Bret Harte

“ On some household eminence, On a clothes-line or a fence, Over ditches, drains, and thence O'er a brook, He, by high ambition led, Ever walked and balanced, Till the people, wondering, said, "How like Cooke!" Step by step did he proceed, Nerved by valor, not by greed, And at last the crowning deed Undertook. Misty was the midnight air, And the cliff was bleak and bare, When he came to do and dare, Just like Cooke. Through the darkness, o'er the flow, Stretched the line where he should go, Straight across as flies the crow Or the rook. ”

“ 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 ”

“ WHAT MISS EDITH SAW FROM HER WINDOW Our window's not much, though it fronts on the street; There's a fly in the pane that gets nothin' to eat; But it's curious how people think it's a treat For ME to look out of the window! Why, when company comes, and they're all speaking low, With their chairs drawn together, then some one says, "Oh! Edith dear!—that's a good child—now run, love, and go And amuse yourself there at the window!" Or Bob—that's my brother—comes in with his chum, And they whisper and chuckle, the same words will come. ”

“ I sit in the sad old house to-night,— Myself a ghost from a farther sea; And I trust that this Quaker woman might, In courtesy, visit me. For the laugh is fled from porch and lawn, And the bugle died from the fort on the hill, And the twitter of girls on the stairs is gone, And the grand piano is still. Somewhere in the darkness a clock strikes two: And there is no sound in the sad old house, But the long veranda dripping with dew, And in the wainscot a mouse. ”

“ Or where brown Labor with its peaceful charm Stiffens the sinews of the Nation's arm. What nerves its hands to strike a deadlier blow And hurl its legions on the rebel foe? Lo! for each town new rising o'er our State See the foe's hamlet waste and desolate, While each new factory lifts its chimney tall, Like a fresh mortar trained on Richmond's wall. For this, O brothers, swings the fruitful vine, Spread our broad pastures with their countless kine: For this o'erhead the arching vault springs clear, Sunlit and cloudless for one half the year ”

“ Our limbs are stiffer now than when we first set out to ride, And worse, the horses know it, and feel the leg-grip tire, Since in the days when, long ago, we sought the old camp-fire. Yes, twenty years! Lord! how we'd scent its incense down the trail, Through balm of bay and spice of spruce, when eye and ear would fail, And worn and faint from useless quest we crept, like this, to rest, Or, flushed with luck and youthful hope, we rode, like this, abreast. Ay! straighten up, old friend, and let the mustang think he's nigher, Through looser rein and stirrup strain, the welcome old camp-fire. ”

“ Deep in its bed lay the river's bones, Bleaching in pebbles and milk-white stones, And tracked o'er the desert faint and far, Its ribs shone bright on each sandy bar. Thus they stood as the sun went down Over the foot-hills bare and brown; Thus they looked to the South, wherefrom The pale-face medicine-man should come, Not in anger or in strife, But to bring—so ran the tale— The welcome springs of eternal life, The living waters that should not fail. Said one, "He will come like Manitou, Unseen, unheard, in the falling dew." ”

“ THE GHOST THAT JIM SAW Why, as to that, said the engineer, Ghosts ain't things we are apt to fear; Spirits don't fool with levers much, And throttle-valves don't take to such; And as for Jim, What happened to him Was one half fact, and t'other half whim! Running one night on the line, he saw A house—as plain as the moral law— Just by the moonlit bank, and thence Came a drunken man with no more sense Than to drop on the rail Flat as a flail, As Jim drove by with the midnight mail. ”

“ One hears the coo of pigeons in the pine Of Western woods where he was wont to roam; One sees the sunset fire the distant line Where the long prairie sweeps its levels down; One treads the snow-peaks; one by lamps that shine Down the broad highways of the sea-girt town; And two are missing,—Cadets Grey and Brown! VIII Much as I grieve to chronicle the fact, That selfsame truant known as "Cadet Grey" Was the young hero of our moral tract, Shorn of his twofold names on entrance-day. ”

“ A SANITARY MESSAGE Last night, above the whistling wind, I heard the welcome rain,— A fusillade upon the roof, A tattoo on the pane: The keyhole piped; the chimney-top A warlike trumpet blew; Yet, mingling with these sounds of strife, A softer voice stole through. "Give thanks, O brothers!" said the voice, "That He who sent the rains Hath spared your fields the scarlet dew That drips from patriot veins: I've seen the grass on Eastern graves In brighter verdure rise; But, oh! the rain that gave it life Sprang first from human eyes. ”

“ She has mounted alone The first step of stone, And the high swinging doors she wide open has thrown, Then pauses and turns, As the altar blaze burns On her cheeks, and with one sudden gesture she spurns Archbishop and Prior, Knight, ladye, and friar, And her voice rings out high from the vault of the choir. "O men of Cologne! What I WAS ye have known; What I AM, as I stand here, One knoweth alone. If it be but His will I shall pass from Him still, Lost, curst, and degraded, I reckon no ill; If still by that sign Of His anger divine One soul shall be saved, He hath blessed more than mine. ”

