rm)rA 
 
 
 H. _.„_../ l.y i / i.\.' 
 
 
 Ji / 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Shelf -4^.15 
 
 UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. 
 
FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET 
 
THE OLD \ILLAGE CHOIR" S,;- /'age 114 
 
FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET 
 
 CURTIS GUILD 
 
 ocean" "AIIKOAD again" "BRITONS AND 
 MUSCOVITES" ETC 
 
 IVITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES COPELAND 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 
 
 I o Milk street 
 
 1894 
 
 %P28 1893 1 
 
 "" ''"'"WASH'' 
 

 CoPYKiGHT, 1893, HV Curtis Guild 
 
 Alt riirhia reserved 
 
 FkOM SUNKISli TO Sl-NSET 
 
 /Z-l)Z^d^ 
 
 ^ocIiiDcU Hn& (iTburcbill 
 
 BOSTON 
 
PREFACE 
 
 SEVERAL of the poems in this vohime were first 
 published in the " Knickerbocker Magazine " of 
 New York, during a period extending from 1850 to 
 1853, when the author was a contributor to that 
 magazine, whicli was edited by Louis Gaylord Clark. 
 
 Others appeared Irom time to time many years 
 ago in different literary periodicals of the da}'. 
 
 They are now collected for the first time, and with 
 the addition of a few productions of later date, 
 ofiered to the public in the present form. 
 
 Boston 1S93 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Death of the Mohawk 
 
 A Memory 
 
 Song of the Ax\'n, . 
 
 Our Heirloom . 
 
 A Cavalry Carol 
 
 Death in " The Diggings 
 
 Thanksgiving Night . 
 
 Homeward Bound 
 
 The Test of Time . 
 
 To AN Antique Goblet 
 
 Mementos . 
 
 A Rhine Legend 
 
 A Western Idyl 
 
 Maid of the Mountain 
 
 The Village Church Hei 
 
 The Mouniain Cascade 
 
 A Turkish Bag-a-ielle 
 
 A SCKFRISE PaR'IV 
 
 PAGE 
 13 
 
 37 
 42 
 
 47 
 56 
 62 
 68 
 76 
 84 
 95 
 
 I ro 
 
 I I 2 
 116 
 I 20 
 125 
 
 OCCASIONAL POEMS 
 
 The Great Peace Jubilee 
 
 Boston to California .... 
 
 The Commercial Club Festival at Chicago 
 
 To Oliver Wendell Holmes . 
 
 The Old Schoolboys ok Bos-ion, 1889 . 
 
 The Old Schoolboys ok Boston, 1890 . 
 
 The Old Schoolboys of Boston, 1891 . 
 
 The Old Schoolboys of Boston, 1892 . 
 
 129 
 132 
 137 
 140 
 
 143 
 150 
 156 
 162 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " bv the eyes of a giki, 1\ the old village chdir " 
 " High on a cliff that o'erlooked the stream " 
 " Stands a li-itle rustic coitage ■) 
 
 With a \vooubinf:-shaded door" ) 
 "Heave vp the sledgk with a hearty swing 
 Our Heirloom. (Illustrated Title) 
 "The spruce clock saw the rusiic prihk ■) 
 
 Of her that was my grandsire's iirihe" ) 
 "Thy shining face mv father knf:w " 
 "Faded imciures memory urings " 
 " Like visions in a magic glass ] 
 
 Before thee generations pass " J 
 A Cavalry Carol. (Illustrated Title) 
 " Charge ! the very earth is reeling j 
 
 'Ne.ath our coursers' thund'ring tread" ) 
 "Close to a rugged gash dut newly rent 
 
 In the fair hili^ide's i;osom, stands a tent 
 "The farmer s.at in his great arm-chair" 
 "When faint on the plast th.vt hurried by 
 
 Came the sound of a distant shout " 
 "A fond embrace from his mother dear" 
 " We'll whirl the capstan round " . 
 " Far, far astern the dusky shore " . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 l-'roiittspiece 
 
 29 
 
 35 
 37 
 41 
 
 43 
 46 
 
 51 
 
 S3 
 55 
 57 
 
" Make sail, make sail ! " . 
 
 " Sweethearts and wives the toast to-night " . 
 
 To AN Antique Gohlet. (Illustrated Title) 
 
 "While the grizzled old i;ak(>n, 'ihe chief of the band, ] 
 
 Uplifts the old goblet on high in his hand" ) 
 
 "The death chant of warriors in notes of the dirge" . 
 "Bv the side of the sufferers, pallid with pain, I 
 
 Thou hast held the pure nectar that cheered them again " ) 
 "Once more in its depths the red liquor shall shine" 
 Mement(_)S. (Illustrated Title) 
 "Loved forms in- fancy live once more" 
 
 "In wild WALIZ A'l THE MASQUER.'VDE " 
 "A LIITLE BUNCH OF BILLET-DOUX " 
 
 "The WHITE SURGE is thy winding sheet" 
 "Once mori'. i'm kneicling al 'ihy side" 
 "Vivid ligh'ining ricnt 'ihe skv " 
 " Ccp clinks id cup around ihe hall" 
 "And iHF Hdi.Y monks tkeir dark beads 
 "And rLEDc;ED again with oaih and jf.st" 
 "Shines brighj- through the festal hall" 
 Tailpiece ....... 
 
 "Thanks, friend. I will 'ligh'I', 1 need rest" 
 
 " Knelt by my lost home an oath -io swear " 
 
 "An' the upSHoi WAS a right s.mart fight" 
 
 "An' Gr.acey — why, how ver starin' at the child" 
 
 "When we were both boys in the country, you know" 
 
 "How orr, when the mduntains wiih sunset were tipped 
 
 Occasional Poems. (Illustrated Title) .... 
 
 59 
 6i 
 
 67 
 69 
 
 74 
 75 
 76 
 
 77 
 78 
 80 
 82 
 85 
 87 
 88 
 
 91 
 93 
 94 
 97 
 
 lOI 
 
 los 
 109 
 
 113 
 117 
 127 
 
FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET 
 
 DEATH OF THE MOHAWK 
 
 "D ED in the sky was the setting sun. 
 
 The monareh of chu" liis course liad run, 
 And behind the hills sank down to rest. 
 Far awa)' in the bright and erimsoning west. 
 The rays that streamed o'er the vault ol blue 
 Tinged the flying clouds with gorgeous hue, 
 Like a maiden's blush, — so fair and bright 
 Were the softened tints of sunset lii^ht. 
 
High on ;i cliff that overlooks the stream 
 That shines beneath in the sunset gleam, 
 A stalwart figure in hunter's dress 
 Stands like a god of the wilderness. 
 He leans on his gun and sees the flow 
 or the broad deep stream far down below, 
 While the gentle zeph\-rs of balniA' air 
 Blow baek the locks ot his clustering hair. 
 
HIGH ON A CI.IFK THAT O'ERLOOKEl) THE STREAM " 
 
While thus the hunter musing stood, 
 A ritle rang from the darkening wood ; 
 And like arrow darting from the bow, 
 Forth sprang the white man's deadly foe. 
 So true had the hissing bullet sped 
 That it cut a lock from the hunter's head, 
 And e'er the hills with the echo rung. 
 The red man's arm was round him tlung. 
 
 Dashed tVom his hold was his riHe true 
 
 Far down below in the waters blue ; 
 
 In the savage hand the gleaming knife 
 
 Was aimed at the gallant hunter's life. 
 
 But the desperate grasp of the borderer stayed 
 
 The hand that held the uplifted blade ; 
 
 And with panting breath, now hand to hand, 
 
 The white and the savage warrior stand. 
 
Vainly they wrestle in desperate fight 
 On the cliff now gray in the fading light ; 
 Each nerve is braced in the silent strife, 
 Fierce was the grapple — it was for life. 
 Nearer and nearer the edge they strain 
 Witli heaving chest and swelling vein, 
 A moment bend o'er the dizzy height. 
 As they struggle on by the sunset light. 
 
But now from the sturdy hunter's side 
 Streams forth a small but crimson tide ; 
 But still does his hand with a giant's grasp 
 The arm (jf the savage warrior clasp. 
 For quick in the struggle the thrust was made, 
 And slight was the wound of the savage blade. 
 Again they strain to the precipice brink 
 When slow to his knee doth the hunter sink. 
 
 And as forward the eager savage sprung, 
 High o'er the head of the white man flung, 
 His form with one might}' hea\e was thrown, 
 And the hunter knelt on the clifl' alone. 
 His throbbing heart and panting breath 
 Told of the battle for life or death. 
 Brushing the drops from his pallid brow. 
 He looks o'er the brink of the precipice now. 
 
Swirt flowed the river as e'er before 
 
 But broad were the ripples that sought the shore 
 
 And all was peaeelul, hushed and still, 
 
 But the whispering- leaves and the whippoorwill. 
 
 The hunter rose with lengthened sigh. 
 
 And muttered prayer to the Power on high. 
 
 Night's eurtain falls o'er hill and vale. 
 
 As he turns again to the forest trail. 
 
A MEMORY 
 
 '"\TEATH the shadow of the mountain 
 
 That the bright brook bounds before, 
 Stands a little rustic cottage 
 With a woodbine-shaded door. 
 
