IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I m iijy M 1.8 1.25 1.4 1 6 6" ► ■w^''^ o 7 A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 (meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END "), whichever applies. Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole —^- signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbole V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film6s 6 des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clichd, il est filmd 6 partir de Tangle supdrieur gauche, de gauche 6 droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 1 2 3 % ■ 2 3 4 5 6 J-i'l n n^ A / WIN-ON-AH : OH THE FOREST LIGHT, ANF» OTHER POEMS. BY J. R. RAMSi. TOKONTO : ADAM, STEVENSON ^k CO., BOOKSELLERS AND IMPORTERS, 1869. TO W. ORMISTON, D. D., This Volume is fespecifully Dedicated by the AUTHOR. ( ' () X T K N 'I' S |•A(;l^. ^!KAM nr,K 1 3 :i) HorsK 7 18 7(IIK lit )NonA 31 ;i»s OK SrKiN(; 32 33 ; the woiise for that 34 ; Angels 3(1 ir OF AK IcilTIIYOSAUUl'S 07 OK Fame 38 I 8!» 'im'Ml'HANT 41 i-:ATItI('E 4-J iVFiEitE THE Dandelions Guew 43 i', »ME IN Pompeii 4ti 4t) ON C'emeteky 48 50 50 51 anadian Wuip-rooR-"\ViLi 52 iVest Flam nuo r»3 54 OS fi/i 3N OF Canada 5(; 57 :si) FiuEND 5it ilOSE OF C^AKLYLE 51» 01 It &i WiN-oNA 'he Hau 'he SiiEi ^i»VE AN I 'asso to 'he liLll 'he Desi 'OU'IIE Ni 'ISIT OF ' )N THE T 'he Temi 'he Ansa jul'talit 'ANTE TP 'he Glai ?HE IjANI allust's jEna Lei ["he Ham To Anna loNO [tne 'he AViLi licn ovi DllUiE fOREWAll ^HE DoM Keveri [0 A Rev IROM mi to a Lab Ul'IPH CONTENTS. BlTTRRNESS A Snow Storm OOTOUEU TiiK Wkddino Cakk Old Steimikn To A Baud [ To Alkxaniumi Goforth • PoKMS FROM a former PURLICATION. The Growth of what is Excellent ls Slow ' Swine [ The Little Frame House ' The Old Numuer Four rLOUoii.. ^ The Old Pine Canoe [ 'Tis Better Not TO Know ' N o V E m n E R— ( A D I Ko i; ) Song Burns Septemrer The Comet WIN WIN-ON-AH— AND OTHER POHMS. Preamhlr'. /;N ENTLE Reader, »slioul,l the critic ^^ Think it worth hi.s while to ink you AVheiicc thi.s second publication / You will please to kindly answer, Wlierelore should it be avoided I Every man's imagination Round some recreation linger-*; And, unless his mind is evil, Let him Ibllow his best feelings. If with Livingstone thou wanderest, Or in search of Sir John Franklin Thou dost voyage; or dig ditches For a living; or carve letters Out of blocks for little children, That their fancies may be filled uith Ample feasts outspread by learning, Do thou do so : mayest thou prosper In thy labour, it is worthy,— If no duty is neglected. If on fire with scenes majtstic Thou wouldst sketch, with brush and easel, Lone Niagara's awful grandeur. In the morning, noon or moonlight, When bedecked in winter's jewels Or enzoned by June's florescence. Till thy soul is winged with beauty. These are things to jje ci.nunended. I'JiEAMllLE. U thy luiiul iiiclincH to enter In the fertile fiehli of fancy, And tlioii .sendest invitations To conj^'enial friends to join tliee, Why sliouklst thou he asked to (scribhh* An apologetic preface \ Should the oriole, or robin. Or the grey wren give a reason For their songs among the hlo.s.sonis i Reason's not man's highest talent. There are sacred facts for wliich wo Cannot give the wliy or wherefore. If thou dost dislike the dew-drop; Or the sunshine; or the storm-shade; Or gay l»irds; or blusliing rose-buds, Pending from their leafy tendrils, Soft in oriental lintels, Vermil, green, or saffron tinted; Or dost shun the lively laughter Of the innocence of childhood. When their glee is full upon them: Go thy way — we part with pleasure — We would not for all that's lovely Harbor sucli a heartless critic. But, if all these things delight thee; If thou givest the cup of kindness To the little one that's thirsty; If thy daily toil is lionest. And thy mind is in thy labour. And thy motive is improvement; Yea, if beauty, truth and goodness Form the motto of thy mission, We will join our wills together. Ami rejoice in mutual meaning. In the fellowship of freedom, Which, when found, is so refreshing. I n'lX'OX-AlI—TJIE FnUKST IViUT, Wtn-on-ah — The Forest Lifjht. On the tvc of tlic Long Woods B.ittli', Tccnnisfli^ desired lii-t dan^'lit'r Winunali to watch, from a }iill near theliattlc field, for the return of Jiis adoi»tcd son, Kuiiishakn, a whito youth, wlio lind been to the Sioux for proniiMefl assiu- tanco. Had Kumsliakn not jn'ovod ft traitor, tlie strife might nrethren battled by the hills, Oppressed, but brave beneath their ills. Our chief hath forded the dark stream : His eyes upon the future beam ! How oft, amid the storm of war, Thev turned and looked for thee afar ; Nor thought this idleness could be Fit recompense for fame to thee. Where is the color of thy cheek ? Has any come thy life to seek ? Think not that I am here to claim The life that stains my father's name I Go to thy race, whose greater light Can screen whatever is not right ; Tell them Tecumseh's child can save The wretch who filled her father's trrave." THE II A r XT ED Ilnr'SE. .1— The Ilaioited Iloj/se (A Medley.) "A, jolly place in tiiups of oM, But soinctliing ails it now."— Woitr>-;\voRTii. OUR lite resembles a deserted dwellin;^ : The heart's an eniLleni of a hauutud liall. What vnll be from the first there's no furL*telliii<'- : But disappointment happens unto all. One summer morning, early in the season, Before the meadow hay was fit to mow, I sauntered forth without an aim or reason. But just to woo tlie blossoms where they grow. Full were the woods of music, and the meadows, On either hand, low-waving in the breeze, Were gaily over-flecked»with lights and shadows ; And could you have seen the orchard trees. The fragrant blossoms of the wild strawberry Brought back the memory of bygone days, Wherein I wandered witli the maidens merry, Knee-deep in clover over l>reczy braes. My pathway led me to an ancient mansion; Forsaken, wherefore few remain to tell. A river bounds this valley's green expansion Of loveliness, and sorrow here did dwell. The cricket sings his ditty unmolested, Where lusty dancers held loud revelry; The oxen of their yokes have been divesti; 1, And all the harvesters have gone away. i ! 8 THE HAIWTED WjUHE. Yet tliey have left their hjiig-unused utensils Against the gate, just where the work was done. 'Tis thus the peasant's plow, the painter's pencils, The actor's robe, survive the fame they won. 'Twas Ijiiilt with tiers of stone in upward ranges, Eiuhrowned and battered by the blasts of old, Sceniinu; to muse upon the many changes AVithin itself, where owls their pinions fold. A mas.-rive house, by all, save years, forsaken ; Like living eyes, lit by departing day, Tlie panes look, when by winds the blinds are shaken With sounds that warn the wanderer awav. 'i'lie mullein and the burdock fill the garden, Their growth the gard'ner comes no more to mar; They look like orphans who have lost their warden, B^.ooming unblamed, for their sole neighbors are — g> A jiair of antlers in an archway standin A seat for rest at twilight on the lea, A broken boat below the reedy landing, A rusty scythe upon an apple tree. With this worn scvthe some vanished hand did sever The purple clover from the fields of green; Another reaper gave him rest forever, And many summers o'er his bed have been. Perhaps lie held his curious speculation. Political, how empires rise and fall : Perhaps ambition filled his admiration, Or learning lured him to her lovely hall. Or having — who has not \ — dismissed for duty Some chosen inclination, with a sigh Oft mused upon the evanescent beauty — Hope's sj-mbol — fading in the evening sky. THE HAUNT ED HOUSE. 9 3 done. ncils, )n. ■ngcs, old, Id. ire shaken to mar; • warden, bors are — Or when the horn — sweet music ! — called to supper, He slowly came commenting, from the field, On farming, and the quantity most proper In hay or wheat for hilly land to yield. Ht re whirled the spinning-wheel, that pleasant Imnimcr ! And graceful girls, in youthful beauty fair, C'ume <\o\yn yon pathway to the stream in summer, To Lathe, pick herrie?, or meet some one there. On thi.s old heecli, half wasted by the weather. Two names are carved by some enamored youth, Sighing the while he fashioned t em together. And dreamed of endless tejideniess and truth. What happened them ? — "Wliat comes to all the living In whose fond hearts Joy strives with Pain ?