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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. rrata o >eiure, ) d J 32X — 1 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 I r- i FROM THE LIBRARY OF Barrie, Ontario .Li — ._ POEMS By G. summers 72100 f / PREFACE. h f In offering this little book to such as may be pleased to read it, I must give in extenuation the circumstances and events whose influence brought upon me the ciirse of writing poetry. At the time of my birth and till the middle of my sixth year, my father was a schoolmaster, and dwelling near the school-house, I was taken very early to school ; and when a little over five years of age, I could read the Testament with tolerable fluency. I remember the last time the superin- tendent, a Eev. Mr. Dose, of the Churcli of England, came to the school, he selected a chapter and gave it to me to read ; and when I had done, he patted me on the head in a complimentary manner. When we moved to this province, shortly after, tliis clergyman desired that my parents would leave me with him, promising ta educate me for the Church ; but my • IV. mother would not consent. It would perhaps have been better tor me if she had ; but it was, doubtless, fortunate for the Church that she did not. But to the point : As a reward for my ability in reading, some of our friends made me a present of a book — a small book of about one hundred pages, bearing on the cover the word " Poems " in large gilt letters. It was a compiled work, and was the seed of which this is the fruit. It was to me a oreat book. I feel its influence at this moment, and will ever feel it till sensation can thrill my bosom no more. During the few months that I remained at school I often begged permission to take it to school, which was sometimes granted, and then I was in my element. As I pored over these poems, I indulged in the fancy that when I grew to manhood I would be a poet ; but I had no idea of fame. About the middle of my sixth year we moved to this province, and in the excitement and confusion of moving my precious book was lost, which caused me not a little regret for a time , but it wore away, as ■ r .._,>v%- ij ym- V. all clnldisli regrets. But, as Cowper says of his mother, " although I mourned less, I never forgot," nor did I forget my resolve to be a poet. Life in this province was verv different from what it had been. Mv father settled on a wild lot of land, and I was soon put to work, with my elder brother, and during the residue of my minority I knew nothing but the hardest of labor ; but I often felt the influence of my lost book, and thought of my desire to be a composer of poems, but felt little hope of attaining my wish. But I enter- tained a dim, uncertain hope that I would some time accomplish it. Whenever I thought seriously of it, I generally dis- missed the subject with the conclusion that such a notion was common to all boys. When about fourteen years of age a copy of Burns' poems fell into my hands, and the perusal of them, or such as I could understand, fanned my desire to a flame. But I now began to see the obstacles in my way, the want of educa- tion being the chief; and I was very unhappy and discontent. It was soon :1 VI. after this that I made my first attempt at verse, which pleased me so well that I continued to practice the art, but none of my efforts ever tasted ink. When yet a child in life's elysian spring, And fancy first assay'd her timid wing, With but my mother dearer to my heart, I nursed a nestling of poetic art ; But hardship never yet in song express'd Expell'd the cherish'd fondling from my breast. During a number of years succeeding I composed only at distant intervals. At the age of twenty-four I received my share of the family estate, amounting to nearly one thousand dollars; and now came the time to determine on my occu- pation of life. My education consisted in reading and writing imperfectly ; and if I could have been content with that for life, I could have been rich and re- spected ; but I am neither. I supposed myself a " well-to-do " farmer, happy in compound ignorance, neither knowing nor caring for anything but what pertained to my mode of making money, and soon concluded that it was '' something better not to be." ^ i f vn. I therefore resolved to spend the greater part of m} money in education, and then turn it to the best account that I could. I spent over two years in our common school, and two terms at the Normal School. During this time I composed only one little poem, but I made a num- ber of vain efforts to get some of my poems into the magazines. 1 learned, to my disappointment, that there was no demand for that kind of goods, and no money in the business ; and I could not live without money, so at length I y^yj reluctantly abandoned the poetical pro- fession, and turned all my attention to money-making. I courted Mammon in vain till I was thirty-eight years of age, at which time I was reduced to day labor as the only means of supporting my family, which consisted of seven; and saw no prospect of getting into any busi- ness or situation above a laborer. Such was my position at that period. And now I put to myself this question : Shall I, after the time and money spent in edu- cation, and the hopes and fancies indulged YIII. in time past, resign myself to the lot of a laborer, and be the dog and slave of others who may be my inferiors in all but wealth ? My spirit r-nswered, No. Labor I. must for a living ; but 1 will be more than a hewer of wood and a drawer of water. I will now fulfil the resolve of my childhood — I will write the long- promised book ; I will lose no time by it ; I will do it over and above all other work that I can do. Although the task is the most congenial, I would not have done it if I could have done anything else . There are untold thousands of men who are con- tent to labor only ; but they are congenial to the life, and never thought of anything above it. I am not ; I am a drudge only by necessity. I am not above labor ; but I am above labor as the sole occupation of life. So I began my task, and I do not dissemble when I say that I have done very little thus far ; but it must not be forgotten that I have done a day's work every day during the five years that have elapsed since I began, save three days only. I think the only place where IX. I yon can find another man who has done five years hVoor, witli only three days lost time, is the penitentiary. I do not say this boastfully, but as an excuse for the smallness of my book ; for I would rather I could boast of two lines that pleased me, and there are not many in the book that do please me. I have now given the reasons for writing this little book ; and I add, that had any avenue to common respect of men been open to me, I would not have aspired to the undignified position of poet to a people who do not want one. If the fri^-id who gave me the fatal book had given me a little '' shell " and oars to match, I might perhaps have wcj an enviable position among my countrymen ; but fate designed me for an humbler walk in life, and I accept its decree without vain regret. G. Summers. ; f SUMMERS' POEMS. My Forest Home of Childhood. Thy forest, Windsor, and thy green retreats, At once the monarch's and the muse's seats. —Pope. X. Nor muse nor monarch's seat, nor storied halls Knew that wild forest that my boyhood knew : The pioneer's log house, with bark-clad walls, Was most magnificent, and they were few. Such was our forest home — my mother dear Again in memory sweeps its spaci* us hearth; My father, wearied with his toils severe, Kebukes his noisy children's evening mirth. Or in a martial mood, I hear him tell Of famous Waterloo, or Trafalgar, Or how the victor and the vanquished fell, Wolfe and Montcalm, or other scenes of war. 'Twas winter when we entered this abode. And thither we v/ere borne upon a sled Drawn by a yoke of oxen, and the road - t -- Was where our fath3r'8 pilot footsteps led. 12 The heavy beasts, laborious and slow, Floundered along on the untrodden way, Half swimming through the deep new-fallen snow 0|er which they here us on the floating sleigh. Onward they toil'd, and when the queen of night Assumed the late dominion of the sun, We had assembled round the fire bright, And a new era in our lives begun. Deep in the forest axe Lad never scarr'd Save to erect a home, we play'd and slept ; The giant timber o'er our slumbers warr'd With the wild elements that o'er us swept. Secure in helpless innocence, we knew No anxious fears that evil would betide : Death comes not often where his prey are few, Nor were we conscious yet that children died. O happy time ! that vanislied all too soon, When we supposed that we would always be 1 When care was yet in em^bryo, or the moon. And death a fabled monster of the sea ! Our father's arm was strong, and strong his will To wield its strength, though skill'd in arts of school ; His axe resounds in wistful memory still ^^ And still his voice expounds the " Golden Lule." ^ > %■ 13 And soon the trees that o'er our dwelling tower'd Fell by the blade that forest heroes wield ; i The cabin, erst their spreading arras embower'd, \ Was soon the centre of a brushy field. However cold the morning, when it broke Our father's axe was heard upon the tree : The frost-bound forest wafts afar his stroke, The morning herald of industry. ^ ■.- " Spring came— the trees put on their green attire ; The exiled songsters of the woods returned— U Our little fields were cleared by aid of fire, The logs and brush, and all Dut stumps were burned. Corn and potatoes in the virgin soil - We planted then, and made a garden rude ; And nature, bounteous to the sons of 'oil, Ileturned a grateful yield for winter food. And as the sunny summer rolled away, We gambol'd in the margin of thp wild ; i^ And new-born joys were added every day To the unnumbered pleasures of a child. We watched the little birdies as they flew II : From tree to tree, and sang their native lays ; ^ And as familiar with their kinds we grew, ' We gave them names suggested by their ways. * My elder brother and I. 14 Bird-of-the-bush was one that never came . ^h Within the field, as some were wont to do ; Its hunn'd the path of man, and hence the name- that I were a bird to shun it too ! The robins built their nests upon the fence, And though we never sought them to molest, Our frequent visitations gave offence, Too late revealed bv the forsaken nest. We often wondered how they had been taught To build such pretty nests of moss and clay ; •And many an hour in mud and moss we wrought In vain, to build as good a nest as they. And now and then the role of brave we play'd, With bow and arrow, tomahawk and knife. In paint and mimic toggery ariay'd We sallied forth to visionarv strife. We scalped the mossy trees for fallen foes, ' And at our waists the mossy scalps we hung ; And with the trophies of our dexterous blows Suspended thus, we whooped and danced and sung. . . /Another winter came — another field ..J By force of arms was from the forest won ; \ And when another spring the earth revealed, \ The clearing process was again begun. 