Classes 352^. BookL4-^52/g3 Copight N" 13 ?_ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT: WILLIAM MATTIlliW .MARINE. The Battle of North Point. POEM COMMEMORATIVE OF SEPTEMBER 12th, 1814, AND OTHER POEMS, BY WILLIAM MATTHEW MARINE, Baltimore, Maryland. 1901. THE Ui8RARY OF COMG8ES3, Two OorlES htceivEB DEC- 23 19^)1 C nIGMT eNTRY COPY J, /?tf/ Copyrighted in 1901, By William Matthew Marine. liA UESpCiEi&^CO. ,< pi^Ii^fTERS, BALTIMORE. CONTENTS THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT SINCE BOYHOOD THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE THE SAW MILL THE PINES A FAIR COUNTRY . MY FIRST GRAY HAIR THE LOSS OF THE ELBE THE VERGER . A LOOK IN THE GLASS EACH DAY OUR SEVEN LITTLE ONES ONE OUT OF SEVEN SINCE SUSIE'S DEATH THE AVENGING MAINE LINES ON KEATS . THE BUOY BELL MY FIFTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY PAGE 7 31 43 53 56 58 65 68 73 76 78 81 84 86 93 99 100 104 PREFACE. Courage is required to set adrift a collection of poems on the waves of literature. The effusions here published will share the fate of thousands of preceding ones more deserving of success. Remem- ber, reader, the words of Thomas a Kempis, "we ought as willingly to read * * * simple books, as those that are high and profound. Let not the au- thority of the writer offend thee, whether he was of little or great learning, but let the love of pure truth lead thee to read. Inquire not who said this, but attend to what is said." DEDICATION. The following poem, entitled "The Battle of North Point," is, in loyalty, dedicated to the sons and daugh- ters of Maryland, whose ancestors served in the second war of our independence, known as the War of 1812. By THE Author. THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT. The clouds hung o'er the threatened coast, Above the bluff, the shore, the strand, Where the imperial red-coat host, In barges rowed toward the land. Upon the beach, strewn pebbles lay. Smoothed by the water's polishing. Where ebbs and flowing tides held sway, To dashing breakers murmuring. The river rolled great waves of scorn, Indignant at the sight beheld; Its wrath was roused that early morn, And troublous billows dashed and swelled. The Briton crossed the deep to siege, To storm the heights of Baltimore, And wreak his malice and his rage, To light the torch upon this shore. From decks of oak, the soldier proud. Marched in the ranks to serve his King. THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT The sky lay hid beneath a shroud, And gave not back an echoing. The troops were those of WelHngton, Listening to notes of martial air — Old tunes heard on the fields he won, Played o'er to please the soldiers' ear. No one opposing, to defy His early march — no saving hand, The starry banner forth should fly O'er melting ranks which must disband. From field of battle, 3^esterday, Militia raced against the wind, Hastening from Bladensburgh away To covert, difficult to find. Barney and Miller held that field Amid the fiery torrents' flow, With wings of iron slow to yield; Their faces shone in conflict's glow. The sky flamed o'er the capital; Surrounding hills were wrapt in blaze; The stars concealed by lighted scroll, Refused to longer downward gaze. THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT Prepare, oh ! Baltimore, prepare, The crisis of your fate has come. Upon your holy altars swear, Your's shall not be the Briton's home. Canto II. The trumpet calls in Baltimore; White tents are on the hillside spread; The hostile force must leave the shore; The earth shakes 'neath defenders' tread. Virginia's sword doth brightly gleam. And o'er Potomac's waters flash; While Penn's sons, in a torrent stream. Across the Susquehanna dash. The rustic for his country's sake. Forthwith to ranks doth now repair; He leaves the shores of Chesapeake — The scene of Peter Parker's snare — Forth from that consecrated sod, To reach the spot of Ross' fate, Where spilling of his heart's best blood, Served not the cause of crafty State. 10 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT To Parker, Byron's lay was wove, Classic of sentiment and art; To Ross, no sonnet borne of love. Has issued from the gushing heart. Canto III. The sound went forth of breakfast horn, As the notes of a twittering bird; It pierced the mists of early morn; The Briton's heart was gendy stirred. Ross weary of the toilsome march O'er lowland, bog, 'mid tangled wood, 'Neath solar rays enough to parch And dry the currents of the blood. Responded to the welcome call. At table with his aids sat down; While there he asked a farmer all The happenings in the distant town. Wrinkles were in the coat Ross wore; Its breast's appearance to improve, The farmer carefully looked o'er The creases, which he sought to smooth. THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 11 While thus engaged, the General asked, Who held command to save the town; He wished the name to be unmasked Of one enjoying such renown As shielding haunts of cruisers bold, Who stretched more canvas to the gale, And filched a greater sum of gold Than other ships they could outsail. Those privateersmen left deep scars — Unhealing wounds, no time can cure — Inflicted on the English tars By imprint they can ne'er obscure. "To punish rovers calls us here, We shall decree yon city's fate; It has no blade the brave need fear. To bar admission through its gate." "You'll ne'er reach there," was the reply; "The town noise is no wedding stir; Chieftains in war have chance to die, For them awaits the pall and bier. Do omens pierce your soul with dread ? Let me a dream to you relate; 12 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT Forecasts make timid folk afraid; They are the finger prints of fate. I dreamed of hurrying of men, Where smoke hung o'er the field of fight; Flame swept a narrow, hemmed in glen, Which gave to view a startling sight. A crash, like mighty trees had rent, And fallen 'neath the whirlwind's force, Went forth until its sound was spent, And lost to distance in its course. A horseman fell, — he downward sank; I saw his face; I see it now; He held a high, commanding rank. But death was written on his brow. His army routed, baffled, beat. Retired disordered to the wave, Compelled through rain to make retreat, The nightly elements to brave." Ross felt the depths move in his soul. And in his throat was choking wrath; But self asserted its control. He broke out in a merry laugh. THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 13 Then said the dashing cavaHer, "MiHtia may Hke rain outpour, They'll never wake a Briton's fear; We'll run them out of Baltimore." Canto IV. From o'er the city comes the sound Of booming cannon's loud report; From Federal Hill the stern rebound, To duty, patriots exhort. The deep toned bells of Otterbine, By warnings tell the foeman comes; They ring no longer hymns divine, But airs like those from sounding drums. Alarmists at such times increase — Rumor purveyors of no worth — 'Till swallowed in the crowd, they cease Their bulletins to issue forth; In the mad swirl they disappear. The sergeant's cry doth them affright, — ''Fall in, the enemy is near. And share the hazard of the fight." 