Under the walls of Monterey By night a bugle is heard to play, Victor Galbraith! Through the mist of the valley damp and gray The sentinels hear the sound, and say, "That is the wraith Of Victor Galbraith!" MY LOST YOUTH O FTEN I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, And the burden of that old song, It murmurs and whispers still : "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the black wharves and the slips, And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the bulwarks by the shore, And the fort upon the hill; The sun rise gun, with its hollow roar And the music of that old song "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.' I remember the sea-fight far away, How it thundered o'er the tide ! And the dead captains, as they lay In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay, Where they in battle died. And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I can see the breezy dome of groves, The shadows of Deering's Woods; And the friendships old and the early loves And the verse of that sweet old song, It flutters and murmurs still : "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the gleams and glooms that dart The song and the silence in the heart, Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." There are things of which I may not speak ; There are dreams that cannot die; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And the words of that fatal song Come over me like a chill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." Strange to me now are the forms I meet When I visit the dear old town; But the native air is pure and sweet, And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street, As they balance up and down, Are singing the beautiful song, Are sighing and whispering still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, And with joy that is almost pain My heart goes back to wander there, And among the dreams of the days that were, I find my lost youth again. 66 And the strange and beautiful song, The groves are repeating it still : A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." THE ROPEWALK N that building, long and low, I With its windows all a-row, Like the port-holes of a hulk, Human spiders spin and spin, Backward down their threads so thin Dropping, each a hempen bulk. At the end, an open door; As the spinners to the end Gleam the long threads in the sun; While within this brain of mine By the busy wheel are spun. Two fair maidens in a swing, First before my vision pass; Laughing, as their gentle hands |