15 / And we assisted in the busy spell ; / We gathered chips and set the brush on fire ; [^ \ And this was work, but it was play as well, \ Till we were sated, and began to tire. But when the play-work could no longer bear The double name beneath the torrid sun, We were respited to the shade, and there, " liabes in the Wood," asleep, we play'd till noon. / And after dinner and it's hour of rest, it. H Our father, needful of our mite of aid. With lavish praise revived our morning zest. And we returned like men for service paid. 1 3 But when the forest donn'd its summer guise. Again in rapture to its shades we flew ; And as in forest craft we grew more wise, The circuit of our rambles wider grew. We kept our latitude by certain trees, itnown by unwonted attributes possessed, That we had seen before and noted — these Eelieved the 'wildering sameness of the rest. And when another autumn strew'd he ground With faded foliage, we had far explored The woody wild that girted us around. And nuts, and grapes, and plums in plenty stored. lb 16 Another winter came — another field, - By force of arms was from the forest won ; And we thus early were employed to wield Auxiliary steel ; and life's long task began. For implements of labor, we resigned Our bow and arrows and our fishing gear ; But to the " gentle craft " we still inclined, And were indulged with two half-days a year. The first was after hoeing of the corn, And just before we harvested the hay; The other after all the fields were shorn, And all their produce safely stow'd away. Nor other sport than this we ever knew : To unrespited toil we grew resigned ; And year by year our fields in number grew, And we in stature, but untutored mind. Thus passed our days, in labor to obtain Wherewith to live — an all-engrossing theme ; Life seemed commission'd only to sustain Its barren self, without a higher dream. But in my bosom lurked a secret flame, A w^eed spontaneous in congenial soil, ; A thirst for something undefined by name, . i > 1 ; Some higher summit to be scaled by toil. ' : . 4 17 At times it slumbered, but anon awoke To life, inten, ified by its repose ; Unwonted visions on my fancy broke, And stately " castles in the air " arose. But, not unlike a nursling of tlie grove, To graminivorous ravishers a prey, 'Gainst unpropitioufe tendencies it strove, Through years of blighting toil, then pined away The Phantom of the Sea. I A ship, ^vhose name had faded from the earth, When Noah's mother gave the captain birth. Sailed from a port of which there's nothing known To one whose name has perished with her own. Nor can I sing her captain's name and r.ce; These too have perished in the lapse of space. . Nor does tradition tell that boist'rous gales, Or gentle breezes filled her snowy sails Along her famous trip ; but as she near'd ^ The nameless haven unto which she steer'd, The heavens frown'd, and a terrific storm Burst with dread fury on her staggering form. Though shapely in her mould, and buoyant too, (Perhaps of cedar that on I^b'non grew, if t*-^l 18 She was constructed, or of gopher wood — For ships were built of such before the flood) She could not in that dreadful sea obey Her helm, and drifted from her course away. Her stern commander, resolute to gain The 'foresaid haven, strove with might and main; But as expedients failed he grew enraged. And, sailor-like, his ruffled sea assuaged By wonted blasphemy, and loudly swore By the Commander of both sea and shore That ere his watch another hour could tell, His ship should be in port, or he in hell ! Another moment, hurried to the vast Insatiate abyss of moments past, Had scarcely been, when lo ! a voice on high Pronounced this judgment, issued from the sky : — '* This ship is doomed immutable ; and they Who are on board, shall there forever stay ; , They all shall die ; for every mortal must ; r>ut never shall again return to dust : Tliey shall at once arise, though wan and pale. And phantom-like, to wield the wonted sail. Material cable shall no more restrain This ship, nor she arrive in port again ; The pole no longer shall her magnet sway, t Her destiny alone shall point her way; And she shall ever seek, where tempests roar, With speed that never ship attained before. A dreaded omen of disaster she Shall be to all — the Phantom of the Sea." ; :^;; ^ 19 Thus was she doomed, and her astonished c^e^^*, Benumbed with terror, knew not what to do. ]>ut now her destiny assumed command. And he that speechless stood with hehn in liaiid. Steered for the foamy vast ; and soon the shore >'aded forever from the crew she bore. He wliose command 'twas death to disobey An hour ago, was now as weak as they Who had so lately feared him ; and they would Have cast him headlong in the bt)iling flood — The fate of Jonah surely had been played, A shark performing what tlie whale was said To have performed ; and all had been as plain As truth, except disgorging him again. But they had heard the dread avenger say, '• Who are on board shall there forever "titay," And dared not move to counteract his will, For fear of being punished further still. Thus he escaped the vengeance of his crew That he had lorded, and on whom he rlrew The wrath of heaven — but we may assume That each was worthy of the common doom. Their sempeternal voyage now begun, Thev with chronometers and charts were done ; The sun's meridian altitude, that so Essential was, they sought no more to know ; Their latitude and longitude were hence A computation of Omnipotence. The warring elements that wonted erst To daunt the bravest, now might do their worst ; They feared no more the fury of the blast )ii!i 20 To rend the sail or snap the bending mast. Their ship was now insured 'gainst wind and tide, And time's disorganizing touch beside ; And they, her cew, were co-eternal ; Death Was but a moment of suspended breath, From which they would regenerate arise And co-exist in that eternal guise. What connnon or uncommon scenes betide On hoard the fated ship before they died ? When did they xiie ? and which of them was first To drain the mortal cup and know the worst ? When the defunct arose to join the corps From which he had been called not long before. What were the feelings that their looks express'd '^ With what emotion heaved each mortal breast ? Did some inertly stare, and some a])])aird, Kush from tlie presence of the dead recall'd ? Or had anticii^ation of tlie scene Made it less fearful than it would have been To ordinary mortals i Were they fed As were the Israelites ? or had they bread ^ Enough in cargo ? These are all unknown Save to Infinite Knowledge and their own. Sultice to know they died within the span Of time allotted to the creature Man. Death came at times, till all on board had paid The common tribute on transgression laid ; IJut for his spoils the shark pursued in vain, For as he cut chem down they rose again. They rose in the same fiesli and the same heart That in. the mortal breast had played its part, I i r 21 Eevived upon a self-sustaining plan As first it beat within the first of man ; liut to the image of their Goil they bear No other semblance faint ; their features wear The mortal agony, remorse and woe, When nature yielded to the conquering foe. Since that ill-fated voyage long ago ; — Ask not how long, for they are not that know When from the angry skies the fiat came That sealed her doom,and thence deduce liernamo — Till now, the " Phantom of the Sea " has been A bird of tempest, but in tempest seen. Just as the cuckoo on her joyous wing Pursues the footsteps of reioicing Spring, She in her one, immutable array Pursues where tempest leads the stormy way. '' Whence comestthou, and to what haven l)ound r Has often liailed her : but no otlier sound Than of tlie waves recoiling from her side, To that interrogation yet replied. But not unconsciously inert they stand, Like statues graven by the sculptor's hand ; Their solemn gestures frequently display The conscious tenant of the ghastly clay. Why do they not make answer ? they have tongues — Tongues of immortal flesh, and equal lungs ? 'Twas a blasphemous tongue that erst provoked The wrath of heaven, and their doom invoked, And from that data we may predicate Eternal silence added to their fate. 09 Of all unwelcome omens of the sea, She is the Empress — none so dread as she ; At her appearance appreliension takes I*ossession of the bold ; the bravest quakes ; And when in latitudes where storms prevail, The watch on high descries a distant sail, A secret dread announces it to be The sea-doomed herald of catastrophe. PART SECOND. ' 1 saw her once," a lioary seaman said. And drew a long, long breath, and shook his liead ; " A dreadful day — the roughest of the three — The last that ever dawned on all but me, Was drawing to a close, and j^nxious eyes Surveyed alternately the sea and skies ; But none were more than anxious, for they knew The ship was ably man'd and nearly new. I'd just resigned the helm to Albert Style, And sought my hammock to repose awhile ; But some unwonted feelings in my breast Denied my body more than wakeful rest ; And, as I lay, the simultaneous cry, 'A ship ! a ship ! ' announced her wery nigh ; And ere I'd time to move the captain roar'd, ' Starboard the helm — she's coming right board ! ' As from her nest the frightened swallow starts, And through the broken pane impetuous darts. So from my hammock through the hatch I flew. on 23 Inipell'd by fear that what I heard was true. But when 1 reached the deck, the sudden frig] it As soon abated when a second sight I^.eveal'd the stranger veering oft' our trac^k ; And we were also on the contra tack. A moment more and we were side by side. Their gunwales distant less than half a stiide, While we were drenched by the descending spray Shot by her prow that cleaved her billovvy way. The captain, with intent