14 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT Love smiles on duty through her tears, And dissipates clouds on her brow; Her bosom heaves with sinking fears, Her loyalty dare not allow; So bravely drying tear-dimmed eyes, She gazes on the bright cockade. And ceases furthermore her sighs. Ashamed she could have been afraid. A poet sings his latest lay, And moves the sympathetic crowd. And, as its echoes die away, Applause is heard to rise aloud. -Who dies for country, doth not yield To death's uncompromising sway; He soars immortal from the field. And dwells untouched by time's decay. Fame takes his hand within her clasp, And on his brow writes words of fire; Eternities are held in grasp. Of which the muses never tire; 'Tis sweet to drink of fame e'en here. To wear its blossoms through the hours. THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 15 If you'd be wreathed, go forth, nor fear The field, there you will find the flowers. Canto V. The regiments are hurried hence, Preceded by a cavalcade. Deeper becomes the great suspense, When Strieker leaves with his brigade. The tumult rolls to mountain heights. And each one's pulse is quick to tell The fluttering of fever's flights, Which in the breasts of freemen swell. In temples, forms bend low with care, While Gruber's face is lit with fire; His deep toned voice repeats a prayer, Which stimulates the worshipper: "Convert King George, oh ! Lord we pray, Pardon his oft transgressions here. To heaven call his soul away, We need him not upon this sphere." Amen ! had just escaped his throat, When cannon broke in roar without, 16 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT And jarring bells so loudly smote, The worshippers were put to rout. Glendi, before the waiting crowd — Assembled when the troops passed by — Uttered petition unto God, In faith and deep sincerity: "Oh ! Thou who raised the dead to life, Hear now Thy servant, even me; Be 'midst the flame of coming strife, Thou who once walk'd on Galilee, Protect our sons, and prove their shield, Save them from harm in that dark hour. When shot and shell burst o'er the field — By marvels of Thy Kingly power." The cravens, moved around to say, "Better a ransom be paid down, And bribe the foe to go away; Immunity would save the town." Howard, of Cowpens, fiercely swore. And raged till cowards made retreat; Rather his sons be bathed in gore. Dead on the field of great defeat. THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 17' Than such a shame come to suffuse The cheeks of those in after years, Who would their sires in wrath accuse, Of yielding honor to their fears. Canto VI. Along the roadway's winding course. Heath marches on, intent to find The enemy; his foot and horse Fired by one purpose and one mind. The deadly muskets' bright display, Along the roadbed moved on down, Nearing the Briton in his way. Of rapid march toward the town. In mute suprise, stood face to face, Invading host and skirmishers; They locked their arms in death's embrace, As well became such musketeers. Ross heard the fire, then urged his horse. Heedless of unexpected snare; He plunged on madly in his course, Reckless of warning word "beware." 18 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT Howard, at front, sustained the shock, The blast on Aisquith's line uprose, Levering's rank stood firm as rock; Clouds gathered o'er the smoky throes; It wreathed and curled beneath the skies. When Randall's spirit, swept through space, Above the earth was seen to rise, With sunshine streaming o'er his face. McComas walk'd the steps through air — With Wells departed out of sight; They passed to distant climes afar. Unbounded by the shades of night. The wounded Ross, by friendly arms, Was laid beside the crimson road. He closed his ears to war's alarms, Amid the ebbing of his blood. His steed escaped, and backward ran, Bridle and saddle stained with gore — A painful sight to Englishmen, Who saw it coursing for the shore. Between steeds was the chieftain borne Toward the ships that rode the wave, THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 19 Of Strength and pupose reft and shorn, A victim soon to fill a grave. When on the brow of Poplar Hill, The surgeon stooped by Ross' form, He saw the creeping of a chill. Defying fires of earth to warm. Canto VH. Heath and his skirmishers retired, Followed by the onpressing foe, The ranks of both with ardor fired, And eager for a further blow. Across the road that led from town, Stood Strieker's force in war's array, 'Neath trees the frost must soon embrown, Waiting for conflict's deadly sway. The right, held firm on Bear Creek's pass, Imposing stood in solid line. The left reached down to a morass, Where lay a stream in bold outline. At half-past two, the roll of drum Inspired the red-coat column on. 20 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT With floating banner, wave of plume, Dreadful for eye to look upon. A cross fire swept on o'er the field, And then was heard the musket's crack. As man to man, they would not yield; The shot was sent and answer'd back. The oaks were torn by iron hail, Birds, leaving nests, flew wild o'erhead. Aloft in upper skies to sail For safety, with their wings outspread. Fire burned the sedge, consumed the grass; Smoke veiled the sky in drapery; Death o'er the field was seen to pass With gleaming sword of butchery. The cannon's fire, swept down the road; The flagmen fell, the flags went down; From veins of soldiers, blood outpoured. And lakes of crimson formed around. A flame lit up the leaden sky, A cabin soon was in a blaze, And sparks were eager forth to fly, To spread abroad to outward gaze. THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 21 The rockets dropt as thick as hail, The ranks were moved not by their shock; Nor forward pressed they to assail; Each held his line firm as a rock. The crisis neared its final course; Rumor regained what Briton lost. Falsehood advanced a moving host, Said up the river to have crost. From off the field, broke out and ran, Footmen, w^ho left the gallant few The ground to hold, the foe withstand. To arms and flag persistent, true, Assailed by thrice their numbers, — yet With vigor they maintained defence; The Briton ne'er dared bayonet, But column to the left moved hence. The clear-eyed Strieker quick foresaw Danger imperiling the day; Success required that he withdraw, To where reserves impatient lay. The jaded Briton sank to earth; He left his ranks to fall asleep, 22 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT Intent to win refreshing birth, Ere day again should blush and creep. Wearily hours crept onward past; Few camp fires showed their ruddy light; The dead lay in dark shadows cast, With ghastly scenes extinct from sight. Canto VIll. 