li^^S 
 
 
 ^j 
 
 'i^ve.t:. 
 
i 
 
i 
 
 a^^M 
 
PEBBLES. 
 
PEBBLES 
 
 FOUNTAIN OF CASTALIA; 
 
 *(,STyi- 
 
 COLLECTION OF POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS D. SUPLE 
 It 
 
 ACTHOE OF "FEANK MULLEB; OB, LABOE A.VD ITS FRUITS.' 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 1869. 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Eastern 
 District of Pennsylvania. 
 
EDWARD MILLER, ESQ., 
 
 IN GRATEFUL MEMORY OF MANY KIND TOKENS OF FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 THESE PAGES AEE 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 
 
 (V) 
 
" As one arranges in a simple vase 
 
 A little store of unpretending flowers, 
 
 So gathered I some records of past hours, 
 And trust them, gentle reader, to thy grace; 
 Nor hope that in my pages thou wilt trace 
 
 The brilliant proof of high poetic powers; 
 But dear memorials of my happy days. 
 
 When Heaven shed blessings on my heart, like showers 
 Clothing with beauty ev'n the desert place; 
 Till I, with thankful gladness in my looks. 
 
 Turned me to God, sweet nature, loving friends, 
 Christ's little children, well-worn ancient books. 
 
 The charm of art, the rapture music sends ; 
 And sang away the grief that on man's lot attends." 
 
 vii) 
 
P E E F A C E. 
 
 "Why do you publish ?" is a question always an- 
 ticipated from the reader of a book ; and to answer or 
 evade it is most commonly the business of a preface. 
 
 To speak, indeed, with propriety, either from the 
 press or rostrum, requires qualifications from nature 
 and education, which, perhaps, it is some degree of 
 arrogance to suppose we possess. He, therefore, who 
 presents himself, voluntarily, in the character of an 
 author 
 
 *' Who dares ask public audience of mankind," 
 
 should be sensible that he gives a proof of confidence 
 in his own powers, which both occasions and author- 
 izes an investigation of them, that no depreciating in- 
 troduction can or ought to prevent. If he will start 
 from the crowd, jump on the literary pedestal, and 
 put himself in the attitude of Apollo, he has no right 
 to complain if his proportions are examined with 
 rigor ; or if, on being found glaringly defective, he is 
 
 2 (ix) 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 hooted down from a station which he has so unneces- 
 sarily and injudiciously assumed. ■ 
 
 A conviction of this, perhaps, it is which has so 
 often caused young writers eagerly to assure the pub- 
 lic that they have come forward with reluctance ; 
 that they have been, as it were, thrust upon the stage, 
 under all the embarrassment of conscious incapacity 
 and anxious trepidation. In the hope of disarming 
 censure by diffidence, and obviating the imputation of 
 presumption, it has become a kind of established 
 etiquette for a virgin muse to bind up her blushes in 
 an introductory bouquet, and present them to the 
 reader as an offering of humility and conciliation. 
 
 But the good sense of the present day has, in a great 
 measure, exploded as idle and impertinent this species 
 of literary affectation. Whatever a writer may pro- 
 fess, praise or profit will always be considered his real 
 motive ; and when he has once overcome his feelings 
 so far as to venture upon the public stage, if his other 
 merits are only in proportion to his modesty, he will 
 find that he has overrated his pretensions. 
 
 An author should disdain to fight under false 
 colors, or owe his security to anything but his 
 strength ; his object is not to escape with impunity, 
 but to acquit himself with credit ; and it can neither 
 provoke his fate, nor prejudice his reception, to avow 
 honestly that he has more ambition than prudence; 
 
PREFACE. xi 
 
 that he pants for distinction, and pursues it at the 
 hazard of disgrace. His valor, surely, is not worth 
 respect who cries out " Quarter !" on coming into the 
 field. 
 
 Under the impression of these sentiments the author 
 of this book would have sent it in silence to its fate ; 
 he would have dropped his bantling at the public 
 door did he not think some few words of explanation 
 necessary in reference to the poems that compose the 
 volume. 
 
 These have been written at various times during a 
 course of study at the Academy and College. Some 
 have been read before limited audiences, and many of 
 them been published in the College Magazine and 
 other periodicals. A few now appear for the first 
 time. Their composition was prompted by the desire 
 to become skilled in the choice and use of language, 
 and tact in expressing thought in all its various 
 shades of meaning. Discipline has been the author's 
 confessed end in writing — he does not hesitate to say 
 that profit both pecuniarily and in the way of praise 
 has induced him to publish. 
 
 But though some pleasure has been found in the 
 composition of the work, the author is not quite con- 
 vinced that the public will participate in that sensa- 
 tion, now that it is submitted for their perusal. How 
 far such an article of his manufacture may be accept- 
 
xii PREFACE. 
 
 able in the market he is unable to determine ; and al- 
 though he has received some favorable intimations 
 from his friends on that head, yet he lays but little 
 stress on assurances so often found to be fallacious. 
 And though it may be acting somewhat like the man 
 who carried a brick in his pocket in order to enable a 
 purchaser to form judgment of his house, yet he offers 
 the present production as a fair sample of the commod- 
 ity he deals in ; he sends it up as a small balloon, to 
 ascertain the current of air before he commits himself 
 to the mercy of the elements in anything larger or 
 more hazardous. 
 
 T. D. S. 
 
 Princeton, Nov. 1, 18G9. 
 
COE"TEE"TS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Voyage of Life 17 
 
 The Sculptor and the Painter 33 
 
 The Sphinx and the Pyramids 38 
 
 The Wanderer's Story 43 
 
 Athens, B. C. 338 47 
 
 Greece, A. D. 1825 51 
 
 Old Friends and New 54 
 
 Scars 56 
 
 Alcestis 58 
 
 Now 62 
 
 Olden Memories 65 
 
 Cupid and the Harp ......... 67 
 
 The Flower's Lesson 69 
 
 The Human Heart 71 
 
 Let us Pray 73 
 
 The Jewels of Thought . . • 75 
 
 Friendship 77 
 
 The Fairies' Home 79 
 
 Tears 81 
 
 Life is What we Make it 83 
 
 Fire 84 
 
 An Old Tar's Wish 86 
 
 The Snow 88 
 
 The Old Year 90 
 
 ( 2:iii ) 
 
xiv CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A New-Tear's Chime 91 
 
 The Mermaid's Song 93 
 
 The Three Horizons 95 
 
 Melancholy .......... 97 
 
 Conscience , i , . . 99 
 
 The Inquiry 101 
 
 The Eighth Psalm, a Paraphrase 104 
 
 Naomi and Ruth 106 
 
 '' Sufficient unto the Day" 109 
 
 Two Travelers 110 
 
 Sacred Silence 113 
 
 Hymn 116 
 
 Gathered in the Bud 118 
 
 Poetry in Words 120 
 
 A Recollection 121 
 
 The Curfew Bell 122 
 
 My Ideal 124 
 
 The Song of Life's Voyager 126 
 
 The Butterfly's Flight 128 
 
 The Greek Slave 130 
 
 The Relief of Lucknow 132 
 
 COLLEGE PAPERS. 
 
 One Name ! One Heart ! One Aim ! a Prize Song . . . 141 
 
 A Ghost Story 143 
 
 Introductory to an Album 147 
 
 A Slight Disappointment 149 
 
 Nassau ! 151 
 
 The Devil Sold 153 
 
 The Wandering Jew 162 
 
 Age's Memory 168 
 
CONTENTS. XV 
 WAK LYKICS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Loyal Spy ... 171 
 
 A Song of the War 174 
 
 The American Eagle 176 
 
 Columbia's Banner . . . . . . . . . 178 
 
 Lines on the Late War in the South 180 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Cupid Wounded 187 
 
 Love and Beauty 188 
 
 The Rose 189 
 
 Idyl .191 
 
 SONNETS. ' 
 
 I. Olden Time . . . . . . . • .195 
 
 II. Autumn . . . 196 
 
 III. The Short Bays 197 
 
 IV. Morning 198 
 
 V. To the River Niagara 199 
 
 VI. Guardian Angels 200 
 
 VII. The Bride 201 
 
 VIII. On a Picture of Lady Jane Grey 202 
 
PEBBLES. 
 
 f |{ f upge at Sift. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO WILLIAM SPENCER. 
 
 I. 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 MORN gilds the shadowy east ; 
 Above the summits of the distant steeps 
 A swelling tide of softened glory creeps, 
 And, speeding forth in all its bright array, 
 Proclaims the glittering couriers of day — 
 
 Night's empery hath ceased. 
 The landscape smiles, and all the thousand rills, 
 That issue sparkling from the eternal hills, 
 Their gladness murmur to the banks they lave, ' 
 And kiss the sunbeams on each rippling wave. 
 The fleecy clouds that deck the o'erhanging blue 
 Aurora tints with her own roseate hue. 
 And dazzling bright, like spirits wandering free. 
 They float at random o'er the crystal sea. 
 The dawn proclaims from slumber's reign release. 
 And bids the swav of night's dark sceptre cease. 
 3 (IT) 
 
18 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 Within a quiet glen, 
 Beneath the shelter of a deep recess, 
 
 Secluded from the haunts of men, 
 Enshrined in loveliness, 
 There rests a tiny lake in calm repose, 
 From which a smooth and gentle streamlet flows. 
 Its winding course it takes through valleys green. 
 And softly glides gay flowery banks between, 
 While o'er its waves the flitting shadows go 
 Of foliage swayed by zephyrs to and fro ; 
 And trees reflected in its mirror seem 
 Inverted all, beneath the silver stream. 
 
 A fairy bark lies moored beside the shore. 
 
 With canvas trimmed, and pennon streaming o'er, 
 
 Its build so light, symmetrical and fair. 
 
 Like snow-white bird it rides the water there ; 
 
 With arching neck, and pinions plumed for flight 
 
 To airy realms beyond the bounds of sight, 
 
 A youthful voyager to-day would glide, 
 
 O Time, adown thy smooth resistless tide ; 
 
 Hope takes the helm — a pilot tried and brave, 
 
 To guide the vessel o'er the mimic wave. 
 
 The anchor loosed — the barkjlekys no more, 
 
 And cuts the wave, as fast recedes the shore. 
 
 Unseen, above, around 
 
 Bright spirits hovering 
 Attend the "Outward Bound," 
 
 While gentle breezes bring 
 A soft and rustling sound, 
 
 As if of cherub's wing. 
 
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 19 
 
 With beaming eyes and lofty brow serene — 
 
 With trustful, hoping, yet majestic mien, 
 
 Hope points to realms that shine with radiant light, 
 
 Whose pearly gates debar the dread approach of 
 
 night ; 
 Whose skies with all the rainbow's colors glow, 
 And music blends with distant fountains' flow. 
 Long looks the child, by Hope's bright visions fired, 
 With mingling glories, rapt, entranced, inspired, — 
 As if the Future, as to seers of old, 
 Its hidden secrets might to him unfold. 
 While Fancy paints with all the artist's fire, 
 And, starting forth, dome, shaft, and gilded spire 
 Beneath her pencil greet the admiring gaze, 
 As each its touch in gorgeous hues portrays. 
 Like fabled tales of Oriental lands. 
 And lofty structures raised by viewless hands, 
 A Crystal Palace rears its dome on high, 
 Whose gilded turrets pierce the azure sky ; 
 Bright, beckoning spirits, round unnumbered throng. 
 And Hope exulting cheers the way with song. 
 
 " Young thoughts building, 
 Bright thoughts gilding. 
 
 Fairy mansions rich and rare ! 
 What can life so gorgeous offer, 
 What the wealth of Indus proffer, 
 
 That in glory can compare 
 With those scaffoldings of Fancy — 
 
 Childhood's 'castles in the air ' ? 
 
20 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 II. 
 
 ''Ever in the wistful seeming 
 Of the pensive maiden's dreaming, 
 
 Some fair Youth in golden hair 
 Treads with her the magic palace, 
 Draining Pleasure's lustrous chalice; 
 
 All so bright and debonair — 
 Alas ! that all her shining visions 
 
 Are but 'castles in the air.' 
 
 III. 
 
 "Eagerly the boy-chief gazes, 
 As his young ambition raises 
 
 Tower and turret firm and fair ; 
 And he walks at once as kingly, 
 As though he alone and singly, 
 
 All its fancied foes would dare ; 
 Never to behold the Keal, of the fleeting frail Ideal 
 
 Of his 'castles in the air.' 
 
 IV. 
 
 "Not alone to Youth the vision 
 Of these palaces Elysian ; 
 
 In them, all at times must share, 
 And will still be ever rearing — 
 Though perchance with more of fearing — 
 
 In this world of toil and care, 
 What our sober reason tells us 
 
 Are but 'castles in the air.'" 
 
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 21 
 
 XI. 
 YOUTH. 
 
 The streamlet now a silent river grows, 
 
 And broader, deeper, on majestic flows ; 
 
 Green wave the branches o'er the glassy tide — 
 
 Rich verdure springs its grassy brink beside. 
 
 Youth gazes now, with wondering longing eyes,^ 
 
 On that fair Palace glistening in the skies, 
 
 Superbly grand, yet baseless and unreal, 
 
 A fading fabric — Fancy's frail ideal. 
 
 Yet blest the vision, though it mocks pursuit— 
 
 Though fairest blossoms yield but bitter fruit ; 
 
 If Yirtue lead, and Wisdom point the way, 
 
 Hope's brightest dreams can never lure astray! 
 
 Then blest the vision, for it bids us on, 
 
 Resolved to toil until the goal be won ; 
 
 Its dazzling light Lifers present ills conceals, 
 
 And all the Future's promised bliss reveals. 
 
 The golden moments come and flee, 
 
 And Youth is wrapped in reverie ; 
 
 But dreaming as he sits, the while 
 
 Upon his lips there creeps a smile ; 
 
 A smile of conscious, triumph, bright 
 
 As if with sense of inward might; 
 
 While shines with kindling light his eye, 
 
 And flushed his face — his heart beats high, 
 
 lie. takes the helm his boat to steer. 
 
 And breathes these words of joyous cheer; 
 
22 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 ''A smile for the parting hours, 
 
 And a cheer for the rushing breeze, 
 And joy on the breath of the blossoming flowers. 
 As we bound to the billowy seas. 
 
 II. 
 
 '' There's the echo t)f music afar. 
 
 And the splash of the glittering spray, 
 And a radiant light, like the beckoning star, 
 Shines bright on the mariner's way. 
 
 III. 
 
 "There's a curl of the rippling waves, 
 
 As they dance round the tiny prow ; 
 And a dream of a murmuring fount that laves 
 A parched and weary brow. 
 
 IV. 
 
 '' But the vision is heeded not 
 
 While the hurrying moments fly, 
 For dark is the shadow of ominous thought, 
 When hope and its promise are by. 
 
 'Then a smile o'er the joys that are past, 
 And a hope for the blessings to come, 
 
 Nor a wish for the pleasures that always must last, 
 And leave no fair future to bloom. 
 
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 23 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Ye zephyrs, lend wings to our flight, 
 
 Blow, blow all ye favoring gales, 
 Bear us on with the strength of your measureless 
 might. 
 As ye breathe through the shadowy vales." 
 
 MANHOOD. 
 
 The song is now of the Long-Ago, 
 
 For the years of youth are fled, — 
 With the moments that came and went so slow, 
 
 The streamlet's measured and musical flow. 
 And the heavens so bright o'erhead ; 
 
 The joys and the sorrows, the weal and woe. 
 In the grave of the silent Past lie low, — 
 
 Lie low with the buried dead. 
 
 Thou hoary Genius of the Past ! 
 
 On the pedestal of Years, 
 In clouded drapery, dim and vast 
 
 Thy spectral form appears ! 
 Gathering the blasting rime 
 Scattered by relentless Time 
 
 O'er the silent dead — 
 Hoarding with a miser's care 
 The golden dust of ages, where 
 
 The light of life has fled. 
 
24 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 II. 
 
 *' Thy locks are whiter than the snow 
 
 Of arctic purity, — 
 And dark is thy deep furrowed brow, 
 , And sad thy hollow eye, 
 Forever piercing through the gloom 
 That shrouds the myriads of the Tomb 
 
 From anxious mortal's ken — 
 Gazing through dim vistas, where, 
 Beyond the graves of years afar, 
 
 Old Chaos holds his reign. 
 
 III. 
 
 '' The millions that have lived and loved- 
 
 That were — and passed away — 
 In thy dim solitudes have proved 
 
 The empire of Decay ; 
 The victor's crown, the poet's bays, 
 The Nation's offerings of praise. 
 
 In thy vast censer burn — 
 The dust of Hymen's rosy gems. 
 The ashes of proud diadems, 
 
 Are mingled in thy urn. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " The crumbled palaces of yore 
 Beneath thy feet are spread. 
 And mosses thickly cluster o'er 
 The hearthstones of the Dead ; 
 
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 25 
 
 Their tones of laughter and of woe 
 Have died in echoes sad and low, 
 
 As fleeting as their breath ; 
 And silent are the Temples, where 
 Arose the voice of praise and prayer 
 
 From lips now sealed in Death. 
 
 No mortal hand shall e'er unroll 
 
 The sombre mysteries 
 That crowd thy huge and ancient scroll 
 
 With quaintest traceries ; 
 In hieroglyphics strange and bold, 
 The marvels of Tradition old 
 
 Are graven on its page — 
 And Superstition's finger pale 
 Has there recorded many a tale 
 
 Of every clime and age. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Insatiate Hoarder ! ever watching 
 
 For the golden moment's flight — 
 Ever gathering, ever snatching 
 
 Life and beauty from our sight ! 
 Too soon shall all the fond and true 
 Have passed away, like early dew. 
 
 To thy dark keeping given — 
 Too soon shall Love's delicious wreath 
 Be seized to deck thy halls of Death, 
 
 Its roses crushed and riven ! 
 
26 - THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 VIL 
 
 "Yet not for aye shall darkness spread 
 
 Her wing of rayless gloom, 
 A pall so deep, a night so dread, 
 
 Above the silent Tomb ; 
 For, at the dawning of the Day, 
 Like morning mist shall roll away 
 
 Earth's dun and shadowy even. 
 And Past and Present shall unite 
 In broad Eternity's pure light — 
 
 The radiance of Heaven I" 
 
 On the wings of the viewless wind a knell 
 
 Floats slowly and sadly by ; 
 And the gushing tears from their fountains well, 
 As the solemn tone of the passing bell 
 
 Comes faint like a mourner's sigh ; 
 As if at the voice of some wizard spell, 
 Whose tones on the quivering heartstrings fell — 
 In that sound how the thronging mem'ries tell 
 
 Of the pleasures that fade and die ! 
 
 Those dim recollections, how spectral they stand, 
 
 Upspringing around in a shadowy band ; 
 
 How the Past to the vision comes vividly back, 
 
 Each ripple that sparkled and curled round our track ! 
 
 The perils avoided, the pleasures now o'er. 
 
 And dreams of delight which may dazzle no more ; 
 
 The love of a mother, that naught could impair. 
 
 Whose riches were lavished in weariless care ! 
 
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 27 
 
 Her accents of teDclerness, earnest and mild, 
 When pleading for blessings to rest on her child ; 
 The hand of a sister laid soft on the brow, 
 Whose warm loving touch Death hath icicled now ; 
 And another who wielded a magical spell. 
 Whose tones on the ear with strange witchery fell, 
 Till the heart with her image forever was filled, 
 And the soul with a passionate melody thrilled, — 
 All, all, how they crowd on the wildering brain, 
 And the scenes of the Past are enacted again ! 
 
 But why look back? the Future still is fair, 
 And, Hope, thy glorious visions still are there ; 
 Though dimmed their lustre — faint their splendor 
 
 grown, 
 And paled the light that once resplendent shone, 
 Attractive still to manhood's sober view, 
 He turns away the phantom to pursue. 
 Thus end too oft our promises and fears, 
 With new resolves and penitential tears, — 
 We glance behind, and sigh a vain regret, 
 Pause, plan and ponder, purpose and forget. 
 The current now, with still increasing force, 
 Sweeps sternly on, a giant in its course. 
 The velvet banks that once lay side by side, 
 Like early friends, by Time are parted wide. 
 And wider sundered in his Tapid flight. 
 Till lost alike to memory and to sight. 
 
 Day's glittering monarch now hath risen high 
 Along the liquid pathway of the sky. 
 And in his full meridian splendor shines, 
 Too soon to fade as parting day declines. 
 
28 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 Nor all unclouded is that splendor now, — 
 From earth awhile he hides his placid brow, 
 And veiling o'er his countenance serene. 
 But faintly smiles the falling tears between. 
 Now, fearless mariner, mind well the helm, 
 Lest angry waves thy fragile bark o'erwhelm ; 
 White foam the billows 'neath the rising blast, 
 The canvas strains, and bends the taper mast, 
 While hidden rocks beset the dangerous path. 
 And furious winds vent their impetuous wrath. 
 Thou hast a chart — a sure, unerring guide, 
 'Twill point thy way whatever storms betide : 
 With this through life thy devious course to steer. 
 No dangers dread, — no evils mays't thou fear ; 
 No ills can fright, or tempests then appall,; — 
 'Twill be thy light, thy compass, and thy all. 
 
