Cornell University Library PR 4785.H5P6 Poematia. 3 1924 013 482 140 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013482140 M POEMATIA. BY JAMES HENRY. DRESDEN. Printed by C. C. Mbinhold & Sons. 1866. EdWAKD 's t6 the hunting gone, Hillo! h6! hillo! His new bridal suit he. has 6n, Hillo! h6! hillo! Ch^er up, cheer up, lovely bride, Hillo! h6! hillo! : Only tw6 short hours he '11 ride, Hillo! h6! hillo! Tw6 short hours thou 'It n6t think long, Hillo! ho! hillo!" All the evening, dance and song, Hillo! h(5! hillo! F6ur long, long hours — nay, don't fret, Hillo! h6! hillo! Lovely bride, the sun 's high yet, Hillo! h6! hillo! Edward's horse is sure and strong, milo! h6! hillo! Safe will bring him home ere long, Hillo! h6! hillo! Horses' feet! down t6 the gate, Hillo! h6! hillo! Open-armed, though he come late, Hillo! h6! hillo! "Where 's my Edward, groom and boy?" Hillo! h6! hillo! "Where 's my only, only joy?" Hillo! h6! hillo! "G6d! his horse come home alone!" Hillo! h6! hillo! "Gr6d! God!" cried, and with a groan, Hillo! h6! hillo! SAnk down by the horse's side, Hillo! h6! hillo! Dying — dead — the widowed bride, Hillo! h6\ hillo! Cablsruhe, February 1, 1856. In what enchanted ground Are pearls poetic found? Go seek them in the sea, In the deep, deep sea. Where thought and word are free. Know'st thou that sea. The deep, deep sea, The sea of liberty? That sea 's th' enchanted ground Wliere the poet's pearls abound; That sea thy line must sound Wouldst thou a poet be. Fear'st thou that sea. That wide and open sea, Where thought and word sail free, No poet canst thou be. CABtsROHE, March 16, 1856. 1* ^ "AH! what 's the matter?" oft I cry, Starting from slumber deep — "Ah! what 's the matter? isn't she here? '^''hat? where? was I asleep?" And then I tui-n, and o'er my sense Again steals slumber deep, And then I start again and cry: — "What? where? was I asleep?" Even by broad day, at times, I start, As out of slumber- deep, And cry: — "Where is she? wasn't she here? What? where? was I asleep?" Carlskuhe, March 10, 1856. I TOOK thee for a rose, thou 'rt but a poppy. Why must I come so nigh? why could I not Thine odour have imagined? I had so Been richer now by one sweet rose the more. Caelseuhe , May 20, 1856. * See DIRGE FOB THE xui. DEC. MDcccLii in Mr Book ; also Poems chiefly PiuLosoPHicAL, pages 181, 208 and 285. OEHLENSCHLAEGEE. — "Ich that 68 wie die Biene Zellen Und wie der Vogel eich sein Nest erbaut." Oehlbhscelaeqer, Correggio. As bees their c^lls build and as birds their nests, As spiders weave and as AUegri painted -- By nature, not by art — thou madest thy verses: Even therefore art thou, in these times of art. These times, par excellence, of civilisation, So little known or heard of, Oehlenschlaeger! Till Nature reigns again and puts to flight Pedants and sophists, there 's no chance for thee. Cablskdhe, April 16, 1856. If I hadn't thee to love I would love something else, To love, in itself is so lovely; And if thAt something failed me I 'd still something love, But I 'd never love any thing as I love thee. So stay with me thou and don't l^ave me. Oari.skuhe, May 19, 1856. mSCKIPTION FOR THE FRONT OF THE PEDESTAL OP A LATELY DECEASED POET'S STATUE. In this marble behold hiirii, the wise and the good, The philosopher poet, our glory and pride; He 's gone from among us, but with us still live And for ever will live in our hearts writ, his verses. INSCRIPTION FOR THE BACK OP THE SAME. Because I was wiser and better than they. They hated and shunned or despised me while livilig, And, to show how rejoiced they were, when I Was dead Collected subscriptions and set up this statue. Cablsbube, March 22, 1856. IN A LADY'S ALBUM. The author's volume 's a monarchic state; Its thoughts, serfs of one mighty potentate; Here in the democratic album, see The land of literary liberty, Where high and low and great and small agree Burghers to live in love and amity. Cablshuhe, April 4, 1856. Written on the margin of a leaf of Goethe's Faust. Ijke Mephistopheles thou took'st in hand, It 's pity, Goethe, that thou hadst not had A lesson or two from the old, blind puritan. Who would have rapped thee soundly o'er the knuckles If he had caught thee travestying Satan, And well thine ears boxed, hadst thou dared to tell him Thou knew'st no difference 'twixt a fallen archangel And a mere vulgar scamp and ticket- of- Idave man. Cablsbuhb , 1856. How lovely these flowers, and how sweet the birds sing!" Thus said to me once Eleanore, As we walked in the garden, one fine morn in spring, Myself and my sweet Eleanore: — "Where, where are the flowers? and what birds do you mean?" But she blushed, my own sweet Eleanore, For then for the first time she saw I didn't mind Birds or flowers when beside Eleanore. Cablsruhe, May 20, 1856. Believe him not, no matter how he swears; Into his eye look; there 's no kindness in it: He cannot be your friend or any man's. CARLsarHE , May 18, 1856. TO SELINA. The months that with them violets bring, Bring not to me the sweetest spring; The months the sweetest spring to me Bring, dearest girl, that bring me thee; Stay with me, then^ and 'twill be here The sweetest spring, to me, all year. Cablsbuhe, May 13, 1856. Oh, the pink of all mill'ners is sweet Poesy! For where is the mill'ner so well knows as she. To deck the bare p61t out in robes of all hue, - Purple velvets, blond laces, silks green, red and blue From her 6wn fancy's 16om all, all sparkling and new? Carlsbuhe, May 15, 1856. In the Rardimald, beside Carlsrithe, March 12, 1856. Ihousands of acres of loose, sandy soil, Covered with ancient forest — rugged oak In its third century's growth, Scotch fir gigantic, Wide -spreading beech, tall poplar, elm and hornbeam; And red pine with its graceful, hanging boughs Where many a bush -tailed squirrel cradled swings. Pruning the branches with a gardener's skill, And the ground strewing with rejected fragments Of the pink, tender, terebinthine buds. Here on this mossy bank o'erspread with dry? Crisp oak-leaves, let us sti'etch us,' in the sun, Where the still leafless hazel overhead Dangles her golden catkins, and the lank Male willow bends him toward his silvery bride. And see, my Katharine, 'tis the butterfly. The springes first butterfly, has come to greet us, And balances itself upon the soft. Velvety, yellow tuft of yon Carline. Poor thing ! it takes this sunny twelfth of March For genial April's all -reviving ray: No wonder; these dry leaves are hot in the sun, And the whole depth of the wood shuts out the North. The ant too ventures forth and would be busy; The heavy -cuirassed beetle awlcward lumbers Over the I6ose sand, where it 's carpeted Thick with the withered jaeedles of the pine; And, on its slender and elastic stilts, The huge field -spider passes harmlessly From blade to blade of short, white, sapless grass. That by no bend acknowledges his tread.' Where were ye, all the icy winter through, Mute, innocent burghers of these pillared aisles? Where slept ye, the long night and sunless day? Safe in what subterraneous cell beneath What drifted sn6w-wreath ? wrapped in what dry leaf? Sheltered behind what loosening scale of bark? The tiny spark of life that slumbered through Those dreary hours, take heed ye lose not now. Too much relying on the cheerier season; The same bright sun that waked ye from your sleep, Has waked your enemies too. From the bare bough Of yonder tasseled alder sings the thrush Notes, not of friendship to your helpless tribes. And, on the great oaks of the neighbouring alley, Tap -tap, tap -tap went, two full hours this morning, The murderous woodpecker's strong, sharp bill. Ah! why has Nature willed, through all her realms, War, rapine, violence, and bloodshed? why Must this one's life be that one's death, ah why? Why are we not all brethren, as all children, The selfsame parent's children? why, ah why? Tell me that, wise men, and I '11 think ye wise; Tell me that, Nature, and I '11 think thee gOOd, As good and kind as now I think thee cruel. Come, come, my child; we must with this March sun Not t(io long stay coquetting: toward the city. And Goethe's or diviner Schiller's page. To solemn Evening and more solemn Night We leave thee, Hardtwald! and thy habitants — With the next sunny noon we come again. 10 'Old father Time, he loves thee so," Thus I once to my Muse, "To grant thee aught thou ask'st of him, MethinkS, he 'll Hot refuse. "So to him go, and Stroke his beard, And call hith kind and good: My bacon he may surely spare, Wh6 has the whole World for food." Oflf went to Titne th' ambassadress, And stroked his beard and chin. And begged and prayed, and vowed and swore To eat me were a sin. "All I can do to please," said Tim6, "I '11 d6 for lote 6f thee, I '11 eat thy friend the last of all — That 's a great stretch for me." Back posting then the maid told how She had won her suit, for I Should live until the time Time's self For want of food must die. Then, to be sure, we did not chaunt ^- My Muse and I, that night — Ulysses, Time and Polypheme, Until the morning light! Cablsbuhe, May 14, 1856. "O my luve 's like the red, red rose, That 's newly sprung in June: O my luve 's like the melodie, That 's sweetly played in tune.' 1 DEARLY love the red, red rose. That 's newly blown in June: I dearly love the melody, That 's sweetly played in tune. But twice as much I dearly love The rose on Mai-y's cheek. And twice as much I dearly love To hear my Mary speak. For like her voice no music fills My heart and soul with glee, And like herself there 's in the world No red, red rose for me. Caklsbuhe, March 7, 1856. Blessed be the man who first invented chairs! And doubly blessed, the man who beds invented! But blessed above them both and praised for ever, By sick and well, young, old, and rich and poor. By grave and gay, and ignorant and learned, By lazy and by idle and by tired. And most, by all who love, like me, to loll. The livelong day through, trilling maudlin verses, Th' ingenious man, if man indeed he were And not divine, who first invented thee, Half bed, half chair, delicious, spring- stuffed sofa! Stretched at my ease on thee, I envy not Turkish divan or carpet, kingly throne,^ Or lectulus of Pliny or Lucullus In Ostian villa or by Pausilippo; Nay, envy scarce the hyacinthine couch From which, half raised upon his elbow, Adam Leaned over Eve, enamoured, kissed her cheek, And bade her waken out of her first sleep And greet a second day in paradise. My Muse's visits I receive on thee, Semi -recumbent, make her sit beside me. And chat and banter with her to no end. On thee I make my toilet, sit on thee And eat and drink, and stretch me out to sleep. Thou art my bed, my prie-dieu, chair and stool, My bookcase and my cash -drawer and my wardrobe; On thee I '11 live, and wh6n Death, at the last. Comes looking for me, laid on thee he '11 find me. And thou shalt be my coffin and my bier, And share with me the 16ng night of thS tomb. Caelseuhe, May 8. 1856. It 's n6t on the insect that creeps cautious forward, Or lies without motion as if it were dead, But on the gay flutterer busily buzzing, Dionaea muscipula closes her trap. Take warning, and as the dial's shadow steal cautious AWng life's spring -giin and man-trdp beset road. Of no higher praise ambitious than, "Nee vixit male Qui natus moriensque fefellit." Adieu! Caklsruhe, March 81, 1856. Putting a penny into a child's hand and closing its hand tight on it. "Da hftst fine As I spin this web of mine, To be swept out of the room, By the pope's -head or the broom, Early let it come or late, Both the web's and spidei-'s fate. Caelsbuhe, March 2, 1856. My Polly is a paladin ^Without reproach or fear, Her scissors are her two-edged sword, Her needle is her spear. Her cuirass is of whalebone stout, Her helm 's her platted hair; She loves to go with visor up And neck and shoulders bare. Her pincushion 's her armoury; Her housewife, page and gr-oom; Her foes are every mother's son Of spinning-wheel and loom. Upon her finger when she has braced Her burnished, silver shield, "For gussets and for gores!" she cries, And rushes to the field. God pity then the cotton breadth. Or silk, comes in her way! The sweepings - up, at night, declare The carnage of the day. There 's many a valiant knight inscribed Upon the roll of fame, In letters that outshine them all, I '11 write my Polly's name. Cablskuhe, May 6, 1856. IN A LADY'S ALBUM. I WISH there were no albums! not one pen In the whole, wide world! "What wouldst thou have in it, then?" Why, laugh and chat, and song and dance and glee, And half a dozen friends, and thee and me. Caelsruhe , April 4, 1856. "Adulescens, tametsi properas, te hoc saxumgrogat, Uti ad se aspicias, deinde, quod scriptum est legas. Hie sunt poetae Paeuvi Marci sita Otisa. Hoc volebam, neseius ne esses. Vale." M. Pacuvius, Burm. Anthol. Ed. Meyer, No. 24. And now I know thy bones lie here, vain poet, What am I better? do they smell sweet? taste sweet? Shine bright like gold, or feel, like velvet, soft? Must I be stopped upon my way, to hear That which to hear serves me not, nor to tell Serves thee? Farewell! thou restless even in death. Cablsbuhe, May 19, 1856. One sunny April morning we were sauntering, I and my daughter, by the black Alb's side, Just where it touches Miihlburg's neat, white village, Westward of Carlsruhe, when we lit upon A peasant woman gathering the sloe blossom. And to our question, for what purpose so Despoiled the branches of their pallid honors. Received for answer, she would make a posset To cleanse the inside, and purify the blood: — "Better uncleansed, unpurified," said I, "Inside and blood, already pure enough." But she looked 4t me, unconvinced, nor could 1, By any argument or eloquence. Persuade her firom her dogma, that 'twas good To cleanse the inside and purify the blood; So, on our walk we went, and left her there Filling her apron with the tender bloom. Sweet reader, recognisest thou thy type? Caklskuhe, May 21, 18^6. IHE painting, to live long, must be a poem; The poem 's already dead, that 's not a painting. Carlsebhe , May 19, 1866. 2!) Which was the better poet of the two, Virgil or Horace?" to his master, once. Said a precocious, brisk, inquisitive schoolboy: — "First tell me which is best," replied the master, "The mutton or the salt?" "Why, both are good," Answered the schoolboy, with a watering mouth, "But of the two, I like the mutton best." "Right!" said the master; "Scaliger himself Could scarce have answered better. My fine lad, Virgil 's the jnutton, Horace is the salt; Both good; but, of the two, the mutton best." Caelsruhe, May 10, 1856. rROUD, boastful Man," 'twas thus the herring said, Raising above the wave his shagreen head — The sounder heard him as he dropped the lead — "Come down and with us here in the deep sea Live but one short half hour, and we '11 agree That God made all his world alone for thee." Cablseuhe , May 8, 1856. 3U My book 's the wide wide, open field; My page, the trees, flowers, grass; My study lamp, the broad, bright sun- — Whose hours so happy pass?" "My open field 's the printed book; My trees, flowers, grass, the line; My broad, bright sun 's the midnight lamp Whose life is so divine?" Disputing so, as they passed by, I heard by chance two friends: "I with you both agree," said I — And so my story ends. CABLSKtrHE , March 19, 1856. Of the worst of bad things still some use may be made," Thus, it chanced, to Neaera, one day, Horace said, "With one only exception' — "Don't tell me; I know it," Said Neaera arch - smiling, "except — a bad poet." Cablshbhe, March 21, 1856. IN A LADY'S ALBUM. I NEVEE write in albums but I think How much good paper spoiled and wasted ink. "And wasted sense" — Nay, not so fast, good friend, It 's little sense we, album -writers, spend. "Time, then." Ay, time! but don't you know, of time One always has enough to make a rhyme? So I stand firm to what I said at first, The expense of ink and paper is the worst. C'aklsruhe, April 4, 1856. MOSLEM WINE-DEINKER'S CATCH. "Ob der Koran von Ewigkeit sei?" (See Goethe's West - Oestlichbr Divan.) Ihe Koran they say 's mighty old, And every word in:it divine; But diviner and older, I 'm bold To declare it, 's a cup of good wine. This cup of good wine 's mighty old, And every drop in it divine. Not diviner or older, I 'm bold To declare 't, in the Koran 's a line. Caklsuuhe, March 10, 1851). INSCRIPTION FOR SAADI'S TOMB IN SCHIEAZ. (See Goethe's West - OESTucnEB Divak.) Born in Schiraz, bred in Bagdad, Saadi — poet, dervis, pilgrim — Lived two years beyond a hundred. Into India, Anatolia, Saadi travelled learning wisdom. And, by unbelievers captured. Saw the sun set in th' Atlantic. Fifteen times, the Prophet's shrine he Visited in holy Mecca, And, at last, in Schiraz dying, Ended happily his travels On the spot from whence he set out. Underneath this stone his b6nes lie. His blest spirit 's with the Prophet. Caelsruhe, March 13, 1856. Because I am nobody, turn not, I beg. With disdain from my pages, but read them all through; The poor newsman but one eye may have, or one leg, Yet the news which he brings is not therefore less true. Carlskche, March 10, 1856. THE ARAB. (See Goethe's Weht-Oestlicheu Divan.) Ihe Arab wanders far and near. Four gifts he has from God, A turban, tent, and sword, and song, To help him on the road. His turban white becomes him more Than an imperial crown, His tent he takes from this spot up And sets on thdt spot down. He 's safer with his trusty sword. Than inside tower or wall,^ And when he sings, the maidens slip Back from their heads, the shawl. He milks his kine, he shears his sheep, And knuckles to no man. And when he 'a mounted on his horse. Catch him whoever can. Caelsruhb, March 10, 1856. THE DEAD DOG. A PERSIAN FABLE. (See Goethb'8 "West - Oestlioheb Divan.) As the Christian prophet, Jesus, Through Jerusalem's narrow street walked On a sultry summer's day, fn his path a dead dog lay: — "Lord," said to him a disciple, "It 's a dead dog's stinking carcase; Let us go another way." But the wise and blessed Jesus, Meekly stooping, raised the dog's lip And, to the amazed disciple Turning, said: — "Hast thou in thy mouth. Teeth as white and clean as these?" Cahlsbuhe, March 8, 1856. TO HOFEATH J. CH. DOLL, AUTHOR OF THE "EHEINISCHE FLORA"; ON ODK LEAVING CARLSRUnE , SLAY 2 7, 18 56. Where'er we wander we shall read thy name Inscribed on every flower and blade of grass. And, as we sigh to think how far thou 'rt fr6m us. Say: — "Is he sometimes too of us reminded, As he walks in the Hardtwald and, by chance. Observes a flower or grass we have studied with him, Drinking his lessons in, with eager ear?" Farewell ! and know no trouble till again, — Next year, perhaj)s, if only Heaven be kind — We study Nature with thee in the HArdtwald. 36 3* ElISA begged I 'd go to her, My heart, it bade me go, But at my side sat Antoinette And in my face looked: "No." She waved her hand and smiled and said: "Yes, yes, you 're free to go," But in her eyes I plainly read: — "No, if you love me, no." I loved them both, they both loved me, I 'd fain both stay and go, So to them both I answered "Yes," — And both to me said: "No." Bassako, August 22, 1856. 