'Twas hour of four, when clash of arms * Gave way, their sounds no longer heard. The o'er cast sky looked down on forms, The victims of the red drawn sword. The wounded moaned upon the field, Stricken with fever, where the sound Of brooklet gHding forth did steal, And leave the fatal battle ground. The morning saw the Briton bear His wounded toward his ships of war, His dead he buried without care. And without mockery of tear. The living, roused from nightly dreams, Looked round instinctively with dread, THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 23 They saw in fancy, ghostly gleams, Where earth was cumbered with the dead. Rostrevor's mountains slope to sea, O'er Carlingford, dark shadows rise; Verdure spreads o'er outlying lea, In emerald beauty, 'neath those skies. There Ross looked out when first he saw The light of day with eyes of fire; There grew to strength of lion's paw, With courage which the brave admire. He fell, and then home lights went out; Grief entered through the wide, wide hall; The hooting owl made rounds about; The raven answering its call. Canto IX. Grief speaks emotions of the soul. Which have no words when death's embrace Defies mind's effort at control, When we look on the cold one's face. Sorrow is useless to the dead, Happy beyond our tragic life. 24 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT And all its earthly envies sped, Its rivalries of heartless strife. Gladness should, like anthems, arise Around the bier of sacred worth; And thankfulness should reach the skies, When we behold the last of earth. Andre fell in his early morn. The flowers of youth around his brow, With manly virtues, which adorn And bear their blossoms even now. Oft was it said, how sad his fate, Called on to die, so brave and young; As though to fall, defending State, Would not be praised by every tongue. No star were his, which would not fade, Had martyrdom refused his blood; His brilliancy is free from shade — Youth snatched away in bright manhood. Of Donaldson, let sweetest lay Awake o'er him sublimest song; He's gone the dark and bloody way, Which warriors oft doth move along. THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 25 His name is g^reen in memory's keep, Carved on the column which doth rise To bless and hallow those who sleep Beneath the watches of the skies. Where is the tomb his ashes hide ? No one informs us, who is near; No likeness of him doth abide The changes which are happening here. His face is not in silhouette; Brief is his life — a paragraph Which, the biographer, doth fret. Who cannot find his epitaph. His name, the city guards with care. The stranger reads it on the shaft. Within the monumental air, Where breezes of the seasons waft. The city takes less pride in gain, In landscape, parks, and running deer, In ships which sail the watery main, Homeward again to reappear. Than in its dead, its sheeted dead, Fallen beneath the canopy. 26 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT Who for their homes and altars bled, Hearing the shout of victory. Canto -X. Where rugged hills the town surround, Strieker led his brigade to camp, Pitched his tents upon the ground, Kindled his fires and lit his lamp. The Briton gazing, stood out where The distance rendered safe display, His seamen, footmen, cannoneer, Disposed so they could move aiwa.y. The hour had come to end suspense, The raging storms fierce howled without; The Briton through the dark stole hence, Nor left behind a single scout. Water swept o'er the oozy road, And ran from sides of every hill; ' Bear Creek, if it had overflowed, Could not have poured with stronger will. Thunder crashed loud amid the blaze Of armies fighting in the sky; THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 27 The Britons struggled through the haze, Ghosts hissed at them in passing by; Where Ross was wounded they crept slow; A pale-faced horseman forth did ride, Advancing where they'd met the foe. With rapid progress, from the tide. He no salute gave to the train, And soon was lost within the night; Amid the pattering of rain, Forever passed he out of sight. The windows of the farm house glowed, Mocking the vanquished put to rout. As they passed by, their footsteps slowed At sounds within like to a shout; They reached the shore and through the gale Were rowed beside their rocking ship. The tars unreefed the canvas sail. And bid their vessel onward sweep. Cockburn gazed on surrounding space — The stern, defiant old corsair; Chagrin was written on his face. To melancholy he was heir; 28 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT He saw his flag, with colors fast, Float sadly o'er the briny flood — The flag of Britain at half mast. For one whose fate was sealed in blood. THE FOLLOWING POEMS, Relating to The Eastern Shore, ARE DEDICATED TO THE MEMORIES OF MY FATHER, FLETCHER ELLIOTT MARINE, AND MY MOTHER, HESTER EALENOR KNOWLES MARLME, NATIVES OF THAT SECTION. SINCE BOYHOOD. Canto I. How many snows have come and gone, how many years have fled, Since halcyon days of boyhood — how many friends are dead ? I cannot tell; no record, kept, speaks of them one by one. As silently they passed away when each one's work was done. In that dark gulf, across whose waste, no living man can see, I saw plunge in and pass from sight, unnumbered spirits free. The dross of earth, the toils and cares that fettered mind and heart, Were quickly lost, as in they sprang — souls ready to depart. 31 32 SINCE BOYHOOD When misty folds of darkness fell, and they were out of sight, Through lengthening distance echoed back the part- ing words, "Good-night," Which sadly fell upon the heart with its distressing sound, Borne forth upon the winds, from those who sleep beneath the ground. The silent ones claimed fellowship of which their souls were proud To send forth new-born pledge and seal, from out the winding shroud. To those remembered on the shore, where tempests beat and rave. Until the furies sweep them in the hollow sounding grave. How many snows have come and gone, how many years have sped ? I cannot say, for fancy's scenes have shifted by and fled, Since boyhood's days made glad the eyes that looked upon the sun. SINCE BOYHOOD 33 And built their castle in the skies — then felt their life work done. 1 only know, down where I lived, when I go back to see The pleasant friends of earlier days who always greeted me, That faces strange are in the door; they stare at me so wild, That in my eyes the glistening tear comes back as when a child. 