The King he laughed, and swore, "By
Lue masse,
U make thee lord abbot this day In
his Dlace!"
Now naye. my liege, be not In shuch
speeae.
For alacke. I can neither i-lc-hr '
reade."
Four nobles a week, then, I will give
thee.
For this merry Jest thou hast shown
unto mee;
And tell the old abbot. when
comest h nm e.
Thou hast brought him a pardon from
guou xving John.
Mrs. H. H. Smith contrlhnr.. th.
owing:
THE MILLINER.
By J. A. Aulls.
Jane Jenkins was a milliner.
oyiusier tail and nllm
Wwi plumed herself on pluming hats
. viuoih ana leathers trim.
She wore her hair In corkscrew curls
She had a rubv nose:
Though flowers and ribbons she dls-
piayea
She had, alasl no beaux.
Her little store was o'er a store;
She kept the latest styles; '
Her bonnets all were vnaih.
In
I lowers.
Her face was wreathed In smiles.
An old "foundation" she woujd take.
xaen an ner art would bring
To reconstruct a "perfect love";
A gem," ' A splendid thing."
How deftly she could tie a tie.
Though she was often tired.
The ladies all cried out, "Oh my!"
wneu mey ner work admired.
But ah! she mourned her single lot;
She felt she was unsought;
A cipher, yet she sighed for one
W ho would not count her naught.
Auspicious fate! at length 'Squire Jones,
A Dacneior forlorn.
A modern-minded, model man.
Came in one pleasant morn.
His niece had sent a bonnet down
To be "done up straightway:
And he must get It without fall.
bhe could not wait a day.
He states his errand; oh, that smile!
It made him feel so queer:
And when the price was named to him
bald he: "You re very dear."
Her bosom heaved with wildest Joy;
He shook with vague alarm;
She stammered, sighed, then swooned
away.
And sank Into his arms.
"Help! Help! A fit!" he loudly cried,
And fanned her with his glove:
Then dashed some water in her face.
But she was dead In love.
She soon came to; came others, too.
To see what meant -such noise;
And soon the shop was overflowed
W ith women, men and boys.
'I'm thine till death," she sighed; said
he:
"What mean those words I hear?"
'Oh, Mr. Jones, how can you ask?
You told me I was dear."
"Oh, heavens!" he cried; "the price I
meant
I had no thought of you!
But I surrender;.! discern
What woman's wit can do.
"Your lot's a lonely one at best.
And mine's a lonely life
A partner I will be to you,
'And you shall be my wife.
"Let's wed at once," and wed they
were;
As down life's stream they glide.
They feel, though single heretofore.
They now float with the tied.
Grace DeCou, of Eugene, contributes
the following lyric, recently requested:
THISTLEDOWN.
By Richard Wartson Gilder.
Fly, thistledown, fly
From my lips to the lips that I love!
Fly through the morning light.
Fly through the shadowy light.
Over the sea and land.
Quick as the lark.
Through twilight and dark.
Through lightning and thunder
Till no longer asunder
We stand.
For thy touch like the lips of her lover
Moves her being to mine. .
We are one in a swoon divine!
Fly, thistledown, fly
From my lips to the lips that I love.
"Sister Mary," recently requested,
has been sent by Jennie Wooley. of Eu
gene: Monica Duff, Mrs. J. E. Bates,
of Umpqua, and Mrs. J. D. Angee, of
Corvallis, Wash. Mrs. Angee sends also
"In the Baggage Coach Ahead," which
has been reprinted already. "Sister
"The poems of Eugene Field which
of them, "Little Boy Blue" probably is
touch o fthe artist who created it. Mrs.
Mary" was very popular half a century
ago:
WE ARES COMING, SISTER 5IARY.
On a stormy night in Winter,
wnen the wind blew cold and wet.
I heard some strains of music
That I never shall forget.
I was sitting In my cabin.
with my Mary, fair and young-.
When a light shone In the window,
And a band of singers sung:
CHORUS:
We are coming. Sister Mary.