— two foes Like two fierce angels, one of whom is giving Sweet solace; one, a demon, dealing woes — d did sever n; een. luty AViio, being stern and sturdy in his essence, Soon baffles all the blessings of the best ; And tho' young love stands longest in his presence, Even love must vanish, vanqui.slied like the rest. With "harvest-home"' this hall was often lighted. Dancing, and music, and the ample board ]\Iade autumn cheerful, travellers benighted Found welcome here and went away restored. Now mournful winds among abandoned chambers Resound the anthem of departed days. Whose nights have come, like soot upon tlie embei-s By the old hearth, which never more will blaze. The dancers are dispersed, the music ended. The laughter silent and the lovers gone. With their sweet schemes, on which so much depended And we are following after one by one. 10 THE IlArXTED Hi>USE. Yea, we are fuUowiiig, smiling as we .^^iiffer, Taking an active part in our o\mi pain: While far around the misty waves grow rougher, We fondly hope next m.)rn will lull the main. We crush the craving cry of the heart's famine, We hush the hurricane whose wreck is vears, We hide the corpse which pains us to examine, We close the tomh on hope, the empty Mers Move, like the solemn clouds ahove the azuie, Darkening life's pleasant mornings in the glade, Thev haffle all our arts to seize or measure Their mournful depths of loveliness or shade. First they are tinted with the hues of heaven ; But, like our hopes, their transieuu tints decay ; As we o'er life, they o'er the earth are driven, Our prospects die, their lustres pass away. Leaving remembrance like a raven sitting High on a dying yev tree's loftiest linil), Whose withered leaves, upon the tempest flitting, Bestrew the graves, whereon our eyes grow dim. For who, of all predestined to inherit Life's dreary dower, ever did obtain The peace, the holy longing of the spirit, Or even partly conquer human pain / Those joys which the regretful spirit pities, Because they went too s>\'iftly to the tomb, Arc no less mournful than the mighty cities, Pompeii, Herculanemn, or Rome. Ah, w^ell ! though every life in shadow lingers, Though long ere death can raise his hand to coimt Our blasted years upon his bony fingers, Hope's golden bowl lies broken at the fount; 77//; HArXTED lIoI'sK. \l Though swift and suiv our early aii'us expin-, As if 'twere liite's tirst purpose to destroy, If may he hy such crushings we acquire The ^^'inc of wisdom which comos not through joy. So time to all repeats the painful story; The farewell sun reflects the lieavcnlv hues; From nights of frost the forest gathers glory, A glory which the suns to M:>.y refuse — Even to this mild Canadian scene and season, Whose vales, voluptuous, dreamily repose In ever-varying hues, for which sweet reason I love this land of beauty and of snows. lovely land 1 — surely it would he better If we, like thee, our nature did renew With a pure zone, like June's green flowery fetter — beautiful world ! Iiathed in thy dawn of dew. 1 l(»ve through fore.-t avenut-s U, saunter, Dream on the hills and trace the winding shore. Familiar to the foot3te]>s of the hunter, The silent race who visit them no more. I love the lowly flower by the river, The dawning, and the 'dorv of the west, The wintry winds which make the woodlands shiver Till drifts upheaved defv the furious blast. There is a ra])ture in tempestuous weather, A sjTnpathy with sutlering, which thrills When mi!-<."-0.ssiAN. One vernal morning, mild and clear, The oriental atmosphere Flamed golden, saving there and here : Clouds of pale crimson Kindled a goodly dawn as e'er Wild birds sang hymns on. As dome great theme untold in rhyme, So grandly Sol began to clinih His azure dome to measure time, High in mid-heaven : • * All underneath his smile sublime Appeared forgiven. . That holiday, remembered well, Not feeling fit in crowds to dwell, Up, pensive to the mountam dell, Lonely I sped ; But finding in the street this shell Thus musing saitl : To be where thou art is not good, Commingling with the common mud ; Thy hues, like roses in the bud, Blush there to l)e : Once bathed in ocean's ample flood, The ancient sea. THE SHELL. The soft suffusion of tliy face Proclaims a seutimoutal grace : That thou art greatly out of pUici? Thy lot is proof-- 'Tis thus with all the tuneful race, Neath heaven's blue roof. Hadst thou to some green lane been taken. Where from the foliage dews are shaken- Winged harps l)y living hundreds waken Those da^^^ls with glee — Thy fate had been far less forsaken ; But here, — ah me I Let not thy gentle heart be hurt Because we meet among the dirt ; If we are forced with filth to fliif, Not ours the wroug ; It was not sent thee to pervert T'lv wavv souff. Let me expunge this outward stain, (It does not mingle with the grain) That thou mayest murmur of the main; What there befel : 0, could I take thee back again, And with thee dwell ! By '.'hat far island wert th(Ai bora? Did Neuha have thee for her horn ? Did Montezuma's host forlorn, Sound their retreJlt On thee, alas, that cruel morn. By Cortez beat ? Can it be possible that she, Who dwelt beside the Indian sea, Virginia — gazing on that lea Which is her grave — Ran down and from the tide took thee, Rejoiced to save? 19 20 THE SHELL. Thy iimnnured answer, mystic friend, I cannot wholly comprehend ; Yet some things in our nature blend ; A lurking gift, Whose holy longings upward tend, Yet fail to lift. Come to my dwelling in the garret, What room is there I freely share it ; (A 1)0011 begrudged is minus merit And burns the hand) There thou wilt find the great in spirit Of our loved land. Serene among the muses shining S. Moodie, Wilkins, P. S Vining, Friend Ilaney, capable of refining Castalia's tank ; Souls for whose Avork fame's not de-signing Oblivion blank. Shakspeaie and Bunyan both are there ; Von Humboldt, with his hoary hair Like thine own sea ; and Bums, the rare First son of fame ; John Milton, mounting Jacob's stair, Blind unto blame. Some who have long ago departed, . , Some by death's fickle lately thwarted, Some who great schemes improving started, , And lost the way. Some minus money, broken-hearted, Died Avaiting pay. One struggled hard to help the needy, Reclaim the sot, and clothe the seedy Fit forthe Universal free day Which will ensue ; But thi^ huge world has grown so greedy AVhat can one do ? ^^, irit signing lere ; L' i rare ir, rted, g started, d, ;dy » 1 greedy THE SHELL. * All that we hope for ilou.s not happen. Angels perverse (our deeds mis-shapen /) Wrapt his high aims a shroud of crape in, Making theni vain. While ho, sole mounier of fate's rapine, Stood hound hy pain. He was transported by a spell, When beauty's glance of glory fell On his fine spirit — there to dwell For ever more : As from dim caves an ocean sliell Heaved higli on .-^horc. Bounding the lambs went o'er the leas, Like foam upon the windy seas ; The growing leaves on lofty trees In dew stood glancing, Waiting the music of the In-eeze To sot them dancing. But just as hu began to dream His world- regenerating theme, Disgusting disappointment's stieaui. Above him ruslied : Where storms, contending, scowl or gleam His liar[t was IiusIrmI. There was a time when men wcvc [>roiid Along with liim to be alloweil : E'en queenly beauty kindly bowed, (His hat ascending). But once beneath misfortune's cloud, Beliold the ending! Still — (though we merit melancholy. In common with man's fall and folly) When adverse tempests, drifting lowly, Eclipse the skies ; Some Sabl)atli i)rospects, sweet and holy. Awake, arise. 