BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME PROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND ■ THE GIFT OB iienrg M. Sage 1S91 AJUX^. ■_. i<^iij1n 5931 Cornell University Library PS 2817.L8 3 1924 022 163 954 Cornell University Library The original of this book 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/cu31924022163954 7^- T^-J-kiic. Lines in Pleasant Places. RHYTHMICS MANY MOODS AND QUANTITIES. WISE AND OTHERWISE. By B. p. SHILLABER. '* I am nae PoeU in a sense, But just a Rhymer like, by chance, An* hae to learning nae pretence. But what the matter? Whene'er my muse does on me glanc^ < I jingle at her." Burns. CHELSEA: PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 1874. at ft-niTSO Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, By B. p. SHILLAEER, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. STEEEOTYPED AT THK BOSTON STEKEOTYPE FOtrNDUY, 19 Spring Lane. POTNTBD BY BAKD, AVEBY AMD COMPANY, Franklin Street. PREFATORY WORDS. We are told that when the late Pythagoras discovered his champion problem — the forty-seventh — that is to-day most popular in places where it is least understood, he made a great to-do about it, shouting "Eureka ! " and indulging in other eccentric demonstrations ; so the author of this unpretecding volume, when the idea of publishing came upon him, received it as if it were a new revelation, and said, " I'll print it ! " the difference betwixt his ejaculation and that of Pythagoras, aforesaid, being that his was in plain English. But there was a financial difficulty in the way which looked portentous, and then, recatttng the aphorism of the eminent financier, who made a fortune by borrow- ing ninepences, that "friendship unutilized is capital wasted," he drew up the mild appeal to "His Friends," that needs but to be alluded to here, which achieved a success far beyond his expectations, for which he is duly grateful. The tutelar genius which inspired his previous books, does not prominently appear in this, though the benignant influence of Mrs. Partington may be felt in its pages, warm- ing, by its tranquil glow, w.thout provoking the reader to the frenzy of mirtli, and, like Cowper's cup of tea, may " cheer, but not inebriate." Of its literary quality, he will say, that 4 PRBFATORT WORDS. he has essayed no break-neck Parnassian flights in its pro- duction : first, because he could not, which seems to be rea- son enough ; and second, because he felt content to skirt the mountain, like a brook, rather than climb over it, re- flecting as much of heaven's light as there was surface to be shone upon, and cheering as far as possible by his song, without any great pretence to artistic excellence. The title. Lines in Pleasant Places, is tributary to scenes about which cluster most delightful recollections to the author, in recalling which he believes he will find many sympathizers among those who shared in their participa- tion. A number of pieces not intended for print, make a first claim for pubhc attention, and as what is one man's interest is interesting to all, through the fellow-feeling which makes the world akin, so a general interest may attach to what was merely occasional or personal. The portrait was not introduced through any prompt- ing of vanity that had survived youth to make age ridicu- lous, but at the suggestion of the best advisers ; and, thanks to Mr. Adams, of Chelsea, a thorough artist in pho- tography, and the heliography of Messrs. James R. Osgood & Co., the pictured lineaments form a feature of the book ; for which, doubtless, the reader will be duly grateful. It is not as classical as a Greek study, but it presents as many wrinkles, that are not frozen frowns, as the most preten- tious of the antiques. No pains have been spared to produce a book of the best mechanical excellence, for which see respective imprints ; and the author places it in the reader's hands, confident that it will receive all the consideration its merits de- serve — and its demerits likewise. Missing Page Missing Page OCCASIONAL PIECES. PAGE The Mound-builders 13 Home Again 26 Twenty Years Later 35 Twenty-one. 43 Jubilee Rhymes 52 Modern Chivalry 58 The Press 66 The Preux Chevalier 76 Robert Burns. 82 Press and Press-people 86 An Old Tea-party. 90 A Hundred Years Ago 94 Aqueous Inspiration. 104 A Rhyme of Five-and-twenty Years. . . 109 Contrasts and Similitudes. . . . . nS After-dinner Effort 123 7' CONTENTS. WAR LYRICS. Massachusetts 133 The Sixth at Baltimore. . . . . 135 The Way we went to Beaufort. . . .137 Grierson's Raid. 140 " Poor Boy ! " 142 War's Changes 144 The Old War-ship 146 FRIENDLY PERSONALITIES. To James T. Fields 151 The Golden Wedding -154 Congratulatory 157 A Response 159 To a Poet. ... .... 162 Tributary Verses 165 A Picture. ... .... 168 To Warrington 171 Dr. Hayes. . 174 MISCELLANEOUS. What Man don't Know 177 My Early Love. ... . . 180 Debility of the Heart 183 But : A Truth in Hindostan. . 185 CONTENTS. 9 II Reumatico to his Pipe 187 Trust 190 Thanksgiving, Time 192 Snowed in 197 Affection's Tribute 200 Christmas 202 The Old Sexton 205 Strawberries 208 The Old Bromfield House 213 Dream Arrows. .- 215 The Church Bell. 217 A Push for Freedom 220 Miles O'Reilly 224 The Love of the Old 227 Here and Yonder. 229 How Wearing it is ! 231 The Reason Why 233 The Quilting 235 The Perfidious Miller 238 The Old-time Apple-bee 244 The New Year 247 A Work-day Lyric 250 Dreaming and Waking. 252 Hope 255 A Vagary 257 Christmas Token 259 Sabbath-day Reflections 261 The Pebble on the Shore 263 lO CONTENTS. My Crutch 265 Music of the Flail 268 The Island Defenders 270 Childish Vespers 274 The Sewing-circle 276 Torn Down 278 The Skaters 281 The Corner Policeman 283 The Old Stage-coach 285 UNCONSIDERED TRIFLES. ... 287 OCCASIONAL PIECES. Lines in Pleasant Places. THE MOUND-BUILDERS* In the " far west " — once reckoned very far — Our neighbor now, by the fleet railroad car — Are certain hillocks, rounded in their shape. That long have set the curious world agape, Provoking questionings — conundrums rare — Regarding how they could have happened there ; Who could have built them — what they did it for — Whether of peace they grew, or if of war ; Whether they held the bones of braves in trust. Or were some ancient Boffin's piles of dust. " What mean they .'' " Science cried, with eager glow, And Echo answered, " Really, I don't know." Savants have tried to fathom them in vain. Receiving little for their care and pain : A bone, perhaps, an antique pipe of clay, A hatchet made of flint, — yet happy they. For on the bracket of a single tooth ♦ Read before Literary Societies of Dartmouth College, July, 1871. 13 14 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. They'd hang immortal theories, forsooth, Of those who might have lived beyond the flood, And held their tenure in the primal mud, Therein abiding in that distant while, — Dying as soon as they had " made their pile," - Leaving behind them no authentic trace If ape or polliwog began the race. This hint suggests the sympathetic fact That we with like constructive purpose act. Heaping up mounds of character for those Who, after us, our status would disclose, And scratch beneath the surface, like a hen. To find out what we were or might have been. We toil and toil with pertinacious might To bring our structures to the proper height : Some scarce perceived above the sod to lift. Some soaring high with industry and thrift. Some with benevolence and virtue wrought. Some beautiful with wisdom and with thought ; While others — sad reflection ! — highest reared, Will have the meanest showing, it is feared, — A sordid, selfish, fraudulent offence, — Procuring fame, like goods, by false pretence. I've often wondered if, from some high sphere. Angels take cognizance of doings here ; And if they do, what must their notions be Of what they guess, at times, and what they see. As, bending o'er the rim of some fair star. They spend their time divining what we are. And what we are doing on the ball below THE MOUND-BUILDERS. 15 In our excited, strange, and restless show, Hither and thither rushing, round and round. Each striving, driving, piling up his mound. Happy our fame if from its heart exhumed One fossil flower is found that erewhile bloomed, — One seed of Truth that in the air may grow. And vital energy and fruitage show ; Or from its soil one tree be found to spring, That gratefully abroad its shade may fling, Beneath whose shelter humble souls may rest In sweet contentedness and pleasure blest. We glance about, as on our spades we lean. And mark the toil of others in the scene, Each piling on, with busy hand and brain, Some height of honor or of place to gain. A welcome privilege, the nonce, is ours — Granted in boon by overruling powers — To leave our own small mounds of love or cares, And look upon, and, be the judge of, theirs ! Just as in neighborhoods where every one Watches for others' faults to pounce upon. And, in the scrutinizing zeal that's shown. Forgets, the moment, foibles of his own. Here Greed's contestants every effort make All things that come within their reach to take, Toiling, with aching heaci and hardening heart, In known and unknown courses of the mart ; Selling their comfort and their spirit's peace .To swell the measure of a rich increase ; 1 6 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. With not a thought save on accruing dimes, The chink of Mammon drowning heavenly chimes ; With sacrifice of conscience, early seared. And justice seen through eyes corrupt and bleared. The late Tom Walker, everybody sees, Sold not himself more patently than these. Although the fiend may not the mortgage close. As terms are easier in these days than those ! We pick their mounds to pieces when they die, To see what underneath the crust may lie, — What trace of character may there remain, — Alas ! w^e have the western mounds again : Lots of the dirt, but here and there a speck Of native worth, surviving honor's wreck, A few worn bones of principle and worth. The rest all selfishness and yellow earth. The Politician with his wary eye Watches the changes of the party sky. And plans his tactics to preserve his place E'en though his country tremble with disgrace. Like the old vicar of the church of Bray He trims his sails to winds from any way. Ready to change as parties make or break. True to himself whatever course they take. Pulling all strings that bear upon the dime. And crawls unshrinking through the dirt and slim:; ; Thinks he's a statesman, bound in fame to shine. But this no more than buttermilk is wine — A wretched shodd}' for the statesman's gown Stuffed out to win the homage of the town. THE MOUND-BUILDERS. 17 ('Tis needless, maybe, to proclaim the fact. But lie with our pure party doesn't act.) He rears a mound symmetrical and high, A goodly outside to the careless eye ; One honest kick when he has fled away, And what a mass offensive greets the day ! — Falsehood and cunning, perfidy and greed. With not a thing that might for mercy plead. The Qiiack — of whate'er name— his craft applies, And all the cavil of the worLl defies ; Isms or medicine pours without a stint Down human throats through avenues of print, And gains his point of influence or fame. His gilded trappings covering up his shame ! We plodders by the way must seek retreat When his fast horses prance adown the street, With liveried servants, and such thin veneer As makes pretence like verity appear. Or if the quack affects no glittering pride. Choosing in less pretentious garb to stride. Alike veneer conceals the fraud below, And if 'tis false the world don't care to know. Taking in blindly that which credence fills. And bolting false philosophy or pills ! The quack's mound rises, shadowing the land, Of fabric fair and architecture grand, Covered by gilt, in ostentatious guise, A specious bid for favor in our eyes. What are its contents when, in after day. The sliell remorselessly is torn away? — 2 i8 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Pills, stock, and heresies, humbug and pretence. Without a show of honesty or sense ! The one who yields himself to Fashion's art. And to his tailor renders up his heart, Plies his faint brains, in emulous emprise, By stunning trim his manhood to disguise ; Succeeding in his effort, day by day, And butterflying all his life away. Or Pleasure's votary, whose constant care Is in some "high old time" to take a share. And in the crazed abandon of the strife Forgets the grand realities of life ; Steeps his weak soul in sensual delight. And yields himself a slave to appetite. (O, wliat a wretched fallacy is this, That leads him wildered by this road to bliss ; To find, at last, at no far distant day. That " good times," in the aggregate, don't pay !) The puzzled seeker might their mounds invade And find few obstacles resist the spade — A tailor's bill, unpaid, a fancy tie, A willow flask — exhaling ancient rye ! The Honest Man (self-styled), within the law, Enacts his part without a single flaw. He notes distinctly the dividing line Where the illegal and the legal join, And plants his toes with microscopic care. Fearing to trespass by a single hair ; Then mortgages forecloses with a smile, THE MOUND-BUILDERS. 19 And big per cents he heaps upon his pile, Doing whate'er tlie law will let him do, — Devouring widows and their houses too, — Until he dies, his mound of shapely grace Revealing not a blemish we may trace. The pick betrays him, and, alone, descried. Is what he reached and took from t'other side. And all are balanced by some humble soul, Whose life is spent 'neath virtue's grand control. Who, fiom the love and wish of doing good, Expands in one sublime beatitude ; Seeking no glory, but, in noiseless way, Shedding abroad rare blessing day by day, — As some sweet rill may make a desert bloom, And glad its life with verdure and perfume. The world unheeding that which so doth bless. By the still mission of unselfishness, Until it shrinks beneath the fervent sun. And then is felt the service it has done. So are the good remembered when they're past. And all their worth is valued at the last. Thus builders pile their mounds of mind or pelf. And each in character transmits himself; None moundless, though diversity we trace. And difference in altitude or grace ; Piled high with care, cupidity or pride, With worldly hopes and aims identified. Or built of Truths that high their summits raise, Their beauty gladdening the seeker's gaze. 20 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. That mound is highest as its base is spread, When towers among the clouds its lofty head. This fact recalls the antiquated myth Of the old devotee, of zealous pith. Who, with a power by holy frenzy given, Resolved to build a mound from earth to heaven. No joint-stock matter this, — though not more wild Than many by which people are beguiled ; Man-traps, approved and chartered by the State, That, like old Samson's foemen lie in wait. All lovely in the specious dress of ink, Until the bubble bursts and down they sink ; The ancient zealot was a grasping elf. And chose to corner all the stock himself. And first he drew a circle on the ground To form the area of his mighty mound. His stakes being driven he took off his coat, To his grand work his muscle to devote. Bending his back with vigor to the task. Without a question of success to ask. There's nought like pious muscle to effect What shrewd religious thinking may project. Up rose the heap beneath his sturdy might, Towering and towering to exalted height, And still he toiled, with a persistent will. His self-appointed mission to fulfil, — Smiling to see it rise in upper air. The bantling of his effort and his prayer. At length the eartii refused atop to stay — The base too narrow for his grand essa}-. THE MOUND-BUILDERS. 31 Fast as he piled, the sand in drifts did meet, In crawling eddies, round his stinted feet, Suggesting plainly he should " change his base " Ere he could hope to reach the upper space. It is not told how he the land procured By which his future triumph was assured, But, gaining it, he backward made a move, His heart and eyes fixed hopefully above. He would not let the edge of his intent Be turned by any temporal accident. And so he labored, moving backward still. As loftier rose his life-embodied hill. And, when its summit reached the upper deep, The base comprised the whole world in its sweep ! And then a glory born of joy complete Filled all his heart with satisfaction sweet ; He'd made his pile by strength devotion lent. Then died contented, though not worth a cent. He might have climbed his hill to endless day. But chose to go the customary way. From all of which I'd have this manifest — That every one should do his " level best," And make a mound symmetrical and high. His worth and action to exemplify. Not bidding for a loud posthumous fame, But emblemizing deeds much more than name. It might be pleasant, with our love of praise. To have admiring crowds their plaudits raise ; But better far than this, as one can deem, Is the grand fact of being what we seem. 22 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. We may make money, such of us as can, And ne'er forget a moment we are Man ; Such generous, noble souls as you and I Would to rare uses make the money fly. Fortune, howe'er, has ever held in trust My portion of the soul-corrupting dust. Fearing, 'twould seem, my lavishness might tend Too much in acts benevolent to spend. Grand are those souls, on whom is poured the pelf. Who lose no portion of their better self! E'en Impecunius such bestowal sees, And makes no growl at Fortune's rough decrees. Investing, with unstinted bounty, such. With dimes his itching fingers may not touch. Be politicians, — patriots good and true, — Your country calls especially to you ; But not as demagogues to trade and prate, And let yourself and yours precede the state, Abusing privilege your station lends, And looking out for parasites and friends. Be devotees as pious as you may. But pray put bigotry at once away ; Let your devotion, pure, to heaven ascend. And love to all your earthlj' doings lend. Be fashionable, if your tastes incline, Though better not in borrowed plumage shine. Remember foppishness shows no advance. And good taste never means extravagance ; Money may find a more exalted use Than hatching goslings from a tailor's goose. I'd have true Manhood evermore pervade THE MOUND-BUILDERS. Each art, profession, enterprise, or trade, And true nobility of soul enthroned. Now compromised or utterly disowned. Whether the mound is built by hand or mind Integrity should be in all combined. Ye Judges, sitting there, in embryo, Preserve your ermine in unsullied snow ; Look well to time before the robe you don, * Nor soil your shoulders ere you put it on. The highest tribute held by fame in trust Is that, when justly given, — he was just. Ye Doctors, who prospective pulses feel, Be faithful in the paths light may reveal ; Don't let your consciences for gain grow tough. And ne'er be niggard with your doctor's stuff ; If called up nights make no ill-natured talk. But charge it blandly with a double chalk. Ye Lawyers, — ready every side to plead ; To back and fill, advance and then recede, — If right or wrong a client's cause to bear. And for its justice neither know nor care. The merits of a case at once to see. Commended by a smart retaining fee, — For you I have but just one little word : E'er be as honest — as you can afibrd. Ye Teachers, now prepared the world to show A part of what you do and think you know, 24 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Don't cram your pupils with the dough of text Till memory and patience are perplexed ; Teach them, beyond the books upon your shelves, And lead their minds to think things out themselves. Ye Merchants, — missionary aids to thought, — Whose white sails light from every clime has caught, Think of the proud position Commerce boasts, Extending Truth to earth's far-distant coasts, — Think of the powers that to your sphere belong To aid the right and subjugate the wrong, — And never let cupidity come in To svyerve its bent to compromise with sin ; May honesty e'er justify your sales, With unshrunk yardsticks and ungrudging scales ! Ye Preachers, destined for the sacred place, Imbibe humility and loving grace, And strive, the while God's holy word you preach, To learn and listen, while you talk and teach. Present the " cloth " as worthy of respect. And not a trade-mark, merely, for a sect. And should a higher call, like Samuel's, come. Don't shrink from it, and say you're not at home ; We must, you know, all our temptations face, And circumstance be left to rule each case. Ye Poets, dwelling in the airs sublime That blow about our ears in gusts of rhyme, Forever sing for Truth and Love divine In strains as good, if possible, as mine. THE MOUND-BUILDERS. 25 I close my theme — a mountain in my view — To be assumed, and added to, by you. The mounds are waiting, ready to be shown, As the fair image bides within the stone. Begin to build, — your just position take, — Here forge the tools j'our waiting mounds to make ; Roll up your sleeves and enter on your work — No one to lag, no one his task to shirk ; Like the old zealot widen out your base, And, like him, look to heaven with hopeful face ; Stick to your mound persistently and true, And dread no failure in the great review, When angels, searching for its inner plan. Shall say, approvingly. Here was a Man ! 36 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. HOME AGAIN* A PHALANX Strong and true we come To meet amid the scenes of home — Again to mingle heart and heart, As in life's early morning-start, When, with stout nerve and earnest soul, We parted for the distant goal. And we have wandered long and far, Led onward by Hope's guiding star : Through ways diversely wide we've passed, With varied fortunes on us cast ; Felt much of good and much of ill From Fate's o'erbending skies distil ; But, though afiir, we've ne'er forgot Each olden well-belov6d spot, And every hill and rock and stream Has been recalled in many a dream, And life's pursuits, of high or low, Have paled no beam of filial glow, That with renewing ray has burned As oft the heart has homeward turned. * Delivered on the occasion of the Return of the Sons of Portsmouth to their old Home, July 4, 1853. HOME AGAIN. ZJ Fancy unchecked has roamed at will ; We've stood again on Breakfast Hill, And felt the breezes round us blow, As on May mornings long ago. When, left our beds for phantom flowers In early dawn's ungenial hours. In aching hands and glowing noses Has merged our hope of vernal roses ! Again we've from Langdon's Rock, In dreamy shoes, to Puddle Dock, And plunged beneath the cooling waves That ceaseless lave the Point of Graves, Where, in eternal slumbers deep. The " fathers of the hamlet sleep." We've walked once more in memory o'er That sacred precinct Christian Shore, And heard the hum of Walker's Mill, And stood enrapt on Dennett's Hill, Where the big fish perpetual glides, On steady fin, through airy tides. And seen that pond beneath us rest. Upon whose placid, stormless breast — In days full well remembered yet — Our little sails in pride we set, Nor deemed that, in the world's wide round, A fairer sea could e'er be found. Or mightier gales than those which bore Our shallow ships from shore to shore ! Beyond its clear and glassy tide Rock Pasture rests in pristine pride. 28 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. In memory only is it seen, — In memory may it still be green, As when, in days of ancient peace, Old Mr. Mifflin reared his geese. And Sherburne's Wharf, a spot revered, In willowy garniture appeai'cd, And Cellar old and Great Rock gray Saw rudimental men at play, — For Innovation's iron hand Has marred the features of the land. And the Rock Pasture we are shown Is not the one we erst have known ! Though other streams more wide may be, Of import more and majesty. Yet none from one can e'er bespeak A warmer love than Walker's Creek. And thou, remembered Sagamore! Some fairy pencil traced thy shore, With most artistic beauties rife Ere sturdy nature gave it life ; The woods that skirt thy verdant side Bow over thee in love and pride, And lay their shadows there to rest Upon the pillow of thy breast ; No sounds of harsh discordance press To mar thy blessed peacefulness ; The old pines murmur whisperingly As if in earnest praise of thee ; And troops of brilliant loving birds Sing their delight in joyous words, HOME AGAIN. 29 Responsive to thine own sweet speech That breaks in music on thy beach. Among thy haunts again we've played, Again along thy shore we've strayed, And bowed like pilgrims at a shrine Before thy beauties so divine ! Again our foreheads warm and glowing Have felt thy crystal coolness flowing, And love has strengthened in the beam Reflected from thy shore and stream. And oft-remembered Frenchman's Lane Comes up before the mind again, With brooding shadows dark and dread. From elms enlacing overhead ; And on a broad flat stone we read The trace of that perfidious deed. Where on this spot, long, long ago, The Frenchman met his mortal woe. Dread spot ! where boys scarce dared to roam Beyond the evening's early gloam. For fear lest they might haply meet The Frenchman in his winding-sheet. O, glorious myth ! that urchins scares. And saves to Ham his sugar-pears ! And sense and soul must all be dead When we forget the Fountain Head, That shrine to which our footsteps strayed, For rest and solace in its shade, When parched beneath the summer heat 30 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. We've coveted its treasures sweet, And dipped our pails within the pool Where bubbled up the waters cool, In ceaseless, never-tiring flow, And icy stillness from below, The while the fife-bird poured his song Upon the slumbering air along, Till, taking captive Boyhood's ear. It bowed in still delight to hear ! Full many a name on that old shrine Was written in the days lang syne — Few scarcely dreaming deeper fame Than that which registered their name ! And memories, like railway trains, Come freighted, full, of Portsmouth Plains- That greater field, in Boyhood's view. Than New Orleans or Waterloo ! With mighty deeds of arms 'tis rife. And rattling drum and squeaking fife, And Bern's bunns, and weary legs. And apple-juice, and hard-boiled eggs! Again hear how the music rings, Where Myers thumbs the catgut strings, Where, answering to the sounding fiddle, 'Tis " down outside and up the middle," And waves of flaming calico In mighty surges come and go ! Again we see the grand display Of many a famed " great training day," When soldiers brave, in " fixings " fair, HOME AGAIN. 31 — And some by far the worse for wear — Meet there in warlike trim to wait, And show themselves and serve the state, — The glory and the crowning pride Of boys and men who stand outside ! Spring Market! — how affection clings To thee, best of remembered things ! Delightful 'twas in days of old, Thy mighty commerce to behold, — Where, spread around thy circuit wide. Was seen the fertile country's pride, That Naiads ere the morning's gleam Had ferried down the rapid stream. And vivid thoughts arise of her, The awful ancient Marriner, Before whose stern and chilling frown All predatory schemes went down ; With whom the fruit-invested pence Was sole atonement for offence. There, trickling out from 'neath the hill, Runs merrily that ceaseless rill. That never from its fulness shrank Though myriads from its bounty drank, And wastes itself in icy flow Upon the " flagrant " beach below. How often has that iron bowl Been blissful to his thirsty soul. Who, bending double for the prize, Has crushed his beaver o'er his eyes. But compensated for his pain 32 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. By tasting of its sweets again. Gray, honored, worn Venetian pile, Wliich modern Goths have dared despoil ! Though statelier fabrics rear their forms Upon thy site, m)' spirit warms As it tiiy glories doth restore, The pride of swift Piscataqua's shore. Piscataqua ! that mighty tide. With all our youthful thoughts allied. Yet rolls its eddying waves along, Untiring, ceaseless, free, and strong, As when with pole and hook and string We fished for pollock by the " Spring." And redolent with sulphury smell. And resonant with gun and bell, And luminous with fiery light — The crown of Independence night — The town Parade, with earnest stiife. Has lost no note of busy life : The Court House — venerable pile — In gentle dotage seems to smile ; The old Town P u m p , with outstretched hand, Like rigid sentinel doth stand ; Jefferson Hall sends back again That olden patriotic strain. That rose when high and low degree Brought votive gifts to Liberty, And, rallying, with earnest zeal. Each twelvemonth saved the commonweal ; And old Paved Street, with riches dight, Comes back upon the dreaming sight, HOME AGAIN. 33 With every gorgeous hue displayed, As when, upon the sea of trade, To welcome all auspicious gales. The hopeful merchant set his sales. There, like the guardian of the scene, The North Church stands with solemn mien, And reverent feelings cluster round To sanctify the precious ground. Its spire arises white and high, Attracting upward still the eye, A petrified perpetual saint — A sermon preached in wood and paint ! That bell — the music of whose tone What Portsmouth ear can e'er disown? — Yet swings within its ancient tower. And calls to praise, and calls the hour, As erst in garrulous pride it swung, With open mouth and prating tongue. Like many a mortal we have known Whose virtue is in sound alone. An endless task it is to trace Each olden, well-remembered place, Or give our heart emotions tone — The heart must treasure them alone. There are they evermore portrayed. The pictures that in youth were made : The church, the school, the wood, the stream. All, all return in memory's dream. And friends and old delights we knew Still live in retrospection's view. 3 34 lijVes in pleasant places. And olden feeling is restored — The pleasure beaming round the board Reveals, in colors strong and clear, The Spirit of the Past is here ! No figment of the brain alone. But flesh and blood and nerve and bone. The hands we clasp are sentient things; That smile no ghostly radiance flings ; Those eyes are lit by friendship's beam. That fades not out as fades a dream ; These hearts with living pulses beat; These tongues with living tones are sweet ; Those waves of blue that yonder flow Have nought ethereal in their glow ; The bright forms glancing by our side Are objects of terrestrial pride. Although, adoringly, we're given To deem them less of earth than heaven. Then give to Love the sovereign power ; Let its blest influence rule the hour ; And, waked anew, may it impart A warmer sunshine to the heart. That shall, as once again we roam, Relume the path that leads to Home ! TWENTY 2-EARS LATER. 35 TWENTY YEARS LATER.* Gleam, waves of swift Piscataqua, Sing, woods on tranquil Kittery's side, Siioiit, Newington upon the Bay, Ye airs of " Greenland's icy," play, And Old Rye mingle with the tide ; Let " kettle to the trumpet speak, The trumpet to the cannoneer ; " Ring, bells, whose tones o'er Walker's Creek, Through distant vales, shall echoes seek, And bring them willing captives here, — For every heart is full to-day. And everything, in sweet accord. Must tributary honors pay, To recognize the genial swaj' Of Joy, the season's sovereign lord. Our good old Mother spreads her arms To welcome back her sons to-day. Who come from worldly strifes and harm.s. Responsive to the potent charms That still among them all hold sway. ' Delivered on the Return of the Sons of'Fortsmoutli, July 4, 1S73. 36 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. From scenes afar, with lengtliened ranks, They to her side maternal fly. Forgot the early duteous spanks That fell in showers upon their flanks When driven abroad their fate to try. No cause for murmuring at the fact ; 'Twas Providence, in kind disguise, That sent them off to think and act. To cultivate the world's great tract. And make men better and more wise. This is the mission every " son" Is obligated to perform ; And, in the long, decisive run, Invariably it is done, As all confess with feeling warm. The pulpit, law, the trades, the mart, The press, and schools, where'er you search. Perform, it seems, a better part. With more efficiency and heart, When trade-marked by the Old North Church. How wide they're scattered ! every land And every sea some one may show ; From Egypt's yellow glistening sand. To where the icy floes expand. And the North Pole sticks through the snow. TWENTT YEARS LATER. 