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- /■
^>-.
THE NFV \<. X
PUBlir Lrj:.AKY
65 1 SOB
AJmitt. LKXOX AND
TILPEN FOINHATluNB
B 194U L
Kiitcred according to act of Con/rrco"* in tlie year Ic^i, ])y
CHARLES IL ADAMS.
in the office of the Librarian of Conijrrciis, at Wasiiingtou, 1>. C
PRINTED AND BOUND BY
THE CLAREMONT MANUFACTURING CO.
TO
his excellency
The Honorable Charles Henry Bell,
governor of new hampshire,
this volume is
inscribed
by the compiler.
CO
Sk
4.
THE yr: \t- x
PlBl.ir U'JI.AUY
65 1 SOB
A8TUU. LENOX ANt>
llLl'E.N FOl^MUTloNB
I 1H4U L
Kntcretj accortUug to act f»f Conjrrcrt.- In the year In*.', by
CHARLES II. AI»AMS,
In the ofllre of the Librarian of Congn':-^, at Washington, L>. C
PRINTED AND BOUND BY
THE CLAREMONT MANUFACTURING CO.
TO
his excellency
The Honorable Charles Henry Bell,
governor of new hampshire,
this volume is
inscribed
by the compiler.
CO
PREFACE.
A writer in the North American Review, some sixt}- years ago,
marvelled that a State so rich in beautiful and sublime scenery
as New Hampshire had given no considerable indication of po-
etic talent. That the muses have dwelt among our mountains,
lakes and rivers, and that our State literature is by no means
meagre in poetr}', a reference to the following pages will
afford convincing proof.
The task of collecting specimen poems and preparing bio-
graphical notices of the New Hampshire poets was undertaken
in the autumn of 1881, and the result is here laid before the
public. The design was not altogether unprecedented, as vari-
ous collections of poetry, the productions of poets of other States,
have already' appeared. Such books have generally been com-
piled without chronological order and also without biographical
.notes.
This volume includes with native poets those who have made
their permanent home in this State. There are, however, ex-
ceptions to the rule in the case of two or three who haye for
quite a number of 3'ears during the summer and autumn seasons
resided among our rock}* hills and quiet retreats, and who, while
here, devoted much of their time to literary work.
It has been no easy thing to determine who, upon the score of
merit, were entitled to a representation. Their names are not
a few concerning which there could be no question. In making
selections the object has been to present some of the best poems
^of each poet, although in many instances their poems may be
well known to the reader. The biographical notes are necessa-
ril}' brief and ser\'e but to give statistics of the writers and to
introduce them to the reader. It is believed that no poet has
VI PREFACE.
been admitted to the pages of this volume who has not a good claim
to be there. It is not pretended that all the verse is of the first
order, but most of it is of real excellence and of general interest.
While the names of many of the poets will be recognized by
the reader as familiar acquaintances, there are othera with whom
the public has but a slight acquaintance ; and many of the poems
here given have never before appeared in print, and several of
merit have been written expressly for this volume.
To the poets who have so kindly furnished their elegant vol-
umes, or have placed at his disposal their manuscripts and cop-
ies of poems cut from magazines and newspapers, the compiler
is under great obligations. May their favors be doubly repaid,
and may they in return become more widelj' known and appre-
ciated.
To his many fViends to whom the compiler is indebted for nec-
essary information he desires to tender his sincere and grateful
thanks. Especiall}' is he indebted to men who are or have been,
most of them, connected with the newspai)er press ; among
whom may be mentioned, William H. IIackett, Lewus W.
Bbewster and Albert Laigiiton, Esqs., of Portsmouth ; the
venerable George Wadleigh, Esq., of Dover; Edward D.
BoYLSTON, Esq., of Amherst, who lent a helping hand in many
ways; Josiah M. Fletcher, Esq., of Nashua; Henry W.
Herrick, Esq., of Manchester; Hon. Hexry P. Rolfe, James
O. Adams and John N. McClintock, Esqs., of Concord; H.
L. Inman, Esq., of Keene; Joseph W. Parmelee, Esq., of
Newport; Benjamin P. Shillaber, Esq., of Chelsea^ Mass.,
Rev. Silvanus Hayward, of Globe Village, Mass., and Fred-
eric A. MooRE, Esq., of Washington, D. C.
The work is now done, and, despite the labor and care it has
caused the compiler, he leaves it with a sentiment of regret. It
has been a labor of love and pleasantness throughout, and he
leaves it like one wlio goes from the place where loved compan-
ions surround the festive board, where cheering converse has
long delighted and enlivened. Thus fondly lingering he bids
adieu to The Poets of New Hampshire.
CONTENTS.
BAUVKh nAVBS.
Ttie Pral«oo( Aiitwls
Un RoiKDnUon aui] Hope luGod:
(ler trouble*,
JXBBMY BEIJlHAP.
Kcaninuiiioti
Chrtit* CommliBlon to preach the
JONATHAN UTTCHEL SEWALL.
Theft™»on9
AiinlTcrMry Soup, ., „ r "
PnnphnK of ifie iiai Stapler o(
KMleil&ele* >
THOMAS Bia.DWIN.
' Tbo Union at Uio SalnW. .-• 10
TtOBERT DINSMOOB.
The Po«'« Fsrewiill to the Mueea,.. U
SABAEf FOUtEK.
. The SoTa) tntanti ^*
X^ DAVID BVEBETT.
ANDREW WALLACE.
A Prayerln Sltknes-s, 2»
Hj-mn ^^t TlmnkaglTlng for Recov-
ery from SickneM. 30
NATHANIEL HAZELTINE CARTER.
Hrian r<ir Chriatmu, 31
To nir NtUre i4ITPain M
The Closing SMn»-A Burtel M Sea, K
ciuRLES BunRoouns.
Mount Wa ah lutd^D M
A Moralng rrayer, 3S
I WILLIAU rLUMER.
I Tlie While Httia 37
' The Anuutrnl Seat W
The WediUnK
Wedilal Luve
TboFtiHicr,..
\
Kimct tluBi a Valedictory Poem, .. K
Uoe IT
THOMAS GREEK TESSENDES.
FUtI«ry, IR
The CourH at Callurti IB
Tlie Independent Fanner, 90
TlieFarroer »
HOSEA UALLOU.
BlenlnB* ol ChrUfa UnlTeraal
miLIF CABRIOAH.
I.«fayette'B Reluni 11
WILLIAM HERCHAST RICHARD-
PatrtuDnn,
SAKAII niUTE LIVERMORE.
Tbe U unlock..
JOHN FARMER.
Epitaph for* Fiienil
FI-ISRA S.vELL FIBH.
SON.
The Klvcr lierrluiack
DANIEL WEBSTER,
LInet toa Departe<l Son
Frnm "Humna Rdcinptlcin," ....
The Hemor]' of tlic Heart
Hyum tor the Fonrth ol July, IBU,. S
AMOS ANDREW PARKER.
The Parllug Hour C
CABI.OS WILCOX.
Artlre ChrlnllaB Beneraleooe 1
I.lv'e (or Eternity, S
puniHil In Sei>lcniVKr II
' I Spring In New Eoghmd, !
6>ABAn JOSEfAA HALE.
9 ! The Host Tree at the Blrth.plnce af
ii Wartlnaton d
r Slnglohlnl t
vrrr
COyTEXTS.
WILLIAM BI>«iH.VM TAPPAS.
Tb« WhxM M/iinUln.- 44
Tli*rn- U An H'-ixr "f P«ii'i-* :! Kr^z, n4
Tb^ **'a\ X'irth Burial (^r-ca'^ La
P.>rtnci"u:h -K
GE'iRiiE KKyr.
TYymxtZA at xhtt \Aa»i of >'r.iyvra
"Hup* •■O — H"ftK e^rT." "S*?
A M.ylt-T4C illaim •»
i.iiU» TO
Ia X^.tOifTj •>( Pnft-i'lect ♦ T^ri/i'A,. . . Tl
ELIZA U. *II'.»RE.S.
• « rLitrin^ Che Vene* "f tar'.j lit: 72
ELIZA B. THOR>T«»".
Tbe *amac Tree T2
Bi<uim Ta
A^'A MARIA WELLtj
A.VTltntrT T*
DAMEL DANA TAPPAN.
fiTmn :.T
Hjmn CO Jt*>u- ^-^
II jma to tiif* K«<It:dn*^r, Tr>
ATxIii Laax ^^n** ii
f ^mWny r»f cIm Pll|tTini9,
EI>NA HASTIXO'J .^ILVER.
i:hT{4tma4 T*
fm tti(» I»«achiif AChL'U 79
Lin** .. ?i
yaSDiv 73
M«n'.n- -«>
Th« MiJlAi^b: KiMil tO
:;AKAII SMITH.
Th« Whit* Clover •!
THi>MA"» CtKiSWELL TPH-VM.
The 7>pfritiiAl Temple, si
."H-fnsrof cb** Pll;rrtms r2
Th«'lnwar«l Chri*i, <i
The Living Fimnuiln <S
The Greatness nf Li>Te, -4
:*ll':nre un'ler TrlaU M
0LI\T;R WILLFAM BiX-R\E PEA-
mjiiY.
Line* «
Toi> Earljr I>nt -^S
.ruDza- <
WILLIAM Br>|-RVE OLIVER PEA-
h» »0 Y.
The A txrnmn Evening ^
The RUinif M<^»n <^
The iMftfih of an Infant ^J
Mouif\Mp:k Hf
CALEB STARK.
The Battle of Lumh 'n I^oe Se
BE.VIAML\ BKir>W.\' FRENCH.
TheMai'lKiiat Chnrrh S8
Thi'U^r* on Vl.^ltlB? the Plari: of
my Nativity, &I
i^^n'tf f'lr the Atlantic Cuble Celebra-
tii/n 95
Hnnn eiiTnj[p*v*e*| at 'ir-trv-liur^ 97
Itie LaAt Wor!.i of John BrfWii IM
NATHANIEL Mj«>K1N I'l'lIAM.
De*licatloD ilynia 90
AMi»^ BLANi ELVRJ[>.
An. Eveninj: :., i onr^-rxrl. I*W
M.IRY •.I'TTS.
The FdWil I'JSJ
GEORtJE WA-^HINt^TiiN HAMM«>ND.
The Pr *p».-«'t I*;."*
F-Ta Fner.il* A. .uci I'**
Prutien.-e iifi
CHARLES WARRES BREWSTER.
Hiatorv.-.f N«w«— Birth .-kf ditf Pnr**. i'^i
CYNTHIA L. i.,tROrLD.
Srsn-et 1)7
HjTXin for th«: S«:a9«:'a I'M*
A-iA d«iDi;e smith.
To M- 'Cat Asi'usney Vr.*
ROBERT B»N»l»EY C.WERLY.
The <>M 11011^*00 U -uie f... H'.*
Clara in
>l.SAN REBECiA AYER BARNES.
«~»ur M'fcntaia Hi>mr9 lit
Farev«U c«j New Eaiclaa>l lU
M«»DY CrRSIER.
All Thtnx^ Chaiure, 11.'
Ui*t«'ljer.". '. i;*?
Ou nn't-vtrin^ ib-m ?l>.*kce7ii TIS
The iQ'iJLinv 117
EPHRAIM PEAB<.»l»Y.
West** P*j*Mre "f th«r Infanc -•aiaucl. 117
The .'^kaCcr'a >'nir ii?
JAME^ BIULMAN.
Staniai lu^
THmMAS p. mose^.
To a MinLttujeof atlcparteil Frlenii. liit
EINICE KIMBALL DANIELS.
The First FU^wer, iji.
HUGH M«.>ORE.
>(>rlnx U C^^miDf m
T>'-n.i.>rTt>w i-±i
Mi>iai^rit, i^i
MARY WILKING-i ^r.viLr»iN\;.
Why ihoiil'l wr rUnj: tl' t-arta li*
El»MrNI» BVKKE.
In Imitation of Bum-i i.>|
STEPHEN GKKENLF-VK Bl LFIN", H.
Line* on vi-»itiiij: T-'UuIah F;iLl*.
<iei»rrti H"!
Hymn f'.»r r-aSj^iath M^^minx W..»i>hip. ln\
MILT«>N WARE>.
The Lyn? {»
JOHN H. WARLANh.
""iumnier i-j'*
Th.- Dun>l» ChlM li.}
hints nn the Iieatlit>f Cliarlo*.!, Fox. Mi
LEWI'i C. BRi)WNE-
Brlersan.l Berrie* 1:«
A^mx*'t Are li,>
Tf.ii*hin/ "^t-hiNil aij'l Roanlinz
Arv'im-l '. IW
I
Threoron an J Ten 1
JAHE3 FBEEHAM CLABKE.
The Shtp 1
TrKorniU Dtanil 1
The Pocl 1
CAROLINE ORNE.
SkbtikDi Brenlni 1
TbeEitlp.. 1
TteUraii'sliUF^U, 1
od'* Ancels. .'. I
-^Tenl&Te. 1
8W<re io maliij the world belter 1
XSTHBB WALDEX BA&NE9.
FwMen
BOB.VCE GBEELEV.
The FadtMl sun 1M
Dirknuaa ovdrrnrlh wait xkeplng,.. Ifil
IM
»IorKYauuBl'B-<y>AIbum... IH
HART RAYMOND rR.\TT.
"Do tbejIoTc there BtUl?" lU
ELIA8 NA30N.
A Ctarlftnut Carol...
tfCVUB ^-niij. ---.- -•• t^l
The Poor Uan at the Gale of Pars-
dl«, in
TheLord'a Prayer, FnraphniMiii,... 1S8
CHARLES JAUES FO.Y.
ne ChrbUaii PromlM U
JOHN NELSON U08EH.
etasuu 11
GEORQE UATUER CHAMPNEY.
LIdc* to BoabegaD Blier, II
JAVES CHUBCHILL BRYANT.
Sabbath MomlBK, le
A Coontry Soinmcr KqikIht IM
PltcatariuB tW
Tite Hlifden TrcMure i:o
WOODBCBY XELCHEB FEBNALI>.
XTDangliler'* Home, O
ATUlODOf XtarnatGloiT .... 171
BIfTS. IX
WILLIAM B. M.VRSll.
TheErtghlSplrttLand, ••.. 1TB
•StRA EASTMAN ADAJIS.
SlfppLnK with the ntan iW
"I moTB biUi tile Light/ ITl
n'hil miiy ws-cariy ioilie'vait Eor-
The PonilsewHfHil. 180
The "Great Light," Wl
■Ncnrer Thee.« IM
din the World," 183
TheOl-n^nriii-B
AUGUSTA HARVEY WORTHEN.
The StHxrSMnn 19
JAUES SENNARD.
Eonrthof .lull '«
\V]Ml ehall 1 i»k hi prfiyCr? I»
WILLIAM WHWTWORTH BECK.
The World BiltK 10
TbaSoul, 10
LEANDER CLARK.
TMoreUnd".!^
UART B. HOSUER.
TheBeggar'iChrlitmaeETe, Mt
Alter SL-vCDtcen Yean, DM
Twilight Htuloga, MS
SoDi of New Hampabiie, IM
S.VICAH SHEDD.
AnlndUn'aLameDlaii the hankiol
Old Draper Hiir,"'.!l,"'l"l'""!l^l 111
LL'ELLA J. B. C.VSE.
The Doomed Race, Ill
BakrV hibhakd.
Frtnconta Mountain Soich il4
THOSLVS RttSSELL CROSBY.
To UemmBck River 118
□ORA-riO HALE.
ThcEaa'le'B Spoech Kl
IJuvi lor mj'^bUiUi'd Album Oi
BEXJAUIN D. tAIGlITOK.
Llnci nrlttcn In M*r SIS
BUUIMS, 12S
SAHUBL C. BALDWIN.
Ttic Valceaof theOcMU S9
JAUES TUOILIS FIELDS.
ThcOwLCriiic S30
TLDWAItD DEAN RAN'D.
Behind the Veil
Id Mcmarlani
(JrowlngOlrt
WILLIAM CAXT STUEOC.
The Poet's Sllto
Mm7
WiAlnjrton
Laka Suiupee, .
APmte»l, i...../.i :.. ia
lionlns ■■III ETBDlDg bj the Sea,. • . BO
4ASfUEL TKSJiF-V HILDRBTH.
TnieaiKl Love, VI
JAMES WAEREN PARMELEE.
Oda U> tha South Bnnch of Sugar
Thernlon *
Fair Col umhln B
josEPU BRon'^' suitr.
To Mr Mother, 9
DANIEL AUGLSTlrS DBOWW.
Beaullrul 1« Moonlight, 9
Mar-Fluv
(1 Elm
i, Uj H(i|jf, .
ADALIZA CLTLEB PJIBLP8.
To s Blnllu MlilwIuUT, 9
JACOB RICHARDS DODQE.
Tbo Unrlae
: ] The Lovely Dead. ,
JAMES OSGOOD ADAMS.
TbaI>flagItoM'iLinipnt
LCCT P. ADAMS.
HABBIBTTE VAN MATEB PREN'CH.
lieConlurlH,... IT
I WILLIAM PLUMER.
i The Blind Boy 17
I JOBS QUinCV adaMs wood.
Jnroratlon toBpTlna, 17
I I'Btlier'iKrowlDtr old. John, S7
iToReroliodlalnSonAUlra, 17
Sew MnmiiBhlre. SI
:Tlie Blind Man's ETu^ulngHrran,... t7
I JVLIA A. A. WOOD.
JOHN SILET VARNEY.
To the Mre Fly tag
WhUlfUcBalyF UQ
CBABLE8 ANDERSON DANA.
Kmnbood,."".'."*!!*""!!!^!."""'. 141
TOB.B., lu
EDWABD ERASUUB SARGEANT.
Tba Indian Molliaru, her !J<iD SU
ALBEKT PEURV
Tbe Grand UotLidnock, US
LEONARD SWAIN.
Mattlaoolwhatliewllla ,
DEBORAH 0. FORH.
To » 8l>lnDlnK Wla.'el ,
All Halloa £.«
SIMEON P. HEATH.
I.OV0 U <
FASNIK E. FOSTER.
TbePoot't Grava 3
GEORGE FKEDEIUCK KENT.
To a CBlltorala Pine. »
Toul-womotlrc *
lo Spring. 9
April. .
Tho Vol'
bar's Plea,.
NGIIEMLAH WRIGHT.
Mf Spirit Home,
KBNBY W. HEKRICK.
The BpWer'a Web
The Humble Bee
I TbaTombofStuk,
GBOBOS IfELSON BBYAKT.
Bvenlnpi M Rome 1
BrmnkiltieMauiiuiai 1
CASOUS'E ttlZAflETB J
VMir 111
Xliony JAMES HAZELTINE.
The Anaklnguf Freedom 99
WOTili SO
ToUie8i» X
BASma BHYANT BAZELTINX.
A Konhcm Ociobcr, SO
HoinlDir. Sdod and NIetat SO
Cloud PlnuTB* SO
JAMX8 W. BARKBB.
barnlug StocklDge W
WILLIAM STABK.
Edfactfrom-CDiilenDln Pnen
A2.B0N H. BAILEY.
The VUUb« ReUs
ToBuukcrBUl MoDiuneDI, .■■•
JTSTIN E. WALKER.
Tnit-lln God
A Ttme-FoU\ Atperx. . —
ASESATtt C. STICICiEV.
JioT Mr SuTloiu-
tlnlmteal Lbie,
£D WARD WHITESIDE WUOBDKLL.
ChHsunsaKve. 318
FKEUEKIC A. MOORE.
Tb* BoobelDi'ii Saog.
GEUBGE FAYy QUACKEXBOS.
HrSool'aSoDg »
Tbe KoH SI
TIk Flower KD'I the True, 39
Sons of the BaOerltj 3i
The Spirit and the Briile »;> "Come," M
flAHKEL J. PIKE.
BUnuB, SI
The Better Ijind K
He GlTeth Hi* BcluTeil Sleep SI
SMTH. 3u
ENOCH GEORGE ADAMS.
The Pond nmlil the Hllla. SSO
The PrcclauiDuos af Teara SM
JOHN BOnWELL WOOD.
fhe Worth nf BnoblcB 8SJ
Counuie, Fore
OneFTaBhorl,
ADswcred^...
HaBRIET xewell katon.
3t Lightning— J
Hf Hood 3S4
TheR«)n SSS
Old JabD SIS
WILLIAM COPPFOS.
Tom Browa'a ReforiDUIon tS7
The Wollvhorcugli CcDlcnnUI. UP
HMlWlBh
The Stolen EIm.
LlDMloUieAiBBrlaiiVtog.
The Psuper Hill.
Houni WaihlogioB.
* AL'RIN U. PAS80N.
Sedei HnMrun,
CAROLINE B. K. PARKEB.
Our Lamb, tSS
SARAH ROBERTS BOTLE.
nie Voice of Uw Graet, M
ABBU UtiNVOOH NCCRILLIS.
TbelMsy SSI
JEREMIAH EAHB8 RASKIN.
Slet'phereln pmco tS»
iD.SlgMot IheCrjaMlSea SI*
Afur the Snow KO
ThoBBhIo, 381
8II.TASU8 HAYWARD.
Lined at .tan*Bl, 3M
Toe i41ceplnE InOiiit, VS
Fur IhL' DvdliJtUiii) of an Album, ... SOS
thrcmid}- IH
MART DWISELL CIIELLIS Ll"SD.
ThcBnboUok am
The WaUiT Sprite SSI
COXTEXTS.
MAKY EUZABBTH FEtUiVHOS
HABAll B. COXVERKE.
nw Fim-lKHIK,
.. — ( The IJH Ifu-i TeUCTda
g, S(W TbcCbUdna
T» ■ FsTiHlle BtKsm, ..
"Prtn*. fc
ALBERT LAICiDTOK.
To Mr fool...
LOTeil Clover
LAl'RA A. NOKSIS.
WlUlunCullonBnut, ....
WaalliluillrMI,..
RUODA B. S. KKStBSOS.
Muunbewnii, ••
TIICOTBY PEBBY.
<>r Mtr
RiMa iliifdnK In the Storm...
JODK ORDKOSAl'X.
ilowi nf the Ti-iuiiUT
A LBmeDtforGcm-uilc,. ill
MAItV k. B. MILLER.
On urc'eThnshold 4»
GEORGE EIGENE BELKNAP.
ChrisWDlDS Hjmu m
flouvnanlBuuiKj 438
GRACE WEBSTER UCi'SDALE.
-LoreMThouMu?" OO
TliB L'nbmlaod Grain. 4J1
Tlw I'Dtruililrn Psih. 431
.. 43S
Nan Lran
The qnaliei
The Olil Ui
Ueetlag
I of the UoD
II1» Own. ..
Angela thli side,....
Hen veil.
ReM, ..
UABTHAJ HKTWOOD.
Allre, ..
Sl'RAS r COLGATE.
HwrlUmpiUnULUa, ■■■• »
NaTUaM PtUS'ELIK CARTKR.
lnlh0 8iinBhlne SbT , PVIUdt, Falling,
liiwil TliouiM. S!»!l'roT«l.Pocm.
in the ll«ill«o( I.lf* *W| JOHN WESLEY ADAMS.
lA>TmgHonrM ** : The BH.1e,
EDN'A TEAS PRt)CTOR. . Our Baby
ThB MnuDHtB M*hi 400! GEORGE W OSGOOD.
Wnr B«aip«Ul«, W^ ' Welmnie to SprtOB
ThO lhm,U we I The Luvcl fln.ru.oTLoBt..
{I2S2S? ' JS DAVID H BILL.
. U1-!
n Lake,..
CONTENTS.
XIII
MARY BLAKE LANE.
The Deaf Girrs Thought of Music, ... 468
The Land of the Liviug. 409
HENRY OAKES KENT.
Onward! 470
Welcome Home, 471
Bertie 472
8ARAU H. FOSTER.
On the Death of a First-born Child, .. 473
Stanxas, 474
HARRIET MCEWEN KIMBALL.
"The BlesBcd Company of all Faith-
ful People,*' 47ft
Tbou art a Place to hide mo In 477
Hrmn for Advent 478
A Hymn of Contrition, 478
Jesus mj Refuge, 479
The Light of Life, 480
Vale, ., 480
LUCY ROGERS HILL CROSS.
A Song of the Hour :. 481
Scenes from Real Li(\e, 482
MARY M. ROBINSON.
The Old Clock 484
May 22, 1882 484
The Song of Life, 485
A Retrospect 485
MARY A. A. SENTER.
Are there no Memories? 486
Hoping in vaiut 487
MATTIB E. SMITH.
Hopeonl Hope ever! 488
GEORGE GORDON BY'RON DE
WOLFE.
Louisa's GraTe,.......^ 489
Lines, 490
AUGUSTA COOPER BRISTOL.
The Higher Life 491
The Pyxidanthera 498
Songof Chlhlhood, » 494
The Web of Life, 4!»5
What the Roses said, 496
LAURA GARLAND CARR.
In the Woods 497
What a Pity! „ 498
The Wood Thrash 4U9
A Garden, 500
An April Night 601
A Mountain Pasture, 50:2
The way to Grandpa's, 503
Shut in, „ 505
By the River, 506
Lbht, 607
on, 508
A Lane, 609
MARY H. WHEELER.
Apple Blooms, 510
Saturday Night. 511
A Serenade, 511
A Plea, 512
My Grandma's Loom, 513
Digging for Gold, 514
War-Song of KaucaniagUB, 516
Song of the Frog, 518
CELIA THAXTER.
The Wreck of the Pocahontafl 519
A Tryst, fijl
Sorrow, 523
OSCAR LAIGHTON.
Song, 524
Song fi25
At Sunset, 525
HerShuwl, 526
WARREN ROBBRT COCHRANE.
A Home Missionary Hymn, 526
Thanks for the Years, 527
The Morning Call 528
Near, 529
JULIA VAN NESS WHIPPLE.
Pearls 530
The Voice amid the Trees 5S0
SARAH M. PARKER.
Gospel Bells, 582
Home, 534
MATTIE FRANCES JONES.
Will it be always Night? 585
Have Faith ana Persevere, 536
CHARLOTTE M. PALMER.
Faith 537
A Hymn of Trust 538
THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.
Enamored Architect of Airy Rhyme, 539
Sleep, 539
Titans Tears— A Fantasy, 639
GEORGE DUDLEY DODGE.
Peace be still, 541
NANCY PRIEST WAKEFIELD.
Over the River 642
Heaven, 648
DANIEL L. MILLIKEN.
Garfield 644
In Winter 646
LAVINIA PATTERSON WEEKS.
Spirit Voices, 546
"Hope on-^Hopc ever," 547
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 548
EDWARD P. NOWELL.
In Memorlam, 649
EDWARD A. RAND.
Sing, Bonny Bird! 650
The Ship in the Sunshine, 551
Rain on the Roof, 652
Poud-Lilies 552
FRANCIS ORMOND FRENCH.
Extract from a Class Day Poem,. ... 568
DAVID GRAHAM ADEE.
At Rome 557
Four Phases, 558
Sheiley, 659
HENRY AMES BLOOD.
The Chimney-Nook, 550
The Deuthof the Old Year 663
The Invisible Piper 564
Yearnings, 566
.1..,
UABT ELIZABETH IIOBBS.
GMMlK^hl,.;'
HOMES TAIXOB Pl'LLEH.
Jnreli, SI
-aailgbtiraj:- 07
£UILr GRAHAM HATWABD.
ThcWreklhof Lotc, S7
LTDIA H. TILTOX.
All Thldg» ir.
The Brtilal WTsaCh 07
Fprulihlns Uw Huuw, S7
Thv RotK ut Willie, 6
AVXIE DOCGLAS BOBINSON.
: The Veibiw Cnitags, !..,!*"" 0
.nto Ann
- .1 iloii
The KIjb at ttie Door,
CLABA B. HEATH.
Water LIllM.
UlDi'berrvLig,
TrBn'rormM,..
._ JnUll■BlU,...
l.- TaOjajaeEiigllih
^ I FBANK O. ErERETT.
Kabfl ,
I ELIZABETH UARTIN.
, "LOTt
OntI
, ConiH.'crtill'in e
Huur lit n'onblp t
[«u Rewu4, ........ .^.\. Wt JAMES O. BL'SSELL.
STEPHEN H. THAYEB. -What tock 1 yet?" <
B.nk.o( Ihe Souhegan »« ! BABOS SAMUEL CBOWBIJ.
The Bells or Sja^',
A JoneSuDg m
iJrest Temple of KanuLk S» I «,•'"!,• ^'A: ^
A ranlDi- %ji)E OBI ,TheK<weor hiem' n>
A Voire from IS.' Si-a, Ml IIESKT LAtEEsS TALBOT.
UIBAXDA M. GOBBKLL. "I diall «i'p Him «• He U," Ml
Looking A(To»5 Hie Vale, Ml i ',?„'"'' "^ SU
Out of the I>o)ilU, SM E^ixo. iiiy departed R-.y .";:; m
HELBM A. F. COCHKAKE. LYbiA PEtANCES CAMP.
Oh Star CM In Memory BrlKhl u)
ASwtiii.'8^;::"."'.:::::':".;;::;:Ml8!,fi-ABA fellows mackistire.
ANNIE B. HOLBBOOK.
"RUbeuiUnil there," 800
Hrmn Ml
HELBK MAB BBAX.
TealeiSajr aiM) TimU;
HABY B. P. HATCH.
The Wearj J'wer «« ■ Mimnlighiio Seplomber,'!.
Count your Mcmlei, ---... vu .f„„ i.cKik
Pitrloi'i Laltoir «« . •
MABY HELBK BOODET.
October Musln;--
ARVILLA ALHlFtA WOODWABD.
QEORGE BANCBOFT OBIFFITH.
The Wehster Hnmeatewl SIB
The Slorm at Fori Foliit, *U
The Date-tinrden of the Down 6lt
ADELAIDE U. BENNBTI.
The Nev-burn Year
JOHN ADAMS BELLOWS.
CONTENTS.
RHODA BABTLETT SEYVOL'B.
ALFBED WILLIAM SARGENT.
Wlcdom and Power DlTlne a
HOKACB B. BAKEB.
Winter, 6
ANABEL C. AXDBEW8.
tiT:<JRuE WALDO BKCIWNE.
.■er Clmnirlnf! «B
Ivfaya look up •■
DUDE PHWLUi:\aWB7 W
HORACE EATON WALKER.
I The acauBJtrcM, M
AT.THINE tLOIlESCE 9 HOLES.
Eventide, 6U
EDWARD JOICi COLCX>RD.
Aeaon. <«
FWewell, flU
KRA>K HEXHY CARLTOS.
The DIvIdp PUn «
ISABEL C. GBEENK.
Hy LOTO— aaong K
ELLEN UCB0BEBT3 UASO.N.
A Cbrlatmu HtimaTT. .- Oi
Mr Dead Love e;
DsTMODdlol tl
Mj IlQiUlor 81
CLARA E. BOLLES.
in Ibe fiboTo," SI
KATE J. KUinALL.
IIvniD TW
Where Jraua iMrtii, 7W
To tho White Violet 7»
IDA G. ADAU3.
WU.LIAH HALE.
BBS£]E BISBEE BUNT.
.. CM
GRACE E. PlCEERtltfi.
Bested.
LUCY BKXTLEY WIOOIN.
The Lite tluit nonli,.
Thwttknglvlng Tt»j
Edits e. wiqgin.
^dTenl.
Ootobw rioleU.
IISLTIK J. HESiJEB.
KmtWim, KM
ClUiBa 'nnle 087
GEOKGB S. DORU.
Kew EdkIudiI Hnmeetodit, CM
ThcHliutrel'tSutiuueTUiHiie SBO
CBARLKS FRAXCIi^ JtlCHAKTl^.N.
Cblld'a Hnm at NlgbdiU. UM
Camtori,V^\\'.\\'.\V.'.^V.V^\'.\\\'.\''. asa
ABBIE NEL8IA PARTRIDGE.
ifUnft ;
innn Pwes T
WILLUM A. BAHTLETT.
M'leBlUln,...
CaBRIS WHITE OSGOOD.
TheBuclielor'i Pniiioaal >
_ > TIlTUHlng K1«M«
BM.EvenUde,
«S.AW«lf
TiUInc
SM flAUUEL WALTER FOSS.
'*^ TheperfnslBoiig,.
TbeUnxikUna lite Pine
OM ANNE FARMELEE.
•"* Bun»et
Ilnmmock Reverie, -
brrlfcra',!.'
Wonblp,..
" "gill. .
■■™ ■■iio>.a-iij,p»p»,"
;; ^ LOTTA BLANCHE 8H1TB.
'.'. aa UjrLoTe,
XVI
CONTENTS.
CHARLES WHEELER COIT. ; MART MOORE GLOVER EDDT.
Tmy Bridge* 7S8 Old Man of the Moud tain, 755
GEORGE WILLIS PATTERSON. \ LYDIA A. SWAZEY OBEAR.
AHynm, 730 : Welcome to an Infant GranUdaugh-
Venice, 780 ter, 754
SoUtude, 731 , Hymn, 757
ETTA UDORA FRENCH. NANCY D. CURTIS.
A Prayer, 731 Music at Midnight, ~ 757
SS!h™^ ^^■^'^tton* 22 ANDREW MCF ARL AND.
Quettlons, 733 _. ■.,... .,v_ .. >
The Golden aty, 734 The Mother*8 Prayer 758
Thomas, TM | LEONARD HEATH.
JAMES MEADE ADAMS. | The Grave of Napoleon 760
??.®^^ ;•••••• 2S ' MARY LITTLE ROGERS.
LaaandLassle 738 «. .,.,-o^«-. -.,1
Isabel Deane,... 737 , ?fark\ n.8«7............ 761
* ! "All Thy Works shall praise Thee.
ANNIE E. DE WOLFE. O Lord," 761
Une Pensee 737
WILLIAM D. LOCKE.
FANNIE HUNTINGTON Rl^NNELS. Centennial Year-1875 7G3
The Poet*s Dream, 738
LULU E. TREVITT.
Response, etc., ~ 704
SAMUEL M. DE MERRITT.
New Year's Eve ., 741 1 To 764
An Ideal 742 ; God and Our Neighbor. 765
In Embryo, 743 [ LYDIA M. HALL.
MAY E. PERLEY.
A Morning In July, ~.. 743
FRANCIS DANA.
A Dream 743
HUBBARD ALONZO BARTON.
Lines 765
ELVIRA A. GIBSON.
A Dream, 706
MARION MEANS SULLIVAN.
The Field of Monterey, 766
Devotion 743 ; The Blue Juniata, 767
MARTHA ALMA PIPER. MARY ANN SULLIVAN.
Saturday Eve, 746 My Grandmother's Elm, 768
CAKOLINB E. WHITON. | MARY M. CULVER,
Summer Sunset,......^ 747 |Llnes, 76S
JAMES P. WALKER.
Seven Y'ears To-day, 717
CATHARINE M. MCCLINTOCK.
Death In Spring 748
8. ADAMS WIGGIN.
Love, ~. 749
SAMUEL HUDSON PARTRIDGE.
Hymn 750
CHARLES L. WHELER.
The Smile. « 750
IRA HARRIS COUCH.
Sonnet to a Cricket 751
Twilight, ~ 751
ALFRED LITTLE.
My Merry Maple Grove, 752
JAMES WILLIS PATTERSON.
Eventide, 753
MARY GIBSON FRANCIS.
Too Late, 754
SARAH THERESA WASON.
Almost Home, 756
JOHN ADAMS DIX.
Dies Ire, 770
NATHANIEL GREENE.
To my Daughter In Heaven, 771
Petrardi and Laura, « 773
ALEXANDER HILL EVERETT.
The Young American, 773
MARY CLARK.
To Lafayette. 773
FREDERICK KNIGHT.
Faith, 774
PHEBE KNIGHT MOODY.
My Cottage. 775
Extract from an Epistle to a young
friend 775
CORNELIUS STURTKVANT.
Sonnet. 777
SAMUEL PHILBRICK BAILEY.
My Pilgrimage, 778
ANONYMOUS.
When shall we three meet again? ... 779
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
^amupl 3i^ab$n.
Samuel llaTen, D. D., was born in 1727. He was ordained minister of Ihe South
Cbnrch In Portsmouth, May 6, 17&2. He died March 8, 1806.
THE PRAISE OF ANGELS.
Let cherub and let cherubim
Clap their blest wings in praise of Him ;
And all their powers in rapture raise,
While their great object is his praise.
He formed their nature like his own,
And placed their ranks around his throne ;
But conscious distance veiled their face :
They bowed, adoring wondrous grace.
Ye first-bom sons of early day,
Sing to his praise, his will obey ;
And while you fly from pole to pole.
And other systems round you roll,
YouU aid his praise, till all at last,
When ages yet unborn are passed.
Centre in one,— in one great throng.
In perfect unison their song.
Angels and men their voice shall raise
In sweetest concert to his praise :
The great Messiah then shall shine,
Arrayed in glories all divine, —
The head of angels and of men.
Uniting all to God again.
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE,
ON RESIGNATION AND HOPE IN GOD UNDER
TROUBLES.
Be still mj heart, be mate mj tongue ;
Thou ne'er, as jet, hast suffered wrong :
A Father's love inflicts the rod,
To bring thee nearer to thy Gk)d.
Do thunders roar and billows roll ?
Do tempests beat upon th3* soul?
Thej are directed bj his hand.
To drive thee to the promised land.
Great Lord of all ! thy will is just :
We rest secure ; we firmly trust.
That what thy will approves as good
Results alike from all of God.
9
Thy wisdom, power, and grace combine
To prove the whole an act divine :
E'en justice here unites with grace.
And shines with lustre in thy face.
Shall mortals then contend on earth ?
Shall they forget their humble birth,
And quarrel with the Power above,
Or dare dispute that God is love.
Hush, murmuring thoughts ! my tongue be still.
My heart resign to Heaven's high will ;
Trust all to him, — he can't deceive :
The humble soul shall surely live.
Jerems iSelfcnop.
JereniT BeUmap wm bom in Boston, Mass., Jane 4, 1744. He gradiutled at
Harrara College in 1702. In 17^ be was onlained as a preacher antl became pas-
tor of a chorch in l>over, where he remained twenty years. In 17'!f7 he removoU to
BoatOB and liecame pastor of the Federal Street Church. He died suddenly, of
paralyala. Jane 20, ITW. His History of New Hampshire, in three Tolumes, was
mibllsbea In 1798. He published sereral works, amonif which was a Collection of
Psalms and Hymns. Several of the hymns were written by himself, but published
wlthoat his name. Those here given are believed to be of his authorship.
PRUDENCE.
O 'tis a lovely sight to see
A man of prudent heart !
Whose thoughts and lips and life agree
To act a useful part.
JEREMY BELKNAP. 3
When envy, Rtrife and wars begin
In little angry souls,
Mark how the sons of peace come in,
And quench the kindling coals.
Their minds are humble, mild and meek,
Nor does their anger rise ;
Nor passion moves their lips to speak,
Nor pride exalts their eyes.
Their lives are prudence mixed with love ;
Good works employ their day ;
They join the serpent with the dove.
But east the sting away.
Such was the Saviour of mankind ;
Such pleasures he pursued ;
His manners gentle and refined.
His soul divinely good.
REANIMATION.
From thee, great Lord of life and death.
Do we receive our vital breath ;
And at thy sovereign call, resign
That vital breath, that gift divine.
Wilt thou show wonders to the dead?
Wilt thou revive the lifeless head ?
And, from the silence of the grave,
Wilt thou the wretched victim save ?
Such wonders, formerly unknown.
Thy providence to us hath shown ;
To feeble man thou dost impart
The plastic, life-redeeming art.
We bless thee for the skill and power,
From death's appearance to restore
This nice machine of curious frame,
And light again the vital flame.
May every life by thee restored
Be consecrated to the Lord ;
May pious love inspire each breast.
Which has thy saving hand confessed.
Again they must resign their breath,
And sink beneath the stroke of death' ;
When from that death they shall revive.
May each with thee in glory live.
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
CHRIST'S COMMISSION TO PREACH THE GOSPEL.
Thus spake the Saviour, when he sent
His ministers to preach his word ;
They through the world obedient went,
And spreaci the gospel of the Lord.
*'Go forth, ye heralds, in my name.
Bid the whole earth m}' grace receive ;
The gospel jubilee proclaim.
And call them to repent and live.
**The joyful news to all impart,
And teach them where salvation lies ;
Bind up the broken, bleeding heart,
And wipe the tear from weeping eyes.
"Be wise as serpents whore 3'ou go.
But harmless as the peaceful <1ove ;
And let your heaven-taught conduct show
That you're commissioned from above.
"Freely from me ye have received,
Freeh', in love, to others give ;
Thus shall 3'our doctrines be believed,
And, by your labors, sinners live.
"All power is trusted in my hands,
I will protect 3'ou and defend ;
Wliilst thus you follow my commands,
I'm with 30U till the world shall end."
Happy those ser^*ants of the Lord,
Who thus their Master's will obej' !
How rich, how full is their reward,
Reser>'e<l until the final day !
THE GOD OF NATURE.
Hail, King supreme ! all wise and good !
To thee our thoughts we raise ;
Whilst nature's lovely charms, displayed,
Inspire our souls with praise.
At morning, noon, and evening mild,
Thy works engage our view ;
And as we gaze, our hearts exult
With transports ever new.
JEREMY BELKNAP.
Thy glory beams in ever^' star
Which gilds the gloom of night ;
And decks the rising face of morn
With rays of cheering light.
Th' aspiring hill, the verdant lawn,
With thousand beauties shine ;
The vocal grove and cooling shade
Proclaim thy power divine.
From tree to tree, a constant hymn
Emplo3's the feathered throng ;
To thee their cheerful notes they swell,
And chant their grateful song.
Great nature's God ! still may these scenes
Our serious hours engage ;
Still may our wondering e3'es pursue
Thy work's instructive page.
OBEDIENCE TO GOD OUR FATHER.
O God, my Father, I adore
That all-commanding name ;
It will my soul to life restore,
And kindle all my flame.
Entire I bow at thy commands.
My filial homage pay ;
With heart and life, with tongue and hands,
I'll cheerfully obey.
I'll wilfully no more transgress.
As I too oft have done ;
But ever}' sinful thought suppress.
Each sinful action shun.
Each day live I'll seek with care
My Father well to please ;
And in this course will persevere,
By thine assisting grace.
Thus will I my relation claim.
And call myself thy son ;
And, whilst I bear the glorious name,
My Father's rights will own.
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
I will ; but thou must strength impart,
This promise to fulfil ;
Lord, write thy law upon my heart,
That I may do thy will.
MARRIAGE.
Mysterious rite ! by Heaven ordained
This sacred truth to prove.
The bliss which mortals here enjoy,
Must flow fh>m virtuous love.
Though made by God*8 almighty hand.
And in his image formed ;
Yet Adam knew no happiness,
Till love his bosom warmed.
Eden, with all its beauteous groves,
And fruits of richest taste,
To one for social bhss designed
Was but a lonely waste.
But when his lovely bride appeared.
In native graces drest,
The latent spark burst into flame.
And love inspired his breast.
What wise provision hast thou made.
Great Parent of mankind.
That all thine ofiBpring may enjoy
The bliss for them designed !
Then will we join our hearts and hands
In bonds of virtuous love ;
And whilst we live in peace below.
Prepare for bliss above.
LINES
Found among the author's papers after his death.
When faith and patience, hope and love,
Have made us meet for heaven above.
How blest the privilege to rise
Snatched in a moment to the skies !
Unconscious to resign our breath.
Nor taste the bitterness of death.
JONATHAN MITCHEL 8BWALL.
Such be my lot, Lord, if thou pleaae,
To die in silence and at ease.
When thoa doet know that I'm prepared,
O seize me quick to my reward.
But if thy wisdom sees it best
To turn thine ear from this request —
If sickness be the appointed way,
To waste this frame of human clay ;
If, worn with grief and racked wiUi pain,
This earth must turn to earth again ;
Then let thine angels round me stand —
Support me by thy powerful hand ;
Let not my faith or patience move,
Nor aught abate my hope or love ;
But brighter may thy graces shine,
Till they're absorbed in light divine.
J. M. Sewal] was bom In Salem, Mass., In 1748. He graduated at Harvard Col-
lege, and In 1774 was Begister of Probate tot Grafton County. He afterwards went
to Tonsmouth, where he remained until his death in 1808. He published a small
Tolume in 1801, entitled "Miscellaneous Poems, with several specimens flrom the
author's version of the Poems of Ossian.** His Ivrics warmed the patriotism and
cheered the hearts of the soldiers of the Revolution in the perils of the battle and
the privations of the camp.
THE SEASONS.
SPRING.
Soft gales to Winter^s chilling blasts succeed ;
Perfiimed with odors, blooms the enamelled mead ;
Re-echoing music fills the vocal grove,
Inspiring every sense with joy and love ;
Nature to its great Author homage pays,
Glowing with rapture, gratitude, and praise.
SUMMER.
See, glowing ether sheds one boundless blaze I
Unclouded Phoebus darts intense his rays :
Mercy ! not one kind breeze? Ye clouds, arise ;
Melt in soft showers, and mitigate the skies.
Enough, I hear the distant thunder's voice :
Rejoice I it pours amain ; ye gratefbl fields, rejoice !
AUTUMN.
Adieu, ye vernal fields : now Autumn reigns.
Unloads her gifts, rewards the peasant's pains.
8 POETS OF NEW EAMPSHIBE.
Then, while your crowded barns scarce hold the grain,
Unasked, like Boaz, let the stranger glean :
More plenteous crops shall crown each fertile vale,
Nor jour rich, ponderous harvests ever fail.
WINTER.
Winter, dread Winter reigns ! each joy o'ercasts.
Involved in tempests, armed with piercing blasts !
Nature's locked up ! whole rivers as they run,
To flint converted, mock the feeble sun ;
Enrobed in fleecy garb the fields are bright.
Revealing to the eye one boundless, shining white.
ANNIVERSARY SONG. '
When our great sires this land explored,
A shelter from tyrannic wrong ;
Led on by heaven's Almighty Lord,
They sung and acted well the song, —
Arise united ! dare be freed !
Our souls shall vindicate the deed.
In vain the region they would gain
Was distant, dreary, undisclosed ;
In vain the Atlantic roared between.
And hosts of savages opposed.
They rushed undaunted : Heaven decreed
Their sons should vindicate the deed.
*Twas Freedom led the wanderers forth.
And manly fortitude to bear :
They toiled, succeeded, — such high worth
Is alwa\'s Heaven's peculiar care.
Their greit example still inspires.
Nor dare we act beneath our sires.
'Tis ours undaunted to defend
The dear-bought, rich inheritance ;
And, spite of every hostile hand.
We'll fight, bleed, die ! in its defence ;
Pursue our fathers' path to fame.
And emulate their glorious flame.
As Jove's high plant inglorious stands,
Till storms and thunders root it fast ;
So stood our new, unpractised bands.
Till Britain waved her stormy blast.
JONATHAN MITCHEL 8EWALL.
Her soon they vanquished, fierce led on
By Freedom and great Washington !
Hail, godlike hero ! bom to save !
Ne'er shall thy deathless laurels fade^
But on thy brow eternal wave,
And consecrate blest Vernon's shade ;
Thy spreading glories still increase,
Till earth and time and nature cease.
PARAPHRASE OF THE LAST CHAPTER OF
ECCLESIASTES.
While life's warm current revels in each vein,
And youth, health, joy, uninterrupted reign,
Attend the dictates of celestial truth,
Remember thy Creator in thy youth.
Before the evil days come hastening on,
When thou shalt say, ''My every joy is flown ;"
Ere day's bright orb, and milder queen of night.
With every twinkling star, withhold their light ;
When azure skies no more succeed the rain,
But clouds, insolving clouds, return again ;
When palsies seize the trembling limbs, and make
The strong men bow ! the palace-keepers quake !
The lessening grinders from their office fail.
While darkness round the windows spreads her veil.
In every street the sullen portals close,
And the cock's clarion interrupts repose ;
Imaginary snares the way beset,
The tambling ruin, the deep yawning pit ;
While ceaseless terrors every sense alarm ;
Even Music's tuneful daughters cease to charm.
Sti-ewn o'er with blossoms, blooms the almond-tree ;
The grasshopper a burthen seems to be ;
Life's glimmering taper shoots a feeble fire,
Just ready in the socket to expire ;
All sense of joy extinguished, all desire.
Till man to his long-destined home is borne.
And the slow minstrels tlu'ough the city mourn.
Ere the fine silver cord be snapt in twain.
Or broke the golden bowl that holds the brain ;
The wheel around its cistern cease to turn.
Or at Life's fountain fails the vital urn.
Then shall the dust return to earth again,
The soul to God ascend, with him to reign.
1 0 POETS OF NEW EAMP8EIRB.
STfiomas ISallrtoin.
Thomas Baldwin, D. D., was a Baptist clergjinan, and. In his earlj mlnlst^j, was
Kstor of a chorch In Canaan. While there be wrote several hjmns. ^ was
m in Norwich, €k>nn., in 175S, and died in 18Sfi5. The hvmn here fflven was composed
daring a night JoumeT from Newport to Canaan. Tnere had Been disaffection In
the church at Newport and his Yisit there had resulted in bringing about a **anion
of the saints. " — •— o
THE UNION OF THE SAINTS.
From whence doth this union arise,
That hatred is conquered by love ?
It fastens our souls in such ties
As distance and time can't remove.
It cannot in Eden be found.
Nor yet in Paradise lost ;
It grows on Immanuel's gn^und,
And Jesus' dear blood it did cost.
My brethren are dear unto me,
Our hearts are united in love ;
Where Jesus is gone we shall be,
In yonder blest mansions above.
Why then so unwilling to part,
Since there we shall all meet again ;
Engraved on Immanuel's heart.
At a distance we cannot remain.
O when shall we see that bright day,
And Join with the angels above.
Set free from these prisons of clay,
United in Jesus' dear love.
With him we shall evermore rei^.
And all his bright glories shall see,
Singing, Hallelujah, Amen !
Amen, even so let it be.
The *< Rostlo Bard," as be is called, was bom In Windham, October 7, 1767. At
twenty vears of age he fought at the battle of Saratoga. He became a flarmer, and
passed his long life in his native town. He had but a scanty education. A yolume
of his poems was published in 1828. His poetry seems to have come by nature.
It had Its sentiment and its Doric humor, which did not disdain Tery homely reali-
ties, as in the account of his illness, of which the reader will be satisfied on the
production of a single stanaa :
ROBERT D1N8M00R. 1 1
" With eennA, salts, and castor oU,
They drenched me every little while:
The strong disease such power coUld foil,
To yield full loth;
At length we found the foe recoil.
At the hot bath."
*^The last time I saw him.'* writes J. G. Whittier, " he was chaffering in the
market-place of my native village (Haverhill), swapping potatoes, and onions, and
pumpkins, for tea, coffee, molasses, and, if the truth be told, New England rum. He
Mood stoutly and sturdily in his thick shoes of cowhide, like one accustomed to
tread independently the soil of his own acres— his broad, honest face, seamed by
care and darkened i>y exposure to**all the airs that blow,* and his white hair flowing
In patriarchal glory beneath his felt hat Peace to him. In the ancient burial-
ground of Windham, by the side of his * beloved Molly,' and in view of the old
meeting-house, there is a green mound of earth, where, every spring, green grasses
tremble in the wind, and tne warm sunshine calls out the flowers. There, gathered
Uke one of his own ripe sheaves, the farmer-poet sleeps with his fathers.*
THE POET'S FAREWELL TO THE MUSES.
Forbear, my fiiend, withdraw your plea,
Ask not a song fh>m one like me,
O'ercast with clouds of sorrow.
My spring of life and summer's fled,
I mourn those darling comforts dead,
Regardless of to-morrow I
My harp is on the willow hung,
Nor dissipates the gloom ;
My sweetest minstrel's all unstrung.
And silent as the tomb.
My lute, too, is mute too.
While drops the trickling tear ;
My organ makes jargon,
And grates my wounded ear.
Farewell, you mould'ring mansion, there
Where first I drew the natal air.
And learned to prate and play.
There rose a little filial band.
Beneath kind parents' fostering hand —
Their names let live for aye I
They taught their offspring there to read
And hymn their Maker's praise.
To say their catechism and creed,
And shun all vicious ways.
They, careful and prayerftil.
Their pious precepts pressed,
With ample example
Their children still were blessed.
Kind man, my guardian and my sire.
Friend of the muse and poet*s lyre,
1 2 P0BT8 OF NE W HAMPSHIRE.
With geDoine wit and glee
Thoa sweetly did thy numbers glide,
When, all delighted by his side,
He read his verse to me.
The parallel was drawn between
The freedom we possessed,
And where our fathers long had been
By lords and bishops pressed.
His rhvme then did chime then
Like music through my heart ;
Desiring, aspiring,
I strove to gain his art.
No more I'll tune the poet's IjTe,
No more I'll ask the muses' fire,
To warm my chilling breast;
No more I'll feel the genial flame.
Nor seek a poet's deathless fame.
But silent sink to rest.
Farewell, the mount called Jenny's Hill —
Ye statel}' oaks and pines !
Farewell, yon prett}' purling rill,
Which from its brow declines,
Meandering and wandering
The woodbines sweet among,
Where pleasure could measure
The bobylinkorn's song.
On summer evenings, calm and bright.
O'er j'onder summit's towering height,
With pleasure did I roam ;
Perhaps to seek the robin's 3'oung,
Or list the mavis' warbling tongue.
And bring the heifers home —
See from my foot the nighthawk rise,
And leave her unfledged pair.
Then quick descending from the skies,
Like lightning cut the air.
The hares there, she scares there.
And through the pines they trip,
They're sought then, and caught then.
By my companion. Skip.
Andover's steeples there were seen,
While o'er the vast expanse between,
I did with wonder gaze ;
There, as it were beneath m^- feet.
ROBERT DINSMOOR. 13
I viewed my father's pleasant seat —
My joy in younger days.
There Windham Range, in flowery vest,
Was seen in robes of green,
While Gobbet's Pond, from east to west,
Spread her bright waves between.
Cows lowing, cooks crowing,
While frogs on Gobbet's shore,
Lay croaking, and mocking
The bull's tremendous roar.
The fields no more their glories wear,
The forests now stand bleak and bare,
All of their foliage stript ;
The rosy lawn, the flower}- mead.
Where lambkins used to play and feed.
By icy fingers nipt.
No more I'll'hear with ravished ears.
The music of the wood ;
Sweet scenes of youth, now gone with years
Long pass'd be^'ond the flood.
Bereaved and grieved,
I solitary wail.
With sighing and crying.
My drooping spirits fail.
No more will I the Spring Brook trace,
No more with sorrow view the place
Where Mary's wash-tub stood ;
No more I'll wander there alone.
And lean upon the mossy stone.
Where once she piled her wood.
'Twas there she bleached her linen cloth,
By yonder bass-wood tree ;
From that sweet stream she made her broth,
Her pudding and her tea.
Whose rumbling and tumbling
O'er rocks with quick despatch,
Made ringing and singing.
None but her voice could match.
Farewell, sweet scenes of rural life,
My faithful fViends and loving wife,
But transient blessings all.
Bereft of those, I sit and mourn ;
The spring of life will ne'er return,
Chill death grasps great and small ;
1 4 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
I fall before thee, God of truth !
O, hear my pra3er and en* !
Let me enjo}* iimnortal youth,
With saints above the sky.
Th}' praise there, I'll raise there,
With all my heart and soul,
Where pleasure and treasure,
In boundless oceans roll.
3arai) porter.
Mrs. Sanh Porter was aotbor of a poem which is almost forgotten. The title of
it is, '*The Roral Penitent, in three parts: to wlilch is added David's LamentatioD
OTer Saul and Jonathan. By Mrs. Sarah Porter, of Plrmooth, New Hampshire.
Concord, Georse Hough, 17»1.** It filled nineteen pages in duodecimo. In toL S of
Ketteirs American Poets is found a portion of the poem filling throe pages. Onlv
an extract is here given.
THE ROYAL INFANT.
S Samuel, Chapter xif
Death's angel now, commissioned by the Lord,
O'er the fond infant holds the fatal sword ;
From the dread sight the frantic father turns.
And, clad in sackcloth, in his chamber mourns ;
The monitor, within the royal breast.
That long had slept, now roused at length from rest,
Holds forth a mirror to the aching sight.
Seizes the mind that fain would take its flight.
Bids it look in : — and first, Uriah stood,
Armed for the fight, as ^^et unstained with blood ;
Courage and care were on his brow combined.
To show the hero and the patriot joined :
Next, pale and lifeless, on his warlike shield.
The soldiers bore him fh>m the bloody field.
**And is it thusl^ the royal mourner said,
^^And has my hand performed the dreadful deed?
Was I tlie wretch that gave thee to the foe.
And bade thee sink beneath the impending blow?
Bade every friend and hero leave thy side ?
Open, O earth ! and in thy bosom hide
A guilty wretch who wishes not to live ;
Who cannot, dares not, ask for a reprieve ;
So black a crime just Heaven will not forgive !
Justice arrests thy coming mercy. Lord ;
Strike then, O strike, unsheath thy dreadAil sword :
Accursed forever be the hated day,
That led my soul from innocence astray ;
O may the stars, on that detested hour,
BARAH PORTER. 15
Shed all their influeDce with malignant power,
Darkness and sorrows jointly hold their reign,
When time, revolving, brings it round again.
Unhappy man ! — ah I whither shall I turn ?
Like Cain, accurst, must I forever mourn?
On beds of silk in vain I seek repose,
Uriah's shade forbids my eyes to close ;
No bars exclude him — to no place confined,
Eager he still pursues my flying mind :
Not all the crowd that bow at my approach,
Nor guards that thicken round the gilded couch.
Can with their arms, or martial air, aflVight,
Or drive the phantom from my wearied sight.
0 happy day ! when, blest with £glah*s charms,
1 woo'd no other beautj' to my arms ;
No court's licentious joys did then molest
My peacefbl mind, nor haunt my tranquil breast.
A glitf ring crown ! thou poor, fantastic thing !
What solid satisfaction canst thou bring?
Once, far removed fVom all the toils of state.
In groves I slept — no guards around me wait :
Oh ! how delicious was the calm retreat !
Sweet groves ! with birds and various flowers stored :
Where nature furnished out my frugal board ;
The pure, unstained spring, my thirst allayed ;
No poisoned draught, in golden cups conve3'ed.
Was there to dread. Return, 3'e happy hours.
Ye verdant shades, kind nature's pleasing bowera,
Inglorious solitude, again return.
And heal the breast with pain and anguish torn.
God ! let thy mercy, like the solar ray.
Break forth and drive these dismal clouds away ;
Oh ! send its kind enlivening warmth on one
Who sinks, who dies, beneath thy dreadfbl frown :
Thus fares the wretch at sea, by tempests tost.
Sands, hurricanes, and rocks, proclaim him lost ;
With eager eyes he views the peaceful shore,
And longs to rest where billows cease to roar :
Of wanton winds and waves I've been the sport.
Oh ! when shall I attain the wished-for port?
Or might I bear the punishment alone.
Nor hear the lovely infant's piteous moan ;
My sins upon the d^ing child impressed,
The dreadful thought forbids my soul to rest,
In mercy. Lord, thy humble suppliant hear,
Oh ! give the darling to my uxlent prayer 1
i
16 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE,
Cleanse me from sin — oh ! graciousl}'^ forgive ;
Blest with th'y love, oh ! let thy servant live :
Thy smiles withdrawn, what is the world to me?
My hopes, my joys, are placed alone on thee :
Oh ! let thy love, to this desponding heart,
One ray, at least, of heavenly love impart."
Babilr lEberett.
This poet was bom in Princeton, Mass., in 1769. He graduated at Dartmouth
College in 1795, on which occasion he delivered a valedictory poem. While a
teacher in New Ipswich he wrote the school-boy redtatiou which nas been so well
known. He l)ecaine a lawyer an<l practised his profession several years in Am-
herst. In 1804 he delivered a masonic oration in wastiington, thiB state. He died
In 1813.
AN ODE.
Why veiled, O Sun ! Thy day absorbed
Where fled thy light? In gloom of night.
Has thy Creator quenched thy fires,
Or dost thou mourn while he expires ?
Ah, heathen sage ! Nor moon, nor stars,
Thy worshipped sun. That round him ran ;
Nor science, lucid as their spheres.
Can solve thy doubts, or calm thy fears.
On Calvaiy Why nature breaks
Behold the cause, Her stated laws,
And groans unconscious of the plan,
While God reveals his love to man.
The veil is rent ; The rocks are clefl ;
Earth's caverns quake ; The dead awake ;
As Jesus, His incarnate Son,
In dying anguish, cries '' 'Tis done. "
" Tis done, " O man ! The way to life
The heavens resound : For thee is found ;
And ye, like him, who dies, to save.
Shall conquer death and burst the grave.
EXTRACT
From a valedictory poem at Dartmoulh CoUege.
The Muse prophetic views the coming day.
When federal laws beyond the line shall sway ;
Where Spanish indolence inactive lies.
And every art and every virtue dies ;
DAVID EVERETT. 17
Where pride and avarice their empire hold,
Ignobly great, and poor amid their gold, —
Columbia's genius shall the mind inspire.
And fill each breast with patriotic fire.
Nor east nor western oceans shall confine
The generous flame that dignifies the mind ;
O'er all the earth shall Freedom's banner wave,
The tyrant blast and liberate the slave :
Plenty and peace shall spread fVom pole to pole.
Till earth's grand family possess one soul.
LINES
Spoken at a school exhibition by a boy seven years old.
You'd scarce expect one of my age
To speak in public on the stage ;
And if I chance to fall below
Demosthenes or Cicero,
Don't view me with a critic's eye.
But pass my imperfections by.
Large streams from little fountains flow ;
Tall oaks from little acorns grow ;
And though I now am small and young,
Of judgment weak and feeble tongue.
Yet all gi^at learnt men, like me.
Once learned to read their A, B, C.
But why may not Columbia's soil
Bear men as great as Britain's isle ?
Exceed what Greece and Rome have done?
Or any land beneath the sun ?
Mayn't Massachusetts boast as great
As any other sister State ?
Or Where's the town, go far and near.
That does not flnd a rival here ?
Or Where's the boy but three feet high
Who's made improvement more than I?
These thoughts inspire my youthful mind
To be the greatest of mankind :
Great, not like Csesar, stained with blood.
But only great as I am good.
5ri)<jmaB ©reen jFesBetrtett.
This poet was born In Walpole, April 22, 1771. He gradnated at Dartmouth Col-
lege In i790p after which he studied law. In 1801 he Tisited England, and retnmed
In 1804. Me went to Brattleboro*, Vt, in 1812, where he edited the Reporter
i
18 POETS OF. NE W HAMPSHIRE.
Afterwards he went to Bellows Falls. Vt, and edited the Intelligtncer. He re-
mained there till ld23, puhUahlng in the meantime a volume of poetrj. He then
removed to Boston, to csommenoe the publication of the Xew England Farwier,
which attained a high rank in his hands. He died in that city, Nov. 11, 1837.
FLATTERY.
Miss Ann, you are, it seems to me,
An essence all etherial ;
The brightest being that can be.
Entirely immaterial.
A pencil tipped with solar rays
Your charms could scarccl}- blazon ;
Contrasted with your beaut3'*s blaze
Bright SoFs a pewter basin.
Transcendent little sprig of light !
If rhymes are always true,
An angel is an ugly sprite
Compared to sylph like you.
You frowning tell me : ''This indeed
Is flattery past all bearing ;
I ne'er before did hear nor read
Of any quite so glaring."
Yes, this is flattery, sure enough,
And its exaggeration
May teach you how to hold such stuff
In utter detestation.
Should beaux your ladyship accost
With something like this flummery.
Tell them their labor will be lost,
For this transcends their mummery.
The man whose favor's worth a thought.
To flattery can't descend ;
The servile sycophant is not
Your lover nor your friend.
THE COURSE OF CULTURE.
Survey the world, through every zone.
From Lima to Japan,
In lineaments of light 'tis shown
That culture makes the man.
THOMAS QREEN FE88ENDEN. 19
By manual culture one attains
What industry may claim,
Another's mental toil and pains
Attenuate his frame.
Some plough and plant the teeming soil,
Some cultivate the arts ;
And some devote a life of toil
To tilling heads and hearts.
Some train the adolescent mind.
While buds of promise blow,
And see each nascent twig inclined
The way the tree should grow.
The first man, and the first of men
Were tillers of the soil,
And that was mercy's mandate then.
Which destined men to moil.
Indulgence preludes fell attacks
Of merciless disease,
And sloth extends on fiery racks
Her listless devotees.
Hail, horticulture ! heaven-ordained,
Of every art the source.
Which man has polished, life sustained.
Since Time commenced his course.
Where waves thy wonder-working wand,
What splendid scenes disclose !
The blasted heath, the arid strand,
Out-bloom the gorgeous rose.
Even in the seraph-sex is thy
Munificence described ;
And Milton says in lady's eye
Is heaven identified.
A seedling sprung from Adam's side,
A most celestial shoot !
Became of Paradise the pride.
And bore a world of fruit.
The lily, rose, carnation, blent
By Flora's magic power,
And tulip, feebly represent
So elegant a flower :
Then surely, bachelors, ye ought
In season to transfer
Some sprig of this sweet "touch-me-not,"
To grace your own parterre.
20 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
And every gardener should be proud,
With tenderness and skill.
If haply he may be allowed
This precious plant to till.
All that man has, had, hopes, can have,
Past, promised, or possessed,
Are fruits which culture gives or gave
At industry's behest.
THE INDEPENDENT FARMER.
It may very truly be said
That his is a noble vocation.
Whose industry leads him to spread
About him a little creation.
He lives independent of all,
Except the Omnipotent donor ;
Has always enough at his call, —
And more is a plague to its owner.
He works with his hands, it is true.
But happiness dwells with employment.
And he who has nothing to do
Has nothing by way of enjoyment.
His labors are mere exercise.
Which saves him from pains and physicians ;
Then, farmers, you truly may prize
Your own as the best of conditions.
From competence, shared with content.
Since all true felicity springs.
The life of a farmer is blent
With more real bliss than a king's.
THE FARMER.
Let moneyed blockheads roll in wealth,
Let proud fools strut in state,
M}' lands, my homestead and my health
Place me above the great.
I never Oiwn nor fib nor feign,
To please old Mammon's fry ;
But independence still maintain
On all beneath the sky.
H08EA BALLOU. 21
Thus CincinnatuB, at his plough,
With more true glory shone
Than Csesar, with his laureli'd brow,
His palace and his throne.
Tumult, perplexity and care
Are bold Ambition's lot ;
But those intruders never dare
Disturb my peaceful cot.
Blest with bare competence, I find
What monarchs never can.
Health and tranquillity of mind.
Heaven's choicest gifts to man.
The toil with which I till the ground
For exercise is meet.
Is mere amusement which is crowned
With slumber sound and sweet.
But those who toil in Pleasure's rounds,
Sweet slumber soon destroy ;
Soon find on Dissipation's grounds
A grave for every joy.
Hosea Ballon, the son of Bey. Maturin Ballou, a Baptist clerffyman, was bom In
Richmond, April 30, 1771. He was educated at Chesterfield Acaaemy, and, adopting
the views of the UniversaUsts, began to preach at twenty years of age. In 1796 he
accepted a call to Barnard, Vt. Six years afterward he removed to Portsmouth, and
remained there six years, and then went to Salem, Mass. In 1817 he became pas-
tor of the Second UniyertuiliBt Society in Boston. He resided there tiU his death,
which occurred on the 7th of June, lti02. He published a volume of verses, mostly
hymns.
BLESSINGS OF CHRISTS UNIVERSAL REIGN.
When God descends, with men to dwell,
And all creation makes anew,
What tongue can half the wonders tell ?
What eye the dazzling glories view?
Zion, the desolate, again
Shall see her lands with roses bloom ;
And Carmel's lapunt, and Sharon's plain.
Shall yield their spices and perAime.
Celestial streams shall gently flow ;
The wildernesjB shall Joj'ful be ;
Lilies on parched ground shall grow ;
And gladness spring on every tree ;
22 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
The weak be strong, the fearful bold,
The deaf shall hear, the dumb shall sing.
The lame shall walk, the blind behold ;
And joy through all the eartli shall ring.
Monarchs and slaves shall meet in love ;
Old pride shall die, and meekness reign, —
When God descends from worlds above,
To dwell with men on earth again.
GOD IS LOVE.
When my astonished eyes behold,
My Makei*'s works below, above,
And read his name in lines of gold,
I surely know that "God is love."
When I observe his written word.
And when his gift of grace I prove,
With joyful heart I praise the Ix>rd,
For, saith the scriptures, "God is love.
What gentle streams of pleasure roll !
What quickening from mystic dove !
Now peace divine fills all my soul.
And I can shout that "God is love."
Now heavenly courage I'll put on.
For far away mj- fears it drove ;
I'll bow before the living Son,
And loud proclaim my "God is love."
»»
Philip Canigan was a son of Dr. Philip Canrifran. Ho vmn bom in Concord, Fob-
ruanr 29, pro)>ably in 1772, and was graduated at Dartmouth College in 1794. lie
ntudled law and settled in IiIh nntivo town. In IHa*^, and the three years following,
he was Secretarr of State. Ho urepurc<i a valuable map of the }:»tate, which was
publisheii in 181G. In 1806 he ilellvcred a poem 1>ofore the Phi Beta Kappa Soolety
at Dartmouth College. He died In Concord, March 15, 1842.
LAFAYETTE'S RETURN.
North and South and East and West,
A cordial welcome hav^iddresse<l
Loud and warm, the Nation's Guest,
Dear Son of Liberty ;
Whom tyrants cursed when Heaven approved,
And millions long have mourned and loved,
He comes, by fond entreaties moved,
The Granite State to see.
PHILIP CARRIGAir. 23
Our mountains tower with matchless pride,
And mighty torrents from them glide,
And wintry tempests, far and wide.
Ridge deep our drifts of snow ;
Tet does our hardening climate form
Patriots with hearts as bold and warm.
At social feast, or battle storm,
As e*er met friend or foe.
Bliss domestic, rank, wealth, ease.
Our guest resigned for stormy seas.
And for war's more stormy breeze.
To make our country tree ;
And potent Britain saw, dismayed.
The lightning of his virgin blade
To Freedom flash triumphant aid.
But death to Tyranny.
Now, in his life's less perilous wane.
He has re-crossed the Atlantic main.
Preserved by Heaven, to greet again
The land he bled to save ;
And those who with him, hand in hand.
Fought 'neath his mighty sire's command, —
Alas ! how thinned that gallant band.
Band of the free and brave !
Angels, 'tis said, at times have stood
Unseen among the great and good.
For country's rights who shed their blood,
Nor has their influence ceased.
For party feuds far off are driven.
Foes reconciled and wrongs forgiven,
And this green spot of earth made Heaven,
For these old heroes' feast.
They've met in war to toil and bleed.
They've met in peace, their country freed ;
And unborn millions will succeed
To their dower, the Eight* of Man;
The patriot of both hemispheres.
Though first on earth, deems all his peers,
Who Joined his war-cry with their cheers,
Where raged the battle's van.
Such were the men oiur land did save,
Nor e'er can reach oblivion's wave,
(Though booming o'er the statesman's grave,)
Our deep redeemless debt.
U POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE,
No ! Merrimack may cease to flow,
And our White Mountains sink below ;
But naught can cancel what we owe
To them and Lafayette.
aHilltam |Ecrcf)ant Kidiartrson*
WUlUm M. Richardson, LL. D., was born In Pelham, January 4, 1774. He
mduated at Harvard College in 1797; was a member of Congress, 1811-'14; Chief
Juttloe Supreme Court of this State, 1816-'3d. He died In Chester, March, 1838.
THE RIVER MERRIMACK.
Sweet Merrimack ! 4;hy gentle stream
Is fit for better poet's theme,
For rich thy waves and gentle too,
As Rome's proud Tiber ever knew ;
And thy fair current's placid swell
Would flow in classic song as well.
Yet on thy banks, so green, so sweet.
Where wood-nymphs dance and naiads meet,
E'en since creation's earliest dawn,
No son of song was ever born ;
No muse's fairy feet e'er trod
Thy modest mai-gin's verdant sod ;
And 'mid Time's silent, feathery flight.
Like some coy maiden, pure as light.
Sequestered in some blest retreat.
Far from the city and the great,
Thy virgin waves the vales among
Have flowed neglected and unsung.
Yet, as the sailor, raptured, hails
His native shores, his native vales,
Returning home from many a day
Of tedious absence, far away
From her whose charms alone control
The warm affections of his soul ;
Thus, from life's stormy, troubled sea.
My heart returns to visit thee.
Sweet Nymph, whose fsLiry footsteps press,
And viewless fingers gail}'^ dress.
By moonlight or by Hesper's beam.
The verdant banks of this sweet stream :
Who ofb by twilight's doubtful ray.
With wood-nymphs and with naiad gay,
Lead'st up the dance in merry mood.
WILLIAM MERCHANT BICEABD80N. 25
To the soil murmurs of the flood ;
All hail oDce more ! 'tis many a year
Since last I came to meet thee hert,
And much it glads my heart once more
To meet thee on this pleasant shore ;
For here in youth, when hope was high,
My breast a stranger to a sigh.
And my blood danced through every vein.
Amid the jolly, sportive train
Of youths and maids, who gathering round,
Danced to the flute's entrancing sound,
I felt thy powerful influence,
The bliss our bosoms felt, dispense ;
Delight on all our bosoms pour,
And make our hearts with joy brim o'er.
Th}' flngers on each virgin's check
Impressed the wifching ^ ^dimple sleek,"
Bade magic smiles and blushes meet
In mixture ravishingly sweet,
And many a face a charm possess,
Which then I felt — but can't express.
Blest days, alas ! forever past.
Sunk in the ocean dim and vast
Of years, whose dread profundity
Is pierced by none but Fancj^'s eye.
Your joys like gems of pearly light,
There hallowed shine in Fancy's sight.
What though beside the gentle flood,
Bedewed with tears and wet with blood,
Profusel}' shed by iron Mars
In wild Ambition's cruel wars,
Ko evergreen of glon' waves
Among the fallen warriors' graves ?
What though the battle's bloody rage.
Where mad contending chiefs engage.
The nymphs that rule these banks so green
And naiads soft have never seen ?
What though ne'er tinged this crystal wave
The rich blood of the fallen brave ?
No deathless deed bv hero done.
No battle lost, no victor}' won ;
Here ever walked with praise or blame.
The loud uplifted trump of fame.
Here beauteous Spring profusely showers
A wilderness of sweets and flowers.
i
26 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
The stately oak of royal line,
The spreading elm and towering pine,
Here cast*a purer, happier shade
Than blood-stained laurels ever made.
No wailing ghosts of warriors slain,
Along these peaceful shores complain ;
No maniac virgin crazed with care,
The mournful victim of despair ;
"Wliile pangs unutterable swell
Her heart, to view the spot where fell
The youth who all her soul possessed.
She tears her hair or beats her breast.
Ne'er victor lords, nor conquered slaves.
Disgraced these banks, disgraced these waves ;
But freedom, peace and plenty here,
Perpetual bless the passing year.
Daniel Webster wa« born in Sallsbarj, January 18, 1783. He prmdmrted at Dart-
month Colleg« In 1801. He became a lawyer; was a member of Congreas, 1813.17,
1833.S7; U. S. Senator. 1837-39; 1845-50; Secretary of State U. S.. I841-tt; 1850^. He
fUed in Marshfleld, Mass., October 24, 1832. While at college he published two blank
Terse poems of considerable length. Two extracts are here given f^m the one on
Human Redemption. In 1825 he lost a son named Charles. On that occasion he
composed a short poem which he enclosed in a letter to his wife.
LINES TO A DEPARTED SON.
My son, thou wast my heart's delight,
Thy mom of life was gay and cheery ;
That morn has rushed to sudden night.
Thy father's house is sad and dreary.
I held thee on my knee, my son,
And kissed thee laughing, kissed thee weeping ;
But ah ! thy little day is done,
Thou'rt with my angel sister sleeping.
The staff on which my years should lean
Is broken e'er those years come o'er me ;
My funeral rites thou shouldst have seen,
But thou art in the tomb before me.
Thou rear'st to me no filial stone,
No parent's grave with tears beholdest ;
Thou art my ancester, my son !
And stand'st in heaven's account the oldest.
On earth my lot was soonest cast,
Thy generation after mine ;
'k
DANIEL WEBSTER. 27
Thou hast thy predecessor past,
£arlier eternity is thine.
I should have set before thine eyes
The road to heaven, and showed it clear ;
But thou untaught springest to the skies,
And leavest thy teacher lingering here.
Sweet seraph, I would learn of thee.
And hasten to partake thy bliss ;
And O ! to thy world welcome me^
As first I welcomed thee to this.
Dear angel, thou art safe in heaven ;
No prayers for thee need more be made ;
Oh ! let thy prayers for those be given
Who oft have blest thy infant head.
My Father ! I beheld thee born,
And led thy tottering steps with care ;
Before me risen to heaven's bright morn.
My son, m}^ father, guide me there.
FROM *' HUMAN REDEMPTION."
When the grand period in the eternal mind.
Long predetermined, had arrived, behold
The universe, this most stupendous mass
Of things, to instant being rose. This globe,
For light and heat dependent ofi the sun.
By power supreme was then ordained to roll
And on its surface bear immortal man.
Complete in bliss, the image of his God.
His soul, to gentle harmonies attuned,
Th' ungovemed rage of boisterous passion knew not.
Malice, revenge and hate were then unknown ;
Love held his empire in the human heart —
The voice of love alone escaped the lip.
And gladdening nature echoed back the strain.
Oh happy state ! too happy to remain :
Temptation comes, and man a victim falls !
Farewell to peace, farewell to human bliss.
Farewell, ye kindred virtues, all farewell I
Ye flee the world, and seek sublimer realms.
Passions impetuous now possess the heart,
And hurry eveiy gentler feeling thence.
I
28 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Is it now asked why man for slaughter pants.
Raves with revenge, and with detraction bums?
Go ask of jEtna why her thunders roar.
Why her volcanoes smoke, and why she pours
In torrents down her side the igneous mass
That hurries men and cities to the tomb !
These but the effects of bursting fires within,
Convulsions that are hidden from our sight
And bellow under ground. Just so in man,
The love of conquest and the lust of power
Are but the effects of passion unsubtlued.
To avert the effects, then, deeply strike the cause,
0*ercome the rage of passion, and obtain
The empire over self. This once achieved,
Impress fair virtue's precepts on the heart.
Teach t*adore his God, and love his brother :
War then no more shall raise the rude alarm.
Widows and orphans then shall sigh no more,
Peace shall return, and man again be blest.
THE MEMORY OF THE HEART.
If stores of dry and leamdd lore we gain
We keep them in the memory of the brain ;
Names, things, and facts — whate'er we knowledge call.
There is the common ledger for them all ;
And images on this cold surface traced
Make slight impressions, and are soon effaced.
But we*ve a page more glowing and more bright
On which our friendship and our love to write ;
That these may never from the soul depart,
We trust them to the memory of the heart.
There is no dimming — no effacemcnt here ;
Each new pulsation keeps the record clear ;
Warm, golden letters all the tablet fill,
Nor lose their lustre till the heart stands still.
London, November 19, 1839.
WINTER.
Happy are they who far removed fVom war.
And all its train of woes, in tranquil peace
And joyful plenty, pass the winter's eve.
Such bliss is thine, Columbia ! Bless thy God !
The toil and labor of the year now o'er,
WILLIAM WALLACE. 29
While Sol scarce darts a glimmeriDg, trembling beam,
While Boreas' blast blows bleak along the plain ;
Around the social fire, content and free,
Thy sons shall taste the sweets Pomona gives.
Or reap the blessings of domestic ease
Or else, in transport, tread -the mountain snows
And leap the craggy cliff, robust and strong —
Till from the lucid chambers of the South
The joyous Spring looks forth and hails the world.
1799.
Andrew Wallace was a native of Milford. At the a^ of 21 he decidecl upon the
profession of law, entered Dartmoath College, and after flye years* study, was ad-
mitted to the HUlsborough County Bar, practising at Hancock. Subneouently he
remoY^ to Amherst, and for many years served as Clerk of the HiAsboroogh
Connty Courts. He represented the town in the Legislature, and was its delegate
in the State Conventiou of ItSO, for the revision of the Constitution. He died in
1856, at^e age of 74 years, highly esteemed by all.
A PRAYER IN SICKNESS.
Parent of life, great source of good.
To thee a need}* suppliant would.
With humble boldness, as he should,
Address this short petition :
Forgive mj' sins, which numerous are.
Whose weight is more than I can bear,
My life in mercy to me spare,
Be thou my great physician.
My sins are of a scarlet dye,
To thee for vengeance loud they cry,
While on this couch of pain I lie,
Bereft of consolation ;
Save that th}* grace is rich and Aree,
Just suiting my necessity,
I cr}' for mercy. Lord to thee,
And pray for renovation.
Restore my health, renew my heart.
Bid every sinful thought depart.
Baffle the tempter's wicked art,
And grant me thy salvation.
So shall the remnant of my days
Be spent in Wisdom's pleasant ways,
And evermore to sing thy praise
Shall be my recreation.
30 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
But if my life is soon to end,
O God of mercy, condescend
To be my Father, Saviour, Friend,
And grant me thy rich favor.
And when my soul shall take its flight,
May chosen bands of .angels bright
Convey it to the realms of light,
To dwell with thee forever.
HYMN OF THANKSGIVING FOR RECOVERY FROM
SICKNESS.
Giver of every perfect gift !
Restored to health, again I lift
To thee my waiting eyes ;
Attempts at praise, devoid of art,
The incense of a grateful heart
Thou never wilt despise.
To me thou hast compassion shown,
Thy healing mercy I have known.
When none but thee could save ;
Thou heard'st me when in great distress,
The means of safety thou didst bless.
And saved me from the grave.
In sickness thou didst make my bed ;
At thy rebuke my fever fled ;
My pains thou didst remove.
O may thy goodness shown to me.
Excite my ^ankfulness to thee.
And kindle into love.
May gratitude and hoi}' joy
The remnant of my life employ ;
And may renewing grace
Prepare me for that peaceful rest.
Which is reserved for the blest
Who see thee face to face.
When nought on earth can me avail.
And flesh and heart entirely fail,
O take me safely o'er ;
And when the last great trump shall sounds
May I in safety then be found
On Canaan's happy shore.
NATHANIEL EAZBLTINE CARTER. 31
Nathaniel H. Carter, irho wae born at the "Iron Works,** Concord, Sept 17, 1787,
was one of the earliest teachers of the poet Longfellow. Mr. Carter graduated at
Dartmouth in 1811, and was subsequentlj widely known as an instructor and lite-
ranr gentlenutn. Of his class of flf tv.flve at llanover one only was living at the
£UDli(ation of the 1880 Quinquennial— James S. Goodwin, M. D., of Portland, Me.
Ir. Carter was Professor of Languages at Dartmouth from 1817 to 1819; traveUe<l
In Europe and published two volumes of foreign letters, and was also the author
of ** Pains of Imagination," and other pnxluctions in verse. He died at Marseilles,
France, Jan. 2, 1830. Longfellow attended Mr. Carter's private scliool in Portland,
and also the academy in that place taught by the same.
HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS.
In hymns of praise, eternal God !
When thy creating hand
Stretched the blue arch of heaven abroad,
And meted sea and land,
The morning stars together sung,
And shouts of Joy from angels rung.
Than Earth's prime hour, more Joyous far
Was the eventful mom.
When the bright beam of Bethlehem's star
Announced a Saviour bom I
Tlien sweeter strains fVom heaven began,
"Glory to God — good will to man.'*
Babe of the manger ! can it be?
Art thou the Son of God ?
Shall subject nations bow the knee.
And kings obey thy nod ?
Shall thrones and monarchs prostrate fall
Before the tenant of a stall?
'Tis He ! the hymning seraphs cry.
While hovering, drawn to earth ;
'Tis He I the shepherds' songs reply,
Hail ! hail Immanuel's birth !
The rod of peace those hands shall bear,
That brow a crown of glory wear.
'Tis He I the Eastern sages sing.
And spread their golden hoa^ ;
'Tis He ! the hills of Sion ring
Hosanna to the Lord !
The Prince of long prophetic years
To-day in Bethlehem appears !
32 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
He comes ! the Conqaerer's march begins ;
No blood his banner stains ;
He comes to save the world from sins,
And break the captive's chains !
The poor, the sick and blind shall bless
The Prince of Peace and Righteousness.
Though now in swaddling-clothes he lies,
All hearts his power shall own,
When he, with legions from the skies,
The clouds of heaven his throne.
Shall come to judge the quick and dead,
And strike a trembling world with dread.
TO MY. NATIVE STREAM.
Hail ! hail again, my native stream,
Scene of my boyhood's earliest dream !
With solitary step once more
I tread thy wild and sylvan shore.
And pause at every turn, to gaze
Upon thy dark meandering maze.
What though obscure thy woody source.
What though unsung thy humble course ;
What if no lofby, classic name
Give to thy peaceful waters fame,
Still can thy rural haunts impart
A solace to this saddened heart.
Since last with thee I parted, time
Hath borne me on through many a clime,
Far from my native roof that stood
Secluded by thy murmuring flood ;
And I in distant lands have roamed,
Where rolled new streams, new oceans foamed ;
Along the Shannon, Doon and Tay
I've sauntered many a happy day.
And sought beside the Cam and Thames
Memorials of immortal names ;
Or mingled in the polished train
Of fashion, on the banks of Seine.
And I have seen the azure Rhone
Rush headlong fh)m his Alpine throne ;
Green Mincius and silver Po
Through vine-clad vales meandering flow ;
Sweet Amo, wreathed in summer flowers,
NATHANIEL HAZELTINE CASTER. 33
Linger amidst Etrurian bowers ;
And the old Tiber's yellow tide
Roll to the sea in sullen pride.
In climes beneath the burning zone,
Mid tangled forests, deep and lone.
Where fervid skies forever glow
And the soft trade-winds whispering blow,
My roving footsteps too have pressed
The loveliest island of the west.
There Yumuri winds, deep and calm,
Through groves of citron and of palm ;
There on the sluggish waves of Juan,
My little boat hath borne me on ;
Or up Canimar's silent floods,
Strown with the blossoms of its woods.
Yet not the less my native stream.
Art thou to me a grateful theme,
Than when, in heedless bo^'hood's prime,
I wove for thee the rustic rhyme.
Ere other realms, beyond the sea.
Had spread their fairest charms for me.
E'en now, alone I sit me down,
Amidst th}' woods, with autumn brown.
And on the rustling leaves recline.
Beneath a copse of whispering pine,
To watch thy amber current run, #
Bright with November's parting sun.
Around with eager eye I trace
The charms of each remembered place —
Some fountain gushing from the bank.
At which, in youth, I knelt and drank —
Yon oak, its hoary arms that rears.
Scene of my sports in bojish years.
Farewell ! farewell I though I no more
May ramble on thy rural shore.
Still shall thy quiet wave glide on,
When he who watched its flow is gone,
And his sole epitaph shall be
Inscribed upon some aged tree*
THE CLOSING SCENE— A BURIAL AT SEA.
From his room to the deck they brought him, drest
In his itineral robes by his own request —
34 P0ET8 OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
With' his boots and stock and garments on,
And naught but the breathing spirit gone ;
For he wished that a child might come and lay
An unstartled hand upon his cla}'.
Then thej wrapped his corse in a tarry sheet.
To the dead, as Araby's spices sweet,
And prepared him to seek the depths below.
Where waves never beat, nor tempests blow.
No steeds with their nodding plumes were here.
No sable hearse, and no coffined bier.
To bear with pomp and parade away
The dead, to sleep with his kindred clay.
But the little group, a silent few.
His companions, mixed with the hardj' crew.
Stood thoughtful around, till a prayer was said
0*er the corse of the deaf, unconscious dead.
Then they bore his remains to the vessel's side.
And committed them safe to the dark blue tide.
One sullen plunge, and the scene is o'er —
The sea rolled on as it rolled before.
In that classical sea, * whose azure vies
With the green of its shores, and the blue of its skies,
In some pearly cave, in some coral cell.
Oh ! the dead shall sleep, as sweetly, as well.
As if shrined in the pomp of Parian tombs,
Where the East and the South breathe their rich perfumes ;
Nor forgotteff shall be the humble one,
Though he sleep in the watery waste alone,
When the trump of the angel sounds with dread,
And the sea, like the land, gives up the dead.
This dlstingiilshed clenryman was bom in Boston, Mass., Dec. S7, 1787, and wa^t
a graduate of Harvard CoUege in 1806. in 181i he became rector of St. John's
church In Portsmouth, which office he rtUed with abilitv until 1857. In 1951 he pub.
Ushed a yolumc entitled " The Poetry of Ueliglon and other Poems." He dle<l in
1808 at the age of eighty years.
MOUNT WASHINGTON.
Written on the summit of Mount Washington, Wednesday noon, July u, 1845.
Illustrious Mountain ! thou dost stand alone.
The loftiest sentinel that guards our land ;
The glorious image of the Eternal One ;
The work sublime of his Almighty hand.
* The Mediterranean, on wliich sea the author was then sailing.
CHARLES BURROUGHS. a:,
On evciy side what boandless prospects rise !
What oceans vast of mountain scenery !
What dread magnificence of earth and skies !
What regions of unrolled immensity !
Now, raised above earth's cares and toil and din,
I sit serene, to holy musings given ;
To soar in bliss above this world of sin,
And hold communion with the hosts of heaven.
Eight well thy granite pile baptized has been.
In name of one whose virtues none assail ;
Who towered in glory o'er his fellow-men.
Like thy proud summit o'er the humble vale.
Tin' rocks, unhurt, have felt the tempest's power.
And lightnings harmless have played round thy form ;
So, too, our Washington in war's fierce hour
Did breast each shock, and triumph o'er each storm.
Our nation's boast ! Mount of eternal stone !
In freedom, truth, and virtue may we stand.
Exalted like thyself and Washington,
The pride and honor of our blessed land !
A MORNING PRAYER.
As from my couch I now arise,
And grateful view the earth and skies.
Grant me, in all things. Lord, I pray.
Thy glorj' to consult this day.
At meals, at prayer, where'er I wend,
What hours in cares or joys I spend,
Be it my highest joy and fame
To glorify thy blessed name.
Should dangerous snares my soul assault,
And tempt me to a sin or fault.
Oh, keep me pure in act and word,
Ever to honor thee my Lord.
Should any sufferer I may see
Need offices of love from me.
Oh, may I gladly show such love,
To glorify my God above.
fi6 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHJIiE,
Should sickness, sorrows, trials, woes,
Befall me, ere this day shall close,
With patience may I bear each ill.
And bow submissive to thy will !
Dear I.ord, may all ray labors be
Begun, continued, closed in thee.
And all bring glor3' to thy name,
And give me endless life and fame !
Then, when her pall Night o'er me throws,
And on m}' couch I seek repose,
1*11 bless thee that I still do live
New glories to thy name to give.
SSliUiam ISltimrt.
William Pltimer. the ol(lc8t chUd of Williaro and Sally Plainer, was bom in
KpiihiKt Febriiar>' 0, 17H0. At the ajfe of thirteen he entcMo*! Phillips Exeter Acad-
<niiy, to preuare for Colle^jfe, and in 1805 eiilered at Harvard, prraduatiuf^ in I80O.
lie rttudle<l (aw but never pracUsed the profesHion to any jrreat extent. In 1818 he
n*pr(*Hented hit) native town in the Leffishitiire and iii tiie lollowini^ Hnrins: wn»
«*le<*te<l a representative to Conifre»». which oflltuj he reUiined till 1825. His father
waM rnitca States Senator from this State in 1802, and (Jovemor of the State
In IHl'i, and again in 1816 to 1810. A life of Gov. Plumer was written by his son.
It was »uhllshe<l in 185(t. He wrote poetry at an early a^o. In after life be ¥rrote
and puulished for private dl«*ti*Ilmtion four volumes: ••Youth," "Manhood/*
'•War Songs and UalUds from the Old To.^tim'*!^," and "Ruth, a pastoral." The
two first mentioned vidumes are compose<l chiefly of Sonnetri. and are admirable
Ht»eeimens of euphonious versiflcatiou, eha^to imagery and affluent thought. Mr.
Plumer died September 18, 1854.
TIIE OCEAN.
Bred inland, I had reached ray fifteenth year,
Ere yet the waves of ocean on my sight
Rolled in their glory. My intense delight,
When first I saw those living waves uprear
Their crested heads, lives in my memory clear.
As seen but yesterday. Along the shore.
The storm had wrecked its fury ; and the day,
New risen, looked wildly on the angry roar
Of ocean, thundering on that rock-girt bay.
My spirit was not by the scene subdued.
But kindled rather ; as dilating wide
It rose, o'er ocean's boundless amplitude.
In might of mind, with power, as if to ride.
Triumphant, master-like, above the tide.
Again I sought that headland's rocky crest
O'erlookiug ocean, — silent and alone,
Where human habitation there was none.
WILL TAM PL UMER. n7
Nor work of man. The sun was in the west ;
The waves lay slumbering on the parent breast ;
The winds, that late had swept the deep, were flown,
Each to his cave : all nature seemed at rest.
Thoughtful I watched the steady ebb and flow.
That, far as e^'e could reach, or thought extend,
Rolled on, in calmness, and in power below.
Power without elFort, motion without end ;
Which, as I gazed, seemed, God-like, still to grow
On m}- awed thoughts, — till ocean's mildest mood.
Serene in grandeur, all mj' soul sulxhied.
THE WHITE HILLS.
Thy varied scenes blend grace, my native land !
With grandeur ; here the tranquil lake,
And there the roaring torrent, — streams that break,
Impetuous nishing, from thy mountain strand,
With headlong force, that scoops the yielding sand.
And wears down granite. Lo I where towering high.
His shoulders mantled with ^on swelling cloud.
Whence lightings flash, and thunders roar aloud,
Mount SVashington ascends his native sky !
Arme<l with the avalanche, he sweeps afar .
Man and his works, — his caverns stored with snow.
Coeval with the rock. Like some lone star.
Above the storm, he looks on earth below.
Serene iu silence, from his throne on high.
Serene, sublime, in silence, from thy throne.
Thou look'st, dread monarch ! wide o'er earth around,
Deep awe inspiring, awe till now unknown.
Dark, undefined, that humbles to the ground
Aspiring pride. Man's spirit bows before
Such majesty of might, nor labors more
To measui*e strength with heaven. Earth's giant brood.
The Titan monsters, on their beds of fire,
I'ressed by th}* stern rebuke, in vain aspire
To shake thee from thy seat : the lava flood,
Deep heaving from the centre, unsubdued.
Moves not th}' steadfast base ; nor tempests dire,
Tornade, and torrent, thundering at thy side.
Change thy stern brow, severe in lordly pride.
What are thy thoughts, proud mount ! as with a frown.
Darkening with dread the distant vi^les below.
Thou lower' st, thus sternlj-, on our march, while slow
POETS OF NEW JJAMPSHIRE.
Wo {iliiiili tlio »liH'|i aacTiil? Woiild'st tlioii send tlwwii
Sinnu l>olt of vi'iim'iiiiue from tli.v rocky crown.
To LTUsli our dAririg course? I'roud mountaiD ! know
Mtui Ih tliy iiiQfiU'r: fre^l.y shall lie go
lli)(li o'er tliy t^ipiiiotit lowers ; anil thou sbalt find.
In llu'Mc rrnil Toruis, !iul>liiiiities uf mind. -
'I'liHt dwnrr tliy ^iiint bnlk ; a brighter ray.
More lolly licighU. ciiiliiriug [>owers, that laet
\i\w\\ nuiiiuliuna uumldi-r. and tbcir pride is past,
Mimi iivir iimiiir holds eVn here its sway,
K'on Ut-n' t-oinuuuulfi, while suhjitt realms obey.
Alike in p^ix-itHis reolinfr and hijrh thought
The );riind, the lofty, the sublime we see :
Yiu) niighty iitiuintHin towers less gloriously.
Than ho. — the ^wlriot ehief, — whom natioDS sougtit
X'aiitly to hiwior t>y sueh monumeut.
In wntive virtDe gn'at. he stood the same.
WIm-h rorluno fK»wn^■^^ on worth, as when she lent
ll^r aivl. Ik>w ii<<i,<>)less I to augutent his fame.
Nor, in the eve of n'*son. is tlw toil
»lf hu>«t«ler vittuo, in the vale of life.
WlK-r^' UKVlest north esui [lassioo's iHise't foil,
Aiv.) imih HMiniaht with en\>r's boslii ibe strife,
L<«s ii'iiirkHki. than the fame thai |ksrrioU gain
In \-(un{\ i.>r •.\Mirt. hi^h baU. or iatile plain.
TllK ANOKSTRAL SEAT.
^ i;*; w\viv*KV k\i, 1 s**i Ibe steal,
l\«»i ia jiis «vs3VKi »;;,t. *»i :y»re\l iis .k<aie
lliiAi >j liis iv^ASiUEi su«jL=:. H<« oft bis Se«*
>V«Ni {iw joee *;rjj»,u » i.,« «-«\*s n-.xa *v«*a i«u
Ax-a^ i-s ;\l:-^. — :^t« »ivifs- si.- :s.^<~ liiS iow
Nyc s»>3y?j xv . ^«f, j: *i.;' . .■« '-m T.vi-
i'^i'jii JtP! Ji& KCUW ," 3«,« '.^'i- w-C VOIUiftsC * S;kK£
WILLIAM PL TIMER. 39
Its antique front ; nor e'er to stranger hands
Hath passed, from hardy sire to blameless son
Transmitted still, as each his course has run.
South, north, and west, his race is scattered wide.
Through distant states ; and some their way have found
To public scenes, and trod life's busy round,
A moment, in high halls of power and pride :
Less blest than those, who here their wishes bound
In life's low vale ; like stream, whose waters sleep
Calm at their source, yet, borne amid the sound
Of distant broils, run headlong o'er the steep.
Mid broils of public life it runs to waste.
The stream of quiet thought and feeling kind,
Which else might pause, to fertilize the mind.
But happier these, at fitting distance placed
Alike from wealth and want, their course have traced.
Age after age, through scenes of useful toil.
And lowly virtues : they the victor's spoil.
The pomp of power, the poet's laurel crown.
Nor sought, nor envied. So their efforts gained
Health, leisure, competence, they sate them down
With these content ; nor e'er their spirits strained
In life's mad race, for fortune, power, renown.
Enough, while virtue's smile their labors blest.
If love waked rapture in each blameless breast.
LOVE.
Love is the blending of two youthful hearts,
Each in the other fused ; union entire
Of end and aim, in passion's glowing fire,
Which leaves nor fracture, nor discoixlant parts ;
Abandonment of self, and selfish arts.
In generous transports of intense desire,
Intense as pure — a feeling infinite.
Which with unbounded service would requite
The boon it craves ; yet cannot less require
Than heart for heart, true love's undoubted right.
Modest and difiddent, and of his might
Distrustful ever, yet doth Love aspire
To boundless sway, and spreads his gentle power
Alike o'er lordlj' hall and lowly bower.
I tire of days in loveless labor past.
By beauty's smile unblest. Man was not made
For selfish joy or sorrow : sad, o'ercast.
i
40 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
With hopes that fade, and jo3'8 that wither fast,
He droops, untended, in the lonely shade.
His paradise on earth, his heaven portrayed,
Is woman's unbought love : all earth beside
Would dark and worthless prove, were this denied.
For ne*er ambition's spoils, nor heaps of gain
The longings of desire could sate, or hush
The heart's wild transports, throbbing to attain
True bliss : but oh ! when love's warm currents gush
From kindred hearts commingling, man again
Finds Ekien's primal bliss, else sought in vain.
THE WEDDING.
"And I pronounce you man and wife" — so said,
In solemn tone, our reverend guide, as still,
Hand linked in hand, he held us — "ve are wed :
The twain henceforth are one." Oh I what a thrill
Ran through my being then, of mingled dread
And joyous transport ; dread, lest I should prove
For that high trust unworth}* ; joy, to find
The cherished vision of my earnest love
No dream of fancy now, but fixed, inshnned.
Where inclination still, with willing mind,
May bend at duty's altar. I am now
No more, as erst, alone ; there beats for me
One warm true heart, that feels the mutual vow
To live in love unchanged, though bound yet free.
WEDDED L0\^.
The heart-felt joys serene of wedded life,
(Theme hard to treat, which poets seldom sing,)
Ma}' I, unblamed, express ? or dare to bring
To public gaze, mid scenes of vulgar strife,
Charms that adorn the matron and the wife ?
Weak words but ill express the jo3's that spring
Spontaneous, hovering still, on gentle wing.
O'er wedded love. Howe'er with feeling rife.
Silence may best that sacred theme befit ;
The aim, so oft, of rude sarcastic wit,
From ribald tongues, and hearts that never felt
How passion, lising into perfect love.
Repels all grossness, as it soars above.
In virtue's fires, refining while they melt.
WILLIAM PLUMER, 41
The loving heart is sorrowful at thought
Of joy unshared, at pleasure that confers
Delight on self alone ; but leaps to hers,
Whose kindred soul, with tender feeling fVaught,
Its inmost being hath with his inwrought.
Whate'er the passion either bosom stirs.
Moves both alike, and equal warmth infers ;
To him 'tis pleasure, or to her 'tis nought.
Thus interfused, and blended into one,
Their mingled sti'eams of mutual feelings flow ;
Enlarging, and enriched, as on they run.
By time, by distance deepened ; till tliey know
No adverse purpose, no desire but this.
That each may largest share the other's bliss.
Feelings, till then unknown, with marriage rise,
Duties with pleasures blended ; thoughtful loves
With soft endearment, Venus' gentle doves
Inyoked with Juno's statelier train ; tlie ties
Of home and household ; thoughts that S3'mpathize
With social impulses ; and joys that spring
From toils, that find rich recompense in love.
These now are mine ; and time, on restless wing.
Who seeks old hopes, old pleasures to remove,
New hopes, new pleasures, doth more largely bring.
The heart, love-quickened, strikes deep root, and sends
Upward its branches high : wife, servants, friends,
Find shelter in its shade ; love's tendrils cling
Firm round the stem ; and fruit with foliage blends.
THE FATHER.
Deem not thy mind developed, nor the tone
Of moral power perfected, till the sight
Of thine own offspring bring at once to light
Those inbred thoughts and feelings, which alone
To parents, in that blissful hour, are shown :
Thoughts hid in nature's darkness, till the might
Of love parental in the heart excite
Hopes, joys, and fears, to lonely breasts unknown.
Love lights the torch of Hymen ; but the ray
Of infant beauty, brightening into day,
Gives lasting radiance to that living flame.
Else weak, or wavering : seltish feelings yield
To social ties ; the Father stands revealed,
Friend, lover, guardian joined in that fond name.
I
42 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
CHILDREN.
Fret not, nor turn aside, un wedded eld !
If entering, unexpected, at my door,
Thou find'st the father stretched along the floor,
In childish sport with children ! nor, repelled
By churlish thougtits, be sympathy withheld
From these nide prattlers, whose young hearts run o'er
With warm affections — felt by thee, of yore,
. Though now forgot. In me, time hath not quelled.
But strengthened rather, feelings that impart
The chiUrs warm transport to the parent's heart.
A fathered love thoa know'st not ; 3*et may'st see.
In these fond looks and gestures, ties that bind,
In firm vet tender bonds, the heart and mind
Of sire and child, in fondest sympathy.
FLOWERS.
How sweet, at morn or eve, amid the flowers.
To trace the garden walks, while bud and bloom
Of opening plants exiiale their rich perfume,
And shed their rainbow colors ! Not the bowers.
Where Eve in Eden passed untroubled hours,
In youthful innocence, ere guilt brought gloom,
Could pleasure give, more free from earthly care.
Nor want we here, what Eve found never there «
The parent's transport, while our eyes run o'er
With tears of rapture, as each happy child
Springs gaily forth, with shout and gesture wild,
Each path to trace, each rich recess explore.
'•Come, father! come; look, mother! look at this" —
Cold is his heart that warms not at such bliss.
And say'st thou, sage economist! that flowers
Are useless, since nor food nor clothes they yield
To cold or hungry want, mere cumberers of the field I
And is this all? and have our boasted powers
No nobler aim than meanl}* to supply
Our diiily wants, to toil, gorge, sleep, and die?
(io, tread yon bark-mill in its circuit, then.
Of thankless labor, grovelling to the earth,
With him, of stronger growth and kindred birth,
The l>east thou driv'st before thee ! leave to men.
Nay, e*en to children, yonder girl and boy,
Who revel mid these walks, delights to find
In form an<l fragrance, which thy prouder mind
Wants yet the gentler feeling to enjoy.
SARAH WHITE LIVERMORE. 43
Fair flowers are bland instructors, that still read
Deep lessons to the thoughtful ; and infuse
The love of nature into hearts that heed
Their gentle teachings. Ask not then their use,
If grace, and beauty, in their train appear.
And love and admiration. These still lead
To purest joys, despite the cynic sneer
Of cold ungenial natures. While I gaze
In silent pleasure, as the flowers uprear
Freely their beauties to the rising sun.
Or, timid shrinking, strive in vain to shun,
Like modest beauty, man's intrusive praise,
I feel their gentle power pervade each part.
Till joy turns love to virtue in the heart.
PATRIOTISM.
For him who loves his countrj', and would fain
Lay life and fortune at her feet, content
For her to spend, and in her cause be spent,
How hard to find his patriot labors vain,
His cares with scorn repaid, or cold disdain :
Dungeoned, perchance, or, worse, an exile sent
The tears to shed of bitter banishment ;
While servile millions mock his generous pain.
Howl o'er his fall, and hug their tyrant's chain.
Yet who but envies Aristides' doom.
Thy bowl, O Socrates ! br Tully's end ?
And who would change the martyred Sidney's tomb
For Charles's mirth, or James's bigot gloom?
So far can virtue lawless power transcend ! ^
3arai) figaijite iLibermore.
Miss Livermope was tlic ninth rhll<i and fourth daughter of Rev. Jonathan and
Elizabeth Kidder Llveniiore. Her father wa« the first 8ettle<l minister In Wilton.
SIm* was bom in that town, Ju1v20, 1789. 8he early manifested an anient thirst for
knowletlffe. and, with little asBUtanc^ out-^idc the t'aniily, duly (iualifle<l herself to
be a teacher in the common schools, and was among the pioneers who organized
Sabbath si'hoolH, about tlie year 1820. She taught schools frequently in Kecue.
Her death occurred July 3, \frA.
THE BURDOCK.
S|x>ntaneous product of the yard,
Thy virtues by the grateful bard
Shall not remain unsung ;
The keenest smart thou canst assuage,
Thy balm can cheer the latest age,
Or soothe and ease the young.
44 PORTS OF NEW HAMPSIITRE
Tis true thou art of homely mien,
And never, never hast thou been
Cultured with careful hand ;
But only under some old hedge.
Or in some garden's barren edge
They suffer thee to stand.
The hand that decks the garden bower.
And rears with care each tender flower,
May scorn tliy latent worth ;
But soon as pain invades the head,
Or heats and chills the frame o'erspread,
Thine aid is then called forth.
Thus often in some humble cell
Secluded worth unknown raa^' dwell
Till woe demands its aid ;
It leaves awhile its native seat,
Dis|>enses consolation sweet.
Then seeks its native shade.
Mine be the humble burdock's part,
To soften pain, to cheer the heart,
And wipe the tears of gi*ief ;
And though the prosperous may neglect.
And Fortune's |x?ts meet more ivspcct,
I live to give i*elief.
Joi)n jFatmct.
John Fanner vas a rniUve of Chelmsfurrl, MasA.. but removed to Amhcrdt in
* 18(».'» at the aife of sixteen. Here he passed live years, as a clerk in a btore. Here
l«K) he stiidi<-<l medlrlne for a time, and tiiuirht seliool many years, until eons^titu-
tional ill health made him an antiquarian. He Utcanu'distinguisheil for his minute
ami exact knowletiKe relating to the early history of this ^<tate, and, in freneral, of
New Kngland. He lived in Conconi, ami had an apothecarv store. He died there
Aug 13. 1J«J9. HIh N. H. (;azetleer. N. H. Keviister, NoU>s to Belknap's HiBtory,
Town Histories, and GeuealOo'ical liegister ai-e monuments of bis talent aud iudustiy.
LINES.
In life, through every varied stago,
In everv rank and station.
\\\ vouth, in manhood, and in age.
While ail is in mutation ;
lie who (with steadiness of mind,
And passions ne'er uneven),
Is ever to his lot resigned.
On earth enjoys a heaven.
EU8HA 8NELL FISH. 45
EPITAPH FOR A FRIEND.
Lamented friend ! we mourn the doom
That sent thee early to the tomb ;
But we rejoice the path was trod
That leads to virtue and to God.
Calm resignation lent her aid,
Taught him the chastening hand to bear ;
Within Affliction's gloomy shade,
He saw his brightest bliss was near.
Archangels all I your anthems sing,
With golden palms he now is crowned ;
His soul is borne on Glory's wing.
Where health, where endless joys abound.
EUtfha SneU Fish was the son of Rev. Elisha Fish of Gilsam. His mother was
AbigaU Snell, the sifter of Rev. Dr. Snell of Xoi*th Hrookfleld. Mass., and of Mrs.
Bryant, the mother of William C. Bryant. He was bom at Windsor, Mfias., Sep-
tember A, 1789. At the affc of tlve years he went with his parents to Gllsuro, and
Uved on the farm where tney scttleil, till bis death at nearly eighty years of age.
Tbe Mirly death of his father in 1807, changed the whole course (»f his life, and ne
fATenp iiis long cherished hopes of a collegiate education. HIh life was spent In
orticulturo, and he becAme very successful in that pursuit. He was a uiligent
reader of books, had a tine literary taste, and a remarkable facility in composidon.
The Boston Recorder and the N. H. Sentinel contain many artirlcs fromnis pen,
especially in poetry. In 18U he wrote a poem entitled '*Tne Retrospect," extend-
ln|( to some 2.)00 lines. His verslflt^apon is generally very accurate, and his style
is noticeable for its energy, and frequently for the scyerify of its sarcasm.
AMBITION.
Ambition has no soul but self,
No rights but hera she knows ;
Whoe'er has power, or fame, or pelf,
She counts her natural foes.
She's dark and cruel as the grave,
Her robes are dyed in blood ;
O'er smoking fields her banners wave,
As rolls destruction's flood.
Ambition's limitless as space,
'Twould scale the Eternal's throne,
Divine authority efface,
•And substitute its own.
She's meaner than the dust she treads,
And more absurd than mean ;
She courts the very death she dreads,
Then vanishes unseen.
1
40 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
2She seeks among the stars to write
A name that ne'er shall die
By means that bring oblivion's night,
And smiling grasps the lie.
The name of wicked men shall rot,
And perish all their gains ;
'Tis thus that He who changes not
In righteousness onlaiiis.
This awful sentence hangs on high.
Suspended o'er our heads ;
While fools the warning dare defv.
The wise man reads and dreads.
.STANZAS SUGGESTED BY THE OPENING OF CHINA
TO GOSPEL INFLUENCES.
I>et Christians hear from Sinim's coasts
A more than Macedonian crv,
A summons from the Lord of Hosts
To teach those heathen ere thev die.
Exclusion's wall that girt them round
God has dissolved, to rise no more ;
Those fields immense, all mission ground,
Invite the reajiers to their shore.
Ye who are named of Christ arise.
The armor of the Cross gird on ;
Your Captain from the opening skies
Has to the glorious conquest gone.
Who hears the summons to obev ?
Who blessed with sons will cheerful give ?
Who strong in faith with fervor pray,
''O bid those d^ing sinners live?"
Who In the vigor of his youth.
His life to God will consecrate
To bear his messages of truth
To those who thus in darkness wait?
Who from his treasured wealth will bring.
With liberal hand and glowing heart.
Fit offerings to his Saviour King,
Who bids him to his cause impart?
ELISHA 8NELL FI8H. 47
The light, the men, the wealth are here;
The blessings of our land overflow :
And who with piety sincere
Can e*er presume to answer. No ?
INFERENCES AND REFLECTIONS
occasioned by the following passages from President Polk's Message, 1845. '*That
system of seu-goyernmcnt which seems natural to our soil." "Furnishing another
example that self-gov^ernment is Inherent in the Amerian breast and must prevail."
Let groaning Africans rejoice,
Redemption draweth nigh !
The southern seer's prophetic voice
Bids every tear be dry. *
His oracle has spoken well,
'Tis thus that Heaven has willed ;
That voice is slavery's final knell ;
Her destiny's fulfilled.
The "soil" her cruel footsteps tread.
Possesses native power
To bow Oppression's lofty bead,
And haste her final hour.
The air she breathes is Freedom's gale,
And Independence bold
It flings on every hill and vale
Where men ai*e bought and sold.
The northern breeze o'er Dixon's line
Is wafting health and light ;
Averted eyes perceive the sign.
And shun the unwelcome sight.
"Self-government inherent" lies
Within the native breast.
That, bursting from its cell, shall rise
And claim its high behest.
The institutions of our land,
With one exception, bear
That deep impression, broad and grand,
Which Pilgrim structures wear.
God's seal is on them, and his arm
Is stretched for their defence ;
Their influence, with a heavenly charm,
Shall drive the exception hence.
48 P0ET8 OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Well, prophet, thou hast spoken right,
However short thy ken,
For soon will Freedom's growing light
Pour in on sable men.
And Freedom's sword they yet shall wield,
Yet reason's strength employ ;
Their chains shall fall, their stripes be healed.
Their sorrows turned to ]oy.
No thanks, O seer, to thee are due
For words so just and right ;
Th}* utterances, though wise and true,
•Reached far beyond thy sight.
So once Caiaphas prophesied
In words not understood,
When God's own Son he crucified,
And stained his soul with blood.
O Slavery, thou shalt die at last,
Though thou in Texas hide ;
Thy knell shall peal on ever}' blast.
That sweeps thy deserts wide.
Thy friends by artifice and wile
May lengthen out thy day ;
'Tis but reprieve : thy doom meanwhile
Grows heavier by delay.
Keen ridicule in taunting jests
At thy pretensions sneers ;
The curse of God ui)on thee rests.
And shakes thy land with fears.
Dark ignorance its baleful shade.
Has cast upon thy coast ;
And vices, here unnamed, degrade
The men that are thy boast.
Crime, shame and poverty are thine,
A trinity of woe :
Dost doubt? — go thread Ohio's line,
Thine eye will tell thee so.
The curse of men that feel thy sting
Still deepens day by day ;
Those whispers low shall thunders bring,
And sweep the scourge away.
NATHANIEL APPLETON HAVEN. 49
The light of Heaven shall o'er thee flow,
Nor leave thee place nor name,
Known only in those realms or woe
From whence thy presence came.
Katf)anfel ^pleton ?^aben.
This distingrnlshed orator was bom in Portsmouth, Jan. U, 1790. He graduated
at Harvard College, and afterwards studied law. He delivered orations on various
oocasions, and for several years was editor of the Portamouth JourruU, He died
in his native town, June 8, 1856.
AUTUMN.
I love the dews of night,
I love the howling wind ;
I love to hear the tempests sweep
Over the billows of the deep :
For nature's saddest scenes delight
The melancholy mind.
Autumn ! I love thy bower,
With faded garlands drest ;
How sweet, alone to linger there
When tempests ride the midnight air.
To snatch from mirth a fleeting hour,
The sabbath of the breast.
Autumn ! I love thee well ;
Though bleak thy breezes blow ;
I love to see the vapors rise.
And clouds roll wildly round the skies.
Where from the plain the mountains swell,
And foaming torrents flow.
Autumn ! thy fading flowers
Droop not to bloom again ;
So man, though doomed to giief awhile,
To hang on Fortune's fickle smile.
Shall glow in heaven with nobler powers
Nor sigh for peace in vain.
PRAYER.
Great God! at midnight's solemn hour,
I own thy goodness and thy power ;
But bending low before thy throne,
I pray not for myself alone.
^ FOETh 01 SEW
I pSHr i'jg iter, mj OfeU^BB; fTMOAO.
T*x UKT m} ftxreu; prfcicr^ umaeod z
JLwi Hill**: w UAbfc ZL'T x'jwi I iirin^
Willi*: durk auc SLteot roD* tiie m^n.
PruUsc: liW wjiL tinr iAes-rexiiT na^til ;
'J'ijy euTLaiii roimd iier plilair ipremd^
Aiid tiireiiifg uu^e^ rukrd Iter bed.
Let pejkoelu! ttlumbers press her ey
Till ittCffTiiiig tieiLins in spjeDdor r»e ;
Axkd pure iLZid nkdiunx Mh ih&l beun
Be tlje iigiit risjon of lier dream-
I>ft e&cb fi;uoo6edixig mora impui
New ple&wireB W ber tn&qoil beftxt ;
AiJKi richer ble^blngs €rowD the nigliX,
I'tiau loet the rie v &t nM^ning
WhateVr my gwelling heart des!re&.
When fenent prayer to heaven
Wliate'er has wanned my fanc3'"» gk>w
Blay fe»he, with tenfold richness, know.
O God ! mav she thr laws ftilfiL
And live and die thv favorite stiU ;
Live to enjoy thy bounteous hand.
And die to join the seraph band.
HYMN FOR THE FOURTH OF JDLY, 1818.
Father, again before thy throne,
Thy suppliant children homblj pray ;
With grateful hearts thy mercy own,
That crowns once more their natal da}*.
Though War our fertile valleys stain.
Though Slaughter bare his gory hand,
Though Famine lead her ghastly train,
We glory in our native land.
Yes : 'tis our own, our father's home, —
Their ashes rest beneath the sod :
The fields that now our children roam,
Their footsteps once as gladly trod.
Our hardy sons who till the earth.
Undaunted still will danger face :
AMOa ANDREW PARKER. 5 1
The land that gave our fathers birth
Will never bear a coward race.
The gallant few who plough the deep,
Can sternly meet the raging storm ;
And o'er the swelling ocean sweep,
Unmoved at Danger's giant form.
But braver hearts have shrunk from fight,
When kindred blood must dye the steel ;
The boldest to contend for right
The ties of nature strongest feel.
Father, once more "good-will" proclaim,
And bid conflicting passions cease ;
Repress each proud, ambitious aim,
And give thy suppliant children " peace."
Mr. Parker was bom in Fitzwilliam in 1792. In 1813 he gnMluatcd at tlie ritiver-
sity of Vermont in Burlington. lie became a lawver in Kpping; went Ut Concord
111 \«ti^ and wan for a few years editor of the N. U. Statesman ; practiced law fmni
]ri:aB to 1H36 in New Market, when he returned to hib native town, wht-rt*, be.oideh
liii) profetisionul business, ho engaged in other pursultn. He has served In the Logirt.
lature during tliirtcen sessions. He has been author of several books, among which
are : •'A Trip to the West and Texas," of which fortv thousand rxmles were sold;
"Poems at Ifourscorc"; and "ReooUectionB of General lAfayette's Visit, and Sketch
of His Life." And now, at the a;^ of fourscore years and ten, he Is enjoyintc a se-
rene olti age at Glastonbury, Conn., having thus far lived a strlc4,ly temperate life.
His poems were either written early or late in life.
THE PARTING HOUR.
And now, dear friends, the parting hour
Most sadly grieves my heart ;
Yet writers, readers, lovers, friends.
Are destined all to part.
Why this should be our destiny.
Puzzles the strongest mind ;
Yet those that go are happi^
Than those they leave behind.
No matter if the journey be
Dangerous, near or far.
To the bleak sea or wild frontier,^
Or daring deeds of war ;
Yet active scenes so much engage
The body and the mind.
That those who go are happier
Than those they leave behind.
52 P0ET8 OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
The bride that leaves her parents* home
Ma}' leave it bathed in tears ;
Yet rainbow hope across her path
Dispels her doubts and fears.
But the dear friends that she has left,
What comfort can they find
But that the bride is happier
Than those she leaves behind ?
If in the daily walks of life,
You have a valued friend.
Be sure that 3'our sweet intercourse
In time will have an end ;
And when you part, as part you must,
You then will surely fiud
The one that goes the happiest.
The saddest left behind.
But parting scenes will surely end
When time shall be no more,
And we shall meet the absent friends
That have gone on before ;
When Gabriel blows his trumpet blast
To summon all mankind.
Immortals then will meet at last,
And none be left behind.
JILTED.
Betrothed ! 3'ou now have locked the door,
Between yourself and me ;
And that it should not open more
Have thrown away the key.
And I am left out in the cold.
While you are warm inside ;
And tell me I am now too old
For you to be m}' bride.
Belike you would not we^e I 3'oung,
And you were "sweet sixteen" ;
Although you have a silver tongue,
I know not what you mean.
A woman is a sealed book.
And who can break the seals?
The binding has a pleasant look.
But nothing that reveals.
CARLOS WILCOX, 53
The wisest man that ever lived,
Dealt largely with the fair,
And tried a thousand ! then he wept,
And gave up in despair.
I've wooed and wooed for ten long years,
And often thought I won ;
Alternate have been hopes and fears.
But now my task is done.
I sometimes thought I had a place
Assigned me in your heart,
But find at last a smiling face
Is but the work of art.
I bid you now a last farewell,
And leave you with regret ; .
For once you were, yow know right well.
To me a chosen pet.
And now I seek, and hope I may
A true companion find,
Who will not, on her wedding day.
Tell me she's changed her mind.
OTarloss Wixlnx.
Carlos Wilcox wfts bom in Newport, October 23, 1791. Id his fourth fear his
parentM removed to Orwell, Vermont He jp*adunted at Middlclmry College, and
studied theology at Andover, Mass. He became a Congrei^ational minister In 1818,
and after preaching a few montlin, was oblige<l to rest from his duties on account of
ill health. In 1824 he became pastor of the North Church In Hartford, Conn. He
resigned this situation after two years. He died May 29, 1827. He was much
engaged in the composition of his two poems, "Tiie Age of Benevolence,'* and
"The Religion of Taste," the flrst in blank verse, and the last in Spencerian stanza,
neitber of which did he live to complete. The specimens here given are extracts
from the long poems.
ACTIVE CHRISTIAN BENEVOLENCE.
Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief?
Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold ?
Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief?
Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold :
'Tis when the rose is wrapt in many a fold
Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there
Itfi life and beauty ; not when, all unrolled,
Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair.
Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air.
Wake, thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers.
Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night
54 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE,
When death is waiting for thy numbered hoars
To take their swift and everlasting flight ;
Wake, ere the earth-born charm unner>'e thee quite,
And be thy thouglits to work divine addressed ;
Do something — do it soon — with all thy might ;
An angel's wing would droop if long at rest,
And God himself, inactive, were no longer blest.
Some high or humble enterprise of good
Contemplate, till it shall possess thy mind,
Become thy stud}', pastime, rest, and food,
And kindle in tliy heart a flame refined.
Pra}- heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind
To this til}' purpose — to begin, pursue.
With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind ;
Strength to complete, and with delight review.
And grace to give the praise where all is ever due.
No good of worth sublime will Heaven permit
To light on man as from the passing air ;
The lamp of genius, though by nature lit,
If not protected, pnined, and fed with care.
Soon dies, or runs to waste with fitful glare ;
And learning is a plant that spreads and towers
Slow as Columbia's aloe, proudly rare.
That, 'mid gay thousands, with the suns and showers
Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers.
Has immortality of name been given
To them that idly worship hills and groves.
And burh sweet incense to the queen of heaven?
Did Newton learn from fancy, as it roves.
To measure worlds and follow, where each moves?
Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease.
By wanderings wild that nature's pilgrim loves?
Or did Paul gain heaven's glory and its peace.
By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece ?
«
Beware lest thou, ft'om sloth that would appear
But lowliness of mind, with joy proclaim
Thy want of worth ; a charge thou couklst not hear
From other lips without a blush of shame.
Or pride indignant ; then be thine the blan[ie.
And make th3-8elf of worth ; and thus enlist
The smiles of all the good, the doar to fame ;
'Tis infamy to die and not l)e missed.
Or let all soon forget that thou didst e'er exist.
CARLOS WILCOX, 55
Rouse to some work of high and hoi}' love,
And thou an angel's happiness shalt know, —
Shalt bless the earth while in the world above ;
The good begun by thee shall onward flow
In many a branching stream, and wider grow ;
The seed, that, in these few and fleeting hours,
Th}' hands unsparing and unwearied sow.
Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers,
And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers.
LIVE FOR ETERNITY.
A bright or dark eternit}' in view.
With all its fixed, unutterable things.
What madness in the living to pursue.
As their chief portion with the speed of wings,
?^he joys that death-beds always turn to stings I
nfatuated man on earth's smooth waste
To dance along the path that always brings
Quick to an end, from which with tenfold haste
Back would he gladly fly till all should be retraced !
Our life is like the hurrying on the eve
Before we start on some long journey bound,
When fit preparing to the last we leave.
Then run to every room the dwelling round,
And sigh that nothing needed can be found ;
Yet go we must, and soon as day shall break ;
We snatch an hour^s repose, when loud the sound
For our departure calls ; we rise and take
A quick and sad farewell, and go ere well awake.
Reared in the sunshine, blasted by the storms.
Of changing time, scarce asking wh}' or whence.
Men come and go like vegetable forms,
Though heaven appoints for them a work immense.
Demanding constant thought and zeal intense.
Awaked by hopes and fears that leave no room
For rest to mortals in the dread suspense.
While yet they know not if beyond the tomb
A long, long life of bliss or woe shall be their doom.
What matter whether pain or pleasure fill
The swelling heart one little moment here ?
From both alike how vain is every thrill,
While an untried eternity is near ;
Think not of rest, fond man, in life's career ;
56 POETS OF NEW PAMPSHIRE.
The Joys and griefs that meet thee, dash aside
Like bubbles, and thy bark right onward steer
Through calm and tempest, till it cross the tide,
Shoot into port in triumph, or serenely glide.
SUNSET IN SEPTEMBER.
The sun now rests upon the mountain tops —
Begins to sink behind — is half concealed —
And now is gone ; the last faint twinkling beam
Is cut in twain by the sharp rising ridge.
Sweet to the pensive is departing day.
When only one small cloud, so still and thin,
So thoroughly imbued with amber light.
And so transparent, that it seems a spot
Of brighter sky, beyond the farthest mount.
Hangs o'er the hidden orb ; or where a few
Long, narrow stripes of denser, darker grain.
At each end sharpened to a needle's point.
With golden borders, sometimes straight and smooth.
And sometimes crinkling like the lightning stream,
A half hour's space above the mountain lie ;
Or when the whole consolidated mass
That only threatened rain, is broken up
Into a thousand parts, and yet is one.
One as the ocean broken into waves ;
And all its spong}' parts, imbibing deep
The moist etTulgence, seem like fleeces dyed
Deep scarlet, saffron light, or crimson dark.
As they are thick or thin, or near or more remote,
All fading soon as lower sinks the sun.
Till twilight end. But now another scene.
To me most beautiful of all, appears :
The sky, without the shadow of a cloud.
Throughout the west, is kindled to a glow
So bright and broad it glares upon the eye.
Not dazzling, but dilating with calm force
Its power of vision to admit the whole.
Below, 'tis all of richest orange dj'e,
Midway the blushing of the mellow peach
Paints not but tinges the ethereal deep ;
And here, in this most lovely region, shines.
With added loveliness, the evening-star.
Above, the fainter purple slowly fades.
Till changed into the azure of mid-heaven.
' CARLOS WILCOX. 67
Along the level ridge, o'er which the sun
Descended, in a single row arranged,
As if thus planted bj the hand of art,
Majestic pines shoot up into the sky.
And in its fluid gold seem half dissolved.
Upon a nearer peak, a cluster stands
With shads erect, and tops converged to one,
A stately colonnade with veixJant roof;
Upon a nearer still, a single tree,
With shapely form, looks beautiful alone ;
While, farther northward, through a narrow pass
Scooped in the hither range, a single mount
Beyond the rest, of finer smoothness seems,
And of a softer, more ethereal blue,
A pyramid of polished sapphire built.
But now the twilight mingles into one
The various mountains ; levels to a plain
This nearer, lower landscape, dark with shade,
Where every object to my sight presents
Its shaded side ; while here upon these walls.
And in that eastern wood, upon the trunks
Under thick foliage, reflective shows
Its 3'ellow lustre. How distinct the line
Of the horizon parting heaven and earth.
SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND.
The spring, made dreary by incessant rain.
Was well nigh gone, and not a glimpse appeared
Of vernal loveliness, but light-green turf
Round the deep bubbling fountain in the vale.
Or by the rivulet on the hill-side, near
Its cultivated base, fronting the south.
Where, in the first warm rays of March, it sprung
Amid dissolving snow : — save these mere specks
Of earliest verdure, with a few pale flowers,
In other years bright blowing, soon as earth
Unveils her face, and a faint vcrmil tinge
On clumps of maple of the soller kind,
Was nothing visible to give to May,
Though far advanced, an aspect more like her's
Than like November's universal gloom.
All day beneath the sheltering hovel stood
The drooping herd, or lingered near to ask
The food of winter. A few lonel}' bii*ds,
58 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Of those that in this northern clime remain
Throughout the year, and in the dawn of spring,
At pleasant noon, from their unknown retreat.
Come suddenly to view with lively notes,
Or those that soonest to this clime return
From warmer regions, in thick groves were seen.
But with their feathers ruffled and despoiled
Of all their glossy lustre, sitting mute,
Or only skipping, with a single chirp,
In quest of food. Whene'er the heavy clouds.
That half way down the mountain side oft hung.
As if o'erloaded with their watery store.
Were parted, though with motion unobserved.
Through their dark opening, white with snow appeared
Its lowest, e'en its cultivated, peaks.
With sinking heart the husbandman surveyed
The melancholy scene, and much his fears
On famine dwelt ; when, suddenly awaked
At the first glimpse of daylight, b}- the sound.
Long time unheard, of cheerful martins, near
His window, round their dwelling chirping quick.
With spirits by hope enlivened, up he sprung.
To look abroad, and to his joy beheld,
A skv without the remnant of a cloud.
From gloom to gayety and beaut}- bright
So rapid now the universal change.
The rude survey it with delight refined.
And e'en the thoughtless talk of thanks devout.
Long swoln in drenching rain, seeds, germs, and buds.
Start at the touch of vivifying beams.
Moved by their secret force, the vital lymph
Diffusive runs, and spreads o'er wood and field
A flood of verdure. Clothed in one short week.
Is naked nature in her full attire.
On the first morn, light as an open plain
Is all the woodland, filled with sunbeams, poured
Through the bare tops on yellow leaves below.
With strong reflection : on the last, 'tis dark
With full grown foliage, shading all within.
In one short week, the orchard buds and blooms ;
And now, when steeped in dew or gentle showers.
It pelds the purest sweetness to the breeze,
Or all the tranquil atmosphere perfumes.
E'en from the juicy leaves, of sudden growth.
And the rank grass of steaming ground, the air.
Filled with a watery glimmering, receives
CARLOS WILCOX. 5l9
A grateful smell, exhaled by warming rays.
Each day are beard, and almost ever}- hour,
New notes to swell the music of the grovt s.
And soon the latest of the feathered train
At evening twilight come ; — the lonel}' snipe,
O'er marshy fields, high in the dusky air,
Invisible, but with faint, tremulous tones.
Hovering or plaj'ing o'er the listener's head ; —
And, in mid-air, the sportive night-hawk, seen
Flying awhile at random, uttering oft
A cheerful cry, attended with a shake
Of level pinions, dark, but, when upturned.
Against the brightness of the western sky,
One white plume showing in the midst of each,
Then far down diving, with loud hollow sound ; —
And deep at first within the distant wood.
The whip-poor-will, her name her onl}* song.
She, soon as children from the noisy sport
Of whooping, laughing, talking with all tones,
To hear the echoes of the empty barn,
Arc by her voice diverted, and held mute.
Comes to the margin of the nearest grove ;
And when the twilight, deepened into night,
Calls them within, close to the house she comes,
And on its dark side, haply on the step
Of unfrequented door, lighting unseen.
Breaks into strains articulate and clear.
The closing sometimes quickened as in sport.
Now animate throughout, IVom morn to eve
All harmony, activity, and joy.
Is lovely Nature, as in her blest prime.
The robin to the garden, or green yard,
Close to the door repairs to build again
Within her wonted tree ; and at her work
Seems doubly busy, for her past delay.
Along the surface of the winding stream.
Pursuing ever}' turn, gay swallows skim ;
Or round the borders of the spacious lawn
Fly in repeated circles, rising o'er
Hillock and fence, with motion serpentine.
Easy and light. One snatches from the ground
A downy feather, and then upward springs.
Followed b}' others, but oft drops it soon, . ]
In playful mood, or from too slight a hold.
When all at once dart at the falling prize.
The flippant blackbird, with light yellow crown.
60- P0ET8 OF NEW HAMPSHIRE,
Hangs fluttering in the air, and chatters tliick
Till her breath fail, when, breaking off, she drops
On the next tree, and on its highest limb.
Or some tall flag, and, gently rocking, sits,
Her strain repeating.
^arai) J. f^ale.
Mrs. Hale was bom In Newport In 1795. Her education was principallv directed
by her mother and a brother in rollege, and by her hutjl)an(l, David Hale, an emi-
nent lawyer. On his death, In 182-i, she was left dependent upon her own exerUont
for her support and that of her live children, the eldest of whom wan butaeren
years of age, and as a resource she turned to literature. A volume, **The Genlns
of Oblivion, and other Original Poeras," was ])ubll8hed in 1S23, and in 1827 a Dovel,
"Northwood," in two volumes. She removed to Boston in 1928 to oondact the
American Ladies' Magazine. In 18.')8 she becume editor of the Lady^s Book, pub-
lished in Pliiladelphia, which position she occupie«l during the remainder of her
life. She became the author of a large number of books. Her poems are for the
most part narrative and reflective, and are written with force and elegaDce. She
died hi Philadelphia, April 30, 1879.
THE ROSE-TREE AT THE BIRTH-PLACE OF WASH-
INGTON.
Bright rose ! what dost thou here, amid
These sad mementoes of the past?
The crumbling stones tli}' roots have hid.
The bramble's shade is o'er thee cast,
Yet still th}' glowing beauty seems
Fair as young childhood's happy dreams.
The sunbeam on the heaving surf
Proclaims the tempest's rage is o'er ;
The violet on the frozen turf,
Breathes of the smiling spring once more ;
But rose, thy mission to the heart.
In things that alter, hath no part.
The inossgrown ruins round are spread.
Scarce rescued from earth's trodden mass.
And time-scathed trees, whose brandies dead
Lie cumbering o'er the matted grass :
These tell the tale of life's brief day,
Hope, toil, enjoyment, death, decay !
The common record this of man.
We read, regret, and pass it by,
And rear the towers that deck our span.
Above the grave where nations lie ;
And heroes, who like meteors shone,
Are like the meteor's flashings, gone.
SARAUJ.HALE. 61
But, radiant rose, thy beautj' breaks
Like eve's first star upon the sight ;
A holier hue the vision takes,
The niins shine with heaven's clear light ;
His name, who placed thy root in earth,
Doth consecrate thy place of birth.
Yet 'tis not here his wreath we twine,
Nor here that Freedom's chief we praise ;
The stars at rising softer shine.
Than when o'er night's dark vault they blaze ;
Not here, with Washington's great name
Blend his achievements or his fame.
But brighter, holier is the ray
Which rests on this devoted ground :
Here passed his childhood's happy day,
Here glory's bud meet culture found :
Maternal smiles, and tears, and prayer,
1 hese were its light, its dew, its air.
Bright rose 1 for this thy flower hath sprung,
The mother's steadfast love to show ;
Thy odor on the gale is flung.
As pours that love its lavish flow ;
The mother's lot with hope to cheer.
Type of her heart, thou bloomest here.
I SING TO HIM.
I sing to him — I dream he hears
The song he used to love.
And oft that blessed fancy cheers
And bears my thoughts above.
Ye say, 'tis idle thus to dream —
But why believe it so ?
It is the spirit's meteor gleam
To soothe the pang of woe.
Love gives to Nature's voice a tone
That true hearts understand ;
The sky, the earth, the forest lone,
Are peopled by his wand.
Sweet fancies all our fancies thrill,
While gazing on a flower.
And from the gently whispering rill
Are heard the words of power.
i
62 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
I breathe the dear and cherished name,
And long-lost scenes arise ;
Life's glowing landscape spreads the same,
The same hope's kindling skies ;
The Tiolet bank, the moss-fringed seat
Beneath the drooping tree,
The clock that chimed the hour to meet,
My buried love, with thee ; —
O, these are all before me, when
In fancy's realms I rove :
Why urge me to the world again ?
Why say, the ties of love.
That death's cold, cruel grasp has riven.
Unite no more below?
I'll sing to him — for, though in heaven.
He surely heeds my woe !
THE LIGHT OF HOME.
My bo3', thou wilt dream the world is fair.
And thy spirit will sigh to roam ;
And thou must go ; but never, when there.
Forget the light of home.
Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright.
It dazzles to lead astray ;
Like the meteor's flash 'twill deepen the night.
When thou treadest the lonely way.
But the hearth of home has a constant flame.
And pure as vestal fire ;
'Twill burn, 'twill burn, forever the same.
For nature feeds the pjTC.
The sea of ambition is tempest-tost,
And thy hopes may vanish like foam ;
But when sails are shivered and rudder lost,
Then look to the light of home ;
And there, like a star through the midnight cloud.
Thou shalt see the beacon bright ;
For never, till shining on thy shroud,
Can be quenched its holy light.
The sun of fame, 'twill gild the name ;
But the heart ne'er felt its ray ;
SAB AH J. BALE. 63
And fashion't smiles, that rich ones claim
Are but beams of a wintry day.
And bow cold and dim those beams must be,
Should life's wretched wanderer come !
But, my boy, when the world is dark to thee,
Tlien turn to the light of home.
THE SILK-WORM.
There is no form upon our earth,
That bears the mighty Maker's seal.
But has some charm : to draw it forth,
We need but hearts to feel.
I saw a fair young girl — her face
Was sweet as dream of cherished friend —
Just at the age when childhood's grace
And maiden softness blend.
A silk-worm in her hand she laid ;
Nor fear, nor yet disgust was stirred ;
But gayly with her charge she played,
As 'twere a nestling bird.
She raised it to her dimpled cheek.
And let it rest and revel there :
O, why for outward beauty seek !
Love makes its favorites fair.
That worm — I should have shrunk, in truth.
To feel the reptile o'er me move, —
But loved by innocence and youth,
I deemed it worthy love.
Would we, I thought, the soul imbue.
In early life, with sympathies
For every harmless thing, and view
Such creatures formed to please, —
And, when with usefulness combined,
Give them our love and gentle care, —
O, we would have a world as kind
As God has made it fair.
There is no form upon our earth.
That bears the mighty Maker's seal.
But has some charm : to call this forth
We need but hearts to feel.
d
64 POETS OF NEW EAMPSBIRB.
WBiUiam i3tng1)am Coppait.
William B. Tappan was bom In Beverly, Mass., October 29, 17%. His parents re-
moTed to Portsmouth when he was younj^, where be was educated. In enrlj Ufe
be learned a trade. He was for a series of years Agent of the American Sunday
School Union at different depositories. Several years before his death be began to
preach, but was never ordained, and never had charge of a parish. His poema are
dear to every lover of sacred verse.
THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
I gazed upon the mountain top,
That pierced in twain the passing cloud,
And wondered at its giant form,
So dark, magnificent, and proud.
Can this strong mountain from its base
Be shaken b}- the tempest's shock?
Can all the gathered thunders stir
This everlasting solid rock
And scatter forth its dust like hail ?
And fling its fragments on the air?
Can aught created wield such strength?
Exists such power? O, tell me where.
They may remove ; these mountains may
Tremble, and hence forever pass ;
These hills that pillar upon the skies.
Perish, as doth the new-mown grass.
Yea, saith the Lord, they shall depart,
The hills, and all the solid land.
But my rare word of truth remains,
My promise shall forever stand.
THERE IS AN HOUR OF PEACEFUL REST.
There is an hour of peaceful rest
To mourning wanderers given ;
There is a joy for souls distressed ;
A balm for everj' wounded breast, —
'Tis found alone in Heaven.
There is a soft, a downy bed, .
Far from these shades of even ;
A couch for weary mortals spread.
Where they may rest the aching head,
And And repose — in Heaven.
WILLIAM BINGHAM TAPPAN 65
There is a home for weary souls
By sin and sorrow driven,
When tossed on Life's tempestuous shoals,
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls.
And all is. drear, — 'tis Heaven.
There Faith lifts up her cheerful eye.
To brighter prospects given,
And views the tempest passing by.
The evening shadows quickly fly.
And all serene in Heaven.
There IVagrant flowers immortal bloom.
And joys supreme are given ;
There rays divine disperse the gloom :
Beyond the confines of the tomb
Appears the dawn of heaven.
THE OLD NORTH BURIAL GROUND IN PORTS-
MOUTH, N. H.
I stand where I have stood before in boyhood's sunny prime, —
The same, yet not the same, but one who wears the touch of
Time,—
And gaze around on what was then familiar to the eye.
But whose inconstant features tell that years have journeyed by,
Since o'er this venerable ground, a truant child I played.
And chased the bee and plucked the flower where ancient dust
is laid ;
And hearkened, in my wondering mood, when tolled the pass-
ing bell ;
And started at the coffin's ory as clods upon it fell.
These mossy tombs I recollect, the same o'er which I pored ;
The same these rhymes and texts with which my mind was
stored ;
These humble tokens too, that lean, and tell where resting
bones
Are hidden though their date and name have perished firom the
stones.
How rich these precincts with the spoils of ages buried here I
What hearts have ached, what eyes have given this conscious
earth the tear I
How many friends, whose welcome cheered their now-deserted
doors.
Have, since my last sojourning, swelled these melancholy stores I
66 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Yon spot, where in the sunset ra}* a single white stone glearos,
I've visited, I can not tell how often, in mj dreams, —
That s|X)t o'er which I wept, though then too young my loss to
know.
As I beheld m}- father's form sepulchred far below.
How freshly ever}' circumstance, though seas swept wide be-
tween.
And years have vanished since that hoar, in vagaries F^e
seen ! —
The lift-ed lid, that countenance, the funeral array, —
As vividly as if tlie scene were but of j'esterda^'.
How pleasant seem the moments now, as ap their shadows
come,
Spent in the domicile that wore the sacred name of home ! —
How in the vista years have made, they shine with mellowed
light.
To which meridian bliss has nought so beaatiful and bright !
How happy were those fireside hours, how happy sommer^s
walk.
When listening to my father's words, or joining in the talk !
How passed like dreams those early hours, till down apon ua
burst
The avalanche of grief, and laid our pleasures in the dast !
They tell of loss ; but who can tell how thorough is the stroke
By which the tie of sire and son in death's forever broke?
They tell of time ! — though he may heal the heart that's wound-
ed sore.
The household bliss thus blighted. Time ! canst thoa again re-
store ?
Yet if this spot recalls the dead, and brings from Memoij^s leaf
A sentence wrote in bitterness, of raptures bright and brief,
I would not shun it, nor would lose the moral it will give
To teach me by the withered Past, for belter hopes to live.
And though to warn of future woe. or whisper future bliss.
One comes not from the spirit-world, a witness unto this;
Yet. from memorials of his dust. His wholesome thus to leam«
And print upon our thought the state to which we most return.
Wherever then my pilgrimage in coming days shall be.
My frequent visions, favorite ground ! shall backward glance to
thee:
The hc»ly dead, tlje by -gone hours, the precepts eariy given,
bhall sweetly soothe and influence my homeward way to heaven.
GEORQE KENT. C7
^eoYge Hent.
George Kent, a son of Hon. William A. Kent, was bom at Conconl, May 4,
179B. and was educated at PhllltpH* £xcter Academy and at Dartmouth Oolle>re,
graouatlnir in 1814. He studied law, the Inst of tliree years iu Boston, and wuh
there admitted to practice in 1817. Returning immediately to his native town he
c<»utlnued there in practice— a part of the time aloue and a portion of the time with
a partner— till 1840; combining with Ids profession, a greater part of the time, the
cashiership of the Concord Bank. He was twice elected (in 1828 and 1838) a mem.
ber of the N. H. Legislature, and was a Trustee of Dartmouth College from 1S)7 to
1840. For five or six years, from 1825 to 1831, he was editor and part proprietor of a
weekly newspaper, the N. H. Statesman and Concord Uegister. Going H est in 18i.t,
be was, for a portion of the two years su(%eeding, in e<litorial charge of the Indiana
State Journal. Keturnlng East the year after, be was engaged, during Its brief exis-
tence ofaliout a year, as editor of the Boston Dally Sim. After a rew years* resi*
ilenoe in and about Boston — a part of the time in the practice ol' law, and for two or
three years doing duty as Inspector in the Boston Custom House— lie removed, in
1854, to Bangor, Maine, and entered into law partnership with his brother, the late
£x Governor Kdward Kent. Continuing in this connection for five or six years, he
was, in December 1861, appointed by President Lincoln U. 8. Consul at Valencia,
Spain. Returning borne after four vears' absence, and coming to Washington Citv
In 1869, be was, not long after, appointed to a clerkship in the U. S. Treasury Depart-
ment, which be still holds.
THOUGHTS AT THE BASE OF NIAGARA FALLS.
"The voice of many waters !" not the sound
"Still, small" and waveless, like tiie "voice" that awed,
In solemn silence, the proplietic ear,
Betokening tiie unseen yet present God.
Not in the earthquake was the voice sublime,
Though the earth shook and trembled to its scat ;
Nor in the whirlwind, nor the fire, was felt
The hand divine, outstretched o*er the expanse.
No thunder gave the sound — save that which fjours
Its ceaseless rumbling from earth's watery bed ;
But there was power — deep, awful, present iK)wer,
Pervading mightiest hearts — such as to quail
Man*s proudest spirit before Nature's God.
But for the '4>ow of promise," midway stretched —
Token of i)eace between the earth and Heaven —
The waste of waters might have seem'd a tlood,
Again to drown a rebel world in woe.
Upward I gaze — and through the flaky mist.
Stretching its draper}' o'er the giant brow,
That heaves, at point sublime, its awful front,
] note the mighty elemental force
Which needs but word divine to whelm a world ;
And, lost in wonder, lose myself in Him,
Whose power no less can stay the mighty mass,
And "hold it in the hollow of his hand,"
And say, and be obey'd, "Proud waves be, still!"
08 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Freedom is imaged here in Nature's glass,
'*Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye" ;
These cliffs bespeak its mountain home — these waves
Murmur of largest liberty to man.
Eternity is boded to my view,
By this outpouring from the groaning earth —
This ceaseless war of elements, and rush
Of nature's fountains from "deep unto deep."
The arch above,* from my last parting glance,
Seem'd to the wondering gaze of raptur'd sight,
Like the periphery of Nature's wheel.
Revolving in mid- heaven's enlarged expanse ;
Still to roll on when the last man shall take
His farewell of a world enwrapt in flame.
''HOPE ON— HOPE EVER."
Gone from my heart is the bright arra}'
Of hopes that gladden'd m}' summer day ;
The leaves are sere on ''the almond tree,"
And '^a burden the grasshopper is" to me.
It is not my heart is less warm and kind.
Than when childhood's ties were intertwin'd ;
Than when bending low at my mother's knee,
I worship the spirit of purity.
It is not that beauty has lost its charm.
Or that years could the power of love disarm ;
"A thing of beauty" no fate could sever —
Once fix'd, it remains "a joy forever."
'Tis, perchance, that my locks have long grown gray-
That the bloom from my cheek has pass'd away —
That sickness has dimm'd the hue of health,
Or fortune wooed vainl}- the phantom wealth.
Yet so it may be — but I will not repine
At what is not fate, but a wise design
Of Providence, kind in its chastening rod.
To win "from the world what is due unto God.
With the failing of ties that bind to earth
Comes the advent of hopes of heavenly birth :
And a brighter spring's perennial bloom
Uplitls the pall of the autumn tomb.
*Not, of course, the rainbow— but that peculiar curvature of the desendiog
ter, HO apparent, or ao eaoilv iiiiagrinea. in ihe American FaU, aa viewed obliquely
from a point near the foot of the ferry stairway.
OEOROE KENT. G!)
A MODEST CLAIM.
^^JJl we ask is to be let alone.** — jeff. davis.
A trifling boon ! for traitor hosts
To claim at loj'al patriots' hands ;
A meek demand, 'mid Southern boasts.
To come with grace from rebel bands?
"Let us alone !" was Arnold's cry,
When foiled in treason's lighter deed ;
"Let me in peace to England fly,
Without coercion in my speed."
"Let us alone !" was echoed wide.
In Shay's rebellion, and in times
Of whisky riots, that defied
The arm of law to reach their crimes.
"Let us alone !" was Burr's demand.
In dark conspirac}* of yore ;
"Whj' interfere for foreign land,
And guard so strict an alien shore ?"
"Let us alone !" was Kidd's own prayer,
When coasting wide, with pirate crew,
And dealing death — a slight affair —
To every prize that came in view.
"Let us alone ! why art thou come
Us to torment before the time !"
The evil spirits, elsewhere dumb.
Could ask of Christ, despite their crime.
"Let us alone !" was sounded far
Through Heaven's vast concave, in alarm,
By rebel angels, when at war
Against the power of God's right arm.
"Let us alone !" the South now claim,
When every flap of Freedom's flag
Points to that "deed without a name,"
That dared in dust our banner drag.
"Let us alone !" no^ never, NO !
While Freedom stalks o'er land and sea ;
And arms proclaim a rebel foe,
Steeped in such hellish treachery !
70 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
ODE;
For the 5*pml Centennial Celebration of the New Ilampshlro Historical Sw-lely,
Mhv il, 1873, the writer lielng then the only surviving member of the original or-
gaulzatiou.
Histor^^'s Muse anew is waking —
Time's half-centiir}* is breaking
O'er our old historic band ;
Tlirougli the granite of our seeming —
Far beyond the poet's dreaming —
Light and love are ever beaming,
Heart to heart, and hand to hand.
Fitting seems this festive season,
''Flow of soul and feast of reason,"
For a cordial, warm embrace ;
No sectarian disunion.
But enlarged and free communion,
Conconi full, and perfect union.
Well becoming time and place.
Though our homes, of cliff and mountain,
Boast of no Arcadian fountain,
Nor Italia's sunnv skies.
Our past histoiy assures us, —
AVhile oui* hardy clime inures us, —
Man, the growth our soil secures us,
Is New Hampshire's richest prize.
With our progress, great and glorious,
Saddened memories come o'er us.
Calling up a hallowed band ;
Of the founders of our order.
All but one have crossed life's border,
Meeting hence their just Rewarder,
In a brighter, better land.
As frail tendrils, intertwining.
Force derive from their combining —
Giving while receiving strength, —
So may heart meet heart in feeling,
Tenderest sympathies revealing.
Till the work of love's annealing
Perfect be in heaven at length.
Then, in accents sweeter, stronger —
Tlien in praises louder, longer —
Each full heart shall vocal be ;
Deepest diapasons sounding,
GEORGE KENT. 71
Highest Dotes of joy abounding,
Through Heaven's arches wide resounding-
Chorus of Eternit}' !
IN MEMORY OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD.
The Nation mourns ! no comraon grief
Pen^ades our hearts ; Cohimbia's Chief
Has pass'd away from earth ;
With him have died, while yet in bloom,
Hopes that mature but for the tomb,
And Joys that scarce had birth.
Our Countrj' mourns : her pride and choice,
Tlie organ of the Nation's voice,
Is hush'd, for aye in death ;
Kindred bewail — earth's ties are rent —
Friends part — and through the land is sent
A wail in every breath.
The Nation mourns ; but not as those
Who read the end of human woes
In anguish yet to come :
We sorrow not as those whose hope
Is bounded by earth's narrow scope,
Or buried in the tomb.
'*God and my Country !" was his theme —
No fiction of the poet's dream —
But from his inmost heart ;
To One in humble prayer he bow'd,
For one, in weal or woe, he vow'd
To act the patriot's part.
How well that vow his truth redeem'd I
How high will ever be esteem'd
That name to freemen dear !
But nobler far that "New Name" given,
Pledge of the heritage of Heaven,
Beyond this earthly sphere.
Not '^Conqueror" o'er his Country's foes,
But *'over sin and death he rose" —
Be this his rapturous joy ;
Hero no more of earthly song.
His be it now to join the throng
In Heaven's all-blest employ.
72 POETB OF NEW HAMPSHISE.
iElUa ®. ^ffott^.
This writer was a poet of Portsmouth. She was l)om September U, 1796, and
her death occnred February 3, 18G3.
ON VISITING THE SCENES OF EARLY LIFE.
To scenes, to friends in childhood dear,
In after-life we fondly stra^- :
Bat, oh, how sad these scenes appear,
When those loved friends have passed away !
With pensive pleasure we renew
Acquaintance with the dreamy past ;
And, as the picture starts to view,
We wish it would for ever last.
We wander o'er the well known sward
Where we in childhood loved to play ;
Where mother's kiss, that best reward,
Could lure us from our sports away ;
With chastened hearts bend o'er the spot
Where friends beloved now sleep in death.
(No : there the spirit slumbereth not :
'Tis but their dust that rests beneath.)
We seek a flower, — a sprig of green,
Which we, when far away, may view ;
A something to be touched and seen,
That may our early days renew.
This blade of grass, these fading leaves,
Are all the barren sod would yield :
But to my heart more dear they are
Than gorgeous lilies of the field.
Mrs. Thornton, whose place of nativity was In this State, was author of manj
poems. The two here printed are copied from the New Hampshire Boole of Prose
and Poetry compiled by Charles J. Fox and Samuel Osgood, and published in 184i.
THE SUMAC TREE.
I love the rose when I am glad, it seems so joyous too ;
With what a glow it meets the sun, with what a scent the dew !
It blushes on the brow of youth, as mingling in its mirth.
And decks the bride as though it bloomed for her alone on earth.
ELIZA B. THORNTON, 73
— ■IMIBI ■ -- _ .1 |_ _l_ 1 -T ~
ve the columbine that grows upon the hill-top, wild ;
oakes me dream I'm 3'onng again, a free, a blessM child ;
youthful da3's and bridal ones just like the roses flee,
i sober fancy turns from these toward the sumac tree.
J sumac? why? — its leaves are fair and beautifully green,
i fringe the brilliant stem that runs a carmine thread be-
tween,
clustering fruit, a velvet cone of royal purple hue,
rs upward midst the foliage fair, in richest splendor too.
i then the wayward fancy turns in pensive hour to thee,
i twined with melancholy thoughts art thou, proud sumac tree,
leep-wrought spell of early days ; — in lone and solemn state,
ik grew a princely sumac tree, beside the grave-yard gate.
dred and friends reposed below, and* oft hath childish prayer
en from my heart that I, in death, might slumber with them
there ;
it prayer, how vain ! yet still I love in fancy oft to be
gering within that place of graves beneath the sumac tree.
BOCHIM.
Lod Uiey called the name of that place Bochlm ; (weeping;) and they sacrificed
there unto the Lord."— ^Judges ii. 5.
Not in our sunn}' paths altars we raise.
Not where the roses bloom offer we praise ;
Where the dark cj'press boughs shadow our way,
Where the dark willow swings — there do we pray.
Not when the morning light opens the flowers,
Not when in glory roll day's perfect hours ;
When the last r©sy light fadeth away,
When the dew shuts the flower — then do we pra}'.
Not when the circle is whole at the hearth.
And bright faces gladden the home of their birth ;
When the turf covers or seas bear away
Those we have watched over — then do we pray.
Not when the heart we love turns to us, true.
When the bright morning brings love, again new ;
When the heart trusted in turnetb away.
When the eye answers not — then do we pray.
Not when the light of bliss shines on the brow.
Not when hope whispers, sweet, ''ever as now ;*'
When the heart sinketh and hope dies awa}'.
When the eye weepeth sore — then do we pray.
74 F0ET8 OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Beautiful, then, be our valle^^ of tears,
With altars the heart in its wretchedness rears ;
Nor grieve we, nor pine, that in grief we must share,
Since our valley of tears is a temple of prayer.
Enna fHarta WitWsi.
Anna Maria Foster was l)oni In Gloucester. MaBs, in 1797 and In early life resided
In Windsor. Vt. She Iwcame the wife of Thomas G. Wells, who was aIho a poet
Il(^ lived In Amherst, and wa;* editor of The Amh'rti Herald. In Id30Mn». Wells
I»ul)lislied a volume of poems and juvenile sketches.
ASCUTNEY.
In a low, white-washed cottage, overrun
With mantling vines, and sheltered from the sun
By rows of maple- trees, that gently moved
Their graceful limbs to the mild breeze they loved,
Ofl have I lingered — idle it might seem.
But that the heart was busy ; and I deem
Those minutes not misspent, when silently
The soul communes with nature, and is free.
Overlooking this low cottage, stately stood
The huge Ascutne^' ; there, in thoughtful mood,
1 loved to hold with its gigantic form
Deep converse — not articulate, but warm
With feeling's noiseless eloquenc^e, and fit
The soul of nature with man's soul to knit.
In various aspect, frowning on the day.
Or touched with morning twilight's silvery gray,
Or darkly mantled in the dusky night.
Or by the moonbeams bathed in showers of light —
In each, in all, a glor}* still was there,
A spirit of sublimit}' ; but ne'er
IIa(i such a might of lovliness and power
The mountain wrapt, as when, at midnight hour,
It saw the tempest gatlier round its head.
'Twas then an hour of joy, yet tinged with dread,
As the deep thunder rolled from cloud to cloud,
From all its hidden caA-es it cried aloud ;
Wood, cliff, and valley', with the echo rung ;
From rock and crag darting, with forked tongue
The lightning glanced, a moment laying bare
Its naked brow, then silence — darkness there !
And straight again the tumult, as if rocks
Had split, and iieadlong rolled. But nature mocks
All language ; these are scenes I ne'er again
DANIEL DANA TAPPAN. 75
May look upon — but precious thoughts remain
On meinor3'*s page ; and ever in my heart,
Amid all other claims, that mountain hath a pait.
IBmitl JBansi Cappan.
Daniel D. Tappan, a brother of William B. Tappan, was bom In Newburyport,
Mass.. October w, 170H. His parenU removed to Portsmouth so soon after his
birth that his earliest distinct recolle<'tlons are connected with Portsmouth, where
his father die<l in 1806. He Is an alumnus of Bowdoin College, of the class of 1823.
He studied thKolofry at New Haven Conn., and was ordained as an evangelist In
ISXt and Installed as pastor of a, church in Alfred, Maine; aften^ards and later at
Kast Marshfleld, Mass. He has also supplied churches for longer or shorter terms,
as at Farralngton, Franklin and Wakefield In tills State ; Biddefonl, Winthrop and
Weld In liaine. He resides at Weld, stUl preaching' at times, but has no regular
pastoral charge.
HYMN
For the de<llcation of a house of worship, in Farralngton, N. H. in 1870.
Where Jesus taught, and toiled, and died,
Once shone in gold the liouse of God ;
Thitre, thrice each year, the Hebrews hied
With gifts, obedient to his word.
