UC-NRLF Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/cambridgebookofpOObaterich W.^^($ii.»^/ -^ THE CAMBRIDGE BOOK POETEY AND SONQ SELECTED FROM ENGLISH AND AMERICAN AUTHORS BY CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES H AUTHOK OF " RISK AND OTHER POEMS " COMPILER OF " THE LONGFELLOW BIRTHDAY BOOK," " SEVEN VOICES OF SYMPATHY " NEW YORK : 46 East 14th Street THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY BOSTON : 100 TLRcnASE Street GIFT OF Copyright, 1882, By THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. • •• • • • • • • •• • • • TO THE MEMORY OF fHs JFrienU HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, THIS WORK IS DEDICATED. Thy name, O poet, shall go sounding on While breaks the wave on shore of Machigonne.* The sky and ocean whence thy genius stole The charm which draws the universal soul, Alone remain the same as on that day Now lying five and seventy years away. These type the fate of what thy voice hath sung; Like sea and sky, the heart is ever young. Man's joys and griefs a thousand years ago, Throb still the same as do the waters flow; The light and dark, as then, divide his sky, Though earth has seen so many millions die. Who best meets man, not men, as ages move. Will be secure of human praise and love ; Who best meets man will share, and only he. With heaven and ocean, immortality. C. F. R * The Indian name of Portland. PEE FACE. Though text-books of every variety abound, and many per- sons assert the old to be better than the new, yet every year sees no inconsiderable number added to their list. It is folly to suppose that any one prepares a work merely for the sake of doing it, and careful examination proves that every successor in a given field has some superiority of plan, comprehensiveness, detail, or material to recommend it. Something it may lack that others have ; but it also has something that others lack. So it is with compilations of poetry. Every one is found faulty somewhere, by somebody, nor can it be imagined possible, with the varied tastes of men, that the work of one should be so all- embracing as to leave no intelligent reader disappointed. The compiler of this volume has not pretended to make what she has never found, — a perfect compilation, — and will be gratified if this prove so well done as to save it from the charge of being a supernumerary. Whatever its defects, it still carries out, in the main, her aim in undertaking it, which was, — First. — To represent the genius of woman as fairly as that of man. Second. — To the extent of the compiler's power, to give those poets their just dues who have hitherto not had them. Third. — To quote largely, though in brief passages, from those authors whose works, through their uninviting looks, length, or subject, or the undue bias imparted by ridicule and one-sided criticism, are generally seldom read, and but imper- fectly represented. vi PREFACE. Fourth. — To bring together not only copious extracts from the standard and popular writers of Great Britain and America, but also a goodly number of poems from the very latest volumes of both countries, and a representation, through one poem, at least, of those whose writings are as yet un- collected, and whose names have not appeared in other com- pilations. The alphabetic arrangement of the work — prepared virtu- ally in portions; not offered complete to the printers — de- manded unusual readiness in the choice and supply of material, and the temporary omissions of chance or necessity placed authors and poems desired for the body of the work in its supplement. A glance at the latter will quickly discover, from its value, that, though coming after, it is no afterthought. A number of names on the compiler's list were, through accident, wholly omitted, while others were left out through want of space on account of the length of poems, or because extracts could not be seasonably obtained. Positive knowl- edge of insufficient space excluded translations from the work, and though ballads and anonymous poems were in the plan, there was found to be very meagre room for even these. In comparing the extent of representation, it will be remem- bered that the space occupied by poems, no less than their number, must be considered. Other things being equal, the compiler welcomes brevity, and the more this element prevails in an author, or the more his works admit of short and striking quotation, the more variously can he be represented. It often happens that one long lyric claims as much room as five or six short ones, while a mere glance at the index would seem to indicate injustice. To the editor's sincere regret, and through circumstances over which she had no control, Joaquin Miller, John White Chad WICK, and Walt Whitman are unrepresented in this volume ; while the poems from Helen Jackson, Dr. Joyce, and Edgar Fawcett are, from a like necessity, not those at first selected from their works. PREFACE. vii The publishers acknowledge the generous courtesy of the following houses in granting the use of their publications : Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. ; J. R. Osgood & Co.; Harper & Brothers ; Charles Scribner's Sons ; J. B. Lippincott & Co. ; G. P. Putnam's Sons ; Lee & Shepard ; D. Appleton & Co. ; The Century Company ; E. P. Dutton & Co. ; and R. Worth- ington. The editor also recognizes the private courtesy of many, among whom are Edmund Clarence Stedman, Richard Watson Gilder, John Boyle O'Reilly, John Townsend Trowbridge, William Winter, Edgar Fawcett, Edna Dean Proctor, Mary Mapes Dodge, Louise Chandler MouLTON, Harriet Prescott Spofford, Julia C. R. Dorr, and Louisa Parsons Hopkins. Justice requires the statement that this compilation has occupied the leisure intervals of a busy life for but fifteen months ; also that it has been prepared entirely without aid ; and that a thorough examination of the authors' works, where accessible — as in the majority of cases they were — made the selections, as largely as possible, independent of those prepared by others, though of necessity, choice has often proved coincident. C. F. B. CONTENTS. PAOE Abide with Me Lyte 353 Abou Ben Adhem Hunt, 299 About Husbands, Sctxe, 778 Abraham Lincoln, Stodilard, 540 Absence, Kemble. 317 A Character, Ji. Ji. Browning, . . G7 A Character, Dryden, 722 A Character J. T, Fields, .... 226 A Character 11. B. Lytton 753 A Couiuion Thought, Timrod, 855 A Day in Sussex, Blunt, 803 A Day of Sunshine, U. W. Longfellow, . . 346 Adilress to a Mummy, H. Smith, 511 Aildress to Certahi Goldfishes, U. Coleridge, .... 13.i A Death-Bed, J. Aldrich, 8 A Desire, Spalding, 863 A Dirge, Winter, 6«1 A Dream, A. Cary, 121 A Dream's Awakening, S. M. B. Piatt, . . . 420 A Drop of Dew, . • Marvell, 367 Advice on Church Behavior, « Herbert, 264 Advice to One of Simple Life, Crabbe, 718 A Face in the Street, G. P. Lathrop, . . . 336 A Faithful Picture of Ordinary Society, Cmrper, 715 A Familiar Letter to Several Correspondents, .... Holmes, 732 A Farewell, Kingsley, 321 Afar in the Desert Pringle 437 Affliction, A. T. I)e Vere, ... 185 A Forsaken Garden, Su'inbume, .... 553 A Forest Walk Street 548 A Four o'clock Spofford, 531 After All, Winter, 659 After a Mother's Death, E. Cook, 150 After Death in Arabia, £,'. Arnold 21 After the Ball, Peiry, 414 After the Burial Lmcell, 350 After the Rain T. B. Aldrich, ... 11 A Funeral Thought B. Taylor, 565 Against Kash Opinions, Crabbe, 165 Against Skeptical Philosophy, Campbell, 117 Age, Rogers, 463 Aged Sophocles Addressing the Athenians, A. Fields 224 A Happy Life, Wofton, 676 A Hospital, - E. Spencer, .... 527 A Letter Phelps. 417 Alexander at Persepolis Michell, 370 Alexander Selkirk, Cowper, 161 Alexander's Feast, Dryden, 199 A Life on the Ocean Wave, Sarqent, 469 A Little before Death H. K. White 636 A Little While Bonar, 48 All Change ; no Death, E. Young, .... 683 xii CONTENTS. All Earthly Joy Returns in Pain Dunbar, 208 All in a Lifetime, Stedman, 539 All the Rivers, Phelps, 416 All Things Once are Things Forever, ....... Lord Houghton, . . . 289 All Things Sweet when Prized, A. T. De Fere, ... 186 All Together, H. H. Brmomelt, ... 57 Alone, H. H. Broionell, ... 58 A Lost Chord, A. A. Procter, . . . 441 A Lover's Prayer, . . . • Wyatt, 677 A Love Song, M. A. De Vere, ... 317 A March Violet, Lazarus 337 A Match, Swinburne, .... 555 Ambition, G. Houghton, .... 285 Ambition, E. Young, 683 Amends, liichardsvn, .... 458 America, Dobell, 189 A Mvissel Shell, Thaxter, 587 A Name in the Sand, Gould, 238 An Author's Complaint, . . . . y Pope, 765 And Thou hast Stolen a Jewel, Massey, 368 And Were That Best ? Gilder, 233 An Evening Reverie, Bryant, 80 An Epitaph, Prior, 773 Angelic Care, E. Spencer, .... 528 An Idle Poet, Robertson 851 Annabel Lee, Poe. 423 - An October Picture, Collier 143 An Old Song Reversed, Stoddard, 540 An Open Secret, Mason, &i4 Answered, P. Gary, 127 Antony to Cleopatra, Lytle, .353 An Unthrift, Braddock, 805 An Untimely Thought, T. B. Aldrich, ... 10 A Passionate Shepherd to his Love Marloive, 842 A Petition to Time, B. W. Proctor, ... 444 A Picture Street, 549 A Picture of Ellen, Scott, 477 Apollo Belvedere, • W. W. Gay, . . . . 820 A Portrait, E. B. Broioning, . . 63 Apostrophe to Ada, Byron, 105 Apostrophe to Hope, Campbell, 117 Apostrophe to Liberty, Addison, 3 Apostrophe to Light, Milton, 381 Apostrophe to Popular Applause, Caivper, 157 Apostrophe to the Ocean, Byron, 100 Apostrophe to the Poet's Sister Wordsworth, .... 667 Apostrophe to the Sun, Percival, 411 Apostrophe to the Whimsical, Crabbe, 165 A Prayer in Sickness, B. W. Procter, . . . 445 April W. Morris. .... 390 A Protest J. T. Fields, .... 226 A Question Answered, Mack-ay, 365 Archie. P. Gary, 125 A Request, Landor 328 Argument, Tupper, 617 A Scene in the Highlands, Scott, 477 Ashes of Roses, E. Goodale, .... 237 Asking for Tears, S. M. B. Piatt, ... 421 Ask Me no More, Carew, 118 Ask Me no More, Tennyson, 578 A Sleep, Prescott, 434 A Snow-Drop, Spofford, 531 A Snow-Storm, Eastman, 208 A Song of Content, J.J. Piatt, .... 419 A Song of Doubt, Holland, 271 A Song of Faith, Holland, 272 Aspirations after the Infinite, Akenside, 7 Aspirations of Youth, Montgomery, .... 384 A Spring Day, .... Bloomjield, 40 CONTENTS, xiii As Slow our Ship, Moore, 388 Assurance, E. B. Browning, . . • 64 A State's Need of Virtue, Thomson, 694 A Strip of Blue, Larcom, 332 A Summer Moodj Hayne, 265 A Summer Morning, McKay, 842 A Summer Noon at Sea, Sargent, 471 A Sunset Picture, Falconer, 218 At a Club Dinner, Mnckay, 756 At Divine Disposal, Burbidge, 808 At Dawn, J. C. IL JJorr, . . . 1{)6 A Tempest, Bloomjield, .... 40 At Home, C. G. Rossetti, ... 466 ATlumght, Gilder, 2:>J A Thought of the Past, Savf/ent, 470 A Thrush in a Gilded Cage, . Crdnch, 173 At Last, Stoddard, 540 At the Church-gate, Thackeray, .... 685 At the Forge, A. Fields. 224 At the Last, J. C. li. Dorr, ... 193 At Sea, U. H, Brownell, ... 59 At Sea, Jennison, 833 At Sea, Moulton, 845 Auf Wiedersehen, Loicell, 351 Auld Robin Gray, Barnard. 30 Austerity of Poetry, M. Arnold 26 Autobiography, Havergal, 823 Autumn, Hopkins, 829 Autumnal Sonnet AUinaham, .... 18 Autumn Song, Hutchinson, .... 830 Avarice, E. Spenser, .... 525 A Voice from Afar, Newman, 396 Awaking of the Poetical Faculty, Baker, 45 A Welcome to Alexandra, Tennyson, 582 A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea, Cunningham, ... 180 A Wife, Dnjden 206 A Woman's Love, Hay, 254 A Woman's Question, A. A. Procter, . . . 442 A Woman's Way, Bunner, 808 B. Ballad, Hood, 284 Barbara, A. Smith 604 Barbara Frietchie, J. G. Whittier, ... 642 Battle Hymn of the Republic Hoice, 289 Battle of the Baltic, Campbell, 114 Bay Billy, Gassaway 229 BeatilUi, Symonds, 658 Beatitude, A. T. De Vere, ... 186 Beauties of Morning, Beattie, 34 Beautiful Death, Dryden, 206 Beauty's Innnortality, Keats, 312 Becalmed at Eve Clouqh, 131 Beethoven Thaxter 590 Before Dawn, Thompson, 854 Before the Bridal, B. Taylor, 566 Before the Prime, Osgood, 403 Behind the Mask, IVhitney, 637 Belinda, Pope, 767 Bell and Brook S. T. Coleridge, ... 136 Bending between Me and the Taper, A. T. De Vere, ... 185 Benevolence, Sigoumey, 500 Be Quiet, Do, Mackay, 757 Betrayal, Lanier 329 Beyond Recall, Bradley, 62 Bingeu on the Rhine, Norton, 397 xiv CONTENTS. Birds and their Loves, Thomson, 503 Blessed are They that Mourn, Bryant 72 Books Crabbe, 170 Bosom Sin, Herbert, 265 Boyhood, Allston 19 Break, Break, Break, Teimyson, 584 Breathes there the Man, Scott, 478 Breathings of Spring Hem cms, 260 Broken Friendships S. T. Coleridge, . . . 136 Bugle Songj Tennyson, 577 Bnrial of Sir John Moore, Wolfe 665 Burns, Halleck, 249 But Heaven, O Lord, I cannot Lose, E. D. Proctor, . . . 446 Byron's Remarkable Prophecy, isuron, 103 By the Autumn Sea, Hayne, 256 By the Dead, Latghton, 324 Calling the Dead S. M. B. Piatt, ... 421 Calm and Tempest at Night on Lake Leman, .... Byron 101 Calm on the Bosom of our God, Hemans, 263 Caradoc, the Bard of the Cymrians, JE. B. Lytton, .... 839 Careless Content, Byrom, 705 Cato's Soliloquy, Addison, 4 Cayuga Lake Street, 547 Changes, B. B. Lytton, .... 840 Charge of the Light Brigade, Tennyson, 684 Charity, Dryden, 206 Charity, G. Homqhton, ... 286 Charity, E. H. Whittier, ... 639 Charity Gradually Pervasive, Pope, 431 Charles XIL, S. Johnson, .... 308 Cheerfulness in Misfortune, E. Young, 684 Circumstance, . .' Tennyson, 585 City Experience Leland, 744 Cleansing Fires, A. A. Procter, . . . 442 Clear the Way, Mackay, 362 Cleon and I, Mackay, 362 Cleopatra Embarking on the Cydnus, Hervey, 267 Cold Comfort, Blunt, 803 Columbus Sir A. De Fere, ... 184 Come, Let us Anew, Wesley, 633 Come not when I am Dead, Tennyson, 585 Come, ye Disconsolate, Moore 387 Compensation, Cranch, 174 Complaint and Reproof, S. T. Coleridge, ... 141 Complete, Collier, 143 Conclusions, P. Cary, 126 Concord Fight, Emerson, . . . . . 215 Condition of Spiritual Communion, Tennyson, . . . . . 575 Conscience, E. Young 678 Consecration, C. F. Bates, .... 31 Consolation, E. B. Browning, . . 63 Constancy, . Suckling, 550 Constant Effort Necessary to Support Fame, .... Shakespeare, .... 486 Content and Rich, Sotifluvell, 525 Contentation, Cotton, 154 Contentment, Thomson, 597 Contoocook River, E. D. Proctor, . . . 447 Controversialists, Crabbe, 168 Convention, Howells, 292 Coquette, Boberfson, 861 Counsel, A. Cary, 121 Coiiplets from Locksley Hall, Tennyson 573 Courage, G. Houghton, . . . 285 Courage, Thaxter, 589 CONTENTS. XV Courtesy, . Cradle Song, Cradle Song, Critics, . . Critics, . . Cruelty, . Cuba, . . Cui Bono, . Cui Bono, . Cupid Grown Careful, . /. T. Fields, .... 229 . Holland, . . , . . 2iS . Tennyson, 579 . E. B. Brouniing, , . 681 . Byron, 704 . E. Young, ..... 686 . Sargent, 471 . G. Arnold 23 . Carlyle 119 . Croly 178 D. Daily Dying, E. D. Proctor, ... 448 Daisy, O. Houghton 281 Day Dreaming, Kimball 322 - ■ - ~ '■ ... 120 ... 301 ... 492 Dead Love, P. Cary, . . Death, Hunt, . . . Death, Shelley, . . . Death amid the Snows, Thomson, . . Death and Resurrection, Seattle, . . . Death in Life, M. M. Dodge, Deatli of the Day, Landor, . . . Death the Leveller, Shirley, . . December, Morris, . . . December, Hopkins, . . Decoration, Higginson, . . Decoration Ode, Timrod. . . . Delay, Bushnell, . . Delay, Saxton, . . . Departure of the Swallow, W. Howitt . . Dependence, Jennison, , . Descanting on Illness, Cmoper, . . . Description of the One he would Lore, Wyatt, . . . Deserted Nests, Phelps. . . . Despite All, Drummond, . Destiny, T. B. Aldrich, Die down, O Dismal Day, D. Gray, . . Different Sources of Funeral Tears, E. Young, . . Dirge for a Soldier, Boker, . . . Discontent, Thaxter, . . Disdain Returned, Carew, . . . 35 191 328 828 269 855 86 852 296 833 715 677 417 198 10 822 682 47 586 118 156 288 790 Distance no Barrier to the Soul, Cotcley, . . . Divorced, Lord Houghton, Doctor Drollhead's Cure, Anonymous, . Dolcino to Margaret, Kingsley 321 Domestic Happiness, Campbell, 116 Door and Window H. li. Dorr 718 Dorothy Q., Holmes, 277 Dow'sFlat, Harte 727 Dreams, B.Broioning, .... 71 Drifting, Bead, 456 Driving Home the Cows, K. P. Osgood, ... 403 Dullness Pope, 766 Dying Buchanan, .... 807 E. Early Death and Fame M. Arnold, Early Rising, Saxe, . . Early Summer, Hopkins, Easter-day O. Wilde, Easter Morning, Ma^e, . East London, . , M. Arnold, Effect of Contact with the World, E. Young, 25 777 828 647 360 24 679 xvi CONTENTS. Effort the Gauge of Greatness, E. Young, 080 Egyptian Serenade, Curtis, 181 Elegy in a Country Churchyard, T. Gray, 240 End of all Earthly Glory Sliakespeai-e 487 Endurance, Allen, 14 Entered into Rest, Bolton, 805 Enviable Age, S. Johnson, .... 308 Epistle to Augusta, Byron, 95 Epigram, S. T. Coleridge, . . 711 Epitaph Hervey, .'.... 268 Epitaph, B. Jouson, .... 310 Epithalamium, BrainarO, 52 Equinoctial, Whitney, 63P Equipoise, Preston, 434 Estrangement through Trifles Moore, 3>5 Evelyn Hope Ji. Broioning, ... 6!) Evening, Croly, 178 Evening, Wordsworth, .... 675 Evening Prayer at a Girls' School, Hemans, 262 Evening Song Lanier, 328 Eventide, Burbidge, 800 Every Day, Allen, 17 Excessive Praise or Blame, Pope, ...... 432 Excess to be Avoided, Tiiomson, 596 Exhortation to Marriage, JRoyers, 461 Exile of Erin, Campbell 112 External- Impressions Dependent on the Soul's Moods, . Crabbe, 167 Extract from " A Reverie in the Grass," AJackay 365 Extracts from Miss Biddy's Letters, Moore, 760 Faciebat, Abbey, 2 Fair and Fifteen, liedden, 848 Fair and Unworthy, Ayton, 798 Faith, Kembte, 318 Faith in Doubt, Tennyson, 575 Faith in Unfaith, Scott, 479 Faithless Nellie Gray Hood, 739 Faithless Sally Brown, Hood, 740 Falling Stars, Trench, 006 False Appearances, Shakespeare, .... 485 False Terrors in View of Death, E. Young, 682 Fame, R. B. Lytton, ... 753 Fancy, Keats, 311 Fantasia Spofford, 630 Fare Thee Well, Byron, 02 Farewell, Symonds, 559 Farewell, 1 haxter, 5i^6 Farewell, Life, Hood, 2^3 Farewell of the Soul to the Body, Sigoumty, .... 499 Farewell, Renown, Dobson, 190 Farewell to Nancy Burns, 84 Fatherland and Mother Tongue, Lover, 748 Father Molloy, Lover, 748 Fear no More, Shakespeare, .... 488 Fear of Death, Shakespeare, .... 487 February, MorHs, 389 Few in Many, li. B. Lytton, . . . 752 Field Flowers Campbell, Ill Fingers, Kay, 836 First Appearance at the Odeon, J. T. Fields, .... 227 Five J.C.li. Dorr, ... 195 Florence Nightingale, E. Arnold, .... 22 Florence Vane, P. P. Cooke, .... 151 Flower and Fruit, . Thomas, 853 Flowers without Fruit, . Newman, . . . . 396 CONTENTS. xvii Folly of Litigation, Crabbe, 164 For a Servant Wither, 663 For a' That and a' That, Bums, 82 For a Widower or Widow Wither, 662 Forbearance, Emerson, ..... 215 Forget Me Not, Sargent, 469 Foreknowledge Undesirable, Tupper, 620 Forever O'lieilly, 400 Forever Unconfessed, Lord Houghton, . . . 288 Forever with the Lord, Movtgomeri/, .... 385 For his Child's Sake, Tennyson, 677 For my own Monument, Prior, 772 France, GoUfsmith, .... 236 Friend after Friend Departs, Montgomery, .... 384 Friendship, Simms, ...... 503 Friendship in Age and Sorrow, Crabbe, 168 Fritz and I, C. F. Adams 686 From " Absalom " Willis, 654 From " An Ode to the Rain," S.T.Coleridge,. . . 710 From " A Preacher," Webster, 629 From a " Vision of Spring in Winter," Swinburne, 552 From a Window in Chamouni, Afonlton, 846 From " Childhood," I'aughan, 022 From " Christmas Antiphones," Stcinlmme, .... 556 From " Dejection," S. T. Coleridge, . . . 136 From " Eloisa to Abelard," Pope, 429 From Far, Marston, 843 From Friend to Friend, Symonds 560 From " Intimations of Immortality," Wordsworth, .... 670 Fi"om " Lines composed in a Concert Room," . . , . S. T. Coleridge, . . . 710 From " Lines to a Louse," Btirns, 698 From "Making Poetry," Havergal 826 From Mire to Blossom, S. Longfellow, . . . 346 From •' No Age is Content," Earl of Surrey, ... 551 From " Nothing to Wear," W. A.' Butler,. ... 701 From " Poverty," Wither, 662 From " Rules and Lessons," . Vaughan, 624 From " St. Mary Magdalen," Vaughan, 622 From " The Christian Politician," Vaughan, 623 From " The Cock and the Fox," Dry'den, 722 From the "Elixir," Herbert, 827 From the " Exequy on his Wife," Kinq, 836 From the Flats, Laiier, 328 From the " Lay of Horatius," Macau/ay, 354 From " The Ode on Shakespeare," Spraque, 534 From " The Sensitive Plant," Shelley,. ..... 493 From "The Thief and the Cordelier," Prior, 774 From "To a Lady with a Guitar," Shelley 495 G. Gancing to and Ganging frae, E. Cool', 150 Garden Song, Tennyson 580 Genius, Byron, 99 George Eliot, Phelps, 416 Glasgow, A. Smith, 505 Gleaner's Song, Bloomjield, 43 God's Patience, . Preston, 435 God, the only dust Judge. Bums, 85 Goethe (Memorial Verses), M.Arnold, .... 25 Go, Forget me, Wolfe, 665 Go not, Happy Day, Tennyson 581 Good Counsel, Chaitcer 811 Good Life, Long Life, . . . c Johnson, ..... 310 Goo«l Counsel of Polonius to Laertes, Shakespeare, .... 485 Good Morrow, Heyirood, 268 Goodness, E. B. Browning, . . 688 xviii CONTENTS, Gk)odNew8, Kimball, 319 Good Njgbt, Shelley, ..... 495 Gray, Ticknor, ..... 854 Greece, Byron, 105 Greeu Things Growing, Craik. 170 Grief for the Loss of the Dead, . Quarles 451 Guardian Spirits, Rogers 464 Gulf-weed, Fenner, 224 H. Hallowed Ground, Campbell, . . . . • 108 Hand in Hand with Angels, Larco-m, 332 Hannah Binding Shoes, Larcom, 329 Happiness, Mackay, 757 Happiness in Little Things of the Present, Trench, 605 Happy are They, A. T. De Vere, ... 185 Hark to the Shouting Wind, Timrod, 855 Harmosan, Trench, 606 Harsh Judgments, Faber, 216 Harvesting, B/oomfield, .... 41 Harvest Time, Thomson, 592 Health Necessary to Happy Life, Thomson., 597 Heart Essential to Genius, Simms, 502 Heart-glow, Whitney, 638 Heart Oracles, M. M. Dodge 192 Heart Superior to Head, Jiogers, 461 Heaven near the Virtuous Larcom, 333 Heliotrope, Kimball, 319 Helvellyn Scott, 481 Her Conquest, Russell, 851 Hereafter, Spofford, 529 Heroes, E. D. Proctor^ . • . 448 Her Roses, Jennison, 832 Hester, Lamb, 325 Hie Jacet, Moulton, 846 Hidden Joys, . . . ; Blanchard, .... 801 Hidden Sins O'neilly, 401 Highland Mary, Bums, 85 Hints of Pre-existence, Tupper, 619 History of a Life, B. W. Proctor, ... 445 Hohenlinden, Campbell, 112 Homage, Winter, 659 Home and Heaven, Very, 627 Home, Wounded, Dobell, 189 Hope, Goldsmith, 237 Hope for All, Tennyson, 574 Hope in Adversity, Campbell, 116 How are Songs Begot and Bred ? Stoddard, 541 How Cyrus laid the Cable, Saxe, 775 How Delicious is the Winning, Campbell, 110 How the Heart's Ease first Came, Herrick, 266 How they Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix, R . Browning, ... 70 How to Deal with Common Natures, Hill, 827 Hudson River, . Parsons, 408 Humanity, E. B. Browning, . . 689 Husband to Wife, Tennyson, 579 Hymn before Sunrise in the Valley of Chamouni, . . S.T.Coleridge,. . . 138 Hymn for Anniversary Marriage Days, Withers, 662 Hymn from " Motherhood," Hopkins, 829 Hymn to Trust, Holmes, 279 Hymn to Contentment, Pamelt, 407 Hymn to Cynthia, Jonson, 310 Hymn to the Flowers, H. Smithy 510 CONTENTS. XIX I Count my Time by Times that I Meet Thee, .... Qilder, 232 Ideals, Fawcett, 219 1 Die for thy Sweet Love, B. W. Procter, ... 446 If M. R. Smith, .... 613 If it Must Be, D. Gray, 822 If this Be All, A. Bronte, 53 If Thou Wert by my Side Heber, 258 If We Had but a Day, Dickinson, 188 If You Love me L. Clark 128 1 in Thee and Thou in Me, Cranch, 176 Ilka Blade o' Grass Keps its ain Drap o' Dew Ballantine, .... 28 Ill-chosen Pursuits, Tupper, 614 Ill-christened, Tupper, II Penseroso, Milton 376 Imagined Reply of Eloisa, Hoice, 289 I'm Growing Old, Saxe, 474 Imitation, liichardsan, .... 459 Immortality M. Arnold 24 I'm not a Single Man, Hood 737 Impressions du Matin, O. Wilde, 648 In a Graveyard, Hay, 253 In a Letter, Jennison, 832 In an Hour, Perry, 415 In Arabia, J. B. Bensel, .... 38 In Autumn, Boker, 804 In a Year R. Browning, .... 68 In Blossom Time Cooibrith, 153 Incompleteness, A. A. Procter, . . . 443 Independence, Thomson, 594 I Never Cast a Flower away, C. B. Southey, ... 515 In Extremis, J. T. Fields, .... 226 Influence, Coolidge, 814 In Garfield's Danger Brackett 52 Ingratitude, Shakespeare, .... 484 In Kittery Churchyard, Thaxter, 589 In Memory of Barry Cornwall, Swinburne 552 In no Haste, Zandor, 327 In November, R. U. Johnson, . . . 834 In Praise of his Lady Love Compared with all Others, . Farl of Surrey, . . . 551 In School Days, J. G. Whittier, . . . &10 Inscription, Byron, 9J Insignificant Existence, Watts, 855 In Struggle, E. B. Broicning, . . 67 Insufficiency of the World, E. Young, 680 In the Dark, G. Arnold, 23 In the :vreadow8, B. Taylor, 566 In the Quiet of Nature, Cotton, 154 In View of Death, M. Collins 144 Invocation, Riordan, 850 I prithee Send me back my Heart, Suckling, 550 I Remember, I Remember, Hood, 280 Irwin Russell, Bunner, 808 I Saw from the Beach, Moore, 387 Is it all Vanity E. B. Lytton, .... 838 Isolation E. Gray, 240 I Wandered by the Brookside, Lord Houghton, . . . 287 I will Abide in thine House, Whitney, 638 I will not Love • Landor. 328 J. Jasmine Hayne, 257 Jeanie Morrison, Motherwell, .... 392 Jerusalem the Golden, ..,«.. Massey 367 XX CONTENTS, Jesus, Lover of my Soul, Wesley, 632 John Anderson my Jo, Burns, 84 John Gilpin, Coioper, 711 Jim Bludso of the Prairie Belle, Hay, 731 John Day, Hooa, 735 Joy to be Shared, E. Young. , . . • . 978 Judge Notj A. A. Procter, ... 440 Judgment m Studying it, Dryden, 205 July, Jackson, 831 fluue, o Bryant, 73 rune, Lowell, 351 Jufit Judgment, Pope, ...... 432 Justice, Richardson, .... 459 Justice the Regenerative Power, E, B. Lytton, .... 839 K. Keep Faith in Love, . Miller, 374 Kilcoleman Castle, Joyce, 834 Kindness first Known in a Hospital, E. B. Browning, . . 66 L. Labor, Lord Houghton, . . . 286 Laborare est Orare, E. S. Osgood, . . . 402 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, • . . Tennyson, 583 Lagrimas, . - Hay, 255 Lake George, Hillard, 269 L'Allegro Milton, 375 Landing of the Pilgrims, Hemans 263 Larvae, • Whitney, 638 Last, Allen, 15 Last Lines, E. lironte, 54 Last Verses, M. Collins, .... 144 Last Verses, Motherwell, .... 391 Last Words, S. M. B. Piatt, ... 419 Late Summer, Hopkins, 829 Late Valuation, Tapper, 620 Laughter and Death, Blunt, 803 Laimch thy Bark, Mariner, C. B. Southey, . . . 514 Laura, my Darling, Stedman, 535 Learning is Labor, Crabbe, 164 Left Behind, .• . . . Moulton, 845 Letters, Tupper, 615 Life Barbauld, 28 Life, Bryant, 76 Life, A. Cary, 119 Life, . Crabbe, 108 Life, B. W. Procter, ... 444 Life, Tupper, 620 Life a Victory, R. li. Lytton, .... 841 Life from Death, Holland, 273 Life in Death, . Savage, 472 Life's Mystery, A. Cary, 122 Life's Mystery, Stotce, 544 Life's Tlleatre, Shakespeare, .... 484 Life's Vicissitudes, Shakespear>, .... 487 Life \^'ill be Gone ere I have Lived, C.Bronte. 54 Light, Bourdillon, .... 50 Light on the Cloud Savage, 473 Light Sliiiiing out of Darkness, Cowper, 157 Like a Laverock in the Lift, Jean Ingelow, . . . 307 Like as a Nurse, Vaughan, 626 Lines on a Prayer-book Crashaw. 816 Lines to a Comic Author, S. T. Coleridge, . . . 710 CONTENTS, XXI Listening for God, Gannett, 228 Litany to the Holy Spirit, Herrick, 266 Little Billee. Thackeray 783 Little Breecnes Hay, 730 Little Gitten Ticknor 854 Little Jerry, the Miller Saxe, 474 Little Kindnesses, Talfourd 562 Little Martin Craghan, Gusta/son, ..... 245 Little Mattie E. Ji. Browning, . . 61 Lone Mountain Cemetery, Bret Harte, .... 252 Long Ago, H. H. Brownell, ... 69 Longfellow, Bunner 807 Lord Byron, Pollok, 428 Lord, Many Times I am Aweary, Trench 603 Lord Ullln's Daughter, Campbell Ill Lord, when 1 Quit this Earthly Stage, Watts, 836 Loss, M. B. Dodge, .... 817 Losses, Brovm, 56 Lost Days, D. G. Rossetti, ... 468 Love, Botta, 50 Love, S. Butler, ..... 87 Love, Byron, 97 Love S.T. (Jolendge, ... 141 Love, Scott, 478 Love, Tennyson, 579 Love Bettered by Time, Hood, 284 Love, Hope, and Patience in Education, S. T. Coleridge, ... 140 Love in Age, Tilton, ..".... 598 Lovely Mary Donnelly, AUingham, .... 686 Love me if I Live, B. W. Pi-octer, ... 444 Love of Country and of Home, Montgomery 382 Love of the Country, Bloomfield, .... 42 Love Reluctant to Endanger, H. Taylor, 570 Love's ReAvard, Bourdlllon, .... 50 Love shall Save us all Thaxter, 588 Love's Immortality li. Southey, .... 517 Love's Jealousy, Gilder 233 Love's Sonnets, Baker, 46 Love's Philosophy, Shelley, 492 • Love, the Retriever of Past Losses, Sliakespeare, .... 489 Love, the Solace of Present Calamity, Shakespeare, .... 488 Love Unalterable, Shakespeare, .... 489 Low Spirits, Faber, 217 Lucy, Wordswmrth 672 Lyric of Action, Hayne, 827 M. Madonna Mia, O. Wilde, 647 Maiden and Weathercock, H. W. Longfellow, . . 343 Maid of Athens Byron, 94 Major and Minor, Curtis, 181 Make thine Angel Glad C. F. Bates, .... 31 Making Peace, S. M. B. Piatt, ... 420 Man Pope, 430 Man and "Woman, Tennyson 578 Manhood, Simms, 503 Man's Dislike to be Led, Crabbe, 165 Man's Restlessness, Rogers, 461 Man was Made to Mourn, Bums, 85 Maple Leaves, T. B. Aldrich, ... 12 March, Jackson, 831 March, Morris 389 Marco Bozzaris, Halleck, 248 Masks. T. B. Aldrich, ... 12 Maudiluller, J. G. Whittier, . . . &13 May, Cheney, 812 xxii CONTENTS. May, Mason, 844 May and the Poets, Hunt, 301 May in Kingston, Abbey, 2 May to April, Freneau, 228 Measure for Measure, Spofford, 531 Melancholy, Hood, 279 Melrose A hbey by Moonlight, Scott, 478 Memorial Hall, Cranch, 174 Memory, Goldsmith, .... 237 Memory, liogers, 463 Mene, Mene, Symonds, 658 Mental Beauty, Akenside, 7 Mental Supremacy, Tupper, 616 Mercy ShaJcespeare, .... 486 Mercy to Animals, Cowper, 160 Merit beyond Beauty, Pope, 768 Middle Life, Heddenvick, .... 258 Midnight, Brownell, 58 Midsummer, Saxton, 852 Midsummer, Trowbridge, .... 609 Midwinter, Trowbridge, .... 608 Mine Own, Leland, 339 Miracle, Coolidge, 814 Misspent time, A. De Vere, .... 184 Monterey, Hoffman, 270 More Poets Yet, Dobsort-, 722 Morning and Evening by the Sea, J. 2\ Fields, .... 225 Move Eastward, Happy Earth, Tennyson, 585 Music in the Air, Curtis, 181 Music when Soft Voices Die, -. . . . Shelley, 492 Mutability, Shelley 495 My Ain Countree, Deviarest 183 My Answer, Boker 804 My Child Pierpont, 422 My Comrade and I, , Trowbridge, .... 613 My Heid is like to Kend, Willie, Motherwell, .... 391 My Life is like the Summer Rose, R. H. Wilde, .... 649 My Little Boy that Died, Craik, 172 My Love is on her Way, Baillie, 27 My Mind to me a Kingdom is, Dyer, 819 My Nasturtiums, Jackson, 832 My Old Straw Hat, F.Cook, 150 My Own Song, Spofford 531 My Playmate, J. G. Whittier, ... 646 My Psalm, J. G. Whittier, ... 641 My Saint, Moulton, 845 My Slain, Eealf, 457 My Window Ivy, M, M. Dodge, . . . 191 Nameless Pain, T. B. Aldrich, ... 10 Names, S. T. Coleridge, ... 710 Nantasket, Clemmer, 130 Natura Naturans, Clough, 132 Nature, H. W. Longfellow, . 342 Nature. Very, 627 Nature's Joy Inalienable, Thomson, 596 Nature's Lesson, Preston, 435 Nature's Need, Sir H. Taylor, . , . bll Nature's Question and Faith's Answer, P. Southey, .... 515 Nature's Reverence, J. G. Whittier, . . . 645 Nearer Home, P. Cary, 123 Nearer, my God, to Thee, , S.F. Adams, .... 3 Nearing the Snow-line, Holmes, 278 Nearness, Boker, 804 New Life, New Love, Symonds, 559 CONTENTS. xxiii New Worlds, G. P. Lathrop, ... 334 Night, . . . . "^ Lazarus 337 Night, R. Southey 516 Night Storm, Simms, 503 No Life Vain, H.Coleridge 124 No More Clough, 131 No Ring, Cary, 122 No Spring without the Beloved, Shakespeare, .... 489 Not at All, or All in All, Tennyson, 580 Not for Naught, E. Elliott, 212 Nothing but Leaves, . Akerman 8 November, H. Coleridge, .... 134 Now and Afterwards, Craik, 170 Now Lies the Earth, Tennyson, 578 Number One Hood 736 O. Ode, Emerson, 213 Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton T. Gray, 244 Ode on Art, Spragice. 532 Ode on the Death of Thomson, Iv. Collins, .... 148 Ode on the Poets, Keats, 311 Ode on the Spring, T. Gray 233 Ode to a Mountain Oak, Boker, 43 Ode to an Indian Coin, Leyden, 339 Ode to Disappointment. H. K. White, .... 635 Ode to a Nightingale, Keats, 312 Ode to Evening, W. Collins, .... 147 Ode to Simplicity, W. Collins, .... 144 Ode to the Brave, W. Collins 145 Off Labrador Collier, .-142 Of Myself, Cowley, 145 Oft in the Stilly Night. Moore 386 Oh ! Watch you Well by Daylight, Lover, 347 Oh! Why should the Spirit of Mortal be proud?. . . Knox, 322 O Lassie ayont the Hill, Macdonald, .... 359 Old, Hoyt, 296 Old Age and Deatli, Waller, ....... 628 Old Familiar Faces, Lamb, 325 O may 1 Join the Choir Invisible, G. Eliot, 209 On a Child, Rogers 461 Only a Curl, E. B, Browning, ... 65 On a Girdle Waller, 628 On a Sermon against Glory, Akenside, 4 On Completing my Thirty-Sixth Year, Byron, 107 On Doves and Serpents, Quarles, 451 One by One, A. A. Procter, ... 440 One Presence Wanting, Byron, 104 One Lesser Joy, Coolidge, 813 One Word is too often Profaned, Shelley, 490 On his Blindness, Milton, 379 Only, Hageman, 247 Only Waiting, Mace, 360 On Man, Quarles, 451 On One who Died in May, C. Cook, 812 On Reaching Twenty-Three, Milton, 380 On Reading Chapman's Homer Keats, 314 On Resignation, Chatterton, .... 810 On Sin, Quarles, 451 On the Bluff, . . • Haif 254 On the Death of John Rodman Drake, Hcilleck. 251 On the Headland, B. Taylor, SW On the Hillside Svumnds 559 On the Lake Webster 631 On the Life of Man, Qiiarles, 451 On the Reception of Wordsworth, at Oxford, .... Talfourd, 662 xxiv CONTENTS. On the Picture of a Child Tired of Play, Willis 651 OiitheRighi, Holland 275 On the Road, Hutchinson, .... 838 On the Shortness of Life, Cowley 166 On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey, Beaumont, 37 On Time, Milton. 374 Od Crue and False Taste in Music W. Collins, .... 145 other Mothers, Butts, 89 O Thou who Dry'st the Mourner's Tears, Moore, 386 Our Homestead, P. Cary, 127 Our Neighbor, Spofford, 530 Our Own, Sangster, 468 Ours, Preston, 434 Out of the Dark, Shurtleff. 852 Out of the Deeps of Heaven, Stoddard, 542 Outre-mort, Jennison, 832 O ye Tears, Mackay, 364 Pain and Pleasure, Stoddard, 542 Pairing-time Anticipated, Cowper, 716 Palmistry Spofford, 530 Passage from the Prelude, A. Fields, 225 Paternal Love, Scott, 478 Patience, Richardson, .... 459 Patience, Trench, 604 Pat's Criticism, C. F. Adams, .... 685 Payments in Store, Scott, 479 Peace, Vaughan, 622 Peace and Pain, O'Reilly. 399 Penance of the Ancient Mariner, S. T. Coleridge, ... 135 Peradventure, J. C. R. Dorr, . . . 194 Perfect Love, E. B. Browning^ . . 64 Persia, Mitchell, 370 Pescadero Pebbles, Savage, 472 Philip my King, Craik, 171 Philosophv Crabbe, 169 Picture of Marian Erie, E. B. Browning, . . 67 Plain Language from Truthful James, Bret Harte, .... 729 Pleasant Prospect, Lazarus, 336 Pleasure Mixed with Pain, Wyatt, 677 Plighted, Craik, 171 Poor Andrew, E. Elliott, 211 Power of Poesy, A. T. De Vere, ... 184 Power of the World, E. Young, 683 Prayer, Montqomery, .... 383 President Garfield, H. W. Longfellmo, . . 837 Press on, Benjamin, 799 Procrastination, Tujyper, 621 Procrastination and Forgetfulness of Death, . . . . E. Young, 677 Progress in Denial Simms, 501 Prometheus, Byron, 91 Proposal, B. Taylor, 565 Prospice, . . R. Browning, .... 68 Providence Vaughan, 623 Pure and Happy Love, Thomson, 591 Purity, G. Houghton, .... 286 Pursuit and Possession, T. B. Aldrich, . • . 11 Q. Quack Crabbe, 718 Quakerdom Halpine, 726 Quebec at Sunrise, Street, 545 CONTENTS. XXV Quebec at Sunset, Street^ 545 Questionings, Hedge, 259 Quince, Praed, ...... 771 K. Railroad Rhyme, Saxe, 779 Rain, Burleigh 809 Rattle the Window, Stoddard, 541 Reading the Milestone, J. J. Piatt, .... 418 Real Estate, Trov:>hridge, .... 610 Reason an aid to Revelation, Cou-ley, 156 Rebecca's Hymn, Scott, 479 Recognition of a Congenial Spirit, Moore, 385 Recompense, Annan, 797 Recompense, Simms, 502 Recompense, RWer, 851 Recompense,. . Tilton, 601 Reconciliation, . ' Tennyson, 577 Refuge from Doubt, Miller, 373 Regret, G. Houghton, .... 285 Relaxation, H. Taylor, 571 Remedial Suffering, R. Southey, .... 516 Remember, Lazarus, 338 Remember, C. G. liossetti, . . . 465 Repose, Thomson, 595 Remembrance, E. Bronte, 54 Remorse, Hay, 253 Rencontre, T. B. Aldrich, ... 11 Reporters, Crabbe, 717 Requiescat O. Wilde, 648 Reverie, Thaxter, 587 Resigning, Craik, 172 Richard's Theory of the Mind, Prior, 774 Riches of a Man of Taste, Akenside, 6 Ring out. Wild Bells, Tennyson, 576 Ripe Grain, Goodale, 237 Rock me to Sleep, Allen, 15 Rondel, Fay 222 Rory O'More, Lover, 746 Rosaline, Lodge, 340 Rose Aylraer, Landor, 328 Rubies, Landor, 327 Rule. Britannia Thomson 597 s. Sabbath Morning, Orahame, 239 Sadness Born of Beauty, Trench, 603 Sailor's Song, G. P. Lathrop, ... 335 Saint Peray, T. W. Parsons, ... 763 Sands of Dee, Kingsley, 321 Saturday Afternoon, Willis, 651 Scene after a Summer Shower, Norton, 396 Schnitzerl's Philosopede, Leland, 745 Scorn not the Sonnet, Wordsworth, .... 675 Sea-way, Hutchinson, .... 830 Secrets, Wheeler, 633 Seeking the Mayflower, Stedman, 538 Self, Symonds, 560 Self-dependence, M. Arnold, .... 25 Selfishness of Introspection, E. B. Broioning, . . 66 Serve God and be Cheerful, Newell 395 She and He, E. Arnold 20 Shelling Peas, Crunch, 719 xxvi CONTENTS, Sheridan's Ride, Bead, 463 She's Gane to Dwell in Heaven, Cunningham, .... 180 She Walks in Beauty, Byron, 93 She Was a Phantom of Delight, Wordsworth 674 Silent Mothers • . . . Helen Rich 849 Silent Songs Stoddard, 542 Silhouettes, O. Wilde 648 Since All that is not Heaven must Fade, Keble 16 Since Yesterday, Lord Houghton, ... 286 Sir Marmaduke's Musings, Tilton, 601 Sir Walter Scott at Pompeii, Landon, 327 Sleep, T.B. Aldrich, ... 11 Sleep, Byron, 97 Sleep and Death, Fay, 222 Sleep the Detractor of Beauty, Crabbe, 163 Sly Lawyers, Crabbe, 718 Snatches of Mirth in a Dark Life, Baillie 27 Soft, BroAvn, Smiling Eyes, Cranch, 176 Softly Woo away her Breath, B. W. Procter. ... 446 Solace of the Woods, '. . Simms, 501 Solitude. H.K. White, .... 634 Somehody's Darling, Lacoste, 323 Somebody's Mother, Brine, 806 Somebody Older, F. Smith, 509 Some Day of Days, Perry, 416 Sometime, M. li. Smith 513 Somewhere, Saxe, ...... 474 Song, Campbell, 115 Song, » Camjibell, 707 Song, H. Coleridge, .... 134 Song, C.G. liossetti, ... 465 Song from " Right," Havergal, 825 Song of a Fellow-worker, O'SJiaughnessy, ... 404 Song of Egla, Brooks 55 Song of Saratoga, Saxe, 776 Song of the Hempseed F. Cook 149 Song of the Ugly Maiden, E. Cook, 151 Song on May Morning, Milton, 378 Songs of Seven, Ingelow, 301 Songs Unsung Stoddard, 541 Sonnet, O. Wilde, 648 Sonnet Composed on Leaving England Keats, 311 Sonnets from " Intellectual Isolation," Symonds, 561 Sonnet on Chillon Byron, 93 Sonnets to Edgar Allan Poe, Whitman, 856 Sonnet to Hope, Williams, 650 Sonnet to Sleep Sidney, 499 Sorrows of We rther, Thackeray, .... 783 Soul of my Soul, Sargent, 469 Soul to Soul, Tennyson 575 Sound Sleep C.G. Rossetti, ... 465 Spectacles, or Helps to Read, Byron, 706 Spent and Misspent, A. Cary, 121 Spiritual Feelers Tupper, 615 Squandered Lives, B. Taylor, 566 Stanzas from " Hymn on the Nativity," Milton, 379 Stanzas from " Casa Wappy," Afoir, 381 Stanzas from " Service," . J.T.Trowbridge, . . 612 Stanzas from " Song of the Flowers," Hunt, ....... 299 Stanzas from the " Tribute to a Servant," Howe, 290 Stanzas from " The True Use of Music," Wesley, 632 Stanzas from " The Schoolmistress," Shenstone, 496 Stanzas in Prospect of Death, Bums, 83 Stay, Stay at Home, my Heart, H. W. Longfellow,. . 342 Still Tenanted Hiram Rich, .... 849 Stonewall Jackson's Grave, Preston, 435 Storm at Appledore, Lowell, 352 Strength through Resisted Temptation, Holland 273 Strive, Wait, and Pray, A. A. Procter, ... 444 CONTENTS. xxvii strong Son of God, Tennyson, 574 Submission to Supreme Wisdom, Pope, 430 Success Alone Seen, * Landon, 326 Sufficient unto the Day Sangster, 468 Summer Dawn at Locn Katrine, Scott, 476 Summer Longings, AfcCarthy, 369 Summer Kain Bennett, 38 Sum up at Night, Herbert, 264 Sundays, Vaughan 624 SunligU and Starlight Whitney, 638 Sun ot the Sleepless, Byron, 92 Sunrise. O. Wilde, 648 Sunset in Moscow, E. B. Proctor, ... 449 Sunshine, E. Gray 823 Sunshine in March, Gosse 821 Sweet Meeting of Desires, Patmore, 410 T. Tam O'Shanter, Bums, 695 Tears, Idle Tears, Tennyson, 677 Tell me, ye Winged Winds Mackay, 366 Tempestuous Deeps, Hopkins, 828 Thanatopsis, Bryant, 74 Thankfulness, A, A. Procter, ... 440 Thanksgiving, Howells, 292 That Kew World, S. M. B. Piatt, ... 420 The Adieu, H. H. Broumell,. . . 58 The Aged Oak at Oakley, Alford, 13 The American Flag, Brake, 197 The Ancient Mariner Refreshed, S.T. Coleridge, ... 135 The Angels Kiss her, A. T. De Vere, ... 189 The Angel's Wing, Lover, 347 The Apollo, and Venus of Medici Thomson, 595 The Artist's Dread of Blindness, Webster, 630 The Art of Book-keeping, . . Hood, 741 The Ascent to Fame, Beattie, 34 The Avoidance of Religious Disputes, Dryden, 205 The Awful Vacancy, Crabbe, 165 The Baby, Macdonald, .... 369 The Ballad of Baby Bell. T. B. AldHch, ... 8 The Ballad of Bouillabaisse, Thackeray, .... 782 The Banks of Anner, Joyce, 836 The Barefoot Boy, J. G, Whittier, ... 639 The Battle of Blenheim, B. Southey, .... 520 The Battle of the Kegs, Hopkinson, .... 742 The Bees, Trench, 605 The Belfry Pigeon, Willis, 653 The Belle of the Ball Praed 766 The Bells, Poe, 424 The Bible, Dryden 204 The Biblical Knowledge of Hudibras, S. Butler, 700 Tlie Bird let Loose, Moore, ...*.. 386 The Birth of St. Patrick, Lover 746 The Blessed Damozel, D. G. Rossetti, ... 467 The Blue and the Gray, Finch, 227 The Blue-bird's Song, Street, 549 The Bower of Adam and Eve, Milton, 380 The Brave at Home, B. Bead, 456 The Bride Beautiful, Body and Soul, E. Spenser, .... 524 The Bridge of Sighs, Hood, ...... 282 The Broom Flower, Howitt, 294 The Burial of Moses Alexander, .... 12 The Burial of the Champion of his Class, Willis, 652 The Busts of Goethe and Schiller W. A. ButUr, ... 88 The Caliph's Magnanimity Abbey, 1 Tht Canadian Spring Street^ 54« xxviii CONTENTS. The Captious Cowper, 716 The Captive Soul, ^ . . . . E. Spenser, .... 525 The Cataract of Lodore, Ji. Southey, .... 521 The Cavalier's Song, Motherwell, .... 392 The Chameleon, Merrick, 759 The Chess-board, JR. B. Lytton, ... 840 The Child and the Autumn Leaf, Lover, 347 The Child and the Mourners, Mackay, 361 The Child and the Sea, M. M. Dodge, ... 192 The Child Musician, Bobson, 190 The Children Dickinson, 187 The Child's Plea Palfrey, 847 The Charms of Nature, Beattie, 34 The Cigar, Hood, 738 The Clergyman and the Peddler, F. Bates, 687 The Close of Spring, C. T. Smith, .... 507 The Closing Scene, Bead, 454 The Cloud, Shelley, 492 The Col de Balm Havergal, 826 The Comet, Lunt, 838 The Common Lot, Montgomery, .... 383 The Condemned, Crabbe, 166 The Conqueror, Tupper, 616 The Conqueror's Grave, Bryant, 79 The Coral Grove Percival, 413 The Coral Insect, Sigoumey, ..... 500 The Courtin', Lowell, 749 The Covered Bridge, Barker, 29 The Cricket C. T. Smith, .... 507 The Crowded Street, Bryant, 78 The Crowning Disappointment, E. Young, 679 The Cry of the Human, E.B. Browning, . . 65 The Cuckoo, Logan, 341 The Curtain of the Dark, Larcom, 330 The Daffodils, Wordsicorth, .... 671 The Dead Bee, F. Bates, 32 The Dead Christ, Hoioe, 291 The Deaf Dalesman, Wordsicorth, .... 669 The Death-bed, Hood, 281 The Death of the Old Year, Tennyson, 582 The Death of the Virtuous, Barbauld, 28 The Development of Poetic Creations, Akenside, 5 The Diamond, Trench, 606 The Difference, Bourdillon, .... 51 The Dignity and Patience of Genius, Tupper, 615 The Discoverer, Stedman, 538 The Dispute of the Seven Days Crunch, 721 The Distant in Nature and Experience, Campbell, 115 The Doorstep, Stedman, 537 The Double Knock, Hood, 738 The Dragon-fly , . . . Comioell, 815 The Ebb-tide, R. Southey, .... 522 Tlie Eggs and the Horses Anon., 793 The Eloquent Pastor Dead, Blanchard, . . . ; 802 The Emphatic Talker, Cowper, 715 The End of the Virtuous, E. Young, 680 The Ermine, Trench, 605 The Erratic Genius, B. B. Lytton, .... 752 The Evening Cloud IVilson, 657 The Evening Wind, Bryant, 76 The Faded Violet, T.^B. Aldrich, ... 11 The Family Man, Saxe, 779 The Family Meeting, Sprague, 533 The Farewell, Donne, 818 The Fate of Poverty, Johnson, 309 The Father, . . B. Taylor, 564 The Ferry of Galloway A. Cary, 120 The First Day of Death, Byron, 97 The First Gray Hair, T.H. Bayly, .... 33 CONTENTS. XXIX The First Spring Day, C. G. liossetti, ... 465 The Flight of Youth, H. Coleridge, .... 133 The Flight of Youth Stoddard, 540 The Flower o' Duniblane, Tannahill, 563 The Flowers of the Forest, J. Elliot 210 The Flowers in the Ground, S. M. B. Piatt, ... 