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PS 1591 E5P7 ""'""""•^ '-"•"•^ 
 Poems 
 
 3 1924 021 970 003 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this bool< is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021970003 
 
■^ \_N"\ X\ ^^ ■'-K ^ VK\i \-\"\ W\.H V ^i K\A ^M"\ ^ ' 
 
 Tfu,^iuChor of ipm.scnojv:i:. mat zs iJu ffr/^to 
 
POEMS 
 
 ERAS T us W. ELLSWORTH 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 F. A. BROWN 
 
 M . D C C C . L V 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1855, by 
 
 E. W. ELLSWOETH, 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Connecticut. 
 
 If ^^"^J/^ 
 
 PRINTED DY CASE, TIFFANY AND COMPANY. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PA8E 
 
 The Chimes, 13 
 
 Aeiadne, 18 
 
 Beady for the Chase, . ... 58 
 
 Putnam's Awakening, 61 
 
 Charter Oak, 71 
 
 The Seasons, 73 
 
 Lines written in "Pilgrim's Progress," . 80 
 
 Crazy Kate, 83 
 
 St. Valentine, • . 87 
 
 Esther's Feast, .90 
 
 Mount Vernon, 93 
 
 The Yankee, 104 
 
 The Mayflower, Ill 
 
 TULOOM, .... 115 
 
vni 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 rAGE 
 
 ExCEliPTS FROM AK EpiSTLE TO A FrIEND, 122 
 
 A Railroad Lyric, 132 
 
 Mary Queen of Scots' Farewell to France, 144 
 A Look-Out, . . . .146 
 
 To Kate . . ISO- 
 Shakespeare, ... . .152 
 
 Burns, . 154 
 
 March Birds, 160 
 
 A Ballad of Nathan Hale, . . . 162 
 
 SOKG, . .... 189 
 
 The Talisman, . . ... 190 
 
 CuriD AND the Wasp, . .... 192 
 
 The Cock of the Walk, .... 200 
 Brevities. 
 
 I., . 204 
 
 II., . . . ... 206 
 
 HI., , . 2or 
 
 IV., . 208 
 
 v., . 209 
 
 VI., . . 210 
 
 VU., .... 211 
 
 VIII., 212 
 
 Socrates to his Friends, . . . 213 
 
 A Domestic Lyric, . . . . 217 
 
 The Violet, . . 222 
 
 What is the UseV . ... 225 
 
 A Millennial PsAr.:\r, . _ _ 238 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 E N I G 31 .\. T I C P O E 5r S . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. The Baebaeous Fate ov De Couecy, . 249 
 
 II. The Stbasbueg Spiee, . . . . 263 
 m. Feiae Bacon anticipated, . . . 256 
 IV. The Metamoephosis, . . 262 
 
 V. Alexandee's Vision, .... 267 
 
 Solution of Enigmatic Poems, . . . 273 
 
^^Jionieo, — What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? 
 
 Or shall vre on, without apology? 
 
 Bcnvolio. — The date is out of such prolixity." 
 
 Romeo and JoJiei. 
 
THE CHIMES. 
 
 It was evening in New England, 
 And the air was all in tune, 
 
 As I sat at an open window. 
 In the emerald month of June. 
 
 From the maples by the roadway 
 The robins sang in pairs. 
 
 Listening, and then responding, 
 Each to the other's airs. 
 2 
 
14 
 
 POESIS. 
 
 Sounds of calm that wrought the feeling, 
 
 Of the murmur of a shell — 
 Of the drip of a lifted bucket, 
 
 In a wide and quiet well. 
 
 And I thought of the airs of bargemen. 
 
 Who tunefully recline, 
 As they float by Ehrenbreitstein, 
 
 In the twilight of the Rhine. 
 
 And then of an eve in Venice, 
 And the song of the gondolier. 
 
 From the far lagunes replying 
 To the winged lion pier. 
 
 And then of the verse of Milton, 
 And the music heard to rise 
 
 Through the solemn night, from angels 
 Stationed in Paradise. 
 
THE CinMES. J^5 
 
 Thus, I said, it is with music ; 
 
 Wheresoe'er at random thrown. 
 It will seek its own responses, 
 
 It is loth to die alone. 
 
 Thus, I said, the Poet's music, 
 Though a lonely native air. 
 
 May appeal unto a rhythm 
 That is native everywhere. 
 
 For, although, in scope of feeling, 
 Human hearts are far apart. 
 
 In the depths of every bosom 
 Beats the universal heart — 
 
 Beats with wide accordant motion, 
 And the chimes amid the towers 
 
 Of the grandest of God's temples 
 Seem as if they might be ours. 
 
2g POEMS. 
 
 And we grow in such a seeming^ 
 Till, indeed, we may control 
 
 To an echo, our communion 
 
 With the good and grand in souL 
 
 As an echo in a valley 
 
 May revive a cadence there. 
 
 Of a bell that may be swaying 
 In a lofty Alpine air — 
 
 As a screen of tremulous metal, 
 From the rolling organ tone, 
 
 Rings out to a note of the musie 
 That can never be its own — 
 
 As an earnest artist ponders 
 
 On a study nobly wrought. 
 Till his fingers gild his canvas 
 
 With a touch of the self-same thought- 
 
TUB CHIMES. 
 
 But the sun had now descended 
 
 Far along his cloudy stairs, 
 And the night had come like the angels 
 
 To Abraham, unawares. 
 
 17 
 
ARIADNE. 
 
 [Scene, part of the island of Naxos. Sundiy Diyads, hab- 
 ited as fair young girls, bearing branches and flowers, advance.] 
 
 1st Dryad. 
 
 We shadowy Oceanides, 
 Jove's warders of the island trees — 
 The tufted pillars tall and stout, 
 And all the bosky camp about, 
 Maintain our lives in sounding shades 
 Of old Eolian colonnades; 
 But post about the neighbor land, 
 [n woof of insubstantial wear. 
 
ARIADNE. 
 
 19 
 
 Our ways are on the water-sand, 
 
 Our joy is in the desert air. 
 
 The very best of our delights, 
 
 Are by the moon of summer nights. 
 
 Darkness to us is holiday, 
 
 When winds and waves are up at play ; 
 
 When, on the thunder-beaten shore 
 
 The swinging breakers split and roar. 
 
 Then is the moment of our glory. 
 
 In shadow of a promontory. 
 
 To trip and skip it to and fro. 
 
 Even as the flashing bubbles go. 
 
 Or, on the bleaker banks that lie, 
 
 For the salt-seething wash, too high, 
 
 Where rushes grow so sparse and green. 
 
 With baked and barren floors between. 
 
 We glance about in mazy quire. 
 
 With much of coming and retire ; 
 
 Nor let the limber measure fail 
 
 Till, down behind the ocean bed, 
 
 The night-dividing star is sped. 
 
20 POEMS. 
 
 And Cynthia stoops the marish vale, 
 Wound in clouds and vigil pale ; 
 Trailing the curtains of the west 
 About her ample couch of rest. 
 
 Thus, nightly on, we lead the year 
 Through all the constellated sphere. 
 But more obscure, in brakes and bowers. 
 During the sun-appointed hours. 
 We lodge, and are at rest, and see 
 Dimly the day's festivity — 
 Nor hail the spangled jewel set 
 Upon Aurora's coronet; 
 Nor roam the park, nor tramp the pool 
 Of lucid waters pebble-cool; 
 Nor trail in any morning dew. 
 Nor heed the satyr's far halloo. 
 Noon and the glowing hours seem 
 Mutations of a laboring dream. 
 
 Yet, subject held to Jove's decree, 
 We do a task of destiny: 
 When any mortal, sorely spent, 
 
21 
 
 Girt with the thorns of discontent, 
 Or care, or hapless love, invades 
 This neighborhood of ancient shades. 
 Our gracious leave is to dispense, 
 Of woods, the slumberous influence. 
 The waverings and the murmurings 
 Of umber shades and leafy wings ; 
 Through all the courts of sense applying. 
 With sights and sounds and odorous sighing, 
 To the world-wearied soul of man. 
 The gentle universal Pan — 
 As now we must : 
 
 The roots around, 
 Of forest, clutch a certain sound 
 Of weary feet. Go, sisters, out. 
 Some one is pining hereabout. 
 
22 
 
 POJSMS. 
 
 [Scene, elsewlicre on the islanil. Enter Ariadne.] 
 
 Ariadne. 
 
 Here, in the heart of this sea-moated isle, 
 Where we but last night made a summer's 
 
 lodge 
 Of transient rest from many pendulous days 
 Of swinging on the sick, unquiet deep, 
 Why left he me so lone, so unattended ? 
 What converse had he with felonious Night, 
 That underneath her dark-consenting cloak 
 He stole unchallenged from his Ariadne ? 
 If, out of hope, I can not answer that. 
 Slant-eyed Conjecture at my elbow stands, 
 To whisper me of things I would not hear. 
 
 Ah me, my Theseus, wherefore art thou 
 gone ? 
 
 Ah me, my Theseus, whither art thou 
 gone? 
 O how shall I, an unacquainted maid, 
 
ARIADNE. 23 
 
 So uninformed of whereabouts I am, 
 
 ') 
 
 And in a wild completely solitary, 
 Hope to find out my strangely absent lord ? 
 Sadness there is, and an unquiet fear 
 Within my heart, to trace these hereabouts. 
 Of idle woods, unthreaded labyrinths. 
 Rude-mannered brooks, unpastured meadow 
 
 sides. 
 All vagrant, voiceless, pathless, echoless. 
 O for the farthest breath of mortal sound. 
 From lacqueyed hall, or folded peasant hut — 
 Some noontide echo sweetly voluble — 
 Some song of toil reclining from the heat, 
 Or low of kine, or neigh of tethered steeds, 
 Or honest clamor of some shepherd dog — 
 Laughter, or cries, or any living breath, 
 To make inroad upon this dreariness! 
 Methinks no shape of savage insolence, 
 No den unblest, no hour inopportune, 
 Could daunt me now, nor warn my weary 
 
 feet 
 
24 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 From friendly parle, that am distract of heart, 
 With doubt, desertion, utter loneliness. 
 Death would I seek, to run from lonely fear, 
 And deem a hut a heaven, with company. 
 Yea, now to question of my true heart's lord. 
 And of the ports and alleys of this isle. 
 Which way they lead the clueless wanderer 
 To fields suburban and the towers of men, 
 I would confront the strangest things that 
 
 haunt 
 In horrid shades of brooding desolation — 
 Griffin or satyr, sphinx, or sybil ape. 
 Or lop-eared demon from the dens of night. 
 Let loose to caper out of Acheron. 
 
 Ah me, my Theseus, wherefore art thou 
 gone? 
 Who left that crock of water at my side ? 
 Who stole my dog, that loved no one but me? 
 Why was the tent unstruck, I unawaked, 
 I left, most loved, and last to be forgotten. 
 By much obtaining, much indebted Theseus? 
 
ARIADNE. 
 
 25 
 
 Left to sleep on, to dream and slumber on, 
 Nothing to know save fancies of the air. 
 While he, so strangely covert in his thoughts. 
 All in the night, all in the quiet night, 
 "Was softly stirring to be gone from me. 
 Ah me, my Theseus, whither art thou gone ? 
 Hast thou, in pleasant sport, deserted me? 
 Is it a whim, a jest, a trick of task. 
 To mesh me in another labyrinth? 
 Could Theseus so make mirth of Ariadne? 
 Unless he did, I would not think he could; 
 And yet I will believe he is in jest. 
 More false than that he could not be to me, 
 Since false to me, to his own self were false. 
 Now do I hold for truth, what I have heard, 
 That Love will, sometimes, cunning masks 
 
 put on. 
 Speak with strange tongues, and wear odd 
 
 liveries. 
 Transform himself to seemings most unlike, 
 3 
 
26 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 And still be Love, in fearful opposites. 
 Ofttimes are coldness, absence, jealousy. 
 Mere harsh ostents of too engrossing Love. 
 So may it be. But my immediate fear 
 Jostles my hope aside, and I remember 
 Of what my tutor Etion did forewarn me. 
 (O fond old man! if thou didst know me here 
 Thou wouldst move heaven and earth to 
 
 have me home.) 
 Much was his care of my uncaring youth ; 
 And, with a reverend and considerate wit, 
 He curbed the frolic of my pupilage, 
 Less by the bridle, than by feeding it 
 With stories ending in moralities, 
 With applications and similitudes 
 Tacked to the merest leaf I looked upon, 
 Till, so it was, we two did love each other, 
 The child and sage, with mutual amity. 
 Oft, hand in hand, we passed my father's 
 
 gate, 
 At evening, when the horizontal day 
 
ARIADNE. 017 
 
 Checkered his farewell on the western wall ; 
 
 '; 
 
 Shying the court, where, for the frolic lords. 
 Under the profaned silence of the rose. 
 The syrinx and the stringed sonorous shell 
 Governed the twinkling-heeled Terpsichore. 
 We softly went, down many a devious way, 
 And found another world, contemplative 
 Of shells and pebbles by the ocean shore. 
 I do remember once, on such an eve. 
 Pacing the polished iiiargin of the deep. 
 We found two weeds that had embraced 
 
 each other, 
 And talked of friendship, love, and sympathy. 
 " My pupil sweet," said he, " beware of 
 
 Love. 
 For thou wilt shortly be besieged by him 
 From the four winds of heaven, because 
 
 thou art 
 Daughter of Minos, and already married 
 To expectation of a royal dower. 
 But O beware, for listen what I say : 
 
28 POEMS. 
 
 By strong presentments I have moved thy 
 
 father, 
 (Bating a fair and well intending nay,) 
 To leave thy love to thine unmufHed eye. 
 This is rare scope, my girl, O use it rarely; 
 Be slow and nice in thy sweet liberty, 
 And let discretion honor thee in choice. 
 For love is like a cup with dregs at bottom — 
 Hand it with care, and pleasant it shall be ; 
 Snatch it, and thou mayst find it bitterness." 
 
 And now, my soon, my all sufficient lord, 
 Did not old Etion speak an oracle? 
 Too true it is that I have snatched my love, 
 And taste already of its bitterness. 
 
 But trifle not with love, my sportful 
 Theseus. 
 Affection, when it bears an outward eye, 
 Be it of love, or social amity, 
 Or open-lidded general charity. 
 Becomes a holy universal thing — 
 The beauty of the soul, which, therein lodged. 
 
ARIADNE. 29 
 
 Surpasses every outward comeliness — 
 Makes fanes of shaggy shapes, and, of the 
 
 fair, 
 Such presences as fill the gates of Heaven. 
 Why is the dog, that knows no stint of heart, 
 But roars a welcome like a lion's whelp, 
 And leaps a dirty-footed, fierce caress. 
 More valued than the sleek, smooth-man- 
 nered cat. 
 That will not out of doors, whoever comes, 
 But hugs the fire, in graceful idleness? 
 Birds of a glittering gilt, that lack a tongue. 
 Are shamed to drooping with the euphony 
 Of fond expression, and the voice beneath 
 The russet jacket of the soul of song. 
 What is that girdle of the Queen of Love 
 Wherewith, as with the shell of Orpheus, 
 Things high and humble — the exalted gods, 
 And tenants of the far unvisited huts 
 Of wildernesses, she alike subdues 
 3* 
 
gQ POEMS. 
 
 Unto the awe of perfect harmony ? 
 
 What else but sweetness tempered all one 
 
 way, 
 And looks of sociable benignity?^ — 
 Which when she chooseth to be all herself, 
 She doth put on, and in the act thereof, 
 Such thousand graces lacquey her about, 
 And in her smile such plentitude of joy, 
 The extreme perfection of the divine gods, 
 Shines affable, as, to partake thereof, 
 Hath oftentimes set Heaven in uproar. 
 
 By these, and many special instances, 
 It doth appear, or may be plainly shown. 
 That of all life affection is the savor — 
 The soul of it — and beauty is but dross, 
 Being but the outer iris-film of love — 
 The flitting shade of an eternal thing — 
 Beauty — the cloudy mock of Tantalus — 
 Daughter of Time betrothed unto Death, 
 Who, all so soon as the lank Anarch old 
 Fingers her palm and lips her for his bride, 
 
31 
 
 Suffers collapse, and straightway doth be- 
 come 
 A hideous comment of mortality. 
 
 Know this, my lord, while thou dost run 
 from me: 
 The tide of true love hath its hours of ebb, 
 If the attendant orb withdraw its light. 
 And whether 'tis that I am royal born. 
 And kingly blooded, or that once I was 
 Sometimes a mistress in my father's court, 
 I have, of patience, much — not overmuch — 
 And thou hadst best beware the boundary. 
 
 O thou too cruel and injurious thorn. 
 What hast thou done to my poor innocent 
 
 hand! 
 Thou art like Theseus, thou dost make me 
 
 bleed ; 
 Oms^iceless I, but thou dost make me bleed. 
 This scratch I shall remember well, my lord ! 
 Deceiver false, deserter, runaway. 
 My quick-heeled slave, my loose ungrateful 
 bird. 
 
32 POEMS. 
 
 Where'er thou art, or if thou hear or no, 
 Know that thou art, from this time, given o'er, 
 To tarry and return what time thou wilti 
 It is. most like that thou dost lurk not far. 
 In twilight of some envious cave or bower. 
 Well, if thou dost — why — lurk thy heart's 
 
 content. 
 Poor rogue ! thou art not worth this weari- 
 ness. 
 I will not flutter more, nor cry to thee. 
 Since thou art fledged, and toppled from the 
 
 nest, 
 Go — pick thy crumbs where thou canst find 
 them best. 
 
 Once more, once more, O yet again once 
 more 
 Spent is my breath with fear and weariness. 
 Vain toil it is to trace this tangled wild, 
 This rank, o'ergrown, imprisoned solitude, 
 
AKIADNE. 33 
 
 Whose very flowers are fetters in my way ; 
 Where I am chained about with vines and 
 
 briars, 
 Led blindfold on through mazes tenantless, 
 And not a friendly echo answers me. 
 O for a foot as airy as the wing 
 Of the young brooding dove, to overpass, 
 On swift commission of my true heart's love. 
 All metes and bournes of this lone wilderness. 
 So should I quickly find my truant lord. 
 But as it is I can no farther go ; 
 My spirits in theii' sad recoiling drowse. 
 And faintly lapse towards forgetfulness. 
 What shall I do? — despair? — ^lie down and 
 
 die? 
 If I give o'er my search I shall despair, 
 And if I do despair, I quickly die. 
 Avaunt Despair! I will not yet despair. 
 Begone, grim herald of oblivious death! 
 Strong-pinioned Hope, embrace thy wings 
 
 about me ! 
 
34 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Shake not my fingers from thy golden chain I 
 
 O still bear up and pity Ariadne! 
 
 Alas! what hope have I but Theseus? — 
 
 And Theseus is not here to pity me. 
 
 Ah me, my Theseus, whither art thou gone ? 
 
 Thou dost forget that thou hast called me 
 
 wife, 
 And with sweet influence of hallowed vows 
 Grappled and grafted me unto thyself. 
 O how' shall I, not knowing where thou art, 
 Be all myself? — thou dost dissever me! 
 Yonder I'll rest awhile, for now I see. 
 Through meshes of the intern&feted leaves, 
 A little plot, girt with a living wall, 
 A sylvan chamber that the frolic Pan 
 Has built, and bosomed with a leafy dome. 
 And windowed with a narrow glimpse of 
 
 heaven. 
 Its floor, sky-litten by the noontide sun. 
 Shows garniture of many-colored flowers 
 
ARIADNE. 
 
 35 
 
 More dainty than the broidered webs of Tyre ; 
 And all about, from beeches, oaks and pines, 
 Recesses deep, of vernal solitude. 
 Come sounds of calm that woo my ruffled 
 
 spirits 
 To a resigned and quiet contemplation. 
 Yon brook, that like a child runs wide astray. 
 Sings and skips on, nor knows its loneliness. 
 A squirrel chatters at a doorless nut, 
 A hammer-bird drums on his hollow bark, 
 And bits of winged life with airy voices 
 Tinkle like fountains in a corridor. 
 Fair haunt of peace, ye quiet cadences. 
 Ye leafy caves of sadness and sweet sounds 
 That have no feeling nor no fellowship 
 With the rash moods of terror and of pain, 
 I did not think ye could in such an hour 
 So steal from me, as in a sleep, a dream — 
 What is't that comes between me and the 
 
 light? 
 Protect me Jove! Lo what untended flowers. 
 
gg POEMS. 
 
 That all night long do weep themselves 
 
 asleep, 
 In th' orient morning lift their pretty eyes, 
 Tear-smiling, to behold the sun, their sire, 
 Enter the gilded chambers of the east — 
 Strange droopingness! — what quality of air? 
 
 [Ariadne drops asleep. Enter the Dryads as before.] 
 
 1st Dryad. 
 
 Sprinkle, out of flower bells. 
 Mortal-sense entrapping spells. 
 
 Make no sound 
 
 On the ground. 
 Strew and lap and lay around. 
 
 Gnat nor snail 
 
 Here assail ; 
 Beetle, slug, nor spider here 
 
 Now descend 
 
 Nor depend 
 Oft' of any thorny spear. 
 
ARIADNE. 
 
 2d Dryad. 
 
 So conclude. Whatever seems, 
 We have her in a chain of dreams. 
 
 OB Dryad. 
 
 As fair as foreign! Who is here 
 
 In disarray of royal gear ? 
 
 Here were a lass whose queenly port 
 
 Might make an awe in Heaven's court. 
 
 But sorrowing beauty testifies, 
 
 In tears that journey from her eyes, 
 
 To touches of interior pain. 
 
 And on her hand a sanguine stain. 
 
 Hair unlooped and sandals torn, 
 
 Zone unloosed from its bourne. 
 
 Surely some wandering bride of sorrow. 
 
 1st Dryad. 
 
 So let her sleep and bid good-morrow. 
 4 
 
 37 
 
38 
 
 4th Dryad. 
 
 But, sisters, me it doth astound, 
 What maid it is that we have bound. 
 And Bacchus not, nor Ceres, found. 
 
