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1 2 3

r^'-fT ^-

*.i

AND CITY LIFE ^^

COUNTRY LOVE

1^5^.

. I

ASJi V I Ui.K /■iU-.ilS

CIIARLKS HKNRY ST. JOHN

BOSTON
A. WILLIAMS AND COMPANY

18K0

-V— ^

n.r»t.t.- rkrlr.Ky,ir r,v. ,, rnnil,(ll
IT«,.„,k I,, ,„|.„ w„v„, X Son. C.,„l,rirtg..

•%rA< r^«/.«A of this little book n the " sur-
mml ^ twenty years' ..^,W,«,^-M. author's
li'st volume having appeared in jSjo. The first
''Shty-six pages, and also from pages 156 to j6o
'nclus ^^^,^„^ ^^ irnure-poeJ,-ehSy

Country Love and City Life, ' ' - u>huh met with
a degree of favor on the platform that .an hardly he

stsn^dforpublu reatation; but as the author has

tlVtT""'- f '■"■''''>'' -A", f^' "-' ventures
to put them ur.th other tnfies, betu-een the covers of

a book. To the many indulgent friends who have
matenally encouraged the publication of these pro-
duei,oHs,he author tenders his sincere thanksf and
trusts that neither they nor A. may be painfull^ dZ
appomted in the result. J "J^ 'tis

iii

CONTENTS.

Corporal Day. •.,,,, t

Episodes of City Life.

Matter o' Money g.

The Firit Moustache. ..... 79

Arethusa g

Sir Norman of the Vale. .... go
Miscellaneous Poems.

The Kiver ._

N"* MS

Sowing and Reaping , .^

A'cohol ,^g

Steam. j

AP^" 154

Union.

Betty and the Bear ,.g

Captain Green's Log-Book. . . . , i6i

A C'ouded June. ,g.

On the Brink ,(,.

Signs of the Times. ,^

The Kingdom of Heaven. .... 167

Anastasia ,^

}

■It

Contents

Gray H»irt.

Song of the Ram.

The Seal in Frog Pond.

"Found Dead."

The Evening Paper, .

My Rocking Chair.

Op'.y Shadows. .

Uncle Ben.

Yearnings. . ,

The Christmas Hells.
The Child Jesus.

Gretchen. . ,

Deceived. .
Roses and Tliorns.
The Press.
Emperor Lead.
To a Rejected Poem.
Keramikal Kraze. .
Her Right to Live. .
Heart and Soul. ,
My Hills. . , ,

169
171

'73

'rS

'77
'79
I, So
iSi

1S6

1S7

i.S,S

190

191

•fi
m

aoo

Corporal Day.

CORPORAL DAY;

COUNTRY LOVE AND CITY LIFE.

In a beautiful region of valleys and hills,

Of broad-bosom'd meadows and murmuring rills.

Is a fair little village, whose principal street

Is shaded with elrvs, whose branches meet

Like a gothic aisle, where the heavens are seen

In glimpses of azure through hangings of green.

A spire or two lift their fingers above,

\nd silently point to the mansions of Love ;

Two or three stores are enough to supply

The people with all they desire to buy ;

While up f.om the stream, £ the foot of the hill,

Comes ever the rumbling roll of the mill.

■ CORPOKAL DAY.

No fiery engine g,«,,h„„d„,„j.. "■••

No, even ,he nerves or .he ,e,.g„p;,„,,

The . ,„„ber„„, brain „r, he village .„ .each
Thego»p.ha.|.eep3,||.he„„i„^ ;"_

knowing ! ■'^ ""

Two or three newspapers come in the bags

or the^post, when it co.es. that are 4ered to

Ere the next ones arrive with their wonderful lie.

To open the mnocent villagers' eyes.
Such a quiet retreat, where sluml.r is sweet.
Is mdeed very rarely one's fortune to greet-
So vastly unlike where the children of fashion
^^^ade for the summer to squander their cash inl
Th.sbnght little Edo they never come near:
^.J^^a. there is naught to inveigle them there

P^ broken-down ..«.. .ho foolishly think

W.n remedy n.ne months of folly and sin,
So wuh nothing to coax the shoddyfied folk,.
The nanves are innocent, guileless, and kind
Tho to savng their pennies .ome little inclined

BLACKBSRRY CSifTRB. j

•Tis a dear little, quiet, conservative place.
Where life is a joy, not a mad steeple-chas^ •
Where no one is wealthy, and no one is poor.
And nobody fastens his windon oi door.
And the girls wear the fashion of one yelr before
T.S a sweet, healthy place ; though, perhaps, to

the crusty.
The street in the summer may seem rather dusty ;
But the water is pure and the meadows are green
And. indeed, all the place looks uncommonly

clean.

A neat little cottage set back from the road
Some eight or ten steps was the peaceful abode
Of a fair little maiden called Caroline Gray
While over the way lived Absalom Day,
Whose heart, as they say,
Wa.s linked to the heart of Caroline Gray
At least, to ,he village 't was very well known ;

For m Blackberry Centre this marvel was true.

That most jieople knew

Much more of their neighbors' affairs than their
own I

Whatever one did. or said, or tried.
Somehow or other, was sure to be spied.
There was n't a nun, or woman, ur child.

4 COKPOKAL DAY.

Old or young, sober or wild,

From the day he was born to the hour he died,

But was known through all the country-^de.

There was n't a man but could tell to a mill

The exact amount in his neighbor's till.

And whether he paid his doctor's bill, '

V/hat insurance was on his life.

And how much money I.e gave his wife,

Kow much longer ran his lease.

And just how often he sold his grease !

So, of course, when such affairs as these

Were known to all, both great and small.

The thrilling fact that Caroline Gray

Encouraged the hopes of Absalom Day

Was as plain to all the Blackberry people.

As the gilded vane on the Orthodox steeple I

In fact, their wedding day was known

To everyone — but them^^lves a.one !

But neither cared a single cent
For all that was said, whatever was meant:
They went their ways,

They dreamed tlieir dreams,
They said their says,

And schemed tlieir schemes.
And oh I such walks

tovE's roatrc dksam.

And endless talks.
O'er breezy hills — by haunted streams !
What magical castles, sublime and grand,
They built as they loite 'd hand-in-hand !
Not all of them airy or based on sand ;
For thro' the bright tears that biiided their eyes,
They saw the fair summits of promise rise :
They saw a church, and before the rail,
A handsome youth and a maiden \a\t :
(The maiden jwle was Caroline Gray,
And the handsome youth was Absalom Day.)
And they saw a farm in that beautiful land.
With waving fields on every hand.
And forests deep, and orchards rare.
Whose bloom lent fragrance to the air ;
And a beautiful cottage, where roses twine ;
And a horse or two, and a couple of kine,
And ducks and geese, and a (at little hog,
And a snipperty-soapperty i)oodle-dog !
And they dreamt that all these things, you know,
Belonged to Absalom Day — and Co.
And furthermore, before the door
Of the cottage, they saw — well, less than a score,
Say three little youngsters, with brightest eye-.,
Down in a mud-i)uddle making pies I

* COItfORAL DAY.

Such the fair vision that dazzled their eyes,
Like Jacob's ladder that reached to the skiw |

Ah ! don't we remember the sweet !ong-ago
When we, now so solemn, were acting just so •'
When down in the fire-light, far „„ ,he wane.
Wc counted those magical castles-in-S,.ain
Most wondrous creations! delightful as dreams
Of Arcadian valleys, and mountains, and str-ams.
Where naught but enchantment the eyes may
behold ; ^

Where the rivulets ripple o'er i.ebbles of gold •
Where beauties display their most exquisite

chaims,
And ,,leasures enfold us in rapturous arms!
No dangers appall us -no sorrows enshroud-
•N.>..th the burden of labor wc never are bow'd ;
Where all we may sigh for we sureiy shall gain. '
No summit so lofty we cannot attain ;
Where honors are strewn like the leaves of the

grove.
And glories Illume us wherever we myc.
So real they seem'd,
W'e > new not we <lream'd ;
We felt not we saw in the embers, that gleam'd

VILLAGE COSStf. •

v^ith a glow growing dimmer

Each moment, the shimmer
That fashion'd the fanciful visions of youth ;

Till Time told the truth,' —
That all these warm timings were airy and vain ;

Yet we deem'd Time unjust,
Till we touch'd the pale relics and found they

were dust !
When we strove to create the fair vision again ,
But vanish'd for aye were our castles-in-Spaia !

But let us return to Absalom Day.
His purse was short, but his limbs were long ;
His means were weak, but his arms were strong;

And everyone knew he scare? could pay

His current exijenses, while Caroline Gray
Tai'ght, for years, the village school,

And had a trifle laid away

For a rainy day ;
So everyone said "she would be a fool

Tew throw her valoo'ble hand away

On sich a kcard es Abs'lum Day i "

But that's what people always say.
When such a miserable, silly thing
As Ix)ve puts on the wedding ring.

CORPORAL DAY.

" Love, indeed! I'd like to know

If Love can make the old mare go,

Or fill your jKJckel, or till your farm,

Or keep your back in the winter warm,

Or darn your hose, or save the stitches

On frocks, and coats, and shirts, and — that?

If so, I'll certainly set >/i_y hat."

This is the way you'll mostly find

The disappointed ease their mind.

Whose chance is poorer of getting a bid,

Than finding the treasure of Captain Kidd.

Dut Absalom very well knew indeed
What people said; for could n't he read
The scornful looks that were always cast
By certain people whene'er they passed,
With envious mutterings such as this,
(By the meet in' -house door !)

As full of spite as a seri)ent's hiss:
"And /te so poorl

But, land I you know

Sich fools will always be doin' so." ?

"Oh, yes! " j iiinies in some ancient maid;

"'Tis a wonder to me she isn't afraid

Of comin' to want ; you would i.'t kitch me 1

Oh, nol"

TH£ COVNTRr STORE.

But then she happen'd to see
That Absalom caught the words she said,
And so the tip of her nose grew red,
Which was all the blushing that came to view.
As she tries to stammer out, ' How d'ye do?"
When Absalom Day,
In reply may say,
" Not much the better, old maid, for you ! "

I've nothing to say 'gainst church or steeple,
Against the pastor or yet the people;
But this, I think, you'll find the case,
That there is no more likely place
For finding out the latest news.
Than down among the narrow i)ews.

Now Abialom Day, like a Scottish laird,
Was certainly poor and proud ;

But his was a heart that could n't oe scared,
Antl a head that could n't be bowed.
He was only a clerk in the country store.
Where all was sold — and a little more :
Pins and pijjcs, and tea and nails,
Sugp.r and ribbon, flannel and jwils.
Boots and butter, a^.i tops and ta|w,
Whiting and blacking, molxsses a.id crajic.

>i(iMw«*^«»*«<P<«Mn">aaa«a

CORPOKAC DAY.

Corn and crockery, leather and cheese.
Syrup for babes and poison for fleas,
And strings of onions and pens and' ink
And. out of a demijohn, something to drink !
VVhere onceinawhile the stage-coach atopp'd.
And down a hungry mail-bag dropp'd,
Which Calvin More, who kept the store.
With dark, mysterious visage bore
Behind the counter, into a niche,
Sacred to letters, papers, and "sich."
While pretty gossips waited without.

Loudly ribbon'd and lavishly curl'd, _
Half-expecting and half-in-doubt, —
Wriggling, giggling, roguish romps,
Charmingly guiltless of all the pomps,

^i not the vanities of the world.
•Twas the grand exchange of scandal and news
And a wonderful place to cure the blues ;
For there from morn till nine or ten,
You'd generally find the leading men, —
The men who held official station,
(You'd think, indeed, they .uled ihe nation -)
Deacon Dotkl. and Father Hobb.
And queer old Uncle Nathan Cobb,
Captain Keene. of martial mien.

SBEKS HtS FORTUNE.

And the village infidel, Orville Green.
With lesser lights mixed in between.
You'd see them all some frosty night
When snow is crisp and stars are bright.
As round the red-hot stove they sit.
And smoke, and chew, and talk, and spit.
And spin their yarns of this and that.
From Hobbses' farm to Cobbses' cat I

Such was the place where Absalom Day
Wore the prime of his youth away;
Till all-at-once he began to say,
"This kind of life will never pay !
I'll toss my bundle upon my back,
And off I'll tramp to the railroad-track.
And take the cars for Boston, where
I'll make my fortune, and then appear
Sudden, some morn, to charming Carrie,
And ask her right away to marry !
And then how all the village will stare!
Ha, ha ! who says that Absalom Day
Doesn't know how to make his way?"
Ar.d then would Alwalom nod and wink.
And laugh in his sleeve, till his eyes did blink
In the bright eflTulgence of his dreams.
His radiant hopes and brilliant schemes

CORPOKAL DAY.

So time wore on from week to week,
Till Absalom Day procured the cheek
About his great designs to si)eak.
'Twos a heavenly night !
The moon shone bright
Over the sliimb'ring trees,
And the dreamy scent
Of the violets blent
With the freshness of the breeze;
And the twinkling stars

But let them twink;
For all I really want to say
Is simi)ly this, that Absalom Day
Was going away, and, of course, the pink
Died out in the cheeks of Caroline Gray,
As they stooil entwined in a kind of a wiy
That some, i)crhaps, very silly may think.
They vow'd to love, and they pron-.ised to write.
And i.ledged to dream cf each other at night.
And they said such love could never be bought
For gold or silver, —and so they thought;
And bo, {)oor things !
They barter'd their rings,
And bade each other adieu.

SKES THE CITY.

Smiles and blushes and sighs and tears
Write the record of human years ;
And all our sorrows and joys and cares.
Gains and losses and hopes and fears
Fade in blushes and sig.'s and tears.

• «

Bricks and mortar and dust and stones,
Crowded streets and aching bones.
Nothing to do and not much cash,
Arj I board to "ay for attic and "hash;"
No wonder Absalom thought himself rash,
As he toss'd and turn'd on his sleepless bed,
With a burden'd heart and an aching head.
Yet never a word he dared to write
To Carrie Gray of his serious plight •
Nor did he dream of her scarce a night,
But he was sure to 'wake in a fright !
Now was the time to test and settle
The strength and weight of Absalom's mettle ;

'* COMfiOKAL DAY.

Now w- the time to gauge hi, mind. -
Whether 'twas one of the stronger kind-
Whether his bark would breast the wave'
Or speedily sink in a nameless grave
No friend had he to help him then,
As friends are only for fortunate men';
And still too proud to tell his grief
lo the one who would gladly grant relief.
There was the battle for him to fight.

That call'd out all his mind and might;
There was the trial for him to meet,

The tempter to trample beneath his'feetl

•Tis easy to guide the Ixirk aright

When winds are fair and skies are bright •

But when the Storm-king rules the wave '

Then must the pilot be skill'd and brave!

He is a hero who risks his lit

For his country's good, on the field of .trife ;

He IS a hero who bears his flag,

Till naught remains but a tatter'd rag;

He is a hero who lifts his arm

To shield his friend from fatal harm;
He IS a hero who buffets the wave
To pl.ick a si;ul from a watery grave -
Who climbs a ladder with stifled brelth

KAST-WlHDIHtSS, 15

To snatch a babe from a fiery death I
Yes ; heroes these supreme and grand,
The p.ide and boast of the proudest land.
But greater than all is the nameless youth.
Whose only shield is the sj^tless truth, —
Who laughs to scorn the lempter's power.
And stands by the right in danger's hour!

'Twas a rainy night ; in fact, all day
The rain came down in a drizzling way ;
And the wind was east, ..nd chilly at that.
And everyone felt af cross as a cat, —
When every jaw with a hollow stump
Did ache and shoot and twinge and Jump;
And you know it requires the saintliest grace
To be calm and sweet with a swollen face.
And some with "dyspepsy " groan'd and growl'd,
And some with " rheumatiz " hopp'd and howl'd,
And others had bunions, corns, and sprains,
<NAnd all the hundred thousand pains
,^»That plague mankind whene'er it rains !
Oi'Twas just the weather you " feel like fight,"—
vVhen sweet is bitter and day is night.
And nothing at all will come out rigiit.
'Twas just, in fact, that kind of day

CORPORAL DAY.

When some men scold their wives, by way
Of letting off their pent-up spleen, —
(Which all must own is horrid mean!)
And fret and fume and fuss, and say

Whatever she docs is sure to hi wrong,

The tea is weak, the butter is strong,
The beef is burnt, the mutton is raw,
The pudding— oh, pshaw! 'tis not worth a straw!

And why do you look so sour? and why

But here, poor thing, she begins to cry;
And none but a brute could bluster and blow,
When those bright little tears Iwgin to flow

As Deacon Dodd onre feelingly said
About his Betsy, long since dead •
"If ever an angel loved a man.
That angel, sir, was Betsy Ann !
If I hapijen'd to scold her, she was so meek,
(Which the Deacon did seven times a week !)
She 'd clap her apron up to her eye,
And never say nawthin', but on'y cry."
But, ladies, jjerhaps you 'd like to be told
That Deacon Dodd, like other men.
Waited a year, and married again;
But he married a most inveterate s< old I
So now it's the Deacon's turn to be meek.

Hn CITY HOME.

As he gets well rasp'd from week to week ;
But rather than open his head he 'd burst !
He wishes the second was with the first;
But as she 's as tough as a hickory limb,
No doubt she '11 live to say of him, —
"If ever a saint the footstool trod.
That man, that saint, was Deacon Dodd!"

»7

'Twas a rainy night, and Absalom Day

Was just as tired as he could be ;
He had searched since dawn in every way,

And never a prosi)e<fl could he see, —
Except tbe prospedt of roofs and rows
Of chimney-i»ots and fluttering "clo'es,"
And a ])atch of sky above his head, —
A yard -and -a-half of dirty lead !
'Twas down in one of those blighted streets.
Where " l>oarders wanted ' the stranger greets
In many a window, and where you'll find
" Doctors' " shingles of every kind :
Cures by lifting and cures by shaking.
Cures by boiling and cures by baking,
Cures by drcri«:hing and cures by drugging.
Cures by pounding ami cures by hugging,
Cures in the light by electric spark.

CORPORAL DAY.

And cures by" spirits" in the dark;
While others cure all human ills
With poison —in imperceptible pills!
The very home, it seems to be,
Where Humbug signs itself " M. D."

Here, in a boarding-house, Absalom ate
His hash and pie, and daily met
A score or so of wretched creatures
With hungry looks and wasted features,
Who had n't the cheek to csk the master
Whether the dish was hash or plaster.
Who could n't afford to be unruly,
Or even hint the beef was <• bully."
Where sour sauce distorts the eye.
And painted paste is " punkin-pie,"
And soda-biscuits, green as lizards,
Take the coating off their gi/zards ;
And where, like Egy,,fs bony guest'
Dyspeiwia grins among the rest !

Ah ! how unlike his boyhood's home.
Beneath the blue, unclouded dome, —
Amonr the hills!-, he farm-house quaint,
With time grown gray and lack of paint;
The cosy roon and trun.ne-bed,
With snowy sheet and i>atchwork spread.

THE COVIfTRY BOY. 19

And well washed floor and rustic chair.

And oi)en window that let in the air

Laden with sweets of flower and tree.

Warble of bird and murmur of bee,

And a far-away view, wh.re the mountains rise

Like great green steps to the liending skies 1

And how unlike the wholesome " board •*

That even " the Centre" could afford •.

The yellow corn-cake, hot and sweet,

And golden butter, — a princely treat !

The bowl of cream, the berries blue

From yonder bank that drijis with dew ;

And best of all to souls that feel,

A sainted mot"..er bless'd the meal.

Ah, how unlike, indeed ! But when

He thought of the lives of mighty men.
Who left their homes, and fought their way,
He clench'd his fist, did Absalom Day,
And cried, •• I'll fight as well as they I "

Alas ! for the wonderful country-boy, —
His father's pride and his mother's joy, —
When \o the mighty marts of trade
He comes, in Sunday best arrayed,
And in the crowded, lonely streets,

CORPORAL DAY.

No fiieiid's familiar visage greets !
And, worse than all, there seems to be
No |)lace for such a hand as he :
Although equipp'd for any toil,
From running a bank to gauging oil,
Yet, strange to say, where er he goes.
Some i)ert official pulls his nose,
By saying, with a saucy leer:
There 's no one wants to see you here.

Each night, returning to his room,
His heart o'erwhelm'd in deep'ning gloom.
His roll of greenbacks growing slimmer.
The luster of his " store-clothes' ' dimmer.
He scarce i)erceives the faintest glinnner
This siile or t'other of the tomb !

Ah ! city friends, don't slight, I pray,
The country-lad that comes )u.ir way
Uncultured he, no doubt, and shy;
Hut look in the depths of his honest eye
And see the truth and purity there,
The manly j>«ri>^.s€, the wort!; that will wear,
And traits of charader rich and rare !
I5e civd, at least ; the answer you give
To his mild request, in his mind may livf

THE BOY OF THS PERIOD.

flt

To please or plague him all of his life, —
A soothing balm or a poison'd knife !
" Kind words are cheap," says the provj-rb old ;
*Tis false ! or why are they dearer than gold ?
Don't blast his hope, or crush his heart,
Or cruelly cause his pride to smart ;
For, friends, believe me this is true.
He may be rough, uncultured, shy,
With blushing cheek and downcast eye,
But yet, that boy you deign to view,
That boy is just as proud as you 1
And he who laughs at the lad knows naught
Of the diamond-seeds of Work and Thought,
Or the vein of gold in his being wrought.
For who are the m^n that rule the State, —
The Rich, the Wise, the Good, the Great?
Were they not nurtured 'mong the hills,
The blooming fields and sparkling rills ?
Or where the pines their tassels shake.
Or where the wild sea-binows break?
Not down in narrow streets and lanes,
Where Folly sweeps and Want complains ;
Where hydra-headed monsters glare,
And noisome vapors taint the air ;
Where human bears and tigers growl,

CORPOKAL DAY.

And human wolves and foxes prowl I
No city hot-house plants are they,
Papp'd and coddled every day,
Afiaid of rain and S!«ow and sleet,
Bcnumb'd with cold and baked with heat.
And scared to damp their dainty feet !
No city puppets, pale and thin.
Familiar from their birth with sin ;
Who call their fathers "Gov," "Old Chap,'
And in his face their fingers snap !
Vanish'd the dewy bloom of Youth,
Crush'd out the sacred soul of Truth ,
Eager to grasp the poison'd cup
That Pleasure's feverish hands hold up I
Easy prey of pimp and knave,
Folly's pupil. Fashion's slave,
Gambler's victim, harlot's jest.
Trickster's tool, policeman's jiest, —
Drinking, smoking, swaggering, sneaking,
Vilest language ever speaking :
Virtue-killers, soul-destroyers.
Cheating, pilfering their employers, —
Such the wretci.-ed youths you meet
Crowding every city street !
Glance o'er the list of mighty names

THE MBN WHO KULS.