But Zion now is everywhere,
If hearts to pra^* and praise are found ;
Gentile and Jew ma}' blend their prayer ;
Each temple site is holy ground.
And so this fane we here devote
To Him whom they of old adored ;
To share his smiles, while we promote
The honor of our common Lord.
Shed down, O Spirit, on our souls.
Sweet influence from thy blest abode.
That love which hallows, guides, controls,
And fits us here to dwell with God.
HYMN TO JESUS.
To sing of Jesus' love
With hearts enchained b}' sense,
And eyes incased in films of sin,
Is but a vile pretense.
O, were these orbs illumed,
And sundered were these chains.
How would our glorious Lord be loved,
And praised in fitting btrains.
76 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE,
The secret place of tears
Might well pour forth a flood,
At thought of our ingratitude
To the redeeming God.
We lay our spirits low,
O Christ, before thv throne ;
And humbly crave a gift of love
Responsive to thy own.
Then, with exultant feet.
We'll trace the heavenly road ;
Hasting, with eager joy, to meet
Our waiting, gracious Lord.
HYMN TO THE REDEEMER.
My Saviour ! 'Tis of thee,
Friend of all friends to me,
Of thee I sing ;
The music of thy name
Should ransomed souls inflame,
While h3'mning their acclaim
To Zion's King.
But none can speak thy worth,
Nor all the tongues of earth
Thy love portray ; —
The work of praise begun
B}' us, beneath the sun,
Must through the cycles run
Of endless day.
Dim is our brightest view,
Thou holy, just and true.
Saviour, of thee,
O, clarif)' our sight.
And pour celestial light
Upon our native night.
That we may see.
Then shall the notes we rear.
E'en while we sojourn here.
Supernal be :
Fitting our souls to blond
With songs that never end.
And teach us how to spend
Eternity.
DANIEL DANA TAPPAN. 77
AULD LANG SYNE.
Should by-gone manners be forgot,
And never brought to mii^*,
The ways of true and simple life,
The days of Auld Lang Syne ?
Tliose times that tried the boldest souls.
When, led by hand divine,
Our pilgrim sires here sought a home ;
Those days of Auld Lang Syne ?
Their iron graces, — hearts of oak, —
Men made for work, — not shine, —
They left their name ; a rich bequest, —
Those men of Auld Lang Syne.
And others, since, their steps have tried.
And influence left benign.
Whose noble deeds well prove their claim.
As sons of Auld Lang Syne.
Long cherish we their glorious names,
Nor, yet, the hope resign.
That years to come shall emulate
The virtues of Lang S3 ne.
LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS.
Voyagers ! whence your last remove ?
Why approach this sterile shore?
Stranger ! leaving lands we love,
Came we here our God to adore.
Pilgrims ! terrors throng your way ;
Foes beset, on either hand !
Stranger ! nothing can dismay
Hearts that seek this barren strand.
Pilgrims ! dauntless though ye seem, —
Few and feeble yet ye are :
Stranger, they who trust in Him
Never of their cause despair.
Freedom's banner here shall wave ;
Israel's helper here be known ;
Myriads, o'er our peaceful grave.
Laud the work His hand hath done.
78 POETS OF NEW BAMPSniRE.
lEnxi^ ^^astinss ^tlber.
Mrs. Silver, a daaghter of Moses Tlastinprs and Miriam Tyler, was bom in Hop*
klnton May 30, 17UH. She niarrie<l Kev. Abiel Sliver, also of Hopkinton, and after
Uvinx five years in tlie State of New Yorit near the St. Lawrence, they removed ti»
Michigan, where thc^y dwelt many years. On their return from the West Mr. Sil-
ver preached Home years in several of the eastern cities, an<l their List place uf re:*!-
dence was at Roxbury, or Boston Highlands, where Mr. Silver established a churrb
called the "New Jerusalem Chun>h of l^>ston Ilitrhlands." Mr. Silver died in
Mantb, 1M81. Mrs. Silver still resides in Roxbury, Mass.
CHRISTMAS.
Wonder of wonders ! from the eternal throne
Divine Shekinah in the manger shone !
Jehovah Jesus, in that lovely child,
Put on humanit}', though undefiled.
Did earth arise and mortals bend the knee
As, "bowed the heavens," with His divinit}*?
Alas, tiie wise men only, from afar,
Brought triple gifts and saw tiie wondrous star.
The good old Simeon waiting for release
Saw His salvation and departs in peace.
And Anna, prophesying, knew the Lord
And in this temple recognised "the Word".
The watcliful shepherds, tending flocks by night,
Saw heaven opened and behekl the light.
"Glory to God" resounded from the skies
And faint hosannas from the earth arise ;
A heavenly influx came down from above
And all creation felt a thrill of love ;
Though, turned to hatred by the wilful throng,
Ages have sung and still repeat the song ;
Await th}' second coming when the sun
With seven-fold brightness its career shall run.
When sin shall cease and carnage, fire and sword
Shall flee before the power of Thy Word,
And the great glory of Thy coming prove
That Wisdom's brightness is inscribed with Love,
The watchmen herald, that the ushered morn.
Precedes the day when nations shall be born,
Thy children in the vale send up the ciy
O "Come Lord Jesus," raise our thoughts on high.
As angels sang at the Redeemer's birth
"Glory to God," good will, and peace on earth ;
May we in humbler strains, an anthem sing
To Him who comes in clouds, of kings the King,
Opening for us the everlasting doors
Through which "this King of glory" radiance pours.
EDNA HASTINGS SILVER. 7i)
Transfiguring His Word, that men may view
His kingdom coming, making all things new.
ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.
Silent and pure a gentle dew-drop fell,
Wilh gathered moisture, in a fragrant dell.
A flower, most grateful for the blessing given,
Sends up its incense towards the spangled heaven.
Soon morning comes — the sun's bright rays descend
And hues prismatic with the dew-drop blend ;
In beaut\' flower, globe, sunlight, all combine
To point beholders to a power divine.
But exhalations rise ; — the cr^'stal boon
Has gilded earth and disappeared ere noon.
Thus a sweet babe with health and beaut}' blest
Came a rich treasure — to affection's breast.
The parents, grateful for the immortal loan,
Sent prayers and praises to "our Father's" throne.
A sphere of innocence the blessing crowned
And hope's bright halo gilds the circle round ;
And while the^'^kiss the fond one and rejoice
An angel whispers in a still small voice —
*'Come hither child ; in love thou first wast given ;
Unchanging Love now calls thee home to heaven."
LINES.
Go ask the owl, weak man, to view the sun ;
Go ask the torpid sloth a race to run ;
Go ask the mole to lecture thee on light ;
Go ask the bat to expatiate on sight
Go ask the deaf the properties of sound.
But ask not earth where thy true joys are found,
For heaven alone can fill the aching void,
And teach thee where to choose and what avoid.
His light alone dispels the sinner's gloom,
His light alone the dungeon can illume,
Teach woe to smile, extract attliction's dart,
*'Bind up the broken, heal the wounded heart,"
Relieve the heavy-laden of his load.
And bring estranged affections home to God.
NATURE.
Chaste as Diana is she whom I love,
Free iVom deceit as the spirits above,
I
80 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Fair, and as mild as sweet Cynthia's light.
Pure ^ a dew-drop refreshing the night.
Soothing her spell as she acts on the heart,
Stealttiily there she engrosses a part ;
And though mild is her sway and her language so sweet.
Yet euAious rivals ne'er bow at her feet !
But beautifuU pure and sincere though she be.
So chaste and so rare, yet she smiles upon me.
Kinilred and fnends would you know tl^ fair dame?
God is her Maker, and Nature her name.
MEMORY.
See Memory o'er spoils in vigil's pore.
Won from old Time, a consecrate store.
The key of science from her belt depends ;
Before her lie engravings of her friends.
Her magic glass, to nature ever true.
Brings bright phantasmas of the past to view.
O'er which the twilight of departed years
Steals with a witchery that but endears.
She guides the aged pilgrim joyful back
O'er scenes of youth in talismanic track ;
Friend after friend she brings before his eye,
Till the wrapt soul is lost in ecstacy.
THE MroXIGHT KNELL,
On tiie 19Ui of September, 1881, when Preaident Gftrfleld punned into
higher state of existence.
We heard the midnight bells of gloom
That oft precede the opening tomb.
And hearts of millions felt the blow
That laid our countiy's Chief so low.
But not for him — the good, the wise —
Those tolling bells gave warning cries.
But to our countiy — party-torn —
Now humbled, penitent, and lorn ;
For goodness, justice, truth, and love
Are active in the world above.
The pearly gates were opened wide
By angels on the other side,
And saints with joy received him home
When Heaven in mercy bade him "Come."
'Tis said that fiercest beast of prey
Will quail before the eye's keen ray :
/
BAR AH BMITH. 81
So the vile culprit could not face
The high resolve that power and place
Be given to patriots, firm and sound,
But skulked behind and gave the wound.
Still justice reigns, and Heaven's decree,
That earth fi'om miscreants shall be free,
Will daunt the weak and awe the strong
Till right shall triumph over wrong.
God of the nations, will that knell
Touch vain aspirants ? — who can tell —
Till North and South, and East and West,
Shall Join in union and be blest ?
Then noble men with patriot zeal will stand
Bulwarks of strength witliin our happy land,
And Freedom's banner, like the bow in heaven,
Prove a sure covenant with earth, — God-given.
g>arat) g>m(ti).
yeiy young writer was bom in Hanover in 179B, and died in that town, Aug.
THE WHITE CLOVER.
There is a little perfumed flower
That well might grace the loveliest bower.
Yet poet never deigned to sing
Of such an humble, rustic thing ;
Nor is it strange, for it can show
Scarcely one tint of Iris' bow.
Nature, perchance, in careless hour.
With pencil dry might paint the flower,
Yet instant blushed her fault to see,
So gave it double fragrancy.
Rich recompense for aught denied.
Who would not homely garb abide,
If gentlest soul were breathing there
Blessings throughout its little sphere ?
Sweet flower ! the lesson thou hast taught
Shall check each proud, ambitious thought ;
Teach me internal worth to prize.
Though found in lowliest, rudest guise I
W^f^mm (iTogstaieU Bpi)ant.
nas C. Upham, LL. D. was bom in Deerfield, in 1709. He graduated at
ouUi College in 1818, and became in 1825, a Congregational minlBter. Soon
ards he was made jprof essor of mental and moral philosophy in Bowdoin
3. He travelled in Europe, Egypt, and Palestine, and was an author of nu-
I books. He died in 1873.
82 POETS OF NE W HAMPSHIRE.
THE SPIRITUAL TEMPLE.
The Temple, once that brightly shone
On proud Moriah's rocky brow ;
Not there doth God erect his throne,
Nor build his place of beauty now.
The sunbeam of the orient da}^
Saw nought on earth more bright and fair ;
But desolation swept away,
And left no form of glory there.
But Grod, who rear'd that chisel'd stone.
Now builds upon a higher plan ;
And rears the columns of his throne.
His Temple — in the heart of man.
Oh man, oh woman ! Enow it well,
Nor seek elsewhere His place to find,
That Grod doth in this Temple dwell.
The Temple of the holy mind !
SONG OF THE PILGRIMS.
Written for the second Centennial Celebration at Dorer. 1838.
The breeze has swelled the whitening sail,
The blue waves curl beneath the gale,
And, bounding with the wave and wind.
We leave Old England's shores behind :
Leave behind our native shore.
Homes, and all we loved before.
The deep may dash, the winds may blow.
The storm spread out its wings of woe.
The sailors' eyes can see a 8hix>ud
Hung in the folds of every cloud ;
Still, as long as life shall last.
From that shore we'll speed us fast.
For we would rather never be,
Than dwell where mind cannot be free,
But bows beneath a despot's rod,
Even where it seeks to worship God.
Blasts of heaven, onward sweep !
Bear us o'er the troubled deep I
O see what wonders meet our eyes I
Another land and other skies I
Columbian hills have met our view I
THOMAS a. UPRAM. 83
Adiea ! Old England's shores adieu I
Here at length oar feet shall rest,
Hearts be firee, and homes be blest.
As long as yonder firs shall spread
Their green arms o'er the mountain's head ;
As long as yonder cliffy shall stand,
Where Join the ocean and the land,
Shall those cliffs and mountains be
Proud retreats for liberty.
Now to the King of kings we'll raise
The paean loud of sacred praise :
More loud than sounds the swelling breeze,
More loud than speak the rolling seas !
Happier lands have met our view I
England's shores, adieu ! adieu !
THE INWARD CHRIST.
No more thou walkest, as of old,
On Judah's hills and mountains cold ;
With damp and stormy nights, that shed
Their dew and tempests on Thy head ;
And rocks and caverns for Thy bed.
The weary, fainting steps that knew
The rock, the cave, the midnight dew.
How great the change I now leave their trace
In souls renewed, in hearts of grace,
I n life's interior dwelling-place.
No more Thou walkest, as of old.
On Judah's hills and mountains cold ;
In holy hearts are gardens fair.
And gentle streams, and balmy air ;
And flowers, and golden skies are there.
THE LIVING FOUNTAIN.
I hear the tinkling camel's bell
Beneath the shade of Ebal's mount.
And men and beast, at Jacob's well.
Bow down to taste the sacred fount.
Samaria's daughter too doth share
The draught that earthly thirst can quell ;
But who is this that meets her there ?
What voice is this at Jacob's well?
84 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
'*Ho ! ask of me, and I will give,
From my own life, thy life's supply ;
I am the fount ! drink, drink and live ;
No more to thirst, no more to die !"
Strange, mystic words, but words of heaven ;
And they who drink to-day, as then,
To them shall inward life be given ;
Their aotda shall never thirst again I
THE GREATNESS OF LOVE.
Go, count the sands that form the earth.
Go, count the drops that make the sea ;
Go, count the stars of heavenl}' birth,
And tell me what their numbers be ;
And thou shalt know love's mystery.
No measurement hath yet been found.
No lines nor numbers, that can keep
The sum of its eternal round.
The plummet of its endless deep.
Or hights, to which its glories sweep.
Yes, measure love, when thou canst tell
The lands, where seraphs have not trod,
The hights of heaven, the depths of hell.
And laid th}' finite measuring-rod,
On the infinitude of God.
SILENCE UNDER TRLA.LS.
When words and acts untrue, unkind.
Against thy life like arrows fly.
Receive them with a patient mind.
Seek no revenge, make no reply.
O holy silence ! 'tis the shield
More strong than warrior's twisted mail ;
A hidden strength, a might concealed.
Which worldly shafts in vain assail.
He who is silent in his cause
Hath left that cause to heavenly arms.
And Heaven's eternal aid and laws
Are swift to ward the threatening harms.
God is our great protecting power ;
Be still, the Great Defender moves ;
He watches well the dangerous hour.
Nor fails to save the child he loves.
\
OLIVBB WILLIAM BOURNE PEABODV. 85
i twin broken, Oliver and William, were born in Exeter, July 9, 1799. Tliev
lated at Hanmrd College in 1810. Oliver studied law at Cambridge, and
ifted in his native town eleven years. He went to Boston in 18*26. and en-
i In Jonmalism. In 1846 he turned his attention to theology, and became a
sher of the Unitarian denomination in Burlington, Vermont, where he died in
In 1833 he delivered a poem at Harvard College, and not long afterwardu
ler poem at the Centennial anniversary of the settlement of Portsmouth.
LINES.
0 who that has gazed, in the stillness of even,
On the fast-fading hues of the west,
Has seen not afar, in the bosom of heaven.
Some bright little mansion of rest.
And mourned that the path to a region so fair
Should be shrouded with sadness and tears ;
That the night- winds of sorrow, misfortune and caro.
Should sweep from the deep rolling waves of despair,
To darken this cold world of tears ?
And who that has gazed has not longed for the hour
When misfortune forever shall cease ;
And hope, like the rainbow, unfold through the shower
Her bright written promise of peace !
And O, if the rainbow of promise may shine
On the last scene of life's wintry gloom.
May its light in the moment of parting be mine ;
1 ask but one ray from a source so divine,
To brighten the vale of the tomb.
TOO EARLY LOST.
Too lovely and too earl}^ lost !
My memor}' clings to thee.
For thou wast once my guiding star
Amid the treacherous sea ;
But doubl}* cold and cheerless now.
The wave too dark before.
Since ever}' beacon light is quenched
Along the midnight shore.
I saw thee first, when hope arose
On youth's triumphant wing,
A n^ thou wast.lovelier than the light
Of early dawning spring.
Who then could dream that health and joy
Would e'er desert the brow
So bright with varying lustre once.
So ehill and changeless now ?
POETS OF NEW BAUPSBIBS.
That brow ! hov proudly o'er it then
Thj- kingly beauty hang,
When wit, or eloquence, or mirth,
Camo burning from the tongue I
Or when upou that glowing che«k
The kindling Bmile was spread.
Or tears to thine own woea denied,
For others' griefs were shed !
Thy mind, it ever was the home
Of high and holy thought ;
Thy life, an emblem of pare thonghta,
Thy pare example taught ;
When blendeii in thine eye of light.
As from a royal throne.
Kindness, and peace, and virtoe, there
In mingled radianee shone.
One eYening, when the autumn dew
Upon the bills was shed.
And Hesperus, far down the west,
Ills Btany host had led.
Thou aaitkst, how sadly and how soft.
To that prophetic eye.
Visions of da^ness and decline
And early death were nigh.
It was a voice from other worlds,
Which none beside might hear.
Like the night breeze's plaintive lyre.
Breathed faintly on the ear ;
It was the warning kindly given
When blesseJ spirits come
From their bright par»dise above.
To call a slater home.
How sadly on my spirit then
That Rttal waroing (bll I
But O. the dark reality
Another vok'e may tell ;
Tb« quick decline — the parting sigb —
Tbe siowly moving bier —
Tke !*^ei( fiwl — the sculptured stone —
Thv uuavailiii^ ii'ir.
The atuAninth Hovers, that bkM» in heaven,
^twinc thy u-iiigJes now ;
, Tha cruwu that ^hiuaa ii
OLIVER WILLIAM BOURNE PEABODT. 87
J - ■ M ^ ■ ^IMM BM^ ■ ■ I ■ » ■ I II - - - _ —
Is beaming on thy brow ;
The seraphs round the burning throne
Have borne thee to thv rest,
To dwell among the saints on high,
Companions of the blest.
The sun hath set in folded clouds.
It's twilight rays are gone,
And gathered in the shades of night,
The storm is rolling on.
Alas ! how ill that bursting storm
The fainting spirit braves,
When they, the lovely and the lost,
Are gone to early graves.
STANZAS.
I love the memory of that hour
When first in youth I found thee ;
For infant beauty gently threw
A morning freshness round thee ;
A single star was rising there,
With mild and lovely motion ;
And scarce the zephyr's gentle breath
Went o'er the sleeping ocean.
I love the memory of that hour —
It wakes a pensive feeling.
As when within the winding shell
The playful winds are stealing ;
It tells my heart of those bright years,
Ere hope went down in sorrow,
When all the joys of yesterday
Were painted on to-morrow.
Where art thou now? Thy once loved flowers
Their yellow leaves are twining.
And bright and beautiful again
The single star is shining.
But where art thou ? The bended grass
A dewy stone discloses.
And love's light footsteps print the ground
Where all my peace reposes.
Farewell I My tears were not for thee ;
'Twere weakness to deplore thee.
Or vainly mourn thine absence here,
While angels half adore thee.
88 PORTS OF NEW HAMP8HIBB.
Thj days were few and quickly told ;
Thy short and mournful story
Hath ended like the morning star,
That melts in deeper glor}'.
asailUam ISourne (©liber ^eabotrg.
An acooimt of the birth and education of W. B. O. Peabody has lieen ^ven in
connection with that of hia twin-brother Oliver. Immediately after graduation at
Hanrard he studied theology, and when ordained, in 1830, he became pastor of the
l^nitarian church in Suringdeld, Mass., and it was there that his whole ministerial
life was passed. He died May 88, 1847. He was the author of several occasional
poems, and a Tolume of his sermons was published after liis death.
THE AUTUMN EVENING.
Behold the western evening light !
It melts in deepening gloom ;
So calml}' Christians sink away,
Descending to the tomb.
The winds breathe low ; the withering leaf
Scarce whispers from the tree ;
So gently flows the parting breath,
When good men cease to be.
How beautiful on all the hills
The crimson light is shed !
'Tis like the peace the Christian gives
To mourners round his bed.
How mildly on the wandering cloud
The sunset beam is cast I
'Tis like the memor}' lell behind
When loved ones breathe their last.
And now, above the dews of night,
The 3'ellow star appears ;
So faith springs in the heart of those
Whose ejes are bathed in tears.
But soon the morning's happier light
Its glory shall restore,
And ej'elids that are sealed in death
Shall wake to close no more.
THE RISING MOON.
The moon is up ! How calm and slow
She wheels above the hill I
WILLIAM BOURNE OLIVER PEABODT. 8D
The weary winds foi^et to blow,
And all the world lies still.
The way-worn travellers, with delight.
The rising brightness see,
Revealing all the paths and plains,
And gilding every tree.
It glistens where the harrying stream
Its little ripple leaves ;
It falls upon the forest shade,
And sparkles on the leaves.
So once, on Jodah's evening hills.
The heavenly lustre spread ;
The gospel sounded from the blaze,
And shepherds gazed with dread.
And still that light upon the world
Its guiding splendor throws ;
Bright in the opening hours of life.
But brighter at the close.
The waning moon, in time, shall fail
To walk the midnight skies ;
But God hath kindled this bright light
With fire that never dies.
THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
And this is death, how cold and still,
And yet how lovely it appears ;
Too cold to let the gazer smile.
But far too beautiful for tears.
The sparkling eye no more is bright.
The cheek hath lost its roselike red ;
And yet it is with strange delight
I stand and gaze upon the dead.
Bat when I see the fair wide brow,
Half shaded by the silken hair.
That never looked so fair as now.
When life and health were laughing there,
I wonder not that grief should swell
So wildly upward in the brea8%
And that strong passion once rebel
That need not, cannot be suppressed.
00 POETS OF NEW HAMPSBtME.
I wonder not thst parents^ ejes
In gia\ng thus grow cold and £■,
That burning tears and aching a^lis
Are blended with the fimeril
The .spirit bath an earthly part^
That weeps when earthly pfajnuie
And heaven woaki scorn the froaen lieait
That melts not when the infant dies.
And yet why moam ? that deep
Shall nevermore be broke by pain ;
Those lips no more in sighs nncloset
Those eyes shall never weep again.
For think not that the blushing flower
Shall wither in the church-vard sod :
*Tiras made to gild an angel's bow»
Within the paradise of God.
Once more I gaze, and swift and far
The clouds of death in sorrow fly :
I see thee like a new-bom star
Move up thy pathway in the sky ;
The star bath rays serene and bright,
But cold and pale compared with thine ;
For thy orb shines with heavenly light.
With beams unfailing and divine.
Then let the burdened heart be fi-ee.
The tears of sorrow all be shed.
And parents calmly bend to see
The mournful beauty of the dead ;
Thrice happy, that their infant bears
To heaven no darkening stains of sin.
And only breathed life's morning airs
Before its evening storms begin.
Farewell ! I shall not soon forget, —
Although thy heart hath ceased to beat.
My memorj- warmly treasures yet
Th\' features calm and mildly sweet ;
But no, that look is not the last ;
We yet may meet where seraphs dwell.
Where love no more, deplores the past.
Nor breathes that withering word, Farewell !
MONADNOC.
Upon the far-off mountain's brow
The angry storm has ceased to beat,
/
WILLIAM BOURNE OLIVER PEABODY, 91
And broken clouds are gathering now,
In lowly reverence round his feet.
I saw their dark and crowded bands
On his firni head in wrath descending,
But there once more redeemed he stands.
And heaven's clear arch is o'er him bending.
I've seen him when the rising sun
Shone like a watch-fire on the height ;
Fve seen him when the day was done.
Bathed in the evening's crimson light !
I've seen him in the midnight hour.
When all the world beneath were sleeping.
Like some lone sentry in his tower,
His patient watch in silence keeping.
And there, as ever, steep and clear,
That p}Tamid of nature springs !
He owns no rival turret near,
No sovereign but the King of kings.
While many a nation hath passed by.
And many an age, unknown in storj',
His walls and battlements on high
He rears, in melancholy glory.
And let a world of human pride.
With all its grandeur, melt away,
And spread around his rocky side
The broken fVagments of decay.
Serene his hoary head will tower.
Untroubled by one thought of sorrow ;
He numbers not the weary hour.
He welcomes not nor fears to-morrow.
Farewell I I go my distant way ;
Perhaps, not far in future years.
The eyes that glow with smiles to-day,
Maj' gaze upon thee, dim with tears.
Then let me learn from thee to rise.
All time and chance and change defying ;
Still pointing upward to the skies.
And on the inward strength relying.
If life before my weary eye
Grows fearful as an angry sea.
Thy memoiy shall suppress the sigh
For that which never more can be.
yt TOTTS cr xr»
TZ. lit* totir:
Calit ^ort.
^Au^ •ttcp^ v^ft tut ««&!?£ wa [<f Vft.<r C^ijcn ?<acr^ Hf iitesteiidw «M Sttnii
THE BATTLE OF LTXDYN. LAXE.
Ixi «i«w dar* t«: ftiil iH
RjkXig inui tbe ': •ogle's m&nimi Iceftth
Ti^AX c^«>i tbe bnve u> deeds of d«ath.
Tb*:n X\ifc dism&l (tv of siaos^iK^r
Broke on midnigtjt's slomlterir-g boar :
And the partlitd gri^uni dnnk biooi like wmter,
A§ beoeatli the dean I v shower
Of musket and artillerr.
With motto calm vet Ipold, "rii irr,''
The bri&tliDg ranks move on.
Mid deafening thunder, salpburoos flash.
And shouts, and groans, and forces crash.
Till h^rk ! the shairp. dear bavonefs clash,
Tells that the work is done.
There deeds of deathless praise proclaim.
How rolled war's tide when Riplev's name
Swelled the wild shout of vietorv ;
And dauntless Miller and McNeil
I>ed foremost, in the strife of steel.
The flower of northern chivalrv ;
While Scott from British brows then tore
The laurels d^ed in Gallic gore I
But fliese terrific scenes are past ;
The peasants' slumbers, the wild blast
Alone shall break them,
And those proud bannered hosts are gone,
Where the shrill trumpet's charging tone
No more may wake them.
BENJAMIN BROWN FRENCH. 93
Time in his flight has swept away
Each vestige of the battle fray.
Save that the traveller views around
The shattered oak — the grass-gi*own mound
That shrines a hero's ashes !
Peace to the brave ! around their stone
Shall Freedom twine her rosy wreath.
And, though with moss of 3'ear8 o'ergrown,
Fame shall applaud their glorious death,
Long as Niagara dashes !
ISeniamin ISrotain jFrencf).
B. B. French was born in Chester in 1800. He studied law with his father, anil
\raa admitted to the bar in 1825, after which he practised in Hootcsett and in Satton.
He went to Newport in 1827, and l)eranie editor and a proprietor of the S, H. Spec.
i4»ior. In 1834 he removed to the city of Wastiinpton. He was assistant clerk of
ibe U. S. House of BepresentaUves in 1838, and clerk hi 1845. He died Aug. 12, 1870.
THE MAIDEN AT CHURCH.
Snfnreste<1 bj seeing a maiden-lady at church, whom the author has seen there
ever since he can remember.
There doth she sit — that same old girl
Whom I in boyhood knew ;
She seems a fixture to the church,
In that old jail-like pew !
Once she was young — a blooming Miss,
So do the aged say ;
Though e'en in youth, I think she must
Have had an old like way.
How prim, and starched, and kind she looks.
And so devout and staid !
I wonder some old bachelor
Don*t wed that good old maid !
She does not look so very old,
Though 3'ears and years are by
Since any 3'ounger she has seemed,
E'en to my boyhood's eye.
That old straw bonnet she has on,
Tied with that bow of blue.
Seems not to feel Time's cankering hand,
*Tis **near as good as new."
That old silk gown — the square-toed shoes,
Those gloves — that buckle's gleam ;
1)4 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HISK.
That silver buckle at her waist,
To me, like old friends seem.
Live on, live on, and may the years
Touch lightly on thy brow ;
As I beheld thee in my youth,
And as I see thee now ;
May I, when age its furrows deep
Have ploughed upon mj* cheek,
Behold thee in that pew, unchanged,
So prim, so mild, so meek !
THOUGHTS ON VISITING THE PLACE OF MY
NATIVITY.
The silver threads that mingle with
The auburn on my brow,
Warn me that Time's relentless hand
Is bus}' with me now ;
But here, among my native hills.
The thoughts of age depart,
And all the glow of sunn}' youth
Comes bounding through my heart.
Can I be old ? There stands the tree
From which, but yesterday,
This very hand, in clusters bright.
Bore the ripe fruit away ;
And is not that my father's house
Which stands upon the hill?
And there, upon the brawling stream.
Clatters the busy mill.
*'You are not old" — thus Fancy said.
As in a dream-like mood.
Gazing on all these youthful scenes.
Within the vale I stood.
I turned^-delusive Fancy fled —
A monitress to me.
Stern and sincere Heaven's earth-bom child,
Stood grave Reality.
Clothed in the sacred garb of Tmth,
With mourning on her brow.
She whispered sadly in mine ear,
''Where is that father now?
And where are many, once beloved,
BENJAMIN BRO WN FRENCH. Do
Who roved, 'mid summer's bloom,
These dells with us, all life and joy ?
Alas, within the tomb !
And, ah, that ^yesterday' of thine!
Years — ^years have passed away,
And what a train of vast events
Divides it from to-day I
Those hands that bore the ripened fruit
Were 3'oung and tiny then.
While now with thews and sinews strong,
They cope their way with men ;
The mill that clatters by the stream
By man has been renewed.
Nought, save the tree, the rock, the hill,
Stand now as then they stood !"
A troop of children passed me by
In all their noisy glee.
And voices shouted, loud and clear,
Familiar names to me —
The names of those whom once I knew —
The absent and the dead,
Another generation trod
The paths I used to tread.
Though strangers dwell within the halls
Where once my fathers dwelt.
Though strangers at the altar kneel,
Where once my father knelt.
The place remains where boyhood's years
So smoothly o'er me rolled.
And, standing here, I almost deem
Years cannot make me old !
FOR THE ATLANTIC CABLE CELEBRATION,
At Appledore Island, Isle of Shoals, Thursday, Aug. 10, 1856.
The outside world is boiling o'er
With all'the joy it's able ?
Why should not we of Appledore
Just celebrate *'The Cable?"
And ladies dear, you'll join, we know,
This glorious celebration.
For, how the sparks will come and go
From Nation unto Nation !
^
FOETS OF NEW HAMPSSIBS.
Yankee doodli;, kefp it down.
The cord beneath the de«p, iir,
Two worlds are joined. To bless th' erenl
Our revels we will keep, sir.
Time was when ghosts were sent to dwell
]u the bottom of the sea, sir.
By [jrayer and candle, book and bell.
No further plague to l>e, sir.
But now they've laid a s|)irit there —
A inigtity spirit, too, sir.
Whom neither book, nor bell, nor prayer
Can silence, or can do, sir.
Yankee doodle, A'eep U down, etc.
Anil spirits ofl of e»'il name,
Have entered into man, sir.
Till ■•half seas over" he became
Before his voyage began, sir —
But HOW tliej*'ll whisper in his ear
Hj- lightning, without thunder —
And nil the spirits he shall hear
Shall come from tckole teas under/
Y'ankee doodle, etc.
Xo more the lagging ship we'll greet — ■
The fitlcen, twenty miler —
We'll have the news ere she can heat
The water in her boiler !
When Vic sits down to take her lea,
Or Jeemes sits down to dine, sir,
Ere they get up, beneath the sea
They'll hob nob o'er tlieir wine, sir I
Yankee doodle, etc.
Joho Bull can hardly damn his eyes
Or Jonathan say dam it.
Before, by tell-tale sprite advice,
■ The other side shall lam it !
As one, two nations shall increase.
Though ocean roll between 'em —
The Cable — a bright bond of peace —
From fighting e'er shall screen 'em.
Yankee doodle, etc.
Then bless the wire where now it liei.
The ocean bed along, sir —
Earth's greatest hope, the sea's great prlze^
Bless it in prayer and song, sir 1
BENJAMIN BRO WN FRENCH. 97
Bless it, and pray it may grow old,
For now 'tis in its youth, sir —
When years pass on, by centuries told,
May it lie to tell the truth, sir !
Yankee doodle, etc.
Now in old Father Neptune's care,
As well as we are able,
We place, with shouts of joy and prayer,
The Atlantic Ocean Cable !
And now three cheers for Appledore,
Where ocean round us rolls, sir —
For the ladies fair, one Tiger more !
God bless the Isles of Shoals, sir I
Yankee doodle, etc.
HYMN COMPOSED AT GETTYSBURG.
'Tis holy ground —
This spot, where, in their graves,
We place our country's braves,
Who fell in Freedom's holy cause,
Fighting for liberties and laws ;
Let tears abound.
Here let them rest ;
And summer's heat and winter's cold
Shall glow and freeze above this mould —
A thousand years shall pass away —
A nation still shall mourn this clay.
Which now is blest.
Here where they fell.
Oft shall the widow's tears be shed.
Oft shall fond parents mourn their dead.
The orphan here shall kneel and weep.
And maidens, where their lovers sleep.
Their woes shall tell.
•
Great God in Heaven I
Shall all this sacred blood be shed?
Shall we thus mourn our glorious dead ?
Oh, shall the end be wrath and woe ;
The knell of Freedom's overthrow,
A country riven?
It will not be I
We trust, O God ! thy gracious power
To aid us in our darkest hour.
i
98 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIRB.
This be our prayer — "O Father ! save
A people's freedom from its grave.
All praise to Thee !"
THE LAST WORDS OF JOHN BROWN.
Wben brare old John Brown, whose fame U now Immortal, stood npon Cbe cal-
lows, with the cap drawn over hla eyes, a handkerchief was tendered to him, wmch
he was told to drop when he was ready. He indignantly refused it, saying sternly :
**Jchn Brawn is dCway$ ready— Virginia drops the ketndJurchi^I**
A stem, brave man of iron nerve
Stood on the gallows tree,
A martyr to the noble thought
That all mankind are free ;
For threescore years that thought had burned
Into his soul, so brave,
Till he believed it came from God
That fie should free the slave !
He passed through trouble, grief, and woe,
No murmuring word he spoke ;
Stem in his purpose — firm he stood,
As stands the mountain oak ;
Nor friend nor foe could move his soul
To swerve from his intent ;
The time, he thought, at last had come—
Bold to his work he went 1
Alas ! that arm, though nerved with Tmth,
Essayed too great a deed.
It bravely strudk and boldly too —
It battled but to bleed !
The man^ borne down and overcome,
Was forced at last to yield ;
But the brave soul, defiant still,
Its mighty strength revealed,
And e'en the bravest, cowered and quailed
Beneath that eagle eye.
Which, all the petty tyrant's rage
It did in scorn defy !
A trial ! — 'twas a mockery —
Condemned this man to death ;
With cheek unblanched, he scorned their power,
E'en with his latest breath ;
And when, upon the gallows-tree
This brave old hero stood.
Prepared, in Freedom's holy cause,
To sacrifice his blood,
NATHANIEL QOOKIN UPHAM. 99
When asked the sign of death to give,
Replied, in accents steady,
** Virginia drops the handkerchief —
John Brown is alwaj's ready ! ! "
Virginia dropped the handkerchief!
And brave John Brown is gone !
But, ah, she finds her ruin^ while
^^His soul is marching on."
The man whom all men thought was crazed,
When tyrants he defied,
Saw the great future deeper far
Than all the world beside !
N. G. Upham, LL. D., was a native of Rochester, born in 1801. He graduated at
nartmoutn CoUege In 1820, and was admitted to the bar in Strafford County, lie
opened an office at Bristol, but afterwards settled in Concord. From 1883 to
1S48 be was one of the Judges of the Superior Court, and in 18S3 was commissioner
to London, **for at^ustment of claims between citizens of the United States and
Great Britain, against the government of either country." After his resignation of
the office of Ju^ge of the Superior Court he became general agent of the Concord
Railroad, remaining in that position nearly to the dose of his life. He died in 186tt.
DEDICATION HYMN.
To thee, O God, with joy we raise.
In these ihy courts, our songs of praise,
And dedicate this shrine to thee,
Sacred, incarnate Mj'stery.
So when thy chosen temple rose
O'er Judea's land of fearful woes,
Thy children met in gladness there.
To consecrate thine house with prayer.
And now, in western lands afar.
Led hither by thy Bethlehem star,
God of our fathers ! while we here
Erect thine altars, be thou near !
There be thy power and glory known
By clouds of incense from thy throne ;
And here, the broken-hearted soul.
At touch of thine, be rendered whole.
There sacred symbols often prove
To grateful hearts thy dying love ;
And life's young hours with joy begin
With sprinklings from thy crystal spring.
65180ft
1 DO POETS OF NE W EAMPSEIRB.
There may thy banner wave abroad,
Inscribed with "Holiness to the Lord ;"
And peace and love, long years to come,
Make this our favored Gospel Home.
Re?. Amos Blanchard was bom In Peacham, Vt, in 1801. He gradniited at An-
doTcr Theological Seminary in 1828, and became pastor of the Congregatioiia]
church in Warner in 1837. In 184C he removed to Meiiden, and waa pastor of the
church at Kimball Union Academy, where he remained till near the close of his
life. He died in liis native town in 1869.
AN EVENING IN THE GRAVE-YARD.
The moon is up, the evening star
Shines lovely from its home of blue—
The fox-howl's heard on the fell afar,
And the earth is robed in a sombre hue ;
From the shores of light the beams come dowUi
On the river's breast, and cold grave stone.
The kindling fires o'er heaven so bright
Look sweetl}' out from yon azure sea ;
While the glittering pearls of the dewy night
Seem trj'ing to mimick their brilliancy ;
Yet all those charms no joy can bring
To the dead, in the cold grave slumbering.
To numbers wild, yet sweet withal,
Should the harp be struck o'er the sleepy pillow,
Soft as the murmuring, breezy fall
Of sighing winds on the foamy billow ;
For who would disturb in their silent bed
The fancied dreams of the lowly dead ?
Oh ! is there one in this world can say
That the soul exists not afler death ?
That the powers which illumine this mould of day
Are but a puff of common breath ?
Oh ! come this night to the grave and see
The sleepy sloth of your destiny.
The night's soft voice, in breathings low.
Imparts a calm to the breast of the weeper :
The water's dash and murmuring flow
No more will soothe the ear of the sleeper,
Till He, who slept on Judah's plains.
Shall burst death's cold and icy chains.
MART CUTT8. lOl
I've seen the moon gild the mountain's brow,
I've watched the mist o'er the river stealing,
But ne'er did I feel in my breast, till now,
So deep, so calm, and so holy a feeling :
Tis soft as the thrill which memory throws
Athwart the soul in the hour of repose.
Thou Father of all ! in the worlds of light.
Fain would my spirit aspire to thee ;
And through the scenes of this gentle night.
Behold the dawn of eternity :
For this is the path, which thou hast given.
The only path to the bliss of Heaven.
Jttarg €ttttB.
Miss Ciitts was bom In Portamouth, April 4, 1801. Her father, Edward Outts,
was |at one time a shipping merchant, engaged in East India trade, and at bU
death president of the First National Bank of Portsmouth. She was great-grand
danghter of President Holroke of Harvard College. In 1832 she left Portsmouth
irlth tier brother, the late Hampden Gntts, who with his wife, a daughter of Consul
JaxTls, went to North Hartland, Vermont, to reside. In 1860 she went to Brattle-
boro* Vt., with her brother's family, and remained there until 1879, when she went
to Brooklyn, N. Y., to reside with a niece, Mrs. Howard. She died in tiiat city,
May 20, 1883. Miss Cutts ls8ue<l two rolnmes of Terse. The first was a sprlRhti v
miscellaneous collection called "The Autobiography of a Clock;" the second was
entitled "Grondalla," a romance In yerse, founded on incidents in the history of
Iter own Ikmlly In Portsmouth.
SEA SHELLS.
Bright, radiant shells from foreign climes.
How beautiful ye are.
Decked with the roseate tints ye bring
From native shore afar !
I love your colors and your shine.
Stray ones from other shofes ;
But 3'et a deeper grace ye have,
A dearer charm is yours.
Ye bring the mighty ocean's roar
Within your little space.
As if no change, no new abode,
Its memory could efface.
Ah ! others praise your glowing hues :
More wonderful to me,
Than even the most gorgeous tints.
These whispers of the sea.
They seem to speak of hidden power :
And yet it is not so :
d
POETS OF KSW HAMPSHIBE.
Stnoge. strange it is tfaat ye ^Kwld brii^
The raging water's flow !
Ab I it is strange that what wc lore
In joyous, early d*y.
Should never, never fjrom the soul.
The spirit. fftJe awmy '.
Then sing, sweet shells, sii^ on Jtnl teD
Of tba old oeesn's nwr :
It wKs yonr first love, tad aught else
tjhall vanish Uut before.
When first cr^alM). weak and fraU,
The mighty soa^t] ye beard.
And DOW no mosic of tiie bud.
No zejihyr. ^coig of bitd
Will e'er efface it. Be it 90.
Sing i>n : ve Wng to me
Tbe da&hi&g boui>1. tbe foaming spn\.
The gVjnr of the sea !
I se«ni to view tite flirEm; wvTe.
1 bear Ibe whiicng pusl).
A$ brlgt.i aivi lOrar. a^. T-viA and boU
Tbe $i'>irkiin^ vauis ru^.
TVn ewT t>n«ibe ibe stms to ne
Tliat lells << oanve s^xht :
I kiv* yoMr t«uiTy : fo< liife c
Br^t coes. I V»ve yw
>4>NG.
I iiww a beanii where >e^lrt ««» «K :
Why » TCt Kirii j»i :
Tbe sw^N*. i^ pc». i6e flki.
Aias ! bi>w TDoA k in tbe w«nl,
Tk« *ini;ile »v«^3. 1 iww ;
"n* bia^tL's: *»i r\Je:
A^ : '«ad tbe nntvl jtwnes of Sft.
B«>« «* »v Le«w ""^ w-MiJis- ^w*
GEORGE WASHINGTON HAMMOND. 103
And trust, though years may desolate
That once so cherished spot,
There may remain one gentle heart
That will forget me not !
I knew a hearth where bright eyes met :
Why is my spirit sad ?
For round that hearth there only thronged
The sweet, the pure, the glad.
THE FATED.
saw a picture once, or had a dream, —
know not which ; but oft there comes a gleam
Lcross my mind of what it did portra3\
t was a stormy, wild, tempestuous day ;
Lud a poor sailor on a rock is cast,
nth nought to shield him from the angry blast,
ilone he stands ; and, far as eye can reach,
'here is no sign of ship or isle or beach :
Fought seen but ocean, ^-ocean all around,
7ith its tumultuous heaves, — no other sound :
fo form but his, no human arm to save,
.s wave on wave came tumbling over wave.
'he ocean roared and beat and splashed and fumed ;
till on his craggy rock stood firm the doomed,
heard it rave — oh ! terrible the sound !
)arker and darker grew the clouds around ;
Tot yet the fated from his rock is riven :
!'et is he there, — there, with his eye on heaven.
mond was bom In Gilaum. May 13, 1802. He was educated at AlBtead
studied medidne and graduated in 1824 from the Dartmouth Medical
ae settled first In Richmond, and aftemards in Proctors vi lie, Vt He
> his native town in 1830. In 18G6 he renioTcd to Stockbridge, N. Y.
[led Jan. 30. 1872. He war a delegate to the Constitutional Convention,
1 served his district as State Senator in 1855 and '56.
THE PROSPECT.
•ed years hence A hundred years hence,
a change will be made And less I am thinking,
»ms and morals. Will no silly pretence
rems and trade ; Be made for rum-drinking
ords who fatten, Let the vender now revel,
the fooFs pence ; All people of sense
ings will be altered Will think him a devil,
idred years hence. A hundred years hence.
liU
w«T5 1^ jww w^mFmnoL
Cmr law«i -iusr ^^tfl -hgsu
In 3ir jjimnie Ji»iief.
The jTWWer ^^kacB :
9j9t»n ^ it ^il v»m
A ^>tf«^ jean iieace.
kiimmiUn^ acsencina
Th«7 tiM« may hescow^
^>n raining potatoes
r>r l^amim; to mow,
Tlwiy <uioo«e to commence,
^/vr their traiie will be ended,
A hondrftd jeara hence.
Wjml wondor 'tpriil gnre
T!iac w« €7^ sidfanft
Rumaeflez»tD Iiv«?
Tliar :h^ w&s nut pumBhied
WItiL vemoefliice inDBisa*
All will be jsfiQiiuhfld
A iumdied vejos htnw!*-
A mmired jsscs hflocev
Wofii X BammM oaliBssnmid*
Among ru& case ^lows
I preanme mj be IKiiiiid
T!ia last mznaeHfir'a skm.
Staged and cEresaed i& hia
clothes^
And the monkers wiH grin*
A^ they twig bm red nuoe.
FOR A FRIE^'D'S ALBUM.
The pictnre on the previoas page
Preaenta a lovers' acene.
Where love their youthful hearts
While seated on the green.
Buma clasps hia lassie in his arms
A or] dreama of fatare bliss,
EDraptarerl bj her many charms^
He fondly steals a
Nor dreams he that misfortune's doud
Is wafting o'er the glade,
His fanei(;d fUture to enshroud
Ileneath its somber shade.
Nor dreams she that the Lethean cup
Will mar that noble boy
Whose eyes poetic fire lights up.
And her fond hopes destroy.
Yet such the fate of Scotia's son
With talents at command ;
And such the fute of ever}' one
Where rum pollutes the land.
Then, sister, if some amorous swain
To you his love should tell,
CHARLES WARREN BREWSTER. 105
From giving heed, I pray refrain,
Until his breath you smell.
If free from whisky, rum, or gin,
' Why then, do as is fitting ;
If otherwise, pray lose no time,
But quick give him the mitten.
PRUDENCE.
O haste not to the gilded shrine.
Where Bacchus throws his favors round !
Let nobler views thy mind incline
To turn where purer pleasures shine,
And truer joj's are found.
O seek not for the Siren's bower.
Where champagne fills the sparkling bowl !
O yield not to her witching power.
For when she gives her richest dower.
She chains the captive soul.
0 shun the demon's noisy tent.
Where Bacchus waves his ivy plume ;
There woe will scowl and guilt torment, —
Though friends may raise a vain lament, —
And death will seal thy doom.
Let Temperance be thy beacon light
Throughout life's checkered way ;
Life's purest joys will then shine bright,
Its sweetest charms will greet thy sight,
Bright as the god of day.
Ctarlee WL&ntn iSreteeter.
Charies W. Brewster was bom in Portsmouth, September 13, 1802. He tiegnn to
lesm the printing basiness at the age of sLxteen years, and after acquiring his trade
became foreman in the office of tlie Portsmouth Journal, lie aftorwAnls became
owner of the Journal. The forty-three volumes of that paper, commencing in 1825
and ending in 1888, the year of ms <leath, are at once the record of his industry, the
UloBtraUon of his taste, the photograph of his character, his real biography. He
was author of **Bamblea about Portsmouth," in two yolumes.
HISTORY OF NEWS— BIRTH OF THE PRESS.
Lo ! when the Eternal planned his wise design,
Created earth, and like his smile benign.
With splendor, beauty, mildness, decked the skies, —
Waked from eternal sleep, with wondering eyes
Man viewed the scene, and gave to News its rise.
.- r ' ■ ■ - ■ :U" ' . _1_ . ', - — r - ,'""7" ? 'Ulll
t • *'
^t=- un«.
' -"^ ' T .. :: ^:,-- :;.--. *:.'. t:- ' tt- snuw
-"..' ^•-:- ': - • . ■.. '' 11:1.:" 1 ir-i-— ▼^t*.
'•' ■ .. '. . :• :.,i: 1 :^^■'•.^:- • -^ t-.nL *nr'a-.
■ »*'• *'■'#•-' '..rr II. 'L*^*'' ~" 'III- -itt "^^~*, "^?** _
m
««
' ♦ ^' ■ .: J- .-'1 • •.T'-"^ ■_:•-' Zr" -.r inirv :
V I-" t ...I" :.:■.' ir-— .:-3— : ^:i.t ii.»n: j.iri-CT
,<•,■ ..* iv. ^:-•..*>■ T.ir: •. *— -.c v* t» Tc*.ii»t
*r V ■.-. ^ r \.ii'.r^z fy.'^'Zi'^ :f f i-rTziit ftT..
- * ■
Of « •. .. • '■:.'.;/- v^ \:j' 6^..ls of Hjrn.
l'/t,t 'i,;if./<: t!,> p'r-turfr of a 'darkened hue:
1^ t >^'i fj<'> jjjor<r Nri;:ht low oy-i-n to the view :
'I ho«j;/h i.'jin;fs, rutiy cLarj^e witL ever-vaning flow,
'I Im'v 'Io »jot brinjr to all unmingled woe. '
l>o f/iillioriH i/jo«inj a kin^T'loiu's fallen state?
A ^ii'itar liiiilH the news with joy elate.
I>/M N i\ut\\\i\ii or frost destroy the planters hope.
And <'lirn«'H more jrenial yield a fruitful crop?
\\u\\nut'oA hy eoiitrast, these delijrht the more
In the \LiHA Wi\\\\\r^ of their bounteous store.
lloi'H ♦Mhe inhiitiate areher" claim a prize?
'I'hcj wcu'pint; fricMid, the heir with tearless ej-es,
ii
CTNTEIA L. OEROULD. 107
Show joy is oft the associate of grief,
And pain to some, to others is relief.
Full many ages, centuries, rolled along,
E'er news a record found, the press a tongue.
From sire to son, tradition's tale was told.
Or musty parchment spoke the days of old ;
No minor incidents of passing time
Ere filled a page or occupied a rh3*me ;
No wars of politics on paper fought.
And few the favored ones by science taught.
Minerva saw the dreary waste below.
And urged the gods their bounties to bestow.
The mind of man to chaste refinement* bring,
And ope to all the pure Pierian spring.
The gods convened ; but still Minerv^a frowned :
Not one of all their gifts her wishes crowned.
Till Vulcan thus, — and simple the address, —
'*My richest gifts behold,— the types and press !"
The goddess smiled, and swiftly Mercury flies
To bear to earth the god's most favored prize.
Auspicious hour ! hail, morn of brighter day !
Ages of darkness, close ! to light give wa}' !
The morn is past, the splendid sun is high !
The mist dispelled, and all beneath the sky
Feel its kind influence ; and its cheering ray
Enlivens all, and shines in brilliant da}*.
The sacred writ, which once was scarcely known
To teachers, now (almost a dream !) is thrown
Into a book, — all, in one little hour.
Alike in king's and lowest menial's power ;
And bounteous given — scarce is felt the task —
In every work which use or fancy ask.
Thousands of years a dreary night had been.
Ere Vulcan's art surpassed the tedious pen, —
Ere down from heaven this precious gift was brought,
To lend the speed of lightning unto thought.
(ffgnttia iL. CSleroulTi.
Mrs. Gcrould, of Concord, was bom In Sullivan. May 3, 1804. She \rae married
I Key. Moses Gerould, February 5, 18*29. Her son, Kev. Samuel L. Gerould, Is pas-
»r of the Congregational churcn In Goffstown.
SUNSET.
I saw the glorious pencillings
Of sunset in the west ;
nj> ForTsomrv
"Will.: r-.rriM*!* riMrk. vaitesr.tir
'S'/w ^iifc>ef - ibeL full orer*.
T:^ it'jZit witcirt k7'gf-> kfscp.
WfcV/LiiiZ »i-it iLlirff* Wert doike on eaith
htLilri lis ±
Witii joy it feoeaef of love?
DM e&rt£i. f»o l*e&au<.rti5. seem ilmost
The dawTi of beaven above?
liul vanished are Ibo^ brilliant cloads, —
Yet Go'l dotij surelv look
And Dote each dee«l of bu man-kind
Within his doomed a v-book.
HYMN FOR THE SEASON.
Now,autumn winds are blowing, Just like the hectic flashes
l*he leaves are flufring fast, Ere ceases mortal breath.
With ev'rv color glowing.
As sweeps along the blast. The Autumn winds are sweeping,
0*er some we held most dear,
'Y\\o. tinges of the rainbow And leaves are vigils keeping,
Are painted on the trees, While freezes nature's tear.
And leaves in thousand mazes,
Are dancing in the breeze. No autumn winds in heaven,
No changes there can come ;
liut, tho' all seems so brilliant But, 'tis eternal spring-time,
It is the glow of death, In that all glorious home.
rnt«l<li»iit Smith WAfi t>om in Amherst, Sent 21, 1804. In Mb youth he learned the
ImnliM'Mof piinilnKlnWindHdr, Vt. In I880negniduatcd at Dartmouth College, and
fnmi Aiid(iv«T Thoolofflral Soniinary in IHM. He became a Presbyterian cleiigy-
man and paiMor of a ctuirch in New York city. He left that position iu 1S6S, and
wan niadi* I'rt^sident of Dartmouth Collejfo. He dictl Aug. 16, 1877. The UnlTeraity
of N««w York ronfemMl on him the title of LL. D.in 18G1. He published books and
many Mc*rnions, and was a man of oreat abilitv. During his presidency Dartmouth
(.'uUufu luado gruat progress, and no was belorcd by every one.
Ik.
ROBERT B00D7 CA VERL 7. \ 09
TO MOUNT ASCUTNEY.
Fair monnt, in sharpest outline showing,
Athwart the clear, blue, wintry sky,
As long I gaze with moistened eye,
IIow weird the fancies thickly growing,
What scenes, long past, are flitting by !
Again, with childhood*s ken, I'm marking
Thy star-crowned peak, th}' evergreen,
Thy summer garb, thy snowy sheen ;
Again, with childhood's ears, I'm harking
To winds that rise thy cliffs atween.
I
Again, a college boy, Fm glancing
Adown the vale thou watchest well ;
Old hopes anew my bosom swell —
Fair castles airy re-advancing.
Called up as by the olden spell.
But how, like mists that morning brought thee,
Those baseless fabrics vanished soon ;
And now, at manhood's sober noon.
The golden lesson thou hast taught me,
I deem a truer, richer boon.
Old friends are in the valley sleeping,
That by me stood to look on thee ;
And youthful years how swift they flee :
Her solemn ward is memory keeping
O'er things that were, but may not be.
But thou, symbolic, still uprising,
Speakest of good that lives for aye^
And truth of an eternal day ;
Of good, all real joy comprising —
A glory fading not away.
So, as from day to day I view thee,
I count earth's shadows lighter still ;
And with an humbled, chastened will.
To God's own Mount uptooking through thee,
Immortal hopes my bosom thrill.
ilobm iSoolis Caberls*
oet WES bom In Barringrton, now Strafford, July 19, 1806. He graduated at
I Law School, awl practised law, first, six years in Limerick, Maine, and
[iOwell, Mass., where he now remains. His poetry, or authorship, may be
1 his ▼olumes of "Epics, Lvrics, and Ballads" ; in his several orations ; in his
f of the Indian Wars of Kew England;'* in his legends and dramas, eatl-
attles of the Bnah," and iu other works.
FOBTS OF SEW
THE OLD GARRISOX HOUSE.
Tb^v'rt sacred dow. ibeae walls of wood !
All : That cam \x»i cotapuitoa ?
Fivm age to age tbev'Te noblj stood,
Tfier'Te brared tbe omflict. sUmn and flood
Uf tbe cidea lime, a GairiBon.
Des«rud no*, within, viiboot.
Alone. ak«f. q{*oii a hilL,
And nim&r rLfe hx\ii con>e about,
Ttiai "in tho<« pon-bokts lookdi^ ooti
The midniglii f^jwctre lingen ^UU.'
Aoti cow. re fbosts. if gbost ibeie be,
spe&k ! ^peak. aod tcU ns of the strifr,
Wiirii _vc-u L&J l:fe anJ limbs as we,
Wln-n I'sr.liiig pilgr^nis had to flee
Tbe looiaiiawk and scalpii^ kmfe.
When in dai lonadless forest wDd,
Aj sound of wxr-wboop trata alar, —
How snxiC'U^. G}> and down ve filed.
And beveii Uie ic^^ ai>d upward {uled
TLi$ fomvas nide. How in dread war
Al bnaible hue. far acaUiered wide,
To loil y* gav* lae weair day,
Th*n liriTt-n btit. ai creobdie.
T:>e cbilii aoi motber. side br side,
Faf t wiadin^ ihiuogli tbe tbomj waj.
l~Dbe«\i«<>i tben Mae bnste of {ner.
Tbe piowl of w»!f DO terran bmngbt,
Nor rtavvivos rfjui]** in the war,
Th^ piigrim b««n laew do disaay.
Sar« what ibe knife aod Ciggot tai^t.
Wit^n tLftw doors tben bolted last,
^y. what of draamsr Pray speak and tell,
IloT^ oft amid ibe tempest blast,
I'e beaivl the lalijiii^ arrows cast,
TIh niiil-ni^t gn&. ibe aarage ydL
inuU VxrfLi^ th.«glkt. and wtat the caie,
Tbat uK>mi tte mmNtts. and tbe Ben
Tb bug s*«ri iD&Bia. cKtelkd tbere,
ROBERT B00D7 CA VERLY. \ \ \
To guard the household, and to share
The daugers dread impeuding then !
And what when tedious 3'ear8 had passed,
To mourn thy many kindred slain I
Here then, at peace, ye lived at last,
Yet did the sands of life fall fast,
And dust to dust returned again.
How then the spirit, wafted high,
From lifeless nature 'neath the ground ;
Then from the portals of the sky,
'Mid clouds of night, — oh, tell us why ^
In this old fort ye still are found !
Whence are thy joys eternal, bright.
As if ye had no faltering fear.
No sad bereavement, pain, nor blight,
Nor care to cramp that calm delight,
Foretold of faith in such career ?
Ye've seen the tribes that roamed of 3'ore,
From Loveirs Lake to the falls of Berwick,
Or down Cocheco's woodland shore.
Where Wat-che-no-it dipped his oar.
At Dover old, or Squanomegonic.
Since then as now to market town.
From hills afar, yet blue and bland,
'Mid summer's heat or winter's frown.
How settlers teamed their treasures down.
Proud in the products of the land.
Their foot-prints firm are on the plain
'Mid blighted frost, or vigorous health,
Where varied life of joy and pain.
Hath learned of mother earth how vain
Is pride or fame, or sordid wealth ! '
Then tell us true, if well ye may.
Since tribe and pilgrim hither met ;
How generations lived their day,
How each in turn have passed away,
But where, O where, untold as yet I
Of all that host, some knowledge lend.
That IVom the world the years have hurried,
Say what of Waldron, what his end ? —
1 1 2 POETS OF SEW HAMPSHIRE.
Old •'Mi-an-to-ni-mo" his friend.
And "Mossap slain yet kindly buried.***
Say, if amid that spirit sphere.
Ye have fall knowledge freely given,
Why thus withhold from mortals here
The glories grand, forever dear
To thee and thine, of death and heaven.
The spectre, listening, seemed to move.
Half hidden still within the wall,
In garb of light and looks of love,
AVilh cadence strange as from above,
Made answer thus, the one for all :
**Why thus should men make search to know
Their final fate forever hidden?
Bcvood this world of weal and woe.
Your vision finite ne'er can go ;
Enough for man it is forbidden.
*'What truth in Abraham ve trace,
And what of Israel's tribes are told.
What Bunyan wrote of the pilgrim race.
Ye well ma}' know and grow in grace.
As faithful fathers did of old.
^* Enough ! and whv should we disclose
The purpose grand ordained above,
Betra}' the trust that heaven bestows.
And tempt the world from calm repose.
Its tranquil life and truthful love.
''Then banish care ! Earth can but see.
Far in a cloud, a guardian hand ;
Nor heed the storm, alike as we,
True mariners upon the sea,
Ye'U find the pilgrim's promised land."
The night-damp dark in curtains fell.
Hushed were the hills and valleys green,
I bent my foot-step down the dell,
A voice there answered, "All is well," —
And nothing more was said or seen.
• Ifiantonlmo was a chief said to have been f riendlv, tall and canning. He hunt-
ed tAc foresu in this region of country, of which Major Richard Waldron WM
chief amonff the whites. Mossup, a brother of Miantonlmo, was UUed by ths
Mohawks about twenty miles *«above the PiscAtaqua," and was burled by Malor
Waldron. Ma^>r Waldron was afterwards cruelly murdered by the Indians In his
S^ sJ'^&i within his own garrison, at Cocboco, now Doyer, on the nlgtatof
SARAH S. BARNES. 113
CLARA.
Here on this bill she wandered in her childhood,
Briefly to dance sweet summer dajs along ;
While oft, in flowery vale or waving wild wood,
She blest the blae-bird with her little song.
Now bends the cypress, weeping limb and boaghs ;
Sad night comes down to lave the leaf with tears ;
Soft genUe zephyrs sigh their wonted vows
Unto the love of life's departed years.
Ten thousand days' bright dawn shall beam upon it,
Ten thousand nights' sweet stars shall come with care ;
Ten thousand wild-birds* lovely warbling on it.
Shall bring oblations to my Clara fair.
Earth's lengthened 3*ears are little in His sight.
Who rolls the spheres in majesty above ;
Whose sun on high is but a candle-light.
To lead fhiil mortals to a throne of love.
in. Bamei was a dAnghter of Hon. Richard H. Ajer. Her natiye town was
K>kaett. She resided in Bfanchester, and died there in 1873. On reylslting her
live hillB she oompoaed the first poem here given. It was written in the morning
a Fourth of July.
OUR MOUNTAIN HOMES.
The glad, green earth, beneath our feet.
The blue, bright heaven is greeting ;
And voiceless praise is rising up.
Responsive to the meeting ;
Tet wherefore wakes a scene like this
The warm heart*d wild emotion ?
The slave may boast a home as bright,
Beyond the pathless ocean.
Why do we love our mountain land?
The murmuring of her waters ?
Italia's clime is far more bland.
More beautiful her daughters I
Why pine we for our native skies ?
Our cloud-encircled mountains?
The hills of Spain as proudly rise,
As fleshly burst her fountains.
Alas for mount or classic stream.
By deathless memories haunted,
4 POSTS OF ITBW BAMPBBIRE.
For there oppresfflon nnrebuked,
His iron foot hath planted ;
The curse is on her vine-clad hilla,
Tis rife upon her waters,
But doubly deep npoo ber sons.
And on ber dark -eyed dan^ten.
Go fling a fetter o'er the mind, ,
And bid the heart be purer ;
Unnene the warrior'a lifted arm
And bid his aim be surer.
Go bid the wear}', prisoned bird
Unfurl her powerless pinion.
But ask not of the mind to brook
The despot's dark dominion.
Why turn we to our mountain homes
With more than filial feeling?
Tis here that Freedom's altars rise.
And Freedom's sons are kneeling.
Why sigh we not for soller climes?
Why cling to that which bore us?
Tia here we tread on Freedom's soil.
With Freedom's sunshine o'er us.
This is her home — this is her home,
The dread of the oppressor ;
And this her hallowed birth-day i«t
And millions rise to bless her.
'Tis joy's high sabbath ; gratethl hearts
Leap gladly in their fountains,
And blesB our God who fixed the home
Of freedom in the mountains.
FAREWELL TO NEW ENGLAND.
Farewell to New England, the land of my birth.
To the home of my father, the hall, and the hearth ;
To the beings beloved, who Lave gladdened with light
Life's perilous path — be their own ever bright.
And 0, when the exile is present in thought.
Be the fond recollection with happiness Ihiught ;
Remember, remember, but not to deplore,
Remember in smiles, or remember no more 1
I go to the land of the myrtle and viae,
Wtaara beanty ia wreatluiig the pillar uaA Bhrin« ;
MOODT CUBBIER. \ 15
lere fairj-like feet are repelling the sod,
d the incense of Nature is breathing to God.
' grave will be made where the winter is not,
id the sun of the south may illumine the spot ;
11 gild and will gladden the place of mj rest,
parting in death what in life I loved best.
at smile all unclouded when others are flown,
ight, beautiAil Nature ! that smile is thine own ;
glory above all the glories of earth,
e glory that woke when the morning had birth.
JClooTrs (tuniex.
Turrler was bom in BoscAwen, April 22, 1806. At an early age Ms par-
yed to Bow where hla early years were passed on a farm. He fltte<l for
Hopkinton Academy, and graduated at Dartmouth In 1834. He taught
Concord, and, in company with Asa Fowler, edited the New Hampshire
3aaette. He was afterwards principal of the Hopkinton Academy, and
IndpaJ of the High School at Lowell, Mass. In 1841 he removed to Jdao-
rbere he has since continued to reside. At Hopkinton and Lowell lie
aw and was admitted to the Bar, and became a law partner of Geo. W.
antU 1843, when he continued the practice of law lndei>endently until 1848.
ar the Amoskeag Bank was organized, and he became cashier. From
le present time be has been connected with banking institutions, and lie-
held many oflBoes of trust and responsibility in the state. A vuluuiv of
\ wa« puDliBhed by John B. Clarke in 188L
ALL THINGS CHANGE.
The fairest blossom of the spring.
Though beautiful and gay.
The gaudy insect's gilded wing.
Mast quickly pass away.
The star of beauty shines on high,
Whilst o'er the mountain's height,
It climbs the dusky-bosomed sky.
Amid the lamps of night.
That star of beaut}* must decay, —
Its course will soon be run ;
The heavens and earth will pass away.
When once their work is done.
There is a realm of endless day.
Where love shall never end ;
There is a life without decay.
Where kindred souls shall blend.
There is a boundless space above ;
To loving souls 'tis given.
To live a life of endless love,
A life of endless heaven.
B0ET3 OF SEW BJJiFSfflMt.
rsnv TfiK rBxscH or cuppsb.
Befim that cbe h««Tei» in vimr sic rakd.
Bftton chat tb« Kreamleca abaH cbMe.
Lee lu ILK t.> ch« MMa of th« last wigiDg bird ;
Let OS louk oa the b^t bldomtng rose.
October Mill ^T«s ns s toooKnt to guc,
Vhilat NktoR'^ in glory airsnd :
lu Bunilt! of porple. its forests of ^otd.
Are beauties that wither auul &ie.
Soch heuitiftil cfaArms w~n not alwsjv cnJuie;
Tet in spite of thi* tempeMs that lower.
We nuLT ^11 Lave a mdoieat to linger ia hope :
I^t OS Mize oo the fo^nre boor.
Ob. tbeu. let as boilti oar last honae in a laad
Where the skiea are all br^t and sneae :
Where never the cold dulls of wiaUr aie kaon
Where the GeUs and the forests are green.
ON EECOVIlEDrG FROM SICKNESS.
FBOX THE rKETICH Or GStSSET.
O day of sweet recoverit^ beahfa !
Bright hours of jo,\-rdl miith !
It is a ray of bearenly life ;
A new restoring birth.
What pleasures Idodle in my breast
To view the purple curtained west.
As twilight fades awaj.
The meanest object strikes my view ;
To me the universe is new,
AJid all is fair and gay.
The dewy, verdant groves aoxng.
When gokEen mom appean.
The wakeftil linnef s matin song
With transport strikes my ears ;
A thoosand sigbU now meet my eye^
Which oft had passed tmheeded by.
Bat now their charms I see.
Sweet sights to vulgar eyes noseeo,
With winning look and gentle mien,
Are ever new to me.
EPHRAIM PEABOD 7, 117
THE INDIANS.
By the banks of a stream on the mountain side,
Where swift o'er the rocks the bright waters glide.
Is a hillock of earth enveloped in shade,
Where the red warrior's bones in theii* blankets are laid.
There the song of the wood-bird is heard in the spriftg ;
There the young foxes bark and the cat-birds sing ;
There the pine and the beech trees their dark shadows spread,
While their roots clasp the soil that envelopes the dead.
But their children have gone where the sun sinks to rest,
And the smoke of their wigwams is seen in the west ;
But their strength and their beauty are fading away
As the twilight of evening at the close of the day.
Soon the last of their race will be lost to our sight.
And their sun will go down in the darkness of night ;
But the white man will dwell where their cabins have stood,
And turn up the soil that was wet with their blood.
As the months and the years in their course shall roll on,
Our children will ask for the race that is gone ;
But their mounds and their graves will be lost to our sight,
And their story be shrouded in fable and night.
And so shall the tribes of the earth fade away ;
And race after race shall rise and decay ;
But the heavens and the earth shall eternal remain,
And God in His works forever shall reign.
Rer. Ephnim Peabody was bom in Wilton in 1807, and educated at Bowdoin
College, gradtiating in 1837. He became a Unitarian clergyman, and in 1846 was
•ettlea over King's Chapel, Boston, vrhere he preached acceptably for ten years.
He died in 18B6.
WEST'S PICTURE OF THE INFANT SAMUEL.
In childhood's spring — ah ! blessM Spring !
(As flowers closed up at even,
Unfold in morning's earliest beam,)
The heart unfolds to heaven.
Ah ! blessed child ! that trustingly
Adores, and loves, and fears,
And to a Father's voice replies.
Speak Lord ! thy scr\'ant hears.
i
1 1 8 POETS OF NEW HAKPSHIRE.
When youth shall come — ah ! blessM joath !
If still the pure heart glows,
And in the world and word of God,
Its maker*s language knows ;
If in the night and in the day,
Midst 3'outhful joys or fears,
The trusting heart can answer still.
Speak, Lord ! thy ser\'ant hears.
When age shall come— ah! blessM age!
If in its lengthening shade,
When life grows faint, and earthly lights
Recede, and sink, and fade ;
Ah ! bless^l age ! if then heaven's light
Dawns on the closing eye ;
And faith unto the call of God,
Can answer, Here am I !
THE SKATER'S SONG.
Away ! away !— our fires stream bright
Along the frozen river.
And their arrowy sparkles of brilliant light
On the forest branches quiver ;
Away, away, for the stars are forth.
And on the pure snows of the valley,
In giddy trance the moonbeams dance ;
Come let us our comrades rally.
Away, away, o'er the sheeted ice,
Away, awajs we go ;
On our steel-bound feet we move as fleet
As deer o'er the Lapland snow.
What though the sharp north winds are out.
The skater heeds them not ;
Midst the laugh and shout of the jo^'ous rout
Gra}' winter is forgot.
Tis a pleasant sight, the joyous throng
In the light of the reddening flame.
While with many a wheel on the ringing steel
They rage their riotous game :
And though the night-air cutteth keen.
And the white moon shineth coldly.
Their homes I ween, on the hills have been ;
They should breast the strong blast boldly.
JAMEB BREMAN. 119
I/et others choose more gentle sports,
By the side of the winter's hearth,
Or at the ball, or the festival,
Seek for their share of mirth ;
Bat as for me, away, away,
Where the merry skaters be ;
Where the fresh wind blows, and the smooth ice glows.
There is the place for me.
Jameis ISreman.
eft Brenutn was a natiye of Rockingham county, bom In 1806. At the age of
ears he lost his parents by death, and was taken by a kind-hearted old lady
ared for him tUi his fifteenth year, when he went to live In another fiunlly,
I he could attend sehooL Subsequently he learned the carpenter's trade, and,
i ftow years, went to New Orleans, where, soon after his arnval, he fell a victim
ow fbver. In 1844 an account of his life, with a selection from his poems, was
ihed In The New Hampshire Magazine.
STANZAS.
Life's joys are all a hollow show,
Like fruits that gild the Dead Sea waste.
And tempting to the pilgrim grow,
Yet fall in ashes on the taste.
And erring man, a pilgrim here.
Still onward, hoping, driven.
Soon finds that all that's loved and dear
To darkness leads, like shades of even.
And false the dazzling, flickering flame
That shoots from Fame's proud, dizzy height ;
And Mammon's wand. Ambition's aim.
But dazzles to deceive the sight ;
And Friendship's tear, and Beauty's bloom,
Deceptive shine, deceptive flow ;
And Hope's delusive dreams illume
To leave a deeper shade of woe.
And Love, false Love, the syren sings, '
And timid Virtue lifts her eve.
Yet woos her but to deal his stings,
Then leaves the flower to fade and die.
Oh I false as fair, as fleeting too.
And changing as the hues of even.
Is every earthly charm we view —
^'There's nothing true but Heaven."
F0ET8 OF NEW BAMPSBIBE.
onuuF.Mni^anf bom Id rnrumoDtta. FebrtiarT IT. 1M& HevaiiK*
□itc, Bli ikaiboccom-l la hii utile cli7, NoTcmbcrS^ IWL
TO A MINIATURE OF A DEPARTED FRIESD.
Jewel more dear tban pearU or gold.
Bright impress of tbe loved and lost !
Thee to my bosom will I fold,
While on Lfe's cliaogeAd sea Fin tossed.
Dear image of a soul refioed I
There's inspimtion id thine eyes ;
And on those lips seem whispers kind,
Like soothing music from tbe skit^.
I gaze upon thy features fair,
Till fancy paints a breathing glow :
Thy smile then dissipates my care.
And frees my breast from everj" woe.
Thy voice seems raised in seraph soijg.
And sweetly echoes in mine ear :
0 heart I deem not my fancy wroog ;
mill would I dream that voice I hear.
\
iEunire llfmtiaU Daniels.
EnnlM Kimball Trne wu bnrn In PlatnaeliL Sbe wu nlncalcd M K)
Ion Acwlemy, ihRc jetn. eD'llag la l!^. ani] Is A>u. ISIO wa» nmiled
11 Duleln. >he illrd In her luUve toiFD, Juoelfi, tSU. A TOlume of
WM l>ublliiheil In IM3.
THE FIRST FLOWER.
Ere melts the dews in liquid showers,
Or trees their vernal robes renew,
The first-born of tlie race of flowers
Spreads to the sky its answering blue.
Born of tbe sun's first genial kiss.
That woos to love the chaste, cold eartb ;
Sweet bud of hope, a nameless bliaa
Thrills the warm heart to hail thy birth.
I find tbee in the leafless wild,
Beride the snow-wreath blossoming,
As Winter in bis dotage mild,
Would ape the brighter robe of Spring.
<r the soft south, in wayward mood.
While loitering by the rocky deO,
EUQH MOORE, 121
Amid its dreary solitude
This f^ail and sweet memorial left.
No warbler of the glades is near,
No scented shrub nor floweret fair ;
But glittering flake and ice-pearl clear,
Thy chill and mute companions are.
But the same power ordained thy birth,
And tinged thy soft, cerulean eye,
That poised in space this mighty earth i
And hung its quenchless lamps on high.
And in each cup, each tinted grace.
Each leaf thy mossy stem uprears,
The moulding of that hand I trace,
That fashioned in their pride the spheres.
Tet art thou fVail, thy transient hour
Of bloom and beauty will be o'er.
Ere spring shall dress the green-wood bower,
And spread her bright voluptuous store.
Even now thy hues are in their wane,
Thou first-born of the race of flowers ;
Go. thou shalt bloom on earth again.
Unlike the loved and lost of ours.
I^ugl) JCloore.
Bffoore, a self-educated man, and a printer, was bom In Amheret, Not. 10,
i 1S28, for a while, be published Ttme't Mirror^ a weekly newspaper, in
. The next year he began the publication of the Democraiic Spy, In San*
, which was removed to Gilford and discontinued in June the same year,
afterwards editor of the Burlington Sentinel^ and at one time connected
Custom House in Boston. He died in Amherst, February 13, 1837.
SPRING IS COMING.
Every breeze that passes o'er us.
Ever}' stream that leaps before us.
Every tree in sylvan brightness
Ben^ng to the soft winds' lightness ;
Every bird and insect hummihg
Whispers sweetly, ''Spring is coming!"
Rouse thee, boy ! the sun is beaming
Brightly in thy chamber now ;
Rouse thee, boy ! nor slumber dreaming
Of sweet maiden's eye and brow.
1 22 POETS OF NE W HAMPSHIRE.
See ! o*er Nature's wide dominions,
Beaut}' revels as a bride ;
All the plumage of her pinions
In the rainbow's hues are dyed I
Gentle maiden, vainly weeping
O'er some loved and faithless one ;
Rouse thee ! give thy tears in keeping
To the glorious morning sun !
Roam thou where the flowers are springing,
Where the whirling stream goes by ;
Where the birds are sweetly singing
Underneath a blushing sky I
Rouse thee, hosixy man of sorrow !
Let thy grief no more subdae ;
God will cheer thee on the morrow.
With a prospect ever new.
Though 3'ou now weep tears of sadness,
Like a withered flower bedewed ;
Soon thy heart will smile in gladness
With the holy, just and good.
Frosty Winter, cold and dreary,
Totters to the arms of Spring,
Like the spirit, sad and weaiy,
Taking an immortal wing.
Cold the grave to every bosom.
As the Winter's keenest breath ;
Yet the buds of joy will blossom
Even in the vale of death.
TO-MORROW.
*
How sweet to the heart is the thought of to-morrow,
When hope's fairy pictures bright colors display !
How sweet when we can from ftiturity borrow
A balm for the griefs that afflict us to-day I
When wearisome sickness has taught me to languish
For health, and the comfort it brings on its wing.
Let me hope, (oh how soon it would lessen my anguish,)
That to-morrow will ease and serenity bring.
When travelling alone, quite forlorn, unbefHended,
Sweet the hope that to morrow my wanderings will cease ;
That, at home, then, with care sympathetic attended,
I shall rest unmolested, and slumber in peace.
MART WILKINS BPAULDING. 123
III--- ■_-■ — — - — —
Or, when from the friends of my heart long divided,
The fond expectation, with joy how replete !
That from far distant regions, by Providence guided,
To-morrow will see us most happily meet.
When six days of labor, each other succeeding,
With hurry and toil have my spirits opprest.
What pleasure to think as the last is receding.
To-morrow will be a Sabbath of rest.
And when the vain shadows of time are retiring,
When life is fast fleeting and death is in sight.
The Christian, believing, excelUng, expiring.
Beholds a to-morrow of endless delight.
Bat the infidel, then, surely sees no to-morrow,
Yet he knows that his moments are hasting awny :
Poor wretch ! can he feel, without heart-rending sorrow,
That his prospect of joy will die with to-da^*?
MIDNIGHT.
Serene the sky, the beauteous moon
In solitude pursues her way ;
The warbling note, the plaintive tune,
Are destined only for the day :
The twinkling stars in beauty shine,
Prerogative of things divine !
How calm the scene — no mystic wreath
Obscures the azure sky ;
The passing air is but a breath,
That's breathed from on high.
With Nature's various charms combined
To raise to rapturous thoughts the mind.
Oh ! 'tis an hour when man discerns.
And ruminates alone ;
Perhaps, ere on its axle turns
The earth, our lives are gone.
And then, alas ! all, all is gloom, —
Religion visits not the tomb !
mats 92%i[ft{n6 ^paulTring.
fn. SpanldlDff was bom In Harvard. Mass., January 20.' 1809. She went with
'parents, Joslah and Elizabeth Taylor to resirle In Temple in 181A, and subseaucnt-
married Jacob S. Spaulding of that town. He was a graduate of Dartmoutn, and
chlng was his profession. He became principal of Barre academy in Vennont.
». Spaulding died Sept 22, 1881, soon after her hosband's death.
J
lU POETS OF NEW BAMPSHIBB.
WHY SHOULD WE CLING TO EARTH.
Why should we cling tx> earth
When all its ties are breaking?
Why should we trust its joys
When every heart is aching?
What can avail its richest wreath
To heal the bosom rent with grief.
Why should we cling to earth?
A tangled web it's wearing
Around our eager hearts,
Still smiling and deceiving ;
Each rising mom with magic sway.
Deludes again but to betray.
Why should we cling to earth ?
Friends one by one are dying,
Hope's golden pinions crushed,
And heaven-eyed pity flying ;
Peace o'er her faded olive weeps.
And Justice on her tribune sleeps.
Ah ! cling not thou to earth !
Love on its breast is bleeding.
Within its cherished bowers
The wonn of death is feeding.
Turn, mortal, turn thy weary e3'e
From earth's dark shades to rest on high.
£)imun)i ISurkt.
Bdmand Burke was bom In Westminster, Vermont, Janoarj tt, 1808. He be-
rmme a lawyer at the ag« of twentT.v>ne, and prariiaed in Colebrook, and afterwards
In Wbltelleid. lie went to CIarenK>nt in ls(3S, and was editor of The Argmt, In
18S4 be removed with hi« uaper to Newport, wberp it was united with The Speda-
tor. He was member of Conirress In 18S9. and Commissioner of Patents In 1845.
He retomed to Newport in ld49, and resided there till his death. Jan. S5, 18SI.
IN IMITATION OF BURNS.
Oh ! if my love were yon bright flower.
With periVimes rising on the air,
And I m3*8elf a tiny bee,
To nestle in its petals fair, —
Ah ! there in rapturous joys Fd live.
And revel in her nectar*d charms.
And there a sweeter bliss I*d take
Than Cupid*s self in Fsyche*8 arms.
STEPHEN QREENLEAF B UL FINCH. 1 25
Oh ! were my love yon fleecy cloud,
That, gracellil, floats in yonder sky,
And I myself a sunbeam bright,
To warm and glow as she flies by, —
Ah ! there, from dewy morn till eve,
I'd wanton in each mazy fold.
And take my fill of sweet delight.
And bathe her form in liquid gold.
Oh I were my love yon crystal stream
That ripples o'er its pebbly bed.
And I a flower upon its brink,
To bow and lave my weaiy head, —
Ah ! there, the live-long day and night,
I*d kiss and quafiT her sparkling wave.
And on her bosom soft I'd sigh
To drown me in so sweet a grave.
Sbttpi)tn Sreeitleaf iSulfiinci).
Rer. Stephen G. Bulflnch, a Unitarian clergyman, was bom In Boston, June 18,
ISOB. He graduated at Columbia College, D. X;., In 1826, and entered the Dirinity
School at Cambridge, Mass., the same rear. From 1830 to 1837 he preached at Au-
goata, Georgia, and from 1845 to 1892 in Nashua, when he removed to Boston. A
▼olume of ms poems was published in 1884.
LINES ON VISITING TALLULAH FALLS, GEORGIA.
The forest. Lord, is thine ;
Thj quickening voice calls forth its buds to light ;
Its thousand leaflets shine
Bathed in thy dews, and in thy sunbeams bright.
Thy voice is on the air,
Where breezes murmur through the pathless shades ;
Thy universal care
These awfUl deserts as a spell pervades.
Father, these rocks are thine,
Of Thee the everlasting monument.
Since at thy glance divine.
Earth trembled and her solid hills were rent.
Thine is the flashing wave,
Poured forth by thee from its rude mountain urn,
And thine yon secret cave.
Where haply, gems of orient lustre bum.
I hear the eagle scream ;
And not in vain his cry ! Amid the wild
1 20 POETS OF NSW HAMP8HIRK.
Thou hearest ! Can I deem
Thou wilt not listen to thy human child ?
God of the rock and flood,
In this deep solitude I feel thee nigh.
Almight}', wise and good.
Turn on thy suppliant child a parent's eye.
Guide through life's vale of fear
My placid current, from defilement free,
TilK seen no longer here«
It finds the ocean of its rest in thee.
HYMN FOR SABBATH MORNING WORSHIP.
Lord, in this sacred hour Thy temple is the arch
Within thy courts we bend, Of yon unmeasured sky ;
And bless tliy love, and own Thy Sabbath, the stapeodous
thy power, march
Our Father and our Friend. Of thine eternity.
But thou art not alone Lord, may that holier day
In courts by mortals trod ; Dawn on thy senraotB* sight ^^
Nor only is the day thine own And purer worship may we pay^
When man draws near to God. In heaven's ondonded light.*
Hilton Wisx^.
Rer. MllUm Ward WAsprobftbtTbomUiIImnoTerliilSOS. HegniteafeodaKDut-
Mooth College in IA2&, and In 1829, at the Medical DeparUDent of the 8Mm eoOece.
He became a Conirrentional minUter, and i« 1S34 waa ordatned aa paator of the
church In ni11sb(m>ufb. He died In 1874. la IttS a Tolmae of Ma pnfi va«
pablUbed un<ler the title of **Poetic EIHiftioajL** «*11»e Ljrs** la aald to haTO heao
written when the author waa alxteea y«ars of age.
THE LYRE.
There was a. lyre, 'tis said, that hung
High waving in the summer air ;
An angel hand its chords had strong.
And left to breathe its mosic there.
Each wandering breeze, that o'er it flew.
Awoke a wilder, sweeter strain
Than ever shell of mermaid blew
In choral grottos of the main.
When, springing from the rose's beO,
Where all night he had sweetly slept.
The xeph3T kit the flowery dell
MILTON WARD. 127
Bright with the tears that morning wept,
He ro6e, and o'er the trembling lyre
Waved lightly his soft, azure wing ;
What touch such music could inspire !
What harp such lays of joy could ring I
The murmurs of the shaded rills,
The birds, that sweetly warbled by,
And the soft echo from the hills
Were heard not where that heart was nigh.
When the last light of fading day,
Along the bosom of the west.
In colors softly mingled, lay.
While night had darken'd all the rest.
Then, softer than that fading light,
And sweeter than the la}"^ that rung
Wild through the silence of the night,
As solemn Philomela sung.
That harp its plaintive murmurs sighed
Along the dewy breeze of even ;
So clear and soft they swelled and died
They seemed the echoed songs of heaven.
Sometimes, when all the air was still.
And not the poplar's foliage trembled,
That harp was nightly heard to trill
With tones no earthly tones resembled.
And then, upon the moon's pale beams,
Unearthly forms were seen to stray,
Whose starry pinions' trembling gleams
Would oft around the wild harp play.
But soon the bloom of summer lied,
In earth and air it shone no more :
Each flower and leaf fell pale and dead,
While skies their wintry Btemness wore.
One day, loud blew the northern blast, —
The tempest's ftiry raged along ;
Ob ! for some angel, as they passed.
To shield the harp of heavenly song !
It shrieked — how could it bear the touchy
The cold rude touch of such a storm,
When e'en the zephyr seemed too much
Sometimes, though always light and warm I
It loudly shrieked — but ah ! in vain ;
The savage wind more fircely blew ;
Once more — ^it never shrieked again.
For every chord was torn in two.
It never thrilled with anguish more,
128 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Though beaten by the wildest blast ;
The pang, that thus its bosom tore,
Was dreadful — but it was the last.
And though the smiles of summer played
Gently upon its shattered form,
And the light zephyrs o'er it strayed,
That lyre they could not wake nor warm.
John H. Warland, was a native of Cambridge, Mass., and a graduate of Harnrd
College. lie studied theoloary but never was ordained as a preacher. He renoT-
ed to Claremont and was editor of the Natiotval Eagle for seven years from its oom-
mencement. Leaving Claremont he went to Manchester and was editor of tte
American. Subscfiuently ho removed to Lowell, Mass., and was editor of the /n^*
not. From that city he removed to Boston and became connected with tihe AUtt-
He was insane the last twenty years of his life, and died at an asylum in TsimftoBi
Mass. He publitihed a volume entitled "The Plume/' containing prose and poet^-
Mr. Warland was a man of keen sensibilities, and an able writer. The loss of w
young and beloved wife, while living in Claremont, seemed to cast a shade over kii
after life. He was a good poet, as mil be seen by the poems here presented.
SUMMER.
Welcome, sweet summer, to the earth once more,
To the bright rivers and the woodland bowers ;
No bride such gay and brilliant robes e'er wore.
When love and beauty graced her bridal hours,
As thou, while lawn and hill thou trippest o'er,
Braiding thy chaplet of young leaves and flowers.
Earth owns thy beauty as with step of pride
Thou comest now, so like a blooming bride.
Sweet daises line the margin of the rills.
The mountain brooks and the broad inland streams ;
Violets bloom upon the verdant hills
With thousands tints, in summer's glorious beams ;
The blue-bird at thy coming early trills
His song, and goldfinch shows the brilliant gleams
Of his gay plumage, as he sends his note
Warbled to thee in sweetness from his throat.
The trees for thee put on their dress of green,
Their silken tresses and their coronals
Of blossoms, and new buds, when thou art seen
Robed like a fairy in her princely halls ;
The wild flower springeth where thy step hath been,
And on thy path a wreath of roses falls.
Strewn there to give thee all their sweet perfhme,
As thou didst pass in thy young virgin bloom.
JOHN H. WARLAND. 129
And thou art welcome, were it but to hear
New England's pride, the robin, sing his song ;
His old familiar perch, the garden near,
He seeks at dawn, and trills his music long ;
The old man wakes, and knows his notes, so dear
And sweet his old remembrances among ;
Ere yet his window lets in morning's beams,
How oft that song hath broke upon his dreams !
Thou sweet, midsummer breeze ! how welcome thou
To earth and all her living things once more ;
Viewless, yet felt, there's healing with thee now
As the sick couch at eve thou breathest o'er ;
And thou art welcome to the healthy brow.
Delightful voyager ! welcome to the shore —
Thy summer bark skims lightly o'er the sea,
With frieght more precious than rich argosy.
The student feels thee in his smoky cell,
As o'er the page he bends, so pale and weak,
His eye chained down as if beneath a spell ;
He feels thee gently coming to the cheek,
Fresh bloom to bring, and weariness dispel.
Kissing his brow, and wooing him to seek
The forest path, the cove and breezy rivers.
Ere yet the sunbeam on the mountain quivers.
At mom the grey old man doth leave his home,
And lean upon his staff to feel thee blow —
He bares his forehead now, as thou dost come
And part the hoary locks from off his brow —
How sweet to him ! he blesses thee as some
Kind, watching spirit, sent to spread the glow
Of youth's bright tint his cheeks and temples o'er,
And kindle youth*s pure feelings up once more.
The virgin seeks her summer bower for thee
To sport thy fingers with her tresses fair ;
She feels thy cool breath to her cheeks come fVee,
And in sweet dalliance wave her flowing hair ;
Thou stealest sweet perfume from the blooming tree,
Kissest her cheek and spreadest crimson there.
Delicious breeze ! she hails thee to her bower,
And woos thy coming in soft Evening hour.
But thou, with all thy glorious scenes, wilt fall
Into the tomb of Autumn, and wilt die.
180 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
O'er thee, as shrouded in thy dreary pall
The cold and piercing winter wind will sigli,
Each year shalt thou come forth again, till aP
Earth's seasons die — so to eternity,
Triumphant from the chambers of the tomb,
Man will rise radiant with celestial bloom.
THE DUMB CHILD.
She is my only girl,
I asked for her as some most precious thing ;
For all unfinished was Love's jewelled ring.
Till set with this soft pearl !
The shadow that time brought forth I could not see 9
How pure, how perfect seemed the gift to me !
Oh ! many a soft old tune
I used to sing unto that deafened ear,
And suffered not the slightest footstep near.
Lest she might wake too soon ;
And hushed her brothers' laughter while she lay.
Ah ! needless care ! I might have let them play.
'Twas long ere I believed
That this one daughter might not speak to me ;
Waited and watched — God knows how patiently !
How willingly deceived.
Vain Love was long the untiring nurse of Faith,
And tended Hope until it starved to death.
Oh ! if she could but hear
For one short hour, till I her tongue might teach
To call me mother, in the broken speech
That thrills the mother's ear !
Alas ! those sealed lips never may be stirred
To the deep music of that holy word !
My heart it sorely tries,
To see her kneel with such a reverent air
Reside her brothers at their evening prayer ;
Or lift those earnest eyes
To watch our lips as though our Words she knew.
Then move her own, as she was speaking, too.
I've watched her looking up
To the bright wonder of a sunset sky,
With such a depth of meaning in her eye,
1L
JOHN E, WAR LAND, 131
That 1 could almost hope
The struggliDg soul would burst its binding cords,
And the long pent up thoughts flow forth in words.
The song of bird and bee,
The chorus of the breezes, streams and groves,
All the grand music to which Nature moves.
Are wasted melody
To her ; the world of sound a tuneless void ;
While even silence has its charms destroyed.
Her face is ver}" fair ;
Her blue eyes beautiful ; of finest mould
The soft white brow, o'er which, in waves of gold
Ripples her shining hair.
Alas ! this lovel}' temple closed must be,
For He who made it keeps the master ke}'.
Wills He the mind within
Should from earth's Babel clamor be kept free,
K'en that His still, small voice and step might be
Heard, at its inner shrine.
Through that deep hush of soul, with dearer thrill ?
Then should I grieve? O, murmuring neart, be still !
She seems to have a sense
Of quiet gladness, and in noiseless play ;
She hath a pleasant smile, a gentle way,
Whose voiceless eloquence
Touches all hearts, though I had once the fear
That even her father would not care for her.
Thank God it is not so !
And when his sons are pla3ing merril}^
She comes and leans her head upon his knee.
O, at such times, I know,
By his full eye, and tones subdued and mild,
How his heart yearns over his silent child.
Not of all gifts bereft.
Even now. How could I say she did not speak ?
What real language lights her eye and cheek.
And renders thanks to Him who left
Unto her soul yet open avenues
For joj' to enter, and for love to use !
And God in love doth give
To her defect a beauty of its own ;
And we a deeper tenderness have known
J
132 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE,
Through that for which we grieve.
Yet shall the seal be melted from her ear ;
Yea, and my voice shall fill it — but not here.
When that new sense is given
What rapture will its first experience be,
That never woke to meaner melody
Than the rich songs of heaven —
To hear the full-toned anthem swelling round,
While angels touch the ecstacies of sound !
LINES
ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES J. FOX.
The scholar's brilliant light is dim,
And on his brow Death's signet set :
Oh, many an eye that welcomed him,
With sorrow's burning tears is wet ;
His was a noble heart and true —
His was the strong and gifted mind ;
And Fame and Love around him threw
Their wreaths, with choicest flowers entwined.
His mind lay like a gem within
A fretted and a slender frame,
Which oil it buoyed to health again,
Unknowing whence the healing came.
The jewel through the casket frail.
Shone with a clear and perfect ray.
As if its light would never pale
Before e'en Death's triumphant sway.
He wore away — no lovelier clime
With fair}' scenes and gentle breeze —
The grandeur of the ocean chime,
Italia's skies nor India's seas —
Not these could brace his wasting frame,
Nor home with all its memories dear,
But calmly, when the summons came.
His soul soared to a brighter sphei^e.
His was the scholar's gentleness,
'*The faculty and power divine,"
Which leave on all their strong impress,
And glow in every thought and line.
LEWIS C. BROWNE, 183
Truth found in him a champion,
Clad in her armor burnished bright —
And error's clouds sank one b}- one,
Before his clear, serener light.
His was the Christian's holiness, ^
Whose beautiful and placid ray
Beamed on his soul, its flight to bless
Along its bright celestial wa}- —
Undimmed in life's long, last eclipse.
When love its midnight vigils kopt —
When pressed to his her pale, pale lips,
And gentle eyes above him wept.
Tread lightly, where the scholar sleeps,
Within his cold and narrow bed,
For one her bridal vigils keeps
Above the wept and sainted dead.
Tread lightly b}' his rural tomb,
And o'er it plant the gentle flowers.
Sweet symbols of his spirit's bloom
In a far brighter land than ours.
itetois <t. iSrotone.
ReT. L«wl8 C. Browne was bom in Montreal, Canaila, March 8. 1810. His par-
ents were natives of Massachusetts. They began their married life in Vermont.
Sabaequentlj they sojourucd for several vcars in Montreal. They returned to
•Vermont when Lewis was but 8ix months ofd. His bovhood was passed amid the
line scenery of Bennington. While he was but u child his father became insane,
and the family of seven children, of which he was the sixth, was broken up and
the children scattered, the two younger ones only remaining with the mother, who
was a woman of good education and of fine literary tantcs and culture. At the
age of fourteen he went to Utica, N. Y., to live with his eldest brother. In 1826 he
returned to Bennington and began "teaching school and boarding around." This
he made bis principal occupation till he began to study for the ministry in IHSS.
His ministry extended through a perioii of forty years, more than ten of which were
spent In Nashua, between 1839 and Ih53. IIei*e he built up a large society from very
humble beginnings; devoting himself, in the meantime, larecly to 'the Interests
of common schools, in the positions of Superintending Committee, County School
Commissioner, and meml>er of the State Board of Education. Ho was also one of
the original members of the boards of Trustees of Tuft's College and St. Lawi*ence
University. About UTtQ he found his sight failing from cataract. Becoming en-
tirely blind In 1875 he discontinued regular ministerial labors, though occasionally
preaching extempore, memorizing hymns and Scripture readings. He subsequent-
IV regained a degree of sight by an operation on one eye. Of his poems here given.
"Briers and Berries," which appeared in 183A, has t)een extensively copied, and
has been incorrectly attributed to "An English divine, residing In America." Mr.
Browne resides at Honeoye Falls, N. Y.
BRIERS AND BERRIES.
'T was on a cloudy, gloom}' day
About the middle of September,
If rightl}' I the date remember —
For certainly I cannot say,
134 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
When I, astride my pacing gray,
Was plodding on my weary way
To spend a niglit and preach the word
To people who had never heard
The Gospel, or to say the least,
Had never viewed it as "a feast
Of fat things full of marrow."
In sadness as I rode along
And crossed the silver Unadilla,
The robin sung his plaintive song,
And faintly drooped the fading lily.
The smoky sky, no longer blue,
Assumed a dim and dusk}' gray,
And autumn o*er m^^ feelings threw
The coloring of its own decay,
And I almost forgot the words
Of Him who preached of flowers and birds —
The lily and the sparrow.
I had been pondering o'er and o'er
The trials of the travelling preacher ;
The heav}' burdens that he bore —
In carrying truth to every creature ;
His wearied brain and frame worn down
Emaciated and dyspeptic ;
The hanlened bigot's iron frown ;
The jest of scoffer and of skeptic ;
One mocking revelation's page,
Another ridiculing reason ;
And the rude storms he must engage
And all inclemencies of season.
In this despondent, sombre mood
I rode perhaps a mile or two,
When lo ! beside the way there stood'
A little girl with eyes of blue.
Light hair, and lips as red as cherries ;
And through the briers with much ado
She wrought her way to pick the berries,
Quoth I, "My little girl, it seems
To me you buy your berries dear,
For down 3'our hand are red blood streams,
And down your cheek there rolls a tear,"
*'0 yes," said she, "but then you know
There will be briers where berries grow."
LBWI8 C. BROWNE. 185
These words came home with keen rebuke
To me, disturbed by petty jostles,
And brought to mind the things that Luke ,
Has written of the old apostles
Who faced the world without a fear,
And counted even life not dear.
And since, from that good hour to this,
In sunny, dark, or stormy weather,
I still reflect that woe and bliss
In life's deep cup are found together.
Come smiling friend or frowning foe ;
**There will be briers where berries grow."
A SONG OF AGE.
When the sun no longer shines
Through the distant mountain pines,
le evening's cooling shadows gather darkly o'er the land,
For the day we do not weep,
As the darkness bringeth sleep,
M healing rest is welcome to the weary brain and hand.
So when life's short day is o'er,
And we toil and ache no more,
>m wasting care and sorrow find a respite and release,
Why should mortals make lament
That the sands of time are spent?
rely the decline of life should be a time of peace.
When the autumn of the year •
Shows a landscape dull and drear,
) thickly clothe the forest ground and birds no longer sing.
The worn earth is not unblest.
For tired nature needeth rest,
!blded in her snowy robe, she slumbereth till spring.
When the bloom of life is lost.
And we feel the later frost,
ke the ripened foliage we must wither, fade and fall.
Let the Christian murmur not,
But accept the common lot,
ow resigned and loyal to the law that ruleth all.
Death and night shall pass away.
Leaving life and cloudless day,
hrongh a purer atmosphere shall beam celestial light.
On that verdant, sunny shore
Shall be music evermore,
uter in that vernal clime, and no autumnal blight.
J
6 POETS OF NBW BAMPSBIBt.
TEACHING SCHOOL AND BOARDING AROUKD.
My thoDghts go back to the rosy prime,
And Diemory pnints anew the scenes
Afar in the bleak Nei* England clime,
Though b.ilf a century intervenea.
On a highiray comer the achoolhouse atands
I'nder an elm tree broad and tall.
And rollicking children in laughing bands
Come at the master's warning call.
They pile together their sleds and skates,
Hang bats and hoods in the entry-way.
And gathering pencils, books and slates,
Diligent study succeeds to play.
A mountain steam turns a gray stone null,
ThKt runs with a low and slumberoos soond;
Ami there in fancy 1 wander still.
Teaching school and boarding aroand.
Near by is a farmhouse large and square.
With doors ami casements of faded red,
A stoop that'shatles from the snmmer glare.
And wood well piled in the sheltering sbedi
There's an ancient bam with swallow-holes ■
Iligli in the gsHo. three in a line ;
The lithe t>ay colt in the deep scow rolls,
Fr^>m nicks of hay feei.1 the docile kine.
^ Closely are hmldtcd the timorous sheep
As the dails res<.>uiid on the threshing floor,
The p Life ring t>oultry stealthily creep
And silently watch at the open door
For each slr»y kernel of shelling grain.
Full of ci.>utent was the lot I found
Amoui; cLie farm-fv>lk. honest and plain.
Teaching sch\.>ol and boarding aroond.
The farmer's taWe has lavish supplies :
Chicken and sausage of flavor rare.
Crullers and cv.<okit's and puddings and pies
Are items rich in Che bill of fare.
The teacher slee^is in a wii.le. soft bed
Ke^X clean for guests in ihe great spare room,
Wia» gay chinti curtiios over Iiis head.
And blankets wove in the old hand loom.
TV ^t-"**! wift, ew tile break of day,
llhMB her rest though tike mora is cod.
LEWIS C, BROWNE. 187
And breakfast ended we haste away
O'er the shining crust to the district school.
Here morals are pure and manners sincere,
And men in church and in state renowned
Have made the first step in a grand career
Teaching school and boarding around.
In the moonlight evening long and still
The youth assemble from many a farm,
Though the air without is crisp and chill,
There's a bright wood fire and a welcome warm.
Walnuts and apples are passed around,
The hands of the clock get a backward turn,
Innocent frolic and mirth abound
Till low in their sockets the candles bum.
Young men and maidens of artless wa3'8
Are drawn together in groups like this ;
Their hands are joined in the rural plays
And sweet lips meet in the guileless kiss.
Twin hearts are linked with a golden chain,
And love with marriage is early crowned.
How oft in dreams I am there again.
Teaching school and boarding around.
THREESCORE AND TEN.
"Our age to seventy years is set :"
*Twas so the sacred lyrist sung,
I've crossed that boundary, and yet
My inner being scemeth young.
I feel no wrinkles on the heart,
Time has not chilled the social glow,
Music and chastened mirth in^part
Their pleasing spell of long ago.
The birds that carol at the dawn,
The bees that through the clover swarm,
And children playing on the lawn,
For me have lost no early charm.
Science, invention, art and song,
The life and progress of the age.
The warfare with the false and wrong
That patriots and Christians wage.
All that promotes the weal of men.
Or helps them on their upward way,
F*iETB or SEW BAMF^UMM.
And 'hnr^ mj eve i^ dooUr <S
Ai>I catnral force begins to w
La94 «tiT>ce of inn ai>i litfae of
^tiU thfoogitt ajxi meio
But e«ri7 friends of whom I dresB,
Are growing fewer Tear br tot,
AiwJ if I lio^er I ahill seem
A lone beUted stnuger bere.
TIm friendlf- deference I meet
From younger trsTellers near and fiir.
When LTos^ing o'er the crowded street.
Or Hteppiog from the halted car,
I{i;niin<U me that the Alpine snow
Has flrifted over brow and beard ;
'Tifl Rwect to be beloved. I know.
But solemn thus to be revered.
It telk me that the hour is near,
AUIiougii in love deferred so long,
When I from earth sliall disappear
And mingle with the eilent throng.
Hut earth will smile as gay and green
And heaven still shine in gold and blue,
When I have vanished from the scene,
And friends will soon their calm renew.
JIow little good we can achieve
With all the foils encountered here ;
Then it were weak and vain to grieve
When passing to a purer sphere.
New ranks will rush with deed and thought
To bear the moral standard high ;
And the small good that I have wrought
lias taken root and cannot die.
And on this truth I rest my heart;
Since all to future life aspire.
He who implanted will not thwart
This inborn, deathless, pure desire.
JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. 189
As the long-voyaging Genoese
To the new world he sought drew near,
The balm of flowers borne on the breeze
Came from the land his faith to cheer, —
So when we near the Eden shore,
Before its hills of light are seen,
The fragrance of its peace comes o'er
The narrow sea that flows between.
James jFreeman (tXwctt.
ames Freeman Clarke was bom In Ilanoyer, April 4, 1810. He graduated
ard College in 18:», and at Cambridge Divinity School in 1833. He waa
f a Bocietv in LouiaviUe, Ky., from 1^ to 1840, when he returned to Bos-
became nighly popular as a preacher. He Is author of several volumes
>ns, and Is a poet of solid merit.
THE SHIP.
Look not for art where idle brows
Dream distant from the throng,
But where the rushing stream of men
Impetuous rolls along ;
Not where the rich with Gothic roofs
And Doric pillars pla}'.
But where the tempest sweeps our shores —
Look out on Boston Bay !
There floats the gem of modern art,
By no Palladio planned.
The architecture of the sea.
Unrivalled on the land.
The storms have mouWed every curve
To beauty's perfect line,
The waters rounded ever}' part
To symmetry divine.
The winds and waves, wild masters they,
The just proportion taught,
And with the safety and the speed,
The Graces came, unsought.
Can those who built the Parthenon,
Or Strasburg's Minster, dare
Their clumsy walls with this fair form
In beauty to compare ?
She sits so statel}' on the wave,
So gracefully she bends,
140 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Leans from the breeze, and from her prow
The rippling music sends ;
And when the airs come fresh from land,
Her sails all drawing free,
She skims so light, with pinions white,
The darling of the sea !
TRIFORMIS DIANA.
So pure her forehead's dazzling white,
So swift and clear her radiant ej'es,
Within the treasure of whose light
La}* undeveloped destinies, —
Of thoughts repressed such hidden store
Was hinted by each flitting smile,
I could but wonder and adore ;
Far off, in awe, I gazed the while.
I gazed at her, as at the moon.
Hanging in lustrous twilight skies,
Whose virgin crescent, sinking soon.
Peeps through the leaves before it flies.
Untouched Diana, flitting dim.
While sings the wood its evening hymn.
Again we met. O, joyful meeting !
Her radiance now was all for me.
Like kindly airs her kindly greeting.
So full, so musical, so free.
W^ithin romantic forest aisles.
Within romantic paths we walked,
I bathed me in her sister smiled,
1 breathed her beauty as we talked.
So full-orbed Cynthia walks the skies,
Filling the earth with melodies,
Even so she condescends to kiss
Drows}' End} inions, coarse and dull,
Or fills our waking souls with bliss.
Making long nights too beautiful.
O, fair but fickle lady-moon,
Why must th}' full form ever wane ?
O, love ! O, friendship ! why so soon
Must 3'our sweet light recede again ?
I wake me in the dead of night.
And start — for through the misty gloom
JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. \ 4 1
Red Hecate stares — a boding sight ! —
Looks in, but never fills my room.
Thou music of mj^ boyhood's hour !
Thou shining light on manhood's way !
No more dost thou fair influence shower
To move my soul by night or day.
O, strange ! that while in hall and street
Thy hand I touch, thy grace I meet,
Such miles of polar ice should part
The slightest touch of mind and heart !
But all thy love has waned, and so
I gladly let thy beauty go.
THE POET.
Extract flrom a Phi Beta Kappa Poem delivered in 1846.
^or think the poet's highest task, in our more earnest age,
"Xo entertain, with silky strain, or fill an album's page ;
^or, as the flower precedes the fruit, the fruit attends the seed,
So poetry, the flower of life, consorts with thought and deed.
The poet is a warrior, doing battle for his kind —
The poet is a hero, with a spirit unconfined ;
A lyric fount shall burst from earth, and foam out free and far,
When great Ideas arm themselves for spiritual war.
With noble form and gleaming eye, I see the heroic child,
With no low thought polluted, and with spirit undefiled,
Ab angel pure, but passionate — a mountain-torrent bold,
Whose leap is like a flashing flame, whose touch is icy cold.
Him, our whole land shall nourish long, him shall all Nature
teach ;
The melodies of woods and winds shall harmonize his speech ;
The lofty forest's lights and shades and multitude of hues,
Into his face a sylvan grace shall quietly infuse.
Thoughts deep and calm the caves shall lend, where, winding
dark below,
Tbrongh many a lab^Tinthine mile mysteriously they go.
There ancient Silence, undisturbed, holds her eternal reign —
Unheard, the thunders roll above — unheard, the hurricane.
The grassy prairie rolling wide, a boundless flowery sea,
Swept by unfettered breezes oft, shall make his soul more free.
And where the solemn mountains breathe the chilly morning air.
And wreaths of climbing vapor-clouds around their shoulders
wear,
Far looking toward the breaking day, bathed in its earliest beam,
i
142 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
While misty night still sleeps below, on valle}-, wood, and stream,
His soul shall tower toward God and truth, and catch the first
bright ra^'
Which o*er the sleeping nations comes, to wake a nobler day.
Or where the ocean rushes up, and breaks in shattering shock.
Deep covering with tumultuous waves the lone outstanding rock ;
Then, baffled by the unyielding foe, falls off and rolls away.
Along the shore, with sullen roar, defeated of its prejr—
The plainly speaking emblem shall instruct him to oppose
The firm, calm front of reason, to the passion of his foes.
Thus armed, and thus accomplished, in dm. shall be combined
All energies of thought and heart, all grace of fonn and mind.
Then free from selfishness and fear, and ready for the strife.
He on the battle-ground of truth, shall dedicate his life
To conflict nobler far than that where through the smoke was seen
The squadron's charge, while iron death poured down the Palm
Ravine.
Far worthier shall this battle be, more terrible the blows.
When thoughts deep-rooted in the mind contend as deadly foes.
Then fall the ancient dogmas, and the lies long sanctified,
And frauds, which, throned as customs, have both God and man
defied —
Such heroes we may hope to see, when from our people's veins
The brute and savage instincts pass, and but the man remains.
(ffarolinc <©rnc-
Mrs Ome, whoso name, prcvioas to marriage, was Chaplin, was a nathre of
Georgetown, Mass. She became the wife of Henry U. Ome, a lawyer, and rcmor-
ed to Wolfeborough. She manifested a taste for writing when young. At ten years
of age siie wrote stories, and at sixteen a song wliinh was very popular iMtmrt It
was Known who wrote it. She died in Bellingtiam, Mass., June 21, U8i.
SABBATH EVENING.
'Tis the eve of the Sabbath ; all is so still
That the wing of the bird, as it flies to its nest.
Sends forth a low rustle, and sweet murmurs thrill
On the ear, though the earth and the winds are at rest.
Like music that flows from the harp's golden strings,
When swept by some spirit's invisible wings.
Even yonder white cloud, in the fair evening sky,
Its bosom just tinged with the hue of the rose,
As it moves, like a fair}' sail, noiselessly by,
Has a look that partakes of the Sabbath's repose ;
But the calm and the stillness, more holj^ than all,
Are those o'er the spirit that silently fall.
CAROLINE ORNE. 143
As the flower, pale and drooping, doth heavenward turn,
When the day's garish splendor no more meets the eye,
And while the fresh dewdrops steal into its urn.
Its perfume gives out to the breeze floating bj',
From our hearts may the incense of praise, this blest hour.
Flow forth like the fragrance that breathes fVom the flower,
THE exile;
Dear home of my childhood ! the memories yQ bring
To my heart at this lone hour of night,
Come soft as if borne on some bird's downy wing,
Just returned from its heavenward flight.
Bright and holy's the spell o'er my spirit that's thrown,
As I list the low voice of the wind.
For in its faint whispers I dream there's a tone,
Like the voices of friends left behind.
But the spell that so deep o'er my spirit was cast
Like the mist of the morning is gone,
And the fairy-like scene that had pictured the past
From my still longing sight is withdrawn.
Lo ! I turn to the star I so used to love, when
I watched with dear friends its pure ray —
O, could I gaze nightly like that on the glen,
Where I used in my childhood to straj* —
See the cottage, mid vines and mid trees peeping out.
Like a bird in its reed-woven nest,
And hear the rich laugh, and clear, merry shout
Of the golden-haired girl I loved best ;
Could I see b}^ her side, those, my other dear friends.
Whose hearts are all mingled in one.
As the drop from the skies, with its sister drop blends,
Till all in the same channel run.
For the home of my childhood no more would I pine,
When the curtain of night o'er me closes,
Which beneath the old elm, and the shadowy vine,
In the heart of the green glen reposes.
Tet, still, like a flower-woven zone, would I bind
Its memories close round my heart.
And the cold hand of death alone should unwind
The links which of life make a part.
i
1 44 P0ET8 OF NEW EAMPSEIRE.
THE HEARTS GUESTS.
When age has cast its sbadoirs
O'er life's declitiing way,
When evening twilight gathers
liound our retiring day,
Then shall we sit and ponder
r|K>n the shadowy past.
In the hea'rt's silent chamber
The guests will gather fast.
Guests that in youth we cherished
Shall come to us once more,
And we shall hold communion
As in the days of yore.
The}' may be dark and sombre,
They may be bright and fair,
But the heart will have its chamber.
The guests will gather there.
How shall it be, my sisters?
Who shall l>e our hearts* guests?
How shall it be, my brothers,
When life's shadow on us rests?
Shall we not mid the silence
Hear voices sweet and low.
Speak the old familiar language.
The words of long ago?
Shall we not see dear faces,
Sweet smiling as of old.
Till mists of that lone chamber
Are sunset clouds of gold,
When age has cast its shadows
O'er life's declining way.
And evening twilight gathers
Round our retiring da}'?
Joi)n SreenleaCf Etiamis.
ReT. John G. Adams was born in Portsmouth, July SO, 1810. His earlj tralabtf
by a religious mother was such that he was not acquainted with tbe doeUinei of
the church in which he wus afterwards a minister until he was 18. At this act
he was a resident at Exeter, and there became a convert to the UniTenaUst fsUft.
His first sermon was preached in Westbrook, Me., January !i8, 183i. After preabk-
ing and studying most of that year, he i*cmove<l to Kumney, where be was ordate-
ra in June IKU. He worked as a missionury in the northern part of NsfW Ham-
shire until the autumn of 1836, when he bi>came pastor of the UniTersalist Cnraroi
In Clareroont; and, after a miuistry of fifteen months there, he remoTed to MsMra.
Mass., where he liad a pastorate of fifteen years. During his reaidenee !■ Hcv
JOHN GREENLEAF ADAMS. 145
npshlra he was editor of the **8tar in the Eastt** a UniverBalist weekly. Issued at
loord for three and a half years. From Maiden he removed to Worcester,
S8., where he ministered seven years; thence to Providence, R. I., where he
tied Ave vears ; thence to LowcU, Mass., where, after a ministry of six and a
f years, ne resigned, and was a minister at large during one or two years.
er a pastorate of three years in Cincinnati, O., he returned to New England,
1 settled in his own home at Melrose Highlands, Mass., where he now resides.
die here he has had five years of supply preaching in AUston and East Boston,
addition to his constant work as a pastor ho has published fifteen volumes of
'erent sizes, besides pamphlets and tracts, and has edited Sunday School period-
la for twenty-two years.
GOD'S ANGELS.
God's angels ! not only on high do they sing,
And soar through the skies with invisible wing ;
But here, on the earth, where in wretchedness lie
Its sin-stricken children to struggle and die,
They come, in their mercy and power, to dispel
The spectres of gloom from the prisoner's cell ;
In love's name to say to the stricken one there,
That God still will hear and give answer to prayer.
And strong grows the heart of the outcast, and soon
In that dim prison come the pure light-gleams of noon ;
The resolve and the faith of the sinner forgiven
Send him back to the world with a heart seeking heaven.
God's angels ! Love speed them o'er earth's wide domain,
New aids to impart, and new triumphs to gain ;
Till the wrathful and wrong from our world shall retire.
And humanity's groans in her praises expire.
For the promise of truth, though the doubting deny,
Is that love shall prevail in the earth as on high.
Its life-waters healing, wherever they flow.
With the angels above, or the angels below.
HEAVEN HERE.
Heaven is here ; its hymns of gladness
Cheer the true believer's way.
Id this world where sin and sadness
Often change to night our day.
Heaven is here ; where misery lightened
Of its heavy load is seen.
Where the face of sorrow brightened
By the deed of love hath been.
146 POETS OF NEW EAMPSHIRE.
Where the bound, the poor, despairing
Are set free, supplied and blest,
Where, in others' anguish sharing.
We can find our surest rest.
Where we heed the Toice of duty
Rather than man*s praise or rod ;
This is heaven, its peace, its beaotj,
Radiant with the smile of God.
STRm: TO MAKE THE WORLD BETTER.
Strive to make the world better ! — this, this is the duty
Pnxlaimed to each mortal in truth evenr hoar ;
Call not its wrons. riiiht. — its deformitv, beauty:
In the midst of its weakness, remember God's power.
And. though in a minute no wrong can be righted.
Think not of contentment "with lust what you see :
The worlvi needs rq»entanoe. where souls are so blighted;
And what it is now is not what it must be !
-•Take the world as it is !" To be sure, if snob
* Will win vou the heart of a brother, or lend
A soft word or kind Ioc*k that shall, haply, be makiiig
Some n:in-l»CfUud pilgrim his life- ways amend «
If to praise it shall call thee, or suifering. or prayer.
To discipline such as may strengthen thy heart, —
Be thankful for this, every way. but beware
Lest thy world-iaking lesson l:«e learned but in part?
•*Take the world as ii is !" So the world's honored sages
Of many a clime have consented! and tau£rht :
So walkevi with mat kind the true Guide of all ages ;
So livcti his apostles, and lalv^red and wrought, —
Yet not to be easv with i^ivsent attainments*
Assenting to e\ il in lu". -a^y song.
But, ralbiT. to starJ.e. wiiii Truth's strong arraignments.
The victims of sin and the lovers of wrong !
«*Take the world as it is !" How the slothful and sleeping
Uavo ever consento^i these words to obey !
Comtervator dolts still their sluggish steps keeping.
And fearing the angel Refc^rm in their way !
Hi^ «»e)fish ob«rver of manners anii men.
Who would never offenii by his arrant fault-finding,
PkOTided his own eniis are answered ~ and then,
▲U tbe world is but good, and its faults not woith minding !
ESTHER WALBEN BARNES, ' 147
Strive to make the world better ! How true to this aim
Have the heroes of Right kept their way in the past :
'Mid the world's accusations, through dungeon and flame,
Abroad have tlie seeds of their greatness been cast !
And we have the harvest, — their word have we, too,
That the seed-time for us is to-day ! Let it be
That the world we now have, though so gooilly to view.
Is not that improved one to-morrow shall see I
If IM Barnes is a native, and has been all her life a resident, of Portsmouth.
Her father was by birth a Swede, the only son of an officer in the Swedish army.
He was bom in 1 476 in Gottenburg, Sweden, and from that memorable year, seemed
to haTe imbibed a love for, and a longing to sec America. On his arrival in this
fiouDtrr, in early youth, ho was per!»uade<l bv a clergyman, with whom he was a
great ntvorite, to change his name from Ludwig Baaruhielm to Lewis Barnes, for
greater convenience in pronuucialion. In 1800 he became a resident of Portsmouth,
where he was long a shipping merchant, much respected in the community, and iden.
tified with all the interests of the place. His name was a svmonvm for truth, honor
anud iiit<«rity. The mother of Miss Barnes was of remote Lnglisn descent. She was
bom in 1783. Both parents were patriotic to an unusual degree. Her father never
wearied of reading the lives of our revolutionary heroes, always declaring that
they were men inspired with supernatural power for that emergency, ami raised up
by the Almighty for the salvation of our country. Miss Barnes tias published, in
papers, annuals, and magazines, a considerable amount of prose and verse, all ol a
very ciedltable character. She has also published several volumes for the young.
FOR MEMORIAL DAY.
Rest, heroes rest ! all conflicts now are ended,
Rest, with the martyr's crown upon each brow :
While grateful hearts and loving hands are trailing
Flowers of the summer o*er the green turf now.
Fresh is the memory of your deeds of daring,
Oh, bold, brave hearts ! that rest beneath the sod ;
And we will keep it fresh, with floral incense, —
A spring-time ottering of the gifts of God ;
Rest, warriors rest.
Ye cannot die, while yet your memorj' liveth,
Unseen, where sacred thoughts are set apart ;
Nor can 3*our names from out Time's record perish
While the}' are written on a nation's heart !
Your blood has washed from off our country's banner,
The deep, dark stain of Slavery's cruel wrong :
And now, "the stars and stripes" more fitl}* symbol
The "land of freedom" breathed in vei*se and song.
Rest, heroes rest !
Yonr lives you've laid upon your country's altar,—
A bleeding sacrifice, by land and sea —
And we shall never let the memory perish,
Of deeds deserving immortality.
148 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
The roll of drum, the bugle-note, the clarion,
No more shall call you to the field of strife ;
But this "•Memorial Day/' to future ages,
Shall tell how Liberty was bought with Life !
Rest, patriots, rest 1
EASTER CAROL.
Tis "of thine own we give Thee," gracioas God !
Flowers of the spring-time I otTerings from the sod.
Tinted by thine own hand, with rainbow dyes,
Or with the gold and blue of sunset skies ;
Of all earth's boundless gifts, to Thee we bring
Nought that is holier, as an otfering.
Oh ! glorious symbols of the Easter mom !
Out of decay, and death, and darkness bom :
Springing to light and life, from out the tomb
Of nature's desolation, sadness, gloom ;
Ye come, sweet flowers I with fragrance pure and rare,
To blend your incense with the breath of pra^'er.
Christ hath arisen, ''with healing in His wings."
Ye have arisen, O, bright and beauteous things !
To tell us of that resurrection mom,
When we, immortal, from the grave new bom,
With bo<Hes glorified, to life shall rise.
And meet the Saviour in the bending skies.
Houisa ^imrs.
Tills writer resUies In New Providence, New Jersey. She was bom In Ports-
mouth, in 1811. Uer life has been uneyentful, havinig thus tmr been passed tt
home with her family.
FROM YOUTH TO MANHOOD.
Lift up thine eye, the field of life before thee
Smiles in the glory of its summer day ;
Rough paths are these, but flowers sweet and lowly.
Lill their fair petals cheering all the wa3\
Gather thou these — their form, their hue, their wreathing
Make solemn impress on the grateful heart ;
Each cup of joy is purer for their breathing.
And for each grief they can a balm impart.
Ik
LOUISA SIME8.
149
Open thine heart — around, within are glowing
The blessed halos of all circling Ioa'c ;
Awake — arise — so the glad stream overflowing
Shall lave with tribute where its waters move.
Stretch forth thy hand, the ever whitening harvest
Pours its fair promise where the worker hies ;
Glean and dispense. The spirit true and earnest
Gamers the shining wreath of earth and skies.
Unvail thy soul for full and free expansion,
A child's devotion, and a brother's love —
These make the pillars of that holy mansion.
Waiting the faithful in our home above.
Unvail thy soul — set thou no bound nor limit
Of field or purpose to its white-winged flight ;
God prizeth everj' effort of the spirit
Out of the shadow up to truth and light.
TO THE CLOUDS.
Beautiful dust of the Great One's feet
From glory to glory ye change,
Like wafted curtains of some bright land
Where the glad in heart might range !
neath the sky,
st to earth,
on the face of the deep,
with mirth.
I love your floati
And giving yo
And your dream
Till the ripple
Ye cradle the fo^Hbf the wildest storm.
And the zephfl^l^Bjeath ye hold —
There is fearful Hg;U|^^ your wing of night,
And peace on^w Mf^ of gold.
Ye are symbols to SIt oit. human life.
Making the heavent Mave
More pure and brigh^br JToar shadowy light,
More worthy the nRnpM of Im^
Ever the sunset path we OiNMr'^
Where present and unseen
In garment as fair as the clo
May we rest at the Great On
150
POETS OF NSW EAMPSHIBE.
I^orart Crrrlrj.
II<H«oe Grp<el^ wik» bom In Amherst. FebmArr S. 1811. He teartd flie tnde of
a prinu^r. in PtHiItiMrr. VemK>nt. In I SSI he went* to Xev Yor^ citj wkere he kbor-
ea as a jouTDeTman. ' In IrSS he wesi into ba«lDes«s on hU own aocoant.
TCAT he JMSde^l'to his efiab^ii-hmect a Dev«paprr, tbe >'<«• Forter. Im 1941 he<
■ienee«1 thepQbUcati<«n v>f the \ew Tort TrAmme, with whirh paper be va
ed dariatr the rrattii»i«>r of hl» bfe. He ha« be«B a wmemher of Coogrcm, lad i^
l!C:i ma^ the IVesKxrauc cai»<ii\iate for tbe Pre^dewrr. He died Nor. 9L UE«L
THE FADED STARS.
I min«i tbe time when heaven's high dome
Woke in mv soul a wondrous thrill —
When everr leaf of Nature's tome
Bes^K>ke creation's marvels stili :
Wiieu mountain cliff auii sweeping glade.
As mom unclose^! her iv*sj hai^«
Woke JK>> s intense, but naught e'er hade
Mt heart leap up, like tou. bright stats.
Calm m:nisrrants to Gc^^'s burh slorr :
Pune gems ar>x2i>i His bijming throne :
Mn:e wau-hers o'er man's siraage, sad story
Of cr>Jiv an i w<>e ihrvvuirb agts ffone !
Twas vvx;r< :Le wi^l xc-i ba'k»we^i spell
That !::rv-\ nie fr>nR *irD->Ke ekams —
Ta-.^rh; me wbere s-xeeter foustaiss swell
Than evrr r-'ess tbe wor!-dIlr»ir's di^amsw
IL
-•»■•-*<»»
ir.j^.1
a was:e no iDoce,
Be?<: ":y war:, a&i pa:n. ai>.i wtv*o^;
Vok:^I "olih. In-v^'s lasfKr'og soog;
B;-:, Tr, V r^: sjez.;:^^!* of beavea*
For iT.crix-s of zi'^;'* ndLui; sJrr.
W!:o, 3LS v^ i?e:3=iei :lt: bcow of ereo.
Have ne^rr \ir^az>ed rzaa Kxn to die-
Ts fa.itvi r..^w. :.':i: w-o^rvsK' crao*
TrjL: x-jv :•:: iTa%ez*s r.Tvbeai s
I n^ivi r*.^ rj»Tv :=. ra:^r«*> fav:e
>;<rT: :;;^«: r,As :-a>^ ;- I^tt- t^ br ;
Fifw vv>^ r::y tAr.::^r years :::>•• r."**
A».i *<*>ic ij:".:i<sj> r^.t-s li-e sJrv.
Ye« axxim 1 sovi : a ssen. iic^ \i;i:r
Now swrv^-s xy ar»' iZ'i Ir^-^ sr b
I>frt5ii Mw vtrvtist hST >iA^'es :x Seaarv,
S> Itt&i L13S ssrl5( b< sscc in \
HORACE OREELET. 151
To war on fraud entranced with power,
Or smooth pretence and specious wrong,
This task be mine, though fortune lower ;
For this be banished sky and song.
DARKNESS OVER EARTH WAS SLEEPING.
Darkness over earth was sleeping —
Gathered gloom of thousand years,
Since the Goths the Scythians sweeping.
Drenched Rome's hearths in blood and tears.
Dwarfed had grown man's mental stature ;
Quenched was Genius* meteor blaze ;
Ruined Art and savage Nature
Spoke the reign of evil days.
Thence evolved, one art's bright beaming,
Owned no kindred with the hour ;
From its birth a beacon gleaming —
Foe to fraud and tj-rant's power.
Glorious Faust ! be thine the praises.
World-bestowed, for knowledge given ;
Thine the spark whose watchfire blazes
Radiant as the orb of heaven.
Onward still that light is speeding ;
Wider fall its cheering beams ;
By it truth's deep lessons reading.
Waking millions bless its gleams.
Glorious art ! thy children hail thee ;
T^Tants only are thy foes ;
Freedom's day-star ! naught shall pale thee —
Dark was earth till printing rose.
ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM WIRT.
Rouse not the muffled drum,
Wake not the martial trumpet's mournful sound
For him whose mighty voice in death is dumb ;
Who in the zenith of his high renown
To the grave went down.
Invoke no cannon's bfeath
To swell the requiem o'er his ashes poured —
Silently bear him to the home of death ;
The aching hearts by whom he was adored
He won not with the sword.
15?
POET? OF XEW
No ! Lr: arfccti^c** tear
B<? •!:«? so> :;-.' '::»? :•:• .:■* THrmory paid :
To 5«,c.5 '..kr '2:s :- I.'--"0" ^mvcii
» w w m
t .-.o
• •«
E-ir*:- !:.is j.; ■?:.%: 1. to ■:?*: •j.ol:*-'- ^.ia-1 uoc fail
L\- 1^ :: :..-. ^■.•. ii :.:j.: ?.::■. 'I-ls :._t aarro'r bei.
T:»^n ".Air :.:;. ■...-. i:^ tto:-!?^
r 'i ■ ■ : d . L*«z . : J ■ <; . : ^ . c t -;i • ^ >:: • ;r'j.tzU ;*ie clod
T'j •-' ; ■.'.>; ; •-' 'x- •: ;•. ■ ■ : . '. m : *. : r; iil: : : : e y t :i ts :•! part^ .
I 'J*i \: r •. .1 • J "^ ■ V , ■ = •::.; : ■ s. i: »: :■ . r^ii : ' v-.:i»f .
r!i«.'y ••x'-:i ::•' ;;!■;•:■•. " m:. t :.. r-? :.:.f T-rriv: !ia:Ii flattered.
No' ".:: i: s.'»: :.xr»j C'-*-^ '•:" 'n*'- :c'ji-i'. viaii.iG.
A 1'! ."'.T •!:■ :ua.". ". :i.-.'": ••;».> i.~ .ii'i ':a*i *i:eLl.
Br-^-i: i.:)::: m :oi::*>' .i' >!»:<•. v : •r^f:iJis E.v-iiaji
Oi' .*ao i'i."se*?«:, * jc i*^ ':•■. i ■. .•::t.'r's»iHti T«ii!.
Weav'.u^ j.fov.'':xii > *■.■; « ^i •i.:" !:jc*.*rk
'Cb;v auipfi. «uui«; ;»ua^ acvu%: uii^Kcriuuif^
MARY STEARNS PATTERSON. 153
And, O, should fate e'er speed her deadliest an*ow,
Should vice allure to plunge in her dark sea,
Be this the only shield my soul shall borrow —
One glance of heaven, one burning thought of thee.
I ne'er on earth may gaze on those bright features,
Nor drink the light of that soul-beaming eye ;
But wander on 'mid earth's unthinking creatures
Unloved in life, and unlamented die ;
But ne'er shall fade the spell thou weavest o'er me,
Nor fail the star that lights my lowly way ;
Still shall the night's fond dreams that light restore me.
Though fate forbid its gentler beams by day.
I have not dreamed that gold or gems adorn thee —
That Flatt'ry's voice may vaunt thy matchless form ;
1 little reck that worldlings all may scorn thee.
Be but th}' soul still pure, thy feelings warm.
Be thine bright Intellect's unfading treasures.
And Poesy's more deeply-hallowed spell.
And faith, the zest that heightens all \X\^ pleasures,
With trusting love — Maid of my soul, farewell.
Miss Patterson was bom In Nashua, March 3, 1811. She unraduated at the Troy
Female Seminary at the age of twenty -two, and most of her life, until dinabled by
lUness, has been devoted to teaching. The fields of labor in which she served quite
acceptably were at OberUn, Ohio; Isew Britain, Connecticut; Suffolk, Virffinia; and
Mew Hampton, this State; and for several years she was principal of the Female
]>epartment of CorUand Academy , at Homer, N. Y. She resides in Lawrence, Mass.
THE AUTUMN ROSE.
I saw, one bright autumnal day,
A beauteous rose unfold ;
And to a genial sun display
A bosom decked with gold ;
I gazed upon the lovely flower,
With rapturous delight,
And thought its charms had spell of power
To make even winter bright.
I wished that autumn rose so fair
In radiance long might bloom.
And shed through the surrounding air
Its beauty and perfume.
Vain wish ! for on its ruddiness,
Soon fell a withering blast ;
It drooped, and all its loveliness
Died ere the day was past I
154 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
So pass earth's fairest flowers away,
So dies the parent's joy ;
As clouds obscure the brightest day,
And griefs the heart annoy ;
But there's a balm for souls oppressed,
A hope the heart to stay ;
A bosom where the head may rest.
While tears are wiped away.
Thrice happ}' the}' who can repose,
In calm and holv trust.
On Him who wept for others' woes,
Who raised the sleeping dust ;
Who in a glorious robe of white
Arrays the blood-bought soul.
And bids it rest in realms of light,
While endless ages roll !
LINES FOR A YOUNG LADY'S ALBUM.
We love to see the flashing light the polished diamond throws,
To breathe the odor of the pink, the fragrance of the rose ;
We love to hear the pealing tones that from the organ roll,
To feel the dear delight that flows from sympathy of soul ;
But there are purer, nobler joys, in store for human kind,
Those truer jo3*s we prize much more, the treasures of the mind.
What can outvie the diamond's blaze? the fragrant rose excel?
The ''Morning Star," or ''God our Sun" and "Lily of the vale."
Then turn, dear girl, an upward e^'e, toward that dear Light
divine,
And like the Lil^- of the vale, in lady beauty shine.
fttarg Kaumontr ^ratt.
Mrs. Prntt, the daughter of (Jcorg^^o and Mary (Wallaw) Pratt, was born at Iffont
Vcmon. in IHll, and is yet living. She married Rev. I>. D. Pratt, a Baptist clergy-
man, who Is deceased.
"Do thej' love there still? for no voice I hear,"
Said a maid, as she thought of her childhood's home,
Of the rural bower, and the streamlet clear,
And the flowery fields where she used to roam ;
And she sighed, for no answering echo came
To tell that hers was a cherished name.
"Do they love there still !" in that ancient hall
Where the orient sun sheds his golden light,
ELI AS NA80N. 155
Where the moonbeams played on the painted wall,
And the brilliant stars decked the joyous night?
But no voice replied, for the tide of time
Had borne the loved to another clime.
'*Do they love there still?" where the young and gay
With elastic step trod the mazy dance,
And words that the lips might never say
Spoke to the heart in the passing glance?
And the maiden wept when a stranger tone
Told that her friends were gone — all gone !
'*Do they love there still?" where at earl}' morn
They meet to peruse the classic page.
To cull bright gems and the mind adorn,
And in high pursuits its powers engage?
And tones that the maiden's bosom thrill
Tell of a love that is cherished still.
''Yes, the}' love there still !" and the golden chain
Has wreathed its links with a clasp so strong
That the heart which its pressure would not retain
Must struggle against it hard and long,
Or, parting asunder all earthly ties.
By heaven's high mandate to glory rise.
And then, O then, in the '^better land,"
Where the good of earth shall together meet,
May all who compose that sister band
A9 sainted spirits each other greet ;
Then what bliss divine will the bosom thrill,
As the echo rings, *'They love there still 1"
iEUas Kason.
Ser. Ellas Nasoiif son of Levi and Samh (Newton )Nasonf was bom in Wrentham
Centre, Mass., Apr. 21, 1811 ; graduated nt Brown University in 1885; spent nearlr
ten years as a teacher in Ncwtiurypoi-t, wtierc lie was licensed to preach. July 11,
18S8. He was settled as a pastor at Natick,May5, 1852, at Medford, Mass., 1858
and at Exeter, 18G0, where he continued until May 29, 18(>5. He took an active part
Id the war, and remored to North Billerica, Mass., in 18(i.'). He spent parts of tiie
years 1874 and 6 in visiUng- the Tarious cities of Europe, and resided about half a
year at Rome. He has ^-rittcn many books, among others "The Life of Henry WU-
Bon'lan intimate friend, *'Lifc of Charles Summer," and a "Gazetteer of the State of
Massachusetts.'* He has published live different hymn books, and has lectured
orerone thousand times before lyccums and similar societies. He is now pastor of
tbe Pawtucket church of Lowell. He marrie<l Miss Mira Anna Bigelow in 1887.
iUie la a naU?e of New Marlborough, N. 11. Two of their sons are ministers.
A MORNING HYMN.
Throngh the shades of night, O my God, thou hast kept
Watch and ward o'er my bed, and Tve peacefully slept;
156 FOBTS OF XEW HAMPSHIRE.
In heahh now arising. I hai! the new dar.
And m V tribute of praise to Thee gritefiiUv par.
Though raling in power and splendor abore,
Tboa visitest man with the ligbt of thv love ;
ThoQ openest the gates of the East that the son.
As a giant, his coarse o'er the nations may ran.
But Tet bv the cross in re*iem ration is siven
Effulgence more bright from the pc>nals of bearen :
And with m\Tiads adoring. I bend to confess
The Prince thus descending Lis j:«c<'pte to bless.
Ills was the pity, the love an«3 the grace »
That exhaustr«i the ehaiice our sins to eflace.
And tLrousrh H:m. O my Gf>l. who such pangs underwent.
To thee this petition 1 humbly present : —
O feed me t«>dav from thv t<»an:;fui store.
And heaven wani inolice all my wishes to soar ;
Be near me when tempce>i. from wit2i*>at and within.
And deliver my soul &om the empire of sin.
Help me to b-:- lowly, forgiving and tree.
All alive to the work that mv han^is find to do : —
With radiance ftrlesiial my dark spirit fill.
And make every thought correspond with thy will.
In mercv forsive me the ills I have done :
My transgrvrssivns remit in tLv came of thy Son ;
Keep. O keep me frv-m wan irnrg away from thy fold«
And inscribe my poor came in tiiV reti-ori of g»>ld.
Then peacefully hour after hour shall roll by.
And pursuing my course ucier light from on high.
Every step shall stiit bring me. where'er I may roam.
Bat nearer to thee. O mv CVoil. and mv Home I
A CHRISTMAS CAROL.
Ring. O bells. frv>m tower an».l steeple !
Wake from slumber, O ye people !
Christ is born ; our consolator.
King of kings and Mediator.
Rii^. O bells, the gladsome stori- !
Homage to the Prince of g!or\- ! *
Christ is born ! O. bow l>i^forv Him.
All je Kindneds. and adore Him.
ELIA8 NA80N. 157
Ring, O bells, the royal tidings.
Bring, O men your richest offerings I
Christ is born ! Desire of nations ;
Laud Ilim, angels, of all stations.
Ring, O bells, this World's great wonder !
Hush, O, war, thy pealing thunder!
Christ is born ; low in the manger ;
Hosts of heaven, hail the stranger.
Ring, O bells, in measured cadence ;
Eastern Magi, spread your incense ;
Christ is born, ring bells, again,
"To God be glory, peace to men !"
Ring, O bells, all music blending
Into chimes to heaven ascending,
Christ is born ; ring bells, O ring,
''Salvation to the new-born King !*'
JESUS ONLY.
Jesus only ; when the morning
Beams upon the paths I tread ;
Jesus onl}' ; when the darkness
Gathers round my weary head.
Jesus only ; when the billows
Cold and sullen o*er me roll ;
Jesus only ; when the tempest,
Rends the tomb, and wakes the soul.
Jesus only ; when the judgment
Boding fears m}' heart appall,
Jesus only ; when the wretched,
On the rocks and mountains call.
Jesus only ; when adoring
Saints their crowns before him bring ;
Jesus only ; I will joyous,
Through eternal ages sing.
THE POOR MAN AT THE GATE OF PARADISE. A
DREAM.
A poor old man died on one bitter cold day,
And directly to Paradise wended his way ;
158 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRB.
Saint Peter he met, — 'tis a dream I relate, —
With his great shining keys, keeping ward at the gate.
Now while standing here, with the Apostle conversing,
The events of his journey to heaven rehearsing.
He sees a rich townsman, — the gate is ajar, —
Slip quietly by them, and in through the bar.
He listens ; he hears peals of music arise
To welcome this man to his home in the skies ;
But on entering himself, though bright visions fill
His fanc}' with rapture, all is silent and still.
'*How is this?" turning back to Saint Peter, his guide,
In accents of wonder, the poor man then cried ; —
**When niv neis:hlK)r went in, sweetest music I heanl,
Wh}' is not the same honor on me now conferred?
D'ye keep up the distinctions here, please let me know,
Twixt the rich and the poor that we had down below?
''Not at air\ said Saint Peter, ''O no, not at all, —
Just as brothers we live in this banqueting hall ;
But poor folks like you, I am happy to say.
By thousands pass through the gate ever}* day ;
AlH)ut once in a year ct)mes a rich man along.
Then all Paradise breaks into general song !"
THE LORD'S PRAYER, PHARAPHRASED,
Be hallo wdl, our Father in heaven, thy name ; —
Thy kinp.lora of glory let all tongues proclaim ;
Bo done here bolow, thine adorable will,
As spirits celestial its mandates fulfil !
From thv lH>untiful hand bv which all men are fed,
M'e crave for this day our allotment of bread ; —
For sins without number, O, mav we receive
Thv luirvlon, as we others freelv foniive.
From the wiles of the tempter our spirits defend ;
Keop, O kei^p us from jn^rils that ever imf^end,
Aiui the kingvlom, the ^K>wer, the glory be given !
To thee evermore, our dear Father in heaven.
THE SMILE OF THE KING.
Mid sorrows and dangv^rs that darken my way.
As oawiuxl thiXHigh litVs tangled mazes I straj.
CHARLES JAMES FOX. 159
I turn from the scenes that surround me and sing ; —
* 'There is peace, O my soul, in the smile of the King!"
When o'er the lone ocean the wild surges roll.
And tempests tremendous descend from the pole, —
Through the conflict I hear the sweet harmony spring ; —
**There is peace, O m}^ Soul, in the smile of the King !"
Unseen, he still tenderly leads me along
In ways that I know not, and gives me the song.
As my heart's dearest treasure before Him I bring ; —
"There is peace, O my Soul, in the smile of the King!"
Inconstant and wayward, I grieve that I am ;
But hid in my heart is the power of the Lamb ;
And whatever be the anguish the echoes still ring ; —
"There is peace, O my Soul, in the smile of the King!"
And O, when I pass through the shade that shall close.
In silence profound o'er these brief mortal woes.
Be this my last song, to my God as I cling ; —
"There is peace, O my Soul, in the smile of the King !"
Then rising in splendor, the hosts to behold.
Who sound his high praises on viols of gold, —
Exultant, my tongue in his presence shall sing ;
"There is peace, O my Soul, in the smile of the King-!"
THE BLUE GENTIAN.
A lovely blue gentian. Sweet flower of the wildwood,
In solitude bending. Of heaven's own blue.
Once drew my attention. What dreams of my childhood.
As summer was ending. Concentre in 3'ou I
In beauty resplendent, I stooped this fair flower
It bloomed all alone ; From its light stem to sever,
To angels attendant. And from that blissful hour,
Its charms only known. I wear it forever?
artjarles James jFoi.
Cluurles J Fox was born in Antrim, October 11, 1811. Ho graduated at Dart*
Boath CoUego in 1831 , and afUu^wards became a lawyer in Nasnua. He died Feb-
raarrl?, 1846. A tribate to hU mcmurv by John li. Warland \a found elsewlim
In thu Tolume. He complied in part the <'New Hampshire Book of Pxom
160 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE,
ir»
THE CIIKISTIAN PROMISE.
When he who spake as never man hath spoken,
Came to our earth to elevate and bless,
lie lilted the down-trodden and heart-broken.
And cheered the widow and the fatherless.
Ue taught the glorious truth, "ye are all brothers
That love and justice unto all are due ;
That in life's business *'ve should do to others
Even as ye would that they should do to you."
Glad tidings of great J03' I Earth's groaning masses.
Enslaved and burdened by some regal line.
Now learn that God hath made no * 'better classes'*
To tyrannize o*er them by right divine.
'*Our Father!" what a glorious revelation,
Linking our birth-right with the infinite whole ;
Bidding man live as fits his noble station.
Teaching the priceless value of the soul !
Blessed be Go<l for this sublime ideal,
Which would transform this earth to paradise !
Blessed are they who strive to make it real.
In thought and life, by toil and sacrifice !
Blessed are they who, with a strong endeavor.
And faith undoubting and tnie Christian heart.
Seek for the true, the right, the equal ever,
And in no wrong and selfishness have part.
And there are signs that brighter light is breaking.
Through the thick clouds of eighteen hundred years ;
That love and truth shall in new iK)wer be waking,
And earth be gladdened with millennial years.
Man in Goii's image and God's temple glorious
With all his upward tendencies we hail.
For Goil hath said that love shall be \'ictorious,
And *'truth is mighty aud will yet prevail.'*
3ot)n XclBon fttoscB.
John N. Mo0C», a bn^thor of Thomas P. Moses. wa« bom In Portsmoiitii,
ber W, 1811. He w«4 a priuU'r. antl (pive eviilence of the possession of ■.„u»...
talent of a hltrh onler. which would uniloubtedlv have made him dlattncnSated
but for his early death, at Fort Foster, Florida, near Tampa Bay, Deoembcr 17.
101.
GEORGE MATHER OHAMPNBT. 161
STANZAS.
Vain man ! dare ye presume to be —
All sinftil thus — ^more wise than God ?
More mighty, holy, just than He
Who holds the eternal judgment-rod ?
That haughty brow all crimsoned o'er
With deep-felt guilt and shame must be,
And that proud heart must learn to pour
Its gushings of humility !
A single link in that vast chain
Of wisdom, reaching where the eye
Of mortal strives to gaze in vain,
Would ye subvert God's harmony?
It cannot be ! ye may not scan
What angels long in vain to see,
Why, in his dealings, God to man
Should wrap his wand in mystery.
O be content that he has spread
The hills with bounties, fields with food ;
That all earth's fruits for thee are shed, —
Earth's every blessing for thy good :
And though thy heart has now been crushed
While basking in Hope's sunny ray.
Peace ! — let thy murmurings be hushed :
Shall He who gave not take away ?
He who is infinite in love ;
Who fills the earth with bliss for you,
And spreads that glorious arch above
To cheer thy path in mercy too, —
A hope of richer bliss hath given
Beyond the uncertain bounds of time ;
And hearts, by sorrow worn and riven,
Shall find a balsam in that clime !
George H. Cluunpney wai bom in New Ipswich, March 6, 1818. At the age of
fomteen yean he went to Boston and was employed in a store. After renuwiing
fliere a tew years he went to New Jersey and attended an academy. Sabsequentiy
be engaged in mercantile basiness in that state. He retnmed to Boston ana
•ettlecT inthe dry goods trade, and dDntinned there in basiness forty years, mi^Mwy
his home In Wobnm. He snlfered nraoii loss of property by the great Are in ISTi.
Hla death occurred Januaiy 4, 18BL
LINES TO SOUHEGAN RIVER.
Quiet Sonhegan ! thy curling waves
Flow through the meadows green ;
162 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Thy crystal bed and daisied banks
In placid depths are seen.
Come, stand upon the bridge with me
That spans the moving tide ;
No object intercepts the view
That opens far and wide.
The pebbled road comes winding down
To where it meets the stream ;
Its nigged path then mounts the hill
Towards sunlight's earliest beam.
The rude stone walls that bound it in,
Bv hard worn hands were laid,
Moved to the toil by honest hearts
That heaven's will obe^'ed.
Scattered along the varied banks
That hedge the travelled way.
The moss-grown stones and herbage wild
Their roughest charms display.
Now gaze we on thy face, fair stream,
As up the vale we look ;
More tranquil waters never flowed.
Or bubbling spring forsook.
How gracefully the ^^Elbow** carls
Just where a brook unites
Its mingling drops, that rippling come
Adown from woody heights.
Bevond, those alder's bushv ranks
^kirt thick the farther side.
And form a shady, quiet haunt
So sweet at eventide.
Ouwarvi the eye pursues its glance
To where the forest trowns
Which iu its cool and dusky groves
The gleamiug sunlight drowns.
Near where the waters meet the wood
A covert nook is tound^
That echoe(» still the merry laugh
Of voices all aroumL
How through the fhone the poises thrtU *
As days c«>tue rushiog on.
QEORQE MATHER CHAMPNET. 168
And the ebbing tides of memory fill
With mirth and dance and song.
The boat is moored, the shore is gained,
All hearts are happj' now ;
The maz}' dance is threaded quick,
And pendant branches bow.
With sport fatigued, the chowder oomes,
Then added viands grace
The rustic board : the toast goes round
And jo}' fills every face.
Again the merry shout goes up :
The jocund glee is heard,
The tangled copse that spreads around
With gayest life is stirred.
Gray twilight comes, now ply the oar
And homeward move the boat,
How calml}' down the silver tide
The freighted bark doth float !
The noise of rude-tongued mirth is hushed.
As suits the evening hour,
And mellow voices blending sweet
Some vesper music pour.
I see them now 1 I hear their tones
Melting on memorj-'s car,
Although the softened cadence comes
0*er many a passing year.
Now turn we down the flowing stream
How stately on it goes !
Its deepening current gathers strength
Till o'er the '*dam" it flows.
Here first the hand of art has thrown
A stony barrier o*er
Thy water's bed ! here first is heard
Niagara's mimic roar.
"Waterloom's" wheels with busy hum
Are moved at thy command,
And spindles fly with rapid whirl
Guided b}' woman's hand.
Among New Hampshire's mountain streams
This boasts the primal claim
ie4 POSTS OF KEW BAMPSMIMK
Of giving powvr ml mmn's behest
To torn a spinning frame.
Tbe phinging waters now more on
DaLshii^ from nock to rock,
TUI curbed m^in h\ art's bold hand
Re|]ieat tbe tbonder shock.
How chained the scene frooi which we tamed
Wheie bcinks'wvre smooUi and grceaL,
And shading bo?h and nodding graaa
Were nunorevi in the sheen.
A shebring b£aif of giidy hdght
Walls op the rtTer's wa^T.
And ie^j^es rvna^ and wvwdj steeps
11%.^ timai £ee< at bar.
A U>M asd <g<inn:ng arvrtu
Betweea wbioiw ^:>aQixieQ.cs scrvwg and b%h
Tbe oanvwed w:cers nLanr^L.
Tbe tnTeiLef iiocks with, awe adown
Tbe fisKKire drvtir and wiLi :
Tbe mochier qoe^qk wrtii feur^ sorps
Wben pas$sat|C wi£a ber %'ftfTi!.
F!h>w oa ^xt scre&3L ! al^iuxi^ bejmd
Mt T^nonV &rthest ken :
FbBt wtfiii Toa^Mre ai aiettianps^
Kt wQi^ ami icekr xfiea.
Tbr BUST wmExurs >Hin$cer rr^nmi
Tbe ettcttibhii^ ^mT st amn^
And cixmrnic tOiecY siuJL iw^nar
Sums €%cn%ai nifut.
m % •mtwwrrtmr: wihirs hi ilwi «">
SAR8a.TH MV^RXIX^.
Rail iMll|pte!UL >(icd«&ca a&jRt T
B^^fioiwc lic|Mtf> vjf :;a»M :ire '^ocil :
TbttttkM &ir vv Faficuer s cneew
JAMES CHURCHILL BRYANT. 165
Bounteous Source of life and light,
Thou bast kept me through the night ;
Me fVom every sin defend,
Till these holy hours shall end.
Keep me, Saviour, near thy side,
Kindly for m}- wants provide ;
Purge away each sinful stain
In His blood for sinners slain.
To thy courts when I repair.
Heavenly Father, meet me there ;
Pour rich blessing on my soul.
Make my wounded spirit whole.
May thine earthly sabbaths prove
Foretaste sweet of rest above.
Bear my thoughts from earth awa}',
Guide me to the realms of day.
IN SICKNESS.
Great God, I bow before thy power.
Yet still thy goodness trust ;
While storms of sorrow round me lower,
And press me to the dust.
Ah ! what is man, frail, dying man.
Though in thine image made ;
How soon he measures out his span,
How soon in death is laid.
The brilliant hopes that year by year
On youth's bright pathway bloom.
In death's cold shadows disappear,
And lo, an open tomb !
Throbs painfully the aching heart,
Tears oft bedim the eye ;
No solace can the earth impart
To check the rising sigh.
Yet, gracious God, to thee is known
Each piercing pang of grief.
Thou hearcst each extorted groan.
And thou canst give relief.
Around the couch where lone I lie,
No mother may attend
1 (U] POKTS OF NE W HAMPSHIRE.
To (•lieor me with love's beaming eye,
But thou art still my friend.
Far fn)m tlie scenes of early years,
Far from the friends I love,
Divarv and iH)ld the world apix^ars,
And false its friendships prove.
Hut cease, my soul, nor thus complain,
S<H>n brijxhter days will come ;
Thou wilt not long on earth remain
For earth is not thy home.
'rhon» is a land of peace and love ;
Then* shall the wearv rest :
Arise, sooun* a homo alK)ve
And Ih? forever blest.
lirniamin )3rnl)aUotD Sl)inabrr.
M. r. NhUUlvr >AAi&)vm In IVrtsmotith. Julv 12, 1S12. In 1849 lie commeiiced
hu «^iMVr iu« * vnnlor m the oAiiv of I ho ri.-Ai'^'aim tn IVovor. lie went to Boston
\\\ isiV *n,) >%vMi AHcr n)A>W » votao' lo IVnurara fur hi* health, harlng had an
AIU»«^K of MtHsltn« Al lito liiujcik Then' In' w orLe^l t*n the Koral i«acette for twenty
m«\«tihik. Koluruliu h^niic lo is:^ bo Invatnt- ivnmvie«l with tbe Bottcm Fo9t^ where
ho wx^ritsl ui^.u I bo »'^*^ In 1>4T ho fir>i v'>**i'J*"**«l 'h»* Partln/fton Sayings, and
«s«mmom>iM hu i^hmioa! OAixvr aN«\;i thai nmo. In ISTO he left the Pott, and. in
t>Mviwm>u«^n >KU!i i^^t^ .MN'r n)on. >uin.>i xbo '. .y--:»rf ^iIjca humorons paper, which
o)v*«^>ykI anvMvioiKx' of two \oiirs. aii.i waji «iihdni«'n to make room for more
»l^^'«^»lVl viinukN Ut n r.;r;>o«l to ihi- I^.*i4 ::i :s?i2 a> Kw«l reporter. In 1896 he
^N^tHVKst him«t«)r w.ih I ho S.tfwNJ.Ty j^rrviv'' ^•■•i^t'^- Alkoat that time be bccan
ks'tuilvvB H** «■"•' r'^*'i«»>^l * * v<^^T\^::> fwrn. "Tho l*ro*s,*' whicb be dellTered in
mAi\> |\lii,>#%. oxi'i^ w:>o*v to i!>ox.NU>r.>^-;:or. v? ^i<^ su-iioaoe. He le<tmrd aome-
wK»i o\tr«v,\»',> l^.'.^'».u^ j!«o *N^vrtr> tor *r\or*l >ears, with ini€ve»«. But hi«
h(>atl «a» in i:>v vt'Vki.ujc oA^o.-. &r : ^o .\*.vs'o ^ Tft^-i iSo 7\^<'truTn. Mr. Shillaber ha*
t«er« atiih.M' of xt-\t i<», \.':(::»o> « ?.:. ^ ^xo :^.i % vi.k iLnrrulsiic^ii : — Rhtmes with
K.««»,N«i Aw.l W :iho\ii *• n».- : •:« a: ' S»> ;:-.i> of Mr>. rarQncim;"'**Kiilttln|r
^ .NTi. a Nv^k o! V.s\\\ »>Mv:;-% ' 'l\\rs.:.4:';»*x:-.ar ^»u■'^.^^\>^k.■* "Does la Pleasant
n»»x^."aidlbo V!v IN :•,...< -.or. >, m ^ .-: >^* Nx^L*" In l<n be dellrered
a yKy<«M N»rv".r i V I'lr:**? * j-.v •»'^i»** o* ;V\rMv ^v.■»^. I'o'.Vrcr. a»*ii *-a# aftade hooorarr
MK>«KKir«\( |}k* ri.; l^HA K»i >,Mk S.V i.v .>: \i.%, «N\,jror. Uo riMa«!lea taCbelMsa. Mas*.
A IXUNIKY SI MMKK SUNDAY.
Vn.i oa:x* ;:va; rjcj.i ,^vV.v..u..x: :dLko:ji :;* &:iit«
A* ;f *» A«v^'- >5>9ik\"\ :>\va: <^\*^r^ «.S*,
BENJAMIN PENHALLOW 8HILLABER. 167
The sail, abroad, o'er meadow, wood and stream,
A brighter, holier radiance seems to fling ;
The birds inspired with sweeter music seem,
And breathless breezes wait to hear them sing.
Anon, awakening with a murmuring note.
The soft winds haq) on instrumental trees,
While perfumes from a myriad blossoms float,
Borne on the pinions of the joj'ous breeze.
The cattle in the field, released from stall,
Graze gratefully upon the grasses cool.
Where the refreshing shadows darkly fall.
Or stand as studying in some pleasant pool.
The rustling com in tasseled pride outflings
Its banners in the gleaming sun to dance.
And every spire in golden triumph swings
In plenitude of rich luxuriance.
The farmer listless leans upon the wall.
And looks with calm contentment o'er his fields,
While glad emotions all his heart enthral.
And thankfulness that here its tribute yields.
But hark ! amid the charms that rest around.
Comes to our ears the warning sabbath-bell ;
The listening hills return the sacred sound.
Which wakens echoes in the vales that dwell.
And now, sedately from each cottage home,
The village fathers, sabbathly arrayed,
And village mothers, dignifiedly come.
And village maidens with their ^^best" displayed ;
The dusty chaise rolls down the dusty hill,
A relic saved from generations past,
A pride of station clinging to it still.
And deferential looks are on it cast I
And loving pairs lag loiteringly along
Beneath the shadows of the elm trees, tall,
And themes are there for story or for song
Poured out 'neath many a faded parasol.
All take the path to where, each holy day,
The reverend pastor doth his accents raise,
And strives to draw his hearers' minds away,
By nrgings gentle, to a godly praise ;
1(^ POETS OF.NEW HAMPSHIRE.
To where the anthem nnassisted ^rings.
And melody appalled turns pale to hear,
Gathering for flight her silver-plamaged wings.
To seek elsewhere some more harmonious sphere !
Yet much of soul dwells in the simple song,
.Where fervor takes the place of studied art.
As on the air it pours itself along,
Freighted with feeling of the fervent heart.
Methinks that God looks more benignly down
Upon the day His lovingness hath lent.
When, amid scenes like this its hours we crown
By offerings with Joy and homage blent.
Ascetic gloom should find no biding place
To cloud the current of our bosom's rest ;
The sabbath sun with joy should gild the face,
As in the heart its presence is confest.
PISCATAQUA.
My heart and soul go out to thee, blue stream.
Sparkling with pleasant memories of yore, —
Of da3's when youth flowed on, as flows a dream.
As careless as thy wave that kissed the shore.
Unheeding, and demanding nothing more
Than thj' fraternity and kindred joy.
