Hanford Lennox Gordon

My heart's on the Rhine in the old Father-land;
Where my cradle was rocked by a dear mother's hand,
My youth and my friends they are there yet, I know,
And my love dreams of me with her cheeks all aglow;
O there where I reveled in song and in wine!
Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.

I hail thee, thou broad-breasted, golden-green stream;
Ye cities and churches and castles that gleam;
Ye grain-fields of gold in the valley so blue;
Ye vineyards that glow in the sun-shimmered dew;
Ye forests and caverns and cliffs that were mine!
Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.

I hail thee, O life of the soul-stirring song,
Of waltz and of wine, with a yearning so strong,
Hail, ye stout race of heroes, so brave and so true.
Ye blue-eyed, gay maidens, a gr...

Good morning good morning a happy new year!
We greet you, kind friends of the old Pioneer;
Hope your coffee is good and your steak is well done,
And you're happy as clams in the sand and the sun.
The old year's a shadow a shade of the past;
It is gone with its toils and its triumphs so vast
With its joys and its tears with its pleasure and pain
With its shouts of the brave and its heaps of the slain
Gone and it cometh no, never again.
And as we look forth on the future so fair
Let us brush from the picture the visage of care;
The error, the folly, the frown and the tear
Drop them all at the grave of the silent old year.
Has the heart been oppressed with a burden of woe?
Has the spirit been cowed by a merciless blow?
Has the tongue of the brave or the voice o...

"Le notte e madre dipensien."

I tumble and toss on my pillow,
As a ship without rudder or spars
Is tumbled and tossed on the billow,
'Neath the glint and the glory of stars.
'Tis midnight and moonlight, and slumber
Has hushed every heart but my own;
O why are these thoughts without number
Sent to me by the man in the moon?

Thoughts of the Here and Hereafter,
Thoughts all unbidden to come,
Thoughts that are echoes of laughter
Thoughts that are ghosts from the tomb,
Thoughts that are sweet as wild honey,
Thoughts that are bitter as gall,
Thoughts to be coined into money,
Thoughts of no value at all.

Dreams that are tangled like wild-wood,
A hint creeping in like a hare;
Visions of innocent childhood,
Glimpses of pleas...

Call me not back, O cold and crafty world:
I scorn your thankless thanks and hollow praise.
Wiser than seer or scientist content
To tread no paths beyond these bleating hills,
Here let me lie beneath this dear old elm,
Among the blossoms of the clover-fields,
And listen to the humming of the bees.
Here in those far-off, happy, boyhood years,
When all my world was bounded by these hills,
I dreamed my first dreams underneath this elm.
Dreamed? Aye, and builded castles in the clouds;
Dreamed, and made glad a fond, proud mother's heart,
Now moldering into clay on yonder hill;
Dreamed till my day-dreams paved the world with gold;
Dreamed till my mad dreams made one desolate;
Dreamed O my soul, and was it all a dream?

As I lay dreaming under this old elm,

To Horace Greeley, of date Aug. 22, 1862 "If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it," etc.

Perish the power that, bowed to dust,
Still wields a tyrant's rod
That dares not even then be just,
And leave the rest with God.

"We've had a brush," the Captain said,
"And Rebel blood we've spilled;
We came off victors with the loss
Of only a private killed."
"Ah," said the orderly "it was hot,"
Then he breathed a heavy breath
"Poor fellow! he was badly shot,
Then bayoneted to death."

And now was hushed the martial din;
The saucy foe had fled;
They brought the private's body in;
I went to see the dead;
For I could not think our Rebel foes
So valiant in the van
So boastful of their chivalry
Could kill a wounded man.

A musket ball had pierced his thigh
A frightful, crushing wound
And then with savage bayonets
They pinned him to the ground.
One deadly thrust drove through the heart,
Another through the head;
Three times they stabbed his pul...

And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery, and when they had set her in the midst, they said unto him "Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us that such be stoned; but what sayest thou?" [St. John, Chap, viii; 3, 4, 5.]

Reach thy hand to me, O Jesus;
Reach thy loving hand to me,
Or I sink, alas, and perish
In my sin and agony.

