A thousand scintillating rays of beauty shine;
The gorgeous parapets of beaten burnished gold
Enlightened fancy can with awe behold.
Those marble walls of rainbow-tinted hue,
Please and instruct and yet astound the view.
Each curve of beauty and each line of grace
Relates some annal of the ancient place.
Upon these sculptured walls each Sodomite may trace
The birthplace and the lineage of his entire race.
He here may read, in many a flowing line,
The maiden efforts of the Tuneful Nine,
Who first appeared and strung the quivering lyre,
When new created stars their Maker's praise aspire;
Theirs is the music of the quick revolving spheres,
And theirs the power to bathe a world in tears.
They paint in colors, dipped in liquid truth,
The brow of beauty and the lip of youth.
Thought, tame in prose in their enchanting line,
Is dressed in beauty and is half divine.
They wing love's arrows with consumate art,
And make the melting music of the heart.
Youth they instruct and tottering age sustain,
Virtue exalt and hideous voice restrain.
Inside this palace life is but a dream
Of beauty, flowing in a constant stream.
Here silken curtains hang on wires of gold,
And zephyr-satin, whose capacious fold
Ten thousand giddy turns and windings take
The secret chambers of the place to make.
Each article of comfort man can know
With priceless gems and flashing colors glow;
Each drinking vessel is a solid gem;
Each odorous flower grows on a parent stem;
Birds of bright plumage raise their tuneful note
And scatter scents ambrosial as they float.
The crystal fountains generous wine dispense,
And food delicious satisfies the sense;
The air is balmy as the breath of spring,
And every atom is a beauteous thing.
One thing alone this mighty place appalls:
No woman dwells within these sculptured walls.
Here man with man in lustful caprice plays,
And Heaven's righteous mandate disobeys;
Sinks, through his lust, below the groveling beast,
Who to the female makes his amorous suit.
Within those walls are stores of untold wealth,
Secured by carnage and by midnight stealth;
Beneath each divan and each downy couch
The smouldering fires of retribution crouch.
Each glittering tankard and each costly plate
Reflects the fierceness of each pending fate.
The quenchless tortures of Jehovah's wrath
Is earthward tending in a destined path!
The brilliant sun of light, the mighty sire,
Seems bathed in blood and heaven's all afire.
From pole to pole the livid lightnings flash
Till all creation trembles 'neath the crash;
And earthward, still, the melting heavens bend,
While blinding floods of hissing flames descend,
And seas of lava, with three mighty bounds,
The now doomed city and the plain surrounds.
Now, inward flowing, rolls the mighty tide,
On whose dread billows death alone can ride;
And upward rising, with tremendous sweep,
Its molten billows awful union keep
With floods descending from the flaming sky,
And Sodom knows her hour has come to die!
Her frightened millions in a circle band,
And view approaching death on every hand.
Around them rolls a sea of fire;
Above them flames the torch of Heaven's ire;
While hissing lava, in descending rain,
Creates new horror and gives birth to pain.
Each gorgeous palace and each mart of trade
Is buried for their wickedness and in ashes laid.
In vain they call their idols, name by name.
Their garments all are wrapt in living flame,
Their quivering bodies tortured to the bone,
Their parched lips in vain assay a moan,
Their eyes still pleading with each bated breath
_Not_ for forgiveness, but for instant death!
The circling oceans, with resounding roar,
Meet and commingle--and the scene is o'er!
[Illustration]
_A TRIBUTE TO
THE WOLFE SISTERS._
Music, the sweetest all-inspiring gift of God.
Is ever welcome to the prisoner's ear;
There's nothing makes me feel half so well
As music of the heart when sung with cheer.
Here in this prison as I sit and pore
Over the past and present of my life,
My heart sings ever, o'er and o'er,
The darkest bitterness of a prisoner's strife.
But hark! in yonder chapel shrine
I hear sweet music as of yore;
I ask, "What music is that sounds so fine?"
The answer comes, "The Wolfes are at the door!"
I hasten, then, to brush my prison garb,
And toilet try to fix as best I can,
And then unto the chapel wend my way;
When there upon the rostrum stand
_Five of the sweetest singers of our day_!