'Tis then I hurry from the haunts of those, whose faces strange Dwell in the landmarks of the town, the houses on the grange, And go where silent sleepers lie in rows of two and more. To weep the tears of bitterness, 'till weary eyelids sore Have looked upon the graven stones — those sentinels that warn, And point their finger tips where slept the dead ere I was born. c 34 SINCE BOYHOOD 'Tis then I find, since boyhood days, the lost ones and the known. Whose bodies sleep beneath the earth, and some with- out a stone. I keep no record of their names, for angels only count The multitudes who congregate at the celestial fount. I do believe the books of God have pages, and to spare, On which to write the names of those who pass to heaven's care. Canto II. How many frosts on window panes, the touch of warmth has sped. On which were writ, by dear ones gone, their names ere they were dead ? i Numerous as changes wrought by magic's sturdy wand. Which binds the present to the past as time speeds swift beyond. SINCE BOYHOOD 35 To where the unknown future sleeps in silence unex- plored, By a river's rising bank, where no stately bark is moored; Where still and calm as that first eve unnoticed in its birth, In the deep mystery of time, of this most changeful earth. So hath it been in my short life of trembling and of fear, For sorrows grow and tearful strife marks every pass- ing year. The lease of time our Father gives, why look upon with scorn: Life is far more than shadows cast, in hours of changes born. The playground — where our willing feet once trod their merry rounds. And our voices rose in happy songs that filled the air with sounds. Until they soared so loud and free, they woke amid the glen. 36 SINCE BOYHOOD And died In echoes down the street, at noon-tide filled with men — Has suffered change, I contemplate with feelings un- represt Like spirits roving through the dark, who go in search of rest. The old school house has ceased to hold the teacher and the boys, And has become a tenant's house, filled with his urchins' noise; While by it as of yore, the tranquil mirrored waters flow — On, past a spreading marsh, where nodding reeds and rushes grow; Where, by the tide, a hundred years has stood a syca- more. The oldest lingering landmark along that line of shore. Beneath its swaying outstretched boughs, which formed an ample shade. That dipped down in the water and with the wavelets played. i tM '1 W^:.f o 1 ti— t SINCE BOYHOOD 37 Oft' met the boys, in summer, to tempt the dangerous tide, To breast the rolling billows, and upon their bosoms ride. The old tree yet stands grandly, with its arms worn thin and bare, Blasts of winter have marked it, and it shows the lack of care; Yet it nodded knowingly to me, as in those days of yore, When last I stood beside it, there upon the river's shore. The hour is speeding onward, when the bare tree's head must bend Submissive to the warring blasts — its monarch reign at end. E'en now that wanton visitant, the shrill steam whistle's shriek, Responds not to its trembling voice heard no more on the creek. The moss is growing thickly on the roof which, wear- ing old. 38 SINCE BOYHOOD Once covered father's new-made home, his Httle ones to hold; Now two of them have passed away, and rest in gen- tle sleep, O'er whom the tears of heaven fall, the daisies smile and peep. How many frosts on window panes in village houses quaint — Storm beaten by the siege of years and by the mildew's taint — Have known the touch of strangers' hands, since when I was a boy ? As useless as the question is, the mind it doth em- ploy. Canto HI. The snows lie white on fleeting years, the frosts attend with age. As changes mar and devastate, in their grim pilgrim- age. The scenes which captivated hearts — beguiled them long ago — SINCE BOYHOOD 39 Have knelt down to the autocrat whose march is to and fro. He weighs upon the balances the atoms of the earth, Conceals in stagnant pools that sleep, rare gems of priceless worth. Oh ! matchless change ! thou wanderer, why light thy dreaded pyre To burn up in consuming flame our holiest desire ? Man creeps along the road of quickening memories shed, Most cherished and ethereal, of all loved memories dead. He walks amid the holies — sacred chancels of the heart — Wandering through those oft trod aisles, unwilling to depart. The precincts held thus sacred, evermore resound in prayer; Through all the watches of our lives, they drive away despair. And o'er those glances backward flung from memory's sheeted shore, 40 SINCE BOYHOOD Are pictured forms entrancing, though the artists are no more. We've gazed on beauty's landscape — red with the evening's flood, Whose western sun, low sinking, bathed the fields in seas of blood; When every lengthening shadow between the earth and sky, Went forth on wings of swiftness — with an eagle's speed passed by — On, with the clouds which floated serenely toward the past, To the vale of futurity where outlines are recast. Our lives 'mid darkening days, glide o'er seas of con- scious doubt, Where dangers lie along the way imperiling the route. On the ocean's uncertain wave, whose roar sounds forth a knell, Are echoings from the present to where the ages dwell. Old songs are like old memories, subduing us when heard, SINCE BOYHOOD 41 They touch the tender cords of love, our bosoms depths are stirred. The impulsive soul breaks forth in loud melodious song — Airs but intensify those words to which their tunes belong. The purest of imaginings like rivers smoothly glide; The hours when we are most subdued, are those of evening tide, When woven spells, around us cast, become as spread- ing feuds, And tempt us by a gloom which leads to most despondent moods. Were disappointment's fount dried up — all rain mere April showers — The darkness soon would lose the gloom which shrouds the passing hours. Bright boyhood's days, allotted us, are sweet as draughts of bliss. Not one of their effulgent beams of sunshine would we miss. 42 SINCE BOYHOOD No supplementing hand of man gives nature charms to wear, To mountains adds sublimity, bedecked in beauties rare; Who asks of grand Niagara's force, a smoother flow- ing song Than the one she sings in melody as ages roll along. Our boyhood dwells by peaceful lakes, beneath a briUiant light — Though far away, the glow from it is evermore in sight. It makes the march an easy route, toward the setting sun, We know when it's beneath the hills another day's begun. The fiery sun will ever warm, it cannot hide its glow. It sheds abroad over the earth, its streams which brightly flow. Boyhood is age's warming sun, which gilds the hours with gold, Blessing pure lives with lengthened span, to crown them growing old. THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE. Canto L Bards soar in flight like birds, In loftiness they swell, Their souls exult in words Which weave a heart-felt spell. I'll rouse my silent lyre, . Long on the willow hung; I'll sweep its chords of fire, To melody of song. The village hours shone bright, Serenely passed those days. Whose gleams of purest light Abroad dispensed their rays. Equality dwelt there, Without a cloud of caste. Or type of social care To spread its chilling blast. 