From the depths I cry, O Jesus,
Lifting up mine eyes to thee;
Save me from my sin and sorrow
With thy loving charity.

Pity, Jesus blessed Savior;
I am weak, but thou art strong;
Fill my heart with prayer and praises,
Fill my soul with holy song.

Lift me up, O sacred Jesus
Lift my bruised heart to thee;
Teach me to be pure and hol...

Old Deutchland's the country for sauerkraut and beer,
Old England's the land of roast beef and good cheer,
Auld Scotland's the mother of gristle and grit,
But Ireland, my boy, is the mother of wit.
Once Pat was indicted for stealing a pig,
And brought into court to the man in the wig.
The indictment was long and so lumbered with Latin
That Pat hardly knew what a pickle was Pat in;
But at last it was read to the end, and the wig
Said: "Pat, are you guilty of stealing the pig?"
Pat looked very wise, though a trifle forlorn,
And he asked of milord that the witness be sworn.
"Bless yer sowl," stammered Pat, "an' the day ye was born!
Faith how in the divil d'ye think Oi can tell
Till Oi hear the ividince?"
        Pat reckoned well;
For the witness was sworn and th...

I had rather write one word upon the rock
Of ages than ten thousand in the sand.
The rock of ages! lo I cannot reach
Its lofty shoulders with my puny hand:
I can but touch the sands about its feet.
Yea, I have painted pictures for the blind,
And sung my sweetest songs to ears of stone.
What matter if the dust of ages drift
Five fathoms deep above my grave unknown,
For I have sung and loved the songs I sung.
Who sings for fame the Muses may disown;
Who sings for gold will sing an idle song;
But he who sings because sweet music springs
Unbidden from his heart and warbles long,
May haply touch another heart unknown.
There is sweeter poetry in the hearts of men
Than ever poet wrote or minstrel sung;
For words are clumsy wings for burning thought.
The ful...

Away, away, o'er the bounding sea
My spirit flies like a gull;
For I know my Mary is watching for me,
And the moon is bright and full.

She sits on the rock by the sounding shore,
And gazes over the sea;
And she sighs, "Will my sailor-boy come no more?
Will he never come back to me?"

The moonbeams play in her raven hair;
And the soft breeze kisses her brow;
But if your sailor-boy, love, were there,
He would kiss your sweet lips I trow.

And mother she sits in the cottage-door;
But her heart is out on the sea;
And she sighs, "Will my sailor-boy come no more?
Will he never come back to me?"

Ye winds that over the billows roam
With a low and sullen moan,
O swiftly come to waft me home;
O bear me back to my own.

For ...

Et nunc omnis ager, mine omms parturit arbos;
Nunc frondent sylvæ, nunc formostssimus annus.
Virgil.

Delightful harbinger of joys to come,
Of summer's verdure and a fruitful year,
Who bids thee o'er our northern snow-fields roam,
And make all gladness in thy bright career?
Lo from the Indian Isle thou dost appear,
And dost a thousand pleasures with thee bring:
But why to us art thou so ever dear?
Bearest thou the hope upon thy radiant wing
Of Immortality, O soft, celestial Spring?

Yea, buds and flowers that fade not, they are thine,
And youth-renewing balms; the sear and old
Are young and gladsome at thy touch divine.
Thou breath'st upon the frozen earth behold,
Meadows and vales of grass and floral gold,
Green-covered hills and leafy m...

[Nov. 26, 1857, during the great financial depression.]

Father, our thanks are due to thee
For many a blessing given,
By thy paternal love and care,
From the bounty-horn of heaven.

We know that still that horn is filled
With blessings for our race,
And we calmly look thro' winter's storm
To thy benignant face.

Father, we raise our thanks to Thee,
Who seldom thanked before;
And seldom bent the stubborn knee
Thy goodness to adore:

But Father, thou hast blessings poured
On all our wayward days
And now thy mercies manifold
Have filled our hearts with praise

The winter-storm may rack and roar;
We do not fear its blast;
And we'll bear with faith and fortitude
The lot that thou hast cast.

But Father, Father...