There's Amy Wolfe, who changed her name to Brooks;
She leads her choir without the aid of books.
She sings with voice so sweet and delicate
That to her, First Soprano I dedicate.
Next, Minnie S., at the age of twenty-three,
Sings like a lark and busy as a bee,
Carefully guarding that no mistakes are made,
And handles her bewitching voice with harmony well staid.
Then sang the sweet Zoraydo F., with baritone most clear,
Who, at the age of twenty, delights to bring us cheer.
It seems as if her heart and soul were bent on doing right,
And when she sang she sang so sweet--Oh! it was out of sight.
The next I saw was Lyda M., with scarlet cheeks aglow;
She sings with voice most charming, a clear and sweet alto,
She's next the younger of them all, because she's just eighteen,
She captivates the heart of man--what a fairy little Queen!
Then last, not least, the little one, that is, Miss Kittie C.,
She just so busy when she sings she's like a honey bee.
Her eyes are clear as crystal, her locks are flowing gold,
She sings soprano quite as fine as any I have told.
I sat down in an empty seat close by the outside door,
And listened to such warbling as I never heard before.
Their voices drowned all sorrow and gushed forth many a tear,
_Not_ for horror that I felt--it brought me real good cheer.
They drove away the pain of woe, that none but prisoners smart;
They sang the ever blessed song--true music of the heart.
We doff our striped caps to you, O girls of sweetest song,
And may we bid you be our friends and return again ere long.
Adieu, adieu, our lady friends, do not now say "farewell,"
Because we wish you all return with song too sweet to tell.
Come back! come back again and sing some lovely Sabbath day,
For your presence here to sing good cheer we all will ever pray.
And now unto the aged Wolfes please let me say one word:
Your home must be a palace filled with sirenic good;
Proud may you feel--and justly, too--of these five daughters fair,
And great the good they've done for us while in this prison lair.
There's but one wish that emanates from a prisoner's wicked heart.
That is to say, without delay, "May heaven take their part,
And to them bring eternal joy that'll pierce them like a dart!"
Each song they sing is welcome here--a masterpiece of art!
And now to part we sadly must (while I'm immersed in prison dust).
But hoping, too, 'twill not be long ere you return with sweetest song.
Adieu! Adieu!
_PRISONERS._
God pity the wretched prisoners
In their lonely cells today;
Whatever the sins that tripped them,
God pity them still, I say.
Only a strip of sunshine
Cleft by rusty bars:
Only a patch of azure,
Only a cluster of stars.
Once they were little children,
And perhaps their wayward feet
Were led by a gentle mother
Toward the golden street.
Therefore, if in life's forest
They since have lost their way.
Whatever the sins that tripped them,
God pity them still, I say.
[Illustration]
_TWO LETTERS._
BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.
I wrote a letter while jealous rage
In my bosom reigned supreme;
The words were fraught with anger,
And a loathsome disesteem.
They fell on the pure white paper
And marred its stainless page,
Yet eased my maddened spirit,
And appeased my senseless rage.
I gloatingly tho't of the dumb despair
That letter would surely give,
To one who had broken her faithful vows
In a way I could never forgive.
I doubted not the perfect truth
Of all I heard them say;
She, like other girls, was false
While her lover was away.
I knew she vowed she would be true
While life itself would last,
Yet thought that she, like others,
Too soon forgot the past.
I hastily sealed the cruel note,
And placed it next my heart,
Determined upon the morrow
To give it an early start.
I threw myself upon the couch
And sought for sweet repose,
And in my restless slumbers
A vision then arose:
I saw in that terrible vision
A woman whose eager face
Beamed with yearning, restless love
As her trembling fingers traced
A message of love and tenderness
To her loved one far away.
As her pure lips quietly murmured,
"God grant we must some day!"
She sealed her letter with dainty hands,
And laid it by with tender care:
Then humbly kneeled beside her bed,
And poured her soul in prayer.
She prayed for her impassioned lover
In a warm, impassioned strain,
That proved her heart both warm and true
And free from guilt or stain.
She arose from her kneeling posture
To answer a call at her door:
She smiled as she saw the letter
The hand of the servant bore.
One glance she gave--then burst the seal
With trembling, eager haste,
And rapidly heard the cruel words
My reckless hand had traced.
