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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 77 78 78 79 79 80 80 80 81 81 82 83 84 84 85 85 86 86 87 89 97 . 99 100 . 102 103 . 103 105 . 105 105 . 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 . 151 152 . 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 . 177 177 . 178 178 . 179 180 . 181 181 . 182 182 . 185 187 . 187 188 . 205 . 207 208 . 209 209 210 210 . 211 212 . 213 214 . 215 215 . 216 217 . 218 . 219 . 220 221 . 221 222 . 223 225 227 227 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
  • 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'aaths 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