421 The Folly of Hoarding, Thomson, 596 The Force of Trifles Tupper 619 The Fountain of Youth, Butterworth, .... 89 The Four Seasons, Tilton 600 The Freedom of the Good, Cowper, 158 The Free Mind, Garrison, 229 The Fringed Gentian, Bryant, 77 The Future Life, Bryant 78 The Generosity of Nature, Lowell, 349 ITieGift, Webster, 631 The Glory of Death, E. ioung, 681 The Golden Hand, J.J. Piatt, .... 418 The Golden Silence, Winter, 661 The Gold under the Roses, Ome, 846 The Good Time Coming, Mackay, 363 The Grasshopper and Cricket, Hxmt, 300 The Great Critics, Mackay, 757 The Greenwood Botcles, 51 The Groomsman to his Mistress, Parsons, . . . . . 410 The Happiness of Passing one's Age in Familiar Places, Goldsmith, .... 235 The Hare and Many Friends Gay, 726 The Harvest Call, Burleigh, 809 The Health, Stoddard, 542 The Heavenly Canaan, Watts, 856 The Heliotrope, Mace. 361 The Heritage, Lowell, 348 The Highest Good, Parker, 406 The Holly Tree, P. Southey, .... 518 The Hope of the Heterodox, Blackie, 800 The Horseman, W. Young, .... 858 The Horse of Adonis, Shakespeare, .... 488 The Hour of Death, Hemans 261 The Housekeeper, Lamb, 325 The Human Tie, M. M. Dodge, ... 191 The Humble Bee, Emerson, 214 The Husband and Wife's Grave Dana 181 The Iconoclast R. T. Cooke, . ■ . . . 152 The Inner Calm, Bonar, 48 The Invocation, Hemans, 261 The Isles of Greece, . • Byron, 98 The Ivy Green, Dickens, 187 The Kingliest Kings, Massey, 368 The Kitten, Baillie, 26 The Knight's Steed, S.Butler, 700 The Laborer, Gallagher. 820 The Lack of Children, P. Browning, ... 71 The Ladder of St. Augustine, H. W. Longfellow, . 341 The Ladv Jaqueline, P. Cary, 124 The Ladv of the Castle, Bensel, 800 The Land of the Leal, Naii-n 394 The Last Appeal, Kimball, 320 The Last Flowers, Whitman, &57 The Last Man, Campbell, 109 The Last Words, Jackson, 830 Tlie Learning of Hudibras, 5. Butler, 699 The Lent Jewels, Trench, 604 The Lesson of the Bee, Botta, 50 The Lie, Raleigh, 452 The Lighthouse, S. H. Palfrey, ... 847 The Light in the Window, Mackay 364 The Light of Reason, Dryden, 2M The Lily-pond G. P. Lathrop, ... 334 The Little Man, Mackay 758 XXX CONTENTS. The Little Shroud, Landon, 326 The Longing of Circe, Mann, 842 The Long White Seam, Ingelow, 307 The Lost May, £. Taylor, 567 The Love-letter, J.J. Piatt, .... 418 The Maid of Orleans Girding for Battle B. Southey, .... 517 The Marriage Knot Stoddard, 781 The Marriage of Despair, Brooks, 56 The Meeting, H. W. Longfellow, . 342 The Means to Attain Happy Life, Earl of Surrey, . . . 551 The Midges Dance aboon the Burn, Tannahill, .... 563 The Misery of Excess, Byron, 100 The Mistake, , Stoddard, 780 The Model Preacher, , Dryden, 207 The Modern Puffing System, Moore, 760 The Mood of Exaltation, A. T. De Vere, ... 186 The Morning Hills, Thompson, .... 853 The Mother's Grief Coolbrith, 154 The Mother, the Nurse, and the Fairy, Gay 726 The Mysteries, Howells, 292 The Mystery, B. Taylor, 567 The Mystery of Life, Sir H. Taylor, ... 570 The Mulberries, Howells, 292 Then, B. T. Cooke, .... 153 The Name in the Bark, Troiobridge, .... 607 The New Year's Baby, W. Carleton, .... 709 The Nightingale, Trench, 605 The Nun and Harp, Spofford, 529 The Nuns' Song, Tennyson, 581 The Old Man of the Mountain, Troiobridge, .... 611 The Old Man's Comforts, and how he Gained them, . . B. Southey, .... 517 The Old Man's Motto, Saxe, 473 The Old Oaken Bucket, Woodworth, .... 666 The Old Schoolhouse, Bogers, ....*. 464 The Old Sergeant, Willson 655 The Old Story, Prescott, 433 The Old Year and the New, C.F.Bates, .... 31 The One Universal Sympathy, , . . . . E. B. Browning, . . 67 The One White Hair, Landor, 743 The Only Light, Wesley, 632 The Organist, K. L. Bates, .... 32 The Other Life the End of This, E. Young, 681 The Other World, Stowe, 544 The Paradise of Cabul, Michell, 371 The Parson, Chaucer, 810 The Parting Drayton, 198 The Passage from Birth to Age, Bogers, 462 The Passions, Collins, 145 The Past, Bryant, 73 The Pauper's Deathbed C. A. B. Southey, . . 514 The Pauper's Funeral, B. Southey, .... 519 The Perils of Genius, Crabbe, 163 The Perpetuity of Song J. T. Fields, .... 225 The Perversion of Great Gifts, Bogers, 460 The Petrified Fern, Branch, 53 The Picket Guard, Beers, 35 The Pied Piper of Hamelin, B. Broioning, . . . 690 The Pilgrims and the Peas, . Wolcot, 792 The Pilgrim Fathers, Pierpont, 422 The Pleasures Arising from Vicissitude, Gray, 243 The Pleasure of being Cheated, S. Butler, 701 The Poet, Landon, 327 The Poet's Friends Howells 292 The Poet's Pen, F. A. Hillard, ... 827 The " Poet's Prayer," E.Elliott, .... 212 The Poet's Song to his Wife, B. W. Procter, ... 445 The Poplar Field, Cowper, 157 The Ponte di Paradiso, Symonds, 560 The Post-boy, Causer, 161 CONTENTS. xxxi The Power of Suggestion Tapper, 617 The Prairie, Hay 263 The Prayer to Mnemosyne, , Symonds, 660 The Press, • E. Elliott, 211 The Pressed Gentian, • J. G. Whittier, ... 646 The Press of Sorrow, Holland, 273 The Primrose , Herrick, 266 The Prince, Hutchinson, .... 830 The Problem, Emerson, 213 The Prodigals, Dobson 190 The Prophet's Song, Goldsmith, .... 237 The Prop of Faith, Wordsworth, .... 668 The Pulley, Herbert 263 The Purple of the Poet, F. Smith, 508 The Pursuit, Faughan, 622 The Puzzled Census-taker, Saxe. 776 The Quaker Grave-yard, Mitchell, 844 The Question, Winter, 660 TheKaven, A. Poe, 425 The Razorseller Wolcot, 792 The Keaders of Dailies, Crabbe, 717 There is Nothing New under the Sun, Gilder, 231 The Religious Journal, Crabbe, 717 There'll Come a Day, Preston^ 436 The Restored Pictures, Trowbridge, .... 608 The Return of Kane, Brownell, 67 The Rhodora, Emerson, 214 The Ride of Collins Graves O'Reilly, 399 The Right must Win Faber^ 216 The River in the Mammoth Cave, Prentice, 847 The River of Life Campbell, 114 The Rose, T. B. Aldrich, ... 12 The Rose, Waller, 628 The Rose of Jericho, Seaver 482 The Sabbath of the Soul, Barbauld, 798 The Sailor's Wife, Mickle, 372 The Sandpiper, Thaxter, 591 The Sea, B. W. Procter. ... 444 The Sea-limits, D.G. JRossetti, ... 467 The Seasons Bennett, 37 The Seed Growing Secretly, Vaughan, 621 The Selfish, Rogers, 461 The September Gale, Holmes, 733 The Shadow, Preston, 435 The Ship Becalmed, S. S. Coleridge, ... 135 The Shipwreck, Wilson, 657 The Shower. Vaughan 624 The Sight of Angels, J.J. Piatt, .... 418 The Silent Lover, Raleigh 452 The Skylark, Hogg 271 The Sleep, E. B. Browning, . . 60 The Smack in School, Palmer, 762 The Snake, Trench, 605 The Solace of Nature, Wordsworth, .... 666 The Soldanella, Clark, 128 The Song of the Camp, B. Taylor, 568 The Song of the Shirt, Hood, 281 The Soul, Dana, 182 The Soul's Farewell, Gould, 238 The Soul's Progress Checked, Cowper, 161 The Source of Man's Ruling Passion, Tupper 616 The Sower, Gilder, 231 The Speed of Happy Hours, Spencer. 624 The Spider, Comwell, 815 The Spring-time will Return, Sargent, 470 The Squire's Pew Taylor, 672 The Stanza added to Waller's " Rose," H. X. White, .... 636 The Stars, M. M. Dodge. ... 192 The Star-Spangled Banner, Key 318 xxxii CONTENTS, The State of the "World had Men Lived at Ease, . . . Thomson, 59« The Sting of Death, Hayne, 257 The Stomach of Man, R. B. Lytton, .... 751 The Striving of Hope, R. H. Lathrop, ... 837 The Sunflower Greemoell, 823 The Sunrise never Failed us yet, Thaxter, 587 Tlie Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, Scott 480 The Superfluous Man, Saxe, 775 The Sweet Neglect, Jonson, 310 Tlie Teacher, Crabbe 164 The Tears of Heaven, Tennyson, 585 The Tempest, Thomson, 591 The Terror of Death Keats, 310 The Test, , Siedman, 535 The Tliree Fishers, Kingsley, 321 The Three Lights, Whitney, 637 The Three Warnings Thrale, 784 The Tides, Longfellow, . . . . ai3 The Tiger Blake, 39 The Tiger, Trench, 605 Tlie Tongue, Coicper, 714 The Touchstone, Allingham, .... 18 The True Measure of Life, P.J. Bailey, .... 26 The Tryst, Stedman, 536 The Two Angels, Longfellow, .... 344 The Two Birds, F. Bates, 32 The Two Brides, Stoddard 540 The Twofold Power of All Things, R. Southey, .... 516 The Two Great Cities Hageman, 247 The Two Highwaymen, Blunt, 802 The Two Kisses, R. Broicning, ... 70 The Two Ladders, Tilton, 602 The Two Streams, Holmes, 279 The Type of Struggling Humanity, Holland, 275 The Tyranny of Mood, Preston, 436 The Uncertain Man, Cowper, 714 The Undiscovered Country Stedman, 536 The Unexpressed, Story, 543 The Unfulfilled, E. B. Lytton, .... 841 The Universal Lot, Crabbe, 169 The Universal Prayer, Pope, 433 The University of Gottingen, Canning, 708 The Vacillating Purpose Crabbe, 163 The Vagabonds, Trowbridge, .... 786 The Voiceless Holmes, 276 The Voice of the Grass, Roberts, 459 The Voices of Angels, S. T. Coleridge, ... 135 The Village Preacher, Goldsmith, .... 235 The Village Schoolmaster, Goldsmith, .... 235 The Violet, Scott, 481 The Violet, Story, 543 The Way a Rumor is Spread ^ Byrom, 704 The Way, the Truth, and the Life, . . * Parker, 406 The Wliite Flag Winter, 658 The Will, Symonds, 559 The Winged Worshippers, Sprague 532 The Winter's Evening, Cmoper, 158 The Wise Man in i:)arkness, Prior, 439 The Wise Man in Light, . , Prior, 439 The Wit, Dryden, 207 The Woodland, Hayne, 256 The Wood-turtle, Fawcett, 221 The Word of Bane and Blessing, Tupper, 620 The World, Very 627 The World, Quarles, 450 The World a Grave, . • E. Young 684 The World is too much with us, Wordsioorth 675 The World's Wanderers, Shelley, ..'.... 492 The Worth of Fame Baillie, 28 CONTENTS, xxxiii The Worth of Iloure, Lord Hmu/hton, ... 287 They are all gone, Vaughan] 521 They come ! the Merry Summer Months, MotherireU, .... 394 The Yellow of the Miser, F. Smith, 508 The Young Poet's Visit to the Hall, Crabbe 719 The Zeal of Persecution, T/iomson, 595 This Name of INIiue, G. Houghton, .... 285 Thou art, O God Moore, 387 Those Evening Bells Moore, 387 Thought, Cranch 175 Thou hast Sworn by thy God, Cunningham 179 Thou Knowcst, J. C. li. Dorr, ... 195 Three Epitaphs, • Herrick, 266 Three Friends of Mine, Lone/fellow, .... 344 Three Kisses, E. K Browning, . . 64 Three Kisses of Farewell Saxe Holm, .... 276 Three Sonnets on Prayer, Trench, 602 Through Love to Light, Gilder, 233 Thy Art he Nature, J . . . Wordsworth, .... 674 Tibbie Inglis, Mary Hoioitt, ... 295 Time, Shelley, '. 492 Time its Use and Misuse E. Young, 678 To a bavarian Girl, . . • B. Taylor, 569 To a Child Embracing his Mother, Hood, 280 To a City Pigeon Willis 650 To a Dead Woman Bunner, 808 To a Distant Friend, Wordsworth, .... 672 To a Friend afraid of Critics Mackay, 754 To a Friend in Heaven, Tennyson, 576 To a Mountain Daisy, Bums, 83 To an Early Primrose, H. K. White, .... 634 To an Infant Sleeping Holland, 274 To any Poet, T. B. Aldrich, ... 12 To a Sea-Bird Bret Harte, .... 252 To a Skylark, Shelley 490 To a Skylark, Wordsworth, .... 673 To a Violin, Thaxter, 588 To a Virtuous Young Lady, Milton 380 To a Young Lady, Wordsworth, .... 671 To a Young Lady, Campbell, 708 To Be, or Not to Be, Shakespeare, . . . 484 To Celia, Jonson 509 To Critics, Crabbe, 168 To-day, Carlyle, 118 To-day S. M. B. Piatt, ... 419 To-dav, Prescott, 434 To England, Boker 46 To Flush, my Dog, E. B. Broioning, . . 62 To Freedom, Barlow 29 To Giulia Grisi, Willis 653 To his Books, Vaughan, 620 To his Empty Purse, Chaxicer, 812 To his Mother's Spindle, Bloomfield, .... 42 To Keep a True Lent, Heirick, 267 To Lucasta, on Going beyond the Seas, Lovelace 346 To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars, Lovelace, 346 To Man, Cowper, 162 To Mary Wolfe, 664 To Mary in Heaven, Bjims, 82 To Misfortune H. K. White, .... 636 To Moscow, E.D. Proctor, ... 449 To Murmurers, Tupper, 619 To ray Candle, Wolcot, 664 To my Cigar, Sprague, 533 To my Infant Son, Hood, 734 To mv Love, Saxe, 476 To my Mother, Poe, 425 To my Son. G. P. Lathrop, ... 334 To my Soul, Shakspeare, . . . . 48£ xxxiv CONTENTS. To Night B. White, 634 Too Late, A. A. Procter, ... 441 Too Late, Craik, 172 Too Late, Stedman, 537 Too Near. Marston, 843 To One who would Make a Confession, Blunt, 802 Too Old for Kisses, Stoddard, 780 To Perilla, Herrick, 265 To Kouse, the Artist, Appleton 19 To Sappho, A. Fields, 223 To Seneca Lake, Percival, 413 To Sleep, Wordsworth, .... 672 To the Cuckoo, Wordsworth, .... 676 To the Fire, B. Southey .... 522 To the Mocking Bird, B. H. Wilde, .... 649 To the Rainbow, Campbell, 113 To Time, Boioles 51 To Triflers, , . Buchanan, .... 807 To Victoria, C. F. Bates, .... 31 To William Lloyd Garrison, Appleton 19 Trailing Arbutus, B. T. Cooke 152 Treasure in Heaven, Saxe, 476 Tribute to Victoria, Campbell, 115 Triumph, Simms, 504 Tropical Weather, Sargent, 471 Trouble to Lend Kimball, 319 True Death, Hood, 284 True Nobility, Pope, 431 True Union, Bogers, 462 Truth to Nature, Pope, 432 Turn to the Helper, Miller, 373 Twilight, Wordsworth, .... 672 Twilight at Sea, Welby, 850 TwoAjfrils, Gallagher, 820 Two Love Quatrains, Gilder, 232 Two Maidens, , Webster, 631 Two Patrons, J.J. Piatt, .... 418 Tying her Bonnet under her Chin, Perry, 415 u. Una and the Lion, F. Spenser, .... 626 Uncrowned Kings, Aiken, 797 Under the Leaves Laighton, 324 Under the Lindens, Landor, 743 Under the Portrait of John Milton Dryden, 204 Under the Sod, Tiltm, 599 Under the Violets^ Holmes, 278 Undeveloped Genius, Wordsworth 668 Unhappy Childhood Simms, 503 Union of Faith and Reason Necessary, Crabbe, 169 Universal Salvation, J. G. Whittier, . . . 645 Unknown Greatness, Sir H. Taylor, ... 569 Unrequiting^ p. Smith, 509 Unseen Spirits, Willis, 653 Unspoken Words, . O'Beilly, 401 Unsung T. B. Aldrich, ... 10 Until Death, Allen, 16 Unwedded, Larcom 330 Up-hill c. G. Bossetti, ... 464 Urvasi, Bostwick, 49 Valborg Watching Axel's Departure, G. Houghton, .... 284 Verses on his Own Death, Swift, 781 CONTENTS, XXXV Victory from God, Spenser, 528 Villanelle, Gosse, 821 Virtue, Herbert 265 Virtue, The Measure of Years, .......... j^. Young, 683 Virtue, tlie sole Unfailing Happiness, Pope, 431 w. Waiting, Clemmer. 131 Waiting for the Ship Brovmell, 60 Wandering Willie Scott, 480 Watchwords, Coxe, 816 Waterloo, Byron, 106 Weak Consolation, Trench, 603 Weal and Woe, Gilder, 231 We are Seven, I • • • Wordsworth 673 Weariness, Longfellow, .... 342 We Have Been Friends Together, Norton, 398 Weighing the Baby, Beers, 36 We Sat by the Cheerless Fireside, Stoddard, 542 Westminster Bridge, Wordsworth, .... 675 Wetmore Cottage, ^Nahant Story 543 WTiat Ails this Heart o' Mine, Blamire, 40 What Is the Little One Thinking about ? Holland, 272 What I would Be Tennyson, 579 What Makes a Hero? Sir H. Taylor, ... 571 WTiatNeed? J. C. R. Dorr, . . . 1^ What She Thought, J. C. R. Dorr, ... 193 What We Toil For, Drummond, .... 198 What will it Matter? Holland, 275 What would I Save Thee from ? Gilder 232 ■\Mien Coldness Wraps this Suffering Clay, Byron, 92 When Joys are Keenest, Sir H. Taylor, . . . 571 When the Drum of Sickness Beats, Stoddard, 541 Where is Thy Favored Haunt ? Kehle, 314 Where the Roses Grew, Allen, 15 Whilst Thee I Seek, Williams, 650 White Poppies, Barr 798 WTiite Underneath, R. S. Palfrey, ... 405 Whittling, Pierpont, 764 WTiy Crunch, 176 WTiy don't the Men Propose ? T.H.Bayly 688 Why should we Faint and Fear to Live Alone ? . . . Kehle, 315 "SMiy so Pale and Wan, Fond Lover? Suckling, 550 Why thus Longing ? Sewall, 483 Widowed Boyle, 805 Widow Machree, Lover, ....... 747 Widow Malone, Lever, 745 Wife to Husband, C. G. Rossetti, ... 466 Wind and Sea, B. TayJLcyr, 565 Windless Rain, Hayne, 257 Wintry Weather, D. Gray, 822 Wisdom, E. Young, 684 Wisdom's Prayer, Johnson, 308 Wishes for Obscuritv, Crowne, 179 Wishes of Youth Blanchard, .... 801 Wit Pope, 432 Withered Roses, Winter, 660 Without and Within, Lowell 761 Woodbines in October, C. F. Bates, .... 31 Woodman, Spare that Tree Morris, 388 Words for Parting, Clement, 129 Work and Worship, W.A.Butler,. ... 87 Worship Richardson, .... 458 Worth and Cost, Holland, 273 Wouldn't you Like to Know, Saxe, 475 Would Wisdom for Herself be Wooed, Patmore, 411 xxxvi CONTENTS. Wounds, Fawcett, 220 Wrecked in the Tempest, ,. . Falconer, 217 Written at an Inn at Henley, '. . Shenstone 498 Written on Sunday Morning, . , H. Sauthey, .... 519 Yawcob Strauss, Adams, 685 Ye Mariners of England, Campbell, 110 Yield not, thou Sad One, to Sighs, Lover, 348 Young Sophocles taking the Prize, J. Fields, 223 Youth and Age, S. T. Coleridge, . . 140 Youth's Agitations, M. Arnold 24 ESDEX OF AUTHOES AIsTD TITLES, ABBEY, HENRY. b. Kondout. N Y., July 11, 1842. PAGE Faciebat 2 May in Kingston 2 The Caliph's Magnanimity . . 1 ADAMS, CHARLES FOLLEN. b. Dorchester, Mass., April 21, 1842. Fritz and I 686 Pat's Criticism 685 Yawcob Strauss 685 ADAlSrS, SARAH FLOWER. b. Cambridge, Eng., Feb. 22, 1805. d. London, Aug. 14, 1849. Nearer, My God, to Thee ... 3 ADDISON, JOSEPH. b. Milston, Wiltshire, Eng., May 1, W72. d. London, Eng., June 17, 1719. Apostrophe to Liberty * . . . 3 Cato's Soliloquy 4 AJKEN, BERKELEY. d. 1864. Uncrowned Kings 797 AKENSIDE, MARK. b. Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Nov. 9, 1721. d. June 27, 1770. Aspirations after the Infinite (Pleasures of the Imagination) Mental Beauty {Pleasures of the Imagination) 7 On a Sermon against Glory . . 4 Riches of a Man of Taste (Pleas- ures of the Imagination) . . 6 The Development of Poetic Creation (Pleasures of the Imagination) g AKERMAN, LUCY EA^ELINA. b. Feb. 21., 1816. d. Providence, R. I., Feb. 21, 1874. Nothing but Leaves 8 ALDRICH, JAMES. b. Orange Co., N. Y., July ». ISMX d. New York, Oct.. 185G. A Death-bed 8 ALDRICH, THOMAS BAILEY, b. Portsmouth, N. H., Nov. 11, 1836. After the Rain . li An Untimely Thought . , . . 10 PAGI Destiny 10 Maple Leaves 12 Masks 12 Nameless Pain 10 Pursuit and Possession .... 11 Rencontre 11 Sleep 11 The Ballad of Bal^ Bell ... 8 The Faded Violet 11 The Rose 12 To any Poet 12 Unsung 10 ALEXANDER, CECIL FRANCES, b. about 1830, England. The Burial of Moses .... 12 ALFORD, HENRY, b. London, 1810. d. ISH. The Aged Oak at Oakley. ... 13 ALLEN, ELIZABETH AKERS. b. Strong. Me.. Oct. 9, 1832. Lives Greenville, N. J. Endurance 14 Every Day 17 Last 15 Rock me to Sleep 15 Until Death 16 Where the Roses Grew .... 15 ALLINGHAM, WILLIAM. b. Ballyshannon, Ireland, 1828. d. Nov. 1889. Autumnal Sonnet 18 Lovely Mary Donnelly .... 686 The Touchstone 18 ALLSTON, WASHINGTON. b. in Waccnmaco. S. C, Nov. 5. 1779. d. Cambridge, Maas., July 9, 1873. Boyhood 19 ANNAN, ANNIE R. b. Mendon. N. Y., Sept. 23, 1847. Recompense 797 ANONYMOUS. The Eggs and the Horses ... 793 Dr. DroUhead's Cure .... 796 APPLETON, THOMAS GOLD, b. Boston, March 3, 1812. d. 1884. To Rouse, the Artist .... 19 To William Lloyd Garrison, after the war 19 XXXVlll INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES. AENOLD, EDWIN. BATES, CHARLOTTE FISKE. b. London, Eng., 1&32. b. New York, Nov. 30, 1838. After Death in Arabia : . . . 21 Florence Nightingale .... She and He 22 20 Consecration . » . . . ^ 31 Make thine Angel Glad . 31 The Old Year and the New 31 ARNOLD, GEORGE. To Victoria 31 b. New York, June 24, 1S34. Woodbines hi October . . 31 d. Strawberiy Farms, N. J., Nov. 9, 1865. Cui Bono ......... 23 BATES, FLETCHER. In the Dark 23 b. New York, Nov. 19, 1831. ARNOLD, MATTHEW. The Clergyman and the Peddler 687 b. Latchani, Eng,, Dec. 24, 1822. d.April 15, 18. 8. The Dead Bee 32 25 The Two Birds 32 Austerity of Poetry Early Death and Fame .... 25 BATES, KATHERINE LEE. East London Goethe {Memorial verses) . . . 24 25 b. Falmouth, Mass., Aug. 12, 1859. Immortttiity 24 25 The Organist ...... 3Z Self-dei en 'ence Youtli's Agitations 24 BAYLY, THOMAS HAYNES. AYTON, SIR ROBERT. b. Bath, England, I7'.)7. d. 1839. The first Gray Hair .... 33 b. Scotland, 1570. d. 1(>J8. Fair and Unworthy 798 Wliy don't the Men Propose . BEATTIE, JAMES. 688 BAILEY, PHILIP JAMES, b. Kincardineshire, Scotland, Oct. 20, 1735. b. Nottingham, Eng., 1816. d. Aug. 18, 1803. The True Measure of Life . . 26 Beauties of Morning {The Min- strel) . . , 34 BAILLIE, JOANNA. Death and Resurrection (The b. Lanarkshire, Scotland, in 17G2 Minstrel) 35 d. at Hampstcad, near London, Feb. 23. ]&51 The Ascent to Fame {The Min- My Love is on her Way . . . Snatches of Mirth in a Dark Life 27 strel) , . . 34 27 The Charms of Nature {The The Kitten 2G Minstrel) 34 The Worth of Fame 26 BEERS, ETHELINDA ELLIOTT. BALLANTINE, JAMES. b, lb27. d. 1879. b. Edinburgh, Scotland, 1&08. d. 1833. The Picket Guard .... 35 Ilka blade o' grass keps its ain Weighing the Baby .... 36 drap o' dew 28 BEAUMONT, FRANCIS. BARBAULD, ANNA LETITIA. b. Leicestershire, 1586, d. March 9, 1016. b. Leicestershire, Eng., June 20, 1743. On the Tombs in Westminster d. near London, March 9, 1825. Abbey 37 Life Thfe Death of the Virtuous . . 28 28 BENJAMIN, PARK. The Sabbath of the Soul . . . 798 b. Demerara, Aug. 14, 1809 d. New York, Sept. 12, 1864. BARKER, DAVID. Press on 779 b. Exeter, Me., 1816. d. 1874. BENNETT, WILLIAM COX. The Covered Bridge 29 b. Greenwich, Eng., 1820. Lives London. Summer Rain ...... 38 BARLOW, JOEL. The Seasons 37 b. Reading, Conn., March 24, 1755. d. Zarnowicke, Poland, Dec. 22, 1812. BENSEL, ANNIE BERRY. To Freedom 29 b. New York City, Sept. 30, 18J9. BARNARD, LADY ANNE. The Lady of the Castle . . . 800 b. Fifeshire, Scotland, Dec. 8, 1750. BENSEL, JAMES BERRY. d. May 8. 1825. b. New York Luy. Aug. 2,1856. d. Feb. 2, '60 . Auld Robin Gray 30 In Arabia ........ 38 BARE, MARY A. BLACKIE, JOHN STUART. . , b. Glasgow, Scotland. b. Glasgow, Scotland, 1809. d. 1895. White Poppies. ...... 798 The Hope of the Heterodox . 800 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES, XX XIX BLAKE, \^^LLrAM. b. London, Nov. 28, 1757. d. Aug. 12, 1828. The Tiger 39 BLAMIRE, SUSANNA. b. Cumberland, Eng., 1744. d. 1734. What ails this Heart o' Mine . 40 BLANCHAUD, LAMAN. b. Great Yarmouth Eng , May 15, 180a d. Feb. 15. im. Hidden Joys 801 The Eloquent Pastor Dead . . 802 Wishes of Youth 801 BLOO^rFIELD, ROBERT. b. Honin^i^on. Eng., Dec. 3, 176G. d. Aug. lU, 1823. A Spring Day (TTie Farmer^ s Boy) 40 A Tempest ( The Farmer's Boy) . 40 Gleaner's Song 43 Harvesting ( The Farmer's Boy) 41 Love of the Country .... 42 To his Mother's Spindle ... 42 BLUNT, WILFRED (?) (Proteus). A Day in Sussex 803 Cold Comfort 803 Laughter and Death 803 The Two Highwaymen .... 802 To One who would make a Con- fession 802 BOKER, GEORGE HENRY. b. Philadelphia, 1S24. d. Jan. 2, 1890. Awaking of the Poetical Fa- culty 45 Dirge for a Soldier 47 In Autumn (Book of the Dead). 804 Love Sonnets 46 My Answer (Bool- of the D 83 BYROM, JOHN. b. near Manchester, Eng., 1691. d. Sept. 28, 1763. Careless Content 705 Spectacles or Helps to Read . 706 The Way a Rumor is Spread . 704 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES, xh BYRON, LORD. b. London, Jan. 22, 1788. d. Missolonglii, Greece, April 19, 1824. Apostrophe to Ada, the Poet's Daughter {Childe Harold) . . 105 Apostrophe to the Ocean (Childe Harold) 100 Byron's Remarkable Prophecy {Childe Harold) 103 Calm and Tempest at Night on Lake Leman {Childe Harold) . 101 Critics {English Bards) ... 706 Epistle to Augusta 95 Fare Thee Well 92 Qenins {Prop Jiecy of Dante) . . 99 Greece {Childe Harold) . ... 105 Inscription 94 Love ( The Giaour) 97 Maid of Athens 94 On Completing my Thirty-sixth Year {His last verses) .... 107 One Presence Wanting {Childe Harold) 104 She Walks in Beauty .... 93 Sleep (T^e Dream) 97 Sonnet on Chillon 93 Sun of the Sleepless 92 The First Day of Death {The Giaour) 97 The Isles of Greece {Don Juan) . 98 The Misery of Excess {ChUde Harold) 100 Waterloo {Childe Harold) ... 106 When Coldness Wraps this Suf- fering Clay 92 CAMPBELL, THOJklAS. b. Glasgow, Scotland, July 27, 1777. d. Boulogne, France, June 15, 1844. Against Skeptical Philosophy {Pleasures of Hope) .... 117 Apostrophe to Hope {Pleasures of Hope) 117 Battle of the Baltic 114 Domestic Happiness {Pleasures of Hope) 116 Exile of Erin 112 Field Flowers Ill Hallowed Ground ....*. 108 Hohenlinden 112 Hope in Adversity {Pleasures of Hope) 116 How Delicious is the Winning . 110 Lord Ullin's Daughter .... Ill Song 115 Song 707 The Distant in Nature and Ex- perience {Pleasures of Hope) . 115 The Last Man 109 Tlie River of Life ...... 114 To a Young Lady 708 To the Rainbow 113 'iribute to Victoria 115 le Mariners of England ... 110 CANNING, GEORGE, b. London, Aprini,1770. d Chiswick, Au}i. 8, 1827. The University of Gottingen . 708 CAREW, THOMAS. b. Devonshire, Eng., 1589. d. 1639. Ask Me no More 118 Disdain Returned 118 CARLETON, WILL. b. Hudson, Michigan, Oct. 21, 1845. The New Year's Baby {From Farm Ballads) 709 CARLYLE, THOMAS. b. Ecclefechan, Dumfriesshire, Scotland, Dec. 4, 17i)5 d. Chelsea, London, 1881. CuiBono? 119 To-day 118 CARY, ALICE. b. near Cincinnati, Ohio, April 26, 1820. d. New York, Feb. 12, 1871. A Dream 121 Counsel 121 Life 119 Life's Mystery 122 No Ring 122 Spent and Misspent 121 The Ferry of Gallaway ... 120 CARY, PHCEBE. b. near Cincinnati, Ohio. Sept. 4, 1824. d. Newport, R. I., July 31, 1871. Answered 127 Archie 125 Conclusions 126 Dead Love 123 Nearer Home 123 Our Homestead 127 The Lady Jaqueline 124 CHATTERTON, THOMAS. b. Bristol, Eng., Nov. 20, 1752. d. London, Aug. 25, 1770. On Resignation . 810 CHAUCER, GEOFFREY. b. London, 1328 ? d. Oct. 25, 1400. Good Counsel 811 The Parson 810 To his Empty Purse 812 CHENEY, JOHN VANCE. May 812 CLARK, LUELLA. b. America. If You Love Me 12e CLARK, SARAH D. The Soldanella 128 CLEMMER, MARY ANN. b. Utica, N. Y., 1839. d. Aug. 18, 1884. Nantasket 130 W^aiting 131 Words for Parting 128 CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH. b. Liverpool, Jan. 1, 1819. d. Florence, Nov. 13, 1861. Becalmed at Eve 131 Natura Naturans 132 No More 131 xiii INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES. COLERIDGE, HARTLEY. b. near Bristol, Eng., Sept. 19. 1796. d. Ambleside, Eng , Jan. 19, 1849. Address to Certain Grold-flshes , No Life Vain Kovember Song. The Flight of Youth .... COLERIDGE, SAMUTEL TAYLOR. b. Devonshire, Eng., Oct. 21, 1772. d. London, July 25, 1834. Bell and Brook {Three Graves) . Broken Friendships (CTimfafie/) Complaint and Reproof . . . Epigram From an Ode to the Rain . . . From Dejection From Lines Composed in a Con- cert-room Hymn before Sunrise in the Val- ley of Cliamouui Lines to a Comic Author . . . Love Love, Hope and Patience in Education Names Penance of the Ancient Mariner {Ancient Mariner) The Ancient Mariner Refreshed by Sleep {Ancient Mariner) . The Ship Becalmed {Ancient Mariner The Voices cf the Angels . . Youth and Age • COLLIER, THOMAS STEPHENS, b. New York, 1842. An October Picture . . . o . Complete Off Labrador COLLINS, MORTEMER. b. Plymouth, Eng., 1827. d. 1876. In view of Death Last Verses COLLINS, WILLIAM. b Chichester, Eng., Dec. 25, 1720. d. Chichester, Eng., 1756 Ode on the Death of Thomson . Ode to Evening Ode to Simplicity Ode to the Brave On True and False Taste in Music The Passions COOK, CLARENCE CHATHAM. b. Dorchester, Mass., Sept. 8, 1828. On one who Died in INIay . . . COOK, ELIZA. b. London, Eng., 1817. d. Sept. 23, 1889. After a Mother's Death . . Ganging to and Ganging frae My Old StraAV Hat Song of the Hempeeed . Song of {he Ugly IMaiden 134 1^ 133 134 133 136 136 141 711 710 136 710 138 710 141 140 710 135 135 135 135 140 143 143 142 144 144 148 147 144 145 145 145 812 150 150 150 149 151 COOKE, PHILIP PENDLETON, b. Martinsburg, Va., Oct. 26, 1816. d. Jan. 20, 1850. Florence Vane 151 COOKE, ROSE TERRY, d. July 18, 1892. b. Uartford, Conn., Feb. 17, 1827. The Iconoclast . 152 Then c . 153 Trailing Arbutus ....,• 162 COOLBRITH, INA D. In Blossom Time ...... 153 The Mother's Grief 154 COOLIDGE, SUSAN (Sarah Woolsey) b. Cleveland, Ohio. Influence 814 Miracle 814 One Lesser Joy 813 CORNAATELL, HENRY S. b. Charlestown, N. H., 1831. The Dragon-fly ..... .815 The Spider 815 COTTON, CHARLES. b. Staffordshire, Eng., 1630. d. 1687. Coutentation 154 In the Quiet of Nature (From Retirement) 154 COWLEY, ABRAHAM. b. London, 1618. d. Chertsey, July 28, 1667. Distance no Barrier to the Soul {Friendshity in Absence) . . . 156 Of Myself 155 On the Shortness of Life . . . 156 Reason an aid to Revelation {Reason) • . . 156 COWPER, WILLIAM. b. Hertfordshire, Eng., Nov. 26, 1731. d. Norfolk, Eng., April 2.5, 1800. A Faithful Picture of Ordinary Society ( Conversation) . . . 715 Alexander Selkirk 161 Apostrophe to Popular Applause {The Task) 157 Descanting on Illness (Coraverso- tion) 715 John Gilpin 711 Light Shining Out of Darkness. 157 Mercy to Animals (^TTie J^as^•) . 160 Pairing-time Anticipated . . . 716 The Captious {Co?irersation) . . 716 The Freedom of the Good {The Task) 158 The Emphatic Talker ( Conversa- tion) 715 The Poplar Field 157 The'Post-hoY {The Task) . . . 161 The Soul's Progress Checked {Retirement) 161 The Tongne {Conversation) . . 714 The Uncertain Man {Conversor turn) . c 614 INDEX OF AUTHOnS AND TITLES, xliii The Winter's Evening {The Task) 158 To Mary . - 162 COXE, ARTHUR CLEVELAND, b. Mendham, N. J. May 10, 1818. Watchwords 816 CRABBE, GEORGE. b. Aldborouxh, Eug., Dec. 24, 1754. d. Feb. 3, 1832. Advice to one of Simple Life (The Patron) • . 718 Against Rash Opinions {Gentle- man Fanner) 165 Apostrophe to the Wliiuisical {The Village) 165 BooViS {The Libraru) 170 Controversialists ( The Library) . 168 External Impressions Depend- ent on the Soul's Moods {Lov- er's Jouniep) 167 Folly of Litigation {Gentleman Farmer) 164 Friendship in Age and Sorrow {Parting Hour) 168 Learning' is Labor {Schools) .. . 164 Life {Parting Hour) 168 Man's Dislike to be Led {Dumb Orators 165 Philosophy {Library) .... 169 Quacks {From Physic) .... 718 Reporters (From the Newspaper) 717 Sleep the Detractor of Beauty {Edward Shore) 163 Sly Lawyers {From Laic) . . . 718 The Awful Vacancy (!Z'/fe Parish Jiegister) 165 The Condemned, His Dream and its Awakenijig {Prisons) . . 166 The Perils of Genius {Edward Sliare) 163 The Readei-s of Dailies {From the Newspaper) 717 The Teacher (5c/w)oZs) .... 164 The Religious Journal (From the Newspaper) 717 The Universal Lot ( The Library ) 169 The Vacillating Purpose {Ed- VKird Shore) 163 Tlie Young Poet's Visit to the Hall(7'/ie'/'a/ro?0 . . . • . 719 To Critics ( The lAbrary) ... 168 Union of Faith and Reason Ne- cessary {The Library) ... 169 CRAIK, DINAH MARLA MULOCK. b. Stoke-upon-Trent, Eno;.,1826. d. Oct. 12,'87. Green Things Growing .... 170 My Little Boy that Died ... 172 Now and Afterwards .... 170 Pliilip My King 171 Plighted 171 Resigning 172 Too Late 172 CRANCH, CHRISTOPHER PEARSE. b. Alexandria; Va., March 8, isir?. d. Cambridge, Mass., Jan. 19, 18D2. A Thrush in a Gilded Cage . . 173 Compensation 174 I in Thee, and Thou in Mo . . 176 Memorial Hall 174 Shelling Peas 719 Soft, Brown, Smiling Eyes . . 176 The Dispute of the Seven Days 721 Thought 175 Why? 176 CRASHAW RICHARD. b. Cambridgeshire, Eng. d. Loreto, Italy. Lines on a Prayer Book ... 816 CROLY, GEORGE. b. Dublin, Aug., 1780. d. Nov. 24, 1860. Cupid Growing Careful . ... 178 Evening 178 CROT\TsE, JOHN, b. Nova Scotia, d. 1708. Wishes for Obscurity .... 17? CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN. b. Blackwood, Scotland, Dec. 7, 1785. d. London, Oct. 2y, 1842. A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea 180 She's Gane to Dwell in Heaven 180 Thou Hast Sworn by thy God ■ 179 CURTIS, GEORGE WILLIAM. b. Providence, R. I., Feb. 24, 1824. d. Aug. ?1, IW. Egyptian Serenade ..... 181 Major and Minor 181 Music in the Air 181 DANA, RICHARD HENTIY. b. Cambridge, Mass., Nov. 15, 1787. d. Feb. 2, 1879. The Husband and Wife's Grave 181 llieSoul 182 DEMAREST, MARY LEE. My Ain Countree 183 De VERE, SIR AUBREY. b. Limerick, Ireland, 1783 ? d. 1846. Columbus o 184 Misspent Time 184 De VERE, sir AUBREY THOMAS, b. Limerick, Ireland, 1814. Affliction . c 185 All Things Sweet when Prized . 08^ Beatitude 186 Bending Retweeu Me and the Taper . 185 Happy Are They ....... 185 Power of Poesy {Poetic Faculty) 184 The Angels Kiss Her ... 185 The Mood of Exaltation , . 186 De VERE, MARY AINGB. A Leva Song » » SHI DICKENS, CHARLES. b. Portsmouth, Eng., Feb. 7, 1812. d. Gad's Ilill, London, June 9, 1870. The Ivy Greea •••••». 187 xliv' INDEX OF AUTEOUS AND TITLES. DICKINSON, CHARLES M. A\7\fe {Eleonora) 206 b. LowviUe, N. Y., 1842. Beautiful Death {Eleonoro) . . 206 The Children 187 Charity (Eleomro) From "The Cock and the 206 DICKINSON, MARY LOWE. Fox" 722 If we had but a Day 188 Judgment in Studying the Bible {lieligio Laid) The Avoidance of Religious Dis- 205 DOBELL, SYDNEY THOMPSON. b. Peckham, Rye, Eng., 1824. putes {Religio Laid) .... 205 d. Aug. 22, 1874. The Bible {lieligio Laid) . . . The Light of Reason {Religio 204 America 189 Home, Wounded 189 Laid) 204 DOBSON, AUSTIN. The Model Preacher {Character of a Good Parson) 207 b. England, 1840. The Wit {Absalom and Achito- Farewell, Renown 190 phel) Under the Portrait of John 207 More Poets Yet 722 The Child Musician 190 190 Milton o '>04 The Prodigals du:nbar, williajNI. DODGE, MARY MAPES. b. Salton, Scotland, about 1460. d. about 1530. b.l838. Death in Life 191 All Earthly Joy Returns in Pain 208 Heart Oracles 192 DYER, SIR EDWARD. My Window Ivy 191 b. about 1540. The Child and the Sea .... The Human Tie 192 191 My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is . 819 The Stars . 192 EASTMAN, CHARLES GAI^IAGE. b. Fryeburg, Me., June 1. 1816. d. Burlington, Vt., 1861. DODGE, MARY B. Loss 817 A O C1J. nno DONNE, JOHN. ELIOT, GEORGE (]Maeia>^ Evans Cross). b. London, 1573. d. March 31, 1631. b. Warwickshire, Eng., 1820. d. Dec. 2, 1880. The Farewell 818 May I Join the Choir Invisible 209 DORR, HENRY RIPLEY. ELLIOT, JANE. b. Rutland, Vt., Oct. 27, 1858. b. 1727. d. 1805. Door and Window 818 The Flowers of the Forest . . 210 DORR, JULIA CAROLINE RIPLEY. ELLIOTT, EBENEZER. b. Charleston, S. C, 1825. b. near Rotherham, Yorkshire, Eng., March At Dawn 196 17,1781. d. Dec. 1,1849. At the Last 193 Not for Naught 212 Five • 195 Poor Andrew ',^11 Peradventure 194 The Poet's Prayer 212 Thou Knowest 195 194 The Press ?11 What Need? What She Thought 193 EMERSON, RALPH- W^T,DO. b. Boston, Mass , May 25, 1803. DRAKE, JOSEPH RODIVIAN. d. Concord, Mass., April 27, 1882. b. New York, Aug. 7, 17a5. d. Sept 21, 1820 Concord Fight 215 The American Flag ..... 197 Forbearance . . . . » . . Ode , . . , 215 CIS DRAYTON, MICHAEL. The Humble-Bee .<,... ^ ?14 b. Warwicksliire, Eng., 1563. d. 163L The Problem , o , . . . . 213 The Parting ,,....,. 198 TheRhodora ..,.,.. 214 DRUMMOND, WILLIAM. FABFR, FREDERIC WTTJJAM, b. Hawthornden. Scotland, Nov. IS. 158& b. Durliam, Eng.. June 28, 1814. d. Bronipton, Eng , Sept ?6. 1863. d. Dec. 4, 1648. Despite All . . .... 198 Harsh Judgments 216 What We ToU For .... 198 Low Spirits -..--.... 217 DRYDEN, JOHN The Right Must Win . , . , 216 b. Northamptonshire, Enij., Aug S: 1631. FALCx^NER, WILLIAM b. Edinburgh, Scotland, about 1^30. A Charactei {Absalom and Achi- d. (lost at sea) 1769. tophet) . . , , T22 A Sunset Picture (The SiUv Alexander's Feast ..... 199 vn-eck) ..... • . . m INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES, xlv Wrecked in the Tempest {The GAY, WILLIAM WHEELER. Shipwreck) 217 b. Malone, N. Y., Jan. 16, 1854. FAWCETT, EDGAK. Apollo Belvedere 820 b. New York City, 1847. Ideals 219 GILDER, RICHARD WATSON. The Wood-Tiirtle ??1 Wounds 220 And Were that Best A Thought 233 v;« FAY, ANNA MARIA. I Count my Time by Times that I Meet Thee b. Savannah, Ga., March 12, 1828. 2.32 Roundel ?,n Love's Jealousy 233 Sleep and Death 222 There is Nothing New under the Sun The Sower FENNER, CORNELIUS GEORGE. ?S1 b. Providence, R. I., Dec. 50, 1822. (1. Cincinnati, O., Jan. 4, 1847. Through Love to Light . . • . Two Love Quatrains Weal and Woe 233 ?32 Gulf-Weed 222 231 FIELDS. ANNLE. What Would 1 Save Thee From 232 Aged Sophocles Addressing the GOLDSMITH, OLIVER. Athenians (Sophocles) . . . 224 b. Pallas, County of Longford. Ireland, Nov. 10, 1728. d. London, April 4, 1774. At the Forge 224 Passage from the Prelude . . To Sappho Young Sophocles Taking the 225 223 Fra.nce (The Traveller) . . . . 2.36 Hope ( The Oratorio of the Cap- tivity) Memory (The Oratorio of the 237 Prize (Last Contest of Aeschy- lus) ?.?,^ FIELDS, JAMES THOMAS. The Happmess of Passing One's 237 b. Portsmouth. N. H., Dee. 31, 1817. Age in Familiar Places (De- d Boston, Mass., AprU24, 1881. serted Village) 235 A Character 226 The Prophet's Song ( The Orato- A Protest 22R rio of the Captivity) . . ^ . The Village Preacher (Deserted 237 Courtesy 226 First Appearance at the Odeon 227 Village) 234 In Extremis 226 The Village Schoolmaster (De- Morning and Evening by the Sea 226 serted VUlage) 235 The Perpetuity of Song . . . 225 GOODALE, DORA READ. FINCH, FRANCIS MILES. b. South Egremont, Mass., Oct 29, I86& b. Ithaca, N. Y.. 1827. Ripe Grain . . • 2,37 The Blue and the Gray . . . 'm FRENEAU, PHILIP. b. New York City. Jan. 2, 1752. d. Monmouth, N. J., Dec. 18, 1832. GOODALE, ELAINE. b. South Egremont, Mass., Oct 9, 1863. Ashes of Roses 237 May to April 228 GOSSE, EDMUND W. GALLAGHER, WILLIAM D. b. London, 1849. b. Philadelphia, Aug., 180a Sunshine in March 821 The Laborer Two Aprils 820 820 Villanelle «?1 GOULD, HANNAH FLAGG. GANNETT, WILLIAM CHANNING b. Lancaster, Mass.. Sept. 3, 1789. b. Boston, Mass, 1840. d. Newburyport, Mass., Sept. 5, 1865. Listening for God 228 A Name in the Sand .... 238 GARRISON, WILLIAM LLOYD. The Soul's Farewell .-.•.. 238 b Newburyport,Mas8., Dec. 12,1804. a. New York, May 24, 1879. GRAHAME, JAMES. b. Glasgow, Scotland, 1765, d. 1811. The Free Mind 229 Sabbath Morning (The Sabbath) 239 GASSAWAY, FRANK H. GRAY. DAVID Bay Billy 229 b. England, 1838. d. England, 1861. GAY, JOHN Die Down, O Dismal Day . . . 822 b. Devonshire, Eng , 1688. If it Must Be 822 d. London, Dec 4, 1732. Wintry Weather 822 The Hare and Many Friends . . The Mother, the Nurse, and the 725 GRAY, ELINOR. Je'airj ... c .... . 726 Isolation ..,••••.. yM xlvi INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES. GRAY, ELLIS (Louisa T. Craigen). b. Roxbury, Mass., Oct. 5, 1&39. Sunshine 823 GRAY, THOMAS. b. London, Dec. 2G, 1716. d. Cuinbridge, Eng., July 24, 1771. Elegy in a Country Churchyard 240 Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton 244 Ode on tlie Spring 243 The Pleasures Arising from Vicissitude 243 GUSTAFSON, ZADEL BARNES, b. Middletown, Conn., March 9, 1841. Little Martin Craghan .... 245 GREENWELL, DORA. b. Greenwell Ford, Durham, Dec. 6, 1822. d. Clillou, Eng., March 2, 1772. d. .\ltrive. Scutiaud, Nov. 21, 1835. The Skylark 271 HOLLAND, JOSIAH GILBERT. b. Belelicrtown, Mass., July 24, 1819. d. Oct, 12, 1881. A Song of Doubt {Bitter Sweet) . 271 A Song of Faith •' " . 272 Cradle Song " " . 274 Life from Death " " . 273 On the Righi 275 Strength Through Resisted Temptation {Bitter Sweet) , . 273 The Press of Sorrow {Bitter Sioeet) 273 The Type of Struggling Human- ity {Marble I'ropheci/) ... 275 To an lufaut Sleeping {Bitter Sweet) 274 What is the Little One Thinking About? {/iitter Sweet) ... 272 What will it Matter? . . .275 Worth and Cost {Bitter Sweet) . 273 hol:me, saxe. (?) Three Kisses of Farewell ... 276 HOLLIES, OLIVER WENDELL. b. Cambridge, Mass.. Aug. 29, 1809. d. 1894. A Familiar Letter to several Correspondents 732 Dorothy Q. — A Family Portrait 277 Hymn of Trust 279 Nearing the Snow-liue .... 278 The September Gale .... 733 Tlae Two Streams ...... 279 The Voiceless 276 Under the Violets 278 HOOD, THOMAS. b. London, May 23, 1799. d. London, May 3, 1845. Ballad 284 Faithless Nelly Gray .... 739 Faithless Sally Brown .... 740 Farewell, Life ! 283 I'm not a Single Man .... 737 I Remember, 1 Remember . . 280 John Day 735 Love Bettered by Time ... 284 Melancholy 279 Number One 736 The Art of Book-keeping . . . 741 The Bridge of Sighs 282 The Cigar 738 The Death-bed 281 The Double Knock 738 The Song of the Shirt .... 281 To a Child Embracing his Mo- ther • .... 280 To my Infant Son 734 True Death 2&4 HOPKINS, LOUISA PARSONS, b. Newburyport, April 19, 1834. d. 1862. Autumn {/'ersephrme) . . . • 829 Early Summer {Persephone) . . 828 December 828 Hymn from '* Motherhood" . . 829 Late Summer {Persej)hone) . . 829 Tempestuous Deeps 828 HOPKINSON, FRANCIS. b. Pliiladelphia, 1708. d. May 9, 1791. The Battle of the Kegs . ... 742 HOUGHTON, GEORGE. b. Cambridge, Mass., Aug. 12, 1850. d. 1891. Ambition {Allium Leaves) . . . 285 Charity " " ... 2m Coui'age " " ... 285 Daisy " " ... 286 Purity " ♦* ... 286 Regret " " ... 2fc-5 This Name of Mine {Album Leaves) 285 Valborg Watching Axel's De- parture {Legend of St. Olafs Kirk) 284 HOUGHTON, LORD (Richard Monckton Milnes). b. Yorkshire, Eng., June 19, 1809. d. Aug. 11,85. All Things Once are Things For- ever 289 Divorced 288 Forever Unconfessed .... 288 I Wandered by the Brookside . 287 Labor 286 Since Yesterday 286 The Worth of Hours .... 287 HOWE, JULIA WARD, b. New York, May 27. 1819. Battle Hymn of the Republic . 289 Imagined Reply of Eloisa {Thoughts in Pere La Chaise) . 289 Stanzas from the " Tribute to a Servant" 2fl0 The Dead Christ 291 HOWELLS, WILLIAM DEAN, b. Martinsville, Ohio, March 1, 1837. Convention 292 Tlianksgiving 292 The Mulberries 292 The Mysteries 292 The Poet's Friends 232 xlviii INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES. HOWITT, MARY. b. Uttoxetcr, Enp;, 1804. d. Feb. 2, 1888. Tlie Broom-Flower 294 Tibbie Inglis 295 HOWITT, WILLIAM. b. Derbyshire, Eng., 1795. d. March 2, 18"9. Departure of the Swallow . . 296 HOYT, RALPH. b. New York, 1808, d. 187& Old 296 HUNT, LEIGH. b. Southgate, Eng., Oct. 19, 1784. d. Putney, Aug. 28, 1859. Abou Ben Adhem 299 Death 301 May and the Poets 301 Stanzas from Song of the Flowers 299 The Grasshopper and Cricket . 300 HUTCHINSON, ELLEN MACKAY. Autumn Song 830 On the Road 830 Sea-Avay 830 The Prince 830 INGELOW, JEAN. b. Ipswich, Eng., 18.30. Like a Laverock in the Lift . . 307 Songs of Seven 301 The Long White Seam .... 307 JACKSON, HELEN (H. H.) b. Amlierst, Mass., 1831- d. Aug. 8, 1885. July 831 March 831 My Nasturtiums {The Century) . 832 The Last Words " " .830 JENNISON, LUCIA W. (Owen Innsley). b. Newton, Mass., 1850. At Sea 833 Dependence 833 Her Roses 832 In a Letter 832 Outre-mort 832 JOHNSON, ROBERT UNDERWOOD, b. Washington, D. C, Jan. 12, 1S53. In November (From The Century) 834 JOHNSON, SAMUEL. b. Lichfield, Eng.. Sept. 18, 1709. d. London, Dec. 13, 1784. Charles XII. ( Vanity of Human Wishes) 308 Enviable AgQ {Vanity of Human Wishes) . . • 308 The Fate of Poverty (London) . 309 Wisdom's Prayer {Vanity of Human Wishes) 308 JONSON, BEN. b. Westminstsr, London, June 11, 1674. d. Aug. 16, 1637. Epitaph 310 Good Life. Long Life . . . • 310 Hymn to Cynthia 310 The Sweet Neglect 310 ToCelia .309 JOYCE, ROBERT DWYER. d. 1883. Kilcoleman Castle 834 The Banks of Anner .... 835 KAY, CHARLES DE. Fingers 836 KEATS, JOHN. b. London, 1795. d. Rome, Feb. 24, 1821. Beauty's Immortality {Endy- mion) 312 Fancy 311 Ode on the Poets 311 Ode to a Nightingale .... 312 On Reading Chapman's Homer . 314 Sonnet Composed on Leaving England 311 The Terror of Death .... 310 KEBLE, JOHN. b. Fairford, Gloucestershire, Eng., April 25. 1792. d. Bournemouth, Eng., March 29, 1866. Since all that is not Heaven must Fade 316 Where is thy Favored Haunt ? . 314 Why Should we Faint, and Fear to Live Alone? 315 ICEMBLE, FRANCES ANNE. b. London, 1811. d. Jan. 16, 1893. Absence 317 Faith 318 KEY, FRANCIS SCOTT. b. Frederick Co., Md., Aug. 1, 1779. d. Baltimore, Jan. 11, 1843. The Star-Spangled Banner . . 318 KIMBALL, HARRIET McEWEN. b. Portsmouth, N. H., 1834. Day Dreaming 320 Good News 319 Heliotrope 319 The Last Appeal 320 Trouble to Lend 319 KING, HENRY. b. England. 1591. d. 16(59. From the "Exequy on hib Wife" 836 KINGSLEY, CHARLES. b. Holne, Devonshire. Eng., June 12, 1819. d. Eversley, Jan. 24, 1875. A Farewell 321 Dolcino to Margaret 321 Sands of Dee 321 The Three Fishers 321 KNOX, WILLIAM. b. Roxburghe, Scotland. 1789. d. 1825. Oh ! whv Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud 322 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLE 3. xli: lacoste, marie r. ^ b Savannah, Ga., 1842. Somebody's Darling 323 LAIGHTON, ALBERT. b Portsmouth, N. H. 1829. d. Feb. 6, 1886. By the Dead 324 Under the Leaves 324 LAMB, CHARLES. b London, Feb. 1», 1775. d Edmonton, Eng., Dec. 27, 1834. Hester 325 Old Familiar Faces 325 The Housekeeper 326 LANDON, LiETlTIA ELIZABETH, b. Chelsoa, Eng., 1802. d. Africa, Oct. id, 1&38. Success Alone Seen 326 The Little Shroud 326 Sir Walter Scott at Pompeii . . 327 The Poet 327 LANDOR, WALTER SAVAGE. b Ipsley Court, Warwickshire, Eng., Jan. SO, 1(75. d. Florence, Sept. 17, 1854. A Request 328 Death of the Day 328 In No Haste 327 I Will Not Love 328 Rose Aylmer 328 Rubies 327 The One White Hair .... 