Chapter VII

To thee, fair Dame, we thus relate The things which were but are no more; That thou mightest know the worldly way, And knowing, have no timid fear To ever stir thy peaceful breast. No fate like theirs awaits for thee; For Fortune's maid shall tend with care Thy every nod and beck--yes, place Upon thy queenly brow a crown, The "starry crown" by Freedom worn! 'Tis true no flint rock ribs thy base, No stone thy corner marks; for that What carest thou? For boasted pride? Thy frame is of the sturdy oak, Inlaid with ribs of stately pine; The Prince and Princess twain are they Of all Columbia's giant woods. The sylvan songsters sing thy praise From dawn till set of sun, and then The nightingale, the queen of song, In praise of thee poureth forth her lay Till every mellow silver note, Far floating in the silent trees, Is taken by an elfish choir, And chanted softly to the moon. The eagle her wee eaglets tells Of thee, that they may freedom love; Then soaring full beyond the clouds, She looks with vaunted pride on thee. So must thy spirit fill the hearts Of all Columbia's youth, as once It filled old "Honest Abe," thy son, Thy pride--the first-born of thy love. For when each lowly lad well knows That ever upwards he may soar, Beyond vain tyrants' galling sway To fairer climes where Freedom reigns: Then will the shadow of thy wing For aye to them a shelter be!

LIFE IN A DREAM

There is nothing so sweet as our life in our dreams,
When we soar far on fancy's swift wing;
For a thing in our dreams is all that it seems,
And the songs are so sweet that we sing.
Ah! the sun shines the brightest, and stars twinkle lightest
At the moon in her silvery beams!

There is nothing so gay as the life in our dreams,
With its joy and its laughter and mirth;
For the pleasure that teems is far greater, one deems,
Than any he finds in the earth.
There are homes are our natal, and nothing is fatal
In the beautiful land of our dreams!

There is nothing so bright as the life in our dreams,
Far away from earth's trickery chance;
There the music's wild screams and the wine in its streams
Are both lost in the song and the dance.
Oh! our joy is the sweetest and life is completest,
Ah! the life in our beautiful dreams!

There is nothing serene as the life in our dreams,
When the dove to his mate softly cooes
In the groves by the streams and the moon's silver beams,
Where the swain oft his maid gently wooes.
There the swains are the rarest and maids are the fairest,
And their love is as true as it seems!

THE MORNING STAR

TO A. B. B.

Thou art, fair maid, the Morning Star,
The guide of dawning day,
And sendest diamond sparkles far
To wake the flowers of May.

Thou makest earth to bloom anew,
A boon thou'rt wont to give,
And spillest out the morning dew,
That all may blush and live.

Thou guardest with thy hand of might,
And never showeth frown;
Earth lullest sleep when cometh night,
And wak'st her with the dawn.

Fair maiden, God hast given thee
All power near and far,--
The rosy dawning's light to be,
The brightest Morning Star.

TO ESTELLE

Coy, sweet maid, I love so well, Fair Estelle. How much I love thee tongue can't tell, Sweet Estelle. But I love thee--love thee true-- More than violets love the dew, More than roses love the sun-- Do I love thee, dearest one, Dear Estelle!

Ah! my heart love's passions swell For Estelle! How I love my actions tell Thee, Estelle: That I love thy smiling face, And thy captivating grace-- Love thy dreamy 'witching eyes More than planets love the skies, Wee Estelle!

Now I smite my lyre to swell For Estelle; Music's most entrancing spell O'er Estelle. With my fingers on my keys, Like the balmy morning breeze Stealing softly through the grain, Will I gently wake a strain For Estelle!

How I love my little belle, My Estelle! Deepest in my sacred dell Is Estelle! I esteem my maiden love More than angels high above, More than demons in the sea; Love is light and life to me, And Estelle!

