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WILLIAM READ. 
 
THE 
 
 RE-STRUNG HARP 
 
 Poems 
 
 By rev. WILLIAM READ, 
 
 ^ 
 
 " . . . . Man, perchance, may bind 
 
 The flower his step hath bruised, ok light anew 
 The torch he quenches ; or to music wind 
 
 Again the lyre-string from his touch that flew.'* 
 
 Lakeview Printing Company, Publishers, 
 
 12 broimfield st., boston. 
 
 i88q. 
 
75 «■'*'' 
 
 ^> 
 
 Copyright, 1889, 
 By WILLIAM READo 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 TO 
 
 MY WIFE, MRS. S. M, READ, 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
 
 IS 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 
 
 " 'Tis true that mortals cannot tell 
 What waits them in the distant dell ; 
 But be it hap, or be it harm, 
 We tread the pathway arm in arm." 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 The Re-Strung Harp, 7 
 
 American Freedom, 9 
 
 Three Quatrains on Poetry, 15 
 
 Constancy: A Story in Verse, Canto I., . . .. 16 
 
 Canto II., . . . . 29 
 
 The Siren : An Allegory, 43 
 
 We Are Told, 50 
 
 Freedom and her Daughter, 51 
 
 A Temperance Dream, . . 52 
 
 Ode to Peace, s^ 
 
 The Christian's Home, 59 
 
 The Old Cot, 60 
 
 The Vanity of Riches, 61 
 
 The Rumseller's Soliloquy, 65 
 
 A Dream, (i^ 
 
 The Weather- Vane, 69 
 
 A Fragment, 70 
 
 After a Tempest, 71 
 
 My Neighbor's Brown Jug, 72 
 
 The Rose, 73 
 
 The Surprise, IS 
 
 Friendship, 11 
 
 The Epitaph, 78 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bearing Burdens, 79 
 
 A Temperance Hymn, 79 
 
 An Acrostic, 80 
 
 Musings, . . , 81 
 
 Light in Darkness, , 82 
 
 The Rappings, 83 
 
 Night Musings, 8s 
 
 From Self to God, S8 
 
 To Eleanor. In Her Album, 89 
 
 The Lily, 90 
 
 Right Living, 91 
 
 The Sinking Ship, 92 
 
 Live and Learn, 93 
 
 Golden Fruit, 94 
 
 Sonnet on Man, . . 95 
 
 Sonnet on Life, 95 
 
 The Old Man's Revery, 96 
 
THE RE-STRUNG HARP. 
 
 IN years agone my harp was laid away ; 
 The harp o'er which my fingers used to stray, 
 And wake its ready strings to varied tones — 
 Now gay — and now suppressed and trembling moans. 
 
 The years have come and gone, in rapid flight, 
 And left me gray of hair, and dim of sight ; 
 My harp, untouched, forgotten, long has lain, 
 All hush'd its notes to songs of joy or pain. 
 
 Today, as recollection backward turned, 
 And scenes, long past, within my memory burned, 
 My harp, with dust and cobwebs cover'd o'er, 
 Persistent claimed my consciousness once more. 
 
 And can it be re-strung and tuned again ? 
 And will the ear take pleasure in its strain } 
 Ah, me ! why hath it lain, unused, so long, 
 If I and it have yet the power of song ? 
 
8 THE RE-STRUNG HARP. 
 
 But, as I questioned, thought and feeling grew, 
 And mingled scenes and interests, old and new ; 
 Old dreams came rushing on me, thick and fast, 
 And seemed as much of present as of past. 
 
 I placed and tuned new chords upon my lyre ; 
 I felt within my heart poetic fire ; 
 I swept the sounding wires, with fingers bold, 
 And joyed to hear their echoes, as of old. 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 AMERICANS, who feel the glowing fire 
 Which conquests cannot give or fame inspire, 
 Within whose breasts the patriotic flame 
 Doth wake at mention of your country's name, 
 Come, range with me a favorite field of thought. 
 Of dangers braved, and battles nobly fought ; 
 Of victories won and independence gained 
 By cost of ease, and blood from patriots drained. 
 Mark, how the love of liberty could urge 
 The free-born heart to dare the ocean's surge ! 
 Behold ! the pilgrims leave their native shore 
 And sail Atlantic's stormy billows o'er, 
 A land of undisputed right to seek ; 
 Where they might think and act — believe and speak ! 
 
 They came to North America, which then 
 
 Was little known, except to savage men 
 
 Whose hearts were cruel, and whose minds untame ; 
 
 Who felt nor pity nor restraining shame, 
 
 But joy'd to hear their tortured victims cry 
 
 In agony of death, yet scarcely die ! 
 
10 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 With dangers compass'd round on every side, 
 Those heroes bravely stemmed th' opposing tide, 
 And soon began to flourish 'neatli the light 
 Of Freedom's genial sun, and equal right. 
 
 But, ah ! dark scowling in the east, arose 
 A cloud deep freighted with destructive woes ! 
 Loud rolling thunders peal'd along the sky, 
 As upward fearfully it rose on high ; 
 And vivid lightnings flash'd from near and far — 
 The sound and fire of rapine's blood-stained car ! 
 Then came the days of stern and gory strife 
 For liberty, more dearly prized than life ; 
 And to our land's remotest bound was heard 
 The cry which every patriot's bosom stirr'd : 
 "To war ! arise, in Freedom's cause, and fight 
 To gain equality of human right ! " 
 
 The call was nobly answered on the part 
 Of every upright, brave, and worthy heart ; 
 And from each mountain-top and rural dell, 
 With truth to guide and freedom to propel, 
 Came hardy yeomen forth, to stand or fall, 
 Resolved to die, or save from British thrall 
 Their own beloved and dearly cherish'd land, 
 And place it where, of right, it ought to stand. 
 Unequal combat long they held with foes 
 Who dealt, with wrathful vengeance, deadly blows, 
 And scatter'd carnage o'er our lovely plains, 
 To wrest, for England, fair Columbia's gains ! 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 11 
 
 But not for aye shall power tyrannic last ; 
 Twice four dread years of bloody warfare passed, 
 And then the stars and stripes were seen to float 
 As free as air ; and then was heard the note 
 Of Freedom's chosen bird, o'er land and sea — 
 The clarion tone that speaks of liberty. 
 
 O, Liberty ! Sound sweet to every ear ! 
 
 Which all who comprehend can but revere ; 
 
 How dearly art thou prized, thy worth how great ! 
 
 Thou art the glory of our every state ; 
 
 Beneath thy influence hath our nation grown 
 
 Until its honor and its power are known 
 
 And felt by every nation, far and nigh, 
 
 Which prizes virtue, truth, or liberty. 
 
 Beneath the guidance of a holy God, 
 
 Who sways love's sceptre and the penal rod, 
 
 Unto our fathers' valiant deeds are due 
 
 Our power fair Freedom's pathway to pursue. 
 
 Then let us, long and loud, their praises sound, 
 
 Till with their names the earth and sky resound, 
 
 And nature's every harp shall loudly ring 
 
 To venerate the worth of which we sing. 
 
 The names of Franklin, Hancock, and of Lee, 
 Combined with three and fifty more, we see 
 Enroll'd upon the noble Declaration 
 Of Independence of our infant nation ! 
 Again, in clouds of battle dense and dun, 
 
12 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Behold the heroes, Greene and Washington, 
 Surrounded by a multitude as brave 
 And fearless of a warrior's early grave 
 As they who led them on. They wished to see 
 Their kindred and their injured country free 
 From war's alarms and ruthless tyranny ! 
 Oh ! these with reverence we call to mind 
 And bless as benefactors of mankind. 
 
 Few years the people had of rest from strife, 
 To nourish peaceful arts to vigorous life, 
 Before the cloud of war again arose — 
 Again our fathers met their haughty foes, 
 In many a war-like shock, on land and sea, 
 Maintaining thus, unsoiled, their liberty. 
 With ship to ship and fleet to fleet, our tars 
 Aloft most bravely held the stripes and stars ; 
 And won the right, where'er to sail they chose, 
 To sail unsearch'd except by conquering foes. 
 On this brief page, with naval glory full, 
 We find the names of Lawrence, Perry, Hull, 
 With Jones, Decatur, Bainbridge, Burrows, too. 
 And many others, like them, brave and true. 
 
 Nor less our memory loves to fondly dwell 
 On those who fought the rebel strife to quell. 
 A mighty host went forth, with martial tread. 
 In Freedom's cause, by mighty chieftains led. 
 They went to fight, our sacred rights to keep — 
 They left their " loved and loving " ones — to weep ! 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 13 
 
 How many graves, remembered well, today, 
 Recall the mournful work of bloody fray ! 
 Alas ! how many a grove, and swamp, and plain, 
 Of Southern soil, contain our noble slain ! 
 While many patriots from the strife have come, 
 T' enjoy the sweets of freedom and of home. 
 
 A noble president, with more than kingly mind, 
 
 Called forth the patriots, and their ranks combined ; 
 
 Wise, honest Lincoln ! name revered by all — 
 
 So great — and yet by rebel hand to fall ! 
 
 How, when his trumpet call of Freedom spoke, 
 
 On every side the sons of Freedom woke ; 
 
 And, filled with inspiration grand and high. 
 
 As if they heard the mandate from the sky, 
 
 From every loyal state the patriots pour. 
 
 And shout, " We come ! three hundred thousand more ! " 
 
 Of marshall'd chiefs, but few my verse may grace ; 
 
 But Thomas, Sherman, Grant, must have a place — 
 
 And Sheridan — who won both field and race ! 
 
 To these add Howard, Burnside, Banks and Meade, 
 
 And hundreds more, of equal fame and deed, 
 
 And still we leave, with names unsung — untold — 
 
 A numerous throng of leaders, true and bold. 
 
 Among our naval heroes we may put 
 
 The names of Farragut, Dupont, and Foote ; 
 
 Names bright with glory, and secure to fame 
 
 While liberty shall have a living name. 
 
 These, like our heroes of an earlier time. 
 
 We honor in our hearts — and in our rhyme. 
 
14 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Ye friends and lovers of these Federal States, 
 
 Whose souls the breath of Liberty inflates, 
 
 Oh ! can we stoop to cast the boon away 
 
 For which our heroes labored night and day ? 
 
 Can we forget their flowing streams of blood, 
 
 Which stained our plains and dyed the ocean's flood ? 
 
 Shall aught take place our freedom to repress, 
 
 Or make the glory of our nation less, 
 
 And not awake each spark of dormant fire 
 
 Into a nation's unrelenting ire ? 
 
 Nay, nay, ye free-born of a free-born race. 
 
 We're bound to shield our country from disgrace, 
 
 And aid it on in glory's bright career. 
 
 Until its name shall have the power to cheer 
 
 Each soul that groans beneath Oppression's hand, 
 
 In this, or any portion of our land. 
 
 And now, as from the century past we turn. 
 
 The secrets of the coming years to learn. 
 
 Oh ! may our constant watchword, " Onward," be. 
 
 Maintaining still our purpose to be free ! 
 
 In Freedom's cause we'll falter not, or fear. 
 
 However dark opposing clouds appear. 
 
 Till traitor leagues their murderous work shall cease. 
 
 And every citizen may vote in peace ; 
 
 Till love and truth throughout our land shall reign. 
 
 From North to South, from Oregon to Maine, 
 
 And everywhere the stars and stripes shall wave, 
 
 The honored banner of the free and brave. 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. ' 15 
 
 And then should ever mortal seek again 
 To bind our land in Slavery's galling chain. 
 We'll spurn the shackles forged for us in vain, 
 And shout, as did our fathers, in a breath, 
 "Give to us liberty, or give us death !" 
 
 THREE QUATRAINS ON POETRY. 
 
 I. 
 
 AFIRE that burneth with a glow 
 Unquenched within the poet's heart j 
 The rapture that choice spirits know, 
 • In which the sordid have no part. ^ 
 
 II. 
 The quenchless burning, in the breast, 
 
 Of thoughts and feelings deep and high ; 
 The lullaby to quiet rest, 
 
 For souls that throb and moan and sigh. 
 
 III. 
 The deepest thrill that hearts can know, 
 
 The sweetest tones that tongue can voice, 
 The soul's full flood, in matchless flow, 
 
 The purest thoughts, in words most choice. 
 
16 CONSTANCY. 
 
 CONSTANCY: A Story in Verse. 
 
 *' Apart she sighed ; alone she shed the tear." 
 
 — Crabbe. 
 " I love to dream of tears, and si^hs. 
 And shadowy hair, and half-shut eyes." 
 
 — Neal. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 OH ! constant Love ; warm, tender and profound ! 
 To honor thee a bard may blameless sing, 
 And gladly wake his harp's most tuneful sound, 
 And cause its dulcet notes to cheerly ring. 
 Then may not I the poet's tribute bring 
 And humbly cast it at thy graceful feet, 
 While thou a deep enchantment round it fling, 
 That shall impart to it a relish sweet, 
 That it the truly polished ear and mind may greet? 
 