Mid scenes of loveliness then gloated o'er
With the fond admiration of the boy,
Which knew no limitation, knew no base alloy.
Thou art still young and fair, Piscataqua,
Thy voice as sweet and tuneful to my ear
As when, in early boyhood's holiday.
It gave me fervent happiness to hear :
My neighbor, playmate and companion dear,
Sportive and wild with turbulent unrest.
That gave no ripple of obtrusive fear
To check the cheerful current of my breast,
When held within thine arms or by thy side at rest.
Thou speakst of those, who in the vortex lost
Of life's endeavor, long have lain to sleep.
Or those who are upon time's billows tost.
For whose returning vainly watch we keep ;
Reminders rise, like phantoms, from thy deep.
Of boyish striving, with abandon free
BENJAMIN PENHALLOW SHILLABER. 169
As thine own sparkling billows, that did leap
In the glad sunshine, with exuberant glee.
And thrilled me with the thought that I should sometime he.
Oh, rushing river, fierce, resistless, strong ! —
Staj'ing no moment welcome to extend
To him who*s loved and treasured thee so long
With more than the affection of a friend ;
But yet thou dost thy dimpling eddies send.
That, swirling at my feet, smile back the sun,
Loitering where shore and water sweetly blend,
While on thy mission thou^ keepst sternly on.
Turning aside for naught until the goal is won.
Yon fisher's boat, that at her killock swings.
Speaks to my consciousness most palpably
How near the spectacle remembrance brings
Of what was once a rare delight to me ;
Can that be mine, the form which there I see
In youth's habiliments, his sinkered line
Dropt neath the tide to catch what there ma}' be
That to his near acquaintance doth incline ?
See there, upon his hook, the struggling victim shine !
Piscataqua ! no better wish I'd have,
When life was young, than thus to idly swing
Upon the buoyant bosom of thy wave.
And o'er the side my line seductive fling :
To hear the plover flit on hasty wing.
To mark the clouds reflected on thy stream.
To catch glad voices which the airs did bring
From the far shore, lit by the sun's bright beam.
And swinging, listening, loafing — fish and fondly dream.
How far, Piscataqua, thy shores expand,
With beauties manifold on every side I
And all the loyal glories of the land
Smile in the mirror of thy glassj- tide.
There Agamenticus, in solemn pride.
Lifts his grand dome above the distant pines.
There groves sweep downward to thy loving side.
And fair Cocheco in the distance twines.
Amid the winding banks, till with thee she combines.
The curving shore, the orchard and the field
Yet hold their places, and the river road
Winds through yon village, half by trees concealed,
Where peace has its beneficent abode ;
1 70 POETS OF XEW HAMPSBIRE.
Beyond, the white church, on the apland showed.
Lifts it:s fair turret, and each svlvan nook
Cilows in the landj^^aJv as it e'er has glowed
Since memon* its fond departure took.
To dwell u[>oQ the past as 'twere an open book.
Tnchansreil. unchanging, shore and rock and wtTe:
Hut I. a'as ! wliat changes dwell in me.
As here I sit, where youth's bright seasons gave
Their choicx^st keepsakes to my custody !
Nor faith -ess I, though my dim eyes may see
But fsint'iV what is in Liv heart retained.
With rare distinctness of that by-gone day,
Whii-h it* l»eaiitudes aK'Ut me rained.
Within that temple new. by cai« yet unprofaned.
Farewell, bright stream ! my eyes may ne'er again
Behold thv K-snlies. l»ut I bear from thee
A love renewed. wLich. like some heaven! v strain
A mill efAfth's discx-rds. will give ecstasy
In hvHirs ri:n"jSi:r.:rii: of the yet to l:«e.
And I sha'il fin^y ^-^en thai I hear
Thv voi^>e. as Lv-re of "ale :: in>c^ted roe,
Sjx,*.kirii: In j*An:rii: u-nes of iove and cheer,
Ai-)vi iTlvirii: ii'sniSv-inoDess urito my failing
Ncwingtou on i\st*i;aqua, Aur. 51, l>7i».
THE HIDDEN TREASURE.
John Wer.iwor:h. Royal Govemor. the last
T: a* in Ntw H.sn-;vi>L::rx- ^K^re vioe-ivgal sway,
Ho-.i vV'i.n *.: W,-.'.rvlH'ro::irh. r-y a lake, remote
Fiv»ni v\*.T\ v'f ott^x, then r-:&ie onercflis
By \\.c fiircv- ri>r.f?i>nt-ss vi-f ib-jise be ruled,
Wi,i^ 0Ar.j:M VM \.\\T.^ >; .ri; ^f i-be hour
Attii ;:iiv**<r.iv; :n ;.:je irfOvni of discontent,
l\»n^nK«i:t.. -was i^riciti.ts i.iiiough respect
1 hcckivi \-}:«'tnix- *c.^ir.si hirm :o ijeniai John,
For an onT>Ovi k.n.Vv for/.iv to Lim,
Allix^ujcii Oit<"S7:Tii: r;is iutuK'-rity.
He »A> i.f lvt>;<»rj >.rrt*ai:e iT)»i Harrard braxMi,
A iTiTieixMis, v*Owr..'v. i*n:;:vji:^d ^ian.
Of tA>t4*s T\f.:->c.i, wi;i: even" wj>b awake
T.^>e y•o^^pV v^f his ckn to 'iX'-Dt-f?;,
Hiwao :\^» ^,s be bvr.j^c.^ jiT»ii Dt w ways iWrised
To pvc New HaTr.nsh-:ri htr p:Y* 7esrir>c-i rank;
Aad L\ana»OQaih foh t^ k::)dz>ess of his heart
BENJAMIN PENH ALLOW SBILLABEJR.
171
In many offices of generous care.
But "Royal Governor!" his title, chafed
The temper of his people, and he flew
To this, his sylvan realm, for peace and rest.
lie haply found it, did his buxom dame, —
Widow of Atkinson, in ten days wed,
Post nubila at Atkinson's demise,
(What time, in going from the nuptial rites.
Did Arthur Brown, the rector, fall down stairs,
And, tributary to the season, break an arm,) —
Admit of peace domestic, breach of which
Were worse than din of direst politics.
His stately manse stood smiling b}' the shore,
A pile of goodly station, since destro^'ed
By fire, which licked it to its cellar walls.
Broad avenues connected with the road,
O'erarchcd by sturd}' trees, while, back of all,
And far on every side, stretched hill o*er hill.
Giving incentive to the lively chase.
Where game abounded and adventure becked
The daring huntsman to his best essay,
A hospitable, cheerful home it was.
Amenities of old-time neighborhood
Existed thereabout without a check.
And one could scarcely dream the cloud suspent
So soon to merge the land in hostile flood 1
Twas springtime, and the glory of the year
Was seen on verdant upland, vale and mead.
When murmurs came, at first, of Lexington,
And the bold stand the ^'eomanry had made
'Gainst that prerogative which Wcntworth held,
And then the full- toned clarion's fearful breath
Proclaiming that the hour of strife had come 1
The land was rising, kingly rule was broke.
And gloomy e3*es were bent on courtly John,
Though well content that he should e'er remain.
Could he of his commission be divest.
Tlien came the secret order to depart.
The Governor, too far from Barclay's ships.
Packed bag and baggage for a speedy fiight.
The coach of state, rolled to the mansion door,
Hici by the night, received a weighty load ;
Ga}' Lad}' Wentworth and the precious plate.
With its armorial bearing, and such cash
As then in argent sheen the coffers lined,
The Governor the last, who backed himaelf.
1 72 P0ET8 OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
In stately silence, by my lady's side.
Mount quickly, coachman ! Footman, take 3'our place!
On rolls the coach in cumbrous tardiness,
And from the window Wentworth looks his last
On his broad acres, with a painful sigh.
While Lady Wentworth dreams of ball and rout
*Neath better auspices and lo3'al skies.
But heav}' grew tlie way, the horses strove
And foamed with wearying efforts to advance.
Until, quite failing, they no effort made.
The treasure must be left, or else the dame,
Its half e(iuivalent — forbid the thought ! —
And there beneath the solemn midnight stars
The earth received in trust the precious store.
No more delay. The harborage was gained.
In Portsmouth, safe beneath the royal guns.
Did Wentworth tarrj* till rebellion took
Such sturdy presence that it was not safe
For royal governor to linger there ;
And so he passed forever from the scene.
He ne'er regained the treasure hid in earth.
And no man knoweth whereabouts 'twas hid.
The path he went, traditional alone,
Affords no clew to its dark resting-place,
Though many seekers have essayed the task
— Running down through the centurj' of 3'earB —
Of finding the so-much-desired prize.
And even now, at times, dim lights are seen
At night, when honest folks should be in bed,
Dancing al)out the meadow and the wood.
In hands of seekers for the buried pelf.
Led on by those who claim that they can see
Through all the m^'steries of heaven and earth.
The earth is honeycombed with punctures made
B3' pro<kling iron bars, but over all
A monumental disappointment reigns.
Perhaps John Wentworth guanls the spot himself,
Not 3-et selected his adopted heir.
Woodbury M. Femald was born In Portsmouth. Mar. 21, 1813. He w&« educated
In the schools of his native place. He became a minister of the UnlTersalist denomi-
nation, and began preaching In Nashua, In I8S5. He subsequently preached acoept-
»blT In Sprluglleld, Newburyport, and Stoneham, Mass. He removed to Boston in
1845 and was there 8ettle<l as a mlnlsu>r. So«»n after he became a Swedenborglan,
and received a call to the New Church Society In New York where he remained a
Tear. He preache<l also in ChicaRo and In Laporte, Ind., and In other western cities.
He returned to Boston In 1870, where he remained until his death, Dec. 10, \9!t.
WOODB URT MELCBER FERNA LD. \ 73
MY DAUGHTER'S HOME.
Written while she is away from it, Aug. 10, 187S.
While travellers roam abroad to find
The rustic life of needful change,
And linger where thej roam ;
Lo ! unto deeper jo3*s inclined,
Through feeling's realm and fancy's range,
I sing my daughter's home !
This teeming field of living green.
Sloping so gently ft'om my feet ;
The broad expanse beyond
Of lengthened woods, with rifts between.
Where other homes the vision greet,
Linked in the social bond ;
The church's spire, the sacred throng
Of birds mid Summer's golden sheen ; —
Ah ! what a glory's here !
'TIS for no distant scenes I long.
In humble thankflilness, I ween.
The blessings still are near !
I travel not o'er mountain heights,
I see no crystal cascades run.
No rivers limpid sti'eam ;
But grander views and higher lights,
Beam from my souFs unsetting sun.
To gild my waking dream.
Daughter, I tread thy home-like halls,
I walk around this lovely spot,
Sacred to thee and thine ;
No gloom upon my spirit palls,
The cares of life are all forgot.
And heaven itself doth shine.
Each room, each dear familiar thing.
Or work of art, or tree, or flower,
Seems filled with silent life.
The mute piano— does it bring
No secret song to calm the hour,
And free the soul from strife?
*
The Bpadous parlor's cheerful glow.
The chamber's sweet memorial air.
All things within my reach, —
1 74 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
The classic librarv's rich flow
Ot thoujiht and beaut v everv where.
Invite to silent speech.
Spirits invisible here come
To quicken every living book«
And till the hearc with peace ;
And thus I roam throuj^h thv dear home,
Daui^hter of love — the while I look
To thv sweet self s release.
Away — away ! the hills among.
MM lauiiuiniZ waters' trrateful soand.
For heallQ. for life, for cheer ;
While. swet:t as pool ever sung.
Or happy elf has ever found,
Tiiv aoLue awaits thee here !
A VISION OF THE ETERNAL GLORY.
t> C^o<l of ^lor}- ! when with eye aplifted,
Kve of tiie soul in visioned wonder clear:
Ani w::^n by :hiae eternal spirit gifted.
W;,i: J^cx^^ revealLcjis to the soal appear!
Natiirv rvothics ; and in the expan;3e eternal,
SK'rv:ad:'j^ aavl Ov><nLng to my raptured sight*
I see :i..e l\Oi<:s of Go«i. tde heights supernal,
rtie v:l:;in:d :r;;i2i^-i.:aat crowned in hearen's own light.
Ah ! :l\<re are :hey wio, oa-^f aznoog the lowly.
Kr?: :rv\i :Ii< pii:i:s of p^irien: virtue here :
Au-i :cLx*r>i an* uiey wio, ia :iiy presence holy.
rre:uV>i for si-, be; knew no other fear:
l>\^v':.«::s, rvfonrers* — they w'-o. i^oi-i rerering.
lKi::Avi w;:L: ioaLT^^ wti^^^cj: aa»i anotent might :
BeV.o.'i :>.v::r :vw :n iri:-:::::>!i re-arcearin^
Ou al'. :j.c iiiV-s cf i.'0«.i, ia iLoo- bright!
L: .v,'<iW"7:^ v*.>s.cc, iazi-e* a '^ht before them.
\V .^iT^* 1 '.cci :n.:i of iiiamyrf rise to riew :
A*:-;, Ic a vv*r::rtl l^-:>f r^rc^ij:;; o'er them. —
V:ix* .War K^JC^er^^r crcw:!:::;^ ^
^ x'Cors ac'.i i^r.-es a':, I see :i*eja waxioj^
Tr.u L* .ojl:::: L*du:us^ *ji r:'":%» of pores* white :
Nv* so« u^ ;<fcr.^rs of :i^e vvcfxc braTixsa^,
IVfekX .!» u^LT IvC. anii ^av^ii Unur high
WILLIAM B. MARSH. 175
aaflUam B. JEarsi).
^m. B. Marsh, was bom In Exeter, In 1818. He commenced the bosiness of
\ as a printer In Portsmouth. He went to New York and worked at his trade
9 years. He started the New Bed/brd ReqUter^ which he edited for some time.
IMl* he became editor of the Brooklyn N. T. Eagle. He was esteemed for his
lUties as a writer, and for the many virtues which adorned his cliaracter. He
d in Brooklyn in 1846.
THE BRIGHT SPIRIT LAND.
The bright Spirit Land ! O where doth it lie !
In the untold depths of the glorious sky,
Where the clouds are all tinged with a roseate hue,
And the stars ever float in a sea of blue —
Is it there, the bright Spirit Land ?
And do flowerets breathe on the passing gale.
And beings celestial their odors inhale.
While golden winged birds flit the bowers among,
And gladden the air with their jojous song?
Do broad rivers sweep with resistless tide.
And whispering rills through the deep valleys glide ;
Do green forests wave, and huge mountains rise
Till their snow-covered peaks seem to blend with the skies,
And the many-toned voices of Nature combined,
Come like angels of peace to the care-stricken mind —
Is it thus in the bright Spirit Land ?
Or is it amid the ocean of caves.
Where mariners sleep in their coral graves.
As the angry wind howls, and the surge beats high,
And the storm-spirit chants the lullaby !
Is it there, where the water-nymph ever is seen.
As she waves in the caverns her tresses green.
Or marks the wild billows rise and fall
As she lightly trips through the sparry hall —
Is it there, that bright Spirit Land ?
Alas ! who shall fathom His ways, most high ?
Whose throne is revealed to no moilal eye ;
Or lift the dim veil and in rapture tell
The pilgrim of earth where his spirit shall dwell.
When, freed from its cumbersome load of clay.
It shall soar to the regions of endless day ;
Or whether amid the bright lamps of heaven.
That shine o'er our heads in the silent even ;
Or the nobler orbs that in grandeur roll,^
Proclaiming His glor}' from pole to pole ;
Or in far off climes, where no mortal hath trod ;
17»> POETS OF SEW HAMPSHIRE.
The spin: shall iLTe ia the presence of God.
There tae Lov«ni da*i the Io6t of this eftrth shall be foniid.
And he:iveQ'< high arch with their pniises resoand,
.\s they ji>ia thtrir rape hearts aoti in gniciti»le suig
Lnuil parang of joy to their >&yioor and King.
There :»:[: shall be linisaeti and tears cease to flow.
And sorrow an«i parting no more shall we know.
But with pDj^'heta, and priests. an<l the martyrs of old.
Rejijioe evermore as new glories anfold
Fp-'m the 0*1 of oar being — C>. hasten the rest
Of Kteni::\*s vear *monsj the ransome*! aiil blest ;
I would dy to that bright Spirit Land.
£(ra Eastman SHams.
Btfv. E. E. A iasx-f -m-xA bi>m in C*>a<i}r!. Aojtim 3« l?U. Bte fradaafied at Dut-
mou&n C«.Ljeu« :a IXM. H« wu* oriain'^l Co 'pnmrii In dM watxann o€ ISM wa&a
tile ;&u.4Fiir«*-«'. i v.e .\.:u. 'H*;iait*a -» Fr.ea«l >)«:fiecr. xn*i w«ne ag» Chaplain so Aacri-
ean «*aai«ii a: '^. P^fCi.'nourx- BaMLj,. naii tnbiwiiatfncly to Harre. Fnaaee li
Ls6i !i*f WJ3 ^'u.-^^ r i* Puar. "^Cnwc Cburrta. XxAnoa. a»t m'L^MII. oncanucd a ctaitk
la Ptui.i<ieii< :Li. d,.-iil •■au.-*tfii ::•> ^m '}a:.c cne >'■ Rb Brtioil Scnwc ohorch. In tfaas dtj.
wQ«r« he pr'aA'hevl ^t ^evenl jvan. HU neaiEh fit i line he waa appjinted ProCs-
MC'.Y S«ii'n!«: Khe&ni- :n Luiiiciii I'ai'-erMi':'. si *>xf«>r*t. Pa.. wiMre be dkd li
IfiTS. He rvireiT-^* -^it: *Jc.e f L* D . ^^ui [%rQni.<ach i.'oUeyis. Hia wtfle. vto iv-
Ttv«* iiffli. watf Xl.^ Fraoirea sttvena. » aacvi* of Vnrpocb.
STEPPING WITH THE STARS.
The v-viW elastic spring of steel
Iniprisoae^.i in its brazen bars,
Moviu^j each rar>v-balanceil wheel
M«;a»ures its mocioa with the stars ;
The heart's low pulse • and firmer bemt.
The throbbing of the borieneii brain.
The music of a million feet
On hlLI-top and in srrassT olain :
The sea's majestic ebb aad flow.
The ripple on :he tender rill.
The gentle falling of th« snow.
The birti-note and the viofs trill :
With these, and in the march of thoaglu
'Mid passiv.HLs ripeuevl into wars.
*M;d the many chiiigs which time has wrought
C^ur kit\; is stepping with the stars !
It Is not peace that reigns alone
In those stu^Hfndous orbs of Sre,
But rent and scarred ftoa suae to looe
They melt« and crumble, and expire.
EZRA EASTMAN ADAMS. 177
Nay, discord is but harmony
Which mortals do not understand,
The tear, the laughter and the sigh
Touch in one note the immortal strand.
A rhythm pervades the universe,
All things to one grand measure march ;
The words and letters of our verse
Are worlds in yonder jeweled arch !
We rotate in our little cell
And touch each other through the bars,
But God has ordered all things well.
He keeps us stepping with the stars.
And from our grander height we see
Creation groaning 'neath its bars,
And our own lives in turn to be
Goals for the steppings of the stars.
I MOVE INTO THE LIGHT.
Out of the shadows that shroud the soul,
Out of the seas where the sad waves roll.
Far from the whirl of each mundane pole,
"I move into the light."
Out of the region of cloud and rain.
Out of the cares that oppress the brain,
Out of the body of sin and pain,
"I move into the light."
Out of the struggles of Church and State,
Out of the empire of pride and hate,
Up through the beautiful sapphire gate,
''I move into the light !"
Beyond the noise of creation's jars,
Higher than all the worlds and stars.
Higher than limits of reason's bars,
"I move into the light."
We follow after to those high spheres ;
Notes of thy rapture fall on our ears ;
Oat of our darkness our sins and oar fears,
"We move into the light."
POETS OF NSW SAMF8BIBE.
GROWING OLD.
I cannot labor as of jore,
Uy hands are heavy, pulses slow ;
The fires that wanned me at two aoora
Now smoulder where they used to glow.
I've lost the fervor of desire,
The sense of being full and free ;
No longer do my thoughts aspire
To what I may not know and be.
I've lost my svmpathy with man,
The low ambitions, boasted deeds
Which fill his sublunar; span,
Ui9 schemes of empire and his creeds.
I've lost the faith that once reposed
In human promise, purpose, power,
I gaze — and lo, the scene is closed
"The fhiitJess vision of an hour.
Nor is my faith in things unseen
Less potent than in mauhood's prime.
Though oft the tempter comes between
My hopes of heaven and joys of time.
Waiting and watching still 1 stand
I'jton the ealm and eolemu shore.
And look into the promised land
Till shining ones shall take me o'er.
WHAT MAY WE CARRY TO THE VAST FOREVEB.
What may we carry to the Vast Forever !
The mystic stair
Admits not gold, nor whatsoever
In p<.>mp and pride we wear, —
These |kaas not there.
Our friends we may not take within the Portal ;
Nor books, nor art,
Uoto the glorious life immortal ;
Nor idols of the heart, —
From these we part.
Wot Bmy we c»nT to the home eten«l
Our boasted creeds;
EDWARD D. BOYLBTON.
These <1rop and disappear as bloBsoms vernal ;
And, wanting faitli, our deeds
Are poor as wce<l8.
But to the realm of light and beauty
Shall with UH go
A lioly loTe of duty, —
Wbate'er we feel and know
Of God below.
Our character and conscience shall attend us ;
Tbe genial flow,
OrsynipathiziDg hearts, and sense stupendous
Of happiness or woe
Shall with us go.
For Charity's fair form is ever parted
The pearly door ;
For all the sanctilietl and holy hearted
Is spread tbe golden floor —
Forever more !
lElitDarli B. ISoslston.
dwud D. BorlBtOQ, (Sou oIlIUcbBrd, gruidioD or Edwkrd^r Bprlngfleld, Idw>. }
1 Iwmlo Aiiin«T*t.JBnuu72e, 181*. lie wu educaled at rncuutowu uid l)cr-
icnilenilM, and ba served m spprendceablp to Ibe prlnUng biulDUM wlUi hi*
■ar, Id (lie oSlce of Uie Fanmri- Cabiatl. At the iwe ot CweuIrKina he entered
ID ■ conm ur atudf iirepnnitor; to the vospel mliUBnT, apGnaing (wo yean at
* Ipairlch ackduniT uut oneat UUdudIod Theological SemliuuT. when tron
Die of bMHta be rellnqulalied hli hiUiitloiu and bvuuue ssevclatsd wUb hli IMh.
i* Junior editor or tbe OiMiK<. In 1M2 he ealabJIshed OiB TrmueHpl weekly.
lUmlf. a. Jfoaaifiu, nionthly, pt Uancliealvr. lu ISUbe removed the ronner
Ileal FaUi, and eetablliheil ibe Strafard Tramcript, weekJf. In 1M8 be re-
Md to Amberet, and became proprietor ol. hli rutliiT'a aenipaper, whicli Is
I publlabed by him. His poetical pToiIuctluu a have been largely or a Icitnal and
oUonal charactar. I(c baa published "Fragrant UumorivB, ur the Lieuduf a
BRIDAL OF THE GRANITE AND PINE.
Head at tbe meetlag or the Maine Frese Asaoclatlon. Id ISBR, (at Little
wiio, Poitland Harbor,) and song by Barnabee's Troupe. In niuslv ouinp.
r ft in Kaller.at Ibe Joint Convention or tbe Molneand Mew Hampshire Aaw
oial^aBeach, iDlHTOaeainrprlJieio tbeauclior.]
The hills of New Hampshire to tbe valleys of Maine
Repeat their kind greetings, again and again ;
Delighted its Press-gang with yours to combine
The Granite appeoreth to honor the Pine.
When morning's bright-dawning peers in o'er the aea,
L>iapeIliDg ibe darkness that rests on the lee,
IHO POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Its beautiful rays, like their Author divine,
(rild at the same moment the Granite and Pine.
Old Ocean's proud billows, wide-rolling in state.
On both our shores foaming, in service await ;
While the sweet winds of heaven know of no line.
But blow alike sweetly o'er the Granite and Pine.
The fleecy clouds gather far up on the hills,
With vapors of amber, exhaled from the rills,
And, guided by Wisdom, all-loving, divine.
Pour showers of blessing o'er the Granite and Pine. *
The rills of our mountains, to wild streamlets grown.
Proud rivers of beauty in the valleys are known :
Androscoggin and Saco, first mine, and then thine,
Born each of the Granite and blessing the Pine.
Ties, firm and well-bedded, our States each to each
Bind firmly, and lessons of friendship well teach ;
While the Telegraph-line and our art combine
To record the warm love of the Granite and Pine.
Your lands join the lands of no other State,
Though others, as worthy, your service await ;
Yet thus the Great Father would seem to design
To speak of the love of the Granite aud Pine.
Accepting these teachings of nature and art.
We give and we take the warm hand and heart ;
Plighting, in our true love, at Chebeaque's fair shrine.
Forever to cherish the Granite and Pine.
THE PE3IIGEWASSET.
Pcmigewasset, Pemigewasset,
Pride of the hills, and the vale that has it !
Bom of the clouds, on top of the mountains ;
Fed from a thousand snow-fed fountains ;
Rushing down from Wambech Methna,
With waters pure as the mountain air,
Over a rock-bound, rock-worn bed.
To the vale below, with an angry tread.
Pemigewasset, Pemigewasset,
Pride of the hills, and the vale that has it !
As ''child of the crooked-pine place" known
By red-men who called thee once their own.
EBWARB D. B0TL8T0N. 181
Companion in birth of the tiny brook
That far adown forms the wild Amonoosuek,
And the little ripplets that dancing grow
To the Androscoggin and broad Saeo.
Peniigewassct, Pemigewasset,
1 Vide of the hills, and the vale that has it !
What cheer in th^* waters as onward they flow
O'er the "Great Falls," through ''Fairy Grotto;"
Spreading out in a hike, around Lafayette,
As an **apple of gold" in silver set —
Where mountain-storm king in madness or mirth
Has spread the tall forests aslant o'er the earth.
Pemigewasset, Pemigewasset,
Pride of the hills, and the vale that has it !
The white foaming Flume, and the Echo Lake,
Are bom of thy waters, of thy beaut}- partake ;
And the famed '*01d Man" from his dizzy height.
Looks down on thy waters with ever delight.
Pemigewasset, Pemigewasset,
Pride of the hills, and the vale that has it !
Grafton's sweet villas and valleys rejoice
As by them ye flow with musical voice,
And Pl3*mouth and Ashland, and whoever has it,
Sings paeans, delighted, to the Pemigewasset.
THE "GREAT LIGHT."
Light of my soul ! O Saviour dear,
How I delight to call thee mine.
With fond assurance, sweetl}' clear,
That I shall be forever thine !
O brightness of the Fathers face, —
All holiness conjoins in Thee 1
All, all find family embrace.
In "I in them and Thou in me."
Blest those who know thy shining clear,
"Children of day," they know no night!
They walk secure, devoid of fear,
For they are "children of the light."
Shine on my soul, Saviour divine ;
Thou^ thou art Light — all else is 0hiido 1
• s
iHi POETS OF XEW HAMPSaiRK.
May ihy sweet rajs mr steps entwiiie,
The bkssvd li^t tiuit cannot fiule.
O glonoos Sun. moant op on hi^ !
BeQigiited oatk>ns wsit for thee !
Hs^te. b:i»te to Ibv meridian skr !
Bring in earth's promised jubilee !
-XEARER THZET
Jesus. Jesus* let os be Nearer in the Fmnti^iw walk.
Nearer, nearer, nearer thee : Hearts aglowing as we talk.
Nearer to the spear-pierced side
i »f our Love, the Crucified. Nearer when in houae of ^j-
cr. —
Nt*arer, nearer in our love Thou art ever with us there :
Tbat which dr«w thee from In our place of secreCT
above : Nearer let us be to thee.
Nearer thine our walk with foes ;
Nearer ever mid life's woes. Nearer thine, O Lamb of God.
Be our path of duty tzod«
Naarer in commonioo sweet. Though it leati. as it led thee.
Miuy-iike, at thv dear feet : ••0"er the brookf* — up Calvan.
•W TTHOUT GOD IN THE WORLD.
EPHE^IAXS n. : XII.
O Go»i ! how briffhtiv overiiead
Thy g'ory and iby pow^r are read :
The sun re-flects thy light and might.
As doth each diadem of night.
Where'er on earth we turn our eves
Thy glorious shadow o'er it lies :
And all thv works, from field to dower.
Attest thy beautA* and thy power.
The waving forest speaks of thee.
Yea, praise ascen«is frvHn every tree !
And rolling seas confess their joy«
And in thy seniee find empl#y.
The cattle on a thoasanii hills.
The dew that on them sweet distils.
And singing bii\ls and humming bee.
All sweetly jcMn in praise to thee.
CHARLES TT. UPHAM. 183
The verdure fragrant, blossoms sweet,
Decking the footstool of thy feet,
And tiniest life that knows the sod,
Bear attestation to a God.
Blush then, ye heavens and earth, that man,
The crowning glor}' of God*s plan.
Alone of all made b}^ His hand.
Godless within the world should stand I
THE BLESSED SABBATH.
O, Sabbath day ! conception sweet,
The needs of weary souls to meet !
A gleam of glory from the throne.
Of radiant brightness all its own ! ;
Thy dawning is my heart's delight ;
Thine every hour, from morn till night.
So fragrant, and with grace so blest,
Foreshadows the eternal rest.
When dawns the sacred day, in peace.
From earth the soul finds sweet release.
And revels in a realm of bliss.
Forgetful of the ills of this.
O, Sabbath day ! thy sta}' too short,
When with such heavenly sweetness fraught ;
Would that the fragrance to thee given
Might grace, as sweetly, all the seven.
O, Sabbath day ! O, Sabbath day 1
Light, fragrance on earth's dreary way !
Promise of coming rest — ^}'ea, more.
Heaven's sweet shadow cast before I
atIm W. Upham was the son of Qem. Timothy Uphara of Portamoath. He was
I in that town, September 9, 18U. He died In December, 1834.
JACOB'S FUNERAL.
A train came forth from Egypt's land,
Moumfhl and slow their tread ;
And sad the leader of that band.
The bearers of the dead.
His father's bones they bore away.
To lay them in the grave
\fU POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Where Abraham and Isaac lay,
Macpelah's sacred cave.
A stately train, dark Egypt's pride.
Chariot and jioree are there ;
And silently in sorrow ride
Old men of hoary hair.
For many days they passed along
To Atad's threshing floor,
And sang their last and saddest song
Upon the Jordan's shore.
And Atad saw the strangers mourn,
That silent, woe-clad band.
And wondered much whose bones were borne,
Thus far from Pharaoh's land.
Thej' saw the chieftain's grief was sore.
He wept with manly grace ;
They called that 8p)ot forevermore
Misraim's mourning place.
They passed the wave that Jacob passed,
His gOQd staff in his hands.
They passed the wave that Jacob passed
With his returning bands.
'Twas when he met upon his path
His brother's wild array.
And fled, for fear his ancient wrath
Might fall on him that day.
Mr. Harvey, bom In Sutton, January 14, 1815, and U descended from one of the ear-
l\ and well known fundliort of that town. Ills grandfather— whose Chrlstl&n name
lie iMiarn— <*4inic from Nottingham to Sutton, (then Pcrrystuwn) about the year 17i4<
wh«n*, in a log Iiouhu of hid own (construction, his two eldest sons, JomUban and
Matthew, were lM>rn. Dc^uMm Harvey was a public spirited and eDterprlsing citi-
/.eu, well known an a civil maglHtrate, leglshitor and cliurchman ; and at the time of
lilH death in 171)9, ho was an extensive landholder and a man of wealth. Both of
the sons nienUoned above subsequently l>ecjiu)c raombors of congress, and the lat-
ter was eKH*.tiM| Governor of N. H. in IH.^. Mr. Harvey Is the only brother of Mrs
AugUNta H. Worthen, of Lynn, Mass.. a well known writer of both prose and
v«irM«— selortlons fn»m whose spurkling poonis appear in this colliMStion. In 1881,
he entertMl the iirlntlng ofllct^ of the Argut and Sptctator, at Newport, as an appren-
llm; and In 1H40. with hlsooutiin. H. G. Curleton, purchased the establishment, and
the jmper was inUtitd and published by Messrs. Carleton A Harvey through an un-
bn)ken period of forty years. I'olitical tourualism is not a good neld for the culti-
vation <»r noetic sentiments; but hUU, Mr. Harvey's oc^c^islonal poems evince rare
talent in thai direction, as the following selections will show.
THE OLD IIEARTH-STONE.
I fling of the old hearth-stone that quietly lay
•Noatii my own native roof near the side of the way,
MA TTHEW EAR VEY. 185
Where the bright glowing embers, all cheerful and warm,
lAK)ked out on the darkness and laughed at the storm.
The music, the mirth, and the songs that resound
O'er this smooth marble hearth, ring not with the sound
Of joy and true gladness that was kindled alone
With the fire that once blazed on the old hearth-stone.
It speaks of a mother who used to sit there,
Plying her needles in the old arm-chair,
Kre time dimmed her eye, and fringed her fair brow
With wrinkles of age and silver as now.
It speaks of a father who sat by her side.
Watching his children as gaily they glide
Round the lap of affection, in the light that was thrown
From the oaken back-log on the old hearth-stone.
Twas there that five sisters, at close of the day.
Were joined by a brother in health-giving play.
Till the music of angels was echo'd from earth
By juvenile tongues round the old stone hearth.
That house is now silent ! Joy reigns there no more !
I)eca>''d is the threshold and closed is the door !
The latch-string is broken, the warblers all fiown,
Save the cricket that sings 'neath the old hearth-stone.
I've since wander'd long mid fashion and pleasure.
Searching in vain for the priceless treasure
That once was my own — but I knew not its worth.
Till driven by fate from the old stone hearth.
Tis thus that a thought of this relic of yore
Carries me back to my childhood once more ;
Then lay me away, when life's work is done,
And cover my grave with the old hearth-stone !
Sink my epitaph deep in its foot-worn face,
And there let the names of lov'd sisters have place —
That when the old homestead is lost in decay,
And the circle, now broken, has vanished away.
Some student of art may pause and restore
To the moss-covered names their freshness once more ;
And read from the tablet, forsaken and lone.
Our Family Record on the old hearth-stone.
A PATHETIC BALLAD.
Written with the aothor*s left hand, and Inocribed to hla broken right arm.
'4Iow now? pray tell, my Good Right Arm,
Why bone and muscle swing,
POETS OF NEW BAMFSBOK.
lorapsble orgooiJ or buTD,
Like culprit in a sliog?
Why clothed tike mummr. weird and old.
Id ngs fh>in elbow down.
Aoii all wrapp'') ap in linen fcM,
Lik« Bishop in bis gown ?
Full thre«-«corc vem and five. I trow,
Thou'st been my serruit tra« ;
That ihou sboald thna TorsAke nw dow,
1 little thought oryoa.'
A twin^ or pain, in stidtog moui,
Ptvi.'edes thi« qoaiat reply : —
"Since you. it seems, hare stopid grown,
rU ftmnUy teii yoa why.
Kirat know that mr anatomy
Has «tr!ui£e!y been apset :
Tba: few 1 find lo pity me
la Twa&>a why I fret.
Tbey Mr [ wis a foolish doit —
Aoni this they oite for proof;
Vtit if I\t wisely led my ivis
rd iapiy "scaLievl !ier iocf.
i¥ this mistake I >£d repent
Acii «a:<l. 'Now. brute. I pray.
IV si.4 vwiT sieel-cLfci heeis re^c?
Ala* ! *h< *3swewd y-^-i-j~i '
Y<i wry sii tb-Ls i** <moCe ane wee.
IM kiad o" ,iie to kaow ;
For T're «wvi ^aay a bceexe b«&c«.
Bits a<(»'ec such a biv'w.
To ioce *he i]<«ajt a..' iarat —
rbaS wien *iie — *" a -"re;y ;«^.
Saw <il;i3^-et^ ?_■ "'^ aa »r!ii.
■>« JtifOM itfOK 'icrlw p.vii .
Jud !to!w I tl va it iaotf r^^^M —
,Awt a» a puwt Mi.'tui.
MATTHEW EAR VET. 187
The naked I have alTrays clad —
When I've put on your shirt.
The hungry I've as often fed
(And fed, alas ! a sinner,)
Whene'er I've been, by pity led,
To cook or serve your dinner.
And yet these bones, by instinct led.
Would gladly guide the plough ;
And by industrious habits fed.
Are knitting even now.
Abandon your ancestral fame —
Henceforth 'twill have no charms
For one who now can only claim
But half a Coat-of-Arms.
And while one limb's of life bereft
Just utilize the other ;
I mean, of course, the one that's Left-
My stupid, twin-bom brother.
But don't expect the awkward fool
Can often 'come to time ;'
He could'nt write e*en prose at school-
Much less a decent rhyme."
STANZAS.
> mj bal<nred wlfie on the Afth anniversary of onr marriage, Nov. 2B, 1881.
^Tis strange how hours to moments sink
When pleasure rules our days ;
Tis strange how months like hours appear
'Neath summer's genial rays ;
But stranger still how yean roll by,
When most we'd bid them stay —
Such years I mean as we have seen,
Five wedded years to-day.
I bless the hour, my own lov'd wife,
When first I called you mine ;
The hand I then did give to thee
Was gently clasp'd in thine.
And here again, with vows renewed,
I pledge what's left of life.
To her whose smiles have sweetened it, —
My own, my darling wife.
1 8H POETS OF NB W HAMPSHIRE.
Her gentle tongue a sword, doth wield,
All-potent in its sway.
To conquer e'en my stubborn will,
And i>oint '*the better way."
Wlien eves of black meet hers of blue,
Fresh life this l)osom stirs ;
1 know my lieart was purified
By melting it with hers.
And thus mv dove I seek th}' love ;
Tis half I hope of Heaven !
Oh cherish mine as part of thine !
And mav it ne'er be riven
Bv sorrow's t^»ars in future vcars,
As we march hand in hand
By twilight rays from Wisiiom's ways,
Up to the '"Better Land."
Augusta f^arbrg 21SSortt)cn.
>lrs. Worthen, a elster of Matthew llarrey, wag bom In Satton.
\i*i\. She was viluoatetl at Awliivirr Aoadeniy. and was ftub<tequentlTatea
lat in^lltution. In 1S5A 6ho bt.'cainc Uie wife of Mr Charie« F. Wortben, u
that
«*eas>eil. Her h<^me Is In Lynn, Mh-s. She hati been author of a history of
tlve t<»wn, ami lt» a conetaiit c<mtributor. In lM»th prose and verse, to news^
ami uiaKazines. ller poeuid an; full of original faucy. tender thought/ ai»
M>ntiment
THE LILY'S STORY.
v< Ml thnUiig, in the munth of i>i*tobi»r. a Lily growing In the dry bed of a p" » ^T' •'
Linger not within the shadow
Of the lonely forest pines ;
See on yonder hill and meailow.
Bright Octolwr sunlight shines?
Come, for bright must fall its radiance,
i)n the iH>nd where lilies grew.
Still, perohance, sumo breath of fragrance
Hovers o*er its waters blue.
0*er the i\K'ks the wild vines creeping.
Flushed with autumn's crimson glow,
Wondering, see the i-Knids lie sleeping
In the mirror depths below.
We, with such sweet fancies haunted.
Seek the s|H>t last year so fair,
Painfull v are disenchanteii.
For no pn»tty \\o\\\\ is there.
Coarse and rank tlie winnis are growing
0*er its dark and oozv bed,
AUOU8TA HARVEY WORTURN. 1«9
But no murmuring brook is flowing
'Neath the alder-berries red.
Yet, in jon low quagmire gleaming,
Something pure and white I see !
But, I'm only fondly dreaming —
Can the flower a Lily be ?
Yes, all fragrant, fresh and smiling
In October's mellow light,
Me of all sad thoughts beguiling,
'Twas a Lily met my sight.
None can tell my heart's deep pleasure,
Half the foolish things it baid,
Aal sought the precious treasure —
Bent me o'er its beauteous head.
Had my loving admiration
Waked some sweet responsive thrill?
Saw I not a faint pulsation
All its slender stamens till ?
Why did everj* petal tremble
'Neath my warm admiring gaze?
Might it not its jo}' dissemble
At my words of earnest praise !
Had it, like the human spirit.
Longed for recognition too?
Strong desire did it inherit
For appreciation true!
Wilt thou credit this sweet marvel
That, within m}' spirit's ear,
Words of hopeful, earnest counsel
From the Lily I should hear?
Sweet the tale of joy and sorrow
Which the Lily told to me ;
Would 1 might its accents borrow
While I tell it unto thee.
Spring was young (thus ran the story)
When the tiny bud had birth ;
Came and went the summer's glory
Ere she bloomed in beauty forth.
Never on the clear bright billow,
Lifted from her lowly bed.
Never on a wavelet pillow
Rested she her gentle head.
Still, the torturing, upward-yearning
Instincts of her dainty race.
Bade her from the dull earth tufning.
POETS OF NEW BAMPSHIRS.
RUe in purity and grace.
'•Mwkerj every SBiiiratioD,
I'todc and helpless here I lie."
Tliis in hours of dark temptation
Was ber Bpirit'e anguiBh cry.
"VaiD the liopes, the longings endless,
For a freer, brighter life,
Klaking me more Tone and frisndless,
Weark'iog me with useless strife.
Let my better nature perish ;
Nevermore will I aspire,
Nevermore will seek to cherish
Higher instinct, pure desire:
On these weeds will gaze admiring
Nodding in this e&rth-bom breeze ;
Coarse, contented, unaspiring.
Would I were like one of these."
But the sunbeams on her falling,
Rousoil from that despairing diill.
And the voice within her calling.
Bade her hf a LUg still.
Wind-bome, from some purer region,
Came this testimony free :
-Fear not, for their name is Legion,
Who have hoped and toiled like tbec.
Slowly, painfully, tbou leamest
What thy destiny must be ;
All thine inner promptings earnest
Are l*ut gWious pn^ibecy.
Faiiiftil to thy highest duty,
H<^ie, yet work with heart and wiD :
Tbviu sha^t yet arise in beautv,
Tbou «*a3 V a Luii still. ""
Tbi-n. as to ««>me l<yaci> mysterioas,
KftfiTi inmost beMl-s&inc thrilled.
Whiie her spirt, lboui:biful. serioas.
With a vontirous >y was £lkd.
Rl«sst^ hours of e.xa!tai)Mk !
MeiDiinM of such ra^Tsr* rar».
Sav«d her fVoiD brr dark umptUMo.
SuVQtrtbcsnl bo- a^rainst despur.
Thottj^h &L> partia] fries.ls beboldiag
Ob«T*ii ber wilt lirijrioos praise.
A.11 unm&rind b(7 slow safoldii^
Itea^ iba k^. long sawan da;«:
AUGUSTA HARVEY WORTHEN. VJl
Though half doubtful of her mission,
Dreading lest her power might fail,
Musing on that dream Elysian,
HopeAil grew the Lily pale.
AH its meaning scarce divining.
Still new efforts she put forth :
For the vital moistures pining
Deeper struck her roots in earth.
Gratefully, her thirst allaying,
Every dew-drop gathered up ;
Choice perftimes from zephyrs straying,
Hoarded in her pearly cup.
Once, to let the sunbeams enter.
Dared to ope that chalice white ;
Instantly her heart's deep centre
Caught their golden radiance bright.
80 she kept her pure corolla
Free from earthly soil or stain, ,
Till the autumn winds blew hollow —
Fell the welcome autumn rain.
Then a little pool collected —
Raised her on her slender stem,
Then a Lilt was perfected
Fairer than the fairest gem.
Toiler, thinker, dreaming poet.
Doubtful of 5'our highest powers,
Work in hope, for, ere you kiiow it,
Help shall come like autumn showers.
KEARSARGE TO ITS NAMESAKE.
A monarch old, my court I hold
A hundred miles awa}**,
But I look afar as a ship of war
Comes proudly up the bay.
I hear the fort, with loud report
Of cannon's swift discharge.
Though autumn air shout welcome fair.
Shout welcome to Kearsarge.
Glad tremor thrills the rock-ribbed hills
That in my presence wait.
From lips of fame they catch the name
Dear to the Granite State.
iri2 P9J?rS OF SEW HAXPSHTRB.
II ! (iirl^oti hrave. thy name /gave.
\V.::j ir:jnit-*T viiic* 1 |-'.<iJge<l tby cboice
'!"■< M:<rk tliy I- lunti-j's good.
I !.t:ir her l*',l ■■ihou liast done well !
For niuiuw* that delJeil.
Saw thy tierce blow* »mk traitor foe*
Iti-iit'ulL a foreign tide."
My th.inkf!. namesake, now freely take,
Tliiink- ami my wi-It-ume too —
Thon'-^t I'rdugiit no ^hHiue upon my Dame.
I give thee boiior line.
So live anil fight for country's right,
».■ loyal, true aiiil bravw*
Till fiireisin hate sharv treason's fat«,
IWiK-atii a foreign wave,
fttare liH)itii)rr.
M»rv niilirt,.r H-a^ Ifm In LaHTpn^. < n«-p> CM., S. Y. Mare)) Jl, 131S. SkeoW
I.- StLik<-r V)Ji:.^i'. ( aiilrrburr. kIiIi b.-T Talhor'i bmlty In 1h». Wbm »*
''hmkiT S." l.'H I- !!■■«■ I.-Tiu-I o-iia tlit liniiH.4tv)iil "( hiT fmuitfalher, BbJw'
Wlll^■l..■^. >i<i.[ ih,Mnl4.U.*..f bir li.tl.tr. J'lM-i.h Wblli'lirr. From rtalklbM' »
tlir piVH'iii iiiuf tin- Imf tjKid tm year* In ■ ^haki-r ouBUnuuUj.
THE SXOW STORM.
What kinilne^s of our Father, Our weakness and our sin.
To sjirvad a mantle o'er If we beneath the (.-overing
All dark jui'I ugly features. Of iferri/ would come in.
AVIiieh face of nature l>ore '. This is the LonVs pavilion ;
All draped in lily wliiti^ness. Il covers all below ;
The rocks and mountains' As dotli the rain and suushiot.
side : So doth the mantling snoW'
Alike the vales and liill-tops : — Oh when shall we consider
Thus would our maker hide What God for us bath done:
Our darkr-^t wrongs with white- And in that loving kindness
ness. Deal kindly with each one?
Slamrg HrnnarD.
June* K«nnaT<l waa Wrn In PurtiinioDlh. Kor. id. ISIS. Wbaa ilxleen nan o[
agt b« becvma lam« in bis righl knee, whli-b romiwlleil him u abamlon Ibe bnfl-
DCM be waa cii)n((cl In. Tbla left wa« »ilwei|ueiill)^ ampuuteil, and Ibe otbtr Mf
11^ Xl! Iwraow alualniOfl hllnl.aml, lor many yean, [til hla diMlli U
iiilfiu,! bi his bisl. Ills wHUiuis. l>i>Ui la |>row aiul vrrse. Kllh anHooIr
I-, I'liaboiljr, wiTennMliheilhiBTolBnMBner bisileceaw. Uewaaaa
nn.1 M«TMnuf boiUIr siiSl-tIu wen DM BMiad la glooia, bat la
1 Cnrtatlaa nalgtuttoB-
JAMES KENNABD. 1 98*
FOURTH OF JULY.
A thousand thrilling recollections flash
From memory's field in vivid colors forth,
As, starting from my sleep, I hear the crash
Of pealing cannon, and the noisy mirth
Of joyous multitudes. The dewy earth
Is not yet lighted by the rising sun.
Yet doth the welkin ring, from south to north,
With cracker, pistol, blunderbus, and gun.
Proclaiming that the boys have just commenced their Ain.
Memory is busy, and I feel almost
•A bo}' again ; I seem to be once more
Just springing from my bed, counting as lost
The time there spent beyond the hour of four.
Short was my pra3^er just then, my toilet o'er
In half the usual time, — I grappled quick
My powder flask and gun, — stole to the door
All silently. Ah ! then my heart beat thick,
Lest I betrayed myself by some untimely creak I
In vain may parents try to keep their children
In bed till sunrise on a mom like this, —
The sounds are so exciting and bewildering, —
It is a pity thus to mar their bliss ;
What's more, unless they tie them, they will miss
The little urchins, if into their bed
They take a peep, long ere the sun shall kiss
The hill-tops with his rays. Oft have I fled
Thus, through the old back window which hangs o'er the shed.
•
And when my mother (bless her!) thought me close
And safe in bed, well out of danger's way.
Around me then the smoke of powder rose.
Pealed from my gun loud welcomes to the day.
And careless I pursued my dangerous play ;
For, on this da}' of Liberty, I thought
'Twas quite excusable to disobey
My parents, (naughty boy !) and, if not caught.
My conscience scarcely ever spoilt my morning's sport.
Boys will be bdys ; and now, to tell the truth,
I wish myself a wild young boy again.
O, in the thoughtless joyousness of youth.
How little is there known of care and pain !
How little felt the storms of fate which rain
194
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
So heavil}' on manhood's hope's, and quench
In gloom the flame which strives, but strives in vain,
To gather strength, — sinking beneath the drench
Of careless sorrows, which oil make the strongest blench.
WHAT SHALL I ASK LN PRAYER?
What shall I ask in prayer ? Have I not all
That fortune can bestow of earthly gifts, —
Health, riches., friends? What shall I ask in prayer?
That God continue to pour out on me
Thus bountifull}' all earth's choicest blessings?
Shall I kneel down, and pray that he will still
Preserve mv health inviolate, sustain
In all its robust strength this wondrous fVame?
That he will still i)our wealth into my coffers,
Nor leave a single wish ungratified
Which luxury can prompt? Or shall I ask
That friends may yet be true ; that time may not
Estrange their hearts from me, nor death destroy ?
Shall I pray thus ? No ! let me rather bend
In fearful, trembling meekness at the shrine :
Father in heaven ! oh, give me strength to ose
Aright those talents which in wisdom thou
Committedst to mv care ! I am thy steward ;
And, when the final day of reckoning comes,
May I then render in a good account !
I pray not that thou wouldst continue all
These earthly blessings ; for thou knowest what
Is best for me. Should sickness, sonx)w, want,
E*er come upon me, all 1 ask, O God 1
Is resignation to thy holy icill.
What shall I ask in prayer? Misfortune sweeps
Resistless over all my earthly hopes.
Storm after storm has beat uiK)n my head ;
Broken and scattered to the winds the fabric
Of all my worldly greatness. One by one
My plans have failed ; and, striving to regain
The ground which I had lost, and seat myself
Again on Fortune*s highest pinnacle,
I have but overwhelmed myself the more,
And made my fall the greater. All is gone !
Riches have fled ; and deep, corroding care
Has preyed upon my very life ; this frame,
> i
JAMES KENNARD. 195
Erect in health and manly vigor once,
Which scarcely knew what illness was, is bowed
By sickness, — tottering and feeble now
The once elastic step. Pale is the cheek
Which once did wear the ruddy glow of health.
And dim the eye which shone with joy and hope.
One comfort onl}' jet remains to me, —
A gentle friend, true as in former da3's,
More kind and more affectionate than ever.
She watches by my bed, and soothes my pain.
And droops not, though my spirit sinks within me.
Adversity's thine element, O woman ! —
What shall 1 ask in prayer? Shall I send up
To heaven's gate complaining notes of woe,
And supplicate Jehovah to give back
The riches and the health of former days ?
Doth not the Lord know what is best for me ?
Father above ! I bow beneath the rod :
Amid the desolation of my hopes
I ask but resignation to thy will.
What shall I ask in pra3'er? I have no friend !
Misfortune robbed me of my wealth ; and then
I saw, alas ! the ties which bound my friends
To me were golden strings ; they snapped in twain ;
My riches fled ; and friendship was no more !
Death snatched away my last, true, only friend.
She died ! and I am left alone to drag
In misery the burden of my life along.
Grim famine stares ; and sickness eats into
M}' very vitals, nor permits repose.
Poor, friendless, sick, — I raise m}* thoughts to heaven.
What shall 1 ask in prayer ? Shall 1 besiege
God's throne with lamentations ? Shall I pray
That he restore tome health, riches, friends?
Then would my sorrows have been all in vain.
Health makes us thoughtless that a time will come
When "dust returns to dust ;" and riches are
Too prone to keep our thoughts from higher things ;
And friends do often fill the heart so wholly
That not one thought of God can gain admittance.
*''Ti8 good for me that I have been afflicted."
I thank thee, God ! and, should there be in store
Tet further trials, strengthen me, I pray,
And give me spiritual health, and let
196 POETS OF A'£IP- EAMPSBIRB.
Mr richi's be laid up in lioaven above !
My everlasting Friend. Ihnu God of mercy!
- Ill earthly troubles. Lord ! I only ask
For rfii'juatiim Iv thy holt/ trill.
fiiltrljati SBrnttaoortf) IScrlt.
tnrhaplH'.Br<lm«t>i>rulnr<m«in'>uih.NaTeml>«r39.IHiS. HIsteth«rwi>H»-
ocl Berk, broUi(TI>> (iIiIimd link. nliuir ami )>ul>lI(tu.'Ti>f the A'rw HamaAirt Gt-
iMIr. XfKT the ilvalh of Mk-lm-rt fallHrr Ih- «a> n.lopleJ by hu uncle ulikan. M
an Mrlv aiw Ib* lifpin an anlvr liu^liins lite a* ■ ii™rtir«i OFinbn-. Siuin i(m
nxnplrttng hia BppiviilliVililp In tbr oUre iit Ibe Ui
arki-<llnllii.'i>ia>v>ifTuUlr AWtwkiMiTlulcn. While atirork there he DIM
...... .........I ...... = _„ ...... •TiK3:s(r.B«±wrntWf—
Mat Drmocni. In the i
- - l»Bhy8lciileoii»tlHiOoiilj««™
.. _; _ _.*, whu-b <«rly li-nnlaaieil hl> niniilv urevr. Uii inwllwiiul
iWLTemniDicanilaitlTP.Hiiil, liwiinpiirblf vratv.KcIlmaiuTvd. IlLsr<!pu»
a poUllcal wrllCT tvtoi ilnerredlT high, lie dud at PurtamonUi, llina t.
THE WORLD AS IT IS.
Tbis world is not so bad a world
As some would wisb to make it ;
Tiioiigb wlu-tlier good, or wbetbcr bad.
Depends on how we take it.
For ir we scold and fret all day,
From dewy iiiorn till even.
This world will ne'er afford to man
A foretaste lierc of lieavcn.
Tliis world in trulli's as good a world
As e'or was known to any
Who have not seen another yet
(And these ore very many ;)
And if tlie men ami women too
Have plenty of employment.
Those pnrely must be lianl to please,
Wlio cannot find enjoyment.
This world is quite a clever world
In rain, or pleasant weather.
If i>eople would but learn to lire
In harmony together;
Nor seek to break the kindly bond
liv love and jwace cemented.
And" learn tlmt Iwst of lessons yet,
Trt always be contented.
Then were the world a pleaaant world,
Aod pleasant folks were ia it:
LSAlfDSB CLARK.
The day would pass most pleasantly
To those who thus begin it ;
And all the nameless grievances
Brought on by borrowed troubles
Would prove, as certainly they nre,
A mass of empty bubbles 1
THE SOUL.
Whence came tbe intellectual ray
That lights the eye with fire,
That earthward will not bide its stay,
But heavenward bids aspire?
Is it a spark fvom God's high throne,
Given with our earhest breath?
And will he claim it as his own.
When we are chilled in death ?
Oh, precious faith ! cling to my breast,
A hallowed pilgrim there :
When to my bosom thou art pressed,
How free am 1 from care !
Let aickneas rage, let pain invade
My vitals for its food,
No doubt my faith shall make afraid.
Nor aught be mine but good.
Through death's dark valley I must tread,
Kre youth's fair sun is set :
Calmly resigned, I bow vay head,
And earth's vain joys foi^et.
Tbe spark that gleams, the jewelled soul,
The casket tlirown away,
Shall mingle with that perfect whole
That forms God's brightest day !
ndrr Clark w&e born In Ton
1)
aCllAei] Ills l)n>fCll6lOD for a jmi ur jjjvi-c, wiHMi UD
jreare. T6oo he reCnrn-
. He Ibeo went to New Ip»wlch where faJB reinnlni'tl •n.ithor leti jtwa.
■MiT«] to Washington, II, C.. wlicre he contlnui-il Id rv«lile noil prticUH
■- Ides painting he has been engaged someOmeB In inrminOle bnetneaa,
id a clerkiihY|i In theTreaaurj UcpBrtratnl. He iiowdcvawa hta Una
l^^yM
P*>£TS OF SEW HAMFSBIBB.
>ONG.
Ww-D beani «n3 haTl were lighted
To Evenir^ siient guest
And ruddr £re» were paling.
Id ihi c-haiD><ers of ibe west,
I mei ber a1 \he garden gxle,
TW mai J«-D I love besi.
While. du«k and gnv.
Depart ing dav
Sank »> tbe bles of rsi.
We loitered with the t^lreamletg,
Tbe vellow sheaves between.
Or stood airove the torrent.
Where tbe s-ilver binhes lean;
Far on tbe shining stubble
Sbone tbe reaper's nightly beam,
Bem-ath whose glow.
On fallows low,
Tbe ptougbman drore bis team.
Sbe leaned upon mv bosom.
And her locks were wet with dew.
And speechless w.is the rapture,
As our lips t<^ther grew ;
0 Tragrant with the barrest.
Were the airs that o'er us blew.
Till Dian queen.
From «'er the sceue.
Her silent orb withdrew.
Her foot is like tbe zephyr.
Her Toioe is low and sweet,
Her laugh is like the ripple.
When tbe womlland fountains meet;
And like reflected glimpses.
Where the waves run wide and fleet,
Her glances bright,
With azure light,
Tbe golden spell complete.
A DIRGE.
Where the whispering cypress glooms,
Daphney she lies cold and low ;
Bring to Lor aW fragrant blooma
Of tbi; fairest tlow«rs tlut blow.
LEANDER CLARK. \^
There let babbling runnels break,
Westering winds blow in your stops,
And with song Ail dirges make
Verberant the cedar tops.
Joy shall now no more attend
In the walks where she has been ;
Weeping memory must bend
O'er the melancholy scene.
Viewless Echo like a voice
From each cliff shall wail and cry ;
Birds shall sorrow that rejoice.
Making mournful melody.
Dreary visions now embrace
All the dreamfbl hours of rest ;
Melancholy bends her mace
O'er the sorrow-stricken breast.
Daphney she is dead and gone
Where the whispering cypress glooms ;
Night or morning she sleeps on
In the silent place of tombs.
LINES.
Like as a roll of carded wool,
That many a careful wife doth pull.
And off her spindle quickly run,
So soon our thread of life is spun.
Like as a weaver's shuttle plaj's,
From hand to hand, even so our days.
From mom to evening swiftly run,
Until the web of life is done.
FAITH AND HOPE.
When the mind, oppressed with sadness,
Drapes the outer world in gloom,
Faith, that brings the dawn of gladnese.
Can that seeming night relume.
200 POETS OF NEW HAMPBHIRS.
Such is Hope unto the sainted,
When in life's serene decay,
All the threatning clouds are painted
With the magic of her ray.
SONNET.
I would not crave an unction of the high,
Nor blessings from the low, the heart can keep
The council of its sorrow, can put by
The tender solace of a frequent sigh.
And turn its tears to ashes but not weep.
When I am dead I prithee let me sleep,
Nor bring such gifts as willing hands bestow,
On many a ridged and grass betufted heap ; —
But let the sun shine and the west winds blow.
Upon the green roof of my mansion low —
And the leaves nistle, and the moonbeams dwell,
And the rude night winds whistle as they go.
And on the deaf ear of the dead shall swell.
The dirges of the deep and the far billows' knell.-
SONNET.
Bird of the wild, why art thou still so sad —
To set thy full throat trembling at a lay ?
Is it that I in mournful weeds am clad,
Or dost thou chant the dirgeful kneU of day ?
The somber aspect of the twilight gray,
The silent moon, that silvers o'er each height,
The glow- worm's lamp, that glimmers far away,
In grassy glades, O wakeful bird of night !
Are they not leaves, fh>m whence thou dost indite
That wild melo<.lious clamor? If for mine.
Or any mortal sorrow, is the plight
In which, swe^t bini, thou nightly dost repine ;
O, take thy lKvK>m fVom such cruel thorn.
And leave to earthly man his grief forlorn.
HKSTKR MORELAND.
Swe1^t Uees^er Morelami, how I love tlie name,
Tho Y^ry iioor slie enters I adore.
lNr« ci^iNi i»oiiM beUim and beaulks known to fame.
LEANDER CLARK. 201
And, though I cheerfully admit their claim,
They're not so fair a mark for Cupid's aim
As Hester More land, whom I named before.
Twas rather foolish, but we took a miff
At some unguarded words we both deplore,
That when we met at church, or Cedar Cliff,
To see the cattle show, we bowed as if
Our heads and shoulders had been getting stiff —
'Twas very foolish, as I said before.
At length I wrote her, saying I would call ;
That "this estrangement I must needs deplore."
She wrote in answer, '* do indeed by all
That's sweet and sacred, trust these tears and call,
For where love enters pride must have a fall.
Yes, call indeed, love, as I said before."
The bats were stirring, and the stars began
To twinkle as she met me at the door.
For love is sweetest in the silent van
Of coming shadows, when no eye may scan.
And bats are stirring, as I said before.
"Lef s walk, dear Sandy, and before you go
We'll make it up, " she said, ''and frown no more ;
I know you love me, for you told me so ;
That I love you as well, 1 know you know.
So let us walk, love, as I said before."
'' Then kiss me, Hester, sweet as blossomed peas.
And press to mine the lips that I adore,*
For only kisses can the heart appease
And of its sore regrets the bosom ease ;
O, kiss me, dearest, as I said before."
'Twas what we needed, so we kissed and kissed,
And when we'd kissed awhile we kissed some more.
In love as we were how could we resist
The panacea we so long had missed,
And so much needed, as I said before.
Few words suffice for lovers to explain ;
Young hearts are tender to the very core ;
Though oft perverse and eager for the pain
That frowns impart, we soon make up again.
And hope to kiss and kiss forevermore.
W2
POETS OF NEW BAMP8HIEB.
INTRAMUROS.
At the dead middle of a moonless night
Something awoke me, and there shone a lig^t
Within mv room ;
I looked and listened for some token near,
When these just words of wisdom smote dj
From oat the gloom.
*^He that would shun the stroke of fate
Let wisdom show him his estate
Before he fall.
Life is beset with gins and snares^
And wicked ways and gniity stairs
Mislead us all.
Then dream not Pleasure's flickoimg li^it
Will lead thy erring steps aright.
Delusive beam !
It shines o*er sepulchres and tombs.
Gilding the horror of their glooms
More than a dream.
Pursue nor Chance, her barge of fate.
Nor chartless Fortuce with the freight
That doth betrav.
For in the perils of their wake
Thy phantom-chasing sail shall make
Nor port nor bay.
Regard not wealth, who ties the marts
In masonnr of sordid arts
That men employ ;
Her dust the idle palm may fee
Bat in the free souFs tneasoij
Tls base allov.
O trust not Love : 'tis like the brook
That throi^h thy garden's floweiy nook
Soft murmuring flows.
But in its wimlings to the sea
It lai^:hs and ripples fancy-lhee
When? e'er it goes.
Tmst not the seeming friend, for he^
Is like the shadow of a tree
That steals away«
At first slow gliding from its plaee
But ere its distant point ye tnu^e
T5s gone for aye.'
MARY B, H08MER. 203
Esteem not Honor, Glory, Fame,
The noise, the blazon, of a name, —
They pass away ;
They are the world's prerogative, *
But to th' aspiring soul can give
Nor help nor stay.
Search not the guilds for stamps of biilh,
Through pedigrees of dubious worth
And doubtful claim,
Let thine own deeds emboss the field
Of that escutcheon thou mayst wield
For praise or blame.
Think not the fault in thee removed.
But know that all thy ways are grooved
Of ancient use ;
He who himself hath justly scanned
And knows his fault, — he can command
Of Death a truce."
. Hosmer, a daughter of Benjamin A. and Martha Clark, of New Ipswich,
flnister of Uie precedinfi: poet, was bom October, 3U, 1K20. 8be received her
tion at the Appleton Academy, in tliat town, and nt Mins Catharine Fiske's
m* Seminary In keene. In IMl'she was married to Castalio Hosmer of Nash-
tiere they resided till 1844, wlien they removed to Roxbury, Mass. In 1848,
vent to Kankakee City, 111. In 186l'Mr. Hosmer was appointed to office by
ftent Lincoln, and removed to Wa»hin^n, D. C, where they now reside.
cSosmer ia well known in literary circles and Is a writer of genuine poetry.
THE BEGGAR'S CHRISTMAS EVE.
What ails the night that it moans so loud,
Moans so loud and drearil}*?
Doth it moan for the homeless and famished ones
That roam the street so wearily ?
While close to this doorway I shivering creep,
Wail on, oh ! night, there is cause to weep.
When half God*s children are starving and cold,
With never a bed but the earth's brown mold.
"Peace on earth and good will to men,"
This was the song of angels wlien
They sang of old on Judea's plains ;
Yet still the rich want all their gains,
Forgetting that peace can never be
'Mid squalor and hunger and poverty.
How long would this doorway a shelter be
If they knew within that it sheltered me ?
204 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Oh ! ye that prate of "Christian graces,"
And school 3'our sanctimonious faces,
And look on the poor with cold disdain,
''Giving your alms to be seen of men ;"
Do ye follow the ''gentle Nazarene?"
In povert3**s haunts are ye often seen ? ,
No ; you gather your skirts and pass us by.
And look with scorn on such as I.
In yonder princely hall I see
The bending boughs of a Christmas tree ;
There all is bright and w^arm as the sun.
While here I sit on this cold door-stone.
And think myself lucky if those within
Hear not ray wail through the wild night's din^
"Peace on earth and good will" were sent;
Was this the "peace" the angels meant?
"Good will to men !" doth it come in rags,
Or "Peace on earth" to the foot that drags
Its weary way through the filth and dirt
Which sticks not alone to povertj-'s skirts?
Yes, ** Peace on earth," it is coming now,
I feel its touch on my icy brow ;
The only peace to poverty given,
That peace which opens the gates of heaven.
They are opening wide ! my soul pass in.
Out from these rags so worn and thin,
Into the light and warmth of heaven,
There shall the peace which I ask be given ;
While this poor body so worn with woe,
They shall find in the morn 'neath the Christmas
AFTER SEVP:NTEEN YEARS
Fm nearing home ! the mountain's breath
Blows o'er my cheek and softly saith ;
"Come thou long-wanderer to my breast.
Here let thy feet awhile find rest."
I'm nearing home, a few green hills
Lie 'tween me and the spot that thrills
The sweetest memories of my soul, —
My childhood's home, that longed-for goal.
I'm nearing home, the steam-fed horse
Bellows his presence loud and hoarse.
MARY B. HOSMER. 205
Swiftly he glided past town and hill,
Slowly he stops ; the monster's still.
I step out in the twilight grey,
September eve as soft as May ;
The rich, ripe air alone may tell
How gathered fraits their garners swell.
AdowD the old familiar wold
Where oft my childish feet have strolled.
The trees are fairer, taller, grown,
The same old brook goes murmuring on.
The hale old elm with verdant crown
Reaches its arms with welcome down.
And the soft greensward neath my feet
Seemeth to give me welcome sweet.
In at the window now I peer ;
Thanks, Time ! though'st wrought no changes here.
The evening lamp with cheerful glow,
Seemeth to say, come ! enter now.
I lift the latch ! a solemn thrill
Sweeps o'er my soul, my heart stands still.
Hark ! well-known voices greet my ear,
I listening pause almost in fear.
Across the floor with noiseless tread
I steal ; do not th' returning dead
Feel as I feel, when they softly glide,
And stand close by some loved one's side ?
Two forms I see through joyous tears
Erect beneath their fourscore 3'ears —
One bound and I am in the arms
That led me safe through childhood's harms.
O Father ! lengthen out their j-ears.
Save them from pain, from griefs and tears,
And oft may I rejoicing come
Again to my New England home.
TWILIGHT MUSINGS.
After Charlotte Brontd In Shirley, Chap. 18.
Nature is at her vespers now,
She is kneeling on the mountain's brow :
The grand steps of her altar rise
Up the rough peak to the evening skies.
206 POETS OF NEW UAMFSHIRB.
Her altar fire is burning bright, —
Art cannot catch it^s lovely light,
Nor the jxlowins: blush she hides awav,
From the aRlent gaze of the god of day.
The evening star clas|>s her purple zone.
Her mistv hair to the breeze is thrown,
A white cloud like a vail sweeps down,
While lightning plavs 'round her star-gemmed dE^^
Her purple rol>e o'er the valley spreads
Where von<ler flocks bend low their heads :
Darkness awaits with mantle gra}'.
To wrap her from my sight away.
Her steadftist eyes, — like the lake's deep blue,
Are lilted in worship, — the evening dews
Like tears of faith are tr(»mbling there,
As she solemnly breathes her evening prayer.
Her V>osom clothed with purple heath.
Her mighty hands clasped underneath.
She lK?n(ls her forehead to the sod.
Thus, face to face, she s|)eaks with God.
OUR SOLDIERS' GRAVES.
Twine lovely wreaths to deck the honored graves
Where sleep the ashes of our noble dead ;
Wreathe the dark laurel, green as ocean waves, —
AN'ith reverence place it o'er each patriot head.
Bring our loved ensign, o'er them let it wave.
The dear "old flag," beneath whose folds they feX-^
Lons: mi^v the nation live thev dieil to save,
Brij;lit be their memorv who died so well.
For the dear sacrifice so freely given
Here let the nation bow itself and weep ;
Gently let falling tears, like dews of heaven,
Water each mound where our brave patriots sleep.
Place a white tablet o'er each noble breast,
And let their glowing record there be found ;
This be our Mecca, where our soldiers rest.
Shield we from impious hands each sacred mound.
But not alone to him of high renown
Shall pieans rise and words of praise be given.
Bring brightest laurels for the dead •' unknown,"
Whose records, lost to earth, are bright in heaven.
HARRIET N. DONELERY. 207
The Bolemn minute-gun, the warrior's knell,
For them is booming over land and sea,
While o*er their graves the winds, tliat sigh and swell.
Their soft and mournful requiem shall be.
Rest, savior patriots, in your narrow beds.
While all about you Nature's voices ring ;
Far brighter crowns await your noble heads
Than the sweet tributes which we hither bring.
I^attiet N. JSonelerg.
. Donelerr, a daughter of Rev. Stephen Farley, is a native of Claremont.
an operative In the Ltowell mills she started and edited lur some years tliat
^ monthly called the Lowell Offering or Factory Operatives^ Magazine, bhe
:&acated at the Atkinson Academy of which her father was principal, after
:xiovai from Claremont, where he had been settled as pastor ot the Cuugrcga-
Chnrch from 1806 to 1»18. She had nine brothers and sisters, all of whom
■.led of pulmonary disease. She became the wife of John Donelery, Esq., of
9.«lphia.
SUNSET.
Come with me, brother, forth, and view the sun,
How he goes down in glory. Brilliant Ijght
Is in the air : and brilliance on the waves.
li^ch slight, thin cloud is now irradiate,
^^d, 'neath our feet we tread the only shade.
Thou wast not here last eve ; and sawest not
Uis other glorious, valedictory suit.
Downward he came— down, from the chaos thick
Of a wild storm, which, like a troubled deep.
Left the dark sky, and sailed into a smooth
And golden sea, which shimmered in the west ;
Then, downward still, behind the riven cloud.
Which, like a massive, broken wall, was there
Upon the horizon low ; and, even like
The glowing parapets of heaven, was rich
In ruby and in ameth^^stine hues.
Like the hot glow of living lire was light
Behind that bastion cloud ; and then the sun
Went down below the earth, while, far away.
Gleaming through every rift and broken space.
Spread the rich mantling blush, and, upward there,
Inverted billows of the deep above
Caught on their hanging heads a crimson cap,
And hovered like a gay and liveried host.
O'er his farewell descent. He grows not old,
208 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBB.
Like temples which their ruins strew around
Us here ; but fresh, unworn, and strong, as in
That day when set in firmament above.
Brother, he now has bade us all adieu.
And left the world to moonlight and to dreams.
ORILLA.
Yes, thou art bright and beautiful.
Though but of lowly birth ; ^
Thou takest, with all joyous things.
Thy place upon the earth ;
Thy voice is song, thy step a dance,
Thy childish tasks but play ;
Thou sportest with the birds and lambs,
As innocent as they.
But in the future let us look,
For that which thou may'st hope ;
It little needs divining skill.
Or cast of horoscope ;
Th}' ample garb bespeaks a life
Of ill-requited toil ;
Thy fate has linked thee to a band
Who ceaseless delve and moil.
Thy glowing cheek, thy brow so fUU,
Thy softly brilliant eye,
Tell me how deeplj- thou must share
Our woman's destiny :
Thou'lt love and grieve, but still through all
Thou'lt hapless!}* live on,
And learn how Hfo will linger still.
When all its joys are gone.
Yes, woman's task — a peasant's wife
I there before thee see,
To be in some rude hut the drudge,
Some clown's divinity ;
To rise at morn with early sun.
With dew and opening flowers,
But only strive to break thy fast
In all those glorious hours.
Thy southern sun his radiant warmth
Above thy cot shall shed.
HARRIET N. DONBLERT. 209
And thou'lt rejoice, because thy fire
Need not so oft be fed.
Thy clear, bright moon, her gentle rays
At night shall o'er thee throw ;
Thou*lt bless it as thine only lamp,
When to thy rest thou'lt go.
And yet, of all tbat*s high and pure,
Thou shalt not be divest.
For still shall beat a woman's heart
Warmly within thy breast.
Deeming it not unworthy lot
To live for others' weal.
For others' sakes to sacrifice,
To suflTcr and to feel ; —
To know that tlurough thy toil and care,
Thy strength, though weak it be,
Has been support and cheer to him
Who guides thy destiny ;
That still, though poor and rude, thou hast
A share in many a heart ;
That peasant mourners o'er thy grave
Will weep when thou depart.
SONS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Bead at 2nd N. H. FestiTml, Boston, Nov. 3, 1868.
Sons of New Hampshire ! like the pilgrims olden,
Wandering from birth-place to a better home
Bearing still on the ark, and angels golden.
In whose pure worship to this feast you come :
Sons of New Hampshire ! I, a daughter lowly.
Would lay my "offering" on this shrine so holy.
My orphan mite ! the love that ne'er forgetting
Those heavens that met at first my wandering eye,
The broad green vales, and old Ascutney setting
His glistening brow against the eternal sky,
The mountains high in the far distance showing,
The broad Connecticut, in grandeur flowing.
Sons of New Hampshire ! gathered near the ocean,
Where many lands their luxury combine,
May it not be another "Boston notion"
That this is better than those homes of thine ?
Than the hard soil, with all its mountain grit,
For any home your souls and frames could fit.
2 10 POETS OF NSW HAMF8HIRK
JBut fh>m the altar jou have raised so beauteous,
With shorter speed than sigh, I turn away,
Leaving a daughtcr*s heart and greeting dateons,
With the strong brothers gathered here to-daj ;
Sons of New Hampshire, each and all, adiea ;
A sister's benison I leave with you.
Miss Shedd w&s m nstlTC of Wsshlofton. StM was for some jtmxt aa mnAn
In Um mills at Lovrell, Mass. At her decease. In I:)6d, she left, dj her will, ttMl,
to her natlre town for the purchase of a free library. The llhrarr Is a grmt Hew-
ing to the dtisens of the town, containing aboat )000 Talnable books.
AN INDL\N MAIDEN'S LAMENT ON THE BANKS OF
THE SACO.
A maiden came with a queenly air ;
Her eye was dark, and dark was her hair ;
On the rockv banks of her own fair stream
She sat her down for one final dream.
O strong were the thoughts o*er her bosom that rushed!
A moment she spoke, then was silent and hushed ;
But I caught up the words of her wild, sweet lay
Borne on the breeze as they floated away.
0 Saco, blessed Saco ! mv childhood's own riTer !
I've traced all thy streamlets with bow and with quivor.
Fve tracked the wild deer as he sped to the mountain.
And startled the hare as he laved in thv foontain.
Fve watched the bright glow of each foam-crested biDoVt
As I sat on thv banks and braided the willow.
How bright was the sunshine, how golden its hue.
As I danced o*er thv waves in mv birchen canoe.
In thy broad flowing mirror IVe braided my tresses^
And bound my long hair with thy wild water cresses.
And painted my cheek with the breeze from thy waters.
And joyed that they called me a brave 'mong thy dangfaten.
How Fve hushed my glad heart, and stifled its beating
To list the glad anihem thou art ever repeating ;
1 thought the Gn^at Spirit would leave thee, no, never!
That I near thy waters should wander forever.
No more^ 0« no more shall the laugh of my brother
Bknd in sweet chorus, nor smile of mv mother
BARAH BHEDD. 211
Light thy dark wave ; ray tribe have departed
And left me a loue one, say not broken hearted.
Like thee, kindred Saco, I sing in my sadness,
The pale face has wronged me, I yield not to madness ;
My father a chieftain ! shall I bis proud daughter
Stoop to low carnage, or think now of slaughter?
1 hear thee, obey thee, thou great, mighty Spirit ;
I haste to the land where my fathers inherit ;
Farewell thou blest Saco ! I weep and adore thee ;
I bow to the warning and pass on before thee«
OLD DRAPER HILL.
Old Draper Hill ! Old Draper HUl,
Peace throbbing heart, be still, be still,
What floods of memory through me thrill
At thy blest name. Old Draper Hill !
In life's young hours when called to rise,
When day sped up the eastern skies,
I turned me to thy forehead fair.
As morning broke in glory there.
How often since, I've climbed thy height
With friend so ga}', of heart so light.
To drink the fragrant morning air.
Grandeur with beauty blending there.
Where e'er I turn with graphic eye,
Some hidden memory seems to lie.
The faces fade, the forms are still,
Thou art the same Old Draper Hill.
A grand old dome there Lovcll lies
Piercing with rocky crest the skies ;
While sleeping here a Mountain Lake
With every breeze will start and wake.
From out its breast a silver rill
Runs rippling round the dear old hill.
Whose strength and beauty handicraft
Compels to turn a ponderous shaft ;
Where milk-white cottages appear
And flowers their tender petals rear.
While from its bounds the rill is seen,
Winding along green banks between.
212 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
A village here lies at my feet.
My native village, O ! how sweet I
Here my young heart was taught to pray
And my young lips what words to say.
I've trod by sea, by mount, and been
Familiar in the haunts of men,
But dearest find the place and Joys
Where childhood garnered up its toys.
Euella J« ^. itsLU.
Hn. Case was m daoghter of the late Lerl Bartlett and a rrand-dangliter ^1 \((0
reyolutionary patriot Josiah Bartlett. She was a native of Kingston, and ^^^%ti-
was married to B. Case then of Lowell. Thej removed to Cincinnati, Ohio-,
Case's poems and prose writings have nearW aU been pi^Hshed in
edited by her friend, the late Mrs. Edgerton Mayo."
THE DOOMED RACE.
Ay, time ! ye have waned like the phantom hosts
Of morn on the misty lea ;
Your arrow's sharp hurtle hath lefl our coasts,
The plash of your oars our sea ;
Where Metacom strode iu his chieftain pride
The wigwam is seen no more ;
And long, long ago hath the council-fire died
On the Old Dominion's shore.
Your trail o'er the green Allcghanian vales
Is the track of the evening dew.
And the war-whoop that swells on the prairie gales
Is the wail of the faint and few.
Ye know ye are doomed — a perishing race.
Like the leaves of the autumn blast ;
Ye know that the Saxon is waiting your place.
And ye must belong to the past.
The arm of the red chief is weary of blood —
His heart is forgetting its hate ;
Too long hath he striven to baffle the flood
Of swifl and remediless fate.
He bows to the current he may not stem
With a spirit all torn and crushed ;
And he will find pitj- where men condemn,
When his dying moan is hushed.
Alas for ye, people of little light !
Your prowess so stern and wild,
LUELLA J. B. CASE. 218
Your few simple virtues will pass, and night
Envelope the forest child ;
And histor}' alone in some mouldy arch
£nshrine the lost Indian brave ;
O, sad is the thought that mind's triumph march
Must be o'er a nation's grave I
A DEATH SCENE.
Tis evening's hush : the first faint shades are creeping
Through the still room, and o'er the curtained bed
Where lies a weary one, all calmly sleeping,
Touched with the twilight of the land of dread.
Death's cold gray shadow o'er her features falling,
Marks her upon the threshold of the tomb ;
Tet from within no sight nor sound appalling.
Comes o'er her spirit with a thought of gloom.
See, on her palid lip bright smiles are wreathing,
While from the tranquil gladness of her breast.
Sweet, holy words in gentlest tones are breathing :
^^ Come unto me and I will give you rest."
Night gathers round — chill, moonless, yet with tender,
Mild, radiant stars, like countless angel-eyes.
Bending serenely, from their homes of splendor,
Above the couch where that meek dreamer lies.
The hours wear on : the shaded lamp bums dimmer,
And ebbs that sleeper's breath as wanes the night.
And still with looks of love those soft stars glimmer
Along their pathways of unchanging light.
She slumbers still, and the pale, wasted fingers
Are gently raised, as if she dreamed of prayer ;
And on that lip so wan the same smile lingers.
And still those trustful words are trembling there.
The night is done ; the cold and solemn dawning
With stately tread goes up the eastern sky ;
But vain its power, and vain the pomp of morning
To lift the darkness from that dying eye.
Tet Heaven's full joy is on that spirit beaming ;
The soul has found its higher, happier birth,
And brighter shapes flit through its blessed dreaming
Than ever gather round the sleep of earth.
214 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
The sun is high, but from those pale lips parted,
No more those words float on the languid breath,
Yet still the expression of the happy-hearted
Has triumphed o'er the mournful shades of death.
Through the hushed room the midday ray has wended
Its glowing pinion to a pulseless breast :
The gentle sleeper's mortal dreams are ended —
The soul has gone to Him who gives it rest.
Harrj^ Hihbard was bom in Conconi, Vt, June 1, 1816. He jrraduated f^I^^
mouth College In 183.5; wasas.sistAnt clerk in tlie New Hampshire Hoase of B0*l^v:i
H>ntative8 in 1830; clerk of the same from 1840 to 1S4S: speaker of the House In ^il
and \SV> ; a member of the State Senate from 1846 to 1849 and was President of ""^
iMKly in 1848 and 1849. He was a Hi'presentative in Congress from this State
1849 to 1855. He resified in Lancaster and lastly in Bath, where be died In -^-^ji
The poem here given was originally published in the Democratic Review, A, ^^-'"'
I.s;{9, and has been extensively read and justly admired.
FRANCONIA MOUNTAIN NOTCH.
The blackening hills close round : the beetling cliff
On either hand towers to the upper sky.
I pass the lonely inn ; the yawning rift
Grows narrower still, until the passer-b}*"
Beholds himself walled in by mountains high,
Like everlasting barriers, which frown
Around, above, in awful majesty :
Still on, the expanding chasm deepens down,
Into a vast abyss which circling mountains crown.
The summer air is cooler, fresher, here,
The breeze is hushed, and all is calm and still ;
Above, a strip of the blue heaven's clear
Cerulean is stretched from hill to hill,
Through which the sun's short transit can distil
No breath of fainting sultriness ; the soul
Imbued with love of nature's charms, can fill
Itself with meditation here, and hold
Communion deep with all that round it doth unfold.
Thou reader of these lines, who dost inherit
That love of earth's own loveliness which flings
A glow of chastened feeling o'er the spirit,
And lends creation half its colorings
Of light and beautj' ; who from living things
Dost love to 'scape to that beatitude
Which from converse with secret nature springs.
HABS Y HIBBABD, 2 1 5
Fly to this green and shady solitude,
High hills, clear streams, blue lakes, and everlasting wood.
And as thou musest mid these mountains wild,
Their grandeur thy rapt soul will penetrate,
Till with thyself thou wilt be reconciled,
If not with man ; thy thoughts will emulate
Their calm sublime, thy little passions, hate.
Envying and bitterness, if such be found
Within thy breast, these scenes will dissipate.
And lend thy mind a tone of joy profound.
An impress from the grand and mighty scenes around.
Here doth not wake that thrill of awe ; that feeling
Of stem sublimity, which overpowers
The mind and sense of him whose foot is scaling
The near White Mountain Notch's giant towers ;
Here is less grandeur but more beauty ; bowers
For milder, varied pleasure ; in the sun
Blue ponds and streams are glancing, fringed with flowers ;
There all is vast and overwhelming ; one
Is Lafayette, the other, matchless Washington I
Great names ! presiding spirits of each scene.
Which here their mountain namesakes overlook ;
'TIS well to keep their memories fresh and green
By thus inscribing them within the book
Of earth's enduring records, where will look
Our children's children ; till the crumbling hand
Of time wastes all things ; every verdant nook
And every crag of these proud hills shall ^stand
Their glory's emblems o'er our proud and happy land I
Where a tall post beside the road displays
Its lettered arm, pointing the traveller's eye.
Through the small opening mid the green birch trees,
Toward yonder mountain summit towering high.
There pause : what doth thy anxious gaze espy ?
An abrupt crag hung from the mountain's brow I
Look closer ! scan that bare, sharp cliff on high ;
Aha ! the wondrous shape bursts on thee now !
A perfect human face — neck, chin, mouth, nose and brow !
And full and plain those features are displayed,
Thus profiled forth against the clear, blue sky.
As though some sculptor's chisel here had made
This fragment of colossal imagery.
The compass of his plastic art to Xxy.
216 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
From the curved neck up to the shaggy hair
That shoots in pine trees from the head on high,
All, all is perfect ; no illusions there
To cheat the expecting eye with fancied forms of aur.
Most wondrous vision ! the broad earth hath not
Through all her bounds an object like to thee,
That traveller e'er recorded, nor a spot
More fit to stir the poet's phantasy.
Gray Old Man of the Mountain, awfully
There from thy wreath of clouds thou dost nprear
Those features grand, the same eternally ;
Lone dweller mid the hills ! with gaze austere
Thou lookest down, methiuks, on all below thee here!
And curious travellei*s have descried the trac^
Of the sage Franklin's physiognomy
In that most grave and philosophic face ;
If it be true, Old Man, that we do see
Sage Franklin's countenance, thou indeed most be
A learned philosopher, most wise and staid,
From all that thou hast had a chanoe to see,
Since earth began. Here thou, too, ofl hast played
With lightnings, glancing frequent round thy nigged head '
Thou sawest the tawn}' Iqdian's light canoe
Glide o'er the pond that glistens at thy feet,
And the white hunter first emerge to view
From up 3'on ra\'ine where the mountains'meet,
To scare the red man from his ancient seat,
Where he had roamed for ages, wild and free.
The motley stream which since from every state
And Clime through this wild vale pours ceaselessly.
Travellers, gay tourists, all have been a theme to tibee.
In thee the simple-minded Indian saw
The image of his more benignant God,
And viewed with deep and reverential awe
The spot where the Great Spirit made abode ;
When storms obscured thee, and red lightnings glowed
From the dark clouds ofl gathered round thy face.
He saw th}* form in anger veiled, nor rowed
His birchen bark, nor sought the wild deer chase^
Till thy dark fh)wn had passed, and sunshine filled its place.
Oh ! that some bard would rise, true heir of glory.
With the full power of heavenly poesy.
To gather up each old romantic story*
^*
HABBY HIBBABD. 217
That lingers round these scenes in memory,
And consecrate to immortality ;
S<Mne western Scott, within whose bosom thrills
That fire which bumeth to eternity,
To pour his spirit o'er these mighty hills.
And make them classic ground, thrice hallowed by his spells.
But backward turn — the wondrous shape hath gone I
The round hill towers before thee, smoothly green ;
Pass but a few short paces farther on.
Naught but the ragged mountain side is seen.
Thus oft do earthly things delude, I ween,
That in prospective glitter bright and fair.
While time or space or labor intervene.
Approach them, every charm dissolves to air.
Each gorgeous hue hath fled, and all is rude and bare.
And trace yon streamlet down the expanding gorge,
To the famed Basin close beside the way,
Scooped from the rock by its imprisoned surge,
For ages whirling in its foamy spray.
Which, issuing hence, shoots gladly into day,
Till the broad Merrimack it proudly flows.
And into ocean pours a rival sea.
Gladdening fair meadows as it onward goes.
Where, mid the trees, rich towns their heavenward spires dis-
close.
And farther down, from Garnsey's lone abode,
By a rude footpath climb the mountain side.
Leaving below the traveller's winding road.
To where the cleft hill yawns abrupt and wide.
As though some earthquake did its mass divide
In olden time ; there view the rocky Flume,
Tremendous chasm ! rising side by side.
The rocks abrupt wall in the long, high room,
Echoing the wild stream's roar, and dark with vapory gloom.
But long, too long, I*ve dwelt as in a dream,
Amid these scenes of high sublimity :
Another pen must eternize the theme
Mine has essayed, though all unworthily.
Franconia ! thy wild hills are dear to me,
Would their green woods might be my spirit's home ;
Oft o'er the stormy waste of memor}'
Shall I look back where'er I chance to roam.
And ace their shining peaks rise o'er its angr}' foam*
218 POETS OF XEW BAMPSHIItE.
E^^tMcam ^VimtW (Etroislis.
Thomas R. Crosby was bom in Gilmanton, October 22, 1816. In 1841 be wu cn<^
uaWd from both the Aoademiral ami Medical Departments of Dartoiooth Cofl^
lie was professor In Norwich Universitv from 1854 to ISftl ; In Milwaukee Me*»
College from 1HG4 to 1S71 ; in New Hampshire Agricultural College In 1870, now""
death, at Hanover, March 1, 1872.
TO THE MERRIMAC RIVER,
At the Falls of the Am-auh-nour-skeao.
Roll on, bright stream !
And ever thus, from earliest time, thou'st leaped
And played amid these caverned, sounding rocks.
When the long summer's sun hath tamed thy power
To gentleness ; or, roused from th}* long sleep.
Hast cast th}* wintry fetters oflf, and swept.
In wild, tumultuous rage, along thy course,
Flinging the white foam high from out thy path.
And shakinjT to their very centre earth's
Foundation stones. And, in thine awful might,
AVhen terror rides thy wildlv-heavino: wave.
Or in thy soft and gentle flow, when break
The ripples on thy sandy shore, in sweet,
Delicious music, as of fairy bells,
How beautiful art thou I And since that first
Glad hour, when morning stars together sang.
Each rising sun, with dewy eye, hath looked
On thee. Each full-orboii moon hath smiled to sec
Herself thrown back in pencilled loveliness,
Mirrored a mimic disk of light, beneath
Thy pure and limpid wave, or broken else
Into a myriad crystal gems, flung high,
In sparkling jets or gildeil spray, towanls heaven.
And long ere on thy shores the white man trod,
And wove the magic chain of human will
Around thy free and graceful flooii, and tamed
Its power to minister to human good.
The Indian n^ameil along thy wooiled banks,
And listeneii to thv miorhtv voice with awe.
He, too, untutoreil in the schoolman's lore,
And ci'>nversant with nature's works alone.
More deep, true, reverent worship paid to thee
Than does his fellow* man who boasts a faith
More pure, an aim more high, a nobler hope —
Yet, in his soul, is filled with earth-bom lusts.
The Indian loved thee as a gifl divine.
THOMAS BU88ELL CBOSBT. 219
To him thou flow'dst from the blest land that smiled
Behind the sunset hills — the Indian heaven,
Where, on bright plains, eternal sunlight fell.
And bathed in gold the hills, and dells, and woods,
Of the blest hunting-grounds. With joy he drew
The finny stores from out thy swarming depths,
Or floated o'er thee in his light canoe.
And blessed the kindly hand that gave him thee,
A never-failing good, a fount of life
And blessing to his race. And thou to him
Didst image forth the cr3'stal stream that flows
From "out the throne of God, and of the Lamb,"
The Christian's "water of the life divine."
Thy source was in jthe spirit-peopled clouds.
And to his untaught fancy thou didst spring
Fresh from Manitou's hands — the o'erflowing hand
From which all blessing comes, alike to him
Whose teaching comes from rude, material things.
Who worships neath the clear blue dome of heaven,
As him who iu a sculptured temple pra3's.
And thou, bright river in thy ceaseless flow,
Hast mirrored many a passing scene would charm
The painter's eye, would fire the poet's soul ;
For beauty of the wild, free wood and floods
Is yet more beautiful when far removed
From the loud din of toil, that e'er attends
The civilizing march of Saxon blood.
And poetry, unversed indeed, and rude.
But full of soul- wrought, thrilling harmony,
Hath spoken in thy murmur or thy roar ;
And human hearts, through long, swift-gliding years,
Have made the valley thou hast blessed their home.
Where they have lived, and loved, and joyed, and hoped,
Nay, passed through all that makes the sum of life.
Of human life, in every cllrae and age.
Along thy shaded banks, in grim array,
Wild bands of "braves," as fearless and as true
As ever sought a deadly foeman's blade.
Or battled nobly in a country's cause,
With step as silent as the grave, have sped.
In lengthened files, to strife, and blood, and death.
In that sweet dell, where giant trees o'erhang
Thy soft, encircling wave, the council-fires
Have blazed. There silent, stern, grave-visaged men
Have sat the magic circle round and smoked
The calumet of peace ; or youths, in wild
mt j^jrz> or XTw raxpshibk.
Ilx:-:r:r.r i^ii:^. '^'.'iL. lisnle songs and sboatB«
W;-^ tLsLz^z ATz:?-. hSil wri 1- feigned, emmest strife.
Hi', r i.r.^'L :ijc a^i n. in.: err of war.
T: t:-. Icr 5>jil'.c:re-:i i^x-k. wb^-re. sriil and calm,
T:ir :Life.i ii-i weAnt-i wiicrs resi awhile
Bclir.-: i t.^Sjuj p::l:. v«ii w::ieb lie waves
Bx>i^ if tr. wi:! & ilus-::- s^^ft ani sweet,
Aii.i Ijil:! ;iit &Li i-'ws vf luli. sighing pines,
Tii:. :l "ii.r f '.r.va-; dckc. c:>ea;<f a sof\,
I v-:-!. c'l'^c-reil l^^Li ujK-n tjc sw&rd beneath.
Tic :-Mi-. ". r^Tr. iiTv;* iiow no iDore. hath sloleD
i.»f^ fi: lIj', iw..^i: Lour. £.Di when the young
Nr""" 11: XI. hs.;i ::j»'»-d. "w::^ silver, bough, andiock^
Alii iTiVr. ;o rii-roiur 1:4:0 wiiiing ears
Lovr's ^.\^)J'.\.z su-rr. :. j.i i'^W o^. vet new
As w^rr- ';w«.s wLisj^rrt-.i in fair Eiec's bowers.
Swee; Mrrriir-Lc \ Flt si^es I'lius the stream
C^f lurr.&L '..fc r^L ^-r. wiii. thine, vet not
As :L:rit : f>r liiou sn ss Thou was? of oki.
W:,i:L f:<: I'lfc hi ii&L. ^:Lk>c^i &^OQg ihv banks.
Bj: irierv is nc'W li.e i>L-i oisle. true and brave?
Ali* ! ^'..x'Ti- O'L:* ::jc chilii of naiure trod.
Vr. ^ji-siMiei 'jiOLf*:\-L of li»e I^nd and wave«
T:.r mAr.^-iciWtred. I'usv ti:v stands!
• • • _
H"l!s ::.£.: ::.^i-w LiL-k t:it- witr-wiiocip's fearful peal-
WLit-n f..!ed wij> u:is fi^ir vaie with sounds of strife ^
Now t-cLo ;o iLc eniTirii-'s shrliit-r scream.
As >wir^ iiLi su-oFii: i: Sies, with goodlv freight
Of l:fc 1.L i 2ji Tl Landise ! Bv ihv fair stream
The rrd n^is^a rctinis no ^iore. No more he snares
TLv j;nf;;i tr«.»u:. or '.C'rd'iv salmon s}iears:
No KJvirt- Lis swif\-Tri:;4ri\i sorrow strikes the deer.
Toward :Le sc::ing sun, wiiL fijiering limb
And i:'.r*rini: eve. ae seeks a distant home.
WLere ^-.\\i^.t,v*z fc^ot i-f whil-e man ne'er can come.
An i iLy wil i wau-r. Mi iTimac, is tamed.
And iK>;i:vi in senile uLiiins wLioh mind has foiged
To Mil.: iiii stuLlorii eanL. me free-wingeii air.
The !;c-.'.v::i4: c^-ean. anii iLe rushing stream,
TL" ol»i-ii:ei.i scnanl"=' of a miffhlier will,
E'£*n as a sj-iri; caugLi in eanh-bom toils.
As legoiids leL. and doiime^i to slave for him
Who Lv'ids iLe strc»ng, mysurious l»ond of power.
And thoa an now the wild, free stream do more.
Flaying all idly in tliv channels old :
Thj days of sportive beanty and zomaoce
HOB A TIO HALE. 221
ire gone. Yet, harnessed to thy daily toil,
ind all thy powers controlled by giant mind,
ind right directed, thou'rt a spirit still,
ind workest mightily for human good,
Ihanging, in thine abundant alchemy,
Ul baser things to gold.
lo Ha]«, the ton of Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, was bom In Newport, May 8, 1817.
luated at Harvard College in 1837. He accompanied the U. S. Exploring
ion nnder Cant. Wilkes, as philologist, and on his return the resnlt of his
tiona waspabushed in the seventh volume of Bzpedition Report. entitled,
ogy and Philology,'* a work of great labor and research. Mr. Hale resides
>n, ProvlAoe of Ontario.
THE EAGLE'S SPEECH.
An eagle came from his eyrie down,
On the loftiest peak of Monadnoc's crown ;
The flash of his dark eye was terribly bright.
As the marsh fire's gleam in the dead of night ;
And the war-darts shook in his red right claw.
But the bough of peace in his left I saw.
Then slowly he opened his ivory beak,
And he stood like a senator ready to speak ;
And the forests shook, and the winds grew still.
And hushed was the voice of the noisy rill ;
And the raven cowered in his hollow oak,
As well he might when the eagle spoke.
I am the monarch of air, said he ;
Proudly I soar over land and sea ;
And I feel the breezes around me sing
To the hurricane sweep of my mighty wing ;
And my flight is chainless, and fearless, and free,
For I am the bright bird of Liberty I
I marshal the course of the free and the brave.
Upward and onward, o'er mountain and wave ;
I lead them to gloiy, I beckon them on,
And I join in the din till the battle is won ;
And the dim eye will gladden m}' shadow to see.
For I am the bright bird of Liberty !
In the days of old, with the freemen of Home,
With Brutus and Cato I made me a home ;
And my wing was before them unwearied and fleet.
Till the princes of earth were all low at their feet,
POETS OF NEW HAMPSniRE.
And the Koinan tras master by land and by sea,
For be fullitwed llie brigLt bin! of Liberty !
But luxury came, like the simoom's bot breath,
Ami llie liowiTs were all vritbercd in valor's green vt**'
Ami virtue was trampled and bustled aside
By tbe imgeaut of ^iiilt and the purple of pride ;
But fettvrs. tbough gilded, are liatcful to me,
Ho 1 fl(.-d to the inomitains for Liberty 1
Then ages went by. till Muscovia's czar.
Id batn-d detcrmiued my glory to mar; ^
bo he seized me, and cliaiiie<l me. and struck off icM ^
But euurteou^ly gave mc two others instead ;
Sly own noble U'mUy he never could see.
For most loathi>ome to des|)uts is Liberty !
But tyranny's chains are too feeble to bind,
When tbc will is unfettered, unbroken the mind;
So 1 made my adieus, willi a very bad grace.
And 1 throw my suiktAuous bead in his face ;
And southnanl I s]H-d, over forest and sea.
To France, the bright region of Liberty !
Oh, this was my season of triurai>h and pride.
On the smoke-wreath of battle 'twas glorj' to ride .—-
Till kingdoms were shattereil. and despots o'erthr~ ^
And the boro of destiny called me bis own ;
Of the masters of earth none so mighty as be,.
For they lovwl not the bright bird of Liberty !
But tlie warrior was dazzled by glory's red ray,
And forgot the mild lustre of freedom's new day* *
Till ^wntttf and tyrant arose from the shock,
Anil tbc hero was chained on t)ie far ocean-rock.
And the slaves who forsook him bent lowly the 1^=:-***
To the tyrants who trample on Liberty !
So I parted in scorn from the land of the slave,
And 1 found me an eyrie beyond the broad wavtJ — •
With Columbia's children I mode me a home;
And wider than Russia, and greater than Some— ^
And prouder than Gaul shall their fatherland b^s ^
If tiiey cherish tlic bright bird of Liberty !
FOR MY COUSIN'S ALBUM.
r, uk me not how long it be
, — 1 — -g g^^t witchery on n
BENJAMIN Z). LAIGHTON 223
truth it always seemed to me
1 portion of my very soul ;
DOW the springs, where love was nursed,
t ask not when it blossomed firat.
ras not beneath the cloudless skies
!)f youth's sweet summer ; long before,
e sunshine of those gentle eyes
Sad waked the tender flower,
d from its breathing censer cup
d drawn its purest incense up.
ras not in childhood's merry May,
kVhen dews were fresh and skies were fair,
id life was one long sunny day,
Jndimmed by thought or care ;
no ! the stream whence love is fed
deepest at the fountain-head.
id feeling's purest, holiest flowers
kxQ brightest in life's earliest dawn,
t fade when come the sultry hours
3f noontide splendor on.
e heart's fine music sweetest rings
e manhood's tears have dulled the strings.
■o'
hink my being and my love,
Like oak and vine together sprung,
id bough and tendril interwove,
A.nd round my heart-strings clung ;
I never, till life's latest sigh,
all aught unclasp the gentle tie.
ISeniamCn M. Haigiiton.
Lalghton. a brother of Albert Lalshton, was born in Portsmouth in
t twentr-flve vears he carried on the farming business in Strattiam.
imtive city in 1873.
LINES WRITTEN IN MAY.
fake, my Muse I no longer sleep !
Once more thy sweetest numbers bring ;
te earth a second cden shows :
Awake, and sing the charms of Spring I
le orchards redolent of bloom.
The singing birds, the balmy air,
226 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
The Roman sceptre swa^'ed a world-dominion,
His tireless eagles only paused by thee.
When, as a spirit tries the unknown future,
O'er thy wide waste the great discoverer passed —
His the true genius, great high priest to nature,
Who gave to man the western world at last —
Did not thy voice, from eastern shores resounding,
To western climes the piean note prolong ?
And Indian cave and rocky cliff surrounding.
Re-echo back again old Ocean's song?
Thus hast thou ever spoke, as now thou speakest,
In voices eloquent and most sublime.
Thou, ever-changing, and yet ever changeless,
Thou emblem of eternity, in time.
Would he but listen to thine admonition,
Unresting man, oh ! he might learn of thee-
Seen through all time, in limitless duration —
The changeless purposes of Deity.
James JT- jTicltrg.
James T. Ficld8 was born in Portsmouth in 1817. While vet a child be lo«t bfaj
father, a sea-captain. He became a cleric in a Boston bookstore, thon^ he hsd
been fltte<l for college autl his tastes were literary. Successful aa a puDiislier, bs
withdrew from business in lc<63, anil attained a high popularity as a lecturer. U
his few poemst be i^hows a delicate fancy and a fine lyrical Tein. i^inoe his dieaUii
in 18&0. a volume of his poetry, "Ballads and other verses,*' has been pubUabed.
He was also tlie anther or **Yesterdavs With Authors," **Underbrush,*'^and, with
E. P. Whipple, edited **Tho Family Library of British Poetry."
THE OWL-CRITIC.
" Who stuffed that white owl ? " No one spoke in the shop :
The barber was busy, and he could*nt stop ;
The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading
The " Daily," the '' Herald," the ^' Post," little heeding
The young man who blurted out such a blunt question ;
Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion ;
And the barber kept on shaving.
"Don't you see, Mr. Brown,"
Cried the youth, with a frown,
^^ How wrung the whole thing is,
How preposterous each wing is,
How flattened the head is, how Jammed down the neck
In ihort, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis I
JAMES T, FIELDS. 227
I make no apolog}' ;
I've learned owl-eology.
I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections,
And cannot be blinded to an^^ deflections
Arising from unskilful fingers that fail
To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.
blister Brown ! Mister Brown !
Do take that bird down,
Or you'll soon be the laughing-stock all over town ! "
And the barber kept on shaving.
" I've studied owls, Ever had his bill canted,
And other night fowls. Ever had his neck screwed
And I tell you Into that attitude.
What I know to be true ; He can't do it, because
An owl cannot roost 'Tis against ail bird-laws.
With his limbs so unloosed ; Anatomy teaches.
No owl in this world Ornithology preaches
Ever had his claws curled, An owl has a toe
Ever had his legs slanted, That ca'tCt turn out so I
I've made the white owl my study for years,
And to 9ee such a job almost moves me to tears !
Mister Brown, I'm amazed As to put up a bird
You should be so gone crazed In that posture absurd !
To look at that owl really brings on a dizziness ;
The man who stuifed him don't half know his business ! "
And the barber kept on shaving.
" Examine those eyes. They'd make Audubon scream,
I'm filled with surprise And John Burrows laugh
Taxidermists should pass To encounter such chall*.
Off on you such poor glass ; Do take that bird down ;
So unnatural they seem Have him stufied again. Brown V*
And the barber kept on shaving.
With some sawdust and bark^ I could make an old hat
I could stuff in the dark Look more like an owl
An owl better than that. Than that horrid fowl,
Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather.
In fact, about him there's not one natural feather."
Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch.
The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch.
Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic
(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic,
And then fairly hooted, as if he should say :
228 POETS OF NEW HAKPSHIBE.
" Your learning's at fault this time, any way ;
Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.
I'm an owl ; you're another. Sir Critic, good day !"
And the barber kept on sbaTiog.
THE SEARCH.
'*Give me the girl whose lips disclose,
Whene'er she speaks, rare pearls in rows,
And yet whose words more genuine are
Than pearls or any shining star.
Give me those silvery tones that seem
An angel's singing in a dream, —
A presence beautiful to view,
A seraph's, 3'ct a woman's too.
Give me that one whose temperate mind
Is always toward the good inclined,
Whose deeds spring ft-om her soul unsought,—
Twin-born of grace and artless thought ;
Give me that spirit, — seek for her
To be my constant minister ! "
Dear friend, — I heed your earnest prayers, —
I'll call your lovely wife down-stairs.
BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST.
We were crowded in the cabin.
Not a soul would dare to sleep, —
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.
'Tis a fearful thing in winter
To be shattered in the blast.
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, ** Cut away the mast I *•
So we shuddered there in silenoe, —
For the stoutest held his breath.
While the hungry sea was roaring.
And the breakers talked with Death.
As thus we sat in darkness.
Each one busy in his pra^'era, —
** We are lost ! " the captain shouted.
As he staggered dowo the stairs.
JAMES T. FIELDS. 229
But his little daughter whispered
As she took his icy hand,
'^ Is not God upon the ocean,
Just the same as on the land?"
Then we kissed the little maiden.
And we spoke in better cheer ;
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the morn was shining clear.
THE LOVER'S PERIL.
Have I been ever wrecked at sea,
And nigh to being drowned?
More threatning storms have compassed me
Than on the deep are found !
What coral-reefs her dangerous lips ! —
My bark was almost gone —
Hope plunged away in dim eclipse,
And black the night rolled on.
What seas are like her whelming hair.
That swept me o'er and o'er ? —
I heard the waters of despair
Crash round the frightened shore I
'* Come^ Death 1** I murmur^l in my cries,-
For signals none were waved, ^-
When both lighthouses in her eyes
Shone forth, and I was saved !
A PROTEST.
Go, sophist I dare not to despoil
My life of what it sorely needs
In days of pain, in hours of toil, —
The bread on which my spirit feeds.
Ton see no light beyond the stars,
No hope of lasting joys to come ?
I feel, thank God, no narrow bars
Between me and my final home !
Hence with your cold sepulchral bans, —
The vassal doubts Unfaith has given I
My childhood's heart within the man's
Still whispers to me, ^' Trust in Heaven !
99
POETS OF XEW OAXPSBTBE.
MORXLSG AND EVESISG BY THE SEA.
At dawn the fleet stretched miles awsj
Oq ocean plains asleep. —
Trim vessels waiting for the day
To move across the deep.
So still the saib they seemed to be
White lilies growing id the se^
When evening touched the cape's low rim.
And dark fell on the waves.
We onlv saw processions dim
Of clouds from shadowy caves ;
These were the ghosts of buried ships
Gone down in one brief hoar's eclipse !
AGASSIZ.
Once ID the leafv prime of Sprii^.
When blossoms whitened evcir thorn,
I wandered through the Vale of OHm
Where A ^^<i-r was bom.
The birds in bovhood he bad known
Went flitting through the air of Ma;,
And bap]>v $ongs he loved to bear
Made ail the landscape gay.
I saw the streamlet from the hills
Run laughing through the valleys green.
Far cliffs o( ice his feet have climbed
That day outspoke of him to me ;
The avalanches s^em^ to sound
Tl>e name of AMstii -'
And. standing cm the mountain crag
Where kxtiienei) waters rush and laam.
I Mt thai, though on Cambrii^ side,
Ue made thai spot my booie.
And. lookii^ ixMitd me as I mused,
1 knew i>i> [tang of fear, or caie.
Or homesick weariness, hecaue
Oaoe A^asui stood ibere:
SAMUEL TENNEY HILDBETH. 231
I walked beneath no alien skies,
No foreign heights I came to tread,
For everywhere I looked, I saw
His grand, beloved head.
His smile was stamped on every tree,
The glacier shone to gild his name.
And every image in the lake
Reflected back his fame.
Great keeper of the magic keys
That could unlock the guarded gates
Where Science like a Monarch stands.
And sacred Knowledge waits, —
Thine ashes rest on Auburn's banks.
Thy memory all the world contains,
For thou couldst bind in human love
All hearts in golden chains !
Thine was the heaven-born spell that sets
Our wann and deep affections free, —
Who knew thee best must love thee best,
And longest mourn for thee I
SbBxaml JTcnncg l^iltrrctf)*
rhit poet was bom in Exeter, November 17, 1817. He died in Cambridge, Mass..
bntary 11, 1889. At the time of his deatli he waa teacher of elocution in Harvard
Uege.
FAME AND LOVE.
Once while in slumbers wrapt I dreamt of Fame,
And saw my native cliffs with garlands bound,
And heard the vales with lofty echoes sound,
Calling with thousand tongues upon my name.
But when I Wandered forth among the crowd,
To seize with eager hand the laurel twine.
To claim the envied, glorious prize as mine,
And drink with longing ear those praises loud,
Methought I felt strange loneliness of soul,
An icy desolation at my heart,
A sense of gloominess that would not part,
A tide of anguish, that with blackened roll
Swept heavily along my saddened breast ;
I found myself accursed when thinking to be blest.
f 82 POETS OF NEW HAMPSBIBE.
Joy ! joy ! those dreams were changed : I slept again,
To see a peaceful cot with vines o'ergrown,
Around whose door a thousand flowers were strown,
While merr}' warblers tuned a careless strain,
From a young grove that waved its branches near,
And woman's voice, soft as the breath of eve,
When summer winds their twiliglit dances weaye,
With gentlest murmur stole upon mine ear !
I blessed that holy spot — those welcome notes,
The natural music of a well-known voice,
Whose tones now make my eager pulse rejoice,
As from the past a transient echo floats.
Here mutual love in peace and silence dwelt
And every morn and night before the altar knelt.
Joseph W. rarmolee Is a natiTO of Newport, and was bom Web. % 1818. ^
anoestora were among the earliest Engilsh emigrants to this coanlrr. His P*££
grand uarents were of the tlrst settlers of Newport. His parents— ^obn and Pl)^
fCluuie) Pannelee were resident at a locality on the South branch of Sugar rtWj
known aj» SouthTille. He wa« a scholar in old school dibtrict No. 1. under serefv
Instructors, and in 18£i-4 at the Newport Academy, under the tuition of the tat*
David Crosby of Nashua. After about a rear at Kiml>aII Union Academy Us tdioM
days tennlimted, and he turned liis attention to mercantile pursuits. In 1S47 he wc^
to Charleston, 8. (J., to fill an engagnient with a substantial concern into whiebv
was afterwani admitted as a co-i«artuer. He has since ttiat time, until 18TS. bM*
Hlentitleii with the Southern trade, tirst in Charleston, and Uter in N. T. cttj'
l>urlng a varied bu«»iness career he has found much time for reading and self-cw:
ture: has been a frequeut contributor to the press, and has written oecasiow
poems of much interest and merit. Mr. Parmelee now resides In hla native tev^
where the family iiave for many years tiad a homesteaiL He is moxA luUmiWfl
in educational matters and is Kresident of tlie Board of Xducatloii for Ual**
School District, and Superintending committee of the town.
ODE TO THE SOUTH BRANCH OF SUGAR RIVER.
Imp of the ages and the wilds !
Adowu the shadowy stream of time.
By castles such as Fancy builds.
On airy heights oVr woods sublime.
Dashing and free !
Thy springs are where the sunlight glejuns.
At early morn above the shades.
And where his gorgeous, setting beams
Loug linger ere their glory fades
As day declines !
We trace thee to the sylvan shades.
Where mossy fountains overflow.
JOSEPH WABHEN PABMELEE. 233
And sparkle down in bright cascades
Through dark ravines to vales below
Serenely fair !
The sunny glade and darksome glen,
That mark thy rugged, tortuous way,
Were once the haunts of savage men.
And birds of night, and beasts of prey,
In contest wild I
The hand of culture came at length.
And won these valleys to the plow,
These waters in their idle strength
Were taught in channels new to flow,
And turn the mill 1
We roamed tliy meadows fair and wide
We frolick'd on thy rocky brim.
We angled in thy eddying tide.
In thy de'ep pools we learned to swim.
In youthful days !
Would that thy waters and my lay
Might flow in syrophon}', and bear
To those in after times that stray
Along th}*^ rocks and margins fair
A sweet refrain !
STANZAS
• Retd at the Bixth Day Celebration of an aged Minister of the Gospel.
In youthful prime he heard the Master's voice : —
'*Go preach my gospel !" Forth with joy he went,
Not as the Helot goes who has no choice.
But choosing to be called and blest and sent
As were the first disciples of our Lord,
Who bore th* evangel of his precious word.
In the broad, whitening harvest fields of earth.
At morning, noontide, and the eleventh hour.
Through vales of plenty, dreary scenes of dearth,
Sometimes in weakness, sometimes filled with power,
Well has he wrought, this servant, Lord, of thine,
To show thy wondrous love and power divine.
And now, like Israel, leaning on his staff.
Yet bearing lightly all these ninety years.
We hail his presence here in our behaLT,
234 POETS OP XEW RAMP8HIBE.
And celebrate his natal dav with prayers
Of thankfulness, and old time songs of praise,
Such as thy people heard in other days.
Mnch more would they rejoice, long gone before,
Whose feet he guided out of devious ways,
And now are waiting on that radiant shore,
To greet their pastor with a crown of praise ;—
May they not mingle in this earthly scene,
As ministering spirits, all unseen ?
A blameless life — a service good and true
In his great Master's cause — an honored age —
The full com in the ear — in him we view ;
The blessings promised on the inspired page
Are surely his in length of daj's and peace.
Crowned with unending bliss when life shall cease.
A SMOKING REVERIE.
I smoke my honest, red clay pipe.
While on its ample bowl,
In close relation to my nose,
There rests a glowing coal.
My nose reflects the glowing coal, —
The glowing coal the nose, —
And both seem striving to attain
The splendor of the rose.
Beneath the coal the fragrant weed —
Responsive to the draft —
Results in gorgeous clouds of smoke
That in the air I waft.
They rise above my weary head
In graceful wreaths and curves.
As jrentle as the influence
That settles on my nerves.
There's much philosophy involved
In smoke, the doctors say, —
Such is its harmony with mind
I'm in a cloud all day.
V^th this one pipe came these few lines.
Just written as you read.
That ne*er had met your genial eyes
But for this Indian weed.
TAMES O. ADAMS AND LUCT P. ADAMS. 235
James (I^sgooli ^liamg.
Adamn, a brother of Rev. E. E. Adams, was bom In Concord, Jane, A,
'\y life he learned ttie trade of printer. He gmduated at Dartmouth Col-
For nine years he was editor of thi*. Mancheattr American ^ tini\ was
editor of the Mirror and American. lie al."*o for six ye-;irs wan editor of
Farmer. The poem here given was published in The Dartmouth, while
allege.
THE DYING ROSE'S LAMENT.
Zephyrs, as 3'e wander by,
Bringing sweets from other flowers,
Breathe for me a gentle sigh,
When I leave the summer bowers.
Once on 3'our obedient wings,
My fresh petals odors gave
To a thousand scentless things,
That will never seek my gi'ave.
*
Dews, that tremble on my leaves,
When the morning ra}* appears ;
If for me the garden grieves,
Ye shall be its silvery tears.
Wanderer of the gauzy wing.
Nectar-sipping, roaming free.
Rest thee now, and deign to sing
One sweet requiem for me.
Waters, as 3'e murmur low.
Through the verdant, sunn}' vale ;
Fairer flowers will bless your flow.
When I'm withered quite, and pale.
When another life is near,
When the heaven and earth are new,*
Paradise shall reappear,
And I be immortal too.
Hues ^. ^tiamis.
ester was bom In 1831, and In 1851 beeame the wife of James O. Adams
er. She wrote when very youn^, and the poem hero piiuted naa com-
age of fifteen ye^irs. She died in 1852.
THE SUNBEAM.
A sunbeam stole to the dreary earth.
With light on its airy wing.
And it kissed the flowers in gleesome mirth,
With the breath of early spring.
236 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
And on it passed, through the meadows green,
Where the tiny grass-blade sprang
From the dark brown bosom of mother earth,
And a song of spring it sang.
It crept to the heart of tlie early flower,
In whose eye a tear-drop lay,
Where it whispered words of magic power,
•And it wept no more that day.
On, on o*er the hills to the rivulet wild,
Tliat langhingl}' flung its spray,
The sunbeam flew ; and it gently smiled
As it passed on its gladsome way.
And the foam-beads looked, 'neath that sunny gaie,
Like the gems of the mountain mine ;
But the ray had sped on its lightsome wing
To the forest of waving pine.
And a dirge-like song from the forest came.
Of voices w ild and free.
And the song they sung was ever the same.
Of strange, deep melody'.
And the sunbeam kissed, in childlike play.
The crest of the trees sublime,
And the castled rock, so hoar and gray.
That had seen the march of time.
But a storm-cloud came athwart the sky,
And the sunbeam was withdrawn.
Yet it perished not — for the good ne'er die,
But they wait for a brighter dawn.
Ilienriette V^n iWatu Jfrcncf).
Ml8§ French was born in Chester, December 23, 1818, and her death ooeorred In
her native town, Mai-ch 9, 1841. Her father was an eminent member of the l>»^
and his family of eleven children enjoytnl j^ood urlvilegos for ettueatlon and to-
provement, and several of them have become well known in literature and dlhet
attainments. The few poems she lias left promise much for her iiad her Hfe been
prolonged.
THE FRIEND OF AN HOUR.
There is truth in the love that has grown up with j-ears.
Born in sorrow and sadness, and nourished with tears;
But give me the friendship of mirth's brilliant hour,
And still let me laugh with the friend of an hour.
r«i'.
nSNBIETTE VAN MATU FBENCH. 237
Dream not that in weeping more pleasure you find,
3'er the friends you have loved in the years left; behind ;
They were dear — they are dear, still defying Time's ix)wer ;
But let me laugh on with the friend of an hour.
The friends that I loved — the}* have dearer ones now,
Or the damp earth rests heavily on their cold brow ;
And my days would soon find me like Autumn's lone flower,
Could I not gather bliss with the friend of an hour.
There are some who still love, though their love is forgot,
There are some who have loved me, whose love now is not ;
I will never regret them nor call back their power.
But will cherish the tr\ie^ with the friend of an hour.
O sadly my spirit within me is bowed,
When I think of lost loved ones, the grave and the shroud ;
And darkly the shade on my future would lower.
But I weep o'er the dead with the friend of an hour.
THE WORLD IS ALL BEAUTY.
The world is all beauty ; the sun's rising light.
But hides by its brightness the stars of the night,
The bird's merry voices our listening ears greet
But to call off our thoughts from the flowers at our feet.
The world is all beauty ; the dim forest shade.
The sparkling brook gurgling through deep wooded glade,
RAgge<l rock, and wild bramble, each leaf, flower and tree.
E'en ^Hhe field of the sluggard" has beauty for me.
There's a loftier beauty ; the mind, as it springs
From the visible glories of earth, spreads its wings
Over limitless regions of truth, bold and free —
O'er a wide world of beauty the eye cannot see.
The heart knows a beauty the mind cannot know,
When it throws o'er the true, pure and loving iis glow ;
It giveth to knowledge its value and power —
To the forest a spirit — a soul to the flower.
SHORT THE TIME.
Short the time since first we met
Strangers in each thought and feeling,
Now we sever, will regret
Ever o'er our heai'ts come stealing ?
2:W POETS OF XEW HAMPSHIRE,
Time, they say, alone brings love ;
Few the hours we've passed together ;
But for us some friendiv dove
Stole from friendship's wing a feather.
Few the hopes that we have shared,
Few the fears, the joys, the sorrows ;
One sad tie our friendship's spared —
From the past it nothing borrows.
Love the lovelv — thus do I —
From respect esteem it floweth ;
You will never pass it by
That it no more warmly gloweth.
TWO MAIDENS.
FIRST MAIDEN.
The clouds, the clouds, how beautifid the cloads at set of san,
As all the splendors of all hours were gathered into one !
SECOND MAIDEN.
And as tliMt hour, in mockery, more splendid than they all,
Had Juihg :.ruund the dying day a gorgeous funeral pall.
FIRST MAIDEN.
I sny not so — those clouds arc but a smile the Day-God flings
To Ull lis that the circling hours bring morn upon their wiugs.
Aufl w! It'll he sinks beneath the wave, he leaves the stars to Day
That li;- l)ut beai*s to other lands the blessings of the day.
'i'lK»r stars that lend, like him, to all their unrefleete<i light,
Ahm planets shining steadily in borrowed beauty bright.
SECOND MAIDEN.
But O, the blushing Spring has deil, too beautiful to last !
Then, love, let us be sorrowful o'er glories that are past.
FIRST MAIDEN.
Why mourn ye for the bright springtime ? She fled in light away ;
Her flowery footprints greet us still along our pathway gay.
The Autumn sun shines glorious afiir o'er vale and hill ;
And Autumn's /or<?^^5 lie in light miiguillcentlj' still.
SECOND MAIDEN.
Tis true we trace the steps of Spring 'neath Summer's leafy noon,
Mid waving coin, and purple grapes, and 'neath the har^'est moon ;
JOHN niLET VARNET. 239
We love the Autumn's forest leaf, and Autumn's low breeze sigh-
ing,
But sadly, as a friend's last word, or the smile he wore in dying.
FIRST MAIDEN.
Oh think not, my belovM one, that thou alone canst hear
The voice that dwells in leaf and breeze proclaim that winter's
near.
But winter is not joyless when the heart is tuned to mirth.
Though ice chains lock the mountain streams, and snow en-
tombs the earth.
SECOND MAIDEN.^
Will nothing make thee mournful? Thy 3'outh is waning fast ;
The freshness of thy childhood is forever, ever past.
Thy womanhood now cometh on with sorrow and with care,
And soon old age will dim thine eye, and blanch thine auburn hair ;
The dark grave flingeth open wide its portals unto thee ;
1 know that thou art weeping now, beloved one, with me.
FIRST MAIDEN.
The future that thou dreadest, love, is kindly hid from me ;
Darkness is there, but through the shade the light of J03' I see ;
And o'er the tomb, though hidden from thy sorrow-clouded sight,
There beams a star, the star of hope, illuming all its night.
John R. Vamcj, a natiye of this State, was born In 1810. He graduated at Dart-
moiith College In ld43 , taught In Fniuklin Academy two years ; waa clerk of the Court
of StralTord Couo^ four years ; professor of mathemutics in Dartmouth College
IMO-HSS; admitted to the bar in 18t3 and became a partner of John P. Hale. In 1W8
be became one of the editors and proprietors of the Dover Inquirer^ weekly, and of
the Daily Rtqmblican. He died by accident May 2, 1882. He was inspecting the
ruins of a burnt church building in Dover, when, by the falling of a chimney, and
the sable-end of Uie building, he was buried, and when taken up was found to
TO THE FIRE-FLY.
Like to the gleaming thought, Bright as the blissful dreams,
That flits Uirough fancy's eye ; Which gild our youthful days ;
Like to the star that shot Or fleecy cloud, that gleams
Across the eastern sky ; With Sol's last setting rays ;
Or dazzling show. Thy sparkling light.
That flits away Wheft darkness shades
In one brief day, The everglades,
Thy transient glow ; Illumes the night.
240 POETS OF XFW HAJiPSHIBE.
I would thy fixvs might l^ As brigbt a light as thine.
Lesis c::"i;l in -"ioir Maze. And far mure constant too.
That 1 uii^:^: U^ik^or >ct? TLiat far awav may shine
The iTol U li wrv. a:'l. :L.i: plays And speaks me good andtnie;
Tnv i\i:]:i arv vi^d : Wh«>s* Ivamim; rav
As o'er ;l:e Ic^s ^^hall gladness make.
And dusky irtes. And joy awake.
Thy wAy is 'Ss^iir.l. Be mine. I pray.
Bu; yet tLy ^l:::er-^ >rArk And when this li^ht hath shed
S^^-ms vv:*-l :o ziv cvcs. I:s ravs for manv vean.
As w':u:i iu sorr.w iiirk. And causoi the heart that bltii
S.*a:e i:lt ahis «. :* L.vt -e aris*? ; To smile am: i its tears.
WJ.oa qui^-k d^s^^^I Tiien. Earth, adieu!
Ti.e 'rA:e\i ii ".«:::. B«? niLne to rise.
And in ::» r:c=; A:>ove tiie skies.
Cause jvv ;o dvcll. And shine aibev.
WHAT IS BEAlTT.
W'^i: r»:'a:::v :>. «j. t.-o :an sav?
l:s :"i.7y ■.■^:.:, iZ'i .r^r^z ?ee'Tia
FieiT «t=z; ri :l'-r^ . ".^.i Aurrca's raT^
As^:«iz "ij*; '!t-.:>:s :•:' iitztz seLS«
A:».'" : •* •% :^ ^.j.: i^id-.r Leav«»:
T7:«e j:"^-:*! ^; . ^-v*^*:-; !.:•.: 3iv«:e^ irw^sr.
Tiii:. i'.»i)L.: zh-iiz <*:ci*! "•:c«ii7 ":cw«r,
li ii«-^:i:x«::>;» :i'.xa:s ".IS icur;
rVf Tamftfr •:▼« ud ■va.i.rrjr £?:»«•
r^Ok "n a -xicLjer s ccii ■»»* ;rac«.
Aad u liie iijir^:«.i ::»f :ja: imht
Cvm^oi^ learr^s i.ii*. jt. cui 7i.3«is
CHARLES ANDERSON DANA. 241
Or when a heart of budding years
Some mournful tale of sorrow hears,
And gently drops its tears ;
And when its joyous laugh is heard,
As sweet as music of a bird,
Or kindly spoken word.
But when in opening bloom we find,
'Neath brow that's fair, a gentle mind,
A look that's ever kind,
A sweet and graceful modesty,
Combined with truth and purity.
Then Beauty's self we see.
liartos A. Dana was bom in Hinsdale, Aagast 8, 1819. He passed two vears at
irard CoUege, but left before graduating, on account of an affection of the eyes,
coming a Journalist he went to New York and was connected with the Tribune,
]883-'64-66, he was Assistant Secretary of War. After leaving that post, be bought,
Ch Uie aid of some associates, a daily Journal of New York city and made it a
sat financial success. He was associated with George Ripley in editing the
nerican Cyclopaedia; and in 18M, be edited '*The Household Book of Poetry.**
s poetry was mostly written before his twenty-fifth year. He is a linguist, and
A converse with his foreign guests in their own languages.
VIA SACRA.
Slowly along the crowded street I go,
Marking with reverent look each passer's face,
Seeking, and not in vain, in each to trace
That primal soul whereof he is the show.
For here still move, by many eyes unseen,
The blessed gods that erst Olympus kept ;
Through every guise these lofty forms serene
Declare the all-holding Life hath never slept ;
But known each thrill that in man's heart hath been,
And every tear that his sad eyes have wept :
Alas for us I the heavenly visitants, —
We greet them still as most unwelcome guests.
Answering their smile with hateful looks askance,
Their sacred speech with foolish, bitter Jests ;
But oh I what is it to imperial Jove
That this poor world refuses all his love !
MANHOOD.
Dear, noble soul, wisely thy lot thou bearest ;
For, like a god toiling in earthly slavery.
Fronting thy sad fate with a joyous bravery,
242 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
Each darker day a sunnier mien thou wearest.
No grief can touch thy sweet and spiritual smile,
No pain is keen enough that it has power
Over thy childlike love, that all the while
Upon tlie cold earth builds its heavenly bower ; —
And thus with thee bright angels make their dwelling.
Bringing thee stores of strength when no man knoweth;
The ocean-stream, from God's heart ever swelling,
That forth through each least thing in Nature goeth,
In thee, oh, truest hero, deeper floweth ; —
With joy I bathe, and many souls beside
Feel a new life in the celestial tide.
TO R. B.
Beloved fHend ! they say that thou art dead,
Nor shall our asking eyes behold thee more,
Save in the company of the fair and dread,
Along that radiant and immortal shore.
Whither th}' face was turned forever more.
Thou wert a pilgrim toward the True and Real,
Never forgetful of that infinite goal ;
Salient, electrical, thy weariless soul.
To every faintest vision alwa3'8 leal,
Even mid these phantoms made its world ideal.
And so thou hast a most perennial fame.
Though from the earth thy name should perish quite :
When the dear sun sinks, golden, whence he came,
The gloom, else cheerless, hath not lost his light ;
So in our lives impulses born of thine.
Like fireside stars across the night shall shine.
Ei!w«rd E. Sarg?c«nt was bom in Ililldboroogb, June 17, 1820. At an early ife
he was a clork In a «U>re in lA>welI, Ma8»., wh^re he remained till hU 17th year,
when he became a «>tuiient in Newbur>* Seminary, Vt., where he fitted for college
and entered at Dartmouth, graduating fh>m thence in 184S. Hia whole ooUcige Un
waa eminenUy manly, and aa^tiuousl v devt>teit to ita high parpoae. After leaving
college he wont to licorgia and Itad cnarge of a Female ^mmary In Putnam Co.
While there he studied law, and wad admitteil to the bar at Macon. Ga. He reton-
eil to New Ilamp«khlrv In 1>4«\ and tlie next year he went to Grand Baplda, Mlehl*
em. Iil» buftinet)^ and fame at^ a lawyer rapidly increased. In 1858 he wept to
urt>pe and vi«iUHl renuirkablo plaiv^ in England, France, and throughout Europe
and A»ia*Minor. He n.'turtHHi nftvr noarlv a ycar'a absence to hia home In Qrand
Kapid«. He die<l April W In\s. of a i^nivKms^ tumor in his throat. With the calm-
neaa of a phlkMopher and the (tatient i^^ignatiou of a Chriatian hemet hit final dia-
•ohitkMi.
EDWABD ERASMUS SAROEANT. 243
THE INDIAN MOTHER AND HER SON.*
THE mother's appeal.
Stay ! Wilt thou leave me now, — thy mother 1 her
Whose wigwam notes once lulled thine infancy !
Dost thou remember how this breaking heart
Yearned with excess of love, when first thy hand,
Bending thy father's bow, gave lightning speed
To the winged arrow, certain, bearing death,
Overtaking the dark bison, drinking up
The .strength of his firm limbs, turning the tide
Of his hot-beating blood? O, then, with joy.
Did hope reach forth to distant moons, when thou
Would'st be the champion of our dauntless tribe,
The leader of our wars ; a chieftain sent
By the Great Spirit down to make these woods,
And streams, and crags, and lakes, proud scenes of deeds
No arm in moons gone by has e'er achieved !
Thy father's image, as, from earth upsprung.
He were a youth again, with eye of fire,
And dark hair streaming on the breath of mom,
And lip all trembling with a high resolve, —
How have I gazed on thee, and wept and smiled I
Thou dost not know a mother's tender pride !
'Tis nature's gift, 'tis born within the sweep
Of the dread whirlwind, by the wigwam's blaze,
In the deep shade of tempest-driven woods.
Where winter frowns on every living thing.
And summer struggles to put on a smile ; —
Yes here 'tis strong and noble, as ever filled
A courtly heart beyond the floods. The love
That pours these accents, sending tears adown
These old and withered cheeks, immortal is !
But when this bosom, whence thy infant lips
First drew the drop that told thee I was thine.
Which now I bare to win thee back again.
When it shall meet, in the fair home be} ond
The hills, where the Great Spirit, cloud-enveloped, sits,
* A Tooof Indian, whose ffttber was dead, lived with bis mother on the shores
tiie TacUlc near the mouth of the Columbia river. He had often been urged to
lit EdlnbuYgh, and was delighted with the idea of ffolug, but the tears of his
ar parent hid prevented the accomplishment of his desire. At length a vessel
;aln arrived firom Scotland; the master repeated the request, and offered induce-
anta, which the Indian could uot resist. He determined to leave his native
x>dB, and cross the wide ocean. The time of his departure came, the mother ap-
ared and bared her bosom to win back her son. He wept and hesitated, but
on tamed away and stepped on board. He went to Edinburgh, rsoelTAU. an
;oeUfliit CMlaoation, and in a few years returned to his forest home..
244 POETS OF XEW HAMPSHIRE.
On that green, sunny Ule, thj father's form.
What shall be told of thee ? O come, come Imck.
Leave not thy mother in her tottering age,
In this cold wilderness alone to die.
Thy voice would soothe the pains of cruel death.
And charm the spirit on its way to heaven.
O, shall the stranger from the mother steal
The boon which Nature gave, — her offspring's love !
Then break, my heart-strings, — let mine eye be dim,
And fly, my soul, since all it loves is fled.
AKSWKB OF THE SOK.
My soul is relenting, how can I depart.
When the voice of the mother that bcnre me.
Strikes home like a spirit and conquers my heart,—
For it brings the departed before me.
O, shade from the ever-green isles of the west,
On a pinion of light thou art hieing.
Impelled by the power of a father's unrest.
That his son from his kindred is flying.
Yes, white man, that spirit commands me away.
In the shadowy forest paths roaming.
And along by the cliffs in the mist doth it stray.
Where leaps the live cataract, foaming.
Farewell ! To your country and kindred retom.
Where the dust of your fathers is sleeping ;
For tears like a fire on my sad spirit bum.
The tears that a mother is weeping.
But where is my courage : It never yet failed.
When the eve-ball of fire was before me ;
This heart at the tomahawk's edge never quailed.
Nor when arrows of death whistled o'er me.
I will go, though with pain, from the storm-beaten bowers,
By snow-wreaths in winter moons crested.
And where fh>m the fervor of summer's brief hours
Beneath the cool shadows I rested.
Then back to thy paradise, shade of the dead !
In vain to this heart hast thou spoken ;
It is not that the love of thy kindred has fled.
Bat their spell o'er my spirit is broken.
ALBERT PEBRT. 245
aiftett ^mrg.
er. Albert Perry was bom in Rindge, December 17, 1820. In youtb he was much
lined to literary pursuits, and a volume of his poems was published in 1846.
en about thirty years of age he became much interested in the truths of religion,
studied theofogy at Andover, Mass., and was settled over the First Congrega-
lal church in Stoughton, Mass. The few years of this, his only pastorate, were
^ with happy, successful service, cJieerea by the most affectionate relations be-
«D pastor ana people. He retired from the ministry in 1866, fatally stricken with
monary oonsumpuon, and died at New Ipswich, June 17, 1862.
THE GRAND^ONADNOCK.
Summer was out in all her greenery,
And fragrant zephj^rs o'er the landscape played,
As through New Hampshire's rugged scenery
I rambled ; trees were towering undecayed,
That cast on other centuries their shade ;
Tall mountains stood around with solemn mien.
The guardians of man3' a flowery glade,
That slept in beauty and in joy between,
Like maiden innocence, too bashful to be seen.
There is a magic in those old gray rocks.
Towering in mountain majest}' on high ;
For ages they have battled with the shocks,
Of racking whirlwinds that have wandered by ;
Changes that have deranged mortalit}',
Are nought to them ; a brotherhood sublime.
They hold a quiet converse with the sky,
And stand, as when our world was in its prime,
Unharmed as 3'et, by all the ravages of time.
And thou Parnassus of my native clime.
What though we scarcely yet have seen thy name,
Among the annals of hesperian rhyme ?
What if no oracle enhance th}' fame, *
No fuming deity or prescient dame
Erect a domicile and tripod near ?
Thou Grand Monadnock, grandeur is the same,
Whether it shade the Delphian hemisphere.
Or tower without a sj^bil, or a poet here.
I stood upon thy solitary height,
When erst romantic boyhood climbed the steep,
And there outvigiled all the stars of night.
Till morning gleamed along the watery deep,
And woke a drows}' continent from sleep.
I saw remotest Orient unfold
His portals, and a world of splendor leap
From the abyss where far Atlantic rolled,
Mingling its billows with a firmament of gold.
J POETS OF XEW RAXPSHTItB.
Time rolls along with an oblivioas tide,
And aoon will drown the voice or praise or bUme ;
The tallest monuments of human pride
Cramhie away like aiit-hill§ — both the same ;
How brier the echo of a sonoding luune, —
The envy and the glor>' of mankind !
And who shall heed the after-tramp of fame,
That fluctuates a season on the wind.
Stirring the empty dust that he has left behind?
Farewell, thoo rode bat venerable form !
I go mr way. perchance return no more ;
I leare tbee here to battle with the storm.
And the incoastant winds that roond tbee roar;
I woakl not like thy doady summit soar;
Too many blasts would howl aroond mr head.
FaivweU : contentment is my only stcwe ;
Along the humbler valley let me tread,
Uneuvied live, and sleep with the forgotten dead.
KVT. LCDBSKl Swats wa» bon In liVI. Bt wmi mOaatea mt OmatmamUJM^
fn«uluBal i-hunrti la Xi^ua Lb 1-47.^x1 w»;<.Il3ml««<t laldHw Uoi»r fW
>X a ckORh is Pcwnlnn. IL I, Be tttnl ta Ma
MAX IS NOT WHAT HE WILLS.
Van is not what he wills : ttue very sfey
Haih DuC a poweri««» oloui. but loolraCh down
In meek ivmpusiHtM. as it lloaceth by.
On us, bore subjev'ts of a smile or &own.
Tberv's not an upiOan. va^rvit wind bat diircs
Ub [Vissive sjiirit I'a its li^test breath ;
The un;sin<ewed giant *o oo lon^r sCrives.
Tbou^fa oVc his mai>.ldii;n<ed «y« care«ra the shakened death.
Uaa i> BOC what be wills : sod O. ^is joy-
Thai aM a s(<vll-t.-laid spirit i;^ his fo« ;
No MkMdbss wciani. patwat [o dMtnMr.
Biokb iM tiw C»tal riMc. the oiutru of woe '.
Hk ajfe. Xjne ma^- i.-tn.-J» when ix bceaks.
Gow mp wilik Awia$ synphoaws oa iu^ :
f huA 1 ^^* •*-ri** -f -■ stt^ awakw.
^r:t:E U 1 i: ttlte hJa Uwt Ciftifity.
LEONABD SWAIN. 247
Man 18 not what he wills ; for far above,
And from beneath, the thwarting currents roll,
And nature's mighty magazine of love
Ten thousand times shall overcome his soul.
And wheresoe'er his chosen path shall tend,
His charmed footsteps keep but half the way ;
A cloud, a sound, a very flower, shall send
An overflowing flood, and bear him wide astray.
Man is not what he wills ; hast thou not seen
The stern, strong face unbrace itself again,
When a soft breath went by, with thoughts between
That never touched his iron soul till then ?
The harsh, determined visage, how it tells
A sudden tale of years long past and gone !
The worldly, rugged bosom, how it swells
With quick o'ercoming tides, from Youth's far ocean drawn !
Man is not what he wills ; the simple child
That, panting, hunts the dreamy butterfly,
Doth pause at sudden, of his prey beguiled,
A smitten victim of the western sky.
When o'er the burning hills it takes the sun
To that bright place of happiness and gold ;
And, as he turns away, the lesson done.
He goes, another child, by other thoughts controlled.
Man is not what he wills ; the time hath been
When he whose hand doth whet the midnight steel
Hath bowei} his head, all gray with age and sin.
To hear the hamlet bell's sweet, distant peal.
He had not cared to hear, but in his breast
Were things of kindred with that human sound ;
The answering memories break their long, long rest.
And thought and tears are born, and penitence profound.
Man is not what he wills ; uncounted powers
Beset each single footstep of his way.
And, like the guardian spirits of the flowers.
Charm each malignant, poisonous breath away ;
And so by guileless things is man beguiled,
And sweetly chastened in his earthly will.
While every thwarting leaves him more a child,
With childlike sense of good, and childlike dread of ill.
Man is not what he wills ; a deep amen
O'ercomes the grateful spirit as it hears ;
248 POETS OF NEW HAMPBHIBE.
^^ Th}' will, not mine, be done,** it breathes again
To him that sits above the circling years.
The weak doth find supporters, and the blind
A faith that will not ask an earthly eye,
To see the goings of the eternal mind.
When clouds and darkness bear his moving thiODe on higb.
Mrs. Fo«s wm« bom in New Boston, October, 24, 191. H«r fktlMr, An nnrut.
belonged to the ^rjmnt family of Bridgewater. Mms., of wbleh tiie late WllDaB
CnUen Bryant wad another branch, ther being couAins. She waa edncatad at Dn-
cutt Seminary, Dracott, Maas., and completed a classica] and Engilsb eonneof itadj.
In 1848 she married George Foss, of Thornton. In 18S8 Mr. Foes became profirteiar
of the weU known Brook Farm and Summer Boarding House, near CaaaploaTillafe.
TO A SPINNING WHEEL.
In ecstacy let others praise.
The organ's lofly peal ;
To me there is no music like.
The dear old spinning wheel.
Its grentle buzzing greets my ear.
With a soft, soothing sound ;
Like the faint echoes of the woods.
Where water- falls resound.
How many memories of the past.
Clustering around it cling !
And make it to my throbbing heart,
A dear, time-honored thing.
Our mother ere the household band.
Had left the household hearth.
Mingled the music of the wheel.
With many an eTening's mirth.
And later, in her ^^green old age,**
She ran«7 «xit many a chime ;
Rising aiKl tailing with each step.
Her cap-border kept time.
She taught us that our lires should be,
A well drawn, eren thread :
I^eace to her ashes ! for she sleeps.
Now with the silent dead !
But sooQ the spinning wheel wiQ paas ;
Its music SOOQ be o'er :
Oil ! who*U appreciate its worth.
One ge&effatkKi moR?
DEBORAH G. FOSS. 249
ALL HALLOW EVE.
My natal month, O, glowing, bright October!
When forests all, in gorgeous hues arrayed,
Contrast with pastures, russet brown and sober,
Where patient kine, lie drowsy in the shade.
The flocks come down to feed uix>n the meadow ;
The woods are jocund with harmonious sounds :
Sqwrrels dart in and out among the shadows,
'!u> catch the falling nuts, with agile bounds.
Oh ! regal month, of beauty and of glory !
Thy days are ended, in All Hallow Night :
And on this eve, as I have read in story,
Friends, long since passed to the abodes of light,
Return again, to the familiar dwelling.
That echoed to their footsteps here below.
And, with affection earthly love excelling,
Commune of things beyond our ken to know,
Oh ! sainted mother !* art thou here this even ?
And is thy presence in this quiet room ?
Art thou to me a heavenly min'strant given.
To cheer and comfort for the days to come ?
Then strengthen me in every just endeavor.
For my own good, or good of human kind ;
Let light upon my patliway, shine forever.
Until at length, the heavenly goal I find,
A brother's love so pure, so strong, so holy !
He whom I loved, as sisters seldom do !
Can aught so high descend to aught so lowly ?
Sure love is deathless when the heart is true.
Of all dear things to me this seems the dearest —
A little child just prattling on my knee :
We had two such ; yet God who sees the clearest,
Took them from us, with Him, for aye, to be.
These may be here to-night, I am not certain.
But this I know, tliat in these evening hours.
They have seemed near, and very thin the curtain
That parts their lives from this low life of ours.
And if, sometimes, I am inclined to murmur.
That clouds return after the morning rain.
Let these sweet thoughts still in my memory linger,
A radiant halo, on the cross of pain.
POETS OF XEW HAMPSHJBE.
L
EXTRACT
Praa > patm rr*>l u thr tmannOoa a( tbe S , , —
id ^rtKuIoI iBdDflTT. ai ifaF WftMo' ElB FuK. PiuUbi.Octotarlll va
In cmning <1ars, when Chari^ '
Shall wivatbe the brow of Liberty,
Aim) gild the p>^ of histwr :
The peaceful trinmph wrought to-dsT,
Will shine in honor's bright stt*t :
For He whos* smile is tn»e renown.
Wbo<« name is Lore, oar work will aoww.
And shall we eberUh one daifc fnr.
Thai oar dear Home established bet«,
Will fail, mid beaaties rich and grand,
!>o ftv^lr stnswn bv God's own hand?
As iaxMi believe oar granite hiDs.
Our fertile vales and spoitSng riHi
Wi;] Intiiors turn, and no sopfdies
Re»ai\l the toiW* saciiSce.
When ftvemen met «« Baaker'a HQL,
A i:raieftu Srtvxw to fnl£L
T^T cJM$«. !•> be ibHT fp<aker. one
Wbmw eany bcnte «v <Und npon.
A decftf v-7i>vd p«W!SM<d sjwa the stand :
la TaiE ;bf s»r$^aU ;nTe hiihihiiiiI
"M.'flrv £t.ib(T S*A r" Tbe eacer throng
Bfhial swvy« fcrwar>.i caes alo^.
R^hx^aE7>r 1^ Ba::¥>:il$ <n(U.
Ani M-'i iije >Tvw\i iv>i«»<ri9 the field.
■■It was'l S< b^jxii ;'■ lijty -|-nrlT say:
•■TV :^^■cd: wC Bar ccr ruans So-daT.~
TV* W"<>t««r * Tvo,-*- so 5«*p and load.
Ka:^ oc" .'"ec Tisat t-*?;, *ctctw em?mj ;
■•M.-<v >i».-i ■ 3,-5i.nic"s JmCTwcebie
To ^wf w*k> sauai c« Rz^bn- B5B.*
'I^<« »wriTT TC«« ^KT aL oiwT :
ncu MwiK^ic ins«» <f >J* c^ms wvr.
WlaA >6.%s ..icr irTiwrnr i*«r» Tricaw :
"Nvfttencs Tinr*.>9s;'rr« lo tv*;,
WVwf a^ii ■» sc-.-wic, wioK Itnns as* wm :
O* &ffwa?t£ it ivmr w^.-ct rf Ispto.
SIMEON p. HEATH. 251
You'll find your sure reward above."
Tradition tells that long and well,
A sculptor wrought within his cell,
A cr}'pt, deep hidden under ground,
Beyond the reach of human sound.
A shadowy torch-light filled the room,
Yet on he toiled amid the gloom,
Year after year. At last he saw
The well-carved stone, without a flaw,
Made ready for its destined place,
Some portion of a wall to grace.
He brushed the chips from out his hair.
While other hands bestowed their care,
And took the cherished work of years
Away f^om sight, as falling tears
Evinced alike his hopes and fears ;
And left the cell to find again
His place among the ranks of men.
Soon dawned for him th' auspicious day
That all his labors should repay.
The Temple with refulgent light.
Rose proudly on his dazzled sight :
And happy throngs of Israel's race
Were gathering to the sacred place.
To dedicate that structure rare.
To Him who hears the orphan's prayer.
The artist enters : soon his gaze
Is riveted. In deep amaze,
He views the stone his skilful hand
And fertile brain so deftly planned,
Placed in an archway where it shone
In grace and beauty all its own.
His soul drinks in the rapt'rous sight ;
His work is crowned with glory's light.
Thus oft the toilers here below,
Are working better than they know.
Small, small indeed, their work appears,
After the toil of weary years.
They carve and polish da}' by day,
Till God removes their work away ;
And bids them lay their soiled robes by,
And rise to immortality.
O glad surprise ! O glorious sight !
Their work revealed in heaven's clear light,
Sparkles a pure and precious gem.
In Jesu's royal diadem.
252 POETS or XEW HAMTSHLBS.
O ! re who found this OrphAii's Home !
Year full reward is yet to oome.
Press on : etenial years will show
How well vou've done TOur work below ;
You'll hear that voice of harmonT,
Whose echoes fill Etemitv,
Proclaiming, while the angel choir
Shall swell their holy anthem higher ;
'"These little ones are saved throagh thee ;
Fear not ! ve did it unto me.**
iEHttarH Dran HaiUi.
E. D. Rand wv boni in Bftih. DecnBbrr «. 1831. Sooa after grmdntiM ^^":
Imun rniTenirr b« wtnt %o N«-v Ori«an», stiidled lav there, and unrttowl ■"
U^ft. vhetk he necorMi] to hU aaiire State and Mttled la UaJknom, la ^!^
wmynA to LUIxhi. He wa« laat^le jo'lre of the ciimit eooit In liv;i, and t«o^^
alterwardf be nmnied to tbe bar. Tbe real *piiit of poccrr pciradei Mr. Vm*
He ha« kindlr fnrniObed aofne on^iaal pieeea for tibia toIuk.
BEHIND THE VEIL.
Lo ! the marvellous contrast of shadow and l^t, —
Of shadows that darken ami lights that adorn ;
And after the day comes the shadowy night.
And after the night come the splendors of mom.
And raptures and sorrows through all the brief years
Keep crossing to weave in the web of oar life.
Till another the greatest of shadows appears.
To hush into stillness the tumult and strife.
And thou. Shadow of shadows, the darkest of all.
Concealing what has been and what is to be.
That liest on life and its joys like a pall.
Oh ! what is the splendor, that lies behind thee?
TO
Far away from the purple-hued mountains.
Far away from the flower-sprinkled lea :
Away from the streams and the fountains.
Alone — ^bv the dim. mistv rim of the
Looking out on the limitless ocean.
Looking out on the low-lying sand,
No charm can I see in the motion
Of waves — or tbe stillness that rests on the strand.
Men speak of the glories and wonders.
That haunt the dim, mystical sea ;
EDWABD DEAN RAND. 258
Bat bright to my eyes are the Rplendors
Alone — that speak to my spirit of thee.
Far up in the heart of the highlands,
Fondly dreaming, I stand by thy side,-
And I look on the sea and its islands
No more — and I hear not the wearisome tide.
Ah ! sad as the winds of December,
Is the unceasing song of the sea ;
But the music of songs I remember
Is sweet — when I walked in the woodlands with thee.
IN MEMORIAM.
The spirit hath taken its flight.
Where the land and the waters meet.
And never a nobler fight
Was crowned with immortal defeat.
O I weak as the opening air
To the pressure of death-dealing darts
Is the bunlen of innermost prayer.
From millions of agonized hearts.
And yain is the vigilant skill
That watches mysterious laws,
And vainer the dominant will,
That clings to a perishing cause.
Dead ! by the murmuring shore
Of the cold and passionless sea ;
O I brave, noble heart, nevermore,
Can its voices be music to thee.
Released from the wearisome strife.
The torture of laboring breath, —
Up, into the glory of life.
That gleams through the shadow of death.
GROWING OLD.
From success in its pride and defeat in its shame,
From the later repose, and the earlier strife.
The half that we learn is but knowledge in name,
And dark is the mysf ry that broods over life.
I smile at the hopes and the dreams of my youth —
Brief splendors of morning with clouds overcast I
254 POETS OF SEW HAMPSHLRE.
Yet something of worth, which I cling to, in sooth.
Have I wrung from the vaoishiDg years as thev passed.
I have painfully tested the Old snd the New,
Learned what to distrust and what to believe ;
Gaine<i a knowletlge of things that are steadfast and tnie.
And a knowledge of things that will cheat and deodve ;
Of the uncertain fame of the pen and the sword ;
Of the pride that arises from iii-gotten gain ;
Of the glon' of labor that seeks do reward.
Bat silently carries its burden of pain ;
Of the courage that faces and tramples on death ;
Of the garrulous grief, which time will assuage ;
Of the bubbles that sparkle and break with a breath ;
Of the love that grows warmer and sweeter with age ;
Of the valor that turns from a glittering canse,
In the day and the hour of its noisy success,
To worship the strength and the stillness of laws,
That endure through the ages and aeons that pass.
But alas ! for the knowledge that comes with the fl^ht
Of the hours ; for a sorrowful thing 'tis to know
Of the increasing shadow and lessening light.
As the days and the months and the years come and go.
The friends of my boyhood and youth, one by one.
And the friends that my manhood held dear, like the gleams
Of a warm, sweet summer remembered, have gone
Quite out of my life, and into my dreams.
And the glow, and the wealth of the morning have passed.
And the fulness of noon grown empty and cold ;
And I feel all the madness that must come at last.
Of thoughts that are barren, and limbs that are old.
Yet I welcome the sadness, and weakness of limb,
For I know that the lights from the City of Rest,
Shine clearer to him, whose eyes have grown dim.
In Watching the shadows, that grow in the West.
WlllUm C. Sturoc was born at Arbroath. Forfarshire, Scotland Nor. 4, USS. aad
reeelred hU etemeotarv edacation. at the ** Hamilton Green** and ''Grlmaby^ ackool*
of Ilia natlTe town, when a mere iad he arrired in Montreal, Canada, and thmIb-
I
WILLIAM CANT STUBOC. 255
^Te till July 18B0, when he came to Newport, and almost immediately com.
»i the study of law In the office of Edmund Burke. In 1855 he was aomitted
» bar, and settled in Sunapee. Although he hat) not been in a<^ye practice,
S»l reading is still close and extensive. In 1866, '06, *67, and '68, he represent-
a town in the State Legislature, and was a prominent and actiye member.
M«ches, on all occasions, commanded attention : for he has a fervid and earn.
fe.nner aa a speaker, and combines — which is often not the case— an equal read-
^ffith tongue and pen. He has contributed largely to the letter press of an ex.
we illustrated work Just published at his native place by T. Buncle, entitled
:xd alwut tlie 'Round O' with its Poets :" and is also given a large space in the
»i. of ''Modern Scottish Poets," published by D. H. £dwards, Brechen, Soot*
list December.
THE POET'S MITE.
An ancient epitaph thus quaintly reads,
Engraved on marble, o'er the worthy dead :
^'Whate'er we had, to meet our human needs.
We freely gave to feed the poor with bread ;
And all we gave with free and kindl}* will
We have once more — the darksome river crossed ;
But what we left, that went no void to fill,
We ne'er shall find, — 'twas profitless, 'tis lost I"
So what we have of gifts and graces given
Are only lent us for life's little day :
Nor shall we do the high behest of Heaven
If gifts are hidden, or be cast away ;
And whom the hand of destiny hath sealed
As seer and singer for his fellows all,
'Tis his to scatter o'er earth's fertile field
The seeds that drop at Inspiration's call.
And what he sows amid the mist of tears.
Or in the sunshine of the fairest May,
Perchance shall blossom through the Ibture years.
And charm the nations, near and far away !
On wings of light his raptured dreams may soar.
Through every clime in earth's remotest bound,
And break in beauty on the glittering shore.
Where ebb and fiow the waves of thought profound I
Then let me sing I O worldling, let me sing I
Mavhap my warblings with their notes of cheer.
Will heal some heart that cherishes a sting.
Or wake the hopeless from their sleep of fear I
And thus I give what first to me is given ;
My heart still grasping at the good and true,
And trust the rest to high and holy Heaven,
Which measures doing by the power to do.
POETS OF NSW HAMFSHIBE.
MARY.
I BBW a vision in my bojUh days,
So briglit, so pure, that in my raptai'd dreaming-s
Its tints of em'rald, and its golden rays
Had more of heavenly than of earthly seeming ;
The roseate valley and the sunlit mountain,
Alike, enchanted as by wand of fairy,
Itreatbed out, as from a high and holy fountain.
On flower and breeze, the lovely name of Mary.
That youtlifVil vision time hath not effaced.
But year by year the cherish'd dream grew deep^^
And Memory's band, at midnight bonr oft traced.
Once more, the faithful vision of the sleeper;
No chance or change could ever chase away
This idol-tbought, that o'er my life woold tany,
And lead me. in the dariiest hours, to say —
"My better angel is my boped-for Mary."
The name was fix'd — a fact of Fate's recording—
And swayed by magic all this single heart,
The strange decree disdained a novel wording.
And would not from my happy future part ;
As bright 'twas writ, as ia the milky-way —
The bow of promise in a sky unstarry, —
That !^he<.t its light and shone with porest ray, ^^
Through cloud and tempest, round the name of ^^
Bums h\-mn'd his '-Mary,*' when her soul had pas^
Away from earth, and all its sin and sorrow ;
But mine has been the spirit that hath cast
A gleam of sunshine on each blesaM morrow;
Ami cTvwu'd at Uut. this trusting heart hath beeo-^
With IVuits of futh. that nougfat on earth oouM '^
For I have lireil until my eyes ha^e seen
Tfae vision real, in the form of Maiy.
WASHIN'GTOX.
Oh l^triot $age '. Columbia's deai«st am !
Our country' 's Father ! famous Washington I
How shall we sing —
How homage bring.
Tb d«<^ the memorr of the ooMest sool
Ttet ertr s(vnt a graad and glohoos life?
Wbu ltd ia triumph to fiiir ftveilom's guAl,
2i«r teHend mid th« dwfciMas of tfae strifr.
WILLIAM CANT STUROC. 257
Oh mighty soldier ! first in war's alarms
Undaunted when the trumpet call ^^To arms V
Roused men to stand,
Throughout the land,
For home and freedom, 'gainst oppression's power.
Thou God-appointed chief, our guide and stay ;
Our firm reliance in the midnight hour
That shook the strongest mid the bloody fray.
Oh matchless statesman ! first and best in peace I
Still calm and mighty when red war's surcease
Claimed hands deep skilled
To plan and build —
Far from the despot's or the anarch's grasp —
The glorious fabric of a nation free.
Each stone sure fastened with the golden clasp
Of wisdom, strength, and state fraternity.
Oh first within the bosom of thy countrymen !
Thy name and fame shall evermore remain
Without a peer.
To millions dear.
The silent circumspection of thy heart
Did slander's shafts full oft but vainly try ;
Thy faith no tempest shock could part ;
Thy ark and anchor, human liberty I
Long may we guard, as with a flaming sword.
