The San Francisco call., 1910-08-14

o, further than the legions bore
The eagles of imperial Rome,
Three thousand miles, weary march,
You followed Hesper's golden torch,
Until 1t stopped on this green shore
And lit the rosy fires of home.
The sad and solemn morn you turned
And quenched the sacred flames that burned
On hearths endeared for years and years;
1t seemed your very souls grew dark
With those sweet fires, the latest spark
Was drowned in bitter, bitter tears.
softer, sweeter sunlight wrapt
The forms of all familiar things,
And as each chord of feeling snapped
Another angel furled it's wings;
The lights and shadows in the lane,
The oak beside the footworu stile,
Whose wheeling shade a weary while
Had told the hours of JOY aud pain
The vine that clambered DER the door
And many purple cluster bore
The vestal flowers of household love-
The sloping roof that wore the stain
OF summer sun and winter rain,
And smoky chimney tops above
The beauty of the orchard trees,
Bedecked with blossoms, glad with bees
The brook that all the livelong day
Had many things to sing and say
All these upon your vision dwell
And weave the sorrow of farewell
And now the last goodby is said
Goodby! the living and the dead
In those sad words together speak,
Aud all the chosen ways are bleak.
Forward! The cracking lashes send
thrill Of action down the train,
Their brawny necks the oxen bend
With creaking yoke and clanking chain;
The horsemen gallop down the line,
And swerve around the lowing kline
That straggle loosely on the plain,
And lift glad hands to babes that laugh,
Aud dash the buttercups like chat.
Hurrahl the skies are jewel blue;
In softest green and braided gold
The robes of April are unrolled
AM oh nd
Hurrah! Hurrah! The bold, the freei
The sudden sweep OF ecstasy
That lifts the soul on wings of fire
When fears consume and doubts expire
And life In one swift torrent speeds
To the great tide of stirring deeds.
And now the sun is dropping down
The lights and shadows. red and brown,
Are weaving sunsets s>purple spell:
The teams are freed, the fires are made,
Like scarlet night 6owrs in the shade,
And pleasant groups before, between.
Are thronging In the htful sheen
The day Is done and all Is well.
So pass the days. so fall the nights,
A banquet of renewed delights
The old horizons lift and pass
In magic changes like dream,
And In heavens azure glass
Tomorrow's Jasper arches CLEAN
With many vale and mountain mass
And many. singing. shining stream.
Its shadow fades from heart and brow
The air is incense. and the breeze
Is sweet with siren melodies.
And all the castled hills before
In blooming vistas sweep and soar.
Like silver lace the clouds are strewn
Along the distant, dreamy zone;
Il Is a happy. happy time
As wayward as poets rhyme,
And ever the sun goes down
The West is shut with rosy bars.
When Night puts her ebon crown
And lights the watchfires OF the stars.
hundred nights. hundred days;
Nor folded cloud nor silken haze
Mellow the sun'd midsummer blaze
Along the brown and barren plain
In silence drags the wasted train;
The dust starts up beneath your tread.
Like angry ashes of the dead,
To blind you with a choking cloud
And wrap you in yellow shroud.
There are no birds to sing your joy.
You have no Joy for birds to sing
hundred fangs your hearts Destroy
A thousand troubles fret and sting.
The desert mocks you all the while
With that dry simmer of smile
That dazzles on a bleaching SKULL
The bloom is wifhered on your cheek,
You slowly move and lowly speak,
And every eye is dim and dull.
Alas. 1t is lonesome land
OF bitter sage and barren sand,
Under q bitter. barren sky
That never heard the robin sing.
Nor kissed the lark's exultant wing,