 2d Dryad. 
 
 Bacchus has gone to Arcady, 
 
 Where certain swains, that merry be. 
 
 Have found a happy thunder-stone 
 
 That Jove has cast, the vale upon ; 
 
 So take occasion to be blest. 
 
 And Bacchus was invited guest. 
 
 His shaggy crew have helped the plan. 
 
 Silenus made the pipes of Pan. 
 
 The satyrs teazed the vines about, 
 
 And Bacchus sent a lubber lout 
 
 Who lurked and stole, ere wink of morn. 
 
 The heedless Amalthea's horn. 
 
 Now all are gone to Arcady, 
 
 Head-bent on rousing jollity. 
 
 Now riot-rule will be, anon, 
 
ARIADNE. 39 
 
 That shall the very sun aston, 
 By waters whist, and on the leas, 
 Under the great fantastic trees. 
 
 The oldest swain. 
 
 With longest cane, 
 And sad experience in his brain, 
 On such mad mirth shall fail to wink. 
 And grimly go aside to think. 
 
 3d Dryad. 
 
 But cedar-waving sister, say. 
 
 What news has winged our queen away? 
 
 2d Dryad. 
 
 Ceres has gone to see the feast 
 Made by the King of all the East, 
 Who breasts a beard so black and fair, 
 And breathes a virealth of gorgeous air. 
 Married he is this happy night 
 Unto a Queen of gay delight, 
 Whose odorous train came up from far, 
 
4Q POEMS. 
 
 Last night, at shut of evening star, 
 And filled with pomp majestical 
 The gardens and the palace hall. 
 So Ceres wins to give them aid 
 In likeness of an Indian maid, 
 Presents them each a dove apiece, 
 And wishes blessings and increase. 
 
 1st Dryad. 
 
 Hark! hark! I hear her rolling car. 
 Our Queen is not so very far. 
 
 4th Dryad. 
 
 Now make your faces long. I ween, 
 Here comes our sweet majestic Queen. 
 
 [Enter Ceres, in likeness of a stately woman bearing poppies 
 and ears of wheat in her hands, and crowned with a garland of 
 flowers and berries.] 
 
41 
 
 Cures. 
 
 What! loose and chatting here at play, 
 All in the broad and staring day! 
 Why children, this is something queer! 
 
 3d Dryad. 
 But, mistress, see the sleeper here. 
 
 Ceres. 
 
 A fair excuse! I own the sight. 
 Theseus deserted her last night. 
 
 2d Dryad. 
 How knew you that, my lady dear? 
 
 Ceres. 
 
 Well sought — for I was far from here. 
 Whiles o'er the crisp Ionian main 
 I shook the winnowed dragoiT rein — 
 4* 
 
42 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 3d Dryad. 
 
 Invented error! Sister! fie! 
 
 Our Queen has trapped you in a lie. 
 
 A lie! 
 
 A lie? 
 
 2d Dryad. 
 
 Ceres. 
 
 3d Dryad. 
 
 Deceit forgets 
 How Truth is always trailing nets. 
 While you, sweet Empress, berry-crowned, 
 Were on th' Ionian, westward bound, 
 Our sister puffed you towards the east, 
 With words about a marriage feast. 
 
 Ceres. 
 
 How thin a bubble blame may be! 
 I sought for doves in Italy ; 
 
43 
 
 But orient was my main intent, 
 And on an Indian nuptial bent. 
 
 2d Dryad. 
 Now honey-lips, the lie is where ? 
 
 4th Dryad. 
 She weeps. 
 
 2d Dryad. 
 Fool-fingered thing! 
 
 Ceres. 
 
 Forbear. 
 Whiles, o'er the crisp Ionian main, 
 I shook the winnowed dragon rein, 
 A Triton clove the wake behind. 
 And, with a hailing will, did wind 
 Such parley through his crankled horn 
 As all the air was echo torn. 
 
44 
 
 I stayed — he told what did betide 
 Of truant Theseus and his bride; 
 Which having heard I made repair 
 Unto that subterranean lair 
 Wherein the dreadful sisters three 
 Vex out the threads of destiny. 
 But they were sorely overtasked; 
 So techy, too, that when I asked 
 If he could not bo plagued for this 
 Unloving piece of business, 
 With knots and burs upon his thread, 
 They would not speak nor lift the head. 
 Yet saw I how his flax did run 
 Smoothly, and much is yet unspun. 
 
 1st Dryad. 
 
 Sweet Queen, adieu! Come, let's away. 
 We keep no sunshine holiday. 
 
 Ckres. 
 
 Stay, crhildren, stay. 
 
 Poor thing! I do remember me 
 
ARIADNE. 45 
 
 How I did seek Proserpine. 
 
 We must not leave her thus forlorn. 
 
 Auroral gi-ace in her is born, 
 
 And rarer else, the finest sense 
 
 Of feeling and intelligence. 
 
 Mortals of such ethereal grain 
 
 Are quickened both for joy and pain; 
 
 Theirs is the affluence of joy, 
 
 And pain that sorely doth annoy ; 
 
 And, therefore, if we leave her thus. 
 
 To find the truth of Theseus, 
 
 She will with such a madness burn. 
 
 And do herself so sad a turn. 
 
 As that the very thought, erewhile. 
 
 Will drive us all to quit the isle. 
 
 4th Dryad. 
 Alack ! O no ! What must be done ? 
 
 Ceres. 
 
 Go you, and you, and every one. 
 To stay such heart-distracting harm, 
 
46 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Go, each bring flowers upon her arm: 
 Pink, poppy, panzy, pimpernel!, 
 Acanthus, almond, asphodel. 
 
 [TIic Dryads go to a little distance and gatlier flowei-s, with 
 which they retni-n to Ceros.] 
 
 Now all join hands. [Xhcy join hands.] 
 
 Fair fall the eyes 
 Of any weary destinies! 
 I bruise the flowers, and so set free 
 Their virtue for adversity. 
 Then, with my unguent finger-tips. 
 Touch twice and once on cheeks and lips. 
 When this sweet influence comes to naught, 
 Vexed she shall be, but not disti'aught. 
 And now let music winnow thought, 
 Bucolic sound of horn and flute. 
 In distant echo nearly miite, 
 Then, louder borne, and swelling near. 
 Make bolder murmur in her ear. 
 
ARIADNE. 
 
 47 
 
 1st Dryad. 
 See, see what change is in her face! 
 
 Ceres. 
 Break hands, break hands, she wakes apace! 
 
 [Ceres and the Diyads loose liamls and disappear.] 
 
 Ariadne. 
 
 T dreamed a dream of sadness and the sea ; 
 And I will turn again if yet I may, 
 To where the rolling rondure of the deejD 
 Broadly aifronts the sky's infinity. 
 Sleeping or waking, knew I naught but this : 
 Sorrow and Love, above a desolate main. 
 From the sheer battlements of opposite 
 
 clouds. 
 Kissed, and embraced, and parted company. 
 
48 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 [Scene, the sea-shore.] 
 
 This is the self-same bay where we put in. 
 Yonder the restless keel did gore the sand. 
 There was the sailor's fire, and up and down 
 Are scattered mangled ropes, splinters and 
 
 spars. 
 Fragments and shreds — but ship and all are 
 
 gone. 
 
 Here is ray wreath. How brief since yester 
 
 eve, — 
 Then, when the sun, like an o'erthirsty god, 
 Had stooped his brows behind the ocean 
 
 brim, 
 And the west wind, bearing his martial word, 
 The limber-footed and the courier west, 
 Went smoothly whist over the fuiTowed floor, 
 To bid the night, then gazing up the sphere. 
 Advance his constellated banners there, 
 I leaned above the vessel's whispering prow. 
 
ARIADNE. 
 
 49 
 
 With an unusual joy, and drank from out 
 The heaven of those true repeated depths 
 Infinite calm, as though I did commune 
 "With the stUl spirit of the universe. 
 So leaning, from my hair I then unwound 
 This chain of flowers and dropped it in the 
 
 sea. 
 Blessing that twilight hour, the port, the bay, 
 The deep dim isle of inter-lunar woods, 
 My love, and all the world, and naming them 
 Waters of rest — now lies my garland here. 
 What words are these, thus furrowed on 
 
 the shore? 
 These are the very turns of Theseus' hand. 
 If, from thy hook the fish to waterfall, 
 Think not to catch that fish again at all. 
 Too well my thought unlocks these cruel 
 
 lines ! 
 And is it from thy heart thou dost reject me ? 
 Flatly and plainly — is it from thy heart? 
 O drench of grief! I thank ye, piteous Powers, 
 5 
 
50 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Who sent not this without forewarning drops. 
 O miserable me ! distressful me ! 
 Despised, disdained, deserted, desolate! 
 O world of dew! O morning water drops! 
 Lack-lustre, irksome, dull mortality! 
 O now, O now that heaven all is black 
 Wherein the rainbow of my joy did stand ! 
 O love! O life! O life entire in love! 
 All lost! All gone! Or just so little left 
 As is not worth the care to throw away. 
 All lost, all gone! Wrecked, rifted, sunk, 
 
 devoured. 
 Wrecked with false lights on Theseus' rocky 
 
 heart. 
 O man! perverse, dry-eyed, untender man! 
 Enchanting man! So sleek, so serpent cold! 
 Was it for this, that thou didst swear to me. 
 By all the gods in the three worlds at once. 
 That thou didst love distractedly, and I, 
 With certain tender and ingenuous tears. 
 Did presently confess to thee as much ? 
 
ARIADNE. 
 
 51 
 
 Was it for this, that I, who had a home 
 Lilce an Elysium, in the lap of Crete, 
 Did beckon buffets, and for thee did dare 
 The rough unknown, and outside of the 
 
 world? 
 Was it for this that thou didst hither bring me 
 Unto this isle of thorny loneliness, 
 And in the night, without fore argued cause, 
 Any aggrievance, any allegation. 
 Didst Hke a coward traitor run from me ? 
 Thou man of snow! Thou art assailed by 
 
 this. 
 Be sure of it — ^thou art begrimed as black 
 As if thou hadst been hanged, a thousand 
 
 years. 
 Under the murky cope of Pluto's den. 
 O agony! — ^but thou shalt know my soul. 
 Which gropes for daggers at the thought of 
 
 this! 
 Yea, from the day-beams of adoring love, 
 Goes headlong to as vast a reprobation. 
 
52 POEMS. 
 
 Thou, Theseus, wast a cloud, and I a cloud 
 Quickened from thee with such pervading 
 
 flame 
 As that thou canst not now so part from me 
 Without the fiery iterance of my heart. 
 Hear, hear me, Jove, who, on the swathed 
 
 tops 
 Of ribbed Olympus, and thy steadfast throne, 
 Dost sit, the supreme judge of gods and men. 
 And bear within thy palm the living bolt, 
 High o'er the soiled air of this wan world. 
 Look on yon helot wretch, and wheresoe'er. 
 Coursing what sea, or cabled in what port. 
 The greatness of thine eye may light on him. 
 Crush him with thunder! 
 
 Thou too. Great Neptune of the lower 
 
 deeps, 
 Heave thy wet head up from the monstrous 
 
 main. 
 Advance thy trident high as to the clouds. 
 And, with a not-to-be-repeated blow. 
 
53 
 
 Dash the sin-freighted ship of that rash man ! 
 
 And thou, old iron-sceptred Eolus, 
 Shatter the bars of thine enclosed winds ! 
 Unhinge the doors of thy great kennel-house, 
 And 'twixt the azure and the roaring deep 
 Cry out thy whole inflated Strongyl^ — 
 Cry ruin on that man! 
 
 But wherefore thus 
 Do I invoke the speedy desolation 
 Of any mighty magisterial soul 
 Whose will is weaponed with the elements ? 
 For O! 
 
 Let the great spies of Jove, the sun and moon, 
 The stars, and all the expeditious orbs 
 That in their motions are retributive. 
 Look blindly on, and seem to take no note 
 Of any deep and deadly stab of sin — 
 Let Vengeance gorge a gross Cerberean sop, 
 Grovel and snore in swinish sluggishness. 
 Yea quite forget his dagger and his cup, — 
 It is enough for retribution 
 5* 
 
54 POEMS. 
 
 That guilt retain remembrance of itself. 
 Guilt is a thing, however bolstered up, 
 That the great scale-adjusting Nemesis, 
 And Furies, ii'on-eyed, will not let sleep. 
 Sail on unscarred. Thou canst not sail so far, 
 But that the Gorgon lash of vipers fanged 
 Shall scourge this howler home to thee again. 
 Yes, yes, rash man, Jove and myself do know 
 That from this wrong shall rouse an Anteros, 
 Fierce as an Ate, with a hot right hand. 
 That shall afflict thee with the touch of fire. 
 Till, scorpion-like, thou turn and sting thyself. 
 What dost thou think? — that I shall perish 
 
 here. 
 Gnawed by the tooth of hungiy savageness? 
 Think what thou list, and go what way thou 
 
 wilt. 
 I that have truth and heaven on my side, 
 Though but a weak and solitary woman, 
 Forecast no fear of any violence — 
 But thou false hound! thou wouldst not 
 
 dare come back. 
 
ARIADNE. 
 
 55 
 
 Thou wouldst not dare to feel my eyes again. 
 Go get thee on — to Argos get thee on, 
 And let thy ransomed Athens run to thee 
 With portal arms wide open to her heart — 
 To stifling hug thee with triumphant joy. 
 Thou canst not wear such bays, thou canst 
 
 not so 
 O'erpeer the ancient and bald heads of honor, 
 That I would have thee back or follow thee. 
 Let nothing but thy shadow follow thee. 
 Thy shadow is, to thee, a curse enough, 
 For thou hast done a murder on thyself; 
 Thou hast put on the Nessus' fiery hide ; 
 Thou hast stepped in the labyrinths of woe. 
 And in thy fingers caught the clue to death. 
 What solace have the gods for such as thou 
 That is not stabbed by this one thrust 
 
 through me? 
 From this black hour, this curse-anointing 
 
 hour, 
 The currents of thy heart are all corrupt. 
 
56 POEMS. 
 
 The motions of thy thoughts are serpentine, 
 And thy death-doing and bedabbled soul 
 Is maculate with spots of Erebus. 
 And yet — aye me ! O that I should say so ! 
 Thou wast a noble scroll of beauty's pen, 
 Where every turn was grandly charactered. 
 Hadst thou a heart! — but thou hadst no such 
 
 thing; 
 And having none, it was not thee I loved. 
 Only my maiden thoughts were perfect 
 
 Theseus. 
 O no, no, no, I never did love thee. 
 Thou outside shell, and carcase of a man! 
 And I — what was it thou didst take me for? 
 A paroquet of painted shallowness ? 
 A silly thing, to whistle to and fro. 
 And peck at plums, and then be whistled off? 
 O Theseus, Theseus, thou didst never know 
 
 me! 
 In this unworthy clasp of woman's mould — 
 This poor outside of pliant prettiness. 
 
ARIADNE. 57 
 
 There was a heart, and in that heart a love, 
 And in that love there was an affluence 
 Full as the ocean, infinite as time. 
 Deep as the spring that never knew an elib. 
 
 Too truly feeling what I left for thee. 
 And with what joy I left it all for thee. 
 And how I would have followed only thee, 
 "With soul, mind, purpose, to the far world's 
 
 end, 
 I can not think on thee as thou deservest, 
 But scorn is drowned in a well of tears. 
 I will go sit and weep. 
 
READY FOE, THE CHASE. 
 
 Maiden, under arches shady, 
 
 Tarrying where the branches twine. 
 Take the hail of beauteous lady, 
 
 Queen, and more than half divine- 
 Wonder of the fairest day> 
 Summer blooming out of May. 
 May we seek, by what miscarry. 
 Those your sti-ay companions tarry. 
 While the graces of a maid — 
 Bright attendants more complete 
 Than a train of gilded feet, 
 
KEADY POR THE CHASE. 
 
 59 
 
 Court, or sweeping cavalcade, 
 Wait you in the woodland shade ? 
 Freedom and the graceful moods 
 Native to the fields and woods, 
 Grace you with a graceful air, 
 To the ripple of a hair. 
 In your hat a feather set. 
 And your name is Margaret ; 
 In your hat a feather set. 
 Jaunty, hey-day Margaret. 
 Margaret, 
 Tarrying yet, 
 Wherefore now 
 Tarriest thou ? 
 Say you so ? — with such a face ? 
 Are you " ready for the chase ? " 
 Ready for the chase ? — Indeed ! — 
 
 Ready to be chased, I guess. 
 Tell us : who is to succeed ? 
 
 No? — you might as well confess. 
 Though your lips attempt disguise. 
 
60 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Truth will glitter in your eyes. 
 Yes, aye, aye, we know you yet. 
 Here's a hat and feather set — 
 Jaunty, hey-day Margaret. 
 
PUTNAM'S AWAKENING. 
 
 Sweet morn of April's budding bloom, 
 When fields are basking in the light, 
 
 And songs of birds dispel the gloom 
 That saddened all the winter's night; 
 When from the south, with even wing, 
 Eeturn the loving airs of Spring, 
 To warm and wake their nestling broods 
 Of buds in sylvan solitudes, — 
 Sweet April morning, so serene 
 That earth seems all a Sabbath scene. 
 6 
 
62 POEMS 
 
 Sweet home, whose works in peace are 
 planned'; 
 That one'^dear heart, so full of care. 
 
 Keeps trim and^neat with loving hand — 
 Keeps neat and cheerful everywhere, 
 And lifts its casement to the air; 
 
 And, mindful of the coming noon. 
 Piles up the hearth with ruddy light, 
 
 And lays the plate, and knife, and spoon. 
 And sets the tankard, blinking bright. 
 Home, and a morn, so sweetly blent. 
 May breathe a thought of deep content 
 In souls whose life is banishment; 
 So whistling, free, the hours away, 
 Putnam the farmer ploughs to-day. 
 
 But ere the noontide baiting hour. 
 When the spent ox may stand at ease, 
 
 While yet his strength the share must scour. 
 And close his rounds by slow degrees. 
 Comes a swift rider o'er the plain, 
 
PUTNAM'S AWAKENING. 
 
 Spurring his bounding steed amain. 
 Loose from his neck his mantle flies, 
 Hot haste rides headlong in his eyes, 
 His jangling trappings swing and clank. 
 Red drops are on his courser's flank. 
 And foam is on the rein. 
 
 •' Up! up! To arms! The foe! the foe! 
 Blood, Putnam, blood begins to flow! — 
 At Lexington, to-day, begins — 
 God for our land, whoever wins!" 
 Then rings his farewell, fur away; 
 " England has won and lost a day." 
 
 The farmer hears with dtimb surprise, 
 Tracing the vision with his eyes. 
 Till, o'er the hills, descends afar 
 That first swift meteor of war; 
 Then, with a thrill, a throb of pain. 
 Thought — feeling — passion comes again. 
 Fades the gay morning, and he sees 
 
 63 
 
64 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Nor fields nor old familiar trees, 
 »But rapt in vision vast and drear, 
 Wild phantoms in their stead appear. 
 Ghastly and grand with dim eclipse. 
 The zenith, lightning rent, reveals 
 A hand that cracks the vial's seals. 
 Whose draught must chill a nation's lips ; 
 With thunder, claps the vapors blend, 
 And drops of tears and blood descend. 
 Comes the keen sense of deadly wrong 
 
 That steel alone can now redress — 
 Of wrong resolved and studied long, 
 
 With steady purpose to oppress — 
 Of wrong whose consequence sublime, 
 Is linked with past and coming time — 
 Prologue, at least, of this, to be : — 
 A deadly strife for liberty. 
 
 And, lo! in fields of clouds combines 
 The host of war, in solemn lines. 
 Of clouds they come, as fowl that fly. 
 
PUTNAM'S AWAKENING. gi 
 
 Southward, the gloaming arctic sky; 
 Of clouds, as boreal streamers rise, 
 Rustling and gleaming through the skies. 
 
 Floats o'er the files of brows severe 
 The clear sweet clarion's savage cheer. 
 Shrieks the sharp fife : with busy hum, 
 Booms in the big belabored drum ; 
 Till, front to front, and foe to foe, 
 They halt to do the act of woe — 
 They halt, with souls whose heavenward eye 
 Yearns from the sod where men must die. 
 A moment — then right onward driven, 
 With tramp and roar, and thunder shock. 
 The wrestling legions link and lock ; 
 Hell bursts the bars of earth and heaven. 
 Hell buries deep, in horrid shade. 
 The ruin of the tube and blade. 
 Black-throated vengeance, from afar, 
 Heaves the hot hissing gorge of war. 
 War, War with head exalted high, 
 6* 
 
g(3 POEMS. 
 
 Raves through the ranks where thousands die. 
 In his red eye's pernicious glare 
 Fires of demented reason are — 
 Raptures of conquest and despair. 
 Through heaps of wrecks, and ashes sere, 
 Through gaps where mangled shapes uprear, 
 Sweeps his wild steed in fierce career. 
 Before him roar the fires of death, 
 And souls, with every flash are given, 
 Like sparks to mount the airs of heaven. 
 Behind, life yields its trampled breath, 
 And quits, with curse, and prayer, and groan, 
 The haggled flesh and shattered bone. 
 And louder yet the thunders roar. 
 And wilder horrors hover o'er, 
 TUl, from the heart of battle, rise 
 Infernal airs and symphonies. 
 To fiends the fighting phantoms swell, 
 Like demons from the dens of hell; 
 Then, to and fro, the vapors gray 
 Boil, roll, and wrap the scene away. 
 
PUTNAM'S AWAKENING. g^ 
 
 Behold the man! what .could he less? 
 The vision, in its fierce excess, 
 Transports him like a Pythoness. 
 Around, about, and here and there, 
 He treads, with high impassioned air; 
 Throws down the whip, unyokes the ox. 
 And mutters, as the yoke unlocks, 
 
 "The blood! The blood! The fight begun? 
 
