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Full text of "The poetical works of Oliver Wendell Holmes"

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POETICAL WORKS 
, t 


OF 


OLIVER 'VENDELL HOL
fES. 
.-. 


HOUSEHOLD ElJ/TION. 


BOSTON: 
JA}.IES R. OSGOOD AND CO)IPANY, 
LA TE TICKNOR & FIELDS, Alii""]) FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO. 
1877. 



COPYRIGHT, 1877. 
By J Al\IES R. OSGOOD & CO. 


\ 

 3L- 
fS 
\ 3..}5 
l811 


UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW. & CO.. 
CAMBRIDGE. 



CONTENTS. 


, % <6 
 -;).J 

 \4. 
 
 -!l
\S- 
 
 
 


PAGE 
iii 


To MY READERS 
EARLIER POE)[S (1830 - 1836). 
Old Ironsides . 
The Last Leaf 
The Cambridge Churchyard 
To an Insect 
The Dilemma . 
:My Aunt 
Reflections of a Proud Pedestrian . 
Daily Trials, by a Sensitive :Man 
Evening, by a Tailor 
The Dorchester Giant. 
To the Portrait of " A Lady" . 
The Comet . 
The l\lusic-Grinders . 
The Treadmill Song 
The September Gale 
The Height of the Ridiculous 
The Last Reader 
Poetry: A Metrical Essay . 
ADDITIONAL POEMS (1837 - 1848). 
The Pilgrim's Vision 
The Steamboat 
Lexington 
On Lending a Punch-Bowl. 
· A Song for the Centennial Celebration of Harvard College, 1836 . 
The Island Hunting-Song . 
Departed Days. 
The Only Daughter 
Song written for the Dinner given to Charles Dickens, by the Young Men of Boston, 
Feb. 1, 1842 . 
Lines recited at the Berkshire Festival . 
Nux Postcænatica 
Verses for After-Dinner . 
A 
[odest Request, complied with after the Dinner at President Everett's Inaugura. 
tion . 
The Stethoscope Song . 
Extracts from a )Iedical Poem 
The Parting Word 
A Song of Other Days 


1 
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2 
3 
4 
4 
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6 
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13. 


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43 
4
 
46 
47 



. 
VI 


CO
TENTS. 


PAGE 
Song for a Temperance Dinner to which Ladies were invited (New York Mercantile 
Library As
ociation, Kov., 1842) 48 
.A Sentiment. 48 
A Rh
.med Lesson . 49 
An After-Dinner Poem . 64 
MISCELLANE.OUS PODIS (1830, ETC.). 
The Meeting of the DrJads 
The 'l)'sterious Visitor 
The Toadstool . 
The Spectre Pig . 
To a Caged Lion 
The Star and the ""ater-Lily 
Illustration of a Picture . 
A Homan Aqueduct 
From a Bachelor's Private Journal 
La Grisette . 
Our Yankee Girls 
L'Inconnue . 
Stanzas 
Lines by a Clerk . 
Tbe l>bilosolJher to bis Love . 
The Poet's Lot 
To a blank Sheet of Paper 
To the Portrait of" A Gentleman" 
The Ballad of the O)'sterman . 
A X oontide Lyric' 
The Hot Season 
A Portrait 
An Evening Thougl1t 
The ""asp and the Hornet . 
tI Qui Yive" 


Smms IS :!\lA
Y KEYS (1849 - 1861) 
I. 1849 -1856- 
Agnes 
The Plough man . 
PICTLRES FROM OCCASIONAL POEMS (1850-1856), 
Spring 
The Study 
The Bells . 
:Non-Resistance 
The Moral Bully 
The :Mind's Diet 
Our TJimitations 
The OM Player 
The Islawl Ruin 
The Banker's Dinner 
The MJsterious Illness 
A 'rothE-r's Seeret . 
The Secret of the Stars . . . . . 
A Poem. Dedi('ation of the Pittsfield Cemetery, September 9, 1850 
To GovenlOr Swain. . . . . . . . . . 
To an Ellgli
h .Fritmù . 


71 
72 
73 
74 
75 
76 
77 
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78 
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80 
81 
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105 
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. 108 
. III 
. 115 
117 
. 121 
123 
125 
126 



CONTENTS. 


Vll. 


PAGE 


V IG
T}:TTES. 
After a Lecture on W ord8worth 
After a Lecture on :Moore 
After a Lecture on Keats. 
After a Lecture on Shelley . 
At the close of a Course of Lectures 
The Hudson . 
A Poem for the )Ieeting of the American Medical Association at New York, ]Iay 5, 
1853 . 
A Sentiment 
The New Eden 
Semi-centennial Celebration of the New England Society, New York, Dec. 22, 1855 
Farewell to J. R. Lowell 
For the Meeting of the Burns Club 
Ode for "Yashington's Birthday . 
Birthday of Daniel Webster 


. 127 
128 
. 129 
129 
. 130 
131 


132 
. 133 
134 
136 
137 
. 137 
138 
. 139 


II. 1857-1861. 
The Voiceless . 
The Two Streams 
The Promise 
Avis 
The Living Temple . 
At a Birthday Festival 
A Birthday Tribute . 
The Gray Chief 
The Last Look . 
In ?tfemory of Charles Wentworth Upham, Jr. . 
:Martha 
Jleeting of the Alumni of Han
ard College 
The Parting Song 
For the )leeting of the National Sanitary Association 
For the Burns Centennial Celebration 
Boston Common, - Three Pictures 
The Old )fan of the Sea . 
International Ode 
Brother Jonathan's Lament for Sister Caroline 
Vive La France 
Under the 'Vashington Elm, Cambridge 
Freedom, our Queen 
Army Hymn 
Parting Hymn 
The Flower of Liberty 
The Sweet Little JIan . 
Union and Liberty . 
POEMS FROM THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE (1857-1858). 
The Chambered Nautilus 
Sun and Shadow . 
The Two Armies 
M usa 
A Parting Health 
What we all Think 
Spring has come 


. 


. 141 
141 
. 1.n 
142 
143 
144 
. 144 
145 
14,) 
146 
. 146 
1,17 
. 148 
149 
. 150 
151 
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. 153 
153 
. 154 
155 
. 155 
156 
. 156 
157 
. 158 
. 161 
162 
. 162 
163 
. 164 
165 
. lù5 



Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


Prologue . 
Lattcr-Day W'nrnings 
Album Verses 
.A Good Time Coming I 
The Last Blossom 
kjoutentmcnt . 
..'Estivation . 
The Dcacon's Masterpiece; or, The "Tonderful U One-Hoss Shay" 
Parson Turell's Legacy 
ùde for a Social Meeting, with slight Alterations by a Teetotaler 
POE.YS FROl1 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE (1858-1859). 
Under the Violets 
H).mn of Trust 
A Sun-day Hymn 
The Crooked Footpath 
Iris, her Book . 
Roùinson of Leyden 
St. ...\nthony the Reformer 
The Upening of the Piano . 
Midsummer 
De Sauty 
POEMS FROM THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE (1871-1872). 
Homcsick ill Heaven 
Fantasia 
Aunt Taùitha . 
'Wind-Clouds and Star-Drifts 
El)ilogue to the Breakfnst-Table Series . 
PODiS OF THE CLASS OF '29 (1851 -1877). 
Dill and Joe 
A Song of ,( Twenty-nine" . 
Questions and Answers . 
An Impromptu 
The Old Man Dreams 
Remcm her - Forget 
Our Indian Summer 
:r.rarc Rubrum 
The Boys . 
Lines 
A Voice of the Loyal North 
J, D. R. 
Voyage of the Good Ship Union 
U Choose you this Day whom )"e will Serve" 
F. 'V. C. 
The I..ast Charge . 
Our Olùest Friend . 
Shcrman 's in Savannah 
:My Annual 
All II ere 
Once ::\Iore 
Thc Old Cruiser . 
Hymn for the Class-Meeting 
EvcIl-
ong . 


PAGE 
100 
. 168 
168 
. 169 
170 
. 170 
171 
. 172 
- lli- 
. 176 
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177 
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. 205 
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227 



CONTE
TS. 


The Smiling Listener . 
Our Sweet Singer 
H, C. 1\1. H. S. J. K. W. 
What I have come for 
Our Banker . 
For Class JIeeting . 
" Ad Amico
 " 
How not to Settle it 
SO
GS OF MA...
Y SEASOSS (1862-1874). 
Opening the "ïndow 
Programme . 


. 


Is THE QUIET DAYS. 
An Old-Year Song 
Dorothy Q., a Family Portrait 
The Organ-Blower 
At the Pantomime 
After the Fire . 
A Ballad of the Boston Tea-Party 
Kearing the Snow-Line . 
IN 'Y AR TUIE. 
To Canaan 
"Thus saith the Lord, I offer Thee Three Things H. . 
:x e\'er or Sow . 
One Country 
God Save the Flag! . 
H
'lUn after the Emancipation Proclamation 
Hymn for the Fair at Chicago 
SO
GS OF """ELCOME AXD FAREWELL. 
America to Russia . 
"elcome to the Grand Duke Alexis 
At the Banquet to the Grand Duke Alexis 
At the Banquet to the Chinese Embassy 
At the Banquet to the Japanese Embassy 
BQant's Seventieth Birthday 
At a Dinner to General Grant . 
At a Dinner to Admiral Farragut 
A Toast to \Vilkie Collins 
To H. W. Longfellow . 
To Christian Gottfried Ehrenberg . 


IX 
PAGE 
229 
231 
232 
233 
233 
235 
236 
237 
. . 2.11 
2.U 
. 243 
243 
. 245 
245 
. 2-16 
247 
. 248 
. 2;)0 
2,'jl 
. 251 
Q-Q 
....;).. 
. 252 
253 
253 
. 255 
255 
. 256 
2j7 
. 2,'j8 
25!) 
. 261 
262 
. 263 
263 
. 264 



IE)IORIAL VERSES. 
For the Services în 
Icmory of Abraham I
incoln . . 266 
For the Commemoration Services 266 
Ed ward Everett . 268 
'Shakespeare . . 2';0 
In Memory of John and Robert 'Yare . 271 
Humboldt's Birthday . 272 
Poem at the Dedication of the Halleck Jfnnument. July 8, 1869 . . 274 
Hymn for the Celebration at the Laying of the Corner-Stone of Harvard l\Iemorial 
Hall, Cambridge, October 6, 18';0 
H)ïnn for the Dedication of )[emorial Hall. at Cambridge, June 23, 18';4. . 
H)"mn at the Funeral Services of Charles Sumncr, April 2
, 1874 


274: 
. 275 
275 



x 


CONTENTS. 


RHYMES OF AN IIOUR. PAGE 
Address for the Opening of the Fifth Avenue Theatre, New York, December 3, 1873 '277 
Rip Van 'Vinkle, 1\1. D.; au After-Dinner Prescription taken uy the Massachusetts 
:Medical Society, at thcir )1 eeting held August 25, 1870 . . 280 
Chanson without .Music 286 
For the Centennial Dinner of the Proprietors of Boston Pier, or the Long "Tharf, 
Apl'ill6, 1873 
A Poem served to Ord(:r . 
The }'ountaiu of Youth 
A Hymn of Peace, sung at the" Jubilee" June 15, 18û9, to the Music of Keller's 
" American Hymn" . . 290 


287 
. 288 
289 


A DDITIONAL POE
IS (TO 1877). 
At a 
IeèÌing of Friends, August 29, 1859 . 293 
A Farewell to Agassiz . 294 
A Sea Dialogue . . 295 
At the" Atlantic Dinner," December 15, 1874 . 296 
"Lucy." For her Golden 'Vedding, OctoLer 18, 1875 . . 298 
Hymn for the Inauguration of the Statue of Governor Andrew, at Bingham, October 
7, 1875 
A Memorial Tribute. 
Joseph 'Varren, M. D. . 
Grandmother's Story of Dunker-Hill Battle . 
Old Cambridge, July 3, 1875 
"Tclcome to the Kations, Philadelphia, July 4, 1876 
A Familiar Letter 
Unsatisfied 
How the Old Horse won the net 
An Appcal for" the Old South" 
The First Fan 
To R. B, H. 
"Thc Ship of State" . 
A Family Record 


. 


298 
. 299 
300 
. 300 
304 
. 306 
306 
. 308 
309 
. 311 
312 
. 314 
315 
. 315 


FIRST VERSES 


320 


NOTES 


. 321 



TO MY READERS. 


NAY, blame me not; I might have spared 
Your patience many a trivial verse, 
Yet these my earlier welcome shared, 
So, let the better shield the worse. 


And some n1Ïght say, "Those ruder 


songs 
Had freshness which the ne,v have 
lost; 
To spring the opening leaf belongs, 
The chestnut-burs await the frost." 


'Yhen those I wrote, nlY locks ,vere 
brown, 
'Vhen these I write-ah, well-a-day! 
The autumn thistle's silvery down 
Is not the purple bloon1 of 
Iay ! 


Go, little book, whose pages hold 
Those garnered years in loving trust; 
How long before- your blue and gold 
Shall fade and whiten in the dust? 


o sexton of the alcovccl tomb, 
'Yhere souls in leathern cerements lie, 
Tell me each living poet's doom! 
How long before his book shall die 1 


It Inatters little, soon or late, 
A day, a nlonth, a year, an age,- 
1 read oblivion in its elate, 
And Finis on its title-page. 


Before we sighed, our griefs were told; 
Before we sIniled, our joys were sung; 
And all our passions shaped of old 
In 
ccents lost to nlortal tongue. 


In vain a fresher mould we seek,- 
Can all the varied phrases tell 
That Babel's wandering children speak 
How thrushes sing or lilacs SIne 111 


Caged in the poet's lonely 11eart, 
Love wastes unhearù its tenderest tone ; 
The soul that sings must dwell apart, 
Its inward melodies unknown. 


Deal gently with us, ye wbo f(1ad ! 
Our largest hope is unfulfilled, - 
The prOJnise stiU outruns the dee
, - 
The tower, but not the spire, we build. 


Our 'wl1itest pearl we never finù ; 
Our ripest fruit we never reach; 
The flowering lliOInents of the nlind 
Drop half their petals in our speech. 


These are my blossoms; if they wear 
One streak of morn or evening's glow, 
Accept thenl; but to me more fair 
The bud
 of song that never blow. 


APRIL 8, 1862. 




EAR LIE R P 0 E 1\1 S · 


1830 -1836. 


OLD IRONSIDES. 


Av, tear her tattered ensign down! 
Long has it waved on high, 
And ntany an eye has danced to see 
That banner in the sky; 
Beneath it rung the battle shout, 
And burst the canDon's roar; - 
The meteor of the ocean air 
Shall sweep the clouds no more! . 
Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 
'Yhere knelt the vanquished foe, 
When winds wpre hurrying 0' er the flood, 
And waves were white below, 
No more shall feel the victor's tread, 
Or know the conquered knee;- 
The ha rpies of the sh
re shall pluck 
The eagle of the sea ! 


o better that her shattered hulk 
Should sink beneath the wave; 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 
And there should he her grave; 
N ail to the Inast her holy flag, 
Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the god of storms, 
'fhe lightning and the gale! 


THE LAST LEAF. 


I SA'V him once beforp, 
As he passed by the ùoor, 
And again 


The pavement stones resound, 
As he totters o'er the ground 
"'"'ith his cane. 


They say that in his prime, 
Ere the pruning-knife of Tinle 
Cu t him down, 
Not a better nlan was found 
By the Crier on his }'ound 
Through the town. 
But now he walks the streets, 
And he looks at all be nleets 
Sad and wan, 
And he shakes his feeble head, 
That it seems as if he said, 
" They are gone. " 


The mossy n)arbles rest 
On the lips that he has prest 
In their bloom, 
And the names he loved to hear 
Ha ve been carved for many a year 
On the tomb. 



Iy grandrnamnla has said - 
Poor old lady, slle is dead 
Long ago - 
That he had a Roman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 
In the snow. 


But now his nose is thin, 
And it rests upon his chin 
Like a staff, 



2 


EARLIER PO El\IS. 


And a crook is in his back, 
And a nlelancholy crack 
In his laugh. 


I know it is a sin 
For me to sit and grin 
At hÍ1n here; 
But thp old three-cornered hat, 
Anù the breeches, and all that, 
Are so queer! 


And if I should live to bo 
The last leaf upon the tree 
In the spring, - 
Let t hen1 snlile, as I do now, 
At the old forðakell bough 
'\Vhere I cling. 


THE CAMBRIDGE CHURCHYARD. 


OUR ancient church! its lowly tower, 
Beneath the loftier spire, 
Is shadowed when the sunset hour 
Clothes the tall shaft in fire; 
I t sinks beyond the distant eye, 
Long ere the glittering vane, 
lIigh whpeling in the western sky, 
Has faded o'er the plain. 


Like Sentinel and Nun, they keep 
Their vigil on the green; 
One seems to guard, and one to weep, 
The dead that lie between; 
And both roll out, so full and nrar, 
Their music's nlingling waves, 
They shake the grass, whose pennoned 
spear 
Leans on the narrow graves. 


The stranger parts the flaunting weeds, 
'\Vhose seeds the winds have strown 
So thick beneath the line he reaùs, 
They shade the sculptured stone; 
The c11ild unveils his clustered brow 
, 
Anù I)onders for awhile 


The graven wil1ow's pendent bough, 
Or rudest chern b' s sn1ile. 


But what to them the dirge, the knell 1 
These were the mourner's share; 
The sullen clang, whose heavy swell 
Throbbed through tIle beating air ; 
The rattling cord, - the rolling stone, - 
The shelving sand that slid, 
And, far beneath, with hollow tone, 
Rung on the coffin's lid. 


The sIunl be reI" s mound grows fresh and 
green, 
Then slowly disappears; 
The mosses creep, the gray stonps lean, 
Earth hides his date and years; 
But, long before the once-loved nalne 
Is sunk or worn away, 
No lip the silent dust nlay claim, 
That pressed the breathing clay. 


Go where the ancient pathway guides, 
See where onr sires laid down 
Their smiling babes, thcir cherished 
brides, 
The patriarchs of the town; 
Hast thou a tear for buried love 1 
A sigh for transient power 1 
All that a century left above, 
Go, read it in an hour! 


The Indian's shaft, the Briton's ball, 
The sabre's thirsting edge, 
The hot shell, shattering in its fall, 
The bayonet's rending we(lge,- 
Here scattered death; yet, seek the spot, 
No trace thine pye can see, 
No altar, - and they need it not 
'\Vho leave their chilùren free! 


Look where the turbid rain-drops stand 
In luany a chiselled square; 
The kni
ht1y crest, the shield, the brand 
Of honoreù names were there;- 



TO AN INSECT. 


3 


Alas! for every tear is dried 
Those blazoned tablets knew, 
Save when the icy marble's sic1e 
Drips with the evening dew. 


Or gaze upon yon pillared stone, 
The empty urn of pride; 
There stand the Goblet and the Sun, - 
"\Vhat need of more beside? 
"\Yhere lives the memory of the dead, 
"\\"'ho made their tonl b a toy 1 
'Yhose ashes press that nameless bed 1 
Go, ask the village boy ! 


Lean o'er the slender western ,vall, 
Ye ever-roaming girls; 
The breath tbat Lids the blosson1 faU 
l,Iay lift your floating curls, 
To sweep the simple lines that tell 
An exile's date anc1 doom; 
And sigh, for where his daughters dwell, 
They wreathe the stranger's tomb. 


And one amill these shades was born, 
Beneath this turf who lies, 
Once bean}ing as the sunlmer's morn, 
That closed her gentle eyes; 
If sinless angels love as we, 
'Vho stood thy grave beside, 
Three seraph welcomes waited thee, 
The daughter, sister, bride! 


I wandered to thy buried mound 
'Vhen earth was hia below 
The level of the glaring groun(i, 
Choked to its gates with snow, 
And when with SUnln}Cr'S flow('ry waves 
The lake of verdure rolled, 
As if a Sultan's white-robed slaves 
Had scattered pearls and gold. 


Nay, the soft pinions of t11e air, 
That lift this trenl bHng tone, 
Its breath of love may almost bear, 
To kiss thy funeral stone; 


And, now thy smiles have passec1 away, 
For all the joy they gave, 

Iay sweetest dews and warnlest ray 
Lie on thine early grave! 


'Yhen damps beneath, and storms above, 
Ha ve bowed these fragile towers, 
Still o'er the graves yon locust-grove 
Shall swing its Orient flowers ; 
And I would ask no mouldering bust, 
If e'er this humble line, 
'Vhich breathed a sigh o'er other's dust, 
Might call a tear on n1Ïne. 


TO AN INSECT. 


I LOVE to hear thine earnest voice, 
'Vherever thon art hid, 
Thou testy little dogmatist, 
Tl10u pretty Katydid! 
Thou mindest me of gentlefolks, - 
Old gentlefolks are they, - 
Thou say'st an undisputed thing 
In such a solenln way. 


Thou art a female, I{atydid ! 
I know it by the trill 
That quivers through thy piercing notes, 
So petulant and shrill ; 
I think there is a knot of you 
Beneath the hollow tree, - 
A knot of spinster Katydids,- 
Do Katydids drink tea ? 


o tell me where did Katy live, 
And what did Katy do 1 
And was she very fair anti young, 
And yet so wicked, too 1 
Did I
aty love a naugllty Inan, 
Or kiss more cheeks than one 1 
I warrant Katy did no more 
Than n}any a Irate }}as done. 


Dear me! I 'II tell you all about 
l\Iy fuss with little Jane, 



4 


EARLIER POEl\IS. 


.And Ann, with whom I used to walk 
So often ùown the lane, 
And all that tore their locks of black, 
Or wet their eyes of blue,- 
Pray tell me, sweetest Katydid, 
\Vhat did poor Katy ùo 1 


Ah no I the Hving oak shall crash, 
That stood for ages still, 
The rock shall rend its mossy base 
And thunder down the hill, 
Before the Httle Katydid 
Shall add one word, to tell 
The nlystic story of the maiù 
\Vhose name she knows so well. 


Peace to the ever-murnulring race! 
And when the latest one 
Shall fold in death her feeble wings 
Beneath the autumn sun, 
Then shall she raise her fainting voice, 
And lift her drooping lid, 
And then the chilcl of future years 
Shall hear what Katy did. 


THE DILEMMA. 


N ow, by the blessed Paphian queen, 
\Vho heaves the breast of sweet sixteen . 
, 
By every name I cut on bark 
Before my morning <;tar grew dark 
By IIyrnen's torch, by Cupid's dart, 
B y all that thrills the beatinO' heart. 
ð . , 
The bright black eye, the melting blue,- 
I cannot choose between the two. 


I had a vision in my drean1s ;_ 
I saw a row of twenty beanls ; 
Froln every beam a rope was hung, 
I n every rope a lover swung; 
I askeù the hu
 of pvery eye, 
That bade each lucklpss lover <li
 ; 
Ten sha(1owy lips saiù, })pav
nly blue, 
And ten accused thc darker hue. 


I asked a matron wl1ich she deeIDed 
'Yith fairest light of beauty beamed; 
She answered, some though t both were 
fair, - 
Give her blue eyes and golden hair. 
I might have liked her judgment well, 
But, as she spoke, she rung the bell, 
And all her girls, nor stuaU nor few, 
Came marching in, - their eyes were blue. 
I asked a maiden ; back she flung 
The locks that round her forehead hung, 
And turned her eye, a glorious one, 
Bright as a diamond in the sun, 
On file, until beneath its rays 
I felt as if nIY hair would blaze ; 
She liked all eyes but eyes of green; 
She looked at nle ; what could she mean' 


Ah! many lids Love lurks between, 
N or heeds the coloring of his screen; 
And when his random arrows fly, 
The victitn fans, but knows not wby. 
Gaze not upon his shield of jet,. 
The s11aft upon the string is set; 
Look not beneath his azure veil, 
Though every lirn b were cased in mail. 


'V ell, both might make a martyr break 
The chain that bound him to the stake; 
And both, with but a single ray, 
Can melt our very.hearts away; 
And both, when balanced, hardly seem 
To stir the scales, or rock the beam ; 
But that is dearest, all the while, 
That wears for us the sweetest smile. 


MY AUNT. 


1tly aunt! my dear unmarried aunt! 
Long years have o'er her flown ; 
Yet still she strains the aching clasp 
That binds her virbYÌn zone; 
I know it hurts her, - though she looks 
As cheerful as she can; 



REFLECTIO
S OF A PROUD PEDESTRIAN. 


5 


Her waist is an1pler than her life, 
For life is but a span. 



Iy aunt! nIY poor deluded aunt! 
Her hair is almost gray; 
'Thy will she train that winter cnrl 
In such a spring-like way 1 
How can she lay her glasses down, 
And say she reads as well, 
'Yhen, through a double convex lens, 
She just makes out to spell 1 


Her father- grandpapa ! forgive 
This erring lip its sndles- 
Vowed she should make the finest girl 
\Yithin a hundred nliles ; 
He sent her to a stylish school; 
'T was in her thirteenth June ; 
Aud with her, as the rules required, 
"Two towels and a spoon." 


They l)raced my aunt against a board, 
To tpake her straight and tall ; 
They laced her up, they starved herdown, 
To make her light and slnall ; 
They pinched her feet, they singed her 
hair, 
They screwed it up with pins ;- 
o nevel' mortal suffered more 
In penance for her sins. 


So, when my precious aunt was done, 

Iy grandsire brought her back; 
(By daylight, lest son1e rabid youth 

Iight follow on the track ;) 
"Ah !" said my grandsire, as he shook 
SOln
 powder in his pan, 
"'''''hat conld this lovely creature do 
Against a desperate man ! " 


Alas ! nor chariot, nor barouche, 
Nor ban(lit cayaIcade, 
Tore from the tren1hling father's arnlS 
His all-accoill plishctl nHl.Îd. 
. 


For her how happy had it been! 
And Heaven had spared to me 
To see one sad, ungathered rose 
On my ancestral tree. 


REFLECTIONS OF A PßOUD PEDES- 
TRIAN. 


I SA'V the curl of his waying lash, 
And the glance of his knowing eJe, 
And I knew that he thought he was 
cutting a dash, 
As his steed went thundering by. 


And he may ride in the rattling gig, 
Or flouri
h the Stanhope gay, 
And dreaI11 that he looks excpeding ùig 
To the people that walk in the way; 


But he shall think, when the night is 
still, 
On the stable-boy's gathering nunl- 
bel's, 
And the ghost of many a veteran bill 
Shall hover around his slumbers; 


The ghastly dUll shall worry his sleep, 
And constables cluster around him, 
And he shall creep fronl the wood-hole 
deep 
'Vhere their spectre eyes have found 
him! 


Ay ! gather your reins, and crack Jour 
thong, 
And bid your steed go faster ; 
He does not know, as he scrambles 
along, 
That he has a fool for his master; 


And hurry away on your lone1y ride, 
Nor dcign fr0111 the Jnire to save me ; 
I will paddle it stoutly at yonI' side 
'Vith the taudeUl that nature gave 
me ! 



6 . 


EARLIER POE1.IS. 


DAILY TRIALS. 


BY A SENSITI YE :MAN. 


0, THERE are tinIes 
When all this fret and tumult that we 
hear 
Do seem more stale than to the sexton's 


ear 
His own dull chimes. 


Ding dong! ding dong ! 
The world is in a sinImer like a sea 
Over a pent volcano, - woe is me 
All the day long! 


From crib to shroud ! 
Nurse 0' er our cradles screameth lullaby, 
And friends in boots tramp round us as 
'we die, 
Snuffling aloud. 


Ät morning's can 
The snlall-voiced pug-dog welcomes in 
the sun, 
And flea-bit mongrels, wakening one by 
one, 
Give answer all. 


When evening dim 
Draws round us, then the lonely cater- 
waul, 
Tart solo, sour duet, and generalsquall,- 
These are our hymn. 


'V om en, with tongues 
Like polar needles, ever on tIle jar; 
1.Ien, plugless word-spouts, whose deep 
fountains are 
'Vithin their lungs. 


Children, with drums 
Strapped round them by the fond pater- 
nal ass ; 
Peripatptics with a hladp of grass 
Between their thUlllbs. 


Vagrants, whose arts 
Have caged some devil in their mad ma- 
chine, 
'Vhich grinding, squeaks, with husky 
groans between, 
Come out by starts. 


Cockneys that kill 
Thin horses of a Sunday, - men, with 
clams, 
Hoarse as young bisons roaring for their 
dams 
From hill to hill. 


Soldiers, with guns, 

Iaking a nuisance of the blessed air, 
Child-crying belhllen, children in de.. 
spair, 
Screeching for buns. 


Storms, thunders, waves ! 
Howl, crash, and bellow till ye get your 
fill ; 
Y esometimes rest; men never can be still 
But in their graves. 


EVENING. 


BY A TAILOR. 


DAY hath put on his jacket, and around 
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars. 
Here will I lay me on the velvet grass, 
That is like padding to earth's meagre 
ribs, 
And hold communion with the tlling
 
about me. 
Ah me! how lovely is the golc1pn braid 
That binds the skirt of night's descend- 
ing robe! 
The thin leaves, quivering on their silken 
threads, 
Do make a music lik(' to rnsUing satin, 
As the light breezes SlllOoth their downy 
nap. 



THE DORCHESTER GIANT. 


7 


Ha! what is this that rises tomytouch, 
So like a cushion 1 Can it be a cabbage 1 
I t is, it is that deeply injured flower, 
\Vbich boys do flout us with ; - but yet 
I love thee, 
Thou giant rose, wrapped in a green sur- 
tout. 
Doubtless in Eden thou didst blush as 
bright 
As th
se, thy puny brethren; and thy 
breath 
Sweetened the fragrance of her spicy air; 
But now thou seemest like a bankrupt 
beau, 
Stripped of his gaudy hues and essences, 
And growing portly in his sobergannents. 


Is that a swan that rides upon the 
water 1 
o no, it is that other gentle bird, 
'Vhich is the patron of our noble calling. 
I well remember, in my early years, 
'Vhen these young hands first closed 
upon a goose; 
I have a scar upon my thiIn ble finger, 
'Vhich chronicles the hour of young am- 
bition. 
1.Iy father was a tailor, and his father, 
And my sire's grandsire, all of them 
were tailors ; 
They had an ancient goose, - it was an 
heirloom 
From sonle remoter tailor of our race. 
I t happened I did see it on a tiTlle 
'Vhen none was near, and I did deal 
with it, 
And it did bum me, -0, most fealfully ! 


It is ajoy to straighten out one's linlbs, 
And l
ap 
lastic from the level counter, 
Leaving the petty grievanc
s of earth, 
The breaking thread, the din of clashing 
shears, 
And all Ute needles that do wound the 
spirit, 


For such a pensive hour of soothing si- 
lence. 
Kind K ature, shuffiing in her loose un- 
dress, 
Lays bare her shady bosom ; - I can feel 
\Vith all around me ; - I can hail the 
flowers 
That sprig earth's Dlantle, - and yon 
quiet bird, 
That rides the stream, is to me as a 
brother. 
The vulgar know not all the hidùen 
pockets, 
\Vhere Nature stows away her loveliness. 
But this unnatural posture of the legs 
Cramps my extended calves, and I must go 
'''"here I can coil them in their wonted 
fashion. 


THE DORCHESTER GIANT. 


THERE was a giant in tÏIne of old, 
A mighty one was he ; 
He had a wife, but 
he was a scold, 
So he kept her shut in his rnammoth fold; 
And he had children three. 


It }lappened to be an election day, 
And the giants were choosing a king ; 
The people were not democrats then, 
They did not talk of the rights of men, 
And all that sort of thing. 


Then the giant took his children three, 
And fastened thenl in the pen; 
The children roared; quoth the giant, 
" Be still! " 
And Dorchester Heights and 
nlton Hill 
Rolled back th
 sound again. 


Then he brought them a pudding stuffed 
with plums, 
As big as the State-House dome; 
Quoth he, "There's something for you 
to eat; 



8 


EARLIER POE:\IS. 


So stop your mouths with your 'lection The whole of the story I win tell, 
treat, And you shall see where the pudùingsfel1, 
And \\ait till your dad comes home." And pay for the punch besiùe. 


So the giant pulled hima chestnut stout, 
Anù whittled the boughs away; 
The boys and their mother set up a shout, 
Said he, "Y ou 're in, and you can't get 
out, 
Bellow as loud as you may." 


Off he went, and he growled a tune 
As he strode the fields along; 
'T is saiù a buffalo fainted away, 
And fell as cold as a lump of clay, 
'Vhen he heard the giant's song. 


But whether the story's true or not, 
I t is n't for me to show ; 
There's many a thing that's twice as 
queer 
In somebo<1y's lectures that we hear, 
And those are true, you know. 


* 


* 


* 


'V11at are those lone ones doing now, 
The wife and the children sad 1 
0, they are in a terrible rout, 
Scrcaluing, and throwing their pudding 
a bou t, 
Acting as they were mad. 


They flung it over to Roxbury hills, 
They flung it over the plain, 
And all over 
Iilton and Dorchester too 
Great lumps of pudding the giants threw; 
They tlllnbled as thick as rain. 


* 


* 


* 


Giant and mammoth have passed away, 
:For ages have floated by ; 
The suet is hard as a marrow-bone, 
And every plum is turned to a stone, 
But there the puddings lie. 


AntI if, S01l1P plpasant aftprnoon, 
You '11 a
k lIle out to rille, 


TO THE PORTRAIT OF U A LADY." 


IN THE ATHE
ÆUl\I GALLERY. 


WELL, l\Hss, I wonder where you live, 
I wonùer what's your nanle, 
I wonder how you came to be 
In such a stylish frarne; 
Perhaps you were a favorite child, 
Perhaps an only one; 
Perhaps your friends were not aware 
You had your l)ortrai t done! 


Yet you must be a harmless soul; 
I cannot think that Sin 
'V ould care to throw his loaded dice, 
'Vith such a stake to win; 
I cannot think you would provoke 
The poet's wicked pen, 
Or make young women bite their lips, 
Or ruin fine young men. 


Pray, did you ever hear, nlY love, 
Of boys that go about, 
'Yho, for a very tritling SUIn, 
\Vill snip one's victure out 1 
I'm not averse to red and white, 
But all things have their place, 
I think a profile cut in black 
Would suit your style of face! 


I love sweet features; I will own 
That I should like nlyself 
To see my portrait on a wan, 
Or Lust npon a shelf; 
But nature sometiIllCS Iuakes one up 
Of such sad odds and ends, 
It really nlight be quite as wen 
IIu::;heù uI> aInong one's frienù::; ! 



TIlE CO
IET. - THE 1tIUSIC-GRI
DEnS. 


9 


THE COMET. 


THE Comet! He is on his way, 
And singing as he flies ; 
The whizzing planets shrink before 
The spectre of the skies ; 
Ah ! well may regal orbs burn blue, 
And satellites turn pale, 
Ten million cubic miles of head, 
Ten billion leagues of tail ! 
On, on by whistling spheres of light 
He flashes and he tlanles ; 
He turns not to the left nor right, 
He asks them not their nailles ; 
One spurn fron1 his demoniac heel, - 
A way, away they fly, 
'Vhere darkness n1Ïght be bottled up 
And sold for" Tyrian dye." 
And what would happen to the land, 
And how would look the sea, 
If in the bearded devil's path 
Our earth should chance to be 1 
Full hot and high the sea would boil, 
Full red the forests glean1 ; 
1tlethought I saw and heard it a11 
In a dyspeptic dreanl ! 


I saw a tutor take his tube 
The Comet's course to spy; 
I heard a scream, - the gathered rays 
Had stewed the tntor's eye; 
I saw a fort, - the soldiers all 
'Vere armed with goggles green; 
Pop cracked the guns t whiz flew the balls! 
Bang went the magazine! 


I saw' a poet dip a scroll 
Each moment in a tub, 
I read upon the warping back, 
"The Dream of Beelzebub" ; 
lIe could not see his yerses hurn, 
Al though his brain was fried, 
And ever and anon lie bcnt 
To wet them as they dried. 


I saw the scalding pitch roll ùown 
The crackling, sweating pines, 
And streanlS of snloke, like water- s I1outs, 
Burst through the runibling nlines ; 
I asked the firemen why they nlade 
Such noise about the town; 
They answered not, - but all the while 
The brakes went up and down. 
I saw a roasting pullet sit 
Upon a baking egg; 
I saw a cripple scorch his hand 
Extinguishing llis leg; 
I saw nine geese upon the wing 
Towards the frozen pole, 
And evel1T mother's gosling fell 
Crisped to a crackling coal. 


I saw the ox that browsed the grass 
,r rithe in the blistering rays, 
The herbage in his shrinking jaws 
'Vas all a fiery blaze; 
I saw huge fishes, boiled to rags, 
Bo b through the bubbling brine; 
Anù thoughts of supper crossed my soul; 
I had been rash at mine. 


Strange sights! strange sounds! 0 fear- 
ful drealll! 
Its memory haunts me still, 
The steaming sea, the crinlson glare, 
That wreathed each wooded hill ; 
Stranger! if through thy reeling brain 
Such nÚdnight visions sweep, 
Spare, spare, 0, spare thine evening Ineal, 
And sweet shall be thy sleep ! 


THE MUSIC-GRINDERS. 


THERE are three ways in which men take 
One's money from his purse, 
And very hard it is to tell 
'Yhich of the three is "
orse ; 
But aU of t11m11 are bad enough 
To make a body curse. 



10 


EARLIER POE
IS. 


You're riding out some pleasant ùay, 
Anù counting up your gains ; 
A fellow junlps frolll out a bush, 
And takes your horse's reins, 
.A.nother hints some worùs about 
_4.. bullet in your brains. 


It's hard to meet such pressing ftiends 
In such a lonely spot; 
It's very hard to lose your cash, 
But harder to be shot; 
And so you take your wallet out, 
Though you would rather not. 


Perhaps you're going out to dine, - 
Some OllÏOUS creature begs 
You'll hear about the cannon-ball 
That carried off his pegs, 
And says it is a dreadful thing 
F or men to lose their legs. 


He tells you of his starving wife, 
lIis chilùren to be feù, 
Poor little, lovely innocents, 
All clmnorous for bread, - 
And so you kindly help to put 
A bachelor to bed. 


You're sitting on y<>ur window-seat, 
Beneath a cloudless moon; 
You hear a sound, that seems to wear 
The semblance of a tune, 
As if a broken fife should strive 
To drown a cracked. bassoon. 


And nearef, nearer still, the tide 
Of n1usic seems to C01n
, 
There's something like a human voicE', 
.And son1pthing like a drum; 
You sit in speeehless agony, 
Until your car is nUD1b. 


Poor" home, swcet hon1e" should seem 
to be 
A very disnlal pla('(\ ; 


Your" auld. acquaintance" all at once 
Is altered. in the face; 
Their discords stiu(r throuO'h Burns and 
o 0 

Ioore, 
Like hedgehogs dressed in lace. 
You think they are crusaders, sent 
:Fron1 some infernal cliIlle, 
To pluck the eyes of Sentiment, 
And dock the tail of Rhyme, 
To crack the voice of 1\Ielody, 
And break the legs of Time. 


But l1ark ! the air again is still, 
.. The music all is ground, 
And silence, like a poultice, comes 
To heal the blows of sound; 
It cannot be, - it is, - it is,- 
A hat is going round I 
No! Pay the dentist when he leaves 
A fracture in your jaw, 
And pay the owner of the bear 
That stunned you with his paw, 
.A..nd buy the lobster that has had 
Your knuckles in his cla\v ; 
But if you are a portly man, 
Put on your fiercest frown, 
And talk about a constable 
To turn them out of town; 
Then close your sentence with an oath, 
And shut the window down! 


And if you are a slender n1an, 
Not big enough for that, 
Or, if you cannot make a speech, 
Because you are a flat, 
Go very quietly and drop 
A button in the hat ! 


THE TREADMILL SONG. 


THE stars are rolling in the sky, 
The ('arth rolls on below, 
And we can feel th(' rattling wheel 
Hcvolving as we go. 



THE SEPTE)IBER GALE. 


11 


Then tread away, my gallant boys, 
And nlake the axle fly; 
'Vhy should not wheels go round about, 
Like planets in the sky 1 
)\T ake up, wake up, my duck-legged man, 
And. stir your solid pegs ! 
Arouse, arouse, DlY gawky friend, 
And shake your spider legs; 
'Yhat though you're awkward at the 
trade, 
There's time enough to learn,- 
So lean u pOll the rail, nlY lad, 
An(l take another turn. 
They've built us up a noble wall, 
To keep the vulgar out; 
'Ve 've nothing in the world to do 
But just to walk about; 
So faster, now, you middle men, 
And try to beat the ends, - 
It's pleasant work to ramble round 
Among one's honest friends. 


Here, tread upon the long man's toes, 
He sha' n't be lazy here, - 
And punch the little fellow's ribs, 
And tweak that lubber's par, - 
He's lost them both, - don't pun his 
hair, 
Because he 'wears a scratch, 
But poke him in the further eye, 
That is n't in the patch. 
Hark! fellows, there's the supper-bell, 
And so our work is done j 
It's pretty sport, - suppose we take 
A round or two for fun! 
If ever they shouhl turn nle out, 
'Vhen I have better grown, 
N ow hang me, but I mean to have 
A treadmill of my own ! 


THE SEPTEMBER GALE. 


I'l\I not a chicken; I have spen 
Fullrnany a chill Septcll1ber, 


And though I was a youngster then, 
That gale I well remeluber; 
The day before, DIY kite-string snapped, 
And I, nlY kite pursuing, 
The wind whisked off D1Y })alm-Ieaf 
hat; - 
For Dle two stonns were brewing! 


It caIne as quarrels sometimes do, 
'Vhen married folks get cl
shing ; 
There was a heavy sigh or two, 
Before the fire was flashing, - 
A little stir aplong the clouds, 
Before they rent asunder, - 
A little rocking of the trees, 
And then came on the thunder. 


Lord! how the ponds and rivers boilecl ! 
They seen1ed like bursting craters! 
And oaks lay scattered on the ground 
As if they were p'taters ; 
And all above was in a howl, 
And all below a clatter, - 
The earth was like a frying-pan, 
Or some such hissing nlatter. 


It chanced to be our washing-day, 
And all our things were drying; 
The storn1 came roaring through the 
lin es, 
And set them all a flying; 
I saw the shirts and petticoats 
Go riding off like witches; 
I lost, ah ! bitterly I wept,- 
I lost DlY Sunday breeches! 


I saw them straddling through the 
air, 
Alas! too late to win them; 
I saw the1TI chase the clouds, as if 
The devil had been in them ; 
They were my darlings and Iny pride, 
1\Iy boyhood's only riches, - 
"Farewell, farewell," I faintly cried, - 
" l\Iy breeches! 0 my brf'eches ! " 



12 


EARLIER POE
IS. 


That night I saw them in my dremlls, 
How chanued from what I knew them! 
o 
The d
ws had steeped their faùed threads, 
The winds had whistled through thenl! 
I saw the wide and ghastly rents 
'Vhere demon claws had torn them; 
...å... hole was in their amplest part, 
.As if an imp had worn them. 


I have had many happy years, 
And tailors kind and clever, 
But those young pantaloons have gone 
Forever and forever! 
And not till fate has cut the last 
Of all nlY earthly stitches, 
This aching heart shall cease to mourn 
1tly loved, my long-lost breeches! 


THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS. 


I 'V ROTE some lines once on a tinle 
In wondrous Inerry nlood, 
And thought, as usual, men would say 
They were exceeùing good. 


They were so queer, so very queer, 
I laughed as I would die; 
Albeit, in the general way, 
A so bel' man am I. 


I called my servant, and he came; 
How kind it was of hÏ1n 
rro mind a slender man like me, 
He of the mighty limb! 


"These to the printer," I exclaimed, 
And, in my humorous way, 
I added, (as a trifling jest,) 
"There'll be the devil to pay." 


He took the paper, and I watched, 
And saw hilll l)eep within; 
At the first line he read, his face 
Was all upon the grin. 


He read the next; the grin grew broad, 
And shot frorll ear to ear; 
He read the third; a chuckling noise 
I now began to hear. 
The fourth; he broke into a roar; 
The fifth; his waistband split; 
The sixth; he burst five buttons off, 
And turn bled in a fit. 


Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, 
I watched that wretched man, 
And since, I never dare to write 
As funny as I can. 


THE LAST READER. 


I SOMETIMES sit ùeneath a tree, 
And read IUY own sweet songs; 
Though naught they may to others be, 
Each hunlble line prolongs 
A tone that might have passed away, 
But for that scarce ren1embered lay. 


I keep them like a lock or leaf 
That some dear girl has given; 
Frail recorù of an hour, as brief 
As sunset clouds in heaven, 
But spreading purple twilight still 
High over memory's shadowed hill. 


They He upon my pathway bleak, 
Those flowers that once ran wild, 
As on a father's careworn cheek 
The ringlets of his child; 
The golden mingling with the gray, 
And stealing half its snows away. 


'\Vhat care I though the dust is spread 
Arouncl these yellow leaves, 
Or o'er them his sarcastic thread 
Oblivion's ins('ct weaves, 
Though weeds are ta,ngled on the stream, 
I t still reflects nlY morning's bean1. 


And therefore love I such as smile 
On these neglected songs 



POETRY: A 
IETRICAL ESSAY. 


13 


Nor deem that flattery's neetUess wile 
}'Iy opening ùosOln wrongs; 
For who would tranIple, at my side, 
A few pale buds, DIY garden's pride 1 
It may be that Iny scanty ore 
Long years have washed away, 
And where were golden sands bf'fore, 
Is naught but conlmOll clay; 
Still sOlnething sparkles in the sun 
For menlory to look back upon. 


And when nlY name no lllore is heard, 
l\ly lyre no nIore is known, 
Still let Ine, like a winter's bird, 
In silence and alone, 
Fold over them the weary wing 
Once flashing through the dews of spring. 
Yes, let my fancy fondly wrap 
}\Iy youth in its decline, 
And riot in the rosy lap 
Of thoughts that once were mine, 
And give the worm my little store 
'V hen the last reader reads no more ! 


POETRY: 


A :METRICAL ESSAY, READ BEFORE THE 
4> B K SOCIETY, HARVARD UXIYER- 
SITY, AlJGl;ST, 1836. 


TO CHARLES WEXTWORTH UPHAM, THE FOLLOW- 
ING METRICAL ESSAY IS AFFECTION- 
ATELY INSCRIBED. 


SCEXES of my youth! awake its slum- 
berin g fi re ! 
Ye winds of l\lemory, sweep the silent 
lyre! 
Ray of the past, if yet thou canst appear, 
Break through the clouds of Fancy's 
,vaning year; 
Chase from her breast the thin autulnnal 
snow, 
If leaf or blossom stil1 is fresh below! 


Long have I wandered; the returning 
tide 


Brought back an exile to his cradle'sside j 
And as nlY bark her time-worn flag un- 
rolled, 
To greet the land-breeze with its faded 
fold, 
So, in remembrance of my boyhood's 
tinle, 
I lift these ensigns of neglected rhyme; 
o more than blest, that, all my wander- 
ings through, 
lUy anchor falls where first my pennons 
flew ! 


/ 


The morning light, which rains its 
quivering bean1s 
'Vide o'er the plains, the summits, and 
the streams, 
In one broad blaze expands its golden 
glow 
On all that answers to its glance below; 
Yet, changed on earth, each far re- 
flected ray 
Braids with fresh hues the sllining brow 
of day; 
Kow, clothed in blushes by the painted 
flowers, 
Tracks on their cheeks the rosy-fingered 
hours ; 
N ow, lost in shades, whose dark en- 
tangled leaves 
Drip at the noontide from their pendent 
eaves, 
Fades into gloom, or gleams in light again 
From every dew-drop on the jewelled 
plain. 


'Ve, like the leaf, the sumnlit, or the 
wave, 
Reflect the light our con1mon nature gave, 
But every sunbeam, falling from her 
throne, 
'Veal's on our hearts some coloring of our 
own; 
Chilled in the slave, and burning in the 
free, 



14 


EARLIER POEMS. 


Like the sealed cavern by the sparkling 
sea; 
Lost, like the lightning in the sullen 
clod, 
Or shedding radiance, like the smiles of 
God, 
Pure, pale in Virtue, as the star above, 
Or quivering l'oseate on the leaves of 
Love; 
Glaring like noontiùe, where it glows 
upon 
Alnbitioll'S sands, - the desert in the 
sun; 
Or soft suffusing o'er the varied scene 
Life's conlmon coloring, -intellectual 
green. 


Thus Heaven, repeating its material 
plan, 
Arched over all the rain bow mind of man; 
But he who, blind to universal laws, 
Sees but effects, unconscious of their 
cause, - 
Believes each image in itself is bright, 
Not robed in drapery of reflected light,- 
Is like the rustic who, amidst his toil, 
Has found some crystal in his meagre 
soil, 
And,lost in rapture, thinks for hinl alone 
Earth worked her wonders on the spark- 
ling stone, 
Nor dremns that Nature, with as nice a 
lin e, 
Carved countless angles through the 
boundless nlil1e. 


Thus err the In any, who, entranced 
to find 
Unwonted lustre in some clearer mind, 
Be1ieve that Genius sets the laws at 
naught 
1Vhich chain the pinions of our wildest 
thouaht . 
b , 
Untaught to measure, with the eye of 
art, 


The wandering fancy or the wayward 
heart ; 
'Vho match the little only with the less, 
And gaze in rapture at its slight excess, 
Proud of a pebble, as the brightest gcnl 
'Yhose light n1ight crown an elnpcl'or's 
diadem. 


And, Inost of all, the pure ethereal 
fire, 
Which seenlS to radiate from the poet's 
lyre, 
Is to the world a mystery and a charm, 
An Ægis wielded on a mortal's arm, 
While Reason turns her dazzled eye 
a \Va y, 
And bows her sceptre to her subject's 
sway; 
And thus the poet, clothed with godlike 
sta te, 
Usurped his 1tlaker's title - to create; 
He, whose thoughts differing not in 
shape, but dress, 
What others feel, more fitly can express, 
Sits like the lllaniac on his fancied 
throne, 
Peeps through the bars, and calls the 
world his own. 


There breathes no being but has sonle 
pretence 
To that fine instinct called poetic sensp: 
The rudrst savage roaruing through the 
wild; 
The simplest rustic bending o'er his 
chi1 d ; 
The infant listening to the warhling bird; 
The mother sInning at its half-fonneù 
word; 
The boy un caged, WllO tracks the fielùs 
at large; 
The girl, turned matron to her babe-like 
charge ; 
The freenlan, casting with unpurchased 
hanù 



POETRY: A l.IETRICAL ESSAY. 


15 


The vote tllat shakes the turrets of the 
Ian d ; 
The slave, who, slun1bering on his rusteù 
chain, 
Dreams of the palm-trees on his burning 
plain; 
The hot-cheeked reveller, tossing down 
the wine, 
To join the chorus pealing" Auld lang 
" 
syne ; 
The gentle maiù, whose azure eye grows 
dim, 
'Vhile Heaven is listening to her evening 
hymn ; 
The jewelled beauty, when her steps 
draw near 
The circling dance and dazzling chande- 
lier ; 
E'en trelnbling age, when SVl'ing's re- 
newing air 
'V aves the thin ringlets of his silvered 
hair; - 
All, all are glowing with the inward 
flame, 
Whose wider halo w-reathes the poet's 
name, 
'Vhile, unem balmed, the silent dreamer 
dies, 
His memory passing with his smiles and 
sighs! 
If gl
rious visions, born for all man- 
kind, 
The bright auroras of our twilight mind; 
If fancies, varying as the shapes that 
lie 
Stained on the windows of the sunset 
sky; 
If hopps, that beckon with delusive 
gleams, 
Till the eye dances in the void of dreams; 
If passions, following with the winùs 
that urge 
Earth' 8 wildest wanùerer to her farthest 
verge; - 


If these on all some transient hours 
bestow 
Of rapture tingling with its hectic glo"., 
Then aU are poets; and, if earth had 
rolled 
Her nlyriad centuries, and her doom 
were told, 
Each moaning billo,v of her shoreless 
wave 
'Vould wail its requiem o'er a poet's 
grave ! 


If to em body in a breathing word 
Tones that the spirit trembled when it 
heard ; 
To fix the iInage all unveiled a.nd warm, 
And carve in language its ethereal fOrIn, 
So pure, so perfect, that the lines express 
No lneagre shrinking, no unlaced excess; 
To ft.
el that art, in living truth, has 
taught 
Ourselves, reflpcted HI the sculptured 
thought; - 
If this alone bestow the right to clainl 
The deathless garlanù and the sacred 
name; 
Then none are poets, save the saints on 
high, 
Whose harps can murmur all that words 
den y ! 


But though to none is granted to 
reveal, 
In perfect. senlblance, all that each may 
feel, 
As withered flowers recall forgotten love, 
So, warnled to life, our faded passions 
move 
In every line, where kindling fancy 
throws 
The gleam of pleasures, or the shade of 
woes. 


'Vhen, schooled by time, tIle stately 
q ueell of art 



16 


EARLIER POE:\;IS. 


Had smoothed the pathways leading to 
the heart, 
Assumeù her measured tread, her solemn 
tone, 
And round her courts the clouds of fable 
thro\vn, 
The wreaths of heaven descended on 
her shrine, 
And wondering earth proclaimed the 

Iuse ùi vine. 
Yet, if her votaries had but dared pro- 
fane 
The mystic synlbols of her sacred reign, 
How had they snlÎled beneath the veil 
to finù 
'Vhat slender threads can chain the 
mighty mind! 


Poets, like painters, their machinery 
clain1, 
And verse bestows the varnish and the 
fralne ; 
Our grating English, whose Teutonic jar 
Shakes the racked axle of Art's rattling 
car, 
Fits like mosaic in the lines that gird 
Fast in its place each many-angled worù ; 
FrOlll Saxon lips Anacreon's numbers 
glide, 
As once they melted on the Teian tide, 
And, fresh transfused, the Iliad thrills 


agaIn 
From Albion's clifl"s as o'er Achaia's 
plain ! 
The proud heroic, with its pulse-like 
heat, 
Rings like the cymbals clashing as they 
mpet ; 
The sweet Spenserian, gathering as it 
flows, 
Sweeps grntlyonward to its dying close, 
1Vhere waves on waves in long succes- 
sion pour, 
Till the ninth billow melts along the 
shore; 


The lonely spirit of the mournful1ay, 
'Vhich Ii yes inlnlortal as the verse of 
Gray, 
In sable plumage slowly drifts along, 
On eagle pinion, through the air of 
song ; 
The glittering lyric bounds elastic by, 
'Vith tlashillg ringlets and exulting eye, 
'Vhile every Ï1nage, in her airy whirl, 
G leanls like a dialIlond on a dancing 
girl ! 


Born with mankind, with man's ex- 
panùeù range 
Aud varying fates the poet's nUlubers 
change; 
TIlus in his history may we Ilope to fillÙ 
SOlne clearer epochs of the poet's lnillù, 
As froll1 the cradle of its birth we trace, 
Slow wandering forth, the patriarchal 
race. 


I. 


WHEN the green (larth, beneath the 
zephyr's wing, 
Wears on her breast the varnished buds 
of Spring; 
When the loosed current, as its folds 
uncoil, 
Slides in the chånne Is of the mellowed 
soil ; 
'Vhen the young hyacinth returns to 
seek 
The air and sunshine with her emerald 
beak ; 
'\Vhen the light snowdrops, starting from 
their cells, 
Hang each pagoda with its silver bells; 
\Vhen the frail willow twines her trail.. 
iug bow 
With pallid leaves that sweep the soil 
below ; 
When the broad ehn, sole empress of 
the plain, 



POETRY: A 1tIETHICAL ESSAY. 


17 


To themE.!S like these her narrow path 
confined 
The first-born impulse moving in the 
n1Ïnd ; 
In vales unshaken by the trun1pet's 
sound, 
'Vhere peaceful Labor tills his fertile 
ground, 
The silent changes of tlle rolling years, 

Iarked on the soil, or dialled on the 
sphpres, 
The crestpd forests and the colored 
flowers, 
The dewy grottos and the bluslling 
bow('}rs, 
These, anù their guardians, who, with Lo\e, 
liq uid narnes, 


'Yhose circling shadow speaks a cen- 
tury's reign, 
1Y reathes in the clouds her regal dia- 
denl, - 
A fore:;t wavinfJ' on a'sinO'le stem' - 
b b , 
Then Illark the poet; though to him 
unknown 
The quaint-u10uthed titles, such as 
scholars own, 
See how his eye in ecstasy pursues 
The steps of K ature tracked in radiant 
hues; 
Nay, in thyself, whate'er may be thy 
fa te, 
Pallid with toil, or surfeited with state, 
:ßlark how thy fancies, with the vernal 
rose, 
Awake, all sweetness, from their long 
repose; 
Then turn to ponder o'er the classic 
page, 
Traced with the idyls of a greener 


age, 
And learn the instinct which arose to 


warnl 
Art's earliest essay, and her simple:st 
form. 


Strephons anù Chloes, melt in lTIutual 
flarnes, 
'V 00 the young 
Iuses from their nlOun- 
tain shade, 
To make Arcadias in the lonely glade. 
K or think they visit only with their 
smiles 
The fabled valleys and Elysian isles; 
He who is wearied of his village plain 
l\Iay roam the Edens of the world in 
vain. 
'T is not the star-crowned cliff, the 
cataract's flow, 
The softer foliage, or the greener glow, 
The lake of sapphire, or the spar-hung 
cave, 
The brighter sunset, or the broader wave, 
Can warnl his heart whonl every wind 
has blown 
To evpry shore, forgetful of his OWD. 


Honle of our chilùhood! how affection 
clings 
And hovers round thee with her seraph 
wings ! 
Dearer tll y hills, though clad in autumn 
brown, 
Than fairest sunIn1Ïts which the cedars 


ero \\"n ! 
Sweeter the fragrance of thy sumlner 
breeze 
Than all A.rabia breathes along the seas! 
The stranger's gale wafts home the exile's 
sigh, 
For the heart's temple is its own blue 
sky! 


o happiest they, whose early love 
unchanged, 
Hopes undissolyed, and friendship un- 
estranged, 
Tired of their wanderings, still can 
dpign to see 
hopes, and friendship, centring 
all in thee! 



18 


EARLIER POE:\IS. 


And thou, my village! as again I 
tread 
Amiùst thy liying, and above thy dead; 
Though some fair playnlates guard with 
chaster fears 
Their cheeks, grown holy with the lapse 
of years ; 
Though with the dust some reyerend 
locks Juay blend, 
'Yhere life's last n1Ïle-stone marks the 
journey's end; 
On every bud the changing year recalls, 
The brightening glance of morning Jnem- 
ory falls, 
Still following onward as the months 
unclose 
The balmy lilac or the bridal rose; 
.And still shall follow, till they sink once 
more 
Beneath the snow-drifts of the frozen 
shore, 
As when my bark, long tossing in the 
gale, 
Furled in her port her tempest-rended 
sail ! 


'Vhat shall I give thee 1 Can a sim- 
ple lay, 
Flung on thy bosom like a girl's bouquet, 
Do n10re than deck thee for an idle 
hour, 
Then fall unheeded, fading like the 
flower 1 
Yet, when I trod, with footsteps wild 
and free, 
The crackling leaves beneath yon linden- 
trce, 
Panting from play, or dripping from the 
strealn, 
IIow bright the visions of my boyish 
drran1 ! 
Or, modest. Charles, along t11Y broken 
edge, 
Black with 
oft ooze and fringed \vith 
aITowy sedge, 


As once I wandered in the morning sun, 
\Vith reeking sandal and supertluous 
gun; 
How oft, as Fancy whispereù in the gale, 
Thou wast the Avon of her flattering 
tale ! 
Ye hills, whose foliage, fretted on the 
skies, 
Prints shadowy arches on their evening 
dyes, 
Ho,v should my song with holiest charm 
invest 
Each dark ravine and forest-lifting crest! 
How clothe in beauty each familiar scene, 
Till all \vas classic on nlY native green! 
As the drained fountain, filled with 
autuIlln leaves, 
The fielù swept naked of its garnered 
sheaves ; 
So wastes at noon the pron1ise of our 
dawn, 
The springs all choking, and the llarvest 
gone. 


Yet hear the lay of one whose natal star 
Still seenlCd the briO'htest \vhen it shone 
o 
afar; 
\Yhose cheek, grown pallid with ungra- 
cious toil, 
Glows in the welcome of his parent soil; 
Anù ask no garlands sought beyond the 
tide, 
But take the leaflets gathered at your 
side. l 


II. 


BUT times were changed; the torch 
of terror came, 
To light the summits ,vith the beacon's 
flanle ; 
The streams ran crimson, the tall moun.. 
tain pint's 
Rose a new forest o'er em battled lines; 


1 For H The Cam bridge Chul'cl1
'arùJ" see p. 2. 



POETRY: A l\IETRICAL ESSAY. 


19 


The bloodless sickle lent the warrior's 
steel, 
The harvest bowed beneath his chariot 
wheel; 
Where late the wood-dove sheltered her 
repose 
The raven waited for the conflict's close; 
The cuirassed sentry walked his sleep- 
less round 
"There Daphne smiled or Amary His 
frowned; 
'Yhere timid minstrels sung their blush- 
iug charms, 
Sonle 'Wild Tyrtæus called aloud, "To 
arms ! " 


'Yhen Glory wakes, when fiery spirits 
leap, 
Roused by her accents fronl their tran- 
q uil sleep, 
The ray that flashes from the soldier's 
crest 
Lights, as it glances, in the poet's 
breast; - 
Kot in pale dreamers, whose fantastic 
lay 
Toys with smooth trifles like a child at 
play, 
But men, who act the passions they in- 
spIre, 
'Vho wave the sabre as they swee!) the 
lyre ! 


Ye mild enthusiasts, whose pacific 
frowns 
Are lost like dew-drops caught in burn- 
ing towns, 
Pluck as ye will the radiant plumes of 
fame, 
Break Cæsar's bust to make yourselves 
a name ; 
But, if your country bares the avenger's 
bla(le 
For wrong
 unpunished, or for debts 
unpaid, 


'Vhen the roused nation bids her armies 
fonn, 
And screams her eagle through the gath: 
eriug storm, 
'Vhen frorn your pOl ts the bannered 
frigate rides, 
Her black bows scowling to the crested 
tides, 
Your hour has past; in vain your feeLle 
cry, 
As the babe's wailings to the thundering 
sky! 


Scourge of ßlankind! with all the 
dread array 
That wraps in wrath thy desolating way, 
As the wild telnpest wakes the shun bel''' 
lng sea, 
Thou only teachest all that man can 
be. 
Alike thy tocsin has the power to chaml 
The toil-knit sinews of the rustic's arnl, 
Or swell the pulses in the poet's veins, 
And bid the nations trenl ble at his 
strains. 


The city slept beneath the moonòeam's 
glance, 
Her white walls gleaming through the 
vines of France, 
And all was hushed, save where the 
footstrps fell, 
On some high tower, of nlidnight senti. 
nel. 
But one still watched; no self-encircled 
"oes 
Chased fronl llis lids the angel of repose; 
He watched, he wept, for thoughts of 
bi tter years 
Bowed his dark lashes, ,vet with burning 
tears : 
His country's sufferings and her chil. 
(Iren's shan1e 
Strean1ed o'er his l1len10ry like a forest's 
fhlnle, 



20 


EARLIER POE
IS. 


Each treasured insult, each renlerll bered 


wrong, 
Rolled through his heart and kinùled 
in to song : 
His taper faded; and the morning gales 
Swept through the world the war-song 
of )Iarseilles ! 
Now, while arounù the smiles of Peace 
expand, 
And Plenty's wreaths festoon the laugh- 
ing land; 
'Vhile France ships outward her reluc- 
tant ore, 
And half our navy basks upon the shore; 
Fronl ruder themes our lneck-eyed l\Iuses 
turn 
To crown with roses their enalnelled urn. 


If e'er again return those awful days 
'Yhose clouds were crinl
oned with the 
beacon's blaze, 
'Vhosc grass was tramplell by the sol- 
dier' s heel, 
'Vhose tides were reddened round the 
rushing keel, 
God grant sOlne lyre may wake a nobler 
strain 
To rrn(l the silence of our tented plain! 
'Vhen Gallia's flag its triple folù dis- 
I,lays, 
Her marshalled legions peal the l\Iar- 
seillaise ; 
'Vhen round the Gennan close the war- 
clouds dim, 
Far through their shadows floats Ilis 
battle-hymn; 
'Vhen, crowned with joy, tlle camps of 
England ring, 
A tIlousan(l voices shout, "God save tIle 
King! " 
When victory follows with our eagle's 
glancr, 
Our nation's anthern pipes a country 
dance! 


Sonle proudrr l\luse, when comes the 
hour at last, 
1.Iay shake our hillsides with her bugle- 
blast ; 
N at ours the task; but since the lyric 
dress 
Relieves the statelier with its sprightli- 
ness, 
Hear an old song, which some, per- 
chance, have seen 
In stale gazette, or cobwebbed magazine. 
'fhere was an hour vçhen patriots dared 
profane 
The mast that Britain strove to bow in 
vaIn; 
And one, who listened to the tale of 
shanle, 
Whose heart still answered to that 
sacred nalne, 
Whose eye still followed o'er his coun.. 
try's' tides 
Thy glorious flag, our brave Old Iron.. 
sides ! 
From yon lone attic, on a summer's morn, 
Thus nlocked the spoilers with his 
school- boy scorn.! 


III. 


WHEN florid Peace resumed her golden 
reIgn, 
And arts revived, and valleys bloomed 


agaIn ; 
\Vhile War still panted on his broken 
blade, 
Once more the Muse her heavenly ,ving 
essa .red. 
Rude was the song; some ballad, stern 
and wild, 
Lulled the light slumbers of the soldier's 
child; 
Or young ronlancer, with his threatening 
glance 


1 For Of Old Ironside::;," see p. 1. 



POETRY: A 
IETRICAL ESSAY. 


21 


And fearful fables of his bloodless lance, 
Scared the soft fancy of the clinging girls, 
'Yhuse snowy fingers smoothed his raven 
curls. 
But when long years the stately forn1 
had ben t, 
And faithless mpmory her illusions lent, 
So vast the outlines of Tradition grew, 
That History wondered at the shapes 
she drew, 
And veiled at length their too ambitious 
hues 
Beneath the pinions of the Epic 
I use. 


Far swept her wing; for stormier days 
had brought 
"\Vith darker passions deeper tides of 
thought. 
The canlp's harsh tumult and the con- 
flict's glow, 
The thrill of triumph and the gasp of woe, 
The tender parting and the glad return, 
The festal banquet anù the funeral urn,- 
And all the drama which at once uprears 
I ts spectral shadows through the clash 
of spears, 
From camp and field to echoing verse 
transferred, 
Swelled the proud song that listening 
nations heard. 


"Thy floats the amaranth in eternal 
bloom 
O'er Ilium's turrets and Acl1illes' tomb 1 
'Yhy lingers fau0Y, where the sunbeams 
slnile 
On Circe's gardens and Calypso's isle? 
"Thy' follows memory to the gate of 
Troy 
Her plumed defender and his tren1 bling 
boy 1 
Lo! the blind dreamer, kneeling on the 
sand, 
To trace these records with his doubtful 
hand ; 


In fabled tones his own emotion flows, 
And other lips repeat his silent wops ; 
In Hector's infant see the babes that 
shun 
Those deathlike eyes, unconscious of the 
snn, 
Or in Ilis hero hear himself implore, 
"Give file to see, and Ajax asks no 
more ! " 


Thus live undying through the lapse 
of time 
The solenlll legends of the warrior's 
cl ime ; 
Like Egypt's 11yramid, or Pæstuln's fane, 
They stand the heralds of the voiceless 
plain ; 
Yet not like then}, for Time, by slow 
degrees, 
Saps the gray stone, and wears the em- 
broidered frieze, 
And Isis sleeps beneath her subject 
:Kill', 
And crumbled Neptune strews his 
Dorian pile ; 
But Art's fair fabric, strengthening as 
it rears 
Its laurelled columns through the mist 
of years, 
As the blue arches of the bending skies 
Still gird the torrent, following as it 
fli es, 
Spreads, with the surges bearing on 
nlankind, 
Its starred pavilion o'er the tides of 
mind! 


In vain the patriot asks sonle lofty lay 
To dress in state our wars of yesterday. 
The classic days, those mothers of ro- 
n1ance, 
That rousf'd a nation for a ,,,"oman's 
glance ; 
The age of mystery with its hoarded 
power, 



22 


EARLIER POEMS. 


That girt the trrant in his storied tower, 
Have past and faded like a dream of 
youth, 
And riper eras ask for history's truth. 
On other shores, above their n1onlder- 
ing towns, 
In sullen ponlp the tall cathedral frowns, 
Priùe in its aisles, and paupers at the 
door, 
'Yhich feeds the beggars whom it fleeced 
of yore. 
Simple and frail, our lowly temples 
thro\v 
Their slenùer shadows on the paths 
below; 
Scarce steal the winds, that sweep his 
woodland tracks, 
The larch's perfume 
rom the settler's 
axe, 
Ere, like a vision of the morning air, 
Jlis slight-franled steeple marks the 
l10use of prayer ; 
Its planks all reeking, and its paint 
un dried, 
I ts rafters sprouting on the shady side, 
I t sheds the raindrops from its shingled 
caves, 
Ere its green brothers once have changed 
their leaves. 


Yet Faith's pure llymn, beneath its 
shelter rude, 
Breathes out as sweetly to the tangled 
wood, 
As where the rays through pictured glo- 
ries pour 
On marùle shaft and tessellated floor;- 
Heaven a:;ks no surplice round the heart 
tllat feels, 
And all is holy where devotion kneels. 


Thus on the soil the patriot's knee 
should benù, 
'Yhich holds the dust once living to 
defend ; 


'Vhere' er the hireling shrinks before 
the free, 
Each pass becomes" a new Thermopy- 
I '" 
æ . 
'Vhere' er the battles of the brave are 


won, 
There every mountain "looks on 
Iara- 
thon" ! 


Our fathers live; they guard in glory 
still 
The grass-grown bastions of the for- 
tressed hill ; 
Still ring the echoes of the tram pled gorge, 
'Vith God and Freedornl England and 
Saint George I 
The royal cipher on the captured gun 

Iocks the sharp night-dews anù the 
blistering sun ; 
The red-cross banner shades its captor's 
bust, 
Its folds still loaded with the conflict's 
dust; 
The druln, suspended by its tattered 
marge, 
Once rolled and rattled to the Hessian's 
cllarge ; 
The stars have floated from Britannia's 
mast, 
The redcoat's trumpets blown the rebel's 
blast. 


Point to the summits where the brave 
have bled, 
Where every village claÏ1ns its glorious 
dead; 
Say, when their bosonls met the bay- 
onet's shock, 
Their only corselet was the rustic frock ; 
Say, when they mustered to the gather- 
ing horn, 
The titled chieftain curled his lip in 
scorn, 
Yet, when their leader bade his lines 
advance, 



POETRY: J:\. l\IETRICAL ESSAY. 


23 


No musket wavered in the lion's glance; 
Say, _when they fainted in the forced 
retreat, 
They tracked the snow-drifts with their 
bleeùing feet, 
Yet still their banners, tossing in the 
blast, 
Bore Eve'r lleacly, faithful to the last, 
Through stOrIn and battle, till they 
wa ved again 
On Yorktown's hills and Saratoga's 
plain ! 


Then, if so fierce the insatiate pa- 
tIiot's flame, 
Truth looks too pale, and history seem
 
too tan1 e, 
Bid hinl await some new Columbiad's 


page, 
To gild the tablets of an iron age, 
And save his tears, which yet may fall 
upon 
Some fabled field, some fancied '\Yash- 
ington ! 


IV. 


BUT once again, from their Æolian 
cave, 
The winds of Genius wandered on the 
wave. 
r.I.'ired of the scenes the timid pencil 
drew, 
Sick of the notes the sounding clarion 
blew; 
Sated with heroes who had worn so lonO' 
o 
The shadowy plun1age of historic song ; 
The new-born poet left the beaten 
course, 
To track the passions to their Ii ving 
source. 


Then rose the Drama; - and the 
world admired 
Her varied page with deeper tllOugl1t 
ill
 pi red ; 


Bound to no clime, for Passion's throb 
IS one 
In Greenland's twilight or in India's 
sun; 
Born for no age, - for all the thoughts 
tha troll 
In the dark vortex of the storn1Y soul, 
Unchained in song, no freezing years 
cap. tame ; 
God gave them birth, and man is still 
the same. 


So full on life her magic n1irror shone, 
Her sister Arts paid tribute to her 
throne ; 
One reart>d her temple, one her canvas 
wa fined, 
And 
Iusic thrilled, while Eloquence 
informed. 
The weary rustic left llÍs stinted task 
For smiles and tears, the dagger aUlI 
the nlask ; 
The sage, turned scholar, half forgot his 
lore, 
To be the woman he despised before ; 
O'er sense anù thought she threw her 
golden chain, 
And Tin1e, the anarch, spares her death- 
less reign. 


Thus lives 
Iedea, in our tamer age, 
As when her buskin pressed the Grecian 
stage; 
K ot in the cells where frigid learning 
delves 
In Aldine folios mouldering on their 
shelves; 
But breathing, burning in the glitter- 
ing throng, 
\Vhose thousand bravoes roll ll11tireù 
along, 
Circling and spreading through the 
gilded halls, 
From London's galleries to San Carlo's 
walls! 



24 


EARLIER POEMS. 


Thus shall he live whose more than 
mortal ndn1e 

rocks with its ray the pallid torch of 
FaIlle; 
So proudly lifted, that it seems afar 
No earthly Pharos, but a heavenly star; 
"Tho, unconfined to Art's diurnal 
bound, 
Girds her whole zodiac in his flaming 
round, 
And leads the passions, like the or b 
that guides, 
From pole to pole, the palpitating tides! 


v. 


THOUGH round the 
Iuse the robe of 
song is thrown, 
Think not the poet lives in verse alone. 
Long ere the chisel of the sculptor 
taugh t 
The lifeless stone to moc.k the living 
thought; 
Long ere the painter bade the canvas glow 
'Vith every line the forms of beauty 
know ; 
Long ere the iris of the 
Iuscs threw 
On every leaf its own celestial hue; 
In fable's dress the breath of genius 
ponred, 
And warmed the shapes that later times 
adored. 


Untaught by Science how to forge the 
keys, 
That loose the gates of Nature's n1yste- 
lies ; 
Unschooled by Faith, who, with her 
angel tread, 
Leads through the labyrinth with a 
single thread, 
lEs fancy, hovering round her guarded 
tower, 
Uaillcd through it
 bars like Danae's 
golden shower. 


He spoke; the sea-nymph answered 
from her cave: 
He called; the naiad left her n10untain 
wave: 
He dreauled of beauty; 10, amidst his 
dreanl, 
.N arcissus, n1irrored in the breathless 
stremn ; 
And night's chaste empress, in her bri- 
dal play, 
Laughed through the foliage where 
Endyn1Ïon lay; 
And ocean dim pled, as the languid swell 
Kissed the red lip of Cytherea's shell : 
Of power, - Bellolla swept the crÍ1nson 
field, 
And blue-eyed Pallas shook her Gor.. 
gon shield ; 
O'er the hushed waves their n1ightier 
monarch ùrove, 
And Ida trembled to the tread of Jove! 


So every grace that plastic language 
knows 
To nameless poets its perfection owes. 
The rough-hewn words to sin1plest 
thoughts confined 
'V ere cut and polished in their nicer 
mind; 
Caught on their edge, imagination's ray 
Splits into rainbows, shooting far 
away; - 
From sense to soul, from soul to sense, 
it flies, 
And through all nature links analogies; 
He who reads right will rarely look 
upon 
A better poet than his lexicon ! 


There is a race, which cold, ungenial 
skies 
Breed fronl decay, as fungous growths 
arise ; 
Though dying fast, yet springing fast 
again, 



POETRY: A 
IETRICAL ESSAY. 


25 


'Yhich still usurps an unsubstantial But fruitless flowers, and dark, enven- 
reIgn, omed vteeds. 
'V ith frames too languid for the charms 
of sense, 
And minds worn down with action too 
intense; 
Tired of a world whose joys they never 
knew, 
Themselves deceived, yet thinking all 
un true ; 
Scarce men without, and less than girls 
within, 
Sick of their life before its cares be- In 


gIn; - 
The dull disease, which drains their 
fee ble hearts, 
To life's decay some hectic thrills im- 
parts, 
And lends a force, which, like the 
maniac's power, 
Pays with blank years the frenzy of an 
hour. 


And this is Genius! Say, does 
Heaven degrade 
The manly frame, for health, for action 
nlade 1 
Break down the sinews, rack the brow 
with pains, 
Blanch the bright cheek, and drain the 
purple veins, 
To clothe the mind with more extended 
sway, 
Thus faintly struggling in degenerate 
clay 1 


No! gentle maid, too ready to ad- 
mire, 
Though false its notes, the pale enthusi- 
ast's lyre ; 
I f this be geniuR, though its bitter springs 
Glowed like the morn heneath Aurora's 
wings, 
Seek not the source whose sullen boson1 
feeds 


But, if so bright the dear illusion 
seems, 
Thou wouldst be partner of thy poet's 
dreams, 
And hang in rapture on his bloodless 
channs, 
Or die, like Raphael, in his angel arms; 
Go, and enjoy thy blessed lot, - to 
share 
Cowper's gloom, or Chatterton's de- 
spair J 


Not such were they, whom, wander- 
ing o'er the waves, 
I looked to meet, but only found their 
graves; 
If friendship's sn1Île, the better part of 
fame, 
Should lend my song the only wreath I 
claim, 
Whose voice ,vould greet me with a 
sweeter tone, 
'Vhose living hand more kindly press 
n1Y own, 
Than theirs, - could l\Iemory, as her 
sHen t tread 
Prints the pale flowers that blossom o'er 
the dead, 
Those breathless lips, now closed in 
peace, restore, 
Or wake those pulses hushed to beat no 
more 1 


Thou calm, chaste scholar! I can see 
thee now, 
The first young laurels on thy pallÜ.i 
brow, 
0' er thy slight figure floating lightly 
down 
In graceful folds the academic gown, 
On thy curled lip the classic lines, that 
taugh t 



26 


EARLIER POE::\IS. 


How nice the mind that sculptured 
them with thought, 
And triun1ph gli
tening in the clear 
bl ue eye, . 
Too bright to live, - but 0, too fair to 
die! 


Have such e'er been 1 Remember Can- 
ning's name! 
Do such stillli ve 1 Let" Alaric's Dirge U 
proclaim ! 


Immortal Art ! where' er the rounded 
sky 
And thou, dear friend, whom Science Bends o'er the cradle where thy children 
still deplores, lie, . 
And love still mourns, on ocean -severed Their home is earth, their herald every 
shores, tongue 
Though the bleak forest twice has bowed Whose accents echo to the voice that 
with snow snng. 
, 
Since thou wast laid its budding leaves i One leap of Ocean scatters on the sanù 
below The quarried bulwarks of the loosening 
, 
Thine ÏInarfe minales with my closing .. land; 
strain b One thrill of earth dissolves a century's 
, 
As when we wandered l)ythe turbid Seine, toil 
Both blest with hopes, which revelled, Strewed like the leaves that vanish in 
bright and free, the soil ; 
On all we longed, or all we dreamed to One hill o'erflows, and cities sink below, 
be . Their marbles splintering in the lava's 
, 
To thee the an1aranth and the cypress glow; 
fell,- But one sweet tone, scarce whispered to 
And I was spared to breathe this last the air, 
farewell ! From shore to shore the blasts of ages 
bear; 
One humble name, which oft, perchance, 
has borne 
The tyrant's mockery and the courtier's 
scorn, 
l..'owers o'er the dust of earth's forgotten 
gra ves, 
As once, emerging through the waste of 
\Va ves, 
 
The rocky Titan, round whose shattered 
spear 
Coiled tbe last whirlpool of the dro,vning 
sphere ! 


But lived there one in unremembered 
days, 
Or lives there still, who spurns the poet's 
bays, 
Whose fingers, dewy from Castalia's 
springs, 
Re
t on the lyre, yet scorn to touch the 
strings 1 
Who shakes the senate with the silver 
tone 
The groves of Pindus might have sighed 
to own 1 



ADDITIONAL POE1\IS. 


1837 -1848. 


THE PILGRIM'S VISION. 


IN the hour of twilight shadows 
The Pilgrim sire looked out; 
He thought of the "bloudy Salvages" 
That lurked all round about, 
Of ""ïtuwanlet's pictured knife 
And Pecksuot's whooping shout; 
For the baby's liInbs were feeble, 
Though his father's arms were stout. 


His hOlne was a freezing cabin, 
Too bare for the hungry rat, 
Its roof was thatched with ragged grass, 
And bald enough of that; 
The hole that served for casement 
'Vas glazed with an ancient hat; 
And thf' ice was gently thawing 
From the log whereon he sat. 


Along the dreary landscape 
His eyes went to and fro, 
The trees all clad in icicles, 
The streams that did not flo,v ; 
A sudden thought flashed o'er hiDl,- 
A dreaD1 of long ago,- 
He smote his leathern jerkin, 
And IDurmured, "Even so ! " 


"Come hither, God-he-Glorified, 
And sit upon nlY knee, 
Behold the dream unfolding, 
Whereof I spake to thee 


By the winter's hearth in Leyden 
And on the stormy sea; 
True is the dream's beginning, - 
So may its ending be ! 


"I saw in the naked forest 
Our scattered remnant cast, 
A screen of shivering branches 
Between them and the blast; 
The snow 'was falling rounù them, 
The dying fell as fast ; 
I looked to see tlleJll perish, 
When 10, the vision passed. 


" Again Inine eyes were opened;- 
The feeble had waxed strong, 
The bahes had grown to sturdy men, 
The ren1nant was a throng; 
By shadowed lake and winding stream, 
And all the shores along, 
The howling demons quaked to hear 
The Christian's godly song. 


"They slept, - the village fathers, - 
By river, lake, and shore, 
'Vhen far adown the steep of Time 
The vision rose once more; 
I saw along the winter snow 
A sprctral colulnn rour, 
And high above their broken ranks 
A tattered flag they bore. 


" Their Leader rode before them, 
Of bearing calm and high, 



28 


ADDITIONAL POEMS. 


The light of Heaven's own kindling 
Throned in his a wful eye; 
These were a Nation's champions 
Her dread appeal to try; 
God for the right! I faltered, 
And 10, the train passed by. 


"Once more ; - the strife is ended, 
The solemn issue tried, 
The Lord of Hosts, his nlighty arm 
Has helped our Israel's side; 
Gray stone and grassy hillock 
Tell where our martyrs died, 
But peaceful smiles the harvest, 
And stainless flows the tide. 


" A crash, - as when some swollen cloud 
Cracks o'er the tangled trees! 
With side to side, and spar to spar, 
\Vhos
 snloking decks are these 1 
I know Saint George's blood-red cross, 
Thou l\Iistress of the Seas, - 
But what is she, whose strean1Ïng bars 
Roll out before the breeze 1 


"Ah, wen her iron ribs are knit, 
'Vhose thunders strive to quell 
The bellowing throats, the blazing lips, 
That pealed the Arlnada's knell ! 
The Inist was cleared, - a wreath of 
stars 
Rose o'er the crin1soned swell, 
And, wavering fr01ll its haughty peak, 
The cro

 of England fell! 


" 0 trenl bling Faith! though dark the 
morn, 
A heavenly torch is thiue ; 
While feebler races melt away, 
And paler orbs decline, 
Still shall the fiery pillar's ray, 
Along thy pathway shine, 
To light the chosen tribe that sought 
This 'Vestern Palestine! 


" I see the living tide 1'011 on ; 
I t crowns with flaming towers 
The icy capes of Labrador, 
The Spaniard's' land of flowers' ! 
It streanlS beyond the splintered rhlge 
That parts the Northern showers j 
From eastern rock to sunset wave 
The Continent is ours! " 


He ceased, -the grim old soldier-saint,- 
Then softly bent to cheer 
The pilgrim-child, whose wasting face 
\Vas meekly turned to hear; 
And ùrew his toil-worn sleeve across, 
To brush the Inauly tear 
Fron} cheeks that never changed in woe, 
And uever Llanched in fear. 


The weary pilgriIn slum bel's, 
His resting-place unknown; 
His hanùs were crossed, his lids were 
closed, 
The dust was o'er him strown; 
The drifting soil, the mouldcring lcåf, 
Along the socl were blown; 
His mound has llleited into earth, 
His nlernory Ii ves alone. 


So let it live unfading, 
The lncmory of the dead, 
Long as the pale anemone 
Springs where th
ir tears were shed, 
Or, raining in the sumlner's wind 
In flakes of burning red, 
The wild rose sprinkles with its leaves 
The turf where once they bled! 


Yea, when the frowning bulwarks 
That guard this holy strand 
Have sunk beneath the trampling surge 
In beds of sparkling sand, 
\Vhile in the waste of ocean 
One hoary rock shall stand, 
Be this its latest legend, - 
IIEltE 'VAS TilE PILGJUM'S L
\ND ! 



THE STEA!\IBOAT. - LEXIXGTON. 


29 


THE STEAMBOAT. 


SEE how you flaming herald treads 
The ridged and rolling waves, 
As, crashing o'er their crested heads, 
She bows her surly slaves! 
'Vith foam before and fire behind, 
She rends the clinging sea, 
Tha t flies before the roaring wind, 
Beneath her l1Íssing lee. 


The morning spray, like sea-born flo,v- 
ers, 
'Yith heaped and glistening bells, 
Falls round her fast, in ringing sho,v- 
ers, 
'Vïth every waye that swells; 
And, burning o'er the midnight deep, 
. In lurid fringes thrown, 
The living gems of ocean sweep 
Along her flashing zone. 


'Vith clashing wheel, and lifting keel, 
And sluoking torch on high, 
'Yhen winds are loud, and billoW's reel, 
She thunùers foaming by ; 
'Yhen seas are silent and serene, 
'Yïth eyen bealn she glides, 
The sU'.lshine glitnnlering through the 
green 
That skirts her gleaming sides. 


N ow, like a wild nympl1, far apart 
She veils her shadowy forn1, 
The beating of her restless heart 
Still sounding through the storm; 
N ow answers, like a courtly dame, 
The reddening surges o'er, 
'Ylth flying scarf of spangled flame, 
The Pharos of the shore. 


To-night yon pilot shan not sle
p, 
'Vito trinlS his narrowed sail ; 
To-night yon frigate scarce shall keep 
Her broad breast to the gale ; 


And many a foresail, scooped and 
strain ed, 
Shall break from yard and stay, 
Before this sn10ky wreath has stained 
The rising nlÍst of day. 


Hark! hark! I hear yon whistling 
shroud, 
I see yon quivering n1ast ; 
The black throat of the hunted cloud 
Is panting forth the blast! 
An hour, and, w hided like winnowing 
cllaff, 
The giant surge shall fling 
His tresses o'er yon p
nnon staff, 
'Vhite as the sea-bird's wing! 


Yet rest, ye wanderers of the deep ; 
:Kor wind nor wave shall tire 
Those fleshless arms, whose pulses leap 
'Vith flooùs of living fire; 
Sleep on, - and, when the morning 
ligh t 
Streams o'er the shining bay, 
o think of those for whom the night 
Shall never wake in day! 


LEXINGTON. 


SLO'YLY the mist o'er the meadow was 
creeping, 
Bright on the dewy buds glistenecl 
the sun, 
'Yhen frOll} his couch, while his chil- 
dren were sleeping, 
Rose the bold rebel and shouldered 
his gun. 
1Yaving her golden veil 
Over the sile
t dale, 
Blithe looked the morning on cottage 
and spire; 
II ushed was his parting sigh, 
'Yhile from his noble eye 
Flashed the last sparkle of libelty's fire. 



30 


ADDITIONAL PÇ>EM:S. 


On the smooth green where the fresh 
leaf is springing 
Caln1ly the first-born of glory have 
met; 
Hark! the death-volley around thetn is 
ringing! 
Look! with their life-blood the 
young grass is wet! 
Faint is the feeble breath, 

Iurmuring low in death, 
U Tell to our sons how their fathers 
ha ve died" ; 
Nerveless the iron hand, 
Raised for its native land, 
Lies by the weapon that gleams at its 
side. 


Over the hillsides the wild knell is 
tolling, 
From their far halnlets the yeomanry 
come; 
As through the storm-clouds the thun- 
der- burst rolling, 
Circles the beat of the mustering 
drum. 
Fast on the soldier's path 
Darken the waves of wrath, 
Long have they gathered and loud shall 
they fall ; 
Red glares the musket's flash, 
Sharp rings the rifle's crash, 
Blazing and clanging from thicket and 
wall. 


Gayly the plume of the horseman was 
dan ciug, 
N ever to shadow his cold brow again; 
Proudly at morning the war-steed was 
prancing, 
Reeking and panting he droops on tbe 
rein ; 
Pale is the lip of scorn, 
V oicpless the trumpet horn, 
Torn is the silken-fringed red cross 011 
high ; 


1.1any a belted òreast 
Low on the turf shall rest, 
Ere the dark hunters the herd bave 
passed by. 


Snow-girdled crags where the hoarse 
wind is ra villg, 
Rocks where the weary floods murmur 
and wail, 
'Vilds where the fern by the furrow is 
waving, 
Reeled with the echoes that rode on 
the gale ; 
Far as the telnpest thrills 
Over the darkened hills, 
Far as the sunshine strean1S over the 
plain, 
Roused by the tyrant band, 
Woke all the 111Ïghty land, 
Girded for battle, from nlountain to 
main. 


Green òe the graves where her lllartyrs 
are lying! 
Shroudless and tom bless they sunk to 
their rest, - 
While o'er their ashes the starry fold 
fl ying 
Wraps the proud eagle they roused 
from his nest. 
Borne on her Northern pine, 
Long o'er the foaming brine 
Spread her broad banner to storln and 
to sun ; 
Heaven kecl) her ever free, 
'Vide as o'er land anù sea 
Floats the fair enlblem her heroes have 
won! 


ON LENDING A PUNCH-BOWL. 


THIS ancient silver bowl of mine, it 
tells of good old timcs, 
Of joyous days, anù jolly nights, and 
nlCl'ry Uhri:-;tluas chillies; 



O
 LENDING A PUNCH-BO'VL. 


31 


They were a free and jovial race, but 
honest, brave, and true, 
That dipped their ladle in the punch 
when this old bowl was new. 


A Spanish galleon brought the bar; so 
runs the ancient tale; 
'T was hanlmered by an Antwerp smith, 
w hose arm was like a flail; 
And now and then between the strokes, 
for fear his strength should fail, 
He wiped his brow, and quaffed a cup 
of good old Flemish ale. 


'T was purchased by an English squire 
to please his loving dame, 
'Vho saw the cherubs, and conceived a 
longing for the sanIe ; 
And oft as on the ancient stock another 
twig was found, 
'T was filled with cauùle spiced and hot, 
and handed smoking round. 


But, c11anging hand
, it reached 
length a Puritan divine, 
'Vho used to follow TÜnothy, and take 
a little wine, 
But Jlated punch and prelacy; and so it 
,vas, perha ps, 
He went to Leyden, where he found 
convpnticles and schnaps. 


And then, of course, you know what's 
next,- it left the Dutc1nnan's shore 
'Vith those that in the 1.1ayfiower can1e, 
- a hundred souls and lllOre, - 
Along with all the furniture, to fill their 
new abodes,- 
To judge by what is still on hand, at 
least a hundred loads. 


'T was on a dreary winter's eve, the 
night was closing diIn, 
,\Yhen brave l\Iiles Standish touk the 
bo\\l, anJ fillcJ. it to the brÏ1u; 


The little Captain stood and stirred the 
posset with his sword, 
And all his sturdy men-at-arms were 
ranged about the board. 


He poured the fiery Hollands in, - the 
man that never feared, - 
He took a long and solemn draught, and 
wiped his yellow beard; 
And one by one the musketeers - tbe 
men that fought and pra)'ed - 
All drank as 't were their mother's 
milk, and not a man afraid. 


That night, affrighted from his Dest, the 
screarning eagle flew, 
He heard the Pequot's ringing whoop, 
thp soldier's wild halloo ; 
Aud there the sachem learned the rule 
he taught to kith and kin, 
"RUll from the white man when you 
find he smells of Hollands gin! " 


at A hundred years, and fifty more, hall 
sprpad their leaves and snows, 
A thousand rubs had flattened down 
each little cherub's nose, 
\Yhen once again the bowl was filleù, 
but )
ot in u1Ïrth or joy, 
'T was nlingled by a nlother's hand to 
cheer her parting boy. 


Drink, J 01111, she said, 't will do you 
good, - poor chilù, you'll never 
bear 
T]1Îs working in the disDlal trench, out 
in the midnight air; 
And if - God bless me! -you ".ere 
hurt, 't would keep away the chill; 
So John d1.d drink, -and well he 
wrought that night at Bunker's Hill ! 
I tell you, tllere was generous warmth 
in good olù English cheer; 
I tell you, 't was a pleasant thought to 
bring its SYIU bol here ; 



32 


ADDITIOX AL POE
IS. 


'T is but the fool that loves excess; 
hast thou a drunken soul? 
Thy bane is in thy shallow skull, not in 
DIY silver bowl! 


I love the meJllory of the past, - its 
presseù yet fragrant flowers, - 
The 1110SS that clothes its broken walls, 
- the ivy on its towers;- 
Nay, this poor bawble it bequeathed, - 
my eyes grow moist and dim, 
To think of all the vanished joys that 
danced around its brim. 

 


Then fill a fair and honest cup, and bear 
it straight to Ine ; 
The goblet hallows all it hol<.1s, whate'er 
the liquid be ; 
Anù Inay the cherubs on its face protect 
nlC fl'0111 the sin, 
'fhat dooms one to those dreadful words, 
-" 
[y dear, where have yon been 1" 


A SONG 


Fon THE CEXTE
XIAL CELEBRATION OF 
HAltV ARD COLLEGE, 1836. 


W HEN the Puritans came over, 
Our hills and swamps to clear, 
The woods were full of catamounts, 
And I nùians red as deer, 
"\Vith tomahawks and scalping-knives, 
That nlake folks' heaùs look queer;- 
o the ship from England used to bring 
A hunùreù wigs a year! 


The crows came cawing through the air 
To pluck the pilgrims' corn, 
The bears canle snuffing round the door 
'\Vhene'cr a babe was born, 
The rattlesnakes were bigger round 
Than the but of thp 01(1 ranI'S horn 
The llcacon blew at lneeting time 
On every "Sabbath" morn. 


But soon tbey knocked the wigwams 
down, 
..A.nd pine-tree trunk and limb 
Began to sprout anlong the leaves 
In shape of steeples slinl ; 
And out the little wharves were stretched 
Along the ocean's rim, 
And up the little school-house shot 
To keep the boys in trim. 


And, when at length the College rose, · 
The sachem cocked his eye 
At every tutor's meagre ribs 
\Vhose coat-tails whistled by : 
But when the Greek and Hebrew words 
Came tunlbling fl'On1 their jaws, 
The copper-colored children all 
Ran screaming to the squaws. 


And ,vho was on the Catalogue 
\Vhen college was begun ? 
Two nephews of the Presiòent, 
And the Professor's son; 
(They turned a little Indian by, 
As brown as any bun ;) 
Lord! how the seniors knocked about 
The freshman class of one ! 


They had not then the dainty things 
That commons now afford, 
But S'ltCcotash and homO"ny 
\Vere smoking on the board; 
They did not rattle round in gigs, 
Or dash in long-tail blues, 
But always on Commencement days 
The tutors blacked their shoes. 


God bless the ancient Puritans ! 
Their lot was hard enough; 
But honest hearts make iron arms, 
And tenùer maids are tough; 
So love and faith haye fornled and fed 
Our true-born Yallkee stuff, 
And kef'p the kernel in the shell 
The British found so rough ! 



THE ISLAND HUNTING-SONG. - THE O
LY DAUGIITER. 33 


THE ISLAND HUNTING-SONG. 


K 0 nlore the sumlnpr floweret charms, 
The leaves will soon be sere, 
And Autumn folds his jewelled arms 
Around the dying year; 
So, ere the waning seasons claim 
Our leafless groves awhile, 
,y ith golden wine and glowing flanle 
'Ve 'II cro\vn our lonely i
le. 


Once nlore the merry voices sound 
'Yithin the antlered hall, 
And long anù loud the baying bounds 
Return the hun tel" scalI ; 
And through the wooùs, anù 0' er the hill, 
And far along the bay, 
The driver's horn is sounùing shrill,- 
Up, sportslnen, and away ! 


No bars of steel, or walls of stone, 
Our little empire bound, 
But, circling with his azure zone, 
The sea runs fomning round ; 
The whitening wave, the purpled skies, 
The blue and lifted shore, 
Braid with theÜ. dim and blending dyes 
Our wide horizon o'er. 


And who will leave the grave debate 
That shakes the smoky town, 
To rule amid our island-state, 
And wear our oak -leaf crown ? 
And who will be awhile content 
To hunt our woodland ganle, 
And leave the vulgar pack that scent 
The reeking track of faIlle î 


Ah, who that shares in toils like these 
Will sigh not to prolong 
Our ùays beneath the ùroa(l-leaved trees, 
Our nights of mirth and song 1 
Then leave the dust of noisy streets, 
Ye outlaws of the wood, 
And follow through his green retreats 
Your noble Robin Hooù. 


DEPARTED DAYS. 


YES, dear departed, cherished days, 
Could l\len10ry's band restore 
Your ll10rning light, your evening rays 
From Tin1c's gray urn once n1ore, - 
Then might this restless hpart be still, 
This straining eye nligh t close, 
And Hope her fainting pinions fold, 
'Yhile the fair ph an tonlS rose. 


But, like a child in ocean's arms, 
1Ve strl ve against the stream, 
Each ll101l1ent farther from the shore 
'Yhere life's young fountains gleam ;- 
Each monlent fainter wave the fields, 
And wider rolls the sea ; 
The mist grows dark, - the sun goes 
down, - 
Day breaks, - and where are "
e 1 


THE ONLY DAUGHTER. 


ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE. 


THEY bid me strike the idle strings, 
As if my summer days 
Had shaken sunbean1s from their wings 
To wann my autumn lays; 
They bring to me their painted urn, 
As if it were not time 
To lift my gauntlet and to spurn 
The lists of boyish rhynle ; 
And, were it not that I have still 
Some weakness in nIY heart 
That clings around my stronger \\ ill 
And pleads for gentler art, 
Pprchance I had not turned away 
The thoughts grown tame with toil, 
To cheat this lone and pallid I'ay, 
That wastes the midnight oil. 


Alas ! with every year I feel 
Some roses leave my brow; 
Too young for wisdom's tardy sea], 
Too olù for garlands now ; 



34 


ADDITIO
AL POE
IS. 


Yet, while the dewy breath of spring 
Steals o'er the tingling air, 
And spreads and fans each enlerald wing 
The forest soon slHdl ,veal', 
How bright the opening year would seem, 
Had lone look like thine, 
To meet me when the Inorning beam 
Unseals these liùs of mine ! 
Too long I bear this lonely lot, 
That biùs my heart run wild 
To press the lips that love me not, 
To clasp the stranger's child. 