36 I BADE farewell to Antoinette, With tears and many a sigh; I almost wished we had not met, So painful the good-bye. But to Elisa when I should Have said farewell and tried, My heart grew faint, and on my lips Th' unfinished sentence died. "Because you loved Elisa more?" No; make another guess. "Because Elisa was the last. And both were gone?" — Ah! yes. Bassano, Sept. 14, 1856. TO BE PLACED OPPOSITE THE BUST OF MONSIGNORE GIAMBATTISTA SARTORI CANOVA, BISHOP OF MINDO, m THE MDSEO OOiSrUNALE OF BASSANO. Whose bust is tlidt there?" What! dost thou not know Munificence personified in Sartori, Canova's second self and uterine brother, Mindo's most modest, learned, and Christian bishop? I know him well and all Italia knows, And thanks the brothers for her precious relics Torn from the robber Graul's tenacious grasp, And to her arms restored. More wouldst thou know, Go, ask Possagno * that with every day More doves and blesses him; go, ask Crespano; She answers: "He is mine, I gave him birth." Or listen! every stone ** thou seest ardund thee, A tale is telling of Sartori's worth. Bassano, September 2, 1856. * Possagno — the residence of the Bishop of Mindo. ** Most of the objects of art in the Museo Comuuale of Bassano, have been presented to it by the Bishop of Mindo. IN THE ALBUM AT POSSAGNO, ON REVISITING POSSAGNO APTER AN ABSENCE Or TWO YEARS; AUGUST 1856, 1 WO years older, tw6 years wiser, And, by every visit pAid here, Made, at least, two whole years happier. So let me go on, and never Absent from thee, at one time, be More than two years, loved Possagno! TO SIGNOEA ELBA PAROLINI, ON OUR LEAVING BASSANO. Ieom our northern home, rejoicing, One short month ago we cdme here. Beckoned by a smiling vision. To the walls of old Bassano. T6 our northern home returning, Why so sad and slow our steps now? Ah! behind us left the vision, And the walls of old Bassano. Bassano, September 15, 1856. POET AND ALBUM. POET. Another album! well, I sometimes think: How happy poets, always thus to have A pretty album ready to their hand! ALBUM. Not yet a poet! well, I sometimes think: How luckless albums ! not one in a thousand, Once, in his whole life, falls in with a poet. Bassano , August 21, 1856. TO DON PIETRO ABATE BONVICINI, WHO REQUESTED THE AUTHOR TO WRITE A VERSE IN HIS ALBUM. To bid me write 's to bid the drunkard drink, The miser hoard, the dice -player play on: Thou dost not love me, or thou 'dst bid me burn Inkstand and pen and book, and now, at last, Begin to be a wise man and say nothing. Bassano, August 21, 1856. TO SIGNOR FRANCESCO AMBROSI OF BOEGO, m THE VAL SUGANA, ON ms LEAVING BASSANO , SEPT. 12, 185 6. rAREWELL, my friend, and, as thou hast begun, Press on, undaunted, up the hill of Knowledge; For though tli' ascent be steep, and never mortal Has set foot, or shall set foot, on the top. Its paths are pleasant all, and sweet and wholesome, Refreshed by breezes, and with flowers perfumed. And upon every side commanding wide And various prospect, shadowy or in sunshine. There thou shalt n6t be justled by the crowd. Or by the whirling chariot-wheel o'errun. Or thrust into the mire, or choked with dust. Or by the saucy, liveried lackey flouted; But, climbing, with the few, assiduous upwards. Look, through the thin air, down upon the glimmer Of thrones and coronets in the haze below. Not without pity — with, perhaps, a tear. Then, when at last thy failing heart and breath And tottering step will carry thee no further. Desist contented, and be laid to rest On some bold cliff or jutting promontory With larch or birch crowned, or gray juniper. And on the everlasting rock beside thee. Be these words chiseled: Thus far, his stout heart And strong, untiring nerve and sinew brought him. TO ROMILDA EAGAZZONI, FRANCESCO EAGAZZONI, AND GIAMBATTISTA BASEGGIO, ON OUB LEAVraa BASSANO, SEPT. 18, 18 58. KouND this table, by this Idmp's light. Where so oft we Ve met ye, happy, -We shall not again soon meet ye — Fare ye well ! think of us sometimes. Round this table, by this lamp's light, Where so oft we 've met ye, happy, fn our thoughts we '11 often meet ye — Fare ye well! think 6i us sometimes. Round this table, by this lAmp's light. Where so oft we 've met ye, happy. May new happy friends still meet ye — Fare ye well! think of us sometimes. TO SIGNOR GIAMBATTISTA BASEGGIO ON MY LEAVING BASSANO, SEPT. 18, 1858 Fake thee well! I don't complain that Thou tak'st with thee a so lArge slice Of this poor heart — I complain but Thdt thou tak'st that slice so sudden. 1 SAW, in Dresden, on a windy day, A man and woman walking side by side, — I tell a plAin fact, not a poet's story. And to my reader's judgment leave the moral — He on his arm was carrying his great c<5at. She, upon hers, a heavy-laden basket; When, lo! a blast of wind comes, and the man, Attempting to put on his coat, lets fall Out of his mouth, ah, misery! his cigar; But the compassionate woman quickly sets Her basket on the ground, and with her right hand Helping the coat on, with the left picks iip, And puts into her own mouth, the cigar, And whiffs, and keeps it lighting, tilWthe man 's Ready and buttoned up, then gives it back. And takes her basket, and, all right once more. Away they go, the man with his cigar, The woman with the man, well pleased and happy. 3 Chemmtzek Stbasse, Dkesden, November 10, 1856. uOD bless the light, the best thing God e'er made; I would not even be buried in the shade, Let sunbeams on the sp6t play where I 'm laid, _And Lucifer and Hesperus shine bright, And the sweet Moon and all the train of Night, And glow-worms shed their mellow, rainbow light; And not far off, the lark, on dewy wing. At day's fresh, wakening touch, each morning, spring Up to the clouds, the praise of light to sing, And gay cicalas 'lo Paean!' chant All the hot noon, all evening corncrakes rant. And Philomel, till midnight deep, descant; Of whom but thee, great conqueror of night And darkness! telling, — thee, the pure, the bright Soul of the world, etherial, living Light? 3 Chemnitzer Stbasse, Dresden, March 5, 1857. A LITTLE nearer, and a little nearer — Gradual, unceasing, scarcely to be felt: And take this useless dr^ss back, bit by bit. This motley and this bauble and these bells; And there now — push me in, and cover up. And to your daily business home — forget me. Laugh and be merry — one by one ye '11 follow. It is a tragedy, a farce, a jest, A horrid murder, isn't it? — Ay! farewell. 3 Chemnitzek Strasse, Dkesdem, Febr. 13 — 14, 1857. Gladly I 'd go with my letter, Kiss thy cheek and say: "How do?" But, alas! what were I better. Who, next hour, should bid adieu? At the price of so much sadness — Warm though beat my heart, and true, I '11 not buy the fleeting gladness; There 's no pain like "Friend, adieu!" 3 Chemnitzeb Stbasse, Deesden, Febr. 23, 1857. 1 WAS the heat of the battle at Inkermann, And the balls they were whistling round, And, as if it were water, the red blood ran, And with corpses was strewed the ground. Then if you had seen Lord Raglan's face. You had said he looked jaded and pale; But he is no Briton who stirs from his place, While victory hangs in the scale. Who is it that yonder comes lip the hill. With a bottle of wine and a chair? The balls about him may whiz, if they will, He stops not, he cares not a hair. It 's own man John, who has stolen from the tent With a chair and a bottle of wine: — "Don't be angry, my Lord, for you know it 's well meant, And even a Field- Marshal should dine." 'Twas late, late at night, when Lord Raglan came To his tent, back, with victory crowned: — And "Where 's John?" he cried, and loud called John by name, But John was no where to be found. "Three men and a lantern," Lord Raglan said; "And a pickaxe and shovel bring here, For John on the field of battle lies dead" — And there stood in that stern eye a tear. Four men to the field of battle are gone, In the dead of the dark, dark night, And turn over the corpses, one by one, And hold to their faces the light. "In vain, all our labor," the foremost said, "He 's not here or the night is too dark" — When he stumbled on something as heavy as lead. And, behold! there lay John, stiff and stark. On the spot they found him they buried him there, In the cloak the fourth man had on. And three of them prayed a hasty prayer. But the fourth he looked steadfast on John, And said to himself: — "One friend, at least. When I die, will be spared the pain," And hurried his comrades, for in the East Daylight was appearing again. And never a traveller by Inkermann Asks word of that famous fight. But he 's shown the grave of the serving -man, And told of that dark, dark night, And of a glazed ring Lord Raglan wore, From that day to the day he died. With a lock of gray hair and pearl letters four And a knot of black ribbon, inside. 3 Chemnitzer Strasse, Dbesden, May 16, 18,57. VERSES RECEIVED FROM T. N. COLE ESQ., IN REPLY TO A NOTE WHICH THE AUTHOE HAD SENT HIM, REQUESTING HIM TO PURCHASE GOVERNMENT STOCK ON THE AUTHOr's ACCOUNT, AND ENCLOSING HIM SOME VERSES BY WAY OF RECOMPENSE FOE THE TROUBLE. Ihy note (oh, how welcome!), dear Doctor, convey'd A promise of pleasure and trouble; By what oversight, then, was the trouble mislaid, And the packet of pleasure sent double? Dublin, April 23, 1857. TO T. N. COLE ESQ., IN ANSWER. Oince it gives thee so much pleasure To take trouble for thy friend. It 's thy friend's part, to take g6od care Thdt thy trouble have no «nd. Go and see, now, that the Transfer Has been duly made, and be, F6r the pleasure of the trouble. Thankful in thy heart to me. 3 Chemnitzeh Strasse, Deesden, May 23, 1857. TO FRAULEIN MINNA GEMMEL OF MARIENWERDEE, WHO HAD SENT THE AUTHOR A CARD ANNOUNCING HER BETROTHAL, WITH THE EMBLEM — A FLY APPROACHING A SPIDEr's WEB. The window-pane is yours, the ceiling, floor, Tte well spread table, cupboard, open door — What for a little fly could Heaven do more? From your fair realms you turn away and hie Into a cobweb, buzzing there to lie The spider's prey — ah, silly, silly fly! 3 Chemnitzeb Stkasse, Dresden, March 4, 1857. In Powers' studio, Florence, Sept. n, 1857. I CAME, a youth, to Florence, and, enraptured. Gazed on the wonders of the Grecian chisel : I come a man, with ripened taste, to Florence, And from the Venus turn to Powers' Greek Slave. In Powers' studio, Florence, Sept. 20, 1857. They are not living, though they seem," I said; "And still less are they — what they seem not — dead. What are they then?" Powers pointed to his head, And smiling answered: — "Dreams born here and bred." You make all your books too long, sir," Said to me, one day, a critic. Laying down my last new volume, And his snuff-box, solemn, tapping: — "if my book 's too long," replied I, "Make it short by reading little; Wei'e 't too short, you might not find it Quite so easy to add to it." Via Sistina , Eojm , Jan. 7, 1858. With doses small of hellebore, beginning. Or opium, or the foul Virginian weed, Stomach and taste grow, by degrees, accustomed, And relish first, then doat upon, the poison. The flatterer's unction so, poured plump at once, With rough, rude dash, into thine itching ear. Moves nausea, and thou criest: — "Hold, hold! enough!" But, with nice tact dropped in, the selfsame virus Soothes and delights; thou hold'st thy head a -stoop. And, drained the amphora as it had been a phial, Criest: — "More of that, sweet friend, more, give me more." Via Sistina , Rome , Jan. 5, 1858. 60 "Adam the goodliest man of men since born His sons, the fairest of lier daughters Eve." Paradise Lost, IV, 323. bo father Adam was his own born son, And her own fairest daughter, mother Eve: And father Adam was his own sons' brother, And sister of her daughters, mother Eve. And father Adam of himself was father. And mother of herself was mother Eve: And father Adam was his own grandfather. And great grandfather, and great great grandfather. And great great great grandfather — without end: And mother Eve was her own grandmother,, And great grandmother, and great great grandmother, And great great great grandmother — without end. But mother Eve was father Adam's wife. And father Adam's sons were mother Eve's, So mother Eve was father Adam's mother. And grandmother of father Adam's sons. And grandmother of father Adam's self. And great grandmother, and great great grandmother, And great great great grandmother — without end. And father Adam — being the lawful husband Of mother Eve, and father of her daughters — • Was mother Eve's own father and grandfather. And great grandfather, and great great grandfather. And great great great grandfather — without end. And mother Eve was father Adam's sister. Aunt and grand -aunt and niece and cousin - german ; And father Adam, mother Eve's own brother, Uncle, grand-uncle, nephew, and full cousin. 61 4* And father Adam was his own sons' cousin; And cousin of her daughters, mother Eve: And father Adam's sons and mother Eve's Daughters were cousins, all, among each other, And, intermarrying had sons and daughters, Goodliest of whom was still old father Adam, Fairest of whom was still old mother Eve. Via Sistma, Rome, Febr. 15, 1858. ARCHAEOLOGIST. In EAR ancient Rome there was a place they called Ad tres Fortunas, from three temples built To Fortune, at the meeting of three roads. TRAVELLER. Near modern Rome the same three roads meet still. And, where they meet, you see, upon three walls, Three frescoes of the Virgin, and are told The place's name is Alle tre Madonne. * FIRST SEMICHORUS. Things live for ever, it 's the names that perish. SECOND SEMICHORUS. Not even the names die, we do but decline them. Via Sistina, Home, Febr. 5, 1858. * "Questo luogo prende il nome di Alle tre Madonne, da tre figure della Vergine, dipinte sulle porta di tre vigne, in una specie di crocevia da cui uno del cammini conduce alia porta Salara. Trovo in Nardini (Ediz. in 4. pag. 192) che questo medesimo luogo presso a poco, portava anticamente il nome Ad tres Fortunas per cagione di tre templi dedicati alia Fortuna Botto differenti titoli, dei quali fa Vitruvio menzione. III. 1." Agincodrt, Storia dell' Arte (Prima Traduzione Italiana), Prato, 1827. vol. IV. pag. 72, not. FOR THE TITLE-PAGE OF MY BOOK. Uf good, bad, middling, here — as everywhere In the wide world — be sure thou 'It find a share: The good admire and praise, the bad excuse. And put up with the middling, prays the Muse. Via Sistina, Rome, Jan. 7, 1858. It happened once, in ancient Rome's Arena, Lay in death's agonies a pregnant sow. Whose soft flank a broad- headed spear had laid With wide gash open, when, behold! forth jumped Out of the gaping wound, all of a sudden, A little pig, aborted, and, amidst The assembled multitude's loud shouts and laughter. Hither and thither ran about th' Arena, Squeaking, affrighted, and in a dark corner Took refuge, at the last, and sobbed and died. Passing belief the story, had our own More sober times not witnessed similar portent. Nor thou and I, sweet reader, in th' Arena Stood by, spectators, when a naked Pict — Terribly red with raddle was his skin, And black with lampblack, and with ochre yellow — Lanced, with a mere, sharp -pointed, sharp-edged quill, 63 The swollen side of a supercilious southron, And let out with the life's blood, not alone Foul pus and venomous ichor but a brat Th^t yelped and sprawled a while, then went to Limbo, Leaving behind, to aid the rod and frighten Obstreperous children, the scarce wholesome name, George Gordon's English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Witness, with me, of this still stranger fact. Discredit not the story told by Martial. Via Sistina, Rome, Jan. 9, 1858. IHE sterling gold coin, issued fi-om the mint. Travels from hand to hand, and sometimes well Is used and profitably, sometimes ill Or to no purpose: and the wise man's word Passes from mouth to mouth, here full of blessing, There null and void, or noxious. Happy thou, Who know'st well to apply both currencies. Via Sistina, Rome, Jan. 21, 1858. Deplore, ye Graces, Chloe's death deplore; Never again shall ye be counted four. Via Sistina, Rome, Jan. 9, 1858. M 1 CARE not to divert, still less I care To teach, my reader; least of all, I dare To impose, upon his ignorance, false for true. Or stale, worn-out, old thoughts, for fresh and new. The wonder 's therefore not, that not by all Readers I 'm read, but that I 'm read at all. That even so many curious eyes should choose To take a peep in at Dissolving Views Got up by a dreamer, his own self to amuse. Via Sistina, Rome, Dec. 29, 1857. GrOD 's not the word thou oftenest hear'st in Rome, Nor Christ, nor Pio Nono, but — bajocco; Out of the heart's abundance the mouth speaketh: And when by chance thou hear'st God's name in Rome, Or Christ's or Pio Nono's, to make sense Thou must supply the ellipsis of — bajocco. Yet say not thou, they have quite forgot, in Rome, Their ancestors' great word, Rome's Common Weal; No , no ! it lives translated in — bajocco. Via Sistina , Eome , January 16, 1858. <>6 As I muttered to myself once, In the Vatican, thinking n6 one Heard or heeded: — "What a shdme 'tis, There 's no catalogue of these countless, Rare, inestimable treasures Of the learning theological Of all countries and all ages ! " The Custode, 4 good fellow, Plucked me by the sleeve and "whispered: — "F6r our own use, we want neither Books nor catalogues, our faith 's settled; Right or wrong, the catholic 's in for it: And for your use — why, God knows you 've M6re faiths, more books, And more catalogues Thdn you well know what to do with." Via Sistina , Rome , Febr. 8, 1858. 1 AM the hare; thou, reader, art the lion: Gnash not thy teeth, roar not, use not thy strength. But play with me, goodnatured, till thou 'rt tired. Then with a yawn, magnanimous, let me go. Via Sistina, Eome, Jan. 8, 1858. Your gift 's the payment of a previous debt, Or. it 's a venture twice as much to get; Or — if it 's neither of these two — I pray, What is your gift, sir?" "Why, it s'' — "thrown away." "No, sir, it 's generosity" — "most rare! That gives what with convenience it can spare." Via SiSTiNA, Rome, Jan. 4, 1858. If you d6n't know what 's a true friend, G-entle reader, I will tell you. Though I own, I never sAw one: W611! a true friend 's — but you mustn't let Even your dearest or your nearest Know I ever said or thought it — Any one who such a f6ol is As to give his quid before he 's Quite sure that he '11 get a quo for it. Via Sistina, Rome, Febr. 10, 1858. Pshaw ! the poetic breed 's extinct/' said once A starred and gartered courtier to a poet; "We have no Horaces or Virgils now." "True, may it please your lordship/' said the poet, "The race died out with the Mecenases." Via Slstin'a, Rome, Jan. 1, 1858. oINGr ding-a-dong-ding, boys, sing ding-a-dong-ding; Don't ye hear the church-bells, boys, how merry they ring? Come, let 's join all hands rdund, boys, and dance while we sing God bless our own selves, boys, God bless church and King! Sing ding-a-dong^ding, boys, sing ding-a-dong-ding. Via SiSTiNA, Rome, Jan. 26, 1858. Weigh well thy judgment, thou that judgest me. For by that very judgment I judge thee. Via Bobgognona, Rome, March 5, 1858. 6S Decide, kind critic, of what stock we are come; Whose blood our veins warms, Maro's or whose else; We would fdin be noticed, fain have praise or blame, And in men's ways are not so little versed. So wholly simpleton, as not to know That pedigree 's the omega and alpha In the account of merit and demerit, And the reputed sire decides the worth Of hoi'se and hound, alike, and pig and poem: So pray make haste, good critic, and God bless you! Subscribed: Unhappy Copa, Catalecta, Culex and Cii'is and Moretum, foundlings. Via Sistina, Rome, Jan. 10, 1868. IRUE wisdom whdt is 't?" "Let me think. True wisdom But tell me first what you think is true wisdom." "True wisdom 's — " so and so and so and so. "Why, to be sure, exactly," said the wise man, And the fool thanked him and away went, happy To have met, at long and last, one truly wise. PisTOjA, April 11, 1858. Halt! who goes there?" the sentry cried; The thief, he answered "Friends." The sentry let him pass, and so Jly truthful story ends, For Honor 'twas who mounted guard, And Beauty lay within, And Love and Beauty still were friends — It was no cheat nor sin. PisTOjA, April 9, 1858. TO SELINA. liLL me not that thou lov'st me, but by acts Show me: convince my sceptic eyes; mine ears, Docile and credulous, are sure to follow. Beginning with mine ears, thou dost but set More on their guard, my scrutinizing eyes, The heart's sole sure vedettes — ah, foolish heart! What use even sure vedettes, if weak the fort, And treachery in the garrison? — I \6ve thee. PiSTOJA, April 4, ly5S. CO rIE! you Ve so ill writ my verses, I myself can hardly read them," To my pen, last night, I said smart, As I wiped his inky muzzle. "What! your verses, sir, your verses!" Answered pen, his long nib opening, And, each syllable, distinct as Any judge, articulating: — "Sir, the verses no more yours are Than the ship's wake is the steer's - man's. Than the drumstick's note 's the drummer's, Than your shadow 's by the siin owned. "Till the fire's heat is the stoker's. Till the mill's clack is the miller's, Till her magpie's chatter 's Lucy's, These shall never be your verses." "Pen,'' said I, "the pothooks, hangers, Pops and crosses, no doubt, yours are; But the spirit, soul, and essence — Suum cuique — mine are only." "Let 's divide then — suum cviique," Said pen, drily; "pothooks, hangers, Dots and crosses, all, with me stay: Take your essence, soul and spirit. "What do you stare at? do, pray, take what Yours by right is." If I stared, 'twas In amazement wise pen was not Better up to Plato's Phaedon. PisTojA, April 11, lcS58. IHOU ask'st my counsel in this matter, friend, Because, forsooth, I better know than thou. Is it because I better know than thou. Thou followest not my counsel, but thine own? PiSTOjA, April 12, 1858. The wind said to the harp-string: — "Softly thrill; Sweet soul, thrill softly; loud sounds jar mine ear." "Then let thy touch be soft," replied the hai-p- string, "■For it 's to thy touch I thrill, not of myself." I heard, as I passed by, and, since that day. The human mind has been to me that harp -string; Every external influence, that wind. PiSTOJA, April 9, 1858. IN THE ALBUM OF SIGNOR FRANCESCO BARTOLINI, PISTOJA, APRIL 7, 18 58. Deuce take it! — the more in your album I write^ The less it 's an album, the less it 's white; So away with your album out of my sight, If you 'd have your album an album right; For let me set to in an album to write, I never leave off as long as I have light, And only more copious, pure and bright. My Hippocrene flows, the more I write; So aw4y with your album out of my sight. If you 'd have in your album one spot left white ; For let me set to in an album to write, I never draw breath, or rein -in tight. Or stop my Pegasus in his flight. And sometimes I 've known him fly all night, And be flying still in the moniing light. As sky-lark buoyant, or paper kite; So away with your album out of my sight, If you 'd have your album an album right. LOUISA. rivE pretty dogs with red tape collars gay Keep guard about Louisa, night and day; This licks her