 Round the roof-tree and the windows 
 Swallows twitter from the eaves, 
 
 Sweetly summer breezes murmur 
 'Mid the canopy of leaves. 
 
 Peace was there, and sweet contentment 
 'Neath the lowly roof was known. 
 
 And the light hearts of the inmates 
 
 Kini^s would give their crowns to own. 
 

 *^i 
 
 
 --/r 
 
 ■ STANDS A LITTLE RUSTIC COTTAGE 
 WITH A WOODBINE-SHADEU DOOR" 
 
Far in foreign climes I've wandered, 
 
 On tile vast catliedral gazed ; 
 And amid its gothic grandeur 
 
 Stood with wonderment amazed. 
 
 Thought when light through lofty windows 
 
 Fell in rainbows to the floor. 
 Far more pleasant was the sunshine 
 
 At that woodbine-shaded door. 
 
 In the hall of gorgeous palace, 
 'Neath tiie temple's fretted dome. 
 
 As I stood, my thoughts have wandered 
 To this happy cottage home ; 
 
Where the heart of youth expanded 
 In hope's sunshine warm and bright, 
 
 And no cloud of care or trial 
 
 Dimmed life's vision with its blight. 
 
 Years have fled and youth departed, 
 Life's sunset is fading fast ; 
 
 But in memory's hall still linger 
 Pleasant pictures of the past. 
 
SONG OF THE ANVIL 
 
 OING, brothers, sing to the blows we deal, 
 
 As we forge bright blades from the writhing steel ! 
 And the warrior shall of the blacksmith think 
 When he hears the anviTs iron clink. 
 Heave up the sledge with a hearty swing 
 And the honest song of labor sing ; 
 Let the clanging ring of our anvils be 
 The blacksmith's chime of libeity ! 
 
" HEAVE UP THE SLEDGE WITH A HEAKTV SWING 
 
The swarthy smiths, with arms so brown, 
 
 That swiny the great sledge up and down, — 
 
 Their blows are strong, their sinews stout. 
 
 And bright the sparkles dance about. 
 
 There's lance for the tourney, and spade ibr the gra\e, 
 
 But never a tetter to bind the slave ; 
 
 And the chorus of their song shall be 
 
 Strike, brothers, strike lor liberty ! 
 
 First of weapons in Freedom's van 
 
 Is the swinging sledge of the artisan. 
 
 And the spark-strewn tkigs that alolt are whirled 
 
 Herald her progress aroimd the world. 
 
 The lorge is her temple, the liearth her throne, 
 
 The ringing anvil her altar-stone ; 
 
 Heart and hammer and hand — all three 
 
 Beat together lor liberty I 
 
OUR l-lKIRLOOn 
 
OUR HEIRLOOM 
 
 "]\/riNE ancient clock ! How long and wel 
 
 Hast stood our homestead's sentinel ! 
 Thy tireless tone has day b}' day 
 Challenged each hour that passed away, 
 And at its post, year after year, 
 Stiti" as a grim old grenadier 
 In antique sentry-box, it stands. 
 Saluting time with warninir hands. 
 
 In ancient patch and powder time, 
 Wiien bells rang out a cheertul cliime. 
 The spruce clock saw the rustic pride 
 Ot her that was my grandsire's bride. 
 The whirling wheels, around the\- race, 
 As ciixling years each other chase ; 
 The tripping maid now totters slow. 
 The bridegroom's brow bears ajje's snow. 
 
 28 
 
'THE SPRUCE CLOCK SAW THE KUSTIC PRIDE 
 OF HEK THAT WAS MY GRANDSH<E'S BRHJE " 
 
The measured moments oo and come . 
 
 As slowl}- swings the pendulum. 
 
 With steady step day after da3% 
 
 Past threescore years o'er life's highway. 
 
 To aged man and ancient dame 
 
 The old clock's voice is still the same ; 
 
 Clear comes the chime of bridal morn. 
 
 But groom and bride ! — ^\h, both are gone ! 
 
 Our homestead's heirloom to the last. 
 Dear old reminder of the past, 
 Time's faithful chronicler so true, 
 Th}' shining face my father knew ; 
 Before thee stood in manhood's prime, 
 Recalling days when man\' a time 
 lie strove on tiptoe, but in Aain, 
 The half thy lolly height to gain. 
 

 THY SIlINlNt; FACE MY FATIIKK KNEW " 
 
When wondering- at the ma>;ic power 
 That marked the time and pealed the hum 
 He climbed upon the parent knee. 
 The old clock's curious face to see. 
 lie dreams once more at eventide 
 Ot kneeling at his mother's side. 
 Her gentle voice, the song she sings, 
 And faded pictures memory brings 
 
 Of years long past, when fortune smiled 
 On him, a gay and tiioughtless child. 
 Now round his knee his children play, 
 The old clock still ticks time away. 
 Swift moments, hom"s, and fleeting ^ears, 
 Till one sad day is marked with tears : 
 The ever tireless wheels turn on. 
 Yet one more to his rest has "one. 
 
FADED riCTURES MEMdKV BRINGS 
 
Thy voice sounds cheerily and strong, 
 Though it has sung the hours so long. 
 Like visions in a magic glass, 
 Before thee generations pass. 
 The fourth — my own dear children three 
 Come clustering round and asking me 
 To let them all thy wonders know, 
 As sire asked grandsire years ago. 
 
 U 
 
<(it^ 
 
 i)iM 
 
 
 ■ LIKE VISIONS IN A MAGIC GLASS, 
 BEFORE THEE GENEUATIONS PASS ' 
 
Dear old memento of the past, 
 Long may thy voice with vigor hist. 
 And memories sweet to me recall 
 Of youth in ancient homestead hall. 
 Thy measured beat, thy warning bell, 
 The onward march of time shall tell. 
 Thy warning hands — they point for me 
 To Heaven and to Eternity. 
 
 36 
 
A CAVALRY CAROL 
 
A CAVALRY CAROL 
 
 TTARK ! It is the trumpet sounding ! 
 
 To the saddle leap, my men ! 
 From our turfy couches bounding, 
 Ready for the field again. 
 
 Proudly now our chargers prancing 
 
 Scent the battle from afar. 
 And the morning sun is glancing 
 
 On the panoply of war. 
 
 38 
 
List ! The lofty hills are shaking 
 With the booming cannonade, 
 
 And a tliousand echoes waking 
 To the rattling fusillade. 
 
 Flags are waving, plumes are dancing 
 To the martial roll of drums, 
 
 And the serried line advancing 
 In the pride of battle comes. 
 
Charge ! The very earth is reeling 
 'Neath our coursers' thund'ring tread, 
 
 Swift our sabre strokes, now dealing. 
 Strew the field with gory dead. 
 
 Cheer, my comrades ! Battles ended, 
 Sheath once more the shining steel. 
 
 Honor gained and homes defended, 
 Freemen's honest pride we feel. 
 
 40 
 
"CHARGE'. Uir. VKKV EARTH IS REELING 
 
 'XEATII OUR coursers' THUND'rING TREAD " 
 
DEATH IN "THE DIGGINGS" 
 
 A CROSS the flume the sun is going down; 
 
 Bathed in its glory, tattered, stained and brown. 
 Close to a rugged gash but newly rent 
 In the lair hill side's bosom, stands a tent, 
 And in the middle distanee you may see 
 Two rough men coming from their toil, and talking 
 In kindly curses, whistling and walking 
 Towards it. In the shelter lies a man. 
 Close to his twitching palms, an empty pan 
 Filled when they left, with word of comfort spoken, 
 For their harsh toil. His food is still unbroken, 
 The little flask of spirits close at hand ; 
 And round about the canvas shelter stand 
 Shovels and miners' boots, earthworn and stained. 
 Stretched here for weary days he had remained, 
 Weak from the fever, helpless as a child, 
 AVith naught to see without but rocky wild ; 
 Witliin, these objects in his canvas room. 
 
 42 
 
' CLOSE TO A KUGGED GASH BUT NEWLY RENT 
 L\ THE I-AHi HILL SIDE'-S BOSOM, STANDS A TENT" 
 
Then came the vision of his distant home, 
 And the salt tears slow trickled oV-r his cheek. 
 " Oh, God ! that I should leave dear ones, to seek 
 Here, in this barren land, the noldcn prize ! " 
 Once more he oped his sunken weary e3es ; 
 How that expectant eager gaze ran o'er 
 The little space 'twixt couch and the tent door ! 
 
 " Where are the boys ? The sun is going down, 
 And I am going. Must I die alone, 
 And no one here to take my message home ? 
 It's getting darker — footsteps ! Here they come ! 
 Oh, Tom, you're here. I had begun to fear 
 That }ou forgot — some water — both come near. 
 
I'm goinn', boys ! Take back this rin<4- and curl 
 
 To Mary, Jack, and kiss my little girl. 
 
 You'll do it? Thanks! Tom, dear old mate, good-by. 
 
 Cheer up, Joe ; — don't take on ; you mustn't die — 
 
 I must. Remember, these to Mary — your word keep. 
 
 It's getting dark — so tired — yes, yes, I'll sleep. 
 
 I cannot see, but feel your hand in mine." 
 
