Helen Leah Reed

    Oh, him whom at birth you with favor regarded
        Melpomene! never an Isthmian game
    Shall render renowned, though he's skilled as a boxer,
        Nor shall a swift horse lead him onward to fame.
    Though a victor he rides in a chariot Achaian,
        Not him shall the fortune of war ever show.
    In the Capitol wearing the garland of laurel
        Because the proud threatenings of kings he laid low.
    But every stream flowing over the country
        Fertile Tibur around, and so every grove
    With its thick-growing leaves shall ennoble the poet,
        In Æolian song he ennobled shall prove.
    The offspring of Rome, that is Queen among cities,
        Me have deemed as a bard to be worthy a place
    In her glorious choir, and less and less keen...

    Dear Lady of Tranquillity, Ah! lightly have the years
    Their music on thy heart-strings played, and all the smiles and tears
    That mark the joy of living, that sound the depths of pain
    For thee make one great harmony - a happy heart's refrain.


        (On her eighty-sixth birthday.)

    Ah! Unhappy are the maidens, who love's game are kept from playing,
        Nor in mellow wine may wash away their cares;
    Who, scared by scolding uncles' tongues, their terror are displaying, -
        But from you, though, Neobulé, Cupid bears
    Your basket and your webs, yet all the zeal you have been showing
        For industrious Minerva, is the prey
    Of fair Hebrus, Liparæan, when his shoulders, oiled and glowing,
        He has bathed in Tiber's waters. Let me say
    As a horseman, than Bellerophon he's really something greater;
        Never worsted in a hand-fight, nor a race.
    Skilled to shoot the flying stag-herd in the open, - swift he later
        Snares the boar, close-hidden in a shady place.

    Oh! Ship of State! fresh billows to sea will bear thee back,
    Then turn about and bravely toward the harbor tack,
    Thou see'st that thy naked sides defending oarsmen lack.

    Behold! thy mast lies shattered before the swift south wind,
    Listen! the yards are creaking, the ropes no longer bind,
    Strength to endure the boisterous waves thy keel can hardly find.

    Now all thy sails are ragged; the gods are swept away
    To whom, borne down by peril, thy quaking soul would pray.
    Though lofty be thy lineage, its pride is vain today.

    The power and name thou boastest are now of no avail,
    Thy stern is gayly painted, and still thy seamen quail,
    Beware lest thou art made the sport of every idle gale.

    Ah! dearly loved, my count...

    Lately was I to gentle maidens suited,
        And not without some glory did contend,
    But now my weapons and my lute made useless
        For contests, on this wall I will suspend,
    That guards the left side of our sea-born Venus;
        Here, here, place you my gleaming waxen torch,
    My levers and my crow-bars that can threaten
        The doors that ought to open on this porch.
    Oh, Goddess, thou who blessed Cyprus rulest,
        And Memphis ever lacking Thracian snow,
    My Queen, in passing, with thy whip uplifted
        Give to my haughty Chloe just one blow.

    About the country they may talk who will,
        Who praise it ever to the town's despite.
    Let him extol the charms of wood and hill
        Who finds them peerless. None disputes his right.

    For me the town! Each well-worn footway old
        To me is dearer than your grass-grown lane.
    Not all who struggle here contend for gold;
        Green-growing things quit not the soul of pain.

    "God made the country." Ay, and God made man.
        Working through man His power He displays,
    And in the city's mazes His great plan
        Is writ as clear as in calm country ways.

    When your father, long ago, tried to train you - and you know
        He thought mornings meant for school, and not for swimming -
    How your heart beat loud in dread as relentlessly he said,
        "You'llremember - when you've had another trimming."

    When your daughter buys a hat, and you're wondering thereat,
        As before the glass she stands, its beauty hymning;
    Ah! the mischief in her eyes, as she pleads, "Show no surprise
        At thecost. One has to pay forpretty trimming."

    When the butcher brings your bill, and you stare at it until
        Your tongue with fervid words is fairly brimming,
    Then you hear him meekly say, as your anger you display,
        "It seems high, because there's so muchwaste in trimming...

    "'Tis but a common thing," one coldly said,
        "Nay, call it not a flower - this little weed,
        If plucking it, I kill it, root and seed -
    Better the world were if it lay there dead."

    "Ah - rather let it live!" a second cried,
        "Weed it may be, and yet it has its use,
        Here in its healing essence its excuse
    For blooming lies, and here its only pride."

    "Destroy it not!" another pled, "Behold
        This tapering leaf - this soft and tender green,
        Upon my canvas it shall bloom serene -
    This tiny chalice-fleck of living gold."

    Then one bent over it, "Ah, flowret bright!
        For only flowers in this garden grow, -
        His earth, His sunshine made thee, o'er thee blow
    His winds, ...

    Who then is rich, who poor? I'll tell you now
        Of one, a meagre life who had to live,
    Wear dingy garb, and scarcely could allow
        Himself what men call comfort; yet to give
    Was his delight, - to give full-heartedly.
        Though Fate had hampered him, he always knew
    Some one still poorer. In humility
        He thus gave hope to him who had small view
    Of happier things; - solace to him who wept; -
        And to the beaten courage to endure.
    He shared his little with the starved, and kept
        His best for those who needed most. Though poor,
                By giving he grew richer day by day
                In all that brightens life's uncertain way.

    There was another who had never known
        A wish unsatisfie...

    Sing of America, sing of our Country!
        Land of two oceans, of palm-tree and pine!
            Firm as the rock of her towering mountains,
            Free as her rivers from Heaven-born fountains,
        Unafraid as her eagle, - as true to the line;
        Sing of our Country, - your Country and mine!
    Sing of America, - self-governed Country!
        Dear Land, thou to tyranny never wilt bow;
            Ever with thee the oppressed have had haven;
            While Freedom droops, thy true sons are not craven;
        Look! They are fighting to honor thee now,
        With Victory and Peace to bejewel thy brow.
    Sing of America, - loving humanity!
        "Avenge ye the slaughtered!" Heed ye her decree;
            Ye who have reaped of the father's...