21 . i 22 i! I ' THE HUELL. We have a grand exliaustless store Of large imprabticaLle lore ; We can feel music long before Tlie first note sounds ; Far off we hear stormed ocean roar, Lashing his bounds. Sweeter to us the crickets sing Than harps to hearts of harsher string : Each flower's a very holy thing, In color dressed. Like bands of angels entering Tlie realms of ri'st. We can aftbrd to pity those Who scorn a poet's joys and woes ; Their earthly fancy never flows From light supernal, Where truth's millennial laurel grows In youth eternal. Though we are blamed when not to blame, By those who deem we sing for fame, We know tlie light, yet sufler shame : Forced wrong by wrong, E'en while we struggle to reclaim The erring throng. Think not, dear friend, thy lot is hard, Because by pain from peace debarred, Maimed, menaced, mutilated, marred, Beyond a cure ; Great pains produce a great reward, If we are pure. My fellow-suft'erer in distress, Fame's phantom beams would blast, not bless, If we fail dumbly to express The light within, The holy light of loveliness, Because of sin. THE HIIELL. Lose not thy laith, look on heaven's scroll ; How grand the midniglit orLits roll ! Think not the mind tliat has control Of such a scene, Can stain its honor, or extol Anght that is mean. Upon the time of trouble's spite The muse can soar Ly second sight, A'< through the cmhattled storms of night Bursts heaven's red ray, Till eartli is dehiged Avith a light. Fairer tlian day. So, bard of ocean and of time, Come and commune in wordless rliyme, About thv coral halls sublime, I do beseech ; Grant me some knowledge of that clime, Beyond the beach. 23 For o'er an ocean we must sail. Soon as we f[uit this adverse vale : AVe semi, but no return of mail Comes from that coa.-t : It cannot be in death's dark gale That all are lost. 24 LOrE AND LUCRE. Love and Lucre. ^5lo\v li-scs worth by poverty ilcpressctl.— Johnson. O thou inexorable Xw^, 'twere bliss to cur-it^ t'.icr. — Hewyskok. :-f»* ;;v . •iiir Tli(,' children born of thee are sworl ami fire, Red ruin, an-l the Itreaking ui> of laws.— Ti:nnv.son. Chill penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. — Gnnv. Mnuey auswcrcth all things.— Sulosion. NOW, while cUiik clouds roll heavily with rain, And yellow yarrow waves along the lane, Let the tired team rest in the cosy shed — The polished plongli is in its russet hod — While forests bow before the coming gale. Here we will muse as fancy tints the staU-, The actual pageant passing day by day, The joys that perish and the pains which stay. Sweet is that season when our spirits feel The wordless peace — so painful to conceal ; When every passing beauty claims the eye ; And one, far more than all beneath the sky, To whom we bow instinctive, offering her The "firstlings" of the heart, nor once demur — A time that comes to all — what tho' unknown This goddess be, each throb attests her throne; And woe be unto him, yea, more than woe, As many a grief-grooved brow and tomb can show. Whose offering is repulsed; the sky for him Is leaden-hued henceforth, and cold and dim. Autumnal tints dwell on the drooping trees Through all the year; and darkness throngs the breeze With that high, mournful, unresigned regret Which follows, and defies us to forget. tUoi'. — He.vvysk'jk IJU'K J XI) LUCRE. That iiiaii is weak wIk^ thinks on liis lit'u's leaf The fatal fang of .some especial grief Has fixed itself forever; yet we know There are deep channels where few waters How; There are stern storms that howl alone at sea; There are proud lieart-]iangs in prosperity; There arc green glades clothed in continual glooms; There are high hills where sunshine seldom comes; There are gay harks that never gain the shore; There are grand souls sin-stained for evermore; And many sigh, '*Ali mc I not mine, not mine I 'Tis hard to hear, hut hitter to resigu: The lips may laugh and yet the hosom hu Sad as the shadows oC Clelhsemane." or, love ! fond folly, inlhienee undefineil, Unhounded king o'er all of human kind, Few are the odds if thou art cursed or Mcst, Thy road to ruin's shorter than to rest; Thy joys are hirth-day journeys to their giave, Thy Idisses huhhh-. on the hreaking wave; For love is suicide when liope is vain. Compassion toiturc, and all ].'lea--uri' }.«;ii!!. for a life uninihu'mx'd liy siuli things I The outer story and iln- imicr stings ; Still there are com])cn.-;ili»iiis : !V\v hut know Some secret sources of delimits that lic-w Into the eager sold. At times lifes sfa> Lie calm as mercy's smile, or charity's, And thousands turn when their anVciicu ilics, And chant this ditty to a v.ealthifi [m'w.v. Lucre ! tlmu enchanter, cham}>ion, chief, God of the monarch, merchant, miser, thief, Mankind succuml> to thee; plehcs, princes, ))riest3, Fools and philosophers flock to thy feasts. ^Lijestic power, to whom earth's Bacons how: For whom hroad seas, e\X'n the grave, v.-e plow: ;] 26 LOVE AND LUCRE. I % ^ \ There's not a monarch on this moving world O'er whom so broad a banner is unfurled ; None have such faithful followers ; who revere Or hold their other gods so high, so dear ! Wisdom is weak, though large of heart and bold, Unless her goodness is upheld by gold. For liberal salaries learned men we find "Who mend the mouldy morals of the mind. The great majority, when all is said. Deem even meanness merit if well paid. What urged the Spaniards hither ? glory ! yea, And what is mortal glory minus pay ? What use is fame sans gold — whatever can We do without its sanction and amen ? Mammon, to thee I dedicate my strain. Sire of success, celestial and j^rofane. Once (blush O weakness) once i undertook To write against thee an abusive book. Thy pardon, if I said or sung a strain, Or thought, wliich pierced thy mighty brow with pain 'Twas envy, that foul prompter of crushed pride, Which urged me to dethrone thee and deride. Great Mamn>on, let us worship, let us bare Our thoughts to thee, for thou art ruler there. Six days we follow after thee, six days And nights — except when Cupid claims our praise — And on the seventh day demurely creep Up to the house of the Most High, and sleep. ^ 'Tis thine to marry empires; second son Of Time, thou hast thy brethren all outrun ; E'en sable Death : obedient to thy sway. His silent hounds release their shuddering prey ; For Gain can buy up Death, and coin control The unknown voyage of the vanished soul. And thou canst bind the lover to his bride Or sever him forever from her side — Since Venus married Mammon 'tis decreed LOVE AXD LUCRE. 27 The god of wt'dluck is tlu' god of jj;iv('i1. Thou art the Liilhist in life's shij), and ni>ne Can sail without thee; compass, keel auil sun, Our hearts rejoice in heaps of tliee, and ([uaff The wine of wealth, and all who win thee laugh. There is no innate guilt in thee, gold, More than in eve's l)right clouds which we Lehold Rosy and beautiful, as they have rolled Through all the unsung histories of old; The fault's with us who falsely get or hold — Thou'rt tinged hy us, as water l»y a sieve. Our passions tarnish even what wo give; And all thine ill conies through the lives we live. Thy name is magic; necromancy dwells Within thy coffers; nil that most excels Is at thy heck and hidding; matrons leave Poor mates, and to thy favourite followers cleave. AVhat millions marry thee; thy smiles reclaim The scraggy wryness of the wrinkled dame Who hears thy ponderous purse ; 'gainst thee what chance For poor young beauty, with its glorrous glance ? War's thy weird holocaust; he wantonly Whets his red knife, and nati(jns pass away, Though empires watch the issue, still and stern. Dreading the debt of Death, and angels mourn. Beauty is bought by thee; the spirit's thirst Tis thine to satiate, e'en the best or worst. How much we owe to thee; ingratitude To call thee evil's root, thou root of good. By thee the student passes on his course, By thee the worthy rise from much that's worse. We clothe ourselves by thee; our very blood Is bought by thee at market with our food ; And since our brains are made of blood, and thought Is born of brain, our minds by thee are bought. 'Tis wicked to deride thee : 'tis unbrave, Because society's thy serving slave. Thy cold avoidance of toil's nerve-strained strife Has whetted many a suicidal knife, Il 28 Lni'K Ayi> Li:<'i:E. Till Topla't's ;,Mtc.s iiru jiiiimied by those who stivam The r(»ii(l to ruin — Lol us chun^H; tlic thomc ; I'V'U- riches cleave to ruin ; even son;^ Detests it, hoauty dwells not in its throng. Loose-jninted tear, and hollow-hreastod care, And disa])])ointmont mourn lo^^'cthcr there. ljua.