 The sun's last rays on his sad features shine. 
 He sinks to rest, but in that blest repose 
 That in this world no hour of wakiui"- knows. 
 
THANKSGIVING NIGHT 
 
 'THE FARMER SAT IN HIS GREAT ARM-CHAIR 
 
THANKSGIVING NIGHT 
 
 TDRIGIIT burned the tire on the farmer's hearth, 
 
 But the snow tell thiek and fast. 
 And the earth was robed in mantle white, 
 
 While hoarsely howled the blast. 
 Old Winter blew his breath ui' frost 
 
 And the white wreaths whirled around. 
 Or sang amid the leafless trees. 
 
 With sad and mom-nful sound. 
 
 The old eloek tieked in the corner dark. 
 
 But its face, so broad and white. 
 Seemed to look with a smile on the happ}- group 
 
 In the ring of the red firelight. 
 Old puss was there in corner snug. 
 
 And in comfort purred away, 
 Or rolled his yellow eyes around 
 
 And smoothed his whiskers gray. 
 
The farmer sat in his great arm-chair, 
 
 With his good wife at his side. 
 And he looked around, with a swelling heart 
 
 And a thrill of joy and pride. 
 On the sturdy youths so strong and tall, 
 
 On the buxom maidens fair. 
 And tiie merry little urchins all 
 
 That sported nnuid him there. 
 
 48 
 
And the brothers and sisters laughed and talked 
 
 With many a merry shout, 
 As they sat around the happy hearth, 
 
 Nor heeded the storm without. 
 But deeply sighed the farmer's wife, 
 
 As the chill wind louder roared, — 
 She thought of one far, far away, 
 
 On the ocean billows broad. 
 
 Ah ! one there was, a wayward boy, 
 
 Long tossed on the heaving sea ; 
 In such a dark and fearful night. 
 
 Where could the wanderer be ? 
 The}' spoke of him, the absent one. 
 
 The son and brother true, 
 And breathed a prayer for the sailor boy 
 
 On heaving billows blue. 
 
Still faster fell the drifting snow 
 
 And whirled in wreaths about, 
 When faint on the blast that hurried by 
 
 Came the sound of a distant shout. 
 The farmer's dog through the snowdrift dashed 
 
 With a bark of wild delight. 
 And the circle round the hearthstone now 
 
 Forsook its blaze so britrht. 
 
 But the storm was wild, the night was dark. 
 
 As they gazed from the casement out ; 
 Naught could they see in the gathering ghjom 
 
 But the snow that whirled about. 
 Then spake the farmer to his son, 
 
 " Some traveller's lost, I fear : 
 Go seek the wanderer in the storm, 
 
 And bid him welcome here." 
 
■ WHEN FAINT ON THE III.AST THAT HURRIED BY 
 CAME THE SOUND OF A DISTANT SHOUT " 
 
But, as he spoke, the broad okl door 
 
 Back on its hinges swung. 
 And with welcome shout amid the group 
 
 The hjng-lost brother sprung. 
 A fond embrace from his mother dear, 
 
 Hands pressed and kisses warm, 
 And a prayer of thanks lor the sailor boy 
 
 Returned home safe irom harm. 
 
" A FOND EMBRACE KUOM HIS MOTHER DEAR ' 
 
Oh, rare were the tales he told to them 
 
 Of life on the dark sea-tbam. 
 And of wondrous sig-hts in forei<;'n elimes, 
 
 Far Irom his own lo\ed home. 
 And happy were all that sat around 
 
 The farmer's hre so bright. 
 For joyfulh' brothers and sisters all 
 
 Kept that Thanksgiving night. 
 
 54 
 
^V%u 
 
 
 nO/neWARD BOUND 
 
 we'll whirl the capstan round ' 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND 
 
 /^N deck all hands ! The lively breeze 
 
 Is blowing fresh and free, 
 And through the rattling cordage now, 
 
 It pipes right merril}. 
 Heave up the heavy anchor, men ; 
 
 We'll whirl the capstan round 
 With song and rousing chorus all, 
 
 For we are homeward bound ! 
 
 Far, far astern the dusky shore 
 
 Fades fast awa}- from view. 
 And forward now the sailor sights 
 
 Old ocean's billows blue. 
 About the prow the wild waves raise 
 
 Their curling crests of spray. 
 As onward in her swift career 
 
 Our good ship bears away. 
 
\V\\ ^ 
 
 " FAR, FAR ASTERN THE DUSKY SHORE " 
 
The crackling canvas bends the mast, 
 
 There's music in the sound ; 
 Fair wind, my lads, alow, aloft, — 
 
 Hurrah ! we're homeward bound ! 
 The wild waves dash, and madl}' break 
 
 In sparkling sheets of foam, — 
 On deck all hands ! Make sail, make sail I 
 
 For we are bound for home ! 
 
"MAKE SAIL, MAKE SAIL!" 
 
Wc leave behind a foreign shore. 
 
 We're out to sea, my men ! 
 An ocean's boisterous welcome greets 
 
 The whole ship's crew again. 
 Sweethearts and wives the toast to-night. 
 
 So pass the can around ; 
 The wind's abaft, the sails are set, 
 
 Hurrali ! we're homeward boimd ! 
 
 60 
 
SWEETHEARTS AMI WIVES THE TOAST TO-NICHT " 
 
THE TEST OF TIME 
 
 TUrOW fair the da}-, how bhic the sk}', 
 How sweet the breeze is blowing I 
 And pleasure sparkles in each eye, 
 How bright life's stream is flowing- ! 
 
 Dear jolly Jaek, my schoolmate true, 
 We're each to each as brother; 
 
 'Tis boyhood now, but all life through 
 We'll stand bv one another. 
 
 62 
 
School da3-s are past, and now in pride. 
 With youth's ambition burning. 
 
 We're students — and with conscious stride 
 We tread the halls of learning. 
 
 There's Harry Brock, the farmer's son, 
 
 Flere with his rustic knowledge; 
 He's well enough, but not the one 
 
 To chum with us at college. 
 
 Well, jolly Jack, class day is done, 
 Now who stands first recorded .'' 
 
 Why, Harry Brock, the farmer's son ! 
 Not those we first applauded. 
 
Yes, classmates, we must call him up 
 For this our farewell party; 
 
 To-night with us to drain a cup 
 With wishes warm and hearty. 
 
 Where are they now, so bright and gay ? 
 
 A\niere those with whom we started ? 
 How close we stood when broke the day. 
 
 How soon our paths were parted. 
 
 Ah ! jolly jack, thy words were breath, 
 
 Thy 3'outhful pledges broken, 
 Phv boyhood's friend forgot, but death 
 
 Shall keep reproach unspoken. 
 
 64 
 
Come round the board ! Who heeds the eall ? 
 
 No friendships now to barter. 
 'Tis fifty years, so let us all 
 
 Pledge dear old alma-mater. 
 
 What, only one who takes my hand 
 
 And answers to my calling ! 
 But two left of that youthful band ? 
 
 How fast our tears are falling ! 
 
 True Harry Brock, here's hand and heart 
 
 As old times now come o'er us. 
 One loving cup now, ere we part, 
 
 To those who've gone before us. 
 
 6? 
 
TO AN ANTIQCR GOBLET 
 
TO AN ANTIQUE GOBLET 
 
 T TAIL, massive old relic of years that are gone, 
 
 Of knighthootrs old days that forever have flown! 
 Then circling within thee, to burst at thy brim. 
 Uprose the bright bubbles that merrily swim ; 
 When oft in those old feudal times at the board. 
 All sparkling and bright the red liquor was poured, 
 'Neath armor and banners that hung on the wall, 
 In tlie Bash of the torches that lia;hted the hall. 
 
 How the hoarse voices shout and the scarred faces shine 
 As they clash cup to cup with " Success to the vine ! " 
 While the grizzled old baron, the chief of the band. 
 Uplifts the old goblet on high in his hand. 
 But list ! The wild sound of the revel has ceased. 
 And hushed for a while is the din of the feast; 
 'Tis the voice of the minstrel, whose melod}' rings 
 To his magical touch sweeping over the strings. 
 
WHILE THE GRIZZLED OLD BARON, THE CHIEF OF THE BAND, 
 UPLIFTS THE OLD GOBLET ON HIGH IN HIS HAND " 
 
Now sweetly he chants the soft music of love, 
 And the strains float awa}' in the arches above. 
 Then of heroes and valor and combat he sings. 
 Till the hall with the shout of the battle-field rings ; 
 How mournfully breaks, like moan of the surge, 
 The death chant of warriors in notes of the dirge. 
 Till waked from its sadness a livelier strain 
 Flows on in melodious measure again. 
 
 How oft at such revels, old cup, hast thou been ! 
 
 Oh, couldst thou but tell of sights thou hast seen. 
 
 Of the dark-bearded mouths that ha\e pressed at thy 
 
 rim. 
 The red lips of beauty that breathed o'er the brim ! 
 And hast thou e'er held the dark, poisonous draught 
 That the victim of tyrants or treachery quaflcd. 
 Till, thoughtless and smiling, with thee in his grasp. 
 The cold hand of death had unloosened his clasp ? 
 