Her lovely face turned deathly pale
As she wildly clutched the air.
She tottered and fell--a senseless heap--
A prey to dumb despair.
So still she lay I deemed her dead,
And sprang to raise her in my arms.
I loved her with the old, wild love,
And bowed to her peerless charms.
"Speak! darling, speak!" I wildly cried.
"Pray, come back from the voiceless shore.
I cannot, dare not live an hour,
Unless I hear your voice once more!"
She opened wide her lovely eyes,
And cast on me one lingering glance
So full of injured innocence
It smote me like a lance.
I seized the heartless letter,
Curst cause of all my shame,
And, with one imprecation,
Consigned it to the flame.
She watched me with a languid smile,
And pointed to her heart:
"You have destroyed the proof," she said,
"But can you ease the smart?"
"I have been true to all my vows,
Heaven judge me if I lie!
But since you deem me to be false,
Go--leave me here--to die!"
At last I woke and quickly drew
The accursed sheet from my breast--
Burning it with a ready hand--
And gently sank to rest.
I wrote another, whose tender words
Were soft as the ripple of a stream;
And thought what a contrast it would be
To the letter she read in my dream!
And my darling greatly wonders
Why my letters with tenderness teem,
Since I have never told her
Of the letter she read in my dream.
[Illustration]
_A PRAYER FOR JUSTICE._
Oh, God in heaven up on high,
How long this cruel strife?
Most I but perish in this den
To end this wretched life?
Is there no justice here on earth?
Must truth remain crushed down
And vile and wicked, cruel man
Forever look and frown?
Is there no power to bring to light
The _truth_ of my offense?
Must perjury and bribery
Prevail forever hence?
Can enemies, vile, cruel things,
Twist truth all out of shape,
And cause one who's not guilty
To morally wear death's crepe?
Oh, God! is there no remedy
For earthly subjects thus
To be relieved from wretched pain
Without this earthly fuss?
Oh, God! to Thee we call for help.
Wil't thou but listen--hear?
Look down upon me as I be,
My innocence thou'lt surely see,
These shackles, bolts, and prison bars,
The heavy locks and massive key--
Hear, Oh, God! Oh, hear my prayer
And set this captive free.
[Illustration]
_BIRTHDAY MUSINGS._
BY G. W. VAN WEIGHS.
Just sixty years ago today
Mine eyes first saw the light;
Now age, with ever onward tread,
Presages coming night.
Ah! is it night? Or shall it be
That morning's light shall break,
And from my soul such music bring
As earth could never wake?
Where are the friends of earlier years--
Sleep they to wake no more?
Or do they walk with joyful tread
Heaven's ever radiant shore?
If death is but oblivion's gate,
Why younger grows the soul with years?
Whose are the faces that we see
When melts the hearts in tears?
Oh, whence the strains the soul can hear
When all is hushed in sleep,
And none, save God and angels, near
When souls their vigils keep?
Is all religion but a myth?
Are all our hopes in vain?
Is heaven affectation's child,
Born of disordered brain?
Tell me not such bolts and bars
Can keep me from the skies;
I'd sooner deem yon blushing rose
A satyr in disguise.
_A TRIBUTE TO
THE WOLFE SISTERS._
BY GEO W. H. HARRISON.
Come. O come, ye radiant sisters, heaven honored "Tuneful Nine."
Smooth my ever rugged numbers and inspire my drooping line.
Aid my muse to tell the story never breathed to mortal ear.
How this sweet angelic chorus happens to be lingering near.
In yon fair and blissful aiden, far beyond the faintest star.
Once the guardian angels slumbered, leaving heaven's gates ajar!
And five wandering seraphs wandered, in their rapid, noiseless flight,
Thro' the gates, whose vaulted arches echoed p├Žans of delight!
Quick as thought their tireless pinions clave the unresisting air.
Till they reached the _five Wolfe sisters_, maids of form and features
fair,
And within these hearts they lingered, tuning every chord to song.
Till the pathos of their music stilled the ever restless throng!
Earth and heaven stood astonished and Jehovah's love decreed:
"Let them stay! such strains seraphic mortal beings can but heed!"
Have you heard their wondrous music? Have you felt their sweet control?