We are coming bye and bye.
Be ready, dearest Mary,
For the time Is drawing nigh.
I tried to call my Mary,
But my tongue would not obey
'Till the song so Btrange had ended.
And the singers flown away:
Then I woke her from her slumber,
And I told her everything.
But I could not guess the meaning
Of the song I heard them sing.
CHORUS:
We are coming. Sister Mary,
We are coming bye and bye,
Be ready, dearest Mary,
For the time is drawing nigh.
When the next night came. I heard
them.
And the third night, too, they sung.
As I sat beside the pillow
Of my Mary, fair and young;
As I watched I heard a rustle.
Like the rustling of a wing.
And near my Mary's pillow
Very soon I heard them sing:
CHORUS:
We are coming. Sister Mary,
We are coming bye and bye.
Be ready, dearest Mary,
For the time la drawing nigh.
I tried to wake my Mary.
But my sorrow was complete.
For I found her heart of kindness
Had forever ceased to beat;
And now I'm very lonely
From Summer "round to Spring,
And oft in midnight slumbers,
I seem to hear them sing:
CHORUS:
We are conning. Sister Mary,
We are coming bye and bye.
Be ready, dearest Mary,
For the time is drawing nigh.
Mrs. H. H. Smith sends the follow
lng Will Carlton story of "The Stylish
Church."
THE
OLD ' MAN IN THE STYLISH
CHURCH.
Well, wife, I've been to church today
been to a stylish one
And seeing you can't go from home.
I'll tell you what was done.
You would have been surprised to see
what I saw there today;
The sisters were fixed up so fine they
hardly bowed tp pray.
I had on these coarse clothes of mine
not much the worse for wear
But. then, they knew I waint one
they d call a millionaire;
So they led the. old man to a seat away
back by the door;
"Twas bookless and uncushloned a re
served seat for the poor.
Pretty soon In came a stranger with
gold rings and clothing fine;
They led him to a cushioned seat far
in advance of mine;
I thought that wasn't" exactly right to
seat him up so near.
When he was young and I was old, and
, very hard to hear.
But there's no accounting for what
some people do.
The finest clothing nowadays oft gets
the finest pew;
But when we reach the blessed home,
and. undefiled by sin.
We'll see wealth begging at the gate.
while poverty goes In.
I couldn't hear the sermon, I sat so
far away;
So through-the hour of service. I could
only "watch and pray";
Watch the doin's of the Christians sit
ting near me. round about;
Pray that God would make them pure
within, as mey were pure wnn
out.
While I sat there, lookin' all aTound
uoon the rich and great.
I kept thinkin' of the rich man and the
beggar at the gate;
How, by all but dogs forsaken, the
i poor beggar s form grew. cold.
77ze 7 He. toy efoj7 iscovered 'wjIl dust,
Sut sturdy and $7ahch he standS;
.And the7jftfe toy 5o7der75rediv7tftruaf
And hid mu57te7jnxou7ds2n2td7iands.
Time waa when the 7itt7e toydoy wsjnejt?
And the 5o7dzer was paainy fair;
Andfhaffvaatfiefime wnznourlifttejBoy37ue
Jfijaed.fhem.andputthem therein
'7fbwdon?gofi7rTcome,' 'he jalcf,
nd don't. you znaJce any nozje
5a toddling off to his frundte hed
jfe dreamt of the- pretty toy$;
And,a he w&5 dreaming, ananyelaony
. Afirahrened 'our Zitte jDoyZ37ue-
Ohf fAeyeara are many, the ypar5 ar&7ony
BuVfne 7ftffe toy. fh'encfe, are. true,?
4:faittrfuttoZi1tteJ3oyB7ue?fi
jzacji m ines &dzne oiu pia&e,,
Awaifiny the touch of a. h'ftfe hand.