A SONG OF THANKS

For the sun that shone at the dawn of spring, For the flowers which bloom and the birds that sing, For the verdant robe of the gray old earth, For her coffers filled with their countless worth, For the flocks which feed on a thousand hills, For the rippling streams which turn the mills, For the lowing herds in the lovely vale, For the songs of gladness on the gale,-- From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,-- Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

For the farmer reaping his whitened fields, For the bounty which the rich soil yields, For the cooling dews and refreshing rains, For the sun which ripens the golden grains, For the beaded wheat and the fattened swine, For the stallèd ox and the fruitful vine, For the tubers large and cotton white, For the kid and the lambkin frisk and blithe, For the swan which floats near the river-banks,-- Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

For the pumpkin sweet and the yellow yam, For the corn and beans and the sugared ham, For the plum and the peach and the apple red, For the dear old press where the wine is tread, For the cock which crows at the breaking dawn, And the proud old "turk" of the farmer's barn, For the fish which swim in the babbling brooks, For the game which hide in the shady nooks,-- From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,-- Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

For the sturdy oaks and the stately pines, For the lead and the coal from the deep, dark mines, For the silver ores of a thousand fold, For the diamond bright and the yellow gold, For the river boat and the flying train, For the fleecy sail of the rolling main, For the velvet sponge and the glossy pearl, For the flag of peace which we now unfurl,-- From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,-- Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

For the lowly cot and the mansion fair, For the peace and plenty together share, For the Hand which guides us from above, For Thy tender mercies, abiding love, For the blessed home with its children gay, For returnings of Thanksgiving Day, For the bearing toils and the sharing cares, We lift up our hearts in our songs and our prayers,-- From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,-- Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

NOT YET A POET

Aye! many a rhyme my pen has flown,
In oblivion, all unknown;
Still many more, perchance, I say,
Float on in one unbroken lay--
But ask me naught of where or when,
Long as they ring in hearts of men!
Dear friend, I say these words to you,
Which through the ages will be true:
Though I have power to combine
These subtle rhymes of each sweet line--
Yet, I shall never live to see,
The title "POET" given me!

A BOUQUET

A blossom pink, a blossom blue,
Make all there is in love so true.
'Tis fit, methinks, my heart to move,
To give it thee, sweet girl, I love!
Now, take it, dear, this morn and wear
A wreath of beauty in thy hair;
Think on it, when from bliss we part--
The emblem of my wooing heart!

AN ODE TO THE SOLDIERS' AND SAILORS' MONUMENT

Thou most majestic Queen of sculptural art,
What learnèd architect designed thy throne?
Who traced thy stately form in head and heart,
And sent the sculptor forth to carve the stone?
O speak, fair Queen, for thou art not alone;
Ten thousand unseen voices join refrain
That softly floats in one melodious tone,
As sweet as any ancient harper's strain
In odes to Indiana's silent victors slain.

Thy court well marks the conquest of the West,
A citadel sprung out the forest wild,
A mecca where the pilgrims quietly rest:
Each dame's content--content each sportive child;
The fiery redmen nevermore revile,
Nor haunt the footprints of thy daring sons,
Whose noble spheres are widening all the while,
Like as some brilliant star its orbit runs
And sheds on earth its light down from a thousand suns.

Thy throne emblazoned with the rarest jewels,
Each wall adorned with battered coats of mail,
Choice relics of some bloody fields or duels,
A legend or some untold battle tale.
I see the scouts go forth upon the trail,
And soldiers charging over battlements--
The weeping mother sends to God her wail;
While passion's rage the mortal heart laments,
The dove of peace is caged in direst banishments.

But see yon arms, full flushing victory
Brings hope, and joy is ringing everywhere
Beneath the "starry banner of the free,"
That shields her children from the tyrant's snare.
The peasant turns him to his lowly fare,
The rich pursues wild phantoms at his ease,
The rustic plies his long-forsaken share,
And lo! the dove is cooing, "Peace, sweet peace;"
For Mars has snatched his bolts from out the rosy East.

And when the last familiar scene has gone,
And brightest dawn has kissed the sable night,
Then thou shalt smile on faces yet unborn,
And be to them a gleaming beacon light;
For Might shall fall and on his throne sit Right,
When bloody wars and petty strifes have ceased;
Then thou shalt don thy spotless robe of white,
And say to man as hostess of the feast:
"My brother, sheath thy sword; the end of life is peace."

TO A FADED FLOWER

To a violet that faded on my coat at Natchez, Miss. March
8th, 1902.