The sacred volume of Columbia's word,
That when our day
Shall pass away.
Our children's children, to the latest hour.
Shall peal their anthems down from sire to son.
As now we grateful bless the Heavenly Power
That gave our own immortal Washington I
LAKE SUNAPEE.
Dnce more my muse I from rest of many a year,
Come forth again and sing, as oft of yore ;
S^ow lead my steps to where the crags appear
In silent grandeur, by the rugged shore
I?hat skirts the margin of thy waters ft'ee,
Liake of my mountain home, loved Sunapee !
Meet invocation to the pregnant scene,
Where, long ere yet the white man's foot had come,
8 POSTS OP NEW HAMPBBmS.
Roatn'd vild and free the daring AtgonquiD,
And where perchttnce the Btately Metacom
Inspired bis braves with that poetic straio
Which cheer'd the Wampanoags, but cheer'd in vain.
Clear mountain mirror ! wbo can tell bnt thoa
Hast borne the red man in his light canoe,
Aa fleetly on thy bosom as e'en now
Thou bear'st the paleface o'er tl)y waters blue ;
And wbo can tell but nature's children then,
Were rich and happy as the mass of men?
Sweet Granite Katrine of this monntain land !
Ob jewel set amid a scene so fair 1
Kearsarge, Ascutney, rise on either band.
While Grantham watches with a lover's care,
And Sunapce to Croydon sends in glee
A greeting o'er thy silvery breast. Lake Snnapee 1
How grand, upon a moonlit eve, to glide
Upon thy waters, 'twixt the mountains highi
And gaze within thy azure crystal tide,
On trembling shadows of the earth and sk; ;
Wbile all is silent, save when tmsty oar
Awakes an echo from thy slumberiog shore I
Ah ! where sbatl mortals holier ground espy,
From which to look where hope doth point the gase,
Than (Vom the spot that speaks a Deity,
In hoary a<.-ccuts of primeval praise?
And wbet« shall man a purer altar find
From which to worship the Almighty mind?
Roll on, sweet lake ! and if perchance thy fbrm
Laves less of earth than floods of western fame,
Tet still we love thee, in the calm or storm,
And call thee our> by many a kindly name ;
What patriot heart but loves the scenes that cooM
O'er menion's sea, to breathe a tale of home.
And when the winter, in its fhwen thrsU,
Binds up thy locks in braids of icy wre«th,
FtM^«t we not thy cberisbei] name to call.
In Otting shadow of the sleep of death ;
Bat mora shall dawn upon oar aleep, and vc,
I'riayUiac, wak«, aweet Snnapwi 1
WILLIAM CANT 8TUB0C. 209
THE UNREWARDED.
How ofl the olden stoiy
Of struggle after glorj',
Hath echoed sadly down the faded ages !
How oft the scant but deathly wages,
The toiler has been paid ;
And, all neglected laid
In kind and kindred mold, unsung, unwept ;
His pregnant tale securely, sadly kept !
And still. Time's seething spray,
Rolls over earth to-dav.
And rimes the locks of Genius, as of old ;
And poets sing, amid the scorn so cold.
The deaf dead sons of men.
Deal out, again, again.
Till the poor shivering hungry tenement
Is buried out of sight — hope crush'd — heart rent I
Then comes the blatant grief.
As hollow as 'tis brief.
That wails above Cervantes, and o'er Bums ;
And gives the cold dead dust, in golden urns ;
What had been best bestowed.
While warm blood quickly flowed
About the dreaming, agonizing heart.
That hoped in vain, till soul and blood did part !
Oh Genius ! tell me why
'Tis thus your fate to die
Of hunger, while the stark dumb beasts are fed?
Why does the singer often lack for bread ;
Or frantic, bite the dust ;
Or gnaw the beggar's cnist ;
Or, choked like Otway ; or like Chatterton,
Scowl on a stony world, and then pass on?
Good heavens I I inly pray.
That all may swift decay —
Proud heart, and fancy-freighted brain —
When from the rapt Parnassian domain,
With all its gifts secure,
I fall, so sunken poor.
As not to spurn the dead clods where they lie.
And plume my wing for yet a loftier sky !
260 POETS OF XSW BAMPSHIKE.
£tt9me Dad)ellin.
£iijC«ne BftcheMer mtls a native of New Ip«wich. He reaaved to :^«ro. Me. In
1831; KoQimbri•ijC«^. Maj>«.. in 1S44; graduAte*! from Harrard Law School, c!a«« «>f
U45; married la 1SU» and tT\ym that rtme to hid tlecea^ in H^, residetl at iKivrr,
Maii^ Mr. Bat^holder never praotideil law to any great extent, lt« detail* not \»e\\%
congienlal to hi;? temperament. He publisheit many poenu. which were ronaidereiJ «>f
much merit, aud of which ** A Romance of the Sea Serpent" paaaed throiigli four e<ii-
tion*. With hid litemrv efforts, he engaged in the culUTatioii of the 0oli. awl iu
that departmeni wa* quite ducce»5f oL
THE UNION,
Wliere is the spirit oar fathers felt ?
Where are the hoi.^s that grew
When in prayer on the battle-field they knelt.
And swore to be brave and true?
When Ht^ing high the armM hand,
And l>owing the plumM head.
They praye^^i — "Oh Goil I may the Union stand !"
Then nishe^l where the valiant bled.
lias tliat hallowed iniluence £kd ?
Tho5?e hopes trom our heart died oat?
Is that prayer, and that spirit wholly dead?
Are our minds and souls less stoat?
Wo uee«l not pray where oar fathers prayed,
In the ranks of a steaiifast band ;
But we'll sav. like heroes andismaved,
"Oh God ! uiav this Union stand !
FAIR COLUMBIA.
The life we live we live for thee,
Columbia, fair Columbia !
No laud so liappy, fair acd free.
As happy, fair Columbia !
Brave souls are battling for the rights
Brave hearts are rushicg to the fight,
Tbe nation rises in its might.
For happy, fair. Columbia !
Weep for the gallant valiant mea
W ho die for fair Colombia !
They shall arise to life again,
Abov* otir fair Columbia !
Ah ! yes, to life immortal rise.
Ami fs.HTu an army in the skies^
To gttan.i the frveiiom freemen prtie.
And «hwU our ilair Columbia !
JOSEPH BROWN SMITH. 26 1
Hark I to a patriot's load appeal,
Columbia, fair Columbia !
My mother-land to thee I kneel,
In prayer for Columbia.
Thy glorious chivalry shall rise
With dauntless hearts, and eagle eyes,
And wave victorious to the skies
Thy banner, fair Columbia !
Oh God ! shall mortal man control
In happy, fair Columbia !
The life of one immortal soul,
In happy, free Columbia?
No I better that the traitor knaves
Were heaped by thousands in their graves.
Who boast they'd make all fVeemen slaves.
In happy, fair Columbia !
No I high above, in clouds of light,
Above our fair Columbia
Sits God, the Arbiter of fight,
The Shield of fair Columbia !
There hosts on hosts of angels bright
Are battling with us for the right,
God's arm the rebel horde shall smite,
And free our fair Columbia !
Jossepi) iSroton ^ntiti).
Joseph B. Smith, a native of Dover, wsa bom March 14, 18S3. At birth his sight
was pmect, but before he was two weeks old a disease fastened upon his eres,
which resulted In total blindness. When three years of age he lost his father.
His mother then removed to Portsmouth, where he lived six years, in 18SS he
went to the Institution of the blind. In Boston, where he spent eight years. In
1840 he entered Harvard College ami graduated in 1844. Ue then went to Lonls-
vlUe, Ky., and became Professor of Music in the Kentucky Institution for the
Blind, ue died In that city, May 6, 18ft9. He was a good scholar in Latin, Greek
and Mathematics. He had rare musical powers, and appreciated and ei^oyed
music of the highest order. In that he reveled. His soul responded to the songs
and choral symphonies in which the great masters gave expression to thoughts and
emotions too vast for words, too deep for tears. He wrote a few oocasional
poems, aopie of which were printed in raised letters for the blind. .
TO MY MOTHER.
My mother dear, while every thought and feeling
Vibrates responsive to some note of glee,
And visions, fraught with pleasure o'er me stealing,
Tell of the past, I'll sing a song to thee :
No wail of discontent, no tone of sadness,
Shall mingle with the music of my lyre,
But ev'ry chord shall speak my spirit's gladness.
And peaceful muimurs breathe from every wire. ,
i POSTS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
'Twas then with t«nder cnre, with love anceasing.
Id helplessness my little liTe to keep,
Ere I could know whence came the fond c&resstng.
Or contciDplnte a love so pure and deep ;
And when thou sKwcst that vision was denied me.
That tree and flower could hare no charm for me,
Oft hast tlioH, rent with angitish, sat beside me.
And wept to think I ne'er might look on thee.
To feel I conld not know when thou waat gazing
In fond delight upon thy sightleas child —
Nor, while my darkenc<1 eye-balls upward raising.
Return that mother's look so calm and mild ;
That grief is past, for, though I never knew thee
Through the soft language of an earthly sight,
In thought by day, in dreams by night, I view thee
With the soul's eye, in beams of clearer light.
Mother, adieu 1 whate'cr the time or distance,
Or adverse fate that sunders us, may be.
Still kept and cherished as my own existence
Shall be the mem'iy of thy love for me :
As the young stork, almost endued with reason,
His agiil parent od his pinion bears.
So I look forwanl to that happy season.
When I may bear thy burden and thy cares.
HYMN.
AfVaid to die ! O, idle fear.
Since God, our Father, is so near.
With loving arms to clasp the soul,
Ki'leascd from pain and earth's control.
Afhiid to die ! O, idle thought,
Siuc«- Christ the immoital life hath brought
So clearly to onr raptured eyes.
How can we shrink from paradise.
Afraid to die ! O, idle words ;
Some we Uavc lovetl are now the Lord's ;
They long to share the joys they kDOW
With us who still remain below.
Aftaid to di*-? no. Father, no;
Wh»n Umu Shalt onll. I'll gladly go;
In dcaili or life I would be tliiue,
' to Uiy will my own reugn.
DANIEL AUGUSTUS DROWN. 26S
Baniel ^ugutttuis Btoton.
>. A. Drown was bom in Portsmouth, April 17, 1823. He graduated at Dart>
»utli CoUoge In 1844, About four months after leaving college his eyesight became
[ldenl7 affected. Belief was at flrst sought in various directions and oj various
tans, out in vain. A European visit resulted in like disappointment. Sinoe ttiat
ie, now more than thirty -Ave years, he has been confined to a darkened room tor>
red by almost incessant pain, rendering life bereft of its greatest enjoyment,
itwlthstandlng this painful conaition, he has struggled hard to alleviate his suf-
rings by occasional literary efforts. A vivid recollection of his classical studies
8 served to mitigate the hardness of his lot. A resolute and abiding Christian
Ith. fortified by the tender and sympathising utterances of dl sintereeted mends,has
abled him thus far to bear the heavy burden so myteriously placed upon him.
18TS an elegant volume containing 115 of his poems was issued from the press of
ind, Avery & Co. It is entitled "Idyls of Strawberry Bank." It is an interesting
liune of excellent poetry, illustrated with engravings.
BEAUTIFUL IS MOONLIGHT.
Beautifal is moonlight, flashing through the trees,
Kissing trembling leaflets ruffled by the breeze,
Gilding branch and flower with a mellow hue,
Giving each new beauty, charming to the view.
With a chain of silver earth and heaven unite ;
Peaceful thoughts fl}' homeward, up the shining height ;
Thence our hearts will follow to that other shore,
Where true beauty lingers, fadeless evermore.
Beautifbl is moonlight resting on the billow.
Softly as an infant on its downy pillow ;
The blue waters bridging with a golden way.
As if paved with jewels by the god of day.
O'er this shining pathway fancy oft will roam.
And behold pure spirits passing to their home.
By the fragrant zephyrs swiftly fanned along, ^
While the blessed angels chant their sweetest song.
O'er the fields of clover swift the moonbeams glide.
Shooting o'er dark valleys where the streamlets hide,
Lighting up the meadows, where the crystal dew
Sparkles on the herbage, cooling it anew.
Through the woods and orchards their glowing track is seen,
Smilingly * ^bo-peeping" through the branches green ;
While the fragrant blossoms, touched with silver glow,
Whisper to each other approvingly, I know.
What a flood of glory bathes the fields and flowers I
What inspiring stillness charms the midnight hours I
What a gush of feeling wells up from the soul,
While the grateful anthems through its arches roll I
And the very silence beautifies the scene.
Blending all the glory with a Joy serene,
As the gentle whispers of a Father's love
Lead the willing spirit to its home above.
( POSTS OF NEW KAMPSBntB.
Beauteous moonlight evenings have a Bilent power,
Soothing oft the weary in a troubled hour,
When inepired Toices sing within the breast,
Telling their glad story, — perfect, endleM rest.
Let my fancy revel with the mooDbeams bright.
Though I do not gaze upon their silver light.
By and by made perfect, on the "shining shwe,"
I'll view all its glories, happy evermore.
MAY-FLOWERS.
Sweet gifls of May, fair blossoms of the spring I
Your fragrant breath proclaims to oae
That sunnj' days have smiled on thee,
And warmed thee into life again,
'Mid melting enows and April rain ;
And now my muse thy praise would sing.
What pleasant thoughts your deny petals bring
Of former days of sun and shower.
When blooming health blest every hour ;
When bud and blossom, leaf and tree,
In early spring gave joy to me I
To all those years what sunny memoriea cling I
Fair buds of Maj-, what trust thy frail lives teach I
Though veiled beneath the drifted snow,
A calm repose ye found below
Green ferns and mosses of the wood,
Content with thine own solitode.
Sure that the suu'a bright beams thy couch would reach,
And smile as mothers smile upon the face
Of little ones in peaceful rest,
Glad to obey their first ttehest,
When new life wakens with the light.
When angels cease their watch by night,
And give to each fair child new strength and grace.
Sweet children, come ! come, whisper in my ear
With (Vagrant breath the lesson taught
By Him whose loving care is fraught
With preeioua blessings, numbered o'er
For all his children, rich and poor,
may ever feel his presence near.
DANIEL A UQ USTU8 DBO WN, 265
[)h ! let my faith be strong in him each day ;
So that in every darksome hour,
When shadows round mj' tent may lower,
Or when my sk}' glows bright witL love,
Proceeding from the throne above,
[ e'er may learn sweet trust from ''flowers of May."
THE OLD ELM.
•
I love the old elm in the orchard.
Which slopes to the edge of the stream,
Where, with the fresh spirits of boyhood,
1 passed through life's sunniest dream :
Its boughs towered high in their grandeur.
Far up in the fair azure skj',
Where songsters might nestle their offspring.
And mischief could never come nigh.
•
Its roots, once most firmly embedded.
Were washed b}' the oft-flowing tide.
Which told to all sorrowing schoolboj's.
It might not much longer abide.
We made of its long-running fibres
Some fairj'-like baskets at will,
Which earned such acceptable praises
As if wrought with magical skill.
I think of the well-chosen hollow
In the clean, grassy-carpeted ground.
Where caps filled with apples were carried »
And desserts for evening were found ;
When, gathered in circles most friendly.
And cosey as birds in a nest.
We listened to tales oft repeated.
Exciting each Juvenile breast.
How ofl^n those tales, which in childhood
Are mentioned as fanciful things,
Are found in lifers warfare more truthful.
In facts which experience brings !
How oft are those bright, sunny mornings,
When shadows as strangers are known.
Exchanged for those lone, cheerless evenings.
When moon into twilight has grown !
Tes : 3'outh has its charms and its pleasures.
And manhood its Joys and its fears ;
266 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Both leaving on memory's tablet
The well-written record of years.
And while through life's garden we ramble,
To gather once more its bright flowers,
How often each scene then reminds us
Of some of our happiest hours I
The elm with its grandeur has fallen,
A vestige no longer remains ;
The birds have all ceased in its branches
To sing their melodious strains ;
And the boys who once plaj'ed in its shadow
Are scattered wide over the earth,
Denied those exuberant feelings
Which innocent childhood gave birth.
Although both the elm and the orchard
Have passed long ago from our sight,
And the hum of the unwearied steam-mill
Is heard now b}' day and by night ;
Still round that old spot there yet cluster
Bright visions of scenes that are past.
And a savor of freshness and gladness,
Which will ever in memory last.
JESUS, MY HOPE.
With hope in Christ, I fear no ill.
For his right hand supports me still ;
Though trials here my paths surround,
I boast in him my strength is found.
He will supply sustaining grace
To those who seek with love his face.
When clouds around my tent prevail.
And gloomy thoughts my peace assail ;
When cherished hopes are severed here.
Where strong hearts know the bitter tear,
In him a safe retreat I find :
A refuge from each stormy wind.
When bound by sad affliction's chain.
Oppressed with grief, beset with pain ;
When tedious dajs new troubles weave.
So that to dust my soul would cleave,
One lively' hope illumes the night :
Jesus is near, though veiled C^m sight.
■«•.
ADALIZA CUTLER PHELPS. 267
When joy and love expand their wings,
M}' heart with wonder often sings,
That I have found, in one so dear,
A bosom friend, forever near.
Who will his promises defend,
And ne'er forsake, though time should end.
In Jesus all ni}' peace is found :
He makes my purest joys abound ;
He bids me at his table wait
To share the banquet free and great.
I tarry long : m}' soul is fed
By angel hands with heavenly bread.
His presence I more highl}' prize
Than all the gold beneath the skies :
My birthright here I would not lose
For all the honors I could choose :
More precious far than rubies rare,
His wonls my cherished treasures are.
Blest Jesus ! I would see thy face,
In whom I trust for every grace :
Thy friendly' counsels I would hear,
With cheerful heart and willing ear.
Oh ! grant me still thy power divine :
Thine arms of love still round me twine.
analtfa (tViXltx i?i)elp0.
I. Pbelps WM a native of Jaffrey, bom In 1823. In that town she was ednca
naniea, and lived until her death in 18^. Her poetical works are contained
losely printed volame, published by John P. Jewett and Company, Boston.
TO A BIRD IN MIDWINTER.
Say, lovely bird, why dost thou linger here,
Mid scenes so dark, so desolate, and drear?
No summer sun is shining o'er thy head ;
The leaves are scattered, every floweret dead,
The grass is faded on the breezy hills.
The ice hath bound the streams and dancing rills.
Why dost thou linger, why not haste away.
Why mid the winds and storms prolong thy stay?
No gentle breezes fan thy downy breast.
Among our groves thou now canst find no rest.
Dark, fearful clouds are sailing through the air ;
King Winter brings decay to all things fair.
268 POETS OF XEW HAMPSHIRE.
Why dost tbon linger, what can chain thee here?
Doth not thy little heart beat wild with fear
When winds are blowing, when fierce storms arise,
And veil in darkness the bright sunny skies?
When snows lie deep on all the hills around.
And no green spot, no sheltering nook is found?
Why dost thou linger? there are skies more fair,
Whei-e flowers ne'er fade, where balmy is the air;
Where richest fruits hang on the waving trees.
And cooling winds come blowing o'er the seas ;
There forests, fields and hills are ever green.
Winter's dark footsteps never there are seen.
Why dost thou linger? there thy mates are gone,
And left thee here forsaken and forlorn ;
There they are sailing through a sunny sky.
While tho\i art waiting here to droop and die ;
Thy wing is weary, and thy songs are o'er.
And thou wilt cheer us with thy notes no more.
But when the spring returns, when winter flies,
An<l when the sun shines brightly in the skies.
When flowers come back, and the green leaves appear,
And all thv mates are once more with us here,
Tiiou wilt he missing, we no more shall see
Thy tiny form upon the forest tree.
But thou wilt lie all still, and cold, and dead,
Perchance upon some violet's blue bed ;
Thy bright eye closed, broken th}- shining wing.
While o'er thy head some gaj'er bird may sing ;
While flowers are growing round thee bright and fair.
Music and sunshine reigning in the air.
Jacob )jticl)arD0 BoTige.
J. R. Dodge wafl bom In New Boston. September 28, 183S. After learning tht
Irmde of printer In the ufllce of the Amherst Cabittrt he flnisbed his school eaoca-
Uon, and at the aire of twenty imo took charge of an aoa<lemy in Mibsissippi, where
he wa8 sucrosxf ull V en;(aKe<l' for Are years in teaching, lie was editor and pnbll«h-
er of " The Oatu" in Nashua in 1S4U; went to Ohio in 1S&5, and engaged in a mann-
facturing entcrprlite until 1857, when he b^gan the pablii^ation of an agricuharal
newspaper, the American litiralM. In Iml he be<*ame Senate Reporter of the
NatioruU InteUipencer in Washington, l>. C, and afterwards was Statistician of the
Department of Agrlculiun> from 18m to 1878. During this period while editor of
the Dt^partraent publications, over three million copies of the annual volume were
ordered by C«)ngres8. and as many is^sucs of the monthly series published, besides
many miMxllanei>us n>|H>ris. In 'l87o he spent the summer in Europe In the work
of a statistical commission, and also as Honorary Commissioner to the Vienna
Rzhibition. He reslgne<l his place In the sorrice of the Department of Agri-
culture in 1878, wlUi tlic intention of devoting himself to JoumaUsm and agrl-
coUiinU Uterature, for which he has a passionate tasle, bat was persuaded is
JACOB RICHABDS DODGE. 269
i4»ept A temporary commission for statistical inrcstigation in tho Treasury Depart-
nent, before tlie completton of which he was tendered the chaive oi* the collection
of atatlBtics of Agriculture of the Census, which was continueflfrom 1878 until the
preoent year. In 18H1 he again accepted the position in the Department of Agri-
oultnre which he haii previously held for twelve years. In the midst of this busy
and progressive life Sir. I>odge has found little time for authorship, yet he has
{tven eviflence of his ability in his "Red Men of the Ohio Valley." a history of the
ndlans of that region, and his ''West Virginia," descriptive of its resources. In
IWl Daitroouth College conferred upon him the deg^ree of Master of Arts. Mr.
I>odge insists that he is not a poet, but admits that in early youth he indulged in a
rliyining propensity.
THE MARINER'S BETROTHED.
I hear the night winds wailing For oh ! in storm so cheerless
Across the snowy lea, How can I calmly rest,
Then think of one now sailing While he, the brave and fearless.
Far o'er the stormy sea. Eludes my heart's fond quest?
With watchful ear I hearken, ^hat iieart in tumult beating,
His voice haunts every sound,^^® roars the wintry blast,
While fear, my hopes to darken, ^^^''^ crashing waves are meet-
Casts dismal shades around. -.. *"^' . .. , .
Hopes on unto the last.
Oh no ! I did not hear him, Alonzo ! — dying? — living?
Away far o'er the main ; Beneath? — above the main?
May God in mercy clear him Oh heaven ! th}' mere}' giving,.
From ills in danger's train. Restore him safe again !
The winds may chant their dirges'^^,^ ™*^f ^^ ceased her speaking,
Howl o'er the billowy deep, ^JV^/Jl^ ^\\^"^ .^^?"g*;^'. ,
Yet He who rolls the surges ^he heard the wild winds' shriek-
WiU bold Alonzo keep. ^^ ^ ^"f" . u ^ ^ .
'^ She heard — but heeded not, —
But human weakness falters. On threshold,the bright presence,
My faith gives way to fears, The glad and goodly gleam
And love bathes duty's altars Of eyes that sparkled pleasance
In unrestrained tears. Of love's young fateful dream.
THE LOVELY DEAD.
As vanishes the sunset light,
As disappear the shades of night.
So vanisheth
The moital breath
Of those too fair for homes of earth,
Whose joys are of celestial birth.
270 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
\ .
How can with grief the bosom swell,
How can dark sorrow's saddening spell
Enpall the heart
AVhen friends depart,
Whose lives in love and sweetness shine *
With radiance pure and glow divine !
The loved on earth — how brief their stay —
Yet live the}' still in realms of daj' ;
Thej' will not here
Again appear, •
Yet earth retains a charm, a grace,
From their late presence on its face.
With sweeter food no soul is fed,
Than mcmorj* of sainted dead !
An incense meet,
Pure, fragrant, sweet.
The memor}' of the dead doth rise
To join the earth unto the skies !
NEW HAMPSHIRE IN THE CENTURIES.
THE EIGHTEENTn — IMMIGRATION.
Stern men of faith, strong will, of brawn and nerve.
Sought granite hills that frowned on rocky coasts,
To build thereon a state ; to fill with hosts
Of people who from dutj' could not swerve.
They planted on each hill a school, a spire.
Felled forests, made new homes, vexed streams with damSf
Built mills, raised kine and flocks of lambs,
Wliile keeping brightl}' live a patriotic fire ;
And looking to the future, cares and joys
Came on with troops of girls and boj'S.
THE NINTEENTH — MIGRATION.
Farms dot the inter\*ales, herds climb the hills.
And comfort, culture, come from patient toil ;
Skill strives ; invention burns the midnight oil ;
A strange unrest, a wild ambition thrills
The souls so resolute to do and dare.
To conquer continents, to build new states,
And open to high progress all the gates
That bar the way — while in their native air, \
And on ancestral hills, their brothers strong
Fight care, win bread, love truth and hate a wrong.
WILLIAM PL UMEB, 271
THE TWENTIETH — ^A PROPHECY.
The western Switzerland — a refuge fair
For wandering sons, tired denizens of towns,
And weary mortals on whom Hj^geia frowns —
Weds art to nature, buds with beauties rare ;
Production doubles on her well kept farms,
New arts arise, the hill lands teem with men
Who graze the slopes, to gardens turn the glen.
And heighten all of Nature's native charms ;
While virtue flourishes and morals shine.
And graces mould the human form divine.
aHilliam i^lumer.
nillam Plumer is a grandson of Governor William Plumer and a son of VUilam
MMT whose poems are found in tliis yolume. He was bom in Epping. Not. 99, 1823.
lS4ft he gnA\jA\jeA at J^IarYard College, and at the Cambridge Law School in 1848.
le
I been three or four years in the Revenue Service, but la now engaged io sdentiAc
rsults, in Lexington, Mass.
THE BLIND BOY.
They tell me oft, in Joyous tones,
The skies are clear and bright,
That nature smiles in loveliness.
And beauty crowns the night ;
That fields are decked with violets,
And roses grace the lea.
That grassy meads with lilies bloom —
Yet all is dark to me ; —
That starry gems are nightly seen.
Set in the silver waves.
Where deep old ocean rolls along.
Above his coral caves ;
That nature's hand has painted bright,
In colors fair to see,
Hope's radiant bow around the skies —
Yet all is dark to me.
But^h ! at this, I would not sigh.
Could I but only see
My mother smile upon her bo}', —
For all is dark to me.
But soon around my silent grave.
The flowers will blossom bright,
And I shall be with God above.
Kissed by his smile to light.
272 POETS OF m:W IIAMPSHIRE.
Joi)n (!!iuinri) xlDamis SSiiooH.
.1 ii. A. Wooil, t)iO el«lO)*t cou of Col. Kliphnlet Wood of Loudon and anephiv
of Ki'\. Hi'iin \Voi.fl, wa.s born at < 'hUhosUir, Feb. 8tb. 1^15. Hia father erafgrsiU-J
t4) .Mi«-hlK»ii> ^vith his family, iu tho spriiiK of ls:U, and ^ctllCMl neur the viiU^ >rf
TiM-iiiiix'h ill Lciiawiv County, ijuincy wazi ULi'i'ssazily i'n;j:a/ifcd, lu liii )M)ybM)ii.
oil Itiu r.-trin iluriii^: ^l>l-illf; and ."Uinuicr, but wad siMit with hiA bnitheni Im the
vtllu^c .-rhiNil autuniiis anil wliitersi. A tier hu and lil.'> brother William had i-u-
toriMloii a i»n'i»aral»»ry cour**!' fi»r a <*.oIli»i^lal*' educatioo al Te<*uinst;h. they wi-n-
M'ul back to iholi nail\'t> stat<> and rouiiileUMl thetr piv]iuratory 8tudle« at >trv
Loii«lon, whciu'o thi>y >vi>rc ailuiittrfl to the Freshman clasii in I>artmouth ColltiR
tu isU*. Here they feniNineil until the rlo>e of their Junior year, when thr-r eb-
tertMl I'nlon ( olle^re. N. Y.. where thev jn^iiuatod in 18M. U«re the brotheraMp-
arati'd, William n'turnliiK to TeeumM'h, where he adopte«l Uiw atf a profecisltiii, auJ
ijiiliu'y lo hi.>« native Siaie w here he iH'canie a law vtudent in the oiBce of llwo.
Leonard Wil«-o\ of Orford. but :»ub8oquently pui'duetl hii» le^jral atuUie* in thei>f-
flce of I'len-e Ac Fowler at Conrord. where he wasailmitted to the bar in 1S48. IV
bnMher:* inarrKMl :<]^lers, Qulnry. Kniily Maria, ami William Julia A. A., daughiiT»
«"f Mr. K/.ekiel >»ar*renl of \ew"L«»ndon. The piK'nib of tiie latter lailv are ivpre-
M'uti'd 111 thisuitrk. >oon after his inarrluKe. ijuiney returued to Hlchtgan aul
»eltietldown to his pntte^>iiui in the eity of Ann Arljiir, where his accomplisbeil
wlie M^ai* I'rlneipal «>f a Ytuin^ Lailiva' Aeademy tor eight yeara. While on a riait
to her n*la(ive.- In New llanip^^hlre >he died suddenly iu ISM and haa Iwr gravr
union); her native hllU whlrh ^he h>ved so well.
The poet has (^tn^<1Tatl^l her memory in the stanza* entitled, 7^ HerH'kotiUn
»o/l ttttii'T. AUer the death of Mrs. \Vi.k>«1. her husbiiiid went to ^inneaota aad re-
joiiK'tl his brother William. \« ho ha<l l>oen appointed by President Pierce, U. K
Land Keivivor at S^iuk lLipld>. Sub.sei(iiencly he vl^iteil Southwebtern Kentucky,
wher\'anoihir bnuher, L>r. A. 1'. Wood liad louji^ re&bled. at the city of Oweaabon*.
Ileiv he e«>ntr:it'ti'tl a >iH*«tnd niarria^* with Mrs. Mary E. Johu^ion.an aeronipli»b
0*1 l.id) o( 1 o;iisville. Hi? wile t>ruu;;hl to him a hamldome estate and he aMumni
the res|H>ii^br.uieH of a H.mtiiern planter. When the clouils of the Rebellion beniaii
to d.irWen the -^uilhern sk\ and (he "|K.'eulUir lustltutiou" cmperilled, he aold tlw
pt.iiiialion an<l ivr.ivd wfth \\\< family int«> the city of Owen«t)oro. Here hat
puu'iiaM'il .in '.n(iiv>[ m aiitl ediu-d thoNod^Af rri K^n'tuck'y ^hieid until compelled
to J u".d lo i5i»' \ i.-rn.i- ot" il'c tmuii an-l di-ciM'.tlnue hi.-* ]iatK*r. After the clo*eui
ihe war. \w iMiiri'.vd to Niiik. Kapids. whotv he U(»w reildea in the practice of hii
pn»le.'i»ion. an a w lu-iv l.\* Lrv^lher W iLliam vlle«l in 1J7U.
INVOCATION TO SPRING.
This lnvvva:v'!i t.^ ^j"-.'!;: wa* ■n:^fjn''«te«l by the f«dl«»wln|c passages contained In
.«« letlt r (tx-it-. I '..In -t-.o:-: :•« '.:u' .i.iiuor. L'lie\ will expiaiu what uii^ht other-
wMe 4pr*av ;:■■.■■ ,• ...i-.s '.:• ::c ^■■:;:!0t.
Nf-v \\.:.» ^ \\.' _r '.i • .4:-.l , .\x*,:i\:\- your.^ frien«l Everett id no more. He died
ai I'u- iv-'.U ise ■■ ':■> •..!■.: » Niwju !■:'■■'.: the A'thi-f Man-h a little after miduij^l.
V de.ii:- "»■ "■ *v . • ." 1 ■•' ■ 1 .iLii'.tu:. >o I.' siH'ak. wa», (Hfrhaud never be-
umv w.'.:'v ""** l tl"'' ■. .-.i'" .;; .:■< a«'iv.ovo sotiicciiin^ uoble in learning, his
V^vii -.w ..:■•«. i ' • .r^ : ■ \:-.:i- .v.<T ■• :-:'»>.-arly>t«-aih have dt*e ply luipre*-
>e'! i> * ■ IL* ■—•■■• ..v-i-.:;; ■ 'M-;u. is.'i l"..y i'e'ae\e«lin theomuipoteurt
x»iii>l'0.«. ■....''' -i' ■■■V ■." MA'L.'-. «.:»«'.v"^:-. a:. •r<.".net;n»esaliU'j»t petulantly
cSv-.U'vl r.- V .« H> "«■ ^■.- :-► w.w-i — i: r*. :cK»U9 :hey can be calietl^weiv pan-
l!'.*i*i^-. "»■•.•■•,•■ ■ .. I : .\ .. I ::•. :.. .i ^; ^1 Ur ar'».'iout*. i \er which he pored
«iin!". •.:■■» - ■ . I" -. . • *-.i" .1 ■.a^-- :' Kuva.'-.njT the Koman custom Jael
Vfii-»v :■.. vV ■\- :v : \ ■< "4 l; ■« :r •e«-:n.'t ii? ■?:-■£*' r Co" receive hi* parting breath.
Uu Usi w, '■•■'. \» ••■.» t'.U*. ^«\.■.^?•. L .i::v ^. u<. ?prirVe: «iil retiim with ita Tloldtf,
I *i\A'^\ '\\\' iu •.■■V ••
0. l''.".:v'-^\v\i Sprir.: ■ w?v, whv thi* Ions delav?
I vi'.vo:-. I ■;»: c': > * '^^^r :!:v Ir^.tiiv brtath,
I 'i :v i:/. -."v'x :o ".^.c <» :l!c< ot'dcatii I
>\ *.i: V \:.r svn: < ^Ti^iti^t' ::!y j:'!l'.ii?ir charms?
1. Uv, .1 .i V- -.^v Vci:: c '..AC w'lu :uv >*.'r.g,
lu jt irvvii \.i. V \ . crv.o.i :u i^ict.* arms.
JOHN QUINCT ADAMS WOOD. 273
Daily for thee I pine, for thee expire,
Casting m}' eyes o'er Lethe's voiceless sea,
And backward with unutterable desire
Of longing hope, that thou wilt succor me.
O, for thy dropping dews and sofl winged sighs.
To bathe my wasted cheek and sleepless eyes.
Come breathe upon me with thy rosy mouth,
Sweet with the airs and odors of Brazil,
Of flowery isles far oceaned in the South
And me from tortures snatch that wound and kill.
Or never more for me the budding spray
May teach its tender verdure to unfold,
As, when within thy circling arms I lay.
And thee of pale Endymion's passion told,
O that thou wouldst again upon me look
And kiss me into slumber — once again
On grassy mount beside the tuneful brook.
Bathe me in sunbeams ! But I sue in vain.
E'en, in my sight beyond the rifted cloud.
Fate with a flying shuttle, weaves my shroud I
Sweet truant of the skies ! ne'er shalt thou more
From light dreams call me to renewed delight ;
Charon awaits with torch and leaden oar.
My soul to pilot to the caves of night.
As fed the vultures on the culprit bound.
Whom angry Jove to living death decreed.
With tortures new, afresh to rend the wound.
So, on my life, doth pale consumption feed !
Swift be thy wing, or ever thou shalt come.
With downy gales and skyey draperies.
These lips which now beseech thee shall be dumb.
And all lack-lustered these sad longing eyes ;
Ah, then in vain above my narrow mound.
Wilt thou thyself with useless sorrow wound.
One little boon I ask, one fond request.
Which thou, gaj- loiterer, wilt not me deny.
When thou retumcst and findest me the guest
Of death and hapless shades from life that fly ;
It is that in the seasons' annual round.
When thou dost on thine orient car appear.
In floral pomp, thy zone with garlands bound,
Thou'lt, pitying, turn aside and drop a tear
O'er me, untimely lost — each |)earl of grief
Transformed to breathing violets on my tomb ;
274 POETS OF XEW HAMPSmiiE.
So shalt thou, in their sacred flower and leaf,
Recall my hapless shade and mortal bloom.
I ask but this. Mv former visions flee.
And I escape from life and, O, from thee.
FATHER'S GROWING OLD, JOHN.
Father's growing old, John, his eyes are getting dim.
And years have on liis shoulders laid a heavj- weight for him ;
But vou and I are vounci; and hale, and each a stalwart man.
And we must make his load as light and easy as we can.
Ho usoil to take the bnmt, John, at cradle and the plough.
And oanu\l our iH>rridgo by the sweat that trickled from his brow ;
Yet never hoarvi wjl' him complain, whate'er his toU might be.
Nor wanted e\T a welcome seat upon his solid kne^ .
But when our boy -strength came, John, and stiiniy grew each
liiub.
Ho brvHiijiu us to the vellow tiold. to share the toil with him:
But he ^\cnt loro:r.ocit iu the swath, tossing aside the grain.
Stivus: AS tiio pIouiiLi :ju: hoavts tiio soil, or ship that cleaves
the uiaiu.
Now we TTiust Ua'l I lie vai:. John. thri.>u;^h weather foul and fair.
And Ic: :;.u olvi :u:u; rv':ui :in I :..ze. ;ind tlit his easv chair:
A iT'.^ :*. V * '. 1 : ;o : ::: : :; ■ i i : , .K . . :: . \ o l: kiio '-v , a: eve, tu te U us o'e r
r..osv ".r.ivc o\l ::iU's o:* Br:::sli ti-jies, of grandsire and the war.
I hoanl vovi siv.ik o:* vjccaer. -Toha : *t;s ^"'spel what you say,
Hw: oa.v .; iVr M^ /'"v^' o:" ::<, l::is tumotl her head so gray:
\ e : . J ..* ^. -. • , I J. o r\.- rue: i: \\ r w <: i . . w lo a ne i^h bors called her vain.
And w,.v.:; .IV r 'j.:i:r "Aas .^aj: a::'.; Hie d gieAailng sheaf of grain.
Her . y s w c :v ^ . c r r '■ reo . •> . L\ " . .:*: r : l.ee k wa^ ro und and fair,
Aui .X. a - .c x". ;.\-i^l: .: s\...<'.; jl^'j.:ls3 jlcT wavy hair:
Her >:v- . ^ •. ... ,'.> :.■•: V:ii* .':r::i .:*" :j.c s..:a: Hie r tree.
A::*.: ,il. ...i-. ...>■ .»: jssr -v-^.^-.. s.:*. sa;:;; :o vou and me.
>>c "m • .1 " .■.\."" • ' ■ ■■. ■ ii: "^^^ .;■;•.• w:" :[ie r»>i.
■^ ■• -.^ i.:v .'.-.: :.;•: v;i:*i :^jr. ■•i-iec :ro«J :
■ .' -^ .- -L.- :.d--> ::-:;. i:o.: icwn like rain*
B;:: '.\i: ^ *i':^ «»:■.;■':. ' ' :. ':•■■ "vv ir*. Tlia: w^f are.
A:k: . "...*. i cvi \ . ' « r .n :^ jiiti^jSi md uaIt :
Aj* * :v.ji *•* . ' : ■■- . • * . •■ .t.>. , :.:v '-■.'.'eS' uo !•. Qi^tr stir.
Titf (at:u« Jouxu ^a:; -tw xv.*,. scju. I'c^i. we ^•^' zic Lriend like her.
\^ ..
c'.^ .r
■^ .
l>.;.
■ V. . \
■«. .'•
A "v.:
v.' *• » "
JOHN qUINCT ADAMS WOOD. 276
Sure there can be no harm, John, thus speaking sofUy o'er
Tlie blessed names of those, ere long, shall welcome us no more ;
Nay ! hide it not — for why should'st thou an honest tear disown ?
Thy heart one day will lighter be, remembering it has flown.
Yes, father's growing old, John, his eyes are getting dim,
And mother's treading softly down the dim descent with him ;
But you and I are young and hale, and each a stalwart man.
And we must make their path as smooth and level as we can.
TO HER WHO SITS IN SOFT ATTIRE.
Mine own beloved in blest abodes.
Canst thou retrace thine earthward way ?
Or, canst thou 'midst the heavenly* odes,
Discern my poor, heart-broken lay ?
If angels feel for mortal love.
And grieve there o'er its ruined shrine,
Then in those blissful seats above.
How tender is thy grief for mine !
Where dost thou traO thy robes of light?
By what far orb's celestial tide ?
O, for a vision of the night.
To show me where thou dost abide !
A dream, a vision of the night —
A chariot with its steeds of fire
To waft me to that heavenly higlit.
Where thou dost sit in soft attire.
I have not thriven since the day.
That thou wast taken from m}* side ;
Have wandered from the flowery way,
We travelled when thou wast m}' guide.
As, without thee, like pilgrim blind.
Or traveller lost, the path I tread.
Life's golden vistas lade behind,
And brooding clouds before me spread.
Uncertain, lonely, hopeless now,
I miss th}' S3'mpath3', th}' song,
Thy hand to smooth my aching brow.
Thy little strength, that seemed so strong !
How beautiful thou wast ! the stars
Less tender looked from sinless skies
On Eve, through Eden's golden bars,
Than I on thee with lovje's proud eyes.
POETS OP y^W HAMPSmSE.
ir I. ID passiDg dream lure tbougfat
To be*] tbe woes \b\ parting made,
Tbf rain assay was dearlr booght.
And denser roand me grew tbe shade !
Tlial sbaiie may never lifted be.
From cS my soul's serene desire.
Till Ireed. my soul may fly to thee.
Where tboa dost sit in soft atliie.
XEW HAMPSHIRE.
Hail, land of tbe HoonlaJn Dominion!
Uplifting thy crest to the day,
wWte the eagle is bathing bis piniOD
In cikMMis that ar^ roUii^ away.
O. say. from tbe nifrim descended
Who trampled on AJbioa*s ctxnm.
Shall we. by (by cataracts splendid,
Refij$« tbee a wrestb of renown —
A wreath of rpaown from tby CTergreen boc^,
EotwiiK^l with tbe oak that adometh tby tnow?
W bat ihou^. <»> tbe moantains that bore u,
Tbe fem in her looeliness wares?
Our foKfathers tilled them before ■»,
Aod here will we dwell by their gram :
And l*k>ved by thy pnre-bearted dangbtos,
Ettt troe to the brare and tbe ftee.
We ;i tliink of tbe gnsi of thy wxten,
Tiai Irsp in the sun to tbe se*.
Ilozxa lo the iv<ck$ asJ £:lens of the nottb I
Huzza to the i<>rT«iits that beiald them ftMtb!
Ye hills, wbeie tbe tempest bath biQowed,
<->, glance to tbe yale^ of tbe sao !
Wbeiv hearts, on iniqoiiy piUowed.
Mrll DO* o'er the deeds they hate done !
Wlii-re Slavery's merdless minkja.
Is soMuving tbe slave with lus rod.
WhiW Liberty fbkieih ber fMnioo.
AimI DKNiniftilly monanrs to God :
Wbne tbe dew on the Aower. and tbe mist oo tbe flood.
Wiib TCKxs that startle. cfT. "Blood! bnilbcr, bhwd T
Tlank C;od. that the scooige and the fetter
Have M-vn- disbcioond tfav dag !
And, but tU (hy sfaane that the driAar
JOHN qUINCY ADAMS WOOD. 277
Is dragged from his home on the crag,
Thy fearless and puritan spirit
Might speak with a cry of disdain,
To the valleys whose children inherit
The slave in his collar and chain !
Let the woes of the bondman dissolve thee no more,
Till thj' bolts are withdrawn on the penniless poor.
Peace to us is evermore singing
Her songs on thy mountains of dew.
While still at our altars are swinging
The swords that our forefathers drew.
But O, may we never unsheath them
Again where the carnage awaits,
But to our descendants bequeath them
To hang upon Liberty's gates,
Encircled with garlands, as blades that were drawn
By the hosts of the Lord, that have conquered and gone.
All hail to thee, Mountain Dominion !
Whose flag on the cloud is unrolled.
Where the eagle is straining his pinion,
And dipping his plumage in gold.
We ask for no hearts that are truer.
No spirits more gifted than thine.
No skies that are warmer or bluer.
Than dawn on thy hemlock and pine.
Ever pure are the breezes that herald thee forth,
Green land of my father ! thou Rock of the North !
THE BLIND MAN'S EVENING HYMN.
Set is the sun to rise no more.
That blazed on Judah's sacred sea.
And stood in heavenly splendor o'er
The Virgin-born of Galilee.
And cold and dark is Zion's bower,
And wasted is her purple vine ;
And gone the Hand whose healing power
Could re-illume a night like mine.
Where'er I turn my sightless eyes.
No meads expand, no valleys bloom ;
No starry splendor lights the skies.
No planets travel through the gloom.
POETS OF XEW HAXPSHTBE.
No more for me, in waves of ligbt,
Sball erening blush nor morning break:
But ever on unending night
These clouded eyes of mine must wake.
The boars are brightest when I sleep,
For in my dreams I see the day ;
But when I wake, in shadows deep.
The dear delusion fades away.
But He who healed the withered eye.
And gave it liglit on Zion Hill —
In ever^- breeze that whispers by.
I hear liis |>assing footsteps still:
I hear them in the flowing stream,
And iu the fragrance-breathing bough j
At noon, or when night's dewy beam
Is bathing nature's sleeping brow,
I hear thorn in the vernal shower.
And in the temi>est'3 far retreat,
Bohind the clouiU that round me lower,
I hear the Saviour's pacing feet !
Dear Lord '. impatient, when for me,
Dtiatii wave? his downy sable plume.
Then 1. released shall come to thee.
And thon these eves wilt re-illume.
jiuiia a. a. moot.
Mf*. J. A, A. W,>.>ljs»rj»U«n;N>wl,-1»Jo». S!tew»*Un_._^_^ ,
II untilnm at ilui hw n 1.3 ! ic tV' riuTtr*i.>VB llA».: Semlnur. ._
h>mir;;iO. t,^ W.,-.>jn-. IK^n W..; » :»«;tT.»Dl Itr^hrt^ i^ J. Q. A. — - — -
.t tflj^,l. .Vr,r c-nii. bit »ire nllUi; *V*'
- „ „ „.. -Vis.if.- F - " — ■
tr.'milH'r nts si's! ::: V-r.^n-^.u. i.-|^p«L;r.! l^Jr-l
U;< a Vn W,s>:i>." H(T Bra twutrlbatluD >■■ |>f" ^^jt?
ml ff -trtivTr IT.'.-.: IM :\r WrTj_ nhf- M* 1^1 l««i untHTdf teratj
.W,-!s're«":V~a.'.":;:Viii'.'"T!( !>i*n -J Mi-rrii» L»l^. mt 1d» the Uihr * ^ j
. „ ,„ „.. , i'.J 'Tt.^'~l jMutr snYawrit. i-l. li » J";
"INv^ and l\wm .-^ V;r.B(ii.«»,' » :iv* j ul.lir,lH-l la l-**. *bn>p™|4n»pn>«""
kM>m4> •'>()N«it,«ft«i'mr.'UirK.uii:t.'4.d>,'>3ri.:.cnli'
l.V\*KNr» OF THE WILLOW.
A»ikwii Vay iho ,»lii;.t with eve aslow.
Aik iJji^w^^if.j;. fthf 'ibt ire* surveyetl.
4Mili ilw wilktw dBWi> M low.
JULIA A. A. WOOD. 279
As if it were with sorrow weighed,
As if some secret, heavy woe
Upon its inmost heart were laid ?
'Tis said that once this tree, my child,
Its slender branches upward threw
Like other trees to catch the mild,
Sweet breath of mom, and twilight dew,
Bat that there came a storm so wild
It rent with grief the willow through.
Ere Jesus unto Calvary went,
Mocked and derided by the throng.
His captors, wickedly intent
To do our Lord the utmost wrong.
Scourged Him until the ground was sprent
With blood that followed rod and thong.
These rods, 'tis said, were braided boughs
Tom from the willow's tender side.
And when all nature was convulsed.
She drooped so low her shame to hide ;
She could not bear that she had helped
To slay our Lord, the crucified !
And so through all the lapsing 3'ears,
Her sorrowing form doth ne'er uprise
To embrace the balmy atmosphere.
Or breathe the blessings of the skies.
While ever the repentant tears
Flow downward as from drooping eyes.
Do thou a lesson leam, my child,
From this sad story of the tree —
Grieve ever that the undefiled
Was slain by sinners, such as thee ;
Strive to be patient, meek and mild.
And fbll of sweet humility.
LINES FOR ASH WEDNESDAY.
The holy season now hath come,
The time for prayer and fast,
O may I spend it dearest Lord,
As though it were my last.
For forty days our Model kept
His fast in desert lone ;
POETS OF NEW HAMPSmSS.
Upon the dewy ground he slept,
His pillow but B stone.
"Aa I have done, do ye," he said
When near his Passion came :
We love thy word, 0 dearest Lord
All we who bear thy name.
On this most solemn church-day mom
We kneel with love and trust
And on our brows the sign receive
That we are of the dust.
Upon the brow a double sign ;
The ashes of decay ;
In form of cross to signify
We rise to endless day.
Dear Lord, before thine altar dow
I ofler heart and soul ;
Imprint on these, as on my brow,
The seal of thy control.
And never may my erring feet
Far from thy dear cross stray,
But may I with a love complete
Thy sweet behests obey.
fawct) n. Dlait.
lo1<larD«*.Ju. IS.iaM. Her
nouUi Kbrn abc iru ■ rhlld.
It nluraUod. Tbe nrairr part of her life hM I
HluBUlr
m BUlr. nmornl b> PlvmouUi si
hrr MriT nluraUr- "^-
nun from Europe In l^t. ihc bu gl\ta iedaitm ob the BIj
WWj Cullegv uid xUicr Kbwlt.
FELLOWSHIP IN SUFFERING.
i>y knov Illtu uid Uw feUowatilp ol Bl> taSCrlDgt.''— PhlL 1 : K
Humbly, while my soul doth prove
Sweetest joys of pardoning love,
Still, my Saviour, doth it yearn
Love's dftp mysterj- to learn ;
In the shadow of thy cross
Counting earthly gain but loss,
Bivatliing still it« ferment plea
For a dowr life with thee.
Bv tl^at high and holy thing
Fellumlup in soffeiing.
MABY E. BLAIR, 281
O my Lord, the Crucified,
Who for love of me hast died,
Mould me by thy living breath
To the likeness of thy death.
While the thorns thy brow entwine,
Let no flower- wreath rest on mine.
In thy hands the cruel nail,
Blood-sweat on thy forehead pale,
Clasp me to thy wounded side,
O my Lord, the Crucified.
Hands love-clasped through charmed hours,
Feet that press tiie bruised flowers.
Is there nought for 3'ou to dare
That ye may His signet wear ?
In this easy, painless life.
Free from struggle, care, and strife.
Ever ou my doubting breast
Lies the shadow of unrest ;
This no path that Jesus trod ;
Can the smooth way lead to God?
But when chastening stripes descend,
Welcoming as friend doth friend,
Thy dear tokens, Lord, I know.
And to thee unerring go.
BlessM tears flow warm and free,
Thou dost love me, even me ;
Pomp and ease and praise of men.
All are loathed and scorned then.
Since my Lord, my Love, hath died
Mocked and scourged and crucified.
By the agon}^ and pain
Of the torture-stricken brain.
By the riches of thy love,
Let not suffering barren prove,
Fledge and emblem 'twould remain
Of the dark and sullen pain,
Where nor love, nor good, doth live,
And the blessed word, Forgive
Comes not, with its subtle art.
Softening, healing any heart.
In the little islet, time.
Of eternity sublime,
Standing on the sloping brink,
Let me of thy chalice drink,
POETS OP KBW KAMPBBmS.
Be baptized with thy baptjsm.
And be crowned with thy loTe-cbhsm ;
Slain with thee in darkest hour,
Feel thy resurreetion's power,
TiW where thou art, I may be,
Perfected, dear Lord, with thee.
LOVE IS DEAD.
Soul of mine that walked in glory,
Garlanded with light and song,
Mus^d tbou but one sad Btory,
Manifold in pain and wrong?
In the dull, dead univerae.
Hearing only the great curse,
Love, Love is de&d.
Snn, the Titan world^careasing,
Thy great living heart of love
Throbs no more with joy and blessing
In thy rayless courts above.
And the light, thy gushing voice.
Sings not now. Rejoice, rejoice.
Since Love ia detd.
Thou, the vat^-s. the iospirer.
Myriad -crowned and regal Night,
Tuning thy immortal lyre.
Thy deep soul hath felt the blight.
And thy many voice* wail.
And thy atarry watob-fires fiul.
Love, Love ta dead.
ThiMi, dear Earth, ihe joyfUl motbw,
M.ithoriy, that lovedst' all.
Is tht'pi' iHtno. or Sim or htxxber,
t^'t-r thy i>>rs<> to s|»v*<.l the pall?
t>h Uh> cKhkI on all thii^rs fux,
lX>ath atfcl siiooiv *ven-wb*f«.
Now Love is de»d.
Ye that (ViMn tb* irrMt <Mnb-«har.
Rn«tV sw<ect iiKiea^. bf^i-robed Sowers.
Miiwuvl wiDib \iM nay sot falter,
llai|ttRg u> tit^ <^raal boon.
By nMar «^wl ^if »wv«<(k«s kd,
K»i>w \Y «iUi a slM>U«r (tK*i
nuLovebdMd.
MABT E. BLAIB. 288
•
Streams that smiled and danced before us,
Hoary ocean, singing rill,
Yours the surging anthem-chorus
That all time and space doth fill :
Now ye all move dark and slow
To one mighty dirge of woe,
Love, Love is dead.
Friends, sweet friends, ah vain ideal,
Since ye are not, and but seem,
Love alone is true and real ;
All things else are but a dream.
•In my heart the yew trees wave.
And the flowers smell of the grave.
Sweet Love is dead.
Turn not thus on me your faces.
Pictures are they and no more ;
Gone are all your tender graces.
Ye that loved in days of yore.
What are we but phantoms dread
When our being's soul is fled.
And Love is dead ?
How the cold rain droppeth ever
On the dull eternal shore :
By the black and sullen river,
We are orphans ever more.
In a world whence Love hath fled,
God himself is gone or dead.
Great Love is dead.
Then I saw an angel vision.
Where I sat within the tomb,
Sweetest light and joy elj'sian
Suddenlv did bud and bloom.
"Mary," whom I wept as dead,
Tenderly He spake and said.
Not Love is dead.
When I knew him, the Arisen,
Love immortal, Love divine,
The dark walls of the earth-prison,
Planet-like, did sing and shine.
And the dreary Hades bloomed
Glory-crowned and Love illumed ;
Not dead, not dead.
POETS OF KEW HAMPSHIBE.
jFannic IE. jFoBttc.
uliblcs ot
■KT i>r the Chrittiaa Utraid. Her Onl poem mn vnttea it Iht ■■>
1. Ill IKM, B coller.llun ot her puenu mu uubllihal untor Uia IW
Fuetry." She lias travelled lb Europe. Her preMnl itMank
THE POETS GRAVE.
Sweet Spring approached with fairy feet,
And gladsonie smiles she wore ;
But why comes not her poet forth
To greet her as of yore?
She souglit him \a the fields and groreB,
Along the murmuring rills ;
And sent ber binls with sweetest songs
To lure him to the hills ;
Then strewed around her fairest flowers,
And bid the perfumed breeze
Awoke sweet melody for him
In all the forest trees.
The winding brooks ran here and there,
In every calm retreat,
To see if they a trace could find
Of their lost poet's feet.
At length a wandering zephyr caught
The loved, familiar sound
Of niiisic, hovering just above
A sweet, low, grassy mound.
Its tones were so refined and pure,
That mortals scarce might bear ;
And told, that, with tlie poet now,
'Twas spring-time all the year.
Thi'n gentle Spring, with showers of tears,
The sweet, low mound did lave ;
And dear forget-me-nots sprang up
All o'er the i)oel's grave.
©rorBt ,:frrtmrk IKtnt.
1 iirviml!*. m J jfaBgrtt ion of Oeoii« tl-'^ j,
i.'rc •cOv* Lire, ihI ipent fuur or in J™'nBi
, ,_ lo Iktaton in mrKanUlf boalne« Bdi«^^
ftweinJ«t»iftiUa«aJT— m<.hawM oneol the «»rir plo**"
OEOBOE FREDERICK KENT. 285
miA in 1849, where he contintie<l in the mining region, with varying fortune,
i8. His return home in the Spring of that year was daily expected, wiien tlie
iwscame of his death, in February, at Rich Bar .'on Feather Klvcr. Mr. Kent's
ga, in prose and poetry, were sonicwliat numerous for the productions of so
: a man — were of mucli merit and prumi^c, and, when not written for the
7 of kindred and iVlends, were mostly for newspapers, and the * *K nicker-
r" magaxine.
TO A CALIFORNIA PINE,
SUPPOSED TO BE THREE HUNDRED FEET HIGH.
Who that has gazed upon thy verdure bright
Would fancy thou wert old, and that thy dress
Of purest green has been through centuries
Unchanged in storm or sunshine — save as light
And shade, tempest and calm, might vary it?
Thy heart is sound — thy limbs and bark no less ;
And yet, for 3'ears I hardly dare to guess.
Thou hast been growing to this dizzy height !
Hast thou the secret of perpetual 3'outh ?
Or is it as we sometimes see in life.
Where men have kept their purity and truth? —
Years pass, days visit them with sorrow rife —
But still their hearts keep 3*oung, and they can stand,
In age, the firmest, noblest of the land.
TO A LOCOMOTIVE ENGINE.
Swift treader of the path man raarketh out, —
Cramped giant, on whose might}* limbs is thrown
A power far more relentless than thine own,
Thou art most like thy master ! — though without
His wondrous strength a giant will to flout ;
Yet art thou like him, when he stands alone
Where the vast sea of life makes ceaseless moan.
And hears the billows to each other shout.
Within thy iron brcast there lurks a breath,
Quiet, but dreadful as the spirit-power
Which guides man's passions in an evil hour.
And only yields its influence to Death :
Like him, now slave, then t3Tant ; thy control
Is bounded b}* an over-mastering soul.
SONNET TO SPRING.
The Earth has long been sleeping, and her dreams
Have been most wild and fearful, such as make
The boldest tremble — visions that would shake
286 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HLBE,
Firm iron nerves ! with dreadful shrieks and screams
The winter wind has haunted lakes and streams ;
But now all nature seems again awake.
The clouds look softer, and b^n to take
New forms of beauty in the morning beams
Of the warm sun. The first sound that the Earth
Heard on awaking was a bird's small voice,
Like childhood's prattle in a mother's ear.
So soft, so tremulous, and yet so clear
That in her inmost heart she did rejoice
O'er all blithe things to which she'd giren birth.
RAIN IN APRIL.
The gentle murmur of the dripping rain
Comes like a strain of music to my ear ;
It is the blithest time of all the year
To me, this early spring-time, when again
The barren trees, and the long covered plain
Begin to gather beauties far and near,
Culling firesh flowers to strew upon the bier
Of the departed winter. Not in vain
These buds aud blossoms of the spring come forth ^
Like the first fruits of genius they give sign
Of a larsre hoard of wealth and hidden worth
That, like rich jewels buried in a mine.
Is loekM within the summer's treasury.
All shrouded from the gaze of careless eye.
A BROTHERS PLEA.
0 brother, let us seek that roof
Where, when we were two simple boys,
We kept all future fear aloof
And minded nought but present joys ;
It stands upon the hill-side yet.
And bids us, with its shelter find
A refuse where we may forget
I'uloviug tones and looks unkind,
1 cannot now return alone, —
For, seAre\i as is my aching heart.
It unto yours so close has grown
That 'twould Iv almost death to part.
The coni vihich knit us once was (i^.
And, trusling in its seeming length.
OEOBGE FBEDEBIGK KENT. 287
We frolicked on right jojouslj',
Unmindful of its silken strength ;
But as the spider draws his thread
To his own breast when danger's nigh,
So we, our early safeguards fled,
Draw closer to each heart that tie.
My brother, think of the old time !
And let your memory wake again
Its blissful hours, like a sweet chime
Of distant bells : 'tis not in vain
Thus to recall the happy past
And bring its dear scenes back to view, —
Indeed they were too fair to last.
Yet while they lived they were most true, —
And truth is such a stranger now
We may not scorn her simplest guise ;
Her earliest pleadings, O allow,
And look again through those clear eyes !
The world, I know, can never wean
Your spirit from its love of truth, —
But do you feel that sense so keen
As in your trusting, guileless youth ?
We are not old by count of years —
Not young, if sad thoughts may speed life.
Then let us haste to shut our ears
On this vast Babel of wild strife.
Dear brother ! £ake my hands in yours
And lead me back to childish joys, •
Before the world's vain show allures
Us to forget that we were boys.
THE VOICE OF PEACE.
In the tempest's loudest howling
Undertones we hear ;
In a vex'd child's angrj^ scowling
Smiles oft linger near.
In the plant where thorns may wound you,
Search and you'll find honey.
Every close-locked heart around you
Opens wide to money.
So the world though full of waring.
Has an ear for peace ;
Voices breathe through all this jarring,
Never more to cease, —
5?i8 TOETS OF XEW HAXFSHIEK,
An*i the theme *>f the^ sweet fispcn
Is the lore of atll :
Hear ye not their gentle whiapcf»,
>oft as dew-dri>f», l!iill?
NatfoQ 90t3a 9h^ tslk with natiao
Like two lireside Meihis,
When War's dre^fal deaoUtsoa
And blin^i farr ends.
War Is transient — ^Peace renaiiKth
Constant to f«>rgive :
Man with bloi>i his hands now staineUi ;
Hands *]^e. bat hearts Hve.
From the TaUer a mist crecpeth
At the moonlight hoar.
And the dnll earth while it skepeth
Owns its magic power :
Words in lowlj places spoken.
Yet mav wake a feeling
That shall heal a faith now broken —
Higher faith rerealing.
Xrl)cmia1| SBrigiit.
^eheiiLiah Wri^t vaa born in HoIiforaM* TiHafe,
l-fM- He wrt.* paitiT ticseilf<<r roll«>«« at Phiii<-<«tlian«l S.„ ^
Ib IMS Iw weot to 'llUiMu, flni^hcff kU ^rtpmnsoTf ctwUes. md calacd UB*^
Colleipeat Jark.?<;&vii;c,ia lr44. Altt:TZTa<tiucioolieread0BediciBe«tthhl*fUtarK
hU lyufve b^im. a&<i rYreiTCii tbe •i«fTW of M . D. frofa Kuh Medloa CuHffr>CM-
rairo. la lSi»> tbe -^ak*! In the prartiir^ of mctliriDe io Chalkua, DL, wtafc fee m
likrhr u> rvmaia. -*?».in8: &L-*^t 'ii -icz ^x)*!.* HU lifie ha* bie«a omt of actiritr. i^
Trjttvi CO Phy*ir. phi;.>i-phT. PoUd*>. %rA P«frT- Is Ifl^ he rad a foem at ««
retmion oi ibe Pr.i Alpha s-jrit^j of I. Harris C*>Uece. a •<><*«5' <** "k* **.'*^
one of the cMjrJiatX rMan'ii.rv. IIi:r «• •o. Ccuuie^ D. Wri^tit, M. D., la
Willi him in tii*; practice of meiHtriae.
MY SPIRIT HOME.
I am alone, no one is near : the daylight hoars are past.
And, with her sable cartain, night is shroading natore fast:
And spirit forms around me move : their whispers speak them near :
They call roc. glad would I obey,**0 come, thy home's not here.**
Sweet visions now of other days, when friends and h<^>es were
mine,
And yoathfal fancy painted bright each scheme and fond design :
Then flowers above my pathway grew — those flowers, now dead
and sere,
To me with warning voices speak, ^'Thy home, it Is not here.'*
HENRY W. HEBRICK. 289
The twilight's past, its spirits fled, and darkness wraps the whole ;
But deeper gloom than that of night is wrapped around my soul.
The voices of departed joys now fall on memory's ear ;
LFnited all, one voice they speak, "Thy spirit's home's not here."
rhe stars that gem the sparkling dome, they whisper peace to me,
A.nd tell me that I have a home beyond life's darkened sea ;
A.nd though on earth no friends I find, yet kindred souls there are
In that bright world, far, far away — my spirif s home is there.
0 spirits of departed friends ! too good, too pure to die,
Come down upon the moon's pale beam, and hover round me nigh.
How soft and sweet their voices ring upon the evening air ;
Their music seems the notes of heaven ; my spirit's home is there.
«
Then my own heart, unresting still, is seeking to be free
And plume its wings for fairer lands that seem so near' to me.
Then haste, dull life, why wait so long, beset with grief and care ?
O quickly seek the happy fields — my spirit's home is there.
H. W. Herrick was bom in Hopklnton In 1824. He spent his early life in Concord
and Nashua until about twenty years of age, at which period he settled in New York
dty, as an enrrarer and designer, where he remained twenty-one years. JDuring
more than half that period he was employed as an artist by the Tract Society, Har-
per and Brothers, and the American Bank Note Company. He was also connected
witti the New York School of Design for Women, for six years, during the latter
part of which he was principal teacher and manager. In 1865 he returned to this State
and settled in Manchester, where he has since resided, employing his time on book and
maicaxine illustrations, and in water color painting. He is the author of a work on
the latter art, lately published in New York.
THE SPIDER'S WEB.
Upon the grass and heather spread,
One pleasant summer's mom,
A spidei''s fair and slender thread
From leaf to leaf was borne.
Along its glittering fabric hung,
The early dew-drops shine,
Like tiny pearls, together strung
Upon a fairy line.
From point to point, with wond'rous grace,
With skill, and beauty too.
Each thread was fitted to its place,
In net-work fair and true.
290 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBE.
Wise boilder ! He who made thee live
And taught thee wond'roos things.
Hath said thy work a phioe should have
In palaces of kings.
And by Him, too, thy tissue frail.
An emblem true is given ;
That hopes of hj'poerites shall (ail
To give them joys of heaven.
THE HUMBLE BEE.
A humble bee was buzzing round
One pleasant summer's day,
And in our garden fair, he found.
The blossoms bright and gay :
With dainty tongue, and busy wing.
From flower to flower was wanderii^.
With drowsy hum, in flower's bell,
He sought his forage fair ;
He dived him to its honey cell.
And rolled in sweetness there ;
A dew-drop served of drink instead,
And there he dined on honey-bread.
It chanced that Tottie, playing there.
Saw humble-bee go b}-,
And in his child's simplicity
Mistook it for a flj',
Not knowing tliat such busy flies
Have stings for all their enemies.
The pretty thing he grasped with glee,
But quickly did he get,
Thrust in liis hand, by humble-bee.
Its needle ba3*onet.
With stamp and cries he runs to me.
With bitter plaints of humble-bee.
O heed, my boy, the lesson well,
And let this truth abide,
That danger lurks where pleasures dwell.
And stings in ambush hide.
No lasting joy earth's foll^' brings.
And sin, like humble-bee, hath stiiDgB.
OEOBOE NELSON BRYANT. ^91
THE TOMB OF STARK.
No trappings of state, their bright honors unfolding,
No gorgeous display, marks the place of thy rest ;
But the granite points out where thy body lies mouldering,
And the wild-rose is shedding its sweets o*er thy breast.
The zephyrs of evening shall sport with the willow,
And play through the grass, where the flowerets creep.
While the thoughts of the brave, as he bends o'er thy pillow,
Shall hallow the spot of the hero's last sleep.
As from glory and honor to death thou descended,
Twas meet thou shouldst lie, by the Merrimac's wave ;
It was well thou shouldst sleep 'mongst the hills thou defended,
And take thy last rest in so simple a grave.
There forever thou'lt sleep, and though ages roll o'er thee,
And crumble the stone o'er thy ashes to earth,
The sons of the free shall with reverence adore thee.
The pride of the mountains, that gave thee thy birth.
ffieorge Nelson Urgant.
r. George N. Biyant is a brother of Rev. J. C. Bryant, whose poems are fomid
elsewhere In this volume. He was liom Id New Boston, May 21, IftM. In 1849, after
oompleting a course of tlieological study, ho entered the gospel ministry in the New
Hampshire conference of the Methodist church, and has served with aoceptabiUty
of the prominent chui-ches of that denomination in the Stale.
EVENINGS AT HOME.
It is not that my feelings are eold,
Or dead to society's charms ;
Nor my spirit too timid to hold
Its course in the midst of alarms ;
Yet from business, labor and noise,
I love in the twilight to come
Where rivalry never annoys,
And spend cheery evenings at home.
There's a time when my spirits unbend
From the drudgery life has imposed ;
When the dews of affection descend
On gardens of pleasure enclosed.
There's a place discontent enters not,
Where hatred and strife never come ;
Such a place is my own humble cot,
That time the sweet evenings at home.
POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBE.
The brilliant saloon tempts me not,
Nor dance of the revellers ga}' ;
For their pleasures too dearly are bought
And pass like a shadow away.
Oil their devotees sink in despair,
Like mariners 'neath the white foam,
Never tasting the comforts they share
Who spend brighter evenings at home.
It is said there is joy in the wine
The spirits despondent to cheer ;
That the play and soft music combine
To please both the mind and the ear :
Let them follow these phantoms who will,
And far for such joys widely room,
Fm unchanged in my purposes still.
For richest are evenings at home.
There is music and beauty and wealth,
In the realm of m^^ own little cot
Where my children are romping in health.
And dear wife upbraideth me not.
I grudge not the wealth or the woes
Endured 'neath the elegant dome.
Nor will suffer the malice of foes,
To mar my sweet evenings at home.
I AM THE DOOR.
I hear thee say, "I am the door,**
Saviour, and yet m}' feet are sore
With wanderings long ; my garments torn ;
Wounded m}' flesh with cruel thorn.
"I am the door ; enter by me."
O that I now could fl}' to thee ;
Could taste the dear delights of those,
Who safelj' in th}' love repose.
But night comes o*er me cheerless, cold ;
The shepherd safe within the fold
Gathers his sheep. Unfriended I,
A wandering sheep, where shall I fly?
Athwart the gloom fierce lightnings flash ;
On startled ears the tbundei-s crash ;
The storm across the heather howls.
The hungry wolf for raven prowls.
i:
9»
GEOBOE NELSON BBTANT. 298
"I am the door." Yes Lord I hear,
Still my poor heart is rent with fear :
That door of hope is for thine own,
While I to stray am sadly prone.
''If any enter he shall live,
Shall rest, protection, food receive.'
If any 9 — -O that blissful sound
Brings comfort in the gloom profound.
Indulgent Lord, that open door
To enter, I delay no more ;
And coming now, O joy ! O bliss !
The Saviour sweetly calls me his.
Now rage the storm ; now thunders roll ;
Raven the wolf; mj' peaceful soul
Shall 3'ield to sin and fear no more.
Secure in Christ the living door.
HYMN TO THE MOUNTAINS.
Ye mountains great and tall,
In majesty that stand,
While empires rise and fall
As billows on the strand ;
Each lo(t,y height, each deep profound,
Js with an awful grandeur crowned ;
And each presents to us a holy shrine,
A chosen dwelling of the great Divine.
As insects of a day
Up your rough sides we creep.
With slow and painful way :
Or from the craggy steep,
Upon the nether world we gaze
With new delight and notes of praise ;
And God, who reared these everlasting piles,
From highest heaven, accepts our praise and smiles.
No voice nor speech is yours.
No acts your worship speak,
These soft, expressive powers
Are given to the weak :
And yet there seems in every stone.
And cliff, and gorge, and valley lone.
Persuasive power to lead our thoughts to God,
More than in courts by thoughtless thousands trod.
294 POETS OF NEW HAMPSmBE.
Your lessons, grand and deep,
Strongly our minds impress —
Our erring hearts shall keep
When busy cares oppress :
And your stabilit}' proclaim,
God now and evermore the same ;
The good man's firm and never failing tmst,
When e*cn 3'our granite walls crumble to dost.
(iTaroUne iEU^atetl) Jenneiss.
MIm Jenness, the oMcst child of Richanl Jcnness, a gentleman prODlBOfly
known In Portsmoath, in biisioesd. fln.ini*iHl and social circles, was DorninDev-
Held, Aunist '22, 1824. In 1828 Iter father removed to Portsmouth, where Eliubetb
lived antil her denth, which occurreil I>ect.Mnber 1. 1857. The writings of this lady,
with a memoir, printed for private circulation in IS58, show her aUIity as a pnM
wzUer, as well as her accomplished style of poetry.
REPOSE.
On downy pillows lain, she prays :
Iler soft eyes ope and close again ;
And, unto her unfiuishcd pra\*er,
The angels say the glad "Amen" ;
While, half-unclasijed her languid hands,
She sleeps with such a gentle art,
That scarce her heaving limbs betray
The quiet heaving of her heart.
So quick asleep, not hidden quite, •
Her lovely limbs peep to the light
The envious dowu would hide Irom sight.
Iler golden hair curls round her cap ;
And, as her ros}* lips unclose,
The easv breath insjs falter forth
Like perfumes loath to leave a rose ;
And, dimly bright, the lashes seem
To steal light from her e3'es in mirth.
Or as some homesick beams, returned
Unto the suns that gave them birth ;
While, gathered in her snowy breast,
Life and the Loves together rest :
How could they leave so sweet a nest?
The air is sweet ; for dvinor flowers
Send their last breath to scenes like this ;
And, sighing, blows the love-sick wind,
Trembling to meet her with a kiss :
While, with a faint and dreamy light,
CAROLINE ELIZABETH JENNE88. 295
The lamp half shows, half hides her face,
As night were, by itself illumed,
Burning to see her lovely face ;
And worthless Fancy flieth thence,
Where she lies sleeping, with shut sense,
Like the child -goddess, Innocence.
FEAR NOT.
I will not fear, I will not fear ;
For He is by my side :
In pastures fair He leadeth me,
In pastures green and wide,
And by the rivers calm and clear.
And where bright waters roll :
I will not fear, I will not fear ;
His strength is in my soul.
He watcheth me amid the storm,
And on the raging sea ;
His guidance is m}'' steadfast hope,
When earthly hopes may flee.
I weep no more for grief or woe.
And I will fear no ill :
He lovetli me. He feedeth me :
My God is with me still.
THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH.
le lint discoTcrera of AmcricA liellcFcd that there wns a fountain In Florida,
^ possessed the miraculous power of restoring youth to the aged.
We are travelling on to the Fountain of Youth ;
Yet, brothers, stay awhile,
And dream once more of our sunny land.
Where the laughing vineyards smile :
Then our steps we'll speed, though weary and faint,
To the dim and distant shore.
Where we deem that the clouds of sorrow and g^ief
Will darken our eyes no more.
For they tell us, that there, in that radiant land,
That beautiful land of dreams.
The summer and sunshine do never pass
From the blue and silvery streams ;
And a dim and strange mysterious strength
On the sparkling rills has lain ;
For the spirit of God has breathed on the waves,
And they bring us our youth again.
ADELINE D, T. WHITNEY. 297
In the old, wide-opened doorway,
With the elm-boughs overhead, —
The house all garnished behind her,
And the plentiful table spread ; —
She has stood to welcome our coming.
Watching our upward climb,
In the sweet June weather that brought us
Oh, many and many a time !
To-da}', in the gentle splendor
Of the early summer noon, —
Perfect in sunshine and fragrance,
Although it is hardly June, —
Again is her doorway opened,
And the house all garnished and sweet ;
But sne silently waits for our coming.
And we enter with silent feet.
A little within she is waiting ;
Not where she has met us before ;
For over the pleasant threshold
She is only to cross once more.
The smile on her face is quiet.
And a 111}^ is on her breast ;
Her hands are folded together.
And the word on her lips is "Rest."
And yet it looks like a welcome.
For her work is compassed and done ;
All things are seemlj' and ready.
And her summer is just begun.
It is we who may not cross over ;
Only with song and prayer,
A little way into the glory
We may reach as we leave her there.
But we cannot think of her idle ;
She must be a home-maker still ;
God giveth that work to the angels
Who fittest the task fulfil.
And somewhere yet on the hill tops
Of the country that hath no pain,
She will watch in the beautiful doorway
To bid us welcome again.
298 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
THE TWO POWERS,
Take th}' pen, 0 prophet ! write.
Tell the world tli^' spirit-sight.
All thy errand swift record,
Straight from whispers of the Lord !
Double edges of his truth, —
Messages of wrath and ruth, —
Flash upon men's ejes in words.
Like the gleam of naked swords !
God would save the nations when
For the sword he sends the pen.
Warrior, gird th3'se]f with mlL'ht !
Bare the blade, and serk the fight!
Sin's broad page is crimson writ,
Crimson now must cancel it.
Folded is the i)rophet'8 scroll ;
Silence waits within his soul :
For the warning mcrcj'-call.
Burns a judgment on the wall.
When the reckoning is scored
God's pen is a flaming sword !
Write once more, strong scribe, and say
How they faced that fearful daj%
Quit them righteonsl}- and well,
If they stood, or if they fell :
Or, if giving half their life
In the hot and sudden strife.
Calm the}* bore the crowning test,
Rendering in slow pain the rest I
In such histories of men.
Measure still with sword, O pen !
Powers of word, and i)Owers of deed, —
One the anointing, one the need, —
Still forosay, and still fulfil
All that grand, mysterious will
In whose might the pcoi)les move
To their francliisoment above !
Sign and story still record
Straight from purpose of the Lord !
His own time he knoweth, when
Uo shall lay dovn sword and pen.
MTBON JAMES HAZEL TINE. 290
Mlron J. Hazeltine, wns 1)orn in Rumncy, Not. 13, 1824. In 1847 be entered Col-
!g« In Amherst, Mass., but wns thrown out before the completion of the course of
ndy by an almost fatal accident in the gymnasium. On leavin^^ college, sinc«
hlcb be has always suffered as a partial invnlid. he bcffan the study of law
I Lfowell* Mass., where he remained al)out tour years, lie tlieu went to New
ork clty» and was principal of a c]asi>i(uil and select school, where he remained
t)oat ten years. He was married in 18r)3, to Miss Ilnnnah M. Bryant, youngest
iil^hter of Asa Bryant, who was a cousin of the poet Willinm C. Bryant. For the
mt fourteen years their home has been at "The Inarches," Campton Yillage. H«
u been a chess editor for about twenty-eight yenrs, and has continaoualy
eld tbe chair of Che^iS on the A'etr York r/i>/>«r for 'twenty -six years. Many ex-
silent poems of his are found in the pages uf the Literary American^ publi^ed In
Yotk, city, of which the latp Geo. P. Quackeubos was editor and proprietor.
THE AWAKING OF FREEDOM.
A sound has gone forth like the winds on their pinions,
A key-note of terror b}- tyrants is heard ;
Fear sits on their sceptres and paled are tlieir minions,
As at earthquake prognostics, ere nature is stirred.
But whence their dismay — ^has war's tocsin alarmed them
With a call to the field of the soul-stirring drum?
Have traitors within, or their own fears disarmed them.
And must ruin and slaughter, unstriven with, come?
Ah, no ! 'tis no mightier despot arising,
With blood and oppression to cui*se the fair earth,
That's crushing the weaker, and rivals surprising —
Ah, no I 'tis the glad shout of Liberty's birth.
It rolls o'er the plain, is reechoed by mountains ;
God's own thunder- trump swells the shout to the sky ;
The seal of oppression is rent from the fountains
Of the rights of the people which sparkle on high.
What wonder, when tyrants perceive iheir thrones tremble,
That a cordon of bayonets round them they draw I
Yet these but of hope and true safety dissemble,
For the spear is a bulrush, the sword is a straw ; •
When Freedom divine in her might is awaking.
And arouses the soul of the brave to be free ;
When the mass its age-rivetod shackles is breaking,
And to its own dungeons Oppression must flee.
Ptoud autocrat, think not thy haughty endeavor
From thy vast dominions the sound can repel.
Which Freedom has started ; for swelling forever,
Its echoes nor ukase nor sabre can quell.
300 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
When ye with a sword can repel the wild ocean,
Or the weird Borealis extinguish in night ;
Then wadike arra}' shall check Liberty's motion,
And tyrant's decrees quench forever her light.
The flame is re-kindled on Liberty's altar,
More pure than for which the old Greek ever died ;
True hearts and good blades, that can ne'er fail nor falter,
Are sworn to protect it with God on their side.
WORDS-
Charge not all upon thy brother,
That he seemeth to deserve ;
Gentle words may discord smother,
Fiercest moods of hate unnerve.
Better far some trifling failing
Be excused, or softened o'er,
Than at ever}' error railing.
Causing hearts to wander more.
When thy toiling brother pauseth.
That the waj's of life are hard ;
Oft a word new vigor causeth,
Hope will brighten, fear discard.
Mid the noisy, factious forum,
See the might}' sage arise ;
Awe the tumult to decorum.
By the words his brain supplies.
In the prostrate, conquered city,
Lawless, mercenarv bands
Stay, though void of fear or pity.
At their captain's known commands.
When the storm encompassed Saviour
His disciples* clamors heard.
Chiding still their faint behavior,
Gracious spake the saving word.
Surolv mind controlleth matter.
Matter, which shall soon decay ;
Though to dust all bodies scatter.
Soul remains a heavenly ray.
MIBON JAMES HAZELTINE. 301
When to heaven the soul returneth,
Truth and progress it demands ;
For seraphic knowledge yearneth,
Ever to new heights expands.
There no book the spirit needeth
As its medium slow to learn ;
God and nature free it readeth,
All its thoughts untrammelled bum.
But within this clayey dwelling
Senses are the paths of thought ;
All the longings in us swelling
'Neath the chains of time are brought.
Though the body proves a fetter,
Life is dark, a toil and bleak ;
Make it cheerful, till a better
Death, releasing, bids us seek.
Frowns and harshness chill the spirit,
Turn it to its ills again ;
Bar fVom sympathy, and sear it
To the wants and woes of men.
All our ills are halved b}^ sharing ;
All our joys are doubled o'er ;
For thy brother, burden-bearing,
Have a kindly word in store.
TO THE SEA.
^ to Geo. Payn QuackenboBf LL.D. and wife, embarUiig for a winter
Placid as thou art, 0 Sea,
Smiling thus in seeming rest.
Take upon thy heaving breast
Treasure, to return to me.
Shut in caves thy winds, O Sea,
True, in quiet they're m}' dread ;
All restrained below, o'erhead,
So my treasure comes to me.
Treacherous art thou, O Sea,
Smil'st engulphing still the keel.
Pleasure nor remorse canst feel-
Is m}*^ treasure safe for me?
802 POETS OF NEW BAMPSHIBE.
Well, I dread thy moods, O Sea,
*Kcel thy surface never ploughed,
Save to chance of thee a shroud —
Give my treasure back to me !
Sateless is thy maw, O Sea,
But, athwart this chosen deck,
Let no billow's foamy fleck
Threat my treasure snatched from me.
Smiles of sky return, O Sea,
Speed to sunny southern mark
This so precious freighted bark ;
So my treasure's kept for me.
Votive offerings shall, O Sea,
Great Poseidon's temple grace,
If, as I these couplets trace,
Thou my treasure promise me.
Good ! I see a sign, O Sea,
IVomise, hopeful as our youth :
I receive the welcome truth —
Come my treasure will to me.
IlAnnah M. Rr>-»nt wa^ bom in New Boston, Angost SO, 18S7. Compelled to )^
Mtool b«fv>iv liiVtvu xonrs of v*i^\ htrr eiliicatioa Is mAinlj- such as ibe hMobUf
In Intrnnl^lous of lAlMr. ivM inomeDts, and br close obsenraUon. SbewM n^
Tied la 1S\S tv^ Uirvm J. IUxe!tiiK\ She has bc«a, ftiuce the a^ of nineteen, a^
•tant contributor to \.mou» (mihts .iml luafraxiDcs. and her poema have been wi
\y co^W aud tavoraM>' nv^ticcd. both In this ooontry and In Kngland.
A NORTHERN OCTOBER.
The mom is clear — from far and
The f:\intlng stars now disappear;
Frvvai oasloni skies auroral dves.
la \ioc(Kniiug colors flush and rise.
In v:%!loys divp, where shaiiowa sleep,
Tho pttacrvvi misi^ now rise ami creep
0\t uKHuuains wide, whose tops divide
This or«r:a frv>m heavon whose doors thej bide.
Pitrk olu<:i^r? sh:nc amid the vine.
For Iwiooitus' feast a tempting sign ;
Tlhf cfvaxiug waia. wUh goUion grain.
Oxii«$ sivmly minding tiuvKigh ibe Uue.
HAKNAH BR YANT HAZEL TINE. 308
The apple fair, the peach and pear,
Pomona's gifts, are everywhere ;
All through the vale the squashes trail,
And pumpkins glow in yellow mail.
The fields once green, the hills between,
Now sparkle in tlieir frosty sheen ;
But brown and sere, the woods appear
In mourning garments for the 3'ear.
The sun's mild rays, through smoky haze,
Betoken Indian summer days ;
While soft and bright, with golden light
The harvest moon illumes the night.
On hill, in run, for gain or fun.
Is heard the sportsman's ringing gun :
Silent, alone, by swirl or stone
The angler's fly is deftly thrown.
The autumn breeze, with riven leaves,
Brings pattering nuts from chestnut ti*ee8 ;
From beeches bare, now here, now there,
The squirrels winter food prepare.
As wanes the year, so disappear
The ties of earth that bind us here ;
Till, one by one, our duties done.
We rest with life's last setting sun.
MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT.
Mom is for quiet thought ; when the tired brain
And wearied body, calmed by sweet repose,
Forget the toil of yesterda}-, its pain,
Its blighting woes ;
And thus refreshed they gi*asp once more the load.
And march with boldness on the dusty road.
Thus may thy life, serene in early morn,
Fit and prepare thee for the noontide heat ;
When thou shalt join the ever-moving throngs
That onward press with busy, restless feet.
Noon is for steady toil, for anxious care,
When all our powers of botly, will, or mind.
Are bent to solve the problem, "How to live ;"
Alas ! few find
The answer ere their weary course is run,
304
POETS OF MSW HAMPSHIBE.
And life is ended nor their labor done.
See that thy noon, in well-directed course
Of active duties be in honor passed ;
Till spent with toil, life*s mid-da}* heats all o'er,
Tliou shalt find rest in calm content at \AU
Night is for dreams, for love ; our labor o'er
We seek for rest, for warmth, for grateful cheer;
And in the presence of our loved to find
All that is dear
Of kindly sympathy, of trust and love.
That lift the soul to nobler things above.
Thus may the evening of thy life come on :
Conscious of time well spent, a course well nin,
When the night closes o'er thee, may'st thou hear
A Father's welcome in the sweet ^^Well Done."
B
A
J-r
A:
CLOUD PICTURES.
I>«dioate<l to tor little dangbter, Alice May Hazeltine, who gmT* ma tba 1^
embodltHl in the poem.
A soft, balmy night in the summer —
The sun had just sunk to his rest,
And trooping to witness his exit
Came beautiful clouds in the west :
There were some that were golden and foamy,
Like the down on the wing of a bird ;
And some were in figures fantastic.
By the breathing of Hesperus stirred.
From the balcony's seat we were watching
The changes, my children and I,
When quaint little Alice, the dreamer,
Exclaimed, ^'There's a church in the sk^' !"
There were towers and turrets and steeple.
Dome, buttress and gable were there ;
But while we were looking, it tott^^red
And fell* a thin wreck, in the air.
And now, on the limitless azure,
Came a swan : but alas, the poor thing !
While we viewed, there was nothing remaining
But the body and one drooping wing.
A portrait, with huge Roman features,
Was slowly unfoldeil to shape ;
But progress* was backward — the Roman
Was changed to a mimicking ape.
1^
JAMES W. BARKER. 305
*^ A bear !" shouted Alice ; and rampant
Stood Bruin, as if to embrace
Orion, who, fancy could picture,
Was following close on the chase ;
But the knife of the hunter, it may be,
Had struck to the heart of the bear,
For he parted just back of the shoulder,
And he, too, dissolved in the air.
But see, in the deep glow of sunset.
Caparisoned as for the fray,
A knight, on his charger, come prancing
As in chivalry's glorious day ;
From his shoulders the bright-colored caftan
Streamed forth on the cool evening blast.
And I fancied the rider the spirit
Of Salah-ud-din flashing past.
But night-dews are falling around us.
And shadows are gathering o'erhead ;
Tis time that the eyes of my darlings
Were closed in their snug little bed :
And remember, my children, these pictures
Are like pleasures of life — ^you will find
When brightest they vanish, and shadows
Remain as their token, behind.
Barker was bom in Vermont on the eastern shore of Lake Champlaln.
) was qoite young his parents removed to this State and made their home
m. He was educate cf at the academy in that town, and was fitted for Col-
e then studied medicine for a time, but never applied for a decree. He
is attention to teaching, and that has been his life-work. In 1845 he went
im New York, and in that section most of his life thus (kr has been spent.
Cher be has been successful. He was elected President of ttie State Teach-
ociatlon in 1868. He has often read poems before literary societies. He
e **CentemiiaI Poem," read In Antrim in 1877. For six years he was one of
»r8 of the JSew York Teacher. He was at one Ume one of Uie proprietors ot
y Journal and Courier , and of the Weekly Intelligeneer, at LiMskport. N. V.,
ime co-editor thereof. The office of these papers was destroyed by fire,
loss ruined him financially. After this disaster he resumed teaching in
N. Y., where be stili remains as principal of Uie Grammar School. Hebas
»nd published many poems, and nas prepared a volume entitled ''Wayside
which may give a more permanent form to his writings.
DARNING STOCKINGS.
Were there never a standing record
To measure time's rapid flight,
Were there never a clock or dial
I should know it were Saturday night ;
306
POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBE.
I should know by the pile of stockings
In the basket on the floor,
That the six da^'s' work was ended,
And another week was o'er ;
And the balls upon the table
Of white and twisted yarn,
The needle, smooth and shining,
That was only made to darn,
And the patient, busy stitching,
With the weaving to and fro,
While a careful eye is watching
For the rents in heel and toe.
And every breach is mended
In a manner most complete, —
A dozen, neat and tidy,
For as many busy feet ;
Then off in the quiet dreamland
With a spirit gentle and light,
The pale and thoughtful watcher
Is welcoming Saturday night.
I^t us learn from darning stockings,
A lesson of patience and love ;
From the midst of the selfish shadows,
Let our spirits mount above ;
The children of woe, we'll befriend them,
Whoever the sufferers be.
We'll seek for their faults, but to mend them
With stitchings of charity.
ONE REQUEST.
Life is a principle divine.
Whose radiant stars of glory shine
Above the darkness of its sea ;
And one fair star upon the wave,
Shines through the darkness of the grave,-
The star of Immortality !
But sometime, in mv lonelv hours,
Wlion mildew rests upon the flowers.
And idle frost- winds whisper by ;
When in the vale, I seem to hear
The murmur of the dying year.
And shadows dim the starry sky ; —
EDWABD A. HOSMER. 307
Upon the margin of a stream
I see, as in a glowing dream,
A spot of earth, this body's home,
And round it as the shadows fall
At evening, gentle voices call.
And spirit tokens bid me come.
Well, when I reach that m3'8tic shore,
When this life's joy and pain are o'er.
And loving friends around me gather,
When by my side the angel stands,
To lead me with his gentle hands
Across the lone and silent river ;
When this frail dust hath lost its power.
To serve its mission of an hour,
I little heed what friends may do ;
If love shall move, with sweet control.
The tender longings of the soul,
When I have passed this journey through.
And yet I have one slight request.
Just one — when I am laid to rest, —
Nor can I tell the reason whj', —
Where happj' 3'outh and childhood plaj'ed.
There let my lifeless dust be laid
Beneath the azure of that sk}'.
It must be that the singing streams
Which mingled with my childish dreams.
Would murmur soft and sweet at even.
And singing birds of childhood's morn.
Would sweeter chant at eajly dawn,
As they went singing up to heaven.
And may be that the spirit's ear.
In the glad morning of the year.
When gladness fills the earth and sky.
Would listen, as of old it heard
The mingled songs of brook and bird.
And bear the melod}' on high.
cveral years Mr. Hosmcr wns a resident of Nashua. He was esteemed as a
orxnuslc and a ox)mpo8cr of much promise. Ho i^vnrote the words andmu-
Uu^ge number of pieces which were well received by the public. He died in
Cl^, Mo., in July, 1856, while on a western trip. He was bom about 1825.
POSTS OF TfEW HAUPSnntS.
O GIVE ME A HOME BY THE SEA.
0 give me a home by the sea.
Where wild waves are crested with foam.
Where shrill winds are caroling tree.
As o'er the blue waters they come.
For I'd list to the ocean's loud roar,
And joy io its atormiest glee.
Nor ask in this wide world for more
Thau a home by tbe deep heaving sea.
At mom when the snn fVom the east
Comes mantled in crimson and gold.
Whoso hues on the billows are cast.
Which sparkle with splendor untold,
0 then by the shore would I stray.
And roam as the halcyon free,
From envy and care far away,
At my home by the deep heaving sea!
At eve when the moon in her pride
Rides queen of the soft summer night.
And gleams on the murmuring tide,
With floods of lier silvery light, —
0 earth has no beauty so rare,
No place that is dearer to me.
Then give me, so free and so fair,
A home by the deep heaving sea !
REMEMBER ME.
When morn its beam is flinging
Un budding flower an<l tree,
When binls are gaily singing,
O then remember me.
When all is bright above thee,
And soars thy spirit free,
O think of those who love thee,
O then remember me.
When evening shades are creeping
Along the dusky lea.
When silent dews are weeping,
O then remember me.
And when thy heart is lonely.
And sad tliy musings be,
Tben think upon me only,
0 then remember me.
AMOS B. BUS SELL. 309
When soft the moon is beaming
O'er quiet land and sea ;
I*d have thee, gentl}' dreaming,
O then remember me.
And thus, when morn brings gladness.
Or evening bids it flee,
In hours of joy, or sadness,
O then remember me.
^mos3 IS. lausssselL
Amos B. Russell, a clergvmnn of the Methodist Episcopal Church, was bom
Kistock, February 24, 1825. His mother died when he was but nine months
le entered the ministry at the age of 30 years, and at that time be^an to write
laneous articles for the press. Ills poems have been publlshea from time
!, and if collected would make a volume.
MY BORDER LAND.
On the outer verge of life's dark strand
'Neath the azure sk}' of a sunlit da}',
I stand and behold not far awaj',
The beautiful shores of mj* border land.
I watch the gleams of its golden sand,
Its hills and vales by faith I see ;
Whose ravishing charms are a joy to me,
And I love my beautiful border land.
What lieth beyond my border land ?
Is the Eden of blessedness far away ?
I list, while the white winged seraphs say
''Th}' home is beyond the border land."
I take mv chart and staff in hand,
Inspired by a hope of ecstatic joj',
While rapturous thoughts my mind employ
And go in quest of my border land.
AD ASTRA.
The shadows gather round my feet,
And lengthen o'er the grassy vale,
While clouds are slowl}^ on retreat.
And hushed to stillness is the gale.
Awhile I see the full orbed moon,
Just peering from behind a cloud,
:\ 1 0 P0ET8 OF KEW HAMPSHIBE.
I mourn because her light so soon,
Will hide beliind another cloud.
An angel of the night appears,
And sets the stair}' lamps ablaze,
And now devoid of hopes and fears
I muse upon their twinkling rays.
I gaze up into heaven afar.
At brilliant orbs remote and near.
And wonder if my guiding star
In all the train shines bright and clear.
I wonder if the form of clav.
Which grovels in this realm of night.
Will bhine at last with heavenly ray,
As seraphs in a world of light.
MY MOTHER.
on wa5 I told when but a thoi^htless child
Alx^ut niv mother, how she sans; and smiled.
Hor raven tresses, and her radiant eve,
rill I'ell consumption laid her down to die.
I f;ain would havi to check mv wavward voath
Her fiiiihfal cuMinsel. and her kind reproof;
This a^imoniiiv^n I was then denieii,
t\^r o'er mv ihouirbts awoke mv mother died.
>l V thoiur^iis now sxniy to where the willow weeps.
To ^ Jjore m v loni: lv>sl mother genUy sleeps ;
Th^xjch in \ >c irrvxinvi is nc^usiht but commoo dost,
Uor ^Akeful spirit in:n£:k*s with the just.
And sW.i 1 in ths: "Sriirht <>e-k*stial world
M\ n>other nnxi : ber sainl^v form heboid?
Axe, sh^r, I iiTtx; her tk-at i.^ eiemal thiXMie,
And ki>v»« hiT ^:)v"^ on CAnii 1 Tttti have known?
ANCHORED.
TV s»wi w-is r.v.^>i, Tihe sx^^rm w-j^j lood.
The t^ich; i»e« .r. lui.: a'/. w:j6s ^iark;
II 1^ w^axts ^r.}oK>:M hl^e a sijrooi
WILLIAM 8TAItK, 3 1 1
Blast after blast bore down with speed,
From Arctic skies the storm was driven ;
It was a time of fear and need,
For my fond hope was nearl}* riven.
Wave after wave would lave the sides
Of the frail oraft in which I rode ;
Again returning came the tides
Lashing the walls of my abode.
Adrifled on the angrj" sea,
As drifts a withered autumn leaf;
The wailing winds spake wrath to me,
Filling my heart with bitter grief.
My bark came o'er the harbor bar.
And then I reefed the tattered sail ;
I saw above the morning star ;
M3' anchor dropped and stood the gale.
UUam stark was bom In Manchester, Jnlv 16, 1625. He was admitted to PhlUipa
lemy, Andover, Mass., in 1843; entered Williams College In 1S4C and graduated
1 the same in 1890; was admitted t6 the bar in New York in 1861, and In 18S8 re-
dd to Manchester, where he followed the legal profession until a %hort time
ious to his death. His literary abilities were of a high order, and had he lived
(▼elop his powers in this direction he might have attained great distinction,
ras a student of natural history, and at one time possessed a park containing a
3 collection of foreign and domestic birds and animals, which was ever open
he amusement of the public. He was a great-grandson of Mi^or John Stark.
Ucd October 29, 1873.
EXTRACTS FROM CENTENNIAL POEM.
Delivered at Manchester, October 22, 1851.
So let us unite as we gather here
On the safe return of a hundreth year,
In a hasty search with a curious ej'e.
O'er the record book, of the days gone b}'.
From the letters old, on its mouldy page
We may draw some good for the coming age.
Oar fishermen were of a sturdy race.
Who had this spot for their dwelling place.
On the slimy rock b}^ the water side.
Or the jutting peak in the foaming tide,
Where the lordly salmon wildly leapt
O'er the lofty rock, where the waters swept ;
And the shad with the flash of his silver side,
POETS OF NBW HAMPSHIBE.
With tbe ftlewife, scalled in the foaming tide
Mid the wat'rj spny mad the enow; foam.
'Mong the raging waves, vas the fisher's home ;
And he loved to stand (Ht tbe slippery rock
Which had stood, through time, tbe water's shodf—
In the foaming waves, below, to feet.
With an iron crook, for the sqairmiDg eel.
la my bovhoed days apon eels I fed,
And, as now to you, is the banquet spread,
or such simple food as the past reveals,
I invile you now to a dish of eels.
O'er every land, and in even' age.
By the high and low, by the fool and sage.
For the daiuty eel. has been left a space
At the festive board, an h(Miored place.
When the Roman consul gave his least.
Of the rarest kind of bini and beast.
Twi'uUi have seemeil to him but a scanty meal
Had be fiulevt to supply the dainty eet.
Oreat Flaocus doOed his raiment of pride,
And til sacki-loth mourned for an eel that died;
AikI viih k^^ne^t pang that the heart can (eel,
lloratius wept for a sqninnrng eel ;
And higher still in tbe list of fkine,
I'll point to the royal Ilennr's name.
Who dievi as histon's page reveals.
A martyreil soul to the cause of eels !
i>(ir tscher^ treasure<.i tbe slimy prize.
And ibey Icvirtl tbe eel as their very eyes ;
From these, ;hey formed their food in chief,
Aiul eels w,fre known as --DwryfieM beef."
The marks ot" eels were plain lo trace
In the i-hiMren's yait. in tbe cfaiMten's face,
F\^ before they wa.'ked, it is well coofinned
T&al the children never crept, but squirmed.
Such a nighty power, did the sqairmeis wield
O'er tbe S^v«.i:y men of oJd Deriyfield.
It w«» Avuetitues saxi that their oah- emre.
TV:r .':■ r wtsi, anvl tbetr ofily prayer.
For •.^■.- ; NtMDt wonti. aad the world to coom,
.»sUtB( Cif ««]»> aaii a jttg aC nua.
ALBON H. BAILEY. 813
Enough of this, — for no true heart desires,
To mark the failings of our noble sires ; —
From little follies, though but seldom free
Of grosser vices, the}' had less than we.
Their deeds of honor, are by far too high,
To feel the lash of scorn and ribaldry ;
For every field which drank the patriot's blood,
Has tasted theirs, — the freest of the flood.
Yet while we point, with proudly swelling eye,
To Bunker's column, towering to the sky ;
And while we boast, the noble blood they shed.
Till Concord's plains blushed with the gorj' red,
They have their glory, — it is theirs alone ;
We too have ours, and we, too, claim our own.
The present age, each heart will own as true.
With all its follies, has its virtues too.
Where'er a schoolhouse dots the village green.
Where'er a church spire charms the rural scene,
There stands a monument our pride to fill.
No less than that which towers on Bunker Hill.
Where Christian people to the altar wend,
Where happy children o'er their lessons bend.
Where iron horses whistle o'er the land.
Where crowded cities rise on barren sand.
Where captured rivers feed our monster mills.
There are our "Concords," there, our "Bunker Hills."
a. Bailey Is a native of Unity. He has been connected with printing since bis
wd; was a compositor on the Courier, printed in Concord, and on the WltUe
iain ./Egis, in Haverhill. He was afterwanls co-publisher of the first men-
1 paper; publisher of the Boston Daily Snn; Court reporter for the Beaton
mg CkroiUcU, Boston DaUy Mail, Boston Chranotype, and Boston Tramcript.
THE VILLAGE BELLS.
Tillage bells, the village bells, how joyfully they peal !
lug a mellow music round, the wounded heart to heal.
Y break the melancholy spell made by the dismal night,
wake the weary slumberer at earliest dawn of light.
Y ope the portals of the day with glad'ning, happy sounds,
ting earnest labor back to cheerful duty-rounds ;
when in noontide's fervid heat they call the toiler home,
' gladly then he seeks retreat from nature's heated dome.
,-^14
POETS OF XEW HANPSHTRE.
When eveninsr's poaceful vesper hour renews their cheerful lavs.
How then incline nil grateful hearts to join in tuneful praise:
How then as each successive noto rises from earth to heaven,
Man's very spirit seems imbued with pure and holy leaven.
When niizht her curtain draws around, and e'en the chimes lia^'*
rest.
Life's asjiirations then arise to regions of the blest.
Then let the tuneful village bells still sound ui>on the air-^
At early dawn, at sultry noon, at hour of evening prayer.
There's more than music in the l>ell8, a lesson in each ton*i'
Kominds us all that our alx>de is not on earth alone;
But that our spirits may ascend, e'en as those notes arise -
Tnto a briehter world than this bevond the distant skies.
TO BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.
Hail I pn^ud. historic pile,
0*er-kx>kinir Freed i>m's soil,
Rccallinji. ns lime rolls.
The day> that tried men's souls,
A ivnturv niio :
W lion w:u*-*.lt uiils o'er them huncr
A nd honrts u illi woi:* wore wruuii
Bv a tvrnniiio foe.
Thou toll'st of those who bled,
Tlio honoroil. niiizlitv dead
Th.Ht slumivr at thv base.
When on yon chosen height.
In sauiniiunrv liiiht.
Each d:nintUss hold his place.
Amid the cannon's roar,
I'mil till- valo Klow
Was riNiiloiiid with the flow.
And sliniovl wiih fon^iirn eore.
Thou toll'st of ct^ntost long.
Re-tok! in t^ili- and sonsr.
And proud hist or io page.
How Frei^loni, son* lH?sot,
The tyrant ftxnnan mot.
In the tumult of war ;
Which, at its dirtTul close,
\^fi thousands to reix^e,
Wilfa their grand labors o'er.
Hail ! noble monument,
Reared on the battlement
Of glorious Liberty !
Thou'lt tell through coming
The sons of every dime,
A wondrous history*,
GLid'ning the old and ^-ounjz
Of even* race and tongue.
Yea, millions vet to be.
From thee, inspiring shaft.
The winds shall gladly waft
Other than idle tales ;
The world shall learn the migh <
Of souls made strong b}' right.
When wrong assails.
O, mav'st thou ever stand
A bulwark to the land.
While oceans round it roll :
M.\v North and South uphold
Our heritage of old ;
From East to farthest West,
^lav Freedom's home be blest.
And everv freeman's soul
Behold in thee a sign
Of one. whose hand divine.
Shall keep it whole.
JUSTIN E. WALKEB. 31;-,
J)U0ttn IB. WiQ.Vktx.
ilker was bom In Fairfax, Vt , Sept. 12, 1825. At tbo age of twenty
mt to Johnson, In the same State, and attended the academy nearly two
then went to Lowell, Mass., where he remained 8lx or seven years.
St the use of his right eye by an accident while working at a circular
66 he removed to Nashua and has resided there since then, lie had but
D devote to literature, or anything else except unremitting toll, until
vben he commenced writing.
TRUST IN GOD.
If storms arise on life's rough sea,
And angry billows toss my bark ;
If friends desert, and turn from me.
And everj'thing seems drear and dark ;
Still, on my bended knees Til cry
For strength to bear, whatever I must ;
And on his promise 1*11 rely.
And in my God, have perfect trust.
If want should stare me in the face,
And hunger's bitter pang be felt ;
And if to rest, I have no place,
And naught to me in kindness dealt ;
Yet simply to his cross 1*11 cling.
And own his dealings are but just ;
And to his praise Til ever sing.
And in. his word have perfect trust.
And when with age my form is bent,
And wrinkles gather on my face.
When silver locks in time are sent.
With feeble limbs and faltering pace.
Still, in sweet prayer I'll lift my voice
To Him, who formed me from the dust.
And in his name will I rejoice,
And in his love have perfect trust.
When husky tones, and trembling hand.
With hollow cheek, and sunken eye.
Proclaims to me life's ebbing sand,
And warn me that ray end is nigh ;
Still, I will put my trust in Ilim
Who notes the sparrow when it falls ;
And though mine eyes are weak and dim,
rii know his voice, when Jesus calls.
And when at last he bids me come.
And rends the brittle thread of life,
:n«*>
POETS OP XEW HAJiPSmBE.
V\\ flv to mv eternal home
In realms unknown to want and strife.
To sin and sudoring then farewell ;
Farewell, the ruggeii paths I've trod ;
For with niv Saviour I shall dwell,
And trust forever in mv God.
A THREE FOLD ASPECT.
F'.ower? :hat bloom in eveiy fiekL
A:;,i even ;o liie wavside strav.
An 1 f.-SiTrsr.v'e of rich odor vieid.
To chiT-r i:.e we^n- iravelier s war.
Arv V f^en :rv.Vi :en under fool,
Bv ;. jv •.:£:.: It >s voui^. and careless men
1^-: if :..T:^^e frs^lv taken ioot«
T-i y\L s; rlL^ 10 life, aai bioom again.
X' iL'v:: w b? ^.-^-rEtrv I:fe's rxMifh wav,
A:. : >:;&::«: r "ilr-ss^r^ as ii>ey go;
Ar *. fA I. ^ :»::1: >'iire a£rc*iber's woe:
Are .;:V~ :r-siei r*t-i:cAiJi ibe iieel
V . >i ->.. *^ . -L.r^t T SrII :
i^ « •' ■ "" • ■ ■
ii.'-> liiii. r.-c-:. ;jjtT'^ ra*
A.-'' s: "* :i Til:-: \.'j* *k:mmmL r^itss^
A8ENA TH C. 8TICKNE Y. 317
Then all my life would I devote,
To crying down the social bowl.
The illusion past, it leaves a sear,
More ghastl}' than the surgeon's knife ;
While all our happiness 'twill mar.
And give us but a wasted life.
The bird that flutters from its nest.
And thinks to fly like those around,
With broken wing and bleeding breast,
Will soon lie prostrate on the ground.
Its mates may bind the broken wing,
With tender care preserve its life,
'Twill always be a crippled thing.
Unfit to share in noble strife.
So bo5*s who learn to smoke and drink,
And think 'tis manly, noble, grand,
Below the brute ere long will sink,
Greeted with jeers on every hand.
Kind friends may strive to lift them up
And make them stand erect like men.
And they may dash away the cup.
But are they what the}- might have been ?
aaenati) at. ^ticftnej.
vt WAS bom in Newbnryport, Mass., January as, 1826. She was placed
Society when Ave years of age, and bred and educated therein. Since
y she has taught the District School, No. 8, in the town of Canterbury,
ty.ilTe terms, during which time the Superintending School Committee
I nas given, of her school, a very creditable report
WORDS OF MY SAVIOUR.
How hoi}' and how beautiful,
The sayings of our Lord ;
How clothed in grace and dignity.
Is each inspirM word ;
They are to me as golden fruit.
In silver pictures set ;
Like musio which the finite voice,
Can never counterfeit.
Though uttered ages long ago,
They still retain the power
To cheer the weaiy soul, and throw
Light o'er each adverse hour ;
3 1 8 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBB,
And countless they who, ages hence,
Shall sing ^nd speak the praise,
Which fills the heart, and moves the lips,
Of saints in latter dajs.
UNH'^ERSAL LOVE.
Blest be that universal love,
For which the Christian aims ;
Whose source in God is found above
All narrow human claims.
As towers the loft}* mountain top
Above the distant sea.
So stands the merits of this love
In its divinity.
Be lifted up, O virgin throng.
With open hearts embrace
The principle which purifies.
And elevates the race ;
The love which seeks the good of all,
In ev*ry land and clime ;
Which vitalizes, cheers, forgives.
And renders life sublime.
E. W. WocxMell is a native of Washlngrton County, New York, where he w^J
rated and became a lawver. After practising hid profcasion for some J'*'* *^
State he rt'nioved to Clareinont. A pulmonary aisease and a low w rolc^L
obliged him to abandon tlie pracUce of law. He reeldes in Unity and bMf^^
hiB attention in part to literature.
CHRISTMAS EVE.
'Tis manv Ions: decades since once those seers
Were plodding onward towards the radiant west.
To see the Promised of a thousand 5'ears,
In whom 'twas said, all nations should be blest.
And scofTors then as now were constant seen,
Who mocked at every good, and railed with scorn ;
And making merry at the thought I ween.
That He, so long foretold, should now be born.
But onward still along that rugged road
The wise men urged their slow and weary wa}' ;
A blazing star made known the rude abode
Wherein the Triuce of Life and Glory lay.
FREDEBIC A, MOORE. 819
L an abode ! ah, who would think it meet
)r child of earth, in which to see the light ;
angels from the throne, come down to greet
36 new-born babe with anthems of delight.
)hei'ds beheld and wondered at the scene,
le like of which had never been on earth ;
stial torches lighted all the green,
I confiimation of a Saviour*s birth.
d wise men doubt of what was there revealed !
ay, all misgivings must forever cease ;
Prophets by the hand of God were sealed,
nd in our world appeared the Prince of Peace.
'n through the centuries that since have passed,
lie wise have on the Nazarine believed ;
stricken poor their griefs have on him cast,
nd gained rewards that mind had ne'er conceived.
let us see through fogs and mists of earth
he glittering star, as did the seers of old ;
Arbinger that points a Saviour's bii'th,
nd in his cause be faithful, true, and bold.
jpreTieric a. ittoore.
)r« wag bom in Bristol, February ii, 1826. He was educated at Hebron
lampton academies; studied law in Manchester, but in fact studle<i
'arl\'le and Horace Greeley more than Blocl^stone; became a Journalist;
t editor of the Manchester Dailv Mirror in 1851. He went to Springfield,
and was connected there with the Daily Journal. His next move was to
Wis., in 1854, where he was an editor eight years. In short he lias been
i for about thirty years. For the past nine years he has resided in
D, D.C., a part of the time off on special Indian commission business. He
'*Uiird prize in matrimonial lottery," despite of "bachelor proclamation."
tompiiea "The Boole of Gems; a gift for all Seasons."
THE BACHELOR'S SONG.
A single life's the life for me,
Bright sunn}' isles are there ;
ril dash wide o'er its bounding sea,
Nor love nor hate the fair.
With fearless heart and manly pride,
Against the surging strife,
M)' peaceful bark will gallant ride.
Untroubled with a wife.
Who tamely lets a woman's art
His foolish heart inthrall.
320 POETS OF KEW RAXPSHIBE.
Will surel}' learn, too late, alas.
That love*s a humbug all !
Tis all a cheat, a lie, a show,
To trap ix)or sill}' men —
Old maids to Bedlam all may go,
And ne*er come back again !
In manhood's prime 'tis downright sin
To run such odds for life ;
Mid countless blanks, to only win
A useless, worthless wife ;
And when, by fate or fortune blest,
Which would indeed be worse.
The painted, bauble prize, at best.
May prove a splendid curse.
A wife's a pearl of tempting hue.
But stormy waves are round it,
And dearlv will a mortal rue
The dav when first he found it.
If all her locks were gleaming gold.
Where gems like dewdrops fall.
One passing hour of life, Oi^-souled,
Were sweet I3' worth them all.
The bird that wings the sunny sky.
To greet the rosy mom, —
The stag that scales the mountain high,
When rings the hunter's horn —
When he shall seek the crowded plain,
Or binls their prison-cage.
Then Fll be bound in Hj'men's chain,
To bless a future age.
J. B. HooA was born In 1836, and cnduAted at Dartmovtii CoUmc la 1^l|^£
wa« for manv vt^m* inlitor of an anu-slaTerj paper in Concord, amfaftei^tf?^
a long time 'waa emplojed a« joamallat on the SpiingHeld (MaM.) liV*"
He died In 1971.
WHITE RIVER.
Thou hast not majesty ; no navies ride
Upon th}' tranquil bosom, bearing on
The weight of luxury from distant climes.
Thou dost not heave a flood of water down
GEORGE PATN QUACKENB08. 321
To shake the frightened earth. No poet's song
Has made thy name immortal as his own.
Yet art thou fair ; crystal the waters flow
From out thy mountain springs, and hasten on
Unmingled with a taint of earthly* mould,
But white and pearly as the dew at dawn,
Transparent as the good man's sympathies,
And open as the guileless soul of youth.
I love thy purity. The sunbeams pierce
And mingle with thy depths, and dwell in thee,
As truth transfuses the ingenuous soul,
Lessons of simple verity and love
I've garnered from thee. Quietly flow on,
Fameless White River, bringing purest thoughts.
Unto the happy dwellers on thy banks.
If I may never visit thee again
To be inspired by thy low melody,
Yet still flow on ; for there are those I love,
Because translucent and sincere, like thee.
Who see thee still at sunrise, and at noon,
And when the moon upon thy bosom rests ;
They gaze in silence, and — they ask not why —
A soft tranquillity, half sad, half sweet.
With far ofl* gleamings of a spirit light
In the deep soul, at thy suggestion comes.
Be their life genuine and pure like thine,
A living fount, a tranquil, ceaseless stream
Of kind and holy deeds, reflecting heaven.
QnackenboB, LL.D. , was bom in New York city In 1826. He received a
e eilncation and became principal of Henry St. Grammar School in his
ifcy. In Julv, 1848, he ntarted a literary Journal, The Literary American^ and
^fisher ana editor, at the same time continuing his connection with the
\T School. The American was published weekly for two years, when it
rtred into another publication. Few literary papers in this country have
;a such lltemry merit as did tlie American under Mr. Quackenbos' manage-
Tor about twefye years this poet, orator and well known author of various
ooka, made his residence in the summer and autumn in New London, and
t his home near the Lake Sunapee, devoted himself with untiring seal to
labor. His death, the result of an accident, the overturning of liis carriage
redpitated himself and his wife from a bridge while crossing a stream,
I in New London, July 24, 1881.
MY SOUL'S SONG.
h I beautifnl 'tis, when the mom is awaking,
o see the flrst sunbeam the ocean forsaking ;
o see a thin streamlet of golden light glowing,
ito rivers, and rivers of radiance flowing ;
[ POSTS OF NSW OAUPSBIRB.
To list to the murmur of nature's low voices,
To listen, while earth and the heaven rejoices.
More bcnutirul still, at the falling of even.
To see the still earth, and to see the still heaven ;
To look oti the moon, as she rises so lightly ;
To note the mute stars, as they glimmer so brightly ;
To gaze on creation so silently sleeping.
And sec the iiglit sparkles that evening is weeping !
Oh. beautiful then is the slow-gliding river.
As its waves in tlie arms of the uight-breezea shiver >
And again to the stars fling their silvery glances.
As ou its smooth surface their brilliancy dances ;
Oh, beautiful ever, at falling of even,
The sweetness of earth, and the silence of heaven !
But, my soul, oli ! whj' of the beautiful singing?
Thy lingers why o'er thy harp art thou flinging? _^sS
Say, canst thou dnuk in the soft rays of the morning?'
Is thine the bright gold, that the sky is adorning?
Canst thou e'er interpret creation's low voices,
Or tell what the eartii says, when loud she rejmoes?
Or tell mc, my suul, at the falling of even,
For thcG is the earth still, for thee is the heaven ?
Dost thon know what the moon is, in puritj' beaming? '
Canst By to tlic planets ! Oh ! why art thou dreaming^^^
There arc fetters of iron on thy fluttering pinions \
Thou canst not soar up to the angels' domini<His.
llow loug will the river glide on in its brightness?
How long will its waters go rippling in lightness?
Ah ! every bright thing that thou seest decayeth,
Kor long as the sound of thy melody stayeth.
Ah ! know, t ho' the ha rp-stringa sound gay 'neaththylb.^^^
A breath of decay on each lovely thing lingers. "^^
Then no more strike thy harp, but be silent in K
The rose that is sweetest to-day, dies to-morrow.
The chains of this earth, liave unpitying, bound tl^^^ .
Thou ne'er canst soar IVeely, while they are aroun^ ^^ ,
And ne'er till thou fcelest the balm-breath of be^Ven
Eternal the beauties of morn, or of even.
THE BOSE.
^Vh«ii Tenus, IVom the foaming sprty*
Jiprftn™ Itglitlj- upga Deloa' kla,
OEOROE PATH qUACKEKBOS.
The earth, in vain, upon her flowers
Looked round to find as sweet a smile ;
Not one was as the goddess fair,
Not one could with her charms compare.
Earth grieved to see her own surpassed,
And looked once more— quick on her view
Burst forth the rose, voluptuous
In her thin dress of crystal dew.
No more she grieved ; the mother smiled,
As she beheld her loveliest child.
The rose is beauty's cherished flower ;
Peeps out from her sod golden hair,
Plays lightly o'er her rounded cheek,
And flings her own bright blushes there :
Then on her sweet lips, wearied, lies.
And drinks her smiles, and drinks her sighs.
She is the darling child of May,
Who folds her fondly in her arms.
And pauses on her velvet way.
To veil in moss her rapturous charms ;
Then kisses her with loving eye.
Nor stays, to see her favorite die.
The rose is sweet at morning-tide.
When heavy with the tears of night ;
The rose is sweet at evening hour.
When o'er it pours the sunset light.
In maiden's hair, in maiden's bower.
The rose is still the loveliest flower.
THE FLOWER AND THE TREE.
There was a verdant little spot.
By clustering ivies sweetly shaded,
Velvcted o'er with living moas.
And lit by stars that never faded.
A flower in the sweet spot sprang up.
And grew until its bloom was bright ;
Then, in its prime, it sadly drooped.
And closed ite soft leaves on tbe light.
toW Its history, as he passed bj and sighed :
rer sprang up amid the moes, and grew, and bio
aoddied.''
824 POETS OF MEW HAMPSHIBE.
Ere winter forged his glittering chains,
Where the young flower had drooped its head.
Nature another child brought forth.
And nursed it on the same soil bed.
It grew, and as the 3'ears flew by,
New strength was added, beautj' giyen ;
Until, a mighty tree, its top
Was mingleil with the grey of heaven.
Again the poet struck his lyre, and woods and groves replied :
^^For ages shall the tree survive, majestic in its pride."
That mossy cool spot is my heart,
And love, the heaven-tinted flower.
It grew, it bloomed, then withering, died,
And passed away, in one brief hour.
Though other flowers were bright and sweet,
The beauty of the scene was gone ;
Love perisheii ; every hope was dead ;
The solemn soul was left alone. [die^-
A flower sprang up amid the moss, and grew, and bloomed, ^^^
Love porisheil iu a youthful heart, and all was dead beside.
But soon a tree, shove the place,
Shadoweil the floweret's quiet grave ;
So when the flowers of love have closed.
The leaves of friendship kindly wave ;
So everv vear but added streno^h ;
The frailer love hath passed forever —
Less bright, but more enduring far,
The bloom of friendship withereth never.
Love sprang forth in a (>assionate heart, it grew, and bloome^-^
and died ;
But friendship's tree still stately waves, majestic in its pride.
SONCx OF TFIE BUTTERFLY.
When briirlit-eyed Spring, with her flowery train.
Comes tripping in joy o*er the naked plain.
To scatter hor favore and blessings around.
Ami fling her smiles on the frosteil ground.
When the air with the sweetness of blossoms is rife.
And the sun is warm, I spring to life :
A beauteous thing, with gosisamer wing.
And a merry song to the rose I sing.
And still as Summer comes sweeping along,
I sliake my wing, ami chatter my song ;
OEORQE PAYN QUACKENBOS. 825
And hie from the rose to the lily's breast,
Or make in the woodbine sweet my nest,
Or down in the shade the violet kiss.
0 Summer ! no season's as happ}' as this I
All, all the day, on my pinions gay,
1 woo the bright flowers in innocent play.
Now Summer is gone, and the autumn gale
From the hills comes sweeping adown the vale,
With a shiver I creep this bush behind,
Whose moaning leaves chide the chill}' wind :
O, where can I go to keep me warm.
To hide awaj- from the merciless storm ?
O, where can I go? for the cold blasts blow.
And the clouds hang down with a weight of snow.
The stars look dim in the clouded sky ;
The moon hath mantled her face on high ;
O where is the sun with his blessM raj* —
The rose, on whose lovely breast I laj* ?
Gone, gone ! not a leaf is letl on the trees ;
Chill Winter is coming — I freeze, I freeze !
O, I cannot fly ! dim, dim is mine eye —
My heart is frozen — I die, I die I
THE SPIRIT AND THE BRIDE SAY "COME."
isten ! far from Heaven above Leave a world of sinful strife,
>unds a voice of holy love ; Touch the healing wave of life ;
e who speaks in thunder loud. Streams of mercy flow through
dls the lightning from the Heaven,
cloud. To the weary rest is given : .
ow in accents low and sweet Sinner, come !"
Ids thee to the mercy-seat ; j^et the words of mercy roll
'^^ : ""T^ ' Round the earth, from pole to
I no and desert stay, i^ ,
bou art thirsting-come away ! j^^ iTch 'grateful mortal say,
ere are waters ever flowing, upellow-sinner, come away !
ith the tmts of glory glowmg: ^^ ^^ ^ ^^^ Saviour's feet,
Mortal, come ! Go we to the mercy-seat ;
isten ! from the clouds of earth Holy Spirit,
reaks asound of heav'nly birth: Humbly we thy call obey !
''ounded spirit lend thine ear ; In no desert will we stay ;
roubled soul, the Bride is near : To the streams with glory glow-
^mfort speaks upon her voice — ing,
roken heart, rejoice ! rejoice ! To the waters freely flowing,
"Sinner, come I Guide us Thou V*
826 POSTS OP NEW HAMPSHIBB.
S. J. Pike was a native of Newbur\% Mass.. born April 2S, 1828. He frradintHi at
BowUotn Colle^ in 1847, and »<»on after went to Dover, where he remained foor or
five rears. It was while a resident of that place that he wrote and published In
the Slew York Literary American several poems of ^reat merit, among nhicb wai
-The Better Land.*' *Fn»m i>over he went to New York and was employed by
Mason and Brotht^rs as critic and translaU>r. He delivered orations on Gomneooe-
ment and other occasions. His death occurred in Boston, Nor^nber 6, 1881.
STANZAS.
Oh, visions rare of early hours.
That sofll}' now my bosom fill.
Like perfume floating from the. flowers.
Or tones that tremulously thrill
From lute strings jarred and quiyeriDg still,
Than all my joyanee fonder far.
How delicate and dear ve are !
Oh, gleamings of a sunny face.
That lavished once its smiles on me,
Lithe atoms of a form of grace.
That I no more may hope to see ;
Faint echoes of the melodv
Of lips, where sleep and silence reign,
How throng ye round my soul again.
Oh, memories of a starry night.
Of paths with dewy buvis bestrewn.
And fragrant breezes nooist and light,
Loadeti with breath of hav new-mown :
Of white hands trembling in my own,
Wliose clasp grew closer while an ear
Was bent to wonis none else mav hear :
Of tresses smooth as ravens' plumes.
And eves with lashes dark as thev,
WlK^se brilliance still mv breast illumes:
Of wonis that will not pass away.
Hut gain new beauty day by day ;
Of heart that fluttered as a bini.
Whose frasrile nest is rudelv stirred :
Of love which girlhooii's bosom knew.
That in the first delicious flush
Of woman ho«.Hi more fervent grew ;
How gently ci>me ye all, like blush
Of n*sv suusot to the hush
Of waters on the wavvless sea,
AiKi soothe my care as silently !
SAMUEL J. PIKB. 327
Oh heart of mine ! in boyhood's day,
How soon were love's sweet lessons learned ;
How slow the flame will die away,
That first upon thine altar burned ;
How hath my yearning spirit turned
To seek for bliss it knew of yore,
And heard the whisper, Nevermore !
THE BETTER LAND.
Toiling pilgrims, faint and weary, lift we up our tearful eyes
To the radiant bourne and blissful, whitherward our Journey lies ;
To a land on groping Reason glimmering dimly and afar.
While to Faith's clear gaze it shineth like a fixed, un waning star.
There no blinding beams of noontide on the vision flash and glow ;
Shroaded midnight never cometh with her footfalls hushed and slow
But undarkening brilliance floateth on the waves of holy air.
Kindled by the smile eternal, which our Father deigns to wear.
There the verdure fadeth never, and the odors never die ;
There beneath unwilting blossoms piercing thorns may never lie ;
Music, softer and diviner than from earthly lyres hath rolled.
Through angelic utterance breaketh, and from quivering cords
of gold.
In the greenness of the meadows, sweet still waters smile and
sleep,
Round whose fragrant, rosy margin countless angels vigils keep
Over souls by sin untainted, by temptation purified.
Who through grief and patience strengthened in beatitude abide.
Like a dove of snowy plumage, brooding on her leafy nest.
Peace in sacred beauty resteth, deep in every saintly breast;
Hope hath found the dazzling splendor of her grandest day
outshone.
While through every bosom thrilleth joy that sense hath never
known.
Tears that trembled on the lashes in affliction's keenest hours
Were as dews of summer evenings, on the thirsty lips of flowers.
Vanishing, when dajiight cometh, or but briefly lingering.
That they may uncounted jewels round the glistening blossoms
fling.
B'aith to sight hath been perfected ; love new fervor hath attained :
Ohostly doubt and fear have perished in the heart where once
they reigned ;
328 POETS OF XEW HAMPSHIBE.
Gloaming crowns adorn each forehead by the thorns of sorrow torn,
And he wears the whitest raiment who the heaviest cross hsth
borne.
We from that fair land are sundered by a river deep and wide.
Whoso chill waves dash nearer to as like an ocean's polsiog tide;
Day by day, beneath the billows hosts go down, who rise no more
Till the unretuming current bears them to the heavenly shore.
There in mansions God hath builded, evermore unperishing,
Chant thov hvmns of loftiest measure to their Maker, Sanoar.
Kins,
Who in mercy hath his creatures with eternal dwellings blest,
Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.
Wandering pilgrims, faint and weary, lift we up our tearful ejes,
To the radiant lx>ume and blissful, whitherward our joamej lies;
While her pinions lithe and buoyant Hope unfurls to waft the loaJ
From the depths of its despondence to the glories of its goal.
HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP.
When wearily the eyelids close.
And for unbroken slumber yearn ;
When, faint and feeble, for repose.
The over-la iea bean would turn
From eanb^s fallacious happiness.
To }v.\Ys 'j>ore pure and peace more deep,
God Iviiaeih fiv>m on high to bless.
Am giveih his beiov^ sleep.
Upon ibr p^.ai?:d bosom rest.
Like suiiLnier r&in on biOssoms. dreams
Of ix^ciozs beiuiitV. asd bkssed.
While OS :hc q-.:kie!:-e>i vision gleams
A liiT-* *-*■-&• eanl caLn aever dim*
Nv^r fv\. '.::.*: vl:o>i> :is ndianoe keep.
Eikii:-.ilTV. i; :«»e :hroi:e of HLm
Wi-o c.vcii :.:< tieloTed sjeep.
1:: swe**; ir>i f^U f^r^rcifulDesss
Of :oil> arsi ;f irs^ asi wccidiy woe,
Tbe 5^\:rl: :rez::ks ii: excess
Of ':'.:<!> as* kc:A:< iiai^lf ;o 4iiv>w
Asi^i ikaii*5 rArrjw «rea=. ai>d swim
To Su^^^^^^? "• i»i« Dcof nay wake k> w«cp.
Al^iisfii: Uifa.- iTie f«-: v\f Hia
W^ ^.\xii i» ^^fcAT^Tfti Sd(«f^.
SAMUEL J. PIKE. 3^9
Then, in the grandeur of the day
That waneth never into night,
The shades like mists shall melt awaj',
And heaven its own abundant light
Diffuse around the soul that lives
Where angels ceaseless sabbath keep,
Beneath the smile of Him who gives
Unto his own bplovM sleep.
SONNET.
The blithe birds of the summer-tide are flown.
Cold, motionless, and mute stands all the wood,
Save as the restless wind, in mournful mood
Strays through the tossing limbs with saddest moan.
The leaves it wooed with kisses, overblown
By gusts capricious, pitiless, and rude.
Lie dank and dead amid the solitude ;
Where-through it waileth desolate and lone.
But with a clearer splendor sunlight streams
Athwart the bare, slim branches, and on high
Each star, in night's rich coronal that beams,
Pours down intenser brilliance on the eye.
Till dazzled fancy finds her gorgeous dreams
Outshone in beauty by the autumn sky.
SONNET.
The buoyant songs of youth's swift hours are flown.
And through his heart, whose locks are thin and white.
With rime of age, the spirit of delight
Goes wailing with a melancholy moan.
For all the joys, that hope, with winning tone,
Proclaimed should linger, deathless dear and bright.
Around the day which waneth now to night,
The spirit maketh fruitless search, alone.
Yet to the trustful and aspiring soul.
Exalting visions of its home are given ;
And grander glory clothes its loft}' goal.
Than stars assume in Autumn's cloudless even.
Earth slowl}' sinks in darkness and in dole.
While breaks the pure, auroral light of Heaven.
35)0 POETS OF NEW BAXP8SIBE.
lEnod) i&tot%t fXHam^.
E. G. Adams Is a native of Bow. He Is the second son of Rer. J<diB A^amM
Newington, and a dcscendent of Rcr. Joseph Adams, who was an ancle of Jota
Adams, second president of tlie United States. He was gnuloated at Tale CoUen
In 1849; went into the army in the war of the Rebellion as a primte In ConpsnjR
Second N. H. Kef^iniont; was neverley wounded at the battle of WllUsnitbn|r,n4
was mustered out of sen-ice Nov. 27, '1865, as Captain and Brevet lUfor. Hkmh
year he went to Oregon. He was editor and proprietor of the Foneowwr XtgUer
at Vancouver, Wai»hington Territorv, for a number of vears, and appoiiitM If
President Grant Register of the Land Office. Subseauently be moTeo to 8t Ba
en, Orefcon, where he now resides and edits and publishes The Cdbtmbia^ Brli
an owner of much laud, and resides on a romantic claim called Frogmore.
THE POND AMID THE HILLS.
This pond that lofty hills embrace,
How pure and placid lies I
Uplooking to the heavens above,
As if with human eyes.
Secure from all the fierce wind's rage,
It scarcel}' heaves its breast ;
Though other lakes may toss and foam,
This has a sabbath's rest.
When blackest clouds are in the sky.
And tempest wild doth roar.
It almost is as calm and still
As when the tempest's o'er.
For storm winds in their storms of wrath
Will onwaixl pass above,
And leave it, like a gentle heart,
That*s shielded round with love.
THE PRECIOUSNESS OF TEARS.
Those poarl-like tears were never given.
To shed for every trivial woe ;
'Tis mockery that such gems of Heaven
For common griefs should flow.
The minor ills that haunt our lot
Should not our tears, but smiles, provoke —
Like clouds that Heaven's fair azure blot.
By sunshine, easiest broke.
Pride olttimes makes its votaries weep
For |>omp, for equipage and dress ;
They sigh in all the glare to sweep
Of fa£^iou*8 littleness ;
JOHN BODWELL WOOD. 331
To deck themselves in robes of pride,
And flutter out their trivial span,
Then break like bubbles on the tide,
Despised by God and man.
Ambition's votaries likewise weep,
When glory doth their grasp evade,
Like shooting stars, that downward sweep.
And into darkness fade ;
£'en when they gain the gilded prize
Tis like a rainbow, that appears
^ith glory to illume the skies
And 3*et, — 'tis only tears.
And wealth, how man}' sighs and tears
Have for its paltriness been paid I
-And toil through long and weary years
Till life begins to fade.
A.las ! it only can bestow
The sculptured marble to declare
That we have left our empty show
And now must fester there 1
13ut when our long-loved friends depart.
Those pearl like tears that hidden lie
IVithin the casket of our heart
Should grace their memory ;
O then 'tis nobleness to shed
Those pearls upon their grave's green sod,
For that sweet tribute to the dead
Is incense unto God.
-But when o'er sins and follies past
We weep and penitentl}' pray,
O then in Heaven is unsurpassed
The rapture of that day.
An angel comes — all light — all lov
To catch the penitential gem.
And bear it to the realms above
To grace God's diadem.
^ ^. Wood WM bom In Lebanon, l^laine, December 7, 1837. His parents re
^ to Great Falls when he ynvnA very young. He was educate^l at the diatrl(4
^» and in the Kenncbunk Academy In Maine. His father denlred he should be-
^ imwver, and with timt end in view put Blaclcstone and Kent into his hands.
^K. a ukiog to the limpid English of the latter, and then was Induced to enter
;J32 POETS OF NEW EAMP8HIBS.
a printing office And learn that trade. Suboeqaently he worked tai ^^"^^
Dover Gazettf, Ihrrer Knquirfr, Morning Star^ and In oflloet in Coiioonl,»«
and elrie where. In 1H47 he started the Thur$daff Stetcker at Great faUt- n*
vt'iirH afterward!) he went to New York city and began his long career mi jw-
nalliit. lie Is attached at the present time to the editorial staff of the i'« /<"
Herald.
THE WORTH OF BAUBLES.
A sailor on an iceberg lone,
A float within the frigid zone,
Mid Alps of ice and icing snow,
Where winds that chill forever blow,
Sank, helpless, under torpor given
B}' icebergs 'neath the polar heaven.
And as he sank, he spied afar
A thing that glittered as a star.
And scrambling o'er the slimy ice.
Grasped the great diamonds of rich pri<
And rusty gold, of value rare,
The reconl of some shipwreck there.
**Ha ! ha !" he cried, *'and these shall
The warmth and bread I need to live !
Those, those in princel}' hands shall gle^^ *^
While I I'ejoice on fortune's stream !
Hut, heavens I there are no princes hei
This, (hh is worse than worthless gear *
Wore diamonds charretl to coke again,
And gold but fire. Promethean,
Then 1 ivuld make a roval turn I
O, how rd have these brilliants bum !
But, horo are diamonds, icy cold ;
Horo is not warmth, nor bread, but gol<
In aniror and contempt be threw
Thos<* jowols into ocean's blue,
Auv! sank u|xni the ice, and then
KolHps*\l into des|>air again ;
K on while worUi*s wealth lay at his side
Ho sank, and of starvation died.
ivniLvGE, FORE^^».
Wha; wv do, lot's do with boldness :
What wo ktvw, let's speak for aye!
Aihl Tvsjwt UAUi:'.;: for its okiness'
JOHNBODWELL WOOD, 338
What is right, with will is power ;
Truth is truth, and must prevail ;
And true courage for an hour
Often is of great avail.
Naught is gained by coward groaning
Under each mishap and ill ;
Give us men not always moaning —
Men of nerve and iron will.
Firmly stand to Freedom's calling,
Battling to defend the right —
Fainting not though scenes appalling
Startle others' timid sight.
F'LASH OF LIGHTNING— A TELEGRAM AN
SWERED.
The battered ship was nearing home,
SUll strong and brave as though no gale
Had swept her decks with briny foam
And strained her timbers, keel to rail.
Then rose a hurricane, with seas
That were as thunder when they broke
Upon her, and her live-oak knees
Were wrenched by each successive stroke.
Yet with her masts and spars intact.
She seemed a stanch, seaworth}* ship ;
So no sail hailed her, and in fact
She might have made her port that trip,
But one appalling lightning flash
Splintered her stately masts and spars
And sent them whirling, with a crash,
Down on the superstitious tars.
Then an abandoned hulk she lay.
Huge, black and spectral in the night —
Forbidding even in the day —
A solemn, most unwelcome sight.
That hulk has since been on the ways.
And then launched forth upon the tide ;
And now again she proudly plays
Her part with all her primal pride.
33 i POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
f^arrtet Ketoell iBaton. I ^
Mrs. Eaton is the eldest child of the late Dea. EseUel and Mrs. Maiy E LiKif I ^^
Candia, born in Candia. Dec. 16. 1827. She became the wife of the lite flanHa ■ ^
Katon, M. D., who was for more than forty years ** the beloved phjiidan'' of At ■ r;
towns of Merrimack and LitchHeltl. Dr. Eaton deoeaaed Nov. 19. iwl. Vn-EUH | "^
resides upon tlic oUl homestead at Thornton's Ferry, Merrimadc. She if i riikr >
Mary UlaKe L^tne, whose poetry is found upon a later page of thla Tohne.
BEATITUDE.
Bright, coronal hour of a roj'al day !
When in his calm, cheerful, beautiful way,
Caressing my brow, he will fond!}' say : —
Dear child ! dearest wife ! wh}*, j'ou are my O
It is you and I, and the crowd are flown !
Let them go ! why, you and I are alone !
Why they are good, and we honor them all;
They may come and go, they may rise and
Like tides of the sea ; their love or their gall
Is the same to me, since we are alone ;
Dear ciiiid ! precious wife ! my best and my o
And all but ourselves have fluttered and flown I
Into mine, look glorious eyes of blue.
Of Heaven's clear depths, the tj'pe and the hue
It is Heaven, love ! for me and for you.
When they all are gone, and the coast is clear,
With nobody round, and nobody near
Save two loving souls — wife and husband dear.
MY MOAN.
Upon my husband's anguished face,
The tears fell faster than the rain
Beating without against the pane.
** Dear Love I " I cried, *'one last embraoe I
.You cannot press my hand, nor speak ; —
One sign, one word, I vainly seek.
If you do hear and love me now.
Wilt love me through th' eternal years.
Beloved, kiss me through the tears ! "
Bathing his checks, and pallid brow,
Kisses and tears fell soft : the rain
Without, beat hard against the pane.
HABBIET NEWELL EATON. 335
Fond lips that met ; blest kisses, three ;
Each sweetest, tenderest and best !
Dear hands, that clasped me to his breast I —
LoTe was glorified ; — ^turning me
From the warm clay, I knelt to praise ;
His, ** no more pain" through endless daj's I
I rose ; then sank beneath the weight
Of my nnutterable woe ; —
Such alternations come and go.
As was thy gifl, my loss is great ;
Grieving 'neath widowhood's dark pall,
I bless thy name, but hot tears fall, —
And, till the resurrection morn,
Whose dawning shall dispel the rain.
Whose glory break against the pane.
Sweet Heart ! I, for thy love, shall yearn ;
Would God that I this day might die !
'Neath the cold sod, with thee, to lie !
THE RAIN.
When I was a child, and slept *neath the roof
Of the cottage on Maple Hill,
It rained, and the rain had a peaceful sound, —
Does it rain on the roof there still ?
When I was a bride, and smiled 'neath the roof
Of the cottage on Maple Hill,
It rained, and the rain had a Joyful sound.
Showers of blessings on me still.
When the other day I turned from his side,
A widow I lone, and heart-broken.
It rained, as it rained when I was a child ;
Was the rain, of woe, a token ?
It rained, as it rained when I was a bride, —
It rains to-night on Maple Hill ;
It rains ou my heart ; it rains on a mound
In the graveyard, gloomy and chill !
Neither child, nor mother, nor living soul
Sleeps to-night upon Maple Hill,
But the rain no doubt, has a pleasant sound,
Falling fast on the I'oof there still.
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
And what of the sleeper under the sod.
Who wed me upon Maple Hill ? —
While Heaven's tears fall with mine, 'tis sure
Heaven's love is enfolding him still.
It may rain, and rain, and forerer rain,
Though a widow, and heart-broken.
Of peace, and of joy, and of love, I know,
The rain is a certain token !
OLD JOHN.
Out through blossoming apple trees.
Budding clover, and humming bees.
Through fragrant breath of shining Mom,
Thcj^'ve led a prince, a king, — Old John !
White daffodil, and barberry spray
Wreathed his neck as he turned away.
Firm clasp of lo\ing arms up-spread.
Drew quick to lips, the high, gray head.
Through garden-gate I watched him go.
The flashing tail through currant-row ;
Farewell old John I and grief had way.
Beloved ! up there I dost see to-day?
To orchani-grave, by quiet wood,
They've led the faithful, brave and good ;
With sobbing heart I fl}* the spot,
Mv ears, hear not the dreadful shot !
Oh, honest heart ! Oh, graceful head !
Oh, perfect feet I Oh. cheerful tread !
Rushini; mem'ries, tender and true I
Oh, gladsome rides, we've had with yoa !
Dear fellow I vou were one of three
That happy were as we could be !
Arab stoeil nor chanrer of Don,
Gay as you, old rollicking John !
Over highway, through wild and glen,
Jo vou s and fleet, vou bore us then.
No laggnni drop in loyal veins^
Though Doctor read nor held the reins.
YoQ had some playful, prankish ways, —
Too queer to scold, too bad to prmise ;
WILLIAM COPP FOX. 387
You never gnawed the pickets straight,
Nor wrenched from hinges, painted gate,
But like a sinner, laid about
Old brown fence in lively rout.
And oft made mouths at Doctor sly,
As his soiled coat would testiQ- .
You knew the calls of round before.
You stopped unbid at patients' door.
Centaur might be a myth or true.
One willing soul^ master and you I
Through toilsome sands, or driving hail,
O'er Ferry dark, in wind and gale.
In every storm, through useful years.
Your awkward, friendly form appears.
That shot the end ?— or, horse of fire.
Speed you through Heaven his desire ?
Is resonant its golden floor —
With spirit hoofs — forevermore?
32EilUam OTopp Jpox.
''ox reBldes in Wolfeborougb, his native town. He was bom December
Aduated at Dartmouth College in 1852; studied law and has followed that
in Carroll Countv since 1855. For several years past he has been presi*
Wolfeborougb savings Bank.
TOM BROWN'S REFORMATION.
•ne Thomas Brown, of 'Saukee town.
Had gotten much infected
nth fragrant ^ ^slings," and such hot things.
And his good wife neglected ;
iThile she, poor Kate, so delicate,
Ach sorrow seemed a crushing weight.
Sat all the day dejected —
Alone and unprotected.
Tow Kate was true as Prussian blue
To all her nuptial vows —
'o serve and love, and ever prove
A blessing to her spouse,
(ut wept at night, as well she might,
I'd see the graceless, fuddled wight
Return fVom long carouse —
And sometimes knit her brows.
POETS OF yEW HAMP8BIBS.
When woman'a smiles and softer wiles
CaD no impression make ;
When trembling fears and burning tears
Man's purpose cannot shake ;
When all her arts like broken darts
Fall shivet'd from oar stony hearts,
Perhaps revenge she'll take —
She's often "wide awake."
And mncb I grieve, that Kate, one ere,
Was quite enraged to find
Before the door, with rather more
Than "three sheets in the wind,"
One Thomas Brown, a dronken clown.
Now staggering np, now tumbling down,
Seeking his door to find —
For Tom had "gone it blind."
How Tom got in, let fancy spin
The thread of that narration ;
How on the floor he 'gan to snore,
So let imagination ;
But lucky hit of woman's wit !
Most surely. Kate, thy course were fit
Example for a nation —
Of wives and dissipation.
Thus Katy did : — a coverlid.
As <.ie*[> in sleep he lay.
She oaivt\)t ro:i«il with many a fold
About his torj>id clay ;
Then in it Ci^ht sb« s«wied the wight
l_.\ sv>rt of chrjsalis that night.)
And Ivw^pfvl him snug away —
Tom wvie w N?;i and pray,
MiTn smilevi again, but Tom in vain
Wi;h Mvinj sliA'Hid contended ;
Crie*! Kate. ■■My dear. TU starve joa here,
Tnl^ss vxHir ways are mended."
TVi*n fi4t the yv>ke. his pride it broke ;
K.;v.-..M 1 he i.vafess<ed th« juke.
Ai-: -v*k his Tvice aa^vnded —
•t>.j.i t\-nti9 now are •mded ."*
WILLIAM COPP FOX. 339
WOLFEBOROUGH CENTENNIAL, JULY 9, 1870.
By an indigenous, indigent and indignant Bard.
Old Town ! to-day, the records say,
You've jogged along your temp'ral way,
Through annual and biennial,
Since first endowed with corporate name, —
Lank ghost of Wolfe forgive the same ! —
Till you have won the grizzly fame
That crowns a ripe Centennial.
Full many a one, now ^'dead and gone,"
Whose race within thee was begun.
Loved e'en thy iroZ/'ish origin, —
As erst the Ilian Twins the face
Of Lupine nurse, — a "Roman case," —
Till Rommy '*hit" the ticklish place
That Remus stowed his porridge in !
One hundred years ! Why, it appears
As if with grateful smiles— or tears.
We might Just drop a penny all.
And filing in behind a crate
Of bon-bons march with steps elate
To Millville Grove — and celebrate
Our good old Town's Centennial.
But thrift and gain are sued in vain.
While avarice pulls with tightening strain
The pucker of our purses all.
And when our cits like Highland clan
Should rouse and muster to a man,
Of zeal or tribute one may scan,
A batch of doggerel verse is all I
How many a shade hy sexton's spade
Forever laid, to-day betrayed
And cheated of due reverence.
May writhe and twist beneath the stones
That mark (and mar) where rot his bones,
And supplicate in hollow tones
From native soil disseverance !
Then suffer rhyme like hops to climb
And wreathe the century-pole of Time,
With raspy leaves perennial.
Lest all the founders of the Town,
From Treadwell, Apthorp, Cutter, down
To "Fiddler Jim," forever frown
Upon our lost Centennial !
340 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
LINES,
To mT Mends Worster and Gaterj, Lmwjen, on the preaentalion of m Btoflinl
Bed Fox.
Brothers Worster and *^Gaf. :** Yoa have made me to langh.
Till mv verv ribs crackle and shiver.
While an ear-to-ear grin has distorted mj akin,
And the bile fairiy "biles** in my liver!
Yea« I chucide and shake, till mv viaoera ache.
In a sort of hysterical puzzle ;
With hilarious grimaces wholly mined my face is.
But with fatneds l*m full to the muzzle !
What a present ^in *'fee''), and how **fbxy^ tx> see.
Is the yellow-eyed, sanctified joker !
How his crafUness shows— e*en the tip of his nose
Is the synonyme true of •'draw-poker I"
See the prick of his ear. and his chicken-roost-leer.
And the ^'bang** of his caudal appendage ;
SlKxi Willi putThalls his •'troiters" — me plus ultra of ^^squatters/
He*s the Kobin of le^-al brigandi^ !
The rascal. nv> doubt, in a way roondaboat,
Was a \yjv of owr legal profession :
The si^mp was well "red/* and had some length of head.
And iVKild uuike ibe '^lur ily*" on occaaioa.
From bens, baros ana gees>e he extorted his ^'fees**
Wi;b mc^: sancl:mo4ikius dnmess.
And won re;v.n:f4«:o:2 from ea4>b civil nataoQ
As tbe noaiv&rv :; embJem of slvness.
Foe :be ir.:!^^ Tsanv ihanks ! CiXi#ii I tarn fortv cranks.
Scuvv a vicvtiv^e vXxiiLi s>erK'e, a: ibe su^ich of each nen-e.
To criaa oc: aiv iTa:cihl ocaik^i.
Reriuavi — V-;::;>e»s^"AX*-r^ - Amoog the white SDOw-pemks
No more be »:", coiije -is fle^<e up.
But W4 up in n:y i-^nuc. scjlII be my mute MbnuM^
And ••»o«»e'* "r^ooprt ^be ^kiries of .£»9 !
OCTV^BER^
Lk ydcuifsl har.i bss b;:«B«:e pay
1» *dyb warm k> ii>
f ;
WILLIAM COPP FOX. 841
I, fondly sober,
With statelier welcome greet the time
Of ripening fhiits in Eden clime,
And pledge mj' troth in prouder rhjme
To brown October.
0 balmy air ! O happy soul,
Bathed in this liquid aureole
Of molten light !
O'er field and wood, o'er lake and isle,
O'er distant hill and mountain pile,
1 see the noon of Autumn smile.
And bless the sight.
The trees, like nymphs, enrobed in chintz.
Bright fleck'd in m}Tiad Tyrian tints.
Their charms diffhse ;
Not she such gorgeous drapery bore
Through high Olympian halls of yore, —
Ins, with all her dazzling store
Of rainbow hues.
Far on the blue of Western sky,
Soft clouds in shoals of amber lie.
Dissolving slow ;
O'er orchards flushed and shocks of maize,
The sun distils a golden haze
From halos that becalm the blaze
Of days ago.
Nor, Phoebus, shalt thou rule alone
The season from thy ruby throne ;
Advancing soon,
In flowing veil of silvery sheen,
. Her scepter o'er th' enchanted scene
Shall sway thy night-dispelling queen.
The har\'est moon.
Let younger bards of Flora sing.
Sweet princess of the budding Spring,
But, more serene.
Of all the graces of the year,
I choose, my heart and hearth to cheer,
The brown-eyed Ceres for my dear.
My bosom queen.
POETS OP NEW HAMPSSmX.
SoBial) iHooftg jFlPtcljer.
:. Mk»9., Jaauarr 11. ISM. He Htsdiutr^ it
^ yme tbe ncit j-e«r lo KsBhun. irheiv be HUlol
id has rmlilei] lill the prewnt Ume, witb tlie eirepUOD o( » year Id Hextoi nul
■ engBp?<lu > bookMlleraDd pabllsher, and bIdmt thv
Fletciwr and WeliMsr Fuml
Htr Works His U(e thus ^.
luraed tu poetry rather as a rcrrvailon Ihan frmn hopQ of achterlD^ Ulprary
a haU
and pobllEher, and bIdmt the lalirr
tumltuTe. He Is pmldcnt of ilie
, Jie proprietor of the Mashna S-n-
far ha* been a lite ot business netlvltf , and he b*i
rcrrvallon Ihan from hope of achte^'"- "•"—-- -"—*--
. or less eonndae a book and magailnevr
His Bnl Ulenrv aifrenturc was Ihe ootn^Uan of the "Gohlen Glft-
elKhieen years of age. whirh oonlaliied a half dozen of bU own piece*, and
sale of OTcr 100.000 copies.
TO ADALDSE.
When summer gilds the meadows,
Aod meadows scent the gales,
Aud rivers flow with murmurs low
AloDg the TcrdoDt voles,
Wheii blossoms on the highlands,
And blossoms on the lea,
Rellei't the rn;-^ of summer days,
How sweet to think of thee.
I treasure thee forever.
But oh ! when summer brings
The birds, and bees, and leal^ trees,
I almost sigh for winga
To bear my »oul. exultant,
AltoTc the land and sea.
And gather earth's divJuest things
For thee, my love, for thee.
I hie to pleasant valleys.
And sit by silver streams,
And half believe the aogels weave
A portion of my dreams,
So sweet to me is summer,
So (lill of joy and glee.
And sweetest of my summer dreams
Are [ileasaot dreama of thee.
APVERSITY.
The father's love is over all,
C'iTO|>assionate and holy,
t\w nvh aiHt |wor. the great and small,
Th« lofty and the lowly ;
J08IAH MOODY FLETCHEB. 343
Adjusted to their varioas needs
Are all his ministrations ;
The wounded spirit never bleeds
Without its consolations.
Let us be patient with our lot.
And hopeful of the morrow,
Remembering there liveth not
A soul exempt from sorrow ;
And even should the cruel hand
Of poverty oppress us,
Its evils we can best withstand
If hopeful hearts possess us.
Contentment cometh not from wealth.
Nor ease fh)m costly living ;
The best of blessings, peace and health,
Are not of fortune's giving ;
A happy heart dependeth not
On fortune's fickle treasures,
But rather seeks a lowly lot,
Content with simple pleasures.
The ways of God are just and wise
To every living creature,
In every ill there underlies
Some compensating feature,
And when the lowly feel the rod
Most sorely on them pressing.
Full often is the living God
Most lavish in His blessing.
ANGELS BY AND BY.
We should live as if expecting
To be angels by and by.
Every moment recollecting
The immortal life on high.
Where, in purity and glory.
The angelic throngs above
Hymn the never ending story
Of the great Creator's love.
We should live for something higher.
Than to grovel here for gold,
And to holiness aspire
Like the sainted ones of old ;
344 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
We should live in the endeavor
Human passions to control,
And to hold the truth forever
As the anchor of the sool.
We should live fbr one another,
For humanity and right,
True to God and to each other.
And the soul's divinest light ;
We should live for those in sorrow.
On the waves of trouble cast>
With an ever firm endeavor
To be faithfhl to the last.
In the narrow path of duty,
In the shining path of love,
In the purity and beauty
Of angelic life above,
Every moment recollecting
The immortal life on high,
We should live as if expecting
To be angels by and by.
LITTLE ELOISE.
It was a summer holiday, as bright as ever shone ;
And pretty little Eloise had wandered forth alone ;
For there were roses in the vale, and blossoms on the trees, —
And hunting wildwood flowers was the joy of Eloise.
In many a winding path she strayed, by bonny bank and stream,
Until at length she laid her down and had a pleasant dream.
And one as young and fair as she then took her b^^ the hand,
And led her far and far away unto a shining land.
And there the fields were caipeted with fresh and dewv flowers.
And there a golden light was shed thro' all the gladsome hours,
And there such happy murmurs swelled fh>m scenes so ftesh
and fair,
It seemed as if a holy song was filling all the air.
And then he led her to a seat, that little boy, — her guide.
And said that he was Willie dear, her brother who had died.
"And now we are in Heaven," he said, "and I have called vou
here
To show how very beautiful its blissful scenes appear."
J08IAH MOOD Y FLETCHEJR. 545
yt
^^It is your spirit that can see these wondrous things around,
And 3'ou will wake and find you've been asleep upon the ground.
'Twas thus that little Willie spake, her little angel brother ;
Half buried in the blooming flowers they blessed and kissed
each other.
And then a mist came o'er her eyes, and waking lh>m her dream,
She felt the breeze upon her cheek, and heard the purling stream ;
And running home, and staying not till she had found her mother.
She climbed into her lap and asked, ''Had I a little brother?"
^^For while I was asleep to-day he came to be my guide,
And said that he was Willie dear, my brother who had died ;
And 'twas in heaven he said we were, and all was happy there,
He told me it was always bright, and all its scenes were fair."
^*And twined within each other's arms we blessed and kissed
each other,
^ow can it be that I had once so sweet a little brother?"
Thus questioned little Eloise, with a delighted eye,
The while her mother's filled with tears as thus she made reply.
*' 'Yes, darling child, before your eyes had scanned this worldly tide.
Our precious little Willie lived, our darling Willie died ;
And if I dimly saw before that world so pure and blest,
Tb3' simple weirds, my child, have set my doubts and fears to rest.
And clasping then her darling girl, with mother love, so true,
As if in clasping Eloise she clasped her Willie too.
She seemed to see that bright world ope, and this one fade away,
Ab did her darling Eloise upon that holiday.
»
RUMNEY HILLS.
The rippling rills from Rumney hills
Flow down to Baker's river.
And how my heart with rapture thrills
To see them fiash and quiver,
For there, along those bonny banks.
Beside those sparkling waters.
The maiden walked who won my love,
The flower of Grafton's daughters.
How prondly stand the mountains grand
On Rumney's rocky bonier.
Upheaved by the Creator's hand
In eloquent disorder,
346 POETS OF NEW HAMP8SIBE.
But beauty dwells in all the dells,
And e'en the mountains hoary
Give lessons of the power of God,
And glimpses of His glory.
There cradled, lived the girl who came
To bless mj lowland dwelling.
How much I love the brave old place
M\' words are weak in telling.
But like a picture of the bright
Elysian lands of story.
The halo of a deathless love
Surrounds it with its glory.
GOOD WISHES.
Good wishes to the world I send.
To rich and poor, to high and low.
To false and true, to foe and friend.
To one and all, good wishes, go.
To endless summer's spicy vales,
And frozen zones of ice and snow.
Like perfume of the gentle gales.
On viewless wings, good wishes, go.
To lowlv cot and lordlv hall,
To courts of vice and haunts of woe,
To children taught, if taught at all.
The ways of crime, good wishes, go.
To mourning halls and bridal bowers
Where grief and joy are wont to flow.
To convict cells and prison towers.
With healing voice, good wishes, go.
To slave and master, bond and free.
To king and |>easant, friend and foe.
Whatever thev mav feel for me.
To one and all. good wishes, go.
MOURN NOT FOR ME WHEN I AM DEAD.
Mourn not for me when I am dead.
Turn gently back the falling tear.
And rather let rejoicing shed
Its kindlv beams above mv bier.
J08IAH MOOD T FLETCHEB. 34 7
For grief is useless, tears are vain,
They can not help tiie sleeper there,
And, waking into life again.
His soul the moorner's grief may share.
Mourn not for me when I am gone, .
Why did I write that sad word "dead" ?
They are not dead — the newly born
Into a life we should not dread I
The spirit's freedom once attained,
'Twill pierce the earth and cleave the sky.
Why then, when more of life is gained,
Do mortals weep and say, "we die"?
Mourn not for me when I am free,
Why did I write the sad word, "gone"?
Gone from our loved ? It cannot be 1
The everlasting soul lives on.
And true to nature's law will go
Wherever led by inmost love.
And seek the scenes of earth below,
As well as fairer scenes above.
THE SLEIGHRIDE.
The stars above are shining, love,
The clouds are silver white.