37 They take, of course, the foremost place, With modesty that is not weak, And soon as seen a Portsmouth face. Contestants cease to urge the race, Awed into silence by its cheek. But right the record that they show, In worth and manliness and " sich ; " And every one, as we well know. Succeeds from the first signal, " Go ! " And all are virtuous and rich. But, grandest trait of those who roam, Their " hearts untravelled " here have rest ; E'en though the hair, like ocean foam, 'Circleth the base of thought's high dome. They ne'er forget their primal nest. The " lean and slippered pantaloon," Who " pipes and whistles," minus teeth. Feels his whole heart with joy attune. And all the fires of life's young June Glowing with ardor underneath. 'Twixt farthest Indus and the Pole, Climb heights remote from human tread. You'll find, cut on that lofty scroll, Some name, familiar to your soul. Carved on the old-time Fountain Head. 3S LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. One I remember, years aback, Friend and companion of my youth, Wiio early was compelled to pack, Because police were on his track, For some small error and unruth. I heard from him — south, west, and east. At last as being in Feegee, Tattooed and feathered, sheared and greased, Presiding o'er a local feast Among the islands of the sea. Another, too, of grotesque mien, Who mixed with us in boyhood's day, Lacking the lively " pistareen," Put out from home, two days between, And vanished from these scenes away. He for a while from sight was lost. When an exploring sailor man Saw him, cross-legged, upon a post, The admiration of a host — A heathen god in Hindostan. So when Bill Gibson disappeared, — That ne'er-do-weil, the neighbors' tease — For whom a fatal end was feared By that contrivance, looped and geared, That settles grave delinquencies, — TWENTY TEARS LATER. 39 Al'ter long years had passed away, A traveller 'neath Turkish skies Saw, clad in elegant array. With servants rich, in livery gay, A form that filled him with surprise : 'Twas Bill, whom fate had hither cast. That his astonished vision saw. Fanned by four sudras as he passed, With money and importance vast, A real seven-tailed bashaw. So Portsmouth gii'ls in marriage; hide, — Forgotten or unknown their sphere, — But strong and true the tender pride Which draws them to the river side. And here again they reappear. Ever to Portsmouth instincts true, We find, what time like this imparts, That, like the old " dame of the shoe," They duty's line have kept in view. And in their spheres reigned Qiieens of Hearts. If lady's, or if humbler role They're called to, yoil may bet your life That, in the atmosphere of soul, Where the domestic gods control, No discount's asked for them as wife. 40 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. We foiu would kiss sweet Mary Ann, As erst we did in early youth, But wholly modify our plan As we behold that other man, And fear to risk our onl}' tooth. Why all don't marry, we might quiz, But if for lack of love or pelf, That is their own especial " biz ; " We only know that what is, is. And each knows how it is herself. Now "home again," but, O, how changed Each scene, beneath the flight of j-ears ! The old-time scenery deranged, The good old neighborhoods estranged — Recalled through memory and tears. We scarce a single rood retrace, — The schools and play-grounds disappeared - We strive " Old Cellar " to replace. We miss the " Great Rock's" honest face. The " Willows" that our boyhood cheered. " Penhallow's Field" has left no sign. And structures rise o'er former sites. Where eager Boyhood watched the shine Of lightning from the cloudy line O'er " Christian Shore " on summer nights. TWENTT TEARS LATER. 41 Growth, growth, though not perceived at home, Steals silently along each track ; Noted alone by those who roam, — Seeds germinant in kindred loam, — Hiding the path on looking back. And where are they, the loving ones, We left behind when forth we came ? Dear, unambitious, homebred " Sons ! " They've had their " innings" and their " runs," And long ago closed up the game. Yet here and there a form we meet, Time-honored relics of the past. With dimming eyes and lagging feet. Who our returning presence greet, Tried, true, and faithful to the last. « The capillary ducts may dry, The nerves by age may be unstrung. Passion no more may fire the eye ; — But, though the faculties deny. The heart will evermore be young. I met Apollo here to-day, — As full of genius as an egg, — With music, art, and verse in play. As actively as when away I went, my destiny to beg. LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. 'Twas Moses, not of Hoieb fame, But gentle, tasteful Thomas P., Whose heart is lit with art's true flame. Self-fed, — the more to others' shame, — A martyr to the Graces three. And here we meet 'neath native skies. With soberness and gladness blent ; And our old mother's kindly eyes Have looked to all our small supplies. On hospitality in-tent. God bless her — bless us, every one! Give pleasure unrestricted power, And every daughter, every son, When care again the field hath won, Shall breathe a blessing on this hour. The harp that twenty years ago Made some pretence to lyric fire, Now halts and slackens in its flow, Like turgid treacle running slow. And is at best a feeble lyre ; Yet while its chords can sound a strain. If not so musical and grand, 'Twill true to this sweet thought remain That brings us, children, home again, Beside our mother's knee to stand. TWENTT-ONE. 4^ TWENTY-ONE.* How glad the time when Boyhood hears, From Fancy's tongue, in all its ears. The prophecy of wealth and fun To culminate with twenty-one ! What glories to the vision ope, As Hope unfolds her horoscope ! What fairy fringes girt around The sweep of earth's enchanted bound ! What myriad promises we see Awaiting in the time To-Be I — That golden time of freedom shown. When, Manhood gained, we stand alone, To sport a bran-new^ freedom coat, And pay a suffrage tax, and vote ; To stand for office in the town. And be elected or put down ; To trot with parties, and abuse All who to vote with us refuse ; * Delivered on the Twenty-first Anniversary of the Star of Bethlehem Lodge, Chelsea, Nov. 7, 1864. The general principle inculcated in this poem will apply, like an almanac calculation, to many latitudes. 44 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Ill legal right to sell and buy, With not a soul to question why ! Manhood ! the crown of Nature's plan, How grand the boon to be a man ! But not in garments' form, alone. Is that which makes men manly shown ; Not by the whiskers or the beard, — A man's monopoly revered, — For those who wear no beards at all, - Or clothes that one might manly call, Move in the world with mind and heart. And act, far best, the manly part ; And often where supreme success Has seemed the fruit of manliness, 'Tis half suspected that the aid Received at home success has made, Provoking, oftentimes, the jest, That changing garments might be best ! 'Tis not the size that manly makes — A big man may be " no great shakes," And one that's small we often see May yet a monstrous failure be. 'Tis not the beauty of the face That gives to manliness its grace. Though manly thoughts do spread a glow Upon the human face, we knov/. The lantern can't illume a bit Until the lamp within is lit. And then, out shining forth, it streams, To cheer and gladden by its beams. TWENTY-ONE. 45 And time, alone, don't make the man ; For eighty years were but a span If spent in simply selfish aims. Regardless of another's claims. A century of sordid strife Is but the shadow of a life Compared with his who good essays. And spends in generous acts his days. Old Hunks may plj' all trading art To pile up dollars in the mart, — May have his coffers haply lined With greenbacks of the " tender" kind, And coupons ready to be met In golden eagles, " screaming " yet — But what is he, when all is told. More than an image made of gold, Without the will, the manhood true. To exercise the means to do } We own no manhood such as this ; For no such luck is ours, I wis. As Providence, in kindly mood, Keeps from our doors the tempting brood That comes with overweening wealth. And safely shields our moral health. Permitting us to be controlled By better qualities than gold ! We feel the favor, but confess It goes beyond our ken to guess Why virtuous attributes like ovirs Should be curtailed thus of their powers — id LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. So miicli of human good to win, So little of the needed " tin." The poor for others keenly feel, And want of cash awakens zeal ; The exercise of constant care Excites a growth of manhood rare, Wliich may not dazzle like the sun, But, like a stream, its course may run, Gladdening the banks it. flows between With garniture of living green ; Cheering the heart of tree and flower By quiet effluence of power ; Speeding its way on tranquilly Until it meets the eternal sea ! — Such manhood as forever cheers Along the great highway of years : Not by the grandeur of its state. But by its acts more good than great,- By word or wish in kindness given, Fraught with the melody of heaven ; True manhood, based on love sublime, A miracle of good in Time. A cloud o'er Winnisimmet * hung. And shadows dwelt its scenes among, Which with a gloom Tartarean fell Upon the sons of Ishmacl That in that famed locale are found, Whose contradictions so abound * Chelsea. TWENTr-ONB. i^^J That it would seem some high decree Made all agree to disagree. The faithful 'mid the dai-kness groped And prayed for light, and warmly hoped, Till, through the blackness of the night, The Star of Bethlehem shed its light. And in the East, o'er Powderhorn, A da}' of radiant joy was born ! As on the old Jiidean plain Was heard the glad, sublime refrain, So did attending angels then Proclaim good will and peace to men ! As principle, incarnate, moves Upon its course in human grooves. The Star assumed terrestrial form. With attributes and feelings warm. To speed, with ready will, and aid Where sorrow's sad appeal was made ; To reach the hand with pity warm Where fell severe misfortune's storm ; To bid the brimming eye o'crflow While contemplating human woe ; To pluck up sinking Manhood, tost On life's dark sea, with hope all lost ; All human ill to try appease And lead man heavenward — by degrees! Imperfect oft, but still it grew. Fired with the constant wish to do. 48 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And what accomplished ? — ask the heart That caught its gleam in sorrow's smart, When, 'mid the waves of mortal woe, Its words were heard in accents low. Like those of the Almighty will Which bade the vex4d seas be still ; The widow, in her stricken state, When all the world seemed desolate, What solace on her anguish fell And made her murmur, " It is well ; " The brother, in his dying hour. When earthly scenes had lost their power. That whispered in his failing car Blest words of comfort and of cheer ; The orphan, in his youthful pain, Made hopefully to smile again, Forgetting all his boding fears, Loving and trusting through his tears. But just begun the man's career When boyhood's frailties disappear. And all the good the past has shown Is education's germ alone. The vanished years' important -sum Is but the type of that to come — Initial hint of work to do, Success the grand reward in view. The love we sow in earl^ youth Will grow in majesty and truth. And lessons learned, at whate'er cost. TWENTT-ONE. 49 Are never in the future lost. And so the seeds that we have strewed Along life's thorny, troubled road, Grow up to trees, whose branches spread And cast their shadows far ahead. Or lade the breeze with odors sweet. Or scatter blessings round our feet. In times when 'prentices were free, A day they gave to jollity ; A " freedom frolic," fraught with fun, To crown the welcome twent^'-one. The glad occasion we recall : The egg-nog, supper, and the ball. The roaring song, the hearty cheer. The wicked pranks, the stories queer ; The " old man " joining with the boys In all their mirth and all their noise, While, looking on with pleasant mien. The mistress and the girls are seen, To hold in check the rampant mood By womanly beatitude. And we, upon our gala day. Throw all disturbing care away, To mingle in a festive scene Of happiness and joy serene. Not with the olden spirit shown, But in a nectar of our owni — A spirit that ne'er burns the lip, The spirit of good fellowship ; 4 50 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. While on us beam those loving eyes, Whose glances and whose smiles we prize, — Whose influence cheers us as we go, — Tlint make a heaven, of course, below. So bards have sung, since early time. With truth not always foimd in rhyme. We hear the call of duty plain ; We see the Star beam forth again. As erst it fell on Bethlehem, — The gem in Night's fair diadem, That on the brow of darkness lay. With man's salvation in its ray, — And taking courage with our view, We cheerfully the path pursue. To public eyes the veil we raise, Not courting scrutiny nor praise ; Making no meaningless pretence, And asking nought but confidence. Though secret are our forms and rites, That cull us out sometimes o' nights, This thought regard should never lack : We bring a better feeling back. To compensate the hearts at home For all the moments that we roam. No angry eyes or aspect blue Would e'er be seen — if folks but knew, And as they don't,, we let it rest Till works make virtue manifest. T WENTr- ONE. 5 1 O, may the zeal that wakened when The Star first gave its light to men, Descend and stimulate each heart To act with faithfulness its part ! That, when the labor of our love Is squared b}' Overseers above. We may the glad approval hear, Within our spirit-quickened ear : Good work ! well done, ye good and true ; Take the reward that is your due. 52 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. JUBILEE RHYMES* Sublime the principle that hither brings So many happy souls in one together ; To sit beneath our Order's tree, that flings Its branches proudly wide this Api'il weather ; — Whose shoots extend out far o'er land and sea ; Whose shadow, calm, refreshes, cheers, and blesses, And the grand province of whose ministry The heart of man in gratitude confesses. Its fruits divine of Friendship, Love, and Truth, Hang on the bough in ripe luxuriance growing, Whose taste shall give the heart perpetual youth — The antepast of heavenly pleasures knowing. Friendship ! — By what immunity claim we A patent o'er the world of friendship purer } Men use it, as pretended, constantly, And are we in its promises securer.? * Extracts from a Poem read in Boston, April 26, 18(19, on the Fiftieth An- niversary of tlie EstabUshment of Odd Fellowship in America. JUBILEE RHTMES. 53 The friendship of the world is selfishness, Cemented sordidly by base attraction ; That flees us in the hour of our distress, — If prosperous, is greedy in exaction. Who is it gets his name upon your note ? Who backbites, vilifies, defrauds, belies you ? Who steals your wife, your purse, your Sunday coat ? Your friend, of course, and after that defies you. Our friendship here is based upon a rock — The ezel stone of solemn obligation ; That stands a citadel against the shock Of mercenary or profane temptation. The word once given, the hand in hand once placed. The compact lives, and no contingent swindle E'er mars the strength of obligations traced. Or tends the faith of Brotherhood to dwindle. This is the rule — exceptions rare occur Of friendship lost in uni-edeeming treason ; As rare as porcine tendency to fur. Or hyacinths in huckleberry season. Love ! — world-abused — here has a special home ; A love that's just, and pure, and wise, and human , No spasm of an hour to rave and foam. Crazing the heads of spoony man and woman. 54 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. To vent in sighs, and pine away and mope, And in the gloom of hope despondent languish ; To see upon a beam a pendent rope. To end the throes of love's tempestuous anguish ; That raves in jealous pangs, and storms, and tears, And weeps and shoots, as fitful as the weather — As if pure Love, that suffers and forbears. Could live with Hate in harmony together! But, in the guise of Charity divine. Love sweetly stands, beneficence bestowing ; Around her brow celestial glories shine. As radiant as the day her features glowing. She seeks-the scene where Poverty prevails. She pours the balm of heavenly consolation ; She cheers the heart that Misery assails, She elevates by holy impartation. The greatest, best of all the exalted train. Of gifts to man for his improvement given ; Hers is the star whose glory shall remain When fade away the orbs of stellar heaven. The claim of Truth was ne'er more plainly shown By the Jew leader unto King Darius, Than it appears in tenets that we own, Which are, or ought to be, kept sacred by us. JUBILEE RHYMES. 55 The truth, in dealing betwixt man and man, Is made incumbent by our rule's exaction ; And he who lies, at once lies under ban, Amenable, so held, for law's infraction. Some may have slips — the truth comes hard to some — And lying is so easy and so ready ! They're just like topers giving up their rum, And must relapse before they get quite steady. The Truth should be the Truth, wherever found, But 'tis so rare, outside, we seldom find it ; And what seems true within the worldly round, Nine times in ten a lie lies hid behind it. Our creed is broad, and acts upon the life, Too high at points polemical to cavil ; We shun the courts of fierce sectarian strife. As roads to Jordan — far too hard to travel. As citizens, we point them to our acts ; Ask the collector what return we make him ;. We feel the burden, but accept the facts. And meet the issue like a Mohawk sachem. Beyond the links that bind us all as one, We have no " rings " for cheating or deceiving ; Whiskey through our enclosui-e does not run — No actions rest 'gainst u s for genteel thieving. 56 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. In tins we're very Odd, as we behold, On every hand, such swindling operation ; 'Twould seem the land to fraud and wrong were sold, Involving it in one grand condemnation. It may, as in the days of Sodom, be, When judgment threatens with its doom impending. Odd Fellowship, in its integrity. Will interpose to turn the blade descending. By deeds, not years, we count an active life, And fifty years of such supreme devotion. With principle and love of duty rife, Are more than centuries by common notion. And good to come takes promise from to-day — Based on the Past, so full of truth and vigor ; Though but our spring-time, yet the vernal ray Dispels all fear of any chilling rigor. The sun and rain shall give the glad increase. And crowded wains of benefits accruing, Shall crown the harvest-home with sheaves of peace, To bless the workers for their faithful doing. That Future ! — to its destiny we turn. And see it rayed with grandest coruscation ; Its altar-fires on everj' hill-top burn, And tenfold light impart throughout the nation. JUBILEE RHTMES. 57 Its ministry subserves the cause of Peace, Remembered war in loving kindness merging; Bidding tlie bitterness of hate to cease, And holding back all hostile billows surging ; Adding the charm of dignity and grace. To sanctify and consecrate all labor ; Giving to virtue higher rank and place. And demonstrating who is the true " neighbor." We're not perfection, — far from it, indeed,- — And long may be the time ere we attain it ; A tree grows not instanter from the seed. And strength accrues from effort made to gain it. And we, united in a purpose true, Will prove, beyond all sceptical denying. What Brotherhood, in compact firm, can do. Upon the anvil of incessant trying. SS LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. MODERN CHIVALRY.* The days of chivalry have not departed — The glory of the olden time remains : SpeakingthroughManhoodjStrongand noble-hearted, Endowed with muscle, energy, and brains. No whit decrying ancient knightly glory, We urge a claim commanding for our own, That writes on current fields more grand a story Than aught achieved in ages that have flown. What sense was it to hack, and cut, and harry. And live in constant peril of the life, Through tribulation dire to court and marry. And in an iron suit espouse a wife.? What merit was it to carve up a Paynim, And hang his head upon the saddle-bow? Or catch a Jew, and of his ducats drain him. Then slit his nose and let the Hebrew go .'' ■' * De'ivered in Charlestown before Coeur de Lion Commandery and a Del- egation from Palestine Commandery, Chdsea. MODERN CHIVALRT. 59 What merit was it to go galivanting, — With lance in rest, and armed all cap-a-pie, — The fearful folk with fierce assumption daunting, And stealing eveiything that they could see? What was the sense of their continual straying, By paths with constant violence bestrewed, Running the risk, while seeking heathen-slaying, Of getting, maybe, full as often slewed ? 'Twas chivalric to deprecate all labor, — The land divided into feudal farms, — With each man's hand upraised against his neighbor, And even infants always up in arms. The social qualities were ne'er paraded : My lady sat, shut in a cage-like tower, Within a deep seclusion, uninvaded, No friend with scandal to beguile the hour. Unless some troubadour, his strains outpouring. Came to her bower with euphonistic rhyme, Or some young knight, his queen of love imploring, The lady passed a very sorry time. Arrayed in richest silks, with many a jevyel. With maidens plenty to do her behest, Her fate was like her working worsteds, crewel. Her days, the semblance of a past unblest. 6o LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. No concerts, theatres, operas, or dances, To female life gave buoyancy and zest ; The girls made banners for their heroes' lances, Or handkerchiefs to wear upon their crest. The tournament was then the great occasion, Where Qijeens of Beauty gave the meed of fame ; When cracking heads and murderous abrasion Were but incentives to love's tender flame. And bright eyes flashed at the exploits of valor. As horse and rider floundered on the ground. Nor bore their part with aught of fear or pallor, Where blows, for fun, promiscuous blew around. Were it in earnest, they, perhaps, might shrink it. But simply cutting oft" a head or two. Or carving folks with swords, they didn't think it A thing about which to make much ado. Then every knight, who held a sphere respected, Kept in his train a jester, full of jokes, Whose gibes, to criticism ne'er subjected. Made lots of laughter 'mong the gentlefolks. Then was a time when oxen whole were roasted. And saltless, pepperless, in junks devoured ; And when the knightly gentlemen were toasted, In quarts of wine the deep libation poured. MODERN CHIVALRY. 6 1 Then knightly heads did all the needed thinking ; Tlie people in benightedness were hid : Fighting and robbing, sleeping, eating, drinking, Comprised the active business that they did. The people were not much in scale of being ; Once bom, the whole in life they had in view Was but to see just as their lords were seeing. And do just what their lords would have them do. They had no souls then reckoned worth the saving, No souls their own at any point of time ; No higher fortune e'er thouglit they of craving. Nor for the future cared a single dime. But noble men were there the age redeeming, Who gave to Chivalry its grandest fame, Whose names, from out that past in lustre beaming. Our warmest meed of admiration claim. These rise before us for our emulation — In principle and duty ever bright ; And may our course, in honest imitation. Secure their epitaph at last — good knight. We need no armor for our head's protection Beyond the good sword hanging at our side. One "jab" of which, if given in right direction. Settles the hash for him on whom 'tis tried. 62 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. A Paynim vile, who dares provoke our anger, Never again the outi-age will renew ; For, with the offence, out comes the trenchant hanger. And in a moment we have run him through ! If any heathen round are disappearing. Their friends need make no worrying or fuss ; They've doubtless gone the way the bad are steering. And let the mourners send the bill to us. But there be Paynims whom the sword can't settle. Met with in streets and lanes, than heathens worse. Who more than try the heart's determined metal, And draw upon the sympathies and purse. Here gaunt-eyed Want, its famished form uprearing. Makes, in sad moans, its eloquent appeals ; Here Sin and Wrong, in varied guise appearing. The way contest, with Misery at their heels. Here Virtue shrieks for aid against Oppression ; Here Honor constant vindication claims; Hei'e Shoddy flaunts o'er Worth, in strong possession ; Here brazen Impudence scarce hides its aims. Here Lust and Pride, a constant warfare waging. Summon to guard each intervening gate ; While Fraud and Theft, in subtle fight engaging. Like Israel Samson's foemen, lie in wait. MODERN CHIVALRT. 63 All call for vigilance and knightly duty, To keep true Manhood's 'scutcheon ever bright ; And here our lists, and here our Qiieens of Beauty Award our meed in smiles this festal ni£;ht. We make no raids on neighbors who offend us. Or wrathful vials on their sconces empt ; We take the weapons prudent counsels lend us, And kill them off by kindness or — contempt. We sport no steeds like those which bore to battle The fierce Paladins in chivalric days ; We patronize a different sort of cattle. That draw our horse-cars through our public waj's. But though we own no chargers that inherit The fire that coursed through ancient equine veins, Wc think we've chargers that show equal merit, Where groceries and things affect our gains. We quaff no flagons like our predecessors — As such big measures are not often round ; We roast no oxen whole, as their possessors Claim for a sirloin forty cents per pound. It doesn't take so much to make us merry As it did those in that rum age sublime ; Wc sip our glass of lager, or of sherry. Or neither do, and have as good a time. 64 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Our Dames of Chivalry have no restriction ; A sad temerity were his who'd dare To strive to hold the reins of jurisdiction, And not of government give them a share. No shutting them in cloister and seclusion, No moping they for want of due employ ; The world pours at their feet its vast profusion, With us their knights, all dajs, to seek their joy. And in their praise our troubadours are hymning, Pouring like pullets their enraptured lays ; And, quite forgetting bills for extra trimming. We hail them pride and glor^' of our days. How grand they are in all that's grand, comparing With those insipid dames who banners wove. Worthy of all true knighthood equal sharing. The Queens of Beauty and the Queens of Love. Thus, Then and Now, in candidness contrasting. Shows better light and deeds this day of ours, With guarantees, like buttons, that are lasting. And scope for all our elevated powers. The Cross the ancients reared we still do cherish. And keep as ours its venerated sign, That ne'er through disrespect shall fall or perish. Sustained by CoBur de Lion and Palestine. MODERN CHIVALRT. 65 Its motto ever — "In hoc sigiio vinces" — Draws from its scabbard every glistening steel, And the same glow inspiring Christian princes Does the most humble of our brethren feel. Then to the Present give your best endeavor, To help the Truth and benefit your race ; Fight the good fight with zeal and might forever, And follow virtue with an earnest Chase. 66 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. THE PRESS.* A PLAIN and unimaginative rhyme Is'all I bring to grace your festal lime ; Slirinking to prelude one whose bri'Iiant thought Must place my drowsy platitudes at nought, And, with the glow that eloquence inspires. Put out or " pale my ineffectual fires." Bards no more dream, but for a purpose act, And tune their harps to soberness of fact. So pardon me if I decline to try My Pegasus in Fancy's burning skj'. And stick to earth with earthly prudence meet, Unlike those mad aeronauts of Crete, Who borrowed wings of wax and dared the sun, And came from the empyrean " by the run." I sing the Press — the mightiest of tools — The scourge of tyrants and the plague of fools ; The Press, with myriad complications fraught, The grand embodiment of current thought, — With all the springs and cogs and wheels and cams, Comprising the realities and shams, — * Read at Poughkeepsle, June iS, 1S73, preceding an Address by Rev. Henry Ward Geecher. THE PRESS. 67 With misery or benefaction rife. That form the passing history of life. Like old Briareus, with his hundred hands ; — A pen in each, — it scopes all scenes and lands ; Tells us of sweeping floods and earthquaites dire ; Of wrecks by sea, and loss by raging fire ; Tells us of ruling rates in fancy stocks, And accident that every feeling shocks ; Tells us just how the world of fashion speeds, And the last change in politics or creeds ; Sings us sweet songs and tells us wondrous tales, And scandals dark that fill the gossipy gales. The Paper, like that sheet let down from heaven. Which Peter edited, — see Acts, cap, eleven, — Containing everything of living kind, Holds up life's transcript to the seeking mind. Wherein each notes the thing that best agrees With his or her own whims and sympathies. Thus Mr, Slow upon his stocks may feed. And Angelina o'er the romance bleed, And Georgia glory in the race or fight. And Aunt Keziah in the deaths delight — A well-spiced feast on which all love to look. And with a grateful homage thank the cook. See the dense columns under General Trade, Upon the public pocket bent to raid ! Through Fancy's eyes delightedly we pore O'er trophies brought from many a distant shore, Commended earnestly to eye and lip. Without occasion for vexed ownership ; 68 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And wines thus quaffed are better far than those Which through the palate jeopardize the toes ! Ah, great' is Trade ! — we have our every wish, From tliousand dollar shawls to pickled fish. The Press is Education's dexter hand, And wields the sceptre of a wide command. In every hamlet 'mid our native hills. It pours rich knowledge through a thousand rills, — Rills, like the gentle brooks which ceaseless run O'er pebbly beds and glisten in the sun, Cheering the roots of herbage and of flower, And giving freshness to the arid hour — Sweet mental rills, whose sparkling waters v^find Along the beauteous summer meads of mind. Quickening the precious germs of living truth Within the warm receptive soil of youth, Until in efflorescent splendor bright, A Vassar gladdens the awakene4 sight. Science, once hid in dark mysterious cells. No longer under ban or shadow dwells ; Backed by the power the power-press affords, — More potent far than ugly-tempered swords, — Upspringing to our view on every side. The fruits of teeming science are descried ; The fact matured and the incipient hint Rushing, together, on the waves of print. When people party politics perplex. And all their hearts with earnest seeking vex, , THE PRESS. 69 Deeming that they are called by special fate To lush in timely and redeem the state — And Heaven knows, and we whose pockets bleed, How much redemption the poor state doth need ! — When party greed, whate'er its cast or name, Sinks all pretence to honesty and shame, The Press its interposing mission fills, And virtuous counsel lavishly instils ; Proving white black, and honest truth a fib, Or the reverse of this, with tactics glib. And daily making, for our wondi-ous ken, Big out of what are dreadful little men. Soft Sentiment ! — its votaries through the Press May glut their tastes with exquisite distress, And sweet-drawn misery, like molasses, tart, And thrills, and throbs, and throes that rend the heart, And pangs, and darts, and agonies that shine. In many a fond impassioned tender line ! Not beef, by any means ; that after comes, When hunger has a place in loving homes. And Emeline and Roy — once more awake — Find twice the nourishment of love — in steak. Here smiles enkindle where the mad joke gleams. Through verbal channels, bright as lightning beams, Or the fierce tumult of a hearty laugh Crowns the quaint climax of some paragraph. Rousing the dull, who wonder " what's to pay," To make folks chuckle in that noisy way .