That on the roll of honor flamei.
And you will find the vast array
Did from the meadows wend their way;
Stout, stalwart sons of toil were they,
Who slept all night and wrought all day.
Who breathed the purest air tliat blows
O'er blooming fields and driven snows :
Lithe of limb and stout of heart,
Ready to take the hero's part ;
Ready to battle for the right,
Ai David left his flocks to fight
Philistia's boastful man-of-might.
And there, defenceless and alone,
Destroy'd an army with ■• stone;
So now you find in evcrv town.
The men nho bring the giants down.
The men who guide the i>eople's wills
Were nurtured 'mong the rocks and rilL !

But where is Absalom ? Ijct us sec ;
In bed, I guess, or he ought to be.
He said his prayers and closed his eyes,
In hope that when the morn should rise.
Some help may come from earth or skies.
Oh I what so welcome, sweet, and kind
As dre-'mless Sleep to a troubled mind !

»3

COKPOKAL DAY.

III.

Peate t Are you dreamt n^^ of peace t
77iere ^s peace alone in the grave ;
Anil the battle with It'roni^ must never cease.
While there ts a Soul to save /
Oh ! place your ear on the Jfeart,
Physician of Human Life,
And you 7/ find the need of a Afi^^htier Art
Than yours in the terrible strife !
Tlie ocean is suit with tears.
The wind is Humanity's moan,
Tlie earth is the dust of a million years,
Ami every Soul is alone !

• *
«

Oh ! there are seasons when the Past
Comes o'er the soul like shadows cxst
By drifting clouds o'er summer seas,
Whos^ blue waves, crested by the breeze,
Grow gray awhile and dark and dun,
As if they mourn'd the absent sun.

ALONE.

The soul grows sick w^n pensive pain,
As halC-remember'd scenes arise,
And faces flit before our eyes.
And words of love ant' lines of song.
And deeds and days, forgotten long.

Float back in airy forms again.

Float back ; but like the fairy biro
That trembles o'er the honey'd leaf, —
A winged emerald, bright and brief,

That melts ere one can say the word, —

These visions fade, — a gleam — no more,

And leave us lonelier than before !

In Blackberry Centre, you know, we left
A dear little girl of her lover bereft :
How slowly and sadly the days went by.
You could plainly read in her jiensive eye.
But what gave Caroline most concern
Was to think that nothing o{ him could she learn.
They j)romised to dream of each other at night,
And every day a letter to write ;
But now some weeks had pass'd away.
With never a word from Absalom Day !
She knew he had " reach'd the city all right ; "
For he sent a message the very next night.

»S

CORPOKAL DAY.

With his street-address and the words above,
(But never a line or lisp of I jve !)
On a scrap of paper, by Caleb Skeggs,
Who was "deown to Ilawst'n scllin' eggs."
But whether since then 'twas ill or well
With Abbalom Day, she could not tell.
Sometimes a spark of jealousy came
And burn'd in her heart with a greenish flame:
" What ! can it be i>ossible he has met
Some city belle ! Could he thus fo.^ ;t,
S soon, the sacred vows he niaile ?
Can love so bright so quickly fade ?
Oh, no ! oh, no ! it cannot l)e ;
My Absalom still is true to me ! "
And then, with her head on her hand at rest,
She watch'd the sun sink down in the west
And the birds in pairs come home to their nest.
And then she gazed with a litjuid eye
On the hilb they climb'd in the days gone by.
And she thought of the schemes t..ey had plann'd

for life,
When she slioulii be Somebody's own little wife ;
And the stars look'd sad as they throbb'd on high,
And the night-winds wafted a gentle sigh.
And the page she was reading while yet 'twas day

SHt KltOWS.

»7

Was pucker'd and damp'd in a singular way ;

For she guess'd, with womanly instindt well,

The trouble that Aljsalom dare not tell.

She knew how slende; the chance he had, —

A motlest, friendless, country-lad, —

To reach the goal and grasp the prize

That dazzifs so many ambitious eyes.

Well she knew of the struggle and strife

For the gilded bubble of city life;

And she saw him jostled from side to side,

Weary in limb and wounded in pride.

And what, perhaijs, was worse than all.

She knew his means were growing small !

" Whether it please him," she said, " or not,"

' Twill show, at lea-.t, he isn't forgot."

So ere that night she slept a wink,

She took her pen and jwper and ink.

And wrote such a beautiful, tender note,

As might m.ikc your heart leap up in your throat.

We flatter ourselves, we bearded }>ny<5,
That we are deep, and can conceal

All that we know and do and feel,

Our business sorrows and club-house joys, —
From the innocent creatures who make our tt \;

COKFORAL DAY.

But believe me, friend, that they can see
Right through and through both you and me I
As if your clove or cardamom-seed
Could hide thy guilt in wine and weed I
Ah, foolish mortal, do you sui)|)ose
That only to smell the scent of a rose.
And not tne otlor that 's in your clothes.
She's got that sweet little, jxirt little nose?
Pshaw ! your screen is a jKine of glass.
Through which she sees that you are — alas !
hy no means the lion you think within.
But a long-ear'd thing in a lion's skin !

No, no, my friend ; don't try to hide
Your fear, or shame, or sorrov or pride
From the rib that was taken out of your side.
'Tis he'--, to help you in life, and to share
Not only your joy, but also your care.
The problem that gives you weeks of pain.
She may solve with a flxsh of her finer brain.
She may not reason as well as you ;
But her scissors can cut the knot in two.

Let no dark secret ever arise.
Like an evil spiri in love's disguise j
Unless, indeed, you hapinrn to be
A brother of some fraternity ;

THE SECKST OP HASONRY.

»9

For then, perhaps, she might let it ou..

Whenever she felt inclined to ix)ut.

As the story is told of a mason's wife.

Who plagued him almost out of his life.

To learn the secret, whatever it be,

•• Ye mystycke Wonie " of M usonry.

Said he, " Now, Mary, if 1 should tell

The awful secret, I know very well.

That when you're mad, my darling dear,

... U rip it out that all may hear."

Said ■ le, " O Edward, never, never !

Twill sleep in my heart's recess forever.

Tell me — tell me, Edward, and I

For thee will live and for thee will die ! "

" Well then, my love, 't is only this". . . .

(But here she plante<i a lusciou:^ kiss

On the lips that really seem'd to burn

With the wonderful word she was soon to learn :)

" Now, Mary, remember my woe or weal

Depends on the word I'm about to reveal."

"O Edward, dearest, you may dejwnd

I'll keep it close till life shall end ! "

" You 've said enough ; — now listen, my dear !

The awful secret .... Hark ! .... do I hear

A whisper ? . . . No ! . . . that Masonry screens —

3°

CORPORAL DAY,

Hush ! .... is Faha, the I^tin for beans ! "
Scarcely a week had jiass'ti away
Krc Mary got mad, and what did she say?
Why she halloo'd out that all may hear,
' 'Fhijcbe and beans ! I' ve got you there .' ' '

But now to Absalom let us fly,
Who slept that niglit as sweet as a child ;

And when he awoke the sun was high.
And Nature's self rejoiced and smiled ;
And Absalom felt refresh'd and bright.
His head was clear and his heart was light :
He seem'd to hear, down deip in his soul,
A whisper of hoi)e, like the far-away roll
Of an unseen sea, or the soft refrain
Of the silvery How-bells, Turn again !
'I'urn again, Absalom, turn again !

.S< arce had he dress'd when the i»ostman came.
And Absalom heard him shout his name,
And Absalom shouted back the .same ;
When down he raced with a rosy hue,

And found a letter from you know who I

'Twas one of those long-and-narrow billies,
That smelt of rose and wa.s stamp'd with lilies, —
A ( unning wreath around a " C."

TH£ FIRST LOVE-LETTER.

" Oh, yes," said Ab, " this note 's for me ! "
Then, with three strides, he climb'd the stairs,

And shut and lock'd his chamber-door.
And when the cover he wildly tears,

A ten-dollar bill slips out on the floor.
Then Absalom he went crazy, you see, —

As mad as a maniac over the letter ;
For he pinn'd it on to his pillow, that he

Could hug and kiss it all the better.
Did you ever hear of such freaks before ?
Well ; such is Love, — till the honeymoon's o'er.
Ii he read it once he reatl it at least
A hundred times ; in faifl, 't was a feast.
He read it sitting and standing and lying;
He read it singing and laughing and crying ;
He read it from top to bottom, and then
He rea»l it from bottom to top again !
He read it so ofte.i, indeed, that he
Forgot his breakfast, dinner, and tea;
And the fun of it wxs, that, over the way,
Two or three girls.
Fixing their curls.
Were splitting their sides at Absalom Day !
For, not l>eing used to closing his bliml.
They saw, and thought he was out of his mind !

3»

CORPORAL DAY.

But •' niver a bit," as Paddy would say,
He was only crazed in an amative way, —
His soul was stirr'd — he was wonderful glad \
For this was the first love-letter he 'd had :

" Dearest Absalom: « ♦ « f^,,^^
UTii/e grass is green ami skies are l>lue ! ' ' cty.
"* * "So never despair, with strength and health.
Something beyond the reach of loealth.
Rain must fall, and the heavens must frown.
And flowers must fade, and fiehU groiif brown.
And riches are winged like thistlc-do7i<n.
From under the rocky ribs of the earth
Come light and heai of the winter hearth ;
And up from the deep, dark caves of the sea
Are brought the pearls of the kings to be;
And out of the flint they crush the gold.
And water with sweat the seed in the mould;
And the sivord that never is drawn from sheath
Shall win no worth the heai'ens beneath !
Then hold thee up with a manly brow.
And meet the storm that is driving now.
As long as there are millions to feed,
Afillions to clothe, and millions to lead.
So long must the Plough, *he Loom, and the Pen

HIS REPLY.

Await the guidance of earnest men.
Only be true to yourself and the Right,
And, chasing the steps of retreating Night,
Will rise the Gi: er of life and light. ' '

No vi-ftor that ever redcem'd his land,
No hero that comes with a rescuing hand.
No prophet that ever the future unroU'd,
No angel that came to the seer of old.
E'er brought to a soul such a healing ray
As di<i this letter to Absalom Day !
So when he was cool enough to write,

He seized, with tremulous hand, his pen,

Resolve<l to answer it there and then.
And send it off that very night !
But writing was not his forte, you know, —
The lines were laljor'd anil the words moved slow.
Not but the " hand " was easy reading, —
A fa<5l that show'd- his humble breeding, —
A hand to enter sugars and teas.
Butter and eggs and lard and cheese.
Pork and molasses and things like these, ^
In sooth, a very good hand to teach ;

But not a hand.

You understand.

CORPORAL DAY.

For tropes and flowers and figures of speech.
So when the letter was all complete,
(Although 'twas plain enour;h and neat,)
It had a kind of a grocery look,
As i f ' t were torn from the order-book.
He told her how hard it was to find
"A \)\mc Just suitfii to his mind."
As if, ix)or boy, 't was his to choose,
Ant* this accept or that refuse !
(But where *s the lad that dares to tell
The naked truth alniut himscl',
Or to his lady-love disclose
How many a time they \m\\ his nose !)
He gave her an inkling of city-life.
Its mirth and madness, bustle and strife,
Its splendor and scjualor, pleasure and woe
Rolling along in endless flow. . . .
*Twas a very sensible letter indeed.
And one that a sensible girl could read
With pleasure and profit, — no promises rash
Al>out "coming cvcnt-s," or nonsense and trxsh
Al)out Cupids and that ; and as for the bill,
"Pwas droppM, as it were, in a grorery-till ;
For he wrote a receipt, in a business-like way.
And sign'd \i, pro forma, " Aiisalom Day."

THS tlULD oy D£A TH.

IV.

*Tit the Fiflit of Death/ and 'twas War's red
hand

That piiugh'd the furrows and sow' d the grain ;
jt was huma,: hearts that enrich' d the land.

And the crop grew rank in the crimson rain !
' Twas here — 'twas here that the flojoer and pride

Of the Nation fell when the Reaper came.
And the sheaves, as they bent down side by side.

Were borne away by the lurid flame !

Oh think, brothers, think what a prtte was paid

That the Land we love should be pure and free.
That the corner-stone our Fathers laid

Should ne'er be the base of Slavery !
Oh say can it be that this blood-bought Land

Shall sink to a home for the vile and base f
J\^^ t — rather let the waves o'ersweep the strand,

A nil dash it from Earth' s polluted face !

3«

CORPORAL DAY,

'Tis WELL, in Heaven's appointed plan.
We sometimes fail to grasp the prize
For which we seek with eager eyes;

For 'tis the search that makes the man.

Success through failure oft is found :

Had we but reat h'd the place we sought.
Or done the brilliant deeds we thoupht,

Should we now hold this vantage-grounti ?

The little slip, the small delay

That brought us panting to the strand.
With bag and baggage in our hand,

To see the vessel sail away ! —

The chance we miss'd by just a hair,
That made us mourn our luckless fate.
And smite the breast, and cry, " Too late ! "

How deep it jjlungcd us in despair !

But, by-and-by, when Rumor's wing
Wafts back tlie tidings that no more
The fated bark shall greet the shore,

How grateful, then, the songs we sing I

" We walk by faith and net by sight ; "

And, groi)ing blindly in the night,

Abundant cause have we to bless

The thorns that pierce with sore distress, ^

SUMTER'S GUH.

That rend the flesh, but plainly say :

" Turn back, for you have miss'd the way t

Here Danger lurks in pitfalls deep.

And bogs and dens and chxsms steep I

Oh turn and tread the beaten track, —

There Safety leads, — turn back, turn 1)ack !

Well, time roll'd on, and nothing yet
Turn'd up to save our friend from debt ;
Although the secret of wealth to find
Deeply exercise<l Absalom's mind.
He sought with diligence far and wide.
And left no feasible stone unturn'd
By which a living may be earn'd.
He heard of many an easy way, —
A royal road to wealth, I may say ;
But none of them suited Absalom Day.
No felon-maxim ruled the man :
" Get money ; honest, if you can ;
But if you can't, — get money sure ;
Be what you will, but don't be i)Oor ! "
Not such his " policy ; " better be dead
Than sell his soul for the devil's bread 1
So things look'd dark on every siile ;
For though the world, indeed, was wide.

CORPORAL DAY.

His share contraded, in his view.
To just a strip six feet by two !

But that was the summer of 'Sixty-One,
When t; e World was startled with Sumter's Gun I
When there was Work foi the Loyal and True,
And thousands found enough to do 1

Oh, who hxs not seen a beautiful child, —
Frolicking, laughing, thoughtless and wild;
Light as the swallow that skims the stream.
Innocent-sweet as a maiden's dream ;
Laving his limbs in the pearly dew.
Gathering flowers of every hue,

Wh»re butterflies flit and iioney-bees hum ; —
Who has not seen him pause to hear
The voice that flute-like floats to his ear,
As dancing homeward he answers clear :
" My mother is calling : I come, I come ! "
So, many a youth as full of joy.
As careless-free as that innocent boy.
Catching the tones of the trumiK't-call,
In lowly cottage and lordly hail.
Paused and listen'd that terrible day, —
Solemnly paused in work and play,
As glitter'd the sword and roU'd the dnjm ;

SJfUSTS.

Then, bright and beauiiful, brave and strong.
They swept and swung in legions along,
And timed their march to the grand okl song,
" Our Country calls : we cor.>e, we come ! "

IVe tome to free our Brother, who has cried so long

in vain ;
IVe come to lift the fallen, and to break the tyrant's

chain ;
We come to wash our Banner of its hell-polluted

^l<i'n. As we go marching on !

Our Fathers sealed the Union and are sleeping

side l<y side ;
What God hjth join'd together let no traitor hand

divide :
But one in Name ami Nation will we evermore

abide / As we go marching on /

Now, Aljsalom Day was one of the first
To heed the call, though he had no thirst
For a hero's fame or a soldier's life.
Nor was he a lover of danger and strife ;
But stil! was he loyal, brave, and true, —
So he join'd the ranks of the " Boys in Blue."

CORPORAL DAY.

The ranks ar ''I'd — the hour is come :
Now screams the fife and rolls the drum 1
Through crowc' ;d streets the legions tread.
The Spangled Flag above their head.

" Farewell, dear mother, child, and wife!
Farewell, sweet home ! Though sweet is life.
To make men free is sweeter far.
March on ! Behold the guiding star !
Mr rch on — march on for Go<l and Right I
The northern hills sink out of sight.
March on, till old Virginia sees
The North Star flashing through her trees 1 "

or all the boys in the camp, they say
There was mo better than C()kih)ral Day :
Generous, noble, kind, and true;
Brave to ilare and ready to tlo ;
Above all mean and selfish ways, —
On every lip was the Corporal's praise.

'Twas ju?t in the gray

Of a crisj) autumn-day,

When " I'orward ! " was heard;

And the word
Put all the long column in motion.
No time for adieux or devotion ;

FIGHTS AND FALLS.

Each thought of the one that he loved,
As o'er the green mc.:dows they moved.
They waded the stream, and were rising the hill.
When over their flags came the shrill
Ping-ping .nd zip-zip of bullets, and then,
On the crest of the hill, the gray figures of men

'Mid pufl"s of blue smo'.ie.

Then suddenly broke
A thunder-cloud over each head.
With a tenijiest of fire and lead.
And so for six hours it raged, till the dead
Lay in heai>s on the field, and the river ran red.

* * *
Wounded and fainting and carried away.
Full soon in the a<5lian, fell Corporal Day!

* * *

Death gives a brave discharge. No more
Shall roll of drum or cannon's roar
Disturb the soldier now. Advance, retreat.
Are empty sounds ; success, defeat,
To him are one. Now gently fold
His waxen hands, so white and cold,
With decent care across his breast.
And lay him down to dreamless rest.

4»

CORPORAL DAY.

With quivering heart and trembling hand,
Poor Caroline Gray, as pale as a ghost,
Opcn'd the paper that came by post,
And glanced o'er the ti<lings that darken'd the

land ;
When, breathless, bewilder'd and reeling, she read
Her Absalom's name with the " Wounded and
Dead!"

'T is enough ! 't is enough ! — No need to be told
Of the dark clouds of anguish that over her roll'd.
Of her long weeks of loneliness, sorrow, and pain,
Of the fiery fever that burn'd in her brain,
Of her slow-coming strength, of her heart-hiddc

grief,
Of the angels of mercy that bro-ght her relief.

[Ix Camp. — A Letter from Home.'\

Some were sitting, some were standing, others
fishing in the lake ;

Some were sound asleep and dreaming, others
dreaming wide awake ;

Some were patching up their tatters, others polish-
ing their guns ;

LETTER FROM HOME.

Some were fcuoing ragged letters, others p< pping

sorry puns.
Each was using his endeavor thus to pxssthe time

away;
All were waiting, all were ready, all were eager

for the fray.

When soon there came a murmur, like the rising

of a gale, —
" Corporal Jones has got a letter from his sister

by the m il ! "
"A letter, boys, a letter ! " — And each man was

on his feet ;
"Corjxjral Jones has got a letter I" — How we

scamper'd up the street !
A letter from New England ! — 't was an angel

from the skies.
Some came with eager questions, not a few with

tearful eyes.
" Now plexse to read it, Corporal : let us hear it

— every word."
Yet nothing save the crackle of the pai>er could

\y. heard ;
But that alone was music, and no sweeter seem'd

to be, —

A,'.-

CORPORAL DAY.

For it brought the leafy rustle of our dear old

trysting-tree !
With frciiiicnt intcrniption does he read it line

by line, —
How the corn-crop is progressir.g, and how

flourishes the vine ;
Of all that father 's doing ; of something mother

sai<l ;
How Sally Smith is wed at last, and Annie Lee

is dead.
Too soon the sheet is ended ; — how very brief it

seems !
But it keeps us long a-talking, and it lengthens

out our dreams ;
For our feet in fancy wander o'er the hills we

know so well,
And we linger 'neatli the roof-tree where our

heart's aflections dwell I

* « *

Blackberry Centre, one morning, was thrown
Into wondrous surprise when the tidings wjre

known
That Caroline (iray had vanish'd away,
And as to her whereabouts no one could say !

CARRIE CRAY.

The children came to the school to find
Lock'd was the door and closed the blind.
Some waited in wonder and some in grief,
And some of them utter'd a sigh of relief;
Till, one by one, they wander'd away,
Wondering where was Caroline Gray.

And soon the village Iwigan to stir,
And search on every side for her, —
Led on by Do«ld and Father Hobb
And queer old Uncle Nathan Cobb,
Captain Keene, of martial mien,
And the village infidel, Orville Green.
They search'd the school and ransack'd her room.
And even tapp'd on the family tomb ;
They dragg'd the river, they scour'd the plain,
They beat the forest ; but all in vain !
They pcek'd and poked in every place ;
But fail'd to find one track or trace
Of Caroline's hand, or foot, or face.

At list they all began to say
That Carrie must have been carried away
By a i)atent-medicine vender, who
Had disapiHjar'd that morning too !
He wxs a singular sort of chap.
With a velvet coat and a seal-skin rap,

CORPORAL DAY.

A coal-black beard and a sallow skin.
And a piercing eye that look'd like sin ;
His head was covcr'd with slimiwy curls,
And he always "went" for the prettiest girls.
In BlackK'rry Centre he sold a lot
Of his miserable trash j indeed there was not
A house in the village in which, I am sure,
You could n't have found a bottle or more,
And warranted all diseases to cure.

The case was plain to all the ])e()ple
As the gilded vane of the Orthodox steeple, —
At least, 't was plain to Do*ld and Hobb
And queer old Uncle Nathan Cobb,
Who being the wealthiest men in the place,
Of course, to the rest 't was a settled case.
And so they met in the village-store,
And talk'd tiie matter o'er and o'er.
One said he always thought that Carrie
Seem'd in a wonderful hurry to marry,
"And only for Prudence Flint, they say,
She 'd gone an' married that Absalom Day."
Says Natiian CobI>, with a knowing wink:
" The galls l)e all n a hurry, I think ! "
" .Xmcn to that," groan'd Deacon Do«l«l ;
" But then, to my mind, 't is mighty odd

DISAPPEARED.