And we are all alone, my own,
This regal winter night.
Then nestle near without a fear
That prying eyes will see.
And we may say whate'er we may,
And none the wiser be.
The winter skies with sweeter dyes
Were never known to glow,
And never steed with swifter speed
Flew o'er the fleecy snow.
And never night, however bright
The starry dome above,
Outrivalled this in joy and bliss,
That now we give to love.
The music swells from silver bells,
And echoes far and wide,
As over vale and hill and dale
Right merrily we ride ;
348 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBE.
But more to me than melody,
However sweet ita fall,
Is woman's face of winning grace,
The crowning charm of all.
Then banish care and fondly share
This season of delight.
For we are all alone, m3' own,
This regal winter night ;
And nestle near without a fear
That other eyes will see.
And we may say whatever we may
And none the wiser be.
THE STOLEN KISS.
Oh ! how my heart upbraided me
When, in a moment dire,
I kissed sweet Jennie's snow-white hand.
Overcome by my desire.
And saw within her pret^ eyea
A rising look of ire.
I begged she would not take offence.
Quite overcome with fear,
'^Otfencc ! why should I not?* she aaid.
In accents low and clear,
'^That you should kiss a lady's hand
When — when her lips were near !**
LINES TO THE AMERICAN FLAG,
OS THE 4th op JULY.
Thou glorious banner of the Aree,
Flung out from countless quivering spars
On hill and plain, o'er land and sea.
My country's flag of stripes and stars.
What joy to see thy colors bright
High in the heavenly arch of blue.
Baptized in freedom's holy light.
And to the star of progress true !
What raptures rise in loyal breasts
To see those gallant folds unfurled,
Di\ine with freedom's high behests,
And broad enough for all the workl I
J08LAH MOODY FLETCHEB. 349
What royalty aroand it clings,
Victorious in so many wars,
Surmoanted by the bird whose wings
Soar nearest to the sun and stars !
O flag of hope ! what glories blend
With every star, with every fold,
Till heaven itself could scarcely lend
More lustre to thy gleams of gold I
Wide as the world extends thy fkme,
And millions Join in loud huzzas,
And glory in thy glorious name,
My country's flag of stripes and stars I
THE PAUPER MILL.
Yonder swings a gilded sign
Lettered '*Lager beer and wine.**
It were well if those who gaze
Saw it as it should appear,
**Wine that wins from virtue's ways,
Beer that brings you to your bier."
Or it might, with reason still,
Read ''The people's pauper mill.'*
Stepping in, a gilded show
Hides an under wave of woe.
Here are gathered tell-tale lips.
There is seen a tell-tale nose,
Showing how the one who sips,
Surely down to ruin goes.
Though all business else is still,
Blithely goes the pauper mill.
Hearts may break and homes may be
Desolated hopelessly ;
Grief and sorrow, want and woe,
Crime and ruin, hand in hand,
From the poison cup may flow.
Desolating all the land,
Tet do christian people still
Tolerate the pauper mill.
MOUNT WASHINGTON,
With reverence and with awe we bow.
Proud mountain of the North, to thee.
350 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
Upon whose heaven-ascending brow
Is throned eternal majesty.
Can man, unmoved, thy glories trace?
Unawed, within thy presence stand?
Ah, no ! the humblest of the race
Fay homage to our mountain land.
How proudly, in the morning light,
Thy walls reflect the roseate rays
That on thy far ascending height
Like banners of an army blaze ;
How proudly when the sun ascends,
And day's meridian charms expand,
Thy summit with the azure blends,
Thou monarch of our mountain land.
And when the clouds, with sullen gloom,
To fierce and fiery conflict march,
And belts of lurid flame illume
The chaos of the heavenly arch,
More proudly still, amidst the fierce
And flaming fury of the blast.
With mail no fiery bolt can pierce,
Ascends thy summit, grim and vast. .
The works of man — at best they rise.
The fleeting wonder of a day,
Whilst thou shalt proudly pierce the skies
Long as the sun and stars have sway.
The boasted monuments of art —
How puny when compared with thee.
Whose fadeless grandeur moves the heart
As mighty tempests move the sea.
*Tis fitting that thy lordly height
Should bear Columbia's proudest name.
And keep forever green and bright
The glorious record of his fame ;
And towering o'er our fruitful land,
Such love of freedom should inspire.
As ner\'cs the heart and moves the hand
To guard it with a wall of fire.
Around thee sweep the chilling blasts
Of winter in his wild career.
But winter's self a halo casts
Around thy forehead, calm and clear.
Hl^.
A XmiN M. PA TSON. 35 1
And when the snows of winter melt,
And creep away in shining streams,
Upon thy brow the lessening belt
Of snow and ice with beauty gleams.
Thy base, with summer foliage crowned,
Invites the pilgrim to its shade, '
And there, as if on hallowed ground,
His soul responds to Him who made
The mountain's summit rise above
The storms that roll around its base,
And catch the gleams of light and love,
A lesson to the human race.
PBT8011 formerlf resided in Portomouth, and more recently in LynicAeld,
[n \mi he, with Albert Lalgbton, compiled the "Poeta of Portsmouth," a
great value.
SEDES MUSARUM,
If thou would'st love to strike the lyre.
And wake the choral song of heaven,
Believe not inspiration's fire
Burns brightest at the dusk of even.
But haste to where the laurels bend
Their graceful boughs at morning dawn.
And Nature's voices sweetly blend
In Joyous music o'er the lawn.
In whispering branches o'er thy head,
And laughing brooks beneath thy feet.
Around the graves of hallowed dead.
The sacred Muses hold their seat.
On hill-tops and in grottos green ;
Amid the strife of tempests dire ;
Or where we watch the nightly queen.
Whose silver light sweet thoughts inspke ;
Amid lone silence, deep, profound ;
Up where no creature's foot hath trod.
Or voice was ever heard to sound
On mountain peak but that of God !
Within the halls of Memory, too.
Where legends of the past are hung ;
POETS or SEW HAMFSaiSB.
And o'er wfaoee tableU. wailing yon,
Are gems (rf' beauty loooeiy flung ;
Id pattering rain-drops on the towers;
The heaving ocean's loir basa-tone ;
Beneath the grass, mid tiny flowers ;
Th9 sighing zephyr's gentle moan ;
Along Piscataqua's sunny shore,
^Vhere sweeps the deep rcsistlefla tide,—
Their echoes answer, erermore
Down toward eternity we glide I
Out on those dark sequestered strands,
^Vhcn forms were transformed ioto ghosts
In years long past, bright laurelled bands
Of Muses strolled along the coasts.
Could some clear panoramic view
or dusky olden time be given,
And scenes of centuries lost renew,
Beneath this deep blue vault of heaven,
Ferlinps those spirit forms might not/>,
All floating toward the dark-blue sea,
Be seen witti garlands on their brow.
Waking the harp's sweet minstrelsy.
S»amuel (Crofut VittXtt,
lie*. RSMIWl Cmtut Kcclvr waa born April 1, leSS, In BocMInt Cosn-i fl^ Kn
iwBircl rmm («rly lufaiif7 Id Uictown of llvth«nn th«t «i«te. Uelciinc*' _„<*»>.
Yiirk Kuil I'imlvrvuir of tin UutlHHllft Kplwopnl Chnivb in AiHil, li^- fr!^»*oi>l
vnUliHil aikonui lu IMU,iuhI u cMer In IS^. lie fau raWlnKS X'Sj^^^ibDlL
SjiwiliiUiu-nli In bl* nnllva auu, vli: Woleoavllic, Culebmok RlTDr. ^T^tZfUiA
Mllbinl ■ml tlmirvctmrH. Ilr Wnn Madonnl plcTcn Tcon In Uw rlHn ol ^^^i>eUc
mul BnHiklyn, nml wan paiitnr at four rhnichea In ttiooe ctHu. one of tb*^ ^Milr
liio ulil, iiliaiirl<«l, .liHiB MxM. Chun-ti, Ihr Hnt nnd uhlnat HettaodUt CMrOU^eid
llabmllnthliiniBulTy. Ua wn* alto MiKmjnd u Agent of UieAin. SeincO * Zt^tni
Mvlily ami lu tlty BlMhm Work r«T a (linr. la Ibo tti\B«vt iml lia wu ti^Vf^liH
111 IW Ni>n llnmiMliliv Cuaf(>nDni nnil ■UthiDad at ^luorak wben be i^*!^!3ifla
tliiw ytart. rbv Ihlnl ywr .if hl> pagtontli- of (he rhun-h in Snniwe ^'y^im'
\yn\, IW-i. In IHTt' bv |<uliUah«l a neat Tolume rooUloln^ • puem "la l[eiu«<
of iloale l.iiii|(mul>l.
BROKEX-H EARTED.
To blight A worthy and virtuous name,
A M-«m)nl, t>orn of an envious mind,
>Vas loAtUxl lull with a buiden of shame.
And given, thou, to the wings of the wind;
Ami onwanl tlicv bore the whispering breath,
yi\\3i Um cnwl mesMge of woe «ad de&Ui.
Hi.
SAMUEL CBOFUT KEELEB. 858
Clearer and stronger it speedily grew,
As wider and farther it wandered round ;
From one to another it swiftly flew,
Till at last the scandal its victim found ;
And her soul was pierced by the poison-dart,
A reproach that was aimed to break her beart.
Pure as the treasures of snow in the sky,
Enwrapt in the heavens that gave them birth.
And borne o'er the paths where the seraphs fly,
Unstained by the touch of the soiling earth — ,
Yet a sland'rous tongue had set her apart.
To bear its reproach and to break her heart.
And the world grew darker day by day,
And her desolate life grew still more sad.
From the heartless scoff of the rude and gay.
And the cold distrust of the good and bad :
Yet mutely she bore her sorrowful part,
While cruel reproach was breaking her heart.
Prom the scourge of tongues though bleeding and torn,
To appeal for mercy to man were vain.
And her cry to Heaven alone was borne,
AlS she strove to hide her sorrow and pain.
But the foes of her peace still plied their art.
While reproach was surely breaking her heart.
O'er full, at last, was the cup of her woe.
And a sweet release to her soul was given ;
From the scourging of evil tongues below
She went to the ''great reward" in heaven.
As the fleshly walls were bursting apart,
* 'Reproach," she exclaimed, *'hath broken my heart."
THE SILENT DEAD.
e lay in his crib, where ofl he had slept.
And innocent Joys o'er his features were beaming ;
ike one who in slumber by angels is kept.
To me did he seem to be sleeping and dreaming.
'^ishing 'twere thus, alas I such was my thought ;
nd, "Willie," I call'd, but he answer'd me not.
our summers he lived, and soon they had flown.
For joys that were new with each he was bringing ;
^ light was his presence, its music his own :
354 POETS OF XEW HAJiPSfflBE.
But hash'd is his masic, that light is not shining.
And sadly I miss him with the blessings he brought ;
And, '*Willie," I call, but he answers me not.
I've stood by his grave, where gently they laid him :
Cold were the winds that o'er him were wailing ;
But, deep fn his sleep, where the frost has bound him.
He hears not the wind, nor heeds he my yearning ;
His name to my ear, by echoes was brought ;
As, ^'Willie," I call'd, and he answer*d me not.
1 dream he is near me : as upward I gaze,
His beautiful form on the air is reclining ;
O'er my sorrowing heart, and my darkened days.
His presence its light, its fragrance is shedding :
He'll answer me now, so sweetly I've thought ;
And, *' Willie," I've call'd, but he answer'd me not.
I know he has gone, and safely passed o'er,
To the land of the bless'd, where now he is dwelling ;
I've follow'd him down to the shadowy shore.
His footsteps I've traced on the land he was leaving :
There vainly I've wept, him in vain I have sought.
For, *'Willie," I've call'd, but he answer'd me not.
Unseen are the things by faith I behold ;
A city with beauty and glory all gleaming ;
Its gated are of pearl, its streets are of gold.
And sweet are the songs that there they are singing ;
There I have seen him, his strains I have caught.
And, ''Willie," I've call'd, but he answer'd me not.
When before me the veil by death shall be riven.
Changing my being, my grossuess refining ;
Then, organs like his to me shall be given,
Seeing as I'm seen, and heard as I'm hearing ;
No visions nor echoes my senses shall mock ;
Nor, *'Willie," I call, and he answer me not.
araroline 15- U. i^arfeer*
Mra. Caroline Euntls PaMter Is the (laughter of the late Edmiind and Cnttaailnc
i^anjcaon KolH^rtH, of Portsmouth, where her early life was spent. In the year l«H9
I!12JSJm 7\ ^V.^TIf V"*'*'^''' ^ lawyer of Delhi, Delaware County. N. T.. and she
iSfK^« " "* ^^*' *** ***"®® ^^^ marriage; anil has continued to c«)niribate article*
u^» -VR*^*!*' "*"* ^'*^"*'' '? *""^<^ ^^^ ^^ ^<?8t periodicals in this countrr. and f«r a
«i £J;5l«i "*'*'' ^ *^**'* rt:K"ln''»y for iiaper8 published in London, England. Munv
SJinyinS ^uil!'*'.?'' ""** ^''^"Kf have tn^n set to music, by composers oi no ordinary
CABOLINE E. B. PABKEJR, 855
OUR LAMB.
Take away the little baby,
Folded in his garments white ;
Place him in the rosewood casket,
Close the lid upon him tight ;
Throw the pall upon the coffin,
Bear our little one away ;
Leave me in my quiet chamber, —
We have lost our lamb to-day.
Bear the casket and its Jewel
Out beneath the open sky :
Dust to dust, our little treasure
With its mother-earth must lie.
Heap the sod upon the coffin,
Hide our darling quite away ;
Leave me in my quiet chamber, —
We have lost our lamb to-day.
Let him sleep on, while the daisies
Bloom upon the grassy sod :
Leave him there, our fairest flower,
Leave our darling with his God !
Very lonely, sad, and heart-sick,
On my bed I weep and pray ;
Leave me in my quiet chamber, —
We have lost our lamb to-day.
Only three short weeks I had him
Folded in m}' arms of love ;
Then the Heavenly Shepherd called him
To that other fold above.
Oh ! I know my child is safest.
Borne on angel wings away ;
Yet my tears are falling, failing,
For we've lost our lamb to-day.
Bear him, angels, far above us.
To the regions of the blest :
No more pain, no sin, no sorrow, —
Safe within the fold of rest.
Throbbing heart-aches, tears of anguish.
Let me banish you away I
Oh, rejoice ! though sick and lonely, —
Heaven has gained our lamb to-day.
356 POETS OF NEW HAJiPSHTRE.
God, in his good time, will send us
BlessM comfort from above :
He who wept o'er Lazarus sleeping
Looks on us with pitying love.
Little lamb, in Jesus' keeping,
Christ himself hath called away ;
Heavenly Shepherd, gently, geutly,
Guide our little lamb to-da}'.
Saraf) Uobem ISogle-
Mrs. Boyle was a native of Portsmouth, and second daajrbter of EdmnDd aad
(;atharine Laoffdon Roberts. In the year 1858 she married I>r. James Bojie. a
phytiiciun of New Yorlc city. She was a rreat invalid for many years, and bure
with wonderful patience and Christian ^>rtitude the severe sulierin^ aba was
(»lle<l upon to endure. She died on the I6th of March. 1868. Her Ufe was an cz-
cmpliflcation of the very "beauty of holiness." Her poems are of a very hW>
oruer, many of them breathing a spirit of pure and true devotton, bave becone
household words among her many friends. Mrs. Boyle also wrote nianj books for
ciiildren, among others, "The Stepmother,'* "Our Opposite Nel^bbor,^ and •*Tbe
Uood Grandmother," issued by the Episcopal S. S. Lidon. Her oooks and poiin<
hnd a very large circulation in' this country, and many of them were repoblUbrd
in Kuglund.
THE VOICE OF THE GRASS.
Here I come creeping, creeping eveiywhere :
By the dusty roadside,
On the sunnv hillside,
Close by the noisy brook,
In every shady nook,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, smiling ever3'where:
All round the oi>en door,
Where sit the aged poor,
Here, where the children play
In the bright and merry May,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, creeping everjwhere:
In the noisy city street
My pleasant face you'll meet,
Cheerins: the sick at heart,
Toiling h:s busy part;
Silently crwping- creeping everywh^^
llert^ I vvme crivp'^ng, creeping ev^.^^^^
YvHi cannot soo mo oouimg, ^v
Nor hear uiv low swe^i huiniMx^s^ ^^
ABBIE HUNTOON MCCSILLIS. 857
For in the starry night,
And the glad morning light,
I come quietly creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere :
More welcome than the flowers
In summer's pleasant hours :
The gentle cow is glad,
And the merry bird not sad,
To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere :
When you're numbered with the dead
In 3'our still and narrow bed,
In the happy spring 1*11 come.
And deck 3'our silent home ;
Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere :
My humble song of praise,
Most gratefully I raise
To Him at whose command
I beautify the land ;
Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.
.. ^n. McCrillls was born in Unity in 1828. She resided In her native town until
?^« 'Wits married In 1851 to Mr. William H. McCfilUs of Goshen. Tholr home wad
*« Qoflben until 1874 when they removed to Newport.
THE DAISY.
^ am a laughing daisy, a-dancing in the sun ;
The /firmer tries to stop me as o'er his fields I run.
The more he plans and ponders some means to drive me out,
Tie wore the people love me, and tote me all about.
And //^^® children love me, and we together play ;
tt^y^ xjocJdingin the sunshine all through the summer's day.
.^< ^ijower my pure white petals around like falling snow,
Vy^^/x2 in fun and mischief, as through the grass we go.
ti care I for farmer? with happy children's love,
■ fais grounds all over, like white snows from above,
^arly summer, and stay till dreary fall,
my favor ; for I'm the pet of all.
"^
358 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
I'm painted on a panel to fill an empty space ;
Wrought into window shading, and in the finest lace.
I'm on the richest satin, of every hue and shade,
Of which the very loveliest of Christmas gifts are made.
Pm woven into carpets in many a sweet bouquet,
And here I bloom all winter, as brightly as in May.
I go to church in summer on hats of dainty style ;
I do not join the service, but bow my head the while.
I go to balls and parties twined gracefully among
The silver locks of sixty and golden of the young.
I'm on the silver service, and on the china ware ;
It's seldom you will miss me, for I am everywhere.
Jeremtaf) lEams Hanitin.
J. E. Rankin, D. D., son of Rer. Andrew and Lois E. Rankin, is a natlTV of
Tliomton. Much of his boyhood was spent in Salisbury and Conoonl; and he
• onoe taught the academy at Sanbomton Square; graduated at Middlebarj Collrce
in 1S48; at Andorer Theological Seminary in 1854 : has preached In Potsdam, N. T.,
St Albans, Vt., Lowell and Charleston, Mass., and for thirteen years haa bcea
imstor of the Firnt Congregational Church of Washington, D. C. He is caUe«l the
R:ullcal Poet Preacher of Uie Capital. Dr. Rankin han a dear, sympathetic ToiAe,
and is one of the most popular preachers. Ue has publhihcd many hymna, poemn,
and sermons. A volume entitled '^Subduing Kingdoms, and other Sermons,** ai>.
peared in 1882. ^
SLEEP HERE IN PEACE.
Sleep here in peace I
To earth's kind bosom do we tearful take thee.
No mortal sound again from rest shall wake thee ;
No fever- thirst, no grief that needs assuaging,
No tempest burst above thy head loud raging.
Sleep here in peace !
Sleep here in peace !
No more thou'lt know the sun's glad morning shining,
No more the glory of the day's declining ;
No more the night that stoops serene above thee.
Watching thy rest, like tender eyes that love thee.
Sleep here in peace !
Sleep here in peace !
Unknown to thee, the spring will come with blessing.
The turf above thee in soil verdure dressing ;
Unknown will come the autumn, rich and mellow.
Sprinkling thy couch with foliage, golden yellow.
Sleep here in peace !
JEREMIAH EAMS RANKIN. 859
Sleep here in peace I
This is earth's rest for all her broken-hearted,
Where she has gamered up our dear departed ;
The prattling babe, the wife, the old man hoary,
The tired of human life, the crowned with glory.
Sleep here in peace !
Sleep here in peace I
This is the gate for thee to walks immortal,
This is the entrance to the pearly portal ;
The pathway trod by saints and sages olden,
Whose feet now walk Jerusalem the Golden.
Sleep here in peace !
Sleep here in peace !
For not on earth shall be man's rest eternal ;
Faith's mom shall come I Each setting sun diurnal,
Each human sleeping, and each human waking.
Hastens the day that shall on earth be breaking.
Sleep here in peace !
Sleep here in peace !
Faith's morn shall come ! when He, our Lord and Maker,
Shall claim His own that slumber in God's Acre ;
When He, who once for man death's anguish tasted.
Shall show death's gloomy realm despoiled and wasted !
Sleep here in peace !
IN SIGHT OF THE CRYSTAL SEA.
I sat alone with life's memories
In sight of the crystal sea ;
And I saw the thrones of the star-crown'd ones,
With never a crown for me.
And then the voice of the Judge said, '*Come,"
Of the Judge on the great white throne ;
And I saw the star-crowned take their seats,
But none could I call my own.
I thought me then of my childhood da3's.
The prayer at my mother's knee ;
Of the counsels grave that my father gave —
The wrath I was warned to flee ;
I said, ^'Is it then too late, too late?
Shut without, must I stand for aye ?
And the Judge, will He sa}', 4 know you not,'
Howe'er I may knock and pray?"
360 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBS.
I thought, I thought of the days of God
I'd wasted in folly and sin —
Of the times I'd moek'd when the Sayioar knoclfd,
And I would not let Him in.
I thought, I thought of the vows Fd made
When I lay at death's dark door —
"Would He spare my life, I'd give up the strife.
And serve Him forever more."
I heard a voice, like the voice of God —
* 'Remember, remember, my son !
Remember thy ways in the former days,
The crown that thou might'st have won !"
I thought, I thought and my thoughts ran on,
Like the tide of a sunless sea —
"Am I living or dead?" to myself I said,
*'An end is there ne'er to be?"
It seemed as though I woke from a dream,
How sweet was the light of day !
Melodious sounded the Sabbath bells
From towers that were far away.
I then became as a little child.
And I wept, and wept afi*esh ;
For the Lord had taken my heart of stone.
And given a heart of flesh.
Still ofl I sit with life's memories.
And think of the crystal sea ;
And I see the thrones of the star-crowned ones ;
I know there's a crown for me.
And when the voice of the Judge says "Come,**
Of the Judge on the great wMte throne,
I know mid the thrones of the star-crowned ones
There's one I shall call my own.
AFTER SNOW.
FROM THE GERMAN.
After snow, after snow
Do the sweet-breathed violets blow ;
Then grim winter is departing.
And the emerald clover starting :
While the lark mounts high, you know.
After snow.
JEREMIAH EAMS RANKIN. 86 1
As God will, as God will I
Be it mine but to hold still :
Should the clouds above me thicken,
Bain will but the grasses quicken.
And God's treasure-houses fill :
As God will.
Hush my heart ! hush my heart !
Ease must interchange with smart ;
Though thick troubles now enfold thee,
Let sweet trust in God uphold thee ;
Look above : 'tis faith's high art :
Hush, my heart !
THE BABIE.*
Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes,
Nae stockin' on her feet ;
Her supple ankles white as snaw,
Or early blossoms sweet.
Her simple dress o' sprinkled pink,
Her double, dimplit chin.
Her puckered lips, and baumy mou',
With na ane tooth within.
Her een sae like her mither's een,
Twa gentle, liquid things ;
Her face is like an angel's face :
We're glad she has nae wings.
She is the buddin' o' our luve,
A giftie God gied us :
We maun na luve the gift owre weel ;
Twad be nae blessin' thus.
We still maun lo'e the Giver mair,
An' see Him in the given ;
An' sae she'll lead us up to Him,
Our babie straight frae Heaven.
* In the copy of sheet music published by Ditson A Co., this stanza is intro-
duced as a chorus :—
Bonnie babie, clean and sweet,
Mow ye craw, and now ye greet.
Nane but God can ever see
What ye are to wife and me.
.tH3 P^STS OF XSW OAXPSaatE.
n Ukam. r*— v*sner L JS?. Sa Jiiihgr i:> Cnt mmifa to tk
n -f^raunr ^^w Trrrmnvr if ±i(^ JkradcBT at FubimIhpii ttne
K-imuN*- - J-uIa. ^-^ mm ^-saun: aad jc PtB^vakc one Tear. Be rat
^wt"*'> . TU'ii Ai'aittSKr lati is Tt^fm Ipcvsrh JjpaietDM Aiailfi.cf
i^a. ^Msrjue *nsai unrruiane't ja a Tnnflfftanr tn AeaKMtry, he ifylied Ifcf
iai9is tf -iM Tv^ncit '^Uunii n 5»!">r laiswnia am* aajnA*. He vac ordftOMd aai
JiflBderf Tannr if Ik '■•mcrfnsaBitiiaL •r^mirji s DUBhaiiaa. Oct. t. VBSl ; vm dto>
Ss7 1 i4B. mii ■iiiiCnTt**t ic Susii SmwIiA, Xa£9e. KaT 11, mt. where ke
. ?^r -Im aexzl'T'TigBrvkewaa CBcagcd BOfttrUi
'itxv iif» BBsoif It ^^Jidarn. -mu-a ^vaa ^nbilsted ia tan. 'Ete wa« inmkd
iir if •h» X'>-rimr*ilca& 7ri*f» rZnnra ic «viiiac 'Cllaan !a >w Tfctihlfti, IfaH., Ike.
aat"
LTVIS AT 5rXS
0^ fliiiji r "mc ±7 Triti «cfr^ii-3» speed
A^i-: 51.1 -r^r^ "iiif :ru>f if iS* bdgju glories
I vcujf ?<B«c :ir i3» vtnes <sri» viiile earliog mist,
Tilt 5ri.iesi liifr rrstue er^- "bKc^ !
Bj t^ FiPK^ Ipf :^ B»ai!rT atj cbeeb should be kissed,
Aid io eac^ Fi ?Kazx
TO A SLEEFtSG IXFAXT.
Lrsie fxfiTT. <o^7 sjrm'Vg'.
Tii€ie-. ▼iik. ^j;^ in V«fa -ir* xwBilier,
^ijTrzlj fape« ^azii^os <aKiUBl«r,
Re«c: ibee siC. f:c ^L5* ibcKc'rt sleeping,
^«i»« giT-e L!«ie cu2$« few wviepai^.
Life is cioeni2ir v::^ f-^ tr.xibles,
I^rt«ui^ etDf.rkr thin 'i-«2^kbfes.
Wtahi ih« eT^TT 5on»v rtc*nb)es.
^i*^ oa, iLjr ciLiid, sle«f> oa.
8IL VANU8 HA TWABD. 363
Smiles upon thy face are beaming,
Rays of glittering glory gleaming
From the far off land of dreaming.
Sleep on, my child, sleep on.
Or do poets tell us rightly,
That when infants smile so brightly,
Angels o'er them whisper lightly ?
Sleep on, my child, sleep on.
Let those whispers ever guide thee,
Then, whatever in life betide thee.
Spirits bright shall smile beside thee,
Sleep on, my child, sleep on.
Short the time till life forsaking.
Deeper rest shalt thou be taking
In **the sleep that knows no waking."
Sleep on, my child, sleep on.
Nay ! a glorious hope is given ;
Lo, the bonds of Death are riven I
To the cr3'stal dawn of Heaven,
Awake, my child, awake !
OR THE DEDICATION OF AN ALBUM.
"Procul, O procul, este profanil"
Ye who ope this book, beware I
Let indifference never dare
Stain the page that now is fair.
This is Friendship's holy shrine.
Here Affection's tendrils twine.
And from clusters of her vine
Love shall press his golden wine.
Freel}' quaff that sparkling flood ;
'Tis the heart's most precious blood ;
'Tis the only earthly good.
May you, with those recorded here,
Find its currents bright and clear,
Unalloyed with bitter tear,
And beyond these clouded skies,
When the eternal morn shall rise,
Drink it pure in Paradise.
364 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE,
THRENODY.
0 blessM Jesus, how my heart is yearning
To clasp the darlings thou hast called away !
With quenchless sorrow all my soul is bui-ning
To see, embrace, and hear them, if I may.
How sweet the music of their happy voices !
How dear the pattering of their feet at play !
With ceaseless billows all my bosom tosses.
Lorn of the darlings thou hast called away.
1 know that from all earthly storms defended
Like tender lambs they lie upon thj breast ;
No more they weep ; all childish griefs are ended ;
Safe folded in thy loving arms the}' rest.
But, Lord, my eyes are dim with mists of sadness ;
My faith is weak, and darkness blots the day ;
I cannot see the beauty and the gladness
That crown the darlings thou hast called away.
Lord, touch my sightless eyes that upward turning
Still fail with longing their delights to see,
That healed and cleansed they may, with faith's discerning,
Look on the mansions where they rest with thee.
Let the dark pinions of this sorrow nearer
Bring thee, O Saviour, to my soul, I pray ;
Sweeter the richness of thy love and dearer
Because my darlings thou hast called away.
Shrouded in darkness, drinking down the bitter.
Thy love can sweeten every scalding drop ;
Thy smile can make the murky midnight glitter
With the bright dawning of eternal hope.
Through life's slow cadence nevermore forsaken,
O lead me in thy loving steps each da}^,
Till with thy likeness satisfied I waken,
And find the darlings thou hast called away.
T. P. Russell was the son of a farmer in Plalnfleld. Having in yoath had the mis-
fortane to lose a leg by amputation, ho learned the trade of a tailor. He also taoj^
penmanship and was a biK>kkecper for some time in the office of the Chunemont
Manufacturing Company in Claremont. His verses occasionaHy appeared In the
newspapers. The piece given t>elow was composed while he was tendin^f the boU-
ing of maple sap in the woods, it being suggested by the faUing of a leaf. He died,
wnUe yet a young man, in 1850.
CELE8TIA S. GOOD ALE. 365
LINES TO A LEAF.
Why cling to thy parent tree, Old Leaf —
When all thy mates are gone ?
Thou seems't like one, whom the phials of grief
Are poured unsparingly on —
Thou remind'st me of man, whose head is bleached
By four-score winters and ten ;
Whose kindred, the hand of death has reached,
And turned unto dust again.
Thou hast staid in thy native place ! Old Leaf —
Till time hath bronzed thy face ; —
But soon thou must leave it, for time is brief,
Ere others will take thy place :
And 'tis thus with man — his childhood home
Is the dearest spot to his heart ;
He feels delight o*er its precincts to roam^
And a pang of- regret to part.
Thou hast battled with many a storm ! Old Leaf —
And in many a breeze didst play.
While Time with his sickle (a sly old thief,)
Was reaping thy kindred away.
And man on the stormy ocean of time,
With many a tempest doth meet.
And zephyrs, wafted from sunnier climes,
With odors delicious, replete.
But the days of thy glory are past ! Old Leaf —
Thy beauty hath faded away ;
Then strive not longer to bear thy grief,
But fall to the ground and decay.
So man, when his number of days is past.
Will experience the common lot.
When the apgel of Death blows his summoning blast.
He must die — be buried — forgot.
OTeleBtia S- ©ooTrale*
Mn. Goodale, a daiifrhter of John Moonev, Esa., of Northfleld, was bom in 1899.
She was married to John H. Goodale, editor of the Manchester Democrat, in 1848,
and died in 1863. She was an apt and accomplished writer, largely aiding ber hus-
band in his editorial work, and contributing many articles to the Springfield (Mass.)
RepubUoan,
THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND.
Methinks the sun is brighter, dear, than 'twas a year ago ;
The flowers wear a richer hue, and time moves not so slow.
;366 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
This earth that I have looked upon since first I saw the light—
•Sure it 18 fresher, lovelier, now, than when first spoke from night.
The song of birds is sweeter, dear, than 'twas a 3'ear this timt;
The music of the flowing stream hath melody of chime.
The sunset wears a richer hue than when I gazed alone ;
The moon that used to look so cold has very pleasant grown.
And sure the heart that wor8hipi>ed thee, a whole year long ago,
Still turns to thee, its idol-shrine, and bums its incense low.
The world has naught to charm away, from willing worship given:
Why should the spirit stoop to earth, that rested once io hetreo.
Our sky is fair, no sorrows, dear, have dimmed its gloxyyet:
And in its blue, so clear and bright, there are no warnings sot.
Yet for all this we lie not down to sleep, when done is life,
Without the drinking of the cup, without the bitter strife.
Karth never h^d the favored one whom sorrow has not known;
Whose cup has not been running o'er with bitter draughts ak)D£'
And yet the cup our Father gives, shall we not drink? In vtt^
The supplicating cry goes up, '*Spare us, O God, this painl"
Vet why grieve now ? Our hearts, my dear, will not grow croU
in need ;
We'll not forget the promise given when light was overhead-
Its truths shall lead us on through life, an angel in earth-guis^ •
Shall it not guide us to that land, — its home, beyond the skies ^
Mrs. l.uinl. who roMdcs in Newport. Ij* the wife of S. Frank Lund, and a daugrhrrr
of III*' Into .»*iih Chtllls. .she is a native of (jioahen, and U known In the lU^-xmrj
worM a> Mary PuiuellChcllls. Itostldi-s bolii>f a vuluininous writer of newi«|>at«*f
«lorli*s ami :ikotohos, shots the author of o%or thirtv biNika whlrh taarehadan ^x-
tenM\o 8al*'. Tliese l>ook!. arc ft»uml iu nearly all our S^umlav S<'hool Bbmic-a*. »
wcU aa In uuiny public libraries. iHiveral have been rupubUsbcd In otiker oKiatn«.-T«.
THE BOBOLINK.
Down in the meadow the rollicking fellow
Singing and whisitling from morning till night,
Loudi'st and oloarost wlien sunshine is yellow,
Kosling in silence when fadelh the light.
Swinjjing so gently whon r^x-keil hy the zephvr,
riuining his iVa'ihors of saMe and white,
l>ainticst dandy iu early Juno weallier.
Winning his nu6tro;^s by song and by right.
MABT DWINELL CHELLI8 LUND, 867
looms, filling the air with their sweetness,
t him to linger mid beauty so rare ;
his stapng ; with arrowy fleetness
rg he exulting once more to the air.
bend lightly, and clover tops nodding,
ing this songster of meadow and field ;
and gleeful, what knows he of plodding?
sss of danger the future may yield.
^e laughter, or bells in their chiming,
ng and ringing, half gitled with thought ;
)f gladness with merry hearts timing,
les of jingle with melody fraught.
e often while wild bees are humming,
to catch the first notes of his song ;
, rejoicing, we welcome his coming,
1 of summer and days that are long.
THE WATER SPRITE.
r sprite, ''See the bottle imp,
e night, Long, and lank, and limp ;
e day ; See his bony arms,
I've to say. See his serpent charms.
bildren dear, ''With the chime of bells
draw near ; We will weave our spells,
or you Till he cries at last
!d with dew. 'You have bound me fast.*
Iwell with me "Then beneath the wave
il sea ; He shall find a grave ;
pearls While for you and me
3sy curls. Mirth and song shall be."
POEM.
slj dedicated to Lcrauel Osgood on hit ninety-flrst birthday.
ley are man}'. Dear brothers and sisters
id one ; Have passed on before ;
rs a- wear}'. Companions yet dearer
ost done. Have reached the far shore,
lid we sorrow? But glad are the greetings
Jid despond ? Where friend meets with friend,
for the morrow, To join in the praises
yond. Which never shall end.
368
POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBB.
The roof-tree which sheltered
The mother and son
Is moss-grown and hoary
With 3'ear8 ninetj'-one.
The house in the heavens,
Not builded with hands,
The house that is waiting,
Eternally stands.
The sunlight and shadow,
The mist's silver sheen.
On upland and meadow
But diml}' are seen.
In city celestial,
"With pavements of gold.
Forever and ever
New beauties unfold.
Now bending to listen ;
Half wearied to know
The words which seem spoken
So softly and low.
Where worship the ransomed.
All nations shall hear :
Each song and hosanna
Fall full on the ear.
Now moving so s1owly«
Once stalwart and strong ;
The footsteps they falter ;
The march has been long.
Yet pass through the portal,
This life's work well done ;
Youth's crown is immortal,
Though ninety and one.
iEarg iEUfafteti) jTerguison iSrett.
Miss Brett is a native of Easton, Mass. VTben slie was ten yean of a«e her par-
ents n^nioved to GllmAuton. Their home there was called "Klmwood/* fttm thi
beautirul elm-trees around it. She graduated at Gilmanton Academj, ancl after-
wards Bpent some time at Mystic Hall Seminary, West Medford, Haas. Fron GiJ>
manton the family rumoved to Concord, and a few years later to Newport, wkert
their home was called "Riverside Cottage." For the past ten years x£ey hare re-
sided in Ik>ston.
''BALL'S BLUFF."
Oct. 21, 1861.
Hear ye the moan of the wind in the trees?
Know ye the story that's told by the breeze ?
As it sweeps through the vale
The leaf, withered and pale,
And courser-like flies o'er brown hill and dale.
Methinks 'tis the requiem, mournfully breathed
For names that come to us cypress enwrcathed,
Of the gallant and brave
Who sank 'neath the wave,
And found mid Potomac's dark waters a grave !
Oh fearful the tale, that's borne o'er the land,
Of the fierce battle fra}', the fight hand to hand.
While a dark, crimson flood
Of precious life blood.
In baptismal drops on the green earth is poured I
MAB T ELIZABETH TEBQ USON BBETT. 369
Ala 8 for the young brow, where Death's seal is set !
Alas for the veteran, for whom eyes are wet !
Who have fought side by side,
Who have gone in their pride,
And for our bright banner have bled and have died !
Alas for the dear ones, for whom the tear swells !
And mournfully sweet as the cadence of bells.
Is the memory- we'll keep.
Of them, as they sleeps
Though in desolate homes, the mourner doth weep !
Fadeless the chaplet, that crowns each bright name,
Of glor}"^ and honor ! and deathless the fame
Of that true. Spartan band.
That Thermopylae band.
Whose valorous deeds have thrilled through the land !
LINES WRITTEN FOR A GOLDEN WEDDING.
Upon this "Golden Wedding" day.
With jo^^ous hearts we come,
Assembling friends and kindred dear,
In the paternal home ;
The home where passed life's sweet May-time,
Its glowing summer hours,
Where Love a sacred shrine hath reared,
Which Memory crowns with flowers.
Within this home for fifty years
Of changing light and shade,
Affection's sunshine — sorrow's tears —
Have grief or gladness made.
For fifty years ! how long the time I
And yet how quickly fled.
To those who here have passed life's prime ;
Our household's honored head 1
Some sit not at the festal board,
Whose names, in by-gone hours.
Have been familiar household words —
They faded like the flowers.
Our hearts their memories green still keep —
The3''ve only '*gone before" —
When life is done, earth's parted meet
Upon the other shore.
POETS OF 2fEW EAMPSSmS.
And on this "Golden Wedding;" day,
Willie autumn reigns abroad,
While wind-barps breathe a plaintive lay.
Our lips speak grateful worda ;
Grateful to Him who spares so long
To us, the frienda we love, —
Ob may we meet to join the song
or sbiniog ones abore !
sr b«r mairtui lo Sir.
r^mg Star.
STANZAS.
Sweet Spring, why dost thon linger?
O haste, and bring once more
The gush of untold gladness
Tbou didst in days of yore.
When life's first dreams of hope and love
Made earth seem fair as heaven above.
We breathed the scented zephyr,
Where laughing streamlets played.
And bean) the song-birii's music
Swell ji>you3 from the glade.
In other days, when spring came roond.
With a delight thai knew no booDd.
But since l\iU many a sorrow
Hath bowed us lo the dust.
And lai^t in eanhly ti«asnres
How <langerc<ns 'tis to trast.
While Faith lias aootbed the sjMrit tiren.
By |av>mi$e of a home in bearen.
And to that borne i:^ besuiy
No wintry suinn* are kDOwn.
But Ave ihroi^taout it« hxden
IVmutial JkV'^ aiv strown ;
Still brre to ti^i. a»il bc^. and pray.
tiladh- w* fii^m- life's brief day ;
ad *v«Vi ia ci'.Uisi glsJoess
BWs Ovvl feir Knis aihi flowers :
fbnMd aad ^^tvs ibcfii aaxx* —
SARAHS. CONVERSE, 371
Can aught place them 'neath ours?
Nay, haste then, Spring, Ihy pleasures new
Shall make our hearts to heaven more true.
TRUE BEAUTY.
There's beauty in the calm blue sky,
Its fleecy clouds of white ;
There's beauty in the glittering stars,
That gem the brow of night ;
Yet nobler beaut}* in the soul
That bows to wisdom's grand control.
There's beauty in the day's soft close,
When thought bright circlet weaves ;
There's beauty in the gorgeous tints,
That dye the autumn leaves ;
Yet richer beauty dwells apart.
In the warm sympathizing heart.
There's beauty in the morning ray.
That steals the last night's gloom ;
There's beauty in the mellow light,
When shines the silver moon ;
Yet beauty sweeter in the eye.
Whose love-light checks the rising sigh.
There's beauty in the rippling sti^cams,
And in the wild bird's song ;
There's beauty in seolian strain,
When zephyrs steal along ;
Yet holier beaut}^ in the love,
That foretaste given of heaven above.
There's beauty in sweet childhood's home,
Its each heart-cherished scene —
The oosey nook, the shaded grove.
The brook, the hillside green ;
But 3'et, methinks blest heaven's clime
Exceeds in beauty aught of time.
SPRING.
The spring has come with skies of blue,
And birds and leaf}- bowers.
And glad I wander in the grove,
And breathe the breath of flowers ;
372
POETS OF XEW BAMTSHIBE.
Yet sti!! a feeline stirs mv heart
That seems akin to pain«
While mein'n' speaks of spring-time joys
That ne'er will come again.
As joyoiis flows the silvery bro^'ik,
S>!i murmuring through the glade,
As when a child i gaily stole
To this green willow's shade :
Yet though as then I gaxe around.
Ami count earth's beauti^ o'er.
In pensive moo*J I sigh for joys
That can be mine do more.
Once when this happy season came.
Ami fragrant bloomeil the spray.
My gentle brother walketl tiie vale,
And r>les«ed with me the May :
But now the wild flowers that he loved
O'er him in beantv wave,
m
For in yon chorx-h-yard low he sleeps
Beside my mother s grave.
Twas on May morning sweet as this
That he in calmness died :
The notes of singing b:ris were gay.
Through flowtrs the soft wintl sighed :
Ye; when the k^ve-Iight faded out.
From his de^^p, mild blue eye,
I felt a sickness of the soul.
And wished I too cocid die.
Ba: sprin^r? have corae anvl gone since then,
An\1 time has s^x^thei mv jnief.
Ami G««.i has tau^h: the welcome truth.
Earth's sorrow* all are brief;
Yet oft. tbo(i£ii cladaes* beams without.
Toe dav to me I<H>ks dim.
Ami my i^oor hear: yearns for the time
When 1 mav n^s; wi;h him.
ife- s^
Hllim {.aiglitoii.
■'•n. :.t»r 7r^f«*
'i>.>2 ;. w'i.>«. ^ Jk **••». i.'aui'n«l)re. 1b
Mr" t .^'•'>tr.m fci2»L* ;^ •» fr^HU nftok of >rw
. ALBEB T LAIGHTON. 3 73
TO MY SOUL.
Guest from a holier world,
Oil, tell me where the peaceful valley's lie?
Dove in the ark of life, when thou shalt fly,
Where will thy wings be furled ?
Where is thy native nest?
Where the green pastures that the blessed roam ?
Impatient dweller in thy clay-built home,
Where is thy heavenlj^ rest?
On some immortal shore,
Some realm away from earth and time, I know ;
A land of bloom, where living waters flow,
And grief comes nevermore.
Faith turns my eyes above ;
Da}' fills with floods of light the boundless skies ;
Night watches calmly with her starry ej'es
All tremulous with love.
And as entranced I gaze,
Sweet music floats to me from distant Ivres :
I see a temple, round whose golden spires
Unearthly glory plays !
Beyond those azure deeps
I fix thy home, — a mansion kept for thee
Within the Father's house, whose hoiselcss key
Kind Death, the warder, keeps I
FOUND DEAD.
Found dead ! dead and alone I
There was nobody near, nobody near,
When the outcast died on his pillow of stone —
No mother, no brother, no sister dear.
Not a friendly voice to soothe or cheer,
Not a watching eye or a pitying tear, —
Oh, the city slept when he died alone
In the roofless street, ou a pillow of stone.
Many a weary day went by.
While wretched and worn he begged for bread,
Tired of life, and longing to lie
Peacefully down with the silent dead ;
POETS OF HEW BAMFSHmE.
Hunger and cold, and scoin and pain,
Had wasted his form and seared bis brain,
Till at last on a bed of frozen ground,
With a pillow of stone, was the outcast found.
Found dead ! dead and alone.
On a pillow of stone in the roofless street ;
Nobody heard his last faint moan.
Or knew when his sad heart ceased to beat ;
No mourner lingered with tears or sighs,
But the stars looked down with pitying eyes,
And the chill winds passed with a wailing sound
O'er the lonely spot where his form was found.
Found dead 1 yet not alone ;
There was somebody near, — somebody near
To claim the wanderer aa his own,
And find a home for the homeless here ;
One, when every human door
Is oloseil to Ills children, scorned and poor,
Who opens the heavenly portal wide :
Ah, God was near when the outcast died.
MT NATrVE RIVER.
Like an nzure vein from the heart of the main,
. Ihilsiiifi with joy for ever.
By verdurous isles, with dimpled smiles,
Floweih my native river ;
Singing a song as it flows along.
Hushed by tlie Ice-king never:
For he strives in vain to clasp a chain
O'er thy fetterless heart, brave river I
Singing to me as Aill and free
As it saug to the dusky daughters,
When tlie light canoe like a sea-bird flew
Over its peaceful waters ;
Or when by the shore of Sagamore
They joined in their mystic dances ;
Wheve the lover's vow is whispered now.
By the li^t of maiden glances.
Uh, when (lie dart shall strike ray heart,
Speetiicig ftom Death's ftill quiver,
ll»j- I cUiM' my eyes where smiling skies
"~- ' o'er my native rivet.
ALBJEB T LAIOHTON. 3 75
NEW ENGLAND.
What though they boast of fairer lands,
Give me New England's halfowed soil,
The fearless hearts, the swarthy hands
Stamped with the heraldry of toil.
I love her valleys broad and fair,
The pathless wood, the gleaming lake.
The bold and rocky bastions, where
The billows of the ocean break ;
The grandeur of each mountain peak
That lifts to heaven its granite form,
The craggy cliffs where eagles shriek
Amid the thunder and the storm.
And dear to me each noble deed
Wrought by the iron wills of yore, —
The Pilgrim hands that sowed the seed
Of Freedom on her sterile shore.
EBB AND FLOW.
I wandered alone beside the stream ;
The tide was out and the sands were bare ;
The tremulous tone of the sea-bird's scream
Like a winged arrow pierced the air.
I roamed till the sun in the west was low.
And the robes of twilight trailed in the sea ;
The waves pulsed in with a rhythmical flow.
And a song from the woodland came to me.
All day I roam by the stream of Song ;
The tide is out, and my life is bare.
While shadows of evil round me throng.
And drearily croaks the bird of Care.
But at night the waves roll back again,
And flow in music over my heart.
Till the dusky phantoms of grief and pain
From the charmed shores of my brain depart.
THE DEAD.
I cannot tell you if the dead.
That loved us fondly when on earth,
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHISS.
Walk bv our Bide, sit at our hearth.
By ties of old affection led ;
Or, looking earnestly within.
Know all our Jofs, bear all our sighs,
Aud watch us with their holy eyes
Whene'er we tread the paths of sio ;
Or irwith mystic lore aud sign.
They speak to us, or press onr hand,
And strire to make us understand
The nearness of their fonns divine.
But this I know, — in many dreams
They come to us from realms afar.
And leave the golden gates ajar,
Through which immortal glor}' streams.
BY THE SEA.
A waning of the golden lamps
In hoaven's eternal dome,
A glimmer on the dusky sands
(Ghost-like creeps up the foam) ;
A blended hue above the waves, —
The lily and the rose,—
A fleet'v cloud of dappled bloom,
Like that the pansy shows ;
A tinge the morning-glory wears.
With pearly dew-tlropa wet ;
A blush as of the culumbine,
A tint of violet ;
And ever in the brightening sky,
Some changing splendor born.
Till loaf liy loaf, a perfect flower,
Unfolds the bud of mom.
FARRAGCT.
Grand in li:s dreamless sleep our Admiral lies.
Th* tinivf lieart still, so fondly loved and blest ;
tim light pi-'iie forth fh>ni those prophetic eyes,
"* gukliug baud at reat.
BEL A CHAPiy. 377
His star in glory set — his great work done ; —
Muffle the drum, and toll the solemn bell ;
And let the deep voice of the minute-gun
A people's sorrow tell.
A friend who failed not in the darkest hour ;
A valiant soul who at his country's call
Battled with treason born of hate and power,
And triumphed over all.
One noble life the less for Heaven to take ;
One hero more passed from this land of ours ;■
Lay fairest garlands on his bier, and make
Death beautiful with flowers.
A nation's heart shall be his funeral urn,
While time shall add new lustre to his fame ;
And Freedom's fires with holier light shall burn.
Where'er is breathed his name.
i3ela OTfiapin.
BeU Cbapin was bom in Newport, February 10, 1829. After learning the trade
of printer in the office of the National Eagle In Claremont he worked during a
winter on the Northern Advocate in Winchetnter, and a summer on the American
News in Keene. He then went to Merlden and pursued a coarse of study about
three vears in Kimball Union Academy. He went to Concord In 1865, and was em-
ployed as foreman In the office of the Crusader of litfomtt a temperance paper
which afterwards became the New Hampshire Phvenix. He was subsequently em-
ployed in the job printing office of Morrill and Silsbv ; in the State Capital Reporter
office ; and for several years as compositor in ttie A*. //. Statesman office. He has
also worked as journeyman printer in Lebanon, on tlie Oranite State Whig: la
Newport on the Argus and Spectator: in iJprlngfleld, Mass., on the Independent
American; and in the "Old stone Mill" of the Claremont Book Manufacturing
Company. About 1860 he returned to bis native town, and bought a farm where he
carried on farming business till 1866, when he sold his homestead and removed to
Hanover, where ho purchase<l the Dartmoutli Press printing office of Rev. David
Kimball, and the book bindery of the estate of B. D. Howe. In 1870, after dispos-
ing of Ills establishment and residence in Hanover, he removed to Claremont, an<l
purchased a farm near the base of Green Mountain, where he still resi<les. Tlio
events «»f liis life have been unimportant, and much of his time has been spent in
his library. In 1881 he formed a design of collecting specimen poems of the New
Hampshire Poets, and this volume is the result of his undertaking.
THE REALM OF RHADAMANTIIUS.
Begemmed upon old Ocean's breast.
Where gentle billows swell,
Lie the feigned islands of the blest,
Where souls departed dwell.
Not in Cimmerian gloom profound,
Where ebon night pervades,
But in a realm where joys abound,
Rest unsubstantial shades.
POETS OF NEW SAXPSHUtE.
There in that clime, forever bright,
The sun with equal ray
Illuminates the tranquil night
And gilds the cloudlees day.
There fields of asphodel &nd balm
And roses bloom for aye ;
There naught can mar the soul's sweet calm.
And love finds no decaj*.
There hero-ahades with Joy possesa
An ever-peaceful home,
A seat exempt fVom all excess
Where pain can never come.
There where enchanting beanty teems
In exquisite delight.
Mid citrou groves, by crystal streams.
Walk chiefs of former might.
O'er those feigned isles no storms prevail,
No snow white-drifting there ;
No raging blast, nor rain, nor hail,
Nor pestilential air.
There fragrant breezes, balmy airs,
Pure offspring of the main.
Sweep from the isles corroding cares
And fan the lovely plain.
There smiling fields afar extend
In living verdure new ;
There trees with fruits ambrosial bend,
With flowers of every hue.
There bright-winged birds, on every tre«»
Pour forth their dulcet strains,
While mirth, and song, and dance, and ^'*°
Pervade the flowery plains.
There Rhadamanthus rules in trust
The realm of beings blest ;
The brave, the noble and the just.
They own his high behest.
They who, in truth and virtue strong.
From guilt's contagion pure,
id ever keep their lives from wrong.
Rest in the isles secure.
BSLA CHAPIN. 379
There with the honored gods so dear,
With them forever blest,
Thej dwell, and pass from year to year
Their tearless age of rest.
They who were once o'er-fraught with care
And bowed beneath the load.
No heaviness their spirits bear
In that then: last abode.
And they whose weary da3's were spent
In penury and pain.
In sore disease and discontent,
In hardship and disdain ;
And they who were by scorn and pride
Down-trodden and oppressed.
In joyfulness they all abide
Where woes cannot molest.
And shades of men, the wise and good,
Both old and 3'oung are there.
Matrons and blooming womanhood,
And youths unwed and fair.
No toil is there, nor langiiishment.
There no deceit beguiles ;
There pleasure reigns and glad content
Within those halcyon isles.
No hurt nor ill that trouble yields
Can reach that peaceful shore.
But in the sweet elysian fields
Is bli88 forevennore.
In such a place the Greeks of old
Hoped after death to rest,
But earth doth not that region hold,
Such islands of the blest.
A GREEN MOUNTAIN LYRIC.
sant it is mid rural scenes to stra}',
16 glad quiet of the summer hours ;
sant it is in unfrequented way
ralk amid the leafy woodland bowers,
jre blossom to the air unnoticed flowers, —
3 green fields and pastures, where the rills
3S0 POETS OF XEJT HAJfPSHIBE.
Flow over pebbles, fed bv springs and showen, —
Aiul j.^nsant 'tis the wood-einbowered hills
To climb, for there serene delight the bosom fills.
Amoni: the cone-shaped spruce-trees, mid the fern
That thickly clad the steep Green Mountain aide.
I cl;ii:''rd the zigzag pathway to discern
The l-oautlful and ioveiy prosjjeet wide-
It was the season of the summer- tide,
A joy:';:I ir.orning of June's longest day ;
Ar.i sohmi I reache«.l the height., and there descried
i>V;ev:s of V-^-auty, near and far away, —
Swee; ^ol.is. au.i groves, and streams, bathed in the momhi]
rav.
Theiv. *r.va:h the covert of a fragrant pine,
0'tr>;.:i vv-i w::.; ::s wh;>^>trr:ng evergreen,
I'jv:: ^ n::<>y sea: did I nL-cline.
In :i:«.- o:/.'v_:t-:i: of each pleas: as scene.
ri.*: >■'-...:..> .1:..; :-.e earih ; O, bright and fair
1>1,; sl'. :...: j> s-:-r-^. :!ii: .Iav, aroasd m%: evervwhere.
AloT^" :"_c s:.:"."i, : rrv"; ".loiis ar.l steep.
KNxk v..-::. r.-.'-i >-,'lZi--: iL'^-A ::i w^nirous heap:
A: ; ',:>: .►1:^, i cr t:: :f irrrrnerv.
^■- ,^.A.., .r\^>« — >4 -"li.. .1..^. .0 see.
K.'. t i i w -.e s. i.tr. -or:::: .'■>:ris url:^<-»l hiirh.
^^ ". : j.r > . . ". > - .n c ; --- i::ie i r :: »: ia!i; : ag .y :
1: ""AS A "i^J.-.^. . :" ~.«.«:s :lii: >:«:•.«.: ;.':i'rti>v.
A Si A :! w^m::^ l.i^ ;>. - .^: lUisi^z :o tj:e eve.
As : .*: I _<JL-.: .:i .•«.* s .f ■.■:r^ ii:>.
Ad.: *.-.■;•:: fi:: 1. -^irs :^: r:c--i -y z^zLw^x gr?w.
BELA CBAPIJSr. 381
A river meet for an}' poet's theme.
Along its banks unnumbered flowers teem ;
Along its banks the spreading elm trees grow ;
Its silvery waters in the sunbeams gleam ; —
O, stream beloved ! flow on, forever flow ;
Of thee fond memories spring up from the long ago.
And thou, Green Mountain, thou art ever dear ;
Thy drift- wofn ledges, and thy rocks of white,
Thy groves umbrageous, and thy fountains clear,
Where oft in boyhood I, with fond delight,
Hurried from rock to rock, from height to height,
In admiration of each object rare.
Sweet mountain scenes, for aye in memory bright I
I love them still ; I love the mountain air ;
I love those rock}- hills, for there is beauty there.
THE TRULY BLESSED.
How blest, how truly blest are they
Whose hopes in God abide,
Who trust his goodness day by da}'.
Whatever may betide ;
Who in the Lamb, their risen Lord,
Have built their faith secure,
In Him whose promises afford
Foundation ever sure.
If sore aflfliction be their lot.
And much of body pain.
Their God will then forsake them not.
He will their souls sustain.
He heals the wounds that sin has made
In souls to him resigned.
He gives the contrite spirit aid
And sanctifies the mind.
For life's sad things and tears of grief.
Which everywhere abound.
Sweet consolation and relief
In God is surely found.
He knows our frame, and if in him
Our hopes of heaven rely,
Though all the joys of earth grow dim
He will be ever nigh.
382 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHTBE.
The path in which the just delight
To walk leads not astray ;
'Tis as a light that shineth bright
Until the perfect day.
God giveth gi*ace, he giveth strength
To all his people blest,
And he will help them on at length
To everlasting rest.
A HYMN.
O Lamb of God, who died for all,
Thou who didst die for me,
In penitence on thee I call, —
Give me a hope in thee.
Amid the vanities of life.
Oh, keep my spirit free
From sin's allurements and from strife,
And give me peace in thee.
And may I oft in worship sweet
Before thee bend the knee ;
And do thou guide my wayward feet
And grant me faith in thee.
Forgive the wrong that I have done.
Of whatsoe'er degree ;
And give me grace, thou Holy One,
To spend m}^ days for thee.
Whatever ills my life betide.
Whatever is mine to see,
Oh, ma}' I still in hope abide.
And rest secure in thee.
When my departing hour is near.
Oh, joyful may it be
To cross death's stream devoid of fear,
Upheld, dear Lord, by thee.
Il^iram Eatrtr Sb^tixtzt.
H. L. Spencer is a native of Castleton, Vt., bom in 1829. In his jooCh he tuifht
ftrhool in Unity and other towns in 8ullivan Co. He removed to St. John, New
Brunawlck, in 1857, where he U a member of the Staff of the St. John DailT and
Weekly Tfkgraph, the leading newspaper of the Maritime Provinces. WhUea n^*-
Ident of this Suite he was a iVequeut contributor to the Claremont Eagit and^the
Now|K>rt Argut and Spectator ^ and to Sartain'i and the Knickerbocker Mogtuime^
HIBAM LADD 8PENCEB. 883
{then imderthe Editorial sapervlslon of Lewis Gay lord Clark) and to the New York
TTHimne, In 18A0 a volume of his poems was publUhed by Phillips, Sampson A Co.,
of Boston. During the last twenty years he has contributed to the leading perlod-
icmla in England and America. In prose and verse; Goldwln Smith, in the Aa/ton,
prononnoes him the first of Canadian poets. In the spring of 1883, he publishetl
a Tulnme of trayels, entitled "Summer Saunterings away down East*' which is a
wortc of deep interest and much value. Mr. Spencer's poems arc tinged wltli a
melancholj of which those who know him best understand the origin.
FAREWELL.
Farewell, farewell ye granite bills
That tower, majestic, proud and high, —
Farewell, farewell ye tinkling rills
That answer to the wind's soft sigh ;
Farewell ye skies so deep and blue, —
Ye white clouds floating gaily there, —
Farewell ye hearts so warm and true.
Whose friendship I am proud to share.
Farewell ye rivers deep and clear.
Entranced I've watched your silver tide,-
Farewell ye elms that proudly roar
Your branches by the mountain side ;
Farewell thou lake whose waters blue
My fragile boat didst safely bear, —
Farewell ye hearts so warm and true.
Whose friendship I am proud to share.
Farewell I a fond, a last farewell.
To hill and valley, rock and grove, —
I've loved you all, I've loved you well,
And ye have all repaid my love ;
Farewell ye hearts so warm and true.
Whose friendship I am proud to share, —
I will not for remembrance sue.
For well I know your love I bear.
TO MY DAUGHTER.
A CHRISTHAS REVERIE.
The coals grow brighter in the grate
As evening's dusky mantle falls.
And dimmer grow the eyes that look
Upon me from these pictured .walls.
O, tender eyes, that into mine
From these gray walls have looked for 3*ears,
I wonder if unto the past
You turn, as mine turn, full of tears.
384 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
Blind, blind with grief and vain regret,
I press my head within my hands,
And dream, sweet P^nie, that we walk
Again upon the white sea sands :
By willowy brook and ferny hill,
By liiied lake and mountain hoar.
Through groves of cedar, odorous vales.
Where we shall walk no more, no more.
Well, you have grown a woman now,
And I have wrinkled grown and gray, —
December ! ah, I feel its blasts,
While round you bloom the flowers of May.
Heaven grant a better, happier life
Than mine has been, your life may be !
The bells ring out, and how they dance
Below, around the Christmas tree !
THE HADJI SAID.
The Hadji said, * 'If o'er my tomb
Should grasses wave and roses bloom.
And if at times the spot should be
Bedewed with tears at thought of me.
My rest would be a blissful rest.
And I would count the Hadji blest."
No roses deck the Hadji's grave —
He sloops beside a foreign wave —
And never woman's eye grows dim
In that strange land at thought of him ;
And 3et methinks, the Hadji's rest
Is quite as sweet as if his breast
Wore by a million roses prest,
And woman made his grave her quest.
SONNET.
A quaint inscription of the olden time
In letters rudel}- carved and choked with moss —
^^Ourfearesarepueryle, our trusts sublime,
Lyfe ys not gayne, and death, yt ys not losse"
Above the sleeper bloomed the fern and rose,
As if kind Nature would such trust repay,
HIRAM LADD 8PENCEB. 385
And there at morn, at noon, at evening's close.
The birds sang many a sweet and soothing lay.
And there we fondly thought the orb of day,
The moon, the stars, looked down with kindliest ray. —
Ah, heart at rest, beyond the reach of ill !
Ah, slumber blest, and peace without annoy !
Not vain thy quest to reach the Heavenly Hill,
The Sunlit Land, the Emerald fields of Joy.
SONNET.
When Enon died, I cried, "O heart, for thee
Nor sun shall shine nor flower e'er bloom again !'*
When Enon died, I cried, ''As falls the rain
Shall fall my tears through all the years to be !"
But as he faded in men's thoughts, in mine
The recollections of the past grew gray : —
Doth it disturb that long, long sleep of thine
That thou art thus forgotten ? Enon, say !
I see the white sailed ships go down the Bay,
Of warning lights I catch the ruddy gleam :
Upon my pillow wearily I la}'
My aching head, and through the night I dream
Of ships dismasted, that the ocean plough.
Lost and forgotten, Enon, as art thoa.
SONNET.
So you and I, with all our joys and sorrows.
Will never meet in this wide world again !
We can anticipate no glad to-morrows,
And no to-morrow's mingled grief and pain.
'Tis true alas ! I know how vain, how vain
Our aspirations are ! how vain our fears I
In life's stem battle, see the maimed and slain,
And who for such have time for sighs or tears ?
Well, it is well ! The world goes over and over.
And we who smile to-day, to-morrow sigh ;—
A marble monument or a bit of clover.
No matter which, when 'neath at rest we lie.
At rest, at rest 1 and echo answers ' 'Blest !"
Blessed are we, for we at last find rest.
; POETS OF XEW HAMPSniBE.
SONNET.
It msy be tboiight my life bath been of sorrow
Full to tbc brim ! Of joj' I've liad mj- share ;
Of grief I borronr, and of joy I borrow,
Of hope I borroK', and of blank despair !
To luc the sunshine is a cure fur care, —
To me the slorm brings darkness and distress ;
The garb that Nature wears I always wear.
Give love for love — for bate no tithe the less.
1, with the happy-hearted have been glad.
And with the sorrowing I have sorrowed too:
They dream who say that I am always sad,
Or that my joys are OTeriK)ised by woe !
But somehow we forget our joys while sorrows clii^,
And through the years ne writhe beneath their sting.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
With eye suffused and heart dissolved with Borrow,
How ofU'u I have fled the realms of sleep.
And stiught. not vainly, from thy page to borrow
Tiiat wbieh forbids or eye or heart to weep !
Thy "Tiianalopsis," fraught with tenderest feeling,
Is like a .lune breeze to the ice-bound heart ;
To us, thy humble followers, revealing
The s.ig«. the seer, the poet that thou art :
Still ri^U "The Agi-s," still "Green River" flows,
Aihi (xiorous l>ios*v*ms load the "Apple Tree,"—
into ■■rue Lake" siUl fall the fleecy snows,
And Nature iverxwhere. doth speak of thee.
Oh. for a jxxt's tt>nfue to name thy name !
But does it matttT? Thine is deathless fame.
WE ALL SHALL BEST.
The gray binis twitter al>out the eaves,
TI» May-flowcra bud "ueath the yellow leaves,
(iTVcn with lit;hens grow iwk and wall,
■" ' ifce Ped l-nds burst on the maples tall.
By twTn* a&ij fen llie wii'ows bloom,
And till ttK" air witJl a stxange i>erfuUL«,
Aa^ Ix-Txi whore the sun re*i* warm o^teWtt,
TkkK>t iMids utd M»e tampcfnel.
HIBAM LADD SPENCER, 3^7
Sing, for the Summer shall come again
With its harvest of fruit and golden grain :
Sing, for at set of the Autumn sun
We all shall rest, aye, everyone.
A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
A hundred 3'earB ago the birds
Were singing as they sing now ;
The fields were flecked with flocks, the flowers
Were springing as they spring now :
Men toiled as men are toiling now.
And moiled as men are moiling now.
And groped as men are groping now.
And hoped as men are hoping now,
And died as men are dying.
One lived for love and one for gold.
And dreams of fame beguiled one.
One basked in fortune's sunnv smiles,
Another a reviled one ;
The moon looked down the tale to hear
That still deceives tlie maiden's ear,
And slander wove her web of slime
Round many a heart in that old time,
When 3'ears, as now, were flying.
A hundred years ago ! The graves
That mourners wet with weeping,
The plough hath furrowed — with their dead
All those that wept are sleeping :
Are sleeping as we soon shall sleep,
No more to laugh, no more to weep.
No more to hope, no more to fear,
No more to ask. why are we here,
A-weary and a-sighing.
LOVE'S BURIAL.
With folded wings and folded hands,
We laid him down upon the sands —
The white sea-sands— one night in June,
While o'er us shone the full-orbed moon.
We made his grave upon the beach,
A rood beyond the surge's reach I
333 POETS OF NEW HAMPSmSE,
With buds and flowers of rosy dyes,
We heaped his grave, — with tearful eyes !
You said, '*0 Love ! that he should die !"
You said, ''O Love ! beneath the sk}*,
Since Love is dead, what can remain,
But sorrow, darkness, doubt and pain !"
We kissed the flowers that o'er him lay !
We wept the lingering hours awaj' !
The spot we haunted many a year,
With blinded eyes and hearts a-sear !
Where love lies buried, you and I,
Though far apart, one da}- shall lie, —
Shall lie asleep — to waken not,
Our losses, like ourselves, forgot.
OLD.
He said, "Are you older than I am?"
And my dreams did the question destroy,
For he called to m}* memory Priam,
Hecuba, and Hector of Troy ;
Is it possible I am as gray as
This antedeluvian elf?
That as far from me is the May as
It is from December itself?
I remember the home of my childhood,
The home where no moan of the sea
Ever chilled the glad songs of the wildwood,
Or drowned the dull drone of the bee ;
I remember, and it seems but a da}", too,
A day of unrest and of pain.
Since I left it ! O show me a wav to
The home that I loved so, again.
The home that you loved so ! Alas, dear,
A stranger you'd meet at the door,
And they peacefully rest *neath the grass, dear,
The friends that you cherished of yore !
You have dreamed while the years were a-flying,
Forgetting how Time doth destroy-
How living is blended with dying —
How short is the life of a boy.
SSODA H. E. KENERSON. 889
i£l1)0)ra 9^. IB. Henetson.
Mn. Keoenon was an only daughter of Ricbard C. Everett of Newport. She
was bom Aur. 36, 1829. She was educated In that town, and became the wife
of Jamea M. ftenerson, who removed with his family to Wiaconsin in 1856. Her
death ooourred about 1877.
TO A WHIP-POOR-WILL.
Thou of the mournful melody, thou of the plaintive strain,
O why, through all the starry hours, why chant that sad reft*ain ?
Dost never wake thy sad sweet voice to numbers blithe and gay ?
Sa}' canst thou sing no other song, save this one mystic lay ?
Art thou some spirit brooding now o'er unforgotten wrong,
That thus you haunt the summer night with darkly mournful song ?
Uast done some dark unhallowed deed, that fills thee with unrest?
Say, art thou doomed forever from the regions of the blest?
That even in the tranquil night, and when the storm sweeps by,
We hear thy drear lamenting song, thy wild despairing cry ?
Go back to your green bowers again, O bird so sad and lone ;
I'm weary of 3'our plaining voice, your wild and moaning tone.
It seemeth like an evil thing, 3'our weird and boding lay ;
Farewell, O sorrowing stranger bird, hence to the woods away.
MOONBEAMS.
Part the curtains from the lattice, open wide the cabin door.
Let the silvery moonbeams enter, let them flood the cabin floor.
For I know that they are shining, as of old they used to shine.
On that mountain-burled hamlet — on that dear old home of mine.
Let them fall upon m}' tresses, let them fall upon my brow ;
I am thinking, I am thinking of another time than now.
Na}', now, do not light the taper, do not break the spell too soon,
For, believe me, there would never in the glaring light of noon.
Such a host of tender memories, throng around my heart and brain,
Of the happy days departed, that will never come again.
Haifa score of 3'ears are falling, from this world-worn heart of mine,
As I sit and weave these visions where the pearl}* moonbeams shine.
And my footsteps seem to wander, mid the haunts of other days,
Where a phantom throng is gathered, and, before my eager gaze,
Kise the old familiar faces of the cherished ones and dear.
And I meet the olden glances, and the olden voices hear.
Let the silent footsteps enter, let the haunting faces come ;
Ijct the cadence of their voices linger round my lowly home.
For my rude and simple cabin, like a thing of beauty seems ;
Like Aladdin's fairy palace, fraught with my fantastic dreams.
390 POETS OF KEW HAltPSHntE.
^tmoti^S l^cttg.
Timotbv Perrr was born In New Ipswich, Nov. 7, 1829. He vaa edurmted In tte
■chooU anil In tno Academy of his native town, and was afterwards teacher (4
mathematics In the Academy. He studied law in Brooklyn, N. Y., where he is itiU
practicing his profession.
OF MAY AND OF ME.
She is an angel now, She is an angel now, —
Resting at home ; She that was mine !
Earth's weary paths, her feet Wreathed is her seraph brow
No longer roam. With J03' divine.
But I am sad and lonely here, But I am sad and lonely here,
With grief oppressed ; And nought is given
The way I tread is rough and But the poor solace of a tear,
drear, And hope of heaven,
r have no rest. g^^^ j^ ^^ ^^^^j ^^^^
She is an angel now, Dwelling at home ;
Dwelling in light ; Soon may I too be there.
Glory ineffable Never to roam.
iireets her glad sight. Then no more sad and lonely
Hut I am sad and lonely here, here.
And faith's dim eye With grief oppressed,
Sees scarce a single ray to cheer But in some bright angelic sphere
The darkened sky. Forever blest !
TO THE ROBIN SINGING IN THE STORM.
Why O songster singing sweetly
When the eastern gale is high,
And cold winter frowns so sternly,
Why so happy — tell me why !
See you not your bright hopes blasted,
See vou not the an^v skv?
Feel you not the icy tempest ?
Why so happy — tell me why !
Withered forests, fields all snow-bound,
Only meet vour wistful eve :
Why amid such desolation
Why so happy — tell me why !
When no sunshine smiles about you,
When no sheltering rock is nigh.
When no fellow-songster cheers you.
Why so happy — tell me why I *
Thus I quest ioneii of the songster.
Singing when the gale was high,
JOHN OBDROyAVX. 301
And cold winter raged about him ;
Still he gave me no reply.
But he taught m}^ soul a lesson
Which I may not soon forget,
And although no words were spoken
I can hear the counsel yet : —
When the skies are dark and lowering,
When the furious tempests roar,
I will smile and hope and labor,
Hope and labor evermore.
Joi)n ©rtrronaui.
John Ordronaux. LL. D., was graduated at Dartmouth College in 1890, and from
Harrardl Law School In 1852. He was lecturer on Medical Jurisprudence in
Dartmouth Medical College fVom 1864 till 1873, when he became professor of that
brwDch of medical science. Trinity College conferred on him the aegree of LL. D.,
in 18S9. Although Professor Ordronaux does not claim to b« "a poet or the eon of a
poet" yet the few poems he has written aflTord conclusive evidence of his great
ability aa a writer of verse both in Latin and in English.
SHADOWS OF THE TEMPTER.
'*Simon. Simon, behold Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as
wh^it. But I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fall not."— Luke zxli., 31, 32.
Some shadow crosses every day
The sun-path of our Christian way ;
Some shadow of the Evil One
Pursues our steps from sun to sun,
Intent to put ofk* faith to rout,
When chilled beneath the breath of Doubt.
One shadow steals the threshold o'er
Wherever Faith unbars her door,
And brings the thought — what if in death,
The soul should perish with the breath?
It is the shadow of Distrust,
How we can rise in Christ from dust.
Another, like a twilight haze,
Obscures e'en learning's brightest days ;
The shadow of that sceptic lore
Which doth an unknown God adore.
Content, through pride of outward sight,
To find in nature all its light.
Another whispers — Mind is free
To censure an unjust decree ;
Behold, 3on sinner's lot seems blest.
While 'round him saints are sore distressed :
J
392 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
How can we in a Ruler trnst
Whose judgments reason proves nnjnst?
Thus sin forever in our breast
Sows seeds of treason and onrest ;
To make us gauge by finite sense
Th' unfathomed depths of Providence ;
And dailv, with Satanic art,
At Faith unguarded, wings a dart.
Beneath such shadows shame that we
Should let our faith thus vanquished be ;
Like babes at night, in deep alarm,
Though sheltered by a parent's arm ;
How can we tremble in unrest
When pillowed on a Saviour's breast ?
Yet 'neath some shadow oft I wait.
Like blind Bartimeus at the gate ;
Assureii that when my Lord draws nigh,
Sin, doubt, and darkness all shall fly.
Hence to His cross I cling the more,
Whene'er these shadows touch my door.
THE CHANT OF THE PILGRIM.
**Thf itetates hare been mj son^ In the house of mj pUgxinufe.* — Ft. lU- M.
A weary pilgrim, laden sore,
I long to rest on Cauaan*s shore.
Where I shall tread in dust no more
Life's treacherous road.
My cross at times I scarce could bear,
Did not mv Saviour's lovincj care
Extend an heav'nly arm to share
My giievous load.
I see it not — for sight is dim,
Yet know, through faith, it comes from Him
Who rules o'er hosts of seraphim
In God-like reign.
And somehow feel no earthly arm
Could give such strength, or pour such balm,
For I have tried each sov'reign charm
Of earth in vain.
My threadbare suit and sandals worn.
From which the world recoils in scorn.
He heeiieth not — the man forlorn
la all He sees.
JOHN ORDBONAUX. 893
The sinner bruised is all He knows,
The pilgrim reeling 'neath the blows
Of Satan's darts — to such He goes
To offer ease.
For when in darksome ways I've strayed,
Crossed fens, or swollen streams, dismayed.
Still o'er me shone, through gloom and shade,
His saving light ;
One single beam, so faint, so small,
I scarcely' knew it shone nt all.
Till I looked up, when lo ! night's pall
Blushed rub}- bright I
What if that light were veiled from me ?
What if I lost my chart at sea.
And tempests raged and rocks a-lee
My soul did fright ?
O wondrous Love ! O Grace Divine !
O Star of Hope I still on me shine.
Nor this poor wand'ring soul consign
To endless night.
Full long my weary feet have trod
Towards the great cit}' of my God,
Nor have I fainted 'neath His rod.
When scourged b^' strife ;
Full long pursued the Eastern star
Which shines from Bethlehem's sk}* afar.
Nor quailed before whate'er would bar
The way to life I
Still, still unclimbed is Pisgah's height,
Unviewed fair Beulah's land of light,
While age's fast descending night
Doth on me rest ;
Yet ne'er shall age nor time abate
My zeal to reach the heav'nl}- gate.
Where saints with boundless joy await
The pilgrim guest.
Lord ! help the pilgrim on his way,
Help him, when weary in the fray.
With trust unfalt'ring still to say,
Thy will be done ;
Then, howe'er stricken, aged, sore,
I'll bear my Cross with joy once more.
Nor rest, until at Canaan's door,
My Crown is won.
m
394
POETS OF XEW ffAMPSfflBE.
ODE FOR THE DARTMOUTH CENTENNIAL
.CELEBRATION.
Hail Dartmouth — Mother dear ! Names that in church and stale.
Whom all the arts revere,
Crowned with time's bays.
Gathered from far and near,
See, all thy sons appear.
Fair youth, and patriarch sere.
Hymning thy praise.
Not conquests of the earth.
Immortal fame await.
And thine, in turn, translate
To ages gray.
Sprung from a kindred stem,'
Strive we to follow them.
In high estate :
Life's path with deeds to strew,
Nor hoarded wealth gave birth Enduring ages through :
To fame like thine :
But wisdom dwelling here.
To moi'M oiich youth's career.
For any part or sphere
God mijiht dosiijn.
One hundred voars of jrrace.
To Christ and countrv tme,
Whate'er our fate.
From mountains and from shore.
We throng these halls once more,
A leffion vast.
Praise Him ! have chauired the ^^^^ ^lo^e, as here we bend,
Our prayers to God ascend,
Mav days to come transcend.
Thy glorious past.
Farewell ! Thou mother dear ;
Stay not that proud career.
Earth knows, and skv.
What's one brief century
Of thy great destiny.
To teach a people free.
Their mission high !
place
Our fathers knew.
The hoary wil.Urnoss
Blooms in a Clirisiian dress ;
The muses' feet now press
Where forests grew.
Forth from these halls have
passed
Names that were l>orn to last
While time holds swav ;
GUIDE ME, O THOU GREAT JEHOVAH.
RENDERED INTO LATI3*.
Me, fer, Tu i^neiis Jeht^vah, Quum Jordanis ero vadis.
Poregrinum in doserto.
Labor sed in Te vis tota,
Forti, tolle me, lacerto.
Panis coeli ! Pan is ca'li !
Pasce me per cursum a*vi.
Sit aperta si)eciosa.
AV> pallonte metu parce,
Strages Mortis ! Victor Hadis I
Mo ccelesti due in arce.
Carmen laudis ! carmen laudis!
Jesu ! dabo cum vi cordis.
Meditans domo de nostro.
Fonsqflolympha vivensfluat, Volvens sedes sacras coeli.
Fac at nubes luminosa, Roplet cor cum sancto voto,
Me per vitani semi^>er ducat. Veni Jesu I cit6 veni !
Numen tutum ! Numen tutum [ Vana tantClm cerno. Tecum
£■10 mi, nunc vires, scutum I Jesu Ijmaneam per tevum.
SUSAN F. COLGATE. 395
WHILE THEE I SEEK, PROTECTING POWER.
RENDEBED INTO LATIN.
onec Te, tiitorem P-atrem, In qu&cunque laetor hor&,
Qusero, Tana vota distent ; Quisquis luctus adventabit,
Oram nunc sacrificalem Cor laiidabit ad majora,
Meliores spes assistent. Oraus, aut se prosternabit.
sec divus amor putare Quum Fortuna m! ridebit,
Fecit me. De Te putarem ; Tunc Tuam amorem volvam,
D per vitam me tutare, Mutum, nlli me pigebit,
Te, clementem adorarem. Me Tibi servum agnoscam.
Q ! Tua per cuncta patet Supra spectans, nunquam flebo,
Dextra regens me securum ; Si tempestas ingravescet ;
t bonum, mihi plus valet Forti corde, non timebo,
Cordi quod ab Te tributum. Nam, in Te, cor requiescet.
kfrs. Colgate is a naUve of New LoDilon, and an only daughter of the late Gov-
aor Anthony Colby. She was educated at the academy in her native town, and
came a ■uccessful teacher. Mr. Colgate U a lawyer of New Yo|'k city. They
lide at Tonkers, N. Y.
NEW HAMPSHIRE HILLS.
New Hampshire bills I New Hampshire hills !
Ye homes of rocks and purling rills.
Of fir-trees, huge and high,
Rugged and rough against the sky,
With joy I greet 30ur forms, once more
My native hills, beloved of yore.
Engraved upon my youthful heart
With keener point than diamond's art,
I see you when the world's asleep
And memory wakes, with fancies deep,
Visions of scenes, though old, still new,
Then lost in dreams, I gaze on you.
New Hampshire hills ! New Hampshu'e hills !
The electric sound my spirit thrills.
With thoughts of childish ecstasies.
And dreams of glorious symphonies.
While now, as then, I see you stand.
Erect to guard our granite laud.
396 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
IVe watched you, at the early dawn,
Before the shades of night bad gone,
Arrayed in robes of soft gray mist,
Before the sun your brow had kissed,
Then laying this pure vest aside.
Stand, nobly dressed in royal pride.
I've seen you in the moon's full light,
When every dell was brought to light ;
When rock and leaf and crag lay bare,
Suflfused with gleaming, glint and glare.
Then blent with tints that knew no name,
Thy hues and dyes seemed all the same.
I've watched you when departing day
Shed o'er your forms a softer ray.
Empurpling all 3'our verdure o'er
With richer hues than e'er before ;
Then touching quick your peaks with gold.
Too glorious made you to behold.
I've loved 3'ou when the moon's mild beams
Shed lights and shades on hills and streams.
Too strange, mysterious, dark and bright,
For realms designed for human sight ;
In silence then, I've stood amazed.
And lost to all but you have gazed.
New Hampshire hills ! New Hampshire hills !
The sight of you my spirit fills
With raptures such as minstrels feel.
When at the shrine of love they kneel.
And all aglow with poet's fire.
Strike with delight the li\ing lyre.
New Hampshire hills ! New Hampshire hills !
Sweet peace and health your air distils.
As fresh as when the earth was new.
And all the world was good and true ;
Emblems ye are of royal state ;
Majestic hills, bold, grand and great.
New Hampshire hills ! New Hampshire hills !
Your presence every passion stills.
And hushed to peace I long to press
Far up 3'Our heights of loveliness,
And stand, the world beneath ray feet.
Where earth and heaven enraptured meet.
NATHAN FRANKLIN CARTER. 397
Katfjan jFranftlin ©artet.
tev. N. F. Carter was bom in Hennikcr, Jan. 6, 1830. He graduated at Dartmouth
Itofe Id 18fi3, and was Principal of the Hiarh School in Exeter during nine vears
lixi^ In 18B4. In 1865 he graduated at the TheoloKicul Seminary in Bangor, Maine*
1 was ordained, as a Congregational minister, In North Yarmouth in that state,
ere he remained till 1868, when he became pastor of a church in Orford, and con-
aed there Ull 1874. He then went to Bellows Falls, Vt.. and in 1879 to Quechee,
.(Where he now labors. Mr. Carter has written nmny articles, poems and sKetches.
' maxazlnes and newspapers. He was, for several years, one of the editors of
I N. H, JourwU of Education.
IN THE SUNSHINE.
On the sunny side of life, for those that love me,
I am gladly working, praying, still.
With a kingly banner flying high above me,
Symbol of a Heavenly Master's will !
So with cheerful heart I bear my daily crosses,
In the sunshine of my daily joy.
Never counting duty's self-denying losses,
In such holy, sweet and blest employ ;
For His presence brightens all the way,
And I know I'm climbing up to day !
In the shadowed valley, on the clouded mountain,
On the dry and sandy summer plain,
In the tangled forest, by the cooling fountain.
On the shore-land of the roaring main ; —
I rejoice to make my pathway like a shining
Light of ever-gladdening, brightening ray,
All around my gleaming footprints, gem-like, twining
Love's sweet ministries to bless the day,
Wooing others up the sunny slopes,
Leading to the heaven of golden hopes I
On the sunny side of life I'm nightly lying
In the restful arms of sweet content.
With the self-same royal banner o'er me flying.
Gemmed, like stars in the blue firmament ;
And I smile on coming shadows thickly folding
Dusky wings above my pillowed head.
For I know God's angels, ever holding
Silent watch around my lowly bed.
Guard me well, as guard they saintly throngs
In the blessed summer-land of songs I
Not that I am ever free from daily trials,
Like the glorified to whom I go ;
Not that on my head are never poured the vials
Malice fills with bitterness and woe,
39f( POETS OF XEW BAMPSWOSE.
Filling all mv soqI, as streams the heaving ocean,
With the fretting, moaning waves of pain ;
Not that e*er against me waves of wild commotloii
In their direst madness beat in vain ;
Not that sin has lost its power to harm ;
Not that life is one perennial charm !
But I know full well that all things work togetbery
Under love's sweet ruling, for m}' good ;
Know as well the winter, as the summer weather,
Comes with blessing as an angel would ;
So in working, resting, so in waking, sleeping.
Wears this changing world a smile, or frown,
I have tru:>t in One who has me in his keeping,
And with joy press upward to my crown ;
So serene with sunshine, every day
Passes, like some strain of song, away !
GREAT THOUGHTS.
Great thoughts' in mighty souls bom into life.
Like towering mountains lean against the sky.
Their radiant summits far above all strife,
Fixing with wonder many a gazer*s eye.
So far aJx)ve the common level rise
Their mom-empurpled heights, the}* fill the soul
With awe and reverence, till, in mute surprise,
It deems them altars near the Eden goal,
Whereon the incense of a great life burns, ^
Diffusing sweetest fragrance evermore ;
Or glow life watch-fires, blessing him who yearns
For trusty guidance on Time's pilgrim shore I
The lowl}- one toils earaesth' and long
To climb their steep but ever verdant sides.
Yet, rising higher, he feels his heart grow strong
To mount where everlasting spring abides ;
To gather holier sweets distilling there ;
To see serener prospects yet unknown ;
To breathe a purer life-awakening air.
And find himself a nobler being grown.
And thus he presses on, till victor-crowned,
Upon the heights, he, with enraptured ken.
Drinks in the vastness of the scene around,
A better man among earth's worthy men !
NATHAN FBAXKLIN CABTEB. 399
And these great thoughts of might}' souls are ours,
Stamped with a time-long immortality ;
A gift ne'er growing old, whose greatness towers
Above all gifts by gold or fame made free,
We feast upon them, as on viands rare.
And feel a new^r life spring up within.
They give the longing spirit wings to dare
A loftier flight for good we fain would win.
Their influence wakes a hymn of blessedness,
Sounding a victor's psean in our ears,
Whose sweet refrains, enshrined in good deeds, bless
A plodding world, as stars a night of years !
IN THE BATTLE OF LIFE.
In the battle of life do the best that is in thee.
Climb up with a will and an eye on the stars.
The noblest of names aspiring to win thee.
At the price, if need be, of perils and scars I
There is room in the radiant spaces above thee ;
On the tops of the mountains are conquerors' palms ;
Live grandly for God, — make the great world love thee,
For the sowing of sunshine and giving of alms 1
Grow virtues and graces to ripen for glory ;
Seek riches and honors that pass not away ;
With manifold blessings make golden life's story ;
For the good of humanity labor and pray !
Be a peer and a prince in the grace of forgiving ;
Keep ever to pathways the saintly have trod ;
In lov^ with the good, be the best of the living ;
Do the best for the world by the favor of God I
With a bold, brave heart, and a holy endeavor,
Girt surely and well with an armor divine,
I^ess on to the conflict, surrendering never
To the foes that confront thee in darkening line I
What is servile and grovelling heartily scorning.
With an eye on the prize, not a moment delay,
But valiantly press to the Gates of the Morning,
And live in its fulness of glory for aye !
LOVING IlExVRTS.
A pleasant sight are clear blue skies,
When soft winds cheer us on to duty ;
400 POETS OF NEW HAMPSBISE.
Above, glad visions for the eyes,
Around, a world of growing beauty.
The world is wide, the world is bright,
O tell to all the story.
The world is full of living light,
The world is full of glory !
A merry heart and smiling face
Are better far than sunny weather ;
A noble life and forms of grace,
Like leaves and flowers, grow well together.
The world is dark, the world is cold,
O tell to all the story.
But loving hearts in young or old,
Can fringe its night with glory !
lEDna 29ean proctor*
Mlas Proctor is a native of Henniker. On completing her school edmeatioii sbi
made Brooklyn, X. Y., her home, where she stiU resides. A toUukm of Imt poeas.
gublished in 1867. fixed her rank amongst the foremost of Americui feiBale poeli.
he has travelled extensively in Europe, Syria, and Russia, and hat aacendwd the
Nile. An account of h«r travels in Itussia was published in 1873.
THE MOUNTAIN MAID.
O the Mountain Maid, New Hampshire I
Her steps are light and free,
Whether she treads the lofty heights
Or follows the brooks to the sea !
Her eyes arc clear as the skies that hang
Over her hills of snow,
And her hair is dark as the densest shade
That falls where the fir-trees grow —
The fir-^rees, slender and somber.
That climb from the vales below.
Sweet is her voice as the robin's.
In a lull of the wind of March,
Wooing the shy arbutus
At the roots of the budding larch ;
And rich as the ravishing echoes
On still Franconia*s Lake,
When the boatman winds his magic horn,
And the tongues of tlie wood awake.
While the huge Stone Face forgete to frown
And the hare peeps out of the brake.
EDNA DEAN PROCTOR. 101
The blasts of dreary December
But brighten the bloom on. her cheek.
And the snows rear her statelier temples
Than to goddess were built by the Greek,
She welcomes the fervid summer,
And flies to the sounding shore
Where bleak Boar's Head looks seaward,
Set in the billows' roar,
And dreams of her sailors and fishers
Till cool days come once more.
Then how fair is the Maiden,
Crowned with the scarlet leaves.
And wrapped in the tender, misty veil
That Indian Summer weaves !
While the aster blue, and the golden-rod,
And immortelles, clustering sweet,
From Canada down to the sea have spread
A carpet for her feet ;
And the faint witch-hazel buds unfold,
Her latest smile to greet.
She loves the song of the reapers.
The ring of the woodman's steel.
The whirr of the glancing shuttle.
The rush of the tireless wheel.
But, if war befalls, her sons she calls
From mill and forge and lea,
And bids them uphold her banner
Till the land from strife is free ;
And she hews her oaks into vengeAil ships
That sweep the foe from the sea.
O the Mountain Maid, New Hampshire I
For beauty and wit and will
I'll mate her to-day with the fairest
That rules over plain or hill I
New York is a princess in purple.
By the gems of her cities crowned ;
Illinois with the garland of Ceres
Iler tresses of gold has bound —
Queen of the limitless prairies.
Whose great sheaves heap the ground ;
And out by the far Pacific,
Their gay young sisters say,
*^Ours are the mines of the Indies
And the treasures of broad Cathay ;"
402 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
And the dames of the South walk proudly,
Where the fig and the orange fall,
And, hid in the high magnolias.
The mocking thrushes call ;
But the Mountain Maid, New Hampshire,
Is the rarest of them all !
NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Written for, and read on the occasion of the Bl-Centennial eelehntloB of the
Settlement of the Sute of Neir Hampshire, bj the Mew Hampahtre Hifunlcil
Society, at the Sute Capitol, Concord, May S3, 197S.
'*A goodly realm !'* said Captain Smith,
Scanning the coast by the Isles of Shoals,
While the wind blew fair, as in Indian myth
Blows the breeze from the Land of Souls ;
Blew fh>m the marshes of Hampton spread
Level and green that summer day.
And over the brow of Great Boar's Head,
From the pines that stretched to the west away ;
And sunset died on the rippling sea.
Ere to the south with the wind sailed he.
But he told the story in London streets,
And again to court and prince and king ;
'*A truce,'* men cried, '*to Virginia heats;
The North is the land of hope and spring !*'
And in sixteen hundred and twent}'-three,
For Dover meadows and Portsmouth river,
Bold and earnest thev crossed the sea,
And the realm was theirs and ours forever !
Up ftom the floods of Piscataqua,
Slowly, slowly they made their way
Back to the Merrimack's eager tide,
Poured through its meadows rich and wide ;
And the river that runs like a joyous brook —
Monadnock's darling, the Contoocook ; —
And westward turned for the warmer gales
And the wealth of Connecticut's intervales ;
And to W'innipesaukee's tranquil sea.
Bosomed in hills and bright with isles
Where the alder grows and the dark pine-tree.
And the tired wind sleeps and the sunlight smiles ;
Up and on to the mountains piled,
Fpak o'er peak, iu the northern air.
Home of streams and of winds that wild
EDNA DEAN PROCTOR. 4()8
Torrent and tempest valeward bear, —
Where the Great Stone Face looms changeless, calm
As the Sphinx that couches on Egypt's sands,
And the fir and the sassafras yield their balm
Sweet as the odors of Morning lands ;
Where the eagle floats in the summer noon,
While his comrade clouds drift, silent, by,
And the waters fill with a mystic tune
The fane the cliffs have built to the sky !
And, beyond, to the woods where the huge moose browsed ,
And the dun deer drank at the rill, unroused
By hound or horn, and the partridge brood
Was alone in the leafy solitude ;
And the lake where the beaver housed her young,
And the loon's shrill cry from the border rung,
The lake whence the beauteous river flows.
Its fountains fed by Canadian snows.
What were the Labors of Hercules
To the toils of heroes such as these ? —
Guarding their homes from Savage foes
Cruel as fiends in craft and scorn ;
Felling the forest with mighty blows ;
Planting the meadow plots with corn ;
Hunting the hungry wolf to his lair ;
Trapping the panther and prowling bear ;
Bridging the river ; building the mill
Where the stream had leapt at its frolic will ;
Rearing, in faith by sorrow tried.
The church and the school-house, side by side ;
Fighting the French on the long frontier.
From Louisburg, set in the sea's domains.
To proud Quebec and the woods that hear
Ohio glide to the sunset plains ;
And when rest and comfort they 3'earned to see,
Risking their all to be nobly free !
Honor and love for the valiant Dead I
With reverent breath let their names be read, —
Hiltons, Pepperells, Sullivans, Weares,
Broad is the scroll the list that bears
Of men as ardent and brave and true
As ever land in its peril knew,
And women of pure and glowing lives.
Meet to be heroes* mothers and wives I
For not alone for the golden maize.
And the fisher's spoils from the teeming, bays,
M
404 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHTRE.
And the treasures of forest, and hill, and mine,
The}' gave their barks to the stormy brine, —
I^iberty, learning, righteous law
Shone in the vision they dimly saw
Of the age to come and the land to be ;
And, looking to heaven, fervently
They labore<i and longed through the dawning gray
For the blessed break of that larger day.
When the wail of Harvard in sore distress
Came to their ears through the wilderness, —
Harvard, the hope of the Colonies twain,
Planted with pravers bj- the lonely main —
It was loyal, struggling Portsmouth town
That sent this gracious message down :
'^Wishing our gratitude to prove.
And the count r}* and general court to move
For the infant college beset with fears,
("Its loss an omen of ill would be !)
We promise to pa}* it, for seven 3'eai-s,
Sixty i>ounds sterling, an annual sum,
Trusting that fuller aid will come," —
And the court and the country heard their plea.
And the sapling grew to the wide-boughed tree.
And when a century had fled.
And the war for freedom thrilled with dread
Yet welcome summons every home, —
B}' the fire-lit hearth, 'neath the starry dome,
The}' vowed that never their love should wane
For the holy cause the}' burned to gain,
Till right should rule, and the strife be done !
List to the generous deed of one : —
In the Revolution's darkest days
The legislature at Exeter met ;
Money and men they fain would raise,
And despair on every face was set
As news of the armv's need was read ;
Then, in the hush, John Langdon said :
'*Three thousand dollars have I in gold ;
For as much I will pledge the plate I hold ;
Eighty casks of Tobago rum ;
All is the country's. The time will come,
If we conquer, when amply the debt she'll pay ;
If we fail, our property's worthless." A ray
Of hope cheered the gloom, while the Governor said :
*'For a regiment now, with Stark at its head 1"
EDNA DEAN PROCTOB. 405
And the boon we gained through the noble lender
Was the Bennington Day and Burgoyne's Surrender.
Conflict over and wear}' quest,
Hid in their hallowed graves they rest ;
Nor the voi9e of love, nor the cannon's roar
Wins them to field or fireside more !
Did the glor}' go from the hills with them ?
Nay ! for the sons are true to the sires !
And the gems they have set in our diadem
Bum with as rare and brilliant fires ;
And the woodland streams and the mountain airs
Sing of the fathers' fame with theirs !
One, in the shadow of lone Kearsarge
Nurtured for power, like the fabled charge
Of the gods, by Pelion's woody marge ; —
So lofty bis eloquence, stately his mien.
That, could he have walked the Ol^'mpian plain,
The worshipping, wondering crowds had seen
Jove descend o'er the feast to reign !
And one with a brow as Balder's fair.
And his life the grandeur of love and peace ; —
Easing the burdens the race must bear,
Toiling for good he might not share,
Till his white soul found its glad release !
And one — a tall Corinthian column,
Of the Temple of Justice prop and pride —
The judge unstained, the patriot tried,
Gone to the bar supernal, solemn.
Nor left his peer b}- Themis' side !
Ah ! when the Old World counts her kings,
And from splendor of castle and palace brings
The dainty lords her monarchies mould.
We'll turn to the hills and say, "Behold
Webster and Greeley and Chase for three
Princes of our Democracy !"
Land of the cliff, the stream, the pine,
Blessing and honor and peace be thine I
Still may thj* giant mountains rise,
Lining their snows to the blue cf June,
And the s. uth wind breathe its tenderest sighs
Over thy fields in the harvest moon !
And the river of rivers, Merrimack,
Whose current never shall faint or lack
While the lakes and the crystal springs remain, —
Welcome the myriad brooks and nils
406 POETS OP XEW HAMPSmSE.
Wimiing throngh meadows, leaping from hilli
To brim its banks for the waiting wheels
That thrill and fly to its dash and roar
Till the rocks are v>assed, and the sea-fog steals
Over its tide bv Newbanr's shore ! —
For the river of rivers is Merrimack,
Whether it foams with the mountain rain,
i>r t«: lis in the mill race, deep and black,
\Jt. conqueror- rolls to the ocean plain I
And still mav the hilL the vale, the glen.
Give ihee the might of heroic men.
Anii the grace of women pure and fair
As the Mav-flowexs bloom when the woods arc hire:
Anii truth an<i freedom ave find in thee
Their surest warrant of victory :
Land of fame and of hl^h endeavor.
Strength and glory be thine forever !
THE DEAD.*
As \t in k>ne Franconia one had said.
"* Alas ! tbe glorious monarch of the hills«
Mount Washington, is fallen to the vale !
The viiref^*:! echo all the silence fills ;
The wiikls sweep down the gorge with bitter
T!ie lesser heights rise trembling and dismayed.
And tiie fo&i san goe^^ ck>oded. to the west ;*" —
S> to the siree:* the fireskie. came the crv,
m
**Our kii^ v^f men. our bokiest, gmitlest heart.
He whose pure £ron; was nearest to the slnr.
Whose fee: s:«.<Ni finsiest on etema! right :
With his swi^ sympaihies and giant might
That sealevi him for the martyr's, warrior's part.
And Jed. *hrvxii:h >»». :o nobler victory —
liets low, to^iav. in de^ith's cncibalLeiifed rest T
How we entombevi him ! ih]>« imperial Rocne
Gave her dead Cjesars sepulton^ so grand,
TboiKh geizis and ^'<irp<> oq the pyre wei^ flmig -
His teoder requ>eai husJhei the cLudoivmis land ;
Aikl tha»« by power lamesi^evi. pio^ sang«
Thnm^ s^x*ke£i. cev«rec.; crv>wis ve bore him home
Whea Vinter siriw were fair a&i winds were sdU !
Aad for hb ^une — while c^deas^ ^i^iani oar shoies
EDKA DEAN PROCTOR. 41)7
And mountains midway lift their peaks of snow
To the clear azure where the eagle soars ;
While peace is sweet, and the world yearns again
To hear the angel strain, "Good will to men ;"
While toil brings honor, virtue vice deplores,
And liberty is precious — it shall grow.
And the great future with his spirit fill !
CONTOOCOOK RIVER.
Of all the streams that seek the sea
By mountain pass, or sunny lea.
Now where is one that dares to vie
With clear Contoocook, swifl and shy?
Monadnock's child, of snow-drifts born,
The snows of many a winter morn,
And many a midnight dark and still,
Heaped higher, whiter, day by day,
To melt, at last, with suns of May,
And steal, in tiny fall and rill,
Down the long slopes of granite gray ;
Or filter slow through seam and cleft
When frost and storm the rock have reft,
To bubble cool in sheltered springs
Where the lone red-bird dips his wings,
And the tired fox that gains the brink
Stoops, safe from hound and horn, to drink.
And rills and springs, grown broad and deep,
Unite through gorge and glen to sweep
In roaring brooks that turn and take
The over-floods of pool and lake,
Till, to the fields, the hills deliver
Contoocook's bright and brimming river I
O have j-ou seen, from Hillsborough town
How fast its tide goes hurrying down,
With rapids now, and now a leap
Fast giant boulders, black and steep.
Plunged in mid-water, fain to keep
Its current from the meadows green ?
But, flecked with foam, it speeds along ;
And not the birch-tree's silvery sheen.
Nor the soft lull of whispering pines,
Nor hermit thrushes, fluting low.
Nor ferns, nor cardinal-flowers that glow
408 POSTS OF NEW HAMPSHIBB.
Where clematis, the fairy, twines,
Can stAj its coarse, or still its song ;
Ceaseless it flows till round its bed
The vales of Henniker are spread,
Their banks all set with golden grain,
Or statel}' trees whose vistas gleam —
A double forest — in the stream ;
And, winding *neatb the pine-crowned hill
That overhangs the village plain,
B\' sunny reaches, broad and still,
It nears the bridge that spans its tide —
The bridge whose arches low and wide
It ripples through — and should you lean
A moment there, no lovelier scene
On England's Wye, or Scotland's Tay,
Would charm your gaze, a summer's day.
And on it glides, b}' grove and glen.
Dark woodlands, aud the homes of men,
With now a ferry, now a mill ;
Till, deep and calm, its waters fill
The channels round that«gem of isles
Sacred to captives' woes and wiles,
And, eager half, half edd3'ing back,
Blend with the lordly Merrimack ;
And Merrimack whose tide is strong
Rolls gentl}', with its waves along,
Monadnock's stream that, coy and fair,
Has come, its larger life to share,
And, to the sea, doth safe deliver
Contoocook's bright and brimming river !
KEARSARGE.
Kearaarge, the monntalo which gare its name to the ship that snnk the AUlitfJ'l*
U a noble granite peak in Merrimack Coimtr, rising alone, three thousand feet V^*
the sea.
O lift th}' head, thou mountain, lone,
And mate thee with the sun !
Thy rosy clouds are valeward blown.
Thy stars that near at midnight shone
Gone heavenward, one b}* one,
And half of earth, and half cf air.
Thou risest vast and gray aud bare
And crowned with glory. Far south-west
Monadnock sinks to see.
EDNA DEAN PROCTOR. 409
For all its trees and towering crest
And clear Contoocook from its breast
Poured down for wood and lea,
How statelier still, through frost and dew,
Tby granite cleaves the distant blue.
And high to north, from fainter sky,
Franconia's cliff's look down ;
Home to their crags the eagles fly,
Deep in their caves the echoes die,
The sparkling waters frown,
And the Great Face that guards the glen
Pales with the pride of mortal men.
Na}', from their silent, crystal scat
The White Hills scan the plain ;
Nor Saco*s leaping, lightsome feet.
Nor Ammonoosuc wild to greet
The meadows and the main.
Nor snows nor thunders can atone
For splendor thou bast made thine own.
For thou hast joined the immortal band
Of hills and streams and plains.
Shrined in the songs of native land, —
Linked with the deeds of valor grand
Told when the bright day wanes, —
Part of the nation's life art thou,
O mountain of the granite brow !
Not Pelion when the Argo rose,
Grace of its goodliest trees ;
Nor Norway hills when woodman's blows
Their pines sent crashing through the snows
That kings might rove the seas ;
Nor heights that gave the Armada's line,
Thrilled with a joy as pure as thine.
Bold was the ship thy name that bore ;
Strength of the hills was hers ;
Heart of the oaks thy pastures store.
The pines that hear the north wind roar,
The dark and tapering firs ;
Nor Argonaut nor Viking knew
Sublimer daring than her crew.
And long as Freedom fires the soul
Or mountains pierce the air,
410 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Her fame shall shine on honor's scroll ;
Thy brow shall be the pilgrim's goal
Uplifted broad and fair ;
And from thy skies, inspiring gales
O'er future seas shall sweep our sails.
Still summer, keep thy pastures green,
And clothe thy oaks and pines ;
Brooks laugh thy rifled rocks between ;
Snows fall serenely o'er the scene
And veil thy lofty lines ;
While crowned and peerless thou dost stand,
The monarch of our mountain-land.
1 '
AT HOME.
An Incident in the return of the New Hampshire troops. (104.)
''Now Charley, on the knapsacks 3*ou'll find an easy bed;
Our blankets we have folded and smooth above them spread;
The train will soon be starting,— here, drink this cup of wine,
The captain just now sent it, — and, ere the morning shine.
Away by blue Monadnock, and where the hill-brooks foam.
You will be done with travel and rest in peace at home."
'*0 bo3's, you're very good to me ; I feel so tired and weak,
That though I love to listen, I scarce can bear to speak;
But I'm surely growing better, and if, at early dawn,
I see our blue Monadnock m}^ pain will all be gone ;
And when I hear my mother's voice, and sit within the door
That opens by the brook-side, I shall be strong once more.
"How much I have to tell her ! my letters were not long ;
I could not write while on the march, nor in the camp-fire's throng ;
But, when I sit beside her, how sweet 'twill be to say,
'Now, mother, list the storj' of what befell that day ;' —
O, she shall hear of every fight, and count each weary mile
I've trod, since, faint through silent tears, I saw her parting smile !
"Good night, boys ! I shall sleep now. What joy it is to feel
We're drawing nearer, nearer home with each revolving wheel !
Good night ! at dawn you'll wake me when round the bend we go.
For there, beside the station, my mother'll wait, I know;
And if she does not see me the first to leave the train.
She'll think upon some nameless field her hoy at last was slain."
Slow turned away his comrades to snatch an hour's repose.
Or talk of siege and battle while clear the moon uprose ;
EDNA DEAX PBOCTOR. 4 1 1
len the swift train baited, back to his side thej- crept,
iw that on his narrow couch all peacefullj* he slept :
tit wore on to morning, and day began to dye
loating rose and amber, the mellow eastern sky.
je, and then the station. "Ho ! Charle}- !" blithe they call,
looms the mountain ; yonder the church-spire rises tall ;" —
ind : they bend above him ; his brow is cold and white ;
J8 not heed their voices ; he stirs not for the light ; —
by blue Monadnock, and where the hill-brooks foam,
►y was done with travel ; the soldier had gone home !
O LOVED AND LOST !
I sit beside the sea this autumn da3%
When sky and tide are ravishingl}' blue,
And melt into each other. Down the ba}*
The stately ships drift b}- so still and slow.
That, on the horizon's verge, I scarce may know
Which be the sails along the wave that glow.
And which the clouds that float the azure through.
From beds of golden-rod and asters steal
The south winds, soft as any breath of May ;
High in the sunny air the white gulls wheel.
As noiseless as the cloud thpy poise below ;
And, in the hush, the light waves come and go
As if a spell entranced them, and their flow
Echoed the beat of oceans far away.
O loved and lost ! can you not stoop to me
This perfect morn, when heaven and earth are one?
The south winds breathe of you ; I only see
(Alas, the vision sweet can naught avail !)
Your image in the cloud, the wave« the sail ;
And heed nor calm, nor storm, nor bliss, nor bale.
Remembering you have gone beyond the sun.
One look into your eyes ; one clasp of hands ;
One murmured, ''Lo, I love you as before ;"
And I would give you to your viewless lands
And wait my time with never tear or sigh ; —
But not a whisper comes from earth or sky,
And the sole answer to my yearning cry
Is the faint wash of waves along the shore.
Lord ! dost thou see how dread a thing is death
When silence such as this is all it leaves ? —
4 1 2 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
To watch in agony the parting breath
Till the fond eyes are closed, the dear voloe still;
And know that not the wildest prater can thrill
Thee to awake them, but our grief must fill
Alike the rosy morns, the rain^' eves.
Ah ! thou dost see ; and not a pang is vain !—
Some joy of ever}* anguish must be bom ;
Else this one planet's weight of loss and pain
Would stay the stars in s\'mpathetic woe, •
And make the suns move pale, and cold, and slow,
Till all was black and void, thy throne below,
And night shut down without a gleam of morn.
But mark ! the sun goes radiant to his goal
While winds make music on the laughing set;
And, with his set, the starry host will roll
Celestial splendors over mead and main ;
Lord ! can thy worlds be glad, and death enchtin?
Nay ! 'tis but crowning for immortal reign
In the pure realm where all abide with thee.
What star has seen the sun at cloudless noon?
What chrysalis knows aught of wings that sosr?-
O blessed souls ! how can I hope the boon
Of look or word from you, the glorified,
Until for me the shining gates swing wide? —
Welcome the da}* when the great deeps divide,
And we are one in life for evermore !
iStrtoartr Augustus Jcntts.
R. A. Jonks was born in Newport, Oct. 30. 1830. Ho ^H^cIre<l an academic cdi
don at Tbctford academy. Tlietfunl. Vt. In 18.V2 he fomie«l a oopaitnenhlp ww
JoHeph C. Abbott, and purchaHed the Manrhester American. In IffiS he eoM M*
interest in the American, and went to Lowell. Mai»s., where he resided two ycna
In 18S8 he became a i-ebident of New York city, and was ** proof •reader'MBiCMBt
of the lar(^<»t publishinfT houbcs then*. In \t^l he went to Cindnnall, Ohio, SBt
became conne<ted with the Urm of Alexander 8wlft and Company, Iron bsbs-
facturcrs. and contractors for tlie building of the monitors Catawba, OneoU.
Klamath, and Yuma, for the icoveninient. whore he remained until their eon-
pletlon and delivery to the Navy Deparuncnt. At the couclasion of the war ke
went to Vickdburg, Miss., as an* agent for the purchase of cotton f or shipBcnt to
Northern markets. The probccution of his bubiuei*s took him to nearly all ptits
of the state, by rail, steamlxtat, nnd honteback. as well as to manv of the neteh-
boring siaU^s. In 1871 he was calkni to the head of the Kepublican Press At-
sofJation. of Concord, pubUhhcrs of the Ihiily MonUt>r ami the Imdemtnietii
Staietnan, as its treasurer an<l bunine^s mauafcer. Since hohllng this posiHonhc
has three times iK'cn electtHi state printer. In 1K77. a vacancy occiurrlng In tke
office of State IU>p(»rter ^rejtorter of the decisions t>f the Supreme Conxt), he was
appointed to that offlce. He has ma<le nianv contributions to current llleratarp.
rooms of his arc foun«l in Bryant's new ••Llbrarv of Poetry and Song," Dr.
Keudrlck's 'Our PoeUcal FavoriU's," llarpel's "Poets and P<»ctry of Prlntcrdun,"
and Sir^ent's "Cyclopaxdla of English and American Poetry." "Mr. Jenksre^dcs
in Newport.
ED WABD A UG USTUS JENK8. 4 1 3
THE FARMHOUSE.
Tbe laughing sunshine peers above the liill,
• And down the shimberlng vale ;
Then hastens on with nimble feet, until,
A rood or two beyond the silvery rill
Now strolling idly through the crippled mill,
He gains the cottage pale.
The hospitable gate stands open wide,
And with impatient lips
The morning-glory beckons to her side
The wa3'ward youth, whose quest she ne'er denied ;
Her tangled tresses quick he thrusts aside,
And dewy nectar sips.
He lingers lovingly among the flowers
That fringe the open door ;
Then steals within, and wakes, with magic powers,
The forms at rest in Dreamland's rustic bowers,
And plays through morning's golden-tinted liours
UiK>n the oaken floor.
The birds troll welcome to the summer days
From airy turrets high ;
The bees are humming over ancient lays
That erst were heard in Eden's shaded ways,
On that bright morn when universal praise
Rolled through the arching sky.
Brave chanticleers, with summons loud and shrill.
The languid echoes wake.
Which just before were sleeping, calm and still.
Behind the old and hoary-headed mill —
Which nevermore will heed its master's will —
Beyond the dreaming lake.
The butterflies have stretched their painted wings
Upon the breath of dawn.
And flit from flower to flower like human things :
The slaughtered hay its dying perfume flings
Abroad upon the. white-winged gale, which brings
And strews it o'er the lawn.
Beneath the moss-grown roof a group prepare
To siege the smoking board.
Which fills with grateful incense all the air ;
But first the reverend sire, with frost}' hair.
Craves "daily bread" for those assembled there,
From Him for aye adored.
414 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
Quick follow then the clangings of the steel —
Above no weltering foe ;
No timid suppliants for mercy kneel —
No vizored foemen with dim vision reel ;
But happ3' voices grace the morning meal
With love's sweet overflow.
And then the cheerful group contrive to share
The labors of the day ;
While I, with angling gear and eager air,
Retreat, like lion to his forest lair,
To shady woods where winding streams repair,
And while the hours away.
THE OLD MAN'S YESTERDAY.
*'Was't yesterday? Yes, 'twas yesterday !
It must have been yesterday mom : —
I stood on the bank of the River Ray,
Where the squadrons of martial com
Their silken banners had just unfurled
To the breeze, by the singing stream,
When a vision of beaut}', all golden-curled,
Grew into my wakiug dream.
''I know it was yesterda}', — for now
The rustle I seem to hear.
As the tall corn parted right and left;.
And a voice rang soft and clear, —
'Wait, Willie, wait ! 1 am almost there I
I said I would grant your wish, —
So I've made a line of my golden hair.
And am coming to help you fish !'
''Yes ! (why do I doubt?) it was 3'esterday —
For I see the soft tassels there
Sunning themselves in a worshipful way
In the light of her 3*ellow hair.
While her voice rings merrily over the com, —
'Oh, Willie ! come help me through,
For I am 'Hhe maiden all forlorn,"
And my feet are wet with dew.
" 'And 3'ou know I'm coming to help you fish-
But you'll think me a silly girl,
For I haven't a bit of bait — but wait !
I'll bait with a tiny curl !
ED WABD A UQ USTU8 JENKS. 4 1 5
And, Willie, say — do you think they'll bite?
And then, what shall I do ?
Must I pull and pull with all my might ?
But ril wait, and look at you !'
**Ah, me ! ah, me ! was it yesterday?
It seems but a day ago I
Yet three-score years of yesterdays
Have whitened my head with snow
Since we sat, in that sweetest of summer-times, —
I and my beautiful Ma}*, —
Coining our love into wedding chimes.
On the bank of the River Ray."
THE CHILDREN.
The children ! O the children ! —
How dark the world, and gloomy.
How wide, and cold, and roomy.
To the mother's loving heart,
Did not the breezes waft her
The songs and meny laughter
Of the blessed, blessed children !
The children I O the children I —
How the sun would pale its glor}%
And the beautiful in story
Die out of all the lands.
Could they not hear us calling,
When the twilight dews are falling,
^'Come home ! Come home, O children !"
The children I O the children ! —
Very sweet the sacred pages.
Floating down through all the ages.
Telling of the Christ-child born
Where the mild-eyed oxen ponder.
With a sort of wistful wonder.
O'er the Prince of all the children I
The children ! O the children ! —
See them blood-red roses strowing
In the path where Christ is going
Toward Jerusalem, the doomed !
See them wave their cool green banners !
Hear them shout their glad hosannas
To the Saviour of the children !
4 1 6 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBB.
TO A FAVORITE STREAM.*
An O^ober Poem.
Silence sleeps in th}* vallej,
O beautiful stream !
O wayward and mj'stical river !
Dreaming a pleasant dream.
As the sunbeams on tb\' murmuring ripples qmyer,
And talking in bis sleep —
His sleep so sound and deep !
Dreaming of maidens roaming
Thy banks along,
And of jets of sparkling laughter
Bursting from waves of song
That must die away on the shores of the dim Hereafter—
That |)eaceful, voiceless sea,
Kin to Eternity !
Silence hath myriad voices,
O gleaming tide !
And from thine enchanting valley.
Radiant in its pride.
They come to the cliff where the poet stands, — and shall he
Interpret them to thee,
Under this old pine tree?
"Beautiful, beautiful river!"
The old pine sighs !
And the wrinkled, gray old ledges, —
Tears in their mossy e3'es, —
Toss back an echo from their jagged edges,
To that lone sentinel,
Guarding the valley well.
Fondly the tall pine watches
Th}' narrow bed,
Fearing some morn to miss thee,
Beautiful silver thread !
And ere the glooming he sends his shadow to kiss thee
A soft and sweet good-night,
Till morning's rosy light.
Maples with crimson blushing.
Far down below.
And distant hillsides climbing.
Changed to a golden glow, —
• Sugar River, in SuUivan County.
V
ED WABD A UQ U8TU8 JENKS. 4 1 7
All lend a tongiie to that mysterious chiming,
Deep as the sounding sea —
Deep as their love for thee !
*
Blending in sweetest music,
The tinkling feet
Ot rivulets down-rushing
Dance to thy silver sheet,
While the rapt sun through golden rifls is flushing
Thy face with heaven's own light :
O dream too brief, too bright I
•'Beautiftil, beautiful river!"
The old pine sighs :
In the silence my heart replieth, —
^^Daughter of earth and skies,
Farewell ! but at last, when my wear^' spirit flieth
Beyond the chiming stars,
May my eyes unclasp their bars
To see thy placid waters calmly flowing
Out from the Burning Throne, and down the valleys glowing !"
HELENE.
Under that snow-white sheet she lies —
Helene my beautiful ! Hclene my true !
Softly the morning breaks over the skies.
Softly regretftjl stars kiss her adieu ; —
Lies she there seeming
So blissfhlly dreaming, —
Fragrant her ripe lips as breath of the mom, —
No one shall lisp her
Name even in whisper :
She's roaming where fairj'-land fancies are born !
Clustering clouds of dark, passionate hair
Frown back the curious beams of the sun :
Hidden but meagerly, shapely and rare.
Round, white, soft m\'8teries wait to be won ; —
Seemingly bolder,
One Parian shoulder.
Purity's sSlf, dims the pillow below —
While, thrown above her
Head (who could but love her !)
A round arm lies white as the shimmering snow I
418 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBB.
Parting as clouds part when summer winds blow,
HeaTenly wonders unveiling above, —
So part the gauze-clouds, revealing below
Opaline mountains in gardens of love ; — •
Soft undulations,
Like music's vibrations
Coursing light-footed the silvery strings,
Seem like the ocean
In jubilant motion.
Rocking its burden of beautiful things.
Waking as wake the young birds in their nests.
Baby Nell opens her wondering eyes —
Climbs where the lush mountains bear on their cresti
Strawberries ripe as the ruddiest skies ; —
There, among treasures
In bountiful measures.
Roguish-eyed, cherry-lipped, piuk-footed Nell
Drinks from a chalice
The king in his palace
Might barter his crown for, and barter it weD.
HYMN,
Wrtora for the Centennial AiwiTcnuy of tiw CoosreKBtioBal Ctarefc la Scv-
port, Oct. », 1879.
A thousand hearts are swelling
With gratitude to-day.
For here, to this His dwelling,
Our Saviour leads the wav :
We turn the ancient pages.
We scan the yellow leaves,
Where Jesus, through the ages.
Has written of Ilis sheaves.
We've heard the simple story
Of that courageous band,
The young, and heads all hoarj.
Who came to this fair land, —
The pathless wild before them.
The sleepless stars above.
With heaven bending o'er them,
And great hearts full of love.
fek.
AMANDA JEMIMA BMABT. 419
The dews of June* were glist'ning
Among the tree-tops there,
And softest breezes listening
To sadly cadcnced prayer,
When on that Sabbath morning
The fire began to glow, —
This church's faint, sweet dawning,
A hundred years ago.
A hundred years ! — how glorious
Their voices, and how strong.
As down the years, victorious.
The echoes roll along.
O Christ ! like them undaunted
When overwhelmed with woe,
Come bless the church they planted
A hundred years ago.
^mantia S^ntima ^m^tt.
Araaada J. Dearborn was bom In Thornton, in 1830. In 1861 she married Lewis
B. Smart. Tbey lived a few years in Kansas, but preferring a home in Uieir uadve
Slate, they returned and now reside in Campton.
"THE POOR IS FORGOTTEN OF HIS NEIGHBOR."
Shall one, who does God's image bear,
And shares each day his tender care,
Forgotten live and die?
Did Christ descend the rich to bless,
And turn from sin to righteousness.
And all the poor pass by ?
Where was the King of kings a guest,
And where his only place of rest,
When first to earth he came ?
Was it in princely halls he slept.
When shepherds left the flocks they kept,
Led by the dazzling flame?
«
Where is He found in later days.
When prison walls resound with praise.
And captive souls go free ?
•In Jane, 1706, these men, eiirht In all, live havinfr families, arrived in town Satur-
day night; and the following day they HiuMit In rellgiouoworsliip, under the shadow
of a pine-tree. 8inc4! thcHC men met under that irce, to the present time, the Conrre-
gationailsts have never perudtted u tiuuduy to pass without meeting for religious.
worahip.— £fis<9ry 9f KtwporU
420 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
Was it with those of noble birth,
He spent his wotul days on earth,
Till hung upon the tree ?
Ah, no ! with povert}* he dwelt.
And want in ever}' form he felt,
E*en to the want of friends, —
To-da}', as yesterday the same.
This friend the humble poor may claim-
To all his love extends.
A HOME IN THE GRANITE STATE.
O, tell me no more of the wild prairies, fair,
The tall waving grain and the giant-like com.
Of clustering vines and of flowerets rare.
Where peaceful herds graze on the plains yet unshorn.
The north wind is sweeping from midnight till noon,
Its cold breath congealing each dew-covered leaf,
The south alternating, a mimic monsoon,
And changing the climate in time Tery brief.
The mountains and hills of the old Granite State,
So changeful, and free from monotonous scenes.
Have charms, in themselves, which aught cannot create
'Mong dark muddy creeks, and more loathsome ravines.
O, give me a home in mj' own native state.
Where spirits of languor, and gloom will subside,
And health-giving breezes with life will inflate.
As clear sparkling rills from their cool fountains glide.
Yes, give me the bobolink's musical trite.
While singing in tree-top, or floating in air,
For plain little Quail's everlasting bob white, —
His song is more welcome, his plumage more fair.
The mountains majestic, with evergreen spread.
Surpass, in their grandeur, the prairies in brown.
The liills, decked in autumn with vellow and red.
Enliven the city, the country and town.
Ah, give me the home of my childhood again.
The home where I sported, iight-hearted and gay,
A grave, whore the dearest of kindred are laid —
Their home, may I share, when from this, torn away.
CONSTAyCE FEmHORE W00L80N. 421
iKTonstance iPenimote S^oolison.
flat Woolton, a danghter of Charles J. Woolson, is a natire of Claremont. Her
her was a printer, when she was about twelve years of age, the family re.
tred to Cleveland, Ohio. She is descended on her father's side from the Pca-
iys of New England, and her mother was a niece of Fenimore*Cooper. Miss
x>lson is a writer of distinction. Her works of Action appear in Harper's Hag-
ue, and other foremost periodicals. She has travelled much within the Unlt^
kt«a, in a carriage, accompanied by her father.
FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER.
She journeyed north, she journeyed south,
The whole bright land she wandered over,
And climbed tlie mountains white with snow,
And sought the plains where palm-trees grow.
But — never found the four-leaved clover.
Then to the seas she spread her sail,
Fled round the world a white-winged rover ;
Her small foot pressed the Grecian grass,
She saw Eg,yptian temples pass,
But — never found the four-leaved clover.
The costliest gems shone on her brow ;
The ancient Belgian spinners wove her
A robe of lace a queen might wear ;
Her eyes found all most rich, most rare,
But — never found the four-leaved clover.
The throng did flock to see her pass.
To hear her speak, and all men strove her
Smile to win ; she had the whole
Of each one's life and heart and soul,
But — never found the four-leaved clover.
A sudden whirlwind came at last,
A little tempest rose, and drove her
Homeward, bereft, alone, and poor.
The fair friends fled, the jjumeyings o'er
That never found the four-leaved clover !
"Alas !" she sighed, "all hope is gone ;
I've searched the wide world through ; moreover
My eyes are worn with toil ; they see
But this small strip of grass" — There free
And strong it grew — the four-leaved clover !
4ti POETS OF ITBW HAXPSBJItE.
laura E. Xorris.
MlM !Corri». X dancbf rr of wmian Xorris, Is a nadre of StMLuAam^ ton li
1S1. la ISTA ahe removed to Hampcoa. where she sUU restdes with Mraged^
She commenced teaching at an eaiij mge, and has followed that
of the tiam during the past thiitj rears.
^^^^H&liwi
STANZAS.
How sweet, when sorrows gather fast.
When hopes of happiness grow dim.
When memorr o'er the changeful past
Breathes forth a moamfol requiem.
To feel, as wearily we plod«
The pure in heart shall see their God.
And wouldst thoa aid thv brother man
As life's stem cares before him rise?
In kindness then, his errors scan.
And cheer when hope within him dies ;
When dutv calls, oh, falter not.
And thine shall be a blessed lot.
There breathes a song of purity.
In loftiest tree and tiniest flower ;
Rock, mount and wave alike may be
An emblem, of that wondrous Power
Which guides the destinies of all.
And heeds the sparrows when thej fall.
If there's a feeling of the heart.
Which we should guard with zealous care,
While love and friends their joys impart —
With sacredness to cherish there,
'Gainst every breath or influence rude.
That feeling sure is gratitude.
Then may our sweet orisons rise
With gratitude, nor idly pine.
While time with tireless pinion flies.
That more of bliss had not been thine —
ThU thought be of thy life a part,
That God will claim'the pure in heart.
LINES,
Addressed to a friend on the death of two lorelj chUdre*.
0<^e out upon that sea. whose rolling tide
Will never bear their forms again to 3*00 ;
LAUIiA A, NOnniS. 423
Their goal is reached, and, parted from your side.
Their feet have pressed the strand we all must view.
Softly to earth a guardian angel came,
And in his arms the gentle sufferers bore,
To drink of waters from a living stream,
And feast on love unknown to them before. .
Light were the shadows which their pathways crossed,
Bright was the sunshine which their childhood knew ;
Few were their years, j'et never will be lost
The precious fragrance, which your hearts bedew.
The early dead are blest — they sweetly sleep
Ere their young lives have felt the curse of sin ;
And throngs of youthful voices music keep
In rapturous strains, their star-crowned home within.
And ye are blest, for faithful is the love.
Which teaches children those sweet truths to know.
Which came with heavenly beauty from the lips
Of Him who blessed them, when He walked below.
And full of love is that mysterious Power
Which gave, which took — then pass beneath the rod ;
While faith and hope shall light this trying hour,
That you may recognize the hand of God.
IN MEMORIAM.
I Hebrew legend sajs that, "Befora Adam and Eve were expelled ttom Pars-
e, Qod came down from Heaven in the cool of the evening and, walking In Eden,
thered the flowers he had created."
Readeth thus the Hebrew legend :
God within his garden strayed,
Plucking from his chosen flowers
Such as purest form displayed ;
So from out our happy household
Quickly passed from mortal view
One, whose life was crowned with gladness —
Heart so tender, strong and true.
'TIS the voice of God that speaketh ;
Listen we with stifled moan.
While the burden laid upon us
Seems too grievous to be borne ;
And our human hearts are breaking
'Neath this weight of loneliness-
Gone the gladness from life's duties
He was wont to share and bless.
424 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBK.
Unto purposes ennobling
Was his heart's best homage given—*
In the pride of ripening manhood
Gone to a reward in heaven.
One more link will draw us thither
With the foot-fall of the years,
' For bevond the touch of sorrow
Pledge of perfect love appears.
While the radiance Memory giveth
Still will cheer the gloomiest hour,
And though grief may weigh the spirit
She will still assert her power ;
And a faith, in God abiding.
Bids all murmuring thoughts be sUll ;
And amid this desolation
Bow we to his sovereign will.
Round about us, pitj'ing Father,
Let us feel thv fond embrace —
Through the rifted clouds of sorrow
Recognise thy smiling face.
Though an earthly Aaff is taken
Cling we closer unto thee.
Since the mysteries which surround us
In thy presence solved shall be.
BCrs. Ellsworth, whose maiden name was Janorin, wms bom tai Bjutu ^^}f^
She was edacateil in her native town. Earlj developini^ a ta«ie for ^'^'Sf'^^S^
she won a prize in her eif^hieenth rear, offered by the publishers of a toaAag Bat-
ton joamal, bj the pnxiaotiun of a tale entiUetl. *H;hildren*s Vows ; or the Corasnii
Rinjr.** She »oon after published variitus articles, tales, sketches, and V^^'^J^
the Philadelphia popular magazines. an<1 became a rerular ooBCrlbator to Godep
Ladj*s Book. She wa* author of seTerai volumes published bv the Amerieaa TnA
Society. In 1868 she married the late Oliver ElUworth. a pabttaher of Bostoa. Her
death occurred in the summer of 1870. She was a beautiful wooyui, gUkdiaH
ordinary degree.
A LAMENT FOR GERTRUDE.
When had come the pleasant spring-time with the gently drop-
ping showers.
And the balm}- winds were playing with the bursting bads aod
flowers ;
When the robin and the swallow each had come to build her nest
And the nodding water-lilies hung upon the river's breast;
When the glorious summer dawning brought the warm Aod
summer skies.
•
MABY E, B. MILLEB. 425
And the fields were filled with fiowers, and the air with butterflies ;
When was heard the drows}' murmur of the roving honej-bees,
And the low and lulling music, stealing from the quivering leaves ;
When with stalwart steps the autumn slowly came along the plain,
Bending low beneath his burden of the golden fruit and grain ;
Gertrude then and I went roaming out within the forest lone,
Where the beds of moss were golden, where the sunlight glanc-
ing shone.
From the cool and grassy valley came the sound of tinkling rills,
And we saw the crystal brooklets leaping down between the hills.
And we watched the dusky shadows of the twilight floating down,
Down upon the level meadows, and upon the distant town.
Where the sun had sunk in splendor, through the gates of west-
em skies,
Rose the star-beams, soft and tender, as the light in maidens'
e^es.
Timidly then as a lover, and with foot-fall soft and light.
Folding close her mantle round her, silently stole forth the night.
Spring and summer now are over, and the birds and bees are
flown,
And alone I sit in sorrow, thinking of the seasons gone.
In the store-house sheaves are garnered, like fond hopes in
heaits of men,
But the harvest-joy will never for my spiiit spring again.
Quenched the star-light is in darkness, and a gloom lies over all.
And the shadows deep are folding o'er my heart like fearful pall ;
For the autumn rains are dropping down upon a lowly bed,
Where we laid our silent Gertrude, where repose the early dead ;
And I hear the wind's sad wailing, for across her grave they've
been;
And the rains without are falling, and the bitter tears within.
IHarg £• iU- IWlUer.
Miss MlUer is a native of Portsmouth. All the poetry she ever pabllshed was
written during the years of her attendance at sohooi. After leaving f»chool she de-
moted herself to music, in which she was proficient, being an excellent teacher in
Instrumental music. She was organist at the Unitarian church for several years,
eomposin^ much music for the choir under her direction. For the past few years
•be nas given her attention to painting, and is better known as an artist than as
xnuaidan or poet. She resides in Boston, and has a studio at U9Tremont Street.
ON LIFE'S THRESHOLD.
The way looks very long and dark and drear,
That leads through this strange life to life immortal :
The great world's din is filling me with fear,
As I stand trembling at its awful portal.
426 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHTBE.
Oh ! I have walked till now in quiet places.
With Nature, in her woods and fields and dells :
The flowers look at me with familiar faces ;
I know the stor}' that the wild bird tells.
Tve watched the autumn sun's transfiguring splendor
Flood heaven and earth and sea at day's decline ;
I've watched the harvest-moons rise calm and tender,
And fair June mornings wake with smiles divine.
With low, sweet melody of running water,
With wild leaf-music, song of bird and bee.
Has Nature welcomed me, where'er I sought her;
And never discord mars her liarmony.
Oh ! none of earth's sad sights and sounds have ever
Disturbed the quiet of these blessed years ;
And must I bid these jo^s farewell for ever.
To walk henceforward in a vale of tears ?
The world looks ver}' cold and dark and dreary,
As I stand trembling at its open gate :
I hear within the sighing of the weary, —
If I must enter, let me longer wait !
I hear, from out its dark and fVowning portal,
No sounds but those of sin and woe and death ;
No yearning praj^ers for life and light immortal.
But only cries for bread that perisheth.
And through the open gate of that sad city
Arc strange, dark faces gazing out on me :
Oh. how my heart swells, with a shuddering pity,
For these, whose life is one long misery I
For women, with such still and hopeless faces ;
For men, whose passions live, whose souls are dead;
For childhood, without childhood's sunny graces;
And age, without the halo round its head.
Are these the sights for which I leave the mountains,
Thy sunlit meadows, and the blossoms fair?
Must I exchange the song of birds and fountains,
For this dread wailing of the world's despair?
O selfish soul ! the peace which God hath given.
Which keeps thee safe amid temptation's fires ;
The living bread that cometh down from heaven.
And satisfies thine infinite desires, —
GEOJRQE EUGENE BELKNAP. 427
With these go bravely forth to meet thy duty :
Within those gloomy gates that duty lies.
Fear not the dimness, — it will change to beauty
When Christ of Nazareth shall anoint thine eyes.
Beneath the weight of this unending sorrow,
Behold Ilim bending, — Him who died for thee !
Hear how these moans of human anguish borrow
The pathos of his pleading agony I
No time remains for dreams, nor for complaining ;
Childhood is past, — put childish things away :
Christ calls thee by his Spirit's sweet constraining :
Arise and work for him, while it is day.
O world ! thy darkness can affright no longer !
Within its depths the living God doth dwell :
Evil is might}' ; but his love is stronger, —
Stronger than pain and sin and death and hell !
<&tox%t IBugene lUtlknap.
!)aptain Oeorm E. Belknap, U. S. N., la a native of Newport where he was born
nnary 23, 189J. He was appointed a Mldbhlpmun In the U. 8. Naval Service and
tered the Naval Academv at Annapolis, Md., lu 1847; was graduated IVorathat
ttttutlon In 1864. and ordered to duty on Coast Survey as passed Midshipman;
numlMloned a Lieutenant In 18A9 ; Lieut. Commander In 1802 : promotc<l to Com-
Ukder for efficient and conspicuous services during the Civil war; assigned to
Bcial duty, in the "Tuscarora" bv the Secretary of the Navy, in 1873, to maaedeep
I soundings across the North Pacidc between California and Japan, and wan
mmissloned Post Captain in January, 1875. He has l>ecn electe<l a Fellow of the
nerlcan Geographical Society ; and was awanleil a silver medal by the <>eograph-
il Society of F^nce as a recognition of merit for hydrotnraphical work on the
*uscarora.*' He Is author of papers on deep sea soundings In the Army and
iTy Magazine, and is at present in command of U. S. SliTp "Alaska" on the
nth Pacific Station. Captain Belknap has been an officer in thn U. 8. Navy for
arl/ thirty -five years, has had important commands, and haa sailed on all seas.
CHRISTENING HYMN.
Saviour, round this font we gather,
This dear child to offer thee ;
Lifl him to thy gracious Father,
Crown him with the life to be !
Hark, the angels list, awaiting
One more little soul to greet ;
Lo, they fill the air with singing ; —
Bid him come with welcome sweet.
* 'Bring to me the little children,"
Blessed Saviour, thou ba%t said ;
Take, O Lord, this fresh young pilgrim,
Gently pillow his sweet head ;
POSTS or XEW HAHPSHIBE.
B_v ibU $>?n hi> brow imprinting.
I'it-iL'' ! i= his young wul to ihee ;
Uvip. ble^ Son : tbese vows ii
Now knd in etemitA- '.
HOMEWARD BOUXD.
Coming, dkr'ing. coming, pass it from lip to lip,
Tbe g^lorlocis n^ws swift teliiog of this, the homewud ilup!
(oming. darling, coming, the bomewanl pennant fliet,
From track to water streaming, as if to flaont tlie skies!
Coming, dariing. coming, what masic thrills the bay?
O 'tis the boatswain piping "all hands up aociior weigh T
Coming, dsr'.ing. coming, let land and aea re$ouD<l.
O sbout the happy tiding* Tor we are homeward bound I
Coming, darling, coming, did bird e'er sweeter nng
Than pipes so cheery whistling "all hands np anchor brii^r
Coming, darling, coming. O quick, "brit^-to the chain,"
And ready bars swin shipping, to loose us on the main!
Coming, darling, coming. O list the merry din
or capstan steady heaving, to sound of violin !
Coming, darling, coming, O heave ve joII» bovs,
Tbe anchor quickly tripping to speed the coming jojal
Coming, darling, comine. O glad the cry, "belay!"
As ap the hawse-pipe dripping, the anchor hangs aweigh!
Cwiiing. darling, coming. O snug tbe anchor stow.
And see \ alreaily curling, the waters 'neath our prow!
Coming, dariing. coming, '-aloft T '-the sails unftirir
Aiid quick their wings expanding, to haste me to my peari!
Coming, darling, coming, blow fair ye breezes blow.
As o'er the billows bounding, so joyously we go!
Coming, darling, coming, but hist : what stirring strain
Comes o'er the waters stealing, so r^nii-kcns heart and brain?
Coming, darling, coming, "lis strain of Aulii Lang Svne
The ships behind are playing, and O, with streaming' eyoe !
Coming, dariing. coming. O sweet. O blissfnl day.
So swiftiv seaward sailing down Yokohama bay !
Coming, darling, coming. O loud the beams do cr«ak.
As far behind we're leaving (air Fusigama's peak !
GEORGE EUGENE BELKNAP. 429
Coming, darling, coming, past cape and headland lone,
The eager sails full blowing t'Oosima's smoking cone.
Coming, darling, coming, the dolphin plays around.
And porpoise, leaping, blowing, in schools are windward bound.
Coming, darling, coming, O heart, so all alight.
Slack not your quicken*d pulsing, nor stay its rare delight !
Coming, darling, coming, O wing ^our breezj' way
Ye petrels round us twit'ring, but bring no storm today !
Coming, darling, coming, O wake ye fav'ring gales,
And waft us swiftly speeding with grandly swelling sails !
Coming, darling, coming, O sweet the ocean's foam.
As sailing, flying, bounding, wc onward press for home !
Coming, darling, coming, O melt ye chilling snows.
And skies, your clouds dispersing a bluer blue disclose !
Coming, darling, coming, ye lilies bow 3*our heads,
And pansies new upspringing, fresh purple all your beds !
Coming, darling, coming, run fair ye tidal flows.
And bees, in clover sipping, go hum it to the rose !
Coming, darling, coming, burst forth ye summer showers,
And brooks with joyous babbling prelude the coming hours I
Coming, darling, coming, away ye winter glooms.
And all the air perfuming burst forth ye apple blooms I
Coming, darling, coming, O laugh ye mountain rills.
Id quiet pools now dimpling, now leaping down the hills I
Coming, darling, coming, O throb ye ocean swells,
In surges softly lulling as sound of distant bells !
Coming, darling, coming, fair mermaids chant the song,
In tropic depths responding, corals and pearls among !
Coming, darling, coming, awake ye lord of day.
And larks already soaring, O blithely lead the way !
Coming, darling, coming, O w:ave ye ripe'ning grain.
Your dewy heads bright glinting, like sunshine mixt with rain !
Coming, darling, coming, O ring yQ happy bells.
The uplands fill with clanging, fling chimes o*er all the dells !
Cotning, darling, coming, bloom fresh ye fairest flowers.
Yet hold your sweetest blossoms to deck her sunny bowers !
Coming, darling, coming, arise thou Queen of night.
And stars, lend all your twinkling grand ocean's face to light !
Coming, darling, coming, O glow ye fierj' trails.
And Borealis streaming, resplendent deck the sails I
480 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Coming, darling, coming, O joyous swell the song.
As o*cr the waters voicing its sweetest strains prolong!
Coming, darling, coming, O sweet the rush, the sound
Of waters rippling, plashing, 'longside the homeward hoand!
Coming, darling, coming, slow sinks the polar star.
And rising, mounting, beckoning shines Southern Cross t&r!
Coming, darling, coming, O Pleiads crown the way,
Your sweetest influence lending to haste the happy day !
Coming, darling, coming, whisper it o*er the leas !
Make answer pretty birdling, a-floating o'er the seas !
Coming, darling, coming, O joy of homeward ships,
The dreams of sweet enfolding, and touch of happy lips !
Coming, darling, coming, O glow ye mountain peaks !
Ye cables oceans spanning, flash it throughout the deeps!
Coming, darling, coming, tell it the wide world round,
O shout the happy tidings, for we are homeward bound !
Srarc CSirtstrr l^insstiale.
Mr». Hinwlnlt' was \*om at Hanover. May 17. lS3i. She UU»e<Uogliterof Cktriai
B. Hatlilivk. f« hv> ioT thirty.iive yejur^i was a lYofcMor in naitmouth College, md
who tiled in 1>(U. lli» mother was Abigail Wcbftter, the stcter of I>anlel and £n*
klW Wel^tcr. liratxr W. liecame iu ISM. \hc wile of Hon. Theodore Hl]udak,M
eminent Uw> or. w bo re^dcii in IinH>klrn and pracU«ed hl« profeaaion dnrlnf fof^
\««r» In Ncu York i iiy. lie die^i Aug. lit. i;^. or her seren children fonr an
brlufc. In 1><*T she »p^nt neiariy mx mi»nths abroad. Sh« has been author (rf tvo
hooks. ,for olii.tlrrn. "comiujr'of the Kiii|:." and ''Thinking Aloud,** which nw
l>uMi?bt*il l>y ILtndi-lph. and rf(*ui>li>ho<l in Lomlon by Stranf^ton in MBT* Her
w«vt hA$ tn-^ :2 thicfly for u.Ajrazused and paper*. There ax« fonr of her poeB«i>
PhiUp ^i-l»l^:^ -1. hn»( in S.*u£."
**LOVEST THOU MET
Sweot was the day I crowneii thee, Lord,
Swool were ils hours divine :
The dav I crowned thee, in mv heart ;
The day thou mad*st Ine thine.
Oh, sweoi the dav, when thv fair face
Drew all uiv s<»ul to ihee.
And, in a bU'<i exchange of love.
Thou gav'si ihysclf to me !
What holy passion stin\>il my heart.
What tears uiv joy outjK'vure*.!,
When thou uivisi i\»:ne lo ask the lore
Of one who tht-e aviored I
I.
OBACE WEBSTER HINSDALE. 431
And thou Imstt won my soul at last ;
(Who could resist such grace ?)
Again I crown thee in ray heart ;
None shall usurp thy place.
THE UNBRUISED GRAIN.
There's silence in the mill,
The great wheel standeth stilU
And leaves the grain uubruised 1
The miller, old and gra}'.
Hath turned his face away
From human life and toil.
His weaiy work is done.
The stream of life hath run
Into the boundless sea.
No longer do I hear
His pleasant words of cheer,
As past the mill I walk ;
The hand which trembling lay
On heaving breast to-day,
Is cold and white and still.
And shall the golden grain
Lie. waiting now in vain
For other hands to work ?
The miller gray and old,
Who lieth dead and cold,
Hath earned his blessed rest.
O youth, take thou his place
And, with uplifted face,
Work thou for human need !
Let not life's force in thee
Unused and wasted be —
Take thou the true man's place I
THE UNTRODDEN PATH.
Outside the gate to Calv&ry
The Saviour goes,
Each weary step his life-blood marks.
As fast it flows I
POETS OF NEW BAXPSBIBE.
The scouring whip no pity won
For Jesus Christ God's blessed Son,
Yt;t liDiised and torn He, patient, bears,
For lis, His woes !
As, when of old, the Patriarch,
Itoutid close the wood
Ujwu the child, who wondering mocb.
So meekly stood ;
Thus did the Lord the cnrsM tree,
Bear inUHt bis pain to Calvary,
When walking, faint, his acblng limbs
Were bathed in blood !
Ko need to rnisc the cruel cross
Before His eye —
Tlint seeing it He might reflise
To bleed and die ;
Salvation's price in heaven he learned,
Yet I^ve, divine, with pity yearned
To rtiscuc souls estranged from God,
And bring them nigh !
The liomiin soldier weaves a crown
For Him to wear.
Of pli.nnt branch and sharpened thorn
[lis flesh to tear;
No laurel wreath, which triumph shows,
Adorns His brow, as weak He goes.
Binding so low with humble love
Th;it ilealh to bear !
They drive the nail through tender nerves
Of foot and hand,
While sconing men, with impious taunts,
Around Ilim stand!
>'o blasting word, of righteous wrath
Flings cnrses on His murderer's path —
Itnt .Icsus [irays that God would bless
That guilty band !
Ttie cross is set — and torture, been.
Shows on His face, —
Yet no distress or agony
KslinHsta His grace !
"I thirst," He cries', and, quick to mock,
They oir.r Him the hyssop stalk ;
Though Lord of life He, patient, waita
For death's slow pace !
GRACE WEBSTEB HiySDALE, 483
And 800D it comes — the earth is dark
'Neath blotted sun,
The mighty work of saving man
At length is done —
Sweet peace is gained, and sin atoned,
And man, once more, God*s child is owned.
The emptied graves declare that Christ
Hath victory won !
LISTENING TO THE SEA.
What art thou saying, restless sea ?
Why canst thou never, never rest?
Whisper, across thy blue to me.
The secrets of thy swelling breast !
Tireless and boundless are thy waves —
Thy fickle heart is treacherous too —
And in thy deep and dreadful caves
Lie treasures, hid from human view.
Oh moaning sea, what dost thou say ;
Hast thou thy promise kept to me ?
I trusted one, more dear than life.
Upon thy billows — faithless sea !
How, like a vexed and troubled soul.
Thy waves are moving to and fro,
And. with a dirge thy billows roll.
O'er all the dead, who sleep below.
I am not gladdened by the flash
Of sunlight, on thy dashing foam,
Nor can I laugh amidst the winds.
Which, wild o'er thy vast desert, roam.
No friend art thou to human hearts,
0 cruel, false, yet glittering sea I
How hast thou severed souls that loved !
1 sing no joyous song to thee.
Yet, when thy giant-strength is roused,
By winds which stir thy might}' tide,
I own Jehovah's dreadful power.
Which doth upon thy billows ride.
But, far beneath the raging storm.
All peaceful sleep the patient dead,
There kings and slaves, earth's weary ones,
Await the summons from their bed.
POSTS OP XEW SAMFSHZBS.
Her little child the mother holds,
With clinging arms, vbich death has chilled.
But silence reigns in Neptune's halls,
For hearts are hushed, and lips are atUled.
Ko flsttcring song, with loving tone.
Bursts from mj- lips, dark, treacherona set —
My heart is trembling with its fear,
Whene'er I dare to think of thee.
Thou bear'st mj life upoa thy breast.
Thou tak'st my all of joy from me —
Oh, spare my heart, and show ihy love,
If thou oaikri loTe — deceiUtil sea.
RAPHAEL'S MADONNA DI SAN SISTO.
WrttMD ktUTTlevliig tbe msfnlflceDt picture In Ok lajMl gklierj it Dw**'
Thou stand'st between the earth aod heaTsn,
Sweet Mary, with thy boy ;
And on thy young and lovely face
Linger surprise and joy.
The angel's words flr« sonnding yet
In thy attentive car ;
Thou hold'st thy child most tenderly,
Aod yet with awe and fear.
Almost a frightened look thoa hast,
As if within thy thought
The glorj' of thy motherhood
An an:^ious burden brought.
Thou dar'sl not clasj) the holy child
With freodom to Iby breast.
And yet liecause he is tliine own
Thou looli'st supiemety blest.
God gave the boy into thine arms.
And thou his mother art —
And yet the words the angel spoke
Are liugering in thy bean.
Thou canst not call him quite thine owia. -^
And when u|x>n tby knee
He sleeps as other infants sleep,
Xliou dost k glory see.
QBACE WEBSTER HINSDALE. 4;jr>
"Which fills thee with a kind of awe,
And makes thee tremble so,
That thou dost lay thy baby down,
And, bending very low,
Dost ask the Father why he sent
A babe divine to thee.
And, pouring out thy troubled heart,
Dost seek his sympath}*.
Oh Mar}', loved of God and man,
Let all thy fears depart.
For God will send his Spirit down.
To guide thy anxious heart
And thou shalt rear the blessed child
Cheered by his smile divine,
And in thy sweet and humble home
Shall God's veiled glory shine.
But oh ! I dread for thee the hour
When thou shalt stand alone
Beneath the cross where God's dear Son
Shall for man's sin atone.
A sword shall enter then thine heart
And leave such bitter pain.
That thou wilt kneel in agonj',
Inquiring once again.
Why Go<l should crush thee with a grief
No other he»rt could share,
And wh}' in utter loneliness
Thou must the anguish bear.
And Oh ! I see another day
When thou shalt wondering stand,
Amidst a throng who welcome thee,
In heaveii, the blessed land.
And then the Lord who lived on earth
Clothed in humility.
Shall sit upon his Father's throne
In radiant majesty.
The angels then shall lead thy feet
Across the crystal sea,
And thou shalt reach the blessed One
Who lived and died for thee ;
POET!? OF SEW HAXPSHIRE.
Tlir grateful praise shall swell the song
Wliich rises toward the throne.
For then llie mvstcries of earth
Miall a!l be fiillr known.
Sweet Mari- ! when the ^ates of life
Dc.illi's bam) unlocks for me.
1 sliali discern thv lovely face,
Bv its Imtnilitv.
(tarolinr Snastasta ^palliing.
o[ I>r. Phlneu I^paldlDR. Sbe Is > niUnol LfaM
Vl Dr. >i>al'Uiii;Hia.v.-liilt;)hl#tainilrw n»icrbUI1aISin. CudBk^' ^
Uoa Hfc, •.■■nlullv Biicii'l«-I I., while vuuiip. Shr U s ns'liule ot M«i« H**
^mlun-. ^!« i- nn- mlrtu^ In her 'll'p<?flrlon aii<tlu)# eier svcMnl bMbV);
H«rwrtfliig? are m-nilv j.f > ip<-nl «iii| relleli-u* rhancUT. She '
pOMi pul<:i-hfl bv (he N'rv r-<rk Oi>^«rm Id Uwk f«vrni. Mu' of Kr pw
hsrcinrvrr !«<«VUt':i>bn1. Ilcr |Wi-M vriUuif Iutc li««i publltbnl hn wi;
iliw In Tiii'iur Ti.'WMqiiii r''. *u<-h ait ibe N. Y. OlucTTCr. C'lnrjcr ui] EhUi^^
N. Y. iD-ltjitii toll, tittirflan I'nl'ni. Ih'Mi'n Conpipulooalirt, TtimoMCMjJ'
fDmec'l In teaching. (1
irganlsl at tbarcb lor oret dfta" !""
ARCHITECTURE.
I tt-o was n VmiMer — long, long rears ago,
I liniit me a iTilace— I made it of snow :
Its style was uni<t<ie. for it bad but one door.
And my hou^i-iiokl of dotU all sat on the floor.
It had nnlies and turrets, pillars and dome,
My mi'iivl I funnil in a picture of Rome ;
But llie foliinin-i of crystal, my structure upheld,
No in.iri.ie of Italy ever excelled.
It was civsli'd with diamonds a princess might owr^
They were lua.ic hy the sunU'ams on it that shone^i
Wh-.li- no mutUer-of-ix'arl. from the waters below.
Was ever as jnire as my p.ilacc of snow.
Its lawns were like velvet, and terraces too,
I |)lantcd tlie wooil-moss around it that grew.
While evci^ireen twigs from a sunshiny glade,
Now grai.vfuHy Wnding, au avenue matte.
\y exotics liloomoti in my parterre,
twl ni Ml I) tain- ash berries always were tlier^
il s«'«d-e»\w, from rose-withered leaves,
e biOoUct that ran from the caves.
CAROLINE ANA8TASIA SPALDING. 437
But alas ! when the noontide fell with its heat !
I snatched my |X)or dolls from their dripping retreat,
While they never dreamed half the anguish 1 felt,
When 1 found my beautiful palace would melt.
Years passed, but not yet bringing shadows of care,
Again I built castles — but these were of air !
And their tall minarets uprose to the sky,
With hues like the rainbow when sunbeams are nigh.
No marvel of beaut}', painter e'er dreamed,
No work of the sculptor half as fair seemed.
No visions that poet or fable e*er feigned
Exceeded the fancies my castles contained.
There was music whose rapturous strains charmed the ear.
Harmonious chords the earth-born cannot hear ;
Ah ! no treasures of genius or art could compare
With the wonderful things in m}' castles of air.
But life brought its lessons, practical, real.
Experience shattered the fairest ideal.
And the air-castles vanished, long time ago.
More quickly, indeed, than the structure of snow.
And then I built ships — from the stern to the prow.
They were stanch, fresh and new — I sometimes see them now !
While from mast and from rigging flags floated afar.
And gay-colored streamers embellished each spar.
They had jewels and diamonds and pearls for their freight,
Tbey had Hope for their captain and Joy for their mate,
^nd as over the waters they bounded along,
Kach dash of the waves brought back pteans of song.
"They are still on the sea — but under what sky
TThe blue, starry folds of their pennons do fly,
1 know not — I ask not — nor where they have been,
l»^or they are the ships that will "never come in I"
Then I said, "It is vain — each work of my hand,
Jdy fabrics all crumble, they're built upon sand ;
3dy silver is tarnished, my idols are clay ;
31y air-castles vanish, my ships float away 1
^ut a city there i«, with its "jasper wall,"
clear as the waters of crystal that fall,
city that far beyond time shall endure,
'Vox its "twelve foundations" are solid and sure I
138 POETS OP NEW BAMPSBIBE.
They are garnished with topaz, and emeralds rare,
Whiie the gates made of pearl are never closed there ;
For angels keep guard, where do mortal has tro<1.
O'er the streets of that citj-, whose Maker is God I
And the promise remnins. our hopes to inspire.
To those who a "heavenly coantrj'" desire,
The Builder himself, in His word has declared
He bath for the faithful a "city prepared."
Then if we but strive his command meats to do.
Those Ikcnutifut gates we may all enter through.
As lieirs of His kingdom — who sits on Uie throne.
For tlie Lamb that was slain is the "cbief-comer-stone."
MARY LYON.
Long years have passed since in thy dreamless sleepir^
They laid thee where the willow branches wave ;
Snow-<lrops and daisies each in turn are keeping
Their peaceful vigils o'er thy hallowed gr&ve.
Thon didst not wait to sec the shadows gather,
The calm, sweet hush that tells the day is done;
Rut in the lieat and toil of noonday, mtber.
The heighU were scaled, the long-fought victory «on-
Thou art not dead ! Ihrout'b other living voices
Thy blessed wools are flowing on to-day ;
And many a stricken, bleeding heart rejoicea,
As rajs of heavenly light illume her way.
Beside the bank of India's flowing waters.
Beneath the bnuiches of the spreading palm.
Thy teachings, through the lips of Hoiyoke daughters.
Fall on the ear like drops of healiug balm.
The echoes of thy voice e'en now are stealing
Through Turkish mosques and shining Chinese tx>"^*'*'
The tidings of a tSaviour's love revealing
To dark-eyed maidens in the Pei-si&u bowers.
'Mid islands of the sea, perAimed with beau^,
Or 'neath the scorching sun of Afric's skv.
Thy warning notes and stirring calls to duty
Lift from the dust the spirits doomed to die.
And who aball say what high and holy striving
k For purw Uvea and nobler deeds of worth,
CAROLINE ANA8TA8IA SPALDING. 439
Kindled by thy example, here is thriving
To bless and elevate this sinful earth ?
How vain and worthless seems all earthly glory I
How dim the gilding on the rolls of fame ;
While with admiring e3'e we read the story
Of thy great life and thy immortal name.
Oh, noble heart, to noble deeds aspiring !
Alike unstained by world liness or guile,
In self-denying acts and zeal untiring,
Now basking in the sunlight of the Father's smile.
We look upon thy life like some vast mountain
Towering in grandeur far above the plain ;
While from its summit flows a ceaseless fountain
Ref^shing the parched earth with cooling rain.
Gentle, refined, with woman's true devotion,
No aspirations for a '*manly sphere ;"
Yet filled with every lofty, grand emotion —
''Neglect of duty" all that thou didst "fear."
Sleep on in peace I Thy life work still progressing ;
Thy name through coming years shall hallowed be,
Till praising God for this, his priceless blessing.
Thy "stars" are gathered by the "jasper sea."
THE QUAKER MEETING.
A summer day of quiet peace,
All save the billow's roar,
Where ocean breezes swept the isle,
And ocean waves the shore.
Sweet Sabbath calm I the cares of life
Hushed in a blest repose.
We joined the silent group whose faith
No outward utterance shows.
On plain, hard benches sisters sat,
Brothers across the way ;
No voice escaped from those broad-brims,
None from the bonnets gray.
Wo tried in vain to bring our souls
Into a heavenly fVame,
F0BT8 OF KEW SAMFSHIBB.
Their beads were bowed ia silent pny«r ;
Ours should have been, in sbame.
For worldly tbougbte came stealing in ;
We missed tbe gathered throng,
The frescoed wall, the organ's peal.
The priest, the prayer, the song !
And so nnbidden ^-isions came,
Echoes would not be stilled.
The "Quaker Poet" and his dreams
The vacant places filled.
O'er Mary Gairin, sunbeams played,
And on Maud Muller's brow ;
A gray-haired matron's placid face
Was Barbara Frietchie's now.
Good Parson Aver}' took his seat
By Andrew Rykman's side ;
While next to Abraham Davenport
The Barefoot Boy we spied.
"The orchard birds sang sweet and cleu"
"Knes" moaned on "Ramoth Hill,"
The "lilies" waited from the "pond"
Their "benediction still."
The silent group grasped silent hands,
.^d left the house of prayer.
And this the lesson that we learned
On that sweet Sabbath day ;
That loving souls can worship God
Each in his silent way.
THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN.
A scene of rarest beauty,
Where wood and lake and sky
Were dressed in r^al splendor
Entrancing to the eye.
Oor souls had been nplifted
Above tbe things of earth,
Its pettj- cares and triumphs
Seemed of such trivial worth.