-" 7o LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES.^ The Press, amid a world of care and dole, Brushes the cobwebs from the dusty soul. Which, brightening in thel^unshine that it flings. Sees with new eyes a thousand pleasant things; Finding life easier by its teachings gay. With Hope rekindled lighting up the way. 4 And, bright amid surrounding verbiage. Records of loving homes illume the page. Where fair domestic scenes their charms impart, And with their pleasant teachings win the heart. We see some noble duty nobly done, We see a glorious field and victory won, We see true Manliness to action rise. We see Unselfishness in angel gu;se. We see meek Patience waiting by the way, We see sweet Childhood 'mid the flowers at play, We see calm Resignation's placid brow. We see the blessings that from Virtue flow ; The gentle spirit the recital cheers, And smiles upon it through delighted tears. And when men die — as die they some time must — The Press their glories piles above their dust. And the freed spirits — as some say they do — Peering with ghostly eyes the papers through. May read, unheeding, merits of their own, That all their life long they have never known. And deeming some one else is praised, may pause To say, " God bless us, what a man he was ! " THE PRESS. 71 The Pulpit, Physic, Law, lean on the Press For merit that the world might never guess ; Their sermons, cases, pleadings scarcely known, But for their reproduction broadcast thrown, Puzzled themselves, sometimes, when they have read Bright things imputed that were never said. What were a sermon in a vestry's sphere To that which all the world is glad to hear? The Poetasters thank the Press for bays, When they achieve their euphuistic lays, And Lecturers look eagerly to see The meed accorded their brain progeny, When some industrious press-man makes a raid, And steals and prints their entire stock in trade. Though some fare bad where the fierce critic's art Discerns Achilles' vulnerable part, And, with a cruelty of venomed wits, Gives the poor wretcli unmitigated " fits." Thus doth the Press control with magic' sway All matters where Humanity has play. Its power aflfects all earthly things and scenes ; Fixes the price of Liberty and — Beans ; Soars where the scintillating planets dwell, And tells us who has groceries to sell ; Strives for the acme of immortal hope. And advertises patent shaving soap ! A Prospero upon the mental plain, It works its magic by the wand of brain ; — Some, ill-disposed, who fail its power to see, 72 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Spell wand, in malice, with a final t — It strikes the rock where thought's bright crystals sleep, And bids them, like old Horeb's waters, leap. Again to fall upon the thirsty earth In drops of wisdom or refreshing mirth. Its nod unchains the fierce impetuous steam To do its bidding with exultant scream.; Compels the tide to work its sovereign will. Compels the winds its flowing sheet to fill. Compels the untamed lightning yield its aid. And binds it an auxiliary to trade. The snowy canvas specks for it the main. For it the fleetest steeds their sinews strain. Its wakeful Ariels scale the beaming sky And look the fiery comets in the eye. Dig deep in venous caverns of the earth. And hidden wonders bring to living birth. Ride on the ice-rim round the Boreal sea. Or lunch on missionary in Feejee. Those Ariels of the Press, Reporters hight, How limitless the compass of their flight! Nor height nor depth their daring course can stay. When some fresh item dawns upon their way. Give Agassiz a bone, and at your wish. He'll reproduce for you a perfect fish ; Give a reporter but a timid hint. And, straight, a column is beheld in print. Talk of the burning " pencils " of the sun ! What ai'e they all to his official one, Who, chasing Truth thro' earth, and sea, and sky. THE PRESS. 73 Impales it on its point as 'twere a fly ? " Look comets in tlie eye," forsootli ! 'tis weak To emblemize his quality of " cheek," Who, if Old Nick were near, would straight pursue. And show him up in some shrewd " interview." " The pen in hands of men entirely great Is mightier than the sword," the poets state ; A fact beyond the shadow of a doubt, That people are continually finding out. The Editor sits proudly at his post, In wisdom grand, in potency a host, The world regards with glance half awe, half dread, 'Twixt doubt to deify or break his head. Hid by the shadow of the pronoun we, Old Tonans thunders in epitome; The lightning glares, in sheets inspiring fear, — Paid in advance — so many dimes per year ; His eagles scream athwart the stormy sky. And echo answers, " How is that for high.'' " Echo, a little slangy, but repeats That which the eye upon occasion meets. When, bending for a moment from his state, The editor forgets that he is great, And, with a playfulness of tongue or pen, Speaks, writes, or acts the same as common men. The one by guilty qualmishness possessed, Feels in his peril anything but blest ; Fraud with its gains indifference afl'ects, But winces inward, and with dread expects ; '• Truth crushed to earth " and virtue in distress 74 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Have vindication in the honest press ; And all grand effort made the world to advance, Finds in its editor a trenchant lance. Such is the fact which ideally we see, But still imperfect is the verity. Exceptions mar the grandeur of the rule. For men are weak, and Virtue's fires may cool ; Pretentious mediocrity have sway. And principle be measured as 'twill pay ; Humbug and wealth, allied, successful plead. And impecunious virtue yield to need. Alas ! 'tis true — and pity 'tis 'tis true — That want besets the path that men pursue ; And being merely men, the truth is plain, They cannot bear a superhuman strain. Rare principle alone, is not enough To meet the claim of life with fortune rough. Of fashion and its myriad demands, Which more it craves, the more its scope expands, And, therefore, yielding to the pressure stout. They put up shutters and bar conscience out. Of all vocations 'neath the rolling sun. Than this of ours there is no nobler one. And more than King or Kaiser can imjjart Is the proud title springing from our art. To be a Printer wins a grander fame Than is permitted more presumptuous claim, And those who leave the name for other spheres, Resume it proudly in their after years ; THE PRESS. 75 A fame wherein a Franklin's glory lies, And tenderly a Greeley sanctifies. Then, Brethren, Friends, stand proudly by the Press, Fraught with such power to benefit and bless ! The people's guard and guide, fail not to see The full importance of your ministry. Though virtue be at times its own reward, Work on in hope, nor rail at fortune hard. Some seeds grow slowly, and the harvest, late, May toil and trial poorly compensate. But, with a conscience clear and motive just. Press on and ever with unfaltei-ing trust, — Not the vexed trust the printer frowns upon. That he would banish from the lexicon, — Trust that kind Heaven, beneficent and good, May crown your efforts with beatitude. And bring to fruitage all the seed you've strewed. 'K^m-^' 76 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. THE PREUX CHEVALIER.* 'TwAS in a vision of the night, That centuries of years passed o'er me, And, in a blaze of sudden light. Old Jacques De Molay stood before me. I knew him by his presence grand — Armed cap a pie, all iron plated, A sort of monitor on land, On who4iia thousand forces waited. I nodded in familiar style ; He smiled, his courtesy to show me ; Then took a vacant chair, the while. And said, " Mj' boy, I see you know me." " Know you ! who don't.? We look with pride On what you did for our profession : You fought and suflered, bled and died. And roasted — for its truths' possession." * Read before Winslow Lewis Commandery, Salem, Mass., General William Sutton, E. C. THE PREUX CHEVALIER. 77 " Nuff sed ! " cried he ; " 'twas long ago ; I'd quite forgot the smart of frying ; 'Tis kicky you don't have to show- Such tests, through such an ordeal trying. " The stake, I fear, would make you quail " — " Not it," said I, " if Nannie broils it, Done to a turn" — Molay turned pale ; "Done!" murmured he ; " your punning spoils it. " Now pray be quiet while I state The object of my coming hither; However good a single pate, I wish to put our heads together. " Sir Launfal sought the holy grail. And found it in poetic vision ; In such direction /^ should fail — I seek a practical decision. " I wish your aid the way to clear. All intervening clouds to scatter ; I seek the one ' Preux Chevalier,' And that, you see, is ' what's the matter ; ' " For 'mong the knights of these late days. Are glorious boys, there's no denying. And who shall wear the crowning bays Becomes a question nice and trying." 78 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. " 'Tis hard to choose from such a crowd," I said, " of knights brave to the letter. But 'tis a proverb long allowed, — For every best there is a better. " And should you trust the knights to say Who was the best, I wage a button. That every one would vote straightway To give the palm to '^****** g»*«#»_" " By Jove ! " said De Molay, " you're right ; I've marked his course with satisfaction ; No truer gentleman or knight Coins principle to use or action. " His cheerful face his heart betrays ; His generous hand is ever sowing Those seeds that in the sun's warm rays Are into loving fullness growing. " His praise is spoke by every lip. No voice was ever raised to doubt him. And, for all grand, good fellowship. There's not a streak that's mean about him. " I've seen him on the tented field. Where Winter Island dints the ocean, Where veterans in their marches wheeled In all the poetry of motion. THE PREUX CHEVALIER. 79 " I've marked his eye in frenzy roll, As War's fierce pageant moved before him, And seen the ardor of his soul Blaze in the manner that he bore him. " Upon the hill his marque stood. And there, when ceased the stern contention. His social spirits, like a flood. Beamed forth, too numerous to mention. " There flashing wit to popping corks Gave quick response 'mid glasses' rattle. And charging lines of knives and forks Bore note of epicurean Rattle ; " Yet still, as round him raged the strife Of gastronomic wild invasion. Reliant on his carving-knife He met, in full, the ' great occasion.' " Full w^ell the golden gift he showed That you at times enjoy, his brothers, — The art, most lavishly bestowed. Of giving happiness to others. "And I've partaken of his cheer, In ghostly presence never noted, And know that none in either sphere Was more to generous deeds devoted. 86 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. " In later days, when fearful strife The nation's very being threated, And parricidal hands the knife With murderous intention whetted, — " He gave his means, with ready hand. The flag to save, its stars unriven ; He cheered the saviors of the land, He honored those who'd bravely striven. " He is, in truth, ' Preux Chevalier,' — I needn't make a further trial, — And I've a radiant jewel here That you must bear him — no denial. " I can't do it myself, you know, For I should be a ghostly donor ; You must the gift of love bestow. And Palestine be guard of honor." I saw the gift — a sparkling sun. With brilliants dight of purest water, As big as pullet eggs each one, And weighing at the least a quarter. My hand I held to take the prize. When some confounded thing or other Brought consciousness unto my eyes, And out stepped our illustrious brother. THE PREVX CHEVALIER. 8 1 Yet still enough remained behind On which to hinge a little story, And I'm, with all my heart, inclined In the di-eamed Templai-'s choice to glory, — Adopt his praise, though wide awake, — A dream more true was never broken, — And for my beau ideal take Him who deserves the Templar's token. But, 'stead of jewelled gift, we bring One of still more refined selection, — A rare and radiant offering, — Our hearts' warm, unreserved affection. This is no dream — it conscious dwells. Of self a part, to alter never : And he shall be, while feeling wells. Our own "Preux Chevalier" forever. 6 82 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. ROBERT BURNS.* My Musie, at your invitation, Pricked up her ears with animation, At thought of joining the oblation For genius fled, And shed a new illumination Round Burns's head. Ah ! rich the thoughts upon me stealing. At this reflective hour's unsealing ! His name has wakened trains of feeling That fire my soul. The necromancy true, revealing. Of his control. So sweet, so sacred; and so glowing. The tide of his warm genius flowing ! The flowers beside its brink upgrowing In beauteous art. And the exhaustlcss compass showing Of every heart. * Read at Lawrence, Mass., 1S74. ROBERT BURNS. 83 The gamut of our common being His hand has struck, its music freeing, And, joy or sorrow's cadence keying, The world has blest, And shadows from the spirit fleeing. His power confest. Where heart to heart beats true and tender, Where Nature smiles in richest splendor, Where men to justice tribute render, Where mirth is stirred, Where virtue calls for a defender. His tones are heard. But sharp their note when fraud or lying Against humanity are trying ! With more than scorpion venom vying. His satire thrust " Pricks dark Hypocrisy to dying In vilest dust. His heart alive to calls of pity, His vivid mind of temper witty. His pluck in fortune's struggles gritty, His course he ran ; A stalwart type, in town or city. Of regal Man. Not perfect ; ah ! the lad was failing ; Temptation every side assailing, 84 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Poor Virtue ofttimes unavailing Made wealc acclaim ; But let eacli tongue desist from railing - We're much the same. They may reproach whose dull blood never Has rushed tumultuous as a river, Who ne'er have felt the burning fever Of Passion glow, But kept 'twixt tranquil banks foi'ever, . As cold as snow. But when the heart is warm and human, With latent fires that threat consumin'. That glows with love for man or woman. And limit spurns. Sweet sympathetic beams illumine The name of Burns. O ! rather his proud scoriae nature. That lit with life each noble feature. And warmed to every fellow-creature, Than those dull souls Which coldly dwarf themselves in stature, Where self controls. But time gives us assurance cheering That ill in shadow disappearing. ROBERT BURNS. 85 Leaves all the good that was inhering In grandest light, For our approval and revering This natal night. And here in votive love combining, We meet, our myrtle wreaths entwining, To deck his brow with lustre shining For aye undimmed ! Whose worth in measure undecliiling Will e'er be hymned. 86 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. PRESS AND PRESS-PEOPLE.* We prize our venerable Art, Our fondly cherished Alma Mater; With discipline she tried our heart, And taught us thus to venerate her. She strove to rouse ambition up. To grasp at affluence of knowledge ; She proffered draughts from Wisdom's cup. That was not filled at school or college. She pointed, through a thousand doors. To fields of intellectual clover ; She led where mighty Learning's stores Awaited for the hungry rover. Howe'er the butt of fortune's spite, — Whatever be his lot or station, — The printer takes the highest flight Of sublunary aspiration. • From the Fiftieth Anniversary Poem before the Boston Franklin Typo- graphical Society, January 19, 1S74. I'/iBSS AND PRESS-PEOPLE. 87 And more in these, our modern days, His mind aspires — we cannot doubt it; His office draws his upward gaze, There is so much up stairs about it. An alchemist of loftiest ken, By day and night his head he bothers. And, patient as a setting hen, He sets in lead the thoughts of others. Though some maliciously might hint That that was hardly transmutation — Scarce, different the thoughts in print From the original formation. How multifarious the range Of his seven'-staired exalted mission ! Weaving that web so grand and strange. The world's news for the next edition : Here grasping philosophic lore. Here by Parnassian airs surrounded, Here where Commercial gems outpour, Here where by legal fogs confounded ; Here where mercurial Stocks obtain, Where Science towards the light is groping ; Here where Romance gives blissful pain. Where Truth and Falsity are coping ; LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Where Politics make specious claim, Where Honor takes the votive myrtle, — He picks away with steady aim, His scope betwixt the "stick" and " turtle." And though he plunge not to the mine Where Thought's bright jewels lie imbedded, Some grains upon his garments shine. The plainer seen if thought is leaded. And proud are we of those who've sprung Above the dull and common level ; Who, giants, walk our ways among, • And boast of lineage from the devil. I mean the printer's imp, of course — And those who rose from small beginning. Who mark the time by merit's force, Continued approbation winning. There are who with us kindred claim, Who knew not advent typographic, But who win affluence and fame By its control in lore or traffic. The preacher may essay in vain, By study o'er the midnight taper. His immortality to gain. Without assistance from the paper. rHESS AND PRESS-PEOPLE. 89 The savant, jurist, poet, were But delvers in a sphere neglected, Without the typo's timely care To make their betterness respected. And lecturers most grateful feel — The rostrum's pleasant boards adorning — Where all their thoughts reporters steal. And spread them broadcast in the morning. Out from our Mater's sturdy breast, In proper season's culmination, A thought in generous kindness dressed. Became ourloved Association. Benevolence its aim and scope. With mutual benefit its basis. It took a place of trust and hope. And cheered the gloom of darkened places. 'Twas but a little seed at first. By loving faith unceasing tended ; But by the dews of heaven 'twas nursed, And into magnitude ascended. Until, at fifty honored years. It calls us to its festal cheering, With all of memorj'.that endears. With all the worth that is endearing. 90 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. AN OLD TEA-PARTY.* In seventeen hundred seventy-three, A hundred years ago to-day, A mighty party met at tea In good old Boston, o'er the way. 'Twas no hilarious, jocund crowed, Lit up by faces of the fair, But each one seemed beneath a cloud. And wore a most determined air. Within the Old South Church was held This solemn party quaint and stern. And all the membei's seemed impelled By feelings hostile to the urn ! No choiring melodists outpoured Upon the wintry air their tunes, As solemnly the patriots stirred, — Though very far from being " spoons." What was the matter with the tea ? Could it not be the:genuine hong.? * Read at Chelsea, December 17, 1873. AN OLD TEA-PART r. 91 Was it not steeped sufficiently? Or was it cooked a bit too strong? Out then bespoke the patriots tried, — Not tried by fagot or by law, — " Though we have all his tea denied. King George will pour it down our maw ; " For here a cargo bides to-day, That we must suffer to remain ; The duty isn't much to pay, But paying were a deadly stain. " Now say, what is it we must do To clear the irritation out?" Just then a painted Indian crew Passed by the church with fearful shout. Undoubted Mohawks, every soul ; But, strange that Indians thus should choose ! Small-clothes beneath their blankets stole, And some woi'e buckles in their shoes. And then the party straightway broke. And followed on behind the " braves " To where the ship of which they'd spoke Sat silently upon the waves. No word was said, and ere the crew Or owners had a chance to think, The hatches from their fastenings broke, And all the tea was in the " drink." 92 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Over the side the chests outpoured Their Souchong, Hyson, and Bohea, And not a pound remained on board For after hospitality. Then such a shout as rent the skies ! Which, had King Georgius only heard, It might have made him act more wise, Than in the after-time occurred. Later, when gallant Peter Gore, His lady-love's bright smile did seek, The kiss he gave her at the door Transferred some war-paint to her cheek ; Which, by next morning's light descried. Made her heart beat a glad refrain ; And then she almost vowed, with pride. She'd never wash her face again ! More than a jewel's sheen, she thought. That spot in other time would bear ; To have it with her blushes wrought Would make her beauty doubly fair. Now, this is why we're here to-night, With all that heart of man can crave, With tea in plenty, faces bright. And everything that's fair and brave : AN. OLD TEA-PART r. 93 The frigid gathering of old, Which ended in that serious fuss, Was fraught with blessings manifold, That should be duly felt by us. Though acrid was the cup they brewed, In Boston Bay's extensive dish, A cup of tea from it ensued Just suited to all patriot wish. It fired the hearts of Freedom's sons, It strengthened hope's relaxing powers, It gave more potency to guns. It promise lent to darkened hours. This cup of tea its force still shows : It late inspired each Northern breast. And told in triumph o'er the foes Who strove the Union to molest ; And as we drink it, and are wise, Shall we the priceless guerdon gain That e'er a nation glorifies Whose honor is without a stain. This cup, that each partaker cheers, — A grander man may never see, — Exalts, inspires, delights, endears : It is the cup of — Liberty ! 94 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.* VAi>f is thy hope, presumptuous Muse, to make the mad essay To add unto the joyousness that clusters round to- day ! I have no words of eloquence like his who spoke before, But just a reel of rambling rhymes to read you, — nothing more, — In which I'll try to tell for you, if you'll indulge me so. Much that they did and didn't do a hundred yeai-s ago. I've had a spirit message come, rapped out in sturdy raps, From those who years have vanished, but who still are on their taps, And it gives a pleasant history of things long jjasscd away, Brought by my grave communicants once more to light of day, * A Poem, following an Address by Rev. Andrew P. Peabody, D. D., at ihe Centennial Anniversary of the establishment of the Press in New Hamp- shire. Portsmouth, October 6, 1S56. A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 95 Who've anxious seemed,' although removed, to let the people know Just how they manned things down here a hundred years ago. Then these were warlike scenes and times — militia- men were drawn To march with Pepperell, the knight, and Colonel William Vaughan ; And tales of their brave deeds did long by firesides have renown. Where bold Sir William, he and Vaughan, to Cha- peaurouge went down. And let the French and Indians learn that Yankees were'not slow In fighting for the cross and crown a hundred years ago. Then there were Colonel Atkinson and Colonel Nat. Meserve, Two fire-eating sons of guns of most undoubted nerve, Who led the brave New Hampshire men by forest and by sea, To drive forth from their fastnesses the savage enemy, — For the "heathen round about" were strong, and meant the people woe, — But Christian prayers, and swords, prevailed a hun- dred years ago. 96 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. But in the midst of war's alarms a peaceful note befell ; It was the note from yonder clock that first struck yonder bell ! Squii-e Daniel Pierce, the donor, determined by its chime To hint to folk, on Life's dull march, the need of marking time ; The town received the timely gift, which struck its primal blow The twenty-fifth of March, about one hundred 3'ears ago. Then Mr. Peter Livius, by granting of the town, Dammed up the creek called Islington, and laid the draw-bridge down. Connecting worldly Strawberry Bank with peaceful Christian Shore, And building mills that we recall in dusty days of yore ; Also the broad tide gates that swung to check the water's flow ; A marvel of philosophy a hundred years ago. Then elemental warfare dire in heaven and eartli awaked. The fires descended from above, the ground with terror quaked ; The people all were much appalled, their hearts with fear did fail. A HUNDRED TEARS AGO. 97 And then they bought a fire-engine — then they built a jail ! — The relevancy do not ask — it matters not to know — But things were mixed up terribly a hundred years ago. Then lotteries were recognized, and none rebuked the scheme To buy a library of books by what we wicked deem ; The town a hundred tickets took, the proceeds to inure To help erect a tenement in which to keep the poor ; But if they blanks or prizes drew, the record does not show — Perhaps the fathers were in luck a hundred years ago. Then the gallows was resorted to in settling mor- tal ill. And Dow, of Hamptoa Falls, was hanged, who Peter Clough did kill. Ah, sadly did he expiate that grievous public wound — For every grain of that he did they hanged him by the Pound ! Of couise I mean the cattle-pound — up here a mile or so. Where the stray " critters " all were put, a hundred years ago. 7 98 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Our sires were loyal to the king, and caps were wildly swung When, British arms triumphant, 'twas told glad crowds among, And when Quebec was captured, the guns and bells proclaimed The joy, and fires on Windmill Hill in cheerful briglitness flamed ; Processions moved about the streets, and punch in streams did flow ! — Ah ! those were rum old times indeed a hundred years ago. Then Portsmouth girls were just as fair as those that greet us now — A Strawberry Bank pre-eminence, that all did e'er allow ; Coquetry then was rarely known and found but sel- dom dupes. And dress was rather limited in magnitude of hoops. But graces unadorned combined to win them many a beau (As now desired by them all) a hundred years ago. And then the earnest thinking men began to feel their night, They had no sunshine of their own, but moved by borrowed light ; A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 99 They wished intelligence to spread, New Hampshire wilds to bless, And Heaven, to cheer their darkness, lent their need a printing press ; The old Gazette, time-honored name, then broke the shell, we know, A sturdy chicken, hatched by Fowle, a hundred years ago. And how the people wondered when first the sheet appeared ! It was the greatest miracle that e'er their vision cheered ; . They thought its words of wisdom than Solomon's more wise. And Daniel Fowle no vulgar fowl, but Bird of Paradise ; And deemed the ancient pressman, Prime (a negro black as sloe), More than a common colored man a hundred years ago. 'Twas no broad acre that of news, for mails were scarcely known ; They subject were; to obstacles, as well as to the crown ; The post came through but once a week, and scarcely brought a word That might the pulse of man or mouse in our late day have stirred ; lOO LINES IJSr PLEASANT PLACES. Though this perhaps was fast enough when every- thing was slow, As we may well suppose it was a hundred years ago. And when in Boston there prevailed a fatal pesti- lence, And careful Portsmouth selectmen conceived a safety fence Across Great Swamp, to head the plague and keep it from the town, And smoked the maijs (and females too) before they'd let them down, — We've wondered how the editor contrived to make a show. For local news was very scarce a hundred years ago. But patrons were more patient then, and did not make to-do ; Excuses they admitted and regarded them as true ; They read the little they obtained, each word upon the page. Till bold John Stavers, four-in-hand, appeared upon the stage ; And then the mails more steady grew, as he drove to and fro The first stage in America a hundred years ago. There came no quick electric spark along a path of wire. To give the people notes froni far, of good news or of dire ; A HUNDRED TEARS AGO. lOl Elections then were never known, except that Calvin taught, And, save the South and old North Church, the South and North were nought ; Kansas was not created yet, so far as they coukl know Who printed off the old Gazette a hundred years ago. Then poetry ne'er blazed in verse, and sentiment was rare. The editor, in language terse, spoke at his subject square ; No drops e'er fell upon the page from eyes with sor- row wet ; No laughter sprang from printed fun in rich harmo- nious jet ; The people were averse to verse, ^- cared more for use than show, — They had no music in their souls a hundred years ago. No fashion plates bewitched the maids, in homespun glories clad, No flaming advertisements told where luxuries could be had, No selling out at less than cost, no bankrupt stocks of goods. No damaged articles late wet in some fictitious floods, I02 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. No lure held out to hide the trap that lay concealed below, For humbug wasn't understood a hundred years ago. Then careful ships three times a year brought tidings from beyond The dark and stormy waters of the mighty " herring pond," Giving the news of other climes, their markets and their fights. Telling of continental scenes, their wrongs and eke their rights. Telling of London, and the King, and Parliament also — Our sires rejoiced in things like these a hundred years ago. People contented were, and still, and plodded on their way. Scarce ever looking from the town until their dying day; And when they shuffled off the coil, they didn't leave their ground. But even now, as we have shown, they yet are knocking round ; As was their light they faithful walked, and did their work below. And " Slow and sure " their motto was a hundred years ago. A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 103 The raps here ceased ; I asked for more, but only this could hear : " Compare your present with the past aad see how you appear; See if your light has been bestowed the public mind to guide, Or if a Jack-o'lantern, mere, to dump men in the tide; And if you would be profited by what we hereby show. Try to be honest as they were a hundred years ago." I04 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. AQUEOUS INSPIRATION* Here met at meat, as meet it surely is, To crown the day with festive gratulation, There's gladness beaming from each open phiz, And every voice gives note of exultation. Those smile who win, and we a prize have won — Fortune has favored us who rightly sought her ; Her blessing comes upon us by the run. Like emigrants from Ireland, by water. It comes to us as did the ci-ystal stream. When Moses struck the rock to squelch the doubters. Dispelling every dubitative dream, And proving the most eloquent of spouters. And as that stream poured o'er the land of Sin, A health-imparting, Jew-reviving river. So, sinners, we the comer welcome in, And bless tlie gift, and praise the bounteous Giver. * Read at Vhe Celebration of the Introduction of Water into Chelsea, No- vember 23, 1867. AQUEOUS INSPIRATION. 105 Our Horeb, though remote, yet at the nod Of public will, the water here discloses, And each committee-man has plied his rod. And every one has proved himself a Moses. A modern miracle is theirs, I ween — Howe'er regarded, it is nothing shorter — For they have with a necromancy keen Tapped us " Old Medford " and produced pure water. A paradox in this event I claim. Worthy Of philosophical inquiring : How water, used to subjugate a flame. Should thus and here each Chelsea heart be firing ! And every one has water on the brain — A hydrocephalus of subtlest action ; But here comes in a paradox again : 'Tis hard to bear, — but, water satisfaction ! We give our tribute to this marriage day — May not a thought offensive come to dim it ! — ■ When the fair Mystic gives herself away. In nuptial bonds to gallant Winnisimmet. And here about the festal board we meet To taste the customary fixings bridal. To wash them down with crystal water sweet, And pledge the knot just tied in fluid tidal. io6 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. No airs convivial are these we breathe — Fraught with the odor of inebriation ; No toddy blossoms round our glasses wreathe, And not a nose gives vinous indication. Up to the brim we fill our " flowing bowls," But heeding wise old Solomon's injunction. We'll not in lengthy draughts eclipse our souls, Nor mar our pedal's locomotive functions. This is a drink that ne'er intoxicates — At least, those say so, who have always tried it ; A little of it somehow .satiates. When folks have nothing else to drink beside it. 