>t nut ol' sweet adversity and toil, Ye who sit Xor;j;ed aloft and share the sjioij. Your minds relaxed hy ease, can never know The want that weakens everything hut woe. I i'l'el for all, hut most for those I feel Who l(K)se this linch-pin i»uL of F >rtun(;'s wlu'cl. O youth, ere yet to [lenury resigned, Print Shakes})eare'.s |)recc])t on th}' ]dastic miml: '' Put money in thy purse," and it will he A loadstone to entice pros])erity.; Join the niajurity, get gain, or thou Wilt find misfortune through thy vitals plough. The rock of Sisyphus refers to cohi, Bc-deviled like the Galilean swine. That things should not he thus we'll not deny, But these factis' defamation we defv. The dread, the hurden, and the restless goad Of Deht drags hosts down ruin's zig-zag road. My curse upon theo, Poverty, my curse Upon thy hide-hound, constipated purse ! Thy woes have withered millions, great and free. By fierce, resistless, stern astringency. Thy steps arc blight and murrain; madness takes The mildew of his spirit from thy aches. Thou hast no reverence in thee, no respect For feelings — none are prone to thy neglect. Thou unabortive incubus of doom, Hinnom's ambassador, and virtue's tomb. How can domestic kindness gladden more Of Ol Wiuu ^'Stra Till Short My t wiiic] For la Tlie s| h oftt By 111 liie w The .-: Some Yet P Wa- Tllele Lnl'K JXn fJ't'/UC. 29 Wlivii thy |,MUUt wolve-< liowl huii;j;iy at ihi' y the sun. E'en lie whose bosom burned with lovi' to all. Was forced to drink thy worniwoud's wilhciing gall: He saw the dark gehenna spread before, And struggled to return, but all is o'er. Cold now, and prematurely ])aled in death. The breast that never drew a debtles.s breath: The human loves, the lieaven descended muse. The horned hands, the labour-hardened thews; The broken hope-*, great nature's lordliest friend ! Found in the grave at last grief's holy end. human love ! We know thee; thou art strong— To Mammon's minions mightier powers belong. 1 said, while standing near the scatfold high. Of one crime-doomed, imi)enitent, to die : •'ILild, prize ol' Death; before too late unfold What bi(jke thy moral moorings from their hold l" ^•Stranger," he spake, "thy starting tears restrain, Till I unroll mv downward vears again : Short is the story, and my joumey too ; My term is full, the debt of nature due. Which in a few brief moments nmst be paid. For lack of lucre and those hopes that fade. The substance of my solitaiy tale Is often told in silence to the gale. * By my youth's home lived some kind friends, tho' poor : Tlie wind founff:i3s^~ 32 THE niUEL'IRDS OF SPJtlXff. The Bluehirds of SpriiKj. Aiitl soiiictliin;,' earlier every vc.m' Tlie siiigiTi;,' l)iril.s take wing.'" J. R. LOWKLI.. HAIL, twinging syinool of the Spring ! AVitli all tliy flowery train. To every viilley of our land AVe welcome tliee again. ('.jme to the pine and maple tree, To graves of willow come ; The huds are weary waiting thee To woo them into hloom. Here is your very s^ame snug nest, Built by the ancient harn, Made soft with feathers from your hre.\ on. Btiyond time's shore, upon a crystal hill The structure stands ; far from all earthly ill. The turrets high are hid in glory's blaze, Which fairer grows the ftirther up we gaze. Broad are the walls, bound firmly with the lo^t Egyptian glue, embayed with beryl, embossed — Resenibling fountains fretted o'er by frost. Coliunns of polished porphyry engrained With gold, the lofty balconies sustained : • Branched in Corinthian arches to uphold Broad beams of beryl, and roofs of glass and gold, Wherefrom vast domes heave into the etenie, As ocean icebergs in the sunbeams burn. The fleecy clouds effulgent, float and glow Forever there, majestically slow. There Shelley dwells, rapt in millennial dreams, Pale moonlit radiance round his resting beams, Angelic music lures him fondly nigh. And fancy fills him with congenial joy. While florid Sol suff'uses all the west. Moved by the scene he muses into rest. But many more have gone, since Pope's release, Into the temple of eternal peace. THE AXSJVEB. There Burns, liigli piie.-t of nature, prince of song, Spreads his vast soul around, or joins the throng; Or hand in liand with HighUmd Mary strays By streams like Ayr o'er bonnie banks and braes. Leave them by broomy heaths of fragrant shade, "Where milkwhite thorns wave fair, but never fade, Above that modest crimson tipped flower, Whose deathless lustre decked their trysting bower. There all the peace this earth his heart denied, "With one who once was lost, is bv his side. She gazes on the bard, while far around His songs e.xtend to Fame's extremest bound, Spread east and west, by trump and timbrel spread, Soothe every soul, and cheer the cherished dead. Harmonious hosts his daily steps pursue ; To tune their harps is all he has to do. 39 -^«^B«- The Answer. MY friend, I cannot take thy hand, And tell thee wliat will be : The future is so dimly planned — Who can his fate foresee \ But I more graves than thou have pa.st. More epitaphs discerned, And from the horoscopes they cast Some precepts haply learned. "We grasp at phantoms insecure, And grieve when they are gone : The disappointments we endure Are oft from seeds we've sown. We scatter flowers upon the stream, To see them whirl away, Then sigh above the symbol of The joys which will not stay. 40 ^V//; AXSWEIl 1I(AV oil wt' luir.sL' within ouv hearts Tlie irtult we clinrge to fate, Tlieii seize tlie dram to soothe the cUirts Which conscience can create ; jjiit though we join the ganihlers game, Or drink delirium's bowl, There is an awful sense of sliame Within a sensual soul. No jiotion, powerful, of wine, No deep oljlivi(nis drink. Can ever (piench the gift divine, Th' immortal gift, to think. According to the depths we go Dc» A n crime's degrading course, While thought, reacting, luings us woe. Or withers \vith remorse. How lovely are the fresh green fields, Lit by the morning sun. When every dewy flower reveals The Mork in darkness done ; So from the shadows of distress We, too, may rise ere long. For sorrov,' is the warrior's \\i there's a light we overhiok, Or vaguely view in dreams — As heavenly flames refracted crook Low in the reedy streams — That light a holy life supplies, A how when fortunes frown. That dies not when tlie tempest dies. Nor with the sun goes down. -«*e«^c^ ru:r'i\ / ijty rnii'MPiLixT. \i BrufftHhf Triumphant. rpIlERK'S lint a luoiv rqml^iw truth, -*- T»i tlioso wlio love tlu'ir race, Tlian to review earth's rearward years Of ghjrv or dis^^race, And find how oft mere hrutal force All godlier iijifts ur vuico 1 s.o,„ to l,oav again ; [ .,. v„„ a . 1„ |„,v- .0 vuy ,.a.tc.„. c,i; ,..,„, .,,,.«_„,, ,,„;„„., „,,,,,_ <- U.t gnovoasly reality dispols the visi,„, . Ua,- A. eanc-ly r I„..,k a,t.,„„l, a,„I n„.l y„u a,,M,„l h«v. I W,- that ,,,..,, ,,r 1,,,,. ,aay la,,,h ,,, 1,,,,, ,,,,,,, ^,/ Iha „at„,.o,s lau. caa cl,a„... I,„.a„s,. a ,„ai,.ucl, [ l,a,. „.ai„st ,.,y ],„,,., ,„at „„.„. ,ha„"tl,i. U ll lu, »u„„:ll„„, else „ a!«, cha„K..I-a„a ,!,.„,.,, i. it y„„ ( ;S m.lj u. ,v„„M have save,! oarsdves this achi,,. at tl„. I., h r ...0 a,al aga,„ 1 t„n, to g„, a. olt.,, ..(„,, to ^ i™- 1 1.0.^0 .scone, whioh all the oo,„i„,. yea,. ,,,„ .a.e,. ,a, „v ,,.,k.w. no«- .„.„„ hoi,o'.,g,xv,. aa.l gohloa have, ho^i,, to lade aa-l fall ■ At Irosty dawn the l,i,* ,,,,,eat thei,- n.on.nn.l „u,ste,- ,1 ' I too n,„,,t .,„g a «,d la,owoll-„„t only to this .oeno ' ' Not only to the h.ipoy ,,a-t, Imt all that nii^ht have I'een 46 BALLVHTH HOME IN POMPEII. Salliist's Home in Pompeii. BEHOLD, at Pompeii, in Sallust's home, The relics of an orgie in a tomb ! The bosom of a dancing girl is pressed 'Gainst his, the bony framer of a jest. The unbaked bread was in the oven left. And in the fruit the knife by whi(;h 'twas cleft ; The supper table charred, the wine jars dry. And those v/ho came to dance remained to die. It wounds our large assumption to survey What folly death o'ercomes us at, what play ! The humble, and the men whom circumstance Hath favoured — all are targets for death's lance — All low alike at last ; and none can tell. If this dust was a king, a cloAvn, a belle. What alchpnist can take this brainless bone And swear this bowed, this ached upon a throne ! Once this head's wit ran through the social room. This bony cheek blushed beauty's bygone bloom. 