 Not on gay fashion's votaries, alone, 
 Dost thou bestow thy Godlike blessings rare ; 
 In truth 'tis far more seldom thou dost own 
 That in their hearts thy power its sway doth bear ; 
 Yet sometimes thou dost make thy dwelling there. 
 But chiefly in the verdant country, wild, 
 Where health and uncramp'd beauty snuff the air, 
 Dost thou abide, with nature's lovely child. 
 Whom false instruction has not taught, or art beguiled. 
 
CONSTANCY. - 17 
 
 Thy secret charms and soul-bestirring worth, 
 The tongue of eloquence cannot portray; 
 Nor is there any poet's pen on earth, 
 That can describe thee, fully, in its lay. 
 But thou art precious ; and thy power doth sway 
 The hearts of some, as with a magic wand, 
 When once they feel thy love-awak'ning ray, 
 And at thy thrilling touch their souls respond. 
 As at the gentle touch of one of whom they're fond. 
 
 We praise the youthful swain or maiden fair, 
 Within whose bosom thou dost deign to make 
 Thy charming home ; and when a favor 'd pair, 
 Alike inspired by thee, do chance to take 
 Some powerful, well-directed current's wake. 
 Most truly hymeneal joys indeed 
 Upon their happy, blended souls do break. 
 And they, from doubting and suspicion freed. 
 Enjoy fair virtue's richest, sweetest, noblest meed. 
 
 Alphonso and his Jane were such ; 
 In constancy the same — alike in mind — 
 They could not fail to love each other much ; 
 And soon, with tender ties, their hearts entwined. 
 As round the oak the ivy's tendrils wind. 
 So wound the fibers of her heart around 
 Her dear Alphonso, modest, gentle, kind ; 
 And, at his voice's love-inspiring sound, 
 With pure affection's tender throb her heart did bound. 
 
 2 
 
18 CONSTANCY. 
 
 But, ah ! it seemed that fate now dipped its pen 
 In ink of woe, and wrote upon their joy 
 As dark and deadly characters as when 
 It wrote the outlaw brand on famed Rob Roy. 
 Others may treat affection as a toy 
 That can be broken by each passing flaw 
 Of opposition's breath ; but let the boy 
 Who holds the darts of love, their bosoms thaw, 
 And they'll confess that nature holds with all one law. 
 
 Jane's father was a proud aristocrat. 
 With hoards of wealth. He bade Alphonso go ; 
 As to the marriage sought, declaring that — 
 Whate'er betide — he would not have it so ! 
 Ere this had young Alphonso learned to know 
 That, on the true and richly worthy heart, 
 Adversity's keen winds do sometimes blow ; 
 But yet to think that he and Jane must part — 
 Perhaps to never meet — pierced through him like a dart. 
 
 A lover's words, breathed in the ears of love, 
 In time when lowers misfortune's dreary cloud, 
 Will move the heart, if aught on earth can move. 
 And, with a heart that scorned the scorning proud, 
 Alphonso, frank, his dearest hopes avowed ; 
 And .ventured plainly to suggest to Jane 
 The course of conduct that might rend the shroud 
 That darkened hope, and caused their useless pain. 
 She listened to his words, delivered in this strain : 
 
CONSTANCY. 19 
 
 " Come, leave thy father, cruel, stern and strange, 
 And fly with me, and we'll in secret go 
 Beyond the Alleghany's lengthy range. 
 And southward from the land of ice and snow. 
 Where orange groves their fragrant odors throw, 
 With freedom, on the health-reviving breeze 
 Which gives to youthful cheeks fair beauty's glow. 
 There we'll enjoy ourselves 'mid spicy trees, 
 Nor northern blasts, nor cruel frowns our souls shall freeze." 
 
 But vainly spoke Alphonso ; faithful Jane 
 Would not consent clandestinely to go ; 
 Though thoughts of separation caused her pain 
 And fiU'd her dreams of future up with woe ; 
 She, therefore, resolutely strove to show 
 The firmness needed in that trying hour. 
 Convinced that they must part, she told him so ; 
 Then, deeply moved by warm affection's power. 
 Permitted him to lead her to the garden bower. 
 
 Oh ! how young hearts, when strongly intertwined 
 In deathless love's pure, deep and stainless ties. 
 Will fain a true or seeming reason find 
 Why they should fondly feast each other's eyes — 
 Regarding not that time unceasing flies — 
 On the endearing object of their love ; 
 And, oh ! they feel that they can nothing prize — 
 If parted here — until they meet above ; 
 But sink to grief, and mourn as mourns the mateless dove. 
 
20 CONSTANCY. 
 
 Alas ! what pen can paint the parting scene, 
 Or nameless throbbings that to bursting swell 
 The heart of love, with anguish wild and keen ? 
 What babbling language has the power to tell 
 The sorrow of a lover's last farewell ? 
 And what enamor'd hearts can tearless stand 
 And hear the words that do their hopes dispel. 
 Or bear, nor feel of fortitude unmann'd, 
 The kiss, embrace, and last fond pressure of the hand ? 
 
 So when Alphonso and his lovely fair 
 Had reached their oft-frequenled, pleasant bower, 
 They felt themselves indeed a wretched pair, 
 And murmur'd that misfortune's cloud should lower 
 So early on their path, and that their hour 
 Of hope and joy so soon must pass away, 
 And leave their hearts in woe's relentless power ! 
 Alas ! they sigh for many a by-gone day. 
 Then rise to go, but deeper sigh, and lingering, stay ! 
 
 Much tender converse held that mournful pair 
 Of joys departed and of present grief. 
 And what their future doubtful prospects were ; 
 And sought, in burning vows, some slight relief. 
 Both bearing up — to thoughts of falseness deaf — 
 With one fond hope, that each would constant prove, 
 Though time — to youthful pride a dreaded thief — 
 Before they yet again should meet, might move 
 Their beauty far away, and all — excepting love 1 
 
CONSTANCY. 21 
 
 But even love submits to God-sent fate ; 
 And so, at length, Alphonso tore away 
 From Jane ; though not before the hour was late, 
 And near the dawn of swift-returning day. 
 "To distant lands," he said, "your lover '11 stray, 
 And leave his fair and constant Jane behind j 
 But, as I rove, for you I'll often pray, 
 That Providence may prove to you most kind ; 
 And for myself, that I may stores of riches find. 
 
 " And when sufficient I shall find to meet 
 Thy proud, misguided father's stern demand, 
 I'll quickly seek conveyance, safe and fleet, 
 And hasten to my loved and native land, 
 And claim of him, on equal grounds, thy hand. 
 Then will he yield his daughter to my prayer. 
 With smiling countenance and manners bland. 
 And I will guard thee with a husband's care, 
 And thou shalt have my love, and shalt my riches share." 
 
 He said no more, nor waited her reply ; 
 But quick from her and from the bower he hied. 
 Before the tell-tale morn should ope its eye. 
 And Jane — whose trusting heart full deeply sighed — 
 To gain her home and room, unnoticed, tried ; 
 And, when arrived, to Him her thanks she paid. 
 Whose eye alone her absence had espied ; 
 And there her long and earnest prayer she made. 
 That God in love would guard Alphonso as he stray'd. 
 
22 CONSTANCY. 
 
 What consolation's dearer than to know 
 That she who is our life and happiness, 
 And who enjoys our peace, or feels our woe, 
 Is daily asking Heaven our lives to bless ? 
 What thought can better soothe our keen distress? 
 This cheering truth full well Alphonso knew ; 
 And when sad thoughts did sorely on him press, 
 And o'er him bitter gales severely blew. 
 He thought of Jane — her prayers — and that her heart 
 was true. 
 
 And thoughts like these had power to bear him on. 
 In hope, full many a tiresome day and night. 
 Beneath the scorching of a southern sun. 
 Or chilling moonbeams' dull and heatless light. 
 But as he onward moves, in active flight. 
 We'll wish him happiness, and turn to see 
 How fares his lady in her trying plight 
 Occasioned by misfortune's stern decree. 
 How bears that charming girl her weight of misery.'' 
 
 She mourned in solitude full many a long — . 
 Alas ! how long — and dull and tiresome day ! 
 Then struck her long-mute lyre, and woke a song, 
 To while her solitary hours away. 
 It was an unpremeditated lay, 
 Outgushing from her young, though joyless heart ; 
 But, oh ! a tribute 'twas she loved to pay, 
 And, as she sung, affection's tear would start, 
 And she would sigh to meet her youth, no more to part. 
 
CONSTANCY. ^3 
 
 How frequently she wander'd forth, alone, 
 At evening's still and melancholy hour, 
 When through each tree the gentle breeze did moan, 
 And sigh o'er every shrub and fragrant flower ; 
 And sought her dear and iove-remembered bower, 
 Where many times she'd sat with him who now 
 Was far away, and felt love's tender power, 
 W^hile list'ning to each warm and thrilling vow. 
 Out-bursting from his lips, while smiles lit up his brow. 
 
 And while she thought her voice would not be heard, 
 Except by Him who justly reigns on high, 
 Her soul, with deep and tender memories stirr'd. 
 Would seek relief in many a long-drawn sigh, 
 And many tears down-trickling from her eye ; 
 Till hope would partly chide her fears away, 
 And bid her think the hour of meeting nigh. 
 Then would she wake the following simple lay. 
 In softened notes, accordant with the twilight, gray. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 "I had a friend — a faultless friend was he. 
 Or I so blind his faults I could not see. 
 He loved me as the virtuous love, but, ah ! 
 He's now away o'er land and water far ! 
 
 " I mourn his absence, here in solitude, 
 Where none, with scorn and ridicule, intrude. 
 To tell me that my father's lands are wide. 
 And I my poor Alphonso should deride. 
 
24 CONSTANCY. 
 
 " Deride him ? Never ! No : I'll not forget 
 The vows we but confirmed when last we met ; 
 The kindness which — since each the other knew — 
 Has proved his heart affectionate and true. 
 
 " Oh ! wealth-bestowing Fortune, crossing all 
 My hopes of joy ! why hast thou built thy wall 
 Of mean distinction round my wretched name, 
 To interrupt affection's holy flame.'' 
 
 "Or why should virtue meet unfeeling scorn 
 From those who deem themselves more nobly born 1 
 False caste ! by meanest pride contaminated ; 
 By virtue always shunned, by Heaven hated ! 
 
 " Let others love a worthless folly deem, 
 And think fair virtue is an empty dream — 
 Pursue the path where Mammon points the way ; 
 I'll think and sing of him whose footsteps stray. 
 
 " And though he tarry long, I'll still prove true ; 
 And if he die before his form I view, 
 My widowed heart will mourn his matchless worth 
 Until I rest beneath my mother earth." 
 
 Another song, to suit her mood, had she. 
 Which she would sometimes chant — beneath the trees 
 Which woke her mind to blissful memory — 
 With notes of purest melody and ease, 
 Like seraphs' anthems floating on the breeze. 
 And he who, unsuspected, heard her strain, 
 Would feel, so mighty was its power to please, 
 A wondrous inclination to remain. 
 If he might hear the thrilling numbers o'er again. 
 
CONSTANCY. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 25 
 
 " Though through this grove I wander lone, 
 In dark and dewy eve ; 
 My thoughts to mortals all unknown, 
 Or even that I grieve ; 
 
 ** I well remember me the time 
 When at my side was one. 
 Untaught in vice — unknown to crime — 
 But, ah ! misfortune's son ! 
 
 ^*With me he walked this time-worn path, 
 With me he talked of love ; 
 With me he bore a father's wrath ; 
 From me was forced to rove. 
 
 " O'er many ruthless billows tost, 
 Hi^ course perhaps has been ; 
 Perhaps to me he's ever lost, 
 Beneath the waters, green. 
 
 *■ But, if he's not, he home will hie 
 To seek his constant Jane, 
 Beneath his own New England sky. 
 And banish all my pain. 
 
 *' Then quickly waft, ye pleasant gales, 
 My lover back to me ; 
 To view again these lovely vales. 
 And taste felicity." 
 
26 CONSTANCY. 
 
 Thus oft the fair one sung, all soft and sweet, 
 Her heart's emotions to the silent night ; 
 Then would she leave her lone and loved retreat, 
 Composed, though sadness dimmed her eyes' mild light. 
 But though stern time's unheeding, onward flight. 
 The months and tedious, circling years rolled round, 
 Jane deeply felt the force of sorrow's blight; 
 Nor more consolable her grief was found, 
 But still she coldly on each fawning courtier frown'd. 
 
 How true great Shakespeare's song is proved by some ;. 
 "Love's not Time's Fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks — " 
 'Tis thus the sweet, immortal poet speaks — 
 " But bears it out e'en to the edge of doom ! " 
 But, ah ! a change each other object seeks ; 
 And e'en prosperity sinks down to gloom. 
 And glory, wealth and station find oblivion's tomb ! 
 
