Poems by Hattie Howard Part 9

Ah, no! that everywhere The earth is pa.s.sing fair, And strange new life hath caught, Is but the marvel wrought By sunlight, rain, and air.

Bermuda.

O charming blossom of the sea Atlantic waters bosomed in!

Abiding-place of gayety, Elysian bower of "Cora Linn,"

The sprightly, lively _debiteuse_ Recounting all she sees and does.

Oh, how it makes the northern heart, With sluggish current half-congealed, In ecstasy and vigor start To read about this tropic field; The garden of luxuriousness, In winter wearing summer's dress.

With gelid sap and frozen gum In maple trees and hackmatack, While waiting for the spring to come Of life's necessities we lack; And sip the nectar that we find In luscious fruit with golden rind.

But down the street we dread to walk, For all the teachings of our youth Receive an agonizing shock; _Do_ tempting labels lie, forsooth?

For "out of Florida," she says, "Come our Bermuda oranges."

To speed the penitential prayer Our rosary we finger o'er, A yellow necklace rich and rare-- 'Twas purchased at the dollar store; But oh, it makes us sigh to see That land of amber _bijouterie_!

Oh, ocean wave and flying sail Shall never waft us to its sh.o.r.e!

But if some reckless cyclone gale Should drop Bermuda at our door, 'Twould warm our February sky And bring the time of roses nigh!

The Charter Oak.

I seem to see the old tree stand, Its st.u.r.dy, giant form A spectacle remembered, and A pilgrim-shrine for all the land Before it met the storm.

Unnumbered gales the tree defied; It towered like a king Above his courtiers, reaching wide, And sheltering scions at its side As with protecting wing.

Revered as one among the trees To mark the seasons born, To watchful aborigines It told by leafy indices The time of planting corn.

The landmark of the past is gone, Its site is overgrown; A mansion overlooks the lawn Where history is traced upon A parapet of stone.

Shall e'er Connecticut forget What unto it we owe-- How Wadsworth coped with Andros' threat, And tyranny, in council met, Outwitted years ago?

Aye, but it rouses loyal s.p.u.n.k To think of that old tree!

Its stately stem, its s.p.a.cious trunk By Nature robbed of pith and punk To guard our liberty.

But of the oak long-perished, why Is earth forever full?

For, like the loaf and fish supply, Its stock of fiber, tough and dry, Seems inexhaustible.

Rare souvenirs the stranger sees-- Who never sees a joke-- And innocently dreams that these, From knotty, gnarly, scraggy trees, Were once the Charter Oak!

Blossom-time.

Yes, it is drawing nigh-- The time of blossoming; The waiting heart beats stronger With every breath of Spring, The days are growing longer; While happy hours go by As if on zephyr wing.

A wealth of mellow light Reflected from the skies The hill and vale is flooding; Still in their leafless guise The Jacqueminots are budding, Creating new delight By promise of surprise.

The air is redolent As ocean breezes are From spicy islands blowing, Or groves of Malabar Where sandal-wood is growing; Or sweet, diffusive scent, From fragrant attar-jar.

Just so is loveliness Renewed from year to year; And thus emotions tender, Born of the atmosphere, Of bloom, and vernal splendor That words cannot express, Make Spring forever dear.

Can mortal man behold So beautiful a scene, Without the innate feeling That thus, like dying sheen The sunset hues revealing, Glints pure, celestial gold On fields of living green?

"One of the Least of These."

'Twas on a day of cold and sleet, A little nomad of the street With tattered garments, shoeless feet, And face with hunger wan, Great wonder-eyes, though beautiful, Hedged in by features pinched and dull, Betraying lines so pitiful By sorrow sharply drawn;

Ere yet the service half was o'er, Approached the great cathedral door As choir and organ joined to pour Their sweetness on the air; Then, sudden, bold, impelled to glide With fleetness to the altar's side, Her trembling form she sought to hide Amid the shadows there,

Half fearful lest some worshiper, Enveloped close in robes of fur, Had cast a scornful glance at her As she had stolen by, But soon the swelling anthem, fraught With reverence, her spirit caught As rapt she listened, heeding not The darkness drawing nigh.

'Mid novelty and sweet surprise Her soul, enraptured, seemed to rise And tread the realms of Paradise; Her shivering limbs grew warm, And as the shadows longer crept Across the chancel, angels kept Their vigils o'er her as she slept Secure from cold and storm.

No sound her peaceful slumber broke, But one, whose gentle face bespoke True goodness, took her costly cloak In tender, thoughtful way, And as the sleeper sweetly smiled, Perchance by dreams of Heaven beguiled, O'erspread the pa.s.sive, slumbering child, And softly stepped away.

So rest thee, child! since Sorrow's dart Has touched like thine the Saviour's heart, Thou hast a nearer, dearer part In his great love for thee; And when life's shadows all are gone, May Heaven reveal a brighter dawn To thee who, unaware, hast drawn Our hearts in sympathy.

Lightning-bugs.

Around my vine-wreathed portico, At evening, there's a perfect glow Of little lights a-flashing-- As if the stellar bodies had From super-heat grown hyper-mad, And spend their ire in clashing.

As frisky each as shooting star, These tiny electricians are The Lampyrine Linnaean-- Or lightning-bugs, that sparkling gleam Like scintillations in a dream Of something empyrean.

They brush my face, light up my hair, My garments touch, dart everywhere; And if I try to catch them They're quicker than the wicked flea-- And then I wonder how 'twould be To have a _dress_ to match them.

To be a "princess in disguise,"

And wear a robe of fireflies All strung and wove together, And be the cynosure of all At Madame Haut-ton's carnival, In fashion's gayest feather.

So, sudden, falls upon the gra.s.s The overpow'ring light of gas, And through the lattice streaming; As wearily I close my eyes Brief are the moments that suffice To reach the land of dreaming.

Now at the ball, superbly dressed As I suppose, to eclipse the rest, Within an alcove shady A brilliant flame I hope to be, While all admire and envy me, The "bright electric lady."