743 Under the Lindens 743 LANIER, SIDNEY. b. Macon, Ga., 1842. d. 1881. Betrayal 329 Evening Song 328 From the Flats% 328 LARCOM, LUCY. b. Beverly Farms, Mass., 1826. d. Apr. 18, 1893. A Strip of Blue 332 Hand in Hand with Angels . . 332 Hannah Binding Shoes ... 329 Heaven near the Virtuous {From Hints) 333 The Curtain of the Dark {From Hints) 330 Unwedded 330 LATHROP, GEORGE PARSONS. b. Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands, Aug. 25, 1851. A Face in the Street .... 336 New Worlds 334 Sailor's Song 335 The Lily Pond 334 To My Son . 334 LATHROP, ROSE HAWTHORNE. The Striving of Hope (Closing Chords) 837 LAZARUS, EMMA. b. New York, July 22, 1849. d. Nov. 19, 1887. A March Violet 337 Night (Scenes in the Wood) . . 337 Pleasant Prospect (Scenes in the Wood) 336 Remember * 338 LELAND, CHARLES GODFREY, b. Philadelphia, Aug. 15, 1824. City Experiences {Breitmann About Toton) 744 Mine Own 339 Schnitzerl's Philosopede . , . 745 LEVER, CHARLES JAMES. b. Dublin, Ireland, Aug. 31, 18U6. d. Trieste, June 1, 1872. W^idow Malone 745 I.£YDEN, JOHN. b. Denholm. Scotland, Sept. 8, 1775. d. Batavia, E. I., Aug. 21, 1811. Ode to an Indian Coin .... 339 LODGE, THOMAS. b. Lincolnshire, Enjr., 1556. d. London, Sept., 1625. Rosaline 340 LOGAN, JOHN. b. Fala, near Edinburgh, Scotland, 1748. d. London, Dec. 28, 1788. The Cuckoo 341 LONGFELLOW, HENRY W. b. Portland, Me., Feb. 27, 1807. d. Cambridge, Mass., March 24, 1882. A Day of Sunshine 345 Maiden and Weathercock . . 343 Nature »43 President Garfield 837 Stay, Stay at Home, my Heart, and Rest 342 The Meeting 342 The Ladder of St. Augustine . 341 The Tides 343 Three Friends of Mine . ... 314 The Two Angels 344 Weariness 342 LONGFELLOW, SAMUEL. b. Portland. Me., June 18, 1819. d. Oct. 3, 1892. From Mire to Blossom .... 346 LOVELACE, RICHARD. b. Woolwich, Eng., 1618. d. Ix)ndon, 1658. To Lucasta, on Going beyond the Seas 316 To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars 346 LOVER, SAMUEL. b. Dublin, Ireland, 1797. d. July 6, 1868. Fatherland and Mother Tongue 748 Father Molloy 748 Oh ! Watch You Well by Day- Ught 347 RoryO'More 746 The Angel's Wing 347 The Birth of St. Patrick ... 746 The Child and the Autumn Leaf 347 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES, Widow Machree 747 Yield Not, Thou Sad One, to Siglis 348 LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL. b Cambridge, yasB., Feb. £2, 1819. d. 1891. After the Burial 350 Auf Wiedersehen 351 June {Under the Willows) . . 351 Storm at Appledore 352 The Courtin' {Biglow Papers) . 748 The Generosity of Nature ( Vision of Sir Launfal) . , . 349 The Heritage 348 Without and Within .... 761 UJ^T, GEORGE. b. Nowburyport, Mass., Dec. 31, 1803. d. 1885. The Comet 838 LYTE, HENRY FRANCIS. b. Ednam, Scotland, 1793. d. 1847. Abide With Me 353 LYTLE, WILLIAM HAINES. b. Cincinnati, Nov. 2, 1826. Killed battle Chickaniauga, Sept. 20, 1863. Antony to Cleopatra .... 353 LYTTOX, LORD (Edward Bulwer). b. EiiglatKl, 1803. d. 1873. Caradoc, the Bard, to the Cym- riaus {Klnff Arthur) .... 839 Is it all Vanity 838 JiisMce, the Regenerative Power {Richelieu) .839 LYTTON, ROBERT BULWER (Owen :Meredith). b. Herts, Eng., Nov. 8, 1831. d. Paris, 1891. A Character ((Lucile) .... 753 Changes 840 Fame {Lucile) .... 753 Few in Many " .... 752 Life a Victory *' .... 841 The Chess-board 840 The Erratic Genius {Lucile) . . 752 The Stomach of Man " . . 751 The Unfulfilled " . . 841 MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON. b. Leicestershire, Eng., Oct. 25, 1800. d. London, Dec. 28, 1859. From " The Lay of Horatius " . 354 MACDONALD, GEORGE, b. Huntley, Scotland, 1823. O Lassie ayont the Hill .... 359 The Baby 359 MACE, FRANCES LAUGHTON. b. Orono, Me., Jan. 15, 1836. Easter Morning 360 Only Waiting 360 The Heliotrope 361 MACKAl, CHARLES. b. Perth, Scotland, 1812. d. Dec. 1889. A Question Answered .... 365 At a Club Dinner 75€ Be Quiet, do 757 Clear the Way ! 362 Cleon and I 362 Extract from "A Reverie in the Grass " 365 Happiness 757 O ye Tears 364 Tell me, ye Winged Winds . . 366 The Child and the Mourners . 361 The Good Time Coming ... 363 The great Critics 757 The Light in the Window ... 363 The little Man 758 To a Friend afraid of Critics . 754 MANN, CAMERON. b. New York City, April 3, 1851. The Longing of Circe ... 842 MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER. b. Canterbury. Eng., Feb. 26,1564. d. Deptford, June 16, 1593. A Passionate Shepherd to his Love 842 MARSTON. PHILIP BOURKE. b. London, 1850. d. Feb., 1887. From Afar 843 Too Near 843 MAHVELL, ANDREW. b. Winestead, Yorkshire, Eng., March 2, 1621. d. Loudon, Aug. 17, 1678. A Drop of Dew 367 MASON, CAROLINE ATHERTON. May (From The Century) ... 844 An open Secret " " 844 MASSEY, GERALD. b. Herts, Eng., May 29, 1828. And thou hast Stolen a Jewel . 368 Jerusalem the Golden .... 367 The Kingliest Kings 368 MCCARTHY, DENIS FLORENCE, b. Cork, Ireland, 1820. Summer Longings 369 McKAY, JAMES I. A Stunmer Morning 842 MERRICK, JAMES. b. Reading, Eng., Jan. 8, 1720. d. Reading, Eng., June 5, 1709. The Chameleon 759 MICKLE, WIIXIAM JULIUS, b. Langholm, Scotland, 1734. The Sailor's Wife 372 MICHELL, NICHOLAS. Alexander at Persepolis . . . 370 Persia 370 The Paradise of Oabul. ... 371 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES, K MILLER, ABRAHAM PERRY. b. Ohio, Oct. 15, 1837. Keep Faith in Love (Consolation) 374 Refuge from Doubt " 376 Turn to the Helper " 373 MILTON. JOHN. b. London, Dec. 9, IGOS. d. London, Nov. 8, lbT4. Apostrophe to Light (Paradise Lost) 381 II Penseroso 376 L'Allegro 375 On his Blindness 379 On Reaching Twenty-three . . 380 On Time 374 Song on May Morning .... 378 Stanzas from "Hymn on the Nativity" 379 The Bower of Adam and Eve (Paradise Lost) 380 To a virtuous young Lady . . 380 MITCHELL, WEIR. The Quaker Graveyard (From The Centiinj) 844 MOIR, DAVID MACBETH. b. Musselburah, Scotland, Jan. 6, 17198. d. Dumfries, July 6, 1851. Stanzas from " Casa Wappy " . 381 MONTGOMERY, JAMES, b. Irvine, Scotland, Nov. 4, 17/1. d. Sheffield, April 30, 1&>4. Aspirations of Youth .... 384 Forever with the liOrd .... 385 Friend after Friend Departs . 384 Love of Country, and of Home . 382 Prayer 383 The common Lot 383 MOORE, THOMAS. b. Dublin, Irelnnd. May 28, 1779. d Slopertoii, Feb. •>o, 1852. As slow our Ship 388 Come, ye Disconsolate .... 387 Estrangement through Trifles (Lalla Rookh) 385 Extracts from Miss Biddy's Let- ters (Fudge Family in Paris) . 760 I Saw from" the Beach .... 387 Oft in the stilly Night .... 386 O Thou who Dry'st the Mourn- er's Tears 386 Recognition of a congenial Spirit (Lalfa Rookh) .... 385 Tlie Bird Let loose 386 The modern puffing System (Aii Epistle to Sanmel Rogers) . . 760 Those Evening Bells .... 387 Thou Art, O God 387 MORRIS, GEORGE P. b. Philadelphia, Oct. 12. 1802. d. New York, July 6, 1864. Woodman, Spare that Tree . . 388 MORRIS, WILLIAM. b. England, 1834. d. Oct. 3, 1896. April (Earthly Paradise) . . 390 December " " , . 390 February " " . . 389 March " " . . 389 MOTHERWELL, WILLIAM. b. Glasgow, Scotland, Oct. 13, 1797. d. Glasgow, Scotland, Nov. 1, 1835. Jeanie Morrison ...... 392 Last Verses 391 My Heid is like to Rend, Willie 391 The Cavalier's Song, 392 They Come ! The merry Sum- mer Months ....*.. 394 MOULTON, ELLEN LOUISE CHANDLER, b. Pomfret, Conn., April 16, 1835. At Sea 845 From a Window in Chamouni . 846 Hie Jacet 846 Left behind 845 My Saint 846 NAIRNE, LADY CAROLINE OLIPHANT. b. Gask, Perthshire, Scotland. July 16, 1766. d. Gask, Oct. 27, 1845. • The Land o' the Leal .... 394 NEWELL, WILLIAM, D.D. b. Littleton, Mass., Feb. 25, 1804. Serve God and be Cheerful . . 395 NEWMAN, JOHN HENRY. b. London, Eng., Feb. 21, is-n. d. 1890. A Voice from afar 396 Flowers without Fruit .... 396 NORTON, ANDREWS. b. Hingham, Mass., Dec. 31, 1786. d. Newport, R. I., Sept. 18, 1853. Scene after a Summer Shower . 39$ NORTON, CAROLINE E. S. S. b. Hampton Court, Eng., 1808. d. 1877. Bingen on the Rhine .... 397 We have been Friends Together 398 O'REILLY, JOHN BOYLE. b. Ireland, 1844. d. Boston, Aug. 10, 1S90. Forever • *W Hidden Sins 401 Peace and Pain 399 The Ride of Collins Graves . . 399 Unspoken Words 401 ORNE, CAROLINE FRANCES. The Gold under the Roses . . 846 OSGOOD, FRANCES SARGENT, b. Boston. Ma'8., June 18, 1811. d. Hingham, Ma-s., May 12, 1880. Laborare est Orare ..... 402 OSGOOD, KATE PUTNAM. ^ -^ b. Fryeburg, Me... 1840. ^' Before the Prime "403 Driving home the Cows . . . 403 lii INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES. O'SHAUGHNESSY, ARTHUR W. E. b. London, 1844. d London, 1881. Song of a Fellow-worker . . . 404 PALFREY, REBECCA S. b. Cambridge, Mass. White underneath 405 PALFREY, SARAH HAMMOND (E. Foxton). b. Cambridge, Mnss. The Child's Plea 847 The Light-house 847 PALMER. WILLIAM PITT. b. Stockbrid-e, Mass., Feb. 22, 1805. d. 1884. The Smack in School ... 762 PARKER, THEODORE. b. Lexington, Mass., Aug. 24, 1810. d. Florence. Italy, May 10, 1800. The Higher Good 406 The Way, the Truth, and the Life 406 PARNELL, THOMAS, b. Dublin, Ireland. K!"!) d. Chester, England, July, 1717. Hymn to Contentment .... 407 PARSONS, THOMAS WJLLIAM, b. Boston, Aug. 18, 1819. d. Sept. 3, 1892. Hudson River ....... 408 Saint Peray 76.3 The Groonisniau to his Misti-ess 410 PATMORE, COVENTRY (Kearsey Digh- ton). b. Woodford, Eng., July 23, 1823. Sweet Meeting of Desires {The Betrothal) 410 Would Wisdom for herself be Wooed 411 PERCIVAL, JAMES GATES. b. Berlin, Conn., Sept. 15, J795. d. Hazelgreen, Wis., May 2, 1857. Apostrophe to the Sun {Prmne- theiis, Part II.) 411 The Coral Grove 413 To Seneca Lake 413 PERRY, NORA, b. Providence, R. L After the Ball 414 In an Hour 415 Some Day of Days 416 Tying her Bonnet under her Chin 415 PHELPS, ELIZABETH STUART. b. Boston, Mass. Aug. 31, 1844. A Letter 417 All the Rivers 416 Deserted Nests 417 George Eliot 416 PIATT, JOHN JAMES, b. Milton, Ind., March 1, 1835. A Song of Content 419 Reading the Milestone .... 418 The Golden Hand 418 The Love-letter 418 The Sight of Angels 418 Two Patrons 418 PIATT, SARAH M. B. b. Lexington, Ky., 1»35. A Dream's Awakening .... 420 Asking for Tears 421 Calling the Dead 421 Last Words 419 Making Peace • 420 That New World 420 The Flowers in the Ground . . 421 To-day 419 PIERPONT, JOHN. b. Litchfield, Conh., April 6, 1785. d. Medford, Mass., Aug. 29, 1866. My Child 422 The Pilgrim Fathers .... 422 Whittling 764 POE, EDGAR ALLAN. b. Boston, Mass., Feb. 19, 1809. d. Baltimore, Md., Oct. 7, 1849. Annabel Lee 423 The Bells 424 The Raven 425 To My Mother 425 POLLOK, ROBERT. b. Muirhouse, Renfrewshire, Scotland, 1799. d. Southampton, Eng., Sept 15, 1827. Lord Byron {Course of Time) . 428 POPE, ALEXANDER. b. London, May 21, 168a d. Twickenham, May 30, 1744. An Author's Complaint {Epistle to Dr. ArtnUhnot) 765 Belinda {Rape of the Lock) . . 767 Charity, gradually Pervasive {Essay on Man) 431 Dullness {Dunciad) 765 Excessive Praise or Blame {Es- say on Criticism) 432 From Eloisa to Abelard ... 429 Just Judgment {Essay on Criti. cism) 432 Man {Essay on Man) .... 430 Merit beyond Beauty {Rape of the Lock) 768 Submission to Supreme Wisdom {Essay on Man) 430 The Universal Prayer .... 4-^3 True 'Nobility {Essay on Man) . 431 Truth to Nature {Essay on Criticism) 432 Virtue, the sole Unfailing H&p- ■pines? {Essay on Ma7i) . . . 431 Wit {Essay on Criticism) . . . 43* PRAED, WINTHROP MACKWORTH. b. London, Eng., 1802. d. July 15, 1839. Quince 771 The Belle of the Ball , , . . 76» INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES. liil PRENTICE, GEORGE DENNISON. b. Preston, Conn., Dec. 18, 1802. d. Louisville. Jan. 2i, 1870. The River in the Mammoth Cave 847 PRESCOTT, MARY N. Asleep 435 The old Story 433 To-day 434 PRESTON, MARGARET JUNKIN. b. Lexington, Va., 1835. Equipoise 434 God's Patience 435 Nature's Lesson 435 Ours 434 Stonewall Jackson's Grave . . 435 There'll Come a Day .... 436 The Shadow 435 The Tyranny of Mood .... 436 PRINGLE, THOMAS. b. Blaiklaw, Scotland. Jan. 5, 1789. d. London, Dec. 5, 1834. Afar in the Desert 437 PRIOR, MATTHEW. b. Wimborne-Minster, Eng., July 21, 1G64. d. Cambridgeshire, Sept. 18, 1721. An Epitaph 773 For my own Monument . . . 772 From "The Thief and the Cor- delier" . . . • 774 Richard's Theory of the Mind {Alma) 774 The wise Man in Darkness (SQlommi) 439 The wise Man in Light (Solomon) 439 PROCTER, ADELAIDE ANNE. b. London, Eng., Oct. SO, 1825. d. London, Feb. 2, 18G4. A Lost Chord 441 A Woman's Question .... 442 Cleansing Fires 442 Incompleteness 443 Judge Not 440 One by One 440 Strive, Wait, and Pray ... 443 Thankfulness 440 Too Late 441 PROCTER, BRYAN WALLER. b. Wiltshire. Eng.. Nov. 21, 1789. d. London. Oct. 5, 1874. A Petition to Time 444 A Prayer in Sickness .... 445 History of a Life 445 I Die for thy sweet Love ... 446 Life 444 Love me if I Live 444 Softly Woo away her Breath . 446 The Poet's Song to his Wife . . 445 The Sea 444 PROCTOR, EDNA DEAN, b. Henniker, N. H. But Heaven, O Lord, I cannot Lose 446 Contoocook River 447 Daily Dying 448 Heroes 448 Sunset in Mo8CO\^ 449 To Moscow 449 QUARLES, FRANCIS. b. Stewards, near Rumford, Eng. 1592. d. London, Sept. 8, 1C44. Grief for the Loss of the Dead . 451 On Doves and Serpents . . . 451 On Man 451 On Sin 451 On the Life of Man 451 The World 450 RALEIGH, SIR WALTER. b. Haves, East Budleigh, Eng.. 1552. Beheaded, Westminster, Oct. 29, 1C18. The Lie 452 The Silent Lover 462 READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN, b. Chester County, Penn., March 12, 1822. d. New York, May 11, 1872. Drifting 456 Sheridan's Ride 453 The Brave at Home 456 The Closing Scene 454 REALF, RICHARD. b. Uckfleld, Eng., 18^. d. Oakland, CaC, 1878. My Slain 457 REDDEN, LAURA C. (Howard Glyndon). Fair and Fifteen . . . . . . .848 RICH, HELEN. b. New York State, June 18, 1827. Silent Mothers 849 RICH, HIRAM. b. Gloucester, Mass., Oct. 28, 1832. Still Tenanted 849 RICHARDSON, CHARLES FRANCIS, b. Francis, Hallowell, Me., May 29, 1851 Amends 458 Imitation 459 Justice 459 Patience 459 Worship . . • 458 RIORDAN, ROGER. Invocation (From TJie Century) 850 RITTER, MARY L. Recompense (From TTie Century) 851 ROBERTS, SARAH, b. Portsmouth, N. H. The Voice of the Grass ... 469 ROBERTSON, HARRISON, b. Murfreesboro.Tenn., Jan. 16, 1856. An Idle Poet (From The Century) 851 Coquette " " 861 liv INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES, ROGERS, SAMUEL. b. near London, July 30, 1763, d. Dec. 18, 1855. Age {HumarA^jife) 463 Exhortation to Marriage . . . 461 Guardian Spirits {Pleasures of Memory) 464 Heart Superior to Head . . . 461 ]Mau's Restlessness 461 Memory {Pleasures of Memory) 463 On aCliild (/?e^ec/io7is). ... 461 The Old School-house {Pleasures of Memory) 464 The Passage from Birth to Age {Human Life) 462 The Perversion of Great Gifts . 460 The Selfish (A'e/cc^ions) . . . 461 True Union {Human Life) . . 462 EOSSETTI, CHRISTINA GEORGIANA. b. London, Eng., Dec, 1830. d. 1894. At Home 466 Remember • • 46.5 Song 465 Sound Sleep 465 The First Spring Day .... 465 Up-hill 464 Wife to Husband 466 ROSSETTI, DANTE GABRIEL. b. London, Eng., 1828. d. London, Eng., April 11, 1882. Lost Days 46S The Blessed Damozel .... 467 The Sea Limits 467 RUSSELL, IRWIN. d. New Orleans, Dec, 1879. Her Conquest (From The Cen- tury) 851 SANGSTER, MARGARET E. b. New Rochelle, N. Y., 1833, Our Own ; ... 468 Sufficient unto the Day . . . 468 SARGENT, EPES. b. Gloucester. Mass., Sept. 27, 1812. d. Dec. m, 1880. A Life on the Ocean "Wave . . 465 A Summer Noon at Sea . . . 471 A Thought of the Past .... 470 Cuba 471 Forget me Not 469 Soul of my Soul 469 The Spring-time will Return . 470 Tropical Weather 471 SAVAGE, MINOT JUDSON. b. Norridgewock, Me., June 10, 1841. Lives Boston, Mass. Life in Death 472 Light on the Cloud 473 Pescadero Pebbles 472 SAXE, JOHN GODFREY. b. Highgate, Vt., June 2, 1816. d. Mar. 31, '87. About Husbands 778 Early Rising 777 How Cyrus Laid the Cable . . 775 I'm Growing old 474 Little Jerry, the Miller ... 474 Railroad Rhyme 779 Somewhere 474 Song of Saratoga 776 The Family Man 779 The Old Man's Motto .... 473 • The "Puzzled Census-taker . . 776 The Superfluous Man .... 775. To my Love 476 Treasure in Heaven 476 Wouldn't you Like to Know . 475 SAXTON, ANDREW BICE. b. Middlefield, N. Y., April 5, 18,i6. Delay (From The Century) . 852 Midsummer " " . 852 SCOTT, SIR WALTER. b. Edinburgh, Scotland, Aug. 15, 1771. d. Abbotsford, Scotland, S.pt. 21, 1*32, A Picture of Ellen {Lady of the Lake) 477 A Scene in the Highlands {Lady of the Lake 477 Breathes there a Man {Lay of the Last Minstrel) 478 Faith in Unf aith ( The Betrothed) 479 Helvellyn 481 Love {Lay of the Last Minstrel) 478 Melrose Abbey by ]Moonlight {Lay of the Last Minstrel) . . 478 Patern al Love ( Lady of the Lake) 478 Payment in Store {liedgauntlet) 479 Rebecca's Hymn {Ivanlioe) . . 479 Summer Dawn at Loch Katrine {Lady of the Lake) 476 The Sun upon the Weirdlaw- Hill 480 The Violet 481 Wandering Willie . • . . 480 SEAVER, EMILY. b. Charlestown, Mass., Nov. 5, 1835, The Rose of Jericho .... 482 SEWALL, HARRIET WTLNSLOW. b. Portland, Me., June 30. 1819. Why thus Longing? 483 SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM, b. Stratf..rd-on-Avon, April 23, 1564. d. April 23, 1616. Constant Effort Necessary to Support Fame {Troilus and Cressida) 4?6 End of all Earthly Glory {The Temj)est 487 False Appearance {Merchant of Venice) 485 Fear no More {Cymheline) . . 488 Fear of Death {Measure for Measure) 487 Good Counsel of Polonius to Laertes {Hamlet) 485 Ingratitude {As you Like It) . . 484 Life's Theatre " " . . 484 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES, Iv Life's Vicissitudes(«enrf/ VTIL) 487 Love, the Solace of present Cal- amity 488 Love, the Retriever of past Losses 489 Love Unalterable 489 Mercy (Merchant of Venice) . . 486 No Spring without the Beloved . 489 The Horse of Adonis (yenus and Adonis) 488 To Be, or not to Be (Hamlet) . 484 To my Soul 489 SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE. b. Field Place, Sussex. Eng., Aug. 4, 1792. Drowned in the Bay of Spezia, Italy, July 8, 1822. Death 492 From " The Sensitive-Plant " . 493 From "To a Lady with a Guitar" 495 GoodNight 495 Love's Philosophy 490 Music, when soft Voices Die . 492 Mutability 465 One Word is too often Profaned 490 The Cloud 492 The World's Wanderers ... 492 Time 492 To a Skylark 490 SHENSTONE, WILLIAM. b, Leasowes, near Ilales-Owen, Eng., Nov., 1714. d. Leasowes, near Hales-Owen, £ng., Feb. Jl, 1763. Stanzas from " The School- mistress " 496 Written at an Inn at Henley . 498 SHIRLEY, JAMES. b. London, 1594. d. London, Oct. 29, 1666. Death the Leveller (Contention of AJax and Ulysses) . . . 498 SHLTITLEFF, ERNEST W. b. Boston, April 4, 1862. Out Of the Dark 852 SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP. b. Penshurst. Kent. Eng.. Nor. 29, 1554. d. Arnheim, Holland, Oct. 7, 1586. Sonnet to Sleep 499 SIGOURNEY, LYDIA HUNTLEY. b. Norwich, Conn., Sept. 1, 1791. d. Ilartford, Conn., June 10, 1863. Benevolence 500 Farewell of the Soul to the Body 499 The Coral Insect 600 si:m:ms, william gilmore. b. Charleston, 8. C, April 17, 1806. d. Charleston, S. C, June 11, 1870. Friendship .503 Heart essential to Genius . . 502 Manhood 503 Night-storm 503 Progress in Denial 501 Recompense 502 Solace of the Woods .... 501 Triumph 504 Unhappy Childhood 503 SMITH, ALEXANDER. b. Kilmarnock, Scotland, Dec. 31, 1830. d. Wardie, near Edinburgh, Jan. 25, 1867. Barbara (Ilorton) 504 Glasgow 505 SMITH, CHARLOTTE TURNER, b. Sussex, Eng., 1749. d. 1806. The Close of Spring 607 The Cricket 607 SMITH, FLORENCE. b. New York City, March 11, 184.5, d. Fort Washington, July 19, 187L Somebody Older 509 The Purple of the Poet (i?ain- bow Songs) 508 The Yellow of the Miser (Bain- bow Songs) 508 Unrequiting . 509 SMITH, HORACE, b. London, Dec. 31. 1779. d. Tunbridge Wells, July 12, 1849. Address to a Mummy .... 511 Hymn to the Flowers .... 510 SMITH, MAY REILLY. b. Brighton, N. Y., 1842. If 513 Sometime 513 SOUTHEY, CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES. b. Buckland, Eng., Dec. 6, 1787. d. July 20, 1854. I never Cast a Flower away . . 515 Launch thy Bark, Mariner . . 514 The Pauper's Death-bed ... 514 SOUTHEY, ROBERT. b. Bristol, Eng., Aug. 12. 1774. d. Cumberland, Eng., March 21, 1843. Love's Immortality (Curse of Kehama) 517 Nature's Questions and Faith's Answer (Thalaba) . 515 Night " . 516 Remedial Suffering " .516 The Battle of Blenheim ... 520 The Cataract of Lodore . . . 521 The Ebb-tide 522 The Holly-Tree 518 The Maid of Orleans Girding for Battle (Joan of Arc) .... 517 Tlie old Man's Comforts, and how he Gained them .... 517 The Pauper's Funeral .... 519 The twofold Power of all Things (r/K»/«6«) 516 To the Fire 522 Written on Sunday Morning . . 519 SOUTHWELL, ROBERT, b. Hogsham. Norfolk, Eng., 1560. d. London, Feb. 21, 1595. Content and Rich 523 Ivi INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES. SPALDING, SUSAN MARK. A Desire (From The Century) . 853 SPENCER, WILLIAM ROBERT. b. England, 1709. d. Paris, Oct. 23, 1834. The Speed of happy Hours . . 524 SPENSER, EDMUND. b. London, ]o52 or 1J53. d. Westminster, Jan. 16. 1599. A Hospital {The Faerie Queene) 527 Angelic Care " ** 528 Avarice " " 525 The Bride Beautiful, Body and Soul (Epithalamiuvi) ..... 524 The Captive Soul {2'he Faerie Queene) 525 Una and the Lion {The Faerie Queene) 526 Victory from God {The Faerie Queene) 628 SPOFFORD, HARRIET E. PRESCOTT. b. Calais, Me., April 3, 1835. A Four o'clock 531 A Snowdrop 531 Fantasia 530 Hereafter 529 Measure for Measure .... 531 My own Song 531 Our Neighbor 530 Palmistry 530 The Nun and Harp 529 SPRAGUE, CHARLES. b. Boston, Mass., Oct. 20, 1'OT. d. Boston, Mass., Jan. 14, 1875. From the " Ode on Shakespeare " 534 Ode on Art 532 The Family Meeting 533 The Winged Worshippers ... 532 To my Cigar 533 STEDMAN, EDMUND CLARENCE, b. Hartford, Conn., Oct. 8,1833. All in a Lifetime 539 Laura, my Darling 535 Seeking the Mayflower .... 538 The Discoverer 538 The Doorstep 537 The Test 535 The Tryst 536 The Undiscovered Country . . 536 Too Late 537 STODDARD, RICHARD HENRY, b. Ilingham, Mass., July, 1825. Abraham Lincoln 540 An old Song Reversed .... 540 At Last 540 How are Songs Begot and Bred 541 Out of the Deeps of Heaven . . 542 Pain and Pleasure 542 Rattle the Window 541 Silent Songs 542 Songs Unsung 541 The Flight of Youth 540 The Health 642 The Marriage Knot 781 The Mistake 780 The Two Brides 540 Too old for Kisses 780 We Sat by the Cheerless Fireside 542 When the Drum of Sickness Beats 641 STORY, WILLIAM T\T:TM0RE. b. Salem, Mass., Feb. 1), 1819. d. 1895. The Unexpressed 543 The Violet ,...-... 543 Wetmore Cottage, Nahant . . 543 STOWE, HARRIET BEECHER. b. Litchfield, Conn., June 1, 1812. d. 1896. Life's Mysterv 544 The other World 544 STREET, ALFRED BILLINGS. b. Poughkecpsie, N. Y., Dec. 18, 1811. d. June 2, 1881. A Forest Walk 548 A Picture ( The Nook in the For- est) 549 Cayuga Lake {Frontenac) 547 Quebec at Sunrise " 515 Quebec at Sunset " 545 The Bluebird's Song 549 The Canadian Spv'mg{Frontena<;) 546 SUCKLING, SIR JOHN. b. Whitton, Eng.. 1609. d. Paris, May 7, 1641. Constancy 550 I Prithee Send me back my Heart 550 Why so Pale and Wan, Fond Lover 550 SURREY, EARL OF (Henry Howard), b. Englnnd, 1516. d. London, Jan. 21, 1517. From " No Age is Content" . . 551 In Praise of his Lady Love com- pared with all Others ... 551 The Means to attain Happy Life £51 SWIFT, JONATHAN. b. England, 1GC7. d. 1745. Verses on his own Death . . . 781 SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES, b. Holmwood, Eng., April 5, 1837. A Forsaken Garden 653 A Match 555 From "A Vision of Spring in Winter " 552 From " Christmas Antiphones " 556 In Memory of Barry Cornwall . 552 SYMONDS, JOHN ADDINGTON. b. Cxford, Eng., April 10, 18l>7. d. 1893. Beatillli 558 Farewell 559 From Friend to Friend .... 560 Mene, Mene 558 New Life, New Love 559 On the Hillside 559 Self {The Alps and Italy) ... 560 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES. Ivii Sonnets from " Intellectual Iso- lation" 561 The Ponte di Paradise . • . . 560 The Prayer to Mnemosyne . . 560 The Will . 569 TALFOURD, SIR THOMAS NOON, b. Doxey, Eng., Jan. 26, 1795. d. Staftord, Eng., Marcii 13, 1854. Little Kindnesses (Ion) .... 562 On the Reception of Wordsworth at Oxford 562 TANNAHILL, ROBERT. b. Paisley, Scotland, Jui-.e 3, 1774. d. Lancashire, Eng., May 17, 1810. The Flower o' Dumblane ... 563 The Midges Dance aboon the Burn 563 TAYLOR, BAYARD. b. Kennett Square, Penn., Jan. 11, 1825. d. Berlin, Dec. 19, 1878. A Funeral Thought 565 Before the Bridal 566 In the Meadows 566 On the Headland 564 Proposal 566 Squandered Lives 566 The Father 5&4 The Lost May 567 The Mvstery . 567 The Song of the Camp .... 568 To a Bavarian Girl 569 Wind and Sea 665 TAYLOR, SIR HENRY. b. Durham, Eng., 1800. d. March 27, 1886. Love Reluctant to Endanger its Object (Philip Van Artevelde) 570 Nature's Need '* " 571 Relaxation " " 571 The Mystery of Life " " 570 Unknown Greatness " " 596 W^hat Makes a Hero ? . . . . 571 When Joys are Keenest {Philip Van Artevelde) 571 TAYLOR, JANE. b. London, Sept. 23, 1783. d. Ongar, Essexshire, April 2, 1824. The Squire's Pew . , . . . 572 TENNYSON, ALFRED. b. Somersby, Lincolnshire, Eng., 1809. d. 1892. Ask me no jSIore (The Princess) 578 A Welcome to Alexandra . . . 582 Break, Break. Break .... 584 BuglQ ^ong (The Princess) . . 577 Charge of the Light Brigade . 584 Circumstance 585 Come not when I am Dead . . 585 Condition of Spiritual Commu- nion (In Meinoriam) .... 574 Couplets from Locksley Hall . 573 Cradle Song (T^e PW«ces.9) . . 578 Faith in Doubt (Tn Memoriam) . 575 For his Child's Sake (The Prin- cess) 577 Garden Song (Maud) .... 580 Go not, Happy Day (Maud) . . 581 Hope for All (In Memoriam) . . 571 Husband to Wife (The Miller's Daughter) 579 Lady Clara Vere de Vere . . . 583 Ijive (The Miller's Daughter) . 579 Man and Woman ( The Princess) 578 Move Eastward, Happy Earth . 585 Not at All, or All in All (Merlin and Vivien) 580 Now Lies the Earth ( T^e Prin- cess) 578 Reconciliation ( The Princess) . 577 Ring out, Wild Bells (In Memo- riam) 576 Soul to Soul (In Memoriam) . . 575 Strong Son of God (In Memoriam ) 574 Tears, Idle Tears (The Princess) 577 The Death of the Old Year . . 582 The Nuns' Song (Guinevere) . . 581 The Tears of Heaven .... 585 To a Friend in Heaven (In Me- moriam) 576 What I would be (The Miller's Daughter) 579 THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE b. Calcutta, E. I., 1811. d. London, Dec. 24, 1863. At the Church-gate 585 Little Billee 783 Sorrows of Werther 783 The Ballad of Bouillabaisse . 782 THAXTER, CELIA. b. Portsmouth, N. H., 1835. d. 1894. A Mussel Shell 587 Beethoven 590 Courage 589 Discontent 586 Farewell 586 In the Kittery Churchyard . . 589 Love shall Save us All . . . . 588 Reverie 587 Tlie Sandpiper 591 The Sunrise never Failed us yet .587 To a Violin • . 588 THOMAS, EDITH M. b. Litchfield, Ohio. 1854. Flower and Fruit 853 l^OMPSON, MAURICE. b. Fairfield, Indiana, Sept. 9, 1844. Before Dawn 854 The Morning Hills S53 THOMSON, JAMES. b. Ednam, Koxburghshire, Scotland, Sept. 11, 1700. d. New Lane, near Richmond, Eng., Aug. 27, 1748. A State's Need of Virtue (Lib- erty) • • • • ^^ Birds, and their Loves (TAp Sea- sons) 593 Contentment • • o»» Death amid the Snows (The Seasons) 593 Iviii INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES, Excess to be Avoided ( The Cas- tle of Indolence) 596 Harvest Time (7'/(e Reasons) . . 592 Health Necessary to Happy Life ( The Castle of Indolence) , . 597 Independence {Liberty) . . . 694 Nature's Joy Inalienable ( The Castle of Indolence) .... 596 Pure and'Happy Love {T'he Sea- sons) 591 Kepose ( The Castle of Indolence) 595 Rule, Britannia 597 The Apollo, and Venus of Medi- ci (Liberty) 595 The Folly of Hoarding ( The Cas- tle of Indolence) 596 The State of the World had Men Lived at Ease ( The Castle of Indolence) 596 The Tempest ( The Seasons) . . 591 The Zeal of Persecution (Z/i6er^2/) 595 THRALE, HESTER L. (Piozzi). b. Wales, 17^0. d. 1821. The Three Warnings .... 784 TICKNOR, FRANK O. Gray . . ' 854 Little Giffen. . 854 TILTON, THEODORE. b. New York, N. Y., Oct. 2, IS.'Jo. Love in Age ( IViou and I) . . . 598 Recompense 601 Sir Marmaduke's Musings . . 601 The Four Seasons 600 The Two Ladders 602 Under the Sod {Thou and I) . . 599 TLMROD, HENRY. A Common Tliought 855 Decoration Ode 855 Hark to the Shouting Wind . . 855 TRENCH RICHARD CHENEVIX. b. Dublin, Ire., Sept. 9, 1807. d. Mar., 1886. Falling Stars 606 Happiness in Little Things of the Present 605 Harmosan - 606 Lord, many Times I am Aweary 603 Patience 604 Sadness born of Beauty . . . 603 The Bees 605 The Diamond 606 The Ermine 605 The Lent Jewels 604 The Nightingale 605 The Snake 605 The Tiger 605 Three Sonnets on Prayer . . . 602 Weak Consolation {Lines to a Friend) 603 TROWBRIDGE, JOHN TOWNSEND. b. Ogden, N. Y., Sept. 8, 1827. Darius Green 788 Midsummer 609 MidAvinter 608 My Comrade and I 613 Real Estate 610 Stanzas from " Service "... 612 The Name in the Bark .... 607 The Old Man of the Mountain . 611 The Restored Picture .... 608 The Vagabonds 785 TUPPER, MARTIN FARQUHAR. b.London.Eng., July 17,1810. d. Nov. 29, 1889. Argument {Indirect Influences) . 617 Foreknowledge Undesirable {Mystery) 620 Hints on Pre-existence {Memory) 619 Ill-chosen Pursuits {Self-Ac- quaintance) 614 Ill-christened {Names) .... 618 Late Valuation {Neglect) ... 620 I.,etters ( Writing) 615 IjHq {To-daij) 620 Mental Supremacy (JSeaM^?/') . . 616 Procrastination (7 b-morroiw) . . 621 Spiritual Feelers {Truth in Things False) 615 The Conqueror {Beautij) . . . 616 The Dignity and Patience of Genius {Fame) 615 The Force of Trifles {Indirect Influences) 619 The Power of Suggestion {Indi- rect Influences) 617 The Source of Man's Ruling Pas- sion {Beauty) 616 The Word of Bane and Blessing {To-morrow) 620 To Murmurers {Neglect) . . . 619 VAUGHAN, HENRV. b. Newton, St. Bridget. South Wales, Eng., 1621 d. Newton, April 23, 1693. From " Childhood " 622 From " Rules and Lessons " . . 624 From " St. Mary Magdalen " . 622 From the " Christian Politician " 623 Like as a Nurse 626 Peace 622 Providence 623 Sundays 624 Tlie Pursuit 622 The Seed Growing Secretly . . 621 The Shower 621 They are all Gone 621 To his Books 626 VERY, JONES. b. Salem, Mass., Aug. 28, 1813. d. 18S0. Home and Heaven 627 Nature 627 The World 627 WALLER, EDMUND. b. Coleshill. Eng., March 3, 1605 or 1606. d. Beaconsfield, Eng., Oct. 21, 1687. Old Age and Death 628 On a Girdle 628 The Rose 628 INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES. lix WATTS, ISAAC. b. Southampton, Eng.. July 14, 1674. d. Theobalds, Newinglon. Eng., Nov. 25, 1748. Insieniticaiit Existence .... 865 Lord, when I quit this Earthly Stage 856 The Heavenly Canaan .... 856 WEBSTER, AUGUSTA, b. England, 1841. From " A Preacher " .... 629 On the Lake 631 The Artist's Dread of Blindness {A Painter) 630 TlieGift 631 Two Maidens 631 WELBY, AMELIA B. b. St. Nicholas. Ind., Feb. 3, 1819 d. Louisville, Ky., May 3, 1852. Twilight at Sea 856 WESLEY, CHARLES. b. Epworth, Lincolnshire, Eng., Dec. 18, 1708. d. Loudon, March 29, 1788. Come, let us Anew 633 Jesus, Lover of my Soul . . . 632 Stanzas from " The True Use of Music" 632 llie Only Light 632 WHEELER, ELLA. Secrets 633 WHITE, BLANCO. b. Seville, Spain, July U, 1775. d. Liverpool, Eng., May 20, 1841. To Night 634 WHITE, HEXRY KIRKE. b. Nottingham, Eng., March 21, 1785. d. Cambridge, Eng., Oct. 19, 1806. A Little before Death .... 636 Ode to Disappointment .... 635 Solitude 634 The Stanzas added to Waller's "Rose" 636 To an Early Primrose .... 634 To Misfortune 636 WHITMAN, SARAH HELEN, b. Providence. R. I., 1803. d. June 27, 1878. The Last Flowers 857 Sonnets to Edgar Allan Poe. . 856 WHITNEY, ADELINE D. T. b. Boston, 1824. Behind the Mask 637 Equinoctial 636 Hearth-glow 638 I will Abide in Thine House . . 638 Larvae 638 Sunlight and Starlight .... 638 The Three Lights 637 WHITTIER, ELIZABETH HUSSEY. b. Haverhill, Mass., Dec. 7, 1815. d. Amesbury, Mass., Sept. 3, 1804. Charity 639 WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF. b. Haverhill, Mass, Dec. 17, 1807. d. Sept. 7, 1892. Barbara Frietchie 642 In School-days 640 MaudMuller 643 My Playmate 649 MyPsaim 641 Nature's Reverence {Tent on the Beach) 645 The Barefoot Boy 6.S9 The Pressed Gentian 646 Universal Salvation {Tent on the Beach) 645 WILDE, OSCAR. Easter-day ........ 647 Impressions du Matin .... 648 Madonna Mia 648 Requiescat &48 Silhouettes 648 Sonnet 648 Sunrise 648 AVILDE, RICHARD HENRY b. Dublin, Ireland, Sept. 24, 1789. d. New Orleans, Sept. 10, 1847. My Life is like the Summer Rose * 649 To the Mocking Bird .... 649 WILLIAMS, HELEN MARIA b. near Berwick, Eng., 1762. d. Paris, Dec, 1827. Sonnet to Hope 650 Whilst Thee I Seek 650 WILLIS, NATHANIEL PARKER, b. Portland, Me.. Jan. 20, 1807. d. Idlewild, N. Y., Jan. 20, 1867. From " Absalom " 654 On the Picture of a Child Tired of Play 651 Saturday Afternoon 651 The Belfry Pigeon 653 The Burial of the Champion of his Class 652 To a City Pigeon 650 To Giulia Grist 653 Unseen Spirits . , 653 WILLSON, FORCEYTHE. b. Little Genesee, N. Y., 1837. d. 1867. The Old Sergeant 655 WILSON, JOHN (Christopher North), b. Paisley, Scotland, May 18, 1785. d. Edinburgh, April 3, 1S54. The Evening Cloud 657 The Shipwreck {Isle of Palms) . 657 WINTER, WILLIAM. b. Gloucester, Mass , July 15, 1836. A Dirge 661 After All 6.59 Homage 669 The Golden Silence 661 Tlie Question 660 The White Flag 658 Withered Roses • . 66« Ix INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES. WITHER, GEORGE. b. Brentworth, Eng. June 11, 1588. d. London, May 2, 1«J7. For a Servant 663 For a Widower or Widow . . . 662 From " Poverty " 662 Hymn for Anniversary Marriage Days 662 WOLCGT, JOHN (Peter Pindar). b. Dodbrooke, Devonsliire, Eng., 1738. d. Soniers Town, London, Jan. 13, 1813. To my Candle 664 The Pilgrims and tlie Peas . . 792 The Razorseller 792 WOLFE, CHARLES. b. Dublin, Ireland, Dec. 14, 1791. d. Cove of Cork, now Queenstown, Feb, 21, 1823. Burial of Sir John Moore . . . 665 Go, Forget Me 665 To Mary 664 WOODW^ORTH, SAMUEL, b. Scituate, Mass., Jan. 13, 1785. d. New York, Dec. 9, 1842. The Old Oaken Bucket .... 666 WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM. b. Cockermouth, Eng., April 7, 1770. d. Rydal Mount, April 23, 1850. Apostrophe to the Poet's Sister {Lines composed a few miles frcrni Tintern Abbey) .... 667 Evening 675 From "Intimations of Immor- tality" 650 Lucy 672 Scorn not the Sonnet .... 675 She was a Phantom of Delight . 674 The Daffodils 671 The Deaf Dalesman {Excursion) 669 The Prop of Faith . " 668 The Solace of Nature {Lines composed a feio miles above Tintern Abbey) 666 Tlie World is too much Avith us 675 Thy Art be Nature 674 To a Distant Friend 672 To a Skylark 673 To a Young Lady 671 To Sleep ,672 To the Cuckoo 676 TA^ilight 672 Undeveloped Genius {Excursion) 668 We are Seven 673 Westminster Bridge 675 WOTTON, SIR HENRY. b. Bocton (or Boughton Hall), Kent, Eng., March 31, 1528. d. Eton, Dec, 1639. A Happy Life 676 WYATT, SIR THOMAS. b. Alington Castle, Kent, Eng., 1503. d. Sherborne, Eng., Oct. 11, 1542. A Lover's Prayer 677 Description of the One he would Love 677 Pleasure mixed with Pain . 677 YOUNG, EDWARD. b. IJpham, Hampshire, Eng., 1C84. d. Weliwyn, Hertfordshire, April 12, 1765. All Change; no Death {Night Thoughts) Vl. 683 Ambition {Night Thoughts) VII. 683 Cheerfulness in Misfortune {Night Thoughts) ... IX. 684 Conscience (iS'tf/ft^ Thoughts) II. 678 Cruelty {Night Thoughts) . III. 681 Different Sources of Funeral Tears {Night 'Thoughts) . V. 682 Etfect of Contact with the World {Night Thoughts) ... II. 679 Effort, the Gauge of Greatness (Night Thoughts) . . . II. 680 False Terrors in view of Death {Night Thoughts) ... IV. 682 Insufiiciency of the World {Night Thoughts) ... II. 680 Joy to be Shared {Night Thoughts) II. 678 Power of the World {Night Thoughts) V. 683 Procrastination, and Forgetful- ness of Death {Alight Thoxights) I. 677 The Crowning Disappointment {Night Thoughts) ... 11. 679 The End of the Virtuous {Night Thoughts) IL 680 The Glory of Death {Night Thouqhts) III. 681 The other Life the End of This {Night Thoughts) . . . III. 681 The World a Grave {Night Thoughts) IX. 684 Time, its Use and Misuse {Night Thoughts) II. 678 Virtue, the Measure of Years {Night Thouqhts) ... V. 683 V^'isdom {Night Thoughts) VIII. 684 YOUNG, WILLIAM, b. Monmouth, Ills., 1847. The Horseman (From The Cen- tury) 858 Henry Abbey. THE CALIPWS MAGNANIMITY. A TKAVELLEU acioss the desert waste Found on his way a cool, palm- shaded spring, And the fresh water seemed to his pleased taste, In the known world, the most de- licious thing. " Great is the caliph!" said he; "I for him Will fill my leathern bottle to the brim." He sank the bottle, forcing it to drink Until the gurgle ceased in its lank throat ; And as he started onward, smiled to think That he for thirst bore God's sole antidote. Days after, with obeisance low and meet. He laid his present at the caliph's feet. Forthwith the issue of the spring was poured Into a cup, on whose embossed outside. Jewels, like solid water, shaped a gourd. The caliph drank, and seemed well satisfied, Nay, wisely pleased, and straightway gave command To line with gold the man's work- hardened hand. The courtiers, looking at the round reward. Fancied that some unheard-of vir- tue graced The bottled burden home for their loved lord. And of the liquid gift asked but to taste. The caliph answered from his potent throne ; " Touch not the water; it is mine alone!" But soon — after the hmnble giver went. O'erflowing with delight, which bathed his face — The caliph told his courtiers the intent Of his denial, saying: " It is base Not to accept a kindness when ex- pressed By no low motive of self-interest. " The water was a gift of love to me, Which I with golden gratitude re- paid. I would not let the honest giver see That, on its way, the crystal of the shade Had changed, and was impure; for so, no less. His love, thus scorned, had turned to bitterness. " I granted not the warm, distasteful draught To asking lips, because of firm mis- trust^ Or kindly fear, that, if another quaffed, He would reveal his feeling of dis- gust. And he, who meant a favor, would depart. Bearing a wounded and dejected heart." ABBEY, , - MAX JA /iusQSfON. Our old golonia) town is new with Tliq lo^irTg trees^ tji^' c\9^V across the street's," Grow greener sleeved with bursting buds each day. Still this year's May the last year's May repeats; Even the old stone houses half renew Their youth and beauty, as the old irees do. High over all, like some divine de- sire Above our lower thoughts of daily care, The gray, religious, heaven-touching spire Adds to the quiet of the spring- time air; And over roofs the birds create a sea. That has no shore, of their May melody. Down through the lowlands now of lightest green, The undecided creek w^inds on its way. There the lithe willow bends with graceful mien. And sees its likeness in the depths all day; While in the orchards, flushed with May's warm light. The bride-like fruit-trees dwell, at- tired in white. But yonder loom the mountains old and grand. That off, along dim distance, reach afar, And high and vast, against the sun- set stand, A dreamy range, long and irreg- ular — A caravan that never passes by, Whose camel-backs are laden with the sky. So. like a caravan, our outlived years Loom on the introspective land- scape seen Within the heart: and now, when May appears, And earth renews its vernal bloom and green. We but renew our longing, and we say: "Oh, would that life might ever be all May! "Would that the bloom of youth which is so brief, The bloom, the May, the fullness ripe and fair Of cheek and limb, might fade not as the leaf; Would that the heart might not grow old Mith care, Nor love tin-n bitter, nor fond hope decay ; But soul and body lead a life of May!" FACIE BAT. As thoughts possess the fashion of the mood That gave them birth, so every deed we do Partakes of our inborn disquietude AVhich spurns the old and reaches toward the new. The noblest works of human art and pride Show that their makers were not satisfied. For, looking down the ladder of our deeds. The rounds seem slender; all past work appears Unto the doer faulty; the heart bleeds. And pale Regret comes weltering in tears, To think how poor our best has been, how vain, Beside the excellence we would at- tain. ADAMS — ADDISON. Sarah Flower Adams. NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE, Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee ; E'en though it be a cross That raiseth me, Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee. Though like a wanderer, Daylight all gone. Darkness be over me, My rest a stone. Yet in my dreams, I'd be Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee. There let the way appear Steps up to heaven ; All that thou sendest me In mercy given, Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee. Then with my waking thoughts, Bright with thy praise, Out of my stony griefs. Bethel I'll raise; So by my woes to be Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee. Or if on joyful wing. Cleaving the sky, Sun, moon, and stars forgot Upwfird I fly, Still all my song shall be. Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee. Joseph Addison. APOSTROPHE TO LIBERTY. O Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright, Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight! Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign. And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train; Eased of her load, subjection grows more light, And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight; Thou mak'st the gloomy face of na- ture gay, Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleas- ure to the day. Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores; How has she oft exhausted all her stores. How oft in fields of death thy pres- ence sought. Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly boiight! On foreign mountains may the sim refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine ; With citron groves adorn a distant soil. And the fat olive swell with floods of oil: We envy not the warmer clime, that lies In ten degrees of more indulgent skies ; Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine. Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine: 'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle, And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile. AKENSIDE. CATO'S SOLILOQUY. It must be so — Plato, thou leason'st well! — Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality? Or whence this secret dread, and in- ward horror. Of falling into nought ? why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter. And intimates eternity to man. Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! Through what variety of untried being. Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ? The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me; Bui shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. Here will I hold. If there's a power above us — And that there is, all nature cries aloud Through all her works — he must delight in virtue; And that which he delights in must be happy. But when ? or where ? This world was made for Ceesar. I'm weary of conjectures. This must end them. [Layimj his hand on his sioord.] Thus am I doubly armed : my death and life. My bane and antidote, are both before me: This in a moment brings me to an end; But this informs me I shall never die. The soul, secured in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; But thou Shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the wars of ele- ments. The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. What means this heaviness that hangs upon me? This lethargy that creeps through all my senses ? Nature oppressed, and harassed out with care. Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favor her, That my awakened soul may take her flight. Renewed in all her strength, and fresh with life, An offering fit for heaven. Let guilt or fear Disturb man's rest: Cato knows nei- ther of them; Indifferent in his choice to sleep or die. Mark Akenside. 