hand, that pulls her by the" gown, This one she pats, and that she bids lie down, And this she kisses. Is there man alive Would not change place with any of the five? If, as I 've heard it said, there is above. In the blue sky, a heaven of joy and love And everlasting sunshine, I 'd resign All of that heaven intended to be mine, To be Louisa's whole five dogs one day. And round about her feet and ancles play. And frisk and bark, and pull her by the gown, Be patted, coaxed, and kissed, and bid lie down And not be naughty, not dare make so free. Then, with a chirrup called, jump on her knee. There to be cuddled, coaxed, and kissed again — That one day be my heaven! — Ye Gods, amen! PisTOjA, April 6, 1858. "t i SING- the captain and the pious arms Which from the Soldan freed the tomb of Christ." Very nice, Tasso, that, for the marines, But won't go down with me, a practised sailor. Thou singest — if to travesty 's to sing — Heathen Eneas and his roving Trojans. Lord! had the Mantuan bard but lived to hear Scraped on a fiddle string his bugle notes, How he 'd have fumed and fretted and protested, And, in his agony, to Apollo cried: — "Great God, what have I done, so to be flouted?" PiSTOJA, April 9, 1868. TO LOUISA, ON OUJl LEAVING PISTOJA, APRIL, 165 8. Discharge Ali; thou 'st ever by thy side Our two hearts hovering, by no red tape tied: Absent from us their willing watch they keep About thee still. Wake cheerful, soundly sleep; No harm can touch thee. Leave 't to lis to weep. «5 On a terrace of the Hradschin, Hand in hand with gallant William, Lovely Bertha stood, at midnight, And looked down upon the Moldau. Autumn leaves were falling round them, From the lindens of the Hradschin; Waning moonbeams cast both shadows On the troubled face of Moldau: — "Though thou 'rt loyal, true, and gallant. Though our wedding day 's tomorrow, if there 's faith in omens, William, Never shalt thou call me wedded. "There 's ill luck in running water. There 's ill luck in waning moonbeams, Falling leaves, of death are emblems. And the witches ride by midnight, "And I see the blue light dancing On the ripple whei'e the saint * died — Never eye beholds that blue light But it weeps the dead, the morrow. » A brass cross, inserted into the parapet of the bridge of Prague, marks the spot where Saint John Nepomuk was throwji over into the water and drowned , by order of King Wencealaiis , in 1383. According to the legend, blue flames are occasionally seen playing on the water below. "William, fly; trust to thy fleet horse; Let not sunrise catch thee tarrying; Dresden's sure walls are not far ofi', And th' Elector is thy kinsman. "Fear for me not; strong the bars are Of Our Lady's holy cloister — Fly! begone! begone, this moment! Conrad stickles not at murder." "Never, Bertha, from thy side shall Fair or foul divide thy William; Craven Conrad, I defy him — Thou 'rt my wedded wife tomorrow. "Sure as now I put this guardian Signet ring upon thy finger, — See the holy cross upon it To defend thee from all chances — "Sure as now I kiss and bless thee. And thy heart feel palpitating. To my bosom as I press thee. Thou and I are one tomorrow." Bertha shrieked — it was the signet. All too large, had from her finger Slipped, and fallen into the Moldau : — "Lost!" she cried, "and we 're lost with it." "Foolish maid! 'twas but a ring," said William, though his heart misgave him, As he led her up the stone steps. And took leave at Hradschin portal: — "Soundly sleep, and dream of me. Love, Till the matin chimes awake thee; Soundly sleep, there is above, Love, One who guards the unoffending." All that weary, long night, sleepless. Bertha tossed upon her pillow; In the hall of Wladislaus, Anxious up and down paced William. "Ah!" sighed Bertha, as she looked out On the lowering clouds at day -break, And the rain fell and the wind blew — "That 'a no sky for me and William." Now it 's broad day and the Hradschin 's All one joyous stir and bustle; Hither, thither, pages, grooms run. And the chapel bells ring merry. And the wedding guests are gathered. And the priest stands at the altar. And Lord William in his hand holds Lady Bertha's hand and kisses: — "I am thine and thou art mine till From each other by death parted" — !s 't the echo of the long aisles. Or a voice cries: — ''Bij death parted"'^. Is it blood drops on the bride's hand? Is it blood spirts in the priest's face? Yes, it 's blood. Lord William's heart's blood; Voice and arrow they are Conrad's. Word from that hour forward never Passed the lips of Lady Bertha; The next waning moon's beams f^ll on Two new tombstones by that altar. Not so smooth by pilgrims' feet, since, Worn the stones but thou canst tr4ce still, 6n the one, Lord William's figure, 6n the other, Lady Bertha's. Fighting against Egypt's Soldan, In the holy wars, fell Conrad, Penitent — if there 's repentance For the murderer of a brother. Walking from Pistoja to Marzabotto , April 13 and 14, 1858. JOHANNES LEIS, ESrNKEEPEE ON THE BRENKER, SEPT. 30, 1950. How long my life may last, G-od only knows; God knows alone how .sad may be its close: Whither I go from hence, who knows but God, Or where my head shall lie beneath the sod? Isn't it a wonder I can quiet here Sit, smoke my pipe, and drink ray pot of beer? Christ be about us, and his people still Crown with all blessings, save from every ill." So on his signboard moralizes wise The Graslboden-wirth; Johannes Leis. Would he deter us, or invite us in? To drink and smoke, is 't virtuous or a sin? m Too late, today, to inquire; but next time we Come down the Brenner we '11 step in and see; That is to say, if still Johann is here, And smokes his pipe and drinks his pot of beer; 'Ab hoste fas doceri' 's no bad rule; Even in a beer -house one may go to school. Their tombs stand on the Appian, with their names. Honors, and titles; but their dust — where is it? In vain thou searchest for one single grain. Gro now, proud Man, and build thee tombs to carry — No, not so much as even thy very dust, Down to posterity; go, build thee tombs. BoTzEN, South Tybol, May 4, 1858. Once on a time I made a great acquaintance — Say rather, a great man made my acquaintance — It was in Rome, that city of great men; A duke he was, they called him My lord Duke, And bowed before him, for he was a duke. Well! though he Was a duke, he had h^ard of me, And, though he was a duke, desired to sde me, And forced an introduction through a friend — A duke may have a friend who has a friend Who has a friend who knows a printer's devil, Or devil of a printer or bookseller Or publisher, who in the way of trailo 's Acquainted with an author — and came to me, And shook me by the hand, and on the sofa Sat down beside me, and, whrai ho had sometime Stared at me, as a child stares at a lion Or great white bear in a menagerie. Began to question mc, what? how? where? when? And M^as it possible I was so learned, So very learned as he had heard I was But scarcely could believe, I looked so simple? And begged to know their titles that he might Purchase, and in his library put, my books; And hoped I would allow him to come often And chat with me on literary subjects. When I had leisure and was so inclined^ And did so much regret he could not pay, This time, a longer visit, but, next time, I might count 6n his staying; and away Went, gracious smiling, and so flattered 16ft me. That, had I been a dog, I had licked his hand And wagged my tail, to show my obligation — And of my lord Duke I heard never more. So ended in the same hour it began — Brief, brilliant, phosphorescent, meteoric. Like a star shooting in the midnight sky And swallowed up by darkness the next moment — The only patronage to my lot fell ever In this great world, where all things go by favor. And even the king himself not by desert But favor holds his crown : Rex, dei gratia. Ill the Waldhorn, Cablsruhe, June 7, 1858. NURSE. I WISH you joy, sir, of a son and heir, A bouncing boy, the image of his father, God bless him! FATHER. There 's a guinea for yourself; And stay — go quick to the apothecary's And get a little fennel for the child, And bid him put a drop of laudanum in it, For I hate equalling brats. And stay, again — Compliments to the mistress, and be sure She doesn't take cold; and muffle up the knocker; And send to tell th' old gentleman and lady; And let me have some breakfast — I 've been ringing. And ringing, till I 'm tired, and no one answers — And I must see the doctor when he 's going; And bi-ing me this day's paper; and take Snap Away from me, he never ceases whining Since he was shut out of his mistress' room; And tell whoever asks you: never, but When it pleased God to send a pair at once, Was happier Papa than I this morning. Walking from Malsch to Carlskuhe, June 1, 1858. rIFTY years and five, and upwards, Down the stream of life, together, We have rowed in one boat, Jenny, Toward the everlasting ocean. '8 See where right ahead it opens ; On your 6ar rest, let the current Of its own will bear us forward; Soon there '11 be no current longer; Nothing but the eternal ocean. Round and round, on all sides i-6und us, Without motion, without ripple. Without port, or shore, or bottom; Where no rain falls, where no wind blows. Where no sun or moon or stdr shines, Where there 's neither chart nor compass. Nothing but the eternal ocean. D(3n't be frightened — in that ocean Th6re are neither rocks nor quicksands ; Pirates don't infest its waters, fn its waters there 's no shipwreck. Courage, Jeuny! wla6 would turn now, And row lip against the strong stream, Which so softly, smoothly bears us 6n its bosom, floating downward? Downward, on its bosom, floating, r Each beside the other, Jenny; On your oar rest, 4nd, with st<5ut- heart. Bid the eternal ocean Welcome! In the Waldhobn, Caklsedhe, June 7, 1858. SCHOOLMASTER. (jAN you tell me, my fine little fellow, from what Celebrdted historical fact it appears That to ancient Troy's ladies the use was unknown Of an elegant, airy, balloon crinoline? SCHOOLBOY. From the fact, that to 16t in the great wooden horse, Troy's gate being too small, the walls had to be breached, Which had never been done if Troy's ladies had worn An elegant, airy, balloon crinoline. For wh6 can doubt, sir, that to let easy in The great wooden horse, large enough must have been The gate, large enough to let circulate free, An elegant, airy, balloon crinoline? In the Waldiiorn, Cart.shuiie , Juno 3, 1858. (jREAT big fishes have great big mouths, Great big throats and grdat big belliuS; Gobble up, as matter of course, all Little fishes that swim near them. Little people, take fair warning, And away keep from great people. If you wouldn't be gobbled up, as Little fishes by the big ones ; For great people have great big mouths, Great big throats and great big bellies. Gobble up, as matter of course, all Little people thAt come near them. In tlie Waldiiorn, Carlsruiie, June 13, 1858. iHE mighty puritan hoped, and he was right. Men would not willingly his song let die: I, than the mighty puritan less humble. Challenge all men to make that poem die Which, whether his or mine or whosesoever, Has in itself vis vitae. Such a poem Gains strength, not loses, with increasing years, And sees men's generations round it perish Like leaves in autumn, or the waves that break In regular succession on the shore. In the Waldhorn, Caklskuhe, June 3, 1858. IN EMMA NIENDORF'S (LA BARONTSnE SUCKOW'S) ALBUM. WEINSBERO, JULY », 185 8. r^N, ink, paper — I opine — Miist with Lead and heart combine, Ere the hand can write a line Which Apollo and the Nine Shall agree to call divine. Lo ! pen, ink and paper mine, Jlere with head and heart combine To write Emmeline a line: Let her eyes upon it shine — Ural diamonds from the mine — And I care not what the Nine And Apollo call my line. 1 CLOSED mine eyes and, lo! beside my couch Stood Glory with a laurel in her hand. And loud my name called thrice, and round my brow The garland twined, and bade me rise and follow: — "Goddess, I come," cried I, and, with a bound. Leaped from the bed, methought, but she was gone, And I had leaped, not from the bed alone But through a portal that stood open wide. Beside it, and whose door behind me closed Almost ere I had passed. I looked around me. And all was dim and dismal , blank and silent, To the eyes a mist, a vacuum to the ears. Horrified I turned round, and strove to force Open the door, and loudly called to open. In vain! as firm as adamant it stood. Showing no sign of hinge, or bolt, or lock: — "Lost! lost!" L cried, despairing, and had fainted But that a sound confused came through the door. Of joybells ringing and hurraing Voices. I listened, and my name heard several times Shouted, and proclamation read thereafter Of my birth's hundredth anniversary, And joyful jubilee thereat through all The little land of Truth: — "Hither, my friends, Hither!" I cried, and with a beating heart. Panting, awoke, and found myself in bed. All silent round me save the ticking clock. And chanticleer below my window crowing. Walking from Neckabsulm (Wurttemuekcj) to Aglasteriiausbn (Badehj, July 7—8, 1858. "I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on eacli liand." LOKD BrKON. nlS lordship had too much drunk and saw double, A palace and a prison on each hand, Where there was only on one hand a palace. And on the other hand a prison only. 'Twas after dinner; or the second palace And second prison are mere fe fa fum - I wouldn't for all the world say, Harrow grammar. Walking from Aglastekhausen to Waldvvimmeubbach, Baden, July 8, 1858. Life is a walk along a colonnade, Alternate sunshine and alternate shade : Behind the column here, all 's dark as night; There, through the arch, streams in the golden light. Hold steady on through light and shade thy march; Blame not too much the column, nor the arch Too much praise; on each other they depend Harmonious, and not far off is the end. "Walking from Heidelbekg to "VVeinkeim, July 13, 1858. CADI MEHASEB. Once upon a time in Bagdad Lived a Cadi called Mehaseb, An unjust judge, by the rich loved, By the poor man feared and hated. He would never use the two ears Grod had given him, one on each side, This to hear the plaintiff's story. Open that for the defendant. He would never look with both eyes, Fair and even, on both suitors, But would keep with one eye squinting Toward the glittering gold zecchini. So the Pacha thought he 'd cure hhn, And sent for him, one fine morning, And said to him: — • "Master Cadi, It 's plain you 've no use for two ears. "Off with one ear, janizaries!" And the ear was off that moment: — "Master Cadi," said the Pacha, "Go and look sharp; you 've still two eyes." From that day forth righteous ever Judged Mehaseb with the one ear — Even to this day Bagdad's Cadis Beg you not to name Mehaseb. Walking fropi Simmern to Zell on the Moselle , July 20, 1858. The letters in the Book of Knowledge run From right to left, after the Hebrew fashion. And the book ends upon the recto side Of the leaf standing farthest to the left. There, on the recto of the left-hand leaf, Fool Man begins to read, and puzzles on Backward, perverse, false spelling, till he comes To the last right-hand leaf, and there leaves off. No wiser for his pains, and to himself Says complaisant: — "What a fine thing is knowledge!" Walking from Simsiern to Zell on the Moselle, July 20, 1858. THEODORIC THE GOTH. In his castle of Ravenna Sat Theodoric, the Goth, With his clenched hand smote the table, Swore by the Almighty God: — "Blood he '11 have, the bloody Caesar, And he shall have blood enough — Why should only sceptic heads fall? Haven't believers also throats? "Who waits? fifty men to Milan, And a headsman and an ax — Off with two heads of the noblest Friends of Caesar and the Church." Who 's a nobler friend of Caesar Than Boethius the wise? Who than Symmachus devoted More to Caesar and the Church? Both heads fall, and, stuck on long poles At Theodoric's castle gate, Face the monarch as he rides out With his courtiers to the chase : — "Hell and Fui-ies!" cries Theodoric, "Throw those heads into the sea; See their eyes, how they glare on me, How they loll their tongues at me." Hadst thou seen the king's fallen visage As he rode on with his court, Hadst thou heard his pages' whispers, Thou 'dst not called that hunting, sport. From the chace returned, and feasting In his royal hall of state. Why with horror turns Theodoric From that grinning head of skate? •'(ilare not on me so, Boothius; Symmaclius, put in thy tongue: The fisherman, who fished your heads up, From high gallows shall be hung." Pale and shivering sits Theodoric, And his eyes have lost their shine. Wrap him in a double mantle, Chafe his limbs and pour down wine. Now his cheeks are hot and crimson. And his round, red eyeballs stare. And he grinds his teeth in passion, And on end stands up his hair. Now he calls out: — "Ho, Boethius!" "Symmachiis, ho!" now he calls. Eaves and shouts ^nd stamps and curses. Till he shakes the castle walls. Holy Saints, your servant ever Save from heresy's deadly sin, Let him die in your communion, Mother Church's pale within. Who 's to shrive the Arian sinner? Who 's to anoint with holy oil? into his mouth who '11 put the wafer That of blood wipes out the soil? Unshriven dies, unsacramented, Unanointed, Italy's king. Enemies of Christ, take warning; It 's for your dear sakes I sing. Walking from Stadt Kill (Rhenish Prussia) to Campenhodt near Mecheln (Belgium), July 25 to August 1, 1858. WILLIAM AND EMMA. (jo not to the hunting, William," Emma said, and threw her 4rms round William's neck, and kissed his brown cheek. And made him sit down beside her. "In a dream last night I saw thee Pale upon the grass extended. From thy side the life's blood ebbing, No one near to save or h61p thee. "]n the thicket chafed a wild boar With the snout and tusks all bloody; Go not to the hunting, William, Stay this one day with thine Emma." 82 "Foolish Emma," answered William, "There 's no wild boar in the forest; If there 's danger in the hunting, For the g4me fear, not for William." William 's gone — not to the hunting, But to meet Lord Henry Batty; In the forest, on the green sward. Foot to foot, they stand with swords crossed. Tierce and quart, a feint and parry — And the third thrust lays Lord William Pale upon the sward extended. From his side the life's blood ebbing. Henry flies; a corpse lies William; At his side too late kneels Emma — Whose sword 's this that in the grass gleams? Great God! it 's her brother Henry's. On the face of Emma never Smile was seen from thAt day forward, Pleasant word from that day forward Never passed the lips of Emma. First a novice, then a bUck nun. In Saint Bridget's holy cloister. All day long she prays for Henry, Half the night through weeps for William. Prayers and tears, I 've heard it said, count More in heaven than gold and jewels. Only let the heart be humble, And as pure as Emma Batty's. S3 6* Prayers and tears can ease the swollen thought And bring back peace to the troubled — Ah, could they but staunch the death wound, 6r the spark of life rekindle! William's grave 's in Upton churchyard ; in Saint Bridget's cloister, Emma's; Henry's bones lie in Jerusalem; Pray for all the three, good Christians. Gjlent, August 5, 1858. One womb ■ maternal gave birth to two brothers Into existence called by different fathers. Deftly the one could wield the sculptoi''s chisel. And peopled with live statues half the world. Plis cenotaph 's in Venice, Avhere he died, But in Possagno a sarcophagus. Hewn by his own hand, holds his honored bones. And, by his own hand reared, a temple covers. Vast as Agrippa's. Opposite, in view. Stands what was once Antonio's humble dwelling, A bishop's palace now, for Giambattista, Bishop of Mindo, the thrice hallowed roof Raised and adorned in memory of his brother's Birthplace and infancy, and gathered round. Even from most distant Rome, the artist's models, And, under one dome, placed in company, A company unparalleled in the world. And there he lived, and there I knew him well, Canova's uterine brother, Mindo's bishop ; And, large of heart, blessed ail the country round, Unlike in that a bishop — except Cambray's. And there, last week, he died nonagenarian, And, laid in the sarcophagus with his brothei'. Doubles the sanctity of that Pantheon, And if I visit thee again, Possagno, 'Twill not be as a happy friend meets friend. But as sad pilgrim kneels before a shrine. Walking along the canal from Bruges to Ostend , Aug. 6, 1858. TO ADDAH. OAY not I love thee not, for Emma 16ved thee. And what my Emma loved, I doubly love, Love for my Emma's sake and for its own; For worthy was my Emma of all love, And worthy of all love, all Emma loved. To say I love thee not, then , is to say I neither Emma loved, nor love what 's lovely. Dalkey Lodge, near Dublin, August 18, 1858. Fear, in the evening born, and nursed all night. Grows sick and weak, and dies at morning' light; But Hope, born in the morning, nursed all day, Grows sick and weak with Sol's departing ray, Pines away gradual in the waning light, And sad sets out for Hades at midnight. Walking from Edenville, Mount-Mkrrton Avenue, to Dalkey, Jan. 19, 