The Songs that Quinte Sang

Front matter

The

That

Quinte Sang

By Quinte’s Side

By Quinte’s Side.

Dear comrades of a vanished past, My childhood’s playmates, kind and true, Who dwell on Quinte’s sunlit shore, I give these songs to you.

Old Quinte sang them in my ears Long years ago, when I was young, I give them back in later years, The songs that Quinte sung.

How often when a child I strayed Dear Quinte’s peaceful shores along, My heart and soul responding to The music of her song.

The wild bird oft would hush its song Whilst skimming by on outspread wing And listen while old Quinte taught Her poet child to sing.

And this the sum of all she taught, As tranquilly she flowed along, Through all these years I’ve not forgot, “Live, suffer and be strong.”

Though but a child I understood, Why Quinte sang that song to me, And my young heart was hushed and soothed By her sweet minstrelsy.

And some have chided me, because The songs I love to write are sad, They bid me sing in blither strains And make the world more glad.

I heed them not, the harp responds Unto my touch with plaintive ring And, like the birds, I sing the songs That God hath bid me sing.

If every bird sang as the lark Their blithesome notes would mock the ear, The thrush’s song is not less sweet, Although we weep to hear.

And though we love the sunshine well We would not have it always day, Man soon would weary were his life One ceaseless roundelay.

You will not chide my mournful songs O kindly friends of bygone years! Because you know my early days Knew less of smiles than tears.

And whether critics praise or blame I know that loving eyes will note And kindly voices praise the songs For love of her who wrote.

Let greater poets strive for bays, My heart would throb with truer pride At one kind word of honest praise From friends by Quinte’s side.

O, friends and playmates of the past, Who dwell on Quinte’s sunlit shore, Across the gulf that time has wrought I greet you all once more!

Though new-found friends have smiled on me My heart has never swerved from you The old-time friends must ever be Far dearer than the new.

The joys that made your kind hearts glad Have waked an answering chord in mine And ye have wept when I was sad My friends of “Auld Lang Syne.”

Through all these weary, waiting years For your dear faces I have yearned And oft through mists of blinding tears My longing eyes have turned

Back to the well-loved childhood’s haunts, Where dear old Quinte, calm and mild, With sunny smiles of welcome waits To greet her absent child.

I miss some faces that I loved Their feet have sought a foreign shore. May Heaven turn their wandering steps To Quinte’s side once more.

And some, grown weary of this life, Have folded their pale hands and died. Dear hearts, their sleep is calm and sweet By Quinte’s restful side.

And ye who stood above their graves, Your saddened hearts with anguish torn, And deemed the burden Heaven sent, Too heavy to be borne

Have learned at last, as I once learned, The burden of old Quinte’s song That life’s great lesson is “to live, To suffer, and be strong.”

O, friends of vanished childhood’s days Who dwell on Quinte’s sunlit shore, Across the intervening years I greet you all once more

Whilst all my heart goes out in prayer, May peace and joy with you abide And God be with the friends who dwell By pleasant Quinte’s side.

“Dear hearts, their sleep is calm and sweet By Quinte’s restful side.”

Rest After Pain

Rest After Pain.

The patient, suffering heart is hushed and still And he has gained eternal rest at last, All care is over now, all weariness, All pain is past.

Not as a foe, but as a friend Death came, Bearing the gift of peace in his pale hand; He touched the tortured heart and anguish fled At his command.

Rest, weary one, and be thou not afraid, Death guards thee well, no agonizing dart Can pierce the icy shield his hand has laid Above thy heart.

Sleep, well-beloved, no harm can come to thee, For all is peace within that “low green tent,” Sleep, and enjoy the long desired rest That Heaven sent.

If I Had Known

If I Had Known.

If I had known how steep the path of Fame, How long the weary years of toil and care, How sharp the sting of poverty, the shame Of baffled hopes, the bitter, wild dispair Of prayers unanswered, ever backward thrust Upon my heart like ashes, dust on dust, I never would have ventured all alone To tread the rugged path, if I had known.