'Tis said by some one who has doubtless tried, And drank the fluid with the greatest profit. That though one quaff" with thirst intensified. There's not a headache in a hogshead of it. Ah, what a living joy this day awakes ! And woman stands enfranchised and elated ; No more forever called to m a n the brakes. To which, by destiny, she has been fated. The "Norman* conquest" makes her free indeed— She sees the crown of all her earthly wishes ; To bathe in tumblers there's no longer need, Nor need of scant baptism of the dishes. * Mr. Geo. H. Norman w.ls the constructor. AQUEOUS INSPIRATION. 107 Forth to her hand out pours the grateful stream — Flows forth to make her former toil diversion ; Clianging the current of her weary dream, A convert now from sprinkling to immersion ! But Mr. Increase Slow puts down his cane — A stout opponent of these innovations ; " Let washerwomen catch the falling rain ; Our wells are well enough for all occasions. " And then our streets are all dug up and down, And 'neath our feet an anaconda bedded, Demoralizing all our ways in town. And springing up a monster hydrant-headed. " Talk of your water's sanitary wealth ! That men should do this is a thing surprising : A pump's the best auxiliary of health. And keeps us ruddy with its exercising ! " I asked a big Milesian, t'other da}', What grave he digged beneath our city pave- ment." He leaned a bit upon his spade to say. " Of Fogj-ism, sir, and shmall beravement." I Tiiere is a queer old fellow in our land — Vox Populi, by name, and he's a grand 'un ; He sets the Slows aside on every hand. Nor leaves 'em scarce a single peg to stand on. loS LnVES IN PLEASANT PLACES. They growl and fret, and fume, and prophes)'. And make ess;iy to stop the ball in motion ; When down upon 'em comes Vox Populi, And off they go like straws upon the ocean ; Or, like some thistle that has stoutly tost. In fierce resistance to the passing wind. Beneath the power of the early Frost, It fades, nor leaves a single trace behind. O Water ! sung and praised in many a line, We hail thy pleasant advent here among us ; We see thy presence in the daylight shine. As beauteous as the thought that hope has sung us. We hear the music of the Naiad's laugh In gushing fount and Mystic (water) metre. We feel an exaltation as we quaff, And than rare wine we own its taste is sweeter. We give our lays, like water-fowls, and sing. In inspiration jubilant or witty. And all our pipes in one accord will ring In water's praise, and praise of the committee. FIVE-AND-TWENTr TEARS. 109 A RHYME OF FIVE-AND-TWENTY YEARS* " By cool Siloam's shady rill," As cool as wintry airs can make, We come, our empty cups to fill, And drink, our thirstiness to slake — Recalling, as we gather round, A pilgrimage of smiles and tears. To-day's prosperity has crowned, The end of five-and-twenty years. Our hearts with love renewed beat high. And yield responsive to the hour ; All undisturbed our evening sky, Beneath the influence of its power ; Though cold the air, and hurtling snow, Without, the shivering flesh assail, Here, in the light of long ago, We bid defiance to the gale. O, Friendship, Love, and Truth, how sweet ! The pleasant song that first ye sung — * Twenty-fifth Anniversary of Siloara Lodge of Independent Order of Odd Fellows, February 21, 1S67. • LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Of life with mirth and joy replete, And flowers to cheer our path along ; But, better far than halcyon hours, The many trials that we knew. Developing our better powers In airs beneficent and true. We are not angels — this we've found — The merel}' human can we claim ; But there is music in the sound That syllables a brother's name! We love him for his faults — our own — His virtue more than ours appears ; We've tried him by the testing-stone Of five-and-tvventy searching years. 'Tis good for us to pause a while, And glance along the course we've sped : At joys that we recall to smile, — To yield a tribute to our dead. O, many are the mounds revealed, Between the present and the past, Of those whose fate was early sealed, And those who later felt the blast ! In tender trust they're treasured still ; And memory, with its verdant wreath. Imparts to us to-night a thrill For those, the loved, who rest beneath. In sweetest peacefulness they i"est. Their task achieved, their labor o'er ; FIVE-AND-TWENTY TEARS. O, may the wish inspire each breast To meet them on the shining shore ! It is no sad refrain I sing — I'll have no faces long to-night ; Let the glad hours with pleasure wing, And mirth and music give delight. No troubled thought should enter here, To mar the present's festive glow, Though things unlike to those appear Of five-and-twenty years ago. Is' that my friend of early youth, Who with me in the race set out — His mouth without a single tooth, His body adipose and stout? And he. as bald as any plate. Can that be my young friend of eld ? Time's lightning sure has struck his pate. And scorched off all the wealth it held ! And there is one of manly mould. Without a hair, inclined to gray, Who must be — let me see — how old ? Full sixty years, if he's "a day. How is it he, with all his years. The ravages of Time defies.? — The while I gaze the truth appears : Like Kirby, in the play, he dyes ! I knew a tender youngster then — A boy of unpretending years, 112 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Scarce venturing 'mid the ranks of men, So full of bashfulness and fears. I see him here, I think, to-night, A citizen of good estate. With wife and daughters fresh and bright, Himself a very heavy weight. And there was one of feeble mould, Qiiite far from strong, and slim and pale ; He was so thin he wouldn't hold — I've seen him try — a glass of ale ! I see him days about the town, A portly man with ruddy face ; 'Tis said to Windship's he'll go down, And lift his ton without grimace. And some in homeliness remain. As on the day we first set out ; Old time has tackled them in vain. And little change has brought about ; But though thus forced to let them go. On better looking folks to wait. Around their eyes the crows' feet show — I see a stooping in their gait. Though barred our doors to stranger feet. Hymen our guardian has passed. And spread his meshes strong and sweet, Binding us victims hard and fast. Yet glad the bond that we have known ; It is the girdle of our joys, FIVE- AND-T WENT r YEARS. 113 Circling our hearth-stones like a zone, Gemmed with a wealth of girls and boys. Yet there are some, I'm grieved to sa)', Who would not yield to love the power, But drifted in their single way, From then, down to the present hour. Alone! ah, sad the word — alone! To them the future dark appears ; But yet the fault is all their own — A sin of five-and-twenty years. Ah, gallant youth ! ah, gentle maids ! A quarter century goes by : Care pays no great respect to braids ; It dims the brightness of the eye : We see the changing of the tress. We see the changing of the form. But still unchanging, ne'ertheless, The loving heart is true and warm — Surviving all the grace of earth, And glowing with a warmth as true As when, in youth's bright hour of mirth. It gave itself to me and you ! And here, renewing and renewed, In radiant eyes, and teeth like pearls, We see restored in plenitude. The mothers in their beauteous girls. Ho ! brethren of the frosty pow ! Gone are the i-aven locks of old, 8 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And wrinkles on each manly brow May now in multitudes be told. But what of that? The heart is gay, Although the bead is changed to snow ; We cannot keep it always May — The Autumn must succeed, you know. May ours a garner prove of peace, And Nature's slow descending sun Show that, as earthly hours decrease, A higher life may have begun — Trending towards that province bright. The soul in its foreknowing sees, Where, in the rare supernal light Are gained the heavenly degrees. O friends, take heart — we're ripening fast, And Heaven alone our fates doth hold : We know not how our lot is cast, Till Time — how long? — the fact has told. But long or short, no matter now ; We have no room for doubts nor fears. To the same power our hearts we bow, That's kept us five-and-twenty years. CONTIiASTS AND SIMILITUDES. 115 CONTRASTS AND SIMILITUDES.* Three Pilgrims of the old Bay State Have wandered from their friends away. And rest a bit within your gate, Their Pilgrim offerings to pay. Not like the Pilgrims known of yore, With grizzly beards and scallop shell, And dusty clothes and pedals sore, And hardships that were sad to tell. We do not brag of weary tramps, Of hungry fasts, and shrines afar ; Instead of stumps we favor stamps, And plod it in a railroad car. We read the story of the two Who penance did to walk on peas. The one of whom went glibly' through, The other sore and ill at ease. * Read on the occasion of a visit to Naomi Lodgs of Rebekah, at Prov- idence, R. I. Ii6 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And when the first was asked how he Could walk so easily about, Replied, with grinning phiz, " You see, I boiled my peas ere I set out." So easily we come to-night. With friendly sympathy aglow ; We heard your word of kind invite. And like Rebekah said — " I'll go ! " " I'll go ! "' and this recalls a tale We in the good old Bible read, Where different customs did prevail From those that in these days we heed. Now, when a young man seeks to wed. He wants no fussy parent's aid. But puts his best hat on his head, And goes right off and asks the maid. If she says " Yes," why, well and good. The old folks all ignored, you see ; But things w^ere not so understood Down in the land of old Judee. The patriarch Abraham, well in years. Deemed that, before he closed his life, 'Twere best to seek among his peers And find young Israel a wife. CONTRASTS AND SIMILITUDES. 117 Isaac was only forty-three When his papa conceived this thought ; The merest infant, you'll agree, Whose tender judgment passed for nought. To years discreet he hadn't come, And so a servant Abraham sent To choose a wife, and bring her home, To share the youthful Israel's tent. First Abraham prayed and asked a sign. To show the servant where to go ; And the far land of sheep and kine The answering voice of Heaven did show. But Abi-aham said that, any how. His boy no heathen maid should wed; And so the servant made a vow. And straightway to Judea sped. He'd seen a damsel by a spring, Revealed on his celestial chart ; And camels took and many a thing Likely to win a maiden's heart. He came unto a Jewish town, Where, by a wayside sparkling rill, Maidens at eventide came down Their jugs and demijohns to fill. Ii8 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. The servant prayed : " Was she with these Whom he in his long journey sought? If so, Lord, let her serve him, please, And give his kneeling beasts a thought." He asked the boon, when one straightway Drew from the well the water cold, And said, " Now drink yourself, sir, pray, Tlien let your beasts drink all they'll hold.' He thanked her for her courtesy. In good old-fashioned Bible way, — Speaking in manner somewhat free. Without the nonsense of to-day. He asked her, "Who are you, my dear.?" Said she, " Rebekah, Bethuel's daughter. Grandchild of Nahor, Abraham's fr6re. Come out to draw^ our folks some water.'' And then the servant truly knew That she was just the one he sought ; She was right beautiful to view. And innocent in deed and thought. He on her a rare gift bestowed, — Earrings and bracelets pure and bright, And asked her if at her abode She thought they'd keep him over night. CONTRASTS AND SIMILITUDES. 119 She pledged him welcome and ran home Her brother Laban there to tell, Who with an eager haste did come Where stood the stranger at the well, — And took him home, and there he told The errand which his care so tasked ; They saw the Lord in all unfold, But thought Rebekah should be asked. 'Twas very kind in them, no doubt, To give the maid a chance to choose. Whom Heaven had formed the match without — And what if she should dare refuse ! So she was called, and straightway given All of her mission high to know. And, seeing 'twas the will of Heaven, She firmly said at once — I'll go ! Never was courtship quicker done, Never an answer quicker made ; Were she a more romantic one The answer might have been delayed. But 'twas the will of Heaven, you know, Not reckoned like our common chances ; Things then were nothing near as slow As they appear in our romances. I20 LINES JN PLEASANT PLACES. Ah, day of simple blessedness ! In this thou art appreciated, When twenty yards compose a dress, The wardrobe twenty duplicated. No Saratoga trunks were hers, Her bridal trip to mar and trammel ; She made no draft on milliners. But took her bundle on a camel. She had no dread of fortune rough, — This simple-hearted Jewish daughter ;- Perhaps she thought she'd drudged enough. And Laban left to draw the water. So off she went — and none more true. As wife and mother, e'er existed, Except that fact of Jacob's stew. Which I confess seems somewhat twisted. The meaning of my humble rhyme Is in the two words herein quoted : I'll go ! — an energy sublime Invests the words with zeal devoted. And the Rebekahs of our day, Who the same generous rule pursue. Enact in as sublime a' way The conduct of the gentle Jew. CONTRASTS AND SIMILITUDES. 121 Where duty's call by them is heard, Where speaks the heart oppressed by woe, Where men grow sick with hope deferred. Their voice responds as then — I'll go ! There's hope and blessing in the cup They pour, dark sorrow to beguile ; The dying eye with joy lights up To catch the beaming of their smile. We have no rings or bracelets fine To deck the ones we honor so ; But let us prove the call divine, And straight they answer it — I'll go ! Rebekah prompts our energy. She strengthens every thought of good,- She leads us hopefully to see The truth in all vicissitude. She gives a charm to friendship's claim, And Love assumes a purer sway When she divinely feeds the flame To light us o'er life's troubled way. We bring no camels in our train. Nor thirsting men to claim her care ; But she upon the Judean plain, Had not, than these, more virtues rare. LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And all the hospitable grace That in the Jewess fair we see, In Rhoda wears as bright a face As e'er did hers in old Judee. And we with imitative mind, As such traits our Rebekahs show, Feel to hold back no whit -inclined. But say, like her of old, " I'll go ! " AFTER-DINNER EFFORT. 123 AFTER-DINNER EFFORT.* I RISE responsive to your knead, as the loaf said to the baker, Albeit I'm shaking in my shoes, although I'm not a Shaker ; And though my rhymes may be devoid of qualifying reason, As dry as vernal blossoms are in huckleberry season. Still, may be, it is better thus, as I may then be able To partly meet your wish, and give you something dry at table. Of all the elements of Man, the social and the jolly Are pungent condiments that hide his weakness and his folly. And though the laugh be banned by some, and thrown o'er 'mong the vices. It gives the piquancy to life that pudding gets from spices. * Read at the Universalist Festival, in Faneuil Hall, June 28, X872. 124 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. No germ of good is lost llie work], but has move healthy growing In atmospheres where wit's bright sun beams round with fervor glowing — Where humor permeates the soul, and, all its cells unsealing. Up spring the seeds of happiness to bloom in flow- ers of feeling ! E'en " sweet religion," oft obscured by sacerdotal glamour, By far more potently proclaims if cheer dictate its grammar ; No " rhapsody of words," alone, whose trade-mark is a steeple, But truth, in smiles, exampling best the "good news to all people." Vice gains no help from cheerfulness, and our own genial poet Says he " ne'er heard a hearty laugh from out a vil- lain's throet" — Pardon the rhyme — 'tis somewhat crude — but do not snap your bard up, For he, like bigger bards, some time, may for a rhyme be hard up. Where'er the festive board is spread, there mirth is most resplendent, With " chunks of wisdom " interblent, and reason in ascendant ; And of one thing we're pretty sure, that mirtii is not dyspeptic, AFTER-DINNER EFFORT. 125 As, half from indigestion, come the bigot and the sceptic. We turn a new leaf in Life's book, with plates illuminated, And through rare gustatory arts our tastes and minds are sated ; A while through clear contented eyes in happy mood we see things, And catch new inspiration from the tinkle of the tea things. So, there's no time of all the year more grand than this, or pleasant, That brings, in universal cheer, so many kinfolk present. From worldly strife, and worldly care, and secular exaction, To find in social union meet congenial satisfaction. The old-time Jews were yearly wont Jerusalem to haste to. And carry up their offerings, and do as they'd a taste to. Obeying the Mosaic law, and seeing their rela- tions. And mingling secular, perhaps, with pious opera- tions : Pot-luck partaking with their friends, or at the hotels stopping. And giving Moses half the time, and half the time to shopping. And so our anniversary week — it an undoubted fact is — 126 I^INES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Was based on this beneficent and very human prac- tice, And, gathering all our interests that 3early have collected, Boston becomes Jerusalem by centuries perfected ; And like the shoe of the Wandering Jew, by Eugene Sue created, Whose seven hob-nails impressed the snow o'er which he peregrinated. These seven da3s on Time's broad plain make evi- dent impression, And this, most lasting of them all, by social joy's possession. We leave our burdens at the door, and enter, warm and glowing, As Bunyan's "Pilgrim" cast his pack, and find it, " better going : " — Burdens of every weight and form that plague the genus human, As discipline or ballast, borne by every man and woman. And what a pile they make ! There's home, with cares of mighty meaning — The cares of summer dress-making, of cooking or of cleaning ; Tlie care of politics, that claims each patriot's atten- tion, And leads him through mysterious ways, too nu- merous to mention ; The care of ardent temperance souls, who feel in purpose hearty. AFTER-DINNER EFFORT. 1 37 But fear to act lest they, mayhap, should compro- mise their party ; The care of hiring pastors of immaculate preten- sion. And building churches for their use of such sublime dimension, That how to pay for them, becomes the hardest to determine, ' And far more dues upon them rest than ever fell on Hermon ; The care of fashion, that controls with power the most provoking, And influences everything, from preaching down to smoking — That such controlling bias hath, over all men and women. The human structure, grand, is made subordinate to trimmin'. And though admitting woman's wrongs — so many. Heaven bless her ! — Chivalric man don't clearly see how he can e'er redress her ; The care of trade's perplexities, and thinking where to boi'row Tlie money that's to pay the note becoming due to- morrow ! ni not look farther to disclose more than is here depicted. Lest, haply, I should stumble over something inter- dicted. There let cares lie until we leave, no festal featwe marring, 128 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. For they are some like earthquakes, prone to cause unpleasant jarring ; We are better for the brief release, and then, when we are through it, We'll dare the fight we are called to wage with bet- ter pluck to do it. We fake not fellowship with those who are always sighing, whining, Who have no word for thankfulness and twenty for repining. Who cannot see in Nature's smiles for smiles of theirs excuses. And turn the good seen everywhei-e to melancholy uses; Could such come here and view with me this scene of happy faces, 'Twould warm their hearts, I know, to feel their cheer-imparting graces. Beaming upon them like the sun, prompting a warm devotion. And giving what the monarch craved so much — a new emotion. Ours is, thank God ! the cheerful heart, that holds not earth a prison, Nor gropes within the tomb of joy for that which has arisen ; Heaven strews our path with cheerfulness, and grate- fully we prize it. As at this passover of soul we yearly realize it. AFTER-DINNER EFFORT. 129 We have deep sympathy for such as cling to dogmas dismal, Who smell, in all life's pleasant things, an atmos- phere abysmal. Who, with unhealthy fancies fraught, sigh o'er their neighbor's errors. And see in all God's attributes no features but his terrors, — Consigning those not of their fold to Satan's dark dominion, While theirs shall pass the ordeal, and never scorch a pinion : With tastes all warped to match their souls, by big- otry incrusted. Well was it that to any such the earth was not in- trusted — To mould it and to decorate — there'd be no cheerful feature. And mirth would be a tabooed thing in every living creature. The trees and flowers would be of drab, the birds in sables winging, And nought but dirges be allowed in all their native singing. That robin there upon the tree, which wakes me from my slumbers, Would tune his throat to other note and trill in dismal numbers. The colts that frisk beside their dams would then repress their ambling, 9 130 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And lambs would never be allowed to carry on their gamboling ; The joyous sea its sportive waves would hold in strict subjection, And the glad sun would spend its rays in serious reflection. Thank Heaven, the number is but few ; the light of Truth, downpouring. Has waked the sleepers in their caves, and set their spirits soaring ; The garb of stern theology is seedy grown and tat- tered, And the solid shot of living Truth its citadel has shattered. No more does difference of sect the status fix for sinners, And those who do the right are right, and in the race are winners. Bless God for Joy ! — it warms the breast and sets its tide to flowing, As Spring unseals the vernal brooks, and wakes the grass to growing ; Each smile a message from the soul, with joy's effiil- gence shining. Is prayer and worship unexpressed, that need no word-defining ; And upward, onward, moving e'er, accretive force receiving, The cheerful soul exemplifies the true "joy of be- lieving." WAR LYRICS. 131 MASSACHUSETTS. I HEAR an army's mighty tread, And the sound of war's alarms ; I read a thought, serene but dread. Written in gleaming arms ; A solemn purpose fills the air Like the holy effluence of prayer. I feel the thrill of a people's heart In the drum tap's stirring beat, And the quickened pulse's fervid start In the rush of hasty feet, And the gleam of vengeful glances shines Along the bayonets' glistening lines. I see a nation's triumph stand In acts of generous trust, Where wealth unclasps its iron hand And scatters the needed dust — Giving the sinews of golden life To the holy cause of Freedom's strife. , ^Tis Massachusetts' glance of light — The glare of the glittering steel, 133 134 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. The earnest of her awful might In the vital thrill we feel, And her voice is the cannon's blasting breath, That speaks to Treason the doom of Death. Honest old Commonwealth ! to thee Thy children look with pride ; Thy name a pass-word to the free. With right identified ; Thy bidding we hear, like a mother's word. And our hearts to their deepest depths are stirred. God bless thee ! every heart outpours, And every arm grows strong. From mountain bound to ocean shores. Thy glory to prolong ; To live in th}' cause is an honor high. But a greater in such a cause to die. THROUGH BALTIMORE. 135 THE SIXTH AT BALTIMORE. OiTR country called on her sons for aid, And we shouldered the gun and drew the blade. Leaving the anvil, the plough, and Saw, To fight for the Union and for law, — To fight for the flag our fathers bore — And our pathway led through Baltimore. There was no moment for doubts or fears. There was no time for sighs nor tears ; We said " good by," with hurried breath, Then marched to the field of life or death. And fealty to our land we swore Ere we marched to its aid through Baltimore. And godly hands in blessing were spread, And smiles from Beauty were on us shed, And the starry flag, that we bore in pride. Was cheered and lauded on every side. With devotion never known before, As we took up our march for Baltimoi'e. 'Twas April nineteenth day, and the suvi That had seen the carnage at Lexington, Shone on us as we took our way 136 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Through lanes of foeman in hate's array, And a scowling look each stern face wore That we saw as we marched through Baltimore. Then hateful glances took sterner form, And rained upon us a fearful storm ; Fierce, terrible missiles around us fell, 'Mid oaths that might shame the sons of hell ; But we quailed not 'mid the angry roar That swept through the streets of Baltimore. Not a shout or cry in our ranks was heard, But our rifles spoke the voiceless word, And our leaden sentences went deep To put seditious hearts to sleep ; But sadly, though sternly, we deplore Our own brave, fallen at Baltimore. But the guerdon of glory 's for those who fall ; For the nation's flag is their funeral pall, And the nation's tears the turf bedew That covers their hearts so bold and true ; Deathless are they who life gave o'er On the bloody pavements of Baltimore. The dead return, the arms to nerve And strengthen hearts that else might swerve ; They speak again, from the silent sod. In a voice that stirs like the voice of God, And heroes vow, from their hearts' deep core. To follow the Sixth through Baltimore. TO BEAUFORT. 137 THE WAY WE WENT TO BEAUFORT. Full fifty sail we were that day When out to sea we sped away, With a feeling of brooding mystery ; Bound — there w^as no telling where ; But well we knew there was strife to share, And we felt our mission was bound to bear A place in heroic history. The man at the helm, nothing knew he As he steered his ship out into the sea. On that morn of radiant beauty ; And the ships outspread their wings, and flew Like sea-birds over the water blue ; One thought alone each one of us knew — How best to do his duty. Not a breath of wherefore or why was heard. Not a doubting thought or a doubting word, Or idle speculation ; But a spirit of inspiring trust Filled each man's breast, as it always must When leaders are brave and a cause is just — And ours the cause of the nation. 138 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And thus we went — the hurricane's breath Was felt in our track, like the blast of death. But we had no thought of turning ; Onward, and onward, the good fleet sped, Locked in its breast the secret dread, To break in gloom over treason's head. Where — we should soon be learning. But brave Dupont and Sherman knew Where the bolt should light, and each gallant crew Was ready to heed their orders. Port Royal, ho ! — and a bright warm day ; We made the land many miles away, And sullenly there before us lay Fierce Carolina's borders. The mystery was all compassed then. And the lieart of seasick weary men Cheered up, the prospect viewing; There is that grit in the human mind, However gentle, or good, or kind, That is always to double its fist inclined When near where a fight is brewing. The rebel guns waked a fearful note From our rifled cannon's open tliroat, And our shells flew fast and steady. The battle is over — the strife is done — The stars and bars from the forts have run — The blow is struck and victory won — Beaufort is ours already ! TO BEAUFORT. 139 And then we sailed to the beautiful town, Where we tore the emblem of treason down, And planted the starry banner ; And the breezes of heaven seemed to play With the folds in a tender and loving way. As though they were proud to welcome the da}', And the old familiar manner. A thrill pervaded the loyal land When the gladdening tidings came to hand ; Each heart felt joy's emotion ; The cloud of gloom and doubt dispersed. The sun of hope through the darkness burst, And the zeal the patriot's heart had nurst Burned with a warm devotion. 14° LINES JN PLEASANT PLACES. GRIERSON'S RAID. [Both sides came out of the war about even in the matter of raids, not count- ing Sherman's March to the Sea.] Who has not heard of Grierson's Raid, And the feats of valor therein displayed ? 'Twas a brave, bold dash through the hostile land That scattered terror on every hand, Making the rebel heart afraid At the daring valor of Grierson's Raid ! Over their mountains and over their plains, The rider his galloping courser strains ; His sword gleams bright in the foeman's face, And ruin follows his onward pace ; While eyes are sad and hearts dismayed At the terrible scourge of Grierson's Raid. Through their cities and over their streams The flag of the Union once more gleams ; There's a curse on the air, but in under breath. As the troopers go on their work of death ; Like lightning flashes each loyal blade To light the path of Grierson's Raid. GR/ERSOJV'S RAID. 141 Onward, yet onward, O, who may stay The fier}' tide of this fearful day? It sweeps like a tempest along his path, And whelms the rebel in vengeful wrath ; The smoking bridge shows War's fierce trade. And fire and ruin mark Grierson's Raid. Onward, yet onward, the blazing roof Echoes in flame to the cavalry hoof; And fleeing forms in the midnight air, Revealed by the war-pyre's ruddy glare. Tell the story, in fear displayed. Of the woful, terrible Grierson's Raid. Onward, yet onward, unholden the rein. Till the Union lines are compassed again. Where a meed of grateful honors is due For the troopers bold, and tried, and true ; And history never has deed portrayed That brighter shines than Grierson's Raid. And rebel mothers their children shall tell Of the sudden fear that on them fell, When, swooping down like a bird on its prey, The Federal troopers came that way, — A sad recital as ever was made, The memories dire of Grierson's Raid. 142 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. "POOR BOY!" " Poor boy ! " the mother fondly sighed, When she had bid the lad farewell, But in her eye was a lofty pride That spoke more than her tongue would tell And though her nature said " poor boy," He in her breast held grander place, And thrilled it with a nobler joy Than were he heir of wealth and grace. His was the heart to do and dare In manly battle with the wrong ; She might not in his conflict share. But she could yield him and be strong. " Poor boy ! " O, epithet misplaced. Not poor by laws that reckon worth ; The noblest record fame has traced Has had no more exalted birth. The soul that thus in Duty's path Bounds forward at its first appeal, POOR BOr. T.j3 More grandeur in the humblest hath Than titled state that cannot feel. Mother, though heavy with your fears, Throw all your burdening doubts away ; Discard the ministry of tears — Your boy is crowned a king to-day ! Not poor ! could you but see the goal For those the race have nobly run, 'Twould glad your yearning mother-soul To mark the glory he has won. Not eighty years of golden sands, Nor life, though spotless of a shame, So high an eminence commands As the young hero's laurelled name. Thank God, O mother, who hath given This treasure of immortal price, That you might render back to Heaven Your wealth of love as sacrifice. 144 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. WAR'S CHANGES. [SomG of the most bellicose men in tini2 of the war, had been, previously, the most strenuous advocates of peace. Mr, Israel Lamb, one thus changed, re- lates his o'vn experience.] I can't for the life of me tell what it me'ans, Or whether if wrong or if right, But I love to look on militant scenes, And am spoiling to mix in a fight. I late was reckoned a peaceable man, And shrunk at all details of strife ; Now I glory the records of bloodshed to scan And the savagest havoc of life. I buy all the extras containing the news, I read all the bulletin boards, And 'twixt peace and war the latter I choose, It such keen excitement affords. I feel disappointed every day With the tales of monotonous peace. And my bump of benevolence dwindles away As my truculent organs increase. WAR'S CHANGES. 