How oft beyond the dashing seas, 
An1Íùst those royal bowers, 
'Yhere danced the lilacs in the breeze, 
And swung the chestnut-flowers, 
I wandered like a wearied slave 
'Vhos(1 morning task is done, 
To watch the little hands that gave 
Their whiteness to the sun; 
To revel in tbe bright young eyes, 
'Vhose lustre sparklpcl through 
The sahlc fringe of Soutbern skies 
Or gleamed in Saxon blue! 
How oft I heard another's name 
Called in some truant's tone; 
Sweet accents! which I longed to cIainl, 
To learn and lisp my own ! 


Too soon the gentle hands, that pressed 
The ringlets of the child, 
Are folded 011 the faithful breast 
'Vhere first he breathed and smiled; 
'roo oft the clinging anTIS untwine, 
The 11lelting lips forget, 
And darkness veils the bridal shrine 
'Vhere ,vreaths and torches n1ct ; 
If Heaven but leaves a single thread 
Of Hope's dissolving chain, 
Even when her parting 1)1 un1es are spread, 
I t bids them fold again ; 
The cradle rocks beside the tomb; 
The cheek now changed and chill 


Smiles on us in the D10fning bloom 
Of one that loves us stil1. 


Sweet image! I have done thee wrong 
To claim this destined lay; 
The leaf that asked an idle song 

Iust bear my tears away. 
Yet, in thy memory shouldst thou keep 
This else forgotten strain, 
Till years have taught thine eyes to weep, 
And flattery's voice is vain; 
o then, thou fledgling of the nest, 
Like the long-wandering dove, 
Thy weary heart may faint for rest, 
As Inine, on changeless love; 
And while these sculptured Hnes .retrace 
The hours now dancing by, 
This vision of thy girlish grace 
1\Iay cost thee, too, a sigh. 


SONG 


WRITTE
 FOR THE DINNER GIVEN TO 
CHARLES DICKENS, BY THE YOUNG 
MEN OF BOSTON, FEB. 1, 1842. 


THE stars their early vigils keep, 
The silent hours are near, 
"''''hen drooping eyes forget to wepp, - 
Yet still we Jinger here ; 
And what- the })assing churl may ask- 
Can claim such wondrous power, 
That Toil forgets his wonted task, 
And Love his promised hour 1 
The Irish harp no longer thrills, 
Or breathes a fainter tone; 
The clarion blast from Scotland's bills, 
Alas! no more is blown ; 
And Passion's burning lip bewails 
Her Harold's wasted fire, 
Still lingering o'er the dust that veils 
The Lord of England's lyre. 


But grieve not o'er its broken strings, 
Nor think its soul hath died, 



While yet the lark at heaven's gate sings, 
As once o'er Avon's siùe ;- 
'Vhile gentle sumn1er sheds her bloom, 
And dewy blosson1s waye, 
Alike o'er Juliet's storied tomb 
And K eIly's nameless grave. 


Thou glorious island of the sea! 
Though wide the wasting flood 
That parts our distant land from thee, 
'Ve claim thy generous blood; 
Nor o'er thy far horizon springs 
One hallowed star of fan1e, 
But kill dIes, like an angel's wings, 
Our \\ estern skies in fianle ! 


LINES 


RECITED AT THE BERKSHIRE FESTIVAL. 


COME back to your mother, ye children, 
for shame, 
'Vho have "
andered like tru'ants, for 
riches or fame ! 
'Vith a smile on her face, ,and a sprig in 
her ca p, 
She calls you to feast from her bountiful 
· lap. 


Come out fron1 your alleys, your courts, 
and your lanes, 
And breathe, like )'oung eagles, the air 
of our plains; 
Take a whiff from our fields, and your 
excellent wives 
'ViII declare it's all nonsense insuring 
your lives. 


Come you of the law, who can talk, if 
you please, 
Till the man in the moon will allow it's 
a cheese, 
And leave" the old lady, that never tells 
lies, " 
To sleep with her handkerchief over her 
eyes. 


LIN ES. 


35 


Ye healers of men, for a moment decline 
l
 our feats in the rhubarb and ipecac 
line ; 
'Yhile you shut up your turnpike, your 
neigh bors can go, 
The old roundabout road, to the regions 
below. 


You clerk, on whose ears are a couple of 
pens, 
And whose hrad is an ant-hill of units 
and tens ; 
Though Plato denies you, we welcome 
you still 
As a featherless biped, in spite of your 
quill. 
Poor drudge of the city! how happy he 
feels, 
""lth the burs on his legs, and the gI'ass 
at his heels! 
K 0 dodger behind, his banùannas to 
share, 
No constable grurnbling, "You must n't 
walk there ! " 


In yonder green meadow, to memory 
dear, 
He slaps a mosquito and brushes a tear; 
The dew-drops hang round hiIn on blos- 
SOlllS and shoots, 
He breathes but one sigh for his youth 
and his boots. 


There stands the old school-house, hard 
by the old church; 
That tree at its siùe had the flavor of 
birch ; 
o sweet were the days of his juvenile 
tricks, 
Though the prairie of youth had so many 
" big licks." 


By the side of yon river he weeps and 
he slumps, 
The boots fill with water, as if they were 
pumps, 



36 


ADDITIONAL POE:\IS. 


Till, sated with rapture, he steals to his 
bed, 
1V ith a glow in his heart and a cold in 
his head. 


'T is past, - he is drean1Íng, - I see him 
again ; 
The ledger returns as by legerdemain ; 
His neckcloth is damp with an easterly 
flaw, 
And he holds in his fingers an omnibus 
straw. 


He dreams the chill gust is a blossomy 
gale, 
That the straw is a rose from his dear 
native vale; 
And nlunnurs, unconscious of space and 
of tirne, 
"A 1. Extra super. Ah, is n't it 
PIU:\lE ! " 


o what are the pIizes we p
rish to win 
To the first little" shiner" we caught 
with a pin! 
No soil upon earth is so dear to our eyes 
As the soil we first stirred in terrestrial 
pies! 
Then COlne from all parties, and parts, 
to our feast ; 
Though not at the" Astor," we'll give 
you at least 
A hite at an apple, a seat on the grass, 
And the best of old - water - at noth- 
ing a glass. 


NUX POSTCCENATICA. 


I W' AS sitting with my microscope, upon 
my parlor rug, 
'Yith a very heavy quarto and a very 
· lively bug; 
TIle true bug had been organized with 
only two antennæ, 
TIut the hum bug in the copperplate would 
have thenl twice as nlany. 


And I thought, like Dr. Faustus, of the 
enl ptiness of art, 
How we take a fragment for the whole, 
and call tbe whole a part, 
'Vhen I heard a heavy footstcl) that was 
loud enough for two, 
And a man of forty entered, eXGlairning, 
-" How d'ye do 1" 


He was not a ghost, my visitor, but soHd 
flesh a.nd bone; 
He wore a Palo Alto hat, his weight was 
twenty stone; 
(It's odd how hats expand their brims 
as riper years invade, 
As if when life had reached its noon, it 
'wan ted them for shade !) 
I lost my focus, - dropped my book, - 
the bug, who was a flea, 
At once exploded, and conlmenced ex- 
periments on me. 
They have a certain heartiness that fre- 
quently appalls, - 
Those mediæval gentlemen in semilunar 
smalls ! 


" l\Iy boy," he said, - (colloquial ways, 
- the vast, broad-hatted loan,)- 
"Come dine ,,
ith us on Thursday next, 
-you must, you know you can; 
We're going to have a roaring time, with 
lots of fun and noise, 
Distinguished guests, et cetera, the 
JUDGE, and all the boys." 
Not so, - I said, - my tpmporal bones 
are' showing pretty cl('ar. 
It's time to stop, - just look and see 
that hair above this ear; 

Iy golùen days are more than spent, - 
- anù, what is very strange, 
I f these are r
al silver hairs, I 'In getting 
lots of change. 
Besides - my prospects - don't you 
know that l)eople won't employ 



NUX POSTCffiNATICA. 


37 


A man that wrongs his manliness by 
laughing like a boy 1 
And suspect the azure blosson1 that un- 
folJ.
 upon a shoot, 
As if wisdolIl' s old potato could not 
flourish at its root 1 


It's a very fine reflection, when you're 
etching out a smile 
On a copperplate of faces that would 
stretch at least a lIlile, 
That, what with sneers from enemies, 
and cheapening shrugs of friends, 
It will cost you all the earnings that a 
Dlonth of labor lends! 


It's a vastly pleasing prospect, when 
you're screwing out a laugh, 
That your very next year's income is 
diminished by a half, 
And a little boy trips barefoot that 
Pegasus may go, 
And the baby's milk is watered that 
your Helicon may flow! 


No ; - the joke has been a good one, - 
but I 'm getting fond of quiet, 
And I don't 1ike deviations from my 
customary diet; 
So I think I will not go with you to 
hear the toasts and speeches, 
But stick to old 
Iontgomery Place, and 
have some pig and peaches. 


The fat nlan answer
d: - Shut your 
mouth, and hear the genuine creed; 
The true essentials of a feast are only 
fun and feed ; 
The force that wheels the planets round 
delights in spinning tops, 
And that young earthquake t' other day 
was great at shaking props. 


That ever knocked their sinciputs in 
stretching un their beds 
"T ere round one great Dlahogany, I 'd 
beat those fine old folks 
'Yith twenty dishes, twenty fools, and 
twenty clever jokes! 


1Vhy, if Columbus should be there, the 
company would beg 
He'd show that little trick of his of 
balancing the egg! 

Iilton to Stilton would give in, and 
Sololl10n to Salmon, 
And Roger Bacon be a bore, and Francis 
Bacon gamnlon! 


And as for all the "patronage" of all 
the clowns and boors 
That squint their little narrow eyes at 
any freak of yours, 
Do leave tllem to your prosier friends, 
- such fellows ought to die 
'Yhen rhubarb is so very scarce and 
i l)ecac so high! 


And so I come, -like Lochinvar, to 
treaù a sip-gle measure, 
To purchase with a loaf of bread a sugar- 
plum of pleasure, 
To enter for the cup of glass that's run 
for after dinner, 
'Yhich yields a single sparkling draught, 
then breaks and cuts the winner. 


Ah, that's the ,yay delusion comflS, - 
a glass of old l\Iaùeira, 
A pair of visual dial)hragn1s revolved by 
Jane or Sarah, 
And down go vows and promises with- 
out the slightest question 
If eating words won't compromise the 
organs of digestion ! 


I tell you what, philosopher, if all the And yet, among Iny native shades, be- 
longest heads side ll1Y nursing mother, 



38 


ADDITIONAL POE
IS. 


'Yhere every stranger seems a friend, 
anù every friend a brother, 
I feel the old convivial glow (unaided) 
0' er nle stealing, - 
The warn1, chaInpagny, old-particular, 
brandy-punchy feeling. 
We're all alike; - Vesuvius flings the 
scoriæ frOln his fountain, 
But down they conle in volleying rain 
back to the burning lnountain ; 
We leave, like those volcanic stones, our 
precious Alma J\Iater, 
But will keep dropping in again to see 
the dear old crater. 


VERSES FOR AFTER-DINNER. 


cþ B K SOCIETY, 1844. 


I 'VAS thinking last night,.- as I sat in 
the cars, 
With the channingest prospect of cin- 
ders and stars, 
N ext Thursday is - bless me! - how 
hard it will be, 
If that cannibal president caUs upon me! 
There is nothing on earth that he will 
not devour, 
From a tutor in seeù to a freshman in 
flower ; 
No sage is too gray, and no youth is too 
green, 
And you can't be too plump, though you 
're never too lean. 


While others enlarge on the boiled and 
the roast, 
He serves a raw clergyman up with a 
toast, 
Or catches some doctor, quite tender and 
young, 
And basely insists on a bit of his tongue. 


'Vith a stuffing of praise, and a basting 
of wit, 
l"r ou Inay twitch at your collar, and wrin- 
kle your brow, 
But you're ul' on your legs, and you're 
in for it now. 


o think of your friends,- they are wait- 
ing to hear 
Those jokes that are thought so rmnark- 
ably queer; 
And all the Jack Horners of metrical 
buns 
Are prying and fingering to pick out the 
pUllS. 


Those thoughts which, like chickens, 
will always thrive bc
t 
When reared by the heat of 
he natural 
nest, 
'Vill perish if hatched frolll their enlbryo 
dreanl 
In the Inist and the glow of convivial 
steam. 


o pardon me, then, if I nleekly retire, 
vVith a very slllaU flash of ethereal fire : 
No rubbing will kindle your Lucifer 
nlatch, 
If the.fiz does not follow the primitive 
scratch. 


Dear friends, who are listening so sweetly 
the while, 
With your lips double-reefed in a snug 
little smilp,- 
I leave you two fables, both drawn frOIn 
the deep, - 
The shells you can drop, but the pearls 
you may keep. 


* 


* 


* 


The fish callpd the FLOUNDER, perhaps 
you may know, 
Poor vietim, prepared for his classical Has one side for use and another for 
spit, show j 



A :r,rODEST REQUEST. 


39 


One side for the public, a delicate brown, 
Aud one that is white, which he always 
keeps down. 
A very young flounder, the flattest of 
flats, 
(And they're none of them thicker than 
opera hats,) 
Was speaking nlore freely than charity 
taught 
Of a friend and relation that just had 
been caught. 
" l.Iy ! what an exposure! just see what 
a sight! 
I blush for IllY race, - he is showing his 
white! 
Such spinning and wriggling, - why, 
what' does he wish '? 
How painfully small to respectable fish!" 


Then said an old SCULPIN, - " ltly free- 
dom excuse, 
But you '.re playing the cobbler with holes 
in your shoes ; 
Your brown side is up, - but just wait 
till you're tried 
And you '11 find that all flounders are 
white on one side." 


* 


* 


* 


There's a slice near the PICKEREL'S pec- 
toral fins, 
'Yhere the thorax leaves off and the 
'Vcnter begins ; 
'Yhichhis brother, survivor of fish-hooks 
and lines, 
Though fonù of his family, never declines. 


He loves his relations ; he feels they'll 
be nlissed ; 
But that one little titbit he cannot re- 
sist ; 
So your bait may be swallowed, no 111at- 
tel' how fast, 
For you catch your next fish with a piece 
of the last. 


And thus, 0 survivor, whose merciless 
fate 
Is to take the next hook with the presi- 
dent's bait, 
You are lost while you snatch from the 
end of his line 
The nlorsel he rent from this bosom of 
ill ine ! 


A MODEST REQUEST 


CO)IPLIED 'YITH AFTER THE DIXXER AT 
PRESIDEXT EVERETT' S I
AUGURATION. 


SCESE, - a back parlor" in a certain 
square, 
Or court, or lane, - in sbort, no matter 
where ; 
Time, - early morning, dear to simple 
souls 
'Yho love its sunshine, and its fresh. 
baked rolls ; 
Persons, - take pity on this telltale 
blush, 
That, like the Æthiop, whispers, "Hush, 
o hush ! " 


Delightful scene! where smiling COlllfort 
broods, 
Nor business frets, nor anxious care in- 
trudes ; 
o si S1.C O1nnia! were it ever so ! 
But what is stable in this world below? 
J[edio e fonte, ---: Virtue has her faults,- 
The clearest fountains taste of Epsom 
salts ; 
We snatch the cup and lift to drain it 
dry,- 
I ts central dinlple holds a drowning fly! 
Strong is the pine by }Iaine's anlbrosial 
strcaIns, 
But stronger augers pierce its thickest 
beams ; 
No iron gate, no spiked and panelled 
door, 



40 


ADDITIONAL POEl\IS. 


Can keep out death, the postnlan, or the 
bore; - 
o for a world where peace and silence 
relgn, 
And blunted dulness terebrates in vain! 
- The door-bell jingles, - enter Rich- 
ard Fox, 
And takes this letter from his leathern 
box. 


" Dear Sir, 
In writing on a former day, 
One little matter I forgot to say; 
I now inform you in a single line, 
On Thursday next our purpose is to dine. 
The act of feeding, as you understand, 
Is but a fraction of the work in hand; 
I ts nobler half is that ethereal meat 
The papers call' the intellectual treat'; 
Songs, speeches, toasts, around the fes- 
tive board 
Drowned in the juice the College pumps 
afford ; 
For only water flanks our knives and 
forks, 
So, sink or float, we s,vim without the 
corks. 
Yours is the art, by native genius taught, 
To clothe in eloquence the naked thought; 
Yours is the skill its music to prolong 
Through the sweet effluence of nlellif1u- 
ous song ; 
Yours the quaint trick to cram the pithy 
line 
That cracks so crisplyoverbubblingwine ; 
And since success your various gifts at- 
tends, 
We - that is, I and all your numerous 
friends - 
Expect frOIn you - your single self a 
host - 
A speech, a song, excuse me, and a toast; 
Nay, 110t to haggle on so snutll a claim, 
A few of each, or several of the same. 
(Signed), Yours, most truly, - " 


No! my sight must fail,- 
If that ain't Judas on the largest scale! 


"\Vell, this is modest; - nothing else 
than that ? 

Iy coat? my boots 
 my pantaloons 
 
Iny hat? 

Iy stick'? Iny gloves'? as well as all 
my wits, 
Learning and linen, - everything that 
fi ts ! 


Jack, said lilY lady, is it grog you'll try, 
Or punch, or toddy, if perhaps you're 
dry 1 
Ah, said the sailor, though I can't re- 
fuse, 
You know, my lady, 't ain't for me to 
choose; - 
I '11 take the grog to finish off my lunch, 
And drink the toddy while you mix the 
punch. 


THE SPEECH. (The speaker, rising to 
be seen, 
Looks very red, because so very green.) 
I rise - I rise- with unaffected fear, 
(Louder! - speak louder! - who the 
deuce can hear ?) 
I rise - I said- with undisguised dis- 
· nlay- 
- Snch are my fee1ings as I risp, I say! 
Quite unprepared to face this learned 
throng, 
Already gorged with eloquence and song; 
Around my view are ranged on either 
hand 
The genius, wisdom, virtue, of the 1anel ; 
" Hands that the rod of eIupire luight 
have swayed" 
Close at nlY e1bow stir their lemonade; 
Would you like Homer learn to write 
ana speak, 
That bench is groaning with its weight 
of Greek; 



A 
IODEST REQUEST. 


41 


Behold the naturalist who in his teens 
Found six new species in a dish of greens; 
And 10, the master in a statelier walk, 
'Yhose annual ciphering takes a ton of 
chalk ; 
And there the linguist, who by common 
roots 
Thro' all their nurseries tracks old Noah's 
shoots, - 
IIow Shenl's proud cllildren reared the 
Assyrian piles, 
'Vhile Harn's were scattered tluough the 
Sand wich Isles! 


- Fired at the thought of all the pres- 
ent shows, 

Iy kindling fancy down the future 
flows : 
I see the glory of the coming days 
O'er Tin1e's horizon shoot its streaming 
rays; 
N ear and nlore near the radiant morning 
dra ws 
In living lustre (rapturous applause) ; 
From east to west the blazing heralds run, 
Loosed fron1 the chariot of the ascend- 
ing sun, 
Through the long vista of uncounted 
years 
In cloudless splendor (three tremendous 
chf'ers). 
1tI
 eye prophetic, as the dppths unfold, 
Sees a new advent of the age of gold; 
'Yhile o'er the scene new generations 
press, 
New heroes rise the coming time to 
bless, - 
Not such as Homer's, who, 'We read in 
Pope, 
Dined without forks and never heard of 
soap, - 
Not such as 
Iay to 1tlarlborongh Chapel 
brings, 
Lean, hungry, savagp, anti-every things, 


Copies of Luther in the pasteboard 
style, - 
But genuine articles, - the true Carlyle; 
,\Yhile far on high the blazing orb shall 
shed 
Its central light on Harvard's holy head, 
And Learning's ensigns ever float un- 
furled 
Here in the focus of the new-born 'World! 
. . 


The speaker stops, and, trampling down 
the pa nse, 
Roars through the hall the thunder of 
applause, 
One stonny gust of long-suspended Ahs ! 
One whirlwind chaos of insane hurrahs! 


THE SONG. But this demands a briefer 
line, - 
A ,shorter muse, and not the old long 
Nine; - 
Long metre answers for a common song, 
Though common metre does not answer 
long. 


She came heneath the forest dome 
To seek its peaceful shad
, 
An exile froln her ancient hOln
, - 
A poor, forsaken n1aid ; 
K 0 banner, flaunting high above, 
No blazoned cross, she bore; 
One holy book of light anù love 
'Yas all her ,vorldly store. 
The dark bro"î1 shadows passed away, 
And wider 
pread the green, 
And, where the savage used to stray, 
The rising mart was seen; 
So, when the laden winds had brought 
Their showers of golden rain, 
Her lap some prrcious gleanings caugl1t, 
Like Ruth's alnid the grain. 
But wrath soon gath
rerl uncontrolled 
Among the baser churls, 



42 


ADDITIONAL POEMS. 


To see her ankles reù with gold, 
Her forehead white with pearls; 
" '\Vho gave to thee the glittering bands 
That lace thine azure veins? 
'Vho bade thee lift those snow-white 
hauds 
"\Ve bount! in gilùed chains?" 


"These are the gems my children gave," 
The stately dame replied; 
"The wise, the gentle, and the brave, 
I nurtured at nlY siùe ; 
If envy still your bOS0111 stings, 
Take back their rims of gold; 

ry sons will nlelt their wedding-rings, 
And give a hun(lred-fold ! " 


THE TOAST. 0 tell me, ye who thought- 
less ask 
Exhausted nature for a threefold task, 
In wit or pathos if one share renlains, 
.A safe invpstInent for an ounce of brains? 
Har(l is the job to launch the desperate 
pun, 
A pun-job dangerous as the Indian one. 
Turneù by the current of sonle stronger 
wit 
Back from the object that you mean to 
hit, 
Like the strange missile whieh the Aus- 
tralian throws, 
Your verbal boomerang slaps you on the 
nose. 
One vague inflection spoils the whole 
with doubt, 
One triviallette'r ruins all, lpft out; 
A knot can choke a felon into clay, 
A not win save hin1, spelt without the k ; 
The snlallest word has some unguarded 
spot, 
And danger lurks in i without a dot. 


In healing wounds, died of a woundeù 
heel ; 
Unhappy chief, who, when in childhood 
doused, 
Had saved his bacon, had his feet b
en 
soused! 
Accursed heel that killed a hero stout! 
0, had your mother known that you 
were out, 
Death had not entered at the bifling 
part 
That still defies the slllall chirurgeon's 
art 
With corns and bunions, - not the glo- 
rious John, 
Who wrote the book we all have pon- 
dered on, - 
But other bunions, bound in fleecy hose, 
To "PilgrÍ1n's Progress" unrelenting 
foes ! 


A health, unlllingled with the reveller's 
wine, 
To him whose title is indeed divine; 
Truth's sleepless watchman on her n1Íd. 
night tower, 
1Vhose lamp burns brightest when the 
tempests lower. 
o who can tell with what a leaden flight 
Drag the long watches of his weary 
night, 
,\Yhile at his feet the hoarse and blind- 
ing gale 
Strews the' torn wreck and bursts the 
fragile Siail, 
'Vhen stars have faded, when the wave 
is dark, 
'Vhen rocks and sands embrace the 
foundering bark, 
And still he pleads with unavailing cry, 
Behold the light, 0 wanderer, look or 
die! 


Thus great Åchilles, who had shown his A health, fair Themis! Would the 
zeal enchanted vine 



THE STETIIOSCOPE SO
G. 


43 


'Yreathed its green tendrils round this 
cup of thine; 
If Learning's radiance :fill thy modern 
co urt, 
Its glorious sunshine streams through 
Blackstone's port ! 
Lawyers are thirsty, and their clients too, 
'Yitness at least, if memory serve me 
true, 
Those old tribunals, famed for dusty 
suits, 
'Yhere rnen sought justice ere they 
brushed their boots; - 
And what can match, to solve a learned 
ÙOli bt, 
The warnlth within that comes from 
" cold without" 1 


Health to the art whose glory is to give 
The crowning boon that makes it life to 
Ii ve. 
Ask not her home; - the rock where 
nature flings 
Her arctic lichen, last of living things, 
The gardens, fragrant with the orient's 
baIrn, 
Fronl the low jasmine to the star-like 
palm, 
Hail her as mistress o'er the distant 


'waves, 
And yield their tribute to her wandering 
sia ves. 
,\Yherevpr, nloistening the ungrateful 
soil, - 
The tear of suffering tracks the path of 
toil, 
There, in the anguish of his fevered 
hours, 
Her gracious finger points to healing 
flowers; 
"\Yhere the lost fplon steals away to die, 
Her soft hand waves before his closing 
eye; 
'Yhere hunted misery finds his darkest 
lair, 


The midnight taper shows her kneeling 
there ! 
VIRTUE, - the guide that men and 
nations own; 
And LA\V, - the buh,ark that protects 
her throne; 
And HEALTH, - to all its happiest 
charm that lends ; 
These and their servants, man's untiring 
friends; 
Pour the bright lymph that Heaven itself 
lets fall, - 
In one fair bUluper let us toast tIlenl all ! 


THE STETHOSCOPE SONG. 


A PROFESSIO:XAL BALLAD. 


THEHE was a young man in Boston to,rn, 
He bought him a STETHo
corE nice 
and ne,v, 
All mounted and finished and polished 
down, 
'Vith an ivory cap and a stopper too. 


It happened a spider within did crawl, 
And spun hinl a web of an1ple size, 
Wherein there chancëd one day to fall 
A couple of very imI)rudent flies. 


The first was a bottle-fly, big and blue, 
The secoud was smaller, and thin and 
long; 
So there was a concert between the two, 
Like an octave flute and a tavern gong. 


N ow being from Paris but recently, 
This fine young man would show his 
skill ; 
And so they gave l1im, his hand to try, 
A hospital patient extremely ill. 


Sonle said that his liver was short of bile, 
And some that his hea1.t was over sizè, 



44 


ADDITIONAL POEMS. 


'Vhile some kept arguing all the while 
He was crammed with tubercles up to 
his eyes. 
This fine young man then up stepped he, 
And all the doctors made a pause; 
Said he, - The luan must die, you see, 
By the fifty-seventh of Louis's laws. 


But since the case is a dpsperate one, 
To explore his chest it Inay be well ; 
For if he should die anti it were not done, 
Yon know the autopsy would not tell. 


Thpn out his stethoscope he took, 
And on it placed his curious ear; 
},[01t Dieu! said he, with a knowing look, 
'Vhy here is a soun(l that '8 Illighty 
queer! 


The bourdonnernent is very clear, - 
Al1tphoric buzzing, as I 'In alive! 
Five doctors took their turn to hear; 
AmlJ}wric buzzing, said all the five. 


There's empyema beyond a doubt; 
\V p '11 pI uuge a l1'ocar in his side. - 
The diagnosis was n1atle out, 
They tapped the patient; so he died. 


Now such as hate new-fashioned toys 
Began to look extremply ghun ; 
They saiti that rftttles were made for boys, 
And vowed that his buzzing was all a 
hum. 


There was an old lady had long been 
sick, 
And what was the matter none did 
know : 
Her pulse was slow, though her tongue 
was fluick ; 
To her this knowing youth must go. 


So there the nice old lady sat, 
With phials and boxes all in a row; 


She asked the young doctor what he 
was at, 
To thun1p her and tumbleherruflles so. 


Now, when the stethoscope came out, 
The flies began to buzz and whiz; - 
o ho! the Inatter is clear, no doubt; 
An aneurism, there plainly is. 


The bruit de râpe and the bruit de scie 
And the bruit de diable are all COlll- 
bined ; 
How happy Bouillaud would be, 
If he a case like this could find ! 


N O\V, when the neighboring doctors 
found 
A case so rare had been descried, 
They every day her ribs did pound 
In 
quads of twenty; so she died. 


Then six young damsels, slight and frail, 
Received this kind young doctor's 
cares ; 
They all were getting slim and pale, 
And short of breath on nloul1ting 
stairs. 


They all made rhYlnes with "sighs" and 
" skips, " 
And loathed their puddings and but.. 
tered 1'0 Us, 
.And dieted, much to their friends' sur.. 
.. I)rise, 
On pickles and pencils and cllalk and 
coals. 


So fast their little hparts did bound, 
ffhe frightened insects buzzed the 
more ; 
So oyer all their chests he found 
The râle srfiflant, and râle sonore. 


He shook }1Ís head; - there's grave 
diseaRP, - 
I greatly fear you all must die; 



I ) 


I 1 


EXTRACTS FROl\I A 
IEDICAL POEl\f. 


45 


A slight post-mortcm" if you please, 
Surviving friends would gratify. 


The six young damsels wept aloud, 
'Vhich so prevaile<.l on six young men, 
That each his hone
t love avowed, 
"Thereat they all got well again. 
This roor young nlan was all aghast; 
The price of stethoscopes carne down; 
And so he was reduceù at last 
To practise in a country town. 


The doctors being very sore, 
A stethoscope they did devise, 
That had a ranUller to clear the bore, 
'Vith a kl10b at the 
nd to kill the flies. 


K ow use your ears, all you that can, 
But don't forget to n1ind your ey
s, 
Or you may be cheated, like this young 
nlan, 
By a couple of silly, abnormal flies. 


EXTRACTS FROM A MEDICAL POEM. 


THE STABILITY OF SCIEXCE. 


THE feeble sea-birds, blinded in the 
storms, 
On sonle tall lighthouse dash their little 
forms, 
And the rude granite scatters for their 
paIns 
Those snla n deposits that were 1l1eant for 
brains. 
Yet the þroud fabric in the morning's sun 
Stanùs all unconscious of the mischief 
done ; 
Still the red heacon pours its evening rays 
For the lost })ilot with as full a blaze, 
Kay, shines, all radiance, o'er the scat- 
tered fleet 
Of guns and boobies brainless at its feet. 
I tell their fate, though courtesy dis- 
. claims 


,. 
J J J 


To call our kind by such ungentle llan1es ; 
Yet, if your rashness bid you vainly dare, 
Think of their doom, ye sinlple, and 
beware ! 
See where aloft its hoary forehead rears 
The towering pride of twice a thousand 
years ! 
Far, far below the vast incun1bent pile 
Sleeps the gray rock frol11 art's .fEgean 
isle j 
Its massive courses, circling as they rise, 
Swell from the waYes to luingle with the 
skies ; 
There every quarry lends its marble spoil, 
And clustering ages blend their common 
toil ; 
The Greek, the Roman, reared its an- 
cient walls, 
The silent Arab arched its mystic halls; 
In that fair niche, by countless billows 
la ved, 
Trace the deep lines that Sydenham en- 
graved ; 
On yon broad front that breasts the 
changing swell, 

Iark where the ponderous sledge of 
Hunter fell ; 
By that square buttress look where 
Louis stands, 
The stone yet warm from his uplifted 
hands; 
And say, 0 Science, shall thy life-bloot! 
freeze, 
'Yhen fluttering fony flaps on walls like 
these 1 


A PORTRAIT. 
THOUGHTFUL in youth, but not aus- 
tere in age ; 
Calm, but not colù, ancl cheerful tl10ugh 
a sage ; 
Too true to flatter, and too kind to 
sneer, 
And only just when seemingly severe; 
So gently blending courtesy and art, 



46 
 


ADDITIONAL POE:\rS. 


That wÎsùonl's lips spen1ed borro\ving 
friendship's heart. " 
Taught by the sorrows t11at his age had 
known 
In others' trials to forget his own, 
As hour by hour his lengthened day de- 
clined, 
A s\veeter radiance lingered o'er his 
n1 indo 
Cold were the lips that spoke his early 
praise, 
And hushed the voices of his nlorning 
days, 
Yet the same accents dwelt on every 
tongue, 
And love renewing kept him ever young. 


A SENTIMENT. 


'0 ßlot; ßpaxút;,-1ife is but a song; 
'If TfXJl1'} p.aKp1},-art is wondrous long j 
Yet to the wise her paths are ever fair, 
And Patience slniles, though Genius may 
ùespair. 
Give us but knowledge, though by slow 
degrees, 
And blend our toil with moments bright 
as these ; 
Let Friendship's accents cheer our doubt- 
ful way, 
And Love's pure planet lend its guiding 
ra.y, - 
Our tardy Art shall wear an angel'swillgs, 
And life shall lengthen with the joy it 
brings! 


THE PARTING WORD. 


I MV"ST leave thee, lady sweet! 
}.[onths shall waste before we meet · 
, 
'Vinds are fair, and sails are spread, 
Anchors leave their ocean bed' 
, 
Ji
re this shining day grow dark, 
Skies shall gird lIlY shoreless bark; 


Through thy tears, 0 lady u1ine, 
Read thy lover's parting line. 


'Vhen the first sad sun shan set, 
Thou shalt tear thy locks of jet; 
'Vhen the morning star shall rise, 
Thou shalt wake with weeping eyes; 
'Vhen the second sun goes down, 
Thou n10re tranquil shalt be grown, 
Taught too well tllat wild despair 
Dims thine eyes, and spoils thy hair. 


All the first unquiet week 
Thou shalt wear a snlÎleless cheek; 
In the first month's second half 
Thou shalt once attem l )t to lauo'h · 
ð , 
Then in 
ickwick thou shalt dip, 
Slightly puckering round the lip, 
Till at last, in sorrow's spite, 
Samuel makes thee laugh outright. 


'Vhile the first seven mornings last, 
Round thy chamber bolted fast, 
l\Iany a youth shall fume and pout, 
" Hang the girl, she's always out! " 
'Vhile the second week goes round, 
Yainly shall they ring and pound; 
When the third week s11all begin, 
" l\Iartha, let the creature in." 


N ow once n10re the flattprin a thronO' 
o 0 
Round thee flock with slnile and song, 
But thy lips, unweaned as yet, 
Lisp, "0, how can I forget! " 

len and devils both contrive 
Traps for catching girls a.live ; 
Eve was dupcd, au(lIIell'n kissed, - 
lIow, 0 how can you resist î 


First be careful of your fan, 
Trust it not to youth or n1an ; 
Love has fineù a pirate's sail 
Often with its pCl'fun1ed gale. 
}'Iind your kerchief n10st of all, 
Fingers touch when kerchiefs fall ; 



A SOXG OF OTHER DA 1"8. 


47 


Shorter ell than mercers clip 
Is the space fronl hand to lip. 
Trust not such as talk in tropes, 
Full of pistols, daggers, ropes ; 
.t\.ll the hemp that Rus
ia bears 
Scarce would answer lovers' prayers; 
N ever thread was spun so fine, 
K ever spidel' stretched the line, 
,y ould not hold the lovers true 
That would really swing for you. 
Fiercely SODle shall storm and swear, 
Beating breasts in black despair; 
Others murnlur with a siah 
ð , 
You nlust nlelt, or they will die; 
Painted worùs on enl pty lies, 
Grubs with wings like butterflies; 
Let thelll die , and welcoille too' 
, , 
Pray what better could they 'ùo 1 
Fare thee well, if years efface 
Froin thy heart love's burning trace, 
Keep, 0 keep that hallowed seat 
Fronl the tread of yulcrar feet. 
ð , 
If the blue lips of the sea 
'Vait with icy kiss for me, 
Let not thine forget the vow, 
Sealed how often, Love, as now. 


A SONG OF OTHER DAYS. 
As o'er tbe glacier's frozen sheet 
Breathes soft the Alpine rose, 
So, through life's desert spri nging sweet, 
The flower of friendship grows; 
And a.s, where'er the roses grow, 
SmIle rain or dew descends 
, 
'T is nature's law that wine should flow 
To wet the lips of friends. 
Then once again, before we part, 
)ly enlpty glass shall ring ; 
A:ul he that has the warmest heart 
Shalllouùest laugh and sing. 
They say \ve were not born to eat . 
, 
But gray-haired sages think 


I t means, - Be moderate in your meat, 
Anù partly live to drink; 
For baser tribes the rivers flow 
That know not wine or son a . 
t:) , 

lall wants but little drink below 
, 
But wants that little strong. 
Then once again, etc. 


If one bright drop is like the gein 
That decks a monarch's crown 
, 
One goblet holds a diadem 
Of rubies mf'lted down! 
A fig for Cæsar's blazing hrow, 
But, like the Egyptian queen, 
Bid each dis
ol\1'ing jewel glow 

ly t11Ïrsty lips between. 
Then once again, etc. 


The Grecian's mound, the Ronlall'
 urn, 
Are silent WhPll we caB 
, 
Yet still the purple grapes return 
To clustt'r on the wall ; 
I t was a bright Inlnlortal's head 
They circlet! with the vine, 
And o' er their best and bravest dead 
They poured the dark-red wine. 
Then once again, etc. 


:àlethinks o'er every sparkling glass 
Young Eros waves his win as 
..., b , 
And echoes o'er its dinlples pass 
Fronl dead Anacreon's striuO's . 
b , 
And, tossing round its beaded brinl 
Their locks of floating gold, 
'Yith bacchant dance and choral hymn 
Return the nymphs of olù. 
Then once again, etc. 


A ,velcome then to joy and n1Ïrth, 
F rom hearts as fresh as ours, 
To scatter o'er the dust of earth 
Their sweetly mingled flowers ; 
'T is 'Yisdom's self the cup that fills 
In spite of Folly's frown, 
Anù K ature, frolll her vine-clad hills, 
That rains her life-blood down ! 



48 


ADDITIOXAL POEM:S. 


Then once again, before we part, 

Iy empty glass shall ring; 
And he that has the warmest heart 
Shalllouùest laugh and sing. 


SONG. 


FOR A TE)IPERANCE DINNER TO 'VHICH 
LAD [E'3 'VERE INVITED (NE\V YORK 
l\1l<:rrCA
TILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION, 
NOV., 1842). 
A HEALTH to dear ,vornan! She bids us 
untwine, 
Fr01n the cup it encircles, the fast-cling- 
ing vine; 
But her cheek in its crystal with pleasure 
will glow, 
And 111irror its bloon1 in the bright wave 
below. 


A health to sweet ,voman! The days 
are no more 
'Vhrn she watched for her lord till the 
revel was o'er, 
And smoothed the white pillow, and 
blushed when he cam{\, 
As she pressed her cold lips on his fore- 
head of flalne. 


Alas for the loved one! too spotless and 
fair 
The joys of his banqùet to chasten and 
share; 
Her eye lost its light that his goblet 
n1Ïght shine, 
.And the rose of her cheek was dissolved 
ill his wine. 


Joy smiles in the fountain, health flows 
in the rills, 
,A,s thcir ribbons of silver unwind fronl 
the hills; 
They breathe not the mist of the baccha- 
nal's dream, 
But the lilies of innocence float on their 
stream. 


Then a health and a welcome to ,yornan 
once nlore ! 
She brings us a passport that laughs at 
our door; 
It is written on crimson, - its letters 
are pearls, - 
It is countersigned Nature. - So, room 
for the Girls! 


. 
A SENTIMENT. 


THE pledge of Friendship! it is still 
divine, 
Though watery floods have quenched its 
burning wine ; 
Whatever vase the sacred drops may 
hold, 
The gourd, the shell, the cup of beaten 
gold, 
Around its brim the hand of N atl1re 
throws 
A garland sweeter than the banquet's 
rose. 
Bright are the blushes of the vine- 
wreathed bowl, 
'V arm with the sunshine of Anacreon's 
soul, 
But dearer memories gild the tasteless 
wave 
That fainting Sidney perished as he gave. 
'T is the heart's current lends the cup 
its glow, 
'Vhate'er the fountain whenc
 the 
draught may flow, - 
The diamond dew - drops sparkling 
through the sand, 
Scooped by the Arab in his sunburnt 
hand, 
Or the dark streamlet oozing from the 
snow, 
'Vhere creep and crouch the shuddering 
Esquilnaux; - 
Ay, in the stream that, ere again we 
n1eet, 



A RHY
IED LESSON. 


49 


1.Iy dazzled glance explores the crowded 
hall j 
Alas, how vain to hope the smiles of all ! 
I know my audience. All the gay anù 
youug 
Love the light antics of a playful tongue; 
And these, remembering SOllIe expansive 
line 
])Iy lips let loose among the nuts and 
WIne, 
Are all inlpatience till the opening pun 
YES, dear Enchantress, - wandering Proclaims the witty shanlfight is begun. 
far and long, Two fifths at least, if not the total half, 
In realms unperfumed by the breath of . Have come infuriate for an earthquake 
song, laugh ; 
Where flowers ill-flavored shed their I kno,v full well what alde
man has 
sweets around, tied 
And bitterest roots invade the ungenial His red bandanna tigllt al)out his side; 
ground, I see the mother, who, aware that 
Whose genls are crystals from the Epsom boys 
1nine, Perforn1 their laughter with superfluous 
'Vhose vineyards flow with antinlonial noise, 
wine, Beside her kerchief, brought an extra 
'Vhose gates admit no mirthful feature one 
in, To stop the explosions of her bursting 
Save one gaunt mocker, the Sardonic son; 
, grin, I know a taitor, once a friend of mine, 
'Vhose pangs are real, not the woes of Expects great doings in the button 
rhyme line; - 
That blue-eyed misses warble out of For mirth's concussions rip the outward 
tinl e ; - case, 
Truant, not recreant to thy sacred. claim, And plant the stitches in a tenderer 
Older by reckoning, but in heart the place. 
same, I know DIY audience; - these shan have 
their due; 
1 This poem was delivered before the Boston 
1\fercantile Library AssociatioD 1 October 14, A smile awaits them ere my song is 
1846. through ! 


Shall burst the pavement, glistening at 
our feet, 
And, stealing silent from its leafy 
hills, 
Thread all our alleys with its thousand 
rills, - 
In each pale draught if generous feeling 
blend, 
And o'er the goblet friend shall snlile on 
friend, . 
Even cold Cochituate every heart shall 


warm, 
And geuial Nature still defy reform! 


A RHYMED LESSON.l 


(URANIA.) 


Freed for a moment from the chains of 
toil, 
I tread once more thy consecrated soil ; 
Here at thy feet nlY olù allegiance own, 
Thy subject still, and loyal to thy 
throne ! 



50 


ADDITIOXAL POEl\IS. 


I know myself. Not servile for ap- 
plause, 

Iy l\Iuse pernlits no deprecating clause; 

Iodest or vain, she will not be denied 
One bold confession due to honpst pride; 
And well she knows the drooping veil 
of song 
Shall save her boldness from the cavil- 
ler's wrong. 
Her sweeter voice the Heavenly 1\Iaid 
imparts 
To tpll the secrets of our aching hearts; 
For this, a suppliant, captive, prostrate, 
bound, 
She kneels imploring at the feet of 
sound; 
For this, convulsed in thought's mater- 
nal pains, 
She loads her arms with rhyme's re- 
sounding chains; 
Faint though the Illusic of her fetters 
be, 
It lends one charm; - her lips are ever 
free ! 


Think not I come, in manhood's fiery 
noon, 
To steal his laurels fronl the stage buf- 
foon ; 
His sword of lath the harlequin may 
wield; 
Behold the star upon my ]ifted shield ! 
Though the just critic pass Iny humble 
nanIe, 
And sweeter lips have ùrained the cup 
of fan1e, 
'Vhile my gay stanza pleased the ban- 
quet's lorùs, 
The soul within 'was tuned to deeper 
chords! 
Say, shall my arms, in other conflicts 
taught 
To swing aloft the ponùerous mace of 
thought, 
Lift, in obedience to a school-girl's law, 


l\Iirth's tinsel wand or laughter's tick.. 
Hug straw 1 
Say, shall I wound with satire's rankling 
spear 
The pure, warm hearts that bid me wel- 
come here? 
No! while I wander through the land 
of drean1s, 
To strive with great and play with tri- 
fling themes, 
Let some kind Ineaning fill the varied 
line; 
You have your judglnent; will you 
trust to mine î 


Between two breaths what crowded 
mysteries lie, - 
The first short gasp, the last and long- 
dra wn sigh! 
Like phantoms painted 011 the magic 
slide, 
Forth fronl the darkness of the past we 
glide, 
As living shadows for a nloment seen 
In airy pageant on the eternal screen, 
Traced by a ray from one unchanging 
flame, 
Then seek the dust and stillness whence 
we came. 


But whence and why, our trembling 
souls inquire, 
Caught these dim visions their awaken- 
ing fire 1 
o who forgets when first the piercing 
thought 
Through childhood's musings found its 
way unsought 1 
I AM ; - I LIVE. The mystery and the 
fear 
When the dread question, WHAT HAS 
BROUGHT ME HERE? 
Burst through life's twilight, as before 
the sun 



A RIIY
IED LESSON. 


51 


Roll the deep thunders of the nlorning 
gun! 


Are angel faces, silent and serene, 
Ben t on the conflicts of this Ii ttle scene, 
'Yhose ùreanl-1ike efforts, whose unreal 
strife, 
Are but the preludes to a larger life 1 


Or does life's summer see the end of 
all, 
These leaves of being mouldering as they 
fall, 
As the oIll poet vaguely used to deem, 
As 'VESLEY questioned in his youthful 
dreanl 1 
o could such mockery reach our souls 
indeed, 
Give back the Pharaohs' or the Athe- 
nian's creed ; 
Better than this a Heaven of nlan's 
device, - 
The Indian's sports, the l1Ioslem's para- 
dise ! 


Or is our being's only end and aim 
To add new' glories to our 
Iaker's name, 
As the poor insect, shrivelling in the 
blaze, 
Lends a faint sparkle to its streaming 
rays 'l 
Does earth send upwards to the Eternal's 
ear 
The mingled discords of her jarring 
sphere 
To swell his anthem, while creation 
rings 
"ïth notes of anguish from its shattered 
strings? ' 
Is it for this the immortal Artist means 
These conscious, throbbing, agonized 
machines? 


Dark is the soul whose sullen creed 
can bind 


In chains like these the all-embracinO' 
o 

Iind ; 
No! two-faced bigot, thou dost ill re- 
prove 
The sensual, selfish, yet benignant Jove, 
And praise a tyrant throned in lonely 
pride, 
'Vho loves himself, and cares for naught 
beside ; 
'Yho gave thee, summoned from pri- 
nleV'al night, 
A thousand laws, and not a single 
right, - 
A heart to feel, and quivering nerves to 
thrill, 
The sense ?f wrong, the death -defying 
will ; 
'\Vho girt thy senses with this goodly 
fraIne, 
Its earthly glories and its orbs of flame, 
X ot for thyself, unworthy of a thought, 
Poor helpless victiIn of a life unsought, 
But all for him, unchanging and su- 
preme, 
The heartless centre of thy frozen 
scheme! 


Trust not the teacher with his lying 
scroll, 
\\""ho tears the charter of thy shuddering 
soul ; 
The God of love, who gave the breath 
that warms 
All living dust in all its varied forms, 
Asks not the tribute of a world like this 
To fill the measure of his perfect bliss. 
Though ,vinged with life through all its 
radiant shores, 
Creation flowed with unexhausted stores 
Cherub and seraph had not yet enjoyed; 
For this he caned thee from the quick- 
ening void ! 
Nor tl1is alone; a larger gift 'was thine, 
A mightier purpose swelled his vast de- 
sign ; 



52 


ADDITIONAL PO El\IS. 


Thought,-conscience,-will,-to make I Yet, as the needle will forget its aim, 
theln all thine own, Jarred by the fury of the electric flame, 
lIe rent a pillar from the eternal throne! As the true current it will fal8ely fcel, 
\Varpcù froTH its axis by a freight of steel; 
So will thy COSSCIENCE lose its balanced 
tru th, 
If passion's lightning fall upon thy 
youth; 
So the pure effiuence quit its sacred 
hold, 
Girt round too deeply with magnetic 
gold. 
Go to yon tower, where busy science 
plies 
lIeI' vast antennæ, feeling through the 
skies j 
That little vernier on whose slender lines 
Thenlidnight taper treInblesas it shines, 
A silent index, tracks the planets' Inarch 
In all their wanderings through the ethe- 
real arch, 
Tells through the mist wl1ere dazzled 
}'Iercury burns, 
And marks the spot where Uranus re- 
turns. 
So, tin by wrong or neg1igence effaced, 
The living index which thy l\Iaker traced 
Repeats the line éach starry Virtue draws 
Through the wide circuit of creation's 
la \vs ; 
Still tracks unchanged the everlasting 
ray 
Where the dark shadows of temptation 
str
y ; 
 
But, once defaced, forgets the orbs of 
light, 
And leaves thee wandering o'er the ex- 
panse of night. 


l\Iade in his in1age, thou must nobly 
dare 
The thorny crown of sovereignty to 
share. 
'Vith eye uplifted, it is thine to view, 
From thine own centre, Heaven's o'er- 
arching blue ; 
So round thy heart a beaming circle lies 
No fipnù can blot, no hypocrite disguise; 
Fronl all its orbs one cheering voice is 
hrard, 
Full to thine ear it bears the Father's 
word, 
N ow, as in Eden where his first-born 
trod : 
" Seek thine own welfare, true to man 
and God!" 
Thiuk not too meanly of thy low es- 
tate ; 
Thou hast a choice ; to choose is to cre- 
ate! 
Rememberwhose the sacred lips that tell, 
Angels approve thee when thy choice is 
well ; 
Remember, One, a judge of righteous 


men, 
Swore to spare Sodom if she held but 
ten! 
Use well the freedom which thy 1tlaster 


ga ve, 
(Think'st thou tllat Heaven can tolerate 
a slave 1) 
Anù He who maùe tl1ee to be just and 
true 
'Vill bless thee, love thee, - ay, respect 
thee too ! 


Nature has placed thee on a change- 
ful tide, 
To breast its waves, but not without a 
guide; 


"'Vhat is thy creeù ?" a hundred lips 
inlJ. uire ; 
"Thou seekest God beneath wllat Chris- 
t . . I) " 
Ian spIre f 
N or ask they. idly, for uncounted lies 
Float upward on the smoke of sacrifice; 



A RHYl\IED LESSO
. 


53 


'Vhen man's first incense rose above the 
plain, .. 
Of earth's two altars one was built by 
Cain ! 
U ncursed by doubt, om' earliest creed 
we take ; 
\Ve love the precepts for the teacher's 
sake ; 
The simple lessons which the nursery 
taugh t 
Fell soft and stainless on the buds of 
thought, 
And the flùl blossom owes its fairest 
hue 
To those sweet tear-drops of affection's 
dew. 
Too oft the light that led our earlier 
hours 
Fades with the perfume of our cradle 
flowers ; 
The clear, cold question chills to frozen 
doubt; 
Tired of belicfs, we dread to live with- 
out; 
o then, if Reason waver at thy side, 
Let humbler 1\lemory be thy gentle 
guide ; 
Go to thy birthplace, and, if faith was 
there, 
Repeat thy father's creed, thy mother's 
prayer! 


Faith loves to lean on Time's destroy- 
ing arm, 
And age, like distance, lends a double 
charm ; 
In dim cathedrals, dark with vaulted 
gloom, 
'Vhat holy awe invests the saintly 
tom b ! 
There pride will bo,v, and anxious care 
expand, 
.Âncl creeping avarice come with open 
hand ; 
The gay can weep, tllc inlpious can adore, 


From morn's first glimmerings on the 
chancel floor, 
Till dying sunset sheds his crimson 
stains 
Through the faint halos of the irised 
pa nes. 
Yet there are graves, whose rudely- 
sha pen sod 
Bears the fresh footprints where the sex- 
ton trod; 
Graves where the verdure has not dared 
to shoot, 
'Yhere the chance wild-flower has not 
fixed its root, 
'Vhose slumbering tenants, dead without 
a nanle, 
The eternal record shall at length 1)1'0- 
claim 
Pure as the holiest in the long array 
Of hooded, mitred, or tiaraed clay! 


Come, seek the air; sonle pictures we 
may gain 
'Yhose passing shadows shall not be in 
vaIn; 
X ot from the scenes that crowd t1Ie 
stranger's soil, 

 ot from our own amidst the stir of 
toil, 
But when the Sabbath brings its kind 
release, 
And Care lies slumbering on the lap of 
Peace. 


The air is hushed; the street is holy 
ground ; 
Hark! The sweet bells renew their wel- 
come sound; 
As one by one awakes each silent tongue, 
It tells' the turret "hence its voice is 
flung. 


The Chapel, last of su'hlunary things 
That stirs our echoes with the name of 
Kings, 



54 


ADDITIONAL POEl\iS. 


\Vhose bell, just glistening from the font 
and forge, 
Rolled its proud requiem for the second 
George, 
Solemn and swelling, as of old it rang, 
Flings to the wind its deep, sonorous 
clang; - 
The simpler pile, that, mindful of the 
hour 
When Howe's artillery shook its half- 
built tower, 
Wears on its bosom, as a bride might do, 
The iron breastpin which the "Rebels" 
threw, 
'Vakes the sharp echoes with the quiv- 
ering thriH 
Of keen vibrations, tremulous and 
shrill ; - 
Aloft, suspl
ncled in the morning's fire, 
Crash the vast cyn1bals front the South- 
ern spire ; - 
The Giant, standing by the elm-clad 
green, 
His white lance lifted o'er the si1ent 


sccne, 
Whirling in air his brazen goblet rounù, 
Swings from its brim the swollen floods 
of sound;- 
\Vhile, sad with memories of the olùen 
time, 
Throbs from his tower the Northern 

Iinstrel's chime, 
Faint, single tones, that spell their an- 
cient song, 
But tears still follo\v as they breathe 
along. 


Child of the soil, whom fortune sends 
to range 
Where man and nature, faith and cus- 
toms change, 
Borne in thy n1pnlory, pach familiar tone 
l\Ioul'US on the winds that sigh in every 
zonc. 


\Vhen Ceylon sweeps thee with her per- 
fumeù breeze 
Through the warm billows of the Indian 
seas ; 
When - ship and shadow blended both 
In one - 
Flames o'er thy mast the equatorial sun, 
From sparkling midnight to refulgent 
noon 
Thy canvas swelling with the still mon- 
soon ; 
When through thy shrouds the wild tor- 
nado sings, 
And thy poor seabird folds her tattered 
wings, -:- 
Oft will delusion o'er thy senses steal, 
And airy echoes ring the Sabbath peal! 
Then, dim with grateful tears, in long 
aITa y 
Rise the fair town, the island-studded 
bay, 
Home, with its smiling board, its cheer- 
ing fire, 
The half-choked welcome of the expect- 
ing sire, 
The mother's kiss, and, still if aught re- 
main, 
Our whispering hearts shall aid the silrnt 
strain. - 
Ah, let the dreamer .0' er the taffrail 
.Iean 
To muse unheeded, and to weep unseen; 
Fear not the tropic's dews, the evening's 
chil1s, 
His heart lies warm among his triple 
hills ! 


Turned from her path by this deceit- 
ful gleam, 
My waywarù fancy half forgets her 
theme; 
See through tIle strects that slumbereù 
In repobe 
The living current of devotion flows; 
I ts varied forms in one hannonious band, 



A RHY
IED LESSON. 


55 


Age leading childhood by its dimpled 
hand, 
'Vant, in the robe whose faded edges 
fall 
To tell of rags beneath the tartan shawl, 
And wealth, in silks that, fluttering to 
appear, 
Lift the deep borders of the proud cash- 
mere. 


See, but glance briefly, sorrow-worn 
and pale, 
Those sunken cheeks beneath thewidow'j 
veil ; 
Alone she wanders where with him she 
trod, 
No ann to stay her, but she leans on 
God. 
'Vhile other doublets deviate here and 
there, 
'Vhat secret handcuff binds that pretty 
l)air 1 
Compactest couple! pressing side to 
side, - 
Ah, the white bonnet that reveals the 
bride ! 
By the white neckcloth, with its 
straitened tie, 
The sober hat, the Sabbath-speaking 
eye, 
Severe and smileless, he that runs may 
read 
The stern disciple of Geneva's creed; 
Decent and slow, bell old his solemn 
march ; 
Silent he enters through yon crowded 
arch. 
A livelier bearing of the outward 
man, 
The light-hued gloves, the undevout 
ra ttan, 
Now smartly l'aised or half-profanely 
twirled,- 
A bright, fresh twinkle from the week- 
day world, - 


Tell their plain story; - yes, thine eyes 
behold 
A cheerful Christian from the liberal fold. 


Down the chill street that curves in 
gloomiest shade 
'Vhat marks betray YOll solitary maid 1 
The cheek's. reù rose, that speaks of 
baln1Ïer air; 
The Celtic hue that shades her braided 
hair ; 
The gilded missal in her kerchief tied; 
Poor Nora, exile fronl Killarney's side! 
Sister in toil, though blanched by 
colder skies, 
That left their azure in her dO\YIlCast 
eyes, 
See pallid 1tlargaret, Labor's patient 
child, 
Scarce weaned from home, the nursling 
of the wilù, 
'Vhere white Katahdin o'er the horizon 
shines, 
And broad Penobscot dashes through 
the pines. 
Still, as she hastes, ller careful fingers 
hold 
The unfailing hymn-book in its canlbric 
fold. 
Six days at drudgery's heavy wheel she 
stands, 
The seventh sweet morning folds her 
weary hands; 
Yes, chillI of suffering, thou mayst wen 
be sure 
He who ordained the Sabbath loves the 
poor ! 


This weekly picture faithful :rrlen10ry 
draws, 
Nor claims the noisy tribut
 of applause; 
Faint is the glow such baITen hopes 
an 
lrnd, 
And frail the line that asks no loftier 
end. 



56 


ADDITIONAL POE
IS. 


Trust me, kind listener, 
beguile 
Thy saddened features of the prornised 
sn1ile ; 
This magic mantle thou must well 
divide, 
It has its sable and its ermine side'; 
Yet, ere the lining of the robe appears, 
Take thou in silence what I give in 
tears. 


I \vill yet Or ask if mercy's milder creed can save, 
Sweet sister, risen from thy new-nlade 
grave î 


Dear listening soul, this transitory 
seen e 
Of murmuring stillness, busily serene, - 
This solenlll pause, the breathing-space 
of nlan, 
The halt of toil's exhausted caravan, - 
Conles sweet with music to thy wearied 
ear; 
Rise with its anthems to a holier sphere! 


Deal Ineekly, gently, with the hopes 
that guide 

.rhe lowliest brother straying from thy 
side ; 
If right, they bill thee treulble for thine 
own, 
I f wrong, the verdict is for God alone ! 


'Vhat though the chaIn pions of thy 
faith estemu 
The sprinkled fountain or baptismal 
stream; 
Shall jealous passions in unseenlly strife 
Cross their dark weapons o'er the waves 
of life ? 


Let my free soul, expanding as it can, 
Leave to his scheme the thoughtful 
Puritan; 
But Calvin's dogma shall my lips de- 
ride? 
In that stern faith my angel ltlary 
died; - 


True, the harsh founders of thy church 
reviled 
That ancient faith, the trust of Erin's 
child ; 
ltlust thou be raking in the crumbled 
past 
For racks and fagots in her teeth to 
cast ? 
See frOl11 the ashes of Helvetia's pile 
The whitened skull of old Servetus 
smile ! 
Rounù her young heart thy "Ron1Ïsh 
Upas" thre,v 
I ts firm, deep fibres, strengthening as 
she grew; 
Th y sneering voice may call them 
" Popish tricks," - 
Her Latin prayers, her dangling cruci. 
fix,- 
But De Prof
tndis blessed lIeI' father's 
gra ve ; 
That "idol" cross her dying nlother 
gave! 
'Vhat if some angel looks with equal 
eyes 
On her and thee, the silnple and the 
wise, 
Writes each dark fault against thy 
brigh tel' creed, 
And drops a tear with every foolish 
bead ! 


Grieve, as thou must, o'er history's 
reeking page ; 
Blush for the wrongs that stain thy 
ha ppier age; 
Strive with the wanderer from the 
better path, _ 
Bearing thy message meekly, not in 
wrath ; 


.... 



A RHY:MED LESSON. 


57 


'Yeep for the frail that err, the weak 
that fall, 
Have thine own faith, - but hope and 
pray for all ! 


Faith; Conscience; Love. A meaner 
task remains, 
And humbler thoughts must creep in 
low lier strains ; 
Shalt thou be honest î Ask the worldly 
schools, 
And all will tell thee knaves are busier 
fools; 
Prudent î Industrious 1 Let not modern 
pens 
Instruct "Poor Richard's" fellow-citi- 


zens. 


Be firm ! one constant element in luck 
Is genuine, solid, old Teutonic pluck j 
See yon tall shaft; it felt the earth- 
quake's thrill, 
Clung to its base, and greets the sun- 
rise still. 


Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold 
will sli 1), 
But only crowbars loose the bulldog's 
grip; 
Small as he looks, the jaw that never 
yields 
Drags down the bellowing monarch of 
the fields ! 


Yet in opinions look not always back; 
Your wake is nothing, mind the corning 
track ; 
Leaye what you've done for what you 
have to do ; 
Don't be "consistent," but be simply 
trne. 


Don't catch the fidgets; you have 
found your place 
J list in the focus of a nervous race, 


Fretful to change, and rabid to discuss, 
Full of excitements, always in a fuss ;- 
Think of the patriarchs; then compare 
as men 
These lean-cheeked maniacs of the 
tongue and pen ! 
Run, if you like, but try to keep your 
breath ; 
,V ork like a man, but don't be worked 
to death; 
And with new notions, -let nle change 
the rule, - 
Don't strike the iron till it's slightly 
cool. 


Choose well your set; our feeble na- 
ture seeks 
The aid of clubs, the countenance of 
cliques; 
And with this object settle first of all 
Your weight of metal and your size of 
ball. 
Track not the steps of such as hold you 
cheap, 
Too mean to prize, though good enough 
to keep ; 
The "real, genuine, no-mistake Tom 
Thumbs" 
Are little people fed on great men's 
crum bs. 
Yet keep no followers of that hateful 
brood 
That basely mingles with its wholesome 
food 
The tumid reptile, which, the poet said, 
Doth wear a precious jewel in his head. 


. If the wild filly, "Progress," thou 
,,"ouldst ride, 
Have young companions ever at thy 
side; 
But, wouldst thou stride the stanch old 
mare, "Success," 
Go with thine elders, though they please 
thee less. 



58 


ADDITIONAL POE
IS. 


Shun such as lounge through after- 
noons and eves, 
And on thy dial write, "Beware of 
thieves ! " 
Felon of minutes, never taught to feel 
The worth of treasures which thy fingers 
steal, 
Pick my left pocket of its silver dime, 
But spare the right, - it holds my 
golden time ! 


Does praise delight thee? Choose 
some ultra side ; 
A sure old recipe, and often tried; 
Be its apostle, congressman, or bard, 
Spokesman, or jokesman, only drive it 
hard ; 
But know the forfeit which thy choice 
abides, 
For on two wheels the poor reformer 
rides, 
One black with epithets the anti throws, 
One white with flattery painted by the 
pros. 


Though books on MANNERS are not 
out of print, 
An honest tongne may drop a harmless 
hin t. 
Stop not, unthinking, every friend 
you meet, 
To spin your wordy fabric in the street; 
'Vhile you are emptying your colloquial 
pack, 
The fiend LU/Jnbago jumps upon his 
back. 
N or cloud his features with the un- 
welcome tale 
Of how he looks, if haply thin and pale ; 
Health is a subject for )lis child, his 
wife, 
And the rude office that insures his life. 
Look in his face, to meet thy neigh- 
bor's soul, 
Not on his garments, to detect a hole; 


"How to observe," is what t11Y pages 
show, 
Pride of thy sex, 1tIiss Harriet 1tlar. 
tineau ! 
0, what a precious book the one would 
be 
That taught observers what they're not 
to see ! 


I tell in verse, - 't were better done 
in prose, - 
One curious trick that every body knows; 
Once form this habit, and it '8 very 
strange 
How long it sticks, how hard it is to 
change. 
Two friendly people, both disposed to 
smile, 
Who meet, like others, every little 
while, 
Instead of passing with a pleasant bow, 
And "How d' ye do î" or "How '8 
your uncle now?" 
Impelled by feelings in their nature kind, 
But slightly weak, and somewhat unùe- 
fined, 
Rush at each other, make a sudden 
stand, 
Begin to talk, expatiate, and expand; 
Each looks quite radiant, seems ex- 
trenlely struck, 
Their meeting. so was such a piece of 
luck; 
Each thinks the other thinks 118 '8 
greatly pleased 
To screw the vice in which they both 
are squeezed; 
So there they talk, in dust, or mud, or 
snow, 
Both bored to death, and both afraid to 
go! 
Your hat once lifted, do not hang 
your fire, 
N or, like slow Ajax, fighting still, re.. 
tire ; 



A RHY
IED LESSO
. 


59 


When your old castor on your crown 
you clap, 
Go off; you've mounted your percussion 
cap. 


Some words on LANGUAGE may be 
well applied, 
And take them kindly, though they 
touch your pride; 
,y ords lead to things; a scale is more 
precIse, - 
Coarse speech, bad grammar, swearing, 
drinking, vice. 
Our cold Northeaster's icy fetter clips 
The native freedon1 of the Saxon lips; 
See the brown peasant of the plastic 
South, 
How all his passions play about his 
nlouth! 
''''''ith us, the feature that transmits the 
soul, 
A froz
n, passive, palsied breathing-hole. 
The cram py shackles of the plough boy's 
walk 
Tie the small muscles when he strives to 
talk ; 
Not all the punlice of the polished town 
Can smooth this roughness of the barn- 
yarù down ; 
Rich, honored, titled, he betrays his race 
By this one nlark, - he's awkward in 
the face ;- 
Nature's rude inlpr
ss, long before he knew 
The sunnystrept that holds the sifted few. 
I t can't be helped, though, if we're 
taken young, 
'Ve gain sorn e freedom of the Ii ps an d 
tongue ; 
But school anù college often try in vain 
To break the padlock of our boyhood's 
chain: 
One stubborn word will prove this axiom 
true, - 
K 0 q UOllllml1 rustic can enunciate l'icw. 


A few brief stanzas may be well em- 
ployed 
To speak of errors we can all avoid. 


Learning condelnns beyond the reach 
of hope 
The careless lips that speak of soap for 
sõa p ; 
Her edict exiles from her fair abode 
The clownish voice that utters rõad for 
rõad : 
Less stern to him who calls his cõat a 
coat, 
And steers his bõat, believing it a 
boa t, 
She pardoned one, our classic city's boast, 
'Yho said at Cambridg
, most instead of 
mõst, 
But knit her brows and stamped her 
angry foot 
To hear a Teacher call a rõot a root. 


Once more; speak clearly, if you s!)eak 
at all ; 
Carve every word before you let it 
fall ; 
Don't, like a lecturer or dranlatic star, 
Try over hard to roll the British R ; 
Do put your accents in the proper spot ; 
Don't, -let me beg you, - don't say 
"How?" for "'Vhat?" 
And, when you stick on conversation's 
burrs, 
Don't strew your pathway with those 
dreadful UTS. 


Fron1 little matters let us pass to 
less, 
And lightly touch the mysteri
sofDREss; 
The outward fOrIllS the inner man re- 
veal, - 
'Ye guess the pulp before we cut the 
peel. 


I l
ave the broadclotll, - coats anù 
all the rest, - 



60 


ADDITIONAL POE}IS. 


The dangerous waistcoat, called by cock- 
neys "vest," 
The things named "pants" in certain 
documents, 
A word not made for gentlemen, but 
" gents" ; 
One single precept might the whole con- 
dense : 
Be sure your tailor is a lnan of sense; 
But add a little care, a decent pride, 
Anù always err upon the sober side. 
Three pairs of boots one pair of feet de- 
mands, 
If polished daily by the owner's hands; 
If the dark menial's visit save from 
this, 
Have twice the number, for he '11 some- 
tinles Iniss. 
One pair for critics of the nicer sex, 
Close ill the instep's clinging circum- 
flex, 
Long, narrow, light; the Gallic boot of 
love, 
A kind of cross between a boot anel 
glove. 
Compact, but easy, strong, substantial, 
sq nare, 
Let native art compile the medium pair. 
The third remains, and let your tasteful 
skill 
Here show some relics of affection still ; 
Let no stiff cowhide, reeking fronl the 
tan, 
No rough caoutchouc, no deformed bro- 
gan, 
Disgrace the tapering outline of your 
feet, 
Though yellow torrents gurgle through 
the street. 


Wear seemly gloves ; not black, nor 
yet too light, 
And least of all the pair that once was 
white ; 


Let the dead party where you told your 
loves 
Bury in peace its dead bou(luets and 
gloves ; 
Shave like the goat, if so your fancy bids, 
But be a parent, - don't neglect your 
kids. 


Have a good hat; the secret of your 
looks 
Lives with the beaver in Canadian brooks; 
Virtue may flourish in an old cravat, 
But man and nature scorn the shocking 
hat. 
Does beauty slight you from her gay 
abodes î 
Like bright Apollo, you must take to 
Rhoades, - 

Iount the new castor, -ice itself will 
melt; 
Boots, gloves, may fail ; the hat is al- 
ways felt! 
Be shy of breastpins; plain, well.. 
ironed white, 
With small pearl buttons, -two of them 
in sight, - 
Is always genuine, while your gems may 
pass, 
Though real diamonds, for ignoble glass ; 
But spurn those paltry Cisatlantic lies, 
That round hi's breast the shabby rustic 
ties; 
Breathe not the name, profaned to hallow 
things 
The indignant laundress blushes Whf'll 
she brings! 
Our freeborn race, averse to every 
check, 
Has tossed the yoke of Europe from its 
neck; 
From the green prairie to the sea-girt 
town, 
The whole wide nation turns its collars 
down. 



A RHY
IED LESSON. 


61 


The stately neck is manhood's manli- 
est part ; 
It takes the life-blood freshest from the 
heart ; 
'Vith short, curled ringlets close around 
it spread, 
How light and strong it lifts the Grecian 
head ! 
Thine, fair Erechtheus of 1tlinerva's 
wall; - 
Or thine, young athlete of the Louvre's 
hall, 
Smooth as the pillar flashing in the 
sun 
That filled the arena where thy wTeaths 
were won, - 
Firnl as the band that clasps the antlered 
spoil, 
Strained in the winding anaconda. s coil ! 


I spare the contrast; it were only 
kind 
To be a little, nay, intensely blind: 
Choose for yourself: I know it cuts your 
ear; 
I know the points will sometimes inter- 
fere ; 
I know that often, like the filial John, 
'Yhom sleep surprised with balf his dra- 
pery on, 
You show your features to the astonished 
town 
With one side standing and the other 
down; - 
But, 0 my friend! my favorite fellow- 
man! 
If Kature made you on her modern 
plan, 
Sooner than wander with your windpipe 
. bare,- 
The fruit of Eden ripening in the air, - 
'Yith that lean head-stalk, that protrud- 
ing chin, 
'Veal' standing collars, were they made 
of tin! 


And have a neck-cloth, - by the throat 
of Jove! 
Cut fronl the funnel of a rusty stove! 


The long-dra\\n lesson narrows to its 
close, 
Chill, slender, slow, the dwindled cur- 
rent flows ; 
Tired of the ripples on its feeble springs, 
Once more the 1\Iuse unfolds her upward 
wings. 


Land of my birth, with this unhal- 
lowed tongue, 
Thy hopes, thy dangers, I perchance had 
sung ; 
But who shall sing, in brutal disregard 
Of all the essentials of the "native 
bard " ? 
Lake, sea, shore, prairie, forest, moun- 
tain, fall, 
His eye omnivorous must devour theln 
all ; 
The tallest summits and the broadest 
tides 
His foot must compass with its giant 
strides, 
\Vhere Ocean thunders, where 1tlissouri 
roUs, 
And tread at once the tropics and the 
poles ; 
His food all forms of earth, fire, water, 
aIr, 
His home all space, his birthplace every-- 
,,-here. 


Some grave con1patriot, having seen 
perhaps 
The pictured page that goes ill ".,. orces- 
tel" s 1\1 a ps, 
And Tead in earnest what was sairl in jest, 
"'Vho drives fat oxen" - please to add 
the rest, - 
Sprung the odd notion that the poet's 
dreanls 



62 


ADDITIONAL POEl\IS. 


Grow in the ratio of his hills and streams; 
And hence insisted that the aforesaid 
" bard, " 
Pink of the future, - fancy's pattern- 
card, - 
The babe of nature in the " giant West, " 
1t1ust be of course her biggest and her 
best. 


o when at lengt.h the expected bard 
shall come, 
Land of our pride, to strike thine echoes 
dunlb, 
(And many a voice exclaims in prose 
and rhyme, 
It's getting late, and he's behind his 
time,) 
When all thy ß10untains clap their hands 
In JOY, 
And all thy cataracts thunder, "That's 
the boy,"- 
Say if with him the reign of song shall 
end, 
And Heaven declare its final dividend? 


Be calm, dear brother! whose impas- 
sioned strain 
Comes fr01n an alley watered by a drain; 
The little 1\Iincio, dribbling to the Po, 
Beats all the epics of the Hoang Ho ; 
If loved in earnest by the tuneful maid, 
Don't mind their nonsense, - never be 
afraid ! 


The nurse of poets feeds her wingèd 
brood 
By C01nn10n firesides, on familiar food ; 
In a low hamlet, by a narrow str
am, 
Where bovine rustics used to doze and 
dream, 
She filled young 'Villiam's fiery fancy full, 
'Vhile old John Shakespeare talked of 
beeves and wool ! 


No Alpine needle" with its climbing 
spIre, 


Brings down for mortals the Promethean 
fire; 
If careless nature have forgot to frame 
Au altar worthy of the sacred flame. 
Unblest by any save the goatherd's 
lines, 
1\10nt Blanc rose soaring through his 
" sea of pines" ; 
In vain the rivers from their ice-çaves 
flash ; 
No hymn salutes them but the Ranz des 
Vaches, 
Till lazy Coleridge, by the morning's 
light, 
Gazed for a moment on the fields of 
\V hi te, 
And 10, the glaciers found at length a 
tongue, 
Mont Blanc was vocal, and Chamounl 
sung ! 


Children of wealth or want, to each is 
gi ven 
One spot of green, and all the blue of 
heaven ! 
Enough, if these their outward sho\Ys 
impart; 
The rest is thine, - the scenery of the 
heart. 


If passion's hectic in .thy stanzas glow, 
Thy heart's best life-blood ebbing as 
they flow ; 
If with thy verse thy strength and bloom 
distil, 
Drained by the pulses of the fevered 
thrill ; 
If sound's sweet effluence polarize thy 
brain, 
And thoughts turn crystals in thy fluid 
strain, - 
N or rolling ocean, nor the prairie's 
bloon1, 
Nor streaming cliffs" nor rayless cavern's 
gloom, 



A RHYl\iED LESSON. 


63 


. N eed'st thou, young poet, to inform thy 
line ; 
Thy own broad signet stamps thy song 
divine ! 
Let others gaze where silvery streams 
are rolled, 
And chase the rainbow for its cup of 
gold ; 
To thee all landscapes wear a heavenly 
dye, 
Changed in the glance of thy prismatic 
eye; 
Nature evoked thee in sublimer throes, 
For thee her ÏlUllost Arethusa flows,- 
The mighty mother's living depths are 
stirred, - 
Thou art the starred Osiris of the herd ! 


,A few brief lines; they touch on 
solenln chords, 
And hearts may leap to hear their hon- 
est words ; 
Yet, ere the jarring bugle-blast is blown, 
The softer lyre shall Lreathe its soothing 
tone. 


New England! proudly may thy 
children claim 
Their honored birthright by its hum- 
blest nanle ! 
Cold are thy skies, but, ever fresh and 
clear, 
No rank malaria stains thine atmos- 
phere ; 
No fungous weeds invade thy scanty 
soil, 
ScalTed by the ploughshares of unslum- 
bering toil. 
Long may the doctrines by thy sages 
taught, 
Raised from the quarries where their 
sires 
ave wrought, 
Be like the granite of thy rock-ribbed 
land, - 
As slow to rear, as obdurate to stand: 


And as the ice, that leaves thy crystal 
n1Ïne, 
Chills the fierce alcohol in the Creole's 
wine, 
So may the doctrines of thy sober school 
Keep the hot theories of thy neighbors 
cool ! 


If ever, trampling on her ancient path, 
Cankered by treachery, or inflamed by 
"Tath, 
'Vith smooth" Resolves," or with dis- 
cordant cries, 
The mad Briareus of di
union rise, 
Chiefs of New England! by your sires' 
renown, 
Dash the red torches of the rebel down! 
Flood his black hearthstone till its 
flames expire, 
Though your old Sachem fanned his 
council-fire! 


But. if at last - her fading cycle 
run- 
The tongue must forfeit what the arm 
has won, 
Then rise, wild Ocean! roll thy surging 
shock 
Full on old Plymouth's desecrated rock! 
Scale the l)roud shaft degenerate hands 
ha ve hewn, 
'Yhere bleeding Valor stained the flowers 
of June! 
Sweep in one tide her spires and turrets 
down, 
And howl her dirge above 1\Ionadnock's 
crown ! 


List not the tale; the Pilgrim's hal- 
lowed shore, 
Though strewn with weeds, is granite at 
the core ; 
o rather trust that He who made her free 
'ViII keep her true, as long as faith shall 
be! 



64 


ADDITIONAL rOE1tIS. 


Farewell! yet lingering through the 
destineù hour, 
Leave, sweet Enchantress, one memorial 
flower! 


An Angel, floating o'er the waste of 
snow 
That c1ad our 'Vestern desert, long ago, 
(The saIne fair spirit, who, unseen by day, 
Shone as a star along the lrlayflower's 
way,) 
Sent, the first herald of the Heavenly 
plan, 
To choose on earth a resting-place for 


man, - 
Tired with his flight along the unvaried 
field, 
Turned to soar upwards, when his glance 
revealed 
A caInl, bright bay, enclosed in rocky 
bouuds, 
And at its entrance stood three sister 
mounds. 


The Angel spake: "This threefold 
hill shall be 
The honle of Arts, the nurse of Liberty ! 
One stately sumn1Ït from its shaft shall 
pour 
Its deep-red blaze along the darkened 
shore ; 
Enl blem of thoughts, that, kindling far 
anù wide, 
In danger's night shall be a nation's 
guiùe. 
One swelling crest the citadel shall crown, 
Its slanted bastions black with battle's 
frown, 
And bid the sons that tread its scowling 
heights 
Bare their strong arms for Inan and all 
his rights! 
One silent steep along the northern wave 
Shall hold the patriarch's and the hero's 
gra ve ; 


'Vhen fades the torch, when o'er tIle 
peaceful scene 
The elnbattled fortress smiles in living 
green, 
The cross of Faith, the anchor staff of 
Hope, 
Shall stand eternal on its grassy slope ; 
There through all tin1e shall faithful 
l\Iemory ten, 
'Here Virtue toiled, and Patriot Valor 
fell ; 
Thy free, proud fathers slumber at thy 
siùe ; 
Live as they lived, or perish as they 
died ! ' " 


AN AFTER-DINNER POEM.! 


(TERPSICHORE. ) 


IN narrowest girdle, 0 reluctant 
I use, 
In c10sest frock and Cinderella shoes, 
Bound to the foot-lights for thy brief 
display, 
One zephyr step, and then dissolve away! 


Short is the space that gods and men 
can spare 
To Song's twin. brother when she is not 
there. 
Let others water every ]usty line, 
As Homer's heroes did their purple 
wine ; 
Pierian revellers! Know in strains like 
these 
The native juice, the real honest 
squeeze, - 
Strains that, diluted to the twentieth 
power, 
In yon grave temple might have filled 
an hour. 


1 Read at the Annual Dinner of the cþ B K 
Society, at Cam briùge, August 24, 1843. 



AN AFTER-DIXXER POEl\I. 


65 


Small room for Fancy's many-chorded 
lyre, 
For 'V it's bright rockets with their trains 
of fire, 
For Pathos, struggling vainly to surprise 
The iron tutor's tear-denying eyes, 
For J\Iirth, whose finger with delusive 
wile 
Turns the grim key of many a rusty 
smile, 
For Satire, emptying his corrosive flood 
On hissing Folly's ga.s-exhaling brood, 
The pun, the fun, the moral and the 
joke, 
The hi t, the thrust, the pugilistic 
poke,- 
Small space for these, so pressed by nig- 
gard Tin1e, 
Like that false matron, known to nursery 
rhyme, - 
Insidious :\Iorey, -scarce her tale begun, 
Ere listening infants weep the story 
done. 


o had we room to rip the mighty bags 
That Time, the harlequin, has stuffed 
with rags! 
Grant us one moment to unloose the 
strings, 
'Vhile the old graybeard shuts his leather 
,,-ings. 
But what a heap of motley trash appears 
Crammed in the bundles of successive 
years ! 
As the lost rustic on some festal day 
Stares through the concourse in its vast 
array, - 
Where in one cake a throng of faces 
runs, 
All stuck together like a sheet of 
buns, - 
And throws the bait of some unheeded 


name, 
Or shoots a wink with most uncertain 


ann, 


So roams my vision, wandering over all, 
And strives to choose, but knows not 
where to fall. 


Skins of flayed authors, - husks of dead 
reVIeWS, - 
The turn-coat's clothes, -the office- 
seeker's shoes,- 
Scraps from cold feasts, where conversa- 
tion runs 
Through mouldy toasts to oxidated puns, 
And grating songs a listening crowd en- 
d ures, 
Rasped from the throats of bellowing 
amateurs ; - 
Sermons, whose writers played such dan- 
gerous tricks 
Their own heresiarchs called them here- 
tics 
(Strange that one term such distant poles 
should link, 
The Priestleyan's copper and the Pusey- 
, . ) 
an s ZInc ;- 
Poems that slnlffle with superfluous legs 
A blindfold minuet over achUpd eggs, 
'Yhere all the syllables that end ill éd, 
Like old dragoons, have cuts across the 
head ;- 
Essays so dark Champollion might de- 
spaIr 
To guess what mummy of a thought was 
there, 
,Yhere our poor English, striped with for- 
eign phrase, 
Looks likea Zebra in a parson's chaise;- 
Lectures that cut our dinners down to 
roots, 
Or prove (by monkeys) nlen should stick 
to fruits ; 
Delusiye error, - as at trifling charge 
Profpssor Gripes win certify at large;- 
l\Iesmeric panlphlets, which to facts ap- 
peal, 
Each fact as slippery as a fresh-caught 
eel; - 



66 


ADDITIOX AL POEl\IS. 


And figured heads, whose hieroglyphs 
in vi te 
To wandering knaves that discount fools 
at sight; - 
Such things as these, with heaps of Ull- 
paid Lills, 
And candy puffs and homæopathic pills, 
And ancient bell-crowns with contracted 


rIm, 
And bonnets hideous with expanded 
brim, 
And coats whose memory turns the sar- 
tor pale, 
Their sequels tapering like a lizard's 
tail ;- 
How rnight we spread thenl to the smil- 
ing day, 
And toss them, fluttering like the new- 
mown hay, 
To laughter's light or sorrow's pitying 
shower, 
"\Vere these brief minutes lengthened to 
an hour. 


The narrow moments fit like Sunday 
shoes, 
How vast the heap, how quickly must 
we choose ; 
A few small scraps from out his moun- 
tain m 3.SS 
"\Ve snatch in haste, and let the vagrant 
pass. 


This shrunken CRUST that Cerberus could 
not bite, 
Stanlped (in one corner) "Pickwick copy- 
righ t, " 
Kneaded by youngsters, raised by flat- 
tery's yeast, 
"\Vas once a loaf, and helped to make a 
feast. 
He for whose sake the glittering show 
appears 
lias sown the world with lau(1hter and 
o 
with tears, 


And they whose welcome wets the bump- 
er's brÏ1n 
Have wit and wisdom, - for they all 
quote !liln. 
So, l11anya tongue the evening hour pro- 
longs 
"\Vith spangled speeches, -let alone the 
songs, - . 
Statesmen grow nlerry, lean attorneys 
laugh, 
And weak teetotals warm to half anù 
half, 
And beardless Tullys, new to festive 
scenes, 
Cut their first crop of youth's precocious 
greens, 
And wits stand ready for impronlptu 
claps, 
'Vith loaded barrels and percussion caps, 
And Pathos, cantering through the Ini- 
nor keys, 
'Va ves all her onions to the trembling 
breeze ; 
'Vhile the great Feasted views with si- 
lent glee . 
His scattered limbs in Yankee fricassee. 


Sweet is the scene where genial friend- 
ship plays 
The pleasing ganI8 of interchanging 
praIse ; 
Self-Iovf', grimalkin of the human heart, 
Is ever pliant to the master's art; 
Soothed wi th a word, she peacefully 
wi thdra ws 
And sheathes in velvet her obnoxious 
cIa ws, 
And thrills the hand that smooths her 
glossy fur 
'Vith the light tremor of her grateful 
pur. 


nut what sad music fills the quiet hall, 
If on her back a feline rival fall ; 



A
 AFTER-DIXNER POE
I. 


67 


And 0, what noises shake the tranquil 
house, 
If old Self-interest cheats her of a møuse! 


Thou, 0 nlY country, hast thy foolish 
ways, 
Too apt to pur at every stranger's praise; 
But, if the stranger touch thy nlodes or 
la ws, 
Off goes the velvet and out come the 
cIa \vs ! 
And thou, Illustrious! but too poorly 
paid 
In toasts from Pickwick for thy great 
crusade, 
Though, while the echoes labored with 
thy nanle, 
The public trap denied thy little game, 
Let other lips our jealous la" s revile, - 
The lnarble Talfourù or the rude Car- 
lyle, - 
But on thy lids, which Heaven forbids 
to close 
'Yhere' erthe light of kindly nature glows, 
Let not the dollars that a churl denies 
'Veigh like the shillings on a dead man's 
eyes ! 
Or, if thou wilt, be more discreetly blind, 
N or ask to see all wide extremes com- 
bined. 
Not in our wastes the dainty blossoms 
sn1ile, 
Tllat erowd the gardens of thy scanty isle. 
There whit
-cheeked Luxury weaves a 
thousand charms;- 
Here sun-browned Labor swings his 
naked arms. 
Long are the furrows he must trace be- 
tween 
The ocean's azure and the prairie's green; 
Full Inany a blank his destined realnl 
displays, 
Yet see the promise of his riper days: 
Far through yon depths the panting 
engine moves, 


His chariots ringing in their steel-sholl 
grooves; 
....-\.nd Erie'
 naiad flings her dianlond waye 
O'er the wild sea-nymph in her distant 
cave ! 
'Vhile tasks like these employ his anx- 
ious hours, 
'Vhat if his cornfields are not edged 
with flowers 1 
Though bright as silver the meridian 
bea nIS 
Shine through the crystal of thine Eng- 
lish streams, 
Turbid and dark the mighty wave is 
whirled 
That drains our Andes and ùi vides a 
world! 


But 10! a P ARCHl\IEKT! Surely it would 
seenl 
The sculptured impress speaks of power 
sUlJreme; 
Some grave design the solemn page must 
clainl 
That shows so broadly an elnblazoned 
nanle ; 
A sovereign's promise! Look, the lines 
afford 
All Honor gives when Caution asks his 
word : 
There sacred Faith has laid her snow- 
white hauds, 
And awful Justice knit her iron bands; 
Yet every leaf is stained with treachery's 
dye, 
And every letter crusted with a lie. 
Alas! no treason has degraded yet 
The Arab's salt, the Indian's calumet; 
A simple rite, that bears the wanderer's 
pledge, 
Blunts the keen shaft and turns the 
dagger's edge;- 
"\Vhile jockeying senates stop to sign 
and seal, 
And freebonl statesmen legislate to steal. 



68 


ADDITIONAL POEMS. 


Rise, Europe, tottering with thine Atlas 
load, 
Turn thy proud eye to Freedom's blest 
aboùe, 
And round her forehead, wreathed with 
heavenly HanIe, 
Bind the dark garland of her daughter's 
shame! 
Ye ocean clouds, that wrap the angry 
blast, 
Coil her stained ensign round its haughty 
Dlast, 
Or tear the fold that wears so foul a scar, 
And drive a bolt through every black- 
ened star ! 


Once more, - once only, - we must stop 
so soon, - 
'Vha t have we here 1 A GERMAN-SIL- 
VER SPOON; 
A cheap utensil, which we often see 
ITsed by the dabblers in æsthetic tea, 
Of slender fabric, somewhat light and 
thin, 
}Iaùe of nlixed metal, chiefly lead and 
tin; 
The bowl is shallow, and the hanùle 
SIll all , 
Marked in large letters with the name 
JEAN PAUL. 
Small as it is, its powers are passing 
strange, 
For all who use it show a wondrous 
change; 
And first, a fact to make the barbers 
stare, 
I t beats !lacassar for the growth of hair; 
See those slnall youngsters whose ex- 
pansive ears 

Iaternal kinùness grazed with frequent 
shears; 
Each bristling crop a dangling mass 
becom es, 
And all the spoonies turn to Absa- 
loms ! 


N or this alone its magic power displays, 
I t alters strangely all their works and 
ways; 
With uncouth ,vords they tire their 
tender lungs, 
The same bald phrases on their hun. 
dred tongues; . 
"Ever" "The Ages" in their page ap- 
pear, 
" Alway" the bedlamite is called a 
" Seer" ; 
On every leaf the "earnest" sage may 
scan, 
Portentous bore! their" many-sided" 
DIan, - 
A weak eclectic, groping vague and 
dim, 
Whose every angle is a balf-starved 
whim, 
Blind as a mole and curious as a lynx, 
'Vho rides a beetle, which he cans a 
"Sphinx. " 
And 0 what questions asked in club- 
foot rhYlne 
Of Earth the tongueless anti the deaf- 
mute TÏ1ne! 
Here babbling" Insight" shouts in N a- 
hue's ears 
His last conundrum on the orbs and 
spheres; 
There Self-inspection sucks its little 
thumb, 
'Vith "Whence am 11" and "Where- 
fore did I come 1 " 
Deluded infants! will they ever know 
Some doubts must darken o'er the world 
below, 
Though an the Platos of the nursery 
trail 
Their" clouds of glory" at the go-cart's 
tail ? 
o might these couplets their attention 
claim, 
That gain their author the Philistine's 
name; 



AX AFTER-DIXNER POE
I. 


69 


(A stubborn race, that, spurning foreign 
law, 
'Yas nluch belabored with an ass's jaw!) 



Ielodious Laura! From the sad re- 
treats 
That hold thee, smothered with excess 
of sweets, 
Shade of a shadow, spectre of a dream, 
Glance thy wan eye across the Stygian 
streanl ! 
The slip-shod dreamer treads thy fra- 
grant halls, 
The sophist's cobwebs hang thy roseate 
walls, 
And o'er the crotchets of thy jingling 
tunes 
The bard of mystery scrawls his crooked 
" runes. " 
Yes, thou art gone, with all the tuneful 
horùes 
That candied thoughts in amber-colored 
words, 
And in the precincts of tllY late abodes 
The clattering verse-wright hanlmers 
Orphic odes. 
Thou, soft as zephyr, wast content to 
fly 


On the gilt pinions of a balmy sigh; 
He, vast as Phæbus on his burninO' 
b 
wheels, 
'Yould stride through ether at Orion's 
heels ; 
Thy enlblem, Laura, was a perfume-jar, 
Anù thine, young Orpheus, is a pewter 
star ; 
The balance trembles, - be its verdict 
told 
'Vhen the new jargon slumbers with the 
old! 


Cease, playful goddess! From thine airy 
bound 
Drop like a feather softly to the ground; 
This light bolero grows a ticklish dance, 
And there is mischief in thy kind1ing 
glance. 
To-morrow bids thee, with rebuking 
frown, 
Change thy gauze tunic for a home-made 
gown, 
Too blest by fortune, if the passing day 
Adorn thy bosom with its frail bouquet, 
But 0 still happier if the next forgets 
Thy daring steps and dangerous pirou- 
ettes ! 




l\IISCELLANEOUS POE
IS. 


FROM II THE COLLEGIAN," 1830, ILLUSTRATED ANNUALS, ETC. 


Nescit vox missa reverti. -HORAT. Ars Poetica. 
Ab iis quæ non adjuvant quam mollis:,ìÏme oportet pedem l.eferre. - QUINTILIAN, L. VI. C. 4. 


THE MEETING OF THE DRYADS.! 


IT was not nlany centuries since, .. 
'Vhen, gathered on the moonlit green, 
Beneath the Tree of Liùerty, 
A ring of weeping sprites was seen. 


The freshman's lamp had long been dim, 
The .voice of busy day was nlute, 
And tortured 
Ieloùy had ceasrd 
Her sufferings on the evening flute. 


Thry met not as they once had met, 
To laugh o'er many a jocund tale: 
But every pulse was beating low, 
And every cheek was cold and pale. 


There rose a fair but faded one, 
Who oft had cheered ttem with her 


song; 
She waved a mutilated arm, 
And silence held the listening throng. 


"Sweet friends," the gentle nynlph be- 
gan, 
"From opening bua to withering leaf, 
One CODIfion lot has bound us all, 
In every change of joy and grief. 


1 Written after a general pruning of the trees 
around Harvard College. 


"'Yhile all around has felt decay, 
'Ve rose in ever-living prime, 
'Vith broader shade anù fresher green, 
Beneath the crumbling step of Tilne. 


"\Vhen often by our feet has past 
Some biped, Nature's walking whin), 
Say, have we trimmed one awkward 
shape, 
Or lopped away one crooked limb 1 


"Go on, fair Science; soon to thee 
Shall 
 ature yield her idle boast; 
Her vulgar fingers formed a tree, 
But thou hast trained it to a post. 


"Go, paint the birah's silver Pind, 
And quilt the peach with softer down; 
Up with the willow's trailing threads, 
Off with the sunflower's radialltcrown! 


"Go, plant the lily on the shore, 
Anù spt the rose aInong the waves, 
And bid the tropic bud unbind 
I ts silken zone in arctic caves; 
( 


" Bring bellows for the panting winds, 
Hang up a lantern by the moon, 
And give the nightingale a 
fe, 
And lenù the eagle a balloon! 



. 


72 



IISCELLANEOUS POEl\IS. 


"I cannot smile, - the tide of scorn 
, 
That rolled through every bleeding 
vein, 
Comes kindling fiercer as it flows 
Back to its burning source again. 
" Again in every quivering leaf 
That mon1ent's agony I feel, 
'Vhen linl bs, that spurned the northern 
blast, 
Shrunk fron1 the sacrilegious steel. 
"A cnrse upon the wretch who dared 
To crop us with his felon saw! 

Iay every fruit his lip shall taste 
Lie like a bullet in his n1aw. 


"In every julep that he drinks, 
ltlay gout, and bile, and headache òe' 
, 
And when he strives to calnl his :pain, 
ltla y colic mingle with his tea. 
"1\Iaynightshade cluster round his path, 
And thistles shoot, and bran1 bles 
c1ing ; 
J.lay blistering ivy scorch his veins, 
And dogwood burn, and nettles sting. 
"On him may never shadow fall, 
'V}H'n fever raC'ks his throbbing brow, 
And his last shilling buy a rope 
To hung him on my highest bough!" 
She spoke; - the morning's herald beam 
Sprang from the bosom of the sea 
, 
And every mangled sprite returned 
In sadness to her wounded tree. l 


THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 


THERE was a sound of hurrying feet, 
A tram p on echoin (f stairs 
o , 


t A little poem, on a similar occasion, may 
be found in the works of Swift, from which, 
perhaps, the idea was borrowed; although I 
was a.s much surprised as amused to meet with 
it some time after writing the preceding lines. 


There was a rush along the aisles, - 
It was the hour of prayers. 


And 011, like Ocean's Iniùnicrht wave 
o , 
The current rolled alonO" 
. b' 
'"\Then, sudJenly, a stranger form 
'Vas seen amidst the throng. 
He was a dark and swartI1Y man, 
That uninvited guest; 
A faded coat of bottle-green 
'Yas buttoned round his breast. 
There was not one among then1 all 
Could say from whence he carne; 
N or beardless boy, nor ancient luan, 
Could tell that stranger's nanle. 
All silent as the sheeted dead 
, 
In spite of sneer and frown 
, 
Fast by a. gray-haired senior's side 
He sat hinl boldly down. 
There was a look of horror flashed 
From out the tutor's eyes; 
""'hen all around him rose to pray, 
The stranger did not rise ! 
A n1urmur broke along the crowd, 
The prayer was at an end; 
'Ylth ringing heels and n1easured tread, 
A hundred forms descend. 


Through sounding aisle, o'er grating 
stair, . 
The long procession poured, 
Till all were gathered on the seats 
Around the Commons board. 
That fearful stranger! down he sat, 
Unaskeù, yet undismayed; 
And on his lip a rising smile 
Of scorn or I)leasure played. 
He took his hat and 11ung it lIP, 
'Vith slow but earnest air' 
, 
He stripped his coat from off 11is back 
, 
Anù placed it on a chair. 



THE TOADSTOOL. 


73 



hen fronI 11is nearest neighbor's side 
A knife and plate he drew; 
And, reaching out his hand again, 
He took his teacup too. 


How fled the sugar from the bowl! 
How sunk the azure cream! 
They vanished like the shapes that float 
Upon a summer's dream. 


A long, long draught, - an outstretched 
hand,- 
And crackers, toast, and tea, 
They faded from the stranger's touch, 
Like dew upon the sea. 


Then clouds were dark on many a brow, 
Fear sat upon their souls, 
Anù, in a bitter agony, 
They clasped their buttered rolls. 


A whisper trembled through the 
crowd, - 
""'ho coulll the stranger be? 
Anù some were silent, for they thought 
A cannibal was he. 


'\Vhat if the creature should arise, - 
For he was stout and tall, - 
And swallow ùown a sophomore, 
Coat, crow's-foot, cap, and all ! 


All sullenly the stranger rose; 
They sat in Jllnte despair; 
He took his hat fronl off the peg, 
His coat from off the chair. 


Four freshmen fainted on the seat 
, 
Six swooned upon the floor; 
Yet on tlle fearful being passed, 
And shut the chapel door. 


There is full man y a starvin 0' man 
o , 
That walks in bottle green, 
But never more that hungry one 
In Commons-hall was seen. 


Yet often at the sunset hour, 
"Then tolls the evening bell, 
The freshnlan lingers on the steps, 
That frightful tale to tell. 


THE TOADSTOOL. 


THERE'S a thing that grows by the 
fainting flower, 
And springs in the shade of the lady's 
bower; 
The lily shrinks, and the rose turns pale, 
'Vhell they feel its breath in the sum- 
mer gale, 
And the tulip curls its leaves in pride, 
And the blue-eyed violet starts aside; 
But the lily may flaunt, and the tulip 
stare, 
For what does the honest toadstool care 1 


She does not glow in a painted vest, 
And she never blooms on the maiden's 
breast; 
But she comes, as the saintly sisters do, 
In a nlodest suit of a Quaker hue. 
And, when the stars in the evening skies 
Are weeping dew from their gentle eyes, 
The toad comes 011 t from his hermit cell, 
The tale of his faithful love to tell. 


o there is light in her lover's glance, 
That flies to her heart like a silver lance; 
His breeches are made of spotted skin, 
His jacket is tight, and his pumps are 
thin; 
In a cloudless night you may hear his 
song, 
As its pensive melody floats along, 
And, if you will look by the nloonlight 
fair, 
The trenlbling form of the toad is there. 


And he twines his arms round her slen- 
der stem, 
In the shade of her velvet diadem; 



74 


MISCELLANEOUS POE
IS. 


But she turns away in her maiden shame, 
And will not breathe on the kindling 
flame; 
He sings at her feet through the live- 
long night, 
And creeps to his cave at the break of 
liuht. 
a , 
And whenever he comes to the air above, 
His throat is swelling with bafiied love. 


THE SPECTRE PIG. 


A BALLAD. 


IT was the stalwart butcher Iuan, 
That knit his swarthy brow, 
And said the gentle Pig must die, 
And sealed it with avow. 


And oh! it was the gentle Pig 
Lay stretched upon the ground, 
And ah! it was the cruel knife 
His little heart that found. 