01^ A SERMON AGAINST GLORY. Come then, tell me, sage divine. Is it an offence to own That our bosoms e'er incline Toward innnortal Glory's throne? For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure. Bourbon'smight,Braganza'streasure, So can fancy's dreani rejoice, So conciliate reason's choice. As one approving word of her impar tial voice. AKENSIDE. If to spurn at noble praise Be the passport to thy heaven, Follow thou those gloomy ways — No such law to me was given ; Nor, i trust, shall 1 deplore me, Faring like my friends before me; Nor an holier place desire Than Timoleon's arms acquire. And TuUy's curule chair, and Mil- ton's golden lyre. [From Pleasures of the Imagination.] THE DEVELOPMENT OF POETIC AND AUTISTIC ^'PE AT IONS. By these mysterious ties, the busy power Of memory her ideal train presences Entire; or when they would elude her watch, Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste Of dark oblivion ; thus collecting all TJ^e various forms of being, to present Before ihc curious eye of mimic art Their largest choice: like Spring's unfolded blooiiie Exhaling sweetness, that tb« skilful bee May taste at will from their selected spoils To work her dulcet food. For not the expanse Of living lakes in summer's noontide calm, Reflects the bordering shade and sun- bright heavens With fairer semblance; not the sculptured gold More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace, Than he whose birth the sister- powers of art Propitious viewed, and from his genial star Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind, Than liis attempered bosom must preserve The seal of nature. There alone, unchanged Her form remains. The balmy walks of May There breathe perennial sweets: the trembling chord Resounds forever in the abstracted ear. Melodious; and the virgin's radiant eye, Superior to disease, to grief, and time, Shines with unbating lustre. Thus at length Endowed with all that nature can bestow. The child of fancy oft in silence bends O'er these mixed treasures of his pregnant breast With conscious pride. From tliem he oft resolves • To frame he knows not wliat excel- ling things, And win he knows not what sublime reward Of praise and wonder. By degrees the mind Feels her young nerves dilate: the plastic powers Labor for action: blind emotions heave His bosom; and with loveliest frenzy caught. From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye. From heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes, L'ke spectres trooping to the wiz- ard's call, Flit sAvift before him. From the womb of earth, From ocean's bed they come: the eternal heavens Disclose their splendors, and thf dark abyss Pours out her births unkno\ru With fixed gaze He marks the rising phantoms. No\» compares Their different forms; now blends them, now divides; Enlarges and extenuates by turns; Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands, And infinitely varies. Hither now. Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim, 6 AKEXSIDE. With endless choice perplexed. At length his plan jiegins to open. Lucid order dawns ; And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds Of nature at the voice divine repaired Each to its place, till rosy earth un- veiled Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful sun Sprung up the blue serene; by swift degrees Thus disentangled, his entire design Emerges. Colors mingle, features join. And hues converge : the fainter parts retire ; The fairer eminent in light advance ; And e^ry image on its neighbor smiles. Awhile he stands, and with a father's joy Contemplates. Then with Prome- thean art Into its proper vehicle he breathes The fair conception which, embodied thus, And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears An object ascertained: while thus informed. The various objects of his mimic skill, The consonance of sounds, the feat- ured rock. The shadowy picture, and impas- sioned verse. Beyond tLeir proper powers attract the soul By that expressive semblance, while in sight Of nature's great original we scan The lively child of art; while line by line, And feature after feature, we refer To that divine exemplar whence it stole Those animating charms. Thus beauty's palm Betwixt them wavering hangs: ap- plauding love Doubts where to choose; and mortal man aspires To tempt creative praise. [From Pleasures of the Imagination.'] RICHES OF A MAN OF TASTE. What though not all Of mortal offspring can attain the heights Of envied life; though only few pos- sess Patrician treasures or imperial state ; Yet nature's care, to all her children just. With richer treasures and an ampler state, Endows, at large, whatever happy man Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp. The rural hoiiprs his. Whate'er adorns The princely dome, the column and the arch. The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold, Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the Spring Distils her dews, and from the silken gem Its lucid leaves unfolds: for him, the hand Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings ; And still new beauties meet his lonely walk. And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain From all the tenants of the warbling shade Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake Fresh pleasure unreproved. Nor thence partakes Fresh pleasure only : for th' attentive mind, By this harmonious action on her powers, AKENSIDE. Becomes herself harmonious: wont so oft In outwanl things to meditate the charm Of sacred order, soon slie seeks at home To find a kindred order to exert Within herself tliis elegance of love, This fair inspired delight: her tem- per' d powers Refine at length, and every passion wears A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. From Pleasures of the Imagination.'] MENTAL BEAUTY, Thus doth beauty dwell There most conspicuous, e'en in out- ward shape. Where dawns the high expression of a mind : By steps conducting our enraptured search To that eternal origin, whose power, Through all th' unbounded symme- try of things. Like rays effulging from the parent sun. This endless mixture of her charms diffused. Mind, mind alone, — bear witness, earth and heaven! — The living fountains in itself con- tains Of beauteous and sublime : here, hand in hand, Sit paraniount the graces; here en- throned. Celestial Venus, with divinest airs. Invites the soul to never-fading joy. [From Pleasures of the Imafjinafion.] ASPIRATIONS AFTER THE INFI- NITE. Say, why was man so eminently raised Amid the vast creation; why ordain'd Through life an I death to dart his piercing eye, With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame; But that th' Omnipotent might send him forth In sight of mortal and immortal powers, As on a boundless theatre, to nm The great career of justice; to exalt His generous aim to all diviner deeds ; To chase each partial purpose from his breast. And through the mists of passion and of sense, And through the tossing tide of chance and pain, To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice Of truth and virtue, up the steep ascent Of nature, calls him to his high re- ward, Th' applauding smile of heaven? Else wherefore burns In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope, That breathes from day to day sub- limer things, And mocks possession? wherefore darts the mind, With such resistless ardor, to embrace Majestic forms; impatient to be free; Spurning the gross control of wilful might; Proud of the strong contention of her toils; Proud to be daring ? For from the birth Of mortal man, the sovereign Maker said. That not in humble nor in brief de- light, Not in the fading echoes of renown, Power's purple robos, nor Pleasure's flowery lap. The soul should find enjoyment : but from these Turning disdainful to an equal good, Through all th' ascent of things en- large her view. Till every bound at length should disappear. And infinite perfection close the AKERMAN— ALDUICH. Lucy Evelina Akerman. NOTHING BUT LEAVES. "He found nothing thereon but leaves." Matt. xxi. 19. Nothing but leaves; the spirit grieves Over the wasted life: Sin committed while conscience slept, Promises made but never kept, Hatred, battle, strife; Nothing but leaves! Nothing but leaves; no garner'd sheaves Of life's fair, ripen'd grain; Words, idle words, for earnest deeds ; We sow our seeds — lo! tares and weeds ; We reap with toil and pain Nothing but leaves ! Nothing but leaves ; memory weaves No veil to screen the past : As we retrace our weary way, Counting each lost and misspent day — We find, sadly, at last, Nothing but leaves ! And shall we meet the Master so, Bearing our wither' d leaves ? The Saviour looks for perfect fruit, — We stand before him, humbled, mute ; Waiting the words he breathes, — " Nothing but leases ! " James Aldrich. A DEATH-BED. Her suffering ended with the day ; Yet lived she at its close, And breathed the lomj, loner night away. In statue-like repose. But when the sun, in all his state, Illumed the eastern skies, She passed through Glory's morning- gate. And walked in Paradise ! Thomas Bailey Aldrich. THE BALLAD OF BABIE BELL. Have you not heard the poets tell How came the dainty Babie Bell Into this w^orkl of ours? The gates of heaven were left ajar: With folded hands and dreamy eyes, Wandering out of Paradise, She saw this planet, like a star, Hung in the glistening depths of even, — Its bridges, running to and fro, O'er which the white-winged Angels go, Bearing the holy Dead to heaven. She touched a bridge of flowers, — those feet So light they did not bend the bells Of the celestial asphodels ! They fell like dew upon the flowers, Then all the air grew strangely sweet ! And thus came dainty Babie Bell Into this world of ours. She came and brought delicious May, The swallows built beneath the eaves ; Like sunlight in and out th* leaves, The robins went the livelong day; ALDRICH. 9 The lily swung its noiseless bell, And o'er the porch the trembling vine Seemed bursting with its veins of wine. How sweetly, softly, twilight fell! O, earth was full of singing-birds, And opening spring-tide flowers, When the dainty Babie Bell Came to this world of ours ! O Babie, dainty Babie Bell, How fair she grew from day to day! What woman-nature filled her eyes, What poetry within them lay: Those deep and tender twilight eyes, So full of meaning, pure and bright As if she yet stood in the light Of those oped gates of Paradise. And so we loved her more and more ; Ah, never in oiu* hearts before Was love so lovely born. We felt we had a link between This real world and that unseen, — The land beyond the mom. And for the love of those dear eyes, For love of her whom God led forth, (The mother's being ceased on earth When Babie came from Paradise,) — For love of Him who smote our lives. And woke the chords of joy and pain. We said, Dear Christ! — Owe hearts bent down Like violets after rain. And now the orchards, which were white And red with blossoms when she came, Were rich in autumn's mellow prime : The clustered apples burnt like flame, The soft-cheeked peaches blushed and fell, The ivory chestnut burst its shell, The grapes hung purpling in the grange : And time "wrought just as ri^h a change In little Babie Beil. Her lissome form more perfect grew, And in her features we could trace. In softened curves, her mother's face! Her angel-nature ripened too. We thought her lovely when she came, But she was holy, saintly now; Around her pale angelic brow We saw a slender ring of flame ! God's hand had taken away the seal, That held the portals of her speech ; And oft she said a few strange words Whose meaning lay beyond our reach. She never was a child to us. We never held her being's key; We could not teach her holy things : She was Christ's self in purity. It came upon us by degrees: We saw its sha lew ere it fell, The knowledge that om- God liad sent His messenger for Babie Bell. We shuddered with unlanguaged pain, And all our hopes were changed to fears, And all our thoughts ran into tears Like sunshine into rain. We cried aloud in our belief, " O, smite us gently, gently, God' Teach us to bend and kiss the roo . And perfect grow through grief." Ah, how we loved her, God can te'^* Her heart was folded deep in ours. Our hearts are broken, Babie Beil I At last he came, the messenger, The messenger from unseen lands ; And what did dainty Babie Bell ? She only crossed her little hands. She only looked more meek and fair! We parted back her silken hair : We wove the roses round her brow, White buds, the summer's drifted snow, — Wrapt her from head to foot in flow- ers! And thus went dainty Babie Bell Out of this world of ours I 10 ALDRICH. DESTINY. Three roses, wan as moonlight and weighed down Each with its loveliness as with a crown, Drooped in a florist's window in a town. The first a lover bought. It lay at rest, Like flower on iV wcr, that night, on Beauty's breast. The second rose, as virginal and fair. Shrunk in the tangles of a harlot's hair. The third, a widow, with new grief made wild. Shut in the icy palm of her dead child. AN UNTIMELY THOUGHT. I WONDER what day of the week — I wonder what month of the year — Will it be midnight, or morning, And who will bend over my bier ? — What a hideous fancy to come As I wait, at the foot of the stair, vVhile Lilian gives the last touch To her robe, or the rose in her hair. Do I like your new dress — pompa- dour ? And do I like you f On my life, You. are eighteen, and not a day more. And have not been six years my wife. Those two rosy boys in the crib Up stairs are not ours, to be sure ! — You are just a sweet bride in her bloom, All sunshine, and snowy, and pure. As the carriage rolls down the dark street '^he little wife laughs and makes "heer: But ... I wonder what day of the week, I wonder what month of the year. NAMELESS PAIN. In ray nostrils the summer wind Blows the exquisite scent of the rose! O for the golden, golden wind. Breaking the buds as it goes, Breaking the buds, and bending the grass. And spilling the scent of the rose ! wind of the summer morn, Tearing the petals in twain. Wafting the fragrant soul Of the rose through valley and plain, 1 would you could tear my heart to- day, And scatter its nameless pain. UNSUNG. As sweet as the breath that goes From the lips of the white rose, As weird as the elfin lights That glimmer of frosty nights. As wild as the winds that tear The curled red leaf in the air. Is the song 1 have never sung. In slumber, a hundred times I have said the mystic rhymes, But ere I open my eyes This ghost of a poem flies; Of the interfluent strains Not even a note remains : I know by my pulses' beat It was something wild and sweet, And my heart is strangely stirred By an unremembered word ! I strive, but I strive in vain, To recall the lost refrain. On some miraculous day Perhaps it will come and stay; In some unimagined Spring 1 may find my voice, and sing The song I have never sung. ALDEICH. n RENCONTRE. ToiLixG across the Mer de Glace I thought of, longed for thee ; What miles between us stretched, alas! What miles of land and sea ! My foe, undreamed of, at my side Stood suddenly, like Fate. For those who love, the world is wide. But not for those who hate. THE FADED VIOLET. What thought is folded in thy leaves ! What tender thought, what speech- less pain! I hold thy faded lips to mine. Thou darling of the April rain ! I hold thy faded lips to mine, Though scent and azure tint are fled — dry, mute lips ! ye are the type Of something in me cold and dead ; Of something wilted like thy leaves; Of fragrance flown, of beauty dim ; Yet, for the love of those white hands. That found thee by a river's brim — That found thee when thy dewy mouth Was purpled as with stains of wine — For love of her who love forgot, 1 hold thy faded lips to mine. That thou shouldst live when I am dead, Wlien hate is dead, for me, and wrong. For this, I use my subtlest art. For this, I fold thee in my song. AFTER THE RAIN. The rain has ceased, and in my room The sunshine pours an airy flood ; And on the church's dizzy vane The ancient cross is bathed in blood. From out the dripping ivy-leaves, Antiquely-carven, gray and high, A dormer, facing westward, looks Upon the village like an eye : And now it glimmers in the sun, A globe of gold, a disc, a speck: And in the belfry sits a dove With purple ripples on her neck. PURSUIT AND POSSESSION. When I behold what pleasure is Pui suit, WTiat life, what glorious eagernesa it is; Then mark how full Possession falls from this. How fairer seems the blossom than the fruit — I am perplext, and often stricken mute Wondering which attained the higher bliss. The winged insect, or the chrysalis It thrust aside with unreluctant foot. Spirit of verse that still elud'st my art, Thou aiiy phantom that dost ever haunt me, O never, never rest upon my heart. If when I have thee I shall little want thee ! Still flit away in moonlight, rain, and dew. Will-o'-the-wisp, that I may still pursue ! SLEEP. When to soft Sleep we give ourselves away, And in a dream as in a fairy bark Drift on and on through the en- chanted dark To purple daybreak — little thought w^e pay To that sweet bitter world we know by day. We are clean quit of it, as is a lark So high in heaven no human eye may mark 12 ALDRICH — ALEXANDER. The cleavins thin swift pinion through the gray. Till we awake ill fate can do no ill The resting heart shall not take up again The heavy load that yet must make it bleed; For this brief space the loud world's voice is still, No faintest echo of it brings us pain. How will it be when we shall sleep indeed ? MASKS. Black Tragedy lets slip her grim dis- guise And shows you laughing lips and roguish eyes ; But when, unmasked, gay Comedy appears, How wan her cheeks are, and what heavy tears ! THE nOSE. Fixed to her necklace, like another gem, ^ rose she wore — the flower June made for her ; Fairer it looked than when upon the stem. And must, indeed, have been much happier. MAPLE LEAVES. October turned my maple's leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers ; Soon these will slip from out the twigs' weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers. TO ANY POET. Out of the thousand verses you have writ. If Time spare none, you will not care at all ; If Time spare one, you will not know of it: Nor shame nor fame can scale a churchyard wall. Cecil Frances Alexander. THE BURIAL OF MOSES. •♦ And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor; but no man knoweth of bis sepulchre unto this day." By Nebo's lonely mountain, On this side Jordan's wave. In a vale in the land of Moab There lies a lonely grave. And no man knows that sepulchre. And no man saw it e'er, For the angels of God upturned the sod And laid the dead man there. That was the grandest funeral That ever pass'd on earth; But no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth — Noiselessly as the daylight Comes back when night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean' cheek Grows into the great sun. Noiselessly as the spring-time Her crown of verdure weaves. And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves ; So without sound of music, Or voice of them that wept, ALFOUD. 18 Silently down from the mountain's crown The great procession swept. Perchance the hald old eagle On grey Beth-peor's height, Out of his lonely eyrie Look'd on the wondrous sight; Perchance the lion stalking, Still shuns that hallow'd spot, or beast and bird have seen and heard That which man knoweth not. But when the warrior dieth, His comrades in the war. With arms reversed and muffled drum. Follow his funeral car; They show the banners taken, They tell his battles won, And after him lead his masterless steed, While peals the minute gun. Amid the noblest of the land We lay the sage to rest, And give the bard an honor'd place. With costly marble drest. In the great minster transept Where lights like glories fall, And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings Along the emblazon' d wall. This was the tniest warrior That ever buckled sword, This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word ; And never earth's philosopher Traced, with his golden pen^ On the deathless page, truths half so sage As he wrote down for men. And had he not high honor, — The hillside for a pall. To lie in state while angels wait With stars for tapers tall. And the dark rock-pines like tossing plumes. Over his bier to wave, And God's own hand, in that lonely land. To lay him in the grave ? In that strange grave without a name. Whence his uncoffin'd clay Shall break again, O wondrous thought ! Before the Judgment Day, And stand with gloiy wrapt around On the hills he never trod. And speak of the strife that won our life With the Incarnate Son of God. O lonely grave in Moab's land ! O dark Beth-peor's hill! Speak to these curious hearts of ours. And teach them to be still. God hath His mysteries of grace, Ways that we cannot tell ; He hides them deep, like the hiddt* sleep Of him He loved so well. Henry THE AGED OAK AT OAKLEY. I WAS a yoimg fair tree ; Each spring with quivering green iviy boughs were clad; and" far Down the deep vale a light V'hone from me on the eyes Of those who pass'd, — a light Alford. T!\\r.c told of sunny days. And blossoms, and blue sky; For 1 was ever first Of all the grove to hear The soft voice under ground Of the warm- working spring; And ere my brethren stirr'd Their sheathed bud, the kine, 14 ALLEN. And the kine's keeper, came And scanty leafage serve fclow up the valley path, No high behest; my name And laid them underneath Is sounded far and wide; My cool and rustling leaves; And in the Providence And I could feel them there That guides the steps of men, As in the quiet shade Hundreds have come to view They stood with tender thoughts, My grandeur in decay ; That passed along their life And there hath pass'd from me Like wings on a still lake, A quiet influence Blessing me; and to God, Into the minds of men: The blessed God, who cares The silver head of age, For all my little leaves, The majesty of laws, Went up the silent praise; The very name of God, And I was glad with joy And holiest things that are Which life of laboring things Have won upon the heart 111 knows, — the joy that sinks — Of humankind the more, Into a life of rest. For that I stand to meet Ages have fled since then: With vast and bleaching trunk, But deem not my pierced trunk The rudeness of the sky. Elizabeth Akers Allen. ENDURANCE. How much the heart may bear, and yet not break ! How much the flesh may suffer, and not die ! I question much if any pain or ache Of soul or body brings our end more nigh ; Death chooses his own time ; till that is sworn, All evils may be borne. We shrink and shudder at the sur- geon's knife, Each nerve recoiling from the cruel steel W^hose edge seems searching for the quivering life, Yet to our sense the bitter pangs reveal, That still, although the trembling flesh be torn. This also can be borne. We see a sorrow rising in our way. And try to flee from the approach- ing ill; We seek some small escape ; we weep and pray; But when the blow falls, then our hearts are still ; Not that the pain is of its sharpness shorn. But that it can be borne. We wind our life about another life; We hold it closer, dearer than our own : Anon it faints and fails in deathly strife. Leaving us stunned, and stricken, and alone ; But ah ! we do not die with those we mourn, — This also can be borne. Behold, we live through all things, — famine, thirst, Bereavement, pain; all grief and misery. Ail woe and sorrow; life inflicts its worst On soul and body, — but we cannot die. Though we be sick, and tired, and faint and worn, — Lo, all thinars can be borne! ALLEN. 16 WHERE THE ROSES GREW. This is where the roses grew, In the summer that is gone; Fairer hloom or richer line Never summer shone upon : O, the glories vanished hence! O, the sad imperfect tense ! This is where the roses grew When tlie July days were long, — When the garden all day through Echoed with delight and song; — Hark! the dead and broken stalks Eddying down the windy walks ! Never was a desert waste, Where no blossom-life is born, Half so dreary and unblest, Half so lonesome and forlorn, Since in this we dimly see All the bliss that used to be. Where the roses used to grow! And the west-wind's wailing words Tell in whispers faint and low Of the famished humming-birds, — Of the bees which search in vain For the honey-cells again ! This is where the roses grew, Till the ground was all perfume, And, whenever zephyrs blew, Carpeted with crimson bloom! Now the chill and scentless air, Sv/eeps the flower-plats brown and bare. Hearts have gardens sad as this. Where the roses bloom no more, — Gardens where no summer bliss Can the summer bloom restore, — Where the snow melts not away At the yvarming kiss of May ; — Gardens where the vernal moms Never shed their sunshine down, — IVhere are only stems and thorns, Veiled in dead leaves, curled and brown, — Gardens where we only see Where the roses used to be ^ LAST. Fkiend, whose smile has come to be Very precious unto me, Though I kixow 1 drank not firsf , Of your love's bright fountain- burst. Yet I grieve no* for the past, So you only love me last! Other souls may find their joy In the blind love of a boy : Give me that which years have tried. Disciplined and purified, — Such as, braving sun and blast You will bring to me at last ! There are brows more fair than mine, Eyes of more bewitching shine, Other hearts more fit, in truth. For the passion of your youth ; But, their transient empire past. You will surely love me last! Wing away your summer time, Find a love in every clime. Roam in liberty and light, — I shall never stay your flight," For I know, when all is past. You will come to me at last ! Change and flutter as you will, 1 shall smile securely still; Patiently I tmst and wait Though you tarry long and late; Trize your spring till it be past, Only, only love me last! ROCK ME TO SLEE?. Backward, turn backward, O Time, :n your flight, Make irc a child again just for to- night! Mother, come back from the echoless shore. Take me again to your heart as of yore; X6 ALLEN. Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hah-; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep; Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years ! I am so weary of toil and of tears, — Toil without recompense, tears all in vain, — Take them, and give me my child- hood again! I have grown weary of dust and de- cay, — Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away; Weaiy of sowing for others to reap ; — Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue. Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you! Many a summer the grass has grown green. Blossomed and faded, our faces be- tween : Yet, witli strong yearning and pas- sionate pain, Long I to-night for your presence again. Come from the silence so long and so deep ; — Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! Over my heart in the days that are flown, No love like mother-love ever has shone ; No other worship abides and en- dures, — Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours : None like a mother can charm away pain From tlie sick soul and the world- weary brain. Slumber's soft calm o'er my heavy lids creep ; — Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, Fall on your shoulders again as of old; Let it drop over my forehead to- night. Shading my faint eyes away f i-om the light; For with its sunny-edged shadows once more Haply will throng the sweel visions of yore ;• Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep ; — Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! Mother, dear mother, the years have been long Since I last listened your lullaby song: Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem Womanhood's years have been only a dream. Clasped to your heart in a loving em- brace, With your light lashes just sweeping my face. Never hereafter to w^ake or to weep ; — Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! UNTIL DEATH. Make me no vows of constancy, dear friend, To love me, though I die, thy whole life long, And love no other till thy days shall end ; Nay, it were rash and wrong. If thou canst love another, be it so ; I would not reach out of my quiet grave To bind thy heart, if it should choose togo: — Love should not be a slave. ALLEN. 17 My placid ghost, 1 trust, will walk serene In clearer light than gilds those earthly morns. Above the jealousies and envies keen Wliich sow this life with thorns. Thou wculdst not feel my shadowy caress, If, after death, my soul should lin- ger here; Men's hearts crave tangible, close tenderness, Love's presence, warm and near. It would not make me sleep more peacefully That thou wert wastmg all thy life in woe For my poor sake; what love thou hast for me, Bestow it ere I go ! Carve not upon a stone when I am dead The praises which remorseful mourners give To women's graves, — a tardy recom- pense, — But speak them while I live. Heap not the heavy marble on my head To shut away the sunshine and the dew; Let small blooms grow there, and let grasses wave. And rain-drops filter through. Thou wilt meet many fairer and more gay Than I; but, trust me, thou canst never find One who will love and serve thee night and day With a more single mind. Forget me when T die ! The violets Above my breast will blossom just as blue, ^^or miss thy tears ; e'en Nature's self forgets; — But while" I live, be true! E VER Y DA Y. O, TRIFLING tasks SO often done, Yet ever -to be done anew! O, cares which come with every sun, Morn after morn, the long years through ! We shrink beneath their paltry sway, — The irksome calls of every day. The restless sense of wasted power. The tiresome round of little things. Are hard to bear, as hour by hour Its tedious iteration brings; Who shall evade or who delay The small demands of every day ? The boulder in the torrent's course By tide and tempest lashed in vain, Obeys the wave-whirled pebble's force. And yields its substance grain by grain ; So crumble strongest lives away Beneath the wear of every day. Who finds the lion in his lair. Who tracks the tiger for his life. May wound them ere they are aware. Or conquer them in desperate strife ; Yet powerless he to scathe or slay The vexing gnats of every day. The steady strain that never stops Is mightier than the fiercest shock; The constant fall of water-drops Will groove the adamantine rock; We feel our noblest powers decay. In feeble wars with every day. We rise to meet a heavy blow — Our souls a sudden bravery fills — But we endure not always so The drop-by-drop of little ills! We still deplore and still obey The hard behests of every day. The heart which boldly faces death Upon the battle-field, and dares Cannon and bayonet, faints beneatt\ The needle-points of frets and cares; '''he stoutest spirits they dismay — The tiny stings of every day. 18 ALLINGHAM. And even saints of holy fame, Whose souls by faith have over- come, Who wore amid the cruel' flame The molten crown of martyrdom, Bore not without complaint alway The petty pains of every day. Ah ! more than martyr's aureole, And more than hero's heart of fire, We need the humble strength of soul Which daily toils and ills require; — Sweet Patience ! grant us, if you may, An added grace for every day. William Allingham. THE TOUCHSTONE. A MAN there came, whence none could tell, Bearing a touchstone in his hand ; And tested all things in the land By its unerring spell. Quick birth of transmutation smote The fair to foul, the foul to fair; Purple nor ermine did he spare, Nor scorn the dusty coat. Of heirloom jewels, prized so much, Were many changed to chii)s and clods, And even statues of the gods Crumbled beneath its touch. Then angrily the people cried, " The loss outweighs the profit far; Our goods suffice us as they are; We will not have them tried." And since they could not so avail To check this unrelenting guest, They seized him, saying, " Let him test How real is our jail!" But, though they slew him with the sword. And in a fire his touchstone burned, Its doings could not be o'erturned, Its undoings restored. And when, to stop all future harm. They strewed its ashes on the breeze ; They little guessed each grain of these Conveyed the perfect chann. AUTUMNAL SONNET. Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods, And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt, And night by night the monitory blast Wails in the keyhole, telling how it passed O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes. Or grim, wide wave; and now the power is felt Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods Than any joy indulgent Summer dealt. Dear friends, together in the glimmering eve, Pensive and glad, with tones that recognize The soft invisible dew in each one's eyes, It may be, somewhat thus we shall have leave To walk with Memory, Avhen distant lies Poor i^avth, where we were wont to live and grieve. ALLSTON — APPLETON. 19 Washington Allston. BO VflOOD. All, tlien bow sweetly closed those crowded days! The minutes parting one by one like rays. That fade upon a summer's eve. But oh! what charm, or magic numbers Can give me back the gentle slum- bers Those weary, hai^py days did leave? When by my bed 1 saw my mother kneel. And with her blessing took her nightly kiss; Whatever Time destroys, he cannot this — E'en now that nameless kiss I feel. Thomas Gold Appleton. TO ROUSE, THE ARTIST. As when in watches of the night we see, Hanging in trenmlous beauty o'er the bed, The face we loved on Earth, now from us fled; So wan, so sweet, so spiritually free From taint of Earth, thy tender drawings be. There we niay find a friend remem- bered ; With a new aureole hovering roimd the head. Given by Art's peaceful immortal- ity. How many hon^es lialf empty fill the place Death vacates, with thy gracious sub- stitutes! Not sensuous with color, which may disgrace The memoiy of the body shared with brutes ; But the essential spirit in the face; As angels see us, best, Affection suits. TO WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON, AFTER THE WAR. Oh! liappiest thou, who from the shining height, Of tablelands serene can look below Wliere glared the tempest, and the lightning's glow. And see thy seed made han'est wave in light, And all the darkened land with God's smile bright! Leaving witli him the issue. Enough to know Albeit the sword hath sundered broth- ers so. Yet God's vicegerent ever is the Right. Nor will he leave us bleeding, but his Time Whicli healeth all things will our wounds make whole. While washed and cleansed of our fraternal crime, Freexlom shall count again her starry roll; All there, and moving with a step sublime To music God sounds in the human soul. 2© ARNOLD. Edwin Arnold. SHE AND }IE. "She Is dead!" thoy said to him. "Conio away; Kiss her! and leave her! — thy love is clay!" They smoothed her trusses of dark brown hair; On her forehead of marble they laid . it fair: Over her eyes, which gazed too much. They drew the lids with a gentle touch ; With a tender touch they closed up well The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell; About her brows, and her dear, pale face They tied her veil and her marriage- lace; And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes; — Which were the whiter no eye could choose ! And over her bosom they crossed her hands; "Come away," they said, — "God understands!" And then there was Silence; — and nothing there But the Silence — and scents of eglantere, And jasmine, and roses, and rose- mai7; For they said, "As a lady should lie, lies she!" And they held their breath as they left the room, With a shudder to glance at its still- ness and gloom. Cut he — who loved her too well to dread The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead, — He lit his lamp, and took the key. And turuM it! — Alone again — he and she! lie and she; but she would not speak, Though he kissM, in the old place, the quiet cheek; He and she; yet she would not smile. Though he call'd her the name that was fondest erewhile. He and she; and she did not move To any one passionate whisper of love ! Then he said, " Cold lips! and breast without breath! Is there no voice ? — no language of death "Dumb to the ear and still to the sense. But to heart and to soul distinct, — intense ? "See, no"w% — 1 listen with soul, not ear — What was the secret of dying, Dear ? " Was it the infinite wonder of all. That you ever could let life's flower fall ? " Or was it a greater marvel to feel The perfect calm o'er the agony steal ? " Was the miracle greatest to find how deep. Beyond all dreams, sank downward that sleep ? "Did life roll backward its record, Dear, And show, as they say it does, pasJ thinscs clear ? ARNOLD. n "And was it the innemiost heart of the bliss To find out so what a wisdom love is ? **Oh, perfect Dead! oh, Dead most deaj-, 1 hold the breath of my soul to hear; " 1 listen — as deep as to horrible hell, As high as to heaven! — and you do not tell! "There must be pleasures in dying, Sweet, To make you so placid from head to feet! " I would tell 2/o«, Darling, if I were dead, And 'tAvere your hot tears upon viy brow shed. "I would say, though the angel of death had laid His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid. "F()« should not ask, vainly, with streaming eyes. Which in Death's touch was the chiefest surprise ; *' The very strangest and suddenest thing Of all the surprises that dying must bring." All! foolish world! Oh! most kind Dead ! Though he told me, who will believe it was said? ^^^lo wiU believe that he heard her say, With the soft rich voice, in the dear old way: — "The utmost wonder is this. — I hear. And see you, and love you, and kiss you, Dear; "I can speak, now you hsten with soul alone; If your soul could see, it would all be shown. "AVhat a strange delicious amaze- ment is Death, To be without body and breathe without breath. "I should laugh for joy if yon did not cry; Oh, listen! Love lasts! — Love never will die. "I am only your Angel who was your Bride ; And 1 know, that though dead, I have never died.'' AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA, He who died at Azan sends This to comfort all his friends: Faithful friends! It lies, I know, Pale and white and cold as snow; And ye say, " Abdallah's dead!" Weeping at the feet and head, I can eee your falling tears, 1 can hear your sighs and prayers; Yet I smile and whisper this, — " / am not the thing you kiss; Cease your tears, and let it lie; It was mine, it is not I." Sweet friends! What the women lave For its last bed of the grave, Is a tent which I am quitting. Is a garment no more fitting, Is a cage from which, at last. Like a hawk my soul hath passed. Love the inmate, not the room, — The wearer, not the garb, — the plume Of the falcon, not the bars Which kept him from these splendid stars. Loving friends! Be wise and diy Straightway every weeping eye, — What ye lift upon the bier Is not worth a wistful tear. 'Tis an empty sea-shell, — one Out of which the pearl is gone : The shell is broken, it lies there; The pearl, the all, the soul, is here. 22 ARNOLD. 'Tis an earthen jar, whose lid Allah sealed, the while it hid That treasure of his treasury, A mind that loved him; let it lie! Let the shard be earth's once more, Since the gold shines in his store ! Allah glorious ! Allah good ! Now thy world is vmderstood; Now the long, long wonder ends ; Yet ye weep, my erring friends. While the man whom ye call dead, In unspoken bliss, instead, Lives and loves you; lost, 'tis true. By such light as shines for you; But in light ye cannot see Of unfulfilled felicity,— In enlarging paradise, Ijives a lifethat never dies. Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell; Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell. I am gone before your face, A moment's time, a little space. When ye come where 1 have stepped Ye will wonder why ye wept; Ye will know, by wise love taught. That here is all, and there is naught. Weep awhile, if ye are fain, — Sunshine still must follow rain ; Only not at death, — for death. Now I know, is that first breath Which om- souls draw when we enter Life, which is of all life centre. Be ye certain all seems love, Viewed from Allah's throne above; Be ye stout of heart, and come Bravely onward to your home! La Allah ilia Allah! yea! Thou love divine! Thou love alway! He that died at Azan gave This to those who made his grave. FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. If on this verse of mine Those eyes shall ever shine. Whereto sore-wounded men have looked for life, Think not that for a rhyme, Nor yet to fit the time, I name thy name, — true victor in this strife! But let it serve to say That, when we kneel to pray. Prayers rise for thee thine ear shall never know; And that thy gallant deed, For God, and for our need, Is in all hearts, as deep as love can go. 'Tis good that thy name springs From two of Earth's fair things — A stately city and a soft- voiced bird ; 'Tis well that in all homes. When thy sweet story comes. And brave eyes fill — that pleasant sounds be heard. Oh voice! in night of fear, As night's bird, "soft to hear, Oh great heart ! raised like city on a hill ; Oh watcher! worn and pale, Good Florence Nightingale, Thanks, loving thanks, for thy largo work and will ! England is glad of thee — Christ, for thy charity. Take thee to joy when hand and heart are still! ARNOLD. 23 George Arnold. IN THE DARK. (The author's last poem, written a few days belore his death.] All moveless stand the ancient cedar-trees Along the drifted sand-hills where they grow ; And from the darkness comes a wan- dering breeze. And waves them to and fro. A murky darkness lies along the sand, When bright the sunbeams of the morning shone, And the eye vainly seeks by sea and land Some light to rest upon. No large, pale star its glimmering vigil keeps; An inky sea reflects an inky sky; And the dark river, like a serpent, creeps To where its black piers lie. Strange salty odors through the dark- ness steal. And through the dark, the ocean- thunders roll; Thick darkness gathers, stifling, till I feel Its weight upon my soul. I stretch ray hands out in the empty air; I strain my eyes into the heavy night ; Blackness of darkness! — Father, hear my prayer! Grant me to see the light! CUI BOKO? A HARMLESS fellow, Wasting useless days, Am I: I love my comfort and my leism*e ; Let those who wish them toil for goKl and praise; To me the summer-day brings more of pleasure. So, here upon the grass, I He at ease, While solemn voices from the Past are calling. Mingled with rustling whispers in the trees, And pleasant sounds of water idly falling. There was a time when I had higher aims Than thus to lie among the flow- ers and listen To listening birds, or watch the sun- set's flames On the broad river's smface glow and glisten. There was a time, perhaps, when I had thought To make a name, a home, a bright existence: But time has shown me that ray dreams are naught Save a mirage that vanished with the distance. Well, it is gone: I care no longer now For fame, for fortune, or for empty praises; Rather than wear a ciown upon my brow, I'd lie forever here among tliQ daisies. So you, who wish for fame, good friend, pass by; With you I surely cannot think to quarrel : Give me peace, rest, this bank whereon I lie. And spare me both the labor and the laurel! 24 ARNOLD. Matthew Arnold. YOUTH'S AGITATIONS. When 1 shall be divorced, some ten years hence, From this poor present self which I am now; When youth has done its tedious vain expense Of passions that forever ebb and flow ; Shall 1 not joy youth's heats are left behind, And breathe more happy in an even clime? — Ah no, for then I shall begin to find A thousand virtues in this hated time! Then I shall w^ish its agitations back, And all its thwarting ciu-rents of de- sire; Then I shall praise the heat which then I lack. And call this hurrying fever, gener- ous fire; And sigh that one thing only has been lent To youth and age in common — dis- content. IMMORTALITY, , Foiled by our fellow-men, depress' d, outworn. We leave the brutal world to take its way. And, P«f/ence/ In another life, we say , The world shall be thr'ust down, and we up-home. And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn The world's poor, routed leavings? or will they. Who fail'd under tlie heat of this life's day. Support the fervors of the heavenly morn ? No, no! the energy of life may be Kept on after the grave, but not begun ; And he who flagg'd not in the earthly strife. From strength to strength advancing only he, His soul well-knit, and all his battles won, Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal life. EAST LOXDOy. 