0, could this skull — still eloquent in death. For thought will rule beyond the bounds of breath- Give us an index to th' immortal mind. Of those who come to bless or curse mankind. Lena Lee. OUR active toils for good or bad Are rounded off by sleep ; And every human heart was made To laugh, and love, and weep. We laugh in life's young boundlessness, We love when hearts agree. We weep to lose some gift of grace Like los'cly Lena Lee. ft; e. ce Qce — ■ '3 1 LENA LEE. Tliere's not a power that girds the soul For great deeds or for hate, That grasps with such supreme control The storm-driven helm of fate, As beauty ; if 'tis used for A\Tong, AVoe unto future glee ; For few but feel some golden thonf' Like lovely Lena Lee. Her Jot is lowly, and her hands Are often tinged with toil; Yet eager to undo the bands Of penury's cruel coil — Oh, kindness greater is than king In virtue all agree; Yet both are unpretending tilings Like lovelv Lena Lee. 47 .'S ©• J rone ! oom, oom. breath- id. The longest river's reedy race, The seasons rolling by, The whitest cloud compelled th*rough space, The wandering sun on high. The wings of time, the orbs of night, The seraphim, sin free. Find none in all their rounds of light Like lovely Lena Lee. Her words are ever pure and true, For wisdom rules her mind ; Her eyes are of the loveliest hue 'Tis possible to find ; And yet the little violet flower, Beneath a lonely tree, Ls not more modest in its power Than lovely Lena Lee. fSJ«S 48 THE HAMILTON CEMETERY. m\ lite Hamilton Ccmeferf/. June, 18G7. A LOVELY place of loncliues?!, the spot Whereon the warm sun lingers to illuiiu' The residence of friends too soon forgot, While flowers symbolic spread unseen perfuvr". Ye scarce could think" that under all this hlooi The worm is busy with the heautiful Untroubled tenants of the tearless tomb ; Feasting in fearful silence to annul All that wc dread to be, e'en death's celestial lull. Lo! to the east outrolls a living sheen Of liquid a/.ure, tinted from on high, Mottled with moving sails, engirt with grceji ; ■ And far around the sunlit landscapes lie. Here love's lost links and broken dreams defy The fondest bosom's yearning ; westward, lu! A very Paradise regales the eye ; * And dimly distant, where the daybcams glow, Far over Flainbro' hills my ch.ildhood's rivers flow. How oft in vouth I watched tliv wandering waves, Blue stream ! and longed thine ending to explore. Here thou hast led me to this land of graves — Drifting my hopes into this dim no more, Where mj'stery sleeps on death's horizon shore Unroused by time — here the gay cricket sings And beauties, with their iullowers, traverse o'er Green paths by flowery graves when Sabbath llings Soft floods of radiance round, from light's supeni. springs. '' Cook's PaiMut evei'iiiore Reality mine error did ihmuovi', So fancy roams afar wher- reason wouhl not rose, 40 The.e grassy graves sl'CIu like the wavt,'-; cd' fate. Forever anchored on thi^ win-onie straiiil. Here Lickerings (_^\\(\ with earthly de.uht, and hate, AVith all our little schemes in trouhlo planned. The mother led her lirst-honi ^^\ the hand At early morn, then parted, weeping here. Where .summer smiles in slumher, li'ditlv fannetl liy breezes from the upper atmosphere, Among the-;e waving groves where war's green mound- appear. ath llings ^ ^ht's super: j %^M c here oa a Imu' icin,-,' nslifil wli' ; 50 TO JXXA. — SOXO. To AniUi. WilEN first I saw thy loveliness, My heart took angel wing^^ ; Ami wlien I heard thee speak, I ^aid. Surely a seraph sings ; But when I clasped thy lily hand. And viewed thy radiant eyes, I looked aronnd contused to see If more had left- thr> skio^. ..*«:] i^- 5^- s I ! 1 I ; SoiKJ, AMONG the vales a maiden dwells. The noldest of the living,— come and view her heauty, you Who deem my song deceiving. 1 ttdl thee, friend, no art can blend The smile of such a creature ; Her cheeks defy the rose's dye, Ab mind surpasses nature. But conrc not near to interfere Between me and her splendor ; For, if she wills, through all life's ills. Henceforth I shall defend her. rU get a cot in some sweet s])ot, Where nature smiles serenely, For I would give a world to live A life with one so (iueeuly. JCXE. 51 Jiinv. mllE .summer is rDuiin^^r^ ^vith liuiu>y 1)i't's liumming, And hawtliorii trees Itlooiuiii,!^^ iu every green nook : The wild l)irds are siuMinn, Ini- nature is Lringing Fresli Jlovrer-; uii-sjirinMin^, j-na i,]-!,. j., {],j. i.i.j^q]^^ (jreen forests are wavin-' alnive the ^reen ]>nvinj,', And gay clouds are ha\ ing a danee in the sky ; When weary with llov.iiig tjiey unii to tlie growing Bright (lowers, iH-diwing IVe.di -er A puri)hyry tower of many strange hues ; Formed chielly of sluidy eli'i-J.i^cnees fadv, A skyey arcadi;!, a liom,. !',,!• f],,. nnis^'. Then sweet smiling nature, with joy in each feature, Half dumh, lik(^ -onic creature suhdned hy -urpiise. Looks u]) to the azure in evident jilea-^ine. And takes the greiit in-iiHire with tcirs in her eyes, Xature, how neatly thy garments l.eiit ihee .' summer, how sv.ceiiy thy coming can smile ! We know some fair creatures, with love-kindled features, But heauty like N;!tuie's r;ni never heguilc. The chililren are ([uittin,i; their spoils, for 'tis getting The hour of the flitting of 1)irds into rc'st ; And slily the lover goes stealthily over The fields of red clover, to oiui he loves hest. Hail, delicate greeting; smdi moments (jf meeting Are ever too fleeting, too happy to last ! Hail reason and scieiice, in every appliance, But love's first plliance is purest and Lest. 52 THE WILD CANADIAN WIIIP-POOIl-WILL. For somehow its promise no sooner gooB from uh Tlian clouds overcome us to vanisli no more, Exce[)t when some vision with vivid precision, lletuiiis, ill dciision, tlie joys tliat are o'er Then Welcome, young smik'i', youth's pleasant heguilcr. Ere Idight, the despoiler, shall wither thy hloom ; A little while hunger, wlu'n passion grows stronger, The great ironmonger called duty will conu\ When leading of lolly, <^t* passion unholy, Or dark melancholy that lives in lost loves, I said : 1 will master this Ibolish disaster ; — I'ut my hcuit heats i'ast;'r than n-ason ajiproves. t5*.l The Wild Canadian Whijj-Poor-WllL MY friends are those who love to hear The songs that hll the atmosphere, When under evening's da\\ ning star Fanuliar landmarks lade afar ; And vesper hears from every hill Tlie AVild Canadian "Whip-poor-will. 'Tis sweet to hear an evening liell, With all the feelings that ui)swell, When fancy pictures manv a scene Of joy that was, or might have been, Since first we heard, heside the mill, The Wild Canadian Whip-poor-will. LL. r. Will % SOXG. But now that we are far awav, That ditty hriiigs a iiieinory Of wliat no song, or martial strain, May over rej)roduce a,gain: So memory hjves to cheri.-h still Tlie AVild Canadian Whip-poor-will, Again I view the vernal thorn, Wliicli blossomed Ly the old log harn; And hear that chorus break the hush Of twilight in the sugar l)ush, Whose dim old arbors echo still The Wild Canadian AVhip-poor-will. As luiman minstrels often >i"h For things unutterably high, As all men mourn some loss of li/ht, And chant their dirges in the ni'dit. So, haply, disappointments chill The Wild Canadian Whip-poor-will. Persuade me not the nightingale Relates a more allurinu' tale Among Italia's laurels old, Where centuries of ruins mould ; For we are free as on each hill The Wild Canadian Whip-poor-will. 53 .,^ U\da\ u TTIGH over West Flambio the lieecy clouds tlow, J--*- The rivers rejoice in the valleys below; But there is a beauty far fa! 't- to see It's O to belong to a 1)eiiig .Ike thee. 54 yi Din^uc. [il Behold this l)i'i^dit Uind.'^capc', ^o lately the zone Of summer, 'twill j^hortly be wintor'-s white throne ; But thou caiir^t make summer wherever wc? he, It's O to helouff to a heiii<' like thee. ■H We'll steal out and .stroll where the >h(tre-heudeil stream Leaps up in the light ol'lhe livin.L,' moonbeam, To the bloom-tinted tryst of the old willow tree ; It's O to 1)0 loved by a bciauty like thee. I long to be near thee v.'hen weary with tf.iil, I long to delay in the light of thy smile, As a sailor looks out for his home I'rijm tlie .