 Thus with the father of our heroine ; 
 From his great wealth to poverty he fell ; 
 But how his fall took place is not within 
 The province of my humble verse to tell, 
 Lest it my song — too long — should longer swell. 
 But his false pride was humbled in his fall, 
 And this, though hard, was fortunate and well. 
 But mark how those he thought his friends — how all 
 Flew from his side, like ships before a frightful squall. 
 
CONSTANCY. 27 
 
 Did all thus fly ? Yes, all of those whom wealth 
 Had gathered round him in prosperity. 
 They scarcely deigned to ask him o£ his health, 
 Or prospects. Oh ! 'tis sad indeed to see 
 How hollow friendship's heartless name can be ! 
 Jane's father was not yet entirely curs'd. 
 He had remaining still his family ; 
 And, now his eyes' dark bandages were burst, 
 He loved them best of all, and hated falseness worst. 
 
 Jane felt the change, not as the haughty feel ; 
 She bowed in meek submission to her fate. 
 And still bestow'd her thoughts on others' weal. 
 She early was astir — retired she late — 
 Upon her household duties to await ; 
 Forever pleasant — to each duty true — 
 She softer made her parents' adverse state, 
 And tempered down the bitter winds that blew, 
 And warded off the darts that would have pierced them 
 through. 
 
 Oh ! then she thought — angelic girl — 'twas well 
 She had not left her parents at the time 
 When love's warm words seem'd nearly to compel 
 Her to commit — if crime — the doubtful crime. 
 Had she forsaken them, in youthful prime. 
 To gain thereby Alphonso's happiness 
 And hers — Oh ! thought how tender and sublime ! 
 Who now would make her parents' misery less. 
 Or soothe them in the season of their deep distress ? 
 
28 CONSTANCY. 
 
 Then would her mind to her Alphonso turn, 
 And think how many hardships he must bear, 
 While wafted on, by Fortune's mandates stern, 
 Far from his home, without her friendly care. 
 But, lest we tire and lose our readers fair, 
 We'll now no more of this ; but change our theme 
 From Jane to her Alphonso ; so prepare 
 To read our second Canto through, nor dream, 
 By nightmare pressed, of murdered rhyme, and, frightened, 
 scream. 
 
CONSTANCY. 29 
 
 CANTO II. 
 I knew but to obtain or die." 
 
 Byron, 
 
 ALPHONSO left his early cherished land, 
 And soon was floating on the treacherous sea, 
 To a far distant, and less lovely strand — 
 The Indies — famed, if not in poetry, 
 In prose as true, for the facility 
 With which a fortune may be gathered there. 
 And as he saw his home receding, he 
 The following song low sung to simple air, 
 In tones expressing hope triumphant o'er despair. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 " America, land of my birth, 
 The dearest land of all on earth, 
 I bid a sad adieu to thee. 
 To dare the perils of the sea. 
 And seek, beyond its waves, a shore 
 Inviting to the hapless poor. 
 Thy plains and hills to me are dear, 
 And, at our parting, ask a tear 
 
30 CONSTANCY. 
 
 Of tribute to their loveliness, 
 To drop with those of keen distress ; 
 Distress, alas ! of deepest pang, 
 That stings me like a viper's fang! 
 For, ah ! with disappointments rife 
 Has been, and still may be my life ! 
 But, Hope, arise ; bid darkness fly 
 Before the radiance of thine eye; 
 And show the path where Virtue treads, 
 And Bounty her rich treasure spreads. 
 Then let me haste and seize the prize 
 Thus placed before my longing eyes. 
 Then may I quickly seek my home, 
 And meet my love, no more to roam. 
 Or should an unpropitious fate 
 Forever on my efforts wait, 
 Oh ! may the God of Heaven bare 
 His arm of power, and shield with care, 
 The one for whom I cross the main — 
 My lovely, fair and constant Jane. 
 Again adieu, a long adieu. 
 My native hills, that from my view 
 So fast are fading into air. 
 I feel that still my heart is there, 
 Though many a billow intervenes 
 Between my form and thy loved scenes 
 And her for whom I'm wandering ; 
 My love for whom imparts the sting 
 To absence, which I should not feel 
 But for my interest in her weal. 
 Ah ! long I may be far from you, 
 My home and love ; adieu, adieu." 
 
CONSTANCY. 31 
 
 'Twas thus he sung, in disconnected strain ; 
 AVhile eve began to draw her vail of gloom 
 Around him, o'er the proudly heaving main. 
 Whose ruffian billows have become the tomb 
 Of many thousand men of hapless doom ; 
 And still roll on, unwearied, without rest, 
 High throwing up their white and threat'ning foam ; 
 Remorseless as a jilt's vain, heartless breast, 
 Destroying man's most noble works as if in jest. 
 
 Upon the ship Alphonso was as one 
 \\'ho loves to hold communion with the dead. 
 Or with the absent and the grieved alone. 
 Unknowing and unknown to all, he fled 
 Familiar intercourse with those who led 
 A life upon the wild and boundless deep ; 
 In loneliness and grief to bow his head. 
 And sometimes over pleasures past to weep, 
 Which, sweetly sad, in memory he loved to keep. 
 
 And long he thus his onward course pursued, 
 With varied, but still ever-pleasant wind ; 
 But, ah ! the sky grew dark — the ocean rude — 
 And the fierce hurricane, now unconfined. 
 With all the stormy elements combined, 
 Expended all its rage upon the frail 
 And trembling ship ; which caused the boldest mind 
 Among the vessel's crew with fear to quail. 
 While trouble was depicted on each visage pale. 
 
32 CONSTANCY. 
 
 In vain their skill in seamanship they tried, 
 
 To keep their vessel off the dead lee shore. 
 
 The waves she rode — no longer may she ride ; 
 
 The port she left — she may not enter more ; 
 
 For wildly rouqd her do the breakers roar, 
 
 And o'er her decks with madden'd fury sweep ; 
 
 While through her sides the jets of water pour 
 
 Like angry tongues o' the life-devouring deep ; 
 
 t 
 As o'er the reef, from crag to crag, she's forced to leap I f 
 
 i 
 
 Ah ! sad was that ship's fate. Of all she held, j 
 
 Not even one escaped with life to land, I 
 
 Except our hero. Him the waves propelled, 
 Through unknown ways, half dying, to the strand, 
 Where, with the little strength he could command, 
 A hold to good advantage he obtained ; 
 And when the waves rolled back — too weak to stand — 
 He clambered up, and higher shelter gain'd ; 
 Exhausted then, and prone, unconscious long remained. 
 
 But when returning life renewed his strength. 
 He slowly moved each stiffen'd limb with pain ; 
 And, gath'ring all his fortitude, at length 
 He feebly rose and look'd upon the main ; 
 Then turned and viewed his resting place again. 
 It was an isle remote from other shore. 
 Where no inhabitant might long remain ; 
 And, as he viewed its narrow surface o'er, 
 He sighed — " Oh ! shall I never leave this island more ?" 
 
CONSTANCY. 33 
 
 Oh ! here was solitude too deep for e'en 
 Alphonso's sad and melancholy soul ! 
 And, as he thought upon his state, I ween, 
 Feelings too full for mortals to control 
 Surcharged his heart ; and, for a time, the whole 
 Of his strong energies to earth were bowed. 
 But soon the waves of grief did backward roll ; 
 And broken was, by hope, the lowering cloud 
 Of dark despair, that erst hung o'er him like a shroud. 
 
 He looked about to find what way he best 
 Might means obtain, from land or rock or sea, 
 To keep his heart still beating in his breast; 
 And, in his search, he found, full luckily, 
 Cast on the shore, a sight he joy'd to see. 
 Some ship provisions, which I better not 
 Describe to any grade of nicety, 
 As 'twould not help my stanza nor his lot ; 
 And, furthermore, I find I've partially forgot. 
 
 He saved it with a wise and prudent care ; 
 And then prepared, as best prepare he could. 
 To meet the dangers that might wait him there. 
 He made a fire, as every Crusoe should 
 Who can obtain a small supply of wood ; 
 And this Alphonso found upon the shore, 
 There wafted from the wreck, as was his food. 
 He cooked, of meat, to last two days or more 
 Enough ; but smoked it so it would not spoil in four. 
 
34 CONSTANCY. 
 
 When this was gone he lit a fire again 
 And more prepared ; and this he well could do, 
 For he had saved, uninjured, from the main. 
 Of patent friction matches not a few, 
 Which shoreward floated when the billows threw 
 Him on that little, dreary, rock-bound isle. 
 Thus went Alphonso on the best he knew. 
 And time, as ever, onward went the while ; 
 And now gaunt >Famine at its victim 'gan to smile ! 
 
 His food was all consumed, and frequent showers 
 Which had, till now, for drink supplied him rain. 
 Came not ; and tedious passed away his hours 
 In watching o'er the gently heaving main. 
 If any ship might greet his eye again. 
 At length in view appear'd a distant sail, 
 The which he watched till nearly blind with pain, 
 While nearer and more near, before the gale. 
 She came ; then lit a signal-fire the ship to hail. 
 
 The fire he made upon the highest rock, 
 And on it all his fuel high piled he ; 
 Lest all his hopes that gallant ship should mock. 
 And leave him still, surrounded by the sea, 
 Alone, to die in ling'ring misery. 
 The smoke now caught the sailor's watchful eye, 
 As o'er the main it wandered carefully, 
 And — " Land, ho ! Land, ho ! " rang the joyous cry ; 
 " Where away ? " " Right ahead ! " the sailor quickly made 
 reply. 
 
CONSTANCY. 35 
 
 Alphonso now a flaming brand waved high, 
 As signal, to the ship's crew, of distress ; 
 And, as they nearer drew, they could descry 
 His form and motions ; and full well could guess 
 That his was not a place of happiness, 
 But that he fain would be convey'd away 
 From wants and loneliness that did oppress, 
 To where starvation might no more dismay 
 His heart, as singled out an object for its prey. 
 
 A boat was sent, and from the isle was ta'en 
 Alphonso to a vessel's deck once more. 
 He found himself afloat upon the main, 
 And swiftly gliding from the little shore 
 Which never man had lived upon before — 
 Unless like him detained against his will — 
 And, as he hoped his greatest perils o'er, 
 Right glad he saw the flutt'ring canvas fill, 
 To bear him from the island far and farther still. 
 
 The ship which took Alphonso from the isle 
 Was an East-Indiaman, and outward bound ; 
 And joyfully did our good hero smile, 
 When, safely on the ocean's breast, he found 
 Himself again swift sailing towards the ground 
 For which he started, when from home he sped. 
 And as he viewed the heaving sea around. 
 And then the blue and boundless sky o'erhead. 
 He praised the God who had, midst woes, kind favors shed. 
 
36 CONSTANCY. 
 
 No heart such gratitude can feel, as he 
 Who oft has suffer'd sorrow sore and keen, 
 And been borne down by harsh adversity, 
 When on him breaks a ray of love, serene. 
 And when there comes, him and his woes between, 
 A well-timed blessing from God's gracious hand. 
 'Tis as a friendly shield should intervene 
 To save the fallen warrior from the brand 
 Upraised to give his life-blood to the thirsty sand. 
 
 Alphonso now his destined course pursued 
 Far on across the seaman's vast highway ; 
 Sometimes o'er calmy seas, and then o'er rude 
 And frightful mountain waves, that threw their spray 
 High o'er the deck, and threaten'd as their prey, 
 T' engulf that noble vessel and its crew. 
 But God who tempers to the lambs that play 
 Upon the hills, the storm, as on he flew. 
 Conducted him, in calm or storm, each danger through. 
 
 At length he reached the Indies, with its sun 
 Of burning heat, and health-destroying air ; 
 And then his operations were begun — 
 That erst he planned — for gathering riches there ; 
 Which were in wisdom all, and likewise fair. 
 But, as they suit not well my slow-toned lyre, 
 I'll not inform my readers what they were ; 
 But merely tell the curious who inquire, 
 That they were formed to compass well his chief desire. 
 
CONSTANCY. 37 
 
 This know. Whatever I may choose to write, 
 And you may bear to read, will all be true ; 
 That is, as true as any fiction, quite ; 
 And if you'll persevere to read this through ; 
 Which, now so near its end, I pray you do. 
 You'll know, what now perhaps you know as well. 
 That truth is strange, and strange is fiction, too. 
 'Tis truth that many novel writers tell. 
 Though part they hide, or else their books would never 
 sell. 
 
 It is not mine, with prosy verse, to show 
 How our Alphonso passed his time away 
 While in the far-famed Indies — though I know. 
 But, when a child, the aged used to say 
 I should not purchase wit to give away, 
 Nor all I know to other people tell ; 
 And now I'm older — view it as you may — 
 This same instruction in my brain will dwell. 
 And so, in verse, I keep back what I may as well. 
 