'TwAS August, and the fierce sun overhead Smote on the squalid streets of Beth- nal Green, And the pale weaver, through his windows seen In Spitaltields, look'd thrice dis- pirited. I met a preacher there I knew, and said : " 111 and o'erwork'd, how fare you in this scene?" — "Bravely!" said he; "for I of late have been Much cheer' d with thoughts of Christ, the limny bread.'- O human soul! as long as thou canst so Set up a mark of everlasting light. Above the howling senses' ebb and flow. To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam — Not with lost toil thou laborest through the night! Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home. ARNOLD. 25 AUSTERITY OF POETRY. That son of Italy who tried to blow, Ere Dante came, the trump of sacred song. In his light youth amid a festal throng Sate with his bride to see a public show. Fair was the bride, and on her front did glow Youth like a star; and what to youth belong — Gay raiment, sparkling gauds, ela- tion strong. A prop gave way ! crash fell a plat- form! lo. Mid struggling sufferers, hurt to death, she lay! Shuddering, they drew her garments off — and found A robe of sackcloth next the smooth, white skin. Such, poets, is your bride, the Muse ! young, gay. Radiant, adorn'd outside; a hidden ground Of thought and of austerity within. [From Memorial Verses.] GOETHE. He took the suffering human race, He read each A\ound, each weakness clear; And struck his finger on the place. And said: T/iou^ ailcst here, and here ! EARLY DEATH AND FAME. Foil him who must see many years, 1 pmise the life which slips away Out of the light ami mutely; which avoids Fame, and her less fair followei-s, envy, stiife. Stupid detraction, jealousy, cabal, Insincere praises; which descends The quiet mossy track to age. l5ut, when immature death Beckons too early the guest From the half-tried banquet of life. Young, in the bloom of his days; Leaves no leisure to press. Slow and surely, the sweets Of a tranquil life in the shade — Fuller for him be the hours! Give him emotion, though pain! Let him live, let him feel : J have lived. Heap up his moments with life! Triple his pulses with fame ! SELF-DEPENDENCE. Weary of myself, and sick of asking Wliat 1 am, and what 1 ought to be. At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea. And a look of passionate desire O'er the sea and to the stars I send: " Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me, Calm me, ah, compose me to the end! " All, once more," I cried, " ye stare, ye waters, On my heart your mighty charm renew ; Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you, Feel my soul becoming vast like you!" From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven. Over the lit sea's unquiet way. In the rustling night-air came the answer : " Wouldst thou be as these are ? Live as they. " Unaffrighted by the silence round them, Undistracted by the sights they see, • These demand not that the things without them Yield them love, amusement, sym- pathy. 26 BAILEY— BAILLIE. "And with joy the stars perform their shining, And the sea its long moon-si Iver'd roll; For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. "Bomided by themselves, and un re- gardful In what state God's other works may be, In their own tasks all their powers pouring, These attain the mighty life you see." O air-born voice ! long since, severely clear, A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear: "Kesolve to be thyself; and know, that he Who finds himself, loses his misery I " Philip James Bailey. THE TRUE MEASURE OF LIFE. We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breath; In feelings, not in figures on the dial. W^e should count time by heart-throbs when they beat For God, for man, for duty. He most lives, W^ho thinks most, feels noblest, acts the best. Life is but a means unto an end — that end. Beginning, mean, and end to all things, God. Joanna Baillie. THE WORTH OF FAME. Oh! who shall lightly say, that Fame Is nothing but an empty name! Whilst in that sound there is a charm The nerves to brace, the heart to warm. As, thinking of the mighty dead, The young from slothful couch will start. And vow, with lifted hands out- spread, Like them to act a noble part? Oh ! who shall lightly say that Fame Is nothing but an empty name! ^Vllen, but for those, our mighty dead, All ages past a blank w^ould be. Sunk in oblivion's murky bed, A desert bare, a shipless sea? They are the distant objects seen, —r The lofty marks of what hath been. Oh! wiio shall lightly say that Fame Is nothing but an empty name! When memoiy of the niighty dead To earth-worn i3ilgrim's wistful eye The brightest rays of cheering shed. That point to innnortality? THE KITTEN. Wanton" droll, whose harmless play Beguiles the rustic's closing day. When drawn the evening fire about, Sit aged crone and thoughtless lout, And child upon his three-foot stool, Wailing till his supi)er cool; BAIL LIE. 27 And maid, whose cheek oiitblooms the rose. As brigljt the blazing fagot glows, Wlio, bending to the friendly light Plies her task with busy sleight; Come, show thy tricks and sportive graces, Thus circled round with merry faces. Backward coll'd, and crouching low. With glaring eyeballs watch thy foe, Tlie Iiouscwife's spindle whirling round. Or thread, or straw, that on the ground Its shadow throws, by urchin sly Held out to lure thy loving eye; Then onward stealing, fiercely spring Upon the futile, faithless thing. Now, wheeling roimd, with bootless skill. Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still, As oft beyond thy curving side Its jetty tip is seen to glide; Till from thy centre, starting fair. Thou sidelong rear'st, witli rump in air, Erected stiff, and gait awry, Like madam in lier tantrums high : Though ne'er a madam of them all, Wliose silken kirtle sweeps the hall More varied trick and whim displays, To catch the admirinii stransrer's But not alone by cottage fire Do rustics rude thy feats admire; The learned sage, whose tlioughts explore The widest range of human lore, Or, with unfetter'd fancy, fly Through airy heights of poesy. Pausing, smiles with alter' d air, To see thee climb liis elbow-cliair, Or, strugghng on the mat below, Uold warfare with liis slipper'd toe. ihe widow'd dame, or lonely maid, \\\\o in the still, but clieerless shade Of liome unsocial, spends her age. And rarely turns a letter'd page; Upon her hearth for thee lets "fall The rounded cork, or paper ball. Nor chides thee on thy wicked watch The ends of ravell'd skein to catch, But lets thee have thy wayward will, Perplexing oft her sober skill MY LOVE IS ON HER WAY. Oh, welcome bat and owlet gi-ay, Thus winging low your airy way I And welcome moth and drowsy fly That to mine ear comes humming by! And welcome shadows dim and deep, And stars that through the pale sky peep; Oh welcome all ! to me ye say My woodland love is on her way. Upon the soft wind floats her hair. Her breath is on the dewy air; Her steps are in the whisper'd sound, That steals along the stilly ground. Oh, dawn of day, in rosy bower, Wliat art thou to this witching hour? Oh, noon of day, in sunshine bright. What art thou to this fall of night ? SNATCHES OF MIRTH IN A DARK LIFE. Didst thou ne'er see the swallow's veering breast. Winging the air beneatli some murky cloud In tlie sunned glimpses of a stormy day, Shiver in silvery brightness ? Or boatman's oar, as vivid lightning flash In the faint gleam, that like a spirit's path Tracks the still waters of some sul- len lake ? Or lonely tower, from its brown mass of woods, Give to the parting of a wintry sun One hasty glance in mockery of the night Closing in darkness round it ? (Gentle friend ! Chide not her mirth who was sad yesterday, And nmy be so to-morrow. ) ^8 BALL AN TINE — BARB A ULD. James Ballantine. ILKA BLADE O' GRASS KEFS ITS AIN DRAP O' DEW. Confidf: ye aye in Providence, for Providence is kind, And bear ye a' life's changes, \vi' a calm and tranquil mind, Though pressed and hemmed on every side, ha'e faith and ye'll win tlirough For ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o'dew. Gin reft frae friends or crost in love, as whiles nae doubt ye've been, Grief lies deep hidden in your heart, or tears flow frae your een, Believe it for the best, and trow there's good in store for you, For ilka blade o' grass keps its aiii drap o' dew. In lang, lang days o' simmer, wlien the clear and cloudless sky Kefuses ae wee drap o' rain to nature parched and dry. The genial night, wi' balmy breath, gars verdure spring anew, And ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. Sae, lest 'mid fortune's sunshine we shoidd feel owre proud and hie. And in our pride forget to wipe the tear frae poortith's e'e, Some wee dark clouds o' sorrow come, we ken na whence or hoo, But ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. Anna Letitia Barbauld. LIFE. Life ! I know not what thou art, But know that thou and I must part; And when, or liow, or where we met, I own to me 's a secret yet. Life! we've been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy weatlier ; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear — Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; — Tlien steal away, give little warn- ing, Choose thine own time; Say not Good Niglit, — but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning. THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. Sweet is the scene when virtue dies' When sinks a righteous soul to rest, How mildly beam tlie closing eyes. How gently heaves tli' expiring breast. So fades a summer cloud away So sinks tlie gale when storms are o'er. So gently shuts the eye of day, So dies a wave along the shore. Triumphant smiles tlie victor brow, Fanned by some angel's purple wing ; — Wliere is, O Grave ! thy victory now ! And wliere, insidious Death, thy sting ! BABKER — BARLOW. 29 Farewell, conflicting joys and fears, Wliere light and shade alternate dwell! How bright the unchaMging morn appears ; — Farewell, iucoustant world, fare- well! Its duty done, — as sinks the day. Light from its load the spirit flies; While heaven and earth combine to say "Sweet is the scene when Yirtiie dies!'' David Barker. THE COVERED RlilDGE. Teli. the fainting soul in the weary form. There's a world of the purest bliss, That is linked as the soul and form are linked, By a covered bridge with this. Yet to reach that realm on the other shore, We must pass through a transient gloom. And must walk unseen, unhelped, and alone Through that covered bridge — the tomb. But we all pass over on equal temis. For the universal toll Is the outer garb, which the hand of God Has flung around the soul. Though the eye is dim and the bridge is dark. And the river it spans is wide, Yet Faith points through to a shin- ing mount That looms on the other side. To enable our feet on the next day's march To climb up that golden ridge, We must all lie down for a one night's rest Inside of the covered bridge. Joel Barlow. TO FREEDOM. Sun of the moral world! effulgent source Of man's best wisdom and his stead- iest force. Soul-searching Freedom! here assume thy stand, And radiate hence to every distant land; Point out and prove how all the scenes of strife. The shock of states, the impassion' d broils of life, Spring from unequal sway; and how they fly Before the splendor of thy peaceful eye; Unfold at last the genuine social plan. The mind's full scope, the dignity of man. Bold nature bursting through her long disguise, And nations daring to be just and wise. Yes! righteous Freedom, heaven and earth and sea Yield or withhold their various gifts for thee ; 30 BARNARD. Protected industry beneatli thy reign Leads all the virtues in her filial train ; Courageous Probity, with brow serene ; And Temperance calm presents her placid mien ; Contentment, Moderation, Labor, Art, Mould the new man and humanize his heart ; To public plenty, private ease di- lates, Domestic peace, to harmony of states. Protected Industry, careering far, Detects the cause, and cm-es the rage of war, And sweeps, with forceful arm, to their last graves, Kings from the eartli and pirates from the waves. Lady Anne Barnard. AULD nOBfX on AY. When the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come hame, When a' the weary warld to quiet rest are gane; The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee, Unkenned by my gudeman who soundly sleeps by me. Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sought me for his bride, But, saving ae crown piece, he'd naething else beside. To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea; And the crown and the pound, O they were baith for me ! Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day, My father brak his arm, our cow was stown away; My mother she fell sick — my Jamie was at sea — And Auld Robin Gray, O ! he came a-courting me. My father cou'dna work — my mother cou'dna spin; I toiled day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee, Said, " Jenny, O! for their sakes, will you marry me ! " My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back ; But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack; His ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jamie dee ? Or, wherefore am I spared to cry out, Wae is me ! My father argued sair — my mother didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break; They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea; And so Auld Robin Gray, lie was gudeman to me. I hadna been his wife, a week but only four, When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door, I saw my J^amie's ghaist — I cou'dna think it he. Till he said, " I'm come hame, my love, to marry thee!" BATES. 31 sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a' ; Ae kiss mc took, na rnair — 1 bade him gang awa. 1 wish that I were dead, but I'm nae like to dee; For O, 1 am but young to cry out, Wae is me ! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin, I darena think of Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be, For Auld Kobiu Gray, O ! he is sae kind to me. Charlotte Fiske Bates. MAKE THINE ANGEL GLAD. From the morniHg even until now, Evil over thee full power hath had ; Oh, remember late the shattered vow! Turn to God, and make thine angel glad. Sin will seek to snare thy heart again ; Though her beauty make thee al- most mad, Though resistance make thee pale with pain. Turn to God, and make thine angel glad. CONSECRATION. A lover's mood. All the kisses that I have given, I grudge from my soul to-day, And of all 1 have ever taken, 1 would wipe the thought away. How 1 wish my lips had been her- mits, Held apart from kith and kin, That fresh from God's holy service, To Love's they might enter in. THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. The years have linings just as gob- lets do: The old year is the lining of the new, — Filled with the wine of precious memories, Tlie golden was dotli line tlie silver is. WOODBINES IN OCTOBER. As dyed in blood, the streaming vines appear. While long and low the wind about them grieves; The heart of Autumn must have broken here And poured its treasure out upon the leaves. TO VICTORIA. A MONARCH soul hath niled thyself, O Queen, Else what it is, thy kingdom had not been. 32 BATES. Fletcher Bates. THE TWO BIRDS. As leaves turned red And some fell dead, For sunnier skies two songsters fled ; But ere they went, In merriment They sung how summer had been spent. One song confest, "1 had my nest Near yonder mountain's lofty crest; Where none intrude In lonely mood I carolled oft in solitude." The other sung " I built among The cottagers, where old and young Who trod the vale Would often hail Me, as their little nightingale." Then off they flew, Like specks they grew, Then faded in the heavenly blue. Our human lot Was theirs, I wot, For one was missed, and one was not. THE DEAD REE. Where honeysuckles scent the way, I heai'd thee hunmiing yesterday; Thy little life was not in vain, It gathered sweets for other's gain. And somewhere in a dainty cell Is stored delicious hydromel. O poet! in thy calm retreat. From joy and grief extracting sw^eet. Some day thy fancy's wings must fold. And thou lie motionless and cold. Perhaps thy garnered honey then May be the food of living men. Katharine Lee Bates. THE ORGANIST. Slowly I circle the dim, dizzy stair. Wrapt in my cloak's gray fold. Holding my heart lest it throb to theair Its radiant secret, for though I be old, . Though 1 totter and rock like a ship in the wind. And the sunbeams come unto me broken and blind. Yet my spirit drinks youth from the treasure we hold, Richer than gold. Princes below me, lips wet from the wine. Hush at my organ's swell; Ladies applaud me with clappings as fine As showers that splash in a mu- sical well. But their ears only hear mighty mel- odies ringing, And their souls never know 'tis my angel there singing. That the grand organ-angel awakes in his cell Under my spell. There in the midst of the wandering pipes, Far from the gleaming keys. And the organ-front with its gilded stripes. My glorious angel lies sleeping at ease. And the hand of a stranger may beat at his gate, And the ear of a stranger may listen and wait. But he only cries in his pain for these, Witless to please. BA YL Y. 33 Angel, my angel, the old man's hand Xnoweth Ihy silver way. 1 loose thy lips from their silence- band And over thy heart-strings my fin- gers play, While the song peals forth from thy mellow throat, And my spirit climbs on the climb- ing note. Till 1 mingle thy tone with the tones away Over the day. So I look up as I follow the tone, Up with my dim old eyes, And I wonder if organs have angels alone, Or if, as my fancy might almost surmise. Each man in his heart folds an angel with wings. An angel that slumbers, but wakens and sings When thrilled by the touch that is sympathy-wise. Bidding it rise. Thomas Haynes Bayly. THE FinST GRA Y HAIH. The matron at her mirror, With her hand upon her brow, Sits gazing on her lovely face, — Ay, lovely even now! Why doth she lean upon her hand With such a look of care ? Why steals that tear across her cheek ? She sees her first gray hair! Time from her form hath ta'en away But little of its grace; His touch of thought hath dignified The beauty of her face. Yet she might mingle in the dance Where maidens gayly trip. So bright is still her hazel eye, So beautiful her lip. The faded form is often mark'd By sorrow more than years, — The wrinkle on the cheek may be The course of secret tears ; The mournful lip may murmur of A love it ne'er confess'd, And the dimness of the eye beti-ay A heart that cannot rest. But she hath been a happy wife : The lover of her youth May proudly claim the smile that pays The trial of his truth ; A sense of slight — of loneliness Hath never banish'd sleep: Her life hath been a cloudless one; Then wherefore doth she weep ? She look'd upon her raven locks, — What thoughts did they recall ? Oh! not of nights when they were deck'd For banquet or for ball ; They brought back thoughts of early youth, Ere she had learn'd to check, With artificial wreaths, the curls That sported o'er her neck. She seem'd to feel her mother's hand Pass lightly through her hair. And draw it from her brow, to leave A kiss of kindness there. She seem'd to view her father's smile, And feel the playful touch That sometimes feign' d to steal away The curls she prized so much. And now she sees her first gray hair ! Oh, deem it not a crime For her to weep, when she beholds The first footmark of Time ! She knows that, one by one, those mute Mementos will increase, And steal youth, beauty, strength away. Till life itself shall cease. 84 BEATTIE. All, lady! heed the monitor I Thy mirror tells thee truth ; Assume the matron's folded veil, Resign the wreath of youth : Go! bind it on thy daughter's brow, In her thou'lt still look fair — 'Twere well would all learn wisdom, who Behold the first gray hair! [From The Minstrel.] THE ASCENT TO FAME. James Beattie. [From The Minstrel.] BEAUTIES OF MOBXIXG. Ah I who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud tem- ple shines afar? Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime Has felt the influence of malignant star, And waged with Fortune an eternal war ? Checked by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Poverty's unconquerable bar. In life's low vale remote has pined alone. Then dropped into the grave, un- pitied and unknown! [From The Minstrel.] THE CHARMS OF NATURE. Oh, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resound- ing shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all that echoes to the song of even. All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of heaven. Oh, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ? But who the melodies of morn can tell ? The wild brook babbling down the mountain side; The lowing herd;, the sheepfold's simple bell; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; The hollow murmur of the ocean- tide ; The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love. And the full choir that wakes the universal grove. The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark ; Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark! Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings; Through rustling corn the hare as- tonished springs; Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whir- ling wings; Deep mourns the turtle in seques- tered bower. And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tower. BEERS. 35 [From The Minstrel.'] DEATH AX D RESUHnECTION. Wheiie now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool. And meads, with life, and mirth, and beauty crowned ? Ah! see, the unsightly slime, and sluggish pool, Have all the solitary vale em- browned ; Fled each fair fonn, and nuite each melting sound, The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray. And hark! the river bursting every mound, Down tlie vale thunders, and with wasteful sway Uproots the grove, and rolls the shat- tered rocks away. Yet such the destiny of all on earth : So nourishes and fades majestic man. P'air is the bud his vernal morn brings forth, And fostering gales a while the nurs- ling fan. O smile, ye heavens, serene ; ye mil- dews wan. Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime. Nor lessen of his life the little span. Borne on the swift, though silent wings of Time, Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime. And be it so. Let those deplore their doom Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn ; But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb. Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn. Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more return ? Is yonder wave the Sun's eternal bed ? Soon shall the orient with new luste burn, And Spring shall soon her vital influ- ence shed. Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead. Shall 1 be left forgotten in the dust. When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ? Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust. Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to "live ? Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive With disappointment, penury, and pain ? No: Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive. And man's majestic beauty, bloom again, Bright through the eternal year of Love's'triumphant rei^u. Ethel Lynn Beers. THE PICKET-GUAni). "All quiet along the Potomac," they say, ''Except, now and then, a stray picket Is shot as he walks on his beat to and fro, By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 'Tis nothing — a private or two, now and then, Will not count in the news of the battle; Not an othcer lost — only one of the men Moaning out, all alone, the death- rattle." 36 BEERS. All quiet along the Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming ; Their tents, in tlie rays of the clear autumn moon Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming. A trenudous sigh, as the gentle night- wind Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping; While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes. Keep guard — for the army is sleeping. There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread As he tramps from the rock to the fountain. And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed. Far away in the cot on the moun- tain. His musket falls slack — his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender. As he mutters a prayer for the chil- dren asleep — For their mother — may Heaven defend her! The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then. That night when the love yet un- spoken, Leaped up to his lips — when low- nuirmured vows Were pledged to he ever unbroken. Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are well- ing, And gatliers his gmi closer up to its place, As if to keep down the heart- swelling. He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree, The footstep is lagging and weaiy; Yet onward he goes through the broad belt of light, Toward the shade of tlie forest so dreary. Hark! was it the night wind that rus- tled the leaves ? Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing ? It looked like a rifle — "Ah! Mary, good-by!" And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. All quiet along the Potomac to- night. No sound save the rush of the river; While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead — The picket's off duty forever! WEIGHING THE BABY. "How many pounds does the baby weigh — Baby who came but a month ago ? How many pounds from the crown- ing curl To tbe rosy point of the restless toe?" Grandfather ties the 'kerchief knot. Tenderly guides the swinging weight. And carefully over his glasses peers To read the record, "only eight." Softly the echo goes around: The father laughs at the tiny girl ; The fair young" mother sings the words, While grandmother smooths the golden curl. And stooping above the precious thing, Nestles a kiss within a prayer, Murmuring softly " Little one, Grandfather did not weigh you- fair." BEAUMONT— BENNETT. 37 Nobody weighed the baby's smile, Or the love that came with the helpless one; Nobody weighed the threads of care, From which a woman's life is spun. No index tells the mighty worth Of a little baby's quiet breath — A soft, unceasing metronome. Patient and faithful until death. Nobody weighed the baby*s soul, For here on earth no weights there be That could avail ; God only knows Its value In eternity. Only eight pounds to hold a soul That seeks no angel's silver wing. But shrines it in this human guise. Within so frail and small a thing! Oh, mother! laugh your men^ note. Be gay and glad, but do n't for- get From baby's eyes looks out a soul That claims a home iu Eden yet. Francis Beaumont. ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. Mortality, behold and fear What a change of flesh is here! Think how many royal bones Sleep within these heaps of stones: Here they lie, had realms and lands. Who now want strength to stir their hands, Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust They preach, "In greatness is no trust." Here's an acre sown indeed With the richest royallest seed That the earth did e'er suck in Since the first man died for sin: Here the bones of biilh have cried "Though gods they were, as men they died!" Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings: Here's a world of pomp and state Buried in dust, once dead by fate. William Cox Bennett. THE SEASONS. A BLUE-EYED child that sits amid the noon, O'erhung with a laburnum's droop- ing sprays, Singing her little songs, while softly round Along the grass the chequered sun- shine plays. All 'Deauty that is throned in woman- hood Pacing a summer garden's foun- tained walks. That stoops to smooth a glossy span- iel down To hide her flushing cheek from one who talks. A happy mother with her fair-faced girls, In v»liose sweet spring again her youth she sees. With shout and dance and laugh and bound and song. Stripping in autumn orchards, laden trees. 38 BENSEL. An aged woman in a wintry room — Frost on the pane, without the whirling snow — Reading old letters of her far-off youth, Of sorrows past and joys of long ago. SUMMER rain: O GENTLE, gentle summer rain, Let not the silver lily pine, The drooping lily pine in vain To feel that dewy touch of thine. To drink thy freshness once again, O gentle, gentle summer rain ! In heat, the landscape quivering lies; The cattle pant beneath the tree; Through parching air and purple skies The earth looks up in vain for thee: For thee, for thee it looks in vain, O gentle, gentle summer rain ! Come thou, and brim the meadow streams, And soften all the hills with mist; O falling dew from burning dreams, By thee shall herb and flower be kissed : And earth shall bless thee yet again, O gentle, gentle summer rain ! James Berry Bensel. IN ARABIA. " Choose thou between I " and to his enemy The Arab chief a brawny hand dis- played. Wherein, like moonlight on a sullen sea. Gleamed the gray scimetar's en- graven blade. " Choose thou between death at my hand and thine! Close in my power my vengeance 1 may wieak; Yet hesitate to strike. A hate like mine Is noble still. Thou hast thy choosing — speak ! " And Ackbar stood. About him all the band That hailed his captor chieftain, with grave eyes, His answer waited, while that heavy hand Stretched like a bar between him and the skies. Straight in the face before him Ack- bar sent A sneer of scorn, and raised his noble head; "Strike!" and the desert monarch, as content, Rehung the weapon at his girdle red. Then Ackbar nearer crept and lifted high His arms toward the heaven so far and blue. Wherein the sunset rays began to die, — While o'er the band a deeper silence grew. "Strike! I am ready! Didst thou think to see A son of Ghera spill upon the dust His noble blood ? Didst hope to have my knee Bend at thy feet, and with one mighty thrust " The life thou hatest flee before thee here ? Shame on thee! on thy race! art thou the one Who hast so long thy vengeance counted dear ? My hate is greater; I did strike thy son, BLAKE. 39 "Thy one son, Noumid, dead before my face : And by the swiftest courser of my stml Sent to thy door his corpse. Aye, one might trace Their flight across the desert by his blood. ** Strike! for my hate is greater than thy own!" But with a fiown the Arab moved away, Walked to a distant palm and stood alone. With eyes that looked where pur- ple mountains lay. This for an Instant: then he turned again Toward the place where Ackbar waited still, Walking as one benumbed with bit- ter pain, Or with a hateful mission to fulfil. "Strike, for I hate thee!" Ackbar cried once more. " Nay, but my hate 1 cannot find!" said now Ilis enemy. " Thy freedom I restore. Live; life were more than death to such as thou." So with his gift of life the Bedouin slept That night untroubled; but when dawn broke through The purple East, and o'er his eye- lids crept The long, thin fingers of the light, he drew A heavy breath and woke: above him slione A lifted dagger — "Yea, he gave thee life. But I give death!" came in fierce undertone. And Ackbar died. It was dead Noumid 's wife. William Blake. THE TIGER. Tigek! Tiger! burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry ? In what distant deeps or skies Burned the fire of thine eyes ? On what wings dare he aspire ? What the hand dare seize the fire ? And what shoulder, and what art. Could twist the sinews of thine heart ? And when thy heart began to beat. What dread hand forged thy dread feet ? AVliat the hammer? what the chain ? In what furnace was thy brain ? What the anvil ? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp ? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did He smile his work to see ? Did He who made the lamb make thee ? Tiger ! Tiger ! burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? 40 BLAMIRE — BLOOMFIELD. Susanna Blamire. WHAT AILS THIS HEART O' MINE. What ails this heart o' mine ? AVliat ails this watery ee ? What gars me a' turn pale as death When I take leave o' thee ? When thou art far a wa' , Thou 'It dearer grow to me; But change o' place and change o' folk May gar thy fancy jee. When I gae out at e'en, Or walk at morning air, Ilk rustling bush will seem to say. I used to meet thee there. Then I'll sit down and cry, And live aneath the tree, And when a leaf fa's i' my lap, I '11 ca' 't a word frae thee. 1 '11 hie me to the bower That thou wi' roses tied, And where wi' mony a blushing bud I strove myself to hide. I '11 doat on ilka spot Where I ha'e been wi' thee; And ca' to mind some kindly word, By ilka bum and tree. Robert Bloomfield. [From The Farmer^s Boy.'] A SPRING DAY. Advancing Spring profusely spreads abroad Flowers of all hues, with sweetest fragrance stored ; Where'er she treads Love gladdens every plain. Delight on tiptoe bears her lucid train; Sweet Hope with conscious brow be- fore her flies, Anticipating wealth from Summer skies ; All Nature feels her renovating sway ; The sheep-fed pasture, and the meadow gay; And trees, and shrubs, no longer budding seen, Display the new-grown branch of lighter green; On airy downs the idling shepherd lies, And sees to-morrow in the marbled skies. [From The Farmer^s Boy.'] A TEMPEST. Anon tired laborers bless their sheltering home, When midnight, and the frightful tempest come. The farmer wakes, and sees, with silent dread. The angry shafts of Heaven gleam round his bed ; The bursting cloud reiterated roars. Shakes his straw roof, and jars his bolted doors: The slow-winged storm along the troubled skies Spreads its dark course: the wind begins to rise; And full-leafed elms, his dwelling's shade by day. With mimic thunder give its fury way : Sounds in the chimney-top a doleful peal Midst pouring rain, or gusts of rat- tling hail ; BLOOMFIELD. 41 With tenfold clanger low the tem- pest bends, And quick and strong the sulphurous flame descends: The frightened mastiff from his ken- nel flies, And cringes at the door with piteous cries. . . . Wliere now's the trifler! where the child of pride ? These are the moments when the heart is tried! Nor lives the man, with conscience e'er so clear, But feels a solenm, reverential fear; Feels too a joy relieve his aching breast. When the spent storm hath howled itself to rest. Still, welcome beats the long-con- tinued shower. And sleep protracted, comes with double power; Calm dreams of bliss bring on the morning sun, For every barn is filled, and Harvest done! [From The Farmer's Boy.] HARVESTING. Hark ! where the sweeping scythe now rips along: Each sturdy mower, emulous and strong. Whose writhing. form meridian heat defies, Bends o'er his work, and every sinew tries ; Prostrates the waving treasure at his feet. But spares the rising clover, short and sweet. Come, Health! come. Jollity! light- footed, come; Here hold your revels, and make this your home. Each heart awaits and hails you as its own ; Each moistened brow, that scorns to wear a frown : The unpeopled dwelling mourns its tenants strayed; E'en the domestic laughing dairy- maid Hies to the field, the general toil to share. Meanwhile the farmer quits his elbow-chair. His cool brick floor, his pitcher, and his ease. And braves the sultry beams, and gladly sees His gates thrown open, and his team abroad, The ready group attendant on his word. To turn the swaith, the quivering load to rear. Or ply the busy rake, the land to clear. Siunmer's light garb itself now cum- brous grown. Each his thin doublet in the shade throws down; Where oft the mastiff skulks with half-shut eye, And rouses at the stranger passing by; Whilst unrestrained the social con- verse flows, And every breast Love's powerful impulse knows, And rival wits with more than rustic grace Confess the presence of a pretty face. For, lo! encircled there, the lovely maid, In youth's own bloom and native smiles arrayed; Her hat awry, divested of her gown, Her creaking stays of leather, stout and brown; — Invidious barrier! Why art thou so high, "Wlien the slight covering of her neck slips by. There half revealing to the eager sight. Her full, ripe bosom, exquisitely white ? 42- BLOOMFIELD. In many a local tale of harmless mirth, And many a jest of momentary birth, She bears a part, and as v\\q stops to speak, Bs bacl glowing cheek. TO HIS MOTHEirS SPINDLE. The hand that wore thee smooth is cold, and spins No more! Debility pressed hard, around The seat of life, and terrors filled her brain, — Nor causeless terrors. Giants giim and bold. Three mighty ones she feared to meet: — they came — WiNTEK, Old Age, and Poverty, — all came: And when Death beheld Her tribulation, he fulfilled his task. And to her trembling hand and heart at once. Cried, '* Spin no more.'^ — Thou then wert left half filled With this soft downy fleece, such as she wound Through all her days, she who could spin so well. Half filled wert thou — half finished when she died! — Half finished ? 'Tis the motto of the world ! We spin vain threads, and strive, and die With sillier things than spindles on our hands! Then feeling, as 1 do, resistlessly. The bias set upon my soul for verse ; Oh, should old age still find my brain at work. And Death, o'er some poor fragment striding, cry "Holdl spin no morel" grant. Heaven, that purity Of thought and texture, may assimi- late That fragment unto thee, in useful- ness, In worth, and snowy innocence. Then shall The village school-mistress, shine brighter through The exit of her boy; and both shall live. And virtue triumph too; and vhtue's tears. Like Heaven's pure blessings, fall upon their grave. LOVE OF THE COUNTRY. [Written at Clare Hall, Herts, Juue, 1804.] Welcome, silence! welcome, peace! Oh, most welcome, holy shade! Thus I prove, as years increase, My heart and soul for quiet made. Thus [.fix my firm belief While rapture's rushing tears de- scend, That every flower and every leaf Is moral Truth's unerring friend. I would not for a world of gold That Nature's lovely face should tire; Fountain of blessings yet untold: Pure source of intellectual fire! Fancy's fair buds, the germs of song, Unquickened midst the world's rude strife. Shall sweet retirement render strong, And morning silente bring to life. Then tell me not that I shall grow Forlorn, that fields and woods wiO cloy ; From Nature and her changes flow An evei-lasting tide of joy. I grant that summer heats will 1 urn, That keen will come the t:Osty night; But both shall please: and e? h in turn Yield Reason's most supreir^ de- light. BOKER. 4S Build me a shrine, and I could kneel To rural gods, or prostrate fall ; Did I not see, did I not feel, That one Great Spthit governs all. O Heaven, permit that I may lie Where o'er my corse green branches wave; And those who from life's tumult fly With kindred feelings, press my grave. GLEANERS SONG. Dear Ellen, your tales are all plenteously stored With the joys of some bride, and the wealth of her lord; Of her chariots and dresses, And worlilly caresses. And servants that fly when she's waited upon: But what can she boast if she weds unbeloved ? Can she e'er feel the joy that one morning I proved, When I put on ray new gown and waited for John ? These fields, my dear Ellen, I knew them of yore, Yet to me they ne'er look'd so enchanting before; The distant bells ringing, The birds round us singing, For pleasure is pure when affection is won: They told me the troubles and cares of a wife ; But I loved him ; and that was the j)ride of my life, When I put on my new gow^n and waited for John. He shouted and ran, as he leapt from the stile ; And what in my bosom was passing the while ? For love knows the blessing Of ardent caressing, When virtue inspires us, and doubts are all gone. The sunshine of Fortune you say is divine; True love and the sunshine of Nature were mine, When I put on my new gown and waited for John. George Henry Boker. ODE TO A MOUNTAIN OAK. Proud mountain giant, whose majes- tic face. From thy high watch-tower on the steadfast rock, Looks calmly o'er the trees that throng thy base, How long hast thou withstood the tempest's shock ? How long hast thou looked down on yonder vale Sleeping in sun before thee ; Or bent thy ruffled brow, to let the gale Steer Its white, drifting sails just o'er thee ? Strong link 'twixt vanished ages! Thou hast a sage and reverend look: As if life's struggle, through its varied stages. Were stamped on thee, as in a book. 44 BOKER. Thou hast no voice to tell what thou hast seen, Save a low moaning in thy troubled leaves ; And canst but point thy scars, and shake thy head. With solemn warning, in the sun- beam's sheen; And show how Time the mightiest thing bereaves, By the sere leaves that rot upoit thy bed. Type of long-suffering power! Even in my gayest hour, Thou 'dst still my tongue, and send my spirit far. To wander in a labyrinth of thought ; For thou hast waged with Time unceasing war, And out of pain hast strength and beauty brought. "Thou amidst storms and tempests hadst thy birth. Upon these bleak and scantly-shel- tering rocks, Nor much save storm and wrath hast known on earth; Yet nobly hast thou bode the fiercest shocks. That Circumstance can pour on patient Worth. I see thee springing, in the vernal time, A sapling weak, from out the bar- ren stone, To dance with May upon the moun- tain peak : Pale leaves put forth to greet the genial clime. And roots shot down life's suste- nance to seek. While mere existence was a joy alone — O thou wert happy then ! On summer's heat thy tinkling leaf- lets fed, Each fibre toughened, and a little crown Of green upon thy modest brow was spread, To catch the rain, and shake it gently down. But then came autumn, when Thy dry and tattered leaves fell dead ; And sadly on the gale Thou drop' dst them one by one — Drop' dst them, witli a low, sad wail. On the cold, unfeeling stone. Next Winter seized thee in his iron grasp. And shook thy bruised and strain- ing form ; Or locked thee in his icicle's cold clasp. And piled upon thy head the shorn cloud's snowy fleece. Wert thou not joyful, in this bitter storm. That the green honors, which erst decked thy head. Sage Autumn's slow decay, had mildly shed ? Else, with their weight, they'd given thy ills increase. And dragged thee helpless from thy uptorn bed. Year after year, in kind or adverse fate. Thy branches stretched, and thy young twigs put forth. Nor changed thy nature with the season's date: Whether thou wrestled' st with the gusty north. Or beat the driving rain to glittering froth. Or shook the snow-storm from thy arms of might. Or drank the balmy dews on sum- mer's night; — Laughing in sunshine, writhing in the storm. Yet wert thou still the same! Summer spread forth thy tower- ing form. And Winter strengthened thy great frame. Achieving thy destiny On went'st thou sturdily, Shaking thy green flags in triumph and jubilee! BOKER. 