43 44 THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE Along the highway's course, Where streams of travel run, Was found the sacred source Of daily orison. The herald of the cross Passed onward o'er that field; Sin with its gilded gloss, Threw down its battered shield. From dawning of the morn, Through starry night's repose, There change was seldom born, With its increasing woes. Canto II. Divine inspiring days Of legendary lore ! How sweet their memory plays, Like waves upon the shore; We see ships on their skids In art's most grand design, They wait for changing tides To mark high water line. THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 45 Oh! charming day and hour That crowns a great event ! No sky is seen to lower, No storm with fury spent. The welkin caught the shout; The vessel onward sped, Off from the shore, and out Into the river's bed; There on the deep it lay, A beauty and a joy, Kissed by the waves in pla)^ Which rippled light and coy. As graceful as a swan It sailed across the main. After a week had gone, It anchored home again. The voyage safely o'er. Upon the flowing tide, It lay near to the shore, A home returning bride. Forth came the villagers To greet with feelings warm. 46 THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE With choruses of cheers, The crew that braved the storm. They shook the captain's hand, He, hke a hero, stood Surrounded by his band, In gallant sailorhood. The many questions plied, Had answers to them given. ''How swift was it to glide To yonder far off haven ? In speed could it surpass The vessels on the bay ? Was it of faster class, Quicker than dashing spray ?" They heard that it could beat The swiftest craft afloat, That it was sure and fleet, A staunch seafaring boat. Canto III. "I christen thee 'Advance,' " One spoke, as in the flood, THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 47 By a deliverance, A new launched vessel stood. A comrade boat had leapt Upon the surging main; The Lively Dove there slept, Close to her new-born queen. On merchant, fortune poured, And filled his cup to brim; She ne'er above him soared — Always in reach of him. What ere he touched turned gold And multiplied in trade. New ships replaced those old. That gleamed like burnished blade; He caused the town to grow, And industries to thrive; A place that once was slow, Was soon made to revive. He heard the water play. And saw his boats sail down The river to the bay, To market and to town. 48 THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE Where spreads a tree's broad shade- An ash, near by the shore — There 'neath its boughs he laid, And planned increase of store. Canto IV. One drowsy night the moon Rose full orbed in the sky; A solace and a boon, It calmly passed on by. The dog refused to bay; No leaf by wind was stirred; The waves forgot to play; No hoot of owl was heard. On wharf's remotest edge, The merchant stood perplexed; His thoughts lay under siege Of what was coming next. He cast a steady gaze Upon the flooding tide Which swept along with ease, In all of monarch's pride. THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 49 His boats must soon return, With cargoes and their crews, From yon commercial bourn, And bring the latest news. The night in glory beamed, No cloud was in the sky; In exultation seemed, The soul of majesty. The river quivering lay Upon a silvery bed, No winds nearby to play, Where glory round was shed. The plumes of dark fringed trees Were stately as old lords; The swamp gave images. But not of flitting birds; No fire-fly light did shine, Within the dense growth's shade — The glow from heaven divine. Spread through its ambuscade. The fairies swift retired, And hid in diamond caves, D 50 THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE Whose beauty was admired, By their attending slaves. The night too bHthe and gay For nymphs to gaze upon, They sped themselves away, And somewhere else had gone — Where miracles are wrought Through freaks which oft descend, Where stormy winds have fought Around the river's bend. Calm lay, in arms of sleep, And hushed, the sunken waves; They shrunk into the deep, To find reposeful graves. The air decHned to give Relief to sultry hours; No more could zephyrs live. Nor stir amid the bowers. A craft was born along, Serenely by the tide; The sailor sang no song, All thoughts of airs had died; THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 51 Useless the vessel's wings On which she'd hither flown — Idle and helpless things The winds seem to disown. At last the waking deep Rubbed slumber from her eyes, And saw the billows leap And spread beneath the skies. The boat ran with the breeze, Her sails to winds outspread; She glided past the trees, With quickening of her speed. The village, soon in view, Basked in the moonbeam's spell, And to the home-sick crew, Had never looked so well. The streets gleamed with pale light; The sands afar outspread; Like snow, they were so bright, Abroad their glare was shed. 52 THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE The crew when near the shore, Heard a familiar tone; "Good morning," then broke o'er The wave, from one alone. Canto V. The boats, through rottenness. Have long since disappeared; Town commerce has grown less, Which once that section cheered. The wharf is in decay, And change has marred the scene. The new and modern day. With its attendant train. Has elbowed off the old From stages of its strife. And left its hearth stones cold, Where throbs a newer Hfe. THE SAW MILL. A spring breaks forth with sparkling eye, Whose waters flow through thicket's shade, Beneath tall pines which sweep the sky, With verdant foliage arrayed. That straying stream amid the firs, Ne'er halts upon its outward race. But feels the breath which gently stirs In movements o'er its placid face. It onward flows, and wide outspreads. Where sweep the woods around a dell, Whose dam restrains its silvery threads. On whose embankment tree tops swell. Their shade might tempt the poet's dream, In drowsy hours of gentle breeze. Wafted along the peaceful stream, Awaking fondest images. 53 54 THE SAW MILL The years, grown gray, have passed from sight, Changes have marked the old saw mill, They've scarred it in their endless flight, And left it to the evening's chill. The youthful days to age are joys, — Deep wells of water souls partake; We drink, forgetting life's alloys, And happier are for memory's sake. Two scores of years, marked by their scars, Are silent as the white array. Since one, long ceased from vexing cares, Walk'd through yon lonesome wooded way. His steady hand the obedient wheel Started on its revolving course. The crawling cradle made to feel The subtle strength of water's force. Court days the flood gates were shut down; And clothed in suit of fitting cloth, With buttons gold, he rode to town, Called there by his official oath. THE SAW MILL 55 He's gone from court; he's left the mill; Nor walks within his acres' bounds: Deep is his sleep on yonder hill, Where kindred dust his own surrounds. There rook and raven caw and caw; There robins show their crimson breasts; Amid the solemn, brooding awe, The birds sleep in their downy nests. THE PINES. The g-olden sun's resplendent rays Are shadowed by a misty haze. The trembling trees send forth a sigh, Whose sound is sadly wafted by. Borne swiftly on, the winds and rain Have come again — have come again — The tempest howls along those lines Of stately pines — of lordly pines. That thriUing scene arouses fears: A murky scowl in the sky appears; Whence fiery bolts from out it driven, Oft rift the clouds athwart the heaven, To send in force the wind and rain, The storm again — the storm again, Like others which, in memory's shrines, Have swept the pines — the monarch pines. 