'THE DEATH CHANT OF WARRIORS IN NOTES OF THE DIRGE" 
 
'BY THE SIDE OF THE SUFFERERS, rAI-l.lD WITH PAIN, 
 THOU HAST HELD THE PORE NECTAK THAT CHEERED THEM AGAIN ' 
 
By the side of the sufterers, pallid with pain. 
 
 Thou hast held the pure nectar that cheered them again; 
 
 In the hand of the maiden, the grasp of the knight, 
 
 And glowing with deep rosy wine in the light. 
 
 Ah ! what hast thou seen as the ages have flown. 
 
 And left thee, old goblet, still gleaming, alone? 
 
 Where are they that then drained thee, the young and 
 
 the brave ? 
 All, all of them vanished — gone down to the grave. 
 
 And the deeds of those rugged old ritters of yore, 
 
 They glimmer but faintly in history's lore ; 
 
 Their battles, their feasts, and retainers so true, 
 
 Have faded away from our memories, too ; 
 
 But I dream, as I gaze on this massy old cup. 
 
 Of the old feudal days — so again till it up ; 
 
 For once more in its depths the red liquor shall shine. 
 
 And we'll pledge the old knights in a bumper of wine. 
 
' ONCR MORE I\ ITS DEI'TllS THK UK]) LIOIOR SHALL SHINE' 
 
ynE/ncNTOS 
 
' LOVEn FORMS IN FANCV LIVE ON'CE MORE " 
 
 MEMENTOS 
 
 T~\EAR treasured relics of the past. 
 
 Time tades, but memory holds you fast. 
 For glancing back at youthful Acars, 
 Each springlike scene again appears ; 
 Loved forms in fancy live once more, 
 Brought froin the true heart's treasure-store ; 
 In memory's ring some gems, still bright, 
 vShine out in age's fadini,^ light. 
 
Memento of an hour of love, — 
 'Tis all I have, — this little glove. 
 Again I see thy smile, Lizette ; 
 Thy music-laugh enchants me yet, 
 
 " IN WILD WALTZ AT THE MASQUERADE "' 
 
 As when I heard it first, dear maid. 
 
 In wild waltz at the masquerade. 
 
 Swift years have flown since then, but this 
 
 Recalls to me a dream of bliss. 
 
A little bunch of billet-doux, 
 A crushed and faded violet, too. 
 How in the leaves that now I turn 
 The tires of j'outhful passion burn ! 
 Bright heart-hopes on the pages gleam- 
 Mere bubbles of the sunlit stream. 
 The cherished idol of that hour 
 Lives but within this withered flower. 
 
 •si^Ss^ 
 
 '•A LITTLE BUNCH OK lilLLKT-DOUX ' 
 
 78 
 
Here rests a lock of auburn hue, 
 Bound with a faded ribbon blue. 
 Oh ! what an hour of happiness, 
 That gave to me that little tress ! 
 How dark the eyes that flashed among 
 Thy clustering curls that thickly hung ! 
 This truant severed from thy brow — 
 It bring-s to mind a broken vow. 
 
 79 
 
Ah ! here's a tress — a glorious one — 
 That gleams all golden in the sun ; 
 This was thy parting gift to me, 
 My own, my blue-eyed Rosalie. 
 Thy gentle eyes and snow}- brow ! 
 In dreams I gaze upon them now ; 
 For o'er th}- form the wild waves beat- 
 The white surge is thy winding sheet. 
 
 "THE WHITE SURGE IS TIIV VVI.NIJIXC. SHEET' 
 
 80 
 
Last of my treasures ! While I gaze, 
 And thoughts flit back to childhood's days, 
 Why is it that entranced I stand, 
 This little locket in my hand ? 
 'Tis the fond look that greets me there 
 From those sweet eyes so mild and fiiir ; 
 Back rolls the Hight of years, and then 
 Once more I am a bo}' again. 
 
' OXfE MORE I'M KNEELING AT THY SIDE" 
 
Once more Tm kneeling at thy side, 
 Again I hear thee gentl}' chide ; 
 Thy phicid smile, thy tender tones. 
 Once more my thrilling bosom owns. 
 A mist is floating o'er my sight. 
 The vision dims as fading light. 
 What's this upon my cheek? — A tear 
 It falls for thee, my Mother dear. 
 
A RHINE LEGEND 
 
 "D ED flashed the flickering torches' flame 
 
 In the old baronial hall, 
 As round the board the vassals came 
 
 At their feudal master's call. 
 Full two score stout retainers bold 
 
 Filled high their goblets bright, 
 And quarted from out their cups of gold 
 
 The rich red wine that night. 
 
 Rude was the revel — long and high 
 
 Rang laugh and song and shout. 
 Though vivid lightning rent the sky 
 
 And thunder pealed without. 
 For full three daj-s the furious blast 
 
 Had beat on the castle wall, 
 And held the baron prisoner fast 
 
 In his old ancestral hall. 
 
"f^ET^"'^ 
 
 "VIVID LIGHTNING RENT THE SKY' 
 
His^h o'er the bright Rhine's flowing tide 
 
 Doth the grim old castle frown. 
 And the warder watches far and wide ; 
 
 From the turret looks he down. 
 " Fill high, my bold retainers true," 
 
 The baron shouts aloud ; 
 "We'll drink, mv men, till the sky is blue, 
 
 And heaven without a cloud." 
 
 86 
 
■CUP CLINKS TO CUP AROUND THE HALL' 
 
 Cup clinks to cup around the hall, 
 
 Fast flows the ruddy wine ; • 
 
 But faster yet the rain-drops tall, 
 And brighter the lightnings shine. 
 
 "What, ho ! My laithlul warder true, 
 Canst thou yet see the sky ? 
 
 Mount ! mount the highest turret through, 
 
 And shout my battle-cry ! 
 
 87 
 
Back came the warder, drenched and pale 
 
 " My lord, 'tis a fearful night ; 
 The rain-drops pour, the wild winds wail. 
 
 And the lightnings flicker bright. 
 Far down the ^•ale sounds the convent-bell 
 
 All i'aint "mid the tempest's roar. 
 And tlie hoi)- monks their dark beads tell. 
 
 As they pray for the sun once more." 
 
 " AMI I HE Hill \' Ml 
 
Still howls the storm. "•Will muttering prayers 
 
 Stop the lightning and the rain ? 
 Let the lazy monks still patter theirs, 
 
 But ril to mj' wine again." 
 With his goblet high in his stout hand tossed, 
 
 The baron shouts aloud, 
 " 'Tis a bitter shame that our booty's lost 
 
 By the rain-drops of the cloud." 
 
 " So pledge, my bold retainers all ! " 
 
 Cried he, with a fearful oath ; 
 " Since Heaven is deaf, on the Fiend I call ; 
 
 Fair sky and the Fiend — pledge both ! " 
 Cup rang to cup as the revellers sprang 
 
 With a wild shout to their feet ; 
 And a deafening peal of thunder rang, 
 
 As heaven to earth did meet. 
 
Still fester flowed the crimson tide 
 
 Of wine in the banquet hall, 
 When an outstretched hand at the baron's side 
 
 Was held by a stranger tall. 
 " I drink with all," said the stranger-guest, 
 
 " From the deep wine-cup to-night ! 
 'Tis a gallant pledge from a fearless breast, 
 
 And will brino- fair skies with lijjjht/' 
 
 The baron looked from his chair of state 
 
 And he saw the feast was done, 
 For of all the two score guests that sate 
 
 There now remained but one. 
 The o'erturned cups and flagons tall, 
 
 The board all splashed with wine. 
 And the heavy breath of the stout men, all 
 
 Confessed the potent vine. 
 
 90 
 
He filled the cup of the stranger guesi, 
 As the)' sat at the board alone, 
 
 And pledged again with oath and jest, 
 As the castle-bell tolled One ! 
 
 ' AND PLEDGED AGAIN WITH OATH AND JEST " 
 
 " What, ho ! My warder, see'st the sk)' ? 
 
 Do the rain-drops iall as fast ? 
 Up ! up once more to the turret high, 
 
 And see if the storm be past ! " 
 
'' Hold ! " said his guest. " Mount wc the stair ! 
 
 And look on a cloudless night ! 
 I promised thee skies clear and fair 
 
 Should greet the morrow's light." 
 The golden sun with its cheei'ful beams 
 
 Shines bright through the festal hall ; 
 On the scattered cups it glows and gleams 
 
 From the armor on the wall. 
 
 Roused from their slumber round the board, 
 
 The revellers rose to greet 
 The baron bold, the castle's lord ; 
 
 But empty was his seat. 
 " The morn has come, the sun is here, 
 
 The skies are blue again ; 
 Where stays the ritter — doth he fear 
 
 To lead his gallant men ? " 
 
 92 
 
• SHINES BRIGHT THROUGH THE FESTAL HALL " 
 
No voice replies. Then wildl\' seeks 
 
 That band each ancient hall ; 
 With fluttering hearts and pallid cheeks 
 
 They mount the castle wall. 
 High up the winding turret-stair 
 
 The trembling warder led ; 
 On the last broad step, o'er the threshold bare, 
 
 La\- the baron — stark and dead. 
 