 Great God! There's something to be done." 
 His hand, foregone in purpose, now. 
 Stays not, to house the steer nor plow, 
 Nor stays to doff" his working gear. 
 Nor folds the hearts that hold him dear. 
 But, ere the eve's dilated sun. 
 Is armed and far — for Lexington. 
 
 II. 
 
 Wealth is for those whom cares consume : 
 Yea, all its grandeur and perfume 
 May shrine, in un approached parade, 
 A sordid heart, a mind decayed. 
 
(38 POEMS. 
 
 And Fame will scarce the scrip supply 
 
 Of pilgrims towards eternity — 
 
 Death antedates the best, and gives 
 
 Little or none to him Avho lives. 
 
 Sage, warrior, poet — whomsoe'er 
 
 Men longest love, or most revere. 
 
 Must leave their fame, with Death, in trust, 
 
 To germ and quicken from the dust. 
 
 Fame is the flower of death in bloom. 
 
 Fame haunts no altar like a tomb. 
 
 Why, then, why chase, so long and far. 
 
 Lights that of closing shadows are. 
 
 Like evening's sole expressive star? 
 
 Wealth — fame — are won in ways of strife 
 
 That waste too fast the oil of life. 
 
 Ill seeks for joy, a restless heart. 
 
 The camp, the court, the crowded mart. 
 
 No joy outmeasures, at the best, 
 
 That of a calm and honest breast. 
 
 And so it is, great hearts may be 
 
 Lapped in a small home lovingly. 
 
PUTNAM'S AWAKENING. gQ 
 
 Dreaming the careless hours away, 
 Contented as a child at play; 
 Nor heed their unregarded years 
 Of sober-pac^d hopes and fears. 
 
 But let there come a strong distress, 
 Or cast them loose in loneliness, 
 Free as a bark, its moorings gone, 
 To strand or walk the world alone ; 
 Or let there come a piteous hour 
 When Right shall feel the mace of Power — 
 When crowns and keys are leagued, again, 
 Against the lives and souls of men — 
 When prayers and tears of Heaven demand 
 A self-relying heart and hand, 
 A presence, and a leading eye 
 That shall outface all augury — 
 Let these, or such, arouse the spirit 
 Of hearts that lusty blood inherit, 
 And they shall start, as from the earth, 
 Quickened with a Titanic birth — 
 Shall, like the unbottled Genius, rise 
 
70 
 
 Dilating swiftly to the skies ; 
 The heaving of then- great emotion, 
 In its awakened surge shall be 
 Like to the deep resounding sea — 
 Like to the swinging of the ocean; 
 Then shall they rise to do or dare, 
 Strength, grandeur, glory, in their an; 
 In camps, in senates tempest stirred, 
 Their words, like thunder, shall be heard,. 
 And leap to immortality. 
 
CHARTER OAK. 
 
 Old Oak, so lonely, grim, and stark. 
 When will thy years upgathered be? 
 
 Thou seem'st to set thyself a mark 
 For Time to break his scythe on thee; 
 
 And many a stoutly breathed blow 
 
 He yet may give, ere thou art low. 
 
 Long may thy rugged loins uprear 
 Thine ancient shoulders to the air; 
 
 Long may the patriot sentry here 
 
 Keep watch and ward with pious care; 
 
 For Freedom's touch can hallow things 
 
 More than the holy touch of kings. 
 
72 POEMS. 
 
 But let go down both tree and tower. 
 
 Rust bark the armor on the wall, 
 Let trophies, wrung from royal power, 
 
 With moths and dust be charnelled all- 
 Our sons shall fear no foreign yoke. 
 With hearts like acorns from this Oak. 
 
THE SEASONS. 
 
 Winter, a happy age might see, 
 At home, among his children three, 
 If he could but contented be: 
 
 When skies grow fair, 
 He frets and sweats, perpetually, 
 
 For change of air. 
 
 " I must be gone. Go bring my steed. 
 But, children, lest we come to need. 
 Spring, Summer, Autumn, be agreed. 
 
 And mind the pelf. 
 You'll find the pots and pans of seed 
 
 Upon the shelf." 
 7 
 
74 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Winter returned, with faithful shoon, 
 Some days beyond the harvest moon, 
 When winds had got their pipes in tune, 
 
 To have a blow, 
 And, in the sombre afternoon, 
 
 A scud of snow. 
 
 To hail him to his homestead towers. 
 Lacqueyed by Love, and scarfed with flowers. 
 Came Spring, the queen of rosy hours. 
 
 And Summer, up; 
 And Autumn from his vintage bowers. 
 
 With ready cup. 
 
 But he was cross as cross could be. 
 For, very, very cold, was he — 
 Cold as a miser's charity. 
 
 That no man meddles; 
 And to the fire put, tremblingly, 
 
 His picks and pedals. 
 
THE SEASONS. 175 
 
 With Autumn's logs the chimney roared, 
 The supper reeked with Summer's hoard, 
 And Spring with flowers dressed the board. 
 
 The Carl peered roun' — 
 " Ye're likely folks, my three adored " — 
 
 He sate him down. 
 
 Spring sang a song. Her tuneful powers 
 Cradled the soul in vernal bowers ; 
 Forth stepped the sun his cloudy towers ; 
 
 Skies opened fair ; 
 Ye seemed to feel the breath of flowers 
 
 Among your hair. 
 
 And Summer sang a busy tale 
 Of fruits and grains in russet mail ; 
 Reeled the full wain of verdure pale 
 
 In at the door; 
 Rang the quick trampling thresher's flail 
 
 Upon the floor. - 
 
76 POEMS. 
 
 And Autumn breathed his thoughtful lore, 
 
 In echoess'dying evermore, 
 
 Or swelling o'er a watery shore 
 
 From solitudes ; 
 Barked the loud axe, with startled roar, 
 
 In naked woods. 
 
 Well warmed with wine and social glee. 
 Winter, a merry Carl was he ; 
 With drops of tears in either ee, 
 
 He told his stories. 
 Each one as queer as queer could be. 
 
 And each more glorious. 
 
 He'd been in Jack Frost's capitol — 
 
 Seen, in an icy armor hall, 
 
 Of icicles both great and small, 
 
 In rows like guns ; 
 Seen powder snow, and hail for ball, 
 
 By scores of tons. 
 
THE SEASONS. 77 
 
 He'd stood upon the Arctic seas ; 
 
 And vowed he saw the old moon squeeze 
 
 Through Sims's hole, by hard degrees, 
 
 And kenned it well; 
 But if the moon were stone or cheese 
 
 He could not tell. 
 
 Beneath a sky-bow borealis 
 
 He'd danced on ice the jig of sailors, 
 
 With dew-lapped witches three, as pale as, 
 
 And blue as Death ; 
 While wolves sang chorus, hoarse as whalers, 
 
 With all their breath. 
 
 But in the reel he dropped his stick; 
 
 They took it for a villain trick. 
 
 And sky-ward whistled, rocket quick; 
 
 With thunder din 
 The ice exploded^ in a nick, 
 
 And soused him in. 
 
^ POEMS. 
 
 In truth he sopped it — got uproarious, 
 And bade his daughters sing like Boreas. 
 He hugged 'em like a god uxorious, 
 
 And kissed 'em o'er. 
 And thumped his pewter mug victorious, 
 
 And called for more. 
 
 His children tried to stint his measure; 
 It roused old Wintei-'s quick displeasure: 
 " Na ! — na ! — now — give ! I am not azure. 
 
 If ye were I — 
 So old and cold, ye'd know the treasure 
 
 Of being dry." 
 
 The morning blazed. No wind did blow; 
 And icicles, in many a row, 
 Crackled, and skittered o'er the snow. 
 
 In dreary shape 
 Lay hearth and board, and "Winter snored, 
 
 With jaws agape. 
 
THE SEASONS. 
 
 Now, Reader, don't put up your hair. 
 With this true story try to bear. 
 Although it makes old Winter wear 
 
 The mask of Vice : 
 Wisdom, and wit, and virtue, are 
 
 Not over nice. 
 
 Though social nights and rousing cheer 
 Make old Advice less wise than queer, 
 And Prudence says, with eye severe, 
 
 It is not well; 
 Be kind if Age, but once a year, 
 
 O'erdoes himsel'. 
 
 79 
 
LINES WRITTEN IN "PILGRIM'S 
 PROGRESS." 
 
 Haxjnt of my childhood's brief but joyous 
 morning, 
 
 Old Book, thou pleasant garden of my heart, 
 Unskilled, as yet, to read the mystic warning, 
 
 Which he who planted traced in every part; 
 Once more returning to thy glens and bowers, 
 I see strange lessons in their fruits and flowers. 
 
 Rich with deep morals is that Pilgrim's story. 
 
 Who journeyed from the humble wicker gate. 
 To that celestial gate that beamed with glory, 
 
LINES WRITTEN IN "PILGRIM'S PROGRESS." gl 
 
 Around whose porch the shining ones did 
 wait, 
 To welcome him with harps and hailing voices, 
 As when a host o'er some new star rejoices. 
 
 And yet not o'er green fields, nor by still waters, 
 Walked Pilgrim always on life's varied way ; 
 Not always supped with Heaven's serenest 
 daughters. 
 Nor in the palace Beautiful he lay. 
 Sleeping a dreamless sleep, and in the morning 
 Greeting with song the fresh and fragrant 
 dawning. 
 
 Through the grim vale of Death and Desolation, 
 Fiends at his side, and darkness overhead. 
 
 Through Sleep's Enchanted Land of soft 
 temptation 
 The onward way of Pilgrim's journey led. 
 
 Doubt, disappointment, sorrow, fear, and danger, 
 
 Came to converse, and made him not a stranger. 
 
82 POEMS. 
 
 If, on the page that traces Pilgrim's story, 
 Else than the Pilgrim's moral I would see, 
 
 Be this the teaching which this volume hoary 
 Speaks in the hour of quiet thought to me : 
 
 Expect not, in this world, the cup of pleasure, 
 
 Without the cup of sorrow in due measure. 
 
 Life is no leisure walk 'mid groves and foun- 
 tains — 
 Life of the soul, like that in Pilgrim's breast — 
 But interspersed with Beulahs and Dark 
 Mountains, 
 Regions of fear and doubt and bowers of rest. 
 Mountains, alike, of light and darkness borrow 
 Glory sublime ; and rapture walks with sorrow. 
 
CRAZY KATE. 
 
 Poor Crazy Kate goes up and down, 
 And everywhere about the town, 
 Strange rents and patches in her gown. 
 
 And on her head 
 Flowers and weeds and rubbish strown, 
 
 Of hood instead. 
 
 Kate's life is public everywhere; 
 
 Both school and church she makes her care ; 
 
 In at the teacher she will stare, 
 
 And give him warning; 
 And to the parson, during prayer, 
 
 Bid gay good morning. 
 
84 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 But most, in pastures where, are flowers, 
 Picking and talking at all hours, 
 Heeding no day of sun or showers 
 
 The skies may don. 
 Counting in clouds the golden towers, 
 
 Kate's life wears on. 
 
 The tottling children sent to school 
 With dinner-basket, slate and rule — 
 She shouts and struts and acts the fool 
 
 To see them scamper; 
 On loiterers all, in shadows cool, 
 
 Kate puts a damper. 
 
 Cross farmer John, whose crabbed soul 
 Denies her prayer his plate and bowl — 
 When he and Sleep snore cheek by jowl, 
 
 And night showers patter, 
 Kate stii's his hen-roost with a pole, 
 
 And makes it clatter. 
 
CKAZY KATE. 
 
 85 
 
 You see her, on town-meeting days, 
 Exhorting whom to sink or raise. 
 Each friendly freeman she will praise — 
 
 And well she knows him — 
 But the fat squire, who checks her ways. 
 
 She snubs and blows him. 
 
 Sometimes possessed to swear and curse, 
 Old Nick let loose would scarce act worse, 
 But sing some long-remembered verse 
 
 Of by-gone years — 
 Kate's fierce distractions all disperse 
 
 In sobs and tears. 
 
 Poor crippled bird, with shattered wing! 
 Heart-bud frost-nipped in blossoming! 
 Frail necklace with a broken string! 
 
 Lute out of tune! 
 No earthly power can backward bring 
 
 Thy life's sweet June. 
 8 
 
gg POEMS. 
 
 Distraught! distraught! Alas, poor Kate! 
 'Twas crossed love left thee desolate; 
 And now to hear thee rave and prate, 
 
 In grief or glee, 
 Tt quells the pride of our estate 
 
 Most mournfully. 
 
 Pray Heaven our reason keep us cool. 
 And every power and passion school, 
 Nor with one fancy play the fool. 
 
 What made mad Lear? 
 What, but the long heart crushing rule 
 
 Of one idea? 
 
ST. VALENTINE. 
 
 How cam'st thou in the calendar, 
 
 Thou saint, perverse, gay Valentine ?- 
 Since not by penitential scar. 
 Nor holy labors, made divine. 
 We grieve to say 
 Thy votive day 
 Strips all thy monkish weeds away ; 
 Thou saint of most unsaintly play. 
 
88 I'OEMS. 
 
 strange fruit thou bear'st of cloistered hours, 
 
 For when gray Winter's eye is blear, 
 And Spring, expectant, knots the flowers 
 That on her bridal shall appear, 
 Thou dost indite, 
 (Odd eremite,) 
 Such raptures as would shame thee quite, 
 Didst thou confess whose pen did write. 
 
 Thou walk'st the town and country way ; 
 
 A longer face there could not be ; 
 None would suspect thee ever gay, 
 So close is thine hypocrisy; 
 But wine and cheer. 
 And wedding gear, 
 And lads and lasses, blushing queer. 
 Betray thee, trooping in thy rear. 
 
 Thy brethren of the book and bell. 
 
 Who know what charge to them is given, 
 
 And ponder how to quit it well, 
 
 And look, with solemn eye, to Heaven, 
 
ST. VALENTINE. §9 
 
 We wot they know 
 
 What gaits you go, 
 Grave wag in robes of priestly flow, 
 Yet wink upon your amorous woe. 
 
 Yoiir sport it is to mate the birds 
 That follow, ever, with the sun ; 
 And rippling forth their loving words, 
 They feel life's business just begun. 
 Full many a wing 
 Anon shall bring 
 The balmy honeymoon of Spring — 
 Clear, sunny, rapturous, carolling. 
 
ESTHER'S FEAST. 
 
 In the hall of a monarch a banquet is laid, 
 And the cressets are lighted, the couchea 
 
 arrayed, 
 And the wine quivers, fragrant, in crystal and 
 
 gold, 
 As the curtains are lifted, the portals unfold. 
 
 Enters gravely the king, in the strength of his 
 
 pride ; 
 Enters Esther, the Jewess, the queen, at his side; 
 Enters Haman, the courtier and guest, and the 
 
 door 
 And the curtains return to their places once 
 
 more. 
 
ESTHER'S FEAST. QJ 
 
 As the palm of the desert waves lofty and lone, 
 Bends the figure of Haman approaching the 
 
 throne ; 
 But the breath of a siroc is searing his plume, 
 For the eye of the Jewess is darkened with 
 
 gloom. 
 
 Lo! the king, fierce with passion, strides out 
 
 at the door. 
 And Haman, imploring, sinks, pale, on the floor, 
 And the beautiful Jewess sits arbitress there. 
 For the blood of her race, and a pi-ince in 
 
 despair. 
 
 Can her features, so gentle, their softness forego, 
 Nor relent at the prayer of the mighty in woe ? 
 Shrinks she not from a sight, full of horror as 
 
 this — 
 Age and grandeur approaching a fearful abyss ? 
 
92 
 
 rOEMS. 
 
 Know ye not, though a tyrant may stand like 
 
 a tower, 
 Weaker things than a woman may wither his 
 
 power? 
 While ye raarvel how thrifty his branches may 
 
 be, 
 God is laying an axe at the root of the tree. 
 
 In the palace of Hainan is wailing to-day, 
 And the pornp of his glory is struck with decay ; 
 On his own lofty gibbet he turns in the air, 
 And the raven and vulture are rending him 
 there. 
 
MOUNT VERNON. 
 
 Within these shades has Rumor nought to 
 
 do, 
 That clamors on the highways of the world, 
 Forever babbling of the wondrous new, 
 Where'er a courier comes, a sail is furled. 
 Here is no wheel of art nor traffic whirled, 
 No Titan hands build upward to the skies ; 
 'Tis but a quiet scene, in hues impearled. 
 Of Nature's everywhere appealing dyes — 
 A hallowed haunt, indeed, but not to careless 
 eyes. 
 
94 
 
 Repose rules here, the Genius of the place, 
 And the old hall, the garden, and the tomb. 
 And the gray servant's venerable face, 
 And the hoar willow's sorrow drooping 
 
 plume. 
 Speak less of years in act, and life in bloom, 
 Than of the man whose ashes tenant here. 
 Whose counterpart can scarce again relume. 
 Till a new empire, like to ours, appear. 
 Needing a hand, like his, to set it in its sphere. 
 
 III. 
 
 These woods, these waters, these Virginian 
 
 skies, 
 Were texts for feeling, when his latter day 
 Stole on him, and his deeds of high emprise, 
 Were, like a book of record, laid away. 
 Within this hall, bis fellows, scarred and 
 
 gray, 
 
MOUNT VEKNON. 95 
 
 Long tried and loved in War's tempestuous 
 
 ways, 
 Sat, ere the lamp had marked the day's decay, 
 Their features flickering in the ingle blaze, 
 Flashing, as if with startled thoughts of other 
 days. 
 
 Thus a clear, golden summer's day goes 
 
 down. 
 As quiet as a heart that gently grieves; 
 Thus silent comes the season seared brown. 
 When Autumn counts her summer-ripened 
 
 sheaves. 
 With whispers in the eddies of the leaves; 
 So clasps, a weathered ship, the port of rest: 
 So, the deep bay, an ocean wave, receives; 
 So, to the homeward eagle, stands her nest; 
 To the crusader, so, the altar of the Blest. 
 
96 
 
 O human nature, child of self-desire! — 
 Soul of the clod! — if thou hast ever striven, 
 In a bad world, to nurse the noble fire 
 That proves thee, still, the handiw^ork of 
 
 Heaven, 
 Look on our Steward, from whose hands 
 
 were given, 
 
 Freely, his keys, still bright for honest ends; 
 
 No fetter locked, of all those keys had riven. 
 
 No guerdon sought, for all his years amends — 
 
 Only his wife, his home, his garden and his 
 
 friends. 
 
 Earth has had other conquerors, whose names 
 Bestride, colossal, many a storied land; 
 Men of such royal fortune as proclaims 
 A noble gift of action and command. 
 Which, of the first of these, shall rise and 
 stand. 
 
MOUNT VERNON. 917 
 
 To equal, or surpass our Washington? 
 Which launched a fairer empire from his 
 
 hand? 
 Napoleon, Caesar, Alexander, won 
 Most fame on warlike fields — he, most, when 
 
 war was done. 
 
 Mark the brisk Corsican, whose fortunes start 
 From a low root, but not ignobly grew; 
 Wedded to fame, and one imperial heart. 
 Earth saw, astonished, how his eagles flew, 
 Where Egypt's siro6, and the Alp wind blew ; 
 Grim to the tips, with blood and. glory dyed. 
 They swooped up empires, and o'erhovered 
 
 new, 
 Nor paused nor faltered in their towering 
 
 pride. 
 While that one queenly heart still lingered at 
 
 his side. 
 
 9 
 
98 POKMS. 
 
 Then, the first Caesar, summon up to air, 
 From the dun rearward of the night behind — 
 Bald, and with laurel locks instead of hair — 
 The Roman of the all achieving mind; 
 In war, law, letters, equally refined ; 
 Too proud to king it o'er his conquered peers. 
 Then, on the Macedonian look, and find 
 A soul that lacked no will to rule the 
 
 spheres — 
 Queller of kings in his unbearded youth ; whose 
 
 years 
 
 IX. 
 
 Were glorious with debauchery and fight — 
 A spangled progress, rather than a reign. 
 That, into realms of oriental night. 
 Shot like a comet, with its fiery train. 
 We shall not see (God grant!) his like again, 
 Were such as much, or more than Washing- 
 ton? 
 
MOUNT VERNON. QQ 
 
 Aye — if their hearts, unreckoned in, remain. 
 Compare him how you will, when all is done, 
 Where was his Paris shamed, or Rome, or 
 Babylon? 
 
 X. 
 
 O, with another aim, his years review! 
 Seek for those leaves that chapter where he 
 
 did 
 The noblest thing his heart or hand could do. 
 Lift, of his ample soul, the treasure lid. 
 Search where, from circtimstance, or causes 
 
 hid, 
 He most o'erpeered, where few have thought 
 
 to climb — 
 Rose as a spirit to a spell forbid, 
 And blossomed out into an act sublime — 
 Engrossed a deed that took peculiar lease of 
 
 time. 
 
100 
 
 POEMS 
 
 XI. 
 
 And was it when he heard the high acclaim, 
 The hero call, that aye the heart sublimes ; 
 Prayed and resolved, not knowing but his 
 
 name 
 Might pass, with all his struggles turned to 
 
 crimes, 
 Like a rebellious blot, to after times ? 
 Even as the swain, that peaceful fields would 
 
 win. 
 When now, the sphere, the sun in August 
 
 climbs. 
 Mindful of clouds, yet hopeful to begin. 
 Bares his laborious arm, and puts the sickle in. 
 
 XII. 
 
 In that lone winter, cold and dark o'erhead, 
 When his grim soldiers, crouching at their 
 
 fire. 
 Esteemed God's snow a blanket kindly 
 
 spread. 
 
MOUNT VERNON. J^Ql 
 
 And a poor morsel all their heart's desire, 
 
 Then — ^there — at Valley Forge — shall we 
 require 
 
 The noblest of his conquests, ever known? 
 
