Page:Poems Cook.djvu/416

Full many among us are riding him now,
All tired and gasping, with sweat on our brow;
We may suffer and writhe, but 'tis ever in vain,
So let's sit on him bravely and scorn to complain;
For we know there's a goal and a glorious meed
For the riders of Time—that old Galloping Steed.

 

---

 

SONG OF THE REJECTED ONE.

Perchance, fair, high-born girl, yon felt ashamed
 Of the young, dotard-slave who dared so much;
Yet, Mabel Lee, you might as well have blamed
 The lute for giving music at your touch.

For you had gazed on me with tenderness,
 When my devoted eyes made yours their shrine;
And you had spoken words to thrill and bless
 A spirit far less rapt in dreams than mine.

Oh you should not have wondered that my soul
 Grew sentient with a wild and gushing tone;
You roused an echo I could not control;
 But, ah! my heart was no cold Memnon stone.

It throbbed and burned with the undying flame
 Which Heaven has sent as Nature's beacon-light;
I read no human language but your name,
 I knew no life but when within your sight.

I plied my pencil but to win your praise,
 I sang my Rhine-songs only for your ear;
My footsteps ever followed on your ways,
 Seeking yon when afar—trembling when near.

400