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 Introduction 
 
 THB picturesque personality of the author of 
 these poems had long attracted me. One 
 day, by the instrumentality of pure cheek, 
 I made for myself the acquaintance of Mr. 
 Rice, and lured him into my studio. I then 
 broached the subject of making a portrait 
 study of him ; but he objected, on the ground 
 that his *• phiz " would be of no interest to any- 
 body,— that was to say, not unless his "book" 
 were published. What book ? I disnovered 
 then that we had a Poet in our midst I . . . 
 The opportunities I sought were afterwards 
 afforded me, and the portrait and the poems 
 now appear together. These have been select- 
 ed from a number that are in manuscript, and 
 form a First Part. 
 
 I trust that the Public, not usually too 
 indulgent to poets, will be generously dis- 
 posed to buy the little book ; for, besides the 
 interest to be found in the poems themselves, 
 there is the satisfaction of aiding an old 
 gentleman, past four-score years, whose ac- 
 cumulated treasure is knowledge only; and 
 not that of which it is written, "the moth 
 and rust doth corrupt, and thieves break 
 through and steal." 
 
 A. D. PATTERSON 
 
 10 Elmsley Place 
 Dec. 1898 
 

 /' 
 
 
 
A Poem 
 On the Falls of Niagara 
 
 I heard the Waters roar,— 
 I heard the Flood of Ages pass away. 
 
 —H. K. White. 
 
 ,.-/%<^^'''5 ' 
 
 
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 The Proem 
 
 It soothes the spirits to repose 
 Where rolling wave or water flows, 
 And breathes a soft and airy spell 
 Of hours and days remember'd well : — 
 The thin pellucid liquid seems 
 Transparent in a flood of dreams ! 
 In beams of light and silvery hue 
 It rushes on the gazer's view. 
 Bearing its mirror'd form along 
 With massive force the rocks among. 
 Tinted with cloud or tree or sky. 
 On, on it bounds so smoothly by ; 
 And, as a Pilgrim takes his way 
 Through climes remote and regions gay, 
 
So on by coral beds it strays, 
 Or rocky steep it slumbering lays ; 
 Now hurrying on, now ling'ring slow 
 *Mong tiny shells where lilies grow, 
 It laves the sands of thousand isles ; 
 And where the choicest foliage smiles, 
 Murmurs in lightsomeness and glee 
 As birds 'mong flow'rs or humming bee. 
 Anon it seeks some cavern 'd shore 
 Where hollow winds are heard to roar, 
 Whose wild base trembles with the blast, 
 The howling tempest scarcely past. 
 And glides, death-like into the sea — 
 An emblem of Eternity. 
 
The Poem 
 
 Stupendous volume, mighty sea 
 
 That thunders down eternally 
 
 Into the vortices beJ* v*-, 
 
 Boiling and seethin<j white as snow ; 
 
 Where it heav < and shakes .aJ rages 
 
 As it has doue thus f ^* uges. 
 
 It rolls so slow, so ^rand sublime 
 
 As if a record of all time 
 
 Whose chasm deep, perchance has stood 
 
 From the Creation or the Flood ; 
 
 And as its ocean o'er it falls 
 
 O'er its wave worn rocky walls 
 
 O'er its mighty precipice 
 
 What cataract is like to this ? 
 
 Whilst all around dark mists descry 
 
 From th' watery artillery, 
 
 Spreading its surf with awful din 
 
 O'er all th' expanse milk white and thin 
 
 For tossing there t'will ever be 
 
 A type of war eternally. 
 
 Then rising forth ascends on high 
 
 A cloudy vapour to the sky. 
 
Upon whose hazy sheet expands 
 
 Along th' American and Canadian lands 
 
 A playful Iris with its sheen, 
 
 Red, purple, yellow, blue and green, 
 
 A sylph-like fairy, that might spring 
 
 From out the wave on golden wing 
 
 Whose livery such beauty bears 
 
 As nothing mortal ever wears. 
 
 Above, are rippling leaping waves ; 
 
 Beneath, the roaring cataract raves ; 
 
 And waters skip for miles about 
 
 As dancers at a ball or rout, 
 
 Or like an array as they come 
 
 (Though such take fife and trump and drum 
 
 And flashing steel or scimitar 
 
 Th' insignia of the sons of war). 
 