 Conquest of doubt, by faith and high desire, 
 
 In a Gethsemane endured alone. 
 Through a sustaining prayer to Heaven's eter- 
 nal Throne. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 At Monmouth? — when to Faction, waver- 
 
 ingly, 
 Touched to the quick, such swelling words 
 
 he spoke, 
 With a majestic fury in his eye ; 
 Then turned and saw how fast the crackling 
 
 smoke. 
 And sabre charge, and cannon's sleety stroke. 
 Their fearful work of disarray had done — 
 Rushed to the front, and dared his heart of 
 
 oak, 
 
102 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 And cheered, above the thunder of the gun, 
 "Stand! Stand, my men! Once more! Right 
 on! The day is won!" 
 
 Or was it when he took the pen that drew 
 Young Andre from the heights where Honor 
 
 smiled; 
 Long pondered, sighed, resolved, and mourn- 
 ed anew 
 Those graceful years to such a doom be- 
 guiled — 
 Signed like a chief, and sorrowed like a child? 
 Or was it, when the olive just restored. 
 Sad in a camp unpaid, unreconciled. 
 He stood and pleaded, begged, besought, 
 implored 
 The starving, war-worn soldier's fingers from 
 his sword? 
 
MOUNT VERNON. JQ3 
 
 Something beyond, and more than these 
 
 express, 
 To touch our noblest fibre doth attain ; 
 And when ye muse on yon vast game of 
 
 chess — 
 Those towers and spires that seek the evening 
 
 main, 
 Like frost-work stealing o'er a window pane, 
 And murmur, half in wonder, half in fear, 
 " We know not what we shall be," O, again. 
 Think on these shades, be silent and revere — 
 Of our Great Father's heart, the proudest quell, 
 
 was here. 
 
THE YANKEE. 
 
 My name is Brother Jonathan, 
 And, if you ask my pedigree, 
 
 I guess that I can show you one, 
 
 That's good enough — at least for me ; 
 
 My father's father has a Book 
 .Where you will find it if you look. 
 
 Yet I am of a sturdy stock, 
 
 Still growing green beyond the wave. 
 God shield the State, from every shock, 
 
 That, unto me, my fathers gave. 
 Old England, here I claim, with thee 
 One tongue, one blood, one destiny. 
 
THE YANKEE. J 05 
 
 Fair foes we parted years ago, 
 
 Fast friends we now should ever be, 
 
 And bear, where'er a breeze can blow. 
 Religion, Art, and Liberty. 
 
 This world has scope and verge enough 
 
 For both to show our Saxon stuff. 
 
 Yet, God I thank, I have a heart. 
 And for that heart I have a home. 
 
 Respected in each foreign mart. 
 Where'er it is my lot to roam. 
 
 My blood beats quick, when I behold 
 
 My own gridiron flag unrolled. 
 
 And well it may. When I was young. 
 They marked me for a rebel child. 
 
 Whose neck would in a noose be strung, 
 And kings looked wise and winked and 
 smiled ! 
 
 But now, at last, I stand content 
 
 To say I wield a continent. 
 
106 POEMS. 
 
 I laugh sometimes, sometimes I weep, 
 To see the nations fight and kill. 
 
 While factions rave, and tyrants keep, * 
 "With sword and gun, their own sweet will, 
 
 Well, if, at last, they can't agree. 
 
 Why, they may come and live with me. 
 
 I hold no secrets from my friends, 
 
 And scarce can keep one from my foes, 
 
 Yet, where my State begins and ends, 
 When will they learn? God only knows! 
 
 My common school and church they need, 
 
 Before they ever can succeed. 
 
 Show you to me but these alone. 
 And I will show you where may be 
 
 A king who doesn't need a throne, 
 Nor armies for his majesty; 
 
 Where you may heed, nor wealth nor birth, 
 
 And honor only native worth. 
 
THE YANKEE. 
 
 107 
 
 Yet, for myself, should self-content, 
 Or pride or wealth, afflict me so, 
 
 To ape the symbols of descent. 
 
 What I will paint me you shall know: 
 
 A jack-knife and a stick shall be 
 
 The blazon of my heraldry. 
 
 With these I guess and calculate ; 
 
 With these I plan, invent, devise; 
 These be the weapons of my fate, 
 
 That make me strong and rich and wise. 
 What care I, then, for gilded bands. 
 Or tufted shields, or sworded hands. 
 
 I am the Robin Goodfellow 
 
 Among the sons of human kind. 
 
 Where'er a breeze of trade can blow. 
 Me, in some shape, you there will find. 
 
 For, spider-like, my webs, to air, 
 
 I throw — they touch — I travel there. 
 
108 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 If stalwart England, seeing cause 
 
 To make the Cue-heads her compeers, 
 
 Roar thunder from her lion jaws, 
 
 And split the paixhans round their ears. 
 
 All Chinadom do I supply 
 
 With all the clocks that they will buy. 
 
 If gold is cropped on strands remote. 
 You see me first and foremost there ; 
 
 I make a ship my pleasure boat, 
 And freely give her wings to air. 
 
 To trade, or dig, or legislate, 
 
 And build myself another State. 
 
 If all the world, intent to vie. 
 
 Together fetch the traps of kings, 
 
 Each notion worth a Jewess' eye. 
 Prodigious grand expensive things, 
 
 I bring my truck and home-made wares. 
 
 And ask 'em what's the use of theirs. 
 
THE YANKEE. 
 
 109 
 
 If those barbarians in Japan, 
 
 "When Jack my boy is cast ashore, 
 
 Abuse him on his knowledge pan, 
 I send my stm'dy commodore, 
 
 Completely furnished to environ 
 
 And punch their harbors with cast-iron. 
 
 Of cider nor of pumpkin pies, 
 
 Nor corn with kernels nice as pearls, 
 
 I will not speak on any wise, 
 
 Nor tell you that the Yankee girls 
 
 Are cute and handsome as the most ; 
 
 Because I do not love to boast. 
 
 But talk of prairies, woods, or lakes, 
 Or mills, or stocks above the par. 
 
 Or sugar-cane, or rattlesnakes, 
 Or flour, or pork, and I am there ; 
 
 Or (let the conversation vary) 
 
 I'm something, too, on sculptuary. 
 10 
 
110 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 My faults I do not care to tell, 
 
 Though most of these are plain enough 
 A homely favor suits me well, 
 
 And dress and manners rather rough; 
 But, stranger, you will find me kind — 
 Until you show another mind. 
 
 I love a trade ; I love the tin, 
 
 Which, like a hawk, I can espy — 
 
 Have sometimes shaved my kith and kin, 
 When not so wide-awake as I; 
 
 But are not wealth, love, honor, done. 
 
 By looking well to number one? 
 
THE MAYFLOWER. 
 
 Down in the bleak December bay, 
 
 The ghostly vessel stands away; 
 
 Her spars and halyards white with ice, 
 
 Under the bleak December skies. 
 
 A hundred souls, in company, 
 
 Have left the vessel pensively — 
 
 Have touched the frosty desert there. 
 
 And touched it with the knees of prayer; 
 
 And now the day begins to dip, 
 The night begins to lour 
 
 Over the bay, and over the ship 
 Mayflower. 
 
112 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Neither the desert nor the sea 
 Imposes ; and their prayers are free ; 
 But sternly else the wild imposes — 
 And thorns must grow before the roses.. 
 And who are these? — and what distress 
 The savage-acred wilderness 
 On mother, maid, and child, may bring,. 
 Beseems them for a fearful thing; 
 
 For now the day begins to dip, 
 The night begins to lour 
 
 Over the bay, and over the ship 
 Mayflower. 
 
 But Carver leads (in heart and health, 
 A hero of the commonwealth) 
 The axes that the camp requires. 
 To buUd the lodge, and heap the fires. 
 And Standish, from his warlike store, 
 Arrays his men along the shore — 
 
THE MAYFLOWER. 1 1 O 
 
 Distributes weapons resonant, 
 And dons his, harness militant; 
 For now the day begins to dip, 
 
 The night begins to lour 
 Over the bay, and over the ship 
 Mayflower. 
 
 And Rose, his wife, unlocks a chest — 
 She sees a Book in vellum drest; 
 She drops a tear and kisses the tome, 
 Thinking of England and of home. 
 Might they — the Pilgrims, there and then 
 Ordained to do the work of men — 
 Have seen, in visions of the air. 
 While pillowed on the breast of prayer, 
 (When now the day began to dip, 
 
 The night began to lour 
 Over the bay, and over the ship 
 Mayflower,) 
 10* 
 
]^J4 POEMS. 
 
 The Canaan of their wilderness, 
 A boundless empire of success ; 
 And seen the years of future nights 
 Jewelled with myriad household lights; 
 And seen the honey fill the hive; 
 And seen a thousand ships arrive; 
 And heard the wheels of travel go — 
 It would have cheered a thought of woe, 
 When now the day began to dip, 
 
 The night began to lour 
 Over the bay, and over the ship 
 
 Mayflower. 
 
TULOOM. 
 
 On the coast of Yucatan, 
 As untenanted of man 
 As a castle under ban 
 
 By a doom, 
 For the deeds of bloody hours, 
 Overgrown with tropic bowers, 
 Stand the teocallis towers 
 
 Of Tuloom. 
 
 One of these is fair to sight. 
 Where it pinnacles a height; 
 And the breakers blossom white. 
 As they boom 
 
11Q POEMS. 
 
 And split beneath the walls, 
 And an ocean murmur falls 
 Through the melancholy halls 
 Of Tuloom. 
 
 On the summit, as you stand, 
 All the ocean and the land 
 Stretch away on either hand, 
 
 But the plume 
 Of the palm is overhead, 
 And the grass, beneath your tread, 
 Is the monumental bed 
 
 Of Tuloom. 
 
 All the grandeur of the woods, 
 And the greatness of the floods. 
 And the sky that overbroods. 
 Dress a tomb. 
 
TULOOM. -^Y^ 
 
 Where the stucco drops away, 
 And the bat avoids the day, 
 In the chambers of decay 
 In Tuloom. 
 
 They are battlements of death. 
 When the breezes hold their breath, 
 Down a hundred feet beneath, 
 
 In the flume 
 Of the sea, as still as glass. 
 You can see the fishes pasg 
 By the promontory mass 
 
 Of Tuloom. 
 
 Towards the forest is displayed. 
 On the terrace, a facade 
 With devices overlaid; 
 And the bloom 
 
]^]^g POEMS. 
 
 Of the vine of sculpture, led 
 O'er the soffit overhead, 
 Was a fancy of the dead 
 Of Tuloom. 
 
 Here are corridors, and there, 
 From the terrace, goes a stair; 
 And the way is broad and fair 
 
 To the room 
 Where the inner altar stands ; 
 And the mortar's tempered sands 
 Bear the print of human hands. 
 
 In Tuloom. 
 
 O'er the sunny ocean swell. 
 The canoas running well. 
 Towards the isle of Cozuinel 
 Cleave the spume ; 
 
TULOOM. 
 
 On they run, and never halt 
 Where the shimmer, from the salt. 
 Makes a twinkle in the vault 
 Of Tuloom. 
 
 When the night is wild and dark, 
 And a roar is in the park. 
 And the lightning, to its mark, 
 
 Cuts the gloom, 
 AU the region, on the sight. 
 Rushes upward from the night, 
 In a thunder-crash of light 
 
 O'er Tuloom. 
 
 O could such a flash recall 
 AU the flamens to their hall, 
 All the idols on the wall. 
 In the fume 
 
 119 
 
120 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Of the Indian sacrifice — 
 All the lifted hands and eyes, 
 All the laughters and the cries 
 ' Of Tuloom— 
 
 All the kings in feathered pride, 
 All the people, like a tide, 
 And the voices of the bride, 
 
 And the groom! — 
 But alas! the prickly pear. 
 And the owlets of the air, 
 And the lizards, make a lair 
 
 Of Tuloom. 
 
 We are tenants on the strand 
 Of the same mysterious land. 
 Must the shores, that we command, 
 Reassume 
 
121 
 
 Their primeval forest hum, 
 And the future pilgrim come 
 Unto monuments as dumb 
 As Tuloom? 
 
 'Tis a secret of the clime, 
 And a mystery sublime, 
 Too obscure, in corning time. 
 
 To presume; 
 But the snake amid the grass 
 Hisses at us as we pass. 
 And we sigh alas ! alas ! 
 
 In Tuloom. 
 
 11 
 
EXCERPTS 
 
 FROM AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Good Friend, dear heart, companion of my 
 
 youth, 
 Whose soul was honor, and whose words were 
 
 truth, 
 Methinks I see your smile of quick surprise, 
 As o'er these rhymes you glance your curious 
 
 eyes; 
 But is it strange, if, in an idle hour, 
 I cull these blossoms from the Muses' bower? 
 Frail though they be, and blown but for a day, 
 
EXCERPTS. 
 
 123 
 
 The heart's best language they may best con- 
 vey. 
 
 In climes more genial, more adorned than ours, 
 
 The poet and the lover talk with flowers; 
 
 Then, though some richer gift were mine to 
 send. 
 
 This should be thine, my old familiar friend. 
 
 If for a while it cheat thee of a care, 
 
 With fond remembrance of the things that 
 w^ere, — 
 
 Renew a thought, a hope that once was dear, 
 
 Or hint an adage for a future year, 
 
 I scarce shall think these lines were vainly 
 writ, 
 
 Nor quite disown my Muse's random wit. 
 Time, that has made us boys, and makes us 
 men. 
 
 Will never, never bring the past again. 
 
 But wingM Memory half the wish supplies. 
 
 Which he who bears the scythe and glass 
 denies. 
 
IM 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 He, the grim sexton — she, among our years, 
 
 Like ' Old Mortality ' 'mid sepulchres — ; 
 
 Both lay their fingers where our lives have 
 
 flown. 
 And touch in turn each monumental stone.* 
 Recall, my friend, the days, when, sent to 
 
 school. 
 We framed our first idea of tyrant rule. 
 Long ere the world's dark page we pondered 
 
 o'er, 
 Glued with the vassal's tears, the martyr's 
 
 gore,— 
 Knew that a Caesar passed the Rubicon, 
 Or wrongful Britain laid a Stamp act on, 
 We drudged, in study, at another's will. 
 While the free light fell warm on field and 
 
 hill,— 
 Wrought, with the service of an eye askance, 
 Beneath a master's rogue-detecting glance, — 
 Possessed with fear, lest trick or task might 
 
 draw 
 
12S 
 
 The rod that fell without the forms of law, 
 Possessed with wrath, to see our wealth expire, 
 Tops, apples, penknives, in the penal fire. 
 How oft the slate, whose sable field should 
 
 show 
 Platoons of figures ranked in studied row. 
 Squadrons of sums arrayed in careful lines. 
 Victualled with grocer's bills of fruits and 
 
 wines, 
 Betrayed a scene that crowned a day's disgrace, 
 Beneath that sternly, sadly smiling face: 
 Trees, houses, elephants, and dogs, and men. 
 Where half th' Arabian's science should have 
 
 been. 
 And only this much learned, of figured lore. 
 That time, subtracted, always left a score. 
 But when those long loved hours were come, 
 
 that took 
 From those revered hands the rod and book. 
 Our, like all vassal hearts set quickly free, 
 11* 
 
126 ^ojms. 
 
 Sought, at a bound, the largest liberty. 
 Self-exiled, then, to meadow, stream, and wood, 
 We dropped, half read, the tale of Robin Hood j 
 Though guiltless of his suits of Lincoln green, 
 Dear, as to him, was every sylvan scene. 
 Shade of old Crusoe, with thy dog and gun. 
 And thy lone isle beneath a southern sun — 
 Shades of the Lords that made such rare 
 
 disport 
 Beneath the oaks of Arden's rural court. 
 As, o'er my little day, I cast my view, 
 Contrasting what I know, with what I knew, 
 Your lot no hardship seems : to you were given 
 The world of nature and the lights of heaven, 
 What time the sun came flaming from the deep, 
 Bursting the curtained clouds of morning sleep, 
 Or night, majestic, paced the solemn skies. 
 Wrapped in a woof of starry mysteries. 
 All times, all seasons, as they came and went. 
 Soothed, with sweet thought, the ills of 
 
 banishment. 
 
EXCERPTS. ]^27 
 
 No rude, unbidden guest, invaded there, 
 Nor the harsh din of congregated care ; 
 And hearts, all ruffled 'mid the haunts of men. 
 Like to a quiet sea became, again — 
 Like to the deep reflection of the skies. 
 Their faith-born hopes, and sage moralities. 
 This much, at least, my devious Muse would 
 
 say: 
 Our golden age, my Friend, has passed away — 
 Passed with the careless dress, and elfin looks, 
 That showed our books were trees and running 
 
 brooks ; * 
 But something more, I would, awhile, recall. 
 Then let, with lingering hand, the curtain fall. 
 Dear to this heart — O now how passing dear. 
 With the sad change of each dispatchful 
 
 year ! — 
 Seems every waif of hours when life was new. 
 Though home's small scene contained its little 
 
 view ; 
 Home, that, however mean or grand, supplies 
 
•log POEMS. 
 
 A gay kaleidoscope to youthful eyes. 
 Say not, gray Wisdom, that its wonders pass. 
 The mere deceit of beads and broken glass ; 
 Here, to thy rugged front and locks of snow, 
 Thy solemn eye, and beard's descending flow, 
 I dare avouch, of life's most pleasing way, 
 The best is gilded with the morning ray. 
 O shut thy book, let go philosophy! 
 See all our life the coinage of our eye. 
 In Youth the pennies pass — 'tis no less strange 
 That Age and Manhood clink the silver change. 
 Through all estates our joys, alike,' are vain, — 
 Then chide not one who turns to youth again : 
 One rainbow vision of youth's earnest eyes 
 Is worth a stack of staid philosophies. 
 
 Fields, waters, forests, where we roamed of 
 yore, 
 What thronging memories haunt ye, evermore ! 
 
 In yonder glen the brook is gliding still. 
 Whose turf-dammed waters turned the mimic 
 mill. 
 
EXCERPTS. 
 
 129 
 
 Yon wood still woos us to its deep embrace, 
 Whose shadows wrought a summer's resting 
 
 place, 
 When from our brows, the careless caps were 
 
 thrown. 
 The hunter's tackle and the game laid down, 
 As the long daylight, wearing towards a close, 
 Breathed the soft airs of languor and repose. 
 There, stretched at length, we mused with half- 
 shut eye. 
 To the leaf-kissing wind's light lullaby. 
 That, ever and anon, with murmur deep, 
 Did through the pine's Eolian organ creep. 
 Tired with the varied travel of the day, 
 The sound of game, unheeded, passed away — 
 The bursting thunder of a partridge wing. 
 The frolic blue-jay's nasal carolling. 
 The tawny thrush, that peeped, with curious 
 
 look, 
 A rustic starer, from his leafy nook. 
 The crow, hoarse cawing, as we met his eye. 
 
]^30 POEMS. 
 
 The squirrels bickering on the oaks hard by — 
 Red-liveried elves, who taught their brains to 
 
 say: 
 'Whene'er the cat doth sleep, the mice may 
 
 play!' 
 No more they feared the gun's successless skill, 
 Banged with clear malice and intent to kill, 
 But shelled their nuts with self-complacent an-, 
 And chid us, plainly, for invading there. 
 Through loopholes of the intertwisted green 
 Came the far glimpse of many a sylvan scene — 
 Parts of a smiling vale, a glorious sphere. 
 Warm with the vigorous manhood of the 
 
 year— 
 Deep-bosomed haunts where honest-handed toil 
 Renewed the strength that dressed his native 
 
 soil; 
 While the gray spire, towards the drooping 
 
 west, 
 With heavenward finger showed a world of 
 
 rest. 
 
EXCERPTS. 
 
 131 
 
 Dear Friend, adieu! where'er my home may 
 be, 
 My door shall swing, with ready hinge, to thee — 
 To thee, the friend of every noble art 
 That serves to warm, refine, or mould the heart. 
 O may thy memory prove a path of flowers, 
 Or, dial like, count but the brightest hours. 
 
A RAILROAD LYRIC. 
 
 " The wonted i-oar was up amidst the woods, 
 And filled the air with barbarous dissonance." 
 
 Comus. 
 
 "From those deep-throated engines belched, wlioso roar 
 Embowellcd with outrageous noise the air.'' 
 
 Paradise Lost. 
 
 O'er the cloudy station house 
 Of the western mountains cold, 
 Where the sun withdraws his gold, 
 
 Stooping his attentive brows, 
 
133 
 
 A RAILROAD LYRIC. 
 
 Stars of signal light are set, 
 Trains of waiting vapor met, 
 
 And the day is darkly done. 
 In the car of Night reclining, 
 Life awaits the morrow's shining — 
 
 Dreams until the morrow's sun — 
 Deeply dreams, and dimly sees 
 Troops of traveling fantasies. 
 
 Life is more than half in seeming, 
 And the visions of its sleep 
 
 Are but shadows of the dreaming 
 That its waking moments keep. 
 
 Time, time, time; 
 And the night is past the prime, 
 
 But here we stand 
 
 And wait for the wave of the signal hand. 
 
 Water boil and fire burn 
 
 In the oily steaming urn. 
 
 Let the fire and water waste. 
 
 1:2 
 
134 
 
 They that tarry wind and tide, 
 
 Safely to the harbor ride; 
 Ruin cracks the skull of Haste. 
 
 Best though Life may be, in action, 
 Action is not all in all. 
 
 Till the track is clear for traction, 
 Stand we, though the heavens fall — 
 
 Stand we, still and steady, though 
 
 From the valve the vapor blow, 
 
 From the fire the fuel go. 
 
 Who shall dare to antedate. 
 
 By a step, the step of Fate? 
 
 Fate must traverse, and be shunned 
 
 In the train of things beyond, 
 
 And to wait, may be to do — 
 
 Waiting won a Waterloo. 
 
 Even so! 
 Now we go. 
 Slip the throttle, lock th' eccentrics; 
 
A RAILROAD LYRIC. J 35 
 
 Heap the fire with tinder-sticks; 
 Try the water. All is well. 
 Beat the quick alarum bell. 
 