Thpy took him thrn, those wicked men, 
They trailed hin} aU along; 
They put a stick between his lip
, 
And through his heels a thong; 


And round and round an oaken beam 
A hempen cord they flung, 
And, like a mighty pendulum, 
AU soleulnly he swung! 


Now say thy prayers, thou sinful man, 
And think what thou hast done, 
An(l read thy catpchism well, 
Thou bloody-nlinded one; 


For if his s11rite should walk by night, 
J t better wel'e for thee, 
That thou wert mouldering in the 
ground, 
Or bleaching in the sea. 


It was the savage butcher then, 
That made a mock of sin, 
Anù swore a very wicked oath, 
He did not care a pin. 


It was the butcher's youngest son,- 
His voice was broke with sighs, 
And with his l)ocket-handkerchief 
He wiped his little eyes; 


All young and ignorant was he, 
But innocent and Inild, 
And, in his soft sinlplicity, 
Out spoke the tender child:- 


" 0 father, father, list to me ; 
The Pig is deadly sick, 
And men have hung hirn by his heels, 
And fed hill1 with a stick. " 


It was the bloody butcher then, 
That laughed as he would die, 
Yet did he soothe the sorrowing child, 
And bid him not to cry;- 


"0 Nathan, Nathan, what's a Pig, 
That thou shouldst weep and wail? 
Come, bear thee like a butcher's child, 
And thou shalt have his tail!" 


It was the butcher's daughter then, 
So slender and so fair, 
That sobbed as if her heart would break, 
And tore her yellow hair; 


And thus she spoke in thrilling tone, - 
Fast feU the tear-drops big;- 
"Ah! woe is me ! Alas! Alas! 
The Pig! The Pig! The Pig!" 


Then did her wicked father's lips 

lake merry with her woe, 
And call her nlany a naughty name, 
Because she whimpered so. 



TO A CAGED LION. 


75 


Ye need not w'eep, ye gentle ones, 
In vain your tears are shed, 
Ye cannot wash his crimson hand, 
Ye cannot soothe the dead. 


The briaht sun folded on his breast 
b 
His robes of rosy flame, 
And softly over all the west 
The shades of evening came 


He slept, and troops of murdered Pigs 
1Vere busy with his drean1s ; 
Loud rang their wild, uneartWy shrieks, 
'Vide yawned their mortal seams. 


The clock struck twelve; the Dead hath 
heard ; 
He opened both his eyes, 
And sullenly he shook his tail 
To lash \he feeding flies. 


One quiver of the hempen cord,- 
One struggle and one bound, - 
'Vith stiffened limb and leaden eye, 
The Pig was on the ground! 


And straight towards the sleeper's house 
His fearful way he wendeel; 
And hooting owl, and hovedng bat, 
On midnight wing attended. 


Back flew the bolt, up rose the latch, 
And open swung the door, 
And little mincing feet were heard 
Pat, pat along the floor. 


Two hoofs upon the sanded Hoor, 
And two upon the bed; 
And they are breathing side by side, 
The living and the dead ! 


"Now wake, now wake, thou butcher 
nlan ! 
"That nlakes thy cheek RO pale 'I 
Take hold! take hold! thou dost not fear 
To clasp a spectre's tail 1 " 


Untwisted every winding coil; 
The shuddering wretch took hold, 
All like a"n icicle it seemed, 
So tapering and so colù. 
"Thou conl'st with me, thou butcher 
man! " - 
He strives to loose his grasp, 
But, faster than the clinging vine, 
Those twining sl)irals clasp. 


And open, open swung the door, 
Änd, fleeter than the wind, 
The shadowy spectre swept before, 
The butcher trailed behind. 


Fa,;t fled the darkness of the night, 
And morn rose faint and dim ; 
They called full loud, they knocked full 
long, 
rrlley did not waken him. 
Straight, straight towards that oaken 
beam, 
A trampled pathway ran ; 
A ghastly shape was swinging there,- 
It was the butcher man. 


TO A CAGED LION. 


POOR conquered monarch! though that 
haughty glance 
Still speaks thy courage unsubdued 
by time, 
And in the grandeur of thy sullen trea(l 
Lives the proud spirit of thy burning 
clime ; - 
Fettered by things that shudder at tl1Y 
roar, 
Torn from thy pathless wilds to pace 
this narrow floor! 


Thou wast the victor, and all nature 
shrunk 
Before the thunders of thine awful 
,vrath ; 



76 


:MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 


The steel-armed hunter viewed thee 
frOIl} afar, 
Fearless and trackless in thy lonely 
path ! 
The famished tiger closed his flaming 
eye, . 
Aud crouched and panted as thy step 
went by ! 


Thou art the vanquished, and insulting 
man 
Bars thy broad bosom as a sparrow's 


wIng ; 
His nerveless arms thine iron sinews 
bind, 
And lead in chains the desert's fallen 
kiug ; 
Are these the beings that have dare(l to 
twine 
Their feeble threads around those limbs 
of thine î 


So must it be ; the weaker, ,,'iser race, 
That wields the tempest and that rides 
the sea, 
Even in the stiHness of thy solitude 
ltlust teach the lesson of its power to 
thee; 
And tllOU, the terror of the trembling 
wild, 
Must bow thy savage strengtl1, the mock- 
ery of a child ! 


THE STAR AND THE WATER-LILV. 


THE sun stepped down froni his golden 
tlnone, 
And lay in the silent sea, 
.And the I
ily l}ad foldpd her satin leaves, 
For a slpepy thing was she; 
1Yhat is the Lily dreaming of 
 
'Vhy crisp the waters blue? 
See, see, she is lifting her varnished lid! 
Her white leaves are glistening 
through 1 


The Rose is cooling llis burning cheek 
In the lap of the breathle
s tide ;- 
The Lily }}ath sisters fresh and fair, 
That would lie by the Rose's side; 
He would love her better than all the rf'st, 
And he would be fond and true ;- 
But the Lily unfolded her weary lids, 
And looked at the sky so blue. 


Remember, ren1elJ1ber, thou silly one, 
How fast will thy sunlmer glide, 
And wilt thou wit11er a virgin l}ale, 
Or flourish a bloon1Îng bride 1 
" 0 the nose is old, and thorny, and cold, 
And he lives on earth,': said she; 
"But the Star is fair and he lives in 
the air, 
And he shall my bridegroom be." 


But wllat if the stormy cloud should 
C0111e, 
And ruffle the silver sea' 
Would he turn his eye from the distant 
sky, 
'To smile on a thing like thee? 
o no, fair Lily, he will not send 
One ray froIll his far-off throne; 
The winds shall blow and the waves 
s}lall flö,v, 
And thou wilt be left alone. 


There is not a leaf on the mountain-top 
Nor a drop of evening dew, 
N or a golden saud on the sparkling 
shore, 
N or a pparl in tIle waters hIue, 
That he has not cheered with llÎs fickle 
snlile, 
And warmed with his faithless 
beam, - 
And will he be true to a pallid flower, 
That floats on the quiet stream? 


Alas for the I
ily! she would not heed, 
But turned to the skics afar, 



ILLUSTRATIO
 OF A PICTURE. - A RO
IA
 AQUEDUCT. 77 


And bared her breast to the trembling 
ray 
That shot from the rising star; 
The cloud came over the darkened sky, 
And over the waters wide: 
She looked in vain through the beating 
rain, 
And sank in the stormy tide. 


IllUSTRATION OF A PICTURE. 


"A SP AxrSH GIRL IN REVERIE." 


SHE twirled the string of golden beads, 
That round her neck was hung, - 
1tly grandsire's gift ; the good old man 
Loved girls when he was young; 
And, bending lightly o'er the cord, 
And turning half away, 
With something like a youthful sigh, 
Thus spoke the maiden gray: - 


" Well, one lllay trail her silken robe, 
And bind her locks with pearls, 
And one n1ay wreathe the woodland rose 
Among her floating curls; 
And one may tread the dewy grass, 
And one the marble floor, 
Nor half-hid bosom heave the less, 
K or broidered corset more ! 


"Some years ago, a dark-eyed girl 
'Vas sitting in the shade, - 
There's something brings her to my mind 
In that young ùreaming maid, - 
And in her hand she held a flower, 
A flower, whose speaking hue 
Said, in the language of the heart, 
, :Cclieve the giver true.' 


" And, as she looked upon its leaves, 
The maiden made a vow 
To wear it when the briùal wreath 
'Vas woven for her brow ; 


She watched the flower, as, day by day, 
The leaflets curled and died ; 
But he who gave it never came 
To claim her for his bride. 


"0 many a summer's morning glow 
Has lent the rose its ray, 
And many a winter's drifting sno\v 
Has swept its bloom away; 
But she has kept that faithless pledge 
To this, her winter hour, 
And keeps it still, herself alone, 
And wasted like the flower." 


Her pale lip quivered, and the light 
G learned in her moistening eyes ;- 
I asked her how she liked the tints 
In those Castilian skies î 
"She thought them misty, -'t was 
perhaps 
Because she stood too near" ; 
She turned away, and as she turned 
I sa\v her wipe a tear. 


A ROMAN AQUEDUCT. 


THE sun-browned girl, whose limbs re- 
cline 
When noon her languid hand has laid 
Hot on the green flakes of the pin<-, 
Beneath its narrow disk of shade; 


As, through the flickering noontide glare, 
She gazes on the rainbow chain 
Of arches, lifting once in air 
The rivers of the Roman's plain;- 


Say, does her wandering eye recall 
The m1:>untain-cuITent's icy wave,- 
Or for the dead one tear let fall, 
Whose founts are broken by their 
grave î 


From stone to stone the ivy Wf\aves 
Her braided tracery's winding veil, 



78 


:MISCELLANEOUS POE:\IS. 


Aud lacing stalks and tangled leaves 
Nod heavy in the drowsy gale. 


And lightly floats the pendent vine, 
That swings beneath her slender bow, 
Arch answering arch, -whose rounded 
line 
Seems mirrored in the wreath below. 


How patient Nature sn1Ïles at Fame! 
The weeds, that strewed the victor's 
way, 
Feed on 11is dust to shroud his naIne, 
Green where his proudest towel's decay. 


See, through that channel, empty now, 
The scanty rain its tribute pours,- 
Which cooled the lip and laved the brow 
Of conquerors from a hundred shores. 


Thus bending o'er the nation's bier, 
'Vhose wants the captive earth sup- 
plied, 
The òew of l\Iemory's passing tear 
Falls on the arches of her pride! 


FROM A BACHELOR'S PRIVATE 
JOURNAL. 


S'YEET 
Iary, I have never 'hreathed 
The love it were in vain to name; 
Though round my heart a serpent 
wTeathC'd, 
I smiled, or stroTe to smile, the same. 


Once lnore the pulse of Nature glows 
With faster throb and fresIler fire, 
'Yhile music round her pathway flows, 
Like ec110es fronl a hidden lyre. 


And is there none with me to share 
The glories of the earth and sky 
 
The eagle through the pathless air 
Is followed by one burning eye. 


Ah no ! the cradled flowers may wake, 
Again nlay flow the frozen sea, 
From every cloud a star may break,- 
There COllleS no second Spring to Inc. 


Go, - ere the painted toys of youth 
Are crushed beneath the tread of years; 
Ere visions have been chilled to truth, 
And hopes are washed awar in tears. 


Go, - for I will not bid thee weep, - 
Too soon my sorrows will be thine, 
And evening's troubled air shall sweep 
The incense from the broken shrine. 


If Heaven can hear the dying tone 
Of chords that soon will cease to thrill, 
The prayer that Jleavel1 bas hpard alone 
l\lay bless thee when those chords are 
still. 


LA GRISETTE. 


AH Clemence! when I saw thee last 
Trip down the Rue de Seine, 
And turning, when thy form 11ad past, 
I saiù,' "Vole meet again," - 
I dreamed not in that idle glance 
Thy Jatest image came, 
And only left to TIIClnory's trance 
A shadow and a name. 


The few strange words my lips had taught 
Thy tinlid voice to speak, 
Their gentler signs, which often brought 
Fresh roses to thy cheek, 
The trailing of thy long loose hair 
Bent o'er my couch of lJain, 
All, aU returned, more sweet, more fair; 
o had we nlet again !. 


I walketl where saint and virgin keep 
The vigil lights of IIeaven, 
I knew that thou hadst woes to weep, 
And sins to be forgiven; 



, 
OUR YANKEE GIRLS. - L I
CON
UE. 


I watched where Genevieve was laid, 
I knelt by l\Iary's shrine, 
Beside me low, soft voices prayed; 
Alas! but ,,,here was thine 1 


And when the morning sun was bright, 
'Vhen wind and wave were calm, 
And flalned, in thousand-tinted light, 
The rose of Notre' Dame, 
I wandered through the haunts of men, 
From Boulevard to Quai, 
Till, frowning o'er Saint Etienne, 
The Pantheon's shadow lay. 


In vain, in vaÍn ; 'we meet no nlore, 
Nor dreanl what fates befall ; 
And long upon the stranger's shore 
1.ly voice on thee may call, 
'Vhen years have clothed the line in moss 
That tells thy name and days, 
And withered, on thy simple cross, 
The wTeaths of Père-Ia-Chaise! 


OUR YANKEE GIRLS. 


LET greener lands and bluer skies, . 
If such the wide earth shows, 
'Yith fairer cheeks and brighter eyes, 
1rlatch us the star and rose; 
The winds that lift the Georgian's veil, 
Or wave Circassia's curls, 
Waft to their shores the suI tan's sail, - 
'Yho buys our Yankee girls 1 


The gay gri..
ette, whose fingers touch 
Love's thousand chords so well; 
The dark Italian, loving much, 
But more than O1W can tell ; 
And England's fair-haired, blue-eyed 
dame, 
Who binds her brow with pearls;- 
Ye who have seen them, can they shame 
Our own sweet Yankee girls Y 


79 


.And wl1at if court or castle vaunt 
I ts children loftier born 1- 
'Yho heeds the silken tassel's flaunt 
Beside the golden corn 1 
They ask not for the dainty toil 
Of ribboned knights and earls, 
The daughters of the virgin soil, 
Our freeborn Yankee girls! 


By every hill whose stately pines 
Wave their dark arms above 
The home where sonle fair being shines, 
To warm the wilds with love, 
From barest rock to bleakest shore 
'\Vhere farthest sail unfurls, 
That stars and stripes are streaming 
0' er, - 
God bless our Yankee girls ! 


L'INCONNUE. 


Is thy name :r,Iary, maiden fair 1 
Such should, methinks, its music be; 
The sweetest name that D10rtals bear 
'V ere best befitting thee ; 
..
nd she to whom it once ,vas given, 
'Vas half of earth and half of heaven. 


I hear thy voice, I see thy smile, 
I look upon thy folded hair; 
Ah ! while we dream not they beguile, 
Our hearts are in the snare; 
And she who chains a wild bird'g wing 
:r,Iust start not if her captive sing. 


So, lady, take the leaf that falls, 
To all but thee unseen, unknown; 
When evening shaùes thy silent walls, 
Thpn rf'a<llt aU alone; 
In stillness read, in ùarkness seal, 
Forget, despise, but not reveal! 



80 


1tIISCELLANEOUS POE
IS. 


STANZAS. 


STRANGE! that one lightly whispered 
tone 
Is far, far sweeter unto me, 
Than all the sounds that kiss the earth, 
Or breathe along the sea; 
But, lady, when thy voice I greet, 
Not heavenly music seems so sweet. 


I look upon the fair blue skies, 
And naught but empty air I see; 
But when I turn me to thine eyes, 
'It seerneth unto me 
Ten thousand angels spread their wings 
Within those little azure rings. 


The lily hath the softest leaf 
That ever western breeze hath fanned, 
But thou shalt have the tender flower, 
So I may take thy hand; 
That little hand to me doth yield 

Iore joy than all the broidered field. 


o lady! there be many things 
That seem right fair, below, above; 
But sure not one among then1 all 
Is half so sweet as love;- 
Let us not pay onr vows alone, 
But join two altars both in one. 


LINES BY A CLERK. 


OR! I did love her dearly, 
And gave her toys and rings, 
And I thought she meant sincerely, 
When she took my IH'ctty things. 
But her heart has grown as icy 
As a fountain in the fall, 
.A.nd her love, that ,vas so spicy, 
I t did not last at all. 


I gave her once a locket, 
It wa:;) filled with my own hair, 


And she put it in her pocket 
With very special care. 
But a jeweller has got it, - 
He offered it to me, 
And another that is not it 
Around her neck I see. 


For my cooings and my billings 
I do not now complain, 
But my dollars and my shillings 
'Vill never come again; 
They were earned with toil and sorrow, 
But I never told her that, 
And 1l0'V I have to borrow, 
And want another hat. 


, 
Think, think, thou cruel Enlma, 
'Yhen thou shalt hear my woe, 
And know my sad dilemma, 
That thou hast made it so. 
See, see my beaver rusty, 
Look, look upon this hole, 
This coat is din1 and dusty; 
o let it rend thy soul! 


Before the gates of fashion 
I daily bent my knee, 
But I sought the shrine of passion, 
And found my idol, - thee. 
Though never love intenser 
Had bowed a. soul before it, 
Thine eye was on the censer, 
And not the hand that bore it. 


THE PHILOSOPHER TO HIS LOVE. 


DEAREST, a look is but a ray 
Reflected in a certain way; 
A word, whatever tone it wear, 
Is but a trembling wave of air; 
A touch, obedience to a clause 
In nature's pure material laws. 


The very flowers that bend and meet, 
In sweetening others, grow more sweet; 



THE POET'S LOT. -TO A BLA
K SHEET OF PAPER. 81 


The clouds by day, the stars by night, 
Inweave their floating locks of light; 
The rainbow, Heaven's own forehead's 
braid, 
Is. but the embrace of sun and shade. 


How few that love us have we found! 
How wide the worlù that girds thenl 
round! 
Like mountain streams we meet and part, 
Each Ii ving in the other' 
 heart, 
Our course unknown, our hope to be 
Yet D1Ïngled in the distall t sea. 


But Ocean coils and heaves in vain, 
Bound in the subtle moonbealn's chain; 
And love anù hope do but obey 
Smne cold, capricious planet's ray, 
'Yhich lights and leads the tide it charn1s 
To Death's dark caves and icy arms. 


Alas! one narrow line is drawn, 
That links our sunset with our dawn; 
In mist and shade life's morning rose, 
And clouds are round it at its close; 
But ah! no twilight bean} ascends 
To whisper where that evening ends. 


Oh! in the hour when I shall feel 
Those shadows round n1Y senses steal, 
'Vhen gentle eyes are weeping o'er 
The clay that feels their tears no more, 
Then let thy spirit with me be, 
Or SODle sweet angel, likest thee ! 


THE POET'S LOT. 


,V HAT is a poet's loye?- 
To write a girl a sonnet, 
To get a ring, or some such thing, 
And fustianize upon it. 


"\Yhat is a poet's fame? - 
Sad hints a bou t his reason, 


And sadder praise from garreteers, 
To be returned in season. 


Where go the poet's lines '1- 
Answer, ye evening tapers ! 
y e auburn locks, ye golden curls, 
Speak from your folded papers ! 


Child of the ploughshare, smile; 
Boy of the counter, grieve not, 
Though muses round thy trundle-bed 
Their broidered tissue weave not. 


The poet's future holds 
No civic wreath above him; 

 or slated roof, nor varnished chaise, 
N or wife nor child to love him. 


l\Iaid of the village inn, 
'\Vho workest woe on satin, 
(The grass in black, the graves in green, 
The epitaph in Latin,) 


Trust not to theln who say, 
In stanzas, they adore thee ; 
o rather sleep in churchyard clay, 
'\Vïth urn and cherub o'er thee! 


TO A BLANK SHEET OF PAPER. 


'\V AX-VISAGED thing! thy virgin leaf 
To me looks more than deadly pale, 
Unknowing what may stain thee yet, - 
A poem or a tale. 


'Vho can thy unborn n1eaning scan 1 
Can Seer or Sibyl read thee now 1 
No, - seek to trace the fate of man 
'V rit on his infant brow. 


Love may light on thy snowy cheek, 
.And shake his Eden-breathillgplulues ; 
Then shalt thou tell how. Lelia smiles, 
Or Angelina blooms. 



82 


:r.IISCELLANEOUS POEl\IS. 


Satire may lift his bearded lance, 
Forestalling Time's slow-moving 
scythe, 
And, scattered on thy little field, 
Disjointed bards may writhe. 


Perchance a vision of the night, 
SOnle grizzled spectre, gaunt and thin, 
Or sheeted corpse, may stalk along, 
Or skeleton may grin! 


If it should be in pensive hour 
Some sorrow-moving theme I try, 
Ah, maiùen, how thy tears will fall, 
For all I doom to die! 


But if in merry mood I touch 
Thy leaves, then shall the sight of 
thee 
Sow smiles as thick on rosy lips 
As ripples 011 the sea. 


The Weekly press shall gladly stoop 
To bind thee up among its sheaves; 
The Daily steal thy shining ore, 
To gild its leaden leaves. 


Thou hast no tongue, yet thou canst 
speak, 
Till distant shores shall hear tIle 
sound; 
Thou hast no life, yet thou canst breathe 
Fresh life on all around. 


Thou art the arena of the wisp, 
The noiseless battIe-ground of fame; 
The sky where halos may be wreathed 
Around the humblest name. 


Take, then, this treasure to thy trust, 
To win some idle reader's snlile, 
Then faùe anù moulder in the dust, 
Or swell some bonfire's pile. 


TO THE PORTRAIT OF II A GENTLE- 
MAN." 


IN THE ATHEN.ÆUM GALLERY. 


IT may be so, - perhaps thou hast 
A warm and loving heart; 
I will not blame thee for thy face, 
Poor devil as thou art. 


That thing, thou fondly deem'st a nose, 
Unsightly though it be, - 
In spite of all the cold world's scorn, 
It may be much to thee. 


Those eyes, - among thine elder friends 
Perhaps the.y pass for blue, - 
No matter, - if a nlan can see, 
"'11at more have eyes to do? 


Thy mouth, - that fissure in thy face, 
By something like a chin, - 
l\Iay be a very useful place 
To put thy victual in. 


I know thou hast a wife at home, 
I know thou hast a child, 
By that subdued, domestic smile 
IT pon thy features mild. 


That wife sits fearless by thy side, 
That cherub on thy knee; 
They do not shudder at thy looks, 
They do not shrink from thee. 


Above thy mantel is a hook, - 
A portrait once was there; 
I t was thine only ornament, - 
Alas! that hook is bare. 


She begged thee not to let it go, 
She begged thee all in vain ; 
She wept, - and breathed a trembJing 
prayer 
To meet it safe again. 



THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTER)IAN. 


83 


I t was a bitter sight to see 
That picture torn away; 
I t was a solemn thought to think 
,\Yhat all her friends would say ! 


And often in her calmer hours, 
And in her happy dreams, 
Upon its long-deserted hook 
The absent portrait seems. 


Thy wretched infant turns 11Ïs head 
In melancholy wise, 
And looks to meet the placid stare 
Of those un bending eyes. 


I never saw thee, lovely one,- 
Perchance I never may; 
It is not often that we cross 
Such people in our way; 


But if we meet in distant years, 
Or on some foreign .shore, 
Sure I can take my Bible oath, 
I've seen that face before. 


THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN. 
. 


IT was a tall young oystennan lived by 
the river-side, 
His shop was just upon the bank, his 
boat was on the tide; 
The daughter of a fisherman, that was so 
straight and slim, 
Lived over on the other bank, right 
opposite to him. 


It was the pensive oysternlan that saw 
a lovely nl
id, 
Upon a moonlight evening, a sitting in 
th e shade ; 
He saw her wave her handkerchief, as 
much as if to say, 
"I'm wide awake, young oysterman, 
and all the folks away." 


Then up arose the oysterman, and to 
himself said he, 
"I guess I '11 leave the skiff at home, 
for fear that folks should see; 
I read it in the story-book, that, for to 
kiss his dear, 
Leander swanl the Hellespont, - and I 
will swim this here." 


And he has leaped into the waves, and 
crossed the shining stream, 
And he has clambered up the bank, all 
in the moonlight gleam; 
o there were kisses sweet as dew, and 
words as soft as rain, - 
But they have heard her father's step, 
and in he leaps again! 


Out spoke the ancient fisherman, -" 0 
what was that, my daughter?" 
" 'T was nothing but a pebble, sir, I 
threw into the ".ater." 
" And what is that, pray tell me, love, 
that paddles off so fast 1" 
"It's nothing but Ð porpoise, sir, that's 
been a swinlming past." 


Out spoke the ancient fisherman,- 
"Now bring 111e nlY llarpoon! 
I'll get into nlY fishing-boat, and fix 
the fellow soon." 
Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls 
a snow-white lamb, 
Her hair drooped round her pallid 
cheeks, like sea"reed on a clanl. 


Alas for those two loving ones! she 
waked not from her swonnd, 
And he was taken with the cranlp, and 
in the "Taves was drowned; 
But Fate has metamorphosed them, in 
pity pf their woe, 
And now they keep an oyster-shop for 
menllaids down below. 



84 



lISCELLANEOUS POE
IS. 


A NOONTIDE L VRIC. 


THE dinner-bell, the dinner-bell 
Is ring1ng loud and clear; 
Through hill and plain, through street 
and lane, 
I t echoes far and near ; 
From curtained ball and whitewashed 
stall, 
'Vherever nlen can hide, 
Like bursting waves fronl ocean caves, 
They float upon the tide. 


I smell the smell of roasted meat ! 
I hear the hissing fry ! 
The beggars know where they can go, 
But where, 0 where shall I ? 
At twelve o'clock men took my hand, 
At two they only stare, . 
And eye me with a fearful look, 
As if I were a bear! 


The poet lays his laurels down, 
And hastens to l1is greens ; 
The happy tailor quits his goose, 
To riot on his beans; 
The ,veary cobbler snaps his thread, 
The printer leaves his pi ; 
His very devil hath a borne, 
But what, 0 what have I 1 



lpt11Ïnks I Ileal' an angel voice, 
That softly seenlS to say : 
" Pale stranger, all may yet be well, 
Then wipe thy tears away; 
Erect thy head, and cock thy hat, 
And follow me afar, 
And thou shalt have a jolly meal, 
And cbarge it at tlle bar." 


I hear the voice! I go ! I go ! 
Prepare your nleat and wine ! 
They litt1
 heed their future nee(l, 
Who pay not when they dine. 


Give me to-day the rosy bowl, 
Give nle one golden drealll, - 
To-morrow kick away the stool, 
And dangle from the beam ! 


THE HOT SEASON. 


THE folks, that on the first of 
lay 
'V ore winter coats and hose, 
Began to say, the first of June, 
" Good Lord! how hot it grows! n 
At last two Fahrenheits ble,v up, 
And killed two children small, 
And one barometer shot dead 
A tutor with its ball ! 


N ow all day long the locusts sang 
Among the leafless trees ; 
Three new hotels warped inside out, 
The pumps could only wheeze; 
And ripe old wine, that twenty years 
Had cobwebbed o'er in vain, 
Came spouting through the rotten corks, 
Like Joly's best Champagne! 


The Worcester locomotives did 
Their trip in half an hour; 
The Lowell cars ran forty miles 
Before they checked the power; 
Roll brimstone soon became a drug, 
And loco-focos fell ; 
All asked for ice, but everywhere 
Sal tpetre was to sell. 


. 


Plunlp men of mornings ordered tigllts, 
But, ere the scorching noons, 
Their candle-moulds had grown as loose 
As Cossack pantaloons! 
The dogs ran niad, - men could not try 
If water they \Vould choose ; 
A horse fell dead, - he only left 
Four red-hot, rusty shoes! 


But soon the people could not bear 
The slightest hint of fire ; 



A PORTR
\IT. - 

 EVENING THOUGHT. 


85 


Allusions to caloric drew 
A flood of savage ire ; 
The leaves on heat were all torn out 
From every book at school, 
And Juany blackguards kicked and 
caned, 
Because they said, "Keep cool ! " 


The gas-light cornpanies were mobbed, 
The bakers all were shot, 
The penny press began to tal
 
Of Lynching Doctor Nott ; 
And all about the warehouse steps 
'Vere angry men in droves, 
Crashing and splintering through the 
doors 
To snlash the patent stoves! 


The abolition men and nlaids 
\V ere tann
d to such a hue, 
1: T on scarce could tell them from tbeir 
friends, 
Unless their eyes were blue ; 
And, when I left, society 
Had burst its ancient guards, 
And Brattle Street and Tenlple Place 
\Vere interchanging cards ! 


A PORTRAIT. 


A STILL sweet, placid, moonlight face, 
And slightly nonchalant, 
'Yhich seenlS to claim a nliddle place 
Between one's love and aunt, 
"
here childhood's star has left a ray 
In woman's sunniest sky, 
As morning dew and blushing day 
On fruit and blossom lie. 


And yet, - and yet I cannot love 
Those lovely lines on steel ; 
They bean1 too much of heaven above, 
Earth's darker shades to feel; 


Perchance some early weeds of care 
Around my heart have grown, 
And brows unfurrowed seem not fair, 
Because they mock my own. 


Alas! when Eden's gates were sealed, 
How oft some sheltered flower 
Breathed o'er the \vanderers of the 
field, 
Like their own bridal bower; 
Yet, saddened by its loveliness, 
And humbled by its pride, 
Earth's fairest child they could not 
bless, - 
I t mocked them when they sighed. 


AN EVENING THOUGHT. 


WRITTEN AT SEA. 


IF sometimes in the dark blue eye, 
Or in the deep red wine, 
Or soothed by gentlest mèlody, 
Still warms this heart of Inine, 
Yet something colder in the blood, 
And calmer in the brain, 
Have whispered that my youth's bright 
flood 
Ebbs, not to flow again. 


If by Helvetia's azure lake, 
Or Arno's yellow stream, 
Each star of nlemory could awake, 
As in nlY first young dream, 
I know that when nlÎne eye shall greet 
The hillsides bleak and bare, 
That gird my home, it will not meet 

Iy childhood's sunsets there. 


o when love's first, sweet, stolen kiss 
Burned on my boyish brow, 
'Vas that young forehead worn as 
this' 
\Vas that flushed cheek as now' 



86 


:MISCELLANEOUS POEM
S. 


'Vere that \viId pulse and throbbing 
neart 
Like these, which vainly strive, 
In thankless strains of soulless art, 
To dream themselves alive 1 


Alas! the morning dew is gone, 
Gone ere the full of day ; 
Life's iron fetter still is on, 
Its wreaths all torn away; 
Happy if still some casual hour 
. Can warm the fading shrine, 
Too soon to chill beyond the power 
Of love, or song, or wine ! 


THE WASP AND THE HORNET. 


T HE two proud sisters of the sea, 
In glory and in doonl ! - 
"T ell nlay the eternal waters be 
Their broad, unsculptured tonlb ! 
The wind that rings along the wave, 
The clear, unshadowed sun, 
Are torch and trumpet o'er the brave, 
Whose last green wreath is won! 


No stranger-hand their banners furled, 
No victor's shout they heard ; 
Unseen, above them ocean curled, 
Sa ve by his own pale bird; 
The gnashing billows hea,"ed and fell ; 
'Vild shrieked the midnight gale ; 
Far, far beneath the mornhJg swell 
Were pennon, spar, and sail. 


The land of Freedom! Sea and shore 
Are guarded now, as when 
Her ebbing waves to victory bore 
Fair barks and gallant men; 
o Juany a ship of prouder name 

lay wave her starry fold, 
N or trail, with deeper light of fanle, 
The I>aths they swept of old! 


"QUI VIVE." 


"Q
ti vive I " The sentry's musket 
rings, 
The channelled bayonet gleanls ; 
High o'er him, like a raven's wings 
The broad tricolored banner flings 
Its shadow, rustling as it swings 
Pale in the moonlight beams; 
Pass on! while steel-clad sentries keep 
Their vigil o'er the nlonarch's sleep, 
Thy bare, unguarded breast 
Asks not the unbroken, bristling zone 
That girùs yon sceptred trenlbler's 
throne; - 
Pass on, and take thy rest ! 


" Qui vive I " How oft the midnight 
aIr 
That startling cry has borne! 
How oft the evening breeze has fanned 
The banner of this haughty land, 
0' el' mountain snow and desert sand, 
Ere yet its folds were torn! 
Through J ena' s carnage flying red, 
Or tossing o'er Marengo's dead, 
Or curling on the towers 
'Vhere Austria's eagle quiyers yet, 
And suns the ruffled plulnage, wet 
'Vith battle's crimson showers! 


"Qui vive I " And is the sentry's 
cry, - 
The sleepless s01dier's 'band, - 
Are these - the painted folds that fly 
And lift their emblems, printed 1Iigh 
On n10rning nlist and sunset sky - 
The guardians of a land 1 
No! If the patriot's pulses sleep, 
How vain the watch that hirelings 
kerp, - 
The idle flag that wavps, 
'Vhen Conquest, with his iron heel, 
Trrads down the standards and the steel 
That belt the soil of slaves! 



SONGS IN 
IANY KEYS. 


THE piping of our slender, peaceful reeds 
Whispers uncared for while the trumpets bray; 
Song is thin air; our hearts' exulting play 
Beats time but to the tread of marching deeds, 
Following the nlighty van that Freedonl leads, 
Her..glorious standard flaming to th: day! 
The crinlsoned pavement where a hero bleeds 
Breathes nobler lessons than the poet's lay. 
Strong arn1S, broad breasts, brave hearts, are better ".ort.h 
Than strains that sing the ravished echoes dumb. 
Hark! 't is the loud reverberating drum 
Rolls o'er the prairied 'Vest, the rock-bound North: 
The myriad-handed Future stretches forth 
I ts shadowy palms. Behold, ,ve come, - we come! 


Turn o'er these idle leaves. Such toys as these 
Were not unsought for, as, in languid dreams, 
We lay beside our lotus-feeding streams, 
And nursed our fancies in forgetful ease. 
It nlatters little if they pall or please, 
Dropping untinlely, while the sudùen gleams 
Glare from the mustering clouds whose blackness seems 
Too swollen to hold its lightning from the trees. 
Yet, in some lull of passion, when at last 
These calm revolving ll100US that come and go- 
Turning our Inonths to years, they creep so slow- 
Have brought us rest, the not unwelcome past 
1\Iay flutter to tllPe through these leaflets, cast 
On the wild winds that all around us blow. 


. 
!IA y 1, 1861. 



TO 


THE MOST INDULGENT OF READEU8., 
THE KINDEST OF CRITICS, 


MY BELOVED MOTHER, 


ALL THAT IS LEAST UNWORTHY OF HER 
IN THIS VOLUME 



 S 
 tbic-aith 


BY HER AFFECTIONATE SON. 


. 



SONGS IN J\IANY KEYS. 


. 


1.-1849 -1856. 


AGNES. 
PART FIRST. 


THE KXIGlIT. 


THE tale I tell is gospel true, 
As all the l)ookmen kno\v, 
And pilgrinls who have strayed to vie,v 
The 'Wrecks still left to show. 


The old, old story, - fair, and young, 
And fond, -and not too wise,- 
That matrons tell, with sharpened 
tongu
 , 
To maids with downcast eyes. 


Ah ! maidens err and matrons warn 
Beneath the coldest sky; 
Love lurks amid the tasselled corn 
As in the bearded rye! 


But who ,youlù dream our sober sires 
Had learned tIw old world's ways, 
And warmed their heart11s with lawless 
fires 
In Shirley's homespun days 1 


'T is Jike SODle poet's pictured trance 
IIis idle rhymes l'ecite, - 
This old K ew-Englan(l-bo[n romance 
Of Agnes and the Knight; 


Yet, known to all the country round, 
Their home is standing still, 
Between 'V achusct' s lonely Dlound 
And Shawmut's threefold hill. 


- One hour we rumble on the rail, 
One half-hour guide the rein, 
'Ye reach at last, o'er hill and dale, 
The village on the plain. 


'Ylth blackening wall and mossy roof, 
'Yith stained and warping floor, 
A stately mansion stands aloof 
And bars its haughty door. 


TJlis lowlier portal may be tried, 
That breaks the gable wall ; 
And lo.! with arches opening wide, 
Sir Harry Frankland's hall ! 


'T was in the second George's day 
They sought the forest shade, 
The knotted trunks they cleared away, 
The massive beams they laid, 


They piled the rock-hewn chinlney tall, 
They smoothed the terraced ground, 
They reared tJ1e marble-pillared wall 
That fenced the Dlansion round. 


Far stretched beyond the village bonn(l 
The J.laster's broad domain ; 



90 


SONGS IN }IANY KEYS. 


With page and valet, horse and hound, 
He kept a goodly train. 


And, all the n1icUand county through, 
The ploughman stopped to gaze 
'Vhene' er his chariot swept in view 
Behind the shining bays, 


With mute obeisance, grave and slow, 
Repaid by nod polite,- 
For such the way with high and low 
Till after Concord fight. 


N or less to courtly circles known 
That graced the three-hilled town 
'Vith far-off splendors of the Throne, 
And glimmerings from the Crown; 


'Vise Phipps, who hel
 the seals of state 
For Shirley over sea ; 
Brave Knowles, whose press-gang moved 
of late 
The King Street mob's decree; 


And judges grave, and colonels grand, 
Fair dames and stately nlen, 
The mighty people of the land, 
The "W odd" of there and then. 


'T was strange no Chloe's "beauteous 
Form, " 
A
d " Eyes' cælestial Blew," 
This Strephon of the West could warm, 
No NYIUph his Heart subdue! 


Perchance he wooed as gallants use, 
Whom fleeting loves enchain, 
But still'unfettered, free to choose, 
'V ould brook no bridle-rein. 


He saw the fairpst of the fair, 
But sn1iled alike on all ; 
No band his roving foot might snare, 
No ring his hand enthrall. 


PART SECOND. 


THE MAIDEN. 


WHY seeks the knight that rocky cape 
Beyond the Bay of Lynn? 
'\Vhat chance his wayward course may 
shape 
To reach its village inn 
 


No story tells; whate'er we guess, 
The past lies deaf anù still, 
But Fate, who rules to blight or bless, 
Can lead us where she will. 



Iake way! Sir Harry's coach and four, 
And liveried grooms that ride! 
They cross the ferry, touch the shore 
On Winnisimmet's side. 


They hear the wash on Chelsea Beach, - 
The level D1arsh they pass, 
Where miles on miles the desert reach 
Is rough with bitter grass. 


The shining horses foam and pant, 
And now the smells begin 
Of fishy Swampscot, salt Nahant, 
And leather-scentell Lynn. 


N ext, on their left, the slender spires, 
And glittering vanes, that crown, 
The home of Salem's frugal sires, 
The old, witch-haunted town. 


So onwar.d, o'er the rugged way 
That runs through rocks and sand, 
Showered by the tempest-driven spray, 
Fronl bays on either hand, 


That shut between their outstretched 


arms 
The crews of 1\farblebead, 
The lords of ocean's watery farms, 
'Vho plough the ,vaves for brcad. 



At last the ancient inn appears, 
The spreading elm below, 
'Vhose flapping sign these fifty years 
Has seesawed to and fro. 


How fair the azure fields in sight 
Before the low
browed inn! 
Tlw tumbling billows fringe with light 
The crescent shore of Lynn; 


N ahant thrusts outward through the 
waves 
Her arm of yellow sand, 
And breaks the roaring surge that braves 
The gauntlet on her hand; 


With eddying whirl the waters lock 
Yon treeless n10und forlorn, 
The sharp-winged sea-fowl's breeding- 
rock, 
That fronts the Spouting Horn ; 


Then free the white-sailed shallops glide, 
And wide the ocean smiles, 
Till, slloreward bent, his strean1S divide 
The two bare 1t1isery Isles. 


The master's silent signal stays 
The wearied cavalcade; 
The coachman reins his smoking bays 
Beneath the elm-tree's shade. 


A gathering on the viIlage green! 
The cocked-hats crowd to see, 
On legs in ancient velveteen, 
'Yith buckles at the knee. 


A clustering round the tavern-door 
Of square-toed village boys, 
Still wearing, as their grandsires wore, 
The olù-worlù corduroys! 


A scamppriI,Jg at the" Fountain" inn, - 
A rush of great and sman, - 
'Yith hurrying servants' nlingled din 
And screan1Ïng matron's call ! 


AGNES. 


91 


Poor Agnes! with her work half done 
They caught her unaware; 
As, hum'bly, like a praying nun, 
She knelt upon the stair; 


Bent o'er the steps, with lowliest nlien 
She knelt, but not to pray, - 
Her little hands must keep them clean, 
And wash their stains away. 


A foot, an ankle, bare antI white, 
Her girlish shapes betrayed, - 
" Ha ! Nymphs and Graces!" spoke 
the Knight; 
II Look up, n1Y beauteous 1tlaitl !" 


She turned, - a reddening rose in bud, 
I ts calyx half withdrawn, - 
Her cheek on fire with damasked blood 
Of girlhood's glowing dawn! 


He searched her features through and 
through, 
As royal lovers look 
On lowly n1aidens, when thpy woo 
,y ithout the ring and book. 


"Come hither, Fair one! Here, my 
Sweet! 
Nay, prithee, look not down! 
Take this to shoe those little feet," - 
He tossed a silver crown. 


A sudden paleness struck her brow, - 
A swifter flush succeeds; 
It burns her cheek; it kindles now 
Beneath her golden beaùs. 


She flitted, but the glittering eye 
Still sought the lovely face. 
'Vho was she 1 "\Vhat, and whence 1 and 
why 
Doomed to such menial place 1 


A skipper's daughter, - so they said, - 
Left orphan by the gale 



92 


SONGS IN 1tIANY KEYS. 


That cost the fleet of Marblehead 
And Gloucester thirty sail. 


Ah! n1anya lonely home is found 
Along the Essex shore, 
That cheered its goodman outward 
bound, 
And sees his face no more! 


"N ot so," the matron whisl)ered,-- 
" sure 
No orphan girl is she, - 
The Surraige folk are deadly poor 
Since Ed warù left the sea, 


" And 
Iary, with her growing brood, 
Has work enough to do 
To find the childrcn clothes anù foo(l 
'Vith Thomas, John, and Hugh. 


" This girl of J\Iary's, growing taB, - 
(Just tUTued her sixteenth year,)- 
To earn her bread and help them all, 
Would work as housemaid here." 


So Agnes, with her golden beads, 
And naught beside as dower, 
Grew at the wa.yside with the weeds, 
Herself a garden-flower. 


'T was strange, 't was sad, - so fresh, so 
fair ! 
Thus Pity's voice began. 
Such grace! an angel's shape and air! 
The half-heard whisper ran. 


For eyes could see in George's tin1e, 
As now in latcr days, 
And lips could shape, in prose and 
rhyme, 
The honeyed breath of praise. 


No time to woo! The train must go 
IJong ere the sun is down, 
To rpaeh, bpfore the night-winds blow, 
The Inany-steepled town. 


'T is midnight, - street and square are 
still ; 
Dark roll the whispering waves 
That lap the piers beneath the hill 
Ridged thick with ancient graves. 


Ah, gentle sleep! thy hand will sn100th 
The weary couch of pain, 
When all thy poppies fail to soothe 
The lover's throbbing brain! 


'T is morn, - the orange-man tled sun 
Breaks through the fading gray, 
And long and loud the Castle gun 
Peals o'er the glistening bay. 


"Thank God 't is day!" With eager 
eye 
He hails the morning's shine :- 
"If art can win, or gold can buy, 
The n1aiden shall be mine!" 


PART THIRD. 


TIlE CONQUEST. 
"\VHO saw this hussy when she came? 
\Vhat is the wench, and who 1" 
They whisper. "Agnes, - is her name? 
Pray what has. she to do 1" 


The housemaiùs parley at the gate, 
The scullions on the stair, 
And in the footn1en's grave debate 
The butler deigns to share. 


Black Dinah, stolen when a chilù, 
Anù sold on Boston l)irr, 
Grown up in service, petted, spoiled, 
Speaks in the coachn1all's ear: 


"\Vhat, an this household at llis will? 
And an are yet too few 1 
l\lol"P servants, anù JT10re servants still,- 
This pert young Inadam too ! " 



" l{erva'ht I fine servant!" laughed aloud 
The man of coach and steeds; 
" She looks too fair, she steps too proud, 
This girl with golùen ùeads ! 


"I tell you, you may fret and frown, 
And call her what you choose, 
You'll find my Lady in her gown, 
Your l\listress in her shoes!" 


Ah, gentle maidens, free from blan1e, 
God grant you never know 
The little whisper, loud with shame, 
That makes the worlù your foe! 


Why tell the lordly flatterer's art, 
That won the maiùen's ear,- 
The fluttering of the frightened heart, 
The blush, the smile, the tear 1 


Alas! it were the saddpning tale 
That every language knows, - 
The wooing wind, the yielding sail, 
The sunbeam and the rose. 


And now the gown of sober stuff 
Has changed to fair brocade, 
With broidered hem, and banging cuff, 
And flower of silken braid; 


And clasped ar
und h
r blanching wrist 
A jewelled bracelet shines, 
Her flowing tresses' massive twist 
A glittering net confines; 


And nlingling with their truant 'wave 
A fretted chain is hung; 
But ah! the gift her mother gave, - 
I ts beads are all unstrung! 


Her place is at the nJaster's board, 
'Vhere none disputes her claim; 
She walks beside the Inausion's lord, 
His bride in all but name. 


AGNES. 


93 


The busy tongues have ceased to talk, 
Or speak in softened tone, 
So gracious in her daily walk 
The angel light has shown. 


:N 0 want that kinùness may relieve 
Assails her heart in vain, 
The lifting of a ragged sleeve 
'V ill check her palfrey's rein. 


A thoughtful calm, a quiet grace 
In every movement shown, 
Reveal her moulded for the place 
She may not call her own. 


And, save that on her youthful bro,v 
There brooùs a shadowy care, 
No matron sealed with holy vow 
In all the land so fair! 


PART FOURTH. 


THE RESCUE. 


A snIP comes foaming up the bay, 
Along the pier she glides; 
Before her furrow melts away, 
A courier mounts and rides. 


"Haste, Haste, post Haste!" the let- 
ters bear ; 
" Sir Harry :Frankland, These." 
Sad news to tell the loving pair! 
The knight must cross the seas. 


" Alas! we part! " - the lips that spoke 
Lost all their rosy red, 
As whpn a crystal cup is broke, 
And all its wine is shed. 


"Nay, droop not thus, - where'er," he 
cried, 
" I go by land or sea, 
l\Iy love, my life, my joy, ,my pride, 
Thy place is still by Die!" 



94 


SONGS IN 
IANY KEYS. 


Through town and city, far and wide, 
Their wandering feet have strayed, 
Fron1 Alpine lake to ocean tide, 
And cold Sierra's shade. 


At length they see the waters gleam 
Alnid the fragrant bowers 
'Vhere Lisbon mirrors in the stream 
Her belt of ancient towers. 


Red is the orange on its bough, 
To-nlorrow's sun shan fling 
O'er Cintra's hazel-shaded brow 
The flush of April's wing. 


The streets are loud with noisy mirth, 
They dance on every green; 
The nlorning's dial marks the birth 
Of prou(l Braganza's queen. 


At eve beneath their pictured dome 
The gilded courtiers throng; 
The broad moidores have cheated Ronle 
Of all her lords of song. 


Ah! Lisbon dreanls not of the day- 
rleased with her painted scenps- 
'Vhen all her towers shall slide away 
.As now these canvas screens! 


The spring has passed, the summer fled, 
And yet they linger still, 
Though autulnn's rustling leaves have 
spread 
The flank of Cin tra' shill. 


The town has learned their Saxon name, 
And touched their Engli
h gold, 
N or tale of doubt nor hint of blame 
Fronl over sea is to] d. 


Three hours the first N ovem bel' dawn 
Has climbed with feelJle ray 
Through mists like heavy curtains drawn 
Before the darkened day. 


How still the mufHed echoes sleep! 
Hark! hark! a hollow sound, -' 
.A. noise like chariots rnm bUng deep 
Beneath the solid ground. 


The channel lifts, the water slides 
And bares its bar of sand, 
Anon a mountain billow strides 
And crashes o'er the land. 


The turrets lean, the steeples reel 
Like masts on ocean's swell, 
And clash a long discordant peal, 
The death-doomed city's knell. 


The pavement bursts, the earth upheaves 
Beneath the staggering town! 
The turrets crack - the castle cleaves- 
The spires come rushing down. 


Around, the lurid mountains glow 
'Vith strange unearthly gleams; 
While black abysses gape below, 
Then close in jagged seams. 


, 


The earth has foldpd like a wave, 
And thrice a thousand score, 
Clasped, shroudless, ill their closing 
gra ve, 
The sun shall see no more! 


And all is over. Street and square 
In ruined heaps are pilpcI ; 
Ah! where is she, so frail, so fair, 
Aluid the tumult wild? 


Unscathed, she treads the wreck-piled 
street, 
,V hose narrow gaps afford 
A pathway for 11Cr bleeding feet, 
To seek her absent lorù. 


A temple's broken ,valls arrest 
Her wild and wandering eyes; 
BC1lPath its shattered portal pressed, 
Her lord unconscious lies. 



The power that living }Iearts obey 
Shalllifelpss blocks withstand 1 
Love led her footsteps where he lay, - 
Love nerves her woman's hauù : 


One cry,-the marble shaft she grasps,- 
Up heaves the ponderous stone:- 
He breathes, - her fainting form he 
clasps, - 
Her life has bought his own! 


PART FIFTH. 


THE RE'V ARD. 


Ho,v like the starless night of death 
Our being's brief eclipse, 
\Vhen faltering lleart and failing breath 
Ha ve bleached the fading lips! 


She lives! 'Yhat guerdon shall repay 
His debt of ransol1led life 1 
One word can charm all wrongs away, - 
The sacred name of 'YIFE! 


The love that won her girlish charms 

Inst shield her matron fanle, 
And write beneath the Frankland arms 
The village beauty'
 name. 


Go, call thp. priest! no vain delay 
Shall dim the sacred ring! 
'Yho knows what c11ange the passing day, 
The fleeting hour, 111a)" bring 1 


Before the holy altar bent, 
There kneels a goodly pair; 
A stately man, of high descent, 
A woman, 11assiug fair. 


No jewels lend the blinding sheen 
That nleaner beauty needs, 
But on her b050111 heave,; unseen 
A string of golden beads. 


AGNES. 


95 


. 
The vow is spoke, - the prayer is said, - 
And ,,,,ith a gentle priùe 
TIle Lady Agnes lifts her head, 
Sir Harry Frankland's bride. 


No 1110re lIeI' faithful heart shall bear 
Those griefs so meekly borne, - 
The passing sneer, the freezing stare, 
The icy look of scorn ; 


No more the blue-eyed English dauH.'s 
Their !laugh ty Ii ps s11all curl, 
'Yhene'er a hissing whisl)er names 
The poor New England girl. 


But stay! - his mother's llaughty 
bruw, - 
The pride of ancient race, - 
'Yill plighted faith, and holy vow, 
'Yin back her fond embrace 1 


Too well she knew the saddening tale 
Of love no vow had blest, 
That turned llis blushing honors pale 
And stained his knightly crest. 


They seek Ids Northern home, - alas: 
He goes alone before ; - 
His own dear Agnes )l1ay not pass 
The proud, ancestral door. 


He stood before the stately dame; 
He spoke; she calnlly heard, 
But not to pity, nor to blanle ; 
Shp breathed no single worù. 


He told his love, -lIeI' faith betrayed; 
She heard with tear1ess eyes; 
Could she forgive the erring nlaid 1 
She stared in cold surprise. 


How fond her heart, he told, - how true; 
The haughty eyelids feU;- 
The kindly deeds she loved to rlo ; 
She nuumured, "
t is well." 



96 


SONGS IN MANY KEYS. 


But when he told that fearful day, 
Anli how her feet were led 
To where entombed in life he lay, 
The breathing with the dead, 


And how she bruised her tender breasts 
Against the crushing stone, 
That still the strong-armed clown pro- 
tests 
No Ulan can lift alone, - 


o then the frozen spring was broke ; 
By turns she wept and smiled; - 
"Sweet Agnes!" so the mother spoke, 
" God bless my angel child! 


"She saved thee from the jaws of 
death, - 
'T is thine to right her wrongs; 
I ten thee, - I, who gave thee breath, - 
To her thy life belongs !. " 


Thus Agnes won her noble name, 
Her lawless lover's hand; 
The lowly maiden so became 
A lady in the land! 


PART SIXTH. 


CONCLUSION. 


THE talc is done; it little neeùs 
To track their after ways, 
And string again the golden beads 
Of love's uncounted days. 


They leave the fair ancestral isle 
:For bleak :K ew England's shore; 
How gracious is the courtly smile 
Of all who frowned before! 


Again through Lisbon's orange bowers 
They watch the river's gleam, 
And shudder as her shadowy towers 
Shake in Ute trenlbling stream. 


Fate parts at length the fondest pair j 
His cheek, alas ! grows pale ; 
The breast that trampling death coulù 
spare 
His noiseless shafts assail. 


He longs to change the heaven of blue 
For England's clouded sky,- 
To breathe the air his boyhood knew ; 
He seeks them but to die. 


- Hard by the terraced hillside town, 
Where healing strearnlets run, 
Still sparkling with their old renown, - 
The "Watel
s of the Sun,"- 


The Lady Agnes raised the stone 
That marks his .honored grave, 
And there Sir Harry sleeps alone 
By Wiltshire Avon's wave. 


The hon1e of parly love was dear; 
She sought its peaceful sllade, 
And kept her state for Inany a year, 
With none to make afraid. 


At last the evil days ,vere come 
That saw the red cross fall ; 
She hears the rebels' rattling drum,- 
Farewell to Frankland Hall ! 


- I tell you, as my tale began, 
The Hall is standing still ; 
And you, kind 1ir-;tener, nlaid or man, 
ltlay see it if you will. 


The box is glistening huge and green, 
Like trees the lilacs grow, 
Three elms high-arching still are seen, 
And one lies stretched below. 


The hangings, rough with velvet flowers, 
Flap on the latticed wall ; 
And o'er the mossy ridge-pole towers 
The rock-hewn chimney tall. 



THE PLOUGH:\IAN. 


97 


The doors on mighty hinges clash 
'Vith massive bolt and bar, 
The heavy English-moulded sash 
Scarce can the night-winds jar. 


Behold the chosen room he sought 
Alone, to fast and pray, 
Each year, as chill X ovember bl'ougl1t 
The dismal earthquake day. 


There hung the rapier blade he wore, 
Bent in its flattened sheath; 
The coat the shrieking woman tore 
Caught in her clenching teeth ;- 


The coat with tarnished silver lace 
She snapped at as she slid, 
And down upon her death-white face 
Crashed the huge coffin's lid. 


A graded teITace yet renlains ; 
If on its turf you stand 
And look along the wooùeù plains 
That stretch on either hand, 


The broken for(1st walls define 
A dinl, receding view, 
'Yhere, on the far hOlizon's line, 
He cut his vista through. 


If furth(1r story you shaH crave, 
Or ask for living proof, 
Go see old Julia, born a slave 
Beneath Sir Harry's roof. 


She told me half that I have told, 
And she remmn bel's well 
The mansion as it looked of olù 
Before its glories fell; - 


The box, when round the terraced square 
Its glossy wall was drawn; 
The clinl bing ",ines, the snow-balls fair, 
The roses on the lawn. 


And Julia says, with truthful look 
Stalnped on her wrinkled face, 
That in her own black hands she took 
The coat with silver lace. 


.And you may hold the story light, 
Or, if you like, believe; 
But there it was, the wonlan's bite, - 
A mouthful from the sleeve. 


N ow go your ways ; - I need not tell 
The moral of my rhyn1e ; 
But, youths and maidens, ponder well 
This tale of olden time ! 


THE PLOUGHMAN. 


AXXIVERSARY OF THE BEtlKSTIIRE AG- 
RICULTURAL SOCIETY, OCT. 4, 1849. 


CLEAR the brown path, to nleet his coul- 
ter's gleanl ! 
Lo! on he comes, behind his smoking 
teaIu, 
"\Vith toil's bright dew-drops on his sun- 
burnt brow, 
The lord of earth, the hero of the plough! 


First in the fielù before the redùening 
sun, 
Last in the shadows when the day is 
done, 
Line after line, along the bursting sod, 

Iarks the broad acres where his feet 
ha ve trod; 
Still, wl1ere he treads, the stubborn clods 
divide, 
The smooth, fresh fUITOW opens deep and 
wide ; 
l\Iatted and dense the tangled turf up- 
heaves, 
1\Iellow and dark the ridgy cornfield 
cleayes ; 
Up the steep hillside, where the labor- 
ing train 



98 


SO:NGS IN MANY I{EYS. 


Slants the long track that scores the Waves the green plumage of thy tasselled 
level plain ; 
Through the moist valley, clogged with 
oozing clay, 
The patient convoy breaks its destined 
way; 
At every turn the loosening chains re- 
sound, 
The swinging ploughshare circles glisten- 
ing round, 
Till the wide field one billowy waste ap- 
pears, 
And wearied hands unbind the panting 
steers. 


These are the hands whose sturdy labor 
brings 
The peasaut's food, the golden pomp of 
kings ; 
This is the page, whose letters shall be 
seen 
Changed by the sun to words of Ii ving 
green ; · 
This is the scholar, whose inlmortal pen 
Spells the first lesson hunger taught to 
men ; 
These are the lines which heaven-com- 
manded Toil 
Shows on his deed, - the charter of the 
soil ! 


o gracious 
Iother, whose benignant 
breast 
Wakes us to life, and luns us all to rest, 
How thy sweet features, kind to every 
cliJne, 
Mock with their smile the wrinkled frout 
of time ! 
'Ve stain thy flo\vers, - they blossom 
0' er the dead ; 
We rencl thy bosom, and it gives us 
bread; 
0' er the rpd field that trampling strife 
has to
, 


corn ; 
Our maddening conflicts scar thy fairest 
plain, 
Still thy soft answer is the growing grain. 
Yet, 0 our l\lother, while uucounted 
charms 
Steal round our hearts in thine em brac- 


ing arms, 
Let not our virtues in thy love decay, 
And thy fond sweetness waste our 
strength away. 


No! by these hills, whose banners now 
displayed 
In blazing cohorts Autumn has arrayed; 
By yon twin sumn1Ïts, on whose splin- 
tery crests 
The tossing henllocks hold the eagles' 
nests ; 
By these fair plains the mountain circle 
screens, 
And feeds with streamlets from its dark 
ra vines, - 
True to their homp, these faithful arnlS 
shall toil 
To crown with peace their own untainted 
soil ; 
And, true to God, to freedom, to man- 
kind, 
If her chained ban dogs Faction shan 
un bin d, 
These stately forms, that bending even 
now 
Bowed their strong manhood to the 
humble plough, 
Shall rise erect, the guardians of the 
land, 
The same stern iron in the same right 
hand, 
Till o'er their hins the shouts of triumph 


run, 
The sword has rescued what the plough- 
share ,von ! 



PICTURES FROl\I OCCASION...
 POE
IS. 


99 


PICTURES FRO!I OCCASIONAL POE
IS. 


1850 - 56. 


SPRING. 


W I
TER is past; the heart of Nature 
warms 
Beneath the wrecks of un resisted storms; 
Doubtful at first, suspected more than 
seen, 
The southern slopes are fringed with 
tender green; 
On sheltered banks, beneath the drip- 
ping eaves, 
Spring's earliest nurslings spread their 
glowing leaves, 
Bright with the hues from "ider pic- 
tures won, 
'Vhite, azure, golden, - drift, or sky, 
or sun,- 
The snowdrop, bearing on her patient 
breast 
The frozen trophy torn from 'Vinter's 
crest ; 
The violet, gazing on the arch of blue 
Till her own iris wears its deCi)ened hue; 
The spendthrift crocus, bursting through 
the nlouhl 
Naked and shivering with his cup of gold. 
Swelled with nmv life, the darkening 
elm on high 
Prints her thick buds against Ule spotted 
sky; 
On all her boughs the stately chestnut 
cleaves 
The gummy shroud that wraps her 
embryo leaves; 
The house-fly, stealing from his narrow 
grave, 


Drugged with the opiate that November 
gave, 
Beats with faint mng against the sunny 
pane, 
Or crawls, tenacious, o'er its lucid plain; 
From shaded chinks of lichen-crusted 
walls, 
In languid curves, the gliding serpent 
crawls; 
The bog's green harper, thawing from 
his sleep, 
Twangs a hoarse note and tries a S110rt- 
ened leap; 
On floating rails that face the softening 
noons 
The still shy turtles range their dark 
platoons, 
Or, toiling aimless o'er the mellowing 
fields, 
Trail through the grass their tessellated 
shields. 


At last young April, ever frail and fair, 
,y ooed by her playmate with the golden 
hair, 
Chased to the margin of receding floods 
O'er the soft nleadows starred with open- 
ing buds, 
In tears and blushes sighs herself away, 
And hiùes her cheek beneath the flowers 
of :i\Iay. 


Then the proud tulip lights lIer beacon 
blaze, 
Her clustering curls the hyacinth dis. 
plays; 



100 


SO
GS IN 
IANY KEYS. 


0' er her tall blades the crested fleur-de- 
lis, 
Like blue-eyed Pallas, towers erect and 
free ; 
. ,yith yello'wer flames the lengthened 
sunshine glows, 
And love lays bare the passion-breathing 
rose ; 
Queen of the lake, along its reedy verge 
The rival lily hastens to emerge, 
Her snowy shoulders glistening as she 
stri ps, 
Till morn is sultan of her parted lips. 


Then bursts the song from every leafy 
glade, 
The )Tielding season's bridal serenade; 
'Thrn flash the wings returning Summer 
calls 
Through the deep arches of her forest 
l}aUs, - 
The bhwbird, breathing fronl his azure 
plumes 
The fragrance borrowed where the myrtle 
bloonls ; 
The thrusb, poor wanderer, dropping 
meekly do,vn, 
Clad in his remnant of autumnal brown ; 
The oriole, drifting like a flake of fire 
Rent by a whirlwind from a blazing 
spire. 
The robin, jerking 11is spasmodic throat, 
Repeats, imperious, his staccato note; 
rfhe crack-brained bobolink courts his 
crazy mate, 
Poised on a bulrush tipsy with }}is 
weight; 
Nay, in his cage the lone canary sing
, 
Feels the soft air, and spreaùs his idle 
wings. 


Why dream I here within these caging 
walls, 
Deaf to her voice, while bloonÜng N a- 
ture calls; 


Peering and gazing with insatiate looks 
Through blinding lenses, or in wearying 
books 1 
Off: gloomy spectres of the shrivelled 
l)a8t ! 
Fly with the leaves that fill the autumn 
blast! 
Ye imIJs of Science, whose relentless 
chains 
Lock the warm tides within these living 
veins, 
Close your dim cavern, while its captive 
strays 
Dazzled and giddy in the morning's' 
blaze! 


THE STUDY. 


YET in the darksome crYl)t I left so 
late, 
Whose only altar is its rusted grate, - 
Sepulchral, rayless, joyless as it seenIS, 
Shamed by the glare of 
Iay's refulgent 
. beams,- 
'Vhile the dim seasons draggpd their 
shroudpd train, 
Its paler splendors were not quite in 
vain. 
From these dun. bars the cheerful fire- 
light's glow 
Streamed through the casement o'er the 
sppctral snow; 
Here, while the l1ight-wind wreaked its 
frantic will 
On tlle loose ocean and the rock-bound 
hin, 
Rent tIle cracked topsail from its quiver- 
ing yard, 
And rived the oak a thousand storms 
had' scarrpd, 
Fenced hy these walls the peaceful taper 
shone, 
N or felt a breath to slant its trembling 
cone. 



PICTURES FUO:\I OCCASIO
 AL POEl\IS. 


101 


Not all unblest the lllild interior scene 
When the reù curtain spread its falling 
screen ; 
0' er some light task the lonely hours 
were past, 
And the long evening only flew too fast; 
Or the wide chair its leathern anns would 
lend 
In genial welcome to some easy friend, 
Stretched on its bosom with l'elaxing 
nerves, 
Slow moulding, plastic, to its hollow 
curves; 
Perchance indulging, if of generous 
creed, 
In brave Sir 'V alter's dream-compelling 
weed. 
Or, happier still, the eyening hour would 
bring 
To the round table its expected ring, 
And while the punch-bowl's sounding 
depths were stirred,- 
Its silver cherubs snlÎling as they 
heard; - 
Our hearts would open, as at evening's 
hour 
The close-sealed prinlrose frees its hid- 
den flower. 


Such the warm life this dim retreat 
has known, 
Not quite dpserted when its guests were 
fl 0 wn ; 
Nay, filled with friends, an unobtrusive 
set, 
Guiltless of calls and cards and etiquette, 
Ready to answer, never known to ask, 
Clainling no service, prompt for every 
task. 


On those dark shelves no housewife 
hand profanes, 
O'er his n1ute files the monarch folio 
rei O'ns . 
b , 


A mingled race, the wreck of chance 
and tinIe, 
That talk all tongues and breathe of 
every clime, 
Each knows his place, and each may 
claim his part 
In some quaint corner of his master's 
heart. 
This old Decretal, won fronl Klos')' s 
hoards, 
Thick -leaved, brass - cornered, ribbed 
wi th oaken boards, 
Stands the gray patriarch of the graver 
rows, 
Its fourth ripe century naITowing to its 
close ; 
Not daily conned, but glorious still to 
view, 
'Yíth glistening letters wrought in red 
and blue. 
There towers Stagira's all-embracing 
sage, 
The Aldine anchor on his opening page; 
There sleep the births of Plato's heavenly 
mind, 
In yon dark tomb by jealous c1asps con.. 
fined, 
"OHm e libris" (dare I can it mine 1) 
Of Yale's grave Head and Killingworth's 
di vine! 
In those square sheets the songs of 
faro 
fill 
The silvery types of smooth -lea ved Bas.. 
kerville ; 
High over an, in close, cOlnpact array, 
Their classic wealth the Elzevirs display. 
I n lower regions of the sacred space 
Range the dense volunles of a hun1 bIer 
race; 
There grim chirurgeons all tlleir nlYs- 
teries teach, . 
In spectral pictures, or in crabbed 
speech; 
Harvey 
n1l1 Haller, fresh from Nature's 
page, 



102 


SONGS IN 
IANY KEYS. 


Shoulder the dreamers of an earIier age, 
Lully and Gebel', and the learned crew 
That loved to talk of all they could not 
do. 
'Vhy count the rest, -those names of 
later days 
That nlany love, and all agree to 
})raISe, - 
Or point the titles, where a glance may 
read 
The dangerous lines of party or of creed? 
Too well, perchance, the chosen list 
would show 
What few may care and none can claÏ1n 
to know. 
Each has his features, whose exterior seal 
A brush nlay copy, or a sun beam steal; 
Go to his study, - on the nearest shelf 
Stands the mosaic portrait of hinîself. 


What though for months the t.ranquil 
dust descends, 
'Vhitening the heads of these mine an- 
cient friends, 
'Vhile the damp offspring of the modern 
press 
Flaunts on my table with its pictured 
dress ; 
Not less I love each dull familiar face, 
N or less should miss it fronl the ap- 
pointt->d place; 
I snatch the book, along whose burning 
leaves 
His scarlet web our wild romancer 
,vea ves, 
Yet, while proud Hester's fiery pangs I 
shar 

ly old l\IAGNALIA must be standing 
there I 


THE BELLS. 


WHEN o'er the street the morning peal 
is flung 
From yon tall belfry with the ùrazen 
tongue, 


I ts wide vibrations, wafted by tJlP gale, 
To each far listener tell a different tale. 
The sexton, stooping to the quivering 
floor 
Till the great caldron spills its brassy 
roar, 
'Vhirls the hot axle, counting, one by 
one, 
Each dull concussion, till l1Ís task is 
done. 
Toil's patient daughter, when the wel- 
come note 
Clangs through the silence from the 
steeple's throat, 
Streams, a white unit, to t.he checkered 
street, 
Demure, but guessing whom she soon 
shalllneet ; 
The bell, responsive to her secret flame, 
With every note repeats her lover's 
name. 
The lover, tenant of the neighboring 
lane, 
Sighing, and fearing lest he sigh in vain, 
Hears the stern accents, as they conle 
and go, 
Their only burden one despairing No ! 
Ocean's rough child, whonl luauy a 
shore has known 
Ere honlewarù breezes swept hbn to his 
own, 
Starts at the ec110 as it circ1es round, 
A thousand nlemories kindling with the 
sou n<1 ; 
The early favorite's unforgotten charn1s, 
"\Vhose blue initials stain his tawny 
arnls ; 
His first farewell, the flapping canvas 
spread, 
The seaward streamers crackling over- 
head, 
His kind, pale mother, not ashamed to 
werp 
Her first-born's briùal with the haggard 
ùeel), 



PICTURES FnO
I OCCASIONAL POE)IS. 


103 


',hile the brave father stood with tear- 
less eye, 
Sluiling anù choking with his last good- 
by. 


T is but a wave, whose spreading cir- 
cle beats, 
'Vith the same impulse, every nerve it 
meets, 
Yet who shall count the varied shapes 
that ride 
On the round surge of that aerial tide ! 


o child of earth! If floating sounds 
like these 
Steal from thyself their power to wound 
or please, 
If here or there thy changing will in- 
e lines, 
As tbe bright zodiac shifts its rolling 
sIgns, 
Look at thy heart, and when its depths 
are known 
Then try thy brother's, judging by thine 
own, 
But 
eep thy wisdom to tbe narrower 
range, 
'Vhile its own standards are the sport of 
change, 
 
Kor count us rebels wIlen we disobey 
The passing breath that holds thy pas- 
sion's sway. 


NON-Ij.ESISTANCE. 
PERH APS too far in these considerate 
days 
Has patience carried her subn1issive 
wa ys ; 
'Yisdom has taught us to be calm and 
lueek, 
To take one blow, and turn the other 
cheek ; 
I t is not writtrn what a man shall do, 
If the ruùe caitiff sntite the other too! 


Land of our fathers, in thine hour of 
need 
God hclp thee, guarded by the passive 
creed! 
As the lone pilgrim trusts to beads and 
cow 1, 
'Vhen through the forest rings the gray 
wolfs howl; 
As the d
ep galleon trusts her gilded 
prow 
'Vhen the black corsair slants athwart 
her bow ; 
As the poor pheasant, with his peaceful 
mien, 
Trusts to his feathers, shining golden- 
green, 
'Yhen the dark plumage with the crim- 
son beak 
Has rustled shadowy from its splintered 
peak,- 
So trust thy friends, whose babbling 
tongues would charm 
The lifteù sabre fronl thy forman's arm, 
Thy torc11es ready for the answering peal 
From bellowing fort and thunùer- 
freighted keel! 


THE MORAL BULLY. 


y O
 whey-faced brother, who delights 
to wear 
A weedy flux of ill-conditioned hair, 
Seenls of the sort that in.. a crowded 
place 
One elbows freely into smallest space; 
A. tin1id creature, lax of knee and hip, 
'Yhom small disturbance whitens round 
the lip ; 
One of those harmless spectac1ed nla- 
chines, 
Thp Holy- '\Yeek of Protestants convenes; 
,\y horn sc hool- boys question if their walk 
transcends 
The last advices of nlaternal friends; 



104 


SOXGS IN 
IANY KEYS. 


'Yhom John, obedient to his master's 
sign, 
ConJucts, laborious, up to ninety-nine, 
'Yhile Peter, gJistening with luxurious 
scorn, 
Husks his white ivories like an ear of 


corn ; 
Dark in the brow and bilious in the 
cheek, 
'Yhose yellowish linen flowers but once 
a week, 
Conspicuous, annual, in tlleir threadbare 
suits, 
And the laced high-lows which they call 
their boots 
'Vell mayst thou shun that dingy front 
severe, 
But 11Îm, 0 stranger, him thou canst not 
fear I 


Be slow to judge, and slower to de- 
spIse, 
1tlan of broad shoulders and heroic 
size ! 
'The tiger, writhing from the boa's rings, 
Drops at the fountain where the cobra 
stings. 
In that lean phantom, whose extended 
glove 
Points to the text of universal love, 
Behold the Inaster that can tame thee 
down 
To crouch, the vassal of his Sunday 
frown ; 
His velvet throat against thy corded 
wrist, 
His loosened tongue against thy doubled 
fist ! 


The }rloRAL BULLY, though he never 
swears, 
Nor kicks intruders down his 
ntry 
stairs, 
Though n1eekness plants his backward- 
sloping hat, 


And non-resistance ties his white cravat, 
Though his black broadcloth glories to 
be seen 
In the same plight with Shylock's gaber- 
dine, 
Hugs the same passion to his narrow 
breast 
That heaves the cuirass on the trooper's 
chest, 
Hears the same hell-hounds yelling in 
his rear 
That chase fronl port the maddened buc- 
caneer, 
Feels the same comfort while his acrid 
words 
Turn the sweet milk of kindness into 
curds, 
Or with grim logic prove, beyond de- 
bate, 
That all we love is worthiest of our 
hate, 
As the scarred ruffian of the pirate's 
deck, 
'\Vhen his long swivel rakes the stagger- 
ing wreck ! 


Heaven keep us all! Is every rascal 
clown 
'Vhose arm is stronger free to knock us 
down '? 
Has every scarecrow, whose cachectic 
soul 
Seems fresh from Bedlam, airing on pa- 
role, 
Who, though lle carries but a doubtful 
trace 
Of angel visits on his hungry face, 
Fronl lack of marrow or the coins to 
pay, 
Has dodged some vices in a shabby 
'way, 
The right to stick us with his cutthroat 
terIll&, 
And bait his homilies with his brother 
worms î 



PICTURES FRO
I OCCASIO
AL POE:\IS. 


105 


THE MIND'S DIET. 


No life worth naming ever comes to 
good 
If always nourished on the selfsame 
food; 
The creeping mite may live so ifhe please, 
Alldfped on Stilton till h
turns to cheese, 
But cool 1tlagendie proves beyond a 
doubt, 
If mammals try it, that their eyes drop 
out. 


No reasoning natures find it safe to 
feed, 
· For tllPir sole diet, on a single creed; 
It spoils their eyeballs while it spares 
their tongues, 
And starves the heart to feed the noisy 
lungs. 


'Yhen the first larvæ on the elm are 


seen, 
The crawling wretclu")1?, like its leaves, 
are green ; 
Ere chill October sllakes the latest do,vn, 
They, like the foliage, change their tint 
to brown ; 
On the blue flower a bluer flower you spy, 
You stretch to pluck it - 't is a butter- 
fly; 
The flattened tree-toads so resemble bark, 
They're lIard to find as Ethiops in the 
dark ; 
The woodcock, stiffening to fictitious 
mud, 
Cheats the young sportsman thirsting for 
l1Ïs blood; 
So by long living on a sing1e lie, 
Nay, on one truth, will creatures get its 
dye; 
Red, yellow, green, they take their sub- 
ject's hue. - 
Except when s'l ua b bling turns them 
black anù blue! 


OUR LIMITATIONS. 


\YE trust anù fear, we question and 
believe, 
From life's dark threads a trem blin (1 
o 
faith to weave, 
Frail as the ,veb that misty night has 
spun, 
'Vhose dew-gemmed a"nings glitter in 
the sun. 
"Vnile the calm centuries spell their les- 
sons out, 
Each truth we conquer spreads the realm 
of doubt; 
\Yhen Sinai's summit ,vas Jehovah's 
throne, 
The chosen Prophet knew his voice 
alone; 
'Vhen Pilate's hall that awful question 
heard, 
The Heavenly Captive answered not a 
word. 


Eternal Truth! òeyond auI' hopes and 
fears 
Sweep the vast orbits of thy myriad 
spheres ! 
From age to age, while History carves 
sublime 
On her waste rock the flaming curves of 
time, 
How the wild swayings of our planet 
show 
That worlds unseen surround the world 
we know. 


· THE OLD PLAYER. 


THE curtain rose; in thunders long 
and loud 
The galleries rung; the veteran actor 
bow
d. 
In flaming line thp telltales of the stage 
Showed on his brow the autograph of 
age; 



106 


SO
GS I
 !IA...
Y KEYS. 


Pale, hueless waves amid his clustered 
hair, 
And umbered shadows, prints of toil 
and care; 
Rounù the wiùe circle glanced his vacant 
eye, - 
He strove to speak" - his voice was but 
a sigh. 


. 


Year after year had seen its short- 
Ii v ed race 
Flit past the scenes and otl1ers take their 
place; 
Yet the old prompter watched his accents 
still, 
His. nalne still flaunted on the evening's 
bill. 
Heroes, the monarchs of the scenic floor, 
Had died ill earnest and were heard no 


more; 
Beauties, whose cheeks such roseate 
bloom 0' erspread 
They faced the footlights in unboITowed 
red, 
Had faded slowly through successive 
shades 
To gray duennas, foils of younger maids; 
Sweet voices lost the melting tones that 
start 
"Tith Southern throbs the sturdy Saxon 
heart, 
'Vhile fresh sopranos shook the painted 
sky 
'Yïth their long, breathless, quivering 
locust-cry. 
Yet there he stood, - the man of other 
days, 
In the clear present's full, unsparing 
blaze, 
As on the oak a faded leaf that clings 
\Vhile a new April spreaùs its burnished 
wIngs. 


How bright yon rows that soared in 
triple tier, 


Theircentral sun the flashing chandelier ! 
How dhn the eye that sought with 
doubtful aim 
Some friendly smile it still might dare 
to claim! 
How fresh these hearts! his own how 
worn and cold! 
Such the sad thoughts that long-drawn 
sigh had told. 
No word yet faltered on his trembling 
tongue; 
Again, again, the crashing galleries rung. 
As the old guardsman at the bugle's blast 
Hears in its strain the echoes of the past; 
So, as the plaudits rolled and thundered 
round, 
. 
A life of Dlemories startled at the sound. 
He lived again, - the page of earliest 
days, - 
Days of small fee and parsimonious 
praIse; 
Then lithe young Romeo-hark that 
silvered tone, 
From those smooth lips - alas! they 
were h is own. 
Then the bronzed 1.1001', with all his. 
love and woe, 
Told his strange tale of Inidnight melt- 
i11g snow; 
And dark-plumed Hanllet, with his 
cloak and blade, 
Looked on the royal ghost, hinlself a 
shade. 
All ill one flash, his youthful memories 
came, 
Traced in bright hues of evanf'scent 
flame, 
As the spent swiInnler's in the lifelong 
dreanl, 
""'hile the last bubble rises through the 
stream. 


Call hilI). not old, whose visionary 
brain 
IIolds o'er the past its undivided reign. 



PICTURES FRO::\I OCCASIONAL POE
IS. 


107 


For hirrl in vain the envious seasons roll 
'Yho bears eternal sunlmer in his soul. 
If yet the minstrel's song, the poet's lay, 
Spring with her birds, or children at 
their play, 
Or maiden's sluile, or heavenly dreanl 
of art, 
Stir the few life-drops creeping round 
his heart, 
Turn to the record where his years are 
told, - 
Count his gray hairs, - they cannot 
make him old! 
What magic power has changed the 
faded mime? 
One breath of nlemory on the dust of 
time. 
As the last window in the buttressed wall 
Of sonle gray n1Ïnster tottering to its fall, 
Though to the passing crowd its hues 
are spread, 
A dull mosaic, yellow, green, and red, 
Viewed from within, a radiant glory 
shows 
''''"hen through its :pictured screen the 
sunlight flows, 
And kneeling pilgrims on its storied pane 
See angels glow in every shapeless stain; 
So streamed the vision through his 
sunken eye, 
Clad in the splendors of his morning sky. 
All the wild hopes his eager boyhood 
knew, 
All the young fancies riper )Tears proved 
true, 
The sweet, low-whispered words, the 
winning glance 
From queens of song, from Houris of 
the dance, 
'Yealth's lavish gift, and Flattery's 
soothing phrase, 
.. 
And Beauty's silence when her blush 
was praise, 
And IDPlting Pride, her lashes wet with 
tears, 


Triumphs and banquets, wreaths and 
crowns and cheers, 
Pangs of wild joy that perish on the 
tongue, 
And all that poets dream, but leave 
unsung! 


In every heart some viewless founts 
are fed 
From far-off hillsides where the dews 
were shed; 
On the worn features of the weariest face 
Some youthful memory leaves its hidden 
trace, 
As in old gardens left by exiled kings 
The marble basins tell of 11idden springs, 
But, gray with dust, and overgrown with 
weeds, 
Their choking jets the pass
r little lleeds, 
Till thne's revenges break their seals 
a way, 
And, clad in rainbow light, the waters 
play. 


Good night, fond dreamer! let the 
curtain fall: 
The world's a stage, and we are players 
all. 
A strange rehearsal! Kings without 
their crowns, 
And threadbare lords, and jewel-wear- 
, . I 
lng c owns, 
Speak the vain words that mock their 
throbbing hearts, 
As 'Vant, stern prompter! spel1s theln 
out their parts. 
The tinselledhero whorn we praise and l)ay 
Is twice an actor in a twofold 11lay. 
'Ve smile at children when a painted 
screen 
Seems to their simple eyes a real scene; 
l\.sk the poor hireling, who has left his 
throne 
To seek the cheerless home he calls his 


OWI1, 



108 


SONGS IN MANY KEYS. 


'Vhich of his double lives most real 


seenlS, 
The world of solid fact or scenic dreams 1 
Canvas, or clouds, - the footlights, or 
the spheres, - 
The play of two short hours, or seventy 
years 1 
Dreanl on! Though Heaven may woo 
our open eyes, 
Tb rough their closed lids we look. on 
fairer skies; 
Truth is for other worlds, and bope for 
this; 
The cheating future lends the present's 
bliss; 
Life is a running shade, with fettered 
hands, 
That chases phantoms over shifting 
sands; 
Death a still spectre on a marble seat, 
'Vith ever clutching palms and shackled 
feet ; 
The airy s11apcs that mock life's slender 
chain, 
rThe flying joys he strives to clasp in vain, 
Death only grasps; to live is to pur- 
sue, - 
Dream on! there'8 nothing but illusion 
true! 


THE ISLAND RUIN. 


Y E that have faced the billows and 
the spray 
Of good St. Botolph's island-studded 
bay, 
As from the gliding bark your eye has 
scanned 
The beacone(l rocks, the wave-girt hills 
of sand, 
Have ye not marked one elm-o'ershad- 
owed isle, 
Round as the dimple chased in beauty's 
smile, - 


A stain of verùure on an azure field, 
Set like a jewel in a battered shield? 
Fixed in the narrow gorge of Ocean's 
path, 
Peaceful it meets him in his hour of 
'\9rath ; 
When the mailed Titan, scourged by 
hissing gales, 
'Vrithes in his glistening coat of clash- 
ing scales; 
The storm-beat island spreads its tran- 
quil green, 
Calm as an emerald on an angry queen. 
So fair when distant should Le fairer 


near; 
A boat shall waft us from the out- 
stretched pier. 
The breeze blows fresh; we reach the 
island's edge, 
Our shallop rustling through the yield- 
ing sedge. 
No welcome greets us on the desert 
isle ; 
Those elnls, far-shadowing, hide 110 
stately pile: 
Yet these green ridges mark an ancient 
road; 
AlId lo! the traces of a fair ahode ; 
The long gray line that marks a garden- 
wall, 
And heaps of fallen òeams, - fire- 
branded all. 


Who sees unmoved, a ruin at his feet, 
The lowliest home where human hearts 
have beat? 
Its hearthstone, shaded with the bistre 
stain 
A éentury's showery torrents wash in 
vain ; 
Its starving orchard, where the thistle 
blows 
And mossy trunks still mark the broken 
rows; 
Its chimney-loving poplar, oftenest seen 



PICTURES FR01tI OCCASIONAL POEl\fS. 


109 


Next an old roof, or where a roof has 
been; 
I ts knot-grass, plantain
 - all the social 
weeds, 

Ian's mute companions, following where 
he leads ; 
Its dwarfed, pale flowers, that show their 
straggling heads, 
Sown by the wind from grass-choked 
garden - beds ; 
Its woodbine, creeping where it used to 
clin1b; 
Its roses, breathing of the olùen tiIne ; 
All the poor shows the curious idler sees, 
As life's thin shadows waste by slow 
degrees, 
Till naught remains, the sadùening tale 
to tell, 
Save home's last wrecks, - the cellar 
and the well! 


And whose the home that strews in 
black decay 
The one green-glowing island of the bay? 
Some dark-browed pirate's, jealous of 
the fate 
That seized the strangled wretch of 
"Nix's 
Iate"? 
Some forger's, skulking in a borrowed 
nan1e, 
'Vhom Tyburn's dangling halter yet 
may claim 
 
Some wan-eyed exile's, 'wealth and sor- 
row's heir, 
'Vho sought a lone retreat for tears and 
prayer 1 
Some brooding poet's, sure of deathless 
fanle, 
Had not his epic perished in the flame? 
Or son1e gray wooer's, whom a girlish 
frown 
Chased from his solid friends and sober 
town î 
Or some plain tradesman's, fond of shade 
and ease, 


'Yho sought them both beneath these 
quiet trees 1 
'Vhy question mutes no question can 
unlock, 
Dumb as the legend on the Dighton rock? 
One thing at least these ruined heaps 
declare, -- 
They were a shelter once; a man Ii ,red 
there. 


But where the charred and crulnbling 
records fail, 
SODle breathing lips may piece the half- 
told tale; 
No man may live with neighbors such 
as these, 
Though girt with walls of rock and angry 
seas, 
And shield his home, his chilùren, or 
his wife, 
His ways, his means, his vote, his creed, 
his life, 
From the dread sovereignty of Ears and 
Eyes 
And the small n1eluber that beneath 
them lies. 
They told strange things of that mys- 
terious man; 
Believe who win, deny them such as can; 
\Vhy should we fret if every 11assing sail 
Had its old seaman talking on the rail 1 
The deep-sunk schooner stuffed with 
Eastern lime, 
Slow wedging on, as if the waves were 
slime; 
The knife:edged clipper with her ruffled 
spars, 
The pawing steamer with her mane of 
stars, 
The bnll- browed galliot butting through 
the stream, . 
The wide-sailed yacht that slipred along 
her beam, 
The deck-piled sloops, the pinclled che- 
ùacco- boa ts, 



'"' 


110 


SONGS IN 
IANY KEYS. 


The frigate, black with thunder-freighted 
throats, 
All had their talk about the lonely man; 
And thus, in varying phrase, the story 
ran. 
His naIne haJ cost him little care to 
seek, 
Plain, honest, brief, a decent name to 
speak, 
Conunoll, not vulgar, just the kind that 
slips 
Vlith least suggestion from a stranger's 
Ii ps. 
His birthplace England, as his speech 
Inight show, 
Or his hale cheek, that 'yore the red- 
streak's glow; 
His mouth sharp-nloulded; in its mirth 
or scorn 
There came a flash as from the milky corn, 
'Vhen from the ear you rip the rustling 
sheath, 
And the white ridges show their even 
teeth. 
His stature moderate, but his strength 
confessed, 
In spite of broadcloth, by his alnple 
breast ; 
Full-arnlcd, thick-handed; one that 
had been strong, 
And might be dangerous still, if things 
went wrong. 
He lived at ease beneath his elm-trees' 
shade, 
Did naught 
or gain, yet all his debts 
were paid; 
Rich, so 't was thought, but careful of 
his store; 
Had all he needed, claimed to have no 
more. 


But some that lingered roun(l the hIe 
at night 
Sl)oke of strange stealthy doings in their 
sight; 


Of creeping lonely visits that he n1ade 
To nooks anù corners, with a torch and 
spade. 
Some said they saw the hollow of a cave; 
One, given to fables, swore it was a grave; 
Whereat sonle shuddered, others boldly 
cried, 
Those prowling boatmen lied, and knew 
they lied. 
They said his house was framed with 
CUrIOUS cares, 
Lest sorne old friend might enter un- 
a wares; 
That on the platform at his chamber's 
door 
Hinged a loose sq nare that opened 
through the floor; 
Touch the black silken tassel next the 
bell, 
Down, with a crash, the flapping trap- 
door fell; 
Three stories deep the falling wretch 
would strike, 
To writhe at leisure on a boarder's pike. 
By day armed always; double-annc<.l 
at night, 
His tools lay round 11im; wake hÌIn 
such as might. 
A carbine hung beside his India fan, 
His hand could reach a Turkish a tagh an ; 
Pistols, with quaint-carved stocks and 
barrels gilt, 
Crossed a long dagger with a jewelled 
hilt; 
A slashing cutlass stretched along the 
bed ;- 
All this was what those lying boatnlcn 
said. 
Then SOlne ,vere full of wondrous sto- 
ries told 
Of great oak chests and cupboards full of 
gold; 
Of the wedged ingots and the silver 
bars 
That cost old pirates ugly sabre-scars; 



,. 


PICTURES FR01\I OCCASIO
AL POE:\IS. 


111 


How his laced wallet often wotùd dis- 
gorge 
The fresh-faced guinea of an English 
George, 
Or sweated ducat, palmed by Jews of 
yore, 
Or double Joe, or Portuguese moidore, 
And bow his finger wore a rubied ring 
Fit for the white-necked play-girl of a 
kin a'. 
o 
But these fine legends, told with staring 
eyes, 
1tlet with small credence from the old 
and wise. 


. 


'Vhy tell 
ach idle guess, each whisper 
vain 1 
Enough: the scorched and cindered 
beanls remain. 
He came, a silent pilgrim to the 'Vest, 
Some old-world 111Jstery throbbing in 
his breast; 
Close to the thronging mart he d wel t 
alone; 
He lived; he died. The rest is all un- 
known. 


Stranger, whose eyes the shadowy isle 
survey, 
As the black steanler dashes through 
the bay, 
'Vhy ask his buried secret to divine? 
He was thy brother; speak, and tell us 
thine! 


THE BANKER'S DINNER. 


TilE Banker's dinner is the stateliest 
feast 
The town bas heard of for a year, at 
least; 
The sparry lustres shed their broadest 
blaze, 
Damask and silver catch and spread the 
rays; 


The florist's triumphs crown the daintier 
spoil 
'Von from the sea, the forest, or the soil ; 
The steaming hot-house yields its largest 
pInes, 
The sunless vaults unearth their oldest 


WInes; 
'Vith one adluiring loo
 the scene sur- 
vey, 
And turn a moment from the bright dis- 
pray. 


Of all the joys of earthly pride or 
power, 
'Vhat gives most life, worth living, in 
an hour? 
'Yhen Victory settles on the doubtful 
fight 
And the last foeman wheels in panting 
flight, 
No thrill like this is felt beneath the 


sun; 
Life's sovereign moment is a battle won. 
But say what next 1 To shape a Senate's 
choice, 
By the strong magic of the master's 
VOIce; 
To ride the stonny tempest of debate 
Tl1at whirls the wavering fortunes of the 
state. 
Third in the list, tl{e happy lover's 
prize 
Is WOI1 by honeyed words fronl women's 
eyes. 
If some would have it first instead of 
third, 
So let it be, - I answer not a word. 
The fourth, - sweet readers, let the 
thoughtless half 
Have its small shrug and inoffensive 
laugh; 
Let the grave quarter wear its virtuous 
frown, 
The stern half-quarter try to scowl us 
down j 



112 


SONGS IN }.IANY KEYS. 


the choice and As the Great Duke surveyed his iron 
squares. 
- That's the young travellcr, - is n't 
much to show,- 
Fast on the roaù, but at the table slow. 
- Next him, - you see the author in 
his look, - 
His forehead lined with wrinkles like a. 
book, - 
\V rote the great history of the allcÏerit 
Huns, - 
Holds back to fire among the heavy 
guns. 
- 0, there's our poet seated at ]1Îs side, 
among her social Beloved of ladies, soft, cerulean-eyed. 
Poets are prosy in their conlmon talk, 
has life a brighter As the fast trotters, for the nlost part, 
walk. 
-Ând there's our well-dressed gentle.. 
man, who sits, 
By right divine, no doubt, among the 
wits, 
'Vho airs l1is tailor's patterns when he 
walks, 
The mall that often speaks, but never 
talks. 
'Vhy should he talk, whose presence 
len ds a grace 
To every table where he shows I1is face 1 
He knows the n1anual of the silver fork, 
Can name his claret - if he sees the 
cork, - 
Remark that "White-top" was consid- 
ered fine, 
But swear the "J uuo" is the better 
wine ; - 
Is not this talking? Ask Quintilian's 
rules; 
If they say No, the town has many fools. 
- Pause for a I110ment, --... for our eyes 
behold 
The plain unsreptred king, the man of 
gold, 
The thrice illustrious threefold n1illion- 


But the last eighth, 
sifted few, 
'Yill hear n1Y words, and, pleased, con- 
fess them true. 


Among the gre&.t whom Heaven has 
made to shine, 
IIow few have learned the art of arts,-- 
to dine! 
Nature, indulgent to our daily need, 
Kind-hearted mother! taught us all to 
feed; 
But the chief art, - how rarely Nature 
flings 
This choicest gift 
kinO's' 
O' 
Say, man of truth, 
hour 
Than waits the chosen guest who knows 
his power? 
He moves with ease, itself an angel 
chann,- 
Lifts with light touch my lady's jewelled 


arm, 
Slides to his seat, half leading and half 
led, 
Smiling but quiet till the grace is said, 
Then gently kindles, while by slow de- 
gl'ees 
Creep softly out the little arts that 
!}leasr ; 
Bright looks, the cheerful language of 
the eye, 
The neat, crisp question and the gay 
reply, -. 
Ta]k Jight and airy, such as "cll may 
pass 
Between the rested fork and lifted 
glass; - 
'Yith I)lay like this the earlier evening 
flies, 
Till rust1ing silks proclaim the laùies 
rIse. 
His hour has come, - }w looks along 
the cbairs, 


naire ; 



PICTURES FROl\I OCCASIO
AL POE
IS. 


113 


1tlark his slow-creeping, dead, metallic 
stare; 
His eyes, dull glimmering, like the bal- 
ance- pan 
That weighs its guinea as he \\ eighs his 
man. 
- ,,110 's next? An artist, in a satin tie 
'Those anlple folds defeat the curious 
eye. 
- And there's the cousin, - must be 
asked, you kno\v,- 
Looks like a spinster at a baby-sho\v. 
Hope he is cool, - they set him next 
the door, - 
And likes his place, between the gap 
and bore. 
- Next comes a Congress-man, distin- 
guished guest! 
'Ve don't count him, - they asked l1im 
with the rest; 
And then some white cravats, with well- 
sha ped ties, 
And heads above them which their 
owners prize. 


Of all that cluster round the genial 
board, 
Not one so radiant as the banquet's lord. 
SOIne say they fancy, but they know not 
why, 
A shade of troll ble brooding in his 
eye, 
Nothing, perhaps, - the rooms are over- 
hot, - 
Yet see his cheek, - the dull-red burn- 
ing spot, - 
Taste the brown sherry which he does 
not pass, - 
Ha! That is brandy; see him fill his 
glass! 
But not forgetful of his feasting 
friends, 
To each in turn some lively word he 
sends; 
Bee how he throws his baite(llill
s about, 


And plays liis men as anglers :play their 
trou t. 


With the dry sticks all bonfires are 
begun; 
Bring the first fagot, proser number one! 
A question drops among the listening 
crew 
And hits the traveller, pat on Tim- 
buctoo. 
'Ve 're on the Niger, somewhere near its 
source, - 
Not the least hurry, take the river's 
course 
Through Rissi, Foota, Kankan, Banlma- 
koo, 
Bambarra, Sego, so to Timbuctoo, 
Thence down to Y oUli ; - stop him if 
we can, 
We can't fare worse, - wake up the 
Congress-man ! 
The Congress-Dlan, once on his talking 
legs, 
Stirs up his knowledge to its thickest 
dregs ; 
Tremendous draught for dining men to 
quaff ! 
X othing will choke him òut a purpling 
lang1l. 
A word, - a shout, - a mighty roar, - 
't is done; 
Extinguished; lassoed by a treacherous 
pun. 
A laugh is prinling to the loaded soul; 
The scattering shots become a steady 
roll, 
Broke by sharp cracks that run along 
the line, 
The light artillery of the talker's wine. 
The kindling goblets flan1e with golden 
dews, 
The hoarded flasks their tawny fire dif- 
fu
e, 
.And the Rhine's breast-milk gushes cold 
and bl'iO'ht 
o , 



114 


SONGS IN 
IANY KEYS. 


Pale as the moon and maddening as her 
light ; 
 
'Vith crinlson juice the thirsty southern 
sky 
Sucks from the hills where buried armies 
lie, 
So that the dreamy passion it inlparts 
Is drawn from heroes' bones and lovers' 
hearts. 
But lulls will come; the flashing soul 
transnli ts 
;:Its gleams of light in alternating fits. 
The shower of talk that rattled down 
amain 
Ends in small patterings like an April's 
raIn ; 
The voices halt; the game is at a stand; 
Now for a solo from the master-hand ! 
'T is but a story, - quite a sÏ1nple 
thing, - 
An aria touched upon a single string, 
But every accent conles with such a 
grace 
The stupid servants listen in their place, 
Each with his waiter in his lifted hands, 
Still as a well.bred pointer when he 
stanùs. 
A query checks him: "Is he quite ex- 
act? " - 
(This from a grizzled, square.jawed man 
of fact.) 
The sparkling story leaves hiIn to his 
fate, 
Crushed by a witness, smothered with 
a date, 
As a swift river, sown with many a 
star, 
Runs brighter, rippling on a shallow 
bar. 
The snlooth divine suggests a graver 
doubt; 
A neat quotation bowls the parson out; 
Then, sliding gayly from his own dis- 
play, 
lIe laughs the learneù ùulness all away. 


So, with the merry tale and jovial 
song, 
The jocund evening whirls itself along, 
Till the last chorus shrieks its loud en- 
core, 
And the white neckcloths vanish 
through the door. 


One savage word! - The menials 
know its tone, 
And slink away; the master stands 
alone. 
" 'V ell played, by -"; breathe not 
what were best unheard; 
His goblet shivers while he speaks the 
word, - 
"If wine tells truth, - and so have said 
the ,vise, - 
It makes nle laugh to think ho,v brandy 
lies ! 
Bankrupt to-morrow, - millionnaire to- 
day,- 
The farce is over, - now begins the 
play! " 
The sIH'ing he touches lets a panel 
glide; 
An iron closet lurks beneath the slide, 
Bright with such treasures as a search 
might bring 
From the deep pockets of a truant king. 
Two diamonds, eyeballs of a God of 
bronze, 
Bought from his faithful priest, a pious 
Bonze ; 
A string of brilliants; rubies, three or 
four ; 
Bags of old coin and bars of virgin ore; 
A jewelled poniard and a Turkish knife, 
Noiseless and useful if we conle to strife. 
Gone! As a pirate flies before the 
wind, 
And not one tear for all he leaves be- 
hind ! 
Froul all the love his Letter years havo 
kUOWll 



PICTURES FROl\I OCCASIOX AL POEl\IS. 


115 


Fled like a felon, - ah! but not alone! 
'The chariot flashes tl1fough a lantern's 
glare, - 
o the wild eyes! the storm of sable 
hair ! 
Still to his side the broken heart will 
cling, - 
The bride of shame, the wife without 
the ring: 
Hark, the deep oatIl, - the wail of fren- 
zied woe,- 
Lost! lost to hope of Heaven and peace 
below ! 