 Stretching far out their lines you see 
 
 And on they flow regularly, 
 
 Then they turn or halt or bend 
 
 Those breakers to the maelstrom tend, 
 
 Whilst others leap, or plunge, or fret. 
 
 Scattering around their angry jet. 
 
 Some falls come foaming o'er the clifl" 
 
 Light as the bound of salient skiff"; 
 
 But some seem hoary weird and gray, 
 
A changing myst'r}' on their way; 
 Some shady seem, or dubious shine, 
 As ore just quarried from the mine, 
 And some in wavy streaks appear 
 As water'd ribbon ladies wear ; 
 Now orange, lilac, and now pink 
 Are interwoven in the link. 
 Then some as emeralds green and bright, 
 Tinctured with everlasting light. 
 But 'tis a spectre, 'tis a pow'r 
 Mingling its hues with every hour, 
 No minute, much less day or year, 
 It scarcely will the same appear ; 
 Now gaunt and grim, now dark and black, 
 Then lighting up, as lightning's track— 
 A wat'ry Demon varying 
 As if of cataracts the King. 
 Some crested runners seem to feign 
 The barking dogs of Pluto's reign ; 
 Or Cerberus has left his cavern 
 And made :he cataract his tavern, 
 Whose yelping curs are in the chase 
 And fancy sees them all in place. 
 Above impatient seems the tide- 
 Below how stately see it glide 
 
8 
 
 Certes some distance from the rocks 
 And falling of the wat'ry shocks 
 The Niagara, slow and solemn, 
 Like a sable funeral column, 
 Or a hearse with nodding plumes 
 Then its destined course assumes, 
 Between her far down dizzy steeps 
 Steeper than feudal moats or keeps. 
 
An Iota to Fancy 
 
 My Gipsy sweet, now greet mine ears 
 With incantations from the spheres 
 Most blandly mild, careering wild 
 To soothe thy vot'ry as a child. 
 Then raise thine eye unto the sky 
 And such things there as thou shalt spy, 
 Them straight to me, my fair, descry. 
 Or take a turn into some dell 
 And what thou seest there me tell ; 
 Or lovers young, or linnets free. 
 Or roses sweet, or cypress tree. 
 Or on the sea spread forth thy sail 
 To catch the mom or evening's gale, 
 And as thou mayest push thy way 
 To other shores that distant lay. 
 But in a mad fantastic plight 
 Play in the beams of Ether light. 
 And sport in drops of crystal dew 
 Of colours rich and ever new, 
 And gaze on forms divinely fair. 
 Such as not human mould may share, 
 Whose looks are heavenly free from care : 
 
10 
 
 O Tempora, O Mores I ! 
 
 Life is to me 
 Mortality 
 Without its rest, 
 What is't to me 
 On earth to be 
 To be unblest. 
 Yet let not man 
 In aught that can 
 Disturb my reign 
 Presume to pry 
 Or question why 
 I live in vain. 
 This earthly ball 
 It is not all 
 The end not yet : 
 W'hen I am gone 
 And laid alone 
 I'll it forget. 
 But yet anon 
 The ages flown 
 A day will come : 
 Then life once more 
 Will leap ashore 
 And find a homo ! 
 
II 
 
 Not such as this, 
 With patch 'd up bliss, 
 And some excuse, 
 But golden streets. 
 Ambrosial sweets. 
 Celestial use ! 
 
 Ne'ertheless a doubt, 
 It will peep out, 
 If there's a hell ? 
 If not Divine 
 It will be thine 
 Therein to dwell ! 
 
 Then what's the good 
 Of all the Blood 
 That has been spilt; 
 The Saviour's cry 
 The Gospel nigh. 
 And mortal tilt ? 
 The ages gone, 
 And that yet on. 
 Are still to run : 
 That that is past 
 And that to last 
 Beyond the sun. 
 
12 
 
 ... , 
 
 Say is't in vain, 
 We try to gain, 
 The Life to come ? 
 The world awhile 
 May frown or smile 
 What then ? The Tomb ! 
 
 Let no false glare 
 Thy passions share 
 The lust of eye 
 Or pride of life 
 Engend'ring strife, 
 But pass them bye ? 
 