145 I never the sight of blood could bear, I never could kill a fly ; But now the carnage of war I could share, And look red strife in the eye. I've bought me a gun and a bowie-knife,' Take lessons of Salignac, And dreadfully frighten my timid wife With talk of defence and attack. When friends happen in to sup or dine, I " p'sent arms " when they come ; I range them in regimental line, And sei-ve at the tap of the drum. The baby wakes me up in the night, I fancy 'tis war's alarms, I loudly shriek out, " On with the fight — The Infantry to arms ! " My theory for the change is this, And strengthened everj' hour : The thunder of war has turned, I wis. My milk of kindness soQr. 10 146 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. THE OLD WAR-SHIP. Resting idly at the pier, The old war-ship, grim and drear, Seems begging for our sympathy as we now pass her near. We recall her in her pride. As she plunged into the tide. When the gallant Ocean, waiting, claimed her as his bride. And trim and taut she lay, Tlie glory of the bay, With her energies awakening, all ready for the fray. Up rose her taper spars, Till they seemed amid the stars, And at her peak gleamed forth the white and rub}' bars. And her batteries' grim frown Seemed to send a challenge down To foes who might mean ill to the old and quiet town. THE OLD WAR-SHIP. 147 And when her wings she spread, And o'er the waves she sped, O, many were the things of pride and hope we said. But here she is again ; And what a change is plain. As we read her glories when first she braved the main ! Her hulk is soiled and worn, Of spars and rigging shorn, And her batteries long since from her embrace were torn. And, while resting there, we deem That she must sadly dream Of her olden glory lost of the ocean and the stream. Ah, what a dream is hers ! If every scene I'ecurs That has made her story famous which no recreancy blurs. Her cannon's voice has spoke Where the waves of battle broke, And Freedom's strains were heard in the echoes she awoke. Adown her sides again The red blood flows amain. And the splinters fly around from the showers of iron rain. 148 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And while her cannons speak, Again out from her peak Floats the glory of her ensign that flushes every cheek. And we love the old ship more For the glory given o'er, Than when with pride we blessed her as she parted from the shore. FRIENDLY PERSONALITIES. 149 TO JAMES T. FIELDS. My' dear old friend, — kind, genial James, — Old Time, that the emotions tames, Has wrought no change in friendship's claims 'Twixt you and me. And now, as when in boyhood's aims, We still agree. In spheres diverse our lots were cast, And years, in busy purpose passed. Show us, on summing up at last, A different fare ; But glad am I that fortune fast Has been your share. No truer soul than yours, my friend, Did ever favoring fates attend. With power to reach desired end ; None more deserving The boon that Heaven doth kindly send For truth unswerving. 152 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Amid the smiles of rich success, While wealth and fame their claim might press, No lure could dull the tenderness Of early years, Or make that light of lights grow less That still inheres. I've felt its warmth when cloudy skies Made all seem dark before my eyes ; When adverse Fate in sternest guise My heart assailed, You bade my hope again arise. And peace prevailed. And in this grateful frame to-night, With memory's beacon burning bright. My pen, instinctive turns to write The prompted line. And pour upon your friendly sight This heart of mine. I may not swell your earthly fame, With measure of a loud acclaim ; Do what I may, it were but tame To what's been done ; But in my breast, my friend, your name Stands number one. I'll joy the glad accord to hear That greets you all days o' the year ; TO JAMBS T. FIELDS. Beholding your content and cheer It adds to mine, And prompts the heartiness sincere Of auld lang syne. Accept, dear Fields, the humble strain That long upon my mind has lain ; My Muse in your behalf would fain Much more express. But trying more (I hence refrain) Might make it less. 153 154 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. THE GOLDEN WEDDING. [Fiftieth Anniversary of the Marriage of Elder and Mrs. Moses Howe, New Bedford, Mass.] " Hail, wedded love ! " thus Milton sung. With happy and exultant tongue, Greeting the first pair, fresh and young, But more to prize The love that, in life's morning sprung, Age sanctifies. At first, 'tis but a roseate gleam, A strain of music in a dream, A light upon a tranquil stream. No threat of harm. The smiling heavens a radiant beam Of promise warm ; But the fierce trial happens soon. The care of life, before its noon, Chilleth the heart to joy attune. And then, perhaps, Love's stocks, all up in Hope's balloon, Suffer collapse. THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 1 55 But, when well grounded, cares may press, - And sorrow come, with keen distress, And fortune fail, no whit the less Doth true love shine : It showeth then its power to bless — Its source divine. And age may come, its whitening snow Upon the furrowed brow to throw. But, with the loving heart aglow, No icy chill Will check the spirit's cheerful flow. Defying ill. Such love is this we crown to-night. Which burns more fervent in its light. As, in his ever-restless flight, 'Tis tried by Time, And, with a radiance pure and bright, It glows sublime. Thank God for wedded love like theirs ! — Meet cause for blessing and for prayers — Theirs is the bliss the angel shares ; Their ripened joy, In home's delightful evening airs. Hath no alloy. The golden season of the soul. Life's Indian Summer's sweet control, 156 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. The border-land, with the bright goal Broadly in sight, That waits the just — Heaven's gracious dole- Is theirs to-night. May their serene descending sun Shine back o'er fields of duty done, Of strifes encountered — victories won — Till, hand in hand. They pass, love's endless race to run In heaven's blest land. CONGRATULATORr. 157 CONGRATULATORY. [To S. L. Clemens (" Mark Twain ") on his Marriage.] Dear brother of the happy pen, Your card is just beneath my ken Announcing that 'mongst married men You've taken place : Well, Heaven bless you, " but and ben," With fortune's grace. There's none deserving more the prize Of good that 'long life's pathway lies, Lit by sweet smiles and sunny eyes. Than you, my friend ; And o'er you may benignant skies Forever bend. The world to you a tribute brings And on your bridal altar flings. Grateful and glad for myriad things Your Muse has lent, And one grand epithalamium sings O'er the event. 158 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. We've gloried in the race you've run, We've gloried in the fame you've won Ere yet your life's meridian sun Has gained its height, Illuming by its rays of fun A pathway bright. And better far than all, dear Mark, Thou'st found the matrimonial ark In which the true who there embark Find many a. charm, That Prudence whispers those who hark To save from harm. And I, your latest friend, am fain To pour my tributary strain, In unpretending rhyming vein. And thus appear, Invoking blessings on the Twain, Witli heart sincere. BosTOH, February 7, 1870. A RESPONSE. 159 A RESPONSE. [On the occasion of a Surprise Visit of old Lodge associates to the Author, one of the number addressed to him some rhymes, to which the response.] Dear Brother Jim : your pleasant rhyming Set all my memory's bells to chiming, With that occasion deftly timing, And all the past Flashed up before me like a priming In retrocast. Again the rush of old-time feeling Came o'er me, 'neath thy rhymes unreeling, And forms, long hid by time's concealing, Passed in review. Unto my inner sense revealing, As good as new. Came back again the warm emotion, The offspring of my young devotion, When youth, then like a smiling ocean, Lay bathed in light, And you and I drank life's blest potion. In care's despite. l6o LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Came back the glow of love fraternal, That then illumed our path diurnal, Filling our souls with bliss supernal. And round us fell, The while we plucked the richest kernel From life's rough shell. Then Siloam's silver stream, o'erflowing, Ran sparkling in the sunshine glowing, And our young hearts, its virtue knowing, Drank in its tide, A vein of early wisdom showing. Now viewed with pride. It tempered youth's impetuous fever. It prompted us to good endeavor. And bade us low pursuits to sever That end in shame ; To walk in virtue's ways forever, Exempt from blame. It taught us Charity's high mission. Controlled by scrupulous prevision ; Led on the mind to just decision And generous scope, And gave the humblest in condition The loftiest hope. Ah, many years have slipped as fleetly, Since those old days remembered meetly, A RESPONSE. l6l And as your jingle met me sweetly, The Muse took sway, And I, a captive made completely, Was borne away. How many of the kindly hearted, Who with us in the journey started. Have on the longer voyage departed, And left our side ! How many, ballasted and charted, Sank 'neath the tide ! The locks are gray that then were shining, And wrinkles on the features joining, And gout and spectacles combining, The crowd among ; But, ah ! the heart's warm tendrils twining. Are always young. Dear Jim, 'tis no more summer weather With any of us, but tog-ether We'll move with hearts of lightest feather. As erst in youth ; Our Friendship bound with closest tether In Love and Truth. II i62 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. TO A POET. [Who, from the fullness of his own fame and genius, could recognize the dain of a humble aspirant, and give him a word of encouragement] A siXGLE seed the waiting air May to some secret covert bear, The sun and dew to haply share, And, soon upsprung, It blooms in efflorescence fair, The grass among. So a small word in kindness said Has to its soil congenial sped. Within the heart's receptive bed, Where, fondly held, It grew the light of joy to shed. And gloom dispelled. Such word by loving lips conveyed, — Forgotten, may be, soon as made, — Falls like the rain upon the blade. That, parched and dry. Revives beneath its genial aid, To glad the eye. TO A POET. 163 It lifts the clouds that life invest, It gives a right ambition zest, Makes latent good more manifest, And Hope is near, To lead the soul, through pathways blest, To peace and cheer. One such, by thee in kindness spoke, A thrill within my heart awoke, — A thrill scarce other could evoke, — And new-found powers Into more earnest effort broke. In brighter hours. The hand that feebly touched the lyre Felt in its veins unwonted fire. And trust arose, and new desire, And spirit free, Qiiickening the fancy to aspire. Because of thee. More deftly ran the reel of rhyme, More softly flowed the measured chime That with the beat of thought kept time. And though the song Was neither graceful nor sublime, Its hope was strong. Fame's trumpet note may ne'er attend. To help the struggling thought ascend, And with supernal glories blend ; 164 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. But, more than this, It to its little sphei'e may lend A world of bliss. The humble brook its song may pour. The ripple murmur on the shore. The bird with simple note upsoar. As perfect shown. As is Niagara's thunder-roar, Or tempest's tone. He that may touch the humblest heart By stroke of unassuming art, Acts, in degree, as grand a part As bards of might, Who make the world's emotion start And glow with light. To sing in gentle, loving lays, Not waiting for approving bays, Possessed of such sweet word of praise As that you spoke. Were better than the grandest blaze That Fame e'er woke. Within my heart of heart I hold, — Cherished more sacredly than gold, — That word which made its hopes unfold, In olden time, And freights with gratitude untold My present rhyme. TRIBUTART VERSES. 165 TRIBUTARY VERSES, [To H. A, McGlenen on the twentieth anniversary of his marriage, Novem- ber 21, 1864. A HAPPY sign it is, I wis. Where, as at seasons such as this. The feelings glow with prinnal bliss, And love, most true, Asserts itself, with vow and kiss. As good as new. Such pauses are like stages passed, And seated in life's shade, to cast Our backward glance where, far and fast, Our steps have sped, We brave untried the Future, vast, Without a dread. Marriage, when " rightly understood," Old Cotton sang, is full of good ; And yours is proof that hath withstood The timely test. And now, in ripe beatitude, It beams the best. i66 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Happy are they who thus restore The time that's past, and live once more In joys tliat strewed tlieir path before, In love's first state ; Enough there are who'd this ignore, And clean the slate. And yet, that time of twenty years In most momentous guise appears, Marked with its varied hopes and fears, And joy and woe ; But banished have been clouds and tears In love's bright glow. I know the story all by heart, And know that she, your better part. Has, by the charm of woman's art, As you'll allow, — Enhanced life's joy and eased its smart. As she knew how. We all the lesson well are taught That our endeavors are as nought. Unless, with loving kindness fraught, She gives her powers Of gentle care and tender thought To soften ours. These give the home its joyous zest, These crown the life with blissful rest, TRIBUTARY VERSES. id^J These soothe the busy, burdened breast To tranquil peace, And cares, the soul might else infest, Forever cease. And I am of the fact assured. That, taking things as they occurred. The fun enjoyed, the ills endured, In time that's flown, A good return you have secured — The best one known With children gathered round your chair, A wife your loving thoughts to share. And friends in multitude most rare, And honest fame. In life's great bowl you hold a " spare," And win the game. And thus, upon your festal night, While happiness is burning bright, My spirit to your side takes flight. On viewless wings. And o'er the scene of love and light A blessing flings. 1 68 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. A PICTURE. I PAINT a man of merit rare, With look of grace and gentle air, A presence welcome everywhere, But strangely shy, Who might earth's proudest honors share, Yet puts them by. The discords of the world offend ; He has no hungry ear to lend To hoarse refrains that to him wend Of human strife, Nor craves with noisy crowds to blend That make up life. He moves the ranks of men among With absent eye and silent tongue ; And out where Nature's song is sung By myriad choirs, The tuneful anthem broadcast flung His verse inspires. A PICTURE. 169 But, from the bustle of the street, With quiet throned and converse meet. Then flow his words in channels sweet, With truth imbued. And hours fly by, on pinions fleet, With bright flowers strewed. But liis is no exchisive part ; He feels for those 'neath sorrow's smart. Who wander without guide or chart, And strikes the strain. Till softened grows the fallow heart That cold hath lain. Like King Admetus' bard's, his lyre Pours forth the strain that all admire. And wakes in other breasts the fire Of Hope and Love, And bids the good in man aspire To scenes above. How grand his strain of faith and trust That points the mourner from the dust To where, in airs more pure and just. The lost one waits, Where no obstruction mars nor rusts The golden gates ! The dying outcast's " bed of stone," The lonely orphan's piteous moan, The soul from which all hope has flown, His pity wake. 170 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And from his muse rave light has shone Woe's clouds to break. And royal verse has graced his pen, Where true nobility in men Has flashed athwart his vision's ken, And late it shed Bright lustre on a hero, when His spirit fled.* But whose the portrait? Does it need That line to give the dullard heed "This is a man," or some such screed, To make it clear, Or do its manly lines, indeed, Self-shown appear.'' Not one whose greatness fills the frame, With nostrils breathing fire and flame. Who fights, or trades, or speaks for fame, Yet grander far Than these, and more the tongue could name, As is a star. * Farrai:gut, TO WARRINGTON. ip TO WARRINGTON. [Upon the occasion of the Silver Wedding of Mr. and Mrs. W. S. Robin- son, December i, 1873.] My dear old Paladin of Print ! I must complain — the deuce is in't — That not a relic of the mint With me remains, Of my aftection's depth to hint, In silvery strains. But no one of your wedding guests, Whose gift his loving heart attests, More in the silver scene invests Than I, old friend ; Though not a stiver manifests For me to send. My heart is youi's, this festive time, As when, in youth's exuberant clime, , We, side by side, in aim sublime. Pursued our course ; And Stebbings fired both prose and rhyme Till they were hoarse. 172 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Since then divergently we've turned ; In different schools our tasks have learned, But ne'er that early spark have spurned — 'Bove party plight — That in its fealty has burned With constant light. I've loved your active past to scan, Of every movement in the van. To lead, to serve — to do, or plan — Though not with me; — Wearing that jewel best in man — Integrity ! Though striking trenchantly thy hits, That give contesting parties " fits," No one who has respect for wit's Performance rife Can help admitting, though it grits, Its manly strife. An honest purpose guides the blow, And public virtue, running slow, Like oil in winter, wakes to glow. As falls the thong ; And " Warrington,'' in sharpest show. Is rarely wrong. The friendship of life's early hour Still holds with unremitting power. TO WARRINGTON. 1 73 And nought that tends the heart to sour Has hap'd to chill That accident-implanted flower, Perennial still. And so, in lieu of silver dimes, I send a screed of jingling rhymes To greet you, at this best of times, With wishes full, That, mingling with the wedding chimes. Mayn't seem so dull. Wishes are little worth at most ; Of that which should be but the ghost. The creaming of a dinner toast, — But still they show Just how, upon life's social coast. The heart would go. l^hus, wishing health, and wealth, and peace. And love's unlimited increase, And friendship's presence ne'er to cease, Content j'our lot : No wheel denied the needed grease. And care forgot- — Believe me, it is all sincere. As if 'twere backed by chinking " gear," And in my dull seclusion here. Away in this city, I say, in tone of heartiest cheer, Benedicite ! 1 74 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. DR. HAYES. [On his departure for the Hyperborean Regions. ] Undoubtedly great revelations wait The search of our indomitable Hayes, Who boldly knocketh at the Boreal gate. Ne'er half unfolded to explorer's gaze. Perhaps 'twill be his enviable fate To find what makes the borealis blaze, See the big hole about which Symmes did prate, That oped its ponderous jaws up thereaways, Discover and annex another state That he may govern some of these odd days, Know if the pole be tall and very straight About which people long have felt a craze ; — An ice-king he, about whose regal pate Shall twine the wreath of many Arctic bays. NOTK. — The prophecy and hope expressed in the above sonnet were as nearly veriiied as could, or perhaps ever can be, and the bold determination, en- durance, and pluck of the explorer won for him an exalted place among the brave spirits who have dared the same perils that he encountered. MISCELLANEOUS. 175 WHAT MAN DON'T KNOW. ' How much men know ! 'Tis a constant brag, And Science puts on a thousand airs, As she pouits to the bright advancing flag That the names of her many conquests bears ; But though they are grand as grand can be, And such vast acqusitions show, The}' are but drops to the infinite sea Of other things that men don't know. Savants may turn their eyes to the stars, And scan the wonders depicted there ; How brief the limit their vision bars In those ample spaces of upper air ! They may dig deep down in the venous earth, And weigh each grain of the waiting ground, But they puzzle over the vagrant birth Of a chance-sown seed in its dark profound. They may read the track of tiie craving tide That fritters away the sturdy rock, But mightier mysteries abide Their pygmy efforts may not unlock ; 12 177 178 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. They may scale the mountain, and sink the mine, May measure distance, and vastness scan ; They know not whence is the diamond's shine, Nor read in Nature her humblest plan. And, amid the ranks of men, how dim Is human vision to reach afar ! Man's brightest glory is but a glim. To boast the merit of being a star I Along his journey he haltingly gropes, With doubtful footsteps and doubtful bent; His life composed of guesses and hopes, In airs of weakness and discontent. With yearning heart, and with onward glance. He presses along for the hidden goal, Unknowing whether each step's advance May give him pleasure or give him dole — Not knowing if coming time will bestow A bed of thorns, or of flowery ease ; Revealing how much he doesn't know, But doing the best as far as he sees. Even the cup of his thirsty need — Beaming with seeming truth and love — He shrinks from tasting, with cautious heed, Lest bitter the tempting beaker prove. No finger to point, no tongue to tell. His longing soul the way to pursue. He loiters, and ponders deep and well, With a doleful sigh, " If I only knew ! " WHAT MAN DON'T KNOW. 179 But moving along, by faith imbued, Though dark the way, it is ever right ;" E'en though not seeing the sweet flowers strewed, They send up fragrance to give delight ; Our hand firm clasped in the Hand unseen, We catch the note of a distant song, And onward move to the pastures green. Where the sight is clear and the day is long. i8o LINES JN PLEASANT PLACES. MY EARLY LOVE. [On a Picture.] Sweet effigy of one remote, 'Neath brighter, fairer skies than ours, 'Mid atmospheres that round thee float Through old Seville's enchanted bowers. Thy face restores those golden times When, by thy side, in tranquil weather. We sung our songs and read our rhymes In sweetest harmony together. Thine eyes, upturned with love to mine, Thrilled me with feeling true and tender They seemed like lights upon a shrine, Ilhiming with a gentle splendor ; — And from the bright pellucid beam That flashed in their resplendent glory, I caught the flame that lit my dream — A chapter of the same old story 1 MT EARLY LOVE. l8l Thy lips, twill rosebuds, breathing sweet, Bewitched me with their ripe caressing; I placed my heart beneath thy feet, And time was joy, and life was blessing. That brow, the throne of sovereign mind, Lies calm as summer lake at even. Reflecting in its field refined The beauties of the over-heaven. I lived in bliss — a halcyon craze ; Ah, sad the hour of truth's unsealing ! Hope vanished like a morning haze, And left me but the pain of feeling. A dream, a vision of the night, A fond illusion, tinged with roses — All with the morning taking flight, That memory alone discloses. Hers not the fault, nor mine the fault, But inauspicious fortune, rather. Fate's mandate bade proceedings halt. And that same fate my darling's father ! He loved me not, and when aware Of what comprised the '' situation," He drove us to supreme despair By his tempestuous objurgation. l82 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. He vowed he'd make my love a nun, And me — the thought e'en now amazes ! ■ Should I across his hawser run, He swore he'd wallop me like blazes ! Thus pressed, were we compelled to part By that old pirate's interdiction ; And this true story of the heart May waken tears at my affliction. DEBILITr OF THE HEART. 183 DEBILITY OF THE HEART. [In the case of a poor woman found dead in South Street Court, Boston, the coroner's jury returned the verdict, "Died from debility of the heart."] Dying, dying, every day, In hidden place and by the way : Where Pleasure's giddy votaries throng, Where Misery applies its thong. Where smiles light up the speaking face. Where Fortune yields its richest grace. Debility of heart has sway : Dying, dying, every day ! O, who may know the pangs that wait On human hearts disconsolate ! — Unyielding, unremitting pain. That tears may strive to drown in vain ; Hope all crushed out, the feelings lone. Life but an incubus of stone ; No lift to clquds of drear dismay : Dying, dying, every day ! Hidden the barb that gives the wound, No eye may pierce the deep profound 184 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACkS. To where the cankering spirit lies, Concealed 'neath insincerities ; Feigning that it cannot feel Beneath the rack's tormenting wheel ; Fretting its very life away — Dying, dying, ever}' day ! How man}' hands are stilly pressed Upon the aching, wounded breast ! Unvoiced the bitterness that feigns. No solace for abiding pains, Which, banked below, must yield no trace To show in sorrow on the face ; And thus, though seeming calm and gay, Dying, dying, every day ! " Debility of heart ! " God knows The depth and breadth of human woes. Though mortal eyes may never see The secret springs of misery. And may God help the ones who feel The pangs of Grief's envenomed steel. From which, whatever cause it may. The poor and rich die every day. BUT: A TRUTH IN HINDOSTAN. 185 BUT: A TRUTH IN HINDOSTAN. The Nabob wakes, and the golden ray, Upflushing from the kindling day, Fills him with pride, such pomp to see, Greeting a nabob grand as he ! But the Light, impartial, seeks, as well, The burdened sudra's darkened cell. By Brahma sent, whose tender care Gives rich and poor an equal share. The Nabob feels the breezes blow. Cool from the Himalayan snow. And bares his brow, in his vision dim. Deeming the blessing all for him ! But the Air, on loving mission, seeks The swart-browed laborer's burning cheeks, And sports and plays with Poverty's child. As if rare gems around it smiled. The Nabob walks in the burning sun. And marks his shadow before him run ; Lifting his head, with pride, to see Reflected his rich pomposity ! l86 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. But the Sun as kindly scatters down His beams for him in the beggar's gown, And the turban coarse and the turban fine Reflect the same in his lavish shine. The Nabob loves with a warmer glow Than pulses of common blood can know ; Rare gifts, rare offerings, attest His love to be, over all, the best ! But the Heart with equal fervor teems, If high or low, with tender dreams. And all that wealth has e'er confest Is felt the same in the humblest breast. The Nabob dies, and what parade Above his prostrate form is made ! Sure, earth is honored to hold in trust The treasure of such distinguished dust ! But the Grave — the Grave — no fuvor shows To rich or poor — to friends or foes — And the lowliest dust in flowers may spring, As fair as though it had formed a king. IL REUMATJCO TO HIS PIPE. 1S7 IL REUMATICO TO HIS PIPE. " SAW HIM." "The chamber where the good man meets his fate" — Of poignancies rheumatic and the ills Attendant, that obtrude to Xxy and vex, With direful visitings, the weary life, — Is redolent with odors of Tabac And liniments unguental that assail The nostrils with a sharp appeal, until Sternutatory echoes wake therein. And oft a word suggestive not of prayer ! That meerschaum there, by generous fl-iendship sent, Is potent in its ministries when twinge Spasmodic racks the suffering frame : Then, when the paroxysms come, filled up With fragrant " Durham," and the match Applied, ascends the curling phantom-cloud. And mitigates the toe it may not heal. Divine Tabac ! There be who rail at thee, And call thee vile; but, O, 'mid surging pangs. How sweet the blast that calm nepenthe gives, Emollient to pain's' pervading thrill, l88 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Which bounds like lightning o'er the trembling nerves ! — The soul's surcease from brooding misery. Give me my meerschaum at a time like this, And any one may take the doctor's stuff'. I cry, as pangs obtrusive start along The vibrant cords, " Ache, do your very worst ; If you can stand it, I can, thus prepared. And hence defy you ! " So the solace comes, And for the season sweet relief obtains. Out through the window, on the busy town, I sit and gaze in pedal helplessness. Envious of those who lofty ladders climb ; Or urchins there who dart along the way. In ragged galligaskins, with their sleds; E'en of the dogs, rude exponents of health, Who tantalize me with their boisterous glee. Give me my meerschaum, Nannie, and anon, Through coyish openings in the vapory veil, I'll see creation in another guise — All softened to a calm, and harmony. Most sweet, restored betwixt the world and me. Run, climb, and wrestle, ye athletes ; to me 'Tis vulgar thus to waste the vital powers, While I upon the smoke can soar away In ampler ethers, where sweet flowers exhale, And airs celestial waft their breezes o'er Perennial beds of amaranthine bloom ! No ladder rounds can climb as high as this ; No urchin scale this summit with his sled, To slide recumbent to the earth again ; No step profane the precinct honoring me. IL REUMATICO TO HIS PIPE. 1 89 Friend and companion of my youth ! — fire-tried And singed by visitation scoriae — The fiery trial thou bast sent to me More gratefi.1l is than frnit of orient climes, In whose mild sacrifice my heart delights, — Maugre the protest of attendant femmes, — And azure demons, exorcised, depart, As on the ambient air the incense floats From this my censer, eloquent with thee. I wave my crutch in benison, and, renewed, Hope tells the " flat-iron tale" of life again. And steps that halt not with the ball and chain Of fierce distemper which now hold me fast. And thus I " puftV with gratitude sincere, The genius of the hour — my Banfiei.d pipe. 190 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. TRUST. On the chilly morn of an April day, In their beds the small plants shivering lay, The biting wind from the northern hills Filled their tender forms with ague chills. And they scarcely dared unfold their eyes. Though the season said 'twas time to rise. At length, though purpling with the cold, A Crocus peeped from beneath the mould, And waked a Narcissus, sleeping near. By shaking icicles in its ear. " Say,'' said the Crocus, " shall we start.? " Narcissus said feebly, " I haven't the heart, And, should this cold much longer hap, I shall extend my winter nap." A Hyacinth, hearing the sound, awoke. And thus with a chattering accent spoke : " Let us lie in our beds, since Nature forgets. And comfort ourselves with our coverlets, I for one will never get up While the air is so cold ; it will freeze my cup." A little Anemone trembling lay, Thinking of what it heard them say. Tit us T. 1 " True," it said, " the wind is fieixe, And sharply the tender buds doth pierce, But let us be up with cheerful trust, And shake from our eyes obscuring dust, That keeps us from seeing good in store In our present moody feelings sore — For release will come, and the gentle rain And the golden sun will cheer again ; Although withholden, have no fear, The glory of spring will soon be here. Tlien let us shoot our pistils all. Nor wait to receive a second call." The faith of the little Anemone Quickened the floral family. And 'twere a wofider if spring's gay bowers Were not all bright with buds and flowers. How often will raise us from the dust One little word of hope and trust ! 