He kept his secret; but the seed of 
crime 
Bursts of itself in God's appointed time. 
The lives he wrecked were scattered far 
and wide ; 
One never blamed nor wept, - she only 
died. 
N one knew his lot, though idle tongues 
would say 
He sought a lonely refuge far away, 
And there, with borrowed name and al- 
tered mien, 
He died unheeded, as he lived unseen. 
The n10ral market had the usual chills 
Of Virtue suffering from protested bills; 
The ,Yhite Cravats, to friendsl1ip's mem- 
ory true, 
Sighed for the past, surveyed the future 
too; 
Their sorrow breathed in one expressive 
line, - 
"Gave pleasant dinners; who has got 
his wine 
" 


THE MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS. 


'" HA T ailed young Lucius 1 Art had 
vainly tried 
To gUé
S his ill, ana fuund 11erself defied. 
The ....\.ugllr plied his legendary skill ; 


Useless; the fair young Ron1an lan- 
guished still. 
His chariot took him every cloudless 
day 
Along the Pincian Hill or Appian 'Yay; 
They rubbed his wasted limbs with sul- 
phurous oil, 
Oozed from the far-off Orient's heated 
soil ; 
They led him tottering down the steamy 
path 
'Vhere bubbling fountains filled the ther- 
mal bath; 
Borne in l1is litter to Egel'ia's cave, 
They washed him, sill vering, in l1cr icy 
wave. 
They sought all curious herbs and costly 
stones, 
They scraped the n10SS that grc,v on dead 
Dlen's bones, 
They tried all cures the votive tablets 
taught, 
Scoured every place whence healing 
drugs were brougl1t, 
0' er Thracian hills his breathless couriers 


ran, 
His slaves waylahl the Syrian caravan. 
At last a servant heard a stranger 
speak 
A new chirurgeon's name; a cle,"er 
Greek, 
Skilled in his art; from Pergamus he 
came 
To Rome but lately; GALE:S was the 
name. 
The Greek was caned: a man with pier- 
cing eyes, 
'Y110 must be cunning, and who might 
be wise. 
He spoke but little, - if they pleased, 
he said, 
He'd wait awhile beside the sufferer's 
bcd. 
So by his siùe he sat, serene anù 
calm, 



116 


SO
GS IN 
IANY KEYS. 


His very accents soft as healing balm; 
Not curious seemed, but every movement 
spied, · 
His sharp eyes searching where they 
seenled to glide; 
Asked a few questions, - what he felt, 
and 'v here '? 
" A pain just here," "A constant beat- 
ing there." 
'Vho ordered bathing for his aches anù 
ails? 
"Charmis, the water-doctor from ltlar- 
seilles:" 
'Vhat was the last prescription in his 
case? 
"A draught of wine with powdered 
chrysoprase. " 
Had he no secret grief he nursed alone 1 
A pause; a little tremor j answer,- 
" None." 
Thoughtful, a moment, sat the cun- 
ning leech, 
And muttered "Eros!" in his native 
speech. 
In the broad atrium various friends 
await 
TIle last new utterance from the lips of 
fate ; 
}'Ien, matrons, maids, tl1ey talk the 
question 0' er, 
And, restless, pace the tessellated floor. 
Not unobserved the youth so long had 
pined 
By gentle-hearted dames and damsels 
kind ; 
One ",ith the rest, a rich Patrician's 
pride, 
The lady Hermia, called" the golden- 
eyed" ; 
The same the old Proconsul fain must 


To hear his suit, - the Tiber knows the 
rest. 
(Crassus was missed next morning by his 
set; 
N ext week the fishers found him in their 
net. ) 
She with the others paced the ample 
hall, 
Fairest, alas ! and saddest of them all. 
At length the G reek declared, with 
puzzled face, 
Some strange enchantment mingled in 
the case, 
And naught would serve to act as counter- 
charm 
Save a warm bracelet from a maiden's 


arm. 
Not every maiden's, - many might be 
tried ; 
Which not in vain, experience must de.. 
cide. 
Were there no <lamsels willing to at- 
tend 
And do such service for a suffering friend? 
The nlessage passeù among the waiting 
crowd, 
First in a whisper, then proclaimed 
aloud. 
Some wore "no jewels; some were disin- 
clined, 
}"or reasons better guessed at than de- 
fined ; 
Though all were saints, - at least pro- 
fessed to be, - 
The list all counted, there were named 
bu t three. 
The leech, still seated by the patient's 
side, 
Held his thin wrist, and watched him, 
eagle-eyed. 
Aurelia first, a fair-haired Tuscan girl, 
Slipped off her golden asp, with eyes of . 
pearl. 
over roughly His solcnln head the grave physician 
shook ; 


woo, 
Whonl, one dark night, a masked sicarius 
slew; 
The same black Crassus 
I)ressed 



PICTURES FRO::\I OCCASIO:N AL POEl\IS. 


117' 


The waxen features thanked her with a 
look. 
Olympia next, a creature half divine, 
Sprung from the blood of old Evallder's 
line, 
Held her white ann, that wore a twisted 
chain 
Clasped with an opal-sheeny cynlophane. 
In vain, 0 daughter! said the baffled 
Greek. 
The patient sighed the thanks he could 
not speak. 
Last, Hernlia entered; look, that sud- 
den start ! 
The pallium heaves above his leaping 
heart ; 
The beating pulse, the cheek's rekindled 
flame, 
Those quivering lips, the secret all pro- 
clain1. 
The deep disease long throbbing in the 
breast, 
The dread enchantment, all at once {'on- 
fessed! 
The case was plain; the treatment was 
begun ; 
And Love soon cured the mischief he had 
done. 


Young Love, too oft thy treacherous 
bandage slips 
Down from the eyes it blinded to the 
lips! 
Ask not the Gods, 0 youth, for clearer 
sigh t, · 
But the bold heart to plead thy cause 
aright. 
And thou, fair maiden, when thy lovers 
sigh, 
Suspect thy flattering ear, but trust 
thine eye; 
And learn this secret from tlle tale of 
old: 
No love so true as love that dies un- No 
told. 


A MOTHER'S SECRET. 


Ho,y sweet the sacred legend - if 
un blamed 
In nlY slight verse such holy things are 
nanled - 
Of 1tla.ry's secret hours of hidden joy, 
Silent, but poudering on her wondrous 
boy! 
Ave, 1tlaria! Pardon, if I wrol1g 
Those heavenly words that shame my 
earthly song! 
The choral host had closed the Anger! 
strain 
Sung to the listening watch on Bethle- 
henI's plain, 
And now the shepherds, hastening on 
their way, 
Sought the still hamlet where the Infant 
lay. 
They passed the fields that gleaning 
Ruth toiled o'er,- 
They saw afar the ruined threshing- 
floor 
Vv"'here 1tloab's daughter, homeless and 
forlorn, 
Found Boaz slumbering by his heaps of 
corn; 
And some remembered how the holy 
scribe, 
Skilled in the lore of every jealous tribe, 
Traced the warm blood of Jesse's royal 
son 
To that fair alien, bravely ,vooed and 
won. 
So fared they on to seek the promiseel 


sign, 
That marked the anointed heir of 
David's line. 
At last, hy forms of earthly semblance 
led, 
They founù the crowded inn, the oxen's 
shed. 
pomp was there, no glory shone 
around 



118 


SO
GS IN MANY KEYS. 


On the coarse straw that strewed the 
reeking ground; 
One dim retreat a flickering torch be- 
trayed, - 
In that poor cell the L?rd of Life ,vas 
laid! 
The wondering shel)herds told their 
breathless tale 
Of the bright choir that woke the sleep- 
ing vale; 
Told how the skies with sudden glory 
flamed, 
Told how the shining multitude pro- 
clainled, 
"Joy, joy to earth! B-ehold the hal- 
lowed morn! 
In David's city Christ the Lord is born! 
, Glory to God!' let angels shout on high, 
'Good-will to men!' the listening earth 
reply! " 
They spoke ,vith hurried words and 
accents wild; 
Calm in his cradle slept the heavenly 
cl1ild. 
No trembling word the mother's joy re- 
vealed, - 
Onc sigh of rapture, and her lips were 
sealed; 
Unmoved she saw the rustic train depart, 
But kept their words to ponder in her 
heart. 


Twelve years had passed; the boy was 
fair and tall, 
Growing in wisdom, finding grace with 
all. 
The maids of Nazareth, as they trooped 
to fill 
Their balanced urns beside the moun- 
tain riU, 
The gathered matrons, as they sat and 
spun, 
Spoke in soft words of Joseph's quiet 
son. 
No voice had reached the Galilean vale 


Of star-led kings, or awe-struck shep- 
herd's tale; 
In the nlcek, studious child they only saw 
The future Rabbi, learned in Israel's law. 
So grew the boy, and now the feast 
was near 
'Vhen at the Uoly Place the tribes 
appear. 
Scarce had the home- bred child of 
Nazareth seen 
Beyond the hills that girt the village 
green ; 
Save when at midnight, o'er the starlit 
sands, 
Snatched from the steel of Herod's Dlur. 
dering bands, 
A babe, close folded to his mother's 
breast, 
Through Edom's wilds he sought the 
sheltering West. 
Then Joseph spake: "Thy boy hath 
largely grown; 
'V eave him fine raiment, fitting to be 
shown; 
Fair 1'0 bes beseem the pilgrhn, as the 
priest: 
Goes he not with us to the holy fpast 1 " 
And }'Iary culled the flaxen fibres 
white; 
Till eve she spun; she spun till morn- 
ing light. 
The thread was twineù; its parting 
meshes through 
From hand to hand her restless shuttle 
fle\v, 
Till the full web was wound upon the 
beam; 
Love's curious toil, -a vest without a 
sean1 ! 
They reach the Holy Place, fulfil the 
days 
To solemn feasting given, and grateful 
praise. 
At last they turn, and far Moriah's 
height 



PICTURES FRO:\I OCCASIOXAL POE
IS. 


lID 


:hlelts in the southern sky and fades 
from sight. 
All day the dusky caravan has flowed 
In devious trails along the winding road; 
(For many a step their homeward path 
attends, 
And all the sons ot Abraham are as 
frienùs.) 
Evening has come, - the hour of rest 
and joy, - 
Hush! Hush! That whisper, -"\Yhere 
is 
Iary's boy?" 
o weary hour! 0 aching days that 
passed 
Filled with strange fears each wilder 
than the last, - 
The soldier's lance, the fierce centurion's 
sword, 
The crushing wlleels that whirl some 
Roman lord, 
The midnigbt crypt that sucks the èap- 
tive's breath, 
The blistering sun on Hinnoln's vale of 
death! 
Thrice on his cheek had rained the 
morning light; 
Thrice on his lips the mildewed kiss of 
night, 
Crouched by a sheltering column's shin- 
ing plinth, 
Or stretched beneath the odorous tere- 
binth. 
At last, in desperate mood, they 
t 
sought once more 
The Temple's porches, searched in vain 
before ; 
They found him seated with the ancient 
men, - 
The grim old ruffiers of the tongue and 
pen,- 
Their bald heads glistening as they 
clustered near, 
Their gray beards slanting as 
turned to hear, 
Lost in half-envious wonder anù sUIJ.)rise 


That lips so fresh should utter worùs so 
wise. 
And ltlary said, - as one who, tried 
too long, 
Tells all her grief and half her sense of 
wrong, - 
" What is this thoughtless thing which 
thou hast done? 
Lo, we have sought thee sorrowing, 0 
my son!" 
Few words he spake, and scarce of 
filial tone, 
Strange words, their sense a mystery 
yet unknown; 
Then turned with them and left the 
holy hill, 
To all their mild commands obedient 
still. 
The tale was told to :K azareth's sober 


men, 
And K azareth's matrons told it oft 


agaIn ; 
The maids retold it at the fountain's 
side, 
The youthful shepherds doubted or 
denied ; . 
It passed around among the listening 
friends, 
'Yith all that fancy adds and fiction 
lends, 
Till newer marvels dimlned the young 
renown 
or Joseph's son, who talked the Rabbis 
down. 
But 
Iary, faithful to its lightest word, 
Kept in her heart the sayings she had 
heard, 
Till the dread morning rent the Tem- 
ple's veil, 
.And shuddering earth confirmed the 
w'ondrous tale. 


they Youth fades; love droops; the leaves 
of friendship fan: 
A mother's secret hope outlives them all. 



120 


SONGS IN MANY KEYS. 


THE DISAPPOINTED STATESMAN. 


'VHO of all statesmen is his country's 
pride, 
Her councils' prompter and her leaders' 
guide 
 
He speaks; the nation holds its breath 
to hear ; 
Hc nods, and shakes the sunset hmni- 
sphere. 
Born where the primal fount of Nature 
springs 
By the rude cradles of lIeI' throneless 
kings, 
In his proud eye her royal signet flames, 
By his own lips her 
Ionarch she pro- 
clainls. 
Why name his countless triUllIphs, 
whom to nIcet 
Is to be fanlous, envied in defeat? 
The keen debaters, trained to brawls 
and strife, 
'Vho fire one shot, and finish with the 
knife, 
TIied him but once, and, cowering in 
their shame, 
Ground their hacked blades to strike at 
meaner game. 
The lordly chief, his party's central stay, 
Whose lightest word a hundred votes 
obey, 
Found a new listener seated at his side, 
Looked in his eye, and felt hinlself defied, 
Flung his rash gauntlet on the startled 
floor, 
1tlet the all-conquering, fought - and 
ruled no more. 
See where he moves, what eager 
crowds attend! 
What shouts of thronging multitudes 
ascend ! 
If this is life, - to mark with every hour 
The purple deepening in his 1'0 bes of 
power, 
To see the painted fruits of honor fall 


Thick at his feet, and choose among 
them all, 
To hear the sounds that shape his 
spreading name 
Peal through the myriad organ-stops of 
fame, 
Stamp the lone isle that spots the sea- 
man's chart, 
And crown the pilla
ed glory of the mart, 
To count as peers the few supremely wise 
Who mark their planet in the angels' 
eyes, - 
If this is life- 


What savage man is he 
'Vho strides alone beside the sounding 
sea 1 
Alone he wanders by the murmuring 
shore, 
His thoughts as restless as the waves 
that roar; 
Looks on the sullen sky as stonny- 
browed 
As on the waves yon tempest-brooding 
cloud, 
Heaves fronl his aching breast a wailing 
sigh, 
Sad as the gust that sweeps the clouded 
sky. 
Ask hinl his griefs; what midnight de- 
mons plough 
The lines of torture on his lofty bro,\1' ; 
Unlock those marble lips, and bid them 
speak 
The mystery freezing in his bloodless 
cheek. 
His secret '1 Hid beneath a flimsy 
word; 
One foolish whisper that ambition Iwarù; 
And thus it spake: "Beholù yon gilùed 
chair, 
The world's one vacant throne, - thy 
place is there!" 
Ah, fatal dream! What warning 
spectres meet 
In ghastly circle round its shadowy scat! 



PICTURES FROl\I OCCASIOXAL POE:\IS. 


121 


Yet still the Tenlpter murmurs in his ear 
The maddening taunt he cannot choose 
but hear: 
"
Ieanest of slaves, by gods and men 
accurst, 
He who is second when lle might be first! 
Climb with bold front the ladder's top- 
most round, 
Or chain thy creeping footsteps to the 
ground ! " 
Illustrious Dupe! Have those majes- 
tic eyes 
Lost tl}eir proud fire for such a vulgar 
prize 1 
Art thou the last of all mankind to know 
That party-fights are WOll by aiming low 
 
'fhou, staInped by K ature with her royal 
sign, 
That party-hirelings hate a look like 
thine 
 
Shake frOlll thy sense the wild delusive 
dreanl ! 
'Vithout the purple, art thou not su- 
preme 1 
And soothed by love unbought, thy 
heart shall own 
Anation's homage nobler than itsthrolle! 


THE SECRET OF THE STARS. 


Is man's the only throbbing heart that 
hidps 
The silent spring that feeds its wl1Ïsper- 
ing tides 1 
Speak fronl thy caverns, mystery-breed- 
ing Earth, 
Tell the lUlIf-hinted story of thy birth, 
And caln1 the noisy cllanlpions who have 
thrown 
The book of types against the book of 
stone ! 


IIave ye not secrets, ye refulgent 
spheres, 


K 0 sleepless listener of the starligllt 
hears 1 
111 vain the sweeping equatorial pries 
Through every world-sown corner of the 
skies, 
To the far orb that so remotely strays 
Our nlidnight darkness is its noonday 
blaze ; 
In vain the clÜnbing soul of creeping 
man 

Ietes out the heavenly concave with a 
span, 
Tracks into space the long-lost meteor's 
trail, 
..A.nd weighs an unseen planet in the 
scale ; 
Still o'er thfir doubts the wan eyed 
\Va tchers sigh, 
And Science lifts her still unanswcred 
cry: 
" Are all these worlds, that speed their 
circling flight, 
Dumb, vacant, soulless, - bawbles of 
the night 1 
'Yarmed with God's smile and wafted 
by his breath, 
To weave in ceaseless round the dance 
of Death? 
Or rolls a sphere in each expanding zone, 
Crowned with a life as varied as our 
own1" 


1tlaker of earth and stars! If thou 
hast taught 
By what thy voice hath spoke, thy hand 
hath wrought, 
By all that Science proves, or guesses 
true, 
:\Iore than thy Poet dreamed, thyprophct 
knew, - 
The heavens still bow in darkness at thy 
fect, 
And shadows yeil thy c10ud-pavilioned 
seat ! 
Not for ourselves we ask thee to re\.eal 



122 


SONGS IN 
{ANY KEYS. 


One awful word beneath the future's seal; 
'Vhat thou shalt tell us, grant us strength 
to bear ; 
'Vhat thou withholùest is thy single 
care. 
Not for ourselves; the present clings too 
fast, 
:àfooreù to the n1Ïghty anchors of the 
past ; 
But when, with angry sual), some cable 
parts, 
The sounll re-echoing in our startled 
hearts, - 
When, through the wall that clasps the 
harbor round, 
And shuts the l'aving ocean from its 
bound, 
Shattered and rent by sacrilf'gious hands, 
The first mad billow leaps upon the 
sands, - 
Then to the Future's awful page we 
turn, 
And what we question hal'ùly dare to 
learn. 
Stin let us hope! for while we seen1 
to tread 
The time-worn pathway of the nations 
dead, 
Though Sparta laughs at all our warlike 
deeds, 
And buried Athens claims our stolen 
creeds, 
Though Rome, a spectre on her broken 
throne, 
Beholds our eagle and recalls her own, 
Though England fling her pennons on 
the breeze 
And reign before us 
Iistress of the 
seas, - 
While calm -eyed History tracks us cir- 
cling rounù 
Fate's iron pillar where they all 'vere 
bound, 
She 
ees new beacons crowned with 
brighter flan1c 


Than the old watch-fires, like, but not 
the same! 
Still in our path a larger curve she 
finds, 
The spiral widening as the chain un- 
winds! 
No shan1eless haste shall spot with ban- 
dit-crime 
Our destined empire snatched before its 
time. 
'Vait, - wait, undoubting, for the winds 
have caught 
From our bolù speech the heritage of 
thought; 
No marble form that sculptured truth 
can wear 
Vies with the image shaped in viewless 
air; 
And thought unfettered grows through 
speech to deeds, 
As the broaù forest marches in its 
seeds. 
'Yhat though we perish ere the day is 
won? 
Enough to see its glorious work begun! 
The thistle falls before a trampling 
clown, 
But who can chain the ,flying thistle- 
down? 
'Vait while the fiery seeds of freedom 
fly, 
The prahie blazes when the grass is 
dry! 
What arms might ravish, leave to 
peaceful arts, 
'Visdonl and love shall win the roughest 
hearts; 
So shall the angel who has closed for 
man 
The blissful garden since his woes be- 
gan 
Swing wide the golden portals of the 
1Vest, 
And Eùen's secret stand at length con- 
fessed ! 



A POEl\I. 


123 


A POEM. 


DEDICATION OF THE PITTSFIELD CE
IE- 
TERY, SEPTE1\IBER 9, 1850. 


AXGEL of Death! extend thy silent reign! 
Stretch thy dark sceptre o'er this new 
domain! 
No sable car along the winding road 
Has borne to earth its unresisting load; 
No sudden mound has risen yet to show 
'Vhere the pale slumberer folds his arms 
below; 
No marble gleams to bid his memory live 
In the brief lines that hurrying Time 
can give; 
Yet, 0 Destroyer! from thy shrouded 
throne 
Look 011 our gift; this realm is all thine 
own! 


Fair is the scene; its sweetness oft be- 
guiled 
From their dim paths the children of 
the wild; 
The dark-haired Inaiden loved its grassy 
dells, 
The feathered warrior c1aimed its wooded 
swells, 
Still on its slopes the ploughman's ridges 
show 
The pointed flints that left his fatal bow, 
Chipped with rough art and slow 1mr- 
barian toil, - 
Last of his wrecks that strews the alien 
soil ! 
Here spread the fields that heaped 
their ripened. store 
Till the brown arIllS of Labor held no 


nlore ; 
The scythe's broad nleadow with its 
dusky blush; 
Thp sickle's"harvest with its velvet flush; 
The green-haired llmize, her silken 
tresses laid, 
In 
oft luxuriance, on her harsh brocade; 


The gourd that swells beneath her toss- 
ing plume; 
The coarser wheat that rolls in lakes of 
bloom, - 
Its coral stems and milk-white flowers 
ali ve 
"T'ith the wide murmurs of the scattered 
hive; 
Here glowed the apple with the pen- 
cilled streak 
Of morning painted on its southern 
cheek; 
The pear's long necklace strung with 
golden drops, 
Arched, like the banian, o'er its pillared 
props; 
Here crept the growths that paid the 
laborer's care 
'Yith the. cheap luxuries ,vealth con- 
sents to spare; 
Here sprang the healing herbs which 
could not save 
The hand that reared them from the 
neighboring grave. 


Yet all its varied charms, forever free 
From task and tribute, Labor yields to 
thee: 
No more, when .April shedH her fitful 
raIn, 
The sower's hand shall cast its flying 
grain; 
No ITIOre, when Autunln strews the 
flmning leaves, 
The reaper'H band shall gird its yellow 
slwa yes ; 
For thee alike t1w circling seasons flow 
Till the first blossoms heave the latest 


sno".... 
In the stiff clod below the w hiding 
drifts, 
In the loose soil the springing herbage 
Hfts, 
In the hot dust beneath the parching 
weeùs, 



124 


. 


SONGS IN 
iANY KEYS. 


Life's withering flower shall drop its 
shrivelled seeds; 
Its gerrn entranced in thy unbreathing 
sleep 
Till what thou sowest mightier angels 
reap! 


Spirit of Beauty! let thy graces blend 
'Vith loveliest Nature all that Art can 
lend. 
Come from the bowers where Summer's 
]ife- blood flows 
Through the red lips of June's half-open 
rose, 
Dressed in bright hues, the loving sun- 
shine's dower; 
For tranquil Nature owns no mourning 
flower. 
Come frOIn the forest where the beech's 
screen 
Bars the fierce noonbeam with its flakes 
of green; 
Stay the rude axe that bares the shadowy 
plains, 
Stanch the deep wound that dries the 
maple's veins. 
Come with the stream whose silver- 
braided rills 
Fling their unclasping bracelets from the 
hills, 
Till in one gleam, beneath the forest's 
wings, 
1t!elts the white glitter of a hundred 
springs. 
Conle from the steeps where look ma- 
jestic forth 
From their twin thrones t.he Giants of 
the North 
On the huge shapes, that, crouching at 
their knees, 
Stretch their broad shoulders, rough with 
shaggy trees. 
Through the wide waste of ether, not in 
vain, 


Their softened gaze shall reach our dis- 
tant plain; 
There, while the Inourner turns his ach- 
ing eyes 
On the blue Inounds that print the bluer 
skies, 
Nature shall whisper that the fa.lling 
view 
Of mightiest grief may wear a heavenly 
hue. 


Cherub of'Visdonl! let thy marble page 
Leave its sad lesson, new to every age; 
Teach us to live, not grudging every 
breath 
To the chill winds that waft us on to 
death, 
Rut ruling calmly every pulse it warms, 

\.nd tenlpering gently every word it 
forms. 
Seraph of Love! in heaven's adoring 
zone, 
Nearest of all around the central throne, 
While with soft hands the pillowed turf 
'we spread 
That soon shall hold us in its dreamless 
bed, 
'Vith the low whisper, - 'Vho shall first 
be laid 
In the dark chamber's yet unbroken 
shade 1- 
Let thy sweet radiance shine rekindled 
here, 
And all we cherish grow more truly dear. 
Here in the gates of Death's o'erhanging 
vault, 
o teach us kindness for our brother's 
, 
fault; 
Lay all our wrongs beneath this peaceful 
sod, 
And lead our hearts to Mercy and its 
God. 


FATHER of all! In Death's relentless 
claim 



TO GOVERNOR S'VAIN. 


125 


,v
 reaù thy mercy by its sterner name; 
In the bri(rht flower that decks the sol- 
o 
enlll bier, 
'Ve see thy glory in its narrowed sphere; 
In the deep lessons that affliction draws, 
'Ve trace the curves of thy encircling 
laws; 
In the long sigh that sets our spirits free, 
'Ye own the love that calls us back to 
Thee! 


Through the hushed street, along the 
silent plain, 
The spectral future leads its mourning 
train, 
Dark with the shadows of uncounted 
bands, 
Where man's white lips and woman's 
wringing hands 
Track the still burden, rolling slow be- 
fore, 
That love and kindness can protect no 
more; 
The smiling" babe that, called to mortal 
strife, 
Shuts its nleek eyes and drops its little 
life ; 
The drooping child who prays in vain to 
Ii ve, 
And pleads for help its parent cannot 
gi ve ; 
The pride of beauty stricken in its flower; 
The strength of nlanhood broken in an 
hour ; 
Age in its weakness, bowed by toil and 
care, 
Traced in sad lines beneath its silvered 
hair. 


The sun shall set, and hea yen' s re- 
splendent spheres 
Gild the 
lnooth turf unhallowed yet by 
tears, 
But ah! how 
oon the evening stars will 
shed 


Their sleepless light arounù the slum- 
bering dead! 


Take them, 0 Father, in imnlortal 
trust! . 
Ashes to ashes, dust to kindred dust, 
Till the last angel rolls the stone away, 
And a new morning brings eternal day! 


TO GOVERNOR SWAIN. 


DEAR GOVER
OR, if my skiff might 
brave 
The winds that lift the ocean wave, 
The 11louutaiu stream that loops and 
s\verves 
Through nlY broad meadow's channelled 
curves 
Should waft me on from bound to bound 
To where the River weds the Sound, 
The Sound should give me to the Sea, 
That to the Bay, the Bay to Thee. 


I t may not be; too long the track 
To follow down or struggle back. 
The sun ha
 set on fair N aushon 
Long ere DIY western blaze is gone; 
The ocean di
k is rolling dark 
I n shadows rounù your swinging bark, 
'Yhile yet the yellow sunset fills 
Tl1e strealll that scarfs nlY spruce-clad 
hills; 
The day-star ",,'akes your island deer 
Long ere my barnyard chanticleer; 
Your Inists are soaring in the blue 
'Vhile mine are sparks of glittering dew. 


It n1aY not be; 0 would it might, 
Could I live o'er that glowing night! 
'Vhat golden llours would conle to life, 
'Vhat goodly feats of peaceful strife, - 
Such jests, that, drained of every joke, 
The very bank of language hroke, - 
Such tlt'cds, that T
aughtpl' nearly died 
'Vith stitches in his belted side; 



126 


SONGS IN 
IANY KEYS. 


'Vhile Time, caught fast in pleasure's 
chain, 
His double goblet snapped in twain, 
And stood with half ill either hand, - 
Both brimming full, - but not of sand! 
It may not be; I strive in vain 
To break my slender household chain, - 
Three pairs of little clasping hands, 
One voice, that whispers, not commands. 
Even while nlY spirit flies away, 
1tly gentle jailers murnlur nay; 
All shapes of elemental wrath 
They raise along my threatened path; 
The storm grows black, the waters rise, 
'The nlountains mingle with the skies, 
The mall tornado scoops the ground, 
The midnight robber prowls al'ouud, - 
Thus, kissing every linlb they tie, 
They llraw a knot anll heave a sigh, 
Till, fairly netted iu the toil, 
1tly feet are rooted to the soil. 
Only the soal'jng wish is free! - 
Anù that, llear Governor, flies to thee! 
PITTSFIELD, 1851. 


TO AN ENGLISH FRIEND. 
THE seed that wasteful autumn cast 
To waver on its stormy blast, 
Long o'er the wintry desert tost, 


Its living germ has never lost. 
, . 
Dropped by the weary tenll)e
t sWIng, 
I t feels the kindling ray of spring, 
A nd startino' fronl its dreanl of death, 
, 0 
Pours on the air its perfumed breath. 


So, parted by the rolling flood, 
The love that springs frOlll common 
blood 
Needs but a single sunlit hour 
Of Iningling sll1iles to bud anll flower; 
U nhanned its slumbering life has flown, 
From shore to shore, from zone to 
zone, 
Where sunlmer's falling roses stain 
The tepid waves of Pontchartrain, 
Or where the lichen creeps below 
Katahdin's wreaths of whirling snow. 


Though fiery sun and stiffening cold 

Iay change the fair ancestral nloulll, 
No winter chills, no summer drains 
The life-blood drawn from English 
veins, 
Still bearing wheresoe'er it flows 
The love that with its fountain rose, 
IT nchanged by space, unwronged by 
time, 
From age to age, frOln clime to clime ! 
1852. 



VIGNETTES. 


127 


VIGNETTES. 


1853. 


AFTER A LECTURE ON WORDSWORTH. The meadows, drest in living green, 
Unroll on either side. 


CO:\IE, spread your wings, as I spread 
mine, 
And leave the crowded hall 
For where the eyes of twilight shine 
0' er evening' s 

tern wa.ll. 


These are the pleasant Berkshire hills, 
Each with its leafy crown; 
Hark! from their sides a thousand rills 
Come singing sweetly down. 


A thousand rills; they leap and shine, 
Strained through the shadowy nooks, 
Till, clasped in many a gathering twine, 
They swell a hundred brooks. 


Å hundred brooks, and st.ill they run 
'Vith ripple, shade, and gleam, 
Till, clustering all their braills in one, 
They flow a single stream. 


A bracelet spun from mountain mist, 
A silvery sash unwound, 
'Vith ox-bow curve and sinuous twist 
I t writhes to reach the Sound. 


This is my bark, - a pygmy's ship; 
Beneath a child it rolls; 
Fear not, - one body makes it dip, 
But not a thousand souls. 


Float we the grassy banks between; 
'Ylthout an oar we glide; 


- Conle, take the book we
 love so well, 
And let us read and dream 
,V e 
ee whate'er its pages tell, 
And sail an English stream. 


Up to the c10uds the lark has sprung, 
Still trilling as he flies; 
The linnet sings as there he sung; 
The unseen cuckoo cries, 


And daisies strew the banks along, 
And yellow kingcups shine, 
'Yith cowslips, and a primrose throng, 
And humble celandine. 


Ah foolish dreanl! when Nature nursed 
Her daughter in the 'Yest, 
The fount was drained that opened first; 
She bared her other breast. 


On the young 11lanet's orient shore 
Her nlorning .hand she tried; 
Then turnell the broad ll1edallion o'er 
And stanlped the sunset side. 


Take what she gives, l1er pine's tall stem, 
Her elm with hanging spray; 
She wears her mountain diallem 
Still in her own proud way. 


Look on the forests' ancient kings, 
The hen11ock's towering prille : 
Yon trunk had thrice a hundred ring!';, 
And fell before it died. 



128 


SONGS IN 
rANY KEYS. 


Nor think that Nature saves her bloOJu 
Anù slights our grassy plain; 
For us she wears her court costume,- 
Look on its broidered train; 


The lily with the sprinkled dots, 
Brands of the noontide bean1 ; 
The carùinal, and the blood-red spots, 
Its double in the stream,J 


As if some wounded eagle's breast, 
Slow throbbing o'er the plain, 
Ha{lleft its airy path iInpressed 
In drops of scarlet rain. 


And hark! and hark! the woodland rings; 
There thrilled the thrush's soul; 
And look! that flash of flamy wings,- 
The fire-plunled oriole! 


Above, the hen-hawk swims and swoops, 
Flung from the bright, blue sky; 
Below, the robin hops, and whoops 
His piercing, Indian cry. 


Beauty runs virgin in the wooùs 
Robed in her rustic green, 
And oft a longing thought intrudes, 
As if we might have seen 


Her every finger's every joint 
Ringed with son1e golden line, 
Poet whom Nature di{l anoint! 
Had our wild hon1e been thine. 


Yet think not so; Old England's blood 
Runs warnl in English veins ; 
But wafted o'er the icy flood 
Its better life ren}ains : 


Onr children know each wild wood smell, 
'fhe bayberry and the fern, 
The man who does not know them well 
Is all too olù to learn. 


De patien
! On the breatlling page 
Still pants onr hurried past; 
Pilgriln and soldier, saint and sage, - 
The poet COlues the last ! 


Though still the lark-voiced matins ring 
The world has known so long; 
The wood-thrush of the West shall sing 
Earth's last sweet even -song! 


AFTER A LECTURE ON MOORE. 


SHINE soft, ye trelnbling tears of light 
That strew the mourning skies; 
Hushed in the silent dews of night 
The harp of Erin lies. 


What though her thousand years have 
past 
Of poets, saints, and kings, - 
Her echoes only hear the last 
That swept those golden strings. 


Fling o'er his mound, ye star-lit bowers, 
The balmiest wreaths ye wear, 
Whose breath has lent your earth-born 
flowers 
Heaven's own ambrosial air. 


Breathe, bird of night, thy softest tone, 
By shadowy grove and rill ; 
Thy song will soothe us while we own 
That his was sweeter still. 


Stay, pitying Time, thy foot for him 
Who gave thee swifter wings, 
N or let thine envious shadow dim 
The light his glory flings. 


If in his chpf'k unholy blood 
Burned for one youthful hour, 
'T was hut the flushing of the but! 
That bloonls a milk-white Hower 



VIGXETTES. 


129 


Take him, kind moHler, to thy breast, 
'Vho loved thy s1niles so well, 
And spread thy lllantle o'er his rest 
Of rose and asphodel. 


- The bark has sailed the lilidnight sea, 
The sea without a shore, 
That waved its parting sign to thee, - 
"A health to thee, Tom 
Ioore ! " 


And thine, long lingering on the strand, 
Its bright-hued streatners furled, 
V{ as loosed by age, with trembling hand, 
To seek the silent world. 


Not silent! DO, the radiant stars 
Still singing as they shine, 
Unheard through earth's imprisoning 
bars, 
Have voices sweet as thine. 


\Yake, then, in happier realms above, 
The songs of bygone years, 
Tin angels learn those airs of love 
That ravished mortal ears! 


AFTER A LECTURE ON KEATS. 


U Purpureos spargam flores." 


THE wreath that star-crowned Shelley 
gave 
Is lying on thy Roman grave, 
Yet on its turf young April sets 
Her store of slender violets; 
Though all the Gods their garlands 
shower, 
I too may bring one purple flower. 
- Alas! what blossom shall I bring, 
That opens in lilY Northern spring 1 
The gctrden b
ds have all run "ild, 
So trim when I was yet a child; 
Flat plantains and u11seenlly stalks 
Have crept across the gravel walks; 
The vines are dead, long, long ago, 
The alnlond buds no longer blow. 


No more upon its mound I spe 
The azure, plunle- bound fleur-de-lis; 
'Vhere once the tulips used to show, 
In straggling tufts the pansies grow; 
The grass has quenched my white-rayed 
gem, 
The flowering "Star of Bethlehem," 
Though its long blade of glossy green 
And pallid stripe may still be seen. 
Nature, who treads her nobles down, 
And gives their birthright to the clown, 
Has sown her base-born weedy things 
Above the garden's queens and kings. 
- Yet one sweet flower of ancient race 
Springs in the old falniliar place. 
'Yhell snows were melting down the 
vale, 
And Earth unlaced her icy mail, 
And 
Iarch his stormy trumpet blew, 
And tender green came peeping through, 
I loved the earliest one to seek 
That broke the soil with emerald beak
 
....\.nd watch the trembling bells so blue 
Spread on the column as it grew. 
l\Ieek child of earth! thou wilt not shame 
The sweet, dead poet's holy nan1e; 
The God of music gave thee birth, 
Called fronl the crin} son -spotted earth, 
\Vhere, sobbing his young life away, 
His own fair Hyacinthus lay. 
- The hyacinth my garden gave 
Shall lie upon that Homan grave! 


AFTER A LECTURE ON SHELLEY. 


ONE broad, white sail in Spezzia's treach- 
erous bay; 
On comes the blast; too daring bark, 
beware! 
The cloud has clasped her; lo! it melts 
away; 
The wide, waste waters" but no sail is 
there. 



130 


SONGS IN ?tIANY KEYS. 


1tIornillg: a woman looking on the sea; 
}'lidnight: with lamps the long veran- 
da burns; 
Come, wandering sail, they watch, they 
burn for thee! 
Suns come and go, alas! no bark 
returns. 


And feet are thronging on the pebbly 
sands, 
And torches flaring in the weedy caves, 
Where' er the waters lay with icy hands 
The shapes uplifted from their coral 
graves. 


Vainly they seek; the idle quest is o'er; 
The coarse, dark women, with their 
hanging locks, 
And lean, wild children gather fronl the 
shore 
To the black hovels bedded in the 
rocks. 


But Love still prayed, with agonizing 
wail, 
"One, one last look, ye heaving 
waters, yield!" 
Till Ocean, clashing in his jointed mail, 
Raised the pale burùen on his level 
shield. 


Slow from the shore the sullen 'waves 
retire ; 
His fornl a nobler element shall 
claim; 
Nature baptized him in ethereal fire, 
And Death shall crown him with a 
wreath of flanle. 


Fade, mortal semblance, never to return; 
Swift is the change within thy crimson 
shroud ; 
Seal the white ashes in the peaceful urn; 
All else has risen in yon silvery clouù. 


Sleep where thy gentle Adonais lies, 
Whose open page lay on thy dying 
heart, 
Both in the smile of those blue-vaulted 
skies, 
Earth's fairest dome of all divinest 
art. 


Breathe for his wandering soul one pass- 
ing sigh, 
o happier Christian, while thine eye 
grows dim, - 
In all the mansions of the house on high, 
Say not that 1\Iercy has not one for 
h . , 
lID . 


AT THE CLOSE OF A COURSE OF 
LECTURES. 


As the voice of the watch to the mari- 
ner's dream; 
As the footstep of Spring on the ice- 
girdled streatu, 
There comes a soft footstep, a whisper, 
to me, - 
The vision is over, - the rivulet free! 


'Ve have trod from the threshold of tur- 
bulen t 1\Iarch; 
Till the green scarf of April is hung on 
the larch, 
And down the bright hillside that wel- 
comes the day, 
We hear the warm panting of beautiful 
1\Iay. 


We will part before Summer has opened 
her wing, 
And the bosom of June swells the boùice 
of Spring, 
While the hope of the season lies fresh 
in the bud, 
And the young life of Nature runs warm 
in OUI' blood. 



VIGNETTES. 


131 


It is but a word, and the chain is un- 
bound, 
The bracelet of steel drops unclasped to 
the ground; 
No hanl! shan replace it, - it rests 
where it fell, - 
It is but one word that we all know too 
\velI. 


Yet the hawk with the wildness un- 
talned in his eye, 
If you free him, stares round ere he 
springs to the sky; 
The slaye WhOll1 no longer his fetters 
restrain 
''''' ill turn for a moment and look at his 
chain. 


Our parting is not as the friendship of 
years, 
That chokes \vith the blessing it speaks 
through its tears; 
'Ve have walked in a garden, and, looking 
around, 
Ha,.e plucked a few leaves from the 
Dl)Ttles we found. 


But now at the gate of the garden we 
stand, 
And the moment has come for unclasp- 
ing the hand; 
'Vill you drop it like lead, and in silence 
retreat 
Like the twenty crushed fOrIns fronl an 
omnibus seat 1 


Xay! hold it one mOlnent, - the laRt 
,ve may Sllar(1, - 
I stretch it in kindness, and not for my 
fare; 
You may pass through the doorwar in 
rank or in file, 
If your ticket from Nature is staIlll)ed 
with a sn1ile. 


For the sweetest of smiles is the smile 
as we part, 
'Vhen the light round the lips is a ray . 
froln the heart; 
And lest a stray tear from its fountain 
might swell, 
'Ve will seal the bright spring with a 
quiet farewell. 


THE HUDSON. 


AFTER A LECTURE AT ALBANY. 


'T 'VAS a vision of childhood that came 
with its dawn, 
Ere the curtain that coyered life's day.. 
star was drawn; 
The nurse told the tale when the shad.. 
ows grew long, 
And the mother's soft lullaby breathed 
it in song. 


" There flows a fair stream by the l1ills 
of the west," - 
She sang to her boy as he lay on her 
breast ; 
" Along its smooth margin thy fathers 
have played; 
Beside its deep waters their ashes are 
laid." 


I wandered afar from the land of IllY 
birth, 
I saw the old ri yers, renowned upon 
earth, 
But fancy still painted that wide-flow.. 
ing stream 
'Yith the many-hued pencil of infancy's 
dream. 


I saw' the green banks of the castle- 
crowned Rhine, 
'Vhere the grapes drink the moonlight 
and change it to wine; 



132 


SONGS IN MANY KEYS. 


I stood by the Avon, "hose waves as 
they gliùe 
Still whisper his glory .who sleeps at 
their side. 


But my heart would still yearn for the 
sound of the ",aves 
That sing as they flow by nlY fore- 
fathers' graves; 
If manhood yet honors nlY cheek with a 
tear, 


I care not ,vho sees it, - no blush for it 
here ! 


Farewell to the deep- bosonled stream of 
the 'Vest ! 
I fling this loose blossom to float on its 
breast ; 
Nor let the dear love of its children 
grow cold, 
Till the channel is dry where its waters 
have rolled! 
December, 1854. 


A POEM 


FOR THE :MEETING OF THE AMERICAN 
MEDICAL ASSOCIATION AT NEW YORK, 
MA Y 5, 1853. 


I HOLD a letter in my hand,- 
A flattering letter-more's thepity,- 
By some contriving junto planned, 
And signed per order of C01nmittee; 
I t touches every tenderest spot, - 

ly patriotic predilections, 
}'Iy well- known -something-don't 
ask what, 
]):Iy poor old songs, my kind affec- 
tions. 


They make a feast on Thursday next, 
And hope to make the feasters Inerry ; 
They own they're something more per- 
plexed 
For poets than for port and sherry; - 
They want the men of - (word torn 
out) ; 
Our frienùs will con1e with anxious 
faces 
(To see our blankets off, no doubt, 
And trot us out and show our paces). 


They hint that papers by the score 
Are rather musty kind of rations; 
They don't exactly mean a bore, 
But only trying to the patience; 
That such as - you know who I mean - 
Distinguished for their - what d' ye 
call 'em- 
Should bring the dews of Hippocrenc 
T
 sprinkle on the faces solemn. 


- The sanle old story; that's the chaff 
To catch the birds that sing the dit- 
ties; 
Upon my soul, it makes n1e laugh 
To read these letters from Comlnit- 
tees ! 
They're all so loving and so fair, - 
All for YOltr sake such kind conlpunc- 
tion, -- 
'T would save your carriage half its wear 
To touch its wheels with such an UllC- 
tion ! 


'\Vhy, who am I, to lift me here 
And beg such lean1etl folk to listen,- 
To ask a smile, or coax a tear 
Beneath these stoic lids to glisten î 



A SEXTI)IEXT. 


133 


As well might some arterial thread 
Ask the whole fran1e to feel it gushing, 
""hile throbbing fierce from heel to head 
The vast aortic tide was rushing. 


As well some hair-like nerv.e might strain 
To set its special strean1let going, 
'Vhile through the myriad-channelled 
brain 
The burning flood of thought was 
flowing; 
Or trembling fibre strive to keep 
The springing haunches gathered 
shorter, 
'Yhile the scourged racer, leap on leap, 
,\..- as stretching through the last hot 
q ual'tcr ! 


All me! you take the bud that came 
Self-sown in your poor garùen's bor- 
ders, 
And hand it to the stately dame 
That florists breed for, all she orders; 
She thanks you - it u'as kÙzdly lneant- 
(.A pale affair, not u'o-rth the keep- 
ing,) - 
Good '1norning; - and your bud is sent 
To join the tea-leaves used for sweep- 
Ing. 


Not always so, kind hearts and true,- 
For such I know are round me beat- 
ing; 
Is not the bud I offer you, - 
Fresh gathered for the hour of nleet- 
lng, - 
Pale though its outer leaves n1ay be, 
Rose-red in all its inner petals, 
'Yhere the warn1 ]ire we cannot see - 
'rhe life of love that gave it - settles. 


"r e nleet from regions far away, 
Like rills from distant mountains 
strcmning ; 



 
The sun is on Francisco's bay, 
O'er Chesapeake the lighthouse gleam- 
ing ; 
'Vhile sun1mer girds the still bayou 
In chains of bloom, her bridal token, 

Ionadnock sees the sky grow blue, 
His crystal bracelet yet unbroken. 


Yet Nature bears the selfsame heart 
Beneath her russet-nwntled bosom, 
As where with burning lips apart 
She breathes, and white n1agnolias 
blossom ; 
The selfsame founts her chalice fill 
'Yith showery sunlight running over, 
On fiery plain and frozen hilI, 
On n1yrtle-beds and fields of c1over. 


I give you H01ne! its crossing lines 
United in one golden suture, 
And showing every day that shines 
The present growing to the future, - 
A flag that bears a hundred stars 
In one bright ring, with love for 
centre, 
Fenced round with white and crimson 
bars, 
K 0 prowling treason dares to enter! 


o brothers, home may be a word 
To make affection's living treasure- 
The wave an angel might haye stirreù- 
A stagnant pool of selfish pleasure; 
HO)IE! It is where the day-star 
l)l'ings 
And where the evening sun reposes, 
'Yhere'er the eagle spreads his wings, 
From northern :pines to southern 
roses ! 


." 


A SENTI.MENT. 
A TRIPLE health to Friendship, Sci- 
ence, Art, 
Fron} heads and hands that own a com.. 
mOll heart! 



134 


SONGS IN ltIANY KEYS. 
( 
Each in its turn the others' willing 
slave, - 
Each in its season strong to heal and save. 


Friendship's blind service, in the hour 
of need, 
Wipes the pale face - and lets the vic- 
tim bleed. 
Science must stop to reason and explain; 
ART. claps his finger on the streaming 
vein. 


But Art's brief men10ry fails the hand 
at last; 
Then SCIENCE lifts the flam beau of the 
past. 
When both their equal impotence de- 
plore, - 
'Vhen Learning sighs, and Skill can do 
no more, - 
The tear of FRIENDSHIP pours its heav- 
enly balm, 
And soothes the pang no anodyne may 
calm ! 
May 1, 1855. 


THE NEW EDEN. 


MEETI
G OF TIlE BERKSHIRE HORTI- 
CULTURAL SOCIETY, AT STOCKBRIDGE, 
SEPT. 13, 1854, 


'" 


SCARCE could the parting ocean close, . 
Seamed by the 
layflower's cleaving 
bow, 
Wlwn o'er the rugged desert rose 
The waves that tracked the Pilgrim's 
plough. 


Then sprang from many a rock-strewn 
field 
The rippling grass, the nodding grain, 
Such growths as English meadows yield 
To scanty sun and frequent rain. 


But when the :fiery days were done, 
And Autumn brought his purple haze, 
Then, killd1ing in tlle slanted sun, 
The hillsides gleamed with golden 


maize. 


The food was scant, the fruits were few: 
A red-streak glistening here and there; 
Percha
ce in statelier precincts grew 
Some stern old Puritanic pear. 


Austere in taste, and tough at core, 
Its unrelenting bulk was shed, 
To ripen in the PilgrÏIn's.store 
'\Vhen all the summer sweets were fled. 


Such was his lot, to front the storm 
With iron heart and marble brow, 
N or ripen till his earthly fornl 
Was cast from life's autumnal bough. 
- But ever on the bleakest rock 
We bid the brightest beacon glow, 
And still upon the thorniest stock 
The sweetest roses love to blow. 


So on our rude and win try soil 
'Ve feed the ki nùling flanIe of art, 
.A.nd steal the tropic's blushing spoil 
To blooDl on N atul'e' s ice-clad heart. 


See how the softening Mother's breast 
Warnls to her children's patient 
wiles, - 
lIeI' lips by loving Labor pressed 
Break in a thousand dimpling slniles, 


From when the flushing bud of June 
Dawns with its first auroral hue, 
Till shines the rounded harvest-moon, 
And velvet dahlias drink the dew. 


N or these the only gifts she brings; 
Look where the laboring orchard 
groans, 
And yields its beryl-thrraded strings 
For chestnut burs and hemlock cones. 



THE NE'V EDE
. 


135 


Dear though the shado")'" maple be, 
And dearer still the whispering pine, 
Dearest yon russet-laden tree 
Browned by the heavy rubbing kine! 


There childhood flung its rustling stone, 
There venturous boyhood learned to 
climb, - 
How well the early graft was known 
Whose fruit was ripe ere harvest-time! 


N or be the Fleming's pride forgot, 
'Vith swinging drops and drooping 
bells, 
Freckled and splashed with streak and 
spot, 
On the warm-breasted, sloping swells; 


Nor Persia's Iminted garden-queen,- 
Frail Houri of the trellised wall,- 
Her deep-cleft bosom scarfed with 
green, - 
Fairest to see, and first to fall. 


'Yhen man provoked his Inortal doom, 
And Eden trembled as he fell, 
'When blossoms sighed their last per- 
fume, 
And branches waved their long fare- 
"
el1, 


One sucker cre}tt beneath the gate, 
One seed was wafted o'er the wall, 
One bough sustained his trembling 
weight; 
These left the garden, - these were all. 


And far o'er many a distant zone 
Thesp wrecks of Eden still are flung: 
The fruits that Paradise hath known 
Are still in earthly gardens hung. 


Y cs, by our own unstoried stream 
The pink-white apple-blossoms burst 


That saw the young Euphrates gleam, - 
That Gihon's circling waters nursed. 


For us the ambrosial pear displays 
The wealth its arching brauches hold, 
Bathed by a hundred summery days 
In floods of mingling fire and gold. 


And here, where beauty's cheek of flanle 
'Vith morning's earliest beam is fed, 
The sunset-painted peach may claim 
Tori val its celestial red. 


- 'Vhat though in some unmoistened 
vale 
The summer leaf grow brown and sere, 
Say, shall our star of promise fail 
That 'circles half the rolling sphere, 


From beaches salt with bitter spray, 
0' er prairies green with softest rain, 
And ridges bright with evening's ray, 
To rocks that shade the stormless 
main 
 


If by our slender-threaded streams 
The blade and leaf and blossonl die, 
If, drained by noontide's parching 
beams, 
The milky veins of K ature dry, 


See, with her swelling bosom bare, 
Yon wild-eyed Sister in the ,\'T est, - 
The ring of Empire round her hair, 
The Indian's wampum on her breast! 


We saw the August SUll descend, 
Day after day, with blood-red stain, 
And the blue rnountains dimly blend 
'Vith snloke-wreaths from the burning 
plain ; 


Beneath the hot Sirocco's wings 
'Ve sat anù tolJ. the withering hours, 



136 


SO
GS IN l\fANY KEYS. 


Till Heaven unsealed its hoarded springs, 
And bade them leap in flashing showers. 


Yet in our Ishmael's tllirst we knew 
The nlercy of the Sovereign hand 
'Vould pour the fountain's quickening 
dew 
To feed some harvest of the land. 


No flaming swords of wrath surround 
Our second Garden of the Blest; 
I t spreads beyond its rocky bound, 
I t climbs Nevada's glittering crest. 


God keep the tempter from its gate! 
God shield the children, lest they fall 
Fronl their stern fathers' free estate, - 
Till Ocean is its only wall ! 


SEMICENTENNIAL CELEBRATION OF 
THE NEW ENGLAND SOCIETV, 


NEW YORK, DEC. 22, 1855. 


NEW ENGLAND, we love thee; no time 
can erase 
From the hearts of thy children the smile 
on thy face. 
'T is the mother's fond look of affection 
and pride, 
As she gives her fair son to the arms of 
his bride. 


His bride may be fresher in beauty's 
young flower; 
She may blaze in the jewels she brings 
with her dower. 
But passion must chill in Time's pitiless 
bla.st ; 
'rhe one that first loved us will love to 
the last. 


You have left the dear land of the lake 
and the hill, 
But its winds and its waters will talk 
with you still. 


"Forget not," t11ey whisper, cc your love 
is our deht," 
And echo breathes softly, "We never 
forget. " 


The banquet's gay splendors are gleam- 
ing around, 
Hut your hearts have flown back o'er the 
waves of the Sound; 
They have found the brown home where 
their pulses were born; 
They are throbbing their way through 
the trees and the corn. 


There are roofs you remember, - their 
glory is fled ; 
There are mounds in the churchyard, - 
one sigh for the dead. 
There are wrecks, there are ruins, all 
sea ttered around ; 
But Earth has no spot like that corner 
of grounJ.. 


Come, let us be cheerful, - remcm b
r 
last night, 
How they cheered us, and - never Iuind 
- meant it all right; 
To-night, we harm nothing, - we love 
in the lump; 
Here's a bumper to }'Iaine, in the juice 
of the pump! 


Here's to all the good people, wherever 
they be, 
'Vho have grown in the shade of the lib- 
erty-tree ; 
We all love its leaves, and its blossoms 
and fruit, 
But pray have a care of the fence roullll 
its root. 


We should like to talk big; it '8 a kind 
of a right, 
'Then nw tonguf' has got loose and the 
waistband grown tight j 



FARE'VELL. - FOR THE l\IEETING OF THE BURXS CLUB. 137 


But, as pretty 
Iiss Prudence remarked 
to her beau, 
On its own heap of compost, no biddy 
should cro,v. 


Enough! There are gentlemen waiting 
to talk, 
'Vhose words are to mine as the flower 
to the stalk. 
Stand by your old mother whatever be- 
fall ; 
God bless all her children! Good niglit 
to you all ! 


FAREWELL. 


TO J. R. LO'VELL. 


F AIlE'YELL, for the bark bas her breast 
to the tide, 
And the rough arms of Ocean are 
stretched for his bIide; 
The winds from the mountain stream 
over the bay; 
One clasp of the hand, then away and 
away! 


I see tIle tall D1ast as it rocks by the 
shore; 
The sun is declining, I see it once more; 
To-day like the blade in a thick-waving 
field, 
To-morrow the spike on a Highlander's 
shield. 


Alone, whi1e the cloud pours its treach. 
erous breath, 
'Vith the blue lips all round her whose 
kisses are death; 
Ah, think not the breeze that is urging 
her sail 
lIas left her unaideJ. to strive with the 
gale. 


There are hopes that play round her, 
like fires on the Inast, 


That will light the dark hour till its 
danger has past; 
There are prayers that will pl
ad with 
the stann when it raves, 
And whisper "Be still! " to the turbu. 
lent waves. 


Nay, think not that Friendsl1ip bas 
called us in vain 
To join the fair ring ere we break it 
again; 
There is strength in its circle, - JOu 
lose the bright star, 
But its sisters still chain it, though 
shining afar. 


I give you one llealth in tIle juice of the 
VIne, 
The blood of tIle vineyard sIlall nlingle 
with mine; 
rrhus, thus let us drain the last dew- 
drops of gold, 
As 'we empty our hearts of the blessings 
they hold. 


April 29, 1855. 


FOR THE MEETING OF THE BURNS 
CLUB. 


1856. 


THE mountains glitter in the snow 
A thousand leagues asunder; 
Yet here, an1Ïd the banquet's glow, 
I hear their voice of thunder; 
Each giant's ice-bound goblet clinks; 
A flowing stream is summoned; 
"\Yachusett to Ben Nevis drinks; 

Ionadnock to Ben Lonlond! 


Though years lla'''e clipped tIle eagle's 
phl1ne 
That crowned the chieftain's bonnet, 
Tbe sun still sees the I1eather bloom, 
The silyer Inists He on it; 



138 


SONGS IN MANY KEYS. 


'Vith tartan kilt and philibeg, 
'Vhat stride was ever bolder 
Than his who showed the naked leg 
Beneath the plaided shoulder? 


The echoes sleep on Cheviot's hills, 
That heard the bugles blowing 
'Vhen down their sides the crimson rills 
'Vith mingled blood were flowing; 
The hunts where gallant hearts were 
game, 
The slaslling on the l)order, 
The raid that swooped with sword and 
flame, 
Give place to "law and order." 


Not while the rocking steeples reel 
'Vith n1idnight tocsins ringing, 
Not while the crashing war-notes peal, 
God sets his poets singing; 
The bird is silent in the night, 
Or shrieks a cry of warning 
While fluttering round the beacon- 
ligh t, - 
But hear hin1 greet the morning! 


The lark of Scotia's morning sky! 
\Vhose voice may sing his praises 1 
'Vith Heaven's own sunlight in his eye, 
He walked among the daisies, 
Till through the cloud of fortune's wrong 
He soared to fields of glory; 
But left his land her sweetest song 
And earth her saddest story. 


'T is not the forts the builder piles 
That chain the earth together; 
The wpddpd crowns, thp sister isles, 
'V oulc..llaugh at such a tether; 
The kindling thought, the throbbing 
words, 
That set the puhes beating, 
Are stronger than thp n1yriad swords 
Of nlighty armies meeting. 


Thus while within the banquet glows, 
Without, the wild winds whistle, 
We drink a triple health, - the Rose, 
The ShaIn rock, and the Thistle! 
Their blended hues shall never fade 
Till "\Var has hushed his cannon, - 
Close-twined as ocean-currents braid 
The Thames, the Clyde, the Shannon! 


ODE FOR WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY. 


CELEBRATION OF THE :MERCANTILE LI- 
BRARY ASSOCIATION, FEB. 22, 1856. 


'VELCOME to the day returning, 
Dearer still as ages flow, 
While the torch of Faith is burning, 
Long as Freedom's altars glow! 
See the hero whom it gave us 
Slun) be ring on a mother's breast; 
F or the arm he stretched to save us, 
Be its morn forever blest! 


Hear the tale of youthful glory, 
While of Britain's rescued band 
Friend and foe repeat the story, 
Spread his fame o'er sea and land, 
'Vhere the red cross, proudly streaming, 
Flaps above the- frigate's deck, 
'Vhere the golden lilies, gleaming, 
Star the watch-towers of Quebec. 


Look! The shadow on the dial 
ltlarks the hour of deadlier strife; 
Days of terror, years of trial, 
Sconrge a nation into life. 
Lo, the youth, become her leader! 
All her baffled tyrants yip It! ; 
Through his arm the Lord bath freed 
her; 
Crown hin1 on the tented field! 


Vain is Empire's mad temptation! 
Not for hÏIn an earthly crown! 



BIRTHDAY OF DANIEL 'YEBSTER. 


13a 


He whose sword hath freed a nation! 
Strikes the offered sceptre down. 
See the throneless Conqueror seated, 
Ruler by a people's choice; 
See the Patriot's task completed; 
Hear the Father's dying voice! 


Ie By the name that you inherit, 
By the sufferings you recall, 
Cherish the fraternal spirit; 
Love your country first of all ! 
Listen not to idle questions 
If its banùs may be untied; 
Doubt the patriot whose suggestions 
Strive a nation to diviùe ! " 


Father! 'Ve, whose ears have tingled 
With the discord-notes of shame, - 
'Ve, whose sires their blood have nÜngled 
In the battIe's thunder-flalne, - 
Gathering, while this holy morning 
Licrhts the land from sea to sea, 
b 
Hear thy counsel, heed thy warning; 
Trust us, while we honor thee! 


BIRTHDAV OF DANIEL WEBSTER. 


JANUARY 18, 1856. 


WHEN life hath run its largest round 
Of toil and triumph, joy and woe, 
How brief a storieù page is found 
To compass all its outward show! 


The world-tried sailor tires and droops; 
His flag is rent, his keel forgot; 
His farthest voyages seenl but loops 
That float froln life's entangled knot. 


But when within the narrow space 
SOlne larger soul hath lived and 
wrought, 
"Those sight was open to embrace 
The boundless realms of deed and 
thought, -
 


'Vhen, stricken by the freezing 'Llast, 
A nation's living pillars fall, 
How rich the storied page, how yast, 
A word, a whisper, can recall! 


No medal lifts its fretted fa?e, 
N or speaking marble cheats your eye, 
Yet, while these pictured lines I trace, 
A Ii ving image passes by : 


A roof beneath the mountain l)ines; 
The cloisters of a hill-girt plain; 
The front of life's enlbattled lines; 
A mound beside the heaving main. 


These are the scenes: a boy appears; 
Set life's round dial in the sun, 
Count the swift arc of seventy years, 
His frame is dust; his task is done. 


Yet pause upon the noontide hour, 
Ere the declining sun has laid 
His bleaching rays on manhood's power, 
And look upon the mighty shaùe. . 


No gloom that stately shape can hide, 
No change uncrown its brow; behold! 
Dark, calm, large-fronted, lightning- 
eyed, 
Earth has no double from its mould! 


Ere from the fields by valor won 
The battle-smoke had rolled away, 
And bared the blood-red setting sun, 
His eyes were opened on the day. 


His land was but a shelving strip 
Black with the strife that made it free; 
He lived to see its banners dip 
Their fringes in the ,,-r estern sea. 


The boundless prairies learned l1Ìs name, 
His words the mountain echoes knew, 
The Northern breezes swept his faIlle 
From icy lake to wann bayou. 



140 


SONGS IN MANY KEYS. 


In toil he Ii ved; in peace he died; 
When life's full cycle was con1plete, 
Put off his robes of power and pride, 
And laid them at his blaster's feet. 


His rest is by the storm-swept waves 
Whom life's wild ten1pests roughly 
tried, 
'Vhose heart was like the streaming caves 
Of oc
a.n, throbbing at his siùe. 


Death's cold white hand is like tlle snow 
Laid softly on the furrowed hill, 
I t hides the broken seams below, 
And leaves the summit brighter 
still. 


In vain the envious tongue upbraids; 
His name a nation's heart shall keep 
Till morning's latest sunlight fades 
On the blue tablet of the deep! 


. 



THE VOICELESS. - THE PRO
t\IISE. 


141 


11.-1857-1861. 


THE VOICELESS. 
'V E count the broken lyres that rest 
'Vhere the sweet wailing singers 
slumber, 
But o'er their silent sister's breast 
The wild-flowers who will stoop to 
nurn bel' 1 
A few can touch the magic string, 
And noisy Fame is proud to win 
t.hem : - 
Alas for those that never sing, 
But die with all their music in them! 


Nay, grieve not for the dead alone 
'''hose song has told their hearts' sad 
story, - 
'Veep for the voiceless, who have known 
The cross without the crown of glory! 
Not where Leucadian breezes sweep 
O'erSappho's memory-haunted billow, 
But where the glistening night-dews 
weep 
On nameless sorrow's churchyard pil- 
low. 


o hearts that break and give no sign 
Save whitening lip and fading tresses, 
Till Death pours out his cordial wine 
Slow-dropped from !\Iisery's crushing 
presses, - 
If singing breath or echoing chord 
To every hidden pang were given, 
'Yhat endless mplodies were poured, 
As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven! 


THE TWO STREAMS. 
BEHOLD the rocky wall 
That dowll ib; sloping sides 


Pours the swift rain-drops, ùlending, as 
they fall, 
In rushing river-tides! 


Yon 'stream, whose sources run 
Turned by a pebble's edge, 
Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun 
Through the cleft mountain-ledge. 


The slender rill had strayed, 
But for the slanting stone, 
To evening's ocean, with the tangled 
braid 
Of foanl-flecked Oregon. 


So from the heights of "\Yill 
Life's parting stremll descends, 
And, as a mon1ent turns its slender rill, 
Each widening torrent bends, - 


From the same cradle's side, 
From the same mother's knee, - 
One to long darkness and the frozen tide, 
One to the Peaceful Sea! 


THE PROMISE. 


NOT charity we ask, 
N or yet thy gift refuse; 
Please thy light fancy with the easy task 
Only to look and choose. 


The little-l1eeòed toy 
That wins thy treasured gold 

Iay be the dearest n1emory, holiest joy, 
Of coming years untold. 


Heaven rains on eyery lwart, 
But there its showers divide, 



142 


SOXGS IN 1\IANY KEYS. 


The drops of mercy choosing as they part 
The dark or glowing siùe. 


One kindly deed may turn 
The fountain of thy soul 
To love's sweet day
star, that shall o'er 
thee burn 
Long as its currents roll ! 


The pleasures thou hast planned,- 
\Vhere shall their memory be 
\Vhen the white angel with the freezing 
hand 
Shall sit and watch by thee 1 


Li ving, thou dost not Ii ve, 
If mercy's spring run dry; 
"\Vhat Heaven has lent thee wilt thou 
freely give, 
Dying, thou shalt not die! 


HE promised even so ! 
To theè His lip
 repeat, - 
Dehold, the tears that soothed thy 
sister's woe 
Have washetl thy 1tlaster's feet! 
:March 20, 1859. 


A VIS. 


1 
IAY not rightly call thy name, - 
Alas! thy forehead never knew 
The kiss that happier children claitn, 
Nor glistened with baptislnal dew. 


.. I)aughter of want and wrong and woe, 
I saw thee with thy sister-band, 
Snatchcd from the whirlpool's narrowing 
flow 
By :r.lercy's strong yet trenlbling hand. 


- ' , Avis! " - 'Vith Saxon eye and cheek, 
At once a WOnlall and a child, 
The saint uncrowned I caIne to seek 
Drew near to gi'cet us, - 61)okc, and 
smiled. 


God gave that sweet sad smile she wore 
All wrong to shanle, all souls to win, - 
A heavenly sunbeam sent before 
Her footsteps through a worlJ. of sin. 


-" And who is Avis?" - Hear the tale 
The calm - voiced matrons gravely 
te II, - 
The story known through all the vale 
'V here Avis and her sisters dwell. 


With the lost children running wild, 
Strayed froni the hand of human care, 
They find one little refuse child 
Left helpless in its poisoned lair. 


The primal n1ark is on her face, - 
The chattel-stamp, - the pariah-stain 
That follows still her hunted rare, - 
The curse without the crime of Caiu. 


How shan our smooth-turned phrase re. 
late 
The little suffering outcast's ail? 
Not Lazarus at the rich man's gate 
So turned the rose-wreathed revellers 
pale. 


Ah, veil the living death from sight 
That wounds ?ur beauty-loving eye! 
The children turn in selfish fright, 
The white-lipped nurses hurry by. 


Take her, dread Angel! Break in love 
This brnisèd reedand make it thine!- 
No voice descended from above, 
But Avis answereù, "She is lnine." 


The task that dainty menials spurn 
The fair young girl has madp her own ; 
Her heart shall teach, her hand shall 
learn 
The toils, the duties yet unknown. 


So Love and Death in lingering strife 
Stand fa.ce to face frOlll day to day, 



THE Ln"1:
G TE1\IPLE. 


143 


Still battling for the spoil of Life 
'Vhile the slow seasons creep away. 


Love conquers Death; the prize is won; 
See to her joyous bosom pressed 
The dusky daughter of the sun, - 
The bronze against the marble breast! 


lIeI' task is done; no voice divine 
Has crowned her deeds with saintly 
fanle. 
No eye can s
e the aureole shine 
That rings her brow with heavenly 
flame. 


Yet wliat has holy page more sweet, 
Or what had woman's love lfiore fair, 
'Yhen 
Iary clasped her Saviour's feet 
'Vith flowing eyes and streau1Î11g 11ai1' 1 



Ieek child of SOITOW, walk unknown, 
The Angel of that earthly throng, 
And let thine iIuage live alone 
To hallow this unstudied song! 


THE LIVING TEMPLE. 


NOT in the world of light alone, 
\Vhere God has built his blazing throne 
Nor yet alone in earth below, 
\Yith belted seas that con1e and go, 
And endless isles of sunlit green, 
Is all thy 
Iaker's glory seen: 
Look in upon thy wondrous frame, - 
Eternal wi
dOln still the same ! 


The smooth, soft air with pulse-like 
waves 
Flows murmuring through its hidden 
caves, 
'Vhose streams of brightening purple 
rush, 
Fired with a new and livelier blush, 
'Yhile all their burùen of decay 
The ebbing current steals away, 


And red with Nature's flame they start 
From the warm fountains of the heart. 


No rest that throbbing slave may ask, 
Forever quivering o'er his task, 
\Vhile far and wide a crÏ1nson jet 
Leaps forth to fill the woven net 
Which in unnumbered crossing tides 
The flood of burning life divides, 
Then, kindling each decaying part, 
Creeps back to find the throbbing heart. 


But ,yarn1ed with that unchanging flame 
Behol
 the outward lfioving frame, 
Its living Dlarbles jointed strong 
'Yith glistening band and silvery thong, 
And linked to reason's guiding reins 
By n}yriad rings in trembling chains, 
Each graven with the threaded zone 
Which claims it as the master's OWll. 


See how yon beam of seenling white 
Is braided out of seven-hued light, 
Yet in those lucid globes no ray 
By any chance shall break astray. 
Hark how the rolling surge of sound, 
Arches and spirals circling round, 
\Yakes the hushed spirit through tlline 
ear 
\Vith music it is heaven to hear. 


Then mark the cloven sphere that holds 
All thought in its' mysterious folds. 
That feels sensations faintest thrill, 
And flashes forth the sovereign will ; 
Think on the stonny world that ùwells 
I
ocked in its dim and clustering cells! 
The lightning gleams of power it sheds 
Along its hollow glassy threads ! 


o Father! grant thy love divine 
To Inake these nlystic tenlples thine ! 
'Vhen wasting age and wearying strife 
Have sapped the leaning walls of life, 



144 


SO
GS IN 1tIANY KEYS. 


\Yhen darkness gathers over all, 
And the last tottering pillars faU, 
Take the poor dust thy mercy waflns, 
And mould it into heavenly forms! 


AT A BIRTHDAY FESTIVAL 


TO J. R. LO'VELL. 


\V E will not speak of years to-night, - 
For what have years to bring 
Rut larger floods of love and light, 
And sweeter songs to sing 1 
We willl10t drown in wordy praise 
The kindly thoughts that rise; 
If Friendship own one tender phrase, 
lIe reads it in our eyes. 
'Ve need not waste our school-boy art 
To gilù this notch of Tin1e ; - 
Forgive me if Iny wayward heart 
Has throbbed in artless rhyule. 


Enough for him the silent grasp 
That knits us hand in hand, 
And he the bracelet's raùiant clasp 
That locks our circling band. 
Strength to his hours of manly toil ! 
Peace to his starlit dreams! 
\Vho loves alike the furrowed soil, 
The Dlusic-haunted strean1S ! 


Swet>t smiles to keep forever bright 
The sunshine on his lips, 
And faith that sees the ring of light 
Hounù nature's last eclipse! 


February 22, 1859. 


A BIRTHDAY TRIBUTE. 


TO J. F. CLARKE. 


Wno is the shepherd sent to lead, 
Through pastures green, the 1\-Iaster's 
sheep 
 


\Vhat guileless "Israelite indeed" 
The folùed flock may watch and keep 1 


He who with manliest spirit joins 
The heart of gentlest human mould, 
'Vith burning light and girded loins, 
To guide the flock, or watch the fold; 


True to all Truth the world denies, 
Not tongue-tied for its gilded sin; 
Not always right in all men's eyes, 
But faithful to the light within; 


'Vho asks no meed of earthly fame, 
\Vho knows no earthly master's ('all, 
'Vho hopes for Ulan, through guilt and 
shame, 
Still answering, "God is over all" ; 


Who nlakes another's grief his own, 
Whose sn1Ïle lends joy a double cheer; 
'Vhere lives the saint, if such be 
known? - 
Speak softly, - such an one is here! 


o faithful shepherd! thou hast borne 
The heat and burden of the day ; 
Yet, o'er thee, bright with beams un- 
shorn, 
The sun still shows thine onward way. 


To thee our fragrant love we bring, 
In buds that April half displays, 
Sweet first-born angels of the spring, 
Caught in their opening hYlnn of 
praise. 


\Vhat though our faltering accents fail, 
Our captives know their message well, 
Our worùs unbrcathed their lips exhale, 
And sigh nlOre love than ours can tell. 


April 4, 1800. 



THE GRAY CHIEF. - THE LAST LOOK. 


145 


THE GRAY CHIEF. 


FOR THE MEETJXG OF THE MASSACHU- 
sETTs MEDICAL SOCIETY, 1859. 


'T IS sweet to fight our battles o'er, 
And crown with honest praise 
The gray old chief, who strikes no 
nlOre 
The blow of better days. 


Before the true and trusted sage 
'Vith willing hearts we bend, 
'Vhenyears have touched with hallowing 
age 
Our 1-Iaster, Guide, and Friend. 


For all his manhood's labor past, 
For love and faith long tried, 
His age is honored to the last, 
Though strength and will have died. 


But when, untan1ed by toil and strife, 
Full in our front he stands, 
The torch of light, the shield of life, 
Still lifted in his hands, 


No tenlple, though its walls resound 
'Vith bursts of ringing cheers, 
Can hold the honors that surround 
His manhood's twice-told years ! 


THE LAST LOOK. 


W. 'v. S""AIX. 


BEHOLD - not hÍIn we knew! 
This was the Plison which his soul 
looked through, 
Tender, and brave, and true. 


His voice no more is heard ; 
And his dead name-that dear familiar 
word - 
Lies on our lips unstirred. 


He spake with poet's tongue; 
Living, for hinl the nlinstrel's lyre was 
strung : 
He shall not die unsung! 


Grief tried his love, and pain; 
And the long bondage of his martyr- 
chain 
Vexed his sweet soul, - in vain ! 


It f
lt life's surges break, 
As, girt with stormy seas, his island 
lake, 
Smiling while teml)ests wake. 


How can we sorrow more? 
Grieve not for hinl whose heart had 
gone before 
To that untrodden shore! 


Lo, through its leafy screen, 
A glean} of sunlight on a ring of green, 
U ntrodden, ltalf unseen! 


Here let his body rest, 
\Vhere the cahn shadows tIlat his soul 
loved best 

Iay slide above his breast. 


Smooth his uncurtained bed; 
And if some natural tears are softly shed, 
I t is not for the dead. 


Fold the green turf aright 
For the long hours before the morning's 
ligh t, 
And say the last Good Night! 


And plant a ('leal' white stone 
Close by those n10lulds which hold his 
loved, his own, - 
Lonely, but not alone. 


Here let him sleeping lip, 
Till Heaven's bright watchers slumber 
in the sky 
And Death himself shall die! 


NAUSHON, September 22, 1858. 



146 


SONGS IN 
iANY KEYS. 


IN MEMORY OF CHARLES WENT- 
WORTH UPHAM, JR. 
HE was all sunshine; in his face 
The very soul of sweetness shone; 
Fairest and gentlest of his race; 
N one like him we can call our own. 


SOlnething there was of one that died 
1 n her fresh spring-time long ago, 
Our first dear l\Iary, angel-eyed, 
Whose smile it was a bliss to know. 


Something of her whose love iInparts 
Such radiance to her day's decline, 
'Ve feel its twilight in our hearts 
Bright as the earliest morning-shine. 


Yet licher strains our eye could trace 
That n1ade our plainer mould n10re 
fair, . 

'hat curved the lip with happier grace, 
That waved the soft and silken hair. 


Dust unto dust ! the Ii ps are still 
That only spoke to cheer and bless; 
The folded hands lie white and chill 
Unclasped from sorrow's last caress. 


;Leave him in peace; he will not l1eed 
These idle tears we vainly pour, 
Give back to earth the fading weed 
Of mortal shape his spirit wore. 


" Shall I not weep my heartshings torn, 
:My flower of love that falls half blown 
, 

Iy youth uncrowned, my life forlorn, 
A thorny path to walk alone 1 " 


o 
Iary! one who bore thy name, 
'Vhose Friend and 
Iaster was divine 
, 
Sat waiting silent till He came, 
Bowed down in speechless grief like 
thine. 


" 'Vhere have ye laid him ?" , , Come, " 
they say, 
Pointing to where the loved one slept; 
'Veeping, the sister led the way, - 
And, seeing l\Iary, "Jesus wept." 


He weeps with thee, with all that mourn, 
And He shall wipe thy strean1Ïng eyes 
'Vho knew all sorrows, woman-born, - 
Trust in his word ; thy dead shall rise! 
April 15, 1860. 


MARTHA. 


DIED JANUARY 7, 1861. 


SEXTON! l\lartha's dead and gone; 
Toll the bell! toll the bell ! 
Her weary hands their labor cease; 
Good night, poor 
Iartha, - sleep In 
peace ! 
Toll the bell ! 


Sexton! l\Iartha's dead and gone; 
Toll the bell! toll the bell ! 
For many a year has l\Iartha said, 
" I 'm old and poor, - would I were 
dead ! " 
Toll t4e bell ! 


Sexton! l\iartha's dead and gone; 
Toll the bell! toll the bell ! 
She'll bring no more, by day or night, 
Her basket full of linen white. 
Toll the bell ! 


Sexton! 
iartha 's dead and gone; 
Toll the bell ! toll the hell ! 
'T is fitting she shoul<llie below 
A pure white sheet of drifted SIlOW. 
Toll the bell ! 


Sexton! 
iartha' s dead and gone ; 
Toll the bell! toll the bell ! 




IEETING OF THE ALUl\INI OF HARVARD COLLEGE. 147 


" 


Sleep, 
Iartha, sleep, to wake in light, 
'Vhere all the robes are stainless white. 
Toll the bell ! 


MEETING OF THE ALUMNI OF HAR- 
VARD COLLEGE. 


1857. 


I THANK you, 
IR. PRESIDE
T, you've 
kindly broke the ice; 
Virtue should always be the first, - I 'm 
only SECOND VICE- 
(A vice is sOlllething with a screw that's 
made to hold its jaw 
Till some old file has played away upon 
an ancient saw). 


Sweet brothers by the lrlother's side, 
the babes of days gone by, 
All nurslings of her Juno breasts whose 
. 
milk is never dry, 
'Ve COlne again, like half-grown boys, 
and gather at her beck 
About her knees, and on her lap, and 
clinging rOlmd her neck. 


'Ye find her at her stately door, and in 
her ancient chair, 
Dressed in the robes of red and green 
she always loved to wear. 
Her eye has all its radiant youth, her 
cheek its morning flame; 
vYe drop our roses as we go, hers flourish 
still the same. 


'Ye have been playing many an hour, 
and far away we've strayed, 
Some laughing in the cheerful sun, some 
lingering in the shade ; 
And SOlDe have tired, and laid them down 
where darker shadows fall,- 
Dear as her loving voice nlay be, they 
cannot hear its call. 


'Ve gathered on this classic green, so 
fan1ed for heavy dues! 
Ho,v many boys have joined the game, 
how many. slipped away, 
Since we've been running up and down, 
and having out our play! 


One boy at work with book and brief, 
and one with gown and band, 
One sailing vessels on the pool, one dig. 
ging in the sand, 
One flying paper kites on ehange, one 
planting little pills, - 
The seeds of certain annual flowers well 
known as little bills. 


'Yhat maidens met us on our way, and 
elasped us hand in hand! 
'Vhat cherubs, - not the legless kind, 
that fly, but never stand! 
How many a youthful head we've seen 
put on its silver crown! 
'Vhat sudden changes back again to 
youth's empurpled brown! 


But fairer sights have met our eyes, and 
broader lights have shone, 
Since others lit their midnight lamps 
where once we trimmed our own; 
A thousand trains that flap the sky with 
flags of rushing fire, 
And, throbbing in the Thunderer's hand, 
Thought's million-chorded lyre. 


'Ve've seen the sparks of Empire fly 
beyond the 1110untain bars, 
Till, glittering o'er the 'Vestern wave, 
they joined the setting stars; 
And ocean trodden into patlis that 
trampling giants ford, 
To find the planet's vertebræ and sink 
its spinal cord. 


What miles ,ve 've travelled since we We've tried reform, - and. chloroform, 
shook the dew-drops from our shoes - and both have turned our brain; 



148 


SONGS IN l\IAXY KEYS. 


When France caned up the photograph, 
we roused the foe to pain; 
Just so those earlier sages shared the 
chaplet of renown,- 
Hers sent a bladder to the clouds, ours 
brought their lightning down. 


We've seen the little tricks of life,. its 
varnish and veneer, 
Its stucco-fronts of character flake off 
and disappear, 
We've learned that oft the brownest 
hands will heap the biggest pile, 
And met with n1any a "perfect brick" 
beneath a rimless "tile." 


What dreams ,ve 've had of deathless 
name, as scholars, statesmen, bards, 
While Fame, the lady with the trump, 
held up her picture caras! 
Tin, 11aving nearly played our game, she 
gayly wl1ispered, "Ah! 
I said you should be sonlething grand, - 
you'll soon be granLlpapa." 


Well, well, the old have had their day, 
the young must take their turn; 
There's something always to forget, and 
sOInethillg still to learn; 
But how to tell what's old or young, 
the tap-root from the sprigs, 
Since Florida revealed her fount to 
Ponce ùe Leon Twiggs 1 


The wisest was a Freshlnan once, just 
freed from bar and bolt, 
As noisy as a kettle-drum, as leggy as a 
colt ; 
Don't be too savage with the boys,- 
the Primer does not say 
The kitten ought to go to church because 
the cat doth prey. 


The law of merit and of age is not the 
rule of three; 


Non constat that A. M. must prove as 
busy as A. B. 
'Vhen Wise the father tracked the son, 
ballooning through the skies, 
He taught a lesson to the olù, - go thou 
anù do like \Vise! 


N ow then, old boys, and reverend youth, 
of high of low degree, 
RemeJnber how we only get one annual 
out of three, 
And such as dare to simmer down three 
dinners in to one 
ltI ust cut their salads mighty short, a.nd 
pepper well with fun. 


I've passed Iny zenith long ago, it's time 
for me to set; 
A dozen planets wait to shine, and I am 
lingering yet, 
As sometimes in the blaze of day a milk. 
and-watery moon 
Stains with its dinl and fading ray the 
lustrous blue of noon. 


Farewell ! yet let one echo rise to shake 
our ancient han ; 
God save the Queen, - whose throne is 
here, - the 1tlother of us all ! 
Till dawns the great conlmencement-day 
on every shóre and sea, 
And "Expectantur" all mankind, to 
take their last Degree ! 


THE PARTING SONG. 


FESTIVAL OF THE AJ.UMNI, 1857. 


THE noon of summer sheds its ray 
On Harvard's holy ground; 
The 1tfatron calls, the sons obey, 
And gather smiling round. 


CHORUS. 
Then old and young together stand, 
The sunshine and the snow, 



FOR TIlE SAXITARY ASSOCIATIO
. 


149 


As heart to heart, and hand in hand, 
'Ve sing before we go ! 


Her hundred opening doors have swung; 
Through every storied hall 
The penling echoes loud have rung, 
"Thrice welconle one and all ! " 
Then old and young, etc. 


We floated through her peaceful bay, 
To sail life's stormy seas; 
But left our anchor where it lay 
Beneath her green oIll trees. 
Then old and young, etc. 


As now we lift its lengthening chain, 
That held us fast of old, 
The rusted rings grow bright again, - 
Their iron turns to gold. 
Then old and young, etc. 


Though scattered ere the setting snn, 
As leaves when wild winds blow, 
Our honle is here, are hearts are one, 
Tin Charles forgets to flow. 
Then old and young, etc. 


FOR THE MEETING OF THE NATIONAL 
SANITARY ASSOCIATION. 


1860. 


'YHAT makes the Healing Art divine? 
The bitter drûg Wf' buy and sell, 
The brands that scorch, the blades that 
shine, 
The scars we leave, the " cures" we 
tell ? 


Are these thy glories, 'holiest Art, - 
The trophies that adorn thee best,- 
Or but thy trinmph's meanest part, - 
'Vherf" mortal weakness stands con- 
fessed? 


,,-retake the arms that Heaven supplies 
For Life's long battle with Disease, 
Taught by our various need to prize 
Our frailest weapons, even these. 


But ah ! when Sciencec1rops her shield- 
I ts peaceful shelter proved in vain- 
An <:I. bares her sIlow-white arm to wield 
The sad, stern ministry of pain; 


'Vhen shuddering o'er the fount of life, 
She folùs her heaven-anointed wings, 
To lift unmoved the glittering knife 
That searches all its crimson springs; 


'Vhen, faithful to her ancient lore, 
She thrusts aside her fr3grant bahn 
For blistering juice, or cankering ore, 
And tames them till they cure or 
calm ; 


'Yhf'n in her gracious hand are seen 
The dregs and scum of earth and seas, 
Her kindness counting all things clean 
That lend the sighing sufferer ease; 


Though on the field that Death has won, 
She save some stragglers in retreat;- 
These single acts of n1ercy done 
Are but confessions of defeat. 


'Yhat though our tempered poisons save 
Some wrecks of life fronl aches aIltl 
ails; 
Tbose grand specifics Nature gave 
"\\r ere never poised by weights or 
seal es ! 


God lent his creatures light and air, 
And waters open to the skies; 

Ian locks hinl in a stifling lair, 
And wonùers why his brother dies! 


In vain our pitying tears are shed, 
In vain we rear the sheltering pile 



150 


SOXGS IN l\fANY KEYS. 


'Vhere Art weeds out from bed to bed 
The plagues we planted by the n1Ïle ! 


Be that the glory of the past ; 
With these our sacred toils begin : 
So flies in tatters from its ynast 
The yellow flag of sloth and sin, 


And lo! the starry folds reveal 
The blazoned truth we hold so dear: 
To guard is better than to heal, - 
'fhe shield is nobler than the spear! 


FOR THE BURNS CENTENNIAL CELE- 
BRATION. 


JANUARY 25, 1859. 


HIS birthday. - Nay, ,ve need 110t speak 
The name each heart is beating, - 
Each glistening eye and flushing cheek 
In light anù flame repeating! 


We come in one tumultuous tide,- 
One surge of wilù el11otion, - 
As crowùillg through the Frith of Clyde 
R.olls in the 'Vestern Ocean ; 


As when yon cloudless, quartered moon 
Hangs o'er each storied river, 
The swelling breasts of Ayr and Doon 
With sea-green wavelets quiver. 


The century shrivels like a scroll, - 
The past becomes the present, - 
And face to face, anù soul to soul, 
'Ve greet the 1110narch-peasant. 


While Shenstone strained in feeble flights 
"7'ith Corydon anù Phillis,- 
While 'V oUe was climbing Abraham's 
heights 
To snatch the Bourbon lilies, - 


Who heard the wailing infant's cry, 
The babe beneath the shceling, 


'Vhose song to-night in every sky 
Will shake earth's starry ceiling, - 


Whose passion-breathing voice ascends 
And floats like incense o'er us, 
Whose ringing lay of friendship blends 
'Vith labor's anvil chorus? 


We love })im, not for sweetest song, 
Though never tone so tender ; 
We love him, even in his wrong, - 
His wasteful self-surrender. 


We praise him, not for gifts divine,- 
His 
Iuse was born of wonlan, - 
His 111anhood breathes in every line, - 
Was ever heart more human? 


We love hin1, praise him, just for this: 
In every form and feature, 
Through wealth and want, through woe 
and bliss, 
He saw his fello\v-creature ! 


No sonl could sink beneath his love, - 
Not even a.ngel blasted; 
No mortal power could soar above 
The pride that all outlasted ! 


Ay! Heaven had set one living man 
Beyond the pedant's tether, - 
His virtues, frailties, HE may scan, 
Who weighs them all together! 


I fling my pebble on the cairn 
Of hin1, though dead, undying; 
Sweet Nature's nursling, bonniest bairn 
Beu('ath her daisies lying. 


The waning snnR, the wasting globe, 
Shall spare the minstrel's story,- 
The centurips w
ave his pnrple robe, 
The mountain-mist of glory! 



BOSTON CO:\I)'IO
. -TIlE OLD 1\IAN OF THE SEA. 151 


BOSTON COMMON.-THREEPICTURES. And soon their whistling showers shall 
stain 
The pipe-clayed belts of Gage's men. 


FOR THE FAIR IN AID OF THE FUND 
TO PRocrRE BALL'S STATUE OF WASH- 
IXGTON. 


1630. 


ALL overgrown with bush and fern, 
And straggling clumps of tangled 
trees, 
'Vith trunks that lean and boughs that 
turn, 
Bent eastward by the mastering 
breeze, - 
With spongy bogs that drip and fill 
A yellow pond with muddy rain, 
Beneath the shaggy southern hill 
Lies wet and low the Shawmut plain. 
And hark! the trodden branches crack; 
A crow flaps off with startled scream; 
A straying woodchuck canters back; 
A bittern rises frOlll the stream; 
Lea ps from his lair a frighten ed deer; 
An otter plunges in the pool;- 
Here comes old Shawmut's pioneer, 
The parson on his brindled bull ! 


1774. 
THE streets are thronged with tranlpling 
feet, 
The northern hill isriùged with graves, 
But night and morn the drum is beat 
To friO'hten down the" rebel knaves." 
o 
The stones of King Street still are red, 
And yet the bloody red-coats come: 
I hear their pacing sentry's tread, 
The click of steel, the tap of (h-um, 
And over all the open green, 
'Yhere grazed of late the harnlless 
kine, 
The cannon's deepening ruts are seen, 
The war-horse staJnps, the bayonets 
shine. 
The clouds are d;uk with crimson rain 
Above the murderous hirelings' den, 


186. . . . 


AROUND the green, in morning light, 
The spired and palaced sUlnmits blaze, 
And, sUlllike, frOll! her Beacon-height 
The dome-crowned city spreads her 
rays; 
They span the waves, they belt the plains, 
They skirt the roads with bands of 
white, 
Till with a flash of gilded panes 
Yon farthest hillside bounds the sight. 
Peace, FreedonJ, ",Yealth ! no fairer view, 
Though with the wild-bird's restless 
wings 
",Ye sailed beneath the noontide's blue 
Or chased the n1oonlight's endless 
rings! 
Here, fitly raised by grateful hands 
His holiest memory to recall, 
The Hero's, Patriot's image stands; 
He led our sires who won thcln all ! 


:Kovember 14, 1859. 


THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA. 


A NIGHTMARE DREA:\I BY DAYLIGHT. 


Do you know the Old l\Ian of the Sea, 
of the Sea? 
Have you met with that dreadful old 
man? 
If you have n't been caught, you will be, 
you will be ; 
For catch you he must and he can. 
He does n't hold on by your throat, by 
your throat, 
As of old in the terrible tale; 
But he grapples you tight by the coat: 
by the coat, 
Till its buttons and button-holes fail. 



152 


SONGS IN MANY KEYS. 


There's tIle charm of a snake in his eye, 
in his eye, 
And a polypus-grip in his hands; 
You cannot go back, nor get by, nor get 
by, 
If you look at the spot where he 
stands. 


0, you're grabbed! See his claw on 
your sleeye, on your sleeve ! 
It is Sinbad's Old ltlan of the Sea! 
You're a Christian, no doubt you be- 
lieve, you believe : 
Yon're a martyr, whatever you be ! 


- Is the breakfast-hour past 
 They 
must wait, they must wait, 
'Vhile the coffee boils sullenly down, 
'Vhile the Johnny-cake burns on the 
grate, on the grate, 
And the toast is done frightfully 
brown. 


- Yes, your dinner will keep; let it 
cool, let it cool, 
And !Iaùam n1ay worry and fret, 
Anù children half-starved go to school, 
go to school; 
He can't think of sparing you yet. 


- Hark! the bell for the train! "Come 
along! Come along! 
For there isn't a second to lose." 
" ALL ABOARD!" (He holds on.) "Fsht! 
ding-dong! Fsht! ding-dong!"- 
You can follow on foot, if you choose. 


- There's a maid with a cheek like a 
peach, like a peach, 
That is waiting for you in the 
church ;- 
But he clings to your side like a leech, 
like a leech, 
And you leave your lost bride in the 
lurch. 


- There's a babe in a fit, - hurry 
quick! hurry quick! 
To the doctor's as fast as you can ! 
The baby is off, while you stick, while 
:you stick, 
In the grip of the dreadful Old 
Ian ! 
- I have looked on the face of the Bore, 
of the Bore ; 
The voice of the Simple I know; 
I have welcomed the Flat at my door, at 
my door; 
I have sat by the side of the Slow; 
I have walked like a larnb by the friend, 
by the friend, 
That stuck to DlY skirts like a bur; 
I have borne the stale talk without end, 
without end, 
Of the sitter WhOlll nothing could stir: 
But my haulstrings grow loose, and I 
shake, and I shake, 
At the sight of the dreadful Old 
fan; 
Yea, I quiver and quake, and I take, 
and I take, 
To my legs with what vigor I can! 


o the dreadful Old 
Ian of the Sea, of 
the Sea ! 
He's come back like the "\Vandering 
J e,v ! 
He has had his cold claw upon me, upon 
me,- 
And be sure that he'll have it on you! 


INTERNATIONAL ODE. 


OUR FATHERS' LAND.l 


GOD bless our Fathers' Land! 
!{ecp her in heart and hand 
One with our own! 


1 Sung in unison by twelve hunrlred chil- 
dren of the public s('hoo1s, at the visit of the 
Prince of Wales to Boston, October 18, 1860. 
Air, "God save the Queen." 



VIVE LA FRAXCE. -BROTHER JOXATHA
'S LA
IE
T. 153 


From all her foes defend, 
Be her brave People's Friend, 
On all her realills descend, 
Protect her Throne ! 


Father, with loving care 
Guard Thou her kil1gdoln's Heir, 
Guide all his ways :, 
Thine arm his shelter be, 
Front him by land and sea 
Bid storm and danger flee, 
Prolong his da)Ts ! 


Lord, let 'Var's tempest cease, 
Fold the whole Earth in peace 
Under thy wings ! 

Iake all Thy nations one, 
All hearts bpneath the sun, 
Till Thou shalt reign alone, 
Great King of kings! 


VIVE LA FRANCE! 


A SEXTI:\fEXT OFFERED AT THE DINXER 
TO H. I. H. THE PRIXCE NAPOLEO
, AT 
THE REVERE HOlTSE, SEPT. 25, 1861. 


THE land of sunshine and of song! 
Her name your hearts divine; 
To her the banquet's vows belong 
,V hose breasts have poured 
WIne; 
Our trusty friend, our true ally 
Through varipd change and chance: 
So, fill your flashing goblets high, - 
I give you, 'VIVE LA FRANCE! 


Above our hosts in triple folds 
The selfsame colors sprearl, 
'Vhere Valor's faithful arn1 upholds 
The blue, the white, the red; 
Alike each nation's glittering crest 
Reflects the morning's glance, - 
Twin pagles, soaring east and" est: 
Once more, tben, V IVE LA FRA:XCE ! 


Sister in trial! who shall count 
Thy generous friendship's claim, 
'Yhose blood ran n1Ïngling in the fount 
That gave our land its name, 
Till Yorktown saw in blended line 
Our conquering arn1S ad vance, 
And victory's double garlands twine 
Our banners 1 VIYE LA FRAXCE! 


o land of heroes! in our need 
One gift from Heaven we crave 
To stanch these wounds that vainly 
bleed, - 
The "ise to lead the brave! 
Call back one Captain of thy past 
From glory's marble trance, 
'Yhose nan1e shall be a bugle-blast 
To rouse us ! ,,.. lVE LA Flt.A:!\CE ! 


Pluck Condé's baton from the trench, 
'Yake up stout Charles }'Iartel, 
Or find son1e woman's hand to clench 
The sword of La Pucelle! 
Gi ve us one hour of old Turenne, - 
One lift of Bayard's lance, - 
Nay, call :\Iarengo's Chief again 
To lead us! 'V lVE LA FRAXCE! 


Ah, hush! our welcome Guest shan hear 
But sounds of peace and joy; 
its No angry echo vex thine ear, 
Fair Daughter of Savoy! 
Once more! the land of arms and arts, 
Of glory, grace, romance; 
Her love lies warm in all our hparts : 
God bless her! VIVE LA FRA
CE ! 


BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT FOR 
SISTER CAROLINE. 


SHE has gone, - she has left us in pas- 
sion and pride, - 
Our stormy-browed sister l so long at our 
side ! 



154 


SOYGS IN 
{A.
Y !(EYS. 


She has torn her own star from our fir- 
malnent's glow, 
And turned on her brother the face of a 
foe! 


o Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, 
We can never forget that our hearts 
have been one,-- 
Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's 
name, 
From the fountain of blood with the fin- 
ger of flame ! 


You were always too ready to fire at a 
touch ; 
But we said, "She is hasty, -- she does 
not mean much." 
We have scowled, when you uttered 
son1e turbulent threat; 
But Friendship still whispered, "For- 
give and forget ! " 


Has oùr love all died out 1 Have its 
altars grown cold 1 
Has the curse come at last which the 
fathers foretold 1 
Then Nature must teach us the strength 
of the chain 
That her petulant children would sever 
in vain. 


They may fight till the buzzards are 
gorged with their spoil, 
Till the harvest grows black as it rots 
in the soil, 
Till the wolves and the catamounts 
troop from their caves, 
And the shark tracks the pirate, the 
lord of the waves: 


In vain is the strife! 'Vhen its fury is 
past, 
Their fortunes must flow in one channel 
at last, 


As the torrents that rush from the 
mountains of snow 
Roll mingled in peace through the val- 
leys below. 


Our Union is river, lake, ocean, and 
sky: 
Man breaks not the medal, when God 
cuts the die! 
Though darkened with sulphur, though 
cloven with steel, 
The blue arch will brighten, the waters 
will heal ! 


o Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, 
There are battles with Fate that can 
never be ,von ! 
The star-flowering banner must never 
be furled, 
For its blossoms of light are the hope of 
the world ! 


Go, then, our rash sister! afar and aloof, 
Run wild in the sunshine away from our 
roof; 
But when your heart aches and your feet 
have grown sore, 
Remember the pathway that leads to our 
door ! 


1t-Iarch 25, 1861. 


UNDER THE WASHINGTON ELM, CAM- 
BRIDGE. 


April 27, 1861. 


EIGHTY years have passed, and more, 
Since under the brave old tree 
Our fathers gathered in arn1S, and swore 
They would follow the sign their ban- 
ners bore, 
And fight till the land was free. 


Half of their work was done, 
Half is left to do, -- 



FREED 0:\1, OUR QUEE
. - AR}!Y HY)I
. 


155 


Carn bridge, 
ton! 
'Vhen the battle is fought and "on, 
'Yhat shall be told of you 
 


and Concord, and Lexing- :\Iother of heroes! if perfidy's blight 
Fall on a star in thy garland of light, 
Sound but one bugle-blast! Lo! at the 
SIgn 
Arn1Ïes all panoplied wheel into line! 


Hark !-'tis the south-wind moans,- 
'Vho are the nlartyrs down 
 
Ah, the marrow was true in your chil- 
dren's bones 
That sprinkled with blood the cursed 
stones 
Of the murder-haunted town! 


'Vhat if the storm-clouds blow 
 
'Vhat if the green leaves fall 
 
Better the crashing tempest's throe 
Than the arruy of worms that gnawed 
below ; 
Trau1ple them one and all ! 


Then, when the battle is won, 
And the land fronl traitors free, 
Our children shall tell of the strife begun 
\Yhen Liberty's second April sun 
\Yas bright on our brave old tree! 


FREEDOM, OUR QUEEN. 