The 5mite of a 7 i file fhce,
ndthey wonder aa wajfftytte7on?yeanj?n?iyft
In the dujfoffhafhitffe chair
What haa hecome of ourZjitfe23oyZ37ue
cSfncehe 7ci55ed them andputtTfem there.
have nestled into the hearts of the American neonle are leeion. but amone all
best remembered. It is one of the most perfect examples of the delicate
A. G. Wallace ha3 furnished the copy used here.
And the angels bore his spirit to the
mansions built of gold.
How, at last, the rich man perished.
and his spirit took its flight.
From the purple and fine linen to the
home of endless night;
There he learned, as he stood gazln'
at the beggar in the sky.
"It Isn't all of life to live nor all of
death to die."
I doubt not there were wealthy sires
In that religious fold.
Who went up from their dwellings like
the Pharisee of old;
Then returned home from their wor
ship with a head uplifted high.
To spurn the hungry from their door
with naught to. satisfy.
Out!, put! with, such professions; they
are doing more today
ift stop the weary sinner from the
Gospel's shining way.
Than all the books of infidels; than all
that has been tried
Since Christ was born in Bethlehem
since Christ was crucified.
How simple are the works of God, and
yet how very grand ;
The shells In ocean caverns the flow
ers on the land
He gilds the clouds of evenln with
gold-light from his throne
Not for the rich man only, nor for the
poor alone.
Then why should man look down on
man because of lack of gold?
Why send him to the poorest pew be
cause his clothes are old?
A heart with nobler motives a heart
that God has 'blest
May be beatln' heaven's music 'neath
that faded coat and vest.
I'm old I may be childish but I love
simplicity;
I love to see it shlnln' In a Christian's
piety.
Jesus told us In his sermon. In Judea's
mountain wild.
He that wants to go to heaven must be
like a little child.
Our heads are growing gray, dear wlfo
our hearts are beating Blow
In a little while the Master will call
for us to go:
When we reach the pearly gateways
and look In with joyful eyes.
We'll see no stylish worship in the
temple of the skies.
Fred O. Ellis, of Bralntree, Mass.
has sent us the following old "Ballad
of the North," similar to the song of
"The Northwest Passage, published
some time ago:
A SONG OF THE NORTH.
(By Elizabeth Doten. 1854.)
"Away! away!" cried the stout Sir
John.
"While the blossoms are on the trees;
For the Summer is short and the time
speeds on.
As we sail for the Northern Seas.
Ho! Gallant Crozier, and brave Fitz
James!
We will startle the worW. I trow,
When we find a. way through the
Northern Seas
That never was found till now!
A good, stout ship is the Erebus
As ever unfurled a sail.
And the Terror will match with
brave a one
As ever outrode a gale."
as
So they bade farewell to their pleas
ant homes.
To the hills and valleys green.
With three hearty cheers for their
native isle
And three for the English Queen.
They sped them away beyond cape and
bay.
Where the day and night are on
Where the blazing light In the heavens
grew bright
And flamed like a midnight sun.
There was naught below save the fields
of snow.
That stretched to the icy pole;
And the Eskimo in his strange canoe
Was the only living soul;
Along the coast, like a giant host.
The glittering Icebergs frowned.
Or they met on the main, like a battle
plain.
And crashed with a fearful soundl
The seal and the bear, with a curious
stare.
Looked down from the frozen
heights.
And the stars In the skies, with their
i great wild eyes,
Peered out from the northern lights.
The gallant Crozier and the brave Fuz
James,
And even the stout Sir John.
Felt a doubt like a chiill through their
warm hearts thrill
As they urged the good ships on.
They sped them away beyond cape and
bay,
Where even the tear drops freeze:
But no way was found, by strait or
sound.
To sail through the Northern Seas.
They sped them away, beyond cape and
bay.
And they sought, but they sought In
vain!
For no way was found through the Ice
around
To return to their homes again.
But
the wild waves
rose and the
waters froze.
Till they closed like a orison wall.
And the icebergs stood. In the silent
rood,
Like iailers grim and tall!