192 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. THANKSGIVING TIME. " Come, let us give thanks," Says Governor Banks,* And at once preparation is heard in all ranks. Many and bright the scenes that are planned, Many the hearts that with gladness expand. Many the hopes with fruition at hand. And the voice of the turkey is heard in the land ' For Thanksgiving Day Is welcomed alway, — A heart-warming, genial, glorious season, — When the feelings, repressed By traffic's behest. On one day, at least, for dominion contest, And strive as of old to be specially blest. While care is a species of treason ; Wlren plenty and fun and plenty of fun Mark the glad hours as onward they run With lots of rhyme and reason. The city shuts up shop for the day. And oldest and youngest play or pray, * Any other governor's name will do as well, provided that it rhymes. THANKSGIVING TIME. 193 The churches are oped in the ancient way For preachers to utter whatever they may, With few to listen to what they say, While all the chaises and carriages Are dashing around with merry loads Of babies dressed in their prettiest modes. To dump at the doors of kindred abodes, Or filled with those still happier nodes Who rush to try that best of codes Which binds us up in marriages. And true benevolence outpours. And wealth disseminates its stores, To glad the poor and stricken ; With dimming eyes, from tears that start, The generous ones their cheer impart. With warm emotion in their heart. While in their hands is chicken ! Now trunks are stowed. And over the road That leads to his old far-away abode The son in his course is bending; His heart beats high As that home draws nigh. And he sees against the distant sky The village spire ascending ; While many a glance Is cast askance Over the road, as the hours advance, By which he must be wending — The dear boy Tim, 13 194 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Or the dear boy Jim, No matter the name, they look for hi in, Their love impatience lending ! — Or 'Liza Jane returns from town, With her nobby bonnet and silken gown. And then a hoop to take all down That may chance to come before her. Raising the envy of all of those Not able to get such spacious clo'es, Who sneer, perhaps, and turn up their nose. While she takes the eye of tlie rural beaux. Who vow that " she's a roarer ! " — Perhaps Aurora is what they mean — They bow to the magic of crinoline. And were she goddess or were she queen They couldn't more adore her. They swow and snum, and vow and vum, That they're darned glad she's happened hum. And go away she shan't, by gum, For them to so deplore her ! Delicious meetings, Delicious greetings As saccharine as Harvest Sweetings, With such aftectionate pother ! Where brothers and sisters in fond embrace Press heart to heart and face to face, And kisses are giveu, with unctuous grace, That threaten almost to smother ; And cousins are kissed with sweet concern. Who do not pout and spitefully spurn. THANKSGIVING TIME. 195 But who, when kissed on one cheek, turn With Christian grace the other ! The mother's tears descend like rain To welcome her darlings back again ; The thought of their perils has given her pain, And the father's heart was sad ; But the face is honest, the eye is bright. And they read the open book aright, That sin has not eclipsed the light That made their hearts once glad. The horse in the stall, the dog at the door. Are loved, and caressed, and kissed once more, And smiles are joj'ously beaming. And the pullets, destined for them to die, Look on the scene with a cheerful eye. In sympathetic seeming. The land is vocal with psalm and prayer. And joy's glad note sounds everywhere A festival oblation, And savory steams like clouds arise. To tickle the palate and glad the eyes Of lovers of virtue and pumpkin pies. Where grave and gay, and dull and wise. Pay tribute to gustation. Then welcome the day, As well we may, That drives from our hearts dull care away, 196 LINES m PLEASANT PLACES. Renewing the bond Of affection fond In hearts where living instincts play, As crannies are lit by the sun's glad ray. And may our hearts in praise expand Of the blessed God of the sea and land, Whose ever-bounteous, loving hand Has placed such blessings at our command. And given us power to gratefully feel The good that all our days reveal ; And Governor Banks's Call for thanks is One we cheerfully obey. And thankful feel Thanksgiving Day. SNOWED IN. 197 SNOWED IN. [A description of a personal adventure in Pennsylvania, on Pokono Mountain.] On Pokono, with storm and darkness blent, The winds in chorus howling round the summit, We labored 'gainst the snow up the ascent. With futile offering to overcome it. The hurtling drift dashed madly 'gainst the pane. As if to overwhelm us its endeavor. While surged the car beneath the fearful strain. As though it yielded to some mighty lever. Dimly the lights shone through the brooding gloom. And eyes looked into eyes with anxious glances, As, like the knell of an impending doom, The hoarse storm led the measure of our fancies. Like sheeted ghosts the snow-clouds sped along Before the icy wind's remorseless urging, And shrieked discordant, like a madman's song, Threating our instantaneous submerging. 198 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. How dreary passed the lioui's ! — no note of cheer Gave hope the spur, and every lagging minute Was fraught with pending misery and fear, And every breath bore desperation in it. Philosophy was vain ; we could not bear The vexed delay that in such durance held us, Yet could not help ourselves, whate'er our care. And bore, unbearing, as stern Fate compelled us. At last, amid the gloom that reigned around, Hope reared anew its dear, inspiring banner, And music rested in the voice's sound * That spoke of sweet release and Tobyhanna.* Terra incognita ! — a land unknown — But, O, how sweet the cadence to our hearing ! We felt our burden suddenly o'erthrown, •With Joy and Plenty for our rescue Hearing. Blest land of hope ! how bright to us it seemed ! — Even its name uncouth made prepossessing ; No more the piling snow we misery deemed With Tobyhanna its pretensions pressing. And then, as if responsive to our prayer. There fell a sudden calm, the tempest quelling; And the round moon, upon the tranquil air, Shone forth, all shapes of fear and gloom dispelling. * A small mountain village. SNOWED IN. 199 Once more the wheels, obedient to the steam, Moved o'er the rail in their accustomed manner, Bearing us towards the object of our dream, The coveted and bounteous Tobyhanna. And soon, surrounded by a generous band, With plenty laden, we forgot our panic In luxury, the product of the land, Possessed of appetite the most titanic. Tlie feasts ambrosial of the heathen gods Were great affairs, as told by classic scribblei-s, But Tobyhanna gave Olympus odds. And, matched with us, the gods were merely nib- blers. As when the Jews passed through the wilderness. And, famishing, were fed by heavenly manna, So on our palates, with all power to bless. Fell the rich benefit of Tobyhanna. And memory '11 grow blind, and deaf, and dumb. And lost to every sense of grateful feeling. If ever, in the time that is to come. It should forget that incident congealing, — When, merging from the snows of Pokono, With joyous lips in jubilant hosanna, We felt the fires of reassurance glow Within the sheltering arms of Tobyhanna. 200 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. AFFECTION'S TRIBUTE. 'TwAS busy seed time, yet in many a field Labor was stayed, and those whose sturdy hands Beckoned to thrift by timely ministries Had left their calling, and, in decent garb, Thronged onward, where the melancholy bell Proclaimed the doings of relentless Death ; To give their sympathy to those who mourned. And shed, themselves, a tributary tear, For one among them, who had bowed his head To the stern summons, painfully delayed. And then, amid the blooming sweets of spring — The trees unfolding in the bright array That clothes the joyous season — swept along The sombre hearse, and the long train of those Who mourned, as relatives and friends, for him Whose loving eyes had closed to scenes of earth, To open on the brighter ones of heaven. They came from far and near, tender and sad. The last kind offices on earth to pay, And Nature seemed to hush, and hold her breath. As on the solemn pageant swept, to where The grave was waiting, and funereal rites. It was no hero that they honored thus — AFFECTION'S TRIBUTE. 201 No statesman, scholar, bard, nor one whose voice Had thrilled the public ear by trick of words ; Nor one who'd thrust himself before the gaze Of crowds to win fame's meed by other means. A simple farmer — this, and nothing more — An unpretending, plain, and honest man. With no ill brooding in his truthful heart. And none to utter by his manly lips : Loving the good, and doing good and true In all his dealings with his fellow-man. I gazed upon the pageant, and of one Who was of those that formed the waiting group, I asked the meaning of the tribute shown — Tempting the answer that I knew before : " Why this display of grief.? " I said, " for him W^hose lot was cast in such a homely mould.? Why do the farmers leave their fields for this } " He was a man uncouth — to sentiment unused — But, brushing off a tear that dimmed his eye. He said, half sternly, " Why, the fact is here ; We honor pay, because we loved him so." Ye grand and mighty, where is honor found, So glorious in its offerings, as this. That rests its giving on the simple claim For honor's tribute that it loveth so? 202 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. CHRISTMAS. The tranquil stars shone on the plain Where " shepherds watched their flocks by night," When broke from heaven that wondrous strain, And flashed abroad that wondrous light, Filling their humble souls with fright: " Peace, peace on earth ! To men good will ! " So rang the strain, and angels bright Sounded God's glory, that did thrill With glad accord of sound and sight. — " Good tidings of great joy we bring, For Christ the Lord is born to-day ! He is your Saviour, and your King ! " Then vanished into heaven away The angelic host, and darkness lay On the calm hills and streams around, While, diized with the sublime display. The shepherds bowed in awe profound. Not to the magi first it came; The shepherds caught the earliest word. And in the flood of song and flame Bfeheld the glory of the Lord ! — CHRISTMAS. 203 The learned and grand their tribute showered, But first received, the poor man's gift Of worship, that unstinted poured From hearts with joyousness uplift. The angel message rings the earth. The good news to its triumph speeds ; New truths of " good to men " have birth. Response to pra5-er of human needs. . Though Truth be poor, and pines and bleeds, Its saving mission will not die ; It springs again, and yet succeeds, To work in good its ministry. The same grand message from the sky. The same old glory greets the ken ; All " glory be to God on high, And peace on earth, good will to men ! " The truth, in Christ, renews again, With every effort man to bless, And His embodiment is plain In all enacted righteousness. E'en now, as then, the humble mind Sees the first coming from afar ; The magi seek the babe to find And follow his directing star ; And Herods of the race still are, Who tremble at the growth of Truth, And- wickedly its course would bar By killing it in early youth. 204 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Christ's truth shall grow to strive and bless, Till all the world its worth shall know, And every tongue its power confess. And earth redeemed its triumphs show ; Then once again the strain shall flow That tells of peace through victory won. And every human heart shall glow With joy in Mary's holy Son. Thank God for Christmas ! — 'tis a boon — A precious stopping-place in time ; The heart, with peace and love attune, Glads with the note of Christmas chime. In every land, in every clime, This day all discord under ban. Is heard the symphony sublime — Of " peace on earth, good will to man ! " THE OLD SEXTON. 205 THE OLD SEXTON. The news comes sadlj' to our ears — The good old man has flown, Who long hath furnished other's biers, And now hath filled his own ! In Death's employ his lot was cast, — Prime minister of woe — And sore it grieves us at the last, That we shall look on the face of the Old Sexton A rough and rugged man was he, — A man of sturdy mould, — One might not from the surface see The feeling that controlled ; But all of woman's tenderness Dwelt in the heart below. As hundreds he has soothed confess, Who will look on the face of the Old Sexton no mo. Where Death his fatal dart has thrown, His was the tender task 2o6 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. To do the last sad office known Humanity might aslc. Wiiat feeling care, what gentle grace Did ho alway bestow ! Ah, many sigh, who this retrace, That they'll look on the face of the Old Sexton He had few words withal to soothe. But they were of the best, That served the waves of grief to smooth. And comfort the distrest ; But action more than word declared His kindly feeling's flow. And sadder they, whose grief he's shared, That they'll behold the face of the Old Sexton Where grief in ostentatious guise Demanded proud display, He'd to the great occasion rise In a befitting way ; Who've seen him wave the bannered pall. And ope Death's portmanteau,* Will sigh, as they his form recall, That they shall see the face of the Old Sexton no mo. "* * A jointed trestle, made to fold in the form of a portmanteau, used on pub- lic occasions. THE OLD SEXTON. 207 The strong, the weak, the old, the young. Like ohjects of his care. He made no difference among. Nor 'twixt the plain and fair ; Impartially he gave them room Beneath the flowers or snow, And mourners over many a tomb Will sigh that they shall look oa the Old Sexton Impartial minister of fate, The high and low he served ; Insignia or costly plate Him ne'er from duty swerved. He closed from sight with equal care The rich and poor in woe. And all will in the sorrow share That they'll look on the face of the Old Sexton And now he's gone — the pitying earth Has closed above his breast ; The flowers will soon spring into birth. And bloom above his rest ; While we above his dust shall say, As breezes whisper low, "Ah, sad 'twill be, and well it may. For we shall look on the face of the Old Sexton no mo. 2o8 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. STRAWBERRIES. In the old-time summer day, Cheerily we took our way To the meadows, where we knew Ripe and luscious strawberries grew, Nodding on their bending stems With the glow of beryl gems. Bobolink, with angry tone, Claimed the berries as his own,. While the Robin, perching near. Piped his protest, sharp and clear, Telling us, in accents jDlain, We infringed on his domain ! Then how sweet the breezes were. Blowing through our unkempt hair 1 And the breath of clover bloom Lent its burden of perfume. And the hum of busy bees Swelled the choral symphonies. As we through the meadows went, On our strawberries intent. STUAWBERRIES. 209 Such companionship we knew, In that day of pleasure, too ! No such friends in later days As those partners in our plays. True, unselfish, earnest, free, A united band were we. We were many, bound as one, In the unity of fun. The world has drawn us, since, apart, And chilled the ardor of the heart ; Yet one tie asserts its claim : Strawberries we love the same, As we picked them ripe and red. In the merry days long fled. Still, when grown to thoughtful men, Strawberries sought we e'en as then ; But another name they bore Than the berries plucked of yoi-e. Some assumed the form of Place, Leading on a weary chase, O'er a rough and tortuous way. Seeking strawberries that " pay." Sacrificing honor's trust. Crawling humbly in the dust. Fawning, lying, crowding, hating, E'en for dead men's shoes awaiting ! For such strawberries many yearned — Few with brimming pails returned. 2IO LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Some with fierce Ambition fraught, Fame's bright berries anxious sought, Roaming fields whose ample scope, Yielded to their wish and hope, Till the fruit they sought was gained, But the basket full obtained Gave not the glow of heartfelt jo}' That crowned the seeking of' the boy. Others Monej', Money, craved — Every peril for it braved ; Giving for the fruitage, Pelf, All the betterness of self Strawberries their constant cry. Seeking them with eager eye ; But, though granted all their wish, They were verjuice in the dish. Such for me exert no power — 'Tis a fruit that's far too sour. Love, a strawberry very sweet'. Lured our youthful hearts and feet, Seen in ej'es and red lips, rarj. Rich as Hovey's Seedlings are. And in rapturous look or kiss, We had baskets full of bliss ! Sweet the breath of clover blooms, Sweet the myriad perfumes That fill the summer's sunny hours, Redolent with buds and flowers ; Sweet the song of bird or bee, A TRA WBERRIES. 21 1 Or the forest melodj-, As, amid the tree-tops high, Breezes through the branches sigh ; Sweet the dashing of the stream, Flowing like a joyous dream, Cheering the surrounding scene With an added wealth of green ; But, of all the sweets I know, None a rivalry can show With tlie love of Youtii's bright year. Gladdening the atmosphere — Measuring the passing time By heart-thi'obs pulsing into rhyme, While the glow of stars and suns Into life's enactment rims. Making earth all saccharine — Strayvberries of sort divine ; O'er all other sorts supreme — Sugar needing not, nor cream ! Many were the kinds thus sought With diverse successes fraught ; Many baskets running o'er, Many with but meagre store. Some, phantoms followed, da\' by day, Frittering their time away — Seeking Fashion, Pleasure, Ease, Plucking worldly vanities. Ending with the piteous dole, Blank vacuity of soul ! 212 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Happy those who early knew Where the Wisdom berries grew ! Grand the fruitage thus to gain, Worth all effort to obtain ; Strawberries, for which sacrifice And earnest striving are the price. And we still our strawberries seek, B}' the dint of wit or cheek ; Young and old their bent pursue, To the olden impulse true. Striving strawberries to possess, With like chances of success. May Heaven its kindness manifest, And lead us all to choose the best. THE OLD BROMFIBLD HOUSE. 213 THE OLD BROMFIELD HOUSE. [Sung at the Last Dinner enjoyed in the old house, previous to its being taken down, to make way for the Wesleyan Building.] Exalt your voice in hearty cheer, Though tears bedim your eye, To crown this scene, with memories dear, To whicli we bid good by. A thousand recollections sweet O'erflow the brimming heart. As here, where long we've met to meat. Do we now meet to part. The odors of a thousand feasts. Like ghosts, the sense assail ; The low of sacrificial beasts In fancy fills the gale ; The crowded board comes up to view, Where long we've met to dine. And word and smile appear anew. As in the days lang syne. A cheerful heart — best condiment — Gave zest to every dish, 214 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And epicurean relish lent To flesh, and fowl, and fish. The brightest hour of all the day — And bright if rain or shine — That brought us hither on our way, In days of auld lang syne. The fairest scenes of earth will fade ; And this, so long our own, By sacred friendship joyous made, In heart must live alone. But that we've had is surely ours ; Let whate'er may combine. They cannot trample out the flowers That bloomed in auld lang syne. Then cherished be in memory's nook This spot by us revered. And every smile, and word, and look. That has its past endeared. We raise our song with hearty cheer, Though rue and rose entwine, And in our cup of joy a tear We drop for auld lang syne. DREAM ARR O TVS. 2 1 5 DREAM ARROWS. Sitting here at the twilight dim, Making arrows for little Jim ! — The curling shavings fall around, Noiselessly upon the ground, While o'er my yielding spirit steals A misty spell that all conceals Of past or present, bearing me Over a wide and troubled sea, With shattered hopes, like wrecks, bestrown, And half-accomplished trophies won, To where a Jim of other name Whittled arrows just the same. O, sweet the quick, tumultuous thrill, As boyhood's tide my veins refill ! I roam again tjie verdant fields, I feel the transport freedom yields, I smell the sweet balsamic pines. In tranquil shades my form reclines, I seek the hush of rural nooks, I bathe in cool and crystal brooks, I gather berries where they hide, I sail upon the Summer tide, 2l6 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. The ball before my arm bounds high, My kite in daring scales the sky, I feel the plenitude of joy That waits upon " the human boy." What castellated hopes arise. And gleam before my eager eyes ! How richly are the low clouds hung With brilliant colors broadcast flung, And how I long to breast the tide Which keeps me from the other side — So far, so wide, the buoyant soul Scarce brooks the leash of Time's control ! But dreams ! — The curling shavings fall ; The spell dissolves, and, vanished all The mystic shadows that bespread The bended form and silvery head. Reveals me, in the twilight dim. Making arrows for little Jim ! Yet still remains the better part, The constant cheerfulness of heart. The joyous fancy that shall keep Till life is " rounded by a sleep." THE CHURCH BELL. 217 THE CHURCH BELL. [Written for a Fair Paper, called "The Church BelL"] Not in a lofty steeple, Looking down upon the people, The Church Bell swings ; But from a modest throne And in a gladsome tone Its peal outrings Till every kindly spirit Shall with a blessing hear it, And each one feel Its sweet appeal ; — Feel in their heart of heart The generous impulse start. Feel with its every note The good they should promote. Feel as its echoes sound A love more broad abound ; With ready hand. At its demand. Feel in their pockets — plenty-crowned- 2l8 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And, answering to its chimes, Bring forth their dimes ! The Church Bell's tongiie Inflicts no pangs along The path it sounds — with scandal fraught ; It pours no sickly strain To mislead heart and brain. But writh an inspiration f;^intly caught From source above, With Peace, Good Will, and Love, Man's blessing is its motive and its thought, — Man's blessing and God's glory. The old grand story. Lighting with joy the humblest pages : That narrative divinely penned. Whose interest shall never end — " To be continued " through eternal ages. Then list the glad Church Bell, Whose chimes around you swell ; Of duty's claims they tell. As, in old revolutionary times. The ancient church bell's stirring chimes Woke patriot hearts to strife For liberty and life. So this makes like appeal to strike for right, For Sin is rampant, ready for the fight. And here the forge for tempering the mail In which its gathered forces to assail. THE CHURCH BELL. 219 The Fair! The Fair! No effbit spare ; Give of your bounty here a generous share. 'Tis God's own citadel ye build ; Let it with power be filled By that ye bring and give as offering, Heart-free and hand-free, and its walls shall spring A habitation meet for Heaven's Almighty King. ^\:w^'- 220 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. A PUSH FOR FREEDOM. [The supposed reflections of an escaped Canary.] A HOPE of freedom ! Thank the favoring fates That left ajar my grated door, Through which the sun his ray doth pour, As if to light me where sweet freedom waits, Outside, to give me place, 'Mid scenes of bliss and grace. Unchecked, unhindered by vile prison gates. How soft and cool there fall The shadows on the wall ! And the sweet honeysuckle's spray Tempts me with motion gay, As 'twere a voice to me : " Now is the time to flee ! This open door will set you free. And, once abroad, no hand shall check your way." Even yon tiny sparrow Struts and mocks me in my confines narrow. Cocking his eye up roguishly to mine. While plucking at some object on the vine. A PUSH FOR FREEDOM. 221 The wind among the bushes, The flower that nods and bhishes, The glad green of the trees, The hummhig of the bees. All, all unite To lure my faltering flight To the broad fields beyond of freedom and delight. And shall these be denied ? Sweet lady, turn your eyes aside. And the new thought that springs Shall lend support to wings Too long in freedom's offices untried. One step — that's all — and in my grasp the prize ! I do not ask me, " Is it wise To leave the seed, the perch, the gentle eyes That sought my good, The plenitude That my fair jail with benefit bestrewed. For Freedom's chance.'' " The gilded jail is but a jail. And the contracted limit of its pale Annuls each qualifying circumstance. How long I've struggled with the cruel wires That kept me from the goal of my desires ! — With pain of soul Received the dole So kindly given, the while I've striven. But, lacking freedom, lacked the whole ! 222 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And now, that open door I One noiseless step the portal o'er, And I am free In the glorious light of Liberty ! — The freedom self-attained. And not a boon thrown grudgingly — A beggar's alms, unblest, and thankless gained ! Sweet lady, wake ! awake ! My sunlit plumes I shake On the high trellis, in the open air. The sky above my head, and everywhere Is limitless scope For the free wing's boldest hope ! Call me not ingrate, lady ; I but take That is mine own. At morn and eve I'll sing, for your sweet sake, A grateful tribute from my airy throne, That may for disappointment part atone. Higher 1 still higher My enfranchised wings aspire. And, on this grand tree's loftiest limb, I sit and swing. And blithely sing My sweetest, most exultant hymn. Whose notes e'en slavery could not dim. Bright hope ! Bright faith ! No supervening dun Obscures the sun ; A PUSH FOR FREEDOM. 223 The future hath no fears ; nor want nor death Obtrude their forms, And in the passing storms That may occur to give alloy, •No blast can sweep away the present joy. Happen the fate that may. This bright, triumphaiU day Is mine in all the feel of joy that Freedom gives, In which alone a being only lives. 224 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. MII.ES O'REILLY.* " The Boy " is dead ! The restless heart is stilled — Its fierce ambition, recklessness, and pride, And all the sweeter attributes that thrilled With passion's fervency intensified. His was no singing-bird's mellifluous note, Whose cadence soft the heart enchanted heard. But, trumpet-toned, the ambient air it smote, And to its deepest depths the spirit stirred. Even the dulcet strain that love might breatiie — Couched tenderly, in accent soft and low — * General Charles Graham Hal pine was associated with the author of the above, for the greater part of one year, in the publication of a paper that boasted of more character than patronage. This was in 1852. The association was un- interruptedly pleaifant, and the friendship then formed continued till the death of General H. His title of " General *' was earned in the war of the rebellion, in which he took a distinguished part. His adoption of the nom de pi ume of Miles O'Reilly was at the siege of Charleston, where "he wrote President Lin- coln an amusing letter over this signature. It was impudent in the extreme, and excited considerable curiosity. The letters were continued, and the author- ship was discovered, causing some anger in certain high quarters: but he was too much feared to be molested. When he came back to private life, the name came with him, garnished, by himself with the additional term of "The Boy.'* MILES O'REILLr. 235 Was warm with smouldering fires that burned be- neath, Hinting of lava and the crater's glow. His was the song that nerved the patriot's hand, When war's fell clangor rang o'er earth and main ; He gave himself to his adopted land, And strove the perilled Union to maintain. But when the note of strife was haply hushed, And all the tumult found a glad surcease, His was the song that with grand fervor gushed. To welcome in the reign of sovereign Peace. Old strife ignored, his hand was outward held To grasp the hand that lately met his own On battle-fields, by deadliest hate impelled, Forgetting war when war's fierce blast was blown. His was the caustic pen that ever sought To prick the bubble of a vain pretence ; He strove by song, with wit and satire fraught. To banish wrong and bold incompetence. But, with a genius free as birds in May, He'd leave, at times, the touch of meaner things. And in the ampler ethers soar away On Poesy's most sublimated wings ; Or strike some tuneful strain, the humble ear Could hear and treasure from the darling "Boy," 15 226 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. The one beloved, who fain life's path would cheer By strewing, along, the flowers of hope and joy. Now, stilled the hand that struck the living lyi-e ! Dead to all life, all honor, and all pain ! Quenched at its height the intellectual fire ! Fallen to earth the proudly-cherished fane ! But not forgotten — no mere memory To fade away as lesser ones have flown ; For death, to such, is not to cease to be. But still to live in deeds as firm as stone. THE LOVE OF THE OLD. 227 THE LOVE OF THE OLD. Much, much is written, and much is sung, Of love that dwells youth's bowers among, When the eyes are bright and the cheeks aflame With a glow the tints of the rose might shame, When the heart throbs quick with emotion warm And the pulses answer to passion's storm. But little is said in the stories told Of the tried and faithful love of the old. Age is the harvest season of love. As earth-life melts in the life above ; The fruitage tiirj^, in spirit and truth. Of the seeds of love that are sown in j'outh : Some never spring in the stony ground, Some die ere the evening shades come round. But, bright and fresh from congenial mould Grows the love that ripens to crown the old. Ah, many a trial this love hath known ; The fiercefjt suns have upon it shone. The rain's mad beat and the raging blast 228 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Have o'er its fortunes a life-lime passed ; It has thriven the better when thus assailed, And ne'er from its hope and trust has failed — Ne'er in devotedness turn6d cold, But brighter glowed as the heart grew old. 'Tis not a love to last for a day, A light to flash and vanish away. To rave with a sonnet and melt in sighs, And live in selfish unsacrifice ^ — To crave forever with tearful cheeks. And die in possession of what it seeks : By pure and exalted trust controlled Is the love that sanctifies the old. • Then, graybeards, heed not the mocking sneer From supercilious lips you hear ; Yours is the love that has stood the test, And gilds your years like a smile from the west. It sparkles and glows like the richest wine, And it bears the brand of the love divine ; — There's a glory more than the eye may behold In the endless love that bides with the old. HBRE AND TONDER. 