 Now fiercer breaks the spray above the deck. 
 And wilder winds drive o'er the threat'ning wreck ; 
 False lurid lights shine out to lead astray. 
 And o'er the sky grim, fitful lightnings play; 
 The sullen thunder rumbles through the air. 
 With shrieks of fiends and wails of wild despair. 
 Can aught to save yon shallop light avail, 
 Or calm the fury of the maddened gale ? 
 Above the roar a clear, small voice is heard, 
 And winds and waves obey the whispered word ; 
 Its tones with awe their hosts tumultuous thrill. 
 And warring legions stand abashed and still. 
 The rocks arc past, and as the storm subsides, 
 Along the stream the boat now smoothly glides; 
 The clouds withdraw, the sun looks out once more, 
 And lime is spcrdiu^ii' a.-> it sjx'd bffort'. 
 
TEE VOYAGE OF LIFE, 29 
 
 irsT. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 Look once again, while day's declining ligbt 
 Unfolds new wonders to the raptured sight : 
 In radiant beauty lies the golden west, 
 The shadowy portal of the mansions blest ; 
 The clouds, distent with no impending storms, 
 Dispose their drapery in fantastic forms, 
 And brightly glow with new and hidden fires, 
 A transient blaze before the flame expires. 
 Still nears the bark that shore whence none return, 
 And silent, musing in its battered stern. 
 Where Youth once sat in mute amazement lost. 
 Dim Age now sits, on troubled billows tost : 
 A dreary waste of waters stretched before, — 
 Around, behind the breaker's sullen roar. 
 With folded hands he clasps his pensive brow, 
 Of storm or calm alike unconscious now. 
 Fond Memory comes once more, and at his feet 
 Unlocks the casket with her stores replete : 
 A sad, sweet smile the friendly vision wears, 
 Though moist her eye, her forehead marked with cares. 
 Age grasps her hand and folds her to his breast, 
 Its fondly cherished, last departing guest ; 
 Soft, murmuring voices linger on his ears. 
 And these his words amid the blinding tears : 
 
 4 
 
30 TEE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 I dream no more ; the real comes 
 To put the fanciful to flight ; 
 
 And stately halls and fairy domes, 
 Like fleeting visions of a night, 
 That fade before the morning light, 
 
 Have passed away, their splendor o'er : 
 
 I dream no more, I dream no more. 
 
 II. 
 
 I wreathed in fancy, garlands gay. 
 And culled the choicest flowers, 
 
 Nor thought that Time must bear away. 
 Upon the swiftly winged hours, 
 All that we fondly think is ours; 
 
 But now, the last illusion o'er, 
 
 I dream no more, I dream no more. 
 
 III. 
 
 ■ This life is real — it is vain 
 
 To dream the fleeting gift away, 
 To cherish e'en a gilded chain. 
 Be it as pleasant as it may; 
 Night is for dreams — for action, day. 
 That spell that bound me now is o'er : 
 I dream no more, I dream no more. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' Hope, where are now thy flattering talcs ? 
 
 Thy brilliant land of promise, where? 
 Alas 1 thy firm assurance fails : 
 
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 31 
 
 Thy fabrics, traced so light and fair; 
 
 Were gossamer on fickle air ; 
 Departed all the charms they wore : 
 I dream no more, I dream no more. 
 
 1 sigh not to awake at last, 
 And find my garlands dead, 
 
 Nor grieve o'er cherished day-dreams past, 
 O'er brief and baseless visions fled. 
 And gorgeous bubbles burst o'erhead. 
 
 Let Fancy cease to wildly soar : 
 
 I dream no more, I dream no more." 
 
 'Tis well ; with spirit still — resigned. 
 Life's fleeting charms are left behind; 
 A faded wreath — a broken lyre 
 Along whose mute yet quivering wire 
 The last faint rays of sunlight gleam. 
 Float all unheeded down the stream. 
 No longing look as passions start ; 
 No strife to check the throbbing heart j 
 No tears the deep emotions tell, — 
 He breathes a calm — a firm farewell. 
 Night draweth on, the shadows come, 
 And hail the weary wanderer home. 
 Frail life — though closed thy transient day, 
 Life now begins, to last for aye. 
 Time — soon thy stream confined, will be 
 Absorbed in one unbounded sea. 
 Eternity ! whose viewless shore 
 Extends and widens evermore. 
 
32 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 Hope — now no more the phantom flies- 
 Thy hrighteat dreams would realize, 
 For glad fruition thrills the heart 
 With joys that Hope can ne'er impart; 
 Storm-beaten bark, thy voyage past, 
 The welcome port appears at last ; 
 Worn mariner, enjoy thy rest. 
 Secure from cares, supremely blest! 
 
THE SCULPTOR AND TEE PAINTER. 33 
 
 %\t StttIgt0t anJr i^^ fainter* 
 
 I. 
 
 THE sun's rays liDgered, as in pride, 
 Upon the chiseled stone, 
 And round the marble brow of Jove, 
 
 A crowning glory shone. 
 Before the bust the sculptor stood, 
 Scanning, with glowing thought, 
 The breathing lip, the frowning brow, 
 Which his own hand had wrought. 
 
 1. 
 
 *" 'Twas at such shrine, that city proud, 
 Which ruled the sea, in terror bowed — 
 From such as thou came that decree 
 Which glorified Thermopylae. 
 
 2. 
 
 ■*' And trusting in thee as she prayed, 
 Alcestis her dread fate obeyed — 
 Each through the power of thy rod, 
 Served, feared, and trusted thee their god." 
 
 He paused, for tiny, trembling feet 
 
 Pattered along the floor. 
 And 'neath the sculptured marble form 
 
 A child looked up in awe, 
 4* 
 
34 THE SCULPTOR AND THE PAINTER. 
 
 Who gazed in wonder, and as down 
 The glance of strength and pride 
 
 Looked sternly in his infant face^ 
 He ran in fright and cried. 
 
 Beneath that form a maiden stood 
 
 And breathed a votive vow ; 
 Then glancing at the fearful frown 
 
 Of that majestic brow, 
 Stayed but a moment, then away 
 
 From that stern gaze she fled, 
 And hurried from the life-like stone, 
 
 In silent awe and dread. 
 
 Beneath that form an aged man, 
 
 With faltering footsteps trod, 
 And muttered, as he tottered by, 
 
 " 'Tis very like a god !" 
 And then he whispered to himself 
 
 Tlie sculptor's well-known name, 
 And sighed, as sadly on he passed, 
 
 "How sweet a thing is fame !" 
 
 Down from that wondrous marble god 
 
 A single sunbeam stole, 
 ■Kindling a flame of haughty pride 
 
 Within the artist's soul. 
 And then no .more a golden crown 
 
 Over the statue shone, 
 Tor sable clouds, in sombre shade, 
 
 Shrouded the sun's bright zone. 
 
 t 
 I 
 
THE SCULPTOR AND THE PAINTER. 35 
 
 IX. 
 The mellow sunbeams peered among 
 
 The broad Cathedral aisles, 
 Then gently stole upon their way, 
 
 Wreathing the gloom with smiles. 
 Sprinkled with gold each shady nook, 
 
 And wove a shining woof. 
 Stretching across from arch to arch 
 
 Under the fretted roof; 
 
 And then before the altar piece, 
 
 In silence streaming down, 
 With trembling hands, they humbly twined 
 
 A golden, gleaming crown ; 
 Then floating o^er the chancel arch. 
 
 In radiance soft and mild, 
 Hallowed a painting resting there — 
 
 The Virgin and her Child. 
 
 Hard by the painting stood the one 
 
 Whose hand, whose head, whose heart, 
 Toiling with friendly unity, 
 
 La^bored in Holy Art. 
 His head had planned the mighty deed, 
 
 His hand had traced the whole, 
 But 'twas th€ heart, the heart alone, 
 
 Which breathed the living soul. 
 
 |5e thought, and as he thought, he spoke 
 
 In accents soft and low. 
 While all around, the bright sunlight 
 
 Scattered a golden glow : 
 
86 THE SCULPTOR AND THE PAINTER. 
 
 "In answer to His people's prayer, 
 We see our God His might declare,- 
 The prophet-infant's waking word 
 Shows us the presence of the Lord, 
 
 " And when by Him His saints are blest, 
 Goodness and love are manifest — - 
 As by His strength to crush His foe. 
 The power of our God we know. 
 
 "As in His glory and His love, 
 We hope to join with Him above — 
 So, in the Cross, the groans, the tears. 
 The mercy of our God appears." 
 
 He ceased. Before the painting stood 
 
 A little merry child, 
 Who gazed awhile, with wondering look, 
 
 Then clapped his hands and smiled, 
 And in his artless infant way. 
 
 With heart o'erfilled with joy. 
 Stretched out his rosy, chubby arms, 
 
 To clasp that baby boy. 
 
 Before that painting paused a maid, 
 And upward toward the skies. 
 
 Followed the tender, trustful gaze 
 Of those pure prayerfpl eyes ; 
 
THE SCULPTOR AND THE PAINTER. 3t 
 
 And, as she saw the Holy Babe 
 
 That lowly manger share, 
 With thankful heart, 'mid tears of joy, 
 
 She blessed her God in prayer. 
 
 Before that painting lingered long 
 
 A silver-haired old man, 
 Musing upon the gift of grace, 
 
 In God's redeeming plan ; 
 And, as adown his furrowed face 
 
 The still light softly crept. 
 It glistened on a falling tear, — 
 
 The Christian pilgrim wept. 
 
 Down from that hallowed painting 
 
 A single sunbeam stole. 
 Kindling a light of hopeful love 
 
 Within the painter's soul ; 
 And as a greater glory far 
 
 Around that infant shone. 
 The heavens parted, and he saw 
 
 The Saviour on the throne ! 
 
38 THE SPHINX AND THE PYRA3IIDS. 
 
 %\t S^liM aiA % fgrmfts. 
 
 WANDERERS in the golden Orient, 
 Where the sacred river flows, 
 Where the purple air of summer 
 
 Wraps the soul in sweet repose ; 
 See the pyramids eternal, 
 
 Lifting up their fronts sublime, 
 
 Far above the wastes of nature — 
 
 Far above the wrecks of Time. 
 
 II. 
 
 Heeding not the flight of ages, 
 
 Heeding not the hollow tread 
 Of the countless generations, 
 
 Speeding to the dusty dead, — 
 Like immortal earth-sprung giants. 
 
 They still rise, supreme and vast. 
 Throwing forth upon the Present, 
 
 Shadows of a mighty Past. 
 
 III. 
 
 Underneath their towering grandeur. 
 Clothed in dim mysterious grace. 
 
 Gazing forth into the desert, 
 Stands a calm unmoving face ; 
 
THE SPHINX AND THE PYRAMIDS. 39 
 
 No sage (Edipus has ever 
 
 Solved the secret of its rise, 
 And it still in calmest silence 
 
 Asks this riddle of the wise. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet all dimly from the stillness 
 
 Of the cities overthrown, 
 Written not on fading pages, 
 
 But on leaves of grav^en stone, — 
 Like some wild and wondrous story, 
 
 Heard with doubt and strange amaze, 
 Comes a record of that glory, 
 
 Which adorned the ancient days. 
 
 V. 
 
 Where the desert sands are flowina: 
 
 Over ruins marred by time. 
 Rose a city gorgeous, glowing 
 
 In the light of that fair clime ; 
 Palaces of princely splendor 
 
 Mingled with the templed fane. 
 Huge embattled walls were throwing 
 
 Massy shadows o'er the plain. 
 
 VI. 
 
 There, with sweetest love, were gushia< 
 Hearts of purity and truth ; 
 
 There great hopes of fame were flushin< 
 Through the earnest souls of youth. 
 
40 THE SPHINX AND THE FYRAMIDS. 
 
 Men grew old and died, not doubting 
 But the city of their birth 
 
 Would forever stand, a wonder 
 To the nations of the earth. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But their cherished hopes have vanished, 
 
 Like the shadows of a dream ; 
 On the Father of the Waters 
 
 Shines no city's splendid gleam ; 
 For a mighty Persian tempest 
 
 Swept the valley of the Nile, 
 Overthrowing priests and people. 
 
 Fretted fane and pillared pile. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 As the surging waves of ocean 
 
 Yainly seek with sullen roar. 
 To upheave the deep foundations 
 
 Of the firm and rock-bound shore ; 
 So the sea of steel-clad warriors 
 
 Smote in vain the rocky base 
 Of the pyramids eternal, 
 
 And the Sphinx's wondrous grace. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But they stood near ruined Memphis, 
 When the Persian passed away, 
 
 When the sunlight of its glory 
 Waned into the darkening day ; 
 
THE SPHINX AND THE PYRAMIDS. 41 
 
 Caring not for human passion, 
 With its fruit of blood and tears, 
 
 They have marked, with front unblenching, 
 All the changes of the years. 
 
 X. 
 
 On the stern old Roman warriors, 
 
 With their love-bewildered lords, 
 On Mohammed's fiery army, 
 
 With its flash of gleaming swords, 
 On Napoleon's veteran soldiers. 
 
 Shouting through the fearful fight. 
 They looked down, unmoved, unbending, 
 
 From their throne of silent might. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Still they stand in solemn silence. 
 
 Looking o'er the desert land, 
 Round their feet will glow forever. 
 
 Gleaming waves of Libyan sand ; 
 Underneath their welcome shadow 
 
 Shall the Arab pitch his tent. 
 And the pilgrim's gaze of wonder 
 
 On their giant forms be bent. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Ever teach they one great lesson, 
 " Vain are hopes of lasting fame, — 
 
 We have stood through all the ages. 
 Yet we bear no builder's name ; 
 5 
 
42 THE SPHINX AND THE PYRA3IIDS. 
 
 Men whose fame will ever brighten 
 Strive not for themselves alone, 
 
 They must live in deeds of virtue, 
 Not in piles of speechless stone !" 
 
THE WANDERER'S STORY. 43 
 
 %\t WiM)imf% Statg. 
 
 None did love him." — Byron. 
 
 BENEATH a moss-clad tower 
 An aged wanderer stood, 
 The knitting brow and firm-clinched hand 
 Told of a fearful mood. 
 
 There were children sporting near, 
 
 And their laugh rang loud and free ; 
 But the wanderer turned from their witching tones, 
 
 And cursed them bitterly. 
 
 His words fell on that group 
 
 As frost upon the flower, 
 And with breathless haste they sought their homes 
 
 At that early twilight hour. 
 
 One lingered still ; and he 
 
 A proudly fearless child, 
 Who had not moved him from the spot 
 
 Since he heard those accents wild. 
 
 He stood, till all had fled, 
 
 And he was left alone 
 With the pilgrim, who had leant him now 
 
 Against the cold, gray stone. 
 
44 THE WANDERER'S STORY. 
 
 And then, unmoved, he spoke — 
 
 " Why dost thou linger here ? 
 Thou gray-haired stranger ! tell me now. 
 
 Are there none who love thee near?" 
 
 Then darker grew that brow, 
 
 A laugh rang on the air, 
 The dreadful mockery of mirth, 
 
 The laughter of despair. 
 
 *' None ever loved me long ! 
 
 There's a curse upon my head, 
 And affection's kindly, holy dew 
 Ne'er on this brow was shed. 
 
 ^^ E'en my mother turned from me 
 To bless her younger son ; 
 And my~ father — ah ! — I ne'er from him, 
 A look of kindness won. 
 
 ■*' But one there was whose gentle smile 
 Did all my weary toils beguile. 
 With her, when winter passed away„ 
 Hand linked in hand, I loved to stray 
 Where brightest flowers their perfume breathed 
 And clustering vines their tendrils wreathed. 
 Then would 1 build her fancy bowers 
 And deck them with flowers — fair young flowers, 
 "Gathered from hill and dell — 
 The foxglove, nodding to the gale,, 
 The purple violet, chaste and frail,^ 
 Nor wearied of her gentle smile. 
 
THE WANDERER'S STORY. 45 
 
 '' I loved her, for I was not made 
 To gaze on heavenly charms display'd 
 Yet not one kindly influence feel 
 Through all my soul like music steal, 
 Kindling to strange ecstatic fire 
 The chords of its responsive lyre. 
 But soon I heard what, through my heart, 
 Shot as it were a barbed dart, 
 And, hurled from hope by one sad stroke, 
 From love's enchanted sleep I woke. 
 Her love — her light — her gentle beam 
 Had vanished as an empty dream. 
 
 ''Thus was I driven from human love 
 Henceforth a wanderer to rove. 
 The world was all before me then. 
 As once before the sire of men 
 When thrust from Eden's happy home 
 Around earth's wilderness to roam. 
 But he had with him one fair spirit ^ 
 
 Who might with him his woes inherit, 
 While I from childhood's home had gone 
 To wander on the earth alone ! 
 Unloved by all — Earth and Heaven I 
 My soul to rayless gloom was given. 
 This moss-grown stone shall mark the spot 
 Where the wretched outcast died." 
 
 The boy — he quaked with fear, — 
 
 He — the once dauntless one — 
 Who had stood in the grave-yard's fearful gloom 
 
 At the midnight hour alone ; 
 5* 
 
46 THE WANDERER'S STORY. 
 
 Who had seen the pale moon rise 
 In the lonely " haunted glen," 
 
 And had slept as sweet on the velvet turf 
 As if 'twas the haunt of men — 
 
 Now fled to his cottage home, 
 While his lip was pale with fear, 
 
 And he dared not whisper the dark tale. 
 E'en in his mother's ear. 
 
 The morning sun arose ; 
 
 He early sought the spot ; 
 But a lifeless form before him lay, 
 
 The unloved one was not I 
 
ATHENS, B.C. 338. 4t 
 
 %\\in, §,(!, 338, 
 
 "p ADIANT and bright, the genial morning sun 
 Xt Rose o'er th' Athenian State, 
 Lighting with fire the classic Parthenon, — 
 Gilding its noble gate. 
 
 The Greek girls wake from love-enchanted dreams, 
 
 That fly with the fading stars. 
 And braid their dark locks as the golden beams 
 
 Glide through their lattice bars. 
 
 On Dian's altar burns the vestal flame, 
 
 New kindled with the morn ; 
 The buskined huntress starts the forest game, 
 
 And sounds her silvery horn. 
 
 But now a herald wakes the silent street 
 
 With trumpetrstirring tone : 
 ^' He comes ! he comes \ victorious in defeat, — 
 
 Philip of Macedon I" 
 
 Erom slavish hovel and from palace door, 
 
 From shrine and citadel, 
 The startled Greeks in pale confusion pour. 
 
 That name a master-spell. 
 
48 ATHENS, B.C. 338. 
 
 Thej crowd the agora in haste and fear ; 
 
 Their herakVs voice appalls : 
 His eye hath seen the Macedonian spear 
 
 On Elataea's walls. 
 
 Pale and irresolute — ah ! not like those 
 
 Who at Thermopylae 
 Reddened the rocks with blood of Persian foes, 
 
 And died, but would not flee — 
 
 Pale and irresolute, they cluster round, 
 
 The aged and the brave ; 
 No ringing voice, no lion arm is found. 
 
 To stimulate and save ; 
 
 No ringing voice, till o'er the trembling throng 
 
 Dart jets of fitful ire. 
 And through full vein and artery sweeps along 
 
 Demosthenean fire. 
 
 The Orator of Athens! Hushed and still, 
 
 The doubtful masses stand ; 
 His theme the grandeur of unbending will, 
 
 Death for a native land ! 
 
 As when th' unfettered storm drives o'er the vale. 
 
 Waving its fiery chains, 
 And the dark forest thunders to the gale, 
 
 Till mad disorder reigns. 
 
 So rock the Athenian masses at the words 
 
 Of eloquence divine; 
 Kevenge sits redly on a thousand swords 
 
 That in the mornrligbt shine. 
 
ATHENS, BO. 338. 49 
 
 Sternly along the colonnaded ways 
 
 And clustering olive groves, 
 Each helmet golden, and each spear ablaze, 
 
 A stately phalanx moves. 
 
 Through marbled arch and templed avenue, 
 
 By statued bronze and stone. 
 Where rose-crowned Yenus fascinates the view, 
 
 By carved Olympian throne. 
 
 Past citadel and pictured portico. 
 
 Where shines the glowing siin 
 On war-clad ranks, the Trojan overthow. 
 
 The dead of Marathon, 
 
 On to the sculptured Propyleean gate, 
 
 In metal flashing line, 
 They march, — then pause where incense-bearers wait 
 
 At armed Minerva's shrine. 
 
 The guardian goddess n^eets their eager gaze, 
 
 Pure ivory and gold. 
 Her helm resplendent with far^glancing rays, 
 , Her spear with gems untold. 
 