56 THE PINES 57 Rain drops fall fast upon the main; They beat upon the window pane. The dense air thickens into gloom, And clouds the cheerful family room. Without, the raging hurricane Has come again — has come again — To hide from view the orb that shines, Beyond the clouds — above the pines. It leaves the soul the slightest spark Of light to glimmer in the dark; With deepest sense of brooding ill, Fear crosses o'er the doorway sill, To tarry while the storm's refrain Is heard again — breaks forth again. Amid the rushing of the winds. Amid the sighing of the pines. A FAIR COUNTRY. I. Fair country, through which rivers flow, In slender forms, like silver threads. Where, mirrored in their surface glow. The whitened sail of commerce spreads ! The swift wave rolls upon the deep. There cutters ride where white caps toss, And schooners scud with graceful sweep. In haste the briny bay to cross. The birds sing notes of cheerful praise In melody that's unsurpassed; Out from the wealth of golden days The harvest riches are amassed. 58 A FAIR COUNTRY 59 The sun lights up the dome above; A limpid clearness fills its arch; Soft zephyrs sing the notes of love, Which round fair cheeks endearing search. Its winds ne'er know sirocco's blast, Nor whirl in eddies fierce away, To brood disasters, thick and fast. Whose climax is a burial day. Contented tillers of the soil. From happy homes, give fervent prayers; Ambition has no schemes to foil The honest hearted cottagers. No foreign accent there is heard To startle natives by its tone, The stately English — which has stirred To noble deeds — they know alone. 60 A FAIR COUNTRY II. Fair country through which rivers flow, How beautiful your noon-tides glow ! A stillness spreads beneath the skies, And wonderful the landscapes lies. Calm as a lake on which no oar E'er breaks the quiet of its shore. Pine forests kiss the deep blue sea Of clouds which float so pleasingly. In them are fancied castles old, With air-drawn towers of massive gold; The trees in seeming touch the sky; Couches of shats beneath them lie. The woods keep decked in deepest green Throughout the years that intervene: No change of season takes away Their freshness for a single day. A FAIR COUNTRY 61 What fragrance in the old-time trees ! The resin's scent perfumed the breeze. Where forests stood, fields now are there, Reynard has lost his former lair. In place of shade the waving grain Has thriven by the gracious rain. And reached the mill on which has grown The gathering moss, as years have flown. The busy saw keeps on its way, And shapes the boards from day to day; The constant axe the forests wear, While new fields claim the farmers' care. III. Fair country through which rivers flow. The changes which have swept like waves, Have submerged with their overflow. And made your soil a land of graves. 62 A FAIR COUNTRY The poet halts beside your flood, And broods in silence by its spell; He treads the mazes of your wood Only to hear a funeral knell. And well-known forms in fancy's sight — They troop about his heart to play; Back from the shades of long good night, To tarry in his memory. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, CHARLES CARROLL BOMBAUGH, M. D. ESTEEMED FOR HIS ADORNMENTS OF MIND AND VIRTUES OF HEART. MY FIRST GRAY HAIR. My first gray hair, Like thousands wear, Has come upon my head. Soon it will tell, Alas ! full well, To age that I am wed. It makes me think How I must wink, As Time, within my door, With warning face, And stealthy pace, Steals, o'er my household floor. Let no one say, I would, to-day, Turn back the hands of Time, And have them race O'er the clock's face, Ticking its only rhyme. E 65 66 MY FIRST GRAY HAIR For in this world Flags are unfurled, To do and dare and slave. Could one go back And tread life's track, The end would be the grave. Brief is our day — Ere we're away Our record's made and lost; While others count — And upward mount — Life's stairs at every cost. The wrinkled face That takes its place As manhood leaves its prime, The eyes' dull glare, 'Neath brows of care, Are legacies of time. MY FIRST GRAY HAIR 67 Our hairs of gray, They seem to say: "With age you'll soon be blest; Your toils subside At evening tide In tranquilizing rest." My first gray hair, Like thousands wear, You're welcome to my pate. So down the hill, With free good will, I'll hasten — nor be late. THE LOSS OF THE ELBE. The hawser loosed, the steamer's well-formed prow Turned to the new world, over waves of fate; On board were those whose hearts were full of glow, To reach a port where welcomings await — To meet with kindred, who, with tearful eyes, Prayed for the voyagers' return to home, From climes beneath the arch of foreign skies. Where, weary, they had ceased to longer roam. Through nightly perils leading on to death, O'er raging billows mad with white caps tossed, Swept the doomed Elbe — around was the cold breath Of winter, where disaster was unloosed. Out from the darkened sky fell deadly shafts. That filled with grief those in two hemispheres, Who need must drink from sorrow's cup its quaffs. Whose bitterness their eyes dissolved in tears. 68 THE LOSS OF THE ELBE 69 Wild rose the shriek, and sad the piteous moan From helpless passengers, who looking out The sinking ship, no less could do than groan At sight of desperate waves that rose without, Where icy billows rolled o'er caverns deep, And crashed aloud with thunder-like report, While gusts of anger bade the spray to leap And spread abroad in deadly seething sport. A craven fled, whose massive iron beak Wrought havoc, where the frenzied sea did laugh. And sport around the Crathie; the winds in freak, Their scorn poured forth along its watery path. The Captain listened not to cries which shook The strong foundations where the deep doth rest; That night he could have written in fame's book, His name above the brightest and the best. Why did he flee when rockets swept the air. And all the skies, illumed, with their display, Sending o'er struggling sea in tell-tale glare, A glow suffusing like the dawn of day? 70 THE LOSS OF THE ELBE Appeals were fruitless, and with lessening sound, The screams died out, 'mid pillars of the nig-ht. The Crathie fled from pity's deep resound, And left the drowning in their helpless plight. Brave fishermen were near in rough costumes. Love of their fellows in their kindly hearts. Knowing not rank, its honors or its plumes — For deeper sympathies true worth imparts. They cast their nets on North Sea's briny main — Watched near them when waves broke in ceaseless roar — Remote from scorn of vampire, whose disdain Kept them from perils off the distant shore. The coming ages, marching 'neath the sky. Shall look upon the "Wild Flower," without cloud, As evermore in swiftness sailing by, To sound of lively greetings heard aloud, THE LOSS OF THE ELBE 71 Bound for the cold, gray bluffs, which stretch from shore Their lifted hands of sympathetic cheer, They call for haste; nor vainly they implore; Behold the boat and saved are drawing near. THE VERGER. [Suggested by a venerable verger in Westminster Abbey, who guided the author through that ancient pile in 1886] Where sleep Westminster's noble line, Daily, within that holy shrine, The priest intones the words of prayer In presence of the worshipper. Throughout that hour, no sounding tread Is heard above the sleeping dead; The stranger then must stand before The eye of Him whom we adore. The Verger there incHnes his head And listens to the lesson read. Service at end, the visitor May roam about the marble floor, 'Neath arches which in outline rise, Bedecked with splendor of the skies. 