If I had known how soon love’s roses fade, How soon their bloom and beauty know eclipse, A cluster o’er my heart I had not laid, Nor touched the fragrant blossoms with my lips, And my poor heart and lips had not been torn If I had known love’s rose concealed a thorn, Which rankled sore long after Love had flown, I had not suffered so, if I had known.

If I had known that friendship had a sting, That smiling lips and eyes could hide deceit, I had not crowned or worshiped as a king This poor clay idol, shattered at my feet, Nor given all my loyal trust to learn The friend I loved but mocked me in return. Over its broken hopes my heart makes moan, I had not trusted so, if I had known.

If I had known, nay heart, why should I mourn? Better by far I did not know the pain Fate had allotted me e’er I was born. And who shall say my life has been in vain? Life is made up of equal joy and care, The joy I missed hath been another’s share And every burden added to my load Hath eased some other comrade on the road; And God knew best, before the griefs now flown My courage would have failed if I had known.

Some Day

Some Day.

Some day when I have conned the page of pain So closely that no lesson will remain For me to learn, and when my lips have quaffed Unto the dregs, pale sorrow’s bitter druaght, Then will this troubled heart, so sorely tried, From earthly eare and tormoil find release And death will grant me all that life denied, Best and oblivion and unbroken peace. Oh! longed-for hour, when I shall calmly rest With idle hands crossed over pulseless breast All peacefully within my narrow bed, Unheeding those who weep above my head, But, Ah! They would not weep if they could know How gladly I shall welcome death, and so Whene’er my sobbing heart makes moan, I say Hush, hush my heart, the time will come some day.

Waiting

Waiting.

All day long I walk the shore Gazing out across the sea Where the merry white-capped waves Chase each other in their glee.

And I watch with eager eyes, Pacing slowly to and fro, For the ships I sent to sea Many weary years ago.

Other ships come sailing in From countries strange far away And with canvas closely furled Lie at anchor in the bay.

And the sailors as they pass Answer me right cheerily When I ask them of my ships That are still far out at sea.

Oh! I know they pity me, Keeping vigil on the strand, And with words of kindly cheer Come and take me by the hand.

And they bid me cease to weep, “Weep no more, dear heart,” they say, “Soon you’ll see your bonnie ships Anchored safely in the bay.”

So I dry my tears and stand Gazing out across the main, And with patience wait the hour When my ships will come again.

Some day I shall see them all Anchored safely off the shore, Then my heart will cease to mourn, And my vigils will be o’er.

Just so sure as smile the stars In the mirror of the sea, Just so sure my bonnie ships Will return, some day, to me.

My Ships That Went to Sea

My Ships That Went to Sea.

From tho haven of the sheltered bay My ships sailed out in proud array; ’Twas the morn of a golden summer day And the wind blew fair and free. The air was clear, and the sky was bright, And the blue waves laughed in the glad sunlight And, Oh! But it was a goodly sight As my ships sailed out to sea.

I was proud of my ships, a gallant fleet, With their graceful hulls, so trim and neat, Sturdy and staunch and all complete From their spars to the smallest rope. One was a ship of stately mien Whose white sails shone with a silver sheen, A goodlier ship was never seen, And I called her “The Golden Hope.”

And laden was she with a cargo rare, With beautiful dreams and fancies fair, A post’s song and a true heart’s prayer, And many a smile and tear. Dreams of wealth, and dreams of fame, Hopes of winning an honored name And all the pride of a lofty aim, And many a hope and fear.

And I watched them as they sailed afar Till I saw the top of each slender spar Fade beyond the horizon’s bar, But my heart was light and gay. For why should I feel a throb of fear When the wind blew fair and the sky was clear So my heart was light with hope and cheer As I watched them sail away.

But often my heart grew sick with fear For my ships were gone for many a year And O, but the nights were long and drear And the days dragged wearily, And often when others were fast asleep And the angry storm king rode the deep, The whole night long I would watch and weep For my bonnie ships at sea.