1859. INSTRUCTIONS FOR A YOUNG POET. riRST let thy Muse be tender; all hearts love A tender strain, even those which are the rudest: There is no mystery in tenderness; The sucking baby understands and loves A tender nurse — so, first of all, be tender: School -boys and school -girls and old driveling men Will steep with tears thy pages, sob "How charming! How touching sweet! why, he 's a very Goethe — Scarce Werther's sorrows make one cry so much.'' But flour, however sweet and good, unmixed. Makes better bread, mixed with a little bran. And but for the concluding pistol shot Even Werther's sorrows were long since forgot; So, mix a little horror in, judicious, Feeding with tenderness, with horror seasoning, And satisfying so both appetites. Observing these two precepts, thou shalt see Edition treading on edition's heels, And the loved name in great six-inch-long letters Placarded, side by side with Longfellow's, In every book- shop window; and thy praise Read in the Quarterlies and Monthlies sung In flippant, fashionable slang dogmatic: Observing these two precepts, thou need'st heed None other; mayst expatiate free as air, Ijaughing to scorn not rhythm and measure only. But science, learning, wit and common sense. Edenville, Mount - Merrion Avenue, near Dublin. Hii oAID I to my truelove: — "Come, marry me." But my truelove, she answered, "No." So I turned about and to Cupid said: — "Little Master, you 're free to go." But Cupid flew off to my truelove, straight. And whispei-ed two words in her ear — What those two words were I cannot tell, How c6uld I who did not hear? But next morning my truelove came back to me, And said: — "Sure I meant to say, Yes." "It 's a bargain," said I, and we signed and sealed Had you, in my place, done less? Edenville, Febr. 10, 1859. Keep the real Virgil far away," said Dryden, "And with my Virgil thou shalt be well pleased." But I say: — "With my Virgil to be pleased. Thou must beside it close put the real Virgil." EDENvttLE, Oct. 20, 1858. There is a way to be beloved, One, only way, And that one way 's to take good heed To what you say. No matter what you think or do, We mdy agree. So long as on your tongue no word Displeases me. But if you say one little word Cross-grained to me, That little word is sure to mar Our harmony. So whether yours are virtue's ways Or ways of vice. Mind well your tongue and keep your friend, Is my advice — Advice I never took myself, Nor ever will, An awkward blurter of the truth, For good or ill. EoENvir.T.E, Febr. 10, 1809. TO SELINA ON THE FIRST OP JANUARY, WITH A JAR OP HONEY. r OLLOwiNG the example of the olden time, * To inaugurate with sweetest sweets the year, I send thee of my store of virgin honey: Be the whole year to thee a honied year! Edenitlle. TO OVTD DEPARTING FOR TOMI. Lament not, poet, though thou leav'st behind thee Thy dear- loved Roman hills and Tiber brown. And house and home and family and friends. Thou leav'st behind thee, too, the implacable. Jealous , vindictive , iron - hearted tyrant. With all his meanness, greatness, pomp and pride. Lament not, poet, though thou takest with thee — Sad comrades! — exile, loneliness, and want, Thou takest with thee, too, the laurel crown And all men's sympathy except thy foe's. Still thou laraentest — ah !- 1 will not blAme thee,' Apollo never but on one condition Bestows the never - fading laurel crown : That it be kept perpetual wet with tears. Edenville, Sept. 9, 1858. * Ovid, Fasti, I. 185. They call her Morning Red. She is a damsel Who, every twenty-fdur hours, in the sky Makes her appearance ere the rising sun, To disappear the moment the sun 's risen. Buoyant and fresh and fair and ever young, See where she hovers between Night and Day — One cheek in shadow, 6ne cheek bright and glowing Hope's image, to the life, and prototype. Edenville, Sept. 14, 1858. IHEY call her Evening Gray. She is a matron, Who, every twenty-four hours, in the sky Makes her appearance after the sun 's set. To disappear as soon as stars are risen. Half in reflected light and half in shadow. See where she sits, disconsolate and lone. With drooping lids, wet cheeks, and folded hands Griefs image, to the life, and prototype. Edenville, Sept. 15, 1«.58. "Odi profanum vulgus et arceo.'^ JjEGONE, come near me not, O most profane, Abominable Vulgar! What know'st thou Of Spondee, or of Dactyl, or of Trochee, Or great Hexameter rolling like a sea? Wh4t 's to thee Strophe? Antistrophe, what? Or Epode? or ill-natured, smart Iambus With curled -up nose, and one leg long, one short? Thou 'st never roved on Helicon; foot never Set on Parnassus; never quenched thy thirst At Hippocrene's delicious, bubbling spring. Phoebus to thee 's the sun ; to thee Diana 's The moon, indicative of change of weather; And the nine goddesses of the Aonian Mount Are well off if for nothing worse thou count'st them Than nursery maids or National - school teachers, Who have forgot the best half of their toilette. Off! I '11 not touch thee, know thee, or to do Have with thee; and if ill-advised, officious. Well meaning friends thy name so much as whisper, I '11 stop mine ears with both my hands, and roar. And furious on the ground stamp with both feet, Till nothing in the whole world 's heard but me. And if thou 'rt thrust upon me still, I '11 leap Fr(5m a rock's top into the sea and drown, That, if I mayn't live separate, I at least May separate die and separate cross the Styx, And separate set my tent up, in Elysium, On the far bank of Lethe rolling ever "Its flood impassable 'twixt thee and me. Walking frfnii Edenville to Dublin , Octob. 21, 1858. r OOL ! " said the sensualist to the laborious, "Who without pleasure passest thine whole life, Thou diest tomorrow and thy labor 's lost." "I set against thy pleasure," answered mild And pausing from his labor, the laborious, "The pleasure I 've in labor, and I find The balance in my faA'or ; to this balance, Adding the pleasure which my labor's products Buy me, I find the balance more than doubled: And if my labor and my labor's pleasure Die with me, so do not my labor's products; While by thy pleasure nothing 's left behind, Not even a stone whereon to write hic jacet. Walking from Dalkey to Edenville, Oct. 20, 1858. All the whole world loves twaddle: — "How do you know?" All the whole world reads Harriet Beecher Stowe. Edenvillr , .Tan. 1859. In Error's wood there are a thousand paths Through which thou mayst for ever wander on, Stumbling, perplexed, benighted, torn with thorns. With growling wild beasts on all sides beset; Happy, that find'st thyself, at long and last. In the one, only path which leads to Truth's Enchanted castle, hid, in the wood's thickest. Deep as in Dodonean forest, Jove's, Or in Castalian, Phoebus' shrine lay buried, Or in Albuna's grove prophetic Faun, Only to be approached through pestilential Miasms , and sulphurous exhalations dire. And sights ajjpalling and unearthly sounds. And bloody sacrifice and gifts of price. Bdemville, Nov. 15, 1858. JUDGrE me not, father!" said the ingenuous youth, "A man must only by his peers be judged; By his un- peers why should a hapless ioij? Impannel a boy jury, I submit." "Walking from Edenville to Dalkey, Oct. 24, 1858. 1 HE farmer's dairy and the poet's study Are like each other — manufactories both Of good wares, as the case may be, or bad: Good, if the milk is rich, and fat the cream, Crumbly the cheese, and sweet the yellow butter And not too salt, and if the poem 's full Of melody and sense and entertainment, 8uch as lopas sang at Dido's feast. Or laurel- crowned Apollo at great Jove's When all heaven listened and the Muses chimed Chorus, and Hebe's young eyes sparkled joy. But if the milk is blueish, and the cream Little or none, the butter soft and streaky, And the tough cheese defies the tooth like leather. That farmer is an unthrift and should sell His dairy, to the butcher send his stock, And, himself, emigrate to California And at the diggings try his hand a while, For people will not good gold for bad butter Willingly give him, or his bad milk drink. Or with his bid cream muddy their clear tea. Or honor and respect show to the maker Of bad cheese; so at home there 's no chance for him, And California is his Promised Land. But not unthrift the poet though his poem Has neither sense in it nor melody. Nor entertainment; nay, the thriftier rather, And to grow rich and be admired the likelier, See, while he lives, edition on edition Following, like lightning flashes in a storm. Or minute guns from ship distressed at sea, And, when he dies, have statues to his honor Raised by a grateful, weeping fatherland. So let him stay at home, and every day. Like Byron and Sir Walter Scott, write worse, Till he becomes a hero and, expiring, Sees with his swimming eyes the laurel crown Ready to drop upon his funeral bust. And sad and slow goes down to unpoetic Hades and silence and the thin -eared ghosts. Walking from Edenville to Dalkey, Oct. 24, 1858. By Youth and Age alike, the present s lionie: By Youth, because the future 's full of joy — Ah, wicked Hope, that so deceivest Youth! By Age, because the future 's full of sorrow — Ah, wicked Fear, that not deceivest Age! Edenville , Oct. 2, 1858. Old father Time brings truth to light, They say, and I believe them right When I the proverb bring to mind. That those who hide know where to find. Rosamond , Rathgak Koad , Dublin , Sept. 23, 1859. "Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari qiiam illius memiuissel" It 's true to the letter: A thousand times better The mere recollection Of that piece of perfection, One sweet, melting thought From that sepulchre brought, Than society's joys With their hubbub and noise — Yet I 'm not quite so sure I wouldn't rather endure. If I had my selection. Even the hubbub and noise Of society's joja, Than be laid side by wide. Were the coffin so wide, With that piece of perfection. :o,,AMnR0, Raihgak Khad, DuBi.KV , Murcli IS, 1859. SXAP. \\ HAT a fine critic, had he learned to write. Snap woiild have made ! he can both bark and Jbite, And, as to understanding the belles lettres, Show me the "We" that understands them better. Rosamond, Oct. 1, 1859. 'K oLEEP is a froward child who when you will. Will not, and when you will not, will, perverse. Make much of him and coax him, and you only Make him more wilful; force him, he rebels, Or runs away and in some ddrk hole hides; But leave him to himself, he comes, at last. And jumps upon your lap, and flings his arms About your neck, and smothers you with kisses, And covers your two eyes with both his hands. And asks you what you see, and, when you say "Hoixses and ships and trees and men and horses," Chuckles, and says: — "They 're mine, and if you 're good And let my hands stay always on your eyes, I '11 give them to you to be yours for ever; But if you 're bold and push my hands away, I '11 take them all and put them in my pocket And keep them for a fellow I like better," And, with the word, down from your lap the imp Jumps nimble, and runs off, and from the room's Furthermost corner cries: — "Bo-peep! come, catch me." EosAMOND, March 20, 1859. INSCRIPTION ON AN EGG. Despise me not because I am an egg, A plain, unostentatious, simple oval: Omnia ex me; and birds, beasts, reptiles, fishes, Whatever in its nostrils has life's breath, Even thou thyself — I care not who thou art — And every tree that grows, and flower that blows. All, all are brothers of the Dioscuri. EosAMOND, Febr. 14, 1860. "Wer daa Dichten will verstehen, Muss in's Land der Diclitung geheii; Wer den Dichter will verstehen, Muss in Dichters Lande gehen." "Poetry to understand. Go into the poet's land." So says Gothe, but 7 say There was never but one way — Fie upon your "poet's land" ! — Poetry to understand, And that 6ne way 's — All things show it To be born, like him, a poet. EosAMOHD , November 19, 1869. 98 He, though a little word of two short letters, A most important word is, and ambiguous; Sometimes it means those personages mighty. The speaker, active, and the passive hearer, Taken apart, distinguished from mainkind. Sometimes it means the author and his reader. Pair never without honor to be mentioned. By me, at least, who in myself comprise. Not seldom, both the units of this dual. Writing what no one reads except myaelf. In olden time it was a royal word, This little We, and, ungi-ammatical, Took (5n it to express the Lord's anointed. The DEi-GRATiA DUX, the' great bell-wedder. Those were the glorious d^ys of pignay We, Too happy to last long, for minor folk. Following — as minor folk are api to Ao -— The bad example set them by their betters, Weed, and re-weed and weed again, audacious And at nought setting decency no less Than grammar. Whereat kings and queens, incensed And with disgust filled, east the plural off And left it there, to be thenceforth for ever The representative pronominal Of editors, reviewers, costermongers, 99 7* Tailors and grocers, and lioc genus omne Of varlets, and to unsophisticated, Plain, simple /, in royal sulk, returned; And /, this moment, our most gracious Queen Victoria writes herself; I, to her lords And gentlemen in parliament assembled, Herself addresses. Long may^ she so write, Long so addi-ess herself — God sare the Queen! Prays /, in duty bound and in good grammar. EosAJtoND, Eathgae Eoad , April 28, 1859. PEO]\IETHEUS AND 10. 10. I PITY thee, Prometheus; wise and wretched. PKOJIETHEUS. That wisdom 's wretchedness, I know too late; But art thou happy, lo, without wisdom? 10. Alas! th' unhappiest of mankind is lo. PEOMETHEUS. More than thou pitiest me I pity thee Who neither wisdom hast nor happiness. 10. Elel - eleu ! elel - elel - eleii ! PR0JD3THEUS. Now, Jove, thy worst; not even thy worst can make me More wretched than, with all thy favor, lo. KxLMASHOGnE MoDNTAXN' (Co. DoBLix), Juiie 23, 1859. SENT, ALONG WITH THE QUARTERLY AND EDINBURGH REVIEWS OP MY POEMSi TO A FRIEND WHO HAD WARNED ME NOT TO SEND MY POEMS TO THE REVIEWERS. "d r EARLS before swine; which turn again and rend you!" Too late! too late! and, lo! the swine, I send you. Rip up their paunches and you '11 find, within, Semi - digested garbage, thick and thin, And broken pearls. Alas! the pearls are mine, Crunched with their garbage by these beastly swine. Rosamond, May 31, 1859. Whether Truth is the child of Time, I '11 not stop to inquire. But this I know, that if she is. She 's daughter of a liar. For, ever since the world was made, We 've nothing had but sorrow. Though Time has promised, every day. To bring us joy, the morrow. Rosamond , Sept. 23, 1859. 101 ANACREONTIC. AxL the morning long I have studied, It 's evening now and I '11 dine; Pen and ink were made for the morning, For the evening God gave us wine. The day, it is full of trouble, And worries a man to death; But the evening I '11 spend in pleasure, As long as there 's in me a breath. In the morning I '11 tottle accounts up, In the morning I '^ll make my will. In the evening — hurra for the tankard! My heirs, they may pay the bill. Rosamond, Oct. 12, 1859. Lay by your poem nine long years," says Horace, "Then take it out, and, with remorseless pen, Blot every word of which you disapprove." But I say: take your poem out of Limbo At tw6 years' end, blot every second word, And put, for every word you blot, two better. Rosamond, Sept. 30, 1859. m INSCRIPTION FOR THE BANK OF IRELAND, FORMEELT THE IRISH PAELIAMENT HOUSE. Behold the House of Parliament a bank, And cash for g6od bills given where, in old time, Bad bills were in exchange passed for hard cash! EosAMOND, Febr. 15, 1860. BYRON. Ihe pr6ud son of a vicious, heartless father, The vdin son of a weak, indulgent mother, The tyrant husband of a blameless wife. The sentimental sire of one unhappy Legitimate daughter — of how many more. Unhappy chance -sown, he knows not, nor cares — See where before the world, for admiration. With front unblushing, George Lord Byron stands And wins of the whole world the admiration, Pugilist, fencer, brawler, spendthrift, rake, Lover of bull-dogs, friend of ribald Little, Bully of Harrow school, ere quite fourteen, Champion, at thirty -six, of rebel Greece, All his life long, bad poet and worse man. Hide, hide your heads, ye virtuous, learned, and wise; Follow Astraea, Muses, to the skies. Rosamond, Sept. 12, 1859. IDS "Wasting time!" time can't be wasted; Time is neither strength nor treasure. Where is 't? let me see 't — what! thdt, time? Why, it 's growing, each moment, biggei", Bigger, bigger, every moment — It is thou and I are wasting; Time will eat us, eat us all up — Ah, could we but only waste it! EosAMONB, May 9, 1859. Until it 's struck upon. The flint its spark hides ever ; Of itself, out of the brain. The spark of wit starts never. Only to tempered steel The flint its spark yields, ever; When did the wise man seem Wise to the fool? Ah! never. Rosamond, January 11, 1860. 104 Pretty Moon, whom I so often See pass smiling hj, this way, Stop a while and listen to me — I 've a word or two to say. Don't you know the white-washed cabin On the hill outside the town, Where the girl whom I love best, lives. And they call her Bessie Brown? Pretty Moon, next time you 're passing, If it is not too late quite, Talie a peep in at the window, And bid Bessie Brown good night; And if Bessie Brown should ask you Do you know one Paddy Cleer, SAy it 's many a time you see him Sitting where he 's sitting here;- Sitting on this stile, and playing On his pipe, to keep care down, F6r his heart is well nigh brealdng. All for love of Bessie Brown. Rosamond, Oct. 23, 1859. 105 A TAP came to my bedroom door, one day, As, in a fever, sick I lay, in bed, Restless, desponding, every moment worse: — "Who 's there? come in," said I, and Death came in. And shook his dart. I put a good face on 't, But fairly own, I wished him out again. Once, twice Death shook his dart, and the third time Had raised, and was in the very act to strike. When to the door another tap*came sudden. And breathless burst- into the room the doctor. And parried skilful, with gold- headed cane. Death's thrust, and saved me — saved me, as I thought And grateful cried out, handing him his fee. "That fee is mine," said Death, and clutched it fast, "Or should be mine — my well-earned,- just- due fee, For saving thee — not now indeed, for now I 'm baffled for the moment, but next time. And not far off 's next time — for saving thee From sickness, pain and sorrow, and the doctor." I stared; the doctor stared; upon his heel Death turned about, and, muttering, stumped down stairs. KosAMONB, April 30, 1859. 108 IHERE was a time the world admired Sir John Moore's Bokial Ode," Said I once to a poet friend, As side by side we rode, Talking of Wolfe — his friend and mine - The parsonage in view, Where Wolfe had lived and loved and died, Charles Wolfe, the kind and true. "Ay, ay, there was a time," replied Wolfe's poet friend and mine, "The world agreed with you and me To call that ode, divine. "It was the time the world believed Lord Byron wrote the ode. Poor Wolfe!" He said, and wiped his eye; I sighed; and on we rode. EosAMOND, Nor. 24, 1859. 107 THE CHAMOIS -HUNTER. .My father, chamois-liuiiting, fell and died; His father, chamois -hunting, fell and died; I hunt the chamois and doubt not at all Will, one day, chamois -hunting, fall and die: Allons done! chamois - hunting let me live. And chamois -hunting, Allons! I will die. EosAMOND, Sept. 10, 1859. A RAE.E, scarce" yet acclimatized exotic, Bare in the morning, leafy at midday, Only toward evening rich with flowers and fruit, The poet loved it where it stood alone. Neglected, at the bottom of the garden. Scenting the air, and almost hid behind The gaudy, gay array of inodorous Hollyhocks, sunflowers, paeonies and dahlias. And, in his mournful hours, would linger near it, Fanning it with his sighs, and with his tears Watering — alas! 'twas his own type and image. Rosamond, Jan. 10, 1860. ins The 61d song still, the old song still, I will have nothing new; Blackbirds and thrushes, every spring, The same loved ditty, constant, sing, The same, the blithe cuckoo. And why should I that old song love More than a thousand new? Why, just because a thousand times, I 've heard them sung, those selfsame rhymes, And every time by you. For others sing new-fangled airs, The old air sing for me; The baby, at the nurse's breast. Is soonest soothed and put to rest. With its own lullaby. EosAMOKD , Eathgar Eoad , Sept. 30, 1859. EPITAPH FOR JULIUS CAESAR. I CAME, I saw, I conquered, and — lie here. KosAMOND , Jan. 26, 1860. 109 \ V HOEVER most successfully ignores Intrusive Nature, and has beat by heart The cant of his own city, town, or village. The most polite man is, and the best bred. That is to say, within the bounds of his own City or town or village; every where In all the world beyond, that man 's the rudest. Rosamond, Febr. 10, 1860. A POET'S PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE, WBITTEN FOE EMMA NIENDORp's ALBUM. TO EMMELINE. Papee, pen, ink, hand combine T(S write Emmeline this line; Biit the written line is nought Unless head inspire the thought, And the th6ught is mere cold form Unless heart have clothed it warm, So, behold, most cruel maid. At thy feet the whole six laid. Paper, pen, ink, hdnd, heart, head ■ — Wilt thou with thy poet wed? EosAMOND, January 23, 1860. 