- ea ; It'sO to bi'long to a beauty like thee. '^.i ]i^^lited; Whom I could teach liavc for uiy folly hlu^hed. Hushed is the voice which then; is no foi-ettin^i.?, Cold the kind hand Avhich might have led the way Into the silent land of suns unsetting — Leaving a weary wanderer astray. Where was the use, liearl, in all thy hoping I The l)owl is Lroken, and the fountain dry — Poor l)lindcd Cyclops, roun, soiiu- great >\\v^k-y\ ivpL-at it to taitli, All nations aiv lilcst l>y the ]»n»j/rL'ss ui worth ; And ntlicrs may H-lldw a< .-omi a.^ tht-y .*(.'(• A land has no ]i..nic til! its [aMiple aic IVcl'. 57 -**■?♦' 3 A Jii'vcric. rpins iii<;ht tlic winds arc -atlu-rin- .-t..>rni.s, -■- To sift tlicni over liill and li.'ino: Fancy is fnll oC i)liantum rornis. And tiiis dim r.K^ia, The hacklog lia< grown l>lark with culd ; A thicker sliade is on the Hoor: Deeper and deejicr drifts aru rolled Against tin- door. What scene in tin's my I'ancy sees. "Which makes my listening ]iulsfs thrill i l^est, ra])id lancy, if yon jilrase, Rest and he still. 'Tis Init this lading ]>ine-knot flame Hath made that otlu'r tiame revive ; Yet something syllahled her name, As I do live. There vras an old honse in a grove, Sheltered by .storms, whene'er tlh-y blew. There dwelt a damsel all did love, And I did too. Donbtful and .shy I went to wo(.i, When life was ytnmg, yet longed to ie'arn; And when np to the door I drew, Wished to return. 4* i 58 A REVKnil-:. »S^ ^Tow aj. pears liki- (•IciiU'lKc e'lithvulK-d. -^-*- Wlio i.s so iL'unu'd tn lie to inakc our cUv Lovely us earth In- joyl'iil June ciizuiifd ? He sweeps all creeds IVuiii iiiiiiiuitalily, As iii<,dit is banislii'd l.y the j^^i 1 of (hiy. Till scoiriii-,' sce])tics 1)ow nl)aslicd to heaven, Or nink like M'uves luivkMl I'lda ln,i,'li rocks in spray Down to tlie depths wheiin.' tln-y have vaudy striven, Whilst nudlitude- revere the .'^'ifts su L^randly given. O fur a mind like his tu eojiipr* lur.d The hidden and tlie hi^,di — of iioh"nes3 Earth's nohlest sample : eagi.'r to heiViend The needy in the season of distress. The soul's Shekinah in Douhl's wilderness, Where Pain's dark paths hwav denser hour hv hour. And every step is duwn, — wliu would not bless The hand that lifts ami leads, with such kind power, I'Vom out the arid waste whs're de;ah dwells to devour^ From flic prose of Ci I rljjle. To A. G. Ramsay. "VrOU wake to work, and do !iut shirk ■*■ AVhat duty hids you do : The strength of life is in the strife, Tho' dreadful storms ensue. Improve the mind, and lie resigned To what you cannot mend. For time misspent hrings discontent 1 ud shapes a dreadful end. GO FROM THE PROSE OF CARL VLB. The in.sects sing uiiuu tlie wing An hour, tlit'ii (lisa])i)t'ar: They do their share : not any arc In vain hy God sent here. The little flower, the sunny hour, The storms that blacken heaven. The liopes that hh-ss, or liring distre.-i.s Are all in kindnt-'.^s given. How many a year this mundane sphere lias waited for your lot; One life on earth will stamp yuur worth, So disappoint it not. Then guide, aitho' fate's sullen lluc Drives lierce against hope's prow ; A time of hlooni will surely eonie y If we but labour now. There is no state, nor \u\v nor great, From which we canmit rise. If we but feel that human weal Is sacred to our eves. The strongest mind that moves mankind ' Might some weak idiot be, But for the ])owc'r the present hour ^ Confers on vou and me. Be great, it' thou wouhlst jticach or plough; A day's work is a prayer : Receive to give, and thou'lt receive A more abundant share. Paul says there's more, when life is o'er, Of wages coming due, If we will brave temptation's wave To win the good and true. TO A LADY. Gl To (I. Loxhj. Mailain, 1 lio, a.s is my duty, Ilonuiir tlio sliailow of vour .shoe lie. -IIi.'i.i[iii:Art. YOU are luucli like the iiiaid wIm delighted my fancy, When beauty first kindled tlie delicate juv, — She came to our harn-vard one eveninj.' with Xancv, (Our milk-maid was Xancy when I was a I'oy.) Her ch-^.'ks wore the shell-l/msh, her forehead like lilies, Her step put the fawn of the forest to shame, Iler voice was as glad as the hmnk in the valleys; But praise of such beauty seeins foolish as Idame. Bewildered I blushed before such a Ijeholder, Having Iteen at a logging bee down on our farm : A fork full of hay dangled over my slioulder, An armful of provender under my arm. Upturned were my pants and my hat was in tatters, Slouclied over a countenance sooty and dim : The hat was a felt one, so long from the hatter's But little was left save the ribbon and rim. Slie saw how it Wiis, and did kindly endeavour To banish the pain of my l)oyish distress : Then came the sweet truth which will linger forevur, Tliat women of sense never slight a poor dress. So sneer not at rags, for experience tauglr mc That sensitive worth is so easily hurt ; And honour in patches this parable brought me: The meanest of men often wear the best shirt. And there are so few that make goodness a duty, My heart may 1)e broken but cannot forget ; For she left round remembrance a halo of beauty, Like light round a cloud when the sun is just set. 62 CALIPH OMAR. |; 'I Caliph Omar. ONCE when the Caliph Omar came To council with his men of fame, Two Araljs leading, hound, a third, Approached rotjuesting to he lieard: " Brothers we are who hring our cauoc- A father killed — (he ke])t thy laws) — Whilst walking in the garden air ; This culprit came and slew liini there, Then lied, \\a followed far, and caught, And hiiu f'tr retrihution hrouLrht." "Answer," the Caliph Omar said: The y-ung man calmly raised his head — The Cvauty of his countenance Was his most eloquent defence. " My judg", what they have told is true. And more, winch shall he known to vou. I am a Bedouin, and the land From whence 1 came is desert sand : Uv) to your citv walls there came Our ]K'aceful camel, young and tame : He Itrowsed the Ijranches of a tree. And this an old man chanced to see ; He hurled a stone against its h^-ad And crushed my little ])laymate dead. Enraged I raised the self-same stone, AVhich from my hand was swiftly thrown : The hlow was deadly, uud I sought Safety in ilight, hut here am brought." " Thou hast confessed thy crime," replied The Calij)!!, "let our laws decide: Retaliation is the pain From him whose father thou hast slain." CALIPH OMAR. 03 " My doom is comt'," lie did reply ; " But, one more deed l)efore I die. My dying father in my care Left a young brother; and the share Of shekels which falls unto \nvA Are hidden in the desert dim : Low Luried in a place unknown To any save myself alone. But if j-ou cause my sudden death Before I get him his hequeath, Commander of the faithful, you Must answer to the prophet true. Grant me three davs ; l:)ut do nut fear." "And who will be V(jur suretv liere?" ALizriri, Omar's projiiict, .-.ud : " ;My liJ'e is thine, in this youth's stead : Although a stranger, I v/ill he The captive I'edouin'H guarantee." Three suns o'er the re;i desert rolled, And yet the stranger came not Lack ; The plaintiffs asked Alazon l)old For Idood — tln.'ir vengence W(juld not slack ; This his coiu])anions did deny ; But Omar said, "Oiu' SL-er must o.^; If at the sinking of the sun The vouth delavs, hi;? davs are done," Lo, at that nnunent up he came To answer hon(»r's dnNidfui claim. "Tlie heat hath liindreness As wormwood Idoonis in hitterness — A dreadful feeling, cruel, C(dd, When youth in all save years is (dd. And taunting douhts, a dreaiy crevr Cry, '.vho is constant, what is true Among the lio}»es which move away. Into the realms of ve.-terdav ? G5 ■r m A SXOJr STORM AT X/O'IIT. A Snoiv Sfoi-m at }d(jliL (N. 'ir tlio ".Mount:iiii Vitw llouso," Ilainilt ;i.) To IIakuv Iji'iiKiiuLi-'Ki;, V>. A. "VrOW whiter hovers o'er tlie hill; -^^ And coldiie^^s into crystal stone Hath hushed the music oi' the rill: From every hou'di the hirds have nnv,-:i. igainst the rocks the diil'ts are driven, And storms and winds ohstruct the way: Dark clouds ohscure the scowling heaven, And frown upon departing day. Far off and dim the city li'^hts Fade faintly through the striving stonn ; Like liope which beckons from the heights, And loaves the lonely heart U) liarni. O for some power to break away From this repulsive sullen scene I So changed from childhood's sunny day, From hope, and that which might have been. Abridge thy dreary future, Time ! Or give us what we do not gain; The heart is hardened into crime By long accumulated pain. Yet, source of nature, source of storms, Of all that was or is to come. Let us, before thine awful forms Of trouble, be resigned and dumb. OCTOnEIl October. 