“ Weeks passed away, And yet no galleon saw the bay. India goods advanced in price; The Governor missed his favorite spice; The Senoritas mourned for sandal And the famous cottons of Coromandel; And some for an absent lover lost, And one for a husband,—Dona Julia, Wife of the captain tempest-tossed, In circumstances so peculiar; Even the Fathers, unawares, Grumbled a little at their prayers; And all along the coast that year Votive candles wore scarce and dear. Never a tear bedims the eye That time and patience will not dry; Never a lip is curved with pain That can't be kissed into smiles again ”

“ Yet the cards they were stocked In a way that I grieve, And my feelings were shocked At the state of Nye's sleeve, Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers, And the same with intent to deceive. But the hands that were played By that heathen Chinee, And the points that he made, Were quite frightful to see,— Till at last he put down a right bower, Which the same Nye had dealt unto me. Then I looked up at Nye, And he gazed upon me; And he rose with a sigh, And said, "Can this be? We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor,"— And he went for that heathen Chinee. ”

“ Their fame is forgotten—their story is ended— 'Neath the feet of the race they have mixed with and blended. But the birds are unchanged—the ouzel-cock sings, Still gold on his crest and still black on his wings; And the lark chants on high, as he mounts to the sky, Still brown in his coat and still dim in his eye; While the swallow or martlet is still a free nester In the eaves and the roofs of thrice-built Cirencester. ”

“ Breaks into blossom, flings her loveliest rose Ere the white crocus mounts Atlantic snows; And the example of her liberal creed Teaches the lesson that to-day we heed. Thus ours the lot with peaceful, generous hand To spread our bounty o'er the suffering land; As the deep cleft in Mariposa's wall Hurls a vast river splintering in its fall,— Though the rapt soul who stands in awe below Sees but the arching of the promised bow, Lo! the far streamlet drinks its dews unseen, And the whole valley wakes a brighter green. ”

“ 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 dimensions, 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. ”

“ IN THE TUNNEL Didn't know Flynn,— Flynn of Virginia,— Long as he's been 'yar? Look 'ee here, stranger, Whar HEV you been? Here in this tunnel He was my pardner, That same Tom Flynn,— Working together, In wind and weather, Day out and in. Didn't know Flynn! Well, that IS queer; Why, it's a sin To think of Tom Flynn,— Tom with his cheer, Tom without fear,— Stranger, look 'yar! Thar in the drift, Back to the wall, He held the timbers Ready to fall; Then in the darkness I heard him call: "Run for your life, Jake! Run for your wife's sake! ”

“ Look for a spot in the old South Sea, The hundred and eightieth degree Longitude west of Madrid: there, Under the equatorial glare, Just where the east and west are one, You'll find the missing galleon,— You'll find the San Gregorio, yet Riding the seas, with sails all set, Fresh as upon the very day She sailed from Acapulco Bay. How did she get there? What strange spell Kept her two hundred years so well, Free from decay and mortal taint? ”

“ The stage, methinks, perhaps is none too wide, And hardly fit for royal Richard's stride, Or Falstaff's bulk, or Denmark's youthful pride. Ah, well! no passion walks its humble boards; O'er it no king nor valiant Hector lords: The simplest skill is all its space affords. The song and jest, the dance and trifling play, The local hit at follies of the day, The trick to pass an idle hour away,— For these no trumpets that announce the Moor, No blast that makes the hero's welcome sure,— A single fiddle in the overture! ”

“ While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff, Stood there picking the rebels off,— With his long brown rifle and bell-crown hat, And the swallow-tails they were laughing at. 'Twas but a moment, for that respect Which clothes all courage their voices checked; And something the wildest could understand Spake in the old man's strong right hand, And his corded throat, and the lurking frown Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown ”

“ One spreads its white wings on a far-reaching track, With pennant and sheet flowing free; One hides in the shadow with sails laid aback,— The ship that is waiting for me! But lo! in the distance the clouds break away, The Gate's glowing portals I see; And I hear from the outgoing ship in the bay The song of the sailors in glee. So I think of the luminous footprints that bore The comfort o'er dark Galilee, And wait for the signal to go to the shore, To the ship that is waiting for me. ”

“ When they raised the marble door Of the tomb, untouched for years before, The friar swooned on the choir floor; For there, in her laces and festal dress, Lay the dead man's wife, her loveliness Scarcely changed by her long duress,— As on the night she had passed away; Only that near her a dagger lay, With the written legend, "Por el Rey." What was their greeting, the groom and bride, They whom that steel and the years divide? I know not. Here they lie side by side. Side by side! Though the king has his way, Even the dead at last have their day. Make you the moral. ”

“ XIII For when they ceased their ardent strain, Miss Kitty Glowed not with anger nor a kindred flame, But rather flushed with an odd sort of pity, Half matron's kindness, and half coquette's shame; Proud yet quite blameful, when she heard their ditty She gave her soul poetical expression, And being clever too, as she was pretty, From her high casement warbled this confession,— Half provocation and one half repression:— NOT YET Not yet, O friend, not yet! the patient stars Lean from their lattices, content to wait. All is illusion till the morning bars Slip from the levels of the Eastern gate. ”