LAXD . where the banners wave last in 
the sun, 
Blaz011pd with star-clusters, many in one, 
Floating o'er prairie and mountain and 
sea; 
IIark! 't is the voice of thy children to 
thee ! 


Here at thine altar our vows we re- 
new 
Still in thy cause to be loyal and 
true, - 
Tnle to thy flag on the field and the 
wave, 
Living to honor it, dying to save! 


Hope of the world! thou hast broken its 
chains, - 
'Veal' thy bright arms while a tyrant 
renlains, 
Stand for the right till the nations shall 
own 
Freedom their sovereign, with Law for 
her throne! 


Freedolll ! sweet Freedom! our voices 
resound, 
Queen by God's blessing, unsceptred, un- 
crowned! 
Freedom, sweet Freedom, our pulses 
repeat, 
"\Varm with her life-blood, as long as 
they beat! 


Fold the broad banner-stripes over her 
breast,- 
Crown her with star-jewels Queen of the 
'Vest ! 
Earth for her heritage, God for her 
friend, 
She shall reign over us, world without 
end! 


ARMY HYMN. 


'
Old Hundred." 


o LORD of Hosts! Almighty King! 
Behold the sacrifice we bring! 
To every arm Thy strength Ï1npart, 
Thy spirit shed through every heart ! 


'Vake in our breasts the living fires, 
The holy faith that wal'med our sires; 
Thy hand hath made our Nation free; 
To die for her is serving Thee. 



156 


SOXGS IN }.IANY KEYS. 


Be Thou a pillared flame to show 
The midnight snare, the silent foe; 
And when the battle thunders loud, 
Still guide us ill its moving cloud. 


God of all Nations! Sovereign Lord! 
In Thy dread name we draw the sword, 
'Ye lift the starry flag on high 
That fills with light our stormy sky. 


From treason's rent, from nlurder's stain, 
Guard Thou its folds till Peace shall 
reign, - 
Till fort and field, till shore and sea, 
Join our loud anthem, PRAISE TO THEE! 


PARTING HYMN. 


" Dundee!. 


FATHER of 
Iercies, Heavenly Friend, 
We seek Thy gracious throne; 
To Thee our faltering prayers ascend, 
Our fainting hearts are known! 


From blasts that chill, from suns that 
smite, 
From every plague that harnls ; 
In Calllp and nlarch, in siege and fight, 
Protect our men-at-arnlS ! 


Though from our darkened Ii ves they 
take 
'Vhat makes our life most dear, 
We yield them for their country's sake 
With no relenting tear. 


Onr bloo(l their flowing veins will shed, 
Their wounds our breasts will share; 
0, save us from the woes we dread, 
Or grant us strength to bear! 


Let each unhallowed cause that brings 
The stern destroyer cease, , 
Thy flaming angel fold his wings, 
And seraphs whisper Peace! 


Thine are the sceptre and the sword, 
Stretch forth Thy nÜghty hand, - 
Reign Thou our kingless nation's Lord, 
Rule Thou our throneless land! 


THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY. 


WHAT flower is this that greets the morn, 
Its hues froln Heaven so freshly born? 
With burning star and flan1Ïng band 
It kinùles all the sunset land : 
o tell us what its name nlay be, - 
Is this the Flower of Liberty? 
I t is the banner of the free, 
The starry Flower of Liberty ! 


In savage Nature's far abode 
Its tender seed our fathers sowed; 
The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud, 
Its opening leaves 'were streaked with 
blood, 
Till 10 ! earth's tyrants shook to see 
The full-blown Flower of Liberty! 
Then hail the banner of the free, 
The starry Flower of Liberty ! 


Behold its streaming rays unite, 
One mingling flood of braided light, - 
The red that fires the Southern rose, 
Withspotless,:"hitefrom N orthernsnows, 
And, spangled o'er its azure, see 
'fhe sister Stars of Liberty! 
Then hail the banner of the free, 
The starry Flower of Liberty ! 


The blades of heroes fence it round, 
Where'er it springs is holy ground; 
From tower and dome its glories spread; 
It waves where lonely sentries tread; 
It lnakes the land as ocean free, 
And plants an empire on the sea! 
Then hail the banner of the free, 
The starry Flower of Liberty ! 


Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom's flowct, 
Shall ever float on dome and tower, 



THE S'VEET LITTLE 1tIAN. 


157 


To all their heavenly colors true, 
In blackening frost or crÏ1nson dew, - 
And God love us as we love thee, 
Thrice holy Flower of Liberty! 
Then hail the banner of the free, 
The starry FLOWER OF LIBERTY! 


THE SWEET LITTLE MAN. 


DEDICATED TO THE STAY-AT-H01\IE 
RA
GERS. 


Now, while our soldiers are figllting our 
ba ttles, 
Each at his post to do all that he can, 
Down among rebels and contraband 
chattels, 
'Yhat are you doing, my sweet little 
man
 


All the brave boys under canvas are 
sleeping, 
All of them :pressing to march with 
the van, 
Far fronl the home where their sweet- 
hearts are weeping ; 
'Vhat are you waiting for, sweet little 
DIRll ? 


You with the terrible warlike mus- 
taches, 
Fit for a colonel or chief of a cIan, 
You with tIle waist made for sword-belts 
and sashes, 
'Vhere are your shoulder-straps, sweet 
little man 1 


Bring him the buttonless garm
nt of 
woman! 
Cover his face lest it freckle and tan; 
1tluster the Apron-string Guards on the 
Com In on, 
That is the corps for the sweet little 
Dlan ! 


Give him for escort a file of young misses, 
Each of them armed with a deadly 
rattan ; 
They shall defpnd him from laughter 
and hisses, 
Aimed by low boys at the sweet little 
man. 


All the fair maidens about him shall 
cluster, 
Pluck the white feathers froln bonnet 
and fan, 
1.Iake hinl a plume like a turkey-wing 
duster, - 
That is the crest for the sweet little 
man! 


0, but the Apron-string Guards are the 
fe Hows ! 
Drilling paeh day since our troubles 
began,- 
" Handle your walking - sticks ! " 
"Shoulder unl brel1as ! " 
That is the style for the sweet little 
man. 


Have we a nation to save 
 In tIle first 
place 
Sa ving oursel ves is the sensible 
plan, - 
Surely the spot where there's shooting's 
the worst place 
'Vhere I can stand, says the sweet 1ittle 
n1an. 


Catch n1e confiding my person with 
strangers ! 
Think how the cowardly Bull-Run- 
ners ran! 
In the brigade of tIle Stay-at-hon1e 
Rangers 
])Iarches my corps, says the sweet 
little DIal). 


Such was the stuff of the 
Ialakoff- 
takers, 



158 


SONGS IN 1tIANY KEYS. 


Such \vere the soldiers that scaled 
the Hedan; 
Truculent houselnaids and bloodthirsty 
Quakers, 
Brave not the wrath of the sweet 
little man! 


Yield him the sidewalk, ye nursery 
nlaiJens ! 
Sa'llve qlti pcut! Bridget, and right 
about! Ann;- 
Fierce as a shark in a school of men- 
hadens, 
See him advancing, the sweet little 
nlan ! 


'Vhen the red flails of the battle-field's 
threshers 
Beat out the continent's wheat fronl 
its bran, 
'Vhile the wind scatters the chaffy 
seceshers, 
What will become of our sweet little 
man 1 


'Vhen the brown soldiers come back 
froIn the borders, 
How will he look while his features 
they scan 1 
How will he feel when he gets marching 
orders, 
Signed by his lady love 1 sweet little 
Dlan ! 


Fear not for hinl, tllOUgh the rebels ex.. 
pect hinl, - 
Life is too precious to shorten its span ; 
'V o Ulan her broolustick shall raise to 
protect him, 
Will she not fight for the sweet little 
man! 


N ow then, nine cheers for the Stay-at- 
home Ranger! 
Blow the great fish-horn and beat the 
big pan! 


First in the field that is farthest from 
danger, 
Take your white-feather plunle, sweet 
little man! 


UNION AND LIBERTY. 


FLAG of the heroes who left us their 
glory, 
Borne through their battle-fields' thun- 
der and flame, 
Blazoned in song and illumined in story, 
Wave o'er us all who inherit their 
fame ! 
Up with our banner bright, 
Sprinkled with starry light, 
Spread its fair enlblems frOIll moun.. 
tain to shore, 
While through the sounding sky 
Loud rings the Nation's cry,- 
UNION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVEn- 
:MORE! 


Light of our firmament, guide of our 
Nation, . 
Pride of her children, and honored 
afar, 
Let the wide beams of thy full constel- 
lation 
Scatter each cloud that would darken 
a star ! 
Up with our banner bright, etc. 
EJupire unsceptred! what foe shall assail 
th ee, 
Bearing the standard of Liberty's 
van? 
Think not the God of thy fathers shall 
fail thee, 
Striving with men for the birthright 
of nlan ! 
Up with our banner bright, etc. 
Yet if, by madness and treachery 
blighted, 



ll'IO
 AXD LIBERTY. 


159 


Dawns the dark hour when the sword 
thou nlust draw, 
Then with the arnlS of thy millions 
united, 
Smite the bold traitors to Freeùom 
and Law! 
Up with our banner bright, etc. 


Lord of the U ni verse! shield us and 
guide us, 
Trusting thee alwa:rs, through shadow 
anù sun ! 


Thou hast united us, who shall divide 
us 1 
Keep us, 0 keep us the l\IA
Y I
 
OXE! 
Up with our banner bright, 
Sprinkled with starry light, 
Spread its fair emblenls from moun- 
tain to shore, 
'Vhile through the sounding sky 
Loud rings the :Ration's cry, - 
URION AND LIBERTY! ONE EVER- 
:MORE! 



, 



P 0 E 1\1 S 


FRO:\I THE 


AUTOORAT OF THE BREAICFAST TABLE. 


1857-1858. 


THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. 


THIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets 
feign, 
Sails the unshadowed main, - 
The venturous bark that flings 
On the sweet SUlllmer wind its purpled 
wings 
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren 
sIngs, 
And coral reefs lie bare, 
'Yhere the cold sea-nlaiJs rise to sun 
their streaming hair. 


Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; 
,V reeked is the ship of pearl! 
And every chant bered cell, 
,V here its dim dreaming life was wont to 
d weIi, 
As the frail tenant shaped his growing 
shell, 
Before thee lies revealed, - 
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt 
unsealed ! 


Year after year beheld the silent toil 
That spread his lustrous coil ; 
Still, as the spiral grew, 
He left the past year's dwelling for the 
new, 


Stole with soft stép its shining archway 
through, 
Built up its idle door, 
Stretched in his last-found home, and 
knew the old no more. 


Thanks for the heavenly message brought 
by thee, 
Child of the wandering sea, 
Cast from her lap, forlorn ! 
From thy dead lips a clearer Dote is 
born 
Than ever Triton blew from wreathéd 
horn! 
'\Vhile on nline ear it rings, 
Through the deep caves of thought I 
hear a voice that sings:- 


Build thee more stately mansions, 0 Iny 
sonl, 
As the swift seasons roll ! 
Leave thy low-vaulted past! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the 
last, 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more 
vast, 
Till thou at length art free, 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's 
unrestiug sea! 



162 POEMS FROM THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAI{FAST TABLE. 


SUN AND SHADOW. 


As I look froln the isle, o'er its billows 
of green, 
To the billows of foam-crested 1)lue, 
Yon bark, that afar in the distance is 
seen, 
Half dreaming, my eyes will pursue : 
Now dark in the shadow, she scatters 
the spray 
As the chaff in the stroke of the flail ; 
Now w hi te as the sea-gull, she flies on 
her way, 
The sun gleaming bright on her sail. 
Yet her pilot is thinking of dangers to 
shun,- 
Of breakers that whiten and roar; 
How little he cares, if in shadow or sun 
They see him who gaze frolll the shore ! 
He looks to the beacon that looms from 
the reef, 
To the rock tha.t is under his lee, 
As he drifts on the blast, like a wind- 
waftpd leaf, 
0' er the gulfs of the desolate sea. 


Thus drifting afar to the dim-vaulted 
caves 
Where life and its ventures are laid, 
The dreamers who gaze while we battle 
the waves 
}'Iay see us in sunshine or shade; 
Yet true to our course, though the 
shadows grow dark, 
We'll trin1 our broad sail as before, 
And stand by the ruùder that governs 
the bark, 
Nor ask how we look from the shore! 


THE TWO ARMIES. 


As Life's unending column pours, 
Two Inarshal1ed hosts are seen, - 
Two annies on the traIn pled s}lores 
That Death flows black between. 


One marches to the drum-beat's roll, 
The wide-nlouthed clarion's bray, 
And bears upon a crimson scroll, 
" Our glory is to slay." 


One nloves in silence by the stream, 
'Vith sad, yet watchful eyes, 
Cahu as the l)aticnt planet's gleam 
'fhat walks the clouded skies. 


Along its front no sabres shine, 
No blood-red l)ennons wave; 
Its banner bears the single line, 
" Our duty is to save." 


For those no death-bed's lingerillgshade; 
At Honor's trunlpet-call, 
'Vith knitted brow and lifted blade 
In Glory's arms they fall. 


For t11ese no clashing falchions bright, 
No stirring battle-cry ; 
The bloodless stabber cans by lligl1t, - 
Each answers, "Here an) I !" 


For those the sculptor's laurelled bust, 
The builder's marble piles, 
The anthen1s pealing o'er their dust 
Through long. cathedral aisles. 


For these the bloss01n-sprinkled turf 
That floods the 10nf>]Y graves 
'Vllen Spring ro11s in her sea-green SUI f 
In flowery-foaming waves. 


Two paths leaa upward from below, 
And angels wait above, 
Who count each burning 1ife-drop's flow, 
Each falling tear of Love. 


Though from the Hero's bleeding breast 
Her pulses Freedom drew, 
Though the white lilips in hpr crest 
S I wan ("f from that scarlet dew - 
o , 



'Vhile Valor's haughty champions wait 
Till all their scars are shown, 
Love walks unchallengeù through the 
gate, 
To sit beside the Throne! 


MUSA. 


o !tIY lost beauty ! - hast thou folded 
quite 
Thy wings of morning light 
Beyonù those iron gates 
'Vhere Life crowds hurrying to the hag- 
garel Fates, 
And Age upon his mound of ashes waits 
To chill our fiery dreanIs, 
Hot from the heart of youth plunged in 
his icy streaUIS 1 


Leave me not fading in tllese weeds of 
care, 
'Yhose flowers are silvered hair! 
Have I not loved thee long, 
Though my young lips have often done 
thee wrong, 
And vex eel thy heaven-tuned ear with 
careless song? 
Ah, wilt thou yet return, 
Bearing thy rose-hued torch, and bid 
thine a1tar burn 
 


COlne to me ! - I will flood thy silent 
shrine 
'Vith lIlY soul's sacred wine, 
Anù heap thy marble floors 
As the wild spice-trees waste their fra: 
grant stores, 
In leafy islands walled with madrepores 
.And lapped in Orient seas, 
'Yhen all their feathery palms toss, 
plume-like, in the breeze. 


Conie to me ! - thou shalt feed on hon- 
eyed words, 
Sweeter than song of birds; - 


1tIUSA. 


163 


No wailing bulbul's throat, 
No nlehing dulcin1er's melodious note 
'Vhen o'er the midnight wave its n1ur- 
nlurs float, 
Thy ravished sense might soothe 
'Yith flow so liquid-soft, with strain so 
vel vet-sIllooth. 


Thou shalt be decked with jewels, 1ike 
a queen, 
Sough t in those bowers of green 
'Vhere loop the clustered vines 
And the close-clinging dulcamara 1 
twines, - 
Pure pearls of 
Iaydew where the moon- 
light shines, 
And Summer's fruited gems, 
.And coral penùants shorn from Autumn's 
berrieù stems. 


Sit by me drifting on the sleepy waves, - 
Or stretched by grass-grown gr
ves, 
,V hose gray, high-shouldered stones, 
Carved with old names Life's tinIe-worn 
roll disowns, 
Lean, lichen-spotted, o'er th
 crumbled 
bones 
Still slun1bering where they lay 
'Vhile the sad Pilgrim watched to scare 
the wolf away. 


. 


Spread o'er my couch thy visionary 
wing! 
Still let tHe drean1 and sing, - 
Dream of that winding shore 
'Yhere scarlet cardinals bloom - for me 
no more, - 
The stream with heaven beneath its 
liquid floor, 
And rlustering nenuphars 
Sprinkling its mirrored blue like golden- 
chaliced stars! 


1 The H bitter-sweet" of 
 ew England js the 
Cclastr'u.s scandens, - "Bourreau des arbres" 
of the Canadian Fl'cnch. 



164 POEl\IS FRO
I THE AUTOCRAT OF TIlE BREAKFAST TABLE 


Come while their balms the linden - blos- 
soms shed!- 
Conle while the rose is red, - 
"\Yhile blue-eyed Summer smiles 
On the green rirples round yon sunken 
piles 
'Vashed by the moon-wave warm from 
Indian isles, 
And on the sultry air 
The chestnuts spread their palIns like 
holy men in prayer! 


o for thy burning lips to fire my brain 
'Vith thrills of wild, sweet pain!- 
On lifp's autumnal blast, 
Like shrivelled leaves, youth's passion- 
flowers are cast, - 
Once loving thee, we love thee to the 
last! - 
Behold thy new-decked shrine, 
Anli hear once more the voice that 
breathed "Forever thine!" 


A PARTING HEALTH. 


TO J. L. MOTLEY. 


YES, we knew \ve must lose hhn,- 
tllough friendship may claim 
To blend her green leaves with the lau- 
rels of fame ; 
Though fondly, at parting, we call lÚm 
our own, 
'T is the whisper of love when the bugle 
has blown. 


As tIle l'ider that rests with the spur on 
his heel, 
As the guardsn1an that sleeps in his 
corselet of steel, 
As the archer that stands with his shaft 
on the string, 
He stoops frOlll his toil to the garland 
we briug. 


"What pictures yet slunlber unborn in 
his loom, 
Till their warriors shall breathe and 
their beauties shall bloom, 
While the tapestry lengthens the life- 
glowing dyes 
That caugh t from our sunsets the stain 
of their skies ! 


In the alcoves of death, in the charnels 
of tin1e, 
Where flit the gaunt spectres of passion 
and crime, 
There a.re trhunphs untold, there are 
martyrs unsung, 
There a.re 11eroes yet silent to speak with 
his tongue ! 


Let us hear the proud story which time 
has bequeathe(l ! 
From lips that are warm with the free- 
dom they breathed! 
Let hin} summon its tyrants, and tell us 
their doom, 
Though he sweep the black past like 
Van 'fromp with his broom! 


* 


* 


* 


The dream flashes by, for the west-winds 
awake 
On 11an1pas, on prairie, 0' el
 n10untain 
and lake, 
To bathe the swift bark, like a sea- 
girdled shrine, 
"\Vith incense they stole from the rose 
and tIle pine. 


So fill a bright cup with the sunlight 
that gushed 
When the dead summer's jewels were 
trampled and crushed: 
THE TRUE K
IGIIT OF LEAItNING,- 
the world holds hinl dear,- 
Love bless hirn, Joy crown bim, God 
spee(l his career! 


1857. 



'YHAT 'VE ALL THIXI{. - SPRIXG HAS CO:\IE. 165 


WHAT WE ALL THINK. 


THAT age was ohler once than now, 
In spite of locks untinlely shed, 
Or silvered on the youthful brow; 
That babes make love and children 
wed. 


That sunshine had a heavenly glow, 
'Yhich faded with those "good old 
d " 
ays 
"\Yhen winters came l\'ith deeper snow, 
And autumns with a softer haze. 


That - mother, sister, wife, or child - 
The "best of women" each has 
known. 
"\Vere school-boys ever half so wild 1 
How young the gl'andpapas have 
grown ! 


That bztt fm' this our souls wer
 free, 
And but for that our lives were blest; 
That in SOllIe season yet to be 
Our cares will leave us time to rest. 


"\Vhene'er we groan with ache or pain,- 
Some common aihllent of the race, - 
Though doctors think the ma tter 
plain, - 
That ours is "a peculiar case." 


That when like babes with Hngers burned 
'Ye count one bitter rnaxinl nlore, 
Our le
son all the world has learned, 
And men are wiser than before. 


That when we sob o'er fancie(l woes, 
The angels hovering overhead 
Count every pitying drop that flows, 
And love us for the tears we shed. 


That wh
n we stand with tearless eye 
And turn the beggar from our door, 
They still approve us when we sigh, 
" Ah, had I but 01W tlwllsand llwre I" 


Though tenlples crowd the crumbled 
brink 
O 'erhan(,inO' truth's eternal flow, 
o 0 
Their tablets Lold with what 'lce think, 
Their echoes dunlb to 'lchat we know; 


That one unquestioned text we read, 
All doubt beyond, all fear above, 
N or crackling pile nor cursing creed 
Can burn or blot it: GUD IS LOVE! 


SPRING HAS COME. 


IXTRA M [,ROS. 


THE sunl)eams, lost for half a year, 
Slant through my pane their Inorning 
rays ; 
For dry llorthwesters cold and clear, 
The east blows in its thin blue haze. 


And first the snowùrop's bells are seen, 
Then close against the sheltering wall 
The tulip's horn of dusky green, 
The peony's dark unfolding ball. 


The golden-chaliced crocus burns; 
The long narcissus-blades appear; 
The cone-beaked hyacinth returns 
To light her blue-flamed chandelier. 


The willow's whistling lashes, wrung 
By the wild winds of gust.y l\Iarch, 
'Vith sallow leaflets lightly strung, 
Are swaying by the tufted larch. 


The elms have robed their slender spray 
"\Yith full-blown flower and embryo 
lflaf ; 
'Vide o'er the clasping arch of day 
Soars like a cloud their hoary chief. 


See the proud tulip's flaunting cup, 
That flames in glory for an hour, - 
Behold it withering, - then look up, - 
Howrueek the forest monarch's flower! 



166 POEMS FR01tI TIlE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


'Vhen wake the violets, 1Vinter dies; 
'Vhen sprout the elm-buds, Spring is 
near ; 
1Yhen lilacs blossom, Sumn1er cries, 
" Bud, little roses! Spring is here! " 


The windows blush with fresh bouquets, 
Cut with the 1\Iay-dew on their lips; 
The radish all its blooln displays, 
Pink as Aurora's finger-tips. 


N or less the flood of light that showers 
On beauty's changt:'ù corolla-shades,- 
The walks are gay as bridal bowers 
With rows of many-petalled maids. 


The scarlet shell-fish click and clash 
In the blue barrow where they slide; 
The horseman, proud of streak and 
splash, 
Creeps homeward from his morning 
ride. 


Here conles the dealer's awkward string, 
With neck in rope anù tail in knot,- 
Rough col ts, with careless country -swing, 
III lazy walk or slouching trot. 


'Vild filly from the mountain-side, 
Doomed to the close and chafing thills, 
Lend me thy long, untiring stride 
'ro seek with thee thy western bins! 


I hear the whispering voice of Spring, 
The thrush's trill, the robin's cry, 
Like some poor bird with prisoned wing 
That sits and sings; but longs to fly. 


o for one spot of living green,- 
One little spot where leaves can 
grow, - 
Te love un blamed, to walk unseen, 
To dream above, to sleep below 1 


PROLOGUE. 


A PROLOGUE? 'V ell, of course the ladies 
know; - 
I have my doubts. No matter, - here 
we go ! 
1Vhat is a Prologue? Let our Tutor 
teach : 
Pro lneans beforehand j logos stands for 
speech. 
'T is like the harper's prelude on the 
strings, 
The prinla donna's courtesy ere she 
sIngs: - 
Prologues in metre are to other pros 
As worsted stockings are to engine-hose. 
"The world's a stage," - as Shake.. 
speare said, one day; 
The stage a world - was l\'hat lIe meant 
to say. 
The outside world's a blunder, that is 
clear ; 
The real world that Nature meant. is here. 
Here every foundling finds its lost 
maITIma ; 
Each rogue, repentant, melts his stern 
papa; 
l\1isers relent, the spend thrift's de bts 
are paicl, 
The cheats are. taken in the traps they 
laid ; 
One after one the troubles all are past 
Till the fifth act COlnes right side up at 
last, 
1Vhen the young couple, old folks, 
rogues, and all, 
Join hands, so hal)PY at tlJe curtain's fall. 
Here suffering virtue ever fiuds relief, 
And black-browed ruffians always COlne 
to grief. 
'Vhen the lorn dan1sel, with a frantic 
screech, 
And cheeks as hueless as a brandy-peach, 
Cries, "Help, kyind Heaven!" and 
drops upon her knees 



PllOLOG"CE. 


167 


On the green - baize, - beneath the 
(canvas) trees, - 
See to her siùe avenging Valor fly:- 
"Ha! Villain! Draw! :K ow, Terrai- 
torr, yield or die ! " 
'Yhen .the })oor hero flounders in despair, 
Some d
ar lost uncle turns up million- 
naire, 
Clasps the young scrapegrace with pater- 
nal joy, 
Sobs on his neck, ".J.lly boy I .My BOY! ! 

IY BOY!! I" 


Ours, then, sweet friends, the real world 
to-night, 
Of love that conquers in ùisaster's spite. 
Ladies, attend! 'Vhile woful cares and 
dou bt 
,y rong the soft passion in the world 
without, 
Though fortune scowl, though prudence 
in terfere, 
One thing is certain: Love will triumph 
here ! 
Lords of creation, whom your ladies 
rule, - 
The world's great masters, when you're 
out of school, - 
Learn the brief Inoral of our evening's 
play: 

Ian has his will, - but woman has ller 
way! 
'Vhile man's dull spirit toils in smoke 
and fire, 
'V onlan' s swift instinct threads the elec- 
tric wire, - 
The magic bracelet stretched beneath 
the waves 
Beats the black giant with his score of 
slaves. 
All 
arthly powers confess your sov- 
ereign art 
But that one rebel, - woman's wilful 
heart. 
All foes you master, but a woman's wit 


Lets daylight through you ere you know 
you 'r
 hit. 
So, just to picture what her art can do, 
Hear an old story, made as good as new. 


Rudolph, professor of the headsnlan's 
trade, 
Alike was famous for his arm and blade. 
One day a }wisoner Justice had to kill 
h..nelt at the block to test the artist's 
skill. 
Bare-armed, swart-visaged, gaunt, and 
shaggy - browed, 
Rudolph the headsman rose above the 
crowd. 
His falchion lighted with a sudùen 
gleam, 
As the pike's armor flashes in the 
stream. 
He sheathed his blade; he turned as 
if to go; 
The victim knelt, still waiting for the 
blow. 
"'Yhy strikest not 1 Perform thy mur- 
derous act," 
The prisoner said. (His voice was 
slightly cracked.) 
"Friend, I hare struck," the artist 
straight replied; 
" 'Vait but one moment, and yourself 
decide. " 
He helLl his snuff-box, - " X ow then, 
if you please ! " 
The prisoner sniffed, and, with a crash- 
ing sneeze, 
Off his head tunlbled, - bowled along 
the floor, - 
Bounced down the steps; - the pris- 
oner said no n10re 1 
,\y on1an ! thy falchion is a glittering eye; 
If death lurk in it, 0 how sweet to tlie ! 
Thou takest hearts as Rudolph took the 
head; 
,\y e di
 with love, and never dream 
we're dead! .... 



168 POEMS FROM THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


LATTER-DAY WARNINGS. 


\V HEX legislators keep the law, 
\Vhen ùanks dispense with bolts and 
locks, - 
"Then berries - whortle, rasp, and 
stra \V - 
Grow bigger downwards through the 
box,- 


\Vhen he that sel1eth house or land 
Shows If'ak ill roof or fia w in right, - 
'Vh en haberdashers choose the stand 
\Vhose window hath the broadest 
light, - 


\Vhen preachers tell us all they think, 
And party leaùers all they mean, - 
\Vhen what we pay for, that we drink, 
Ifl'om real grape anù coffee-bean, - 


\Vhen lawyers take what they would 
gIve, 
Aud doctors give what they ,,?ould 
take, - 
\Vhen city fathers eat to live, 
Save when they fast for COD science' 
sake, - 


When one that hath a horse on sale 
Shall bring his merit to the proof, 
\Vithout a lie for every nail 
That holùs the iron on the hoof, - 


\Vhrn in the usual place for rips 
Our gloves are stitched with special 
ca re, 
AmI guarded well the whalebone tips 
'Vhere first umbr('llas Deed repair, - 


When Cuba's weeds have quite forgot 
The power of suction to resist, 
And claret-bottles harbor not 
Such dhnples as would hold your 
fì
t, - 


\Vhen publishers no longer steal, 
And pay for what they stole before, _ 
\Vhen the first locomotive's wheel 
RoH s through the Hoosac tUllnel's 
bore; - 


Till then let Cumming blaze away, 
And .l\Iiller's saints blow up the gloùe; 
But when you see that blessed day, 
Then order your ascension robe! 


ALBUM VERSES. 


\VHEN Eve had led her lord away, 
And Cain had killed his brother, 
The stars and flowers, the poets say, 
Agreed with one another 


To cheat the cunning tempter's art, 
And teach the race its duty, 
By keeping on its wicked heart 

rheir eyes of light and beauty. 


A million sleepless lids, they say, 
\Yill be at least a warning; 
And so the flowers would watch by day, 
The stars from eve to Inorning. 


On hill and prairie, field and lawn, 
Their dewy eyes upturning, 
The flowers still watch froln reddening 
dawn 
Till western skies are burning. 


Alas! each hour of daylight tells 
A tale of shanle so crushing, 
That some turn white as sea-bleached 
shells, 
And some are always blusl}ing. 


But when the patient stars look down 
On all their light discovers, 
The traitor's smile, the nlurderer's frown, 
The lips of lying lovers, 



A GOOD TI
IE GOING! 


They try to shut their saddening eyes, 
Aud in the vain enùed. VOl' 
'Ve see them twinkling in the skies, 
And so they wink forever. 


A GOOD TIME GOING I 


BRAVE singer of the coming time, 
Sweet minstrel of the joyous present, 
Crowned with the noblest wreath of 
rhyme, 
The holly-leaf of Ayrshire's peasa.nt, 
Good by! Good by! - Our hearts and 
hands, 
Our lips in honest Saxon phrases, 
Cry, God be with hÏ1n, till he stands 
His feet among the English daisies! 


'T is here we palt ; - for other eyes 
The busy deck, the fluttering streamer, 
The dripping arms that plunge and rise, 
The waves in foanl, the ship in tremor, 
The kerchiefs waving from the pier, 
The cloudy pillar gliding o'er him, 
The deep blue desert, lone and drear, 
"\Yith heaven above and home before 
him! 


IIis honle ! - the '\Vestern giant smiles, 
And twirls the spotty globe to find 
it ;- 
This little speck the British Isles? 
'T is but a freckle, - never mind it ! 
He laughs, and all his prairies roll, 
Each gurgling cataract roars and 
chuckles, 
And ridges stretched from pole to pole 
Heave till they crack their iron 
knuckles ! 


But 
Iemory blushes at the sneer, 
And Honor turns ",ith frown defiant, 
And Freedom, leaning on her spear, 
Laughs louder than the laughing 
giant: 


169 


U .An islet is a world," she said, 
"\Vhen glory with its dust has 
blended, 
And Britain keeps her noble dead 
Till earth and seas and skies are 
rended ! " 


Beneath each swinging forest-bough 
Some arm as stout in death reposes,- 
From wave-washed foot to heaven-kissed 
brow 
Her valor's life-blood runs in roses; 
Nay, let our brothers of the 'Vest 
,V rite smiling in their florid pages, 
One half her soil has walked the rest 
In poets, heroes, martyrs, sages! 


Hugged in the clinging billow's clasp, 
From sea-weed fringe to mountain 
heather, 
The British oak with rooted grasp 
Her slender handful holù
 together;- 
'\Vith cliffs of white and bowers of green, 
And Ocean narrowing to caress her, 
.And hills and threaded streams be- 
tween, - 
Our little mother isle, God bless her! 


In earth's broad temple where we stand, 
Fanned by the eastern gales that 
brought us, 
'Ve hold the missal in our hand, 
Bright with the lines our !Iother 
taught us. 
'\Vhere' er its blazon(1d page betrays 
The glistening links of gilded fetters, 
Behold, the half-turned leaf displays 
Her rubric stained in crhnson letters! 


Enough! To speed a parting friend 
'T is vain alike to speak and listen;- 
Yet stay, - these feeble accents blend, 
".'ïth rays of light from eyes that 
glisten. 
Good by! once more, - and kindly tell 



170 POE
IS FROM THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


In words of peace the young world's 
story, - 
And say, besides, we love too well 
Our lllothers' soil, our fathers' glory ! 


THE LAST BLOSSOM. 


TROUGH young no more, we still would 
dream 
Of beauty's dear deluding wiles; 
The leagues of life to gray beards seem 
Shorter than boyhood's lingering miles. 


Who knows a woman's wild caprice 
 
It played with Goethe's silvered hair, 
And Inany a Holy Father's "niece H 
Has softly smoothed the papal chair. 


When sixty bids us sigh in vain 
To ll1elt the heart of sweet sixteen, 
We think upon those ladies twain 
'Vho loved so well the tough old Dean. 


'Ve see the Patriarc1}'s wintry face, 
The maid of Egypt's dusky glow, 
And drpam that Youth and .Age cn1brace, 
As April violets fill with snow. 


Tranced in her lord's Olympian smile 
His lotus-Ioying l\iemphian lies, - 
The musky daughter of the Nile, 
With plaited hair anù almond eyes: 


I\Iight we but share one wild caress 
Ere life's autumnal blosson1s fall, 
.Anrl Earth's brown, clinging lips Ï1npress 
The long cold kiss that waits us all ! 


I\Iy bosom heaves, remembering yet 
The morning of that blissful day, 
When Rose, the flower of spring, I met, 
And gave my ral)tured soul away. 


Flung from her eyes of purest blue, 
A lasso, with its leaping chain, 


Light as a loop of larkspurs, flew 
0' er sense and spirit, heart and brain. 


Thou com'st to cheer my waning agr, 
Sweet vision, waited for so long! 
Dove tnat would seek the !>oet's cage 
Lured by the magic breath of song! 


She blushes! Ah, l'eluctant maid, 
Love's drapeau rouge the truth lIas 
told ! 
0' er girlhood's yielding barricade 
Floats the great Leveller's crimson 
fold! 


Come to my arms! -love heeds not 
)Tears ; 
No frost the bud of passion knows. - 
H a! what is this my freuzy hears 1 
A voice behind me uttered, - Rose! 


Sweet ,vas her sn1ile, - but not for me ; 
Alas! when woman looks too kind, 
Just turn your foolish head and see, - 
Some youth is walking close behind! 


CONTENTMENT. 


u 1.1an wants but little here below." 


LITTLE I ask; my wants are few; 
I only wish a hut of stone, 
(A very plain brown stone will do,) 
That I n1ay call my own; - 
And close at hand is such a one, 
In yonder street that fronts the sun. 


Plain food is quite enough for me ; 
Three courses are as good as ten;- 
If Nature can subsist on three, 
Thank Heaven for three. Amen! 
I always thought cold victual nice;- 

ly choice would be vanilla-ice. 
I care not much for gold or land;- 
Give me a mortgage here aud there,- 



ÆSTIV ATION. 


171 


80lne good bank-stock, some note of Of red morocco's gilded gleam, 
h d And vellum rich as countr y cream. 
an , 
Or tlifling railroad share, - 
I only ask that Fortune send 
A little more than I shall spend. 


Honors are silly toys, I kno\v, 
And titles are but empty names; 
I woulù, perhaps, be Plenipo, - 
But only near St. James; 
I 'n1 very sure I should not care. 
To fill our Gubernator's chair. 


Jewels are bawbles; 't is a SiD 
To care for such unfruitful things;- 
One good -sized diamond in a pin, - 
Some, not so large, in rings, - 
A rn by, and a pearl, or so, 
'Vill do for me ; - I laugh at show. 


1tly dame should dress in cheap attire; 
(Good, heavy silks are never llear;)- 
I own perhaps I 1night desire 
SOll1e shawls of true Cashmere, - 
Some marrowy crapes of China silk, 
Like wrinkled skins on scalùed nlÎlk. 


I would not have the horse I drive 
So fast that folks must stop and stare; 
An easy gait - two, forty-five- 
Suits me; I do not care; - 
Perhaps, for just a single spurt, 
SOHle seconds less would do no hurt. 


Of pictures, I should like to own 
Titialls and Raphaels three or four, - 
I love so much their style and tone, - 
One Turner, and no more, 
(A landscape, - foreground golden 
dirt, - 
The sunshine painted with a squirt.) 
Of books but fe,v, - some fifty score 
For daily use, anlI bound for wear; 
The rest upon an upper floor;- 
Some little luxury there 


Busts, cameos, gems, - such things as 
these, 
Which others often show for pride, 
I value for their power to please, 
And selfish churls deriùe;- 
One Stradivarius, I confess, 
Two 1tleerschaums, I would fain possess. 


Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn 
Nor ape the glittering upstart fool;- 
Shall not carved tables serve my turn, 
But all must be of buhl ? 
Give grasping pomp its double share, - 
I ask but one recumbent chair. 


Thus humble let me live and die, 
Nor long for 
Iidas' golden touch; 
If Heaven more generous gifts deny, 
I shall not miss them much, - 
Too grateful for the blessing l
nt 
Of simple tastes and mind content! 


ÆSTIVATION. 


AN UNPUBLISHED POE
{, BY ?try LATE 
LATIN TUTOR. 


IN candent ire the solar splendor flames; 
The foles, languescent, pend from arid 
rames ; 
His hun1Îd front the ci ve, anheling, 
wi pes, 
And dreams of erring on ven tiferous ri pes. 


How dulce to vive occult to mortal eYf'R, 
Dorm on the herb with none to supervisp, 
Carp the suave berries fronl the crescent 
VIne, 
And bibe the flow from longicaudate 
kine ! 


To me, alas! no verdurous visions COnlf', 
Save yon exiguous pool's confer va- 
scum, - 



172 POE1tIS FRO
I TIlE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


But the Deacon swore, (as Deacons do, 
With an "I dew vum," or an U I tell 
YCQU,") 
He would build one shay to beat the 
taown I 
'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun' ; 
OR, THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY." It should be so built that it co'ltldn' break 
daown : 
-"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t'smighty 
HAVE you heard of the wonderful one- plain 
hoss sbay, Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the 
That ,vas built in such a logical way strain; 
I t ran a hundred years to a day, 'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, 
And then, of a sudden, it - ah, but Is only jest 
stay, . T' make that place uz strong uz the rest. " 
1'11 tell you what happened without delay, 
Scaring the parson into fits, 
Friglttening people out of their wits, - 
Have YOll ever heard of that, I say 1 


No concave vast repeats the tender 1)ue 
That laves my milk-jug with celestial 
blue! 


}\f e wretched! Let n1e curr to quercine 
shades! 
Effund your albid hausts, lactiferous 
maids! 
0, D1ight I vole to some umbrageous 
clunlP, - 
Depart, - be off, - excede, - evade, - 
erump ! 


THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE; 


A LOGICAL STORY. 


Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. 
Gcorgius Rccundlts was then alive, - 
Snuffy old drone from the Gennan hive. 
Tllat was the year when Lisbon-town 
Saw the earth open and gulp lIeI' down, 
And Braddock's army was done so brown, 
Left without a scalp to its crown. 
I t was on the terrible Earthquake-day 
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss 
shay. 


N ow in building of chaises, I tell you 
what, 
There is always somewhere a weakest 
spot, - 
In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, 


In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sin, 
In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, - lurk- 
ing still, 
Find it somewhere you n1ust and will, - 
Above or below, or within or without, - 
And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, 
That a chaise breaks dO'W'Jt, but does }}'t 
wear out. 


So the Deacon inquired of the yillage 
folk 
'Yhere he could find the strongest oak, 
That could n't be split nor bent nor 
broke, - 
That was for spokes and floor and 
sills; 
fIe sent for lancewood to make tIle thins; 
The crossbars were ash, froID the straight- 
est trees, 
The panels of white-wood, that cuts like 
cheese, 
But lasts like iron for things like these; 
The hubs of logs from the "Settler's 
ellum," - 
Last of its titnber, - they could n't sell 
'em, 
N ever an axe llad seen their chips, 
Anù the wedges flew from between their 
Ii ps, 



THE DEACON'S 
IASTERPIECE. 


1 P-H) 
lù 


Their blunt ends frizzled like celery- 
ti 1)S ; 
Step anù prop-iron, bolt and screw, 
Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, 
Steel of the finest, bright and blue; 
Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and 
wide ; 
Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide 
Found in the pit when the tanner died. 
That was the way he "put her 
through." - . 
" Thpre !" said the Deacon, "naow 
she'll dew ! " 


Do! I tell you, I rather guess 
She was a wonùer, anù nothing less! 
Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, 
Deacon and deaconess droppell away, 
Chilùren and grandchildren - where 
were they 1 
But there stood the stout old one-hoss 
'Shay 
As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day ! 


EIGIITEE
 HU
ì)RED; - it came and 
found 
The Deacon's masterpiece strong and 
sound. 
Eighteen hundred increased by tcn ;- 
"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it 
then. 
Eighteen hundred and twenty came; - 
Running as us
al ; much the same. 
Thirty and forty at last arrive, 
And then CaIne fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE. 
Little of all "Te value here 
'Vakes on the morn of its hlfndredth year 
'Vithout both feeling and looking quper. 
In fact, tbere's nothing that keeps its 
youth, 
So far as I know', but a tree and truth. 
(This is a moral that runs at large; 
Take it. - Yon 're welcome. - No extra 
charge. ) 


FIRST OF X OVE){uER,-the Earthquake- 
day- 
There are traces of age in the one-hoss 
shay, 
A general flavor of mild decay, 
But nothing local, as one DJay say. 
There could n't be, - for the Deacon's 
art 
Had made it so like in every part 
That there was n't a chance for one to 
start. 
For the wheels were just as strong as the 
thills, 
And the floor was just as strong as the 
sills, 
....\.nd the panels just as strong as the floor, 
And the whipple-tree neither less nor 
Inore, 
.And the back-crossbar as strong as the 
fore, 
And spring and axle and hub encorc. 
AUll yet, as a v:lwle, it is past a doubt 
In another hour it will be 'lcorn out! 


First of N overnber, 'Fifty-five! 
This n10rning the parson takps a drive. 
Sow, sn1alll)oys, get out of the way! 
Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, 
Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. 
" Huddup !" said the parson. -- Off 
"
en t they. 
The parson "
as working his Sunday's 
text, - 
Had got to fift7Ûy, and stopped per- 
plexed 
At what the -1tloses- was comIng 
next. 
All at once the horse stood still, 
Close by the rneet'n' -house on the hill. 
- First a shiver, and then a thrill, 
Then something decidedly like a spill,- 

-\.ud the parson was sitting upon a rock, 
...\.t half past nine by the nlCCt' 11 , -house 
clock, - 
Just the hour of the Earthqu.akc shock! 



174 POEl\IS FRO
I THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAI{FAST TABLE. 


- 'Vhat do you think the parson fonnd, 
When he got up anù stared around 1 
The poor old chaise in a heap or nlound, 
As if it had been to the mill and ground! 
You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, 
How it went to pieces all at once, - 
All at once, and nothing first, - 
Just as bubbles do when they burst. 


Enù of the wonderful one-hoss shay. 
Logic is logic. That's all I say. 


PARSON TURELL'S LEGACY. 


OR, THE PRESIDENT'S OLD ARM-CHAIR. 


A MATHEMATICAL STORY. 


FACTS respecting an old arm-chair. 
At Cambridge. Is kept in the College 
there. 
Seenls but little the worse for wear. 
That's remarkable when I say 
It was old in President ;Holyoke's day. 
(One of his boys, perhaps you know, 
Dipd, at one hundred, years ago.) 
He took lodgings for rain or shine 
Under green bed-clothes in '69. 


Know old Cambridge? Hope youdo.- 
Born there 1 Don't say so! I was, too. 
(Born in a house with a gambrel-roof,- 
Standing still, if you must have proof.- 
"Galnbrel 1- Gaml)rcl ?" - Let me beg 
You '11 look at a horse's hinder leg, - 
First great angle above the hoof, - 
That's the ganlbrel; hence gambrel- 
roof.) , 
- Nicpst place that ever was seen, - 
Colleges I'ed and Conlmon green, 
Siùewalks brownish with trees between. 
Rwef'test spot bC'neath the skies 
'\Then the canker-worms don't rise, - 
"\Vhen the dust, that sometimes flics 
Into your nlouth anù cars and eyes, 
In a quiet slunlber lies, 


Not in the shape of un baked pies 
Such as barefoot children prize. 


A kind of harbor it seems to be 
, 
Facing the flow of a boundless sea. 
Rows of gray old Tutors stand 
Ranged like rocks above the sand ;" 
Rolling beneath them, soft and green, 
Breaks the tide of bright sixteen, - 
One wave, two waves, three waves, 
four, - 
Sliding up the sparkling floor: 
Then it ebbs to flow no more, 
Wandering off from shore to shore 
'Vith its freight of golden ore ! 
- Pleasant place for boys to play;- 
Better keep your girls away; 
Hearts get rolled as pebbles do 
'Vhich countless fingering waves pursue, 
And every classic beach is strown 
With heart-shaped pebbles of blood-red 
stone. 


But this is neitller here nor there;- 
I 'ro talking about an old ann-chair. 
You've heard, no doubt, of PARSON 
TURELL 1 
Over at 1tIedford he used to dwell; 
l\Iarried one of the 1\Iathers' folk; 
Got with his wife a chair of oak,- 
Funny old cllair with seat like wedg(1, 
Sharp bebind and broad front edge, - 
One of the oddest of human things, 
Turned all over with knobs and rings,- 
But heavy, and wide, and deep, and 
grand, - 
Fit for the worthies of the land, - 
Chief Justice Sewall a cause to try in, 
Or Cotton l\[ather to sit - aud lie - in. 
- Parson Turell beqlwatheå tIlC Saine 
To a certain studcnt, - S.
nTII by llaIlle ; 
These were the tenus, as ,ve are told: 
"Saiùe Slnith saide Chaire to lIave ana 
holdc ; 
When IJ.e doth graduate, then to l)<L$:;C 



PARSON TURELL'S LEGACY. 


'1:0 
 oldest Youth in ye Senior Classe. 
On Payment of" - nan1Íng a certain 
sum) - 
" By him to whom ye Chaire shall come; 
He to ye oldest Senior next, 
Anù soa forever," - (thus runs the 
text,) - 
" But one Crown lesse then he gave to 
claime, 
That being his Debte for use of same." 
Bm,ith transferred it to one of the 
BRo,vNs, 
And took his money, - five silver 
crowns. 
Brown delivered it up to 
IOORE, 
"\Vho paid, it is plain, not five, but four. 
J.loore made over the chair to LEE, 
"\Vho gave him crowns of silver three. 
Lee conveyed it unto DRE'V, 
And now the paynlent, of course, was two. 
IJre1.o gave up the chair to DUN
,- 
All he got, as you see, was one. 
Dlt'nn released the chair to HALL, 
And got by the bargain no crown 3.t all. 
- And now it passed to a second BRon'x, 
'Vho took it and likewise claimed a 
C1'lj'l.C'n. 
,rhen Brown conveyed it unto 'V ARE, 
Having hml one crown, to make it fair, 
He paid him two crowns to take the 
chair; 
An(l Ware, being honest, (as all 'V ares 
be,) 
He paid one POTTER, who took it, three. 
Four got ROBIXSO
 ; five got .{)IX ; 
J OII
SOX primus ùenlanded six; 
And so the snnl k
pt gathering still 
Till after the battle of Bunker's lIill. 


- 'Yhcn paper nloney becanle so 
cheap, 
Folks would n't count it, but said "a 
heap, " 
A certain RICHARDS, - the books de- 
clare, - 


175 


(A. 
I. in '901 I've looked with care 
Through the Triennial, - narne not 
there,) - 
This person, Richards, was offered then 
Eightscore pounùs, but would have 
ten; 
Nine, I think, was the sum he took,- 
Xot quite certain, - but see the book. 
- By and by the wars were still, 
But nothing had altered the Parson's 
,vill. 
The old arm -chair was solid yet, 
But saddled with such a monstrous 
debt! 
Things gre,v quite too bad to bear, 
Paying such sums to get rid of the 
chair ! 
But dead men's fingers bold awful tight, 
And there was the will in black and 
white, 
Plain enough for a child to spell. 
'Vhat should be done no man could tell, 
For the chair was a kinù of night}llare 
curse, 
And every season but made it worse. 


As a last resort, to clear the doubt, 
They got old GOVERKOR HA
COCK out. 
The Governor came with his Light- 
horse Troop 
And his mounted trucknlen, all cock-a- 
hoop ; 
Halberds glittered and colors flew, 
French horns whinnied and trun1pets 
ble,v, 
The yellow fifes whistled between their 
teeth 
And the bumble-bee bass-drums boomed 
beneath; 
So he rode with all his band, 
Till the President nlet hitn, cap in hand. 
- The Governor " hefted" the crowns, 
and said, - 
"A will is a will, anù the Parsun's 
dead. " 



176 POEl\IS FROl\I THE AUTOCRAT OF TIlE BREAI{FAST TABLE. 


The Governor hefted the crowns. 
he,- 
"There is your p'int. 
fee. 
These are the terms you must fulfil, - 
On such conditions I BREAK THE 
WILL ! " 
The Governor mentioned 'what these 
should be. 
(Just wait a n1Ïnute and then you '11 see.) 
The President l)rayed. Then all \yas 
still, 
And the Governor rose and BROKE TIlE 
WILL ! 
- "About those conditions? " Well, 
now you go 
Anù do as I tell you, and then you'll 
know. 
Once a year, on Commencement day, 
If you'll only take the pains to stay, 
You'11 see the President in the CHAIR, 
Likewise tIle Governor sitting there. 
The Presiùent rises; both old and young 
J\Iay hear his speech in a foreign tongue, 
The nleanillg whereof, as lawyers swear, 


Said I Is this: Can I keep this olù arm-chair 1 
And then his Excellency bows, 
And here's my As much as to say that he allows. 
The Vice-Gub. next is called by name; 
He bows like t' other, which means the 
same. 
And all the officers round 'em bow, 
As much as to say that they allow. 
And a lot of parchments about the chair 
Are handeù to witnesses then and there, 
And then the lawyers hold it clear 
That the chair is saf
 for another year. 


God bless you, Gentlemen! Learn to 
give 

ioney to colleges while you live. 
Don't be silly and think you '11 try 
To bother the colleges, when you die, 
'Vith codicil this, aud codicil that, 
That Knowledge may starve while Law 
grows fat; 
For there never was pitcher that 
would n't spill, 
And there's always a flaw in a donkey's 
will ! 


ODE FOR A SOCIAL MEETING. 
WITH SLIGHT ALTERATIONS BY A TEETOTALER. 
CO
IE! fill a fresh bumper, for why should we go 
Iogwood 
While the 
' still reddens our cups as they flow! 
decoction 
Pour out the neB. j1'lié:e3 still bright with the sun, 
dye.stuff 
Till o'er the brinlmed crystal the 
 shall run. 


half-ripened apples 
The - - . .. -.... their life-dews have bled; 
o 
taste sugar of lead 
IIow sweet is the tn'fRth of the fra

'RHl'e they shed! 
ran k poisons ?omes ! ! ! 
For summer's 12.:
t rssea lie hid in the w.H+e8 
stahle-boys smoking long-ninel 
That were garnered by.' .' .. . _ . 0 . ' .' . '. 


scowl howl scoff øneer 
Then a 
, and a
, and a t
, and a eheer, 
strychnine an,d whiskey, and,ratsbane and 

er 
For' .. o. . w , - . .. .' 
In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in hall, 
Down, down with the tyrant that masters us aU J 
... . ..., 1 . 


. 40 


o 


';:> 



POE1\IS 


FROM THE 


PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


1858 - 1859. 


UNDER THE VIOLETS. 


HER hands are cold; her face is white; 
No more her pulses come and go ; 
Her eyes are shut to life and light; - 
Fold the white vesture, snow on Rnow, 
And lay her where the violets blow. 


But not beneath a graven stone, 
To plead for tears with alien eyes; 
A slender cross of wood alone 
Shall say, that here a maiden lies 
In peace beneath the peaceful skies. 


And gray old trees of hugest limb 
Shall wheel their circling shadows 
round 
To make the scorching sunlight dim 
That drinks the greenness from the 
ground, 
And drop their dead leaves on her 
mound. 


'Yhen o'er their boughs the squirrels 
run, 
And through their leaves the robins 
call, 
And, ripening in the autumn sun, 
The acorns and the chestnuts fall, 
Doubt not that she will heed theIll al1. 


For her the morning choir shan sing 
I ts matins from the branches high, 
And every nlinstrel-voice of Spring, 
That trills beneath the April sky, 
Shall greet her with its earliest cry. 
'Vhen, turning round their dial-track, 
Eastward the lengthening shadows 
pass, 
Her little mourners, clad in black, 
The crickets, sliding through the 
grass, 
Shall pipe for her an evening mass. 
At last the rootlets of the trees 
Shall find the prison where she lies, 
And bear the buried dust they seize 
In leaves and blossoms to the skies. 
So may the soul that warnled it rise! 


If any, born of kindlier blood, 
Should ask, 'Vhat nlaiden lies below 1 
Say only this: A tender bud, 
That tried to blossom in the snow, 
Lies withered where the violets blow. 


HYMN OF TRUST. 
o LOVE Divinp, that stooped to share 
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear, 



178 POEl\fS FRO:\I THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


On Thee we cast each earth -born car
, 
'Ve snlile at pain while Thou art near! 


Though long the weary way we tread, 
Anù sorrow crown each lingering year, 
No path we shun, no darkness dread, 
Our hearts still whispering, Thou art 
near! 


. 


'Vhen drooping pleasure turns to grief, 
And trembling faith is changed to fear, 
The munnuring wind, the quivering leaf, 
Shall softly tell us, Thou art near! 


On Thee we fling our burdening woe, 
o Love Divine, forever dear, 
Content to suffer while we know, 
Living and dying, Thou art near! 


A SUN-DAY HYMN. 


LORD of all being! throned afar, 
Thy glory flames from sun and star; 
Centre and soul of every spllere, 
Yet to each loving heart how near ! 


Sun of our life, thy quickening ray 
Sheds on our path the glow of day; 
Star of our hope, thy softened light 
Cheers the long watches of the night. 
Our nlidnight is thy smi1e witIrdra,Vll ; 
Our noontiùe is thy gracious dawn; 
Our rainLow arch thy nJercy's sign; 
All, save the clouds of sin, are thine ! 


Lord of all life, below, above, 
'Vhose light is truth, whose warmth is 
love, 
Before thy ever-blazing throne 
"r e ask no lustre of our own. 


Grant us thy truth to make us free, 
And kindling hearts that burn for thee, 
Till all thy living altars clainl 
One holy light, one heavenly flame! 


THE CROOKED FOOTPATH. 


AR, here it is! the sliding rail 
That marks the old remembered 
spot, - 
The gap that struck our school-boy 
trail, - 
The crooked path across the lot. 


It left the road by school and church, 
A pencilled shadow, nothing more, 
That parted from the silver-birch 
And ended at the farm-house door. 


No line or compass traced its plan; 
With frequent bends to left or right, 
In aimless,4 wayward curves it ran, 
But always kept the door in sight. 


The gabled porch, '\vith woodbine 
green, - 
The broken millstone at the sin, - 
Though nlany a rood n1ight stretch be- 
tween, 
The truant child could see them still. 


No rocks across the pathway lie, - 
No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown, - 
And yet it winds, we know not why, 
And turns as if for tree or stone. 


Perhaps some lover trod the way 
'Vith shaking knees and leaping 
heart, - 
And so it often runs astray 
'Vith sinuous sweep or sudùen start. 


Or one, perchance, with clouded brain 
From some unholy banquet reeled, - 
And since, our devious steps maintain 
IIis track across the trodden fielù. 


Nay, ({eem not thus, - no earthborn will 
Could ever trace a faultless line; 
Our truest steps are human still, - 
To walk unswerving were divine ! 



IRIS, HER BOOK. 


179 


Truants from love, we dream of wrath ;- 
0, rather let us trust the more! 
Through all the wanderings of the path, 
'Ye still can see our Father's door! 


IRIS, HER BOOK. 
I PRAY thee by the soul of her that bore 
thee, 
By thine own sister's spirit I implore 
thee, 
Deal gently with the leaves that lie be- 
fore thee ! 


For Iris had no mother to infold her, 
N or ever leaned upon a sister's shoulder, 
Telling the twilight thoughts that N a- 
ture told her. . 


She had not learned the mystery of 
awakinO' 
b 
Those chorded keys that soothe a sor- 
row's aching, 
Giving the dun'} b heart voice, that else 
were breaking. 


Yet lived, wrought, suffered. Lo, the 
pictured token ! 
1Yhy should her fleeting day-dreams 
fade unspoken, 
Like daffodils that die with sheaths un- 
broken? 


She knew not love, yet lived in maiden 
fancies, - 
'Yalked simply clad, a queen of high 
rOTnances, 
And talked strange tongues with angels 
in her trances. 


Twin-souled she seemed, a twofold na- 
ture wearing, - 
Sometimes a flashing falcon in her dar- 
ing, 
Then a poor mateless dove that droops 
despairing. 


Questioning aU things: Why her Lonl 
had sent her? 
'Vhat were these torturing gifts, antI 
,vherefore lent her 1 
Scornful ås spirit fallen, its own tor- 
men tor. 


And then all tears and anguish: Queen 
of Heaven, 
Sweet Saints, and Thou by mortal sor- 
rows rIven, 
Save TIle! 0, save me! ShaH I die 
forgiven 1 


And then - Ah, God! But nay, it 
little matters: 
Look at the wasted seeds that autumn 
scatters, 
The nlyriad germs that Nature shapes 
and shatters! 


If she had - Well! She longed, and 
knew not wherefore. 
Had the world nothing she might live 
to care for? 
No second self to say her evening prayer 
for 1 


She knew the marble shapes that set 
men dreanling, 
Yet with her shoulders bare and tresses 
streanling 
Showed not unlovely to her sinlple 
seeming. 


Vain? Let it be so! Nature was ller 
teac her. 
"That if a lonely and unsisterecl creature 
Loveù her own harnlless gift of pleasing 
feature, 


Saying, unsaddened, - This shall soon 
be faded, 
And double-hued the shining tresses 
braided, 



180 POEMS FRO
{ THE PROFESSOR AT TIlE BREAKFAST TABLE 


And all the sunlight of tlle morning Ye may Dot builù by IIa
rlem 1\leer, 
shaded? Nor yet along the Zuyder-Zee. 


- This her poor book is full of sad- 
dest follies, 
Of tearful slniles and laugl1Ìng melan- 
cholies, 
With summer roses twined and wintry 
hollies. 


In the strange crossing of uncertain 
chances, 
Somewhere, beneath some maiden's tear- 
dimmed glances 
1rIay fall her little book of dreams and 
fancies. 


Sweet sister! Iris, who shall never 
name thee, 
Trembling for fear her open heart may 
shan1e thee, 
Speaks from this vision-haunted page 
to claim thee. 


Spare her, I l)ray thee! If the maid is 
slepI,ing, 
Peace wit.h her! she has had her hour 
of weeping. 
No more! She leaves her menlory in 
thy keeping. 


ROBINSON OF LEVDEN. 


HE sleeps not here; in hope and prayer 
His wanJering flock had gone before, 
But he, the shepherd, might not share 
Their sorrows on the wintry shore. 


B('fore the Speedwell's anchor swung, 
Ere yet the 1.Iayflower's sail was 
spread, 
While round his feet the Pilgrims clung, 
The pastor spake, and thus he said:- 


"Men, brethren, sisters, children dear! 
God calls you hence from over sea; 


" Ye go to bear the saving word 
To tribes unnanled and shores untrod: 
Heed well the lessons ye have heard 
From those old teachers taught of God. 


" Yet think not unto them was lent 
All light for all the coming days, 
And Heaven's eternal wisdonl spent 
In making straight the ancient ways: 


"The living fountain overflows 
For every flock, for every lamb, 
N or heeds, though angry creeds oppose 
With Luther's dike or Calvin's dam." 


He spake: with lingering, long embrace, 
"\Vith tears of love and l}artings fond, 
They floated down the creeping l\laas, 
Along the isle of Ysselmond. 


Theypassed the frowning towers of Briel, 
The "Hook of Holland's" shelf of 
sand, 
And grated soon with lifting keel 
The sullen shores of Fatherland. 


No home for these! - too well the-y knew 
The mitred king behind the throne;- 
The sails were set, the pennons flew, 
And westward ho! for worlds un- 
known. 


- And these were they who gave us 
birth, 
The Pilgrims of the sunset wave, 
Who won for us this virgin earth, 
And freedom with the soil they gave. 


The pastor slumbers by the Rhine,- 
In alien earth the exiles lie, - 
Their nameless graves our holiest shrine, 
His words our noblest battle-cry! 



ST. ANTIIO
Y TIlE REFOR:\IER. - OPENING OF THE PIANO. 181 


Still cry them, and the world shall hear, 
Ye dwellers by the storm-swept sea! 
Ye have not built by Haerlem l.Ieer, 
N or on the land-locked Zuyder-Zee! 


ST. ANTHONV THE REFORMER. 


HIS TE:\IPTATION. 


No fear lest praise should n1ake us proud! 
'Ye know how cheaply that is won; 
The idle homage of the crowd 
Is proof of tasks as idly done. 
A surface-smile may pay the toil 
That follows still the conquering 
Right, 
'Yith soft, white hands to dress the spoil 
That sun-browned valor clutched in 
fight. 


Sing the sweet song of other days, 
Serenely placid, safely true
 
And o'er the present's parching ways 
The verse distils like evening dew. 
But speak in words of living power, - 
They fall like drops of scalding rain 
That plashed before the burning shower 
Swept o'er the cities of the plain! 
Then scowling Hate turns deadly pale, - 
Then Passion's half-coiled adders 
spring, 
And, slnitten through their leprous mail, 
Strike right and left in hope to sting. 


If thou, unmoved by poisoning wrath, 
Thy feet on earth, thy heart above, 
Canst walk in peace thy kingly path, 
Unchanged in trust, unchilled in 
love, - 


Too kind for bitter ,vords to grieve, 
Too firm for clamor to dismay, 
When Faith forbids thee to believe, 
And 
Ieeklless calls to disobey,- 


Ah, then beware of n10rtal pride! 
The smiling pride that calmly scorns 
Those foolish fingers, crimson dyed 
In laboring on thy crown of thorns! 


THE OPENING OF THE PIANO. 


IN t
e little southern parlor of the llouse 
JOU may have seen 
\Vith the gambrel-roof, and the gable 
looking westward to the green, 
At the side toward the sunset, with the 
window on its right, 
Stood the London-made piano I am 
dreaming of to-night! 


Ah me! how I remember the evening 
when it came! 
'Vhat a cry of eager voices, what a group 
of cheeks in flame, 
'Vhen the wondrous box was opened 
that had come fron1 over seas, 
With its smell of mastic-varnish and 
its flash of ivory keys! 


Then the children all grew fretful in the 
restlessness of joy; 
For the boy would push his sister, and 
the sister crowd the boy, 
Till the father asked for quiet in his 
grave paternal way, _ 
But the mother hushed the tun1ult with 
the words, "Now, 
Iary, play." 


For the dear soul knew that music was 
a very sovereign balm; 
She had sprinkled it over Sorrow and 
seen its brow grow calm, 
In the days of slender harpsichords with 
tapping tinkling quills, 
Or carolling to her spinet with its thin 
metallic thrills. 


So 1tlary, tIle household minstrel, who 
always loved to please, 



182 POEMS FRO
I THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


Sat down to the new "Clementi," and 
struck the g1ittering keys. 
Hushed were the chilùren's voices, anù 
every eye grew dinl, 
As, floating fronl lip and finger, arose 
the "Vesper Hymn." 


- Catharine, child of a neighbor, curly 
and rosy-red, 
('Vedùe(l since, and a widow, - some- 
thing like ten years dead,) 
Hearing a gush of nlusic such as none 
before, 
Steals from her mother' s chamber and 
peeps at the open door. 


Just as the "Jubilate U in threaded 
whisper dies, 
"Open it! open it, lady! U the little 
maiùen cries, 
(For she thought 't w-as a singing crea- 
ture caged in a box she heard,) 
"Open it! open it, lady! and let. me 
see the bÙ'd I " 


MIDSUMMER. 


HERE! sweep these foolish leaves away, 
I will not crush lllY brains to-day! 
J
ook ! are the southern curtains drawn 1 
Fetch lne a fan, and so begone ! 


Not that, - the palm-tree's rustling leaf 
Brought from a parching coral-reef! 
I ts breath is heated; - I would swing 
The broad gray plumes, - the eagle's 
wing. 


I hate these roses' feverish blood!- 
Plu('k me a half-blown lily-bud, 
A long-stemmed lily from the lake, 
Cold as a coiling water-snake. 


Rain me sweet odors on the air, 
Anù wheel me up my Indian chair, 


And spread some book not overwise 
Flat out before my sleel)Y eyes. 


- 'Vho knows it not, - this dead recoil 
Of weary fibres stretched with toil, - 
The pulse that flutters faint and low 
\Vhen Summer's seething breezes blow! 


o Nature! bare thy loving breast, 
And give thy child one hour of rest, - 
One little hour to lie unseen 
Beneath thy scarf of leafy green! 


So, curtained by a singing pine, 
I ts murmuring voice sllall blend with 
mIne, 
Till, lost in dreams, my faltering lay 
In sweeter music dies away. 


DE SAUTV. 


AN ELECTRO-CHEMICAL ECLOGUE. 


pJ'ofessor . 


Blue-Nose. 


PROFESSOR. 
TELL me, 0 Provincial! speak, Ceruleo- 
Nasal ! 
Lives there one De Sauty extant now 
among JTOU, 
Whispering Boanerges, son of silent 
, thunder, 
Holding talk with nations? 


Is there a De Sauty a1n bulant on Tel1n
, 
Bifid -cleft like nlortals, dormient in 
nigh tca p, 
Having sight, Slllen, hearing, food-re- 
ceiving feature 
Three times daily patent 1 


Breathes there such a being, 0 Cerulea- 
Nasal ? 
Or is he a 'Jnyth
(,s, - ancient word for 
"hunlbug," - 



DE SAUTY. 


183 


Such as Livy told about the wolf that And from time to time, in sharI) articu- 
wet-nursed lation, 
ROlllUlus and Remus'? Said, "All right I DE SAUTY." 
From the lonely station passeù the utter- 
ance, spreading 
Through the pines and hemlocks to the 
groves of steeples, 
Till the land 'was filled with loud rever- 
berations 
Of "All 'right/ DE SAUTY." 


'Yas he born of won1an, this alleged De 
Sauty'1 
Or a living product of galvanic action, 
Like the acar'lts bred in Crosse's flint-so- 
lution 1 
Speak, thou Cyano-Rhinal ! 


BLUE-XOSE. 
1.Iany things thou askest, jackknife- 
bearing stranger, 
1.Iuch-conjecturing mortal, pork-and- 
treacle- waster! 
Preternlit thy whittling, wheel thine 
ear-flap toward me, 
Thou shalt hear them answered. 


'Vhen the charge galvanic tingled 
through the cable, 
At the polal' focus of the wire electric 
Suddenly appeared a white-faced man 
among us : 
Called himself "DE SA UTY." 


As the small opossum held in pouch 
maternal 
Grasps the nutrient organ whence the 
ternl '111ßmmalia, 
So the unkno
vn stranger held the wire 
electric, 
Sucking in the current. 


"{hen the current strengthened, bloomed 
the pale-faced stranger, - 
Took no drink nor victual, yet grew fat 
a11e1 rosy, - 


'Vhen the current slackened, drooped 
the mystic stranger, - 
Faded, faded, faded, as the stream grew 
weaker, - 
'Vasted to a shadow, \vith a hartshorn 
odor 
Of disintegration. 


Drops of deliquescence glistened on his 
forehead, 
'Vhitened round his feet the dust of 
efflorescence, 
Till one 1\Ionday nlorning, when the flow 
suspended, 
There was no De Sauty. 
Nothing but a cloud of elementR organic, 
C. O. H. N. Fen'urn, Chlor. Flu. Sit 
Potassa, 
Calc. Sod. Phospho 
Iag. Sulplnlr, 
1,Iang. (?) Alunlin. (?) Cuprum, (?) 
Such as man is made of. 


Born of stream galvanic, with it he had 
perished ! 
There is no De Sa.uty now there is no 
cut:rent ! 
Give us a new cable, then again we'll 
hear him 
Cry, "All 'right / DE SAUTY." 




P 0 E )1 S 


FRO
I THE 


POET AT TI-IE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


1871-1872. 


HOMESICK IN HEAVEN. 


THE DIVIXE VOICE. 
Go seek thiue earth-born sisters, - thus 
the Voice 
That all obey, - the S3ß and silent 
three ; 
These only, while the hosts of Heaven 
rej oice, 
Sn1Ïle never: ask them what their 
sorrows be: 


And w 11Cll the secret of their gricfs they 
tell, 
Look on them with thy lllild, half- 
hunlan eyes; 
Say what thou wast on earth; thou 
knowest well; 
So shall they cease from unavailing 
sighs. 


THE AXGEL. 
- 'Vhy tI1US, apart, -the swift-winged 
herald spake, - 
Sit ye with silent lips and unstrung 
lyres 
'Vhile the trisagion's blending chords 
awake 
In shouts of joy from all the heavenly 
choirs ? 


THE FIRST SPIRIT. 
- Chi<.le not thy sisters, - thus the an- 
swer came;- 


Children of earth, our half-weaned 
nature clings 
To earth"s fond Inemories, and her whis- 
pered naIue 
Untunes our quivering lips, our sad- 
dened strings; 


For there we loved, and where we love 
is 110me, 
Home that our feet may leave, but not 
our hearts, 
Though o'er us shine the jasper-lighted 
don1e: - 
The chain may lengthen, but it never 
parts ! 


Sometinles a sunlit sphere comes rolling 
by, 
And then ,ve softly whisper, - can it 
be? 
And leaning toward the silyery orb, we 
try 
To hear the music of its murmuring 
sea; 


To catch, perchance, some flashing 
gliIllpse of green, 
Or breathe sorne wild-wood fragrance, 
wafted through 
The opening gates of pflarl, that folù 
between 
The blindingsplendorsalld thcchange- 
less blue. 



186 POEMS FROM THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


THE FIRST SPIRIT. 
-Ah, woe is me! 
I left him, orphaned, in the starless 
night; 
Alas, for him no cheerful morning's 
dawn! 
I wear the ransomed spirit's robe of 
white, 
Yet still I hear him moaning, She is 
gone 1 


THE ANGEL. 
- Nay, sister, nay! a single healing leaf 
Plucked from the bough of yon twelve- 
fruited tree, 
Would soothe such anguish, - deeper 
stabbing grief 
Has pierced thy throbbing heart - 


I from my clinging babe was rudely 
torn ; 
His tender lips a loveless bosom 
pressed ; 
Can I forget him in nlY life new born ? 
o that my darling lay upon my breast! 


THE ANGEL. 
-And thou?- 


THE SECOND SPIRIT. 
I was a fair and youthful bride, 
The kiss of love still burns upon my 
cheek, 
He whom I worshipped, ever at my 
side, - 
Him through the spirit realm in vain 
I seek. 


Sweet faces turn their beaming eyes on 
mine ; 
Ah! not in these the wished-for look 
I read; 
Still for that one dear human smile I 
pine; 
Thou and nonæ other 1- is the lover's 
creed. 


THE ANGEL. 
- And whence thy sadness in a world 
of bliss 
Where never parting con1es. nor 
mounler's tear? 
Art thou, too, dreaming of a mortal's kiss 
Amid the seraphs of the heavenly 
sphere 1 


THE THIRD SPIRIT. 
-Nay, tax not me with passion's wast- 
ing fire; . 
When the swift message set my Sl)irit 
free, 
Blind, llelpless, lone, I left my gray- 
haired sire ; 
bfy friends were many, he haù none 
save me. 


THE ANGEL. 
- Ye know me not, sweet sisters? - All 
In vaIn 
Ye seek your lost ones in the shapes 
they wore; 
The flower once opened may not bud 
again, 
The fruit once fallen finds the stem 
no more. 


Child, lover, .sire, - yea, all tll in gs 
loved below,- 
Fair pictures damasked on a va!JOr's 
fold, - 
Fade like tIle roseate flush, the golden 
glow, 
When the bright curtain of the day 
is rolled. 


I was the babe that slumbered on tlty 
breast. 
- And, sister, mine the lips that called 
thee bride. 
- }'Iine were the silvered locks thy hand 
caressed, 
That faithful hand, my faltering foot- 
step's guide! 



FAXT.\SIA. - AtrnT TABITHA. 


187 


Each changing form, frail vesture of 
decay, 
The soul unclad forgets it once hath 
worn, 
Stained with the travel of the weary day, 
And shamed with rents fronl every 
wa)"side thorn. 


To lie, an infant, in thy fond 
m brace,- 
To CaIne with love's warm kisses back 
to thee, - 
To show thine eyes thy gray-haired fa- 
ther's face, 
N at Heaven itself could grant; this 
Illay not be ! 


Then spread your folded wings, and 
leave to earth 
The dust once breathing ye have 
mourneù so long, 
Till Love, new risen, owns his heavenly 
birth, 
And sorrow's discords sweeten into 
song! 


FANTASIA. 


THE YOUNG GIRL'S POE!'I. 


KISS mine eyelids, beauteous 
Iorn, 
Blushing into life new-born! 
Lend me violets for my llair, 
And thy russet robe to wear, 
And thy ring of rosiest hue 
Set in drops of diamond dew ! 


Kiss my cheek, thou noontide ray, 
From nlY Love so far away! 
Let thy splendor streanling do"YJl 
Turn its pallid lilies brown, 
Till its darkening shades reveal 
\\There !lis passion pressed its seal ! 


Kiss DIY lips, thou Lord of light, 
Ki:ss my Ii ps a ioft good -night ! 


'Vestward sinks thy golden car; 
Leave me but the evening star, 
And my solace that shall be, 
Borrowing all its light from thee! 


AUNT TABITHA. 


THE YOUKG GIRL'S POE
I. 


WHATEVER I do, and whatever I say, 
Aunt Tabitha tells me that is n't the 
way; 
'Vhen she was a girl (fatty summers ago) 
Aunt Tabitha tells IllC they never did so. 


Dear aunt! If I only would take her 
advice! 
But I like my own way, and I find it so 
nice ! 
And besides, I forget half the things I 
am told; 
But they all will come back to Dle- 
when I an1 old. 


If a youth !1aSSeS by, it may happen, no 
doubt, . 
He may chance to look in as I chance to 
look out; 
She would never endure an Ï1npel'tinent 
sta re, - 
I t is lwrrid, she says, and I must n't sit 
there. 


A walk in the moonlight has pleasures, 
lawn, 
But it is n't quite safe to be walking 
alone; 
So I take a lad's arm, - just for safety, 
you know, - 
But Aunt Tabitha tells me they did n't 
do so. 


How wicked we are, and how good they 
were then ! 
They kept at arm's length those detesta- 
ble men; 



188 POEMS FRO
I THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


What an era of virtue sIle lived in!- 
But stay- 
Were the men all such rogues in Aunt 
Tabitha's day 1 


If the men were so wicked, I '11 ask my 
papa 
How he dared to propose' to my darling 
mamma; 
'Vas he like the rest of them 1 Good- 
ness! Who knows? 
Anù what shall I say, if a wretch should 
propose? 


I am thinking if Aunt knew so little of 
SIll, 
'Vhat a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt 
Inust have been! 
And her grand-aunt - it scares me- 
how shockingly sad 
That we girls of to-day are so frightfully 
bad! 


A martyr will save us, and nothing else 
can; 
Let me perish - to rescue some wretched 
young man! 
Though when to the altar a victim I go, 
Aunt Tabitha'11 tell me she never did so! 


WIND-CLOUDS AND STAR-DRIFTS. 


FROM THE YOUNG ASTRONOMER'S POEM. 


1. 


Al\IBITION. 


That leads my footsteps to the heaven 
of fame, 
Where waits the wreath my sleel)less 
midnights won? 
Not the stained laurel such as heroes 
wear 
That withers when some stronger con- 
queror's heel 
Treads down their shrivelling trophies 
in the dust; 
But the fair garland whose undying 
green 
Not tinle can change, nor wrath of gods 
or men ! 


With quickened heart-beats I shall 
hear the tongues 
That speak my praise; but better far 
the sense 
That in the unshaped ages, buried deep 
In the dark nlines of un accomplished 
time 
Yet to be stamped with morning's royal 
die 
And coined in golden days, - in those 
dim years 
I shall be reckoned with the undying 
dead, 
!\Iy name em bl3:zoned on the fiery arch, 
Unfading till the stars themselves shall 
fade. 
Then, as they call the r
ll of shining 
wor hIs, 
Sages of race unborn in accents new 
Shall count me with the Olympian ones 
of old, 
"\Vhose glories kindle tlll'ough the miù- 
night sky: 
II ere glows the God of Battles; this 
reca] Is 
TlIe l..ord of Ocean, and yon far-off sphere 
The Sire of Him who gave hi:; ancient 


ANOTHER clouded night; the stars are 
hid, 
The orb that waits n1Y search is hid with 
them. 
Patience! "\Vhy grudge an hour, a 
month, a year, 
To I)Iant my ladùer and to gain tIlc To thc dinl l)lanet with the wonùrous 
round rings; 


nafoe 



WIND-CLOUDS AND STAR-DRIFTS. 


189 


Here flames the Queen of Beauty's silver 
lan1 p, 
And thpl'e the rnoon-girt orb of mighty 
Jove; 
But tkis, unseen through all earth's æons 
pab t, 
A youth who watched beneath the west- 
ern star 
Sought in the darkness, found, and 
shewed to men; 
Linked with his name thenceforth and 
evern10re ! 
So shall that nan1e be syllabled anew 
In all the tongues of all the tribes of 
men: 
I that have been through immemorial 
years 
Dust in the dust of my forgotten time 
Shall live in accents shaped of blood- 
wanu breath, 
Yea, rise ill mortal semblance, newiy 
born 
In shining stone, in undecaying bronze, 
And stand on high, and look serenely 
down 
On the new race that calls the earth its 
own. 


Is this a cloud, that, blown athwart 
my soul, 
"rears a false seeming of the pearly stain 
\Vhere worlds beyond the world their 
mingling rays 
Blend in soft white, - a cloud that, born 
of earth, 
\V ould cheat the soul that looks for light 
fronl hea v
n ? 
JtIust every coral-insect leave his sign 
On each poor grain he lent to build the 
reef, 
As Babel's builders stamped their sun- 
burnt clay, 
Or deem his patipnt service all in vain? 
\Yhat if another sit beneath the shade 
Of the broad ehn I planted by the way, - 


\Vhat if another heed the beacon Haht 
b 
I set upon the rock that wrecked my 
keel, - 
Have I not done my task and served my 
kind ? 
Nay, rather act thy part, unnamed, un- 
known, 
Anù let Fame blow her trumpet through 
the world 
\Vith noisy wind to swell a fool's re- 
nown, 
Joined with some truth he sturn bled 
blindly o'er, 
Or coupled with some single shining 
deed 
That in the great account of all his 
days 
,V ill stand alone upon the bankrupt 
sheet 
His pitying angel shows the clerk of 
Heaven. 
The noblest service comes from nameles
 
hands, 
And the best servant does his work un- 
seen. 
'Yho foun d the seeds of fire and nlade 
them shoot, 
Fed by his breath, in buds and flowers 
of flanle î 
'Vho forged in roaring flames the pon- 
derous stone, 
And shaped the moulded metal to llis 
need 1 
"no gave the dragging car its rolling 
wheel, 
And tamed the steed tbat wbirls its 
circling round? 
All these have left their work and not 
their names, - 
'Yhy should I murnlur at a fate like 
tlwirs ? 
This is Ule heavenly light; the pearly 
stain 
'Vas but a wind-cloud drifting o'er the 
stars ! 



190 POE
IS FRO
I TIlE POET AT THE BREAI{FAST TABLE. 


II. 


REGRETS. 


Bn.IEF glimpse
 of the bright celestial 
spheres, 
False lights, false shadows, vague, un- 
certain gleams, 
Pale vaporous mists, wan streaks of lurid 
flan1 e, 
The clinlbing of the uPlrard-sailing 
cloud, 
The sinking of the downward-falling 
star, - 
All these are pictures of the changing 
Inoods 
Borne through the midnight stil1ness of 
my soul. 
Here am I, bound upon this pillared 
rock, 
Prey to the vulture of a vast desire 
That feeds upon my life. I burst my 
bands 
And steal a moment's freedom from the 
beak, 
The clinging talons and the shadowing 
plumes; 
Then conleS the false enchantress, with 
her song; 
"Thou wouldst not lay thy forehead in 
the dust 
Like the base herd that feeds and breeds 
and dies! 
Lo, the fair garlands that I weave for 
thee, 
Unchanging as the belt Orion wears, 
Bright as the jewels of the seven-starred 
Crown, 
The spangled strf'am of B{lrenice's hair! " 
And so she twines the fetters with the 
flowers 
Around my yielding limbs, and the fierce 
bird 
Stoops to llis quarry, - then to fced his 
rage 


Of ravening hunger I must drain Tny 
blood 
And let the dew-drenched, poison-breed- 
in er nioht 
I:> I:> 
Steal all the freshness from my fading 
cheek, 
And leave its shadows round my cav- 
erned eyes. 
All for a line in some unheeded scroll ; 
All for a stone that tells to gaping 
clowns, 
"Here lies a restless wretch beneath a 
clod 
Where squats the jealous nightmare men 
call Fame ! " 


I marvel not at him who scorns his 
kind 
And thinks not sadly of the tin1e fore- 
told 
'\Vhen the old hulk we tread shall be a 
wreck, 
A slag, a cinder drifting through the 
sky 
"\Vithout its crew of fools! 'Ye live too 
long 
And even so are not content to die, 
But load the mould that covers up our 
bones 
'Vith stones that stand like beggars by 
the road 
And show death's grievous wound and 
ask for tears; 
Write our great books to teach men who 
we are, 
Sing our fine songs that tell in artful 
1)h1'ase 
The secrets of our lives, and pl!'ad and 
pray 
For alms of n1emory with the after tiInc, 
Those few swift seasons while the earth 
shall wear 
I ts leafy sumlners, ere its core grows cold 
Aud the rnoi"t life of all that breathes 
shall die ; 



'VIXD-CLOUDS AND STAR-DRIFTS. 


lÐl 


Or as the new-born seer, perchance more 
wise, 
',ould have us deem, before its growing 
111 ass, 
Pelted with star-dust, stoned with me- 
teor- bans, 
Heats like a hanllnered anvil, till at last 
l.Ian and his works and all that stirred 
itself 
Of its own motion, in the fiery glow 
Turns to a flaming vapor, and our orb 
Shines a new sun for earths that shall be 
born. 


I am as old as Egypt to myself, 
Brother to then1 tha t squared the pyra- 
n1Ïds 
By tbe same stars I watch. I read the 
page 
'Yhere every letter is a glittering world, 
'Yith them who looked from Shinar's 
clay-built towers, 
Ere yet the wanderer of the 
Iidland 
sea 
Had missed the fallen sister. of the seven. 
I dwell in spaces vague, remote, un- 
known, 
Save to the silent fe\v, who, leaving 
earth, 
Quit all communion with their Ii ving 
time. 
I lose myself in that ethereal void, 
Till I have tired my wings and long to 
fill 
ltly breast with denser air, to stand, to 
walk 
'Yith eyes not raised above my fellow- 
men. 
Sick of DlY unwalled, solitary realm, 
I ask to change the myriad lifeless 
worlds 
I visit as nline own for one poor patch 
Of this dull spheroid and a little breath 
To shape in word or deed to serve my 
kinù. 


'Vas ever giant's dung(1on dug so deep, 
'Vas ever tyrant's fetter forgeù so strong, 
'Vas e'er such deadly l)oÜ;on in the 
draught 
The false wife mingles for the trusting 
fool, 
As he -whose willing victim is 11inlse1f, 
Digs, forges, mingles, for his captive 
soul? 


III. 


SnIP ATHIES. 


THE snows that glittered on the disk of 
ltIars 
Have melted, ånd the planet's fiery orb 
Rolls in the crinlson sumnlCr of its year; 
But what to me the sunnner or the snow 
Of worlds that throb with life in fornls 
unknown, 
If life indeed be theirs; I heed not 
these. 

Iy heart is simply hun1an ; all nlY care 
For thelll whose dust is fashioned like 
nline own ; 
These ache with cold and hunger, live 
in pain, 
.And slH1ke with fear of worlds nlore full 
of woe ; 
There may be others worthier of nlY 
love, 
Eu t SUell I know not save through these 
I know. 


There are two yeils of language, Ilid be. 
neath 
'Yhose sheltering folds, we dare to be 
ourselves; 
And not that other self which nods and 
sn1Ïles 
And babbles in our name; tIle one is 
Prayer, 
Lending its licensed freedon1 to t1lC 
tongue 



192 POEMS FROM THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


That tells our sorrows and our sins to 
Heaven; 
The other, Verse, that throws its spangled 
web 
Around our naked speech and makes it 
bold. 
I, whose best prayer is silence; sitting 
dumb 
In the great temple where I nightly 
serve 
Him who is throned in light, have dared 
to clain1 
The poet's franchise, though I may not 
hope 
To wear his garland; hear me while I 
tell 
. 

Iy story in such forD1 as poets use, 
But breathed in fitful whispers, as the 
win<l 
Sighs ancl then slunlbers, wakes and 
sighs again. 


Thou Vision, floating in the breathless 
air 
Between me and tl1e fairest of the stars, 
I tell my lonely thoughts as unto thee. 
Look not for marvels of the scholar's pCll 
In my rude measure; I can only show 
A slender-lnargined, unilluminecl page, 
And trust its meaning to the flattering 
eye 
That reads it in the gracious light of 
love. 
Ah, wouldst thou clothe thyself in 
breathing shape 
Aucl nestle at my side, my voice should 
lend 
Whate'er my verse may lack of tender 
rhythm 
To n1ake thee listen. 
I have stood entranced 
When, with her fingers ,vandering o'er 
the keys, 
The white el1chantres
 with the golden 
hair 


Breathed all her soul through some un.. 
valued rhynle ; 
SOllle flower of song that long had lost 
its bloonl ; 
Lo! its dead summer kindled as she 
sang! 
The sweet contralto, like the ringdove's 
coo, 
Thrilled it with brooding, fond, caress- 
ing tones, 
And the l)ale minstrel's passion lived 
agaIn, . 
Tearful and trembling as a dewy rose 
The wind has shaken till it fills the air 
With light and fragrance. Such the 
wondrous charm 
A SOllO' can borrow when the bosom 
o 
throbs 
That lends it breath. 
So from the poet's lips 
His verse sounds doubly sweet, for none 
like hiIn 
Feels every cadence of its wave.like 
flow ; 
He lives the passion over, while he reads, 
That shook hin1 as he sang his lofty 
strain, 
And pours his life through each resound- 
ing lil1
, 
As ocean, when the stormy winds are 
bushed, 
Still rolls and thunders through his bil- 
lowy caves. 


IV. 


MASTER AND SCHOLAR. 


LET me retrace the record of the years 
That lnade me what I am. A man most 
wise, 
But overworn with toil and bent with 
age, 
Sought Jne to be his scholar, - DH', run 
'"' ild 



"ìXD-CLOUDS Å-
D STAR-DRIFTS. 


193 


From books and teachers, - 
indled in 
my soul 
The love of knowledge; led me to his 
tower, 
Showed me the wonders of the n1idllight 
realm 
His hollow sceptre ruled, or seemed to 
rule, 
Taught me the mighty secrets of the 
spheres, 
Trained DIe to find the glimmering specks 
of light 
Beyond the UIlaided sense, and on my 
chart 
To string them one by one, in order due, 
As on a rosary a saint his beads. 
I was his only scholar; I became 
The echo to his thought; whate'er he 
knew 
'Yas mine for asking; so from year to 
year 
"r e ,yrought together, till there ('ame a 
time 
'Vhen I, the learner, was the master 
· half 
Of the twinned being in the dome- 
crowned tower. 


l\finds roll in paths like planets; they 
revolve 
This in a larger, tllat a narrower ring, 
But round they come at last to that same 
phase, 
That selfsalne light and shade they 
showed before. 
I learned his 'annual and his monthly 
tale, 
His werkly axionl and his daily phrase, 
I felt thenl coming in the laden air, 
And watched them laboring up to vocal 
breath, 
Even as the first-born at his father's 
board 
Knows pre he speaks the too familiar 
jest 


Is on its way, by some mysterious 
sign 
Forewarned, the click before the striking 
bell. 


He shrivelled as I spread my growing 
lea ves, 
Till trust and reverence changed to pity- 
in ()' care . 
b , 
He lived for me in what he once ha(1 
been, 
But I for him, a shaclow, a defence, 
The guardian of his fame, his guide, his 
staff, 
Leaned on so long he fell if left alone. 
I was his eye, his ear, his cunning 
hand, 
Love was my spur and longing after 
fame, 
But his, the goading thorn of sleepless 
age 
That sees its shortening span, its length- 
ening shades, 
Tha
 clutches what it may with eager 
grasp, 
And drops at last with empty, out- 
stretched llands. 
All this he dreamed not. He would 
sit him down 
Thinking to work his problems as of 
old, 
And find the star he thought so plain a 
blur, 
The columned figures labyrinthine wilùs 
'Yithout nlyeomnlent, blind and sense- 
less sera w Is 
That vexed him with t11eir riddles; he 
would strive 
And struggle for a whi1e, and then his 
eye 
'V ould lose its light, and over all his 
minù 
The cold gray mist would settle; and 
erelong 
The darkness fell, and I was left alone. 



194 POEMS FROM THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


v. 


ALONE. 


ALONE! no climber of an Alpine cliff, 
No Arctic venturer on the waveless spa, 
Feels the dread stillness round him as it 
chills 
The heart of him who leaves the slum- 
bering earth 
To watch the silent worlds that crowd 
the sky. 
Alone! And as the shepherd leaves his 
flock 
To feed upon the hillside, he meanwhile 
Finùs converse in the warblings of the 
pipe 
Himself has fashioned for his vacan t 
hour, 
So have I grown con1panion to myself, 
And to the ,vandering spirits of the air 
That smile and whisper round us in our 
dreams. 
Thus have I learned to search if I may 
know 
The whence and why of all beneath the 
stars 
And all beyond them, and to weigh my 
life 
As in a balance, - poising good and ill 
Against each other, - asking of the 
Power 
That flung me forth among the whirling 
worlds, 
If I anl heir to any inborn right, 
Or only as an atom of the dust 
That every wind may blow where'er it 
will. 


VI. 


QUESTIONING. 
I AM not humble; I was shown my 
place, 
Clad in such robes as Nature had at 
hand; 


Took what she gave, not chose; I know 
no shame, 
No fear for being simply what I am. 
I anl not proud, I hold nlY every breath 
At Nature's mercy. I am as a babe 
Borne in a giant's arms, he knows not 
where ; 
Each several heart-beat, counted like the 
COIll 
A miser reckons, is a special gift 
As from an unseen hand; if that with- 
hold 
I ts bounty for a moment, I anl left 
A clod upon the earth to which I fall. 


Something I find in me that well might 
claim 
The love of beings in a sphere above 
This doubtful twilight world of right 
and wrong; 
Something that sho,
 me of the self- 
san1e clay 
That creeps or swinls or flies in humblest 
form. 
Had I been asked, before I left my bpd 
Of shapeless dust, what clothing I would 
wear, 
I would have said, 1vlore angel and less 
worm; 
But for their sake who are even such as I, 
Of the Sa1ne mingled blood, I would not 
cb oose 
To hate that meaner portion of myself 
'\Vhich makes me brother to the least of 
men. 


I dare not be a coward with n1Y lips 
'Vho dare to question all things in my 
soul ; 
Some men may find their wisdom on 
thei r knees, 
Some prone and grovelling in the dust 
like slaves ; 
Let the meek glowworm glisten in the 
dew; 



"rIND-CLOUDS Ål
D STAR-DRIFTS. 


195 


I ask to lift nIY taper to the sky 
As they who 110ld their lamps above 
their heads, 
Trusting the larger currents up aloft, 
Rather than crossing eddies round their 
breast, 
Threatening with every puff the flicker- 
ing blaze. 


1tly life shall be a challenge, not a truce ! 
This is my homage to the mightier 
powers, 
To ask my Loldest question, undismayed 
By nluttered threats that some hysteric 
sense 
Of wrong or insult will convulse the 
throne 
Where wisdom reigns supreme; and if I 
err, 
They all must err who have to feel their 
way 
As bats that fly at noon; for what are we 
But creatures of the night, dragged forth 
by day, 
Who needs must stumble, and with 
stamnlering steps 
Spell out their paths in syllables of pain? 
Thou wilt not hold in scorn the child 
who dares 
Look up to Thee, the Father, - dares to 
ask 
More than Thy wisdom answers. From 
Thy hand 
The worlds were cast; yet every leaflet 
claims 
From that sanle hand its little shining 
sphere 
Of star-lit dew; thine image, the great 
sun, 
Girt with his mantle of ten1pestuous 
flame, 
Glares in mid-heaven; but to his noon- 
tide b1aze 
The slender violet lifts its lidless eye, 


And fronl his splendor steals its fairest 
hue, 
I ts sweetest perfume fronl his scorching 
fire. 


VII. 


WORSHIP. 


FRO
I my lone turret as I look around 
0' e1' the green meadows to the ring of 
blue, 
From slope, from summit, and from 
half-hid vale 
The sky is stabbed with dagger-pointed 
spires, 
Their gilded synl bols w hiding in the 
wind, 
Their brazen tongues proclaiming to 
the world, 
"Here truth is sold, the only genuine 
ware j 
See that it has our trade-mark ! You 
will buy 
Poison instead of food across the way, 
The lies of -" this or that, each sev- 
eral name 
The standard's blazon and the battle- 
cry 
Of some true-gospel fartion, and again 
The token of the Beast to all beside. 
And grouped round each I see a hud- 
dling crowd 
Alike in all things save the words they 
use j 
In love, in longing, hate and fear the 
same. 


'Yhom do we trust and serve 1 "T e 
speak of one 
And bow to many; Athens still would 
find 
The shrines of all she worshipped safe 
within 
Our tall barbarian temples, and the 
thrones 



196 POEl\fS FROM: THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


That crowned Olympus mighty as of old. 
The god of music rules the Sabbath 
c110ir ; 
The lyric muse must leave the sacred 
nIne 
To help us please the dilettante's ear; 
Plutus linlps homeward with us, as we 
leave 
The portals of the temple where ""e knelt 
And listened while the god of eloquence 
(Hennes of ancient days, but now dis- 
guised 
In sable vestments) with that other god 
Somnus, the son of Erebus and N ox, 
Fights in unequal contest for our souls; 
The dreadful sovereign of the under 
world 
Still shakes his sceptre at us, and we hear 
The baying of the triple-throated hound; 
Eros is young as ever, and as fair 
The lovely Goddess born of ocean's foam. 


These be thy gods, 0 Israel! 'Vho 
is he, 
The one ye name and tell us that ye 
serve, 
Whon1 ye would call me from my lonely 
tower 
To wOl'ship with the many - headed 
throng 1 
Is it the God that walked in Eden's grove 
In the cool hour to seek our guilty sire 1 
The God who dealt with Abraham as 
the sons 
Of that ohl patriarch deal with other 
men 1 
The jealous God of }Ioses, one ,vho feels 
An image as an insult, and is wroth 
With him who nlade it and his child 
un born 1 
The God who plagued his people for 
the sin 
Of their adulterous king, beloved of 
him, - 
The same who offers to a chosen few 


The right to praise hin1 in eternal song 
'Vhile a vast shrieking world of endless 
woe 
Blends its dread chorus with their rap- 
turous hymn 1 
Is this the God ye Inean, or is it he 
\Vho heeds the sparrow's fall, whose 
loving heart 
Is as the pitying father's to his chi1d, 
'Vhose lesson to his children is "F or- 
give," 
'Vhose plea for all, "They know not 
what they do" 'I 


VIII. 


MANHOOD. 
I CLAIM the right of knowing whom 
I serve, 
Else is my service idle; He that asks 

fy homage asks it from a reasoning soul. 
To crawl is not to 'worship; we have 
learned 
A drill of eyelids, bended neck and knee, 
Hanging our prayers on hinges, till we 
ape 
The flexures of the many-jointed worm. 
Asia has taught her Allahs and sala-mus 
To the world's children, - we have 
grown tó men! 
'\Ve who have rolled the sphere beneath 
our feet 
To find a virgin forest, as we Ia.y 
The beams of our rude temple, first of all 

lust frame its doorway high enough 
for man 
To pass unstooping; knowing as we do 
That He who shaped us last of living 
forms 
Has long enough been served by creep- 
ing things, 
Reptiles that left their footprints in 
the sand 
Of old sea-margins that have turned to 
stone, 



'VIND-CLOUDS AND STAR-DRIFTS. 


197 


And men who learned their ritual; we 
dctnand 
To know hinl first, then trust him and 
then love 
'Vhen we have found him worthy of our 
10 ve, 
Tried by our own poor hearts and not 
before; 
He nlust be truer than the truest friend, 
He must be tenderer than a woman's 
love, 
A father better than the best of sires; 
Kinder than she who bore us, though 
we SIll 
Oftener than did the brother we are told, 
"\Ye - poor ill-tempered mortals - must 
forgive, 
Though seven. times sinning threescore 
tÏ111es and ten. 


This is the new world's gospel: Be 
ye men ! 
Try well the legends of the children's 
time; 
Ye are the chosen people, God has led 
Your steps across the desert of the deep 
As now across the desert of the shore; 
1r1ountains are cleft before you as thp 
sea 
Before the wandering tribe of Israel's 


sons ; 
Still onward rolls the thunderous cara- 


van, 
Its coming printed on the western sky, 
A cloud by day, by night a pillared 
flame; 
Your prophets are a hundred unto one 
Of thcIll of old who cried, "Thus saith 
the Lorù" ; 
They told of cities that should fall in 
hpaps, 
But yours of mightier cities that shall 
rise 
'Yhere yet the lonely fishers spread their 
nets, 


'There hides the fox and hoots the n1Ïd. 
night owl; 
The tree of know ledge in your garden 
grows 
Not single, but at every humble door; 
Its branches lend you their immortal 
food, 
That fills you with the sense of what 
ye are, 
No servants of an altar hewed and carved 
From senseless stone by craft of hunlan 
hands, 
Rabbi, or dervish, brahmin, bishop, 
bonze, 
But masters of the charm with which 
they work 
To keep your hands from that forbidden 
tree ! 
Ye that have tasted tl1at divinest fruit, 
Look on this world of yours with openeù 
eyes! 
Ye are as gods! Nay, makers of your 
gods, - 
Each day ye break an image in your 
shrine 
And plant a fairer image where it stood: 
'Yhere is the 1\1oloch of your fathers' 
creed, 
'Yhose fires of torment burned for span. 
long babes? 
Fit object for a tender mother's love! 
'Yhy not? I t was a bargain duly made 
For these sanle infants through the 
surety's act 
Intrusted with their all for earth and 
heaven, 
By Hinl who ('hose their guardian, 
knowing well 
II is fitness for the task, - this, even 
this, 
'Yas the true doctrine only yesterday 
...\.s thoughts are reckoned, - and to-day 
you hpar 
In words that sound as if from human 
tongues 



198 POEl\IS FllOl\I THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


Those monstrous, uncouth horrors of 
the past 
That blot the 1lué of heaven and shame 
the earth 
As would the saurians of the age of 
slime, 
A waking from their stony sepulchres 
And wallowing hateful in the eye of 
day! 