CAROLINE ANASTASTA SPALDING. 44 1
For amid nature's grandeur
We spent the autumn day ;
Through gorge and mountain passes
We took our wondering wa}-.
And now the lengthening shadows
The even-tide foretold,
The clouds had added crimson
To draperies of gold I
We sat in restful silence
Beside the tranquil lake,
With only woodland voices
The peaceful calm to break.
The pines were whispering o'er us.
The mosses fringed the ground,
The ferns and fragrant birches
Their odors shed around.
But far above us, standing
Right out against the sky,
A calm, stern face u})lifted
Its granite brow on high.
No trace of mortal weakness,
Majestic, fearful, grand ;
A piece of nature's sculpture
Car\'ed by the Master's hand.
The whirlwind may encircle
That rocky, firm retreat.
The winter snows enshroud it.
The storm in ftiry beat ;
But still unmoved, unyielding,
Th* impassive face looks down ;
No smile the sunbeam wakens.
The tempest brings no frown.
The thunder peals unheeded.
The lightnings o'er it flash.
As harmless as tiie ripples
Upon the shore that dash I
Oh Thou all-glorious Father !
Whose hand these wonders piled.
Lifting the mountain masses
In beauty strangely wild ; —
442 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBS.
Who, with unerring wisdom.
Long ages since didst place
Far up among the sunbeams
This calm, unchanging face,
Give us the strength to conquer
The ills that crowd our way.
The foes without, the snares within,
The wiles that lead astray.
To bear unmoved the tempest ;
Fearless and undismayed
To walk beneath the sunshine,
Remembering it must fade.
Farewell, thou mountain teacher !
This lesson let us learn,
As in the labyrinth of life
Our wandering steps return.
He who, with sure foundation,
A lofty height has won
!Nced not to fear the whirlwind.
Nor faint beneath the sun.
WHITHER?
'*Whlther goest thou, and whence comeat thon?**— JM^paf rlx: Vl-
I come from a land of beauty.
Where skies are entrancingly fair.
Where the flowers are dressed in their regal robes,
And their perfume floats on the air.
But the blossoms wither as night-dews fall,
And the drooping petals become a pall.
I come fVom a land of promise.
Where the rainbow is spanning the doud,
AVhere the song of the skylark is cheering
The heart that is earthward bowed.
But the bright hues fade on the darkening sky,
And the strains of the music in echoes die.
I ci^rae fK^m a land of changes,
Whor^ uiMhing but death is sure*
Wht>re the tem^^est follows the sonbeam,
Anil the meteor-flashes allare ;
Whore the heart grows cold ere it turns into dust^
Wben^ tbe moUi coosumes and Uie treasares rust.
CAJROLINE ANASTASIA SPALDING. 443
I come from a land of trial,
Temptation and bitter strife,
Where the good that we would we do not,
Where the conflict ends but with life.
Where the path is beset with pitfalls and snares.
Where the reaper seeks grain and only finds tares.
I come from a land of parting.
Where the loved of the early days
*With curtained eye and with unclasped hand
Pass helplessly from our gaze ;
Where we dare not cling to the loving and fair,
Lest the black-plumed wing should be hovering there.
I go to a land of beauty,
More fair than the poets have told.
Where the waving palms and the jasper wall.
And the streets of the purest gold.
And the gates of pearl by the crystal sea,
Are but 63'mbols dim of the glories to be.
I go to a land of promise.
Where the rainbow around the throne
Is the pledge that none of His words shall fail
Wherewith he had gathered his own.
No broken chords in the harmony there !
No heaven-born hopes exchanged for despair.
I go to a land unclouded
B}' anj' shadowing night.
Where *'they need no candle or sunbeam,"
For our God is its changeless light.
Where the dazzling beams on our vision that fall
Are but wandering rays from the fountain of all.
I go to a land celestial,
Where God wipes away all the tears.
Where the former things have departed.
The sorrows, the pain and the fears ;
Where "beauty for ashes," and joy for our woe,
When he ''makes up his jewels," his hand will bestow.
Oh, glorious, beautiful land !
Unworthy and fettered by sin.
How dare 1 hope for a vision
Of all the glories within ?
His promise is sure, his robe shelters me,
"Where the Master is, there the servant shall be."
4i4 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBB.
HIS OWN.
"They shall be as the stones of a crown.**— ZedkorioA <z : IC
The Master came to our dwelling,
And left us a jewel one day,
To be cherished and guarded and polished
Till it shone with luminous ray.
We knew it was all for His service,
But the gem in such beauty shone
W^e almost forgot, as we watched it,
It was not indeed our own !
The burdens of life grew lighter,
The home was a holier place,
The clouds in our daily journey
Left onl}' a passing trace.
And we thought, what a blessed mission
To keep in our tenderest care
The jewel our Master entrusts us,
So beautiful, bright and fair !
We knew that the lengthening shadows
Would steal o*cr our path some day.
But we hoped the light at the hearth-stone
Would shine with a quenchless ray;
That we were to be the keepers
Of this treasure from the skies,
Till our wear}' hands were folded,
And the curtain veiled our eyes !
Then a darkness thick overwhelmed us.
We groped in its stifling breath.
For our hearts were torn and bleeding
B}' the might}' hand of death.
The Master had taken his treasure.
The jewel that was his own.
And the added beauties of heaven
In its radiant lustre shone !
So now with our upward yearnings.
Since the light of our home is fled,
We bear the burdens unshrinking.
And the dail}' pathway tread.
For heaven, with all of its glory,
Is brighter and lovelier yet.
For amid the ''stones of the crown"
Our beautiful jewel is set.
CAROLINE ANASTA8IA SPALDING. 44/-,
ANGELS THIS SIDE.
Not always do they come with hovering wings,
Along the path our weary footsteps tread,
To shield us from the taint of earthly things,
Or solace hearts from which all hope is fled.
Sometimes in lowly 1 russet garments clad,
With hands all hardened by their daily toil,
They lill the burdens from a life most sad,
And gather blossoms from the humble soil.
Sometimes the music of a child's sweet voice,
Its shout of welcome or its pitying sigh,
Will cause the drooping spirit to rejoice,
And raise the soul to clearer light on high.
Angels attend us in the guise of flowers,
Sweeter than any white-robed spirit band,
Making the sick room with its weary hours
An Eden by celestial breezes fanned.
For with the rustling of their perfumed bells
Come messages of love from friends most dear.
Of hope and trust each tiny leaflet tcdls,
Smiles for our joys, and for our woes a tear.
The}- breathe it in the lonely winds of night ;
The odor of the lilies whispers now
Sweet words of courage comforting and bright.
As if an angel cooled the fevered brow.
Ah, not alone within the pearly gates
The ministering spirits gathered stand !
In our bleak desert even now there waits
A shining host of the angelic band !
We press their hands, we look into their e^'cs.
We hear their words, the faithful and the tried :
And then we murmur, in our glad surprise,
'*God bless the angels that we And this side !"
HEAVEN.
Oh beautiful land of the dim unseen !
Where the mortal shadow hath never been !
Where the angels stand with their folded wings.
And strike their harps to the King of kings I
446 POETS OP XEW HAMPSHIBE.
Where the saints are clothed id their robes of white,
Ami on even- head is a crown of light.
While the authem peals, in a rapturous strain,
"Glory and power to the Lamb that was slain,"
Oh the gates of pearl and the streets of gold !
8^TnlK>Is to us of the riches untold.
For who shall compare an earthly gem
With the stars in the Saviour's diademf
Oh blessed land, where no taint of sin
Shall ever enter the i>ortals within,
Where doubts and repinings and self and pride
Are lost in hosannas to Ilim who died !
Oh haven of peace, where the storm is o'er!
Oh healing tree, on the emerald shore !
Oh fadeless day. with no shadowing night !
For the Lord our God is its changeless light.
Bright, beautiful land of the dim unseen !
Where the wearied footsteps have never been ;
Where sorrow is banished, and cares and fears,
Where they reap in joy, that have sown in tears !
God grant that at last, in the final day,
When sects and creeds shall be scattered awav,
With more trusting hearts, aud with sweeter lavs.
We may all unite in our Savioiu-'s praise I
^amucl i3umi)am.
Samuf^l Bnrnham wa? born In Rlo'Ige, February 21, 183S. He w«» tt»t o^^jK
of Amos \V. Bumtuini. D. D., who was a Conjfrejrational minister settkdUWwP
in IfWl, and who remaindl pa*t«»r of the church for nearly fifty ycus. SmW^'*
the ag« of eighteen years, entortd WilLiaoia CoUe^ and iprmduaited In 1854. f^^
year or two after Icavini; college he wa« principal of tne aca<lemy in ABjbff*
Afterwanla he went to B«^st«»n and eniervM upon that career of bterary Inaft^
wtiich continue'! till his death. He was employed by Gen. SumDer to wrilf j"*
hlfttory of K.'i>t B«>-t«>n, a work of about seven hundred pages. After llii* b^^
came 'connected with the B.>ston Tract >ociety, and wrote for the eodfCf **•*
smali volumes sett in.; forth the facts and wonder:* of Natural IlieioiT. '*'*J^'
years he was one of the e<litors of the Cong r<( oat i*^fuiii*t. Only a UtSK w1iil< °^
fore his death he prepared for the press a' full edition of the worta of C^*fJ??
Sumner, and at the time of his death he was at work upon the history of ^^
South Church of Bo=tou. These are but a small part of his Uterary lalwn- "*
died June 22, IcTJ.
EXTRACT,
From a Poem deliTered at Williams College at Commcnoement in \^ff&-
O now is the time when indeed 'tis worth living.
Yes, DOW is the time when heroes are made !
When we for our country our life's blood are giving,
When right against wrong is in battle aiTayed.
SAMUEL BUB y HAM. 447
Rejoice that jou live when your native land calls 3*ou
To fight for the flag of the noble and brave ;
Indifferent what be the fate that befalls you,
A hero's proud life — a martyr's lone grave.
In the far southern land our brothers are dying,
With rifle in hand and face to the foe ;
Id many a lone grave their bodies are lying,
To many a lone heart come tidings of woe.
O rouse in thy might ! — the war-cry is ringing !
O'er hill and through plain the alarum is heard ;
The God of our fathers sure vengeance is bringing
On dark-hearted traitors who've taken the swond.
Fair Liberty, long the poor outcast of nations,
Has chosen her home in this land of the West ;
And heaven shall be torn from eternal foundations.
Ere she fail to find here a haven of rest.
The storm-cloud of war envelopes the nation ;
Earth reels with the shock as the huge tempest breaks ;
New battle-fields shudder with red desolation.
As the laud from its long sleep of peace now awakes.
Hark 1 hear the loud tramp of the mustering legions.
Resistless in numbers and firm in their tread ;
From East and from West, and fVom far distant regions,
They solemnly march to the field of the dead.
See slowly uprising the smoke of the battle ;
The dull heavy cloud by the lightning's flash riven ; —
Hark the roar of the cannon, the musketry rattle,
And the din of the contest that rises to heaven.
The angel of death o'er the dark field is bending ;
With skeleton finger is marking his prey ;
O God ! hear the prayers of a nation ascending,
And turn our dark night of horror to da}'.
O God of our fathers, — the God of our nation ! •
Our faith is unwavering — our trust is in thee ;
O hear our petition — our land grant salvation.
And smile once again on the home of the free.
How long, O how long shall this storm-cloud hang o'er us ?
How long ere the blood-stained sword shall be sheathed?
How great is the terrible confiict before us,
How long ere the cannon with flowers shall be wreathed ?
448 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Not 3*et, no, not yet, will the battle be ended ;
We shrink from the path God bids us to take ;
The cries of the bondmen to heaven have ascended,
And now is God's time their fetters to break!
O'er the din of the battle, o'er war's desolation,
Like heavy-toned thunder, or the roar of the sea,
God utters his voice in the ear of the nation,
And all the world hears, *'Let my people go free!"
Nor justice nor mercj' ever have slumbered ;
God's plagues have been on us for all this abuse !
The days of their bondage in Egypt are numbered.
Thank Heaven, we've no Pharaoh who'll dare to refuse I
And then, like the first flash of sunlight from heaven,
Will victory dawn on a glorious day ;
And then, like clouds b}- the mountain winds driven.
Will trouble and sorrow flee southward away !
And lo Tnumphe usher in the bright day !
INNER LIFE.
Extract from a CoUege Poem.
Yet there are precious times when we delight
To shut the heartless world from out our sight ;
When sacred thoughts within our inmost soul.
Thoughts ours alone come welling up, and roll
In ebb and flow, and dreamy mists arise.
And gush in tear drops from the half closed eyes;
When precious memories of other years.
The many joys and sorrows, hopes and fears
Which crowd a lifetime, seem to us again
To be lived over in the soul ; and when
No notes discordant. mar the harmony
Which wrap tlie senses in sweet ecstas}',
As when rich music falls upon the ear.
Anon far distant, and anon, so near.
The chords, as struck bv more than human art.
Glide gcnth' through the chambers of the heart;
And in the silence, hear the warbling note
Of rarest melodies that gently float
On the hushed air, while from the weird-like theme.
Embossed in shining notes, a fringe doth seem
To hang, of liquid dropping notes, which round
The massive chords are so harmonious wound.
SAMUEL BURNHAM. 449
How true it i8 no spoken words can give
Form to the best of thoughts which in us live !
There is within a life that's all our own, —
Unread — unspoken — save to us, unknown.
The outer world may frown, and false prove those
On whom our weary hearts would fain repose,
And still within there is a fond relief
Of untold value, even in its grief.
There is a twilight of the soul in which we sit,
And watch our petted fancies as they noiseless flit
In the strav sunbeams which will sometimes steal
Into our darkest corners, and we almost feel
As if old earth had vanished from our sight,
And up to heaven the soul had taken flight.
*'DUM VIVIMUS VIVAMUS."
Extract from a College Poem.
A glorious motto this, forTiuman life I
With all its turmoil and its war and strife.
Act out life nobly I Live, man, while you live !
And to the good and right 3'our powers give,
Ne'er rest from labor nor 3'our work think done
'Till o'er the grave 3'our last great victory's won.
Live earnest lives, fight manfully with sin.
Fight for the right, and God and you will win.
Live while you live, — let every passing hour
Some troph}' show of well directed power,
Relieve some soul with troubles sore oppressed.
Throw sunshine gleams into some shadowed breast,
Cause smiles to glisten in the tearful eyes
Like rainbows arching through the April skies.
Oh, do some good ; while life and hope remain
Assuage some anguish, soothe corroding pain.
Stand boldly forth for all that's good and true,
And God erelong will nobly honor you.
Call nothing little that the heart can give ;
B3' deeds like these our truest lives we live.
DECORATION HYMN.
They rest from the conflict, their labor is ended.
Their battles are fought and their victories gained ;
Their spirits heroic to God have ascended.
Their memory is left us with honor unstained.
450 POETS OF XEW HAMPSHIRE.
Beneath the green sod Iheir Ixxiies are sleeping,
Al>ove them in beauty the dewy grass waves.
While comrades \\\\< day are sacredly keeping.
And strewing with flowers, their glorious grsTes.
We know that our flowers will wither and |)erish.
Our flags too, will droop in the still summer air ;
But deep in our hearts their memory we'll cherish.
With love that the passing years ne'er will impair.
To us is the weeping, while theirs is the glon* ;
From danjier and dutv thev ne'er turned aside ;
Heroic their deeds and immortal their story, —
They fought for their country, and conquering, died.
No longer they listen the tramp of the legions
That steadily marched to the field of the dead.
From East and from West, and from far distant regions.
Resistless in numbers and firm in their tread.
Yes, honor and glory for th^m are eternal.
The nation they ransomeii their memory will keep:
Fame's flowers immoiial will bloom ever vernal
O'er the graves where our heroes in glon' now sleep.
TO MY GRANDMOTHER.
Though bleak and chill the wiutry wind, though dark the ihj
and drear.
Though lifeless 'neath her icy chains the fettered earth appear.
Though leafless l»ou^li- sway, bent and torn, before the furwus
gale.
Yet cold, nor snow, nor wiiury blast 'gainst Nature shall prevail.
She is w aitinj:, onlv wait in j:, till the sprinir days come once more*
(.>uly clasping r'.'-»se i;tr uvasiircs all the brighter to restore.
Soon shall the sun's g!:ul warmth and cheer unlo^^e each heavy
chain.
The tenjjK'5.t wild havi: spent its wrath, soft zephyrs breathe
airaiu.
With vt-rdure clad, with strengtii renewed, the flower cix»wued
eaith <h:ir. ii>e.
With son:x of biris aiii iip;i'.:.>ii streams salute the smiling skie.>.
Alter waiiiii'j:. calmly w:.;::i)^, she shall rise a tpieeu once more.—
All her weaiiu of joy an i biauly oer our happy hearts to \nWT.
Though age and c;.:v ihy lorni bavelK3we<l. though dark thy day
and drear.
MABTHA J. HEYWOOD.
A:a
Though friends of 3'outh are from thee torn, earth's joj'S no lon-
ger cheer,
Though lonel3', wearj' oftentimes, though strength and vigor fail,
Yet age, nor pain, nor weariness against thee shall prevail.
Onh' waiting, only waiting, till release fi*om earth be given.
With the heart secure in Jesus how we long for rest in Heaven !
But soon shall dawn a brighter da}-, all clouds be overpast.
Then may th}' spirit upward fly, th}' soul find rest at last.
The loved and lost be found again, full strength for weakness
given.
And weariness and pain forgot in perfect bliss in Heaven.
After waiting, meekly waiting, through these many weary days,
With the sanctified in glory, sing eternally God's praise !
CRADLE SONG.
Lullaby, lullab}'.
Baby must sleep ;
Now when the da^iight dies,
Closed be the little e^-es ;
Rest till the sun arise, —
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Lullaby, lullaby,
Bab}' must skep ;
Peaceful shall rest thy head ;
Noiseless shall be the tread
Round our dear darling's bed,-
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Lullab}', lullaby.
Baby must sleep.
No cause for anxious fears ;
Nor yet for thee the years
When life must have its tears,-
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Lullaby, lullab}-,
Baby must sleep ;
Baby by Heaven blest !
Cares trouble not thy breast ;
Naught shall disturb tli}' rest,—
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Lullaby, lullaby,
Baby must sleep ;
Mother will watch and pray
Danger ma}' keep away,
Until the dawn of day, —
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Lullaby, lullaby,
Baby must sleep ;
Forms that we cannot see.
Loving are watching thee ;
Thus may it ever be !
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Lnllabv, lullabv,
Baby must sleep ;
(fod answers from the skies
Mother's fond prayers that rise ;
Babv must close his eves, —
Sleep, baby, sleep.
fitlartlja % IQecUJoolJ.
Mrs. HeywocKl, .1 sleterof the laU? Samuel IJurnham, ami the vounjre<<t of the famllv.
Ih a native of Kludge. She niarrle<l A. IJ. H«'vwo<mI, of Lowell, Mass., ami resliltMl
Id Uwt city seyeral years. Their home is iu i^eene.
452 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBE.
REST.
*'And there the weary are at rest" —
At rest upon the Saviour's breast ;
Safe in tliat calm and peaceful home,
Where sorrow nevermore can come.
**And there the weary are at rest** —
The soul by earthly care distressed
No more shall feel an anxious fear.
For God shall wipe away each tear.
*'And there the weary are at rest," —
The head upon His bosom pressed
Shall never know another pain,
Nor sad, distracting thoughts again.
''And there the weary are at rest" —
The heart's deep longings, unexpressed,
Shall there be more than satisfied.
In that sweet shelter where we hide.
"And there the weary are at rest" —
The broken spirit, here oppressed,
At last a resting-place has found,
AVhere it can never feel a wound.
"And there the weary are at rest" —
In those fair mansions of the blest,
"Sorrow and sighing flee away,"
And all is bright, eternal day.
TRUST.
Dear Saviour, on thy loving breast,
M}' weary head I lean ;
Although with guilt and fear oppressed.
Thy blood can make me clean.
Thus resting, in th}* pitying ear,
I pour my inmost grief;
Thou wilt not chide the falling tear,
But grant me sweet relief.
Though many a hope which I have known.
Lies sadl}' un fulfil led ;
Though jo3's once l)right have quickly flown,
I take what God has willed, —
21ABTHA J. HETWOOD, 458
Assured my Father cannot fail
To lead His child in love ;
O'er seas of doubt I calmly sail,
Nearing my home above.
If thus my heart can ever lay
Its heavy load on Thee,
Though clouds of sorrow shroud my wa}* ,
No ill can come to me.
Oh, should I gain that heavenly shore,
Where my lost darlings dwell,
1*11 praise Him then, forevermore,
Who '^doeth all things well." *
ALICE.
The golden sunlight fades away,
The day glides into night ;
The stars are coming, one by one, —
I hail their milder light.
The light is fading from my heart, —
Scarce e'en a twilight ray
Dawns on my weary soul to-night
To soothe my grief away.
I think of one who passed from earth,*
In all her beauty bright ;
Our only star — whose light went out
One year ago to-night.
Sweet little Alice ! Could our love
Have had the power to save,
Our dearest, fondest hopes would ne'er
Lie buried in that grave.
Yet though my heart be desolate,
This joy to me is given ;
To know my darling is at rest ;
" 'Tis well" with her in heaven.
O Father, teach thy sorrowing child,
Through tears, thy hand to see ;
For thou wilt heal the broken heart,
That trusts alone in thee.
4-»4 POETS OF XEW HAMPSHIRE.
FALLING, FALLING!
The rain is falling, falling, - My tears are falling, falling.
The night is dark and drear, M}- grief I cannot stay,
Deep unto deep is calling. My heart is ever calling
Sad, mournful sounds I hear ! For the loved one far awaj.
The rain is falling, falling, A voice is calling, calling,
On a little far-otf grave, '*0 mother! look above!
l>eep unto deep still calling — Here are no tear droiw falling,
I sink Wneath the wave. Come to my home of love!"
pro\t:rb poem.
"Misery lovet ooobimuit.''
A fox, while skipping o'er hill and dale
Was caught in a trap and lost his tail ;
And thus of his pride aud glory bereft.
He saivl, '*I have onlv one solace left.
I cannot endure the taunts and jeers,
I now shall rect-ive fn:>m all my jx^ers ;
But if I can make them f"iIow suit.
They will have no cause to laugh and hoot.
The very nr>t day of pleasant weather,
ril ^^11 the foxes ail together.
And see if my plan will not avail
To make each fox cut o5" his tail."
S^> be issii^vi a liHid and earnest call —
•*Cv^:i5e hi;hrr, ve foxes, en^at ami small ;
Tve a via:n:y feas: prepare*.! for you.
And a lAle :o lel'., Sxa stranse and new."
An J far aa i near w^is ihe summons heard.
As the for^>:s ran^ w::h the we!conie word :
Ar.\; :he fv>x«rs oauie in eager haste.
Tjeir ae*;jn'rn>r's rlvh recvasi to taste.
Tr.rs be w::ho^ the ra:' arose,
Aiifi sAzi, *".iear :^>!>is, you see, I suppose,
T:ia: Tre '..>>: siy :a:I siaoe its: we met,
Aivi ijtve:;': oo<ii-^i arx^ber as yet.
1^^^ \^x:r fac^^s ar^e ftii: v>f cVe,
Bu: ^vrV^of \oc Ja:iib. ;«:s5 IHsen to me :
Ki^ ivfc:k35t. *©<? I Wi:: ij^ke :: ^vUin,
MARTHA J, IIEYJVOOD. 455
And first I'm sure no fox will deny,
Tliat in looks I now all others outvie ;
The tail of which once I was foolishly vain,
I remember to-day with sorrow and pain.
Just look at me now, my figure behold,
And say, was I ever so handsome of old ?
And as for convenience, you never will know.
Till deprived of your tails, how fast 3'ou can go.
The tail is a heavy burden to bear,
A troublesome weight and a useless care ;
O, take mv advice and cut oflf vour tails.
And swifter than ever you'll roam through the vales."
AVhile thus he selfishh' pleaded his case.
Another fox rose with a very wise face.
And said, '^ Neighbor fox, allow me to speak ;
Your words are in vain, your logic is weak.
Tis plain to be seen, you're in a sad plight,
And to tell you the truth, you look like a fright;
'Tis useless to try your friends to deceive.
For none of your arguments do we believe.
(), had you been honest, faithful and true.
Each one of your friends would now pity 3'ou ;
But they who resort to deception and sin,
Will certainly find they've been taken in.
I'm sure all these foxes assembled to-day
AVill fully agree with what I now say ;
You'd better depart for regions unknown.
And we'll eat up your dainties after you're gone."
The fox heard the words and looked all around
To see if e'en now one friend might be found ;
But not one took his part, and each face seemed to say,
''The best thing you can do is to just run away."
So fearful was he lest his neighbors give chase,
Away fled the fox at a very swift pace ;
And oil as he w^andered he uttered this wail,
**Alas ! I've no home, and no friends, and no tail !"
From this simple tale the lesson we learn,
Our dear "boys and girls" will not fail to discern ;
'Tis better in patience our sorrows to bear.
Than to strive to make others our miseries share.
456 POETS OF NEW BAMPSHIRE.
Uev. John W. Adams, a sod of John and Mary (Taggart) Adams and deseoKiut
of Henry Adams, ancestor of the Presidents, was born May 83, 18S2. H« juiae*!
and ^ he was Presiding Elder of Concord District. For sereral years past ht has
been president of the trustees of the Conference Seminary and Female CoUege »t
Tilton.
THE BIBLE.
Precious Bible ! Wisdom's shrine !
Gift of heaven ! Book divine !
Rescuing from error's night,
Lil'e immortal, — heavenly light !
Key to nature's mystic page,
Supi)lement to reason sage.
Traced by hands of old inspired,
Truth, the wisest have admired.
Most authentic history,
Record of antiquity.
Herald of the coming day,
When the '*earth shall pass awaj'."
Book revealing love divine.
Breathing hope in every line.
Teaching how through Jesus' blood,
Sinners, cleansed, may rise to God.
This is Heaven's only creed, —
Plain, that *'he who runs ma}' read ;"
Aged pilgrim's comfort, guide ;
Youth may in its truths confide.
Holy Ghost, with ra^'s divine,
On this precious volume shine ;
And in searching may we find
Treasures, lasting as the mind.
OUR BABY.
Though babies count up by the million,
And all of them fit for the ''show ;"
Yet ours beats the sum total billion.
Because she's our baby, you know.
GEORGE W. OSGOOD, 457
Her ringlets ! O, their like never can be ;
The}' all of them curl just so :
You ought not to smile at my fanc}',
• Because she's our baby, you know.
Her complexion out-rivals the fairest ;
The cheeks have an angelic glow ;
The dimples that fleck them, the rarest,
Because she's our baby, you know.
Transcendant expression and lustre,
And clear as the waters that flow
Are the e3'es with which heaven hath blessed her.
Because she's our baby, you know.
Her lips are like lilacs in blossom,
And the nectar with which they o'erflow
Is sweeter than hive-stores in autumn.
Because she's our baby, you know.
Her laughter is seraph-like music
Wafted through the dear home here below ;
And her sayings more sage than the Delphic,
Because she's our baby, you know.
She's a darling, a picture, a pet,
A cherub from the crown to the toe :
She has ne'er found her equal as yet.
Because she's our baby, you know.
<Keorge fflffil- ©sgootr.
G. W. 08good was born In this State, In ia33. His father was a fanner, and he
followd the same vocation. He was enf^ged for some time as a watchman in
LAwrenco, Mass., and in 1850, went to Boston, where he entered a drug store, and
remained a year. He then went went, designing to cngasro In farming, but not lik-
ing the country, returned the following spring. In 1^61 lie enlll^tod as a private in
the 6th N. H. volunteers, and was afterwards promoted to the office of lieutenant.
He was in various engagements, was wounded in the second battle of Bull Run,
and subsequently <liscnar^ed. After regalnhig his health he purchased a farm in
Nelson, where he now resides.
WELCOME TO SPRING.
Sweet spring has come ! the bluebird's joyous note
He whistles oft from limb of leafless tree ;
The doves have built their nest within the cote,
And warm the south wind blows across the lea.
Stern winter long his chilly sceptre swayed,
And nature helpless bound with icy chain,
458 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
With snow clad hill and vale and sheltered glade.
Till earth and man were wear}' of his reign.
But spring's warm breath atones for winter's cold ;
Nature revives, our drooping hearts to cheer;
Bids the grim tyrant, feeble grown and old,
With train of snow and frost, to disappear
The robin from his long and forced sojourn
In southern climes, flics north with pinion free,
And none more glad to welcome spring's return
And eager seek his whilom haunts than be.
That sombre vestured prince of rogues, the crow,
Who claims the right the farmer's com to share,
Long since his northward flight began, and lo !
His call is heard uix)n the morning air.
The warm and mellow air the frog provokes
To music, and he pipes his rasping strain,
While, echoing the madrigal he croaks,
Tliousfiuds are heard in chorus and refrain.
The hill-side pastures, sere and brown and bare,
Scant sustenance for herd or flock afford,
But underneath the withered herbage there
The fresh young grass is springing thro' the sward.
Thrice welcome beauteous spring, emblem of youthful bloom,
Fair pledge of nature's life, and seed-time of the year;
Put on th}' queenly robes, full swa}' assume,
Nor haste to bring the burning summer here.
thp: loved and the lost.
Whore are the friends we prized of yore?
Their memory haunts us like a dream, .
There's only left a 'handful more —
Fast passing down life's shadowy stream.
The hearts our youthful pleasures shared
No more shall throb within their breast, '
The hands, that kindlv for us cared.
Are folded in their final rest.
Did fortune favors on us pour?
They proved their friendship ever true ;
We trusted them in sorrow's hour.
For counsel and for comfort too.
But they have left us sad and lone
%
DA VID n, UILL, 459
To pass the remnant of our race ;
Scarcely can other friends atone
Their loss, or wholly fill their place.
But their clear memory lingers still
To cheer us in life's rugged way ;
Though other formB their places till.
We deem them near us day by day,
Death breaks the ties that bind us here.
And they must e'er be severed thus ;
With lost friends we shall soon appear,
But never they'll return to us.
Though earthly friendship fade and fail.
May Jesus prove our steadfast friend ;
And hope secure within the vail
Sustain and cheer till life shall end.
*
David n. Hill was born in North Berwick, Maine, December 12, 1833, and re-
moved with his father'M family to Sandwich in 1837, where he has since remained,
except when abnent In teaching, or engaged In ncu<ienilcal and profeKHlonnl studies.
He read law in the office of Hon. Samuel M. Wheeler and Hon. Jonhua G. H.ill at
Dover, and at the Har\'artl Law School, in the t^enlor claf^s, but did not fpritduate
there. He has lieen engaged in the practice of his profesi^lon in Sandwich for
about seventeen vears pasit, giving little time to other pursuits. He was a meml)er
of the State Legislature In 1870 and 1871, and w^ns appointed to the office of .Judge
of Probate for Cari'oll County in 1880, which i>o8itlon he sUU holds.
CHOCORUA.
Sing me a song, a pleasing song, of the wild granite hills :
Some weird old legend of the north, whose m^'stic romance
thrills
Both heart and brain, at thought pf deeds that long ago had birth
Among those ancient hills that stand like giant kings of earth.
Sing of the buried treasures in the eastern desert caves ;
The wild bird's mournful burden, as he screams o'er Indian
waves ;
The notes of desolation chant, heard in the desert land,
Where in a gloomy silence still the mouldering temples stand.
'Tis thine to trace the shadowy realms where holiest truths are
wrought.
And summon wild imaginings from the free world of thought :
'Tis thine to trace the welcome light, bursting through desert
gloom,
And hear the singing angels chant, 'mid silence of the tomb ; —
460 POETS OF IfEW HAMP8HIBE.
Ity outspread tranquil waters, 'neath tlic summer skies tbatslwp.
Ill llie lone glens autl solemn groves, nbere whispering bK«iti
oreej),
Dffj) ill the nndciit forest dark, 'mid awful forms and wild.
Whew Nature in a tliousand shapes speaks to her ehosen child;—
AVIiere far o'er mighty ocean's waste the traveller ean desCTj
l>ark incense from the burning hills curl upward U> the skv;
Where war hounds and the vulture trace the conquering arnn's
tread.
And ghostly cutaoombs appear, homes of the ancient dead.
AVhere'er the dews of genius foil, go to that pleasant clime,
And mark the footjiriiits — listen to the voices of old Time,
And sing of the iuipt-rial hills, thy romance eummoa fortli.
And sing some mystic song of old, some legend of theNixtb.
Along the shores of the wild lakes.
Aiming the northern hills that sleep,
The wild Mnl's music scarcely breaks
The silentv that the waters keep,
And Iwiliglit shadows gently creep
Along the wild indented shore,
And over alt the watery door
A niirroreil snn'ace softly shines.
lu its calm depth, the silent pines
Ami the ^xim mountains seem to stand
IJke giam walohets o'er the land,
St-arvely two tvnturies are gone,
Sinw o'er that pleasant mountain land,
A\ !i,rv wild Ihivvma's tower of stone
Swius like an suciciit king to stand ;
The *arr!t>rs of ainnher race
l.ike s'::*.iv*ws rvviaierl o'er lake and bill ;
And ii.'w. as ainiem lejK'nd says,
Tiieir iV1is»:>>hs spirits rvtam there still,
tl»iat\i::-.j; :;;o '■ot;t''.y burial piac«
When.' sWp ;be warrix>rs of their race,
'1':* s*:.! '.ha; aniien; legends show
In tb* .•'.vi a^s k'tti; a£\.>,
M-jL ». ,v»i.<-# Mi:an# rwign of blood.
DAVID H. HILL. 4C,\
And lakes round frowning mountains sleep,
Wild spirits of bold CromwelFs band,
Who left their homes and native land
To seek some wilder, lonelier home
Where Stuart's power might never come.
By Burton's lake, whose waters lie
In tranquil sleep, where cloud and sky
And mount and fiery sunset-gleam.
In depth of waveless waters, seem
Like visions wild in fleeting dream,
Lived in that old historic day
The prophet chief, Chocorua.
Declining day's last sunlight fell
O'er that wild region of the north ;
Westward, deep gorge and mighty dell.
Whence mountain rivers issue forth.
In the increasing darkness slept.
The panther started from his lair ;
The wolf from out his cavern crept ;
'Mong tangled hemlocks lay the bear.
Gorging himself in darkness there.
On such an eve Chocorua stood
On that lone height, ''The Trophet's Home;"
Beneath him lav the unbounded wood,
Deep gorge, where tumbling torrents foam.
Towering aloft great Minden rose.
The dark browed monarch of the west,
Statel}' and grand, in stern repose
Lifting to heaven his wooded crest.
On this wild scene the prophet gazed
While da3light deepened into night ;
When, on the Indian's vision, blazed.
Beside the eastern lake, a light ;
A single camp fire shone afar
Through the dark pines like evening's star,
Lighting the sacred burial place
Where slept the heroes of their race.
lie knew it was no meteor lamp.
As olltimes flashes on the eye
Amid the exhalations damp,
Where the low, misty moorlands lie ;
Strangers e'en now from eastern waves
Were feaating by his fathers' graves,
DA VID H. HILL. 403
'Twas on November's waning da}',
The sun in southern skies hung low,
Pale light on dying woodlands la}',
That northward stretched for leagues away,
To glittering hills in wastes of snow.
By Burton's lake ''the prophet stood"
While evening shadows gently fell
O'er fading lake and darkening wood ;
When from a gloomy mountain dell
Came the wild panther's savage yell,
That strange, wild, piercing, awful cry
Kosc upward to the vaulted sky,
Fearful as the near thunder's jar,
Then died in mountain glens afar.
Nearer, again, that awful cry
Froze the quick blood with curdling chills ;
A hundred echoes made reply,
Pealing along the northern hills.
From out the dusk a stranger came,
The monster met him in his path,
With quivering limb and eyes of flame,
Writhing in wild majestic wrath :
With upraised arm the stranger spoke.
In flash of fire and wreath of smoke,
He spoke as the Great Spirit speaks
In clouds beyond the mountain peaks,
When jagged, arrowy lightnings fly
Through dark pavilions of the sky.
And shuddering mountains make reply.
Soon ebbed the monster's life away,
And dead at Campbell's feet he lay.
Amazed the prophet stood, and saw
The thrilling scene with solemn awe.
And oft in mountain solitudes,
AVandering beneath the midnight sky,
Met these stern tenants of the woods
As uneventful years rolled by.
But sorrow, anger, wrath and gloom,
AVere '*greeding in the days to come ;"
When from his kindred, friends, and home
The prophet turned, alone to roam
O'er howling wastes, and wandered forth
Deep in the desolate, wild north.
POETS OF NEW BAMPSHmS.
When on Chocorua'a cold, sharp crest
The Btcrn, aveiig1»g warriors met.
'Xhti pixij)hct S]>okc : ''We meet &t lost ;
And yet. for one, no mom shall rise;
Then let bis farewell glance be cast
Up to the solemn, starrj' skies.
For wrongs that may not be foi^ven
Cry out for vengeance up to HeaveD."
With hand uplifted to the sky
Cornelius Campbell made reply :
'■Speak you of wrongs j'et unforgiven?
Wrongs tliat cry up from earth to Heaven?
By Him who kindled the great sun
I swear, no wrong by me was done,
But cruues my lips forbear to tell,
tiuch as insatiate fiends of hell
Might plot, in jour wild brain were planned,
And wrought by your twice murdering hand.
We meet, in deadliest hate, alone
On this bleak mount, this tower of atone,
In the cold silence of tiie sky ;
Now witness, Heaven's avenging eye.
I'll burl you fVom this mountain's brow
Do>yn to that yawning gulf below,
Where only bird or beast of prey
Shall besT your whitened bones away."
Chocorua spoke : "Where in the deep.
Wild north, earth's ancient mountains rise.
Where bright 'Siogce's waters sleep,
And under yet remoter skies.
Our warriors roamed o'er all the land ;
On this great mount whereon we stand
Have prophets kings and heroes stood.
And giizeil on earth's vast solitude.
No fitter place beneath the sky
Tlian this wild home in upper air,
llallowod by many a prophet's prayer,
To meet dire vengeance, or to die."
One moment of Hate's deadliest strife.
Like tigers grappling, life for life,
And the last pvophet of his land
Lay crushed Wneath bis conqueror's band.
Uc knew the fatal grasp ; his Uat,
DAVID H. HILL. 46'
Despairing glance to heaven was cast,
As if to see with dying eyes
The gleaming lakes of Paradise.
The victor dragged him to the brow
Of the dread mount whereon they stood ;
Pointing to awful depths below,
He spoke : ''Deep in yon gloomy wood
The grey wolf hungers for your blood ;
And grim death waits — Now, murderer, go."
Down to a yawning, sunless vale,
O'er frowning battlements, he fell.
Rang from his lips a wild, death wail,
And barren hills gave back his knell.
A fiery star, a meteor bright.
Shining athwart the sombre sky,
Hung on the orient brow of night.
Kach star looked down with solemn eye ;
Round Whiteface, baleful meteors swung ;
Miuden's dark brow was bathed in light,
A death song on the winds was sung.
Ne'er heard till that portentous night.
Pale lights danced over lake and wood,
The chainlcss Saco blushed in blood.
And pitying angels, hovering nigh.
Walked the cold heavens with mourning eje.
SQUAM LAKE.
A peaceful lake, by fVowning woods o'erbung,
Sleeps like bright waters among Alpine hills ;
No voice is heard, nor lisp of human tongue.
Nor sound, save gentle moan of purling rills ;
'Tis far away beyond the purple mountains.
Beyond the sunset clouds of golden hue ;
Far in t^ie west, among the crystal fountains
That gush from earth to smile 'neath skies of blue.
When sinks the sun o'er wooded hills to rest.
While golden radiance of the burning west
Fades o'er the billows with the fading day ;
When midnight lamps o'er moon-bright waters play,
And crimson clouds, tinted with fier}* hue.
Look from the waveless depths to depths of blue ;
When myriad stars burn in the silent lake.
While flashing watei-s round dark islands break ;
POETS OF NEW HAXPSHIRE.
When gteamiDg wavelets at the set of sun
Bask in hie glories when his course is ruo ; —
As breaks the sn-eet, wild vision od the eye.
We dream — and roam in classic Italy.
jEacs )3Ia6c Eane.
IUtt B. Luie. wcood diortiter ot Uip IM« n«teon KieUel uid Ifn. MwT K
L«w ..r C-odU, w«* born M Lbe old HipLe HiU Home In Cudik. Dbc », Wl
She ilneueil thrn <.v«. j<. \?-.i. Her vitm: perTecUy lltustnle* Uw fuImI >»■
ot («T ehumcter md lltf . Ml*. L»ne nt ■ slswr of Mrs. Uaniet S. SpIdb. wI"
poemi Appear u|k>d earlier psfttsof this toIudk- Sbe wu dcftf , aad bfotf (■
pom "llie D«kt GIH'a Tbou^lU of Hiulc" lu« luocblajt pubo).
THE DEAF GIRL'S THOUGHT OF MUSIC.
O telt me what is music like?
What bright form that I see
Resembles most that wondrous thing
Ne'er jet reveajed to me ?
They say the angels long ago
Sang at Creation's birth.
And such is music's origin,
But its delicious spell
Has never rouseil my slumb'ring ear,
Or made my pulses thrill.
I hear no aasw'rin^ gush of sound
When o'er the tuneful keys.
The skilful floors lightly sweep.
Waking sweet melodies.
The mighiy organ's swelling notes.
The anthem's pea! sublime.
That bears the kindling spirit up
Beyond the bounds of time, —
The simple lay, the mother sings
Above ber infant's rest.
The strains that oootfae the coach of paid -
i.'lr cajm the S4iff^ring breast, —
The tnerrj Si'-ng that's carolled by
Glad hps from st>m>w free.
And the k>w. nKmrnful dirge. — an all
Ityatenoos to me.
MABT BLAKE LANE. 469
They tell me Nature's realm is full
Of voices, grand and sweet, .
That sing together evermore
In harmony complete ;
But not for me, the music wild
Of bird and murm'ring bee,
Or the unending symphony
Of the blue, restless sea.
Yet, though my ear can never list
To melody of earth,
I know that it shall be unsealed
At my celestial birth.
And O, what rapture shall be mine
When that new sense is given !
How blissful, even now, to think,
That I shall hear in heaven !
THE LAND OF THE LIVING.
Is this the realm of life ?
bis land where death its dismal shadow flings
er all we love? waging incessant strife
With earth's most precious things? —
And Summer's frailest flower,
hat withers ere the glowing noon is past,
life's best emblem ; — ^}outh and fame and power
Like blossoms fade at last.
The spoiler's chilling breath
ills on the good and fair, and they decay ;
ought is undying but th}' rule, oh death !
The wide world owns thy sway.
Life counts its children here
V millions ; the pale and shadowy bands
bat people th}' dominions vast and drear
Are countless as the sands.
Earth's soil is .strewn with graves ;
jTiads lie in dreamless slumber calm ;
bove myriads more, the ocean waves
Lifb up their dirge-like psalm.
POETS OF SEW HAJIPSBIBE.
Still, as tbe hours glide on.
The shrouded rorm and solemn foneral knell
And broken households irhence the liglit haa flan
Of deaths new conquests tell-
Lire's only true domain
Lies pure and bright beyond the shade* of time ;
Xo breath of sorrow, no defiling stain
Rests on that sinless clime !
Its joy-illumined straud
By earthly misU is veiled from mortal sight,
but seers of olden lime in vision grand
Caught glimpses of its light.
The city of our God !
Whose gates of pearl death enters never moR,
Whose golden street by angel steps are trod.
Adorns that blissful shore.
Through valleys ever fair
The living waters, gently murmuring, flow,
And trees of life, in tli.it celestial air.
With fruits immortal glow.
And they who passed away.
The loved ones that we missed with many tears,
In that sweet home that knows no sad decay.
Dwell through eternal years !
I^rnrs Oafcra Hxtnt.
orn Id Lanculcr, Ftb. 7. 1S4. U<- rndnUol it Xonrirh (Mi"
,n IN'4. He fludlKl Uw an) Br«i ■dumnl to ibe h»r la lfl(. •"
II l-TU tw \tii oinwr and p-Ut.T or tlio Coot tttpiU-tirm. »»"
engifvil. ouitlde bia offlce tu-larn*. tabuiklDK. ■uxutK*'''''''
vi» Afslsluil Ailjuust General ur Ibe SUM oa Ibr ^itHiM
■ --.— . .- n.,.nilling aoit otsatililnr earlr [«iiw*^
-, , :ib Voluuiwr iDtauir.v. Since isSj he S» ta"
onuliletablv lu pul>Llc Life, as clerk and memlwr .-t Ihi' U-ii^e. Bauk C'lnnldlnBT;
CommUiloDer[oa>|iutlIiiTeaalernboundaii'orihe>UIe.Pie8ld«aUal Ekcir«.»"
nobilDcc uf Ute Dcfiaocracy ttt Coa^r^ati baTiuf iret|ueii(Jy canvatfMd aud ■*■?-
ONWARD !
Onward, onward, ever onward,
Striving early, battling lat*.
Hew with manliness the long road
Leading up the mount of Fate I
Onward press with straining sinews,
HE mi T 0AKE8 KENT. All
On with bosom nobly bared,
Onward 'mong life's restless winnows
Where its empt}' chafTs declared !
Onward, tighten up thine armor,
Read anew thj' purpose high,
Bow thee not before the charmer,
Quail thou not neath malice's eye ;
Slander's venom, envy's curses
Pass thou all unheeded by.
They shall load thee with caresses,
When thou gainest yon mountain high I
Poverty with shrunken finger,
Sickness gaunt, with hollow cheek,
From the path may bid thee linger.
Bid thee falter, trembling, weak, —
Wave anew thy streaming banner.
Fling its motto to the wind —
Ye who for Fame's banquet hunger,
Meaner troubles leave behind !
Press thee on, though dark and dreary
Fall the midnight overhead ;
Press thee on, thy footsteps weary
Honored paths of peace shall tread !
Press thee on, though swollen surges
Seem to whelm thee from above ;
Press thee on — Time's glowing pages
Yet shall tell a People's love !
Press thee on through doubt and danger.
Never fainting, never weak ;
Press thee on. Fame's voice, a stranger
To thy waiting ears, shall speak I
Onward ! — nobly doing — daring.
Doubt and danger winning past.
Onward still, thy flag uprearing,
Victory shall come at last !
1857.
WELCOME HOME I
or the celebration of the Centennial AnnlversAry of the town of Lancaster,
J 14, 1864.
The mountains look down, in their grandeur and pride,
On the home of our childhood to-day ;
On the wandering children who strayed from their side
To gather rare flowers by the way.
172 POETS OF NEW HAXPSBISE.
They're united again in the dear old towo,
'Mong the streama and the woods of yore,
Thev have fought well the fight for gold and renown,
And they turu to their childhood's door.
There are tboae who have lingered around the old home,
While their brethren were far in the strife ;
Who have tilled the old fields in the years that are past,
In the quiet and comfort of life ;
These welcome ye back, with hearts ftJl of joy —
A joy that commingles with pride,
As they greet with affection each wandering boy
To the town where his forefathers died.
We gather to-day amid scenes so endeared,
To crown with the fame of her sons
The time-silvered locks of the mother revered.
While an hundred long winters have flown ;
To wreathe a full chaplet of daughters' warm love
'Mid the silvery sheen of her hair, —
As enduringly pure as the azure above
That smiles on an homage so fair.
Welcome home from the East and the West and the So^*'
Welcome home on this dear natal day ;
The kiss of some loved one is warm on each mosthi •
Ye have tarried a long lime away —
Welcome home, and forgetting the wearying care
That compassed the pathway ye trod.
Throw off the cbill years and be young again here,
In the smile of a love born of God,
Welcome borne to each spot so remembered of yor^^*'
Welcome home to each love that endures ;
Gather atreugth for the journey that stretches hefo'^^'^^
Ere our sails leave life's vauisliing shores;
Go forth from among na with tokens of love.
Glad burdens that wearj' not down ;
So shall memory's banquet be spread as ye rove
From the home ye have cherished — our dear ol(^H_ ^
BERTIE.
When the bright autumn had gathered its han-
Ripened and blest by the rays of the sun.
Crowning our gBmpr, with fruitage the fairest,
- Dear liiUc Berlii's exUUnce begun.
8 AS AH n. F08TEB. 473
ich and bird plum and glowing red inaple,
aezes that rustle where laughing streams run,
the glad fact on time's radiant table,
rtie our darling, is one times one !
1867.
^araf) ^. jfoster.
ir is a native of Portsmouth. Her life has been very uneventful ; the
n from the regular routine of home duties, consisting in two visits to
last of which was made in 1881* *82.
THE DEATH OF A FIRST-BORN CHILD.
rd said unto Moses, sanctify unto me all the flrst-born, they are mine.*'
Lord ! unto thy Hebrew people
Spake of old tii}' law divine,
"Consecrated to my service
All the first-born shall be mine."
Such the offering that we bring thee !
Thou hast asked it, it is thine I
This sweet bud, not yet unfolded.
Tearfully we lay it down ;
We had prayed to rear it for thee,
Take it Lord, it is thine own ;
Weave it, now we only pray thee.
Weave it in our heavenly crown.
Many hopes — how dear and tender
Thou who gav*st them onl}' knew —
On thine altar we surrender.
Humbly owning them th}" due.
Lord we gave our hearts unto thee,
Thine be all oui* treasures too 1
His fair brow so calm and sinless.
Earthly spring shall never kiss ;
These dear feet shall never wander
Through a world so rough as this ;
This sweet spirit's earliest smiling
Shall be waked by heavenly bliss.
Meet it is that pure affection
Place its earliest pledge above ;
Its first olive leaf sent heavenward,
Borne by the celestial Dove.
God of Grace ! accept our offering !
Take our darling to thy love.
POETS OP SEW BAXPamBE.
STANZAS,
Wrloen tor Ota SoMien' fair, UN;
Not lung ago
A darker cloud our countrr'a sky o'ercast
Than whirling Morm-rifta on November's blast;
When AViuter. stealing through sad Autumn's g«t«-
Found deeper cold on be&rths made desolate,
Than all his snow.
It is not long
Since timid Spring on her first sontheru breath
Brought news of terror and a scent of death ;
Since Summer met no answer to her amiles ;
And the drum's clangor in her le«f; aisles
Hu^hetl tbe birds' song.
Have we Torgot
The ranks that answered Freedom's warning beB,
Bravetl the death-tempest and the prison-bell,
With siunlv hearts hurled back the impending down,
But wheu the trump of rictoij called them home,
Responded not?
Not al! forget '.
The struggling wi-iow keeps with tears the day
That turned her staff to dust, her hope to clay.
The sii.iiiow on the mother's brow, that fell
When her brave darling kissed his la^t farewell.
Is brooding yet.
Some yet can tell
Of honrs of an^ish, worse than sndden dooiD.
That [eft them belpte:^ in a helpless home,
t'rit'pled or t'roten from the cruel strife.
Fettered forever in the race of life
By [>ainful spell.
Oh hearts at ease '.
Your ease was l^Highl at price of other's paiD ;
Another's loss your ransom and yoor gain ;
Yoor homes secure with flowers of joy are atrown-
But other homes sjw dark to bless yoor own ;
Remember tbese ! ,
With open hand
Par back th* debt, where not. alas ! too late ;
Ktl comfort seek the taeactha left d«solste ;
8a<ro th.o^ who saved ;■» from mwfovttute'a b\aat-
« t oar cooatr? ■ nKQ^Ia^ of the p«&(,
AgmefoS- ^«»*'-
HASBIST MCEWEN KIMBALL. 475
B Kimbaira first published book was "Hymns," which appeared in lfl67. It
tier at once a repatation. "Swallow Flights of Song," was pubUnhed In 1874 ;
er third work, "The Blessed Company of all Faithful People," was iasued In
Portamouth is the place of her nativity and has always been her home.
THE BLESSto COMPANY OF ALL FAITHJ^UL
PEOPLE."
Between the gray dawn and the golden day
Methought low murmurs troubled all the land ;
Disquietude and strife where should be peace,
In the white tents of that sweet Prince of Peace
Whose hosts encamp amidst *'a naughty world."
As swelled the murmurs, under all I heard
The sighing of the leaders, men of prayer,
Steadfast in faith though sometimes faint of voice,
Worn with the heat and burden of the day.
And the half-hearted zeal of many a rank ;
And harsh above their sighings louder rose
The sounds of party and opposing speech ;
And louder yet the petty-tongued complaints
Of such as had not learned obedience —
That first, last law for these rebellious hearts,
Given of God and taught of Holy Church.
Anon, and piercing all the clamor through.
The Lord's own heralds blew their bugle-notes —
For He would set the faithful in array.
Then sudden silence made a little space
For the One Voice that fills the universe.
And Christ's own roll-call swept the white camp through.
And lo ! the faithful noiseless moved as thought ;
Responsive, yet unconscious of response.
Their rapt eyes lifted to the shining morn
As seeing Him who is invisible !
He named them clan by clan. His chosen ones ;
The poor in spirit and the souls that mourn.
The meek and those for righteousness athirst, J
The merciful, the pure in heart, the just,
The valiant, the fgrbearing, named He thus ;
For every clan a benediction sweet.
And sweeter promises of victory — thus :
Blessed are the poor,
(Jesus spake,)
Poor in spirit, for My sake ;
POETS OF SEfF BAMP8HIBE.
Who seek the glorr of this world do more,
Nor gather riches that shall flv sway :
Of the hearenly kingdom heirs are they.
Blessed,
Blessed they who moDm. He said ; ,
Preciou!t are the tears they ahed.
The a^hes on the bowM head ;
AH their sins confess^.
They shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek
Who seek
The Father's will id qoietnesa and peace.
Caring little for all things beside ;
They shall increase
And with the falnesa of the earth be satisfietl.
Blessed tbev. He said.
After righteoasness an-hnngerM ;
Blesseii they whose thiret
The pleasQivs of this world accnrsed
Have not slille^l ;
With Mv bread
Shall the farnishM be fed ;
With My wine the parebM tips be filled.
Blessett, blessed they.
The oi.'ivi['ul, whose ears
Are swifl :> hear the crying of distress ;
Soft as the rain in summer fall their tears.
Their place is found beside the fatherless ;
Blessed tbey
To nrboni the outcast and the poor complain
Mtrcies numberless
They heivatler shail obtain.
Blessed ate the pure in heart. He said ;
Wbose feet the paths of holiness do tread.
Whose looks are l^o>l-ward and whose baods !
Thnxt^h ;; ories manifold
Shall t.ie\ behold
Hbc v\i.jir. Qo eye hath aeeD.
HABBIET MCEWEN KIMBALL, All
Blessed they who seek
To turn all strife to peace ;
Whose words are as a covert to the weak,
Who make the anger of the strong to cease ;
Children of God shall they
Be called for aye.
Blessed they who steadfast stand
Through persecutions dread ;
Though on every hand
The wicked bend the bow
To lay them low ;
Theirs the kingdom never vanquishM.
Blessed ye when men revile
And persecute you falsely, for My sake ;
Ye who, walking without guile,
With Me partake
Shame and scorn awhile.
Yea, rejoice.
Ye who fly not from the arrows of the strong ;
Be exceeding glad, for unto you is given
Great reward in Heaven ;
Even now lift up your voice
In victorious song ;
For so persecuted they
The prophets in their day :
Again, rejoice.
Then all the winds of heaven : Amen I Amen I
THOU ART A PLACE TO HIDE ME IN.
Without, I hear the beating of the rain.
The howling winds that tell the storm's increase ;
0 covert sure that he who seeks may gain ! —
Within, abideth peace.
Without, I hear the sound of feet that halt
And grope and stumble in the blinding night ;
0 blessed faith that serveth in default
Of what men call the light !
0 rest, O wayside inn, where home is not.
For the poor pilgrim to that city fair, ,
Where strife shall cease and doubtings be forgot !
The Lamb, the Light is there I
rOETS OF NEW HAXPSBIBE.
HYMN FOR ADVENT.
Breathe, virgin souls, anew the vows
Voiir heavenly Bi-iJegroom claims!
Ilia sign ye weiir upon your brows
Traced in baptismal flames.
Oh, by that sweet and awlVil sign
He calls you to be wise ;
Earth's glory waucs, the suns decline,
And miduiglit wius the skies.
Arise, love's holy lamps to trim,
With Taith their flame renew,
Li'st He who eometb find them dim
Ami sleep i>osses8ii]g you.
He coineth — when? Who answereth when?
Who names his nameless dav?
Till' word he spake he speaks again.
Yet neither yea, nor nay.
Wjiteh ! Watch! His solemn charge alooc:
And every beat of time
Itcpeats iu awe's mielianging tone
The Lonl's own word sublime.
Blest wateh ! or long the hours or brief;
The llriik'groom shall appear.
To hearts ivberein his love is chief,
Even now he draweth near.
A IIYMX OF CONTHITION.
Sini-e for Thy Ups were mingled, O mv Lord,
Till' vinegur and gall,
ShouUi i not say, earth's sweet things be abborrtd,
And sneel earths bitter call !
Since thou for me the cup of death didst drain —
Yea, (.> mv I^inl. for me I—
My eup of ills should I not lake as fain
lo share one draught with Ihee?
O yiL-tor-A'ii-tim, though the flesh afraid
btuk iri-iubliiig tit thv feet,
C*a ovi-r it iby pitj's awfii! shade
And hvar tuc the« eotrottt !
HABBIET MCEWEN KIMBALL, 479
Make Thou these tears of penitence and shame
For sin and frailties all,
More sharp than vinegar, more hot than flame,
And bitterer than gall.
Then Lord, in every draught wilt thou distil
Thine own exceeding peace,
To sweeten all the cup earth's sorrows fill.
Till earth and sorrow cease.
JESUS MY REFUGE.
Jesus, my refuge ! to the secret places
Where thou dost hide, I flee,
To learn thy blessed truth, from all the mazes
Of human thought set free.
Without denial and without refraining
I must receive thy word ;
Not what thou meanest after man's explaining,
But what thou sayest Lord !
Shut from the strife of tongues that yield confusion.
Quick grows the inward ear
Thy sweet assurance, stripped of all delusion,
In humble faith to hear.
In mysteries beyond the dim perceiving
Of reason's clouded eyes.
Thou dost reveal thyself to souls believing—
Too loving for disguise.
And oh, how loving, dearest Lord, how tender
Beyond all love thou art,
When to thy feet we cling in full surrender,
With sorrow-broken heart !
Absolving, healing, strengthening, uniting.
Through sacramental grace.
And to communion closer yet inviting.
Thou dost unveil thy face.
For faith alone, low-kneeling in contrition,
The load of sin grows light ;
To faith alone thou dost vouchsafe that vision,
And faith is almost sight.
POETS OF XEW HAMPSamE.
TIIK LIGHT OF LIGHT.
The morning breaks, the Bhadoirs flee,
Tlie grnciotis skies are clear nnd bright;
O Liplit ol' Light, we turn to thee ;
Without thy raya it still were night.
TtiG mid-dny sun may cloudless shine.
And all our way seem smooth and fair;
There are no rays save only thine
Can shoiv the quiekaand or the snare.
And when the storms of sorrow boat.
And darkness falls, and joy takes fligbt,
Thy lueaence is a sure retie.il.
And iu our dwelhng there is light.
O .lesiis. fount of joy and grace,
That light on all our darkness pour.
Until In-yond these nights and days
Wc dwell iu light foreveriuore !
VALK.
Good-night, O Knrth ! the nights are growing Ion;;
The da\8 are brief;
Life hath oiif solenm bni-den for its song :
••As fades the leaf."
(■oixl-uigbt, i>ix>r World! if thoQ art full of sin.
Why, so am 1 1
111 this proud heart to judge would I begin.
Xor self pass by.
Good-night, my foe ! not all the wrong is thine ;
My share I own :
Foi^vtf ! — we. huni.li), know one wonl divine \ —
The sun g(.x'3 down.
Good-niglit. gtv^l friend I (hough poor mv cifla to the*.
1 will not frvt : ' '^
Thtf rirhiT ilwu whi.>s<> Ivuuty is so free.
And swtvt nir debt.
trt rvvcnpf nor to rvpav
' strive or s*vk :
0«nK- — umst empty go &way,
Kiupiy aud woiik.
LUCY ROGERS HILL CROSS, 481
* —
As one who wakes no more to smile or weep
Another day,
So would I lay me humbly down to sleep,
And humbly say :
0 Thou who hadst not where to lay thy head,
As poor were I,
Bid not thy merc}^ make for me a bed
Whereon to die.
iLucg Mogerg l^ill Olrogg.
CroAR WAS horo in Northfield, July 9, 1834. She graduated in 1860 at the
inference Seminary and Female CDlleffe, having previously taught all the
* iu her native town,' but one, and several terms in adjoining towns. After
itlon she be<^me assistant in the Mcrrimaclc Grammar iSchooI, iu Concord,
r In 18H.i to leach in Meh-ose, Mass. She returned to Concord after two
and l)ecame principal of the school in which she had been an assistant.
» married to 6liver X. Cross, a graduate of Dartmouth and a memlHjr of tlie
i<l iu l)«n they went to Montgomery City, Mo., but returued after three years
ti field, where they now reside.
A SONG OF THE HOUR.
JAN., 1884.
With ring and jingle and faces bright,
Out in the air of the frosty night,
Go the sleigh riders, with laughter and song,
Waking the echoes, they hurry along.
Out from the lights of the village away.
On past the wood where the winter birds stay.
Past the bright homes of tiie hill-slopes be^'ond,
Down by the meadows a-skirting the pond,
Never once heeding the wind or the cold.
For the horses are fleet and the driver is bold.
Ring and jingle the resonant bells.
And the mingled laughter the merriment swells.
One would almost envy the Laplanders bold.
In their Arctic home so ic}' and cold.
As, clad in their snowy furs, out in the night
Their sledges keep time to the reindeer's flight,
And the waving Aurora writes jo}* on the sky,
As the long hours of winter go joyously by ;
For there's nothing on earth one half so gay
As a rollicking ride in a rushing sleigh.
Little they know who dwell in that clime
Where winter disturbs not the sweet summer time
484 POETS OF NEW HAMPSniRE.
IHars id. 1c(obin0on.
Mrs. Robinson, the second daufirhtor of George E. Madd, of Wolfehomufh. U i
native of that town. In 1860 she graduate<l from the State Normal School lu Sa'fB.
Mans., havinsr the part of clas.s poet, and contributing two hymns for the orca(4"0.
In 18f'>3 8he furnished hy invitation a poem for the Triennial Convention <>( tJi"
Alumni of that Institution. For about »*even years she was a teacher In Kini'iall
Union Aciidemy. In 1^2 she marrie<l Thomas Kobiuson, of Salisbury, Eh/r
land, who is now a professor in Howard University, Wasliingtou, D. C.
THE OLD CLOCK.
Merrily, merrily, bow it ticks !
The dear old clock by the wall ;
Keeping time in musical chime.
As the sunbeams rise and fall.
Mournfully, mournfull}', bow it ticks I
As the hush of the night comes on ;
Keeping time, with holier chime,
To the tread of the moments gone.
Warningl}', warningly, how it ticks !
In the ear from da}' to day ;
Keeping time in solemn chime,
'Tis ticking our lives away.
MAY 22, 1882.
Ring loud the gold and silver bells,
This sunny day of May,
'Twas one and one that made but one
Ten years ago to-da^^ !
Bring roses red and roses white
And pansies rich and ga}-.
To make our home with gladness bright.
This sunny day of May I
'Tis Love shall make our home most bright.
And Love shall be Queen of May ;
'Tis only Love gives Life and Light
On this our wedding day.
Lot's make a cord both true and strong
To bind forever and aye,
And be to each other Light and Song,
\' From this our wedding day.
MAJiT M, liOBINSON, 4s;>
THE SONG OF LIFE.
What song have I played on the harp-strings of life
Througli all this gone cycle of years, —
Of years made of days, of days made of hours,
And hours made of sunshine and tears?
Id childhood, a prattle as meny and wild
As the bobolink's summer-time la}* ;
In youth *t\vas a trill that rose at each smile.
And fell as the smile died awav.
And now what song from the harp-strings of life
Through the still air tremblingly rings?
Ay, trembling it comes ; — God knoweth the touch
That playeth the silver strings.
Thus do I question, alone, and unheard
Except by the All-hearing Ear ;
While the free, bounding air comes back to my lips,
And a sigh's the response that I hear.
But I know that hereafter when the seal shall come,
And knowledge and truth shall be given,
The song I shall hear, with discord unblent,
Mid the harmony perfect of Heaven.
A RETROSPECT.
O don't you remember our home, Sister,
Our home far down in the dell
Where the violets blossomed in spring-time.
By the dear old meadow well ?
And don't 3'ou remember the orchard, too.
And the plum-trees standing by.
The pinks and the daisies and currants so red,
And the creeper clambering nigh?
And don't you remember the wood, Sister,
Where the beech and the maples grew.
And the spruce and the pine gave forth a sigh
As the night-winds swept them through?
And the old gre}' rock where we used to play
And imagine age was old,
When life seemed all as a morning dream.
And sorrow a tale that is told?
480 POETS OF NEW HAyTPSHIBE.
And the golden com when antumn came ;
How it filled the chambers wide !
And the old-fashioned loom that long had. sat
By the well-worn stair- way side ?
And the old wooden gate that for many a year
Had creaked on its weariless hinge ;
And the willow that stood with its far-reacbing hands
And ils garb of tassels and fringe?
Tlie fair-haired boy you remember still,
And our sad and last good-bj-e
When the shadows of night had fallen low,
And the spring was drawing nigh.
How he calmly passed to his silent rest
And returned to us no more ;
Still brijjrhtly shone the sun in the dell.
And as bright on the cottage floor. —
But adieu to the cot, the gate and the tree,
To the loved now gone from our sight ;
^ For the picture goes by like a gleam in the sky.
And the sober To-da}' comes on while we say
**Fareweir* to this vision of, light.
Mrs. Senter, a tlnughttr of Rev. John Adams, was bom at Great Falla, ^f^]'
\9M. yhe was educated at New Haven, Ct., and at Northfleld. i^he married t->'-
Senter, an extensive fanner and trader. They reside at their beautiful <^"']?/
seat In Greenland. The poenis of her brother, Enoch G. Adams, are fouDd Inuu*
volume.
ARE THERE NO MEMORIES?
Are there no memories in thy mind.
Like fragrance of sweet flowers.
Borne to thee by some gentle wind,
At twilight's peaceful hours?
Are there no memories like the light
That beautifies the west,
And keeps afar the shades of night
That come thy life to bless ?
Are there no memories, hidden deep,
That all thy life control.
And, like a watch-fire, ever keep
And purify the soul?
MART A, A, SEyTER. 487
Are there no memories dearer far
Than aught of earth to thee,
That, like the faithful polar star,
Will guide thee o'er life's sea?
Are there no memories like the chime
Of music to thine ear,
That come to thee from time to time,
Thy loneliness to cheer?
Are there no memories, tell me friend,
That never will decay.
Not even when this life shall end.
And thou hast passed away ?
And if to memory must be brought
All that we say and do.
Oh ! mav we watch that there be naught
But what is good and true.
HOPING IN VAIN.
Know'st what it is to watch and wait.
And see each fond hope die, —
As some lone watcher by the sea
Beholds each sail go by ?
Or as a wanderer returns
Unto his native shore.
And finds the lov'd ones that he left
Can greet him never more ?
Or as when one who long has watched
Above the couch of pain.
Thinking at last the loved one sleeps,
Finds he'll not wake again ?
Or as a traveller at night
Goes on without delay,
Thinking at last he's almost home,
Finds still he's far away ?
Or as when one who's labored long
Some honored place to gain
Finds that his life, and labor too.
Have both alike been vain ?
And so it is with things of earth, —
They glitter to decoy.
And none of all its pleasures c*er
Can give us lasting joy.
4SS POETS OF KEW SAXPSHIBB.
IHattU IE. *mirt).
m™. SiniUi Is a nWlrc of Concor-l, ft (isoahtcr of John S. Plerton- Wko *f
wHi b-i> yi'ars of a^ie Die fiunllv ivinoviMl I'lCi'Tlnetnit. lvT.,iThrre «>w ncrfm'
uonkm u( lii^r uluuiUoa nl the w'.biiol nt rn>r. .V. T Goodhue, a ninila of her Uil'
IT. Ill 1J05 lifrralherreniovcil M Minnesota, and M ■ ■ - —
Cumn of 1»T. '
Ai Hlanesula. In 18iu nhii was marrlcil lo Mr. Edaoii K
HOPE ON ! HOPE EVER !
Why weep in woe ! and seem to be
Of griorand sorrow fond,
Nor try to pierce the darkling clouds,
To oatc'h a glimpse beyond?
But just above tbose sorrow clouds,
Tlic golden sunbeams stay ;
Then wliy not mount on wings of faith,
And bid them round thee play?
Oh. is it right to fold tby hands
Id unite and calm despair.
To sit thee down iu idleness.
And briKxl on naught but care?
Oh no ! our mission is designed
A brother's lot to cheer ;
Ilijs griefs to soothe, his wounds to bind,
■While on our journey here.
Then grieve not, friend, when troubles «>"■
Nor fear lo som>w meet ;
But look to Gu<.l. and humbly bow
In rv'signation sweet.
Thine eye is not the ouly one
That's batheil in sorrow's tear ;
Some other heart in grief is bowetl.
Which thou might help to cheer.
Oo. tlnd that heart less blest than tbine,
And pour within his ear
Sweet wi.>r«ls of jK'aiv, and comfort too.
With sym|>athizing cheer.
Thtu shalt thou tiud a ha{ipiDes3
ArvHiud thy U-iiig thrown ;
Tti-^ liea>.v tlidfused in otbers' hearts
^tull make more blest thine own.
GEORGE GOBDON BYROX DE WOLFE. 48'J
<&tnx^t CiSorTion i3|)ton IDr SBoIfe.
•yet was born In Dlffbj, Nova Scotia, February 15, 1835. HU parenU, when
bout seven years ol«l, removed U> St. John, New Brunswick, where he 11 v-
klMjut twenty years of aps when he lell his father's home, and came to the
tates. an<l c<>mnieuced the work which he followed until his death, namely,
g from state to state, from town to town, writing verses on people, places,
liar events. He was married in 18(J0 to Miss Eliza Har^ove, of Rradfonl,
:%, England. They came to reside in Nashua, where he died Jan. 22, I8?J.
5 rapidity with wKlch he wrote he was aiUed the "Steam-Machine Poet."
P'ears he was known as the "Wandering Poet of New Hampshire.**
LOUISA'S GRAVE.
Never Nature (iid look sweeter ;
She has donned her elioiee array ;
Every streamlet rings its metre,
Bidding welcome to the Mav.
Beauty, thinking naught excels thee,
How thy many gems I crave !
In thy midst a marble tells me
That Vm at ''Louisa's grave !"
When she left this land where flowers,
Though they're beautiful, must fade,
What her 3'ears, her days or hours,
Not the little marble said.
Though it smiled on Maj'-time's lustre, -
Stood erect like chieftain brave, —
All the language it could muster
Were tlie words — '^Louisa's Grave !'*
But the charms did round it dall}* ;
Ever}' streamlet passing by,
Every floweret in the valley,
Every sun-ray in the sky, —
All my e^es were then admiring, —
To my quest this answer gave,
''She's no liome on earth desiring ;
This is not * Louisa s Grave !' "
Then I thought of llim above us,
Monarch of both land and sea.
He who doth protect and love us,
Moulder of Eternitv !
'Twas a world the Lord of Glory
Died on Calvary to save.
Well 1 understood the storv, —
"This is not 'Louisa's Grave I' "
400
POETS OF KEW BAMPSffTHE.
LINES.
T^ook at Ton moon, mv ladylove^
With sparkling lustre beam.
Behold I it sends a ray of light
To l>eaiitifv the stream.
The waters glisten brighter far
Than silver from Peni ;
The trees lift up their noble heads
To sup the gentle dew.
Oh, ladv, 'neath that satellite
How many lovers stroll I
How swifth pass their golden hours !
I low fast the minutes roll !
Alas ! that even's hours should glide
As if on angels* wings.
When lovers hold their sweet converse.
Nor envy thrones of kings !
Ah, ladv, little dost thou think
How, 'neath that bright moon's beam,
I've often sat and thought of thee,
Then laid me down to dream.
Then didst thou creep up to my side,
And whistler in my ear
Bright tales of love and happiness, —
Oh I joyous 'twere to hear !
But when I woke, thou wast not there ;
Thi» irrouuii with dew was damp.
And brijrhtlv in the azure skv
Shone night's bespreading lamp.
Oh, Kidv, thou art near me now !
'Tis no delusive dream !
And we mav tell our tales of love
Beneath that planet's beam !
A//
«
A /
A •
A'-
\
A»^
\
\ -
s
Eugussta (Tooprr l^ristol.
^™- yrtrtol. a t1auffht<er of the late Oils Cooper, was bom in Cro:
1K». Her e^lucation \r a* i»Maintil. for the roo^i i>art. at the commo
"*'^-r M'^* ^«u*-»iion na* luiraintii, ii»r mv idom ]iaTT. at me eonini
mMlra) aail ptn-Ucal aMlUv lierame evhient In cliiMboiHl. Her
eonpoaea at the apt* of eljfhi. but none were publishetl until an.
r***i_ *^' ***'* '*"**' **'^ c«»mn>em>Hl her vi>o«tion tm teacher and foil
lug for aerrna years. In !>«» she manriinl l-«»ias Hriotol. a law —
Coan.. then re»itilng near CarUnulalo, 111. In 1868. the th
-Tj^rr^ *"* *niiii»i*, h*T llr#t volume of poeni» wa» published in
gMWhoog to the pivvent time Jblrs. Brifriori» life has lieen rbararterL
*Mn ftMl achlerenient. While <U«chai|(ln^ the refrponaibiUues of
AUGUSTA COOPEB BlilSTOL. 401
i8siduou»ly for social progress through the agency of the pen and the
Some of her philoBophic and Hclentiilc le<'tures have been translated
led In foreign countries, and it is doubtful if the ]>rcsriing questions of
Ipretts In which she has of late years been actively engage<l, will ever
U) resume again, in any considerable degree, the vocation of a poet. >Mhe
ineland, N. J.
THE HIGHER LIFE.
Within our lives of conscious care.
There lies another, fair and sweet ;
All gracious sanctities are there,
And trust, and consecrations mete ;
A heaven that lieth not apart,
A spirit world within the heart.
And yet we grope with veiled eyes
For that which lieth near at hand,
And lift the voice with prayerful cries.
Through darkness, to an unknown land,
While close beside us runs the way
That broadens to divinest day.
1 looked upon the summer world,
1 heard tlie gladness of her rills,
I saw her sunset banners furled
Upon the shoulders of the hills.
And, looking, in m}' conscious heart
I said, *'God dwelleth not apart."
If, in the ancient days, his feet
Pressed fragranc^e from a garden walk,
And our frail mother heard his sweet
And gracious ministry of talk.
If she e'er saw his face divine,
I hold the privilege as mine.
And yet my eyes are shadowed quite ;
So darkened, that I cannot see
To read the wondrous law aright
That draws Him to humanity.
If I can make an Eden place.
Perchance he will reveal his face.
A plac*e of blossoms, perfect, fair.
With emerald arches reaching wide ;
^o common bloom shall open there.
But heavenly beauty shall abide :
^le will return to warn and bless,
X)rawn by the law of perfectness.
4:»-> POETS OF XEW RAMPSHISE.
An<l tlicn from morn till eve I sought
For shnib and blossom, rich and rare;
From morn till eve 1 patient wrought
Ti) make mv jrardeu faultless fair :
The common flower I did uproot.
And crushed it with a careless foot.
And soon it grew a wondrous place
Of strange and supreme loveliness,
AVhere fringe-tree i, witli a mystic grace,
shook in their airy vapor dress<,
And the magnolia's waxen bloom
Through glossy thickets breathed i)erfume.
And near the fountain's circling line.
The rich roJ^e si)read her leaves apart,
And dropt her bosom's amljer wine
Into the lily's open heart ;
And the azalea's pink and snow
(iave the green light a sunset glow.
But all in vain the thicket's shade,
Tlie fount, and groves of blooming flame.
For he whose pre>ence 1 essaye<i
AViih yearnings deep — he never came:
In vain I walked that perfect S)x>t,
For if he came, I knew it not.
Then in a frantic ecstasv
That would not be o'erborne, I cried,
'•I cannot win the heavens to me,
Tliough all perfection here abide ;
An<i ^int-e I cannot reach so high,
I will mv own heart satisfv."
"The little field-flower shall find grace
Wiiliin my sight; — I will not pass
Thi* meadow blossom, but give place
To common blooms of common grass :
I cannot draw the Lonl above ;
I'll make a place for human love."
And in the gladness of the thought,
1 sought the azure violet,
And buttercups and daisies brought,
And in my ganlen l»onler set
The crow-foot and the gentian too.
And forest harebell, soltlv blue.
AVCrUSTA COOPEB BRISTOL. -493
When lo ! A sudden glory fell
Around me, touching all with grace ;
For love with mystic charm and spell,
Had found rae working at ni}- place.
And gave to me the magic key
That ope'd the higher life for me.
Then from my vision fled awa}'
The darkening shadows, and I saw
The rose-tree and the thistle spray
Evolving by divinest law ;
Divinest life and essence ran
From atom dust to conscious man.
One law of life was everywhere.
From starry sphere to blossom seed ;
It moved the sea ; it filled the air
With vital breath ; and I could read
Eternal scripture on the stone,
And I no longer walked alone.
THE PYXIDANTHERA.
Sweet child of April ! I have found thy place
Of deep retirement. Where the low swamp ferns
Curl upward from their sheaths, and lichens creep
Upon the fallen branch, and mosses dank
Deepen and brighten ; where the ardent sun
Doth enter with restrained and chastened beam,
And the light cadence of the blue-bird's song
Doth falter in the cedar — there the spring.
In quietude, hath wrought the sweet surprise
And mar\'el of thy unobtrusive bloom.
Most perfect symbol of my purest thought, —
A thought so close and warm within my heart.
No words can shape its secret, and no prayer
Can breathe its sacredness, — be thou my type.
And breathe to one who wanders here at dawn
The deep devotion which, transcending speech,
Lights all the folded silence of my heart.
As thy sweet beauty doth the shadow here.
So let thy clusters brighten, star on star
Of pink and white, about his lingering feet.
Till dreaming and enchanted, there will pass
Into his life, the story that my soul
POETS OF XEW HAXPSHIBE.
Until <:iven tiiee. So stiall his will be stirred
Til jiiiri'st jmrpose and divincst deeil.
Antl fvorv Luur be touctictl witb grace aud light.
SONG OF CHILDnOOD.
Tlio iiioniitii;. tlie moniiiig. the bcaiitirul morning!
Ii liriiikftli ill wavt.'s of gold !
Aiil till- liiounliiins that !ifte<l Ilieir foreheads id scoroi
Willi rrowniniis terrific and Iwld,
An.- >liii<iii<: at liii't tlirongh an amber adorning
Of miiiiUc. and ripiile. and fold.
(> lia]i|>_v Ik-c. linpor wiili me in tlie clover!
For iIliv is onk begun :
.Iii-t wail 111! ilie liluflicll un<:'lasi>eth her cover,
Aii<i Ifiim liow Ilie secret is done :
TliiTiV time Uiib for lalx>r and play, little rover,
lis ii.iii: to tilt' setting of siiu.
I Inii^ii. im-tty ruse, for I think it is funny
Tlisl Miili 11 iiwii-t bud of May
\\ 1)1 in-iihiT rivt-al. for tlie love nor the uionev,
TIk. «i>.k.iii it foldellj flway :
lint vo'i'll ii|H-n voiir iieart to tne, down to its honev,
Iltliiv it isnwnof tl.ed.iy.
Yo'i Ink nil your riiiille and will not coufess it,
limiiiiii i-uuereii|>$ drop you gold.
It iii:iy !•(■ iIk- -iriy KiN>link will express it : —
lb- T-iiiir* wlial lias never l>ee» told :
U.' iii:iy taii^li" liis song, but 1 tliink I shall guess it
.ISi'i'.iiX' till' luorning is old.
O durk ri'-K'n riviT! O low-singing river!
Ill ni:i with you to the sea :
For yon have a mysteri-. too. to deliver;
1 wonder wlial it cati be '.
The dew-ilix>p[iing ferns on the inarge are a-quivcr
With longing lo teil it to me.
\ott Wngtr tot> long, pn'ttv $tn-am. by the willow,
YoM loiter by ine.id and" lea ;
Aciv's ■ shell wiih a puqile lip down by the billow,
AU SII«d with a mununr for me :
Or evi-r I lie down to sleep on my pillow,
I'll l«<am that song of the sea.
AUGUSTA COOPER BBISTOL. 495
THE WEB OF UFE.
was weary, more than weary on a sultry summer morning,
As I filled life's empty shuttle with duty's iron thread ;
^Though the sum of my achievement all the world should Upld
in scorning,
If the over-soul approveth, I am content," I said.
*If the over and the under and the inner-soul approveth,
The one encircling unity — the central all-in-all,
will sing, despite my faintness, for the sake of him who loveth
The frail things and the tender, the weak things and the small."
^he golden thread of human love, full well had it been proven ;
1 never have forgotten quite the rainbows that it made ;
(ut alas for all the failure of the web when it was woven !
The shame of noting day by day the glowing colors fade.
low my spirit flamed within me I In a grand and frantic fashion,
1 tore the mesh, and trampled on the falsely shining thread :
fill 1 rose serene and patient from the ashes of m^' passion.
And flung the heavy shuttle of reality instead.
trifled not with fancy, and I dallied not for beauty.
And faint as whispering echoes the voice of pleasure rang :
^or me, I only cared to hear the clarion of duty.
And work my rythmic treadles to the trumpet song she sang.
)n that sultry summer morning something held me in its keeping,
For a stupor came upon me, and 1 fancy that 1 slept ;
Jut the web of life went onward in the dreaming and the sleeping,
And my weak hands at the shuttle their rythmic movement kept.
k.ud I thought celestial voices murmured down the ether spaces ;
And angel wings came noiselessly and stirred the summer air ;
Vnd behind a cloud of glory were two loving spirit faces ;
And their talk with one another was a music sweet and rare.
'She cndureth and is faithful" — low and tenderly they spake it —
*'8hc endureth and is patient and she maketh no complaint ;
5he knoweth not the tapestry she weaveth ; let us take it.
And unfold it to her vision, for her spirit groweth faint."
^'Shc prayeth not for pity, but her heart dellghteth ever
In the kindly deed of mercy and the loving sacrifice ;
Then let us gather up the sombre web of her endeavor,
And in the true celestial light, unfold it to her eyes."
Then soft they floated downward, and they spread before my
vision
The web that I had woven, yet had never turned to see ;
43(1 POETS OF \EW JIAMPSffmE.
O tli(! ]iiir|iers and tlie eornpliim that walk the fiekl elysiaD
That iiioineiit must have shouted a song of praise forme!
A iiiiiviTso nionc coiiUl voice my triumph anil my gladness!
For io ! tlic work m\' han<l had wrought in heaviness and coH
Whs not ,i Hoinlire tmcery upon a ground of sadness,
lint lH.-ds of stveetcst Mourn embossed upon a gronndofsohl.
And there witc living roses, and their glowing centers swinging
Were titleil with honey-wine embalming all the summer lir:
And binis with burnished plumage were among the blossoms
singing.
And butterflies on wings of golden flame were rocking there.
Then sudilcnly I wakened with the rapture and the wonder;
And life was ,i;lory ! I liad reail the riddle of its task !
For the gold of lo\e eternal is around, above, and under,
And wliu or what is duty, but love's angel in a mask?
WHAT THE ROSES SAID.
This is what the roses said.
One transcendent summer moming,
Whi'n the light elonds overhead,
llffdU'ss of my mortal scorning,
Di-Huk llie rays of golden red ;
Wlien the wild bird's solemn trill,
Wliort'.the river runneth still,
Filit'«l me with a hungry- dread ;
When my life no tnith could render
Fi>r the world's mistaken s[>lenilor.
When 1 Ihoiight my heart wns dead.
This is what the roses said.
'•Crim!t<.>H leaf and pollen golil,
lk>ru of darkness and the mould.
Every i>erreet leaf and fruitage
Kises from a grave-like rootage :
And the stnmg wild winds that roek n
And tlie (ein|K-sl storms that shock us
And the snows nynyu the lea, —
All ar\' i.vnain guaniutr
Of [wrfection yet to be";
l>eauty more complete
the shadow at its feet :
in'r strtminh anil fairer bloom,
Sweeter breathings of perflime,
LAURA GARLAND CARR. 497
Deep hearts filled with richer balm,
May days more divinely calm,
Fairer reachings into light,
Firmer growth and nobler height ;
Light and peace from shade and strife
Is the paradox of life ;
Loving law and tender spell
In the darkness worketh well."
This was what the roses said,
Shaming all my mortal scorning,
That transcendent summer morning.
When I thought my heart was dead.
rs. Carr is a daaghter of WilllAm Garland, late of Barnstead. Sho was bom
lat town June 27, 1^35. She Is the wife of Mr. N. 6. Carr of Concord, where
' haTe reslde<l the past twenty-five years. Writing with her has been merely a
Ttion from the duties of a verv busy life. Ilcr poetry is read with delight as
»pears trom time to time in various newspapers and magaxlnes. She finds her
intion much in the beauties of nature. Her numbers are harmonious, and
pictures she paints in imagination are true to life and most pleasing. Mrs. Carr
lemplates Uie publication of a volume of her poems at an early day In the future.
IN THE WOODS.
Here on the soft, brown leaves I lie,
Deep in the woodland shade ;
No bit of landscape meets my eye.
Nor one blue gleam from sea or sky.
Nor glimpse of sunlit glade ;
Bough tree tiiinks, towering everj'where,
Hold this broad canopy in air.
Brown branches spread rare pencillings,
Keeping themselves aloof;
And each small leaf that lightly swings
Its own bright bit of beauty brings
To form the dainty roof;
And look whichever side I may,
The silent arches stretch away.
No birds ! no wind ! Uncertain sounds
Come faintly from afar ;
I fancv when we leave earth's bounds,
To walk no more its well-known rounds.
That thus, without a jar.
The murmurs from this old, loved land
Will echo on the heavenly strand.
POETS OF XKW HAMFSHIBE.
How near God is \ I eeem to lie
Witlun his courts to-dmy ;
No givat white throne, exalted high.
No glitteriDg pa^ant, passing by,
To fill me with dismay ;
He walks in qniet thioogfa tbe land.
Touching his works with loi-ing hand.
Tbia tiny vicie close at my feet.
These modest tufts of moas
Ak moulded into forms as neat.
Finished in besuir as complete
As the t^ trees that toss
Tbelr branches ia tbe sammer gale.
And stniL-b loi^ shadows o'er tbe *ale.
0 spiiit of the woodland shade.
Too ziTB me joy to-day !
Toot beauties all my soul invade ;
Tour ijoiet oo my heart is laid ;
Oh. live wiih me, I pray '.
Let me $ttU feel yoor sootiuogs wbra
1 uead tbe jsLmiig walks of men.
WHAT A PITT !
TVy ssaad be^^Je tbe garden gate.
Half biii-ieii in syrit^a snow ;
H'ss Twoe <.-v.>aMs sp — a, steady Aow
Of fcfteo^i bAjt* : twrs sweet and low,
W:u. teai«r i:rllj^ ^e gay spring bods,
5««iiB^ CO bie:|> fK>ai jpcuey vorda
Hec IbMfif ^lai tBEsIi to Klate.
Tte sua ue soak b«bl»i tbe b
Ani s{' iCTVtis U« westeni sky
LAURA QABLAND CABR. 409
Then, swooping low in graceful swings,
We almost feel their fanning wings.
These young folks look not. Arc they blind?
Her small white kitten, full of play.
Climbs up and pushes 'neath her hand,
Accustomed petting to demand ;
Half wondering at the missed caress,
Fuss tangles one long, silken tress,
Pla3's at the fringes of her dress —
Winning no look — then bounds away.
The shadows rise — 'tis getting late —
And meet, half way, the falling light
The stars let down to cheer the night ;
All things have donned a dusky hue ;
The air is chilled with falling dew ;
Still they talk on. It must be true ;
The3''re blind — those people at the gate I
THE WOOD THRUSH.
When, in the pleasant summer days,
I walk through quiet, leafy ways.
From out the woodland, sweet and clear,
A wild bird's song copnes to my ear ;
Flute-like and liquid in its tone^
It has a cadence all its own ;
And 3'et, so plaintive is the sti*ain,
A loneliness, akin to pain.
Steals o'er the heart, and fancy brings
Pictures of solitary things :
Of human hearts, estranged and lone.
Of loves, that live and die unknown.
Of earnest prayers, pleading to heaven
That sin stained squls may be forgiven.
Of lonel}' isles in distant seas.
Of waveless lakes 'mong forest trees.
Of pale faced nuns and convent bells.
And hooded monks in cloistered cells.
O little bird, does sad unrest
Send those wild throbbiugs from your breast?
Do sun and stream and woodland bower
Ne'er cheer you with their magic power ?
Does no glad trill or cheerful note
Stir the soil plumage of your throat?
POETS OF SEW HAJtPSHmS.
I know TOO mate uid build, pach year.
Your tinv aest. and (ledgliDgs rear.
You gather food and drink each day,
Aod p3^ the time in tme bird way ;
But never thus rou seem to me, —
Naught bat a sad, toue bird I see.
A GARDE>'.
Pansies ! O Pansies '. you stand in a row,
Facing one way as it daring a foe ;
Wi^e borjered ops 'round your droll faces gnw.
Was it a bee or bini ? Pray let me know
What angered you so t
Ha. giaiiio'.es ! roar banners are gay.
Flung OD the brwies in scariet amy.
Humming-birvi^ revel among you all day.
Coming anil going ia glad, luippy way.
Willed bI<:tsso[Ds are tbey.
BacfaeiorVbuiioos : you're aQ beuding over.
Linking your bmls with the fragrant sweet-dorer.
LoTe-tD-a-mUt. are you ^eekii^ to cttrer
Your fair retreat from eaL^h marigold lover?
Ah. •t)id can dbcover '.
SaCris bI<x><Ds. 500 are flacnes to the eyc:,
Kisiog ami fiill:!^ a« wind* flatter by,
Brazil Lug the mallows that stand eoylr nigb.
lining their pink and white oii|)a to ibe aky.
Can _vt.xi teU me why?
IVtnoia beds are a-Sntter with wii^
Of NiCtenlies. hou^y-bees. small llyii^ thii^ S
Car&acx<as aoi daisies aiv tied np with stiii^
Verbenas ; »uar purple might rival a kii^s.
Yet to the givond efi^s '
naUia» ami hoQy-hoeb, sCafriy and uH.
Flaaat tltew brood b&NOB wbere the cool d>ad^*
$w««t>petts aoi i.-Ewepen are tKimbing the — r". -
Scortrt-bmas cwioe a bright line throogh tbtn -^
■■.-.-- i(<estrK>i haU '.
Oti-, ■ • us Arbn^ w^nrelnp:
In * the few BMBtTMTs eteep :
W -■ infa, that »> ^Bewt ther ke«p ^
Ue::. • uy tbtll WM» stmp^~
LAUBA GAB LAND CABB. 501
AN APRIL NIGHT.
With a steady rhythmic beat,
Like a thousand fair}' feet,
l^rancing, dancing, all in time upon the roof,
Through the livelong April night.
While the stars were out of sight.
Fell the rain-drops, keeping slumbers all aloof.
I could hear the jolly rout,
As they rushed adown the spout.
Then made off with noisy splutter to the drain.
While no moment, overhead.
Ceased that tinkling, airy tread.
In the coming and the going of the rain.
With what zest the merr}' crew
Drummed a rollicking tattoo
On the old tin pan the boys had left in play ;
Striving each, with tiny might,
To dispel the gloom of night,
Driving visions of the midnight far away.
Once a seeming tearful sob
Set my pulses all a-throb,
And I stared, with dim forebodings, through the room ;
But a gust of misty laughter
Breaking up the sound just after,
301*6 away the dismal fancy none too soon.
By and by the measured flow.
Growing softer, sinking slow,
Lulled and soothed the weaiy tumult in m}' brain ;
Till, half waking, half asleep.
Dream-like scenes around me creep,
Ever changing, ever blending with the rain : —
Mossy banks where violets grow —
I had roamed there long ago ; —
Bosky dells where swelling May-buds shun the sight,
Holding close, in leafy cells.
Rosy tints and woodsy smelL^,
Till the gentle hands that love them biing the light ;
Spreading meadows, green and low,
Where the yellow cowslips grow ;
Racing brooks that babble, babble as they glide.
Sending little jets of spra}'.
In their own delightful way,
Over ever}*thing that dabbles in their tide.
POETS OF XEW HAXPSHIBE.
Now tlie morn conips creeping in.
And tbc daily cures l>egin,
While the baker*s bells are Jangling by the door:
C'loiiils and fandea fade away
Id tlie steady glare of day.
And ttic prosy world moves onivard as before.
A MOrXTAIS PASTURE.
We n>de for miles where pleasant farms
In nimpletl greenness lionnd the tray;
Where, in Ootol*er's ihonsnnd charms,
The many-tin lei] ivoo«1lands lay.
When" orehan) slopes were carpeted
Wiih sliiniiis; ronnds of n-ti and gold,
And shakint: l<ranches overhead
The gleaner's hidden prcseiiee told ;
Wlierv pumpkins gleamed amid the com
That stvxxl at half-mast in the fields.
And turkeys snughl, with loiiks forlorn.
The iK'pping trilics that auluma yields.
Whore hvjts of apples hung to dry.
Or l>rownei1 i!iemse1vi-s on snowy sprea<is
And tipsy si]ns«hes leaned awry.
In mottled bea}is 'ncath sunny sbetls.
And then the n^ad grew steep apace,
W<- i::g-iajrj\>J np the le.lgy hi-ighl,
W|i:io !>s.kwarvi looks were tiimeil
T!te widening view, in shifting light.
The pines gave out a b.i'.my smell.
AihI spii-A- hints of fn>#t-nip|v\i ferns.
Fiv'in every l-ushy. wayside dt-i:.
l"«n>e w»;\:iij: up ^j su.iden tums.
TV i«!h gi\w r.->iicher all the lime:
^ We Jeft tiv !-.u":>'.'.:y puSIle wav.
I'p pastuiv i\>»k# sn.i sirtps i,-i\-:i:ub.
TiU «ll the land Wnesiia us l-v :
._ — trUs »iih itaiobe* plsivd askv*^
t^uwiiO off by ^n»r.v a ran.io-ji wall. ,
With Mrits Af ftiivsi T«BK-.ng thrv-UjiV.-;
' ■"-'- - «ia^iws «vtr aii;
LAUBA GARLAND CABB. 603
Small ponds in sheltered vales reposed,
Streams curved away through shadows dim.
And where the eastern vision closed,
The ocean showed a slender rim.
A cow-bell clanged close at hand,
A blue jay scolded just below,
And lazily, across the land.
Went sailing by a cawing crow.
The horses stood, with manes outshook,
To follow us with startled eyes ;
With homed heads lifted high to look,
The cattle gazed in mild surprise.
The spangled junipers outspread.
Turning our eager steps aside ;
And loose stones tilted 'ncath our tread,
While romping winds our arts defied.
The district schools, as we came down,
Were dining in the open air.
Like basket picnickers from town.
Making bright pictures unaware.
TIIE WAY TO GRANDPA'S.
A well known path across the field.
Round barley lot and through the com,
Here showing clearly, there concealed
By drooping grass, at dewy morn I
The older people walked straight through.
But many curves our young feet knew 1
Out through the barn for just one glance
At swallows flitting to and fro,
At queer black heads, with looks askance,
From out mud nests at us below.
For just one tumble on the hay,
Then off, through back-doors, on our way I
Down by the stone-heap, framed around
With raspb'ry bushes 3'oung and old,
Just there, beneath a rock, we found
A whole ant city in the mould !
'Twas but a step outside the way —
We'd not been there for one whole day !
POSTS OF ySW HAMPSnmE.
Tlien over roDd«r by the ledge.
The blueb'ij bush that stood aJooe
Seemed wooing as with offered pledge
or berries ripe and ToUt grown ;
And close beside, in gnssr rest,
We found ■ tinv q>arrow's oest.
We reached the stile — ■ pleasant place
Beoeaib a spreadii^ maple-tree —
And there we larried long lo trace
The w»rwanl flight of bird and bee,
Ot watch^ the cfaipiDonk rise and fall*
Darting adown the pasture wall.
The p&stoie bars — too wide aod high
For little fingers to oitdo —
Bat maoT creTices were ta^
Wbeiv little Uxms could sidle through.
B^vood. the orchaid. darklr green.
While cat-uil llags grew rank between.
Tbe ganien gate. — the garden gate !
Oa. w« ciraM Dever pass it bj- !
TlMre !i>xlTbt>:k? gxew lall and stia^bt,
Acvi $>««( red tuiMs charmed the eve.
TVre cticruii bssbes. all agktw
Wiih rijwBin^ frniE. were is m low.
AB>i Ht:^ b«TVni the low stooe wvO —
No swweter wiain: e'er was kaon —
We b«ftni a bcuu^iiK'f linfcfirt^ fui
Ajod^ «a«.-fi ai>Ms-«fir«!opciI stame ;
W« £)L>.>wiAi tML. f«r welt we knew
W^re l^^rasc 'wib of pep'auM grew !
TV taMKC w«f rMi.-&ni ! A-^fsa with rad
TV ^efTy~:m» Mwd rond the door ;
Ani jctMii;!^ rocias. o<«r head.
F!a«w»d ami FeTet!«il eb the sSoac ;
WIuI* Bo.'Ci'V EiLBBfK ^vtm fxami^a^A loam
Tt^ iiiiiwBiiij^ itom ifMopes miaa.
Tw»» b«^ a$»— Oh. iomf a^o —
T"ij. *. -wm btfii I ■ hij. o'er ihc way !
a wbcrpwiMd. a«d kKnr
LAUBA GABLAND CABB. 505
SHUT IN.
From the upper shelf, as I just now fumbled
'MoDg the ancient books that it holds in trust,
By a careless move this old reader tumbled,
With its leaves wide spread, and a puff of dust.
And out from between its yellow old pages
Something went scattering over the floor,
With a smell, I thought, like the ^^dust of ages,"
And a look like grass when summer is o'er.
Oh, what did I see as I stooped to gather
The crumbling leaves to their places again ?
Two ga3'est of girls, in the pleasant weather,
Walking and talking in merriest strain ;
Through the dark-green rowen our shade hats trailing,
While the low-down sun blazed up from the west ;
A night-hawk, booming, above us was sailing.
With a golden gleam on his speckled breast.
We were talking of— what? Do 3'ou remember?
No doubt 'twas the chatter of foolish girls
Whose lives were as bright as the fair September,
Whose hearts were as light as the leaf that twirls.
With a graceful move you would oft bend over.
As the willow dips to the river's strand.
And I saw, each time, that a four-leafed clover
Was plucked from its place by your dainty hand.
''You're a witch," I cried, "or a trained magician I
Not once in an age comes one to my view !"
*'Can it be," you said, "a defect of vision?"
And bending down quickly, you picked up two.
With the evening dews on our lengthening tresses.
We slowly went home, while the air grew chill ;
And the drabbly trail of our muslin dresses
Through our happy hearts sent a troubled thrill.
Did you think, as you pressed, in the lamp's dim shining,
.The velvet-green leaves, with a dreamy look,
That your own fair face and that day's declining
Would stay, like the clover, in this old book?
J POETS OF SEW SAMFSHISE.
IN THE ORCHARD.
RobioE. oh. hush ! Quit your tiresome chatter !
T>'bT will you tell each domestic affair?
Bol<oUnks. bobolioks! TMiat is the matter?
Are Tou all crazed by this wiuey May air?
Ho. dancing brook ! racing dovn to the mesidov.
Flashing your silver and calling to me.
Rushing like childhood from euDBhine to shadowt
Wasting your jewels and laughing in glee !
Blossoms white ' blos^ims pink 1 tossing and swingii^t
Flinging the daintiest fr^rance around !
Oh. you bright blooms ! Are your fairy bells rio^.
Tolling out pnfume instead of a sound?
HtMey-bees. bnmMe-hees. plunging all over
Into the nectar! Oh. rapturous sight 1
Out from one's ravished sweet into anolbo's,—
Why don't you die of ecstatic deUgbt !
Ckxitls "noath the sky. idly floating and floadiq;,
Pause ovrrbeski — Ah. I well can guess why—
EUoh Ivwtly Tint tif the apple-trees noting;
IKm'i t«wt to match them, you can't if you ttj.
Reading the Gixvi Boci I learn fit a heaven
lioldcn and pem-decteil. where good folks may ^
^If this is sin may the iboogfat be forgiven) —
Can :i be £ur as this orchanl io Mav ?
BY THE Rr\-ER.
A Trt* bfi>3* jow, in bambie grace.
To ;.r>.->3". r us a dcmble seat ;
Ano I'lvira r.s rcsifui cuire we trace
Tin i'li&TTDS wbc'i« wcod aod river meet'
TVw's AcuYw a linpJe on the stmm.
ThtTf"* (ic*rf« a mnrmor at its brink;
Calmly «>v>»-<. xhe whit* ojonds dream,
Olrai'. is lis df^tti^. tiie shadows ^ik.
Xew b«M>. mw tbetv. a shiner darts,
Kr>*i r,.; ts snrflK* into rings :
Am. »i ^i.T np k«w. a swallow pans
Tbr V < v;.. a^ bngioneBS with iu wii^t—
LAUBA OABLAND CABH. 507
Close to the bank the minnows glide
Where the dark alders cast their shade ;
Or, startled by our steps, they hide
Within their rootlet ambuscade.
Jock breaks the silence with a leap,
And swims out in the cooling tide
Like some black monster of the deep,
Flinging off jewels from each side.
A many-shaded mass of green
Slopes upward from the farther shore,
To where, on highest bough, serene,
A grave crow looks the landscape o'er.
A sparrow trills. An unknown bird
Sends a queer twisted strain along ;
And from the quiet wood is heard
A far-off veery's lonely song.
Hark ! Was not that a hum-bird's whir ?
There — there ! He's gone, tlie flitting sprite !
The lightest leaflets scarcely stir,
Though brushed and fanned by his swift flight.
The earth is glad, the sky is calm,
The flashing waters fair to see ;
And yet, dear love, the day's chief charm
Is that I share its sweets with thee.
LIGHT.
jaid, one mom, "0 earth, j-ou're dull and graj' !
There is no beauty in j'our snow and ice.
Nor fancy frost w^ork, though in quaint device.
m're cold, oh, cold ! You chill me through to-day.
> I as I looked there came a gleam of light.
Straight from the east. The icy fringes blazed ;
Colors and flashes deepened as I gazed,
11 naught but glory met my raptured sight.
laid, one day, "O life, you're little worth —
Made up of toil and care and blighted hope.
With pain and sin and all tlieir ills to cope,
16 day of death is better than of birth."
r'n as I spoke Love put a hand in mine,
And its dear presence drove all gloom away.
As .shadows flee before the dawn of day,
ad life became a heritage divine.
»
i POETS or MPIF muepBBiBB.
OFF!
Each winter sprite is in ft fright,
I heanl tliem talktDg in tbe night.
Their voices thio piped drolly in
Tlirough pauses in tlie March wind's din ;
While soft and low the meltiDg snow
Froiu cuttnge eaves drip dropped below.
"Ho. elves and sprites that delve in snow and ice!
There's something creeping up the southern bills,
Along the air ; I feel its melting tbrills ;
To sleep and death these lulling cftUs entiee.
Let OS awkj !
"I hear the sap low pulsing tn the trees ;
The roolluts stir uneasy in the ground ;
.Sounds, low and restless, come from all around,
And spriug-like murmurs laden every breeze.
Let UB away !
"The streams are turning in their winter beds.
Rending the sheets with which we tucked them in:
The woodi>ei.-ker and all his noisy kin
Drum up the bugs, with scarlet crested heads.
X^ OB away !
"These fickle people, who oft gave their praise
To daiuty marvels that our fingers wrought,
IK-oil us no more. Their fancies all are bought
By the sotX nonsense of spring's coming fa^'S.
Let us away !"
Then Ibo low sound of winds around
(itvw loud and fierce. All word* were drowned ;
Vnh dull tvf^in, against the pane.
The mcltin;: »now was dashed like rain ;
The windows olange^l, the shutters banged,
The shrieking oloUies-reel whirled and wfaanged ;
Then all wa$ still, while clear and shrill
New voices came Ibe pause to fill.
"We are off Ua the fhuen sone !
To a Cvviiiirx tliat's all our own.
Whrt*' ttio >!Kiw autarkies white
'Nwh Uk ■nx nonbem light.
Iba wibiU have a rollicking tone !
LAXmA GARLAND CAHB. 509
*'In that beautiflil region afar,
Ri{]^ht under the famed polar star,
Where the dull Esquimau
Builds his queer hut of snow,
We will laugh oui; our merr}* ha I ha I
"We know where the eider ducks swim
Close up to the world's upper brim,
Where the whales spout and play
In a wonderful way,
And the icebergs sail stately and grim.
"We'll dance on each glittering peak
That echoes the sea-eagle's shriek ;
And the huge polar bear
We will seek in his lair
And ride on his back for a freak.
"Oh ho, like the wild birds we'll fly,
Nor breathe out one whimpering sigh.
In that land far away
For a while we will stay,
But we shall come back by and by."
Again the sound of winds around
Grew loud and fierce. Along the ground.
With motions fleet, like dancing feet.
There seemed a rushing through the street.
Then all was still and calm until
The rosy morn peeped o'er the hill.
A LANE.
Caverns of apple boughs, frescoed with bloom,
Folding you close in a dainty perflime ;
Half a score bobolinks, crazy as loons.
Giving you scraps of a hundred glad tunes ;
Orioles, rolling out tones of delight.
Shaking the leaves as the}' flash through the white ;
Cat-birds a-mocking fVom over the wall.
Making the alders resound at each call ;
Buzzing old bees that turn work into play.
Canning up sweets for some dull winter day ;
Soft, dripping waters the log trough o'erflow,
Dark'ning the mosses close crowded below ;
Wondering cows, looking up as they drink,
510 POETS OF NEW HAMFSHIBE.
Plashing its brightness across the low brink ;
Sweet growing things creeping up to the sight;
Fair, flying creatures too gay to alight ;
Far-away glints of a cowslip-flecked green,
When the boughs swaj*, come like visiona between.
Winding and turning, you follow the lane,
Flickering sunbeams a-falling like rain.
Where are 30U wandering? Never you heed.
When wa3s are pleasant, why ask where they lead?
Mrft. Wbeeler. of Pittsfleld, U a danrhter of the late WUUam Gariaad of Ba
stead. She is the vifc of I>r. John Wheeler. Her poetry, like that of ber fUl
lira. Laura Garland Carr, is of a Idgh order and Tcry beautifaL
APPLE BLOOMS.
A child went bounding through the rooms
And left a door ajar.
Through which a smell of apple blooms
Came wafted from afar.
A cabinet long locked from me,
Within this soul of mine.
Sprang o[>en, without hand or key,
At that sweet countersign ;
And many a quaint memento there.
With scraps of old delight.
Forgotten songs and pictures rare.
Surprised my inward sight.
A bunch of violets, white and blue,
A brook with grassy brink.
The sound of waters tangled through
With notes of bobolink ;
A shadow on the grass below,
A blackbird's scream above ;
Ho|>e-bubbles, burst so long ago,
And morning dreams of love.
With curious eyes I turned them o'er.
Till others sought my room ;
Then shut ihom all away once more
Close-locked to apple bloom.
MABT H, WHEELEB. 511
SATURDAY NIGHT.
I sat at my window and listened,
At the close of a summer day,
To the soothing strains of music
In the church across the way.
The solemn tones of the organ
Came swelling upon the breeze,
Then floated away into silence,
Like the wind in the tops of the trees.
Then a single voice rose softly,
And its pleading was like a prayer,
^ And my heart went forth to join it,
As it throbbed through the evening air.
Grandly the swelling voices
Were blent in the chorus, and then
A far-off whispering echo
Repeated its soft ''amen."
It came like a benediction
At the close of the summer day,
And I thanked God for the music
In the church across the way.
A SERENADE.
When the dim twilight with evening was blending,
Wearily sought I my dream-haunted bed,
Hoping kind sleep, in the darkness descending,
Softl}^ might soothe the dull pain in my head ;
Was I but dozing, or had I been sleeping,
When the soft prelude so sweetly was played ?
Under my window, all silently creeping.
Somebody sang me a sweet serenade :
^'All is still, all is still,
Whippoorwill, whippoorwill
Sings to thee, sings to thee, sings to thee."
Over the hill-tops the slow moon was creeping.
While the pale stars twinkled on ever bright ;
In at my window the woodbine was peeping,
Shining with dew-drops — the gems of the night.
Silently stood the old wind-attuned willow.
Never a breeze bore its whispers along ;
512 POSTS OF NEW HAMFSHIRE.
Lying at esse on the rest-giving pillow
I saw not the singer, I beard but the song :
^* Night is still, night is still,
WhippoorwiU, whippoorwill
Sii^ to thee, sings to thee, siogs to thee.**
Qniddj all fears and all phantoms of sorrow,
All the vexations and cares of the day.
All the forebodings that shadowed the morrow.
Spread their dark pinions and floated away.
Thankful to Him whose kind loTe, nerer ending,
Formed earth in beaat j and gave eyes to see ;
Tears of sweet gratitude, softly deao^iding.
Answered the song one was singing to me :
**Slee[Mng still? sleeping still?
Whippoorwill, whippoorwill
Sings to thee, sings to thee, sings to thee.**
A PLEA.
They tell as that oar Granite State,
With climate cold and stem.
Where sullen winter lingers late
And hastens his return.
Its stubborn and unfertile soil
With racks and stones replete.
But half repays the farmer*s toil.
In crops of com and wheat.
They point us to the prairied west.
Where rich« exhaustless lands
Are with luxuriant verdure dressed,
Untilled by toiling hands.
They tell us of vast fields of grain
That need but to be sown.
And neck-high grasses on the plain.
But waiting to be mown.
And if the one aim of our days
Were, with least work and care.
The largest crops of grain to raiae,
"Twiere well to hasten there ;
To leave New £ngland*s stooy lands.
The fields our fathers blest.
Our churches^ schools and hooaehold bandst
For prairies of the west.
MARY n, WHEELER. 513
But industrj' and enterprise
And self-denying toil,
Contrivance, which man here applies
In conquering the soil,
Make conquest of far more than land
In strength and manliness ;
While mountain landscapes, bold and grand,
The character impress.
And in our winters, long and cold,
That chain us half the year.
Affection's warmer depths unfold,
And home becomes more dear.
Then let the west produce its grain,
The boast of tongue and pen,
The south its cotton and its cane,
New Hampshire raises men.
MY GRANDMA'S LOOM.
Coming from school by the summer path.
Across the pasture ledge,
And the clover field, in aftermath,
Beyond the alder hedge,
From the hill I heard the merry sound
Of flails on the threshing floor.
And running on, with a skip and bound.
Was soon at grandpa's door.
Away went ni}' dinner-pail, with a jump
I hurried across the room.
And up the stairs to the rattle and thump
Of grandma's busy loom.
Back and forth the shuttle flew,
And the woof was beaten in.
And the figures on the fabric grew
To the changing treadle's din.
To right and left my grandma bent,
And the shuttle straight she threw.
Which seemed, as I looked with eyes intent,
An easy thing to do.
And I thought if I had but a loom of my own-
A play-loom that would go.
In my play-house, I would weave alone
A web all as white as snow.
n
POETS OF XSW HAMPSHIRE.
And then I had a loom of my own,
A pl:iy-kH:»m all complete.
And up and down ibe threads were thrown
As 1 eharigt-ti mr little feet.
Ai:.i oh. sulL a wondrous web there grew
As wsis never seen Wrore.
Wi::; pictures of grain and grandpa, too.
A:".d :l:e iails and the lhreshin:z-floor.
A Iw a^vi cirl in a jinx»ve at plav,
A f.eld and a dock of sheep :
A:..: ::ie"^ 1 iiear.i my grandma say.
■•Wlv. :iie cb.;l.i :s fast asleep !"
T..a: w;^s a drv-ani ^u: since years have fluwn-
A-i!?. -•. I :l:iu.k I can see
T.a: :ctr^ w^.* :r..ie^ri a '..vm of mv own.
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MABT H, WHEELER. 515
'* Where ! where ?" cried his wife. *'In the orchard," said he ;
**I have dreamed it all out — it is under a tree,
A brown earthern pot that is mouldy and ohi,
And tilled to the brim with red guineas of gold."
The^' breakfasted lightly, nor longer delayed,
fiut rushed to the orchard with pickaxe and spade ;
Jiis wife called out brisklv, ''Now which is the tree?'*
J-Ie scratched his wise head — ''Blest if 1 know," said he.
* 'I thought I should know it," he hastened to say ;
*-'We must dig till we find it; there's no other waj*."
Sut his wife was disheartened, for, little and big,
""-There were two hundred trees under which they might dig.
"Then down went the pickaxe and up came the soil,
•^Save the roots," cned his wife, "or the trees you will s[X)\\ I
*'Let them go," said the farmer, " 'tis little the}* bear,"
"But as he dug deeper he gave them more care.
-From morning till evening he delved with a will.
And the next setting sun found him digging there still ;
And the neighbors who soon had got wind of the matter.
Came watching around him with unwelcome clatter.
And so week after week he kept heaping up mould,
Till the trees were all circled, but no pot of gold ;
Then the neighbors with jests and with jibes made it jolly,
And the orchard— they called it "Old Tompkins' folly."
Now the months rolled awa}' and the spring came about.
And the leaves and tlie blossoms were all coming out ;
When the song of the robin was loud on the breeze,
Xhen our farmer's wife called him to look at his trees.
S*uch a burden of bloom had ne'er gladdened his eye,
"Y'et he turned from the view with a crestfallen sigh ;
ut the pink petals fell and the green ap[)les grew,
uch a wonderful yield that the neighbors looked, too.
y August our fanner so busy was found,
i'opping fruit-laden branches that drooped to the ground,
hat his whim was forgotten — he never once thought
7o look for the treasure which lately he sought.
utr by and by, when the nice apples were sold,
ie remembered again how he dreamed of the gold ;
n€l he said, "Though this tillage is wearisome toil,
liere is gold for the digging in most any soil."
f»
POSTS or NEW HAMPSHIBE.
WAR-SONG OF KANCAMAGUS.
(June, 1689.)
At the old fort in Fennacook
The Indian sacbems met,
An insult had been given
Which no red man could forget.
Sir Kdmnnd had attacked their friend
And plundered without lair.
And in the solemn council
Each voice had been for war.
Ignoring former treaties, —
Which their allies ne'er sustained —
Of slight, and fraud, and falsehood.
And unfairness, they complained.
Their mutual accusations
Made a list both dark and long;
And each could well of insult tell.
And individual wrong.
The council had declared for war.
And formal invitation
Had been to all the warriors given,
According to their station.
And now in circles seated,
With the chiefs and braves wtthio.
The stern-facei.1 red men waited
For the war.dance to begin,
Then up rose Kanca magus,
And fen»cious was his air ;
Iliph up he swung his hatchet.
And his brawny arm was bate ;
The eagle's feather trembled
In his soalp-liK-k as he sang.
And far across the Uerrimack
The Lihlian's war-song rang.
-War: War: Lift up the hatchet!
Krini; scalping knife and gun.
Am) Jn^e ao [«sl to fool or breast
Till warfxiv is belTun :
LuxA !> : ■ n 'be braves are gathered
Likt' : . ouds before a flood !
K^r n/.tagns' tomahawk
ftU iiliirst for blood '
MARY H, WHEELEB, 517
M3' fathers fought the Tarratines,
And the Mohawks fierce and strong,
And ever on the war-path
Their whoop was loud and long.
And Kancamagus' daring,
And feats of vengeance bold,
Among the Amariscoggins
Have been full often told.
Will the warrior's arm be weaker.
And will his courage fail,
When in gi'ounds well known he shall strike for his own,
And his people's foe assail?
Will the son of Nanamocomuck
Stand trembling, like a squaw,
When the sagamores around him
Are all hungering for war?
War ! War ! The foe are sleeping.
And the scent of blood is sweet.
And the woods about Cocheco
Await the warrior's feet !
From silent ambush stealing,
We will capture, sla}* and burn.
Till those plundering, cheating English
Shall the red man's vengeance learn I
Their chiefs about Piscataqua
Refused my proffered hand ;
The bad whites at Cocheco
By treachery took our band,
They have treated us like reptiles,
But the red man's da}- is nigh :
On Kancamagus' wigwam pole
Their blood}* scalps maj^ dry !
I am eager as the hunter
When the fleet deer is in sight,
And the arrows in my quiver
Are all trembling for the flight !
War ! War ! Lift up the hatchet !
Bring the scalping-knife and gun I
The shade of Nanamocomuck
Shall glory in his son !
POETS OP IfBW BAMFSmBE.
SONG OF THE FBOG.
Brothers, brothers io the mire,
Long-tailed tailpolea, frt^s entire.
Come up from the mad below !
Hark, again the waters flow !
Hibernating daja are o'er,
W« maj swim and sing once more.
Brothers, brothers, hear my call 1
Come up quickly, one and all !
On the banks of pools o'erflowing.
Green, oh ! green the reeds are growing,
And the zoospores, set free,
Whirl around and ronnd with glee.
Brothers, lo ! the days are loi^.
Time it is to raise our song !
Twilight, ling'ring in the b<^.
Listens for the voice of frogs.
Shall fair Spring commence her rogn
Inannounced by our refirain?
Brothers, of Batrachian race.
From grt^at sires our blood we trace t
But alas ! for glorj- gone
'With the labvrinthodoD \
Ah I Aw singing was no joke.
Now we only croak and croak.
Brothers, br**thers, our hearts still
Fwl th-f great ancestral tbrilt :
This i* whv in our veins How
Eloixt .list's of suoh size, yoa koow.
Bui iti^ fugue we sing so late.
Is for rac« dtgvnerate.
Crlia riiaxtrr.
E, .,..,.„,1.™~ """
■ •( Vtr M*.s ilk tta (•■««»* ^
t-Ib. *i» t- <™pfta[*c»Bj- W »— ':^
CELIA THAXTEn. 519
THE WRECK OF THE POCAHONTAS.
I lit the lamps in the light-house tower,
For the sun dropped down and the day was dead,
They shone like a glorious clustered flower, —
Ten golden and five red.
Looking across, where the line of coast
Stretched darkly, shrinking away from the sea,
The lights sprang out at its edge, — almost
They seemed to answer me !
O warning lights, burn bright and clear !
Hither the storm comes I Leagues away
It moans and thunders low and drear, —
Bum till the break of day !
Good night ! I called to the gulls that sailed
Slow past me through the evening sky ;
And my comrades, answering shrilly, hailed
Me back with boding cry.
A mournful breeze began to blovw
Weird music it drew through the iron bars,
The sullen billows boiled below,
And dimly peered the stars ;
The sails that flecked the ocean floor
From east to west leaned low and fled ;
They knew what came in the distant roar
That filled the air with dread !
Flung by a fitful gust, there beat
Against the window a dash of rain :—
Steady as tramp of marching feet
Strode on the hurricane.
It smote the waves for a moment still.
Level and deadly white for fear ;
The bare rock shuddered, — an awful thrill
Shook even my tower of cheer.
Like all the demons loosed at last.
Whistling and shrieking, wild and wide.
The mad wind raged, while strong and fast
Rolled in the rising tide.
And soon in ponderous showers, the spray.
Struck from the granite, reared and sprung
And clutched at tower and cottage gray.
Where overwhelmed they clung
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
Half drowning to the naked rock ;
But still burned on the faithrul light,
Nor fftltered at the tempest's shock.
Through all the Tearful night.
Was it in vain ? That knew not we.
We seemed, in that oonfUsion vast
or rushing wind and roaring sea.
One point wfaereon was cast
The whole Atlantic's weight of Jbrine.
Heaven help the ship should drift our miy!
No m$ttter how the light might shine
Far OD into the day.
When morning dawned, above the din
Of gate and breaker b.x>med a gun I
Another ! We who aat wittiin
Answered with cries each one.
Into each other's eyes, with fear.
We looked through helpless tears, as still*
One after one. near and more near,
The signals pealed, until
The thick storm seemed to break apart
To show us. stai^ering to her grave.
The fated brig. We had no heart
To loc4;. for naught could save.
One glimpse of black hull heaving slow.
Then clo>$ed the mists, o'er canvaa toria
And tangltil ropes swept to and fro
rtvtm masis that raked fori<»ii.
We^'ks after, yet ringed nMmd with spra^' -*
Our island lay. and none might land ;
TVm^ blue the waters of the bay
StT«icbed calm on eilber hand.
CELIA THAXTEn. 521
Then I looked the whole horizon round, —
So beautiful the ocean spread
About us, o'er those sailors drowned !
"Father in heaven," I said, —
A child's grief struggling in my breast, —
''Do purposeless thy children meet
Such bitter death ? How was it best
These hearts should cease to beat?
O wherefore ! Are we naught to Thee ?
Like senseless weeds that rise and fall
Upon thine awful sea, are we
No more then, after all?"
And I shut the beauty fVom my sight,
For I thought of the dead that lay below ;
From the bright air faded the warmth and light,
There came a chill like snow.
Then I heard the far-off rote resound.
Where the breakers slow and slumberous rolled.
And a subtle sense of*Thought profound
Touched me with power untold.
And like a voice eternal spake
That wondrous rhythm, and, "Peace be still!"
It murmured, "bow thy head and take
Life's rapture and life's ill.
And wait. At last all shall be clear."
The long, low, mellow music rose
And fell, and soothed my dreaming ear
With infinite repose.
Sighing I climbed the light-hous^ stair.
Half forgetting my grief and pain ;
And while the day died, sweet and fair,
I lit the lamps again.
A TRYST.
From out the desolation of the north
An iceberg took its wa}- ,
From its detaining comrades breaking forth,
And travelling night and day.
At whose command ? Who bade it sail the deep
With that resistless force ?
POETS OF XEW mutPsmaE.
Wbo made tbe dread appoiDtmeat it must ke«p?
Who traced its awful course?
To the Trarm airs that etir in the sweet south,
A ^ood ^bip spread her sails ;
Stalely she passed beyond the harbor's mouth
Chased by the favoriog gales ;
And on her ample decks a happy crowd
Bade the fair laud good-by ;
Clear shone the day. with not a single tdood
In all the peaceful sky,
Brave men. sweet women, little children hright.
For all these she made room.
And with her freij;bt at heautj- and delight
She went to meet her doom.
$tonns buffeted the ic^beig. spray was swept
Aeniss its lofiiest height :
Guidixi alike by storm and calm, it kept
Itf fatal paLb aright.
Then warmer wares gnawed at its cramhling l»a*«<
,\s if ill p:"eous plea ;
Tbe atvleiil sun fienl slow lean down its face.
Soft flowing lo the sea.
Dawn k:s$e<.i it with her tender rose tints. Eve
BaiUe-i it iu violet.
Thi" «i>tfii' color o\^r it seemed to grieve
Wiih a diviiie regret.
WlietbfT Day elail its defte in rainbows dim
And sha.iowy as a dri-am.
Or Nii-h; ihri->a^h lonely spaces saw it swim
Wbiie in tie moonli^l's gleam.
Ever Death nvle npcm its solemn heists.
Ever his waioh he kept :
Cold at its hexn thrxMigh changing days athi nwiif
!l* cliang¥iess piupose slept.
And wbeiv afar a smiling OMst it passfd,
" , ' airp-i- ciili;
ibmctt ;^<«^v ^vi-j a bitttf hlasl.
re[K->rt of ilL
iw^^nal mttnre. nMm&g slo*.
' widi matcUtss grace,
CELIA THAXTEB. 523
The stately ship, unconscious of her foe,
Drew near the trysting place.
For still the prosperous breezes followed her.
And half the voj'age was o*er ;
In man}' a breast glad thoughts began to stir
Of lands that lay before.
And human hearts with longing love were dumb,
That soon should cease to beat,
Thrilled with the hope of meetings soon to come,
And lost in memories sweet.
Was not the weltering waste of water wide
Enough for both to sail?
What drew the two together o'er the tide,
Fair ship and iceberg pale ?
There came a night with neither moon nor star.
Clouds draped the sky in black ;
With fluttering canvas reefed at every spar,
And weird fire in her track.
The ship swept on ; a wild wind gathering fast
Drove her at utmost speed,
bravely she bent before the fitful blast
That shook her like a reed.
O helmsman, turn thy wheel ! Will no surmise
Cleave through the midnight drear?
!No warning of the horrible surprise
Reach thine unconscious ear ?
She nished upon her ruin. Not a flash
Broke up the waiting dark ;
Dull}' through wind and sea one awful crash
Sounded, with none to mark.
Scarcely her crew had time to clutch despair.
So swift the work was done :
Kre their pale lips could frame a speechless prayer.
They perished, every one !
SORROW.
Upon my lips she laid her touch divine.
And merry speech and careless laughter died ;
SJlie fixed her melancholj' eyes on mine.
And would not be denied.
POETS OF XEW HAJirsmsg.
1 saw the west-wind loose his clomlleU white
In flocks, i-areeriiig thruugb tlie April skv,
I couUI not sing, though joy was at Us height.
For she stood silent by.
I watched the lovely evening fade away ;
A mist was lightly drawn across the stars;
She bn^ike my qui^t dream. I hcanl her say
"Behold your prison bars !
"Earth's gladness shall not satisfy your sonl.
This I>e!iiity of the world in which yoa Hve,
Tlie crowning grace that sanctifies the wbole,
That, I alone can give."
1 h*'ari and shrank away from her a^id.
But ^till she held me and would stilt abide :
Youth's l.<oua>ling pulses slackened and obeyed,
With slowly ebbing tide.
"Lix>k thou beyond the evening star," she sai<I,
"Beyond the changing splendors of the day ;
Acce(>C the [^ain. the weariness, the dread,
Acv-epi and bid me stay !'
1 ttirtied and cla^>etl her close with sadden strei^h.
And siow'.y. sweetly. I [•ecame aware
Within toy anus God's angel stowl at length.
White-robed and calm and fair,
Ani now I :>,vk beyond the evening star.
IV'ji nd cje cl.;nig!Qg splendor? of the day.
Knowin;: ;;ie pain He sen<ls more precious far.
More-'-eauiiml. tiian thev.
Osrat Laig^ton.
-«■! ii: hi* L* ■!»>;* (ir u the kW* ot SlwiJfc kartv
ir, Mr*. C<<u nuLi'wr. ic wuu Itlasd. wten ibrb t
wiT '■1A3HD jtar' ■.'M iMt'nv Iw lUtnnl Uk Bualud
SONG.
;f tio^scms kiss h«r f««.
le -Ji so sweeC
^a--> may not fcis* her hand.
uic wild iUfw«ri ia tint lauki.
OSCAR LAIGHTON, 525
Soft sunshine falls across her breast,
She is so blest.
I'm jealous of its arms of gold,
O that these arms her form might fold !
Gently the breezes kiss her hair,
She is so fair.
Let flowers and sun and breeze go by, —
O dearest ! Love me or I die.
SONG.
Sweet wind that blows o'er sunny isles
The softness of the sea.
Blow thou across these moving miles
News of my love to me.
Ripples her hair like waves that sweep
About this pleasant shore ;
Her eyes are bluer than the deep
Round rocky Appledore.
Her sweet breast shames the scattered spray
Soft kissed b}- early light :
I dream she is the dawn of day
That lifts me out of night !
AT SUNSET.
Come thou with me, dear love, and see the day
Die on the sea, and o'er the distant land
This last faint glow of twilight fade away.
The while I hold in mine thy gentle hand.
The lessening light gleams on j'on leaning sail ;
Slowly the sun has sunk be^'ond the hill.
And sombre night in silence draws her veil
Over us two, and everything grows still.
Save when the tide, with constant ebb and flow
Of wandering waves that greet the steadfast shore,
Flashes fair forms of foam that falling throw
Their ardent arms round rocky Appledore.
Faint, like a dream, comes the melodious cry
Of far-otf wild fowl calling from the deep ;
The ros}' color leaves the western sky.
Over the waves are spread the wings of sleep.
52G
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
Silent a meteor falls iuto the night,
Sweeping its silver shower across the stars ;
Low down Arcturus sinks with waning light.
High in the east climbs up the shining Mars.
And whispering by us with a silent kiss
Comes the sweet south wind o'er tbe slumbering »«.
Tbou dearest ! can such perfect joy as tbis
Be always mine, to drift through life with thee?
HER SHAWL.
Dearest, where art thou? In tbe silent room
I find this wonder of some foreign loom.
Thy silken shawl, whose lines of loveliness
The matchless beauty of thy form caress.
Delicate raiment, shall I dare infold
All these warm kisses mid thy threads of gold?
Oil, hold them close her icy heart above,
Melting its winter into summer's love !
Beneath her coldness fonder still I grow.
As violets bloom along the edge of snow.
Tbrough my sad heart there drills a hope divine
0*er seas storm-swept shall softer mornings sbin<5'«
So love ma^* dawn for me while at thy feet
1 wait, and kiss thy garment's hem, my sweet.
Wiaxxtxi l^obert (KTortiranc.
Kcv. W. R. Cochrane, son of Hon. Robert B. and Elizabeth (Warren) Co^^TJ^
was bom in New Boston, Auff. SS, 1835. I>oln9 his beat in a very honble^ ^c«i
schotil, atlerwards by **boanIinff himself" at select schools here and there* ^ t>^
tfy Franccstown Acadeniv to flnlah fitting for college, and was nradoatcd a^^n^Ht
m<»ath in the class of 1850. He was twice electe<l tutor in sabi college, i^^^ W
<*Apacity he served till prevented bj falling health. Then Mr. Cocbnne^V*^ §fA
a timc teacher of a Higli School. He was licensed to preach bv tlie T^f/^^We"^
Manchester Af^sodation, April 10, 1866. After preaching In several places, a^* jaii-
health wuold allow, he began service with the Presbyterian church, AntniO* gj^
1, 1868, and coniinues pastor of the same. The poems of Mr. CochraDe ^t^^)U^
peared occasionally for many years in the pai>ers— chiefly the CongngtOOY^s
He gave the poem at the centennial of New Boston, July 4, 186S.
poem at the semi-centennial reunion of Francestown Academy.
A HOME MISSION HYMN.
•'In all the world," the Saviour cries,
In everj' clime and kin,
Where man in chains of error dies,
Or lives in chains of sin ;
WABBEN BOBEBT COCUBANE, 527
*'To every creature preach my Word ;"
And shall not that command
With first obedience be heard,
For friends and native land ?
Shall not our golden western gates
By holy feet be trod ?
And rising homes and forming states
Be trained to worship God ?
Can we the hills of glory reach
Through grace the Master gave,
If men of the same land and speech
We do not try to save ?
Oh I giving wealth and toil and care,
Let each beseech the skies
Till covered with its cloud of prayer
Our nation's incense rise I
Till truth shine from each western height,
And from each eastern dome,
And Christ in all his love and light
^ Reach every heart and home !
THANKS FOR THE YEARS.
These quiet 3'ear8 ! These quiet years !
From worldly hopes and worldly fears,
And Fortune's glittering snares apart ;
So close to nature's smile and heart ;
Sweet, noiseless, peaceful, near the shore,
Yes, O my Father, o'er and o'er
I thank thee for these quiet 3'ears I
These saddened years I These saddened years !
Pains, partings, sins — so much for tears !
So many failings that I mourn,
So many loved ones fVom me torn.
The griefs of others on me pressed ;
Yes, Lord, since thou hast thought it best,
I thank thee for these saddened years !
These toilsome years I These toilsome years !
Whose work J like sunlight, disappears
Awhile ; the toil of heart and mind
To help the weak, to lead the blind,
To guide the strong with zealous care ;
POSTS OF NEW HAMP8HIBB.
Yes, Lord, in many an eamest prayer
I tliank thee for these toilsome years !
Thcfte hoppy years ! These h«ppy years !
Tile hand that helps, the love that cheers,
Blessing each day ; and all the while
A Father's unabated smile ;
Fast friends and saintly fellowships ;
Yes, blessed Lord, with reverent lips
1 thank thee for these happy years !
These hopeful years ! These hopeflil years 1
Arched over them thy bow appears,
And in its radiant lines I see
Thy promises of love to me —
Home, rest with Christ forevermore ;
Yos, O my Father, o'er and o'er
1 thank thee for these hopeful yearg !
THE MORNING CALL.
How well I remember long ago
A voice at my chamber calling, ,
When shining over the hills of snow
The light of morn was falling !
How gladly I think of his whitened head.
And his hair so thin and curly.
As he said to us scampering off to bed,
•■I'll call you bright and early !"
And never he failed to call us so,
Wlmtever his work or worry ;
And down to the glowing hearth below
We rnshed. half-dressed, in a Imrry !
And oh ! what a welcome there we had,
A troop of laughing faces ;
And the old round table looked so glad
Whon we all got into our places !
Now the father who called us, old and wsn.
Is m-ar to a dee|MT sluml>er,
An.l into Ihe silent land are gone
Most of Ihat liappy number.
But a tenderer Father, who never sleeps.
Sees all in their night robes hidden ;
And over each narrow cbnmber keeps
His Cwlietly watdi unbidden !
WARREN ROBERT COCHRANE. 520
And out of thai slumber's deeper thrall,
Since He Himself decreed it,
We shall hear the sound of his morning call,
And hurry, as then, to heed it !
And gladder than ever we were before.
Where toil and death could sever,
We expect to meet on the other shore.
And part no more forever !
Then forth to labor I wend my way,
No toil that He gives me hating.
Till sunset gold or evening gray
Shall end my weary waiting.
And '*down to sleep" I consent to go,
No marks of my chamber scorning.
Because my Father in heaven, I know,
Will wake us in the morning !
NEAR.
I feel so blessedly near at times.
As to question which it may be ;
My poor spirit to heaven that climbs.
Or heaven that comes to me.
I catch the air of the flowery land
And the odors so sweet it brings ;
And fancy my wondering face is fanned
By the sweep of the angels' wings.
I can almost see the beautiful throng
In their high and holy mirth ;
And breathe the notes of the heavenly song,
Though I never could sing on earth.
Only a step — a veil between
The dark and the light, so thin.
That we who are walking the outward scene
In a moment may pass within.
And then, I know, will my vision be free.
And my ej'cs no more be dim.
When He who so ollen has come to me.
Shall call me away to Him.
And then I shall see how the heaven that lies
So near, should be yet unseen ;
For the light was too brilliant for earthly eyes
Without a veil between.
POETS OF XEW luytPsuntE.
3ulia Van Xrss £J!31)tppIf-
Vr*. Wft'rpU; 1) tb>' ronn^st 'Unchierfrihc lad
.>^._..< « .. .. .■^,.„[ ji_ ji_ ■f_ iSuii. lurmerlT .. ..
r>'I MJ.'t Uratril N.\i. T..I^uis. lurmerly ijfthc army. On her m-iibet'
_. (allur'tlf'l Hbim sho wai liDi ilnv« veartii
'I »tiiT A tin vihin bi-t mi'ih^ vat nuirtril bi Il>>n. Cliarlei U. rrs.^l««. v
!>. Wtlpplv ■»( X\^f fiMe but
iNnibni !•( Vttti lent I1«n-c. Mn. WUiipk wat iiurrtv<l at the a» nt tenabw
- • - "■-— > ■-' •- bHDt Id Now Mean*. WM
:*-ihn« ii'ai* >•( ajv bcr hu«l>aD-i >U-^1, loavlDC ol. .
■b.ilLuU.ti'OMatr'wr'.ENoir YorkOIT. Fium l<tIJ E>i litM Hri. Wni|.;>lf v.
>tuiTv-I o<E*:<lvrt.'^r ni>''':s:'. B a an f l< ^^itl'iqe^it an'l ■'bat*peariaan«<ln,*biii
K-1 livr fi ntln^
PEARLS.
■'battpearia
O pear's, fair pearls of the deep Mae »ca,
Kml'-imi of ijiotless puritv.
WUlie as liie ^^ul of a sp<Jt[es3 cLild.
I*urv ai! t'je tu«ii;:!its of a maiden mild,
CU'ar. fn,;ii naih i\-^a of stain or daw.
As ci:e rv'V^s of white wingetl angels are :
Gen; of iieaven ! t.hoitiLi horn iu the sea,
lu ■.I;\- Ki'.c'aless pi:rit_v. i.-hoseQ to be
S*; tor ;^e zates of tLiat oitv bright.
Wi;.re :Le g'.on- of G.>1 U tlie only light.
Wiitre ia^.^ of tU-j twelve great gates will be
Ore I'ear'.. tf * ir^sslng pun:y.
Ovuii;:^ wlis for "Liat happy band
w -o s;.ii.l vs:ir ia :■:■ tie promised Iao*l.
T.;o >tew Jiir'-sa"«:ai.^!ev^'fce'.l as a briJe
For ;1.^ '^os-^ wji..> have f 'Llowe-i -The Crncifie-I."
W";.- l^iv; ■■:■.—..: ;he igi; and kept the fa'th."
Atv ■.!;*.:.tf:v: f.'r^.vtr^iore tj-jm death.
W'^^.- oa:^ ::^ ■. V 7=:'- rw inow or E>aia or fear.
Fn.':r w'o.'st; i vis ii.>i wipes the last sad tear.
A::-.; «!;■• -.; :^c : ri.^^^oe of hearen's iReat Kinz.
T'-<'j: .ji.i:..< . ' v:v:,,r7 asri praise shaU sing.
O ■.:■,:■■:. - J.: 'ivi ,f ;i.e ^v^r lies! '.
My VTv.: •:x:', '■■.^■-<- f t :j.y pea.,v aci*i rest.
^^ ;.7v \, j-.i: j-^..; ya^lTiT* ^aa oosie no more.
W;,;-- c:';i::*ti.- fT'.-ci la^.- liyji ;.ie iuat shaii be
Tii I\a.-;» .-f Gvxi ii E«r-"-.v.
Ttii: VOICE AMIP THE TREES.
As t k; Vesiiie a:y wji.-ow.
Ott t^<S «U3UI«£ «TU JQ t*iT,
JULIA VAN NESS WHIPPLE. h:\\
Oft I hear amid tbe stillness
Whisperings, borne upon the air,
Gentl}' swelling — and then dying
Mid the leaves on yonder tree,
Sweet the words, though mostly sad ones,
That the}' whisper unto me.
Softly sighing — now it brings me
Cherished memories of the past,
Sunny childhood's happy houi*s,
Girlhood's joys, too bright to last.
Dear loved voices, long since silent,
Seem to speak again to me.
As I listen to the murmuring
In the leaves of yonder tree.
As it speaks, m}* tears are falling
For the dearly loved and gone,
And the shadows seem to darken
Tliat across my path are thrown.
Still 3*our whispering oh sad voices,
Mid the leaves of yonder tree,
If you bring with 3'ou no healing
For those memories sad to me.
Hark ! again the voice is speaking.
Soft, and gently sweet *tis now.
And methinks the wings of angels
Gently Ian my burning brow.
Why so grieving, so despairing?
Why so weary on thy road ?
Tliink, oh child, thy path of sorrow
Is to bring thee nearer God.
Dry thy tears for the departed,
And mourn not for the living dead,
Strong and firm be in thy duty.
Follow where thy Saviour led.
When sad memories cling around you,
Meet them not with murmuring sigh,
Listen to the voice that's with you,
Saying — ''Fear not — it is I."
Thus it is those gentle voices.
Mid the leaves of yonder tree.
On this soft, sweet summer evening,
Have been whispering unto me.
FOETS OF NEW HAMPSHtRB.
^arai) jH. Market.
la Sanh M. Parkirr. ilHUKliler of
oUwT ilutlca, KhB hat W-
IDC of the UUIe cliUdrei
mil Marin A. Puter. wistnm
CT llfi- n-ns eoinevrAnt ou'iiiilcl Ln sirboot (eidilnf . <
If Mllfonl, when! for fouruyn year*. 1b ci>nm!sli.>ii m
ignscil 111 tbe mucb loFed work of Sumliy Srliual tor
GOSPEL BELLS.
Gospel bells are sweetly ringing,
llessagcB of love they're bringing
That will set our hearts to singing ;
Happy bells !
IIow tlie Lord of life and glory
Seoks the sinner, lost and lowly,
This it tells.
List the bell of invitation.
Culling every tribe and nation,
To the waters of salvation, —
Hear it tell,
"Come, tlie foiinlnin faileth never;
Come, and drink, and live forever,
Blessed bell!
Slighted is the invitation,
IjO, the bell expostulation,
Sendeth forth its exhortation
'•Why, O, wliy.
Still His love and mercy spurning?
To the fountain quick be turning ;
Will ye die?"
If these calls we still are scorning.
Clear as song of birds at morning,
Then the solemn bell of warning
Gives its voice :
If these messages unheeding.
Ail too late j-e may be pleading;
"Make your choice,"
Bell of hope ! it soundeth cheery,
When all other sounds are dreary,
And the heart has grown aweary, —
Far from home.
"Whosoever will," 'tis saying,
'^With no doubt or fear delaying.
Let him eome,"
SARAH M. PARKER. 533
If no more His goo<lnc8s spurning,
Whose great love is o'er us yearning,
Unto him repentant turning,
We shall live.
For then rings, as we surrender,
Mercy bell ! in accents tender,
1 forgive !"
(i
Bell of peace ! 'tis softly stealing,
As at his dear feet we're kneeling.
More of Jesus* love revealing,
Full suppl}'.
For the waters of the fountain,
Flowing down from Calvary's mountain.
Satisfy*.
Bell of faith ! 'tis stronger, clearer.
As to heaven we're coming nearer,
And its mansions grow the dearer.
Wondrous bright I
It will cease its ringing, never.
Till we reach the bright forever ;
Land of Light !
Bells of joy in heaven are ringing ;
Joy bells in my soul are singing.
From the fountain I am bringing ;
Glad I am!
Record of the blest forgiven,
Happy family of heaven.
Bears my name
.To the morning breezes given.
To the silent breath of even,
Kinging all day long to heaven,
Bell of prayer !
In God's ear we pour our sadness.
Thus we tell him all our gladness ;
Heard up there.
For His wondrous love, abounding,
All our pathway here surrounding.
Be to highest heaven resounding.
Bell of praise !
Ring, till earth shall bow before Him,
And till every heart adore him.
For his grace.
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
Bell of promise ! down the ages,
From where sin ita war first wages,
Lo, it ringetli, and engages
Christ shall save.
And more elearij still it ringetb.
As from out the tomb he bringeth
Life He gave !
I am lost ill adoration.
And mount up with exultation.
As I list the proclamation
Of this bell ;
For of sinless life eternal,
Witli our Lonl where fields are Ternal,
DotU it tell.
Wliile salvation's bell is ringing,
And its fountain upward springing.
Golden hours their way are winging ;
Pause and think !
Do not longer be delating.
Hear the voice of Jesus saying,
'■Come and drink."
Chime of bells ! of love they're telling.
Love, all other love excelling.
Angels on the theme are dwelling.
Up aljove.
Talk no more of earthly glory,
Tell to me the sweet old story,—
Jesus' love.
HOME.
Where is your home, 0 my beautifbl child?
"Home is with motber," she said as she smiled,
" 'Tia where my father, no kinder could be,
Takes up bis little one oft on his knee,
Tis where the birds sing so sweetly all day,
Down wliere the bees aiul the butterflies play.
Where the bright roses climb over Ihe door,
I am so happy, what can I want more?'
M&Iden, fair maiden, sfiy where is yonr home?
fcia tiMire a spot whence yon never nould roam?
Tthere a place where uufailirig yon meet
Tliat the hL'art eravuUi in confidence sweet?
MATTIE FRANCES JONES. 535
*'Ye8, in a heart that is loving and ti*ue,
There \& my home — I will tell it to you.
He whom I cherish is noble and good ;
Where better home could I find if I would ?"
Where is your home, mother? '*Gladly Fll tell ;"
'Tis where my husband and little ones dwell,
Where sweet contentment reigns all the day long,
And oft ascendeth the prayer and the song ;
Pleasant home duties, the glad hours invite
To bless and make beautiful, this mj' delight.
'Tis where love rcigneth, nor discord can come ;
Say, do you wonder I cherish my home ?"
Christian, they tell me of mansions of bliss,
Where is your home, that is brighter than this?
Where never waves of adversity roll.
And not a sorrow oppresseth the soul ?
'•Over the river, — the mansions are fair.
My Father is waiting to welcome me there,
Sin never can enter, its pleasures to blight,
Its sun goes not down in the shadow of night.
There's room for whoever, through Jesus, will come,
And fulness of joy in His presence at home."
fWlattie ^Frances Jones.
. Jones, whose nom deplume Is "Nettie Vernon," was born in Budfton,ln 1836.
a daughter of the late Dea. E. S. Marsh. She was educated at the Nashua
try Institution, and at Appleton Aaidemy, Mount Vernon. She has been
of the time engaged in tcnciiing. In 1SG4 she )>ocarap the wife of Mr. James
les, who had been laboring for a term of years as a teacher in California,
ning to that state with his wife soon after niarriajre, thoy remained until 1876.
Tones assisted her husband in his vocation, teaching in several counties. A
family has gathere<l around her, and ami<l life's busy cares she finds but
time to devote to literature. She was formerly a contrilmtor to Arthur^$
Magazine^ and other periodicals. They reside iii Merrimack.
WILL IT BE ALWAYS NIGHT?
Will it be always night?
God knows how drear
Is earth's poor trembling light ;
Will he not hear
Each whispered prayer, and note each falling tear?
Will it be always night —
Cold night, and lone?
Shall I ne'er see the light
From His white throne?
A glimmering light to guide me, trusting, on?
536 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBE.
Will it be always night?
Long time mine eye
Hath sought hope's dawning light
O'er time's dark sky !
Faith's purest light, why greets it not mine eye ?
Will it be always night?
Cold sorrow's wave —
I've felt its chillness quite,
And, by yon grave,
O, hear my prayer. All-merciful to save !
Will it be always night,
Night of desimir"?
Of longings for the bright,
Celestial sphere?
Thy grace, my Father, 'twill life's burden aid to bear !
Heaven hath no night !
It hath no waning day !
But pure and brilliant light
) Shinelh for ave !
No wean' pilgrim seeketh there the way !
HAVE FAITH AND PERSEVERE.
Are you weary, sister, wearA* toiling up the narrow way?
Is life's path all dark, all dreary, — do no sunbeams round it play?
Tnist in GikI ! His love will surely turn the night-time into day !
An* you fainting, sister, fainting for the words of hope and cheer?
Have Ihoy long remaineii uns|>oken, never falling on thine ear?
l>u$t in Govl ! Hli^ wonls of promise will arrest the falling tear!
Are vou sittinir, sister, sitting where the shadows thicklv fall?
Is thy spirit all o'orshadoweii, 'neath the folds of sorrow's pall?
ImvI's free grace is ever giving sweetest sunshine unto all!
Are you waiiing, sislor. wailing for the brilliant morning dawn,
Kro lliy sonl goes forth in conflict mid the hosts of right tod
wrv^nc -•
If ho aid ihiv in the conflict, soon the direst foe is gone.
IV not lingor, sister, linger mid these shades of grief and gloom!
IxH^k W\ond oivnli's narrow limit* and the pK>rtals of the tomb I
Uiaven has flowers of rarest^ sweetest fragrance and perfume.
Will yon p'liok ;ho:n, sister, pluck them to entwine aiouod thy
brot^ :
linger not ,nmid tbo cypress : fairer flowers await thee now.
And the bri^btost oromn in heaven may be woven here below !
CHARLOTTE M. PALMER. 537
orijarlotte JH. palmer.
MIm Palmer is a native of Dover, where she still reyldes. She is ft writer of l>oth
-ose and verse. Her poems occasionally appear in Iho Boston Trattller and in
e CkrUtian At Work.
FAITH.
Our God gives perfect peace to those
Whose minds are stayed on him ;
Believing, trusting, they repose
In faith, though hope grow dim.
Faith can endure all present ill,
As seeing Ilim, unseen,
Who gives us strength to do his will,
Or bear, with soul serene.
Faith owns a chann which none maj' scorn,
A precious seciet knows ;
Where worldly minds bewail the thorn.
Faith sees the budding rose.
Faith hears God's fond assuring voice
Above the thunders loud,
Sees his benignant, smiling face
Through the dark, threatening cloud.
Faith, like the lark, mounts heavenward.
Soaring on noiseless wings.
Till, distant from earth's mists and jars,
In calm, pure air she sings.
Faith views this life as pilgrimage ;
We U»nt on foreign strand.
Still toiling on to reach, at length.
Our home, the promised land.
Faith's torch the dangerous road illumes
Which leads us to the tomb ;
Through shadowy vistas we discern
Bright shores beyond the gloom.
Though tossed on time's tempestuous zone,
A realm of rest outlies ;
Faith, foiling death, convoys the soul
To gates of paradise.
:>,is
POETS OF XEW HAMPSniBE.
A HYMN OF TRUST.
Father, thy paternal love
Giianls me safe where'er I rove.
Real giXKi can ne'er befall
Him who trusts to thee for all.
Mid the snares of life I tread,
Kver bv thv fftx>lness led :
Ever\" h^ur new mercies fall :
Let me view thv hand in all.
Seem in 'J evil hath its good,
If but riixhtlv understi>xi :
HI to giivKl thy hand can turn.
Tear* to smiles, for clu>se who mourn :
F:iithful one< iiave Mrne for thee
Si:5cr:iij:. shame and [wverty :
In thv pn.^ra:se did tht-v rest,
W::a tLv i resence thev were blest.
Saints h.ive sii:fered cruel death,
Witr-.ts-iir^j with latest breath
T-^ :■.:> li: : ;en. mighty piDwer —
Vx:..«-;s in ::ie mor:aI hour.
lV!s< :>^.xy: and d'.inge«>n-chain
F.o ■ • • • V :i.: k t he sweet re f fain :
"Kvil oariT.-:: a:e ^■^'ail.
Wl.ile 1 sov n:v LuD.l in all T
M.ir:- rs * 'r-vt! :o sw. rl ar. d flame
K' ■; :..': '. ^ : :L-v V,..rv.^ ::;v name.
m m
•"F-vt. :":". :s "ir ^7ii. "•.■':< Lori.""
>A\ ■■.• ■ :r. ::■ ■ .-.r : ::'.:*. . ^1 ^ri-.-tis friend,
I . .. : V. •-•;.• : .v. - : : .1^ t: :o : i . e end;
I..: vt" ^'jiir :^.^"e z^:::!y say:
••V. ;. :. 1 .in: :j:-. >:rtr:u:li and stav."
Thomas 15ailrp ^llirirti.
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X ■
THOMAS BAILEY ALDBICH. 539
p:namored architect of airy rhyme.
Enamored architect of airy rhyme,
Build as thou wilt ; heed not what each man says.
Good souls, but innocent of dreamers' wa3's.
Will come, and marvel why thou wastest time ;
Others, beholding how thy turrets climb
'Twixt theirs and heaven, will hate thee all their days ;
But most beware of those who come to praise.
O Wondersmith, O worker in sublime
And heaven-sent dreams, let art be all in all ;
Build as thou wilt, unspoiled by praise or blame,
Build as thou wilt, and as thy light is given :
Then, if at last the airy structure fall.
Dissolve and vanish — take thyself no shame.
They fail, and the}' alone, who have not striven.
SLEEP.
When to soft sleep we give ourselves awaj",
And in a dream as in a fairy bark
Drift on and on through the enchanted dark
To purple daybreak — little thought we pay
To that sweet bitter world we know by day.
We are clean quit of it, as is a lark
So high in heaven no human eye may mark
The thin, swift pinion cleaving through the gray.
Till we awake ill fate can do no ill,
The resting heart shall not take up again
The heavy load that yet nmst make it bleed ;
For this brief space the loud world's voice is still.
No faintest echo of it brings us pain.
How will it be when we shall sleep indeed?
TITA'S TEARS.— A FANTASY.
A certain man of Ischla — it is thus
The story runs — one Lydus Claudius,
After a life of threescore years and ten.
Passed suddenly* from out the world of men
Into the world of shadows. In a vale
Where shoals of spirits against the moonlight pale
Surged ever upward, in a wan-lit place
Near heaven, he met a Presence face to face —
A figure like a carving on a spire,
POKTS OF ATir nAMPfmns.
Siiroti.l.'.) in wines ami with a till.'t of tire
Al'.>«t tlio It.iws — wliu st.-iv.ii liiiu ttiore. amlsiM;
-■Ti.N lii." ::.'.h !ir:mt L. tlu-e. «) ll.-wlv .Wll
\Vl::iiiv.r liiiiiLri-n partli thou lioMc^t .irar
S!.:i:;. :it tliy l-i.i.iiniT. K- lr:»is|iorii-cl bere.
Siivv ttitV ..■> diil.i. '•>r anv liviiij tliiiis:."
T.»>n ■'•rai^iitw.iv Lliui.iiu* IVIl 1-. woiuU-rins
Wiiat ho -h.-uM a-i>!i f^.r. Ilaviii;: lioaveii at lund.
U\i wiuiis Buv fi-w, as Villi f;iii iiiiderstau'l.
Kiil.n ;i!i i tiili's. iii.iiifi-* iloar to lis.
'1\' I. :li. i-:\ijiir-to. wen' now siipiTfliioUit:
Uli; Tita. -tu i!! iTJwn Ti'a. hi- vouiis: wife,
A :!vo n.^Ji*' i-n-k' wi,cu lie t.-.-k leave of iifc,
W;,it wi.i::i ;oi.i':i'.o »:' hvt n itiiuiit hiis eare?
T::.i. *..• t\-'.i. *ti tl.oii;:::t!fSs. aiiil w fnirl
A: i -.fs.::- ■.•ni-Uij-I w:-.:i s-Tr''n-, to he *iiro—
B^r : ^ a:; i ''v : W-jat, .arll.lv irri-?ls en.iun-?
T.-.-:v ": .;*s : ii- 'ovi. A voar. i;;rfi? v«irs at nii»l.
W,;
rl. so
V luit'
tar. :;
:.<ar.i al-.ir
.! L. T;-:-
e ii!::tar
••^ii>.'
. :::iiiL: i-oiiM he."
l^-.:.
sUe Wire witli aic
• 11.::
j- tiiat wi-it w.rev
.r' ■."■I'.-l i-rain
--■. .iM iwav.
GEOBGE D UDLEY DODGE, 54 1
A tiny jar, of porcelain if 3'ou will,
Which twenty tears would rather more than fill.
With careful fingers Claudius broke the seal
When, suddenly, a well-known meny peal
Of laughter leapt from out the viaKs throat.
And died, as dies the wood-bird*s distant note.
Claudius stared ; then, struck with strangest fears,
Reversed the flask —
Alas, for Tita's tears !
ffieorge ISuTrleu Botrge.
>dge Is a nntivo of Hampton Falls, born in 183B. Ho entered Brown Uni-
»ut never ^n<luat4'<l, on account of iU health. Jle has been a merchant, and
acturer, but now flniU health and pleanure in the cultivaUon of the soil,
ed three years in Savannah, (ieor^ia, when a bookseller. In 1880 he was
idate of tbe Prohibition party for Governor of this state. Ho stiU resides at
11 FaUs.
PEACE BE STILL.
Tempest-tossed on the billows of life.
Weary and worn with struggle and strife,
Upward 1 glance to heaven above.
And list to words of tender love —
* 'Peace be still, O troubled soul,
I will all th}* grief console."
Hope would vanish, and the giant Despair
Would drag my soul to his dreadful lair,
But for the voice of tender love
Speaking to me from heaven above,
''Peace be still, O troubled soul,
I will every foe control."
Let the tempest roar ar.d the billows roll,
Nought shall disturb my peaceful soul.
While come to me from heaven above
These cheering words of tender love,
'*Peace be still, O troubled soul,
I will every storm control."
God help poor souls in the voyage of life,
Wear}' and worn with struggle and strife,
Who hear no voice of tender love
Speaking to them from heaven above,
**Peace be still, O troubled soul,
I will all thy grief console."
POETS OF XEW HAMPSHIRE.
Xanrs priest liKattrfietti.
;r. PTl<^lirs*)»<rninItn}>li'tOB.Uli<9..D(!n. 7, ISSfl. Sbrrm<TH!wt
I iiiTiiin-D «'b<n>l. Ili-r'b-iliv fi>r ri-BiUuK <riti> vi-n ■tcmlaai'niD-
*|iari' ntidiwix [iir(h»i iiun>'uif. i-brlwcan t"» wni«poclivj— ' -■
lnlht>»|irln(Ci>I ISJT riw weal to llln-ilale, — - ' — -■- — ■
•if ■lxy<«r*. lnlht>»|irln(Ci>I ISJT »bi! wcMto lIln-iGle, ami irandi«iv«iipl<i>f{
f>irM»iTj|TtMr>laa|>ii|ii'r-inllt. In {"U^nlw wasniaiTlnl tii ArllnMun C. Walr
■i-kL Tbi-y niiu»i •! I" rmniMi-rllW, VI., where klKi lUvd Hnr -H^ IWhtranniienr
rhllrlnii. IIH.- viitm^i— t liut Iwvnty iiliiv iliif* old. It itbii wIuIp uI WiiA !■ Ibi Kli
■I lIlDfliik- ifial rhi' r<iiii|K>wH| tfi« linm.inul iHWm ■■im-r llw Kinr" II vu vA
ivn whlk-ln llii>iiiiLlul ivam, on a fliinnr April diir- 'If ^Ik '»'' imtakra irfbT
liinrh. anil lliv Mia wim »iit.'^-^vil at pfae Innh'il octimik Uiv itark Aibwliit rlir-
A volnmr I'f lier lun-ms rulliliiU "Oi'iv ■Im' Hirer, anil •itlii't r(vni>.'*J« tntiirt-^l
l>r hor miithiT Mr#. SoiiliLi B. t*rt>i4. ••' Wln-iK-n-l^-n, Miu*. It onwsift-l Inl'.-'
^Vnof i.t l*«. It «mwin« nrartr all nf Mr-. Walullvi.rK piwra« whiA wtT.Triri.
I «.-..<... ^.B —<.n ~9 Nuurv rrlGjl. Liitle Llniv..... i^.^ „ m.^.•^—
ivv onvr bvlurc bwa tn |>riut. It In B volame of aiteiM pueuy.
OVER THE RIVER.
Ovvr the river thoy beckon to me,
IaivciI Olios n lio ci-ossed to the I'urtLer side ;
Till' irli'uni of tbi'ir snowy robus I see.
ISiit llieir \oi(t<$ iin.^ lost in tiie da^liing tide.
TliiTo's oni' with niisiletd of tiuiiny gold.
And evi-s thi' relli'^lioii of heawn's otvu blue;
llo cro^s^'d ill the iniliirlit, t:r:iy and cold.
And till' pale misi hid him U\»n mortal view.