67 To Mack. IK Zimmiikman. rplIK ■winds arc hi.iy till we sing of old Stephen, ^-^ A song lie deserves and a spell at the muse; The I'aults of his life may y(ju never helieve in, Xor his will) recounts them — hut do as you chooso. Old Stqthen helieved it was wrong to he solter — Alas I 'tis the creed of too many we know — His heart was not hard like the clod in Oetoher, He often got liigh to keep memory low. I knew of his orchard — wherein, a mere urchin, I often delayed with my satchel until The school-master taught me tlie weight of his bircli, in The school-house that -^tood hy the tree on the hill. That school, where I dn-aded to go as to ])rison, With tasks still unlearned when the hell did recall Our steps to the class, ami the taw s and the lesson : S(mie ])icture maps hung on the ]H'ncil-marked wall. Tho' fame like an eagle o'er loftv Ben Lomond, (A thing quite unlikely) in future should rise, I'll mind -where I carved his young daughter's cognomen Beneath the Idue light of her heautiful eves. His portrait resemlded the picture of Pluto, Which hung hy the door of my grandfathers hall ; His head was an orange tinge, countenance ditto. Rut LTood was the heart that heat under it all. =f-^. 70 TO A JUIiD. • So iK'iU.'i'l'ul was lie tlmt vnu t:(Hils of keen distress Didst thou receive thy natal kiss: Yea, though thou dwellest where pains prevail, With bitter stint and sordid l>ale, Not in such scenes of solace shorn. Was thine immortal being l)orn. M TO A BAUli. 71 U)or ; II ; ly — ilv: ioor. per. Hail, .per, 111 v; ke thine Tii'tu tdu couldst .sell thy .«oul, and be By .slavery from pain set free; But not for fame do.st tliou endure The blijjdit of those wlio ai" not juire; For thou canf^t scorn the oonitliest tlirone.s Where servile slavery L,Mi('ves and f^roans. In liilierty's exultant lli-ht Tis thine to soar celestially, Thronj^h fertile lirniaments of lij^dit, Ileaven'.s .sacred scenery to f^iee. The niusc a holy niansinu stands, Uplniilded l)v Alnii'ditv hands, O'er Hell's etenie antijiodes — A beacon li<^dit its beams have been To all Avho sail life's sullen sea^. iJues not the j,dory of the east O'er-canopy a costlier least Than ever screened a crowned kinif In Folly's foul administering ] Tin; beauty df a thousand wuilds, And every point of light that purls Eternal boundlessness of space, Lit with illimitable grace. With music came that crimson morn, When this terrestrial globe was born; And, since thy s(ml outlasts this earth, Perchance they chanted at its birth: Be this thy inspiration's wing, And thus unto thv sidrit sinL': ail, As thou wouldst live hereafter, live ! (Jive whate'er thou hast to give; When ruin round thy brethren raves. Aid them o'er the adverse waves. 72 TO A. (luFuUTll. I *4 ff I hiiVL' cliantftl \\\\i\\. is wroiiLf, Or woven folJy with my ^uw^ Or caused one kindred liiiniun heart From what it h»ve.sto keep a]»art, Then shako I'rom out thy ^hiss, O Tiiin', Oblivion's a-lies an my rhymi'. To Aled'niidcr (^(tforf/t. rnllK sprinj^' returns; l»y the ohl mill J- l"'itrlli issues the rejuiciiiL,' rill. The liirds are ht-re, and every tree Is rohed in green to greet their glee, Midst soft warm vapurs, early shijwers, Red-glinting dews, and Mushing llowors- I wish their innocence were (turs. How Leautif'ul is earth I — you Whol)id us scorn it, teach untiue. 'Tis human sin thatchiuds our sky, "And drags or drives us on to die:" 'Tis crinu,''s infenud (lag unfurled Which sheds such shadows round our world; Making life's path a thorny glade, Crooked as falsehood when '.dVaid. 'Tis self-wioU'dit wr(m'f Avhich makes us mourn. And mars whatever miglit a(h;)rn The little hjft us here to hless The human h(!art with ha])piness : And every implement of ill Seems hurled against an upward will ; For deiith i^ in the world, and all Its happiest spirits sigh The delicate, the heautiful. However dear, must die. The fruitful trees in hloom arraved, In vales of vivid green. Fleck with manoeuvring light and shade The grave of what has l)een. PC) 7 POEMS Vinm A FORMER I'UIU.ICATION. T/w (ii'uirth of Wliat is Edxrlk'nt ts Slow. Ho sluw Till' gpjwtli of wliiit is cxftllcnt; so Iwinl 'I'o attain iH-rffrfion in tins iictliir wmM. i'oui'kk. "]\ Tl lililOXS of cvck's must liavc pinHod, invpaiin^' XtX Tlie world, o'er Eden's j^'or^^'cous j^'ardcii Mooinod'; TFiousaiids luive lUH'ii, Oalileo-likc, lor dariii;^' Tl. teach men truth, l»y lieaveiily lij^ht ilhimed. The Lest have not 8uoceeded hest, hut perislied, Like hrands liurledout upon tlie wintry snow; And thousands more will fall who should he cherished, For the j,n'owth of what is excellent is slow. l\ej,Metted joys, lost years, a future darkened, These are the phases of our destiny: The lioliest hopes to which our hearts have hearkened, Like fairest flowers, are first to lay fragrant breezes shed, The perfumed air, the rose cloud high and t^till, The stream-bound vale, the lonely whip-poor-will, Whose vespers vibrate down the vested aisles — Wliere i)ai"ting day on pen;-ive evening smiles; Ye, shades and shai)es of slighted swine, appear! Each with vour knife-docked tail, or half-slit ear. Slow sauntering down the lane, with muddy heels. To snuff frankincense from the buckwheat fields: Or carrying straw l)efore an autumn storm, To keep thy cozy sluml>ering jilaces warm ; Or grunting restless round steep stacks of straw. When chilly winds are easterly and raw ; Come and confute your foes, force them to see Who is the most to blame, themselves or thee. A])peal to reason, and if none remains. Appeal to appetite I there all have Itrains, . They come ! they come ! ye gouiliKUKl-^ laise your eyee, See do\ible rows of sausages arise ! From ham and eggs the soothing steam cumes wavy — From mashed potatoes waiting for the gravy. Sweet saliva-exciting elixir, 'Tis thine to make the hungry stomacli stir. Then comes the dough-nutfi — boys can best divulge How Santa Clans makes the new sock-heels bulge. Great commerce, scorning paltry views of caste. Floats bacon loads along the watery waste: To dicker with for what is needed home. Or to su]>ply the sailors as they roam Bv i'ar olf isles, in oriental seas. Where 9}>ices waft unfailing fi'agrancies. 76 HIVINE. (0 fields, green fields, the fields of orient ppring, Wliere crimson birds all day and insects sing) ; Laden with silks her ships recross the main, And sighing damsels learn to smile again. 'Tis said, and trnly, that our food contains The various properties of various brains. Byron called bacon amatory food; Hence its great influence for Ir.d oi good. However this may V)e, one fact is sure, That to the good and pure all things are pure. Some hide-bound l)lunderer.s ^yi a purblind school, Who think th' omniverous animal, man, a fool, Maintain the bleet millennium ?oon would greet This piuse-mad world, if man did eat no meat; That earth would be (juick purged from all distress, And luotherly love come by the first exjiress. 'Tis not in eating part, or eating all, Will i)urify our morals, heart or gall. How meat nuikes mind no mortal known can tell ; And since we in such stupid ignorance dwell, E'en let it rest with our uncertain sins. Till proved where pork-mind ends or beef's begins. For almost any creed a man can choose, Will leave his mind one-sided in its views, Especially when judging the unblest, Who sin outside the sect which he thinks best. No universal rule will suit all cases. Our stomachs differ, as our fates or faces. A moderate use of all things under heaven Is the best precept that the learned have given. One worthy truth life teaches every hour. That temperance gives us health, and health gives power. Not so the dram, one universal curse Sends its partakers to the hopeless hearse. We leave the argument on reason's shelf — Let every stumach eivili/.e itself. But Mr. Bull, Lonl John, would sutlV-r ni..st Keenly, deprived of liis diuniai roust. One beeflesR week M'ould fade Cxreat Biitaiu'. bl.