45 Frcm thy secure and sheltering branch The wild bird pours her glad and fearless lay, That, with the sunbeams, falls upon the vale, Adding fresh brightness to the smile of day, 'Neath those broad boughs the youth has told love's tale; And thou hast seen his hardy feat- ures blanch, Heard his snared heart beat like a prisoned bird. Fluttering with fear, before the fowler laid; While his bold figure shook at every word — The strong man trembling at a timid maid! And thou hast smiled upon their children's play: Seen them grow old, and gray, and pass away. Heard the low prattle of the thought- less child, Age's cold wisdom, and the lessons mild Which patient mothers to their off- spring say; — Yet art thou still the same! "Man 2uay decay ; Race after race may pass away; The great may perish, and their very fame Rot day by day — Rot noteless with their once inspired clay: Still, as at their birth. Thou stretchest thy long arms above the earth — Type of unbending Will! Type of majestic, self-sustaining Power! Elate in sunshine, firm when tem- pests lower, May thy calm strength my wavering spirit fill! O let me learn from thee, Thou proud and steadfast tree, To bear unmunnuring what stern Time may send; Nor 'neath life's ruthless tempests bend : But cahnly stand like thee, Though wrath and storm shake me, Though vernal hopes in yellow Autumn end. And strong in truth work out my destiny. Type of long-suffering Power! Type of unbending Will! Strong in the tempest's hour. Bright when the storm is still; Rising from every contest with an unbroken heart. Strengthened by every struggle, emblem of might thou art! Sign of what man can compass, spite of an adverse state, Still, from thy rocky summit, teach us to war with fate! AWAKIXG OF THE POETICAL FACULTY. All day I heard a humming in my ears, A buzz of many voices, and a throng Of swarming numbers, passing with a song Measured and stately as the rolling spheres'. I saw the sudden light of lifted spears. Slanted at once against some mon- ster wrong; And then a fluttering scarf which might belong To some sweet maiden in her morn of years. I felt the chilling damp of simless glades, Horrid with gloom; anon, the breath of May Was blown around me, and the lulling play Of dripping fountains. Yet the lights and shades, The waving scarfs, the battle's grand parades, Seemed but vague shadows of that wondrous lay. 46 BOKEB. TO ENGLAND. Stand, tliou great bulwark of man's liberty ! Thou rock of shelter rising from the wave, Sole refuge to the overwearied brave Who planned, arose, and battled to be free, Fell undeterred, then sadly turned to thee ; — Saved the free spirit from their country's grave. To rise again, and animate the slave, When God shall ripen all things. Britons, ye Who guard the sacred outpost, not in vain Hold your proud peril! Freemen untlefiled. Keep watch and ward! Let battle- ments be piled Around your cliffs; fleets marshalled, till the main Sink under them; and if your courage wane, Through force oi' fraud, look west- ward to your child ! LOVE SONNETS. How canst thou call my modest love impure, Being thyself the holy source of air? Can ugly darkness from the fair sun fall ? Or nature's compact be so insecure, That saucy weeds may sprout up and endure Where gentle flowers were sown ? The brooks that crawl, With lazy whispers, through the lilies tall. Or rattle o'er the pebbles, will allure With no feigned sweetness, if their fount be sweet. So thou, the sun whence all my light doth flow — Thou, sovereign law by wliich my fancies grow — Thou, fount of every feeling, slow or fleet — Against thyself would'st aim a treacherous blow. Slaying thy honor with thy own conceit. Why shall I chide the hand cf wil- ful Time When he assaults thy wondrous store of charms ? Why charge the gray-beard with a wanton crime ? Or strive to daunt him with my shrill alarms ? Or seek to lull him with a silly rhyme : So he, forgetful, pause upon his arms, And leave thy beauties in their noble prime, The sole survivors of his grievous harms ? Alas! my love, though Fll indeed bemoan The fatal ruin of thy majesty ; Yet I'll remember that to Time alone T owed thy birth, thy chaiTus' matu- rity. Thy crowning love, with which he vested me. Nor can reclaim, though all the rest be flown. In this deep hush and quiet of my soul, When life runs low, and all my senses stay Their daily riot; when my wearied clay Resigns its functions, and, without control Of selfish passion, my essential whole Rises in purity, to make survey Of those poor deeds that wear my days away; When in my ear I hear the dis- tant toll Of bells that munnur of my coming knell. BOKER. 47 And all things seem a show and mockery — . Life, and life's actions, noise and vanity; I ask my mournful heart if it can tell If all be truth which 1 protest to • thee: And my heart answers, solemnly, '"Tis well." I HAVE been mounted on life's top- most wave, Until my forehead kissed the daz- zling cloud ; I have been dashed beneath the murky shroud That yawns between the watery crests. 1 rave. Sometimes, like cursed Orestes; sometimes lave My limbs in dews of asphodel; or, bowed With torrid heat, I moan to heaven aloud, Or shrink with Winter in his icy cave. Now peace broods over me ; now sav- age rage Spurns me across the world. Nor am I fi ee From nightly visions, when the pictured page Of sleep imfolds its varied leaves to me. Changing as often as the mimic stage ; — And all this, lady, through my love for thee ! Sometimes, in bitter fancy, I bewail This spell of love, and wish the cause removed ; Wish I had never seen, or, seeing, not loved So utterly that passion should pre- vail O'er self-regard, and thoughts of thee assail Those inmost barriers which so long have proved Unconquerable, when such defence behoved. But, ah! my treacherous heart doth ever fail To ratify the sentence of my mind ; For when conviction strikes me to the core, I swear 1 love thee fondlier than before ; And were 1 now all free and uncon- iined, Loose as the action of the shore- less wind. My slavish heart would sigh for bonds once more. Ah! let me live on memories of old,— The precious relics 1 have set aside From life's poor venture; things that yet abide My ill-paid labor, shining, like pure gold. Amid the dross of cheated hopes whose hold Dropped at the touch of action. Let me glide Down the smooth past, review that day of pride When each to each our mutual passion told — When love grew frenzy in thy blaz- ing eye, Fear shone heroic, caution quailed before My hot, resistless kisses — when we bore Time, conscience, destiny, down, down for aye. Beneath victorious love, and thou didst cry. " Strike, God ! life's cup is run- ning o'er and o'er " DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. Close his eyes; his work is done! What to him is friend or foeman. Rise of moon, or set of sun. Hand of man, or kiss of woman ? Lay him low, lay him low. In the clover or the snow ! What cares he ? he cannot know: Lay him low ! 48 BONAR. As man may, he fought his fight, Proved his truth by his endeavor; Let him sleep in solemn night, Sleep forever, and forever. Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow I What cares he ? he cannot know : Lay him low ! Fold him in his country's stars, Koll the drum and fire the vol- ley! What to him are all our wars, What but death-bemockiug folly ? Lay him low, lay him low. In the clover or the snow ! What cares he ? he cannot know: Lay him low ! Leave him to God's watching eye, ^ Trust him to the hand that made him. Mortal love w^eeps idly by: God alone has power to aid him. Lay him low, lay him low. In the clover or the snow ! What cares he ? he cannot know: Lay him low I HORATIUS BONAR. A LITTLE WHILE. Beyond the smiling and the weeping I shall be soon ; Beyond tlie waking and the sleeping. Beyond the sowing and the reaping, . I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home ! Siceet hope ! Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the blooming and the fading I shall be soon ; Beyond the shining and the shading. Beyond the hoping and the dreading, I shall be soon, Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope ! Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the rising and the setting I shall be soon. Beyond the calming and the fretting. Beyond remembering and forgetting, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home ! Sweet hoj)e ! Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the gatheringand the strowing I shall be soon ; Beyond the ebbing and the flowing. Beyond the coming and the going, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home ! Sweet hope 1 Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the parting and the meeting I shall be soon ; Beyond the farewell and the greeting, Beyond this pulse's fever-beating, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home I Sweet hope ! Lord, tarry not, but come. Beyond the frost-chain and the fever I shall be soon; Beyond the rock-waste and the river, Beyond the ever and the never, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope ! Lord, tarry not, but come. THE INNER CALM. Calm rrie, my God, and keep me calm, While these hot breezes blow ; Be like the night-dew's cooling balm Upon earth's fevered brow. Calm me, my God, and keep me calm. Soft resting on Ihy breast; Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm And bid my spirit rest. BO ST WICK. 49 Calm me, my God, and keep me calm, Let thine outstretched wing Be like the shade of Elim's palm Beside her desert spring. Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rude. The sounds my ear that greet, Calm in the closet's solitude. Calm in the bustling street ; Calm in the hour of buoyant health, Calm in my hour of pain, Calm in my poverty or wealth, Calm in my loss or gain; Calm in the sufferance of wrong. Like Him who bore my shanie, Calm mid the threatening, taunting throng. \Vlio hate thy holy name ; Calm when the great world's news with power My listening spirit stir; Let not the tidings of the hour E'er find too fond an ear; Calm as the ray of sun or star Which storms assail in vain, Moving unruffled through earth's war, The eternal calm to gain. Helen Barron Bostwick. URVASI. 'Tis a story told by Kalidasa, — Hindoo poet— in melodious rhyme, How with train of maidens, young Urvasi Came to keep great Indra's festal time. 'T was her part in worshipful confes- sion Of the god-name on that sacred day. Walking flower-crowned in the long procession, "1 love Puru-shotta-ma " to say. Pure as snow on Himalayan ranges, Heaven-descended, soon to heaven withdrawn. Fairer than the moon-flower of the Ganges, Was Urvasi, Daughter of the Dawn. But it happened that the gentle maiden Loved one Puru - avas, — fateful name! — And her heart, with its sweet secret laden, Faltered when her time of utter- ance came. I love" — then she stopjped, and people wondered; love" — she secret well ; Then from sweetest lips that ever blundered, " I love Puru-avas," trembling fell. Ah, what terror seized on poor Ur- vasi! Misty grew the violets of her eyes. And her form bent like a broken daisy Whil^ around her rose the mocking cries. But great Indra said, ** The maid shall marry Him whose image in her faithful heart She so near to that of God doth carry. Scarce her lips can keep their names apart." Call it then not weakness or dissem- bling If, in striving the high name to reach, Through our voices runs the tender trembling Of an earthly name too dear for speech ! 50 BOTTA — BOURDILLON. Ever dwells the lesser in the great- Know he holds Love's simplest stam er; mering sweeter In God's love the human: we by Than cold phrase of wordy Phar. these isees. Anna Lynch Botta. THE LESSON OF THE BEE. The honey-bee that wanders all day long The field, the woodland, and the gar- den o'er, To gather in his fragrant winter store ; Humming In calm content his quiet song, Seeks not alone the rose's glowing breast. The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips. But from all rank and noxious weeds he sips, The single drop of sweetness closely pressed Within the poison chalice. Thus, if we. Seek only to draw forth the hidden sweet In all the varied human flowers we meet In the wide garden of humanity, And, like the bee, if home the spoil we bear. Hived in our hearts, it turns to nec- tar there. LOVE. Go forth in life, O friend ! not seeking love, A mendicant that with imploring eye And outstretched hand asks of the passers-by The alms his strong necessities may move : For such poor love, to pity near allied, Thy generous spirit may not stoop and wait, A suppliant whose prayer may be denied [gate: Like a spurned beggar's at a palace- But thy heart's affluence lavish un- controlled, — The largess of thy love give full and free, As monarchs in their progress scatter gold; And be thy heart like the exhaust- less sea. That nuist its wealth of cloud and dew bestow, Though tributary strea'ms or ebb or flow. Francis W. Bourdillon. LIGHT. The night has a thousand eyes, And the day has but one ; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes. And the heart but one ; Yet the light of a whole life dies When its day is done. LOVE'S REWARD. For Love I labored all the day. Through morning chill and midday heat. For surely with the evening gray, I thought, Love's guerdon shall be sweet. At eventide, with weary limb, 1 brought my labors to the spot BOWLES. 51 Wliere Love had bid me come to him ; Thither I came, but found him not. For he with idle folks had gone To dance the hours of night away; And I that toiled was left alone, Too w eary now to dance or play. THE DIFFERENCE. Sweeter thaji voices in the scented hay, Or laughing children gleaning eai*s that stray, Or Christmas songs that shake the snows above, Is the first cuckoo, when lie comes with love. Sadder than birds in sunless summer eves, Or drip of rain-drops on the fallen leaves. Or wail of wintry waves on frozen shore, Is spring that comes, but brings us love no more. William Lisle Bowles. TO TIME. Time! who know'st a lenient hand to lay Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence — Lulling to sad repose the weaiy sense — The faint pang stealest, unperceived away ; On thee 1 rest my only hope at last, And think when thou hast dried j the bitter tear j That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, 1 may look back on every sorrow past. And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile — As some lone bird, at day's depart- ing hour, [shower, Sings in the sunbeam of the transient Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while: Yet, ah! how nuich must that poor heart endure \Miich hopes from thee, and thee aloue, a cure! THE GREENWOOD. Oh! when 'tis summer weather, And the yellow bee, with fairy sound, The waters clear is humming round. And the cuckoo sings unseen. And the leaves are waving green, — Oh ! then 't is sweet. In some retreat, To hear the murmuring dove. With those whom on earth alone we love. And to wind through the greenwood together. But when 'tis winter weather, And crosses grieve. And friends deceive, And rain and sleet The lattice beat,— Oh! then 't is sweet, To sit and sing Of the friends with whom, in the days of Spring, We roamed through the greenwood together. 52 BRACKETT— BRAINARD. Anna C. Brackett. IN GA/l FIE ID'S DANG En. Is it not possible, that all the love From all these iiilllioii hearts, which breathless turns To one hushed room when? silent footsteps move, May have some power on life that feebly burns ? Must it not have some power in some strange way, Some strange, wise way, beyond our tangled ken, When far and wide, from sea to sea to-day, Even in (luiet fields, hard-handed men Pause in their toil to ask the passer-by '• What news ?" and then, " We cannot spare him yet!'* Surely no tide can powerless rise so high. Bear on, brave heart! The land does not forget. Thou yet shalt be upborne to life and strength again On this flood-tide of love of millions of brave men. Mary E. Bradley. BEYOND RECALL. There was a time when death and 1 Met face to face together : 1 w-as but young indeed to die. And it was summer weather; One happy year a wedded wife, Yet I was slipping out of life. You knelt beside me, and I heard, As from some far-off distance, A bitter cry that dimly stirred My soul to make resistance. You thought me dead: you called my name, And back from Death itself I came. But oh ! that you had made no sign, That 1 had heard no crying ! For now the yearning voice Is mine, And there is no replying: Death never coidd so cruel be As Life — and you — have proved to John G. C. Brainard. EPITHALAMIUM. 1 SAW two clouds at morning, Tinged by the rising sun, And in the dawn they floated on. And mingled into one; [blest. 1 thought that morning cloud was It moved so swsetly to the west. 1 saw two summer curients Flow smoothly to their meeting, And join their course with silent force, In peace each other greeting; Calm was their course through banks of green, While dimpling eddies played be- tween. Such be your gentle motion, Till life'a last pulse shall beat ; Like summer's beam, and summer's stream , Float on, in joy, to meet A calmer sea, where storms shall cease — A purer sky, where all is peace. BRANCH— BnONT± 53 Mary Bolles Branch. THE PETRIFIED FEliN. In a valley, centuries ago, Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slender, Veining delicate and fibres tender; Waving when the wind crept down so low; Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it. Playful sunbeams darted in and found it, Drops of dew stole in by night, and crowned it. But no foot of man e'er trod that way; Earth was young and keeping holi- day. Monster fishes swam the silent main, {Stately forests waved their giant branches. Mountains hurled their snowy ava- lanches, Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain ; Nature revelled in grand mysteries; But the little fern was not of these. Did not number with the hills and trees. Only grew and waved its wild sweet way. No one came to note it day by day. Earth, one time, put on a frolic mood, Heaved the locks and changed the mighty motion Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean ; Moved the plain and shook the haughty wood. Crushed the little form in soft moist clay, Covered it, and hid it safe away, O, the long, long centuries since that day ! O, the agony, O, life's bitter cost, Since that useless little fern was lost ! Useless ! Lost ! There came a thoughtful man Searching Nature's secrets, far and deep ; From a fissure in a rocky steep He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran Fairy pencillings, a quaint design, Veinings, leafage, fibres clear and fine, And the feni's life lay in every line ! So, I think, God hides some soids away. Sweetly to surprise us the last day. Anne Bronte. IF THIS BE ALL. O God! if this indeed be all That life can show to me; If on my aching brow may fall No freshening dew from Thee ; - If with no brigjiter light than this The lamp of Hope may glow, And I may only dream of bliss. And wake to weary woe I — If friendship's solace must decay When other joys are gone, And love must keep so far away, While I go wandering on, — Wandering and toiling without gain, The slav-e of others' will, With constant care and frequent pain, Despised, forgotten still. Grieving to look on vice and sin, Yet powerless to quell The silent current from within, The outward torrent's swell; While all the good I would impart The feelings 1 would share, 54 DRONT^. Are driven backward to my heart And turned to wormwood there ; — If clouds must ever keep from sight The glories of the sun, And I must suffer winter's blight Ere sunnner is begun; — If life must be so full of care, Then call me soon to Thee! Or give me strength enough to bear My load of misery. Charlotte Bronte. LIFE WILL BE GONE ERE I HAVE LIVED. Life will be gone ere 1 have lived; Where now is life's first prime ? I've worked and studied, longed and grieved Through all that busy time. To toil, to think, to long, to grieve — Is such my future fate ? The morn was dreary, must the eve Be also desolate ? Well, such a life at least makes Death A welcome, wished-for friend ; Then aid me, Reason, Patience, Faith, To suffer to the end. Emily Bront^. LAST LINES. No coward soul is mine. No trembler in the world's storm- troubled sphere: I see heaven's glories shine, And Faith shines equal, arming me from fear. O God within my breast. Almighty, ever present Deity ! Life — that in me has rest, As I — undying Life — have power in thee ! Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts; unutterably vain Worthless as withered weeds. Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by thine infinity; So sureiy anchoied on The steadfast I'ock of immortality. With wide-embracing love Thy spirit animates eternal years, Pervades and broods above. Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears. Though earth and man were gone. And suns and imiverses ceased to be. And Thou wert left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee. There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could ren- der void : Thou — Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed. REMEMBRANCE. deep Cold in the earth — and the snow piled above thee, Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave ! [thee, Have I forgot, my only Love, to love Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave ? BROOKS. 55 Now, wlien alono, do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains, on that north- ern shore. Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover Thy noble heart for ever, ever more ? Cold In the earth — and fifteen wild Decembers, From these brown hills, have melted into spring: Faithful, in Jeed, is the spirit that remembers [fering! After such years of change and suf- Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, Wliile the world's tide is bearing me along; Other desires and other hopes beset me, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong ! No later light has lightened up my heaven. No second morn has ever shone for me; All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given, |lhee All my life's bliss is in the grave with But, when the days of golden dreams had perished, And even Despair was powerless to destroy ; Then did 1 learn how existence could be cherished. Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy. Then did I check the tears of useless passion — Weaned my young soul from yearn- ing after thine; Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten |mine. Down to that tomb already more than And, even yet, I dare not let it lan- guish, Dare not indulge in memory's raptu- rous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish. How could 1 seek the empty world asrain ? Maria Gowen Brooks. [From Zophiel.] SOXG OF EGLA. Day, in melting pui*ple dying; Blossoms, all ai-ound me sighing; Fragrance, from the lilies straying; Zephyr, with my ringlets playing; Ye but waken my distress; 1 am sick of loneliness! Thou, to whom 1 love to hearken, Come, ere night around me darken; Though thy softness but deceive me, Say thou'rt true, and I'll believe thee; Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent, Let me think it innocent! Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure; All I ask is friendship's pleasure; Let the shining ore lie darkling, — Bring no gem in lustre sparkling; Gifts and gold are naught to me, I would only look on thee! Tell to thee the high-wrought feeling. Ecstasy, but in revealing; Paint to thee the deep sensation. Rapture in participation ; Yet but torture, if comprest In a lone, unfriended breast. Absent still ! Ah ! come and bless me ! Let these eyes again caress thee. Once in caution, I could fly thee; Now, I nothing could deny thee. In a look \i death there be, Come, and I will gaze on thee! 56 BROWN. THE MARRIAGE OF DESPAIR. The bard has sung, God never formed a soul I meet WiLhouL its own peculiar mate, to Its wandering half, when ripe to crown the whole Bright plan of bliss, most heavenly, most complete! But thousand evil things there are that hate [impede, To look on happiness ; these hurt, And, leagued with time, space, cir- cumstance, and fate, Keep kindred heart from heart, to pine and pant and bleed. And as the dove to far Palmyra flying, From where her native founts of Antioch beam, Weary, exhausted, longing, panting, sighing, Lights sadly at the desert's bitter stream, — So many a soul, o'er life's drear des- ert faring, Love's pure, congenial spring un- found, un quaffed. Suffers, recoils, — then, thirsty and despairing Of what it would, descends and sips the nearest draught. Frances Brown. LOSSES. Upon the white sea sand There sat a pilgrim band. Telling the losses that their lives had known ; While evening waned away From breezy cliff and bay, And the strong tide went out with weary moan. One spake, with quivering lip. Of a fair freighted ship. With all his household to the deep gone down ; But one had wilder woe — For a fair face, long ago |town. Lost in the darker depths of a great There were who mourned their youth With a most loving ruth. For its brave hopes and memories ever green ; And one upon the west Turned an eye that would not rest, For far-off hills whereon its joy had been. Some talked of vanished gold. Some of proud honors told, Some spake of friends that were their trust no more ; And one of a green grave Beside a foreign wave, That made him sit so lonely on the shore. But when their tales were done. There spake among them one, A stranger, seeming from all sorrow free : " Sad losses have ye met. But mine is heavier yet : For a believing heart hath gone from me." " Alas!" these pilgrims said, " For the living and the dead — For fortune's cruelty, for love's sure cross. For the wrecks of land and sea! But, howe'er it came to thee. Thine, stranger, is life's last and heaviest loss." BROWN ELL. 57 Henry Howard Brownell. THE RETURN OF KANE. Toi-L, tower and minster, toll 0*er the city's ebb and flow! Roll, nmltled drum, still roll With solemn beat and slow! — A brave and ^ splendid soul Hath gone — where all shall go. Dimmer, in gloom and dark, Waned the taper, day by day, And a nation watched the spark, Till its fluttering died away. Was its flame so strong and calm Through the dismal years of ice To die 'mid the orange and the palm And the airs of Paradise ? Over that simple bier While the haughty Spaniard bows, Grief may join in the generous tear. And Vengeance forget her vows. Ay, honor the wasted form That a noble spirit wore — Lightly it presses on the warm Spring sod of its parent shore; Hunger and darkness, cold and storm Never shall harm it more. No more of travel and toil, Of tropic or arctic wild: Gently, O Mother Soil, Take thy worn and wearied child. Lay him — the tender and true — To rest with such w^ho are gone, Each chief of the valiant crew That died as our own hath done — Let him rest with stout Sir Hugh, Sir Humphrey, and good Sir John. And let grief be far remote, As we march from the place of death. To the blithest note of the fife's clear throat. And the bugle's cheeriest breath. Roll, stirring drum, still roll! Not a sigh — not a sound of woe, That a grand and glorious soul Hath gone where the brave must go- ALL TOGETHER. Old friends and dear! it were ungen- tle rhyme. If I should question of your true hearts, whether [time. Ye have forgotten that far, pleasant The good old time when we were all together . Our limbs were lusty and our souls sublime ; We never heeded cold and winter weather, [time. Nor sun nor travel, in that cheery The brave old time when we were all together. Pleasant it was to tread the mountain thyme, Sweet was the pure and piny moun- tain ether. And pleasant all ; but this was in the time. The good old time when we were all together. Since then I've strayed through many a fitful clime, (Tossed on the wind of fortune like a feather, ) And chanced with rare good fellows in my time — But ne'er the time that we have known together. But none like those brave hearts (for now I climb Gray hills alone, or thread the lonely heather,) That walked beside me in the ancient time, The good old time when we wert all toE^ether. 58 BROWNE LL. Long since, we parted in our careless prime, Like summer birds no Jmie sliall hasten hither; No more to meet as in that merry time, The sweet spring-time that shone on all together. Some, to the fevered city's toil and grime, And some o'er distant seas, and some — ah! whither? Nay, we shall never meet as in the time. The dear old time when we were all together. And some — above their heads, in wind and rime, Year after year, the grasses wave and wither ; Aye, we shall meet! — 'tis but a little time. And all shall lie Avith folded hands together. And if, beyond the sphere of doubt and crime, Lie purer lands — ah ! let our steps be thither; That, done with earthly change and earthly time, Li God's good time we may be all together. MIDNIGHT- A LAMENT. Do the dead carry their cares Like us, to the place of rest ? The long, long night — is it theirs. Weary to brain and breast ? Ah, that I knew how it fares With One that I loved the best. I lie alone in the house. How the wretched North-wind raves ! I listen, and think of those O'er whose heads the wet grass waves — Do they hear the wind that blows, And the rain on their lonely graves ? Heads that I helped to lay On the pillow that lasts for aye. It is but a little way To the dreary hill where they lie-v No bed but the cold, cold clay — No roof but the stormy sky. Cruel the thought and vain! They've now nothing more to bear — Done with sickness and pain, Done with trouble and care — But 1 hear the wind and the rain. And still 1 think of them there. Ah, couldst thou come to mt, Bird that I loved the best! That I knew it was well with thee — Wild and weary North- West! Wai! in chimney and tree — Leave the dead to their rest. THE ADIEU. Sweet Falsehoods, fare ye well! That may not longer dwell In this fond heart, dear paramours of Youth! A cold, unloving bride Is ever at my side — Yet who so pure, so beautiful as Truth ? Long hath she sought my side. And would not be denied, Till, all perforce, she won my spirit o'er — And though her glances be But hard and stern to me, At every step I love her more and more. ALONE. A SAD old house by the sea. Were we happy, I and thou, In the days that used to be ? There is nothing left me now But to lie, and think of thee With folded hands on my breast, And list to the weary sea Sobbing itself to rest. BROWN ELL. 59 LOXG AGO. When at eve I sit alone, Thinking on the Past and Gone — While the clock, with drowsy finger, Marks how long the minutes lin- ger,— And the embers, dimly burning. Tell of Life to Dust returning — Then my lonely chair around, With a quiet, mournful sound, With a murmur soft and low, Come the ghosts of Long Ago. One by one, I count them o'er. Voices, that are lieard no more. Tears, that loving cheeks have wet. Words, whose music lingers yet, — Holy faces, pale and fair, Shado^v'y locks of waving hair — Happy sighs and whispers dear, Songs forgotten many a year, — Lips of dewy fragrance — eyes Brighter, bluer than the skies — Odors breathed from Paradise. And the gentle shadows glide Softly murmuring at my side, Till the long unfriendly day, All forgotten, fades away. Thus, when I am all alone. Dreaming o'er the Past and Gone, All around me, sad and slow, Come the ghosts of Long Ago. AT SEA. Midnight in drear New England, 'Tis a driving storm of snow — How the casenient clicks and rattles. And the wind keeps on to blow ! For a thousand leagues of coast-line, In fitful flurries and starts. The wild North-Easter is knocking At lonely windows and hearts. Of a night like this, how many Must sit by the hearth, like me. Hearing the stormy weather. And Ihinking of those at sea! Of the hearts chilled through with watching. The eyes that wearily blink. Through the blinding gale and snow- drift. For the Lights of Navesink! How fares it, my friend, with you ? — If I've kept your reckoning aright, The brave old ship must be due On our dreary coast, to-night. The fireside fades before me. The chamber quiet and warm — And 1 see the gleam of her lanterns In the wild Atlantic storm. Like a dream, 'tis all around me — The gale, with its steady boom. And the crest of every roller Torn into mist and spume — The sights and the sounds of Ocean On a night of peril and gloom. The shroud of snow and of spoon- drift Driving like mad a-lee — And the huge black hulk that wallows Deep in the trough of the sea. The creak of cabin and bulkhead. The wail of rigging and mast — The roar of the shrouds as she rises From a deep lee-roll to the blast. The sullen throb of the engine. Whose iron heart never tires — The swarthy faces that redden By the glare of his caverned fires. The binnacle slowly swaying. And nursing the faithful steel — And the grizzled old quarter-master, His horny hands on the wheel. I can see it — the little cabin — Plainly as if I were there — The chart on the old green table. The book and the empty chair. On the deck we have trod together, A patient and manly form. To and fro, by the foremast. Is pacing in sleet and storm. 60 BROWNING. Since her keel first struck cold water, By the Stormy Cape's clear Light, 'Tis little of sleep or slumber. Hath closed o'er that watchful sight. And a hundred lives are hanging On eye and on heart to-night. Would that to-night, beside him, I walked the watch on her deck. Recalling the Legends of Ocean, Of ancient oattle and wreck. But the stout old craft is rolling A hundred leagues a-iee — Fifty of snow-wreathed hill-side, And fifty of foaming sea. I cannot hail him, nor press him liy the hearty and true light hand — I can but murmur, — God bless him ! And bring him safe to the land. And send him the best of weather. That ere many suns shall shine, We may sit by the hearth together. And talk about Auld Lang Syne. WAITfNG FOR THE SHIP. [By C. D'W. li.] We are ever waiting, waiting, Waiting for the tide to turn — " For the train at Coventry," For the sluggish fire to burn — For a fai-off friend's return. We are ever hoping, hoping. Hoping that the wind will shift — That success may crown our ventui'e- That the morning fog may lift — That the dying may have shrift. We are ever fearing, fearing. Fearing lest the ship have sailed — That the sick may ne'er recover — That the letter was not mailed — That the trusted firm has failed. We are ever wishing, wishing. Wishing we were fai- at sea — That the winter were but over — That we could but find the key — That the prisoner were free. AVjshing, fearing, hoping, waiting. Through life's voyage — moored at last. Tedious doubts shall merge forever (Be their sources strait or vast,) In the inevitable Past. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. THE SLEEP. He givetb His beloved sleep. Psalm cxxvii. 2. Of all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep. Now tell me if that any is. For gift or grace, surpassing this — "He giveth His beloved sleep?" What would we give to our beloved ? The hero's heart", to be unmoved, The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, The monarch's crown, to light the brows ? — "He giveth FJis beloved sleep." AVhat do we give to our beloved ? A little faith all undisproved, A little dust to overweep And bitter memories to make The whole eailh blasted foi'our sake. " He giveth Ilia beloved sleep." BROWNING. 61 "Sleep soft, beloved! " we sometimes say But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams thai through the eyelids creep: But never doleful dreams again Shall break the happy slumber when " He giveth His beloved sleep." O earth, so full of dreary noises! O men, with wailing in your voices! O delved gold, the wallers heap! strife, O cui-se, that o'er it fall! God strikes a silence through you all, And "giveth His belovM sleep." His dews drop mutely on the hill, His cloud above it saileth still. Though on its slope men sow and reap. More softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is tloated overhead, " He giveth His beloved sleep." Ay, men may wonder while they scan A living, thinking, feeling man, Conflrmed in such a rest to keep; But angels say, and through the word 1 think their happy smile is heard — " He giveth His beloved sleep." For me. my heart that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show. That sees through tears the mummers leap, AVould now its wearied vision close. Would childlike on //i.s love repose, Who "giveth His beloved sleep." And friends, dear friends — when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me. And round my bier ye come to weep, Let one, most loving of you all. Say, " Not a tear must o'er her fall — *He giveth His beloved sleep.' " LITTLE MATTIE. Dead ? Thirteen a month ago! Short and narrow her life's walk. Lover's love she could not know Even by a dream or talk: Too young to be glad of youth ; Missing honor, labor, rest. And the warmth of a babe's mouth At the blossom of her breast. Must you pity her for this, ^ And for all the loss it is — You, her mother, with wet face, Having had all in your case ? Just so young but yesternight. Now she is as old as death. Meek, obedient in your sight, Gentle to a beck or breath Only on last Monday! yours. Answering you like silver bells Slightly touched! an hour matures: You can teach her nothing else. She has seen the mystery hid Under Egypt's pyramid: By thoseeyelids pale anil close Now she knows what Rhamses knows. Cross her quiet hands, and smooth Down her patient locks of silk. Cold and passive as in truth You your fingers in spilt milk Drew along a marble floor; But her lips you cannot wring Into saying a word more, " Yes," or " No," or such a thing. Though you call, and beg, and wreak Half your soul out in a shriek. She will lie there in default And most innocent revolt. Ay, and if she spoke, may be She would answer like the Sox, " What is now 'twixt thee and me ? " Dreadful answer! better none. Yours on Monday, God's to-day! Yours, your child, your blood, your heart, Called . . . you called her, did you say, " Little Mattie," for your part ? Now already it sounds strange. And you wonder, in this change. What He calls His angel-creature, Higher up than you can reach her. 'Twas a green and easy world As she took it ! room to play, (Though one's hair might get uncurled Xt the far end of the day.) 62 BROWNING. What she suffered she shook off In the sunshine; what she sinned She could pray on high enough To keep safe above the wind. If reproved by God or you, 'Twas to better her she knew; And if crossed, she gathered still, "Twas to cross out something ill. You, you had the right, you thought, To survey her with sweet scorn. Poor gay child, who had not caught Yet the octave-stretch forlorn Of your larger wisdom ! Nay, Now your places are changed so, In that same superior way She regards you dull and low As you did herself exempt From life's sorrows. Grand con- tempt Of the spirits risen awhile, Who look back with such a smile! There's the sting of 't. That, I think, Hurts the most, a thousand-fold! To feel sudden, at a wink, Some dear child we used to scold. Praise, love both ways, kiss and tease. Teach and tumble as our own. All its curls about our knees. Rise up suddenly full-grown. Who could wonder sucha sight Made a woman mad outright ? Show me Michael with the sword, Kather than such angels. Lord ! TO FLUSH, MY DOG. Like a lady's ringlets brown, Flow thy silken ears adown Either side demurely Of thy silver-suited breast Shining out from all the rest Of thy body purely. Darkly brown thy body is, Till the sunshine striking this Alchemize its dullness"; When the sleek curls manifold Flash all over into gold. With a burnished fulness. Underneath my stroking hand, Startled eyes of hazel bland Kindling, growing larger. Up thou leapest with a spring. Full ot prank and curveting. Leaping like a charger. Leap! thy broad tail waves alight; Leap ! thy slender feet are bright, Canopied in fringes. Leap — those tasselled ears of thine, Flicker strangely, fair and fine, Down their golden inches. Yet, my pretty, sportive friend, Little is 't to such an end That I praise thy rareness! Other dogs may be thy peers Haply in those drooping ears, And this glossy fairness. But of thee it shall be said, This dog watched beside a bed Day and night unweary, — Watched within a curtained room, Where no sunbeam brake the gloom Round the sick and dreary. Roses gathered for a vase. In that chamber died apace. Beam and breeze resigning — This dog only waited on. Knowing that, when light is gone Love remains for shining. Other dogs in tliymy dew Tracked the hares and followed through Sunny moor or meadow — This dog only crept and crept Next to languid clieek that slept, Sharing in the shadow. Other dogs of loyal cheer Bounded at the whistle clear. Up tlie woodside hieing — This dog only, watched in reach, Of a faintly uttered speech, Or a louder sighing. And if one or two quick tears Dropped upon his glossy ears, Or a sigh came double, — Up he sprang in eager haste, BROWNING. Fawning, fondling, breathing fast, In a tender trouble. Therefore to this dog will 1, Tenderly, not scornfully, Kender praise and favor : With my hand upon his head, Is my benediction said. Therefore and forever. And because he loves me so, Better than his kind will do Often, man, or woman. Give I back more love again Than dogs often take of men, Leaning from my Human. CONSOLATION. Alt. are not taken ! there are left be- hind Living Beloveds, tender looks to bring, And make the daylight still a happy thing, And tender voices to make soft the wind. But if it were not so — if 1 could find No love in all the world for comfort- ing, Nor any path but hollowly did ring, Where " dust to dust" the love from life disjoined — And if before these sepulchres un- moving I stood alone, (as some forsaken lamb Goes bleating up the moors in weai^ dearth ) Crying "W^here are ye, O my loved and loving?" I know a voice would somid, "Daughter, I am. Can I suffice for Heaven, and not for earth?" A PORTBAIT. •♦ One name is Elizabeth." — Bex Jonsox. I WILL paint her as I see her; Ten times have the lilies blown Since she looked upon the sun. And her face is lily-clear — Lily-shaped, and drooped in duty, To the law of its own beauty. Oval cheeks encolored faintly. Which a trail of golden hair Keeps from fading off to air: And a forehead fair and saintly, Which two blue eyes undershine. Like meek prayers before a shrine. Face and figure of a child, — Though too calm, you think, and tender, For the childhood you would lend her. Yet child-simple, undefiled, Frank, obedient, — waiting still On the turnings of your will. Moving light, as all young things — As young birds, or early wheat When the wind blows over it. Only free from flutterings Of loud mirth that scorneth meas- ure — Taking love for her chief pleasm-e : Choosing pleasures (for the rest) Which come softly — just as she, When she nestles at your knee. Quiet talk she liketh best. In a bower of gentle looks — Watering flowers, or reading books. And if any poet knew her. He would sing of her with falls Used in lovely madrigals. And if any painter drew her, He would paint her unaware With a halo round her hair. And a stranger, — when he sees her In the street even — smileth stilly, Just as you would at a lily. 64 BROWNING. And all voices that address her, Soften, sleeken every word, As if speaking to a bird. And all fancies yearn to cover The hard earth whereon she passes. With the thymy-scented grasses. And all hearts do pray, " God love her!" Ay, and always, in good sooth, We may all be sure He doth. [Sonnets from the Portuguese.'] ASSURANCE. Say over again and yet once over again That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated Should seem " a cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat it, Remember never to the hill or plain, Valley and wood, without her cuckoo- strain. Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed ! Beloved, I amid the darkness greeted By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain Cry . . speak once more . . thou lov- est! Who can fear Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll — Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year ? Say thou dost love me, love me, love me — toll The silver iterance ! — only minding, dear. To love me also in silence, with thy soul. PERFECT LOVE. How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. 1 love thee to the level of every- day' s Most quiet need, by sun and candle- light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right: I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise : I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my child- hood's faith; I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath. Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. THREE KISSES. First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write, And ever since it grew more clean and white, Slow to world-greetings . . quick with its " Oh, list ! " When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst 1 could not wear here x)lainer to my sight. Than that first kiss. The second passed in height The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, Half falling on the hair. Oh, beyond meed ! That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown, With sanctifying sweetness, did pre- cede. The third upon my lips was folded down In perfect, purple state! since when, indeed, I have been proud and said, " My love, my own." BROWNING. 