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 Entered according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1853, by 
 
 TnoMAS MacKellar, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of 
 
 Pennsylvania. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON & CO. 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 PRINTED BY C. SHERMAN. 
 
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 Cable of Contents. 
 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 Winter's Phases 
 
 
 11 
 
 
 Why Delay the Violets?.. 
 
 
 17 
 
 Lost and Sayed 
 
 
 18 
 
 
 The Two Processions 
 
 
 21 
 
 A Child at a Window 
 
 
 24 
 
 
 On Seeing the Picture op 
 
 a Child 
 
 25 
 
 
 My Sabbath Scholar 
 
 
 26 
 
 
 The House Loye-haunted.. 
 
 
 27 
 
 
 Pity, Good Gentlefolks 
 
 
 29 
 
 
 September Rain 
 
 
 32 
 
 
 The Girl and Woman 
 
 
 35 
 
 To Bob 
 
 
 37 
 
 The Early Ice 
 
 
 39 
 
 The City-bound 
 
 
 ..... 40 
 
 A Poet and His Song 
 
 43 
 
 7 
 
 
 
 
 -t) 
 
Or 
 
 8 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 The Spirit's Ailment and Remedy 44 
 
 A Plea for Peace and Unity 4G 
 
 Lines to My Specs 49 
 
 The Presence in the Dwelling 51 
 
 The Sting of the Tongue 53 
 
 I've not the Heart to Cut them Down 55 
 
 Prayer for Rain 57 
 
 A Colloquy with My Pen 59 
 
 A Spring Sonnet 62 
 
 TnE Angel in a Maiden's Eyes 63 
 
 The Dear One at Home 65 
 
 The Home of the Hapless , 67 
 
 A Country Sabbath 69 
 
 The Hat 72 
 
 Good-Night Wishes 73 
 
 Ascent of St. Anthony's Nose 75 
 
 New Year's Eye in a Fog on the Hudson, 79 
 
 To a Troublesome Fly 83 
 
 Posthumous Fame 85 
 
 My Nephew Frank Tourtelot 86 
 
 Q= 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 9 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To a Friend 87 
 
 Mary's Hollow 88 
 
 Joseph C. Neal 92 
 
 "He will not again Forget us." 93 
 
 The Riyer of Rhyme 97 
 
 The Beautiful Days of Spring 99 
 
 The Decaying Homestead 101 
 
 Whistling 104 
 
 The Falling House 106 
 
 The Latest Born 108 
 
 The Burial of the Beautiful Ill 
 
 Memories of Mother 113 
 
 Life's Eyening , 115 
 
 The Tea-Table 116 
 
 The City Belle Beside the Brook 117 
 
 The Poor Boy 120 
 
 Autumnal Quiet 121 
 
 Hungary 124 
 
 To My Boot 127 
 
 The Mother 129 
 
 =L> 
 
10 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Human Porcupines 130 
 
 Autumn Rhymes 13 1 
 
 When I am Old and Gray 133 
 
 Penitential Prayer 135 
 
 The Soul's Refuge 13G 
 
 The Ninety-seventh Psalm versified 138 
 
 Trust in God 141 
 
 Patient Continuance in Well-Doing 143 
 
 CL 
 
=D 
 
 fines for % fatte aitfr JoMng. 
 
 Miner's fl^M, 
 
 All day long the clouds have drizzled/ 
 
 Drizzled on the earth below, 
 Till the trees are ice-befrizzled, 
 
 And like gems the branches glow. 
 And twisted twig and slender stem 
 Outglory any diadem. 
 Were the dull clouds to break away, 
 
 Were the mid-heaven sun to shine. 
 The jewel? d world would flash to-day 
 
 As if it were a diamond mine : 
 The dwellers on the orbs afar , 
 
 Might gaze in rapturous surprise, 
 And shout, "A new-created star 
 
 Is rising in the distant skies !" 
 
 11 
 
12 winter's phases. 
 
 But drearily the clay runs down. 
 And night enfolds us in her frown. 
 
 Gather near the crackling embers — 
 Toast the slipper' cl nether members, 
 
 While the wind among the willows 
 Sweeps with deep resounding roar, 
 
 Till we seem to hear the billows 
 Breaking on the sandy shore. 
 
 What rattles so against the pane, 
 Unlike the pattering of the rain ? 
 ; Tis hail ! 'tis hail ! The rushing blast 
 Impels it furiously and fast : 
 Like pebbles pelted at a pillory, 
 Cracks the storm-cloud's small artillery. 
 
 It ceases now; 
 
 The noiseless snow 
 Coquettishly comes sidling down, 
 
 And here and there 
 
 And everywhere 
 It lies all o'er the dingy town — 
 Like a pure mantle thrown above 
 A sinful soul by pitying love. 
 
 C3= 
 
winter's phases. 13 
 
 The wind exults in sportive power; 
 Look out, and mark the frosty shower 
 It whirls from housetop and from tree 
 Till they are bare as poverty, 
 
 And many a heap — 
 
 Half fathom deep — 
 Is piled away in quiet nooks; 
 
 And the plastic 
 
 Snow, fantastic. 
 Whirls and twirls in curious crooks, 
 
 Until we gaze, 
 
 In feign' d amaze, 
 As if it were the work of spooks ! 
 
 How beautiful the morning scene ! 
 
 A single peep 
 Reveals what pranks the wind has been 
 
 About throughout 
 The hours when we were sound asleep. 
 And it has blown against the door 
 A heap so high ' twill make us sore 
 
 To bear it hence away; 
 And, buried inches deep below 
 The surface of the untrodden snow, 
 
 The spade is gone astray ! 
 
 2 
 
14 winter's phases. 
 
 Who needs must work, and cannot play, 
 Alone go forth this snowy day 
 Till the path-finders clear the way; 
 And then " Hurrah for the gliding sleigh!" 
 Cheerily, cheerily now they go — 
 Skippingly, trippingly over the snow; 
 Ears a-tino;lino; — 
 Bells a-jingling — . 
 And every belle beside a beau, 
 "With eyes a-light and cheeks a-glow; 
 Skip it and trip it while ye may, 
 For a melting change is coming to-day. 
 There's a gentle breeze — it comes from the South- 
 As sweet as breath from the milch-kine's mouth; 
 And the rays of the sun bend down to kiss 
 The ice and the snow, 
 And away they go 
 As if they perish' d beneath the bliss, 
 Like simple souls in human clay 
 Whose love has stolen their life away. 
 
 The cold, hard coat earth lately ware 
 Grows soft and sleek as muddy ooze; 
 
 And happy those who have good store 
 Of patience and impervious shoes. 
 
winter's phases. 15 
 
 It drips from the cornice — 
 
 It drips from the eaves — 
 It drips from the boughs 
 
 That are barren of leaves. 
 It thaws in the garden — 
 
 It thaws in the street; 
 Alas for the bonnet 
 
 And slight-cover' d feet! 
 
 The smc2ie from our chimney's too lazy to rise, 
 And like a sad story brings tears in our eyes; 
 
 While, aching and sneezing 
 
 And shaking and wheezing, 
 For weather that's freezing the invalid sighs. 
 
 Lo ! the king of the North 
 
 Again rushes forth, 
 A ravenous beast from his lair, 
 
 And, howling and growling, 
 
 Around he goes prowling, 
 As fierce as his own polar bear. 
 He touches the brooks, and the frighten' d elves 
 'Neath roofs of crystal conceal themselves; 
 And the earth grows hard as a selfish heart 
 That lives from its human-kind apart. 
 
 i 
 
16 winter's phases. 
 
 The frosty kir>g has ceased his din, 
 
 And cold and quiet night sets in; 
 
 The stars — incomparably "bright — 
 
 Swing near the earth their lamps of light, 
 
 As if to cast a cheering glow 
 
 O'er the dark and frozen world below. 
 
 There is a hearth — I know it well — 
 
 Where love and peace and plenty dwell; 
 
 And thankful hearts are biding there, 
 
 Who praise the Giver in their prayer : — 
 
 And many such are in our land 
 
 Where love and hope link hand in hand;— 
 
 Yet are there not God's poor who shrink, 
 
 On night like this, from every chink, 
 
 And crouch like beasts that have no soul 
 
 Before a dim and dying coal? 
 
 Oh, Thou whose pity, love, and power 
 
 Around us hover every hour, 
 
 Awaken in our breasts the zeal 
 
 To toil for man as well as feel, 
 
 And for the love we bear to Thee 
 
 To comfort poor humanity. 
 
mgt mm t\t maim 
 
 Oh where's mj early violets? 
 
 'Tis time they were 
 
 Again astir, 
 My pretty, modest, blue-eyed pets ! 
 
 I look'd for them but yestermorn — 
 
 For every day 
 
 I pass that way — 
 To see if they had yet been born. 
 
 Til seek again to-morrow noon : 
 
 The ice and snow 
 
 Went long ago, 
 So I expect my darlings soon. 
 
 Then I will take my children there, 
 
 And bid them see 
 
 How modesty 
 
 May make the lowliest more than fair. 
 2* 17 
 
F 
 
 It was a gallant ship 
 
 And a goodly company 
 That left a peaceful port, and went 
 
 A voyage o'er the sea. 
 
 The winds blew soft and fair, 
 
 And sweet as a holy hymn 
 When chanted by the tuneful tongues 
 
 Of heavenly cherubim. 
 
 The mariners' hearts were glad ; 
 
 And they slept without a fear; 
 And day and night the ship sped on, 
 
 Till the wish'd-for land was near. 
 
 A little cloud arose, 
 
 And a fire-ball suddenly came 
 
 With a thunder-clap from the little cloud, 
 
 And set the ship on flame. 
 18 
 
 U= 
 
 A 
 
LOST AND SAVED. 19 
 
 A circle was round the moon, 
 
 And the North-Star hid his light ; 
 
 And sorrow and fear fell on the hearts 
 Of the mariners that night. 
 
 The burning ship appear' d 
 
 Like a torch in a world of gloom ; 
 
 And they knelt and pray'd to Christ to save 
 Their souls from a fiery doom. 
 
 They launched their boats, and lay 
 
 In silence on the sea; 
 And there they seem'd alone with God 
 
 In his infinity. 
 
 With a hiss and a sudden plunge, 
 
 The ship sunk in the wave, 
 And their fragile boats alone were 'tween 
 
 The voyagers and the grave. 
 
 The morning slowly broke, 
 
 " Ho, a sail ! ho, a sail !" they cried, 
 And a lofty vessel, sent of Heaven, 
 
 Came dashing o'er the tide. 
 
 i) 
 
0==== -= = 
 
 20 LOST AND SAVED. 
 
 Soon safe upon her deck. 
 Their terrors were allay' d; 
 
 The mother was not left childless, nor 
 The wife a widow made. 
 
 In many an after year, 
 
 His children round his knee, 
 
 The father at his hearthstone told 
 The dangers of the sea. 
 
 ( 1 r s 
 
=Q 
 
 Along the city's proudest street 
 I heard the tread of many feet ; 
 ; Neath velvet pail and waving plume. 
 They bore a mortal to the tomb. 
 
 Oh, 'twas a grand and proud array. 
 And haughty mourners led the way; 
 Their scarfs in fashion's style were trimni'd, 
 Their eyes with sorrow all undimm'd. 
 
 I sigh'd, and o'er my bosom came 
 A sad and sickening pang of shame : 
 And I had wept, had not mine eye 
 Found cause for worthier sympathy. 
 
 For as I turn'd my feet aside, 
 
 And through a nameless alley hied, 
 
 Slow issuing from an humble shed, 
 
 I saw the poor bring forth their dead. 
 
 21 
 
Q 
 
 22 THE TWO PROCESSIONS. 
 
 The widow and her orphans twain 
 Outpour' d a sad and piteous strain: 
 Of husband and of father 'reft, 
 What had such hapless mourners left? 
 
 A moment — and the hearse was gone, 
 They feebly, faintly following on ; 
 With silent tears and aching breast, 
 They bore him to his place of rest. 
 
 There in the potter's field he lay, 
 
 As soft as if in holier clay ; 
 
 It matters little where they sleep 
 
 Whom Christ hath promised he will keep. 
 
 The harder toil, the sweeter rest; 
 More deeply cross' d, more richly blest; 
 And heaven a welcome boon must be 
 To such a weary man as he. 
 
 No holy man of God was there 
 To utter slow and solemn prayer, 
 Or bid them lift their weeping eyes 
 To homes and hopes beyond the skies. 
 