Why sech a sensible gal should go
For to run away with a pedler so."
" Ah yes ! " says Hobb ; " but thar's none can tell
What a woman is till you knows her well."
" That 's so," moan'd Dodd ; " without a doubt.
They 're all very nice, till they're found out ! "
(Here every loafer seem'd to split
His sides at the Deacon's pungent wif
For nothing, with some, is relish'd so much
As a dig at Woman — when out of her clutch !
Besides, there was n't a lounger there
But knew what the Deacon had to bear ;
With a termagant wife and a si-itfire -laughter.
Poor soul ! he was always in boiling water.")
Says Nathan Cobb, " I'm inclined to say,
She 's gone a-huntin' fur Abs'lum Day ;
She had this hankerin' arter the lad.
An' you know what a mis'able time she 's had
Since he wxs wounded thar to Ball's Bluff."
Says Father Hobb, " Why, sure enough !
Thar 's no knowin' what a gal may do.
When she falls in love with a boy in blue :
P'rhaps she 's 'listed herself — who knows? —
An' is nussin' 'im now — in sojer's clo'es! "
" Pshaw ! no indeed," growls Deacon I)o«l<l ;

mmm

CORPORAL DAY.

"For Absalom Day is under the socl, —
Bein' shot and kill'd three mc ths ago:
She's run away with the quack, I kucnv .'"

What the Deacon affirmM none dare dispute;
For, out of his house, he was alisohite,
And thus the tribute lie had to pay
At home, he exacfled wlien away.

And so they talk'd and the scandal spread ;
But I dare not tell one-cpiarter they said.
While gallantry bids me sujjpress the things
The women whispcr'd in social rings, —
At prayers, at work, at the quilting bee,
Or over their magical dish-o'-tea.

They said, " with a quack.

Just as soon as he turn'd his back !"....
And they said 'twas awful to think what guile
A face may hide in a saintly smile, —
What plots and plans and deep designs.
What crfxiked ways and hidden mines !
That modest cheeks and downcast ej es
Are all very well — julun they tf/l no lies.
IJut, as for their parts, tliey 'd r.itlier run
The risk of a romp than trust in a nun ! . . . .

Oh dear ! oh dear ! but <lid n't they flay
The \toox little s<hool -ma'am, Caroline dray I

FREEDO.VS MARTYRS.

"Beho/il the rii<er that shwly moves

Along the valley ileep ami wide !
The ghastly light of the cloiitled moon

But half ra'eals the mighty tide.
Jriiat seems the wail of a funeral march

From out of the current faintly comes.
With a measured beat, like countless feet.

Timed to the roll of . uffled drums.

"Look, mortal, lookT* said the Tongue unseen ;
" Fear no., but look, and thou shall knoto .'"

I gazed in awe, for the serried ranks
Of men in myriads march' d belon:

Oh, such a rii'er / And who ? or ii.<hat t
" A phantom host," the Voice replied :
The shadotuy files of martyr d men
Who, fir your freedom, fought and died I ' '

CORPORAL DAY.

K'HK^, away, the sceptic cold,
Who tells me hearts are bought and sold ;
And that nor faith, nor love, nor tnith,
Time-honor'd age, unsullied youth.
Nor manly worth, nor female grace
Survives the ruin of the Race !
That naught exists beyond the tomb
But dark, profound, eternal gloom ;
And neither life, nor hope, nor heaven
To Man, the Fatherless, is given !
Away, vile sland'rer of your kind !
Begone I — among the demons find
A region suited to your mind ;
For 't is your lusts that make you blind I
Oh what has mark'd this wondrous Age, —
Of all the ages past the flower, —
Have we not seen the fiendish jjower
Of despots quail before the rage
Of Freedom's sons ? And not alone
In this broad T_ind, we call our own ; —
But o'er the world, — the glorious sight
Of millions marching for the Right.
'Tis but the Soul, that never dies.
Her pinions pluming for the skies.

THE BATTLEFIELD.

" The age of Chivalry is o'er ! "
Cries Burke in shame, because to save
A queenly martyr from the grave.

Ten thousand swords leap'd out no more.

Yet, swords there are as swift to leap
In Truth's defence and for the Right,
As e'er were drawn by plumed knight,

O'er whom romantic maidens weep.

And there were heroes then, and now,
Of whom the world may never know,
VVhc bear their martyrdom of woe

With dauntless heart and placid brow ;

And blind is he who turns the page

Of hist'ry back to find an age

That purer, nobler spirits give,

Than this great Now in which we live.

"The hospital-shed," fair maid, you say?
Follow my lead, I'll show the way.
Carefully pass, and hold your breath, —
The air is rotten, and reeks with death ! . . .

Aye, this is War ! The field, you see.

Is badly cover'd ; but follow me. —
Horse and rider, wagon and wheel.
Cannon and caisson, leather and steel,

5«

CORPORAL PAY.

And a thousand nameless shatter'd things,
That frenzied Battle in fury (lings,
Lie scatter'd in wild confusion round, —
A nation's wreck l)estrcws the ground !
The rising moon, like a blood-red shield,
Tiirows ghastly shailows along the field.
Our footsteps cling to the pitchy mud ;
The kneade<l clay is soak'd in blood ;
And fleshless fingers seem to grasp,
And rigid hands in agony clasp.
And Hate, on many a marble face.
Forever is stamp'd in Dcatli's embrace I
Faint moans are heard, and gurgling cries,
A'kI dead men stare with stony eyes,
And i)ale, sulphureous vapors rise,
And roll and writhe and U-.k! and crawl,
Like serpents, round and through it all !
But fear you not ; of this mighty throng,
No shadow may rise to <lo you wrong.
The guard is relieved ; no sentinel keen.
With " halt ! " and gleam of bayonet, seen ;
For the temiwst of battle is hush'd to a breath.
And Vi^ory slec|)s on the Inisom of Death I
Aye, this is War, — tiie "glorious" way,
From cursed Cain's primaeval day, —

THE rSAV DRUMMER- BOY.

In every clime and every age,
In spite of prophet, priest, and sage ;
Of Him whose hallow'd name is dear
To Christian hearts ; of orphan's tear.
Of widow's wail, of bosoms wrung.
And pleadings of an unseen Tongue ;
In spite of all the vaunted light
Of " modern culture ; " and in spite
Of justice, reason, truth, and right, —
The onfy way that Men and Hrutes
Can end their snarlings and disi)utes ! . . . .
Ah! see this child, — so young, so fair!-
With dimpled cheek and golden hair ;
His blue eyes fix'd, his white lips dumb,
One baby arm around his drum,
And one, with life-blood stain'd, is press'd
Uix)n the wound that rends his breast.
Are there no far-off eyes that swim
In anxious tears, awaiting him?
Is there no heart that lonely yearns
Till her brave soldier-babe returns?
Too sweet, too tender blossom, thou,
Fair Boy, to deck the Vigor's brow ;
But not, alas ! too tender-sweet
For War to trample 'neath her feet !

COKPORAL DAY.

Fearful, indeed, was the work to-day !
But follow my steps, — I'll pick the way, —
We 're almost there. . . . One's senses swim,
And things look weird, unearthly, dim. . . .
Beware the trench ! Too nigh the rim,
You 're apt to slip ! ... It must be Love
That draws you here, like a messenger dove :
Here, in the midst of the mould'ring dead ;
Here, to the hideous hospital-shed ;
Here, where Woman should never be ;
Here, with horrors she dares not see !
Yet, like an angel, calm and sweet,
She comes ! she comes with winged feet :
O God ! she comes to a hell like this, —
Straying away froir- heavenly bliss :
A beam of light in a dungeon dank ;
A blooming rose among brambles rank ;
A single star, through itorm-clouds riven ;

A link that binds us still to Heaven

See ! here 's the place — the hospital-shed :
Here are the living, and there ... the Dead.
No wonder you start, and tremble so :

'Tis a frightful hole D' you think y'll know

His face again ? .... In this stifling room,
Scores are waiting their welcome doom, —

IH THS HOSPtTAU

Wishing for death,
At every breath,

And envying those that are in their tomb.

Hah ? . . . Who is this in the filthy hay, —
Pale and famish'd, and seeming to pray ?
Can it be jKissiblt I . . . Cori^ral Day 1
Poor boy ! poor boy ! . . . One breath of air.
One cup of water, cool and clear,
From his mountain-home, could we but bear
To his livid lips — his burning brow !
One word, one adt of kindness now ; —
One gentlest touch of a human hand.
That he may feel in Christian land, —
One deed of love, however small,
Ere yet the spirit burst its thrall,
To join the ranks at the geneial call

Of the last great muster-day !
O God ! shall he sink to a nameless grave,
In the I^and whose honor he dies to save ? . . . .
To-morrow, to-morrow his murd'rers come.
And finding his blue lips cold and dumb.
Will shovel him out of the way 1

The morning dawns, and Absalom's eyes
Languidly open in dreamy surprise :

CORPORAL DAY,

"What ! still alive? 'Tis coming now.

I feel the cold sweat bead my brow. . . .

I see a vision bright and sweet :

I seem to see the village-sfeet, —

M/ own loved home, — I know it well I

I hear — I hear the Sabbat' -l>ell !

I seem to see the dear old hills ;

I seem to hear the murmuring rills.

The church, the store, the mill ! How plain

Refore my mind they come again ! , . . ,

Is this a dream ? ... or am I dead ?

.\n angel bends above my head.

Slie smiles, how sweet ! She fans my brow

With fmgrant wing. . . . What ! . . . can it Iw?

Or do I dream, and seem to see ? ... .

It must ! . . . Great Heavens ;. v^ve ! 't is she !

My love! "

Ah ! is he dreaming now ?
No, no ! The vision fades away, —
His arms are round his Carrie dray I

One I
Rini; the hells, one /
One in loi'e, one !
One, nvr one!

otrx.

Ring the bells, one/
One eountry, one I
No more divide u
ViHory won ;
Question decided;

Slavery g,me/
Ring the be.'ls, one/
One again, ore /
North and South, East and IVesf:

One banne<', one I
Flows through .rach throbbing breast
One eurrent, one .'
Ring the hells, one!
Marching /i<r home;
Batt' -. uf'e:
Flin; loor;

Come, t: , tome!

Love them: caress them;
Honor and bless them !
Ring th.; bells, one!
Ring again, one!
Blessed God, one!
One, rver one /
One!

CORPORAL DAY.

"O Woman f in our hours of esse,
Uncertain, coy, and " — if you please,
You Ml find the rest in Walter Scott,
Or in your hearts, if you have go
Hearts that have ever fe'.t in life
A mother's love, a sister's care.
Or what is still more angel-rare.
The fond devotion of a wife !
Wife, the weaver, — noble name I —
That from sturdy Saxon came.
When the man, with shield and bow.
Went to meet th' invading foe ;
Or in forest slew the boar;
Or he g.nmt wolf at the door.
Wh le the weaver, gentle wife,
Sat securely, free from strife.
By h^r rosy brood surrounded.
Where rude health and mirth abounded,-
Chanting some love-lisping rhyme.
With her shuttle keeping time ;
As beneath her fingers roll'd
Homely frieze or cloth of gold.
Wife, the weaver : oh 't is she
Weaves the web of destiny, —
Weaves the web of life that may

HODBRN BLACKBERRY.

Glsam with threads of golden ray, .
Or as black as funeral pall,
Round our dead hopes darkly fall !

Excuse this digression Permit me to say
That I was in Blackberry t' other day ;
But oh ! what a change the years have made 1
For now the railroad track is laid.
And the village does n't look half so sweet.
Nor the people nearly so happy and nf.at ;
For city shoddy has found them out,
And turn'd their heads to the right-about.
The girls go follo\"ing fashion's tracks.
With bunches of ribbon pinn'd to their b.. ks ;
And the boys contrive to cut a dash,
With cane a^a ulster and swelly moustache.
In facft, SOI humbug discover'd a spring, —

" Kind .<ature's Own Hygienic River
Of Health," he i amed it, "and just the thing

To corr?(51 the Grert American Liver ! I " —
And so he built ?round his well
A rambling, ric' ety, wooden shell,
And call'd it. "The National Hotel."
For once the village was all alive.
And everythi-.g seem'd to blossom and thrive ;

COKPORAL DAY.

And the folks declared, " Sich a noble ventur'
Would be the makin' of Blackberry Centre,—
Real estate would rise like a rocket,
And every lunk might fill his pocket ! "
But Deacon Dodd took t' other side,
And said, " -T would only puff up thar pride.
And fill thar heads with nonsense and trash,
In place of fillin' thar pocl.ets with cash ! "

But alas for the monster of lath-and-plaster !
It proved to the Centre a grand disaster, —
A roost for rogues from Maine to Texas,
And miserable sinners of both the sexes;
Till Blackberry Centre stood aghast
To see " The River of Health " so fast.
And wonder'd how long this thing would last 1
But it didn't pay; so, of course, one night,
The plac? burnt down : "and sarvrd 'em right,"
Said Deacon Dod.i. ... But the sin and shame '
Remain to be cleans'd by a fiercer flame !

Well, I thought I M just step -nto the store
Where all was sold, and a little more,

When there it was the same as before 1

The strings of onions, the pens and ink ;
But out of the den.ijohn . . . nothing to drink I
Nothing stronger than ginger-beer ;

MARRIED AND SETTLED. \

For actually " the Law" '» enforced up here,

And nothing's imbibed by any . . . except

By those who know where the moisture is kept.

And wl\o should I see but Dodd and Hobb

And queer old Uncle Nathan Cobb !

But not the man of martial mien.

Nor the village infidel, Orville Green :

For over the gallant Captain's grave

The daisies droop and willows wave ;

And as for the infidel, strange to say I

He disapptar'd one stormy day.

And never again was heard or seen

A sight or sound of " Awful " Green, —

The only man who spoke right out,

What others held in cilent doubt.

But there were the rest, the san;- aa before,

The bats that cluster a country-store.

On barrel and box and round tbe door ;

And behind the counter, brisk and gay,

Plump and jolly, who d' you say ?

Yes ; you 've guess'd it, — Corporal Day 1
"This is Corporal Day," said I;

" Or else his spirit I see here? "
" Himself," quoth he, with a twinkling eye,

"L. flesh -and -blood, so don't you fear 1 "

CORPORAL DAY.

" ^ '='"'' *«^'"' yo" poor old . . . hoss ? »
" Why, yes," said Ab ; " both clerk and bc^

I own the store j

And, what is more,
I own that house across the way."

"You do n't '"said I,

With an envious sigh •

"For that's the house of Caroline Gray J"
"It was," said he- ««Ki,»i»~u
TK,. T ' "*' ^"' J m happy to tell

That I own Carrie herself as well ! "

Cries Nathan Cobb, "That ain'^ « •.

".1 nat ain t quite trew :

Fur some folks sez that she owns yew."
Here Absalom blush'd, and Dodd and Hobb

And queer old Uncle Nathan Cobb

And every loafer round the store

Went into f.ts, with a thund'ring roar

"Why, did n't you know," quoth Deacon Dodd.

T.ppmg the others a wink and a nod.

"Did n't you know that Carrie an' he

Has sot up shop -now, let me see,-

I most furgit, so fast time flies ;

But look ! . . ,\' ,.f. cr„ ,,, ' ,

■ n .e see tncm three pooty little
youngsters over yandcr makin' mud pie, ? "
I do. said I. "Wall; them is thars."

Episodes of City Life.

EPISODES OF CITY LIFE.

MATTER-O' -MONEY.

•T WAS once a true saying that matches are made
In the regions above ; but indeed I'm afraid,
By the brimstone that covers them now, to our

woe.
They are pretty much made in the regions below I
It is matter-o'-money, I fear, and the rest,
As a general rule, is delusion at best ;
The wiles and the smiles, the love-lisping rhymes,
The vows of devotion, the rapturous times,
The fair orange-blossoms, the sweet wedding-
chimes, —
May all be resolved into dollars and dimes !
But here let me tell you some stories, by way
Of pointing the moral I wish to convey.
6S

S//SODES OF ClTl- Ifjrg.

An agent there wa. of some nondescript kind,
For whom or what business. I never could find •
H.S name was John Smith; but he wasn't to
blame

For bearing through life such a singular name.
Twas none of the Smiths that you know so well •
Oh no!_no relation, I'm happy to tell.
Your Smiths are all gentlemen -men of pure gold;
But mme . . . well, you '11 know when the story i.
told. '

An office he had. with a desk and a chair
A cash-book and journal, a mighty spittoon,
A map on the wall like a view of the moon.
Yea such was his den ; but he seldom was there.
In fad, he was usually taking the air
On Washington Street, when his labors were o'er
Or picking his teeth at the Parker-House door '
Though I rather suspedl that he seldom was able
To more than behold in the distance the table I

But as to his funds I am quite in the dark,
His bank-book I never could see ;

I can scarcely supj^o^ that he borro'w'd. -altho'
I'm aware that he borrow'd of me !

Bat now for the climax. One day Danny Cupid

Hit Smith with an arrow, which really was stupid

MATTSX C MOSMY.

•I

(

In Dan, for he shot at a very poor time, —
When Smith hadn't even the ghost of a dime.
Now every one knows, who has gone thro' the mill.
That your Love is a wonderful drain on the till !
They say Love is blind — wanting only to flatter.
Oh no ! it is ravenous : that 's what 's the matter.
Just think of the oysters and jellies and creams.
The champagne and chickens, the very fast teams,
The cartes-de-visite and the -billets in reams !
Just think of the presents in trinkets and rings,
In brooches and lockets and such little things ;
Then think of the lecture, the concert, the play.
And a score or more items for which you must juy;
And to say Love is blind, is out of the question :
Its sight only rivals its monstrous digestion I
How many young gallants are forced to despair
Of marriage with even five hundred a year !
Five hundred ! Absurd ! They scarcely are able
To pay for their weeds, not to mention the stable ;
And as for the tailor, why, law Mess your heart !
Do you think that to settle su:h bills would be

smart f
The Romeo where that could tell Juliet,
" I feel rather fearful of falling in debt I "
The Juliet where that wouhl tell Romeo,

Mp/soDss OF crry ufm.

<< '

And b^H.,„„, „„, ,„„„ ^ ^^^^^ _^

sl- h." rj"""' '"" """"' "" »i>iu. Of girt ;

AU Of .h,ch," chuckW s™i,h, i„ . ,„„„„,
*'A.lofwh.-ch,.iM be ..-ne and Maria's soo.

^'r'"°7'^''"-'^-'h^' his plans were no go.
^at a penn,Ies,suitorn,ay never aspire.
Whoever he be. to the hand of Mariar-
For Smith when he spoke to Papa of hL suit.
Was threaten'd with warn, application of bo^t

And he couldn't have madden'd him more' I
suppose,

Had he taken the solid old man by the nose: -
W^t.^you. Sir. presumes., my daughter to

''°^„°;;;J';;;;S'''^h«'-PentoTom.Dick.or
A pauper like you. Sir. my ch.ld to be lost on,-

ttATTSK <y MONSy. ^

The heiress of Tadpole I — tae Tadpoles of
Boston? —

The Beacon-Street Tadpoles, whose word is their

bond,
Born and bred, every one, on the banks of Frog

Pond!
Do you know that I'm worth. Sir, a million or

more ?
That my houses and tenements count by the score?
Do yoir know that my bonds and my bank-stock

alone
Foot up half-a-million ? " (Smith utter'd a groan.)
"And are you aware. Sir. this wealth, when I die.
Will all be my daughter's? " (Poor Smith gave a

sigh.)
" Then, what are you dreaming of, miserable cur,
To sneak in my office and ask me for . . . herf
Clear out, Sir ; and never again be so bold
As to let me your plebeian visage behold ! "
'Twas in vain that Smith said he expeded a pile,
As his Uncle, out West, was then boring for tie.
'Twas folly to bluster ; 't was idle to kneel ;
'Twas useless to threaten revolver or steel ;
For his prospeifls were certain'y down at the heel.
And plainly he saw, or he could n't see far.

%Wi

!• tPISODES OF cr-v ufg^

That money is more tha . ..« s.news of war-
He must brace up his mind for a final endeavor.
As tho he might say to himself. ^'Now, or never."
But work, in the primitive sense of the word
• ^PP^"^'''° his reason as simply absurd '
To borrow, of course, he could scarcely pretend;

For strange to relate, few a.-e willing to lend
Wuhout some slight prospea of being repaid.
Alas ! s,gh d poor Smith, "must I lose thee
sweet maid?" . '

He consulted his Journal ; 't would nothing reveal.
-Nothmg but what would awaken regret
In the heart of a man unaccustomed to debt
One door was yet open : why coulc: he not steal ?

n matters but little;.... in faa. I may say
That to steal is considered a business-like way
And one of the popular modes of the day - J
That is, if you dexfrously nuke a large haul •
But a fig for your chance, if your plunder be s4ll.
^0 in for .. million, or nothing at all !
■'■ er- small rascal we simply despise ;
But a great defalcator is praised to the skies:

We call him a villain, 'tis true; but at heart,

We en- the fellow for being so smart i

All of which. I am sorry to say, goes to show

MATTMK 0> ttONBY.

7«

That the standard of popular honor is low.

So Smith cast about for the way he might claim

Some ten thousand dollars. — no more ;
And he did it by simply signing the name

Of a party who kept the next door !
Alas ! gentle reader, how little we think
Of the mischief that 's made with a penful of ink I
For Smith, the poor simpleton, ever must rue it,
Because he was timid. Why did n't he do it
On a scale more sublime ... say fifty-times ten ?
What then? you.demand. I'll tell you what then:
That instead of infli(5ting judicial correftion.
We'd have him divide, and secure his prote<5tion
From justice, or anything worse thandetedion.
We dare not imprison a man of such "parts,"
Who could dignify th-ft to the rank of fine arts:
A genius so smart must be worth elevation ;
No doubt he could pay off the debt of the naticii 1
He could. . . by the method call'd Repudiation —
A metl., d that every true patriot leaves
To be counsel'd by cut-throats and praflised tjy

thieves.
To rob on the highway cost Sandy his pate ;
To rob twenty kingdoms made Sandy the Great:
T vas " noble ambition " made this one a chief,

y«

MP/soDss OF cnv Lira. ^

7r ""^'"°"' «'«^ " ™«'e the other a thief I
f;'/"''"^'^--.s one purpose we see
In kmd they are equals if not in degree.
So S.,th to the prison was Justly conve/d;

ForSm,thn,adea™i«.andofcourse.n;iss-da
maib.

Tom Flicker .a, m„,W in elegan, „,le,
O. .h. d,m-l,gh,ed church, ,he „,g.„ „, .h,.

lhcshod^c.,a..h<x,dy„e,ep„»„,,_.„^,*,„

"7,^'"'.°" "■-•-«—«. h.ho, a shoe;
For ,h. bnde w,, a„ heiress; a, least, so ■«»« sa d
She should he when her uncle in India were dead
Andashel,ad,happi„,„anycom,„ai„,s, •

^ -^"^ sa/ero infer very soon wi,h, he sain.,

HedbenumberU-honghscarcelyasai^in
his living:

(Bur, .her, ,o ,he weal.hy ,e must be forgiving.
S.ee.s.„„ers,..so™e.i„es,i.is„„!„4

°'t=''k?fr""'"""""'"'"°"^'"'""" *

MATTER 0> MONSY.

