Poems of Experience Part 10

He never made a fortune, or a noise In the world where men are seeking after fame; But he had a healthy brood of girls and boys Who loved the very ground on which he trod.

They thought him just a little short of G.o.d; Oh you should have heard the way they said his name - 'Father.'

There seemed to be a loving little prayer In their voices, even when they called him 'Dad.'

Though the man was never heard of anywhere, As a hero, yet you somehow understood He was doing well his part and making good; And you knew it, by the way his children had Of saying 'Father.'

He gave them neither eminence nor wealth, But he gave them blood untainted with a vice, And the opulence of undiluted health.

He was honest, and unpurchable and kind; He was clean in heart, and body, and in mind.

So he made them heirs to riches without price - This father.

He never preached or scolded; and the rod - Well, he used it as a turning pole in play.

But he showed the tender sympathy of G.o.d To his children in their troubles, and their joys.

He was always chum and comrade with his boys, And his daughters--oh, you ought to hear them say 'Father.'

Now I think of all achievements 'tis the least To perpetuate the species; it is done By the insect and the serpent, and the beast.

But the man who keeps his body, and his thought, WORTH bestowing on an offspring love-begot, Then the highest earthly glory he has won, When in pride a grown-up daughter or a son Says 'That's Father.'

THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL

EXPLANATORY

Kamehameha First, of the Hawaiian Islands, conquered his foes in a great battle, driving them over the high mountain peak known as Pali- -one of the famous scenic views of the world, and the goal of all visitors in Honolulu.

The Hula (p.r.o.nounced hoola) was the national muscle and abdominal dance of Hawaii, and the late King Kalakua was its enthusiastic patron. The costume of the dancers was composed chiefly of skirts of gra.s.s. The Hula (so attired) is now forbidden by law. The Hula Kui is a modification of the dance and exceedingly graceful.

Many charming young self-supporting woman in Honolulu trace their ancestry back to Kamehameha with great pride. The chant is a weird sing-song which relates the conquests of the race.

It is the custom in Honolulu to present guests at feasts and festivals, or departing visitors, with long wreaths of natural flowers, and which are worn by men, as well as women, about the head, hat, and neck. These wreaths, called lais (p.r.o.nounced lays), sometimes reach below the waist.

The flower-sellers are one of the national features of Honolulu.

Scene made to represent grounds at Hawaiian hotel. Sort of open cafe or pavilion with palms, vines, and tropic flowers. RALPH sitting alone with a dreamy air.

Enter ETHEL--in short travelling suit--typical American girl--blonde and pet.i.te.

ETHEL

Oh, here you are. Your sister and your mother Commissioned me detective, sleuth, and spy, To find the disappearing son and brother; And tell him that the time is slipping by.

Our boat will sail in just two hours, you know.

Dear Honolulu, how I hate to go.

RALPH

Don't mention it; I shun the very thought.

ETHEL

You see this is the sort of thing one hears And don't believe, until one sees the spot.

We left New York in snow up to its ears; And now a Paradise! the palm, the rose, The Boaganvillia, and the breath of summer.

RALPH

I tell you, Honolulu is a hummer.

It pays for six long days upon the ocean - And those sad memories of a s.h.i.+p's queer motion

ETHEL

There's one thing, though, that's disappointed me, - The much exploited Honolulu maid.

I haven't seen a beauty in the town.

RALPH

They're thick as ripe bananas on a tree.

You have not been observing, I'm afraid.

ETHEL (shrugging her shoulders)

Oh well, tastes differ; I don't care for brown, At least for this p.r.o.nounced Hawaiian shade; I really can't imagine how a man Could love a girl dyed to a chronic tan.

RALPH

Some one has said, 'Love goes where it is sent.'

ETHEL (sadly)

I think that true; one can not guide its bent.

But I must go; and will you come along?

Your mother said to bring you.

RALPH

Not quite yet; I'll wait until that bird completes its song; The last I'll hear, till many a sun has set.

Just tell the folks I'll meet them on the pier.

[Exit ETHEL, looking disappointed.

RALPH (sitting down in a reverie)

A nice girl, Ethel; but, by Jove, it's queer The way a fellow's stubborn mind will turn To something that he should forget. That face - I saw once on a San Francisco street, How well I do recall the time and place.

'A girl from Honolulu,' some one said.

I wonder where she is now! Married? Dead?

[A silent reverie for a moment. Then speaks again.]