 (3= 
 
— =p 
 
 THE TWO PROCESSIONS. 23 
 
 But God was there; with healing balni ; 
 He made the mourners' hearts grow calm : 
 They knelt and pray'd, and wondrous grace 
 Abounded in that lonely place. 
 
 J 
 
Jl tfp* at a Mhtkiu. 
 
 But yesternoon my curious eye espied 
 
 A child out-looking through a window-pane : 
 Urgent my haste, yet as I onward hied, 
 
 I turn'd to gaze upon the child again. 
 Her face was fair, her eyes were bright and blue, 
 
 Her hair hung loosely with peculiar grace 
 Of curl or texture, glossiness or hue ; 
 
 But whether more of mirth were in her face, 
 Or innocence, or modesty, 'twere not 
 
 An easy word to say. A sweet red spot 
 And dimple beautified her cheek, and lent 
 
 A comely aspect to the child. She wore 
 No gaudy dress, nor golden ornament; 
 
 In her own native self her chiefest charm she bore. 
 
 24 
 
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 ©it jetting % § itkxt at n <£pfr, 
 
 'Twas but a little child — and yet I felt 
 
 Unutterable thrills arise within : 
 
 I thought on what my infant days had been. 
 When I before my mother simply knelt, 
 
 And clasp' d my hands and said our Saviour's 
 prayer — 
 A happy boy, with blue and playful eye, 
 And flaxen hair, and cheek that might outvie 
 
 The crimson of the rose. But toil and care 
 Have done their wonted work. — Ah me ! how strange 
 That years so few should bring such wondrous 
 change ! 
 
 This pallid cheek — this calm and serious air — 
 This quiet eye — this weary, weary frame — 
 
 Can these be his whose promise was so fair? — 
 "With growing hope of heaven, the being is the same ! 
 
 3 25 
 
 dU 
 
rf 
 
 A child came in our school on Sabbath-day — 
 
 A little one, whose years were very few : 
 
 I sat me down, as I am wont to do, 
 Beside her, saying, as Fin wont to say, 
 
 "And what's your name, my dear?" She look'd 
 at me 
 And meekly said, "My name is Mary, sir." 
 I felt a yearning of my heart to her : 
 
 "How old are you, my child?" — Then answer' d 
 she 
 Her years were only four. She had no brother — 
 But lived alone at home, she and her mother. 
 
 " Tell me what is your father's name," I said. 
 "'My father is in heaven," was her reply, 
 
 And silently she lifted up her head. — 
 Ought I be deemed weak if tears o'erfuTd mine eye? 
 
 26 
 
 a =£ 
 
=D 
 
 Give me a house that's haunted, 
 With Love the only sprite; 
 
 I'll dwell in it undaunted, 
 Nor fear its utmost spite. 
 
 Though witching tones are swelling 
 
 Above me and beside, 
 Where Love is in the dwelling 
 
 I am content to bide. 
 
 If every beam and rafter 
 And every stone and tile 
 
 Re-echo with its laughter, 
 
 My heart shall laugh the while. 
 
 The favour' d room or chamber 
 
 Frequented by the ghost, 
 I'll gladliest remember, 
 
 And I will prize it most. 
 
 27 
 
F — = 
 
 28 THE HOUSE LOVE-HAUNTED. 
 
 When morn is stilly breaking, 
 And earth is growing light, 
 
 I'll tremble not if, waking, 
 Mine eyes behold the sprite. 
 
 If, as the day grows older, 
 The heavenly-temper' d thing 
 
 Taps tenderly my shoulder, 
 Rejoicingly I'll sing. 
 
 When in the midnight lonely 
 Day's brighter scenes are hid, 
 
 I'll sweetly sleep if only 
 Love stirs the coverlid. 
 
 I'd ever be enchanted 
 
 By Love's bewitching spell, 
 And in a house love-haunted 
 
 I would my life-long dwell. 
 
 And when my time is ending, 
 And heaven is coming nigh, 
 
 Let Love, my soul attending, 
 Go with me to the sky. 
 
 o= 
 
ptg, §bb)s §mtMall%. 
 
 Have pity on the poor, good gentlefolks; 
 
 For they are cold and hungry. Starving pain 
 Is hard to bear, and oftentimes provokes 
 
 The deed of infamy and crime, t' obtain 
 The bread that honest labour fails to earn. 
 Have pity on the poor; nor coldly turn 
 
 The ear away from their distressful sighs. 
 Spurn not too rudely e'en the beggar — he 
 Has fallen far, yet let his misery 
 
 Plead with your heart and dew your tender eyes. 
 Oh pity him ! Perchance 'twas strong temptation 
 
 That drew him to this fate : perchance 'twas grief 
 For loss of all. Deep is the desolation 
 
 Of an unfriended heart. Vouchsafe him some relief. 
 
 Have pity on the poor — the hidden ones, 
 
 Who shut their sorrows in their hearts, — the worn 
 
 And weary man, — the widow, and her sons 
 
 And daughters fatherless, — the overborne. 
 
 Have pity on the hapless slave of toil, 
 
 3* 29 
 
Q " t: = 
 
 30 PITY, GOOD GENTLEFOLKS. 
 
 The patient, gentle, fragile sewing-girl, 
 Whose thin and sunken cheek is pale as pearl, 
 
 Whose slender fingers constantly must moil, 
 To wring from masters the small weekly dole 
 That barely binds the body and the soul. 
 
 And ye fine ladies, beautiful and proud, 
 
 Whose delicate forms are clad in rich array, 
 
 Remember those whose sister-heads are bow'd 
 With toil for you, endured by night and day. 
 
 Ye flitting moths — ye butterflies of fashion — 
 Ye pinching, hard, unfeeling things of pride — 
 
 Aristocrats of pompousness and passion, 
 
 Who sternly brush the humble man aside — 
 
 Ye who increase upon the poor man's labour — 
 Who reap the harvest ye have never sown — 
 Who eat the fruit that other men have grown, — 
 
 The Lord has said : u The wretched is your neigh- 
 bour. " 
 Your brother too. And in the Father's heart 
 
 (Who holds the world within His love, and gives 
 
 Its daily food to every thing that lives) 
 Perchance he has a large and loving part. 
 
 Be kind and pitiful while yet ye may, 
 
 And sweep somewhat of human wo away. 
 
 a= 
 
PITY, GOOD GENTLEFOLKS. 31 
 
 The world is dark; and who for Jesus' sake 
 Do good to man, are like the city lamps : 
 
 Their rays throughout surrounding darkness break, 
 And cheer the wanderer in the midnight damps. 
 
 They pale at breaking of the morn : but soon 
 The sun majestic shall arise, and pour 
 
 A flood of radiance from the skies' mid-noon : 
 Their little lamps are needed then no more. 
 
 Absorb' d and lost in heavenly love and glory, 
 Their ravish' d minds then hear the Saviour say, 
 "Ye did it to the suffering sons of clay, 
 
 And so 'twas done to Me." The immortal story 
 O'er the wide plains of Paradise shall fly, 
 And crowds descend to welcome them on high. 
 
 JD 
 
Qr 
 
 SejJtemljer lain* 
 
 Patter — patter — 
 Listen how the rain-drops clatter, 
 Falling on the shingle roof; 
 How they rattle, 
 Like the rifle's click in battle, 
 Or the charger's iron hoof! 
 
 Cool and pleasant 
 Is the evening air at present, 
 
 Gathering freshness from the rain; 
 Languor chasing, 
 Muscle, thew, and sinew bracing, 
 And enlivening the brain. 
 
 Close together 
 Draw the bands of love in weather 
 When the sky is overcast; 
 
 32 
 
 tt= 
 
===== — p 
 
 SEPTEMBER RAIN. 33 
 
 Eyeballs glisten — • 
 Thankfully we sit and listen 
 To the rain that's coming fast. 
 
 Dropping — dropping 
 Like dissolving diamonds, — popping 
 ' Gainst the crystal window-pane, 
 As if seeking 
 Entrance-welcome, and bespeaking 
 Our affection for the rain. 
 
 Quick, and quicker 
 Come the droppings, — thick, and thicker 
 Pour the hasty torrents down : 
 Rushing — rushing — 
 From the leaden spouts a-gushing, 
 Cleansing all the streets in town. 
 
 Darkness utter 
 Gathers round; — we close the shutter; 
 Snugly shelter'd let us keep. 
 Still unceasing 
 Falls the rain; but oh! His pleasing 
 'Neath such lullaby to sleep. 
 
 =fl 
 
34 SEPTEMBER RAIN. 
 
 How I love it ! 
 
 Let the miser money covet — 
 
 Let the soldier seek the fight; 
 
 Give me only, 
 
 "When I lie awake and lonely. 
 
 Music made by rain at night. 
 
 =D 
 
%\t 6M anlr Wamm. 
 
 A cheery-minded maiden, 
 Just stepping o'er the line 
 
 Where womanhood and girlhood 
 Their boundaries combine; 
 
 The joyousness of girlhood, 
 The woman's conscious pride. 
 
 Commingled like the sunlight 
 In dalliance with the tide. 
 
 Her lips emitted music 
 
 That thrills my bosom yet ; 
 
 Her eyes were bright as dew-drops 
 Upon a violet. 
 
 I say not she was handsome— 
 
 That may or may not be ; 
 
 But she, in every feature, 
 
 Was beautiful to me. 
 
 35 
 
u — = 
 
 36 THE GIRL AND WOMAN. 
 
 I saw her, and I loved her — 
 I sought her, and I won; 
 
 A dozen pleasant summers, 
 
 And more, since then have run; 
 
 And half as many voices, 
 Now prattling by her side, 
 
 Kemind me of the autumn 
 When she became my bride. 
 
=D 
 
 %a §0b. 
 
 I bear you malice, Bob? — not I, indeed. 
 
 I can't afford it, Bob. It costs too dear 
 To hate a human soul. I'd rather bleed 
 
 Than thrust the point of hate's envenom* d spear 
 In any mortal's breast. No, no ! I say. 
 
 How could I seek a pardon at His hand 
 
 "Who in The Book has left His stern command 
 That we must pardon others ere we pray ? 
 
 There's far too much of selfishness in me 
 To sell my comfort for hate's paltry pay : 
 
 Of other's love I've grown too miserly 
 To cast it rashly, wickedly away. 
 
 Love is the all we have of heaven here ; 
 
 If that were gone, this life were desolate and drear. 
 
 There is a bias, Bob, in every man 
 
 To go astray. So was I taught in youth, 
 
 And later years have shown to me its truth. 
 
 Has there been ^ne who without halting ran 
 4 37 
 
 =£> 
 
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 D 
 
 38 TO BOB. 
 
 The course of life ? If any such there be, 
 
 He's clad in more than our humanity : 
 And I am not the man, for I am frail, 
 
 As all earth's children are. One — only One — 
 
 Once lived on earth by whom no wrong was done. 
 Though through infirmity I oft may fail, 
 
 Yet if, friend Bob ! when suddenly assail' d, 
 I answer' d sharply when I should have smiled 
 
 And own'd that you had but jocosely rail'd, 
 Think not my mind by malice was beguiled. « 
 
 J 
 
The ice has come ! The cold-lipp'd Frost has kiss'd 
 The waters while they slept at night; his breath 
 Has fiVd them in a torpor, as of death : 
 
 Nor shrub nor flower the midnight ranger miss'd, 
 But on them all he laid his fatal fingers. 
 
 He touch' d the trees; and when the sun comes forth 
 And warms the leaves, they fall in sudden showers ; 
 The change from frost to sunny heat overpowers 
 The feeble health that in them faintly lingers. 
 
 The blast is keen this morning from the north; 
 
 All tender things are dying day by day; 
 
 Soon, soon will they be gone, and seen no more, 
 
 And we shall stand on nature's wintry shore, 
 
 The gentle dreams of summer having passed away. 
 
 39 
 
 JD 
 
(3= 
 
 %\t ^itg-taft. 
 
 What a pity — 
 
 Biding in the parched city 
 
 All the fiery summer through ! 
 Dry and dusty, 
 
 Soul and body getting rusty, 
 Lacking will to think or do. 
 
 Ever growing 
 Hot and hotter — fiercely glowing 
 From the morning till the noon; 
 Hot and hotter, 
 Like the furnace of the potter 
 When it sings its 'custoni'd tune. 
 
 Not a pitcher 
 Full of water, to make rich, or 
 Mollify the baken ground, 
 40 
 
D 
 
 THE CITY-BOUND. 41 
 
 Falls from heaven 
 From the sunrise till the even — 
 All is dustiness profound. 
 