 Slowly, slowly, 
 
 Wheels rumbling lowly, 
 Off' we struggle, gathering motion 
 Like a wave upon the ocean. 
 Now our rapid che, che, che, 
 Beats a quick tune merrily. 
 Nighted traveler, beware ; 
 Of our engine have a care. 
 Smooth and swift, the death behind thee 
 Will not spare if it shall find thee. 
 Past the shops, whose iron clangor 
 
 Through the daylight hours resounds, 
 With a hoarse and roaring anger, 
 
 Speed we from the city's bounds ; 
 Onward, through the cave of night, 
 Boring with our signal light. 
 Though the sky is gloaming o'er us. 
 We will trust the track before us ; 
 
]^36 POEMS. 
 
 We will trust the iron bands 
 Laid and kept by other hands. 
 
 So within us, and without us, 
 Runs and opens life about us. 
 Reason shoots a slender light 
 Through an awful world of night. 
 Not a star, in all the spheres, 
 Shows us of our onward years — 
 Shows us of the gullied ditch, 
 Fallen rock, nor open switch, 
 But, by faith, we trust the bands 
 Laid and kept by other hands. 
 
 Faith, alone, in act succeeds — 
 Faith in fixed and ordered parts, 
 Faith in other hands and hearts — 
 
 Faithful follows, faithful leads. 
 
 Crowd the fire, we'll be belated 
 Ere our flight is consummated. 
 
A KAILROAD LYRIC. 
 
 Tread about and toss the wood in ; 
 Urge the water like a flood in ; 
 Strain the gleaming flues and rivets, 
 Strain the tugging pins and pivots. 
 
 Life is short, and time uncertain. 
 Work or idle, as we may, 
 
 Death will rise and drop the curtain 
 On the windows of our day. 
 Then our fire will be extinguished. 
 
 And our vaporing nostril cold. 
 And oiu" breathless locomotive 
 
 To the engine-house be rolled. 
 
 Now our tread is like the thunder. 
 And the earth rolls off from under. 
 Level and low 
 The sparkles fly, 
 Behind and by, 
 12* 
 
 137 
 
138 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Giving the lagging wind the lie.. 
 To and fro 
 The shackle-bars go. 
 
 Ha! ye sons of nature, founded — 
 Ribbed and shored with fickle bones, 
 
 Know ye how your feats are bounded 
 By the limit nature owns ? 
 All the turmoil ye can keep 
 Soon must be allayed in sleep. 
 
 But approach this iron portal, 
 Look upon these prisoned fires; 
 
 Here behold a force immortal, 
 Here., a strength that never tires — 
 
 Strength that shook its loins gigantic, 
 Ages past, before the prime. 
 
 Gored the globe in lusty antic. 
 Ere the coming in of time — 
 Shaping, then, our dwelling-place. 
 Shaping, now, our myriad race. 
 
A RAILROAD LYRIC. 
 
 Touch the whistle quick and sharp. 
 Choke the fierce propelling steam. 
 
 Starting from the shadowy warp, 
 In the searching signal gleam, 
 See the midnight stalker's back ! 
 
 Whirl the beU; 
 Life's in danger on the track; 
 
 All is well! 
 Passed he is, and let our eyes, 
 Inward turning, moralize. 
 
 Brakes were hugged about the wheels,^ 
 All the cranks a stillness kept, 
 Shadows on the polish slept, 
 
 And the demon under seals. 
 Quiet lulled the murmuring ire 
 Of our iron heart of fire. 
 Till we chafed it into toil. 
 Gave it blast, and gave it oil. 
 
 Now we nurse a mad delight — 
 
 139 
 
140 
 
 Dash the iron leagues behind, 
 Horse a wrath, and drink a wind. 
 
 Run, outrageous, through the night. 
 What shall start before us, now. 
 With defiance on its brow? 
 -Think you, on our thunder track. 
 Even a king could frown us back? 
 
 Could he — were oui- train a State, 
 After ages of delay. 
 
 Plunged towards an onward fate 
 Leagues of progress in a day? — 
 Onward plunged, in all its parts, 
 By a million earnest hearts — 
 Camp and council, court and press, 
 By the steam of strong distress. 
 Kings have stood, in such an hour, 
 In the full conceit of power ; 
 Stood, and faced a coming wrath. 
 Till it brushed them from the path ; 
 Till their optics might behold 
 
A RAILROAD LYRIC. ^^4]^ 
 
 Wreck and redness manifold — 
 
 Fury, and a lust to kill — 
 Stars and orders, robes and thrones, 
 Reverend, and anointed bones, 
 
 Cranched amid a roaring mill — 
 Till they saw, and cried, to see : 
 
 Fatal is necessity. 
 Powers there are, in governments, 
 Passions, principles, events. 
 Break whose checks and counterchecks, 
 And you break a thousand necks. 
 More the power, the deeper need 
 In the eyes that check and lead. 
 Powers without forerunning eyes — 
 Blind Cyclopean energies — 
 Roar along an aimless track, 
 Tear the world and go to wrack. 
 Powers there are, that, fed and fanned, 
 Burst the rein of all command. 
 
1^2 roEMS. 
 
 Past the forest, past the grange, 
 Past the misty mountain range, 
 Past the ledges gleaming dank. 
 Past the hovel, past the tank. 
 Past the shaggy gorge profound, 
 Echoes, over doubtful ground. 
 Kennelled in the far morass, 
 Baying at us as we pass. 
 O'er the bridge, and through the tunnel, 
 Shoots our comet-bearing funnel. 
 
 Past the village, dimly lighted, 
 Laid away in curtained rest. 
 
 Onward, howsoe'er benighted, 
 Burns our iron-hearted breast. 
 
 Ever thus, O noble heart. 
 Thou must do a noble part. 
 While the ways are wild and deep. 
 While the world is gone to sleep, 
 Run thy race and do thine own. 
 Even in darkness and alone. 
 
A RAILKOAD LYRIC ]^43 
 
 Harkl what means yon fearful humming, 
 Hurtling on the midnight air? 
 
 'Tis — it is a vengeance coming I 
 Backl Reversel Bind hard the brakes there! 
 Light! alight! 
 Hard and tight ! 
 Ruin and death! 
 Clang the bell! 
 From our iron lungs 
 Give the whistle breath, 
 With an open throat, 
 And a wrath beneath! 
 Smite the air 
 With a huge despair! 
 Vain it is — give o'er endeavor. 
 Yonder see the sparkles flashing. 
 Quick! Avaunt! Avoid the crashing! 
 
 Clutch your time, or sleep forever. 
 Now or never! 
 
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS' FARE 
 WELL TO FRANCE. 
 
 Wooed in the May day of my prime. 
 
 And won, by love, to warmer earth, 
 How can I seek, in Scotia's clime, 
 
 Again, alone, a sullen hearth! 
 But France is now for other eyes, 
 And unto me are other skies. 
 
 O never shall a ship convey 
 
 A sadder wanderer away! 
 
QUEEN MARY'S FAKEWELL TO PRANCE. 
 
 145 
 
 Behind, the shore, distinct and bright, 
 
 Extends a farewell arm to me. 
 Before me is the drooping light — 
 
 The sunset and the misty sea. 
 And thus, in gloom and doubt, decays, 
 To me, the light of glorious days, 
 
 "When Love to France, with Francis flew. 
 
 Adieu! Adieu! Ah me — Adieu! 
 
 13 
 
A LOOK-OUT, 
 
 FROM THE SUMMIT OF ROARING BROOK; CHESHIRE 
 CONN. 
 
 Make we this hoary rock our stand, 
 
 While sinks the summer evening glow. 
 How vast the skies, above expand, 
 
 And earth, how deeply stooped, below! 
 This place, to Heaven, indeed, is near, 
 
 And we would utter, to the air, 
 
 A feeling near akin to prayer. 
 And build a tabernacle here. 
 
A LOOK-OUT. 247 
 
 Behold the tombs of ages gone, 
 
 That all in strong convulsion died — 
 
 Dials of time-enduring stone, 
 
 That, grandly, day and night divide. 
 
 And see the children of the sun, 
 Above the valley, sail and soar, 
 A thousand acres browning o'er, 
 
 And passing, slowly, one by one. 
 
 And, level oflF, so high in air. 
 
 Swings the gray hawk in dizzy round; 
 And through the forests, everywhere, 
 
 Creeps up the wind, with lulling sound ; 
 And, from the gorge of ruined rocks. 
 
 Come, swelling with a fitful call. 
 
 The voices of the waterfall 
 That plays among the fallen blocks. 
 
 Above us is the void of heaven, 
 
 Save, by the trooping clouds, untrod; 
 
]^48 POEMS. 
 
 Before us, to our eye, is given 
 
 The teeming valley's chequered sod; 
 
 Beneath, a steep all wild and stark, 
 With trees that topple from its face. 
 Of thunder storms the battle-place, 
 
 And branded with the lightning's mark. 
 
 But turn, and, on this mountain crest, 
 A little glen the rocks inclose. 
 
 Of trees and flowers — ^the very nest 
 Of quiet and retired repose ; 
 
 And through it glides the mountain stream 
 And firs and maples shade it round. 
 And airs, of soft Eolian sound. 
 
 Come like the music of a dream. 
 
 O could a wish the heart engage. 
 In such an hour and place as this. 
 
 It were, to build a hermitage 
 
 Within this airy bower of bliss — 
 
A LOOK-OUT. 249 
 
 Prom the wild world, beneath, to steal, 
 And seek with constant longing, here, 
 Communion with the purer sphere 
 
 That God, in Nature doth reveal. 
 
 It may not be : the world we tread, 
 
 So grand and gay with rocks and flowers, 
 So solemn with its buried dead. 
 
 Cathedral-like, unfolds its towers. 
 Where we, in hours of joy or pain. 
 
 Should seek, awhile, with reverent^eye, 
 
 Him who upbuilds eternity. 
 Then, forth, and to our "work again. 
 
 13* 
 
TO KATE 
 
 Remembered still, and still the same, 
 Where'er your future home may be, 
 
 You can not leave us ; you will claim, 
 In us, a part of memory; 
 
 And vainly will the days divide 
 
 Our eyes from Kate, to-day a bride. 
 
 We yield you to the hands that take 
 Our bird from out her native nest, 
 With hoverings of the heart, that make 
 
TO KATE ■ 
 
 151 
 
 A gentle tumult in the breast: 
 With half a smile, and half a sigh, 
 "We bid the kind old word. Good-bye. 
 
 No doubt, though under colder skies. 
 In other happy household bowers, 
 
 New hopes, and other memories 
 Will bud and blossom into flowers ; 
 
 For friendships follow, everywhere, 
 
 A girl so gentle and so fair. 
 
 But this we say : Ye Powers of good. 
 Whose wings surround our social board. 
 
 Grant that \ve stand where once we stood. 
 And see our truant bride restored. 
 
 And Kate shall find, wherever known. 
 
 No sunnier welcomes than our own. 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 What more extolling, from the tongue of 
 Fame, 
 Can Shakspeare need than his suggested name, 
 Who, in a volume so compactly writ. 
 Has hived the honey of all human wit. 
 Praise suits, where merit in a corner lies, 
 But seems uncomely to the acknowledged wise. 
 Praise suits, where laboring Art, at times, suc- 
 ceeds. 
 And the shrewd reader pardons as he reads ; 
 
SHAKSPEAKE. J^^g 
 
 But fails, in wonder, where the leaves dispense 
 Infinite resource of intelligence — 
 Where the great Player, at his game of chess. 
 Frolics through aU, to glorious success — 
 Thrids, with exulting ken a boundless maze; 
 Plays with his kings, and kings it in his plays. 
 Swan of the Avon! Genius of the Thames, 
 " That so didst take Eliza and [king] James ! " — 
 Muse of so vast a flight, so ample pinion, 
 Whose name is as the name of a dominion ! 
 Though kings be great, give glory to the pen ; 
 A whole-souled Poet is the King of men : 
 King and high-priest, one bard, at least, has 
 
 been. 
 Lo ! where we lesser Levites pause and quail, 
 How grandly goes before, within the veil, 
 Our great Melchizedec, without compeers, 
 Without progenitor, nor end of years. 
 
BURNS. 
 
 Though strange success appeared in Nature's 
 
 plan, 
 What strange defeats have sometimes marred 
 
 a man! 
 Who then shall boast a power or an intent 
 Locked from the burglar hand of accident? 
 Were ours the art to make the fruit appear 
 Of flowers between the pages fragrant here — 
 O could we piece these fragments of a soul, 
 And the lost parts restore, to make the whole, 
 
BURNS. 
 
 155 
 
 Here were a Muse, though sprung of lowly- 
 birth, 
 Whose name might face the mightiest of the 
 
 earth. 
 But, ah, how brief the lines that now convey 
 The gi-andeur of a glory passed away! 
 We pause, like Pilgrims in a lonely place, 
 Before some sculptured ruin of old days. 
 And see, with strange, and oft renewed surprise. 
 The fragments of a royal palace rise ; 
 Ehough just left to show us what was planned — 
 A whole how glorious if the parts so grand — 
 But a sad space of desert lies between 
 The stones that mark what was or might have 
 been. 
 
 For some great use, a man was here designed, 
 Not of one power, but many powers combined: 
 His the best gift that Nature can dispense. 
 For homely needs — a homely common sense — 
 
156 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 A sense of common things, whose voice sincere 
 Might well have whispered in an Esop's ear, 
 Might well have won the praise of worldly men. 
 Whose traffic lore ignores the poet's pen. 
 But to this gift — the key of all success 
 To common, and uncommon men, no less — 
 How shall we add, what else we more revere, 
 The heart so deep, so ardent, so sincere; 
 The hand that friendship ever might command, 
 All social moods, and manners brave and bland, 
 All lively words of sympathy that go • 
 
 Into the chambers of our joy and woe; 
 The patriot faith in freedom and in truth, 
 Faith in the love and confidence of youth. 
 Faith in the things beyond the pillared skies. 
 Faith in devotion's holy harmonies ; 
 The wit to shape, from Nature's varied scene. 
 All moods of life that might though ne'er have 
 
 been; 
 The poet eye for all that makes the day, 
 And the wild night, along as wild a way; 
 
BURNS. 
 
 157 
 
 The impulse, and the passion, and the fire, 
 The rapture and the glory of the lyre — 
 These were his gifts, and yet, with these was 
 
 given 
 The base infusion of an earthly leaven. 
 And, like the Assyrian dream, he passed away, 
 A head of gold sustained by feet of clay. 
 
 Could Burns have known his plain unvar- 
 nished worth, 
 
 And scorned the petty gauds of titled birth ; 
 
 Could he have dashed, unquaffed, the social 
 bowl. 
 
 Whose dregs were blight and madness to his 
 soul; 
 
 Could he have tamed each passion's wayward 
 rage. 
 
 And conned each lesson of his ripening age — 
 
 Found where the work his hands might best 
 assay, 
 
 14 
 
158 POEMS. 
 
 And looked with sober eye o'er all life's way, 
 He might have seen his years with blessings 
 
 crown, 
 Nor less the poet's — more the man's renown. 
 
 But though, too soon, his spirit sought the 
 sky, 
 Something is left of him that can not die. 
 While home-bred joys retain their ancient 
 
 power. 
 While mirth and music rule the festive hour, 
 The patriot's or the lover's pulses thrill, 
 His lyre must lend our lips expression still. 
 From him the Caledonian long shall learn 
 The martial rage of Bruce at Bannockburn; 
 The Pilgrim long shall hail the summer noon. 
 By brigs of Ayr, and banks of bonny Doon — 
 Shall seek the cot that saw his eyes unclose, 
 And the proud fane that guards his last repose. 
 Such is the power that human souls possess, 
 If greatly moved by rapture or disti-ess ; 
 
BURNS. jgn 
 
 Lo! in an hour they make the humblest home 
 The worshipped shrine of ages yet to come. 
 To rival this, let Art and Nature strive 
 To breathe a charm and bid the landscape live ; 
 Earth's fairest scene shall coldly meet the eye, 
 Linked with no touch of human sympathy; 
 But hallowed is the soil, where'er we tread, 
 If there some heart hath greatly thought or bled. 
 Even the first Paradise, however fair, 
 Were nought but for the drama acted there. 
 
 Twine a fair garland, Scotia, for the tomb 
 Of Burns thy lover; bid the laurel bloom — 
 Nor let the laurel's deathless leaf alone 
 "Wave o'er the name that decks the costly stone : 
 The cypress and the myrtle branch combine 
 With graceful tendrils of the joyous vine; 
 And each fair flower that blossomed in his verse. 
 May speak in emblems from his marble hearse : 
 Neglected, lost, adored, beneath this bier. 
 Thy noblest bard, thy truest love, lies here. 
 
MARCH BIRDS. 
 
 Though blasts of March are roaring high, 
 And clouds run races through the sky, 
 And weathercocks are vexed to know 
 Which way to point the winds that blow. 
 And in the snowdrift, on the hill, 
 Grim Winter' lurks in ambush still. 
 Thou little bird, with faithful wing, 
 Hast staked thy life upon a Spring — 
 Hast come, so full of faith possessed. 
 Winds ruffle but thine outer breast. 
 Perched on the garden's tallest pear, 
 Because thy last year's nest was there, 
 Thy song is of a quiet tune, 
 Unto the halcyon days of June. 
 
MAKCH BIRDS. 
 
 161 
 
 II. 
 
 My life has many a gusty sigh, 
 
 To blow the clouds of Memory, 
 
 And my poor brain is vexed to know 
 
 "What way my feet had ought to go, 
 
 And in a vesture white and chill, 
 
 Sorrow is hid in ambush still ; 
 
 But still my heart shall strive to sing, 
 
 And stake its life upon a Spring — 
 
 My heart, with constant faith possessed. 
 
 Shall keep a quiet inner breast. 
 
 In season haunts, though blown and bare, 
 
 Because its last year's love was there. 
 
 My heart shall sing a quiet tune 
 
 Unto the halcyon days of June. 
 
 14* 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. 
 
 The memory of Nathan Hale, 
 Who, in the days of strife 
 
 For freedom of our native land, 
 Laid down his noble life. 
 
 Lord Howe, Cornwallis, Percy earl, 
 Were come in wide array, 
 
 And from Long Island to New York 
 Had pushed our guns away. 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. 
 
 Our Father looked across the Sound ; 
 
 Disaster groaned behind, 
 And many dubious, anxious thoughts 
 
 Were laboring in his mind. 
 
 "Knowlton," said he, " I need a man 
 Such as is hard to meet — 
 
 A ti'usty, brave, and loyal man. 
 And skillful in deceit. 
 
 "The British, now in Brooklyn lodged, 
 
 May divers plans pursue. 
 Find me a man to go and spy 
 
 What Howe intends to do." 
 
 Said Knowlton: " Sir, I make no doubt, 
 
 Many apt men have we." 
 He went. At nightfall he returned, 
 
 With Hale in company. 
 
 163 
 
Jg4 POEMS. 
 
 " Young friend," said Washington to Hale, 
 
 " It much imports to know 
 What mischief Howe is brooding on — 
 
 Which way intends to go. 
 
 " But though you might, with help of Grace 
 
 Unmask his schemes of ill, 
 I will not risk your generous blood. 
 
 Without your perfect will." 
 
 " Grave sir," said Hale, " I left my home. 
 
 Not for the love of" strife. 
 But for my Country's cause, resolved. 
 
 Knowing I risked my life. 
 
 "Between my duty and my will, 
 
 In service light or sore. 
 It is not now for me to choose, 
 
 For that was done before. 
 
A BALLAD OP NATHAN HALE. 
 
 " Let not your Excellency poise 
 
 What may to me ensue, 
 But weigh the service to be done, 
 
 And judge my power to do." 
 
 " "Well said. Then briefly thus : put on 
 Some other self. Disguise; 
 
 And, by to-morrow morning, be 
 Among our enemies. 
 
 " Go safely curious how you will. 
 
 And spy, whate'er you may. 
 Of how their troops have borne the bruise 
 
 They gave us yesterday. 
 
 " And deeper else — our chief concern, 
 
 And study at this hour. 
 Find if their guns are hither aimed. 
 
 Or, with divided power, 
 
Jgg POKMS. 
 
 ^' Cleft from the rearward of their force, 
 
 While we sit here attent, 
 Or farther south, or farther north, 
 
 They mean to make descent. 
 
 " Brooklyn, to them is vantage ground. 
 
 Find what you can — ^to know 
 The mischief in a foeman's thought. 
 
 Is half to foil a foe. 
 
 "The moon goes down" — '-By nine," said 
 Hale; 
 
 Said Knowlton, " Nay, at ten." 
 " Can you be off so soon as that?" 
 
 " I hardly think, by then; 
 
 "Nor would: for let me plead that I, 
 
 Herein may yield my breath, 
 And mine affairs I would devise, 
 
 As if before my death. 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. 
 
 167 
 
 " God knows what hearts may crack for this. 
 
 But, failure or no fail, 
 To-morrow morning I'll be there. 
 
 As I am Nathan Hale." 
 
 "Bravely, my boy! Such soul as this 
 
 Is better than a host. 
 To dare is little, if to dare. 
 
 Unmindful of the cost." 
 
 The night was broadly overcast. 
 And the scant moon and stars. 
 
 From the dim dungeons of the clouds, 
 Looked through their iron bars. 
 
 " My worthy lad," said Washington, 
 " We seek without despair. 
 
 Although we find, in all yon arch. 
 No sign of morning, there." 
 
\QQ POEMS. 
 
 " And know Whose gracious hand it is 
 That times the darkest sky," 
 
 Said Hale. "Adieu," said Washington, 
 " God keep you ! Go — good-bye." 
 
 The flitting Hours, with golden brands 
 Once more adorned with flame, 
 
 Beheld our land in busy act. 
 Where war was all the game. 
 
 Out of his cups of deep carouse, 
 That reeled till morning shine. 
 
 The Provost of the Lion camp 
 Came forth the tented line. 
 
 An ugly man — a tiger soul 
 
 Lodged in a human house, 
 With whiskey fuming from his hide, 
 
 And hair about his brows. 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. Jgg 
 
 And Hale had hid his skiff, and now 
 
 Was coming by the shore, 
 Thinking of many serious things 
 
 He never thought before. 
 