to ask her name. The port to which she sailed and whence she came, Had rais'd his trumpet, but he paused- -he gazed — He shudder'd, dropp'd it, and exclaimed, amazed : ' Zounds, it's the Phantom ! ' and his martial air Was gone — the captain was no longer there. But other eyes were on the stranger too ; All saw and felt the same astounding view — All recognized her, and the sudden fear. That an eventful night, and death were near, Struck every seaman's features with a hue Tliat spoke liim kinsman of her ghastly crew. " Swift as an eagle in the pathless sky Shoots from a point, the Phantom darted by. Nor gave a sign of what was to befall. More than her near approach applies to all ; And with all eyes upon her (every look Was but another copy of the book Of fear and awe) she vanished in the gloom, Leaving the fated to prepare for doom. Tliey gazed as long as her wide sails and white 24 4i ■I Prolonged her fading image yet in sight : Some longer gazed, and others turned away ; Some crossed themselves ; two only knelt to pray. Nothing occurred to add to our alarm, Or quell our fear of fate's uplifted arm, Till after midnight, when the storm grew more Intensely wild than it had been before ; Electric fulminations rent the skv In quick succession, culminating nigh ; O what an hour of tempest was the last Through which the hapless 'Mermaid' ever pass'd ! The ocean roll'd amain, the tempest blew. The thunder crash'd, the wicked lightning flew ! Athwart the heavens shot the shafts of light, Abrupt and strong, and stunn'd the sense of sight ! A feeble hope that fate might yet recall His cruel mandate, had been felt by all ; But no one yet indulged the feeble ray, Por with the helm it now was swept away : And now abandoned by the latest hope They stood, like felons, in adjusted rope ; But short was their suspense ; there came a flash, A dazzling blaze and an appalling ciash, And some fell senseless through the broken deck Of a dismantled hulk and floundering wreck ; While standing on their feet remained but few^, And they with consciousness suspended too. The stricken ' Mermaid,' like a stricken deer, Gave a convulsive bound and sudden veer, ai , And falling in the trough, the sea swept o'er Her shatter'd deck, to hide it evermore. 25 Expert in water, I resolved the sun Should rise again before my course was run ; And with a broken deck plank at my side, Lash'd to my waist, I launch'd upon the tide. ^ It might be fancied that the storm was plann'd By th' Oceanic God, or his command, With our destruction for the closing scene, To please his goddess or a wanton (lueen ; For soon as that was wrought, the storm was o'er, The thunder crashed, and tempest blew no more: The weaves roll'd sluggishly against tlieir will, And struggled with, each other to be still; And one brief hour beheld the angry tide To my advantage strangely modified ; And told the wanderer of the stormy sea, A breathless calm was Neptune's next decree. ' While there is life there's hope,' is better said Upon the ocean than upon the bed ; For when my substitution for a boat Was all that kept my body still afloat— When sight had failed the eye and sense the brain To recognize a ship, or search in vain. And life had dwindled to a beating heart, And that about to cease— the ' Rescue ' came. / 26 Epitaph ON A WELL-KNOWN MONEY LENDER OF LONDON. Being in want of money to attend the Normal School, and holding a mortgage on fifty acres of our old homestead foi t^e sum of five hundred dollars, just one fourth of the sum for which it was sold, and on which there was no other en- cumbrance, T applied to this ma^^ to negotiate the mortgage, which bore six per cent, interest and was payable in three equal annual instal- ments, and of which time nine months had expired. After hearing a statement of my need, and the particulars of m}^ claim, he told me to bring him an abstract of the title, and if satisfactory he would give me fifty per cent, of the face of the hiortgage. I was too indignant to reply, and quit his office immediately. I walked over to the market, near by, and sitting on the beam of a sample plow left on view on the corner of the market square, I composed the first six lines, and the rest was composed as I rode home. It was simply an outlet for my just indignation. I put it on paper the next day and laid it away, and thought little more of it till T resolved to publish, and then I called it forth. It may in some meas- ure sliow that a lich man cannot always with safety put his foot on the neck of the poor. p li! 27 EPITAPE. What means this grassy mound ; know, stranger. would yi>u ? It hides the mortal dust of * * , * * Which here as worthless residue was laid When hell's old claim, long overdue, was paid. ; Such was his heart, he never felt he had one, Save when he shaved a note that proved a bad one. His name is a memorial of woes That Vengeance' self might shudder to impose On their own minister. To many a yeoman. Who first met ruin under that cognomen. With what significance it strikes his ear ! ThinK how the war-whoop thrills the pioneer, Whose helpless little ones and fenceless wife - Fall by the mangling tomahawk and knife. A needy yeoman at the awful throne Of Mammon, kneels to supplicate a loan. What un propitious causes culminated In his appeal, is first interrogated, And all that appertains to his estate, To know^ the fish is worthy of the bait, And thence deduce the magnitude of onus His shoidders can sustain in shape of bonus ; Next the security : if note of hand — *' How many farmers' names can you command If all are owners of estate, a few (I love to aid the honest poor) will do ; , And, for their benefit, I always take o »> Si* My bonus in advance ; it tends to make The final payment easy : it will be A pleasing thing, M'hen it is due, to see (The heart, however sad, will be elated) One half the debt already liquidated. 1 • • -^••^{{►►S'-**! The Tea Party, Mrs. A, Mrs. B, Mrs. C, Mrs. D, Are inviued to tea by their friend Mrs. E. I )iscoursing an hour of this and of that, There eamo a brief pause in the gossiping chat, Which furnished the chance she desired, for A I'o complain that her John came home tips}^ to-day; And declare that his cruelty certainly would Have shattered her reason if anything could. Then spoke Mrs. B, who was very well known As the shield of all husbands on earth but her own : — " You really confound me, my dear Mrs. A, I can't, won't believe that you mean what j'uu say; That your husband has faults, I indulge not a doubt, (Can you find such a thing as a husband without?) But I've known Mr. A since my earliest years, And though man is not always just what he ap- pears, 29 I feel I have very good reason to say, Or think it at least, that you wrong Mr. A. When yon married, your friends and acquaint- ances thought You had done (no offence) quite as well as you ought ; And could we trade husbands like secrets, you know, I would give you a chance to give trouble for woe." Then spoke Mrs. C in a similar strain, She fancied that neither had cause to complain, But thought all the woes that belong to the state, Were combined in her single exceptional fate. Then spoke Mrs. D, in a tone tliat confess'd How deeply she mourned the sad fate of the rest : " Blest in a companion devoted and kind, And gifted with more than an average mind ; x\nd what to a woman is dearer than life. Who vows himself equally blest in his wife. Your sorrow, my. sisters, I cannot but share. Having none of my own that are heavy to bear ; You are much to be pitied ; T grieve to confess, In the grave I would certainly pity you less — Far better you all had been kid in your graves Than wed to these villains who treat you as slaves." With eyes upon D, and witli fury aglow, Like a park of artillery assaulting the foe : " What 1 villains and slaves ! " shouted A, B and C; " My stars I 0, the hussy ! " continued the three ; " Who sued for your sympathy, madame, or who 30 m ! t It I ■V ■ t! Would add to their sorro\y the pity of you ? That paragon husband in whom you rejoice Betrayed a low taste when he made you his choice. And D, what is he ? " (to each other appealing) ■ " His brother's wife's cousin was suspected of stealing ; Last winter his note in the bank was protested, For you know how we quizz'd her until she con- fess'd it ; His horse has the heaves, that's known all around, And it's only a month since his cow was in pound; And see him in church, in the habit he wore Last summer and part of the summer before ; And, who would believe it ? as dignified too As these 'villains' of ours would be in their new. And, add lo all these wliat we would not have hinted, But the fact of it is, it had ought to be printed. He has some queer disorder lie fain would conceal, Who knows but a plague like what Christ used to heal ? For we heard Dr. Mathewson ask Parson Hughes If he knew that her man had the hotrodox- blues." '^ But now speaks the hostess : — " The rights of air sex Is a problem that long has been known to perplex; Some grant us electoral franchise, and claim That the rights of the husband and wife are the same ; * Heterodox views. ol While others affirm we were never designed By nature to cope with the masculine mind ; But, whatever the issue may be, let us cleave To the rights we inherit as daughters of Eve. Of these I will only allude to the chief, Designed to afford our pent feelings relief, The right that we women possess to defame Our husbands at will, spite of honor and shame ; But this little truth to our credit be said. We brook from each other nor pity nor aid. ••■«- To Josephine in Heaven. A SONCt. We sat on the bank of the Wisconsin River, On a high, frowning bluff that hangs over the stream ; Could the rapturous spell have continued forever I had sung an adieu to futurity's dream. And now were it thus that a wish could endow me A ravishing scene of the past to restore, Should all, except heaven and thee, disavow me, I would meet thee again on that wild rocky shore. 