 Of the ices. 
 Hundred hundred-weight suffices 
 Not to cool the city's heat; 
 Drinking, drinking 
 Is in vogue instead of thinking — 
 Frozen water is our meat. 
 
 Oh for fountains 
 Running down from icy mountains ! 
 Oh for palaces of cream ! 
 Oh for shadows 
 Cast by trees o'er pleasant meadows 
 Dreamt of in a poet's dream ! 
 
 Oh to wander 
 Where the tinkling rills meander 
 Down the hill-side to the strand, — 
 
 Often stooping, 
 
 Draughts of cooling water scooping 
 
 With the hollow of my hand. 
 4* 
 
 =D 
 
Q 
 
 42 THE CITY-BOUND. 
 
 Oh what pity 
 In the hot and parched city 
 To abide the summer through ! 
 Dry and dusty, 
 Soul and body growing musty — 
 Lacking strength to will or do. 
 
 r%- 
 
He was a man endowed like other men 
 
 With strange varieties of thought and feeling : 
 
 His bread was earn'd by daily toil; yet when 
 A pleasing fancy o'er his mind came stealings 
 
 He set a trap and snared it by his art, 
 
 And hid it in the bosom of his heart. 
 He nurtured it and loved it as his own, 
 
 And it became obedient to his beck; 
 
 He fix'd his name on its submissive neck, 
 And graced it with all graces to him known, 
 
 And then he bade it lift its wing and fly 
 Over the earth, and sing in every ear 
 Some soothing sound the sighful soul to cheer, 
 
 Some lay of love to lure it to the sky. 
 
 43 
 
 -X> 
 
=2 
 
 %\t pint's Ailment sift |tow&a. 
 
 GHj* gUImmt. 
 
 For many days I walk'd beneath a cloud 
 
 Which no sun-ray found any passage through : 
 The mid-noon like the depth of midnight grew, 
 
 And my faint soul was in the darkness bow'd. 
 
 Uneomforted, I wander* d mid the crowd, 
 Where all were busy, eager, earnest, gay; 
 
 Some idly chatting, others laughing loud, 
 And friend saluting friend along his way. 
 
 Amid them all, I was alone — alone; 
 
 A yearning man, and with a human heart, 
 From other men set seemingly apart; 
 
 Mine ear receiving not a friendly tone, 
 
 Mine eye perceiving not an answering gleam ; 
 And life was nigh become a dim and dreary 
 dream. 
 
 44 
 
 a= 
 
=D 
 
 THE SPIRIT'S AILMENT AND REMEDY. 
 
 45 
 
 When overcome with darkness and dejection. 
 And wintry clcuds o'ercast the mental sky, 
 
 'Tis good to stir the ashes of affection, 
 
 And gather up love's embers ere they die, 
 
 And breathe upon the coals, and add new fuel; — 
 
 The fire of love needs, frequently, renewal — 
 
 Supplies of tenderness and deeds of kindness, 
 And tones of sympathy and gentle meaning — 
 A brother's faults benevolently screening, 
 
 (For love is nurtured by a purposed blindness.) 
 
 Thrice blessed he who finds it in his heart 
 
 To follow Christ! Then sadness spreads her 
 
 wings, 
 And pleasantly the soul within him sings; 
 
 And of the good he does, he shares a double part. 
 
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Cr- 
 
 Ji f kit for Htm atfo Inifg. 
 
 "Two men of the Hebrews strove together, and he said to him that 
 did the wrong, Wherefore smitest thou thy fellow ?"~- Exodus ii. 13. 
 
 Ye blessed sons and daughters 
 Whose ministry is peace ; 
 
 Pour oil upon the waters 
 
 And cause their rage to cease. 
 
 men of mine own nation. 
 
 Will any idle stand 
 While rank infatuation 
 
 Is perilling the land? 
 
 If sin is on our brother, 
 
 Whence comes to us the right 
 
 The bosom of our mother 
 
 With brutal hand to smite? 
 46 
 
 (3= 
 
--=£) 
 
 A PLEA FOR PEACE AND UNITY. 47 
 
 Will human blood like water 
 Wash human sin away? 
 
 Will fratricidal slaughter 
 Bring in a holier day? 
 
 Shall women, wildly weeping 
 Their sons and husbands dead, 
 
 Pray that a curse unsleeping 
 Rest on a kinsman's head? 
 
 For son against the father, 
 And father 'gainst the son, 
 
 In fierce array may gather 
 Till murder's doubly done ! 
 
 Shall we renounce this Eden, 
 Where G-od has brought us in, 
 
 And leave to men succeeding 
 The heir-loom of our sin ? 
 
 Why bid our natural foemen 
 
 Rejoicingly to cry, 
 " Behold the welcome omen, 
 
 That Freedom's doom'd to die !" 
 
 =D 
 
48 A PLEA FOR PEACE AND UNITY. 
 
 Why quench the beacon's burning 
 Whose radiance lights the sky, 
 
 To which all nations, turning, 
 Look with a hopeful eye ? 
 
 If now its flame ye smother, 
 Ye quench the hopes of men : 
 
 How long before another 
 Shall light the world again ? 
 
 While with majestic motion 
 
 Our valley rivers run, 
 And, ere they swell the ocean, 
 
 Form an harmonious one — 
 
 So long may love incline us 
 (Let every patriot pray) 
 
 With olive-leaves to twine us, 
 Till Time's concluding day ! 
 
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=jn 
 
 fines to fig jtyets. 
 
 M^eonides rehearsed a tale of arms. 
 
 And jNaso told of curious metamorphoses; 
 
 Unmnnber'd pens have pictured woman's charms. 
 While crazy Lee made poetry on porpoises : 
 
 But mine the glory to recount thy worth, 
 crystal Specs ! that stand' st invisibly 
 Before mine eyes, and giv'st them power to see 
 
 What else they had not seen in heaven or earth. 
 Thou second sight that sham'st old Scotia's seers! 
 
 Thou vision-giver of the scenes that lie 
 
 Beyond the reach of unanointed eye, 
 
 Far, far away in sight-confounding spheres ! 
 
 Thou scal'st the very fortress of the stars, 
 
 And climb'st its gate for me, and lettest down the bars 
 
 Without thee, what were life ? A misty vision, 
 
 A murky morn, ne'er breaking from its gloom; 
 
 A barren world, without a field elysian — 
 
 A weary waste, with not a flower in bloom ! 
 5 49 
 
50 LINES TO MY SPECS. 
 
 When, in time past, thou gottest first a-straddle, 
 This nose of mine, a sort of nasal saddle, 
 
 Mine optics caper' d in the field of sight, 
 Like a young horse let loose among the clover, 
 That kicks his heels, and flies the meadow over, 
 
 And loudly whinnies in his fond delight : 
 Now, soberer grown, I sit like reverend sage 
 
 Beside the hearth-stone while old Winter blows; 
 
 I place thee on my patriarchal nose, 
 And ponder gravely Wisdom's pregnant page. 
 
 Art's wondrous world thou layest bare to me; 
 
 The painter's skill, the sculptor's graceful line: 
 
 Thou openest the entrance to the mine 
 Of hidden treasures of philosophy; 
 Or, by thy magic power, I plume the wing, 
 
 And fly to realms where deathless poets dwell : 
 I hear the lays their lips immortal sing, 
 
 And list the tales their tongues were wont to tell. 
 By thee I scan the " human face divine," 
 
 The pleasing study loved so long and well; 
 I mark the graces that within it shine, 
 
 When in the breast the deep emotions swell, 
 Till mine own heart impulsively gives vent 
 To streams of gladness and affection blent. 
 
=D 
 
 I|e fmtmt in % gMIing. 
 
 An awful Presence fills the silent dwelling — 
 The dread Unseen unwelcornely is there; 
 
 And stricken bosoms piteously are swelling, 
 And pallid lips are quivering in prayer. 
 
 The household band, from the young, timid lisper 
 To hoary grandam, sit in sad dismay; 
 
 Their words are few, and spoken in a whisper, 
 While wofully they wait the coming day. 
 
 Meek as a lamb, a victim there is lying — 
 A deathly paleness covering all his face : 
 
 His mortal frame is slowly, surely dying — 
 His soul is strong, and comforted by grace. 
 
 So loving is he in his last behaviour, 
 
 His heart is touched by sorrowing friends' distress : 
 
 "Be thou this widow's G-od, Lord ;uy Saviour, 
 
 And Father be to these my fatherless." 
 
 51 
 
ft 
 
 52 THE PRESENCE IN THE DWELLING. 
 
 Before the Presence, mute is the physician; 
 
 No drug can heal the fatal wound of Death; 
 And deaf alike to threatening or petition, 
 
 He seals his victory with the parting breath. 
 
 The shadowy night, while all the earth is sleeping, 
 Moves slowly on, and morning brings its cares; 
 
 The dead is here — -but in the world unweeping 
 Another brow a crown of glory wears. 
 
 o= 
 
%\t StiiKf at % top*. 
 
 The slanderer mingles falsehood with the truth, 
 
 And serves the devil in his viler work. 
 
 Within his lips there may be said to lurk 
 A fang more deadly than the cobra's tooth. 
 
 With keen, insane, insatiable delight, 
 He marks the accents of a victim's tongue; 
 
 On idle words he sates his appetite, 
 And forth he goes, disgorging them among 
 
 A world of slander-lovers. Magnifying 
 The more they're spread, they tingle on the ear: 
 And those who tell the tale, and those who hear, 
 
 Are apt confederates in the work of lying : 
 Thru a fair fame among the slanderers thrown 
 Is gr. aw*d as hungry dogs delight to gnaw a bone. 
 
 More cruel is the slanderer than the snake ; 
 
 He ^pits his venom on a man's good name, 
 
 Until the guiltless bows his head in shame, 
 
 And the fine fibres of his spirit break. 
 
 5* 53 
 
 =D 
 
0= ===== — — = p 
 
 54 THE STING OF THE TONGUE. 
 
 The world avers, because his countenance changes 
 When some vile charge is made, that "'tis a sign 
 
 The man is guilty;" "that it very strange is;" 
 "And he deserves a punishment condign." 
 
 But innocence is like the sensitive leaf; 
 Whene'er 'tis touch' d by Lreathings of suspicion, 
 
 It trembles in an agony of grief, 
 And men misjudge its sorrowful condition : 
 
 While brazen guilt confronts a righteous charge, 
 And blustering like a braggart, walks the earth at 
 lame. 
 
 a • o 
 
fto gtot % fort to Cat '%w Htftoit. 
 
 r ve not the heart to cut them down ! 
 
 These dry and dusty flowers, 
 That spring and summer smiled upon, 
 
 And fed with dews and showers : 
 I know they're dead; their leaves have flown, 
 
 Their stalks are crisp and brown; 
 Yet they may stand till winter's gone — 
 
 I cannot cut them down ! 
 
 I've not the heart to cut them down ! 
 
 For during summer's heat, 
 iVhile pent within the sultry town, 
 
 They sprang up round my feet : 
 Ihey look'd up in my face and smiled, 
 
 And comforted my soul, 
 So that I, like a chasten' d child, 
 
 Endured my daily dole. 
 
 55 
 
 zD 
 
Or 
 
 56 i've not the heart to cut them down. 
 
 I've not the heart to cut them down ! 
 
 They were my garden's pride, 
 And when the buds were fully blown 
 
 Their fragrance wander' d wide, 
 And freely enter' d at my door 
 
 Below, around, above, 
 Till from the ceiling to the floor 
 
 The house was sweet with love ! 
 
 I've not the heart to cut them down ! 
 
 It may be they will fall 
 When "Winter casts his heavy crown 
 
 Of snow upon them all : 
 Yet if they stand till Spring shall lay 
 
 Her blessing on the earth, 
 I'll gently bear the dead away, 
 
 While kindred flowers have birth ! 
 
 cs= 
 
r- — D 
 
 jjrapr for gain 
 
 If the bine skies serenely shone for aye. 
 
 And clonds wept not, but like the fleecy feather 
 Sail'd lightly on the air, — and night and day 
 
 Evinced the same stability of weather, — 
 How soon were earth enrobed in mourning weeds ! 
 
 The springs would fail, — the rivulets run dry, — 
 The panting herds would seek the river reeds, 
 
 And every weak and tender thing would die. 
 Nor rain nor dew the grass and flowers to feed, 
 
 Deep desolation tyrant-like would reign; 
 
 To dust his breath would turn the withered plain; 
 And man, the heir of misery indeed, 
 
 Might lift his hand, and to his Maker pray; 
 And words like these, perchance, his quivering lips 
 would say : 
 
 gracious Father! send us showers, 
 
 The gentle showers of rain, 
 To cheer the corn, the grass, the flowers, 
 
 On mountain-side and plain. 
 