But they bring me glad, good news to-day, “Oh! Your ships are coming in,” they say, “You can see them gliding up the bay In the glow of the morning sun.” Oh! My ships are in with their cargoes rare And their colors streaming in the air My bonnie ships, so brave and fair, They are all in—save one.

The Golden Hope with topmasts tall Hides like a queen among them all, But a fairy shallop, frail and small, The dearest of all to me, One night when the winds and waves were high Went down to her doom ’neath a pitiless sky, And never a thought for the rest have I Since Love went down at sea.

Two Roses

Two Roses.

High on a lofty mountain One blossomed in beauty rare, The other bloomed in a valley, And both were sweet and fair.

But the longing eyes of the maiden Were fixed on the heights above, “I will gather Fame’s fairest roses, There is time enough for love.”

And she climbed the rugged mountain Though the task was hard and long, Though the path proved steep and weary, For her heart was brave and strong.

But the sharp thorns wounded sorely As she grasped the longed-for prize, And she could not see its beauty For the tears that dimmed her eyes.

But her heart grew soft and tender Amid all her pain and woe, As she thought of the fair, sweet flower In the pleasant vale below.

But, alas, even while she tarried Far up on the mountain side, The beautiful rose in the valley Had faded away and died.

The Recompense

The Recompense.

The King once sent His messenger to me Charged with a message from the court above. “Ask what thou wilt and it shall granted be.” And my first prayer was, “Angel! Give me love.”

The angel smiled on me, then gently sighed, “My child! To such as thee, Love bringeth woe.” But still I prayed and would not be denied, Until at last he murmured. “Be it so,”

And held Love’s chalice to my eager lips, But scarcely had I touched its golden rim When all life’s brightness suffered swift eclipse And sun and stars unto my eyes grew dim.

And on my lips Love’s sweetness turned to rue. “Oh, Angel!” then I cried, with sobbing breath, “I asked for Love, Life’s sweetest gift, and you Have mocked me with the bitterness of Death.”

The angel smiled once more, then said, “Not so, The sweetness of Love’s wine is not for all. To some it bringeth bliss, to others woe; Upon some lips its honey turns to gall.

“But fullest recompense awaits above, So be thou comforted, my child, and know That God reserves His richest meed of Love For those who miss its sweetness here below.”

Life and Death

Life and Death.

On a bed of pain the sick girl lay With closed, white-lidded eyes, As the sunset gilded the azure bay And crimsoned the western skies, Whilst over her head in bitter strife Strove the Angel of Death and the Angel of Life. In and out of the chamber crept The watchers, with noiseless tread, They feared to disturb the one who slept, For they knew how frail the thread That held her light and wavering breath And balanced her soul between life and death. Then a gentle voice the silence broke, And they gathered around the bed; In low, sweet accents the sick girl spoke. Strange were the words she said: “Hearken to me and cease the strife, O Angel of Death and Angel of Life. “I am weary listening to the strife And to end it I am fain, So cease to struggle, O Death and Life And I’ll choose between ye twain.” Then turning to Life she wearily sighed, “Tell me, what gifts can’st thou give thy bride?”

And swift from his lips the answer came: “O maiden! I’ll give thee health And youth and hope and deathless fame, And treasures of golden wealth.” Then his voice grew soft as the note of a dove, “But best of all, I will give thee love.” But she wearily turned her head aside As he spake Love’s fatal name. “Thou dost mock my sorrow, Life!” she cried, “For what to me is fame? And health and wealth prove worthless too, Since hope is dead and my love untrue. “O Angel! I spurn thy gifts and thee.” And she turned to his rival, Death, “And thou! what hast thou in store for me?” She whispered with fleeting breath, A cool, soft kiss on her brow he pressed, And murmured, “Oblivion, peace and rest.” And the maiden’s face grew strangely calm At the sound of the angel’s voice, And she laid her hand in his pale, cold palm. Oh! wise was the maiden’s choice. And the watchers in silence held their breath As her soul went out to the arms of Death.

Messengers to the Dead

Messengers to the Dead.