32 So t'aiu to my bosom again would I press thee, As wont, in impassion'd embrace of my arms, I frequently thus in my slumber caress thee, And dream of thy bosom-awakening cliarms. So falsely has fortune caress'd to deceive me, So brilliant the dawn of love's mutable day. The most she can give is the least she can leave me, Remembrance of what she has taken away. r <•» Lament. The cares of life can never come Where life is not ; Be then the refuge of tl|e tomb My welcome lot. The nectar brew'd for youth to sup Ne'er wet my lip : Fate mix'd a vile terrestrial cup For mine to sip. My heart in boyhood's early years Was crush'd with toil ; My young hands till'd, my sweat and tears Bedew'd the soil. f t 'si 33 Childhood was all the youth for me . That fate design'd ; And youth is age— infirmity Of limbs and mind. Love came, and its enchanting beam Illum'd my way ; But like a sweet, delicious dream It pass'd away. Love cannot brook the storms that sweep O'er life's bleak plain ; The gentle flowpv can only peep And fade av;ain. Dialogue BETWEEN AN AMERICAN KEFUGEE OF THE CIVIL AVAR AND A CANADIAN. CxVNADIAN — We wonder not a little to behold The darincf progeny of dauntless heroes, Who fought atlLexington and Bunker's Hill, Fleeino- from civil discord to our land To brook the ridicule of cursed " Britishers." 34 American — It was because I disavowed the right And need of arms to arbitrate our difterence, That I came hither : had a foreign arm Been raised against us, I liad then committed My family to the care of the Almighty, And joined in the chastisement of our foes. Canadian — , '^ -,,,,.; ■■.■^■' "" And do you recognize your country's weal Of greater moment than yotir family's ? " American — My country's welfare is of greater moment Than that of any family it contains, * Because its good or ill is that of all ; So to the care of God would I resign My wife and children at my country's call. Canadian — Think you the arm of God a stronger fence Than you can raise against your country's foes ? American — Who thinks not so, thinks not with valid mind ; Man's arm is feeble— God's omnipotent. Canadian — Granting your country's welfare such pre-emi- nence '■:•;.., -•.;.-:,:-■ ;■■■,,-,■;;■'■.. ,,,.,35 '■'''::-;:.::-:.^vr;:;|. . , Over your family's, and the arm of God Infinite potency to succor either ; Can you gainsay the wisdom to assign The weightier labor to the stronger arm, — Your country's safety to the arm of God, And take the meaner charge upon your own ? Lament of the Last Indian of his Tribe, ? WHICH WAS NEARLY EXTERMINATED HY THE SMALL- POX. Like some scarr'd tree upon the mountain's l)reast. Swept by an avalanche of all the rest, I stand alone, and wear the scars as well Of that dread scourge by which my kindred fell ; That terrible disease from which the brave Has no defence, no amulet to save His loved ones, nor himself — swept o'er the land. As sweeps the prairie fire, or wave of sand Across the burning waste. Alike the strong And feeble perished as it swept along. A few survived ; my rugged frame defied The witliering blight, but all I cherished died. And when the demon visitant was fied. The living told their fingers for the dead. And yet ibuad graves, yet in their tears beheld The vacant wigwam and the graves that held i !!!; Its fated occupants, who dwelt so late In peace and calm content, that ever wait On heaven-approved desires, and only tliese They ever felt and labor'd to appease. * The chase — the wild, invigorating chase — Gave raiment, food and pastime to our race ; And to ii;s lu.st of glory ample scope. Aspiring to renown, some learned to cope With hunters of repute, and satisfied At once their wants and their inherent pride. And now the few who braved the fell disease Have perished one by one (as giant trees On the tornado's path, succumb at length To time and tempest in declining strength), Till 1 alone have yet to tread the road , That leads the red man to that blest abode, Where loved ones lost are to his arms restored, And boundless wilds through endless time ex- plored. NOTE TO THE ABOVE. The summer of my twenty-second year was spent in Wisconsin, and while there I saw an old Indian who was said to be the last of his tribe, nearly the whole of which perished by the small- pox about 40 years before ; and of those who sur- vived, he was the last. I versified his story, and the above is part of my effort, the rest being for- gotten. This poem, complete, was one of those tliat I tried in vain to get published in the maga- iiues. I thought at the time if they rejected it 37 as being inferior to those they published in each issue, it must be very much below my valuation. l>ut still 1 continued to "make my own review," G. S. A Prayer. % thou at whose supreme behest This earth would cease to roll, Take back and doom as suits thee best This agonizing soul. Not on a coward's trembling knee I tor thy mercy cry : Do as may seem the best with me, I only ask to die. However wayward has my will l»y prompting passion been, I'm but the issue of thy skill, A passion-moved machine. 1 fear not hell, and how can death A hapless wretch appall, Who knows the pangs of parting breath Are in the fate of all, 'Tis time my joyless days were spent. My sinking frame inurned, Back to its native element This aching heart returned ! 11 If 38 No more the glowing hopes of youth Their lustre round it shed ; As life reveal'd its bitter truth, Its sweet delusions fled. No longer equal to endure The hardships of a slave, That last asylum of the poor, Eternal sleep, I crave. -:h The Gifted Hog. There was of yore a hog of common strain, By chance endow'd with human heart and brain ; In full development an equal mind, And sensibility acute, refined ; And though in hog's exterior nature drest, Ethereal fire glow'd within his breast. His lot was cast with others of his race, , Hogs that excelled in every swinisli grace : With simultaneous rush and scrambling greed They gorged with hoggish zest their daily feed, But he disdained to scramble for his swill, And meekly waited till tliey gulped their fill ; Or if at times, his dignity suppress'd, By craving hunger, struggled with the rest, Superior strength right hoggishly denied His equal right, and rooted him aside. It Alas ! poor hog, his share was ever small, And very often he got none at all ! Too little hog to scramble for his share, He yet was too mnch hog to live on air ; And thus denied the food he could not want, His limbs grew feebie and his body gaunt ; In famine's ghastly arms he pined away, Still more ethereal, fading day by day : Until at length he gasped his final breath, And gave his animal remains to death. Behold the hapless votary of song. Unfit to grapple with the demon wrong, Unskiird to scjuabble at the common trough (3f fortune ; roughly, rudely elbc^w'd off. By an illiterate herd of Imman swine, Who know but one possessive pronoun — mine. Indian Warfare. SUilUESTEL) BY VIEWING AN INDIAN BATTLE (rROUND — SUPPOSED TO BE SUCH BY THE NUMBER OF SKULLS AND BONES MINGLED WITH THE SiS.ND. No scenes of war symbolicly di splay 'd 1 No trace of combat more than carnage made ! No hieroglyphics, no traditions tell Whom victory crown'd or who for victory fell — f What dread combatant, leader of the brave " ■ On many a war-path, fated to the grave — What young aspirant to the war-dance fought, And full admission to its glories bought, Bore oft* the ghastly trophy at his side, ^ , To join the dance probation late denied. But still, as ruin points the channel where The wild tornado roll'd its floods of air ; Or bleaching skeletons the vale of death, Where the dread upas breathes its deadly breath ; These rfr'ir .itness that a fierce affray Has here betide, on some long-vanished day. Some stubborn question, too complex for talk Was here debated with the tomahawk. A troop of braves against a troop of braves Array'd, my fancy summons from their graves ; And in the arms and costume of the race. And combat signall'd on each dusky face, The dauntless warriors to the carnage close, To measure prowPS;^« with their willing foes. Not from the i''?niit of yon hill afar, By aid of optic \^ .(^ the helm of war, But face to face, witli tomaliawk and knife. Their chiefs begin the sanguinary strife — Stir in their dusky braves the pulse of war. And sound its echoing whoop through vales afar. The dauntless brave, by feats of valor known. Seeks not the f alp less sought for than his own ; And ere he fei: r s to meditate a blow% With dauntlesss mien confronts an equal foe, To give with valor, or with triumph claim Hi' 41 A bnlliant jewel for the ring of fame. Thus each to each in vengeful mood they yoke— One hand impells, the other fends a stroke- Equal to fend as to impart a blow, Prolongs the conflict, yielding to and fro ; While from their wounds the reeking life-blood teems, Adown their swarthy limbs in crimson streams. More desperate now than since his course begun. The stricken brave that feels it nearly run— His latest hope to perish with his foe- Invokes the genius of a dying blow. Hic^h o'er his plume his tomahawk he twirls, And at his wary victor fiercely hurls ; Then, sinking to the earth no more to rise. Folds his spent arms and like a warrior dies. is A Midnight Soliloquy. To keep starvation from my door ('Tis vain to think of doing more; Over this engine, night and day, I pine my ebbing life away, With not a sympathizing friend To pity what he cannot mend. Better for poet, far, to be, If not the head of a family, The tenant of a nameless grave, Than some prosaic worldling's slave. 42 •<*: I ^ i I Who fosters for the art of sonu: Attraction negatively strong. But in domestic bonds am I, From penury's inclement sky, Denied the refuge dread, to die : My consort and the little flowers, Whose infant life was lit from ours, Demand my labor, and my arm To shield when danger threatens harm ; Else would I close this mortal scene, And join the myriads who have been. To My Angel Daughter in the Voice of Her Mother. In thine elysian home of rest, My angel daughter, do they know With what emotion throbs the breast Of friends untimely left below ; Or are they, in that happy sphere, Unconscious that they once were here ? As other joys were lost in thee When thy young life to earth was given, So shall all other sorrows be Till death shall reunite in heaven Thy soul that never wore a stain And mine from sin redeem'd again. 