 =b 
 
M 
 
 58 PRAYER FOR RAIN. 
 
 Command the pregnant clouds to rise 
 
 And vail the fiery sun, 
 While from the fountains of the skies 
 
 The streams of blessing run. 
 
 gracious Father ! send us showers ; 
 
 The cattle mutely stand 
 Amid the scorch' d and wither' d bowers ; - 
 
 Have mercy on our land ! 
 The spider's web is on the mead, 
 
 The worm consumes the leaf; 
 And all thy works before Thee plead 
 
 The silent plea of grief. 
 
 gracious Father! send us showers; 
 
 Regard our earnest cries; 
 But meek submission still be ours 
 
 While our petitions rise. 
 To Thee each living thing looks up; 
 
 Thou mad'st — thou'lt not destroy: 
 The overflow of mercy's cup 
 
 Shall wake creation's joy. 
 
 (3= 
 
& Miasm toitjf rag |m* 
 
 silent solace of my lonely time, 
 Beloved pen ! why so reserved of late ? 
 
 Hast thou renounced all fellowship with rhyme, 
 And grown at once both rusty and sedate ? 
 
 Art thou a- weary with thy journeyings o'er 
 
 The paper plain, and wilt thou go no more ? 
 
 Or is thy jetty fluid all expended; 
 
 The standish dry ? — or hast thou lost the art 
 Of limning well the passions of the heart ? 
 
 Or art thou, like a touchy thing, offended 
 
 Because thou hast so long time been untended ? 
 Bo tell what is the matter; let me know 
 Why is't, my friend, that thou behavest so, 
 
 And all thy grievances ; shall soon be ended. 
 
 Stoutly the pen replied: "G-ood master mine! 
 
 Thy willing servant 'tis my pride to be : 
 
 Why chide me when the blame is only thine? 
 
 But seldom lately dost thou fondle me; 
 
 59 
 
 hf 
 
60 A COLLOQUY WITH MY PEN. 
 
 Seldom dost thou, with mild and musing air, 
 Doze dreamingly on thy accustom' d chair; 
 
 To spread the sheet but seldom dost thou come, 
 And in thy former firm, affectionate way, 
 
 Embrace me 'tween thy finger and thy thumb, 
 To note thy flitting thought. Wo worth the day 
 
 When I no more may share thy fond regard ! 
 Who'd wish to live when he no more is prized? 
 My throat is dry — my frame is oxidized; 
 
 Indeed, good sir, you use me very hard ! J> 
 
 Nay, faithful pen ! somewhat have I to say 
 
 In my behalf. Mine is a busy life; 
 And man, remember, is a pipe of clay, 
 
 And often breaks while hardening in the strife 
 And fiery fury of this world's red oven, 
 
 And needs a time for soldering and cooling — 
 An idling-time, though he be not a sloven, 
 
 To mend his ways, and cease from self-befooling. 
 Then too remember, pen ! the summer weather, 
 When every thing seem'd doom'd to melt together. 
 
 The mind, besides, may have its wintry season, 
 When feeling flags, and all the mental sap 
 
 Runs down into the root, and rhyme and reason 
 And thought and fancy take a quiet nap. 
 
 a= 
 
=Q 
 
 A COLLOQUY WITH MY PEN. 81 
 
 Remember further, pen ! I'm growing older, 
 
 And lazier too, perchance, in my estate; 
 Or it may be, too much is on my shoulder, 
 
 And I bow down a little 'neath the weight; 
 Or I may think my wit has lost its salt, 
 
 If ever truly thus 'twas impregnate; 
 
 Or I may murmur at the poet's fate, 
 E'en though he be the sinner chief in fault : — 
 Be what the cause, say not I love thee less, 
 
 Nor chide me that I love thee not the more; 
 
 Some days like early ones may be in store, 
 When I again thy polish' d form shall press, 
 
 And I create, and thou daguerreotype 
 The thinkings of my mind in every shade and stripe. 
 
 =£> 
 
p" 
 
 Jl Spring Sonnet. 
 
 The maiden-hearted spring has come. The weeping 
 
 And smiling skies alternate o'er us reign; 
 
 The grass is springing verdant on the plain, 
 And little germs that long time have been sleeping 
 Beneath the sod are timidly up-peeping; 
 
 Sweet buds and blossoms thick are putting forth. 
 As if in confidence of Heaven's sure keeping, 
 
 And fearless of the threatenings of the north. 
 The flowers will soon be here, and bees will come; 
 
 The notes of spring and summer birds will ring, 
 
 And winds, and brooks, and birds in concert sing, 
 And make the human soul leap up in gladness, 
 
 Save the sad hearts who, in their des'late home, 
 Do weep the loved and lost, though not in hopeless 
 
 sadness. 
 
 62 
 
 h 
 
=Q 
 
 Once me thought I saw an angel 
 Smiling in a maiden's eyes. 
 
 And my heart was captive taken, 
 Like a city by surprise. 
 
 Then it seem'd another angel, 
 
 Springing upward from my heart, 
 
 From mine eyes look'd on the other, 
 And beheld its counterpart. 
 
 At the moment of the greeting, 
 From her lips no whisper fell; 
 
 And before her I was silent, 
 Rapt in a delicious spell. 
 
 Love, awaking in my bosom — 
 Love of pure impulses born — 
 
 Lighted up my happy pathway, 
 Like a sun of summer morn. 
 
 63 
 
 =D 
 
64 THE ANGEL IN A MAIDEN' S EYES. 
 
 Mark'd for mine the gentle maiden 
 With the angel in her eyes^ 
 
 Years agone we link'd our fortunes 
 By indissoluble ties. 
 
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 JD 
 
=D 
 
 %\t gear ©\\i i\t ^ami. 
 
 Oft as I wander in fashion's crowded way ; 
 What numbers I see of the beautiful and gay ! 
 With gold and with diamonds resplendent though 
 
 they be. 
 There's a dear one at home more beautiful to me. 
 
 Graceful as antelopes, and rouged with cunning 
 skill, 
 
 A glance from their eyelids has potency to kill; 
 Their tones are as soft as the buzzing of a bee, 
 Yet a dear one at home is more beautiful to me. 
 
 Proudly their carriages roll along the street, 
 With coachman and footman and livery complete; 
 The fair ones within them may frown disdainfully — 
 The dear one at home is beautiful to me. 
 6* 65 
 
(3= 
 
 66 THE DEAR ONE AT HOME. 
 
 They dwell in palaces, and mine's a lowlier lot; 
 But grandeur and palaces my soul will covet not. 
 If only at eventide I hear the melody 
 Of the dear one at home, so beautiful to me. 
 
 Our fireside has prattlers, whose laughing eyes 
 
 are set 
 As brightly as diamonds within a violet; 
 And when, light as fairies, they spring upon my 
 
 knee, 
 I love more the dear one so beautiful to me. 
 
 Yv r hen I am weary and faint and overfraught, 
 I think of my home, and am happy in my thought; 
 The weight of my burden reminds me lovingly, 
 There's a dear one at home to lighten it to me. 
 
 U n 
 
=D 
 
 %\t Jp0Htt jof % Japlwi 
 
 WRITTEN AFTER A VISIT TO THE BLOCKLEY ALMSHOUSE. 
 
 Humanity in its despised conditions; 
 
 Ye tender ones whose hands are soft as down ; 
 Is oft too touching in its exhibitions 
 
 To wake a dainty or unpitying frown. 
 
 For here ; apart from all the self-relying. 
 
 The spirit-broken desolate abide : 
 Dead souls ; anibitionless and unreplying, 
 
 Their hopes long buried in the grave with pride. 
 
 And here are those by food and shelter cherish' d ; 
 
 And clad in clothing that is not their own ; 
 Who on life's highway else outright had -perish' d. 
 
 Or stagger' d on with many an inward groan. 
 
 Here ; too, are those whose minds are gone demented, 
 
 Served tenderly and nursed with healing care; 
 
 67 
 
 dJ 
 
68 THE HOME OF THE HAPLESS. 
 
 Their shrewdest cunning wisely circumvented 
 Till reason sits in her accustomed chair. 
 
 Small children, on the shore of life's deep ocean, 
 Like waifs pick'd up by charitable hands, 
 
 Are nurtured here with woman's own devotion, 
 And bound in virtue's time-enduring bands. 
 
 A refuge-place for Penury's sons and daughters, 
 Where they may ease its bitterness and smart; 
 
 Bethesda's pool, where angels stir the waters, 
 And proffer healing for the bleeding heart. 
 
 Thanks be to God, the wretched may be tended, 
 Although his kinsmen all be far away : 
 
 Thanks to His name, the orphan is befriended 
 When father, mother sleep beneath the clay. 
 
 Thanks be to God, that Christian love prevaileth 
 Against the sin and selfishness of earth : 
 
 Thanks to His name that charity ne'er faileth, 
 But now, as ever, shows its heavenly birth. 
 
 Q= 
 
^ tontrg SaWra% 
 
 The frost in its beauty lies over the meadows. 
 Like down newly shaken from winter's young 
 wing; 
 
 The sun is ascending, and skeleton shadows 
 The trees in their nakedness pensively fling. 
 
 The morning is silent, save when the brook's flowing 
 
 Awakens a music like silvery bells, 
 Or where the cock's crowing, or gentle kine's 
 lowing, 
 
 Of home and its treasures of charity tells. 
 
 The smoke from the homestead, one wreath on 
 
 another, 
 
 Like incense arises from piety's hearth, 
 
 Where father and mother, and sister and brother 
 
 In harmony worship the Lord of the earth. 
 
 69 
 
 AJ 
 
70 A COUNTRY SABBATH. 
 
 The sun lights the vane of a far-away steeple, 
 The sound of a bell is borne faintly along, 
 
 And staidly and peacefully gather the people, 
 To join in the prayer and awaken the song. 
 
 The calm of devotion refreshes the spirit, 
 The soul is set down to a banquet of bliss; 
 
 The ministering angel must surely be near it, 
 For earth can provide no enjoyment like this. 
 
 The day is departing — the shadows are denser; 
 
 The shrilly-voiced cock and the cattle are still; 
 The cold of the north becomes keen and intenser, 
 
 And freezes to silence the tongue of the rill. 
 
 The arch of the heavens is glowing with glory, 
 For diamond-lit lanterns, by angels outhung, 
 
 Swing over the earth, and a marvellous story 
 (While man is unconscious) by seraphs is sung. 
 
 a= 
 
"V 
 
 A COUNTRY SABBATH. 71 
 
 The darkness of night like a mantle is lying 
 
 On the children of joy and the children of sorrow. 
 
 Who, while the still moments nnheeded are flying, 
 Lie down in the hope of a better to-morrow. 
 
 When the locks of old age shall fall down on my 
 shoulder, 
 
 If the wisdom of Heaven so lengthen my time, 
 Oh may I present to the youthful beholder 
 
 A vision as peaceful — an end as sublime ! 
 
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cr 
 
 %\t fat. 
 
 A hat's the dome, the steeple-top of thought — 
 The attic room, the cockloft of the head — 
 
 The hive where fancy's honey-bees are caught, 
 Which, else, beyond the memory's reach had fled. 
 
 A hat, well-brush' d, 's a cap-stone to the man ; 
 Corinthian column he, with cap to match — 
 
 A column it were poetry to scan, 
 
 And with a glance its fine proportions catch. — 
 
 A crownless hat lacks poetry; and he 
 
 (Whoe'er the miserable man may be) 
 
 Whose tangled hair stands peering through the crown, 
 
 Far from the graces quite hath tumbled down : 
 Sans hat, sans coat, sans character, sans all — 
 Who thus hath fallen, how piteous is his fall ! 
 
 72 
 
 0= 
 
=D 
 
 toi-p^ mi\t$. 
 
 A blessing on niy babes to-night, 
 A blessing on their mother; 
 
 A blessing on my kinsmen light, 
 Each loving friend and brother. 
 
 A blessing on the toiler rest; 
 
 The over-worn and weary; 
 The desolate and comfortless, 
 
 To whom the earth is dreary. 
 
 A blessing on the child to-night ; 
 
 A blessing on the hoary; 
 The maiden clad in beauty bright, 
 
 The young man in his glory. 
 
 A blessing on my fellow-race, 
 
 Of every clime and nation : 
 
 May they partake His saving grace 
 
 Who died for our salvation. 
 