Tlie wedding wi it of{ emnme il fa'it, let me sayj
And the ladies declared 't was as good as a pl.-iy
But, by-and-by, came in the men for their pay.
With plaguy long bills in their hands,— which,

indeed,
Is a literature not very pleasing to read, —
That is, if you owe
Much more than you're able to manage, you

know.
Tom lived at the rate of ten thousand a year.
In an elegant mansion on Commonwealth Square.
•Twas just after breakfast, and Tom and his wife
Were calmly enjoying the comforts of life, —
A fragrant cigar ; — that is, Flicker, of course;
The last magay.ine and the latest divorce,
A fresh bit of scandal (now, Lulu, I mean),
With a psalm or a symphony sandwich'd between.
Rare objefts of virtu and volumes well bound
And pidures and bric-a-brac scattered around.
And so forth and so on. Tom drew from his poke
A bundle of bills, and thus laughingly sjioke.
As he toss'd them to Lulu, " My love, I suppose.
We must draw on the stocking to liquidate those."
" My stirs ! what a budget ! " cries Lulu ; "but
where

XflSODSS Of CITY XJFS,

1 11» bulk of your money i„,„,^_ ^^

■n"r; I'h T. '"' '°""'"' "" "'" "•»•""•••

.!.°" ""■■■''.""«■"■'• L". •»-»»...■. ,011.,;

T,. "' *'"f t"" oroidc,_„ i, ,„„ ,„k„ „

inprcket?" '

"In pocket, you say ? Here ', a five-dollar bill

And here , an old quarter and five cents in cash'

And thans the Whole of ™yl.ere.or.trash'
As Shakespeare denominates money, though he

Wa. a thrifty old fellow, the critics agree"

The critics 1 - she scream'd; " the critics be shot 1
Do you mean to say. Flic W, that rAar's all youVe

Now Lulu, don't stal ..with those pretty eyes.

I ex^a to have more When ...at old uncle die,..'

That uncle 1 what unde?" '• The India one.-

MATTSJt C MONEY.

" He's only a fiftjon ! " " Then, we are undone.
And possess not a picayune under the sun !"....
One morning I pass'd by their house, ia the wet,
And I saw in the window, " For Sale or To Let."
For Flicker, mode fra<5lious at hearing her jaw go,
Went straight to the dog" and at last to Chic-^o!

Now let me relate you the story of Jones,
Whose success for the others' misfortunes atones ;
For Jones, be it known, gain'd his obje<Sl in life,
The dream of his youth, when he gain'd a rich

wife.
Now, Jones was a boaster in very loud tones, —
The world was created expressly for Jones I
He boasted of all that he did and he had.
And even his bad was a wonderful bad !
He talk'd about M .rriage as mercJ^ants of trade,
As a very poor "spec." if no money be made.
" 'Tis the short ro«J to wealth. Sir; in fad, 't is

to seize
Upon Fortune witnout all the worry and tease
Of a long life of t J ; 't i$ to sink into » e,
As into yo'ii .r. Sir, whenever you please.
E'lt as for yo«.r beauty, affeiflion, and trash I —
The key to the heart is the key to the cash !

r*^^

y* XPISODES OF CtTY UFK.

When I capture ^ygal, Sir. With plenty of tin,
She my love me or loathe n,e. -I care not a pi; ,
Of course I must put on the spooney at first :
My dearest ! my angel ! my bosom will burst f

Oh. love you? Just try me. and then you shall
see.

Why I M ju:„p .„ ^he fire. I 'd plunge in the sea •
Anything, everything, sweetest, for thee >
My hook I should bait with such sentiment, fine.
And see, ;,retty soon, on the end of my line
A plump little lamsel teetotally mine ' "

•0 ones went a-fi.hing; and managed one day
^o hook a young Minnie from out of the spray

Of rocky Nahant. and then scamper away.

■ ^^r papa was enraged I

But, after a while, were his feelings assuaged;

So he gave them a mansion, and bade them be
caged, —

Which they did, you may trust, with but little
evasion,

And lived like two doves of the turtle persuasion

Ah 1 did they? Humi no. miss; not quit. I
opine ;

For Jones found a shark on the end of his line I
And he found to his sorrow, and so did his wife.

MATTEK C ttOffMY.-

That money's not all that is needed in life:

Their ta«tes, their desires, their habits opposed.

The gates of their hearts to each other were closed.

And 'twas plain by their words, full of hitches
and twitches.

That Jones nras a slave and his wife wore the keys

That unlock'd the strong box that contain'd all
the riches ;

And so when at home he was down on his knees.

Jones was a man when abroad he would roam ;

But he shrank to a child as he drew nearer home.

When abroad, he'd expand like a parachute
rocket ;

At home, he was popp'd in her ladyship's pocket.

Whate'er he proposed bhe would never agree to ;

Her will was his law, and she veto'd his veto.
As neither was saint, why. they quarrel'd of course,
Anc; sued, pretty soon, for the usual divorce.
Mrs. J. is now leader in fashion and dress.
Not as plain Mrs. Jones, but as Madam Joness.
And Jones? you inquire. He follow'd the rest.
And his fame, like the sun, has gone down in the

West !
But this much we know : without labor or strife,
He really attain'd his great objea in life.

7«

MPfSODas OJf CfTV L/FM.

If it brought not that comfort, that pleasure
that ease,

^ That "have what you want • and that "go
where you please;"

Why. the fault was not his. 'twas the fault of his
wife.

He expeded to soar to a marvellous height •
He did, -as a tail that is tagg'd to a kite ;
But when the string broke, poor Jones got a fall.
And away went money and wifey and all !

Now. the moral is this: If you mean to grow
rich.

Go delve in a coal-mine or dig in a ditch;

Go raising potatoes, or onions, or beet;

Go edit a paper or beg on the street ;

Bs a doaor. a butcher, a banker, a teacher

A lawyer, a barber, a poet, a preacher;

Go lobby at Congress, and crawl on your knees

For a government office, or do what you please -

Try any pursuit ; - but do n't. for your life.

you seek an exemption from worry and strife
If you wish all your days to be tranquil and sunny,
Do n t refuse a fair lady because she has money 1

THM S/Jtsr MOVSTACHK.

THE FIRST MOUSTACHE.

Men laugh at the ladies and say they are vain,
With a passion for show which they cannot

restrain ; —
'Tis my candid belief, tho' to say it were treason.
That men are more vain with a tenth of the reason.
You remember poor Fledgeby, in Dickens's book,
Who did in the looking-glass hourly look.
And how he 'd exult could he only find there
A strange-looking pimple that promised a hair I
A black, bushy whisker I ah I that was his aim, —
His objeCl in life, and the soul of his fame 1
We call this a fi<5lion ; but Dickens's wit
Made the cap of poor Fledgeby for thousands a fit.
Aye. thousands, like Fledgeby, spend labor and

cash
To nurture a whisker or train a moustache, —
Both something worth having, of course, if you

can;
But scarce to be deem'd the whole duty of Man I
Yet, hair, dead or living, is now such a rage

* Mi-aauss or cm- un.

When ™„ ,il, , g«,,.„^ „„,

;^7"'»-"™.'".ok«po„.,hefli"' '

Afi«„sp,ra,„,..eha„gefoMheta.„,
Wny, Nature demands ii 1 Th— .

J"« Kave her „.„ .av , J! , .T"''' '" ■"'
^°"""'''°'""'""«"'i*i".pen.ls,„dcj

rW* /7«r MOUSTACHE.

To fancy you 're making a mighty sensation, —
The heir of the ages — the hope of the nation ?
Yo^know what it is to be self-satisfied.
Well, that 's how I felt for a month, till my pride
One day had a fall. I was moving down town
That horrible morning, when who should I meet.
Just fresh from the barber's, all oily and sweet
As a roll of June butter, but Bachelor Brown I
Thought I to myself, as I chuckled with glee,
"How amazed and delighted the fellow will be !
He scarcely will know me, I'm cerUin of that I "
And I gave my moustache an encouraging pat.
So we met face to face, when Brown in surprise
Drew back and survey'd me with saucer-like eyes.
Said he — (he was one of those //a//»-j/«>>6^« men ;
But, indeed, I have ever disliked him since then)
Said he, in a way that my visions did scatter:
•' Why, merciful Powers ! what can be the matter !
You 're as pale as a parsnip ! as thin as a platter !
You study too much. Sir. Now, why do you do

so?
You look as neglefted as Robinson Crusoe I
For pity sake, give up your doggerel and books !
There's Death-on-a<ream-color'd-horse in your
looks 1 '

MNSODES Of CITY UfM.

The worms, Sir, the worms you will soon be
among, —

One would think you 're about to be married or
hung I

And, then, you 're not wash'd : there are traces

of hash
Or mash on your lip, Sir, or some other trash."

Oh, how did my vanity fall with a smash I
I could hardly reply in the midst of the crash,
"Why, Brown, are you crazy? — why, Ma/'s my
moustache! "

■Twas enough. I went home, and with little
delay.

The whole institution — I scraped it away;
And, indeed, on the blade, as I held it to view.
It look'd like the mould that adorns an old shoe.

•••

AMMTUV5A,

t.t

ARETHUSA.

Ok the street where I live — a very fair street,

A very fair lady I often did meet :
As often, at least, as a very fair day
Might tempt her from home o'er the city to stray.
(I use the word stray for the rhyme, let me say ;
So you '11 not misinterpret my meaning, I pray.
She stray'd to see pi^ures, and lashio» -., and
friends ;
She stray'd for her nealth.
To dispose of her wealth.
And various other commendable ends, —
To sea and be seen. . . .
You know what I mean ;
In fa<5l, 'twas a physiological stray,
Such as scores of young ladies take every day.)
Now, Miss Arethusa, for that was her name.
Was enough to set anyone's heart in a flame ;
For a lovelier face or a handsomer form
Never took a poor bachelor's bosom by storm I
And ne'er through a crowd did shs airily float

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Sciences
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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO

(716) 873-4S03

■^

V-.<^'

MMSODSS OF CITY Un.

W lauded her eyes so melting and sweet ;
And some, when 'twas muddy, fell down at her
feet;

Some glanced at her lips.and straight for a season
Betray d every symptom of absence of reason I
All sounded her praises, and I must confess
That even the ladies commended her dress .

Well, the house that she lived in was house No. o.

Wo. 7, the residence honor'd as mine •

So we were near neighbors; but here is the Joke.

You 11 scarcely believe it. we never once spoke;

Thot,mes Without number. I own. with a sigh.

I ve stepp'd in the gutter to let her pass by,

Wh.le never so much as a glance of her eye
Betray'd that she dreampt any mortal was nigh I
That fa:r Arethusa was haughty or proud

Is far from my purpose to utter ;
•Twas the SM-eep of her garments, it must be
avow'd.
That brush'd me so oft in the gutter •
But I was so bashful, and she was so nice
That neither once ventured to fra<5ture the ice
Moreover, true gallantry made me defer-
All my rational rights in the sidewalk to her

AKETtfUSA.

In fadl, I was waiting my zeal to display
In some very romantic, remarkable way :
For instance, to seize a wild horse on which she,
. All dangling and screaming, might happen to be ;
To snatch her from fire or water ; to throw
My coat o'er a puddle as Raleigh, you know,
Once did to protedl Queen Elizabeth's toe !
(But that was an age when the ladies. I think.
Were much more secluded and guarded, and when
Their cheeks would assume a most beautiful pink,
If aware of the gazes of two or three men :
Content to be women — the Vestals of Home,—
They seldom in search of adventure did roam;
Their rambles in public were fewer, no doubt.
And mostly their mothers knew when they were

out.
For a man to go coating the dirt now-a-days, he
Would soon be a pauper, if not with the crazy !
T would use up one's wardrobe so fast that a body
Must fall back on fig-leaves or flutter in shoddy !)
But hold ; I am rambling quite out of my bound. .
I loved Arethusa ; but love had its wound.

'Twas twelve monthp ago, on a very cold day,
I was tramping as usual the oid beaten way,
When what should I see betwixt me and the sun.

86.

XPISODBS OF CITY UFS.

But something that look'd like — you'll think I'm

in fun —
That horrible Gbje<5t that everyone knows
Is placed in the garden to scare off the crows!
I adjusted my glasses and gazed at the Thing,
Expedting each moment 'twould come with a

spring
At my throat ! —such a terrible sight
Would scare one to death if encounter'd Ly night !
As it was, I knew not if 't were bestial or human :
•T was surely no man, it was hardly a woman I
Ungainly and awkward, it shuffled about, —
Its ogreisli garments flapp'd in and flopp'd out I
" What ho ! Is 't a witch, or an imp. or a ghoul ?
Or the Museum mummy broke loose on a stroll ?
A nightmare by daylight? a Thing of the brain?
(Pah I . . . never eat lobster for sup[jer again !)
O Mercy! no nearer! Hence, horrible creature!"
Was just on my tongue, when mine eye caught a

feature
That banish'd my passion as well as alarms ;
For alas 't was the once-adored bundle of charms :
'Twas the fair Arethusa herself, all the while,
Disguised in the latest Parisian style !

Sir Norman of the Val<

SIR NORMAN OF THE VAL]

A DIM, d-ep Vale with shimmering sunset fill'd
Soft purple haze, and shafts of golden light ;
On either hand, broad belts of verdure spread
Where kingly trees, with all their tall tops crown'd
With quivering splendor, seem to meditate
And sigh in solemn chorals, sad and low.
Far off the river winds, and farther still.
Upon the farthest verge, the silvery gleam
Of ocean ever calm, while over all
Broods undisturb'd repose. Save yon gray towers.
As fix'd and sklent as their craggy base.
It seems a wilderness untrod, unknown.

And yet. not so: along these lofty aisles
We trace a footworn pathway o'er the turf, ^
The rude, expressive signature of man ;
And as we penetrate the deepening gloom.
With every sense to sight or soun ' alert.
89

fO S.'Jt NOKMAif OF TtfM Ya: f.

Strange whispers greet us from the knotted trunks,
Brown leaves take wing, and twisted roots start up
And wriggle out of sight among the ferns ;
Weird brambles twitch us with their elfish claws,
And unseen hands drop acorns at our feet 1
For thus doth Mystery, with her magic louch.
People the wild and crowd with curious eyes
The shadowy wood. The still and sultry air
Is dense with balmy sweets of gum and flower,
Of last year's faded wreath and ruajet robe.
Sudden we burst upon a grassy glade,
A weed-grown garden, and a vassal's cot,
Whose opea door invites our ])i!grim feet.

Alas, another guest 's expe<5led here !
The poor life-weary Forester awaits
The icy touch of death to set him free.
His wither'd hand a fair young nuiden chafes.
And in mute anguish gazes on his brow,
As though in every line she read her fate.

This maid is Ethel, daughter of an earl,
That in her budding infancy was snatch'd
By gipsy prowlers from her drowsy nurse,
And svtriftly borne beyond the father's ken ;
And neither bribe, not threat, nor solemn curse

tTHMt.

Could ever bring her to hi, arm, again.

So when no tidings came-no track, no trace-

Through many a waning moon, the widow',! „n„

^^ha„h.s wealth and titles, power and fame.
Was torture without her. One day that band

Of swart and lawless wanderers encamp'd
Beneath the shadow of Sir Norman •s<,aks.
And n.gh the river's rim, and Ethel's feet

^utiouswander'd far into the wood;
^en, lo, she met the vassal and his s>n, _
The youngest of five lads, -who. Edgar named
W« now h.s Benjamin. The girl's fair locks
And innocent blue eyes, the old man judged.
Mark'd not the offspring of the gipsy LV
. But questing her, none other source she knew.

I doubt not." said the father to the lad.
This IS the lost child of the fallen Earl:

We will conceal her safe, and cast her cloak
iieside the river margent, so the band

W.11 deem her drown'd; and then we wii: arise
And chase the vagrant robbers from the grove "
So they, with tender-loving hancs, conveyM "
The gentle wand'rer to thei» humble roof
And hid her till the camp was broken up.'

9«

S/Jt HORMAH OF THK VALX.

Now, Ethel was beloved by all, — by Edgar
More than all — the tend'rest tie was theirs;
But cruel wars aro«e, and one by one
The Forester's strong sons were swept away
Uix)n the crimson flood, until not one
Is left ; for Edgar has been three years gone
With brave Sir Norma:i to the Holy Land,
And never a.message came to tell his fate ;
But now Death comes, with separating hand,
When Ethel, stripp'd of all on earth she loves,
Twice-orphan'd, must go forth v/ithout a friend f

But hark ! what means that trill of music sweet.
Now rising, falling, faint and far away.
As 'vhen the Zephyrs touch the trembling cord ?
It seems some distant hunter's silver horn ;
And Ethel's ear is quick to catch the sound. —
With wond'ring eyes and pallid cheek, she hears
The tiemulous soft tones. Oh, much they speak
To any list'ning ear of ended strife.
Of home-returning ranks, of foes subdued,
Of conquest and dominion, power and six)il !
But she — one question only would she ask,
Which answer'd true, the rest to her is naught —
More empty than the bubbles on the brook 1

ETHEL.

"What hear you, daughter?" moans the dying
man.

"Death comes with silent paces: ere we know,

In at the gate he glides, and strikes the blow !

You start ; you stare ; you list with bated breath :

Fear not, my child; for me alone comes Death."

"Comes life ! "she cries : " O father, can it be

A trumi)et-call ! "

"Nay I hearest thou the trump,

And I not hear, who have most cause to hear ?

For me it calls. "

" Oh no : 't is Norman's horn !
That silver trumpet, whose imix:rious call

Wakes up the drowsy warder on the wall,
Unfurls the banner, gives the bell a voice,
Quickens each foot, and bids all hearts rejoice!
Sir Norman's horn ! "

" Nay, daughter, nay, — not yet ;
'Tis some lone woodbird piping for her mate."
" My father, no. Sir Norman's horn it is !
Hear now ! ... the great bell of the castle swings,
And 't is a round, glad hour irom curfew-time.
Oh, many a bird this night will have her mate ! "
"Lift, lift me up, my ever-gentle child,
My daughter in all virtues but in blood ;

i/X ttORttAN OF THM VAIJt.

Prop my poor head, that I may lose no note.
No whisiKr of that horn. Draw back the blind •
Let ,n Goil's blessed air and the sweet breath
Of kine and flowers and trees, -my poor old
trees ! , . .

Oh, but how grand they look : so tall and strong 1
Co<l bless them all ! "

" '^'^^'■« ' '^«ar yoii now the horn?"
"Aye. every trill I hear. It brings fresh life.
L.ke Spring's first lark. O Ethel, in my day,
A merry day were this; but now who lives?
Who stirs? . . . Fetch me my hose and coat."

"Your coat i"
"Nay. but my shrou<I, my shroud! How doth
this pijjc

Bewitch away my wits ! I did not dream
To hear it evermore. That my old heart
Should beat life's march so long, who could have

hoi)ed ?
Goal Lord. I thank thee that my poor old eyes
May see my boy again 1 I shall not die unwept.
With all my mourners buried ere myself;

For I did sorely fear there might be none
To close my filmy lids or drop frcm theirs
A tear upon my turf. Tis pitiful

MTHML.

For one who h*th held children on his knee
To die alone."

" My father, where am I?"
•' In my heart's core, my sweet ; but oh. my sons I
Eth»i. my sons I "... .

So did he sadly mourn.
Upheld within the maiden's tremulous arms.
Till faint and far the music died a* ay.
Then, gracping Ethel's hands, a strange, wild light
Kindled his faded eyes, and all his frame
Shook like a shatter'd oak that strains anC groans.
Struggling against the tempest and the flood.
While thus he spake to her : •' Ethel, my child.
The daylight fails: n.ght comes apace, and rest.
The past is past : for thee the future smiles.
God keep thee as the apple of his eye I
I may not be awake to greet my boy;
But. ere I sleep. I somewhat have to say.
Which doth concern thee much. Great change

will come
O'er all this goodly land ere yet thou bear
The silver crown of age upon thy brow :
I hear the breathings of the pitiless storm
That soon must rend this vood. With Norman
dies,

S/Jt NORMAtr OF THE VALB.

When he shall die, a race of mighty men,

Who have, througli generations, held the rule.

So claim'd, by right divine, — we having none;.

Except to serve, — obedience all our right.

But there will come a change, as I have said, —

Whether for evil or for good, God wot ; —

For, daughter, I have noted long the growth

Of lordly trees as well as lowly weeds:

I've mark'd how they do sprout, put forth and die;

And so with beast and bird and creeping thing,—

All things of earthly mould, both high and low:.

Each hath its time, and then yields up its room

To other occupant: nothing abides

But either runs or rots. A change will come ;

I know not what ; but when the leaves are sere.

Is winter nigh. The dead past shrivel'd up.

The threadbare garment^ of Old Custom soon

Become a motley jest ; and holy rites,

Sweet manners, gentle usages, and deeds

Of knightly pith be seen no more.

And then, I fear me, will the ties that bind

The nation like a tree from t.ip to top, —

Sire to son, subje(5l to suzerain lord,

Pastor to people, — be dissolved like snow

r the sun's eye; while, in that upstart time.

BTUSL.

Will honor, virtue, reverence, and truth

Rot at the core But now impatient Death

Tugs at my skirts, and bids me gather up
My few last words. Sir Norman hath no heir, -
Mark well, my child, -no heir to follow him ;
And whose may be this land, when he shall quit,
Comes not within my judgment nor my hope.
But this much, Ethel, did I yearn to see, —
Leaving the issue i" the heart of God, —
If Heaven hath led my Edgar back to me.
That thou and he be wed, so what may come.
To each alike may come."

"What! Edgar wed?"
" This grafting I did purpose ; but, my child.
Such may not sprout : for thou 'rt the lily fair
And he the weed. Yet sometimes think of him ;
Ah, think of him sometimes, poor churl, when thou
Shalt blossom .<brth the Lily of the Vale I
For that he loved thee well, I well do know ;
And you did call him brother — loved him. too.
And were indeed as one until this day.
Then, if thou mayst some gracious favor show.
Or lighten by a link the vassal-chain,
So do, so do, and thou shah have reward."
"(O Heaven, the fatal sign ! Sweet Reason quits

S/K UOKMAtf or THE VALE.

Her crumbling tenement, and leaves his mind
The sport of fantasy!). . . My father, what?
Wed Edgar, my own brother and my blood I
Edgar?"