^om, And probably blacken history years to co«n,e. I'heir warriors could not tight, nor ^ilors sail;— All their internal mechanism fail;— But give them beef, half-cooked, and I enga^'e Lord J. will fold hi.s arms and smile at Fenian ra.-»*. In every ])os,sibie clime where food is lound, Do hungry swine-herds graze or root the ground. By bowery banyan trees, or towery i)alms, Persistently :.e cultivates his hams: As per.se vering and prolific still As Scotia's sons, thriving in good ur ill. But v.liLi. the season wanes into the fall. Then comes the saddest, bloodiest sight (d" all ! The big fat barrow, in his sty of straw, Must die— 'tis life's inevitable law. The long knife lets the life-blood from his breint, Or the quick rifle gives his spirit rest. Sad fate, but certain ; let him rest in peace ; And let the l)ig Ijoys sop his bacon grease. Hale lads hard laboring, in the autumn air, Require a huge amount of healthy fare ; Else they will sally forth, beneath the moon, To roast the corn or slay the sly racoon. Now the same pots that stewed his nibs of com, His pea and pumpkin provender at morn, Contain a boiling flood to scald his hair. Ere from the scaffold hangs his bacon bare. No more for him to root the flowery mead, Or come \vith upcurled narrative to feed; No more to stand the barn-yard bars outside, Squealing for entrance at the eventide. 77 78 sirix/-: No more to husk tlie yellow coni for him, In fine October, when tlic days are dim Vet beautiful in haziness, and still, Yea happy as a hungry swine at swill. Vfho has not seen on Indian summer day-; A youthful party husking yellow maize ? When crimson Autumn comes with copious horn To crown the furrows with abundant corn, When restless Sol rolls eastern niirht awav, And pearly dews gleam in the early day ; Only such clonds as torrid heats restrain, Move their vast glory o'er the gaudy plain ; When thistle beards triumphant ride the breeze, And golden sunbeams kindle golden trees ; When purpling clusters, as the winds abound, Trail their long tendrils o'er the dark green ground. Then rosy romping girls and boys agree To help each other at the huskirig bee. There laughter too conies, "holding both his sides,-'"' Frec^uently thence are chosen future brides. From the choice band up wakes the general cheer. As blushijig beauty finds the ruby ear. As her white hands disrobe the gracious grain, None but her bosom knows her tender pain. Her tingling cheeks, suffused, alone would prove The crimson symbol prophesying love. Yet sly refusing that he should redeem The forfeit pledge, with many a modest scream — Pretended pontings over stolen kisses From make-believe-resistin^' ready misses — O earlv gladness! bv wliatever name We call thee, thou art holier than fame ; Or all the joys that nsit us in vain. Among the passing years of hairlening pain. i*i^ '/'///; LITTLE FRAME IfnrsF. 79 ,jy The Little Frame House at tlie foot of the Hill. TTOW oftt'ii there conie.s to the .spirit, when lonely, . ^^ iSomc picture of beauty to gladden our toil : " Some rose of wrecked prospects left blossoming only, In thistles and thorns of adversity's soil. And fadelessly ftmcy retains the reflection, As rocks that are rolled in the midst of a rill, Yet few things can equal in sweet recollection The little frame house at the foot of the hill. A meadow of green has a stream running through it. Where speckled fish sport, and the birds sing thci:' song In groves whose red Ijranches at autumn bestrew i!, And fleck the blue waters that wander alon_. But 'tis not all these that most beauty abides in. It is not the mead with its flowery rill That sweetens remembrance, but she who residr^ in The little frame house at the foot of the hill. Her song is as sweet as the song of the robin That sings by the stream, on the still summer < ve Her heart is the purest that ever did tlnob in A beautiful breast, for the love it relieves ;' Her words are the kindest that ever connected Two fates Avith that magical sentence, I will : No wonder my heart for its Mecca selected The little frame house at the foot of the hill. Sol, shed the glow of thy beautiful glory I Rise mornings of light, and beam evenings <.f ]h;u Come flowers with music to make her life's story A heart full of love, every day to increase. Let him, the one choice of her soul, be unswer\ ir.g In that which gives life its most exquisite tin ill : Sweet destinies fail not in kindlv observiu'^ The little frame house at the ioo{ of the hill. 80 THE <,IJ) SCMBEll FOf'i; PLOU'Uf. The Old Number Fo'.fr PJomjJi. LAST time I ivtunied to my fiithcr'ri plantation, The light of the lan(lsca})e was vividly green: The breezx's were full of the sweet exhalation Of flowers and song, and the sky was serene. My .M]>irit rejoiced in the beauty of summer, And fancy took flights unattem]»ted before; But suddenly sank when I saw a new-comer Had taken th.e ])lace of tjie Old Number Four. My joy was dispelled l)y the shadows oj' sorrow, As all the reverses arose into view. Since guiding that plough with its share like an arrow, Its iron-l)ound beam, and its handles of blue. For oft in the fields, when the crimson of morning Made golden the mists on night's shadowy shore. When wood-robins welcomed the daylight returning, I followed the furrow with. Old Number Four; And all the dav blest with the thrilling reflection That soon as the eventide slowly drew near, By chance I would meet with the blushing perfection Of goMen-haired Anna, the tenderly dear; And wander with her, in the glory a sharer, 'Neath roseate skies round June'.s floweiy floor, Till earth seemed to fade and the heavens come nearer The fields that were furrowed by Old Number Four Perhaps, after all, 'tis this rose of our sjnrits Plucked out of life's wormwood, yet gathered in ^■ain, That gives tlu' old plough such a halo of merits, Being mingled with joys that return not again ; My heart fondly looks from life's wearisome change^, And beats for the beauty that blest it of yoi'e. And loves to contemplate, wherever it langes, The rapture connected with Old Number Four. THE OLD PIXE CAXOE. 81 TJie Old Pine Canoe. To MY Brothf.r. "VrOU leiueniber tlie days that have h)ng ago failed -*- From hills that stand high in the sun's breezy beams; The Hower-spangled shore by the cedar tree shaded, And the Inndgewhere we fished in the many-curved streama. You remember the boat turned all grav bv the weather, That often we sailed into where the grapes grew: ^Xc climbed to the tops of the tall vines together, And watched the waves cradle the old pine canoe. But where is the gloiy ambition projected, \Vlien gailywe roved o'er the water-bound scene i Where now is the gladness that bright scene reflected, Ah, where is the boat that we moored on the green? The spirit of change has all si; -ntlv taken The charm that we loved fmni the objects we knew: The beauty has lied, and our friends have forsaken The scenes where we paddled the old pine canoe. Never agairi will they come to rejoice us, When evening's first sunbeams repose on the hill: Never again will we hear their glad voices, Save when the love^, 'Tis better not to know. Has bright temptation lured thee on To its fair gleaming goal, Till harsh remorse to greater sins Cioads on thy harrowed soul ? Hopes wrecked by rocks along life's stream For evermore laid low, There are some moments in such scenes 'Tis l.ietter not to know. We ploil all feeldy on through fate, Dumb, wretched, tempted, blind: Forbid to hope, and by remorse Forbid to look behind. Resigned to the uncertainty Of evervthing but woe; With doubts forboding future pain, 'Tis l)ett*'r not to know. Tunmltuous passions surge the soul, And fitful visions tlash — Grief-chilled, and fever-scorched by turns, 'Neath pain's all-torturing lash. Desiring death, if but for change; Yet dreading hence to go; For in that sleep what dreams may come, "Tis better not to know. 'TIS BETTER XOT T" EXoir. For in that dim l\itunlv — All liazy lone and far — Upon whose threshold Silence sits, And holds death's door ajar For souls to enter at all hours, While from his house none go, There may he secrets hidden there 'TLs better not to kmnv. The lun