IX. 


RIGHTS. 


"\v H
\. T am I but the creature Thou hast 
made 1 
'Vhat have I save the blessings Thou 
hast lent 
 
"\Vhat hope I but Thy Dlercy and Thy 
love? 
Who but Inyself shall cloud n1Y soul with 
fear? 
Whose hand protect me from myself but 
Thine? 
I claim the rights of weakness, I, the 
babe, 
Call on my sire to shield me from the 
ills 
That still beset nlY path, not trying me 
'Vith snares beyond my wisdom or IllY 
strength, 
He knowing I shall use them to my 
harm, 
And find a tenfold miserv in the sense 
01 
That in my childlike folly I have sprung 
The trap upon myself as vermin use 
Drawn by the cunning bait to certain 
doom. 
Who wrought the wondrous charm that 
leads us on 
To sweet perdition, but the selfsame 
power 
That set the fearful engine to destroy 
His wretched offspring (as the Rabbis 
tell), 


And hid its yawning jaws and treacher- 
ous springs 
In such a show of innocent sweet flowers 
It lured the sinless angels and they fell? 
Ah! He who prayed the prayer of 
all mankìnd 
Summed in those few brief words the 
nligh tiest plea 
For erring souls before the courts of 
heaven, - 
Save 'its from being ternpted, -lest we 
fall ! 


If we are only as the potter's clay 
1tlade to be fashioned as the artist wills, 
And broken into shards if we offend 
The eye of Hin1 who made us, it is wen; 
Such love as the insensate lump of clay 
That spins upon the swift-revolving 
wheel 
Bears to the hand that shapes its growing 
form, - 
Such love, no more, will be our hearts' 
return 
To the great l\Iaster-workman for his 
care, - 
Or would be, save that this, our breath- 
ing clay, 
Is intertwined with fine innun1ero1]s 
threads 
That make it conscious in its framer's 
hanù ; 
And this He n1ust remember who has 
fined 
These vessels with the deadly draught 
of life, - 
Life, that nleans death to all it claims. 
Our Jove 
.l\Iust kindle in the ray that streams 
from heaven, 
A faint reflection of the light divine; 
The sun must warm Ute earth before the 
rose 
Can show her inmost heart-Ie1.ves to the 
sun. 



'YIXD-CLOUDS AND STAR-DRIFTS. 


199 


He yields some fraction of the 
Iaker's 
right 
'Vho gives the quivering nerve its sense 
of pain; 
Is there not something in the pleading 
eye 
Of the poor brute that suffers, which ar- 
raialls 
o 
The law that bids it suffer? Has it not 
A clainl for some relnembrance in the 
book 
That fills its pages with the idle words 
Spoken of men? Or is it only clay, 
Bleeding and aching in the potter's hand, 
Yet all his own to treat it as he will 
And when he will to cast it at his feet, 
Shattered, dishonored, lost forevermore? 
l.Iy dog loves nle, but could he look be- 
yond 
His earthly master, would his love ex- 
tend 
To Him who- Hush! I will not doubt 
that He 
Is better than our fears, and will not 
wrong 
The least, the meanest of created things! 


He would not trust me with the small- 
est orb 
That circles through the sky ; he would 
not give 
A meteor to my guidance ; would not 
leave 
The coloring of a cloudlet to my hand; 
He locks Jny beating heart beneath its 
bars 
And keeps the key bimself; he meas- 
ures out 
The draughts of vital breath that ,varm 
my blood, 
'Vinds up the springs of instinct which 
uncoil, 
Each in its season; ties me to my home, 
bly race, my tÎIne, my nation, and my 
creed 


So closely that if I but slip my wrist 
Out of the band that cuts it to the bone, 
l\Ien say, "He hath a devil" ; he has lent 
All that I hold in trust, as unto one 
By reason of his weakness and his years 
Not fit to hold the smallest shred in fee 
Of those most common things he calls 
his own- 
And yet - my Rabbi tells me - he has 
left 
The care of that to 'which a million 
worlds 
Filled with unconscious life were less 
than naught, 
Has left that mighty universe, the Sonl, 
To the weak guidance of our baby hanùs, 
Let the foul fiends have access at their 
will, 
Taking the shape of angels, to our 
hearts, - 
Our hearts already poisoned through and 
through 
"\Vith the fierce virus of ancestral sin; 
Turned us adrift with our imn10rtal 
charge, 
To wreck oursel ves in gulfs of endless woe. 
If what my Rabbi tells me is the truth 
"\Vhy did the choir of angels sing for joy? 
Heaven must be compassed in a narro,v 
space, 
And offer more than room enough for all 
That pass its portals; but the under- 
world, 
The godless realm, the place where 
demons forge 
Their fiery darts and adamantine cl1ains, 

lust 
warm ,,
ith ghosts that for a little 
while 
Had worn the garb of flesh, and being 
heirs 
Of all the dulness of their stolid sires, 
And all the erring instincts of their 
tribe, 
Nature's own teaching, rudiments of 
" sin," 



200 POEM:S FRO:\I TIlE POET AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


Fell headlong in the snare that could 
not fail 
To trap the wretched creatures shaped 
of clay 
And cursed with sense enough to lose 
their souls ! 
Brother, thy heart is troubled at my 
word ; 
Sister, I see the cloud is 011 thy brow. 
He will not blame me, He who sends not 
peace, 
But sends a sword, and bids us strike 
an1ain 
At Error's gilded crest, where in the van 
Of earth's great army, minglh
g with the 
best 
And bravest of its leaders, shouting loud 
The battle-cries that yesterday have 
led 
The host of Truth to victory, but to-day 
Are watchwords of the laggard and the 
slave, 
He lea<..ls his dazzled cohorts. God has 
maùe 
This ,vodd a strife of atoms and of 
spheres ; 
With evrry breath I sigh myself away 
And take Iny tribute from the wandering 
wind 
To fan the flalne of life's consuming fire; 
So, while my thought has life, it needs 
Inust burn, 
And burning, set the stubble-fields 
ablaze, 
'Vhere all the harvest long ago was 
reaped 
And safely garnered in the ancient barns, 
But still the gleaners, groping for their 
food, 
Go blindly feeling through the close- 
shorn straw, 
While the young reapers flash their glit- 
tering stee 1 
'Vhere later suns have ripened nobler 
grain ! 


x. 


TRUTHS. 
THE time is racked with birth-!)angs; 
every hour 
Brings forth some gasping truth, and 
truth new-born 
Looks a misshapen and untimely 
growth, 
The terror of the household and its 
sllame, 
A Inonster coiling in its nurse's lap 
That some would strangle, some would 
only starve; 
But still it breathes, and passed fronl 
hand to hand, 
And suckled at a hundred half-clad 
breasts, 
Comes slowly to its stature and its form, 
Calms the rough ridges of its dragon- 
scales, 
Changes to shining locks its snaky 
hair, 
And moves transfigured into angel guise, 
'Velcolned by all that cursed its hour of 
birth, 
And folded in the same encircling arms 
That cast it like a serpent from their 
hold ! 


If thou wouldst live in honor, die in 
peace, 
Have the fine words the marble-workers 
learn 
To carve so well, upon thy funeral-stone, 
And earn a fair obituary, dressed 
In all the many-colored robes of praise, 
Be deafrr than the adder to the cry 
Of that same foundling truth, until it 
grows 
To seen1ly favor, and at length has won 
The smiles of hard-mouthed men and 
light-lippell dames; 
Then snatch it from its meagre nurse's 
breast, 



'VI
D-CLOUDS AND STAR-DRIFTS. 


201 


Fold it in silk and give it food from 
gold; 
So shalt thou share its glory when at 
last 
It drops its mortal vesture, and revealed 
In all the splendor of its heavenly form, 
Spreads on the startled air its mighty 
wings ! 


Alas! how much that seemed immor- 
tal truth 
That heroes fought for, martyrs died to 
save, 
Reveals its earth-born lineage, growing 
old 
And limping in its march, its wings un- 
phuned, 
Its hea vellly semblance faùed like a 
dream ! 
Here in this painted casket, just un- 
sealed, 
Lies what was once a breathing shape 
like thine, 
Once loved as thou art loved; there 
b
amed the eyes 
That looked on 
Iemphis in its hour of 
pride, 
That saw the walls of hundred-gated 
Thebes, 
And all the mirrored glories of the Nile. 
See how they toiled that all-consuming 
time 
])Iicrht leave tIle frame immortal in its 
b 
tom b ; 
Filled it with frRgrant balms and odor- 
ous gums 
That still diffuse thf'ir sweetness through 
the air, 
And wound and wound with patient fold 
on fold 
The flaxpn bands thy hand has rudely 
torn ! 
Perchance thon yet canst see the faded 
st ain 
Of the sad mourner's tear. 


XI. 


IDOLS. 


BUT what is t.his , 
The sacred beetle, bound upon the breast 
Of the blind heathen! Snatch the curi- 
ous prIze, 
Give it a place among thy treasured 
spoils 
Fossil and relic, - corals, encrinites, 
The fly in amber and the fish in stone, 
The twisted circlet of Etruscan gold, 
1\Iedal, intaglio, poniard, poison-ring,- 
Place for the 1tlen1phian beetIe with 
thine hoard! 


Ah! longer than tIlY creed has 'blest 
the world 
This toy, thus ravished from thy broth- 
er's breast, 
V-l as to the heart of 1tIizrainl as ilivine, 
As holy, as the sYIubol that we lay 
On tIle still bosom of our white-robed 
dead, 
And raise above their dust that all may 
know 
Here sleeps an heir of glory. Loying 
friends, 
With tears of trenl'bling faith and chok- 
ing sobs, 
And prayers to those who judge of mor- 
tal deeds, 
'V rapped this poor image in the cere- 
ment's fold 
That Isis and Osiris, friends of lnan, 
l\Iicrht know their own and clainl the 
b 
ransomed soul. 


An idol? 
Ian was òorn to worsl} ip 
such! 
An idol is an image of his thought; 
Sometimes he carves it out of gleanlÏng 
stone, 
And sometimes moulds it out of glitter- 
ing gold, 



202 POE
IS FRO
I THE POET AT THE BREAI{FAST TATILE. 


Or rounds it in a mighty frescoed dome, That star-browed Apis might be god 
Or lifts it heavenward in a lofty spire, again; 
Or shapes it in a cunning frame of words, Yea, from their ears the women brake 
Or pays his priest to make it day l)y day; the rings 
For sense must have its god as well as I That lent such splendors to the gypsy 
soul; brown 
A new-born Dian calls for silver s11rines, Of sunburnt cheeks, -what more could 
Anù Egypt's holiest sym bol is our own, wonlan do 
The sign we worship as did they of old To show her pious zeal? They went 
When Isis and Osiris ruled the world. astray, 
But nature led them as it leads us all. 
We too, who nlOck at Israel's golden 
calf 
And scoff" at Egypt's sacred srarabee, 
'\V ould have our amulets to clasp and 
kiss, 
And flood with rapturous tears, and bear 
wi th us 
To be our dear companions in the dust; 
Such magic works an inlage in our souls! 


Let us be true to our most subtle 
selves, 
"r e long to have our idols like the rest. 
Thiuk! w hen the ffipn of Israel had 
their God 
Encamped anlong them, talking with 
their chief, 
Leading them in the pillar of the cloud 
And watching o'er thelll in the shaft of 
fire, 
They still nlust have an image; still 
they longed 
For somewhat of substantial, solid form 
Whereon to hang their garlands, and to 
fix 
Their wandering thoughts and gain a 
stronger hold 
For their uncertain faith, not yet assured 
If those same llwteors of the day anù 
night 
Were not mere exhalations of the soil. 
Are we less earthly than the chosen 
race ? 
Are we more neighbors of the living God 
Than they who gathered manna every 
rn orn, 
Reaping where none had sown, and IleaI'd 
the voice 
Of hin1 who met the Highest in the 
nlount, 
And brought them tables, graven with 
His hand ? 
Yet these must have thcir idol, brought 
their gold, 


Man is an embryo; see at twenty years 
His bones, the columns that uphold his 
frame 
Not yet cemented, shaft and capital, 
:1Iere fragments of the ten1 pIe incom- 
plete. 
At twoscore, threescore, is he then full 
grown 1 
Nay, still a child, an(l as the little maids 
Dress and undress their puppets, so he 
trips 
To dress a lifeless creed, as if it 1ivpd, 
And change its raiment when the world 
cries shan1e ! 
'Ve smile to see our little ones at play 
So grave, so though trul, with maternal 
care 
Nursing the wisps of rags they call their 
baùes ;- 
Does lie not smile who sees us with tlle 
toys 
We call by sacred names, and idly feign 
To be what we have called thenl? lIe 
is still 



WIND-CLOUDS AND STAR-DRIFTS. 


203 


No ! not in ages when the Dreadful 
Bird 
Stamped his l1uge footprints, and the 
Fearful Beast 
Strode with the flesh about those fossil 
bones 
'Ve build to mimic life with pygmy 
han ds, - 
Not in those earliest days when men 
ran wild 
And gashed each other with their knives 
of stone, 
'Yhen their low foreheads bulged in 
ridgy bro\ys 
And their flat hands were callous in the 
palm 
in some transient 'Vith walking in the fashion of their 
sires, 


The Father of this helpless nursery- 
brood, 
'Yhose second childhood joins so close 
its first, 
That in the crowding, hurrying years 
between 
'Ve scarce have trained our senses to 
their task 
Before the gathering mist has dimmed 
our eyes, 
And with our hollowed palm we help 
our ear, 
And trace with trembling hand. our 
wrinkled l1anleS, . 
And thpn begin to tell our stories o'er, 
Aud see - not hear - the whispering 
lips that say, 
" You know - î Your father knew 
him. - This is he, 
Tottering and leaning on the hireling's 
" 
arm, - 
And so, at length, disrobed of all that 
clad 
The simple life we share with weed and 
worm, 
Go to our cradles, naked as we came. 


XII. 


LOVE. 


WHAT if a soul redeemed, a spirit that 
loved 
'Yhile yet on earth and was beloved in 
turn, 
And still remembered every look and 
tone 
Of that dear earthly sister who was left 
Among the unwise virgins at the gatp, - 
Itself adn1Ïtted with the bridegroom's 
train, - 
"hat if this spirit redeemed, amid the 
host 
Of chanting angels, 
lull 


Of the eternal anthem, heard the cry 
Of its lost darling, whom in evil hour 
SOllie wilder pulse of nature
 led astray 
And left an outcast in a world of fire, 
Condemned to be the sport of cruel 
fiends, 
Sleepless, unpitying, masters of the skill 
To wring the nlaùùest ecstasies of pain 
From worn-out souls that only ask to 
die, - 
'V ould it not long to leave the bliss of 
Heaven, - 
Bearing a little water in its hand 
To moisten those poor lips that plead in 
vain 
'Yith Him we call our Father? Or is all 
So changed in such as taste celestial joy 
They hear unmoved the endless wail of 
,yoe; 
The daughter in the same dear tones 
that hushed . 
Her cradled slun1bers; she who once 
had held 
A babe upon her bosom fronl its voice 
Hoarse with its cry of anguish, yet the 
same 1 



204 POEl\IS FROM: TIlE POET AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE. 


Grope as they might to find a cruel go(l 
To work their will on such as human 
"Tath 
Had wrought its worst to torture, and 
had left 
'Vith rage unsated, white and stark and 
cold, 
Could hate have shaped a denlon more 
nlalign 
Than him the dead men nlulnmied in 
their creed 
And taught their trembling children to 
adore ! 
1tla.ùe in his Í1nage! Sweet and gra- 
cious souls 
Dear to my heart by nature's fondest 
names, 
Is not your meInory still the precious 
mould 
That lenùs its form to Him who hears 
my prayer? 
Thus only I behold him, like to them, 
Long-suffering, gentle, ever slow to 
wrath, 
If wrath it be that only wounds to heal, 
Ready to meet the wanderer ere he reach 
The door he seeks, forgetful of his sin, 
Longing to clasp him in a father's arlns, 
And seal his pardon with a pitying tear! 


Four gospels tell their story to man- 
kind, 
And none so full of soft, caressing words 
That bring the 
Iaid of Bethlehem and 
her Babe 
Before our tear-dimmed eyes, as his who 
learned 
I n the meek service of his gracious art 
The tones which like the medicinal bahns 
That calm the sufferer's anguish, soothe 
our souls. 
- 0 that the loving woman, sIle who sat 
So long a listener at her 1\Iaster's fpet, 
IIad left us 1\Iary's Gospel, - all she 
heard 


Too sweet, too subtle for the ear of man! 

lark how the tender-hearted mothers 
read 
The messages of love between the lines 
Of the sanle page that loads the bitter 
tongue 
Of him who deals in terror as his trade 
'Vith threatening words of wrath that 
scorch like flanlC ! 
They tell of angels whispering round 
the bed 
Of the sweet infant smiling in its dream, 
Of lam bs enfðlded in the Shepherd's 
arms, 
Of Him who blessed the children; of 
the land 
Where crystal rivers feed unfading 
flowers, 
Of cities golden-paved with streets of 
pearl, 
Of the white robes the winged creatures 
wear, 
The crowns and harps from whose melo- 
dious strings 
One long, sweet anthem flows forever- 
more ! 
- We too had human mothers, even 
as Thou, 
Whom we have learned to worship as 
remote 
From mortal kindred, wast a cradled 
babe. 
The milk of woman filled our branching 
VClns, 
She lulled us with her tender nursery- 
song, 
And folded round us her untiring arms, 
While the first unrmnenlbered twilight 
year 
Shaped us to conscious being; still. we 
feel 
Her pulses in our own, - too faintly 
feel ; 
Would that the heart of woman warmeù 
our creeds! 



EPILOGUE TO TIlE BREAKFAST-TABLE SERIES. 205 


Not from the sad-eyed hermit's lonely Though Hamlet pah! 'ù, and dropped 
cell, his skull. 
Not fron1 the conclave where the holy 


lncn 
Glare on each other, as with angry eyes 
They battle for God's glory and their 
own, 
Till, sick of wordy strife, a show of 
hanùs 
Fixes the faith of ages yet un born, - 
Ah, not fr01n these the listening soul 
can hear 
The Father's voice' that speaks itself 
divine! . 
Love must be still our l\Iaster; till we 
learn 
'Yhat he can teach us of a woman's 
heart, 
'Ve know not His, whose love embraces 
all. 


EPILOGUE TO THE BREAKFAST-TABLE 
SERIES. 


AUTOCRAT - PROFE8S0R- POET. 


AT A BOOKSTORE. 


Anno Domini 1972. 


A CRAZY bookcase, placed before 
A low-price dealer's open door; 
Therpin arrayed in broken rows 
A ragged crew of rhyme and prose, 
The hmueless vagrants, waifs and strays 
'Yhose low estate this line betrays 
(Set forth the lesser birds to linle) 
}.OUR CHOICE A},!OXG THESE BOOKS, 1 
DL.'IE! 


Ho! dealer; for its motto's sake 
This scarecrow frOlll the s11elf 1 take; 
Three starveling volunles bound in one, 
1 ts covers warping in the sun. 
?\[ethinks it hath a musty slllell, 
1 1ike its flavor none too well, 
But Yorick's brain was far fronl dull 
, 


'Yhy, here cornes rain! The sky grows 
dark, - 
'Yas that the roll of thunder 1 Hark! 
The shop affords a safe retreat, 
A chair extends its welcome seat, 
The tradesluan has a civil look 
(I've paid, in1pronlptu, for my book), 
The clouds portend a sudden shower, - 
1 '11 reaù nlY purchase for an hour. 


* 


* 


* 


'Vhat have 1 rescued from the shelf 1 
A Boswell, writing out hiInself ! 
For though he changes dress and name, 
The man beneath is still the saIne, 
Laughing or sad, by fits and starts, 
One actor in a dozen parts, 
And whatsoe'er the mask lnay l)e. 
The voice assures us, This is he. 


1 say not this to cry him down; 
I find my Shakespeare in his clown, 
His rogues the selfsame parpnt own ; 
Nay! Satan talks in l\Iilton's tone! 
,V here' er the ocean inlet strays, 
The salt sea wave its source betrays, 
'Vhere'er the queen of surnmer blows, 
She tells the zephyr; "I 'Ill the rose! " 


And his is not the playwright's page; 
His table does not ape the stage; 
''"''hat nlatter if the figures seen 
Are only shadows on a screen, 
He finds in them his lurking thought, 
And on their lips the words he sought, 
Like one who sits before the keys 
And plays a tune hinlself to please. 


And ,,?as he noted in his day 1 
Read, flattered, honored? '''''ho shaH 
say? 
Poor wreck of thne the wave has cast 
To finù a ppacefnl shore at last, 



206 POEl\IS FROl\I THE POET AT THE BREAI{FAST TABLE. 


Once glorying in thy gilded name 
And freighted deep with hopes of fame, 
Thy leaf is moistened with a tear, 
The first for many a long, long year! 


For be it more or less of art 
That veils the lowliest human heart 
'Vhere passion throbs, where friendship 
glows, 
'Vhere pity's tender tribute flows, 
'Vhere love Jlas lit its fragrant fire, 
And sorrow quenched its vain desire, 
For me the altar is divine, 
Its flame, its ashes, - all are mine! 


And thou, my brother, as I look 
And see thee pictured in thy book, 


Thy years on every page confessed 
In shadows lengthening Cron) the west, 
Thy glance that wanùers, as it sought 
Some freshly opening flower of thought, 
Thy hopeful nature, light and free, 
I start to fin ù nl ysclf in thee ! 


* 


* 


* 


Come, vagrant, outcast, wretch for- 
lorn 
In leather jerkin stained and torn, 
Whose talk has filled my idle hour 
And made me half forget the shower, 
I '11 do at least as much for you, 
Your coat I '11 patch, your gilt renew, 
Read you - perhaps - some other time. 
Not bad, my bargain! Price one dime! 



POE
IS OF THE CLASS OF '29. 


1851 - 1877. 


BILL AND JOE. 


CO
IE, dear old comrade, you and I 
''''Ill steal an hour from days gone by, 
The shining days when life was new, 
And all was bright with tnorning dew, 
The lusty days of long ago, 
When you were Bill and I was Joe. 


Your name may flaunt a titled trail 
Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail, 
And mine as brief appendix wear 
As Tan1 O'Shanter's luckless lllare ; 
To-day, old friend, relnember still 
That I am Joe and yon are Bill. 


You've won the great world's envied 
!)rize, 
And grand you look in people's eyes, 
'Ylth H 0 X. and L L. D. 
In big brave letters, fair to see, - 
Your fist, old fellow! off they go !- 
How are you, Bill 1 How are you, Joe 1 


You've worn tIle judge's ermined robe; 
You've taught your nanle to balf the 
globe; 
You've sung mankind a deathles
 strain; 
You've made the dead past live again : 
The world Jnay call you what it will, 
But you anù I are Joe and Bill. 


The chaffing young folks stare and say 
"See those old buffers, bent anù gray,- 


They talk like fenows in their teens ! 
:\Iad, poor old boys! That'8 what it 
means," - 
And shake their heads; they litt1e know 
The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe!- 


How Bill forgets his hour of pride, 
"....hile Joe sits smiling at his side; 
IIow Joe, in spite of tirne's disguise, 
Finùs the old schooln1ate in his eyes, - 
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill 
As Joe looks fondly up at Bill. 


All, pensive scholar, 'what is fame 1 
A fitful tongue of leaping flame; 
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust, 
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust; 
A few swift years, and who can sIlow 
'Yhich dust was Bill and which was 
Joe 1 


The weary idol takes his stand, 
Holds out his bruised and aching hand, 
'Vhile gaping thousands come and go,- 
How vain it seems, this eJnpty show! 
Till aU at once his pulses thrill;- 
'T is poor olù Joe's "God bless you, 
Bill ! " 


.And sl1all ,ye breathe in 1utppier spheres 
The names that pleased our mortal ears; 
I n some sweet lull of harp and song 
For earth-born spirits none too long, 



208 


POE11S OF THE CLASS OF '29. 


Just whispering of the worlù below 
'Yhere this 'was Bill, anù that was Joe? 


No Inatter; while our home is here 
No sounding nanle is half so dear; 
'Yhen fades at length our lingering day, 
'Vho cares what pompous tombstones 
say 1 
Reaù on the hearts Ulat love us still, 
Hicjacet Joe. Hicjacet Bill. 


1851. 


A SONG OF "TWENTV-NINE." 


THE summer dawn is breaking 
On Auburn's tangled bowers, 
The golden light is waking 
On Harvard's ancient towers; 
The sun is in the sky 
That nlust see us ùo or die, 
Ere it shine on the line 
Of the CLASS OF '29. 


At last the ùay is ended, 
The tutor screws no more, 
By ùoubt and fear attended 
Each hovers round the door, 
Till the good old Præses cries, 
'Yhile the tears stand in his eyes, 
"Y ou have passed, and are classed 
\Vith the Boys OF '29." 


Not long are they in making 
The college halls their own, 
Instead of standing shaking, 
Too bashful to be known ; 
But tJ)ey kick. the Seniors' shins 
Ere the second week begins, 
\Vhen they stray in the way 
Of the Boys OF '29. 


I f a jolly set is trolling 
The last De'r Freischntz airs, 
Or a "cannon bullet" rolling 
Comes bouncing down the stairs, 


The tutors looking out, 
Sigll, "Alas! there is no dOll bt, 
'T is the noise of the Boys 
Of the CLASS OF '29." 


Four happy years together, 
By storm and sunshine tried, 
In changing wind anù weather, 
They rough it side by side, 
Till they hear their :Thlother cry, 
"You' arefiedged, anù you must fly," 
And the bell tolls the knell 
Of the days of '29. 


Since then in peace or trouble, 
Full Inany a year has rolled, 
And life has counted double 
The days that then we told; 
Yet we'll end as we've begun, 
For though scattered, we are one, 
'Vhile each year sees us here, 
Round the board of '29. 


Though fate may thro\v between us 
The mountains or the sea, 
No time shall ever wean us, 
No distance set us free ; 
But around the yearly hoard, 
\Vben the flaming pledge is poured, 
I t shall claim every name 
On the roll of '29. 


To yonder peaceful ocean 
That glows with sunset fires, 
Shall reach the warm emotion 
This weleome day inspires, 
Beyond the ridges cold 
\Yhere a brother toils for gold, 
Till it shine through t.hp n1Ïne 
Round the Boy OF '29. 


If one whom fate has hroken 
Shall lift a moistened eye, 
'Ve '11 say, bpfore he's spoken - 
1 " Old Classnlate, don't you cry! 



QUESTIONS AND ANS'\YERS. - A
 I:\[PRO
IPTU. 209 


Here, take the purse I hold, 
There's a tear upon the gold- 
I t was mine - it is thine - 
A'n't we Boys OF '29?" 


As nearer still and nearer 
The fatal stars appear, 
The Ii ving shall be dearer 
'Vith each encircling year, 
Till a few old n1e
 shall say 
" 'Ve remember 't is the day- 
Let it pass with a glass 
For the CLASS OF '29." 


As one by one is falling 
Beneath the leaves or snows, 
Each memory still recalling 
The broken ring shall close, 
Till the nightwinds softly pass 
O'er the green and growing grass, 
'''''here it waves on the graves 
Of the Boys OF '29! 


1852. 


QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS. 


'VHERE, 0 where are the visions of 
mOrIung, 
Fresh as the dpW's of our prime? 
Gone, like tenants that quit without 
,yarning, 
Down the back entry of time. 


'Vhere, 0 where are 1ife's lilirs and roses, 
Nursed in the golden dawn's smile? 
Deacl as the bulrushes round 1ittIe J\Ioses, 
On the old banks of the K He. 


'Yhere are the 
Iarys, and Anns, and 
Elizas, 
Loving and lovply of yore? 
Look in tIle colunlns of old Ad ver- 
tisers, - 
:ftlarried and dead ùy the score. 


'Vhere the gray colts and the ten-year- 
old fillies, 
Saturday's triumph and joy? 
Gone, like our friend 7rooa,; WKU'; Acllilles, 
Homer's ferocious old boy. 


Die-a\vay dreanls of ecstatic emotion, 
Hopes like young eagles at play, 
Vows of unheard-of and endless devotion, 
Ho,v ye have faded away! 
Yet, though the ebbing of Time's mighty 
ri ver 
Leave our young blossoms to die, 
Let him roll smooth in his current for- 


ever, 
Till the last pebble is dry. 


1853. 


AN IMPROMPTU. 


lrot premeditated. 


THE clock has struck noon; ere it thrice 
tell the hour
 
'Ye shall meet round the table that 
blushes with flowers, 
And I shaH blush deeper with shame- 
driven blood 
That I came to the banquet and brought 
not a bud. 


'Yho cares that his verse is a beggar in 
art 
If you see through its rags the full throb 
of his heart? 
'Who asks if his comrade is battered and 
tanned 
'Yhell he feels 11is warm soul in the clasp 
of his hand? 


No ! be it an epic, or be it a line, 
The Boys will all love it b
cause it is 
mIne; 
I sung tllPir last song on the nlorn of 
the day 



210 


POEl\IS OF THE CLASS OF '29. 


That tore frOln their lives the last blos- 
som of l\Iay. 


I t is not the sunset that glows in the 
WIne, 
But the smile that beams over it" makes 
it divine; 
I scatter these drops, and behold, as 
they fall, 
The day-star of memory shines through 
them all ! 


And these are the last; they are drops 
that I stole 
From a wine-press that crushes the life 
from the soul, 
But they ran through my heart and they 
sprang to Iny brain 
Till our twentieth sweet summer was 
smiling again ! 


1854. 


THE OLD MAN DREAMS. 


o for one hour of youthful joy! 
Give back my twentieth spring! 
I 'd rather laugh, a bright-haired boy, 
Than reign, a gray-beard king. 


Off with the spoils of wrinkled age! 
Away with Learning's crown! 
Tear out life's 'Visdom-written page, 
And dash its trophies down! 


One monlcnt let my life-blood strram 
From boyhood's fount of flame! 
Give nle one gidùy, reeling dream 
Of life all love and fame! 


ltly listening angel heard the prayer, 
And, calmly smiling, said, 
" If I but touch thy sil vererl hair 
Thy hasty wish hath sped. 


" But is there Ilothing in thy track, 
To biù thee fondly stay, 
'Vhile the swift seasons hurry back 
To find the wished-for day 1 " 


"Ah, truest soul of wOlllankind ! 
'Vithout thee what were life 1 
One bliss I cannot leave behind: 
I 'll take - my - precious - wife! ' 


- The angel took a sapphire pen 
And wrote in rainbow dew, 
The 1nan would be a boy again, 
And be a husband too I 


" And is there nothing yet unsaid, 
Before the change al1pears 1 
Remen1ber, all their gifts have fled 
'Vith those dissolving years." 


"'Vhy yes" ; for memory ,vonld recall 

ly fond paternal joys; 
" I could not bear to leave them all- 
I'll take-my- girl- and- boys." 


The smi1ing angel dropped his pen, - 
" Why this will never do ; 
The man would be a boy again, 
And be a father too!" 


1855. 


REMEMBER - FORGET. 


AND what shall be the song to-nigllt, 
If song there needs 11111st be 1 
If every year that brings us here 
1Iust steal an hour from me 1 
Say, shall it ring a merry peal, 
Or heave a mourning sigh 
0' er shadows cast, by years long past, 
On nloments flitting by 1 


Nay, take the first unbidden line 
The idle hour may send, 
N a studied grace can mend the face 
That smiles as friend on frielld ; 



OUR INDIAN SUl\L\IER. 


211 


The balsanl oozes from the pine, 
The sweetness froBl the rose, 
Anù so, unsought,...a kindly thought 
Finds language as it flows. 


The years rush by in sounding flight, 
I hear their ceaseless wings; 
Their songs I hear, son1e far, some near, 
And thus the burden rings: 
"The morn has fled, the noon has past, 
The sun will soon be set, 
The twilight fade to nlidnight shade; 
Remember - and Forget! " 


Remember all that time has brought- 
The starry hope on high, 
The strength attained, the courage gained, 
The love that cannot die. 
Forget the bitter, brooding thought, - 
The word too harshly said, 
The living blame love hates to name, 
The frailties of the dead! 


We have been younger, so they say, 
But let the seasons roll, 
He doth not lack an alnlanac, 
,V hose youth is in his soul. 
The snows may clog life's iron track, 
But does the axle tire, 
'Y'l1Ïle bearing swift through bank and 
drift 
The engine's heart of fire 1 


I lift a goblet in my hand; 
If good old wine it hold, 
An ancient skin to keep it in, 
Is just the thing, we're told. 
'Ve 're grayer than the dusty flask, - 
'Ye 're older than our wine; 
Our corks re\"eal the" white top" seal, 
The stamp of '29. 


Ah, Boys! we clustered in the dawn, 
To sever in the dark; 
A merry crew, \vith loud hn 1100, 
We clin1bed our painted bark; 


'Ve sailed her through the four years' 
crUIse, 
'\Ve '11 sail her to the last, 
Our dear old flag, though but a rag, 
Still flying on her mast. 


So gliding on, each winter's gale 
Shall pipe us all on deck, 
Till, faint and few, the gathering crew 
Creep 0' er the parting wreck, 
Her sails and streamers spread aloft 
To fortune's rain or shine, 
Till storm or sun shaH an be one, 
And down goes T'VEXTY-KIXE! 


1856. 


OUR INDIAN SUMMER. 


You'll believe me, dear boys, 't is a 
pleasure to rise, 
'Yith a welcome like this in )"our dar- 
ling old eyes; 
To meet the same smiles and to hear 
the san1e tone, 
'Yhich have greeted me oft in the years 
that haye flown. 


''"'' ere I gray as the grayest old rat in 
the wall, 

ry locks would turn brown at the sight 
of you all ; 
If my heart were as dryas the shell on 
the sand, 
It \Voula fill like the goblet I hold in 
my hand. 


There are noontides of autumn wIlen 
summer returns, 
Though the leaves are all garnered and 
sealed in tJleir urns, 

\nd the bird on his perch that was 
silent so long, 
Believes the sweet sunshine and breaks 
into song. 



212 


POE
rs OF TIlE CLASS OF '29. 


'Ve have caged the young birùs of our 
beautiful June; 
Their plumes are still bright and their 
voices in tune; 
One 1110111ent of sunshine from faces like 
these 
And they sing as tIley sung in the 
green-gro\ving trees. 


The voices of morning! how sweet is 
their thrill 
'Vhen the shadows have turned, and 
the evening grows still! 
The text of our lives may get wiser with 
age, 
But the print was so fair on its twen- 
tieth page! 


Look off from your goblet and up from 
your plate; 
Come, take the last journal, and glance 
at its date: 
Then think what we fellows should say 
and should do, 
If the 6 were a 9 anù the 5 were a 2. 


Ah, no! for the shapes that would meet 
with us here, 
From the far land of shadows, are ever 
too dear! 
Though youth flung around us its pride 
and its charms, 
'Ve should see but the comrades we 
clasped in our arms. 


A health to our future - a sigh for our 
past, 
'Ve love, we remember, we hope to the 
last; 
And for all the base lies that the 
almanacs hold, 
'Vhile we've youth in our hearts we can 
never grow old! 


1858. 


MARE RUBRUM. 


FLASH out a stream of blood-red wine, 
For I would drink to other days, 
And brighter shall their menlory shine, 
Seen fianling through its crinl:::iUll 
blaze! 
The roses die, the summers fade, 
But every ghost of boyhood's dream 
By nature's magic power is laid 
To sleep beneath this blood-red 
stream! 


It filled the purple grapes that lay, 
And drank the splendors of the sun, 
Where the long SUlnnler's cloudless day 
Is mirrored in the broad Garonne ; 
It pictures still the bacchant shapes 
That saw their hoarded sunlight 
shed,- 
The maidens dancing on the grapes,- 
Their milk-white ankles sI>lashed with 
red. 


Beneath these waves of criu1son lie, 
In rosy fetters prisoned fast, 
Those flitting shapes that never die, - 
The swift-winged visions of the pa: st . 
l{iss but the crystal's nlystic rim 
Each shadow rends its flowery chain, 
Springs in a bubble from its brim 
And walks the chambers of the brain. 


Poor beauty! Time and fortune's wrong 
No shape nor feature may withstand; 
Thy wrecks are scattered all along, 
Like emptied sea-shells on the sand; 
Yet, sprinkled with this 1)lushing rain, 
The dust restores each blooming girl, 
As if the sea-shells moved again 
Their glistening lips of :pink and })carl. 
IIerc lies the home of school- boy life, 
'Vith creaking stair anù wind-sWel)t 
hall, 



THE BOYS. 


01 3 

J. 


And, scarreù by many a truant knife, 
Our olù initials on the wall ; 
Here rest, their keen vibrations lunte, 
The shout of voices known so wdl, 
The ringing laugh, the wailing tiute, 
The chiding of the sharp- tougueù bell. 


Here, clad in burning robes, are laid 
Life's blossonled joys, untÏIllely shed, 
And here those cherished forms have 
strayed 
'Ve nÜss awhile, and call them dead. 
'Vhat wizard tills the wondrous glass? 
"-hat soil the enchanted clusters 
grew 1 
That buried passions wake and pass 
In beaded drops of fiery dew 1 


Nay! take the cup of blood-red wine, - 
Our hearts can boast a warmer glow, 
Filled from a vintage more divine, 
Cahneù, but not chilled, by winter's 
sn ow ! 
To-night the palest wave we sip 
Rich as the priceless draught shall be 
That wet the bride of Cana's lip, - 
The wedding wine of Galilee ! 


1859. 


THE BOYS. 
HAS there any old fellow got mixed 
with the boys 1 
If there has, take him out, without mak- 
ing a noise. 
Hang the Ahnanac's cheat and the Cat- 
alogue's spite! 
Old time is a liar! "... e 're twenty to- 
night! 


'Ve 're twenty! 'Ye 're twenty! 'Vho 
says we are more 1 
He's tipsy,-young jackanapes I-show 
hinl the door ! 


"Gray temples at twenty?" - Yes! 
white if we please; 
'Vhere the snow-flakes fall thickest 
there's nothing can freeze ! 


'Vas it snowing I spoke of 1 Excuse the 
mistake! 
Look close, - you will see not a sign of 
a flake ! 
'Ve want some new garlands for those 
we have shed,- 
And these are white roses in place of the 
red. 


'Ve 've a trick, we young fellows, you 
may have been told, 
Of talking (in public) as if we were 
old: - 
That boy we call "Doctor," and this we 
call "Judge" ; 
It's a neat little fiction, - of course it's 
all fudge. 


That fellow's the" Speaker," - the one 
on the right; 
"1.11'. 1.1ayor," my young one, how are 
you to-night 1 
That's our " 1.1 em bel' of Congress," we 
say when we chaff; 
There's the "Reverend" 'Vhat's his 
name? - don't Inake n)e laugh. 


That boy with the grave mathematical 
look 
1\Iade believe he had written a ,yonderful 
book, 
And the ROYAL SOCIETY thought it was 
true I 
So they chose him right in ; a good joke 
it was, too! 


There's a boy, we pretend, with a three- 
decker brain, 
That could harness a team with a logical 
chain; 



214 


POEl\IS OF THE CLASS OF '29. 


'Vhen he spoke for our manhood in syl- 
labled fire, 
'Ve called hinl "The Justice," but now 
he's" The Squire." 


And there'8 a nice youngster of excel- 
lent pith, - 
Fate tried to conceal him by naming 
hhn Smith; 
But he shouted a song for the brave anti 
the free, - 
Just read on his medal, "l\Iy country," 
" of thee! " 


You hear that boy laughing 
 - You 
think he's all fun; 
But the angels laugh, too, at the good 
he has done ; 
The children laugh loud as they troop to 
his call, 
And the poor Inan that knows him laughs 
louùest of all ! 


Yes, we're boys, - always playing with 
tongue or with pen, - 
And I sOlnetimes have asked, - Shall we 
ever be nleH 1 
Shall we always be youthful, and laugh- 
ing, and gay, 
Till the last dear companion drops smil- 
ing away 1 


Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and 
its gray! 
The stars of its winter, the dews of its 

Iay ! 
And when we have done with our life- 
lasting toys, 
Dear Father, take care of thy children, 
THE Boys! 


1860. 


,V on't any kind classmate get up in my 
place 1 
Just remenl bel' how often I've risen be- 
fore, - 
I blush as I straighten my legs on the 
floor ! 


There are stories, once pleasing, too many 
times told, - 
There are beauties once charming, too 
fearfully old, - 
There are voices we've heard till we kno,v 
thenl so well, 
Though they talked for an hour théy , d 
bave nothing to tell. 


Yet, Classmates! Friends! Brothers! 
dear blessed old boys ! 

Iade one by a lifetinle of sorrows and 
joys, 
'Vhat lips have such sounds as the poor- 
est of these, 
Though honeyed, like Plato's, by musi- 
cal bees 1 


'Vhat voice is so sweet and what greet- 
ing so dear 
As the simple, warm ,velcome that waits 
for us here? 
The love of our boyhood still breathes in 
its tone, 
And our bearts throb the answer, "He'8 
one of our own ! " 


Nay! count not our numbers; some 
sixty we know, 
But these are above, and those under the 
snow ; 
And thoughts are still mingled wherever 
we meet 
For those we remember with those that 
we greet. 


'Ye have rolled on life's journey, - how 
fast and how far! 
I ':r.r ashamed, - that's the fact, - it's One rounù of hunlanity's many-wheeled 
a pitiful case, - car, 


LINES. 



A VOICE OF THE LOYAL XORTH. - J. D. R. 215 


But up-hill and down-hill, through rat- 
tle and rub, 
Old, true Twenty-niners ! we've stuck 
to our hub! 


'Vhile a brain lives to think, or a bosom 
to feel, 
'Ve will cling to it still like the spokes 
of a wheel! 
Anù age, as it chills us, shall fasten the 
tire 
That youth fitted round in his circle of 
fire ! 


1861. 


(JAXUARY 3D.) 
A VOICE OF THE LOYAL NORTH. 


'YE sing "Our Country's" song to-night 
'Vith saddened voice and eye; 
Her banner droops in clouded light 
Beneath the wintry sky. 
'Ye '11 pledge her once in golden wine 
Before her stars have set: 
Though dim one reddening orb may 
shine, 
"1' e have a Country yet. 


'T were vain to sigh o'er errors past, 
The fault of sires or sons; 
Our soldier heard the threatening blast, 
And spiked his useless guns; 
He saw the star-",.eathed ensign fall, 
By mad invaders torn; 
But saw it froul the bastioned wall 
That laughed their rage to scorn! 


""'hat though their angry cry is flung 
Across the howling wave,- 
They smite the air with idle tongue 
The gathpring storm who brave; 
Enough of speech! the trumpet rings; 
Be silent, patient, calm, - 
God help them if the ten1pest swings 
The pine against the l)alm ! 


Our toilsome years have made us tamee; 
Our strength has slept unfelt ; 
The furnace-fire is slow to flame 
That bids our ploughshares melt; 
'T is hard to lose the bread they Will 
In srite of Xature's frowns,- 
To drop the iron threads we spin 
That weave our web of towns, 


To. see the rusting turbines stand 
Before the emptied flumes, 
To fold the arms that flood the land 
'Yith rivers from their looms, - 
But harder still for those who learn 
The truth forgot so long; 
'Vhen once their slumbering passions 
burn, 
The peaceful are the strong! 
The Lord have mercy on the weak, 
And calm their frenzied ire, 
And save our brothers ere they shriek, 
" 'Ve played with Northern fire! " 
The eagle hold his mountain height, - 
The tiger pace his den ! 
Give all their country, each his right! 
God keep us all! Amen! 


1862. 


* 


J. D. R. 
THE friends that are, and friends that 
were, 
'Vhat shallow 'waves divide! 
I miss the forn1 for ulany a year 
Still seated at my side. 
I miss him, yet I feel him still 
Amidst our faithful band, 
As if not death itself could chill 
The warmth of friendship's hand. 
His story other lips may tell, - 
For me the veil is drawn; 
I only know he loved me well, 
He loved me - and is gone ! 



216 


POEMS OF THE CLASS OF 

 


. 


1862. 


VOYAGE OF THE GOOD SHIP UNION. 


'T IS midnight: through my troubled 
dream 
Loud wails the tempest's cry; 
Before the gale, with tattered sail, 
A ship goes plunging by. 
What naIne 1 Where bound 
 - The 
rocks around 
Repeat the loud hanoo. 
-The good ship Union, Southward 
bound: 
God help her and her crew! 


And is the old flag flying still 
That o'er your fathers flew, 
'Vith bands of white and rosy light, 
And field of starry blue 
 
- Ay! look aloft! its folds full oft 
Have braved the roaring blast, 
And still shall fly when from the sky 
This black typhoon has past ! 


Speak, pilot of the storm-tost bark! 
ltla y I thy peril share ? 
- 0 landsman, these are fearful seas 
The brave alone may dare! 
-Nay, ruler of the rebel deep, 
What mattrrs wind or wave 1 
The rocks that wreck your reeling deck 
Will leave me naught to save! 


o landslnan, art thou false or true 1 
\Vhat sign hast thou to sho,v 
 
- The crimson stains frOl1l loyal veins 
That hold my heart-blood's flow! 
- Enough! what more shall honor 
claim? 
I know the sacred sign ; 
Above thy head our flag shall spread, 
Our ocean path be thine ! 
The bark sails on ; the Pilgrim's Cape 
Lies low along her lee, 


\Yhose headland crooks its anchor-flukes 
To lock the shore and sea. 
No treason here! it cost too dear 
To win this barren realm! 
And true and free the hands must be 
Tþat hold the whaler's hehn ! 


Still on! Manhattan's narrowing ba)T 
N 0 Rebel cruiser scars; 
Her waters feel no pirate's keel 
That flaunts the fallen stars! 
-But watch the light on yonder 
height, - 
Ay, pilot, have a care! 
Some lingering cloud in Inist may shroud 
The capes of Delaware! 


Say, pilot, what this fort may be, 
\Vhose sentinels look down 
From nloated walls that show the sea 
Their deep embrasures' frown? 
The Rebel host claÎIns all the coast, 
But these are friends, we know, 
\Vhose footprints spoil the "sacred soil," 
And this is 
 - Fort 1\lonroe ! 


The breakers roar, - how bears the 
shore 
 
- The traitorous ,vreckers' hands 
Have quenched the blaze that poured 
its rays 
Along the Hatteras sands. 
- Ha! say not so! I see its glow! 
Again the shoals display 
The beacon light that shines by night, 
The Union Stars by day! 
The good ship flies to milder skies, 
The wave more gently flows, 
The softening breeze wafts 0' e1' the seas 
The breath of Beaufort's rose. 
\Vhat fold is this the Sl\7eet winds kiss, 
Fair-striped and many-starred, 
Whose shadow palls these orl)haned 
walls, 
The twins of Beauregard 
 



. 
"CHOOSE YOU THIS DAY 'VH01tI YE 'VILL SERVE." 217 


''''hat! heard you not Port Royal's doom 1 
How the black war-ships canle 
Aud turned the Beaufort roses' bloom 
To redùer wreaths of ft.ame 1 
How from Rebellion's broken reeù 
'Ve saw his enlblem fall, 
As soon his curséd poison-weell 
Shall drop fronl Sumter's wall? 


On! on! Pulaski's iron hail 
Falls harlnless on Tybee ! 
The good ship feels the freshening gales, 
She strikes the open sea; 
She rounds the point, she threads the 
keys 
That guard the Land of Flowers, 
And rides at last where firm and fast 
Her own Gibraltar towers! 


The good ship Union's voyage is o'er, 
At anchor safe she swings, 
And loud and clear with chper on cheer 
Her joyous welcome rings: 
Hurrah! Hurrah! it shakes the wave, 
It thunders on the shore, - 
One flag, one land, one heart, one hand, 
One Nation, evermore ! 


1863. 


"CHOOSE YOU THIS DAY WHOM YE 
WILL SERVE." 
YES, tyrants, you hate us, and fear while 
you hate 
The self-ruling, chain -breaking, throne- 
shaking State! 
The night-birds dread morning, - your 
instinct is true, - 
The day-star of Freedom brings midnight 
for you ! 
'Vhy plead with the deaf for the cause 
of nlaukind ? 
The owl 1100ts at noon that the eacrle is 
D' 
blind ! 


'Ve ask not your reasons, - 't were wast- 
ing our time, - 
Our life is a Inenace, our welfare a crime! 


'Ve have battles to fight, we have foes to 
subùue, - 
Time waits not for us, and 'we wait not 
for you ! 
The mower mows on, though the adder 
may writhe 
.And the copper-head coil round the blade 
of his scythe ! 


" No sides in this quarrel," your states- 
men may urge, 
Of school-house and wages with slave- 
pen and scourge! - 
No sides in the quarrel! proclaim it as 
well 
To the angels that fight with tbe legions 
of hell ! 


. 
They kneel in God's temple, the North 
and the South, 
'Vith blood on each weapon and prayers 
in each nlouth. . 
'Yhose cry shall be answered? Ye 
Heavens, attend 
The lords of the lash as their voices 
ascend! 


"0 Lord, we are shaped in the image 
of Thee, - 
Smite down the base millions that claim 
to be free, 
And lend Thy strong arm to the soft- 
handed race 
'Vho eat not their bread in the sweat of 
their face ! " 


So pleads the proud planter. ""'hat 
echoes are these 1 
The bay of his bloodhound is borne on 
the breeze, 
And, lost in the shriek of his victim's 
despair, 



218 


POEMS OF THE CLASS OF '29. 


His voice dies unheard. - Hear the Pu- 
ritan's prayer! 


" 0 Lord, that didst smother mankind 
in Thy flood, 
The sun is as sackcloth, the moon is as 
blood, 
The stars fall to earth as untimely are 
cast 
The iigs from the fig-tree that shakes in 
the blast ! 


" All nations, all tribes in whose nostrils 
is breath, 
Stand gazing at Sin as she travails with 
Death ! 
Lord, strangle the monster that strug- 
gles to birth, 
Or mock us no more with Thy' Kingdom 
on Earth ! ' 


"If Ammon and 
Ioab 111ust reign in the 
land 
Thou gavest Thine Israel, fresh from 
Thy hand, 
Call Baäl and Ashtaroth out of their 


graves 
To be the new gods for the empire of 
slaves ! " 


Whose God will ye serve, 0 ye rulers 
of men ? 
Will ye build you new shrines in the 
slave-breeder's den? 
Or bow with the children of light, as 
they call 
On the Judge of the Earth and the 
Father of All ? 


Choose wisely, choose quickly, for tirne 
moves apace,- 
Each day is an age in the liff' of Ollr race! 
Lord, lead them in love, ere they hasten 
in fear 
From the fast-rising flood that shall gir- 
dle the sphere! 


1864. 


* 


F. W. C. 
FAsT as the rolling seasons bring 
The hour of fate to those we love, 
Each pearl that leaves the broken string 
Is set in Friendship's crown above. 
As narrower grows the earthly chain, 
The circle widens in the sky; 
These are our treasures that remain, 
But those are stars that bealn on high. 


'Ve miss-O, howwe miss! -his face,- 
'Vith trembling accents speak his 
name. 
Earth cannot fill his shadowed place 
From all her rolls of pride and fame; 
Our song has lost the silvery thread 
That carolled through his jocund ]ips; 
Our laugh is mute, our smile is fled, 
And all our sunshine in eclipse. 


And what and whence the "rolldrous 
charm 
That kept his manhood boylike still, - 
That life's hard censors could disalID 
And lead thenl captive at his wi}] ? 
His heart was shaped of rosier clay, - 
His veins were filled with ruddier 
fire, - 
Tinle could not chill hin1, fortune sway, 
N or toil with all its burdens tire. 


His speech burst throbbing from its 
fonnt 
And s
t our colder thougl1ts aglow, 
As the hot leaping geysers mount 
And falling mplt the Icelau(l sno,v. , 
Sonle word, perchance, we countf'd 
rash, - 
Some phrase our calmness might dis- 
claim, 
Yet 't was the sunset's Hghtning's flash, 
No angry bolt, but harmless flanle. 



THE LAST CHARGE. 


219 



ran judges an, God knoweth each; 
'Ye read the rule, He sees the law; 
II ow oft his laughing children teach 
The truths !lis prophets never saw! 
o frienù, whose wi
ùonl flowered in 
Inirth, 
Our hearts are sad, our eyes are 
diIn ; 
He gave thy smiles to brighten earth, - 
'Ve tIust thy joyous soul to Him! 


Alas! -our weakness Heaven forgive! 
'Ve murmur, even while we trust, 
"How long earth's breathing ùurdens 
live, 
Whose hearts, before they die, are 
dust ! " 
But thou! - through grIefs untimely 
tears 
We ask with half-reproachful sigh- 
"Could
t thou not watch a few brief 


years 
Till Friendship faltered, 'Thou mayst 
die' ?" 


Who loved our boyish years so well '? 
'Yho knew so well their pleasant 
tal es, 
And all those livelier freaks could tell 
'Yhose oft
told story never fails? 
In vain we turn our aching eyes, - 
In vain we stretch our eager hands, - 
Cold in his wintry shroud he lies 
Beneath the ùreary drifting sands! 


Ab, speak not thus! Hc lies not th
re ! 
".,. e see him, hear him as of old ! 
He comes! he claims his wonted 
chair; 
lIis beaming face we still behold! 
His voice rings clear in all our songs, 
And loud his mirthful accents rise; 
To us our brother's life ùelongs, - 
Dear friends, a claSSlnate never dies! 


1864. 


THE LAST CHARGE. 


Now, Dlen of the Korth! will you join 
in the strife 
For country, for freedom, for honor, for 
life? 
The giant grows blind in his fury and 
spi te, - 
One blow O:t} his forehead will settle tbe 
fight! 


Flash full in his eyes the blue lightning 
of steel, 
And, stun him with cannon-bolts, Ileal 
upon peal ! 

Iount, troopers, and follow your ganle 
to its lair, 
As the hound tracks the wolf and the 
beagle the hare! 


Blow, trumpets, yoursnmmons, till slug- 
garùs awake! 
Beat, drums, till the roofs of the faint- 
hearted shake! 
Yet, yet, ere the signet is stamped on 
the scroH, 
Their names may be traced on the blood. 
sprinkled roll ! 


Trust not the false herald that painted 
your shield: 
True honor to
day must be sought on the 
field! 
Her scutcheon shows white with a blazun 
of red, - 
The fife-drops of crimson for liberty 
shed ! 


The hour is at hand, and the moment 
draws nigh; 
The dog-star of treason grows dim in 
the sky; 
Shine forth from the battle-cloud, light 
of the morn, 



220 


POEMS OF TIlE CLASS OF '29. 


Call back the bright hour when the 
Nation was born! 


'fhe rivers of peace through our valleys 
shall run, 
As the glaciers of tyranny melt in the 
sun; 
Smite, smite the proud panicide down 
fronl his throne, - 
His sceptre once broken, the ,vorld is 
our own! 


1865. 


OUR OLDEST FRIEND. 
I GIVE you the health -of the oldest 
friend 
That, short of etenlity, earth can lend,- 
A fliend so faithful and tried 
nd true 
'That nothing can wean hirn from me 
and you. 


'Vhen first we screeched in the sudden 
blaze 
Of the daylight's blinding and blasting 
rays, 
And gulped at the gaseous, groggy air, 
This old, old friend stood waiting there. 


And when, with a kind of mortal strife, 
'Ve had gasped and 
hoked into breath- 
. 
ing life, 
He watehcd by the cradle, day and night, 
And held our hands till we stood upright. 


From gristle and pulp our frames have 
grown 
To stringy muscle and solid bone; 
'Yhile we were changing, he aItf'red not; 
'Ve Inight forget, but he never forgot. 


He CaIne with us to the college class,- 
I..ittle cared he for the steward's pass! 
A n the rest must pay their fce, 
But the grÏ1n old dead-heael entered free. 


He stayed with us while we counted o'er 
Four tinIcs each of the seasons four; 
Anù with every scason, fro III year to year, 
The dear name ClaSSll1ate he made Inore 
dear. 


He never leaves us, - he never win, 
Till our hands are cold and our hearts 
are still ; 
On birthdays, and Christmas, and New- 
Year's too, 
lIe always renleInbers both n1e and you. 


Every year this faithful friend 
His little present is sure to send; 
Every year, wheresoe'er we be, 
He wants a keepsake fron1 you and me. 


Ho\v he loves us! he pats our heads, 
And; lo! they are gleaming with silver 
threads; · 
And he's always begging one lock of 
llair, _ 
Till our shining crowns have nothing to 
wear. 


At length he will tell us, one by one, 
" 
ly child, your labor on earth is don(' ; 
And now you n1ust journey afar to see 
!tly elder brother, - Eternity!" 


And so, when long, long years hàve 
passed, 
Some dear old fellow ,vill be the last, - 
N ever a boy alive but he 
Of all our goodly cOlnpany! 


When he lies down, but not tin then, 
Our kind Class-Angpl will drop the pen 
That writes in the day-book kept above 
Our lifelong recorù of faith, and love. 
So here '8 a health in hom('ly r}lyme 
To our oldest classmate, Father Tinle ! 
!tray our last survivor live to l)e 
As balù and as wise and a
 tough as lw ! 



SHER
IA..
 's IN SA VANXAII. -l\IY A
NUAL. 221 


1865. 


SHERMAN'8 IN SAVANNAH. 


A HALF-.RHY1.1ED I
lPROl\lPTU. 


LIKE the tribes of Israel, 
Fed on quails and manna, 
Sherman and his glorious band 
Journeyed through the rebel land, 
:Fed from Heaven's all-bounteous hand, 
Marching on Savannah! 


As the moving pillar shone, 
Streamed the starry banner 
All day long in rosy light, 
Flalning splendor all the night, 
Tin it swooped in eagle flight 
Down on doomeù Savannah! 


Glory be to God on high! 
Shout the louù Hosanna! 
Treason's wilùerness is past, 
Canaan's shore is ,yon at last, 
Peal a nation's trunlpet- blast, - 
Sherman's in Savannah! 


Soon shall Richnlond's tough old hide 
Find a tough old tanner! 
Soon from every rebel wall 
Shall the rag of treason fall, 
Till our banner flaps o'er all 
As it crowns Savannah! 


1866. 


MY ANNUAL. 


How' long "in this harp which you once 
loved to hear 
Cheat your lips of a smile or your eyes 
of a tear? 
How long stir the echoes it wakened of 
old, 
'Vhile its strings were un1
okenJ untar- 
nished its gold 1 


Dear friends of my boyhood, my wonls 
do you wrong; 
The heart, the heart only', shall throb 
in my song; 
It reads the kind answer that looks from 
your eyes, - 
" We will bid our old harper play on 
till he dies." 


Though Youth, the fair angel that 
looked o'er the strings, 
Has lost the bright glory that gleamed 
on his wings, 
Though the freshness of morning has 
passed from its tone, 
It is still the old harp that was always 
your own. 


I claim not its music, - each note it 
affords 
I strike fronl YOllr heart-strings, that 
lend me its chords; 
I know you will listen and love to the 
last, 
For it trembles and thrills with the 
voice of your past. 


Ah, brothers! dear brothers! the harp 
that I hold 
No craftsman could string and no artisan 
mould; 
He shaped it, He strung it, who fash- 
ioned the lyres 
That ring with the hymns of the sera- 
phim choirs. 


Not mine are the visions of beauty it 
brings, 
K ot nline the faint fragrance around it 
that clings; 
Those shapes are the phantoms of years 
that are fled, 
Those sweets breathe from roses your 
summers have shed. 



222 


POE:\IS OF THE CLASS OF '29. 


Each hour of the past lends its tribute 
to this, 
Till it blooms like a bower in the Gar- 
den of Bliss; 
The thorn and the thistle may grow as 
they will, 
Where Friendship unfolds there is Para- 
dise still. 


The bird wanders careless while summer 
is green, 
The leaf-hidden cradle that rocked him 


unseen; 
1Vhen Autumn's rude fingers the woods 
have undressed, 
The boughs filay look bare, but they 
show him his nest. 


Too precious these moments! the lustre 
they fling 
Is the light of our year, is the gem of 
its ring, 
So brinlming with sunshine, we almost 
forget 
The rays it has lost, and its border of jet. 


'Vhile round us the nlany-hned halo is 
shed, 
How ùear are the living, how near are 
the dead! 
One circle, scarce broken, these waiting 
below, 
Those walking the shores where the 
asphodels blow! 
Not life shall enlarge it nor death shall 
divide, - 
No brother new-born finds his place at 
my side ; 
No titles sball freeze us, no grandeurs 
infest, 
His IIonor, IIis 'V orship, are boys like 
the rest. 


Some .won the world's homage, their 
names we hold dear,- 


But Friendship, not Fan1c, is the coun.. 
tersign here; _ 

Iake room by the conqueror crowned 
in the strife 
For the conlfade that limps from the 
battle of life! 


What tongue talks of battle 
 Too long 
we have heard 
In sorrow, in anguish, that terrible word; 
It redùened the sunshine, it crimsoned 
the wave, 
I t sprinkled our doors with the blood 
of our brave. 


Peace, Peace comes at last, with her 
garland of white; 
Peace broods in all hearts as we gather 
to-night; 
The blazon of Union spreads full in the 
sun; 
We echo its words, - We are one! We 
are one! 


1867. 


ALL HERE. 


IT is not what we say or sing, 
That keeps our charm so long un- 
broken, 
Though every lightest leaf we bring 
1\Iay touch the heart as friendship's 
token; 
Not what ,ve sing or what we say 
Can make us dearer to each other; 
We love the singer and his lay, 
But love as well the silent brother. 


Yet bring whate'er your garden grows, 
Thrice welcome to our smiles and 
praises; 
Thanks for the myrtle and the rose, 
Than ks for the marigolds and daisies; 
One flower 
relong we all shall claim, 
Alas! unloved of Aluaryllis- 



ONCE )IORE. 


223 


Kature's last blossom -need I name 
The wreath of threescore's silver lilies? 


How many, brothers, meet to-night 
Around our boyhood's covered mnbers? 
Go read the treasured names aright 
The old triennial list remembers: 
Though twenty wear the starry sign 
That tells a life has broke its tether, 
The fifty-eight of 'twenty-nine - 
God bless THE Boys ! - are all to- 
gether ! 


These come with joyous look and word, 
'Vith friendly grasp and cheerful 
greeting, - 
Those smile unseen, and move unheard, 
. The angel guests of every meeting; 
They cast no shadow in the ftan1e 
That flushes from the gilded lustre, 
But count us - we are still the same; 
One earthly band, one heavenly clus- 
ter! 


Love dies not when he bows his head 
To pass beyond the nan'ow portals, - 
The light these glowing moments shed 
1Yakes from their sleep our lost im- 
mortals ; 
They come as in their joyous prime, 
Before their morning days were num- 
bered, - 
Death stays the envious hand of'rime, - 
The eres have not grown dim that 
slumbered ! 


The paths that loving souls have trod 
Arch o'er the dust where worldlings 
grovel 
High as the zenith o'er t11e sod, - 
The cross above the Sexton's shovel! 
We rise beyond the realms of day; 
They seem to stoop from spheres of 
glory 


,Yïth us one happy hour to stray, 
,Vhile youth comes back in song and 
story. 


Ah! ours is friendship true as steel 
That wal" has tried in eùge and tem- 
per; 
I t writes upon its sacred seal 
The priest's ubi que - omnes - sem- 
per/ 
I t lends the sky a fairer sun 
That cheers our lives with rays as 
steady 
As if our footsteps had begun 
To print the golden streets already! 


The tangling years. have clinched its 
knot 
Too fast for mortal strength to sunder; 
The lightning bolts of noon are shot; 
No fear of evening's idle thunder! 
Too late ! too late ! - no graceless hand 
Shall stretch its cords in vain endeavor 
To rive the close encircling baud 
That maùe and keeps us one forever! 


So when upon the fated scroll 
The falling stars have all df'scended, 
And, blotted fronl the breathing 1'011, 
Our little page of life is ended, 
We ask but one memorial line 
Traced on thy tablet, Gracious:\Iother: 
" lrIy children. Boys of '29. 
In pace. How they loved each other! " 


1868. 


ONCE MORE. 


" Will I come? " That is j)leasant! I 
beg to inquire 
If tho gun that I carry has eyer luissed 
fire 1 
And which was the muster-roll- men- 
tion but one - 



224 


POEl\IS OF THE CLASS OF '29. 


That missed your old comrade who car- 
ries the gun 
 
You see Dle as always, my hand on the 
lock, 
The cap on the nipple, the hammer full 
cock; 
It is rusty, some tell me; I heed not 
the scoff; 
It is battered and bruised, but it always 
goes off ! 


Bump! bump! down the staircase the 
cannon-ball goes, - 
Aha, old Professor! Look out for your 
toes ! 
Don't think, my poor Tutor, to sleep in 
your bed, - 
Two "Boys" -'twenty-niners -room 
over your head! 


Remember the nights when the tar-barrel 
blazed ! 
From red "Massachusetts" the war-cry 
was raised ; 
And "Hollis" and "Stoughton" re- 
echo.ed the call ; 
TillP- poked his head out of Hol- 
worthy Hall ! 


- "Is it loaded 
" I 'II bet you! 1Vhat 
does n't it hold 
 
Rammed full to the muzzle with memo- 
ries untold ; 
Why, it scares nle to fire, lest the pieces 
should fly 
I.Jike the cannons that burst on the Old P-, as we called him, - at fifty 
Fourth of July ! 


One charge is a remnant of College-day 
dreams 
(I ts wadding is made of forensics and 
themes) ; 
Ah, visions of fame! what a flash in the 
pan 
As the trigger was pulled by each clever 
young man! 
And love! Bless my stars, what a car- 
tridge is there ! 
'Vith a wadding of rose-leaves and rib- 
bons and hair,- 
All cranlmed in one verse to go off at a 
shot! , 
- 'V ere there ever such sweethearts? 
Of course there were not ! 


or so, - 
Not exactly a bud, but not quite in full 
blow ; 
In ripening manhood, suppose we should 
say, 
Just nearing his prime, as we boys are 
to-day! 


0, say, can you look through the vista 
of age 
To the time when old 
Iorse drove the 
regular stage 1 
'Vhen Lyon told tales of the long-van- 
ished years, 
And Lenox crept round with the rings 
in his ears 
 


And dost thou, my brother, remmnber 
indeed 
The days of our dealings with 'Villard 
and Read 1 
When "Dolly" was kicking and run- 
ning away, 
And punch came up smoking on Fille- 
brown's tray 1 


And next, - what a load! it will split 
the old gun, - 
Three fingers, - four fingers, - five fin- 
gers of fun ! 
Come tell me, gray sages, for mischief 
and noise 
'Vas there ever a lot like us fellows, But where are the Tutors, my brother, 
"The Boys" 1 0 tell!- 



THE OLD CRUISER. 


C)ry"" 
..._a 


And wnere the Professors, renlembered' i Go harness up "Dolly," and fetch her 
so well? along! - 
The stur.ty old Gredan of Hohyorthy Dead! Dead! You false graybeard, I 
Hall, swear they are not! 
And Latin, and Logic, and Hebrew, Hurrah for Old Hickory! - 0, I forgot! 
and all î 


- " They are dead, the old fellows" (we 
called them so then, 
Though we since have found out they 
were lusty young tnen). 
- They are dead, do you tell me 1- but 
how do you know? 
Yon 've filled once too often. I doubt if 
it's so. 


I 'm thinking. I 'm thinking. Is this 
'sixty-eight 1 
It's not quite so clear. It admits of 
debate. 
I may have been dreaming. I rather 
incline 
To think - yes, I 
'twenty-nine! 


'Yell, one we have with us (how could 
he contrive 
To deal with us youngsters and still to 
survi ve ?) 
'\"'ho wore for our guidance authority's 
robe, - 
No wonder he took to the studY of Job! 


- And now as my load was uncommonly 
large, . 
Let me taper it off with a classical charge; 
'Yhen that has gone off, I shall drop my 
old gun - 
And then stand at ease, for my service 
is done. 


'm certain - it is Bibarnus ad Classem 'l:ocatam "TILe 
Boys" 
Et eO'r'um Tutorem cui nomen cst 
" 
'Toye8" ; 
El..floreant, valeant, vigeant tarn, 
.JVon Peircills ipse enUll
eret qua1n I 


" By Zborzhe ! " - as friend Sales is ac- 
customed to cry, - 
You tell me they're dead,. but I know 
it's a lie ! 
Is Jackson not President? - 'Vh
t ".as 
't yon said ? 
It can't be; you're joking; what, - all 
of 'em dead? 


Jim, - Harry, - Fred, - Isaac, - all 
gone fronl our side? 
They could n't have left us, - no, not if 
they, tried. 
- Look, - there's our old Præses,- 
he can't find his text; 
-See,- P-ruhshisleg, as he growls 
out, "The next I " 


1869. 


THE OLD CRUISER. 


HERE'S the old cruiser, 'Twenty-nine, 
Forty tÍ1nes s1le 's crossed the line; 
Same old masts and sails and crew, 
Tight and tough and as good as new. 
Into the harbor she brayely steers 
Just as she's done for these forty 
years,- 
Over her anchor goes, splash and clang! 
Down her sails drop, rattle and bang! 


I told you 't was nonsense. 
us a song ! 


Joe, give Comes a vessel out of the dock 
Fre.sh and spry as a fighting-rock, 



226 


POEMS OF THE CLASS OF 

 


Feathered ,vith sails and spurred with 
steam, 
Heading out of the classic stream. 


Crew of a 11undred all aboard, 
Every nlan as fine as a lord. 
Gay they look and proud they feel, 
Bowling along on even keel. 


On they float with wind and tide, - 
Gain at last the old ship's side; . 
Every man looks down in turn,- 
Reads the name that's on her stern. 


"Twenty-nine! - Diable you say! 
That was in Skipper I{irklancl's day! 
,V hat was the Flying Dutclunan's name? 
This old rover must be the same. 


" Ho! you Boatswain that walks the 
deck, 
How does it happen you're not a wreck? 
One and another have come to grief, 
How have you dodged by rock.and reef
" 


- Boatswain, lifting one knowing lid, 
Hitches his breeches and shifts his quid: 
" Hey? What is it? 'Vho 's come to 
grief 1 
Louder, young swab, I 'n1 a little deaf." 


" I say, old fellow, what keeps your boat 
'Vith all you jolly old boys afloat, 
'Yhen scores of vessels as good as she 
Have swalloweù the salt of the bitter 
sea 1 


" 1\Iany a crew from many a craft 
Goes drifting by on a broken raft 
Pieced from a vessel that clove the brine 
Taller and prouder than 'Twenty-nine. 


"Some capsized in an angry breeze, 
Sonle were lost in t}le narrow seas, 
SOJue on snags and some on sands 
Struck and perished and lost their hands. 


" Tell us young ones, you gray old man, 
'Vhat is your secret, if you can. 
'\Ve have a ship as good as you, 
Show us how to keep our crew." 


So in his ear the youngster cries; 
Then the gray Boatswain straight re- 
plies :- 
"All your crew be sure you know, - 
Never let one of your shipmates go. 


"If he leaves you, change your tack, 
Follow him close and fetch hinl back; 
· When you've hauled him in at last, 
Grapple his flipper and hold him fast. 


"If you've wronged him, speak him 
fair, 
Say you're SOITY and n1ake it square; 
If he's wronged you, wink so tight 
N one of you see what's plain ill sight. 


"'Vhen the world goes hard and wrong, 
Lend a hand to help him along; 
'Vhen his stockings have holes to darn, 
Don't you grudge him your ball of yarn. 


. 
"Once in a twelvemonth, come wbat 
may, 
Anchor your ship in a quiet bay, 
Call åll hands ånd read the log, 
And give 'em a taste of grub and grog. 


" Stick to each other through thick and 
thin ; 
All the closer as age leaks in ; 
Squalls will blow and clouds will frown, 
But stay by your ship till you all go 
down ! " 


ADDED FOR THE ALlT1\IJ\I MEETIXG, 
JUNE 29, 1869. 


So the gray Boatswain of 'Twenty-nine 
Piped to "The Boys" as they crosseù 
the line; 



HYl\IN FOR THE CLASS-
IEETING. - EVE
-SO
G. 227 


Round the cabin sat thirty guests, 
Babes of the nurse with a thousand 
breasts. 


There were the judges, grave and grand, 
Flanked by the priests on either hand; 
There was the lord of wealth untold, 
And the dear good fellow in broadcloth 
old. 


Thirty men, from twenty towns, 
Sires and grandsires with silvered 
crowns, - 
'rhirty school-boys all in a row, - 
Bens and Georges anù Hill anù Joe. 


In thirty goblets the wine was poured, 
But threescore gathered arounù the 
board, - 
For 10! at the side of every chair 
A shadow hovered - we all were there ! 


1869. 


HYMN FOR THE CLASS-MEETING. 


TIIOU Gracious Power, whose mercy lends 
The light of home, the smile of friends, 
Our gathered flock thine arms infold 
As in the peaceful days of old. 


Wilt thou not hear us while ,ve raise, 
In sweet accord of solemn praise, 
The voices that have mingled long 
In joyous flow of nlirth and song 1 
For all the blessings life has brought, 
For all its sorrowing hours have taught, 
For all we mourn, for all we keep, 
The hands ,ve clasp, the loved that 
sleep ; 
The noontide sunshine of the past, 
These brief, bright moments fading fast, 
The stars that gild our darkening years, 
The twilight ray from holier spheres; 


'Ve thank thee, Father! let thy grace 
Our narrowing circle still em brace, 
Thy mercy shed its heavenly store, 
Thy peace be with us evermore! 


1870. 


EVEN-SONG. 


IT may be, yes, it must be, Time that 
blings 
An end to mortal things, 
:rhat sends the beggar 'Yinter in the 
train 
Of Autumn's burdened wain, - 
Time, that is heir of all our earthly 
state, 
Anù knoweth well to wait 
Till sea hath turned to shore and s110re 
to sea, 
If so it need must be, 
Ere he make good his clainl and can his 
own 
Old empires overthrown,- 
Time, who can find no heavenly orb too 
large 
To hold its fee in charge, 
N or any motes that fill its beam so 
snlall, 
But he shall care for all, - 
It nlay be, must be, - yes, he soon 
shall ti re 
This hand that bolds the lyre. 


Then ye who listened in that earlier day 
'Y'heu to my careless lay 
I matc11ed its chords and stole their first- 
born thrill; 
'Vith untauO'ht rudest skill 
;:) 
Vexing a treble from the slender strings 
Thin as the locust sings 
'Vhen the shrill-crying child of sum- 
mer's heat 
Pipes from its leafy seat, 
The dim pavilion of embowering green 



228 


POEl\IS OF THE CLASS OF '29. 


Beneath whose shadowy screen I Hard on his throbbing breast, 
The small sopranist tries his single note 'Vhen thou, whose snlÏle is life and bliss 
Again
t the song-bird's throat, and fame 
And all the echoes Hsten, ùut in vain; Hast set his pulse aflame, 
They hear no answering strain, - 
Iuse of the lyre! can say farewell to 
Then ye who listened in that earlier day thee? 
Sl all sadly turn away, Alas! and must it be ? 


Saying, "The fire burns low, the hearth 
is cold 
That warmed our blood of old; 
Cover its embers and its half-burnt 
brands, 
And let us stretch our hands 
Over a brighter and fresh-kindled flarne ; 
Lo, this is not the same, 
The joyous singer of Ollr morning time, 
Flushed high with lusty rhynle ! 
Speak kindly, for he bears a human 
heart, 
nut whisper him apart, - 
Tell him the woods their autumn robes 
have shed 
And all their birùs have fled, 
Aud shouting winds unbuild the naked 
nests 
They warmed with patient breasts; 
Tell him the sky is dark, the summer 
0' er, 
And bid him sing no more ! 


Ah, welladay! if words so cruel.kind 
A li
tening ear might find! 
But who that hears the music in his soul 
Of rhythmic waves that roll 
Crested with gleams of fire, anù as they 
flow 
Stir all the deeps below 
Till the great l)earls no calm might ever 
reach 
Leap glistening on the beach, - 
'Vho that has known the passion and 
the pain, 
The rush through heart and hrain, 
The joy so like a pang his hand is pressed 


In many a clime, in many a stately 
tongue, 
The mighty bards 11ave sung; 
To these the immenlorial thrones belong 
And purple robes of song; 
Yet the slight minstrel loves the slender 
tone 
His lips may call his own, 
And finds the measure of the verse n10re 
sweet 
Timed by his pulse's beat, 
Than all the hymnings of the laurelled 
throng. . 
Say not I do hinl wrong, 
For Nature spoils her warblers, - them 
she feeds 
In lotus-growing meads 
And pours them subtle draughts from 
haunted streams 
That fill their souls with,dreams. 
Fun well I know the gracious mother's 
wiles 
And dear delusive smiles! 
No callow fledgling of her singing brood 
But tastes that witching food, 
And hearing overhead the eagle's wing, 
And how the thrushes sing, 
Vents his exiguous chirp, and from his 
nest 
Flaps forth. - we know the rest. 
I own the weakness of the tuneful 
kind,- 
Are not all harpers blind? 
I sang too early, n1ust I sing too late? 
The lengthening shadows wait 
The first l)ale stars of twilight, - yet 
bow sweet 



THE S1tIILING LISTEX ER. 


229 


The flattering whisper's cheat, - 
"Thou hast the fire no evening chill 
can tanIe, 
'Yhose coals outlast its flalue ! " 


Farewell, ye carols of the laughing morn, 
Of earliest sunshine born! 
The sower flings the seed and looks not 
back 
Along his furrowed track; 
The reaper leaves the stalks for other 
hands 
To gird with circling bands; 
The wind, ealth'scareless servant, truant- 
born, 
Blows clean the beaten corn 
And quits the thresher's floor, and goes 
his way . 
To sport with ocean's spray; 
The headlong-stun1bling rivulet scram- 
bling down 
To wash the sea-girt town, 
Still babbling of the green and billowy 
waste 
''''hose salt he longs to taste, 
Ere his warm wave its chilling clasp may 
feel 
Has twirled the miller's wheel. 


The song has done its task that makes 
us bold 
'Vith secrets else untold, - 
And mine has run its errand; through 
the dews 
I tracked the flying 1\Iuse ; 
The daughter of the 1110rning touche(l n1Y 
lips 
'Vith roseate finger-tips; 
'Vhether I would or would not, I must 
sing 
'Vith the new choirs of spring; 
Now, as I watch the fading autumn day 
And triU n1Y softened lay, 
I think of all that listened, and of one 
}'or \Yh0111 a brighter sun 


Dawned at high summer's nOOll. ..Ah, 
comrades dear, 
.A.re not all gathered here 1 
Our hearts have answered. - Yes! they 
Ileal' our call : 
All gathered here! all! all! 


1871. 


THE SMILING LISTENER. 


PRECISELY. I see it. You all want to 
say 
That a tear is too sad and a laugh is too 
gay; 
You could stand a faint smile, you cou](l 
manage a sigh, 
But you value your ribs, and you don't 
'wan t to cry. 


And why at our feast of the clasping of 
hands 
Need we turn on the stream of our lach- 
rynull glands 1 
Though we see the white breakers of age 
on our bow, 
Let us take a gooù pull in the jolly-boat 
now! 


It's lIard if a fellow cannot feel content 
'Yhell a banquet like this does n't cost 
him a cent, 
\Yhen his goblet and plate he nlay enIpty 
at will, 
And our kind Class Conlmittee will settle 
the bill. 


And here's your old friend the identical 
bard 
'Yho has rhymed and recited you verse 
by the yard 
Since the days of the empire of Andrew 
the First 
Till you're full to the brim and feel ready 
to burst. 



230 


POEMS FROlvI THE CLASS OF '29. 


It's awful to think of, - how year after 
year 
'Vith hi
 piece in his pocket he ,vaits for 
you here ; 
No matter who's missing, there always 
is one 
To lug out his manuscript, sure as a gun. 


"'Vhy won't he stop writing 1" Hu- 
manity cries: 
The answer is briefly, " He can't if he 
tries; 
He has played with his foolish old feather 
so long, 
That the goose-quill in spite of him 
cackles in so
g." 


You have watched him with patience 
from morning to dusk 
Since the tassel was bright 0' er the green 
of the b usk, 
And now - it's too bad - it's a pitiful 
job- 
He has shelled the ripe ear till he's come 
to the cob. 


I see one face beaming - it listens so 
well 
There must be SOlne nnlsic yet left in 
my shell - 
The wine of nlY soul is not thick on the 
lees ; 
One string is unbroken, one friend I can 
please ! 


Dear c01l1rade, the sunshine of seasons 
gone by 
Looks out from your tender and tear- 
moistened eye, 
A pharos of love on an ice-girdled 
coast, - 
Kind soul! - Don't you hear me 1- 
He's deaf as a post! 


" 
That you grow hard of hearing as I gro,v 
prolix 1 
And that look of delight which would 
angels beguile 
Is the deaflnan's prolonged unintelligent 
sn1Íle ? ,. 


Ah ! the ear may grow dull, and the eye 
may wax dinl, 
But they still know a classmate - they 
can't n1istake him; 
There is something to tell us, "That '8 
one of our band," 
Though we groped in the dark for a touch 
of his hand. 


Well, Time with his snuffers is prowling 
about 
. 
And his shaky old fingers will soon snuff 
us out; 
There's a hint for us all in each pendu- 
lum tick, 
For we're low in the tallow and long in 
the wick. 


You remember Rossini - you've been 
at the play? 
How his overture-endings keep crashing 
away 
Till you think,. "It's all over - it can't 
but stop now - 
That's the screech and the bang of the 
final bow-wow." 


And you find you're n1istaken ; there's 
lots more to come, 

Iore banging, n10re screeching of fiddle 
and drum, 
Till when the last ending is finished and 
done, 
You feelIike a horse when the winning- 
post's won. 


Can it be one of Nature's benevolent So I, who have sung to you, merry or 
tricks sad, 



OUR S'VEET SIX GER. 


231 


Since the da)"s "lIen they called DIe a 
promising lad, 
Though I've maùe you n10re rhymes 
than a tutor could scan, 
Have a few nlOre still left, like the razor- 
sh'o p Dlan. 
N ow pray don't be frightened - I 'm 
rpady to stop 
:hly gal10ping anapests' c1atter and pop- 
In fact, if you say so, retire fronl to-day 
To the garret I left, OIl a poet's half-pay. 
And yet - I can't help it - perhaps - 
who can tell ? 
You nlight miss the poor singer you 
treated so well, 
And confess you could stand him five 
minutes or so, 
"It was so like old times we remember, 
k " 
you -now. 
'T is not that the music can signify 
Dluch, 
But then there are chords that awake 
with a touch,- 
And our hearts can find echoes of sorrow 
and joy 
To the winch of the minstrel who hails 
from Savoy. 
So this hand-organ tune that I cheerful1y 
grind 

Iay bring the old places and faces to 
mind, 
And seen in the light of the past we re- 
call 
The flowers that have faded bloom fair- 
est of all ! 


1872. 


OUR SWEET SINGER. 


* 


J. A. 
OXE 111cmory trenlbles on our lips: 
It throbs in every breast ; 


In tear-dimmed eyes, in mirth's eclipse, 
The shadow stands confessed. 


o silent voice, that cheered so long 
Our nlanhood's marching day, 
'Vithout thy breath of heavenly song, 
How weary seems the way! 


Vain every pictured phrase to tell 
Our sorrowing heart's desire ; 
The shattered harp, the broken shen, 
The silent unstrung lyre; 


For youth was round us while he sang; 
I t glowed in every tone; 
'Vith bridal chimes the echoes rang, 
And made the past our own. 
o blissful dream! Our nursery joys 
'Ve know must have an end, 
But love and friendship's broken toys 
1\Iay God's good angels mend! 


The cheering sInHe, tlle voice of mirth 
And laughter's gay surprise 
That please the children born of earth, 
1Vhy deem that Heaven denies 1 

Iethinks in that refulgent sphere 
That knows not sun or moon, 
An earth-born saint might long to hear 
One verse of " Bonny Doon " ; 


Or walking through the streets of gold 
In Heaven's unclouded light, 
His lips recall the song of old 
And hum" The sky is bright." 


* 


* 


* 


And. can we smile when thou art dead 1 
A h, brothers, even so ! 
The rose of sum mer will be red, 
In spite of winter's snow. 


Thou wouhlst not leave us all in gloom 
Becanse thy song is still, 
Nor l)1ight the banquet-garland's bloom 
'Vith grief's untimely chill. 



232 


POE
IS OF TIlE CLASS OF '29. 


The sighing wintry winds complain, - 
The singing bird has flown, - 
Hark! heard I not that ringing strain, 
That clear celestial tone? 


IIow poor these pallid phrases seem, 
How weak this tinkling line, 
As warbles through n1Y waking dream 
That angel voice of thine ! 


Thy requiem asks a sweeter lay; 
It falters on nlY tongue; 
For all we vainly strive to say, 
Thou shouldst thyself have sung ! 


1873. 


* 


* 


* 


H. C. M. H. S. J. K. W. 


THE dirge is played, the throbbing 
death-peal rung; 
The sad-voiced requiem sung 
On each white urn where n1elllory 
dwells 
The wreath of rustling imn10rtelles 
Our loving hands have hung, 
And baln1Îest leaves have strown anù ten- 
derest bl08son1s flung. 


The birds that filled the air with songs 
have flown, 
The wintry blasts have blown, 
And these for whom the voice of 
spring 
Baùe the sweet choirs their carols 


sIng 
Sleep in those chaIn bel's lone 
'Vhere snows untrodden lie, unheard the 
night-winds moan. 


'Ve clasp them all in memory, as the 
vine 
,VllOse running stems intwine, 
The nlarble shaft, and steal around, 


The lowly stone, the nameless 
mound; 
'Vith sorrowing hearts resign 
Our brothers true and tried, anù close 
our broken line. 


How fast the lamps of life grow dim 
and die 
Beneath our sunset sky ! 
Still fading, as along our track 
We cast our sadùened glances back, 
And while we vainly sigh 
The shadowy day recedes, the starry 
night draws nigh. 


As when from pier to pier across the 
tide 
With even keel we glide, 
The lights we left along the shore 
Grow less and less, while more, yet 
more 
New vistas open wide 
Of fair illumined streets and caselnents 
golden-eyed. 
Each closing circle of our sun1it sphere 
Seems to bring Heaven more near: 
Can we not dream that those we love 
Are 1istening in the world above 
And sn1iling as they hear 
The voices known so well of friends that 
still are dear 1 


Does all that made us human fade away 
With this dissolving clay? 
Nay, rather deem the blessecl isles 
Are bright and gay with joyous 
smiles, 
That angels have thf'ir play, 
And saints that tire of song may claim 
their holiday. 
An else of earth may perish; love alone 
Not Heaven sllall find outgrown! 
Are they not here, our spirit guests 
'Vith love still throbbing in their 
breasts 1 



'VHÅT I H
\ VE CO
IE FOR. - OUR B
\.
KER. 233 


Once n10re let flowers be strown. 
'VelcOlne, ye shadowy forms, we count 
you still our own ! 


1873. 


WHAT I HAVE COME FOR. 


I HAVE come with my verses - I think 
I may claim 
It is not the first time I have tried on 
the same. 
They were puckered in rhyme, they 
were wrinkled in wit; 
But your hearts were so large that they 
made thenl a fit. 


I have come - not to tease you with 
Inore of my rhynle, 
But to feel as I did in the blessed old 
tinle ; 
I want to hear him with the Brobding- 
nag laugh - 
".,. e count him at least as three men and 
a half. 


I have corne to meet judges so wise and 
so grand 
That I shake in my shoes while they're 
shaking my hand ; 
Anù the prince anlong merchants who 
put back the crown 
'Vhen they tried to entllrone him the 
King of the Town. 


I have come to see George - Yes, I 
think there are four, 
If they all were like these I could wish 
there were Dlorc. 
I have come to see one whorn we used 
to call" Jin!," 
I want to see - 0, don't I want to see 
him? 


I have ('orne to grow young - on my 
'Word I declare 


I have thought I detected a change in 
my hair! 
One hour with "The Boys" will restore 
it to brown- 
And a wrinkle or two I expect to rub 
down. 


Yes, that's what I've come for, as all 
of us come ; 
'Vhen I meet the dear Boys I could wish 
I were dUlnb. 
You asked me, you know, but it's 
spoiling the fUll ; 
I have told what I came for; my ditty 
is done. 


1874. 


OUR BANKER. 


OLD Time, in whose bank we deposit 
our notes, 
Is a miser who always wants guineas for 
groats; 
He keeps all his customers still in arrears 
By lending them minutes and charging 
them years. 


The twelvenlonth rolls round and we 
never forget 
On the counter before us to pay him our 
de bt. 
\Ve reckon the marks he has chalked on 
the door, 
Pay up and shake hands and begin a 
new score. 


Ho,v long lIe will lend us, how nluch we 
1uay owe, 
No angel will tell us, no nlortal nlay 
know. 
At fivescore, at fourscore, at threescore 
and ten, 
He may close the account with a stroke 
of his pen. 



234 


POE)IS OF THE CLASS 0]' '29. 


This only we know, -amid sorrows and 
joys 
Old Tinle has been easy and kind with 
" The Boys." 
Though he nlust have and will have 
and does have his pay, 
We have found him good-natured 
enough in his way. 


He never forgets us, as others will 
do,- 
I am sure he knows nle, and I think he 
knows you, 
For I see on your foreheads a mark that 
he lends 
As a sign he remembers to visit his 
friends. 


In the shape of a classmate (a wig on 
his crown, - 
His day-book and ledger laid carefully 
dowu) 
He has welcomed us yearly, a glass in 
his hand, 
And pledged the good health of our 
brotherly band. 


He's a thief, wp must own, but how 
many there be 
That roù us less gently and fairly than 
he: 
He has stripped the green leaves that 
wcre over us all, 
But they let in the sunshine as fast as 
they fall. 


Young beauties may ravish the world 
with a glanc
 
As they languish in song, as they float 
in the dance,- 
They are granJmothers now we rPlllenl- 
bel' as gir1R, 
And the conlely white cap takes the 
place of the curlB. 


But the sighing and moaning and groan- 
ing are o'er, 
'Ve are pining and moping and sleepless 
no more, 
And the hearts that were thluuping like 
ships on the rocks 
Beat as quiet and steady as nlceting- 
house clocks. 


The trump of ambition, loud sounding 
and shrill, 
}\tIay blow its long blast, but the echoes 
are still, 
The spring-tides are past, but no billow 
lnay reach 
The spoils they have landed far up on 
the beach. 


'Ve see that Time robs us, we know 
that he cheats, 
But we still find a charm in his pleas.. 
an t deceits, 
While he leaves the ren1embrance of all 
that was best, 
Love, friendship, and hope, and the 
prOlnise of rest. 


Sweet shadows of twilight! how calm 
their rcpose, 
"\Vhile the dewdrops fall soft in thp 
breast of the rose! 
IIow blest to the toiler his hour of re- 
lease 
"\Vhen the vesper is heard with its whis- 
per of peace ! 


Then here's to the wrinkled old miser, 
our fripnd ; 

fay he send us his bills to the century's 
end, 
And If'nù ns the JIlOffif'nts no sorrow 
alloys, 
'fill he S(plareS his account with the last 
of " The Boys." 



FOR CLASS MEETING. 


235 


1875. 


FOR CLASS MEETING. 


IT is a pity and a shame - alas! alas! 
I know it is, 
To tread the trodden grapes again, but 
so it has been, so it is; 
The pnrple vintage long is past, with 
ripened clusters bursting so 
They filled the wine-vats to the brim- 
't is strange you will be thirsting so! 


Too wen our faithful memory tells what 
n1ight be rhymed or snng about, 
For all have sighed and some have wept 
since last year's snows were flung 
about; 
The beacon flame tl1at fired the sky, the 
1110dest ray that gladdened us, 
A little breath has q uenched their liallt 
b , 
allddeepening shades have sadùened 
us. 


K 0 more our brother's life is ours for 
cheering or for grieving us, 
One only sadness they bequeatlled, the 
sorrow of their leaving us; 
Farewell ! Farewell! - I turn the leaf 
I read nlY chiming n1easure in ; 
\Vho knows but something still is there 
a friend nlay find a pleasure in ? 


For who can tell by what he likes what 
other people's fancies are? 
How all nlen think the best of wives 
their own particular K ancies are? 
If what I sing you brings a snlile, you 
will not stop to catechise, 
K or read Bceotia's lumbering line with 
nicely scanning Attic eyes. 


Perhaps the alabastrr hox that 
Iary 
broke so lovincrl v 
b ..I' 
\Vhile Judas looked so sternly on, the 
1tlaster so approvingly, 


'Vas not so fairly wrought as those that 
Pilate's wife and daughters had, 
Or nlany a danle of Judah's line that 
drank of Jordan's waters had. 


Perhaps the balm that cost so dear, as 
SOIne remarked officially, 
The precious nard that filled the room 
with fragrance so deliciously, 
So oft recalled in storied P aae and sunO' 
o ð 
in verse melodious, 
The dancing girl had thought too cheap 

 
- that daughter of Herodias. 


\Vhere now are all the mighty deeds 
that Herod boasted louùest of 1 
\Vhere now the flashing jewelry the 
tetrarch's wife was proudest of? 
Yet still to Ileal' how 
Ial'Y loved, all 
tribes of nlen are listeuin 0' 
b" 
And stiU the sinful wonlan's tears like 
stars in heaven are glistening. 


'T is not the !!ift our hands have brouerht 
'-J b , 
the love it is we brin cr with it 
b , 
The nlinstrel's lips nlay sllape the song, 
his heart in tune must siner with it . 
o , 
And so we love the sinlple lays, and 
wish we n1ight have more of them 
Our poet brothers sing for us - there 
Inust be half a score of them. 


It nlay be that of fanle and name our 
voices once were eIllulons, - 
,\Yith dreper thoughts, with tenderer 
Hiro bs their softening tones are 
trem ulous ; 
The dead seem listening as of old, ere 
friendship 'was bereft of them; 
The living wear a kinder slnile, the rem- 
nant that is left of them. 


Though on tIle once unfurrowed brows 
the harrow-teeth of TÏ1ne may show, 
Though all the strain of crippling yem:.s 
the halting feet of rh):me may show, 



236 


POE::\IS OF TIlE CLASS OF '29. 


"\Ve look and hear with nlelting hearts, 
for what we all renlellloer is 
The morn of Spring, nor heed how chill 
the sky of gray N oveIuber is. 


Thanks to the graciou's powers above 
from all nlankinù that singled us, 
And dropped the pearl of friendship in 
the cup they kindly rningled us, 
And boun(l us in a wreath of flowers 
with hoops of steel knit under it; - 
N or time, nor space, nor chance, nor 
change, nor death himself shall 
sunder it ! 


1876. 


"AD AMICOS." 


"Dumque vircnt genua 
Et deeet, obdueta solvatur fronte senectus." 


THE muse of boyhood's fervid hour 
Grows tame as skies get chill and hazy; 
'Vhere once she sought a passion-flower, 
She only hopes to find a daisy. 
'Vell, who the changing world bewai1s 1 
Who asks to have it stay unaltered 1 
Shall grown-up kittens chase thcir tails 1 
Shall colts be never shod or haltereù ? 


Arc we "the boys" that used to make 
The tables ring with noisy follies 1 
,V hose deep-lunged laughter oft would 
shake 
The ceiling with its thunder-volleys? 
Are we the youths with lips unshorn, 
At beauty's feet unwrinkled suitors, 
Whose mCInories reach tradition's 
morn - 
The days of prehistoric tutors? 


"The boys" we knew - but who 
these 
'Vhosc heads might 
tarch's sages, 


Or Fox's lnartyrs, if you please, 
Or hern1Ïts of the ùislual ag<>s '? 
"The boys" we knew -- can these be 
those? 
Their cheeks with morning's blush 
were painted;- 
Where are the Harrys, Jims, and Joes 
With whonl we once were well 
acquainted? 


If we are they, we're not the same; 
If they are we, why then they're 
masking; 
Do tell us, neighbor 'Vhat 's-your-name, 
'Vho are you? - What's the use of 
asking? 
You once were George, or Bill, or Ben ; 
There's you, yourself - there's you, 
that other- 
I know you now - I knew you then- 
You used to be your younger brother! 


You both are all our own to-day- 
But ah! I hear a warning whisper; 
Yon roseate hour that flits away 
Repeats the RotHan's saù pa'lllisper. 
Come back! corne back! we've need of 
yon 
To pay you for your word of warning; 
'Ve 'll bathe your wings in brighter ùew 
Than ever wet the lids of morning! 


are 


Behold this cup; its mystic wine 
No alien's lip bas ever tasted j 
The blood of friendship's clinging 
vine, I 
Still flowing, flowing, yet unwasted ; 
Old Time forgot his }'ullning sand 
And laid his hour-glass down to fill it, 
And Deat
 hÏJllself with gentlc hand 
Has touched the chalice, not to spill 
it. 


scrve for rlu- Each bubble rounding at the brim 
Is rainboweß. with its magic story; 



IIO'V NOT TO SETTLE IT. 


237 


The shining days with age grown dim 
Are dre:;sed again in robes of glory; 
In all its freshness spring returns 
'Vith song of birùs and blossoms 
tender; 
Once more the torch of passion burns, 
And youth is here in all its splen- 
dor! 


Hope swings her aue hor like a toy, 
Love laughs and shows the silver arrow 
'Ve knew so well as man and boy, - 
The shaft that stings through bone 
and marrow; 
Again our kindling pulses beat, 
'Vith tangled curls our fingers dally, 
And bygone beauties sn1Ïle as sweet 
As fresh-blown lilies of the valley. 


o blesséd hour! we may forget 
Its wreaths, its rhymes, its songs, its 
laughter, 
But not the loving eyes we lllet, 
'Vhose light shall gild the dim here- 
after. 
How every heart to each grows warm! 
Is one in sunshine's ray 1 'Ve share 
it. 
Is one in sorrow's blinding storm? 
A look, a word, shall help him bear it. 


" The boys " we were, "the boys " we'll 
be 
As long as three, as two, are creep- 
BIg ; 
Then here's to him -ah! which is 
he?- 
'Vho lives till all the rest are sleep- 
ing; 
A life with tranquil comfort blest, 
The young n1au's health, the rich 
man's plenty, 
All earth can cri \"e that earth has best, 

 
And heaven at fourscore years and 
twenty. 


1877. 


HOW NOT TO SETTLE IT. 


I LIKE, at times, to hear the steeples' 
chinies 
'Yith sober thoughts impressively 
that mingle; 
But sometimes, too, I rather like- 
don't you 1- 
To hear the music of the sleigh bells' 
jingle. 


I like fun well the deep resounding 
swell 
Of mighty symphonies with chords 
in woven ; 
But sOllletimes, too, a song of Burns- 
don't you î 
After a solemn storDl-blast of Beetho- 
ven. 


Good to the heels the well-worn slipper 
feels 
'Yhen the tired player shuffies off the 
buskin ; 
A page of Hood may do a fellow good 
After a scolding from Carlyle or Rus- 
kin. 


