East and West: Poems Part 7

I might here remark that 'twas doubted by many, In regard to the heart, if Miss Addie had any; But no one could look in that eloquent face, With its exquisite outline, and features of grace, And mark, through the transparent skin, how the tide Ebbed and flowed at the impulse of pa.s.sion or pride,-- None could look, who believed in the blood's circulation As argued by Harvey, but saw confirmation, That here, at least, Nature had triumphed o'er art, And, as far as complexion went, she had a heart.

But this, _par parenthesis_. Brown was the man Preferred of all others to carry her fan, Hook her glove, drape her shawl, and do all that a belle May demand of the lover she wants to treat well.

Folks wondered and stared that a fellow called Brown-- Abstracted and solemn, in manner a clown, Ill dressed, with a lingering smell of the shop-- Should appear as her escort at party or hop.

Some swore he had cooked up some villanous charm, Or love philter, not in the regular Pharm-- Acopea, and thus, from pure _malis prepense_, Had bewitched and bamboozled the young lady's sense; Others thought, with more reason, the secret to lie In a magical wash or indelible dye; While Society, with its censorious eye And judgment impartial, stood ready to d.a.m.n What wasn't improper as being a sham.

For a fortnight the townfolk had all been agog With a party, the finest the season had seen, To be given in honor of Miss Pollywog, Who was just coming out as a belle of sixteen.

The guests were invited: but one night before, A carriage drew up at the modest back-door Of Brown's lab'ratory; and, full in the glare Of a big purple bottle, some closely-veiled fair Alighted and entered: to make matters plain, Spite of veils and disguises,--'twas Addie De Laine.

As a bower for true love, 'twas hardly the one That a lady would choose to be wooed in or won: No odor of rose or sweet jessamine's sigh Breathed a fragrance to hallow their pledge of troth by, Nor the balm that exhales from the odorous thyme; But the gaseous effusions of chloride of lime, And salts, which your chemist delights to explain As the base of the smell of the rose and the drain.

Think of this, O ye lovers of sweetness! and know What you smell, when you snuff up Lubin or Pinaud.

I pa.s.s by the greetings, the transports and bliss, Which, of course, duly followed a meeting like this, And come down to business;--for such the intent Of the lady who now o'er the crucible leant, In the glow of a furnace of carbon and lime, Like a fairy called up in the new pantomime;-- And give but her words as she coyly looked down, In reply to the questioning glances of Brown: "I am taking the drops, and am using the paste, And the little, white powders that had a sweet taste, Which you told me would brighten the glance of my eye, And the depilatory, and also the dye, And I'm charmed with the trial; and now, my dear Brown, I have one other favor,--now, ducky, don't frown,-- Only one, for a chemist and genius like you But a trifle, and one you can easily do.

Now listen: tomorrow, you know, is the night Of the birthday _soiree_ of that Pollywog fright; And I'm to be there, and the dress I shall wear Is _too_ lovely; but"--"But what then, _ma chere_?"

Said Brown, as the lady came to a full stop, And glanced round the shelves of the little back shop.

"Well, I want--I want something to fill out the skirt To the proper dimension, without being girt In a stiff crinoline, or caged in a hoop That shows through one's skirt like the bars of a coop; Something light, that a lady may waltz in, or polk, With a freedom that none but you masculine folk Ever know. For, however poor woman aspires, She's always bound down to the earth by these wires.

Are you listening? nonsense! don't stare like a spoon, Idiotic; some light thing, and s.p.a.cious, and soon-- Something like--well, in fact--something like a balloon!"

Here she paused; and here Brown, overcome by surprise, Gave a doubting a.s.sent with still wondering eyes, And the lady departed. But just at the door Something happened,--'tis true, it had happened before In this sanctum of science,--a sibilant sound, Like some element just from its trammels unbound, Or two substances that their affinities found.

The night of the anxiously looked-for _soiree_ Had come, with its fair ones in gorgeous array; With the rattle of wheels, and the tinkle of bells, And the "How do ye dos," and the "Hope you are wells;"

And the crash in the pa.s.sage, and last lingering look You give as you hang your best hat on the hook; The rush of hot air as the door opens wide; And your entry,--that blending of self-possessed pride And humility shown in your perfect-bred stare At the folk, as if wondering how they got there; With other tricks worthy of Vanity Fair.

Meanwhile that safe topic, the heat of the room, Already was losing its freshness and bloom; Young people were yawning, and wondering when The dance would come off, and why didn't it then: When a vague expectation was thrilling the crowd, Lo, the door swung its hinges with utterance proud!

And Pompey announced, with a trumpet-like strain, The entrance of Brown and Miss Addie De Laine.

She entered: but oh, how imperfect the verb To express to the senses her movement superb!

To say that she "sailed in" more clearly might tell Her grace in its buoyant and billowy swell.

Her robe was a vague circ.u.mambient s.p.a.ce, With shadowy boundaries made of point-lace.