 7 73 
 
74 GOOD-NIGIIT WISHES. 
 
 If any man have wrought me wrong, 
 Still blessings be upon him; 
 
 May I in love to him be strong, 
 Till charity have won him. 
 
 Thy blessings on me ; from of old, 
 My God! I cannot number; 
 
 I wrap me in their ample fold, 
 And sink in trustful slumber. 
 
JLstent jof 3i Sintljong's Hose, 
 
 We climb'd St. Anthony's Xose; 
 
 Its sides were powder' d with snows, 
 Yet up to the summit we rose 
 By favour of fingers and toes. 
 
 The labour was toilsome and Ions; 
 Our wills were sturdy and strong, 
 Each sinew was tough as a thong, 
 And our spirits were light as a song. 
 
 The track of the rabbit was there, 
 And the path of the fox to his lair ; 
 And prints — perhaps of a bear — 
 Admonish* d us " Boys, have a care I" 
 
 The partridges rose with a whirr, 
 And many a quail did we stir; 
 We harmless and weaponless were, 
 And harm'd not their feathers and fur. 
 
76 ASCENT OF ST. ANTHONY'S NOSE. 
 
 As cliff after cliff we attained, 
 
 A cliff still higher remain'd; 
 
 Our strength more sternly we strain' d, 
 
 For a failure we proudly disdain' d. 
 
 So upward and onward we went, 
 And — ere we were totally spent — 
 Accomplish' d our purposed intent, 
 And stood on the topmost ascent. 
 
 We witness' d the Hudson below, 
 Roll on with its glorious flow, 
 While Lilliput vessels did go 
 With Lilliput men to and fro. 
 
 To see what more we might spy, 
 We climb' d an oaken tree nigh; 
 But mountains and river and sky 
 Outran the reach of the eye 
 
 We roll'd some rocks down the hill 
 Along the bed of a rill ; 
 They went with a rush and a will — 
 I hear them, I fancy me, still. 
 
 Cfe 
 
ASCENT OF ST. ANTHONY S NOSE. 77 
 
 Majestic each awful rebound, 
 As the rocks whirl' d madly around, 
 And frequent their clattering sound 
 Came up from the solemn profound. 
 
 The days of boyhood and youth — 
 Ere we'd an aching eye-tooth, 
 When fun was mingled with ruth — 
 Seem'd present in primitive truth. 
 
 So much delight did we sip, 
 Our joy ran over the lip, 
 As drops from a bucket will drip 
 That late in the well had a dip. 
 
 But feeding on ideal food 
 Can do the stomach no good; 
 We soon got over that mood, 
 And a course descending pursued. 
 
 A bright look-out did we keep 
 As we slid each threatening steep; 
 And now did we warily creep, 
 
 And then took a slide and a leap. 
 
 7* 
 
 =D 
 
78 ASCENT OF ST. ANTHONY'S NOSE. 
 
 We'd done all we had design'd 
 The day before in our mind, 
 And now, as our hunger inclined, 
 We went to the village and dined. 
 
 If, at some notable time, 
 The Swiss Jungfrau we should climb, 
 I'll tell it in verse more sublime, 
 Though not in a livelier rhyme. 
 
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itoto ftax'j &te k k $03 an t\t jtoiatra. 
 
 We pass'd the night at Yonkers; 
 
 The fog above — the fog below 
 
 Had made it quite unsafe to go 
 A-s teaming down the river. 
 
 The captain wouldn't — 
 
 Couldn't — shouldn't 
 Peril lives 
 
 . Of maidens, wives 
 
 And husbands, brothers, 
 
 Fathers, mothers — 
 No wonder he did shiver. 
 
 So there we lay 
 
 Half on our way, 
 Yet not a soul was fain to stay. 
 
 The darkness horrid 
 Deeply loom'd; 
 
 And aft and for'ard 
 
 Were en tomb' d. 
 
 The drizzly drops around us fell, 
 
 The essence of the fog distill' d; 
 
 79 
 
 =b 
 
Q- "^ = 
 
 80 NEW YEAR'S EVE ON THE HUDSON. 
 
 Our bosom's anguish who can tell, 
 With hope of home so rudely chill' d? 
 And there we sate 
 In silent state, 
 And like the kine did ruminate. 
 Without debate 
 The joy was great — 
 When tea-time came — to masticate. 
 
 It hath been never 
 That a man could eat for ever; 
 And soon the tea 
 Was no more 'niong the things that be. 
 Some did this, and some did that — 
 Some were silent — some did chat; 
 Some frown' d, and others loudly laugh' d 
 As if a cup of fun they'd quaff' d; 
 When, lo ! a silent gathering — 
 A preacher rose to pray : 
 And when he'd said his solemn say, 
 Then we began to sing, 
 To "Auld Lang Syne/' 
 u When I can read my title clear." 
 
 And oh ! it made this heart of mine 
 Dance lightly as a mountain deer 
 When summer mornings shine. 
 
 o= 
 
m 
 
 NEW YEAR'S EYE ON THE HUDSON. 81 
 
 Though we were met as strangers there, 
 We own'd our brotherhood; 
 
 And, joining in the social prayer, 
 Before our Father stood. 
 
 I felt assured the Father's eye 
 
 Look'd kindly on that company. 
 
 The Old Year now was wellnigh gone — 
 
 The remnant sands were falling, 
 When suddenly there broke upon 
 
 Our ears the din of brawling. 
 Some rowdies bound for Gotham city, 
 
 Thus prison' d on the route, 
 
 Obtuse to gentleness or pity, 
 
 Grot huge horse-fiddles out : 
 
 They rang a bell, 
 
 And sprang the rattle 
 
 With many a yell 
 As if of battle : 
 And though no human lost his life, 
 Yet " sleep was murder' d" in the strife. 
 Quietly, quietly, 
 Snug in a corner, 
 
 Sat a small company, 
 Fearing no evil and heeding no scorner. 
 
82 NEW YEAR'S EVE ON THE HUDSON. 
 
 Tired of singing, 
 Sleep her sweet poppies upon them was flinging; 
 But scarce had an eyelid 
 Reposed on its fellow, 
 Ere sleep ran off frighten' d 
 As the wild bellow 
 And shout of the b'hoys 
 Astounded the Highlands with thundering noise. 
 No rest was there to be found 
 
 For the drowsy head; 
 The noise of the riotous drown' d 
 (It truly were said) 
 The snore of the sleeper, and woke him outright, 
 As mad as a bull and ready for fight. 
 So, groaning, aching, 
 Chilly, shaking, 
 Stretching, yawning, 
 We awaited morning's dawning. 
 Wo-begone and vigil-worn, 
 Every human 
 Man and woman 
 Grew dishearten'd and forlorn. 
 Oh, how dreary 
 Sacl and weary 
 Was that night at Yonkers! 
 
 Ch 
 
=D 
 
 f a ftxaMmm fig- 
 
 What ! here again, indomitable pest ! 
 
 Thou plagu'st me like a supernatural sprite; 
 
 Thou makest me the butt of all thy spite, 
 And bitest ine, and buzzest as in jest. 
 
 Ten times I've closed my heavy lids in vain 
 This early morn to court an hour of sleep ; 
 For thou — tormentor ! — constantly dost keep 
 
 Thy whizzing tones resounding through my brain, 
 Or lightest on my sensitive nose, and there 
 Thou trinim'st thy wings and shak'st thy legs of hair : 
 
 Ten times I've raised my hand in haste to smite, 
 But thou art off; and ere I lay my head 
 And fold mine arms in quiet on my bed, 
 
 Thou com'st again — I feel thy buzzing bite. 
 
 As Uncle Toby says, "The world is wide 
 
 Enough for thee and me." Then go, I pray, 
 And through this world do take some other way, 
 
 And let us travel no more side by side. 
 
 83 
 
 =D 
 
84 TO A TROUBLESOME FLY. 
 
 Go — live among the flowers — go anywhere; 
 Or to the empty sugar-hogshead go, 
 That standeth at the grocer's store below; 
 
 Go suit thy taste with any thing that's there. 
 There's his molasses-measure; there's his cheese, 
 And ham and herring : — What ! will nothing please ? 
 
 Presumptuous imp ! then die ! — But no ! I'll smite 
 Thee not; for thou, perchance, art young in days, 
 And rather green as yet in this world's ways; 
 
 So live and suffer — age may set thee right. 
 
 v -6 
 
=Q 
 
 f GStlnimons fmt 
 
 Death sanctifies the poet. While he lives. 
 
 Men seem to think he is an idler here; 
 
 And cold and heartless often is the cheer 
 The world to him in wanton measure gives. 
 Perhaps he asks too much when he has sung 
 
 A lay that long shall humanize his race; 
 For him — a mortal with an angel's tongue — 
 
 Perchance the earth has no befitting place; 
 
 Perchance too soon he lives — perchance too late; 
 Or he is poor, or lacks a family name 
 Renown'd for glory or renown'd for shame; 
 
 Perchance — too great to murmur at his fate — 
 He toils, and dies a toiler at the oar : — 
 Then men remember him, and his sad fate deplore. 
 
 =D 
 
CT 
 
 P#to fnmft % awxklai 
 
 The grave is very deep — 
 
 The grave is very cold, 
 To lay a baby in, to sleep, 
 
 When scarce a twelvemonth old — 
 An infant who was wont to rest 
 Close nestled to his mother's breast. 
 
 ; Tis scarce a sin to heave 
 
 Affection's natural sigh, 
 That God has bidden us to leave 
 
 The child alone to lie — 
 The gentle-minded little one — 
 The first, the last, the only son. 
 
 We lay him here in hope, 
 
 To wait the coming day, 
 When God shall call a cherub up 
 
 From this unconscious clay; 
 We shall behold him glorified — 
 This lamb for whom a Saviour died. 
 
 CL 
 
=£> 
 
 On the Death of his Daughter, Sally Summers, December 9, 1851. 
 
 Has death, my gentle brother, pluck'd a bud — 
 
 A precious bud — from thy sweet tree of love ? 
 
 And did the depths of thy fond nature move, 
 Until thine eye pour'd forth a scalding flood? 
 
 If it were so, I could not blame thy grief; 
 But I would sit beside thee in thy wo, 
 And bid my tears to thine responsive flow, 
 
 Till He who smote should bring thy soul relief: 
 My tongue would words of consolation say, 
 And lead thy thoughts from this sad world away; 
 
 And tell thee of the land beyond the tomb, 
 The gardens beautiful, where Jesus' hands 
 
 Have planted thy sweet bud, to grow and bloom, 
 And gladden thee and thine, while heaven eternal 
 
 stands. 
 
 87 
 
 =£> 
 
Q 
 
 itarg's gflUito. 
 
 A shady dell beside the road, 
 Sequester'd, cool, and grassy: 
 
 A pleasant brook anear it flow'd, 
 Its current pure and glassy. 
 
 And Mary's home was on the hill ; 
 
 Up in the farm-house yonder : 
 But in the dell so cool and still 
 
 It was her wont to wander. 
 
 Her father's sheep the tender maid 
 Her steps had taught to follow, 
 
 And friskful lambs around her play'd 
 Down in the grassy hollow. 
 
 And there she sat on summer days, 
 Her nimble fingers flitting, 
 
 Through many an intertwisting maze 
 In curious arts of knitting. 
 
 h= 
 
=_-= -■ - p 
 
 mahy's hollow. 89 
 
 And there she sang some simple song 
 Or hymn learn' d from her mother : 
 
 The hours to her were never long — 
 Each moment chased the other. 
 
 A native quietude of mien 
 
 So graciously became her ; 
 The maidens on the village-green 
 
 With honour loved to name her. 
 
 The quiet meekness of her brow 
 Awoke no special wonder — 
 
 Though like a brook beneath the snow, 
 A stream of thought ran under. 
 
 And oftentimes a sudden smile 
 Her countenance stole over, 
 
 As flitting sunbeams dance the while 
 O'er fields of blooming clover. 
 
 The very angel of her hearth, 
 Her mother's hand caress' d her : 
 
 She changed her father's care to mirth, 
 And silently he bless' d her. 
 
 8* 
 
90 mary's hollow. 
 
 On Sunday in the village choir, 
 Her pure, sweet voice, out-pealing, 
 
 Struck up in listening hearts the fire 
 Of deep and holy feeling. 
 
 When sorrow's burden fell upon 
 Some soul too weak to bear it, 
 
 She bent her willing shoulder down 
 And kindly sought to share it. 
 
 The great wide world was all astir 
 And heaved in toppling billows; 
 
 But all was calm as heaven to her 
 Beneath her drooping willows. 
 