Vi- <:iiv not the aiiLii-U who met liiui tliere.
li.e l::U. !j oi' tiie lity wc could not sec,
O^iv ::.o riviT — over the river —
My ".■ro'.iior stiiiKU waiting to welcome me.
Ovor ti.o rlvor thf l^oatinnn pale
iV.rrtc.ianoti-.iT, tlio iioiisi'hold pet;
H,r ■ V '» II oiiK* wavi-i in the gentle gale —
Pai!::-^ Minn-o : I see her yet.
:>l:i 1. ro-jsoii os her ivj^'ni her dimplctl hands.
.\t;.: f..tr;»*-*;y iiiiored tiie |ihantoin hark.
%\e fv'.: •.'. ■^'\'w :tv>:« the siiwr sand:$.
Ar.i A.. v::r *■::;•.?". ir.e jirew striiigely dark.
Hi st;,--.v sl-.e S* s.Afo on tiie fiirthor side,
W;.ir>.' all :l.e mns,.^:i!<:ii and angels be ;
O^iT ;-.e rlier — :he niy,*;;v Hver —
My vli'.l.i.-.x^;'* l.iil :s waitiuj for me.
Wr r,^^:-.i- rxi".m f7i>:ii :::o?if quiet shores
\VV,o *',-vw* w,:.; :..e l\«taian cold and pale—
Ho ■;.-«;■ :~.f .; _• of ;li,- fo'den i.'.irs.
A;;.; .-.»:.■;■. .\ ^iia:- of tlie snowy sail ;
And Iv' :>>.> i*i' :'&j.s<:-i frvvu our yearning hcartSi
~^- «v*# ".;;■.■ »::vauj, aud m gone for aye,
NANCY PItlEST WAKEFIELD, 043
We may not sunder the veil apart,
That hides from our vision the gates of da}' ;
We onlv know that their barks no more
May sail with us over life's stormy sea ;
Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore,
They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.
And I sit and think when the sunset's gold
Is flushing river and hill and shore,
I shall one da}' stand b}- the water cold.
And list for the sound of the boatman's oar ;
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail,
I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand,
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale,
To the better shore of the spirit land ;
I shall know the loved who have gone before.
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be.
When over the river — the peaceful river —
The angel of death shall carry me.
HEAVEN.
Be3'0ud these chilling winds and gloom}* skies,
Beyond death's cloudy portal.
There is a land where beauty never dies.
And love becomes immortal.
A land whose light is never dimmed by shade,
Whose fields are ever vernal ;
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade.
But blooms for aye, eternal.
We may not know how sweet the balmy air.
How bright and fair its flowers ;
We may not hear the songs that echo there,
Through those enchanted bowers.
The city's shining towers we may not see
With our dim, earthly vision ;
For death, the silent warden, keeps the key
That opes those gates elysian.
But sometimes, when adown the western sky
The fiery sunset lingers.
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly,
Unlocked by uusceu fingers.
POETS OF .VEW HAXPSfflRE.
Ami nliile tlicy 8tatid a moment lialf njar,
Cik':ini:4 from the inner glory
Slri'iuii briglitly tLroiigh the azure vault afar.
Ami biilf n-veal the story.
O land uiikuowD ! O land of love divine !
Fatlior nil wise, eternal.
Guide, ^uiile these wandering, wayworn feetof uiw
Into those [lastures vernal.
Sanirl 3L. jBilltttrn.
r>. t.. MllUkpn iTXK Imm In Wnlpxl^. ni» ^lui-ntlnn n^
ImII I'liii'M A^'ii'U'uiv. ilc \a ctliturvr the ■'Ui-arib and
GARFIELD.
Out1*orne on thought's electric winga,
Switt flies the midnight's inuaning breath
O'er hut.4 of toil and halls of kings.
Ami brings to each the linsU of death.
Ah. midnight Ih'IIs! Ah. tolling bells!
Yo rt.>usf a niiition sleeping bands!
Ah, sad. sad K'tls! Your throbbing tills
To ent.'ii the ilrain of golden sands.
Tlie nation's trnsHed nilor dead !
1\k> dot'i> for Unite iniuds to trace
Tlie '.':.'.■•,' Ill:* >:entie Mood was shed —
A^ well iiiight moiials fathom ]<i>aee.
Tiio damning deed all ttuio shall ban.
And Stvti.Vs tlion^ht shall deeper bum- —
•"Man's iiihuinaiiity to man.''
Aias : "makes countless thousands monr '
Auvl nhon on eaeh ccDtennial height
Tlie nation vails her honored roll,
Si::i;i (Irirficld's name, in letters bright,
With Liucv-lu's writ, enstar the scroll.
His lofly life, .snd martyr death.
Tomli softly love's eleetrio conis.
And hush anvl banish, with a breath,
The dire and wicked war of woraa.
DANIEL L. MILLIKEN. 545
Heroic soul, thy fight is o'er,
The world's great lieart thy captive now ;
From pole to pole, from shore to shore,
Thy lo3'al legions loving bow.
Forever brave to dare and do,
Thy banner always in the van.
In every station staunch and true —
A soldier, statesman, scholar, man !
The veil so thin, thine eye to greet,
'Twixt mortals and immortals held,
Through which ye heard God's whispers sweet,
His pitying hand hath now dispelled.
The world gives thee its fond farewells !
The waves of Elheron moaning stray.
And love, in tender message, tells,
*'He calmly breathed his life away."
From lowly cot and palace hall
Imbued with perfumed breath of May,
Around thy bier the roses fall.
As ne'er before round mortal cla3\
From ocean wave to mountain height.
From cabin (ioor to gilded dome,
Our land is draped in gloom of night,
As are the heavens when storm-kings roam.
Nor stay our shores the waves of grief,
But, o'er the wrecks of time swift borne,
In other lands thev find relief,
And mighty millions, melting, mourn.
Thy name from fame's eternal peaks
The waves of time shall ne'er efiface ;
Th3' speech shall live, as lives the Greeks' —
'Thou benefactor of thy race.
For age on age, thy name shall give
To men an inspiration high ;
Tfe, living, taught us how to live,
And, dying, taught us how to die.
IN WINTER.
"When winter robes the mountain white,
And powders all the ti-ees ;
POETS OF NEW HAMPSBISS.
When banislied are the birds and flowen,
And silent are the bees ;
^Vhen brooks forget their murmars aweet,
And fields tbeir fVagrance rare ;
When creaks the snow beneath the aleigbs,
And biting is the air ;
When huddled are the herds and flocks,
And wolves grow over-bold ;
When fro8t«d is the traveller's beard.
And piercing is the cold ; —
Tia then I dream of orange groves,
And join the birds in flight
To where the flowers uplift their cups
To greet the morning's light.
Yet rest, O heart, in sweet content.
The birds will come again.
And Spring will scatter wide her flowen
On ever}- hill and plain.
The seasons all are wisely planned ;
In sunshine, storm or calm.
For age on age, the self-same hand
Will rock the pine and palm.
Eabfnfa ^attcreon SBrdie.
SPIRIT VOICES.
Bright fancies hover o'er our dreams to-night,
Sweet, gentle melodies above us roll.
Like ochoetl voices from the world of light.
To hush the ws\ wanl passions of the soal. >
Fiwm nature's sacred \xxAi we read once more,
And feel iho fevered brow grow cool and calm,
Bathed in that fount who% water can restore.
And have for restless ones a soothing balm.
WhcDce come these sofl. low whispers, in the leaves,
That Uirill th<- n^l with happiness so deep?
-^'' 'ij on the breexe,
£ music of our sleq>?
LA vim A PATTEBSON WEEKS. 547
Blest world of love where comes no earthly harm,
Pure spirit home which sorrow never mars ;
If these brief glories have such power to charm,
Vi hat regions those which lie beyond the stars !
*'HOPE ON— HOPE EVER!"
''Voj'ager on life's billow}^ main !"
Is th}* sky with grief overcast,
Saddening thee with secret pain,
Ghostly shadows from the past?
Does the storm dash wildlj' round thee.
Deep and dark the breakers lie.
Till thy spirit sinks within thee,
And, despairing, waits to die?
Long thy harp has sought the willows,
By the cold and troubled streams —
Look beyond the surging billows,
"Where the bow of promise gleams.
Though some hopes no more maj^ brighten,
Nurse them not in silent grief;
What though tear-drops sometimes glisten,
*Tis the souFs most sweet relief.
Languid spirit, rise and gird thee !
Leave thy vain and idle dreams ;
Let the call of dut}' ner\'e thee ;
This alone the past redeems.
Though thy path may seem the darkest.
Just beyond this mortal sphere
There are souls, to God the dearest,
Who have sufTered keenest here.
Though the silver chain is broken.
To be joined on earth no more.
There's a holy, blest reunion
Waits thee on a distant shore.
Laurels that we prize the highest
Wreathe the weary brow of pain,
And the harp whose tones are sweetest
Echoes oft a sad refrain.
FOETS OF ysW HAMFSHIBE.
As the Btare that Bhine abo^-e tbee
In the darkness of the nigbt,
So the ills that now attend thee
Shall but make thy crown more bright.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
"Atbroak of da; God called away the iweetest of corth'i ilnfen.''
"I^s summer, and the morning bells ring out their joyous pealing.
But deeply, Ba<lly to our hearts what mournful sounds are stealing!
Yes, sad indeed the tidings came, fix)m o'er the distant waters.
The world of genius mourns to-djiy one of her peerless daughters.
Of that fair clime for whith thy heart had heat so sympathetic,—
That land long Iwund with papal chains, thy bright faith was
prophetic ;
For cro thy spirit passed fVom eartfa, the dca|K>t'9 power wu
quaking.
And o'er that land the glorious light of fVeedom'a mom wu
breaking.
Although wo may not witness yet the last stronghold defeated.
Its children shall njoicc at length o'er victory completed.
Oh, who could tvfti'h as thou couldat do in thy poetic trances?
Or learn the muses' subtle charm and feci its passion glances?
Thy harp could strike the loftiest notes, and yet soswectly humui.
That never in thy proudest strains did genius veil the woman.
The dowers of love within thy heart, though lato appear their
blooming.
For lying thus so long concealed, retained their fVesh perfhrniag-
Till thou i,xiuldst place them in that shrine more dear than everr
other.
Thine was tiie sacred name of wife, the holy one of mother,
While musing on thy soul-lit strains our faitliiu God grewstronger,
The heart that felt for others' woe shall solace ours no loager.
Ye sought to wreathe with lovely flowers the cold, stem path tX
.iuty—
Now thou art gone where withereil Joys bloom with immortal
beauty.
They laid thee where no sounds of earth can rouse tbee tvM
thy slumbers ;
They laid thee where no joyous strains can wake thy tuneful
numlNTs ;
Tbey laid tliec where tlie floral train its brightest flower di»-
eJoscs;
JED WARD P. NO WELL. 549
Tbej laid thee gently down to rest amid Etruscan roses,
Beneath Italians sunny skies, amid the great and gifted ;
But ere th}' spirit passed away, the clouds of earth are rifted —
The joys of purer realms than this are mingled with thj* dreamings,
For while with us ye seemed to catch from heaven its bright re-
vealings.
No more for thee are loving friends their anxious vigils keeping.
For cold beneath the southern cross thj' cherished form is sleeping,
But ever round thy life so pure, shall sweetest memories cluster —
The glorious thoughts that tuned thy lyre shall shine with
brightest lustre,
Now that thy spirit, free from earth, on tireless pinions roving.
Shall gain the ''poet's highest goal," the haven of thy mooring.
Why should we longer wish thee here, with earthly cares
enthralling
The glorious visions of that soul whom God in love was calling?
We should rejoice that thou art safe beyond the gloomy portal,
And praise him for the glorious gill that crowns thy name
inmaortal.
Edward P. NoweU was bom in BoylBton, Vt., Fobraary 94, 18S7. Hit early life
was spent in Portsmouth, and he was educated there. He went to New York City
ttid became editor of the American Odd Fellow, for seven years, and it increased
largely in circulation during hi8 management. He was made the official reporter
c^ ttie'U. S. Grand Lodge of Odd Fellows for two years. Mr. Kowell sprung from
Berolotionary stock. His grandfather was an officer in the federal army under
Washington's imme<liate command, and was statione<l at Cambridge, Mass., in the
house wnich was the home of the poet Longfellow. His sudden death at Defiance,
Ohio, April 29, 18i^, was occasioned by an over-dose of chloral, taken to relieve se*
Tere paws from wlilch he had lieen suffering the day previous. He was buried at
Poitamouth.
IN MEMORIAM.
GKOBGE W. BARNES, DIED AUGUST 31, 1879.
At Summer's last decline of day,
At glory-season's dying hour,
A ransomed spirit winged its way
To bliss, through Jesus* saving power.
Though 3*ears of weakness and distress
Had o'er his life their shadows cast,
Yet with true fortitude ne'ertheless,
He bore up bravel}- to the last.
And when the solemn summons came,
His eyes were closed in death serene ;
POETS OF SXW BAMPSmSg.
While placid face shoired that all blame
Of life bad vaniahed at life's e'«D.
A good mao to his rest has gone,
A basbaod true as polar star,
A father whose aflectioo wod
The love of kin that aaugbt could mar.
A noble IHend to all was he ;
His heart with tenderness was fraogfat ;
"Tis said. '-He had no enemy" —
A lessoD grand his life has taught.
In our swift passage to the tomb.
Let lore and friendship rale our days,
And gladness take the place of gloom.
White heaven and earth join in our praise !
Peace, sweetest peace, be to his soul,
And fragrant maj his memor)' be ;
He's fought the fight and gained the goal
Of analloyed eleraity !
O nKHunii^ hearts ! let liglit break throogh
The sable clouds of grief profound.
And give to weeping eyes a view
Of glories that in heaven abound ;
So that this pilgrimage may show,
In days to come, a solace sweet
Of faith', that each at length shall know
The Joy the loved Lu bliss to meet !
Ettgart a. fiant.
■B ApTtI3.1«
•»Um *i ilK PoniiDoniti Hi^ Srbual. snJ emeird Boiidoln In ISS. indaUM
In IW. la l!tn be )n«luaivil ai Burur Taeokwlal S«bIbut, ud wmi ordalKd
nvrrUwfongrepill^iL rhm^-hln Amwburr. «*«.. Iq 18S1, H««>*W«M««
tbe M itmt Umgngmtioial Lbuirh In ;k>uita Bomob. Mul.Ib !«;. Ra*t>lH
unmjgx. IhTUiinf: itie cill al tbt CoDBivpll-iDal Chotrh In FnnkltB. II*m^
ul WTP, ^jmU Inio itw FruhHUDE Epiwpal Cbnirb. ■
< hWTk, Byiki Puk. Jl>«.. in IMO. Ue doo nuliln in Wi
SIXG, BOXNY BIRD!
Sing, boony bird, exultant sing !
Make field and heavens ring !
A bogle rich and clear your voice,
Ttirice welcome, birdie, sing I
EDWARD A, BAND. 551
For, lo ! your song brings sounds to me
From lands you saw afar,
Where, just above the sky's blue rim,
Soft shone the northern star.
I hear the breeze through orange-groves
Breathe low and hushed and calm,
Then die away in echoes sweet.
As dies in church a psalm.
I hear the dirge of milder seas
Along their shores of sand,
A wail for those who sailed away
But ne'er sailed back to land.
And then I stand by deserts gray,
I look across those seas,
When lo, above my head, the palm
Mild muinuurs in the breeze.
Then stay, blithe bird, and sing again I
Fold, fold your eager wings !
For in the warbles of your voice
The land far southward sings.
THE SHIP IN THE SUNSHINE.
Across the sands, strange darkness fell ;
The sun had dipped beneath a cloud ;
The waves now sullenly swept on.
The surf fast whitened to a shroud.
And shadows, too, fell on our hearts,
When, lo ! beyond the waves' dark run,
We saw a ship far out to sea —
A ship slow sailing in the sun I
O ship far out to sea, sail on I
Some heart upon a darkened shore
Will see with joy thy whitening sails,
And fear the deepening gloom no more*
O souls that find in Christ the light.
Sail on across life's shadowed sea I
For many will take heart by you.
And cry, *'The Sun will come to me !"
POETS or NEW HAMPSHmX.
EAIN ON THE BOOF.
la that a step upoD the stairs,
That makes its ecboia the night?
Not that : the raio creeps down the roof;
I hear its footfall hushed and light.
I do Dot wonder that I seemed
To hear soft footsteps on the Btsira ;
I've fancied so before, and oft
Amid the silence of my prayers.
I cannot see, bnt fancy still
My sainted child looks in my face,
And think the shadow of a wing
Makes heavenly twilight iu the place.
How oft within her eyes' blue depths
I looked &a down some shaded aisle
That into heaven ran afar :
God only let me look awhile !
The bitter rain has dripped but twice
Since last 1 heard her little feet
Drop music all adown the stairs ;
And note — they press the golden street
Such music as the rain-drops make.
Those passing feet made every day ;
One eve they stopped, and then I knew
That they had climbed the heavenly way.
POND-LILIES.
All through the day the lilies float,
Swayed gently by the drowsy stre
As tired thoughts in sleep obey
The changing impulse of our dreams.
Through waters dead, who thoaght sadi lift
Was creeping up the tangled stems,
To burst in bloom of snow and gold.
And sprinkle wide those floral gems?
In those dark depths, who thought sach I^^l^
In folded bud was thus ooaoetiled.
To open into stars, with rays
Aa pure as those by night revealed?
FRANCIS OBMOND FUENCH. 658
Take heart, faint soul ! and stay the grief
In whose sad presence man e'er weeps.
Up through life's dark and shaded depths,
Some bloom of beauty ever creeps.
Some rays of light, in darkness hid,
Wait God*8 appointed, better day,
To break in stars whose peaceful beams
Shall shine arouhd our darkened way.
jfrancCs ©rmontr jfrenri).
^ O. French, a Bon of Benjamin B. and Elizabeth G. French, was bom In Ches-
, Sept. 13, 1887. He was educated at rhiUlps Exeter Academy and Harrard Col-
e, flraduaUncr with the class of 1857. He 8tudie<l law at Cambridge, where he
M librarian of the Law School ; was admitted to the bar in New Yora in 1860 and
u^sed there, and later in Exeter. He was deputy collector of customs at
•ton, from 1868 to 1865, when he i>ecame a banker. In 1870 ho went to New York
f , where he is engaged in the same business. Specimens of his father's poetry
re already been given.
EXTRACT
From a poem delivered at Class Day, Harvard CoUege, 1857.
Yet surely this is not an hour for gloom,
This dawn of life that's opening so bright I
The very clouds a rosy hue assume ;
Let owls and bats hide them before the light ;
And, by my troth, it is a glorious sight
When gallant j'outh his armor buckles on,
And bears him forth so boldl}* to the fight.
As though the victory were alre'adj' won,
And half victorious is ere yet the fight's begun I
A trumpet sounds, a heavy draw-bridge falls ;
A cortege, gleaming in its rich array.
Comes slowly from an ancient castle's walls
That in the morning sunlight seem less gray ;
The steeds step eagerl}' along the way,
Champ on their bits and snutf the morning aur ;
Their riders, calm, yet eager for the fray.
Demurely sit as though beset bj- care.
Scowl down their inward joy, and gloomy faces wear.
Their armor flashes in the morning sun
As though its temper not a glance could brook ;
Their pennons flaunt defiance, every one.
Their lances have a fierce and angry look ; —
I fear me little thought the riders took
556 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
While to the other brighter grows each daj*,
And when upon life's verge at length he's cast.
Light marks the path before, and all his cares are past
Yet when the young alumnus leaves these halls, —
A learned man, perhaps, in freshmen's eyes,
While many honest folks without the walls
In all that can be known believe him wise, —
On everj' hand how great is his surprise
Ad the world's facts unveil them to his sight,
Or stern and hostile in his pathway rise ;
Yet start not, for was ever picture bright
That had not shadows, too, as well as lines of light?
First, on the threshold, what a shock to find,
In all that he has given years to gain,
The utter ignorance of the common mind 1
Philosophj' has been to useless pain,
And half our best loved authors lived in vain ;
Sages and scholars, gentle, good, and wise, —
All are unknown, all of the gifted train :
He turns and finds, when wondering what they priie,
That bread or broadcloth most the vacancy supplies.
And bitter is the disappointment, when,
As to the stage of life you are brought nigher,
You find 90 few of those ideal men,
Whose lives should teach us there is something higher
Than bread, beer, beef, soft couches, rich attire —
These be the gods to whom the people bend ; —
Build thou no altars to them, nor in ire
Cast from vour hands the truth 3*ou hold, dear fHend ;
Break not the tablets where God's hand the law hath peoned.
And then the freedom that one hopes is his !
When, harried by this discipline no more.
Should he in trivial things e'er prove amiss,
No carping scrutin}' will vex him sore —
Alas ! restraints far harsher than before
On ever}' side with thorns his pathwa}' flank ;
Still, afler tea, boards talk his conduct o'er,
And scandal still plucks at his social rank.
Till Mrs. Grundy's feared e'en more than Tutor Blank.
Forewarned, so walk that none of these shall wound ;
The good be glad in, evils boldly face,
And ever true in all we do be found ;
In our own actions our ideals trace,
kv ..
DAVID GRAHAM ADEE. l^hl
Then, as they're true and lovely, lend they grace ;
Earnest alway for manlj' dignit}',
Yet never scorn tlie lowliest of the race,
And, humble in our little worth, to be
E'er without pride toward those who have less store than we.
Yet wh}' at such an hour anticipate
That future which One Prescience ovXy knows,
The complex plan that ignorance calls fate,
Where man in every act the shuttle throws
That bears the varied woof of joys and woes,
Till the whole pattern is at length complete !
Yet this we would not, if we coAld, disclose ;
Who would not from Fate's magic glass retreat,
As in dark rooms we shrink our mirrored selves to meet !
Nay, ere the moment passes, while we still,
Though on the threshold, fondly linger here,
We turn to those fair scenes we love so well —
That theme, however old, yet ever dear.
That falls with spring-like freshness on the ear —
These, throughout life, our sympathies enchain.
And st^rt in aged eyes the joj'ous tear.
As memories wake that slumbering long have lain :
To these, in parting now, I dedicate my strain.
David 6. Adec wns bom in Boston, Mass., in 1837. He was educated at the New
)rk University, an<l In lt«)0 was admitted to the practice of law in New York city.
1870 he trnyelled in Europe, Kunsln, Norway and Sweden. On his return he
;ain resided in New York, until 1878, when he removed to Washington, D. C.
>rten years past he has spent his summers and autumns at North Conway, where
ost of bis poetry has been written.
AT ROME.
As Pius passed I held m}' breath,
My heart stood still as if in death.
Why should an unbeliever feel
Such awe and superstition steal ?
A kind old man with silvery* hair
And face sweet with religion rare,
A smile so gentle, pure and calm.
It seemed to sprinkle heavenly balm.
Methought, it is not all alone
Because he sits the papal throne ;
It is not that he reigns a king
And wears the sacred signet-ring ;
558 P0ET8 OF NEW HAMP8HIBR.
Or that he is the father here
To chide the sin and drj" the tear ;
Or that he wields the holy keys
For penitents upon their knees :
Not these the reasons, right or wrong,
I trembled as he rode along,
In chariot rich with gems and gold.
To bless the children of his fold.
But that the heart of human kind
Weary of groping, faint and blind,
Despairing of the unseen power
Coming to eartl^ in evil hour
To speak to prayer, to smile on praise.
To cheer the faithful's wistful gaze,
Had clothed this presence with all good
To give to sinners saintly food,
To set before the senses' soul
Comfort and consolation's dole.
Two thousand years have given place
Since men have looked upon God's face.
And the soul yearns for something real
To represent the rapt ideal. •
If that mankind have sought to give
A form to goodness while they live.
Will not the One supreme above
Reward their longing with His love?
Thus, as I viewed the emblem there,
An aureole seemed .to glint the air,
My spirit thrilled in blent accord
With earth's great type of heaven's lord.
FOUR PHASES.
Golden ringlets, hazel e^'es.
Deep and dream}', fixed afar ;
Thoughts that to the zenith rise ;
Life the heavens and he a star :
This the boyish poet's rapture
Ere the hours his spirit capture.
•
Chestnut locks about the brow ;
Love and beauty ripe and real ;
Love, a faith the heart to bow,
Beauty, a divine ideal :
These the poet's manhood gladden
Ere the years his nature sadden,
BENE Y AMES BLOOD. 559
Silvery graj' the clustering curls ;
Looraing clouds in autumn sky ;
Youthful gems but ghostly pearls ;
Beauty dead and love a lie :
This the poet's fatal after,
Bitter tears or lightsome laughter.
Snowy hair and frosty beard ;
Kindly glance and cheery sajang ;
Sweet the phantom once he feared
While the soul was still a-Maying.
Poet, chant celestial measures ;
Rapt the realm that holds thy treasures.
SHELLEY.
Soul-inspired skeptic and great earthlj'-born I
To thee all nature was a rapturous dream —
Sky, summer, life, love, and the poet's theme,
The silver of the sea, the golden morn.
The sunset, and the fields which flowers adorn, —
These were all worshipped with the glowing gleam
Of ardent adoration ; the bright beam
Of mortal sainted by the spirit worn.
And soaring toward the stars. Thou, reft away
From beaut}^ and the balm}' breath of rest,
Baskest beneath a warmer, welcomer ray
In the glad realm of bards supremelj' blest —
Hunt, Byron, Coleridge, Keats — in glorious day,
'Mong whom thy name and fame is grandest, best.
Il^rnrs ^mrs ISlootr.
H. A. Blood, a native of Temple, was bom about 1840. He is a jBrraduate of
Dartmouth CoUcffe. After leaving College he spent a few years in teaching school,
when he accepted a situation In the Depurtoient of State at Wasliington, D. C. He
is the author of a history of his native town. A volume of his poems, and another
of dramas, have been stereotyped, but as yet are unpublished. From the former
the poems here given have been selected. Specimens of his poetry are found in
teveral collections. Epes Sargent, In his "Cyclopajdia of British and American
Poetrr**' highly compliments Mr. Blood's poems, and regrets that his volumes are
iiQpUDllahed.
THE CHIMNEY-NOOK.
Ob, how much comfort is there in the glow
Of a rosy fire in winter.
When each stem and stick and splinter
Bums all the brighter for the winds that blow.
Then high or low the walls, they wear a joyous look.
560 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE,
Nor is anything more che<»ry,
When the winter wind sounds dreaiy.
Than sitting by the fire, within the chimnej-nook.
Bring Red-heart Oak, the tyrant of the wood ;
Bring him hither in a dead-cart,
Lop his limbs, tear out his red-heart,
And tlirow it to this hungry fire for food.
Bring Tall-Pine, whose old head long since the crows fonook:
Tall-Pine, he is in his dotage.
But his head shall boil our pottage,
While we sit here and laugh beside our chimnej-nook.
Old Tall-Pine, 3-011 were old when I was young,
On vour head the rains had drifted,
Throuc^h vour locks the snows had silted
A hundred 3'ears ere my first song was sung ;
Your foot was gouty grown, 3-our head with palsy shook.
But j'our heart possessed you lightly,
And you stood j'our sentrj* nightly,
While I sat here and dozed beside my chimney-nocdL.
Do you remember, Tall-Pine, .years ago,
When I rambled in my childhood
Through yon solitary wild-wood,
And climbed your high top for the callow crow?
Hurrah for those old days when you and I partook
Snow and rain and hail together,
Little thinking this cold weather
Would bring us face to face beside my chimney-nook.
But now the wind is louder than before ;
With a wild demoniac laughter
He is running down the rafter ;
I will not talk nor dall}' with you more :
For that you wcVe my friend, some pity had me strook;
But the night is growing colder,
And my spirit waxes bolder
To have 3'ou keep me warm beside my chimney-nook.
Then lay his head down crowned with all its cones ;
It shall l)e a bed of roses
Where mine ancient friend reposes ;
Peace to his ashes, rest unto his bones :
Now, bravo, Tall-Pine, for your aged pate ne'er took,
Since the spring-time of 3'our story,
Such a lustre, such a glor}',
As this I see it wear beside my chimney-nook.
HENB T AMES BLOOD. 561
Beneath this maDsion is a cellar old,
"Where there b3'deth/' says tradition,
'*A moste wondrous wyse magician,
Who hydeth h^Tn in bottels grene with molde."
A candle's ray at night, this fellow cannot brook ;
We will go into the cellar
With our lights and blind the f(^l]ow.
Then bring him to his wits beside our chimney-nook.
Can you believe me ? Shakespeare knew him well ;
Jonson loved him as his brother,
So i' faith did many another
Most potent bard who felt *'hys mightye spell."
Ere this magician come, hang potluck on the hook ;
We will never close our lashes
Till Old Tall-Pine bums to ashes ;
But laugh here all night long beside our chimney-nook.
Then let the jolly, motley world wag on
To an age of baser metal ;
So it upsets not our kettle.
Give thanks for this and ask for fatter brawn ;
We shall get through our day, somehow, by hook or crook ;
Be our purse however slender.
Only give us fire and fender.
We shall not lack for fun beside our chimney-nook.
Oh, how much comfort is there in the glow
Of a rosy fire in winter.
When each stem and stick and splinter
Bums all the brighter for the winds that blow.
Then high or low the walls thej' wear a Joyous look ;
Nor is anything more cheery,
When the winter wind sounds dreary.
Than sitting by the fire within our chimney-nook.
JEANNETTE.
It is no wonder I should be
More sad in pleasant weather.
For on a golden day like this
We strolled the fields together :
Oh, never lived a maid more dear
In everybody's praises ! —
Jeannette was picking buttercups
And I was picking daisies.
564 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
How well I remember the good Old Year,
When, a barefooted bo}', he sat under the pines.
This beautiful Antique harp to hear,
As I grandly chanted mine ancient lines.
For though I say it, this harp, I 8a\%
Has more weird music about the strings
Than all the new-fangled things they play
In convent halls or the courts of kings.
Your pardon, good folk, for I never came here
To chant my own praise ; but I came to lament
The loss of my flriend whom I held so dear,
And who carrieii mv heart with him where he went
Alas ! alas ! mv old friend lies dead !
And I am the wind, the harper hoaiy.
That chanted his requiem over his head.
And told to the hills his sorrowful ston' !
Gone ! gone ! forever and ever gone !
Would that I, too, might come to my rest!
But I cannot die, — I must ever go on.
Weary and wildered, a thing unblest.
Hark ! hear vou not the voice of the sea.
Now shrill and loud, now sofl and low?
It is calling to me ! It is calling to me !
It says I must go : it says I must go.
THE INVISIBLE PIPER.
Hark ! the invisible piper plays !
You will scarcely go home, I think, to-night,
For your hor^e will cast his shoes in the ways.
And you will follow a fire-fly light.
Oh, he is the piper that never was seen
Any two days or nights between ;
But plenty there be who declare he looks
Like the tigurv of l\inch in the picture-books.
Or a wlvle-moutheti, reil-nosed, rollicking clown,
With his faiv all laughter from chin to crown.
PuiBng his cheeks ami piping like mad,
lie will march through autumn, the motlev fell
Anvi the leaves cannv>t see him« though ever so
But thev all will A>lIow him, red and vellow.
Not a farmer but misses his oaten straws
Anvi calls on the piper, aloud, to stay :
But tie scarcely will get the words out of his ja
£ie Ibe {M|^t bs iq» ami off and away.
BENE T AMES BLOOD. 566
When the winter is come, and the nights grow late,
And tlie old crone leans at the kitchen gi*ate,
In solemn wise, and mumbles her stories
Till the urchins make big ej'es, then glories
The piper to blow and to blow, and his tone
Those urchins think is the desolate moan
Of the wounded knight in the legend old,
Which the skinny old crone has just now told ;
And bi^t half they believed her marvellous tale
Till the piper sounded his notes of bale ;
And it is very queer how the piper and she
Will cheat little children two times out of three.
He comes up at night from the drear}'' wold
And plays round the chimneys and gables old,
And flits in and out through the haunted hall
Till the family portraits dance on the wall.
But most he loves in midsummer eves
To answer her plaint when Echo grieves ;
Or chance on lovers who kiss and play
In the shade of an arbor hid away.
No better piper e'er piped on a straw
To the king of the forest, the bold outlaw ;
And no better piper e*er piped on a reed
To the elves and the fairies that skip o'er the mead ;
And no better piper e'er piped on a quill
To the shepherds that dance 'neath the loud-bleating hill:
Oh, he is the piper for all and for all ;
For he pipes to Maggie and he pipes to Mall,
He pipes for the cottage and he pipes for the hall ;
He pipes for merry and he pipes for sad.
He pipes for sorry and he pipes for glad.
And be you a mistress, or be yo\x a lover,
Sour be the sorrel, or sweet be the clover.
There is no better music the wide world over.
YEARNINGS.
How charming it would be if you and I
Could shake off every clog which Circumstance,
Our base old dungeon-keeper, has hung round
The natural freedom of our God-made limbs,
-And so go wandering about the earth
-At our own pleasure, till we chose to die I
X half believe that somewhere in the far,
566 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBE.
Tumultuous rush of the earth-wasting years,
I must have led a heavenly condor's life,
And so, full many a time, from the bright centre
Of the great dome that roofs the sea and land,
Have looked on this revolving pageantry ;
For not a da}' goes bj' but m^^ blood burns
To roam at will the vast and glorious rondure
Of this fine world ; to saunter up and down
From end to end of all its gorgeous valleys,
Its rolling rivers, its majestic hills.
Its fiery deserts, its wide wastes of ocean.
But it should be with some dear bosom friend,
With whom I might be talking half the time ;
Now in high strain about the unknown land.
Now marvelling to find upon all things.
Whether in earth or air, upon the wave,
The tree, the rock, the sand, the blade of grass.
Still the great stamp of the Reliable ;
And both of us so much at one with nature,
We should admire the very heat and dust.
The very snow and hail, the wind and rain ;
Fearing not even the hungry howls of beasts.
The horrible unreason of the brutes.
Nor any enterprise of desperate men :
Knowing full well that he who builds his life
On pain and sorrow, builds on adamant ;
While from foundations deepest laid in earth
Must spring the highest turrets into heaven.
So then it would be nothing but a pleasure
To toil and sweat along the dusty roads ;
To drag our weary limbs from cliff to cliflT;
To poise ourselves upon some hair-breadth edge.
And breathless creep above the pits of danger;
For what should all the perils of the journey
Weigh in the balance with its hours of joj*.
Its blissful commerce of two loving friends,
Its eagle views from ever}' towering peak.
Its glorious intercourse with the great God,
Who made and lives in all.
Oh, I believe
Our fate will yet go wandering with us
All over the green earth in this great wise !
I only pray it may be before Death,
That kind, well-meaning chetnist, shall drain off
LEANDEB S. CO AN. 567
From our dear souls our sweet infirmities, —
As we presume he will, since without them
How shall we know what highest pleasure is !
And yet why doubt that all will not be best?
And why suppose that even Death can bring us
Where toil and pain shall walk with us no more ?
Oh, certainly, if we should live so long,
Till heaven has sprinkled our good heads with gray,
Why not give up this ignominious life.
Surrender these pale comforts which our age
And time now lavish most on meanest men,
Distribute all our goods among the poor,
And after, seek our fortunes through the earth ?
Our costume should be suited to the clime,
And we would carry in our loving hearts
The flowers of all the creeds, scarce knowing which
Were loveliest I And all our walk by day
Should be in ever-changing atmospheres
Of speech and silence ; while as night came down.
And the good stars drew near us, and unveiled
To tell us we might sleep since they would watch.
Then seeking out the best place we could find.
Our bodies unto cold insensible.
And unto fear our souls, we should lie down.
And the soft petals of our eyes would close,
And all the heavens would watch us while we slept.
Eeantrcr Sb* Coan.
ey. Leander S. Coan was bom In Exeter, Maine, Nov. 17, 1887. He began the
ly of law, but turned his attention to religion, and determined to preach the
»spel of the Blessed Master." He graduated at the Theological Seminary at
Igor, Me., in 1863, and was ordained, as a Congregational minister, oyer the
rch in Amherst, Me. In 18M his long pent-up patriotism burst the bounds that
confined him, and he enlisted as a private in the Sixty-first Massachusetts YoU
eers, with the promise that, when the battalion of six companies was increaseti
full regiment, entitling them to a chaplain, he should have tlrnt position. But
the close of the war the regiment was never filled. He acted throughout as
plain but was uncommissioned. After the war he preached at Boothbay, Mc.,
!e years; BrownviUe, Me., three years; Bradford, Me., six months; Somerset
Fall River. Mass., three years, and at Alton this state about five years. He
1 in September, 1879. A volume of his poems, which has had a great sale, was
Ushedin 1880.
THE SAME OLD FLAG.
Bring out the old campaign colors,
Hoist the old banner high,
With Starr}' blue and crimson.
Clear in the autumn sky, —
The same old flag that in 'sixty,
568 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
And later in 'sixty-one,
We hailed with tears of devotion,
When the skies were heavy and don.
We followed it in its peril.
That its folds might know no stain ;
And now that dishonor threatens
We rally around it again.
We perilled our lives for its honor ;
Can we not give watchful toil,
That no fanatic delusion
Its unsullied lustre soil?
When the old world's socialist convicts
Hiss our fanatic hate,
Assailing our free republic
As they would a t^Tannous state.
We will rally around the standard,
We will lifl the old banner high,
Will vote and toil for its honor.
As once we were ready to die.
Defending now with the ballot.
As we did with the baj'onet then,
With cordons of steel and iron,
In the hands and hearts of men.
We will give no vote to dishonor
The sheen of its starry fold,
That shall shame when in the fbture
The deeds of to-day are told.
We fought disunion and treason
As loyal freemen then ;
And now dishonor and folly
In the hearts of misguided men.
Though the load to be borne is heavier
Than we in the darkness saw.
We may not refuse without breaking
The sacred tegis of law.
'Tis the fate of war and the nation
Cursed by a traitor's crew ;
Though they were false to their pledges,
For us it remained to be true.
We stand by the bond, our honor
And safetj' bind us there ;
Of breaking the nation's pledges
It behooves us well to beware.
ABBA GOOLD W00L80N, 569
WATER LILIES.
Our little white lily has fallen ;
It dropped on a barren strand,
And floated away on the water,
Beyond the reach of my hand.
Into the mists and the darkness.
Far away from the clamorous strife.
It floats, and I may not reach it, —
My little white lily of life.
Oh, the little white face of my darling I
How it shone with a light serene.
As, cleaving the turbulent river.
Its tremulous light was seen I
And now the mists rise in the darkness,
And the black spra}' dashes afar,
But flashing and white in the distance
That little face shines as a star.
Though the waves of that river are fearful.
And the storm on its bosom is wild,
There is floating, untouched by terror.
The face of a little child.
lira. Woolson is the daughter of the historian, Hon. Wm. Goold, of Windham,
Maine; in vihich town she was bom April 30, 1838. Her early life was passed in
Portland; and she was educated in the Hish School of that city. In 1856 she be-
came the wife of its principal, Mr. Moses woolson— an eminent teacher, who sub-
sequently held a similar position in High Schools of Cincinnati, Boston, and Con-
cood, N. H. In the latter city, which is her husband's native place, Mrs. Woolson
has resided for the past ten years. She is the author of three volumes, entitled
Woman in Ameriain Society, Dreis Reform and BrowHng among Booki, all pub-
lished by Roberts Brothers of Boston. Of late years she has given courses of
lectures on EnglUh Literature in connection unth History in Boston, Washington,
Kew York and other cities. Her poetry consists of fugitive pieces, not yet coUeot-
ed into a volume.
TO A PANSY.
Pressed smoothly in these printed leaves,
O faded flower of years agone.
Thou knowest naught of misty eves
Or thrilling light of mom.
The mould where once thj' beauty grew
Has nourished many a later flower ;
( POETS OF SEW aAMPSBTBS.
And sldeB etill widen, clear and blue,
Above that garden bower.
But thou, alone of all tb; race,
Haet felt no touch of chill decay.
And wearest an immortal grace
While sumniers glide away.
Where dew-drops trembled, soft and bright,
A tear now falls from saddened ejea ;
And kisses bum, where beams of light
Smote fierce from noon-day skies.
Not i-oses red that ope to-day,
Fresh blowing where the winds are free.
Nor tangled lilies, wet with spray,
Can win my heart from thee.
For one whose feet no longer tread
Through leafy ways in gardens tair,
Once paused and bent her lovely head
Above thy beauty rare ;
And praised thy tissues finely wove.
In that dear voice that nevermore
The winds may bear me, though I rove
By plain and sea-girt shore.
Forever dark with velvet glooms.
And golden-hearted as the dawn,
I still shall love thee when the blooms
Of coming years are gone.
THE DEPARTING YEAR.
He came, he brooght ns meadow-bloom and grasses.
And bint-songs carrolling the heavens through ;
Now not a gT««n blade flutters as he p&sses.
Nor stays one thrush to hymn a sweet adiea.
V*r\\ rattling stalks and clumps of frozen rashes
Aiv all ttukt tremble to his parting tread ;
Frvm vottage windows where the home-light flnshes
No faw loula out, no last farewell is said.
Barv are tb« walls where blushed his garden rosea.
And b«re the tree-t>ouji:fa« swaviog o'er the Ian ;
TW pmpi».lui^ Uttk<e not a leaf disckMes,
AaJ w> tee *«tcti«' ai^fhs that be is gone : —
ABBA OOOLD WOOLSON. 571
Gone with the beauty of the summer morning,
The dreamy loveliness of vanished days, -
The skj-'s soft glory and the earth's adorning,
June's ro83' light and Autumn's mellow haze.
I begged, when first he shone with lavish splendor,
A prince triumphant come to rule his own.
That he some token of his grace would render
To me, a suppliant, on his bounty thrown.
He bent and proffered, without stint or measure,
The utmost that my daring words could crave ;
With full arms closing round each hoarded treasure
My lips forgot to bless the hand that gave.
He made the evening glad, the sunrise golden,
And all existence richer that he came ;
Yet scarcely finds my spirit, thus beholden.
The time to weave this chaplet to bis name.
O kinglj' giver, old and unattended,
The world's poor gratitude is not for thee ;
It leaves unsung the reign so nearly ended,
And turns to hail the king that is to be.
GOOD NIGHT.
0 sweet my Love, the hour is late.
The moon goes down in silver state.
As here alone I watch and wait ;
Though far from thee, my lips repeat
In whispers low — Good night, my sweet 1
The house is still ; but o'er the gloom
Of starlit gardens faint with bloom
1 lean from out m}^ darkened room.
And only hear the roaming breeze
Move softly in the lilac-trees.
Somewhere beneath these gracious skies
My bonny Love a-dreaming lies,
"With slumber brooding in her e^'es :
Go seek her, happy wind so free.
And kiss her folded hands for me ;
Across this dome of silent air.
On tides of fioating ether, bear
To where she sleeps my whispered prayer : —
572 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHTRE.
The day has brought the night forlorn,
God keep thee, liUle Love, till dawn !
While life is dear, and love is best.
And 3*oung moons drop aiiown the west.
My lone heart, turning to its rest.
Beneath the stars shall whisper clear.
Good night, my sweet ! — though none may bear.
Isomer Caglor J^ulltt.
Rev. Homer T. Fuller was born In Lempster, Nov. 15, 183S. Heprepped fcreol-
lege at Kimliall Unlbn Academr, and ^nuloated at Dartmouth In 18M. ««'«»£»■
clpal of Fretlonia (S. Y.) Acaiiemy, l«t-T. He graduated at Unkn (S. T.) TV-
oloirlcal Semlnarv, May. 1989; was principal of St. Johnsbury (Vt.) Xcwimy. Ifll
Si; and is at present principal of Free Institute, Worcester, Maas. He Itts ipeal
about a year and a half In Europe, chiefly studying lu educational Insritntlnw.
JEWELS.
How many have jewels, gems sparkling with light.
Held dear to the hearty -and oft near to the sight,
To which the affections so ardently cling.
That to tear them away from the owner would bring
Uncontrollable sorrow and unalloyed grief?
Ah I many have jewels ; — and could we each leaf
Of the human heart turn, and its pages peruse.
Much there sliould we find both to pain and amuse,
In Wholding the jewels of various kind.
On which nameless values are placed by the mind.
The Rmzilian has jewels ; — Golconda's rich mine
Has gildeil him diamonds and rubies that shine
AViih a brilliancy which is Infilling, alone.
To onciroie lije brow of a king on his throne ;
A kinii\iom will purchase, and give in return
Pnisrcvsl wines that will make the Brazilian's cheek !>*i^'
Tii.st will jvnnder his j^ssions, and fiend-like, enslave
IV^lh his Ixxiy ami soul, till be sinks in the grave,
Thf l\r^::&n has jewels : — ^in Oman's green wave
The pi:iir]-divor loves his dark body to lave ;
Kul sjvnvis for narcoiios the fruits of his toil,
IVaiks, t;n*J^^->« s^d dies on that Mussulman sofl.
Tbo H;navx^ has jewels ; — ibe lamed Koh-i-noor
A^ AS ihc 03ii:se of muoh wrangling and many a war,
ri*! ;he v\>n»;tK>r:ni: Briion, wiih covetous eyes,
^^}^*''>>«->1 aj>vi K^Tv borne to his sovereign, the prize,
OM Kui::«>.i hi^ vw^ls ; — in Westminster's pile,
1* a ivx^ut well envixviDed and guaixkd fixMD irile.
HOMEB TAYLOR FULLJSB. 573
Where gem-glittering sceptres and crowns of pure gold,
Decked with amethysts, sapphires and pearls, you behold.
The court of old England is spangled with light,
And royal t^^'s trappings quite dazzle the sight ;
But while you are gazing on these precious stones,
Just think of the debt under which England groans.
Just think of the taxes, and all the church-rates,
Of tenants ejected from landlords' estates.
Of billows of misery, on which those are tossed.
And say if these jewels are worth what they cost.
But come home to New England — on Washington Street,
In our own modem Athens, ere long we shall meet
A jewelled hair-smirker, well-known to the crowd ;
A little behind, with a carriage as proud
As would well grace a queen, walks the belle of the town.
If her gloves were pulled off, and her shawl would fall down.
You might see jewelled fingers, pins, lockets, and chains,
The. gifts of such friends as have more gold than brains.
Yea, these possess jewels ; — but can such ever give
The possessor true pleasure, or help man to live
As he should, e'er distinguished by real inward worth,
As befits the great end of existence on earth?
But jewels there are which less dazzle the eye,
And on which we not often set values too high.
Good health is a jewel ; — then tarnish it not ;
For Croesus without it may envy 3'our lot.
Possessing this boon, in the most humble cot.
True friendship's a jewel ; — the friend that will share
Adversity, trial, misfortune and care.
When these come upon 3'ou, should always be prized
Above all the presents man ever devised.
Good looks are bright jewels ; — when won well they show,
In the face of the owner, the wealth His to know^
Of these, there is one which to man has been given,
The diamond of life, to prepare him for heaven.
Benevolence, temj^erance, faith, patience and truth
With virtue, embellish both manhood and youth
With radience brighter than rubies can give.
The mind is a jewel ; — the mind that will live
When the body shall crumble to dust whence it came,
A gem that may brighten to glory and fame,
If cut by true wisdom, and polished with grace,
Or lose all its lustre, if errors deface.
The soul which is trusting to Jesus alone,
And seeks for no good in itself to atone
For its guilt, and which lives for the glory of God,
I POETS OF NEW BAMFSHIBE.
Shall be one of the jewels vrhich He, in His wofd,
Sars, He will make up id that terrible dny,
When earth with ita dwellers shall all pass away.
Then rea<Ier, while life is rouchsafed to roa here,
Seek not the Tain treasures of this rolling sphere;
But. ere 'tis too late make the choice of that prize
Which will croirn voo forerer with Christ in the skies.
'■STRAIGHTWAY."
"Straightway he calleth," — baptized Ilrom abore
Straigfalwar proctaimeth his message of lore,
Straightway the wilderness traverseth o'er.
Straightway resistelh temptations most sore.
"Straightway be calleth,*' as soon as He came.
Waiting to know neither title Dor name ;
Asking not readiness, fitness, more faith.
But following, obeying whatever He saith.
Straightway they followed, forsaking ibeir nets,
I'Uering no murmnrs, nor »ghs. nor regrets
Fiv d^he^. or fortunes, or friends they bad left :
For w::h Jesus, of naoght were tber really bereft
Ouwanl they foltoweil throogb storm and throi^ nlni.
Oawairl th^y pr¥$se<i N^fore sworvl, stake and lUme:
S.1 i.'anM th.-; tn^iom. and s« were thers won
V;otortes and crown^ for the onidSed Son.
"Str^ghtway h* calVtb," — ye», now. as of yoir.
S:raigii:way He p^eadetli. pal nothing before.
S:raigh:way. to-lay. cb>x<se tbott the —good psrt.'
Straf^ranty. to-i1ay. fire O ziv-e Hint thine bwt
EMIL T OBAHAM HA YWABD. hlh
THE WREATH OF LOVE.
Oh, twine a wreath of love for me,
And place it on my brow ;
There let me wear it day by day,
Forever bright as now.
The flowers of love are ver}' fair.
Though gentle be their hue ;
They never fade when once in bloom ;
They're ever fresh with dew.
A wreath of love alike becomes
The child of want and wealth ;
It gives a charm that still is felt
In hours of pain or health.
Then gather now the flowers of love.
And weave a wreath for me ;
ril wear it still where'er I go
Upon the land or sea.
'Twill be my passport through the world,
Where'er my footsteps bend ;
nTwill gain me entrance through the gate
At this lone joume3^s end.
There I shall meet the pure and blest,
And, sitting down with them.
The wreath of love will then become
An angel's diadem.
LINES
Suggested by reading «Jane Eyre.**
Tjonely and weary my footsteps are straying,
While round me the damp winds of evening are playing,
And over my heart cold shadows are falling,
While a voice deep within for my lost one is calling,
^^Come back, oh come back, my darling, to me.
And cheer the lone heart that is aching for thee."
You have wandered away, you have left me alone.
As if my poor heart were nothing but stone ;
But 'tis bleeding and breaking in anguish to-day.
While you amid strangers are now far away ;
Your own heart will weep, for 3'our cruelty tore
Yourself from the hopes you will cherish no more.
POETS OF XEW HAirPSmBE.
Ami ibough all tlieir beauty mav fade with to-day.
The wtvaih cm my heart, love will keep fresh for aye.
We niMt ll'e ti'^iher ; as neither, alone.
Hail isj:^! the biiss oven now all our own ;
S.>, il-.rvT.^b a'.l the IU:ut«. the heights we attata
Will i><f [£o« we itrusgle. together, to gain.
1 know vaivs await as. bat do not forget
LvTe cuar.is ns, far higher and purer than yet
(.^r hi;a:sa hearts know ; so. here at your side.
. aci h^eaven £eeai5 crowning yoar bride.
Ah. ccTfr 5 ^ueen. in the pcocd days of <:M.
Slorw y:vs:.".y wore cn?wn. thocj':: ofjeweU an-d gol-J.
T";a= w(ij I lo-tiay. as you make me your wife.
Ti-s i—':'.^^ ;^: -."rvwrLs me tee qceen of yoor life.
FlKXISarNG THE HOCSE.
Say. ':A*:t ::;- ~j '--e::;. :o arrvLiS. 5.ic rain p:-i*.
S:::i T-.v—.f is wia'-.i .c'.y .-."o: ^>e :o yocr IHie:
Av.- -ii; ^t: i;x j,--^ : eTer^.- c:< i^ows
It'.-c, •^~j..- :< zi:z insjirs-i ":ef;ri ztrt 2*<e gro"^
\ .CT --: ^: t-irs irv :i;-:r ; iri'i — a^y i:ci years
lU' ; r-' '■-■- ~;' - --•=■ "^ :ii'— "-1J.; it- liviii ir«ars :
-."^-■y T'-i -!;•;■ j.T -■£=<;*. !e«3 y^.c s::;:^::'* ani il:
O -U:^ :.■ '.If iJ^vf .1 H'"- -■- -!^^ i:';rs
;i-.oi :.;^ri:t,-rj ■»■_ it^j t-;c ysc-
:■:. 1* J:;.^
:* ?.c ^i; '-•ii'
,i>- ;■; n:':H
■:*: ;ar«.
:.:(:j> ;f iJi
:rca ^lar^-T.
■ :i..-J M-J.-:
iiuj. .3 -jr,a.<
l::.:^ !.. *::.'
HI*. IS -:iir i'^
1 -1 ti-i 1- :
\2.niCf i.:.."^.
.u. i»-J =•!»!.
laiii; j;-^.
LTDIA H. TIL TON. * 579
THE KISS AT THE DOOR.
Nay, darling, I cannot "love thee
As the morning we were wed !"^
Too fondly my heart is nurtured,
Too much upon manna fed,
To shrink to the old-time measure :
Although I scarcely know
How love, that the 3'ears have strengthened.
Found so much room to grow.
I know when the whispered, "darling**
Woke to a happier life
The heart that since has listened
To the added word of "wife,"
I fancied the very angels
Could not have loved yon more ;
But now a love far greater
Shall kiss you, at the door.
I know you are often weary
With business care and strife ;
But you always bring home sunshine
And blessing, to your wife.
Each trial but serves to strengthen
The bond that was strong before :
And I watch, as the shadows lengthen.
To kiss you, at the door.
Our "God is love," my darling ;
He plants, with man}' flowers.
The paths, in which his children
Must pass their earthly hours :
Our path seems each day brighter
With light from the unseen shore ;
And gratefully I linger
To kiss 3'on, at the door.
Ksich life hath its minor cadence ;
The sad ^ith the sweet must blend ;
nd even to heart communings
Come whisperings of the end :
ut, oh, if the angels call me
I'^'irst, to the shining shore,
riJl watch and wait to welcome,
^^nd kiss you, at the door.
580 POSTS OF NEW SAMP8SISB.
oriata 33. ftratf).
Hl«. Hwth. whow mklden ume wu Skwrer, VM bora Id lUaeMHcr, Jilr «,
U3T, and wttta Ibc excrptloa of a Icir yemnliu alnya realdol In (taal dn. 9M
maviliKmlnllBUwKhiwlftbcn. Xt tbe ■«« of tweDtrtwo abe bacane At wdc
of Mr. Babnt Until. $b« bc^ao to write pocUr at an earir age, bw pgMtiWit
•othlw beforp ibe wu acTCBlMn. Sbe then wnita for the BovUn <MfRa Jnaet
and ooiBr papen, niwrallr anifCT an aasonad nanw. In ISSl an «I«k— 1 rtttmt •!
hn poona «u publUhnl. rntuled "WaKr UUu and iMher PoonaT" Mn. H«lt
■ ber iBaplnllun In eTrrr dn; tbouftbta and cipeil«K«a, doaaaClr Jojoail
.1 — 1- .-, — .-..,... -_^ (^ hopin anil conaolalloaa ol icUclm. la ks
Hctt
m, almpla rrtcnditalpt aiu) An hapna anil conabiali
iHnc ol nalonl KeDc* and rani life iba la trua to m
iM mad gnettalla n
WATER ULIES.
O regal rme« ao bright utd fair I
Filling with fragrmnce the bslmy ftir,
Glowing in beauty oa every hud.
Sweeter than dreams of a faiiy land ;
TIs well to come when the year ia new,
Is its fre^heat green, and its brightest blue.
Iq earir spring 'twas ttw violet
We seatvh«vl for in woods and meadows wet.
Arbutus, too. with its pink and white.
Was ever a source of new delight ;
While the purple pansies the gardens bnx^t
Were sweeter than all, we sometiiiies thought-
Bat the heart of the aommer brings a glow
No other time in tbe year can know.
We se^ the lake, and the little boat,
Astt over the waters dreamii^ float.
To ^ther the hlies. stanr-eyed.
That rest ob the shining. '■p''"g tide.
W^t t;} as &ir of aQ Soven that blooa?
What is as nre. with its rare perflame?
What Is as pure, with its hosie of wans?
What is as ftvsa that ttw taa':>eaia laves?
lVff«t;c in ^RMe and in loveliness '.
What u a« dain^ ani sweet as this?
How s^'CieM the p«arh^ leans that SM
iV^c ;!m ijxiin ani ^wAuacd nnct of pal^^i
Like Airr oastjts tikev Jem Bo Ibiot.
Vtai t^ shhvks aai'iiK of ti& tennxe ^
Aaaborvi-!. tJkKK^ w-jai aial wsn go ^5 ->.
*"" sa ipwacii mk an tte atnie si?-
CLARA B, HEATH. 581
The brightest morn that my childhood knew
Was one on the waves so dark and blue.
How rich I was, and how gay and glad,
Though the gold of the lilies was all I bad !
We've gathered little by life's highway
As pure as the treasures of that fair day.
Sweet water lilies, of white and gold,
That spring fh>m a bed so dark and cold ;
With never a taint of their lowly birth,
And never a touch of their mother earth ;
The heart of the summer would still have shone
Though never another flower had blown.
BLUEBERRYING.
The clouds hung low, for they promised rain,
The mist encircled the far-off hill ;
Behind us the city spread far and wide,
Before us the countr}^ broad and still.
The tall grass waved in a gentle breeze,
The daisies blossomed around m}* feet ;
I heard the song of the honey-bees.
For the clover-tops were red and sweet.
They were making hay in a field we passed,
The mower stood in a shady nook
And sharpened anew his shining scythe.
Just stopping to give us a careless look.
We passed b}' a farm-house, old and quaint,
The well was close to the dusty street ;
I thought of the shady curb ^^at home,"
The moss-grown rocks, and the water sweet.
We ffllowed a path through a pasture old.
Where alders, mullein, and hard-hack grew ;
It led us up to the sloping hill ;
We knew we must climb for the berries blue.
Close under the leaves of a tiny oak,
The sweetest spot for a bird to rest,
X found four eggs of an azure hue,
12eposing soil in a downy nest.
^>f]r pails were large, and the berries small.
The sun soon scattered the mist away
582
POETS OF NEW HAITPSHIRE,
The dog came not at our fretful call,
But panting under the bushes lay.
How often had I, when a little child,
Gone ben-^ing just such da^^s as this ;
And yet I was seldom weary tlien.
No matter how warm the bright sun's kiss.
The berries seemed larger, and bluer too,
That I gathered then on the green hill-side ;
And the tiny pond where the lilies grew,
I fancied looked like the ocean wide.
When next we go, may the soft winds blow.
The berries larger and riper be.
And fleecy clouds in the deep blue sky
O'er-shadow valle}' and hill for me.
TRANSFORMED.
Death crowns us all. How soon as interest wakes
In one bereft of friends, unknown to fame.
When Death the weary pilgrim feet overtakes ;
A new born wave of awe sweeps round his name,
As when some sudden breeze the tree-top wakes ;
Forgotten all his wrong, or sin, or shame,
Even the hardest heart some pity shows.
And sighs with solemn bated breath, ''Who knows?"
Who knows what might have been, had fortune paved
His way with buds of hope and blossoms fair?
If but a soft Arcadian wind had laved
The heated brow and left its kisses there ?
Who knows but that he may have been enslaved
By mighty powers that throng the earth and air
Such as we have not met with ? Ah ! who knows
How strong life's under-current ebbs and flows?
The little child that on our bosom lay
A few brief days, and left us sick and sad,
Calls with a stronger voice to us to-day
Than those who make our hearth-stone gay and glwl
We clung the cloj^er as they passed away.
We did not realize the joy we had.
Death's sombre gate of sileiice closes quite.
In haste as if to shut out heaven's light.
CLABA B. HEATH. 583
How perfect arc our dead I no eyes so blue
As those forever closed in dreamless sleep ;
No lily hands, though waxen in their hue,
Can beckon to us o'er life's slimy deep,
With half the power of those pale hands we knew,
That now are lost to us where shadows creep ; ,
Tender and true, their follies known no more,
They stand transformed upon the other shore.
SEA MOSSES.
"Bring me, I said, a breath of the sea.'*
Was this the fringe of a sea-nymph's robe,
Caught in the door of a coral cave.
Loosened by waters that span the globe,
And tossed ashore on a foamy wave ?
Was that the tip of a dancing plume
That decked the head of a mermaid queen ?
Or refuse threads from an elfin loom,
Matching her mantle of pale sea green ?
Were these the trees of a mimic isle.
Never at loss for the sun or dew ?
Or only the branches that decked awhile
A fairy boat with its fairy crew ?
Are these the strands of a carpet soft.
Richer than mortal has ever trod,
Freed by the current and borne alofl,
To show us the hidden work of God ?
0 little mosses, perfect and fair I
Emerald, crimson, and brown, and jet.
Fashioned with infinite skill and care.
The charm of the sea is with 3'ou yet.
Nature, propelled by the Master's hand.
Cares for the unseen as well as seen.
Touches each part with her magic wand.
Matches each stroke with a stroke as keen.
Had we but eyes for the hidden glow.
Thrown on each page of her wondrous book,
Were we a tithe of her beauty to know,
Crude would the best of our elforts look.
POETS OF NEW BAMP8HIBK.
Thanks, little moasea, daintily fine.
The bncies are sweet j-e briog to me ;
ThBoks to the hand that traosferred to mine.
With jonr foii; fronds, a breath of Uie Ma.
THE GBEAT REWARD.
"Eye bath not aeea." O hnntan eye I '
Bevildered by Uie earth below.
The matchless glories of the sky.
The nhining wares that ebb uid fiow.
Hie flowers with all their Taried tints.
Brighter than ever monarch wore,—
Are these fair things indeed but hinta
Of what our Father has in store ?
**Ear hath not heard." O homan ear !
Charmed with the mnaic of the sea.
Filled with the soanda that greet thee here,
Rejoiang in their harmony.
Entranced by eTeiy -wfxA and tone ,
Pram loriog lips that rise aitd &11,
Hast thoa indeed, then, never known
The bearenly wxiDds that will enthrall ?
"No heart ooooeiTes." Strange hnmao beait,
Prood of thine onseea depths below,
Booyed by the hopes that from tbee dart,
Is there still more for thee to know?
CafiacxiQS heart, that barru and thrills,
And throbs again with ecstasy, —
When eailh-boni ^ys racJi carems fill.
How deep tbe bearenly tide moat be I
**Fcw those who Ion him." Weary MvaV,^
Diink deeply of the promised bllsa.
Bov roond aad beastaAil tk whole
Of <we greai promise such as this I
O »— dmaa oceao of God's loTC \
8TEPBEN B. THAYES. 585
3tepl)en |^. stager.
^hayer was bom in the town of New Ipswich, December 16, 1889. His earlsr
spent in bis native place where he attended school at New Ipswich Apple-
demy, one of the oldest institutions of the kind in New Hampshire,
ilch he graduated in 1857. He left his home early the following year.
tr spending a year or more in a counting house in Boston, remoyed
York city, where fbr six years he was employed in a banking house
d with the New York Stock Exchange. In 1864 be was elected a member
zchange and very soon after united with others in organUing a banking
mission house in which he has been a partner for seventeen years. He
iMautif ul suburban residence near Tarrytown on the Hudson River, on
tlon overlooking fifty miles of river view, and in the midst of the Sleepy-
region made famous bv Washington Irving's legendary tales, as well as
, by the Provincial ana Revolutionary history of our country. In spite of
exacting attention to his business interests, Mr. Thayer has contributed a
mber of poems, during the past ten years, to various periodicals here and
and is still writing with the intention, at an early day, of collecting his
ork for publication in book form. Several of his poems may be found in
ow's collection of "Poems of Places" published a few years ago.
ON THE BANKS OF THE SOWHEGAN.
The summer air is sweet with bahn,
The river like a mirror lies,
Reflecting back the tranquil calm
Of Hampshire's golden sunset skies.
The waters murmur on, the same.
Their melodies of ages long ;
The hills, so often called by name.
Still answer back the voice of song.
The forest trail that in the days
Of youth I roamed, the sinuous stream
Along whose marge, by devious ways,
I wandered in my earlier dream ;
And all the slumberous solitude
Within the old familiar glen.
Are as they were of 3'ore, and brood
Within my spirit now as then.
I hear the silvan voices break
Far in the deeps of birch and pine,
Where summer's winged songsters wake
To thrill again with notes divine.
I stroll along the pebbly strand.
Or wander o'er the drowsy steep ;
The meadow, lake, and slope expand
In haz}' harmonies of sleep.
And on the grassy ledge I lie,
Unmindful of Uie world beyond,
586 POETS OF XEW HAMP8HIBE.
Linked to the heart of memoir.
And sweetly cherishing the bond.
I close mj eyes, and up the stream
Of life return, in fancy dear,
To those fair days of 3'outh and dream
When oft I rowed the river here ;
Until, oblivious of the j'ears,
Afar through mists of world and time,
A phantom boatman steers and veers
His barque, like music in a rhj'me.
His form is lithe, his eye is keen.
His song keeps time to dipping oars ;
He sings with heart and faith serene.
And leaves behind the merging shores :
He leaves behind the hedge and ferns.
The sheltering trees and mimic slopes.
As in his soul a passion bums
That stirs his life with larger hopes.
His homely craft recoils and shifts
Where deeper currents speed him on,
Then down the broadening waters drifts,
And rounds the point and he is gone.
And be is gone for aye and aye ;
He never more as boy returns,
But now. in sober manhood's dav.
He plucks again the river ferns.
A sterner world of stress and pain,
A world of love and thought and strife.
Of storm and calm, of loss and gain,
Has knit his heart to other life.
Yet here, in memor>''s sweet repose.
Where once his halcyon hopes were bom,
He sings his song of these, for those
Who then were here, but now are gone.
THE BELLS OF NYACK.
The lurking shadows, dim and mate.
Fall vaguely on the dusky river ;
Vex(Ki breezes play a phantom lute
Athwart the waves that curl and qi^ytf .
STEPHEN H. THATEB. 587
And hedged against an amber light
The lone hills cling, in vain endeavor
To touch the curtained clouds of night
That, weird-like, form and fade forever.
The sad moon bathes with silver}' beams
The bush of twilight, bated breath.
While fallow thoughts, un fathomed dreams.
Weave m3'stic webs with life and death.
Then break upon the blessed calm,
(Deep dying melodies of evea,)
Those Nvack bells ; like some sweet psalm,
They float along the fields of heaven.
I know not that their liquid knells
Bear less of joy's than griefs refrain ;
Yet from their echoing spirit swells,
Methinks, a melancholy strain.
As if a throb from out the wave
Had mingled with their airy motion ;
A song from some fair mermaid's cave,
A sigh from some far depth of ocean.
The forests add their sylvan lay,
The night-birds lend their plaintive rounds.
The perfumed flowers that fill the day
Add incense to the muffled sounds.
And now I hear a marriage chime,
Commingling with responsive voices,
A festal song completes the rhj-me.
As heart with wedded heart rejoices.
Then, lo ! the shadows deepen down.
And veil, in nun-like darkness, all ;
Toll slowly, bells, o'er sea and town,
For death has hung its gloomy pall.
Dark fancy hears lamenting moans.
And voices hush, and hearts are broken.
And in thy knells are widowed tones, —
A prayer for some wild woe unspoken.
Then golden-like, along the west,
A bright reflection lightens mine.
And visions in my thought a rest
That mingles in these sounds of thine.
588 POETS OF NEW EAMPSJSIBS.
Now laden with a nameless balm,
Now musical with song thou art ;
I tune thee by an inward charm,
And make thee minstrel of mj heart.
Oh, bells of Njack, fainUy toU
Across the starry-lighted sea ;
Thy murmurs thrill a thirsty sonl,
And wing a heavenly hymn to me.
A JUNE SONG.
A he^rt, in the June-day of summer,
Had tasted the violet* s lips.
Had stolen, from every new comer.
The honey that lover-heart sips,
Had traversed the low-lands, the high-lands,
To drink of the dewy sweets there.
Had wandered through near-lands and fkr-lands,
The blossoms of summer to share ;
Till longing and lonely, a-sighing
For love of a love that was vain.
For a bliss that ever was djing.
For a joy that covered a pain.
It winged its far flight over mountain,
It spanned the purple sea-plain.
It sped to the lily-brimmed fountain
Of the passion of youth again ;
It listened for a murmur, a laughter.
It dreamt of a faiiy face there,
It plead for an answer, once softer
Than songs on the summer-sea air ;
But the voice was hushed in the gloaming.
The form and the spirit were gone,
The face in the mirror-fount, foaming.
Had melted to mist with the mom.
The June-day of summer was over.
The autumn had withered the May,
The bloom of the heart of the lover
Had faded forever away.
TWILIGHT CONTRASTED.
Thy passive hour is often ftill of deeps ;
The sun has left its after-glow far east ;
STEPHEN H, THAYER. 589
0 Twilight ! thou art stolen beauty ! least
And last of day, — an amber-calm, that keeps *
The soul inlit with heaven, and strangel}^ steeps
With low imbosomed song, (true minsti*el feast,)
The fairy imagery of thought ; released
From sterner ways, the dream}' fancy sleeps
In revery ; the world is hushed and spiiit
Answers spirit in language of its own,
Without the whisper, or the ear to hear it,
As one alone, who is not all alone ;
And stilly voices echo on the air.
And silent songs melt into silent prayer.
I hear the swift winds sweep along the west,
Invisible— heaven's armies put to flight! —
First far, then near, their giant wings aflHght
The wailing forest trees that vainly breast
Their torrent-force. And yet the sound is rest ;
1 love it — fierce, defiant — in its might,
It lulls, like roar of ocean waves at night ;
Companion-like, I love its tumults best,
For I am weak, and strong, and nothing long,
Fretting against the narrow walls of sense.
Impatient of the unimpassioned throng.
Half-prisoned by dull fate, but still intense
With will to conquer and compel — a power
That tempts, and yet eludes me eveiy hour I
UNINTERPRETED.
Within the vale-embosomed wold.
Low droop the tasselled chestnut boughs ;
Soft lullabies of sweet repose
Still murmur, as in days of old.
Deep in the sleeping solitude.
Half-muffled in its ferny dream,
The silver ripple of the stream
Whispers its ancient interlude ;
While, far aloft? the busy wren.
Or thrush, or lark, in luteful strain.
Flings wild its pangs of joy or pain,
In echoes through the hollow glen.
590 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
And here awhile I muse in thoqght,
. How, through the nameless eons gone.
The circling birds have sung alone,
In language man was never taught.
Thick sheltered from the comttion "waj,
Who knows what airy spirit thrills
The feathered throat, what rapture fills.
Or tender vows inspire its lay ?
Who knows the lexical caress, —
An art b}' man scarce understood, —
By which the birdling's heart is wooed
To love's delirium of bliss ?
Who knows the sadness that it sings?
Its chidings to its lover-mate ?
Or fond repl}^, or scornful hate
Marked in the flutter of its wings ?
What sighs intone its music so?
W^hat passions tremble in its song?
W^hat questionings of right and wrong
Impel its answer, **Yes" or "No"?
What code of wisdom teaches it?
What yearnings fill its aching breast?
AVhat glory of celestial rest,
Eternal, in its soul is lit?
Who knows, ah ! who? We can but guess
An inly answer, as we sing.
Or think, a vain imagining ;
But all without is nothingness.
Yet, might I know — or foul, or fair,
AVhatever fortune wins the day —
That birds would fill my wandering way
With their wild songs, I would not care.
GREAT TEMPLE OF KARNAK.
Thou art not now ; a far off age did knell
A greater death that marked thy lesser fall,
Thou mighty temple, reared by Egypt's thrall !
What grandeur do thy silent ruins tell,
Wherein a thousand buried arts do dwell?
O Karnak I wondrous e'en thy mould'ring wall,
STEPHEN H, THAYEB. 591
Whose countless crumbling monuments recall
The mystic splendor of thine ancient spell !
But wherefore name th}' praise I Forevermore,
As ever, thou art dead. Thou ne'er didst live,
Save in the mockery of truth, to score
The spoils of false, despotic kings ; to give
The tyrant's lash to cringing slave, or fame
To glory, oi* to baser gods a name I
A PARTING SONG.
Not long ago, I listened to the song
A robin trilled, as, from a covert shade.
Beneath a maple's golden bough, its strong.
Clear voice broke from the stillness of the glade.
To me, the plaintive notes had drawn their sweets
From nature's emblems of the waning year.
A flush of glory and of death entreats
The heart to nameless longings, which endear
The senses to the mem'ry, as they meet
This vision of the summer's parting bloom ;
And as the redbreast's wondrous song did greet
My ear, it seemed a plea to stay the doom.
*'The past ! the past ! Oh, for a breath of spring !
Come back to me, ye loves of youth !" it said ;
*^0h ! hasten, moments, once again, and bring.
Bring to my brooding wings the loved ones fled."
A- dying pathos blended with its tone, /
As if it knew that nevennore again
Could be reclaimed the happy seasons gone.
Its wild impassioned song was sung in vain !
Its tired wings, uplifted, beat the air.
As, breasting onward toward the southern sk}'.
Noiseless it soared away, I know not where.
In softer climes to sing its song, and die.
A VOICE FROM THE SEA.
Once, by the moon-lit sea we stood,
And watched the shield of glimmering light
That fell across the throbbing flood.
Melting the shadowy folds of night.
5M P0BT8 OF NEW HAMF8HIBE.
Far 0*0* the shifting, dlTeiy sand
That every loUing ware re-swept.
We heard the billows lave the strand.
In moDod jT that never sl^ ;
And far along the sheeny deep.
We saw the ftyii^ fleet of sail
That deit the swell, and seemed to leap.
And scxxik the threat of gathering gale.
And ah ! the sounds that softly broke
In oeaseleBS smges fhxn the sem.
Blent whh a mnnBoring voice, that woke
To breathe an answer huk. to me :
For there beneath the bending Aj —
Sweet visioB of a dav that's dead —
One whispoed wocds that ne'tf can die.
Whose eaithly image long has fled.
Bieak thon. O porple waves, for aye.
And lade the winds, and kiss thie diare.
For an in vain I dream, a day
'^^ biii^ me hack that voice of yore.
Bm jYC aknk^ the strand, akme,
I wa2«h the nevcr-dyiw seai.
Ami bear ihe never-dyiv tooe
From Ips ihax wh^peied love to
JBhraila §BL GtmlL
LOOaXG ACBOSS THE TALK.
Sine* isJ^T rtrfs^ — -ye
V ^sir TiTrmfcT siesi<«> of bes w kiss I
>cjic oot. innc^ia. iwrt womsw mSSil
%
«fL. Iw 0&. ve Afr
«
Toac )ieunc^« Jaw« iJw waii of God!
MIBANDA M. OOBBELL, 598
Most dear ye are, ye gladdened so
The hearts of those, who, passing o'er
Death's vale of shadows, long ago,
To mortal sight return no more.
"Are not these flowers new words of God?"
Asked one of these, friend of the poor, —
Lifelong, Truth's thorny way he trod.
In holy cause, strong to endure.
His life, his love, still speak his praise ;
Ilis words along the years shall ring !
Even now, though late, for him men raise
The graven stone, and tribute bring.
All powerless now Hate's fiery breath ;
No more of fruitless toil they know
Who enter truer life through deaths
And drink where healing waters flow
From springs eternal ; — but^ O love.
Cannot thy pleading reach them yet?
Stand the}' on heights so far above
Earth, that thy sorrow they forget?
We still, with tongues that falter, read
First-lesson pages, stained with tears ;
The hands we lift, in childhood's need
Of guidance, tremble with our fears.
So backward we, and slow to learn.
So often wander far astray.
In wistful searching and return
Spending so much of precious day ;
While they, our dear ones, nevermore
Lose time or strength in eflbrt vain.
But wiser grow in heavenl}' lore.
And unto higher life attain ;
Ah, surely, we can ne'er o'ertake
Them, in the far-off, unseen land !
And if they turn not, for love's sake,
Unto its border, where we stand
At last, bewildered, weary, sad, —
If they come not, with word and tone
And welcome, as of old-time, glad.
How shall we find again, our own?
POETS OF ,YEir SAXFSfflBE.
OCT OF THE DEPTHS.
I stood upon a wreck-strewii shore,
Watcbiug the pulse of ocesn beat,
Until & white-capped wavelet bore
A bit of drift-wood to mj* feet.
Then, fiom the depths, there came to ine
A Toice I knew, — ''What art thou, soal.
Afloat upon a troubled sea.
Bone onward as its waters roll?
Behold thvself, thyself, in this
Fragment, so worthless, useless, all !
What wonilej-. if. to some abrss
Of darkness, thoa at last shalt fall?
Of dust, one atom in the air.
The tiniest shell in yon sea-care, —
These with the uairerse compare, —
Dreaming of life beyond tlie grare !
Think of unbounded fields of space ;
Of stars, as conntiess as the sand ;
Eaoh held in its ^^xrinted place
By tl>e Cnalor's lirelesa hand !
Yea. God. liie Infinite, o'er all
Raleth. the King of wcH'lds untold ;
Bui. 'Wbal is manT O sonl. recall
And jynder well the qnestioa old !
Loiik tboQ abn^ad. among thy fciod:
See how death and desuwctioa ««it;
VTbat cliains of limitaiiou bind
Men down in Jowoess of estate ;
BeVvesi ilion. ot God. thai he
Will bear, or beed. a martaTs ax?
Tbeo. wbv iSoih jxvc hnmaaiiy
I'nder a crais of anguish lie ?•
host was ibe TV>ior. in mcnaeR Jcnr
Of exiening winJ. o'er «Te<^ ujd tide ;
"I kitcw. I kBow. and do ihM tnow
O where ail tbi.-«. my Go^?" I cried.
"l>iTy» of bfe, .Icisi ibon n^j, m«
For «arLh-bora chiklaeB^ jq i^hi «t>t^
Mm AND A M, QOBBELL, 695
Wilt thou abandon to despair,
The least, most helpless, here below ?
Nay, let me keep ray faith in thee.
Through all of ill that may betide !
Faith in thy love, this, grant to me,
Whatever else may be denied I"
An answer came ; when all the wild
And dreary scene, night curtained o'er ;
One after one, above me , smiled
The glad stars, friendly as of yore !
From the eternal realm of calms
They looked, and said, * ''Neath great and small
Are^yet the Everlasting Arms,
From which not one, not one, may fall I
The laws so dimly understood
By thee, O thou of little faith.
Arc those of wisdom, justice, good.
And unto life, they lead, not death !
Th}' God is there, thy God is her^,
Where'er on him his creatures call ;
Listen no longer unto fear,
Trust Ilim, who is the Life of all I"
Assured, and com foiled, and stilled,
I, then, with clearer vision, saw,
That, all its purposes fulfilled.
Perfection is the end of law,
Ui)on the first, large-lettered scroll
Of nature glows the word, ''Design,"
And, surely, as the ages roll,
Unfoldeth still, the plan divine !
Slowly, — as light grows, hour b}' hour, —
Even through suffering made strong,
The human race shall gather power
To break its chains of sin and wrong I
Take courage, wear}', aching heart.
Faint not beneath thy load of care !
They who in battle have a part
Will in the joy of victory share I
696 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
f^elcn gl. JF. Coci)rane.
Mrs. Cochrane Is the voungcst daughter of the late Hon. Dmnlel Frendi uA
Sarah Wlngate Flagg, of Chester, and a half -sister of the late B. B. French. StekM
been a contributor to various publications — chiefly of stories, short and serial; b«
has occasionally furnished poems and miscellaneous articles, and at one time vroir
letters from Wasliington, D. C, while tcmporarilv sojourning there. In 1$7I ^
was murled to Hon. G. W. Cochrane, of Boston, Mass.
OH STAY.
How lovely fair my roses bloomed
On that bright morn in May ; —
"And must ye fade?" I sadly cried,
''Oh stay, sweet roses, stay !"
E'en then a passing zephyr swept
My beauteous flowers away.
And, withering, dying, on the sod
Each crimson petal lay.
A storm came o'er the setting son,
But lo ! as it passed by,
Jehovah's promise written there
Upon the cloud}^ sky !
With hands upraised I quickly cried,
"Oh, lovely rainbow, stay!"
E'en while I spake, those glorious hues
Were fading fast away.
Sweet summer, with her golden hair,
Walked through the joj'ous earth,
And wood, and vale, and water-fall,
Seemed jubilant with mirth.
But scarce I caught the glowing smile
That wreathed her ros}' mouth.
When autumn frowned, and she, poor maid.
Went weeping toward the south.
And lo, a change ! a crimson flame
Glowed bright from Iwwer and tree :
Methought each shrub a "burning bush"
Where angels called to me.
In triumph 1 rejoicing cried,
"Oh, glorious vision, staj' !"
Alas ! for nature only wore
The splendors of decay !
I saw a maiden, sweet and fair.
With pure seraphic brow, —
Well might it be, — alas the day !
HELEN A. F, COCHBANE. 597
For she's a seraph now :
I fondly thought to walk with her
Along life's darkening wa}',
But she was of earth's beautiful,
And so she could not stay.
Oh autumn leaves, that glow in death,
Ye roses fair of May,
Say, if in all this weary world
There's nothing that will stay?
Bright summer hours and rainbow hues.
Too soon they pass away.
But human life, and human love,
Afe frailer things than they.
PARTED.
M}' sister, in some musing hour,
When o'er thy soul the past hath power.
When in thy dreams thou livest o'er
The days that will return no more, —
Sa}', does no ^-earning thought e'er come
To this, thy childhood's earliest home?
Thy home, though years and 3'ears have passed
Since thou, dear one, wert with with us last ;
And oft we've wished, though still in vain.
That thou wert with us once again.
Sa}', will tin* foot cross nevermore
The threshold of thy father's door?
Thy father ! thou wouldst miss his face,
His kindly smile and dear embrace ;
For oh, he left us long ago,
Leil sickness, care, and grief below ;
And so we laid his wear}* head
To rest, among the quiet dead.
Ah me, the gloom that o'er us fell,
None but the fatherless can tell I
Then our fair sisters left us, too,
As if too dark life's pathway grew.
As if they fain would seek above.
What earth held not, a father's love.
Sweet flowers above their graves we set —
The m^Ttle, rose, and violet ;
Sweet flowers that tell how brightly they
598 POETS OF NEW RAMPSHIBS.
Are blooming in eternal day ;
Frail flowers that tell us, with a sigh,
How in the dust they mouldering lie.
And home would seem so sad and strange.
For thou wouldst mark each dreary change ;-
But holy memories linger here
To call thee back, my sister dear ;
Old memories that thy soul would thrilK
And there are hearts that love thee, stilL
Thy mother, where the shadows lie
That tell life's setting hour is nigh.
Still walketh on with cheerful feet ;
How would she joy thy form t5 greet —
To greet ere she shall tread that shore
From which no foot retumeth moro.
And I — companionless I stand.
The last of all our household band ;
The last, to linger here alone.
When all the old home light hath flown.
And I have marked the changing years
With weary heart and falUng tears.
They sav that time hath touched thv brow,
I scarce would know my sister now ; —
And should fate*s darkly rushing tide
For aye our earthly paths divide.
In that sweet land where comes no care.
Where all is lovely, pure and fair.
Shall ^e not know each other there?
ACROSS THE SEA.
Thou hast left thv home mv brother.
Left the friends who love thee best ;
But sweet memories, and halloweil.
Come to soothe each saddened breast ;
Auii the prayer goes up at even,
For our wanderer o'er the sea.
'*0, our Faiber, genlh- lead him,
Brin<r him safelv back to nae."
At her winviow sits thy mother,
Musing in the twilight grey.
And I know thai she is thinking
Of her dear one iar awav.
HELEN A. F. COCHBAXE. 599
And I know that thus she pra3'eth,
While her heart goes o'er the sea,
"O, our Father, gently lead him,
Bring him safel}- back to me."
Often dreams thy fair 3'oung daughter
Of a far off, foreign land,
"While beneath the trees she stra3'eth
Planted by thine own dear hand ;
Vines and trees and roses whispering
Tender, holy thoughts of thee —
Then she meekly prays, "God bless him,
Bring him safely back to me."
In the wood, and by the river,
Sports thy ga}-, brave-hearted boy,
And thy little ones are singing
All day long in childish joy ;
But when comes the silent evening.
Hushed is all their childish glee ; —
Then they pray, "God bless my father,
Bring him safely back to me."
She, the tender and true-hearted.
Given erst thy home to share,
From thy fire-side passed serenely —
Passed, and left a shadow there.
But though in her earthly dwelling
We no more her form shall see.
Well we know, mid heaven's brightness.
That she still remembers thee.
All last night among the branches.
Mourned the plaintive whippoorwill.
And I questioned of my spirit
If his song foreboded ill.
Then the song grew louder, sweeter,
Surely thus he said to me —
"God, who loves each little creature.
He will bring him back to thee."
Glorious broke the summer morning.
When I oped my window wide,
And the dear, delicious sunshine
Bathed me in its golden tide.
Gemmed with dew-drops hung the blossoms
Of the old horse-chestnut tree.
While, to sip their honej'ed sweetness,
Flitted humming-bird and bee.
600 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBE.
So the world looked up, rejoicing.
Heaven looked down to earth and smiled,
And of all its dim foreboding,
Nature's voice my heart beguiled.
So I said farewell to sorrow ;
He who loveth-bird and bee,
He who giveth flowers and sunshine —
God is ever watching thee.
Ennte ID. IJ^oItroolt.
Mre. Holbrook, wife of Rev. C F. Holbrook, of Newport, Is a nattre of Maloe.
She is a daughter of the late Renjamin B. Bradbury, of Bangor. At the early afr
of flftcen years she completed the course of stu<lj in the Bangor High Scbool,tftrr
which she was a pupil io Mt. Holvoke and Charlestown Female Seminaries. vA
was graduated from the latter. As a pupil Mrs. Holbrook was diligent and bril
liant, and as a teacher of joung ladies she was efficient and aocompli»bed. Sbr
was married to Mr. Holbrook in 1863, and since that event has shown snch deroctoo
to parish work and to family duUes as to leave her little time for literary labor.
"IT IS BEAUTIFUL THERE.
»»
The gates were unclosing, and glories eljsian
With strange lustre shone through earth's shadowy night ;
A fair maiden gazed on the pure, heavenly vision
'Till her pillow of stone bore a Bethel of light.
The faces, lost faces, all radiant with glory.
Like stars that the darkness of night but reveals,
One moment shone downward, to tell the sweet story
Of satisfied hope our earth mist conceals !
O thin, love-pierced veil ! How quick the transition
Through clear, shining waves of light, buoyant air,
By a swiH angel borne, whose merciful mission
His i)ale brow surrounds with an aureole fair I
The lily white boll of the sweet asphodel
He bears like a signet of love on his breast.
And smiles, as smiles only the fair Israfel
Who brings the evangel of peace and of rest.
The maiden looked upward, and saw him draw near, —
The lily bells paled in his still, ic3' breath ;
He wooed her with smiles, and with never a fear
She plighted her troth to the bridegroom, Death.
**I think I will go ; it is beautiftil there,*"—
And a smile of strange beauty transfigured her face ;
We called her by name, but the maiden so fair,
b death's snowy bridml, with still, silent grace
ANNIE B. HOLBBOOK, 601
Gave back no response ; and the vision so brief
Had faded from out the dark, vacant room !
The maiden too vanished ; and grief, sable grief,
With footsteps all noiseless, approached in the gloom. —
Be still, throbbing heart, and cease thy repining !
Breathe out thy vain sighs in a child's trustful praj^er,
Beyond the thin veil God*s love still divining,
And know, surely know, "it is beautiful there."
HYIVIN,
Written for a church dedication.
Though heaven itself cannot contain
Thy presence, Lord of Grace,
Yet in the humble, contrite soul
Thou hast a dwelling place :
So we, with grateful heart, would dare
To offer for thy shrine
Our work of love, this house of prayer ;
O, consecrate it thine.
Our work of love, with pure desire
Inwrought through every part,
Behold, from corner-stone to spire.
An offering of the heart !
Here let the swiftly coming years
Attest redeeming grace,
And penitents, through falling tears.
Behold a Saviour's face.
Here yield thy balm, once smitten Rock ;
Bloom fresh again, sweet Rod ;
As cloud and pillar led the ark.
So let thy light, O God,
Forever shining in this place.
Our Leader's love reveal ;
And daily miracles of grace
His benediction seal.
POEM,
Written for the 90th blrih-day of llev. Ira Pearson, of Newport.
These ninety years ! What magic pen
Their history can trace.
Bring back their vanished youth again.
Give each its wonted place I
602 POETS OF MEW HAMPSHIRE.
Within that deep, unfathomed sea
That buries all the past,
Like snow-flakes falling silently,
Their full, rich life is cast.
Far, far beneath the tidal wave,
Beneath the passing storm,
Lie dreams of youth, the bright, the braTe,
And hopes that gave them form.
In that still depth no current moves,
The billows lie asleep,
And early griefs and buried loves
A sacred silence keep.
Like precious beads, from shining braid
Or broken rosarv.
With mocking glitter they evade
The grasp of memory.
But in the old man*s heart, a power
Above decay or blight,
Pure trust in God, a precious dower,
Still glows with quenchless light.
There stainless honor dwells with love,
And truth, a constant guest.
While peace, o'erbrooding like a dove,
Builds safe her sheltered nest.
Hope anchors there within the vail,
And faith in things unseen
Unfurls her eager, wingM sail,
And skims the gulf between.
As pearls are crystallized from pain,
So silent, humble tears,
The dews of gratitude, remain
Enshrined within these years.
Thanksgivings of the humble poor.
Heart otferings of the blest.
Upon his head, now silvered o'er.
In benediction rest.
His tender ministrj- of grace
Flows on, unchecked by time ;
In many a loving heart, we trace
Its silent force sublime.
HELEN MAR BEAN. 603
In Indian-summer's waiting calm,
He reaps the aflermath
Of all the past ; its treasured balm
Sheds fragrance o'er his path.
Long past the fervid heat of noon,
With mellow fruitage rife,
He welcomes heaven's sweet, restful boon,
The evening-time of life.
As slow the weary sun goes down.
The stars of heaven appear,
The cross recedes, the jewelled crown
Of glory draweth near.
I^clcn Max l$tan.
Mrs. Bean is a natlye of Hopklnton. She is the daughter of the late William H.
Smart, M. D., for many years a practising physician of Concord. She live<l in
Concord antil her marriage, since which time her home has been in Boston. Her
simuners have been for many yciyrs spent in Swampscott, Mass.
WAITING.
While waiting for thee near the tall elm-tree.
The song of a bird came floating to me.
Enraptured I sat, and I listened long,
As she poured forth her soul in a wondrous song.
And then, like a flash from the throat of the bird,
A quick, eager call to her mate I heard.
Caressingly soft.
She repeated it oft,
* 'Sweet, sweet.
Come to me, sweet."
A moment she listened, then called again.
Then she sang as before — a soul-stirring strain.
With never a doubt and never a fear.
There was faith in her voice so thrilling and clear ;
Not long does she wait, for lo ! while she sings,
Com^s an answering note and a flash of wings, —
An answering note
From a tree far remote
'*Sweet, sweet;
I'm coming, sweet."
604 POETS OF SEW HAMPSHTRE,
When he flew to the tree and foand her there,
Such a burst of melodv filled the air ;
Such happiness gushed from their tuneAil throats ;
Such ripples of laughter, such gay, merry notes !
In their sweet bird language I heard them say,
"* We're the happiest birds in the world to-day."
Again and again
Came the tender refrain,
'^Sweet, sweet.
To lore is sweet."
I sang with the birds in the morning clear
The song that my darling loved best to hear ;
With never a doubt and never a care,
My heart was as light as the fresh morning air ;
I called like the bird in the tall elm-tree,
'^I am waiting* my dearest, waiting for thee."
Caressingly soft,
I repeated it ofl-^
*"' Sweet, sweet.
Come to me, sweet." •
But my heart grows faint as the day wears on,
The gladsome light of the morning is gone.
And a mist creeps up from the cold gray sea.
In its chilling embrace it is folding me ;
I call and I listen and wait in vain.
With a burning tiiirst and a hungry pain ;
And my eager tone
Has changed to a moan,
''Sweet, sweet.
Where art thou, sweet?"
YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY.
TESTE&DAT.
A cloud rose up in the far-off west.
And with thick tblds covered the sun ;
With sombre garments the earth was dressed.
And the heavens were srloomv and dun.
A mist came up o'er the dull gray sea
And covered the earth like a shnxid ;
HELEN MAB BEAN. 605
Compassionate nature sorrowed with me,
For m}' heart with anguish was bowed.
She veiled the gladsome blue of the skies
And put on a garment of serge ;
The tears fell fast from her pitying eyes,
And the sea sang a mournful dirge.
The gay birds hushed their songs in the trees,
And the heads of the flowers drooped low.
With infinite pity sighed the breeze.
And the hours dragged heavy and slow.
"My life is dreary and ftill of pain,"
In my despairing grief, 1 said,
'*No whisper of love will come again ;
He is false— or — he must be — dead,''
TO-DAY.
"Shake out, O sea, your skirts of light.
With shimmer of silver and flash of gold ;
And deck jour bosom with jewels bright.
And all your wonderful beauties unfold !"
And the bright waves danced
With the maddest glee.
As the sunlight glanced
O'er the jewelled sea.
"And sing, O birds, with tune Ail throats,
A song of joy and thanksgiving with me ;
Pour forth j^our gladdest, merriest notes,
And fill all the air with sweet harmony I"
And the gay birds sang
From the topmost tree,
Till the whole earth rang
With their melody.
"Rejoice, O day god, from on high.
And cover all nature with glory new ;
Let the fair glad earth and sea and sky
Rejoice with me, for my darling is true !"
And the bright sun beamed
From the heaven's clear blue,
Till the whole world seemed
Created anew.
M
606 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
JHars ^. iP. I^atcf).
Mrs. Hatch, whose name prorlous to marriage was Piatt, Is a naflreof Kofttimbcr-
land, her preseut residence. She was educated at Lancaster Academy, and at tar
home, reciting her French, rhetoric, and astronomy lessons to her mother, sad tar
lessons. In Latin, to a learned but improyident hired man of herftuher. Attbeageof
nineteen she began to wri te for the press. Her wrltingrs are mostly in prose. In ISl
she was married, and mi^ated from one farm-house to another. The poena fA
Mrs. Hatch have been uubllahed mostly in the Portland Transcripi, and much coo-
led by other papers. Her Temperance Pieces, which are two poems of ooBsldersue
length, were copiedi says an editor, into more than twenty of his exchaxtges.
ONE BY ONE.
One by one the days go b)% One by one are battles fought,
One by one our darlings die ; One by one are great deals
Budding hopes and waning da}' , wrought ;
One by one they fade away. Kingdoms, heroes, deeds and all,
^ , ,^ One by one they rise and (all.
One by one the seasons pass,
Frost and snow, and flower and One by one come smiles and tearsi
grass ; Hopes and sorrows, joys and
Twig by twig the birdlings build, fears ;
Drop by drop the brooks are Year by year our lives are told,
filled. Step by step we near the fold.
THE WEARY SOWER.
**My seed fell always on the ston}* ground,"
She sadl}' said,
Then bowed her weary head ;
'*I cannot ask my Father for a crown,
When I go hence, nor hear the words 'well done.
Come unto me and rest from toil, dear one.'
"At earl}' dawn, I went forth with the rest.
To do my task ;
I never paused to ask
If it were light or hard, but did my best ;
Now night has come, and I have sadly found
My seed fell always on the stony ground.
*'The happy, careless toilers by my side,
With heedless hand,
Cast o'er the waiting land
Their sprouting, vernal seedlings far and wide ;
Back came to them rich blossoms fair and bright,
While mine, fallen amid stones, had suffered blight.
''It is so hard to die and be forgot ;
But harder yet
To know that they forget,
MARY R. P, HATCH, 607
Because no noble deed I ever wrought ;
I tried, but all too soon the night came round
And found pay seed sown on the ston}' ground."
A gentle spirit hovering in the air,
Hearing, drew near,
And whispered in her ear,
"Dear heart, the Lord would not have thee despair.
He knows thy toil, thy sorrow, and thy love ;
The seed thou'st sown hath blossomed up above."
COUNT YOUR MERCIES.
When the clouds of heaven lower^
And the rain is falling fast,
O remember in this hour
That the storm won't always last ;
Just sit down and count the mercies
That have blessed you da}' by da}' ;
Think that sunlight can't be falling
All the time across your way.
If you're poor you've surely some one
That is daily loving you ;
If no children, if no parent,
Then a friend who's kind and true.
Poor, when you have earth's best treasures.
Love and friendship? Can you caro
For the fleeting joys of riches ?
Count your mercies ; you've your share.
If you're friendless, just consider
You've a mighty Friend to love ;
If you're poor, you can have treasures.
Rich and rare, laid up above ;
. If your nearest and your dearest
Has gone out beyond your sight.
Think he'll be the first to greet you
In that land which hath no night.
Rain must fall in every measure.
Every hedrt must have its grief;
Storms are rising, hopes are shipwrecked.
Waves dash high on every reef.
Though the blinding tears are falling.
Count your mercies, count them true ;
Ah ! dear heart, you'll find bright jewels
Have been meted out to you.
608
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
PATRICK'S LETTER.
I've a mother in ould Ireland,
Though I fear me she is dead ;
For the dreadful tale of famine
Makes mv heart sink down like lead.
They tell me Ireland's starving,
That the crops have failed to pay,
And but few have any praties —
Let alone the mate and tay.
It's a vear now since I left her
For to cross the stormy say ;
And she blissed her boy at parting,
Saying * 'don't forgit to pray !"
So I've prayed to Virgin Mary
And to manv a blissid saint
For luck to come to Ireland ;
But now my heart is faint.
O, I see my poor ould mother
As she looked upon that day
With her dim old ej'es a-weeping.
And her face so worn and grey.
"Shure we'll live like quanes and princes,"
Said she, when my gilef she see ;
*'And I'll sell the pig and shanty
When you send the word for me."
I'd nivcr left my mother
But I heard such fine big pay
Might be had for jist the asking.
In the land beyond the sa3\
I've sint my earnings to her,
But I've niver heard a word ;
And I'm feared she not's a-living
Since the dreadful news I've heard.
Please write to Ireland, mister,
Jist a little, little bit,
And ask if Mis' Maloney
Is alive, and if she's writ.
Say, since the dreadful famine
That my heart has been like lead,
Say ''write to your son Patrick,
If its thrue that you are dead."
ABVILLA ALltIRA WOODWARD. 609
l88 Woodward was bom In Swanzey, April 4, 1840. Sho was edacated at New
irlch Academy, and at Newbury, (Vt.) Female Collegiate Institute, graduating
961. She became a school teacher, teaching in Marlborough, ana in Upton,
Iston and Worcester, Mass. She died in Worcester, Nov. 26, 1865. A volume of
poema was printed in Keene after her death.
THINKING.
Through the leaves of gold and purple
Slow the sun is sinking ;
Fetlock deep within the river,
Stand the cattle drinking ;
On the bridge above the mill-stream,
Rests the maiden — thinking.
Nut-brown hair that mocks the sunset
With the golden gleaming,
Hands above the picture folded,
With the graceful seeming
Of an antique, sculptured Nereid
By a fountain dreaming.
As a tender thought had swayed,
O'er the stream she's leaning ;
While her red lips curve and quiver
With a sudden meaning,
And a quick nod shakes her ringlets.
All her features screening.
For there comes a sound of laughter.
And a meiT}- cheering ;
And tlie cattle turn their faces
To a step that's nearing —
And she waits for words low spoken
In a tone endearing.
Now behind the western tree-tops
Low the sun is sinking ;
Toward the bridge the weary cattle
Turn themselves from drinking —
Ah ! they never guessed, as I did.
What the maid was thinking.
CScorgc ISancroft Ctiffiti),
Seo. B. Griffith was bom February 38, 1841, in Newburyport, Mass. He was ed«
ated at Dummer Academy, By field, Mass. At the age of eighteen, at his own
tion, be entered a store in his native city as a clerk. Two vears afterwards he
mt to Haverhill, Mass., and was married to a New Hampshire lady, Mist Anna
610 POETS OF .VEtV HAXFSHIBE.
B. lluwa ot ItTSilfOnt. shoni; Bller Ihc breaklna out
flih eaU«Kd &nil was auidoncl, wllh th* PinniHun nf i
the defence a( W'sshlDgton. ni Fan
gmn to HTile (or Itoi'lriu anil Nen- York jiulill«ilot», >nd HTeral of Ui
pram] lu Hie Portimovth Journal. After twlng muntered rrom tlia C
hr mai>ireil 1q mi, lo Netrimrt. anil »oon onfraBcd In Uk lumber bod
■dJoluIni; town. At a lalPr ilale be reniorctl to £fl»t Lempiter, irhen be poRkuM
k flue t«»l<1eniv tor n |>(.'nimni.'iit home. Mr. Griffilli la Kalnlog mmii pwiulv;
it Utersrv lalnirf. He la now rDKagril as a cuDtrltialor, bo(B In |
» many of ilie Ivaillng perlodicalii of the c' ...>-...
N publlsbed.
if the dMj. A. volume ol
THE WEBSTER HOMESTEAD.
EmbowertHi amid the charms of May
I saw his Ixij-hood's home one day, —
That cottage brown ;
The granite mount that bears Ilia name.
An euibk-m of enduring fame,
Looked calmly down.
The chain of hills was shining clear,
Those lofty peaks to Webster dear
In other veara ;
Above me arched the same blue skies
On whifli he gazed with ijartial eyes,
Sutnised with tears.
Sweet clover rippled in the breeze.
The snn hung o'er the apple-trees
A shield of gold ;
The uioadow brook in silence flowed,
And white floi-ks fed beside the road.
Far from the fold.
A single cloud hung low remote,
Like fli'fcy veil did slowly float
O'er blooming dell.
But fairer far than all to me
The stately, fragrant old elm-tree
And mossy well !
By honoivd sire, with greatest eare,
That spreading trw was planted there
Ltrng veare ago ;
His hami set ui> the ancient sweep
(.Long may iu ashen fibres keep.')
And curb below.
How oft beneath Vta cooling sh«^.
In pure delijiht. \ias Webawt l^
Ami w!iteheA***T''
OEOBOE BANCROFT GItlFFITH. G 1 1
How oft b}' that fern-bordererl brink
The might}' statesman stopped to drink,
In years gone b}' !
Once, when his fleeting days were few,
He for a friend that bucket drew.
And said to him,
'^Sweeter than Hybla's hone}' this !"
Then quaffed a cup and left ar kiss
Upon its rim !
We bless his kind sire's memory !
Long may the roots of that green tree
Be fast and sure !
Long may that well-curb stand above ;
New Hampshire's sons its waters love,
And keep them pure ! *
THE STORM AT FORT POINT.
January 4th, 1868.
As did the plumes of Pyrin's giant race.
Now toss the scented pines of ancient Rye !
By roused Boreas shook like lightest fleece ;
And, as a pall, gloom darkens all the sky.
Maine's seaward trend, a vast, sharp-pointed ledge.
Like a Leviathan with teeth all bare.
Dripping the foam of his stupendous rage.
Dares the Storm Spirit of the sea and air !
Lashing the bosom of the maddened Ocean,
The wind sweeps inland with a deafning roar —
Lo ! with terribly sublime commotion
The mighty billows thunder on the shore !
Dense vapor has engulphed the Isles of Shoals ;
But dimly Whale's-Back light-house can I see,
Which Ocean as a little toy enfolds.
And fain would egg- like crush its masonry !
One craft belated, at the river's month.
Drifts swiftly leeward with its anchors down ;
God save it from the tempest's awful wrath.
For powerless looks on the anxious town !
Awe-paled I crouch beneath the old Fort's wall.
The salt spray dashing to my very feet,.
POETS OF NEW HAMPSBISE.
Yea ! up the granite cliffs and over all
The sea-aide roofs it leaps, one bliDdiDg sheet !
The massive derricks groan and madly fling
Their arms against the shoulders of the blast;
The wire-rope guj's like yielding hempen swing.
But the north scarp-wall standeth grim and bst!
Yes ! spite the Storm-King's strong artillery
Of ceaseless hail and sleet that loudly raves, —
More dreaded still, its trooping cavalr]'.
White-capped and merciless, the ibun'drons waves I
Firm as the eternal rocks, to the seaward
From its embrasures the unfinished Fort,
Though Ocean 'whelms, still looks stern and frowud.
Careless of e'en the earthquake's dread report!
THE DATE-GARDEN OF THE DESEBT.
Faint and athirst. tn arid wastes astray.
Wandered an Arab, parted from his band,
Wlio reached an herblessspot at'close of day,
Where cooling moisture rose amid the sand.
Though weak and weary, to bis arm-pits deep
The pilgrim scooped tiie sand that wetter grew;
Then, hopeful, laid him down to rest and sleep,
And round liis aching limbs his mantle drew.
At early dawn, with trembling form be rose.
And, lo! the basin he at twilight made
Mirrored the sun. and, strengthened by repose.
He quaffed the fountain, and his tbir:.t allayerf.
"Allah be praised !" he sang with bounding heart.
And from Ida scanty store of dates he ate ;
Both man and beast, with strength renewed, d^Mt.
And reach their tribe where shifting sands abale.
One seed alone that morn unnoticed fell.
One kernel of their fruit in that small pool,
Whose sleeping genu awoke in its lone cell,
A tiiiv rootlet kept by moisture cool.
Behold ! its fibrous threads sink slowly down,
A little stem arose, and leavc3 took form !
And feathei-j fana unfold a lovely crown.
And cap a palm-tree daring heat and atorm.
GEOBOE BANCB OFT QBIFFITH. 6 1 8
Its tufl of living greenness nodded liigh,
Its blossoming clusters perfumed all the waste ;
Majestic, pierced the unimpeded sky,
And beckoned all that saw to thither haste.
Far over that secluded, boundless plaift.
Its sweets exhaled to lure all living things,
Till, midst its foliage finding rest again,
Swift birds of passage folded wear}- wings.
Its ripening fruits, like rubied gems of gold.
From luscious bunches hung on ever}' limb ;
There insects hummed, and life grew manifold :
From man)" nests was breathed the birdling*s hymn,
And glossy vines and brilliant shinibs soon wound
Their loving bands around the tall, strong tree ;
Young palms arose, and o*er the naked ground
Coarse grasses crept, and twining growths swung free.
Ere long the shadows of a little wood
Shut out the scorching beams of lurid sun,
Where panting antelopes unfrighted stood, —
God's timid creatures gathered one by one.
The swift gaze^e and ostrich daily fed
On tender buds and herbage fresh and green ;
The golden-hammer tapped all day o'erhead,
Nor aught disturbed the beauty of the scene.
So years slipped by ; and he who dropped the date
Within the hollow of the lonely vale.
Among his children's children sadly sate,
With age and sorrow drooping, wan and pale ;
While hostile tribes annoyed the kindred sore,
And drouth had withered all the sward around,
He called a council, and long pondered o'er
How some relief from many ills be found.
A sudden gleam lit all his rugged face,
And lifted as a cloud his load of care ;
He sent his sons to that lone garden place,
To see if trace of moisture still was there ; —
That vale so precious in the long ago.
When death was baffled by the fount that flowed
From those wet sands, — and, bowing faint and low.
Once more he asked God's blessing, oft bestowed.
Lo ! they return with shouts and hurried tramp,
''Haste ! haste," they cry, '*to that most blest retreat !
POETS OF .VEW ajXFSBIBE.
Yea, by to-morrow eve we may encamp
Id eartbly Eden, refuge fniitful. sweet:"
Tlie te.irs ran streaming from the old maa's eyes, —
"See what a kernel has produced," be said,
'•For our deliverance ! I pray you prize
And lay me 'neath that palm when I md dead!"
THE CHIME IX THE ANDES.
On evergreen cattus the ring-dove sits swayii^.
Her neatwanl Sight checking IJll vespers are o'er;
'Neath cinpabar image, now chanting, now praying,
The throng passes quickly tliroogh Sao Boss's door.
What treniulonsjoy fills the ancient rotnnda
As the clear convent l>ell strikes peal up m peal!
E'en the awe-strick4n tourist stands gazing in wonder.
While o'erladen bondsmen with reverence' kne^l.
The call of the partridge is hushed in the barley.
The buniming-bini settles u|>on the first spray;
The peach-dealing Creole no longer will parley, —
She kneels by her l>asket to silently pray-
No more by the roadside her chica drink selling.
The fair G uayuquil tempts all with her eye ;
Those white lingers now are her rosary telling.
She bears the rich chimes of the vespers float by !
With hoe drop|>e*) beside them, 'midst canebrakes are kneeliif
The poor di'votee and his Indian briile ;
And miners their bunien, as upward comes peatjog
The sunimuDs for vespers, ding quickly aside.
The swift arriere. his mail-bom uplifting.
The glacier crowned Andes to wake with the blast.
Hears the chime of the evening on fleecy clouds drilling.
And waits till the last faintest echo has passed.
The restless Inajn. that torrent-fed river.
Sulfides Its wild nishing a moment to hear
The soft. whi<|>erct1 cadence that breathes of oar Saviour,
There nightly repeated, yet evermore dear!
Where'er the last rays of the sunset yet linger,
O'er v.illey or tsiiie-lanil glimmering far. —
On lofty ixak pointing its golden-tipped flnger,
Wliere glowulh uigltt's ceuser, the bright evening star:
t
MAR T ELIZABETH H0BB8. 6 1 5
The mellow sound rises, its music prevailing,
And circles round pyramids evermore white ;
To soften the voice of the lone pine bewailing,
And die in the arms of the slow-fading light !
TWILIGHT.
Lone watcher, I lingered, on hill-top benighted,
As dreaming lay beautiful valley below ;
Above me the star-sprinkled sky, dimly lighted,
And westward the jewels of suuset aglow.
-A ribbon of silver encircled the mountain,
And, rising like incense from altars of prayer.
Mists pure as the drops from the baptismal fountain,
Glowed, shimmered, and faded on wings of the air I
Lo ! green-walled Ascutney night's purple had tinted,
His forehead cloud-hooded and silvered by time ;
From summit to summit the ros}' haze printed
The rich, tender smile of a tropical clime I
The Pleiades, fondly their silver braids twining,
On night's placid brow set their jewels once more ;
Not a sound stirred the air save the owlet repining,
Or white heron piping its note on the shore.
O'er calm lake encircled, of summer-time dreaming,
The woods hung their banners of frost-smitten leaves ;
The red shield of Mars from his blue tent was gleaming.
And evening winds sighed through the harps of the sheaves !
Ah ! day and night's nuptials were viewless lips singing ;
The star of the evening, the planet of love.
As bride'smaid, her censer of glory was swinging,
While smiled her attendants and beckoned above I
Sandalphon, majestic, as bridegroom preparing,
His flower- wreathed feet on a ladder of gold.
Ten thousands of stars in the gladness are sharing,
And Saturn's bright fingers the wedding-rings hold.
lEars iBli?ai)etl) |^oi)i)0*
Mrs. Hobbs, formerly Miss Maiy E. Erwln, was bom in Bethany, N. Y., June 21,
1841. She was educated at Bethany Academy, and Gary Collegiate Seminary, in
her native state. She was for some time member of the editorial staff of Wood's
Household Magazine, published at Newburg, N. T. In 1878 she became the wife
of Josiah Howard Holms, a lawyer, of Madison, where they reside at the present
time. Mrs. Hobbs has the true poetic nature. She keenly appreciates the oeanU-
fal and Joyous about her. The poems here given are copietl from the Amtrican
Rural Home, a literary paper of which she was a contributor.
} POETS OP NEW BAMP8BIBE.
JUNE.
MoDth of my heart ! with what a growth of green
Thou comest to the garland of the year !
IVhat sDQws have sifted, atorms have swept hetween
The June long vanished and the June now here!
What wealth of faded foliage beneath
Thy feet, forgotten, lies in earth entombed —
Sweet flowers on which the dying year did breathe,
Half opened petals, buda that never bloomed 1
And from the ashes of the bnried year
Spring, phoenix-like, the glories of to^aj;
The Ternal wrappings that tby forests wear.
The star-strewn emerald of thy carpet gay.
For thee alone the opening roses blash,
And brcatlie their fragrance out in many a sigh ;
The listless air grows heavy with the hush,
And wooing zephyrs faint in ecstasy.
I hail thy comfng ; and a gladder song
Goes up from every warbler of the plain ;
For gn?ener trees and bluer skies belong
To thee than any follower in thy train.
The rustling of thy leafy robes I heard
In the soft music of the April showers.
And caught the far otf trill of coining bird,
And breathed the fragrance of thine unlmm flowers.
And thou art here ! I feel it in the lull
That steals o'er nature's bounding pulse to-day ;
The spring retires and leaves the summer fUll
Of brimming beauty, dauntless of decay.
I hear thy presence iu the whispering air.
The lifting leaf, the houej-bee's low tone.
The drowsy hum of insects everj'where ;
The world is t\ill of thee, O peerless Jooe !
DIS-ILLUSION.
The worid is a-glint and a-glory to day, —
Coniscanl. in armor of ice.
Not a rwk-rooieil tree, not a quirering spray.
But is caught in the crystal device ;
Not a bramble, or wee<l. howe'er humble and mean.
But, touched and Uansfigorcd, belongs to the scene.
i.
MAB T ELIZABETH HOBBS. 6 1 7
No last summer leaflet forgetting to fall,
No seed left alone in its blight,
No wind haunted husk of its gold emptied all,
But is glorified now in our sight, —
With pendant and sparkle and splendor, I ween,
As earth never saw in such scintillant sheen.
Through orchard and forest, and wild tangled wood,
Stretch arches and arches awaj-
Of crystal and coral and pearl, in the flood
Of deepest and down-pouring day ;
While the high hidden glory of heaven appears
All flashing, reflected from earth's frozen tears.
A sigh of the south wind, a kiss of the sun
Sends thrill after thrill through the scene,
Of swift disenchantment, whose dalliance done,
How vanisheth shimmer and sheen ;
But they bid us believe it a prescient spell
That on tendril and tree doth their fruitage foretell.
And life has its glamour, its glint and its gold.
Through the touch of a crystalline spell.
When, with heart all a-hush, it leans out of its hold,
Unfettered, o'er shackle and cell ;
When through the mirage of its own stormy tears.
The guerdon, the glory, the respite appears.
The sweep of the past takes the tint of to-day
Through the crystallized atom of time.
And it touches the years so receding and gray
With the glint of a garment sublime ;
Fast, present and future, —one infinite whole.
Flashes in on the sight of the halo-held soul.
No far-stalking shadow, no cloud lurking low,
No dark da}^ of all, set apart.
No moment of time with its measureless woe
Held close in the crucified heart, —
But, transfigured with glory, is crowned from afar
With the promise and peace of the Bethlehem star.
Life takes up its tragedies tearless and calm,
Reviewing each anguish again.
Beholding a beauty and breathing a balm.
Where blight and bereavement had been ;
While the rock and the wreck of earth's treacherous tide
Alike are re-quickened, alike glorified.
i POETS OF XEtr HAXPSBIBE.
A hnaXh of the real may shiver the scene.
May meit with ictinoclast toach
The miracle-frostwork that trembles between
Life's infinite tittle and much :
But the soal will lean back to its burdens again
Uore patient and pure, for each exquisite pain.
UlSERERE.
^itb lifted brow and sea-blown hair she eits
Beside the open casement in the gold
Of early evening, and there hardly flits
A flake of sail on ocean's bosom bold
But she descries it, with that far-off gaze
That gatliere dreams delusiTe in her eyes,
Those eyes that wear a depth of other days,
A past, wliich all the present underlies.
Forgetful she of this her gilded home.
Its proud appointments, and ita stately lord.
Forgotten too, as well, each olden tome
Of storied ancestry, or quite ignored.
Her soul leans sobbing out upon the sea.
The faithless sea, that brought no relic back
Of all it bore away, so mockingly.
Beyond the proud ship's evanescent track.
Alas ! alas I that all those years went \>y.
Nor washed ashore for her, one shred of sail !
Alas! alas! tiiat pride and power should sigh
Around her path, at last with such avail.
Her ashen lips essayed to whisper "yes ;"
Her hand was given, but her heart was gone ;
Nor yearning hope, nor gnawing grief could guess
The mastery that wrapped the absent one.
And now from him whose ways are stern and cold.
Whose tones are bitter, and whose words unkind,
She turns away, and hates the verj- gold
Whose heavy links her bleeding pinions bind.
She hears the sea-gull screaming from afar.
The curlew's cry is music to her ears.
And just beyond tlie hazy harbor bar,
To her fond eye a fancied sail appears.
The vision deepens to a real bliss
Tliat wipes away those waiting-years of pain.
CHABLES CHASE L OBD. 6 1 9
When on her quivering, lips the olden kiss
Comes back with him she welcomes home again.
The brooding sliadows built her little cot
On some lone crag beside the sobbing sea,
Where loving eyes (long closed in ocean-grot !)
Look into hers and question tended}'.
Nor tone, nor step breaks in upon her dream,
Till her cold hands are thrilled by the caress
Of bab3'-fi ngfe rs, and two bright ejes gleam
Star-like across the gulf of her distress ;
Quick to her hungry heart tlie nestling head
Is gathered, and again the dream goes on,-^—
Another's child her fond arms fold instead,
Her home another's, he the absent one.
Alas ! for her who dreams beneath the gloam
With shadowy e3'es of ocean -borrowed blue ;
Alas! for him whose cold, unhallowed home
Wears not one love-link tenderly and true.
Peace, peace to him, who 'neath tiie warring waves
Went down to dreams more tranquil and serene
Than tlieirs who hopeless watch beside the graves,
The living graves of all that might have been.
C. C. Lord waR bom in South Berwiok.Mc, July 7, 1841, but before ho attained to
recollection his pan;nt8 removed to New market, and in 1846 the family again re-
moved.to UopkLlnton, where the home has been most of the time since. Mo was ed-
ucated'at the Ilopkinton, and Seabrook ncademicH, and spent a brief time in the
Methodist Biblical Institute at Conconl, \w\n^ at that lime a licentiate of the
Baptist chun-h. He ultimately l>e('ame a )>reacher of the doctrines of Swcdenln)!]?,
occupyins: pulpits in Contoocook, North Bridgewater, Mass., and Riverhead, N. i .
In 1H08 he was ordained a mlshlonnry, or mlniHter without formal settlement, at
Orange, N. J. His work as a preacher was ver>' much curtailed l>y IxKllly illness,
while, in the end, his tendencies to speculative methods occasioned his yolunt4iry
abnegation of apart of the Sweden borglan philoso]>hical system and a consequent
abandonment of the pulpit of the New Church in 1870. For the past ten vears he
has preached only a few sermons, but has given prominence to journalistic and
literary pursuits. Mr. Lord has written but a few poems, all of them brief and
■omewnat unique in conception.
FLEUR DE LIS.
While strolling in a meadow green,
Enchanted by the summer light,
I spied my heart's ideal queen,
Arrayed in robes of purest white ;
I saw her shining tresses pla}',
Her beaming ftice the bi'oezes fanned.
And, looking sweet as blooming Ma}',
She held an iris in her hand.
POETS OF NEW HAXPSHIBE.
Sucb charms she wor^ aa daze the erCi
And fill the heart with curiona dread,
Anbile it longs its fate to trj'.
And test her lore, as on she sped ;
Desire to join her on her way
Perplexed mj faesrt, which leaped to see,
While I was doubting if I may,
She waved her iris unto me.
Together through the mead we strayed.
Till, where a mound with moss was grom,
And sheltered by a grateful nbade,
I longed to claim her for my own ;
My heart grew bold that ha^py day.
Nor will I tell you all the rest, —
By sign, inditing that I may.
She gave her iris to my breast.
HEROISM.
I lore the rare tradition, told
Of that old Roman, sUunch and grand,
Whose son, by war's relentless hand.
Lay dead ; and, viewing, stiff and cold,
The lifeless corse, tbe father spoke
Such words of stately grace and pride.
That nobler ne'er of all beside
Out of the depths of aogubh broke :
"Welcome, my son. who willing lent
A public hand and shed thy blood ;
I coDtemplate the glorious flood.
And count thy wounds magnificent !
**Since war divides the state of Rotne,
My face confused with shame woald glow.
If neither cloud nor shade of woe
Had dimmed the sunshine of my home."
Thus he, in nobleness elate.
Expressed the type and element
Of social worth and true intent
Ttut dignified the Roman state.
We contemplate the ancient days.
Of savsge aims and kindred deeds.
Ami bless the Power that kindly leads
Our willing feet in gentkr ways ;
CHABLE8 CHASE LORD. 621
Nor yet renounce a pride to own
The man of true and honest heart,
Who freel}' takes a common part,
Nor ever thinks of self, alone.
A hero he of modern times,
Who, lending ear to public cares,
A sympathetic burden bears.
Nor recks the cost in cents and dimes.
In him the blush of shame will bum,
If haply common griefs abound.
And he has neither sorrow found,
Nor felt misfortune in his turn ;
Or if some urgent hour has come.
And he disclosed no zeal to rise
And grasp a loyal victor's prize.
Or seize the crown of martyrdom,
Though careless he of idle fame.
His works to deeper chords appeal
In kindred souls, who own and feel
An inspiration in his name ;
And when grim death his face debars
From human eyes, a thankful praise
Repeats his name, recalls his days.
And writes his memoir in the stars.
THE ROBE OF WHITE.
I see a thousand forms that try.
By varied hues, to lure my sight.
But keep my praise for one I spy
That glories in a robe of white.
This one, as coming from the sphere
Of sacred love and hoi}' light.
Appears in mould select and dear.
Outlining of the robe of white.
The visions glide and leave no trace
Or fond impress of being bright.
Save this that bears angelic grace.
And wears a spotless robe of white.
I often wonder why the mien
And aspect of a radiant sprite
ANNIE DOUGLAS ROBINSON. 623
With loving hand I sew her shroud ;
The good old soul is dead.
She died as she had lived — alone ;
We found her — not one trace
Of the last fearful passion shown
By her dear withered face.
Reproach, regret, were all in vain ;
'Twas like her so to die,
As if to save our hearts the pain
Of bidding her good-by.
How poor and plain she used to be I
How generous and how kind I
She left a blessed memory
And three black gowns, behind.
The little place she used to rent
Will be a lonely spot ;
A certain grace her presence 'lent
To house and garden-plot.
The children swung upon her gate
And watched her apples fall,
And still, like some benignant fate.
She smiled upon them all.
The roses on her window tree
Were plucked before the}' bloomed ;
And lavender and sanctity
Her quiet rooms perfumed.
She rests, at last, from pain and woe ;
She sees God's perfect will ;
And yet, though free from care, I know
She must be busy still.
Perchance, while through the golden air
The heavenly music swells,
She shows some little angel where
To find the asphodels.
Or, sent with mercies from the skies
To comfort souls unblest.
She flies, God's bird of paradise.
On wings that cannot rest.
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
Gla^ be her flight ! She riBcs o'er
The cloud that roand us lowers ;
The tears shall fill her ejes no more
That gather fast in ours.
THE YELLOW COTTAGE.
ftlid fields vith useless daisies white.
Between a river and a wood,
With not another house in sight,
The low-roored jellow cottage stood,
Where I,
Long years ago, a little maid,
Through all life's roay morning played.
No other child the region knew ;
My only playmate was myself.
And all our books, a tre^nred Tew,
Were gathered on a single sbelT;
But. oh !
Not wealth a king m^fat prise conk) be
What those old rolnmes were to mel
On winter nights, beside tbe fire.
In summer, sitting in the door,
I turned, with love that did Dot tire,
Tbeir weU-worn pages o'er and o'er ;
In me.
Tboo^ sadly fallen it is tne,
Tl>eir heroines all lived anew !
One day. aboot my ned a niff
Of elder fii>w«9^ with fragrant breaHu
I was. with (vnmons pnide awagh
To mil ibe pan. Elisalietli :
Tbe nen,
£ii<^3ian^l by many wily plc^.
1 surbeii. liie haj>les$ Q««i of Scota !
Wbcsv darting Fwalkmr i»ed to l&L.
C3i»e TO me on scime jcning nxb,
Abtw^ tbf TTver, I wcnld Bt
For bioirs and wtbk^ my yt!Do>« lodEK.
Ana tr.T
A dans'* fStinTi Mwi$. and, ^"^^^ jAmj
ANNIE D 0 UOLA S B OBINSON. 625
On Sundays, underneath the tree
That overhung the orchard wall,
While watching, one by one, to see
The ripe, sweet apples fall,
I tried
My very best to make believe
I was in Eden and was Eve !
Oh, golden hours ! when I, to-da}'.
Would make a truce with care,
No more of queens, in bright array,
I dream, or sirens fair ;
In thought,
I am again the little maid
Who round the yellow cottage played !
PATIENCE DOW.
Home from the mill came Patience Dow,
She did not smile, she would not talk ;
And now she was all tears, and now
As flerce as is a captive hawk.
Unmindful of her faded gown,
She sat with folded hands all day.
Her long hair falling tangled down, •
Her sad eyes gazing far away.
Where, past the fields, a silver line.
She saw the distant river shine.
But when she thought herself alone.
One night, they heard her muttering low.
In such a chill, despairing tone.
It seemed the east wind's sullen moan :
'*Ah me ! the days, they move so slow !
I care not if they're fair or foul ;
They creep along — I know not how ;
I onl}* know he loved me once —
He does not love uie now !"
One morning, vacant was her room ;
And, in the clover wet with dew,
A narrow line of broken bloom
Showed some one had been passing through ;
And, following the track, it led
Across a field of summer grain.
Out where the thorny blackberries shed
Their blossoms in the narrow lane,
Down which the cattle went to drink,
—Tut r_TW T ttir,!* wtiafa "xttta ^nk ;
Tii» ^^ •.srjF.aya lu: 'in^ '^n- tbtre
Ta«7 EiAv. ':«j>jR. mbeoe :be nnk.
W2;.-V^>,u>w^JCJed wiois apoo :ae bwik,
T^^ S^izfi ^oe- sinw^ s^ mcd lo wear,
And fja n ;/l&D6i k Ettie bou :
-■Ob- blAa* tne ooc T it read. •■&» wbes
I Mk'A xm fn«. mj soot will fio*t
Tf Lim : He ouiaot tmve me then '.
I koor not if 'tis riglit ch' wrong —
1 go fnriD life — I care not how ;
I only know he loved me once —
He doea not love me now V
In the farm graveyard, 'neath the black,
Funereal pine-trees on the hill,
The [xwr, worn form the stream gave back
The}' laid in slamber, cold and still.
Iler secret slept with her; none knew
Whose Qckle smile had left the pain
'J'hat cursed her life ; to one thought trne,
Iler vision -ho tinted, wandering brain,
Seeure from all, hid safe from blame,
In life and death had kept bis name.
Yet. often, with a thrill of fear,
Hit niotlKT, as she lies awake
At night, will fancy she can hear
A voicv, whoso tone ia like the drear,
l.dw aotind llio graveyard pine-trees make-
"1 know not if "tis right or wrong —
1 (pi fhnn liR^— I care not how :
1 only know he loveil me once —
llo diK's not love me now !"
\
tTlart U. 4tori)ranr. ^^,*-^
lu. v:; \ rt.« A.-»Ar«i,». awl MOilkil bv at XOiMx Coi»-^*"*r,^
VKV X^AYS OF LOXO AGO.
\V. :.'«fc.\ jjvtt •ii.'w* TjewVw v'iBg
CLARK B. COCHRANE, 627
Instruct my truant muse to sing
The better days of long ago.
The present may, perchance, beguile
My passions while its mouients last ;
But fortune's best and dearest smile
Is buried in the silent past.
And I would gladly now resign
AH that the future has for me.
To spend one hour of sweet lang s^'ne,
Dear Marj', with the past and thee.
But that, alas 1 can never be
The fate of fancy's hapless son ;
And unrelenting destiny,
With cruel finger, beckons on.
I see the future, dark and dim,
Before my mortal vision rise ;
The years, like banished seraphim,
Are marching by me in disguise.
My days are dark and cheerless now,
Since time cannot reverse its flight ;
Oblivion's hand is on mv brow
And beckons down the pall of night.
Yet sometimes in these darker hours
I dream of better days in trust ;
But when I reach to pluck the flowers
Of youth, the}- turn to senseless dust !
New England ! on thy glorious hills
I stand in thought, a moment free ;
I hear the music of thy rills.
Nature's low notes of libert}' !
And where my long lest love reclines
In welcome shade I kneel to woo ;
And nature's lyre of mountain pines
Breathes soft as it was wont to do.
But ah ! the witching vision flies.
And facts are sterner things than dreams ;
Sweet Mary's dark and solemn eyes
No longer watch thy purling streams !
Oh, the}' have changed from what they were
When last they shot their fire at me ;
CI^BK B. COCHRANE. G29
Like sounds of far-off voices drawing near,
The coming of the summer wind we hear
In the long branches rising like a psalm
Of peace upon th}' shore ; more sweet, more clear
Than song of anL^els to the morning star,
When, from the rifted darkness of old time,
Kearsarge and Sunapee arose sublime
To watcii thy face forever, from afar.
THE OLD RED HOUSE ON THE HILL.
I am dreaming to-night of my boyhood's prime,
Of da3'8 that now seem like the sound of a rhyme
When the voice of the singer is still ;
And somebody's spirit is leading me back.
Along a rough and a weary track,
To the old red house on the hill.
How well I remember that dearly loved spot ;
No place could be dear where mj* Mary was not,
No other my fanc}* couid fill ;
For ofl when my feet were too weary to roam,
I turned, like a pilgrim hastening home.
To the old red house on the hill.
And when the red moon was a-climbing the sky.
And night spread its star-sprinkled banner on high,
We listened the lone whippoorwill ;
And while we forgot all our sorrow and care,
The poplar trees lifted their branches in prayer,
By the old red house on the hill.
Oh, the poplar trees stand by the old house yet —
Their murmuring leaves, by the gentle dews wet.
Are feeling the summer's warm thrill —
But the maiden is gone from the open door.
And my weary feet shall be rested no more
In the old red house on the hill.
Ah me ! Can it be ? Is it only a dream ?
Shall I never again in the aunset's gleam,
"When the odors of evening distil
Xike ambrosial balm on the soft summer air,
3^88 the hand and the lips that once waited me there
In the old red house on the hill ?
CLAliK B. COCHBANE. 631
Are torn away from hearts that break and bleed,
While those are left of none or little worth,
To mock the name of Beauty, and her heritage by birth.
Twas at thy foot the fair Sevilla fell
By murderous hand upon the virgin snow —
And her fierce lover, whom the fiends of hell
Might fitl}' be ashamed of, if to know
A viler dwelt on earth, could cause a blush below.
He sleeps to-day within a culprit's grave,
And no tongue mentions but to curse his name ;
Till old Oblivion's all-assuaging wave
Shall blot the record of his evil fame ;
Vile homicide ! who puts the bloodiest wretch to shame !
But she will live forever, conquering death ;
And when the spirit of eternal good
Shall pour along the summer gale his breath.
Her chainless soul will wander in th}* wood.
Free as the mountain air of thy sweet solitude !
Reclining here beneath this giant oak.
Where oft the dusky wooer met his love,
I hear the silence by her whispers broke.
Soft as the love notes of the mated dove.
Or faint and distant echo of some choir above.
And when within thy leaf}' recess lingers
The wood-lark's breathings, like the songs of Aiden,
I've seen thy wild rose plucked by viewless fingers,
And fioated on the breezes, perfume laden ;
And then I know the presence of the hapless maiden I
And legends old are floating through my brain,
A thousand idle and discordant fancies ;
^ Bee Joe English, in his plumes again,
March down the war-trail of his old romances —
And now the painted savage round the war-fire dances I
^lirough thy green groves resounds the clash of arms,
And death's relentless angel gluts his ire ;
^fce Indian war-cry, with its dread alarms.
Speaks far and wide of tomahawk and fire ;
And now the bleeding captives around the stake expire I
"^Tien Liberty, from out her dungeon barred,
Sent her faint cheer for Concord's battle won,
^lie thrioe accursed tories basely marred
632 POETS OF NEW HAHtPSHtBE.
Thy fair traditions ; and, towards the slanting son,
Hurled don'n, in burning efBg^', the patriot Washingtoo!
Oh, let them have no pity, but the scorn
Of firemen's sods through everlasting time 1
The mcaneet enemies of man yet bom,
They wallowed in the God-insulting slime
Of treacliory, blacker than the foulest crime 1
The Arnolds of Peniition, justly damned, —
Their names slmll blot thy history's pages I
Thoir souls shall be a stench in Hell, and jammed
In the hintk den where pain relentless rages,
Shall writhe in agony of endless ages !
Itut all is changeil save thy unchanging form;
The condiet's diapason sounds no more.
And naught disturbs thy silence but the storm
That howls among thy branches, as of yore ;
And peace aud plenty smile upou my natiTe abore.
And since those days the fleeting years of time
Have borne iulo the past tbeae visions goiy ;
An*! standing here, upon the verge snblime
Of twfl eternities, I see thy storr —
Thy m_\-slic Ic^nds fading upon Ihe page ofgkKT.
A1»s : that Fate, with dark and stem dect«e.
Shield l^d Ihal I in oiImt lands must mun,
t'ar ft»m ibe fVieoijs I crer loved. ai>d tfaee.
<> mounlain. Uiat besnle my early borne,
l\tinU>si ihy ws*] bead np lo tl>e welkin dome I
Itnt it is ftii ; aD>^ why do I stand b*re,
AbiI <«vn ai t^ iL-.nf:» I caniKd dtiMX^,
A»ii ik4 rcsicn mvstuf onio wy f^ibcre.
Anii liiTV<n^ lii* w.irld of dealt and sorrow ni^e.
Ooo^wnhw uiiK' joai'i and fe*r. and aUihat'sdaitand !ar«p
Awny, t)w« fJwoiT.MB : qn«* '■ tl»e i^>eiU is o'er ;
O {vttae ' bi«i5 sgiirii Ui»i M»*±iaiitiii*ail lenct&,
|M» «fly K-<!ki«i al tky aeciar pour !
W3th mImv nhiimuuii^ I will mttt« nrw fivMds.
35«ry>« frity^ ibr ot* «riit liioncfel* trf cbalAxiod Hmiii 1
FRANK 0, EVEBETT. 033
* ,. ■ ...
.nd in the fleeting years, when far away,
My bark is tossed upon life's troubled stream,
[y thoughts shall turn, O mountain old and gra}",
Back unto thee, my boyhood's earlj' theme, '
Thou monumental pile, that meet'st the sun's first beam.
jFrantt <©• lEberett*
F. O. ETerctt is a photographer and has a studio in Nashua. He was bom In
over, November 10, 1844. His parents moved to Manchester when he was alxmt
TO years old. He was educated in the sciiools of Manchester. Ho began his c^t-
icr as a printer at an early age, and followed that business ten years, when lie
langcd tne sticlc for the camera.
MABEL.
Can it be? Can it be? This impress so sweet ;
The smile on those dear, dainty lips we have pressed ;
Those large, wondrous eyes in their mystical sleep ;
The shapely hand resting so still on her breast.
0 darling ! Is this, then, the lamb of our fold,
Asleep in the arms of Death, silent and cold?
Hush ! Do not wake her ! The angels forbid !
Let me raise the soft lids from her luminous ej'es.
1 know I shall find underneath them is hid
The great, shining gateway of Paradise.
And lo ! the}' are looking straight up to the stars,
While heaven its flood-light of beauty unbars.
I press my ear close to her heart ; in its hush
It never responds to my plaintiful call ;
Nor sends to my questioning one throbbing flush
To break the deep darkness that broods over all.
At rest ! with her hand nestled under her cheek,
She smiles as if angels had lulled her to sleep.
I will take her up gently again as of old ;
I will breathe in her face life's awakening breath ;
And while round my treasure these strong arms enfold
She'll whisper and tell me the secrets of death.
I will coo in her cold face some soft '*baby-bye"
Till her wee, tiny spirit returns from the sky.
No answer? No word from the closely-sealed lips?
No lingering breath from the half-ripened mouth ?
A mouth that seems borne on aerial ships
From some shining sunland afar to the south.
No word? While my poor heart is bi*eaking, the while
You lie there asleep with a heavenly smile !
[ ■ POETS OF NBW BAMPSBIBE.
0 darling ! foi^ive me ! — I'll questioo no more.
Aje, even if power were given to-night
1 would not recall ftora tliat shadow}' shoif
Your pure, tender soul down its trackway of light.
You shall shine in our lives like some radiant star.
With a gleam that no doubt-ehadows ever can mar.
IBUFabeH) JBarttn.
"LOVE ONE ANOTHER."
Let thy deeds tike sunlight falling
Where the shadons often stay, —
And t)iy voice in loving accents
Cheer tlie weary o'er life's way.
We are all 8o weak and needy.
Deeds of love and tender care
Are the aweetest joys that mingle
With our battle and our prayer.
Then let soul with soul be blended
In life's active, earnest strife ;
Thus by loving one another
Be renewed from life to life.
We are children of one Father
Sharers in hie love divine, —
Why not, then, as friends and brothers,
Kound each heart affections twine ?
Best amid the pearls that glitter
In the victoi^s diadem,
Is the one of purest water, —
Love, the brilliant sparkling gem.
This the halo of our Saviour,
This the glory of his strife ;
Let us weave its radiant brightness
In the fabric of our life.
CONSECRATION.
Here I pledge my earnest spirit
To be thine, forever, Lord,
JAMES G. RUSSELL. 635
Claiming not a single merit,
Only knowledge of thy word.
I have walked in paths forbidden,
And engaged my soul abroad ;
Now I seek the path that's hidden,
And forgiveness of my God.
Take my will and guide it, Father,
In the work thou'dst have me do ;
All my life I would surrender,
In thy service e'er be true.
I would tell of loving kindness.
Truth and justice of thy way ;
Light restore, to those in blindness,
Till the}' walk in perfect day.
HOUR OF WORSHIP.
I love the hour of worship,
Where angels gather nigh ;
With heavenly inspiration.
To raise our thoughts on high.
I love to offer pledges,
Before my Father's throne ;
Which will redeem from eiTor,
And draw his blessing down.
I love to know my spirit
Is blending with the pure ;
That I am storing treasures,
Eternally secure.
And thus I feel exalted,
Yet humble, when I see
How good in all his dealings
My God has been to me.
James ©• ^u^stlL
G. KuBbcll wai bom In Norwich, Vt. His parents embraced the doctrines of
(crittn) and moved Into the Society at Entlold, with their fnmiiy. in 1946, when
ert WHM but two vears old» wliere lio was educated and became a faithful adher-
x> the Shaker f'alUi.
''WHAT LACK I YET?"
(lood Master, what wouldst thou have me to do,
That I may have eternal life iu thee ?
POETS OF yEW OAMPSHIBE.
I seek a part within thy kingdom new ;
What further sacrifice remaiue for me?
The things that thou hast mentioned — all have I
Most sacredly obsen'ed. and ever set
3fy heart intent on godliness, whereby
I wmild in truth be free : what lack I yet?
Loved one — the gooilly Master now responds —
If perfect thou wouldst be, go sell thine all.
And give unto the poor, release their bonds.
Then come and follow me. Most blessed call !
And yet l«>liold the sorrowful effect !
The sacrifice too great, for great indeed
Were earth's ixjssessii^ns, thus to resurrect
And unto God the miser'd soul to lead.
Away the anxious face with sorrow turns.
With feelings of dismay and deep regret,
Though for eternal life the spirit yearns —
Comes forth in words of grief — '"much lack I yelT
Ah, is the sacrifice too great to make?
A life of worldlineas to lay aside?
The christian pathway cheerfully to take?
And in the loving grace of God abide?
Thou surely shalt have treasures stored in heaven,
If cheerfully the price thou'lt fully pay.
If unto God tliy time and stength l>e given.
To walk with care the self-denying way.
Though worldly riches Ite the selfish part,
That calls for sacrifice, though great or small.
Or lie the idol sinfulness of heart.
That seeks indulgence, allied to the fall ;
Wh.itever be the part for sacrifice,
If God's pure love is all in all to thee.
From worldly loves and pleasures thou may'st rise.
Ami in my kingdom have a part with me.
Ijaron ^amurl CrototU.
^
rt us never judge our neigbljor.
Though his light l>e verv dim,
For we cannot know the trials
All in Retrt-t, boroe by biro.
THOMAS FRANCIS LEAHY. 637
We may ne*er suspect his sorrows,
Note bis crosses or his cares ;
Never guess his hopes and longings,
Never hear his earnest prayers.
But his silent supplications,
Though to mortals never known,
On ttie wings of faith ascending,
May the soonest reach the throne.
And the One who sees his strivings
May regard his feeble powers,
And the pearly gates m^iy open
For his soul as well as ours.
Let us never judge the erring,
But in patience bear with all,
For we may not know the story
Of their struggle and their fall.
The allurements they encountered
Might have tempted us to stray,
And if saved by our surroundings
Are we perfect more than they ?
To reclaim and raise the fallen
I^t us labor to the last,
Ever asking, "Are we sinless?"
Ere a single stone we cast.
Then shall we receive a blessing
For the love and mercy shown ;
If we save a soul from ruin
It may help to save our own.
ffi;i)oma8 jFrancis iLcai)B.
T. F. Leahy is a native of Ireland, born In 1S44 in the town of Rathniorrcll,
CauMtway, County of Kerry. He received a good e<lacatiou in English branches
and in tlie Latin language. He nrrive<l in New York city in April, 18GI, and went
soon after to Hinsdale, where lie engage<l in work on a farm. Subsequently he ob-
tained a clerkship in Jersey City, N. J., In the employ of the York and Erie railroad.
After about two years he'resigned his position and returned to Ireland, where he
was arresteil on susuicion of being a Fenian. Coming buck to this country he
went to Chicago, 111., where he obtained a cierkshiu on the People's Despatch
Line railroad. After leaving that position he learne<i the carriage painting trade,
and has followed that business thu labt ten years, and is now proprietor of a shop
in Keene.
THE MEN OF FORMER DAYS.
Oh, for the men of former clays,
Who did our starry banner raise.
And bore it through the smoke and blaze
Of battle, blood, and slaughter !
POETS OF XEW HA3IFSBTSS.
Ob. for the patriotic few.
^Vho. to their loving couDtrv true.
Would not be bound br trrantc who
Were miles berond the water !
There's Washington, and La Farett«,
Glorioas names we*tl ne'er forget,
Ao'l Jackson brare. who nobly met
And whipped the British foeman.
There's Stark, that hero of great fame,
And many more that I coald name.
Who to the froni. like Allen, came,
AikI swore thi-y'd yield to do man.
Oh. for those men who boldly said.
*-0f tyrant laws we're not afraid.
And low in death we sliall be laid.
Or Colombia shall be free I"*
Then Pairiek Henry raised his voice,
Whii-h made the patriots rejoice ;
For be declared that for his cboice.
He'd have death or liberty.
I lis Toioe it rang tbroogh hill and dale.
And gooni ami true men did not fail
Hi$ sen;:iDeDt« to heed and hail
With ji»y sod exultation.
W^jh steady step and fearless brow
They qait the workshop aod the p)oi^;tx ..
And sL-oweii tbe hsi^ty foeman bow
To Sghi. aad tre* a nation.
l^b. for iboM men wbo gallantly
l-'oQfbt for tixir homes and liberty -*
Tanr beans w*** inie as bearts ''•'"^i— ^ u.
Aoil f red with pare tien-iioo. *'*J "'
So let ibf ir names be e'er renowned ^
Who gave iJieIr lives and ooly IbaoM^
A grave in some far distant grooDfi^
Mid battle's fierce oommolion.
SIOLLrs BEAC
Tu 9M^ the pleasant bneies.
Wbsv tcod bean never ~
ey MoUy pleases,
H ma 'aoe4 anrabcre.
THOMAS FBANCIS LEAHY, 639
- ■* - -
With feet the very fleetest
I'll seek for flowers the sweetest,
And in a way the neatest
ril place them in her hair.
ril never vex or tease her,
I'll do my best to please her.
And lovingly I'll squeeze her
To my fond heart with care.
And rather than ofl<end her, ^
I'd lose my life to render
All joy to one so tender.
So loving and so fair.
Where'er my footsteps wander,
Of her I think and ponder^
And daily I grow fonder
Of Molly, I declare.
For her true heart is teeming,
And her bright eyes are beaming
With truth that's alwa3*s gleaming
Around her everywhere.
If doomed from her to sunder,
Her bright eyes fill with wonder,
I see the clouds of thunder,
And tears begin to fall.
Such showers I know would shake me,
Such grief as that would make me
To wish that death should take me,
Than part with her at all.
But I shall never, never.
From my dear Molly sever.
But always shall endeavor,
Should fortune prove unkind,
With heart as light as feather.
In spite of wind and weather.
To walk through life together
With an untroubled mind.
THE ROSE OF KEENE.
Out of employment to seek enjoyment
One day as I went, down by Main Street,
A maid in splendor, fair, young and tender,
Genteel and slender, I chanced to meet.
POSTS OF NEW BA2IPSHIBE.
1 did endeavor, though I could never
The name discover of tbis nympb serene ;
Nor information of her loeation,
But lier ajtpeltation is the Rose of Keene.
While I stood glancing, this maid entrancing
Was then advancing toward the Square ;
And I, amazing, continued gazing.
Silently praising her beauty rare.
Ilcr dress so neatly, her looks so sveetly,
Made lier completely the city queen.
In every ftature lliis lovely creature
Was made by nature the Rose of Keene.
Tis not alarming if one so charming
Had lovers swarming 'most all her life —
If hearts were panting. an<l "gents ' were nnttiij
This maid enchanting to be a wife —
If such were sighing and almost dying.
Anxiously trying to gain this Queen,
Who's fair as Flora, or sweet Aurora,
Or famed Pandora, the Grecian queeo.
Ilcr eyes are brighter than stars at niglil sre,
Ilcr step much lighter than the fleet faro;
Her cheeks are glowing like flowers blowing,
With beaiit.v flowing o'er vale and lawn.
Blincrva'a graces her form embraces.
Like hers a face is liow seldom seen ;
So fn^tciuating that hearts are breakitij.
Aui) thousamls aching for the Rose of Kernt.
v in conclusion, 'tis no delusion
Nor vain effusion that I indite ;
For were 1 gifted or yet upttfled
Where learning's drifte"!, 'tis there fit wrile,
With joy and plcaifure I'd praise tliis Irpasiire,
Nor stint the luca^ure, in rliyme I ween ;
But Willi great jjlory in song and storv,
I'd praise till hoary the Kose of Keene.
1l)cnr5 EautfnB iTaHiot.
nimvU.iB
Wubnlu
HENB T LA UBENS TALBOT. 64 1
*'I SHALL SEE HIM AS HE IS."
^^ Shall see him as he is !"
How thrills that thought the Christian's soul,
LuriDg him onward to the goal
Of everlasting bliss.
Earth, with its hopes, away ;
My soul hath heard your charmed song,
By sin's dark waters lingered long.
Yet wearied of their play.
And now its hope is this :
By faith and prayer at length to rise
To that sweet home beyond the skies,
And ^^see him as he is 1"
Hkstcn, O happy hour ;
Nor longer stay thy lingering wheels, —
This promise to my soul reveals
The Christian's priceless dower !
THE WAR-CRY.
Give me the panopl^^ of war,
I'm ready for the fra^' !
Gird up m^' loins, and quickly', for
I will no longer stay.
I hear the tnimpet's certain peal.
It thunders in my ear,
My Captain beckons, and I feel
No sliame, no doubt, no fear.
The host* of sin assail my Lord,
His banners drag in dust,
My soul grows strong ; hand me the sword,
It shall no longer rust.
Quick, or my Master's cause is lost !
Quick, or my Lord is slain !
I see, of sin, the myriad host
Fast gathering on the plain.
Though faster, thicker come the foe,
Stronger and braver I !
'Fox Jesus I will gladly go
To suffer and to die.
LYDIA FRANCES CAMP. 643
lias shielded been from every strife —
Up to the confines of the day !
And should he reach that better land,
Will he not feel himself alone,
As if an uninvited one,
And on its threshold trembling stand?
Oh, who will know the child is there.
In that vast world of dazzling light?
Amid the hosts of seraphs bright,
Who'll see that little form so fair?
Ah, some one fVom the angel-band
Who watched our angel here on earth.
And claimed with him a kindred birth.
Will greet him in that better land, —
Lead him, through ranks of legions bright,
To One who trod life's pathway dim.
And called earth's children unto liim
Now seated on a throne of white !
And He will take my little boy
And fold him to His gentle breast.
Till, sinking in that blissful rest,
His soul shall taste eternal joy I
iLg^Jia jFrances (Camp.
('amp U a native of Grafton, horn In February, 1845. 8ho rect'lvcMl uii
l<'al (Miucation at Cauaan nuU AnUover. Teaching wAts her vocation prcvioti*
aarriagu in 1877. She rcsidcB In Ilunover.
IN MEMORY BRIGHT.
Oh, truthful words, **In memory bright!"
That old square house, my youthful home,
I seem to see through fancy's flight,
And love it yet, though far 1 roam.
Those early days, each early scene
Are still impresscil upon my mind.
More clear than all that lies between
The things a-near and those behind.
I cannot help but feel regret
That having wandered here and there,.
No vine or fig-tree have I yet
That shall for me its fruitage bear,
POETS OF SEW BAXPSHIBE.
And to Toy cbildren seem a boon
As pi-ecions as ray mem'ries dear.
Wbich cnnnot from me perish soon,
or that loved spot I cherish here.
My school-day friends! Oh. where are they
Whose names I heard at call of roll?
Uany of tliem hare passetl an.t\'
To lanu shore — home of the soiil !
are the ways of those
Who ^(ilI upon life's pathway tread '
iif: lo some, to some come woes,
Some live id ease, some toU for bread.
Clara ^rlEotDS JHarfeintirr.
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hair. =ii. :* J> 3< -i>«n or nhT* t« a=t-. 1
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L iesc*:-
CLAEA FELL 0 WS MA CKINTIBE. 645
Dear friendl}' hands in mine I grasp,
Tiieir loving arms around me clasp,
My loved of long ago.
Sweet kisses on my lips are pressed,
A child's head nestles on my breast.
And one bv one I twine
The golden tresses tenderly,
And hum a low, soft lullaby.
As erst in days of mine.
Forgotten is the tempest's wail,
My ear heeds not the sleet and hail
That beat the window pane.
Sweet music heard in by-gone hours,
Faint perfume of forgotten flowers
Float round me once again.
Again I thread the olden maze,
The paths I trod in girlhood's da3'8
When life seemed, ah ! so sweet,
Ere m^' young life had known a care.
Where earth seemed naught but good and fair.
And time seemed all too fleet.
And thus I dream the hoiys away,
The fire-light fades to ashes grey,
The blackened embers fall.
Until the chiming of the clock.
Until the crowing of the cock,
M3' wand'ring thoughts recall.
My guests have flown, ihe house is still,
Tiie room is cheerless, dark and chill.
The shadows seem to fall.
And close around me fold on fold ;
And in mj' heart a gloom untold
Seems settling like a pall.
0 tired heart I once filled with joy
And bliss which seemed without alloy.
Thy visions bright have fled.
And naught remains to mark the way
But broken dreams and ashes grey
Of cherished hopes now dead.
1 rouse me from these fancies drear.
The storm is spent, the air is clear.
Sweet calm reigns near and far,
G46
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
All clouds from yonder sky have gone,
And througli the purple dusk of dawa
Burns pale the morning star.
O glorious harbinger of day !
Is there for me of light one ray
Behind these gloomy shrouds?
Yes, something bids me not repine,
Tiie star of hope will brighter shine
When lifted are the clouds.
When for the summons home I wait,
Or pause before the mystic gate
That leads to perfect rest,
Behind the shadows I shall see
Whv life has been so dark for me.
And why God deemed it best.
AUTUMN.
Royal, queenl}', golden Autumn !
Thou art here, and once again
Broods the drowsy Indian summer
Over valfty, hill and plain.
On my cheek I feel the soft wind.
As it gently steals along,
Bringing near the distant chorus
Of the farmers* harvest song.
Pale mists lie along the valleyj
Clothing it in snow}- shrouds,
Or beneath the luorning sunlight
Float away in amber clouds.
Pearly smoke wreaths, slowly rising.
Hang in all the hazy air.
And thy gorgeous gold and crimson
Tint the woodlands everywhere.
Drowsily the late bee, humming
O'er the wild flowers lying dead,
Chants -a requiem, sad and tender.
For the summer's sweetness fled.
Listen to the plover calling
In the meadow brown and dry.
Nearer sounds the partridge drumming
In the hazel cK>pse hard by.
MAB T HELEN BOODET. 647
I can hear the ripe nuts falling
Ab the forest paths I tread,
And the saucy squirrels chatter
In the branches over head.
Sharp and clear the huntsman's rifle
Through the morning stillness breaks,
Mingled with the hound's deep ba^'ing
Echo afler echo wakes.
All the flocks and herds are coming
From the hill-side and the plain ;
We have harvested and garnered
From the fields their wealth of grain.
We have plucked the fVuits grown mellow
In the suns of autumn time,
And the wine-presses are ladened
With the fruitage of the vine.
All these signs speak, in a language
That my fond heart knows full well,
Of thy presence, bounteous season,
And we own thy magic spell.
We have marked th}' silent coming
By these tokens far and near,
And with glad thanksgiving greet thee,
Regal queen of all the 3'ear.
Miss lloodev, the daughter of Jacob P. and Louise M. D. Boodey, was bom in
DoTcr, December 11, 1847. She died In Laconia, April 29, 1880. two months after
the death of her father. Her first poem was published in the Home JouriuU when
she was fifteen years of age. In 1871 she became assistant editor of Ballou's Mag*
azlne, and remained in that capacity imtil compelled by ill health to return to her
home in Laconla. Her death was a sad loss to her many frlenda. Her ability as a
writer, both of prose and verse, was o( a high order. As she wrote many pocmn
It would be desirable that they be published in a volume.
OCTOBER MUSINGS.
The wintry skies are dark with clouds
Portentous *of the coming blast,
A mournful gloom my heart enshrouds.
The while I muse upon the past.
Dear Summer ! thou art gone away.
Thy withered robings fill the air.
Fit emblems of our life's decay,
Of all things transient, bright and fair.
648 POETS OF NEW HAMP8HIBE.
Thy sister, Autumn, reigned awhile
In gorgeous loveliness and pride,
She made us on her beautv smile,
While yet for love of thee we sighed.
She wooed us with her queenly state,
Her golden-tinted robes of red,
Nor dreamed so sad should be her fate,
Clasped in the arms of Winter,— dead !
She gently kissed, with breezes bland.
That half were Summer's, half her own,
The brightly blooming, verdant land,
Till it became her fitting throne.
We bowed in admiration mute
Before her grand peculiar charms.
And half, before her silent suit.
Forgot sweet Summer's twining arms.
Still memory with her gentle spell
Would wafl us back to days before.
When ever}' green-clad hill and dell
Was like some fair enchanted shore.
Ah ! then her lavish beauty plead
In vain, 'gainst Summer's mirth and bloom,
We sadly longed for pleasures fled —
The bird's sweet song, the flower's perfhme.
And now fair Autumn sinks in death.
Her beauteous cheek is blanched with pain,
She shrinks before the chilly breath
That heralds her destroyer's reign.
Our life, 'tis said, is like to this.
And summer is the golden time
When love may ripen into bliss.
While joyous hope-bells sweetl}' chime.
Alas ! for those whose life-hopes fade
As autumn woods in winter's blast,
For whom sweet summer's verdant shade
Is but a dream too bright to last.
But Hope points upward, smiling still.
To spheres unscanned b}' mortal eye.
And whispers, ^Hhere 'tis summer still.
Though earthly flowers may fade and die."
MART HELEN BOODET. 641)
THREE LITTLE BLUE BONNETS.
Inscribed to Sasle, Louise, and Alice T .
Three little blue bonnets are over the border,
Three little blue bonnets so eos^^ and warm,
And oh, may our Father his providence order.
To keep those who wear these blue bonnets from harm !
Three sweet little faces, all artless and winning,
Look out from the depths of these bonnets of blue,
So fair, and so free from all traces of sinning.
Like beautiful blossoms they seem to our view.
Three pairs of bright eyes, full of beauty and laughter.
And blue as the sk}- is, the rare sky of June,
Look out on the world with a joy that hereafter
Will sing to each heart like some exquisite tune.
Six fair little hands ever eager for motion,
And six tin}' feet lightly^ tripping along.
Three light little hearts full of childish emotion.
And three little rosy mouths ready for song.
Three buds in earth's garden, that promise so sweetlj"
A joy for the future wherein they shall bloom ;
Oh, may that dear promise be fulfilled completely.
May they smile in their beauty to brighten earth's gloom !
But what shall I wish as the best of all wishes,
A token of love for these dear little lives?
That they may have beaut}' and brightness and riches,
And each one become the most cherished of wives?
Ah, yes ! may all this be their fair earthly dower.
The blessings that life in its fulness may bring,
Sunshine that will brighten each day and each hour.
While joy in the heart like? a fountain may spring.
All womanhood's blessings and womanhood's crosses
Lie hid in the future that beameth so fair ;
I pray that its gains may outnumber its losses
To these gay little hearts so unconscious of care.
But this were of friendship an unfinished token ; —
There's something far grander than happiness gives ;
For life may grow dark, and its fond ties be broken,
But one hope through sunshine and shadow still lives.
6o0 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
Oh, then, I will wish that, whate'er life may bring tliem.
These three little girls may be steadfast and trae,
And three little queens I will joyously sing them,
Or piincesses rare in their bonnets of blae.
Joint heiresses, they, of the joys and the sorrows
That wait in the path of a true woman's feet ;
Ma}- angels attend them, while earth from them borrows
A glory the brightest, a bliss the most sweet
AFTER I DIE.
What care I then, if the bright summer sun,
With its enthroning sky of cloudless blue.
And sweet-voiced fountain's softly falling sprajr
Reflecting in its beauty many a hue,
Shine not for me !
Full well I know the earth will be as green
In the sweet summer, and the flowers as fair.
The skies as cloudless, and the silver^' sheen
Of falling waters yet as rich and rare,
Though not for me !
I shall exult in freedom, like a bird
Long caged and eager for an upward flight ;
With no regret ray soul will then be stirred.
Though the calm splendor of the jewelled night,
Its starry jewels beaming golden light,
Beam not for me !
The kindly greeting of the friend to friend.
The cordial hand-clasp and the smiling brow.
The gentle glance that love-thoughts ever lend.
And tender words, so soothing, soft and low ; —
These may spring up, as violets by the way.
To gladden other hearts in their brief day,
If not for me.
But O ! the unrecorded, untold bliss
That may be mine in yonder brighter sphere.
The glad reunion, and the welcome kiss
That I dare hope will end my journey here.
Will be more precious and more perfect joy
Than earthly friendships with their rude alloy
Can give to me.
4*4
J£AR T HELEN BOODET. 65 1
Though earth may pass away and be no more,
Her landscapes fade before m}* closing eye,
And those to come forget that long before
Their present time I laid me down to die,
The brighter beauties of immortal day
May sweep each lingering thought of grief away —
And this for me !
''VOICES OF HEART AND HOME."
Fain would I sing a song for home.
Where faith and trust abide,
For all the gentle joys that come
Borne on love's swelling tide.
Sweet voices warble in the heart
A song that never dies ;
£*en while the burning tear-drops start,
Their melodies arise.