The rest was but guess-work, and well might defy The power of critical feminine eye To define or describe: 'twere as futile to try The gossamer web of the cirrus to trace, Floating far in the blue of a warm summer sky.

'Midst the humming of praises and the glances of beaux, That greet our fair maiden wherever she goes, Brown slipped like a shadow, grim, silent, and black, With a look of anxiety, close in her track.

Once he whispered aside in her delicate ear, A sentence of warning,--it might be of fear: "Don't stand in a draught, if you value your life."

(Nothing more,--such advice might be given your wife Or your sweetheart, in times of bronchitis and cough, Without mystery, romance, or frivolous scoff.) But hark to the music: the dance has begun.

The closely-draped windows wide open are flung; The notes of the piccolo, joyous and light, Like bubbles burst forth on the warm summer night.

Round about go the dancers; in circles they fly; Trip, trip, go their feet as their skirts eddy by; And swifter and lighter, but somewhat too plain, Whisks the fair circ.u.mvolving Miss Addie De Laine.

Taglioni and Cerito well might have pined For the vigor and ease that her movements combined; E'en Rigelboche never flung higher her robe In the naughtiest city that's known on the globe.

'Twas amazing, 'twas scandalous: lost in surprise, Some opened their mouths, and a few shut their eyes.

But hark! At the moment Miss Addie De Laine, Circling round at the outer edge of an ellipse, Which brought her fair form to the window again, From the arms of her partner incautiously slips!

And a shriek fills the air, and the music is still, And the crowd gather round where her partner forlorn Still frenziedly points from the wide window-sill Into s.p.a.ce and the night; for Miss Addie was gone!

Gone like the bubble that bursts in the sun; Gone like the grain when the reaper is done; Gone like the dew on the fresh morning gra.s.s; Gone without parting farewell; and alas!

Gone with a flavor of Hydrogen Gas.

When the weather is pleasant, you frequently meet A white-headed man slowly pacing the street; His trembling hand shading his lack-l.u.s.tre eye, Half blind with continually scanning the sky.

Rumor points him as some astronomical sage, Reperusing by day the celestial page; But the reader, sagacious, will recognize Brown, Trying vainly to conjure his lost sweetheart down, And learn the stern moral this story must teach, That Genius may lift its love out of its reach.

California Madrigal.

On the Approach of Spring.

Oh come, my beloved! from thy winter abode, From thy home on the Yuba, thy ranch overflowed; For the waters have fallen, the winter has fled, And the river once more has returned to its bed.

Oh, mark how the spring in its beauty is near!

How the fences and tules once more re-appear!

How soft lies the mud on the banks of yon slough By the hole in the levee the waters broke through!

All Nature, dear Chloris, is blooming to greet The glance of your eye, and the tread of your feet; For the trails are all open, the roads are all free, And the highwayman's whistle is heard on the lea.

Again swings the lash on the high mountain trail, And the pipe of the packer is scenting the gale; The oath and the jest ringing high o'er the plain, Where the s.m.u.t is not always confined to the grain.

Once more glares the sunlight on awning and roof, Once more the red clay's pulverized by the hoof, Once more the dust powders the "outsides" with red, Once more at the station the whiskey is spread.

Then fly with me, love, ere the summer's begun, And the mercury mounts to one hundred and one; Ere the gra.s.s now so green shall be withered and sear, In the spring that obtains but one month in the year.

St. Thomas.

A Geographical Survey.

(1868.)

Very fair and full of promise Lay the island of St. Thomas: Ocean o'er its reefs and bars Hid its elemental scars; Groves of cocoanut and guava Grew above its fields of lava.

So the gem of the Antilles,-- "Isles of Eden," where no ill is,-- Like a great green turtle slumbered On the sea that it enc.u.mbered.

Then said William Henry Seward, As he cast his eye to leeward, "Quite important to our commerce Is this island of St. Thomas."

Said the Mountain ranges, "Thank'ee, But we cannot stand the Yankee O'er our scars and fissures poring, In our very vitals boring, In our sacred caverns prying, All our secret problems trying,-- Digging, blasting, with dynamit Mocking all our thunders! d.a.m.n it!

Other lands may be more civil, Bust our lava crust if we will."

Said the Sea,--its white teeth gnashing Through its coral-reef lips flashing,-- "Shall I let this scheming mortal Shut with stone my shining portal, Curb my tide, and check my play, Fence with wharves my shining bay?

Rather let me be drawn out In one awful water-spout!"

Said the black-browed Hurricane, Brooding down the Spanish main, "Shall I see my forces, zounds!

Measured by square inch and pounds, With detectives at my back When I double on my track, And my secret paths made clear, Published o'er the hemisphere To each gaping, prying crew?

Shall I? Blow me if I do!"

So the Mountains shook and thundered, And the Hurricane came sweeping, And the people stared and wondered As the Sea came on them leaping: Each, according to his promise, Made things lively at St. Thomas.

Till one morn, when Mr. Seward Cast his weather eye to leeward, There was not an inch of dry land Left to mark his recent island.