 They seek protection in the gathering fray, 
 
 Her consecrating aid : 
 In weird, wild chants the bended legions pray. 
 
 Before the warrior maid, 
 
 I. 
 
 With the golden sword and shield, 
 Lead, Minerva ! to the field ; 
 Hovering o'er us in the fight, 
 Slay the wrong, and save the right ! 
 
50 ATHENS, B.C. 338. 
 
 11. 
 
 Like a bright and radiant star, 
 Gild the gleaming front of war ! 
 From thine azure tent descend ! 
 Rank on rank of foemen rend I 
 
 III. 
 
 Let thy chariot-wheels he seen, 
 And thy sabre's silvery sheen ! 
 Lead, Minerva ! in the fray ; 
 Be our champion dame to-day I 
 
 Blue wreaths of incense fill the marble hall, 
 
 And the sharp clang of steel ; 
 Sword rings on madly waving sword ; and all 
 
 A new-born courage feel. 
 
 Electric energies from heart to heart. 
 
 Like a wild eagle-brood, 
 Fly back and forth, and radiant hopes impart. 
 
 And rouse a lion mood. 
 
 While their proud souls with battle ardor swell. 
 
 They form the ranks of war, 
 Majestic Eloquence their sentinel, 
 
 Wisdom their guiding star. 
 
GREECE, A.D. 1825. 51 
 
 mm, %.% 1825. 
 
 HARK ! hark ! a shout o'er Hellas breaks, 
 Along the sky the tidings fly ; 
 Old Pindus hears, Taygetus wakes, 
 The islands catch the sounds from far. 
 And Argos pours. 
 From all her shores, 
 Her battling hosts to freedom's wars. 
 
 II. 
 
 From Sparta's urns, with wings of flame 
 
 And speaking eyes, the mighty rise, 
 
 To cheer them on to deeds of fame ; 
 
 They feel the fire ne'er felt before, — 
 
 Their bosoms glow, 
 
 To meet the foe. 
 
 And fight their fathers' battles o'er ! 
 
 III. 
 
 The turbaned hosts their war-steeds rein ; 
 
 In armor bright, arrayed for fight, 
 They thunder along the trembling plain, 
 With blood-red banner streaming high ; 
 While crescents blaze 
 With meteor rays, 
 And wildly rings the Allah cry. 
 
52 GREECE, AD. 1825. 
 
 tv. 
 
 He comes ! tbe Turk — but Greece, in wrath, 
 Her conquering hosts, from all her coasts, 
 Is marshaling on the fields of death ; 
 Now furious bursts the storm of war, 
 And on the plain, 
 The Moslem slain. 
 Shall feast the vultures gathering there. 
 
 The Othman navy plows the main, 
 
 With snowy sail unfurled to the gale ; 
 But Pylos' shore beholds again 
 
 The Argive triumph o'er the wave; 
 And the crystal flood. 
 All stained with blood, 
 Is now the haughty Moslem's grave. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A wail from the mosque and festive hall 
 
 Breaks on the air in wild despair, — 
 On the prophet's name the Mufti call, 
 While others mourn their offspring slain, 
 And maidens fair 
 Their tresses tear 
 For lovers that sleep on the Attic plain. 
 
GREECE, A.D. 1825. 53 
 
 VII. 
 
 But hark I the paean loudly rings 
 
 O'er Greece once more, from shore to shore 
 The maid of Hellas sweetly sings — 
 
 "Hail, youthful chieftains, ye who come 
 All crimsoned o'er 
 With Islam gore, 
 welcome, warriors, welcome home !" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Lo ! Freedom's altars flame afar, 
 
 For Greece hath broke the tyrant yoke. 
 Victorious in the avenging war ; 
 Admiring lands her triumph see 
 And shouts resound, 
 The world around 
 That " Greece, fair Greece, once more is free 
 
64 OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 
 
 m inwki anil itto.. 
 
 DEDICATED TO H. S. HAKRTS. 
 
 OLD friends, or dead or distant, still are dear, 
 And much of what remains of life we'd give 
 To have them, as of yore, forever near. 
 
 Shortening, yet lengthening, days we have to live. 
 
 Though time has taught some lessons of distrust, 
 And, after absence long, some friends seem cold. 
 
 The brightest steel, long sheathed, will show some rust; 
 True love of old friends never did grow old. 
 
 Those faithful hearts, most worthy of new friends, 
 Most prizing them, most often heave a sigh, 
 
 When retrospection o'er lost idols bends. 
 
 And scatters funeral garlands where they lie. 
 
 Yet, as we travel on, new friends spring up — 
 Flowers on life's roadside, smiling as we tread — 
 
 And by the warmth with which we to them cling. 
 We prove our truth, not falsehood, to the dead. 
 
 Thus friendship, like noon's sun, looks east and west. 
 His generous eye bestows an equal ray 
 
 Where all life's morn companions are at rest, 
 And where life's evening shall prolong the day._ 
 
 So may true friendship ever renew light — 
 As bright a track his journey down the skies, 
 
OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 55 
 
 And rest in night, as when he rose from night, 
 Giving and taking blessings till he dies. 
 
 He is not false, but truer, who thus graces 
 
 With friendships new the shrine of friendships fled ; 
 
 Cold hearts alone have any vacant places — 
 The thirst for love ne'er dies till love is dead. 
 
 As when the traveler o'er a desert, finding 
 
 Some sweet, stray flower, transports it to his breast, 
 
 Not for itself alone, but as reminding 
 
 Of those which former lovely regions blest : 
 
 So yearning friendship proves its truth more true, 
 By fond replacement of each idol past; 
 
 Old love is resurrected in the new — 
 And proves the lover loving to the last. 
 
 Lo, is not yonder sun or star as bright, 
 
 Each spring as vernal, and each summer fair. 
 
 Each autumn bounteous, in old Time's despite. 
 
 As when our childhood showed us what they were ! 
 
 The same : though change succeeds to change, un- 
 changed ; 
 So let our hearts be, not for friends our zeal ; 
 Though Death's foul havoc through their ranks have 
 ranged, 
 Still, as we have felt, so let us show we feel 
 
 Till Death's cold winter shroud our bodies wind, 
 Till Life love's counterparts no more supplies ; 
 
 Till Friendship's hand for God's shall be resigned, 
 And First and Last are one — in Paradise I 
 
56 ' SCARS. 
 
 m$. 
 
 EVERYWHERE scars. The mountain-side 
 Bears seam and ridge along the track 
 Made by the grinding glacier's heel 
 In its mad plunges ages ago ; 
 And on the church-yard's velvet turf 
 The Reaper's sickle leaves its wound, 
 Which kindly Nature seeks to heal, 
 And seeking, goes beyond her common growth, 
 And through rank grass the grave betrays. 
 
 The gay young soldier trains a curl 
 
 Over his temple, underneath 
 
 A jagged line gleams ghastly white. 
 
 When the proud wind uplifts his hair. 
 
 To show what brave men do and dare : 
 
 And mother-kisses lightly fall 
 
 On such reminders, whereon Death 
 
 Has tapped, and gone away again. 
 
 Steel and fire 
 Leave grim memorials on our clay, 
 White seams no blush can redden more, 
 Each with its story pitiful. 
 
SCABS. . 67 
 
 No word is needed for the tale, 
 The scar its story mutely tells: 
 
 " Courage, oh faint and wounded one I 
 I, too, have writhed through bitter pain, 
 That passed away. I, too, have felt 
 The thrust of fever's madd'ning sting ; 
 But it has vanished all away. 
 Left peace, and rest, and quietness," 
 Reading all this upon its face, 
 We bear more patiently our pain, 
 And overlook the toilsome way, 
 IJntraveled yet. Shall we complain 
 When sacred palms and holy feet 
 The scars of crucifixion bore? 
 
 There are some scars invisible, 
 Wounds of the spirit, all unknown 
 To coarse and common sympathy ; 
 From daggers poisoned in the blade, 
 From barbed words hard to thrust out, 
 From goads of wrong unrighted long. 
 Yet all outlived, and healed at last 
 By one physician merciful. 
 
 Such cicatrice we seldom show. 
 Save when a soul beloved faints 
 'Neath the same torture as- our own. 
 And then we bare a branded arm, 
 To give another courage still, 
 6* 
 
58 ALCESTIS. 
 
 ^Ic^stis. 
 
 'mWAS morning in Laconia, 
 JL Before the altar stair 
 The dim dawn showed a warrior, 
 
 Bowed down in earnest prayer — 
 His heavy helmet laid aside, 
 
 And on his bended knee, 
 Unfaltering, with steady will, 
 
 He heard the god's decree. 
 
 " Soldier, go forth for Sparta, go ! 
 Deal for her cause one other blow. 
 Lead forth again a noble band 
 To drive the foe from Grecian land. 
 Soldier, go forth, and Sparta shall be free. 
 This glorious honor waits her but by thee. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Soldier, go forth for Sparta, when 
 You struggle in the narrow glen. 
 Though Persian sword and Persian spear 
 Presses on you, have no fear. 
 The gods decree it, Sparta shall be free. 
 And this great boon awaits her but through thee. 
 
ALCESTIS. 59 
 
 III. 
 
 * Soldier, go forth for Sparta, go ! 
 When in the strife thou meet'st the foe, 
 Thou shalt gain glory, deathless fame, 
 A rich reward, immortal name ; 
 For, through thy valor, Sparta shall be free. 
 Her honor triumph, — but Death waits for thee!" 
 
 He rose and breathed one heart-sent prayer 
 
 To the great gods on high — 
 " Grant life, grant strength to Sparta ! 
 
 Then Leonidas can die !" 
 Then from the temple strode he forth, 
 
 With firm and heavy tread. 
 To build across Thermopylae 
 
 A wall of Spartan dead. 
 
 The sun looked down on Thessaly, 
 
 Smiled in the fertile plain. 
 And breathed his morning blessing 
 
 Upon the waving grain ; 
 The merry harvesters came forth. 
 
 In careless joy and mirth, 
 To claim the yearly tribute, which 
 
 Is yielded by the earth. 
 
 They feel no grief, no sorrow. 
 
 But from the palace walls 
 A mourning moan arises, and. 
 
 Throughout the lofty halls. 
 
60 ALCESTIS. 
 
 Soft footfalls faintly cross the floor, 
 
 While hushed, sad voices say — 
 This is Alcestis' day of doom — 
 
 Death lingers for his prey — 
 And, in the darkened chamber, 
 
 Dies that noble-minded wife, 
 Who dooms herself to death's dread clasp 
 
 To grant her husband life. 
 
 " Oh ! tear away the curtain ! 
 
 Let me once more behold 
 The glorious day, the god of light, 
 
 Decked in his robes of gold ! 
 See ! how the rising vapors melt 
 
 Beneath his glimmering beam, 
 And thus as I approach to death 
 
 My former terrors seem. 
 
 " I feared him once, but as the time 
 
 Draws near for me to go. 
 And as my home must soon be changed 
 
 For those dark realms below, . 
 I feel a new, firm strength within, 
 
 The mighty strength of love. 
 And as I pass, I know my prayer 
 
 Will reach the gods above — 
 A silent tear, one sad regret, 
 
 For Life is dear to me, 
 And then farewell my joys ! my hopes ! 
 
 Death come, I wait for thee I" 
 
ALCESTIS. 61 
 
 Then through the palace door slow crossed 
 
 A silent dark-clad guest, 
 Who came, who lingered, passed away. 
 
 Unbidden, unrequest — 
 He came alone, breathed through the house 
 
 One single blighting breath, 
 And then went forth a victor, for 
 
 Alcestis walked with Death. 
 
62 ^ NO W! 
 
 iflto! 
 
 WE, forever waiting, looking. 
 Listening, searching, groping still ; — 
 Through life's high and by-ways crooking, 
 Seek of joy to find our fill. 
 
 Sirens sing ''A good time's coming, 
 Lo ! e'en now it draweth near ;" 
 
 But the phantom, far off roaming, 
 Never meets us wanderers here. 
 
 What though oft we hear the promise 
 Echoing gleeful through our souls ; 
 
 Just as often fleeing from us 
 
 Swift away '' the good time " rolls ! 
 
 Tempest-tossed, for safety seeking. 
 We but cling to snapping ropes ; 
 
 Time's old scythe is ever reeking. 
 Steeped in gore of murdered hopes I 
 
 We were children — oh ! what visions 
 
 Of a smooth, untroubled sea ! 
 Storms and wrecks, and mad collisions, 
 
 Ne'er could they our fortune be ! 
 
HOW! 63 
 
 Then how many a blithe creation 
 Teemed with winged shapes of joy; 
 
 Golden bright anticipation — 
 Dreams of bliss without alloy ! 
 
 How we often longed to number 
 
 Years enough to make us men ; 
 Thinking not that troubled slumber 
 
 Soon would wish them gone again ! 
 
 Now, when disappointments gather — 
 Black, portentous, storm-fraught clouds, 
 
 When, of every ill the father, 
 
 Sin with gloom our joys enshrouds, — 
 
 Noiv we know that childhood's visions 
 
 Of a smooth untroubled sea — 
 Where no wrecks nor mad collisions 
 
 Ever could our fortune be — 
 
 Were like golden tints of morning. 
 
 Bright, but evanescent, too ; 
 Fading, they have left the warning, 
 
 Trust not dreams, but seek the true ! 
 
 Be not with the future ravished — 
 
 Hers the charms that distance lends — 
 
 Love upon them freely lavished 
 Oftenest in sorrow ends." 
 
 Strange! — Though every earthly treasure 
 
 Readily our call obeys. 
 Still we hope to-morrow's measure 
 
 Will be fuller than to-day's. 
 
64 NO W! 
 
 And when manhood's care or sorrow 
 Furroweth the anxious brow ; — 
 
 Ever we desire the morrow — 
 Though the happiest time is now. 
 
 So we pass the precious hours 
 God hath measured for our use, 
 
 Venting discontent, in showers 
 Of complainings, and abuse ; 
 
 Grieving for the time when sorrow 
 Shall forever fade away; 
 
 Or, possessing not, we borrow 
 Grief enough to spoil To-day. 
 
 Not upon this cruel mission 
 
 Came sweet Hope, with men to be,- 
 
 To engulf each day's fruition 
 In the future's shoreless sea ; — 
 
 Not to make the present hateful — 
 For content to give unrest ; — 
 
 But to make us doubly grateful 
 Now, and ever to he blest! 
 
 Let us then be wise in season ; 
 
 Hoping ever, love To-day ; 
 Suffer, act, enjoy with reason — 
 
 Ne'er complain, be "gravely gay." 
 
 While the iron's hottest, striking — 
 Haying while the sunbeams fall, — 
 
 Let us cease our vain disliking 
 Of that NoiVy which is our all! 
 
OLDEN MEMORIES. 65 
 
 (itoen Mmorte. 
 
 OLDEN memories are jewels of the mind ; 
 They are tendrils of the heart, 
 With our being are entwined, 
 
 Of our very selves a part ; 
 They are records of our youth, 
 
 Kept to read in riper years ; " 
 They are manhood's well of Truth, 
 
 Filled with childhood's early tears : 
 Like the low and plaintive moan 
 
 Of the night-wind 'mong the trees, — 
 Sweet to hear, though sad and lone. 
 
 Are those '' Olden Memories." 
 
 Like the dim traditions hoary 
 
 Of our loved and native clime ; 
 Like some half-forgotten story. 
 
 Read or heard in olden time ; 
 Like the fresh'ning dew of even 
 
 To the parched and drooping flower ; 
 Like the peaceful thoughts of heaven 
 
 In life's tempest-stricken hour ; 
 Like the cadence of a song, — 
 
 Yet oh I sweeter far than these 
 Are the thoughts that round us throng 
 
 With those '' Olden Memories." 
 7 
 
OLDEN MEMORIES. 
 
 In the solitude of even, 
 
 When the spirit lone and dreary 
 Turns away from earth to heaven, 
 
 As the refuge of the weary; 
 In the dreamy twilight hour, 
 
 When the world is still and calm, 
 And light zephyrs gently shower 
 
 All their plenitude of balm ; 
 Oh, then sweeter than perfume, 
 
 Borne on aromatic breeze, 
 To the softened spirit come 
 
 Those dear " Olden Memories." 
 
CUPID A WD THE HARP. 61 
 
 Ctt^a ani i\t |e|* 
 
 THE harp, on which Apollo played, 
 Stood near him in the myrtle shade, 
 ]For a brief season nnessayed, 
 
 Whilst he reclined^ 
 And through it in soft eddies strayed 
 The warblina: wind. 
 
 'a 
 
 Yonng Loye came there, by chance, and saw, 
 And touched it, forth sweet sounds to draw, 
 And, starting back with pretty awe, 
 
 Again ad\^anced, and smiled ; 
 And looking on the poet-king, 
 As grown more bold, he touched the string. 
 When, chancing forth fresh strains to bring, 
 
 He danced with rapture wild. 
 
 There was a tempest in his blood : 
 Till then within his breast the flood 
 
 Of melody had slept ; 
 Buit now the boy, for very joy. 
 
 Long waked it — -till he wept. 
 
68 CUPID AND THE HARP. 
 
 He smiled like heaven — and like its rain 
 He wept — his tears mysterious pain 
 
 To pleasure wed : 
 Then first 'twas his true power to know — 
 Then first he saw heaven's arching bow 
 
 Bright overhead. 
 
 Away in scorn his bow he threw, 
 Away the doubtful shaft he drew, 
 Away the ample quiver too. 
 
 Trembling with bliss : 
 He felt his own song's empire wide, 
 " No more my power shall be defied — 
 Henceforth I'll sway all hearts," he cried, 
 '' By this, and only this." 
 
THE FLOWERS LESSON. 
 
 %\t i\mt% %mm. 
 
 ■** I will be as the dew." — Hosea. 
 
 I SAW in the vale a fragile flower 
 Lift up its delicate head, 
 And round the path of the morning hour 
 The breath of its perfume shed. 
 
 And thither the bright-winged insects flew, 
 
 The sweets of its cup to sip, 
 Or to kiss off the drops of the sparkling dew 
 
 That hung on its rosy lip. 
 
 Eut the summer's sun arose in its might, 
 And that flower drooped its head ; 
 
 And pale grew the petals, before so bright, 
 As it sunk on its grassy bed. 
 
 And all of that bright and youthful throng, 
 
 Who had joined at early day 
 In the giddy dance and the merry song, 
 
 Flew from that flower away. 
 
 So lonely it lay on the valley's breast. 
 With its leaflets all faded and sere ; 
 
 With no kind attendant to pillow its rest, 
 Or to shed o'er its sorrows a tear. 
 
YO THE FLOWER'S LESSON. 
 
 But at eve, as I turned again to the place, 
 
 That withered flower to view, 
 A sunbeam smiled o'er its freshened face. 
 
 More bright than its morning hue. 
 
 And sweeter far was the zephyr's song, 
 That wafted its fragrance at night, 
 
 Than the merry shout of the faithless throng 
 Who had danced in the morning light. 
 
 Its fragrant petals aside I drew, 
 
 As its head raised calmly up, 
 And sparkling drops of the evening dew 
 
 Fell from its odorous cup. 
 
 'Tis thus, when the joys of our folly depart, 
 And the ties of false friendship are riven, 
 
 The dew-drops of mercy fall soft on the heart, 
 And it blooms with the flowers of heaven. 
 
THE HUMAN HEART. 71 
 
 %\t Jraait f Mt 
 
 THE human heart, — the human heart, 
 How strange, how wild a thing ! 
 Now notes of joy — now tones of woe, 
 When touched by passion's spring. 
 
 There's a zephyr light, and a sun-gleam bright. 
 In the depths of the old forest trees, 
 
 It kisses the heart of the crimson rose, 
 As it fans its fragrant leaves. 
 
 But not half so light, and not half so bright, 
 As the heart with its fountains deep. 
 
 Is the fragrance pure, on the zephyr borne, 
 From flowers where the dew-drops sleep. 
 
 There's a sunny gleam on the placid stream, 
 
 Which mirrors the evening sky. 
 And far away in its clear blue depths 
 
 The shadows in beauty lie. 
 
 c 
 
 But brighter far than the sunset clear. 
 
 On silvered lake that gleams. 
 Is light that glows in the human heart. 
 
 With love's enchanted dreams. 
 
72 THE HUMAN HEART. 
 
 The billows are lashed on the heaving sea, 
 The wild winds howl to the blast, 
 
 And the seaman clings in his anguish wild 
 To the strained and crashing mast. 
 
 But wilder far than the raging sea 
 
 Is the heart's despairing wail ; 
 Better to toss on the creaking mast. 
 
 The sport of the wild sea gale. 
 
 But the storm will lull and the wild waves slpep, 
 
 Its strife and anger cease ; 
 The heart may break its quivering strings 
 
 For a still unbroken peace. 
 
LET US PRAT. 73 
 
 M u Iras. 
 