A WESTERN IDYL 
 
 " LTELLO, stranger ! Pull up and 'light ; 
 
 Yer tired, I reckon, an' yer boss blowed — 
 Lead him to the corn-crib, stay h'yar to-night. 
 
 You're a woodsman ? Yes, I knowed 
 By your rifle, knife, and tomahawk 
 
 You'd seen work, as we have here. 
 'Light, stranger ! Have a smoke an' talk. 
 
 Take some red e3'e? — Don't drink? That's queer; 
 But a man of your build an' them scars. 
 
 Besides sendin' sure shots after a deer, 
 Must hev font redskins, painters, and bars." 
 
 95 
 
" Thanks, friend. I will 'light, I need rest. 
 
 Yes, we'll have a smoke ; I'll stop here 
 One night at least as your guest. 
 
 True, I've shot panthers and killed deer 
 And redskins, as you'd say, ' a heap.' 
 
 Not one of the cursed savage crew 
 Comes in my range but his death leap 
 
 Follows my rifle shot — the aim's true. 
 Seen fights ? Look! This scar a Comanche knife. 
 
 This a Pawnee bullet ; the last he shot. 
 And squared the score with his wretched life. 
 
 96 
 
)vH^ 
 
 I T^i 
 
 
 -J 
 
 X. }* 
 
 ' '' I 
 
 
 
 'THANKS, FRIEMJ. I WILL 'LIGHT, I NEED REST' 
 
•^Yes, they all 'went under;' but I've sought 
 
 Something beside redskins. A little one, my ehild — 
 Ma3'hap you've never heard. Well, it's ten 3'ears now 
 
 I've tracked this Indian country wild. 
 \^ain search, indeed; but I have kept my vow, 
 
 Though sick at heart as the years go by 
 And still no trace of her. Don't mind, friend ; 
 
 'Tis womanish, I know, — this watery eye. 
 Just hear my story to the end. 
 
 " I came out trom the East with my young wife 
 And little child, here to the border land. 
 
 I knew then nothing of the settlers' life, — 
 No matter why I came, — I longed to stand 
 
 Unquestioned and untrammelled, a free man. 
 
 98 
 
And so, thouii'h city born and taught at college, 
 I left the haunts of men. My fancy ran 
 
 For a free life, to gain a hunter's knowledge, 
 To own broad acres o\er which to roam, 
 
 To sla}^ the wolf, to hunt the bounding deer, 
 And thought — vain dreamer! — 'twas a happy home 
 
 With loving ones to sweeten exile here. 
 Well, years ago, to make the story short, 
 
 I built my home beside this very stream, 
 Six or eight miles below, and never thought 
 
 Like mist would melt awa}' my happ}' dream. 
 One autumn day I left my child and wife 
 
 For a long forest tramp. A fool was I, 
 Leaving those dearer to me than my life, 
 
 Unguarded there, a cruel death to die. 
 
Returned at night, I found my cabin ashes, 
 
 And tliere — O God! it was a fearful sight! — 
 Her fair white forehead cleft in gory gashes, 
 
 Lav my dead wife beside the embers' light. 
 That frightful scene ! What wonder I was wild. 
 
 It wcjunds me now the sa\age deed to tell. 
 Oh, how I wept and called on wife and child. 
 
 Raved like a drunken madman, and then fell 
 Prostrate and senseless, till the autumn rain 
 
 Dropped on my brow like heaven's gentle tear, 
 And I revi\ed, and then was calm again. 
 
 And knelt bv mv lost home an oath to swear. 
 
■ KNELT liY MY LOST HOME AN OATH TO SWEAR 
 
The oath ? Ah, I see j'ou guess it. 
 
 Death to the redskin! Ay, 'tis well kept. 
 A bloody vengeance — I confess it. 
 
 But think — if otten when you slept 
 You saw her face all gashed and gory, 
 
 And sought a little child for whom you wept, ■ 
 But, friend, vou tire of my sad stor^'." 
 
 "No, stranger. The smoke's in my eyes, 
 
 And kinder makes 'em water ; 
 But thar's a savin', 'Hope never dies;' 
 
 And ez fur vour little darter — 
 Listen to my story to match yourn. 
 
 'Bout ten ^■ear ago thar war on a tramp. 
 Hunter |im. me, old Joe Powderhorn, 
 
 And four others : a right smart camp. 
 
We were mectin' Injin sign and sharp a bit. 
 
 When Jim kim in — he'd been on scout — 
 An' sez he, ' Boys, you must get up an' git, 
 
 Fur I tell 3e thar is 'Rapahoes about, 
 An' their war party's agin white folks ; 
 
 For I've stalked their camp, an' thar. 
 While the\' war haltin' and havin' smokes, 
 
 I saw the long scalp ot" woman's har 
 Hangin' down from one feller's belt ; 
 
 An' the3''d a captive, a little child, 
 A gal — a white one ! 1 kin tell ve I felt 
 
 As ef I'd the buck agur an' kind of wild. 
 
I wunted to draw bead on the cuss, I did, — 
 
 I knowed the scalp belonged to the mother. 
 The red devils, I seed as I lay hid. 
 
 Swung it in the child's face, one an' another, 
 To frighten the little one, an' set her cryin'.' 
 
 No need to grit yer teeth, stranger ; it's Injin natur. 
 You can't change it in 'em, it's no use tryin' 
 
 To make civilized humans of 'em ; it's better 
 To rub 'em all out. But ez I was sayin', 
 
 That war party was squatted for the night, 
 An' we didn't believe in their goin', but stayin' ; 
 
 An' the upshot was a right smart tight. 
 
ir--.^ 
 
 " AN' THE UPSHOT WAS A RIGHT SMART FU;H-| 
 
There war seven of our fellers — of redskins ten, 
 
 So it was nip an' tuck for a while, by thunder ! 
 We didn't mfnd fightin' ; I was 3-ounger then. 
 
 Well, stranger, the redskins all went under. 
 Did we suffer .'' There was hunter Jim 
 
 Shot through the shoulder, and Pete Wild, 
 My old mate, — well, we buried him ; 
 
 But, stranger, we saved the little child ! 
 How bright she was, her curls like gold ; 
 
 Couldn't talk plain, nor tell who she was, 
 Only her name — Gracey — a two-year-old. 
 
 io6 
 
So yer see I adopted her, because 
 The old woman got lonesome with me away. 
 
 And we were goin\ an' did pack up an' git. 
 Soon as I kim back, — the very next day, — 
 
 To iurder west than eny settler yit. 
 But we're back agin now after ten year ; 
 
 That's Gracey, now, comin' in thar at the door 
 An', stranger, look in this old chist — see here ! 
 
 This yere's the very little frock she wore 
 When we captured her in the Injin hglit. 
 
But hello ! What makes yc look so wild ? 
 Yer shakin' like the agur — ycr face all white ; 
 
 An' Gracev — wh\-, how yer starin' at the child ! " 
 
 '' Why do I gaze ? Ah, "tis no dream ! I see 
 My dear wife's smile in the bright youthful face 
 
 Of this sweet girl with golden locks — 'tis she, 
 
 Mv cliild ! mv child ! Dear, long-lost darling Grace !" 
 
 io8 
 
1 1 '' 
 
 ~ >* 
 
 ■AN' GRACEY — WHY, HOW YER STARIN' AT THE iHILIi 
 
MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN 
 
 TI7AIR maid of the mountain, a farewell to thee. 
 
 Sweet wild flower of beauty, so joyous and free ; 
 O'er the wild Alpine passes, with footstep as light, 
 Hast thou fled like a vision, so airy and bright. 
 'Mid thine own nati\e hills that in grandeur arise 
 To the blue bending azure of Switzerland's skies. 
 Thy voice clear and sweetlv, through cavern and glen, 
 Floats forth, and the echoes repeat it again. 
 
'Mid the snow-crested peaks to the Switzer so dear, 
 How happ3- the chant of the free mountaineer ! 
 And thy song with its musical melody seems 
 Still to ring in mj- ear, still to float in my di-eams. 
 In the halls of the palace, where jewels were bright 
 And soft eyes have sparkled as gems in the light. 
 Have I gazed on the forms of fair maids of degree, 
 But none were, my sweet mountain maiden, like thee. 
 
 When far in the land of the stranger I roam. 
 
 Or ride over ocean's blue billows of foam. 
 
 Full oft in my visions thy face will appear, 
 
 And fancy again waft thy song to my ear. 
 
 I linger to bid the huge hill-tops adieu. 
 
 Stretching tar their brown peaks 'neath the canopy blue 
 
 Good-by to the crags, to the cavern and dell. — 
 
 Fair maid of the mountain, forever farewell. 
 
THE VILLAGE CHURCH-BELL 
 
 TN youth's happv day — ah, we loved it so well ! — 
 
 The musical chime of the village church-bell, 
 In the white, slender spire — 30U remember it, Joe ! 
 When we were both bo^■s in the country, you know. 
 
 How on Sundays it sang on the sweet summer air, 
 And summoned us all to the meeting-house there. 
 But I tear that we bovs, il" you must ha\e the truth, 
 Came to church oft to worship oiu" sweethearts of youth. 
 
^■^Hiv V. 
 