 He mused of all the hard essays 
 
 Of this our mortal state, — 
 The bitter bruise, and bloody blows, 
 
 Of Virtue matched with Fate. 
 
 He heard the larks and robins sing, 
 
 And tears came in his eyes. 
 To think, how man, and man alone, 
 
 Was cast from Paradise. 
 
 " Well, Hodge, how's turnips ? What's in 
 
 this?" 
 
 "Now who be you?" said Hale, 
 
 " I aint no Hodge. 'Taint turnips. Stop! 
 
 Let go! This here's for sale." 
 15 
 
]^70 POEMS. 
 
 " Powder and grog! Be quiet, lad. 
 Tobacco? By my soul! 
 
 Rebel, we've come to take the land- 
 Hands off! I seize the whole." 
 
 Towards the camp the Provost strode ; 
 
 Hale followed, with a cry: 
 "Give me my pack! Now! Come! You 
 sir!" 
 
 " Clod-shoes, get home ! Not I! " 
 
 But epaulettes were on the road; 
 
 The trick was getting worse. 
 The Provost dumped the pack aside. 
 
 With a substantial curse. 
 
 "Waal, Mister, that's the han'some thing; 
 
 That are tobaker's prime. 
 I knowed you didn't mean to gi'ab, 
 
 I knowed it all the time. 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. 
 
 " I'm goin' to peddle up to camp, 
 
 And if you only would 
 Go snacks, and help me sell, you might, — 
 
 Come, — I should say you could?" 
 
 " Yorky, pick up your pack. Hook on — 
 Hook on. We'll make it even." 
 
 The lines were passed ; the countersign 
 ("Whither away?") was given. 
 
 " I see," said Hale within himself, 
 
 " This man's internal shape : 
 The Devil can do a gracious turn, 
 
 To shun a graceless scrape." 
 
 Gay was the camp, with liveried men : 
 Some trimmed the gun and blade, 
 
 Some chatted in the morning sun. 
 Some slept along the shade; 
 
 171 
 
2^2 POEMS. 
 
 And some bore out the soldier, dead, 
 
 On his unfollowed bier — 
 The soldier, dead, the hapless dead, 
 
 Who died without a tear — 
 
 So lately wept from England's shore, 
 And winged, with prayers, afar. 
 
 To feel the piercing thunder shock. 
 Gored by the horns of "War. 
 
 Cried Hale: "Who buys! who buys! who 
 buys! 
 
 Hearts! Boys! My lads! Hooraw! 
 Thrippence a junk! Britannia rule! 
 
 Don't any of you chaw?" 
 
 But all the while, his wily eye 
 
 Was taking curious notes 
 Of men, and arms, and sheeted carts, 
 
 And guns with stoppered throats. 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. 
 
 173 
 
 " Boys, what you goin' to doin' on ? — 
 
 Hello ! this way, that beer ! — 
 You goin' to captivate New York? — 
 
 Pine shillin' piece — look here!" 
 
 " Sing us a song." " 'Bout what?" said Hale. 
 
 " Sing us ' All in the doons, ' 
 ' Britannia rule,' ' God save the^King.'" 
 
 Said Hale, " Don't know the tunes." 
 
 Cornwallis now came walking by. 
 
 " The capting, hey ? " " It is." 
 Hale folded up an ample slice : 
 
 "D'ye spose he'd 'xcept of this?" 
 
 Mad with the thought, to see the clown 
 
 Break his own pate with fun, 
 " Do it! " said they. Said Hale, " I will. 
 
 Jerry's respects," — 'twas done. 
 15* 
 
X74 POEMS. 
 
 And back he came, with open grin ; 
 "Took it like ile!" said he, 
 
 "I swow, I done the han'some thing- 
 He done it too to me." 
 
 III. 
 
 Sins are like waters in a gap. 
 
 Like flames, to leap a check; 
 If cable Conscience crack a strand, 
 
 A man may go to wreck. 
 
 Sins never shut the doors of hearts 
 
 That give good cheer to sin. 
 But always leave them open wide, 
 
 For others to come in. 
 
 Disdaining ours for England's camp, 
 
 There lurked a man about. 
 Who, flushed with shame and rage of heart 
 
 Like Judas had gone out. 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. J 75 
 
 He left US — and he swore revenge — 
 
 And vengeance did not fail : 
 The courteous fiend, who led his steps, 
 
 Conducted him to Hale; 
 
 His kinsman — one whose generous hand, 
 
 Impelled by brave desire, 
 Had saved him once, and still endured 
 
 The seal of it in fire. 
 
 He met him coming from the camp, 
 He saw — he knew the hand — 
 
 He saw the whole, and, in the road, 
 He made a sudden stand. 
 
 "Hum! Ha! It's Captain Hale, I think? 
 
 Nathan, how do you do? 
 SoiTy, I am, to see you here — 
 
 Sorry I am for you." 
 
176 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Oft" of the sudden heart of Hale 
 
 All his disguises fell : 
 " Cousin ! Good God ! go back with me, 
 
 And all shall yet be well." 
 
 " It can not be. You came to dare. 
 
 And you must take the rod." 
 Said Hale : " This hand, at Judgment Day, 
 
 Will fan the wrath of God." 
 
 "Speak not of God," the traitor said, 
 " A good French faith have I. 
 
 ' No man hath seen him,' Scripture saith, 
 And, 'All is Vanity.'" 
 
 Hale, finding how the scoundrel feared 
 Nor God's nor man's award, 
 
 Looked for a handy stick, or stone, 
 To quicken his regard. 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. J^ijiiji 
 
 But tiger-soon, the renegade 
 
 Had gripped his arms around': 
 " Ah ha! Yes ! yes ! — Help ! help I " he cried, 
 
 And crushed him to the ground. 
 
 Fettered, on straw, with soldier guards, 
 
 The tent lamp trembling low. 
 The morrow was his day of doom, 
 
 That night a night of woe. 
 
 And, half the night, the gallows sound 
 
 Of hammers filled his ears. 
 Like strokes upon a passing bell. 
 
 Telling his numbered years. 
 
 His numbered years — alas, how brief! 
 
 And Memory searched them back. 
 Like one who searches, with a light, 
 
 Upon a midnight track. 
 
]^78 POEMS. 
 
 The fields, the woods, the humming school 
 
 The idly pondered lore, 
 And the fair-fingered girl who shared 
 
 His dinner at the door ; 
 
 His room, beneath the homestead eaves. 
 
 Wherein he laid his head — 
 His mother, come to take the light, 
 
 And see him warm in bed: 
 
 These and their like, distinct and bright, 
 Came back and fired his brain 
 
 With visions, all whose sweetness now, , 
 Was but exalted pain. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ere Silence droops her fluttering wing. 
 The pang may all be past; 
 
 And oft, of good men's latter hours. 
 The easiest is the last. 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. J^^Q 
 
 The morn was up — the flickering morn 
 
 Of Summer, towards the Fall ; 
 " Bravely is all," the guardsman said ; 
 
 Said Hale: "God's grace is all." 
 
 And now the Provost Marshal came 
 
 With soldiers, all was ripe ; 
 But, out of Hale's tobacco, first, 
 
 He filled and smoked a pipe. 
 
 Forth passed the man, through all disguise, 
 
 With look so sweet and high. 
 He showed no sort of dread, at all. 
 
 Of what it was to die. 
 
 Come to the cart, whose doleful planks 
 
 Beneath his feet did creak. 
 He bowed, and looked about, and stood 
 
 In attitude to speak. 
 
J^gQ POEMS. 
 
 "Holloa! hoa! drammer, bring your di-um; 
 
 Play Yankee Doodle here — 
 Play, while we crack the rebel's neclc." 
 
 Earl Percy then drew near. 
 
 "Provost," said he, " I shame at this! 
 
 Let the lad have his say. 
 Or you shall find who rules the camp." 
 
 And so he walked away. 
 
 " Soldiers," said Hale, " you see a man 
 Whom Death must have and keep ; ■ 
 
 And things there are, if I should thinlc, 
 I could not help but weep. 
 
 "But since, in darkness, evermore, 
 
 God's providences hide. 
 The bravely good, in every age, 
 
 By faith have bravely died. 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. ^Q^ 
 
 " That man who scorns his present case, 
 
 For glorious things to be, 
 I hold that in his scorn he shows 
 
 His soul's nobility. 
 
 "Though George the Third completely 
 scourge 
 
 Our groaning lives away. 
 It can not, shall not, be in vain 
 
 That I stand here to-day. 
 
 "O take the wings of noble thought! 
 
 Run out the shapes of time. 
 To where these clouds shall lift, nor leave 
 
 A stain upon the clime. 
 
 "Behold the Crown, of ages gone. 
 
 Sublime and self-possessed; 
 In empire of the floods and shores, 
 
 None so completely blest. 
 16 
 
]^g2 POEMS. 
 
 " This land shall come to vast estate, 
 
 In freedom vastly grow ; 
 And I shall have a name to live, 
 
 Who helped to build it so. 
 
 " Ye patriots, true and sorely tried, 
 
 While the dark days assail, 
 I seem to see what tears ye shed. 
 
 At thought of Nathan Hale. 
 
 " Where is that man, among ye all 
 
 That come to see me die, 
 Who would not glory in his soul, 
 
 If he had done as I? 
 
 -'Judge, then, how I have wi-ecked ray life, 
 
 And in what cause begun; 
 I sorrow but in one regret, 
 
 That I can lose but one. 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. 
 
 183 
 
 " In Thee, O Christ, I now repose ; 
 
 Thou art my all to me. 
 And unto Thee, Thou triune God — 
 
 O make my Country free!" 
 
 Then, turning to a guard, who wept 
 
 Like sudden April rain. 
 And scattered from his generous eyes 
 
 The drops of holy pain, 
 
 " Unto your honest tears, I trust 
 These letters, to convey." 
 
 Then, to the Provost Marshall, Hale 
 Did mildly turn and say: 
 
 " Before, from underneath my feet. 
 
 The fatal cart is gone, 
 I fain would hear the chaplain pray; 
 
 Sir Provost, have you none?" 
 
184 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 As when a dreadful lion roams 
 The torrid sands, and sees 
 
 A fawn among the valleys drink, 
 Beneath the tuneful trees, 
 
 K, chance, he sees the tender hind 
 
 Just move behind an oak. 
 He snaps his teeth and snaps his tail, 
 
 And makes the desert smoke; 
 
 So, when the Provost witnessed Hale, 
 
 To softer hands, convey 
 His parting love, and heard him''ask 
 
 To hear the Chaplain pray. 
 
 He jumped like mad, he danced about, 
 Did rant, and roar, and swear; 
 
 The Furies in his furnace eyes. 
 And in his rampant hair: 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. 
 
 " Dog of a thief! ere you shall have 
 
 Priest, book, or passing bell, 
 Your rebel hide shall rot in air. 
 
 Your soul shall roast in hell!" 
 
 "God's will be done!" said Nathan Hale, 
 
 "Farewell to life and light!" 
 They pulled the cloth about his eyes, 
 
 And the slack cord was tight. 
 
 185 
 
 Once more the rack, along the Sound, 
 Curled to the morning sun, 
 
 That kissed with mercy-beams, a world 
 "Where such strange things are done. 
 
 Along our lines the sentry walked, 
 
 The dew was on his hair, 
 He felt the night in every limb. 
 
 But kept his station there, 
 16* 
 
I^Q POEMS. 
 
 And watched the shimmering spires, and saw 
 
 The swallows slide away, 
 When o'er the fields, there came a man, 
 
 Rough, and in rough array. 
 
 "Holla, you Yankee scout!" said he. 
 They've caught your Captain Hale, 
 
 And choked him, for a traitor spy. 
 Dead as a dead door nail. 
 
 "Run! Use your rebel soldier legs. 
 
 Tell General Washington. 
 Don't wait. You'll be promoted for't. 
 
 I'll stand and hold your gun." 
 
 Out spoke the guard : " You British crow, 
 Curse on your croaking head! 
 
 Move off, or else, I swear, you'll get 
 The cartridge and the lead." 
 
A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. Jg^ 
 
 Full of his news, the sentry soon 
 
 To Knowlton told the same. 
 Knowlton, with tears in either eye, 
 
 To the head-quarters came. 
 
 And told to General Washington 
 
 Poor Hale's unhappy case; 
 Nought answered he, but bowed awhile. 
 
 With hands upon hjs face. 
 
 Then, rising steadfast and serene. 
 
 The same great master still — 
 Curbing a noble sorrow down, 
 
 With a more noble will. 
 
 "Bring me," said he, "my writing desk. 
 And maps last night begun. 
 
 Send hither Putnam, Lee, and Greene; 
 For much is to be done." 
 
188 POBMS. 
 
 So perished Nathan Hale. God grant 
 
 Us not to die as he ; 
 But, for the glorious Stripes and Stars, 
 
 Such iron loyalty. 
 
SONG. 
 
 Weep no more, Lady, weep no more; 
 
 Send weeping after sorrow : 
 No sea so wild but owns a shore, 
 
 No night but knows a morrow. 
 
 Weep no more. Lady, weep no more; 
 
 Tear-drops are unavailing. 
 Let Love, that so prevailed before. 
 
 Be now in us prevailing. 
 
 Weep no more, Lady, weep no more; 
 
 Death laughs when Love is grieving. 
 Seal up thine anguish and give o'er. 
 
 Nor woo thine own bereaving. 
 
THE TALISMAN. 
 
 When last I looked in Mary's face, 
 My ship was to her canvas heeling; 
 
 We parted with a long embrace, 
 
 And many a tear of truth and feeling. 
 
 And late and long, by sea and shore, 
 I since have been a lonely ranger; 
 
 Condemned to wander, evermore. 
 About the world, a sailor stranger. 
 
THE TALISMAN. 
 
 191 
 
 But oft, o'er foreign zones afloat, 
 
 When winds were whist upon the ocean, 
 
 My heart, with her, has walked remote, 
 In silence and a deep emotion. 
 
 When tempest shut the vast of space 
 To fire and wreck and wild miscarry. 
 
 Nor hope appeared in any face, 
 
 My only thoughts were God and Mary. 
 
 And when the shores and frolic marts. 
 
 With lass and glass, have made me tarry. 
 
 My heart has danced with other hearts, 
 But never wronged the thought of Mary. 
 
 True is my love, and near or far. 
 
 On every sea, through all the nations, 
 
 Conducts me truly as a star. 
 
 In calms, and perils, and temptations. 
 
CUPID AND THE WASP. 
 
 Cupid one day unyoked his sparrows, 
 
 And then sat down to mend his arrows. 
 
 First, on the grass beside a brook, 
 
 He from his golden quiver shook 
 
 A sight to see of broken darts, 
 
 The sad result of callous hearts. 
 
 There's many a heart as hard's a whinstone . 
 
 Cupid as well might shoot a grindstone. 
 
 All these his arrows he inspected, 
 
 Some he retained, and some rejected — 
 
CUPID AND THE WASP. 1 QO 
 
 Replaced the splintered and the stunted, 
 And tipped the battered and the blunted, 
 TiU, having trimmed them to a little, 
 He shut and put away his whittle; 
 When, casting down a random look 
 To the wet margin of the brook, 
 He saw a wasp, the quiverings 
 Of whose steel-colored back and wings. 
 Most unmistakably displayed 
 Him working at the mason's trade. 
 Then, with a gesture courteous, 
 Cupid addressed the insect thus : — 
 
 " My interesting friend," said he, 
 " A very grave necessity 
 Prompts me politely to address 
 News of extreme unpleasantness 
 Directly to your private ear: 
 You know how very, very dear 
 My Psyche is — how I adore her, 
 17 
 
194 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 And set no other Nymph before her. 
 
 I love her very tenderly, 
 
 And she is just as fond of me — 
 
 A creature full of fiutterings — 
 
 One of the timidest of things — 
 
 And you must also know that soon 
 
 She will be here, this afternoon, 
 
 To pick a lily for her tresses, 
 
 And interchange a few caresses. 
 
 But, if her eye should find you here, 
 
 The effect of it I truly fear. 
 
 Therefore, the surer to prevent 
 
 Any unpleasant accident — 
 
 While solemnly I do and shall 
 
 Disclaim aU grudges personal — 
 
 You must perceive that it is best 
 
 I should respectfully request 
 
 That you would quickly say your prayers; 
 
 For, to explain it in a breath. 
 
 You must, at once, be put to death." 
 
CUPID AND THE WASP. J95 
 
 Thus having spoken, unawares, 
 
 He let his truest arrow fly, 
 
 Killing the hapless wasp thereby. 
 
 Scarce had he done the wanton deed, 
 
 And in his quiver stored the reed, 
 
 When Psyche came along the brook, 
 
 Wading, with many a forward look — 
 
 With pallid feet and gathered dress, 
 
 A little cloud of loveliness. 
 
 Down on the bank they sat together, 
 
 Happy as birds in summer weather, 
 
 Psyche was full of languishment. 
 
 But Cupid, not so innocent. 
 
 Devising wily fraudful harm, 
 
 Laid the dead wasp on Psyche's arm. 
 
 She, with a marvellous quickness, took 
 
 The hue of marble in her look. 
 
 Distracted, even to desperation. 
 
 She ran and screamed with consternation. 
 
 At which, her rascal of a lover 
 
 Bolted into a clump of clover. 
 
1QQ POEMS. 
 
 Venus, who was not far away, 
 Hearing what Psyche had to say. 
 Came down and beat the grass about, 
 And found the little villain out. 
 A sprig of myrtle then she peeled. 
 And seized the youngster, rosy-heeled : 
 "Come out of this you little god, 
 Richly you have deserved the rod! 
 You naughty, naughty, naughty pet I 
 You have deserved what you will get." 
 
 Cupid protested, begged, besought her 
 
 Not to inflict the switch's torture ; 
 
 By turns he struggled, screamed, and kicked 
 
 her, 
 By turns he blessed and cursed her picture, 
 Till, seeing the Queen resolved to tutor. 
 At last he swore outright he'd shoot her. 
 Yet none the less did she apply 
 All of the pain penalty. 
 
CUPID AND THE WASP. \Q'}I 
 
 Now Cupid sits upon the ground, 
 
 A. little statue of despair, 
 
 With swollen eyes, and touseled hair, 
 
 And neither moves nor looks around. 
 
 Still, though his tears have ceased to rain, 
 
 Cloudy with anguish and disdain, 
 
 He sits, and sulks, and sucks his thumbs. 
 
 Nor gives a glance where Psyche comes. 
 
 But O such love beyond a doubt! 
 
 Poor thing! she sadly trips about — 
 
 Calls back again his frightened sparrows, 
 
 And seeks again his scattered arrows — 
 
 These in his quiver she replaces, 
 
 And to his side the quiver laces. 
 
 And lo, a scene for all beholders! 
 
 She lays her arm about his shoulders. 
 
 And tries to kiss his woes away. 
 
 But Cupid puts her love at bay, 
 
 17* 
 
198 POEMS. 
 
 Pushing his hand against her face. 
 She, conscious of a new disgrace, 
 Spurned from his side, no longer lingers, 
 But goes and weeps between her fingers. 
 
 This scene, the Queen of Loves and Smiles — 
 
 The Queen who every grief beguiles — 
 
 Imperial Venus — as is fit, 
 
 Can not endure, nor will permit. 
 
 "My pets!" she cries, "my children dear I 
 
 Hey! hey! now! now! look here! look here!" 
 
 So, from her bosom snowy fair. 
 
 She takes a dove with tender care. 
 
 White is the dove — as white as milk — 
 
 And all its plumage as of silk. 
 
 Then, with a quick and pliant hand, 
 
 Whose fingers seem to understand. 
 
 She picks a leaf complete and good. 
 
 And makes the dove a little hood. 
 
 This on its gentle head she ties. 
 
 With blades of grass, and blinds its eyes; 
 
CUPID AND THE WASP. 
 
 199 
 
 Then sets the dove upon the ground. 
 The puzzled creature backs around ; 
 It whisks its head this way and that, 
 It struts, it trips, it tumbles flat — 
 Claws at the hood, and so doth pass 
 In circles, sprawling on the grass, 
 And goes such odd inebriate paces 
 As put new joy in aU their faces; 
 Tin, with a motion quick as sight. 
 Prompted by pity and delight. 
 Psyche boun'ds in, picks up the dove. 
 And doth the wildering hood remove. 
 Then makes the bu-d a pretty nest 
 Between her fingers and her breast. 
 Cupid no longer now contraries. 
 But comes and feeds the dove with hemes. 
 
THE COCK OF THE WALK. 
 
 You strut about, by field and brook, 
 And think your gait and plumage show you ; 
 And yet, for all your lofty look, 
 Old Cock, I know you. 
 
 With breast so sleek, and eye so bright. 
 As if you were the pink of honor. 
 
 You're stuffed as full of wrath and spite 
 As Bishop Bonner. 
 
THE COCK OF THE WALK. gQl 
 
 Yon stripling bird, your son and heir, 
 And ti'im as you in limb and feather. 
 You cuflT and tumble, everywhere, 
 In every weather. 
 
 To-day, when he had done no harm 
 But stretch his throat, and mock your bawling, 
 You ruffed your neck as big's my arm. 
 And knocked him sprawling — 
 
 Down in a twink, as straight's a rail. 
 Astonished into being civil, 
 
 Then up, and off, with head and tail 
 Both on a level. 
 
 But though your prowess you may boast. 
 And though in dreary dumps so sad he, 
 I know not which to pity most. 
 The son or daddy. 
 
202 ^°^^- 
 
 You'll have your day to strut the floor, 
 Cock-sure with pluck and voice aspirant; 
 But Time will reckon up your score, 
 You hen-roost tyrant! 
 
 It is not that the market man 
 May tempt me, for your tricks, to sell you ; 
 It is not of the dripping pan. 
 But this I tell you : 
 
 All times and climes and books record 
 The Scripture truth — we can't deny it — 
 They that unsheathe the oppressor's sword 
 Shall perish by it. 
 
 Beware the days, when, old and lame. 
 You drowse the eye and droop the pinion; 
 Your royal spirit level-tame. 
 With time's dominion. 
 