 OH I let us pray ! — when life's sweet joy is young — 
 The free soul dwelling 'mid Earth's blessed dreams ; 
 Pray ! — when the rainbow light which Hope hath flung 
 
 Is wildering the spirit with its beams. 
 Pray I — when the erring heart would earthward stray, 
 And the mind's wealth would to wild hopes be given; 
 When Pride would sport with Passion, let us pray 
 That the heart's wayward love be turned to Heaven- 
 
 II. 
 
 There are, within the soul, mysterious strings. 
 
 That thrill with witching, sweet, impassioned notes ; 
 A dream of Earth to them Earth's music brings, 
 
 With holy thought Heaven's rapturing music floats. 
 The spell that chains the heart in Beauty's blush. 
 
 The glances that through drooping lashes play, 
 The radiant forms that pass in Youth's bright flush, 
 
 Are, ah ! too much of Earth. Then let us pray. 
 
U LET US PRAY. 
 
 III. 
 
 Pray — that the gorgeous loveliness of Earth 
 
 May bring high thoughts to sweep those magic 
 strings ; — 
 That tones, which have from rosy lips their birth, 
 
 May rise beyond the flight of eagles' wings; — 
 That wooing winds, which rove without control, 
 
 And sweet, low murmurs from waves' gushing spray, 
 May wake those heavenly voices in the soul 
 
 That echo to the stars. — Thus let us pray! 
 
 IV. 
 
 To conquer is sublime. It is sublime 
 
 To send stern Thought as messenger to Will. 
 Those heart-chords vibrate music's sweetest chime, 
 
 When Mind bids raging Passion — "Peace, be still!'' 
 Ay ! — that high power is godlike — to control 
 
 Those unchained elements, and mind's proud sway 
 In fellow-man ! — 'tis grand to bid the soul 
 
 Heavenward for aye ! For this strength let us pray. 
 
THE JEWELS OF THOUGHT. 75 
 
 %\t %tM% 0f ®|0ug|t. 
 
 jrpWAS a night for gorgeous dreaming, 
 
 J- A night of cloudless skies, 
 When silent stars looked calmly down 
 
 With their untroubled eyes. 
 And my heart drank in their glory. 
 
 And their mystic meaning caught, 
 As I sat alone and gazed thereon 
 
 In the hush of solemn thought. 
 
 Sleep came at length, and, stealing 
 
 The world's cold bonds away. 
 Gave freedom unto Fancy's wing 
 
 It might not know by day : 
 And the Dream-ano^el, waving 
 
 His broad white wings above, 
 Bade many wondrous fantasies 
 
 Around my pillow move. 
 
 Methought I saw a spirit, 
 
 Embodied and apart ; 
 I saw the hidden treasury 
 
 Shrined in a poet's heart : 
 It was a mine of jewels. 
 
 That at the angel's call 
 Rose from their depths, and as they rose 
 
 That angel named them all. 
 
76 THE JEWELS OF THOUGHT. 
 
 Affections like the sapphire, 
 
 Celestial-hued and bright ; 
 And hopes that radiantly came forth. 
 
 Clad in the emerald's light ; 
 Tears like the varying opal, 
 
 Fancies as topaz fair, 
 And griefs congealed to tears of pearl, 
 
 The angel showed me there. 
 
 There were passion-tinted rubies 
 
 Burning within their cells ; 
 There were amethysts whose purple hue 
 
 On love's own pinion dwells : 
 But how much of dross was round them, 
 
 How much of worthless clay, 
 That time, and care, and a master's hand 
 
 Had yet to purge away ! 
 
 But 'midst the rich confusion 
 
 Of hues, and light, and shade, 
 One solitary, starry gem 
 
 A halo round it made : 
 And I blest the heavenly wisdom 
 
 That the diamond Faith had brought 
 To shine with pure unsullied light 
 
 'Midst the colored gems of thought. 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 7t 
 
 Irimfeljij. 
 
 THE foam upon the river's brim 
 A transient life assumes ; 
 The richness of the flower will waste, 
 
 Though lovely now it blooms ; 
 The beauty of the gilded sky 
 
 Will soon its splendor lose ; 
 Its setting glories soon will die, 
 And fade its mellow hues. 
 
 Sweet is soft music's soothing voice, 
 
 Sweet is the summer gale ; 
 But music's spirits melt away, 
 
 And winter winds prevail. 
 Glorious the sight of waving woods 
 
 Clad in their robe of green ; 
 But Autumn's frosts will blight their pride, 
 
 Nor spare the shady screen. 
 
 'Tis thus our brightest pleasures fade', 
 
 Thus withers all our bliss : 
 'Twas a fair picture, but 'tis gone — 
 
 A moment's happiness. 
 A short, an exquisite delight — 
 
 How soon the vision fled ! 
 In vain we seek for buried joys. 
 
 In vain would raise the dead. 
 
78 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Let other joys unwept depart ; 
 
 There is one kindly ray, 
 That yet may smile upon the soul, 
 
 The twilight of its day. 
 Yes, dearest Friendship shall remain — 
 
 That gem shall still survive ; 
 When Fancy's sunlight beams depart, 
 
 Kind Friendship yet shall live. 
 
THE FAIRIES' HOME. -jg 
 
 %\t imm' j0mt 
 
 METHOUGHT, as I stood on a rock's juttincr side, 
 And gazed on the mirror of ocean's deep tide, 
 I saw through the wave, 
 In a coralline cave, 
 The queen of the fairies in pastime and play. 
 Entwining her hair with the beams of the day. 
 
 II. 
 
 I gazed on her beauty with transports of joy ; 
 And longed to engage in the elfin employ, 
 
 So down through the wave, 
 
 To that coralline cave, 
 I plunged where the fairy-queen danced as she sung. 
 The sides of whose home were with diamonds strung, 
 
 ni. 
 
 The home of the fairies below the deep sea 
 Seemed holy, and happy, and lovely to me ; 
 
 Its breezes so pure, 
 
 And its joys so mature, 
 Delighted, entranced by the magical spell, 
 I roamed a'er its mountain, its rock, and its dell. 
 
80 THE FAIRIES' HOME. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In meadows, in gardens, in bower, in glade, 
 
 'Mid willows and elms, with the zephyrs I played, 
 
 In sports like the fawn, 
 
 On the green velvet lawn — 
 Golden bright were its fountains, each bush had a rose, 
 And soft was the light as from Hesperus flows. 
 
 V. 
 
 Long time did I linger, those bright scenes around, 
 My senses enraptured in ecstasy bound. 
 
 And oft through the wave 
 
 To that coralline cave 
 My fancy still goes in the dreams of the night. 
 To roam with the fairies through fields of delight. 
 
TEARS. 81 
 
 %mx%. 
 
 WHEN sin had raised in swelling floods 
 One troubled sea of woe, 
 The stormy waves their barrier burst 
 
 And flowed in torrents through ; 
 'Twas thus the course of tears began, 
 A source of sweet relief to man. 
 
 The passions then were placed to guard 
 
 This new mysterious spring, 
 And still their touch alone hath power 
 
 The crystal tide to bring. 
 It varies with their different forms, 
 As gentle dews and wintry storms. 
 
 Pale, drooping grief unseals the fount 
 
 To lave her burning brow. 
 While sympathy with healing balm 
 
 For others bids it flow : 
 At joy's approach it swells again, 
 And falls like sun-lit showers of rain. 
 
 The tears that disappointment wrings, 
 
 Wither and blight like death. 
 And scorching streams like Fava roll 
 
 At anger's fiery breath : 
 8* 
 
82 TEARS. 
 
 Despair alone, so wan and chill, 
 Can make the crystal fount congeal. 
 
 But oh ! the pure and sparkling shower 
 That falls like diamonds thence, 
 
 When gushing at the suppliant look 
 Of kneeling penitence : 
 
 Then how the gems that beauty wears 
 
 Grow dim before the fount of tears I 
 
 We seek a better world on high, 
 
 Where sin is all unknown, 
 And tears are wiped from every eye 
 
 That glistens round the throne : 
 The passions then will cease their strife, 
 To quaff the crystal stream of life. 
 
LIFE IS WHAT WE MAKE IT. 83 
 
 fife is ®p M Isk it. 
 
 IT may not be our lot to live 
 In Luxury's gay halls of pleasure, 
 It may not be our lot to find 
 
 In secret mines a hidden treasure ; 
 Perchance the path that we may tread 
 
 Is not our choice — Fate bids us take it ; 
 Ah I well, we'll bow to Fate, for still 
 Our life is what we choose to make it. 
 
 The fearful heart subdued by doubt 
 
 Oft wastes itself in vain repining, 
 It watches for the cloud of care. 
 
 Although the sun is brightly shining. 
 But the cheerful, brave, bold, trusting soul 
 
 Knows Grief's tempest cannot shake it ; 
 Though weary oft, it soars aloft. 
 
 And feels that life is what we make it. 
 
 We may not always glide along. 
 
 With songs of joy and notes of gladness j 
 The happiest traveler on life's path 
 
 Must sometimes feel the touch of sadness \ 
 Stern Duty offers us her aid 
 
 Puts out her staff — ah ! let us take it ; 
 Her path is always well defined, 
 
 And life is what we choose to make it. 
 
84 FIRE! 
 
 |i«! 
 
 CLANG! clang I in the startled ear of Night 
 From an hundred brazen bells ! 
 Clang ! clang I And the dreamer's cheek grows white, 
 
 As the dissonance sinks and swells ! 
 Hush ! hark ! is 't the wind from the far-off hills ? 
 
 Or the trample of myriad feet, 
 Whose coming with hollow echo fills 
 Each dark, deserted street ? 
 
 Fire I Fire I — Fire ! Fire I 
 Nigher the wild cry rolls, and nigher — 
 Huzza ! there are flambeaux tossing about ! 
 There's a rumble of wheels and an answering shout ! 
 A blast is born 
 Of the summoning horn. 
 And the Fireman-hosts are -ent ! 
 
 II. 
 
 There's a sudden glare, like an angry dawn. 
 
 Flushing the midnight sky, 
 And the clamorous bells ring hoarsely, on 
 
 As the engines thunder by I 
 For the Fire-Fiend waves his crackling torch, 
 
 And the shadows arc red with death ; 
 
FIRE! 85 
 
 And the climbing vapors stifle and scorch 
 The stars with their lurid breath. 
 Fire ! Fire ! — Fire ! Fire ! 
 Higher the wild cry swells, and higher I 
 Huzza ! there are red lights tossing near — 
 With the thunder of wheels, and a ringing cheer ! 
 Ho ! clear the track ! 
 The crowds sway back, 
 And the gallant " boys" are here ! 
 
 III. 
 
 A thousand tortuous snakes of fire 
 
 Crackle, and hiss, and crawl — 
 They leap, and cover the tall church-spire, 
 
 And the lowlier homestead wall ! 
 But the python-hose is swift uncoiled 
 
 In all its dusky length, 
 It grapples the flame, and the Fiend is foiled. 
 
 And shorn of its terrible strength ; 
 Huzza! huzza! deep-mouthed and bold, 
 Wild cheers from sturdy hearts are rolled, 
 A shudder rocks the steaming walls, 
 The baffled Fire-Fiend quails and falls ; 
 Like a tropical blast. 
 The peril's past, 
 
 And the Red-Shirt Heroes win at last ! 
 
AN OLD TAR'S WISH. 
 
 f tt ©to fw's mui 
 
 THE sea, thfe sea, tbe glorious sea I 
 There let the grave be made for me : 
 I would not lie in the sordid ground. 
 But where the pure waves play around, 
 Or the mountain billows grandly roar 
 Their battle-notes to the treach'rous shore ! 
 
 My life has been on the wild blue sea. 
 
 So open, honest, brave, and free. 
 
 And there I would in the coral bowers 
 
 That mermaids wreathe my bones with flowers, 
 
 While the mermen sing in the sacred deep, 
 
 "No foot shall profane the old Tar's sleep." 
 
 III. 
 
 glory, glory, now to know 
 
 That above me tides shall ebb and flow, 
 
 All afar from every mortal hand 
 
 Of the lying and deceitful land. 
 
 Until I shall hear the trump of God, 
 
 And rise undefiled by the sordid sod ! 
 
AN OLD TAR'S WISH. '87 
 
 IV. 
 
 No worms shall on my body feed — 
 
 For " the harpies of the shore " their greed ; 
 
 But the beautiful fish shall welcome be 
 
 To make all they can, in their home, out of me, 
 
 While the jolly wind of the sunny East 
 
 Sings a proper song o'er the Ocean-feast. 
 
 V. 
 
 And if that doctrine should prove true, 
 That the soul enters one of the animal crew, 
 Mine will not go to a brute of the land, 
 But there have a dwelling far more grand : 
 
 yes, perhaps, in the breeze and gale 
 
 1 shall billow about in some glorious whale I 
 
 VI. 
 
 The sea, the sea, the glorious sea ! 
 There let the grave be made for me : 
 I would not lie in the sordid ground. 
 But where the pure waves play around. 
 Or the mountain billows grandly roar, 
 Their battle-notes to the treach'rous shore I 
 
88 TEE SNOW. 
 
 %\t Sn0to, 
 
 LIGHT as the pollen from bending trees, 
 Blown about by the giddy breeze ; 
 White as tufts from eider's nest, 
 Pure as the spray from the fountain's crest ; 
 Wayward and wild, in their airy play, 
 As moths that live but a summer's day — 
 Merrily, swiftly, o'er field and town 
 The eddying flakes come dancing down. 
 
 Merrily, swiftly to earth they crowd. 
 Lustrous birth of the dull, gray cloud, 
 !Full of a glory its dark folds hide. 
 Shining down on its silver side ; 
 Blossoms astray from the bo^er above. 
 Fair as Virtue and bright as Love ; 
 Merrily, swiftly o'er field and town 
 The clustered crystals float lightly down. 
 
 But ah ! the guile of the flakes so fair ! 
 
 When they gather in myriads, beware ! beware ! 
 
 They grip the wheels of the steam-drawn car. 
 
 They strike the sword from the hand of War, 
 
 And the pines of the mountain they rend and cranch. 
 
 As they charge down its side in avalanche ! 
 
 Terribly, fiercely, 'neath Winter's frown. 
 
 The fleecy whiteness comes grimly down. 
 
THE SNOW. 89 
 
 These specks that melt on your open hand, 
 Spread ruin and wreck over sea and land ; 
 Between ship and rock falls the Minding veil, 
 And a crash and a shriek tell the awful tale ; 
 With softest buffets, but strong to slay, 
 They smite the traveler's strength away. 
 And wrap his senses in slumber's cloud 
 And fold him dead in a seamless shroud. 
 Awfully, silently, life to drown — 
 The merciless crystals come thickly down. 
 
90 THE OLD TEAR. 
 
 ®|t «I1J |«. 
 
 THE old year softly passes along, 
 Softly passes with solemn tread ; 
 The wintry sky is dull and gray, 
 The clouds hang over his lonely way, 
 The path that leads to the silent dead. 
 
 Many a hope has he trampled down 
 Under his feet as he strode along ; 
 And many a life has felt his frown, 
 As proudly wearing Youth's beautiful crown. 
 He walked in his spring-time hale and strong. 
 
 Joy has been with him hand in hand. 
 
 And often he met with smiles and tears ; 
 Trouble and care, with their solemn band, 
 Have followed him ever from strand to strand, 
 And whispered their tales in his careless ears. 
 
 And now he has come to his journey's end, 
 His fSrm is bent and his locks are white ; 
 And our changeful thoughts we sadly blend 
 With keen regret for our dying friend 
 As he floats away with the stormy night. 
 
A NEW-TEAR'S CHIME. 91 
 
 ^ ^ti^-imf$ €\mt 
 
 TOLL, toll, toll! 
 For the old year, slowly dying; 
 
 Grim, gaunt, sere. 
 On the breast of Time, now lying. 
 
 Hopes of youth are fleeting, 
 
 Hearts with care are beating ; 
 Ho I ye wardens of the bells, 
 
 Toll, toll, toll ! 
 Toll for Earth's enticing fashions, 
 Toll for Strife's unholy passions, 
 Toll for Friendship unrequited. 
 Toll for Hope's enchantments blighted, 
 Toll for Love's fond pledges broken, 
 Toll for Want and Woe unspokea^ 
 Toll for mourners, sadly weeping. 
 Toll for Sin, vast harvests reaping ; 
 
 Toll, toll, toll ! 
 Toll, that while the world shall stand, 
 Sin and Woe shall fill the land I 
 
 Toll, toll, toll! 
 
92 A NEW-TEAR'S CHIME. 
 
 n. 
 
 Ring, ring, ring ! 
 A welcome to the bright New Year I 
 
 Life, Hope, Joy, 
 On his radiant brow appear ; 
 
 Hearts with love are thrilling, 
 
 Homes with bounty filling ; 
 Ho I ye wardens of the bells. 
 
 Ring, ring, ring ! 
 Ring for Winter's bracing hours. 
 Ring for birth of Spring and flowers, ^ 
 
 Ring for Summer's fruitful treasure. 
 Ring for Autumn's boundless measure, 
 Ring for hands of generous giving, 
 Ring for vows of nobler living, 
 Ring for truths of tongue and pen, 
 Ring, '' Peace on earth, good- will toward men." 
 
 Ring, ring, ring! 
 Ring that this glad year may see 
 Earth's accomplished jubilee 1 
 
 Ring, ring, ring ! 
 
THE MERMAID'S SONG. 93 
 
 %\t PmnriVs %m% 
 
 COME — come to my bower, bedecked with each 
 flower 
 That grows 'neath the ocean's wild tide ; 
 Oh I come to my cave beneath the blue wave, 
 And the mermaid will be thy fond bride. 
 
 With it as thy home, thou no longer shalt roam 
 O'er the storm of the sea's rolling breast; 
 
 But thy troubles shall cease, thy life shall be peace, 
 As in my bright cave thou shalt rest. 
 
 The waves' sullen plash, that o'er thee shall dash. 
 Thou no longer shalt shrink from in dread ; 
 
 Nor fear the fierce roar of waters that pour 
 In their fury and rage o'er thy head. 
 
 There are jewels full rare, I have hoarded with care, 
 
 To deck out thy corpse for that day ; 
 And gems that would vie with the bright stars on high, 
 
 All, all for thy bridal array. 
 
 Oh! come to my grot, where mariners rot, 
 While the sea- weed around them is strung ; 
 
 And there we will wed, while corpses of dead 
 All around us, in triumph, are hung. 
 9* 
 
94 THE MERMAID'S SONG. 
 
 Then come to mj bower, bedecked with each flower 
 That grows 'neath the ocean's wild tide ; 
 
 Oh ! come to my cave beneath the blue wave, 
 With the fair ocean maid as thy bride. 
 
TEE TEREE EORIZONS. 95 
 
 Wilt ®I]m j0ri20nL 
 
 AROUND the cradle's merry edge 
 Lies all the round world's rim, 
 Beyond which Earth to baby's eyes 
 Looks faint, and far, and dim. 
 
 A fair horizon, hedged about 
 
 With loving glances plain to see ; 
 
 And angel guards' invisible. 
 Watching unceasingly. 
 
 Oh blessed girdle, fair and frail ! 
 
 That tatters as the years go by, 
 Till cypress boughs and shattered gods 
 
 Within its wid'ning circle lie. 
 
 n. 
 
 Through bridal veil, like summer mist, 
 A golden ring may bound the scene, 
 
 For earth, to wedded lovers, needs 
 No wider circle than its sheen. 
 
 As tho' its gold might last for aye. 
 Nor shade its brightness mar ; 
 
 Nor trouble sharp its shine corrode 
 Till earth and heaven meet afar. 
 
96 THE THREE HORIZONS. 
 
 III. 
 
 The last horizon. Kound about 
 The borders of a Christian's bed, 
 
 A household gathered solemnly, 
 With dim, unspoken dread. 
 
 All Earth can give to dimming eyes, 
 That soon shall see e'en this no more, 
 
 Till upward rising from its clay, 
 Above these earthly hills to soar, 
 
 The soul shall higher take its flight, 
 Shall find its dim horizon grow 
 
 Wider, till boundaries are lost 
 In heaven's eternal glow. 
 
MELANCHOLY. 9t 
 
 MY soul has lost its wonted key, 
 And vibrates to a tone of sadness ; 
 It swells no more with mirth and glee, 
 
 Nor thrills as once to notes of gladness. 
 As gentle twilight softly steals. 
 And gathering darkness day conceals, 
 So gently, yet without control, 
 Creeps Melancholy o'er my soul. 
 
 II. 
 
 The rose, the myrtle, and the vine. 
 
 Bright dazzling flowers, no more delight; 
 Whate'er in Pleasure's bowers may shine, 
 
 Away — 'tis loathsome to the sight. 
 No, where the yew and cypress twine. 
 In some lone vale would I recline ; 
 There, tranced as in some mystic spell, 
 Let thought in all its sadness swell. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yes, I love this pensive feeling, 
 
 Even sadness brings a meed of bliss. 
 Gently soothing, softly stealing — 
 - No mirth, nor pleasure, charms like this. 
 