 As life ran on with silent pace, 
 
 Her meek and pious spirit 
 Grew meeter for the holy place 
 
 The pure in heart inherit. 
 
 And when the leaves were turning red, 
 And autumn winds were sweeping, 
 
 Sweet Mary with the early dead 
 Beneath the grass was sleeping. 
 
 CL 
 
D 
 mary's hollow. 91 
 
 The neighbours, still, who pass that way 
 Where Mary's sheep did follow, 
 
 Remember her; and to this day 
 They call it Mary's Hollow. 
 
 =L> 
 

 gostgl €. $aL 
 
 How fast the living fade away around us ! 
 
 Some in the Spring, and in the Summer others- 
 Autumn and Winter smite our human brothers, 
 
 And snap the tendrils that to them had bound us. 
 It seems but yesterday I saw his face; 
 
 And now I sit in silence and alone, 
 
 And ask in doubt, "And is he surely gone, 
 And pass'd to his eternal dwelling-place V 
 
 Fallen in his prime, like an un wither' d leaf, 
 
 The pen is poor to phrase our speechless grief. 
 Of gifted mind and gentle in his spirit, 
 
 And kind and tender as a very dove, 
 
 And fill'd with an exuberance of love, 
 
 A long remembrance richly doth he merit. 
 
 92 
 
 i 
 
 a d 
 
=p 
 
 "Je Mil not apin Jrajei us." 
 
 NeaPs Gazette. 
 
 That phrase I cannot help but feel, 
 Unless my heart be made of steel : 
 Forget mine ancient friend — my Neal ! 
 "Never more I" 
 As said the raven 
 To the trembling, timid, craven 
 Lover of the maid Lenore ; — 
 "Nevermore!" 
 
 How many pleasant memories — 
 
 And mournful ones as well — 
 
 (These to sadden — those to please) — 
 
 Are treasured in the cell 
 
 Within my mind wherein I store 
 
 Memorials of the days of yore ; — 
 
 How many such 
 
 But need a touch 
 
 To break their gentle slumber; 
 93 
 
 =£> 
 
u 
 
 94 HE WILL NOT ACxAIN FORGET US. 
 
 And up they start 
 Around the heart 
 A host without a number. 
 
 Forget! forget! 
 
 Nay, never yet 
 Have Lethe's waves my memory met; 
 
 And far away 
 
 May be the day 
 When, to f ' forgetfulness a prey/' 
 
 My mental ear 
 
 No more shall hear 
 Dead voices speak that once were dear. 
 
 Some days of darkness have been mine, 
 When hope had nearly ceased to shine; 
 
 And I have lain 
 
 In inward pain 
 Amid the blackness round me. 
 
 Yet even then 
 
 Light came again, 
 And God's rich mercy found me, 
 
 No ! I would not 
 
 Consent to blot 
 Such times from recollection, 
 
 <3= 
 
HE WILL NOT AGAIN FORGET US. 95 
 
 For now they bring 
 
 Xo barbed sting. 
 But quicken my affection; 
 
 And they fill up 
 
 Anew the cup 
 That cures the soul's dejection. 
 
 Nor is it needful to forget 
 The sins and follies we regret ; 
 They well may stand, 
 And mark the shoal 
 Where once the soul 
 "Was like to strand. 
 
 The memory of our errors past 
 
 A shade upon our path may cast; 
 
 But if it lead us to abhor 
 
 The thing that grimed our soul before, — 
 
 And turn our face 
 
 To Heaven for grace 
 To do the evil deed no more, — 
 Then it were fitting that the sprite 
 Anon should dimly meet our sight ; 
 And wiser, better beings we 
 Perchance were for his company. 
 
 ^J 
 
96 HE AVILL NOT AGAIN FORGET US. 
 
 Forget a friend whose hand I've held, 
 Who sleepeth still and low, 
 
 The tumult of life's battle quell'd? — 
 No ! never — never ! no ! 
 
 o ^=^r 
 
=£) 
 
 Ik iitocr of Mhpte. 
 
 Oh for a spell of the former time, 
 When I dwelt beside the river of rhyme, 
 And the frequent thought would over me steal, 
 k - Shall I dip a bowl of its waters for Xeal ?" 
 
 To the margin I skipp'd, 
 (I was vounger then.") 
 By a sleight of the pen 
 
 The vessel was dipp'd \ 
 And I drank myself, and I found the bowl 
 Was a pleasant draught for a thirsty soul; 
 And when I held it to Joseph to drink, 
 He look'd at me with a friendly wink, 
 And said it was good, and wish'd for more 
 Of the waters that flow'd a-past my door. 
 So many a time I sent him a can : 
 u He loved it," he said — and I loved the man, 
 And I was glad to give him a pleasure 
 
 As big as the span of my mind could measure; 
 
 9 " 97 
 
 =s 
 
98 THE RIVER OF RHYME. 
 
 Until the day 
 When he was calPd from the world away, 
 
 And round his clay 
 The friends who loved him silently wept. 
 A chord in my bosom suddenly snapt, 
 
 And I, in indolence wrapt, 
 Left my mansion untended, unkept. 
 
 Till it were nigh to decay. 
 Though it be now refurnish' d and swept, 
 
 Yet there too seldom I stay : 
 But still I love to think of the time 
 When I dwelt beside the river of rhyme, 
 Where a tide of music flow'd ever along, 
 And every breeze was the birth of a song. 
 
 o= 
 
%\t ieatttifwl ^ap at Spnjf. 
 
 The cold and rugged weather stripped the trees, 
 
 And made them very desolate. ; Twas not 
 A single frosty, biting autumn-breeze 
 
 That tore the leaves from their first nestling-spot. 
 The winds unkindly came day after day, 
 
 And smote the gentle things. They stood the 
 blast 
 
 Awhile, and then began to shrivel fast, 
 Till utterly their life had died away. 
 The rage of winter having pass'd, the year 
 
 Put on a milder face. The sun broke forth 
 And dallied with the balmy atmosphere, 
 
 And shone so smilingly, the frigid north 
 
 Call'd back its murky clouds, and all around 
 
 The timorous plants came peeping through the 
 
 ground. 
 
 99 
 
 =D 
 
p" 
 
 100 THE BEAUTIFUL DAYS OF SPRING. 
 
 The melancholy trees revived again ; 
 
 On every bough the budding leaves appear'd; 
 And earth grew lovelier in the sight of nien ; 
 
 And many a heart with hopeful thought was 
 cheer' d : 
 For sadness with the winter died away, 
 And spring gave promise of a better day. 
 
 The birds came trustingly and lived among us, 
 And sweet-lipp'd flowers on morning breezes flung us 
 
 A perfume delicate; and every field, 
 Though simply clad in garniture of green, 
 
 The beauteous handiwork of God reveal'd. 
 How great the lesson taught by such a scene, — 
 
 That sunny looks and kindly actions e'er 
 
 Cause love to flourish fragrantly and fair, 
 
 a- - _ _^ = ^— ^ - r ^__ = & 
 
%\t ^waging $mi\$h 
 
 A pensiveness of feeling 
 Unbiddenly comes stealing 
 
 Over me 
 
 When I see 
 An old house going 
 
 To decay, — 
 The wild grass growing 
 
 In the way— 
 The window-shutters hanging 
 
 Half awry. 
 
 Now creaking and now banging 
 
 When the gale sweeps by, — 
 
 The shatter' d panes 
 
 Bespatter' d by the rains — 
 
 The empty rooms 
 
 As silent as the tombs — 
 
 9* 101 
 
q== — r 
 
 102 THE DECAYING HOMESTEAD. 
 
 The dusty floor — 
 The spider weaving in the door — 
 The awfulness of desolation 
 Pervading the habitation, — 
 
 While all things wear 
 A comfortless, unwelcome air. 
 
 The family gathering no more is there, 
 Cheerful and calm; 
 
 No morning prayer 
 Nor evening psalm : 
 No joyous maiden's voice is heard 
 Outcarolling the mocking-bird — 
 
 No children's laugh; — 
 No old man leaning on his staff, 
 
 Nor matron there is seen 
 Before the door at eventide serene. 
 No neighbours come to chat 
 
 Of this and that, 
 And for old friendship's sake, 
 The Souchong cup partake. 
 But silence and desolation 
 Pervade the habitation, 
 
 And all things wear 
 A comfortless, unfriendly air. 
 
 G= 
 
THE DECAYING HOMESTEAD. 103 
 
 ~ 7 ? 
 
 Where is the human band 
 
 That here abode? 
 Have all departed to the land 
 
 Whose only road 
 Is through death's dim domain? 
 Vain the inquiry — vain ! 
 There is not one to tell 
 How the old family fell : 
 Pass'd out of mind — ■ 
 Forgotten quite — 
 The record left behind 
 Is blank as night. 
 Gone to a world afar. 
 
 Perchance on high 
 From some resplendent star 
 
 They turn a wondering eye 
 To their old home below, 
 
 And love Him with intenser love 
 Who beckon' d them from wo 
 To an immortal home above, 
 Where holy exultation 
 Pervades their habitation, 
 And all things wear 
 A heavenly and glorious air. 
 
 =b 
 
n- 
 
 Negroes and boys may whistle in the street, — 
 The boys because they're void of better sense, 
 And Afric's sons because kind Providence 
 
 Has gifted them with whistling pipes complete, 
 For oft they make a music rather sweet. 
 (Indeed, I listen with a sort of pleasure 
 When they perform in harmony and measure, 
 
 And beat the time with swiftly-moving feet.) 
 And even men may whistle when they hear 
 
 A tale that's somewhat marvellous and tough : 
 
 In case like this it may be well enough 
 To make their incredulity appear; 
 
 Yet still I think most sensible men with me 
 
 That whistling is a bore will heartily agree. 
 
 At times when I have languidly reclined 
 In musing silence, waiting for the birds 
 
 Of fancy to descend upon the mind, 
 And sing to me the sweet poetic words 
 
 104 
 
— =^=p 
 
 WHISTLING. 105 
 
 That people love, — when all the town was still 
 Save the low, murmuring, human hum that rose, 
 Like mutter' d moanings from the lips of those 
 
 Who form the grist of death's e'er-going mill, — 
 
 Some glib performer with his music shrill 
 Has made my fancies take a hasty flight, 
 And, like the north wind of a winter night, 
 
 Has through my bosom sent a sudden chill. 
 Despairingly, I' ye put my pen aside, 
 And to my pillow pensively have hied. 
 
 =b 
 
%\t falling font 
 
 Who dwells within this mansion hoary, 
 Crumbling, tottering, soon to fall — 
 
 The tokens of whose former glory 
 Linger faintly on the wall? 
 
 The windows, dark and stain'd and dusty, 
 
 Dimly light the inner room; 
 The hinges of thy limbs are rusty, 
 
 Lonely sitter in the gloom ! 
 
 Is there no voice in thee abiding — 
 Accent tremulous or strong — 
 
 To tell the passer-by some tiding 
 As he wanders here along? 
 
 The watcher at thy gate of hearing, 
 Dull and drowsy, heeds no sound, 
 
 The outer world to him appearing 
 Silent as a burial-ground. 
 
 106 
 
 CL 
 
— =o 
 
 THE FALLING HOUSE. * 107 
 
 Oh ! why art thou so unreplying, 
 
 Inmate of this ruin gray ? 
 Alas! I speak but to the dying; 
 
 Lo ! the soul has passed away ! 
 
 Deserted, dark, disfurnish'd dwelling, 
 
 Empty utterly and riven, 
 Thy lifelong tenant now is swelling 
 
 Psalms and hymns and songs in heaven. 
 
 And thou, in beautiful expansion 
 
 Built again, no more to fall, 
 Shalt be the soul's immortal mansion 
 
 Who here tenanted thy hall. 
 
 =D 
 
(T 
 
 % latest gont, 
 
 A merry babe and beautiful is this our latest born ! 
 
 Her cheek is soft as silky threads that overlay the 
 corn ; 
 
 Her eye is like a tiny spot of heaven's serenest blue 
 
 Imbedded in the snowy clouds, with starlight flash- 
 ing through. 
 
 Her voice is but a little voice, and yet it enters in 
 My bosom with a welcome that a monarch could 
 
 not win; 
 I love the rill that down the hill comes dancing with 
 
 a song, 
 But more I love her liquid notes that trickle all day 
 
 long. 
 
 Her hair is not a silver white, nor yet of golden hue, 
 But of a colour cunningly compounded of the two ; 
 'Tis not a flimsy gossamer that glistens in the sun, 
 
 But like the richer fabric from the multicaulis spun. 
 