Some works I find, - say 'Yatts upon 
the ltlind, - 
No matter though at first they seenled 
alllusing, 
Not quite the same, but just a little tame 
After some five or six times' reperus- 
ing. 


So, too, at times ,vhen melancholy 
rhymes 
Or solemn speeches sober down a Jin- 
ner, 
I've seen it, 's true, quite often,- 
have n't you 1- 
The best-fed guests perceptibly grow 
thinner. 



238 


POEMS OF THE CLASS OF 

 


Better SOllIe jest (in 
pre:sseù) 
Or story (strictly In oral) even if musty, 
Or soñg we sung when these olù throats 
were young, - 
Something to keep our souls from 
getting rusty. 


proper terms ex- If Freedom dies because a ballot lies, 
She earns her grave; 't is tinle to call 
the sexton ! 


The poorest scrap from memory's ragged 
lap 
Comes like an heirloom from a dear 
dead mother- 
Hush! there's a tear that has no busi- 
ness here, 
A half-formed sigh that ere its birth 
w
 snlother. 


'Ve cry, we laugh; ah, life is half and 
half, 
N ow bright and joyous as a song of 
Herrick's, 
Then chill and bare as funeral-nlillded 
Blair ; 
As fickle as a fen1ale in hysterics. 


If I ('ould make you cry I would n't try ; 
If you have hiùùen snliles I'd like to 
finù them, 
Au(I that although, as well I ought to 
know, 
The lips of laughter have a skull be- 
hind them. 


Yet when I think we may be on the 
brin k 
Of having Freedom's banner to dis- 
pose 0 f, 
All crimson-hued, because the Nation 
woultl 
Insist on cutting its own precious 
nose off, 


I feel indeed as if we rather need 
A sermon such as preachers tie a text 
on. 


But if a fight can n1ake the matter right, 
Here are we, clas
)lnates, thirty Ulen 
of mettle; 
We're strong and tough, we've lived 
uigh long enough- 
What if the Nation gave it us to 
set tle 1 


The tale would read like that illustrious 
deed 
'Vhen Curtius took the leap the gap 
that filled in, 
Thus; "Fi vescore years, good friends, 
as it appears, 
At last this people split on Hayes and 
Tilùen. 


"One half cried, 'See! the choice is 
S. J. T. ! ' 
And one half swore as stoutly it was 
t' other ; 
Both drew the knife to save the N a- 
tion's life 
By wholesale vivisection of each other. 


"Then rose in mass that monulncntal 
Class, - 
, Hold! hold!' they cried, C give us, 
give us the daggers! ' 
'Content! content!' exclaimed with 
one consent 
The gaunt ex-rebels and the carpet- 
baggers. 


"Fifteen each side, the con1batants 
divid
, 
So nicf'ly balanced are their predilec- 
tions ; 
And first of all a tear-drop each If'ts fall, 
A tribute to their obsolete affectiuns. 



HO'V KOT TO SETTLE IT. 


')90 
_
J 


u ltlan facing man, the sanguine strife 
begnn, 
Jack, Jiln and Joe against TOln, Dick 
and Harry, 
Each several pair its own account to 
square, 
Till both were down or one stood soli- 
tary. 


"And the great fight raged furious all 
the night 
Till every integer was made a fraction; 
Reader, wouldst know what history has 
to show 
As net result of the above transaction 1 


"1YIJole coat-tails, four; stray frag- 
ments, several score; 
A lleap of spectacles; a deaf man's 
trunlpet; 
Six lawyers' briefs; seven pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs; 
Twelve canes wherewith the owners 
used to stump it; 


"Odd rubber-shoes; old gloves of dif- 
ferent hues; 
Tax-bins, - unpaid, - and several 
empty purses; 
And, saved from harm by some protect- 
ing charm, 
A printed page with Smith's immortal 
verses ; 


"Trifles that claim no very special 
name, - 
Some useful, others clliefly ornanlent- 
al; 
Pins, buttons, rings, and other trivial 
things, 
'Vith various wrecks, capillary and 
dental. 


"Also, one flag, - 't was nothing but a 
rag, 


And what device it bore it little mat- 
ters ; 
Red, white, and blue, but rent all 
through and through, 
, U llion forever' torn to shreds and 
ta tters. 


" They fought so well not one was left 
to tell 
'Vhich got the largest share of cuts 
and slashes; 
'Yhen heroes meet, both sides are bound 
to beat; 
They telescoped like cars in railroad 
smashes. 


" So the great split that baffled human 
wit 
And might have cost the lives of 
twenty lllillions, 
As all may see that know the rule of 
three, 
'Yas settled just as well by these 
ci vilians. 


"As well. Just so. Not worse, not 
better. No, 
N eJt..t morning ,found the K ation still 
divided; 
Since all were slain, the inference is 
plain 
They left the point they fought for 
undecided. " 


If not quite true, as I have tolù it yon,- 
This tale of D1l1Ìnal extennillation, 
To nlinds perplexed with threats of 
what comes next, 
Perhaps may furnish food for C'ontem- 
plation. 


To cut men's throats to help them count 
- thcir votes 
Is asinine - nay, worse - ascidian 
folly; 



240 


POE
IS OF THE CLASS OF '29. 


Blindness like that would scare the 
mole and bat, 
And make the liveliest Inonkey Dlel. 
ancholy. 


I say once more, as I have said be. 
fore, 
If voting for our Tildens and our 
Hayeses 
}'Ieans only fight, then, Liberty, good 
nigh t ! 


Pack up your ballot-box and go to 
blazes ! 


Unfurl your blood-red flags, you mur- 
derous hags, 
You pétroleuses of Paris, fierce and 
foamy; 
'Ve'11 sell our stock in Plymouth's 
blasted rock, 
Pull up our stakes and migrate to 
Dahollley ! 



SONGS OF J\IANY SEASONS. 


1862 - 1874. 


OPENING THE WINDOW. 


THUS I lift the sash, so long 
Shut against the flight of song; 
All too late for vain excuse,- 
Lo, my captive rhymes are loose! 


Rhynles that, flitting through my brain, 
Beat against my window-pane, 
Some with gayly colored wings, 
Some, alas! with venomed stings. 


Shall they bask in sUDny rays 1 
Shall they feed on sugared praise 1 
Shall t.hey stick with tangled feet 
On the critic's poisoned sheet 1 


Are the outside winds too rough 'I 
I s the world not wide enough î 
Go, my wingéd verse, and try, - 
Go, like Uncle Toby's fly 1 


PROGRAMME. 


READER - gentle - if so be 
Such still live, and live for me, 
\Vill it plpase you to be told 
'Vhat my tenscore pages hold 1 


Here are verses that in spite 
Of myself I needs nlust write, 
Like the wine that oozes first 
'Vhen the uDsque'ezed grapes have burst. 


Here are angry lines, "too hard! " 
Says the soldier, battIe-scarred. 
Could I slnile his scars a way 
I would blot the bitter lay, 


\Vritten with a knitted brow, 
Read with placid wonder now. 
Throbbed such passion in my heart? 
- Did his wounds once really snlart? 


Here are varied strains that sing 
All the changes life can bring, 
Songs when joyous friends have DIrt, 
Songs the mourner's tears have wet. 


See the banquet's dead bouquet, 
Fair and fragrant in its day; 
Do they read the selfsame lines, - 
He that fasts and he that dines? 


Year by year, like milestones placed, 
1.Iark the record Friendship traced. 
Prisoned in the w
lls of time 
Life has notched itself in rhyme: 


As its seasons slid along, 
Every year a notch of song, 
From the June of long ago, 
'Vhen the rose was full in blow, 


Till tIle scarlet sage has come 
Anù the cold chrysan them urn. 
Read, but not to praise or blame; 
Are not all our hearts the same 1 



C).H) 

':t:.;.J 


SONGS OF l\IA
Y SEASONS. 


For the rest, they take their chance, - 
Sonle n1ay pay a passing glance; 
Others, - well, they served a turn, - 
'Vherefore written, would you learn? 


Not for glory, not for pelf, 
:N ot, be sure, to please Inyself, 
Not for any meaner ends, - 
Al ways "by request of friends. " 


H
re 's the cousin of a king, - 
,y ould I do the ci viI thing 1 
Here's the first-born of a queen; 
Here's a slant-eyed 
Iandarin. 


1Vonld I polish off Japan? 
JVoztld I greet this famous man, 
Prince or Prelate, Sheik or Shah 1- 
- Figaro çi and Figaro là ! 


1Vonld I just this once comply 1- 
So they teased and teased till I 


. 


(Be the truth at once confessed) 
'Vavered - yielded - did my best. 


Turn my pages, - never mind 
If you like not all you find; 
Think not all the grains are gold 
Sacran1ento's sand-banks hold. 


Every kernel has its shell, 
Every chinle its harshest bell, 
Every face its weariest look, 
Every shelf its emptiest book, 
Every field its leanest sheaf, 
Every book its dullest leaf, 
Every leaf its weakest line, - 
Shall it not be so with mine 
 


Best for worst shall make anlellds, 
Find us, keep us, leave us friends 
Till, perchance, we meet again. 
Benedicite. - Amen! 
October 7, 1874. 



IN THE QUIET DAYS. 


243 


IN THE QUIET DAYS. 


AN OLD-VEAR SONG. 


As through the forest, disarrayed 
By chill K ovem bel', late I strayed, 
A lonely minstrel of the wood 
'Yas singing to the solitude: 
I loved thy music, thus I said, 
'Yhen o'er thy perch the leaves were 
spread ; 
Sweet was thy song, but sweeter now 
Thy carol on the leafless bough. 
Sing, little bird! thy note shall cheer 
The sadlles
 of the dying year. 
'Yhen violets pranked the turf with blne 
And morning filled their cups with deW', 
Thy slender voice with rippling trill 
The budding April bowers would fill, 
N or passed its joyous tones away 
'Yhen April rounded into 
Iay: 
Thy life shall hail no second dawn, - 
Sing, little bird! the spring is gone. 
And I remember - well-a-day!- 
Thy full-blown summer roundelay, 
As when behind a broidered screen 
SODle holy maiden sings unseen: 
'Vith answering notes the woodland 
rnng, 
And eY
ry tree-top found a tongue. 
How deep the foìhade! the groves how 
fair ! 
Sing, little bird! the woods are bare. 
The summer's throbbing chant is done 
And mute the choral antiphon; 
The birds have left the shivering pines 


To flit among the trellised vines, 
Or fan the air with scented IJlumes 
Amid the love-siek orange- bloODlS, 
And thou art here alone, - alone, - 
Sing, little bird! the rest have flown. 


The snow has capped yon distant hill, 
At lnorn the running brook was still, 
From driven herds the clouds that rise 
Are like the snloke of sacrifice; 
Erelong the frozen sod shall nlock 
The ploughshare, changed to stubborn 
rock, 
The brawling streams shall soon be 
dunlb, - 
Sing, little bird! the frosts have come. 


Fast, fast the lengthening shadows 
creep, 
The songless fowls are naIf asleep, 
The air grows chin, the setting sun 
1\Iay leave thee ere thy song is done, 
The pulse that warms thy breast grow 
cold, 
Thy secret die "ith thee, untold: 
The lingering sunset still is bright, - 
Sing, little bird! 't will soon be night. 
1874. 


DOROTHY Q. 


A F A
IIL Y PORT:P.AIT. 


GRAXD
10THER'S mother: her age, I 
guess, 
Thirteen summers, or something less ; 



244 


SONGS OF 
IANY SEASONS. 


Girlish bu.st, but womanly air; 
Sillooth, square forehead with uprolled 
hair, 
Lips that lover has never kissed; 
Taper fingers and slender wrist; 
Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade; 
So they painted the little maid. 


On her hand a parrot green 
Sits unmoving and. broods serene. 
Hold up the canvas full in view,- 
Look! there's a rent the light shines 
through, 
Dark with a century's fringe of dust, - 
That was a Red-Coat's rapier-thrust! 
Such is the tale the lady old, 
Dorothy's daughter's daughter, told. 


'Vho the painter was none may tell,- 
One whose best was not over well . 
, 
Hard and dry, it Inust be confessed, 
Flat as a rose that has long been pressed; 
Yet in her cheek the hues are bright, 
Dainty colors of red and white, 
And in her slender shape are seen 
Hint and promise of stately mien. 


I
ook not on her with eyes of scorn, - 
Dorothy Q. was a lady born! 
Ay! since the galloping :Normans canIe, 
England's annals have known her name; 
.Anù still to the three-hilled rebel town 
Dear is that ancient name's renown, 
For many a civic wreath they won, 
'fhe youthful sire and the gray-haired 
son. 


o Damsel Dorothy! Dorothy Q. ! 
Strange is the gift that I owe to you; 
Such a gift as never a king 
Save to daughter or son might bring, - 
.A.ll my tenure of heart and hand, 
All my title to house and land; 
1tlothcr and sister and child and wife 
And joy and sorrow and death an(llife ! 


What if a hundred years ago 
Those close-shut lips had answered No, 
'Vhen forth the tremulous question can1e 
That cost the luaiden her N onnan name 
, 
And under the folds that look so still 
The bodice swelle(l with the bosom's 
thrill î 
Should I be I, or ,vould it be 
One tenth another, to nine tenths me 1 


Soft is the breath of a maiden's YES: 
Not the light gossamer stirs with less; 
But never a cable that holds so fast 
Through all the battles of wave and 
blast, 
And never an echo of speech or song 
That lives in the babbling air so long! 
There were tones in the voice that whis. 
pered then 
You may hear to-day in a hundred men. 


o lady and lover, how faint and far 
Your images hover, -and here we arc, 
Solid and stirring in flesh and bone, - 
Edward's and Dorotl1Y's - all tl1eir 
own, - 
A goodly record for Time to show 
Of a syllable spoken so long ago!- 
Shall I bless you, Dorothy, or forgive 
For the tender whisper that bade Ine 
live? 


I t shall be a blessing, my little maid ! 
I will heal the stab of the Red-Coat's 
blade, 
And freshen the gold of the tarnished 
frame, 
And gild with a rhyme your household 
name ; 
So you shall smile on us brave and brigllt 
As first you greeted the morning's light, 
An(llive untroubled by woes and fears 
Through a second youth of a hundred 
years. 
1871. 



I
 TIlE QUIET DAYS. 


245 


THE ORGAN-BLOWER. 


DEVOUTEST of )uy Sunday friends, 
The patient Organ-blower bends; 
I see his figure sink anù rise, 
(Forgive me, Heaven, my wandering 
eyes !) 
A nlornent lost, the next half seen, 
His head above the scanty screen, 
Stilllneasuring out his deep'salaarns 
Through quavering hymns and panting 
psalms. 
K 0 priest that prays in gilded stole, 
To save a rich ulan's nlortgaged soul; 
No sister, fresh from holy vows, 
So hurnbly stoops, so nleekly bows; 
His large obeisance puts to shalne 
The proudest genuflecting dame, 
'Yhose Easter bonnet low ùescends 
'Vith all the grace devotion lends. 
o brother with the supple spine, 
How much we owe those bows of thine! 
'Yithout thine arm to lend the breeze, 
How vain the finger on the keys! 
Though all unmatched the player's skill, 
Those thousand throats were dunlb and 
still : 
Another's art nlay shape the tone, 
The breath that fills it is thine own. 


Six days the silent l\Iemnon waits 
Bel1ind his temple's folded gates; 
But when the seventh day's sunshine 
falls 
Through rain bowed windows on the 
walls, 
He breathes, he sings, he shouts, he fills 
The quivering air with rapturous thrills; 
The roof resounds, the pillars shake, 
And all the slumbering echoes wake! 
The Preacher from the Bible-text 
''''ith weary words my soul has vexed 
(Smne stranger, funlbling far astray 
To find the lesson for the day) ; 


He tells us truths too plainly true, 
And reads the service all askew, - 
\Vhy, why the - mischief - can't he 
look 
Beforehand in the service- book 
 


But thou, with decent mien and face, 
Art always ready in thy place; 
Thy strenuous blast, whate'er tIle tune, 
As steady as the strong monsoon; 
Thy only dread a leathery creak, 
Or small residual extra squeak, 
To send along the shadowy aisles 
A sunlit wave of dimpled smiles. 



 ot all the preaching, 0 my friend, 
Comes from the church's pulpit end! 
Not all that bend the knee and bow 
Yi
ld service llalf so true as thou! 
One simple task perfornled aright, 
\Vith slender skill, but all thy IHight, 
\Vhere honest labor does its best, 
And leaves the player all the rest. 


This many-diapasoned maze, 
Through which the breath of being 
strays, 
'Vhose music makes our earth divine, 
Has work for mortal hands like mine. 
1\ly duty lies before me. Lo, 
The lever there! Take hold and blow! 
And He whose hand is on the keys 
'Yill play the tune as He shall please. 
1872. 


AT THE PANTOMIME. 


THE house was cralnnled froln roof to 
floor, 
Heads IJiled on heads at every door; 
Half dead with August's seething heat 
I crowded on and found my seat, 
1\1y patience slightly out of joint, 
l\Iy tenlper short of boiling-point, 
Not quite at Hate mankind as such, 
N or yet at Love tM'Jn overrnuch. 



246 


SONGS OF lUANY SEASO
S. 


Amidst tIle throng the pageant drew 
Were gathered Hebrews not a few, 
Black-bearded, swarthy, - at their side 
Dark, jewelled WOlnen, orient-eyed: 
If scarce a Christian hopes for grace 
'Y'ho crowds one in his narrow place 
'Yhat will the savage victitn do 
Whose ribs are kneaded by a Jew 1 


N ext on my left a breathing form 
Wedged up against me, close and warln ; 
The beak that crowned the bistred face 
Betrayed the mould of Abrahaln'srace,- 
That coal-black hair, that snloke-brown 
hue,- 
Ah, curséd, unbelieving Jew! 
I started, shuddering, to the right, 
And squeezed - a seconù Israelite! 
Then woke the evil brood of rage 
That slumber, tongueless, in their cage; 
I stabbed in turn with silent oaths 
The hook-nosed kite of carrion clothes, 
The snaky usurer, hÌ1n that crawls 
And cheats beneath the golden balls, 
ltloses and Levi, all the horde, 
Spawn of the race that slew its Lord. 
Up came their murderous deeds of old, 
The grisly story Chaucer told, 
And many an ugly tale beside 
Of children caught and crucified; 
I heard the ducat-sweating thieves 
Beneath the Ghetto's slouching eaves, 
And, thrust beyond the tented green, 
The lepers cry, "U nelean! U nelean ! " 


The show went on, but, ill at ease, 
1tly sullen eye it could not please, 
In vain nlY conscience whispered, 
" Shame! 
'Vho but their Maker is to blame 1 " 
I thought of Judas and his bribe, 
And steeled Iny soul against their tribe: 
!Iy neighbors stirred; I looked again 
Full on the younger of the twain. 


A fresh young cheek whose olivp lnle 
The Inantlillg blood shows faintly 
throucrh . 
b , 
Locks dark as midnight, that divide 
And shade the neck on either side; 
Soft, gentle, loving eyes tllat gleanl 
Clear as a starlit lllountain stremn ;- 
So lool{t
d that other cl1Ïld of Shem, 
The l\tlaiden's Boy of Bethlehem! 


- And thou couldst scorn the peerless 
blood 
That flows unmingled from the Flooò,- 
Thy scutcheon spotted with the stains 
Of Norman thieves and pirate Danes! 
The New W orId's foundling, in thy pride 
Scowl on the Hebrew at thy side, 
And lo! the very semblance there 
The Lord of Glory deigned to wear! 


I see that radiant image rise, 
The flowing hair, the pitying e
Tes, 
The faintly crimsoned cheek that shows 
The blush of Sharon's opening rose, - 
Thy hands would clasp his hallowed feet 
'Vhose brethren soil thy Christian seat, 
Thy lips would press his garment's 11Cln 
That curl in wrathful scorn for them! 


A sudden m
st, a watery screen, 
Dropped like a veil before the scene; 
The slladow floated frorn my soul, 
And to nlY lips a whisper stole, - 
" Thy prophets caught the Spirit's flame, 
From thee the Son of 
Iary came, 
'Vith thee the Father deigned todwel1,- 
Peace be upon thee, Israel!" 
18 -. Rewritten 1874. 


AFTER THE FIRE. 


,y H ILE far along the eastprn sky 
I saw the flags of Havoc fly, 
As if his forces would assault 
The sovereign of the starry vauIt 



I
 THE QUIET DAYS. 


247 


And hurl Him back the burning rain 
That seared the cities of the plain, 
I read as on a crimson page 
The words of Israel's sceptred sage: - 


For riches make them wings, and they 
Do as an eagle flyaway. 


o vision of that sleepless night, 
'Vhat hue sllall paint the mocking light 
That burned and stained the orient skies 
'Yhere peaceful morning loves to rise, 
As if the sun had lost his way 
And dawned to Inake a second day,- 
Above how red with fiery glow, 
How dark to those it woke below! 


On roof and wall, on dome and spire, 
Flashed the false jewels of the fire; 
Girt with her belt of glittering panes, 
And crowned with starry-gleaming vanes, 
Our northern queen in glory shone 
'\Vith new-born splendors not her own, 
Anù stood, transfigured in our eyes, 
A victinl decked for sacrifice! 


The cloud still hovers overhead, 
And still the midnight sky is red; 
As the lost wanderer strays alone 
To seek the place he called his own, 
His devious footprints sadly tell 
How changed the pathways known so 
well ; 
The scene, how new! The tale, how old 
Ere yet the ashes have grown cold! 


Again I reaù the words that came 
,V rit in the rn bric of the flame: 
Howe'er we trust to TIlortal things, 
Each hath its ! )a.ir of folded" inO's . 
b , 
Though long their terrors rest unspread 
Their fatal plumes are never shed; 
At last, at last, they stretch in flight, 
And blot the day and blast the night! 


Hope, only Hope, of all that c1ings 
Around ns, never S p reads her winO's' 
. 0 , 
Love, though he break his earthly chain, 
Still whispers he will conle again; 
But Faith that soars to seek the sky 
Shall teach our half-fledged souls to fly, 
And finù, beyond the smoke and flan1e, 
The cloudless azure whence they canle ! 
1872. 


A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA- 
PARTY. 


No! never such a draught was poured 
Since Hebe served with nectar 
The bright Olympians and their Lord, 
Her over-kind protector, - 
Since Father Noah squeezed the grape 
And took to such behaving 

s would have shamed our grandsire ape 
Before the days of shaving,- 
No! ne'er was mingled such a draught 
In palace, hall, or arbor, 
As freemen brewed and tyrants quaffed 
That night in Boston Harbor! 
It kept King George so long awake 
His brain at last got addled, 
It made the nerves of Britain shake, 
'Vith sevenscore millions saddled; 
Before that bitter ('up was drained, 
Anlid the roar of cannon, 
The 'Yestern war-c1oud's crimson stainell 
The Thames, the Clyde, the Shannon; 
Fullll1any a six-foot grenadier 
The flattened grass had measured, 
And nlany a nlother nlany a year 
Her tearful memories treasured; 
Fast spread the tempest's darkening pall, 
The mighty realnls were troubled, 
The storIn broke loose, but first of all 
The Boston t
apot bubbled! 
An evening party, - only that, 
K 0 formal invitation, 
K 0 gold-laced coat, no stiff cravat, 
K 0 feast in contelnplation, 



248 


SO
GS OF ].IAKY SEASONS. 


No silk-robed dames, no fiddling band, 
No flowers, no songs, no dancing, - 
A tribe of Red nIen, axe in hand, - 
Behold the guests advancing! 
How fast the stragglers join the throng, 
From stall and workshop gathered! 
The lively barber skips along 
And leaves a chin half-lathered; 
The sn1Ïth has flung his hammer ùown, - 
The horseshoe still is glowing; 
The truant tapster at the Crown 
Has left a beer-cask flowing ,; 
The cooper's boys have dropped the adze, 
Anù trot behind their master; 
UJt run the tarry ship-yard lads,- 
The crowd is l1urrying faster, - 
Out from the :Th1illpond's purlieus gusl1 
The streams of white-faced n1Ïllers, 
And ùown their slippery alleys rush 
The lusty young Fort-Hillers; 
The ropewalk lends its 'prentice crew,- 
The tories seize the omen: 
"Ay, boys, you'll soon have work to do 
For England's rebel foernen, 
'J{ing Hancock,' Adams, and their gang, 
That fire the mob with treason, - 
'Vhen these we shoot and tIlose 'we 
hang 
'.rhe town ,,,,ill come to reason." 


On - on to where the tea-ships ride! 
And now their ranks are forming, - 
A rush, and up the Dartmouth's side 
The l\Iohawk band is swanning ! 
See the fierce natives! \Vhat a glimpse 
Of paint and fur and feather, 
As all at once the full-grown imps 
l..ight on the deck together! 
A scarf the pigtail's secret keeps, 
A blanket hides the breeches, - 
And out the curséd cargo leaps, 
And overboard it pitches! 


o woman, at the evening board 
So gracious, sweet, and pUtTing, 


So happy whi1e the tea is poured, 
So 11(:;st while spoons arc stirring, 
\Vhat martyr can conlparc with thee, 
The n10ther, wife, or daughter, 
That night, instead of best Bohca, 
Condemned to milk and water! 


Ah, little dreams the quiet dame 
Who plies with rock and spinùle 
The patient flax, how great a flanIc 
Yon little spark shall kindle! 
The lurid morning shall reveal 
A fire no king can sn10ther 
\Vhere British flint and Boston steel 
Have clashed against each other! 
Old charters shrivel in its track 
, 
His \V orship's bend1 has crumbleù, 
It clinlbs and clasps the union-jack, 
Its blazoned pomp is hUlnbleù, 
The flags go down on land and sea. 
Like corn before the reapers; 
So burned the fire that breweù tIle tea 
That Boston served her keepers! 


The waves that ,,,,rought a century's 
wreck 
Have rolled o'er whig and tory ; 
The blohawks on the Dartnlouth's deck 
Still1i ve in song and story ; 
The waters ill'the rebel bay 
Have kept the tea-leaf savor; 
Our old North-Enders in their spray 
Still taste a Hyson flavor; 
And Freedom's teacup still o'erflows 
'Vith ever fresh libations, 
To cheat of slumber all her foes 
And cheer the wakening nations! 
1874. 


NEARING THE SNOW-LINE. 


SLOW toiling upward from the misty 
va] e, 
I leave the bright enamelled zones 
below ; 



I
 THE QUIET DAYS. 


2-19 


No D)Ore for me their beauteous bloom 
shall glow, 
Their lingering sweetness load the Dlorn- 
ing gale ; 
Few are the slender flowerets, scentless, 
pale, 
Tha t on their ice-clad sten1S all trem- 
bling blow 
Along the margin of unmeltiug 
snow; 
Yet with unsaddeneù voice thy verge I 
hail, 


'Vhite realm of peace above the flower- 
ing line ; 
'Velcoll1e thy frozen domes, thy rocky 
spires ! 
0' er thee undimmed the moon-girt 
planets shine, 
On thy majestic altars fade the fires 
That filled the air with smoke of vain 
desires, .... 
And all the unclouded blue of heaven 
is thine! 
1870. 


þ 



250 


SONGS OF MANY SEASONS. 


IN WAR TIl\IE. 


TO CANAAN. 


A PURITAN WAR-SONG. 
WHERE are you going, soldiers, 
'Vith banner, gun, and sword 1 
'Ve're nlarching South to Canaan 
To battle for the Lord! 
'Vhat Captain leads your armies 
Along the rebel coasts 1 
The 
I igh ty One of Israel, 
His nanle is Lord of Hosts! 
To Canaan, to Canaan 
The Lord has led us forth, 
To blow before the heathen wans 
The trumpets of the North ! 


What flag is this you can'y 
Along the sea and shore 1 
The sanle our grandsires Jifted up, - 
The same onr fathers bore! 
In many a battle's tempest 
It shed the crinlson rain, - 
'Vhat God has woven in his loom 
Let no nlan rend in twain! 
To Canaan, to Canaan 
The Lord has led us forth, 
To plant upon the rebel towers 
The banners of the North! 


'Vhat troop is this that foHows, 
All artneù with picks and spades ?1 
TheRe are the swarthy bondsmen, - 
The iron -skin brigades! 
1 The captured slaves were at this time or- 
ganized as pioneers. 


They'll pile np Freedom's breastwork, 
They'll scoop out rebels' graves; 
Who then will be their owner 
And Inarch thenl off for slaves? 
To Canaan, to Canaan 
The Lord has led us forth, 
To strike upon the captive's chain 
The hammers of the North! 


What song is this you're singing 1 
The same tl1at Israel sung 
When 
Ioses led the mighty choir, 
And l\1iriam's thn breI rung! 
To Canaan! To Canaan! 
The priests a.nd maidens cried: 
To Canaan! To Canaan! 
The people's voice replied. 
To Canaan, to Canaan 
The Lord has led us forth, 
To thunder through its adùer drns 
The anthems of the North! 


When Canaan's hosts are scattered, 
And aU her walls lie flat, 
'Vhat foHows next in order? 
- The Lord will see to that! 
'Ve '11 break tbe tyrant's sceptre, - 
We'll build the people's throne, - 
When half the world is Freedorn's, 
Then all the world's our own! 
To Canaan, to Canaan 
The Lord has led us forth, 
To sweep the rebel thresl1ing-floors, 
A whirlwind from the- North! 
August 12, 18û2. 



I
 ,V AR TIltIE. 251 


THUS SAITH THE LORD, I OFFER NEVER OR NOW. 
THEE THREE THINGS." 
.. 



 poisonous dens, where traitors hide 
Like bats that fear the day, 
Vhilt
 all the land our charters claim 
s sweating blood and breathing flanle, 
)ead to their country's woe and shame, 
The recreants whisper STAY! 
n peaceful homes, ,vhere patriot fires 
On Love's own altars glow, 
'he mother hides her tren1bling fear, 
'he wife, the sister, checks a tear, 
'0 breathe the parting word of cheer, 
Soldier of Freedom, Go ! 


n ha1ls where Luxury lies at ease, 
And !\Ianlmon keeps his state, 
Vhere flatterers fawn and menials 
crouch, 
'he dreanler, startled from his couch, 
r- rings a few counters from his pouch, 
And murnlurs faintly 'V AIT ! 


11 weary camps, on trampled plains 
That ring with fife and drum, 

he battling host, whose harness gleams 
Uong the crinlson-flowing streanls, 
'aIls, like a warning voice in dreams, 
'Ve want you, Brother! Co
rE! 



hoose ye whose bidding ye will do, - 
To go, to wait, to stay! 
;ons of the Freedom-loving town, 
leirs of the Fathers' old renown, 
rhe servile yoke, the civic crown, 
Await your choice TO-DAY! 


rhe stake is laid! 0 gallant youth 
'Vith yet uusilvered brow, 
:r Heaven should lose and Hell should 
win, 
)n whom shall lie the mortal sin, 
rhat cdes aloud, It might have been ? 
God calls you - answer NO\V. 
1862. 


AN APPEAL. 


LISTE
, young heroes! your country is 
calling ! 
Time strikes the hour for the brave 
and the true ! 
N ow, while the foremost are fighting and 
falling, 
Fill up the ranks that have opened for 
you! 


You whonl the fathers made free and de- 
fended, 
Stain not the scroll that emblazons 
their fame ! 
You whose fair heritage spotless de- 
scendeù, 
Leave not your children a birthright 
of shanle! 


Stay not for questions while Freedom 
stands gasping ! 
'Yait not till Honor lies wrapped in 
his pall ! 
Brief the lips' nleeting be, swift the 
hands' clasping, - 
"Off for the wars!" is enough for 
them all ! 


Break from the arms tbat would fondly 
caress you ! 
Hark! 't is the bugle-blast, sabres are 
drawn ! 
1\Iothers shall pray for you, fat1lers shall 
bless you, 

Iaidens shall weep for you when you 
are gone ! 


Never or now ! cries the blood of a na- 
tion, 
Poured on thf' turf where the red rose 
should bloom; 
N ow is the day and the hour of sal va- 
tion, - 



252 


SO:N"GS OF 
IANY SEASONS. 


N ever or now! peals the trumpet of 
doom! 


Never or now! roars the hoarse-throated 
cannon 

rhrough the black canopy blotting 
the skies ; 
N ever or now! flaps the shell-blasted 
pennon 
O'
r the deep ooze where the Cumberland 
lies ! 


From the foul dens where our brothers 
are dying, 
Aliens and foes in the land of their 
birth, - 
From the rank swamps where our mar- 
tyrs are lying 
.Pleading in vain for a handful of 
earth, - 


From the hot plains where they perish 
outnunlbered, 
FUITowed and ridged by the 11attle- 
field's plough, 
Comes the loud surnmons; too long you 
have slumbered, 
Hear the last Angel-trump, - Never 
or Now! 


1862. 


ONE COUNTRY. 


ONE country! Treason's writhing asp 
Struck madly at her girdle's clasp, 
And Hatred wrenched with might and 
maIn 
To rend its welded Jinks in twain, 
While 1Iamn10n hugged his golden calf 
Content to take one broken half, 
While thankless churls stood idly by 
And heard unmoved a nation's cry! 


One country! "Nay," - the tyrant 
crew 
Shrieked from their dens, - "it shall 
be two ! 


III bodes to us this monstrous birth, 
That scowls on all the thrones of earth, 
Too broad yon starry cluster shines, 
Too proudly tower the New-World 
pInes, 
Tear down the 'banner of the free,' 
And cleave their land from sea to sea!" 


One country still, though foe and 
" friend" 
OUf seamless empire strove to rend ; 
Safe ! safe! though aU the fiends of lIeU 
Join the red murderers' battle-yell ! 
'Vhat though the lifted sabres gleam, 
The cannons frown by shore and stream,- 
The sabres c1ash, the cannons thrill, 
In wild accord, One country still ! 


One country! in her stress and strain 
We hearù the breaking of a chain ! 
Look where the conquering Nation 
swings 
Her iron flail, - its shivered rings! 
Forged by the rebels' crimson hand, 
That bolt of wrath shall scourge the 
land 
Till Peace proclaims on sea and shore 
One Country now and evermore! 
1865. 


GOD SAVE THE FLAG J 


WASHED in the blood of the brave and 
the blooming, 
Snatched from the altars of insolent 
foes, 
Burning with star-fires, but never con- 
sunling, 
Flash its broad ribbons of lily and 
rose. 


Vainly the prophets of Baal would relHl 
it, 
Vaiuly his worshippers pray for its 
fall ; 



IN WAR TI
IE. 


253 


Thousands have died for it, millions de- The sons of Belial curse in vain 
fend it, The day that rends the captive's chain. 
Emblem of justice and mercy to all : 


Justice that reddens the sky with her 
terrors, 
1tfercy that comes with her white- 
handed train, 
Soothing all passions, redeeming all er- 
rors, 
Sheathing the sabre and breaking the 
chain. 


Thou God of vengeance! Israel's Lord! 
Break in their grasp the shield and 
sword, 
And make thy righteous judgments 
known 
Till all thy foes are overthrown! 


Then, Father, lay thy healing hand 
In mercy on our stricken land; 
Lead aU its wanderers to the fold, 
And be their Shepherd as of old. 


Borne on the deluge of old usurpa- 
tions, 
So shall one Nation's song ascend 
Drifted our Ark o'er the desolate 
To thee, our Ruler, Father, Friend, 
'Vhile Heaven's wide arch resounds 


seas, 
Bearing the rain bow of hope to the na- 
tions, 
Torn from the stonn-cloud and fl ung 
to the breeze ! 


God bless the Flag and its loyal de- 
fenders, 
'Vhile its broad folds o'er the battle- 
field wave, 
Till the dim star-wreath rekindle its 
splendors, 
'Vashed from its stains in the blood 
of the brave! 


1865. 


HYMN 


AFTER THE E:\IAKCIPATION PROCLA- 
MATION. 


GIVER of all that crowns our days, 
\Vith grateful hearts we sing thy praise; 
Through deep and desert led by thee, 
Our pron1ised land at last we see. 


Ruler of N ation
, judge our canse ! 
If we have kept thy holy laws, 


agaIn 
'Vith Peace on eartb, good-will to men! 
1865. 


HYMN 


FOR THE FAIR AT CHICAGO. 


o GOD! in danger's darkest hour, 
In battle's deadliest field, 
Thy name has been our Nation's tower, 
Thy truth her help and shield. 


Our lips should fill the air with praise, 
N or pay the debt we owe, 
So high aboye the songs we raise 
The floods of mercy flow. 


Yet thou wilt hear the prayer we 
speak, 
The song of praise we sing, - 
Thy children, who thine altar seek 
'l"heir grateful gifts to bring. 


I Thine altar is the sufferer
s bed, 
The hOß1e of woe and pain, 
The Roldier's turfy pillow, red 
'Vith battle's crÏ1uson rain. 



254 


SONGS, OF MANY SEASONS. 


No smoke of burning stains the air, 
No incense-clouds arise ; 
Thy peaceful servants, Lord, prepare 
A bloodless sacrifice. 


I.Jo! for our wounded brothers' need, 
We bear the wine anù oil ; 


For us they faint, for us they bleed, 
For them our gracious toil ! 


o Father, bless the gifts "Te bring! 
Cause thou thy face to shine, 
Till every nation owns her King, 
And all the earth is thine. 
1865. 



SONGS OF 'VELCO
IE AND FARE'VELL. 


255 


SONGS OF 'VELCO:\IE AND FAREWELL. 


AMERICA TO RUSSIA. 


AUGUST 5, 1866. 


READ BY HON. O. V. FOX AT A DINNER GIVEN 
TO THE MISSION FROM THE UNITED STATES, 
ST. PETERSBURG. 


THOUGH watery deserts hold apart 
The worlùs of East and 'Vest, 
Still beats the selfsame human heart 
In each l)roud Nation's breast. 


Our floating turret tempts the main 
And dares the howling blast 
To clasp more close the golden chain 
That long has bound them fast. 


In vain the gales of ocean sweep, 
In vain the billows roar 
That chafe the wild and stormy steep 
Of storied Elsinore. 


She comes! She comes! her banners 
dip 
In Neva's flashing tid(1, 
'Vith greetings on her cannon's lip, 
The stonn-god's iron bride! 


Peace garlands with the oli ve- bough 
Her thunder-bearing tower, 
And plants before her cleaving prow 
The sea-foam's milk-white flower. 


No prairies heaped their garnered store 
To fill her sunless hold, 
Not rich Nevada's gIean1Ïng ore 
Its hi{iden caves infold, 


But lightly as the sea-bird swings 
She floats the depths above, 
A breath of flalne to lend her wings, 
Her freight a people's love! 


'Then darkness hid the starry skies 
In war's long winter night, 
One ray still cheered our straining eyes, 
The far-off Northern light! 


And now the friendly rays return 
FroIn lights that glow afar, 
Those clustered lanlps of Heaven that 
burn 
Around the 'Vestern Star. 


A nation's love in tears and snliles 
'Ve bear across the sea, 
o Neva of the banded isles, 
'Ve moor our hearts in thee ! 


WELCOME TO THE GRAND DUKE 
ALEXIS. 


MUSIC HALL, DECEMBER 9, 1871. 


SUNG TO THE RUSSIAN NATIONAL AIR BY THE 
CHILDREN OF THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 


SHADO"9ED so long by the storm-cloud 
of danger, 
Thou whom the prayers of an empire 
defend, 
'Vel come, thrice welcome! but not as a 
stranger, 
Come to the nation that calls thee its 
friend ! 



256 


SONGS OF MANY SEASONS. 


Bleak are our shores with the blasts of 
Decenl bel', 
Fettered and chill is the rivulet's flow; 
Throbbing and warm are the hearts that 
remenlber 
Who was our friend when the world 
was our foe. 


Look on the lips that are smiling to greet 
thee, 
See the fresh flowers that a people has 
strewn : 
Count them thy sisters and brothers 
that meet thee; 
Guest of the Nation, her heart is 
thine own! 


Fires of the North, in eternal commun- 
Ion, 
Blend your broad flashes with even- 
ing's bright star! 
God bless the Empire that loves the 
Great Union; 
Strength to her people! Long life to 
the Czar! 


AT THE BANQUET TO THE GRAND 
DUKE ALEXIS. 


DECEMBER 9, 1871. 


ONE word to the guest we have gathered 
to greet ! 
The echoes are longing that word to 
repeat, - 
I t springs to the lips that are waiting to 
part, 
For its syllables spell themselves first in 
the heart. 


. 


Its accents may vary, its sound may be 
strange, 
But it bears a kind message that notll- 
ing can chaIlge ; 


The dwellers by Neva its meaning can 
tell, 
For the sn1Ïle, its interpreter, shows it 
full well. 


That word! How it gladdened the PH- 
grinl of yore, 
As he stood in the snow on the desolate 
shore ! 
When the shout of the Sagamore startled 
his ear 
In the phrase of the Saxon, 't was music 
to hear ! 


Ah, little could Samoset offer our sire,- 
The cabin, the corn-cake, the seat Ly 
the fire; 
He had nothing to give, - the poor lord 
of the land, - 
But he gave him a WELCOME, -11is 
heart in his hand! 


The tribe of the Sachem has melted 
away, 
But the word that he spoke is remem- 
bered to-day, 
And the page that is red with tIle record 
of shame 
The tear-drops have whitened round 
Samoset's name. 


The word that he spoke to the PilgrÌIll 
of old 
May sound like a tale that has often 
been told; 
But the welcome we speak is as fresh as 
the dew, - 
As the kiss of a lover, that always is nC\v ! 


Ay, Guest of the Nation! each roof is 
thine own 
Through all the broad continent's star- 
bannered zone; 
From the shore where the curtain of 
morn is uprolled, 



SO
GS OF 'VELCO
IE AXD FARE""'ELL. 


257 


To the billows that flow through the AT THE BANQUET TO THE CHINESE 
gateway of gold. EMBASSY. 


The snow-crested mountains are calling 
aloud; 
N evaùa to Ural speaks out of the cloud, 
Anù Shasta shouts forth, from his throne 
in the sky, 
To the storn1-sp1intered summits, the 
peaks of Altai! 


You must leave him, they say, till the 
sumn1er is green ! 
Both shores are his hOllIe, though the 
waves roll between; 
Anù then we'll return him, with thanks 
for the san1e, 
As fresh and as smiling and tall as he 
came. 


But ours is the rebrion of Arctic delight; 
"... e can show hinl Auroras and pole- 
stars by night; 
There's a )Iuscovy sting in the ice-tem- 
pered air, 
Anfl our firesides are warm and our 
maiùens are fair. 


The flowers are full-blown in the gar- 
landed hall,- 
They will bloom round his footsteps 
w herevpr they fall ; 
For the splendors of youth and the sun- 
shine they bring 

Iake the roses believe 't is the stun- 
mons of Spring. 


One word of our language he needs must 
know well, 
But another remains that is harder to 
spr II ; 
''''" e shall speak it so ill, if he wishes to 
learn 
IIo\V we utter Farcu'cll, he "ill bave to 
return! 


AUGUST 21, 1868. 


BROTHERS, whom we may not reach 
Through the veil of alien speech, 
'Yelcome! welcome! eyes can tell 
'Yhat the lips in vain would spell,- 
,y ords that hearts can understand, 
Brothers from the Flowery Land ! 


'Ve, the evening's latest born, 
Hail the children of the morn ! 
"
 e, the new creation's birth, 
Greet the lords of ancient earth, 
From their storied walls and towers 
'V' andering to these tents of ours ! 


Land of wonders, fair Cathay, 
'Vho long hast shunned the staring day, 
Hid in nlists of poet's drean1s 
By thy blue and yellow streams, - 
Let us thy shado\ved form behold, - 
Teach us as thou didst of old. 


J{nowledge dwells with length of days; 
'Visdom walks in ancient ways; 
Thine the con1pass that could guide 
A nation o'er the stormy tide, 
Scourged by passions, doubts, and fears, 
Safe through thrice a thousand years ! 


Looking from thy turrets gray 
Thou hast seen the worlù's decay, - 
Egypt drowning in her sa nds, - 
Athens rent by robbers' hands, - 
Rome, the wild barbarian's prey, 
Like a storm-cloud swept away: 


Looking from thy turrets gray 
Still we see thee. 'Yhere are they 1 
And lo! a new-born nation waits, 
Sitting at the golden gates 
That glitter by the sunset sea, - 
'Vaits with outspread anllS for thee! 



258 


SONGS OF MANY SEASOSS. 


Open wide, ye gates of gold, 
To the Dragon's banner-fold! 
Builders of the Iuighty wall, 
Bid your mountain barriers fall ! 
So may the girdle of the sun 
Bind the East and "\Yest in one, 


Till1tfount Shasta's breezes fan 
The snowy peaks of Ta Sieue-Shan, - 
Till Erie blends its waters Llue 
"\Vith the waves of Tung-Ting-Hu, - 
Till deep 
1issouri lends its flow 
To swell the rushing Hoang- Ho ! 


. 


AT THE BANQUET TO THE JAPANESE 
EMBASSY. 


AUGUST 2, 1872. 


,V E welcome you, Lords of the Land of 
the Sun! 
The voice of the many sounds feebly 
through one ; 
Ah ! ,vould 't were a voice of more mu- 
sical tone, 
But the dog-star is here, and the song- 
birds have flown. 


And what shall I sing that can cheat you 
of smiles, 
Ye heralds of peace from the Orient 
isles '? 
If only the Jubilee - 'Vhy did you 
wait 1 
You are welcome, but oh ! you're a lit- 
tle too late ! 


'Ve have greeted our brot11ers of Irelanrl 
and France, 
Round the fiddle of Strauss we have 
joined in the dance, 
We have lagered Herr 8aro, that fine- 
looking nlan, 
And glorified Godfrey, whose name it is 
Dan. 


'''hat a pity! we've missed it and you've 
Inissed it too, 
'Ve had a day ready and waiting for you; 
"\Ve'd have shown you - provided, of 
course, you had corne- 
You'd have heard - no, you would n't, 
because it was dumb. 


And then the great organ! The chorus's 
shout ! 
Like the Iuixture teetotalers call, "Cold 
without" - 
A mingling of elements, strong, but 110t 
sweet ; 
Aud the drum, just referred to, that 
" could n't be beat." 


The shrines of our pilgrims are not like 
your own, 
"\Vhere white Fusiyanla lifts proudly its 
cone, 
(The snow-Inantled nlountain ,ve see on 
the fan 
That cools our hot cheeks with a breeze 
fron1 Japan.) 
But ours the wide temple wlIere worsllip 
is free 
As the wind of the prairie, the wave of 
the sea ; 
You may build your own altar wherever 
you win, 
For the roof of that ten1ple is over you 
still. 


One dOIne overarches the star- bannercd 
shore ; 
You may enter the Pope's or the Puri- 
tan's door, 
Or pass with the Buddhist his gateway 
of bronze, 
For a priest is but 1\Ian, be he bishop or 
bonze. 


And the les
on we teach with the sword 
and the pen 



SO
GS OF 'VELCO:\IE A
D FARE'YELL. 


259 


Is to all of God's children, "'Y e also al'e 
tnen ! 
If you wrong us we smart, if you prick 
us we bleed, 
If you love us, no quarrel with color or 
creed ! " 


You'll find us a well-meaning, free- 
spoken crowd, 
Good-natured enough, but a little too 
loud, - 
To be sure there is always a bit of a ro\v 
"\Vhen we choose our Tycoon, anù espe- 
cially now. 


You'll take it all calmly, - we want 
you to see 
"\Yhat a peaceable fight such a contest 
can be, 
And of one thing be certain, however it 
ends, 
You will finù that our voters have chosen 
your friends. 


If the horse that stands saddled is first 
in the race, 
You will greet your old friend with the 
weed in his face, 
And if the white hat and the 'Yhite 
House agree, 
You'll find H. G. really as loving as he. 


But 0, what a pity - once more I must 
say- 
That we could not have joined in a 
"J apanese day" ! 
Such greeting we give you to-night as 
,ve can ; 
Long life to our brothers and friends of 
Japan ! 


The Lord of the mountain looks down 
from his crest 
As the banner of Dlorning unfurls in the 
'\Vest ; 


The Eagle was always the friend of the 
Sun; 
You are welconle ! - The song of the 
cage-bird is done. 


BRYANT'S SEVENTI
TH BIRTHDAY. 


NOVE
IBER 3, 1864. 


o EVEX-HAXDED Nature! we confess 
This life that men so honor, love, and 
bless 
Has filled thine olden measure. K ot the 
less 


'Ve count the precious seasons that 1'e.. 
main ; 
Strike not the level of the golden grain, 
But heap it high with years, that earth 
may garn 


"\Vhat heaven can lose, - for heaven is 
rich in song : 
Do not all poets, dying, still prolong 
Their broken chants amid the seraph 
throng, 


""'here, blind no more, Ionia's bard is 
seen, 
And England's heavenly Ininstrel sits 
between 
The 
Iantuan and the wan-cheeked 
Florentine 1 


- This was the first sweet singer in the 


cage 
Of our close-woven life. A new-born 


age 
Claims in his vesper song its heritage: 


Spare us, 0, spare us long our heart's 
drsire ! 

Ioloch, who calls our children through 
the fire, 
Leaves us the gentle Dlaster of the lyre. 



260 


SO
GS OF 
IANY SEASOXS. 


'Ye count not on the dial of the sun 
The hours, the minutes, that his sands 
have run; 
Rather, as on those flowers that one by 
one 


Fronl earliest dawn their ordered bloom 
display 
Till evening's planet with her guiding 
ra.y 
Leads in the blind old mother of the 
day, 


'Ve reckon by his songs, each song a 
flower, 
The long, long daylight, nUInbering 
hour by hour, 
Each breathing sweetness like a bridal 
bower. 


II is morning glory shall we e'er forget '? 
His noontide's full-blown lily coronet '? 
His evening prinu'ose has not opened 
yet; 


Nay, even if creeping Time should hide 
the skies 
In midnight from his century-laden 
eyes, 
Darkened like his who sang of Paradise, 


Would not some hidden song-bud open 
bright 
As the resplendent cactus of the night 
That floods the glooDl with fragrance 
and with light '? 


- How can we praise the verse whose 
music flows 
'Vith solemn cadence and nlajestic close, 
Pure as the dew that filters through the 
rose '? 


He faltered never, -nor for blame, nor 
praise, 
N or hire, nor party, shamed his earlier 
lays 1 


Bpt as his boyhood was of manliest hue, 
So to his youth his nlanly years were 
true, 
All dyed in royal purple through and 
through! 


He for whose touch the lyre of Heaven 
is strung 
Needs not the flattering toil of mortal 
tongue : 
Let not the singer grieve to die unsung! 



Iarbles forget their message to man. 
kind: 
In his own verse the poet still we find, 
In his own page his menlory lives en. 
shrined, 


As in their aln bel' sweets the smotIlered 
hees, - 
As the fair cedar, fallen before the 
breeze, 
Lies self-embalnled amidst the Inoulder. 
ing trees. 


- Poets, like youngest children, never 
grow 
Out of their mother's fondness. Nature 
so 
Holds thcir soft hands, and will not let 
them go, 


Till at the last they track with even feet 
Her rhythmic footsteps, and their pulses 
beat 
Twinned with her pulses, and their lips 
repeat 


How shall we thank him that in evil Th
 secrets she bas told them, as their 
days own: 



SOXGS OF 'VELCO:\IE AXD FARE\VELL. 


261 


Thus is the inmost soul of Nature known, 
And the rapt minstrel shares her awful 
throne! 


o lover of her mountains and her 'Woods, 
Her bridal chanlber's leafy solitudes, 
1rhere Love hÍInself with trenlulouR 
step intrudes, 


Her snows fall harmless on thy sacred 
fire: 
Far be the day that claims thy sounding 
lyre 
To join the music of the angel choir ! 


Yet, since life's amplest measure must 
be filled, 
Since throbbing hearts must be forever 
stilled, 
And alllnust fade that evening sunsets 
gilù, 


Grant, Father, ere he close the mortal 
eyes 
That see a X ation's reeking sacrifice, 
Its sn10ke may vanish from these black- 
ened skies ! 


Then, when his summons comes, since 
come it must, 
And, looking heavenward with unfalter- 
ing trust, 
He wraps his drapery rounù him for the 
dust, 


His last fond glance will show him o'er 
his head 
The Northern fires beyond the zenith 
spread 
In lambent glory, blue and white and 
red, - 


The Southern cross without its bleeding 
load, 


The milky way of peace all freshly 
strow ed, 
And every white-throned star fixed in 
its lost abode! 


AT A DINNER TO GENERAL GRANT. 


JULY 31, 1865. 


,V HEX treason first began the strife 
That crimsoned sea and shore, 
The Nation poured her hoarded life 
On Freedon1's threshing-floor; 
Fronl field and prairie, east and west, 
Fronl coast and hill and plain, 
The sheaves of ripening manhood pressed 
Thick as the bearded grain. 


Rich ,vas the harvest; souls as true 
As ever battle tried; 
But fiercer still the conflict grew, 
The floor of death more wiùe ; 
Ah, who forgets that dreadful day 
'Yhose blot of grief and shame 
Four bitter years scarce wash away 
In seas of blood and flame 1 


Vain, vain the Nation's lofty boasts,- 
,r ain all her sacrifice! 
" Give me a man to lead my hosts, 
o God in hea Yen ! " she cries. 
'V'hile Battle whirls his crushing flail, 
And plies his winnowing fan, - 
Thick flies the chaff on every gale, - 
She cannot find her man! 


Bravely they fought who failed to win,- 
Our leaders battle-scarred, - 
Fighting the hosts of hell and sin, 
But devils die always hard! 
Blame not the broken tools of God 
That helped our sorest needs; 
Through paths that]I1artyr feet have trod 
The conq neror' s steps he leads. 



262 


SONGS OF 
IANY SEASONS. 


But now the heavens grow black with 
doubt, 
The ravens fill the sky, 
"Friends" plot within, foes storm with- 
out, 
Hark, - that despairing cry, 
"'Vhere is the heart, the hand, the AT A DINNER TO ADMIRAL FARRAGUT. 
brain 
To dare, to do, to plan 1" 
The bleeding Nation shrieks in vain,- 
She has not found her man! 


A little echo stirs the air, - 
SOIue tale, whate'er it be, 
Of rebels routed in their lair 
Along the Tennessee. 
The little echo spreads and grows, 
And soon the trump of Falne 
Had taught the Nation's friends and 
foes 
The "man on horseback" '8 name. 


So well his warlike wooing speù, 
No fortress luight resist 
His billets-doux of lisping lead, 
rrhe bayonets ill his fist, - 
'Vith kisses from his cannons' nlOuth 
He made his passion known 
Till Vicksburg, vestal of the South, 
Un bound her virgin zone. 


And still where'er his banners led 
He conquered as he carne, 
The trembling hosts of treason fled 
Bpfore his breath of flame, 
And Fan1e's still gathering echoes grew 
Till l1igh o'er Richmond's towers 
The starry fold of Frerdom flew, 
And all the Ian ù was ours. 


Welcome from fields where valor fought 
To feasts where pleasure waits; 
A Nation gives you sn1iles unbought 
At all her opening gate:; ! 


Forgive us when we press yonI' hand,- 
Your war-worn features scan, - 
God sent you to a bleeding land; 
Our Nation founù its Ilian ! 


JULY 6, 1865. 


Now, sn1Ïling friends and sbipluates all, 
Since half our battle's won, 
A broadside for our Admiral! 
- Load every crystal gun ! 
Stand ready tin I give the ,yord, - 
- You won't have time to tire,- 
And when that glorious nmne is heard, 
TIlen hip! hurrah! and fire J 


Bow foremost sinks the rebel craft, - 
Our eyes not sadly turn 
And see the virates huddling aft 
To drop their raft astern; 
Soon o'er the sea-woru}'s destined prey 
The lifted ,vave shall close,- 
So perish from the face of day 
All Freedom's bandeù foes! 


TIut ah! what splendors fire the sky I 
'Vhat glories greet the morn ! 
The storm- tost banner streams on Iligh 
Its heavenly hues new-born! 
Its red fresh dyed in heroés' blood, 
Its peaceful white more pure, 
To float unstained o'er field anù flood 
While earth and seas enùure ! 


All shapes before the driving blast 

Iust glide ffOlU mortal view; 
Black roll the billows of the past 
Behind the present's blue, 
Fast, fast, are lessening in the light 
The names of high renown, - 
Van Tron1p's proud besom fades f1'0111 
sight, 
And N elSOll 's half hull down! 



SONGS OF 'YELCO::\IE A
D FARE'VELL. 


263 


Scarce one tall frigate walks the sea 
Or skirts the safer shores 
Of all that bore to victory 
Our stout olù Conlmodores ; 
JIull, Bain briùge, Porter, - where are 
they? 
The waves their answer roll, 
"Still bright in memory's sunset ray, - 
God rest .each gallant soul! " 


A brighter name must dim their light 
With more than noontide ray, 
The Sea-King of the" River Fight," 
The Conqueror of the Bay, - 
N ow then the broadside! cheer on cheer 
To greet him safe on shore ! 
IIealth, peace, and many a bloodless year 
To fight his battles o'er! 


A TOAST TO WILKIE COLLINS. 


FEBRUARY 16, 1874. 


THE painter's and the poet's fanle 
Shed their twinned lustre round his 


name, 
To gild our story - teIler' s art, 
'Vhere each in turn must play his part. 


'Yhatscenesfrom 'Vilkie's pencil sprung, 
The minstrel saw but left unsung! 
''''"hat shapes the pen of Collins drew, 
No painter clad in living hue! 


TO H. W. LONGFELLOW. 


BEFORE IllS DEPARTURE FOR EUROPE, 
M.A Y 27, 1868. 


OUR Poet, who has taught the 'Yestern 
breeze 
To waft his songs before hÏ1n o'er the 
seas, 
,V ill. find them wheresoe'er his wan- 
derings reach 
Borne on the spreading tide of English 
speech 
Twin with the rhythmic waves that kiss 
the farthest beach. 


'Vhere shaH the singing bird a stranger 
be 
That finds a nest for him in every tree 1 
How shall he travel who can never go 
'Vhere his own voice the echoes do 
not know, 
'Vhere his own garden flowers no longer 
learn to grow 1 


Ah, gentlest soul! how gracious, how 
benign 
Breathes through our troubled life that 
voice of thine, 
Filled with a sweetness born of hap- 
pier spheres, 
That wins and warms, that kindles, 
softens, cheers, 
That calms the wildest woe and stays 
the bitterest tears! 


Forgive the sinlple words that sound 
like praise; 
The mist before nle dims my gilded 
phrase ; 
Our speech at best is half alive and 
cold, 
Anù so his double name comes true, And save that tenderer moments make 
They christened better than they kne\v, us bold 
And Art proclaims him twice her son, _ l our whitening lips ,,"'ould close, their 
Painter and poet, both in one! truest truth untold. 


But on our artist's shadowy screen 
A stranger miracle is seen 
Than priest unveils or pilgrinl seeks, - 
The poem breathes, the picture speaks ! 



264 


SONGS OF 
IANY SEASONS. 


'Ve who behold our autumn sun below 
The Scorpion's sign, against the Arch- 
er's bow, 
Know well what parting means of 
friend fro In friend; 
After the snows no freshening dews 
descend, 
And what the frost has nlarred, the sun- 
shine will not Inend. 


So we all count the months, the weeks, 
the days, 
That keep thee from us in unwonted 
ways, 
Grudging to alien hearths our widowed 
tÏ111e ; 
And one has shaped a breath in artless 
r11yn1e 
That sighs, "'V e track thee still through 
each renlotest clhne." 


'\That wishes, longings, blessings, 
prayers shall be 
The more than golden freight that 
floats with thee! 
And know, whatever welcome thou 
shalt find, - 
Thou who hast won the hearts of half 
mankind, - 
TIle proudest, fondest love thou leavest 
still behind ! 


TO CHRISTIAN GOTTFRIED EHREN- 
BERG. 


FOR HIS U JUBILÆUM:" AT BERLIN, 
NOVEMBER 5, 1868. 


THOU who hast taught the teachers of 
man kind 
How from the least of things the 
nlightiest grow, 
'Vhat marvel jealous Nature made thee 
blind, 
Lest Ulan should learn what angels 
long to know î 


Thou in the flinty rock, the river's flow, 
In the thick-Illoted sunbean1's siftccl 
light 
Hast trained thy downward-pointed tube 
to show 
,y orIds within worlds unveiled to nlor- 
tal si<r It t 
o , 
Even as the l)atient watc
ers of the 
night, - 
The cyclope gleaners of the fruitful 
skies, - 
Show the wide Inisty way where heaven 
is white 
All paved with suns that daze our 
wondering eyes. 


Far o'er the StOrIllY deep an enlI)ire lie
, 
Beyond the storied blands of the 
l)lest, 
That waits to see the lingering day-star 
nse; 
The forest-cinctured Eden of the 
'Yest ; 
'Vhose queen, fair Freeùom, twines her 
iron crest 
'Ylth leaves from every wreath that 
nlortals wear, 
But loves the sober garland ever best 
That Science lends the sage's silvered 
hair; - 
Science, Wll0 makes lifc's heritage more 
fair, 
Forging for every lock its mastering 
key, 
Filling with life and hope the stagnant 
air, 
Pouring the light of Heaven o'er land 
and sea! 
From her unsceptred rea 1m we come to 
thee, 
Bearing our slender tribute in our 
hands ; 
Deem it not worthless, hunlble though 
it he, 
Set by the larger gifts of older lands : 



SONGS OF WELCOME AND FARE'VELL. 


265 


The smallest fibres weave the strongest 
bands, - 
In narrowest tubes the sovereign nerves 
are spun,- 
A little cord along the deep sea-sands 
1\Iakes the live thought of severed na- 
tions one : 
Thy fan1e has journeyed westering with 
the sun, 
Prairies and lone sierras know thy 
name 
And the long da}'I' of service nobly done 
That crowns thy darkened evening 
with its flame ! 


One with the grateful world, we own thy 
claim, - 
Nay, rather claim our right to join the 
throllO' 
o 


'Vho come with varied tongues, but 
hearts the same, 
To hail thy festal morn with smiles 
and song ; 
Ah, happy they to whom the joys be- 
10nO' 
o 
Of peaceful triumphs that can never die 
From History's record, - not of gilded 
wrong, 
But golden truths that while the 
'world goes by 
'Vith all its empty pageant, blazoned 
high 
Around the 1\Iaster's name forever 
shine ! 
So shines thy name illumined in the 
sky,- 
Such joys, such triumphs, such re- 
membrance thine! 



266 


SONGS OF MANY SEASONS. 



I E 1\1 0 RIAL 


VERSES. 


FOR THE SERVICES IN MEMORY OF 
ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 


CITY OF BOSTON, JUNE 1, 1865. 


CHORA
: Luther's "Judgment Hymn." 


o THOU of soul and sense and breath, 
The ever-present Giver, 
Unto thy mighty Angel, Death, 
All flesh t40u clost deliver; 
'Vhat Jno
t we cherish we resign, 
For life and death alike are thine, 
'Vho reign est Lord forever! 


Our hearts lie buried in the dust 
With him so true and tender, 
The patriot's stay, the people's trust, 
The shield of the offender ; 
Yet every murmuring voice is still, 
As, bowing to thy sovereign will, 
Our best-loved we surrender. 


Dear Lord, with pitying eye behold 
This martyr generation, 
Which thou, through trials manifold, 
Art showing thy salvation! 
o let the hlood by murder spilt 
'V ash out thy stricken children's guilt 
And sanctify our nation! 


Be thou thy orphaned Israel's friend, 
Forsake thy people never, 
In One our broken 
Iany blend, 
That Done again may sever! 
Hear us, 0 Father, while we raise 
With trembling lips onr song of praise, 
And bless thy name forever! 


FOR THE COMMEMORATION SER- 
VI CES. 


CAMBRIDGE, JULY 21, 1865. 


FOUR summers coined their golden light 
in leaves, 
Four wasteful autumns flung them to 
the gale, 
Four winters wore the shroud the tenl- 
l)est weaves, 
The fourth wan April weeps o'er hill 
and vale; 
And still the war.clouds scowl on sea 
and land, 
With the red glealDs of battle stainillg 
through, 
When 10! as parted by an anger s 
han d, 
They open, and the heavens again are 
blue ! 
Which is the dream, the present or tIle 
past ? 
The night of anguish or the joyous 
n10rn 1 
The long, long years with horrors over- 
cast, 
Or the sweet promise of the day new- 
born 1 


Tell us, 0 father, as thine arms infold 
Thy belted first-born in their fast em- 
brace, 
MurmuriIig the prayer the patriarch 
breathed of old, - 
" Now let lne die, for I llave seen tl1Y 
face ! " 



1\IE
IORIAL VERSES. 


267 


Tell us, 0 nlother, - nay, thou canst 
not speak, 
But thy fond eyes shall answer, 
brimIned with joy, - 
Press thy mute lips against the sun- 
browned cheek, 
Is this a phantom, - thy returning 
boy 1 


Tell us, 0 maiden - Ah,. what canst 
thou tell 
That }; ature's record is not first to 
teach, - 
The open volume all can .read so well, 
'Vith its twin rose-hued pages full of 
speech 1 


And ye WI10 mourn your dead, - how 
sternly true 
The crushing hour that wrenched their 
lives away, 
Shadowed with sorrow's luidnight veil 
for you, 
For them the dawning of immortal 
day! 


Dream-like these years of conflict, not a 
dream ! 
Death, ruin, ashes tell the awful tale, 
Read by the flaming war-track's lurid 
gleam : 
No dream, but truth that turns the 
nations pale ! 


For on the pillar raised by martyr 
hands 
Burns the rekindled beacon of the 
right, 
Sowing its seeds of fire o'er all the 
lands, - 
Thrones look a century older in its 
light! 


Rome had her triumphs; round the con- 
queror's car 


The ensigns waved, the brazen clar. 
ions blew, 
And o'er the reeking spoils of bandit 
war 
'Vith outs p read winers the cruel eaO'les 
o 0 
flew ; 


Arms, treasures, captives, kings in clank. 
ing chains 
Urged on by trampling cohorts bronzed 
and scarred, 
And wild-eyed wonders snared on Lyb- 
ian plains, 
Lion and ostrich and camelopard. 


Vain all that prætors clutched, that 
consuls brought 
'Vhen Ronle's returning legions 
crowned their lorù ; 
Less than the least bra ve deed these 
hands have wrought, 
'Ve clasp, un clinching from the bloody 
sword. 


Theirs was the mighty work that seers 
foretold; 
They know not half their glorious toil 
has won, 
For this is Heaven's same battle - 
, 
joined of olel 
'Vhen Athens fought for us at 1\Iara- 
thon ! 


- Behold a vision none hath under- 
stood ! 
The breaking of the Apocalyptic seal; 
Twice rings the summons. - Hail and 
fire and blood! 
Then the third angel blows his trum- 
pet- peal. 


Loud wail the dwellers on the myrtled 
coasts, 
The green savannas swell the mad- 
dened cry, 



268 


SONGS OF MANY SEASONS. 


And with a yen from all the demon 110sts 
Falls the great star éalled \V ormwood 
from the sky ! 


Bitter it mingles with the poisoned flow 
Of the warUI rivers winding to the 
shore, 
Thousands must drink the waves of 
death and woe, 
But the star 'V ormwood stains the 
lleavens no Illore! 


Peace smiles at last; the Nation calls 
her sons 
To sheathe the sword j her battle-flag 
she furls, 
Speaks in glad thunders from unshotted 
guns, 
No terror shrouded in the smoke- 
wrea th' s curls. 


Come with your comrades, the returning 
brave; 
Shoulder to shoulder they await you 
here ; 
These lent the life their martyr-brothers 
gave, - 
Living and dead alike forever dear! 


EDWARD EVERETT. 


\ 
U OUR FIRST CITIZEN." 1 


WINTER'S cold drift lies glistening o'er 
his breast; 
For him no spring shall l)id the leaf 
unfold: 
\Vhat Love could speak, by sudden grief 
oppressed, . 
What swiftly summoned 1tlemory tell, 
is told. 


o ye that fought for Freedom, living, 
Even 
dead, 
One sacred host of God's anointed 
Queen, 
For every holy drop your veins have shed 
We breathe a welcome to our bowers 
of green ! 


Welcon1e, ye living! from the foeman's 
gripe 
Your country's banner it was yours 
to wrest, - 
Ah, many a forehead shows the banner- 
stripe, 
And stars, once crimson, hallow many 
a breast. 


And ye, pale heroes, WI10 from glory's 
bed 
1tlark when your old battalions form 
in linp, 
Move in their ,marching ranks with 
noiseless- tæad, 
And shape unheard the evening coun- 
tersign, 


as t1Ie bells, in one consenting 
chime, 
Filled with their sweet vibrations all 
the air, 
So joined all voices, in that mournful 
time, 
His genius, wisdom, yirtues, to de- 
clare. 


What place is left for words of nIeasured 
praise, 
Till calu1-eyed History, with lIef iron 
1) en , 
Grooves in the unc1langing rock the 
final ph rase 
That shapes his image in the souls of 
men ? 


Yet while the echoes still repeat Ilis 
name, 
While countless tongues his full-orl)ed 
life rehearse, 


t Read at the meeting of the Massachusetts 
Historical Society, January 30, 1865. 



1rIE:\IORIAL VERSES. 


269 


Love, by his beating pulses taught, will 
claim 
The breath of song, the tuneful throb 
of verse, - 


Verse that, in ever-changing ebb and 
flow, 
])Ioves, like the laboring heart, with 
rush and rest, 
Or swings in solemn cadence, sad and 
slow, 
Like the tired heaving of a grief-worn 
breast. 


- This was a mind so rounded, so com- 
plete ; 

 0 partial gift of Nature in excess; 
That, like a single stream where many 
lueet, 
Each separate talent counted some- 
thing less. 


A little hillock, if it lonely stand, 
Holds o'er the fields an undisputed 
reign ; 
'Vhile the broad summit of the table- 
land 
Seenls with its belt of clouds a level 
plain. 


Servant of all his powers, that faithful 
slave, 
U nsleeping i\Iemory, strengthening 
with his toils, 
To every ruùer task his shoulder gave, 
And loaùed every day with goldcn 
spoils. 


Order, the law of Heavpn, was tl1roned 
supreme 
O'er action, instinct, in1pulse, fpcling, 
thought; 
True as the dial's soadow to the beam, 
Each hour was equal to the charge it 
brought. 


Too large his compass for the nicer skill 
That weighs the world of science grain 
by grain ; 
All realnls of knowledge owned the mas- 
tering will 
That claÍ1ned the franchise of its 
whole domain. 


Earth, air, sea, sky, the elemental fire, 
Art, history, song, - what meanings 
lie in each 
Found in his cunning hand a stringless 
lyre, 
And poured their mingling mUSIC 
through his speech. 


Thence flowed those anthems of our fes- 
tal days, 
'Vhose ravishing division kpld apart 
The lips of listening throngs in sweet 
amaze, 

Ioved in. all breasts the self.
ame 
human heart. 


Subdued his accents, as of one who tries 
To press some care, some haunting 
sadness down; 
His smile half shadow; and to stranger 
eyes 
The kingly forehead wore an iron 
crown. 


He was not arIped to wrestle with the 
storm, 
To fight for homely truth witIl vulgar 
pow'er ; 
Grace looked fronl every feature, s11aped 
his form,- 
The rose of Academe, - the peIrcct 
flower! 


Such w:u; the stately scholar whom we 
knpw 
In thosp ill days of soul-ensla,.ing 
cal m, 



270 


SONGS OF l\IANY SEASONS. 


Before the blast of Northern vengeance 
blew 
Her snow-wreathed pine against the 
Southern palm. 


Ah, God forgive us! did we hold too 
cheap 
The heart ,ve nlight have known, but 
would not see, 
And look to find the nation's friend 
asleep 
Through the dread hour of her Geth- 
semane 1 


That wrong is þast; we gave him up to 
Death 
With all a hero's honors round his 


name; 
As martyrs coin their blood, he coined 
his breath, 
And dimmed the scholar's in the 
patriot's fame. 
So shall .we blazon on the shaft we 
raise, - 
Telling our grief, our pride, to un- 
born years,- 
"He who had lived the mark of aU 
men's praise 
Died with the tribute of a Nation's 
tears. " 


SHAKESPEARE. 


TERCENTEKNIAL CELEBRATION. 


APRIL 23, 1864. 


"'VHO claims our Shakespeare from 
that realm un known, 
Beyond the storm-vexed islands of 
the deep, 
Where Genoa's roving mariner was 
blown 1 
IIer twofold Saint's-day let our Eng- 
land kerp ; 


Shall wa.rring aliens share her holy 
task 1" 
The Olù 'V orld echoes ask. 


o land of Shakespeare! ours with all 
thy past, 
Till these last years that make the 
sea so wide, 
Think not the jar of battle's trulnpet- 
bla.st 
Has dulled our aclling sense to joyous 
pride 
In every noble word thy sons bequeathed 
TIle air our fathers breathed! 


War-wasted, haggard, panting fronl tlie 
strife, 
We turn to other days and far-ofT 
lands, 
Live o'er in dreams the Poet's faded life, 
Come ,vith fresh lilies in our fevered 
hands 
To wreathe his Dust, and scatter purple 
flowers, - 
Not his the need, but ours! 


'Ve call those poets who are first to 
mark 
Through earth's dull mist the coming 
of the dawn, - 
Who see in twi1igIIt's gloom the first 
pale spark, 
While others only note dlat day is 
gone; 
For him the Lord of light tIle curtain 
rent 
That veils the firmament. 


The greatest for its greatness is nalf 
known, 
Stretching beyond our narrow quad- 
rant-lines, - 
A
 in that world of N atnre aU outgrown 
'Vhere Calaveras lifts his awful pines, 



l\IE1tIORIAL VERSES. 


271 


And cast from 1tlariposa's mountain- Spenser's chaste soul, and llis imperial 
wall mind 
Nevada's cataracts fall. Who taught and shamed mankind. 


Y
t heaven's remotest orb is partly ours, 
Throbbing its radiance li
e a beating 
heart j 
In the wide compass of angelic powers 
The instinct of the blindworm has its 
part; 
So in"God's kingliest creature we behold 
The flower our buds infold. 


With no vain praise we mock the stone- 
carved name 
Stamped once on dust that moved 
with pulse and breath, 
As thinking to enlarge that amplest 
fame 
'Yhose unditnmed glories gild the 
night of death: 
'Ve praise not star or sun; in these we 
see 
Thee, Father, only thee! 


Thy gifts are beauty, wisdom, power, 
and love: 
We read, we reverence on this human 
soul, - 
Earth's clearest mirror of the light 
above,- 
Plain as the record on thy prophet's 
scroll, 
When o'er his page the effluent splen- 
dors poured, 
Thine own, "Thus saith the Lord!" 


This player was a prophet from on high, 
Thine own elected. Statesman, poet, 
sage, 
For him thy sovereign pleasure passed 
them by; 
Sidney's fair youth, and Raleigh's 
ripened age, 


Therefore we bid our hearts' Te Deum 
rise, 
Nor fear to make thy worship less di- 
vine, 
And hear the shouted choral shake the 
skies, 
Counting all glory, power, and wis- 
dom thine; 
For thy great gift thy greater name 
adore, 
And praise thee evernlore ! 


In this dread hour of Nature's utmost 
need, 
Thanks for these unstained drops of 
freshening dew! 
0, while our martyrs fall, our heroes 
bleed, 
Keep us to every sweet rpmen1brance 
true, 
Till from this blood-red sunset springs 
new- born 
Our N atÎoll' s second morn! 


IN MEMORY OF JOHN AND ROBERT 
WARE. 


READ AT THE ANNUAL MEETING OF 
THE MASSACHUSETTS MEDICAL so- 
CIETY , MAY 25, 1864. 


No n1ystic charm, no lllortal art, 
Can bid our loved companions stay; 
The bands that clasp thern to our heart 
Snap in death's frost and fall apart; 
Like shadows fading with the day, 
They pass away. 


The young are stricken in their pride, 
The old, long tottf'ring, faint and fall ; 
Master and scholar, side by side, 



272 


SO
GS OF l\IANY SEASONS. 


Through the dark portals silent glide, 
'That open in life's Dlouldering wall 
Anù close on all. 


Our friend's, our teacher's task was done, 
'Vhen l\Iercy called hin1 fronl on high; 
Å little cloud had dimmed the sun, 
The sad.dening hours had just begun, 
Anù darker days were drawing nigh: 
'T was tÏ111e to die. 


A whiter soul, a fairer mind, 
A life with purer course anù aim, 
A gentler eye, a voice 1110re kind, 
'Ve may not look on earth to find. 
The love that lingers o'er his name 
Is more than fame. 


These blood-red SUlnmers ripen fast; 
The sons are older than the sires; 
Ere yet the tree to earth is cast, 
The sapling falls before the blast; 
Life's ashes keep their covered fires, - 
Its flame expires. 


Struck by the noiseless, viewless foe, 
'Vhose deadlier brea.th than shot or 
shell 
Has laid the best and bravest low, 
His boy, all bright in morning's glow, 
That high-souled youth he loved so 
well, 
Untimely fell. 


Yet still he wore his placid smile, 
And, trustful in the cheering creed 
That strives all sorrow to beguile, 
'Valked calmly on his way awhile: 
Ah, breast that leans on breaking reeù 
1\1 ust ever bleed ! 


So they both left 11S, sire and son, 
'Yith opening leaf, with laden bough: 
The youth whose race ,vas just hpgun, 
The wearied Iuan whose course was run, 
Its record written on his brow, 
Are brothers now. 


Brothers ! - The n1usic of the sound 
Breathes softly through my closing 
strain ; 
The floor we tread is holy ground, 
Those gentle spirits hovering round, 
While our fair circle joins again 
I ts broken chain. 


1864. 


HUMBOLDT'S BIRTHDAY. 


CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION, SEPTE1\I- 
BER 14, 1869. 


BONAPARTE, AUGUST 15, 1769. - HUl\I- 
BOLDT, SEPTEMBER 14, 1';69. 


ERE yet the warning chimes of midnight 
sound, 
Set back the flaming index of the yrar, 
Track the swift-shifting seasons in their 
round 
Through fivescore circles of the swing- 
ing sphere. 


Lo, in yon islet of the midland spa 
That cleaves the storm-cloud with its 
snowy crest, 
The em bryo- heir of Empires yet to be, 
A Inonth-old babe upon his 111other's 
breast. 


Those little hands that soon shall grow 
so strong 
I n their rude grasp great thrones shall 
rock and fall, 
Press her soft bosonl, while a nursery 
song 
Holds the world's n1aster in its slender 
thrall. 


Look! a new crpscent bends its silver 
bow; 
A nrw-lit star has fired the eastern 
sky; 



1fEMORIAL VERSES. 


273 


Hark! by the river where the lindens 
blow 
A waiting household hears an infant's 
cry. 


This, too, a conqueror! His the vast 
domain, 
'Yider than widest sceptre-shadowed 
lands; 
Earth, and the weltering kingdom of the 
nlaUl 
Laid their broad charters in his royal 
hands. 


His was no taper lit in cloistered cage, 
I ts glimmer borrowed fronl the grove 
or porch; 
He read the record of the planet's page 
By Etna's glare and Cotopaxi's torch. 


He heard the voices of the pathless 
woods; 
On the salt steppes he saw the star- 
light shine ; 
He scaled the mountain's windy soli- 
tudes, 
And trod the galleries of the breath- 
less mine. 


. 


For him no fingering of the love-strung 
lyre, 
No problem vague, by torturing school- 
men vexed; 
He fed no broken altar's dying fire, 
N or skulked and scow led behind a 
Rabbi's text. 


For God's new truth he claimed the 
kingly robe 
That priestly shoulders counted all 
their own, 
Unrolled the gospel of the storied globe 
And led young Science to her enlpty 
throne. 


'Vhile the round planet on its axle 
spins 
One fruitful year shall boast its double 
birth, 
And show the craùles of its mighty 
twins, 
}'Iaster and Servant of the sons of 
earth. 


'Vhich wears the garland that shall never 
fade, 
Sweet with fair memories that can 
never die 1 
Ask not the marbles where their bones 
are laid, 
But bow thine ear to hear thy brothers' 
cry:- 


"Tear up the despot's laurels by the 
root, 
Like mandrakes, shrieking as they 
quit the soil! 
Feed us no more upon the blood-red 
fruit 
That sucks its crimson from the heart 
of Toil ! 


" We clainl the food that fixed our mor- 
tal fate, - 
Bend to our reach the long-forbidden 
tree ! 
The angel frowned at Eden's eastern 
gate, - 
I ts western portal is forever free ! 


" Bring the white blossoms of the waning 
year, 
Heap with full hands the peaceful con- 
, h . / 
queror s s rIne 
'Vhose bloodless triuD1phs cost no suf. 
ferer's tear! 
Hero of knowledge, be our tribute 
thine! " 



274 


SONGS OF MANY SEASONS. 


POEM 


AT TIlE DEDICATION OF THE HAT.LECK 
MONUMENT, JULY 8, 1869. 


SAY not the Poet dies ! 
Though in the dust he lies, 
He cannot forfeit his Inelodious breath, 
U nspherecl by envious death! 
Life drops the voiceless myriads from 
its roll ; 
Their fate he cannot share, 
Who, in the enchanted air 
Sweet with the lingering strains that 
Echo stole, 
Has left his dearer self, the music of his 
soul ! 


'Ve o'er his turf may raise 
Our notes of feeble praise, 
And carve with pious care for after 
eyes 
The stone with "Here he lies" ; 
He for himself has built a nobler 
shrine, 
Whose walls of stately rhyme 
Roll back the tides of time, 
While o'er their gates the gleaming 
tablets shine 
That wear his name iuwrought with 
many a golden line! 


Can not our Poet dead, 
Though on his turf we trrad ! 
Green is the wreath their brows so 
long l)ave worn,- 
The minstrels of the morn, 
Who, while the Orient burned with new- 
born flame, 
Caught that celestial fire 
And struck a Nation's lyre! 
These taught the western winds the 
1)oet's name; 
Theirs the first opening buds, the maiden 
flowers of fame ! 


Count not our Poet dead! 
The stars shall watch his bed, 
The rose of June its fragrant life renew 
His blushing Inound to strew, 
And all the tuneful throats of sunlnier 
swell 
With trills as crystal-clear 
As when he wooed the ear 
Of the young Diuse that haunts each 
wooded dell, 
With songs of that "rough land" he 
loved so long and well! 


He sleeps; he cannot die! 
As even
ng's long-drawn sigh, 
Lifting the rose-leaves on his peaceful 
mound, 
Spreads all their s'weets around, 
So, laden with his song, the breezes 
blow 
Fronl where the rustling sedge 
Frets our rude ocean's edge 
To the smooth sea beyond the peaks 
of snow. 
His soul the air enshrines and leaves but 
dust below ! 


HYMN 


FOR THE CELEBRATION AT THE LAY- 
ING OF THE CORNER-STOKE OF HAR- 
VARD MEMORIAL HALL, CA)IDRIDGE, 
OCTOBER 6, 1870. 


NOT with the anguish of hearts that are 
breaking 
Come we as mourners to weep for our 
dead ; 
Grief in ou! breasts has grown weary of 
aching, 
Green is the turf wbere our tears we 
have shed. 


While o'er their marbles the mosses are 
creepIng, 




rE
rORIAL VERSES. 


275 


Stealing each name and its legend Till evening spreads her spangled pall, 
away, And wraps in shade the storied hall. 
Give their proud story to 
Iemory's 
keeping, 
Shrined in the temple ,ve hallow to- 
day. 


Hushed are their battle-fields, ended 
their n1arches, 
Deaf are their ears to the drum-beat 
of n1orn, - 
Rise from the sod, ye fair columns and 
arches ! 
Tell their bright deeds to the ages un- 
born ! 


Elnblem and legend may fade from the 
portal, 
Keystone may cnlmble and pillar may 
fall ; 
They were the builders whose work is 
inlmortal, 
Crowned with the dome that is over 
us all ! 


HYMN 


FOR THE DEDICA TIOY OF ME
rORIAL 
HALL AT CA
IBRIDGE, JUNE 23, 1874. 


'YHERE, girt around by savage foes, 
Our nurturing 
Iother' s shelter rose, 
Behold, the lofty temple stands, 
Reared by her children's grateful hands ! 


Firm are the pillars that defy 
The volleyed thunders of the sky ; 
Sweet are the summer ,vreaths that 
twine 
'Yith bud and flower our martyrs' 
shrine. 


The hues their tattered colors bore 
Fan mingling on the sunlit floor 


Firm were their hearts in danger's 
hour, 
Sweet was their manhood's morning 
flower, 
Their hopes with rain bo,v hues were 
bright, - 
How swiftly winged the sudden nigl1t ! 


o 
Iother! on thy marble page 
Thy children read, from age to age, 
The n1ighty word that upward leads 
Through noble thought to nobler deeds. 


TRUTH, heaven-born TRUTH, their fear.. 
less guide, 
Thy saints have lived, thy heroes 
died; 
Our love has reared their earthly shrinp, 
Their glory be forever thine ! 


HYMN 


AT THE FU
ERAL SERVICES OF CHARLES 
SUM
ER, APRIL 29, 1874. 


SUNG BY HALE VOICES TO A NATIONAL AIR OF 
BOLLAND. 


OXCE more, ye sacred towers, 
Your solemn dirges sound; 
Stre,v, loving hands, the April flowers, 
Once more to deck his n1ound. 
A nation mourns its dead, 
I ts sorrowing voices one, 
As Israel's luonarch bowed his bend 
And cl'ied, "ßly son! 
Iy son ! " 


"Thy mourn for him? - For him 
The welcome angel can1e 
Ere yet his eye with age was dim 
Or bent his stately frame; 



276 


SONGS OF MANY SEASONS. 


His weapon still was bright, 
His shield was lifted high 
To slay the wrong, to save the right, - 
'Vhat happier hour to die 1 


Thou orderest all things Fell ; 
Thy servant's work was done; 


He lived to hear Oppression's knell, 
The shouts for Freedom won. 
Hark ! from the opening skies 
The anthem's echoing swell, - 
" 0 mourning Land, lift up thine 
eyes ! 
God l'eigneth. All is well! " 



RHY
IES OF AN HOUR. 


277 


RHY1tfES OF AN. HOUR. 


ADDRESS 


FOR THE OPENING OF THE FIFTH A VE- 
NUE THEATRE, NE'V YORK, DECEM- 
BER 3, 1873. 


HAXG out our banners on the stately 
tower ! 
It dawns at last - the long-expected 
hour ! 
The steep is climbed, the star-lit sum- 
mit won, 
The builder's task, the artist's labor 
done ; 
Before the finished work the herald 
stands, 
Ând asks the verdict of your lips and 
hands ! 


Shall rosy daybreak make us all for- 
gpt 
The golden sun that yester-evening 
set 1 
Fair was the fabric doomed to pass 
away 
Ere the last headaches born of New 
Year's Day; 
'Yith blasting breath the fierce destroyer 
came 
And wrapped the victim in his robes of 
flame ; 
The pictured sky with redder morning 
blushed, 
'Vith scorching streams the naiad's foun- 
tain gushed, 
'Vith kindling mountains glowed the 
funeral pyre, 


Forests ablaze and rivers all on fire, - 
The scenes dissolved, the shrivelling cur- 
tain fell, - 
Art spread her wings and sighed a long 
farewell ! 



Iourn o'er the Player's melancholy 
pligh t, - 
Falstaff in tears, Othello deadly 
white,- 
Poor Romeo reckoning what his doublet 
cost, 
And Juliet whimpering for her dresses 
lost, - 
Their wardrobes burned, their salaries 
all undrawn, 
Their cues cut short, their occupation 
gone ! 


" Lie there in dust," the red-winged 
denlon cried, 
"'Vreck of the lordly city's hope and 
pride! " 
Silent they stand, and stare with vacant 
gaze, 
While o'er the embers leaps the fitful 
blaze ; 
'Yhen, lo! a hand, before the startled 
train, 
'V rites in the ashes, "It shall rise 
again, - 
Rise and confront its elempntal foes! "- 
The word was spoken, and the walls 
arose, 
And ere the seasons round their brief 
career 



278 


SONGS OF MANY SEASONS. 


The new-born tenlple waits the unborn In mortal semblance now and then ap- 
year. pears, 
Stealing the fairest earthly shape sbe 
can - 
Sontag or Nilsson, Lind or 
Ialibran ; 
With these the spangled houri of the 
dance, - 
What shaft so dangerous as ller melting 
glance, 
As poised in air she spurns the earth 
below, 
And points aloft her heavenly-minded 
toe! 


Ours was the toil of many a "Teary 
day 
. 
Your smiles, your plaudits, only can 
repay; 
We are the monarchs of the painted 
scenes, 
You, you alone the real Kings and 
Queens! 
Lords of the little kingdom where we 
meet, 
We lay our gilded sceptres at your 
feet, 
Place in your grasp our portal's silvered 
keys 
With one brief utterance- 1Ve have tried 
to please. 
Tell us, ye Sovereigns of the new do- 
nlain, 
Are y
u content - or have we toiled in 
vain 1 


'Vlth no irreverent glances look 
around 
The realm you rule, for this is haunted 
ground! 
Here stalks the Sorcerer, here the Fairy 
trips, 
Here limps the 'Vitch with nlalice- 
working lips, 
The Graces here their snowy arms en.. 
twine, 
Here dwell the fairest sisters of the 
Nine, - 
She who, with jocund voice and twink- 
ling eye, 
Laughs at the brood of follies as they 
fly; 
She of the dagger and the deadly 
bowl, 
Whose charming hon'ors thrill the trem- 
. bling soul; 
She who, a truant from celestial sl)11eres, 


What were our life, with all its rents 
and seanlS, 
Stripped of its purple robes, our waking 
dreams? · 
The poet's song, the bright romancer's 
page, 
'fhc tinselled shows that cheat us on 
the stage 
Lead all our fancies captive at thf'ir will; 
Three years or threescore, we are chil- 
dren still. 
The little listener on his father's knee, 
With wandering Sindbad ploughs the 
stormy sea, 
With Gotham's sages hears the billows 
roll 
(Illustrious trio of the venturous bowl, 
Too early sl1ipwrecked, for they ùied too 
soon 
To see their offspring launch the great 
balloon) ; 
Tracks the dark brigand to his moun- 
tain lair, 
Slays the grim giant, saves the lady fair, 
Fights all his country's battles o'er again 
From Bunker's blazing lleight to 
Lundy's lane; 
Floats with the mighty Captains as 
they sailed 
Before whose flag the flaming red-cross 
paled, 



RHY
IES OF AN HOUR. 


279 


An d claims the oft- told story of the 
scars 
Scarce yet grown white, that saved the 
stripes and stars! 


Chilùren of later growth, we love the 
PLA Y, 
'Ve love its heroes, be they grave or gay, 
From squeaking, peppery, devil-defying 
Punch 
To roaring Richard with his camel- 
hunch ; 
Adore its heroines, those immortal 
danles, 
Time's only rivals, whom he never 
tames, 
'Vhose youth, unchanging, lives while 
thrones decay 
(Age spares the Pyramids - and Deja- 
zet) ; 
The saucy-aproned, razor-tongued sou- 
brette, 
The blond-haired beauty with the eyes 
of jet, 
The gorgeous Beings whom the viewless 
WIres 
Lift to the skies in strontian-crimsoneð. 
fires, 
And all the wealth of splendor that 
awaits 
The throng that enters those Elysian 
gates. 


See where the hurrying crowd impa- 
tient pours, 
'Vith noise of trampling feet and flap- 
ping doors, 
Streanls to the nunlbered seat each 
pas te ùoard fits 
And smooths its caudal plumage as it 
sits; 
'Vaits while the slow musicians saunter 
in, 
Till the bald leaùer taps his violin; 
Till the old overture we know so well, 


Zampa or 1tlagic Flute or William Tell, 
Has done its worst - then hark! the 
tinkling bell ! 
The crash is o'er - the crinkling cur- 
tain furled, 
And 10! tbe glories of that brighter 
world! 


Behold the offspring of the Thespian 
cart, 
This full-grown temple of the magic 
art, 
'Vhere all the conjurors of illusion meet, 
And please us all the more, the more 
they cheat. 
These are the wizards and the witches 
too 
'Vho Will their honest bread by cheat- 
ing you 
'Vith cheeks that drown in artificial 
tears 
And lying skull-caps white with seventy 
years, 
Sweet-tempered matrons changed to 
scolding I{ates, 

Iaids nlild as moonbeams crazed with 
murderous hates, 
Kind, simple souls that stab and slash 
. and slay 
And stick at nothing, if it's in the 
play! 


,V ould all the world told half as 
harn1Iess lies! 
,V ould all its real fools were half as wise 
As he who blinks through d.ull Dun- 
dreary's eyes! 
,V ould all the unhanged bandits of the 
age 
Were like the peaceful ruffians of the 
stage! 
'V ould all the cankers wasting town and 
state, 
The roo b of rascals, little thieves and 
great, 



280 


SONGS OF MANY SEASONS. 


'Velcome, thrice welcome to our vir- 
gin dome, 
The l\luses' shrine, the Drama's new- 
found home! 
Here shall the Statesman rest his weary 
brain, 
The 'Worn-out Artist find his wits again; 
Here Trade forget 11is ledger and his 
cares, 
And sweet communion mingle Bulls nap, 
and Bears; 'Vhereof the story I propose to tel1 
Here shall the youthful Lover, nestling In two brief cantos, if you listen well. 
near 
The shrinking maiden, her he holds most 
dear, 
Gaze on the mimic moonlight as it falls 
On painted groves, on sliding canvas 
walls, 
And sigh, "ltly angel! '''hat a life of 
bliss 
We two could live in such a 'World as 
this! " 
Here shall the tunlid pedants of the 
schools, 
The gilded boors, the labor-scorning 
fools, 
The grass-green rustic and the smoke- 'Vith 
dried cit, 


Dealers in watered milk and watered 
stocks, 
'Vho lead us lambs to pasture on the 
rocks, - 
Shepherds - Jack Sheppards - of their 
city flocks- 
The rings of rogues that rob the luckless 
town, 
Those evil angels creeping up and down 
The Jacob's ladder of the treasury 
stairs, - 
Not stage, but real Turpins and l\Ia- 
cair
s, - 
CQuid doff, like us, their knavery wit1} 
their clothes, 
And find it easy as forgetting oaths! 


F eel each in turn the stinging lash of 
wit, 
And as it tingles on some tender part 
Each find a balsam in his neighbor's 
smart ; 
So every folly prove a fresh delight 
As in the pictures of our I>lay to-night. 


Farewell! The Players 
Prompter's call ; 
Friends, lovers, 1isteners ! 
one and all! 


wait the 


Welcome 


RIP VAN WINKLE. M. D. 


AN AFTER-DINNER PRESCRIPTION TAKEN 
BY THE :MASSACHUSETTS :MEDICAL 
SOCIETY, AT THEIR MEETING HELD 
MAY 25, 1870. 


CANTO FIRST. 


. 
OLD Rip 'Tan Winkle had a grandson, 
Rip, 
Of the paternal block a genuine chip; 
A lazy, sleepy, curious kind of chap; 
He, like his grandsire, took a mighty 


The tÏInes were hard when Rip to man- 
hood grew; 
They always will be when there '8 work 
to do ; 
He tried at farming - found it rather 
slow - 
And then at teaching - what he did n't 
know; 
Then took to hanging round the tavern 
bars, 
To frequent toddies and long-nine cigars, 
Till Dame Van Winkle, out of patience, 
vexed 
preaching homilies, having for 
their text 



RHY
rES OF A
 HOUR. 


281 


A mop, a broomstick - aught that might 
avail 
To point a moral or adorn a tale, 
ExclaiIned, "I have it! Now then, 

Ir. V. ! 
He's good for something - make him 
an !rI. D. ! " 


The die was cast; the youngster was 
content; 
They packed his shirts and stockings, 
and he went. 
How hard he studied it were vain to 
te 11 ; 
He drowsed through 'Vistar, nodded over 
Bell, 
Slept sound with Cooper, snored aloud 
on Good; 
Heard heaps of lectures - doubtless un- 
derstood - 
A constant listener, for he did not fail 
To carve his name on every bench anù 
rail. 


l
Ionths grew to years; at last he counted 
th ree, 
And Rip Van 'Yinklefound himself)1. D. 
Illustrious title! in a gilùeù frame 
He set the sheepskin with his Latin 
nanle, 
RIPU
I y A
 1YrxKLUY, QUEM we- 
SCI:\IUS - know 
IDoxEu
l ESSE - to do so and so ; 
He hired an office ; soon its walls dis- 
played 
His new diploma and his stock in trade, 
A mighty arsenal to subdue disease, 
Of various nanles, whereof I mention 
these : 
Lancets and bougiPs, great and little 
sq ui rt, 
Rhubarb and Senna, Snakeroot, Thor- 
ough wort, 
Ant. Tart., Vln. Colch., Pile Cochiæ, 
and Black Drop, 


Tinctures of Opium, Gentian, Henbane, 
Hop, 
Pulv. Ipecacuanhæ, which for lack 
Of breath to utter men call Ipecac, 
Camphor and Kino, Turpentine, Tolu, 
Cubebs, " CopeevYI" Vitriol - white 
and blue, 
Fennel and Flaxseed, Slippery Elm and 
Squill, 
And roots of Sassafras, and "Sassaf.. 
rill, " 
Brandy - for colics - Pink root, death 
on worms - 
Valerian, calmer of hysteric squirms, 

r usk, Assafætida, the resinous gum 
Named frotn its odor - well, it does 
sn1ell some- 
Jalap, that works not wisely, but too 
well, 
Ten pounds of Bark and six of Calomel. 


For outward griefs he had an ample 
store, 
Some twenty jars and gallipots, or more; 
Cerat'ltm sim,plex - housewives oft com- 
pile ' 
The sanle at home, and call it "wax 
and ile" ; 
Ungztentltnt Resinosum - change its 
naIne, 
The "drawing salve" of many an an.. 
cient dame; 
Argenti .i.Yitras, also Spanish flies, 
"\Vhose virtue makes the water- bladders 
rlse- 
(Some say that spread upon a toper's 
skin 
They draw no water, only rum or gin) - 
Leeches, sweet vern1in! don't they 
charm the sick 1 
And Sticking-plaster - how it hates to 
stick ! 
Ernplastr'll'nt Fcrri - ditto Picis, Pitch; 
'Vashes and Powders, Brimstone for the 
-which, 



282 


SONGS OF ?tIANY SEASONS. 


Rcabies or Psora, is thy chosen name 
Since Hahnemann's goose-quill scratched 
thee in to fan1(
, 
Proved thee the source of every nanle- 
less ill, 
'Yhose sole specific is a moonshine pill, 
Till saucy Science, with a quiet grin, 
Held up the Acarus, crawling on a 
pin 1 
- ]}Iountains have labored and have 
brought forth Jnice: 
The Dutchman's theory hatched a brood 
of - twice 
I've welllligh said them - words unfit- 
ting quite 
For these fair precincts and for ears 
polite. 


The surest foot may chance at last to 
slip, 
And so at length it proved with Doctor 
Rip. 
One full-sized bottle stood upon the s11elf 
Which held the medicine that he took 
llimself ; 
'Vhate' er the reason, it must be confessed 
He filled that bottle oftener than the 
rest ; 
What drug it held I don't presume to 
know - 
The gilded label said" Elixir Pro." 