 But some things must be told. When several years 
 Had roll'd their days away, our hero found 
 That fortune had, by far, excelled his fears. 
 And that his coffers did with wealth abound. 
 He therefore settled up with all around. 
 And gave his business to a worthy hand ; 
 And then, embarking in a vessel sound, 
 He left the golden Indies' sunny strand, 
 And shaped his joyful course to seek his native land. 
 
38 CONSTANCY. 
 
 I might relate the perils of the deep 
 Which frequent on his passage did attend; 
 How through the shrouds the fearful gales did sweep, 
 And threaten, in their frightful wrath, to rend 
 The rigging, bolts or planks in twain, and send 
 The ship and all on board to find a grave, 
 Where many men have met a hasty end. 
 Beneath the troubled ocean's briny wave ; 
 From which sad fate no arm but God's had power to save. 
 
 But let me hasten to conclude my song. 
 At length he came his native land to view. 
 From which he'd absent been these busy, long, 
 Sad years, since first he bade its shores adieu ; 
 And now his patriot spirit wakes anew — 
 Which long had partly slept within his breast — 
 As varied thoughts his mind passed quickly through, 
 And as his vessel plowed the billow's crest, 
 In song he briefly his emotions thus expressed. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 " Hail, hail ! thou land that holds my love ! 
 Thou noble land that gave me birth ! 
 As Noah's ark was to the dove, 
 Thou'rt now to me — choice spot of earth ! 
 
 " And from my wanderings o'er the sea, 
 I turn to seek thy pleasant shore ; 
 
CONSTANCY. 39 
 
 And hope to meet my love and thee, 
 And never part from either more. 
 
 " Then speed me on, thou fresh'nhig gale, 
 And cut the foam, thou gallant prow ; 
 And let me soon my lady hail, 
 And find her true to every vow." 
 
 His wish was granted. Soon he near'd the port 
 From which, at first, he sailed ; and as he kept 
 His steady course on, past the friendly fort. 
 And saw the flag of freedom wave, he wept 
 Big tears of joy. His heart most wildly leap'd. 
 And nigh to bursting swell'd, as on he bore. 
 Drew nigh to land, and touch'd the wharf and stept, 
 All light and joyfully, upon the shore ! 
 Oh ! feelings such as then, he ne'er had felt before. 
 
 Quickly to meet his lady-love he hied. 
 And found her humble dwelling, small but neat, 
 And at the door he met his bosom's pride — 
 His Jane — with maiden beauty all replete ; 
 Who asked him in, and proffered him a seat. 
 And earnestly his sunburnt features scanned, 
 Letting her eye his eager glances meet ; 
 Then cried, " 'Tis he ! " and grasp'd his offered hand, 
 And, turning towards her sire, both waited his command. 
 
40 
 
 CONSTANCY. 
 
 Expectant stood this faithful, lovely twain, 
 And fearful thoughts our hero's mind ran through, 
 Which filled his anxious heart with gnawing pain, 
 As burning love's corrosive doubtings do. 
 But, at her father's words, misgivings flew. 
 And radiant joy o'erspread his lofty brow — 
 A depth of joy unfelt except by few — 
 For obstacles appeared all conquer'd now. 
 And naught remained but to perform his cherished vow. 
 
 "Forgive, young man," the humbled father cried — 
 As tears slow trickled down his furrow'd cheek — 
 '' The obstinate, the base and foolish pride 
 Which made my sense of justice once so weak 
 That I the words of cruelty could speak. 
 Which drove thee from my dwelling and thy land, 
 A store of wealth on other shores to seek. 
 And now, as far as lies at my command, 
 Will I reward thy efforts with my daughter's hand." 
 
 "Thanks, thanks ! " Alphonso did exclaim, 
 
 " My heart is full, my happiness complete ; 
 
 My love is now requited, gained my aim ; 
 
 My hardships all have left me on the feet 
 
 Of airy Past, no more again to meet 
 
 Me on the ever-varied path of life ; 
 
 But joy, with rapturous heart, I now can greet, 
 
 And bid begone my heart's unequal strife. 
 Since Jane, my first and only love, shall be my wife." 
 
CONSTANCY. 41 
 
 I. 
 
 There is a hall within our land ; 
 
 It is a goodly hall, 
 That doth contain a numerous band 
 
 Of people, great and small. 
 
 11. 
 
 Now sweetly breaks soft music's note 
 
 Throughout this spacious hall, 
 Like fairies' songs that gently float 
 
 Where silent moonbeams fall. 
 
 III. 
 
 Still higher peals the joyful sound, 
 
 Still deeper swells the song ; 
 And many eyes are beaming round 
 
 Amid the mirthful throng. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Why thrills with joy each burning breast ? 
 
 Why laughs each merry e'e ? 
 Why is, in every tone, expressed 
 
 The soul of harmless glee ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Two hearts of unison are wed ! 
 
 The rest is very plain ; 
 The one Alphonso is, 'tis said ; 
 
 The other one is Jane. 
 
42 CONSTANCY. 
 
 My theme is through, my poem at an end ; 
 But still my ling'ring measure onward flows, 
 T' express a wish to each attentive friend, 
 And — if I've any — to my peevish foes. 
 Please not to criticise this piece in prose ; 
 But, if you wish to make my errors plain 
 And show how limpingly my stanza goes, 
 Just write your strictures in good Spenser's strain. 
 And you'll impart more pleasure to my heart than pain. 
 
 Note. The composition of the above poem was completed in 1S48, more than 
 forty years ago, when the author was in his twenty-third year. This accounts for the 
 fact that Alphonso went to the East Indies to obtain a fortune. At a more recent, 
 date he might have done as well nearer home. 
 
 Aug. 13, 1889. 
 
THE SIREN. 43 
 
 THE SIREN: An Allegory. 
 
 [ Written in 1843, when the author was nearly eigliteen years old.] 
 
 '* With her much fair speech, she caused him to yield." 
 
 — Bible. 
 
 OH ! heard you the sound of the Siren's soft voice, 
 That sings her false song so alluring and sweet, 
 And leads her ten thousands away at her choice, 
 
 Conducting them down to her cheerless retreat ? 
 She prowls o'er our land, from the North to the South, 
 
 And strings her mild harp to a tone unsurpassed ; 
 While silvery accents proceed from her mouth, 
 
 And Beauty's fair garb o'er her vileness is cast. 
 Beware of her music's unhallowed charm ! 
 
 For though it enraptures, 'tis only to woo thee ; 
 And winning she'll ruin ; so take the alarm, 
 
 And flee her delusion, before it undo thee ! 
 The youth who has fallen, a warning shall be 
 
 To all in pursuit of the phantom of glory ; 
 To teach us from ruin to warily flee. 
 
 And shun the sad fate that gave rise to this story. 
 
 Within the precincts of our land, 
 Where men for freedom take their stand. 
 
44 THE SIREN. 
 
 There lived a "youth of talents rare," 
 Who made the crowds, bewilder'd stare, 
 
 And won from many praise. 
 His mental powers appeared sublime, 
 And while all others sought to climb, 
 With tiresome pace, up science' hill. 
 He seem'd to soar up, at his will. 
 
 Beyond the wonderer's gaze. 
 
 But, not content with powers untaught, 
 For their improvement hard he wrought. 
 ^ His days and hours to toil he doom'd 
 And much of midnight oil consumed ; 
 His health he risk'd — his ease forsook. 
 For thoughtful poring o'er some book, 
 Or — in his own capacious mind — 
 Deep searching, meanings dark to find. 
 Alas ! with all these talents prime. 
 Here mentioned in my humble rhyme, 
 Ambition was his passion strong. 
 His fault, for praise of men to long. 
 When this is said, we know the worst 
 
 Of all his secret foes ; 
 But still remains to be rehearsed 
 The story of his woes. 
 
 On all around he cast his eye, 
 Saw many men, despairing, die ; 
 And, as he saw them thus depart. 
 It touch'd the feelings of his heart. 
 
THE SIREN. 45 
 
 " Oh ! shall it be," he musing said, 
 And hung, in silent thought, his head, 
 " That thus my fellow-men shall go. 
 By me unheeded, down to woe ? 
 Oh ! no : my God, forgive the pride 
 That turned my powers from right aside 3 
 And help me now the tide to brave 
 And seek the perishing to save." 
 'Twas thus he prayed, and thus resolved ; 
 But soon, alas ! his vows dissolved. 
 How- from his purpose high, he fell. 
 Shall be-my task, in brief, to tell. 
 When he was fitted, as he thought, to win 
 Transgressors from the ways of sin. 
 And teach them in the path to go 
 That leadeth up from death and woe, 
 He went, obedient to his call. 
 And thinking not that he should fall. 
 With pity filled — with aim sincere — 
 To bravely work, unmoved by fear. 
 His sin was not in lack of love — 
 His courage would not fail to prove 
 
 Unquelled in conflict's hour. 
 But flattery's spell he'd never weighed — 
 Had never thought, or planned, or prayed 
 
 To shun the Siren's power ! 
 
 He barely entered his career 
 Ere he the Siren's song did hear. 
 
46 THE SIREN. 
 
 Just by ambition's golden gate, 
 Cheered by success — with hope elate 
 Her station took the wily one 
 And woke her most seducing tone. 
 Her notes, melodious, full and strong, 
 Reechoed sweetly, loud and long. 
 
 And riveted his ear. 
 A spell-bound listener, there he stood. 
 His every thought and purpose good. 
 
 And free from doubt or fear ; 
 Resolved to live a champion bold 
 For truth, as in the Bible told. 
 But, ah ! how blind and frail is man ! 
 He little knew her artful plan. 
 
 Or song's enticing power. 
 He would have been securer, far. 
 Led on by truth's unerring star, 
 Had he, all heedless of her song. 
 Pursued his rapid way along 
 
 Beyond her charming bower ! 
 
 Her songs, in full, I need not tell, 
 Nor why they pleased his ear so well. 
 Their import mine to briefly show. 
 That others may th' enchantress know. 
 With much that specious was, and fair, 
 She mixed her poison in, with care ; 
 And, by her winsome strains of song, 
 In angel phrase, she led him wrong. 
 
THE SIREN. 47 
 
 She claimed the hope to " dwell in love 
 With all below, and all above ; " 
 Wished "jarring discords might be mute — 
 That Christians might no more dispute;" 
 Desired that all on earth might hear 
 And heed the words to her so dear, 
 As uttered by her Master kind 
 When here he sought the lost to find. 
 ^' Their import was to follow peace, 
 And all men from distress release ; 
 Of every one to make a friend, 
 And, hence, take care and not offend. 
 Now this to do, with good success, 
 We must not all the truth confess ; 
 'Twere better truth should not be spoke 
 Than we should speak and thus provoke. 
 And now, my friend, if you refuse 
 To follow out my liberal views. 
 And still go on to preach the same 
 As preached by Paul, you'll lack fair fame ; 
 You'll cut the ears of sinners off 
 And but incite their bitter scoff. 
 The world with scorn will treat your course^ 
 'And words you speak will lose their force. 
 But if my wise advice you take 
 And love's sweet, soothing tones awake. 
 Nor touch, for once, th' offensive theme 
 Which none but wild fanatics dream. 
 Your standard many'U gather round. 
 Who now in ignorance are found ; 
 
48 THE SIREN. 
 
 And then your great and glorious name 
 Shall be enrolled, in living flame, 
 Upon the highest peak of fame ! " 
 
 'Twas argument like this she sung, 
 And pleased the preacher heard, 
 As charmingly around him rung 
 
 Each fair but fatal word. 
 He heeded not God's firm command 
 That must for aye and ever stand, 
 Which says, " Shun not thou to declare 
 All the commands that written are." 
 He turned him round, and with her went, 
 A captive to whom Satan sent ! 
 Well might the sea, at such a deed. 
 In wonder from its shores recede ; 
 The earth itself for sorrow groan 
 And shake itself from zone to zone ! 
 Well might the sky turn bloody red 
 And utter " vengeance " overhead ! 
 
 This man remained upon the earth 
 His years three score and ten — 
 Complacent in imagined worth — 
 
 Then died, like other men. 
 But, while he lived, his name was seen 
 Where'er the Siren's foot had been ; 
 And he was ranked among the great 
 As one, indeed, above all hate. 
 
THE SIREN. 49 
 
 Alike the world ings, and — what not? 
 
 In praise of him all else forgot. 
 
 " A man of love ! " "A generous soul ! " 
 
 And epithets like these did roll 
 
 From tongue to tongue ; or there or here, 
 
 Where'er he went they reach'd his ear. 
 
 Proud man ! to hear himself so praised — 
 
 His name above his fellows raised ! 
 
 But was he thus content to live, 
 
 And all his powers ambition give ? 
 