And, like the sound of Sabbath bells.
That speak to us of prayer,
Within our hearts their music tells
Of all things pure and fair.
Go, if you will, and bend the knee
At pleasure's gilded shrine ;
Kneel with her myriad worshipi>er8.
While 30uth and health are thine ;
But as you sweep the gidd3' round
That pales the blooming cheek,
Oh, ask your heart if you have found
The happiness you seek.
Does not the tinsel and the glare
Soon fail to charm your eye.
And what you deemed so strangely fair
Fade into mockery ?
' Ah yes ! and then you vainly weep
For tender, clasping arms.
And a sweet voice to give you sleep.
And rest from all alarms.
There is no joy like being loved.
To read in truthful eyes
The strong alfection time has proved,
The love that never dies !
652 POETS OF NEW RAMPSHIBE.
And if in youth we cast aside
The stainless joys of home.
When we have tested all beside,
We rarely wish to roam.
The clasping hands, the beaming eyes,
The accents soft and low
Are tokens of the tendercst ties
Our earthly lives may know.
Then would I sing a song for home.
And feelings that impart
The fragrance of und3ing bloom, —
Wild roses of the heart !
Through these we sometimes faintly guess
The perfect joys of heaven,
As by the spring's pale loveliness
A summer-hope is given.
A DREAM.
Alas, alas ! the dreary winds are blowing, ,
And loudly sobs and wails the restless sea ;
Across m}' sk}' the clouds are coming, going.
That bring a weird uncertainty to me.
My heart beneath its weight of woe is crying.
My life's wide plain appeareth bleak and bare ;
And ah, ray flowers, m}* cherished flowers are dying,
Chilled by the wintry breath of dark despair !
Beneath the gloom}' sky I wander lonely.
Grasping what once were roses in my hand ;
Alone, alone ! Oh God ! to thee, thee only
I lift my e3'es upon this haunted strand.
Wilt thou forsake me, O mild-e3'ed Redeemer!
Behold the cruel thorns have pierced my feet I
Thorns such as thou didst bear without a tremor.
Dear Christ, and for that reason they are sweet.
Upon the blast ray hair streams without decking.
My '*bonnie hair," he called it — well a-day !•
Now I raay cr}' — he lieth without recking.
Whom once ra}' softest tone could rule and sway.
Wail on, ye winds, 3'our raoumful voice is music;
Bend down, ye skies, ye drear}' skies of gray ;
Sob on, O sea, they but prize love who lose it,
And see its faded trophies strew the way.
MAB Y HELEN BOODEY, 653
But ah I what glowing star above the mountains
Beckons me on through pathways lined with flowers ?
What voice, like rippling rills and gushing fountains,
Comes to me as to earth the vernal showers ?
Is it for me the sky once more grows rosy,
While low, soft music soundeth from the sea?
Is it for me that morn once more uncloseth
Her golden gates of glory wide and free ?
What hand hath crowned my pallid brow with roses,
While gentle zephyrs lightly lift my hair,
And song of bird or hum of bee discloses
The wondrous truth that earth again is fau:?
Where hath the black-browed tempest fled that grieved me ?
Oh, joy ! the flowers are springing at my feet.
Gone are the fearful shadows that deceived me,
I only dreamed — and ah, to wake how sweet I
WE SHALL MEET AGAIN.
We shall meet again on a beautiftil shore.
Where the sorrows of life can assail us no more,
Where the bliss of the heart is unmingled with fear.
And the light of existence beams hoi}' and clear.
We shall meet where the zephyrs forever are bland.
And the brow of delight is by gentleness fanned.
Where the soul will rejoice in a wonder ftil joy.
And the glory of life will be free from alloy.
We shall meet face to face, I shall see thee once more.
And the smile in thine eyes will beam bright as of yore.
And the love that the strong hand of death could not quell
To its full tide of beauty and blessing will swell.
Oh ! sweet is the thought, as it comes to my soul.
That though life's stormy billows all roughly may roll,
The time will soon come when my soul will be free
From the frail house that now hides thy spirit from me.
Will heaven shine the brighter for thee when I come
Like a dove that is wearv and seeketh its home ?
Wilt thou greet me with words that will fall on my ear
Like the music of heaven in their accents so dear?
Shall I nestle to rest in the arms of thy love.
And wilt thou rejoice o'er thine earth- weary dove?
I have wept, I have mourned, in m}* sorrow for thee.
For the light that on earth I ma}' nevermore see.
654 POETS OF XEW HAMPSHIRE.
And my tears hare been swifl as Fve pictured earth's tSifiSt
Bereft of the one who was dearer than life ;
But ever when agony rose to its height.
And my sonl was enshronded in griers wildest night,
A sweet voice has whispered my anguish to rest,
And a sense of thy presence my spirit has blest ;
It comes like the sunshine that bursts through the gloom
When the tempest subsides and the rainbow can bioom.
And so great is my joy at this >'iewles8 delight.
That hope springeth up, and my future grows bright.
Ah, yes ! we shall meet on that beautifol shore.
Where death, separation and grief are no more.
Where God gives his children reward for all pain, —
in the glad light of heaven I shall meet thee again.
^HHisson jpranctss 13rotone.
AddidOD F. Browne wu bom at Union Town, N. J., March 11, 1S4S. IO« faslMr.
Rev. AdfliM>n Browne, i« a natire of Brentwood, and his mother was bora la Pvr»-
mouth. Until his sixteenth year he resided in varioos New Biampslitre aad 'Uma*-
achasetts towns, where his rattier, a Baptist cler^'man, preached. He tbea mtni
to the war. joininjr the thirtieth Massachusetts re^ment. After arrtrfu bome hr
led a wandering fife for several years, visitinc different states, and nuuDBg \aaf
voyages to distant countries: but finally, tired of such experleaees, settled dow
in Boston, where he has resided for the past twelve years. He Is engaged in Ihrr
arv work and is meeting with very cheering success. He Is oa the staff d^-Tkt
TWO SCENES.
I stood upon a stage of gold.
Sweet perfume filled the air ;
While robes with flashing crimson fold.
And diamonds bright were there.
Around me, friends with noble look
Composed a picture grand,
And of my bountv all partook
With joy and filing hand.
The place was filled with brilliant light ;
Many a lady fair,
And many a handsome featured knight
With haughty looks was there.
But to my door a stranger came,
Who, though of noble look,
Was clothed in rags, and sore and lame,
And by all friends forsook.
He asked but for a crust of bread
For one of home bereft ;
ADDISON FBANCIS BROWXE. nr»5
And when bia simple want was fed
He wished me Veil and left.
Upon that scene the curtain fell !
But shortly rose again,
And sure I am no one could tell
The form that stood there then.
Bright splendor now had flown away :
I stood in rags, alone !
With not a place my head to lay,
And naught to call my own.
For with my fair prosperity
My friends had gone also,
And in complete adversity
I felt forebodings grow.
But, to my cheerless, gloom}- night,
A noble friend there came.
Whose eye was bright with manly light,
I looked — it was the same !
'Twas he to whom in wealth and pride
A crust of bread I gave.
Who, now in wealth, came to my side
From sorrow me to save.
MOONLIGHT IN SEPTEMBER.
The glor}' of day has flown to the west.
And the twilight fades to a purple ray,
As the orange light on yon mountain's crest,
Before the night shade, passes up and away.
Such is the view as I walk by the side
Of Merrimack's fair and peaceful tide.
Near one of those highlands, rugged and great.
So ollen found in the old Granite State.
Soon, from yon east, the full harvest moon
0*er mountain and plain, and rivulet free.
Sheds the pure white glow of reflected noon ;
And the woodland dim, like a shadowy sea
Stretching away to the distant gloom.
Attracts the e3'e b}' each tossing plume,
Through whose leafy harp the night winds blow
With a chanting sound of melody low.
056
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
The grand old monntain, so massiTe and high,
With lofty summit and steep rocky side.
All clearly defined stands out from the sky ;
While the glittering spray of a streamlet's tide,
Dashing along in the moonlight's glow.
Swiftly descends to the vallej' below,
And journeys toward the central stream
That with shining jewels is all agleam.
How soothingly calm is this soft fair light !
Its milder beauty so changes the scene,
That vallej' and plain and sky seeking height
Appear as the parts of a picture serene ;
And far away through pasture and dell
♦My step is guided by a mystic spell.
Whose potent power — an unseen will —
Seems all my spirit with rapture to thrill.
ONE LOOK.
While we were hurr3'ing through a crowded street,
The human surges brought us face to face.
And it has never been mv lot to meet
With one revealing more of native grace ;
As like a flash, that language of the heart
Which binds long legends in a single book
Appeared, in guise secure from carnal art.
And though our passing but a moment took,
That holj' glance and half completed smile,
Which came to me while eye was fixed on eye,
Invoked a spirit thrill, whose noble stjle
Reveals a sweetness that can never die.
And as with me, so it must be with her.
For mutual causes like results confer !
SLEEP.
When far intensified, abnormal sight.
Through hours of awful length has pierced the gloonit
Till telescopic fancy takes command
Of all within my shadow-altered room,
And weaves a wild array of angiy- shapes,
M hose labors centre in a mission sad,
To chain my thought on niem'ry's most unpleasant page,
Which Hope had told mc, in the cavern graves of time
ADDISON FRANCIS BR 0 WNE. 657
Would siuk bevond all resurrection chance,
And never break the constant rising ground
Which later acts have thrown upon its rest,
The near approach of Goddess Sleep is fVaught
With t3*rant fear, that burns in every nerve,
For then her features have an icy glare .
That speaks a semblance of her sister Death,
And to her victims seems to prophesy —
''Your coming slumber will be long and deep !
Eyes that are closing now will close fore'er I
While thought and sense will change into a fVozen dream.
The latest mortal footmark of a passing soul."
Far better — when a life is so disturbed
By overplus of unrelenting care,
Or with the burden of that sick'ning fhiit
Which is the certain growth from criminal seeds.
That sleep cannot be wooed in natural ways,
And only comes, when painful lassitude invites.
To give the frenzied brain, instead of needed rest,
A clouded space of semi-conscious work
On doleful pictures from the world of dreams —
To let our fancies wander as they will.
And wait relief from morning's subtile balm,
Instead of seeking sleep.
For warning dark.
At such a time is often warning tme !
When happy days of fair advancing work
Have left their records in the book of time.
And evening hours have passefd with such a flow
Of social friendfiiiip's brightly ordered stream.
Or young affection's spring of prospect sweet,
That we must surely win a profit large ;
As on its welcome pillow lies each head.
And gentle weariness has only come
That we may know the potency of rest ;
Then, as my nigiitly visitor descends
To slowly move her care-suspending wand
Across the ke3'-board of my tired soul,
And hushes every note whose stirring voice
Contributes to the varied harmony
Of wakeful nature's rapid flowing song,
I can receive her as a loving friend.
And in her quiet arms sink softly down
With every sense attuned to anthems low,
Whose melod}*, of stead}' halcyon notes.
Is but the golden throbbing of her heart,
• 658 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
And undulates upon my raptured ear,
As over blissful seas I float away
Into a mighty trance of dreamless calm.
Bin. Bennett was bom in Warner, Nov., 1848. She it the daugliter of GUhmb
C. and Nancy (Badger) George. She was for aeveral vears a teacher In the IUb
Chester High School. In October, 1877, she was married to Mayor Charles B. Ben-
nett, of Lemars, Iowa, now of Pipestone City, Minnesota. In 18BI a small toIodk
of her poems was issued by U. S. Smith A Co. of Lomas.
THE NEW-BORN YEAR.
Faintly shines the moon's fair crescent,
Slowly setting in the west ;
And the gathering, deepening darkness,
Shining stars in beauty crest.
Sadly now the shadows lengthen,
And enfold the shivering earth.
For to-night the old year dieth,
And the new year has its birth.
Tis a watch-night through the nation ;
Prayerful hearts in silence wait.
Watching the fast fleeting moments.
Watching till the hour grows late.
And the silver- voiced Muezzin,
From his battlement on high.
Cries, '*'Tis twelve, the old year dieth.
And the new is drawing nigh."
Spreading forth his new-fledged pinions
At Aurora's nmy dawn.
Over isles and lakes and ocean
Flies the happy year new-born.
From the hill-side and the mountain.
From the valley and the plain,
Onward spreads the joyful greeting,
"Happ3' New Year once again."
List : the broad Atlantic surges
Roll it westward o'er the strand.
And the soft Pacific murmurs
Send it eastward o'er the land.
*9
JOny ADAMS BELL 0 WS. (559
Loiidor, clearer grows the greeting,
Man}' tongues repeat the call,
And in joyful chorus echo,
*'Happ3' New Year unto all.'
Happ}' new year ! bright thy dawning I
He it like an opening bud : —
Ripening into fairer flowers.
Bringing to us happier hours.
Ere thou pass beyond the flood.
RcT. John A. Rellows, a bod of Henry A. and Catherine Bellows, was bom In
Littleton, May 27, 1H48. He entered Dartmouth College in lt<66, and graduated in
1870, with a poem on Commencement Day, and an ode on Cla^s Day. He engaged
in literary work on the Liberal Christian newspaper, of New York city, until ls70.
He WHS ordained and installed as nilnlstc>r of the Flr^t Unitarian Society of Water-
Tllle, Maine, June 6, 1878. He married Isabel l*Yancis, of Tarrytown, N. Y., Nov-
ember 6, 1878.
THE rOET.
No golden Ij're his hand has swept
To i)lease some high-born lady's ear,
But raid wild nature's solitudes
lie sang, nor wept though none might hear.
He wrote not for the bustling throng,
For battle field or busy mart,
*Neath spreading trees and Go<r8 blue sk}'
He sang the voices of his heart.
Great sorrow knew he ; — when was song
E'er ripe and perfect, but, unseen.
An angel in disguise had sown
Some bitter thorn the flowers between ?
Ho lived a quiet life ; unheard
The hurrying throng each day passed by ;
He had sore conflicts, 3*et passed through
The fire, nor flinched, with heaven-lit eye.
Is it decreed that poets learn
By toil and anguish, suffering long,
Bv bitter word and sneer of men,
The lessons that they teach in song?
The}' blamed him that no deeper thought
Did haunt his lines of poesy
060 POETS OF NEW HAJfPSHIBE.
Than that which sings in bending leaves,
Or sparkles on the rippling sea.
Better they blamed **the binls that sang
God's lyrics through June's golden days,"
Better the laughing brook, than one
Who sang, yet wept to wear the bays.
He died, as all men must, and then
Each lent his word of blame or praise :
"This poet struck some lew notes well,"
They said, then went their several ways.
But o'er his grave the wood-birds sing
Their wildest notes of melody.
And still above him, loved so well.
Hovers the cloudless, summer sky.
And freed from earthly' care and loss.
From sore defeat or victor}' won.
Through worlds of space, from star to star.
His poet-soul went singing on.
TWO PICTURES.
She sits in the low, old-fashioned room.
Two white hands arc crossed on her knee,
The clock is ticking on in the gloom.
Marking the moments, steadily.
While the red glow of the failing fire
Flashes full in her pure, young face ;
I wonder if she is unaware
Of lips' expression, and eyes' sweet grace !
Or does she guess, has some one told, —
Surel}' she loves, I know not whom, —
That her hair is like to fine-spun gold.
Her cheeks to the pink of the apple-bloom ?
"What sweet fancies have thronged her mind.
Thoughts of happier daj's long past ?
Hears she the roar of the drear}' wind.
The branches creaking at ever}' blast?
Knows she aught of the falling rain.
Of the pitiless, merciless, driving sleet?
Look ! she has pressed her face to the pane,
Ga2:iug out on the long, dark street.
SYLVIA A. MOSS. 661
Now she has clasped her fair, white hands :
^'Father in Heaven, I look unto thee,
Thou who nilest on wave and land ;
*Tis a terrible night for my lover at sea !"
Many a j'ear has gone to its grave,
Years with sorrow and loss in their track,
Since her fond prayer went over the wave
For one who might never again come back.
Still she sits in the darkening room.
Her poor, thin hands at rest on her knee.
The old clock ticking still in the gloom,
Marking the moments steadily.
Ah ! but the face is so old and wan,
And the wond'rous hair that her lover called gold,
Years ago in the days long gone.
Has silver threads ; she is growing old.
Still when she hears the wintry blast
Singing its dirge in each leafless tree,
Says she softly, while tears drop fast,
*'*Tis a terrible night for those at sea I"
Mrs. MotA, a (laughter of Abner and Sarah (Jennesfl) naniman. was born In
Braflford, Vt., In 1B48. At the age of thirteen years tthc went with her fathur'n
family to Stratfonl. When sixteen years of age she began tcatrhlng school and
followed that vocation during blx years. In 187*2 she was married to Edward Moss.
They reside In Worcester, Mass.
HOW HAPPY.
How happy must he be who falls asleep,
His hands full of fame's roses freshl}* blown ;
For him the world takes ample time to weep.
His few defects, as yet, are quite unknown.
Those little minds that would the great undo
Not yet their undermining have begim ;
All speak in praise of what he wished to do.
All sorrow that he led so much undone.
Blest must he be who gently falls asleep
Ere any worldly blast withers fame's roses,
Whatever comes he will have had his da}*,
A day whose sunlight only good discloses.
662 POETS OF NEW EAMPSHIBE.
If re. Seymour, a daughter of the late Stephen Bartlett of Warner, was horn in
that town, June 29, lt48. She was educated at Contoocook Academj, and after-
wards at New London Academy, oompleting at New London a four years' cU«dcsI
course, rradoatinr in the claims of 1873. In the autumn of that year she beouK
prindpalof tiie High School of Littleton, Mass., and, in the following year, of the
Uirl's High School in New Krunswick, N. J., In which position she taught the U»-
Eages in the boys' department of the school. Private study and mstmctkm ta
iguages was pursued while teaching in New Jersey, until her position dierevu
rested and she entered upon the study of tlie German language In Washingtoo.
D. C. In 1879 she went as teacher to Creorgetown, Colorado, and in 1881 recanted
to be married at the ohl homestead in Warner, to Robert G. Seymour, of ScTinoiir.
III., who is at present a grain merchant in Georgetown, Colorado, where they roide.
OCTOBER.
Oh, sweet October da}'. Leaves from the tall old trees.
Jewel io Autumn's crown ! Scarlet and brown and gold.
How shall I sing my lay Astbeyfloaton the mystic breeze,
While the merry leaves float A deeper meaning hold
down Than those the same breeze
And lie in heaps at my feet, scatten»d
Golden and red and brown ? In the Sjbii's cave of old.
How shall I weave some part
Of thy dreamy, restful hours For all December's story.
Into this song of my heart, And all of April's grief"
As one of thy parting dowers And August's crowning glor}'
That shall come to me again Of ripened gi-ain and sheaf, '
When winter has killed the flow- Are o'er and o'er repeated
crs? In the gold and crimson leaf.
Soft, on the distant hills
Lies a tender, purple mist. Bathed in a yellow light.
And a murmured meldd}- fills The western hills lie dim.
The air, as I idU' list As the sun sinks down from sight
On the shore, where the pebbles Behind their purple rim,
and waves [ed. And a stillness, almost vocal,
Have hurriedly clasped and kiss- Falls like a vesper hymn.
A MEASURE.
How shall I estimate the love
That fills my soul for thee?
By countless stars, by light of sun,
By depth of boundless sea?
Stars fade by day, suns sink at night,
And treacherous is the sea.
By Love's own height and breadth and depth
I'll bound my love for thee !
ALFRED WILLIAM SAIiGENT. 663
A HOME riCTURE.
A hill-side, bright with golden-rod
And sweet wild asters* nodding flowers ;
A sunset sky, whose rosy dyes
An idle girl with dreamy eyes
Is watching, while the winged hours
Bear home another day to God.
The late birds flit along the hill,
Or wheel in circles through the air ;
The mountain line grows sharp and clear
As gathering twilight brings it near,
And sounds of noonday's work and care
Are hushed, and in the skies
The sickle of the harvest moon
Gleans mid the stars, and all too soon
The day's bright beauty dies I
aifrcH fflSailUam ^argent.
A. W. Sargent was born In Warner, May 31, 1849. He was the only son of Eben-
CEcr W. and Ruth W. Sargent. His father died when he was In his fourteenth year,
leaving to him the care of a farm. Possessing a quiclc intellect and retentive mem-
ory, he acquired a large amount of general Inronnation, and his poetic geniua
seemed to be the result of rending some of the great poets. He died in his native
tuwn, Feb. 23, 18»2.
WISDOM AND POWER DIVINE.
How wondrous are thy works O Lord of hosts
Omnipotent ; how manifold and vast I
Which as a cloud of witnesses attest
Thy power divine, and wisdom infinite
Displayed in their creation. In the dawn
Of time's primeval morning thou didst call
Chaos from nothing, and the warring waste
Of cnide incipient elements prepare ;
And mould and fashion from the whirling mass
The glittering hosts of heaven, resplendent suns
And worlds which b}' their revolutions mark
The onward march of ages. By thy skill
And power divine, those bright celestial spheres
Unnumbered, numberless, harmoniousl}'
Pursue their ceaseless courses, unsustained
By visible upholding. At thy word
They were, and arc, and to proclaim thy power
Forever shall endure. This lower world
Which as a little atom floats in space
664 POETS OF NEW BAMPSHIRE.
Around her central star, j'et speaks of thee,
Her maker, and in concert with the skies
Joins the celestial song. Thou didst collect
Her substances. Thy sovereign will divine
Present forever in each secret part
Of all thy vast sensorium, nature's realm,
Here wrought th^* pleasure. From her crucible
The tested elements flowed forth in streams
Of molten fury. Thou didst then combine
Those which thou wouldst combine, and separate
Eepelling parts. Rolling in frigid space
The forming planet hardened by degrees.
While ages dawned and fled. Thine eye divine
Incessant watched the changes which thy skill
And power performed. By world-convulsing throes,
Thy viewless movements, were the hills upreared.
And lofty mountain ranges. By the power
Of liquid torrents and of ceaseless waves.
Thy tireless agents, were the rocks reduced
To plant-sustaining soils. Thou didst create
Earth's first primeval forests, and direct
Their giant growth. Subservient to thy will
The tempests rose, and air and ocean warred
With vegetation : like a serried host
Overthrown in battle, mightj' forests fell.
And, tempest-driven, in caverns vast were massed
In bulk like buried mountains. At thy word
The power of nature metamorphosed them ;
While other forests on the earth restored
Luxuriant grew. With living creatures strange
The seas were peopled, and upon the earth
Unnumbered species lived, and died, and left
Their several links in that great chain which binds
The present with the past. Each animal
Which roamed in those wild solitudes, or flew
Above the earth, or dwelt within the deep,
Proclaimed th}' skill and wisdom, to the hosts
Of watching seraphim. Each chaos wild
Which swept the planet desolate and bare
Thou didst commission to i>repare the way
For a renewed creation. Step b}* step
The might}^ work progressed. No error marred
Its plan or execution. Thou didst view
The end from the beginning ; in thine eye
Each part minute of all this world appeared
i^resent before thee, ere thou didst command
HORACE B. BAKER. G65
Matter to be. Thy wisdom infinite,
And skill divine with high omnipotence
Uflrmonious wrought, and all the work was good.
Within the moulded dust thou didst implant
Thine image ; by thy breath inspiring life
Into the silent clay. Creative skill,
Unlimited, uniting with the dust
Perception, intellect, intelligence,
Reason, accountabilit}', prepared
On earth the image of the Deity,
The moral likeness of the infinite,
Eternal God, to be the sovereign head
Of his creation ; male and female formed,
Each to the other complementar}'.
On earth to dwell together, president
O'er all this earthly mansion, to adore
The great Creator, whose omnipotence
Of skill divine, of wisdom, and of love.
The earth and heavens declare, whose praises rise
Like incense from the lips of seraphim
Standing in glory round about his throne.
II. B. Baker resides In Nashua, and is a writer of prose and Tcrse for the yfaine
Farmirr, and other papers in Maine.
WINTER.
Far down below the drifted snow
The germs of summer's beauty lie ;
2^0 leaping rills among the hills.
No wild birds through the green boughs fly.
No toiling bee on flower we see.
No hum of insects do we hear ;
No singing birds, no grazing herds
On mead or hill-side now appear.
No shady bower, no fragrant flower.
But through the leafless branch o'erhead,
Cold from the north the wind moans forth,
A seeming requiem for the dead.
The cheerless look of lake and brook.
Fast fettered with an icy chain.
The i-ushing blast, the sky o'ercast
Pi'oclaim old winter's tyrant reign.
f><;6 POETS OP NEW BAMPSBIRt.
anatel <t. SlntiretDS.
Mrs. Andrew}^, wboM niune prerloos to mAirlafre wa« FoUanstae, U a Mtht rf
Manchetter. Her parents ntnoTed to Maasachosetts when she was a dild. TWt
afterwards went donth, ao«l when the war of the Bebellion begaa Ihey veoi
West. Her father entered the army, and after serving the whole fire Tcan •( tk
war, died at last in a southern prison. In 1870 she became the wift of Geoffv ti.
▲mjbewis of Uodson.
EVENING.
Slow sinks the sun behind the parple hills.
The crickets* chirp the quiet evening fills ;
The air is haz}* with a languor sweet.
The very zephyrs move with noiseless feet !
Great waves of crimson roll from out the west
And break u|)on the gray, each glitt'ring crest
The sun's last ravs have burnished into gold.
Day's dying glory — new, and yet so old !
Slowk the sunset splendor fades away ;
One golden star shines out upon the gray.
The new moon's silver crescent just below.
Across which fleec\' cloudlets come and go.
A perfumed breeze comes dancing from the south.
And whispers to the leaves, with dainty mouth,
Of shaded rills ; of forests cool and green
Where mosses grow with brimming brooks between.
The^ distant whip-poor- wifl begins his song —
''Whose melanchoh* notes to night belong.**
Nearer, he wings his flight with circling sweep.
His perch at last — in shadow cool and deep —
A clump of roses by the garden walk.
Or by the ro3*al lilies' drooping stalk.
•''Whip-iK)-will ! cluck ! whip-po-will, whip-po-will !"
He sings ; till in jour dreams you hear it still.
AT REST.
Sleep, darling, sleep !
The purple harebells swing like censers to and fro ;
The long grass whispers to the roses white as snow.
Blooming u|X)n the low!}- bed
That pillows sofl thy sunny head.
Sleep, darling, sleep I
Sleep, darling, sleep !
The perfumed south-wiud sighs among the cypress-trees.
Rocked on the lily-cups drowsily hum tlie bees ;
*.-
EDWABD JOHN COLCOBD. 667
Sofll}', sweetly, sleepily- sing
The bonny birds, with quiet wing —
Sleep, darling, sleep !
Sleep, darling, sleep !
The shadows lengthen, and the hylas sings his song;
The hidden cricket chirps, and beats her tiny gong.
The dreamy, drows}' zephyrs pass
Gently over the fragi*ant grass.
Sleep, darling, sleep 1
EVENTIDE.
I have tucked our darling up snugly.
And kissed her a tender good night.
While heavj'-fringed lashes are drooping
And hiding her fair ejes from sight.
And now I sit here in the lamplight.
With a basket of stockings to darn ;
And topmost of all lies one small pair
That are knitted of bright scarlet yarn.
Oh yes, I find holes here in plenty —
They cover feet restless and quick ;
Toes that will find waj'B to creep out
Through stocking, though ever so thick.
In and out as I weave m}' large needle,
I think of the time that will come.
When these little feet will be straying
From the paths of their quiet home.
When they take their first step in life's journey,
For the right will they firmly stand?
Will they walk ever onward and upward,
Ever on to the blest Beulah-land?
Our Father, thou only canst answer,
Oh, point by thy Spirit the way
That will lead her through life's thorns and pitfalls
To the regions of unending day.
ElitoarTr Joijn OTolcotTr.
F. E. J. Colcord was bom In Pnr«oii!*ficlfl, ^riiliic, .Tulv 28, 1849. He fitted for
ge at the academy in KfUuKhani, N. II., nnd >(ru(luato(l at Co]by University in
After tcaclilug »i-1um>1 two years in Beverly, Ma»H., fie lieciime a student In
xm Theological Seminary, and alter graduailun watt settled as pastor of the
1st Church lu Amherst.
6(58 POETS OF XEW HAJiPSHIBE.
ACTION.
Oft have I felt within the ardent fire
AihI |>assive thrill of longing stir the 90q1 ;
Ot\ great ambicion fills mj being's whole
With wild unrest and dreams of something higher.
Yet what avails this flame of fond desire?
Cheated bj hope I miss the illosive goal.
Or else am stayed by power beyond controK —
I grasp at phantoms when I would aspire.
Then shall I deem that all this inward pain
Of baffled aims is mockerv at best.
And cease to wish because I cannot gain?
Ah, no ! my heart can never idly rest :
Though etifort dies and ardor glows in vain.
In noble toil alone is livin«^ blest.
FAREWELL.
The dying Greek beheld with cheerful eye
Death's twilight fall ; life's glories pass away :
lie saw in fancy break another day
Whose constant sun illumed a nightless sky.
What though with life all mortal splendors fly?
Bevond the north -wind's blast immortal lay
His snulit home untouched by sad decay, —
The blessed world where heroes never die.
So like the Greek, dear friend, we too have known
The shade of death when to the mingling dost
Of centuries these storied vears have flown.
His hope is ours : beyond the moth and rost
That mar this fleeting life the soul shall own
A mansion deathless as the Christian's trust.
jFranfe 11^. Carlton.
Frask H. Carlton is a son of Hennr G. Carlton, of Newport. He w»4 harm n
tofm, iJct. 8, 1S41». He learned the trade of printer In tbe oftce of ihe Arfm
SpertfUor. After fittinjr for college at Klraball Union Academj, Merlden, he «
en Dartinontb College and was ^rradaated in 187i. He was for a wbile oa the
nal sUiTof the L'nion Democrat. Mauche^^ter. He tbcrn went to lOraesoCaaa
dtr editor of the St. Paul Pres*. In 1874 he entered the law oflce of Uo«en
K. Davis, of that city, and the next vear was made Clerk of the Covrt. which
he held for nearly four years, having in the meantime been admitted to the ha
1879, and daring the next year, h^ travelled in Europe. On hia reCnm he h
aecreury to Governor John L. PilLsbory. He la now practising law In
ISABEL C. GREENE. 601)
THE DIVINE PLAN.
On every side God's hand is seen ;
The sky so blue, the earth so green,
Whatever strikes the e3'e of man
Is evidence of one great plan.
Look where we will, on land or sea.
On mountain top or flowery lea,
In clouds above or air around
Proofs of Omnipotence abound.
All nature is his diadem,
In which is set some priceless gem ;
Man cannot add or take away.
His part is merely to obey.
The seasons pass and years roll round,
Changes on every side are found ;
Man, bird and beast have their short day,
While God's transcendent law holds sway.
The works of man are mean and frail ;
Our hardest toil cannot avail
Against God's plan, which e'er appears
In atom small and heavenly spheres.
This wondrous earth with all its gifts
One import has to him who lids
Himself above the grovelling throng.
And lives devoid of strife and wrong.
'Tis that we worship God, and seek
To make each act distinctl}* speak
In louder terms thau words can do ;
Though hands may err our hearts are true.
Usatel <t. (Greene.
. Greene, formerly IsAbel Colton, is a native of Plttsflcld, Vt. At an early
le removed to thla stjite, and her home Is In Nashua. Her youtti was dcv«)teu
isle, which her friends regarded as her one gift, Imllad singing and churrh
: being her specialties. Maturer years, however, have developed a talent for
ig, both in prose and verse, in the former of which she is best Known.
MY LOVE.— A SONG.
My love, she wears a gown of white,
A red rose in her hair ;
Her eyes are like the stars of night,
Oh, my love, she is fair I
670 POETS OF NEW IIAMPSHmE.
Her singing, as she tiips along.
The birds all list to hear.
And die with env}- at her song,
It is so sweet and clear.
And when slie stoops above one flower,
And takes it to her breast.
Its heaven begins that very hour, —
It pities all the rest.
Kllen McRobertA was bom In Baldwin, Me., October &, 1800, of Soolch-liM
parentage on the father's side. She was educated after the usual manner of farm-
ers'daughters, at the different high schools and academies of ttie ooontr.aadai
the Farm Ington (Me.) Normal School. She was a teacher for a short ttaoie, mil
1873, when she was married to Mahlon L. Mason, of North Ck>Dwaj', the prowkVT
of one of the many summer hotels there, the Sunset Pavilion. Mrs. Masoo » liter
ary career has begun since her marriage, and it is chiefly from her i^MHt sCofftessixt
descriptive articles that have appeared occasionally in the Boston Sumdttff Cvmrifr.
the Granite Monthly, the Portland Prrss and Transcript, that she is koovn t* »
writer. Her stories have been commended by John G. Wnittier. She has fcaaise
pathos an<I humor, united to a great love and tender appreciation of nature. Ut* i
nas been fostered by living among the grand (and beautiful scenes of her pre!>cai
home.
A CHRISTMAS MEMORY.
Within a dear old-fashioned room,
All flooded with a rosv bloom,
In tlie fire's gleeful blaze and glow
I watch a vision come and go.
A Christmas thirty years ago ;
The world without up-piled with snow,
Grev, earlv dav and children's din.
And merry, happy hearts within.
Glad, happ3' hearts save all but one.
And his, whose life was last begun.
The pet and darling of the rest.
The one I alwavs loved the best.
M}' troop of boya, I see them now.
Grave Jamie with his thoughtful brow.
And Will and Georgie full of glee.
As handsome lads as you might see.
And Robin with his glowing face.
And earnest eyes and witching grace ;
Ah, 1 shall see long as I live
That little mouth so sensitive !
^
■ ■• - * _.-
ELLEN MC ROBERTS MASON. 671
But Rob had been a naught}* boy,
And so, instead of longed-for toy,
Above his stocking jammed and thick,
I hung a cruel, slender stick !
"Mamma does Santa Glaus hate me?"
The tear-wet face was sad to see !
'*That stick — I did not think he would —
I've tried so, latcl}*, to be good !"
'Tis years agone and I am old,
And many feelings have grown cold,
But when the vision comes again
I feel the olden thrill of pain !
For soon there was a little mound
Thrown up above the frozen ground.
And the pure white and blessed snow,
Soft hid the scar of my great woe.
Though man}' sins and many a wrong
Have been mine since, forgot ere long.
Tills ever comes at Christmas time
To haunt my age, as in m}' prime !
I feel now we are far apart,
How sore I griev'd the tender heart I
And I shall see long as I live
That little mouth so sensitive !
MY dp:ad love.
They gazed upon her sweet, pale fonn
No earthl}' kiss nor clasp could warm ;
And moaned, "How hard that slie should die !
But I who loved her faintest sigh,
1, knowing how her heart had bled.
Thought, "Better far that she is dead !"
For we had met when far too late,
And she was chained by cruel fate.
And we could only live apart
Who should have lived as heart to heart.
First since her death has set us free
I feel that she belongs to me.
»»
I
POETS OF NEW HAMPSIUBS.
Among us all, ah, wlio can sav?
We wait the light of clearer day.
But non that death has set as ttee.
As I love her does she tove me?
UNRECONCILED.
I sit within a dismal room ;
A cheerj' fire burns low,
Aiid seuds athwart the tender gloom,
A rosy, dull, sofl glow.
It gleams on gilt an<t pictures ran',
On bronze and silk and lace ;
On flowers, books, and all things fair,
Hut not on the sweet face
Of my own bright, home-keeping dove.
The form of sprightful grace.
The large, brown eyes aliglit with love,
Brown bead and sweetest face.
The lovely face a year ago
Made radiant all tilings here.
It gave the tire's lienrtsome glow
And lent the sunny cheer.
They tell of sorrows she has flown.
And prate of her blest lot ;
I shrink with dread from life aJone,
And mourn the time that's qot.
I bate their talk of saintly joys,
Their wondrous far-otf Ian;! ;
I want the thrill of her sofl voice.
The l<iuch of her warm band !
Jlight die the hope to be forgiv'n
Were we not far apart !
For better than the lioi>e of heaven
The smile that warmed my heart!
CLABA E. BOLLES. 673
MY MONITOR.
My little boy with large eyes eager wide,
And lips a-tremble, piteous to see,
Comes often slow and gravely to my side,
And humble, lowty asks, "Do you love me?"
With kiss and fond embrace I answer him,
Agrief to see the pretty face so sad ;
Still swimming, tender tears the blue eyes dim,
He pleads : "And do you lov4 me when I'm bad? "
How oft we grieve the Father's loving heart !
How ofl rebellious are, dear little lad ;
He pardons when we choose the wrong, sad part.
And loves us evermore, though we are bad !
So may much patience mingle with my love.
And I grow fitter still to council thee
With purest wisdom given from above,
And may the patient Father bear with me !
OTlara IE. iSoIIes.
Miss Bolles is a native of Richmond, where she resides.
"JESUS ON THE SHORE."
Through the night of sin we journeyed,
Stumbling oft beside the way.
For the clouds hung thick above us.
Veiling every stany ray.
Then there came a voice to cheer us.
One we ne'er had heard before,
Lo ! the morning light was bi'eaking,
"Jesus stood upon the shore."
Sorrow's wing was brooding o'er us.
And we knew not where we trod.
For the tear-drops dimmed our vision
As we felt the chastening rod.
Then a light shone through the darkness.
And we whispered o'er and o'er,
"Grief depart, your reign is over,
Jesus stands upon the shore."
Want and woe were hastening toward us,
Pallid phantoms, stern and grim.
POETS OP XEW HAMPSSIBE.
And we knew not how to paM tbem.
For our futh w&s growing dim.
Bnt Ute hand of love that led ns
Kindled np the flame once more.
And we felt the blest assorance —
'■JesQS stands npon tbe shore."
And this thonght will come to cheer as,
Driftiog on life's oce&n wide.
Floating nearer, ever nearer
To tbe home berood Ibe tide.
Though tbe xtorm may sweep the wat«B,
And tbe billows loudly roar.
Peace, be still, we'll anchor safelr,
"Jesus st&Dds upon the shore."
Death is coming, surely coming.
And tbe shadows of the grare,
But we need not fe&r its terrors,
If we trust Uis power to save.
Lights are gle&ming in the valley,
Shining through the cirstal door,
And in yon eternal morning,
Jesus stands upon the shore.
THOrCHTS.
Tbe day wheeb slowly down the west.
And night with star-gems on her breast,
Enthroned within her pnrple ear.
Comes o'er tbe shadowy bills afar,
A moon-crowned queen.
And through the darkness' sable pall,
And through the silence, over all,
A strain of far-off music rings,
And soft the touch of spirit wings
Falls on my brow.
I check JB\ heavy tears to sec
That which the daylight veils from me ;
A vision of that unseen land,
A glimmer of tbe golden sand,
!Shiucs through the gloom.
The past unlocks her golden doors,
1 wander o'er the ci^sUlt floors,
BESSIE BISBEE HUNT. G75
And there in memory's stately halls
Sweet pictures hang upon the walls,
To comfort me.
Loved forms and faces come again,
With cheering words to soothe my pain ;
They bring a balm of sweetest flowers,
From their own sunlit Eden bowers.
To heal my heart.
A breath, a touch, the dream is fled ;
My heart with gloom is overspread ;
I touch its strings, with saddened moan
It echoes back, alone, alone.
Alone on earth.
Be still, oh heart ! Oh eyes, be clear !
Nor dim your brightness with a tear ;
He holds thy days within His hand.
That which thou canst not understand
He knows full well.
If Marah's waters fill thy cup.
Bow down thy head and drink it up ;
lie mingles bitter with the sweet,
To make the future more complete.
Thy heaven more dear.
iSessie iSisbee l^unt
Mrs. Hunt was bom in northern Vermont, near the lake Mcmphremagog. She
ecelved her education in her native state, and at Dio Lewis' l^xin^fton 8choo|.
he stu(lie<l elocution in Boston. In 187U she was married to N. I*, ^uut, a lawyer,
t Manchester.
KNirriNG.
When withered leaves go flitting by
With wxird, fantastic gesture.
When earth awhile is putting on
Her staid old russet vesture, •
When cellars hold a golden store
The hand of toil to strengthen.
And when across the gleaming hearth
The shadows daily lengthen, —
How sweet to fill the chair that waits
Beside the glowing fender ;
POETS OF NEW BAMPSSIRE,
To know the hand tliat placed it there
Witt love ia always tender ;
To draw the ehiiiing needles oiit.
To wiitch them glint and glisten.
Wliile to their cheerful, steady click,
Unconscioualj yoa listen.
The soil, warm wool, a shapely ball,
UiJon your lap is lying.
Or else to play at hide-and-seek
Upon the mat is trj-ing.
Your cares are lulled, as in and oat
The mystic needles hurry.
And for a ivhile is quite o'ercome
The arch-destroyer, Worry.
Your thought flows backward to the days
That shone for you the brightest ;
Your heart beats o'er and o'er again
lis measures that were lightest;
There falls a winsome, gentle breath.
Ne'er warmed before an ingle,
It comes from out that summer's day
That always will be single.
The joys that grew when love was new
About your features linger.
As one by one the stitches fall
From off your taper finger.
If Kensington new glories wear,
And Holbein seems more fitting.
Oh. let us cherish to the last
The homely joys of knitting.
MOVING.
Oh, eonid I that fine April mom of my birth.
With vision prophetic have looked o'er the earth ;
Nay, could I have caught but a gleam of its pain.
My cjes had refused their poor office again.
There are trials degrading and trials improving.
But the trial most vexing of all is called moving.
Not moving a friend with compassion and love,
Not moving with pity the angels above,
BESSIE BISBEE HUNT, 677
Not moving amendments beneath a proud dome,
But moving your furniture, changing 3'our home.
It isn't enough that your boxes are packed,
Your closets and bureaus and cupboards ransacked ;
There are carpets, such stupid, refractory things,
I only wish art could provide them with wings.
There are deadlj' encounters 'twixt Ainnel and stove,
There are curtains disposed from their fixtures to rove.
There is bric-a-brac hiding, and pictures that tell
The torturous tale of the tumult too well.
The turmoil of politics who can prevent ?
Without turmoil society were not content ;
But give us in quiet our homes to improve.
And banish the syren that counsels a move.
A DEEP SECRET.
Why is it so restless, the wonderful sea?
"lis kissed and caressed by the sun.
The low winds have rocked it as soft as could be,
Till day aud night watches were done.
The stealthy white mist in her trailing array,
Enfolding the sun's ardent beam.
Has given it shadows and phantoms for play,
That might have been born of a dream.
Yet up the sea-wall, where the cliff-eagles soar,
It is dashing itself into spray.
And never a moment the wide sands before
Have its waters been willing to stay.
You white-sheeted messengers sailing afar
In the path of the bright beacon's glow,
And whispers drop softl}' from manj' a star —
The secret you surely must know.
In mood rather haughty, triumphant may be,
I have heard the sad story before ;
Did it cast from its bosom, unknowing, poor sea.
The one precious gem of its store ?
Then beat of your woe the unending refrain,
Against the lone cliff and the cave ;
Search over and over the sands of the main
A treasure your white lips would lave.
678
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
The winds may not cradle or loll yon to rest.
But hearken, I'll tell you it low,
On 8hore there is beating in many a breast
The unresting throbs of your woe.
MiM Cbellls U ft ii«tlT« of Barre, Vennont. Since her eaiij childhood she la$
rMlded tB CUremonl. She wms edacmted at SteTeiui Hl^h Schcwl, at Kimball CdIob
▲cademj and at Mt Holjoke Female Seminarj.
HEARTS-EASE.
All among the grasses
Bv the vallev-stream.
Hidden in the clover
Where the dew-drops gleam,
For the passing stranger,
Waits a happy dream.
Years ago the summer
Shone upon a maid
Weeping, faint, and lonely,
Where the shadows played, —
Sorrows rose to greet her
Wheresoe'er she straved.
1>earest of Earth's blessings
Given from the sky.
More than all else meaning.
Balm for every sigh. —
Mother^love had left her,
For the home on high.
With a tearful blessing
She had breathed a prayer, —
'-May the gracious Father
All 3"Ottr sorrows share.
Send in mercv heart*s-ease
With vour earthlv care."
As she wept in sadness
All the lonely hours.
Quietly there blossomed
Fairy little flowers, —
Fresh, as they had fallen,
From eternal bowers.
Soft as purple velvet
Painted in with gold.
Smiling from the grasses.
They their story told, —
''We are little heart's ease
From the heavenly fold."
Through the world of sadness.
Mid the tears of woe.
Where the smiles of gladness
Lend a radiant glow, —
In our every pathway.
There the •'^pansies" grow.
Pansy thoughts for heart's ease,-
May they ever bloom ;
May we ne'er forget them
In our hours of ^x)m : —
For they bring a blessing
From bevond the tomb.
AUTUMN LEA^'ES.
Twisteti and sere are the leaflets,
Naked and ghastly the trees.
Nothing but skeleton branches.
After the autumnal freeze.
LOR A ELLA CHELLI8. 679
Faded the garlands of sommer,
Stricken the wild forest's pride ;
Flown are the fair}*-like songsters,
Over the white-foaming tide.
Slowly the emerald verdure
Changed to a fiery hue,
Mocking the bright-circled rainbow
Hung in the soft azure blue.
Gaily they tossed in the breezes
Laugb^ at the swift, chilling blast,
Becked not that during the darkness
Sentence of death had been passed.
Slowly and sadly the leaflets
Came fluttering, one by one, —
Faster, till only the branches
Gazed at the slow-setting sun.
THE GENTIANS.
The twilight shades had fallen Shone like a silver tear-drop,
Upon the toilwom day. Framed round with velvet hue.
While dews of evening mercy ^ j ui i j
Refreshed the heated way ; ^ne proud, blue cup closed
•^ quickly.
And, when the moon shone In cold and selfish greed,
golden And one was stretched in glad-
Above the starlit hours, ness,
There came, among the shadows. To fill the stranger's need.
The angel of the flowers. r«, , , ^ a , .., . ,
The hedges and the hill-sides
The purple asters brightened. Wear many gentians blue^
The golden-rods grew fair. And oft as summer waneth.
And many a dream-thought The gentian tale is new.
blOflflOTTlfKl
Upon the midnight air. ^air gentians closed in sadness
° Receive no blessed light.
All wear}', in the gloaming. Yet dream of falling dew-drops
The angel passed in haste. Through all the weary night.
Where merrj'-hearted gentians ^ . ^. ^ . , .,, ,
Smiled from the hedgerow waste.^"?, gentians fnnged with beauty
° Smile on the opening day ;
Within each fragile chalice And oft an angel pauseth
A drop of crystal dew To greet them on its way.
680 POETS OF NEW OAMPBHIBB.
Eetttta §Si. ^tiams.
Miss Letltla M. Adams, formerlj of New Boston, resides In GolEstoini, todi^i
constant contributor of Terse to the Farmert* Cabinet.
VIOLETS.
Oh ! beautiful the buds and flowere
That bloom in bower and hall,
The glory of the summer hours
Has gathered round them all,
And painted, with a deeper glow
Than human art can claim,
The tiny leaflets, one by one,
That form each tiny frame.
But not for me the tender plants
That bloom in hall and bower ;
My heart, amid the forest wilds,
Would seek a lowlier flower ;
The little violet, blue and white.
That lifts its modest head
Upspringing from its mossy banks
When winter's winds have fled.
To me a nobler lesson speaks,
A richer prize I claim.
Though humble be its resting place.
And humbler still its name ;
Its simple robes of pearly white
Or azure blue outweigh,
Cast in the balance, all the bloom
That decks the garden way.
•
Up through the earth so bleak and bare.
Up through the clinging sod.
To heaven il lifts a smiling face,
With perfect trust in God ;
An earnest purpose full and free,
A calm and steadfast will,
A strength to do, to dare, to be.
Wrought in its nature still,
Imparts new vigor to the soul,
As l>ending o*er its l)ed
I caught these meanings, as the whole
Unwritten page I read, —
LETITIA M, ADAMS. 681
Unwritten, save by angel hands
Unstained by human art,
I claim thee, mid earth's bright array,
The floweret of the heart.
FROM SHORE TO SHORE.
From shore to shore, from shore to shore,
Adown life's rapid river.
The unwearied boatman plies the oar.
Forever and forever.
We brave the storm, we stem the tide.
Though fierce the waves are breaking,
We know that on the farther side
The morning light is waking.
We leave behind the home scenes sweet.
Lost in the mellow gloaming,
To seek a city's golden streets
Where stately spires are looming ;
While fainter flow life's golden sands.
And faint, and fainter ever,
We leave at morn loved household bands,
We meet on earth, no, never.
The infant in the mother's arms.
The brown-eyed, merr}- rover.
Cries, ^^Mamma, see, the boatman pale
Has come to take me over."
The maiden clasps the lover's form
In fond though last embracing.
Ere he, upon the white ship's deck,
Death's stormj' tide is facing.
The husband bids the wife farewell.
The daughter bids the mother,
While hand in hand with friendly clasp
The sister leaves the brother.
Old age and youth, a motly crew,
The vessel sides adorning.
Sail gladly forth, where full in view
There beams a brighter morning.
From shore to shore, from shore to shore,
We're passing on forever ;
Our pilot glides us safely o'er
The dim and shadowy river.
POETB OP XEW HAMPSHIRE.
Wc irsTe the storm the watera o'er.
I )ugh fierce the w«re« »re breaJdng.
Oo r o*t has neared the "sbiDiiig shore,"
A Ijejivenlv mom is waking.
Gran £. ^irfcrrfng.
R*ld(* la PoniBoaL, the place of ter aMMV-
RESTED.
Oo« day, a fog of sober c*re
Hi.J covered Ibe bomon fair:
Ni ■ cheerful ligbt wa« shining there,
■ ■ > 9 heart for memr words." said we ;
■We'll jnst endure, aod sUeut be ;
V.\a silence will be triumph gtmnd,
Mnoe frictioo galls, on evenr band."
Lif-.'*s savor, for a moment, fled,
Antl left distrust and doubt instead.
Th^ just return, we dimlv saw.
Fi*r all that mortals struggle for.
We said. *-Oh, life doth circles make,
An<1 steps of progress fails to take."
.Iij-t then, in ftiendship's vital name,
A kind and helpful presence came ;
I>^i.-kward and forth the signals sped.
TlI! — ihooght. eschaoged. was comforlM.
Lir>/s irritation slighter seemed.
AdvI care, though present, was redeemed;
An I flavor's bless^ prick returned.
And we. bright possibles, discerned.
Nu )o\ but friendship's ever crept
So near to where life-springs are kept.
No drop of oil. to tout-h life's wbeels,
Sj surelv all their friclioa steals.
Nc- nirrent of galvanic force
^■,> -emU the blood along i« oooree.
(.'' >. r. as soon as it is known,
T.L^ >)uicLened pulses niiae their tone,
A ^ Though a northen* biww had blown.
!:„■ mist ila pure bre-sil^ft>**'»^W== ^
Fair weather paints Lfcje *•** '*'"* "''*^ ■
LUCT BSNTLEY WIG6IN. 683
Eucs iSentles SStfggin.
ffln was bom In Lowell, Mass., Julj 6, 1850. The mater part of her
m WakcfleUL At her graduation from the Normal School at Salem«
she was chosen class poet, and the poem written for that oocaalon,
of the IIULs,** was the first of hers that appeared In print Her liter-
done within a period of about six years, much of it while slie was
vras a frequent contributor in prose and verse to the Christian Vnkm,
onaliat^ and the Aew England Journal qf Education, and an oc*-
ibutor to several other papers, and to the children's magaiine now
oUu, She died Jan. ^6, 1846.
THE LIFE THAT NOW IS,
zing always toward the far blue skj,
1 idle wish to see an angel pass,
ndful of the soft winds dritling by,
wealth of green, the sunlight on the grass,
) to pick the flowers around my feet,
ng God loved them when he made them sweet ;
ng that he would have me love them too—
daisies, and the clover red and white,
y, wild roses, sparkling yet with dew,
blue-eyed grass, uplifted to the light —
tanking him that with such beauty here
e the seeing eye, the hearing ear.
Qging for the tranquil evening hour,
!n busy plans must all be laid aside,
active hands and brain must lose their power,
with their half-done work rest satisfied ;
rinking in the blessed morning air,
li the climbing sun with eager prayer :
whole long day is thine, O Lord," I say,
th all its happ3', helpful work to do ;
tgle eye and stead}- hand I pray,
lo my part ere yet the da}- is through."
K)n must come, and afterward the night,
St and best is this glad morning light ;
ght in which our duties stand out clear,
m earth and sky alike are free from doubt,
even distant mountain tops draw near,
far-off pine-trees stretch their branches out ;
Ain yet I feel what life may give,
rtain that it is a blessed thing to live.
ia Christ ; not glorious death alone
'8 us with the Master, at whose feet
FOSTS OF XEW HAMFSHIBE.
<.'.'., brown sparroir never fell unkiiown,
- er unbeetied bloomed the lilr sweet.
^.g ID His rix>UU-ps we maj see
; and good our common life can be.
THAXKSGmXG DAT.
The l-r. -crowned vear is tlrawing to a close.
T:>i. <rearv eartL has laid ber down to re^t :
No <irir^ms of spring dUtnrb her deep repose.
Ur siir ibe cold hands clasped across ber breast.
The barrest labor done.
No new work r*! begun,
Wbr sJiOQld not man with one brief pause be blest
(S>r only is tie gift of God,
Bl: i.iirlh and joT be fre*-'.T doth commend,
W.ji-L. after coomless tnrnings of the sod.
Tuc season's frvils have reached their perfect ad
Then shall oor portion be,
Wiih h>|^jr hearts, care-free.
To ta$te the blessings which the Lord doth aend.
TLis i> our one hritrhl dsT of leisure sweet
In all the bu^r. bleak New England year:
In thi> brief space do friends long parted meet.
And life seeios wbollr merriment and cbeer.
Around ns and above.
Divine and human love
Uake bc^venly sunshine in ibis lower spbere-
IHlittl) £. {Biggin.
tbtpiT. sail Iw litme l" ■"
ADVENT.
' "WlifT* li tbr jumitt tit Hit co^ta*?*
Throiugbout the Christian worid.
W:;:, banners half unfurled
Tx]^ :..Q1 siand ibe waiting mnltiiwte'.
T(\ -„. .le on everr toncae
n iih holy awe and referent jas «i>4^-
EDITH E. WIGGIX. r,«r,
Above, the belfry' chime
Waits the appointed time
To herald forth the coming of His feet ;
While sacred walls within
Are hung with living green.
Of life that never dies the emblem meet.
Soon shall appear the Dayspring from on high ;
The darkness fades, behold ! the dawn is nigh !
E'en now o'er land and sea
The lessening shadows flee
Before the light : along the eastern skj,
In lines of gold and rose
The promise glows.
Shall lips of listening choirs
And bells in lofty spires
Meet the first Gloria of the angelic throng,
And not, oh heart, in thee
An answering melody
The music of the heavenly host prolong ?
With holy zeal and love.
And works thy faith to prove.
Within thyself thy Bethlehem prepare ;
Bring to His waiting shrine
The best of what is thine,
Thy gold and frankincense of praise and prayer :
So shall the truest, best fulfilment be
Of type and sign and ancient prophec}'.
And when His burning star
Shines in the east afar,
Rejoice with heart and voice, for unto thee
On the glad Christmas morn
Shall Christ be born !
OCTOBER VIOLETS.
We stood in the edge of the forest,
The friend of my heart and I,
Where the sunset glow of the maples
Met the sunset glow of the skj*.
A breath of the coming winter
Came down from the pine-clad hill ;
Its shadows crept over the landscape.
And over our hearts its chill.
POETS OF SEW BAJTPSHIBS.
We diked of oar sanny childhood,
Of b<^s that long ago
We bad watcbed with the <^iiiog bkwBO&a
As ligfatlT eome uid go.
Tbe dmuss of oar earW moming
Like the dew had passed »way ;
Our sides of fold and crimaon
Had lomed to leaden gray-
In tbe yean ihat by befcwv os.
Half seen llinMigb tbe distant haze.
Tie winiers grew drearily longer.
Ana l>riefeT tbe MUnmer dars.
L^e a lireaib from tbe br-cff
Came a frxsJ^nc* faint and sweet.
Asd beboid ! Mne nolet^ nestled
Low down in tbe grau ai our fecL
As tn^i^y ibey i>)oomed in their beasty.
Al iht C-JC<M' of lim mnlnmn d>y.
Tm^ CO* -.i- ibe oi^KT <^ie softly :
•■X*'l tritai. let ocr prieTings cesae :
Le. i» titke to oax bearu wiih gladnesi
Tl» nwssU'C i-f I'iAi aod peace.
"Lf". 3» 1^. c<=r *T-«» to ii>e fctcre
ffUiaix JL ittrssn.
sxiJ:SAa'H^
Thr ■»nrrTXs~ vo » -iT^y and bcttiT :
MELVIN J. MES8EB, 6«'
But oh ! how grand the burst of glorj
Which breaks upon the 'raptured sight
When once attained its utmost height I
On every side are fragments strewn
Of massive, pre-historic boulders,
Vast buttresses of ragged stone ;
Not that which crumbles, rots and moulders.
But that which stands in strength sublime,
Defying storm and sun and time.
Adown the slopes in sombre green
The old, primeval forest reaches,
Tall hemlocks, bosky spruce between,
Then groves of maple, birch and beeches.
And at its base, in fruitful pride.
The fertile fields stretch far and wide.
Bright, gem-like lakes flash far and near.
Like diamonds in an emerald setting,
And forest brooks creep, cool and clear,
Through woody glades, their ripples wetting
The tangled wild flowers at their edge,
Or murmuring low through marshy sedge.
O scene of beauty, vast and fair I
My heart goes out to thee in gladness,
And loses, in thy mountain air.
Each thought of sorrow, care and sadness.
The Switzer's land, the world at large
Can ne'er o'ermatch our own Kearsarge !
ULTIMA THULE.
,r from this world, which is fruitful alone in dissensions ;
.r from its turmoil and noise and incessant commotion ;
r from its dead, and the sound of the groans of its dying.
Alone will I wander.
3 3'et not alone : my Psyche, my soul, thou art with me,
jether we'll seek the fair, tranquil Hesperian gardens
it lie o'er the outermost bounds of the measureless ocean.
Far, far to the westward.
wr soft are the airs which just stir the voluptuous ether !
i languorous breathings of viols and flutes and soft cj'therns
I not more caressing, more thrillingl}* sweet to the hearing
Than these to our senses.
fi88 POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIBE.
Then let us recline at our will in this beautirul Aidean,
^Vhere, glancing astaot through the shining green foliage above ua.
The apples of gold gleam athwart the deep blue of the heateoa.
A wonderful picture !
The vast, mightv pulse of the mystic and strange world around m
Throbs calmly and strong in a God-like, melodious riiythm.
In perfect accord are the heavens, the earth, and the ocean—
The Cosmos of nature.
Oh ! could we prolong to the eve of our dual existence
This state of enchnntment. this dwelling at will in elysinm,
I^ike the eons of dreams of the tranquil-eyed eaters of Lotos.
How blest were our living !
But we must awake and away o'er the measureless ocean :
We must taste once again of the bitterness wrung fVora the real :
We must mingle with darkness, with sorrow, with crime, and
with curses,
Alas for our dreaming !
i&tQx^t §b. ZSort.
G«a. 9. Dorr iri
gan Uiewriieniei
eogaged in the piiallng liasuieaa by establuhlug Uje CvtdII Cooolt I
WoUeboTOUgh Junctlun.
NEW ENGLAND HOSrESTEADS.
Others may sing of the south-land warm,
Where never the cold winds blow.
Where never is felt the chilling storm.
Or is seen the drifts of snow,
Where the soft breeze sweeps, with its breath of balm.
Through the groves of orange and stately palm.
The land may be fair, and warm its skies,
Each breeze with sweetness laden,
And bri;;ht the glance fiom the midnight eyes
Of dark-haire<l southern maiden ;
But New England's homes are dearer to me
Than this southern brightness ever could be,
And for away in the sunset land,
They say the rivers that flow
Leave gold upon their glittering sands,
As down to the sea they go i
i.
GEORGE S. DORR. 689
And whoever may reach that golden shore,
Shall search not in vain for the shining ore.
Oh. wealth may be there for those who reach
Those valleys by hills unrolled,
But who would leave his New England home,
For a head-stone of yellow gold ;
And thousands who go to that sunset land
Find only a grave mid its golden sand.
There is wealth amid New England's hills,
For those who earnestly strive,
And he who wisely his acres tills.
Is one who will surcl}' thrive ;
The man with a farm mid New England's shade
Has a crown of wealth which never will fade.
The sunshine falls with a loving li^ht
On the homestead old and brown,
And breezes sweet with the dews of night
From the mountain-tops sweep down ;
And no south-land owns a sweeter perfume
Than comes from New England's flowers in bloom.
'Tis no sunny south-land now I sing,
'Tis no golden sunset plain.
Nor prairie land whose acres bnng
Their wealth of golden grain ;
But New England homesteads made bright and fair
By the rosy-cheeked maidens dwelling there.
Though no orange-trees our vallej's fill.
And we see no statel}' palms.
There are groves of pine on everj' hill.
That can boast a thousand charms ;
Though our rivers wash up no sands of gold,
Thej^'re the means of bringing us wealth untold.
Stay in the homestead, though old it seems.
And stick to New England now.
There is wealth in her vallej's and streams.
And health on her mountains' brow ;
And hearts that are warm mid the snow and rime,
As any that beats in a southern clime.
POETS OF XEW BAMPSBiaS.
THE MINSTREL'S SUMMER HOME.
ft
Kew Bampshire's granite hills look down
On muiT a lovely rale,
Where sveetly scented meadows inmric
The river's winding trail ;
And here and there a giant tree.
Like sentries dark and grim,
Shows where tbe primal forest sUwd,
In ages past ukI dim.
There's wooded hill artd granite ledge,
With faiiT lake between.
And nooks where bloom the sweetest Bowery
And twines tbe evergreen ;
Fair natare in a pleasant mood
Hath smiled on bill and dell.
And fashioned many a lovely glen
That bolda a wiling spell.
But yet no ^ngle spot can eUim
More lavish gifts from her.
Than vales and hills ofOssipee,
With groves of spmoe and fir ;
No fairer stream tbim Bearcamp flows
Through flower}- meads along.
And mingles with the gentle breeze
The burden of its song.
And here, amid these sylvan scenes,
To rest bis weary feet.
When summer's throbbing pnlse is l^ta
There comes a singer sweet ;
"Among the hills" of health and balm,
He set'kg his days of rest
In pleasant nooks, by winding streams.
That seem to him tbe best.
And here he weaves some pleasaut rbyme
From threads by nature spun,
Aud mingles in the golden web
The rays of summer's sun ;
Eai-b note within his happy song
A c-liiKl may underslaud,
Anil catch the rhythm, pure and sweet.
Of music deep and grand.
GEORGE S, DORB, 691
Sweet singer of our northern hills,
Our vaUej's and our streams,
You throw around us, b}' your words.
The happiness of dreams ;
And each New England heart shall call
For thee a blessing down,
And weave a spray of amaranth,
Within thy laurel crown.
New England's son thou e'er hast been.
And love thy mother still,
Nor seek beyond New England's pale
For joys thy heart to fill ;
You've sung her praises loud and long.
And seeds of love have sown, —
For sweetest lays her poet sings,
She claims jou as her own.
We gladly own the spell you weave
Around our simple hearts,
And thank you for the spring of joy
That never more departs ;
Your verses, rich with tenderness.
We ever love to scan ;
You teach us how to worship God,
By more of love to man.
You love the scent of birch and pine.
We read it in your song ;
You love the Bearcamp's winding stream.
That gently flows along ;
You love the hills of Ossipee,
You love the elm-tiee's shade.
And love to worship at the shrine
Which nature there hath made ;
And in your pleasant home, beside
The smiling Merrimack,
You hear the call they send to you.
And gladl}' answer back ;
In many seasons, past and gone,
Th}' feet have wandered there.
And through the heart there ran a joy,
Mid verdure soft and fair.
And 'tis our trust that man}' more.
Thy footsteps still may press
CHARLES FBANCI8 BICHABD80N. 693
Jesus, Jesus,
Oh, bless not onl}* me ;
With Thy strong arm defend from harm
All who need help from thee ;
And since thou knowest whom I love,
Send all a blessing from above.
Jesus, Jesus,
O King of Paradise,
When shines the light of morning bright
Ope thou m}' willing eyes ;
Or if earth's mom I never see,
Take me, my Saviour, home to thee !
SERVICE.
If life were naught but living.
And death were only death.
Would life be worth the giving.
Would men thank God for breath?
Ah no 1 for sweeter, dearer.
To toil, and pray, and fast,
If so the Lord draw nearer.
And bring his peace at last.
Who follows him, sees mercies
In every bitter pain ;
Who follows not, finds curses
Beneath all worldly gain.
COMFORT.
A single word is a little thing.
But a soul ma}^ be dying before j^our eyes
For lack of the comfort a word may bring.
With its welcome help and its sweet surprise.
A kindly look costs nothing at all.
But a heart may be starving for Just one glance
That shall show by the eyelid's tender fall
The help of a pitying countenance.
It is easy enough to bend the ear
To catch some tale of sore distress ;
But men may be fainting beside us here,
For longing to share their weariness.
CHABLJE8 FBANCI8 BICHABDSON. C95
WORSHIP.
Brave spirit, that will brook no intervention,
But thus alone before thy God dost stand.
Content if he but see thy heart's intention, —
Why spurn the suppliant knee and outstretched hand?
Sweet soul, that kneelest in the solemn glory
Of yon cathedral altar, while the prayer
Of priest or bishop tells thine own heart's story, —
Why think that they alone heaven's keys may bear?
Man worships with the heart ; for wheresoever
One burning pulse of heartfelt homage stirs,
There God shall straightway find his own, and never,
In church or desert, miss his worshippera.
STRENGTH.
The power tliat shaped the everlasting hills
Can nerve with ghostly strength the Christian's arm,
for God himself his servants' hope fulfils,
And bids them onward go, secure from harm.
3f he defend us not, our strength shall fail,
Though set about with all that man can give,
Sut helped by God, the weakest shall not quaQ,
The fainting shall arise, the dead shall Hve.
^or need we wait for some great crucial day
Before we seek in God's defence to stand ;
e guides the sweeping planets on their way,
But leads his little children by the hand.
IMITATION,
%V^here shall we find a perfect life whereby
r<o shape our lives for all eternity ?
r*lT8 man is great and wise ; the world reveres him,
^QVerea^ but cannot love his heart of stone ;
^ wnd 80 it dares not follow, though it fears him,
^^t hido, him walk his mountain path alone.
^^^^g^M^ is good and gentle ; all men love him,
^^(f^- ^•"^ not ask his feeble arm for aid ;
%^^t'M^^^^ best work is ever far above him,
^^r"-^^ *-• ^s beneath the storm-capped mountain's shade.
! FOETS Of ATIF SAMPSHIBE.
O toreleie strengib : O Mm^tfalcss lore : tht HasI
Vfaosr life &iuii] eb«p« oar lires is Dot as tboa :
$wc«t Frieitd in pc«ce. stroog S«rioar in disuur.
Our best of beuts en&Jds thine im^e now !
Be Cbnst's tbe l&ir mnd peffrct life wl
We shape oor tire* Tor all etemin-.
Crorgr 2£Ian)0 IJroteitf.
EVES CHAXGDCG.
After ibe daitofafi comes the %fat,
CksKi^ Ibe shklows svift anr ;
After IM Korm. tbe sonshine bright.
Giving (o eanii a gladsoaie day.
After ibe tria] cwi>» release.
Brh^ing to life a )oTliil cahn ;
Aft£T iLe sorrov. Iben the peace.
Hcalisz lAe heart with «nn*h:ng faaluL
After the seed the barrest-tiiiie.
Yielding to all what iher hare •own,
Wbeiber to yoath or Banbood's prine.
ManT a lV>wer «itli tares o*e^rovn.
After the «ovfc is laid aside
Comes the boor of needed rest ;
Orer ibe daixl.T Ikiwwf tide
Lies benxki'a haTcn Uert.
ErcT is life this marted with care
Chaneiaf jjt and pain and a^ ;
" e b«u ca<l« a ibadov whett
( are voot to fall.
ALWAYS LOOK CP.
nn^ friends pn>te Use ud trart betiaT
(k «Mdi wise lend yM utn.
GEOBGE WALDO BE OWN. G97
Thus making life seem drear and cold,
And shadow round thee casts its fold,
Look bravely up, and never down ;
'Tis best to smile, and never frown.
Although misfortune seems your part.
And disappointment clouds your heart.
Or sorrow shrouds your soul in gloom,
And drear despair doth point its doom,
Look bravel}' up, and never down ;
Tis best to smile, and never frown.
Thus come in weal or come in woe,
B}' hand of fiiend or work of foe.
The cares to-da^s the feara for morrow,
Though life doth bring distress and sorrow.
Look always up, and never down ;
'Tis best to smile, and never frown.
MOUNT PAWTUCKAWAY.
Monarch of the hills around,
Valleys fair and grim ravine.
Grand thy rugged form, rock-bound.
Clad in garb of sombre green.
With thy massive summit crowned
B}' the sunlight's golden sheen.
Deep and dark thy caverns lie.
Flanked with granite seamed and sheer ;
And thy frowning crags on high
Straight their dizzy heights uprear.
Till they dim the gazing eye.
Till the heaii; recoils with fear.
Could we lift Time's magic vail
Strange the scenes thou wouldst impart —
Many a joy and bitter wail
Locked within thy rocky heart.
Stamped on every rift's a tale ;
Every crag, a wilder part I
Ix> ! the eagle vigil kept
O'er thy wild domain, erstwhile ;
As with peace the panther slept
In some dell or dark defile ;
And unharmed the reptile crept
'Long some lonely, forest aisle.
t A taw
FOET8 or NSW OAMPSBUtK.
Or UKMi tbcre bant in view.
Like « flash, the boaodiiig deo'.
As & backward glance he Unw,
Quaking with an inborn Gear
Lest a lurking foe parsae
From amid the thickets near.
Ringii^ 'bove thy tonenf a roar,
Wakii^ br thr nHMintain world.
From thy ramparts, grim and boar.
Many a war-note has been bnrl'd;
And the scene of wild strife o'er,
Here tbe smoke of (ticDdatdp cn^d.
Long since loet are those deeds wraogbt
By Ibe dnsky. forest son ;
And the joys bis camp-fire brought
When the day's wild sport was done;
Happy buDting-groands he's sought
Far beyond the setting sun !
Where the panther sought his prey
PesoethI cattle safety find ;
And the deer's unknown to^ay.
Save the name he left behind ;*
As of old the sunsets play
On thy clifts with shadows lined.
Sounds no more tby thanders, stiai^
That awoke the valleys 'round ;t
Uid the years' unceasing change
Tranquil silence thou bast found ;
And thy one-time wildwood range
Is UmIsj a pleasure-ground.
Rivers change from ancient day.
Founts that ouce wero hid are seen;
But of thee, Pawtuckaway,
With tby lofly. constant mien,
Lives thy rn^ed form for aye,
Clothed in pine-firs' deathless green !
ulns "gnu dMT plw«.~
„ BDflirromttil^iiioantBli.uiAIke
Lu etu)taua wu teitnjil. Bui ttw)' km no loBgvr tuaud.
HOB ACE EATON WALKEB. 699
With tby sheen of grandeur cast
O'er uDDumbered ages flown ;
And majestic wilt outlast
Time and space to man unknown 1
l^oracr lEaton Wi^X^tt.
. Walker was bom in Chariestown, Aug. 9, 1893. Slnco that time he has re-
n Brooklyn, N. Y.| and Claremont, the latter place having become his per-
t residence.
THE SEAMSTRESS.
Oh, ye that love the honest poor,
And feel it in your hearts
To aid these pure, deserving ones
Where ever3' hope departs,
Oh, trace with me the rickety stair,
The coarse, uneven way,
And I will point you, in despair,
A woman worn and gray.
The hour is late, and lamps are out.
And all the world is still.
Save music from the banquet hall.
Where goblets clash and fill.
The distant thud, thud, thud.
Of watchman on his beat.
Breaks on the heart like tales of blood
The wild, wild winds repeat.
We push the door that has no lock,
No bronzed and 3'ielding knob,
And there beside a broken stand,
With mingled sigh and sob,
A careworn mother sits and sews.
While near in scanty cot
A little nursling wild-flower blows,
By all the world forgot I
A half-burned candle on the stand
Makes twilight of the gloom ;
But oil, my friend of countless wealth,
You cannot know her doom I
You cannot, cannot feel as she.
Your life has been of ease.
Your freighted ships arc on the sea
Before a buoyant breeze.
POETS OF NEW EAMPSBIBS.
While hopes togetlier, side by side,
Have gone frith rosy health, -
And Bit fVom mom to lat«st e'«n,
No comforts of the rich.
Not one bright hour id all the scene,
And stitch, stitch, stitch.
glltf)ine J^loxtntt ^lioals.
Hlu SboftlB reildea In Go«heii. the pl*« of bar BidTttr-
APPLE BLOSSOMS.
Down in the on-hard to-night I stray.
With June's roung glorj around me spread ; -
Her emerald carpets beneath my feet.
While above, the apple blossoms sweet
Fall softly sround my head.
Oh beautiful June, thoo art come again.
With eoho of bird-song sweet and clear.
With perfumed blossoms and sparkling dew;
A pictured melody, old yet new.
My heart holds ever dear.
Oh, fair is the early sQmmer time '.
In the rosy bloom of her loveliness ;
Sweeter than spring, so pale and cold ;
l>earer than when the year grows old,
And youth aod bloom are less.
And the snowy blossoms come drifting down,
Apple and cbeny. peach and pear ;
And find amiil the grass a place
To hide their loveliness and grace
That made the orcfaaid &ir.
But by and by. in the antomn time.
When flowers have (Med and birds an mnte.
After tbe summer winds and rain,
Tbo«^ the flowers cannot return again,
TiKre will come the gokko fhiit.
Ami I tnist that onto ottr homan besits.
Tb«» will Muetime cusae an aatuou day,
bTea Mae goUen ftiiit shall bcsr;
SARAH ELIZABETH LANE. 701
And yet, 'tis sad that first the fair,
Sweet flowers must pass away.
But, ah I it is not every flower
Fulfils the promise of its bloom, —
The cruel winds and storm ma}' beat.
The blossom fall ere 'tis complete,
And then no fruit can come I
Oh I thou who fashioned human hearts.
And formed the floweret's dainty leaf.
Grant that fVom out our early bloom,
L'.fe's good and perfect fVuit shall come,
Unmarred by storms or grief.
DREAMING MID THE CLOVER.
3 fancies come to me, Saddening fancies come to me,
.'aming mid the clover : Dreaming mid the clover ;
lile the busy humble bee While I think of one most dear
ims the wide field over. Their red blooms wave over.
thering sweets from morn till Down beneath the emerald
night, leaves,
ly little miser, 'Neath the violets' azure,
lile the butterfiy glides by — While the ring-dove chants her
1 me which the wiser? praise,
^ . , In the sotlest measure,
ppy fancies come to me,
naming mid the clover : Ah ! these fancies I must leave,
ppiness that will be mine Dreaming mid the clover,
J their bloom is over. 1 must rise and wander far,
asant faces, merry smiles, Ere the d&y be over.
ntle words low spoken, — I must work and I must wait,
ese shall keep hearts free While the sun is o'er me,
ftx)m guile. With a heart for any fate
aling hearts once broken. That may be before me.
iM Lane was born In LoweU, Mebs., April 29, 1866. When she was two years
ge her parents removed to Swanzey. Their home la called "Klradale," from the
« elm-trees near the house. She Is a successful school teacher.
A WISH.
What shall I wish for thee, my dearest friend ?
That cloudless skies shall ever o'er thee bend ?
5 POSTS OF KEW HAXPSBIBE.
TtaX F«ii»e shall give to thee a ^htcrin^ oown,
ADd F<maoe at Uir fe«t cast treasoRS down ?
KaT. dear : Life's sweetest flowers wosM draop inH (ii*.
Did ixn dart ckmds sometiiDRS o'erspread the akv.
Faaie. tbou^ most fair, would give tby heart no rest.
And Fonaoe proves capricktaB at tbe best.
But 1 wcold wish Tor thee a life weQ spent,
A life of love and tni&t and sweet contenU
Whose dars. as they go bv. shall e'er aboond
la deeds of kindness to tiie woiid anwnd.
Asd I woold wish, wbaterer life mar brii^
To thee of soitow c« of snflering.
Thai <m tiiis thoogbt thv bean might ever rest:
"It is tiiT Father's will: He fcnoweth besL'
^ shall thy bnrt be filled with joy and pean ;
And witen al last thy labcov bei« dtall cease,
Tfcy ecoiflicis o"er. xby final Tictory wcsi.
TTien.thoD ^uul bear'lhy Ua^^'s' word*, "WcD *«?■
rXDKB THE EUCS.
T'nAtfr The e^ms. is a Icw-s^neii^ h
n^TODch the Wmg bMUV 1 lazily &e.
I^vami'i ijsi'oiiic to snmaMT's sweet nose
Wjjoiiine the w)ine ekmds float thimfh tht li!w V^*
t*feT my hea^ are the wide-Bpreadiag hnadx*,
Thronci ihe rreen leaves lalls the Bnal^^^^'
Ibiclii litsje iiGuem^is ncid U) me gaily.
Swe« aiTta-iik^aat hide tmtsores tintcU-
F^vnB tbf ftk'ir r7v«T a faini. drijwFy mnnDiiT
Cranes to iry ears ihr>.in^ ihe wann. ffUTsA ■■ ■
SihYr^'Tt lined ^^ds Ha^^a p^ alioai me.
--Was ever a fommer so £urr
Tmas eiass^ mnrrily <n>e lo m»c>theT.
Bfivib]^ jv-mr iitrtb xhfir aotee lovd and tit**"'
Vlule. fremi tbe wondlani. the voooe of the ^il^^^
T^llMsr sainf names banrJitc k-w from tlv is
■pUk Bsle KttiTfws and Kraei<irds and tvilant
Jite m the ooDetR wxk hcans Ibl] of {lee
LIDA C. TULLOCK. 703
GOOD-BYE.
Good-bye ! O word the saddest and the sweetest
That mortal tongue e'er formed or pen e'er traced ;
With thee how oft is deepest sorrow wakened,
That from our hearts can never be effaced.
* 'Good-bye," we say, when weeping o'er some loved one,
On whose dear face grim Death has set his seal.
Whose lips no more return our fond caresses ;
Ah, then, sad word, thy bitterness we feel.
'*Good-b3'e," we say when we are sadly parting
From some dear friend we ne'er may meet again —
Some one whose life-path seems from ours diverging.
The while our hearts are filled with keenest pain.
And must we s^y good-bye, dear friend, forever?
Must this word sadden both our lives alway?
Our Father knows ; to Him we'll trust the futui-e ;
Perhaps sometime may come a brighter day.
In that blest world that* s "just beyond the river,"
There, where the tears are wiped from ever}' eye.
Where neither sorrow, sin nor death shall enter,
We never more shall sadly say **Good-bye."
Ml88 Tullock, formerly of Portsmouth, resides in Washington, D. C.
FORGIVE THE DEAD.
Let no harsh thoughts of what has been
Remain within thy breast,
When bending o'er the coffined form
Of one who is at rest.
What though an enemy lies there !
Thou canst forgive all now ;
For God has set the awful seal
Of death upon that brow.
What though those lips spake angry words ?
Those hands were raised in strife?
Thou, too, wilt need such deeds forgiven.
When thou hast done with life.
POETS OF ySW HAMP8HIBB.
Then bring sweet flowers, the lily fair,
The violet and the ro«e,
To place within the hand's pale clasp,
That never will nncloae.
And when the form is iMd to rest
'Neath earth's green, peaeefnl sod,
Say, "I forgive 1" and go tby way,
Leaving all else with God.
LILACS.
'Tis strange, indeed, how slight a thing
Will oftitnea to the mem'ry hring
Scenes of the vanished past ;
And in the mind we live once more
The pleasures of those days of yoie,
"Too beautifnl to last."
The fVagranee of an early rose.
The tender tints fair twilight shows,
Old ocean's thunderous swell,
Pt'Tvhanoe the burden of a song,
Bearing the hearer's heart along.
May east the witching spell.
Tis thus, when in the early spring.
' Mid gruwing grass and birds that sins^
The lilac blooms anew ;
Its subtle perfume steeps my seal.
And ftom my past the curtains roll,
I'Ksenting to my view
The old. old home, where by the wa^
The UUl- bu^t'-'. gr«ea and tail,
Noddtri tfitir purpl« plumes;
When" I. a ',!Hi.iijy, joyous child.
With bn'c!i. rs, sisters, sportii^ w\\^
C>ath«r<nJ tlw scented blooms.
I »f a^n my mocher's taee,
!»o (Ull v-f hvir Io»« aoJ grace,
V<a4ir '.•D ■^■K^t 'jappv pLtv.
>e Uie p«ala stir^^~
Kvks the garia^ErDOsfing,
MUB awav.
KATE J. KIMBALL. 705
Oh, Lilacs ! common you may be,
But always beautiful to me I
For do you not recall
Those halcyon days of early youth,
When life seemed naught but hope and truth,
And love illumined all ?
Hate % HlmtaU.
all'6 home hM been In Bath. In 1883 the went to South Carolina.
HYMN.
ath set his love upon me» therefore will I deliver him."— Paahn xci : 14.
Jesus, this sinful heart of mine
Is prone to set its love
Upon the things of time and sense
And not on things above.
On thee, on thee, O Saviour Christ !
Could I but fix my eye.
For a high purpose for my life
I should no longer sigh.
Oh, glimpses of thy loveliness
In pit}' give to me.
So that my restless heart be filled
With naught but thoughts of thee.
And then shall I delivered be
From each besetting sin.
And holy peace and sweet content
Shall reign my breast within.
And then, wherever I may go,
Whatever I may be.
My every thought and word and deed
Shall be as unto thee.
Jesus, I crave this blessedness,
Not for my sake alone,
But that in me, thy humble child,
Thy sacred wiU^be done.
WHERE JESUS LEADS.
Saviour, where'er thou leadest me
Most cheerfully I go,
rOBTS OF SVW HAMPSBIBE.
Orer the mooaUias high and ateep,
Or throagfa sweet Tidleya low.
And either throngfa the wUdenteas,
Or in the city's mart,
■With joT and peace I go with Him
Who holds my hand and heart.
Whether in Ufe'a fierce battle-«trire.
Or safe in meadows fair.
Whether the sea be rough or calm,
I am without a care.
And whether in my Father's boose.
Or &r awar ftotn home.
My tSanooT piidea and leads and keq
Whererer I may roam.
Witf) thee I iire in peace with them
WIm loTe or who hate me.
And Fm ooetenl. when all fwaake.
To be alone with thee.
J«E«s. whDe thns thoo leadest me,
I cannot go astray,
Tboa safely keepest me who art
ne Liie and Tnah and Way.
TO THE WHITE VIOLET.
(ft IxHt lk>w«9' that &0B the lid), mmst earth
Of kmesome wooded nnddides oomesi forth
In the warn sonslune of the gmtle Hay,
And ^teddest swwetesi tn^mtfe on my way,—
1 dAsrty IcHV the tmider winsome grace
nm Teas iqwb thy laiiy modest &oe :
McJtlmb Oe purple of thy pendllii^
l« kAo- ttea Oe royal dyv of kii^a.
Ok. m^to my bean be pan as tboa art wlute,
AW i^kt mv ttHix be c^ear as Ihoa art bright.
_ >:.i..\i . k>s^iy ^xt)
■in ie limes of strifc
■■^ ^.'^A my eulUy fift-
roKTS or xxw bampshom.
A tgm worth tbe «
One wortliT to be pUced within its mAe
nefMnd. amid the eoontleH gronps from fift
In Hme's rut ootnto? "Patience, dear scolpfair,"
A low voice aaith, '*bf long, long yean ia wnl^^
The beantr infinite ot the white soul's thought.
With oar stroag thoi^tftil atnifce eadi day the null
Chipa &11, to leare, wbea thou haat woo thy Kit.
Then goldm yean have bn»ght thee to thy goal,
' lofi
TO MT RITEB, THE FISCATAQUA
I aee thee now my beantifid river,
I aee thee now O wood-lored river,
A-rfiining nnder the aettii^ son I
I see thy aoft bank's golden brown
Where the ann-beams love to settle down
And lingo- one by one.
And the song thoa sii^eat is love nntoM,
And the smile thoa ^reat is bright as gold ;
Utoo fiUest my grateftii soal with peace,
And the sboft-lived sweets of a honeyed yoath
Are fofgoc in the dream of a parcr trotb, —
A drnm that ne'er shall cease.
And my Ufe shaO DcUer and purer be
That iu youth and dreama were passed by tbee,
Bathed (Right and pore in thy sunlit tide.
Those dear loat days ! they seem but nov
A beantifiil {nomise, a holy tow.
As o'er the waves I glide. *
On the faieast ot Life's restless river,
Paintti^ a bir land washed by a river
Where soon, fixevcr my aoni shall rest-
After a little waking and aleeping.
After a little ""'Mng and weeping —
With tboae I love the best.
POSTS OP JfSW BAMPBHIBE.
The Bi^oBieB of cloud-land, moored along the west.
Are riding leisurel; in heaven's bay,
Earth, eea and ekj are all at rest —
The benediction of a perfect day.
The moon, reflected by my side.
Sends quivering glances from the tide.
Where sea and sky are wedded in a pnrple mist,
The white sea guile glide past the Hampton reef;
So. with a longing I cannot resist,
My thoughts dart out and find a glad relief.
Like white sails on the shadowy sea,
Dear memories float back to me.
0 breath of balm I I feel thy witchery, thy power ;
O towering cliff beside the summer sea,
1 lived a long, sweet life in one short hoor.
On thy great heart reposed, at rest with thee ;
I'll seek again thy sunset skies,
Thy twilight hour, thy paradise.
attic NclBia ^arttage.
•temdtplumeot "Kelsla Bird."
DRIFTING.
Just the same as ever, the seasons come and go.
With summer flowers and sunshine and winter's driftiDg sdoit.
Just the same as ever, the spring-time bluebirds call ;
And glorious leaves in autumn with radiant colors fUl.
Just the same as ever, the twinkling stars shine on ;
The sun returns each morning to wake the coroiog dawn.
Just the same as ever, the world rolls on its way.
Nor heeds our bitter grieving for friends that might not stsv.
Just the same as ever, the sweet smiles lead a sigh.
And ripple over chasms where hopes and treasures lie.
Just the same as ever ? No, not the same to me ;
The Bun bis chariot driving draws near the crystal sea-
No, not the same as ever, the tinted leaves float down.
They strew my pathway nearer the hand that holds the CTt)irn.
No, not the same as ever, — sun, moon, and stare mast p^^
Before the coming splendor that hides behind the veiJ.
ABBIE NELSIA PABTRIDGE. 715
HUMAN FACES.
Oh ! human faces, with placid smiles
That ripple the surface o*er,
You tell as little of life beneath.
As the waves that wash the shore.
Some maiden heart with emotion thrills
At the low sweet voice of love ;
The world intrudes — and the face she lifts,
Is calm as the sky above.
Some reckless one, with sin-djed heart,
Comes forth fVom the depths of shame.
And smiles on the world, as cool and calm,
As one with an honored name.
An aching heart, with anguish riven.
That has bowed in secret prayer,
Comes out to the world with beaming eyes,
And a face serene and fair.
The inward struggles with pride and want,
And the sins that hidden lie
Leave no more trace, on the outward face,
Than last week's storm on the sky.
It is well the curious eyes see naught
But the face of seeming light.
While carefully hid, 'neath the heart's deep lid,
Lie covered the sins of night.
HIDDEN WORTH.
Under the ice, so cold and chill,
Floweth the water, pure and still ;
Under the snow-drifls, deep and white,
Violets wait for spring-time light.
Deep in the rugged mountain's core,
Lieth the glittering golden ore ;
Under the rough and swelling tide,
Beautiful gems of ocean hide.
Little we think, under ice so chill.
Waters arc flowing, pure and still ;
Less do we think, in mountains cold,
Bright are the rocks with shining gold.
POSTS or SSW BAMPSHIRX.
Sammcr utd smuhine briag to light
Wktcn tb«t spvkW pan aad bi^^ ;
Coanp wad Ubor fed the way
DovD wbefc the ^a(d and }ev^ Isr.
UDd« tbe ice of carelcs* Mnan,
ITitder the saow of envr bora.
TltfoUKth the bMit* n annot kM^.-
Onhr H ion cbai! mrit tke mow.
('■do- onr Icm tb« ««tcrs gBde.
Xomtaiiu of avmllk uc U oar nde :
Ocn be tbe jor tb« pnac to fanng.
Othen the boQov pniM maj- Hag.
eaaiiam a. llanlra.
■wrtfay. Bt«*ikMsaciicaB<fci^.rakE:,MK. i
Bast cA 91 «i^:aie la: mazy A^ia
To Tvsc ^»R-^^ A»d if»d of t^ E&?
W^ be^ ^»'va b^^ cpoM i&t kaaiud haafc
Wa:.±Mi ^i«>» tat cue ^w of b^g Bs^-
T^ckcKsi Tx«-of ^aes tk«t jMbIc Aamt
T"n[MTii-ifmVTnl witt a ^crr aol tkcir «««.
DuK uixk X £i p:rzav v^ iiiirTwj^ trsA
1^ >Sk::£(aiaf •:^ ^ jaattMafie omk ao bri^lK-
Asi i^r^Mti — a ^«si7 ^ — co tank ftM.aoBtfc
C&MT ic iuc ^«^ fMnaps iftac ■"%Tf'i fiv ric ^
T^ ffciw al ■*"*• if Sk a ^mUt krb^
Fir «;nef vioaL &m.y ate- z si xa oo^n* :
V~i£ie ^DE-Hti ^ btaTvs's ;aT k s a E^^
T^ zrdbx icfitixs iC car j«im« new
Aaic jfc U.T StCHHic xari njii»1 fc« «
WILLIAM A. BAB TLETT. 71 7
In one grand symphony almost divine,
Which rising, swelling, bursts so wondrous sweet
That — sad heart, dost thy mom begin to glow ?
CEDIPUS.
(Edipus, thou son of Laius,
When exposed on Mount Cithseron
With th}' feet all pierced and bleeding,
In thine infancy so helpless ;
Did no vision of the future,
Did no oracle prophetic
Tell thee that thy life was fated
To be one continued crime ?
CEdipus, thou son of Laius,
If the disembodied spirit
Ever has the recollection
Of the deeds done in the body —
Can it be thou'rt in Elysium ;
Can there be one consolation
In the haunting, baleful memory
That thou art a patricide?
(Edipus, thou son of Laius,
Did an obolus admit thee
To Tartarean realms of sorrow?
Would the boatman take thee over
Laden with a sin so fearAil —
Laden with the curse of Nature,
In that wicked, shameful union
- When Jocasta was thy bride ?
Wretched one, is Stygian darkness
Black enough that it can cover
Visions that are most appalling, —
Of a hanging struggling mother
With her features so distorted.
Who in bitter self-abasement.
Who in sorrow overwhelming
Thus became a suicide ?
Can it be Lethean waters
Drown those wild cries so heart-rending
Of thy faithful, loving sister
Whom they bore, despairing, shrieking,
CABBIE WHITE OSGOOD. 719
Said Ragged Lady, '^Tis fine to hear
You talk about pretty faces !
A judge of beauty you are indeed
Who can't tell rags from laces I
'^My delicate flounces are deftly made,
And I don't care to renew them.
But if you wish your buttons sewed on.
Just find some other to do them !"
Years have passed since this offer was made
Under the apple-tree shady,
But he is Bachelor Button still,
And she is a Ragged Lady I
THROWING KISSES.
Three gold buttons on each small shoe,
Crimson stockings and apron blue,
Are these the daintiest part of you ?
Saxon Bertha, with eyes that look
Like blue fringed gentians in their nook
Under the trees by the pasture brook.
Saxon Bertha, so white and pink,
Surely some butterfly might think,
"Here is honey for me to drink I"
Bertha "bright," at the window pane,
Through the sunshine and through the rain
Kisses you throw again and again.
All are equal, in your belief,
Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief.
Doctor, lawyer or Indian chief."
Shouting school-bo}', roguish and rude.
Fair little maiden in scarlet hood.
Ragged workman, sawing the wood.
Shower your kisses I Happy are 3'ou I
Happier far than if you knew
Good fix)m evil and false from true.
Scatter with loving finger-tips
These blossoms of your innocent lips,
Till into each heart some sweetness slips.
AKNE PAJRMELEE. 723
I lay 'neath the pine on the brink of the brook,
And their songs mingled o'er roe in air,
One glad as the tones from an oread's nook.
One heavy with sobs of despair.
The sad and the glad mingled into one strain,
But made no dissonant strife ;
As varying tones of pleasnre and pain
Mingle into the music of life.
And I said, **Lo, the song of the heart of man,
The song of gl6om and of glee,
Tlie song that has been since the world began.
The song that ever shall be."
Anne Parmdee 1b a native of Brookljm, N. Y., whew her parents, Joecph W., and
* ranoes A. Parmclee, resided for many years. She was born June 1, 1860. and ha»
ijeen carefully reared and educated, first at the Packer Institute, and afterward at
■Bliss Whltcomb's Seminary on the Heights in that City. She has written B<»mo
l>leasant pieces in prose and verse, and from the latter we have selected with others
Jor this volume her Commencement Exercise as a member of the Art Class In »ll!*s
^> hltcomb's school. Her home is In Newport.
SUNSET.
The sun sinks slowly to its rest.
While on the crest
Of yonder hill the firs point toward the radiant skj'.
Through golden glory in the west.
To quiet nest,
The birds, fatigued with the long, beauteous day, now tly.
See ! every eye-entrancing shade,
Now glow, then fade —
From richest crimson, to the faintest, loveliest rose.
Colors like these, on canvas laid.
Are oft displayed.
But not in hues divine as nature glows.
IVe stay and gaze until the night,
With shadowy light,
I-ays its oooj spell o'er all the dewy vale and hill ;
Mhe lovely j.^^^ tints, put to flight,
^ «cfe from our sight,
\ll all the fi^^xie is calm and mystical and still.
TAT BBIDGE.
The morniDg bright bathed with its li^t
The verdaDt banks of Tay ;
The tnittering swallows skimmed along
The waters. Id their play ;
The while, a Scottish wanderer I
To Tayport bent-my way.
I saw the bridge, aa from the ridge
I looked the vraters o'er ;
A m%hty work it seemed to me.
That stretched fVom shore to shore ;
But in the midst there was a gap
That puzzled me fiiU sore.
And, as I stood and pondered thos,
An ancient Scot drew near.
And him I asked to solve my doubts ;
But seemed he not to hear ;
For a Uttle space he hid his face,
Then wiped away a tear.
"Didst ask," quoth he, "guld sir, the c«i
The brigg is trod nae mair?
Aweel, it is a direfb' tale.
That pierces me right aair ;
For 'twas on that night, in awfh' plight.
My Geordie perished there !
"Puir laddie ! He did little ken
Wha' evil wad betide !
For he was comin' hame that day, —
CHARLES WHEELEB COIT. 729
The wind, it blawed a hurricane ;
On shore the waves were cast ;
And ever o'er our heads, the clouds
Were sailing swiftly past.
'^The moon, at night, shone cauld and bright*
On yon grey, massive pile ;
The eager waters foamed beneath,
Wi* grim and ghastly smile ;
And the Edinboro' train rolled on
Its slaw-decreasing mile.
' ^I watched it, as it crept alang ;
I see'd its lanterns glare ;
I thought o' Geordie and his lass ;
I ken't they wad be there ;
I heard the gale ; my cheek grew pale ;
I prayed an earnest prayer.
'*Slaw, as wi''pain, rolled on the train,
And left the southern shore ;
It scarce had reached the centre span,
When, wi' the thunder's roar.
There cam fu' fast a mighty blast,
That swept the river o'er.
"It struck the brigg wi' fearfu' strength I
Waes me !- The unco' sight !
There straight uprose high in the sh
A flash o' lurid light.
Then the waters quenched the yellow flames.
And a' again was night.
'*0h lang I waited, but in vain :
My bairns did ne'er arrive,
The moon shone through the rift;ed clouds ;
I see'd the waters strive
Wi' the ruined heap, that filled the deep.
Nae soul was left alive 1"
His tale was told. The Scotchman old
To hide his grief was fain ;
He turned away in silent mood.
And left the heathy plain.
With moistened eye, I watched him go.
And longed to soothe his pain.
I've traversed oft old Scotland's braes ;
Full well her shores I know ;
ETTA UDOBA FBENCH. 731
Where Poverty in voiceless grief abides,
For Freedom's step sounds not within her halls.
But the still night will watch around the place,
And the pale moon look down upon her there.
As they have done. The traveller will trace
Her history beside her, dead yet fair.
Anon, methought I heard the carnival,
That fostered relic of a gaj-er day.
Dance in her touch, and o'er the dim canal
The gondola sailed on its stately way.
Bedecked with flowers. Stirrings of triumph ran
Then through her strain, ceasing^as it began.
SOLITUDE.
Stillness and silence, absence of human crowds,
The gentle tones of gentler solitude, —
These are the spells that lift from out their shrouds
Of earthliness — a dull, indifferent mood —
Our thoughts and dreams of new and changing fates.
The breezes that fan Nature while she sleeps.
The streams, the flowers, and their fair feathered mates.
The singing birds, all that around us sweeps
In storm oy^ sunshine, summer's peaceful rest,
The winter with her cold, ambitious winds.
Remembered graves that our heart's tears have blest,
li^ach influence that gifted Nature binds
Upon her brow, is music — that from thought
^$trikes tenderer music, which in verse is wrought.
f- I'Vcnch was bom in Manchester, March 22, 1802. Her parents, Dearborn P.
'^^-zA C. Glines, removeil to Boston when she wa^ about five vears of age, but
I ^^<1 to Manchester in 1870. She was educated at the public schools in that city.
9 stie became the wife of Joseph W. IfYench. Their residence is in Man-
A PRAYER.
Oh ! Lord, dear Master, we are weak.
We tremble when we think of Thee ;
Thy power and glory bid us speak.
Thy love and mercy we would see.
IrVe tremble to approach th}' throne ;
Forbid not, Lord, our feeble praise,
ANNIE E, DE WOLFE. 737
'^O Jeanie, quiet a' your fears,
An* let your heart be glad ;
Dry up, my lass, those pearly tears.
An' be na longer sad.
**For ril na leave 3'e for the sea,
Nor from ye will I stra}' ;
Your loving laddie I will be
Forever and for aye !"
ISABEL DP:ANE.
Oh ! why dost thou haunt me forever.
My beautiful Isabel Deane ?
There's never a lake or a river
But in it th}' image is seen.
And in the dark pines in the night-time
I see th}' sweet face all the same,
And mythical beings around me
Seem ever to whisper th}- name.
■
I never sit down in the twilight
But a form stands out all alone.
In which in its matchless beauty
I recognize none but thine own.
O Isabel, Isabel, darling !
In fancy thou'rt with me for aye ;
In reality ne'er shall I meet thee
Until the last closing of day.
annie 13* ^tWitAU.
Miss Dc Wolfe was l)orn In Na.shua, Ortobor 12, 18C3. She Is a daughter of the
late George O. B. DcAVolfe, whose puenih arc found elsewhere in this volume.
UNE PENSEE.
The watch-bells of the long, still night
Peal on the sigh-fed air ;
The rain is dropping, soft and light.
Round globules, wondrous rare.
4
i
FANNIE HUNTING TON R UNNELS. T^'^
Descended, in the poet's full behold,
A chariot that seemed a cloud of tiaine,
Wherein were poet-sages and with them
Th* incarnate inspiration of their song ; —
Such vital power that fed their purer minds
Was that, that sympathetic hearts do thrill
And glad respond, a holier brotherhood !
The poet clad him in a pilgrim guise,
Untiring sought to scale the rugged steeps.
Till the sharp rocks denied him furtherance.
And straight received his torn and bleeding frame ; —
When loud there rang a liat thunderous
From peak to peak : ''Despairing Pilgrim, stay !
Think not to dare these heights precipitate
Until from actual merit of thine own, —
Some human good, the gods conduct thee here.
Grieve not, wo send our angels ministrant ;"
And thereupon chief of this lofty band
Ordained a guide, an heavenly Beatrice,
To lead him back unto his Eden-land.
Now from the mount
Come maids Shaksperian with varied charm, —
First Juliet with love in every look.
Full-blended with her life-blood ; Imogen,
Clothed in devotion and fidelity ;
Helena with the golden hair of Hope,
And heart heroic; Portia, dignified
Of grace, with soul refined ; Fair Rosalind
(xlides dancing bj' in tender gayetj* ;
Viola with a pensive sweetness filled,
And modesty of mien ; Hermione,
Enrobed in deathless faithfulness, and pure ; —
These in sweet chorus sang him to repose.
Kight soon he woke as the angelic voice
Of Laura made rich music in his ear ;
He scarce could see for sunlight of her hair
Beneath the virtuous coronal she wore ;
Content to feel her presence' influence
He could not brook the beautj' of her face.
Down stepped Elaine, fair maid of Astolat,
Shone in her hand the shield of Lancelot, —
A talisman to keep her spirit pure.
The stately Maud tripped lightly by his side —
Maud, ruby-lipped and decked in dewy flowers.
A gentle form above him bent, a face
Was mirrored in the rocks, the trees. You rill
LULU E, TBEVITT. 741
In lives through them immortal, and made pure
In the refining ordeal of life."
The poet ended, and upon his brow
A crown of stars fell through the waking morn,
And he arose like peace when Christ was born.
Uttltt £• JTrcbitt.
Mii*8 Trcvltt Is a (laughter of Capt. John Trevitt, of Mount Vcmon. She U imr-
t*uii)|c her studies at the Academy in that town. Her father is a graduate of \V(>Ht
Point, and has been much in the service of hid country.
NEW YEAR'S EVE.
With smiles or tears, with hopes or fears,
Tlie old year goes.
We cannot sta\' it in its flight.
Nor would we call back, if we might,
Its joys or woes.
The history of each word and deed
Now lies before us, and we read.
With now a smile and then a tear,
The stor}' of the vanished 3'ear.
We mouin with tender, sad regret
The sacred joys now past, and yet
We know the new year hath in store
Blessings we haye not dreamed before.
We triumph for our victories won,
Or grieve for wrongs that we have done ;
Once more we feel the crushing pain
Of bitter sorrow, and again
We climb with bleeding feet and torn.
Up steep, rough places ; weary, worn,
We plead once more for needed rest,
And finding it, again are blest.
The lessons that each day has taught,
The work our feeble hands have wrought,
The love we have received or given, —
Making our earth seem more like heavens-
All these have made thee very dear
To each of us, thou dying year.
»
MATE. PEliLEY. 748
Come he now or come he never,
Nothing mattereth.
He is mine and mine forever,
Nothing o'er our love shall sever,
Life or death.
IN EMBRYO.
As an imprisoned bird beats restlessly
With feeble wings against her cage's bars,
Then growing stronger, breaking free.
She rises on swift pinions joyfully
Up toward the stars ;
So flutters in my heart of hearts a song.
Too weak to break its prison bars ;
But I will nourish it till sweet and strong
And tender, it shall rise ere-long
Up toward the stars.
mas IB. perles-
Mifls Perley Is a native aud resident of Lcmpster. She was educated at Tildcn
'^'cnnHie Seminary, West Lebanon, and lias become a school teacher.
A MORNING IN JULY.
The glorious sun comes peeping o'er the mountain.
Shedding o'er hill and plain his splendor bright.
The sunbeams, springing from this golden fountain,
Throw over all their spray of dazzling light.
The}' play at hide-and-seek behind the shadows,
With barbs of gold they pierce the lucid pearls
That mid the grass-blades, spanned by silver ladders,
Lie glistening clear when night her banner furls.
-A play All breeze is whispering to the clover.
As to foretell the beaut}' of the day ;
^'^hile it to me is gently wafting over
The breath of meadow pinks and new-mown hay.
^And as I stand, all save the scene forgetting.
Clear, ringing voices fall upon my ear.
"^""he mowers now their shining scythes are whetting.
Which tells the hour of five is drawing near.
HUBBARD ALONZO BAB TON. 745
With mine otvn living eyes I saw my sprite^
Which from my body fled,
Walk the pale waters in the silent night,
Amongst the shadowy dead,
Join the wild wayward dance upon the wave.
Oh ! for some friendly power to see and save !
rtv
The livelong night I la}- in nerveless trance
Beside the moonlit shore.
And watched my spirit in the spectral dance
Skim the wide waters o'er,
Till the long range of eastern hills grew gray
With the dim glimmer of returning da}'.
Then the weird shadows faint and fainter grew ;
The blue fire cHed away ;
'Neath the cool freshness of the morning dew,
Before the sunlight's ra}'.
O'er hill and vale rose nature's wakening cry
From throat of myriad birds in harmony.
And now the rosy dawn begins to break ;
The dismal night is done ;
The fading shadows from the misty lake
Roll up to meet the sun ;
A freshening breeze sweeps o'er it from the west.
Wafting my soul back to my thankful breast.
riJAt i8 contained In U»e remaining portion of this volume waa prepared for the
3 after most of the precetllng pages liatl been printed, consequcnlly the ehrono-
'*<^*il order Is not lunger attempted.
I^uttattr ^lon^o barton.
■^ - Barton is a native of Crovdon, born May 12, 1:^2. lie resides In Newport,
• •»* C3(Jltor of the New Hampshire Argun atul ^pictator.
DEVOTION.
Oh when to 3'onder heavens I gaze.
Or this green earth survey,
Where countless worlds in glory blaze»
And countless creatures play,
'Tis then I think of One above.
Of boundless wisdom, power, and love.
rOFTS OF XETT lTA.VrSI£IT:E:.
liij.iiiv. O tf-irtli! 111! iiitun- sing.
Ami ishi'iit .Ifliovaira i^muse :
All I man siniK* jmnofiil urt"riiic brine
A ivif.riio !K':ir!, tliai saLtiTuv,
TLw U>rvl iliv (;o.l k;!1 Dot Ji'si-ise.
AROLIXE E. WBITOX— .TAMES P. WALKER. 74'
OTatoUne IB. WLWon.
I. Wliiton \s a native of Portsmouth. She is well known tn literatiin*,
luthor of much excellent poetry. Nine of her beautiful pocni!t arc
e "Poet«j of Portsmouth."
SUMMER SUNSET.
I watched the golden summer sun
Fade slowly down behind the sea, —
God's token that the day was done
In crimson flushing lefl to me.
Fainter and fainter grew the skies ;
My heart was dropping noiseless tears ;
For, ah ! I thought of closing eyes,
Whose lids I had not kissed for 3'ears.
Oh ! softl}' as the setting sun.
My darlings sank behind the sea, —
God's token that his peace was won,
The looks of glory left to me.
B}' that seraphic light which fell
Ineffably divine and sweet,
I know, bej'ond the soul's farewell,
Behind the sea, that we shall meet.
Jame» ^- asialfter*
I mes P. Wallccr was a native of Portsmouth. lie became a publisher
Ke was at the head of the firm, Walker, Wise and Company.
SEVEN YEARS TO-DAY.
ris seven years, m}- love, to-day,
•^ince hand in hand we started,
I iaith to tread life's devious way,
Itlil we by death are parted.
:^<-I, God be thanked ! — though Fortune's smile
Our patliwa}' has not lighted,
fc«-l man}' hopes, indulged long while,
W- Jave ruthlessly been blighted, —
c^'^re spared to one another yet,
Lnd blessed with ^'troops of friends;"
daily want has not been met;
.ncl, thanks to Him who sends
S. ADAMS WIG GIN. 741)
Down in the black gulf, oh white angel diver !
Rescue the soul — immortality !
''There shall be no more sea," cries the angel ;
Crieth the soul, the sea could not drown ;
Safe on the shore where the God-beloved season,
Spring-time eternal, weareth the crown.
S^. Etramis 2iSRiggin«
Of this poet It may be said that he is a native, or was a resident of Portsmouth,
e oofuples an honorable place in that fxeellent volume, "The Poets of Ports-
outh.'* He removed from that Hty to Washinfrton, D C, but his present reni-
tnoe, if he is yet alive, is unknown to the compiler of tlds book.
#
LOVE.
This morn I wandered in the wood,
And asked a wild-bird free,
Where dwells true love, — :the highest good ;
And he carolled thus to me :
*'Love is thy holy Paraclete,
To comfort and sustain ;
To make thy life with joy replete.
And Eden bloom again.
Love is the harp of David, sweet.
To calm your wild despair.
And lay 3'our soul at Jesus* feet.
An offering pure and fair.
Love is the ''Holy of Holies" fane,
Where burns the sacred flame
That frees the heart from every stain
Of sorrow, guilt, or shame.
Love is the bearing of the cross,
Christ's eas}' yoke to wear,
To count for him all things but dross.
So you his "crown" may wear.
For Love is God, and God is Love ;
In him find all thy rest ;
Centre thy hopes on things above.
And Love shall fill thy breast.
Love wings thy flight to realms of light ;
Love opes the "gate" for thee ;
inA JTAT^i^is corrn. 7:,i
It came to the earth, and a cottage of clay
Was blessed with the love that fell bright tVoni its wing ;
It stole to the lip of a child at its play,
And wreathed o'er its face with the brightness of spring.
The mother delightedly hung o'er her child.
And brother and sister came thronging around.
And echoed his calling, so merry and wild,
Till trembled the air with the jubilant sound.
That smile, as a glance, passed from face unto face,
And cheered every heart with a blessing benign ;
Nor sorrows nor cares but departed apace
When dawning they saw but that heavenly sign.
Oh ! sweet is the da}', and delightful the earth,
When smiles in the morning bless children and n*ionds,
For kindness and friendship join hands at the hearth,
And peace to each heart, like the soU dew, descends.
$ra l^arris (ttouri).
Ira H. Couch was born In SnllMbury, .July 17, 1821. Ho wan fllU'^l ft»r n)ll<«>rp hut
\\\ health obliircMl him to give up 8lu(ly and enKairu in oul-<l(H)r work. He licnuiio
a fanner* and later in life cngaKed in medmnicul work. JHh poeniH were nmrly
ail written in his early yoarct, and wore published in variouH nownpHpi.TH. No
die<i January U, 1883.
SONNET TO A CRICKET.
Thou bane of sleep, avaunt ! why dost thou come
Thus all night long with thy sad minstrelHy,
To chase the enchantress from my sleepless room ?
Dost thou not feel the sweet necessity
Of night's somniferous reign ? Yet though thou'rt free
From the soft thraldom of that silken chain
Wherewith sleep fettereth man, O pity me
Who long upon my restless couch in vain.
Have wooed oblivion to these weary eyes ;
I listen to thy sad, unvaried note,
Till forms, unearthly, in the moonlight float,
On wizard wing, and strangest melodies
Startle dull silence on her midnight tlirone.
And fright sweet slumber from my pillow lone.
TWILIGHT.
Grateful twilight ! season bland !
By soft breathing zephyrs fanned,
JAMES WILLIS PATTEBSON. 753
Though fairer scenes perchance may be
To win a poet's love, —
Yet thoa art ever dear to me,
My merry maple grove.
There's not a tree that braves the gale,
Or towering rock or purling rill,
But telleth each its simple tale
Of recollection still.
Though flowers may fade and friends may die,
Though far away I rove, —
Yet often shall winged memory fly
To thee ! my maple grove.
James W. Patterson was bom In Hennlker, July S, 1833. He graduated at
Dartmouth College in 1848; and was professor of Mathematics in that college Orom
1854 to 1859, when he became professor of Astronemy and Meteorology until 1865.
He was member of Congress, 1863-7, and U. S. Senator 1867-73. Mr. Patterson's
poems were all written in his youth. The poem here given is copied from the
** Book of Gems."
EVENTIDE.
The golden gleams
Of sunset beams
Have bathed the crest of the solemn mount
With floods of fire from their heavenly fount,
And the dying day, with its fading light,
Casts lingering smiles on the face of night.
The steeple's spire
Is tipp'd with fire.
And the lambent rays, like an angel's smile.
Gild o'er the hallowing, sacred pile.
And fading away on its arching dome,
Direct above to the spirit's home.
The ocean light
Blends with the night.
As, mirroring back from the deepening blue,
Each starry gem comes forth to view,
And a choral song from the sounding deep
Is sweetly murmured to the Maker's seat.
The day is gone.
Night trembles on
To where its last fleet moments ending,
POETS OF XEW HAXPSmSB.
In stilly darknesB fast descending ;
And fleeting ghosts ascend the mounUiiD bi^
To list the miiaic of the starry' sky.
^arg <!^ibson jpranria.
Hn. Franfia Is the youDmst ilauehler of Dr Wlllarrl p. Glbaon «
. »» u reildHii ol' Scntiori bdiI who In 1SS7 illed lu WooiUUick, TL
■nvr liir fnmllj' reniov>?[ Irooi N'ciriion.
TOO LATE,
ir this love, that is gilding lire's summer.
Had been mine in life's spring,
Uoir my soul would bare met the new comei
AVith gannent and ring,
^'ith saonBce offered io gladness.
With hope for the beautiful years !
Alas ! from the depths of tny sadncas.
I greet it with tears.
Too late do we stand at the alur '.
Too late you rvjoic* !
Too late do you tremble and falter
At the found of my voice I
The band that you hoid has grown thinner :
Tbe bean ba$ kaown angnisb and ftars:
I am yours. O vklorioas winner !
1 salute yod with teats '.
You say that lore's goldoi September
Is faithful aod strucg :
You atarret that I sboaM mnembcf
Lore's >Iay-tia>e of wroo^.
Tbe K«Tow, Rir Tvc. U aB orw:
ily bean is ptvftbenc in feais, —
An) Kt. f<v ywr kiit» as my lorw.
~i (.''IKr Bsy lean.
Wbax: gnv toOe cbee^ in its wbiieet«>
ft^se V<M to iu ; Joi-« T
What : vmn teem, tie eye* in tbtxr l«^*»"*-
A»i «vrsbip tb«j ffcxoi?
IV vme. a fts fivs^Miw^ a»j l<Mty-
T<ai <rB$^ied. 3 yvwr «ai^a« wai»- —
laawcr w^ uu«.
NANCY D. CURTIS. 757
Then, pursue thy journey onwaixl
Blithely, as the lark flies sunward,
Toward the city of the blest !
HYMN.
For the Boxborough Centennial Celebration, 1883.
Our helper, God ! we bless thy name
For tokens of thy gracious care,
Id every season still the same,
In every need, and everj'where.
We lift to thee our songs of praise,
From the green hills our fathers trod.
For all the love that crowns our days.
Rejoicing in our fathers' God.
We bless thee for the sturdy arms
That laid the trackless forests low.
And planted homes and fields and farms,
For us, — a hundred years ago.
We praise thee for the memories sweet
That cluster round these hearths and homes,
And draw the willing wanderer's feet
To native hills, where'er he roams.
These scenes, with sacred memories fraught,
Inspire our hearts with grateful lays I
For all our fathers bore and wrought
Their children's children give Thee praise !
Kancg 30. (tturtCg.
^•3iCT D. Curtis was bom In Beverly, Mass. Her maiden name was Rllinic-
STliifr lost ber parents In early chllahood she went to Roston, Mass. to live.
^. Kmngwood of Bath, Maine, was her father's brother. After her roar-
b Ifr. Simael Curtis of Boston, they removed to Concord, N. JI., where
nd died, and where she still resides.
MUSIC AT MIDNIGHT.
The breath of music o'er my spirit stealing.
Up from the valley to my couch of rest,
I^oraes like the '*harp of David," touched with feeling,
To soothe the moaning, of my weary breast,
tV'aking sweet memories, long buried deep.
Of loving voices, hushed in death's long sleep
Forevermore.
ANDBEW MCFABLAND, 759
Hers was the gift sublime all powers to move
By the persuasives of the tenderest love ;
With sweetest arts alone to inspire a fear,
Chide with a sigh and chasten with a tear ;
For no reproof in lasting power could vie
With the remonstrance of her gentle eye,
And erring ones the wayward path forsook,
Awed to repentance by her saddened look.
The way she trod seemed strewn with heavenl}' light ;
Her shining step made duty's pathway bright,
Lighted the goal she pointed us to win.
Blinded the sight to avenues of sin.
Till such a lustre gilt the upward way.
No eye could miss — no footstep go astray.
While of her life each moment had its sum
Of present good or seed of good to come.
There was an hour more sacred than the rest.
When Sabbath's sun was sinking in the west,
When holy quiet reigned, her younger three
With wonted rule were gathered at her knee.
Then each, in turn, the allotted lesson said.
And, verse by verse, the scripture task was read.
Mingled with comment apt and gems of lore.
Culled, as we passed, from her exhaustless store.
When all was ended, from her hallowed chair
Rose, low and sweet, the accents of her prayer ;
Impassioned faith and love inspired her tongue,
Like Israel to the given pledge she clung.
Implored for each of the encircling band
The needed succor of the Father's hand.
For each some wished-for grace she fervent craved,
That each from tempter's wile might e'er be saved,
That all, how wide their earthl}* lot be cast.
Might meet around the eternal throne at last.
As the lawgiver's face with glory shone.
Fresh from the presence of the Holy One,
So, when she turned to us, her features glowed,
As one who, face to face, had seen her God.
And while her heart with love maternal burned.
And while her lip with bless'd communion warmed,
Each child in turn was folded to her breast.
And on each brow a loving kiss was pressed.
POSTS OF XEW HAMFSSTRE.
OVrshadow families. Where most that man,
With teiDpcranoe and humility content,
Ne«deth for lift's enjoyment, spriugeth up
Spontaneously profuse. Where, pictured forth
Id living peaeitlings. the landscape glows
With gorgeous tropic splendor, that the sun
Oildetb as for a temple, and the moon
Inveftetb with the poetry of rich
And elottuent lieauty, for the watcher's soul ;
KoQgh hill and cascade, and the bordering vale.
With the tamed mountain waters, threading throi^h
Their whispering channels to the dashing sea.
Canoe and cottage, full of indolent life,
Lulletl by munificent birds, that never trtist
Their brilliant songs upon a frosty air. —
These all are beautiful, and. best of all.
The moral loveliness that holy truth
Is sheilding on those fair, luxuriant shores.
The sky of Italy, the graceful vine.
Hanging delicious garlands on the brow
t.*f soaihem Etiro|je's beauty — England, rich
la cultured loveliness, the "Verdant Isle"
So swevt and harmless to her partial sons —
The wild attractioDS of the Highland lore —
Evergreen forests of the hoary north—
Ojd A^. full of OrienUl fame —
Africa, —robbed and spoiled," yet eloquent still.—
l^ese may all have their song — but is its tone
MoR sweetly musical than the voice of homei
Home hath uncounteil melodies. Ther come
With thrush and robin, and the garrulous wreo,
And the mellifluous sparrow, poising high
On the old beacon pine that overlooks
T:,. -. r..^_. : I ,. f;.„'k-, ]:-ii-;nri> of its age,
Tl*' last gTt^n relics of foi^Miloi} years.
!)«<(> in their leafy castics, year tiy year.
The fajuilies of imisiclaus hnvo been reared
Tbrt bold tbeir aatural concerts, when the br«r«
r the waters, through the nistliog hili*
bears the tremalous [ii>tM away.
If IhM «ool river laves ibe broad
IT on its farther slxxc .'
jc, the woody lii^iands rear
• stecfis against the blue of beaten.
tT of <Iist9Dt fall.
c ra[nd, bleat with Soondft
LTDIA M, HALL. 765
rd make a crown of modest}',
And deck it o'er with truth ;
With cheerfulness I'd have it shine,
Like buo3'ant hopes of youth.
Sincerity, and friendship true,
And kindness should be there ;
And, more than all, thy brow the gem
Of piety should wear.
GOD AND OUR NEIGHBOR.
Although our duties are in number great,
Of vast proportions and of wondrous weight ;
Yet all, when rightly seen and understood.
Tend toward ourselves, our neighbor and our God.
Our neighbor, who? Our duty to him, what?
In palace dwells he, or in humble cot?
Where'er he dwells, 'tis he, we must confess,
Whom we can aid : our duty is to bless.
[all, a Bister of S. M. De Meritt, was born in Portsmouth. She died March
at the age of 77 years. A short time before her death she wrote the fol-
»oem.
LINES.
I am almost over the shore of time.
Almost to the edge of the river ;
The boatman is waiting to take me o'er
To the sweet and beautiful flowery shore
Where peace will reign forever.
Lord, help me to meet my end in peace
When thou shalt call me to come ;
And ma}* all vain hopes forever cease.
My love and faith each day increase.
While I am going home.
The river is cold and the waves run high,
Be with me, dear Lord, till I've cross'd
Where are sweet flowers and living green.
That the e\*e8 of mortals have never 3'et seen.
And sorrow and pain will be lost.
POETS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.
lEIbira a. <!Si1)san.
■ bom In nenntk«T, JuIt II. 1813. Whni ibont Iwm
... alrk. hdiI wnx * grrat latrrrer tbe remalDiler of her Ul
<t /mm pain she wrole pro»e ami poeti7, an<I priirll?«'
._..-_ „f ^^ bnnhcr. She biire her affllc-iinn trlth pa
'TwiiB a charming flower, in a lovely bower.
Oh, bow surpoBBJiig fair !
I looki-d ^ain, for I feartMl that pain
^Vould L-rusli its petals rare.
Another look in heaven's pure book.
An aiig:el seemed to read ;
That flowei-s would trail, mid sunshine sod gil<
1 fHendsliip's purest seed.
Slie BtrewmJ the seed, 'twas a lovely deed ;
The choieest fell to you :
Tlicir bIc«sou)s are tiright in woe's darit nigtit;
J wuke and found it true.
itftation JSrans ^uiiitan.
II Plx. «»* l">rB In lt»m«i
T Mrty martifl life ?!» *r«
Mah^JbyliB
THE FIELD OF MOXTERET.
Tte Mift cbcuvft WIU are pealit^ iwt
A cruras wini and fnv.
Attd vnxy thi>¥> Kjototci;
Pot Ife* gJgnocK vU-Cory :
BM biUMT tn» are ^:usg[c^
Fcr tb* g^Ionc ;uiU :ii« fsy-
i:^ tte icul iC )Iv<awnr.
a 4pciii$ «i» iiwK M-.'o. <!^teMi ^J«\i_^
Xmi I a pcvMu Msj '^uiNO.
~ "^Jlltf liiii j>_v wtCi 3HK
MAJi T AXX SULLIVAN. 767
The noblest and the manliest
Was b}^ my side that da}',
Who now in death is sleeping
On the field of Monterey.
The flowers of spring are faded now,
The woods are sear and cold,
And persimmon's cheek is flushing
And the papaw shines in gold.
But he in earliest manhood
Has sadly passed awaj^
And now in death is sleeping
On the field of Monterey.
The bugles swell their wildest notes
And loud the cannons roar.
And madly peal the sweet church bells
For holy rest no more ;
But lonely hearts are bleeding
Upon this glorious da}',
For the loved in death are sleeping
On the field of Monterey.
THE BLUE JUNIATA.
ed an Indian girl, Bold is my warrior good,
Alfarata, The love of Alfarata,
veep the waters Proud waves his snowy plume
blue Juniata. Along the Juniata,
an antelope, Soft and low he speaks to me,
^h the forest going, And then his war cry sounding,
re her jetty locks Rings his voice in thunder loud
y tresses flowing. From height to height resound-
ing.
bbe mountain song So sang the Indian girl,
tkt Alfarata, Bright Alfarata,
eep the waters Where sweep the waters
(>lue Juniata. Of the blue Juniata.
^ true my arrows are Fleeting years have borne away
2iinted quiver. The voice of Alfarata,
tny light canoe Still sweeps the river on,
^he rapid river. Blue Juniata.
t» ^^ras A native of thl« state. Her poem here prmhicod is copied IVom
*fc*liire Book. The Btorm spoken of in tlie tlnnl ntunza oi-curred In
*'^. Further information In regard to tliirt writer the compiler has
But the pride of the vale which I wish you to s
Is my grandmother's elm, the old mammoth tn
How widely its gracerul and spherical crawn
Flings over the valley a shadow of brown.
When the fierce south-easter waa ragtag by,
Filling with clamor the gentle blue sky,
Then a lofty branch like a forest oak,
From the noble old tree by its fury was broke.
Ort my grandmother told us, as pondering we t
How, three-score years since, from the ueighbo!
She carried tliat elm in her little right baud,
And her father planted it firm in the land.
Her grave is grown smooth on the green hill-si
But the elra lives still in its towering pride.
And the spring's gayest birds have a colony th
And they gladden with carols the mid-aummer
And gay as the wild-bird's melody
Are the sports I have led beneath that tree;
The old elm tree — oh, would it were mine
In the shade of that tree even now to recline.
mars M. <Rnl^€K.
Mri. CqIvot, formerly Misi Mary M. Pattenon. wu born Is
leiS. In hPT chtlilhcHtcl and early youth >b« had Riw adranta^ai
large croivilvd tin
HaTioK an IdIcdh
aoinlrliig knoi
Jolloweirthls .
lerlrJl
1 she had a<'-c«», b... „ .
lie one, where UtUe attention was fl*en I
- ve of Btady, (he manaj^ed, b-' '
mil New Vurh. While teaching In New
rlage.Ur. Culver becami
iDllmied InTaliil. She leddet li
JOHN ADAMS DIX. 7fill
The silent graves, where lying low
Are friends still loved, though now unseen,
Lost long ago.
'Tis hallowed ground, where loved ones rest,
Whose lips in life our own have pressed,
Whose worth and virtues doubly blest
Endure for aye, through fleeting 3'ear8,
Uuchangable in our own breast,
Embalmed in tears.
'Tis hallowed ground, for love can trace,
Despite the gloomy resting place,
The well remembered form and face,
As fair as when in life thev shone,
We see no change, in death's embrace, —
No change is known.
'Tis hallowed ground, this sylvan scene,
Where on that autumn day serene
We roved amid the foliage green,
And heard the Cass in music low
Chime sweetly through the dark ravine,
Far, far below.
This lovely glen will still remain.
Here falls the silent summer rain.
The fields still wave with golden grain.
The streams still flow ;
When friends shall look for us in vain,
We're lying low.
Jof)n ETiams mix.
John A. Dix was bom In Boscawen, July, 1798 He was educated at Salisbury
and Exeter aaidemies. In 1811 bib father sent him to Montreal where he studied
the French huiKuaKe. Subsequently he continued his studies under private tutors
in Boston, Mass. lie served in the American army during the war of 1812, holding
several commissions. On returning to private life he studied law and was ndmlc-
te<l to the bar in Washington, D. C, and settled in Cooperstown, N. Y., in the prac-
tice of his profession. In 1831 he was appointed adjutant-general of the state and
removed to Albany, N. Y., and in IKtt lie was appointed secretary of state. He
visited Europe in '1842. In 1845 he was chosen l*. 8. senator. In 1853 he was ap-
pointed assistant treasurer In the city of New York. In 1860 he was appointed
postmaster of that city. In 1801 he was appointed major general of U. S. volunteers,
and after superintending the raising of eleven regiments in New York he was as-
signe<l to the ctmimand of the department embracing the states of Pennsylvania,
Delaware and Mar\'land, and established his head-quarters at Baltimore. 'He was
a prondnent officer' throughout the war. Alter the surrender of Gen. Lee to Gen.
Grant, Gen. I)lx resiguejlhis commission and returned to private life. In 1866 he
was appointed minister to France, returning home in 1809. His last public service
was IIS governor of the state of New York. Throughout qd official career of near-
ly half a century he devoted all his leisure moments to literary pursuits.
His translation of' the famous Latin hymn, Dies Irie, was made at Fortress Mon-
roe, Va., in 18«8. He died In Xew York city, April 21, 1879.
POETS or ysw bampshibm.
Dsj of Tci^euice. lo ! that iiK»iiiiig
On the earth Id ash«s dawning,
Dariti with the Sibjl warning.
Ab ! what teiTW U in^nding.
When the Jo^e is 9e«n desci^tdingT
And each secret veil is rendiiq;.
To the throne, the trumpet eoanding,
Throi^ the sepulchres resound ii^,
Sammoas all, with roice astounding.
Death acd Natme mazed are qaakii^.
When, the grare's deep alomber l»eaking,
Uan to jodgment b awaking.
Now the written book ciHitaining
Record to aQ time pertaining
Opens fur the weed's arraigning.
See the Jadge his seat attainii^.
Darkest mysteries explaining,
Kottiing unavenged remainii^.
What shaU I then aav, anfhended.
By what advocate attended.
When the jost are scarce defended ?
King of majesty tremendous.
By thy saving grace defend us ;
Fount of pity, safety send as '.
Jesns, think of thy wayfaring.
For my sins the death-crown wearing ;
Save me, in that day, despairii^.
Worn and weary thou hast soi^t me.
By thy cross and passion bongbt me ;
Spare the hope thy labors brought me.
Righteous Judge of retribntioD,
Give, 0 give me absolution
Ere that day of dissolution.
As a guilty culprit groaning,
Flushed mv face, my errors ownii^,
Spare, O God, thy suppliant
NATHAXIEL GBEEXE. 771
Thou to Mar}' gav'st remission,
Heard*8t the d3ing thiefs petition,
Bad'st me hope in my contrition.
In my prayers no worth discerning.
Yet on me thy favor turning,
Save me from that endless burning !
Give me, when th}' sheep confiding
Thou art from the goats dividing,
On thy right a place abiding.
"When the wicked are rejected.
And to bitter flames subjected.
Call me forth with thine elected !
Low in supplication bending.
Heart as though with ashes blending ;
Care for me when all is ending.
When on that dread day of weeping
Guilty man in ashes sleeping
Wakes to his adjudication.
Save him, God ! from condemnation !
Kart)aniel ©reene.
Nathaniel Green was bom in Boscawen, May 20, 1797. At the ago of ten he went
to Ilopkiuton and became a clerk in a store. In 1809 he went to Concord and of.
fered tiimself to Isaac Hill to learn the printing business In the office of the JV. H.
PcUriot. In 1812 he left Mr. Hiirs employ and became connected with the Concord
Gazette. In 1814 he went to Portsmouth, was there employed on the N. H. War
Journal. The next year he went to Haverhill, Mass., ana worked upon the Haver-
hill Gazette. In 181 1, at the age of twenty, he started the E»$ex Patriot. In 1821
he went to Boston and started the Boston Statesman. In 1829 he was appointed
postmaster of Boston and occupied that position till Gen. Harrison became Presi-
dent, and was again appointed to the same office by President Tyler, and he held
it till 1849. He was a self-made man and well acquainted with the French, Italian
and German languages. Mr. Greene had a fine poetic fancy. His poems often ap-
K eared over the signature of "Boscawen." He visited Paris in ISoi. While there
e received intelligence of the death of a beloved daughter, who died at Panama,
while on her way to San Francisco.
TO MY DAUGHTER IN HEAVEN.
I had on earth but onl}* thee ;
Thy love was all the world to me ;
And thou hast sought the sil'^nt shore
Where I had thought to go before !
Away from thee, in sad exile,
M}* lips had long unlearned to smile ;
Bright wit might flash, red wine might pour,
But I, alas ! could smile no more.
ALEXANDER HILL EVERETT— MAST CLARK. 773
^Uiantiet IQill iSbetett.
A. U. Everett, an elder brother of Edward Everett, was a native of Dorchester,
Mass. After graduation at Harvanl College, in 1806, he became a teacher in Phil-
lips'Academy at Exeter. He studied law in the office of John Quincy Adams, in
Boston, and went with Mr. Adams to Russia, whore he remained two years. Mr.
Everett was author of several volumes, mostlv on political economy. He occupied
many important positions both at home and abroau. In 1845 and 1846 he publisheil
two volumes of "Critical and Miscellaneous Essays with Poems." He died at
Canton, China, June S8, 1847.
THE YOUNG AMERICAN.
Scion of a mighty stock ! Thither turn the steady eye
Hands of iron, hearts of oak, Flashing with a purpose high I
Follow with unflinching tread Thither with devotion meet,
Where the noble fathers led ! Often turn the pilgrim feet !
Craft and subtle treachery'. Let the noble motto be,
Gallant youth ! are not for thee : God,— the Countr}', — Libert}' !
Follow thou in word and deeds Planted on Religion's rock.
Where the God within thee leads !Thou shalt stand in every shock.
Honesty with steady e3'e, Laugh at danger far and near !
Truth and pure simplicit}*, Spurn at baseness, spurn at fear !
Love that gently winneth hearts, Still, with persevering might.
These shall be thy onlj* arts. Speak the truth and do the right !
Prudent in the council train. So shall peace, a charming guest.
Dauntless on the battle plain, Dove-like in th}" bosom rest.
Ready at the country's need So shall honor's steady blaze
For her glorious cause to bleed. Beam upon thy closing days.
Where the dews of night distil Happy if celestial favor
Upon Vernon's holy hill ; Smile upon the high endeavor ;
Where above it gleaming far Happy if it be thy call
Freedom lights her guiding star :In the holy cause to fall.
fHarg (Clarfe.
Marv Clark was a daughter of Daniel CUrli of Conconl. She died in 1841 at the
age of 40 years. She wan a lady of uncommon gifts and acf|uirements, of a i^^K-liil
dispi^bitiun. simple in her roanbcrs, kind to the poor, erer sympathizing with the
afllicteil and Bonering of all clauses. When Gen. Lafayette fluite*! C<»nconl in 1>*44,
on pas^ing the bouse of Daniel <;iark, MIms (lark rtleppe<i out of the <l<Hir and pre-
8entc<l to nim a bouquet ofllowers, with the following lines, for which be thanlcefl
her.
TO lafayi:tte.
Welcome, welcome, Lafayette,
Thee we never can forget.
Our country's and Washington's friend,
FREDERICK KNIGHT. 775
And shine, if not the orb of day,
Yet as a star of night.
Have faith, though threading lone and far
Through Pontine's deepest swamp,
When night has neither moon nor star
ThouUt need no staff nor lamp.
Have faith, go roam with savage men,
And sleep with beasts of prey ;
Go sit with lions in their den.
And with the leopards play.
Have faith, on ocean's heaving breast
Securely thou may'st tread.
And make the billowy mountain's crest
Thy cradle and thy bed.
Have faith, around let thunders roar.
Let earth beneath thee rend.
The lightnings pla}-, the deluge pour.
Thy pass- word is — a friend.
Have faith, in famine's sorest need.
When naked lie the fields.
Go forth and weeping sow the seed.
Then reap the sheaves it yields.
Have faith, in earth's most troubled scene.
In time's most trying hour
Thv breast and brow shall be serene,
iSo soothing is its power.
Have faith, and sa}- to yonder tree.
And mountain where it stands.
Be ye both buried in the sea —
They sink beneath its sands !
Have faith, upon the battle-field.
When facing foe to foe.
The shaft, rebounding from thy shield,
Shall lay the archer low.
Have faith, the finest thing that flies
On wings of golden ore.
That shines and melts along the skies.
Was but a worm before.
porrs OF xsw sampshirs.
^md 94iUi:it]i SaiUs.
■tttmm TnoB Lodn, No. U,- 1* mtUt aim-
rftlwbalkuillBvUchlMind IlndTT nm,
- wrUaKmramfblmpn limf ii i.«»jAJi|
ta Ike I^Aoo. Be died a> Ite HA bftf
as awl lsd«T*tild. HI* lutwoidawntior'
L«4^ Pnjn.sxpb^ liBWIilllUitj lOil illl
UY PILGRDIAGE.
When I ^t through mv pilgnmage.
And iMre all things below,
I hope to find my rrieods again
AV'bo did before me go ;
And jcHD tritb them, all clothed in white,
To shout and sing God's praise ;
And there reaiain in manskHis bright
In never ending days.
Now I am old and feeble too.
But God stitl helps me live
To read and write, and some good do
By counsel I shuuld give.
Now I bare seen one hundred years.
Four months and three days more.
And 800U shall leave all doubts and feara.
And Jesus Christ adore.
Sanfcl 92Setstec.
Juent>D<lpatheUr oration upun Die '■- ' ^-rit nf rcihn Urtinn imlTfcdi
(ffenon. ■ ladT bronchi blia her aLbum. unil requeaud Uni to writs bH MB* dL
t*c*lr bedntli Hr. Aitknin' titme. On Iho tame pace. beBWIb Uw IiimMIiu •If
iunmo(^TeDerKble^-Pr«aldeat,Itr.WebMerirTgU(taM)lBV. [awfafelCl
ANONYMOUS. 779
LINES WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM.
Dear ladj, I a little fear
'Tis dangerous to be writing here.
His band, wbo bade our eagle fly,
Trust his young wings and mount the sky,
AVho bade across the Atlantic tide,
New thunders sweep, new navies ride.
Has traced in lines of trembling age
His autograph upon this page.
Higher than that eagle soars,
Wider than that thunder roars.
His fame shall through the world be sounding,
And o'er the waves of time be bounding.
If tiiousands, as obscure as I,
Cling to his skirts, he still will fly
And leap to immortality ;
If by his name I write my own.
He'll take me where I am not known ;
His cold salute will meet my ear :
'*Pray, stranger, how did you come here?"
^nongmoug.
The foUowlnpT poem was compoBed by one of three Indian's who were educated
many years ago at Dartmouth CoileKe, and was sung by them at their departure
while standing around a ''youthful pine" then grroviing northeasterly of Dartmouth
Hall. They had built near this pine a wigwam which they named their "Bower/*
In Bryant's ••Library of Poetry and Song" there is a poem said to be "anonymous**
which was undoubtedly garbled from this old Indian song. In that later poem
cver>' thing which gives significance to the original is left out.
WHEN SHALL WE THREE MEET AGAIN.
When shall we three meet again ?
When shall we three meet again?
Oft shall glowing hopes expire,
Oft shall wearied love retire,
Oft shall death and sorrow reign
Ere we three shall meet again.
Though in distant lands we sigh,
Parched beneath a burning sky,
Though the deep between us rolls.
Friendship shall unite our souls.
And in fanc3''s wide domain
Oft shall we three meet again.
P-^ETS OP XSW OAMPSEISS.
W^«a dknc bantcsbed locfa ate grer,
Tiiaii"j bj- Dumr a Unl-speDt dav,
WIms siQcad thU voathftil pine
X<M> s&aQ cnep ami itx tviDe.
TiTi^ aar thfa lored bower lenuuD,
IKii. aaj we Hiree meet agaia.
Wbea liire dreams of life are lied,
^oec its vsisted lamp* are dead.
W~aea LB coU obtiTioo's shade
BiMciT. wealtb and tuae are laid,
WIkk immoctal sfMriU reign.
TiMfe mar w« three meet ^ain.
IJ5DEX
Adams, Ezra Enotmnn 17s'
AdamH. GriiK'b Oeorge 330
Adnms, lilii (i 707
Adame, Juiiifs Meade 735
Adame, Jumpg Osij;(km1 23G
Adanu, Juhntireent^ar 144
AdaraB, John Weslev 450
Adams, I^tllla M 680
Adams, Luiy 1* 233
Adee, David Gmham 357
Aldriuli, Thomns Bnlley 538
AndrewB, Aiidbel C CM
Anonj-iaoui 779
. 200
Bailey, Albon __
Bailpy, Samupl Itiilbrick
Baker, UuTDVc B ijua
Baldwin, Samuel C 226
Baldn-ln, Thomas 10
Ballou, Hoseu 21
Barker, Jniups W 303
Banies, EmImf Waldea 1-17
Baraes, Susan Rebecca Ayer. 113
Bartlett, William A 716
Barton, Hubbard Alonzo .... 745
Bean, Uelen Mar Gt)3
Beck, Mit-liaelWentworth... 106
Belknap, George Eugene ■ • ■ ■ 427
Belkmtp, Jeremy 2
Bellows, John Adanu 65^
Bennett, Adelaide Ir mn
Blair, Mary £ 280
Blam-hard, Amos 100
Blood, Henry Ames 550
BoUes, Clara E 673
Boodey , Mary Helen 647
Boyle, Sarah Roberts 356
BoyUton, Edward D 170
Breman, James 119
Brett, Marv E, Fercusou.... 368
Brewster, Charles Warren-.- 105
Bristol, Auftusia Cooper
Browne, Adilifioii FrHiieis....
Browne, George Waldo
Browne, Lewis C
Bryant, George XeUoii
Bryant, James Chun-bill
Bulflnch, Stfphen GfCf^rdcaf.
Burke, Edmund
LIurnham. .Suuiiiel
Burroughs, Cbarles
Camp, Lydia Franees >
Carlton, Frank Henry
Carr, Laura Garland
Carrigan, Philip
Carter, Nathsn Franklin
Carter, Nathaniel Hazeltine.-
Case, Luella J. B
Caverly, Robert Booiley
Champney, George Mather -■
Cbaidn, Bela
ChelllH,Lors Ella
Clarke, James Freemau
Clark, Lennder
Clark, Mary
<'oaQ, Leander S
Cochrane, Clark B
Cochrane, Helen A. F
Cochrane, Warren Hobert . . .
Ooit, Charles Wheeler
Oolcord, Edward John 1
Colgate, Susan F
Converse, Sarah S
Couch, Irs Harris
Crosby, Thomas Russell
Cross, Lucy Rogers Hill
Crowell, Baron Samuel
Culver, Mary H
Currier, Moody
CurtJs, Nancy D
Cults, Mary
Duia, Charles AnderaoQ 241
Dana, I^rHncU 744
banieb. Eanlce Kimball 120
DeMerritt, SsmuelM 764
De Wulfe, Auule JC 737
De Wolfe, Geo. Gordon Byron 480
Diiumoor, Robert 10
Dix, John Adama 78B
Dodge, Georgp Dudlev »11
Dodge, Jacob Ru-bardV 268
Donclerv.Harriet Newell-... 207
Ikirr, Gi-orge S «»8
Drown, Daniel AuguEtufi ■■■■ 2S3
Eaton, Harriet Newell 334
Eddy, M«rj- Morw Glover-.. "iW
Ellsworth, Miirv W 424
Ever^t, Alexander Hill 773
Everett, David 18
EvereU, Prank O G33
Farmer, John 44
Femald. Woodbury Melcher. 17i
Fegsendeii, Thomns Green--. 17
lileldfl, James Tliomas '22G
Flsb, EU»hu Snell 46
Fletcher. Jo^lah Slooitv 342
Foster, l^^niiie E 2W
FoBtei, f'arah H 473
FoM, Deborah G. ii8
Fo88, daniuel Walter 7*2
Fojc, Charles James 1-VJ
Fox, WiUiiim Copp 337
Franc'ii', MaryGlbson 7.t4
French, I!i-njanilii Brown..-- 93
French, Ecta L'dora 731
French, FrMDcig Ormond aiiS
French, Harriette Van Mater 236
Fuller, Homer Taylor 572
Geroiild. Cvnlhia L 107
Gibson, Elvira A 7(i6
Ooodale, relestia.'! 385
Gorrill, Miranda M iii>2
Greeley, Horace ISO
Greene, Inabel r 609
Greene, Nathaniel 771
Griffith, George Bancroft. ■■- 609
Hale, Horatio 221
Hale, Sarah Josepha 00
Hale, William 707
Hall, LvdiaM 703
Hammoud. Geo. Washington 103
Harvey, MBtthew ISl
Hatch, MarvK. P SW
Haven, Xullianlel Ap[ilelt.n- 1»
Haven, Samuel 1
Hayward, Emily Graham---- S74
Hayward, iSilvanus SBt
Hazeltlne, Hannah Bryant--- 302
Hazeltlne, Miron James--- • £K>
Heath, Clara B ."WO
Heath, I.«onBrd 7A)
Heath. Simeon P £i0
Herrick, Henry W iSS
Hevwwid, Martha J -Bl
Hibbard. Harrj- 214
Hlldrelh, Samuel Teiiney-->* 231
Hill, r)a\'id H 4M
HinKdale, Grace WrbfdfT-.- 430
Hohb!i. Marr EUicabcUi 61S
Ilolbrook, .^nnle B 600
HofKl. .Ifiwph Eiiwanl....... 3S>
Ilocni-T. Kdw.-ird A 307
Hoemer, Mary B HO
Hnni, Bessie Biobee «T3
■Tenka, Edward Antnistiu---- 413
.lennesa. Caroline Elizabedi.. 2M
Jonee, Mattie Frances 515
Keeler, Samuel Crofut 3St
Kciin;.r.i. .I.'in^e- I«
K.'u«Ts.iii. ItJu-ia H. E 389
Kent, George 67
K'ent, George Fredp.rii.-k IW
Kent, Henry Oake» 470
Kiuiball, Harriet Mi-Eweii->> 473
Kimball, Kale J TOS
Knight, Frederick 774
Laighton, Albert STI
LaightoD, Benjamin D 113
Laightou, Om-ot 511
L«ne, Marv Blake 4»
Lane, Sar^ ElixabMh 701
Leahv, Thomas Franda 637
Little. AUred 751
Uvcrmore. Sarah While 43
Locke, William D VO
Lonl, Cliiirle* tliase 61*
Lund, Mary DwlneU CbelUs- 388
Mackintire. Clara Fellows... SU
Marsh, William B 17*
Martin, Elizabeth «U
HasoD, Ellen McEobertB — «70 Rand, Edward A 530
Meaiiitoi'k. Cntrieriiii'M.--- 748 Kmid, EilwHrd Denn M2
Mi^CHIIie. Abbie lluiiloou..- 357 , Raukin, .Joremioh Eaiii? 3S8
MtFarland, Andrew 587 Biehardaon, Charles FrnncH. 692
Mesaer, Melrin J 688, Rkliard»on,WlliIaniMen'hnot 24
MlUer, Mar>- E. B 42ri Robinson, Annl^ DouglaB. -. • 632
MiUiken, Daniel L 644 Robinson, Mury M 484
Sloofly, Phrhc Knight 770 , Rofors, Marv Ullle i61
Moore, Fri-a(Ti<- A 319 Huniinls, FimniM Hnmiugl.m. 738
Mcore, Huirb 12r RiMsell, Amos B 300
Hoses, JohD Nelson 100 Russell, James G 633
Moses, Thomas P 120 Russell, Thomas P 3<J4
Moss, Sylvia A 601 [
Na»on, Elias 155 ^^
Sorri8,LauraA 422 ' Sargeant, Edward Etaamos.. 348
Nowell, Edward P 540 Sargent. Alfred William 6^
I Sarirent, Charles Edward--.- 708
..„ ! Senler. kary A. A 486
Ob«ar, Lydla A. Swaaey J9«' Spwall, Jonathan Miichel ..- 7
Ordronaux, .lohn 301 Sej-mour, Rhoda Bartlett---. 663
Orne, Caroline ^''^ shedd. Sarah 310
Osgood, Carrie White 'Js, SWllaber, BeaJ. Penhallow.- 166
Osgood, George T\ «?! Sboles, Althiiw Florence 700
Shore»,EllMO 73
Palmer, C-harlotteM 537 Sjlrer, Edna Hastings 7S
Parker, Amos Andrew 61 : ShuM, Louiw- ■ • • ■ *«
Parker Caroline E. R 3m Smart, Amanda Jemima 419
Parker, Sarah M 532 S™ *.•>"* IJ'-'Ib^ J*
Pannelee \nne 72s ' Smith, Joseph Brown !»I
Pa^nelee^io?cphWamn...- 2S3 ■ SmJ^. I;ntta BUnehe 727
Partridge, AbbVe Nelsla 714 Sra^.MattleE 488
Partridge, Samuel Hudson- . - 750 , ^n^ft'. *'wah ........... ..... 81
PattersSn George WiHla.... 730 3?"'^ S«' ^."'""t-A""*"^ J^S
Patterson! James Willis 753 SpauldinK. Mary Wt kina.... m
Paitewon, Mary Swams 153 Mpei;<er-TllramLadd ^
Peabody, Ephraiin
Peahody, Oliver W\ Bourne. .
1 i Sturtevant, Cornelius 777
Pern'.'Albert 446 ;
Perry, Timothy 300
Phelps, Adaiiza Catler 207
Pickerlnjr, Grace E 683
Pike,8amuelJ 320
PlllBbury, Fred Cutter 712
Piper, Martha Alina 746
Plumer, William 36
Plumer, William 371
Porter, Sarah W
p:^b;;s>rEXStn:::::::::: m;8t.rk;wuium..,., su
Peabody, Oliver W. Bourne. . »« Soi-kni-v. Asenat
PeabiKly, Willinm B. Oliver .
Proctor, Etlnii Denn
QuavkcnboB, George Payn. .
, iryL
ThaxWr. Oelfa .
Tappan, I'aui-l Dana 79
Tappan, Willinin Kiiisbain... 64
Thayer, Stephen H. 686
Thornton, Eliza B 73
Tilton, Lrdla H 676
Tre\itt, Lulu B 741
Tullock, LIda C 70S
DanB, Charles Anderson 241
Uana, Framis 7+4
DaiiiulP, Ktinke J\imb»l 120
UcMcrntl, Sjiipuellt "W
DeWolIe, Aunle E 737
De Wolfe, Geo. Gordon Byron 489
Dinsmoor, Kob«rt 10
Dix, John Adams 709
Dodce, <icorsp Diidlev 541
Dodge. .I^tciil. RkhariU 2H8
Donelery.Hftrrlet Newell..-- 207
Dorr, George 8 BS8
Drown, Duniel AugUBtus - - . ■ 263
Eaton, Harriet Newell 334
Eddy, Mary ilorsn GloTer... 7.'>o
Ellswnnh, Mary W 424
Everett. Alesaniler Hill 773
Everett, David 16
Everett, Frank 0 033
Farmer, John 44
Femald. Woodbury Meleber. 172
Fegi«udeii, 'rhonins Green... 17
Fields, Jninea TliomaB 22G
FIsb, Ell<b;L Snell 45
Fletcher. JoBlah Moody 342
FostiT, Fimnie B 2»4
Foster, Surob H 473
FosB, Deborah G, 448
Fobs, Samuel Walter 722
Fo;c, Churlea JiLQies IM
Fox, William Coup 337
Francla, Mitry Gibson Tr>4
Frencb, Uenjaiuiii Brown.... Wl
French, Ella IJdora 731
Frencb, Francis Onnond 5.)3
French, Harrielte Van Mater 236
Fnller, Homer Taylor 672
Uerould, Cvnthift L 107
GibsoD, EliHra A 7(56
Goodale, Celestla S 365
Gorrill. Miranda M .5112
Greelev, Horace 150
Greene', IsalK^C 6(»
Greene, Nathaniel 771
Grlffltb, George Bancroft.... 609
Hale, Horatio 221
Hale, Sarah Josei)ha <i0
Hale, William 707
Hall, LydiaM 705
Haiomoiid, Geo. Waelilngton 103
Han-pv, Matthew
Hulch; Marv K. 1* i
Haven, Nathaniel .4ppIeton.>
Haven, Samuel
Hayward, Emily Grabam..,.
Hayward, SilvanuB ;
Hazeltfne, Hantiab Bryant-.. '■
Hazeltlne, Miron .lames-.. .
Heath, Clarn B ^ :
Heath, I»onard '
Heath. Simeon F :
Herrick, Henry W :
Heywood, Mnrtha J -
Hlbbard, Harry ;
Hlldreth, SainnefPetUMT
Hill. I>iiTld H
Hinfdule, Grace Web-ner.-" ■
Hr>iib!<, Mary Elizabeth I
Holbrook, Annie B (
Hood, Joseph Edward i
HoKnier, Edward A 1
Hosmer, Man- B :
Hant, Bessie'Bisbee I
JenliB, Edward Annutna
.TennesH. Caroline Lliubetfa.. :
Jones, Mattle Fraucea I
Keeler, Samuel Orofut
Kennanl, Janie<i
Kenerson, lUn-ia H. E '■
Kent, George
Kent, Geor^ Pretlerlck
Kent, Henry Oakea
Klniball. Harriet McEweo... ■
Kimball, Kare J !
Knight, Frederick !
Lalghton, Albert 1
I^ghton, Benjamin D
Lalglitou, Oscar J
Lane, Marv Blake
Lane, Sarah Ellub«Ui !
l..'ahy. Tb.^iiiii. Franeis I
' .;i H-iiite .'.".".".'
Liiud, Mary Dwinell CbeiUs! :
Mackintire, Clara Fellows,--
Marsh, William B
Uartlu, Elizabeth
Maaon. Ellen McKoberta - - ■ ■ 6701 Rand, Edward A 650
McCliiito.'k. <;tttherine 11 ... • 748 ' Rami. Edward Dean MS
UcCilllis, Alibie Huiitooii.-- 357 , lioiikln, Jeremiah Earns SW
HcFarlnnd, Andrew 687 RichardsoD, Charles FrnncU. OOi
UeBi^r, MeMn J 686 j Rithiirdson, WIlUaniMeriliaiit 24
Miller, Murj- E. B 41*1 i Robinson, Annie Douglaa 633
MUliken, Daniel I Ml ; Bol)iuaon. Marv M ■»*
Moodv, Pbelw Knight 77« Rogorfl, Mar.v I.IUIp iBl
Moore, Frpdoric A 319' Runnels, Faniiii' Iluiitinglnn. ^
Moore, Hugh 121 : RiuaeU, AinOB B 300
Motes, John Nelson lUO Riueell, James G 035
Hoses, Tbomaa P 120 Russell, Thomas P 3(H
HosB,8ylTiaA 001.
Nason, Ellaa IM „ , . „ ^^_
Norrte-LauraA 122' Sargeant, Edward Erasmus-. 242
Nowell, Edward P MO ■ Sargent, Alfred William .... e«
Sai-g;ent, Charles Edwnrd--.. 708
, „ . „ _.„ Senter, Mary A, A 48«
Obear, Lydia A. Swaiey 7o6 1 sowall, Jonntban Miiohel ... 7
Ordronaux, John 391 Seymour, Rhoda Bartlelt---. 882
Ome, Caroline 1" ! yhedd. Sarah 310
Osgood, Carrie White '^'* ; Shiilaber, Ben|. Peuhailow-. 186
Osgood, George W 467 sbo\w, Althlno Florence 700
I Shores, Eliiia O 72
Palmer, Charlotte M 537 ! Silver, Edna Hastings «
Parker, .Vrao^ Andrew 61 , ^mes, Louisa. ... . 14«
Parker Caroline E. R 3,-4 braart, Amwida Jemima 41»
Parker, Sarah M 532 : hmiti, Aaa Dodge 108
Parmelee, Anne 733 ! SnUUi, Josn-h Brown 261
Pannelee,.),.s.nliWarren.... 232 ' ^mith, I^tta Blunehe 727
Partridge, Abb\e NeUla 714 gm ti. Malrio E 488
Partridge, Samuel Hudson ... 750 , Smith, Sarah ................ 81
Pa«ers.>n 'ieorge Willis .... 730 ^P^'fjiK' ^i^"""!.^,?,'"""'' fi
Patterson Jumes Willis 753 ^PauldlHg, Mary Wilklns.... m
PaitCTson, Mary Stearns is3i «P<";cer,TllramLidd 3M
Pay8on,Aurfnil 3S1 ^ '^' ^^,t? ' " 3^
Peabody, Epbralm 117 ^Jf?' ^""^ ".VV aii
Peabody.pWw. Bourne.. 8S Brtc^-^A«n«thC......... 317
Peahody, William B. Oliver
Perley, May B 743
Perry,Albert US
Perry, Timothy 300
Phelps, Adallia Cutler 287
Pickering, Grace B 683
Pike, SainuelJ 326
Plllsbury, Fred Cutter 712
mper, Martlia Alma 746
Plumer, William 36
Plumcr, William 271
Porter, Sarob 14
Prait. Mar\- Raymond IM
Proctor, Edna Dean 400
Quackcobos, George Payn. . . 821
Sturoc, WUBam Cant 3M
Sturtevant, Cornelius 777
SnlUvMi, M«T Aim 7«7
Sullivan, Marlon Means 766
Swuin, Leonard 346
ZL
618
Tappan, DHtii!.! Dunn 7S
Tappan, William Jlinghuin... 64
Thaver, Stephen H: 686
Thornton, EUxa B 72
Tllton, Lydia H 676
Treritt, Lulu E 741
Tullock, Lida C 703
Upham, Charlea W 1
XJpbam, Nathaniel Gonkln ■ ■ ■
Upturn, Thomas Cogsnetl. . .
Vaniey, John Riley 2
Wakefleld, Nancy Ihiest B
Walker, Horace. Eaton fl
Walker, James P 7
Walker, JusHn E 3
Wallace, Andrew
Ward, Milton 1
WarlanJ, John H I
Waaon, Sarah Theresa 1
Webster, Daniel 26 and i
Weeks, Lavlnia Patterson G
Wells, Anna Maria
Wheeler, Mary H S
1 TVTieler, Charles L 7i
I ^%'hipple, Jutia Van Ness ■■■ £
WhUcher.Mary 1!
Whitney, Adeline D. T 2
WhitoD, Caroline E 7-
' Wiggin, Edith E 8
Wiggin, Lucy Bentley «
I Wig^n, S. Adams -■■ 7
< WiFcox, Carlos i
' Woolson, Abba Goold S
i Woolson. Conntanoe Feniniore 4
I Wood, Emma Chadboume- . . 7:
' Wood, John Bodwcll 3
' Wood, John QuiDcv Adame-- i
> Wood,JuliaA. A.'. 2
I Wooddell, Edward Whiteside 3
i Woodward, Arrilla Almira.. S
I Worthen, AngustaHarrey... 1
' Wright, Xehemiah 2
ERRATA.
In a part of lbl> etUtton the (olloirliis enon occi
FsgD II, line IB IVom boUora, tor"rou" read "yoi
P«gB 80, llDO 13, (or "TlgU's" re»d ■■vImUb."
Page 133. read "Souui B. A. BameB."
Page as, line 13 from boltom, for "thou Bands," read "I
Page ia», Une U, for "Bleam" read ■•strenra."
Page IN, roBtore title, "Da they love there itUI." to Htb. PraR^a poem.
FagBlT6, IQ tine aofskctcb, for "under" read "and under," and ttrlkc oat "and"
In line S, and In line S, for -'wae" read "became."
Page 177, the title of the poem, "I ridtc Into the light," ahonld lie qaoted, and
thia line should be Inserted beneath : •■Written on tbe death of Bev. Dr. WallaM ot
Philadelphia. "
Page K7i the apace below Une 18, from the bottom. Bhoold be abore the line.
Page 136. teat] "Harriette Von Mater Frencb," and IlneS from batlom foT"hoDi''
Page HS, line 17 (torn boltom, for "I taj not »o," read "O aar not »o," and Une 4
from bottom, ibr ■'/tntttl," read "(orcsts."
Pago 27J, line 10 from bottom, for "words ttord>," read "wonU were."
Page 31S, read "Edward Whllealde WooddelL"
Page 421, Uuc t, tor "IwelTe." reatl "three."
Page 464. line IS, for"'grove«," road "graveB."
Page 644, line S of sketch for "Hearth and Home," read "Cottage Hearth."
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