One day the Doctor found the bottle 
full, 
And, being thirsty, took a vigorous pull, 
Put back the "Elixir" where 't was 
always found, 
Alld had old Dobbin saddled and brought 
round. 
- You know those old-time rhubarb- 
colored nags 
That carried Doctors and thpir saddle- 
bags; 
Sagacious beasts! they stopped at every 
place 


Where blinds were shut - knew every 
patient's case-- 
Looked up and thought--the baby's 
in a fit- 
That won't last long - he '11 soon be 
through with it; 
But shook their heads before the knock- 
ered door 
Where some old lady told the story 
o'er 
'Vhose endless stream of tribulation 
flows 
For gastric griefs and peristaltic woes. 


What jack-o'-lantern led. him from 
his ,vay, 
And where it led him, it were hard to 
say; 
Enough that wandering n1any a weary 
nlile 
Through paths the mountain sheep trod 
single file, 
O'ercon1e by feelings such as patients 
know 
\Vho dose too freely with" Elixir Pro.," 
He tUlubl- dismounted, slightly in a 
heap, 
And lay, promiscuous, lapped in balmy 
sleep. 


Night followed night, and day suc- 
ceeded day, 
But snoring still the slumbering Doctor 
lay. 
Poor Dobbin, starving, thought upon 
his stall, 
And straggled homeward, saddle-bags 
and all. 
The village people hunted all around, 
But Rip was missing, - never could be 
found. 
e, Drownde,d," they guessed; - for more 
than half a year 
The pouts and eels did taste uncommon 
queer; 



RHY)IES OF AN HOUR. 


282 


Some said of apple-brandy - other some 
Found a strong flavor of Kew England 
rum. 


- 'Vhy can't a fellow hear the fine 
things said 
About a fellow when a fellow's dead 1 
The best of doctors - so the press de- 
clared - 
A public blessing while his life was 
spared, 
True to his country, bounteous to the 
poor, 
In all things temperate, sober, just, and 
pure ; 
The best of husbands! echoed 
Irs. Van, 
And set her cap to catch another man. 


- So ends this Canto - if it's quan- 
tlt1ìt sujf., 
'Ve '11 just stop here and say we've had 
enough, 
And leave poor Rip to sleep for thirty 
years ; 
I grind the organ - if you lcnd your ears 
To hear my second Canto, after that 
'Ve '11 send around the monkey with 
the hat. 


CANTO SECOND. 


I 
So thirty years had past - but not a 
wont 
In all that time of Rip was ever ]1eard ; 
The world wagged on - it never does 
go back- 
The widow Van ,vas now the widow 
1\Iac - 
France was an Empire-Andrew J. was 
dead, 
And Abraham L. was reigning in his 
stead. 
Four murderous years bad passed in 
savage strife, 
Yet still the rebel held his bloody knife. 


- At last one morning - who forgeb 
the day 
'Vhen the black cloud of war dissolved 
away 1 
The joyous tidings spread o'er land and 
sea, 
Rebellion done for! Grant has cap- 
tured Lee! 
Up every flagstaff sprang the Stars and 
Stripes - 
Out rushed the Extras wild with mam.. 
moth types- 
Down went the laborer's hod, the school- 
boy's book- 
" Hooraw!" he cried, - "the rebel 
army'g took!" 
Ah! what a time! the folks all mad 
with joy: 
Each fond, pale mother thinking of her 
boy; 
Old gray -haired fathers meeting - Ha ,e 
- you - heard 1 
And then a choke - and not another 
word ; 
Sisters all smiling - maidens, not less 
dear, 
In trembling poise between a smi1e and 
tear ; 
Poor Bridget thinking how she'll stuff 
the plums 
In that big cake for Johnny when he 
comes; 
Cripples afoot; rIleumatics on the jUJnp, 
01<1 girls so loying they could hug the 
pump; 
Guns going bang! from every fort and 
ship; 
They banged so loud at last they wak- 
ened Rip. 


I spare the picture, how a man ap- 
pears 
""'ho ' s bpen asleep a score or two of 
)"ears ; 
You all have seen it to perfection done 



284 


SOKGS OF 
lli
Y SEASONS. 


By Joe Van 'Vink-I mean Rip Jeffer- 
son. 
Well, so it was; old Rip at last came 
back, 
Claimed llis old wife - the present 
widow 
Iac- 
Had hb old sign regilded, and began 
To practise physic on the same old plan. 


Some weeks went by - it was not 
long to wait- 
And" please to call" grew frequent on 
th
 slate. 
He had, in fact, an ancient, mildewed 
all', 
A long gray beard, a. plenteous lack of 
hair- 
The musty look that always recomn1ends 
Your good old Doctor to his ailing 
friends. 
- Talk of your science! after all is said 
There's notlling like a bare and shiny 
head; 
Age lends the graces that are sure to 
please; 
Folks want their Doctors mouldy, like 
their cheese. 


So Rip began to look at people's 
tongues 
And thump their briskets (called it 
"sounù their lungs "), 
Brushed up his knowledge sn1artly as he 
could, 
Read in old Cullpn and in Dortor Good. 
The town was healt11Y; for a month or 
two 
He gave the sexton little work to do. 


About the time when dog-day heats 
begin, 
The sunImer's usual n1a1adies set in ; 
With autumn evenings dysentery came, 
And dusky typhoid lit his smouldering 
flame ; 


The blacksnlith ailed - the carpenter 
,vas down, 
And half the children sickened in the 
tOWIl. 
The sexton's face grew shorter than be- 
fore - 
The sexton's wife a brand-new bonnet 
wore - 
Things looked quite serious - Death llad 
got a grip 
On old and young, in spite of Doctor 
Ri 1). 


And now the Squire was taken with 
a chill - 
Wife gave" hot-drops" - at night an 
Indian pill ; 
N ext morning, feverish - bedtiIue, get- 
ting worse- 
Out of his head - began to rave and 
curse ; 
The Doctor sent for - double quick lIe 
came : 
Ant. Tart. gran. duo, and repeat the 
same 
If no et cetera. TIlird day - nothing 
new; 
Percussed his thorax till 't was ùlack 
and blue- 
, , 
Lung- fever threatening - something of 
the sort- 
t 
Out with the lancet - let him bleed- 
a quart- 
Ten leeches next - then blisters to l1Ïs 
siùe ; 
Ten grains of calomel; just tllen he 
died. 


The Deacon next required the Doc- 
tor's care- 
Töok co]d by sitting in a draught of 
air- 
Pains in the back, but what the mattcr is 
Not quite so clear, - wife cans it "rheu- 
matiz. " 



RHY
IES OF AN HOUR. 


285 


Rubs back with fiannel- gives hhn 
sOluething hot - 
" Ah ! "says the Deacon, "that goes 
nigh the spot." 
Next day a rigor-" Run, my little 
man, 
And say the Deacon sends for Doctor 
Van. " 
The Doctor came - percussion as before, 
Thunlping and banging till his ribs were 
sore - 
U Right siùe the flattest" - then more 
vigorous raps- 
" Fever - that's certain - pleurisy, 
perhaps. 
A quart of blood wiiI ease the pain, no 
doubt, 
Ten leeches next will help to suck it out, 
Then clap a blister on the painful part- 
Rut first two grains of A ntÏ1nonÍlt1n Tart. 
Last, with a dose of cleansing calomel 
U llioad the p01tal systenl - (that sounds 
well!)" 


But when the selfsame remedies were 
tried, 
As all the village knew, the Squire had 
died; 
The neighbors hinted - this will never 
ùo, 
He's killed the Squire - he'll kill the 
Deacon too." 


- NoW' when a doctor's patients are per- 
plexed, 
A consztltation COllles in order next - 
You know what that is 1 In a certain 
place 
]\{eet certain doctors to discuss a case 
And other matters, such as weather, 
crops, 
Potatoes, pum pkins, lager-beer, and 
hops. 
For what's the use 1- there's little to 
be said, 


Nine times in ten your man's as good as 
dead; 
At best a talk (the secret to disclose) 
'Vhere three luen guess and SOlnetÙnes 
one man knows. 


The counsel summoned came without 
delay - 
Young Doctor Green and shrewd old 
Doctor Gray- 
They heard the story - " Bleed! " says 
Doc tor Green, 
" That's downright murder! cut his 
throat, you mean! 
Leeches! the reptiles! 'Yhy, for pity's 
sake, 
Not try an adder or a rattlesnake î · 
Blisters! 'Vhy bless you, they're against 
the law- 
It's rank assault and battery if they 
draw! 
Tartrate of Antimony! shade of Luke, 
Stomachs turn pale at thought of such 
rebuke! 
The portal system! 'That's the man 
about? 
Unload your nonsense ! Calomel's played 
out! 
You've been asleep - you'd better sleep 
away 
Till some one calls you." 


" Stop! " saY's Doctor Gray......... 
" The story is you slept for thirty 
years ; 
With brothel' Green, I own that it ap- 
pears 
You must have slumbered rnost amazing 
sound ; 
But sleep once more till thirty years 
come round, 
You'll find the lancet in its honored 
place, 
Lceches and blisters rescueù from dis- 
grace, 



286 


SONGS OF MANY SEASONS. 


Your drugs redeemed from fashion's pass. 
ing scorn, 
And counted safe to give to babes un. 
born. " 


Poor sleepy Rip, 1\1. 1\1. S. S., 1tI. D., 
A puzzled, sedous, saddened man was he ; 
Home froIn the Deacon's house he plod- 
ded sloW' 
And filled one bumper of " Elixir Pro." 
"Good by," he faltered, "1tlrs. Van, 
my dear! 
I 'ro going to sleep, but wake me once a 
year; 
I don't like bleaching in the frost and 
ùew, 
I '11 take the barn, if all the same to you. 
Just once a year - remember! no mis- 
take 1 
Cry, 'Rip Van Winkle! time for you to 
wake ! ' 
'Vatch for the week in 1tlay when lay- 
locks blow, 
For then the Doctors meet, and I must 
go. " 


Just once a year the Doctor's worthy 
danle 
Goes to the barn and shouts her nus- 
band's name, 
""Come, Rip Van Winkle! " (giving him 
a shake) 
'Rip! Rip Van Winkle! time for you 
to wake ! 
Laylocks in blossom! 't is the month of 
May- 
The Doctors' meeting is this blessed day, 
And come what will, you know I heard 
you swear 
You'd never miss it, but be always 
there ! " 


You'll quickly know him by his mil- 
dewed air, 
The hayseed sprinkled through his scanty 
hair, 
The lichens growing on his rusty suit- 
I've seen a toadstool sprouting 011 his 
boot- 
- Who says I lie 1 Does any man pre- 
sunle ? - 
Toadstool? No matter;- call it a mush- 
roonl. 
'Vhere is his seat? He moves it eyery 
year; 
But look, you'll find hirn - he is always 
here - 
Perhaps you'll track hill1 by a wbiIT JOU 
know - 
A certain flavor of " Elixir Pro." 


Now, then, I give you -as you seem 
to think 
'Ve can give toasts without a drop to 
drink - 
Health to the nlighty sleeper -long 
live he ! 
Our brother Rip, 1tI. 1tI. S. S., 1\1. D. ! 


CHANSON WITHOUT MUSIC. 


BY THE PROFESSOR EMERITUS OF DEAD 
AND LIVE LANGUAGES. 



 B K
 - CAMBRIDGE, 1867. 


You bid me sing, - can I forget 
The classic ode of days gone by, - 
I-Iow belle Fifine and jeune Lisette 
Exclairned, "Anacreõn, gerõn ei " 1 
" Regardez done," those ladies said, - 
" Y 011 're getting bald and wriukled 
too: 
'Vhen summer's roses all are shed, 
Love's nullum ite, voyez-vous ! " 


And so it is, as every year comes round 
Old Rip Van Winkle here is always In vain ce brave Anacreon's cry, 
found. " Of Love alone nlY banjo sings" 



RHY1tIES OF AN HOUR. 


287 


(Erõta mounon). c, Etianl si, - 
Eh b'en?" replied the saucy things, - 
" Go find a maid whose hair is gray, 
And strike your lyre, - we sha' n't 
con1plain ; 
But parce nobis, s'il vous I)lait, - 
Voilà Adolphe! Voilà Eugène ! " 
Ah, jeune Lisette! All, belIe Fifille ! 
Anacreo1l's lesson all must learn; 
'0 kairos oxus; Spring is green, 
But Acer Hyems waits his turn! 
I hear you whispering from the dust, 
"Tiens, mon cher, c'est toujours so, - 
The brightest blade grows dim with rust, 
The fauest n1eadow white with snow! " 


- You do not mean it ! Not encore 1 
Another string of playday rhynles 1 
Yon 've heard me -1lonne est 1- before, 

Iultoties, - more than twenty times; 
NOll possum, - vraÏ1nent, - pas du tout, 
I cannot! I anl loath to shirk; 
But who will listen if I do, · 
.l\Iy meIllory makes such shocking 
,vork 1 


Ginõsko. Srio. Yes, I 'm told 
Some ancients like my rusty lay, 
As Grandpa Noah loved the old 
Red-sanùstolle march of Jubal's day. 
I used to carol like the birds, 
But time nlY wits has quite unfixed, 
Et quoaù verba, - for nlY words, - 
Ciel! Eheu! 'Vhe-ew! - how they're 
mixed ! 


l\Ieherc1e! Zeu! Diable! how 

ly thoughts were dressed when I was 
young, 
But tenlpus fugit! see them now 
Half clad in rags of every tongue ! 
o philoi, fratres, chers amis ! 
I dare not court the youthfull\Iuse, 
For fear her sharp response should be, 
" Papa Anacreon, plt
ase excuse! " 


Adieu ! I've trod n1Y annual track 
How long! - let others count the 
miles, - 
And peddled out nlY rhyming pack 
To friends who always paid "in smiles. 
So, laissez-moi ! some youthful wit 
1\0 doubt has wares he wants to show; 
And I am asking, "Let TIle sit," 
Dum ille clam at, "Dos pon sto!" 


FOR THE CENTENNIAL DINNER 


OF THE PROPRIETORS OF BOSTON PIER, 
OR.THE LO
G WHARF, APRIL 16, 1873. 


DEAR friends, we are strangers; we 
never before 
Have suspected what love to each other 
we bore ; 
But each of us aU to his neighbor is dear, 
'Vhose lleart has a throb for our tin1e- 
honored pier. 


As I look on each brother proprietor's 
face, 
I could open nIY arms in a loving em- 
brace ; 
'Vhat wonder that feelings, undreall1ed 
of so long, 
Should burst all at once in a blossom of 
song! 


While I turn my fOlldglance on the mon- 
arch of piers, 
'\Vhose th
one has stood firm through his 
eightscore of ypars, 
!\Iythought travels back,vardand reaclws 
the day 
'Yhen they drove the first pile on the 
edge of the bay. 


See! The joiner, the shipwright, the 
sn1ith from his forge, 
I The redcoat, who shoulders his gUll fo1. 
King George 



288 


SONGS OF l\iANY SEASONS. 


The shopman, the 'prentice, the boys No: pride of the bay, while its ripples 
from the lane, shall run, 
The parson, the doctor with gold-headed . You shall pass, as an heirloonl, froln 
cane, father to son! 


Come trooping down King Street, where 
now may be seen 
The pulleys and ropes of a mighty ma- 
chine; 
The weight rises slowly; it drops with 
a thud; 
And, 10 ! the great timber sinks deep in 
the mud! 


They are gone, the stout craftsmen that 
hamlnered the piles, 
And the square-toed old boys in the 
three-cornered tiles; 
The breeches, the buckles, have faded 
from view, 
And the parson's white wig and the rib- 
bon-tied queue. 


The redcoats have vanished; the last 
grenadier 
Stepped into the boat from the end of 
our pier; 
They found that our hills were not easy 
to cHm b, 
And the order came, "Countermarch, 
double-quick time! " 


They are gone, friend and foe, - an- 
chored fast at the pier, 
Whence no vessel brings back its pale 
passengers here ; 
But our wharf, like a lily, still floats on 
the flood, 
I ts breast in the sunshine, its roots in 
the mud. 


Who - who that has loved it so long 
and so well - 
The flower of his birthright would barter 
or sell 1 


Let me part with the acres my grand- 
father bought, 
'Vith the bonds that my uncle's kind 
legacy brought, 
'Vith lIlY bank-shares, -old" Union," 
whose ten per cent stock 
Stands stiff through the storms as the 
Eddystone rock; 


With my rights (or my wrongs) in the 
" Erie," - alas ! 
'Vith my claims on the mournful and 
" 1tlutual1tIass." ; 
'Vith my "Phil. Wil. and BaIt.," with 
my" C. B. and Q." ; 
But I never, no never, will sell out of 
you. 


We drink to thy past and thy future to- 
day, 
Strong right arm of Boston, stretched 
out o'er the bay. 
May the winds waft the wealth of all 
nations to thee, 
And thy dividends flow like the waves 
of the sea ! 


A POEM SERVED TO ORDER. 


PHI BETA KAPPA, JUNE 26, 1873. 


THE Caliph ordered up Ilis cook, 
Anù, scowling Witll a fearful look 
That meant, - We stand no gam- 
mon, - 
"To-morrow, just at two," he said, 
"Hassan, our cook, will lose his head, 
Or serve us up a salmon." 


"Great Sire," the trembling eke/replied, 
" Lord of the Earth and all beside, 



RHYMES OF AN HOUR. 


289 


Sun, 
Ioon, aud Stars, and so on -" 
(Look in Eothcn ----:' there you '11 find 
A list of titles. N ever mind, 
I have n't time to go on :) 


"Great Sire," and so fOIth, thus he 
spoke, 
u Your Highness must intend a joke; 
It does n't stand to reason 
For one to order salmon brought, 
Unless that fish is sometimes caught, 
And also is in season. 


"Our luck of late is shocking bad, 
In fact, the latest catch we had 
('Ve kept the matter shady), 
But, hauling in our nets, - alack ! 
'Ve found no salnlon, but a sack 
, 
That held your honored Lady!" 


- "Allah is great!" the Caliph said, 
u 
Iy poor Zuleika, you are dead, 
I once took interest in you." 
- "Perhaps, my Lord, you'd like to 
know 
'Ye cut the lines and let her go." 
- "Allah be praised! Continue." 


- " It is n't hard one's hook to bait, 
And, squatting down, to watch and wait, 
To see the cork go under; 
At last suppose you've got your bite, 
You twitch away with all Y our miO'ht - 
.. 0 , 
You've hooked an eel, by thunder! " 


The Caliph patted Hassan's head: 
"Slave, thou hast spoken weU," he said, 
" And won thy n1aster's favor. 
Yes; since what happ
ned t' other morn 
The sahnoll of the Golden Horn 
blight have a doubtful flavor. 


"That last remark about the eel 
Has also justice that we feel 
Quite to our satisfaction. 
To-morrow we dispense with fish, 


And, for the present, if you wish, 
You '11 keep your bulbous fraction." 


"Thanks! thanks!" the grateful chef 
replied, 
His nutricnt feature showing wide 
The gleam of arches dental: 
" To cut my head off would n't pay, 
I find it useful every day, 
As well as ornamental." 


Brothers, I hope you willl10t fail 
To see the moral of my tale 
And kindly to receive it. 
You know your anniversary pie 

Iust have its crust, though hard and 
dry, 
Anù some prefer to leave it. 


How oft before these youths were born 
I've fished in Fancy's Golden Horn 
For what the 
Iuse might send me ! 
How gayly then I cast the line, . 
'Vhen all the morning sky was mine, 
And Hope her flies would lend me ! 


And now I hear our despot's call, 
And come, like Hassan, to the hall, - 
If there's a slave, I am one, - 

Iy bait no longer flies, but worms! 
I've caught - Lord bless me! how he 
squirms! 
An eel, and not a salmon! 


THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 


READ AT THE MEETIXG OF THE HAR- 
V ARD ALU
INI ASSOCIATION, JUXE 25, 
1873. 


THE fount the Spaniard sought in vain 
Through all the land of flowers 
Leaps glittering from the sandy plain 
Our classic grove embowers; 



290 


so:yas OF r.IANY SEASONS. 


Here every leaf is in the bud, 
Each singing throat in tune, 
And bright o'er evening's silver flood 
Shines the young crescent nlOOll. 
What wonder Age forgets 11Îs staff 
And lays his glasses down, SUNG AT THE "JUBILEE," JUNE 15, 
And gray-haired grandsires look and 1869, TO '.fHE MUSIC OF KELLER'S 
laugh "AMERICAN HYMN." 
As when their locks were brown! 


Here youth, unchanging, blooms 
smiles, 
Here dwells eternal spring, 
And warm fronl Hope's elysian isles 

rhe winds their perfume bring. 


With ears grown dull and eyes grown 
dim 
They greet the joyous day . 
That calls them to the fountain's brim 
To wash their years away. 
What change has clothed the ancient 
. sire 
In sudden youth 1 For, 10 ! 
The J ufIge, the Doctor, and the Squire 
Are Jack and Bill and Joe ! 


And be his titles what they will, 
In spite of manhood's claim 
The graybeard is a school-boy still 
And loves his school-boy name; 
It calms the ruler's stormy breast 
Whom hUITying care pursues, 
And brings a sense of peace and rest, 
Like slippers after shoes. 


And what are all the prizes won 
To youth's enchanted view? 
And what is all the man has done 
To what the boy may ùo? 
o blessed fount, wllose waters flow 
Alike for sir
 and son, 
That melts our winter's frost and snow 
Aud Dlakes all ages one ! 


and 


I pledge the sparkling fountain's tide, 
That flings its golden shower 
1Vith age to fill and youth to guide, 
Still fresh in morning flower! 
Flow on with ever-widening streanl, 
In ever-brightening morn, - 
Our story's pride, our future's dream, 
The hope of times unborn ! 


A HVMN OF PEACE. 


ANGEL of Peace, thou hast wandered 
too long! 
Spread thy white wings to the sun- 
shine of love ! 
Come while our voices are blended in 


song, - 
Fly to our ark like the storm-beaten 
dove ! 
Fly to our ark on the wings of tbe 
dove, - 
Speed o'er the far-sounding billows of 
song, 
Crowned with thine olive-leaf garland 
of love, - 
Angel of Peace, thou hast waited too 
long ! 


Brothers we meet, on this altar of t11ine 
]}Iingling the gifts we bave gathered 
for thee, 
Sweet with the odors of myrtle and pin
, 
Breeze of the prairie and breath of 
the sea, 
 
Meadow and mountain and forest and 
sea! 
Sweet is the fragrance of myrtle and 
pine, 
Sweeter the incense we off
r to thee, 
Brothers once more round this altar 
of thine! · 



RHY
IES OF AN HOUR. 


291 


.Angels of Bethleheln, answer the strain! 
Hark! a new birth-song is filling the 
sky! - 
Loud as the storm-wind that tumbles 
the n1ain 
Bid the full breath of the organ 
reply, - 


Let the loud tempest of voices re- 
ply,- 
Roll its long surge like the earth- 
shaking main ! 
Swell the vast song till it mounts to the 
sky !- 
Angels of Bethlehem, echo the strain ! 




ADD I T ION ALP 0 E 1\1 S . 


TO 1877'. 


AT A MEETING OF FRIENDS. 


AUGUST 29, 1859. 
I RE
{EMBER - why yes! God bless me ! 
and was it so long ago 1 
I fear I 'm growing forgetful, as old folks 
do, you know; 
It must have been in 'forty-I would 
say 'tllirty-nine- 
\Ve talked this matter over, I and a frifnd 
of mine. 


He said " Well now, old fel1ow, I 'm 
thinking that you and I, 
If we act like other people, shall be older 
by and by ; 
'Yhat though the bright blue ocean is 
smooth as a pond can be, 
Thrre is always a line of breakers to 
fringe the broadest sea. 
u We're taking it mighty easy, but that 
is nothing strange, 
For up to the age of thirty we spend our 
Y ears like chan ere . 
b , 
But creeping up towards the forties, as 
fast as the old years fill, 
And Time steps in for payment, we seem 
to change a bill. 
U _ I know it, - I said, - old fellow; 
you speak the solenln truth; 
A nJan can't Hve to a Jnuldrcd and like- 
wise keep his youth; 


But what if the ten years coming shall 
silver-streak my hair, 
You know I shall then be forty; of 
course I shall not care. 


"At forty a man grows heavy and tired 
of fun and noise; 
Leaves dress to the five-and-twenties and 
love to the silly boys; 
No foppish tricks at forty, no pinching 
of waists and toes, 
But high-low shoes and flannels and good 
thick worsted hose." 


But one fine August morning I found 
myself awake : 
!Iy birthday: - By Jove, I 'nl forty! 
Yes, forty, and no mistake! 
1Vhy this is the very nruestone, I think 
I used to hold, 
That when a fellow had come to, a fello\v 
would then be old! 


But that is the young folks' nonsense j 
they're full of their foolish stuff ; 
A man's in his prime at forty, - I see 
that plain enough; 
At fifty a man is wrinkled, and may be 
bald or gray; 
I call ßlen old at fifty, in spite of all 
they say. 


At last comes another August with nlist 
and rain and shine; 



294 


ADDITIONAL POEM:S. 


I ts mornings are slowly counted and 
creep to twenty-nine, 
And when on the western summits the 
fading light appears, 
It touchps with rosy fingers the last of 
my fifty years. 


There have been both men and women 
whose hearts were firnl and bold, 
But there never was one of fifty that 
loved to say "I'Dl old" ; 
So any elderly person that strives to 
shirk his years, 

Iake him stand up at a table and try 
him by his peers. 


N ow here I stand at fifty, my jury 
gathered round; 
Sprinkled with dust of silver, but not 
yet silver-crowned, 
Ready to meet your verdict, waiting to 
hear it told; 
Guilty of fifty summers; speak! Is the 
verdict old? 


No! say that his hearing fails him; say 
that his sight grows dim; 
Say that he's getting wrinkled and weak 
in back and limb, 
Losing his wits and temper, but plead- 
ing, to nlake amends, 
The youth of his fifty summers he finds 
in his twenty friends. 


A FAREWELL TO AGASSIZ. 


IIo,v the mountains talked together, 
Looking down upon the weather, 
"\Vhen they heard our friend had planned 
his 
Little trip among the Anùes ! 
How they'll bare their snowy scalps 
To the climber of the Alps 
When the cry goes through their passes, 


" Here comes the great Agassiz! " 
" Yes, I 'm tall," says ChÎInborazo, 
" But I wait for him to say so, - 
That's the only thing that laeks,- 
he 
Must see me, Cotopaxi !" 
" Ay! ay!" the fire-peak thunders, 
"And he"nlust view my wonders! 
I 'nl but a lonely crater 
Till I have him for spectator r " 
The mountain hearts are yearning, 
The lava-torches burning, 
The rivers bend to meet him, 
The forests bow to greet hint, 
It thrills the spinal colunln 
Of fossil fishes solemn, 
And glaciers crawl the faster 
To the feet of their old master r 


Heaven keep him well and hearty, 
Both him and all his party! 
From the sun that broils and slnites, 
From the centipede that bites, 
From the hail-storm and the thunder, 
Fr01n the vampire and the condor, 
FroIn the gust upon the river, 
From the sudden earthquake shiver, 
From the trip of mule or donkey, 
Fronl the nliùnight howling monkey, 
Front the strol\fl of knife or dagger, 
From the puma and the jaguar, 
Fron! the horrid boa-constrictor 
That has scared us in the pictur', 
From the Indians of the Pampas 
'Vho would dine upon their gram pas, 
From every beast and vermin 
That to think of sets us squinning, 
From every snake that tries on 
The traveller his p'ison, 
From every pest of N atur', 
Likewise the alligator, 
And from two things left behind him, - 
(Be sure they'll try to find him,) 
The tax-bill and assessor, - 
Heaven keep the great Professor! 



A SEA DIALOGUE. 


1\fay he find, with his apostles, 
That the land is full of fossils, 
That the waters swarm with fishes 
Shaped according to his wishes, 
That every pool is fertile 
In fancy kinds of turtle, 
New birds around him singing, 
New insects, never stinging, 
'Vith a million novel data. 
About the articulata, 
And facts that strip off all husks 
From the history of mollusks. 
And when, with loud Te Deum, 
He returns to his :hluseurn, 
1.Iay he find the rIlollstrous reptile 
That so long the land has kept ill 
By Grant and Sherman throttled, 
And by Father Abraham bottled, 
(All specked and streaked and mot- 
tled 
'Vith the scars of murderous battles, 
'Vhere he clashed the iron rattles 
That gods and men he shook at,) 
For all the world to look at ! 


God bless the great Professor! 
And 1.ladam, too, God bless her! 
Bless him and all his band, 
On the sea and on the land, 
Bless them head and heart and hand, 
Till their glorious raid is o'er, 
And they touch our ransomed shore! 
Then the welconle of a nation, 
\Yith its shout of exultation, 
Shall awake the ÙUJU b creation, 
And the shapes of buried æons 
Join the li"ing creatures' pæans, 
Till the fossil echoes roar; 
'Yhile the mighty megalosaurus 
I.Jeads the palæozoic chonls, - 
God bless the great Professor, 
And the land his proud possessor, - 
Bless them now and evernlore ! 
1865. 


295 


A SEA DIALOGUE. 
Cabin Passenger. JIan at IV/wel. 
CABIN P ASSEKGER. 
FRIEND, you seern thoughtful. I not 
wonder much 
That he who sails the ocean should be sad. 
I am myself reflective. - 'Vhen I think 
Of all this wallowing beast, the Sea, has 
sucked 
Between his sharp, thin lips, the wedgy 
waves, 
\Vhat heaps of diamonds, rubies, emer- 
alds, pearls; 
What piles of shekels, talents, ducats, 
crowns, 
'\Vhat bales of TYlian mantles, Indian 
sha w Is, 
Of laces that have blanked the weavers' 
eyes, 
Of silken tissues, ,vrought by worm and 
nlan, 
The half-starved workman, and the well- 
fed worm ; 
'Yhat marbles, bronzes, pictures, parch- 
ments, books; 
1Vhat many-Iobuled, thought-engender- 
ing brains ; 
Lie with the gaping sea-shells in his 


maw', - 
I, too, am silent; for all language seems 
A mockery, and the speech of man is 
vaIn. 
o mariner, we look upon the waves 
And they rebuke our babbling. "Peace!" 
they say, - 
"
Iortal, be still!" 1.Iy noisy tongue 
is hushed, 
.And with my trembling finger on nlY lips 
l\Iy soul exclaims in ecstasy- 
:r.fAN AT 'VHEEL. 


Belay! 


CABIN PAf'SE
GER. 
Ah yes! " Delay," - it caUs, U nor 
haste to break 



296 


ADDITIONAL POEMS. 


The charm of stillness with an idle 
word ! " 
o mariner, I love thee, for thy thought 
Strides even with my own, nay, flies be- 
fore. 
Thou art a brother to the wind and 


w'a ve ; 
Have they not music for thine ear as 
mine, 
'Vhen the wild tempest n1akes thy ship 
his lyre, 
SnlÍting a cavernous basso from the 
shrouds 
And clin1bing up his gamut through the 
stays, 
Through buntlines, bowlines, ratlines, 
till it shrills 
An alto keener than the locust sings, 
And all the great Æolian orchestra 
Storms out its mad sonata in the gale 1 
Is not the scene a wondrous and- 


MAN AT WHEEL. 


Avast ! 


CABIN PASSENGER. 
Ah yes, a vast, a vast and w'ondrous 
scene! 
I see thy soul is open as the day 
That holds the sunshine in its azure 
bowl 
To all the solemn glories of the deep. 
Tell me, 0 mariner, <lost thou neyer feel 
The grandeur of thine office, - to control 
The keel that cuts the ocean like a knife 
And leaves a wake behind it like a seam 
In the great shining garment of the 
world 1 


MAN AT WHEEL. 
Belay y'r jaw, y' swab! y' hoss-marine ! 
(To the Captain.) 
Ay, ay, Sir! Stiddy, Sir! Sou'wes' 
b' sou' ! 


November 10, 1864. 


AT THE II ATLANTIC" DINNER. 


DECEMBER 15, 1874. 


I SUPPOSE it's myself that you're making 
all usion to 
And bringing the sense of dismay and 
confusion to. 
Of course some must speak, - they are 
al ways selected to, 
But pray w'hat's the reason that I am 
expected to ? 
I 'm not fond of w'asting my breath as 
those fellows do 

rhat w'ant to be blowing forever as bel- 
lows do ; 
Their legs are uneasy, but wIlY will you 
jog any 
That long to stay quiet beneath the ma- 
hogany î 


Why, w'hy call me up with your battery 
of flatteries 1 
You say" He writes poetry," -that's 
what the matter is ! 
" It costs him no trouble - a pen full 
of ink or two 
And the poem is done in the time of a 
wink or two ; 
As for thoughts-never mind-take the 
ones that lie uppermost, 
And the rhymes used by l\lilton and 
Byron and Tupper most; 
The lines come so easy ! at one end he 
jingles 'em, 
At the other with capital letters he shin- 
gles 'em, - 
'Vhy, the thing wlites itself, and before 
he's half done with it 
He hates to stop ,vriting he has such 
good fun with it !" 
Ah, tl1at is the way in which sÍlnple ones 
go about 
And draw a fine picture of things they 
don't know about! 



AT THE tc ATLAXTIC" DINXER. 


'Ve all know a kitten, but come to a 
catamount 
The beast is a stranger when grown up 
to that an10Ullt, 
(A stranger we rather prefer should l1't 
visi t us, 
A fclis wl10se advent is far from felici- 
tous. ) 
The boy who can boast that his trap has 
just got a mouse 

Iust n't draw it and ,vrite underneath 
" hippopotamus" ; 
Or say un veraciously, "this is an ele- 
phant " - 
Don't think, let me beg, these examples 
irrrlevant - 
'Vhat they mean is just this - that a 
thing to be painted well 
Should always be something with Wllich 
we're acquainted well. 


Y oú call on your victim for "t1lings he 
has plenty of,- 
Those copies of verses no dOll bt at least 
twenty of; 
His desk is crammed full, for he always 
keeps writing 'enl 
And reading to frieuds as his way of de- 
lighting 'em! " - 
I tell you this writing of verses means 
business, - 
I t makes the brain whirl in a vortex of 
dizziness: 
You think they are scrawled in the lan- 
guor of laziness- 
I tell you they're squeezed by a spasm 
of craziness, 
A fit half as bad 3S tIle staggpring vertigos 
That seize a poor fellow and down in the 
dirt he goes! 


And therefore it chinles with tIle word's 
etymology 
That the sons of Apollo are great on 
apology, 


297 


For the writing of verse is a struggle 
nlysterious 
And the gayest of rhYlnes is a Inatter 
that's serious. 
For Inyself, I 'ro relied on by friends in 
extrelnities, 
And I don't mind so much if a comfort 
to thell1 it is ; 
'T is a pleasure to please, and the stra\v 
that can tickle us 
Is a source of enjoJ'ment though slight1y 
ridiculous. 


I am up for a - something - and since 
I've begun with it, 
I n1ust give you a toast now before I have 
done with it. 
Let nle pump at my wits as they l)umped 
the Cochituate 
That moistened - it may be - the very 
last bit you ate. 
- Success to our publishers, authors and 
edi tors ; 
To our debtors good luck, -l)leasant 
dreams to our creditors; 

Iay the 1110nthly grow yearly, till all 
we are groping for 
Has reacllCd the fulfilnlent we're all of 
us ho p in (f for · 
b , 
Till the bore through the tunnel- it 
nIakes DIe let off a sigh 
To think it nlay possibly ruin lHY proph.. 
ecy- 
Has been punned on so often 't will never 
provoke again 
One 111ild adolescent to make the old 
joke again; 
Till abstinent, all- go - to - n1eeting so- 
ciety 
Has forgotten the sense of the word in.. 
ebriety ; 
Till the work t11at poor Hannah and 
Bridget and Phillis do 
The humanized, civilized fetnale gorillas 
do; 



298 


ADDITIO
 AL POE
IS. 


Till the roughs, as we call then1, grown 
loving and dutiful, 
Shall worship the true and the pure and 
the beautiful, 
And, preying no longer as tiger and vul- 
ture do, 
All read the" Atlantic" as persons of 
cuI ture do ! 


U LUCY." 


FOR lIER GOLDEN WEDDING, OCTOBER 
18, 1875. 


U Lucy." - The old familiar name 
Is now, as always, pleasant, 
Its li(lUhl melody the same 
Alike in past or present; 
Let others call you what they win, 
I know you 'lllet me use it ; 
To me your name is Lucy still, 
I cannot bear to lose it. 


. 


What visions of the past return 
"\Vith Lucy's inlage blended! 
What Inemories frOlll the silent urn 
Of gentle lives long enùcd ! 
'Vhat dreams of childhood's fleeting 
morn, 
'Vhat starry aspirations, 
That filled the misty days unborn 
'Vith fancy's coruscations 
 


Ah, Lucy, life has swiftly sped 
From April to Novenlber; 
The sunlmer blossoms all are shed 
That you and I remember ; 
But while the vanished years we share 
"\Vith mingling recol1ections, 
How all their shadowy features wear 
The hue of old affections! 


Love called you. 
heart 
Of sunshine half bereft us ; 


Our household's garland fell apart 
The n10rnillg that you left us ; 
The tears of tenùer girlhood streamed 
Through sorrow's opening sluices; 
Less sweet our garden's roses seenled, 
Less blue its flower-de-luces. 


That old regret is turned to smiles, 
That parting sigh to greeting; 
I send illY heart-throb fifty nliles, - 
Through every line 't is beating; 
God grant you rnany and happy years, 
Till 'v hen the last has crowned you 
The dawn of endless day appears, 
And Heaven is shiuing round you! 
October 11, 1875. 


HYMN. 


FOR THE INAUGURATION OF THE STATUE 
OF GOVERNOR ANDREW, HINGHAM, 
OCTOBER 7, 1875. 


BEHOLD the shape our eyes have known! 
It lives once more in changeless stone; 
So looked in mortal face and form 
Our guide through peril's deadly storm. 
Eut hushed the beating heart we knew, 
That heart so tender, brave, and true, 
Firm as the rooted mountain rock, 
Pure as the quarry's whitest block! 


Not his beneath the blood-red star 
To win the soldier's envied scar; 
Unarmed he battled for the right, 
In Duty's never-ending fight. 


Unconquered will, unslun1bering eye, 
Faith such as bids the martyr die, 
The prophet's glancð, the master's hand 
To mould the work his foresight planned, 


He who stole your Tbese were his gifts; what Heaven had 
lent 
For justice, mercy, truth, he spent, 



A J\IE
IORIAL TRIBUTE. 


299 


First to avenge the traitorous blow, 
And first to lift the vanquished foe. 


Lo, thus he stood; in danger's strait 
The pilot of the PilgriIn State! 
Too large his fame for her alone, - 
A nation clain1s him as her own! 


A MEMORIAL TRIBUTE. 


READ AT THE MEETI:KG HELD AT MUSIC 
HALL, FEBRUARY 8, 1876, IN MEMORY 
OF DR. SAMUEL G. HO"'E. 


I. 


LEADER of armies, Israel's God, 
Thy soldier's tight is won ! 
1tlaster, whose lowly path he trod, 
Thy servant's work is done! 


No voice is heard from Sinai's steep 
Our wandering feet to guide ; 
Fron1 Horeb's rock no waters leap; 
K 0 Jordan's waves divide; 


No prophet cleavps our western sky 
On wheels of whirling fire; 
No shepherds hear the song on high 
Of heaven's angelic choir: . 


Yet here as to the patriarch's tent 
God's angel comes a guest; 
He comes on heayen's high errand sent, 
In earth's poor raimen t drest. 


We see no halo round l1is brow 
Till love its own recalls, 
And like a leaf that quits the bough, 
The lllortal vesture falls. 


In auhnnn's chill declining day, 
Ere winter's killing frost, 
The n1essage can1e; so passed away 
The friend our earth has lost. 


Still, Father, in TllY love we trust; 
F orgi ve us if we nlourn 
The saddening hour that laid in dust 
His robe of flesh outworn. 


II. 


How long the \vreck-strewn journey 
seems 
To reach the far-off l)ast 
That 'woke his youth from peaceful 
dreams 
1Vith Freedom's trumpet-Llast ! 


Along her classic hillsides rung 
The Payninl's battIe-cry, 
And like a red-cross knight lIe sprung 
For her to live or die. 


No trustier service claimed the wreath 
For Sparta's bravest son; 
No truer soldier sleeps beneath 
The mound of 
Iara.thon ; 


Yet not for him the warrior's graye 
I n front of angry foes; 
To lift, to shield, to help, to save, 
The I10lier ta.sk he chose. 


He touched the eyelids of tlle blind, 
And lo! the veil withdrawn, 
As o'er the n1idnight of the n1Ïnd, 
He led the light of dawn. 


He asked not whence tIle fountains roll 
No traveller's foot has found, 
But mapped the desert of the soul 
Untracked by sight or sound. 


"fiat prayers bave reac11ed the sapphire 
throne, 
By silent fingers speIt, 
For hin1 who first throug11 deptJ1s un- 
known . 
His doubtful patJlway felt, 



300 


ADDITIONAL POE
IS. 


'Vho sought the slumbering sense that 
lay 
Close shut with bolt and bar, 
And showed awakening thought the ray 
Of reason's morning star! 


Where'er he moved, his shadowy form 
The sightless orbs woulù seek, 
And sn1iles of welcome light and warm 
The lips that could not speak. 


No labored line, no sculptor's art, 
Such hallowed memory needs; 
His tablet is the human heart, 
His record loving deeds. 


III. 


The rest that earth denied is thine, - 
Ah, is it rest 1 we ask, 
Or, traced by knowledge more divine, 
Sonle larger, nobler task 1 


Had but those boundless fields of blue 
One darkened sphere like this ; 
But what has heaven for thee to do 
In reahns of perfect bliss 1 


No cloud to lift, no mind to clear, 
No rugged path to smooth, 
No struggling soul to help and cheer, 
No Illortal grief to soothe! 


Enough; is there a world of love, 
No more we ask to know; 
The hand win guide thy ways above 
That shaped thy task below. 


JOSEPH WARREN, M. D. 


TRAI
ED in the holy art whose lifted 
shield 
Wards off the darts a never-slunlbering 
foe, 


By hearth and wayside lurking, waits to 
throw, 
Oppression taught his helpful arm to 
wield 
The slayer's weapon: on the murderous 
field 
The fiery bolt he challenged laiù him 
low, 
Seeking its noblest victim. Even so 
The charter of a nation ßlust be sealed! 
The healer's brow the hero's h0110rs 
crowned, 
From lowliest duty called to loftiest 
deed. 
Living, the oak-leaf wreath his templt-'s 
bound; 
Dying, the conqueror's laurel was his 
meed, 
Last on the broken ramparts' turf to 
bleed 
Where Freedom's victory in defeat was 
found. 


June 11, 1875. 


GRANDMOTHER'S STORY OF BUNKER- 
HILL BATTLE. 


AS SHE SAW IT FRO
I THE BELFRY. 


'T IS like stirring living embers when, 
at 
ighty" one renlembers 
All the achings and the quakings of 
" the times that tried n1cn's souls" ; 
'Vhen I talk of TVhig and Tory, when 
I tell the Rebel story, 
To you the words are ashes, but to me 
they're burning coals. 
I had heard the muskets' rattle of tllO 
....\,pril running batt1e ; 
Lord Percy's hunted soldiers, I can sre 
their red coats still ; 
But a dea{}ly c1lill con1es o'er nle, as the 
day looms up before me, 
Wben a thousand men lay hleeJing on 
the slopes of Bunker's Hill. 



GRAXD
IOTHER'S STORY OF BU
KER-HILL BATTLE. 301 


T was a peaceful sumnler's morning, 
when the first thing gave us warning 
'Yas the booIlling of the cannon from the 
ri vel' and the shore : 
" Child," says grandma, "what's the 
n1atter, what is all this noise and 
clatter 1 
Have those scalping Indian devils come 
to murder us once more 1" 


Poor old soul! nlY sides were shaking 
in the midst of all my quaking, 
To hear her talk of Indians when the 
guns bega
 to roar: 
She had seen the burning village, and 
the slaughter and the pillage, 
When the )Iohawks killed her father 
with their bullets through his door. 


Then I said, "Now, dear old granny, 
don't you fret and ,vorry any, 
For I'll soon come. back and tell you 
whether this is work or play; 
There can't be mischief in it, so I won't 
be gone a n1iuute" - 
For a minute then I started. I was 
gone the livelong day. 


K 0 time for bodice-lacing or for looking- 
glass grimacing; 
Down n1Y hair ,vent as I hurried, tum- 
bling half-way to my heels; 
God forbid your ever knowing, when 
there's blood around her flowing, 
How the lonely, helpless daughter of a 
quiet household feels! 


In the street I heard a thumping; and 
I knew it was the stumping 
Of the Corporal, our old neighbor, on 
that wooden leg he wore, 
'Yith a knot of women round. hinl, - it 
was lucky I had foun(l him, 
So I followed with the othe!'s, anù the 
Corporal marched before. 


They were making for the steeple, - the 
old soldier and his people ; 
The pigeons circled round us as we 
clinl bed the creaking stair, 
Just across the narrow ri vel' - 0, so 
close it n1ade me shiver!- 
Stood a fortress on the hill-top that but 
yesterday was bare. 


Not slow our eyes to find it; well we 
knew who stood behind it, 
Though the earthwork hid then} from 
us, and the stubborn walls were 
dUlub : 
Here were sister, wife, and nlother, look- 
ing wild upon each other, 
And their lips were white with terror as 
they said, THE HOUR HAS CO
IE ! 


The morning slowly wasted, not a mor- 
sel had we tasted, 
And our heads were almost sp1itting 
with the cannons' deafening thrill, 
'Vhen a figure tall and stately round 
the rampart strode sedately; 
It was PRESCOTT, one since told rue; he 
commanded on the hill. 


Every woman's heart grew bigger when 
v;e saw his 111anly figure, 
'Vith the l)anyan buckled round it, 
standing up so straight and taU; 
Like a gentleman of leisure who is 
strolling out for pleasure, 
Through the storn} of shells and cnn- 
non-shot he walked around the wall. 


At eleven the streets were swanning, for 
the red-coats' ranks were forming; 
At noon in marching order they were 
moving to the pier
; 
How the bayonets gleamed and g1istened, 
as we looked far down, and listene(l 
To tIle trampling and the drunl-beat of 
the belted grenadiers! 



302 


ADDITIONAL POEM:S. 


At length the men have started, with a 
cheer (it seemed faint-hearted), 
In their scarlet regimentals, with their 
knapsacks on their backs, 
And the reddening, rippling water, as 
after a sea-fight's slaughter, 
Round the barges gliding onward 
blushed like blood along their 
tracks. 


So they crossed to the other border, and 
again they formed in order; 
And the boats came back for soldiers, 
came for soldiers, soldiers still: 
The thne seemed everlasting to us wo- 
men faint and fasting,- 
At last they're moving, marching, 
nlarching proudly up the hill. 


We can see the bright steel glancing all 
along the lines advancing- 
N ow the front rank fires a volley - they 
have thrown away their shot; 
For behind their earthwork lying, all 
the balls above them flying, 
Our people need not hurry; so they 
,vait and answer not. 


Then the Corporal, our old cripple (he 
would swear somefmes and tip- 
pIe), - 
He had heard the bullets whistle (in the 
old French war) before, - 
Calls out in words of jeering, just as if 
they all were hearing, - 
And his wooden leg thumps fiercely on 
the dusty belfry floor:- 


"Oh! fire away, ye villains, and earn 
King George's shillin's, 
But ye 'II waste a ton of powder afore 
a 'rebel' falls; 
You may bang the dirt and welcome, 
they 'I'e as safe as Dan'l :1Ialcolm 
Ten foot beneath the gravestone that 
you've splintered with your balls!" 


In the hush of expectation, in the awe 
and trepidation 
Of the dread approaching moment, we 
are wellnigh breathless all ; 
Though the I'otten bars are failing on 
the rickety belfry railing, 
We are crowding up against them like 
the waves against a wall. 


Just a glimpse (the air is clearer), they 
are nearer, - nearer, - nearer, 
When a flash - a curling smoke-wreath 
- then a crash - the steeple 
shakes - 
The deadly truce is ended; the tem- 
pest's shroud is rended; 
Like a morning nlist it gathered, like a 
thunder-cloud it breaks! 


o the sight our eyes discover as the 
blue-black smoke blows over! 
The red-coats stretched in windrows as 
. 
a mower rakes his hay; 
Here a scarlet heap is lying, there a 
headlong crowd is flying 
Like a billo,v that has broken and is 
shivered into spray. 


Then we cried, "The troops are ronted! 
they are beat - it can't be doubted! 
God be thanked, the fight is over!"- 
Ah! the grhn old soldier's smile! 
"Tell us, tell us why you look so 1" (we 
could hardly speak, we shook so), - 
"Are they beaten 1 Are they beaten 1 
ARE they beaten î" - "'Y ait a 
while. " 


o the trembling and the terror! for too 
soon we saw our error: 
They are baffled, not defeated; we have 
driven them back in vain; 
And the colulnns that were scattercd, 
round the colors that were tattered, 
Toward the sulJen silent fortress turn 
t1wir bclted breasts again. 



GRANDl\IOTIIER'S STORY OF BUNKER-HILL BATTLE. 303 


All at once, as we are gazing, 10 the 
roofs of Charlestown blazing! 
They have fired the harmless village; 
in an hour it will be down! 
The Lord in heaven confound them, 
rain his fire and brimstone round 
them, - 
The robbing, murdering red-coats, that 
would burn a peaceful town ! 


They are marching, stern and solemn; 
we can see each nlassive column 
As they near the naked earth-mound 
with the slanting walls so steep. 
Have our soldiers got faint-hearted, and 
in noiseless haste departed? 
Are they panic-struck and helpless 1 
Are they palsied or asleep? 


Now! the walls they're almost under! 
scarce a rot! the foes asunder! 
Not a firelock flashed against them! up 
the earth work they will swarm! 
But the words have scarce been spoken, 
when the ominous calÏn is broken, 
And a bellowing crash has emptied all 
the vengeance of the storm ! 


So again, with murderous slaughter, 
pelted backwards to the water, 
Fly Pigot's running heroes and the 
frightened braves of Howe; 
And we shout, "Át last they're done 
for, it's their barges they have run 
for: 
They are beaten, beaten, beaten; and 
the battle's over now!" 


And we looked, poor timid creatures, on 
the rough old soldier's features, 
Our lips afraid to question, but he knew 
what we would ask : 
"N ot sure," he said; "keep quiet,- 
once Illore, I guess, they'll try it - 
Here's danlnation to the cut-throats!" 
- then he handed me his flask, 


Saying, "Gal, you're looking shaky; 
have a drop of old Jamaiky; 
I'm afeard there'll be more trouble afore 
the job is done" ; 
So I took one scorching swallow; dread- 
ful faint I felt and hollow, 
Standing there from early morning when 
the firing was begun. 


All through those hours of trial I had 
watched a calm clock dial, 
As the hands kept creeping, creeping, - 
they were creeping round to four, 
'Vhen the old man said, "They're form- 
ing with their bagonets fixed for 
storming: 
It's the death-grip that '8 a coming, - 
they will try the works once more." 


With brazen trumpets blaring, the 
flames behind thenl glaring, 
The deadly wall before them, in close 
array they come; 
Still onward, upward toiling, like a 
dragon's fold uncoiling,- 
Like the rattlesnake's shrill warning 
the reverberating drum! 


Over heaps all torn and gory - shall I 
tell the fearful story, 
How they surged above the breastwork, 
as a sea breaks over a deck; 
How, driven, yet scarce defeated, our 
worn-out men retreated, 
'Yith their powder-llorns all emptied, 
like the swimmers from a wreck 1 


It has all been told and painted; as for 
me, they say I fain ted, 
And the wooden -legged old Corporal 
stump('d with me down the stair: 
'Vhen I woke from dreams affrighted 
the evening lamps were lighted, - 
On the floor a youth was lying; his 
bleeùing breast was bare. 



304 


ADDITION AL POE!\IS. 


And I heard through all the flurry, 
"Send for \V ARREN! hurry! hurry! 
Tell him }lere 's a soldier bleeding, and 
he'll come and dress his wound!" 
Ah, we knew not till the morrow told 
its tale of death and sorrow, 
How the starlight found him stiffened 
on the dark and bloody ground. 


"Tho the youth was, what his name was, 
".here the place from which he 
came was, 
Who had brought him from the battle, 
and bad left him at our door, 
lIe could not speak to tell us; but 
't was one of our brave fellows, 
As the homespun plainly showed us 
which the dying soldier wore. 


For they all thought he was dying, as 
they gathered round him crying, - 
And they said, "0, how they'll miss 
]lilll!" and, "What 
vill his 1l10ther 
ùo 1 " 
Then, his eyelids just unclosing like a 
child's that has been dozing, 
He faintly nnuInured, "!Iother! n - 
and - I saw his eyes were blue. 


- "Why, grandma, how you're wink- 
ing !" - Ah, my child, it sets me 
thinking 
Of a story not like this one. Well, he 
somehow lived along; 
So "e came to know each other, and I 
nursed him like a - mother, 
Till at last he stood before me, tall, and 
:rosy-cheeked, and strong. 


And we sometimes walked together in 
tIle pleasant summer weather; 
- "Please to tell us what his nanle 
was?" - Just your own, my little 
dear, - 


There's his picklre Copley painted: we 
becaIlle so well acquainted, 
That - in short, that's why I 'm grand- 
tna, and you chilùren all are here! 


OLD CAMBRIDGE. 


JULY 3, 1875. 


AND can it be you've found a place 
Within this consecrated space 
That makes so fine a show 
For one of Rip Van Winkle's race? 
And is it really so ? 
'\Vho wants an old receipted bill? 
Who fishes in the Frog-pond still 
 
Who digs last year's potato hill 
 - 
That's what he'd like to know! 


And were it any spot on earth 
Save this dear home that gave ]1im birth 
Some scores of years ago, 
He had not come to spoil your mirth 
And chill your festive glow; 
But round his baby-nest he strays, 
With tearful eye the scene surveys, 
His heart unchanged by changing 
days, - 
That's what he'd have you know. 


Can you whose eyes not yet are dim 
Live o'er the buried past with hinl, 
And see the roses blow 
When white-haired nlen were Joe and 
Jinl 
Untouched by winter's snow 1 
Or roll the years back one by one 
As Judah's monarch backed the sun, 
And see the century just begun 1 - 
That's what he'd like to know! 


I come, but as the swallow dip
, 
Just touching with her feather-tips 
The shining wave below, 



OLD C.Al\IDRIDG E. 


305 


To sit with pleasure-murmuring lips 
And listen to the flow 
Of Elmwood's sparkling Hippocrene, 
To tread once 11lore my native green, 
To sigh unheard, to smile unseen, - 
That's what I'd have you know. 


But since the common lot I've shared 
<'Ve aU are sitting" unprepared," 
Like cull)rits in a row, 
Whose heaùs are down, whose necks are 
bared 
To wait the headsman's blow) 
I'd like to shift my task to you, 
By asking just a thing or two 
About the good old tinles I knew,- 
Here's what I want to know: 


The yellow meetin' house - can you tell 
Just where it stood before it fell 
Prey of the vandal foe, - 
Our dear old temple, loved so well 
By nlthless hands laid low 1 
'Yhere, tell nle, was the Deacon 9 s pew 1 
'Vhose hair was braided in a queue? 
(For there were pig-tails not a few,) - 
That's what I 'd like to know. 


The bell - can you recall i ts clang 1 
And how the seats would slam and bang 1 
The voices high and low ? 
The basso's trump before he sang 
 
The viol and its bow 1 
'Vhere was it old Judge 'Yinthrop sat? 
'Yho wore the last three-cornered hat? 
'Vas Israel Porter lean or fat 1- 
That's what I 'd like to know. 


Tell where the market used to be 
That stood beside the nlurùrred tree '? 
'Those dog to church would go î 
Old 
Iarcus Reen1Ïe, who was he? 
'Vho were the brothers Snow 1 
Does not your llleIfiory slightly fail 
About that gre
t Srl)tember gale 


Whereof one told a moving tale, 
As Carn bridge boys shouhl know. 


''''"hen Canlbridge was a simple town, 
Say just when Deacon 'Villiam Brown 
(Last door in yonder row), 
For honest silver counted down 
, 
His groceries would bestow?- 
For those were days when money meant 
Sonlething that jingled as you went, - 
No hybrid like the nickel cent, 
I 'd have you all to know, 


But quarter, ninepence, pistareen, 
And fourpence happennies in between 
All metal fit to SIIOW, 
Instead of rags in stagnant green, 
The scum of debts we owe; 
How sad to think such stuff should be 
Our 'Vendell's cure-all recipe, - 
Not "7' endell H., but 'Yendell P., - 
TIle one you all must know! 


I question - but you answer not- 
Dear nle! and have I quite forgot 
How fi veséore years ago, 
Just on this very blessed spot, 
The sumnler leaves below, 
Before his honlespun'ranks arrayed 
In green New England's elnlbough shad.e 
The great VIrginian drew the blade 
King George full soon should know! 


o George the Third! you found it true 
Our George ,vas 11lore than double YOM, 
For nature nlade llim so. 
Not nluch an empire's crown can do 
If brains are scant and slow', - 
Ah, not like that his laurel crown 
'Vhose presence gilded with renown 
Our brave old Acadenlic town, 
As all her children know! 


So here we meet with loud acclaim 
To tell mankind that bere he came, 
\Vith hearts that throb and glow; 



306 


ADDITIONAL POEl\iS. 


Ours is a portion of his fame 
Our trun1pets needs Il1Ust blow! 
On yonder hill the Lion fell, 
But here was chipped the eagle's shell, - 
That little hatchet did it well, 
As all the world shall know ! 


WELCOME TO THE NATIONS. 


PHILADELPHIA, JULY 4, 1876. 


BnIGHT on the banners of lily and rose 
Lo! the last sun of our century sets! 
Wreath the black cannon that scowled 
on our foes, 
All but her friendships the nation for- 
gets ! 
All but her friends and their welcon1e 
* forgets ! 
These are around her; but where are 
her foes? 
Lo, while the sun of her century sets, 
Peace with her garlands of lily and 
rose ! 


WelcOJne ! a shout like the war trun1pet's 
swell 
Wakes the wild echoes that slumber 
around ! 
Welcome! it quivers fronl Liberty's bell; 
WeIcon1e! the walls of her ten1 pIe re- 
sound! 
Hark! the gray walls of her temple 
resounJ ! 
Fade the far voices o'er hillside and dell ; 
Welcome! still whisper the echoes 
around; 
Welcome! still trembles on Liberty's 
bell ! 


Thrones of the continents! isles of the 
sea! 
Yours are the garlands of peace we 
entwine; 
Welcome, once n1ore, to the land of the 
free, 


Shadowed a1ike by the palm and the 
pIne; 
Softly they murmur, the palm anù the 
pine, 
"Hushed is our strife, in the land of 
the free" ; 
Over your children their branches en- 
twine, 
Thrones of the continents! isles of 
the sea! 


A FAMILIAR LETTER. 


TO SEVERAL COURESPONDENTS. 


YES, write, if you want to, tllere's noth- 
ing like trying; 
Who knows what a treasure your cas- 
ket may hold? 
I '11 show you that rhyming's as easy as 
lying 
If you'11 listen to me while the art I 
unfold. 


Here's a book full of words; one can 
choose as he fancies, 
As a painter his tint, as a workman 
his tool; 
Just think! all the poems and plays and 
ron1ances 
Were drawn out of this, like the fish 
from a pool ! 


You can wander at will through its syl- 
la bled mazes, 
Aud take all you want, - not a COl)- 
per they cost; - 
'Vhat is there to hinder your picking 
out phrases 
For an epic as clever as "Paradise 
Lost" 1 


Don't mind if the index of sense is at 


zero, 



A FA:\IILIAR LETTER. 


307 


Use words that run smoothly, what- 
ever they mean ; 
Leander and Lilian and Lillibullero 
Are much the same thing in the 
rhyming machine. 


There are words so delicious their sweet- 
ness will sn10ther 
That boarding-school flavor of which 
we're afraid, 
 
There is "lush" is a good one, and 
"swirl" is another, - 
Put both in one stanza, its fortune is 
made. 


'Vith musical murmurs and rhythmical 
closes 
You can chea t us of smiles when you've 
nothing to tell ; 
You Iland us a nosegay of milliner's roses, 
And we cry with de1ight, "0, how 
sweet they' do smell!" 


Perhaps you will answer all ne,edful con- 
ditions 
For winning the laurels to which you 
aspire, 
By docking the tai1s of the two preposi- 
tions 
I' the sty Ie 0' the bards you so greatly 
admire. 


As for subjects of verse, they are only 
too plenty 
For ringing the changes on metrical 
chin1es ; 
A maiden, a nloonbeam, a lover of twenty 
Have filled that great basket with 
bushels of rhymes. 


I
et me show you a picture - 't is far 
fron1 irrelevant- 
By a famous old hand in the arts of 
design ; 


'T is only a photographed sketch of an 
e1ephant, - 
The nalne of the draughtsman was 
Rembrandt of Rhine. 


How easy! no troublesome colors to Jay 
on, 
I t can't haye fatigued hin1, - no, not 
in the least, - 
A dash here and there with a hap-hazard 
crayon, 
And there stands the wrinkled- 
skinned, baggy-limbed beast. 


Just so with your verse, - 't is as easy 
as sketching, - 
You can reel off a song without knit- 
ting your brow, 
As lightly as Rembrandt a drawing or 
etching; 
It is nothing at all, if you only know 
how. 


'V ell; imagine you've printed your vol- 
ume of verses : 
Your forehead is wreathed with the 
garland of fame, 
Your poems the eloquent school-boy re- 
hearses, 
Her album the school-girl presents for 
your name; 


Each morning the post brings JOu auto- 
graph letters; 
You'll answer them pron1ptly, - an 
hour is n't ll1uch 
For tIle honor of shating a page- with 
your betters, 
'Vith magistrates, members of Con- 
gress, and such. 


Of course yon 're delighted to serve the 
committees 
That come with requests from the 
country all round; 



308 


ADDITIONAL POEMS. 


You would grace the occasion with poems 
anù ditties 
When they've got a new schoolhouse, 
or poorhouse, or pound. 


With a hymn for the saints and a song 
for the sinners, 
You go and are welcome wherever you 
please ; 
You're a privileged guest at all manner 
of dinners, 
You've a seat on the platform among 
the grandees. 


At length your mere presence becomes 
a sensation, 
Your cup of elljoynwnt is filled to its 
brim 
With the pleasure Horatian of digit- 
monstration, 
As the whisper runs round of "That's 
he ! " or "That's him! " 


But remember, 0 dealer in phrases sono- 
rous, 
So daintily chosen, so tunefully 
matched, 
Though you soar with the wings of the 
cherubim o'er us, 
The ovum was human from which you 
were hatched. 


No will of your own with its puny com- 
pulsion 
Can summon the spirit that quickens 
the lyre; 
It comes, if at all, like the Sibyl's con- 
vulsion 
And touches the brain with a finger 
of fire. 


So perhaps, after all, it's as ,veIl to be 
quiet, 
If you've nothing you think is worth 
saying in prose, 


As to furnish a meal of their cannibal 
diet 
To the critics, by publishing, as you 
propose. 


But it's all of no use, and I 'ro sorry 
I've written, - 
I shall see your thin volume some day 
on my shelf; 
For the rhyming tarantula surely has 
bi tten, 
And music must cure you, so pipc it 
yourself. 


UNSATISFIED. 


"ONLY a housemaid!" She looked 
frODl the kitchen, - 
Neat was the kitchen and tidy was 
she; 
There at her window a sempstress sat 
8ti tching ; 
" 'Vere I a sempstress, how happy 
I'd be!" 


t' Only a Queen !" She looked over the 
waters, - 
Fair was her kingdom and mighty was 
she' 
, 
There sat an Empress, with Queens for 
her daughters ; 
"Were I an Empress, how happy I 'd 
be ! " 


Still the old frailty they aU of them trip 
in! 
Eve in her daughters is ever the 
same ; 
Give her all Eden, she sighs for a 
pippin; 
Give her an En1pire, she pines for a 
nanl e J 


May 8 , 1876. 



IIOW TIlE OLD HORSE WON THE BET. 


HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE 
BET. 


DEDICATED BY A COXTRIBUTOR TO THE 
COI.LEGIAN, 1830, TO THE EDITORS OF 
THE HARY ARD ADVOCATE, 1876. 


'T W AS on the famous trotting-ground, 
The betting men ""ere gathered round 
Fronl far and near; the" cracks" were 
there 
'Yhose deeds the sporting prints declare: 
The swift g. m., Old Hiraln's nag, 
The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer's brag, 
'Yith these a third - and who is he 
That stands beside his fast b. g. î 
Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name 
So fills the nasal trnmp of fanle. 
There too stood many a noted steed 
Of ltlessenger and 
Iorgan breed j 
Green horses also, not a few; 
Unknown as yet what they could do; 
And all the hacks that know so well 
The scourgings of the Sunday swell. 


Blue are the skies of opening day; 
The bordering turf is green with ltlay; 
The sunshine's golden gleam is thro" n 
On sorrel, chestnut, bay, and roan; 
The horses l)aw and prance and neigh, 
Fil1ies and colts like kittens play, 
And dance and toss their rippled manes 
Shining and soft as silken skeins; 
"\Vagons and gigs are ranged about, 
And fashion flaunts her gay turn-out; 
Here stands - each youthful Jehu's 
drean1 - 
The jointed tandem, ticklish team! 
And there in ampler breadth expand 
The splendors of the four-in-hand j 
On faultless ties and glossy tiles 
The lovely bonnets beanl thcir snliles ; 
(The style's the nlan, so books avow; 
The style's the woman, anyhow); 
From flounces frothed with creamy lace 
Peel>s out the pug-dog's smutty face, 


309 


Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye, 
Or stares the wiry pet of Skye _ 
o woman, in your hours of ease 
So shy with us, so free with these! 


" Come on! I 'll bet you two to one 
I '11 Dlake him do it! n ""Till you! 
Done ! " 


\Yhat was it who was bound to do 1 
I did not hear and can't tell you, _ 
Pray listen till my story's through. 


Scarce noticed, back behind the rest, 
By cart and wagon rudely prest, 
The parson's lean and bony bay 
Stood harnessed in his one-horse shay- 
Lent to his sexton for the day; 
(A fuueral- so the sexton said; 
His mother's uncle's wife was dead.) 


Like Lazarus bid to Dives' feast, 
So looked the poor forlorn old beast; 
His coat was rough, his tail was bare, 
The gray was sprinkled in his hair; 
Sportsmen and jockeys knew him not 
And yet tbey say he once could trot 
Among the 
eetest of the town, 
Till something cracked and broke hitn 
down, - 
The steed's, the statesulan's, common 
lot! 
" And are we then so soon forgot 1 " 
Ah me! I doubt if one of you 
Has ever heard the name " Old Blue," 
'Yhose fame through all tJ)is region rung 
In those old days when I was young! 


"Bring fort11 the horse!" Alas! he 
showed 
Not like the one l\Iazrppa rode; 
Scant-maned, sharp-backed, and sllaky- 
kneeù, 
The wreck of \\ hat was once a steed, 
Lips thin, eyes hollow, stiff in joints; 



310 


ADDITIONAL POEl\IS. 


Yet not without his knowing points. 
The sexton laughing in his sleeve, 
As if 't were all a make-believe, 
Led forth the horse, and as he laughed 
Unhitched the breeching frOln a shaft, 
Unclasped the rusty belt beneath, 
Drew forth the snaffle from his teeth, 
Slipped off his head-stall, set him free 
From strap and rein, - a sight to see ! 


So worn, so lean in every limb, 
It can't be they are saùdling him! 
It is! his back the pig-skin strides 
And flaps his lank, rheulnatic sides; 
With look of mingled scorn and mirth 
They buckle round the saddle-girth; 
'Vith horsey wink and saucy toss 
A youngster throws his leg across, 
And so, his rider on his back, 
They lead him, limping, to the track, 
Far up behind the starting-point, 
To liill bel' out each stiffened joint. 
As through the jeering crowd he past, 
One pitying look old Hiraln cast; 
"Go it, ye cripple, while ye can!" 
Cried out unsentimental Dan; 
" A Fast-Day dinner for the crows! " 
Budd Doble's scoffing shout arose. 


Slowly, as when the walking-beam 
First feels the gathering head of steam, 
'Vith warning cough and threatening 
wheeze 
The stiff old charger crooks his knees; 
At first with cautious step sedate, 
As if he dragged a coach of state; 
He's not a colt; he knows full well 
That time is weight and sure to tell; 
No horse so sturdy but he fears 
The handicap of twenty years. 
As through the throng on either hand 
The old horse nears the judges' stand, 
Beneath his jockey's feather-weight 
He ,varnlS a little to his gait, 


And now and then a step is tri
d 
That hints of something like a stride. 


" Go! " - Through. his ear the sum- 
mons stung 
As if a battle-trump had rung; 
The slumbering instincts long un- 
stirred 
Start at the old familiar word; 
I t thrills like flame through every lim b- 
What mean his twenty years to him 1 
The savage blow his rider dealt 
Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt ; 
The spur that pricked his staring hide 
U llheeded tore his bleeding side; 
Alike to him are spur and rein, - 
He steps a fi ve- year-old again! 


Before the quarter pole was past, 
Old Hiram said, U He's going fast." 
Long ere the quarter was a balf, 
The chuckling crowd had ceased to 
laugh; 
Tighter his frightened jockey clung 
As in a mighty stride he swung, 
The gravel flying in his track, 
His neck stretched out, his ears laid 
back, 
His tail extended all the while 
Behind him like a rat-tail file! 
Off went a shoe, - away it spun, 
Shot like a bullet from a gun ; 
The quaking jockey shapes a prayer 
From scraps of oaths he used to swear; 
He drops his whip, he drops his rein, 
He clutches fiercely for a nlane ; 
He'll lose his bold - he sways and 
reels - 
He'll slide beneath those trampling 
heels ! 
The knees of many a horsen1an quake, 
The flowers on many a bonnet shake, 
And shouts arise froln left and right, 
"Stick on! Stick on !" "Hould tight! 
Hould tight! " 



AN APPEAL FOR "THE OLD SOUTH." 


311 


. 
U Cling round his neck and don't let 
go- 
"That pace can't hold-there! steady! 
whoa! " 
But like the sable steed that bore 
The spectral lover of Lenore, 
His nostrils snorting foam and fire, 
No stret('h his bony limbs can tire; 
And now the stand he rushes by, 
And "Stop bim ! - stop him ! " is the 
cry. 
Stand back! he's only just begun- 
He's having out three heats in one! 


"Don't rush in front! he '11 smash your 
brains ; 
But follow up and grab the reins! It 
Old Hiran1 spoke. Dan Pfeiffer heard, 
And sprang impatient at the word; 
Budd Doble started on his bay, 
Old Hiram followed on his gray, 
And off they spring, and round they go, 
The fast ones <I0Í11g "all they know." 
Look! twice they follow at his heels, 
As round the circling course he wheels, 
And whirls with hinl that clinging boy 
Like Hector round the walls of Troy; 
Still on, and on, the third time round! 
They're tailing off! they're losing 
ground! 
Budd Doble's nag begins to fail ! 
Dan Pfeiffer's sorrel whisks his tail ! 
And see! in spite of whip and shout, 
Old Hiram's mare is giving out! 
N ow for the finish! at the turn, 
The old horse - all the rest astern- 
Comes swinging in, with easy trot; 
By Jove! he's distanced all the lot! 


That trot no mortal could explain ; 
Some said, "Old Dutchman come 
again ! " 
Some took llÌs time, - at least they 
tried, 
But what it was could none deciùe ; 


One said he could n't understand 
'Vhat happened to his second hand; 
One said 2. 10; that could n't be - 
l\Iore like two twenty two or three; 
Old Hiram settled it at last; 
"The time was two - too dee-vel-ish 
fast ! " 


The parson's horse had won the 'bet; 
I t cost him something of a sweat; 
Back in the one-horse shay he went; 
The parson wondered what it meant, 
And murmured, with a mild surprise 
And pleasant twinkle of the eyes, 
"Tllat funeral must have been a trick, 
Or corpses drive at double-quick; 
I should n't wonder, I declare, 
If brotber 
Iurray made the prayer! " 


And this is all I have to say 
About the parson's poor old bay, 
The same tbat drew the one- horse 
shay. 


1\loral for which this tale is told: 
A horse can trot, for all he's old. 


AN APPEAL FOR uTHE OLD SOUTH." 


U While stands the Coliseum, Rome shan 
stand; 
When faUs the Coliseum, Rome shall fall." 


FULL sevenscore years our city's pride- 
The comely Southern spire - 
Has cast its shadow, and defied 
The storm, the foe, tbe fire; 
Sad is the sight our eyes behold; 
,V oe to the three..hil1ed town, 
'Vhen through the land the tale is 
told- 
" The bra\"e ' Old South' is down! " 


Let darkness blot t11e starJes.<; ò.a wn 
That hears our chilùren tell, 



312 


ADDITIONAL POEl\IS. 


c' Here rose the walls, no\v "rrecked and 
gone, 
Our fathers loved so well ; 
Here, while his brethren stood aloof, 
The herald's blast was blown 
That shook St. Stel)hen's pillared roof 
And rocked King George's throne! 


" The home-bound wanderer of the main 
Looked from his deck afar, 
To where the gilded, glittering vane 
Shone like the evening star, 
And piIgrinl feet froln every clime 
The floor with reverence trod, 
tVhere holy memories made sublime 
The shrine of Freedom's God! " 


The darkened skies, alas! have seen 
Our monarch tree laid low, 
And spread in ruins o'er the green, 
But Nature struck the blow; 
No scheming thrift its downfall planned, 
I t felt no edge of steel, 
No soulless hireling raised his hand 
The deadly stroke to deal. 


In bridal garlands, pale Rl1d mute, 
Still pleads the storied tower; 
These are the blossoms, but the fruit 
A waits the golden shower; 
The spire still greets the nlOrning sun, - 
Say, shall it stand or fall 1 
Help, ere the spoiler has brgun ! 
Help, each, and God help all! 


THE FIRST FAN. 


READ AT A MEETI
G Ol!' THE BOSTON 
BRrC-À-BItAC CLUB, FEBRUARY 21, 1877. 


WHEN Tose the cry" Great Pan is dead!" 
And Jove's high palace closed its por- 
tal, 
The fal1en gods, before they fled, 
Sold out their frippery to a mortal. 


" To whom? " you ask. I ask of you. 
The answer hardly needs suggestion ; 
Of course it was the \Vandering Jew, - 
How could you put nle such a q ues- 
tion ? 


A purple robe, a little worn, 
The Thunderer deigned 11imself to 
offer ; 
The bearded wanderer laughed in 
scorn, - 
You know he always was a scoffer. 


"Vife shill ins ! 't is a monstrous price; 
Say two and six and further talk 
shun. " 
"Take it," cried Jove; "we can't be 
nice, - 
'T would fetch twice that at Leonard's 
auction. " 


Tl1e ice was broken; up they came, 
All sharp for bargains, god and god. 
dess, 
Each ready with the price to name 
For robe or head-dress, scarf or bodice. 


First Juno, out of temper, too, - 
Her queenly forehead somewhat 
cloudy; 
Then Panas in 11er stockings blue, 
Imposing, but a little dowdy. 


The scowling queen of heaven unrolled 
Hefore the Jew a threadbare turban: 
"Three shillings." "One. 'T will suit 
some old 
Terrific feminine suburban." 


But as for Pallas, - how to teU 
In seemly phrase a fact so shocking? 
She pointed, - pray excuse me, - well, 
She pointed to her azure stocking. 


And if the honest truth were told, 
Its heel confessed the need of darning; 



THE FIRST FAN. 


313 


"Gods!" low-bred '''''ulcan cried, "be- 
hold ! 
There! that's 'what comes of too much 
1 . I " 
arnlng . 


Pale Proserpine came groping round, 
Her pupils dreadfully dilated 
'Vith too much living underground, - 
A residence quite overrated; 


"This kerchief's what you ,,"ant, I 
know,- 
Don't cheat poor Venus of her ces- 
tus, - 
Yon'l1 find it handy when you go 
To - you know where; it's pure as- 
bestus. " 


Then Phæbus of tIle silver bow, 
And Hebe, diInpled as a baby, 
And Dian with the breast of sno,v, 
Chaser and chased - and caught, it 
Dlay be: 


One took the quiver from her back, 
One held the cap he spent the night 
In, 
And one a bit of bric-à-brac, 
Such as the gods then1selves delight in. 


Then 1\fars, the foe of human kind, 
Strode up and 
howed his suit of ar- 
mol'; 
So none at last was left behind 
Save Venus, the celestial charn1er. 


Poor Venus! 'Vhat had she to sell ? 
For aU she looked so fresh anù jaunty, 
Her wardrobe, as I blush to tell, 
Already seemed but quite too scanty. 


Her gems were sold, her sandals gone, - 
She always would be rash and 
flighty, - 
Her winter garments an in pawn, 
Alas for charn1Ïng ÁI)hrodite ! 


The lady of a thousand loves, 
The darling of the old religion, 
Had only left of all the doves 
That drew her car one fan-tailed pig- 
eOll. 


How oft upon her finger-tips 
He perched, afraid of Cupid's arrow, 
Or kissed her on the rosebud lips, 
Like Roman Les bia' s loving spalTow ! 


" 1\Iy bird, I want your train," she cried; 
" Come, don't let's have a fuss about 
it ; 
I'll make it beauty's pet and pride, 
And you'll be better ofl' without it. 


" So vulgar! Have you noticed, pray, 
An earthly belle or dashing bride walk, 
And how her flounces track her way, 
Like sliIny serl)ents on the sidewalk 1 


" A lover's heart it quickly cools; 
In n1ine it kindles up enough rage 
To wring their necks. How can such 
fools 
Ask men to vote for woman suffrage? " 


The goùdess spoke, and gently stripped 
Her bird of every caudal feather; 
A strand of gold-bright hair she clipped, 
And bound the glossyplunles together, 


Anello, the Fan! for beauty's hand, 
The lovely queen of beauty 1uade it; 
The price she named was harù to stand, 
But Venus smiled: the IIebrew lmid it. 


Jove, J uno, Venus, wllere are you? 
1\Iars, ltlercury, Phæbus, N clltune, 
Saturn? 
But o'er the world tIle 'Yandcring JeW' 
Has borne the Fan's celestial pattern. 


So eyeryvt-l1ere we find th(? Fan, - 
In lonely islcs of t1)e racific, 



3]4 


ADDITIONAL POEMS. 


In farthest China and Japan, - 
'Yherever suns are sudorific. 


Nay, even the oily Esquimaux 
In summer court its cooling breezes,- 
In fact, in every clime 't is so, 
No matter if it fries or freezes. 


And since from Aphrodite's ùove 
The pattern of the fan was given, 
No wonder that it breathes of love 
And wafts the perfumed gales 
heaven! 


Before this lle\V Pandora's gift 
In slavery won1an's tyrant kept her, 
But now he kneels her glove to lift, - 
'rhe fan is mightier than the sceptre. 


The tap it gives ho,v arch and sly! 
The breath it wakes how fresh and 
grateful! 
Behind its shield how soft the sigh! 
The whispered tale of shan1e how fate- 
ful ! . 


Its empire shadows every throne 
And every shore that man is tost on ; 
It rules the lords of every zone, 
Nay, even the bluest blood of Boston! 


But every Olle that swings to-night, 
Of fairest shape, from farthest region, 
1.Iay trace its pedigree aright 
To Aphroùite's fan-tailed pigeon. 


TO R. B. H. 


AT THE DINNER TO THE PRESIDENT, 
BOSTON, JUNE 26, 1877. 


How to address him? awkward, it is 
true : 
Call him "Great Father," as the Red 

Ien ÙO ? 
Borrow some title 1 this is not the place 


That christens 111e11 Your Highness and 
Your Grace; 
We tried such names as these awhile, 
you know, 
But left thenl off a century ago. 


His 1\Iajesty1 'Ve've had enough of 
that: 
Besides, that needs a crown; he wears 
a hat. 
What if, to make the nicer ears content, 
of 'Ve say His Honesty, the President 1 


Sir, wè believed you honest, truthful, 
brave, 
'Vhen to your hands their precious trust 
we gave, 
And we have found you better than we 
knew, 
Braver, and not less honest, not less 
true ! · . 
So every heart has opened, every hand 
Tingles with welcome, and through all 
the land 
All voices greet you in one broad acclaim, 
I-Iealer of strife! Has earth a nobler 
name 1 


What phrases mean you do not need to 
learn ; 
We must be ci viI and they serve our 
turn: 
"Your most obedient hUll).ble" means 
- ITlCanS what 1 
SOlnething the well-bred signer just is 
not. 
Yet there are tokens, sir, you must be- 
lieve ; 
There is one language never can deceive: 
The lover knew' it when the maiden 
smiled ; 
The mother knows it when she clasps 
her chi1d ; 
Voices may falter, trembling lips turn 
pale, 



"THE SHIP OF STATE."-A FA1\IILY RECORD. 315 


,V ords grope and stumble; this will tell 
their tale 
Shorn of all rhetoric, bare of all pretence, 
But radiant, warnl, with Nature's elo- 
quence. 
Look in our eyes ! Your welcome waits 
you there, - 
North, South, East, 'Vest, from all and 
every"" here! 


"THE SHIP OF STATE." 


A SE:STI::\IEXT. 


THE Ship of State! above her skies are 
blue, 
But still she rocks a little, it is true, 
And there are passengers whose faces 
white 
Show they don't feel as happy as they 
micrht . 
b , 
Yet on the whole her crew are quite 
content, 
Since its wild fury the typhoon has 
spent, 
And willing, if her pilot thinks it best, 
To head a little nearer south by west. 
And this they feel: the ship came too 
near wreck, 
In the long quarrel for the quarter- 
deck, 
Now when she glides serenely on her 
way, 
- The shallows past where dread explo- 
sives lay, - 
The stiff obstructive's churlish game to 
try: 
Let sleeping dogs and still torpedoes 
lie! 
And so I give you all the Ship of State; 
Freedom's last venture is her priceless 
freight; 
God speed her, keep her, bless her, while 
she steers 
Amid the breakers of unsounded years; 


Lead her through danger's paths with 
even keel, 
And guide the honest hand that holds 
her wheel ! 
WOODSTOCK, CONN., July 4, 1877. 


A FAMIL V RECORD. 


WOODSTOCK, CONN., JULY 4, 1877. 
NOT to myself this breath of vesper 
song, 
Not to these patient friends, this kindly 
throng, 
Not to this hallowed morning, though 
it be 
Our summer Christmas, Freedom's ju- 
bilee, 
'Yhen every summit, topmast, steeple, 
tower, 
That owns her empire spreads her starry 
flower, 
Its blood-streaked leaves in heaven's 
benignant dew 
'Vashed clean from every crimson stain 
they knew- 
No, not to these the passing thrills be- 
long 
That steal my breath to hush them- 
selves "ith song. 
These moments all are memory's; I 
have come 
To speak with lips that rather should 
be dumb; 
For what are words 1 At every step I 
tread 
The dust that wore the footprints of the 
dead 
But for whose 1ife my life Jlad never 
known 
This faded vesture whicll it calls its own. 
Here sleeps my father's sire, anel they 
who gave 
That earlipr 1ife here fouu(l their peace- 
ful grave. 



316 


ADDITIONAL POE
IS. 


In days gone by I sought the hallowed 
ground ; 
Climbed yon long slope; the sacred spot 
I found 
'Vhere all unsullied lies the winter snow, 
Where all ungathered Spring's pale vio- 
lets blow, 
And tracked from stone to stone the 
Saxon nanle 
That marks the blood I need not blush 
to claim, 
Blood such as warmed the Pilgrim sons 
of toil, 
Who held from God the charter of the 
soil. 
I come an alien to your hills and 
plains, 
Yet feel your birthright tingling in my 
veIns ; 
Mine are this changing prospect's sun 
and shade, 
In full-blown summer's bridal pomp 
arrayed ; 
:I\Iine these fair hillsides and the vales 
between ; 

Iine the sweet streams that lend their 
brightening green; 
I breathed your air - the sunlit land- 
scape snliled ; 
I touch your soil- it knows its chil- 
dren's child; 
Throned in my heart your heritage is 
nune; 
I claim it all by memory's right divine! 
Waking, I dream. Before Iny vacant 
eyes 
111 long procession shadowy forms arise ; 
Far through the vista of the silent years 
I see a venturous band ; the pioneers, 
'Vho let the sunlight through the for- 
est's gloom, 
'Vho bade the harvest wave, the garùen 
bloom. 
Hark! loud resounds the bare-armed 
settler's ax{',- 


See where the stealthy panther left his 
tracks ! 
As fierce, as stealthy creeps the skulk- 
ing foe 
With stone - tipped 'Shaft and sinew- 
corùed bow; 
Soon shall he vanish from his ancient 


reIgn, 
Lea ve his last corn field to the coming 
train, 
Quit the green margin of the wave he 
drinks, 
For haunts that hide the wild-cat and 
the lynx. 


But who the Youth his glistening axe 
that swings 
To smite the pine that shows a hundred 
rings 1 
His features? - something in his look 
I find 
That calls the semblance of my race to 
mind. 
His name'? - my own; and that which 
goes before 
The sanle that once the loved disciple 
bore. 
Young, brave, discreet, the father of a line 
Whose voiceless lives have founù a voice 
in mine; 
Thinneù byunnlunbered currents though 
they be, 
Thanks for the ruddy drops I claim froln 
thee ! 


The seasons pass; the roses corne and 
go; 
Snows fall and melt; the waters freeze 
and flow; 
The boys are men; the girls, grown tall 
and fair, 
Have found their mates; a gravestone 
here anù there 
Tells where the fathers lie; the silvered 
hair 



A FAl\IILY RECORD. 


317 


Of sonle bent patriarch yet recalls the 
time 
That sa \V his feet the northern hillsiùe 
climb, 
A pilgrim from the pilgrinls far away, 
The godly men, the dwellers by the 
bay. 
On many a hearthstone burns the cheer- 
ful fire; 
The schoolhouse porch, the heavenward 
pointing spire 
Proclaim in letters every eye can read, 
Knowledge and Faith, the new world's 
simple creed. 
Hush! 't is the Sabbath's silence- 
stricken 1110rn : 
No feet must wa.nder through the tas- 
selled corn ; 
No nlerry chilùren laugh around the 
door, 
No idle playthings strew the sanded 
floor; 
The law of 
roses lays its awful ban 
On all that stirs; here con1es the tith- 
ing- n1an ! 
A t last the solemn hour of worship 
calls; 
Slowly they gather in the sacred walls; 
1tlan in bis strength and age ,vith 
knotted staff, 
And boyhood aching for its week-day 
laugh, 
The toil-worn mother with the child 
she Ipads, 
The maiden, lovely in her golden 
beads, - 
The popish symbols round her neck she 
wea 1'8, 
But on thenl counts her lovers, not her 
prayers, - 
Those youths in honwspun suits and 
riLboned qu
ues, 
,\Yhose hearts are beating in the high- 
backed pews. 
The pastor rises; looks along the seats 


'Yith searching eye; each wonted face 
he 111eets ; 
Asks heavenly guidance; finds the chap- 
ter's place 
That tells some tale of Israel's stubborn 
race ; 
Gives out the sacred song; all voices 
join, 
For no quartette extorts their scanty 
COIn; 
Then while both hands their black- 
gloved palms display, 
Lifts his gray head, and murmurs" Let 
us pray!" 
And pray he does! as .one that never 
fears 
To plead unanswered by the God that 
hears ; 
'''"'hat if he dwells on many a fact as 
though 
SOllie things Heaven lu1ew not which it 
ought to know, - 
Thanks God for all His favors past, and 
yet, 
Tells Hirn there's something He must 
not forget; 
Such are the IU'ayers his people love to 
hear, - 
See how the Deacon slants his listening 
ear! 
"\Vhat ! look once more ! Nay, surely 
there I trace 
The hinteù outlines of a well-known 
face! 
Not those the lips for laughter to begui1e, 
Yet round their corners lurks an enlbryo 
sn1ile, 
The same on other lips DlY cl1ildhood 
knew 
That scarce the Sabbath's nlastery coulù 
suLtlue. 
Him too IllY lineage gives nlO leave to 
clairn,- 
The good, grave Juau that Leal's the 
P
alnlÏst's name. 



318 


ADDITIONAL POEl\IS. 


And still in ceaseless round the sea- 
SOllS passed ; 
Spring piped her carol; Autumn blew 
his blast; 
Babes waxed to manhood; manhood 
shrunk to age; 
Life's worn-out players tottered off the 
stage; 
The few are nlany; boys have grown to 
men 
Since Putnam dragged the wolf fronl 
Ponlfret's den ; 
Our new-old '\V oodstock is a thriving 
town; . 
Brave are her children; faithful to the 
crown; 
Her soldiers' steel the savage reùskin 
knows; 
Their blood has crimsoned 11Ís Canadian 
snows. 
And now once nlore along Hle quiet yale 
Rings the dread call that turns the 
mothers pale; 
Full well they know the valorous heat 
that runs 
In every pulse-beat- of their loyal sons; 
"\Yho would not bleed in good King 
George's cause 
'Vhen England's lion shows his teeth 
and claws? 
'Yith glittering firelocks on the vil- 
lage green 
In proud array a martial band is seen; 
You know what names those ancient 
rosters holù, -- 
"\Yhose ùelts wero buckled when the 
druln- beat rollf'ù, - 
But mark their Captain! tell us, who 
is he ? 
On his brown face that same old look I 
see! 
Yos! frOlll the 11omcstead's still :retrcat 


he cmnr, 
'Vhose ppaceful owner bore the Psalm- A 
ist's name; 


The sarno his o,vn. "\V ell, Israel's glo- 
rious king 
Who struck the harp could also w hid 
the sling, - 
Breathe in his song a penitential sigh 
And sn1Ïte the sons of Anlalek hip anù 
thigh : 
These shared their task; one dcaconed 
out the psalm, 
One slashed the scalping hell-hounds of 
1\1 on tcalm ; 
The praying father's pious work is done, 
N ow sword in hand steps forth the 
fighting son. 
On many a field he fought in wilds 
afar; 
See on his swarthy cheek the bullet's 
scar! 
There hangs a nlurderous tomahawk; 
beneath, 
'Vithout its blade, a knife's clnbroillered 
sheath; 
Save for the stroke his trusty w'eapon 
ùealt 
Ilis scalp had dangled at their owner's 
belt ; 
But not for him such fate; he lived to see 
The hloodier strife that made our nation 
free, 
To serve with willing toil, with skilful 
hand, 
The '\Tar_ worn sa viol's of the bleeding 
land. 
His ,vasting life to others' needs he 
gave, - 
Sought rest in home and found it in the 


gra ve. 
See where the stones life's brief memo- 
}'ials keep, 
The tablet telling wl1Cre he "fell on 
sleep," - 
'Vatehel! by a winged cherub's rayless 
rye, - 
scroll above that says we all must 
die, - 



A FA
IILY RECORD. 


319 


Those saddening lines. beneath, the 
"Night-Thoughts" lent: 
So stands the Soldier's, Surgeon's monu- 
ment. 
Ah! at a glance my filial eye, divines 
The scholar son in those remenlbered- 
lines. 


The Scholar Son. His hand my foot- 
steps led. 
K 0 more the dim unreal past I tread. 
o thou whose breathing form was once 
so dear, 
'Vhose cheering voice was music to my 
ear, 
Art thou not 'with n1e as my feet pursue 
The village paths so well thy boyhood 
knew, 
Along the tangled margin of the stream 
'''''hose murmurs blended with thine in- 
fant dream, 
Or climb the hill, or t.hread the wooded 
val e, 
Or seek the wave where gleams yon dis- 
tan t sail, 
Or the old honlestead's narrowed bounds 
explore, 
'Vhere sloped the roof that s11eds the 
rains no more, 
'Yhere one last relic still ren1ains to tell 
Here stood thy home, - the 11len10ry- 
baunted weIl, 
Whose waters quench a deeper thirst 
than thine, 
Cbanged at Iny lips to sacramental 
· wine, - 


Art thou not with me, as I fondly trace 
The scantÿ recorùs of thine honored 
race, 
Call up the forms that earlier years have 
known, 
And spell the legend of each slanted 
stone ? 
'Vith thoughts of thee my loving 
verse began, 
Not for the critic's curious eye to scan, 
Not for the many listeners, but the 
few 
'Yhose fathers trod the paths my fathers 
knew j 
Still in my heart thy loved remem- 
brance burns; 
Still to my lips thy cherished name re- 
turns; 
Could I but feel thy gracious presence 
near 
Anliù the groves that once to thee were 
dear! 
Could but my trenlbling lips with mor- 
tal speech 
Thy listening ear for one brief ll10ment 
reach! ' 
How vain the dream! The pallid voy- 
ager's track 
K 0 sign betrays; he sends no n1essage 
back. 
No word from thee since evening's 
shadow fell 
On thy cold forehead with my long fare- 
'wel1, - 
N ow from the margin of the silent sea, 
Take my last offering ere I cross to thee! 



EIRST VERSES. 


PHILLIPS ACADEl\IY, ANDOVER, l\IASS., 1824 OR 1825. 


...... 


TRANSLATION FROM THE ÆNEID,- Book I.
 
THE god looked out upon the troubled deep 
'Vaked into tun1u1t from its placid sleep; 
The flame of anger kindles ill his eye 
As the wild waves ascend the lowering sky; 
He lifts his head above their awful height 
And to the distant fleet directs his sight, 
Now borne aloft upon the billow's crest, 
Struck by the bo1t or by the winds oppressed, 
And well he knew that Juno's vengeful ire 
Frowned fr0111 those clouds and sparkled in that fire. 
On ra phI pinions as they ,vhistled by 
He calls swift Zephyrus and Eurus nigh: 
Is this your glory in a noble line 
To leave your confines and to ravage mine? 
'Yho111 I - but let these troubled waves subside- 
Another ternpest and I '11 quell yonI' In-ide! 
Go - bear our me
sage to your master's ear, 
That wide as ocean I am despot here; 
Let hinl sit rnonarch in his barren caves, 
I wield the trident and control the waves! 
He saiù, and as the gathered vapors break 
The swel1ing ocean seenled a peaceful lake ; 
To lift their ships tl1e graceful nymphs essayed 
And the strong trident lent its powerful aid; 
The dangerous banks are sunk beneath the main, 
And the light chariot skinls the unruffled plain. 
As when sedition fires the public n1ind, 
And maddening fury leads the rahble blind, 
The blazing torch lights up the dread alarm, 
Rage points the steel and fury nerves the arm, 
Then, if some revprenù sage appear in sight, 
They stancl- they gaze, and check their headlong flight, - 
lIe turns the current of each \vandering breast 
And hushes every passion into rest, - 
Thus by the power of his imperial arm 
The hoi1ing ocean trelubled into calm; 
'Yith flowing rpins the father spp(l his way 
And sn1Ïleù serene upon rekindled day. 



NOTES. 


Page 1. 
"OLD IROXSIDES." 
This was the popular name by which 
the frigate "Constitution" was known. 
The poem was first printed in the Boston 
Daily Advertiser, at the tinle when it was 
proposed to break up the old ship as unfit 
for service. 
Page 3. 
"THE CAMBRIDGE CHURCHYARD." 
"The Goblet and the Sun " (Vas-Sol), 
sculptured on a freestone slab supported 
by five pillars, are the only designation of 
the family tomb of the Vassalls. 


Page 25. 
" Tholl calm, chaste scholar. " 
Charles Chauncy Elnerson; died l\Iay 9, 
1836. 


Page 26. 
" A nd thou, dear friend." 
James Jackson, Jr., 1\1. D.; died 
Iarch 
28, 1834. 
Page 53. 
" Hark / The sweet bells renew their wel- 
. CO'lilÆ sound." 
The churches referred to in the lines 
which follow are, - 
1. "King's Chapel," the foundation of 
,vhich was laid by Governor Shirley in 
1749. 
2. Brattle Street Church, consecrated 
in 1773. The completion of this edifice, 
the design of which included a spire, 
was prevented by the troubles of the 


Revolution, and its plain, square tower 
presents nothing more attractive than a 
massive sinlplicity. In the front of this 
tower is still seen, half imbedded in the 
brick-work, a cannon-ball, which was 
thrown from the American fortifications 
at Cambridge, during the bombardnlent of 
the city, then occupied by the British 
troops. 
3. The" Old South," first occupied for 
public worship in 1730. 
4. Park Street Church, built in 1809, 
the taU white steeple of which is the most 
conspicuous of all the Boston spires. 
5. Christ Church, opened for public 
worship in 1723, and containing a set of 
eight bells, until of late 
.ears the only 
chime in Boston. 


Page 89. - 
AG
ES. 
The story of Sir Harry Franklanll 
and Agnes Surraige is told in the ballad 
with a very strict adhesion to the facts. 
These were obtained from information 
afforded me by the Rev. 1\11'. 'Vebster 
of Hopkinton, in company with whom I 
visited the Frankland 1\Jansion in that 
town, then standing; from a very interest- 
ing l\Iemoir, by the Rev. Elias Nason 
of l\Iedford, not yet published; and from 
the manuscript diary of Sir Harry, or more 
properly Sir Charles Henry Franklancl, 
now in the library of the 1\Iassachusetts 
Historical Society. 
At the tunc of the visit referred to, old 



322 


NOTES. 


ments to tlle old one, has been built upon 
its site, and the terraces, the clun1p of 
box, and the lilacs, doubtless remain to 
bear witness to the truth of this story. 


Julia was living, and on our return we 
called at the house where she resided. 1 
Heraccount is little more than paraphrased 
in the poen1. If the incidents are treated 
with a certain liberality at the close of the 
fifth part, the essential fact that Agnes Since the above note was written the 
rescued Sir Harry from the ruins after the Rev. l\Ir. Nason.s interesting Memoir of 
earthquake, and their subsequent marriage Sir Harry Frankland has been published. 
as related, may be accepted as literal truth. Page 300. 
So with regard to most of the trifling de- 
tails which are given; they are taken from GRANDMOTHER'S STORY OF BUNKER-HILL 
the record. BATTLE. 
It is to be hoped that the Rev. l\Ir. " They're as safe as Dan'l }'lalcobn." 
Nason's J\Ien10ir will be published, that The following epitaph is still to be read 
this extraordinary l.on1ance of our sober on a tall gravestone standing as yet un- 
New England life may become familiar to disturbed alnong the transplanted mOIlU- 
that class of readers who prefer a rigorous ments of the dead in Corp's Hill Burial.. 
statement to an embellished narrative. It ground, one of the three city cemeteries 
will be found to contain many historical I which have been desecrated and ruined 
facts and allusions which add much to its within my 'own remembrance:- 
romantic interest. 
It is greatly to be regretted that the 
Frankland :Mansion no longer exists. It 
was accidentally burned on the 23d of 
January, 1858, a year or two after the first 
sketch of this ballad was written. A visit 
to it was like stepping out of the century 
into the years before the Revolution. A 
new house, siInilar in plan and arrange- 


1 She was living June 10, 1861, when tbis 
ballad was publi
11ed. 


U lIere lies buried in a 
Stone Grave 10 feet deep, 
Capt DANIEL MALCOLM :Mercht 
Who departed this Life 
October 23d, 1769, 
Aged 44 years, 
a true son of Liberty, 
a Friend to the Pub1ick, 
an Enemy to oppression. 
and one of the foremost 
in opposing the Revenue Acts 
on America." 


THE END. 


Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 




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