22g HERE AND YONDER. Ah, cold and dreary is the night ! We hear without the chilling gale Bend the lithe tree-tops in its flight, While the impetuous rains assail, Dashing against the window pane, As if with bitter madness fraught. But, failing entrance, sob in vain At finding all their efforts come to nought. We closer draw around the grate. And shudder as the sound we hear, And think how sad must be the fate Of those who dare a night so drear ! The fire's warm beams small cheer impart. While listening to the stormy din, That wakes sad feelings in the heart. From which sweet converse fails our thought to win. Around the chimney-top the wind Roars its defiance, hurrying by. 230 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. As though it dai-e not lag behind, Charged with its message from the sky ; And down the vale it wildly roai's, Filling the timid with affright, While still the rain in torrents pours. And darkness rules the province of the night. We. gaze out through the murky gloom, And there upon the distant sky The city lights the arch illume, Mirrored upon the clouds on high ; Beyond and o'er the tumult dire And darkness that the scene invest, Gloweth that cheerful constant fire In which are peace and safety manifest. Thus, as we stand amid life's storms, With sin and sorrow girt about, While scarce a ray our spirit warms, And left to darkness and to doubt, — In our despair we upward gaze. And there, above all doubts and damps, We catch the glory of the blaze From the Eternal City's golden lamps. HOW WEARING IT IS! 231 HOW WEARING IT IS! In the journey of life, with care ill at ease, And fortune unfavoring grudging its smile, We struggle our burnings of heart to appease, And think we succeed, but don't all the while. Like the rust on the iron, it eats day by day. Until, too far gaining, past bearing it is. When we sigh to ourselves, and despairingly say, O fortune ! O fortune ! how wearing it is ! When love first invades the temple of youth. And throws o'er the victim its conquering chain, His bosom is filled with a tempest of ruth, And he sinks in a spasm of amorous pain. As day by day thus by slow torture he burns. With even a martyr's comparing it is ; For the end of his torment he lovingly yearns. And says in his passion, How wearing it is ! The indulgent papa o'er his quarterly bills, That fashion or folly have brought to his ken. Looks anxiously on them with aguish chills, And thinks himself the worst used among men ; 232 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. He mutters a word — we do not well know What word — though very like swearing it is, But he counts out the cash with a desperate brow, That serves to tell us how wearing it is. The fond mother toils o'er her pale-burning lamp, While care for her darling inspires her breast; He has ruined his jacket, the good-natured scamp. And steals from his parent her well-needed rest ; But cheerly she smiles, as her needle she plies, Her heart for his mischief uncaring it is. For she knows that in play his happiness lies, The while she admits how wearing it is. The constant dropping may wear the stone. And so runs the adage that all well know ; And in every lot a mortal has known There is dropping to prove to us " that 'tis so ;" But stout of heart, we will let it all drop. With a confidence never despairing it is. Till living and time shall finally stop. And never acknowledge how wearing it is. THE REASON WHY. 233 THE REASON WHY. A coalman's dog, native of Newfoundland, — A sturdy, shaggy, handsome, faithful beast, — Greeteth my vision, day by day, as goes His master to his customary toil, — The dog attendant, gravely, as it were His mission, also, to dispense the coals. He has no notice for the wayside curs That strive his grave attention to arrest. His gait " means business," and nought frivolous Or trifling can divert his constant feet That press unswervingly in duty's path. Grateful to him who gives him scanty bread, He looks up to him with great, earnest eyes. Ne'er faltering in love and trustfulness — Deeming none other in the world like him. E'en though a dudeen desecrate his lips. Or " ardent" lave his incandescent throat. Or the fierce oath at times, perchance, emits, Which serves to emphasize a cruel kick. Still he's his master, evermore revered, And, humbly acquiescent, he forgets All ill in joyousness at one soft word, 234 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Or e'en a look that augurs kind regard. Exponent of a love most sanctified, He asks but that he may his love bestow, And find in his devotion his reward — Unselfish, tender, true, unto the end ! He has no habits vile ; no passion's rage, No breath exhaling fumes of nicotine Or alcoholic death ; no word profane Escapes his lips, nor slander's baleful slime ; No schemes dishonest ever mar his i-est ; No treachery to friends, no base resorts Of trickery and fraud his point to gain ; No subterfuge, or false pretence, or greed. Or mean endeavor others' wish to thwart ; Living just up to instinct's light. Heaven-lent, And shaming reason by example grand. Fidelity to duty's unpaid claim Distinguishes his life ; his proudest post The portal of the humble home he guards With ceaseless vigilance and rigid trust ; His only recreation with the boys to mix, And in their sports be boy among the rest, Barking his sympathy in noisy joy. Or meekly following at his master's heels. Why is he thus the faithful, true, and kind, — Embodiment of every native good Men might well copy with abundant gain, — I know no reason save that — he's a Dog. THE QUILTING. 235 THE QUILTING. In the revered ancestral days, When folk were innocent and good, And had not lost in selfish ways The generous fact of neighborhood, There was an honored custom known — The "quilting bee" of genial fame- Whose simple graces far outshone Occasions of a loftier name. Its summons sped o'er hill and dale, And, like the slogan of a clan. Its note filled every passing gale, Awaking echoes as it ran ; Till all feminity, inspired. Rushed cap-^pie at the appeal. With zeal and emulation fired. To ply, in peaceful strife, the steel. A work of love — no selfish aim Inspired the hearts assembled there About the pristine quilting-frame, To do their devoir on the square ; 236 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. The nimble fingers deftly flew, Through " herrin'-bone,'' and " cone," and " shell," And stitched the fabric through and through, With loving stitches strong and well. The ancient profiles on the walls Upon the scene look primly down, Where autumn's mellow sunshine falls On snowy cap and homespun gown, And listening, — if they can but hear, — Most wondrous stories they obtain. Of " carryin's on" afar and near. Where gossip pours like summer rain, — Of hap'nings that have had their day, And hap'nings that are like to be, While still the gleaming needles play. With converse glib in harmonj'. The ease of confidential talk Lends to the scene its rarest charm ; No masculine the tide to balk. Or give the sensitive alarm. The work complete, a varied field, Like human life, the thoughtful see ; But ere a pause the thought can yield, Along come evening and the tea. The board with homely fare is set, And hospitality the grace That crowns the social circle met. Where cheerfulness and truth embrace. THE QUILTING. 237 And gay the evening when the beaux Come in their 'lotted part to bear, To sing Old Hundred through their nose, Or in the dance to take a share ; For melody and mirth combine To give a briskness to the time. And festal wreaths of joy entwine Of funny fancies or sublime. Thus doth the memory return Of a rare scene within the past ; A simple scene we may not spurn, With modern notions gay and " fast ; " For in the light and growth of mind We may a room for contrast see. And in the retrospection find A balance for the "quilting bee." 238 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. THE PERFIDIOUS MILLER. [A romaunt founded on the well-known legend of the ** Miller of Brentna Mere," wherein the perjured miller comes to a disastrous end, according to tht most exact code of poetic justice.] The air is chill on heatl) and hill ; Beyond the desert plain The sombre mill stands hearkening still To the river's sad refrain ; Seeming dreaming, In silent pain, Of something sadly against its grain. The mill-lamp glows, and the window shows Red in its lurid ray. And the beam outgoes where the water flows On its turbid and sullen way ; And on the tide. Where smiles should play. There's a gloom as if there's mischief " to pay." The great wheelgroans, and the huge mill-stones Chew up the yellow corn. THE PERFIDIOUS MILLER. 239 But in the tones there are fancied moans, And sounds of woe forlorn ; And shivering there Stands Miller Horn With a pallid face, of terror born. Ah ! guesses he well, would he but tell, That sorry strain he hears, That, like a knell of a bell, or a yell, Keeps sounding in his ears : Ringing, dinging, Like note of spheres, That wake nowadays no burning fears ! His matted hair diverges there. And chatter well his teeth ; He hears despair in the ambient air. And a demon underneath. Striving, driving. With fierce pent breath. To reach him, he feels, with stroke of death. 'Twas midnight hour, when ghosts have power ; And there amid the gloom Did he wildly glower through a mealy shower, As if to read his doom ; When to his ear. As from a tomb, A voice cried out, " We come — make room I " 240 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Then by the door and through the floor Came imps of ghastly hue, Demons galore and more and more They crowded on his view, With full intent He too well knew. To put him most severely through. But, up to snuff, he tried the bluff — He knew the game quite well ; He was good stuff, and tough, but rough Did conscience in him swell ; But bluff he found Though here it tell, Was not a game to win in — other places. " Who are you, pray, that come this way, In such fanfaronade.? Hast been in, say, the Black Crook play, That you are thus arrayed.? Dost think that I Will be afraid, Or at your monkey tricks dismayed } " If spirits thou, pray tell me how ' Ye constabels ' ye shied .? For round here now they lurk and bow. And watch on every side ; Not ' ardent ' thou Identified, Or seized thou'dst been and straightway tried.' THE PERFIDIOUS MILLER. 24 1 Then from the rout a sprite stepped out, — A ghostess very grim, — Both tall and stout, and screeched out A speech of ghostly vim, While on the wall The light burned dim. And all the imps glared fierce at him : " Dost not know me, thou perjured he? Better thou ne'er wast born ; I am she whom thy perfidee Consigned to fate forlorn ; You played me false, And married Mrs. Horn ! " " Alas 1 " cried he, " I own the corn." " You vowed," she said, " that me you'd wed, — The dearest you had seen, — Then straight you sped and marri-ed Amanda Agnes Green ; And I, ah me ! In bitter spleen, Jumped overboard and closed the scene ! " Your vow you'll keep ; no more you'll sleep 'Twixt peaceful blankets twain ; The froglets peep above the deep, Where I so long have lain, And that with me, By might and main. You share my river-bed I'm fain." 16 243 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. With bitter shriek, with deathly cheek, " Now spare me, pra}'," said he ; " Your looks bespeak some dreadful freak That bodes no good to me ; My wife at home Will nervous be. If I don't come to time nor tea." With jump and bound they hedged him round. They girt him every way ; His head was wound with a meal-bag found. His tongue alone had play ; And hard he begged For another day. But the ghostess, claiming the groom, said " Nay."' The miller they seized, the miller they squeezed In the hopper, and down he sped ; He merelj' sneezed as the grinder seized, And never opened his head ; Indeed I'm sure All ope had fled Ere he was ground to gingerbread ! The mill still moans in sorry tones For the miller's cruel end, And the miller's bones on the senseless stones With rye and Indian blend : While underneath Doth still contend The struggling fiend with wrench and rend. THE PERFIDIOUS MILLER. 243 When the storm o' nights the soul affrights, And with fear the nerves are torn, The gossip delights as she recites How the ghostess doubled the Horn, When in the night, Through the hopper borne, The miller followed his grist of coi'n. 244 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. THE OLD-TIME APPLE-BEE. Among the pleasing things of the past That come to me in fond letrocast, Fraught with the odor and grace of truth, And bearing the glory and glow of youth, — The morning light of the early day, When all was bright, and all was gay, And my heart bent quick to the notes of glee Is the cheerful and busy apple-bee. Ah, happy is the scene I view In the blaze of memory's light anew, And merry and fair the circle seen. In pristine garb and pristine mien. With bright eyes beauteous in their glow As in the long, long years ago. When I, in boyish feeling free. Found mirth and joy in the apple-bee. Cheeks rivalling the apple's blush. Smiles as tender as morning's flush, Voices clear as the song of birds, Tuned to cadence of happy words, THE OLD-TIME APPLE-BEE. 245 Pleasant -gossip of this and that, Healthful music of earnest chat, Wisdom, and wit, and melody. Marked the course of the apple-bee. Say not a word of Grecian bends. Or the added charm that crinoline lends. Or the waterfall's expanding grace. Or the wealth of ribbon or of lace. Or the slender shape of a prisoned waist. Or the pride of fashion's captious taste — They none compare with the forms I see In my vision there of the apple-bee. There's more revealed than the show of wealth In the strength and beauty of sturdy health ; More grandeur than if gem-bedight In radiant eyes' effulgent light ; More grace than chignon e'er has thrown In rippling locks that are all their own ; And the high back-comb is a crown to me — Each wearer a queen at the apple-bee. Severely simple and chastely sweet Is the dress where prudence and comfort meet ; Where the heart can beat with as glad a glow As if imder silk, in calico, And 'mid the crush of impending ills Are ne'er included milliner bills; And no compunctious throe has she Who shines as queen of the apple-bee. 246 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. The mirth leaps up when the woi-k is done, And the carnival reigns of noisy fun ; The old look on in benignant way To see the very forfeits to pay ■ — The culminate of labial joys, In let-out spirits of girls and boys ! Ah, many a lovelit flame we see Illuming the scene of the apple-bee. The scene fades out in mist of years ; The old-time custom disappears : Voices are hushed that then were gay ; The golden locks have turned to gray ; The tender eyes, so fair and bright, Are grandames' now, with failing sight; And nought is left but a memory Of the joyous, rollicking apple-bee. THE NEW TEAR. 247 THE NEW YEAR. " Well, well, here's Monsieur Tonson come again ! " We cry, as Time, once more, his twelve moons past, Wheels round to mind us of the waning years. Pei-si.stent Time ! — no failure e'er attends The movement of his car, and, promptly run. He holds his hand for dues that we must pay ; — For all owe dues to Time, confest or not. If not confest, he full reprisal makes. And those who cunningly essay to cheat. Pay ofttimes doubly for the debt they'd fly. The thinning hair, the failing sight, the teeth Fast crumbling to an ever " aching void," Attest the claims of Time ; and that they're paid. Ask Messrs. Cocoaine, Spectacles & Bone, Whose aid supplies the draft that Time has made ! There is no stay for Time, — that queer old man, — Whose zeal ne'er wearies, and whose changing glass Is ever ruiming off the slippery hours ; Whose scythe, alas! is busy with our hopes. Cutting our treasures down without remorse. And giving them to Death! — a sacrifice Priceless and peerless, and most worthy heaven. 248 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Men are but motes upon the dial-plate Moved over by the great hour-hand of Time, Unchecking it, though huge ihej' deem themselves, Till from the verge they drop, in senseless dust, Whilst yet the everlasting hand moves on ! How little are we in the mighty plan Of God's ordaining! and 'tis haply given The new-born year this lesson to impart, And teach humility to those who vaunt; Thus human Ossas, in their own conceit. May dwindle to the real warts they are ! Would we revtise the plan, and roll the ball Back on its axis, and restore the Past? Such wishes have been, where the stricken soul Mourned over time misspent it fain would mend ; Or where the selfish with their baubles played, 5\nd grudged, at Time's approach, to lay them down. Not so with those alive to Duty's call, Forever active in the ways of life. And living for the benefit of men. They have no futile retrospective wish For flesh-pots left far in the race behind ; Nor stand they idly by with folded hands Whilst the great world spins round them like a top ; Nor look they back, like Mistress Lot, to find Themselves transformed to worse than useless salt. Savorless of all that gives, to living, life ! They'd not revoke a day, but keep their souls Timed by the present and the future need, THE NEW TEAR. 249 And, like a watch that's wound up with the sun, Would break in ruin if we'd turn them back. And thus the New Year finds us, well content With what is done, and ready to begin anew, And strive, as we have striven, the year just fled. To make those happy, as we wished them so. ''CI^JF 250 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. A WORK-DAT LYRIC. Put on thy working-dress, my soul, The Sabbath-time of rest give o'er ; Too long has slumber held control, With labor spread thy steps before. 'Tis not for thee in halcyon bowers To taste the sweets of summer calm, And wear away the fleeting hours 'Mid dulcet strains and airs of balm. Thou'rt called unto a precious trust — A wide domain demands thy care, To vivify its torpid dust, And raise a grand perfection there. Illimitable is the field On which thou destined art to toil. That good and evil fruits will yield From active seed and teeming soil. God help thee in thy strong essay. My soul, scarce used to "strife like this ; A WOIiK-DAr LTRIC. 251 With an abiding trust obey, And find, in duty done, thy bliss. Pluck up the tares of sin and pride, Prune off excrescences of vice, Till in this garden is descried Similitude of Paradise. This garden is thine own domain, Its flowers and weeds are all thhie own ; And every muscle thou must strain. Else good in thee is overgrown. Toil on until the Master choose. And then, when Summoned by His love, No guerdon for thy toil thou'lt lose In the great Harvest Home above. 252 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. DREAMING AND WAKING. [On receiving a beautiful cup, turned from a fragment of the Old Elm Tree on Boston Common.] It is a valued gift that comes to me, Freighted with grateful memories and love — A cup w^rought deftly from that cherished tree Which Boston holds all other trees above (The ancient Ehn), and guards as jealously As Brahmin favorites of tlie sacred grove. A cunning work, and beauteous to the view ; But deeper meaning does the object wear To me than trick of art : I see anew Long-vanished scenes and pleasures, and the share My younger self had in the hours that flew, To youth replete with glad emotions rare. I grasp the cup, and to my inner sight It seems a hand reached forth to clasp my own, Out of the dusky shadows of the night Which shrouds about the Past's deserted throne, Or some loved form, emerging to the light, That long from outer consciousness had flown. DREAMING AND WAKING. 253 I roam again beneath the verdant shades, With loving voices melting in my ear, And the warm thrill my soul once more pervades, As rapt I bow the cadence glad to hear. Ah, blest- companionship ! again that aids To make life hasten with a better cheer. The old tree murmurs blessings on the hours That make the total of the summer eves. The moonbeams flicker through its shade in showers, And laughter ripples in its rustling leaves, And love again unfolds its mystic powers Through the sweet influence it from Night re- ceives. Romance and youth ! blest witcheries ye throw About the path that all are called to tread ; And, thus reviewed, my spirit feels a glow. Though Youth and Romance long ago have fled, And Time has dared profane my locks with snow. And young companionship is with the dead. Well, be it thus ; I'd not again retrace. More than in fancy, the enchanted years ; I sit and look the Future in the face. And have no thought of sorrow or of tears ; There is no loss kind Heaven will not replace In the broad realm that to our gaze appears. 2^54 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Thanks for the gift, my old and constant friend, Uniting then and now by its sweet spell ;. And though no nectar from its lip descend, This rill of song mayhap will serve as well, Poui-ed from a source that ne'er will know an end, The heart's true spring, where endless friendships dwell. HOPE. 255 HOPE. The heai't with sorrow bowed shuts out the light, And broods in gloomy shade, inalternate With aught of cheer ; no lift permit, or gleam Of sunny promise to pervade the air That sluggish stagnates in the courts of woe. The ear is pained at echoes caught from life, That surges on in heedless irrespect Of all beyond itself, and mufRed thought Runs o'er the gamut of absorbing pain, Repelling the insidious step of sound That threats the reign supreme of silent grief. The hours pass drearily, unnoted save B}' the dull throbs of miserj- and doubt, That make the calendar of present ill, Timed by the horologue of dark dismay. But, as the carol of a bird obtrudes. Amid the pauses of a summer storm, VVhen all is darkest, dreariest, and lone, Steals in a note of Hope, which, late debarred. Stood near and waited, with a loving trust. For Griefs reaction from its weariness, To come again, like some enkindling light, 256 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And banish gloom and darkness from the heart. 'Tis then, the spell annulled that lately bound, New scenes appear ; the tide of hurenin life Again rolls on, harmonious as before ; Sweet sounds break joyous on the willing ear ; The hours their import wear of activeness, And duty due and done, and heaven and earth Take brighter garniture, and holy cheer Its effluence imparts to haply wake And fill to plenitude the hungry soul. O, blessed Hope ! what were we, la-king thee? Thine is the mission that divinest comes And closest touches the acuter self. Coming, like some sweet benediction, down, And soothes the spirit's turbulence to peace. E'en now, as when Pandora's mythic box, Unclasped, released the goods that Jove designed, — Vagrant and lost, that might have staid to bless, - We feel that though all evil may assail. And night concentrate round us in eclipse Dark as the fabled cave of Erebus, With Hope remaining, we may ill defy. A VAGART. 257 A VAGARY. Margery, close the door ; we'll sit us here And muse a little on this New Year's day, Making the past and distant things come near. Arousing sleeping fancy into play, And strewing flowers along the wintry way. Come, sweetheart, to my side, that I may look Upon the mirror of your lustrous eyes. And read my fate anew, as in a book Writ full of most bewitching mysteries ; Saving while perilling by their bright ministries. Those ringlets, Margerj', rich in glossy gold, Lay them yet closer, dearest, to my cheek ; The whispered word is tenderer, manifold. And silence is the deepest tone wd speak. When, themed in one, our souls one channel seek. That lily hand ! its pulses thrill my own With sweet emotion, like the thrill of song; What wealth's possession e'er has this outshone That lies extended on my palm along — This little hand round which such beauties throng ! 17 Z^jS LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Smile, dear one, thus ; though not alone the stni! Bespeaks the ruling of the blissful thought ; Tears have their mission of delight the while, And joy is fullest when with sadness fraught — A fabric of a deeper, subtler substance wrouglil. There's music, Margery, in your gentle voice. Like the unwritten melody of birds, That in its utterance bids the heart rejoice. Though it take not the garniture of words ; yEolus sweeping o'er the vibrant chords. She's gone ! a trick of tantalizing Time That plays strange fancies with the old and young Returning scenes of romance or of rhyme That all of us have either lived or sung ; Blossoms of joy that faded soon as sprung. Gone, Margery ! Closed the door. 'Tis thus we mus On some pet memory that the time obtrudes, And each his sweet and bitter dream renews Of Might-have-beens that come in multitudes, While fancy holds the light, and all of fact exclude; What though the wintry winds blow madly by. And aqueous fingers tap the window pane, I sit in slippered state, my fireside nigh, And, with a reckless vagrancy of brain, Weave dreams of beauty I would dream again. CHRISTMAS TOKEN. 259 CHRISTMAS TOKEN. , [The writer awoke on Christmas morning and found that Santa Oaus had left him a pen wiper of unique pattern — a fairy little figure, gorgeously clad — and a pleasant note, dedicating all the taste and care of its preparation to so ignohle a use,] A WIPER. Not such as erst in Eden wrought For humankind such fearful trouble, Changing its lot, with clover fraught. For substituted chaff and stubble ; But this a simple Christmas boon — A wipe for ink's befouling traces — From one whose heart is all attune With Christmas joy and Christmas graces. I found, as morn unsealed my eyes. What I at first supposed a fairy — A tiny form, in gorgeous guise. That looked remarkably like Mary ; But stony was her vacant stare, When I, well pleased, would fain address her — I missed the smile out-beaming there The donor gives me — Heaven bless her ! 26o LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. 'Tis but a trifle, well I know, Requiring little for its buying. But, better far than pomp or show, The kindness that is underlying ; Profusion may attract the weak, But 'tis a pleasure evanescent ; The cost cannot our love bespeak — The heart must sanctify the present. And shall those dainty garments be Profaned by ink's tartarean touches. And all the taste that here I see Be marred by black, unseemly smutches? Shall those bright eyes look sadly down, With ever-growing perturbation. And frown — if such can ever frown — At such a fearful desecration ? No, Mar}', by my Christmas hope, I'll keep the boon, and choicely prize it ; 'Twill newer inspiration ope. As faithful memory sanctifies it. And future years, should they -be mine, Shall mingle, with the Christmas chiming. The thoughts of her in days lang syne Who wrought the subject for my rhj'ming. SABBATH-DAT REFLECTIONS. 261 SABBATH-DAY REFLECTIONS. [Let him that thiuketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.] O MAN ! how pure, and true, and firm thou art. And full of good resolve and purpose high, When in the world thou'rt called to act thy part, A man 'mongst men, beneath the common sky ! There is no power can shake thy strong defence, Impregnable, upon a rock 'tis built ; And though fierce storms assail to drive thee thence, Within its arms unharmed remain thou wilt. Art thou not able ? art thou not a man ? And where there's manhood mustnot there be might .'' Alas ! we reason thus, and slightly scan The allied powers against us in the fight. The open foes that hem about our path We may in sturdy conflict long withstand ; We may defy their threatenings of wrath. And dare the fury of their hostile hand. 262 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. But there be foes insidious that assail ; Not in the storm, nor in the battle's power, But where the blandest airs of life prevail, And in the calm of seeming safety's hour. Amid the flowers the Passions smiling hide,, And weave about the soul their subtle thrall, There in their ambuscade of ill to bide Till Duty's voice has no more power to call. The strong man, maugre all his grand defence And resolution that no power could sap, Falls pronely down before the throne of sense, Or slumbers idly in Delilah's lap. Thus are we taught this lesson for our good : To hold humility at priceless worth. And in the weakness of our brotherhood Regard the oneness of a common birth. THH PEBBLE ON THE SHORE. -S63 THE PEBBLE ON THE SHORE. A WANDERER upoti the Strand Of the wide sea, before him gleaming, Held in his open, curious hand A pebble, subject for his dreaming, Picked from the white encircling sand. Polished as if by science seeming. He gazed upon its perfect form, As true as though by care invested. Wrought by the force of many a storm. That with the shore erewhile contested. And left, when ceased the conflict warm, In humble beauty where it rested. " 'Tis but a little stone," he said, " Scarce worth a serious inspection," But through his mind the pebble sped. And waked a train of deep reflection. Like David's in Goliah's head. That brought the giant to subjection. 2^4 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. "Here is a truth, though simply told : If this small pebble, idly lying. Had never by the waves been rolled, Its beauties none would now be spying, But in befouling sand or mould Its worth in darkness would be dying. " But, dashed by the resistless sea. It gained its symmetry by action ; One round of motion, constantly, Made it a thing of satisfaction ; This moral lesson teaching me, That ne'er will lose its strong attraction : " Man, but a pebble on Time's shore, His soul were dead from inanition ; Though battling waves may chafe it sore. And make its lot a vexed condition, It by the trial shines the more, Needing the polish of attrition. " And all the beauty that it knows. Drawn forth by toil in mercy given. Upon the shoal in brightness shows, — Bright in degree that it has striven ; — At last in God's own hand it glows, A jewel fit to set in heaven." Mr CRUTCH. 265 MY CRUTCH. [When the gout prevails this implement serves me for locomotive purposes, and also summons those who on willing and loving feet obey its call.] A SIMPLE song I have to sing — A grateful strain whose notes shall wing While aches' fell bi'ood my fibres wring With hideous clutch, A simple, unpretending thing : I sing my crutch. A patient friend in time of need, Proving its truth in constant deed ; Too noble past neglect to heed, — Long darkly hid, — It comes to me with willing speed As soon as bid. How grand is friendship such as its ! It vents no spleen in jealous fits, Nor in its teeth holds hard the bits At fancied slight, But waits, content, when need admits, To do its might. 266 LINES JN PLEASANT PLACES. Come to my hand again, old friend. And thy substantial gervice lend ; We'll show the limb that doth offend There's this about it ; While it rebels we'll gain the end To do without it. In stanchest tones thou speak'st to me, From all offensive twattle free : " I give myself, in love, to thee — On me rely ; The failing foot and recreant knee I will supply. " Thy every 'best I will obey, From no occasion slink away ; I'll stick to thee both night and day, Nor leave again Till health shall once more claim its sway And banish pain." I am a king ! — my sceptre thou ; My kingdom small, I must allow. Though big enough it is, I trow. For present care ; With thee I touch each boundary now From my throne chair. I hardly dare make the pretence Of kingship in the regal sense. Lest womanhood should take offence, MT CRUTCH. 267 And test my claim ; Best not let brag have prominence When one is lame. [An omission of forty-seven limpid verses.] But best of friends are called to part ; I trust we may, with all my heart, For though, all goodness as thou art, Unlike a wife, Thou'rt not the " counsellor and chart" I'd choose for life. With hope to cheer the hour of pain That health's bright sun will shine again, When thou'rt in thy room attic lain. My tough old friend, I'll prize thee now with might and main Till mine shall end. 368 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. MUSIC OF THE FLAIL. The music of the year is not confined To the gay spring-time's overture of sweets, Nor summer's breathings on the scented wind, Nor that the ear in autumn's cadence greets. But when the snow comes down and clothes t plain, And o'er the house-top roars the boisterous gal< Above the storm and the fierce wind's refrain Ascends the music of the thresher's flail ; A charming minstrelsy of glad accord. That tells of plenty and of hearty cheer : Of wealth and joy, the farmer's rich reward, The crowning glory of the busy year ; A peaceful, quiet, unpretending lay, But pleasant music on a wintry day. Monotonous its tone ; no mighty song Is that which rises from the threshing-floor — Its time but measured by the heart-beats strong Of him who long has conned its measure o'er ; Its only listener, maybe, the sweet bird That sits awaiting on the frozen spray, MUSIC OF THE FLAIL. 269 Or the slim weasel, that abroad has stirred, Disturbed from his reflections in the hay. Yet, like the rivulet, alone it pours Its mellow accents on the passing time ; And though no turbulence of glad ehcores Bespeaks the welcome of its note sublime. The farmer loves the simple, sinewy strain, Whose pulses throb with measures of the grain. 270 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. THE ISLAND DEFENDERS. [' ' I tell the tale as 'twas told to me."] That most men feel A warlike zeal And glory in feathers and glistening steel, Is scarce to be doubted, for everywhere, In cities or plains. We hear the strains Of martial music upon the air, And the measured tread, In war's parade, Of soldiei's marching here and there. That is, at seasons when comfort prevails, And zeal isn't killed by wintry gales, Like those at Valley Forge which we read of. Where the soldiers everything were in need of. But courage, which never a moment ran low, E'en though their life-blood crimsoned the snow ! I have a good story Of drums, guns, and glory ; Which, if you please, I would fain lay before ye. THE ISLAND DEFENDERS. i*]! It has always been a Nantucket boast, Whenever war has threatened the coast, That taking no arms for the right or the wrong In her own defencelessness she was strong ; A theory which I think a fact is, And wish 'twere oftener put in practice. But the tap of tlie drum Touched the tympanum Of the younger brood of the " Island Home," Who pricked up their ears with pride to hear it In the glow of an un-Nantucket spirit — A place supposed, because so greaseful, It couldn't be anything but peaceful, Like a homo very fat and lardy, Who to quarrel is always tardy. So the young men talked, and then they voted That they'd be armed, and plumed, and coated. That they would march, in summer weather, About the peaceful isle together. With gleaming arms and banners gay In the custom-sanctioned soldierly way. Then they arose And bought their clo'es. And guns, and all such traps as those. Little' dreaming, so well things sped. Of such a thing as breakers ahead ! Breakers ! Hard and unbending as granite ledges That rive the ships with their spiteful wedges, The Quakers ! 