O God! O God! it was hard to die
In that prison house of lcel
For what was fame or a mighty name
When life was the fearful price?
The gallant Crozier and the brave Fltz
James
And even the stout Sir John.
Had a secret dread, and their hopes all
fled
As the weeks and months passed on.
Then the Ice king came, with his eyes
or name.
And looked on the fated crew:
His chilling breath was as cold as
death
And it pierced their warm hearts
through! -
A heavy sleep that was dark and deep
Came over their weary eyes.
And they dreamed strange dreams of
the hills and streams
And the blue of their native skies:
The Christmas chimes of the good old
times
Were heard In each dying ear.
And the darling feet and the voices
sweet
Of their wives and children dear!
But It faded away away away-
Like a sound on a distant shore.
And deeper and deeper came the sleep.
am mey slept to waKe no more!
O, the sailor's wife and the sailor'.
cnildl
They weep and watch and nrav
And the Lady Jane, she will hope In
vain
As the long years pass away!
The gallant Crozier and the brave Fltz
James
And the good Sir John have found
An open way to a quiet bay
Ana a port wnere.all are bound!
Let the waters roar on the Ice-bound
shore
That circles the frozen pole.
But there is no .sleep and no grave so
deep
That can hold the human soul.
One of the most powerful of N. P.
vv mis' poems is "Hagar." Willis is
better known to readers of 40 years
ago than to the modern generation, but
his position among American poets Is
still most secure. Ruth Luce contri
butes the copy.
HAGAR IX THE WILDERNESS.
By N. P. Willis.
The morning broke, light stole upon
the clouds
With a strange beauty. Earth received
again
Its garments of a thousand dyes, and
leaves.
And delicate blossoms, and the painted
nowers.
And everything that bendeth to the
dew
And stirreth with the daylight, lifted
up . ,
Its beauty to the breath of that sweet
morn.
All things are dark to sorrow; and the
light
And loveliness and fragrant air were
sao.
To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth
was pouring odor from its spicy
pores.
And the young birds were singing as
if life
Were a new thing to them; but music
came
Upon her ear like discord, and she felt
That pang of the unreasonable heart
That, bleeding amid things It loved so
veil.
Would have some sign of sadness as
they pass.
She stood at Abraham's tent. Her
lips were pressed
Till the blood started; and the wander
ing veins
Of her transparent forehead were
swelled out.
As If her pride would burst them. Her
dark eye
Was clear and tearless, and the light
of heaven.
Which made Its language legible, shot
back,
From her long lashes, as It had been
a flame.
Her noble boy stood, by her, with his
hand
Clasped in her own. and his round.
delicate feet.
Scarce trained to balance on the tented
floor.
Sandaled for Journeying. He bad
looked up
Into his mother's face, until he caught
The spirit there, and his young heart
was swelling
Beneath his dimpled bosom, and his
form
Straightened up proudly In his tiny
wrath
As his light proportions would have
swelled
Had they but matched his spirit to the
man.
Why bends the patriarch as he eometh
now
Upon his staff so wearily? His beard
Is low upon his breast, and his high
brow.
So written with the converse of his
God,
Beareth the swollen vein of agony.
His lip is quivering, and his wonted
step
Of vigor Is not there; and though the
morn
Is passing fair and beautiful, he
breathes
Its freshness as If It were a pestilence.
He gave to her the water and the' breads
But spoke no word, ana trusted not
himself
To look upon her face, but laid his
hand.
In silent blessing on the fair-haired
boy.
And left her to her lot of loneliness.
Should Hagar weep? May slighted
woman turn
And. as a vine the oak has shaken off.
Bend lightly to her leaning trust
again?
Oh. no! by all her loveliness, by all
That makes life poetry and beauty,
nol
Make her slave: steal from her rosy
cheek
By needless Jealousies: let the last star
Leave her a watcher by your couch of
pain.
Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all
That makes her cup of bitterness, yet
give
One evidence of love, and earth has
not
An emblem of devotedness like hers.
