John Milton Hay

When I look on thee and feel how dear, How pure, and how fair thou art, Into my eyes there steals a tear,

[C. K. loquitur.] I dreamed I was in fair Niphon. Amid tea-fields I journeyed on,

In the dim chamber whence but yesterday Passed my beloved, filled with awe I stand; And haunting Loves fluttering on every hand

Wise men I hold those rakes of old Who, as we read in antique story, When lyres were struck and wine was poured,

A squad of regular infantry, In the Commune's closing days, Had captured a crowd of rebels

The winter wind is raving fierce and shrill, And chides with angry moan the frosty skies; The white stars gaze with sleepless Gorgon eyes

A sentinel angel sitting high in glory Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory: "Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story!

Let them say to my Lover That here I lie! The thing of His pleasure,

REMARKS OF SERGEANT TILMON JOY TO THE WHITE MAN'S COMMITTEE OF SPUNKY POINT, ILLINOIS. I reckon I git your drift, gents, - You 'low the boy sha'n't stay;

I wandered through a careless world Deceived when not deceiving, And never gave an idle heart

One day in the Tuileries, When a south-west Spanish breeze Brought scandalous news of the Queen,

A hundred times the bells of Brown Have rung to sleep the idle summers, And still to-day clangs clamouring down

The beauty of the Northern dawns, Their pure, pale light is thine; Yet all the dreams of tropic nights

The Countess Jutta passed over the Rhine In a light canoe by the moon's pale shine. The handmaid rows and the Countess speaks:

I. Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her. This one may love her some day, some day the lover will not.

I love a woman tenderly, But cannot know if she loves me. I press her hand, her lips I kiss,

I'll tell the story, kissing This white hand for my pains: No sweeter heart, nor falser,

The knightly legend of thy shield betrays The moral of thy life; a forecast wise, And that large honour that deceit defies,

Roll on, O shining sun, To the far seas! Bring down, ye shades of eve,

Saith the Lord, "Vengeance is mine; I will repay," saith the Lord; Ours be the anger divine,

Ef the way a man lights out of this world Helps fix his heft for the other sp'ere, I reckon my old friend Golyer's Ben

Good luck is the gayest of all gay girls, Long in one place she will not stay; Back from your brow she strokes the curls,

Down the dim west slowly fails the stricken sun, And from his hot face fades the crimson flush Veiled in death's herald-shadows sick and grey.

I pray you, pardon me, Elsie, And smile that frown away That dims the light of your lovely face

In the dewy depths of the graveyard I lie in the tangled grass, And watch, in the sea of azure,

My dear wife sits beside the fire With folded hands and dreaming eyes, Watching the restless flames aspire,

When by Jabbok the patriarch waited To learn on the morrow his doom, And his dubious spirit debated

Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives, Becase he don't live, you see; Leastways, he's got out of the habit

When I behold thee, O my indolent love, To the sound of ringing brazen melodies, Through garish halls harmoniously move,

God send me tears! Loose the fierce band that binds my tired brain, Give me the melting heart of other years,

How well my heart remembers Beside these camp-fire embers The eyes that smiled so far away, -

What man is there so bold that he should say, "Thus, and thus only, would I have the sea"? For whether lying calm and beautiful,

I don't go much on religion, I never ain't had no show; But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir,

'Tis love that blinds my heart and eyes, - I sometimes say in doubting dreams, - The face that near me perfect seems

If Heaven would hear my prayer, My dearest wish would be, Thy sorrows not to share,

On the bluff of the Little Big-Horn, At the close of a woeful day, Custer and his Three Hundred

On Tabor's height a glory came, And, shrined in clouds of lambent flame, The awestruck, hushed disciples saw

There was never a castle seen So fair as mine in Spain: It stands embowered in green,

Under the high unclouded sun That makes the ship and shadow one, I sail away as from the fort

I stood on the top of Pitz Languard, And heard three voices whispering low, Where the Alpine birds in their circling ward

O grandly flowing River! O silver-gliding River! Thy springing willows shiver

I strove, like Israel, with my youth, And said, "Till thou bestow Upon my life Love's joy and truth,

As I lay at your feet that afternoon, Little we spoke, - you sat and mused, Humming a sweet old-fashioned tune,

He stood before the Sanhedrim; The scowling rabbis gazed at him. He recked not of their praise or blame;

Sad is the thought of sunniest days Of love and rapture perished, And shine through memory's tearful haze

There are two mountains hallowed By majesty sublime, Which rear their crests unconquered

She lived shut in by flowers and trees And shade of gentle bigotries. On this side lay the trackless sea,

When Youth's warm heart beats high, my friend, And Youth's blue sky is bright, And shines in Youth's clear eye, my friend,

(Paris, August, 1865.) I stand at the break of day In the Champs Elys'es.

In the dream of the Northern poets, The braves who in battle die Fight on in shadowy phalanx

Daily walked the fair and lovely Sultan's daughter in the twilight, - In the twilight by the fountain,

Slow flapping to the setting sun By twos and threes, in wavering rows, As twilight shadows dimly close,

King Saloman looked from his donjon bars, Where the Danube clamours through sedge and sand, And he cursed with a curse his revolting land, -

Fytte the First:    wherein it shall be shown how the Truth is too mighty a Drug for such as be of feeble temper. The King was sick. His cheek was red And his eye was clear and bright;

Double flutes and horns resound As they dance the idol round; Jacob's daughters, madly reeling,

The song of Kilvani:    fairest she In all the land of Savatthi. She had one child, as sweet and gay

Each shining light above us Has its own peculiar grace; But every light of heaven

I tore this weed from the rank, dark soil Where it grew in the monkish time, I trimmed it close and set it again

The darkest, strangest mystery I ever read, or heern, or see, Is 'long of a drink at Taggart's Hall, -

A Tale Of Earnest Effort And Human Perfidy. It's all very well for preachin', But preachin' and practice don't gee:

The skies are blue above my head, The prairie green below, And flickering o'er the tufted grass

Not done, but near its ending, Is the work that our eyes desired; Not yet fulfilled, but near the goal,

Out of the Latin Quarter I came to the lofty door Where the two marble Sphinxes guard

My short and happy day is done, The long and dreary night comes on; And at my door the Pale Horse stands,

I. Land of unconquered Pelayo! land of the Cid Campeador! Sea-girdled mother of men! Spain, name of glory and power;

To Peter by night the faithfullest came And said, "We appeal to thee! The life of the Church is in thy life;

One day the Sultan, grand and grim, Ordered the Mufti brought to him. "Now let thy wisdom solve for me

I sent my love two roses, - one As white as driven snow, And one a blushing royal red,

Through the long days and years What will my loved one be, Parted from me?

When April woke the drowsy flowers, And vagrant odours thronged the breeze, And bluebirds wrangled in the bowers,

Let your feet not falter, your course not alter By golden apples, till victory's won! The sword's sharp clangour, the dart's shrill anger,

Had we but met in other days, Had we but loved in other ways, Another light and hope had shone

In the whole wide world there was but one; Others for others, but she was mine, The one fair woman beneath the sun.

Sunrise In The Place De La Concorde. (Paris, August 1865.) I stand at the break of day In the Champs Elysees.

There's a happy time coming, When the boys come home. There's a glorious day coming,

When violets were springing And sunshine filled the day, And happy birds were singing