IHE COCK OS THE WALK. 203 
 
 Think you this bantam, now so green, 
 Will then forget these deadly grudges ? 
 He'll give your memory, I ween, 
 Some savage nudges. 
 
BREVITIES. 
 
 Faint-hearted Muse, that, though so young 
 and fair, 
 Within this melancholy bower reclining, 
 Weep'st through the tendrils of thy dropping 
 hair, 
 Wherefore so fond an anguish of repining? 
 Is it that thou art shaken in thy mood 
 By airy whispers of detraction rude ? 
 
BEEVrriES. 
 
 205 
 
 Slight are such wounds, and slight should be 
 
 the heed. 
 O rather doff the sable Cyprus weed! 
 Come forth, come forth these dank unfruitful 
 
 boughs, 
 Wherein some Evil makes his dwelling house; 
 Assurrie the lyre, and brace the nerveless string. 
 See how the frolic Hours are on the wing! 
 Come forth, like Faith, and look towards the 
 
 skies. 
 Serenely fair, with pure, unclouded eyes. 
 
 18 
 
206 Po*^*'®- 
 
 O DO not so interpret prophecy — 
 
 Supposing that this planet of old fame — 
 This world — this volume of huge mystery, 
 Must soon be locked with clasps of judg 
 ment flame. 
 Imagine not God's dealings with the spheres 
 Pinfolded by a score of human years. 
 Something apparent, of unfinished fates, 
 Betrays a future. These United States 
 Are, of themselves, a great prophetic book. 
 Wherein the angels might desire to look. 
 Here Freedom, with late-learned alchemy. 
 Fuses and slags the nations, and makes free; 
 And still, with eager eyes, behold her stand, 
 Flushed, with some newer secret just at hand. 
 
BREVITIES. 207 
 
 Once in a dream, I saw the fabled clime 
 
 Beyond the kingdoms of Avernian night; 
 I saw the sages of the ancient time 
 
 In russet mantles under-girt with white. 
 Their souls, unsheathed of dull mortality, 
 Were keen to pierce through all philosophy. 
 Their thoughts were blows that clove the husks 
 
 of things. 
 Their pointed words were arrows driven with 
 
 wings. 
 Long time I lingered listening, and did keep 
 As by a river, rapid, clear, and deep. 
 In such society, from morn till even, 
 I did not doubt but that I was in Heaven. 
 Yet at the last I pined, desiring less 
 The food of gods, than human friendliness. 
 
208 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Fain would I bear command, and, in ray mind. 
 
 Know that I sit in some uplifted sphere, — 
 Know that I hold a height above mankind. 
 And truly say : None else is master here. 
 Fain would I take the van of busy men. 
 And live a life tha,t none could live again. 
 Time should not mar my deeds, nor render less 
 Those high immortal features that express 
 To every eye, without the aid of skill, 
 Great logic, engined with as great a will. 
 Compared with this, how weak it were, and 
 
 poor. 
 Merely to live beloved and obscure ! 
 What were ten thousand loves, without the 
 
 dower 
 Of majesty, of majesty and power. 
 
BRBVIT1E5, 
 
 209 
 
 I WOULD not often look on crowds again, 
 
 Nor through a war of dust and glitter run, 
 Nor book my name in any strife of men, 
 
 In towered marts that spread beneath the 
 
 sun, 
 And blench his gold with his retorted beams. 
 They have their dreams, but here are better 
 
 dreams. 
 Give me my life to live obscurely here. 
 Thousands may know, where one may hold us 
 
 dear. 
 They have their spires, but here are nobler 
 
 woods. 
 And sw^eeter music fills the solitudes 
 Of bee, and bird, and brook — and here are 
 
 flowers — 
 Elms and the sward are dials of my hours. 
 Then let me so on God, in Nature, look. 
 As the great Soul of a most glorious Book. 
 18* 
 
210 
 
 roBMS. 
 
 I said: The roses of my youth have laded. 
 
 I have outlasted friendship, love and faith. 
 Vile men! Vain world! Vast nothingness 
 paraded! 
 Shake hands and quit! now come and take 
 me, Death! 
 Straightway a mighty horror in the air 
 Shook me amid the rags of my despair. 
 I felt a presence and a fearful sense. 
 As one who breathes the air of pestilence; 
 And heard a voice, as of an angel, say : 
 " Whither away,' rriortal? whither away? 
 Death's ministration is not always death; 
 Nor come I now to thrbttle thefe of breath. 
 Be warned— maintairi thy love and faith uii- 
 
 vexed. 
 Or thou hast mifese^d both this world and tlie 
 nexf." 
 
BREVITIES. 
 
 VII. 
 
 211 
 
 Stand here aside, and mark yon publican — 
 
 A very Matthew sitting at receipt — 
 A jolly franklin, and a gentleman. 
 
 Chaired in the midst, where many cm-rents 
 
 meet. 
 Janus of travel, here he shows, in state, 
 Towards every point, a face and open gate. 
 Deaf to the bustle as it sinks and swells — 
 Prompt at the call of many clocks and bells. 
 His lordly eye makes sumptuous days and 
 
 nights, 
 And darts gyration down his satellites: 
 "Baggage to eighty — Tea at six — I say! — 
 Peter fire up! — Set! — Turn that dog away — 
 No cars in yet? no telegraph? My eye! — 
 Hi! how d'ye do! — What! are you off? Good 
 
 bye!" 
 
212 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Robert of Gloster, in an old romance, 
 
 Makes mention of a rich but captious king, 
 Whose daughter grew so fair of countenance 
 That many gallant knights came worship- 
 ping. 
 All men desired her — both the fool and wise 
 Warmed in the splendor of her lustrous eyes. 
 But the rich captious king withheld, the while, 
 His child for him whose wit should make him 
 
 smile ; 
 But all who tried, and failed to make him 
 
 merry. 
 Beheaded were in manner sanguinary. 
 So runs the poet's doom: if he succeed. 
 To a pure fame we marry him forever; 
 But if we take no unction of his reed. 
 
 We cut his head off for his vain endeavor. 
 
SOCRATES TO HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Look not on me, my gentle friends, 
 
 As though you thought that I must die. 
 Believe, when mortal being ends. 
 
 The spirit's immortality. 
 Or, if you doubt, despond, and fear. 
 
 And dread, in Death, a dismal sleep. 
 Deem not the soul encumbered here. 
 
 Whose silence you, perhaps, may weep. 
 This body, wrought with curious skill, 
 
214 POEMS. 
 
 , It is the temple of the mind — 
 The friend and servant of a will 
 
 As subtle as the sightless wind. 
 My body is not Socrates ; 
 
 It is as dull and lifeless now, 
 As when its throbbing pulse shall cease, 
 
 And death-damps gather on its brow. 
 This, I to Athens now resign, 
 
 By her unjustly stern decree; 
 But, though she seizes what is mine. 
 
 She has no might to injure me. 
 
 Though Tyranny, in robes of power, 
 
 And pomp of cruel state, be found, 
 Soon comes the guilt-avenging hour. 
 
 And hurls him headlong, to the ground. 
 But Goodness, in her sackcloth vest. 
 
 Knows that the soon-retrieving years 
 Shall see her wounded cause redressed. 
 
 On earth, or in the starry spheres. 
 
SOCRATES TO HIS FEIENDS. 
 
 215 
 
 And whether death be endless rest, 
 
 Or be, of life, the second birth, 
 The soul can meet the stern behest, 
 
 Secure in her untarnished worth. 
 If, in good thoughts and deeds of love, 
 
 Her swiftly turning years go by, 
 What evil power can rise above, 
 
 And crush her lofty destiny? 
 None — none — she calmly sees the wave 
 
 Of Lethe o'er her being roll, 
 Or finds herself, beyond the grave, 
 
 A living and immortal soul. 
 My toil has been, through all my years, 
 
 To know, and then to do the right ; 
 And Death brings now no restless fears. 
 
 No more than welcome sleep at night. 
 Why should I fear, if Nature's plan 
 
 I have each day, with thought, pursued, 
 Lest death, which she ordains to man, 
 
 Should bring me anything but good? 
 Nay, nay, my friends, these tears give o'er. 
 
215 POEMS. 
 
 Our days of doubt are qviickly run, 
 And then Elysium's halcyon shore 
 
 Marries the friendships here begun. 
 There, too, those men whose souls sublime 
 
 Once walked, as we, in mortal mould — 
 The great and good of ancient time. 
 
 We shall, in living forms, behold. 
 O then, in those celestial bowers. 
 
 How deep the daily joy, to trace 
 Their virtues and their lofty powers, 
 
 In each revered majestic face. 
 
 Nay, thou who bear'st the fatal cup, 
 
 Turn not thy faithful eyes away; 
 As freely do I lift it up 
 
 As on a merry festal day. 
 Serve thou, through blessing and through ban, 
 
 Thy friends, thy conscience, and the 
 State, — 
 Then wilt thou be indeed a man. 
 
 Not good and true, alone, but great. 
 
A DOMESTIC LYRIC. 
 
 How d'ye do and good morning! 
 
 You see my adorning: 
 Curl papers, and kerchief, and boddice ajar; 
 
 But what is the sinning 
 
 To prink for a spinning? 
 Tul lul la lul lirra, tul lul la la la. 
 
 And pray never mind me, 
 
 So busy you find me. 
 And how are the children, and how is mamma? 
 
 And when have you seen us. 
 
 And what is between us? 
 Tul lul la lul lirra, tul lul la la la. 
 19 
 
22^y POEMS. 
 
 And what are you doing? 
 
 I heard you were stewing, 
 And packing your quinces away in the jar. 
 
 And that's your old bonnet, 
 
 With new ribbons on it. 
 Tul lul la lul lirra, tul lul la la la. 
 
 My present miscarried, 
 
 When Rosalie married ; 
 Her sudden departure was' quite an ah ha! 
 
 And certain late candles 
 
 Of yours Rumor handles. 
 Tul lul la lul lirra, tul lul la la la. 
 
 A whisper is humming 
 
 Of somebody coming 
 To town, a young fellow — a limb of the bar 
 
 Rich, handsome and merry. 
 
 You'd better be wary. 
 Tul lul la lul lirra, tul lul la la la. 
 
A DOMESTIC LYRIC. 
 
 219 
 
 And, news that is better, 
 
 I'll show you a letter 
 From my uncle, the Captain, returning afar, 
 
 In the ship Indiana, 
 
 From Spanish Havana. 
 Tul lul la lul lin-a, tul lul la la la. 
 
 The hammock I made him. 
 
 So cosily swayed him, 
 That now he is coming, the clever old tar, 
 
 At the watering places. 
 
 To show me the faces, 
 Tul lul la lul lirra, tul lul la la la. 
 
 And O such occasions 
 
 Of gay ostentations! — 
 Rides, revels, and moonlight, and drinking the 
 spa — 
 
 Such a reel of quick pleasures, 
 
 In glittering measures! 
 Tul lul la lul lirra, tul lul la la la. 
 
220 PO™s. 
 
 He vows that my dressing 
 
 Shall be the distressing 
 Of beauties and wealthies, and look for a star 
 
 When a lassie inherits 
 
 Gay purses and spirits. 
 Tul lul la lul lirra, tul lul la la la. 
 
 Have you seen such a skewer 
 
 As my music Monsieur? 
 A snipe of a fellow at harp and guitar; 
 
 And, what's to consider, 
 
 In love with a widow. 
 Tul lul la lul lirra, tul lul la la la. 
 
 When he frets me with fretting, 
 I give him a sweating; 
 
 He vows and protests he will tell my papa- 
 Turns as red as a cinder, 
 Looks out at the window. 
 
 Tul lul la lul lirra, tul lul la la la. 
 
A DOMESTIC LYRIC. 
 
 Hist! — isn't it shocking? 
 
 Somebody is knocking. 
 Just do me a favor — unfasten the bar. 
 
 Me mercy! who is it? 
 
 So early a visit! 
 Tul lul la lul lirra tul lul la la la. 
 
 ]My dress it is dusty, 
 
 My apron is rusty, 
 My hair is in papers — I wish he was far. 
 
 I'll run and deposit 
 
 Myself in a closet. 
 Tul lul la lul lirra, tul lul la la la. 
 
 221 
 
 19* 
 
THE VIOLET. 
 
 Lilies and roses of the earth, 
 
 That are uplifted gracefully, 
 Rejoice in your luxurious worth, 
 
 But you are nothing now to me; 
 For in my bosom, I have set 
 Only a little violet. 
 
 Love, from the regions of the air. 
 Searching an object for his aim, 
 
 Discovered me reclining fair, 
 
 And through the skies an arrow came; 
 
 Through the fair violet, and me. 
 
 Came the swift arrow, suddenly. 
 
THE VIOLET. 
 
 223 
 
 I felt my spirits faint and fail — 
 
 I felt the wound that checks the breath; 
 
 My features wore the red and pale, 
 But not the livery of death. 
 
 My troubled eyes a vision met, 
 
 liOvelier than any violet. 
 
 O flower, in whom I see, alone. 
 
 The bloom of each expressive grace. 
 
 The beauty of an airy zone, 
 
 And glory of a matchless face — 
 
 O maiden, like a morn of May, 
 
 You wooed and won my heart away! 
 
 Your soul is as a tender vine 
 
 That hangs its clusters on the boughs. 
 You lead, unto a royal shrine, 
 
 The homage of a thousand vows. 
 Love, in a raiment shining new, ' 
 Steps from a throne to flatter you. 
 
224 POEMS. 
 
 Your voice is music heard afar, 
 
 When all the night the moon enshrouds 
 
 Your eyes are like the morning star, 
 Beneath the arches of the clouds; 
 
 Your stature, and your graceful guise, 
 
 Are as a palm of Paradise. 
 
 Dear is the fond, confiding air 
 
 With which you tell your heart to me; 
 And you are blithe as you are fair — 
 
 Blithe as the summer to the tree. 
 In you is mirrored and defined 
 The nature of my perfect mind. 
 
 Unto the eyelids of my youth 
 
 You hold a deep enchanted glass. 
 
 Wherein the forms of Love and Truth 
 Do most majestically pass. 
 
 Their hands, from urns of silver bright, 
 
 Dispense the flowers of my delight 
 
WHAT IS THE USE? 
 
 I SAW a man, by some accounted wise, 
 
 For some things said and done before their eyes, 
 
 Quite overcast, and in a restless muse. 
 
 Pacing a path about, 
 
 And often giving out: 
 "What is the use?" 
 
 Then I, with true respect : What meanest thou 
 By those strange words, and that unsettled 
 
 brow ? 
 Health, wealth, the fair esteem of ample views, 
 To these things thou art born. 
 But he as one forlorn : 
 " What is the use? 
 
226 POEMS. 
 
 " I have surveyed the sages and theh- books, 
 Man, and the natural world of woods and 
 
 brooks. 
 Seeking that perfect good that I would choose ; 
 But find no perfect good. 
 Settled and understood. 
 What is the use ? 
 
 " Life, in a poise, hangs trembling on the beam, 
 Even in a breath bounding to each extreme 
 Of joy and sorrow; therefore I refuse 
 
 All beaten ways of bliss, 
 
 And only answer this : 
 What is the use ? 
 
 " The hoodwinked world is seeking happiness. 
 ' Which way ? ' they cry, ' here ? ' ' no ! ' ' there ? ' 
 
 'who can guess?' 
 And so they grope, and grope, and grope, and 
 
 cruise 
 
WHAT IS THE USE ? 
 
 227 
 
 On, on, till life is lost, 
 
 t blindman's with ; 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 At blindman's with a ghost. 
 
 " Love first, with most, then wealth, distinction, 
 
 Fame, 
 Quicken the blood and spirit on the game. 
 Some try them all, and all alike accuse — 
 ' I have been all,' said one, 
 'And find that all is none.' 
 What is the use? 
 
 "In woman's love we sweetly are undone; 
 Willing to attract, but harder to be won. 
 Harder to keep, is she whose love we choose. 
 
 Loves are like flowers that grow 
 
 In soils on fire below. 
 What is the use? 
 
228 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 "Some pray for wealth, and seem to pray 
 
 aright; 
 They heap until themselves are out of sight; 
 Yet stand, in charities, not over shoes, 
 And ask of their old age, 
 As an old ledger page. 
 What is the use? 
 
 " Some covet honors, and they have their choice, 
 Are dogged with dinners and the popular voice; 
 They ride a wind — it drops them — and they 
 bruise ; 
 Or, if sustained, they sigh : 
 ' That other is more high. 
 What is the use?' 
 
 " Some try for fame — the merest chance of 
 
 things 
 That mortal hope can wreak towards the wings 
 Of soaring Time — they win, perhaps, or lose — 
 
WHAT IS THE USE ? 
 
 229 
 
 Who knows? Not he, who, dead, 
 Laurels a marble head. 
 What is the use? 
 
 " The strife for fame and the high praise of 
 
 power. 
 Is as a man, who, panting up a tower, 
 Bears a great stone, then, straining all his thews, 
 Heaves it, and sees it make 
 A splashing in a lake. 
 What is the use? 
 
 " Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth 
 
 raise 
 To scorn delights, aiid live laborious days. 
 Thus the great lords of spiritual fame amuse 
 Their souls, and think it good 
 To eat of angels' food. 
 What is the use? 
 20 
 
230 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 " They eat their fill, and they are filled with 
 
 wind. 
 They do the noble works of noble mind. 
 Repute, and often bread, the world refuse. 
 They go unto their place. 
 The greatest of the race. 
 What is the use? 
 
 " Should some new star, in the fair evening sky 
 Kindle a blaze, startling so keen an eye 
 Of flamings eminent, athwart the dews, 
 
 Our thoughts would say : No doubt 
 
 That star will soon burn out. 
 What is the use? 
 
 " Who'll care for me, when I am dead and gone? 
 Not many now, and surely, soon, not one; 
 And should I sing like an immortal Muse, 
 
 Men, if they read the line, 
 
 Read for their good, not mine ; 
 What is the use? 
 
WHAT IS TUB USE .' 
 
 231 
 
 " And song, if passable, is doomed to pass — 
 Common, though sweet as the new-scythed 
 
 grass. 
 Of human deeds and thoughts Time bears no 
 news, 
 That, flying, he can lack. 
 Else they would break his back. 
 "What is the use ? 
 
 "Spirit of Beauty! Breath of golden lyres! 
 Perpetual tremble of immortal wires! 
 Divinely torturing rapture of the Muse! 
 
 Conspicuous wretchedness! 
 
 Thou starry, sole success! — 
 What is the use! 
 
 "Doth not all struggle tell, upon its brow, 
 
 That he who makes it is not easy now, 
 
 But hopes to be? Vain hope that dost abuse! 
 
232 
 
 Coquetting with thine eyes, 
 And fooling him who sighs. 
 What is the use? 
 
 "Go pry the lintels of the pyramids; 
 Lift the old king's mysterious coffin lids — 
 This dust was theirs whose names these stones 
 confuse, 
 These mighty monuments 
 Of mighty discontents. 
 What is the use ? 
 
 "Did not he sum it all, whose Gate of Pearls 
 Blazed royal Ophir, Tyre, and Syrian girls — 
 The great, wise, famous monarch of the Jews? 
 
 Though rolled in grandeur vast, 
 
 He said of all, at last : 
 What is the use ? 
 
WHAT IS TIIB USE? OQg 
 
 " O ! but to take, of life, the natural good, 
 Even as a hermit caverned in a wood, 
 More sweetly fills my sober-suited views. 
 
 Than sweating to attain 
 
 Any luxurious pain. 
 What is the use? 
 
 " Give me a hermit's life, without his beads — 
 His lantern-jawed, and moral-mouthing creeds ; 
 Systems and creeds the natural heart abuse. 
 
 What need of any Book, 
 
 Or spiritual crook ? 
 What is the use? 
 
 " I love, and God is love; and I behold 
 Man, Nature, God, one triple chain of gold — 
 Nature in all sole Oracle and Muse. 
 What should I seek, at all. 
 More than is natural? 
 What is the use?" 
 20* 
 
234 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Seeing this man so heathenly inclined — 
 So wilted in the mood of a good mind, 
 I felt a kind of heat of earnest thought ; 
 
 And studying in reply, 
 
 Answered him, eye to eye : 
 
 Thou dost amaze me that thou dost mistake 
 The wandering rivers for the fountain lake. 
 What is the end of living? — happiness? — 
 
 An end that none attain, 
 
 Argues a purpose vain. 
 
 Plainly, this world is not a scope for bliss. 
 But duty. Yet we see not all that is. 
 Or may be, some day, if we love the light. 
 What man is, in desires, 
 Whispers where man aspires. 
 
WHAT IS THE USE? 
 
 235 
 
 But what and where are we ? — what now — to- 
 day? 
 Souls on a globe that spins our lives away — 
 A multitudinous world, where Heaven and 
 Hell, 
 Strangely in battle met, 
 Their gonfalons have set. 
 
 Dust though we are, and shall return to dust, 
 Yet being born to battles, fight we must; 
 Under which ensign is our only choice. 
 
 We know to wage our best, 
 
 God only knows the rest. 
 
 Then since we see about us sin and dole, 
 And some things good, why not, with hand 
 
 and soul. 
 Wrestle and succor out of wrong and sorrow — 
 
 Grasping the swords of strife, 
 
 Making the most of life? 
 
OQg POEMS. 
 
 Yea, all that we can wield is worth the end, 
 If sought as God's and man's most loyal 
 
 friend. 
 Naked we come into the world, and take 
 
 "Weapons of various skill — 
 
 Let us not use them ill. 
 
 As for the creeds. Nature is dark at best; 
 And darker still is the deep human breast. 
 Therefore consider well of creeds and Books, 
 
 Lest thou mayst somewhat fail 
 
 Of things beyond the veil. 
 
 -Nature was dark to the dim starry age 
 Of wistful Job ; and that Athenian sage, 
 Pensive in piteous thought of Faith's dis- 
 tress ; 
 For still she cried, with tears : 
 " More light, ye crystal spheres!" 
 
WHAT IS IHE USE? 
 