 Did not his soul recoil within, 
 
 And conscience smite him for his sin.? 
 
 Content or not — he lived — he died — 
 
 And ne'er a nobler life-work tried. 
 
 When death, at last, had closed his eyes, 
 How great and dreadful his surprise — 
 As near the judgment seat he drew — 
 A frown upon the Judge to view ! 
 These useless words he did repeat : 
 " You've taught your doctrines in my street. 
 And eat and drunk beneath my roof. 
 Thus giving, of my heirship, proof." 
 The awful Judge, in justice stern, 
 The following answer did return : 
 " I never knew you ; never ! no ; 
 You must depart to dwell below ! " 
 
 Now from his fate of whom we've heard, 
 Who punishment for sin incurred. 
 
50 THE SIREN. 
 
 Let us be warned to guard our feet 
 
 With vigilance and care ; 
 And shun the Siren's false retreat, 
 
 And thus evade her snare. 
 For still she lives and plays her part, 
 And daily practices her art. 
 Much watchfulness it doth require, 
 And frequent, fervent, humble prayer, 
 To keep e'en strong ones from her pov/er 
 From day to day — from hour to hour. 
 Her snares are set for all men's feet — 
 Her traps are hid in every street — 
 On every hill, in every dell, 
 
 Her harp and voice resound ; 
 And happy 's he who, from her spell, 
 
 Escapes without a wound. 
 
 WE ARE TOLD. 
 
 WE are told, in story and tuneful song, 
 Of the carrier pigeon, so true and strong, 
 That will wing its way to its home afar, 
 As the needle turns to the polar star. 
 
 So the flame that springs in a true man's breast 
 Cannot find, 'mid strangers, a genial rest, 
 But will seek the home it has known and loved, 
 And the friends whose constancy time has proved. 
 
FREEDOM AND HER DAUGHTER. 51 
 
 FREEDOM AND HER DAUGHTER. 
 
 OR, AMERICA SAVED FROM TRAITORS. 
 
 AMERICAN Freedom, with terrible throes, 
 Gave birth to a nation, then sought for repose. 
 When toil-worn and weary, 'tis pleasant, she said, 
 To rest from the hardships of pain and of dread. 
 So down on the pillow of plenty she sank, 
 And pleasure's sweet waters she joyfully drank ; 
 And, while she there rested, unconsciously stole 
 Mild slumber's sweet stupor soft over her soul. 
 She dreamed of her daughter so great in her glory. 
 As chanted in song and related in story, 
 And proud swell'd her heart, with emotions of love. 
 While dreaming how faithful that daughter would prove. 
 So sweet were her dreams and her slumbers so deep, 
 'Twas feared that she never would wake from her sleep. 
 
 A fearful infection her daughter had caught, 
 So slow in its progress it seemed but as naught ; 
 But ceaselessly through her whole system it spread, 
 Until the plain symptoms were fearfully dread. 
 
52 FREEDOM AND HER DAUGHTER. 
 
 Her feet were nigh gangrened, and threatened to slough ; 
 
 And some of the doctors, indifferent enough, 
 
 Proposed, as a cure-all, to cut her in two, 
 
 As rash, thoughtless surgeons quite often will do. 
 
 The daughter, aroused by a project so mad. 
 
 And suffering much from the sickness she had ; 
 
 Still feeling her symptoms grow constantly worse, 
 
 Called loud for her mother to act as her nurse. 
 
 So Freedom, disturbed in her slumbers so sweet, 
 
 Rubbed open her eyes, and then sprung to her feet, 
 
 And flew to her daughter, with hearty good will. 
 
 To cure her complaint — and her doctors to kill. 
 
 A TEMPERANCE DREAM. 
 
 A' 
 
 LL people, I deem, 
 Are subject to dream, 
 When bound in the slumbers of night 
 And likewise, no doubt. 
 Uneasy without, 
 May guiltless their visions recite. 
 
 And all men should know — 
 
 And notice 'tis so — 
 That dreamers can never elect 
 
 The place or the time. 
 
 The measure or rhyme, 
 To dream with a proper effect. 
 
A TEMPERANCE DREAM. 63 
 
 But fancy plays tricks, 
 
 Not " reg'lar as bricks," 
 And brings to the eye of a man 
 
 Things strange and confused. 
 
 To which he's unused, 
 To dream out the best way he can. 
 
 And if to a dream, 
 
 Howe'er it may seem, 
 Recital is given that's true , 
 
 The jars and the breaks — 
 
 Apparent mistakes — 
 Will meet with indulgent review. 
 
 Reflecting like this, 
 
 I hope not amiss, 
 Has given me courage to tell — 
 
 Regardless of fear — 
 
 Each reader so dear, 
 A dream I remember quite well. 
 
 I dream'd : and, lo ! before my eyes 
 A vision passed which may surprise 
 The doubting sons of earth to hear, 
 If half I tell that did appear. 
 
 I thought I wander'd, lone and sad, 
 Depressed by many thoughts I had 
 Of folly, sin and guilty shame. 
 That greatly blight the human name ; 
 
54 A TEMPERANCE DREAM. 
 
 When, just before me in the way, 
 
 A poor, degraded drunkard lay ; 
 
 And over him a monster stood, 
 
 Whose mouth was deeply red with blood. 
 
 His paws were on the poor man's breast, 
 
 Which in the mud his shoulders pressed. 
 
 Within his jaws he held his head 
 
 And almost crush'd the sufferer dead. 
 
 Between his eyes, which flash'd with ire. 
 
 Were traced, in capitals of fire. 
 
 These glaring words, " Fierce Appetite; " 
 
 That those who chose to read them, might. 
 
 I thought this monster was the devil, 
 Who'd come to hold a horrid revel 
 
 Around the victim of his power. 
 In darkness of the midnight hour. 
 
 The victim beckon'd for my aid, 
 And so I quickly towards him made, 
 For I could hardly bear to see 
 The man endure such misery ; 
 But thought to rescue him I'd try, 
 And not permit him there to die. 
 
 When I approach'd the warring twain. 
 To strive for right, with might and main, 
 The monster growled — his horns he shook 
 And gave a most terrific look ; 
 But, still, my heart felt very bold. 
 
A TEMPERANCE DREAM. 55 
 
 And of his neck I took me hold ! 
 
 He swung his tail and hit me, thwack ! 
 
 Across my pained and shrinking back. 
 
 But, yet, the war I warmly waged. 
 
 And still he fought, and foamed, and raged. 
 
 At length I saw the blood and smoke 
 
 Come from his mouth ; and thus I spoke, 
 
 *' Let go your hold ! take off your paws ! 
 
 And let the man forsake your cause ! " 
 
 I thought the victory nearly won ; 
 For, ere my speech was hardly done, 
 He loosed his jaws, and closed his eyes ; 
 His head upraised ; but, oh ! what cries ! 
 He opened wide his brazen throat. 
 And woke a most infernal note ; 
 And hoarsely roared, with all his might, 
 For aid to help him in the fight ! 
 But this, at first, produced no fear. 
 For sure, thought I, hell can't be near, 
 And w^ho, of all the sons of earth, 
 Will aid the devil in his mirth 
 Held o'er a weak and erring sot. 
 And thus his name forever blot? 
 But, while my heart with hope beat high, 
 I o'er my shoulder cast an eye. 
 And there I saw, I blush to tell ! 
 No demon from the lower hell ; 
 But, running swift as he could come, 
 A seller of the poison, rum ! 
 
56 A TEMPERANCE DREAM. 
 
 The monster took fresh courage now, 
 The cold sweat stood upon my brow, 
 I looked upon the drunkard, low, 
 And grieved to leave him struggling so ; 
 But once again, a hasty glance 
 Showed how the rummy did advance. 
 And terror seized my troubled heart, 
 And made me from the field depart ! 
 With hurried steps, away I ran. 
 And left the weak and groaning man. 
 The fiend, alone, I had not feared ; 
 But when the man of rum appeared, 
 One of the pit — one of the bar — 
 I thought would give unequal war ! 
 And if my friends should feel inclined 
 To think that I've a timid mind, 
 And call me " coward " not to stand 
 And grapple with them, hand to hand, 
 I hope you'll check your rising frown. 
 And keep your indignation down, 
 Nor doom my name to dire disgrace; 
 For if, in sleep, I dared to face 
 The devil, single and alone, 
 I think it is not fully known 
 But that I might, when wide awake, 
 The daring business undertake 
 To meet both him and his allies. 
 And save a man before their eyes. 
 
ODE TO PEACE. 
 
 67 
 
 ODE TO PEACE. 
 
 O PEACE, I prize thy soothing power, 
 y And hail with jo}' the tranquil hour; 
 When I can rest beneath thy wing, 
 And of thy secret pleasures sing. 
 
 Thy voice is soft — thy music sweet — 
 Thy dwelling is the lone retreat ; 
 And seldom dost thou leave thy glen 
 To visit the abode of men. 
 
 Their hearts, alas ! are full of strife ; 
 And thou'lt refuse to lead thy life 
 'Mid scenes by them made desolate ; 
 'Mid wrecks which thou must ever hate. 
 
 But, if a soul of deeper thought. 
 Observes, by scenes of ruin taught, 
 That Peace dwells not with striving men, 
 And leaves the crowd, and seeks thy glen ; 
 
 Thou wilt not fly before his tread, 
 As if possessed of sudden dread ; 
 Nor wilt thou hide in gloom away, 
 Beyond the searching eye of day ; 
 
58 ODE TO PEACE. 
 
 But thou'lt invite him to thy bower, 
 And on his head thy blessings shower ; 
 And he may dream with thee alone, 
 That war and strife from earth have flown. 
 
 He may forget the care — the woe — 
 With which our days abound below; 
 And, fill'd with joy, in thy embrace 
 May wish to end his earthly race ! 
 
 Then let the sons of earth aspire, 
 With hearts by passion set on fire. 
 To mount, by aid of skill and might, 
 Ambition's lofty, tottering height ; 
 
 But give to me the wild, lone dell, 
 Where tasteful Peace doth choose to dwell ; 
 Where I can hear the strain that rings 
 From Nature's harp of thousand strings. 
 
 There I'll indulge my pensive mood, 
 Beneath the overspreading wood ; 
 Or, compassed by the grassy green. 
 Beneath the sun without a screen. 
 
 There will I think my sorrows o'er. 
 And thank my God that I've no more. 
 There will I hope that joy may dawn, 
 And bid dull cares from me begone. 
 
ODE TO PEACE. 59 
 
 There will I bless the power of Peace 
 That bids my warring passions cease, 
 And calms the throbbings of my mind, 
 And makes me to my lot resigned. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN'S HOME. 
 
 BEYOND the narrow verge of time. 
 Beyond the sea of life, 
 There is a fair and blissful clime 
 Exempt from pain and strife. 
 
 The Sun of Righteousness doth grace 
 
 That happy land of rest ; 
 And half the glories of the place 
 
 Can never be expressed. 
 
 But feeble men who trust in God, 
 
 And serve him here below, 
 Shall, when they leave this earthly clod, 
 
 To heavenly mansions go. 
 
 Then rise, my soul, temptations flee. 
 And choose the path of love ; 
 
 That, when Jehovah calls for thee, 
 Thy home may be above. 
 
60 THE OLD COT. 
 
 THE OLD COT. 
 
 I KNOW an old cot, on a hill's bleak side, 
 And near to a village of wealth and pride ; 
 Whose weather-gray walls might not lure the eye 
 Of haughty and gay ones who travel by ; 
 But, when by that cottage I musing stand, 
 My heart doth with rapturous joys expand ; 
 For 'neath that loved roof doth a fair one dwell, 
 Whose heart chooses truth, for she loves it well. 
 
 Let others admire, in a lofty tone. 
 
 The home in which dwelleth the jewelled one, 
 
 And sing to the praise of the rich and fair 
 
 Whose thoughts are as light as the buxom air ; 
 
 But give to my vision the old, gray cot, 
 
 And give to my heart, as its happy lot, 
 
 The pleasant-eyed maiden whose soul is truth, 
 
 Whose form is all beauty, whose face all youth. 
 
 [Summer of 1848.] 
 
THE VANITY OF RICHES. 61 
 
 THE VANITY OF RICHES. 
 
 [After the prose of Dr. Johnson.] 
 
 WISE Ortogrul of Basra slept — 
 Reclining in his chair — 
 And o'er his soul a vision crept, 
 As he was sleeping there. 
 
 His mind had been, as we are told, 
 Much " tumbled up and down," 
 
 In thinking how he might get gold, 
 And honor, and renown. 
 
 Six months his thoughts had dwelt on this. 
 
 In constant, feverish pain ; 
 As if the very height of bliss 
 
 Were found in earthly gain. 
 
 No wonder, then, that as he slept — 
 
 Reclining in his chair — 
 A vision o'er his spirit crept. 
 