Friends who even now are weeping ’Round the one you love so well, Know that sound of human sorrow Cannot break Death’s mighty spell. Cease to weep, thy bitter wailing Falls upon a deafened ear, Tears and sobs are unavailing, He is dead, he cannot hear.

From a friend who knew and loved him Since his earliest childhood’s hour, And who shares your bitter heart ache Comes this offering of flowers. Let their beauty light the shadows Death has brought around his bed, Breathing forth their subtle incense, Messengers unto the dead.

Lay them on his pulseless bosom, Clasp them in his pale, cold hand, As they breathe their silent message He will know and understand; For, their breath is far more subtle Than the power of human speech, And can penetrate his senses Where our voices cannot reach.

Tell him, white and fragrant Roses, Of our friendship, strong and true; Of our deep and heartfelt sorrow, Whisper thou, O mournful Rue! But we leave the tenderest message Unto thee, Forget-me-not, Tell him that through all life’s changes He will never be forgot.

A. G. C.

A. G. C.

Dear child, ’twas vain for me to pray That storms might never cloud thy skies, Or that the tears of anguish may Ne’er dim thy bonnie eyes.

For never mortal yet but knew The weight of sorrow’s crushing thrall, Joy cometh to a chosen few, But sorrow comes to all.

Yet from my heart this prayer goes up, When Sorrow’s draught your lips must meet, May Love and Friendship kiss the cup And make the bitter sweet.

At the River

At the River.

I am standing alone by a mystic tide, And the dark swift waters flow past my feet, While’st floating across from the other side Come strains of music, heavenly sweet, And I see the beautiful white-robed throng Beckoning to me across the wave, And I long to join in the rapturous song, But the cold, dark waters I dare not brave.

I press my feet to the River of Death, But backward shrink with quivering start For the icy waters have stopped my breath And frozen the blood in my frightened heart, Then softly and sweetly the angel song Comes floating across to my listening ear: “Though the river is dark and swift and strong, There is one who will help you, so be of good cheer.”

And then in the midst of the beautiful throng A wondrous vision bursts on my sight: I seem to see on that shining strand A form of celestial glory and light, And softly there steals to my troubled soul Those loving words that calm all fear: “Fear not, my child, though the river be cold I will bear thee up, so be of good cheer.”

With a world of love in his patient eyes He stretches the wounded hands to aid, And once more speaks in such sad surprise: “Oh doubting one, art thou still afraid? My feet once pressed the cold dark wave, Unaided I stepped o’er the river’s brink, And wil’t thou not trust me, its dangers brave? I will bear thee up and thou can’st not sink.”

Then all fear goes out from my doubting soul And a wondrous peace steals in instead, As once more I press to the river cold And the icy waters no longer dread, And as boldly I plunge in the chilling tide The song of the Angels rings sweet and clear— “Though the river is dark and cold and wide Thy Saviour is with thee, so be of good cheer.”

The Sailor’s Grave

The Sailor’s Grave.

A stately ship sails out to sea, And her sailors sing right merrily As they cheerily hoist the snowy sail Which bends before the freshning gale. But there is one who stands apart, For song and jest he has no heart, And his eyes are dim with unshed tears As the fading shore slow disappears. Now ’tis lost to sight, he breathes a sigh, “My own, dear native land, good bye, Farewell, loved ones on yonder shore We part to meet, perchance no more.”

The ocean rests in slumber grand, And the ship is far out from the land; All gilded in the radiant beams Of the golden sun, her white sail gleams. On the good ship’s deck the sailors pace, A solemn fear on every face. A stranger grim with chilling breath Has come on board, his name is Death. O brave young heart! that undismayed Shrank not when death’s chill hand was laid Upon thy lips, stilling their breath Sealing them with the seal of death.