 108 
 
 CL 
 
r ~ z — D 
 
 THE LATEST BORN. 109 
 
 With niotlier-loYe and patient skill, there's one who 
 
 strives to teach 
 Her guileless tongue the simple sounds that form 
 
 our human speech; 
 She looks up in her mother's face, as if in wonder 
 
 why 
 Her lip should speak the tender things once spoken 
 
 by the eye. 
 
 'Tis but a year and seven months she's dwelt among 
 us here, 
 
 And yet has she become to us an object passing- 
 dear; 
 
 'Tis wondrous that a love so young should twine 
 its tendrils so. 
 
 As make us fear our hearts would tear before they'd 
 let it go. 
 
 She enters on the race of life with tottering steps 
 
 and slow, 
 And often trips upon the floor from overhaste to go : 
 Thus infancy has ups and clowns as well as graver 
 
 years, 
 
 But bears them with a lighter heart, if not with 
 
 fewer tears. 
 
 10 
 
 =B 
 
110 THE LATEST BORN. 
 
 A thousand mothers in our land may fold within 
 their arms 
 
 A babe as beautiful as this, or sweeter in its 
 charms : 
 
 The blessing of our loving Lord be on these bosom- 
 flowers ; 
 
 And may their bliss in them be such as we have 
 found in ours ! 
 
 fcfc 
 
=v) 
 
 %\t §«otI 0f tire §e;tuiifttL 
 
 Robe the beautiful for the tomb — ■ 
 
 We may no longer stay her; 
 She has pass'd away in virgin bloom ; 
 
 In vestal white array her. 
 One single auburn tress we crave 
 
 Before her face ye cover; 
 Why should the cold and grasping grave 
 
 Take all from those who love her? 
 
 Bear the beautiful to the tomb 
 
 While yet the sun is shining, 
 Ere the shadows and evening gloom 
 
 Denote the day's declining. 
 Bear her softly and slowly on — 
 
 Disturb no piacicl teature; 
 Deep the sleep she's fallen upon, 
 
 The last of a mortal creature. 
 
 ill 
 
112 THE BURIAL OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Lay the beautiful in the tomb; 
 
 Beneath the weeping willow 
 Let the maiden have sleeping room, 
 
 And softly spread her pillow. 
 Angels hasten from realms of bliss. 
 
 Their watch above her keeping: 
 Dear to the heart of the holy is 
 
 The place where she is sleeping. 
 
 Leave the beautiful in the tomb; 
 
 There may be others fairer; 
 Haughtier heads may wave a plume 
 
 With glory to the wearer; 
 But so beautiful and so good 
 
 — Think they who dearly held her- 
 Earth in its loveliest sisterhood 
 
 May never have excelFd her. 
 
 Cfc 
 
=D 
 
 ^tmnxm ai lt0t|^ 
 
 My mother ! would thou wert alive, 
 
 As I remember thee — 
 TThen long ago I knelt to pray 
 
 " Our Father" at thy knee. 
 
 Oh ! very beautiful wert thou — 
 Thine eye so clear and bright — 
 
 Thy cheek that never lost its hue — 
 Thy brow so purely white ! 
 
 But not on thy sweet comeliness 
 My thoughts most love to dwell; 
 
 A thousand holier memories rise, 
 And make my bosom swell : 
 
 Thy calm, confiding trust in God — 
 
 Thy charitable ways — 
 
 Thy wonted place, where angels said, 
 
 "Behold, a sister prays !" 
 
 10* 113 
 
 JC 
 
er--= ===== — g 
 
 114 MEMORIES OF MOTHER. 
 
 The tender, careful watchfulness 
 
 Thy love around us kept; 
 Thy gentle oversight at night, 
 
 While we securely slept. 
 
 How thy least deed of love still lives 
 Through the long lapse of years, 
 
 And strikes the rock in manhood's heart, 
 And draws the gushing tears ! 
 
 I would not rob from heaven; yet I 
 Could wish thee still with me, 
 
 To bless me with thy smile again, 
 As I remember thee. 
 
 Ut 
 
tQ 
 
 fife's Atoning* 
 
 The world to me is growing gray and old; 
 
 My friends are dropping one by one away; 
 
 Some live in far-off lands — some in the clay 
 Rest quietly, their mortal moments told. 
 
 My sire departed ere his locks were gray; 
 
 My mother wept, and soon beside him lay; 
 My elder kin have long since gone — and I 
 
 Am left — a leaf upon an autumn tree, 
 
 Among whose branches chilling breezes steal, 
 The sure precursors of the winter nigh ; 
 
 And when my offspring at our altar kneel 
 To worship God, and sing our morning psalm, 
 
 Their rising stature whispers unto me 
 My life is gently waning to its evening calm. 
 
 115 
 
 JD. 
 
Or 
 
 How beautiful the sight ! — the tidy table 
 
 Set out for tea — the buckwheat cakes all smoking — 
 The steaming urn — the watering mouth provoking ; 
 
 The girls and boys, with eating powers able, 
 Awaiting father's grace ere they begin 
 To lay a store of mother's good things in. 
 
 The knife and spoon they ply with artless grace : 
 To chicle their eager haste, the mother cries 
 In gentle tones, and warns them that " their eyes 
 
 Are bigger than their stomachs." Every face 
 Grows big with wonder as to what she means. — 
 
 The tea-time o'er, the children say their prayers, 
 
 And go to bed, and sleep devoid of cares. 
 
 Would that our land were studded with such 
 scenes ! 
 
 116 
 
 a= 
 
"O 
 
 % Cttg idle fcsftt % §toIl 
 
 A pensive belle beside the brook — 
 Her tears are falling in its waters : 
 "Ah! why thy sad and piteous look, 
 
 Thou favour' cl one of Fortune's daughters?" 
 
 "The world has snared me in its net, 
 
 And holds me captive to its fashions, — 
 My nature's better motions met 
 
 And strangled by imperious passions. 
 
 "Upbubbling from its hidden store, 
 
 This brook flows on, a blessing-giver, 
 That while it gives, yet getteth more, 
 Till it becomes a mighty river : 
 
 "And so moves onward to its goal, 
 
 And ever with a grander motion, 
 
 And pours the fulness of its soul 
 
 Into the everlasting ocean. 
 
 117 
 
 =D 
 
iX- 
 
 118 THE CITY BELLE BESIDE THE BROOK. 
 
 "But idly steals my life apace — 
 
 Unlike the brook, so vain and aimless — 
 I fear, when I behold his face, 
 
 Its Giver will not hold me blameless." 
 
 "'Tis well to shed such wholesome tears, 
 maiden mazed in fashion's folly; 
 [f wisdom crown thy coming years, 
 Then bless thy mood of melancholy. 
 
 "'Thy voice is softly tuned and clear, 
 As if thou wert a mortal angel ; 
 Go thou, and be to misery's ear 
 A comforter and blest evangel. 
 
 " Thy hands are pure as falling snow, 
 Thy graceful fingers soft and slender: 
 Smooth thou the sufferer's pallid brow, 
 And pain shall flee a touch so tender. 
 
 "From his high throne the Son of God 
 Came to 'bind up the broken-hearted;' 
 Then let thy feet with love be shod 
 To seek and save the hope-departed. 
 
 o= 
 
THE CITY BELLE BESIDE THE BROOK. 119 
 
 " From thy full store replenish thou 
 
 The cheerless hearth — the empty basket; 
 Hold not thy help from heads that bow, 
 Though natural pride refrain to ask it. 
 
 "Nor hope in thy mere strength to stand — 
 Join faith with works in firm unition; 
 And stronger than a brazen band 
 
 Thy soul shall be to work its mission. 
 
 "And so thy heart fulfilling well 
 
 The end for which thy life is given, 
 The dove of peace within shall dwell, 
 And thou shalt have the joy of heaven." 
 
 =D 
 
QF= 
 
 Whene'er I meet an orphan boy, I say 
 
 Within my heart, "Lord ! bless this desolate child, 
 
 And be his guide in all his heavenward way : 
 Oh, bid the winds to this lone one be mild, 
 
 And burning suns to gently beam on him : 
 
 Let lowering clouds make not his pathway dim; 
 May stony ways be soft beneath his feet, 
 And bitter waters to his taste be sweet I" 
 
 A waif of heaven, cast upward by the sea 
 On this drear shore, how pitiful his lot ! 
 
 — Nay ! heavenly watchers bear him company, 
 And help and cheer him, though we see them not ; 
 
 For God a Father sits upon the throne, — 
 
 The poor and fatherless are specially his own. 
 
 120 
 
 a — = =o 
 
=Q 
 
 Juttmmral d$mti 
 
 The beautiful repose of age 
 Pervades the land to-day : 
 
 The Autumn, like a reverend sage 
 With years and labour gray, 
 
 And pausing in his pilgrimage, 
 Is resting by the way. 
 
 Or like a mother, meek of eye — 
 Life's active duties o'er — 
 
 Who, when the eventide is nigh, 
 Sits calmly in the door, 
 
 And ponders on the things gone by 
 And days she knew of yore. 
 
 'Tis Nature's time of quietude 
 Before the day of dread, 
 
 When Winter in a wrathful mood 
 
 O'er all the land shall tread; 
 
 11 121 
 
 =D 
 
122 AUTUMNAL QUIET. 
 
 And leaves and flowers are thickly strew'd 
 Along his pathway, dead. 
 
 What though no cheerful song of bird 
 
 Nor insect's merry trill 
 Among the barren boughs is heard, 
 
 There's music round me still, 
 What time these old brown leaves are stirr'd 
 
 That wither on the hill. 
 
 The rivulets are musical, 
 
 As hiddenly they flow 
 Along their gravelly beds, or fall 
 
 On mossy rocks below— 
 And sweeter notes in cot or hall 
 
 Are seldom heard, I trow. 
 
 I love the woods in autumn time, 
 
 So quiet and so dim, 
 W hen sighing winds evoke a chime 
 
 From many a slender limb, 
 Until it seems the note sublime 
 
 Of some angelic hymn. 
 
 h 
 
1 Q 
 
 AUTUMNAL QUIET. 123 
 
 My soul would sit in silence here : 
 
 Let no discordance jar 
 The music-laden atmosphere 
 
 Where heavenly singers are : 
 This calm sweet Sabbath of the year 
 
 'Twere wanton sin to mar. 
 
 =D 
 
fimprg. 
 
 If tears were medicine for wo, 
 Then were it well to weep; 
 For Hungary has fallen — fallen low 
 Before her foe, 
 And slavery's legions sweep 
 Across the plains where Liberty descended. 
 
 The unequal strife is ended; 
 And man, oppress'd and foil'd, sinks down, 
 Beneath the frown 
 Of proud and cruel lords. 
 The patriot swords, 
 Drawn in defence of liberty and right, 
 And gory with the blood of valorous fight, 
 Lie in the dust, 
 Discolour' d with the rust; 
 The tyrant's steel 
 Has touch' d a vital part — 
 His heel 
 Is set on Hungary's quivering heart. 
 
 124 
 
 LL 
 
=D 
 
 HUNGARY. 125 
 
 Oh ! hapless land. 
 
 Bestead by fire and brand ! 
 
 Her mothers and her maidens refuge seeking, 
 
 Their garments reeking 
 
 With blood from the accursed rod, 
 
 That tears their flesh while they are shrieking 
 
 In agony to God. 
 The homes where hope had lighted 
 Pier promise-fires, are desolate and blighted; 
 The winds, melodious once with freedom's song, 
 Groan with the piteous plaint of causeless wrong : 
 
 The sunlight falls on blasted fields, 
 Whose soil no recompense to reaper yields : 
 The stars look tearfully on hopeless men 
 Who have no heart to look on high again; 
 But stricken, humbled, broken, crushed — 
 The nobler voices of their being hush'd — 
 They bear the heavy chain, 
 Or gnaw in silence at its links in vain. 
 
 Shall it be ever so ? 
 
 Heaven and earth together answer No ! 
 
 But, sure as the eternal heaven stands, 
 
 The Lord will break the bands 
 
 Wherewith the tyrants fetter Freedom's hands. 
 11* 
 
 I 
 
pr 
 
 126 HUNGARY. 
 
 Freedom is but a little child of days, 
 
 And yet a child immortal as the truth; 
 When tyranny shall totter in its ways, 
 
 That child shall show the lusty strength of youth ; 
 The rusty shackles from its limbs shall fall, 
 
 And down to ocean's deepest depths shall go; 
 The oppress' d in all the earth shall heed the call, 
 
 And join the strife against the common foe. 
 day of glory and of triumph too ! 
 
 wretched foes, accursed of God and man ! 
 Where will ye hide when heaven and earth pursue, 
 
 And Truth and Freedom lead the battle-van ? 
 