 -%*i««W?«* 
 
 ^»v^ 
 
 ' WHEN WE WERE BOTH BOYS IN THE COUNTRY, YOU KNOW 
 
For ni)'' heart was first lighted with love's holy fire 
 By the eyes of a girl in the old village choir. 
 In fanc}- I longed, as that maiden would sing, 
 To hear lor our wedding the \illage bell ring. 
 
 We loved and we parted in grief and in tears ; 
 Ah, what was my sorrow, so keen in 30uth"'s jears. 
 When, as speeding away, came, like distant farewell. 
 Sweet and faintly, the musical chime of the bell. 
 
 Ere life's rugged journey was half travelled o'er 
 I longed to return to the village once more; 
 Where years ago, Joe. — God bless you, old man ! 
 In the da^s of our bojhood our friendship began. 
 
I came, and once more, over hillside and dell, 
 Float again, as in youth, the sweet notes of the bell. 
 But see! As I come to the old village church. 
 What train is it slowly goes forth from the porch? 
 
 It winds through the churchyard! Now silently stand, 
 Grouped around a new grave, a sorrowful band. 
 I join it with rcv'rence, and then, drawing near. 
 Look down on the fair one borne forth on the bier. 
 
 Ah, Joe ! it is she, the sweet singer we knew, 
 Once the wife of your bosom, so loving and true! 
 Hands long parted we grasp as the funeral knell 
 Is solemnly tolled by the village church-bell. 
 
 "5 
 
THE MOUNTAIN CASCADE 
 
 "PAR down the wild mountain and from the steep 
 
 height 
 For ages thy waters have leaped with delight ; 
 From cloud-circled birthplace and cradle on high, 
 'Mid peaks that seem rising to kiss the blue sk}'. 
 In swift-flowing freedom thy wild waves have run. 
 That smile in the moonbeams and laugh in the sun. 
 Till in fresh-flashing rapids the valley they greet, 
 In musical murmurs of joy at ni}- Icet. 
 
How oft, when the mountains 
 with sunset were tipped. 
 
 The stag of thy moss-margined 
 waters has sipped, 
 
 Or when morn's early sunbeam 
 has heralded day, 
 
 The eagle's broad pinion flashed 
 high o'er thy spray ! 
 
 Bv thy bright gleaming billows 
 the Indian hath trod. 
 
 And heard in their dashings the 
 \oice of his God ; 
 
 Or fancied thy murmurs in deep- 
 bosomed glen 
 
 The :\ranit()u's mystical whisper 
 to men. 
 
Here, scooped by th}- glittering eddies of foam, 
 Deep in the dark forest — the savage's home — 
 Thy sweet mossy basins are filled to the brim, 
 Beneath the broad branches that bend to their rim. 
 And here in the aisles of the glorious wood, 
 Where naught but the winds break the vast solitude, 
 Would the chiefs dusky daughter delight to recline, 
 And in thy liquid mirror her features define. 
 
 Sweeping 'neath the deep shade of the sentinel trees. 
 That shout to the storm wind, or challenge the breeze, 
 Thy broad sheet of silver, with grass-margined side, 
 Reflects each little tendril that trails o'er the tide. 
 Scarce flutter the ripples that play on its breast, 
 So calm in the shadow and silent its rest, — 
 Fit place for the mirror of Indian coquette 
 To twine her dark tresses at syhan toilette. 
 
 ii8 
 
Years leave on thy surface no trace of their flight. 
 For in freshness of jouth flow thy waters so bright ; 
 Still leap they the cliff and still float in the glen, 
 While fade from the earth generations of men. 
 Life passes away like thy swift-gliding stream, 
 Its pleasures and prizes mere bubbles that gleam 
 As in triumph they float, iridescent and bright. 
 But by a breath shattered, they vanish from sight. 
 
 Broad stream of the mountain, exhaustless and free. 
 Pour on thy pure tribute toward the blue sea ; 
 Teach us that the passions that agitate life. 
 That raise in man's bosom commotion and strife, 
 May, like thy roused waters, in thunder and spray. 
 Urged on by the tempest, rush mad on their way ; 
 Or like the wild billows in tumult be tossed, 
 Till in the deep sea of eternity lost. 
 
A TURKISH BAG-A-TELLE 
 
 /"ALD Hassan was a fisherman — 
 
 A INIussulman was he; 
 Though clamorous in the marketplace, 
 Too selfish he could be. 
 
 Though honest, he " hooked " all he could. 
 
 With net gains he was gay. 
 And though his hands were filled with scales, 
 
 He never had his wa\'. 
 
For he and other fishermen 
 
 Paid to the Sultan's purse 
 A tribute — but they turned and said, 
 
 This is the Bos-phor-us. 
 
 To Mecca turning, oft he called 
 The prophet's aid in vain, — 
 
 To make-a call for profits, that 
 His neighbors thought insane. 
 
 When once, about the close of day. 
 His own clothes nearly gone, 
 
 He thought to try his nets and see 
 If he should longer mourn. 
 
The nets came slowly in to shore, 
 Filled with a heavy weight, 
 
 And Hassan, though no fish are seen, 
 His hope does not abate. 
 
 For in his net there lay a sack — 
 
 The Sultan's seal it bore ! 
 Was 't to in-sult-an honest man 
 
 Fate sends this to the shore ? 
 
 He bore it to the monarch straight. 
 Though 'neath the load he bent; 
 
 The Sultan in the palace was 
 On business, though, in-tent. 
 
He heard old Hassan tell his tale, 
 
 And found his story true; 
 The sack that Hassan brought, though old. 
 
 The Sultan thought he knew. 
 
 He told him to bear back the sack. 
 Though his bare back was sore; 
 
 And these two bears now proved to be 
 A most decided bore. 
 
 " Go, throw it in the deepest wave, 
 
 As deep as deep can be, 
 And when the river's dark and still. 
 
 And no one out to sea; 
 
"And take this bag of gold yourself, 
 
 For honesty has charms." 
 So Hassan, though a Mussulman, 
 
 Then had two sacks-in-arms. 
 
 The Sultan smiled, the deed was done, 
 When Hassan hastened back: 
 
 " An honest one shall fill his bag, 
 The false one fills a sack." 
 
A SURPRISE PARTY 
 
 '" I ^WAS the season of spring, when the flowerets 
 
 appear 
 And fair maidens bid welcome the opening year; 
 The air soft and bahny, and lovely the day, 
 And the pave was all thronged with the grave and the 
 gay, 
 
 When Tom F , known by all as a glorious soul, 
 
 With his friend sauntered out on the street for a stroll. 
 
 How graceful his bow to the ladies he knew, 
 
 How hearty his greeting to gentlemen, too! 
 
 Fashion's votaries all hnd a place in the throng, 
 
 And bright as gay bubbles are floating along. 
 
 Tom criticised shrewdly each one of the fair, 
 
 And eyed all he met with a keen, knowing air, 
 
 Till walking before him he sees a fair form; 
 
 Then in rapture he speaks, in its praise he is warm. 
 
 125 
 
" What a figure ! By heavens, what motions of grace ! 
 
 A Venus ! Oh, but for one glance at her face ! 
 
 Blest moment ! " cried Tom, as the lady let fall 
 
 Her fan from the half-loosened folds of her shawl. 
 
 Rushing forward he raised it, and with a low bow 
 
 Returns it with grace and a compliment now. 
 
 The lad}' turned round and, raising her veil, 
 
 Smiled on Tom, who that instant turned fearfully pale. 
 
 O'er each feature now mute astonishment stole. 
 
 For the face of the damsel was black as a coal. 
 
 " How now ? '' cried his friend, as he joined him again ; 
 
 "What think you? — who is she.? — the lady you've 
 
 seen ; 
 Why so silent, my boy? You must tell me, I vow, 
 What you think of the lady you spoke with just now." 
 " I think her," quoth Tom, as he strode up the street, 
 "An angel to follow — the devil to meet." 
 
 126 
 
THE GREAT PEACE JUBILEE 
 
 LINES READ IN THE WELCOME SPEECH TO THE REPRESENTATIVES OF THE 
 
 PRESS OF THE UNITED STATES AT THE PEACE JUBILEE 
 
 IN BOSTON JUNE IS 1 869 
 
 /^OME North and South, and East and West, 
 
 And meet with cordial greeting ; 
 Once more beneath the sway of peace. 
 The nation's heart is beating. 
 
 No more upon the trembling wires 
 
 The news of war is flying ; 
 No more our pleasant fields are strewn 
 
 With gor}- dead and dying. 
 
 Hushed is war's trumpet — summer gales 
 
 The notes of peace are blowing, 
 And o'er our heads — God grant it long! — 
 
 The Union stars are glowing. 
 
Across the prairie's broad expanse, 
 
 The iron bands that span it 
 Bring California's greeting to 
 
 New England's hills of granite. 
 
 Maine's forests, Pennsylvania's plains, 
 The shores the lakes are laving, 
 
 The garden lands 'neath southern skies, 
 Where orange groves are waving. 
 
 Break forth in one harmonious chant, 
 
 A glorious hosanna, — 
 " Let us have peace and unity 
 
 Beneath our country's banner." 
 
 130 
 
Ye wielders of the mighty power 
 That sways both prince and peasant, 
 
 May all your ways be those of peace, 
 And all your paths be pleasant. 
 