272 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. They're always somehow in the way: We remember in Pennsylvania, How the Quaker vote was looked for to win The game for some one, but it didn't come in ! And up they stood In Friend-ly mood. While indignation trembling sat On the spacious brim of every hat, And swore a few, As Quakers do. That an arm6d band were a thing of sin And shouldn't, with their consent, come in ! They said, " Shall we, In the midst of the sea, Oppose ourselves to the enemy, " And all affirmed, " Nay, verily ; For invading foes would soon despoil All that we prize upon our soil. And burn with vengeance and burn our oil, And that wouldn't be according to Hoyle ! Nay, verily, We'll let them be. And not have any soldieree." Confusion seized the bosoms then Of those bold, warlike island men. Their wish rejected ; For the " Quaker vote " was the biggest there, And, through the force that numbers bear. Must be respected. THE ISLAND DEFENDERS. 273 But one, the boldest of the whole, With no despondency of soul. Did thus advise : To win the thing they had in view And put the corps in triumph through By compromise ! A very Daniel, all of them said, Nantucket Island had visited ! And the wise plan Of the astute man Somehow in this line of argument ran : That they'd seek a charter, Agreeing that, arter, When war called upon them to slay and to slaughter. They'd throw down their arms with consciences tender, And disband themselves with a graceful surrender I And thus grew the corps On Nantucket shore As peaceful inclined as ever before. E'en though the drum, And the waving plume, And the banner, were known round the island home. 18 274 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. CHILDISH VESPERS. Father ! in thy loving sight, Whether in the day or night, Hither bend thy listening ear And my supplication hear. Though I'm but a little child, Tiiy dear Son on children smiled, And his spirit in my breast Gives me hope in thee to rest. As the night descends apace. Fill its shadows with thy grace, That, though seeing not, to me All the world is full of thee. As the moonbeams now illume Every corner of my room. May thy smile its grace impart. And with joy pervade my heart. CHILDISH VESPERS. 275 Keep me sinless, Father, pray, With thy truth about my way, Touch my eyes, that I may see Thou art with me constantly. Through the gloom, enfolding all. Thou canst hear me when I call ; Answer grant in love's increase, And sweet consciousness of peace. 276 LINES IJSr PLEASANT PLACES. THE SEWING-CIRCLE. Never was pleasanter scene nor time. Told in story, or sung in rhyme, Than the Sewing-circle, that common thing, Where glad amenities grow and spring 'Neath Charity's light and loving sway, And the magic of joy is felt alway. Spirits of good, in concert sweet. Mingle therein on noiseless feet. And speak from warm lips rosy-bright. And smile from eyes of beaming light, And gleam along the subtle wires With feeling that the scene inspires. Ah, grand the circle thus combined. For usefulness and pleasure joined ! And, gathering from life's passing hours, A handful of its fragrant flowers. They feel, the while, the blessdd sense Of genuine benevolence. The nimble fingers deftly stray Over their task in busy way, THE SEWING-CIRCLE. 277 While the glad tongue and brimming heart Take in the busy scene a part ; But there, beside the active show, Enacts a scene the angels know. For unseen fingers dexterous move. In industry and tender love, To weave, in texture of the soul. Those stitches wrought in generous dole. To form a garb the ones to bless Who labor in unselfishness. Thus every thought that's given the poor Shall the kind thinker's good insure ; For every tear of pity shed, A gem shall there appear instead ; And every stitch that's woven in love, A triple bond of grace shall prove. We all " build better than we know," And though things humble seem, and slow, They may sustain a good immense In the grand scheme of Providence ; And e'en a simple heart-blest stitch May be endowed with province rich. 278 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. TORN DOWN. [A tribute to an old homestead, by one who beneath its roof experienced what all considerations of local improvement cannot reconcile him to the loss of] Thus sacrilegious hands are laid Upon thy frame, old hallowed pile ; My heart the havoc would have stayed, And saved thee for a longer while. Thou wert my nest ; my fledglings here First learnt the active verb to live ; And love controlled the little sphere With all the joy that life could give — The scene of sweet domestic rest, Where hope and trust together grew, And God's own smile was manifest In every trial that we knew. Here, too, the dread Destroyer came, And bore the fairest from our side ; But resignation lit its flame. And soothed us when our darling died. TORN DOWN. 279 It bound us by still stronger ties, And heavenly love our hearts o'erfiUed ; We dried, while looking up, our eyes. And all rebellious feelings stilled. O, joy and gladness of the past ! O grief, that had a mission blest ! There's glory in the retrocast That doth the crumbling scene invest. There, through the sundered wall, I see The garden where my children played ; There stood the fragrant lilac tree. There where the pear tree cast its shade ; There was the flower-bed, where gjrew The garden gems of gorgeous dyes, That seemed as if they beauty drew From my dear Nannie's sunny eyes. The grape-vine o'er the pathway hung. Filled with the choicest purple bloom, And roses on the still air flung Their ecstasy of glad perfume. 'Tis gone ! the still and active life ; The place is needed for to-day, And all its joy and all its strife Pass like a morning dream away. 28o LINES IJ\r PLEASANT PLACES. But from possession of my heart, In memory's consecrated shrine, Ne'er shall that dear old scene depart That early manhood claimed as mine. E'en though it fade away from view, And gone the bliss of former hours, In sweet affection's sun and dew Shall live again its fruits and flowers. THE SKATERS. 281 THE SKATERS. I HEAR the sound of boyish laughter break In joyous cadence on the crispy air, Where in the sunshine gleams the burnished lake, On whose bright surface skatei-s, here and. there, Their varied daring evolutions make ; While Fun holds carnival with unction rare, And hearts untrammelled sweet enjoyment share. Like birds they cleave the air with graceful pose. In self-abandon, by excitement led, And feats of bravest merit they disclose ; We watch admiringly the rimy thread That follows in the track by which each goes, — A record, by the skater to be read. Of steady nerve and most artistic tread. O youth ! what passion in a scene like this. With every manly attribute aglow ! Through bold endeavor is the way to bliss. That but triumphant excellence may know ; Yet grasping, for the nonce, success, I wis. Is what few here in after life will show, Where boyhood's promise dies too oft 'neath man- hood's snow. 282 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. The spirit lives ; but though we keenly feel The animation of the passing scene, And see old joys in these anew reveal, Forgetting all the lapse of time between. Our ear accordant with the ringing steel That carves in monograms the crystal sheen, We scarce could do the deeds we then achieved, 1 ween. And thus we stand in contemplation lost, Watching and feeling all the waves of fun. Just as the genius of the last year's frost Might look on bud and bloom next spring-time's sun ; Or like some veteran soldier, battle-tost. Who from its bracket takes his ancient gun, And talks of strife and wounds, and tells how fields were won. THE CORNER POLICEMAN. 283 THE CORNER POLICEMAN. Here I stand, out in the street, Dressed in my uniform trim and neat, ' A-cultivating my lonely beat. In constant danger, and can't retreat, Of being mashed to sassage meat, To keep secure the damsels sweet, . Who cross the pave where horses fleet Dash along with busy feet. I takes their bridles and bids 'em whoa ! (I mean the horses I 'spose you know,) While ladies by in safety go. And takes 'em round the waist, to show What protection the law can throw, — My arm's the City of Boston, — and so. With all benevolence aglow, I tap my zeal and let it flow. No matter how the cartmen swear. The C'lossus of roads, I stand right there. " Gentlemen," says I, " stay where you are, While I for the young woman care. 284 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Come here, my dear, my right arm share ; Lean on it, I am able to bear." Such gratitude as they declare ! But don't the teamsters tear their hair ! The danger I don't mind a mite, If I can save the dears from fright, Who come to me excited quite For me to put them over right ; 'Tis wonderful how many try't ! In such a service I delight, Regarding not the teamsters' spite, Whose bark is far worse than their bite. And thus I stand, 'gainst team and cart ; My orders is my guide and chart, Nor care a bit whose withers smart ; Yielding to ladies arm and heart, And doing all my gentle art. To keep them safe where horses dart, And drivers wending to the mart Are held to keep ten feet apart. THE OLD STAGE-COACH. 285 THE OLD STAGE-COACH. The old stage-horn to the ear of the boy Rang sharp and clear with a note of joy, As onward rolled o'er the dusty road The bulky stage with its human load, And the echoing elves on hill and plain Sent the erring music back again, Heralding the quick approach. To the wayside i-nn, of the old stage-coach. I see it now in its stately pride. As then before me I saw it glide ; Its prancing coursers, as if aware Of the glory in which they held a share, ^ Dashed o'er the way with a tattoo beat That rang out clear from their iron feet ; The old coach rocking like ship on the sea, And the driver the envy and joy of me. Ah, great the pride by his side to sit, To list to his budget of wisdom or wit ; And of all the places by boyhood sought To that high station all else were nought. 286 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. A charm pervaded each word he spoke, That shone in story or sparkled in joke, And the brightest genius was murk and dim To the glory of fun revealed in him. And that was the seat for the grandest view, As by scenes of beauty the coursers flew, While the pleasant breezes of summer bore The breath of wild flowers the meadow o'er, And fanned the brow that the ardent sun Sprent with a glow of commingled dun, Giving a boon to the ouside fare That inside swelterers could not share. By the meadow and over the bridge, Sinking the valley and mounting the ridge, Hearing the carol from far away Of the farmers busy with their hay, Catching the shapes of the distant hills. Marking the course of the silver rills — This was the pleasure the passenger knew Whom the old stage-coach bore safely through. But the reign of the old stage-coach is o'er. And the driver tells his tales no more ; The iron horse takes the courser's place, With fiery snort and rapider pace ; The sound of the horn gives place to the bell And the din of the whistle's warning knell. With rush and roar of imprisoned steam, And the old stage-coach subsides to a dream. UNCONSIDERED TRIFLES. There was a fire the other day, And the bell in fury clanged away, Making a loud and furious din, Public cognizance to win. Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! The noise each moment rising higher, ^hile at the rope, with brawny hand, A sturdy Irishman did stand. The people rushed in wildest mood To where the bellman, ringing, stood. " O, where's the fire, my man ? " said they ; " At the fire," he said, and pulled away. " And where, O man, may the fire he?" " Never a bit I know," said he. " Then why ring'st thou, O man of nerve .'"' No whit did he from ringing swerve. But said, as he swung the bell in air, ' " Be jabers, I don't know nor care." Then I did marvel this man to hear. But it all proper did appear, Because, unto myself I said. He only acts as he is led. 287 288 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And thus it is with men and boys, That, where you hear the greatest noise, 'Mongst those who make the biggest rout, The least is known what 'tis about. So he rung on till weary grown. And then he let the bell alone. 'Tis thus with every noisy elf: Reply not, and he dies himself. In the crowded street we found him. With the busy world around him, 'Neath a potent spell that bound him, With suspended footstep there. Smiling on a neighboring " winder," With a vision nought to hinder. And a heart as quick as tinder, Caught by charms surpassing fair. There upon him, sweetly gazing, Were two eyes like diamonds blazing, All his sense and soul amazing, And he stood like one alone. Jostled by the people rushing, — Heeding not the jarring, crushing, All his soft emotions gushing, — Vowing he'd make her his own. In his arms he'd fain infold her. But his worldly-wise beholder Seized him rudely by the shoulder, — Turned they on the Circe their backs ; UNCONSIDERED TRIFLES. 289 Leaving without ceremony, — " Don't you see," he said, " you looney, That this maid, on whom you're spooney. Is an image made of wax?" Yon clock — the Dutchman in the window there. With broad-brimmed liat and spacious boots and breeches, Who gazes forth with ever-brazen stare — This lesson to my comprehension teaches : He sembles well the ones of human kind, — The host of epicurean sinners, Who seem to have one only thing in mind, — A good appreciation of their dinners. He thrusts his rotund form obscenely out. The dial on his breast his chief attraction, And rolls his eyes complacently about, As though he'd done some meritorious action ; But here's the moral point of this my rhyme : His thought is on his stomach all the time. A BLUE coat ! — ah, my country's uniform ! Here is a relic of the battle-storm — A wounded soldier. Gallantly he stood Where fire and death raged round him like a flood. Not scathless, though ; the deadly missiles flew. And stamped with martyrdom his courage true. No more for him the dulcet strain will sound : To lead him through the mazy's giddy round ; No more the agile foot will music beat 19 2go LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Upon the pavement of the sounding street ; No more on eager errands will he speed At call of love, or call of human need. But proud his mien, escaped from war's alarms, Who' legless stands and impor-ttines for alms. An empty sleeve is badge of honor more Than its stout wearer e'er enjoj'ed before — A hero's glory, speaking like a trump, Just like a politician, from the stump-; Eloquently pleading with his whole-limbed brother, The while an organ-crank he turns with t'other. The wind went howling round the town, Turning things everywhere upside down. Ripping off roofs and chimney-tops, And throwing bricks round thick as hops ; The air was filled with hurtling beams. And the water poured adown in streams ; The steeples toppled, and falling seemed. As the fierce gale blew and wildly screamed ; The giant trees uprooted lay Where the fierce tempest sped its way ; But wonderful more than all that befell Was the fate of the man with the umberel ! When the rain came down in angry spite, His umberel he held upright, And round and round the circling gale Swept him on as if under sail. He couldn't stop, but twirled about, Still holding on to the handle stout, UNCONSIDERED TRIFLES. 291 While fear to strength new power lent, Till the gust prevailed and up he went ! Up o'er the house-tops then sailed he, Like a feather borne on the surging sea ; Up and up to a fearful height, Up and up till out of sight, And when last seen he gave a yell. But still held on to the uniberel ! Folks looked from window and from door — They stared ; but he appeared no more ; They shuddered and whispered, " Who can tell The fate of the man and his umberel?" Next day a mariner out at sea Spied, away up in the canopy, A something seeming a monstrous bird. From which a feeble cry was heard : " Schooner, ahoy! — arriving tell That you saw the man and his umberel ! " Only a moment the man was seen, Then melted away in the blue serene ; And nevermore will he be found These gay and festive scenes around, And gossips long the tale will tell How the man went up with his umberel ! O, THIS dismal influenza ! O, this fearful influenza ! With its cough, and cough, and coffin, And its bronchial titillation, While the lacerated thorax 292 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. Thrills with frequent paroxysms, And the nasal promontory Seems as large as Mount Monadnoc, And inflammatory ague With fierce pain distorts the features, And the quakes sternutatory, Threatening, strive to shake one's head off! AH the life that moves around me Takes the tone of influenza. With its choking and its coughing. With its barking and its aching, With its ague and its cold chills, Redolent with blasts of east wind, — Blasted bad some ruffian called it, — Full of sin and rheumatism. I SAW an organ grinder in the street. And he did turn his crank in vigorous way. While down about the organ grinder's feet There was a little sad-faced ape at play. Upon his form a tawdry ragged gown, A cap of velveteen upon his head. And thei-e he stood and looked all up and down. For any stray remunerative " red." And then methought what grievous wrong was here. To drag this ape from native jungle bright. From home and friends that doubtless he held dear, To pick up nickels for this Israelite ! And then the insult added to the wrong, Of putting on such duds to wear as those ! UNCONSIDERED TRIFLES. 293 To move, degraded, human folks among, In such array of ignominious clo'es ! No wonder he was sad, but still liis eye Quick wandered round with eager, anxious bent. The first faint hint of " backsheesh " to espy, Just like a greyhound eager for the cent. And here again most plainly 1 could scan How bad example may corrupt the heart ; This ape, thus through companionship with man. Had grown corrupted in his better part. Forgot the habits of his early days. The customs of his early sylvan life, He now pursues these mercenary ways. And seeks for pennies with persistent strife. A money-catcher in a velvet cap — My sympathy I fear is all misplaced ; He is no better than some broker chap With mean cupidit}' and greed debased. As I along the street did go The while came down the powdery snow, I saw a lady, gayly dight, Pass o'er the pave with footstep light. Her sprightly air, her beauteous form. Carried my very heart by storm. She seemed to me embodied grace, An angel's sweetness in her face, A complaisance almost divine. Wherein the seraph seemed to shine. 294 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. I gazed entranced, as on she sped, With head erect and airy tread ; The while my heart beat fast and strong I marked her step the path along. When, as she pressed the treacherous glare Of ice that clothed the pavement there, Her feet from their adhesion tripped, And down upon the ice she slipped ! Horrors ! the volume of my blood Within its channels stagnant stood. I rushed to aid her as she lay, A helpless form upon the way ; But, as I reached to help the maid, I found myself beside her laid ! — My feet had touched the glairy spot, And down I tumbled as if shot. She gained her feet, and laughing scorn She gave me as I lay forlorn, And said, " Young man, take my advice, — Don't try so big a thing on ice ! " Then vanished from my vision's bliss. Nor have I seen anything of her from that day to this. Conductor Gilmore lay in sleep. Calmly lay in slumber deep. When, rattling through the concave high. Broke the thunder of the sky. Gilmore, in his dreaming, heard. And his inmost soul was stirred. For he saw before him stand UNCONSIDERED TRIFLES. 2g$ Choristers from every land, With fiddlers, trumpeters, here come. And ophicleide and kettle drum. Shouting, and sounding of 'em all In the great Peace Festival. His soul to tlie occasion rose ; His baton moved with rapid blows ; His blazing eye with fervor burned As this and t'other way it turned ; When, as there came a heavier crash. As though the world had gone to smash, He shouted with an eager face. Don't bear so heavy on the bass! How dull it is ! and so are we ; We can't shake off the lethargy That binds us down, do what we may, Upon this rainy, dismal day. The skies are black, our feelings blue ; The sloppy clouds are leaking through, And rain-drops spatter every way Upon this rainy, dismal day. We cannot think, we cannot talk. We cannot run, we cannot walk ; And here immured we're forced to stay Upon this rainy, dismal day. No neighbor comes with kindly word. No friendly salutation's heard. But all is dark, without one ray To cheer this rainy, dismal day. 396 linjES in pleasant places. And worse than everything to tell Somebody's stole our umberel ; O Fate ! the camel's back gives way Upon this rainy, dismal day. If you wish to know what you should do At church, the mercury ninety-two. Sit right down in your cushioned pew. With the cool air drawing freshly through, And put your feet upon the seat And lean your body in manner meet. Then fix your eyes on the parson's face As if you'd note his words of grace ; — But the sound of his voice is all you hear, That comes like a hum to your Sunday ear ; Make no effort to catch his theme ; 'Tis a murmur of waters afar you deem ; Then as its drone on your ear doth sweep, Drop off gently, calmly to sleep ; And the preacher will vow, as he sees you there, With your solemn and very reverent air. That, of all his flock that are based upon rock He hasn't another like you, old cock. Mrs. Ben Blifkins (may she ne'er grow less) Awoke one night with nightmare, in distress. And saw within the quiet of lier room. While from his meerschaum poured a rich perfume, Her Blifldns writing in a little book ; Excessive sharpness made her keenly look, UNCONSIDERED ThIFLES. 297 And to her Benja. wonderingly she said, — " What are you writing?" Bljfkins raised his head, And, witli a smile expressing more tlian words. Replied, " The names of those who love their lords." " And is mine one ? " said she. " Nay, ne'er a show." Then, with a voice significantly low, She said, " Take up your pencil now, my pet, And write me one who loves to make 'em fret." Blifkins thus wrote and vanished in the night. But came in soon with a big camphene light. And lo ! among the names a fret confest, Mrs. B. Blifkin's name led all the rest. O GLORIOUS Fourth ! how patriotism fires (Confound your slow-match, careless boy !) to hear the Music of this grand morn, whose note inspires (You tin horn tooter, would that I were near thee !) A feeling such as influenced our sires. When they the British yoke (plague take that cracker !) Threw oft', and gained thee — theme for all our lyres 1 (Pah ! what a puff" of villanous tobacco !) Hail to the day ! — let the grand cannon roar, (Ha! that concussion my frail window shatters!) Let the triumphal bells their tocsin pour, (Bless me ! my tender nerves are torn to tatters !) Let our proud banner brush the bending sky — (Let those endure who can, but I must fly.) 298 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. An admirer of Tennyson, who has done considerable in the tender-Hne busi- ness with a butcher, received a letter, that was couched in rather bilious lan- guage, enclosing a bill from him ; whereupon. the feeder sat down and wrote the following in reply, which those who are familiar with the laureate's "Spiteful Letter " will appreciate ; — ON A butcher's letter.* Here, it is here — the close of the year, And with it a butcher's letter. My appetite strong has done him wrong, For himself he should have done better. * On a Spiteful Letter. Here, it is here — the close of the year, And with it a spiteful letter. My fame in song has done him much wrong, For himself has done much better. foolish bard, is your lot so hard. If men neglect your pages ? 1 think not much of yours or of mine : I hear the roll of the ages. This fallen leaf, isn't fame as brief? My rhymes may have been the stronger. Yet hate me not, but abide your lot : I last but a moment longer. O faded leaf, isn't fame as brief? What room is here for a haier ? Yet the yellow leaf hates the greener lenf, For it hangs one moment later. Greater than I, — isn't that your cry? — And I shall live to see it. Well, if it be so, so it is, you know ; And if it be so — so be it ! O summer leaf, isn't life as brief? But this is the time of hollies. And my heart, my heart is an evergreen: I hate the spites and the follies. UNCONSIDERED TRIFLES. 299 foolish chap, you aren't up to trap, When men forget to pay you. 1 think you're an ass, — 'twixt you and me, — I hear the town bewray you. This written leaf, is it all for beef.? My stomach ne'er was stronger. You hate me not, but stopped my scot, • And wfouldn't trust me longer. O written leaf, where's all the beef.? What room is here for question } Yet the blotted leaf mocks the unwritten leaf. And brags of good digestion. Bigger than I — isn't that your cry .? You'll make my optics see it ! Well, go it so — if so you know. And when it's so, so be it. O blotted leaf, isn't life a thief.? But I shall still be jolly. And my heart and my palate shall turn elsewhere : I cut you and your folly. Suppose the spear of grass should say, " Whaf s the use of my growing, hey .? I'm of no account, any way ; I shall not add to the world's heyday ; So what's the use of my being, say .? " O, what a green, inconsiderate ass We'd count this doubting spear of grass !. For the many like it make up the mass, 300 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. And many littles bring all to pass. Now we can plainly the moral see Apply to the human family: The least, however small he may be, To form the whole is necessaree. This moral, we know, is very old, But then it was never better told. My friend had on a coat quite seedy ; He was not poor, he was not needy, And much upon the thing I pondered. And much and more again I wondered Why he wore that coat so seedy When he was not poor nor needy. "Friend," quoth I, "though there's no harm in't. Why dost wear that seedy garment.^ " Then my friend turned to me quicker. And he broke into a snicker : " For this reason, and no other, — To cover up my back, my brother." Then I wondered more and more I hadn't thought of this before. When June's hot sun pours down in fervid beams In striking beams, that knock a mortal down. Or make the perspiration flow in streams. In regal streams, descending from the crown, — My mind recalls a fat and jovial one, A jovial one that I did call my friend. Who melted on a time, 'neath such a sun. UNCONSIDERED TRIFLES. 301 'Neath such a sun, just like a candle end. I saw him for a moment stand alone — Stand all alone beneath a hat of straw ; A moment more and on the sidewalk stone, That reeking stone, my wondering visuals saw A heap of clothes, suspenders, hat, and boots. An empty wicker-flask, and twenty choice cheroots. All the day, all the day, There sits an old man o'er the way ; His locks are thin, and scant, and gray. A plaided cloak his shoulders bear. With rifts and patches here and there, A title page of seedy care. The pedals of the mortal old In winter's air a're very cold ; So a basket doth them hold. An old fur cap is on his head. From which the nap has long time fled. As 'twere a conscience-haunted bed. A pleasant smile his face reveals, That no obscuring cloud conceals ; He smiles like one who happy feels. All the day, all the day, Sits the plaided old man gray, Selling apples o'er the way. A little handful all his store. Never waning, never more ; Like that old fairy purse of yore. 302 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. What he thinks no man may know — Whether feels he joy or woe, Reason's light or fancy's glow. Doubtless memory sheds its ray, Like a dreamlight round his way. But his hopes ! — O, what are they ? But, whate'er his hope or aim, What his rank, or what his name. He's our brother all the same. Help him, ye of good intent, Help the old man pay his rent ; Stop ye, and invest a cent ! And the copper coin thus given. Aiding him who here has striven, May be counted gold in heaven. Little troubles are by these defined : A creaking hinge upon a window blind ; A door slam-banging in the evening wind ; A snappish cur assailing you behind ; A thing forgotten you can't call to mind ; A talky woman scandally inclined ; A skein of cotton given you to wind ; A favorite dish remembered when you've dined ; A vine of ivy 'mid your grapes entwined ; A note to meet, you for a friend have signed ; A fork at dinner time, but singly tined ; A horse you've purchased, anything but kind ; A taste of lamp-oil with your tea combined ; UNCONSIDERED TRIFLES. 303 A stupid sell for your own self designed ; A hidden thought some woman has divined ; A person deaf and doggedly opined ; A hope of cheese and only get the rind ; A hideous thing where beauty late was shrined. A PRINCESS marries ! Lord, the fuss they make ! As if 'twere something that was far from common, That royal flesh and blood should deign to make A royal wife, just like another woman ! They hang around the deed a tinsel show, As if to hide its humanly appearing — As if there were, the gorgeous veil below, No heart of flesh, all hoping, loving, fearing. Great Nature ! equal art thou in thy works ; Thou'st given to all like qualities of feeling ; Perhaps disguised in royal bosoms lurks A world of passion deeper for concealing. The heart of woman throbs beneath the crown. As 'neath the hat of straw and cotton gown. I WROTE within an album once sweet things Of one I loved — how madly ! I was young. And Cupid buzzed about with busy wings. And tempted me perplexing ways among. I bowed at that one shrine — my heart laid down. And an eternal faithfulness I swore ; She was my monaixh — love gave her a crown — And I, her subject, went in to adore. 304 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES. I know not how it was, but soon a cloud Came o'er my spirit as I older grew ; The crown was changed, and squandered in a crowd Was all the love that young affection knew. I dodged the trap that early romance laid, But didn't make much by it, I'm afraid. Of all the features humanly appearing. That divers ways the character bespeak. Not one I know in any way is nearing The quality of good, substantial cheek. Men may have claims to place ; but vain they seek Advancement with this rival in the way : Back to retiracy they baffled sneak, While cheek triumphantly achieves the day. How oft we see it in victorious sway. In church or state, society or mart ! Whatever intellect or worth may say. Cheek sweeps the board ; the others set apart. " Win " is the word the winds in waiting shriek. When wealth and brains in vain compete with cheek. Hogarth affirmed the line of beauty lay In curves, and may be he was in the right ; But I affirm, myself, despite his say. That other lines give full as much delight. His zigzag crook attracts a crooked mind ; But what so gracefully the eye may fill As that great evidence of taste refined, The straight-lined shaft that graces Bunker Hill? UNCONSIDERED TRIFLES. 305 The line of beauty is that, after all, Which we, as independent freemen, choose ; He who sees beauty in a flat brick wall Of course old Hogarth's dogma will refuse. Show me a beauty rarer, more divine. Than that of a good, paying railroad line. There is a picture, pinned against my wall. Of one, a printer, managing his " case : " He deftly wields a " stick," I think they call The implement that holds the types in place. A patient face, with eyes intently bent Upon the " copy " plainly held in view ; His lips compressed as though his soul were lent To pierce the ink-traced mystery through and through. Ah, grand old type 1 my spirit bows to thee. Although the world thy merit cannot own ; I in thy toil a benefaction see, That tends to human good, and that aione : But, like the quadruped that once did bear Unknowingly the world's salvation, he don't care. "T" PARTINGTONIAN PATCHWORK. By B. P. SHILLABER. '' I ^HIS work, whose march to fame and pe- ■"" cuniary success was interrupted by the fiery visitation of 1872, still presents its claim to humorous readers, and will be furnished to such . as desire it who may send their orders to the author, at Chelsea, or to Messrs. Lee & Shepard, the Boston publishers. The fiery ordeal has but refined its humor, and, resurrected from its ashes, it lives with its mirth unimpaired, and its power of pleasing undiminished. Price, 1^1.75.