98 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 For as the stars which only glow 
 When night throws gloom on all below, 
 So Melancholy shows a 'Store 
 Of golden joys, unknown before. 
 
CONSCIENCE. . 99 
 
 €jm%t\mtt 
 
 NIGrHT, o'er her wide dominions, 
 Her gloomy sceptre passed ; 
 High swept, on murky pinions. 
 
 The storm-cloud, hurrying fast ; 
 The deep-toned thunder loudly 
 
 Went rumbling through the sky, 
 As if a monarch proudly 
 
 Kolled, in his chariot, by :— ^ 
 'Twas gone ; and fell upon mine ear. 
 
 While died the tempest shock, 
 As if a " still, small voice " were near, 
 
 The ticking of the clock. 
 
 IT. 
 
 I heard the strong winds madly 
 
 Go echoing along ; 
 Anon, but low and sadly. 
 
 They sighed a mournful song ; 
 The tall tree, near me creaking, 
 
 Its sturdy branches threw, — 
 Among them wildly shrieking. 
 
 The gusts of midnight blew: — 
 
100 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 'Twas still ; the winds lulled o'er the plain, 
 The branches ceased to rock; 
 
 And faintly now it fell again, 
 The ticking of the clock. 
 
 III. 
 
 There is a world of being 
 
 Within each human breast. 
 Unseen, but not unseeing. 
 
 It governs all the rest ; 
 And it hath storms of spirit 
 
 Whose tones ring fearfully, 
 No other ear can hear it, 
 
 No other eye can see ; 
 Its sky full oft is shrouded 
 
 Beneath a murky scroll, 
 Till Reason's sun is clouded, 
 
 And Passion's thunders roll; — 
 And Conscience, as the clock is heard, 
 
 In lullings of the blast, 
 So uttereth her "still, small word" 
 
 When Passion's storm ia past. 
 
THE INQUIRY. 101 
 
 %\t Inqiurg. 
 
 "QPIRIT of Ocean, hear! 
 O Spirit, I call to thee, 
 From thy wide waters, appear, appear I 
 Is there no balm for me ? 
 
 *' Bring to me hope, bring rest, 
 Bring to me loYe and peace, 
 Pity me, thou of the heaving breast ! 
 Bring to me swift release. 
 
 " Lord of the Deep ! arise, 
 Come from the rolling Sea ! 
 Where thy green coral palace lies, 
 Hast thou no rest for me ?" 
 
 But the billowy ocean no answer gave. 
 For it had no gift to bestow but a grave, 
 A grave in its silent depths. 
 
 II. 
 
 '' Spirit of Air, attend ! 
 Lo ! unto thee I cry, 
 Invisible one, thy presence lend. 
 Come from the boundless sky ! 
 10 
 
102 THE INQUIRY. 
 
 " Softly thou breathest, Air I 
 Floating around me now, 
 Where is thy dwelling-place, Spirit, where, 
 Tell me, oh, where art thou ? 
 
 " Hast thou not balm to give ? 
 Hast thou not for me rest ? 
 How should I, Spirit, thus hopeless live. 
 Joyless, alone, unblest ?" 
 
 But the Spirit of Air gave no reply, 
 For naught could it do but wave him a sigh, 
 A sigh on its viewless wing. 
 
 HI. 
 
 " To you, then, to you I turn, 
 Stars in the depths of Night ! 
 Where in your orbits, for aye, ye burn, 
 Beautiful, deathless, bright! 
 
 " Infinite ! infinite ! how ye shine, 
 Lighting the realms of space ! 
 Have ye no pleasure that may be mine. 
 In your far-off dwelling-place ? 
 
 " Oh ! for my weary Soul 
 
 Have ye no rest, no peace ? 
 Myriads! myriads! on 3^0 roll! 
 Cease, they will hear thee, cease." 
 
 But the starry host no voice returned ; — 
 They tenderly smiled, but silently burned 
 Along their limitless way. 
 
THE INQUIRY. 103 
 
 Through silence, suddenly, grown deeper still, 
 There came a voice — 'twas strangely low and sweet, 
 But seemed, so clear it was, to fill all Earth 
 And Heaven as with the sound of million tongues — 
 And smote in thrilling accents on my ear. 
 
 ' Thou erring mortal ! cease thy fruitless toil — 
 Thou wilt not thus obtain thy soul's desire. 
 The void within thy spirit dost thou strive, 
 O sinful one, to satisfy from aught 
 Like thee created but to pass away ? 
 -Thou wert not made for things that fade and die ;' 
 The Ocean thou didst call to, shall depart, 
 And vanish like a shadow on the plain ; — 
 The Air thou breathest, can it give thee peace. 
 When thou must leave it and return no more? 
 The Stars — are they immortal? dost thou know 
 That they must perish, — countless though they throng 
 Above thee, glorious in their shining ranks, 
 Yet dost thou think in them to find thy joy? 
 Nay, thou shalt see them one by one decay, 
 And other worlds shall in their place arise. 
 But mightier far than they, and roll in light, 
 Till others yet in brighter splendors shine. 
 Whose ruin thou shalt witness. Thou shalt live 
 Beyond them all ; — say, wherefore. Child of clay, 
 Dost thou then seek from them thy happiness? 
 In aught material it can ne'er be found ; — 
 Seek it in Me, and I shall be thy rest." 
 
104 THE EIGHTH PSALM. 
 
 %\t €i^]^\ fsnlm. 
 
 A PAEAPHPvASE. 
 
 OLORD ! how excellent thy name, 
 Thy glory heaven and earth proclaim, 
 And with thy love are fill'd ; 
 Thy strength, from infants' mouths ordain 'd. 
 Thy foes in silence has enchained, 
 And the avenger still'd. 
 
 n. 
 
 When to my view the heavens arise. 
 When I behold thy work the skies, 
 
 With moon and stars o'erspread ; 
 Oh ! what is man, or his vile race. 
 That thou shouldst deign one ray of grace 
 
 To save his guilty head ? 
 
 III. 
 
 But little lower than angels placed. 
 With glory and with honor graced, 
 
 Thou mad'st him king of all ; 
 To him supreme, creation yields. 
 The flocks and herds that range the fields 
 
 Obey his powerful call. 
 
THE EIGHTH PSALM. 105 
 
 IV. 
 
 The fowls that high on pinions ride, 
 The fish that cleave the azure tide, 
 
 Confess his potent sway ; 
 O Lord 1 how good is then thy name! 
 Thy glory heaven and earth proclaim, 
 
 And both thy voice obey. 
 
 10* 
 
106 NAOMI AND RUTH. 
 
 "gmm m\ fvwtfe. 
 
 VpWAS evening, at the holy hour 
 
 J- Of lingering twilight time, 
 Naomi turned from Moab's plains, 
 
 To seek her native clime ; 
 Dear friends were by her, and from them 
 
 In sorrow she must part, 
 And journeying with them on her path, 
 
 She spoke with heavy heart — 
 
 "Return, my daughters, leave me now, 
 
 Why will ye longer stay ? 
 Go back to Moab, I alone 
 
 Will tread my lonely way — 
 Call me Naomi never more. 
 
 Call me but Mara hence, 
 I came to Moab full of joy, 
 
 I go back empty thence." 
 
 They wept, and sadly bade farewell, 
 
 Then, with reluctant will, 
 Orpah towards Moab turned her face, 
 
 But Ruth clave to her still. 
 She looked not from her, but still on, 
 
 With trembling step and slow, 
 Clung to her side, and gently said, 
 
 " Entreat me not to go — 
 
NAOMI AND RUTH. 107 
 
 " Mid all the care, which o'er thj brow, 
 
 Lined every thread of gray, 
 I shared with thee thy bitter woes, 
 
 I mourned each weary day; 
 With thee I stood, with thee I fell, 
 
 I 'neath thy burden bow — 
 And must I, who have borne so much, 
 
 Be severed from thee now ? 
 
 *' I will go with thee; where thou lodge, 
 
 E'en there will also I, 
 And where thy spirit leaves its clay, 
 
 In that spot will I die ; 
 Whatever land thou dwellest in, 
 
 Thy people shall be mine. 
 And as we bow our hearts in prayer, 
 
 My God shall then be thine." 
 
 She ceased, — and both went on one way, 
 
 Naomi and her Ruth, 
 The mother old with care and toil, 
 
 The daughter strong in youth. 
 
 They went together on their way — 
 
 Close by the mother's side, 
 Shielding from trouble's storm and wind, 
 
 Nestled that angel guide : 
 They went together on their way, 
 
 Naomi, bowed with grief, 
 Ruth, like a gentle gleam of hope, 
 
 Brino:inG: a sweet relief. 
 
108 NAOMI AND RUTH. 
 
 They went together on their way, 
 
 Touched with the chastening rod, 
 But chastened that the heathen Kuth 
 
 Might thus be blest of God. 
 Four generations, and her son 
 
 Was Israel's Psalmist king, — 
 From David's line that Saviour came, 
 
 Whose glories angels sing. 
 
SUFFICIENT UNTO THE DAY:' 109 
 
 ** Sufficient mU % iEg/' 
 
 AH ! wherefore should we borrow 
 Future pain or future sorrow, 
 Cares perchance may come to-morrow, 
 Let them come, they may not stay ; 
 Often wearily we're sighing, 
 Hope is often drooping, dying. 
 Oft despairing, or defying 
 
 Griefs which are not of to-day. 
 
 Many a tender vow is broken, 
 Many a whispered word is spoken, 
 Many a gift and many a token. 
 
 Gild or shroud life's changeful way ; 
 Ever watching, ever reaping. 
 Need our hearts be ever keeping 
 Yigils o'er the dead — the sleeping — 
 
 Griefs which are not of to-day ? 
 
 We are ever onward gliding: 
 Faith is patient, but her chiding 
 Meets with many a mock deriding 
 
 While Time's waves around her play ; 
 Listen to her voice beseeching. 
 Solemn, powerful, far reaching, 
 "All-sufficient" (is her teaching) 
 ''Are the trials of to-day." 
 
110 - TWO TRAVELERS. 
 
 ®to0 %xiHm. 
 
 Two travelers, meeting by the way, 
 Arose, and at the peep of day, 
 Brake bread, paid reckoning, and, they say, 
 
 Set out together, and so trode 
 Till where upon the forking road 
 A gray and good old man abode. 
 
 There each began his heart to strip, 
 And all that light companionship, 
 That cometh of the eye and lip. 
 
 Had sudden end, for each began 
 To ask the gray and good old man 
 Whither the roads before them ran. 
 
 One, as they saw, was shining bright. 
 With such a great and gracious light. 
 It seemed that heaven must be in sight. 
 
 "This," said the old man, "doth begin 
 Full sweetly, but its end is in 
 The dark and desert place of sin. 
 
 "And this, that seemeth all to lie 
 In gloomy shadow — by-and-by, 
 Maketh a gateway of the sky. 
 
TWO TRAVELERS. m 
 
 " Bide ye a little — fast and pray, 
 And 'twixt the good and evil way, 
 Choose ye, my brethren, this day." 
 
 And as the day was in the close. 
 
 The two wayfaring men arose. 
 
 And each the road that pleased him chose : 
 
 One took the pathway that began 
 So brightly, and so smoothly ran 
 Through flowery fields — deluded man. 
 
 Ere long he saw, alas I alas ! 
 
 All darkly, and as through a glass. 
 
 Flames, and not flowers, among the grass. 
 
 Then darkness round about him fell. 
 And in his soul he knew full well 
 His feet were taking hold on Hell. 
 
 He tried all vainly to retrace 
 
 His pathway — horrors blocked the place, 
 
 And demons mocked him to his face. 
 
 Broken in spirit, crushed in pride, 
 One morning by the highway side. 
 He fell, and, all unfriended, died. 
 
 The other, after fast and prayer, 
 Pursued the road that seemed less fair. 
 And peace went with him unaware. 
 
112 TWO TRAVELERS. 
 
 And when the old man saw where lay 
 The traveler's choice, he said, "I pray, 
 Take this to help you on the way:" 
 
 And gave to him a lovely book, 
 
 Wherein for guidance he must look, 
 
 He told him, if the path should crook. . 
 
 And so, through labyrinths of shade, 
 When terror pressed, or doubt dismayed. 
 He walked in armor all arrayed. 
 
 Thus over pitfalls traveled he. 
 And past the gates of harlotry. 
 Safe with his heavenly company. 
 
 And when the road did low descend, 
 He found a good inn, and a friend. 
 And made a comfortable end. 
 
SACRED SILENCE. 113 
 
 Sncrci Mmtt 
 
 NEVER with blast of trumpets, 
 And the chariot-wheels of flame, 
 Do the servants and sons of the Highest 
 
 His oracles proclaim ; 
 But when the grandest truths are uttered, 
 
 And the holiest depths are stirred. 
 
 When our God himself draws nearest, 
 
 The '' still, small voice " is heard. 
 
 He has sealed his own with silence ; 
 
 His years that come and go. 
 Bringing still their mighty measures 
 
 Of glory and of woe. 
 Have you heard one note of triumph 
 
 Proclaim their course begun. 
 One voice of bell give tidings. 
 
 When their ministry was done ? 
 
 Unheralded and unheeded 
 
 His revelations come ; 
 His prophets before their scorners 
 
 Stand resolute and dumb ; 
 11 
 
114 SACRED SILENCE. 
 
 But a thousand years of silence — 
 And the world falls to adore 
 
 And kiss the feet of martyrs 
 It crucified before I 
 
 Shall I have a part in the labor, 
 
 In the silence and the might 
 Of the plans divine, eternal, 
 
 That he opens to my sight ? 
 In the strength and the inspiration 
 
 That his crowned and chosen know ? 
 Oh, well might my darkest sorrow 
 
 Into songs of triumph flow ! 
 
 For I hear in this sacred silence. 
 
 The fall of angelic feet — 
 I feel white hands on my forehead. 
 
 With a benediction sweet ; 
 They say to me, " Labor in silence — 
 
 For dearer to God are the songs 
 Of one loving and earnest spirit. 
 
 Than the paeans of joyful throngs." 
 
 The rivulet sweetest murmurs 
 
 Afar in the forest glade, 
 And the nightingale wildest warbles 
 
 From depths of leafy shade ; 
 So the poet sings most divinely 
 
 From the noiSy crowd apart, 
 And the lays most worthy of laurels 
 
 Are those he hides in his heart. 
 
SACRED SILENCE. II5 
 
 Oh, I hear in this sacred stillness 
 
 The fall of angelic feet, 
 And feel white hands on my forehead, 
 
 With a benediction sweet ; 
 No echo of worldly tumult 
 
 My beautiful vision mars ; 
 The silence itself is music, 
 
 Like the silence of the stars. 
 
116 HYMN. 
 
 iptn. 
 
 OUR days are few, and full of strife, 
 Like leaves our pleasures fade and fall ; 
 But Thou who art the all in all, 
 Thy name is Love, and love is Life ! 
 
 We walk in sleep and think we see. 
 
 Our little lives are clothed with dreams ; 
 For that to us which substance seems 
 
 Is shadow, 'twixt ourselves and Thee. 
 
 We are immortal now, and here. 
 
 Chances and changes, night and day, 
 Are landmarks in the eternal way ; 
 
 Our fear is all we have to fear. 
 
 Our lives are dew-drops in thy sun — 
 Thou breakest them, and lo ! we see 
 A thousand gracious shapes of Thee, 
 
 A thousand shapes instead of one. 
 
 The soul that drifts all darkly dim 
 
 Through floods that seem outside of grace, 
 Is only surging toward the place 
 
 Which Thou hast made aud meant for him. 
 
HYMN. l\*i 
 
 For this we hold — ill could not be 
 "Were there no power beyond the ill ; 
 Our wills are held within Thy will ; 
 
 The ends of goodness rest with Thee, 
 
 Fall, storms of winter, as vou may, 
 
 The dry boughs in the warm spring rain 
 Shall put their green leaves forth again ; 
 
 And surely we are more than they. 
 
 11* 
 
118 GATHERED IN THE BUD. 
 
 M\m)\ m Wit §uJr, 
 
 Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade, 
 Death came with friendly care, 
 
 The opening bud to heaven convey'd, 
 And bade it blossom there." — Anon. 
 
 GRIEVE not for the early flow'ret, 
 Culled by the Angel's hand, 
 Ere its tiny leaves unfolded, 
 
 By summer's zephyrs fanned ; 
 Ere the little petals opened, 
 The parent stem to greet ; 
 Yet filled the loving hearts around 
 With fragrance pure and sweet. 
 
 Nor grieve for the Angel's mission, 
 
 That touched with chilling dart 
 The tender little bud that bloomed 
 
 Within the parent's heart ; 
 Nor think the bower is flowerless, 
 
 Although the bud's unseen ; 
 In the heart the cherished memory 
 
 Remains forever green. 
 
 Then cast away the bonds that bind 
 The soul with heavy woe ; 
 
 Repel the troubled waters which 
 The heart would overflow : 
 
GATHERED IN THE BUD. II9 
 
 The darkest sky its gilding hath, 
 
 When drifting clouds do ope, 
 And, shining through the clouded skies, 
 
 Bright beams the star of hope. 
 
 And time with its peaceful waters 
 
 Shall lave the troubled breast, 
 For beyond the beautiful gate 
 
 The little heart's at rest ; 
 And oft, in the dusky twilight, 
 
 Two hearts' sad thoughts will fly 
 To the bud, so early gathered. 
 
 That blossoms in the sky. 
 
120 POETRY IN WORDS, 
 
 |0rftB m M0tis. 
 
 "As the sun can image itself alike in the tiny dew-drop or in the 
 mighty ocean, and can do it, though on a different scale, as perfectly 
 in the one as the other, so the spirit of poetry can dwell in and glorify 
 alike a word and an Iliad." — Trench. 
 
 THOUGH the Sun's great face is seen 
 Mirrored in the Ocean's stream, 
 Yet the little drop of dew 
 Holds his glorious image too ! 
 So Poetry alike may dwell 
 In phrases or in words as well, 
 May glorify an Iliad's page, 
 Or grace a word from age to age ; 
 Finds or makes a shrine in all, 
 E'en the smallest of the small ! 
 
A RECOLLECTION. 121 
 
 % %m\M\m. 
 
 THE touch of a hand and a musical tone, 
 The light of a radiant eye, — 
 All these are but memories, shadows alone 
 
 That tell of a pleasure gone by ! 
 The days that are parted we may not recall 
 
 Like waves on the limitless sea. 
 But better than treasures of silver are all 
 . Their fond recollections to me. 
 
 The leaf that I've cherished, though withered and dead, 
 
 Is choicer than gardens of flowers, 
 For memories fragrant around it are shed, 
 
 And whispers of happier hours. 
 The hand that once carelessly plucked it and gave, 
 
 I fancy still touches my own. 
 And murmurs of melody, wave upon wave, 
 
 Awaken an answering tone. 
 
 The Present is fleeting, the Future's a dream, 
 
 But the heart nestles back in the Past ; 
 Oh, what are the pleasures that are and that seem, 
 
 To those that unchanging will last ! 
 The light of a smile and the echo of song. 
 
 And words that in kindness were said, — 
 The joys of the Past to the Present belong. 
 
 Still present when others are fled. 
 
122 THE CURFEW BELL. 
 
 €uim lelL 
 
 OFT we hear the Curfew's pealing 
 At the hour of evening prayer, 
 And blest thoughts are o'er us stealing, 
 As it vibrates through the air. 
 While the note it slowly rings 
 O'er our soul loved music flings. 
 
 Hours of even, as ye darken 
 
 Kound our world of sin and care, 
 Through your silence, angels hearken 
 To the voice of evening prayer : — 
 And a holy music floats 
 O'er us, from the Curfew's notes. 
 
 Hours of even, Love's own hours. 
 
 When heart's hopes are joined in one, 
 Viewing Life, a life of flowers. 
 Gilded by the morning sun : — 
 Then, like music from a shell. 
 Sweetly chimes the Curfew Bell. 
 
 Hours of even, dying hours, 
 
 When our souls no longer rove ; 
 Through the cloud that o'er us lowers, 
 Gleams the light of Heaven's love, 
 When we hear the Curfew's tone, 
 Angels bear the spirit home. 
 
THE CURFEW BELL. 123 
 
 Curfew Bell and hour of even ; 
 
 Time, when thou dost all destroy, 
 May this gift, to mortals given, 
 Bind us in immortal joy: — 
 
 When must sound the tolling knell, 
 Sweetly mourn us, Curfew Bell ! 
 
124 MY IDEAL. 
 
 Is pal 
 
 AFFECTIONATBLY INSCFilBED TO M. A. 
 
 IN the music chime of merry rhyme, 
 I will weave my humble lay, 
 To one more fair than the morning air 
 When the sunbeams sweetly play. 
 
 The silken lash with the beaming flash 
 
 Of her brightly gleaming eye, 
 May put to shame the lightning's flame, 
 
 As it leaps the frowning sky. 
 