Alas! thou lovely floweret wee,
Fate blew a blighting breath
Upon the delicate form of thee,--
Thou'st met untimely death!
Thou blowest, blushest nevermore,
To drink the dews of night;
Thy sweet though short-lived life is o'er,
Thou seest no more the light.

'Twas vain! aye, vain! the selfish strife
That drooped thy purple crest;
Some swain or maiden took thy life,
To deck a love-lorn breast.
Ah, floweret wee, the God who made
All in the earth and sky,
Decreed that thou should blow and fade,--
All else should live and die!

Now, he who wails the floweret's fate,
And all the rest of man,
Must meet that fate, aye soon or late,
And scale their measured span.
We are but flowers that blush and blow,
As flight of years rolls on,
With time and tide's cold ebb and flow--
'Tis said--"He's dead and gone!"

For as the maid clips off the stems
Where once the flowers have been,
So angels pluck earth's rarest gems,
Immortal souls of men!
The flower fadeth into air,
From whence its life is given--
But man's soul shining rich and rare
Ascendeth into heaven.

DAINTY DORA

TO D. M. M.

Greeks once sang a lovely song
To their maiden Cora;
But my lay floats soft along
To my Dainty Dora.

Frenchmen sing of Anne Belle,
Romans sang of Flora;
But I sing my song to tell
Of my Dainty Dora.

Scotchmen sing their songs to move
Mary or Debora;
But I sing my song of love--
Love for Dainty Dora.

Poets now a song may give
Psyche or Lenora;
But I'll sing long as I live
Just for Dainty Dora!

THE VIOLIN

Thrice hail the still unconquered King of Song! For all adore and love the Master Art That reareth his throne in temple of the heart; And smiteth chords of passion full and strong Till music sweet allures the sorrowing throng! Then by the gentle curving of his bow Maketh every mellow note in cadence flow, To recompense the world of all its wrong. Although the earth is full of cares and throes That tempt the crimson stream of life to cloy, Thou mak'st glad hearts and trip'st "fantastic toes," And fillest weary souls with mirth and joy-- The soul-entrancing cadence of thy strings Proclaims thee Song's unconquered "King of kings"!

WOMAN

I call thee angel of this earth,
For angel true thou art
In noble deeds and sterling worth
And sympathetic heart.
I, therefore, seek none from afar
For what they might have been,
But sing the praise of those which are
That dwell on earth with men.

For when man was a tottling wee,
Snug nestling on thy breast,
Or sporting gay upon thy knee,
Oh, thou who lovest him best;
An overflowing stream of love,
Sprung at his very birth,
And made thee gentle as a dove,
Fair angel of this earth.

Thou cheerest ever blithesome youth
With songs and fervent prayers,
And fillest heart with love and truth
A store for future cares.
Thou lead'st him safely in his prime,
True guide of every stage,
And then at last, as fades the time,
Thou comfortest his age.

Like as the sunshine after rain,
Far chasing 'way the mist,
Thou soothest human grief and pain,
Fleet messenger of bliss.
In battles where the sword and shield
Full lay the mighty low,
Thou hov'rest ever o'er the field,
To ease life's ebb and flow!

Thou standest, ever standest near,
Before man's waning eyes,
An angel true to him more dear
Than all beyond the skies!
No fabled sprites of chants and creeds,
Nor myths of bygone years,
For thou suppliest all his needs
And wip'st his briny tears.

So, if he quail in desert waste
Or toss life's stormy sea,
He turns his tear-stained eye in haste
For one fond glimpse of thee.
He longs to hide beneath thy wing,
And nestle on thy breast;
He lists to hear thee softly sing
Him into peaceful rest!

Oh, sing aloud Mt. Zion's songs,
To cheer each languid heart;
For now some feeble spirit longs
Thy blessings to impart.
And thus thou keepest the Master's will,
And showest all thy worth,
Through loving kindness thou art still
The angel of this earth!

THE BACHELOR'S SONG

While I keep my lonely hall, You are welcome one and all, As I sing my little song; Stay, I'll cheer you all day long-- And sow my bachelor-buttons, And sow my bachelor-buttons.

While this world is wild with glee, Chime I now my song to thee; In my bosom lurks no care, I can loiter everywhere-- And sow my bachelor-buttons, And sow my bachelor-buttons.