72 THE VERGER 73 Those polished columns please the sense, And charm it with their elegance — Befitting place where is enshrined Best type of intellectual mind, Whose names the Verger oft hath read, From marble o'er their lowly bed. "The Poets' Corner," has ages blest, With lingerings of peaceful rest. The songs of bards swell in the air, From congregated singers there. The past its grateful words sends down. In celebrating their renown. And stirs the living soul with breath Of melody from vaults of death; The Verger kindly and sincere, Honored the poets with a tear. None would recall of mortal worth, A single shade, back to this earth. Those lives were but God-given loans, Surviving yet their buried bones. 74 THE VERGER Secure, the future they await, To stand before the purpled state. Their fame on earth shall ever rise, To please them in the upper skies. The Verger saw, upon the cloud, Their names the trump shall sound aloud. How sacred those thus lain away. Sepulchred as immortal clay. Were not their names above us spread, They would be with the nameless dead. Sleep blesses courtier and king, The soldier for whom arches ring; The statesman, who once took the helm. And legislated for the realm. Of them, the Verger aptly said. They shall not perish with the dead. A passing day was in its throes, And worthily had reached its close; The Verger halted, meek and mild. Religion's consecrated child. THE VERGER 76 The shadows veiled the arches dim, Resounding to a wafted hymn. The Verger heard it with closed eyes, To open them within the skies. When hours of darkness forth had flown, They found him rigid as a stone. A LOOK IN THE GLASS. 1 looked into the glass to-day, And o'er my face saw wrinkles play; Furrows made by the plough of care, Left deep their indentations there. I looked into the glass to-day; The crow's feet made me turn away; So plainly marked the world may see Unerring signs of destiny. I looked into the glass to-day; The hair white on my forehead lay, As snow of winter on the moor, Viewed in the distance from my door. I looked into the glass to-day, And saw with unconcealed dismay, My bark upon the restless tide. Toward the breakers onward glide. 76 A LOOK IN THE GLASS 77 I looked into the glass to-day, And saw those signs of sure decay. I'm getting old — I'm growing old, A fact the glass dare not withhold. The glass I stood before to-day, I viewed when I was young and gay, When freshness overspread my face, In gracious hours of ease and peace. Remove from me that fatal glass; Let further years unheeded pass. While moving on and undismayed, I cross the bridge to lie in shade. That glass to others shall reveal The changes which will o'er them steal; Through years of deep inspiring truth, Whose lessons follow from our youth. EACH DAY. Each day I sit beside the wave, The mournful wave of destiny; And look into an open grave Which hides from me a mystery. My life beside the wave is spent; Beyond its sweep I cannot see; My eager glance is vainly bent Toward the great eternity. The waves come in, the waves go out; Along the shore is message borne. I read it as I walk about. And with sad thoughts and memories mourn. 78 To My Wife, HARRIET PERKINS HALL MARINE, THE FOLLOWING POEMS, RELATING TO THE LITTLE ONES, ARE DEDICATED. OUR SEVEN LITTLE ONES. When darkness curtains bedroom walls, Where the little ones are sleeping, And all is calm in nightly halls, And the dews are gently weeping. Our watchful eyes are quick to see If the tenderlings who slumber, Sleep tranquil from their day's romp free, And we count them seven in number. Seven pairs of folded hands at night, And the tiny feet all resting; Seven childish sleepers, all so bright. Have ceased their merry jesting. Seven lisping souls their prayers have said, Asking safety till the morrow. In peace they sleep, they're not afraid Of the trouble men must borrow. F 81 82 OUR SEVEN LITTLE ONES When on the morrow daylight creeps High o'er the hills and hollows, And streams, beyond the fields, and steeps, Ere the sunset glory follows. To hide from light the beauty lain, 'Neath the greenwood's shade and bowers, By creeping branch and maddening main, And the parterres of fiowers. Our cherish'd ones with laughing eyes, And faces beaming with delight, Shall gladly hail the azure skies With loving looks fixed on its sight. They'll play throughout the livelong day. Like chirping birds in sylvan wood, Unheeding hours which pass away. Their value little understood. OUR SEVEN LITTLE ONES 83 Who grudges them Ufe's brittle span ? Those youthful hours of fleeting bliss ? Play on, dear children, while you can, The world will ne'er such hours miss. When manhood's day dawns bright and clear, And womanhood is crowned with joy, We guard our big ones with a tear — The bright faced girl, the blue eyed boy. And in this world of pits and snares. So thickly set to catch them all, We watch them — full of anxious cares — And cherished hopes, they may not fall. And when in death with life we part, To sail a sea with unknown coast. The farewell echoes of the heart Shall linger with the loves we boast. ONE OUT OF SEVEN. 'Twas on a moonless, starless night That hid the landscape from the view, Through gathered gloom there passed a light, Whose course the eye could not pursue. Calm brooded o'er the dusky hills; A leaf made noise when heard to fall. Within a home, submissive wills, Were stilled before the deathly pall. Our little boy fled from this life, For warmth beyond the healing sun, So soon he tired of earthly strife. And longed for The Eternal One. 84 ONE OUT OF SEVEN 85 He basks in smile of Providence, Above the stars which never stray. Beyond the plane of earthly sense, The little one has gone away. Seraphic songs his tongue has caught, We bend to hear them as they fly, Our souls enraptured with the thought, His voice is heard above the sky. SINCE SUSIE'S DEATH. Grief dwells within the house to-night, Where weary hearts with anxious care, No longer find their chief delight In watching by the lamp-lit glare. Her pale face warms no more with life, Those passive hands are folded now; Tho' young in years, disease was rife To stamp death's seal upon her brow. Oh ! lily, drooping face so pale ! Oh ! sweet, pure child of winsome ways Without the strength to stand the gale, Soon ended, all thy youthful days. 86 SINCE Susie's death 87 Thy loving friends who stood around Thy graceful form where ere 'twas seen, View only now that narrow mound Where shades conceal and intervene. Yet in the glass of memory true As thine own guileless heart sincere, They'll often take of thee a view, And sanctify it with a tear. When gazing on thy imaged face, Sweet charms were seen of faultless worth, Deeply inborn of native grace, A heritage of thine by birth. And now the head falls on the breast, The pen drops useless from the hand. When with death's problem mind would wrest, And life's great mysteries understand. 