But, oh! estrange her once it boots
not how
By wrong or 'silence, anything that
tells
A chanse has come upon your tender
ness. And there is not a feeling out of heaven
Her pride o'ermastereth not.
She went her way with a strong step
and slow.
Her pressed lips arched, and her clear
eye undimmea.
As If It were a diamond, and her form
Borne proudly up as If her heart
breathed through
Her child kept on in silence, though
ttp nressed
His hand till It was pained; for he had
The dark look on his mother, and the
seed
Of a stern nation had been breatnea
unnn
The morning passed, and Asia's sun
rode up
In the clear heaven, and every beam
was heat.
The cattle of the hills were in me
shade
And the bright plumage of the Orient
lav
On beating blossoms In her spicy trees.
It was an hour of rest! but Hagar
fou id
Vn hiter In the wilderness, ana on
She kept her weary way. unin mo no;
Hung down his neaa, ana opened ma
parched lips .
For water; but she could not rive
it
htm.
She laidTilm down beneath the sultry
Tn, it was better than the close, noi
rreath
Of the thick pines, and tried to com
fort him
But he was sore athlrst. and his blue
eyes
Were dim and bloodshot, and he could
not know ...
Why God denied him water In the wild
sh. mat little lonirer and he grew
Ghastly and faint, as If he would have
died. , .
Tt wa too much for ner. one nuca
him
And bore him further on. and laid his
head
nniiith the shadow or swaeseri snruo.
mH nhroudlnir ud her face, she went
MWJiV
And sat to watch, where he could see
her not.
Till he should die: and. watching him,
she mourned:
"God stay thee in thy agony, my boy!
T rannot see thee die: I cannot brook
fnon thv brow to look.
And see death settle on my cradle Joy.
How have I drunk the light of thy blue
eyes!
Ana could I see thee die?
I did not dream of this when thou
vt atravinc
Like an unbounded gazelle among the
flowers:
Or wilinsr the soft hours
By the rich gush of water sources play-
Then sinking weary to thy smiling
sleeD.
So beautiful and deep.
"Oh, no! and when I watched by thee
thA while
And saw thy bright lip curling In thy
dream
An thnmrht of the dark stream
In mv own land of Egypt, the far Nile,
vrw nnved I that my father's land
might be
An heritage for thee!
"And now the grave for Its cold breast
hath won thee!
And thy white, delicate limbs the earth
will press ,
And. oh! my last caress
Must feel thee cold; for a chill hand
is on thee.
How can I leave my boy so pillowed
there
Upon his clustering hair!"
She stood beside the well her God hath
Riven
To gush In that deep wilderness, and
bathed
The forehead, of her child unttl he
laughed
In his reviving happiness, and lisped
His Infant thought of gladness at the
sight
Of the cool plashing of his mother's
hand.
Ruth Luce contributes a copy of
"Jeptha's Daughter." by WilUs. A
copy of MacClaine'a Child" came also
from her. but this has been reprinted
already.
"JEPTHA'S DAUGHTER."
BT N. P. WILLIS.
And Jephtba vowed a vow unto the Lord
1 and ld: "it thou oha'.t without fall de
liver th children of Ammon into mint
hands, then it shall be, that whatever
comelh forth from the doors of my lionya
to meet me. when I return in pt ace from
the children of Ammon. shall eurt'ly be th
Lord's, and 1 will off r It up for a burnt
offering." Judges. xliliO, SI.
She stood before her father's gorgeous
tent
To listen for his coming; her loose
hair
Was resting on her shoulders, like a
cloud
Floating around a statue, and the wind
Just ewayinfr her light robe, revealed
a shape
Praxiteles might worship. She had
clasped
Her hands upon her bosom and had
raised
Her beautiful, dark. Jewish eyes to
heaven.
Till the long lashes lay upon her brow.
Her lip was slightly parted, like the
cleft
Of a pomegranate blossom; and her
neck
Just where the cheek was melting to
Its curve
With the unearthly beauty sometimes
there.