" Nay, good my child ; not so, not so :
Thy brother ; not thy blood. Not to this trunk
Did ever such fair fruitage owe its bloom.
The crimson life that dances in thy veins
Is alien to this soil. But thou shalt know
More fully by-and-by. ... I was to blame
In letting thee so root in my poor heart.
And bind thy tendrils round me ; but they p'uck'd
My fruit, my blooming branches, my sweet boys !
And, year by year, I thought to yield thee up ;
But, year by year, I less could yield thee up.
As more and more you wrapt me round and round,
And made all bloom where barrenness had been."
" My father ! oh, how strange ! Why yield me up?
To whom yield up?"

" Nay, time serves not to tell 1
But thou, ere many days, shalt know it all ...
I couid not yield thee up. But I was wrong.
I did thee cruel wrong ; so when I sleep,
I would that thou to Lady Mabel go, —
Sir Norman's gentle spouse and thy true aunt, — "

MTUEL.

" My aunt f "

" Aye, child \ thy mother's sister, she ; —
And bear this vouch «r, which a clerk did write,
And my teeth bite, wherein is truly told
How thou wast found, how sheltcr'd many a year.
And who thou art, that I may hope for grace.
Th>s do; the rest will come as Heaven direft.
And now I Ve said, so lay me gently down.
That I may sleep awhile j for I am weak -
Sore wea.y, needing rest. God bless thee, child !
Wake me when Edgar come, -my little boy."

With folded hands, and eyes like violets
Dew-bathed, sat Ethel, lost in thought,-
Her brow upturn'd to the slow-deep'ning blue
i* round her, as an aureole, the light
Fell tenderly, while through her parted lip.
There seem'd to breathe a prayer. Oh. who may
guess

What wonder-visions visited her soul !
What fragrant memories ! what ho,>es ! what fear.|
What questionings that never m.-..y be solved 1
She seem'd as one awaken'd from a dream ;

Yet doubtful if indeed it be a drer.m '

But when she look'd upon that face again

•T was still, and cold, and dumb: she was alone.

lOO

S/Jt NORMAlf OF THE l^ALS.

HOME rROM THr WARS.

lot

Home from the wars again, trill lain tra lalaf
Home from the wars a^aiH, tra lala trill!

Lailyfair, lady-love, rise up to meet us !

Rosy lip, azure eye, open to greet us/

Home from the wars again, tra lala trill!

Home from the ivars again, trill lala tra lala!

Home from the wars again, tra lala trill!
Fill the howl, shout the song: we shall have

pleasure !
Love, wine, and minstrelsy flow without measure !

Home from the wars again, tra lala trill!

Lone, silent, sad, Sir Norman moved along,
And curb'd his charger with a nerveless hand ;
i:;s dark eyes, downward gazing, fail'd to mark
The flowers that bent obeisance as he pass'd.
He secmM as one with secret grief oppress'd.
Or sick and weary of a heartless world, —
As one who oft into the sea of life
Had dropp'd the sotinding-plummet but to find
A slimy bed, where shattcr'd argosies
Wuh ;.ll their silent mariners are laid I
Yet merrily ambled his warriors behind,

Their mirth as unregarded as the flies
That fill the air with elfin melody.

For now the wars are over, and they come
With hearts full-freighted to their lady-loves.
And memories charged with many a wondrous tale
Of climes remote and regions of romance,
Where truth and fable mingle in the clouds
Of gilded dui.t that veil the wheels of Time.
Of wilds and phantom lakes they have to tell ;
Palm groves, and cavalcades, and dusky hordes
Wrapt in the fiery mantle of the sun ;
Tombs tenantless and pyramids immense, —
Mysterious piles, whose shadowy chambers mock
Th' imjwtient ear with mutt'rings fain', and far !
Of silent cities glimmrring o'er the plain, —
Titanic bones of empires dead, unknown,—
Pale, marble ghosts of dusty dynasties !
Of whisp'ring Memnon, and the awful Sphinx,
Whose stern and stony smile doth seem to hint
Of things unutt'rable and ages dim ;
Of ancient Nilus, and the Middle Main,

With tombs of mighty monarchies cnzoned,

Famed regions, full of wonder and delight !
But most of all, of that most hallow'd Land
Which gave Immanuel birth, will they unfold,-—

SfX UOKifAtr OF THS yALS.

That sacred shrine, too long by paynim hands
Possess'd, - the Holy Sepulchre ! - but now.
Through blood and treasure, rescued to the Faith
And much of stormy billows have they seen ;
Oi shipwreck, too, among the Cyclades ;
Of weary days in watching, till appear'd
One little mote upon the misty verge.
That slowly swell'd into a sail, -a ship ! —
A friendly fleet to bear them to their loves I

And oh, how sweet this breath of native air.
Fanning the dust of travel from their locks >
These hills and vaies and groves and streams-

how fair I
What gushing music babbles in the brooks !
These bosky dells, these flower-enamell'd fields.
These flocks and herds and little twitt'ring bird's,
These hawthorn hedges and these dusty briers,
These wayside weeds, these butterflies and bee's f
Sure, never did they heed these things before.
Though born and nurtured in their very midst;
But now. in tearful ecstasy, they kiss
The very fringe and ravellings of Home!

But why so sad. Sir Norman ? Know'st thou not
Those queenly towers that deck yon leafy height

MOMS nOH THK IK,|a'?.

103

As With a coronal of fretted gold ?
Thrice hath the monarch of the rimy beard
These branches stript and hung his pearls thereon.
Since o'er ihy crest they waved their verdure last •
Death hast thou met and dash'd his point aside '
With such a brand as only Norman wields ;
Thy homeward march is one wild peal of joy
Where maids forget their madrigals to sing
Your praises only, as your banners flout
. Their wide-flung casements; every favor'd street,
W.th arch and wreath and rippling pennon gay,
Roars with one shout of welcome to the brave I
And now. Sir Knight, but wind thy bugle-horn,

And yon gray walls will tremble with delight I ' '
Then will the link'd and studded portals ope
Their folded arms to greet thee, while the draw
Swings creaking down to span the limy moat ;
Then will each court and corridor resound
With hurrying footfalls and enraptured cries
While fluttering figures climb the topmost towers
To catch the first glimpse of thy snowv olume 1 *
What ! yet unmoved ? In sooth, but that must be
A heart of lead bereath thy golden mail I
Thou comest agai.i the vi<5lor as of old.
And walk'st so high above the wond'ri^g world

I04

S/X IfORMAlt Or.THR VALB.

That Envy hangs her head in dumb despair,
And Malice finds no mark to point her shaft ;
Yet dost thou bear thee with so mild a mien, —
Thy glory veiling with so sweet a grace»—
That little children dance about thy feet,
And throw with dimpled hands their dainty kiss.
The very trees do image forth thy deeds ;
The fountains gush thy praise ; the dewy flowers.
With cunning skill, Sir Norman of the Vale,
Are train'd to blush thy name; the stately bird.
Mistaking for the sun thy dazzling shield.
Unfolds the gilded splendor of his train.
While all the forest hails the rising morn !
Then wherefore droop, since every heart is thine?
We can no more ; ami yet so dark and dumb !
Not thus do heroes fly to love's embrace
And find the guerdon of their valor there.
But Norman murmurs sadly to his soul :
"And is this all — the sum of all my life —
Thes- passing voices and these fading flowers?
Men have less cause to lovw ..e than to fear;
'ITien wherefore shni.t they ' welcome ' as I pass,
And ring their hollow flatt'ry in my ears?
A grateful tear upon a vassal's check
Were gem more lustrous to my secret soul

fOMS noat THM UTARS.

- I— HfcB . ..

Than purest diamond in monarch', crown.
I -ould to God that I were all they say

B:t;:T''''^^°"^--^^'^^-3feit,

W."'^' '^^'"P'>''«-Ptyan..ndvain.

Wth self-love at the root: men's heroes are
The m,g„,fi,, ^^,^^.^^ ^^ ^^^^^^^

The,ro^vn distorted shadows on the wall

For we .hat hold, in arbitrary grasp.

Men s hves and fortunes, never reach their heart,

Nor know how thev esf^,.m . • u • "^ "**™'

So ,h,n • . "* '" *^«'' souls;

So shal ow .s the homage that i, paid,

rhereis no safety ,n extorted power;
Tjsbu.lt on sand, and great must be its fain
In bondage to the shadow of a shade,
T were better serfs were bidden to our board,.

Than for themselves discover they are men, J

Wh,ch one day they must find; for men they are.
Wuh w.ngeo thoughts that lift them to the skies

- soar i.ke eagles o'er the jealous walls
That h.de the weakness of th.; ^^

•The /ax/and>./,. the wither'/sibyl «id ' " '
And these two ominous words -the/.., and /....
-Keep up the.r ceaseless echoes in my mind
Drownmg all other sounds, both right and da'y>

lOJ

io6

S/» tfOKMAlf OF TH2 VAtM.

The last I am indeed ; but how the first ?
Ah, would that I had skiil to solve that hffw t
For, in the dark and complex web of life,
A golden thread may run from edge to <rdge.
And we not catch the glimmer till too late I . . .

Tliat Heaven denied me children for some end

Some deed to do — 't were impious to doubt.
So will I school my mind to scent that end.
And do the deed, wherever it may tend ! "
Then grew Gir Norman dumb again, and seem'd
To mingle with the shadows of the grove.

Meanwhile, the tremor of trampling hoofs.
Tinkle of trappings, and murmur of tongues

Come louder and louder, nearer and nearer,

Come with the dust-cloud dimming the tree-tops.
Come with the silvery clangor of trumpets
Shaking their melody over the vale —
Quivering, caujht up, and flung back from the

towers.
Sec throi ;h the branches the gleaming of lances,
Fiashing of helmets, and flutter of plumes I
Home from the wars again, home from »he wars I
Rings the old castle wiih plaudits of welcome ;
Reels every turret with revelry wild 1

MOMM FROM THB WARS.

^o,v mernly sit, my comrades all.
And lay the sword away •

^J^'^'^ ^''''^ flowers the festal hall,
The beakers fill, the minstrels call;

^ft every heart be gay !

^"'ly, holly, holly, aha, aha, aha

W- 'veput our vaunting foes to rout.

And made the traitors siving;
Then push the flagon roundabout -
^ first that falls we 'II turn him out.
The last shall be our iing/
^"^^y'^-^fy, holly, aha, aha. aha f

Sytoh> ^ad thoughts of those we left

Beneath the cypress and the palm, -
Of sorrowing souls and luarts bereft,

For whom there is no balm, —
Steal in /a, j^,„f^^^ .^^ ^^^^^^^

ff-'hen least we dream of d.-.-.th •'
And while we pledge the sainted slain
They seem to stretch their viewless 'han-*,
Athwart the billows and the sands,
And grasp our oion again /

107

. — -^Hi

io8

SIK HOKMAtt OF THE VALM.

Beside his grave, beneath the yew, they stand,
Edgar and Ethel. In their features blend
Rapture and anguish, with some subtler force
That seems despair, as though invisible hands
Did sunder them forever; yet entwined
They stand, mingling their tears — utt'ring few

words ;
But those few full and deep. 'T is that one hour
Which comes to every soul — that fateful hour
Whose every moment burns into the heart.
And leaves imperishable record there
To the last pulse, — the keystone hour of life I
Than she no fairer ever man adored.
Than he no worthier ever woman loved ;
And they were one from infancy to this
Dark hour of agony beside the grave —
This grave, which doth unite them and divide :
She to the homage of a hundred knees,
He to his rustic toil. But Cod alone
Holds in his heart the issue of this hour, —
This burning hour beneith the yew's deep shade I

Sir Normrn was the last of all his line;
And though in all the annals of his house
No baseness ever stain'd one noble name.

hamml.

109

■±

Sir Nomun was the glory and the prime;

And, like an autumn sun, the name, with him,

Went down in splendor o'er the withering leaf

And fruitless, sapless trunk of Chivalry.

As v-Iiant as the best, a nurer air

His loftier spirit breathed, ^nd none there were

Among his royst'ring peers could measure him.

In his demesne an ancient abbey stood.
Where many a pensive hour Sir Norman pass'd
In ghostly reverie or converse deep
Of questions never raised in camp or court;
Naithless, no gloomy anchorite was he.
Nor one to chill the fervid noon of joy
With dismal clouds of spleen -engendered creeds.
But life IS more than festival and war.
And more than wealth and land. reno>^ and love •
(So whisper'd Reason) and he must achieve
Some deed more worthy to embalm his name
Than bidding wine in ruddy rivers flow.
Or aiding love-lorn damsels in distress, '
Or hunting timorous creanirp« cf »k« <:-ij
Or winning laurels in the tournament.
Or hewing red roads through embattled hosts, -
Though peerless he in every knightly grace. '
So 'mid the whirl and flush of revelry.

Srit NORMAN Of THE VALB.

The sweetest music lost its power to please;
The rarest nedar of all sunny climes
Flow'd by his lips unquaff'd ; the richest fruit
That ever hung round Autumn's swarthy brow, —
Nay, even woman's sweet, sed.iitive charms,—
All, all were impotent, insipid, vain !
Led by the pensive Spirit of the Night.
He moved away unmark'.l, and, thrusting back
The silken folds that round the casement fell,
Stepp'd forth upon the parajx-t, and gazed
^ Full long and silent down the dizzy steep ;
And then with folded hands, as if in prayer.
He raised his sad eyes to the sleepless stars :'
Th- eternal glory of those awful heights, —
So infinite, so populous, so still ! —
The dreamy landscain: and the whisp'ring winds
Calm'd down the troubled currents of his heart,
And thus he breathed into the ear of night :
"Ye worlds, ye almost spiritual hosts
That stand about heaven's vestibule to guide
Lone-wand'ring spirits o'er the sunless gulf,
Anu shudder lest they miss the n.^rro^v■ way, —
Hew do ye shame with your unchanging beams
The majesty of man ! In vain he builds
Upon the rock-ribb'd earth for |H.-rpetuity,

MABBL.

lit

And plants his ensign on the buttress'd wall
And dreams that marble shaft and gr.nite pile
Shall awe the coming ages with his name <
A few years pass-how few!_and men shall ask.
Who rear'd these crumbling pillars? ' but receive
No answer ; nay. not ore to t Jl of him •
Whence, then, this airy spirit that o'erleaps
The narrow Ln^unds of time, when time itself
So quickly sifts the dust uijotv his pride?
And what is giyen to feed this flattVing ho,x;.
Which Heaven has cradled in all human hearts,
rnnt ive may live immortal as the stars.
With whom we fondly link our destinies?
Oh, it must be the boundless love that flows
In the broad bosom of humanity !
For will not every drop of tl:at great heart
Swell to a sea, on which a blessed name
Shall float through time into eternity?"
Thus tpuch; and o'er his brow there beam'd a
light.

That not the stars, but Heaven alone did she,! :
Then swei)t a wave of music on his ear.
That brought him back to earth and self again.
" How like the din of bedlamites and fools.
These silly, wanton songs-this noisy mirth-

iia

S/K UOJUfAU OP THK VALK.

This revelry ! Nay, seems it not profane?
Here, in this charnel-house that men call Earth,
This narrow gateway of infinitude, —
Porch of eternity — heaven's vestibule ! —
To feast and laugh and sing and dance and dream!
Yet wherefore should I judge the idle moth,
That scorns the joyless prudence of the ant,
Which in the tranqi.illest hour of summer's 'prime
Doth hear the marshalling of wintry storms?
Why, if these lightsome revelers obey
The motions of their souls, as I do mine,
They may be worshiping ! Men are unlike,
As you, ye myriad orbs ; yet, as ye beam.
Some wondrous bright, some faint and far away.
Are ye not all as it were best to be?"
"Ah, but they hear thee not!" a sweet voice

trill'd:
" They're not so near as I. God rules yon lowers :
Our duties do not stretch so far away;
But round our feet, among the weeds and flowers,
In the plain light of ilay. Then. Norman, love,'
Why gauge the heavens for wisilom such as that.
And leave the bowl, fair-kiss'd, to blush for thee.
And all thy guests \\\yo\\ the top'and plume
Of this night's happiness? 1 marveU'd much

HABML.

What phantom purpose lured you from my side.
And more admired what held, till round my heart
i I'e icy-coiling terrors 'gan to fold I
What -what, I fancied, if his brain grow dazed
With th.s obstreperous rout, and, leaning o'er
I he battlements to medicine his lungs
With wholesome air, his powerless fingers slip f
y^.i ! then I saw upon the rocks beneath
A sight most dread; and forth the cold drops
came, "^

Beading my brow, till I could bide no more

Now I shall ever fear those murd'rous rocks f

Why, Norman dost thou hear ? Oh. speak to o^e I"
But Norman stood transfix'd, and gazed at her

W.th eyes that saw not her, but some dim form,

borne visionary creature of the mind

A million leagues beyond, and vaguely sigh'd

"The/astami^rtt/"

Whereat she tinkled out
A timid laugh, and vow'd that he was like
The whisp'ring Memnon ; then a shadow oass'd
Ali.wart her pleading features as she said. "
" 'T is most ungallant to forsake the field
And all your doughty knights at such a pinch r
And thou, the Flower of Chivalry, consent

114 S/M WOKMA/f OF THE VAtM.

An empty stool should bear me company I
What, if some other claim'd that vacant throne?
Tea well thou know'st that I am thine alone "
"Sweet Mab." he answer'd. "thou art mine
alone."

Then bending, lightly kiss'd her dewy lids
And lips all tremulous, and closer press'd
Her lithe form to his bosom as he breathed :
"Aye, thou art all ! .... But I do truly grieve
If I have lessen 'd by a feather's weight.
The pleasures of this night. Thine ears did steal
The coinage of my dreams: alas, fair thief.
Thou art not much enrich'd ! For I do lack
That sweet philosophy that maketh thee
A flower, a bird, a child ; nay, better still,
An angel pure."

"Oh no, my lord, not I:
I 'm but a woman, with a woman's heart, —
Now sad, now glad, -a woman, -nothing more
Nor less, —thy wife."

" Yea, so thou art indeed !
Thank Henven, tho,, .,rt ! O .Mabel, save in thcc,
How poor and bankrupt is your Norman's life I
How empty o^ all purpose, end, and aim !
How like a glimmering taller dying out

Mabel.

In dark, oblivious, everlasting night f "

•' Oh, think not thus, my lord : 't is neither just

Nor wholesome thus to think. Your sun of life

Hath not yet reach'd his noo,-your moon.
Her full - your year, her summer prime : as yet
Your fruit is green, your harvest still to come." '
Scant crop, and brief the time."

,,, " The longest life

n-spent were brief; the briefest, long, that serves
Life s purposes: but then, we little know
Of thmgs so deep. What necessary point
Of kn.ghtly 'complishment doth Norman lack?
Is w^ pure, brave: what more shall Norman
be?"

•' Aye, 't is this more belittles all the rest !
For all the rest are only painted show.,
That for an hour make slaves forget their chains-
ihis mor, surrounds us l-ke a murky mist
.Engender'd on the deep, and inland roll'd
Obscuring heaven and earth in sable folds.'
There looms a sha// de of so vast a size,
That all our have beens dwindle to a dot !
^^ain is the gloty that is reap'd in blood •
Who draws the sword shall ixjrish with the sword •
Endunng power is b.nit on love alone.

ii6

S/Jt NOKUAlt Of T/fS yALM.

There is in every soul a reaching out
To years unborn." . . .

" '-'^y, Norman, is it thou ! "
And Mabel slipp'd his arms and backward drew
In mimic wonderment and lovely scorn :
" ^°'' ^"^ ^ <^°*> ? Nay. 't is a cap and plume I
And, holy sire, is this a sackcloth robe
Hung o'er thy lean and penance-blister'd back?
What ! velvet, sir, .md 'broidery of gold,
And gems that twinkle brighter than ^he 'stars?
A sword forsooth ! — is that thy crucifix?
And this thy rosary, u silver chain ?
With silken sash in lieu of hempen rope?
Oh, what a galliard monk and reverend knight !
For, marry, both in thee are mix'd and marr'd."
Then, with her white hands perch'd upon his arm.
Like coupled doves, she coo'd into his ear :
" O Norman, love, be never less than thou :
Your mind with too much pond'ring haib been
warpt

To one incline, and springs not back again
To all its fair prcportions without strain.
Your one thought is the gangrene of the mind:
It eats and eats till all is foul disease ;
Tis like a lens that bends a million beams

MABSU

To one bright, burning point-a fiery dart;
Or as a brook, when choked by drifted wrack
Frets out a lawless channel through the fields,'
And. gathering force from evVy tiny rill.
Sweeps down with wild destru^ion to the deep
No, 't is not healthy, Norman, mark you that •
For what is madness, but a mind possess'd, -'
Enslaved and fashion'd to one tyrant thought?"
"Nay, fear not. Mab; my madness will not harm
The slightest film of whatsoe'er is right;
But p'rhaps it may imiieril what is wrong,—
A very lamb like madness, I assure ye !
As yet I'm safe enough : a thousand thoughts
Hold parley in my mind; but action sleeps.
When I have shaped the purpose to my mind.
You surely shall be judge ; till then, s-ng on."
" Ah, cruel you, to whet my appetite,
And then withhold the fruit ! But, woe i, me I
I know too much, I fear, about it now, -
My little fingers can untwist those threads.
That have not fnrm'd themselves to firmer 'web
Than mix'd and filmy tangles in your brain."
" I would," he said. " you were an or.i< le ! "
"And I." quoth she, " taat you were all you are;
Yet could I wish me ither than I am,

-TJ^. ■ -^^-■^--■^.. ,

"• '«'"'-•*• or nw y^u.

1°'"" T""""""^ ''"'■«"•»■> I."

O Norman m,„e I ,he myr.le.Ieav« ar. green
G»dk„o«.^„fr„,n„„i,,„„„, .

"Thou know'st me nn» •» i.- •_•

sighU ' ''^ '"'^' »"d deeply

••Let not such false lights flicker in your soul
W they have, many n,oons, in .iLgoTeout

ThaHh T ';'' ^'""^ '" '^' ^ loftier fligh'
Than ty fond spirit broods o'er .„ distress

War. d.to being oy the heart's embrace.
Shall not the issue of the mind alone

Surv,ve the charr'd foundations of the world?
Nayw ,,,^^^ I've had n,y fortune tod.'

D.d I ne'er ten t-e that? There, there; Why sof

l-merryasakidl-still. it was strange
Cut let roe tell it you." *^

" Oh, let it be

MABKU

Its

) Nc lighfsome tale," she moan'd : •« for such I have

No stomach now."

" Nay, 't is as dark as night ! ' '
He darkly said.