43 I dream'd last night thou hadst return'd, And started up with outstretch'd arm ; To clasp thy form my bosom yearn'd ; But the exertion broke the charm : The truth flash'd through my 'wilder'd brain, And night closed round my heart again. Before the fell destroyer came And mark'd thee for his early prize, Life never warm'd a little frame So beauteous in a mother's eyes ; And as it faded day by day, Grew more angelic in decay. Life's closing scenes, o'er which the veil Of everlastin.cj slumber fell — The gaze so fix'd, and features pale- Deep graven in remembrance dwell ; And while that sense can still retain, One sad, dear image will remain. Not till affix 'd the seal of death Thy trusting heart became afraid, When, startled by the waste of breath, Thy pleading eyes beseech'd for aid : The anchor wonted to restrain Was cast confidingly in vain. My arm was thy maternal shield, And not till that distressing hour I! tii i 44 Hadst thou in vain for aid appealed, Nor knew it was a finite power : Than mine, a higlier, mightier throne Was to thy little heart unknown. But death, that sever'd us, reveal'd How helpless w^as tliat arm to save ; The secret that till then was seal'd, Alas ! was open'd wdth the grave ; And thou by light divine canst see I am what thou hast ceas'd to be. Epitaph on Riel. Sedition, here thy votary lies, By all his own forsaken ; Like every votary of guilt, By justice overtaken. If he has gone with thee to dwell. Arch Minister of Evil, Hold fast the reigns that govern hell. Or he will soon be devil. And though to heaven he sneaks his way Through some back gate, unguarded, He'll sing your old seditious lay, And be alike rewarded. 45 And when the scene in heaven is past, And he expelled the skies, — See, from the ashes of the last, This new born Phcjenix rise. . He hastes to hell, with bold design On its imperial raiment ; By that same guilt that made them thine, Proclaim'd an equal claimant. The above poem was recited extempore in a bar-room to a number of volunteers who were about starting for Red River to quell the Riel insurrection. The volunteers stared at me while I w^as reciting and then looked at the landlord, and he in turn looked at me, and we all looked at each other all round, but said nothing. This was my first recitation of poetry, and my last. I would not have committed the sin this one time, but the occasion seemed to me so appropriate and inviting. The only merit of this is in its hasty production. I think it has some in that respect. J. k3, On My First Grey Hair. I'm growing old, I'm turning grey, Youth and its hopes alike are gone ! Mv future for a single day That's past, if I may choose the one I 46 Sudden Wealth. Awake, Muse ! and ply thy sacred art, That few acquire, and even none impart. Thy theme, a heart by poverty distress'd For twenty years, and then with riches blest. This age will doubtless disaj)prove our song, But ages doubtless have been proven wrong : Death has transform'd in ages that are sped, A living rhymster to a poet dead ; So to a future age we dedicate Our little tai6, and iiasten to relate. Since sweet delusions warm'd the youthful mind, Since life was bliss, and love was bliss refined, For twenty years of poverty and pain I courted Mammon, but 1 sued in vain. Avails it now, what fruitless means I tried : All that avail'd me not, oblivion hide. My last and sole endeavor that repaid My care and toil was for petroleum made. My stock — a site and equipage secured, .1 will to toil and limbs to toil inured, A little purse on which T only drew For daily food and wages weekly due ; 1'hese were my stock-in-trade when I began To seek in fortune's favor, that of man. As through each stratum of the rock I bored, Nor found it yet, I still the next explored ; Till means exhausted warned me to suspend The search, l»ut hope impell'd me to extend. 47 With each to-morrow promis'd me success, But debt incurring brought me but distress. Judging the future by the fruitless past, I to despair resigned my hopes at last, Keserving for my heirs the choice of sorrow, To toil to-day or want for bread to-morrow. But scarcely had I ceased to urt^e the chase, When, lo ! the treasure rushed to my embrace. At sudden wealth, what rapture tlnills the breast That poverty and debt had long distress'd .' The wretch who trembling on the scaffold stands, With rope adjusted, and with pinion'd hands, Whom pardon rescues from the ruthless law. Just when the arm is stretched the bolt to draw. Feels not a rapture more intense than I When want's deep fountain of distress ran dry. And yet T love not gold, but ! 1 hate The poor man s friendless, disrespected state ! See from the pinnacle of wealth an ape, Ilesembling man in little mor<' than shape. Placed bv inheritance on hUAh look down On honest labor with disdainful frown. In a toy thimble you miglit store his sense, And with his pride inflate balloons immense ; The greatest vice that knocks not at his door Consists in giving to the idle poor. Yet is he honor'd, while intrinsic worth — The gift of God — lies trodden in the earth. But when to poverty is added debt — O, powers celestial ! aid me to forget — With some oblivious balm Jinoint mv brain, 48 And bid reniembraiice never wake ao:ain ! Envy, no doubt, on hearing I had struck A copious vein, exclaimed, " A fool for luck ! '' But envy knows society prefers Such lucky fools to poor philosophers ; Xor even envy's self can long withhold ^ The homage due, or rather paid, to gold. •: . Wlien the report of my success had been Confirmed, and many had my fountain seen, How changed was T from the despised and mean ; Nor was the change effected by degrees, As spring enrobes or fall denudes the trees : Behold a gentleman at once reveal'd, That filth of poverty had long concealed : I'hus on the public way the diamond lies — Adhesive clay deludes unconscious eyes, Till solvent elements the gem betray, And some rejoiced pedestrian bears away. Now, disrespect, misfortune's brindled hound, Late at my heels, some other victim found ; In every face a new-born friendship shone, And every voice assumed its softest tone. The cold, the scornful and averted eye. That seeks a refuge till the pooi goes by, That late had been my daily wont to meet, As to and from my work I trod the street, I meet no more ; all meet me with a smile. And pay some fawning compliment — to oil. The portly merchant, standing in his door, Just as I've passed him many times before, Now nods and smiles and seems at once to say. 49 " Purchase at pleasure and at pleasure pay ; " The doctor, too, whom I so long have known. So often met in crowds and oft alone, Who never deigned to know me till the night When fortune raised me to his gracious sight, Salutes me now with that familiar air That fortune's favorites to each other wear.« And many more that wonted not to greet, Perceive a fellow-creature when we meet ; And Mammon's dog, that my old raiment tore, Won by my new attire, assails no more. Ye sons of fortune, in her arms caress'd, Lull'd on her lap and fondled to her breast. With every luxury the age bestows That art contrives and fertile valley grows, Furnished by her indulgent hands alone, With no auxiliary efforts of your own — Can you, by virtue of your higher state. Suspend a moment the decree of fate — Can you, confronted by the champion death, Add to your number one forbidden breath ; Or can the skillful chemist separate The mingled ashes of the poor and great ; Or are your souls more precious in the skies, Or from what other source does pride arise. This poem was suggested by a story I heard told of a man of small means, who invested his all in the sinking of an oil well. After his money was all gone he continued to drill till he became involved in debt, and his men refused to work ^£J ¥ n V I \P. 50 longer unless paid up. He prev^ailed on them to work one day more, and in the last hour of that day, when the drill was put down for tlie last time, it pierced through the rock into the long sought oil, and he became a rich man immediately. Toil-Gates on the Path of Fame. Once when the Fates were in a pinch for stamps (For they were sometimes in pecuniary cramps). They sold to Human Jealousy their claim, Their right and title to the path of fani*i. When Mr. Jealousy had paid the bill He had not left wherewith to run the mill ; But to his brother Envy he disclosed His hapless plight, who brother-like proposed To purchase half the road, and rermburse One-half the recent outlay to his purse. The offer was accepted, and the twain, With equal interest in the thorny lane, Applied themselves to make their purchase pay — A project worthy of such men as they ; At length, ignoring every other plan (Besides the welfare of aspiring man), They put on toll-gates, and a rate per poll From all aspirants they exact as toll. Their slavish votaries, the critic crew. Demand the toll as Genius passes through : He pays — he looks defiance at his foes — • Shakes from his feet their dust, and on he goes. 51 bo It St A Revery ; or, The Poet's Progress. This is an allegoiical composition, in which cou- rent kind Assail the bold a. iring mind. Of these, the chie long, <^aunt and grim (And many a round youli have with him). Is Poverty; and in his rear Lurks mental degradation near, Besides a namek =i brood that owe Their being to thut giant foe. Though fierce an- 1 many are his foes His friends are often worse than those. The apathy of those possess'd Of " portion of the truly bless'd " Mangles the lone, poetic heart More sorely than the critic's dart. Not to intimidate, I bode These dangers ; for on every road To fame the valiant never fail, Though foes and friend-foes both assail, For dauntless energy and toil 56 To till the mind's unbroken soil, Can compass highest ends designed, And yield the rarest fruits of minds. Shame to thy country that she gave Not yet poetic dust a grave." So spoke the sage, and, like a light Extinguished, vanished from my sight. Eoused from the dull, lethargic state In which so manv mortals wait For fame and fortune, I arose, > ^ ^ ,, Bidding to indolent repose - |^ J? :;J A last adieu, I took the road : ' -^ ■ 1 Of sonnet, epigram and ode. }^ .1 a :':'''- ^^'-'M^^^-:-^- ':■: But, lo I I had not travelled long , ; When Fate's Appraiser came along And thus accost: "The will of Fate is "That I shall brand you 'small potatoes.' Not at the present, Sir Auxiliary, Though Fate should doom me to the pillory. As long as I can lift my hand, I'll brook not your ignoble brand. Tell Mr. Fate to go to— well I would not send him ({uite to hell, But some remote, untrodden shore, • - Where he can frown on me no more. But, just as though he never heard me, He, without halting, strode toward me, And in a moment had me collar'd And for assistance loudly hallooed ; When Poverty and Want of Learning /S 't'^ 57 Sp rang from an ambush at this warning. The first was of gigantic height And so terrific to the sight. The symbols are not yet invented By which he can be represented. So, of his guise I'll say no more Than o'er his frowning brow he wore What mortal eye ne'er saw before, A turban wove of children's curls, The locks of little boys and girls ; Cradled in want and turned adrift In childhood for themstlves to shift ; To whom a shrivell'd crust had been A dainty morsel seldom seen, Whose naked, wasted friendless forms, Pierced while in life bv winter's storms. He'd here and there found lyinor dead Through want of shelter, clothes and bread. A glance at his companion told He had been cast in different mould : His sleepy eyes could just be seen Their slightly parted lids between ; His bull-frog nose was wide and flat, His cheeks hung down and shook witli fat, His features waked the common thought Of being better fed than taught. He was a foe that few would fear, With none to render succor near ; A dastard scarcely would be daunted 58 "r-'k \\y such a sluggish foe confronted ; But with a desperate fiend to back him The bravest onlv dare attack him. When by these-cut throats first assail'd, 1 for a moment only quail'd, But less through valor than despair, I faced them with a dauntless air. (h'im Poverty advanced, elate, To aid the underling of Fate ; And, after a profound congee To him, at once confronted me, And said, beginning stern and slow : " Behold in me vour fellcst foe ! And on my fat companion see The symbols of the next degree. 