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Where the tiger glides through the vines.

On mountains bleak, on cliff and peak,

From Pole to Pole and Line,

Adventure still they ever seek,

Adventure still they find.

Rules of Etiquette

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Rule I.

ALWAYS BE POLITE

If a girl stops you to talk while you are chasing your trains,

And it looks like they're going to lose ye,

Just up with your musket and knock out her brains,

Saying, "Miss, you'll have to excuse me."

Rule II.

NEVER BE RUDE

IF a tiresome guy should hapopen to call,

And stay and stay without leaving at all,

Just heave him out of the door on his dome,

And maybe he'll take the hint and go home.

Rule III.

BE CONSIDERATE OF LADIES

If you were going down the street,

And a pretty girl you chance to meet,

Don't hit her if she should you slight,

A swiftish kick is more polite.

Rule IV.

EXAMPLES

There was a guy named McDoodles,

With a face like an Austrian poodle's,

When folks said, "What a beeze--

You big piece of cheese!"

Why, he'd wallop them all on their noodles.

Rule V.

BE COURTEOUS

When a tailor's solicitor calls at your door,

Don't make him a greeting with your forty-four;

Don't give him a scowl and a horrible glare,

And say, "You poor fish! You bum! Take the air!"

He may be a bum and he may be a boob,

But it's none of your business if he's even a rube.

He's a human, although he may not look the part,

Either give him some clothes or a good running start.

Sailor

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I saw a mermaid sporting in the bay,

Far down, far down where blew no roaring gale;

About her snowy shoulders flashed the spray,

The waves played emerald at her sinewy tail;

She swam a jade and golden, star-set way,

Where all the rainbow colors seemed to play—

She vanished at the Swedish captain's hail

Who bid me go to Hell and furl a sail.

The Sand of Time

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Slow sift the sands of Time; the yellowed leaves

Go drifting down an old and bitter wind;

Across the frozen moors the hedges stand

In tattered garments that the frost have thinned.

A thousand phantoms pluck my ragged sleeve,

Wan ghosts of souls long into darkness thrust.

Their pale lips tell lost dreams I thought mine own,

And old sick longings smite my heart to dust.

I may not even dream of jeweled dawns,

Nor sing with lips that have forgot to laugh.

I fling aside the cloak of Youth and limp

A withered man upon a broken staff.

San Jacinto

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Flowers bloom on San Jacinto,

Red and white and blue.

Long ago o’er San Jacinto

Wheeling vultures flew.

Long ago on San Jacinto

Soared the battle-smoke;

Long ago on San Jacinto

Wild ranks smote and broke.

Crimson clouds o’er San Jacinto,

Scarlet was the haze—

Peaceful o’er calm San Jacinto

Glide the drowsy days.

The second, longer one reads as follows:

Red field of glory

Ye knew the wild story;

Blazing and gory

Were ye on that day!

Silence before them,

(Warriors; winds bore them!)

Red silence o’er them

Followed the fray!

Horror was dawning!

Furies were spawning!

Hell’s maw was yawning,

Fate rode astride!

Skies rent asunder!

Plains a-reel under

Feet beating thunder!

Death raced beside!

Doom-trumps were pealing!

Armies were reeling!

Satan was dealing

The cards in that game!

War-clouds unfurling!

Hell-fires were swirling,

Valkyries whirling

Fanned them to flame!

Redly arrayed there

Glittered the blade there!

Many a shade there

Fled to the deeps!

Wild was the glory

Down the years hoary

Still the red story

Surges and leaps!

The Sea

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The sea, the sea, the rolling sea!

High flung, wide swinging, so wild and free,

The leaping waves with their white-capped crest

The plunge and lunge on the ocean's breats

Like wild, white horses racing free,

With the swing of the rolling, surging sea!

The white sea cloud that drifts like a dream;

The sea-gulls that skim o'er the waves, and scream;

The dolphin's plunge and the petrel's nest,

That is borne to land on the tide-race crest:

And all that goes, from mid-ocean to lea,

To make up the rolling, the surging sea!

Can ye stand on the peaceful, quiet lea,

And gaze on the tumbling, tossing sea,

Out o'er the surge and the white waves' crest,

Nor feel a longing within your breast?

A drawing, a pull, be it day or night,

That tempts ye to dare the ocean's might.

I stood on the deck of a ship offshore

And harked to the awesome and deafening roar

Of the ocean waves when they struck the reefs,

High tossed on the tide like crested chiefs

Whose plumes toss high 'bove the battling hordes,

Where leap the lances and flash the swords.

And the mighty waves rose high and steep

To the hand of the waves that smote the deep.

And my soul leaped wild and my would leaped free,

To the leap and the swing of the rolling sea!

And my soul was freed with that ocean leap,

And it plumed the depths of the mighty deep!

Down, down, down where the mermaids ride,

Down where the things of the deep sea glide.

Down where the ships, long sunken, float,

War-ship and galley and coracle boat;

Down beyond reach of the storms or the tides,