Oh dear, what a happy life For the man who has no wife, To bind with sore distresses, And silk and satin dresses-- While he sows his bachelor-buttons, While he sows his bachelor-buttons.

His heart is ever merry, His way is bright and cheery; No peevish baby crying, No jealous wife a-sighing-- While he sows his bachelor-buttons, While he sows his bachelor-buttons.

Ah! praise the God who hath given A life so much like heaven; Quit it? Oh no, I'll never, But live happy forever-- And sow my bachelor-buttons, And sow my bachelor-buttons.

PUT NOTHING IN ANOTHER'S WAY

Put nothing in another's way,
Who's plodding on through life,
But fill each heart with joy each day,
With peace instead of strife.
So then let not a missent word,
Or thought, or act, or deed
Be by our weaker brother heard
To cause his heart to bleed.

Put nothing in another's way,
It clear and ample leave;
For words and actions day by day
Life's great example weave.
'Tis then not meet that we should think
That we are solely free
In manners, dress, in food, or drink,
Or fulsome revelry.

Put nothing in another's way,
Just learn the Christian part
To let a holy, sunny ray
Shine in thy brother's heart.
Help him to bear his load of care,
His soul get edified--
'Twas only for the soul's welfare
That Jesus bled and died.

Put nothing in another's way,
Ye who are sent to teach;
No dark cloud cast across the day,
Ye who the gospel preach.
Ye twain must set the truth aright
With joy and peace and love;
For in your souls shines forth the light
From Jesus Christ above.

Put nothing in another's way,
Belovèd Christian friends;
On through your toils, and cares, still pray,
Till life's fleet journey ends.
When at the resurrection dawn
Eternal life is given,
We'll get our harp, our robe, our crown,
The star-lit crown of heaven.

FLOATING WITH THE GALE

TO MY LOST BROTHER

Ships the angry sea is lashing;
But I launch my little bark,
Though the thunder peals are crashing,
And the sea is pitchy dark!
See by lightning's vivid flashing
How to shift my tattered sail--
Far across the billows dashing,
I am floating with the gale.

CHORUS

Floating, floating, floating ever
On the stormy deep blue sea,
Far from father and dear mother
And, true love, away from thee!
Go, ye zephyrs, sweetly laden,
Cheer my loved ones in their wail;
Tell my wee sweet bright-eyed maiden
I am floating with the gale!

When the siren maids are waking,
And are singing wild sea songs,
Dear, they start my heart to aching,
For its love to thee belongs.
Now my love-lorn soul is shaking
With a spell of bitter wail,
And my heart is sadly breaking,
For I'm floating with the gale!

CHORUS

Now my hopes are fading ever,
Gloom is chasing 'way the bliss;
Dear, I know that I can never
Come thy ruby lips to kiss!
But my heart will cling forever
To that love I oft did hail,
For those ties I can not sever,
Though I'm floating with the gale!

CHORUS

Dear, my heart is ever longing,
Longs surfmen my bark to save;
Through my brain these thoughts are thronging,
Of a grave beneath the wave;
Of loved ones my heart is wronging,
And the belly of the whale;
'Round my soul their ghosts are thronging,
As I'm floating with the gale!

CHORUS

Dear, I fain would be returning
To the cove just where thou art,
While my languid breast is burning
Light and love full out my heart!
But cruel Fate my hopes is spurning,
And winds blow against my sail;
While out Death my life is burning,
I'm still floating with the gale!

CHORUS

LULA JOHNSON'S SONG

Written in Quinn Chapel, A. M. E. Church, Ninth and Walnut
Streets, Louisville, Ky., Wednesday evening, October 16th,
1907, while Miss Lula E. Johnson was singing "Ave Maria."

I have heard the mock-bird singing when the orchards were in bloom, And the sweetness of his music made the peacock don his plume; Ay! I've heard cock-robin-redbreast chirping on a sunny day, And the skylark soaring skywards, merrily sing his festal lay; And the brown thrush and the bluebird thrill their little treble notes; All the woodland songsters pouring songs of gladness from their throats-- But not one has touched so deeply, and not one has last so long As the ever ringing cadence of sweet Lula Johnson's song!