'Tis by the King of Kings' command That I against you lift my hand, It was to me by him assigned To be the scourge of human kind, — Yes ; on that memorable dav When man was lured to disobey. And from the grateful arbor led, Forth wandered he to toil for bread. Obedient to that high behest, I've done, and still will do mv best To scourge them without intermission Till he revokes the said commission. Fve crushed beneath mv cruel feet The noblest hearts that ever beat. While many of a happier fate — 59 But to the problem on the slate : — You're on the thorny path of fame In quest of an exalted name, With three stern enemies around you Combined to harass and confound aou, Aud others ambush'd on the way Will pounce like panthers on their prey. What think you ? Have you any chance 'Gainst such resistance to advance ? Listen till I relate a few Exploits I've had with such as you ; And when you hear the revelation, You'll see your hopeless situation." I bow'd submission, and he told What turned my life streams chilly cold ; lie told of many a brilliant mind That noblest aims and ends designed, Whom, after fending many a blow, His iron arms had stricken low. Digressing, then, from " such as you," And humbler paths adverting to. He briefly glanced at general life, Then made a text of man and wife. He talked of love with mocking mien, With oaths and liippant jests between. He said he'd entered many a cot Tn which he dwelt, but found him not ; For, soon as he appeared in view, liOve. like a startled partridge, flew. He boasted of unnumbered pairs He crush'd with overwhelming cares; I i , i ii I 60 Of widows' groans and orphans* cries, Of blighted hopes and broken ties ; Of many, many a magic chain That Hymen proudly wrought in vain, And of his victims, named a few. Of whom were several that I knew. Of one young pair, remembrance still Eetains the fate, and ever will. He said, to search the world around, A nobler pair could not be found In love's enchanted fetters bound. Eich in affection, virtue, health, Honor, and all but worldly wealth, And that they doubtless would have won Had not domestic strife begun. He strove with all his wonted arts To separate their loving hearts ; And from his wily, crafty brain Drew many new-born schemes in vain ; Each to the other was so true That all his wiles and craft could do Could not their faithful souls estrange, Noi in them work tfie slightest change. But when he was about to yield To Love the glory of the field, The Devil sent the timely aid Of an old, mischief-making maid. Who leap'd Love's breastwork with a bound And swung her two-edged cutlass round. Laying at every spiteful blow Some happier sister's consort low, 61 Because a man had never kiss'd her, While one had wed her younger sister. Now, when her hellish work was done, The well-defended fortress won, And Love resigned his gleaming blade To an old, withered, wrinkled maid, " My heel," the weeping husband said, " Shall crush that female serpent's head." He'd just returned from this digression Back to the problem of progression. When on the scene arrived a pair Of heroes, Hope and valiant Dare, Who, when they saw how matters stood, Joined with the weak as heroes should, And three to three for life began The warfare of aspiring man. A Dream. After retiring one night, I lay thinking of the fabled stream whose waters restore and perpetuate youth, and falling asleep in that mood, I dreamed the following lines : — O ! for the stream of life's eternal morn, The glowing thought forever newly born. Unfading zest of raptures that abide, And passion ever in the swel liner tide ! 62 A Stormy Night. m If I i^ COMPOSED ON THE NIGHT OF THE CIREAT STORM IN THE AUTUMN OF 1873, IN WHICH MANY ., VESSELS WERE WRECKED AND MANY LIVES LOST. Hark ! how the trees uprooted fall Before the fury of tlie squall, While every still succeeding blast Proclaims the mercv of the last. ft/ I hear the bending forest groan, : I hear the lake's prophetic moan. Like distant thunder's lingering roar It rolls along tlie sounding shore. A ' How many eyes to-night must close, ' - Not in their wonted sweet repose, In their accustom'd beds, beneath The waves in the repose of death ? What youthful hearts of fond devotion, That throb with early love's emotion. Whose passion, though of gentle form, Exceeds the silence of the storm, Ere this terrific night shall be Deducted from futurity, With all their dreams of future bliss, Must perish in the wild abyss I What ship that often has withstood The howling winds and rolling flood, O'ercome by their superior power. Must hail this night the fatal hour. Long having nobly toiled to keep \. G o O Her charge above the boiling deep, At length, despoiled of helm and mast, The dreadful moment comes at last. Her noblest effort vainly made To mount the waves 'gainst her array'd She founders : of a floundering wreck, The angry waters sweep the deck, And round her eddy, surge and roar With rage transcending all before, As, round the struggling prey he holds, The boa coils his tightening folds. The piteous wail, the hurried pray'r. Uplifted hands and frenzied stare. The one or two who kiss the rod, And bless the chastening hand of God ; A brave commander's gallant mien Through all the wild, tumultuous scene, At once on fancy's vision pour, And banish sleep from eyes on shore. How many souls unfit to meet Their maker at the judgment seat, Shall from this closing drama rise To meet their author in the skies ? Lord, let their hapless doom allay Thy vengeance at the judgment day. Epitaph on a Child. More blest the spirit that returns to heaven TTnstain'd by cruilt, than that with guilt forgiven. Ill I l « M lli lHW II BW 64 l! Sitting in the Dark. " Why sit ia the dark, Xelly; have you no light?" Said a young married man as he enter'd one night. " I love," answered Nelly, " to sit in the dark ; " And the young husband laugh 'd at his Nelly's remark. J Jilt he would not have laugh'd could he then have divined What he yet had to learn of a gloom-loving mind. Through the years that have pass'd since that evening till now The clouds of ill-omen have darken'd her brow : Her heart, not unkind, is devoted to gloom, And she dwells in her house like a ghost in a tomb. At every small cloud that flits over the sky. She thinks that a dreadful tornado is nigh ; TLe smallest of troubles affright her and fret her. And she groans o'er misfortunes that never beset her. You w*ould think to behold her, so woefully mild. That she mourned for the loss of her favorite child; While all that kind nature in wisdom has given Are happy and bright as the day-beams of heaven. And now, my young captain in want of a mate For the old but staunch ship, "The Connubial State," Thus interrogate her before you embark : " Lovest thou, my dear Fanny, to sit in the dark ? " And except her reply be emphatically, "No," She'll (juail when the winds of adversity blow. 65 Prayer of the Rich Man for the Poor on Christmas Eve, 1878. Father, I thank thee for my ample store, Though some less worthy have been given more ! I thank thee, Father, for a heart to feel The wounds of others, in a wish to heal ; How oft have I, appealing to thy throne, Engrossed in others' weal, forgot my own : But be it ever so ; for thou wilt not Forget him. Lord, who has himself forgot. On this, the eve of that i':spicious morn When Christ, our Saviour, in the flesh was born ; Eve of compassion for the child of need, To clothe, if naked, and if hungry, feed. For low-born poverty I supplicate Such frugal blessings as beseem the state, That little wanted bv the rude to be As blest as I in my refined degree. I would not. Lord, beget unknown desires By granting more than sorest want requires ; For in the vulgar, more than higher state New wants are born of wants that we abate. But, Lord, be merciful, and give them bread, Let none this night go supperless to bed, Nor rise to fast — let all be amply fed. Fain would I pass this night from door to door Dispensing blessings to the worthy poor : But, Lord, I cannot, dare not so reveal, A want of faith in thee to guard their weal. li 66 . . But, having thus my sympathy express 'd — My deep compassion — I rehire to rest, Trusting in him who sees the sparrow fall, , > To know the wants of each and succor all : But whether, Lord, thou f cedes t the poor or not, Eorget not those who have themselves forgot. A Character Frequently Found. To those who in standing financial excel him He is servile and fawning, would kiss where they tell him ; To those wlio in standing pecuniary match him He is social and surly in turns as they catch him ; But those by misfortune to penury bound, 0, Providence, shield from this insolent hound ! But few in that station, if any, than he More plainly beseem the unwelcome degree ; And such is his place. His egregious conceit Makes life in the sorest of penury sweet. He doubts the creation of this little planet Had long been accomplish'd when he came — tu man it, And fancies the theory convincingly strong That it could not have wanted his influence long ; But how it wall want him when called to the task Is a question he has not the courage to ask. ^*. 