" Oh. prithee, then, be mute !
My spirit swims in shadows even now."
" Well, Mab, my tale shall be a twilight one,"
He answer'd smiling : " neither dark nor light ;

But both or either, as you may divine

One noon, in Palestine, as we encamp'd
Within the cin^ure of a cypress-grove, —
For such there are beneath the fiercest skies,
Fair children of the sunshine and the dew,
That heartless ruin hath not heart to blast,—
There came a dusky woman and her boy, —
A wild-eyed, wolfish, hunger-bitten pair.
Chance-nurtured, dwelling in the tombs with bats
And basilisks : I see that woman now, —
Her weird, fantastic garb, her skinny claws
That hawk-like grasp'd the little dole I dropt.
When she, in words interpreted to me.
Unfolded all my past And future deeds I
I swear to thee, as page by jjage she read
The annals of my life, I was amazed :
She knew me better than I knew myself!

ste

S/* ifORtlAtf Olt T/fS VAtM

And What she prophesied haeh come co pas..

In all save this alone, that I should be
T/u first of all my lineage and the last

I never told thee this: what think you of 't?''
Think? I think it strange."

"Wonderful is 't not?"
Most wonderful ndeed! "

„c "Sothinkl, Mab."

Surpassing wonderful, that thou t hoard
^ ah all thy golden wealth such worthless dross I
: hou art deceived : thy dragon:a... no doubt.
Was some old friend of thine wl.o kenn'd thee
well,

Frhaps held thee on his knee, and knew as much
The barb rous jargon of the gipsy hag
As did yourself: some oily Judas monk.
I warrant you, as crafty as a fox.
Whose guile is only e^ual'd by his greed.
Twas thus and thus: let me thy Daniel be.
To read the mystic writing on the wall :
Thy days are number'd and thou hast no heir
To all thy rirh domain. Thou aft the Ia.1 •
But give the Church thy lands, and thou sh'al, be
1 he hrst, the best, the flower of all thy house •
O Heaven ! what greed, what gluttony, what guile

MABKL.

What everything that', bad i, misnamed Church I
How can such solemn mockery survive ! "
*; Stay stay 1 my Tttle wife doth speak too fast f
The Church is holy, though her priests be flesh:
She .s the Mother at whose breasts we feed;
She IS the Guardian to whose arms we flee. -
We must revere the Church ; but who shall walk
This dusty world and not pollute his feet?
Not feeble men ; then, so much more the need
Of blessed shrive; for even monks are men "
"I- faith, and so they be I and fat men too ;
Though some of 'em be lean ; but, o' the twain.
I like the fat ones best ; for they sleep most.
And so are out o' mischief. . . . Oh, I know
- 11 burn for heresy some rainy day ! . . .
But say, did not your meek interpreter,—
Your very dusty, very fleshly monk, — '
Just breaCie -just whisper some such pious hint?'
"My ghostly father, who was standing nigh.
Did hazard some such jest," Sir Norman said ;
But did I never tell it thee before?"
" No, never," she replied ; " nor could I I.ope
To hear such fancies till your eyes be dim,
A.id four-score winters powder'd on your b, ,w r
Would that your ghostly father were a gho^ /

t»»

StK NOKMAH OP THK yALS.

I knew it well : so like the mitred Leech,
That sucks and sucks the life-blood of the land ! "
" Nay, Mabel ; mock me not nor jest at Fate •
*Vhat Heaven decrtes. may -nortal man escape?"
" Wh:t Heaven decrees, we wish not to escape;
But when Heaven warns of what Time's womb

contains.
The hallow'd message com^ not through the lips
Of crafty monks or skinny, wrinkled hags;
But angels, pure and viewless as the breath
Of od'rous airs that scarce the aspens move.
Glide soitiy as the moon-beam: 'round our couch
And fill our inmost soul with heavenly light! "
"True, Mabel, true; for so t.,ey come to-night!
Yet heed me, love : e'en now. as I did ^aze
Along yc n quivering dome, I saw a star
Most wond'rous bright fly wildly from her throne,
Dimming her sisters till herself grew dim.
And then was seen no more, - some Hagar orb.
Driven forth of heaven to weep. What bodes it
Mab?

See you no sign nor portent in the sight ?
Or was it one more world to judgment call'd,—
Some poor, sad world like ours? Yet listen, love;
We hear no discord in th' eternal hymn.

itAMMU

»»3

Nor i. Nighf. crown le« lovely by the lo«. -

So little miss'd is one so lair a gem !

What would you, Mab?"

QK ,^. • "'*°"'**'"l"oth she, "that you
Should learn how time flies by your flying star, I
For now have vacant seats been long enough
Our deputies: the wheel of pleasance droops.
The axle being removed. To-night, my liege,
_'hen all these wassailers have slid them down
*' »«^'«»ey slumbers, and the halls are void
And voice no ruder than the cricket's chirp
Disturb the silence of our crowsy towers,
I'll whisper somewhat in your willing ear,'
Will populate your brain with dancing d-eams "

So went they in, and left tne battlements
To bats and fairy revelers in the dew.

Oh, sweet be all thy dream, love;

^sMy, happily rest, —
Pure as the silvery beams, hve.

That dapple thy heavifif breast f
Nothing can harm, nothing alarm

Thee, my own, my best;
For sleepless Love ar-mnd, above,
Doth ward thy silken nest!

m»

x»4

S/Jt tfORItAH OF THE VALB.

The mellow twilight deepens, and the night
Sinks softly o'er the vale. Like some stern chief.
Forgetful of his wounds in dalliance sweet,
The grim towers deign to smile. No sounds awake
But such as soothe the ear : some vesper bell
Slow-swinging far away, some tinkling lute
High up in yon recess, and the faint sigh
Of the night-rising breeze. There is a spell,
A witchery in the hour, more weird, methinks,
Than middle-night ; for then the watchful stars
Companion us: but in this gloaming time, —
In such a place as this, —dim spedtral forms,
Pale, hollow-eyed, are seen,— unquiet souls.
Who shun the light and murmur in link'd pairs
Beneath the elms. Ah, well-a-day ! may Heaven
Forefend us ! See ! with silent steps they come.
Two human figures, gliding o'er the lawn, —
A maid and cavalier ! The dusky light
But half reveals their features ; yet we start
At some remember'd likeness as they pass.

And. meltinor inf/% cV.~,i« ^ ^--^

'---'--o ' »"ti_-., a:c Seen no more i

Come, let us in : the night grows chill and dark.

And either ghosts or lovers haunt this park.

THK CKEAT DAY.

125

Like waves that leave no trace upon the sands
Of all their beauty and of all their might.
The days flow'd on, till one day went there forth
Swift pursuivants through all the wide domain.
Proclaiming to Sir Norman's vassalry.
That in the castle-yard on such a noon,
They gather, all who may, both old and young.

Then was there doubt and wonder in the land.
And anxious dread, when many a mother wrapt,
Within convulsive arms, her tender care.
As ever she would moan, " Who will provide
For these our little ones, if he be gone —
Their only hope ? Oh why. Sir Norman, why
Is war so sweet to thee, that is to us
So full of bitterness? O wretched life I
To-day, all nestling in our lowly cot ;
To-morrow, wrench'd asunder, ne'er to meet ;
Our pottage season'd with unceasing tears;
Trembling at night for what the morn may bring.
Our innocent babes, that should be founts of joy,
O'erflow the bitter cup, since they are nursed
Not for the comfort of the breast? they press.
But the wild license of a lordly will |
What hope have we in life ? " And so the night
Was darken'd with despair, till rose the morn

ia6

S/Jt NOKMAtf OF THB yAL£.

O: doubt-dispersing day, what time she spread
Her heavy wings and vanish'd o'er the hills.

Hail, Morning! emblem of immortal life,
Of youth and beauty and eternal joy, —
All fresh and fragrant, as with rosy smile
Thou shakest the dewy pearls from thy green robe
And leaning o'er thy couch of purple cloud, '
Dost g,ld the mountain-tops with hues of heaven
A million hearts rejoice !-the forest rings i_
And the lone, weary watcher, v-ho hath long,
In tears and darkness, waited for thy light,
Takes up his hymn, " Now lettest thou, OLord
Thy servant part ir: jn^ace ; for, lo, mine eyes
Have seen the dawn of Liberty and Love,
And the long night of Tyranny and Strife
Fade out forever from this new-born world f "

O Day to be remember'd through all time,—
When in the furnace of all-potent Love,
Fair Birth and Worth were molten into one!
O bright-wing'u Day ! in amber song embalm'd.
And 5ang fr.ro' ail il.e years by Freedom's soni I
Sang when the rosy lads and lasses dance
Around the May-pole to the merry pipes;
Or blithely labor in the s^-aming fields, '

•tf

Tit a CKSAT DAY.

The skylark caroling the clouds among;
Or through the starry paces of the night.
Their fleecy care from wolfish fangs defend ;
Or at higu noon, beneath umbrageous boughs.
Behold their sleek kine mirror'd in the pool. •
'.»'here lilies float like fairy fleets becalm'd ;
Or when, with rustic melody and mirth.
They hail the creaking wain of harvest home;
Or merrily ring'd around the Christr , Jog,
Petell the legends of the dim old days.

Now o'er Sir Norman's walls gay banners float.
Gay sights are seen, and festive sounds are heard
The bridge is lower'd, and slowly up the nath
That winds and zig-zags to the castle gate,
Men, women, children move in motley groups:
Here sturdy lads their weaker sisters lead.
And there a mother holds her nursling babe;
And next, a father bears his rosy boy, —
A pippin munching in his dimpled fist ;
Young. lusty hinds, stout-limb'd and full of life.
With maidens coy and blooming as the flowers '
They slyly wander from the path to pluck.
But ere the shadows crept beneath the walls.
The latest stood within the castle-court.

138

Sn NORMAlf O/r THE yAU.

No word or shout was heard ; but. deep and low,
Up-droned a murmur as of swarming bees
Or far-o/r billows, till the great bel.dang^d
. ^^^^.''-^"^"oon. and stoo<l Sir Norman forth
In vjew of all. -.hen. like a mountain storm
Sudden and wild, a mighty cheer went un:

God save our liege. Sir Norman o' the Vale!
Long hve Sir Norman, our, iege lord and true-
Loud blared the trumpets, and the tumult ceased-
Then cam. Sir Norman's words to every ear • '

Ye have obey'd my summons well and true
As ever was your wont when duty < all'd '
And battle's crimson banners ^vaved on Ligh
But now the wars are over, and secure
We may with honor lay the sword aside

And delve again our long-negle.fled fields."

God bless our liege ! " a woman . voice rings out,
Whereat a thousand treble voices ring
In chorus wild. "Amen ! God bless oJr liege -

Then spake Sir Norman. "Heaven defend us all,
Twas on your breasts the fury of the waves

r irst beat and snent their fnrco . v^ ► •
TL ,„. . ■ "'"^'"'^^^: yestooa as stand

. ihe clins, immovable around our land !

And ever will,.. And now the deep bass rolls:

And ever will! '.Then, stretching out his hand.

TUS CKMAT DAY.

129

Sir Norman spake again : •' T is rich reward
To know that we have done our duty well :
The conscience of a traitor is a wound
That hath no remedy in heaven or hell 1
But ye are good, true men. who love your land.
Your wives, your children, and whose noble deeds
Are writ in many a scar that all may read ;
So 't is w.y purpose that you have the rights
Your loyalty has won — your full desert —
What God to you hath given, but man withheld ;
And hence this boon will be the gift of God,
Whom humbly thank for all that may ensue.'
These lands that I do hold by right of birth,
Are mine alone ; and with them do I claim '
What thereon is. hath been, or e'er shall be. -
All forest, field, and stream, and what therein
Do live and move of fish. bird, beast, and man;
To use or give, to hold or to divide.
And he who challengeth my lawful right
May now or never make his title good."

He paused and reverent bared his ample brow.
As though recording angels hover'd round.
Meanwhile the trumpets blew a billowy blast
East, west, and north, and south. -to ev'ry point.
That roll'd along the walls from tower to tower, '

»30 SrX HOKMAM OF THE VALR.

And broke in answering echoes down the vale.
Then came his deep voice o'er the breathleji
court :

"There cometh none my lawful right to doubt;
So now give heed and witness to my will,
Which in few words I here make known to all:
" In God his name, amen t I now proclaim,
/>ww this day and forever are you fre\ —
Free of all fief or feud, tithing or tax.
Save what with your consent may be imposed;
Nor without twelve good men of like estate
Thereto agreed, shall any be condemn' d
Of whatsoever crime he stand accused
In open court, wherein for all alike
Shall even-handed Justice hold the scales.
Free to go forth as men with sacred rights.
To labor for yourselves and little ones ;
Thai you may train them in the love of God,
Thrir Country and their King, and without dread
Of mortal man. That howier lowly be
The four walls of your dwelling, they shall stand.
By st>Umn laws inlrenc/t d, impregnable

^'■""nd your hearths .-through ragged loop and rent,
IVmd, rain, or hail may visit you; but not

The King himself may come within your gates."

TMM CKtAT DAY.

»3«

He ceased, and naught the sudden silence broke.
Save darting swallows twitt'ring o'er the walls;
, ^o*" "cordless wonder sate on every face :
They fathom'd not the gift, — they only knew
That some great boon was granted, but no more.
- And so the swallows twitter'd, till arose

One deep breath, long repress'd, when each did

search
The other's face for answer, still in vain.
Then mutely turn'd they to the balcony.
As though to find solution of their doubts;
But all had vanish'd save the sentinels,
Whose pclish'd armor glitter'd in the sun.

But while they stood amazed, and what to do,—
Whether to weep or laugh, to go or stay,—
Knew not, the great doors open'd, and a host
Of nimble menials roll'd the viands forth, —
Great tuns of beer and mighty trenchers hcap'd
With savory meats and wheaten bread and fruit,
' In wonderful profusion and the best.
And then came minstrels and gay troybadou«, —
Their bonnets garlanded with faded flowers
That once did kiss the Arno or the Rhine,
Or sip the dews of Andalusian fields,
Or star the green champaigns of Languedoc ; —

IJJ

S/Jt IfOttMAtf OF THE VAtK.

And motley clowns with visage woebegon^
And quips that "set the table in a roar; "
And tumblers walking with their heels in air
And morris-dancers capering round and round,
And pretty pages with their golden curls,
And high-born maids, and gallant cavaliers.
And grizzly vefrans of a hundred fields •
And then, unheralded, Sir Norman came'.
With genial smile and golden sentences '
That ne'er should gather dimness from negledl
But 1.1 remembrance bright and burnish'd be,-l
A joy in every season fresh and full !

Yet did the churls their r;^on catechise
•"Can this be Norman's self?"_that mighty man.
Whose very name was ever breathed in awe 1
" How manly-clear the music of his voice I
Albeit he speaks the very words we speak.—
The same old mother-language of our lips' i ••

So while they pass'd the beaker hand to hand
And wonder'd at the bounty of their host.
And wonder'd at the castle's massive strength
And wonder'a how much bacon was consumed.
And hov much beer, and bread, and fruit.
And what, withal, was meant by being free,—
Tliey were like children wand'ring in a maz'e-

THB CJt£AT DAK

'33

'^^^PWMBfcifcfc I

A fairy-haunted wood : . golden mist,

A dreamy light half hid and half reveai'd

The unfamiliar splendor cf the scene '

What they had reach'd beyond thi^ banqueting.

1 ney fail d to grasp-no doubt, some mighty gift

^swam before their vision like the moon.
When tawny vapors scud along the sky, -
Now dimly seen, now swallow'd up and lost -
They stood bewilder'd on the borderland-
The hazj' hounds betwixt the Old and New •
They did not feel that Vassalage was dead,*
They did not know that Liberty was born ;
They saw, but could not comprehend, the signs
Uf dissolution and renascent life.
Nor hear the trumpets of advancing Change I
But such a merry day was never known
In all the land : a day of jollity.
Of dextrous feat and game, of feast and dance
And sweet forgetfulness of toil and care.
The fallow deer fled off in wild dismay.
And hid in deepest shade : the restl-cs rocks
Wheel'd round their lofty holds in chatfring
flights, .

And the brown rabbits burrow'd in the ferns
Along the dappled lawi.s fair children skipt.

»34

*'* ^OltMAlf OW THK y^u.

0,d„onc..d^,l.„,3wo„d„.d„orea„d
At all they «.. and kne. not why they wept

Ma?eS'''^^°^°-^°-^^"-he:rr:„„

Made golden v.stas down the long green lane.
The trumpet «,u„ded and the great J, swle'
T^-gather'dallthe.ultitud!abou^"'

T>.eportarsnurble steps, whereon appear-d
Md^h.nggen«.gayrol.s.andnodd^gpL„
S^r Nor„,an and the Abbot of the Vale
When every foot and every tongue was hush'd
To in,p.tating silence. Norn,an said:

One sumner-day a lovely pearl was n,i«-d
Fr^m out the priceless treasures Of an earl.
Keen search was made on every side U vain

Ands^re the great heart bled; he wasal;
Wuh none to share the burden of his loss
For over all his wealth this pearl he priJd -
The Parfng gift of his sweet bride in heav;n
But lest h.s heart be wither'd up With gre
Ere yet the budding promise Of his youth
Should npen into deeds, he drew his blade
And bravely falling ,,h the fallen bravf'

I THMGKMATDAr. ,„

bid leave alon- the shadow of a name.
But ere the last breath flutter'd in his breast,
He wl.:5per'd thus unto hi, trusty friend. -
'If r^y lost pearl should ever come to light
Entrust it only to a brave man's care.'
So all remembrance of the missing gem
Died out. save in the bosom of that friend
Now, what befell this pearl, and where 't was hid
Through many a weary year, and by what hand
Twas filch'd, and by whom found, 'twere long to
tell: *

Suffice to know 't was kept with sacred care
That did reward its guardian wondrous w. '
Full many a brave man follow'd us to war
Whose mighty shades we humbly follow now.-
Who, as they stood upon the utmost verge
And gazed with undimm'd eyes upon the sun
Qf immortality, eclipsed us all ;
And dumbly did we watch them, glory-crown'd,
O erleap life's Uurn and stand among the gods -
But one there lives amone the favor'd fe-^ _
Whose name burns bright among the brightest
names, —

Hath carn'd by valor and Vy «,!emn troth.

.■•'>

«3< SrX IfOKMAU Of THE VALt.

ThI. perl." And then Sir Norman waved hi.
hand

And said. ..Bring forth the long-lost pearl -
The pnceles, recompense of love and worth I
Take Edgar, take your Ethel to your arms.
And. holy father, make the n ever one."

L.ke sw,ns emerging from the tufted reeds
That barricad .- some secret river-cav^
Came Mabel slowly through the bend;ng plume,.
The modest maiden leading by the hand

Pearl-white was Ethel's robe; her sunlit curl,.
A golden fillet bound, from which a rose
Droop'd down and kiss'd the rose upon her che -
At first, deep admiration held each tongue •
But when the groom advanced to meet his bride.
A sudden tempest swept o'er ^.. the court,
And like quick waves that tumble to the cliff
The eager gossips press'd around the door.

Then, crimson-curtain'd. died the gorgeous day •
So came the New, so pa^s'd the Old away.

Miscellaneous Poemj

^MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

THE RIVER.

Dark hulls of ships and slimy wharves the turbid
river laves,

And round and through the city pours her melan-
choly waves.

Oh ravish'd Riven free nor pure thy tide shall
ever be,

Now Mammon with his sooty swarm has claim'd

and fetter'd thee ;
•Tis thine to own the tyrant power that

ocean seals.

earth and

To bear his

burdens
million wheels;
»39

en thy breast, and whirl h

I40

MtSCELLAlfEOUS POEMS.

He curbs thee round with stake and stone, and

chains thee o'er and o'er,
And bids thee crouch beneath his hand, a slave

forcvermore !

Once, how beautiful and bright

Did she mingle with the main,—
Dancing, leaping in delight,

As a wand'rer home again !
Gaily dimpling through her channels,

Misty years that reason mock,
Years that have no other annals

Than her writing on the rock !
Now, her youth and beauty fled.
Flows she loveless, joyless, dead !

Hark f through sobs I seem to hear
Pleading murmurs soft and clear :

Know me, ere you judge me so ;

Walk beside me as I flow,

Up beyond the slimy slips,

Up beyond the shady ships,

Up beyond the bridge and quay.

Up where I am pure and free.
Come and see me gush and glide,

THE RIVEK.

With a gently flowing tide.
In my stainless maiden pride :
Through the meadows green and gay,
Where, the blithesome children play.
And their fair limbs dip ar.d lave
In my cool refreshing wave ;
By the clover-perfumed mead,
Where the calm-eyed cattle feed ;
'Neath the willows, round the hill.
By the old deserted mill ;
By the hollow-crumblirg bank,
Where the grass grows long and rank,
Yet a fragrance in the air
Tells of sweet buds lurking there ;
By that fai.y-haunted spot,
Deck'd with sad forget-me-not ;
Where the branches throw their shade
Over many a mossy glade.
That for love alone were made.
Come up farther, where I dally
With the tall rccds in the valley,
And among them gleam and glisten,

Till you think I cease to flow;
But you '11 hear me, if you listen,
Murmur songs the lilies know —

I4»

«4* tascsLLAvaovs posits.

Whimple, ripple, -.i-gie, babble
Liquid lays th .ilies know |

Upward to the deep dark basin
Border'd round with tufty sod,

Where the swallow dips her pinion.
And the angler trails his rod.

Yet farther along,

Where the valley grows narrow,
I flash like the lightning,
I shoot like an arrow 1
Ha ! ha ! and I shout

In the freedom I love ;

The clouds grow amazed.

As they mantle above 1

When roaring in thunder,

The wild leap I take,
The giant trees wonder.

And tremble and quake;
But as I rush past them,

I fling, in my play.
O'er branches iQw-hending,

A wreath of my spray;
And then my sun-lover,
With cheek all aglow,

TMS RiVSR.

Iteth gaze wiih such ardor,
I blush him a bowl

»43

Now onward and upward you tread by my side.

Till the great hoary mounuins arc seen-
Through ages, and ages, and ages, my tide

Hath scoop'd out that fearful ravine!
Tlien on to the wind-whisp'ring forest, whose
sod

The foot of no venturous pilgrim hath trod,
But where, by the -eam of the stars, you may see
The slow stealthy panther ccmc gliding to me.
Or the deer from her covert stoop over and shrink
From he- shade in my depths as she pauses to
drink.

Still forward you struggle -the forest is pass'd •
My own native mountain lifts proudlv at last -
My own native mountain whose peak is a throne.
Where reigns the Ice-Father eternal and lone
Who dreams not of earth at his measureless hi.h.
but holds with the planets communion of ligh"! I '
And now you may res: by my cool cavern door.

As you hear the drip, drip, -drip, drip en the
floor;

'44 fiSCSCLAJfSovS Posits.

Wh. ' ''' '" ">« ''"'"Is of earth

vh r™^" """•"■'■• ^'--f-yt'.!.-

»viiere diamonds sDarkl*. o„^ i /""in.