110 What race is it which a man runs Only once, and, as he runs, grows Stiffer, stiffer, every moment. Yet runs, every moment, faster; Faster, faster, every moment, Every moment, stiffer, stiffer, And the race wins never till he Hdsn't a leg or foot to stind on? Rosamond, May 9, 1859. I FOLLOW not the rhymer's trade; To please, I have no zest; My verse is by mere instinct made, Like b^e's cell or bird's nest. To please himself, Correggio drew; To please myself, I write; Applaud or not, as ye think fit. My verse is my delight. KosAMOHD, Sept. 30, 1859, ill EPITAPH FOR ANACREON. Uod's providence in every thing is clear: Choked by a raisin lies Anacreon here. To dry the grape and eat, is an abuse; Squeeze, strain, ferment, and drink the heavenly juice. EosAMOND, April 28, 1859. Loyal and full of confidence in princes. Saint Patrick's Dean to Prince Posterity His helpless, orphan pages recommended; And thankless, * as became a- royal prince, The prince received, and as his due, the homage, And left the orphans for themselves to shift. Less loyal, I, and of small faith in princes And warned by the example, recommend. After my own and daughter's death, my verses To the sure patronage of moths and worms, Keen connoisseurs of literary merit And never yet known to ignore, disdainful. The works even of the meanest among authors. Rosamond, Fobr, 15, IHGO. * Dublin, wliich has a statue ol Moore, has none of Swift. TEUTH AND FALSEHOOD. now canst thou doubt that Time 's my sire?" Said Truth to me, one day, As, arm in arm, with her I walked. Far from the public way. "I do not doubt/' said I, "for Time Is Falsehood's sire, and she To Truth is so exceeding like. Truth's sister she must be.'' "For shame!" said Truth, "to taunt me so;" And slipped her arm from mine; "The fault is not in me, but in Those purblind eyes of thine, "That d6 not, or that cannot, see The difference between Truth's simple, unaffected air. And Falsehood's studied mien." So said, she turned, and left me there, And I went on alone. Until, methought, I heard again Her voice's silver tone. Rejoiced, I turned about, and, lo! Truth's radiant form was there, Her winning smile, and open front, And unembarrassed air. — •'Welcome, sweet maid! we 're friends again, Never to quarrel more." ■'Agreed," said she, "give me thy hand — As good friends as before. "Where hast thou been? This whole, long year I have sought thee up and down, Early and late, at home, abroad, In country and in town." Full well I knew 't could not be Truth Who held so wild discourse, So with a frown and stern "Begone!" Shook Falsehood off by force; And onward walked, with Nature's face And mine own thoughts content. And none to teli, or true or false, Which way it was I went. Rosamond, Rathgak Road, Dublin, Sept. 27, 1859. PHILOSOPHY'S LABOUR LOST. 1 don't mean to disturb tlie thorns and weeds, Only to sow the fallow with good seeds." Entering the field I said, and scattered wide, In plenteous showers, the grain on every side. The thorns and weeds outgrew and choked the grain; I lost my labour^ and, too late, saw plain. Where error, vice, and prejudice abound, In vain Philosophy would sow the ground. Rosamond, March 16, 1860. "Glaubt mir, es ist kein Mahrchen, die Quelle der Jugend, sie rinnet Wirklich und immer. Ihr fragt, wo? In der diehteiideu Kun.9t." Schiller. Eternal youth cannot be and was never. In spite of all thou say'st, beloved Schiller! Nay, even thine own sweet Muse's cheek already Shows wrinkles, and her golden locks turn gray; Live on, indeed, she shall and must, for ever, But men even now begin to call her, Sibyl. EosAMoND, March 14, 1860. 115 I.,* "Fresh fish from Helicon! who '11 buy? who '11 buy?" LoBD Bybon, English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. "Fresh fish from Helicon! who 11 buy? who 11 buy?" Through London's streets I heard Lord Byron cry, And; curious, stopped, and asked his lordship where He found on Helicon a thing so rare, So very rare as fish must always be Upon a mountain, high above the sea. His lor.dship, smiling civilly, replied. That high on Hippocrene's steep mountain side There was a fountain. Helicon by name. Whence fish to market in great plenty came. And asked me would I have some, and when I No cash had, left me, and went on to cry "Fresh fish , from Helicon! who 11 buy? who 11 buy?" Rosamond, Febr. 29, 1860. Look cli-cumspect round you before Danger comes; When Danger is come stand to arms, beat your drums; When Danger 's gone by, you may play with your thumbs, But your play must be short, for, behold! Danger comes, Like a race-horse, again — stand to arms; beat your drums Life 's a porridge of wormwood and sweet sugar-plums. Rosamond, May 13, 1860. THE TWO LOOKING-GLASSES. With two looking-glasses, the wise man of Greece said, Most bountiful Nature supplied us ; One to show us what passes in other men's hearts ; This glass it 's placed queerly — inside us. In our own hearts what passes we see in the other, Which is placed just as queerly — outside us; And, of all places, where in the world do you think"? Why, deep in our friends' hearts — beside us. Rosamond, March 16, 1860. "Das Gemeine geht klanglos zum Orkus hinab.'' Schiller. Like weeds which a gardener throws out on the dunghill, The vulgar go down, unremembered, to Orcus; But we weep the high-minded, and Poetry gathers. And encloses their bones in a cerement of amber. With such cerement of amber I 'd fain wrap thy bones round. Highest-minded of poets, my own beloved Schiller, Did I not know thy bones more enduring than amber. More hallowed thy bier than the tears of thy poet. K08AMOND, March 16, 1860. in IN all things else thou mayst agree With thy best friend, and he with thee ; In all things else but one alone — Griiess, if thou canst, what is that one. "Nay, in two things I can't agree With my best friend, nor he with me: First, I were out and out a fool. Myself to measure by the rule With which he 's pleased to measure me; And next, I '11 die ere I agree To buy my friend at his own price — Say, haven't I read your riddle, -nice?" RobAMOND, May 10, 1860. Anniversary of my mother's death. r OR what our pleasures, and our pains for what, Biit occupation till Decay's slow hand, Assiduous, shall have made sufficient room Among our foresires' crowded bones for ours? Full fifteen years ago this very day. The longest lived of two loved parents died — Their first born child's place should be nearly ready. EosAMOND, March 27, 1860. iHE Don, he has bestrode his steed, His squire, he rides behind him; They 're on the road for Lombardie, To tilt against a windmill. Four stout, strong arms the windmill hal^, And sets them all in motion, And round they go, clish-clash, slap-dash, Against Don Quixote's 'notion'. "We had best go back/' Don Quixote cries; "This giant is a strong one; How hard he hits about the head! My 'notion' was a wrong one." "Mirror of knighthood! right and wrong Depend still the event on," Quoth Sancho, reining Dapple round; "Let 's go some other sc^nt on." "Not now, not now," the knight replies; "My lance, see how it 's shattered, And, though my spirit 's fresh and strong, The flesh feels sore, and battered." 119 So home they went, both knight and squire, Tired, dusty, crowned with glory. The windmill's torn sails, to this day, The truth vouch of my story. And Villafranca people still Tell you — but they 're mistaken — No pair of thieves were ever more In haste to save their bacon ; And in memorial, fair to see, Have written on a tall post: "La Mancha's knight and squire slew here A mighty giant, almost." Rosamond, March 12, 1860. WIND, WOMAN AND KING. Wind, woman and king, I once heard a fool sing. Agree iji one thing : Not a jack-straw or hair For the absent they care, But throw their arms round Whoso nearest is found. And the fool he sang true, For I have not heard from you Now for more than a year, My Mary Anne dear, — And that year seems an ever And from the Idng never, And as for Sir Wind, He 's no doubt very kind And flusters about And makes a great rout When he meets me out, But though I sat lone By this ingle hearth-stone All October, November, And dreary December, And long January, And bleak February, And March and April, And am sitting here still In the sweet Month of May, When the world 's looking gay, And though past my door. Times a hundred and more. He went post day and night. He never thought right Even one odd time to stop. And in on me pop And say : — "How do you do ? Have you any thing new?" So the fool, he sang true. And wind, woman, and king Agree in one thing; Not one jack-straw or hair They for any one care Who 's once out of their view, And the fool, he sang true. EosAMOND, May 3, 1860. 121 r OEGrET the past, fear not the morrow, Enjoy today — and bafSe Soitow: For things will go — do what thou will — As from the first they have gone still. Green Hills (Co. Dubles), April 28, 1860. ^Gotl nur siehet das Herz." SCHILLBK. Only God sees the heart. True, of all hearts Except thine own, ingenuoxxs, well loved Schiller! Who nothing hast to hide, and hidest nothing, And God and Man alike see thi'ough and through Rosamond, March 16, 1860. I KNOW some wiseacres who think, Old wood to burn, old wine to drink. Old friends to love, old books to read, Old hay wherewith your horse to feed, Are of all old things the five best, And turn their nose up at the rest. Fools! my old fiddle's four old strings Are worth the whole of their five old things. Rosamond, March 24, 1860. IHE lamp no light shows, when I 'm far Away from thee; The fire no heat throws, when I 'm far Away from thee; The sun shines clouded, when I 'm far Away from thee; The moon 's not risen yet, when I 'm far Away from thee; Heavy my heart weighs, when I 'm far Away from thee; A blank the world lies, when I 'm far Away from thee; Spring flowers droop withered, when I 'm far Away from thee; The lark a dirge sings, when I 'm far Away from thee; Time's tread 's a dead march, when I 'm far Away from thee ; Muffled the drum beats, when I 'm far Away from thee ; To die I 'm ready, when I 'm far Away from thee; I 'm dead and buried, when I 'm far Away from thee. But be thou merry, though thou 'rt far Away from me; And light thy heart beat, though thou 'rt far Away from me; And bright thy sun shine, though thou 'rt far Away from me; And clear thy moon gleam, though thou 'rt far Away from me; And still of me think, though I 'm far Away from thee, As I of thee think, though thou 'rt far Away from me; And soon mayst thou be near, not far Away from me; And soon may I be near, not far Away from thee; And when once more I 'm near, not far Away from thee, And thou once more art near, not far Away from me. Never again shall I stray far Away from thee, Nor ever thou again stray far Away from me. Till thy last stray, thy long, last stray Away from me. Or my last stray, my long, last stray Away from thee. The Geeen Hills (Co. Dueldi), April 28, 1860. FRAGMENT. rRANKTORT behind us left and city sights, And city sounds ungrateful to the ear, We take our evening way toward Offenbach, Distant an hour, the frontier town of Hesse. Level and fair our road along the Maine's Populous, wide-outspread basin; on our left. Unseen, unheard, but not far off, the river; Gardens between, where, watering-pot in hand, The gardener cares the tender cabbage plant Or lettuce, for the Frankfort burgher's table ; Walnuts upon the right bring back to mind Baden's fair chaussees fringed on either side. From the Black Forest to the Nassau frontier, With elegant Juglans' oval leaves and round, Delicious-kerneled berry. Oberrad Not much affords us or to praise or blame, And, threaded its long street, we reach, at seven, Our station for the night in Offenbach, And close our first day's journey (of one hour), And sup in Kuchler's honest inn, and drink Our schoppen Riidesheimer, and at ten. Mindful of health and homely grandsire saws, Retire to bed, and — for we drink nor tea Nor more exciting coffee — sweet, sound sleep. Next morning, breakfast without tea or coffee : From both we have suffered and have both renounced, And prize more our composure all day long, And sleep at night, and appetite unimpaired, And steady, tranquil, unembarrassed pulse, Than the narcotic's treacherous, short-lived joy. Avaunt, then. Tea and Coffee! To your caves, Malignant spirits, and with Opium hide And foul Nicotiana and the juice That turns the Abyssinian hunter's brain; And take with ye Ennui and Devils Blue, And moping, dull Despondency and Heartache, And let me never see ye more, or hear Your hated names, but, if I can, forget That I was once your worshipper and bard. The morning fair, July the twenty-sixth. We leave at ten the Swan and follow on, Along the stately poplar colonnade. Our road through Bieber, distant one short hour. From my youth up I 've loved a colonnade Of whispering poplar, tall and fresh and green, But till today such colonnade trod never Of whispering poplar, tall and fresh and green, As echoed to our footstep the whole way From Offenbach to Bieber .... Walking from Offenbach to AscHAPFENBUKa, July 26, 1860. THE NINE MAIDENS OF CRACOW. Once upon a time in Cracow, I Ve heard say and do believe it, On a sultry day in summer, Sad and serious sat nine maidens. Doing nothing, saying nothing, Lack-a-daisy sat the maidens In a honeysuckle arbour. All the livelong July forenoon. What are they about, those maidens, All nine sitting with eyes downcast, Folded hands and mouths half openV Read me, if thou canst, the riddle. Ah! there 's not one of those maidens, Of the whole nine, has a sweetheart; Where 's the wonder they look dismal, Now and then cry, heigh-ho, heigh-ho? "In the wood a tall oak 's growing," Sighing said one of the maidens, "Underneath its spreading branches, When I 'm dead, let me be buried." 127 "There let me be laid beside thee/' Said another of the maidens, "In the shadow of the sdme oak; Of this wicked world I 'm weary." "When this poor heart throbs no longer, I will there be laid between ye, In that same oak's spreading shadow," Said another of the maidens. "There we '11 all be laid together,'' Cried with one voice aU the maidens, "Come, let 's go and lay our graves out, Round that oak's trunk, in a circle.' So into the wood, the maidens. Arm in arm, went, sad and sighing. And the oak found, and the grass cut That about its trunk was growing; But while some the grass were cutting, And some bringing stones and crosses, Lisette, who by chance had looked up. Saw the tree with young men swarming. And shrieked loud. All stopped and looked up, Every heart began to flutter; When a soft voice from the tree cried: — "Sweetest maidens, we are coming." In an instant round Lisetta's Waist was clasped a strong and kind arm ; In an instant Gretchen's cheek was Glowing red with Julius' kisses; Theodor was on his knee to Lovely Judith with the fAir hair; While from Hermann's grasp Louisa Faintly strove to draw her fingers ; Lottclien runs, but, out of breath soon, Is by nimble Hans o'ertaken. And made to sit down beside him, Will-she nill-she, on the green bank; Magdalena — artless maiden! — Fears that Hilpert may his neck break As he slips down from a high branch. And holds out her hand to help him; Hilpert on the helping hand a Bright gold ring puts — could you blame liiniV Magdalena — didn't she do right? — Let the ring bide where he put it. "Stay! for God's sake stay," cried Ellen, "Till I go and fetch a ladder" — But, before the word was finished, Max stood hand in hand with Ellen. Eobert still was in the tree, and Engelbert, a cat's sleep sleeping, Neither Eosamond nor Minna How to hollo knew, or whistle; So they gathered ujJ shed acorns, ^ And with both hands so the two youths Peppered that they quickly wakened Out of their feigned sleep and earjip down, And surrendered on so fair terms That not one of the nine maidens, Unless it were Rosamunda, Half so happy was as Minna. Once upon a time in Cracow, I Ve heard say and do believe it, In a honeysuckle arbour. With their sweethearts sat nine maidens ; Merrier never met nine maidens. Than the nine met, that same evening. In the honeysuckle arbour. Every one linked with her good man; And the talk was all of roses, Wedding feasts, and rings and posies, And where best they would live, and thrive most; Not one word, where they 'd be buried. And the traveller 's, to this day, shown. As through Cracow wood he passes. The decayed trunk of that 61d oak, And hears tell of the nine maidens. Begun walking from Konigswart to Einsiedl, Aug. 14; finished at Neu- STADL near Plass, Bohemia, Aug. 16, 1860. ADVICE. Useless is wise advice and thrown away Unless the advised 's as wise as the adviser, For in that case alone the advice is taken; Useless is wise advice and thrown away If the advised 's as wise as the adviser, For in that case no wise advice is needed; Thrown away, then, and useless in all cases Is wise advice, and he 's a fool who gives it." I said, and closed the book I had in hand. And read no more, and went upon my way Rejoicing in mine own thoughts. Courteous reader. Do thou the same by me, and I '11 not blame thee. Walking from Bieschin to Czachrau (Bohemia), Aug. 20, 1860. Once on a time it happened, it 's full many a year ago, I met a carle with shoulders stooped and beard as white as snow, And all within myself I said, as I passed proudly by, "That 'a a good-for-nothing 61d man, and a stout, brave youth am I." That old man 's dead and buried, it 's full many a year ago, And mine are now the shoulders stooped and beard as white as snow, And in their hearts the young men say, as they pass me proudly by, "That 's a good-for-nothing old man, it 's high time he- should die." ZwiESEL, Bavaria, Aug. 21, 1860. "An oaken, broken elbow-chair, A caudle cup without an ear." 8W[KT Following the example of Saint Patrick's dean — Not always, I must own, a good example, And the Venusian's maxim 's but too true: No one 's in all respects a good example — I note here, in an inventory, down My bedroom's furniture and apparatus In Johann Stadler's inn in Lamprechtshausen, Where I arrived last night and supped and slept. And early woke this morning, August thirtieth. Of Christ's year Eighteen hundred and threescore. And, lazy-bones, abed lie, protocolling, And yoking wardrobes, beds, and chairs and tablt^ To my triumphant Muse's car sublime. Two beds, imprimis, lengthwise by the wall. One for myself, the other for my daughter. With overbeds of down, and pillows, heaped; Opposite, two windows with bright shining panes And spotless, lace-trimmed, muslin curtains white. E^lower-pots, outside, support with trellis work Diminutive ivy, or permit Jove's tlowei- Exuberant to overhang their rims And fearless swing, as from its native rock, Full two foot down, in air. CIovli perfumo steals In with Sol's greetings through the open sash. And resting swallows twitter on the sill. Not Hermes statuettes our pillows guard — It 's many a day since Thoth reigned, and men trusted Their sleeping persons to the Clod of thieves — But over each bed hangs upon the wall A cup of holy water, to keep off Ghosts and malignant demons, and at hand To help, if help be needed, an embossed Madonna likeness on white satin paper, Glazed and in walnut framed: not even Saint Columb's Brilliant illumination sets more true — Well if so true — the fair original forth, ()r more the heart of the beholder wins To heaven and holy Church. A walnut press At one bed's head, along the wall, close locked Excludes the prying eye and pilfering hand. And carries on its cornice, ranged in order, Thirteen sweet-smelling, large, ripe, rosy apples, — Keep far, far off from Lamprechtshausen inn. Ye nineteenth-century travelling Eves and Adams! -- Behind which, five glass pickle-pots stand stately. Crammed to the throat with gherkins, the abhorrence Of acid stomachs, and tight corked and sealed. Between the beds, the altar of the Graces, With looking-glass and jugs and basins, furnished. And crofts of water and soft diaper towels, Invites to worship, nor invites in vain; Never caged pair of linnets, or uncaged, So joyous spattered the lustrating lymjih. Dipping again, and dipping, and all round 133 Scattering, beneficent, the healing dew. Above, upon the wall, a crucified Jesus, in copperplate, with drooping head And pierced and bleeding side, gives up the ghost; Grim tragedy! in box-wood re-enacted Upon the opposite wall, between the windows, With the addition of the Mother's woe. And weeping Mary Magdalen and John. Gladly the eye, more gladly still the mind, Away from both turns, and upon a group In party-colored, Meissen china-ware, Upon a walnut stand between the windows, Under the boxwood carving, rests content, And has no need to travel to Arcadia For dancing shepherd youths and shepherd maids, And innocence and peace, and pipes Pandaean. The stand adorning, either side the group. Ten red, ripe apples tempt, in double row. Another walnut table, in the corner. On the door's right hand as you enter, serves Saint John the Baptist for a wilderness. And there, twelve inches high, stands in the middle The box-carved