 So sweetly empearled in their roseate world. 
 Her teeth scarce meet the view, 
 
 Save when a smile, all free from guile, 
 Like starlight shineth through. 
 
 Her step is light as the zephyr-sprite. 
 And her foot so tiny and small, 
 
 Like a phantom dance in midnight trance. 
 No shadow it makes on the wall. 
 
 Her spirit pure is the cynosure 
 
 That prophets so oft have told 
 Leads to realms of light, as fair and bright 
 
 As stars of shining gold. 
 
31 Y IDEAL. 125 
 
 The silvery cloud is her spirit-shroud, 
 
 The morn her evening guest, 
 While flowers in bloom bedeck her home. 
 
 The rainbow round her breast. 
 
 The winning grace of her angel face 
 
 Shines on Heaven's azure dome. 
 And with heart elate at the " Pearly gate," 
 
 She welcomes our spirits home. 
 
 Til] the spirit real of my bright ideal 
 
 My vision shall fondly greet, 
 And the curving arch, where the spirit march 
 
 Resounds to her unseen feet, 
 
 Shall become a part of my own wild heart, 
 
 And she my spirit-bride. 
 In the music chime of merry rhyme 
 
 I will woo her at even-tide. 
 
 12 
 
126 THE SONG OF LIFIPS VOYAGER. 
 
 Wilt ^m^ 0.f fife's 00pger. 
 
 GENTLE river, hastening ever 
 To that clime no mortal knows, 
 Musically through the valley 
 
 Lying in its still repose, 
 Onward daily, bright and gayly, 
 Ceaselessly thy current flows. 
 
 Good betide us, angels guide us, 
 Travelers to that unseen land ; 
 
 Soft and palmy breezes balmy, 
 That the orange-trees have fanned, 
 
 Waft us soothly safe and smoothly. 
 Till we reach the welcome strand. 
 
 We are speeding, thou receding 
 In the distance from the view ; 
 
 Time hath hid thee — now we bid thee, 
 Early home, a last adieu. 
 
 Yain is yearning — ne'er, returning, 
 May we trace our course anew. 
 
 And thou olden land of golden 
 Promise in the times of yore, — 
 
 Regions airy, gladsome, fairy. 
 Say, what good have ye in store ? 
 
 Speak, ye swelling voices, telling 
 Of the myriads gone before. 
 
THE SONG OF LIFE'S VOYAGER. I2t 
 
 No replying, sound or sighing, 
 
 Sends the silent future back, — 
 Dim, uncertain, hangs the curtain 
 
 Over all our coming track, 
 Yet confiding, still abiding. 
 
 Let no joys the present lack. 
 
 Trusting, cheerful then, nor fearful, 
 
 Press we on our onward way ; 
 Streaming lightly, fair and brightly, 
 
 Floats above our pennon gay ; 
 Yoices singing, sweetly ringing, 
 
 Words of hope and promise say. 
 
128 THE BUTTERFLY'S FLIGHT. 
 
 %\t §tttw2's m\i 
 
 THOU hast burst from thy prison, 
 Bright child of the air, 
 Like a spirit just risen 
 From its mansion of care. 
 
 Thou art joyously winging 
 
 Thy first ardent flight. 
 Where the gay lark is singing 
 
 Her notes of delight : 
 
 Where the sunbeams are throwing 
 
 Their glories on thine, 
 Till thy colors are glowing 
 
 With tints more divine. 
 
 Then tasting new pleasure 
 In Summer's green bowers, 
 
 Keposing at leisure 
 
 On fresh opened flowers ; 
 
 Or delighted to hover 
 
 Around them, to see 
 Whose charms, airy rover, 
 
 Bloom sweetest for thee : 
 
THE BUTTERFLY'S FLIGHT. 129 
 
 And fondly inhaling 
 
 Their fragrance, till day 
 From thy bright eye is failing 
 
 And fading away. 
 
 Then seeking some blossom 
 
 Which looks to the west, 
 Thou dost find in its bosom 
 
 Sweet shelter and rest : 
 
 And there dost betake thee, 
 
 Till darkness is o'er, 
 And the sunbeams awake thee 
 
 To pleasure once more. 
 
 12* 
 
130 THE GREEK SLAVE. 
 
 %\t ^xttl Stobt 
 
 BEAUTY is painted on thy brow, 
 And beauty on thy bp serene, 
 Thy melancholy features show 
 
 The bitter agony so keen, 
 Which pierces to thy maiden heart, 
 Standing exposed in crowded mart. 
 
 Sadly thou turnest from the stare 
 And shameless gazing of the crowd. 
 
 As in thy beauty standing there, 
 
 Thou hear'st the cries and clamors loud, 
 
 As Turk, and Jew, and Moslem, speak 
 
 Their biddings for the lovely Greek. 
 
 I speak to thee as if thou art 
 No fancy of an Artist's brain. 
 
 As if through beating pulse and heart. 
 The life-blood flows in every vein ; 
 
 I speak as if before me stands 
 
 A model from Almighty hands. 
 
 Thou art a type of Grecia's wrongs. 
 With tale of misery on thy brow, 
 
 A tale of slavery's iron thongs, 
 And bitter tears, that coursing flow 
 
TEE GREEK SLAVE. 131 
 
 Adown a mother's stricken breast, 
 Where her slave-child was wont to 'rest. 
 
 No, Maiden ! ne'er can mortal hand 
 . Do justice to thy priceless worth, 
 Divine and glorious dost thou stand. 
 
 Too beauteous for this groveling earth ; 
 So fair a form has ne'er been given, 
 Save to an angel blest in heaven. 
 
132 TEE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 
 
 %\i %m Of StttllMtlJ. 
 
 AH ! that last dread day in Lucknow I 
 Prisoned in its narrow bounds, 
 Without hope of human succor, 
 
 Sentries walked their dreary rounds ; 
 Through the sultry, rayless midnight — 
 
 Through the burning noon of day, 
 Ever fiercer, deadlier, nearer. 
 The beleaguering army lay: 
 
 II. 
 
 Gaunt and wild-eyed in the trenches, 
 
 Slippery yet with brothers' blood. 
 Helpless, hopeless, — but unconquered, . 
 
 Fierce at bay the Briton stood, 
 In the blood-red eye of battle — 
 
 In the cannon's sulphurous breath, 
 'Neath the carbine's murderous rattle, 
 
 Standing face to face with Death ! 
 
 III. 
 
 We weep, when on its mother's breast 
 Sinks childhood in death's calm repose. 
 
 When, like some stainless, summer blossom. 
 The white and fluttering eyelids close ; 
 
THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 133 
 
 Or when the old man, faint and hoary, 
 
 Walks saintly to his holy rest, 
 Leaving a broad, bright track of glory — 
 
 As autumn's sunset dyes the west : 
 
 IV. 
 
 When, pure as gold refined from dross, 
 
 Friendship and love their all have given, 
 When Faith triumphant rears the Cross, 
 
 And points the parting soul to heaven— 
 When (blest exchange for joys immortal !) 
 
 This world fades from the glazing eye. 
 And heaven unfolds its radiant portal, — 
 
 Ah I then we call it hard to die! 
 
 V. 
 
 What know we of the nameless horrors, 
 
 UpsurgiDg like a fiery flood, 
 When Bengal tigers burst their fetters, 
 
 And sated their long thirst for blood I 
 When, prey to treachery, England's bravest 
 
 In the unequal conflict fell, 
 And their tenderest, loveliest, purest. 
 
 Perished in that Indian hell ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh I we dare not trace those horrors — 
 Nor the madd'ning grief afar. 
 
 When o'er the smiling homes of England 
 Broke that whelming wave of war ; 
 
134 THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 
 
 Drop the solemn pall of mystery 
 O'er the pages wet with gore, 
 
 Where the shuddering muse of History 
 Writes the fatal name — Cawnpore I 
 
 vn. 
 
 So, on that last day in Lucknow — 
 
 Glowing on the ramparts there — 
 Brave men, hopeless of deliverance, 
 
 Met, and battled with despair ; 
 Woman, true in all relations, 
 
 With her sweet lips blanched with fear, 
 Served the soldier's daily rations. 
 
 Uttering words of lofty cheer ; 
 
 vrn. 
 
 Frantic mothers, wildly kneeling, 
 
 Tearless in their dumb despair, 
 Clasped their children to their bosoms, 
 
 And looked up in wordless prayer. 
 One young creature, worn and wasted, 
 
 Pallid from sad vigils kept. 
 Lost at last in deadly stupor — 
 
 Sunk upon the ground and slept ; 
 
 IX. 
 
 Slept, as when among the heather, 
 On the hill-side, herding sheep — 
 
 Ah I her thoughts had wandered thither,- 
 For she murmured in her sleep, — 
 
TEE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. I35 
 
 Murmured of the hill-side reaper 
 
 And her father's honest toils, 
 While grim death beside the sleeper, 
 
 Harvested his bloody spoils ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Sudden from the ground upspringing, 
 
 With a wild dilating eye, 
 "Hal" she cried, "the slogan's ringing! — 
 
 That's the Highland battle-cry!" 
 From her blue-veined shrunken temples 
 
 Roll'd the vraves of burnish'd gold, 
 As she stood with lifted finger. 
 
 Like the Pythoness of old, — 
 
 XI. 
 
 And a gleam of former splendor 
 
 Filled the weird, blue, flashing eye — 
 " Listen 1 'tis the Clan McGregor ! 
 
 That's McGregor's battle-cry ! 
 Succor ! rescue ! men and brothers, 
 
 Hark ! the Scottish slogan hear ! 
 Succor ! courage ! wives and mothers. 
 
 Help is coming ! help is near !" 
 
 XII. 
 
 Where the tropic sunbeams glistened 
 Quivering on the burnished steel, 
 
 Women raised their heads and listened, 
 Vainly, for that welcome peal ; 
 
136 THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 
 
 War-worn men, with straining vision, 
 Gazed across the arid plain — 
 
 Then, with lips compressed and writhing, 
 Turned them to their posts again. 
 
 xni. 
 
 'Twas the sappers mining earthward, — 
 
 Gaining hourly, blow by blow; 
 " Dream again, poor care-crazed Jessie I 
 
 And forget the dreadful 7ioio /" 
 " No !" she said, " 'twas na delusion ! 
 
 ' Twas the Scottish slogan peal ; 
 I am of the Clan McGregor, 
 
 And I know their war-cry weel. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Rescue! rescue! they are coming 
 
 O'er yon distant mountain brow, 
 Pipes are playing ! banners waving ; 
 
 Hark ! ye'll hear the pibroch now ! 
 Ah ! the gallant bra' Scotch laddie ! — 
 
 Foremost still in fray or raid, — 
 Ah I the bonnie Highland plaidie ! 
 
 Blessings on the tartan plaid 1" 
 
 XV. 
 
 As the wind, that 'mong the branches 
 Tells the welcome coming rain, 
 
 Came the bagpipe's droning measure, 
 Came the pibroch's piercing strain 
 
TEE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 13t 
 
 Doubting half,— and half believing— 
 
 With a joy akin to awe, — 
 Scarce the o'erburdened heart relieving, 
 
 Men the advancing column saw : 
 
 XVI. 
 
 As the whirlwind on the mountains 
 
 Rolls among the leafless trees, 
 So the thrilling Highland music 
 
 Stirred the sluggish Indian breeze; 
 Sobbing men and frantic women 
 
 Dashed along the broken line. 
 While, like something more than human. 
 
 Pealed the notes of ''Auld Lang Syne.^^ 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Blessings, sobs, and wild embraces ; 
 
 Mothers, mingling prayer and vow, 
 Dared to look in children's faces, — 
 
 Ah I not doomed to perish now ! — 
 Like a spell of Scottish glamour, 
 
 Fled the incubus of fear, 
 As the pibroch's martial clamor 
 
 Rose exultant high and clear ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Blest o'er all, in glad confidings, — 
 With clasped hands and lifted brow, — 
 
 Stood the herald of glad tidings, — 
 Jessie, heroine of Lucknow I 
 13 
 
COLLEGE PAPERS. 
 
 (139 
 
(fine pme! ®m feart! $m Jlim 
 
 iPiaiziE] soisrc3-. 
 
 AiE — / wish I had a barrel of rum^ etc. 
 
 FROM every portion of our land, 
 To Princeton's shades we came, 
 Within her ancient, classic halls 
 Our youthful minds to train ; 
 But here we know no difference, 
 
 A common bond we own. 
 The ties of lasting fellowship — 
 In name and heart, we're one ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 From mountain peak to sea-girt shore, 
 
 Let Princeton's noble band 
 Prolong the song — thrill each heart's core, 
 
 Throughout our broad-spread land ! 
 Till forests, ringing with the sound, 
 
 Send back a glad refrain. 
 And mountain crags in echo speak 
 
 Our Alma Mater^s name ! 
 
 * Published in the Nassau Literary Magazine, December, 1868. 
 
 13* (141) 
 
142 ONE NAME! ONE HEART! ONE AIM! 
 
 United flows our youthful blood, 
 
 In spirit one we stand ! 
 And linked in closest brotherhood, 
 
 From an unbroken band. 
 By common sympathies impelled, 
 
 We know but one great aim. 
 To crown with honor, and exalt 
 
 Our foster-parent's name ! 
 Chorus. 
 
 Unfurl her banner ! let it wave 
 
 From IsT assau's lofty spire ! 
 That ever, while it floats on high. 
 
 It may our hearts inspire. 
 Upon its ample folds inscribe, 
 
 In letters bright and fair, 
 A title, dear to every heart — 
 
 The name we proudly bear ! 
 Chorus. 
 
 And when again we separate 
 
 From college friends and scenes. 
 And, on the battle-field of life. 
 
 Forget our early dreams. 
 May Princeton''s name be ever new, 
 
 And love enkindled here. 
 Forever cherished, stronger grow 
 
 With every passing year ! 
 Chorus. 
 
A GHOST STORY. 143 
 
 |L 6^0st St0rs, 
 
 BY the light of a flickering kerosene lamp, 
 A Freshman sat in his room so damp, 
 
 But his lesson was a damper ; 
 Studying out how the Roman Camp 
 Had been lorded over by many a scamp, 
 
 Who made all enemies scamper. 
 The rain poured without, while he pored within. 
 The elements made a most fearful din, 
 
 Like ten thousand gongs for dinner ; 
 When he heard a step on the College walk. 
 
 Like the step of a ghostly walker, 
 And at his door he heard a knock, 
 
 Like the rap of a ghostly knocker ; 
 For the knock was hollow upon the door. 
 And hollow the step on the entry floor. 
 As if made by bones and nothing more. 
 
 ' Who comes there at this time of night ?" 
 The Freshman queried, with pale affright. 
 While the hair of his head stood bolt upright, 
 And he felt quite blue, as he turned quite white. 
 
 No answer : but bump 
 
 On the door came a thump. 
 As much as to say, " No lingo ! 
 
 Open your door, 
 ^Without a word more. 
 Or I'll break it down, by jingo I" 
 
144 A GHOST STORY. 
 
 The Freshman reluctantly turned the key, 
 Expecting a Sophomore gang to see, 
 Who, with faces masked and cudgels stout, 
 Had come resolved to smoke him out, 
 And give him a treat he could do without. 
 So he opened the door with fear and gloom ; 
 But Sophomores bolt not into the room. 
 
 But instead a woeful vision 
 
 Smote upon his startled sight ; 
 In the darkness of the entry 
 
 Stood a shape most thin and white. 
 Showing all its ghastly grimness, 
 
 On the bosom of the night: 
 Dimly through its form transparent 
 
 Shone the Freshman's flick'ring light, 
 AnS the hair stood stiff and straighter 
 
 On the fear-bewildered wight. 
 - '' Who art thou," he faintly uttered, 
 
 " Coming in this mournful plight ?" 
 And the figure dimly muttered — 
 
 What I very soon shall write. 
 In the next verse you shall see it. 
 
 Read it slowly — read it right. 
 
 " I am not the ghost of biped, 
 
 Tramping over the stones. 
 
 As thou wilt quickly discover. 
 
 By the hide on my bones ; 
 
 In my extremity 
 
 I come to thee ; 
 
A GHOST STORY. 145 
 
 ^'At my extremity, 
 
 Thou wilt see 
 A long and stern tail ; 
 
 Keep thy serenity, 
 Nor let thy lips turn pale. 
 
 " I am a college Pony, 
 
 Coming from a Junior's room ; 
 The ungrateful wretch has cast me 
 
 Forth to wander in the gloom. 
 I bore him safe through Horace, 
 
 Saved him from the flunkey's doom, 
 Now examination's over. 
 He, instead of oats and clover. 
 
 Will not grant me e'en a tomb. 
 While I wander here unburied, 
 
 I am in a dreadful fix. 
 For I never can be ferried 
 
 O'er the deep and muddy Styx. 
 As I am old and spavin-kneed, 
 I thy help most sorely need. 
 
 Lay me low in Lover's Lane ; 
 I will bear thee there with speed. 
 
 Caring not for wind and rain." 
 
 The frightened Freshman heard his tale ; 
 And bestrode the back of the form so pale, 
 Although it was sharp, like the edge of a rail. 
 Yet the speed of the Pale Horse never did fail. 
 Till he reached the middle of Lover's Lane, 
 Where the Freshman dug, in the midst of the rain, 
 A grave for the Pony with might and main. 
 
146 ^ GHOST STORY. 
 
 He dug the grave, and he laid him low 
 
 Where the sweet May-flowers in their beauty grow, 
 
 And the winds of winter wildly rave 
 
 Over the place of the Pony's grave. 
 
 He planted above him a white-pine board, 
 
 And on it these words he rudely scored : — 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 " This grave is unworthy to hide, 
 
 His hide who traveled rough roads ; 
 He ne'er was translated, but died 
 Translating old Horace's Odes. 
 
 " Here he lies, past the doctor's art \ 
 Tread gently, and leave him alone ; 
 The remains of what may have been Smart, 
 Although it was skin and BohnI" 
 
AN INVITATION. \i^ 
 
 Jltt InWtnttJjn : |ntr0tatt0tg t0 m Jiltam* 
 
 INSCEIBED TO C. K. J. MILLER. 
 
 BEHOLD the virgin page! 
 How true an emblem of the human heart ! 
 Where varied passions trace from youth to age 
 Fixed characters, as years on years depart. 
 
 II. 
 
 Here writeth joy and grief, 
 
 And penury, and pain with iron pen ; 
 And melancholy clouds the fairest leaf, 
 
 Its sunlight hue returning ne'er again. 
 
 III. 
 
 Beloved and loving friends. 
 
 While yet the tablets of our hearts are pure, 
 While yet fresh youth to life enchantment lends. 
 
 And faith and friendship promise to endure. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Come pay your tribute here ; 
 
 That when the freshness of your heart hath flown, 
 When early frosts shall sweet affections sear, 
 
 And one by one from earth's sad scenes have gone. 
 
148 AN INVITATION. 
 
 V. 
 
 These tablets still the same, 
 
 May bring the early-loved before the eye, 
 Kestore each vanished form to each dear name, 
 
 And cheat the flight of time with memory ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Fast glide the changing years I 
 
 Beauty and youth are ever on the wane ! 
 
 Joy must give way to sorrow, hopes to fears — 
 Oh 1 write a line to strengthen friendship's chain I 
 
A SLIGHT DISAPPOINTMENT. ' 149 
 
 ^ Slight Sisagpiittment; king a |;tto ^mimx 
 0f an ®ft Stej. 
 
 I WANDERED forth one lovely eve, 
 When the stars were bright above, 
 And the moonlight slept mid dusky leaves, 
 
 And my thoughts were all of love. 
 A sudden, soft, yet powerful thrill, 
 
 A tender feeling came o'er me, 
 As I saw, by the light of the moonlight pale, 
 A maiden walking before me. 
 
 Her form was perfection, her step was light 
 
 As the lightest mountain fairy ; 
 As I gazed, a weight fell o'er my soul, 
 
 A weight most grievous to carry. 
 I quickened my steps, she slackened her own, 
 
 Or else I was greatly mistaken ; 
 I ventured to hope that the lady would not 
 
 Feel sorrow at being o'ertaken. '* 
 
 I came to her side ; I spoke, and she stopped ; 
 
 I knew not what it was that I said ; 
 But the stream of words came thick and fast. 
 
 As though by her silence fed. 
 14 
 
150 A SLIGHT DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 Mj arm was entwined within her own, 
 And she offered no resistance ; 
 
 The way was long, and I deemed she might 
 Perhaps require assistance. 
 
 I sighed — I spoke of love — I raved — 
 
 And I bitterly bewailed, 
 I sought to gaze upon her face, 
 
 But, alas, that face was veiled I 
 That veil I gently sought to lift ; 
 
 She struggled and screamed aloud ; 
 Too late ! I looked — confound the wench — 
 
 She was black as a thunder -cloud / 
 
NASSAU! 151 
 
 '^mn 
 
 Air — America. 
 