Was shaded as if light had fallen eft.
Its surface was so polished. She was
stilling
Her light, quick breath to hear; and
the white rose
Scarce moved upon her bosom, as tt
swelled.
Like nothing but a lovely wave of
lisrht. i
To meet the arching of her queenly
neck.
Her countenance -was radiant with
love.
She looked like one to die for lt-a be
ing Whose whole existence was the pour
ing out
Of rich and deep affections.
Onward came the leaden tramp of
thousands. Clarion notes
Rang; sharply on the ear at intervals:
And the low. mingled din of mighty
hosts.
Returning from the battle, poured
from afar.
Like the deep murmur of a restless
sea.
They came as earthly conquerera al
way come.
With blood and splendor, revelry and
woe.
The stately horse treads proudly he
hath trod
The Brow of death, as well. The char
iot wheels
Of warriors roll majrnincently on
Their weight hath crushed and fallen.
Man Is there
Majestic, lordly man with his sublime
And elevated brow and p:o41ike frame.
Lifting his crest in triumph for his
heol
Hath trod the dylns like a winepress
down!
The mighty. Jephtha led his warriors
on
Through Mizpah's streets.
His helm
was woutily set
And his stern lip curled slightly, as if
praise
Were for the heroes' scorn. His step
was tlrm.
But free as India's leopard, and his
mail.
Whose shekels none In Israel might
bear.
Was like a cedar's tassel on his frame.
His crest was Judah's klngllest, and
the look
Of his dark, lofty eye and bended brow
Might quell the lion. He led on; but
thoughts
Seemed gathering round which troubled
him.
The veins
Grew visible upon his swarthy brow
And his proud lip was pressed as lr
with pain.
He trod less firmly and his restless eye
Glanced forward frequently, as if some
ill
He dared not meet were there. His
home was near.
And men were thronging with that
strange delight
They hav in human passions, to ob
serve
The strnpRle of his feelings with his
pride.
He gazed Intensely forward. The tall
firs
Before his door were motionless. The
leaves
Of the sweet aloe and the clustering
vines
Which half concealed his threshold
met his eye.
Unchanged and beautiful, and one by
one
The balsam, with Its sweet distilling
items,
And the Circassian rose, and all the
crowd
Of silent and familiar things stole up.
Like the recovered passages of dreams.
He strode on rapidly. A moment more
And he reached his home; when lo!
there sprang
One with a bouncing footstep, aid a
brow
Of light, to meet him. Oh. how beau
tiful:
Her dark eye flashing like a sunlit
gem
And her luxuriant hair 'twas like the
sweep
Of a swift wing In visions. He stood
still.
As If the sight had withered him. Bhe
threw
Her arms about his neck: He heeded
not.
She called him "Father." but he an
swered not.
She stood and gazed upon him. Was he
wroth
There was no anger In that . bloodshot
eye.
Had Etekness seized him? She un
clasped his helm
And laid her white hand gently on his
. brow.
And the large veins felt stiff and hard,
like cords.
The touch aroused him. He raised up
hii hands
And spoke the name of God. In agony.
She knew that he was stricken then,
and rushed
Again into his arms, and with a flood
Of tears she could not stay, she sobbed
a prayer
That he would breathe his asony In
words.
He told her and a momentary flush
Shot o'er her countenance; and then
the soul
Of Jephtha's daughter wakened; and
she stood
Calmly and nobly up, and said "twas
well
And she would die. .......
The sun had well nigh set.
The fire was on the altar; and the
priest
Of the High God was there. A pallid
man.
Was stretching out his trembling hands
to heaven.
As If he would have prayed, but no
words
And she who was to die, the calmest
one
In Israel at that hour, stood up alone
And wailed for the sun to set. Her face
Was pale, but very beautiful her lip
Had a more delicate outline, and the
tint
Was deeper; but her countenance was
like
The majesty of angels.
The sun was set
And she was dead but not by violence.