If not, friend, you've scarcely sounded half the mysteries of your soul!
Amy, soul-enrapturing artist, sweetly sounds the soft prelude.
And beneath her skilfull fingers every note, with life imbued.
Stills the throng, whose very silence is an encore loud and deep.
And each thought, save that of music, is forgotten or asleep.
Katherine's rich and full suprano, like the Autumn's mellow morn.
Wakes the slumbering soul to action like the practiced huntsman's horn!
Mamie's soft, melodious voice nobly takes the second part.
And the pathos of her music captivates the raptured heart!
Lida's faultless second alto deepens all the noble strain
Till the mind forgets its madness and the heart rejects in pain.
Then Zoraydo's matchless voice sweeps the soul along
Till we know that _perfect music can be breathed in earthly song_!
Hear, O hear the melting music pouring from each heaving breast;
How it wakes the heart to rapture! How it soothes the soul to rest!
When they sing, such lovely visions seem to rise and grandly float
Like the poet's airy mansions, on the wave of each full note!
Silvery daybreaks brighten slow; sunsets blush on mountain snow!
Moonlight shivers on the open sea; Autumn burns in bush and tree;
Blowing willows bend and sigh; whispering rivers wander by;
Thro' the pines sweep sea-tones soft; sailing birds shout loud aloft;
Strange notes beat the lambent air; visions float divinely fair;
Vanished faces come and go; silenced voices murmur low;
Gentlest memories come and cling, _as we listen and they sing_.
Oh, repeat the music's tale, "_Love shall perish not nor fail_!"
We forget the fear of death--breathe, in tho't, immortal breath!
We believe in broadening truth; trust the generous creeds of youth;
Feel consoling hopes that climb up to some triumphant clime,
And sweet dreams of splendor bring _as we listen and they sing_!
Walls of rock and bars of steel we can neither see nor feel;
We forget our dire disgrace; disregard both time and place;
Bid all angry passion sleep and profoundest silence keep!
Hoard the trembling notes that fall like an angel mother's call;
Rise above our low estate and forget the wrongs of fate!
We forgive our mortal foes, source of all our many woes,
And penance itself loses half its sting, _as we listen and they sing_!
May the God of love and truth give them all the joys of youth;
May the raptures they impart ever thrill each noble heart;
May their ministry of love lead all erring ones above;
May wealth, happiness and joy all their waiting hours employ;
Be their cares both light and few and their pleasures ever new;
And their lives one dream of ease till their "ship comes o'er the seas!"
Let fate oft their presence bring, _and we'll listen while they sing_
Gentle sisters, take this tribute poured from imprisoned hearts;
You have eased their maddening torture, you have stayed the cruel darts
That remorse and shame have driven deep within each captive soul.
Suffer them your names to graven on fond memory's deathless scroll:
Be assured your seeds of kindness shall not fall on stony ground,
Many of your willing converts have both peace and pardon found!
And, when all your work is ended, you in heaven shall fondly greet
Some whose hearts were first enlightened by your anthems clear and sweet.
_TO A DEPARTED IDOL._
BY G. W. VAX WEIGHS.
Thou art not dead, thou art not gone to dust,
No line of all thy loveliness shall fall
To formless ruin, smote by time and thrust
Into the solemn gulf that covers all.
Thou canst not perish. Tho' the sod
Sink with its violets closer to thy breast,
Tho' by the feet of generations trod
The loadstone crumbles from thy place of rest.
The marvel of thy beauty cannot die;
The sweetness of thy presence shall not fade;
Earth gave not all the glory of thine eye;
Death cannot smite what earth ne'er made.
It was not _thine_, that marble forehead pale and cold.
Nor those dumb lips they laid beneath the snow;
Thy heart would throb beneath that passive fold;
_Thy_ hands, for me, that stony clasp forego.
But _thou_ hast gone. Gone from this dreary land;
Gone from the storms let loose on every hill;
Lured by the sweet persuasion of a band
That leads thee, somewhere, in the distance still.
Where e'er thou art, I know thou wearest yet
The same bewitching beauty, sanctified
By calmer joy, and touched with soft regret
For him who seeks but cannot reach thy side.
