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283 Works of Bret Harte

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Don’t mind me, I beg you, old fellow,–I’ll do very well here alone; You must not be kept from your “German” because I’ve dropped in like a stone. Leave all ceremony behind you, leave all thought of aught but yourself; And leave, if you like, the Madeira, and a dozen cigars on the shelf. As […]

(LEGEND OF THE CLIFF HOUSE, SAN FRANCISCO) Where the sturdy ocean breeze Drives the spray of roaring seas, That the Cliff House balconies Overlook: There, in spite of rain that balked, With his sandals duly chalked, Once upon a tight-rope walked Mr. Cooke. But the jester’s lightsome mien, And his spangles and his sheen, All […]

To The Pliocene Skull* (A GEOLOGICAL ADDRESS) “Speak, O man, less recent! Fragmentary fossil! Primal pioneer of pliocene formation, Hid in lowest drifts below the earliest stratum Of volcanic tufa! “Older than the beasts, the oldest Palaeotherium; Older than the trees, the oldest Cryptogami; Older than the hills, those infantile eruptions Of earth’s epidermis! “Eo–Mio–Plio–whatsoe’er […]

Behind the footlights hangs the rusty baize, A trifle shabby in the upturned blaze Of flaring gas and curious eyes that gaze. The stage, methinks, perhaps is none too wide, And hardly fit for royal Richard’s stride, Or Falstaff’s bulk, or Denmark’s youthful pride. Ah, well! no passion walks its humble boards; O’er it no […]

Her Last Letter

Story type: Poetry

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BEING A REPLY TO “HIS ANSWER” June 4th! Do you know what that date means? June 4th! By this air and these pines! Well,–only you know how I hate scenes,– These might be my very last lines! For perhaps, sir, you’ll kindly remember– If some OTHER things you’ve forgot– That you last wrote the 4th […]

When I bought you for a song, Years ago–Lord knows how long!– I was struck–I may be wrong– By your features, And–a something in your air That I couldn’t quite compare To my other plain or fair Fellow creatures. In your simple, oval frame You were not well known to fame, But to me–’twas all […]

Did I ever tell you, my dears, the way That the birds of Cisseter–“Cisseter!” eh? Well “Ciren-cester”–one OUGHT to say, From “Castra,” or “Caster,” As your Latin master Will further explain to you some day; Though even the wisest err, And Shakespeare writes “Ci-cester,” While every visitor Who doesn’t say “Cissiter” Is in “Ciren-cester” considered […]

DEAD AT PITTSFIELD, MASS., 1876 O poor Romancer–thou whose printed page, Filled with rude speech and ruder forms of strife, Was given to heroes in whose vulgar rage No trace appears of gentler ways and life!– Thou who wast wont of commoner clay to build Some rough Achilles or some Ajax tall; Thou whose free […]

The Ritualist

Story type: Poetry

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(BY A COMMUNICANT OF “ST. JAMES’S”) He wore, I think, a chasuble, the day when first we met; A stole and snowy alb likewise,–I recollect it yet. He called me “daughter,” as he raised his jeweled hand to bless; And then, in thrilling undertones, he asked, “Would I confess?” O mother dear! blame not your […]

High on the Thracian hills, half hid in the billows of clover, Thyme, and the asphodel blooms, and lulled by Pactolian streamlet, She of Miletus lay, and beside her an aged satyr Scratched his ear with his hoof, and playfully mumbled his chestnuts. Vainly the Maenid and the Bassarid gamboled about her, The free-eyed Bacchante […]

North Beach

Story type: Poetry

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(AFTER SPENSER) Lo! where the castle of bold Pfeiffer throws Its sullen shadow on the rolling tide,– No more the home where joy and wealth repose, But now where wassailers in cells abide; See yon long quay that stretches far and wide, Well known to citizens as wharf of Meiggs: There each sweet Sabbath walks […]

Avitor

Story type: Poetry

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(AN AERIAL RETROSPECT) What was it filled my youthful dreams, In place of Greek or Latin themes, Or beauty’s wild, bewildering beams? Avitor! What visions and celestial scenes I filled with aerial machines, Montgolfier’s and Mr. Green’s! Avitor! What fairy tales seemed things of course! The roc that brought Sindbad across, The Calendar’s own winged […]

Oh, say, have you seen at the Willows so green– So charming and rurally true– A singular bird, with a manner absurd, Which they call the Australian Emeu? Have you Ever seen this Australian Emeu? It trots all around with its head on the ground, Or erects it quite out of your view; And the […]

I have found out a gift for my fair; I know where the fossils abound, Where the footprints of Aves declare The birds that once walked on the ground. Oh, come, and–in technical speech– We’ll walk this Devonian shore, Or on some Silurian beach We’ll wander, my love, evermore. I will show thee the sinuous […]

(BEING THE ONLY GENUINE SEQUEL TO “MAUD MULLER”) Maud Muller all that summer day Raked the meadow sweet with hay; Yet, looking down the distant lane, She hoped the Judge would come again. But when he came, with smile and bow, Maud only blushed, and stammered, “Ha-ow?” And spoke of her “pa,” and wondered whether […]

My Papa knows you, and he says you’re a man who makes reading for books; But I never read nothing you wrote, nor did Papa,–I know by his looks. So I guess you’re like me when I talk, and I talk, and I talk all the day, And they only say, “Do stop that child!” […]

It was spring the first time that I saw her, for her papa and mamma moved in Next door, just as skating was over, and marbles about to begin; For the fence in our back yard was broken, and I saw, as I peeped through the slat, There were “Johnny-jump-ups” all around her, and I […]

II. THE HOMELY PATHETIC The dews are heavy on my brow; My breath comes hard and low; Yet, mother dear, grant one request, Before your boy must go. Oh! lift me ere my spirit sinks, And ere my senses fail, Place me once more, O mother dear, Astride the old fence-rail. The old fence-rail, the […]

Affection’s charm no longer gilds The idol of the shrine; But cold Oblivion seeks to fill Regret’s ambrosial wine. Though Friendship’s offering buried lies ‘Neath cold Aversion’s snow, Regard and Faith will ever bloom Perpetually below. I see thee whirl in marble halls, In Pleasure’s giddy train; Remorse is never on that brow, Nor Sorrow’s […]

Beetling walls with ivy grown, Frowning heights of mossy stone; Turret, with its flaunting flag Flung from battlemented crag; Dungeon-keep and fortalice Looking down a precipice O’er the darkly glancing wave By the Lurline-haunted cave; Robber haunt and maiden bower, Home of Love and Crime and Power,– That’s the scenery, in fine, Of the Legends […]