to quiet pastures high,
Assured no foes dare lurk, no dangers lie
Where still abides their shepherd's memory.
Well did men name him "Shepherd of the Seas,"
Who knew so well his shepherd's watch to keep,
Driving the Spanish wolves with noble rage:
Forsaking Pomp and Power and Beds-of-ease
To herd his mighty flock through every Deep
And make of every sea their common pasturage.

SLEEP

IN MEMORIAM: A. B. P.

Thou best of all: God's choicest blessing, Sleep;
Better than Earth can offer—Wealth, Power, Fame:
They change, decay; thou always art the same;
Through all the years thy freshness thou dost keep;
Over all lands thine even pinions sweep.
The sick, the worn, the blind, the lone, the lame,
Hearing thy tranquil footsteps, bless thy name;
Anguish is soothed, Sorrow forgets to weep.
Thou ope'st the captive's cell and bid'st him roam;
Thou giv'st the hunted refuge, free'st the slave,
Show'st the outcast pity, call'st the exile home;
Beggar and king thine equal blessings reap.
We for our loved ones Wealth, Joy, Honors crave;
But God, He giveth his beloved—Sleep.

TO A LADY AT A SPRING

Long æons since, in leafy woodlands sweet,
Diana, weary with the eager chase,
Was wont to seek full oft some trysting-place
Loved of her rosy train; some cool retreat
Of crystal springs, deep-verdured from the heat
Of sultry noon, wherein each subtle grace
Of snowy form and radiant flower-face,
Narcissus-like, goddess and nymph might greet.
Diana long hath fleeted 'yond the main;
The founts which erst she loved are all bereft;
No more 'mid violet-banks her feet are set;
Silent her silvern bugle, fled her train;
One spot alone of all she loved is left:
This poplar-shaded spring is Goddess-haunted yet.

UNFORGOTTEN

Oh! do not think that thee I can forget:
Though all the Centuries should o'er me roll—
Though Space should spread more far than Pole from Pole,
Or star from furthest star betwixt us; yet,
I still would hold thee in my heart's core set:
More rare than rarest Queens whom Kings extol
When Death hath throned them high above regret.
Through endless Time when Memory the stone
Rolls back from silent years long sepulchred,
To call the Past forth from the sullen tomb,
Howe'er far 'yond her voice all else hath flown,
Shalt thou appear—her living summons heard—
Fresh as Eternal Spring in all thy radiant bloom.

THE OLD LION

"THE WHELPS OF THE LION ANSWER HIM"

The Old Lion stood in his lonely lair:
The sound of the hunting had broken his rest:
He scowled to the Eastward: Tiger and Bear
Were harrying his Jungle. He turned to the west;
And sent through the murk and mist of the night
A thunder that rumbled and rolled down the trail;
And Tiger and Bear, the Quarry in sight,
Crouched low in the covert to cower and quail;
For deep through the midnight like surf on a shore,
Pealed Thunder in answer resounding with ire.
The Hunters turn'd stricken: they knew the dread roar:
The Whelp of the Lion was joining his Sire.

THE DRAGON OF THE SEAS

APRIL, 1898

They say the Spanish ships are out
To seize the Spanish Main;
Reach down the volume, Boy, and read
The story o'er again:

How when the Spaniard had the might,
He drenched the Earth, like rain,
With Saxon blood and made it Death
To sail the Spanish Main.

With torch and steel; with stake and rack
He trampled out God's Truce
Until Queen Bess her leashes slip't
And let her sea-dogs loose.

God! how they sprang and how they tore!
The Gilberts, Hawkins, Drake!
Remember, Boy, they were your sires:
They made the Spaniard quake.

Dick Grenville with a single ship
Struck all the Spanish line:
One Devon knight to the Spanish Dons:
One ship to fifty and nine.

When Spain in San Ulloa's Bay
Her sacred treaty broke,
Stout Hawkins fought his way through fire
And gave her stroke for stroke.

A bitter malt Spain brewed that day,
She drained it to the lees:
The thunder of her guns awoke
The Dragon of The Seas.

From coast to coast he ravaged far,
A scourge with flaming breath:
Where'er the Spaniard sailed his ships,
Sailed Francis Drake and Death.

No coast was safe against his ire;
Secure no furthest shore;
The fairest day oft sank in fire
Before the Dragon's roar.

He made th' Atlantic surges red
Round every Spanish keel,
Piled Spanish decks with Spanish dead,
The noblest of Castile.

From Del Fuego's beetling coast
To sleety Hebrides
He hounded down the Spanish host
And swept the flaming seas.

He fought till on Spain's inmost lakes
'Mid Orange bowers set,
La Mancha's maidens feared to sail
Lest they the Dragon met.*

King Philip, of his ravin' reft,
Called for "the Pirate's" head;
The great Queen laughed his wrath to scorn
And knighted Drake instead.

And gave him ships and sent him forth
To sweep the Spanish Main,
For England and for England's brood,
And sink the fleets of Spain.

And well he wrought his mighty work,
Till on that fatal day
He met his only conqueror,
In Nombre Dios Bay.

There in his shotted hammock swung
Amid the surges' sweep,
He waits the look-out's signal cry
Across the quiet deep,

And dreams of dark Ulloa's bar,
And Spanish treachery,
And how he tracked Magellan far
Across the unknown sea.

But if Spain fire a single shot
Upon the Spanish Main,
She 'll come to deem the Dragon dead
Has waked to life again.

*Note. It is related that King Philip one day invited a lady to sail with him on a lake, and she replied that she was afraid they might meet "the Dragon."

THE BENT MONK

Ever along the way he goes,
With eyes cast down as in despair,
And shoulders stooped with weight of woes
And lips from which unceasing flows
An agonizèd prayer.

His form is bent; his step is slow;
His hands with fasting long are thin;
And wheresoe'er his footsteps go,
Men hear his muttered prayer and know
He weeps for deadly sin.

This monk was once the knightliest
Of knights who ever sat in