With canvas coarse for winding sheet They shrouded him from head to feet, Brushed from his brow the curls of gold, And crossed his hands on his bosom cold. Then a prayer was murmured low and soft, While the rising winds in the shrouds aloft Sang a mournful requiem, slow and sad— A funeral dirge for the sailor lad. Then a sob broke forth from each manly breast As he slowly sank ’neath the blue wave’s crest; O noble heart! so true and brave, Sleep on in rest in your sailor’s grave. Sleep on and fear no earthly harm, Sleep! till the judgment’s dread alarm Shall wake thee from thy dreamless sleep And call thee from the silent deep.

And the years roll on in grief and joy, And a mother weeps for her fair-haired boy, And a sister prays with a sob and tear For the safe return of her brother dear. And a maiden stands in a cottage door Listening for a step that will come no more, And she prays as she looks across the sea, “God speed my darling back to me.” And when at eve in the glowing west The golden sun sinks down to rest They often watch the fading light And say, “Perhaps he will come to-night.”

Ah! faithful hearts! ’tis all in vain, Your loved one will not come again. Far, far away ’neath the rolling wave He sleeps alone in a sailor’s grave.

By the Sea

By the Sea.

On the cold, gray shore I walk alone Where the curling waves o’er the wet sands creep, And my heart responds to the sea’s sad moan As all in vain for my love I weep. O my dear, dead love! my only love, O love that I loved so fond and true, Do you ever look down from your home above, Or think of the heart that is aching for you?

I remember well when you sailed away, We stood on the shore in the wind and rain, And you said you’d come back to me, dear, some day, But ah! you will never come hack again, For under the cold, dark waves you sleep. Oh love, dear love, my heart is sore, And my eyes grow dim with the tears I weep For my dear, dead love, who will come no more.

With arms outstretched to the moaning sea I cry aloud in my dreary pain: “Bring back the love that you stole from me, Oh! bring me my dear, lost love, again,” But the cold waves break on the grey sea shore And a sorrowful dirge they sing to me, “You may weep and sigh till time is no more, But we’ll never bring back thy love to thee.”

And the dreary days drag wearily by, And I mourn and weep for the joys long past, On leaden wings the moments fly, But the end must surely come at last. O my dear, dead love, we will meet again On the golden shores of Eternity, And my weary waiting will not be vain When the sea gives back what it stole from me.

Two Prayers

Two Prayers.

A woman knelt in prayer and bowed her head, And to her guardian angel softly said: “O angel! tell me have the fates above Decreed that I’ll be blessed in my love? I love so dearly and I fain would learn If he I love doth love me in return.” The angel paused, then gently breathed a sigh As in soft, pitying tones he made reply. “Even as you love him so doth he love thee, But Fate decrees that you must parted be.” She sighed, then murmured, “Still my life is blest, If he but love me I can bear the rest.” Another woman prayed with drooping head: “Oh Angel! will my love love me?” she said, The Angel’s tears fell fast like summer rain As soft he answered her, “Thy prayer is vain; He loves another and can never be More than a true and faithful friend to thee,” And then she slowly raised her drooping head And smiling through her tears she softly said: “He may not love me other than a friend, But I love him and will unto the end Of time, aye, and through all eternity And that alone is heaven enough for me.”

To E. S.

To E. S.

O heartstricken, sorrowing mother! No words ever written or said Can lessen the weight of your sorrow Since the baby you love is dead.

But remember, O sorrowful mother Thy heart should rejoice, not repine, Since of all earth’s beautiful treasures The Master has chosen thine.

The fairest, the brightest, the purest, Find grace in His loving eyes And the Lord hath chosen thy treasure To beautify Paradise.

Dear baby hands that will never Grow weary with earthly strife, Sweet baby eyes that will never Grow dim with the cares of life.

Wee feet that will never stumble Over Life’s rugged way, For the hands of angels now guide them And they cannot go astray.

But a mother’s love is boundless As the seas or the skies above, And a mother’s heart grows jealous E’en of the angels love.

And she longs for her baby’s kisses, The touch of the dimpled hand, And the baby voice now thrilling The ears of the angel band.

But you need not fear, O mother! Tho’ the years be many or few, Tho’ the time pass slow or swiftly, For the baby heart is true.