I keep for thee the living love of old,
And seek thy place in nature, as a child
Whose hand is parted from its playmate's hold
Wanders and cries along a lonesome wild.
When, in the watches of my heart, I hear
The messages of purer life and know
The footsteps of thy spirit lingering near,
Life's darkness hides the way I fain would go.
Canst thou not bid the empty realms restore
That form, the symbol of thy heavenly part?
Or in the barren fields of silence pour
That voice, the perfect music of thy heart?
Oh, once--once bending to my warm and eager lips,
Take back the tender warmth of life from me,
Or let thy kisses cloud with swift eclipse
The light of mine, and give me death with thee.
[Illustration]
_ACROSTIC TO WARDEN AND MRS. E. G. COFFIN._
Elijah of old ancient times was a man of many, many minds!
Long did he live in noble deeds, in dealing comfort to men's needs,
In these, our modern, modest days, all men have greatly changed their
ways--
Jehovah's laws do not control the wickedness of every soul.
All those who know as well as I while on this earth will not decry
He who will bad men reform--Hail, Coffin! who for us was born!
Godfrey is his second name, and now he reaps most enviable fame:
Our watchword is both day and nights--while o'er him floats the Stars
and Stripes--
"Do unto us as you would choose, that others do to you and yours!"
Faithful to her life-long trust, a wife, a mother, true and just,
Resolves to help both maid and man and lend an ever helping hand--
Each day and night they toil and pray for boys and girls to mend their
way,
Yet they do not toil all in vain for the great good done the human
train.
"Coffin" is a word some shun, for it takes man when on earth he's done
Out to the churchyard laid in clay, for ages sanctioned such a way.
For us poor sinners here in "hell" a Coffin sent makes us feel well,
For often he does ease the pains we feel in both our hearts and brains.
In endless joy may they have peace for kindness they have done to us--
Not one of us, though cursed with sin, will e'er forget our friends
Coffin.
_CANTO SECOND--LAST, BUT NOT LEAST!_
Mistress she is of the Coffin shrine, and so it's been for years of time!
In holy wedlock girls and boys have been the idols of their joys!
She bids her Lord Elijah bide a faithful servant by her side,
To aid her with a helping hand to raise poor, wretched, fallen man.
Real sympathy for the prisoner's woe, she seeds of comfort tries to sow
Ere long before it is too late to save poor sinner from his fate;
She "cookies" make, with pearls all set, and puts them in Elijah's hat,
She then does send him on his way, while for the prisoner she does pray.
Mary silently did keep the watch o'er Christ while he did sleep;
All her _protege_ she will save if her Lord will help her brave
Roaring storms of vice and ire, kindled by a vengeful fire!
You may guess for all the rest, let me say SHE'LL DO HER BEST!
Coffins, to you let us turn! and all crime forever spurn!
Only aid us in this strife to fight manfully for life.
Father Elijah! Mother Mary! for our welfare do not tarry!
Fear you not! for the good you've done has saved many a fallen one!
In our hearts we oft despair as we linger in this lair--
Not for long tho' when we've seen--Father Elijah and Mary, his _Queen_!
_A PRISON VISION._
BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.
'Tis midnight in these prison walls,
And even the sentry's muffled tread
Sepulchral sounds, as if he trod
The silent confines of the dead.
In vain I close my weary eyes,
I cannot sleep tonight;
I hear an angel's rustling wings
Fresh from the realms of light.
A sacred presence haunts the air,
A messenger from Heaven's own land;
And memory awakes again,
Touched by an angel's wand.
I seem to hear, deep in my soul,
The music of a heavenly choir,
While each pulsation of my heart
Awakes in me the old desire
To see once more that lovely form
Death vanished in my arms;
To hear again her melting voice
And revel in her charms.
To feel the tender, soft caress
Of a loved tho' vanished hand,
And hear from her departed lips
The mysteries of that land
That lies beyond Time's rugged shore,
To all unknown, save those
Whom angels capture for the skies
At life's uncertain close.
I muse again, with loving thought,
Of a sinless wife long dead,
And live again our buried past,
By an angel presence led.
I view again the pleasing scene
Of a school house on the hill,
Where happy scholars daily met,
Whose law was the teacher's will.