T„ sparkle, and silver and told

in nunsians of beautv 'm.-^ . ^°'°'

"' oeauty, mid marvels untold.

Flow on, queenly River,

While mountains endure:

As bounteous and pure
As Nature, the giver !
Roll down to the sea.

In thy far-windingway:
From tindure of clay
Thy spirit is free, --
And forever will rise
In vesture of white,
To bathe in the light
Of the sapphire skies I

trow.

NOW.

Oh, tell us not, young minstrel,—
With thy harp of silent string,
• And thy hope-forsaken visage, —
"There is nothing now to sing."
While a blue sky bends above thee.
And a heart is left to love thee.
Oh, tell us not, young minstrel, there' is nothing
now to sing I

. At the awful shrines of Nature

Has thy reverent spirit bow'd ?
Have you seen the deep in tempest.

And the mountain thmngh the cloud?
Have you heard your heart's quick paces
In the lone and silent places, — .
And beats it but to murmur. "Th«e i, nothine
now to sing"?

j.jtUMmjL" ' E««" ' q. > <i '

«44 mscSLLANXOUS POStfS.

Is there nothing great, heroic,—

Nothing noble in thy kind ?
Is the soul without her pinions,

And the world without her mind?
Is no pleading voice to move thee,
And no worthy cause to prove thei ?
Oh think, before you murmur, "There is nothing,
now to sing!"

Who crown the Past forever

In her halo-circled state.
Save the souls that battled bravely

In the strifes that made them great?
And all the thrilling story

Of their greatness and their glory
Is but the very prelude of the spng that you may
sing ! '

Then deem not Thine as idle

Asa taper in the day,—
Be it true to that is truthful.

It may never pass away ;
For all the golden t-ssus
Of man's labor is the issue
Of minds the world thought dreaming when they
never ceased to sing.

SOHTMG AUD JttAJ'/MG.

And

One sang for fame and glory.

One for truth and heaven above;
One sang for light and freedom.
One for beauty and for love •
E*ch at first the word', derision.
Till the years unseal'd the vision,
they 're now among the godiike for the
•ongs that they did sing J

Sow thy seed, O husbandn.an f

What though others reap:
It will burst the shell and rise.

Sip the dew and kiss the skies,' -
Sow thy seed, and sleep.

In thy labors thou shall Ih-,— .

I5ust alone is dead,

Ever falls the shine and rain.

Ever springs the golden grain;
All the worlds are fed.

S4S

if/SCJttXAtrKOUS

fVSIfS.

ALCOHOL.

;^WK in the rcal„,s of endless woe.
They held a council long ago •

And round their ch,ef the dark fiends came
Crown'd with diadems of flame.

Peers, -said Satan, "Powers of Hell,
I charge ye now that ye may tell

In what the subtlest curses dwell.

Vl^ere shall we «arch, where sha:i we find
A th.ng,i,h all the ills combined.
To damn and desolate mankind -
A million-tssence that unites

All crimes and curses, pains and blights-
One which m.y seal the human fatef'
lellme. infernal Powers of Hate I "

Then groan'd a horrid murmur round.

L.kef»r-uff thunder in the sound.

G,r^;;:^^;-;^.^--^-they

ar. Daie.u. un tneir iieii)iess prey

Growrdone...Here'sFamine-sessencesore
Tw.ll gnaw man's vitals to the core

And make hi., do the deed of death'

ALCOHOL.

149

:iS****'*'**- •

That he may gasp another breath."
•"Tiswell! 'tis well .."each demon cries,
And sparkles flash from flaming eyes

Another hiss'd," This poison'd dart

Is forged to pierce the human heart;

'Twill make man grovel in the dust

In all the beastliness of lust ! "
"'Tiswell! 'tis well I- each demon screams.

And fiercer still each eye-ball gleams.
"And this." another howi'd with glee.
" Contains the juice of misery :

War. bloody War! -how red it flows I
This cup brims o'er with human woes 1
•Twill wring the t^ars from orphans' eyes.
Like rain from out the wintry skies;
•Twill rive the widow's heart, and send
Uncounted myriads to their end."
" 'TIS well! 'tiswell! Be this the curse:

No fiend in hell can wish for worse ! "
" ^'«"ds J " roar'd a demon with a yell

That shiver'd through the caves of Hell. _
" Away with all your aches and pains.
Your famine, war. and winter rains'l
See what this grinning skull ccntains !
We brew'd it in the deepest hell,

ISO

HtSCELLAlfROUS H3SMS.

A-dknoWt Will work the mischief well:
The essence this of every woe

Of every crime that demons know. -
All-potent in this skull you '11 find
The soVreign Curse of humankind •

In this the Dew of Hell you see
And Alcohol its name shall be! •'•

At first deep silence reign-d throughout;

rhen roli-d one wild, discordant shout. 1
^•s done, 'tis done! Be this the cur;e •
No fiend in hell can hope for worse!" '
Up at the heavens, his scepter'd fist
Then Satan shook, and howl'd and hiss'd

Through gnashing teeth. ..Now. if you cat.,
Proted and save you ..vor'd Man
Dev.se some way by which you may
Pluck from my grasp the pamper'd clay '•
Then, turning to the fiends, he said.
Haste, haste land let him be your head. -
Your chief -who bears the Cup of Death;.
And hke the s.moom's scorching breath.
Sweep earth, until nor track nor trace
Of God shall mark the human race "
So swarm'd they forth, and thus began
The curse of Alcohol on Man

STMAh

»S»

STEAM.

THROt/GH CRAWDfATHER's SPECTACUItS.

OhJiow you plague me with your whirr and puff.

Thou cloud-compelling, all-propelling Steam !
Of thee I ve seen and felt and heard enough.

Heaven knows I since many a sweet, romantic
dream

(That Shakespeare truly tells us is the stuff
We're n \ r v^t thou scatter'd with thy
sere ,

J^"^'^^^ of my sylvan shade I

(The F. R. R. is through my orchard laid.)

I grant tha^ thou art mighty, and hast wrought
Great changes in the land, and given to man
A superhuman magnitude, and brought

•-.itj VI ;;:c wona wiUiin a span •
But which of all the virtues owes thee aught ?

Is human nature purer, loftier than
When winds were made the objeds of devotion
And holy rites appeased the god of ocean ?

tsa

MrSCBtLAKBO'JS POEMS.

What .hough ,/,h fi.„<,i,h ^,„ „„„

"'^ ^ " you -^t/Zashin

Yon clanking, reekinir f , r ""P' —
Where .r«»K ^^'""&. f' '^g forge, I pray?

The" .'"'"^^^''^''-^-^•''•^ndd^p?

Anda,."^^''^'''^P^--^'— gay.
And all so graceful, docile, fair and free
. ^'^^""en have ever called a ship a. ,>;./

''aI^"'''''""'"''^^^^^'^''--^ space.

And shoot one like an arrow from a bo.. 1
Sho.ld every little ramble be a race

Pack-d in and wh.stled off, where'er we go
As though .n sooty Satan's hot e^.brace

And hurried shrieking to the shades below?
Vhate er thy deeds, on this there is no cavil L
Thou hast destroy'd the poetry of travel,

Noquietcountry-roadbyhedge or stream.;
No pretty scenes to give the journey zest;

S ft down, n golden threads on nature's vest-
No lo'frinir UD thP hill -o f"--u •

No harmless gossip, but some seedy chap -
Some scandal-monger-strains his aural flap.

STSAM,

«w

W^ith ch.rnin.l T' '^'^'^ "^o^P't^ble door,

Tf'edoLyj/tt'H "'^■"""'^'«°°^'
r Ota, the Jarder well-supplied

w,sh the storm mi^ht last a week !

Al;ve With all »k- .'""ii

J^-the;and,ou,;or:gt;^^^^^^^

^" forty Winks, from here to Jeri ho '^'^°'

• '*«"' 'th a smile on mvHp.

^iaughwitnatearonmycheek-

But half that I feel T ., '

Ml i leel I cannot reveal,

And vain are the words that I speak.

viW- rW'

«S4

frSCSLLAff£OUS

POSMS.

APRIL.

I SK the white wreaths dwindle down

To little mountls of icy mire •
I see the hf I.,^,, bare and brown.

The swelling buds upon the brier;
i see in many a sunny spot

The tender spears of verdure rise •
I see young Spring return, -but not
The form that ravish'd once mine eyes.

I hear the bluebird's cheery call ;

The thrush in yonder bosky grove •
I hear the freed brooks' murmuring fill;

I hear the cooing of the dove;
I hear the plashing on the pane;'

The distant thunder on the shore;
I hear the voice of Spring again, -'
But >4^r sweet accents nevermore.

I feel the warm winds freshly blow
Athwart the fields that still reuin

VlftOlt.

Some trace of last year's wealth anu glow

ifcel the pulse of Nature bound

Beneath my foot where'er I tread. -

But neither touch, nor sight, nor sound
Can give me back my sainted dead 1

^SS

Now to our God and King,

Loud let our anthems ring;

Praise and rejoice I
O'er all our mighty land.
Where only freer,tn stand,

One now in heart and hand.
Join every voice 1

Long may sweet Peace again
Over the Union reign,—
Prosp'rous and grand I

Smile every mountain side;
Bloom every prairie wide;

Faith, Hope, and Love abide;
God bless our Land I

156

**^SC£CLAUSOUS foSMS.

BETTY AND THE BEAR.

IH a pioneer', cabin out VVest. so they say.

Some unt..ely.„.rudergain-d access! one day
And made such a racket h. • . r ^'

The lord of ,h. """^^ ^'°"' ^^' '^^^P

w'-herou;: ;^';:;';7-'^--^er,

•• My gracious ,'■ he en-dllV'"'""'
''Tlur-sabarinthekich ! "''""^'^°^^'

'^;L,.>^^-'""VVen...,er..

rBe?"'''"'''^^^^"'''«'^-astick.'.

So Betty popt out and the poker she seized

Wh.lehern,anshutthedoor.anda,.ins;ithe
squeez'd ! ' " " "*

As Betty belabor'd the beast with her blows -

No-n his forehead and no. on his nose^l
Her man thro- the kevhnle kept s>-,r .

; w.-n do., „,,„„,,,,X ;■;-". n,

Now pok.w„h,he,«k„,„d,x,ke his .,„„„„

CKllfOUlfA RECMA. y^^

Don't be a bit scart Of -m. Betty, my dear;
Don t be a bit scart- fur. ye know. I am here ! -

i>o wah poking and jabbing, poor Betty alone
At last laid Sir Bruin as dead as a stone.
Then when the old man saw the bear was no more.
He ventured to poke his own nose out the door.
And there was the grizzly stretch'd on the floor,
i was only a cub ; but no matter for that •
He puU'd on his boots and he clapt on his hat.
And off to the neighbors he hasten'd. to tell
All the wonderful things that that morning befell •
And he publish'd the marvellous story afar - '
How <« ME an' my betty jes' slaughter'.! a bar I
Oh yes ! Come an'see ! all the neighbors hev sid it •
Jes see what We did. ME an' betty-We did itp'
But. alas, all the neighbors were perfe^ly knowing
That she did the business and he did the blowing..

Ah . who does not see that the age is at hand. '
When man will no longer be lord in the land ?
When the women .hail lay by ,he needle, and take
The sceptre and sword, the plough and the rake !
Then. oh. what a day of deliverance, when
The editor lays down his wearisome pen,
The mason his trowel, the joiner his s<,uare.

tj^'^

~ »S« ItSCSLtANEOUS POEMS.

V^hen th '""r "° '°"^" "^'^ '"''^^ ^^^" bear,
When he solCer shall carry his n,usket no .ore
The ..or repose, and the constable snore. '

Whence calmer Shan thro, by his iron and .au.,
WhenM''"f'"'^°'''"^'^-P'^'--H
When Man. who has struggled for 6000 years

In e sweat of his forehead, in torture andTjars
Shan .est fro. his labor, his worry and strife •
Andres.gnaUhiscares,ohisstrong-n,inded;fe,
O Boys -what an era of tranquil delights. -
No envy and malice, no .ean little spites
No s.n and no sorrow, no neighborly fight,

When Woman, at last, shall be given her rights ,

And then how delicious for you and for me

To su all the morning a-s,>ping our tea.

Wuh nothing to do from dawning to night. - •

No speeches to spout, no sermons to write. '

No bargains to make, no battles to fight

No kindlings to split, and no fires to light,

And only to handle a knife or a ladle-

Or p'rhap.. _very rareiy-.o joggle ihe cradle:

I say very rarely; for. long before then.

The boys and the girls will be women and men.
And some Mrs. liarnum wil! show with her lumb r

HlirrS TO HOME KVLSKS. ,59

The cradle in which the Last Baby did slumber.
So w,th no "encumbrance" to trouble them then,
Of course, they'll be all the more kind to the men.
-The poor little men. the dear little men.
The tender-eyed, soft-hearted, soft-headed men!

But if there be some of the ladies who may
Keep poking round house in the primitive way
Regardless of what the strong-minded may say,'
Just list. If you please, to this bit of advice
And^.«'ll find fwill tend to keepeverything'nice:
Remember, there 's nothing more easy than man
To manage, if ruled on a sensible plan ;
But if you -re not willing or able to do it
You -d better avoid him. or else you may rue it.
Just go the right way. and you needn't be skeer'd:
For what is a man but a boy with a beard ?
The same at all seasons, in sunshine or rain.
You must seldom be weary, and never complain;
When sickness afflidts him. serenely endure
His grunts and his groai.s till effecled 's the cure •
Should he smoke his cigar in the very best room '
Complacently smile, " What a heavenly perfume'-
Oh, surely, 't is fit for angelical noses !
And see ! -on the carpet, the ashes of roses ! "

i6o

»ffSC£ttAffSOUS POMMS.

How much hettt-r ♦!,• .L

^ ney never will <:r««i, ' '

And havl! ''"""'■' ''■''''■•' •"'■'^ I*-..,
u nave the meal served while fh^k

If he should be surly whvT """'"''"^•

And be careful the bjl "'■''''''"'"«'

^-o^xouw..ttr;hr:::i:r'^^^'-

To stand shiv'ring like ah . ^'°"'^"''''
^^^ 'ng. i.ke Adam himself, wh.le his

Is finding a button to sew on K- i
An^ 1 . °" "'s sleeve !

Thejov'f^' b "•'"""'"' -Ota l»r;

CAPTAItf GJt£S/fS LOG.

I6l

CAPTAIN GREEN'S LOG-BOOK.

Rough and rugged as a bear-skin,

But as warm, was Captain Green,
Sitting in the cosy cabin

Of his gallant "Ocean Queen."
Smoothing out a wrinkled volume

With a wondrous careful hand, —
Seeming not to heed the distance
We were rolling from the land.
Now he nods and smiles and whispere,

While his eye-lids overflow.
" Captain, pardon me for asking

What those hieroglyphics show?"
And the captain drew his coat-sleeve

O'er his face, and answer'd slow,
" Well, this harryglifs, —you call i't,—

Is my log, if you must know I "
Often had I heard of log-books
Kept by sailors on the deep.
But within the mystic volumes
Never chanced to get a peepj

I63

*fisc£LiAusoas Posits.

So I coax'd the son of Neptune
Let me turn the record o'er:

" Pshaw ft is fiird with rude, misshapen,
inky daubs, and nothing more ! "

"Ay, to you," said he, "they may be

Blots and scratches on the sheet ;
But to me they speak a language
Ever new and true and sweet ;
For they tell me of my cottage,'

Where the fire is burning bright.
Where my little one is lisping

Prayers for me, this stormy night.
Very precious is this volume.

Full of houses, trees, and men I
See this pidure of a sailor ! —

Don't you know it? -look again!
Can't you see myself depided.
With a child upon my knee?
That 's my little maid, -my Mattie, -

Who did everything you see !
Every scratch and mark and figure

Is the sign of Mattie's hand :
Not a brighter little lassie

Lives, I vow, in any land I
Why, I never cross the ocean,

^ CLOVDSD yi/NM.

But she adds a sheet to this.
Sparkling with her precious piduresj

Every piflure is a kiss !
Not a time I turn them over.

But I feel her velvet cheek

Pressing mine "...And here the captain
Grew so hoarse he scarce could speak

"Ah! you do not know what comfort
From these blotted leaves I reap.

When between me and my Mattie '
Rolls the cold and lonely deep I ••

163

A CLOUDED JUNE.

What ails thee, June, that thou dost pout and
frown,

And darkly moan in melancholy songs, —
Bearing upon thy brows a cIo'. dy crown,'

And not the rose-wreath f! at to thee belongs?
W.th folded hands, pale cheek, and downcast eyes
Thou comest a Niobe, all tears and sighs I

^^■-

•■^

164

ffSC£U4j^^0,.g ^g„g

in thy young sister April we expc<5t

Though „.h.,„d,„e,„,p„„,,J„„,,^;„^,

And b,av,„b.,„ed U,r„„„,h , he .,„„,, ;•
'" "'f"'"""'-"'"/ Sloping fa„/"'
>Vh,te co„„a„, hop, i,lu,„ed e«:h su„le» d„ .

A-1 nea,h, he ™„u, beheld ,h„„„,w„sh
No«W,u«,,,houbnde.mo„,h.r,he,e.r

rH....ovestwithaU.,i„ehoursathwart the plain.

Oh^ Virgin June, yet deign a.,.ne to Shine;
Bj;:'r'r'''"^'--°n the move:
But h.rty days of all the year are thine ;
Oh. then, should each be over-fill-d with love

<?i«r r** M/AX.

»«S

In shady groves, deep dells, and forest bowers.
Bed.ght with garlands gay of blushing flowers !

On far-oflriakes with islets studded o'er

By flood and field and breezy mountain -steep.
Or where green billows dash upon the shore.
Or spedral icebergs gleam along the deep.
Or. stretch'd supine beneath ancestral trees,
By babbling brooklet lull'd and murmuring bees.

Like all that we have cherish'd. soon wilt thou
Fade out and mingle with the dreamy past I

The canker feeds upon thy glory now. ~
The joys of earth were never meant to last •

But come; the meed of rarest days, you know.

10 thee IS given : then, smile and prove it so •

Here, on the brink of the river, I bear
-• —"■0* aiiu luvcicss care !

There, beneath that tranquil breast,

Sweet oblivion, endless rest !
Oh, who has not seen, with a thrill and shiver
His own white far i the glassy river?

:'^J^'

366

»"5CBLLAlfKOUS POStfS.

SIGNS OF THE TIMES.

L'STEN. brother; pause and listen I
Hear you not, I pray,

Murmurs like a mighty tocsin
Swinging far away, —

Slowandsolemn,« Coming, coming!
Nearer day by day ?

Over all the din and clangor
Of this life around, —

Rush of commerce, roar of battle-
That our ears confound . •

Tolling-toliing, deep and awful.
Swells the solemn sound !

Oh I that mystic Something coming.
Earth has never known !

When, or how, or what its mission
Is with Him alone ;

But the Soul, devoutly list'ning,
Hears the monotone.

THS K ma DOM OF HMAySN.

Is it some all-potent Besom

That shall sweep away
Every idol that we worship, —

Council we obey,

All the dross and dust of ages
From the light of day ?

Who can tell f But fear you never.

You that love the Right ;
Tremble, traitor ! tyrant, c'ow'ring

•Neath the pall of night:
Soon shall flash and flame around us

God's eternal light I

107

"Hov shall I reach the Kingdom of Heaven?"
And a hundred guides are eager to lead ;
But He himself, who knows my need

Tells me. " Within is the Kingdom of Heaven."

"But is there nothing to handle or see, —
Priest nor worship — altar nor fane?"
And the voice of the Master comes again,

"Lo. by its fruit, shall ye know the tree."

1 68

>USCatLAifSOUS

POSttS..

ANASTASIA.

Had earth no charms for thee,
rf ''°"' ''"^^^ «°"'. shouldst take the dusty way?

^'d love not light thy steps With constant ra.
From tend 'rest infancy?

Couldst thou no beauty see,

But such as mock-d thy purest maiden-dreams?
The flowers, the woods, the meadows, and Le
streams, —

Were they not all for thee?
Or did thy spirit crave

Isnarrow'd tothegrave?

Hadst thou no J , • vw ?

No chord responsive to eartns varied song?
No kmdred feeling with the needy throng
That cro* he courts of woe?

GKAY HAiRS.

169

There'sjoy. high, holy joy
Reserved for those who conquer and believe -
Ear may not hear, eye see. man's heart conceive.

Nor envious death destroy I

Such now is thin;. ! Then why
Should sombre grief sit brooding on the soul.
And all the waves of sorrow o'er us roll ?

For thee, 'twas gain to die I

GRAY HAIRS.

So you have found a silver hair?

Oh, no ! it is the light, mv fair.

That falls, ycu ', ,., {„ such a way.

It lends the lock a gleam of gray.

How like your ,a to pry and peep I

'Tis time those yes were closed in si -p
My love. v these leaves to fill

Ere twt . iv>-night. Another still !
There -~ that '. enough : 't is as you say. -
I own tha» •:,> is somewhat gray ;
^-i wither'd leaves are often seen'

,:c^ ., ■•• ^

If*

t'SCELLAtfEOVS H3EMS.

In June, when all the rest is green.
Another and another yet !

Oh, what a teasing, pretty pet!
You seem unconscious how it shoots

To have one's hairs pluck'd by the roots'
And then, suppose you pluck'd them all

Twould not my vanish'd youth recall-
There, there !~the clock is striking ten!
"wt! must you torture me again?
ThHasr.yousay? I'm glad to know it.
1 wish, my love, you were — a poet;
For then those silver hairs you find '
Would be a halo to your mind, -
Each single spear, so pearly white,
Gleam forth a ray of heavenly light, -
A dim, ethereal, filmy glow, —
A faint aureola, you know :
The saints are always painted so.

"Alas I "she sighs, "whene'er I see
Those tell-tale hairs. I think. For me
And for the birds that sweetly dream
In yonder nest, perchance, they gleam •
•T was toil and vigil -doubts and cares -
Not age,-that blanch'd those silver hai«!"

SONG OF THE SAM.

tft

SONG OF THE RAIN.

'T IS the rain f the welcome rain !
The sweet refreshing rain !
The gushing, rushing, pattering, dripping rain!
Oh, to wake up in the night
To the music of the rain, —
As it plashes on the shutters.
As it gurgles in the gutters, —
As it drums its merry marches
On my hot and dusty pane !
And to listen to the showers
Through the solemn, sultry hours
Come and go ;
And to know
That the faithful little flowers
Did not lift their pleading eyes
To the brazen, burning skies,
All in vain.
For the rain !
And to know that in the valley.
In the forest and the plain,

IJZ

*"SCEtLANBOUS POKM5.