saint, with coat of camel's hair. And lamb and cross, and scroll significant What fate awaits the man who takes in hand To teach the people, — him awaits, who dares To raise his voice high against vice and folly — Him the benevolent, imprudent man Who fain would lessen human misery. And benefit, not use, his fellow men. Shaming the triple crown and sceptered czar. Written in vain the scroll and lost in vain The precious life; the obdurate heart of Man The words cons scrupulous, but draws no moral. A loaf of sugar stands upon the floor Under the table, and an open box Full of the powdered sweet, for kitchen use Or pantry, ready, or to neutralize The bitter of Bohea or coffee cup. And German manufactured, not of stripes And human kidnapping, and greed of gold Even more accursed than Polymestor's, smelling, And curdling the heart's blood. Upon a rack Behind the door a petticoat hangs snug And two gowns, that of red stuff, these of gray. The rack runs round the room, and every pin Its separate burthen carries, seidel, maas, Or double maas, all shining bright in order; Of gray stone- ware some, some of glass, some pewter: Twenty-five seidels first of gray stone-ware, With lids of pewter hinged on stone-ware handles, Engraved on every lid Johann Stadler's name In fair broad cipher, and the year of Christ In which the seidel from the potter's hand Into this world of woe came and beer-drinking. Twenty glass seidels follow, with glass handles, And similar pewter lids and name and date. Come, next, of glass twelve seidels with glass handles And white enameled china lids bound round With pewter rims and hinged on to the handles; in painted colors, orange, green, and blue, Of weal or woe, each lid speaks to the heart, Or shows a landscape; high Maria Plain, Or Berchtesgaden at the Watzmann's foot, Or Salzburg Castle; or his seidel's lid Exhibits the beer-drinker to himself, Seidel in 6ne hand, meerschaum in the other, Rubicund picture of e3.rth's h^^ppinessi 136 Sensual, till the intellect groAvs dim, The red, swollen, bolster limbs break out in sores. And the fat paunch, blue lip, and yellow eye And sunken cheek and laboring chest announce The crazy ship aground run, and no hope In sail or rudder, more, or pilot's skill. Last of the seidels, twelve of glass come then. Glass-handled, without lid. In long array. The larger beer-jugs follow, maases called. Each maas two seidels, all of gray stone-ware, With lids of pewter hinged on stone-ware handles; Thirty they are in count. Three stone-ware jugs With lids of pewter hinged on stone-ware handles, And each enough large to contain three maases, Hang from the last three pins, right hand the door, O'ershadowing John the Baptist, and the rear Of the long file round bringing to the front. A shelf o'ertops the rack, and round the room Huns with it high up, not far from the ceiling; Seventy-seven pewter plates, on edge, its burthen, And forty-five round, and four oval, dishes. These delf, those pewter; five saltcellers then Of delf, two pewter coffee-pots, and six Fidibus-holders pewter, and — no more. And here my faithful inventory ends. Precise, as if I had been aboutrto let j\Iy chamber in the inn at Lamprechtshausen To Meath's Lord Bishop — Stay, upon the floor Two square, glass-bottled brandy gardevins. Neither close locked nor empty — rarest sight Of all rare sights for Anglo-Saxon eyes. And not without much faith to be believed By Anglo-Saxon ears — but let that pass — One stool, two wooden-bottomed chairs, two stufled, And on the end wall, opposite the door, Above a chest of drawers a framed and glazed Engrossed certificate that Johann Stadler Of Lamprechtshausen 's an admitted member Of the Society Agricultural, Which for the public weal — not for its own, — Who ever heard of a society meeting For other object than the public weal? — Its meetings holds in Salzburg every Friday. And so my task 's brought to an end, sweet reader; How faithfully, judge for thyself, first time Thou 'rt led by chance or fate or inclination. To sleep in the same room I slept last night in, In Johann Stadler's inn in Lamprechtshausen, Well furnished temple of Gambrinus Divus, And seldom without votaries, even or morn, Or holiest sabbath afternoon, or when Festival Idrmes gathers to the dance Young, old, and middle aged, the country round. And harp and fiddle and Man's sweeter voice Alternate rouse the slumbering ear of Night, And once again on earth, there 's paradise. FRAGMENT. II. UvEE Port Vendre hangs the morning sun, As from our humble cabaret in Salces, We hold, along the bright, smooth road, our way Southward toward Spain, and new sights and new sounds. Already in the shade, Les Monts Alberes, Rising before us slope upon the left, Indent the sky with ever varying outline. High on the right, before us, Canigou With all his snowy tops stands glistening white In the full rays. Alert our step and light, Along the scarce two-foot-high, close-cropped hedge Of Atriplex cerulean, overpeered From the offside by feathery Tamarisk, — Not on mount Sinai here, nor dropping manna — Or Lycium europaeum's verdant twig, Sufficient, though scant, shelter; for today Sleeps in his ice-cold caves the Mistral king Who, yesterday, upon our way to Salces, So vexed us, and the Giant Reeds so bent That border the clear well of Estramer. Rivesaltes behind us left, and Estagel — Birthplace of Arago, mathematician, But far too honest for good politician. And in unhonored grave forgotten rests The Minister-at-War of the Eepublic; That not Cayenne, that not some imitated Second Helena, holds the patriot's ashes, Thank thy Czar's clemency, imperial France! A grassy bank invites us and we sit Between, but not too near, two prickly leaved, Shriveled, unsocial Scolym bushes stiff. Under an Ilex' shadow, evergreen. Less for the sake of rest than to count over The florets of the nosegay in our hand By Flora placed this Tuesday before Christmas Of the year Sixty beyond Eighteen hundred. Euphorbia segetalis she had wreathed With rosemary and mint and olive branch And budding almond and the full blown flower Of golden-disked Chrysanthem coronarium And purpling Salvia salutiferous. Fragrant adornment of the roadside mound. And green Cneorum's sulphur-yellow bloom Tripetalous, tricoccous, from the brink Of Estramer's warm-gushing, saline spring, Plucked by the Goddess, as this morning early. Hid by the Giant Reeds, she bathed unseen. These with thyme odoriferous she had mingled — Not the Serpyllum of the pale, cold North, But glowing southern Europe's spicier thyme — And added here and there a button bright And fresh green leaf of wholesome dandelion Here nothing loath to breathe December's air. Nor had she overlooked thee, Diplotaxis, Spangling the vineyards like fair Lady's-smock, Nor thee or thy Vanilla-pod perfume. Marine Alyssum white, nor, Xanthium, thee Who into gold transmuted'st the gray hair Of faded Grecian belle, and to their throne Ledst fugitive Venus back, and grace and love: Nor had she not set starlike in the midst Three sprigs of pink Centaurea Calcitrap, — Chloroform faithless of the centaur surgeon's Own wounded knee — with three sprigs of echioid Helminthia yellow, intermixed, and three Half opened blossoms of Provengal furze, And to Agave given the whole to bind — A lovely nosegay! but we sought in vain For leaf of that green Hellebore that so Our roadsides had enlivened in the Alps And down the Durance' waste and gravelly bed. Or sprig of that sweet lavender which poured An atmosphere Sabaean round the bleak, Shingle-encumbered flanks of Mont Ventoux. Asses, with empty paniers on their back, And mules graze tethered in the ditch beside us; Peasants in groups sit on the bank beyond Dining, and mark with curious eye the strangers; Some, still at work, salute us from the fields. As, into basket or spread sheet, they gather. And carry toward the ditch, the ripe, black olives. Or lop the bare vine boughs and tie in bundles. From shoot and leaf and root, avert, next year, Th' O'ideum plague, O joy-bestowing Bacfchus! And thou, Maid of Athens, to o'erflowing Fill up the oil vat . . . Walking from Salces to Peepignan, Dec. 18, 1860. "lo vado e vengo ogni giorno, Ma tu andrai senza ritorno." Motto ou a aimdial in Arma, a small village liftweeii San Remo and Porto Maurizio (Liguria Occidf-'ntale). TRANSLATED. 1 daily come and daily go; But tliOTi, once gone, com'st never nio'. PARAPHRASED. 1 'm daily born and daily die, Thou 'rt born but once, but once to die, And there 's an end. Be off, good bye. Poor, silly fool! great Time am I. Walking from Abma to Pohto Maurizio, Jan. 18, 1861. 141 FORTUNA FAVET FORTIBUS. r ORTUNA favet fortibus," they say, And I believe it true, but in this way: Fortune 's a cheat, who, skilled at thimble-rig, Neither for brave nor coward cares one fig, But takes out gold, and challenges to play; The coward, faint of heart, turns pale away; The brave puts down his stake, the totum spins, And, losing often, some mere odd time wins, And clears the board; the proverb hence arose That Fortune to the brave her favor shows. Sestki di Lkvaxte (Ligueia Oeientale), Jan. 26, 1861. FATE AND FORTUNE. 1 'd like to know," said Fate to Fortune, once, "Why men so love and court and honor thee, Me fear and shun and hold in detestation." "The reason 's plain," said Fortune with a smile, "Thou hast a certain rude and savage way Which terrifies the vulgar, and which scarce Even the magnanimous hero bears with patience. My manners — thou 'It excuse the vanity — Are gentle, and conciliate esteem." "I do as much for men as thou, or more,' JJ Said Fate, "and should be liked at least as well." "It 's all our different manners, I insist," Said Fortune; "manners make the man, men say; I say it 's manners, manners make the God: Venus frowns never, Pallas never laughs. Who thinks of bowing to a limping Jove, Or to stand by him in the brunt of battle, Invokes a civeted, spruce, smirking Mars? Let 's put it to the test. Fate; I '11 take thine. And thou, my manners, and we '11 separate here. To meet again soon, and compare experience." So said, so done; they parted, met again. And thus to Fortune with a smile said Fate: "Well! men are fools, who from the manner form Their judgment of the matter. Here, take back Thy gracious, condescending, winning ways. And give me back my dignity austere. Men's homage is not worth the pains to please them." But Fortune now accustomed to grand pas And sullen state retired, and dignity, And to indulge her humor: — "Not so fast, Good sister Fate; "in medio tutius itur." Keep thou one half of mine, and I 'II of thine One half keep, and we '11 be henceforth the same In manner, as we 've heretofore the same In heart and spirit been, and love and purpose, Unanimous, indissoluble, one.'' Fate, nothing loath, agreed, and from that day The sisters pass indifferent for each other. Fate in good humor being Fortune called. And frowning, disobliging Fortune, Fate. So runs the myth; receive it, if you like; I, for my part, believe that Fate and Fortune Are but one person called by different names, And answering to either on occasion, A female Janus with both pairs of eyes Bandaged, and bearing keys in either hand, Rusty and little used those in the right. The keys of Good; those in the left, smooth worn With never ceasing use, the keys of 111. Walking from Carkaka to Pisa, Jan. 30 and 31, 1861. "Vendere velle rosas inquis; cniil sis rn^a, ((iiacro Teue rosasno velis, virgo, an utrumqup dare?" Akios'J'i Who '11 a blushing red rose buy?" Rob heard Rose, the flower girl, cry, Selling flowers as she went by, And, quick witted, answered: — "I! But thou 'It sell cheap — small 's my pelf" — "I '11 not take less than thyself" "Self and all I have, is thine; With this kiss I make thee mine." ''More I ask not. Take thy kiss Back again — and this — and this." So the pair the bargain close. And Rob 's got his long loved Rose. (Jasa Cabtomi ai Cavalleggieei, Leghorn, Febr. 28, IHfit. EARLY CLOSING. Don't talk to me of morals and improvement And closing for the night at six o'clock, And the whole livelong summer evening spent In recreation in the open air, Or useful books at home, or conversation, Till the bell rings for supper, prayers and bed, To rise betimes, and ply a^ain till six Some pettifogging, half dishonest trade Pence gathering and with long care making rich. The daisy far outdoes thee, which observes No rule of closing but the paling light, And, under heaven's o-\ra free and airy vault, Spends not the evening only but the day And livelong night; which has no need of books Oft dull, or convei'sation duller still, Or trade demoralizing, or to leave Widow and children well provided for When at the last it yields to stronger Fate And goes the way both flesh and grass must go. Most wise young man, and piomising as wise, The "modest, crimson-tipped flower" outdoes thee, Nor thee alone, but me and all the race. Walking from Pietea .Sasta to Careara, Mfiy 24, 1861, 10 SAXON BARD AND MILESIAN SCHOLIAST. Ihis elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloomed with its owner a while, And the tear that is wiped with a little address May be followed, perhaps, by a smile." SCHOLIAST. For roses and tears, though not like in themselves. Agree in one point, we all know: That roses bloom longer when not shaken hard, And tears, well dried up, cease to flow; And siioner or later, the smile 's sure to come That chequers this valle}^ of woe; Just as fairer and sweeter and longer lasts still ( )f a gingerly pulled rose the blow. Walking from Auazzano (near Piacenza) to Boegonovo, May 30, 1861. HOUSE OF CAEDS. 1 HE wind has blown down my house of cards, Alas, and alack-a-day !" I heard a child once with sobs and tears To his spectacled grandmother say. "What matter? what matter V" old grandmother cried, As she laid her green spectacles down, "Thou hast nothing to do but to build up another; See, there are thy cards every one.'' And so says the poet: Thou grown-up child. When the wind blows thy house of cards down, Thou hast nothing to do but to build up another; See, there are thy cards every one. For one house of cards is as good as another, It 's the building each up is the fun; Strive thou as thou wilt to make one last for ever. Thou canst not, else wert thou undone. Walking from Alt St. Johann (Canton St. Gallen) to Hembeeo, July 1, 1861. 147 HOS EGO. Wo hand but mine these verses made; To another's pen the honor 's paid: So birds their brood for others rear^ So sheep their wool for others bear, So bees their sweets for others house, For others so the strong ox ploughs. Forgive me, Maro, if 1 'm wrong, Or ill interpreted thy song. GossAU (Canton St. Gallen), July 2, 1861. "Speech is God's gift to enable Man to hide His thoughts at pleasure." said wise Talleyrand. Whence I conclude that either sj)eech was not. In the opinion of wise Talleyrand, God's gift to enable man to hide his thoughts. Or that wise Talleyrand God's gift abused This once, this only ouch in a]l his life. Walking from Waldenbucu to P,chtk);iiin«en near .'^ttitt(!akt, July 19, 1861 HOW DO? As once I walked contemplative In dirty Dublin street, I chanced, by good luck or by bad, A lounging friend to meet; He asked me how I was, and T Said, I was very well, And begged he 'd be so good as how He was himself, to tell: — "I do not know, I cannot say," My friend, he answered me, "He is a wise man knows himself; In that we all agree." "Yes, to be sure," said I, and bowed, And went upon my way: And every time I 'm asked since then, "How do ?" think of that day, And wish so wise were all my friends, And I myself so wise. Not to provoke with questions vain, As idle, vain replies. Show me the man that how he is, Or how he is not, knows; And I '11 show thee the stream that up Its native hill-side flows. Walking from Beilsteis to Heimried (Wurttemberg), July 22, lofil. 149 Belinda from the glass turns wroth away, Which shows her beauty's premature decay: Where is the reader who a second look E'er casts upon a plain, truth-speaking book? ALITBR. "Ha! false glass," Belinda cries, And the tear starts to her eyes, "I am not, if truth were told. Half so ugly or so old." Into shivers, as she spoke, With her hand the wroth maid broke Her too faithful glass and true: So, be sure, they '11 do to you, My too faithful book and true. Call you false, and, in a rage, Tear or blot or burn your page. And to hide their well earned shame, Vilify your author's name. Let them do it if they will; Me, these times, they cannot kill. Cannot burn me at the stake. And truth's martyr of me make : .So they '11 wreak their wrath on you, My too faithful book and true. Walking from Neckabelz to Mudau (Wuettembekg), July 30, 1861. A.N air balloon, it seemed, or diving-bell, Or skiff whose sails the wind with gentle swell Before it puffed; but 'twas my Emmeline, Rigged, for the first time, out, in crinoline. "Fool!" to myself cried I, as from a dream Wakening alarmed, "few things are what they seem.' Walking from Neckaeelz to Mudau (Wukttembehu), July 30, 1861. MOTTO FOR THE author's SIX PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE HEROIC TIMES. JjEHOLD a new pump to the Mantuan spring! Fill up your cups, ye thirsty, with the clear. Fast-gushing lymph, and drink and be refreshed, And thank with grateful heart the diligent Pumpborer's leathern hand, and arm robust. And sweat in the early morning hour, unseen Save by the rising sun and soaring lark. Drink, and be glad, as sparkling bright a draught As ever welled from the Maeonian fount, Or old, blind puritan's yet holier spring. Drink deep and drain the cup — there are no lees. LoBENSTEiN fRsuss), Sept. 14, 1861. Up to the ears, I have heard it said, A man may be in love, But that he may up to the eyes, My business 'tis to prove. A man may be so deep in love It covers both his eyes, Else why is Cupid painted blind? Answer me that, ye wise. Now if a man may be in love Deep over both his eyes, Up to the eyes that he may be, Need not, I think, surprise. Up to the eyes, I have been in love, Up to the ears, I have been; Over both eyes and ears in love, An odd time I have been seen ; Over both eyes and ears, but not Until today quite drowned, Able to touch, until today, With tippy-toes the ground. The why I know, but shall I tell Or leave the world to guess? Out with it ! out ! — I met today, Today first time, my Bess (lAhA CsTiTONi Ai Cavalleggieri, LKriHORN, Jan. 14, 1?6'2. Know ttine own self, the wise man said of old, And many a time the advice has been re-echoed: Know thine own self. But / say: if thou 'rt wise, What need hast thou to know it? if a fool, What whit less fool art thou because thou know'st it? So study others, friend, and not thyself; Cleave to the wise fast, and eschew the fool, And leave 't to others so to do by thee. Casa Caktoni ai Cavalleggieki, Leghorn, Nov. 21, 1861. I HAVE three friends who read my books And love both them and me, Baumgarten one, Alonzo two, My Sophy, she makes three. I wish they all were here — yet no, I were too happy then; Such perfect bliss is not on earth, Nor for the sons of men. Enough for me the human lot Of mingled bliss and woe; Enough of bliss to see one come; Of pain, to see one go. "I '11 hear no more," Dame Fortune cried, And rolled off on her wheel; "Ungrateful! who from me hast had A triple share of weal. "Happy the man who has one friend. And thou own'st thou hast three." But I cried after her: — "Forgive; I meant not to tax thee, "Or count my friends, the many friends I love, and who love me; I did but boast an idle boast — My books were read by three." Leghokn, Febr, 23, 1862. ROMA, CAPITALE D' ITALIA. Louis Nap, I 've heard say, 's the main spring that makes go The great clock of France, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Balderdash! Louis Nap 's but the hour-hand that shows How fast or how slow the great clock of France goes ; And till the clock strikes, his friend Victor must wait. Like a wolf looking in from the wrong side the gate On a savoury boue in the house lapdog's paws, Whilst the slaver runs down on the ground from his jaws. God keep the gate shut, make the good cause his own. And save from the robber both lapdog and bone ! Casa Caktohi ai Cavalleggieei, Leghobn, Dec. 24, 1861. IWO hundred men and eighteen killed For want of a second door! Ay, for with tw6 doors, each ton coal Had cost one penny more. And what is it else makes England great, At home, by land, by sea, But her cheap coal, and eye's tail turned Toward strict economy? But if a slate falls off the roof And kills a passer-by, Or if a doctor's dose too strong Makes some half-dead man die, * At ten o'clock on the morning of Thursday, January 16, 1862, the great iron beam of the steam-engine which worked the pumps of the Hester coal pit near Hartley in Northumberland, snapped across, and a portion of the beam, 40 tons in weight, fell into the shaft, tearing away the boarded lining so that the earthy sides collapsed and fell in, filling up the shaft in such a manner as not only to cut off all communication between the interior of the pit and the outer world, but entirely to obstruct all passage of pure air into, and of foul air out of, the pit. All the per- sons who were at work below at the time, two hundred and eighteen in number, were of course suffocated, nor was it until the seventh day after the accident that access could be had to the interior of the pit, or anything, We have coroners and deodands And inquests, to no end, And every honest Englishman 's The hapless sufferer's friend, And householder's or doctor's foe, For he has nought to lose. And fain vsdll, if he can, keep out Of that poor dead man's shoes. But if of twice a hundred men. And eighteen more, the breath Is stopped at once in a coal pit. It 's quite a natural death ; For, God be praised! the chance is small That either you or I Should come, for want of a second door, In a coal pit to die. Besides, 'twould cost a thousand times As much, or something more, To make to every pit of coal A second, or safety door, As all the shrouds and coffins cost For those who perish now For want of a second door, and that 's No trifle, you '11 allow; beyond the mere fact ot their entombment, ascertained concerning the helpless and unfortunate victims of that 'auri sacra fames' which so gene- rally, so heartlessly, so pertinaciously refuses the poor workers in the coal mines of England, even the sad resource of a second staple or air shaft. See the Illustrated London News of Jan. 25, and Febr, 1, 1862. And trade must live, though now and then A man or two may die; So merry sing "God bless the Queen," And long live you and I; And, Jenny, let each widow have A cup of Congo strong. And every orphan half a cup, And so I end my song. With prayer to God to keep coal cheap, • Both cheap and plenty too. And if the pit 's a whole mile deep, What is it to me or you? For though we 're mortal too, no doubt, And Death for us his sithe Has ready still, the chance is small We ever die of stithe. And if we do, our gracious Queen Will, sure, a telegram send. To say how sore she grieves for us And our untimely end; And out of her own privy purse A sovereign down will pay. To have us decently interred And put out of the way; And burial service shall for us In the churchyard be read, And more bells rung and more hymns sung Than if we had died in bed : For sucli an accident as this May never occur again, And till it does^ one door 's enough For pumps, air, coal, and men; And should it occur — which God forbid! And stifle every soul, Remember well, good Christians all, Not one whit worse the coal. Casa Cartoni ai Cavam-eggieki, Leuhoen, FeVjr. 