When the breeze has ceased to whisper and the night is soft and still, Save the awe-provoking shrilling of the ghastly whippoorwill, As the moonbeams pour down brightly on the woodland, hill and dale, I oft listen at my window to the queenly nightingale; But no song of merry woodland, neither hill, nor dale, nor dell, Has ever smote my bosom, nor has made my spirit swell, Like the soul-inspiring music that so softly glides along Oh! so softly and so gently in sweet Lula Johnson's song!

Oh! my soul has caught the music, as it softly floats along-- Ah! the soul-entrancing music of sweet Lula Johnson's song! If my feet shall ever falter, it shall cheer me on my way; Ay, sustain and give me comfort,--make my feeble spirit gay. All we need to have, my brothers, in our war of peace 'gainst strife, Is the cadence of sweet music sprinkled in to sweeten life; It will sweeten all our bitters, which now seem so very long, If we have it soft and gentle, as sweet Lula Johnson's song.

In the lonely hours of midnight, when fair Luna 'gins to pale, I have heard her songs a-ringing, floating softly on the gale. And I hope when dawns the morning, when I draw my fleeting breath, When my friends are gathered 'round me, and my eyes are closed in death-- Ere you throw the sods upon me, on my never-heaving breast, While my body's lying silent and my soul is seeking rest-- Then I'll wing straight home to glory, for the journey won't be long, On the spirit-wafting music of sweet Lula Johnson's song!

A TRIBUTE TO DUNBAR

The sweetest singer once thou wast, but art no more;
An elf thou wast of what thou now shalt be,
Where thou art in realms of that celestial shore;
There thou shalt sing through all eternity.
We, peerless bard, bewail thy loss
And shed heart-broken tears,
Though meekly thou hast borne thy cross
And winged the flight of years!

Thrice blessed singer, wrapped in heavenly bliss,
Of earth's poor souls thy fortune who can tell?
Perchance thy splendid lot be solely this:
To change thy lute with the angel Israfel!
If so, then smite thy golden strings
With fingers nimble, strong,
Till all along fair heaven rings
With cadence of thy song!

Thee tyrant earth once held, imprisoned soul,
That suffered tortures of relentless strife,
Fair heaven now holds within her sheltered fold,
And gives thee robe and harp--eternal life!
Grant him, O God, unfaltering breath
To sing from heaven afar
A song to cheer our souls in death--
The peerless Paul Dunbar!

WERE I A BIRD

Were I a bird free born to fly
Aloof on two wee, downy wings,
My canopy would be the sky
When rosy morn its dawning springs.

Were I a bird I'd sweetly sing
Earth's vesper song in tree-tops high,
And chant the carol of the Spring
To every weary passer by.

Were I a bird, the sweetest voice
That human ear has ever heard,--
The mocking-bird would be my choice,
For he's the sweetest singing bird!

Were I a bird my life would be
In keeping with the Will divine--
I'd sing His carols full and free
In spreading oak and cony pine!

Were I a bird through air I'd roam,
Just flitting on the morning breeze,
In search of summer's sunny dome,
To live contentedly at ease.

Were I a bird I'd sing a tune
For farmers seeking shady rest
Beneath the spreading oak in June,
In swinging boughs that rock my nest.

Were I a bird I'd scale the cliff
When dawns the bleak December day,
Far from the ice and snow I'd shift
Until the fairest day in May!

Were I a bird, a mocking-bird,
The King of birdie's singing sons,
My music would fore'er be heard
As I sweet sang to cheerless ones.

Were I a bird I'd seek my rest
When jocund Day blows out his light;
In boughs that hover o'er my nest
I'd sweetly sing, "Good Night, Good Night!"

AN ODE TO ETHIOPIA

TO THE ASPIRING NEGRO YOUTH

After years of patient study and historical research, I have
made the following deductions of parts played by the
Ethiopian in the annals of history, under the caption, "An
Ode to Ethiopia." It is true that questions will rise
regarding the racial identity of some of my characters, in
view of historical statements which place them with the
Caucasian race; yet I firmly believe, were impartial history
written, my claims would be justified. However, Time, the
great Arbiter, will finally decide the equity of my claims.