Not even the songs of the angels Or the joys of Paradise Can banish the tender yearning From your baby’s gentle eyes

As she lingers beside the portal Of her shining, heavenly home And asks of the angel warder If her mother soon will come.

And the wistful longing deepens In her eyes as she stands and waits, Watching for mother darling At the City’s pearly gates.

Cease then to mourn, sad mother, Take up Life’s burden anew, Shape thou the future before thee With earnest endeavor and true,

That no thought or deed unworthy May bring shame to the baby eyes That are watching so wistfully for thee From the gates of Paradise.

Our Babies

Our Babies.

Willie and Annie, our two pretty babes, Our dear household angels, we love them so well; Brown eyes and blue, so merry and glad, Which is the dearest, ’tis hard for to tell. Dear little Nan with the nut-brown curls And bonnie brown eyes, so tender and true, Willie with locks of the sunniest gold And eyes like a bit of Heaven’s own blue.

When dear, little Willie climbs up on my knee, And gazes so lovingly into my face, I think the wide world can hold nothing more dear Than our bonnie, wee lad, with his sweet baby ways. While Nan with her tricks drives us all nearly wild, And we try, all in vain, to make her “be good,” But I know as I clasp the sweet rogue to my heart, We would not have her otherwise e’en if we could.

O, innocent babies! so pure and so fair, You must soon wander forth in the world’s busy strife, And the dimpled, white hands will be wounded and torn, For thorns ever lurk ’neath the roses of life. God guard you, and keep you, my innocent ones; May the sad tears of pain never dim your bright eyes. The pathway before you seems cloudless and fair, God grant that no sorrow may darken the skies.

To M. A.

To M. A.

Even in the hour of her birth, When cradled on her mother’s breast, A helpless babe, she lay at rest, The angel Pain came down to earth. And bending o’er the sleeping child, He laid a burden on her heart, Then turned, but e’er he could depart The babe awoke and sweetly smiled. The pathos in those great, dark eyes Went to his heart even as he spread His shining wings, then straight he sped In silent swiftness to the skies. And reaching Heaven the angel Pain Sought out the ranks of seraphs fair, And kissed the sweetest singer there, Then winged his way to earth again. And gazing on the child through tears, Upon her infant lips he left The kiss from heaven’s singer reft, A recompense for future years. And as the maiden grew in years They marveled at her winsome grace, The sweetness of her voice and face, Which moved mankind to smiles and tears. But angels mourn while we rejoice To hear the strains, divine and sweet, For Heaven’s choir is incomplete Without the music of her voice.

The Lost Baby

The Lost Baby.

The birds are singing sweet and clear, Their songs are full of gladness, The sun is shining bright, but still My heart is filled with sadness.

It matters not how glad the birds, Or fair the sunny day be. My heart is heavy with its grief, I’ve lost my little baby.

Oh have you seen him passing by, A bonnie little fellow, With eyes as blue as summer’s sky And silky curls of yellow?

He disappeared quite suddenly And left no sign or token To let me know where he has gone; My heart is almost broken.

A manly lad is in his place, Much taller and much older, With boots and pockets, sun-burned face, A school-bag on his shoulder.

Who clasps his arms around my neck, And laughs with boyish vigor— “Why Auntie, dear, that baby’s me, Only I’m grown up bigger.”

“And did you really think me lost? How could you be so silly? For though I’m grown up ’most a man I’m still your little Willy,

“Who’ll always love you just the same, And some day, Auntie, may be You’ll love me every bit as much As you have loved that baby.”

Dear little man, a wistful note Into his voice is creeping, Which warns me that the boyish heart Is full almost to weeping.

And so with tender words I haste To soothe his heart’s dejection, And strive with many a loving kiss To prove my fond affection.

Dear lad, I take you to my heart, To hold you there forever And pray that stern misfortune’s frown May rest upon you never.

But there’s one chamber in my heart, Deep in the inmost center, From all the rest it stands apart, Within it none may enter.

And there on Memory’s golden shrine Is pictured bright and clearly, The image of the baby boy I used to love so dearly.