 Praise we the pen, that trenchant wand; 
 
 Our best, our last endeavor 
 To wield with honor that, the true 
 
 Archimedean lever. 
 
 And thus we pray, while in rude rhyme 
 This welcome warm is spoken: 
 
 United hearts — United States ! 
 God keep the chain unbroken ! 
 
BOSTON TO CALIFORNIA 
 
 LINES READ AT THE FESTIVAL OF THE UNION CLUB OF SAN FRANCISCO, 
 GIVEN TO THE BOSTON BOARD OF TRADE EXCURSION PARTY JUNE 24 
 1870 ON THE OCCASION OF THE FIRST TRANSATLANTIC TRIP 
 
 H' 
 
 "OW weak are mere words 
 
 From the heart overflowing, 
 
 To tell its emotions or seek to convey 
 
 Thoughts that thrill all its chords, 
 
 When true warmth 'tis glowing, 
 
 And every base passion has faded away ! 
 
 'Tis thus that we stand 
 
 To respond to your greeting, 
 Fellow countrymen all, 'neath our banner of stars j 
 And we stretch forth each hand 
 To clasp yours at meeting. 
 Our brothers in peace and our comrades in wars. 
 
Where the granite shaft gray 
 Of Bunker Hill rises, 
 To tell that our fathers braved tyranny's shock ; 
 Where the sparkling spray 
 Of the blue wave baptizes 
 The shore of our birth-place and old Plymouth Rock ; 
 
 Where the rising sun's ray 
 
 Lights the streets of old Concord, 
 And Lexington's plain lies in peaceful repose, 
 There shines Plymouth bay, 
 Where the "Mayflower" was anchored, — 
 'Tis Old Massachusetts that every one knows. 
 
 133 
 
But why need I tell 
 
 Of these spots all so hallowed ? 
 America's story on history's page — 
 You know it full well, 
 
 And you mark what has followed: 
 The triumph of freedom, the march of the age. 
 
 Scarce a centur3''s flow 
 
 Our country's veins filling, 
 In age 'mid the nations in infancy ^et ; 
 But the beams on her brow 
 To the old world are telling. 
 Our pole star is progress — that never shall set. 
 
 J 34 
 
Like the wonder of dreams, 
 Or some old Eastern story. 
 These cities seem rising at magic's behest; 
 But learning's light gleams, 
 Art shines in its glory. 
 The footsteps of enterprise point to the West. 
 
 When treason awoke. 
 And war's desolation 
 Wrote ruin and death with its fingers of flame. 
 As we gazed through the smoke 
 There the flag of our nation, 
 Unfurled in the Golden State, floated the same. 
 
 135 
 
Ah ! what loyal heart 
 
 But then thrilled with emotion, 
 At the stars faintly seen in the far sunset glow ! 
 What shall sever apart, 
 
 Stretched from ocean to ocean. 
 The strong bond of Union uniting us now ? 
 
 War's thunders have ceased, 
 Peaceful skies are o'erarching ; 
 Sections' hate and fierce feuds may we never recall, 
 But North, South, West and East, 
 
 'Neath our old flag we're marching, — 
 United we stand, but divided we fall. 
 
 136 
 
THE COMMERCIAL CLUB 
 
 LINES READ AT THE CHICAGO COMMERCIAL CLUB FESTIVAL IN 1 877 ON 
 
 THE OCCASION OF THE VISIT OF THE COMMERCIAL CLUB 
 
 OF BOSTON TO THAT CITY. 
 
 IVTOW fill the cup, and let the feast 
 
 More joyous be to ever)* guest — 
 Old three-hilled cit}^ of the East, 
 
 Thy name's thrice honored at the West. 
 
 Far towards the rising sun we glance. 
 
 And catch the glitter of his ray 
 Where blue waves shine in sparkling dance 
 
 Within old Massachusetts bay. 
 
There stands the shaft on Bunker's height, 
 
 And on 3'On steeple o'er the tide 
 Looked Paul Revere for warning light 
 
 Ere spurred he on his midnight ride. 
 
 The Old South Church, the State House dome. 
 Old King street, Common, Faneuil Hall, — 
 
 As loving eyes turn fondly home, 
 How inany memories ye recall ! 
 
 Old mother city of our land. 
 
 We love to read thy name and story; 
 
 But 'tis not thine alone to stand 
 
 As claimant for thy country's glory. 
 
 138 
 
Thy beauteous sisters of the West, 
 
 North, South, and East, o'er all tlic nation, 
 
 The stars of our own Union blest, 
 Shine now a perfect constellation. 
 
 Together gleam they pure and bright, 
 A circlet that no hand shall sever. 
 
 And one whose beams of glorious light 
 Shall blaze before the world forever. 
 
TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 
 ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY AUGUST 29 1 889 
 
 T^EAR poet of our j'outhful da^'s, 
 
 Thy flowing verse, thy graceful lays, 
 So musical in rounded rhyme, 
 Thev charm us still in manhood's time; 
 For, though our locks be tinged with frost, 
 None of thy magic power is lost. 
 With retrospective glance, the sight 
 Looks back to years when hearts were light; 
 To school-boy days dear memor}- glides. 
 When rang th}' grand " Old Ironsides " 
 From tongues whose patriotic fire 
 Woke at the fervor of thy lyre. 
 
"The Spectre Pig," the stranger tall, 
 
 Who stalked unbid to Commons Hall; 
 
 " My Aunt," unmarried and alone, 
 
 The giants, and the pudding-stone; 
 
 And how in merr\' measure ran 
 
 " The Ballad of the Oysterman." 
 
 Now discord grates on nerve and ear; 
 
 " The Music Grinders " still are here, 
 
 But yield to laughter loud and long, 
 
 That greets the tramping " Treadmill Song." 
 
 Thy wit and humor's rattling pace 
 
 Told " How the Old Horse won the Race." 
 
 Who'll e'er forget that's read it, pray, 
 
 ''The Story of the One-horse Shay",? 
 
And then to verse more glorious 
 
 Floats forth "• The Chambered Nautilus." 
 
 With memor3''s tear each cheek is wet, 
 
 And thoughts of sadness or regret 
 
 Mingle with jests o'er sparkling wine, 
 
 When meet the " Class of Twenty-Nine " 
 
 (The i'cw that time has spared), and poise 
 
 Their glasses to this toast — "The Boys." 
 
 What though the fourscore years liave flown ! 
 
 Thy sway, dear "Autocrat," we own; 
 
 Thy torch, triumphant, still shall burn. 
 
 Though Death thy life's " Last Leaf" may turn. 
 
 May many " Hundred Days " go past 
 
 Ere comes the one thou countest last. 
 
 142 
 
THE OLD SCHOOLBOYS OF BOSTON 
 
 LINES READ AT THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING 
 NOVEMBER 1 3 1 889 
 
 I "HE light of youth's fair openiiiQ- day, 
 That sparkled in the skj', 
 And manhood's strong and steady ray, 
 Have both passed swiftly b\'. 
 
 At autumn sunset now we gaze, 
 
 'Mid clouds of glorious hue ; 
 How beautiful the fading blaze 
 
 Just sinking from the view! 
 
 143 
 
'Tis not with sighs or vain regret 
 
 Around the board we meet ; 
 With spirits blithe as boyhood yet, 
 
 Our hearts all lightly beat. 
 
 What ho ! The telescope advance ! 
 
 Through memory's magic glass 
 We'll take a retrospective glance 
 
 At old scenes as they pass. 
 
 We'll look old Boston Common o'er, 
 Where erst our hockies swung, — 
 
 The Frog Pond, iced from shore to shore, 
 Where our skate irons run"-. 
 
We hear the merry hiugh and shout 
 
 Upon the steep hillside, 
 Where pelting snowballs fly about 
 
 And gay sleds swiftly glide. 
 
 The picture changes : cannon's din, 
 
 The fluttering banners gay, 
 And sounding church-bells " usher in " 
 
 Our Independence Day. 
 
 The Old Elm spreads its grateful shade, 
 The stands and booths are here, 
 
 To coax our pennies in their trade 
 P'or oysters and spruce beer. 
 
 145 
 
Pop Emmons' speeches all confuse; 
 
 The soldiery appears — 
 Old Rifle Rangers, Winslow Blues, 
 
 And red-coat Fusileers. 
 
 Their plumes and banners ga^'ly float ; 
 
 Was ever sight so grand ? 
 List! Martial music's swelling note — 
 
 The glorious Brigade Band. 
 
 Ned Kendall's bugle ! Sweeping past. 
 Its pure notes sweetly come, 
 
 Mingled with Bartlett's trumpet-blast 
 And old Dan Simpson's drum. 
 
 146 
 
And how we rushed with vigorous kick 
 Our footballs o'er the ground ! 
 
 How, beaten with the stout oak stick, 
 Our press hoops whirled around ! 
 
 We played our marbles, spun our tops, 
 And when On gambling bent, 
 
 Shook in the ring our china props 
 And boldly '' set a cent." 
 
 How quick we were our aid to lend 
 To " run with the machine," 
 
 Old " Boston " down at the North End, 
 Or " Cataract Fourteen." 
 