 To teach him lessons rare. 
 
 He dreamed he ranged a desert land. 
 
 To find the secret art 
 By which he might at will command 
 
 The wealth to fill his heart. 
 
62 THE VANITY OF RICHES. 
 
 As on the summit of a hill, 
 Beneath the cypress shade, 
 
 He stood in doubt, alone and still, 
 To venture on afraid, 
 
 His father's form, in outlines clear, 
 And look and features mild, 
 
 Before him sudden did appear, 
 And on him kindly smiled. 
 
 "O, Ortogrul," the old man said, 
 "The troubled thoughts I know, 
 Which fill with care thy aching head, 
 And touch thy heart with woe. 
 
 " Oh ! listen, then, son of my pride ; 
 Direct thy searching look 
 To yonder lofty mountain's side. 
 And read, as in a book. 
 
 " Behold the raging torrent leap 
 And rush and foam and pour, 
 In wildest fury, down the steep, 
 With hoarse and deafening roar ! 
 
 " Next turn thine eye to yonder vale 
 Which lies between the hills ; 
 Behold the brook which ne'er will fail, 
 Supplied by living rills. 
 
THE VANITY OF RICHES. 63 
 
 " Now wilt thou have thy riches poured 
 In torrents on thy head; 
 Or slow accumulate in store, 
 By silent increase fed ? " 
 
 " Let me be quickly rich," he cried — 
 Th' impatient, eager son — 
 " I would not longer be denied, 
 Let golden torrents run ! " 
 
 *' Once more, my son, around thee look," 
 His father did exclaim ; 
 He turned his eyes and saw the brook 
 Meandering still the same. 
 
 And filling, with its water clear, 
 
 A lake both deep and broad ; 
 Which to the eye did sweet appear — 
 
 A sight to please a lord. 
 
 As for the noisy torrent's course, 
 
 'Twas dry and dusty, quite ; 
 As if the flood, in mighty force. 
 
 Had done a work of spite. 
 
 And now the feverish, dreaming youth 
 
 Awoke with sudden start ; 
 But well his mind had learned the truth 
 
 His vision did impart. 
 
64 THE VANITY OF RICHES. 
 
 " No more I'll long for gold," cried he, 
 " In hasty, violent streams ; 
 I'll gather wealth by industry, 
 As best and wisest seems." 
 
 This resolution, acted on. 
 
 Soon brought forth ample fruit ; 
 
 He had a splendid mansion done. 
 And every thing to suit. 
 
 Then flatterers thickly pressed around, 
 Their pleasing arts to try ; 
 
 And, humbly bowing to the ground, 
 Extolled him to the sky. 
 
 But leisure made him tired of self, 
 And filled him with unrest ; 
 
 His riches seemed but useless pelf 
 For which he felt no zest. 
 
 And flattery failed him, as his gold, 
 And left him still to sigh ; 
 
 Because his heart his failings told, 
 Without a cloak or lie. 
 
 " Let no man seek in wealth," he cries, 
 " For happiness and ease, 
 Who is already quite too wise 
 For flattering words to please." 
 
THE RUMSELLER's SOLILOQUY. Q5 
 
 THE RUMSELLER'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 WHENCE come these horrid dreams that do disturb 
 My rest, and wake me from my flurried sleep ? 
 Why do I hear those shrieks of terror wild, 
 From wives maltreated through the curse of rum ? 
 Why hear those children's hopeless cries, as from 
 The chilling blasts in vain they shelter seek ? 
 Why do I, in my dreams at night, behold 
 Those ragged boys, with feet exposed to snow, 
 Contending for a dry and mouldy crust ? 
 Why see, so oft, the murdered offspring lie, 
 All marred, beneath the drunken father's club ? 
 Why see the wife, half naked, fly from him 
 Who should protect and succor her from harm. 
 To seek a shelter, from the nightly storm. 
 Beneath the roof of some unsightly shed? 
 
 Last night, the cold, north wind came rushing forth, 
 And on its wings there rode dark, threat'ning clouds 
 Which freighted were with rain and snow and hail, 
 That, on my window, loud and dismal beat. 
 And sounded woful to a man like me ! 
 I scarce had closed my wearied eyes in sleep 
 Before I thought myself within a cot. 
 Where I beheld a careworn mother sit. 
 
66 THE RUMSELLER's SOLILOQUY. 
 
 With coarse and scanty clothing covered o'er ; 
 
 Surrounded by her hungry little ones, 
 
 Who oft with earnest look requested food. 
 
 Then would their mother turn her face away, 
 
 To hide the tears that trickled down her cheek. 
 
 ^' I wish," the eldest of the children said, 
 
 *' That father'd come, and bring, as he was wont 
 
 Long time ago, some bread for us to eat. 
 
 And he would smile, and take one on his knee, 
 
 And talk to us in soft and pleasant tones. 
 
 Oh ! then how happy we all used to be ! 
 
 But now he never brings us aught to eat. 
 
 But on us frowns and drives us from him far." 
 
 And, as he said the last, I marked how they 
 
 All drew up closer to their mother's side. 
 
 Turned pale, and looked, affrighted, to the door ! 
 
 The sight was more than I could, sleeping, bear ; 
 
 And I awoke ; but strove in vain to drive 
 
 From memory thoughts of what I'd dreaming seen 
 
 For still they crowded through my mind ; and still 
 
 I saw, depicted on the mother's brow. 
 
 The anguish of her soul, oppressed with grief ; 
 
 And her young offspring's touching look of woe. 
 
 And e'en tonight the thoughts forsake me not. 
 
 Awake or sleeping, still, alas ! I see 
 
 The children doorward cast a hasty glance 
 
 Of terror, fearing that their father'll come, 
 
 And scatter all that's left of peace, away ! 
 
 Oh ! what should thus my peace of mind disturb ? 
 
 Keen conscience, give, oh ! give my soul release ! 
 
A DREAM. 67 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 WHILE resting on an easy bed of hope, 
 Unmoved by any sickening thought of grief, 
 And thinking not — for yet I little knew 
 Of life's vicissitudes — that love, though sweet 
 To taste, is often mixed with bitter dregs 
 Of jealousy and foul deceit ; more oft 
 Is but the prelude, dark and dread, to woe 
 And many hours of painful bitterness ; 
 My dreams were pleasant, mostly filled with joy. 
 But, ah ! as thus I all unconscious lay. 
 My mind exploring distant fields of hope, 
 A thoughtful, reverend form stood by my couch. 
 And, gazing anxious on my youthful face, 
 Appeared to mourn for grief unknown to me. 
 With pity touched I viewed the aged form. 
 And longed to learn the sorrow of his heart. 
 " Oh ! wouldst thou know," the pensive stranger said, 
 "The grief in store for youthful innocence ? 
 Then look on yonder crowded stage, and learn." 
 I looked, and, lo ! a stage of vast extent 
 I saw, on which paraded every vice, 
 And also all the virtues found on earth ! 
 I looked them o'er with hurried, troubled eye, 
 And greatly wondered at the sight I viewed. 
 
J A DREAM. 
 
 The thousand, thousand wondrous things I saw, 
 
 I must forbear to tell ; but, of the course 
 
 Of two, I shall inform attentive friends. 
 
 These two were young in years and beautiful. 
 
 The one the airs of female grace displayed ; 
 
 The other's form was manly, and his heart 
 
 Was noble, just, upright and true. They both 
 
 Were such as should have shunned deception's road. 
 
 I saw them meet and shake the hand of love ; 
 
 While o'er their features stole a brilliant glow, 
 
 Which proved that well they prized the happy hour. 
 
 I saw whilp each with other did converse 
 
 On theme too high for pen like mine to touch. 
 
 Again these two, with anxious eye, I viewed, 
 
 As near to them the hour of parting drew. 
 
 Oh ! what display of heart-felt tenderness ! 
 
 What deep regret at fortune's stern decree ! 
 
 But yet what fortitude was shown by one, 
 
 What overcharged ado the other made ! 
 
 I marked all well. I saw him shake with her 
 
 The parting hand, and wander far away. 
 
 I watched him till his form was lost to view ; 
 
 Then closed my eyes upon the scene, and thought 
 
 Such depth of love will surely stand the storms 
 
 Of earthly birth, and demons' raising, too ! 
 
 " A change came o'er the spirit of my dream." 
 The youth returned again upon the stage, 
 And soudit the maid to claim her as his own. 
 
A DREAM. 69 
 
 Her well-known form attracted soon his eye ; 
 He flew to press her to his faithful breast — 
 A glance of coldness was her sole reply ! 
 That glance — what power ! It stopped him in his course; 
 His ardor ceased, and ashy paleness crept 
 His noble features o'er ; but lofty was 
 His look, as from her sight he turned away. 
 I watched him in his rapid, onward course. 
 He turned not back, though oft he sighed " as 'twere 
 The heart would break ; " but still he hurried on. 
 I saw him on the eminence of fame, 
 Where Envy's thunders harmless rolled below j 
 But still I saw, upon his honored brow. 
 The impress of that cold and heartless glance ! 
 I looked again for her who caused his grief. 
 But saw her not, for mists hung where she stood. 
 1844. 
 
 THE WEATHER-VANE. 
 
 THE quickly-turning weather-vane 
 Is often called a fickle thing ; 
 But I can easily explain 
 
 Its constancy in wandering. 
 
 'Tis ever faithful to its trust, 
 
 And teaches men the breeze's course ; 
 And shows the whiffling of each gust 
 
 That strikes it with its reckless force. 
 
70 THE WEATHER-VANE. 
 
 Within its sphere it never lies, 
 But ever moveth true and just ; 
 
 And though the world against it cries, 
 Yet I dissent, and ever must. 
 
 If man to man would prove as true 
 As proves the vane to every gale ; 
 
 The earth would be an Eden new, 
 Relieved of misery's heart-sick wail. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 WHEN the autumn winds shook 
 The dry leaves from the wold, 
 By the side of a brook 
 
 In deep sadness there strolled 
 A lady all lovely and mild — 
 But Sorrow's poor, suffering child. 
 
 The meandering brook 
 
 Gurgled mournfully by. 
 But more mournful the look 
 
 Of her dark, piercing eye ; 
 And doubly more mournful the trace 
 That weeping had left on her face. 
 
A FRAGMENT. 71 
 
 Then I asked of her grief 
 
 In considerate tone ; 
 But her answer was brief, 
 
 And expressed with a moan : 
 " Ah, me ! there's a weight on my soul — 
 My husband has turned to the bowl ! " 
 
 AFTER A TEMPEST. 
 
 AN hour ago dark clouds upon us frowned, 
 And Nature trembled at the thunder's sound. 
 But now the glorious sun has cast its light 
 Upon the clouds which scatter in their flight. 
 And Nature smiles at its returning smile ; 
 Let human hearts, therefore, rejoice the while. 
 May not the thinking mind a lesson gain 
 From lightning, thunder, frowning clouds and rain ? 
 We see them spend their fury, pass away, 
 And leave the earth more verdant, fresh and gay. 
 'Tis thus with man. A season he may feel 
 Oppression's grip, and Envy's poisoned steel ; 
 But soon the sun of truth will burst the cloud 
 That o'er his hopes has cast a dark'ning shroud ; 
 And he may stand, in honest pride upright. 
 Beyond the reach of hateful Envy's blight. 
 
72 MY neighbor's brown jug. 
 
 MY NEIGHBOR'S BROWN JUG. 
 
 OH ! my neighbor's brown jug, what a theme ! 
 It is not the wild, fanciful dream 
 Of some poet whose mind roves afar, 
 To the scenes or of love, or of war. 
 Oh ! no ; but the real, identical rum-jug 
 Which oft has been filled up and drain'd, and no humbug. 
 
 Let's away with all fiction and lies, 
 
 For the truth is preferred by the wise ; 
 
 So we'll sing of the jug and its fate, 
 
 And a word of its power relate, 
 That others may learn, from the words of our measure, 
 To sense both the pain it has caused, and the pleasure. 
 
 Once my neighbor, alas ! would "get high," 
 
 On the drink in his jug carried by ; 
 
 And his wife, and his little ones all. 
 
 Were but slaves to the rum tyrant's call. 
 The sight of his rum-jug was then a deep sorrow, 
 As keen as to day ^ and as long as tomorrow. 
 
MY neighbor's brown JUG. 73, 
 
 But, since Temperance bears its mild sway, 
 The old jug is put careless away. 
 And the wife and the children are dressed 
 As they should be, and kindly caressed ; 
 Which shows that my neighbor is carefully keeping 
 His money and health, while his appetite's sleeping. 
 
 Now the jug is all covered with dust, 
 
 And his family see it, and trust, 
 
 As the thicker and thicker it grows, 
 
 They are safe from king Alcohol's woes ; 
 And never, no never will they lift their hands 
 To wipe off the dust, while the jug emply stands. 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 IN yonder meadow, green, 
 Where slowly winds a brook, 
 A lovely rose was seen. 
 