67 Imagination. Eternal foundation of ethereal joy, Imagination, what had been my life Hadst thou not been my refuge in distn^ss, My haven in the storms of human life. How often hast thou carried me away From cruel poverty's belittling cares, Leaving a while the perishable husk Of immortality, to be resumed. And not unfrequent in my hours of toil, Mated with others of prosaic thought. Or under the restraint imposed on speech By galling servitude, or when alone, I with an errant comet for my steed. Have through inanity immense career'd ; Urging my courser to the speed of thought, Shot through his orbit of a thousand vears In a few seconds — but, alas ! returned, O'er my degraded lot wept tears of blood. To a Miser. " There is a tear for all that die," So Byron wrote. If true it be, Some blear, old money-hunting eye, Will pay that tribute small to thee." il 11 68 Character of Mr. P. 'f Master of arts to seem was Mr. P., ■ ' . Profound in cunning and hypocrisy ; • ^ Pride, selfishness, hypocrisy and guile, The first voluptuous as the others vile. Were his chief attributes, nor had he more, Save but the bastard offsprings of the four. His was an arm that stretch'd not to relieve, A hand that open'd only to receive: To rob a wife in labor of her bed, And snatch the pillow from a dying head. Are feats for which he was sublimely fit. When clad in mail, wdth arms and legal writ ; But wanting these, he wanted heart to dare What outraged manhood could not tamelv bear. m^f&' ^-^- If-. Epitaph ox A MAN WHO PRETENDED TO BE A GREAT HUNTER, AND AVHO DELIGHTED IN TELL- ING HIS WONDERFUL ADVENTURRS. Here lies a hunter great, to whom Eob Eoy, Or Ximrod's self, was an apprentice boy ; The bears and wolves and panthers he has shot Could eat at once the deer that he lias not. H 44- 01) To Harper Brothers, New York. ox RECEIVING FROM THEM A REJECTFD POEM. Gentleinen : — •'.-"-:■:-:; ^-^/x: ..-;. .v- " - . As story says, a Grecian throng , A speaker loudly cheer'd and long ; And lie, with proud, enraptured gaze, Inhaled the sweet perfume of praise : But when the votaries of his (3,ause Had ceased their loud, prolonged applause, A sage in the assembled crowd Exclaimed, in accents stern and loud : " In truth, if thou hadst wisely spoken, This audience )iad not silence broken." I hence infer that the reverse Is true of my rejected verse : Had I less "wisely " poetized it. You surely had not thus despised it. Henry K. White. Man of the world, whose tears for perished worth .Abate the loud demands of wealth and birth, , If thou for genius bright Hast one to spare, Go to the grave of White And weep it there. 70' Reply TO A FOPPISH STUDENT OF THE NOEMAL SCHOOL, WHO HEAEING ANOTHEE STUDENT MAKE COMMENDA- TOEY EEFEEENCE TO SOME LINES I HAD SHOWN HIM, JEEEINGLY TOLD ME NOT TO HIDE MY LIGHT UNDEE A BUSHEL, BUT EDIFY THE COMPANY WITH SOME OF MY , ' ' HIGH POETEY. The Bible tells us not to put Our lamp beneath a bushel ; but Avails it whether so conceal'd Or unto sightless eyes revealed. i-.:i Opportunities Lost. A traveller entering on a leafless waste, From a luxuriant landscape, look'd behind, And sighed for prospects he had pass'd in haste, To more enchanting scenes he thought to find. xl. So when we enter life's autumnal years, Compared with sunny youth, so bleak and void. We look behind us through a mist of tears, At life's fair prospects w^e but half enjoy'd. o 71 Funeral Notices. How strange that death should always strike The man that others vastly like ; While countless thousands disrespected, Are by that friendless state protected From his assault : but it is true, That he is wonted so to do ; , ' For every funeral notice ends : " Was iiuch esteem'd by many friends." Lines written in a Young Lady's Autograph Album. As life's now partly written sheet Is fill'd, as day and night repeat, In each succeeding line, May faith and hope divine And sinless pleasure meet. d. HMHI 72 The Swan and the Turkeys. A FABLE. r. rcf When the achievements of the immortal Colum- bus were yet in the womb of futurity, and the islands of unexplored seas were arrayed in all the wild grandeur of unravished nature, on one little, isolated island dwelt a community of swans — beautiful, white, singing swans. Although these birds were aware of tlie existence of other birds on other islands, from the tales of wandering- swans, they had no intercourse with any creature inferior to themselves ; and as beauty and grace- fulness were their every-day attire, and their in- ward nature equal to their external appearance, they consequently were less conscious of their own attractiveness, and, therefore, their love of admiration and praise was not very great. But although this was generally true, it was not true in every case ; there was one notable exception, which is the subject of my tale. This was a young swan, who was fully conscious of himself. As there were many others of equal beauty and attractiveness, he drew far less attention and adu- lation from his associates than he yearned to enjoy. But he did not blame them ; he knew the cause ; he knew there were many swans who dif- fered from him only in being less fond of adula- tion, and in being content with their share of the whole which they unitedly bestowed on their own 73 superior race. Now, it was known to these swans that there was another island lying about as far from them as a swan could fly in a day, and this island was inhabited by a bird called a turkey — a bird far inferior to themselves — a coarse, ungainly, unmusical bird, but of kindly disposition. These facts had been gained from some swans who had visited the island and stayed over night, and it was said that the turkeys made much ado over their strange, white visitors. Now this young swan conceived that it would be more pleasing to him to live with these turkeys, and be worshipped and idolized by them, than to live with his own kind; and he would leave nothing behind him worthy of his notice, for in himself he would take away all the highest attributes of his race, and he felt sure that the turkeys would have no other gods but one when he arrived and made known his purpose of living among them. When he ex- pressed his views to his associates, the younger ones laughed at him, but the old swans gravely rebuked his wild and foolish notions ; but they could not deter him from going to the land of tur- keys. When they saw him resolved to go, they told him very gravely that he should never return ; that if he did, they would pluck every feather off his body, and hold him up to the con- tempt of all. If a chance of deterring him yet remained, this sarcastic threat snatched it away, for he was not the kind to be restrained by fear, and the next morning at sunrise he bid adieu to 74 his old companions and all, and spreading his white wings to the morning sun he sped like an arrow to the isle of turkeys. We will now leave swan island, as our hero has done, and like him we will never return to it again. As his strong pinions bore him along through the yielding air, from the isle of his birth to that of his adoption, he mused on his reception by the turkeys, and the adulation they would lavish on a bird so much their inferior. It was late in the afternoon when he arrived at his new home, and seeing a large liock of turkeys on the shore he alighted among them, and saluting them in his blandest and most captivating style, made known at once his mis- sion ; and at the close of his short but eloquent address, in which he elevated them much above their turkey nature, he was adopted by acclama- tion. "■:' ■ V-- ::r:-':. .^ ■■ ■ i - -: For a few days all went well, and the swan thought he had done well ; for although his hopes had not been fully realized, he was sure their love and respect for him would increase as the higher attributes of his race, which he possessed in a high degree, became known and understood. But the realization of hope born of passionate desire is too frequently withe at the circle of prob- ability, and not unfrequently that ot possibility ; and of this the swan had an illustration. It soon became evident that curiosity and his own flatterinoj address delivered at their first meet- ing were chiefly instrumental in securing him the III 75 attention he thus far enjoyed, and that the (|iiali- ties by which he thought to win tlieir applause and admiration had no existence in their minds, and that they expected as much, if not more, from him, than he did from them. He next assigned himself the task of enlightening his new friends, with little idea of its magnitude ; and to make it as agreeable as possible, he proposed to deliver lectures daily on interesting subjects. To this they consented, and the next day he addressed them on metaphysics ; but the physic was power- less, and the next day, when he was about to ad- dress them on cosmography, one of them moved to postpone the lecture and have a gobbling match, to see who could gobble the loudest and longest. This was answered by a gobble all round, and that was the end of the course of lec- tures. The swan was now compelled not only to hear, but to applaud the most horrible din he had ever heard. The cup of his disgust was now full ; and the thought of going back to his native isle was forced upon him, but he indulged it not ^. momenc. He had no doubt that a candid confession of his folly would secure his forgiveness at once ; but he could not stoop to it, so he resigned himself to his fate. But he still strove to make an impression on their stupid minds. One day, when the sea was rough, he amused himself and them by flying out on the sea and riding in on the crest of the waves. A turkey-cock present -the one that N. 76 won tho gobbling match — came forward and said there was no trick in that ; he could do it him- self; and at it he went; but he took care not to go out more than four or live times the amplitude of the wave. But as soon as he alighted he turned keel up])ermost, and as the wavos brought him in his feet were now and then seen bobbing out of the water. When the waves threw him on the shore he cut a nice figure for a proud, con- ceited turkey-cock. His wet, matted feathers pointed in all directions ; his tail feathers were broken and lay on his back, while the top of his head was bald and bleeding by being dragged on the bottom. At this adventure his turkey friends laughed till the shore resounded, but the white foreigner, fearing the consequence of laughing at this bully's mishap, tried to look grave ; but a smile could not be suppressed. Tlie turkey saw that smile, and it was enough. Giving himself