25, 1862. When I was young I had so much of life, I set small value on it, and cared only For that of which I had but little — riches. Now I am old and rich, I little care For that of which I 've much, and set all value On that of which I have little, and which grows, Visibly, with each sunset, less and less. So it 's no matter whether young or old, Or rich or poor, there 's something still to love, Something to allure us on to act and suffer, And play our double part out to the end. C'asa Cartoni ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Dec. 1861. A MAN 's a fool, I Ve heard it said, Or can, at forty, tell How with his health a thing agrees. Be it for ill or well. Why, to be sure! who doubts a fact So staring plain and clear? Can tell; but does he know, himself? That is the question here. Can tell, ay, vow and swear it 's true, But all the while he 's wrong; Even at twice forty doesn't well know The colour of his tongue. Or how he is, or how he isn't, Or what agrees or well Or ill with him, but, not the less, He 's certain he can tell ; And sometimes twice as much can tell And doubts not he tells true: The pill that has agreed with him Is just the pill for you; The pill; the creed — Come, open wide Your mouth, and swallow down; Well done ! On earth yoiir bile is cured ; In heaven, yours is the crown. Casa Cahtoni ai Cavalleggieiu, Lechosn, Febr. 23, 1862. LA LENGUA QUEDA, Y LOS OJOS LISTOS. Idle tongue and busy eyes Keep you safe, and make you wise; Idle eyes and busy tongue Put you ever in the wrong. "To your argument a truce; Who can say tongue 's of no use Who has heard my Lydia speak. Though she knows no word of Grreek, "Or that eyes can do no harm, Cupid's direst, deadliest arm? Lydia's eyes give you the lie ; Shot by Lydia's eyes, I die." Casa Cabtoni ai Cavalleggieri, Leghorn, Jan. 20, 1862. WRITTEN IN SCHOLASTICA'S DENKBUCH, SEEHAUS, ACHENSEE, Oct. 9, 1861. Mighty pleasant to get in, Hungry, tired, wet to the skin, And your fool's name enter here, And drink wine in place of beer. Dry and brush wet clothes and hat, Pat the dog and stroke the cat. Pay your reckoning, read the blatt, With th' obliging kellnerin chat, This surmise, and wonder that, Most of all why there 's no mat. And Scholastica less fat Than she was this time last year — Couldn't we get her to drink beer? See what comes of living here. On the shore of Achen lake. Far from the Pinacothek, RuhmeshalF and Glyptothek, And the Keller in the Thai, With its great beer and its small; Positive she must drink beer, If in Achen Gasthof here She would live another year, 161 11 See another summer sun Here on Achen lake go down, And not have the young May moon Shining on her grave as soon As it shines on Achen lake; Positive she must forsake Austrian wineslop, white and red, Bad for stomach, bad for head. And to kindly hops and malt, Malt and hops without a fault. Turn converted, and adhere Faithful, blameless, without fear." So he said — no cavalier, Though without reproach or fear — So he said, the Munich man. Longing for the Munich can, And the Keller in the Thai, With its great beer and its small. Then turned out, and back again Trudged through mud, cold, wind and rain, Which most pleasant he doesn't know — Well if it doesn't come on to snow! Dark the clouds and thick and low, And the lake it 's surging so — Back to Munich straight he '11 go. Back into the ZoUverein, And drink beer instead of wine, In the Keller in the Thai, With its great beer and its small. And the view of Achen lake Take in the Pinacothek, And some fine day, next July, When the roads tempt, white and dry, 162 And the clouds sail light and high, And smooth Achen waters lie Mirroring the bright blue sky, Come again and read the blatt, Pat the dog and stroke the cat, With th' obliging kellnerin chat, This surmise and wonder that, Has Scholastica grown fat, And at long and last a mat Grot to wipe the strangers' feet. And the stube floor keep neat — He '11 be here and — so won't I ; Down on me another sky. Another sun will look, in Rome, Dresden, or my sea-girt home, While on Achen lake I think. And of Memory's chalice drink. Idly studious, and the times Criticising in rough rhymes, Rhymes as little made as these. Any but myself to please. "Achen lake, good bye! good bye!" Said the Munich man; and I Said the same and heaved a sigh : — Achen lake, good bye! good bye! 11- "Earn moriens praecepit incendi." Ihou didst well, Maro, to decree With thy last breath, that burned should be The Eneid, every line; Not that unworthy it to live, But that unworthy we to receive The gift almost divine. [Walking from Bichelsee to Eschlikon in Canton Thuegau, July 11, 1862.] IHE art of speaking 's not, to speak the truth, But to persuade your hearers you speak true; For words the arms are, of the man of peace. As swords and guns are, of the man of war, And no great captain or great speaker yet Set other aim before him than success. It 's no great harm that right be on your side. And truth in all your words, but if you can't Persuade men that they are so, your breath 's lost. And grosser than the grossest wrong, your right. And fouler than the foulest lie, your truth. Woe to you ! woe ! and woe again ! vae victis ! [Walking from Ldtiseurg to Gossad, in the Canton St. Gaixen, July 12, 1862.] MUSIC. "c OOME music 's bad, some music 's good, But there 's no music is not rude;" — To my own Mary Ann I said, Charmer of my heart and head, As at a friend's we sipped our tea, One summer evening, I and she — "What! must we cease our chat, and sit Mumchance, because Adele thinks fit To turn her back on us, and squall To her piano and the wall? It is, I doubt not, very fine; Air, voice, and instrument, divine; But I don't choose to have mine ear Taken by storm and forced to hear; And, least of all, choose, when I 've thee. Sweet Mary Ann, for company. Sitting and prattling at my side. In thy youth and beauty's pride. Silence, and listen — she has begun; Not one word dare, until she has done: Come, Patience, to thy votary's aid — What a fine piece! — now that it 's played." [Walking from Htt,lesheim to Losheim in the Eifel, Aug. 20 — 21, 1862.] 165 LIFE. Life is a duty, not a privilege; A cup which must be drained, taste how it will; A road which, rough or smooth, one has to travel. Lament not, therefore, the approach of death. But rejoice, rather, that the cup is drunk. The road come to an end, discharged the duty. Still thou lamentest? ah! thy life has been A sweet cup, pleasant road, and grateful duty. [Rosamond, Eathgar Eoad, Dublin, June 15, I860.] Mine eye lights never on a bearded fop, Sir Capel or Sir Lionel or Earl Vane, Compound impertinent of ignorance And little - mindedness and valorous seeming. But I bethink me of the ditch -side weed Which makes so great show with its yellow flower And tall rank stalk in seed, and lion's fangs. But in whose veins, instead of lion's blood. Runs a weak, milky, and ignoble ichor, And all whose ways are groveling and lowly. And Piscialletto whose appropriate name. [Rosamond, Rathgar Road, Dublin, April 3, 1863.] Wo cat has two tails, I have heard And steadfastly believe; A cat has more tails than no cat, Or people me deceive. Now though it 's only one tail more A cat has, than no cat, A cat has three tails, I have proved; You '11 surely grant me that. [Rosamond, Dec. 18, 1863.] HOPE AND MEMORY. Shorter, like the morning shadow, Hope, gay Hope grows, every moment; Like the evening shadow, longer Grows sad Memory, every moment; Shorter Hope and Memory longer, Longer Memory and Hope shorter. Till Hope shortest. Memory longest. Die together on the grave's brink And in topple with their owner, And one long night covers All three. [TicKKOCK (Co. DuBLDf), Dec. 18, 1863.] 167 KNOWLEDGE. Knowledge is nought, for whether thou know'st much, Or whether little, thou must bow to Fashion; Nay, less than nought, for he who knows the most, Has most his nose wrung by the reigning Fashion. [Walking from Rosamond to Daikey, Nov. 30, 1862.] My old grandfather sported a very old wig; My old grandmother thought it a trifle too big Or a trifle too little, I don't well know which. And away the old wig went pop into the ditch. My old grandfather got a bad cold in his head. And his nose went drip - drop, like the spout at the shed. And he coughed and he wheezed, and he couldn't sleep at night, And, with his red night- cap, all day looked a fright; And no one who saw him but thought he would die, And he thought so himself too, and bid us good bye. But away my old grandmother trotted to town. And laid out the siller she had saved for a gown, To buy him a new wig and half pound of snuff. And next day my old grandfather 's all right enough. But has never stopped saying from that day to this, The old wig was a fit, and the new one a miss; Sometimes it 's too little, sometimes it 's too big. And he 'd rather, a hundred times, have the old wig. [Rosamond, Eathgae Egad, Dublin , Dec. 17, 1863.] "Al comparir del sol prendo respiro, Al tramontar del sol finieco e spiro." Motto on a. sundial in Fino near Turin. I. JliACH morn, I 'm born With the rising sun; Each even, forlorn. Die when day is done. n. loGBTHEE daily born, the sun and I Together daily live and daily die. III. With the sunrise I come in view, With the sunset I bid adieu. IV. 1 WORK as long as Sol 's in the sky; When Sol 's to bed, to bed go I. V. With the sunrise, I rise and run ; With the sunset, my race is done. VI. Punctual I rise with every morning sun. Punctual I set when my day's work is done And Eos puts her evening mantle on. [Walking from Pino near Tubin to Villa Nova, Sept. 18, 1864.] 169 Visiting the tomb of Beato Angelica, in the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, Rome, 1865. With reverence tread; these are no vulgar stones; Frate Giovanni here has laid his bones: Hic JACET Fra Giovan da Fiesole. If ever painter painted heaven, 'twas he; If ever painter's spirit went to heaven, Da Fiesole's went, all trespasses forgiven. So, if in heaven there 's painting, heaven beware This earth of ours be not so passing fair Painted, that angels discontented grow With heaven itself, and yearn for things below. oEE where in broad array the Wheaten host Covers the field, each warrior at his post. The same determined will pervades them all, For home and fatherland to stand or fall; Shrivel shall the heavens, the sun shall close his eye. Ere from his post one stout Wheat heart shall fly. Gare! gare! for yonder in the sunbeams glance Bright weapons, and the Reaper troops advance. "Forward !" 's the word, and, with their curved swords, low Cutting beneath the knee, they charge the foe. Prostrate the best of Wheaten Land are laid, Ere set in rest a spear, or drawn a blade. no "Hurrah! hurrah!" the conquering Reapers cry. There 's nothing for the brave, left, but to die. Vae victis! still, whoe'er the victibe, Broad Wheatland's sons or Rome's best chivalry; Nor ever gospel truer than the word By Brennus preached and Brennus' conquering sword. [Walking from Bibiena over the Consdma to Pontabsievb near Floeenck, July 4, 1865.] CATCH FOE A PARTY OP TOURISTS DISAPPOINTED OP BEDS IN THE INN OP BELVEDERE, IN THE PASS BETWEEN LA VALTBLLINA AND VAL OAMONICA, AND DRINKING TILL A LATE HOUR IN THE ARBOUR IN FRONT OP THE INN. They 'U not let us in, they vow and swear; Ah! little they know, how little we care; Our sleep will be sweeter here in the fresh air, And every one of us will have to spare What his bed would have cost, a fiorino or pair; — Ancor un boccale, camerier — For, every apple — it has a core; And every heart — it has a sore; And every sTsy — it has a cloud; And every wind — at times pipes loud; So push the bottle round, boys. Take pleasure where it 's found, boys, Let mirth and song resound, boys, And Care in wine be drowned, boys, And Joy our king be crowned, boys, 171 Then where most flowers abound, boys, At ease stretched on the ground, boys. We '11 sleep till morning, sound, boys, So push the bottle round, boys, So push the bottle round, boys. POET'S verse, I Ve heard it said. By the file is polished. Pshaw! the file does but make rough Scrapes and scratches the best stuff. Nothing poet's verse so well Polishes as poet's knell: — "Ding dong bell. The poet 's dead!" Poet's verse is polished. [Chbistiabsteasse, Dresden, Dec. 24, 1865.] Happy the man who sees the world As it neither was nor is Nor ever shall be! optimist — High honored name is his. But who the world sees as it is And was and still shall be — What name is bad enough for him? Vile pessimist is he. [Stedvesteasse, Deesdbn, Jan. 19, 1866.] 172 "Huic monatro Volcanus erat pater; illius atros Ore vomena ignis, magna se mole ferebat. lUe autem Faucibus ingentem fumum, mirabile dictu, Evomit, inTolvitque domum caligine caeca, Prospectum eripiens oculis, glomeratque sub antro Fumiferam noctem commixtis igne tenebris. Non tulit Alcides animis." 1 AM the pink of courtesy As I smoke my cigar, And whifF and pufif, and spit about, And near, am smelt, and far. Yet come not near, sweet ladies dear, If you 'd not bum your clothes; See how the sparks fly from the quid Sticks out below my nose. I vow and swear I take all care To save your crinolines. But sparks will fly, and fire will burn, Were ye all sceptered queens. The smell is not of violets, I never will deny, And delicate olfactories Will do well to fight shy, 173 And keep full six yards off from me Here in wide open street, And quick let both the sashes down, In steamcoach when we meet. There 's not a morning comes, but I Take pains to brush away From coat, necktie and gloves, the stale Odour of yesterday; In spite of all my pains, I own, Some hangs about me still. But, well I know, so good your hearts, Ye will not take it ill. You 're bound in love, in duty bound. So much from us to bear. The smell of a cigar will not Weigh in the scale one hair. But that we should the same from you Take patiently in turn, And only love you all the more, The more our clothes ye burn, The more of yesterday's cigar Your silks are redolent. The more reichsthaler, every year. Are in the luxus spent, The more your lips are red and swelled. The less your breath is sweet — That is a creed I never held. Since first I strode the street. A schoolboy rule is tit for tat, Not fit for ladies' use, And that good sauce for gander is What good sauce is for goose. For though your woman's stomach 's made Of the same stuff as ours. And thirsts and hungers, every day, At the same stated hours, Yet kindly Nature has on you, So much the weaker sex. Bestowed immunity from qualms Which mightiest heroes vex; And you can keep your spirits up, And healthy appetite sound. Without one whiff of a cigar The whole, long twelvemonth round. Favored of heaven, ye know not what He bears, the wretched man. Who, with bare five cigars a day, Must put up as he can; Who has not his Havana fresh, To keep him in right tune, Before and after every meal, Morning, and night, and noon; One to enable him his eyes To open to the light. And, when that 's done, another one, And so on until night; 176 And one while for the bed he strips, And one, when he gets in; And, if he 's restless in the night, A little one 's no sin. And with another little one Eked out, will keep away Qualms, which without his nicotine Beset him, night and day. How blest your lot, ye little wot, Who, if such qualms ye feel. Have resolution from all eyes Your sufferings to conceal. Angels ye are who not alone So well your own griefs bear. But even for griefs imposed by us Some patience have to spare. We need it all, and count on you — Let us not count in vain; Some twelve cigars per day allow. And we will not complain; But, in all due acknowledgment, As often as we meet. Whether on horseback or on foot, In park or open street. Out of our mouths will take cigar Till you have clear passed by, Showing, alike, respect for you. And magnanimity; 176 And he who can't so long abstain, Or will not; if he can. It 's not enough to call him rude, He is not even a man. But I, who can and will — I am Of courtesy the star, And, to each lady passing by, I lower my cigar. In sign how much I honor her, How little for self care. What sore privation for her sake I 'm ready still to bear. Deservedly is Bacchus praised. Well earned Gambrinus' fame. But I revere and honor more Jean Nicot's glorious name. Hurrah, then, for Havana mild! For Nicot loud hurrah! — Sir, might I have a little fire? I thank you, sir — hurrah ! [SiKirraSTRASSE , Deesden, March 3, 1866.] TO AN ETHNOLOGIST. (jive up your search; the world's tribes are but two, Cheaters and cheated; of which tribe are you? [Steuvestrasse, Dkesdbn, January 21, 1866.] m 12 1 HAD a friend, a learned friend, Who laid upon orthography much weight; His life came to untimely end — Listen, and I '11 to you the tale relate. It was in winter, and the days Were dark and dismal, and he had no fire, Yet not the less he studied still Whether with Q or CH to spell choir. And now to Q he was inclined, And now CH appeared to have more weight; But etymology the scale At last made to CH preponderate. Rejoiced, he wrote to me same night, Telling me how his doubts were at an end. And begging, if I knew myself, I 'd be so kind to tell a faithful friend. What right had colour to be spelled. Or HONOUR, or even odour, with an U, U being as foreign to the root. As, to Great Britain, king of Timbuctoo. 178 He owned he once had satire spelled, Once, since he was accountable, with Y, And, an upbraiding conscience said, Had piGSTiB perhaps twice put for pigsty. I wrote him word back by the post: "Much as I honored Etymology, 'Twas not by her but Common Use Such weighty questions could decided be; "That in orthography no rule Of absolute right and wrong had yet been found. And Common Use was arbitress To furrow, with what plough she pleased, the ground: "Puts she her edict forth that none The ground henceforth with other plough shall dare To till than Gallic, woe to him Who turns one sod up with old Roman share! "And then I begged him not to let Pigstie's false I upon his conscience press Too heavily, for if on earth More than in name existed righteousness, "The wrong in pigstie done to Y Had been atoned for and made sound and whole By the wrong in sattee done to I; And he might lay that unction to his soul." Whether it were the winter cold With but orthography for fire and light. Or that he took to heart my joke, I cannot say, but that December night, m 12* He went for the last time to bed; And those who thought they knew him, but did not, Nor half his modest worth, a stone With name and date set up to mark the spot,^ Where one was laid, who had as well, And quite as conscientiously, his part In this great tragicomedy played. As any Galileo or Descartes. Peace to his Manes, and may I Without more circumstance my long adieu Bid to the boards, when I have come To the last word and flourish of my cue. [Stbuvestrasbe , Deesden, March 8, 1866.] MAD AND FOOL. TwAS only long years after I left school, I learned the difference between mad and fool. And that, although I am of each the brother, I 'm not exactly either one or other; Not thorough mad, for I do not suppose All the men in the world my deadly foes; Nor quite a fool, for I do not pretend That every man I meet 's my bosom friend. The juste milieu is mine, for I know well That every man 's my friend who has to sell Something I want to buy, and none my foe Save him who has no hope from me of mo'. [Steuvebteasse , DEEapBN, Pebr., 1866.] 