 Of bright though modest look. 
 
 But f(#th the mowers went, 
 
 With scythes just sharply ground, 
 
 Which through the grass they sent 
 With lively, whizzing sound. 
 
74 THE ROSE. 
 
 Near to the rose they drew 
 And saw its modest face, 
 
 All covered with the dew, 
 The queen of all its race. 
 
 But yet they spared it not. 
 But cut it to the ground ; 
 
 Nor cared if there, forgot. 
 It lay and ne'er was found. 
 
 A youth, in careless glee, 
 That way was passing by, 
 
 And on the ground did see 
 The rose, all faded, lie. 
 
 He picked it up and read 
 A lesson from its fate. 
 
 " This faded rose," he said, 
 " Declares our mortal state. 
 
 " Full oft a human flower 
 
 With beauty for its shield, 
 Upspringeth in an hour ; 
 As soon its life doth yield. 
 
 " Though Pity cries out, ' Spare ! 
 For beauty there doth dwell ! * 
 Stern Death will not forbear ; 
 He'll still the carnage swell. 
 
THE ROSE. 
 
 " Then may I strive to live 
 Near Jesus every day ; 
 And may my God forgive 
 And wash my sins away, 
 
 " That, when I droop and die, 
 
 IVIy soul may not despair ; 
 
 But soar to Heaven on high, 
 
 And dwell forever there." 
 
 75 
 
 THE SURPRISE. 
 
 THE sun had settled to his bed, 
 The twilight's lingering rays had fled, 
 And moon and stars, with mellow light, 
 Were cheering up the face of night. 
 
 With happy children, one, two, three, 
 Around us full of life and glee. 
 We sat and talked, with pleasant cheer. 
 Upon the eve that closed the year. 
 
 When, hark ! there came, with tramp and roll, 
 A sound to rouse one's quiet soul ! 
 What could it be ? what could it mean ? 
 What from the door might now be seen ? 
 
76 THE SURPRISE. 
 
 So out we glanced to get a sight 
 Of what was taking place that night. 
 A troop of men and women, too, 
 A row of carriages in view, 
 
 And sundry things unmentioned here, 
 Before our front door did appear. 
 And, while we looked with wondering eyes, 
 We each to each expressed surprise ! 
 
 Nor felt we less when in there came 
 More friends than we have room to name ; 
 In numbers something more than forty, 
 A kind, though unexpected party. 
 
 A cheerful, wise and reverend man, 
 With fitting ease, led on their van, 
 And, in a speech both brief and kind. 
 Told the intent of those behind. 
 
 Then there were greetings, warm and true. 
 And friendly chat familiar grew ; 
 And there were served tea, cake, and pie, 
 To suit the taste and please the eye. 
 
 But soon had passed the hours of eve. 
 And many thought 'twas time to leave. 
 So, gathering round their pastor there, 
 He led them in their evening prayer. 
 
THE SURPRISE. 77 
 
 And then the hdi^^^y party parted, 
 But left us here all cheerful hearted ; 
 For, with their love, they left behind 
 Such ffifts as useful we shall find. 
 
 t)' 
 
 And we this method do improve 
 To thank them for their gifts and love ; 
 And pray the Lord on each to pour 
 His blessings, now, and evermore. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 W''HEN winds of sorrow fiercely blow 
 Athwart our pathway here below, 
 And force the tears to fill our eyes, 
 And load our lonely hours with sighs ; 
 When o'er the world's expanse we look, 
 View foes we once for friends mistook, 
 And see them use the slanderer's arts 
 To wound our names and grieve our hearts ; 
 When bold-faced Impudence doth stare. 
 Disdain the smiles of Scorn doth wear, 
 And coward Envy slyly tries 
 To back the slanderer's cutting lies ; 
 When stormy clouds obscure our sky, 
 And all our hopes in darkness lie ; 
 Oh ! then a faithful friend is dear. 
 Who'll not forsake, who's ever near. 
 Who's ever ready to uphold 
 The truth before a frowning world. 
 
78 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 In the Autumn of 1843, a few weeks before I was eighteen years old, I found, 
 written by a schoolmate on a blank leaf of my Arithmetic, the following lines. 
 
 "EPITAPH. 
 
 X TO monument of proud regard 
 -^ ^ Is reared in honor of thy name ; 
 But simply this — ' The Yankee bard I ^ 
 Shall be the record of thy fame." 
 
 '' Inscribed to the memory of Wm. Read. 
 
 JOSIAK CaDY.' 
 
 I returned the following, 
 
 ANSWER. 
 
 Josiah, my friend, if thus you say, 
 With useless monuments away ! 
 I do not wish for such regard ; 
 Still let me be " The Yankee bard ! " 
 
 Let me, in life, be virtue's friend, 
 And, when my life shall have an end. 
 May I lie down in peace to rest, 
 And be remembered by the just. 
 
 No stately stone may mark the spot 
 Beneath the which my bones must rot j 
 But may my soul in triumph soar, 
 Where death can never reach me more. 
 
BEARING BURDENS. 79 
 
 BEARING BURDENS. 
 
 FULL hard may seem the toils of life 
 To every tired and burdened soul 
 Who struggles in the ceaseless strife, 
 As Sorrow's tempests o'er him roll 
 With force that fain he would control. 
 
 If thou but see the darker side 
 The gloom will settle on thee, deep, 
 And thou wilt feel the bitter tide 
 Of fearful doubtings o'er thee sweep, 
 And doubtless thou wilt groan and weep. 
 
 Take courage, friend, and look above ; 
 Thou'lt see a Helper all divine, 
 A Father's face that beams with love. 
 And thou shalt know His strength is thine ; 
 Nor wilt thou o'er thy lot repine. 
 
 A TEMPERANCE HYMN. 
 
 TOUCH not, touch not the tempting wine ! 
 There's woe to him who madly sips 
 The poisoned nectar of the vine, 
 Drink fit for only demons' lips ! 
 
80 A TEMPERANCE HYMN. 
 
 'Tis true the liquor may allure 
 The once corrupted appetite, 
 
 And love of pleasure may assure 
 
 The conscience that " to drink is right." 
 
 Your friends may urge you to partake 
 The drunkard's soul-destroying drink, 
 
 Not thinking that, by this, you break, 
 Of virtue's chain, a golden link. 
 
 Heed neither •friends, nor pleasure's call ; 
 
 But dash the damning cup away. 
 Or ere beneath its power you fall 
 
 And feel its black and burning sway ! 
 
 For in the cup, concealed from sight. 
 There lies the fatal adder's sting; 
 
 And he who drinks will feel the bite 
 Which thoughts of guilt and ruin bring. 
 
 AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 HIGH heaven should be our destined place, 
 Eternity our joyful theme ; 
 No reckless hand could then efface 
 Religion's joys like flitting dream. 
 Youth is a time by far the best 
 
AN ACROSTIC. 81 
 
 Such heavenly happiness to gain. 
 My friend, then pray secure thy rest ; 
 It will protect from endless pain. 
 The thing to yield is harmful sin ; 
 Heave, then, the poison from thy soul ! 
 
 Vice naught can do but plunge you in 
 A pit where waves of sorrow roll. 
 United, then, in heart to God, 
 Go forth a champion in his cause ; 
 He'll teach thee, by his gracious word. 
 No more to break his holy laws. 
 
 MUSINGS. 
 
 ONCE on a time, at close of day, 
 When earth was mantling o'er with gray ; 
 And stars began to twinkle bright. 
 And lighten up the gloom of night ; 
 
 I wandered slowly through the wood 
 And by the margin of a flood, 
 Where many times I'd strayed before, 
 To watch the waves and list their roar. 
 
 I leaned against an aged tree. 
 And thought of earth's inconstancy. 
 The scenes of years departed, flew 
 Before my mind's reflective view. 
 
82 MUSINGS. 
 
 Is nothing true ? I musing asked ; 
 Is friendship but deception, masked? 
 Is love a hollow, sounding name, 
 As empty as the breath of fame ? 
 
 There came an answer to my heart 
 That made my darkened thoughts depart 
 " True friendship's far above our praise, 
 And love's a gem of purest rays ! " 
 
 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. 
 
 " Still caring, despairing, 
 Must be my bitter doom ; 
 My woes here shall close ne'er, 
 But with the closing tomb." 
 
 — Robert Burns. 
 
 I fain would write, but, ah ! I cannot tell 
 
 The feelings that within my bosom dwell ! 
 
 What deep and wild emotions swell along 
 
 The fountains of my life, with impulse strong ! 
 
 What strange commotions rack my heart with woe, 
 
 Like ocean-waves, when fierce tornadoes blow ! 
 
 What doubtful thoughts have gnawed affection's core, 
 
 Until I fear that I shall hope no more. 
 
 Oh ! must it be ? has life for me no day 
 
 Of sunny loveliness, to drive away 
 
 The gloom that hangs, with threatening aspect, round 
 
 My hopes, involving them in night profound t 
 
 Oh ! have my joys all vanished into air.? 
 
 Will Hope depart and leave me in despair 1 
 
 One glorious star its cheerful rays doth lend 
 
 To light my path — 'tis Christ the sinner's Friend. 
 
THE RAPPINGS. 83 
 
 THE RAPPINGS. 
 
 OH, hark ! I hear a constant rapping, 
 A clear, yet soft and gentle tapping, 
 But not of spirits, dread ! 
 It is my heart so steady beating. 
 The while my very soul is heating, 
 And thoughtful is my head ! 
 
 I'm feeling, thinking, deeply musing 
 Upon the sin of men in choosing 
 
 To make, or sell, or drink 
 That poison — alcoholic liquor — 
 Which makes man's lamp of reason flicker, 
 
 His all in ruin sink ! 
 
 I'm thinking of that wife so lonely, 
 Now watching by her child — her only — 
 
 In anguish of her soul ; 
 And waiting, listening for, and dreading 
 The husband's, father's, drunken treading, 
 
 Returning from the bowl ! 
 
 I feel for her who yields, so trusting. 
 
 Her heart to more than dagger's thrusting. 
 
 By marrying a man 
 Who'll not leave off, for her, his drinking ; 
 While she is hoping — fondly thinking — 
 
 " At any time he can." 
 
84 THE RAPPINGS. 
 
 I'm musing on that weeping mother 
 Whose hopes intemperance doth smother, 
 
 And drown in rum or wine ; 
 And on her once-fair son, now haggard 
 And, by the drink of poison, beggar'd, 
 
 And brought below the swine ! 
 
 I think of children, fathers, mothers ; 
 Of wives and husbands, sisters, brothers ; 
 
 Of friends and lovers true ; 
 Whose hopes and joys, by liquor-drinking 
 Have been destroy'd ; and who are sinking 
 
 In sin and misery, too. 
 
 And, oh ! I'm thinking and I'm feeling. 
 Thoughts, passions, deep beyond concealing, 
 
 Yet more than I can tell ; 
 Of them who madly go on selling 
 That which the tide of death is swelling, 
 
 And sending souls to hell ! 
 
 Oh, yes ! I hear a constant rapping, 
 A clear, yet soft and gentle tapping, 
 
 But not of spirits, dread ! 
 It is my heart so steady beating, 
 The while my very soul is heating, 
 
 And thoughtful is my head ! 
 
NIGHT MUSINGS. 85 
 
 NIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 DARK night's impressive shades now hold their sway, 
 And drive afar the busy scenes of day. 
 The moon, which rose at eve and shone so bright, 
 Now vainly strives to yield her silvery light ; 
 For gathering clouds obscure her face so pale, 
 And draw, 'twixt us and her, a darkening vail. 
 I hear the stormy night-wind's dismal roar ; 
 Then let me put in tune my harp once more, 
 And touch, again, its strings of solemn sound. 
 And cause its answering echoes to resound. 
 
 While thousands now lie bound in slumber's chains, 
 Their roving minds exploring dreamy plains. 
 And other thousands, led by passions wrong. 
 Join with the sons of Bacchus in their song, 
 I seize the flying hour to write my thoughts 
 On themes of sense, although of divers sorts. 
 
 Before the first created couple fell, 
 
 Allured to ruin by the prince of hell ; 
 
 Nor storms above, nor fears of death below, 
 
 Disfigured earth, or filled her sons with woe. 
 
 But now the clouds which hang beneath the sky, 
 
 And vail the shining stars from human eye — 
 
8G NIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 The thunders loud, which in their bosom roll — 
 The lightning's flash which starts the timid soul — 
 To every man's inquiring mind, reply 
 That "all have sinned, and all for sin must die ! " 
 
 Sad tidings, wafted by the changeful breeze, 
 
 From lands of clustering fruit and verdant trees, 
 
 And lands where ice and snow perpetual dwell. 
 
 Alike the mournful tale to mortals tell, 
 
 That vengeful man will war against his brother, 
 
 And each will strive, with zeal, to slay the other ! 
 