 237 
 
 But rouse thee, man! Shake off this hideous 
 
 death! 
 Be man! Stand up! Draw in a mighty breath ! 
 This world has quite enough emasculate hands, 
 
 Dallying with doubt and sin. 
 
 Come — here is work — begin! 
 
 Come, here is work — and a rank field — begin. 
 
 Put thou thine edge to the great weeds of sin ; 
 
 So shalt thou find the use of life, and see 
 Thy Lord, at set of sun, 
 Approach and say: " Well done!" 
 
 This at the last : They clutch the sapless fruit, 
 Ashes and dust of the Dead Sea, who suit 
 Their course of life to compass happiness ; 
 
 But be it understood 
 
 That, to be greatly good. 
 All is the use. 
 
A MILLENNIAL PSALM. 
 
 So clear and beautiful, upon the mountains, 
 Advance the feet of pilgrim ones, who bring 
 
 Palms, and the words of peace. 
 
 That angels never cease 
 Presenting joy for them, around th' immortal 
 fountains. 
 
 '' Peace," they proclaim, " and love are all our 
 
 teaching. 
 Attend, O world, the tidings that we bear; 
 
A MILLENNIAL PSALM. 
 
 239 
 
 And such a halcyon morrow 
 Shall gild this orb of sorrow, 
 As^ never yet did fill the thought of prayer's 
 beseeching. 
 
 "Not long shall earth's dominions groan in 
 
 sleep, 
 Harried by Hell with half of Hell's affliction. 
 See, as we sway our eyes, 
 A new creation rise, 
 And the mysterious Dove go moving on the 
 deep. 
 
 " Ye weary ones who sit in dust and ashes, 
 To whom the day is as the night demure, 
 
 Stand up and see, afar. 
 
 The spangled morning star ; 
 To ye who mourn we say: uplift your tearful 
 lashes. 
 
240 POEMS. 
 
 " We come to conquer, not begirt with thunder, 
 But armed with spells more searching than the 
 sword. 
 Before our voices still, 
 And life-adorning will. 
 Sink the red flag and gun, the bastion drops 
 asunder. 
 
 '' The keepers all, for fear, like dead dissembling. 
 See a great light, in dungeons deep, expand ; 
 
 And Hope, with glittering eyes, 
 
 Winged in celestial guise. 
 Leading the captives forth, with joyful fear 
 and trembling. 
 
 "For He Who never was not — Who forever 
 Doth sit, obscured in light, enthroned on high. 
 
 To us, to us hath given. 
 
 Far as the scope of Heaven, 
 To charm the world to peace, and every fetter 
 sever." 
 
A MILLENNIAL PSALM. 
 
 241 
 
 So speak the Comforters, and lo! while speak- 
 ing) 
 Up comes the sun, and right against his disk 
 They stand, in act commanding, 
 Like him Saint John saw standing 
 In the great source of day, his locks with 
 glories reeking. 
 
 Blazing they stand amid the meteor morning. 
 The day, intense, uplifts a glorious eye; 
 
 And the night-feathered steam 
 
 Drops dead before the gleam, 
 Shot through with arrowy light of that majes- 
 tic dawning. 
 
 It is the Sun of Righteousness that shineth ; 
 His light is come, and now, through all the 
 nations, 
 
 21 
 
242 POEMS. 
 
 Swords shall afflict the sod, 
 And men shall hallow God, 
 Each under his own vine, until that Sun decli- 
 neth. 
 
 Now comes the perfect fruit of seeds that lay 
 In the great Will, when, marshalled forth from 
 Heaven, 
 Beatitudes with wings. 
 And loud harmonious strings, 
 Beheld Him lift His hand, and speak the void 
 away. 
 
 For now, to make our perfect peace diurnal. 
 Whirls a swift angel down the reeking gloom, 
 
 And pens the horned crew; 
 
 And with a signet true. 
 Seals up the Janus doors redounding woe eter- 
 nal. 
 
A MILLENNIAL PSALM. 
 
 243 
 
 No grisly fiend shall lark for our betraying — 
 No warder watch the misty morning rise— 
 • No plague infect the springs — 
 
 Nor War exalt her wings, 
 Her whetted harpy claws and- horrid teeth 
 displaying. 
 
 But Love and Joy, by angel hands attired, 
 And scarfed with raiiibows, through" the stars 
 descending, 
 
 Shall gently slide again 
 
 Into the gates of men, 
 Ih:vision all complete, as prophet eyes desired. 
 
 A thousand years the sap shall push the vine — 
 A thousand years behold the palm expanding — 
 
 A thousand burnished years 
 
 Saluting in the spheres 
 The gonfalon of God — the cross of Constantine, 
 
244 POEMS. 
 
 But, in the gloaming of tliat golden morrow, 
 Wings of Hell-web must flit a little space, 
 
 And war, and woe's distress, ' 
 
 And briny bitterness, 
 Restore earth's long lost years of universal 
 sorrow. 
 
 And when that twilight darkens out of heaven. 
 Then shall the stars fall hissing to the sea ; 
 And Time, his dying grasp, 
 From his worn. scythe unclasp. 
 And from his ruined glass the sand shall all be 
 driven. 
 
 The sun and moon shall roll in blood profound, 
 For mortal throes their wonted courses staying. 
 
 While the archangel blast. 
 
 The deepest and the last, 
 Shatters the crystal cope with throbs of thun- 
 drous sound. 
 
A MILLENNIAL PSALM. 
 
 245 
 
 Then lo! afar, those glowing vales and foun- 
 tains, 
 To which the Great Good Shepherd waves his 
 flock; 
 How the new-modelled sphere 
 Rings to those voices clear — 
 The infinite chant of Beautiful upon the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 21* 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 ENIGMATIC POEMS. 
 
THE BARBAROUS FATE OF DE 
 COURCY. 
 
 Behold my first and you shall see 
 
 A thing of fiery life — 
 Wing of the war and victory; 
 
 And whirlwind of the strife. 
 The joy that shouts ha! ha! to fear— 
 The madness of the fierce career — 
 This, in excess, is perfect here. 
 Behold my first and you shall find 
 
 A wild and fearful thing; 
 
250 ENIGMATIC POEMS. 
 
 A startled leaf it leaves behind, 
 
 Like death upon the wing. 
 Nor thus alone doth it possess 
 Courage sublime and fearfulness, 
 But wrath unmoved, and gentleness. 
 
 My first, a passive thing, did wait 
 
 De Courcy's coming long. 
 Till he should pass his castle gate, 
 
 Girt with a warlike throng — ■ 
 It waited lonely in the yard. 
 While, far within his castle barred-, 
 De Courcy held and smote. it. hard.. 
 
 Between my- first and last is set 
 The first thing in the alphabet. 
 
 My last^— it is of strength a tower. 
 Its works astonish Time; 
 
THE BAllBAROUS PATE OP DE COURCY. Ogi 
 
 By that may weakness mount to power, 
 
 And genius soar sublime; 
 Before it, breathed with purpose great. 
 With soul and mind and will elate, 
 Fate yields — it is itself a Fate. 
 
 Ah! deep and deadly was the wrong 
 
 De Courcy's bosom bore; 
 Rapine and Hate had dogged him long. 
 
 And snuffed him to the door. 
 And could he drive the brutes to bay, 
 And through and through them punch the 
 
 day? 
 Breathing my last he rode away. 
 
 My whole, combined, was once a thing. 
 
 Strong only in defence; 
 There was the swallow's callow wing. 
 
 And maiden innocence. 
 
252 ENIGMATIC POEMS. 
 
 There walked the warder, long ago, 
 When weakness made of strength a foe, 
 Now it is useless — be it so. 
 
 De Courcy to my whole came back, 
 But now how gashed and grim ! 
 
 Life and estate had gone to wrack ; 
 There was no hope for him. 
 
 My first had foundered, as the ships. 
 
 And pierced him deadly through the hips ; 
 
 My last had died upon his lips. 
 
THE STRASBURG SPIRE. 
 
 II. 
 
 In Strasburg, in the ages dark, 
 (Those world-enigmas,) once an arch- 
 itect began a work of mark — 
 
 A spire intended to defy 
 The weather to eternity; 
 My first was then, as now, just by. 
 
 And saw the corner bedded well, 
 By priest, procession, fume, and bell, 
 Yet wept at such a spectacle ; 
 22 
 
254 KNIGMAl'IC I'OBMS. 
 
 Beholding, in that founded spire, 
 Ambition's butterfly desire 
 To mount above his fellow, higher. 
 
 But that the architect forgot. 
 My weeping first he heeded not, 
 Nor heeded weather, cold or hot. 
 
 And yearly, monthly, daily grew 
 His crescive ruin up to view; 
 My first came daily searching through. 
 
 And up it still did crystallize, 
 Serenely, sweetly to the skies — 
 A joy enriching to the eyes — 
 
 Up, up, still up, an airy wonder! 
 Big bells, baptized, boomed fainter under. 
 The organ's, and the city's thunder. 
 
 My first still mocked, with smile and sigh, 
 The man's inspired constancy. 
 And said: "We diflFer — you and I." 
 
 The shards were cleared, the scaffolds cast, 
 And, of that pile complete and vast. 
 The last thing finished was ray last. 
 
THE STRASBURO SPIRE. 
 
 255 
 
 My first the work did not contain, 
 My last was there, and whole, and plain — 
 But was the labor all in vain ? 
 
 Alas! and ah! O misery! 
 All human works are vanity — 
 Vain to aspire it is, we see. 
 
 And so the builder found it. Soon 
 Came forth my first, with trampling shoon, 
 In the wild nonage of the moon. 
 
 Scorched was my last, and whole ; and rent, 
 The spire, from vane to battlement. 
 The builder into madness went. 
 
 Chained in a howling den of stone. 
 His glorious labor overthrown. 
 He sat unknowing and unknown. 
 
FRIAR BACON ANTICIPATED. 
 
 III. 
 
 Where'er my first takes residence 
 In human haunts, it gives offence, 
 And, o'er the whole world's peopled shores, 
 'Tis eveiy where turned out of doors. 
 
 My last you witness, now and then, 
 'Mid men with wine and supper mellow. 
 Hugged as'a fellow-citizen. 
 Though, elsewhere, simply known as — fellow. 
 
PRIAR BACON ANTICIPATED. 
 
 257 
 
 My whole has saved to many a neighbor 
 A deal of sore domestic labor; 
 Described in rhyme, 'twould be abstruse ; 
 But listen how it came in use: 
 
 Of adepts in the arts forsaken, 
 A famous one was Friar Bacon — 
 One of a class of men whose brains 
 Had labor only for their pains — 
 Who all their souls and substance sold, 
 Inhope of changing lead to gold; 
 But, by a contrary assay. 
 Projected gold the leaden way — 
 Whose writings, blind with signs and sigmas, 
 Were profitless as these enigmas. 
 
 Bacon at Oxford, Paris, Rome, 
 Furnished his head, — then, turning home, 
 At Ilchester did institute 
 The study then in most repute. 
 With one to aid — a servant wight, 
 A lad who by my last was hight — 
 22* 
 
258 
 
 ENIGMATIC POEMS. 
 
 He gave himself up, heart and hands, 
 To crucibles and stewing pans. 
 
 While blowing his alchymic bubble. 
 Sadly came in, one day, the poor 
 Wife of a neighboring -Vavasour,* 
 With the disjointed words of trouble : 
 " My hair is crisped, my cheeks are toasted ; 
 Alack! the loin was sadly roasted! 
 The travellers, waxing out of patience, 
 Have cursed, and gone without their rations. 
 And I, amid my ruined dinner. 
 Have sat and cried — a wretched sinner!" 
 
 Bacon, who joined, to good discerning, 
 The stuff, without the starch of learning. 
 Gave the poor woman's grief connivance, 
 And truly promised some contrivance 
 To save her labor and her beauty. 
 And forthwith set about the duty — 
 But, in his own most learned way. 
 By trines, and signs, and algebra. 
 
 * Landlord. 
 
FKIAR BACON ANTICIPATED. 
 
 259 
 
 Meantime, my last, who, in the chimney's 
 Corner was stirring up Smectymnus, 
 With a true shank of heron's bone. 
 Studied, and made the thing his own — 
 Put it together soon, and there 
 Produced within his chimney station. 
 My whole in actual operation, 
 Before the Friar was well aware. 
 
 Astonished at the lad's invention. 
 Bacon, at once, was all attention. 
 And watched the curious jim-crack spin. 
 With thoughtful thumb beneath his chin, 
 Then, smiling, laid his horn-book down: 
 
 " Learn this, my son : Howe'er we plod, 
 And call our labored thoughts our own. 
 Inventions are the gifts of God. 
 A pious mind as clearly sees 
 God in man's work as in the bee's; 
 Else why should truth so oft ensconce 
 From wise, that plain folks see at once? 
 
260 ENIGMATIC POEMS. 
 
 This have I known : A man of science, 
 Furnished with every rare appliance, 
 Begins, in the iirst flush of youth, 
 To question some material truth. 
 Truth, engined long, confesses not. 
 Though plied with fires Plutonian hot; 
 Truth in a flask, an open bowl, 
 Or nestled in a gimlet hole. 
 Lurks at his elbow, still unsought 
 With the right 'sesame' of thought. 
 Till, worn with years, the sacred rage 
 For truth he leaves a future age — 
 The long endeavoring eremite 
 Of science, dies without the sight — 
 When, lo! in some domestic scene. 
 Or on some homely village green. 
 Where one would think it strange if e'er 
 Aught than the surface should appear. 
 Truth, in a vesture rich and new, 
 Starts like a vision into view, 
 Unveiling, with a quick surprise, 
 To childhood's inconclusive eyes." 
 
FRIAR BACON ANTICIPATED. Ofil 
 
 An answer grave and fall of learning; 
 But had the Friar himself found out 
 The thing he moralized about, 
 He would have called it his, no doubt — 
 His by superior discerning. 
 
THE METAMORPHOSIS. 
 
 Calith Haroun Alraschid — he 
 Of strangely storied memory, 
 Took empire j ust within the date 
 Of the harsh rind of man's estate, 
 And whispered in the ready ear 
 Of his place-anxious old Vizier : 
 " Go, seek, as far as Samarcand, 
 The fairest maiden in the land." 
 
 Back came the Vizier — not too soon— 
 Not till the second change of moon — 
 And brought, well trained to his device, 
 His daughter to the Caliph's eyes. 
 
THE METAMORPHOSIS. 
 
 263 
 
 Twice looking, bending twice his head, 
 "What is your name," the Caliph said. 
 
 "Grave Sir, two names have I," said she, 
 " My first name is a quality, 
 Which, like a mantle, wraps the wise 
 From folly's laughter-dripping eyes; 
 It drapes the state of you and him" — 
 " Yes," said her sire, " her name is " — 
 
 "Dim- 
 Eyed Vizier, hush ! " — the Caliph frowned. 
 The maiden with a look profound: 
 " My second name, sir, is a flower — 
 The sign of the confiding hour; 
 Sweet from the harsh, its blooms attain, 
 Like a sweet virtue born of pain ; 
 And yet no dearer flower — none — 
 Flaunts its fair odors to the sun." 
 
 The Caliph bowed, and truly pleased 
 With wit so modest, made a feast ; 
 And liking, in a proper place. 
 To crimp with glee his courtly face, 
 
264 ENIGMATIC POEMS. 
 
 Essayed to show the maiden's worth 
 By means of dances, songs and mirth, 
 But unto all she made reply : 
 " O no sir!" very quietly; 
 And seemed to relish a caress 
 Less than to dread a rumpled dress. 
 
 A Sheikh, who owed her sire a grudge, 
 Now gave them both a cruel nudge ; 
 For watching how the weather blew, 
 (Key-holes are roomy for the wing 
 Of secrets — he had smoked the thing,) 
 And, devil-bent to have his due. 
 He sought a private hour and threw 
 On the cool Caliph's love cold water: 
 
 " She is your stiff old Vizier's daughter! ' 
 Curt are the Sultans of the sun. 
 Their passions seldom much outpour — 
 Haroun made motion to Mesrour,* 
 
 "Look to it Mesrour; see it done!" 
 
 * The Sultan's executioner. 
 
TUB METAMORPHOSIS. 
 
 265 
 
 The Vizier to a dungeon went; 
 His child was to another sent — 
 Ah hapless child! a dungeon where 
 The black magician Gongonair, 
 By whispers in a circle spoke, 
 And cursdd works with drugs and smoke, 
 Had wrought that whosoever lay 
 A night therein, was brute next day. 
 
 Forth, from his bath of morning water. 
 Came Haroun : " Show the old man his 
 daughter." 
 
 Up came the Vizier, racked with moans; 
 Tears, from the thunder of his groans. 
 Made a broad shower along the stones. 
 But when the locks ungrappled were. 
 Instead of hog, or ounce, or bear. 
 Only a strange new flower was there. 
 
 " Mesrour!" cried Haroun angrily, 
 And stabbed him with his sudden eye, 
 " Mesrour, produce the maid, or die!" 
 23 
 
2gg EXIGMATIC POEMS. 
 
 "Prophet of God!" the old Vizier 
 Exclaimed, " my daughter all is here, 
 God touches her for my intent, 
 But God knows she was innocent! 
 And witness how I prove it so: 
 
 " The base, in their afflictions gi'ow 
 Abject, their baseness is increased, 
 Till sin transmutes them to the beast. 
 But they who in good thoughts abound — 
 Where the right stuff of heart is found — 
 Have grace, that, even in hell, would be 
 Unsoiled by devilish alchemy; 
 Changed though they be, by wreck and wear 
 Of Time, that juggles everywhere, 
 They still are something pure and fair." 
 
ALEXANDER'S VISION. 
 
 V. 
 
 When the divinely fated son 
 Of the madraan of Macedon 
 Had quelled the world, from Hellespont 
 To Lybia, and the fabled font 
 Of Ganges, and had overthrown 
 More kingdoms than before were known, 
 He, with the reins between his hands 
 Of many curbed and bitted lands, 
 
ggg ENIGMATIC POEMS. 
 
 Returned to Babylon, and there 
 Died of debauch and royal fare. 
 That heroes are not gods, we tax 
 No other proofs than their own acts. 
 
 While, j ust between the shears of fate. 
 Maintaining free his sensual state. 
 He lay within a palace fair, 
 A seat of old voluptuous kings 
 Bowered by the gardens hung in aii- — 
 A palace built in equal wings. 
 The which, from near Euphrates' side> 
 A moat did curiously divide. 
 On either bank of which canal 
 The palace towers were mutual. 
 The moat was fifty cubits wide. 
 And the same space above its tide, 
 A pass between the towers was made 
 Of trellis wicker, bravely stayed — 
 Quite overgrown with tropic flowers, 
 Where, in the breezy evening hours, 
 
ALEXANDER'S VISION. 
 
 Sometimes, from that superior height, 
 The king would make it his delight 
 To watch the vastly populous space. 
 Sinking into the night's embrace — 
 Parks, temples, turrets, gardens, spires — 
 Perspectives vast as his desires,] 
 Glowing, and through the haze, afar. 
 The umbrageous girdle of Shinar, 
 Infolding, to his conquering eyes, 
 An empire in a Paradise. 
 
 Crowned, in a hall of splendid state. 
 One night the king at supper sate, 
 Till frolic Bacchus, ruder grown. 
 Thrust him, asleep, beneath the throne; 
 There at unrest, in hard position. 
 Sadly he saw a dreary vision : 
 
 He dreamed that in a lonely boat 
 He rocked upon the palace moat, 
 Blackness was on the earth and skies, 
 23* 
 
 269 
 
270 ENIGMATIC P0B5IS. 
 
 When from the waters did arise 
 
 A ball of sight-afflicting fire, 
 
 That flowed with flame, and spinning higher^ 
 
 Touched, kindling at the wicker bridge. 
 
 Then flashed to either palace ridge. 
 
 ^lalignant flames, with forky heads, 
 
 Frolicked like devils on the leads, 
 
 Till, in a quick consuming space, 
 
 The palace had not left a trace, 
 
 Save dust and smoke about the boat; 
 
 Out of the which, above the moat, 
 
 Rose to the monarch's troubled eye, 
 
 A demon forty cubits high — 
 
 His eyes were cavernous lighted holes; 
 
 His hair was flame ; his teeth were coals. 
 
 Then with a gesture grand and wide, 
 
 " Three days, three hours," the demon cried, 
 " Those old Assyrian towers shall bear 
 That wicker pass aloft in air. 
 If, after three and three, those towers 
 Uphold that wicker pass of flowers. 
 
ALEXANDER'S VISION. £)« i 
 
 Come flame and wreck — ^the whole is mine ; 
 Which to avert, O prince divine! 
 Be thou of me completely skilled: 
 Tear down the wicker and rebuild — 
 Build loith the symbol of command, 
 And that ivhereon the mountains stand." 
 
 Moved by his dream, th' ensuing day, 
 The monarch cut the pass away ; 
 And sent for one Stasicrates, 
 Famous, in such mechanic crises, 
 For ready engines and devices, 
 To build as might the demon please — 
 
 '■'■Build with the symbol of command, 
 And that whereon the mountains stand." 
 
 Stasicrates the riddle sought, 
 Piling his will on his intent 
 In utter agony of thought. 
 But found not what the demon meant: 
 
272 ENIGMAl'IO POEMS. 
 
 A brave device, that coin, nor stone, 
 Nor old historic scroll has shown 
 Was found before the later day 
 Of Rome's predominating sway; 
 Whose whole, and parcels twain, did bless 
 Rome with all power and pleasantness ; 
 Whose j&rst — the symbol of command — 
 Makes Rome an awe in every land; 
 Whose last — whereon the mountains stand- 
 Should Rome, and all her temples fall, 
 Would mark her site of burial ; 
 Whose whole, with ages, drops aside 
 From all the works of Roman pride. 
 
SOLUTIONS 
 
 To THE Enigmatic Poejis. 
 
 I. — Barb-a-can. 
 II. — Weather- VANE. 
 III. — Smoke-jack. 
 IV. — Prim-rose. 
 V. — Key-stone.