 Remember well, 
 That magic spell, 
 
 In which were found : 
 As we must die 
 Assuredly, 
 To rise were bound ! 
 
 So not in vain 
 If we attain 
 The state we may, 
 For if we try 
 The reasons why. 
 We'll find the way ! 
 
'3 
 
 1 
 
 . 
 
 Arbor Vitae 
 
 The Tree of Life, that Heavenly Tree 
 
 That blooms for ever more, 
 
 Its living green I long to see 
 
 And use its golden store : 
 
 And breathe the fragrance that it breathes, 
 
 Its healing leaves apply 
 
 And bask beneath its clust'ring wreaths 
 
 In its ambrosial sky; 
 
 Then say, and is it here I am. 
 
 Am I now safely here. 
 
 Then all's attained ! God and the Lamb 
 
 For evermore revere ! ! ! 
 
'4 
 
 On the Loss of the Screw Steam Vessel 
 ••City of Glasgow" 
 
 III which I crossed the Atlantic tri the month 0/ March, ISfh'i. 
 
 Speak sulky silence, and let mortals know 
 What means have led to her sad fatal lot. 
 Will nothing tell, and say that it was so ; 
 That thus it was, or thus that it was not ? 
 Thou silent sea ! Thou bcar'st thee as the f^rave, 
 Mute, mute as death, is all beneath thy wave. 
 
 My feet have trod her decks from stem, to stern — 
 
 Yea safely was I ferried o'er in thee — 
 
 And now thy fate I fain alas would learn 
 
 Of circling ills that seal'd thy destiny : 
 
 If icebergs crush 'd, or if the mountain deeps 
 
 O'erwhelm'd thee in their avalanche-like steeps. 
 
 That I across the wave was safely borne 
 
 I thankful am to Him whom winds and waves 
 
 Obey, but yet by gratitude am drawn 
 
 To mourn a vessel that the tempest braves, 
 
 Though now those mountain deeps she skims no more, 
 
 Nor dashes her thin prow by sea or shore. 
 
 A sunken hidden rock, did she not strike. 
 
 And sudden settling, sink vast fathoms down ; 
 
 Or spring a leak, which perhaps is less unlike, 
 
 In the deep noon of night, and quickly drown 
 
The passengers, an. I all but unawares. 
 • As well those hardy fellows jolly tars ? 
 Upon the deck perchance was mirth and fun 
 Nor mortal wight amongst them dreaded aught, 
 Or did distress and anguish on them run, 
 As mountain waves the vessel fiercely caught 
 And bore aloft into the cloudy world 
 To plunge her down in double ruin hurled. 
 How bore those souls, their sad and dreadful scene. 
 Did teiror shake them, or did manhood rise ? 
 Lo : see the captain, courage in his mien, 
 Yet perhaps no hope within his bosom lies. 
 His mates and men like him are brave and cool, 
 Yet Neptune scoffs when once resolved to rule. 
 Once more the voyagers, oh dreadful host, 
 Unused to sea and to its treatment rough. 
 At least a many of them, now they're tost 
 About in wildness, some are stern enough, 
 Meanwhile regardless of their de.sp'rate^'thrall 
 Dark ocean yawns, and deep engulfs them all. 
 'Tis over now, they've met their fate, or well 
 Or ill ; a dirge or requiem for the dead. 
 And consolation to their friends may tell 
 A soothing tale, and raise the drooping head : 
 And let us ponder this, that all must die— 
 Their conflict's o'er, our's yet has to draw ni^rh ! 
 
i6 
 
 lo laoohe 
 
 Fill your glasses jolly boys, 
 
 Brim them with our sparkling joys, 
 
 Nectar sip, jest, quirk and quaff, 
 
 Giggle on to volley'd laugh ! 
 
 How soon the day to night will turn ! 
 
 The living moulder in an urn. 
 
 Laugh and all our cares forget ! 
 
 All the pestiferous set 
 
 Who would harmless mirth decrease, 
 
 Cui-ses on them never cease ! 
 
 How soon the day to night will turn- 
 
 The living moulder in an urn. 
 
 V 
 
»7 
 
 It far exceeds the powers of man 
 With all his vast perceptions here, 
 A beginning that ne'er began, 
 To comprehend or know it clear. 
 