 Sad is the thought that proud and boastful man 
 
 Will not avoid the evils which he can. 
 
 As if his heart desired increase of woe, 
 
 He harbors in his breast a .deadly foe, 
 
 By giving place to passion's base desire ; 
 
 Thus treasuring wrath against the day of ire ! 
 
 " But is there none," some startled soul may say, 
 
 *' On earth, but those whom words like these portray ? 
 
 Are there not some who ' weep with those that weep } ' 
 
 Some who, for friends departed, vigils keep, 
 
 Although removed from mortal's narrow ken ? " 
 
 If not, despairingly, I'd drop my pen ! 
 
 But some there are who "mourn with those that mourn, '^ 
 
 And, at the sight of grief, their hearts are torn. 
 
 The power of Christ, through gospel tidings spread, 
 
 A saving influence, mild and sweet, has shed 
 
 On many hearts, and changed their cruel pride 
 
 To care that good to others may betide ; 
 
 And, here and there, is found a Pythias, still. 
 
NIGHT MUSINGS. 87 
 
 Who will, to save his friend, his life-blood spill ! 
 But, though the gospel truth has sounded wide, 
 To many people, far on every side, 
 And wrought its mighty changes, grand and true. 
 Thus forming many hearts and lives anew ; 
 Still kindly Christian men are few, indeed, 
 Compared with those who cause our hearts to bleed, 
 When we are forced to see their wicked deeds — 
 The fearful fruit that springs from evil seeds. 
 'Tis true the thoughts of man we cannot know ; 
 But actions from within, as fruitage grow ; 
 If these are only evil, then 'tis proved, 
 The carnal, sinful heart is not removed. 
 
 Fain would I now, with joy, proceed to raise 
 
 To God on high a grateful song of praise 
 
 And thanks, for grace of which no tongue can tell 
 
 In full, though angels might the anthem swell ! 
 
 But I am warned that night will have an end ; 
 
 The eastern sun its morning light will send, 
 
 And drive the darkening shades of gloom away, 
 
 Before the slow approach of coming day. 
 
 As I would slumber, I must cease my song. 
 
 Or else, too wakeful, I may chant too long. 
 
 Bat one desire I'll offer — long or short — 
 
 It is a thing by every Christian sought, 
 
 I think by every friend of man. As night 
 
 Disperses from before the morning light. 
 
 So may the light of gospel truth dispel 
 
 The moral gloom, and sinners save from hell. 
 
88 FROM SELF TO GOD. 
 
 FROM SELF TO GOD. 
 
 y 'nr^WAS autumn, that impressive season when 
 
 -L All nature, fading 'neath the breath of frost, 
 Proclaims the solemn truth to wayward men 
 That they must likewise fade, their hopes be cross'd. 
 I wandered forth, in deep reflection lost. 
 To where the chestnut lifts its fruitful head, 
 Which long hath stood, though oft by tempests tost. 
 Whose dry and lifeless leaves were thickly shed, 
 To form a crispy carpet for the walker's tread. 
 
 Nor was the chestnut, lofty tree, alone ; 
 For thick around, with varied size and name, 
 The many trees, with dying beauties shone 1 
 There was the maple, with its leaves of flame, 
 Likewise the oak which seemed to blush with shame ; 
 And there the pine, unchanged by Fall's cold glance, 
 Like hearts that beat for friendship more than fame, 
 The solitude's enchantment did enhance, 
 And work the youthful mind into a thoughtful trance ! 
 
FROM SELF TO GOD. 
 
 89 
 
 The sum of human life to weigh I sought ; 
 Inquired the worth of things above, below ; 
 The things of time and things eternal brought 
 In close review, the worth of each to know. 
 And as I paced the ground, with footsteps slow, 
 I pondered where my course of life should lie ; 
 Should I, for love of sin, the hope forego 
 Of all the best of earth, and all on high ? 
 And thus, alas ! myself eternal good deny ? 
 
 And, as I walked and thought beneath the trees. 
 It seemed a floating speck on space was I, 
 On driv'n, by every wild, capricious breeze, 
 Through vastness deep as is the boundless sky, 
 Unguided and unknown, except the eye 
 Of Him whose sight, or power, no limit knows. 
 Should kindly guide me from His throne on high ! 
 And then I turned from self, and sin-bred woes ; 
 And, since that time, my trust in God unceasing grows. 
 
 TO ELEANOR. In Her Album. 
 
 EVER be true to the faith you've professed ; 
 Look to the Savior for comfort and rest ; 
 Even in danger's most threatening hour 
 Always confide in God's wisdom and power, 
 Never distrusting his goodness and love. 
 Or, for once, doubting, as onward you move. 
 Rest he will give you in mansions above. 
 
 Sedgwick, Me., April, 1861. 
 
90 THE LILY. 
 
 THE LILY.' 
 
 I SAW a fair lily its whiteness unfolding, 
 And many admirers its beauty beholding ; 
 I thought it the portrait of innocent j^outh, 
 The mirror of constancy, virtue and truth. 
 
 Two days passed away and I sought it anew, 
 
 Its freshness and beauty again to review; 
 
 But, ah ! the vile worm had been gnawing its heart ; 
 
 No charm to my soul could the lily impart. 
 
 I thought 'tis the same with some fair ones of earth ; 
 They rise in their beauty, sincerity, worth, 
 And spread, all around, the bright charms of their grace, 
 Till, basely, some worm of deception doth trace 
 
 Dark lines of inconstancy over their hearts, 
 
 And frankness and worth are displaced by false arts ! 
 
 So vilely deceived, they as vilely deceive. 
 
 And woe to the hearts which their falsehoods believe. 
 
RIGHT LIVING. 91 
 
 RIGHT LIVING. 
 
 SOME men there are who seem so selfish 
 They oft remind us of the shell-fish, 
 Which lie upon the shore, 
 
 And drink the flowing tide, 
 And listen to its roar, 
 
 Nor care for aught beside. 
 
 Not so, my friend, shall you and I 
 Permit ourselves at rest to lie, 
 Refusing selfish ease 
 
 Or comfort to resign, 
 The saddened heart to please, 
 The drossy to refine. 
 
 Oh, no ! we must "be up and doing," 
 The danger daring — labor wooing — 
 Out-reaching quick a hand 
 
 To raise the weak and low. 
 To help the feeble stand. 
 To hasten on the slow. 
 
 If thus we do, our lives shall prove 
 A work of earnestness and love ; 
 
 And, when shall close life's day, 
 
 We shall have left behind — 
 What ne'er shall know decay — • 
 A power to bless mankind. 
 
92 THE SINKING SHIP. 
 
 THE SINKING SHIP. 
 
 LOUD is the troubled ocean's roar ; 
 The night is dark, the waves run high ; 
 The wrathful clouds their fury pour, 
 And dismal is the night-bird's cry. 
 
 Far out upon the ocean's tide, 
 
 With broken spars and tattered sail, 
 
 A ship with impetus doth ride 
 
 Before the strong and fearful gale. 
 
 The thunders roll, the lightnings flash, 
 And paint with fiery veins the sky ; 
 
 The mighty billows roughly dash. 
 And o'er the vessel madly fly ! 
 
 The seamen now with fear are weak ; 
 
 For, straining in the wind and wave, 
 Their vessel springs a fatal leak 
 
 And settles to her ocean grave ! 
 
 Upon the deck, with hands upraised, 
 The crew, with death confronted, stand, 
 
 Astonished, troubled, sore amazed. 
 And long to see some friendly land. 
 
THE SINKING SHIP. 93 
 
 But, oh ! they gaze and hope in vain ! 
 
 Forever is the sight denied. 
 Their eyes but meet the heaving main 
 
 Extending far on every side. 
 
 On this, awhile, they wildly stare, 
 
 In consternation deep and dread ; 
 Then loudly shriek one frantic prayer, 
 
 And quickly sink among the dead. 
 
 Down in the awful depths they sleep. 
 
 Without a stone to mark their bed ; 
 And parents, brothers, sisters weep, 
 
 For them, the tears which grief must shed. 
 
 LIVE AND LEARN. 
 
 ALL men must learn of wrong and right 
 From lessons dark and lessons bright, 
 And thus are formed the heart and mind 
 The higher plains of life to find. 
 
 Mow not the grass that's in the swath ; 
 Spin not the wool that's in the cloth ; 
 The moment gone will not return ; 
 Expended fuel ne'er will burn. 
 
 " It might have been," the poet cries, 
 " It might have been," the sad one sighs ; 
 But vain regrets are best forgot, 
 And wishes vain remembered not. 
 
94 GOLDEN FRUIT. 
 
 GOLDEN FRUIT. 
 
 BLOW, blow, ye winds, descend, ye rains, 
 And swell the rills and wet the plains ; 
 The fields and meadows will not thrive 
 If ye with sunshine cease to strive. 
 
 And we, without the toils of life, 
 The heavy burdens and the strife, 
 The dark'ning shadows and the pain, 
 Would selfish be, and weak and vain ! 
 
 Then, as we welcome wind and wet, 
 And own we should not frown or fret. 
 So let us welcome to our hearts 
 The means of strength that God imparts. 
 
 Though present pain but ill appears, 
 And fills our minds with trembling fears, 
 If borne aright, its end shall be 
 The golden fruit of victory ! 
 
SONNET ON MAN. 95 
 
 SONNET ON MAN. 
 
 OH ! what is man ? A riddle hard to guess ; 
 The timid weakling of a fleeting hour, 
 A lofty being of majestic power ; 
 A creature tossed with pains and sore distress ; 
 A mind that many conflicts must confess ; 
 A heart of courage when the tempests lower, 
 And sinews strong to climb when mountains tower ; 
 A boundless, eager grasping to possess 1 
 Sometimes within himself at moral strife. 
 Sometimes too languid e'en to strive at all ; 
 Today triumphant in a noble life. 
 Tomorrow doom'd to mourn a sudden fall ; 
 Thus, with tumultuous thoughts and passions rife, 
 However great, in God's sight he is small ! 
 
 SONNET ON LIFE. 
 
 WHAT'S life ? A man mature in years should know; 
 But, ah ! its mysteries are deep and dark ; 
 So deep that few their mere existence mark, 
 So dark that none their meaning well can show. 
 We feel its throbs in childhood's buoyant glow. 
 When Nature sings exultant as the lark; 
 In age it dwindles to a feeble spark, 
 And then the blood, impoverished, courses slow. 
 But life is something more than flesh and blood ! 
 Through nobler traits it tendeth to the sky ; 
 Amid all changes, seeking out the good, 
 The low and death-inducing passing by. 
 As, guided by the truer light, it should. 
 It finds eternal perfectness on high. 
 
96 THE OLD man's REVERY. 
 
 THE OLD MAN'S REVERY. 
 
 AN aged man sat in the sun's pleasant rays 
 And pensively mused on his earlier days. 
 The scenes of his childhood came rushing in view, 
 Enchanting his mind with its pleasures, anew ! 
 
 They threw o'er his being a spell so profound 
 That years and deep griefs were o'erreached with a bound ; 
 The present was naught, but the past filled his soul, 
 And memories sweet did his fancy control. 
 
 From childhood's soft dreamings he onward did go, 
 And felt the experience of manhood's rich glow. 
 He lived in the thoughts and the aims of young life. 
 And felt, in his heart, ample strength for the strife ! 
 
 The warmth of the sun, as he sat in its rays. 
 Appeared with ambition to set him ablaze ; 
 And quickly old plans and old purposes swarmed, 
 As things in his life which had recently formed. 
 
THE OLD man's REVERY. 97 
 
 His children, again, round him prattled and played. 
 Again for their good and their safety he prayed ; 
 Again their brisk clatter and voices he heard ; 
 Their acts and their glances his warm pulses stirred ! 
 
 His years passed, in musing, full swiftly along, 
 And hope seemed the soul of his every-day song. 
 He built, in his fancy, his castles of air, 
 And felt, for their stableness, naught of despair ! 
 
 But vain was his fancy — his confidence vain ; 
 
 His revery ended in twinges of pain ! 
 
 His beard and his hair — as with snow they were white ; 
 
 His castles were shattered, and weakened his might ! 
 
 And aged, again, in the sun's shining rays 
 
 He sat, and he sighed o'er his earlier days 
 
 And hopes he had cherished, and fondly had dreamed 
 
 Would ever continue the same as they'd seemed. 
 
 'Twas well for the man that, in time of his youth. 
 His soul had received evangelical truth ; 
 On Christ, the Foundation, his hopes he had built ; 
 The Savior, he knew, had atoned for his guilt. 
 
 His castles might tumble and fall to the earth. 
 His worldly imaginings prove of slight worth ; 
 The time of his end might be coming apace ; 
 The sooner he'd see the Redeemer's sweet face ! 
 
 Oct. 4, 1889.