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 C? A 
 
 Mine ancient pedal friend, a last farewell ! 
 
 So many days we've footed it together 
 
 The lane of life, in fair and stormy weather. 
 Mine eyes wellnigh their lid-dikes overswell. 
 
 I well remember when thou didst encase 
 My nether limbs with pressure warm and tight; 
 And many a corny twinge from morn till night 
 
 Evinced the ardency of thine embrace. 
 Soon, like the love of some long-married wife, 
 
 Thy grasp, if not so strong, was still as true, 
 And pleasanter; and as we grew in life, 
 
 Thou wert as gentle as a pliant shoe; 
 And while on thee I trampled every day, 
 To shield me thou didst wear thy very sole away. 
 
 Though I despise the slander-monger's art, 
 
 And scorn the wretch who blackens the fair fame 
 
 Of one whose richest fortune is his name, 
 
 (The wretch whose steel goes deeper than the heart,) 
 
 127 
 
128 TO MY BOOT. 
 
 Yet it has been my daily wont, I own ; 
 To black thy face until its skin has shone 
 
 With ebon glow, as lustrous as the hue 
 That forms the charm of Guinea's native breed. 
 But 'twas not that I hated thee : indeed, 
 
 I prized thee so ; that when thy sole broke through 
 And let in water, 'twas my special heed 
 
 A man of awls thy gaping wounds should sew ; 
 And sundry pangs athwart my pocket shoot 
 To part with thee at last, worn and faithful boot! 
 
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®|e itotljet. 
 
 Whatever be the language of the skies, 
 There is no fitting word that I can find 
 To express the affection of a mother's mind 
 
 When roguish smiles play in her infant's eyes. 
 The cherub has a passport to her heart; 
 
 A key that opens nature's fastest locks; 
 
 A natural skill of witchery that mocks 
 The wise professors of the potent art. 
 
 Thanks be to Heaven that man is once a child — 
 That once our nature wears the guise of all 
 
 That's truthful, loving, loveable, and mild — 
 That tones of childhood to our thoughts recall 
 
 The rapturous times when in a fond embrace 
 
 We clasp'd our mother's neck, and kiss'd her cheer- 
 ful face. 
 
 129 
 
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 f ttuuiH Tfrntayati. 
 
 Some men are cruel in their nature — rough 
 
 In mind and manner — burly sons of strife; 
 So coarsely wrought of nature's coarsest stuff, 
 
 With them there's nothing delicate in life. 
 Were man a tree, they were the outer bark; 
 
 Were man a wood, they were the brier-bush : 
 But now they're snarling porcupines, that mark 
 
 With scratches all who 'gainst their prickles push. 
 They've little love for any living thing — 
 
 Their hearts are barely big enough to hold 
 
 Affection for themselves and for their gold — 
 Perchance a little for their dog or mother, 
 Which selfishness has not had time to smother — 
 
 To all the world besides, they live alone to sting. 
 130 
 
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 Jltttamu f|pe^ 
 
 Fve several times in vain essayed to sing 
 A simple song of Autumn. Other fingers 
 
 Have oft and sweetly touch' d the tuneful string. 
 And waked the pensiveness that life-long lingers 
 
 In hearts of men, like some long-hallow' d story. 
 I've seen the tender flowers grow pale and die,- — 
 The dry and wither' d leayes around me lie, — • 
 
 The sun go down in his peculiar glory, — - 
 
 The thrice-expanded moon come slowly up, 
 
 And break a passage through the eastern vapours,— 
 The pure, clear stars light up their little tapers 
 
 And swing them out, each in a crystal cup, 
 As if to lure the feet of mortals thither, 
 The land of love, where hopes nor flowers wither. 
 
 And I have had within some partial movings 
 
 Of spiritualness; some quickening of the feelings; 
 
 Yet careless heed I've given to the reprovings 
 
 Of nature in her many-voiced revealings. 
 
 131 
 
 :£> 
 
132 AUTUMN RHYMES. 
 
 The Autumn is a solemn missioner; 
 
 A preacher to the sons of men is she : 
 And happy he who learns betimes of her 
 
 The wholesome truth of his mortality, 
 And ponders well the fleetness of his days, 
 And meekly walks in heavenly wisdom's ways. 
 
 The fading leafs an eloquent text to man : 
 " We all do fade, and wither as a leaf -" 
 
 And he who reaches life's extremest span 
 Exclaims in sadness, " Ah! my days are brief!" 
 
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Hip i am ©to aiti ^ng. 
 
 Life seems in youth a sunny vale 
 
 Where streams of beauty flow, 
 And birds are singing all the while, 
 
 And flowers of pleasure grow: 
 The very clouds that dot the sky 
 
 Add glory to the day; 
 But will it seem so bright to me 
 
 When I am old and gray? 
 
 I love the handiwork of God, 
 
 For I behold in all 
 The tokens of his grace and power, 
 
 Pervading great and small. 
 A sense of gladness fills my soul, 
 
 While silently I pray 
 I still may see him in his works 
 
 When I am old and gray. 
 
 Will deep delight in rural scenes 
 
 And rural works be mine — 
 
 12 133 
 
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 134 WHEN I AM OLD AND GRAY. 
 
 The farmhouse, and the verdant mead, 
 Where peaceful feed the kine ? 
 
 Will the old trees still look sublime? 
 "Will brooks still seem to play, 
 
 And be as glad and frolicsome, 
 When I am old and gray? 
 
 The gentle beiDgs whom I love, 
 
 Who love me full as well — - 
 The few and cherish' d friends whose hearts 
 
 With warm emotions swell — 
 Oh ! will their love abide in strength 
 
 When years have sped away ? 
 Will friends be true and kinsmen kind 
 
 When I am old and gray? 
 
 Though flood and flame destroy my goods — 
 
 Though weakness bow my frame — 
 Though death remove each loving one 
 
 Who bears on earth my name — 
 My father's God, who hitherto 
 
 Hast been my staff and stay, 
 I know thou wilt forsake me not 
 
 When I am old and gray ! 
 
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 f eniteittiai fragit 
 
 I do acknowledge unto thee, God ! 
 
 A child of wilful waywardness I've been; 
 
 In crooked paths of selfishness and sin 
 These many years my wandering feet have trod. 
 
 But, oh ! be merciful ! The world I've loved 
 
 Like Sodom's fruit of bitterness has proved; 
 And I, repentant, bleeding at the heart, 
 
 Would find a Helper in this time of wo; 
 
 And, save to thee, I know not where to go 
 To find a balsam for my bosom's smart. 
 
 Be merciful, God ! Let Him atone 
 Who died for wretched men like me : no plea 
 
 My anguish knows but this last plea alone ! 
 
 For His dear sake, my God ! oh spare and pity me ! 
 
 135 
 
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 136 
 
 %\t %mX% Refuge. 
 
 Draw nigh to the Holy, 
 
 Bend low at bis throne; 
 There, penitent lowly, 
 
 Thy sinfulness own. 
 There, there, if thou yearnest 
 
 For pardon and rest, 
 There, fervent and earnest, 
 
 Prefer thy request. 
 
 Confess thy backsliding, 
 
 Thy weakness and fears. 
 In Jesus confiding, 
 
 There pour out thy tears : 
 Think not He will scorn thee, 
 
 Though wretched thy case; 
 Hi« hand will adorn thee 
 
 With garments of grace. 
 
 More precious than treasure, 
 More vast than the sea, 
 
the soul's refuge. 137 
 
 His love has no measure 
 
 Nor limit to thee. 
 His easy yoke wearing, 
 
 His pleasure abide; 
 In all thy cross-bearing, 
 
 He'll walk by thy side. 
 
 Fear not the wild clangour 
 
 That Satan may raise, 
 So G-od's righteous anger 
 
 But pass from thy ways. 
 Whom Christ has forgiven 
 
 Goes safely along, 
 Till in the high heaven 
 
 He sings the new song. 
 
 Then kneel to the Holy, 
 
 Bend low at his throne; 
 There, penitent lowly, 
 
 Thy sinfulness own : 
 There, soul ! if thou yearnest 
 
 For pardon and rest, 
 There, fervent and earnest, 
 
 Prefer thy request. 
 
 12* 
 
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 %ht Pnctpclientlj Jgalm feifiefr. 
 
 Jehovah reigns! Let earth rejoice; 
 
 And let the multitude of isles 
 Be glad, and sing with tuneful voice ; 
 
 And nature's face be clad in smiles. 
 
 Though clouds and darkness from afar 
 Are round about his presence known, 
 
 Yet righteousness and judgment are 
 The habitation of his throne. 
 
 A fire before him goes, and burns 
 
 His enemies on every side; 
 His lightnings flash; and earth by turns 
 
 Beholds and trembles in its pride. 
 
 The hills before his presence melt ; 
 
 Like wax before the furious flame; 
 
 His presence by the earth is felt 
 
 Who built her everlasting frame. 
 138 
 
 G= 
 
THE NINETY-SEVENTH PSALM. 139 
 
 The heavens declare his righteousness — 
 The people all his glory see; 
 
 While they who serve the images, 
 And boast in them, confounded be. 
 
 Then Zion heard, and she was glad; 
 
 The daughters of Judea sang 
 Bejoicingly, and through the land 
 
 The praises of thy judgments rang. 
 
 For thou, Lord ! above the earth 
 Art high ; thou art exalted far 
 
 Above the kings ot mortal birth, 
 Though lofty their aspirings are. 
 
 Hate evil, ye that love the Lord, 
 For he preserves the saintly soul; 
 
 And every danger he will ward, 
 
 And save from wicked men's control. 
 
 On righteous men shall light arise, 
 Like morning breaking o'er the hills; 
 
 And hope shall kindle in their eyes, 
 While holv mirth their bosom fills. 
 
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 140 THE NINETY-SEVENTH PSALM. 
 
 Rejoice, ye righteous, in the Lord! 
 
 Give thanks before his presence now; 
 In memory of his faithful word 
 
 And holiness, give thanks, and bow. 
 
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 "What time I am afraid. I will trust in Thee."— Psalms, 
 
 The billows round me rise and roll. 
 
 The storms of worldly care 
 Beat heavily upon my soul, 
 
 And shroud me in despair : 
 Forsaken, comfortless, betray' d, 
 
 "With none to succour me ; — 
 Father ! what time I am afraid, 
 
 Then will I trust in Thee ! 
 
 As feeble as the bruised reed, 
 
 Infirm to will or do; 
 Oft working out the ungrateful deed 
 
 'Twere better to escnew,* 
 How were the sinking soul dismay' d, 
 
 But for this refuge-plea, — 
 
 Father, what time I am afraid, 
 
 Then will I trust in Thee ! 
 
 141 
 
Q- — Q 
 
 142 TRUST IN GOD. 
 
 When hope is faint, and faith is weak, 
 
 And fears the bosom fill, 
 And I a strong assurance seek 
 
 That thou art gracious still; 
 I rest upon thy promise-word, 
 
 To thine own truth I flee : 
 Father, what time I am afraid, 
 
 Then will I trust in Thee ! 
 
 When saintly paleness marks my face, 
 
 And dimness fills mine eye, 
 And, hoping only in thy grace, 
 
 I bow my head to die \ 
 If, entering in the vale of shade, 
 
 Nor sun nor star I see, 
 Father, what time I am afraid, 
 
 Then will I trust in Thee ! 
 
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 I atient toimrana in McII-$mttjj. 
 
 Bear tlie burden of the present — 
 Let the morrow bear its own; 
 
 If the morning sky be pleasant. 
 Why the coming night bemoan? 
 
 If the darkened heavens lower, 
 Wrap thy cloak around thy form: 
 
 Though the tempest rise in power, 
 God is mightier than the storm. 
 
 Steadfast faith and hope unshaken 
 Animate the trusting breast; 
 
 Step by step the journey's taken 
 Nearer to the land of rest. 
 
 All unseen, the Master walketh 
 
 By the toiling servant's side; 
 
 Comfortable words he talketh, 
 
 While his hands uphold and guide. 
 143 
 
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144 PATIENT CONTINUANCE. 
 
 Grief, nor pain, nor any sorrow 
 Rends thy breast to him unknown; 
 
 He to-day and He to-morrow 
 Grace sufficient gives his own. 
 
 Holy strivings nerve and strengthen — 
 Long endurance wins the crown; 
 
 When the evening shadows lengthen, 
 Thou shalt lay the burden down. 
 
 %\t <M. 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
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