88 SINCE SUSIE'S DEATH Why should our loved, in early morn On to the grave so swifdy glide? Why take from us those early born To be so soon with death allied ? Why tarry here so brief a while, The tendrils of our hearts to bind, To charm with captivating smile, The fancies of enraptured mind ? When there's a momentary truce, A parley with disease's force, Then golden cords themselves unloose, And death pursues its wanton course. May we not doubt, when blinding tears, Fall from our eye-lids, hidden stores. Kind Providence, who stains the years. With human blood the heart outpours. SINCE Susie's death 89 We're counseled not to murmur so; How wrong it is to thus complain, Our duty clear, we take the blow, With resignation in our pain. Force makes us cringe, but sovereign will No cheerful service yields to death, We hate the power it hath to kill, To take away our fleeting breath. Yes hate it; for its bloody hand, Has torn our hearts with cruel force, And to our homes its stern command Hath summoned oft the gruesome hearse. No light around us — all is dim, As passing spectres in a crowd. Who never knew thanksgiving hymn, To sing in praise of whitened shroud. 90 SINCE SUSIE'S DEATH Which cloaks the little form grown cold And motionless within her cell, Whose soul is in a brighter fold — A clime without a funerarknell. That's why our house is still to-night, Why those within are sore depressed, No gladness by the glowing light, For little Susie's gone to rest. To THE Sacred Memory OF WILLIAM McKINLEY, PATRIOT, STATESMAN, PRESIDENT, MARTYR, This Poem on The Spanish War IS Dedicated. THE AVENGING MAINE. When from Manila Blanco heard, Of Dewey's style of fighting, His nerves exceedingly were stirred, The news was so exciting, They've won the day in Philippines, Now they will venture here, sir. Defying our trochaian lines. Despite our holding on, sir. Blanco sang from an old song book. Some songs he found within it, And then he said it's a bad outlook, Ourselves we cannot win it. A cockade shone on Blanco's hat He looked outright a soldier, He issued forth a strong fiat In two days grew ten older. 93 94 THE AVENGING MAINE He cursed the lonely sea-girt isle, Until his body writhed in pain, Never again would Blanco smile In presence of the Maine, Whose wreck lay in the water deep, Out where warm winds were sighing. Whose waves awoke from peaceful sleep, Above the sailors lying. Over the waters Blanco gazed On the swaying Maine to lea, And as he looked he saw there blazed Fire from out the boiling sea, A mighty ship born by the wave Came a sailing into port; The faces of the crew were grave When they looked upon the fort. The boys stood by their shotted guns Directed against Moro, 'Till the blood of Spanish dons, Mingled with the waters flow. THE AVENGING MAINE 95 The Maine had risen from the deep; At news of Cavita's fate, Its crews were roused from deathly sleep To stand at victory's gate. Each man on ship had reappeared; At his place by danger's post, They gave salute and loudly cheered. That never a man was lost. A record bright was theirs that day, Which the ages shall ne'er outshine; The tars smiled at the cannon's plav, As they were ranged in line. POEMS Written on Shipboard and While in Europe, DEDICATED TO Mr. E. J. SAGE, OF Stoke Newington, England. in remembrance of Our Acquaintance and Sympathies, Our Love of the Antiquated and Fondness for Men and Things of The Past. LINES ON KEATS. [Suggested by a visit to his grave in Rome, July 10th, 1899.] The critics' insolence and scorn, Shrouded the days of Keats with care, And o'er his Hfe in early morn; Lowered the clouds of dark despair. He stooped down o'er the water's face. And wrote his name upon the flood, That none in future time might trace, His shade, his lineage, or his blood. But lo ! his stylus on the deep, Moving above a massive block. Downward made a lettered sweep. And cut his name upon the rock. The flood subsided and when gone; Around the rock the earth lay dry; The sun upon it brightly shone — A flaming name lit up the sky. 99 THE BUOY BELL. The buoy bell, moved by the wave, Monitions give of perils grave, They float above the ocean's deep. Where white caps thicken in their sweep. The bell resounds, when lost from sight, Kevern's cliffs are hid in night, Whose folds conceal Manacle Rock, Where the Mohegan clashing shook. In hearing of the buoy bell, And its incessant mournful knell. Ringing above the troubled deep. Beneath which dangers never sleep. 100 THE BUOY BELL 101 Terror, one night, was swift to fly. To warn the doomed 'twas hour to die; It left its message where hght shone, Within the glare of the saloon. "The ship is sinking," loudly said Some one whose news was quickly spread; Shortly it sank beneath the sea, At evening's hour, distressingly, In spite of warning bell and light. With sound and glare flung on the night. But few escaped from off the deck Of that pathetic, fatal wreck, Whose tale of woe and history, Sleeps in the vale of mystery. A maiden, in the darkness tost, Survived most of her comrades lost. Through gloom she struggled with the wave. And fought against a coral grave. 102 THE BUOY BELL The sky above refused its cheer, Her fortitude quailed not from fear. No pity showed the rushing wind, *Twas cold, unfeeling and unkind. The stars fled from her upward gaze, And in the cloud-land lost their blaze. The earth hid 'neath the mists which met; By them was sea and land beset. From perils of alarm and dread. She held aloft her drooping head 'Till friendly guards appeared in sight, When round her flashed new life and light, Rescued from danger's deadly spell, Within the sound of the buoy bell. In Kevern's church yard, where the mould Is rich with dust as mines with gold. The sailor boys have found a grave, A peaceful harbor for the brave. THE BUOY BELL 103 Their sails are furled, their anchors cast; They're home beyond the wave at last. The tower looks down with eyes that peep Above the mounds concealing sleep; The windows of the old church gaze, While streaming sunshine pours his rays To warm the sod of which 'tis said, "How blest the place which holds the dead," Where evening's vespers loudly swell, While far off sounds the buoy bell. Lines on Attaining My Fifty-Eighth Birthday, WRITTEN IN Gloucester, August 25, 1901. I'm fifty-eight this Sabbath day; I'll go to church, there kneel and pray. Ere fifty-eight more years shall pass. The winds shall sigh unto the grass Which sentinels the quiet spot. Where, in repose, I am forgot. I would not pass this way again. Too much I loath its path of pain, To this extent abiding peace Comes to my heart with its release. 104 Dec 28 1001 DEC 23 1301 ICOhY ULI. lOLAT.iJrv. DLC. 23 1901 orra 2'