180 TO A LADY.* oo thou 'dst haye me always sighing; See mine eyes for ever wet; Hear me always talk of dying: — Going to heaven: this house TO LET. By my faith, no; I 'm too old now, Far too old now, so to joke; To the stripling bard I leave it^ In the elegy to croak. Let the stripling bard who pleases, Hang with clouds his brightest day, Chaunt his Night Thoughts to the moonlight, In the haunted forest stray. Off, ye ghosts! off to your churchyards! Devils blue, I hate ye all: Spent, my day; I '11 spend my evening At gay Humour's fancy ball; * who had written to me that she admired my verses to the Griese (see page 188) written nearly fifty years ago, more than many of my later poems, and asked: "Why dost thou not always give play to thy natural feelings? why indulge in cold satire?" 181 There with Satire I '11 quadrille it; Waltz it there with Epigram, While the bagpipe and the fiddle Strike up lively: Life 's a sham. Not till after toll of midnight, Talk to me of rest or sleep; Once to bed, let no one wake me Out of slumber sweet as deep. [Struvesteasse , Dkesden, Febr. 11, 1866.] SOLDIER AND VIVANDIEEA. "Alternis dicetia, amant alterna Camenae." SOLDIER. lo sweeten one half of the year, VIVANDIEEA. Coir arte e coU' inganno SOLDIER. Yoii 've but to cheat and drink small beer; VIVANDIEEA. Si vive mezzo 1' anno; SOLDIER. To make the other half as sweet, VIVANDIERA. Coir inganno e coll' arte SOLDIER. You 've but to drink small beer and cheat. VIVANDIERA. Si vive r altra parte. [Steuvestrabse, Dresden, Jan. 3, 1866.] 182 COWPER'S ROSE. Ihe rose had been washed; just washed in a shower Which Mary to Anna conveyed;" — So Mary and Anna, no less than the flower, Got a washing which stood them in stead. And had I been the poet, I had taken my share Of a washing could do no one harm; Then, to dry the whole four, made a turn in the air. With a beautiful maid on each arm. And a red blushing rose in my coat button -hole, All the four so fresh, shining and gay, There 's no one who met us wouldn't say in his soul, "What a washing they 've all got today!" [Stbuvebtkasse, Dresden, April 16, 1866.] Who keeps a lapdog need seek no excuse; Its very use is — that it is no use. It 's superfluity that makes genteel; We cock a feather on buff coat and steel. [CHBISTIAK6TBASSE, DbESDEN, NoV. 19, 1865.] 183 HYPHEN AND HYIVIEN. IlTPHEN and Htjien! wizards skilled to couple Two blessed singles into one curst double. Hymened one wizard's own self, ht and phen, Hyphened the other wizard, hy and men. [STEim;STEASSE , Dresden, April 30, 1866.] Sub persona: — Mrs. Jane Hopkins, inviting the author to drink tea nith her on her eighty -fifth birthday, Jan. 5, 1844. If it please God I am alive Next Friday, I '11 be eighty-five; Come then, I pray, dear James, and spend That evening with your poor old friend. Who, with more joy, another year Will enter on, if you are here. Tea and hot cake we '11 have at seven; You '11 sing or dance until eleven; And I will sit and hear your song, Or see you trip the floor along To the piano's liveliest measure. Till eye and ear drink-in such pleasure That I forget my age's pain. And my old heart grows young again. Then, when you 've sung and danced your fill, To the pie we '11 fall, with right good will, 184 The Christmas pie of well spiced meat, For bishop or lord mayor, a treat. The pie discussed, we '11 wash it down With glass on glass of Stanley's brown Sherry, or port or calcavella. Till youth grows warm and age grows mellow, And then we '11 part, ere peep of light — So don't forget next Friday night. [FiTz WILLIAM - Squaee, Dublm, Jan. 2, 1844.] TO THEIR EXCELLENCIES, THE LORDS JUSTICES. My Lords Justices of Ireland, listen to me, rich James Lennox William Naper; Though you seem to know your business well, there 's no harm in giving you a flapper; It 's neither to amuse myself nor you, I write this present letter, * But just by way of practice, and the next, it will be better. I sat, as you know, on a Commission with his Grace, the Archbishop of Dublin, Hatching out the reason why the Irish tenantry keep the country such a trouble in, * For Mr. Naper's letter to the Lords Justices of Ireland, recommend- ing the building of the Irish workhouses, see Saunders' News-letter, Nov. 7. 1840. 185 And instead of paying their rents quietly, when the half-year day 's come round, Enroll themselves in Ribbon-clubs and hold possession of the ground: And if any one the courage has to ask for what 's his own, Pop! through his back a bullet goes, or at his head a stone; Or it 's maybe when the family 's just sitting down to tea, slugs patter In through the parlour window- sash, and cups and saucers shatter. We were hard put to it, I freely own, both myself and the Archbishop, But the true cause of all this trouble in the long run we did fish up: The tenants shoot their landlords, and refuse to pay their rent. Just because they have no workhouses to go into when all their MONEY 's SPENT. Now if by chance there is any one so dull as not to understand That this, and this alone, 's the true cause of all the troubles of the land. Let him only read the Answer your Excellencies lately wrote To the magistrates of the county where Lord Norbury was shot. And Mr. Biddulph wounded, in the broad, high noon of day. Men, women, and children looking on, just as if it were a play. But though your Answer, my Lords Justices, makes it seem to me as clear As moonshine, the moonshiniest night in Ireland round the year. That want of workhouses is the cause of all the sad ills we endure, And the building of workhouses the only sure and certain cure, Yet I 'm bold to tell your Lordships in as plain words as I can, When our workhouses are finished, we '11 be just where we began. It isn't that the landlords won't have to pay the rates, Which will swallow up the quarter or the half of their estates, — On the average, I mean, for, when the Union 's poor. The Guardians must the whole take, and the Act allows them, to be sure — But then the tenant to pay his rent won't have one penny more. And tenant- ejecting and landlord-shooting will go on just as heretofore, And one of your Excellencies may the first be, to be shot. Which, as a friend and fellow land -holder, I pray God he may not. But God is good, I need not tell you, my most excellent Lords Justices, And if you but make haste enough with the building of the workhouses. And to put the Act m. force, which to the Guardians of the poor Assigns over our estates, you will at once secure Not our precious lives alone, but whatever residue of our estates May be remaining over for us landlords, after payment of the rates; And in cases where there 's nothing left, there will still be refuge sure For the landlords, in the workhouses, as for any other poor. And now until the next time, my Lords Justices, adieu! Your most obedient servant, JAMES LENNOX WILLMM NAPER OF LOUGHCREW. [Fitzwilliam-Squaee, Dublin, Nov. 1840,] 167 TO THE KIVER GRIESE. OwEETLY unconscious flows thy gentle stream, Nor know'st thou aught of joy or misery; But I, a weary ti-aveller through life's dream, Must taste of joy and woe each strange extremity. How dear to me those banks in silence dipt And gently pressed by thy unheeding tide! How dear those trees in thy soft splendors dipt, Bending in fondness from thy parent side! But thou, — no lover's rapture speeds thy pace. This sacred spot approaching from afar; No lover's anguish bids thee stay to trace The last faint lines, ere fate's eternal bar For ever close upon thee — I must go. But not, like thee, indifferent. Turn, my feet; Joyous ye came — unwilling now, and slow: Farewell, ye hallowed haunts, Elizabeth's* retreat. [Written in Ballitore (Co. Kildake), June 1818, in Mary Leadbeater's garden on the Griese , being the author's first rencontre with one of the Nine. See page 181.] * Formerly the residence of Miss Elizabeth Smith, and still known by the name of The Reti-eat. See Fragments of the late Elizabeth Smith. 188 CONTENTS. [Titles are printed in capital letters, first lines in ordinary type.] Page Edward 's t6 the hunting gone 1 In what enchanted ground ... 3 "Ah! what 's the matter?" oft I cry 4 I took thee for a rose, thou 'rt but a poppy 4 Oehlenschlaeger 5 If I hadn't thee to love I would love something else 5 Inscription fob pedestal of a lately deceased poet's statue .... 6 In a lady's album 6 Wkitten on the margin of a leap of Goethe's faust 7 "How lovely these flowers, and how sweet the birds sing!" . . .7 Believe him not, no matter how he swears 8 To SEUNA 8 Oh, the pink of all mill'ners is sweet Poesy! 8 In the hardtwald, beside carlsruhe, March 12, 1856 9 "Old father Time, he loves thee so" 11 I dearly love the red, red rose 12 Blessed be the man who first invented chairs ! 13 It 'p n6t on the insect that creeps cautious forward 14 pntting a penny into a child's hand 14 After aesop 15 As little dog Faithful 15 'Twas in my study as I sat 16 Plant a robinia on your poet's grave 17 The EMiGirf; 18 Never was king so royally 18 No summer 's by one swallow made 19 There are two words the German says 20 A c61d heart and unfurnished head 20 Hebel 21 The p(5or man is the carpet spread between 22 YOUHG forester SINGS 23 My poem is the temple of the Muse 23 Page I walked, in the sun, by the side of a wood 24 The poet must know how to sing 25 At the kernel to get, thou must first break the shell 26 Never spider span so fine 26 My Polly is a paladin 27 In a lady's album . . . 28 And now I know thy bones lie here, vain poet . ... ... 28 One sunny April morning we were sauntering .29 The painting, to live long, must be a poem .... . . 29 Which was the better poet of the two . .30 "Proud, boastful Man," 'twas thus the herring said ... ... 30 My book 's the wide, wide, open field 31 "Of the worst of bad things still some use may be made" .... 31 In a lady's ai^um 32 Moslem wine - delnkee's catch 32 Insceiption foe saadi's tomb in schiraz 33 Because I am nobody, turn not, I beg .... .33 The aeab . . . . . . 34 The dead dog. a peesian fable . . .... 35 to hofkath j. ch. doll, on oiik leaving caelskohe, may 27, 1856 . . 35 Elisa begged I 'd go to her 36 I bade farewell to Antoinette .... . . 37 Foe the bust op mons. giambattista saetoei casova . , 38 In the albdm at possagno, August 1856 39 To SIGNOBA ELISA PAHOLINI, ON OUE LEAVING BASSAHO 39 Poet and albuji 40 to don pieteo abate bonvicini . . 40 to 3ign0s fsancesco ambeosi of boego in the val sugana 41 E6und this table, by this limp's light 42 Fare thee well! I don't complain that . 42 I saw, in Dresden, on a windy day 43 God bless the light, the best thing God e'er made 44 A little nearer, and a little nearer 45 Gladly I 'd go with my letter 45 'Twas the heat of the battle at Inkermann . 46 To T. N. COLE ESQ 48 To FEADLEIN MINNA QEMMEL OP MARIENWEKDEK 49 In powees' STUDIO, ploeence, Sept. 17, 1857 49 In powees' studio, floeence, Sept. 20, 1857 49 "Y6u make ill your books too long, sir,'' 50 With doses small of hellebore, beginning 50 So father Adam was his own born son 51 Near ancient Eome there was a place they called 52 Foe the title-page of my book 53 It happened once, in ancient Rome's Arena 53 The sterling g61d coin, issued from the mint . . . , 54 Pago Deplore, ye Graces, Chloe'a death deplore 54 I care not to divert, still less I care 55 God 's not the word thou oftenest hear'st in Rome ... ... 55 As I muttered to myself once 56 I am the hare; thou, reader, art the lion ... 56 Your gift 's the payment of a previous debt 57 If you d6n't know what 's a triie friend . . . . . .57 "Pshaw! the poetic breed 's extinct," said once. . . 58 Sing ding-a-dong-ding, boys, sing ding-a-dong-ding 58 Weigh well thy judgment, thou that judgest me 58 Decide, kind critic, of what stock we are come . . 59 "True wisdom whit is 't?" Let me think. True wisdom 59 "Halt! who goes there?" the sentry cried 60 To SELDJA 60 Fie! you 've s6 ill writ my verses . ... . . . . 61 Thou ask'st my counsel in this matter, friend . . . . ... 62 The wind said to the harp-string: — Softly thrill ... . . . 62 In the album of siqnok pkanoesoo baetoum .... . . .63 Louisa .64 I sing the captain and the pious arms . . 65 To LonisA, ON ouK LEAVING PisTOjA, April, 1858 65 On a terrace of the Hradschin .66 Johannes leis, lnnkeepek on the beennee, Sept. 30, 1856 69 Their tombs stand on the Appian, with their names 70 Once on a time I made a great acquaintance 70 I wish you joy, sir, of a son and heir 72 Fifty years and five, and upwards 73 Can you tell me, my fine little fellow, from what 74 Gr^at big fishes have great big mouths 75 The mighty puritan hoped, and he was right 75 In EMMA niendoef's (la baeonne suckow's) album 76 I closed mine eyes and, lo! beside my couch . . ' 76 His lordship had too much drunk and saw double 77 Life is a walk along a colonnade ... 78 Cadi mehaseb .' . . 78 The letters in the Book of Knowledge run 79 TheODOKIO TttE GOTH 80 William and emma 82 One womb maternal give birth to two brothers 84 To ADDAH 85 Fear, in the evening born, and nursed all night 85 Instbuctions pok a young poet 86 Said I, to my truelove: — "Come, marry me." 87 "K^ep the real Virgil far away," said Dryden 87 Page There is a way to be beloved 88 To SELIHA ON THE FIEST OF JANDAEY, WITH A JAR OF HONEY 89 To OVID DEPAETING FOK TOMI 89 They call her Morning Red. She is a damsel 90 They call her Evening Gray. She is a matron . . 90 Begone, come near me not, O most profane 91 "Fool!" said the sensualist to the laborious 92 All the whole world loves twaddle: — "How do you know?" ... 92 In Error's wood there are a thousand paths 93 "Judge me not, father!" said the ingenuous youth 93 The farmer's dairy and the poet's study 94 By Youth and Age alike, the present 's borne 95 Old father Time brings truth to light 95 It 's true to the letter 96 Snap 96 Sleep is a froward child who when you will 97 Inscription on an ego 98 Poetry to understand 98 We, though a little word of two short letters . 99 Peometheus and 10 100 "Pearls before swine , which turn again and r^nd you !" 101 Whether Truth is the child of Time 101 Anaceeontic 102 "Lay by your poem nine long years,'' says Horace 102 Inscription for the bank of Ireland , foemeely the irish parliament house 103 Byeon 103 "Wasting time!" time can't be wasted 104 Until it 's struck upon 104 Pretty Moon , whom I so often 105 A tap came to my bedroom door, one day 106 There wis a time the world admired 107 The chamois - hunter 108 A rare, scarce yet acclimatized exotic 108 The 61d song still, the 61d song still 109 Epitaph foe julius caesae .... 109 Whoever most successfully ignores 110 A poet's proposal of maeeiage 110 Whit race is it which a mdn runs Ill I follow n6t the rhymer's trade Ill Epitaph fob anaceeon 112 Loyal and fall of confidence in princes 112 Teuth and falsehood 113 Philosophy's labour lost 115 Eternal youth cann6t be and was never ... 115 "Fresh fish from Helicon! who '11 buy? wh,o '11 buy?" - 116 IT ' Page Look circumspect round you before Danger comes 116 The two lookisg- glasses JIT Like weeds which a, gardener throws out on the dunghill . . 117 In all things else thou mayst agree . . . 118 Ajsniveksaby of my motheu's death .... . 118 The Don, he has bestrode his steed . . . . ... 119 Wind, woman and king 120 Forget the past, fear not the morrow . 122 Only God sees the heart. True, of all hearts . 122 I know some wiseacres who think . . . 122 The lamp no light shows, when I 'm far . . 123 FuAr.MEST. I. . . . .... . . 125 The nise maidens of cracow. .... . . 127 Advice. . . ... 131 Once on a time it happened, it 's full many a year ago . . . 131 Following the example of Saint Patrick's dean . . . . . 132 Fragment. II. . . . . . . 138 I daily come and daily go . . . . . ... 141 foktuna favet fortibus . ... 142 Fate and fortune . . . . . ... 142 "Who '11 a blushing red rose buy?"" 144 Early closing . . ... . 145 Saxon bard and milesian scholiast . . . 146 House of cards 147 Hos EGO '. . 148 Speech is God's gift to enable Man to hide 148 How DO? ... . . . . . 149 Belinda from the glass turns wroth away . . 150 An air balloon, it seemed, or diving-bell . 151 Motto for the author's six photographs of the heroic times . 151 Up to the ears, I have heard it said . . 152 Know thine own self, the wise man said of old . 153 I have three friends who read my boobs ... . 153 EOMA, CAPITALE d' ITALIA 154 Two hundred men and eighteen killed 155 When I was young I had so much of life 158 A man 's a fool, I 've heard it said ... 159 La lengua queda, y los ojos listos . 160 Wkitten in scholasiica's denkbuch, seehaus, achenseb, Oct. 9, 1861 . 161 Thou didst well, Maro, to decree .... 164 The art of speaking 's not, to speak the truth , 161 Music . .... . . 165 Life • . . 166 Mine eye lights never on a bearded fop . . . . . ... 166 No cat has tw6 tails, I have heard .... .... 167 Hope and memory . . . ' .... 167 Page Knowledge ... .... . . . 168 My old grandfather sported a very old wig . . 1G8 Each morn, I 'm born . . . . .... 169 Visiting the tomb op eeato angelico, in the chdkch op santa maria sopRA MiNEHVA, Rome, 1865 .... 171) See where in broad array the Wheaten host . 170 Catch foe a party op tourists. . 171 Poet's verse, I 've heard it said . 172 Happy the man who sees the world 172 I am the pink of courtesy . . 173 To AN ethnologist .... . . . . 177 I had a, friend, a learned friend . . ... 178 Mad AND pool ...... .... 180 So thon 'dst have me always sighing . . . 181 Soldier and vtvandiera. . ... . .182 Cowpee's rose . 183 Who keeps a lapdog need seek no excuse ... ... 183 Hyphen and hymen ... . . 184 Sub persona: — mrs. jane hopkins, inviting the aithor to drink tea with her . . . . 184 To THEIR excellencies , THE LORDS .TUSTICES 185 To THE RIVER GRIESE. . 1''8 CORRIGENDA in POEMATIA: Page 18, line 1, instead of EMIGRE read EMIGRE. Page 35, line 4 from top, instead of As read As Page 44, line 8 from top, instead of day's read Day's Page 66, line 1, instead of On read On Page 74, lino 7 from top, instead of sto u t-heart, read stont heart. Page 94, line 2 from top, after both supply comma. in ]\JY BOOK: Sign. H4, line 4 from bottom, instead of dnd takes read an d takes in A HALF YEAR'S POEMS: Page 53, line 7 from bottom, instead of v^nta read f6nda Page 55, line 8 from bottom, instead of venta, read f6nda, in THALIA PETASATA: Page 26, line 15 from top, instead of pallid purple read pallid, primrose Page 61, instead of lines 9 — 15 from top, read: High on the Bpur's alluvium - covered slope. Above our heads it stands, upon the right, Commanding wide the prospect of the valley From westward Monte Pin's and Maddalena's Conical summits and the hamlets spread White at their base — Preghena and Varol, Tjanza, Mi6n, and Cort — by Nos ravine (Under Mont' Ozol's opposite, sunny side) Cagn6, Rev?) and Castel Malgolo, To dear San Zeno, eastward, and Verdfes, And high Revenna's dolomitic range This side the Landl and the Vale of Adige. Page 118, line 5 from bottom, instead of tass ell ed read tas- seled Page 185, line 11 from top, instead of rolled read dragged Page 185 after the last line, insert: Second and greater Romnlus, nnforetold, Unsung, undeified, to whose straw-roofed hut North of the Danube, the first Romulus' heirs Sending their quit- rent punctual, had leave To hold their smoking ruins, unmolested. in RELIGION, WORDLY- MINDEDNESS AND PHILOSOPHY: Page 23, line 4 from the end, after dreams read: of Descartes and Voltaire and Frederick the Great, of Helvetius and Diderot, of Hobbes and Hume and Spinoza -and Kant and Bayle and Gibbon and Hum- boldt and Goethe, but not daring even so much as to mention the name of one of them in reputable society. in BRITISH LEGATIONS: Page 4, line 5 from top, instead of pleas -lire read plea- sure Page 6, line 4 from bottom, instead of hour's denuncia- tion read hour's hearty denunciation Page 7, line 5 fi-om bottom, instead ofRussel read Russell Page 12, line 4 from bottom, after trout, insert: sometimes — no, not "whistling as I went, for want of thought," but thinking as I went, for want of whistle, how far it was or was not owing to the good offices, on both sides, of that drowsy pacifi- cator. Bavarian beer, we had not had long ere this, another Sir Wm. Mc Naghten shot through his 'heart here in Munich l.iy another Akhbar Khan , another Mr. Olipliant or Mr. Alcock dangerously wounded, and perhaps, at this very moment, another nice little Afl'ghan or Japanese war on our hands with these German barbarians — of***^'—^^ [1! ^^'' f^- ^\ 7 fl# VI ^