 NASSAU ! th J name we own, 
 No nobler name be known, 
 Ancient Nassau ! 
 Thine are our hearts' desires ; 
 Thy name each bosom fires, 
 And strongest love inspires, 
 Noble Nassau ! 
 
 Thy seed, in weakness sown, 
 A giant tree has grown, 
 
 Unyielding stands. 
 All blighting storms defied, 
 Thy blessings, far and wide. 
 Shall sweep, a glorious tide. 
 
 Throughout all lands I 
 
 In North, South, East, and West, 
 Our land shall still be blest 
 
 By thee, Nassau ! 
 Hundreds of noble youth 
 In future shall go forth, 
 Moulded in sacred truth. 
 
 From thee, Nassau ! 
 
152 liASSAU! 
 
 Loved Parent, now to thee 
 We vow unitedly 
 
 Thy friends to be, 
 Ever, through life, to stand, 
 A strong and faithful band, 
 Ready with heart and hand 
 
 To work for thee ! 
 
 From all reproach we'll save 
 The name our fathers gave, 
 
 Noble Nassau ! 
 Ever unto the end 
 Glory shall still attend, 
 And through the land extend, 
 
 Thy name, Nassau ! 
 
THE DEVIL SOLD. 153 
 
 %\t^m%m 
 
 O^IsTTO I. 
 
 THERE can't be the slightest doubt 
 That Ireland's a very 'cute nation ; 
 Although its elbows are somewhat out, 
 And though it lies a trifle without 
 The pale of civilization. 
 
 Now, in Ireland there is a certain place 
 
 Called the County of Londonderry, 
 Since Harry the Eighth's time, who, '' by God's grace, '^ 
 With his golden sceptre and brazen face, 
 Has long crossed the Stygian ferry. 
 A singular place, me judice, 
 This country is understood to be, 
 Where never a dun. 
 Or a pointless pun. 
 Or a clouded sun, 
 Or a whole pair of breeches, you're likely to see. 
 
 And within the said county's boundary-line. 
 In the year Eighteen Hundred and Thirty-Mne, 
 14* 
 
154 THE DEVIL SOLD. 
 
 A certain wight — 
 
 Tim Carroll bight* — 
 Was absolute master, "by grace divine," 
 
 O'er a mud-walled shebeen, f 
 
 And a jug of poteen,| 
 Arid a binful of "pratees," undoubtedly fine ; 
 Not to mention a pig, who supported himself 
 By wandering in search of all edible pelf; 
 As free as his master, except when some "pound'' 
 Inclosed him by chance in its magical round. 
 
 But, as Tim is my hero, 'twere fit I relate 
 
 His " circumstance " at the above-mentioned date. 
 
 One evening late, 
 
 Or at half-past eight. 
 At a door which conveniently looked toward the south, 
 
 Tim Carroll sat, 
 
 With his ragged hat 
 On his head, and himself rather "down in the mouth. " 
 
 Scarce so much of a wonder 
 
 As midwinter thunder, 
 For his pig and potatoes had gone, that same day, 
 Sundry heavy arrears of old rent to pay ; 
 And not e'en a shilling's enlivening weight 
 His pocket stretched — as for taking a drink. 
 Nothing sobers a man more than the want of "chink." 
 
 * Named. 
 
 "Among the rest a good old woman was. 
 Eight Mother Hubbard." — Spbnser. 
 f Shebeen, an Irish cabin. 
 J Poteen, Irish whisky. 
 
THE DEVIL SOLD. 155 
 
 What Timothy's thoughts were, I really can't say, 
 
 Though perhaps some ingenious reader may — 
 But I humbly opine 
 They were scarcely divine; — 
 
 For sadly he gazed at his flickering light. 
 And, with sorrowful groan. 
 Lowly murmured, "Och hone! 
 
 I could sell my soul to the Divil this night!" 
 
 Lo ! ere the last word 
 
 Was well uttered, he heard 
 An approaching sound of footsteps nigh ; 
 
 And before his sight. 
 
 As he gazed in affright, 
 Stood aqueer-looking chap with a twinkling black eye ! 
 
 *With a gaping stare 
 
 At the figure there, 
 Tim fain would speak, the moment he sees it. 
 But he struggles in vain, "vox in faucihus hsesit^ 
 
 The Stranger first 
 
 The silence burst — 
 "Well, here is 'the Divil,' my good friend Tim, 
 Yery much at your service — how d'ye like him ?" 
 
 In a shocking scare. 
 
 With uplifted hair — 
 
 Tim Carroll uttered, 
 
 Or rather stuttered. 
 What he doubtless meant to pass for a prayer — 
 
 "Sathan, — santissime, 
 Credo — pu7Hssime ' ' — 
 But, alas ! was obliged to finish there. 
 
156 THE DEVIL SOLD. 
 
 From under his cloak the DqvW drew 
 A long-necked bottle of transparent hue ; 
 And after a good deal of tugging beneath, 
 He managed to draw out the cork with his teeth ; 
 Then said, with his sly and peculiar wink, 
 " There's as nate stuff, Tim Carroll, as ever you'll 
 drink." 
 
 Tim would have refused. 
 
 But the odor diffused 
 So seducingly under his nose, that the draught, 
 Aut volens, aut nolens, was eagerly quaffed. 
 Such heavenly liquor Tim never had drank I 
 Again was it set to his lips, and fast sank. 
 
 With expression queer, 
 
 Betwixt a leer 
 
 And sarcastic sneer — 
 The Devil spoke — " Is it real poteen ?" 
 " Och," responded Tim, ''sure the like was ne'er 
 
 seen." 
 " Then perhaps you'd be pleased, if a cask of the same 
 Every month of the year to your cabin came." 
 
 " I'd be a baste. 
 
 Or a fool at laste, 
 To refuse such a present" — retorted Tim. 
 " Then listen, my boy — I've a trifling whim, 
 The which if you've no great objection to please. 
 From ten years henceforward you'll live at your ease ; 
 Provided you'll sign an agreement in full. 
 When the term has expired, to yield me your soul. 
 
THE DEVIL SOLD. 15*1 
 
 My dear Mr. Carroll, I beg you won't storm, 
 I assure you 'tis merely a matter of form ; 
 
 For if I shouldn't take you, 
 
 As post-obit pelf, 
 
 You're morally certain 
 
 To come of yourself. 
 Altogether, it's absurd to cut any capers, 
 Pass the bottle— your health. And now sign the 
 papers." 
 
 Tim Carroll looked black, and Tim Carroll looked blue ; 
 Like the forest in autumn, his face changed its hue. 
 And, as he reflected, uneasier grew ; 
 His position was ticklish, he very well knew. 
 
 He looked at Old Nick, 
 
 And he looked at his stick — 
 'Twas vulgo "a ^i\c\'"—Hihernice, *' Shillalah." 
 
 But he felt a strange dread 
 
 Of cracking that head, 
 Though feats of such nature accustomed to daily. 
 
 The bargain seemed tempting. Why shouldn't he 
 
 strike it ? 
 But the Devil smiled strangely— Tim didn't quite 
 
 like it ; 
 He gave his os frontis a dubious poke, 
 And in great botheration thus he outspoke : — 
 " What you say, Mr. Lucifer, sounds very well, 
 But I don't so much fancy a roasting in h — 1. 
 Though your honor may think my unwillingness 
 
 shammed, 
 I feel no remarkable wish to be d — d. 
 
158 THE DEVIL SOLD. 
 
 To be plain with jour highness, the lease must be 
 
 longer, 
 Though I don't greatly care that the liquor be 
 
 stronger." 
 
 The Devil looked grim 
 As he listened to Tim. — 
 " You spalpeen," quoth he, 
 " This language to me, 
 Than whom you ne'er had a more trustworthy friend ! 
 Whatever in reason 
 You'd have, ask in season : 
 I can't remain long, for my time's near an end. 
 At the close of your term you may search as you 
 
 please. 
 And if you can find any flaw in the lease, 
 I'll solemnly swear to resign every claim 
 That I hold on your soul." 
 
 "And the whisky the same ?" 
 " Of course." 
 
 ** Done, old gentleman 1 there is my name." 
 Old Nick upreared, 
 And, at the last chime of the midnight bell, 
 'Mid a flash, and a smoke, and a shocking bad smell, 
 Through the floor disappeared I 
 
 For ten years thenceforward, 'twas sworn to by all 
 That Tim Oarroll had met with some lucky windfall. 
 Was there ever a dance, a wedding, or fair ? — 
 Tim Carroll was morally sure to be there. 
 With the men he could drink, with the girls he would 
 
 toy, 
 And by all was acknowledged "the broth of a boy," 
 
THE DEVIL SOLD. 159 
 
 Still himself lie enjoyed on the fat of the land ; 
 
 Had always a " thrench-full " of money on hand; 
 
 And a jug of the clearest and strongest poteen — 
 
 The envy of all by whom it was seen. 
 
 If questions were asked, he'd reply, with a wink, 
 
 " Sorra one o' me cares. But come, boys, let's drink.'* 
 
 This was strange, no doubt, 
 
 !N"one could make it out ; 
 Though canvassed repeatedly " under the rose,"* 
 
 The result was the same 
 
 To which every one came — 
 That our worthy friend Tim '' was confoundedly close." 
 
 END OF CANTO I. 
 
 CJiJlST^O XI. 
 
 Kow, in due course of time, 
 
 And, equaliter, rhyme. 
 As my readers will graciously please to observe, 
 
 Ten years have passed. 
 
 Like all things, at last. 
 And Tim grows remarkably short of " nerve." 
 
 His brains he racked, — 
 
 His invention cracked, 
 And his brow wore various sombre shades, 
 
 As he thought of a berth 
 
 Below the earth. 
 In that place which the Greek denominates " Hades." 
 
 * " Sub rosa," — i.e. secretly. 
 
160 THE DEVIL SOLD. 
 
 But at last the long-dreaded hour came, 
 
 And at eleven, one night, you might see by the flame, 
 
 As Tim sat by his fire, that the very same 
 
 Rum-looking old chap, with the very same wink, 
 
 Was leering on Tim, whose complexion, once pink, 
 
 Or carbuncular rather, as pale had now grown 
 
 As that of a Princeton's rowdyish son 
 
 On the morn after tippling a surfeit of rum. 
 
 The clock struck twelve ! and fearfully broke 
 The sound on Tim's ear, as Old Nicholas spoke : 
 
 "Now, my boy, you're mine, 
 
 Nor think I'll resign 
 My claim, for aught earthly or heavenly power ; 
 
 Come along, you thief, 
 
 And none of your grief. 
 I'm cursed if I give you another hour. 
 Do you see that candle?" — his finger came 
 Toward a little rush-dip, whose wavering flame 
 Was scarcely an inch from the socket spout — 
 " IHl give you the time tilt that candle^ s burnt out.^^ 
 
 Tim sprang to his feet as a glorious thought 
 
 On his senses flashed — 
 
 At the candle dashed ! 
 And with one hand held, while another caught 
 At the Family Bible under the eaves — 
 Hid the bit of old candle between the leaves ! 
 
 And sat down on the book 
 
 With exulting look. 
 ** Now, you spalpeen, break your own word if you dare ! 
 
THE DEVIL SOLD. 161 
 
 You must keep without 
 
 Till the candle's burnt out, 
 And sorrow a light shall ever come there !" 
 
 With what an uproar, 
 
 The Devil then swore. 
 
 And cursed his sad fate, 
 
 'Twere vain to relate. 
 
 With fury undamped. 
 
 He raved and stamped ! 
 
 Around he dashed ! 
 
 And his flanks he lashed 
 With his tail— for his passion could not be controlPd ; 
 
 As he thought how his victim 
 
 Had artfully nicked him. 
 And, despite of his cunning, felt neatly " sold." 
 
 A flash and a smoke 
 
 Far around him broke, 
 And a denser cloud from his nostrils roll'd, 
 
 As through the floor. 
 
 With a parting roar. 
 He sank, as the hour of one was tolled ! 
 
 END OP CANTO II. 
 
 15 
 
162 TEE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 %\i Mstttemg |cto. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO LEE HANNUM, 
 
 '' The wanderer is among the Alps, at the brink of a horrible 
 chasm. * * * He is lured to cast himself into that black gulf in 
 quest of rest, — when an angel flashes out of the gloom with the 
 sword of flame turning every way, keeping him back from what 
 would be a Paradise indeed, the repose of Death!" — Curious Myths 
 of the Middle Ages, p. 2. 
 
 A BO YE him, mountains rose on high, 
 In icy grandeur, to the sky ; 
 While dark, a thousand feet below, 
 From the ledge's beetling brow, 
 Sunk a chasm's fearful gorge. 
 Keeking with the murky breath 
 
 Of the torrent's vapor surge. 
 Dim through whose rolling wreaths were seen 
 Huge hanging woods of evergreen — 
 
 It seemed the dread abode of Death ! 
 And all around, as far and wide 
 As vision stretched, on every side, 
 
 Bright pinnacles arose, 
 With no green tree or misty cloud — 
 Wrapped only in the glittering shroud 
 
 Of everlasting snows ! 
 
THE WANDERING JEW. 163 
 
 A moment here the traveler rests, 
 A moment looks upon the west, 
 Where lingering sunlight slumbers now 
 Upon the mountain's rugged brow. 
 Silence reigned there, inanimate voice 
 Was none, save the distant noise 
 Of the falls beneath ; and living breath 
 Dwelt not in those icy halls of death I 
 It was a scene as wild and rude 
 As God e'er made for solitude. 
 
 11. 
 
 The wanderer speaks : — 
 ' lessening Sun, in thy descent I see 
 An image of my misery — 
 E'en as thy glories wane and pass away, 
 I saw my hopes and joys decay. 
 Oft have I prayed for power to cleave the air. 
 On wings of light, to flee from my despair ; 
 O'er ocean's wave have sought lands far away, 
 Where, all unknown, might rest this weary clay, 
 And when the tempest raged upon the deep, 
 Hoped it might bring eternal sleep I 
 
 III. 
 
 "For centuries alone and slow 
 I've traversed realms of the Orient clime ; 
 From Nilus' flood to where, sublime. 
 Throned Lebanon mocks the hand of Time, 
 Crowned with eternal snow ! 
 
164 THE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 I've seen proud Anglia, which long 
 
 Hath been renowned in story, 
 The land of chivalry and song, 
 
 And learning's proudest glory. 
 And then from Albion's honored isle 
 I've passed where brighter climates smile,,r 
 And hailed full many a land whose name 
 Hath filled the sounding trump of Fame. 
 The home of science, sunny France, 
 And Spain, renowned^ for love and lance, 
 
 And beauty's dark-eyed daughters ; 
 Florence, too, by Arno's stream, 
 Hath come and faded like a dream ; 
 
 And, rising from the waters. 
 That now no more her sceptre own, 
 Proud Venice on her marble throne ! 
 Decaying Kome before me rose. 
 That triumphed o'er a thousand foes 
 And through long ages reigned afar 
 From th' Orient to th' Evening star, 
 
 Now in majestic woe ; 
 And classic Athens met my eyes 
 Beneath her own unclouded skies ; 
 She too became the spoiler's prize — 
 
 Time brings the mighty low ! 
 Dim, fleeting, all, and undefined, 
 Leaving no impress on the mind, 
 
 These scenes like shadows passed. 
 
THE WANDERING JEW. 165 
 
 IV. 
 
 "Again, ia silent, musing mood, 
 In lovely Palestine I stood ; 
 Where long before, in childhood's days, 
 I loved on its fair scenes to gaze ; 
 And with a mournful pleasure staid 
 Beneath my city's ruins' shade, 
 Where long had dwelt, in conscious pride, 
 My native race — by Kedron's tide. 
 For there was harmony between 
 My ruined hopes and such a scene. 
 For centuries the sun had shone 
 On these stern piles of blackened stone ; 
 Hundreds of vanished joys appeared 
 To mock my sad heart, lone and seared ! 
 Dismantled were the ivied walls, 
 Deserted were the humble halls. 
 Wild weeds were growing on the hearth, 
 And where the festal board was spread, 
 
 For revelry and joyous mirth. 
 The ' dust of ages' marked my tread. 
 And through each ruined chamber's gloom 
 There reigned the silence of the tomb ! 
 Thus do all human hopes decay, 
 Thus passeth earthly power away ! 
 
 " Empires have risen in might, 
 
 And peopled cities through the outspread earth 
 And I have passed them at the hour of night, 
 
 List'ning to the sounds of revelry and mirth. 
 15* 
 
166 THE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Agaiu I have gone by — 
 
 City and empire were alike o'erthrown ; 
 And soon this bright worid and starry sky 
 
 Shall from existence like a scroll have flown I 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Son of Eternity ! Unwearied Time ! 
 
 Thine is dominion o'er our mortal years ! 
 Still with unsparing wing, from clime to clime, 
 
 Beauty and bloom thou turn'st to dust and tears. 
 bearer stern of trembling hopes and fears, 
 
 Shaking the breast with grief and passion's gust, 
 Still must my heart consume with cankering cares 
 
 Till all things earthly be commingled in the dust ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Crowned with a garland of the things that were, 
 
 Time, thou hast breathed on me thy withering breath, 
 Till my torn heart stands desolate and bare, 
 
 As a leafless oak on the blasted heath. 
 No hopes' fresh foliage round it greenly wreathe, 
 
 For, oh ! its fount of gushing life is dry ! 
 This mortal frame thou canst not change by death, 
 
 Yet, Time ! thou canst not he Eternity ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 " I see thee for the last, Sun ! 
 My race of soitow now is run ; 
 Enough of grief and dreadful fears ; 
 Of darkened hopes and bitter tears I 
 
THE WANDERING JEW. 167 
 
 Enough of life's perpetual gloom I 
 This yawning gulf shall be my tomb !" 
 He spoke, and, rushing to the brow, 
 With one wild cry essayed to throw 
 Him down the dread abyss below. 
 But see ! he backward starts with fear, 
 He feels an angel's presence near, 
 A spirit's arm is 'bout him prest, 
 A flaming sword denies him rest I 
 
 X. 
 
 From peak to peak above his head, 
 Bright rays of heavenly light are spread, 
 Spanning the abyss of fear, 
 And all was hushed so tranquilly, 
 It seemed the abode of Deity ! 
 Then on his listening ear, 
 A "still, small voice" did warning steal: 
 ' Seek not to break life's sacred seal. 
 Thou canst not hence thy dark soul send. 
 Thou must survive till time sliall end, 
 Unresting still on earth must roam 
 Till God himself shall call thee home /" 
 
168 AGE'S MEMORY. 
 
 gige's Pem0rg. 
 
 SOFT as the shades of twilight stealing 
 O'er the expiring day; 
 Sweet as the tones of vespers pealing, 
 
 As daylight fades away ; 
 Sad as gentle winds that moan 
 Through the church-yard drear and lone, 
 Come the thoughts of days now flown, 
 O'er Age's memory. 
 
 n. 
 
 As the shades of twilight dark'ning 
 
 Softly hide in ebon night ; 
 As the foam on billows heaving, 
 
 Briefly sparkling, sinks from sight ; 
 Or the snow-flake on the sea. 
 Dropping, melteth instantly. 
 So the thoughts of past years flee 
 
 From Age's memory. 
 
WAR LYRICS. 
 
 (109) 
 
«|t Sflpl ^p. 
 
 A BALLAD OF THE WAK. 
 
 TO drum-beat and heart-beat, 
 A soldier marches by : 
 There is color in his cheek, 
 
 There is courage in his eye, 
 
 Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat 
 
 In a moment he must die 1 
 
 By starlight and moonlight, 
 He seeks the traitors' camp ; 
 
 He hears the rustling flag 
 
 And the armed sentry's tramp ; 
 
 And the starlight and moonlight 
 His silent wanderings lamp. 
 
 With slow tread and still tread, 
 
 He scans the tented line ; 
 And he counts the battery guns 
 
 By the gaunt and shadowy pine ; 
 And his slow tread and still tread 
 
 Gives no warning sign. 
 ***** 
 
 (iti) 
 
1-72 THE LOYAL SPY. 
 
 A sharp clang, a steel clang I 
 And terror in the sound ; 
 
 For the sentry, falcon-eyed, 
 In the camp a spy hath found : 
 
 With a sharp clang, a steel clang, 
 The patriot is bound. 
 
 With calm brow, steady brow, 
 
 He listens to his doom : 
 In his look there is no fear 
 
 Nor a shadow trace of gloom ; 
 But with calm brow, and steady brow, 
 
 He robes him for the tomb. 
 
 In the long night, the still night, 
 He kneels upon the sod ; 
 
 And the brutal guards withhold 
 E'en the solemn word of God! 
 
 In the long night, the still night. 
 He walks where Christ, hath trod. 
 
 'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn, 
 
 He dies upon the tree ; 
 And he mourns that he can lose 
 
 But one life for Liberty ; 
 And in the blue morn, the sunny morn. 
 
 His spirit wings are free. 
 