a shake or two to arrange his disordered feathers, he rushed at the swan. From this assault our hero took refuge on the same element that had brought him into trouble, knowing that his assail- ant would not follow him there. Now began s parley. The turkeys, seeing the prospect of a fight, urged him to come asliore, but he declined to fight, just as a well-bred and educated man would decline to fight a rough, or to fight any man. This the turkeys attrilDuted to cowardice, for they could see no other motive, and began at once to laugh at him and call him a coward, and n ,. " r 77 all manner of insulting names, during which time the offended turkey strutted to and fro on the shore, making the most furious demonstra- tions of what he would do to the swan if he would come ashore, to which the swan sarcastically replied, " I'll meet you half way." This hit at his adventure made him boil over witli rage, and lie delivered himself as follows : — " If you dar come a'^^hore, you long, crooked-necked ****-', I'll punch • the liver out of you. You'd better not get up to preach mography to us any more ; be off home, and preach your cuss'd mography to your own cuss'd kind. I could lick a dozen such chaps as you to oust. If I had a hold on you, I'd twist your bloody long neck for you, so I would." After this he cooled down, for rage will exhaust itself even in a turkey, as well as in men of the turkey grade, and the swan was permitted to come on shore without being assailed. But his last hope perished here ; the turkeys not only thought they were his equal, but some of them, not a few, thought they were far his superior, and would often strut by him without acknowledging his presence. But he felt only pity for the contempt- ible fops. None of the turkeys any more sought his company, and he now had to follow them or be left alone, and he nearly always chose the lat- \ ter. He wandered much by himself, and sang to himself, but his songs Avere not such as he sung in his native isle, when his heart was yet unknown to the lust of worldly ambition ; they were songs 78 of a heart full to overflowing with bitterness. The following lines are part of one of his lonely musings : — Weary of life, I ponder o'er The mystery that involves the dead ; My feet impatient to explore The ground that mortals shrink to tread. He pined away, and ere he had reached the meridian of swan life he felt the approach of the srim but welcome deliverer, death ; and in his last unhappy tiioments the spirit of a departed swan, perhaps his mother, hovered over him, waiting to escort him to that " happier island in a watery waste ;" and as it hovered it sung, and the last words that fell on the ear of the dying swan were : — Till eagle's wings bear turkeys through the skies. Shall turkeys see not but with turkeys eyes. The Biter Bit. Mr. Isaac Bobbington kept his life insured for a very large sum, and he never went on board a steamboat or a car without taking an accident ticket for about twenty thousand, leaving the ticket with his loving and very beloved wife, so that if he lost his life she would receive a small compensation for her great loss. One day, after the usual precaution, he went on board a Mis- 79 sissippi steamboat. That evening, as it was growing dark, and when they were near the shore, the boiler exploded, and many were killed or drowned. Mr. Bobbington received no injury, and, being a good swimmer, he swam ashore. Starting down the river to give the alarm, he had not gone far when the headless body of an unfortunate man was washed ashore at his feet. He looked at it sadl* and wondered whether or not he had taken an accident ticket. Suddenly it came to him like a revelation that he had not ; and he thought what a great pity that such a splendid opportunity of realizing the bene- fit of an accident ticket should be forever lost. As he mused thus, ir. struck him that it was iiis duty to counteract as /ar as he could the evil con- sequences of this man's neglect. So, under cover of darkness, he changed suitr. with the dead man, leaving his own pocket book, with a numbei of papers bearing his name and a small sum of money and some small articles on the body, and taking with him the unfortunate's pocket-book, well filled with bills, and a small bag of gold, he started for the nearest town on the "double (juick." He there drew on his little bag for a new suit, and, after putting himself in gala trim, he took train for a city at some distance from home, and took rooms at a first-class hotel, and, ordering two or three daily papers, prepared to make him- self comfortable. He waited anxiously for a list of the killed, and when it came it contained the name 80 li of Mr. Isaac Bobbington, whose body, wanting the head, was washed ashore about forty rods below wheve the explosion took place. The next day he read of the funeral and the great grief of Mrs. Bobbington. He pitied her very much, but he felt she would be amply rewarded for her grief in the " sweet bye and bye," when they got all that money and got away to some strange city. He now waited anxiously for the settlement of the claims. But he had to wait long. It was three or four months before he saw them mentioned jn the papers. But at last he was rejoiced to read that Mrs. Bobbington's claim of about forty thousand had been paid. He now grew uneasy. The thought of so much money being paid into his house, and he away, was har^ to bear. But some- thing must be done now. " The fruit is ripe, and it must be gathered," he thouglit to himself, and he concluded to write to liis wife and tell her his trick, and instruct her to sell out and come to him. Then he thought of her great joy at receiv- ing liis letter, and h(3r reply bubbling with delight. So he sent her a letter, telling her all, and waited with tiie utmost im|)atience for a reply. It came, and ran as follows : — "O, vou audacious old scoundrel ! How dare you attempt to impoHe on a lone woman in such a way. It was my own |»oor, dear husbiiud that was brougiit home to me with Ms head blown off, so it was. Everybody knows that, You want to get hold of the fe\y dollars that I got for the loss 81 of my dear, dear husband ; but they are safe. I put them for safe keeping into the hands of a young gentleman who came to our town just after the death of my husband — a Mr. Thottle — and he is going to operate on stocks with them. He a,]m has cliarge of all my affairs, and if you com^'/ here he will take charge of you. Now, if you //rite to me again, I will send the police force after vou , now mind, I will. — Mrs. Bobbington." Wf/^n Mr. Bobhington read this, he felt as though hh heart had been suddenly immersed in ice water, tl^ grew dizzy and staggered to a chair and fell into it with a groan. Had she made no mention of Mr. Thottle he would have concluded that slie believed herself to be the intended victim of some desperate villany, for, guilty as he was himself, he trusted in his wife as a little child trusts its mother. But the thought of Mr. Thottle, a .^trangei"; being the guardian of his wife, and "operating on stocks" with his money, was enough t' iisturb liis mental balance, and he cursed stocl , insurance companies and steamboats, and wished his head had been blov/n off instead of the stranger's. The . ;xt day, hav- ing recovered his self-possesion in some degree, he read in his daily paper the following paragraph: — " We are glad to learn that Mrs. Bobbington, the widow of the late lamented Isaac Bobbington, has been prevailed upon to take a trip to the sea- side to recover her health after her severe prostra- tion caused by the death of her husband. She 82 goes in conipany witli Mr. Thottle and his sister, Mary Thottle. They start next week. A happy journey to them." " Curse the Thottles ! Could she not go without them," said Mr. Bobbington to himself, after he had read the paragraph. " But I have it now. I'll meet her at the seaside when she is alone, and when she sees me it will be all right," and he felt a feeling that, compared with liis feelings of the last twenty- four hours, had a remote likeness to pleasure. They started on the trip, and so did he ; and, after much watching and waiting, he at length met her sufficiently aside to converse in common tones. His lips were parted to speak, when she threw up her arms and cried : " Gracious heavens, his ghost !" " No, no, my dear, I'm not a ghost ; I'm your husband." " You're not ! you're not ! I say you're not ! you're a ghost ! Don't come an inch nearer me, or I'll scream ibr Mr. Thottle. You were brought home with your head blov/n off, and I buried you decently, and there are hundreds of people to prove it ; and what do you want to haunt me for ? Haven't I mourned enough for you ? Ijon't every- one say that I nearly mourned myself to death ? Didn't I spend fifty dollars in mourning, and didn't I weep every day till Mr. Thottle came to me and told me that it was a sin and' a folly to mourn so much for a thing that IVovidence had willed ? And now, after being mourned for in the 8 latest style lor more than six luoutlis, you want to come back; but I tell you plainly, after mournin<.- so long, I will not be disappointed now, so therS now. At this Mrs. B. turned and fled like a deer, and before Mr. B. could rally his bewildered senses she was out of sight. Mr. B. now saw the true state of affairs, and that he had his choice of two evils, namely, to submit to the new order of thino-s or disturb that order by a full exposure. He chose the latter, and started at once for the insur- ance office. When he arrived he looked so much like an escaped lunatic that he had some difficulty in getting an audience with the Manager, who listened to him for a minute, and then beckoned to a policeman who was passing, ordered lam to take that man to the asylum to await further examination, and when that time came he was thorouglily qualifled to ])ass muster, and a singular feature of his derangement was that he lielieved he had no head. 84 The Cfift of Flowers From My Intended Wife. Tlie little llowers thou gav'st to me Are faded, and their beauty tied ; But shrunlc and withered though they be They still their wonted fragrance shed. Thus, Bella, may it be with thee When years external charms erase ; May virtue and fidelity Remain thy still surviving grace. That wlien thy lovely youth is past. With ail its fond, alluring charms, May that whic}i heaven designed to last, Preserve thee welcome to my arms. 4 "^M^* i e. ■I { s •(« I CONTENTS. fM .