I see again the old armchair
Where the Master daily sat
With watchful eye and helpful hand,
Yet sleepless as a cat.
I hear again the sleepless hum
Of voices low and sweet,
Of students pouring o'er the books
With wisdom's germs replete.
Amid that happy, guileless throng,
There was one peerless face
That held in the Master's tender heart
An undisputed place.
It was a face, O God! how fair!
No words can ever paint;
More fit for heaven than for earth.
It bore the contour of a saint.
The brow was high and broad and white,
With a radiance all its own;
The cheeks, like lilies dipped in blood,
Were oft as a rose full blown.
Eyebrows dark and delicately arched,
Were penciled in Nature's play;
The ruby ripeness of her lips
Seemed never to melt away.
Her lustrous eyes, whose depths were brown,
Yet seemed a darker hue,
Were windows of a spotless soul
That scorned to be untrue.
Abundant tresses of dark brown hair
That almost swept the ground,
Enveloped as chaste and lovely form
As e'er on earth was found.
A voice so soft, so sweet, so low
That every accent woke
Sweet notes of blissful melody,
As if an angel spoke.
None could look upon that face
And deem that aught of earth
Could chill the rapture of a soul
Where sin could know no birth.
Her mind had wondrous power and scope;
It grasped the sea, the earth, the sky,
And rightly understood and loved
The God who ruled on high.
Contentment, truth and virtue
Was part of Nature's dower;
Self-sacrifice to her was joy,
And prayer was conscious power.
While yet a child her spirit soared
Above the things of earth,
And mused with soulful tenderness
On the heaven that gave it birth.
The teacher's stern, imperious heart
Yearningly worshipped this child,
And 'neath her hallowed influence
Grew tender, warm and mild.
The haughty heart, that never sought
The plaudits of the world,
Poured its richest tribute
At the feet of this faultless girl.
The face, that never even blanched
'mid war's terrific strife,
Grew pale as death the hour he asked
This child to be his wife.
No word she spake, but simply laid
Her head upon his breast.
He folded her in warm embrace
And knew that he was blest.
Each lived a life of conscious joy;
Earth seemed a garden fair;
The lover sought earth's fairest flowers
To braid in her shining hair.
Deeply they drank at the font of love;
Draughts few natures can hold;
The hours were seasons of perfect bliss;
Each moment more precious than gold.
Days and months flew swiftly by
On the wings of happiness sped,
And two sweet babes were garnered
As the fruit of their marriage bed!
They neither thought nor dreamed of aught
Save their babes and coming bliss;
They greeted the morn with soft caress
And welcomed night with a kiss.
Till, thundering on the wings of Time,
Fate dealt the cruel blow
That dashed a home in pieces
And laid a child-wife low.
The husband pressed her to his breast
And fondly kissed his bride;
But with the parting of that kiss
The sinless child-wife died.
The kindred angels joyful flew
From the realms of endless day,
And gently wafted her soul above,
But left to us her clay.
"She is dead! Kiss her and come away.
Your cries and prayers are all in vain,
Your May-Bell is cold, senseless clay;
In heaven above you'll meet again."
They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair
Back from her marble forehead fair;
Over her eyes, that oped too much,
They closed the lids with a tender touch.
They closed with tender touch, that day,
The thin, pale lips where beauty lay;
About her brow and her sweet pale face
They tied her veil and bridal lace;
Placed on her feet the white silk shoes
That May-Bell for her marriage chose;
Over her bosom crossed her hands;
"Come away," they said, "God understands."
With bowed heads they left the room,
Still shuddering at its silent gloom;
And naught, save silence, lingered there
Around the corpse of May-Bell Clare.
But I loved her far too well to dread
The silent, stately, beautiful dead.
I cautiously opened the chamber door
And was alone with my dead once more.
I kissed her lips, I kissed her cheek,
But 'twas in vain, she could not speak.
I called her names, she loved, awhile,
But she was dead and could not smile.
And not one passionate whisper of love
Could call her back from her home above.
"Cold lips," I murmured, "breast without breath,
Is there no voice, no language in death?"
Dull to ear and still to the sense,
Yet to the soul of love intense!
See, I listen with soul, not ear;
What is the secret of dying, my dear?