Are a thousand thousand famish'd thin«

Rejoicing in the rain !

That the meadows will bt seen
• In their livery of green.
As though sweet May awhile
Had come again to smile ;
That no more the shrunken river
Is through dusty channel creeping •

But with laughing eddies dimpled,'
To the mother-wave is leaping.
And to know this happy night,
There are hearts of humble trust
Thanking Him who sendeth rain
On the evil and the just ;
While from many a grateful eye.
Are the pearls cf blessing shed
On little lips that whisper'd last
"Our Father.... daily bread!-
And to know that on the morrow,—
With the first nush of the day,— '
What a cloud of anxious sorrow

With the clouds will pass away,-
With the rain, the gentle rain, '
The sweet refreshing rain
The gushing, rushing, pattering, dripping rain I

THS SMAL m fROii POtfD.

»73

THE SEAL IN FROG POND.

Lone captive of the hyperborean main !

Not without pity can I look on thee,
An(l watch thy graceful motions, as, in vain,

Thou seek'st thy fellows of the surging scl

How strange to those large, liquid eyes of thine
Must seem these shaven lawns and waving trees!

This lakelet, so unlike thy native brine.
Thus gently ruffled by th' autumnal breeze !

Dost thou not yearn to hear the Norther blow,
And o'er the cold green billows sweep and howl,

Where ice-fields whiten with the driving snow,
And the huge rolling mountains grind and
growl ?

Good to thy heart amphibious must it seem
To have night's curtain spread the welkin o'er,

When, undisturb'd, thou canst repose and dream'
Of Baffin's Bay and lonely Labrador;

»74

KlSCKtt.AlfROUS POEMS.

Or, wakeful, gaze aloft and recognize
Thy faithful friends. Orion and the Bear

And sometimes boreaUights. which, in our skies.
But seem poor ghosts of what in yours appear.

E'enaslgazeatthee. methinkslhear
The thund-ring billows and the grinding floes

And see the cliffs their fl.nty foreheads rear.
Obscure and awful through the blinding snow's 1

• For I have view'd thy comrades of the main
Disporting freely on their native strand. -
In myriads dark'ning all the icy plain
Along the storn v shores of Newfoundland.

It surely cannot be so passing sweet
To hear a hundred voices shout and squeal -

What time thou shoWst thy nose the air to greet
" Hi ya J see, there he is I the seal - the seal ! • '

Thou art no traitor to thy home and kind,
Or willing trespasser on man's domain '

That thou in durance vile shouldst be confined •

I would, poor cousin, thou wert free again I
September, iSdj. ^

FOUND DSAD.

«75

"FOUND DEAD."

A GOLDEN light from the lofty hall

Illumines the icy street ;
And many a delicate dancing foot

Is tripping to melody sweet.
The night is dark, the wind is high.

Whirling the snow about ;
But as oft as a beautiful guest glides in,

A river of light flows out,—
A river of light and a gush of song

That charm the ear and the eye
Of the poor little maid and her brother who stand

In their rags and shiver and sigh :
" O brother ! a beautiful thing it is

To be rich and grand like these, —
Such clothes to wear and music to'hear.

And have and do what you please ;
And never to know a want or a woe,'

Nor cold nor hunger to feel.
Nor yet to beg at a hundred doors,
Before you may taste of a meal !

«7* ItlSCEtLAUBOUS POSMS,

Oh see that lady enfring no..
What a beautiful dress she wears I

Why brother. I guess that it cost enough
To keep us in plenty for years!

She.sgone Well, wait for the next: don't cry.
Voumay take .y shawl if you ..e cold. ''

Ah well .. poor n,o,her. before she died.

She sa.d she was going away

To a city whose streets are paved with gold
And ever as bright as day. _

^'^7'"'°"' "'■«''' -'I -Ii.e Without cold
lo hunger and sorrow unknown.

I foolishly thought to go with her. and cried
When she sa.d she .ust leave us. alone,

But she sa,d that if I was a good little girl.
And kind and tender to you

That we. no matter how poor we be.
Should come to that city too."

' • • ,

The wintry morning is keen and gray
The snow lies deep on the ground;' "

L.kes,K.ctres glare the shrouded lamps.
And the watchman walks his round -

THE SVEtriNG PAPER.

He tramps along by the lofty hall :

The music has ceased to trill ;
The lights are out. the revellers'gone.

And all is silent and still

"What, ho! what is this? A cat or a dog

That perish'd in frost or fight?
A cap. -a shawl, -a tuft of hair. _

A hand!" Oh. horrible sight 1

But tears of pity are shed too late,

That fall upon lifeless clay ;
The children are walking the golden st--,,
With their angel-mother to-day.

»77

THE EVENING PAI ER.

Shadows descending.
Labor is ending.
Homeward are wending

Weary ones all ;
Fleeing with gladness
Meanness and badness,
Mammonite madness!

Broken each thrall :

■-fit' , j*

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Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, NY. 14580

(716\ 873-4503

»7«

t'SCELLANSOUS POSifS.

Rushing from day-book.
Ledger and pay-book,
Like a young May-brook

Leaping to Jight !
Sweet voices blessing them,
Loved ones caressing them, —
Coiiie rjth the mrwr »k,» . .

me paper that comes with night f

. Then for the Babel
Round the tea-table I
All who are able

Let their tongues run,—
Musical rattle.
Infantile prattle,
Gossip and tattle.
Frolic and fun I
While at the end there is
Each pretty lip to kiss I
Bachelors, losing this.

Lose all delight :
All it is worth to live.
Best the world has to give
Come with the paper that comes with night !

MY KOCKMG.CHA/K.

•7J

J_.

MY ROCKING-CHAIR.

The wind is howling to enter my room,

With many an aching care;
But I smile at the storms of time and clime.

As I rock in my rocking-chair.
And sprites and fays are hov'ring round,

Filling the fragrant air ;
And I dream such dreams as never are dreamt,

Except in a rocking-chair.
My heart grows large, that all the world

May enter and welcome there;
And I bless e'en him who did me a wrong.

As I rock in my rocking-chair I
And I search for the doubts I had to-day;
They 're gone ! - But how or where ? '
Like restless babes, they drop to sleep

As I rock in my rocking-chair I
And the dust and sweat of the weary way.

And the burdens hard to bear,
And the loss and the cross are all forgot.
As I rock in my rocking-chair !

i8o

''fSCJSt.LAjfgg

I^S /VXMS.

ONLY SHADOWS.

Why those :.„,.d glances peering
Round the dimly-Iighted hall?
;' '''' '■"'■"' ^"d dying embers ■

.Casting shadows on the wall-

Onlyshadows-flitting'shadow,.

Yes they seem to move and quiver.

L.ke dumb spirits standing near;
Vet. hough mocking every motion.

T.S but shadows that you fear ^
Only shadows-airy shadows

Ah 1 you think of those departed.
Those who glided to and fro

L'g'nly through this very chamber.
On whose walls the fire did throw

Dancing shadows-passing shadows.

But as years roll'd on they left us

Empty-hearted at the door •
Then there came to fill their places

Round our h-arth forevermore.

Only shadows, shadows, shadows. -
Mockmg shadows evermore.

vjfcts atu.

UNCLE BEN.

The quaint old town. I remember it well. -

With the street along the strand.
The windy bay, the rocks and the reefs,

The cliffs, and the gray-blue sand !
And oft in my lonely hours, they come
Like the scenes of a dream again, -
The rocks and the reefs and the windy bay.

And the yarns of Uncle Ben.
Ah. well I remember the brave old salt.

And his legends weird and wild.
That many a long dark winter night.
The weary hours beguiled 1

Some said Uncle Ben was cross'd in love.
And some, he was crazed with fright,

And only a dream, his favorite yarn
Of the Angel-girl of the Light.

But whilst the sea-wind sobb'd and sigh'd.
And the big drops plash'd the pane

With the old man there in his great arm-chair.
What reck'd we wind or rain !

iSi

i8«

M/SCMLLA/fSOUS POB.HS.

Oh hear Mad Moll how .he roars. Uncle Beal
^ And the hollow winds, how they moan i"
T«ad.rtyn>ght;butacatVpawthis.
My lads, to the storms I have known - •■
"Was it worse than this, Uncle Ben." we a.k
^ " The night that the Belle was lost ? ' '
"Ay ! ten times worse I with z^ wild a sea

As ever a good ship cross'd

Oh. human lives they come and go.

Like the lights," quoth Uncle Ben
"That sparkle awhile on tlie crest of 'the wave
And then fade out again I " '

And now the old man lights his pipe.

And looks with a far-off gaze
While the speftre forms of the memory float

Through time's obscuring haze
"The east wind blew, the white foam flew.

And never a star was seen ;
The land lay off our starboard bows.
And the breakers roar'd between. '
With scarce a rag to the bending spars,

The good ship held her way,
Till we caught a sight of the welcome light
Above the feathery spray.

V/fCU BKlt.

"And so we drifted near and near,

Each rock and reef we pass'd.
Till high on a bank of shifting slnd

The poor Belle plunged at last.
And Chen the waves they leapt and hiss'd

And madly raved and tore.
Till naught but a mass of tangled wreck

Went tumbling on to the shore;
And over my face a black cloud fell
And I saw and knew no more.

"I knew no more than a babe unborn, -
No nc-e than a stock or a stone •

And how I got to the land, my lads.
To the Lord is only known i

But when I came to myself again.
An angel bent o'er me. --

In her hand so white she held the light

That glitter'd out on the sea.
Her golden locks by the winds were toss'd -

They brush'd my cold wet brow;

And she held my hand; but oh. that face I
Dear Lord. I see it now!...

Well. I was a free young sailor then.
Of naught in the world afraid ;

'83

■■

■#A • ■

(■•:

*«4 tffscMLi^usous foams.

Iwork'dmyway. fgotmypay.
Nor cared for man nor maid.

But when I saw that innocent face
I felt that I had a heart;

AndIsaid.'S.eetangel-g'irloftheligh.
we never more shall part I '

And kiss'd me on the cheek
And my hand she press'd to h^r beating breast-

But never a word did speak.
And my fingers closed as if no more

Could I let that soft hand go,
That her blessed beam might ever gleam
O er all my days below I

"But human lives they come and pass •
Like the lights/' quoth Uncle Ben

"That sparkle awhile on the crest of 'the wave

And then fade out again !
Scarce twelve short moons had wax'd and waned.
When her Father came one night

And said,. Now. Ben, you must givi me again
The angel-girl of the ligh;.'

VlfCLM MMM.

"AMads. but that w.,.thunder.boU
J;"'"^"*^^- clear blue sky.
With tht ship at rest on the ocLv K
.^^;aehouh..,.„,,-7'^-.

^^^ lord,. I cried.. I kno, 3,,

Joo good for a man like me; '^'

Bu^'AweWwithafaithfullove.

And ncne are so happy as we.
OW^ her not away,. I said.
And leave me again to wreck •

For angels enough there be aloft.'
To spare us a few on deck..

" B"* *' '^M all no use I Th^ hi, i. .
O'er m^ f =.^ ' ^ ne black cloud fell

Oer my face as it did before.

For so she went to hor home, and I
Lay wreck'd again on the strand;

V«hrough,,e'sspray.Icanseet;eray
Of alight on the far-off land.- ^

Of* constant light by day and night
A"<''t.s held in my angel's hand. '.

185

i86

tllSCtLLAHgovS

f^StfS.

YEARNINGS.

Come, holy Life-giver, —

Come quickly to me ;
All strength to deliver,
All fullness forever
All gWnes, and riches and pelce like a river.
Are only in thee !

Came Love's fervent meeting.

With arms that enfold
Twain hearts that are b-ating
One paean, and cheating
Old Time. ^ we fancy; but cold is the greeting
Of lips that are cold I

From dust, came the flower

To gladden the way ;
Through sunshine and shower,
The pride of the bower
And ever shall be. But. alas, for the hour f
It faded away.
Then, welcome. Life-giver J
All fullness and riches and peace like a river.
Are onlv in thee.

J-.

r*f' CftMISTMAS Btus.

THE CHRISTMAS BELLS.

Oh. hear the sweet be,,, a. thev ring.
And welcome the glorious morn,!:

J'; ''^'"^ Messiah was born,
^^°'drn the zenith his star.

^ How it brighten, the heavens above,
A»dP"nces perceive from afar,

An^ come With their treasure, of love.
'7 J-n -very voice in the song

The sweet bells of Christmas awake
Co-e jo.„ .„ ,he Jubilant throng

The journey to Bethlehem take.

^7^^"'V°- Monarch i, born,
in Dav,d and Solomon's line;

^-« myrrh, for the sorrow and scorn.
Bnng .ncense. for he i, divine. '

He comes, and the shadow, depart
From al, the dark region, aroTnd.

He comes, and rejoicing each heart'
W«h songs of salvation resound -

««7

i88

IISCBLLAHgOVS fOMMS,

No longer in doubt and distress

Poor wayfarers stand on the shore;
Now Jesu is waiting to bless.

And lead them the dark river o'er

Bnng incense of worship, bring gold. -
All gifts at his feet shall we lay

The Saviour by prophets foretold,'-
Jehova|j is with us to-day.

THE CHILD JESUS.

-Yea. daughter," said the Rabbi, casnng off
H.s gabardine, ..the Council hath sat late ■

But not without good cause; for. sooth to iell.

We had tn.s day a marvellous visitant,

Wh.ch. if I thought as do the gentile Greeks

And Romans. I should dare believe a god -

Though in the form and semblance of a child •

• For a. we probed the deep and hidden things. -

The awful mysteries of our Holy Writ _

There came a boy with large and h.miious eyes.

Which he did fix upon us with a gazt

So steadfast and «> searching, that we «w

THU CHILD JKSUS.

«•»

Naught «ve those eye., Whereon hi. lip. he oped
And. ,n a ..Ivery voi,e. ,uch questions ask'd

Asnev, ".an. much Jes. a child, conceived ;
And when we fail'd ' answer l.im. he smiled
A sad. sweet smile, and answer'd them himself.
And ,n such wise as fill'd us with amaze I
For in our do<flrine. prophecy, and law.
He seem'd exaa. -.„d yet a twelve-year boy ,
Ifsuch,.ndeed,hewa,. So sped th/ time.

With pallul cheek, tear-stain .1. dishevell'd lock.

And eyes so like the child-, that all could see '
She was his mother, e'en betore she press'd
"" '^-nbling lips upon hi. .ilky hair,
Whisp'ring. . Son, why hast thou th.„ dealt with

Lo. thy father and myself have «,ught thee
Sorrowing.. But he said, ' How is it that
Ve sought me? Wist ye not that I must be
About my father', business?' Yer she seem'd
To understand him not; but silently

Conduced him away, -and .e were mute.
Mark me, Rebecca, if this be a child
Of mortal mould,-the which perplexeth me.-
Th. world will surely hear of him some day "

ipo

M/SC£LtA/fSOUS n)SMS.

GRETCHEN.

"GRETCHEN.Gretchen! run. my daughter J

A wounded Frenchman 's down by the wall ! "

"Mother, but why should I run to a Frenchman.
Mave to give him a pistol-ball? "

"Gretchen. Gretchen ! think of thy brother.
Following Fritz so far away ! • '

" ^°'''"' ^ ''"P^ ^' '- making the Frenchmen
Dance to the roll of his drum to-day ! "

"Ah ! but, Gret, suppose he is fainting -

Famishing, down by a Frenchman's vail ! "

" Mother. O Mother ! and hear'st thou nobody
Feebly, • Gretchen ! Gretchen ! ■ call ? "

"No, my child J but I hear tne breezes
Murmuring round our empty hall. "

"Mother. I'll run to the wounded Frenchman.
Fainting - famishing, down by the wall ! '•

OMCEiyMO,

191

DECEIVED.

With honeyed words you won her heart,
And led her from her father's hall.
And bade her hope for more than all

The love from which she wept to part.

And she believed your promise true.
And so released her last embrace
. Of childhood's home, and turn'd her face
To other scenes along with you.

"A right good man have we allied :
A man of prudence and of mind,"
The father said. " I trust she '11 find

A constant heart," the mother sigh'd.

And soon again the hearth grew bright,
And every doubt was lull'd to rest ;
And blest because their child was blest.

The good old pair rejoiced that night.

19*

tlSCBUMttSOUS nSHS.

^"! 7^* ^^'^'h-'hpass'd Since then.
And Mary sits alone in tears, _

Alone, alone f and only hears
The steeples chime and chime again.

The rain descend, the night-winds moan;
B;>t you, amid the reeling throng.

V. ere flows the wine and swells the «,ne

Heed not that Mary sits alone I ^'

ROSES AND THORNS.

I GATHER'D the roses:

My fingers were torn;
Full early they faded.

And left me to -nourn.
Vet others are blooming

As fresh as the morn ;
I sigh for their beauty.

But think of the thorn I

*l* f*MS3.

*9i

THE PRESS.

When danger, darken o'er the land.

And gathering tempests rise;
When lurid lightnings glance and gleam

Along the murky skies, —
What trusty guardian seek we then
To shield us from distress.

And 'neath its shelter feel secure?
The Press, my friends, the Press I

When rulers fail their faith to keep,

And use their power for ill ;
And in the iacred name of Right,

Their selfish ends fulfil ;
When injured Justice lifts her head.

And dares to ask redress.
Who pleads her cause with clarion voice'
The Press, my friends, the Press I

To keep the boon our fathers gave.
For which they f ght and died,' ^

'94

mSCBLLAltMOVS ^OSJfS.

The booii of Freedom, - bright and fair.-

(A nation's dearest pride I)
What power beneath the arm of God,

Do Freedom's sons possess,
That holds the tyrant in its grasp?

The Press, my friends, the Press I

The Press, my friends, the Press, — it speaks

The burden of our souls !
If gay, it laughs; perplex'd, it guides;

Or vex'd, it thunder rolls I
Then should we guard it pure and free.

That Heaven may ever biess
Our champion, advocate, and guide, —

The Press, my friends, the Press I

EMPEROR LEAD.

Let Moneybags boast of his silver and gold,
Whose lustre so long has Wn shed

On the face of mankind ; but where can you find
A metal so mighty as Lead ?

MMf'MkOM tSAD.

Not alone on ehe field Of red Slaughter, we see,
By 'he numbers of wounded and dead.

That steel !s in vain in the terrible rain, -
In the fearful tornado of Lead, — '

Not there is the might of us majesty shown.

Whate'er may be chanted or said;
No ;'t .snot in strife, but in everyday life.

We behold rhe dominion of Lead I

No. in death-dealing balls is the metal supreme;

Not .n blood should its record be read ••
But over the world i. its banner unfurled. -I
'Tis Type makes a monarch of Lead:

The king and the bishop bow down at his throne.
And are forced to acknowledge him head ;

The great and the small, rich and poor, one and
all,

Are the subjedls of Emperor Lead I

»9S

196

fffSCSttAUaoVS fOBMS.

TO A REJECTED POEM.

What I here again, thou worse than Noah', dove.

That br.ngest nothing green back, e'er so small.
To this poor ark that scarce can keep above

The whelming waves or weather out the squall!

Thou luckless waif, will no one take thee in?
Does every magazine deny thee rest?

Hast thou no favor and no art to win
Regard from any editorial breast?

Ah, little do they know the anxious pain
Thy hapless parent suffer'd at thy birth 1

The brilliant hopes he foster'd-ail in vain < —
Of wealth and fame contingent on thy wcnh I

Alas ! they tell me thou art thin and tame
And weak and rickety upon thy shanks;

Not in these very words; but. all the same
They mean it when they say "Declined with
thanks."

KMKAMHTAL KM.:gM.

Or all the diseases that ever were known

Since Noah's disastrous days,
The strangest that yet has affliaed mankind
Is the present keramikal kraze !

JCe-ram-i-ial :
You know ; the keramikal kraze.
You may spell it ceramical craze, if you choose

To follow illiterate ways ;
But modern Kulture demands that it should
Be spe!l-ed keramikal kraze, —

Ke-ram-i-kal :
That 's it; the keramikal kraze.
Whoever is kaught with this kurious komplaint.

Very soon all the symptoms betrays ;
And every old pitcher and pot in the house
With birds, bugs, and Japanese blaze I

Ke-ram-i-kal ;
For such is keramikal kraze.
By-and-by. when this 'odd epidemic is o'er.

The ash-man will stand in amaze,
To find every barrel so full of "ould mugs," —
The remains of keramikal kraze !

Ke-ram-i-kal ;
Then adieu to Keramikal Kraze!

»97

«9« tnSCELtAMKOUS POSUfS.

I STOOD one day beside a wither'd hag ^

A w ,,hcd. wrinkled, ragged, dusty 'crouc. ^
Who. fro„, an ash-heap, tried to f51, her bag
^.^^'"^"^^^"'"'-^^'"-yawearygrJan.
Sajd I to her. ..What are you doing here?'.

Whereat she cast a sharp, keen glance at me
Andw.thagrinthatstretch'dfro.eartoear
Made answer. " Pickin' cinders, don't 'ee see?"

'■"'" t':,Lr ■■^''^- —

"To thaw n,y bones, and warn, my drop o' drink.
To soak my frozen crust o' mouldy bread I

" Humph laxin' me what for. an' I so cold.
An narry precious tooth around my jaws !
He 11 know hisself. n he grows poor an' old. -

VVh.ch God forbid!" she moand with lifted
claws.

"Oh. poor unfriended creature ! " I began •

"Why longer strive to bear the life you dor
Just die at once " Wh,.„ i i

once. When back she flash'd.

"Young man.
I've just as good a right to live as you ! "

MMAKT AtfD SOUL.

«99

HEART AND SCUL. "

Poor Heart, so lonely now.
Within thy prison-wall,
Thou may'st not, with the winged Soul,
Obey the spirit-call.

Nay; thou must throb and ache,
And wring the bloody sweat.
And toil incessant at thy post,
Un liberated yet.

'Tis for the joyous Soul
To mount the sapphire dome,
And with the loved ones hold commune,
In their eternal home.

Here on this narrow mound.
Still must thou lie and bleed :
Earth ever clings to kindred earth, —
The Soul alone is freed.

aoo

>*'SCtLtA,fM0US fotMS.

MY HILLS.

W*vK your theatre, and hail,.

Hp your shop, and show, and ball,
^'-.th.n your city-wall.; ''

0"'y let me have my hills, _

My lone and silent hills

^here Nature, inn,, 3/,,^
i'ours ever out and fill.
Her chalice y>\t.\, delight •
Whisp'ring all the while,
^"h a winsome smile.
Such promise in my ear,

As mortals seldom hear'
^'or here no chancel-rail

.No jealous screen or vail'

Divides me from my God;
But. on this mossy sod

.With the blue dome above
And the green world below
I ^^, I hear, I know
I feel that God is Love!