Now a light rustling wind from the South
shakes his wings o'er the wide, wimpling waters:
Up the dark-winding river DuLuth
follows fast in the wake of Tamdóka.
On the slopes of the emerald shores
leafy woodlands and prairies alternate;
On the vine-tangled islands the flowers
peep timidly out at the white men;
In the dark-winding eddy the loon
sits warily watching and voiceless,
And the wild-goose, in reedy lagoon,
stills the prattle and play of her children.
The does and their sleek, dappled fawns
prick their ears and peer out from the thickets,
And the bison-calves play on the lawns,
and gambol like colts in the clover.
Up the still-flowing Wákpa Wakán's
winding path through the groves and the meadows,
Now DuLuth's brawny boatmen pursue
...

Once Satan and a monk went on a "drunk,"
And Satan struck a bargain with the monk,
Whereby the Devil's crew was much increased
By penceless poor and now and then a priest
Who, lacking cunning or good common sense,
Got caught in flagrante and out of pence.
Then in high glee the Devil filled a cup
And drank a brimming bumper to the pope:
Then "Here's to you," he said, "sober or drunk,
In cowl or corsets, every monk's a punk.
Whate'er they preach unto the common breed,
At heart the priests and I are well agreed.
Justice is blind we see, and deaf and old,
But in her scales can hear the clink of gold.
The convent is a harem in disguise,
And virtue is a fig-leaf for the wise
To hide the naked truth of lust and lecheries.

"And still the toilers feed...

Old Father Abe has issued his "Call"
For Three Hundred Thousand more!
By Jupiter, boys, he is after you all
Lamed and maimed tall and small
With his drag-net spread for a general haul
Of the "suckers" uncaught before.

I am sorry to see such a woeful change
In the health of the hardiest;
It is wonderful odd it is "passing strange"
As over the country you travel and range,
To behold such a sudden, lamentable change
All over the East and the West.

"Blades" tough and hearty a week ago,
Who tippled and danced and laughed,
Are "suddenly taken," and some quite low
With an epidemical illness, you know:
"What! Zounds! the cholera?" you quiz; no no
The doctors call it the "Draft."

What a blessed thing it were to be old
A little past "for...

All-day-long the crash of cannon
Shook the battle-covered plain;
All-day-long the frenzied foemen
Dashed against our lines in vain;
All the field was piled with slaughter;
Now the lurid setting sun
Saw our foes in wild disorder,
And the bloody day was won.

Foremost on our line of battle
All-day-long a veteran stood
Stalwart, brawny, grim and steady,
Black with powder, smeared with blood;
Never flinched and never faltered
In the deadliest storm of lead,
And before his steady rifle
Lay a score of foemen dead.

Never flinched and never faltered
Till our shout of victory rose,
Till he saw defeat, disaster,
Overwhelmed our flying foes;
Then he trembled, then he tottered,
Gasped for breath and dropped his gun,
Staggered from ...

On an arm of an oak hangs the prize
for the swiftest and strongest of runners
A blanket as red as the skies,
when the flames sweep the plains in October.
And beside it a strong, polished bow,
and a quiver of iron-tipped arrows,
Which Kapóza's tall chief will bestow
on the fleet-footed second that follows.
A score of swift runners are there
from the several bands of the nation,
And now for the race they prepare,
and among them fleet-footed Tamdóka.
With the oil of the buck and the bear
their sinewy limbs are annointed,
For fleet are the feet of the deer
and strong are the limbs of the bruin.

Hark! the shouts and the braying of drums,
and the Babel of tongues and confusion!
From his teepee the tall chieftain comes,
and DuLuth b...

Tall was young Wanâta, stronger than Heyóka's [16] giant form,
Laughed at flood and fire and hunger, faced the fiercest winter storm.
When Wakinyan [32] flashed and thundered, when Unktéhee raved and roared,
All but brave Wanâta wondered, and the gods with fear implored.
When the war-whoop shrill resounded, calling friends to meet the foe,
From the teepee swift he bounded, armed with polished lance and bow.
In the battle's din and clangor fast his fatal arrows flew,
Flashed his fiery eyes with anger, many a stealthy foe he slew.
Hunter swift was he and cunning, caught the beaver, slew the bear,
Overtook the roebuck running, dragged the panther from his lair.
Loved was he by many a maiden; many a dark eye glanced in vain;
Many a heart w...