 147 
 
Then at the theatre in our day 
 
 We boys of long ago 
 Saw Cooper and Old Pelby play, 
 And Rice jump his "Jim Crow." 
 
 Who like old Booth in Richard Third ? 
 
 Where is Ned Forrest's peer ? 
 We all have Charlotte Cushman heard, 
 
 John Gilbert and " Old Spear ; " 
 
 Seen Mrs. Barrett's witching glance, 
 
 And graceful Fanny Jones, 
 Remember Ellsler's sylph-like dance, 
 
 " Old Cartlitch's " husky tones. 
 
 148 
 
Ah, boys ! Like scenes in mimic play, 
 
 These pictures of the past 
 No ruthless hand can sweep away 
 
 While memor}' shall last. 
 
 I pledge you, and in the account 
 
 Include Old Boston, too ; 
 Here, where we quaffed at learning's fount, 
 
 Still let our hearts be true. 
 
 Free from disturbing storms of sect 
 
 Keep those pellucid pools ; 
 With voice, with arm, if called, protect 
 
 Old Boston's Public Schools. 
 
THE OLD SCHOOLBOYS OF BOSTON 
 
 LINES READ AT THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING 
 NOVEMBER 1 3 1 89O 
 
 A NOTHER year! How swift they pass,- 
 Let's call a halt, my men, 
 And see once more in memory's glass 
 Ourselves as boys again. 
 
 We'll whirl the wheels of old Time back 
 
 For fifty years or more, 
 Forget life's weary, toilsome track. 
 
 And live our boyhood o'er. 
 
 150 
 
With dancing e3'e and riidd}' cheek, 
 
 Loud lauyh and heart}' cheer, 
 Who dares of age's frost to speak 
 
 While sunny youth is here ? 
 
 No judge or reverend sir we know, 
 
 No squires or doctors greet. 
 But Sam and Tom and Bill and Joe — 
 
 The boys we used to meet. 
 
 The old school-house we see once more. 
 
 We went as prisoners there. 
 Then thought ourselves but slaves bound o'er 
 
 To studies, rules, and care. 
 
 151 
 
Old R. G. Parker's (grammars three ! 
 
 Our brains how they woiild twist 
 To tell the tenses of "• to be," 
 
 Or prepositions list. 
 
 Of, to, for, by, — we ran all through 
 Those words in rapid pace, 
 
 Told prepositions, govern, too, 
 That old objective case. 
 
 Ah, Emerson ! 'twas easy start. 
 Those pictured problems light, 
 
 But struggles in thy old " Third Part " 
 Of mathematic misjht. 
 
 152 
 
How with those puzzling figures we 
 
 All wrestled with ;x will, 
 Copied our sums, or bought a " key " 
 
 From Burnham on Cornhill. 
 
 John Pierpont ! Shall we e'er forget 
 Thine old First Class Book lore ? 
 
 We prize its precious pages yet, 
 And love to turn them o'er. 
 
 Will Shakespeare there we learned to love, 
 
 There '■ Thanatopsis " shines 
 With Byron, that poetic Jove, 
 
 And Scott's melodious lines. 
 
And youthful orators recite, 
 
 From Lovell's Speaker, well 
 The tale of that heroic fight 
 
 Where bold Bozzaris fell. 
 
 "Banished from Rome!" We knew them all- 
 
 Those bitter words of hate, 
 And every one of us recall 
 
 Casabianca's fate. 
 
 Rienzi's Roman speech we spout, 
 
 And '' Warning " of Lochiel ; 
 Or bolder still, for Caesar shout 
 
 Marc Anton3''s appeal. 
 
 154 
 
These school-boy scenes, do the}' come back 
 
 And warm our hearts again 
 Like glowing hands 'neath ruler's whack 
 
 Or master's supple cane ? 
 
 If so, each other's palm we'll press 
 While memories round us twine, 
 
 And by that grasp we all will bless 
 The daj'S of old lang syne. 
 
THE OLD SCHOOLBOYS OF BOSTON 
 
 LINES READ Al IHE ANNUAL FKSTIVAL 
 NOVEMBER I 9 I 89 I 
 
 A S old campaigners' pulses thrill 
 When sounds the bugle blast, 
 So beat our hearts with quicker throb 
 At voices of the past. 
 
 No weight of years we feel to-night, 
 
 For joj'ous youth shall reign ; 
 Once more, with spirits light as air. 
 
 We all are boys again. 
 
 r?6 
 
Old Boston, — dear, revered old town, — 
 
 Come, let us look her o'er, 
 As when we knew her long ago, 
 
 Some fifty years or more. 
 
 Dwight Boyden kept the Tremont House, 
 All druggists' names were Brown; 
 
 Doolittle's City Tavern was. 
 They said, the best in town. 
 
 The stages forth from Elm street ran 
 
 To all the countr}' round; 
 Then '' Old Reed " was our whole police, 
 
 The Common a playground. 
 
At eve the old town's quiet streets 
 
 Dozed in uncertain light, 
 Till ever}' steeple's sounding bell 
 
 Pealed nine o'clock at night. 
 
 The brazen clangor ceased at last, 
 And now we hear a voice; 
 
 Hark to the cry ! — It nearer comes: 
 "Oys! Oys! Buy any oys?" 
 
 Again those bells with furious peal 
 Ring out from e\'ery spire, 
 
 And watchmen's whirling rattles rouse 
 The whole town for a tire. 
 
 15S 
 
The old fire-eng-ines clatter through 
 
 The still deserted street, 
 'Mid flaring torches' lurid light 
 
 And rush of hurried feet. 
 
 Then waves ran over Boston Neck, 
 And oft on summer nights 
 
 We saw from foot of Beacon street 
 The Milldam's string of lights. 
 
 No palace then of millionaire. 
 No church nor grand hotel, 
 
 On Back Bay then — it only knew 
 The heaving water's swell. 
 
 159 
 
For Bovlston was a Soutli End street, 
 And o'er the whole Back Bay, 
 
 'Mid mud and marsh or wide expanse, 
 We saw the wild waves pla}'. 
 
 Then Kelt and Kurtz our bakers were, 
 
 Old Wilson swung his bell, 
 And cried lost children through the streets, 
 
 As you remember well. 
 
 In Theatre Alley one could buy 
 
 Grace Dunlap's famous snuff, 
 And, if in favor with the dame, 
 
 Some much more potent stuff. 
 
 160 
 
Old North End mansions, tree-lined streets, 
 The long trucks and ox teams, — 
 
 All \anished, to be now recalled 
 Like half-forgotten dreams. 
 
 For fondly o'er fimiliar scenes 
 
 We linger to the last, 
 As memory's magic mirror shows 
 
 Each picture of the past. 
 
 So now, dear boys, with hearty grasp 
 
 Each other's hands enfold; 
 Remember, while our hearts are young 
 We never can be old. 
 
 i6i 
 
THE OLD SCHOOLBOYS OF BOSTON 
 
 LINES READ AT THE ANNUAL FESTIVAL 
 NOVEMBER I 5 I 89 2 
 
 /^^LD Schoolbo3s of Boston, a health to you all ! 
 To each sturdy veteran that answers the call; 
 Bi"ave yesterday's comrades, whose battles are o'er, - 
 Old guards of old Boston, together once more ! 
 
 We are boj's once again, and, merry to-night, 
 Not one of us heeds half a century's flight; 
 Care has fled, age's burden is banished away, 
 And every eye bright as in youth's holiday. 
 
 163 
 
Old Boston, we love her, in youth or in aq-e, 
 
 And are proud of her record on history's page; 
 
 Of the glorious deeds of each patriot son, — 
 
 Of the battles they fought and the freedom they won. 
 
 She is liberty's Mecca, for, turn where we will, 
 Here are landmarks of freedom confronting us still. 
 Historic old King street — each schoolboy will tell 
 That there the first martyrs to liberty fell. 
 
 There the Stamp Act they burn, then at foot of the 
 
 street. 
 In the old " Bunch of Grapes," Sons of Liberty meet. 
 Old State House! Memento of years that are gone, 
 There all the world knows Independence was born. 
 
 163 
 
Old South's slender spire, it points to the sk}^ 
 As when Warren beneath it told danger was nigh; 
 And liberty's cradle yet rocks for us all. 
 That forum for freemen, our old Faneuil Hall. 
 
 From Old North Church steeple the chimes are still 
 
 rung. 
 In the belfry where once warning lanterns were hung. 
 The story? You know it; Re\cre's ride at night, 
 The regulars' march and the Lexington fight. 
 
 Boston boys of to-day, true as patriots then. 
 
 Hoist up our "Old Glory" and cheer it again; 
 
 The flag that we follow in peace or in wars. 
 
 Our emblem, schoolfellows, the Stripes and the Stars; 
 
 164 
 
And not as some scribbler may recklessly write, 
 A '' mere textile fabric " of red, blue, and white, 
 But Union's grand banner, it floats for us all, — 
 United we stand, but divided we fall. 
 
 And you in 3'outh's vigor that follow us on 
 
 Our march now approaching to life's setting sun. 
 
 Advance! making this the one motto that rules: 
 
 The flag of our country and free public 
 
 SCHOOLS. 
 
.LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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