 But his last words, his message words, 
 They burn, lest friendly eye 
 
THE LOYAL SPY. 1^3 
 
 Should read how proud aud calm 
 A patriot could die, 
 With his last words, his dying words, 
 A Soldier's battle-cry I 
 
 From Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, 
 
 From monument and urn, 
 The sad of Earth, the glad of Heaven 
 
 His tragic fate shall learn ; 
 And on Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf 
 
 The patriot's name shall burn ! 
 
 16 
 
lU A SONG OF THE WAR. 
 
 ^ S0itg 0f % Wm. 
 
 EISE, ye men I if ye inherit 
 From a line of noble sires 
 Loyal blood and Freedom's spirit, 
 
 Rise, to guard your household fires I 
 From each rocky hill and valley 
 Sweep away the hostile band, 
 In the name of freedom rally 
 To defend your native land. 
 
 II. 
 
 Traitors' feet your soil are pressing, 
 
 Streaming banners meet your eye, 
 Ask from Heaven a father's blessing, 
 
 Then for freedom dare to die ! 
 What though stronger foes assail you. 
 
 Filled with confidence and pride ? 
 Let not hope nor courage fail you, 
 
 God and right are on your side. 
 
 III. 
 
 To the winds your flag unfolding, 
 Rally round it in your might. 
 
 Each his weapon firmly holding. 
 Heaven will aid you in the fight. 
 
A SO^O OF THE WAR. ITS 
 
 Bj the mothers that have borne you, 
 By your wives and children dear, 
 
 Lest your loved ones all should scorn you, 
 Rise without a thought of fear. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Come, as comes the tempest rushing, 
 
 Bending forests in its path, 
 As the mountain-torrent gushing. 
 
 As the billows in their wrath. 
 From each rocky hill and valley 
 
 Sweep away the hostile band, 
 In the name of freedom rally — 
 
 To defend your native land. 
 
ne THE AMERICAN EAGLE. 
 
 %\t %mx\tu €i^\t 
 
 SOAE on, proud Mountain-Bird ! soar on ! 
 I would not stay thy boundless flight ! 
 Soar on toward yon setting sun, 
 And revel in the dazzling light 
 To me insufferably bright I 
 I would not mar thy golden plume, 
 
 Nor bring thee from that dizzy height, 
 For all the diamonds that illume 
 Golconda's cave of wealth and gloom. 
 
 Soar on, proud Banner-Bird! while I, 
 Far down below, gaze o^ thy form, 
 
 As round yon snow-clad peak so high 
 Thou glidest, far above the storm, 
 Where human foot and breathing warm 
 
 Have ne'er disturbed the glacier's cold ! 
 Thy perch, beyond the reach of harm. 
 
 Scarce seems of earth — clouds so enfold I 
 
 Thine eaglets scarce of mortal mould I 
 
 Our Nation's Bird ! I mourn for thee ! 
 Thou canst not brook the gaze of men, 
 
 And soon from sea to distant sea 
 
 Thy form shall fade from human ken — 
 And soon nor mountain cliff, or glen, 
 
THE AMERICAN EAGLE. ItT 
 
 Will shelter to thy young afford, 
 
 For thou art proud and restless when 
 Thou'rt gazed on by the idle horde 
 Who seek to see the " Banner-Bird." 
 
 Thy home is in the heavens ! thy flight 
 
 Is with the tempests and the stars ! 
 And hence upon our banner bright 
 
 Thou leadest our freemen to the wars ! 
 
 The thunder-blast of heaven that jars 
 Earth's deep foundations, is to thee 
 
 Familiar music ! — and the bars 
 Of space thy sole captivity I 
 Hence thou'rt the Symbol of the Free ! 
 
 16* 
 
1Y8 COLUMBIA'S BANNER. 
 
 €^h\\\W% %um. 
 
 BRIGHT banDer of Columbia, 
 A fragment of the skj, 
 Torn down with all thy glittering stars- 
 Angelic blazonry I 
 Stream onward, like the fiery cloud 
 
 That hung o'er Egypt's sea. 
 Terror and darkness to the proud, 
 A light to guide the free. 
 
 Bright banner of Columbia; ! 
 
 Thou gloriest not in blood ; 
 Yet, if the foe invade our land, 
 
 The foe shall be withstood; 
 A death-grasp shall his welcome be, 
 
 A bloody turf his pillow, 
 And on the battle-wave he'll find 
 
 A tomb in every billow. 
 
 The banner of oppression 
 
 Shall droop o'er millions slain I 
 All stained with floods of human gore, 
 
 It ne'er can wave again ; 
 Save when the wail of misery, — 
 
 The orphan's plaintive cry, 
 And widow's moans, amid its folds 
 
 Shall breathe in agony. 
 
COLUMBIA'S BANNER. l*]^ 
 
 But thou, my country's banner, 
 
 Unstained by guilt or crime. 
 Shall wave o'er every tyrant flag 
 
 Until the end of time : 
 For Peace lies nestling in thy wings. 
 
 And each emblazoned star 
 Sheds down its sweetest influence 
 
 To heal the wounds of war. 
 
 Then wave thou on for ages, 
 
 O'er mountain, lake, and sea. 
 For God has stamped upon thy folds 
 
 His word — Eternity. 
 Yet when the earth's by thee forsaken, 
 
 No mortal shall weep o'er thee, 
 For the dread Archangel's trump shall be 
 
 The requiem of thy glory. 
 
 Then, banner of my country, 
 
 Shalt thou be upward borne, 
 To gild again thy native skies 
 
 From which thou once wert torn j 
 For thy earthly mission over. 
 
 To the dust oppression hurl'd ; 
 Thou'st struck to none but a deathless power 
 
 'Mid the wrecks of a falling world. 
 
180 LINES ON THE LATE WAR. 
 
 %\m m % late Wm m i\t %m% 
 
 INSCRIBED TO GEO. M. SHIPMAN. 
 
 1860. 
 
 ' To think that man, thou just and gentle God! 
 Should stand before thee, with a tyrant''s rod 
 O'er creatures like himself, with soul from thee, 
 Yet dare to boast of perfect liberty." — Moore. 
 
 THERE'S a pleasant land that southward lies, 
 O'erhung with bright and sunny skies ; 
 A land of flowers, where Beauty's soul 
 O'er nature holds its sweet control ! 
 A land, where bright and gifted maids 
 Trip blithely through luxuriant glades 
 To the sound of singing water-falls — 
 Of rustling blossoms — music calls ; — 
 And happy, from their pleasant homes, 
 Look out on fields of cotton blooms ; 
 And quaff at every breath of air, 
 Rife with a perfume native there, 
 A fragrance rich, of orange bowers, 
 And dew-bathed, honey-dripping flowers. 
 But, alas for the land ! A fated doom 
 The paradise must wrap in gloom, 
 
LINES ON THE LATE WAR. Ig] 
 
 And give up to the fangs of care 
 The hearts that erst made music there. 
 Alas for the land ! The fertile field 
 No longer ample stores shall yield, 
 And thus repay the laborer's toil, 
 But lie as bare as th' desert soil. 
 
 But why must blow war's blighting gales, 
 And change joy's song to piteous wails ? 
 Why sweep in maddened fury o'er 
 The merry homes of the Southland's shore ? 
 Because here Slavery's tyranny 
 Is felt o'er mountain and o'er lea ; 
 And with its Gorgon glances, thrown 
 On every heart, turns each to stone I 
 Because thy garb, Freedom, wove 
 For all, by Him whose name is Love, 
 By daring hands is used to drape 
 This monster form, and hide its shape I 
 
 Man cannot Nature's laws defy, 
 Corrupt the air, and he must die I 
 And He who made the firmament 
 And Noah's bow of promise bent, 
 By symbols and by signs has shown 
 That man no tyrant's rule should own ; 
 That Justice ever will demand 
 Sore castigation on the land 
 Where men this law dare disobey. 
 And grievous rule o'er others sway. 
 
182 LINES ON THE LATE WAR. 
 
 1861-1865. 
 
 " Desolation, snatching from the hand 
 Of Time the scythe of ruin, sits aloft. 
 Or stalks in dreadful majesty abroad." — Hannah More. 
 
 War's bloody march has changed the scene, 
 
 Illumed by Passion's lightning beams, 
 
 From battle-fields run blood-stained streams. 
 
 Strong, murderous hate, in many a breast, 
 
 Its victims seeks with frantic zest ; 
 
 And hearths and homes made desolate, 
 
 Its appetite can illy sate. 
 
 Day after day the fight went on, 
 
 Brother Against brother, sire Against son, 
 
 Till scarce a hamlet could be found 
 
 That had not shuddered at the sound, 
 
 !N"or scarce a mother, thin and pale, 
 
 "Who did not wear a mourner's veil 
 
 For one far dearer than her life. 
 
 Slain in the fratricidal strife I 
 
 Years passed along, in rapid flight, 
 
 Yet still progressed the horrid fight, 
 
 Still reeled along her blasted path 
 
 The skeleton of tireless wrath ; 
 
 And still where gibbering Carnage spread 
 
 Her rugged pallet o'er the dead, 
 
 The filthy vultures swooped to tear 
 
 The corpses that lay rotting there ; 
 
 And still men sought with taloned hands 
 
 To higher pile war's hissing brands. 
 
LINES ON THE LATE WAR. 183 
 
 I^^I^T III. 
 
 1865. 
 
 "Peace, with sunny cheeks of toil, 
 Walks ^'er free unlorded soil. 
 Effacing with her splendid share 
 The drops that War had sprinkled there!" — Moore. 
 
 But Time rights all, and through the haze 
 
 Of passion pierced the golden rays 
 
 Of rising Peace, as up she sprung 
 
 With God's hymns trilling on her tongue. 
 
 " Good-will " she sang ; the smiling sky, 
 
 Lakes, plains, and forests, made glad reply : 
 
 " Good-will"—" Good-will "—no more Despair 
 
 Shall of the land's abundance share. 
 
 The rebels, who long ruled the day, 
 
 Now yield, the people claim the way; 
 
 A people who, with heart and hand. 
 
 Unite once more to rule the land. 
 
 Kepeat the news from shore to shore, 
 
 The sun shines down on slaves no more, 
 
 And men from hence shall ever be 
 
 Ungyved — as God intended — free ! 
 
 Aloft on History's marbled shaft 
 
 Be carved, as slavery's epitaph, 
 
 " Emancipation " — Lincoln's gift 
 
 To Afric's sons in bondage kept, 
 
184 LINES ON THE LATE WAR. 
 
 That nations yet unhorn may read, 
 And bless the hand that did the deed !- 
 
 War's wintry storm once ever past, 
 The smiling summer comes at last ; 
 A summer rich with flowers of joy, 
 And sweets that nevermore shall cloy. 
 The orange-trees again shall bloom, 
 And sweet magnolias shed perfume ; 
 Again the songsters, in the groves, 
 Repeat the story of their loves : 
 For God has blotted out from sight 
 The causes of the country's blight. 
 Bade smiles replace the falling tear, 
 And potent joy o'ermasters fear ! 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 17 ( 185 ) 
 
Ctigilj M0WttW, 
 
 Alf ACREON", ODE XXXV. 
 
 CUPID, 'mid the roses straying, 
 With the wanton zephyrs playing, 
 Saw not, in the rose-bud fair, 
 The tiny bee that rested there ; 
 But as he pressed the vengeful thing, 
 His rosy fingers caught its sting : 
 Running then, and partly flying, 
 Loudly on fair Venus crying, 
 
 "I'm hurtl oh, mother!" was his cry, 
 
 " I'm all undone I alas ! I die ! 
 There is a little snake that stings, 
 Sporting 'mongst the flowers on wings ; 
 The rustics call this snake a bee. 
 And, mother, this has bitten me I" 
 Then Yenus spoke — " My boy ! restrain 
 Such noisy cries ! If thus the pain 
 Inflicted by that little bee 
 (In sportive wrath) affecteth thee, 
 How much of pain, dost think, they feel 
 Who know the venom of thy steel ?" 
 
 (187) 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 f 0te ani i^ptg. 
 
 ANACREON, ODE XXX. 
 
 THE Muses once young Cupid caught, 
 And bound his wings with flow'ry chain ; 
 Then, as a prize, to Beauty brought 
 
 Their captive, fluttering all in vain ; 
 In vain to escape the god essayed, 
 In vain invoked fair Yenus' aid. 
 
 But soon to free her stolen boy 
 
 The goddess-mother ransom brings ; 
 
 Surprised, she finds the promised joy 
 The captive Cupid from him flings I 
 
 And though permitted to go free, 
 
 He chooses Beauty's slave to be. 
 
 And still in Beauty's court he stays, 
 
 Attentive to her slightest nod, 
 A willing slave, his service pays, 
 
 A willing slave, although a god. 
 For Beauty rules both gods and men, 
 And Love is ever in her train. 
 
THE ROSE. 189 
 
 ^t '^m. 
 
 ANACREON, ODE XLIV. 
 
 THE bright rose of love desiring 
 We will mix with wine inspiring ; 
 The red rose, with beauty glowing, 
 Round our temples now bestowing, 
 We will drink with pulses bounding, 
 And with laughter gayly sounding ! 
 Kose, thou art the fairest flower 
 Blooming in the vernal bower 1 
 Rose, thou art the sweetest thing 
 Nurtured in the lap of spring I 
 Roses charm the gods above 
 And the genial Power of love ; — 
 Cytherea's gentle boy. 
 Dancing with the Graces coy. 
 Rose-buds ever joys to wear 
 'Mid his softly curling hair I 
 Then for me the chaplet twine. 
 And at mirthful Bacchus' shrine 
 Will I fondly strike my lyre. 
 Waking notes of soft desire — 
 Dancing 'neath the clustering shade 
 With my snowy-bosomed maid, 
 While around, in fragrance breathing. 
 Rosy crowns of bliss are wreathing. 
 
190 IDYL. 
 
 l&El. 
 
 FROM THE GREEK OF BION. 
 
 A YOUTHFUL sportsman on his quest 
 Hied to the forest grove ; 
 Perched on a box-tree's bough, at rest, 
 He saw the God of Love ! 
 
 By his small godship's gilded wings 
 
 His eager eyes were caught : 
 To win the loveliest of things 
 
 His wasted shafts were shot. 
 
 Angry he left his bow, and sought 
 
 His dwelling, to complain 
 That all the craft his sire had taught 
 
 Had all been taught in vain. 
 
 Once more into the wood so wild 
 
 The good old man he led, 
 Who, when he viewed the matter, smiled. 
 
 And smiling shook his head. 
 
 " Avoid such game," at last said he : 
 
 "A luckless bird is this : 
 And blest your future fate shall be 
 
 His capture still to miss. 
 
IDYL. 191 
 
 " When thou shalt be a man, no more 
 
 The Imp will care to flee : 
 Thy mark no longer as before, 
 
 He yet shall capture thee." 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 18 ( 193 ) 
 
I- 
 
 THERE is a mystery on departed things, 
 Which renders distance beautiful ! no more 
 
 The alchemist, with crucible and ore, 
 To light miraculous invention brings ! 
 
 When now, the babe sets out on life's career, 
 No more, at eve, wrapt up in sable gown, 
 
 Gazing on night, the sage astrologer 
 Notes every planetary aspect down : 
 
 The hooded monk no more, in gothic aisle 
 Sequestered, ponders o'er his massy tome, 
 As thro' the deep stained glass the sunbeams roam 
 
 Upon his wall, with many-colored smile ; 
 
 Romance is passing from us all the v*^hile — 
 Witchcraft, and sheeted ghost, and haunted dome ! 
 
 (195) 
 
196 ATfTUMN. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now mellow Autumn reigns ; the garden teems 
 "With golden fruitage, aud with fading flowers ; 
 
 The leaves are sere upon the jasmine bowers ; 
 And from the west the sun in glory streams 
 His crimson radiance on the mossy wall, 
 
 Where, netted o'er, and sheltered from the reach 
 
 Of boy and bird, low hangs the blushing peach, 
 And plum, and apricot, delicious all. 
 Thrice hath the swallow sought a warmer shore, 
 
 And bathed his glossy wing in Southern wave, 
 Since last this pebbly walk I traversed o'er 
 
 Or rested in this flower-enwreathed cave ; 
 A thousand images before me rush, 
 And o'er my heart-strings like a torrent gush I 
 
TEE SHORT DAYS. 197 
 
 III. 
 
 %\t %\^xi lap. 
 
 NOW when the shortening day its crimson eye 
 Closes in haste, a calm delight it yields 
 To wander lonely through the twilight fields 
 And mark the evening star gleam out on high ! 
 While mournfully a twilight mantle lowers 
 On hill and vale, dim forest, and blue stream ; 
 And cottage windows, with a casual gleam, 
 Speak of domestic peace. — Oh, fading bowers I 
 
 Oh, shortening days ! and nights of dreary length 1 
 How emblematic of the fate of man 
 
 Are ye, and of his fast-declining strength, 
 His checkered lot, frail life, and fleeting span I 
 Thousands have fallen since joyous spring began 
 Its smiling course, — say, shall the next be ours ? 
 
 18* 
 
198 MORNING. 
 
 FAIR is the breezy freshness of the dawn, 
 Th' orient sky is wreathed with clouds of rose, 
 The frail, night-folding flowers their cups unclose, 
 And the winged warblers wake, as the swift fawn 
 Bounds through the woods and o'er the grassy lawn, 
 And shakes in glittering showers, the dew that 
 
 strows 
 With gems the earth, where'er a grass-blade grows : 
 While over the eastern rim the god unshorn 
 Uplifts his head, and flings his golden hair 
 
 Into the glad earth's face, and makes her laugh ; 
 The while, to breathe the morning's balmy air, 
 And new-born flow'rets' early incense quaff. 
 Come, then, free mortals, who can break the chain 
 With which dull, leaden Sleep benumbs the captive 
 brain. 
 
TO THE RIVER NIAGARA. I99 
 
 AT". 
 
 50 % %M '^m^'uxt. 
 
 RIYER of emerald, world-attractive stream ! 
 Brightest of links in that eternal chain 
 
 Which binds the West to the far distant main ; 
 Did ever poet, in his wildest dream, 
 See, hear, or fancy aught more soft, more fair, 
 
 More grand or terrible, than found in thee ? 
 
 First gently moving, full, majestic, free, 
 Girdling broad islands with maternal care, — 
 
 Then sweeping onward with increasing tide — 
 Next madly plunging, in rough, headlong race — 
 
 And lo, the cataracts ! On either side, 
 " A hell of waters," which no pen can trace I 
 Thence, raging, whirling, till, *' with sweet delay," 
 On old Ontario's breast thou diest away. 
 
200 GUARDIAN ANGELS. 
 
 
 WHO hath not felt at times a solemn awe, 
 As if unearthly visitants were near ? 
 Our souls to them are linked by unknown law^ 
 
 That rules us from the cradle to the bier. 
 Not 'mid the rude world's harsh, unceasing din ; 
 
 And not when earthly passions stir the soul, 
 'Tis but when all is calm, without, within, 
 
 That we are conscious of their blest control ; 
 When sunset gleamings fade along the sky. 
 
 And twilight shadows blend the day with night. 
 When midnight stars are gazing from on high 
 
 Down the dark vista of the solemn night, 
 We feel that angels bend o'er us in truth. 
 And watch, of our immortal life, the youth. 
 
TEE BRIDE, 201 
 
 ■VII, 
 
 A HOLY softness glistens in her eyes, 
 As bright in tearful smiles the new-made bride 
 
 Surveys the wedded lover by her side, 
 Now linked to her forever with the ties 
 Of Heaven's own blest cementing, and with sighs 
 
 That breathe of speechless fondness she replies 
 
 To his enraptured words, and strives to hide 
 Those sweet effusions which at times will rise 
 To dim her radiant glances, like the dews 
 
 That fall on summer mornings, and bespeak 
 The heart's o'erflowing transport, while the hues 
 
 Of love's celestial painting softly break 
 O'er her fair cheek, and add a blushing grace 
 
 To each divine expression of her face. 
 
202 ON A PICTURE OF LADY JANE GREY, 
 
 VIII. 
 
 m a littere 0f faig Im ius* 
 
 M 
 
 OST beautiful ! how rom the inner mind 
 Grace is diffused to every outward part ! 
 
 A queen indeed, of love a queen thou art : 
 What feminine soul is through those eyes divined, 
 What tenderness is in that breast enshrined ! 
 
 Alas ! not framed ambitious schemes to thwart. 
 
 Thy fitting empire were the human heart — 
 To heal, to soothe, to soften, and unbind. 
 
 Yet better than a world of weary rule 
 Were thy ten days of sovereignty : thence back 
 
 Sad pace we from fresh air and violets cool, 
 Into the old and beaten royal track ; 
 
 Unto a real queen of blood, of gold — 
 
 The hard, the dull, the cruel, and the cold. 
 
m 
 
 M^^. 
 
 K^f^S' 
 
 ' '/^ 
 
 
 
 
 Sv; 
 
 jf^^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^ <:->A'5'.K5* -> ' •'}^f'^^^- 
 
 ,^-H,5:._s|^V 
 
 € 
 
 
 
 
 5«