 To <f>&^. 
 
 How beautiful unto mine eye, 
 How glorious in its majesty ! 
 But to my soul it speaks of thee, 
 Of thee, of thee, eternally ! 
 
18 
 
 The Mountain Boho 
 
 A voice from the Fountains, 
 A voice from the Sc^, 
 
 Says come to the mountains. 
 Come, come unto me. 
 
 Fair visions are ours 
 Thou knowest full well. 
 
 And ours the powers 
 That thou mayest tell, 
 
 As we rove in the mist 
 Or glance on the snow 
 
 Disregarding the grist 
 Of mortals below. 
 
 And we take in our way 
 Each mark as it comes, 
 
 Or sadder or gay, 
 Or grottoes or tombs. 
 
 The lilies and flowers 
 That blow o'er the dead 
 
 We pluck in the hours 
 That by them we tread. 
 
19 
 
 Each bright thing we love, 
 Or terribly grand, 
 
 In Heaven above 
 Or 'neath upon land. 
 
 And Heaven's own sphere 
 Even that we explore, 
 
 And then disappear 
 To fathom no more. 
 
20 
 
 Ad Cadenduxn Solem 
 
 Those long low lines of vivid red 
 That gild the sun's course to his bed, 
 Streaking his path, a mingled blaze 
 Of purpling most concentred rays 
 As 'neath he sinks the wef tern deep 
 And leaves our Hemisphere to sleep. 
 When care and sorrow may subside 
 By chance as flows the human tide, 
 But yet the Sun his path still takes. 
 Although he seems to hide, still wakes 
 Where'er he meets Nights on his way 
 He turns them all to shining Day. 
 
 *The Robin 
 
 I've heard the Robin sing 
 For the first time this spring. 
 His sweet and pleasant voice 
 Now bids the year rejoice. 
 
 Then hail the Red-breast bird, 
 Whose melody is heard 
 Warbling so mild and clear 
 At the op'ning of the year. 
 
 * His transatlantic confrere is less robust ; one of whom I was wont to 
 entertain with crumbs on my window sill every morning, and he, without 
 .iny appearance of fear would turn his little head and squint at me, as 
 much as to say " Thank you." 
 
21 
 
 Grief is fantastical und loves the dead. 
 And the apparel of the grave. 
 
 — The two Foacari— Byron. 
 " Vita summa brevis apem nos velat incohare longam. " 
 
 —Horace, L. I. C. IV. 
 Psalm Ixxxix. 48. ; Q^^-,j5.l,s j^j^^^ ^y^-nrZ'bv. 
 
 Solitary, sad and lone 
 
 Like a mourner on a stone 
 
 In church yard sitting, 
 
 I run o'er the days gone by. 
 
 And with the moaning winds I sigh. 
 
 And 'tis befitting 
 
 To think that all of man should dwell 
 In Death's cold dark and narrow cell. 
 
 The above is only a primd/acte view however. 
 
 To the Departing Year 1854 a Bumper ! 
 
 Old Eighteen-fifty-four, farewell ! 
 1 watch awhile to hear the bell 
 That chiming peals thy midnight knell. 
 Here's to the new year, here's to thee, 
 And mayest thou better, better be 
 Than all thy myriad ancestry ! 
 ^^ew York, Dec. 31,13 p.m. 
 
22 
 
 On the Poet Cowper 
 
 Cowper, delight of all the just on Earth I 
 
 For Piety was thine and genuine worth : 
 
 The Muses flowery wreath adorn'd thy brow, » 
 
 A Heavenly Diadem invests it now : 
 
 Strains sweet as ever smote a mortal's ear, 
 
 Thy Lyre, caught from another world, resounded here. 
 
 La Vie Eternelle 
 
 Eternal Life ! This is the Theme, 
 There's nothing real excepting this. 
 
 Of every man of sense the Dream, 
 
 Who knows this Life is vanished bliss. 
 
 Ad Finem. 
 
 When time hath sped on to its goal 
 Delay no more will be allowed. 
 
 Thunders will then be heard to roll 
 And God be seen upon a cloud. 
 
 Lift up your heads, and then look up, 
 Disconsolate no more to be. 
 
 Earth's froward ways are all broke up 
 And blessings reign eternally.