65 THE CRY OF THE HUMAN. "There is no God," the foolish saith, But none, "There is no sorrow;" And nature oft, the cry of faith. In bitter need will borrow : Eyes which the preacher could not school, By wayside graves are raised ; And lips say, " God be pitiful," That ne'er said, " God be praised." Be pitiful, OGod! We sit together with the skies, The steadfast skies, above us : V^e look into each other's eyes, " " And how long will you love us ? " The eyes grow dim with prophecy, The voices low and breathless — *' Till death us part! " — O words to be Our best for love, the deathless ! Be pitiful, dear God ! We tremble by the harmless bed Of one loved and cfeparted — Our tears drop on the lips that said Last night, " Be stronger hearted ! " O God, — to clasp those fingers close, And yet to feel so lonely \ — To see a light upon such brows. Which is the daylight only ! Be pitiful, OGod! We sit on hills our childhood wist, Woods, hamlets, streams, behold- ing; The sun strikes through the farthest mist, The city's spire to golden. The city's golden spire it was. When hope and health were strong- est, But now it is the churchyard grass We look upon the longest. Be pitiful, OGod! And soon all vision waxeth dull — Men whisper, " He is dying! " We cry no more, " Be pitiful! " — We have no strength for ciying; No strength, no need! Then, soul of mine. Look up and triumph rather — Lo! in the depth of God's Divine, The Son abjures the Father — Be pitiful, O God! ONL Y A CURL. Friends of faces unknown and a land Unvisited over the sea, Who tell me how lonely you stand, With a single gold curl in the hand Held up to be looked at by me ! While you ask me to ponder and say What a father and mother can do. With the bright yellow locks put away Out of reach, beyond kiss, in the clay. Where the violets press nearer than you: — Shall I speak like a poet, or run Into weak woman's tears for re- lief? Oh, children! 1 never lost one. But my arm's round my own little son. And Love knows the secret of Grief. And I feel what it must be and is When God draws a new angel so Through the house of a man up to His, With a murmur of music you miss, And a rapture of light you forego. How you think, staring on at the door Where the face of your angel flashed in, That its brightness, familiar before, Burns off from you ever the more For the dark of your sorrow and sin. " God lent him and takes him," you sigh . . . — Nay, there let me break with your pain, God's generous in giving, say I, And the thing which he gives, I deny That he can ever take back again. 66 BROWNING. He gives what He gives. I appeal To all who bear babes ! In the hour When the veil of the body we feel Rent round us, while torments reveal The motherhood's advent in power; And the babe cries, — have all of us known By apocalypse (God being there, Full in nature !) the child is our own — Life of life, love of love, moan of moan. Through all changes, all times, everywhere. He's ours and forever. Believe, O father ! — O mother, look back To the first love's assurance! To give Means, with God, not to tempt or deceive With a cup thrust in Benjamin's sack. He gives what He gives : be content. He resumes nothing given — be sure. God lend ? — where the usurers lent In His temple, indignant he went And scourged away all those im- pure. He lends not, but gives to the end. As He loves to the end. If it seem That he draws back a gift, compre- hend 'Tis to add to it rather . . . amend. And finish it up to your dream, — Or keep ... as a mother may, toys Too costly though given by herself. Till the room shall be stiller from noise, And the children more fit for such Joys, Kept over their heads on the shelf. So look up, friends ! You who indeed Have possessed in your house a sweet piece Of the heaven which men strive for, must need Be more earnest than others are, speed Where they loiter, persist where they cease. You know how one angel smiles there. Then courage! 'Tis easy for you To be drawn by a single gold hair Of that curl, from earth's storm and despair To the safe place above us. Adieu ! [From Aurora Leigh.'] KINDNESS FIRST KNOWN IN A HOSPITAL. .... The place seemed new and strange as death. The white strait bed, with others strait and white. Like graves dug side by side, at meas- ured lengths, And quiet people walking in and out With wonderful low voices and soft steps, And apparitional equal care for each. Astonished her with order, silence, law : [cup. And when a gentle hand held out a She took it, as you do at sacrament, Half awed, half melted, — not being used, indeed, To so much love as makes the form of love And courtesy of manners. Delicate drinks And rare white bread, to which some dying eyes [God, Were turned in observation. O my How sick we must be, ere we make men just ! I think it frets the saints in heaven to see How many desolate creatures on the earth Have learnt the simple dues of fellow- ship And social comfort, in a hospital. {From Aurora_Leigh.'] SELFISHNESS OF INTROSPEC- TION. We are wrong always, w hen we think too much Of what we th ink or are ; albeit our thoughts MARIAN ERLE. Page 67. c c c • * BROWNING. 67 Be verily bitter as self-sacrifice, For soon it smiled at me; the eyes We are no less selfish ! If we sleep smiled too. on rocks But 'twas as if remembering they had Or roses, sleeping past the hour of wept. noon. And knowing they should, some day, We're lazy. weep again. {From Aurora Leigh.'] [From Aurora Leigh.] A CHARACTER. THE ONE UNIVERSAL SYMPATHY. As light November snows to empty . . . . O WORLD, nests, jurists, rhymers, dreamers, what As grass to graves, as moss to mil- you please. dewed stones. We play a weary game of hide and As July suns to ruins, through the seek! rents, We shape a figure of our fantasy, As ministering spirits to mourners, Call nothing something, and run af- through a loss, ter it As Heaven itself to men, through And lose it, lose ourselves, too, in the pangs of death search, He came uncalled wherever grief had Till clash against us, comes a some- come. body Who also has lost something and is lost [From Aurora Leigh.] PICTURE OF MARIAX ERLE. [From Aurora Leigh.] She was not white nor brown IN STRUGGLE. But could look either, like a mist that changed Alas, long suffering and most patient According to being shone on more or God, less. Thou need' St be surelier God to bear The hair, too, ran its opulence of with us curls Than even to have made us ! thou as- In doubt 'twixt dark and bright, nor pire, aspire left you clear From henceforth for me! thou who To name the color. Too much hair hast, thyself. perhaps Endured this fleshhood, knowing (I'll name a fault here) for so small a how, as a soaked head. And sucking vesture, it would drag Which seemed to droop on that side us down and on this, And choke us in the melancholy As a full-blown rose, uneasy with its deep. weight, Sustain me, that, with thee, I walk Though not a breath should trouble these waves. it. Again, Resisting ! — breathe me upward, thou The dimple in the cheek had better for me gone Aspiring, who art the Way, the With redder, fuller rounds: and some- Truth, the Life, — what large That no truth henceforth seem indif- The mouth was, though the milky ferent, little teeth No way to truth laborious, and no life, Dissolved it to so infantine a smile! Not even this life I live, intolerable!. 68 SROWNINO. Robert Browning. PROSPICE. Fear death? — to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place. The power of the night, the press of the storm. The post of the foe ; Where he stands, the Arch-Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go ; Now the journey is done and the sum- mit attained. And the barriers fall. Though a battle 's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. 1 was ever a tighter, so, — one fight more. The best and the last! I would hate that Death bandaged my eyes, and forbore. And bade me creep past. No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers. The heroes of old. Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears, Of pain, darkness and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, the elements' ra voices that rave. Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace, then a joy. Then a light, then thy breast, O soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee again. And with God be the rest ! IN A YEAR. Never any more While I live. Need 1 hope to see his face As before. Once his love grown chill, Mine may strive, — Bitterly we re-embrace, Single still. Was it something said, Something done, Vexed him ? was it touch of hand. Turn of head ? Strange ! that very way Love begun. I as little understand Love's decay. When I sewed or drew, 1 recall How he looked as if I sang — Sweetly too. If I spoke a word, First of all Up his cheek the color sprang, Then he heard. Sitting by my side, At my feet. So he breathed the air I breathed Satisfied ! I too, at love's brim Touched the sweet: I would die if death bequeathed Sweet to him. " Speak, — I love thee best! " He exclaimed. " Let thy love my own foretell,"- 1 confessed: " Cast my heart on thine Now un blamed. Since upon thy soul as well Hangeth mine!" Was it wrong to own, Being truth ? Why should all the giving prove His alone ? I had wealth and ease. Beauty, youth, — Since my lover gave me love, I gave these. BROWNING. 69 That was all 1 meant, — To be just, And the passion I had raised To content. Since he chose to change Gold for dust, If I gave him what he praised, Was it strange ? Would he love me yet. On and on. While 1 found some way undreamed, — Paid ray debt! Give more life and more, Till, all gone. He should smile, " She never seemed Mine before. " What — she felt the while, Must I think ? Love 's so different with us men," He should smile. '* Dying for my sake — White and pink ! Can't we touch those bubbles then But they break ? " Dear, the pang is brief. Do thy part, Have thy pleasure. How perplext Grows belief! Well, this cold clay clod Was man's heart. Crumble it, — and what comes next ? Is it God ? E VEL YN HOPE. Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed ; She plucked that piece of gera- nium-flower. Beginning to die too, in the glass. Little has yet been changed, I think, The sliutters are shut, — no light may pass Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. Sixteen years old when she died I Perhaps slie had scarcely heard my name, — It was not lier time to love; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, — Till God's hand beckoned unawares, And the sweet white brow is all of her. Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope ? What ! your soul was pure and true ; The good stars met in your horoscope. Made you of spirit, fire, and dew; And just because I was thrice as old. And our paths in the world diverged so wide, Each was naught to each, must 1 be told? We were fellow-mortals, — naught beside ? No, indeed ! for God above Is great to grant as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love ; I claim you still, for my own love's sake! Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet, Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few ; Much is to learn and much to forget Ere the time be come for taking you. But the time will come — at last it will — When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say. In the lower earth, — in the years long still, — That body and soul so pure and gay? Why your hair was amber I shall divine. And your moutli of your own gera- nium's red, — And what you would do with me, in fine. In the new life come in the old one's stead. 70 BROWNING. 1 have lived, shall I say, so much since then, Given up myself so many times, Gained me the gains of various men, Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; Yet one thing — one — in my soul's full scope, Either 1 missed, or itself missed me, — And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! What is the issue ? let us see ! 1 loved you, Evelyn, all the while; My heart seemed full as it could hold, — There was space and to spare for the frank young smile. And the red young mouth, apd the hair's young gold. So, hush ! I will give you this leaf to keep : See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand. There, that is our secret! go to sleep; You will wake, and remember, and understand. [From Tn a Gondola.] THE TWO KISSES. The Moth's kiss, first! Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure, this eve. How my face, your flower, had pursed Its petals up; so, here and there You brush it, till 1 grow aware Who wants me, and wide open burst. The Bee's kiss, now! Kiss me as if you entered gay My heart at some noonday, A bud that dared not disallow The claim, so all is rendered up, And passively its shattered cup Over your head to sleep I bow. HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris and he: I galloped, Dirck galloped, we gal- loped all three ; "Good speed!" cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew, " Speed!" echoed the wall to us gaK loping through. Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest. And into the midnight we galloped abreast. Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace — Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place ; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight. Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit. Nor galloped less steadily Eoland a whit. 'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom a great yellow star came out to see; At Doffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime — So Joris broke silence with "Yet there is time I " At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black every one. To stare through the mist at us gal- loping past; And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last. With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluff river head- land its spray; BROWNING. 71 And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance; And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upward in gal- loping on. By Hasselt, Dlrck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her; We'll remember at Aix" — for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees. And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shud- dered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a piti- less laugh ; 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Delhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!" " How they'll greet us ! " — and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate. With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye- sockets' rim. Then 1 cast loose my buif-coat, each holster let fall. Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirmp, leaned, pat- ted his ear. Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer — Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix, Roland gal- loped and stood. And all I remember is friends flock- ing round, As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground ; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine. As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by com- mon consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. [From The rang and The Book.] DREAMS. It is the good of dreams — so soon they go ! Wake in a horror of heart-beats you may — Cry, " The dead thing will never from my thoughts ! " Still, a few daylight doses of plain life, Cock-crow and sparrow-chii-p, or bleat and bell Of goats that trot by, tinkling to be milked; And when you rub your eyes awake and wide, Where is the harm o' the horror? Gone! [From The Ring and The Book.] THE LACK OF CHILDREN. What could they be but happy? — balanced so, Xor low i' the social scale nor yet too high. Nor poor nor richer than comports with ease, 72 BRYANT. Nor bright and envied, nor obscure and scorned, Nor so young that their pleasures fell too thick, Nor old past catching pleasure when it fell. Nothing above, below the just degree, All at the mean where joy's compo- nents mix. So again, in the couple's very souls You saw the adequate half with half to match. Each having and each lacking some- what, both Making a whole that had all and lacked naught; The round and sound, in whose com- posure just The acquiescent and recipient side Was Pietro's, and the stirring striv- ing one Violante's: both in union gave the due Quietude, enterprise, craving and content. Which go to bodily health and peace of mind. But, as 'tis said a body, rightly mixed. Each element in equipoise, would last Too long and live forever, — accord- ingly Holds a germ — sand-grain weight too much i' the scale — Ordained to get predominance one day And so bring all to ruin and release, — Not otherwise a fatal germ lurked here : "With mortals much must go, but something stays; Nothing will stay of our so hapi)y selves." Out of the very ripeness of life's core A worm was bred — "Our life shall leave no fruit." Enough of bliss, they thought, could bliss bear seed, _ Yield its like, propagate a bliss in turn And keep the kind up; not supplant themselves But put in evidence, record they were. Show them, when done with, i' the shape of a child. " 'Tis in a child, man and wife grow complete, One flesh: God says so: let him do his work! " William Cullen Bryant. "BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN. " Oh, deem not they are blest alone Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep ; The Power who j^ities man has shown A blessing for the eyes that weep. The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that overflow with tears; And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happier years. There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night; And grief may bide an evening guest. But joy shall come with early light. And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier, Sheddest the bitter drops of rain, Hope that a brighter, happier sphere Will give him to thy arms again. Nor let the good man's trust depart. Though life its common gifts deny. Though with a pierced and bleeding heart. And spurned of men, he goes to die. For God hath marked each sorrowing day And numbered everj' secret tear, And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay For all his children suffer here. BRYANT, 73 JUNE. I GAZED upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round ; And thought that \\\\q\\ I came to lie At rest within the ground, 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, When brooks send up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound, The sexton's hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain turf should break. A cell within the frozen mould, A coffin borne through sleet, And icy clods above it rolled, While fierce the tempests beat — Away! — I will not think of these — Blue be the sky and soft the breeze. Earth green beneath the feet, And be the damp mould gently pressed Into my narrow place of rest. There through the long, long sum- mer hours The golden light should lie, And thick young herbs and groups of flowers Stand in their beauty by. The oriole should build and tell His love-tale close beside my cell ; The idle butterfly Should rest him there, and there be heard The housewife bee and humming- bird. And what if cheerful shouts at noon Come, from the village sent, Or'songs of maids, beneath the moon With fairy laughter blent ? And what if, in the evening light. Betrothed lovers walk in sight Of my low monument ? 1 \\ould the lovely scene around Might know no sadder sight or sound. 1 know, I know I should not see The season's glorious show, Nor would its brightness shine for me, Nor its wild music flow; But if, around my place of sleeji, The friends 1 love should come to weep. They might not haste to go. Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom. Should keep them lingering by my tomb. These to their softened hearts should bear The thought of what has been. And speak of one who cannot share The gladness of the scene; Whose part, in all the pomp that fills The circuit of the summer hills. Is — that his grave is green; And deeply %vould their hearts rejoice To hear again his living voice. THE PAST. TiioiT unrelenting Past! Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain. And fetters, sure and fast. Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. Far in thy realm withdrawn Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, And glorious ages gone Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. Childhood, with all its mirth. Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground. And last, Man's Life on earth. Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. Thou hast my better years, Thou hast my eailier friends — the good — the kind. Yielded to thee with tears — The venerable form — the exalted mind. 74 BRYANT. My spirit yearns to bring The lost ones back — yearns with de- sire intense, And struggles hard to wring Tby bolts apart, and pluck thy cap- tives thence. In vain — thy gates deny All passage save to those who hence depart; Nor to the streaming eye Thou giv'st them back — nor to the broken heart. In thy abysses hide Beauty and excellence unknown — to thee Earth's wonder and her pride Are gathered, as the waters to the sea; Labors of good to man, Unpublished charity, unbroken faith. — Love that midst grief began. And grew with years, and "faltered not in death. Full many a mighty name Lurks in thy' depths, unuttered, un- revered ; With thee are silent fame. Forgotten arts, and wisdom disap- peared. Thine for a space are they — Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last; Thy gates shall yet give way. Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past I All that of good and fair Has gone into thy womb from earliest time, Shall then come forth to wear The glory and the beauty of its prime. They have not perished — no ! Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet. Smiles, radiant long ago. And features, the great soul's appar- ent seat. All shall come back, each tie Of pure affection shall be knit again; Alone shall evil die. And sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. And then shall 1 behold Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung. And her, who, still and cold, Fills the next grave — the beautiful and young. THANATOPSIS. To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks *ious hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Ovei" thy "spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house. Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — Go forth, under the open sky, and list atur all around Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice : Yet a few days and thee The all-beholding sim shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, BRYANT. 75 Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again. And, lost each human trace, siuren- dering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements. To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads up- on. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. Yet not to thine eternal resting- place Shalt thou retire alone, — nor couldsr thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, • Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past. All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales Stretching in pensive quietness be- tween ; The venerable woods; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all. Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven. Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in i*3 bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound. Save his own dasliings — yet the dead are there : And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep; the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone; the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, the sons of men, The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years, matron, and maid. And the sweet babe, and the gray- headed man, — Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those who in ^heir turn shall fol- low them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious -ealm, where each shall take 76 BRYANT. His chamber in the silent halls of The wide old wood from his majes- death, tic rest. Thou go not, like the quarry-slave Summoning, from the innumer- at night. able boughs, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sus- The strange, deep harmonies that tained and soothed haunt his breast: By an unfaltering trust, approach Pleasant shall be thy way where thy grave meekly bows Like one v/ho wraps the drapery of The shutting flower, and darkling his couch waters pass, About him, and lies do^vn to pleas- And where the o'ershadowing branch- ant dreams. es sweep the grass. The faint old man shall lean his silver THE EVENING WIND. head To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the Spirit that breathest through my child asleep. lattice, thou And dry the moistened curls that That coolest the twilight of the overspread sultry day, His temples, while his breathing Gratefully flows thy freshness round grows more deep: my brow : And they who stand about the sick Thou hast been out upon the man's bed, deep at play. Shall joy to listen to thy distant Kiding all day the wild blue waves sweep. till now, And softly part his curtains to allow Roughening their crests, and Thy visit, grateful to his burning scattering high their spray brow. And swelling the white sail. I wel- come thee Go— but the circle of eternal change, To the scorched land, thou wanderer Which is the life of nature, shall of the sea ! restore, With sounds and scents from all thy Nor I alone — a thousand bosoms mighty range. round Thee to thy birthplace of the deep Inhale thee in the fulness of de- once more ; light; Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and And languid forms rise up, and strange. julses bound Shall tell thehome-sick mariner Livelier, at coming of the wind of the shore; of night; And, listening to thy murmur, he And, languishing to hear thy grate- shall deem ful sound, He hears the rustling leaf and run- Lies the vast inland stretched ning stream. beyond the sight. Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth. God's blessing breathed upon the LIFE. fainting earth ! Oh, Life, I breathe thee in the breeze, Go, rock the little wood-bird in his I feel thee bounding in my veins. nest, I see thee in these stretching trees, Curl the still M^aters, bright with These flowers, this still rock's stars, and rouse mossy stains. BRYANT. 77 This stream of odor flowing by, From clover field and clumps of pine, This music, thrilling all the sky, From all the morning birds, are thine. Thou fill'st with joy this little one, That leaps and shouts beside me here, Where Isar's clay white rivulets run Through the dark woods like frighted deer. Ah! must thy mighty breath, that wakes Insect and bird, and flower and tree, From the low-trodden dust, and makes Their daily gladness, pass from me — Pass, pulse by pulse, till o'er the ground These limbs, now strong, shall creep with pain. And this fair world of sight and sound Seem fading into night again ? The things, oh. Life! thou quickenest, all Strive upward towards the broad bright sky. Upward and outward, and they fall Back to earth's bosom when they die. All that have borne the touch of death, All that shall live, lie mingled there. Beneath that veil of bloom and breath. That living zone 'twixt earth and air. There lies my chamber dark and still. The atoms trampled by my feet. There wait, to take the place I fill In the sweet air and sunshine sweet. Well, I have had my turn, have been Raised from the darkness of the clod. And for a glorious moment seen The brightness of the skirts of God; And knew the light within my breast. Though wavering oftentimes and dim. The power, the will, that never rest, And cannot die, were all from Him. Dear child! I know that thou wilt grieve To see me taken from thy love. Wilt seek my grave at Sabbath eve. And weep, and scatter flowers above. Thy little heart will soon be healed, And being shall be bliss, till thou To younger forms of life must yield The place thou fill'st with beauty now. When we descend to dust again. Where will the final dwelling be Of Thought and all its memories then, My love for thee, and thine for me? THE FrdNGED GEN^TIAN. Thou blossom bright with autumn dew. And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night. Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen. Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest, 78 BRYANT. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days por- tend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to tlie sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart. THE CROWDED STREET. Let me move slowly through Lhe street. Filled with an ever-shifting train. Amid the sound of steps that beat The murmuring walks like autumn rain. How fast the flitting figures come! The mild, the fierce, the stony face; Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some Where secret tears have left their trace. They pass — to toil, to strife, to rest; To halls in which the feast is spread ; To chambers where the funeral guest In silence sits beside the dead. And some to happy homes repair. Where children, pressing cheek to cheek. With mute caresses shall declare The tenderness they cannot speak. And some, who walk in calmness here. Shall shudder as they reach the door Where one who made their dwelling dear, Its flower, its light, is seen no more. Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame. And dreams of greatness in thine eye ! Goest thou to build an early name, Or early in the task to die ? Keen son of trade, with eager brow! Who is now fluttering in thy snare ?^ Thy golden fortunes, tower they no^y, Or melt the glittering spires in air? Who of this crowd to-night shall tread The dance till daylight gleam again ? Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead ? Who writhe in throes of mortal pain ? Some, famine-struck, shall think how long The cold dark hours, how slow the light! And some who flaunt amid the throng. Shall hide in dens of shame to- night. Each, where his tasks or pleasures call. They pass and heed each other not. There is who heeds, who holds them all. In His large love and boundless thought. These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend. Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end. THE FUTURE LIFE. How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps The disembodied spirits of the dead. When all of thee that time could wither, sleeps And perishes among the dust we tread ? BRYANT. 79 For I shall feel tho sting of ceaseless pain If there I meet thy gentle presence not; Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. Will not thy own meek heart demand me there ? That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given ? My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, And must thou never utter it in heaven ? In meadows fanned by heaven's life- breathing wind. In the resplendence of that glo- rious sphere, And larger movements of the unfet- tered mind. Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ? The love that lived through all the stormy past. And meekly with my harsher na- ture bore, And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, Shall it expire with life, and be no more? A happier lot than mine, and larger liglit. Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will In cheerful homage to the rule of right, And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell. Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll ; And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell Has iQft its frightful scar upon my soul. Yet though thou wearest the glory of the sky, Wilt thou not keep the same be- loved name, The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye. Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same ? Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home. The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — The wisdom which is love— till I become Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ? THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE. Within this lowly grave a Conqueror lies. And yet the monument proclaims it not. Nor round the sleeper's name hath chisel wrought The emblems of a fame that never dies. Ivy and amaranth in a graceful sheaf. Twined with the laurel's fair, impe- rial leaf. A simple name alone. To the great world unknowii. Is graven here, and wild flowers, ris- ing round, Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the ground, Lean lovingly against the humble stone. Here in the quiet earth, they laid apart No man of iron mould and bloody hands. Who sought to wreck upon the cow- ering lands The passions that consumed his restless heart; But one of tender spirit and delicate frame, Gentlest in mien and mind, Of gentle womankind, 80 BRYANT. Timidly shrinking from the breath of blame ; One in whose eyes the smile of kind- ness made Its haunt, like flowers by sunny brooks in May, Yet, at the thought of others' pain, a shade Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away. Nor deem that when the hand that moulders here Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear, 1 armies as when Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East, — Gray captains leading bands of veteran men And fiery youths to be the vulture's feast. Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave The victory to her who fills this grave; Alone her task was w^rought, Alone the battle fought; Through that long strife her constant hope was staid On God alone, nor looked for other aid. She met the hosts of sorrow with a look That altered not beneath the frown they wore, And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took. Meekly, her gentle rule, and frowned no more. Her soft hand put aside the assaults of wrath. And calmly broke in twain The fiery shafts of pain. And rent the nets of passion from her path. By that victorious hand despair was slain. With love she vanquished hate and overcame Evil with good, in her great Master's name. Her glory is not of this sliado^vy state Glory that with the fleeting season dies ; But when she entered at the sapphire gate What joy was radiant in celestial eyes! How heaven's bright depths with sounding welcomes rung, And flowers of heaven by shining hands were flung; And He who, long before, Pain, scorn, and sorrow bore, The Mighty Sufferer, with aspect sweet, Smiled on the timid stranger from his seat; He who returning, glorious, from the grave. Dragged Death, disarmed, in chains, a crouching slave. See, as I linger here, the sun grows low; Cool airs are murmuring that the night is near. Oh, gentle sleeper, from thy grave I go Consoled though sad, in hope and yet in fear. Brief is the time, I know. The warfare scarce begun ; Yet all may win the triumphs thou hast won. Still flows the fount whose waters strengthene:! thee; The victors' names are yet too few to fill Heaven's mighty roll; the glorious armory, That ministered to thee is open still. [From an unfinished poem.'] AN EVENING HE VERY. The summer day is closed — the sun is set; Well they have done their office, those bright hours, BRYANT. 81 The latest of whose train goes softly out In the red West. The green blade of the ground Has risen, and herds have cropped it; the young twig Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun; Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown And withered ; seeds have fallen upon the soil, From bursting cells, and in their graves await Their resurrection. Insects from the pools Have filled the air awhile with hum- ming wings, That now are still forever; painted moths Have wandered the blue sky, and died again ; The mother-bird hath broken for her brood Their prison shell, or shoved them from the nest, Plumed for their earliest flight. In bright alcoves. In woodland cottages with barky walls, [town. In noisome cells of the tumultuous Mothers have clasped with joy the new-born babe. Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways Of the thronged city, have been hol- lowed out And filled, and closed. This day hath parted friends That ne'er before were parted; it hath knit New friendships; it hath seen the maiden plight Her faith, and trust her peace to him who long Had wooed : and it hath heard, from lips which late Were eloquent of love, the first harsh word, That told the wedded one, her peace was flown. Farewell to the sweet sunshine! One glad day Is added now to childhood's merry days. And one calm day to those of quiet age. Still the fleet hours run on ; and as I lean, Amid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit, By those who watch the dead, and those who twine Flowers for the bride. The mother fiom the eyes Of her sick infant shades the pain- ful light. And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath. O thou great Movement of the Universe, Or change, or flight of Time — for ye are one ! That bearest, silently, this visible scene Into night's shadow and the stream- ing rays Of starlight, whither art thou bear- ing me ? I feel the mighty current sweep me on. Yet know not whither. Man fore- tells afar The courses of the stars; the veiy hour He knows when they shall darken or grow bright; Yet doth the eclipse of Sorrow and of Death Come unforewarned. Who next, of those I love, Shall pass from life, or sadder yet, shall fall From virtue? Strife with foes, or bitterer strife With friends, or shame and general scorn of men — Wliich who can bear? — or the fierce rack of pain. Lie they within my path ? Or shall the years Push me, with soft and inoffensive pace. Into the stilly twilight of my age? Or do the portals of another life 82 BUBNS. Even now, while I am glorying in my strength, Impend around me? O! beyond that bourne, In the vast cycle of being which be- gins At that broad threshold, with what fairer forms Shall the great law of change and progress clothe Its workings? Gently — so have good men taught — Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new; the eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, Shall journey onward in perpetual peace. Robert Burns. TO MAR Y 12i HE A VEN, Thou ling' ring star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn. Again thou usherest in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hearest thou the groans that rend his breast ? That sacred hour can I forget ? Can 1 forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met. To live one day of parting love ? Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace ; Ah! little thought we 'twas our last; Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thicken- ing green ; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar. Twined amorous roimd the raptured scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. The birds sang love on every spray, — Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaimed the speed of winged day. Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes. And fondly broods with miser care! Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade! Where is thy blissful place of rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? nearest thou the groans that rend his breast ? FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that? The coward-slave, we pass him by. We dare be poor for a' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that ; The rank is but the guinea stamp ; The man's the gowd for a' that. What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden-gray, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their M'ine, A man's a man for a' that. For a' that, and a' that. Their tinsel show, and a' that: The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. BUBNS. 83 Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' tliat: For a' that and a' that, His ribband, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that ; But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith, he mauna fa' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may. As come it will for a' that. That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth' May bear the gree, and a' that For a' that, and a' that. It's coming yet, for a' that; That man to man, the w^arld o'er. Shall brothers be for a' that. STANZAS IN PROSPECT OF DEATH. Why am 1 loth to leave this earthly scene ! Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : Some gleams of sunshine 'mid re- newing storms; Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms: I tremble to approach an angry God, And justly smart beneath his sin- avenging rod. Fain would 1 say, "Forgive my foul offence! " Fain promise never more to disobey ; But, should my Author health agaiu dispense. Again 1 might desert fair virtue's way ; Again in folly's path might go astray ; Again exalt the brute, and sink the man; Then how should 1 for heavenly mer- cy pray, Who act so counter heavenly mer- cy's plan '? Who sin so oft have mourned, yet to temptation ran ? O Thou, great Governor of all below ! If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, And still the tumult of the raging sea; With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me. Those headlong furious passions to confine, For all unfit I feel my powers to be, To rule their torrent in the allowed line; Oh, aid me with thy help. Omnip- otence Divine! TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. On turning one down -with the plough, in April, 178(). Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, Thou's met me in an evil hour: For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem : To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonnie gem. Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet ! Bending thee 'mang the dewy Aveet! Wi' spreckl'd breast. When upward-springing, blythe, tc greet The purpling east, Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, hmnble birth; 84 BURNS. Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flowers our gardens yield High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield, But thou beneath the random bield O' clod, or stane. Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow' ret of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard. On life's rough ocean luckless starred ! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore. Till billows rage, and gales blow hard. And whelm him o'er ! Such fate to suffering worth is given. Who long with wants and woes has striven, By hmnan pride or cunning driven To misery's brink, Till, wrenched of every stay but heaven. He, ruined, sink! Even thou who mournest the daisy's fate. That fate is thine — no distant date ; Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till, crushed beneath the furrow's weight Shall be thy doom! JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. John Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent. Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your brow is held, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go. And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo. FARE WEE L TO NANCY. Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! Ae fareweel, alas, forever! Deep in heart- wrung tears I'll pledge thee! Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee! AYho shall say that fortune grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him ! Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; Dark despair around benights me. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Naething could resist my Nancy ; But to see her, was to love her ; Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met — or never parted. We had ne'er been broken hearted ! Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! Thine be ilka joy and treasure. Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure. Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, alas, for ever I Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, [thee. Warring sighs and groans I'll wage BUBNS. 85 [From To the Unco Guid.] GOD, THE ONLY JUST JUDGE. Thex gently scan yonr brother man, Still gentler sister woman ; Tho' they may gang a kennie wrang, To step aside is hmnan : One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do it; And just as lamely can ye mark How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, [tone, He knows each chord — its various Each spring — its various bias : Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted. HIGHLAND MARY. Ye banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers. Your waters never drumlie ! There simmer first unfald her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took my last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk. How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade, I clasped her to my bosom ! The golden hours, on angel wings. Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me, as light and life. Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' moniea vow, and lock'd embrace. Our parting Was fu' tender; And, pledging aft to meet again. We tore oursels asunder; But oh! fell death's untimely frost. That nipt my flower sae early! Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, That wraps my Highland Marj% Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips, I aft hae kissed sae fondly ! And closed for aye the sparkling glance, That dwelt on me sae kindly ! And mouldering now in silent dust. That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Ma y. MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. A DIRGE. When chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare. One evening, as I wandered forth Along the banks of Ayr, I spied a man, whose aged step Seemed weary, worn with care ; His face was furrowed o'er with years, And hoary was his hair. Young stranger, whither wanderest thou ? Began the reverend sage ; Does thirst of wealth thy step con- strain. Or youthful pleasure's rage ? Or, haply, prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast began To wander forth, with me, to mourn The miseries of man. The sun that overhangs yon moors. Outspreading far and wide, ^Vliere hundreds labor to support A haughty lordling's pride; I've seen yon weary winter-sun T«'ice forty times return; An 1 every time has added proofs That man was made to moiuTi. O man ! while in thy early years, How prodigal of time! Misspending all thy precious hours, Thy glorious youthful prime ! Alternate follies take the sway; Licentious passions burn ; Which tenfold force give nature's law, That man was made to mourn. 86 BUSHNELL, Look not alone on youthful prime, Or manhood's active might; Man then is useful to his kind, Supported is his right. But see him on the edge of life. With cares and sorrows worn; Then age and want, oh! ill-matched pair! Show man was made to mourn. A few seem favorites of fate, In Pleasure's lap carest; Yet, think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest. But, oh ! what crowds in every land Are wretched and forlorn. Thro' weary life this lesson learn, That man was made to mourn. Many and sharp the numerous ills Inwoven with our frame! More pointed still we make ourselves. Regret, remorse, and shame! And man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn, Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn ! See yonder poor, o'erlabored wight, So abject, mean, and vile. Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil ; And see his lordly fellow-wonn The poor petition spurn, Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife And helpless offspring mourn. If I'm designed yon lordling's slave^ By nature's law designed, — Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind ? If not, why am I subject to His cruelty or scorn ? Or why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn ? Yet, let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast : This partial view of humankind Is surely not the last ! The poor, oppressed, honest man Had never, sure, been born. Had there not been some recompense To comfort those that mourn ! O death! the poor man's dearest friend. The kindest and the best! Welcome the hour my aged limbs Are laid with thee at rest! The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow From pomp and pleasure torn ; But, oh ! a blest relief to those That weary-laden moimi ! Louisa Bushnell. DEL A Y. Taste the sweetness of delaying. Till the hour shall come for saying That I love you with my soul; Have you never thought your heart Finds a something in the part, It would miss from out the whole? In this rosebud you have given. Sleeps that perfect rose of heaven That in Fancy's garden blows; Wake it not by touch or sound. Lest, perchance, 'twere lost, not found, In the opening of the rose. Dear to me is this reflection Of a fair and far perfection, Shining through a veil undrawn; Ask no question, then, of fate; Yet a little longer wait. In the beauty of the, dawn. Through our mornings, veiled and tender, Shines a day of golden splendor. Never yet fulfilled by day; Ah! if love be made complete, Will it, can it, be so sweet As this ever sweet delay? BUTLER. 87 Samuel Butler. LOVE. Love is too great a happiness For wretched mortals to possess ; For could it hold inviolate Against those cruelties of fate Which all felicities below By rigid laws are subject to, It would become a bliss too high For perishing mortality ; Translate to earth the joys above; For nothing goes to Heaven but Love All love at first, like generous wine, Ferments and frets until 'tis fine; For when 'tis settled on the lee, And from the impurer matter free, Becomes the richer still, the older, And proves the pleasanter, the colder, William Allen Butler. WORK AND WORSHIP. "Laborareest orare." — St. Augustine. Charlemagne, the mighty mon- arch. As through Metten Wood he strayed, Found the holy hermit, Hutto, Toiling in the forest glade. In his hand the woodman's hatchet. By his side the knife and twine. There he cut and bound the faggots From the gnarled and stunted pine. Well the monarch knew the hermit For his pious works and cares, And the wonders which had followed From his vigils, fasts, and prayers. Much he marvelled now to see him Toiling thus, with axe and cord ; And he cried in scorn, " O Father, . Is it thus you serve the Lord ?" L But the hermit resting neither Hand nor hatchet, meekly said : He who does no daily labor May not ask for daily bread. '*^Think not that ray graces slumber While 1 toil throughout the day ; For all honest work is worship, And to labor is to pray. " Think not that the heavenly bless- ing From the workman' s hand removes ; Who does best his task appointed, Him the Master most approves. " While he spoke the hermit, pausing For a moment, raised his -eyes Where the overhanging branches Swayed beneath the smiset skies. Through the dense and vaulted for- est Straight the level sunbeam came, Shining like a gilded rafter. Poised upon a sculptured frame. Suddenly, with kindling features, AVliile he breathes a silent prayer. See, the hermit throws his hatchet. Lightly, upward in the air. Bright the well-worn steel is gleam- ing, As it flashes through the shade, And descending, lo ! the sunbeam Holds it dangling by the blade! " See, my son," exclaimed the her mit, — " See the token heaven has sent; Thus to humble, patient effort Faith's miraculous aid is lent. 88 BUTLER. r V. Toiling, hoping, often fainting. As we labor. Love Divine Through the shadows pours its sun- light, Crowns the work, vouchsafes the sign!" Homeward, slowly, went the mon- arch. Till he reached his palace hall, Where he strode among his warriors. He the bravest of them all. Soon the Benedictine Abbey Rose beside the hermit's cell; He, by royal liandG invested. Ruled, as abbot, long and well. Now beside the rushing Danube Still its ruined walls remain. Telling of the hermit's patience, And the zeal of Charlemagne. THE BUSTS OF GOETHE AND SCHILLER. This is Goethe, with a forehead Like the fabled front of Jove; In its massive lines the tokens More of majesty than love. This is Schiller, in whose features, With their passionate calm regard. We behold the true ideal Of the high, heroic bard, Wliom the inward world of feeling And the outward world of sense To the endless labor summon. And the endless recompense. These are they, sublime and silent, From whose living lips have rung Words to be remembered ever In the noble German tongue ; Thoughts whose inspiration, kindling Into loftiest speech or song. Still through all the listening ages Pours its torrent swift and strong. As to-day in sculptured marble Side by side the poets stand. So they stood in life's great strug- gle, Side by side and hand to hand, In the ancient German city. Dowered with many a deathless name, Where they dwelt and toiled together, Sharing each the other's fame. One till evening's lengthening shad- ows . Gently stilled his faltering lips, But the other's sun at noonday Shrouded in a swift eclipse. There their names are household treasures. And the simplest child you meet Guides you where the house of Goethe Fronts upon the quiet street; And, hard by, the modest mansion Where full many a heart has felt Memories uncounted clustering Round the words, " Here Schiller dwelt." In the churchyard both are buried. Straight bey^yud the narrow gate, In the mauscleum sleeping, With Duke Charles, in sculptured sta*.e. For the monarch loved the poets, Called them to him from afar. Wooed them near his court to lin- ger, And the planets sought the star. He, his larger gifts of fortune With their larger fame to blend, Living counted it an honor That they named him as their friend ; Dreading to be all forgotten, Still their greatness to divide, Dying prayed to have his poets Buried one on either side. BUTTS — BUTTERWORTH. 89 But this suited not the gold-laced Ushers of the royal tomb, Where the princely house of Weimar Slumbered in majestic gloom. So they ranged the coffins justly. Each with fitting rank and stamp, And with shows of court precedence Mocked the grave's sepulchral damp. Fitly now the clownish sexton Narrow courtier-rules rebukes ; First he shows the grave of Goethe, Schiller's then, and last — the Duke's. Vainly 'midst these truthful shadows Pride would flaunt her painted wing; Here the monarch waits in silence, And the poet is the king! Mary F. Butts. OTHER MOTHERS. Mother, in the sunset glow, C-rooning child-songs sweet and low, Eyes soft shining, heart at rest, Rose-leaf cheek against thy breast. Thinkest thou of those who weep O'er their babies fast asleep Where the evening dews lie wet On their broidered coverlet, Whose cold cradle is the grave. Where wild roses nod and wave. Taking for their blossoms fair What a spirit once did wear '? Mother, crooning soft and low, Let not all thy fancies go, Like swift birds, to the blue skies Of thy darling's happy eyes. Count thy baby's curls for beads. As a sweet saint intercedes, But on some fair ringlet's gold Let a tender prayer be told. For the mother, all alone. Who for singing maketh moan, AVlio doth ever vainly seek Dimpled arms and velvet cheek. HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH. THE FOUNT AFN OF YOUTH. A DREAM OF PONCE DE LEON. A STORY of Ponce de Leon, A voyager withered and old, Who came to the sunny Antilles, In quest of a country of gold. He was wafted past islands of spices, As bright as the emerald seas, Where all the forests seem singing. So thick were the birds on the trees ; The sea was clear as the azure. And so deep and so pure was the sky That the jasper-walled city seemed shining Just out of the reach of the eye. By day his light canvas he shifted, And round strange harbors and bars : By night, on the full tides he drifted, 'Neath the low-hanging lamps of the stars. [sunset, 'Neath the glimmering gates of the In the twilight empurpled and dim, The sailors uplifted their voices, And sang to the Vir<:jin a hymn. " Thank the Lord! "said De Leon, the sailor, At the close of the rounded refrain ; " Thank the Lord, the Almighty, who blesses The ocean-swept banner of Spain ! 90 BUTTERWORTH. The shadowy world is behind us, The shining Cipango before; Each morning tlie sun rises brighter On ocean, and island, and shore. And still shall our spirits grow lighter, As prospects more glowing unfold; Then on, merry men! to Cipango, To the west, and the regions of gold!" There came to. De Leon the sailor, Some Indian sages, who told Of a region so bright that the waters Were sprinkled with islands of gold. And they added: " The leafy Biniini, A fair land of grottos and bowers Is there; and a wonderful fountain Upsprings from its gardens of flowers. That fountain gives life to the dying. And youth to the aged restores : They flourish in beauty eternal, Who set but their feet on its shores!" Then answered De Leon, the sailor: '' 1 am withered, and wrinkled, and old; I would rather discover that fountain Than a country of diamonds and gold." Away sailed De Leon, the sailor; Away with a wonderful glee, Till the birds were more rare in the azure. The dolphins more rare in the sea. Away from the shady Bahamas, Over waters no sailor had seen. Till again on his wandering vision, Rose clustering islands of green. Still onward he sped till the breezes Were laden with odors, and lo ! A country embedded with flowers, A country with rivers aglow! More bright than the sunny Antilles, More fair than the shady Azores. "Thank the Lord!" said De Leon, the sailor, As feasted his eye on the shores, "We have come to a region, my brothers, More lovely than earth, of a truth; And here is the life-giving fountain, — The beautiful Fountain of Youth." Then landed De Lton, the sailor, Unfurled his old banner, andsimg; But lie felt very wrinkled and with- ered. All around was so fresh and so young. The palms, ever verdant, were bloom- ing, Their blossoms e'en margined the seas; O'ertlie streams of the forests bright flowers Hung deep from the branches of trees. "Praise the Lord!" sang De Leon, the sailor; His heart was with rapture aflame; And he said: "Be the name of this region By Florida given to fame. 'T is a fair, a delectable country, More lovely than earth, of a truth; I soon shall partake of the foun- tain, — The beaiilif ul Fountain of Youth ! ' ' But wandered De Leon, the sailor, In search of the fountain in vain; Ko waters were there to restore him To freshness and beauty again. And his anchor he lifted, and nuir- mured, As the tears gathered fast in his eye, "I must leave this fair land of the flowers. Go back o'er the ocean, and die." Then back by the dreary Tortugas, And back by the shady Azores, He was borne on the storm-smitten waters To the calm of his own native shores. And that he grew older and older. His footsteps enfeebled gave proof. Still he thirsted in dreams for the fountain, — The beautiful Fountain of Youth. One day the old sailor lay dying On the shores of a tropical isle. And his heart was enkindled with rapture; [smile. And his face lighted up with a BYRON. 91 He thought of the sunny Antilles, He thought of the shady Azores, He thought of the dreamy Bahamas, He thought of fair Florida's shores. And, when in his mind he passed over His wonderful travels of old, He thought of the heavenly country, Of the city of jasper and gold. "Tliankthe Lord!" said De Leon, the sailor, (the truth, " Thank the Lord for the light of I now am approaching the fountain, The beautiful Fountain of Youth." The cabin was silent : at twilight They lieard the birds singing a psalm. And the wind of the ocean low sigh- ing Through groves of the orange and palm. The sailor still lay on his pallet, 'Neath the low-hanging vines of the roof ; His soul had gone forth to dis- cover The beautiful Fountain of Youth. Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel). PROMETHEUS. Titan! to whose immortal eyes The sufferings of mortality, , Seen in their sad reality. Were not as things that gods despise ; What was thy pity's recompense ? A silent suffering, and intense ; The rock, the vulture, and the chain. All that the proud can feel of pain. The agony they do not show The suffocating sense of woe, Which speaks but in its loneliness. And then is jealous lest the sky Should have a listener, nor will sigh Until its voice is echoless. Titan ! to thee the strife was given Between the suffering and the will, Which tortm-e where they cannot kill; And the inexorable heaven, And the deaf tyranny of fate, The ruling principle of hate, Which for its pleasure doth create The things it may annihilate, Refused thee even the boon to die; The wretched gift eternity Was thine — and thou hast borne it well. All that the Thunderer wrung from thee Was but the menace which flung back On him the torments of thy rack: The fate thou didst so well fore- see. But would not to appease him tell ; And in thy silence was his sentence, And in his soul a vain repentance. And evil dread so ill dissembled That in his hand the lightnings trem- bled. Thy godlike crime was to be kind. To render with thy precept less The sum of human wretchedness, And strengthen man with his own mind ; But baffled as thou wert from high, Still in thy patient energy. In the endurance, and repulse Of thine impenetrable spirit. Which earth and heaven could not convulse, A mighty lesson we inherit: Thou art a symbol and a sign To mortals of their fate and force ; Like thee, man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source ; And man in portions can foresee 92 BTRON. His own funereal destiny; His wretchedness, and liis resistance, And his sad unallied existence: To wliich his spirit may oppose Itself — and equal to all woes, And a firm will, and a deep sense, Which even in torture can descry Its own concentered recompense, Triumphant where it dares defy. And making death a victory I WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY. When coldness wraps this suffering clay, Ah! whither strays the immortal mind ? It cannot die, it cannot stray, But leaves its darkened dust be- hind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace By steps each planet's heavenly way? Or fill at once the realms of space, A thing of eyes, that all survey ? Eternal, boundless, undecayed, A thought unseen, but seeing ali. All, all in earth, or skies displayed. Shall it survey, shall it recall : Each fainter trace that memory holds So darkly of departed years, In one broad glance the soul beholds. And all that was, at once appears. Before Creation peopled earth. Its eyes shall roll through chaos back ; And where the furthest heaven had birth. The spirit trace its rising track. And where the future mars or makes. Its glance dilate o'er all to be, Wliile sun is quenched or system breaks. Fixed in its own eternity. Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, ■ It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years as moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its "thoughts shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing. Forgetting what it was to die. SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS. Sun of the sleepless ! melancholy star ! Whose tearful beam glows tremu- lously far, That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel. How like art thou to joy remembered well ! So gleams the past, the light of other days. Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays ; A night-beam sorrow watches to be- hold, Distinct, but distant — clear — but oh, how cold ! FARE THEE WELL. Fare thee well! and if for ever. Still for ever, fare thee ivell ; Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would th^t breast were bared before thee Where thy head so oft hath lain. While that placid sleep came o'er thee. Which thou ne'er canst know again : Would that breast, by thee glanced over. Every inmost thought could show ! Then thou wouldst at last discover 'Twas not well to spurn it so. Through the world for this commend thee — Though it smile upon the blow. Even its praises must offend thee, Founded on another's woe: BYRON. Though my many faults defaced me, Coulil no other arm be found, Than the one which once embraced me, To hidict a cureless womid ? Yet, oh yst, thyself deceive not: Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not Hearts can thus be torn away : Still thine own its life retaineth — Still must mine, though bleeding, beat'; And the undying thought which paineth Is — that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow Than the wail above the dead ; Both shall live, but every morrow Wake us from a widowed bed. And when thou wouldst solace gather, When our child's first accents flow. Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!" Though his care she must forego ? When her little hands shall press thee, When her lip to thine is pressed, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee, Think of him thy love had blessed ! Should her lineaments resemble Those thou never more mayst see, Then thy heart will softly tremble With a pulse yet true to me. All my faults perchance thou know- est, All my madness none can know ; All my hopes, where'er thou goest, Whither, yet with thee they go. Every feeling hath been shaken ; Pride, which not a world could bow. Bows to thee — by thee forsaken, Even my soid forsakes me now : But 'tis done — all words are idle — Words from me are vainer still ; But the thoughts we cannot bridle Force their way without the will. Fare thee well! — thus disunited. Torn from every nearer tie. Seared in heart, and lone and blighted, More than this I scarce can die. SONNET ON CHILLON. Eternal spirit of the chainless mind! Brightest in dungeons. Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart — The heart which love of thee alone can bind ; And when thy sons to fetters are consigned — To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar — for 'twas trod. Until his very steps have left a trace W^orn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod. By Bonnivard ! — May none those marks efface ; For they appeal from tyranny to God. SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less. Had half impaired the nameless grace, 94 BYRON. Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where tlioughts serenely sweet ex- press, How pure, how dear their dwelling- place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent. The smiles that win, the tints that glow. But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! INSCRIPTION ON THE MOXUMEXT OF THE AUTHOR'S DOG BOATSWAIN. When some proud son of man returns to eartli, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birtli, Tlie sculptor's art exalts the pomp of woe. And storied urns record who rests below ; When all is done, upon the tomb is seen. Not what he was, but what he should have been. But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to de- fend, Wliose lionest heart is still his mas- ter's own, Wlio labors, figlits, lives, breathes for liim alone, Unlionored falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in lieaven the soul he held on earth ; While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven. And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. O man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust ! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words de- ceit! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye ! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on — it honors none you wish to mourn ; To mark a friend's remains these stones arise ; 1 never knew but one — and here ho lies. MAID OF ATHENS. Maid of Athens, ere we part. Give, oh, give me back my heart! Or, since that has left my breast, Keep it now, and take the rest ! Hear my vow before I go, SwJ? (lov, ffdj ayaTtCi.* By those tresses unconfined, Wooed by each ^Egean wind ; By those lids whose jetty fringe Kiss thy soft cheek's blooming tinge; By those wild eyes like the roe, Sw'7 (inVf ads otyaTTU)* By that lip I long to taste; By that zone-encircled waist; By all the token-flowers that tell What words can never speak so well ; By love's alternate joy and woe, Sa»»7 fiovy ods dyaTTw, Maid of Athens ! I am gone : Think of me, sweet ! when alone. Though I fly to Istambol, Athens holds my heart and soul : Can I cease to love thee ? No ! £ai>7 fiov, CTQj ay«TriD. * Zoe iiioii, sas agapo, My life, I love you. BYRON. 95 EPISTLE TO AUGUSTA. My sister! my sweet sister! if a name Dearer and purer were, it should be thine; Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim No tears, but tenderness to answer mine: Go where I will, to me thou art the same — A loved regret which 1 would not re- sign. There yet are two things in my des- tiny,— A world to roam through, and a home with thee. The first were nothing — had I still the last, It were the haven of my happiness ; But other claims and other ties thou hast, And mine is not the wish to make them less. A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past Recalling, as it lies beyond redress ; Reversed for him our grandsire'sfate of yore, — He had no rest at sea, nor I on shore. If my inheritance of storms hath been In other elements, and on the rocks Of perils, overlooked or unforeseen, 1 have sustained my share of worldly shocks, The fault was mine; nor do I seek to screen. My errors with defensive paradox; I have been cunning in mine over- throw. The careful pilot of my proper woe. Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward. My whole life was a contest, since the day That gave me being, gave me that which marred The gift, — a fate, or will, that walked astray ; And I at times have found the strug- gle hard. And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay : But now I fain would for a time sur- vive, If but to see what next can well ar- rive. Kingdoms and empires in my little day I have outlived, ani yet I am not old; And when 1 look on this, the petty spray Of my own years of trouble, which have rolled Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away; Something — I know not what — does still uphold A spirit of slight patience; — not in vain. Even for its own sake, do we pur- chase pain. Perhaps the workings of defiance stir Within me — or perhaps a cold de- spair, Brought on when ills habitually re- cur, — Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air, ( For even to this may change of soul refer. And with light armor we may learn to bear, ) Have taught me a strange quiet; which was not The chief companion of a calmer lot. I feel almost at times as I have felt In happy childhood ; trees, and flow- ers, and brooks. Which do remember me of where I dwelt Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books. Come as of yore upon me, and can melt My heart with recognition of their looks ; And even at moments I think I could see Some living thing to love — but none like thee. 96 BYRON. Here are the Alpine landscapes which create A fund for contemplation, — to ad- mire Is a brief feeling of a trivial date: But something worthier do such scenes inspire: Here to be lonely is not desolate, For much I view which I could most desire. And, above all, aiake I can behold Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old. that thou wert but with me! — but 1 grow The fool of my own wishes, and forget The solitude which I have vaunted so Has lost its praise in this but one re- gret; There may be others which I less may show; — 1 am not of the plaintive mood, and yet I feel an ebb in my philosophy. And the tide rising in my altered eye. I did remind thee of our own dear lake. By the old Hall which may be mine no more. Leman's is fair; but think not I for- sake The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore : Sad havoc Time must with my mem- ory make Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before ; Though like all things which I have loved, they are Resigned for ever, or divided far. The world is all before me ; but I ask Of Nature that with which she will comply — It is but in her summer's sun to bask. To mingle with the quiet of her sky, To see her gentle face without a mask, And never gaze on it with apathy. She was my early friend, and now shall be My sister — till I look again on thee. I can reduce all feelings but this one; And that I would not ; — for at length I see Such scenes as those wherein my life begun The earliest — even the only paths for me. Had I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun, I had been better than I now can be ; The passions which have torn me would have slept; I had not suffered, and thou hadst not wept. With false Ambition what had I to do? Little with Love, and least of all with Fame ; And yet they came unsought, and with me grew. And made me all which they can make — a name. Yet this was not the end I did pursue ; Surely I once beheld a nobler aim. But all is over — I am one the more To baffled millions which have gone before. And for the future, this world's fu- ture may From me demand but little of my care ; I have outlived myself by many a day; Having survived so many things that were ; My years have been no slumber, but the prey Of ceaseless vigils ; for I had the share Of life which might have filled a cen- tury. Before its fourth Li time had passed me by. And for the remnant which may be to come I am content ; and for the past I feel Not thankless, — for within the crowded sum Of struggles, happiness at times would steal. And for the present, I would not be- numb My feelings farther. Nor shall I conceal BYRON. 97 That with all this I still can look around, And worship Nature with a thought profound. For thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart I know myself secure, as thou in mine ; We were and are — 1 am, even as thou art — Beings who ne'er each other can re- sign; It is the same, together or apart, From life's commencement to its slow decline We are entwined — let death come slow or fast, The tie which bound the first endures the last. [From The Giaour.'] THE FIRST DAY OF DEATH. He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled. The first dark day of nothingness. The last of danger and distress, (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers), And marked the mild angelic air. The rapture of repose that's there, The fixed yet tender traits that streak The languor of the placid cheek, And — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not now, And but for that chill changeless brow. Where cold Obstruction's apathy Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon; Yes, but for these and these alone, Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power; ^o fair, so calm, so softly sealed, The first last look by death revealed ! [From The Giaour. 1 LOVE. Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven ; A spark of that immortal fire VVitli angels shared, by Allah given, To lift from earth our low desire. Devotion wafts the mind above. But heaven itself descends in love; A feeling from the Godhead caught, To wean from self each sordid thought ; A ray of Him who formed the wliole; A gloiy circling round the soul ! iFrom The Dream,] SLEEP. Our life is twofold! Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things mis- named Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world. And a wide realm of wild reality. And dreams in their development have breath. And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They leave a weight upon our wak- ing thoughts. They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being; they be- come A portion of ourselves as of our time, And look like heralds of eternity ; They pass like spirits of the past — they speak Like sibyls of the future; they have power — The tyranny of pleasure and of pain ; They make us what we were not — what they will. And shake us with the vision that's gone by, The dream of vanished shadows — Are they so ? Is not the past all shadow? Wliat are they ? 98 BYRON. Creations of the mind ? — The mind can make Substance, and people planets of its own With beings brighter than have been, and give A breath to form which can outlive all flesh. I would recall a vision which I dreamed Perchance in sleep — for in itself a thought, A slumbering thought, is capable of years, And curdles a long life into one hour. {From Don Juan.l THE ISLES OF GREECE. The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! Lsung, Where burning Sappho loved and Where grew the arts of war and peace, — Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set. The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute. Have found the fame your shores refuse : Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your sires' " Islands of the Blest." The mountains look on Marathon — And Marathon looks on the sea ; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free ; For standing on the Persian's grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sat on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis: And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations ; — all were his ! He counted them at break of day — And when the sun set, where were they ? And where are they ? and where art thou. My country ? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine. Degenerate into hands like mine ? 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though linked among a fettered race. To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face ; For what is left the poet here ? For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. Must we but w^eep o'er days more blest ? Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled. Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three. To make a new Thermopylae ! What, silent still ? and silent all ? Ah! no; — the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall. And answer, "Let one living head. But one arise, — we come, we come ! " 'Tis but the living who are dumb. In vain — in vain ; strike other chords ; Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! Leave battles to the Turkish hordes. And shed the blood of Scio's vine! Hark ! rising to the ignoble call — How answers each bold Bacchanal ! You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet. Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one ? You have the letters Cadmus gave, — Think ye he meant them for a slave ? Fill high the bowl with Samian wine I We will not think of themes like these ! THE ISLES OF GREECE Page 98. BYRON. 99 It made Anacreon's song divine: He served — but served Poly- crates — A tyrant ; but our masters then Were still, at least, our countrymen. The tyrant of the Chersonese Was freedom's best and bravest friend ; That tyrant was Miltiades! Oh! that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind ! Such chains as his were sure to bind. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, ENists the remnant of a line Such as the Doric mothers bore ; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown. The Heracleidan blood might own. Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells ; In native swords, and native ranks, The only hope of courage dwells : But Turkish force and Latin fraud AVould break your shield, however broad. Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! Our virgins dance beneath the shade — I see their glorious black eyes shine; But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning tear-drop laves. To think such breasts must suckle slaves. Place me on Sunium's marble steep. Where nothing save the waves andl May hear our mutual murmurs sweep : There, swan-like, let me sing and die; A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! [ From the Prophecy of Dante.'] GENIUS. Maxy are poets who have never penned Their inspiration, and perchance, the best ; They felt, and loved and died, but would not lend Their thoughts to meaner beings; they compressed The God within them, and rejoined the stars Unlaurelled upon earth, but far more blessed Than those who are degraded by the jars Of passion, and their frailties linked to fame. Conquerors of high renown, but W-^ of scars. Many poets, but without the nc*ine ; For what is poesy but to create From overf eeling good or ill ; and aim At an external life beyond our fate And be the new Prometheus of new men. Bestowing fire from heaven, and tlien, too late. Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain. And vultures to the lieart of the bestoAver, Who, having lavished his high gift in vainv Lies chained to his lone rock by the sea-shore ! So be it; we can bear. — But thus all they Whose intellect is an o'ermastering power, Wliich still recoils from its encum- bering clay. Or lightens it to spirit, whatsoe'er The forms which their creation may essay. Are bards; the kindled marble's bust may wear More poesy upon its speaking brow Tlian aught less than the Homeric page may bear; 100 BYRON. One noble stroke with a whole life may glow, Or deify tlie canvas till it shine With beauty so surpassing all be- low, That they who kneel to idols so di- vine Break no commandment, for high heaven is there Transfused, transtigurated : and the line Of poesy which peoples but the air With thought and beings of our thought reflected, Can do no more : then let the artist share The palm; he shares the peril, and dejected Faints o'er the labor unapproved —Alas! Despair and genius are too oft con- nected. [From Childe Harold.] THE MISERY OF EXCESS. TO IXEZ. Nay, smile not at my sullen brow, Alas ! I cannot smile again : Yet Heaven avert that ever thou Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain. And dost thou ask, what secret woe I bear, corroding joy and youth ? And wilt thou vainly seek to know A pang, even thou must fail to soothe ? It is not love, it is not hate, Xor low ambition's honors lost. That bids me loathe my present state. And fly from all I prize the most ! It is that weariness which springs From all I meet, or hear, or see ; To me no pleasure Beauty brings : Thine eyes have scarce a charm f oi- me. It is that settled, ceaseless gloom The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore; That will not look beyond the tomb, And cannot hope for rest before. What exile from himself can flee ? To zones, though more and more remote. Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life — the demon Thought. Yet, others rapt in pleasure seem, And taste of all that I forsake ; Oh! may they still of transport dream. And ne'er, at least like me, awake ! Through many a clime 'tis mine to go, With many a retrospection curst ; And all my solace is to know. What e'er betides, I've known the worst. What is that worst ? Nay, do not a,sk — In pity from the search forbear : Smile on — nor venture to unmask Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there. [From Childe Harold.] APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore. There is society, where none intrudes. By the deep sea, and music in its roar : I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been be- fore. To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. BYBON. 101 Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee m vain; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore; — upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bub- bling groan. Without a grave, unknelled, imcof- fined, and unknown. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake. And monarchs tremble in their cap- itals. The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war; These are thy toys, and, as the sno\N7^ flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? Thy waters washed them power while they were free. And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: — not so thou ; — Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play — Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Tlvou'glo^ious mirror, ^heJe'^'l/e'AI- '• mi^^hty's form ' • ' ••- • • Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving ; — boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of eternity — the throne Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made : each zone Obeys thee: thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy [to be Of youthful sports was on thy breast Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me [sea Were a delight; and if the freshening Made them a terror — 'twas a pleas- ing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee. And, trusted to thy billows far and near. And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. [From Childe Harold.] CALM AND TEMPEST AT NIGHT ON LAKE LEMAN {GENEVA). Clear, placid Leman! thy con- trasted lake, With the wide world I dwelt in is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake [spring. Earth's troubled waters for a purer This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction ; once I loved Torn ocean's roar, -but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That I with stem delights should e'er have been so moved. 102 BYRON. ', li, ts.tiae Jt^ushcOf, n^ht. a,a4 all.be- Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellowed and mingling, yet dis- tinctly seen. Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear Precipitously steep; and drawing near There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear Drops the light drip of the sus- pended oar, Or chirps the grasshopper one good- night carol more. He is an evening reveller who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still, There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven, If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state. And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are . A beauty, and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star. All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep. But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : — All heaven and earth are still: — From the high host Of stars, to the lulled lake and mountain-coast. All is concentred in a life intense. Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, But hath a part of being, and a sense Of that which is of all Creator and defence. Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone ; A truth, which through our being, then doth melt. And purifies from self : it is a tone, The soul and source of music, which makes known Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm, Like to the fabled Cytherea's stone. Binding all things with beauty; — 'twould disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. Not vainly did the early Persian make His altar the high places and the peak Of earth-o'ergazing mountains, and thus take A fit and unwalled temple, there to seek The Spirit in whose honor shrines are weak, Upreared of human hands. Come, and compare Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air. Nor fix on fond abodes to circum- scribe thy prayer I BYRON, 103 The sky is changed ? — and such a change! O night, And storin, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, But eveiy mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! And this is in the night: — Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far de- light, — A portion of the tempest and of thee! How the lit lake shines, a phos- phoric sea. And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young eartiiquake's birth. Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye! With night, and clouds, and thim- der, and a soul To make these felt, and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watch- ful ; the far roll Of your departing voices, is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. ^oal ? But where of ye, O tempests, is the Are ye like those within the hmnan breast ? Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some hisli nest! Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me- — could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feel- ings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, Bear, know, foel, and yet breathe — into one word. And that one word were light- ning, I would speak; But as it is I live and die unheard, With a most voiceless thought sheathing it as a sword. [From Childe Harold.] BYRONS REMARKABLE PROPHECY. And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now I shrink from what is suffered : let him speak Wlio hath beheld decline upon my brow, Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak ; But in this page a record will I seek. Not in the air shall these my words disperse, Though i be ashes; a far hour shall wreak [verse. The deep prophetic fulness of this And pile on human heads the moun- tain of my curse! That curse shall be Forgiveness. — Have I not — Hear me, my mother Earth! behold it, Heaven! — Have I not had to wrestle with my lot? Have I not suffered things to be for- given ? Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven, Hopes sapped, name blighted. Life's life lied away ? And only not to desperation driven, Because not altogetlier of such clay As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. 104 BYROK From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy Have I not seen what human things could do ? From tiie loud roar of foaming cal- umny To the small whisper of the as paltry few, And subtler venom of the reptile crew, The Janus glance of whose signifi- cant eye, Learning to lie with silence, would seem true. And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh. Deal round to happy fools its speech- less obloquy. But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in con- quering pain ; But there is that within me that shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire. Something unearthly, which they deem not of Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre, Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky no\y the late re- morse of love. [From Childe llarohJ.] ONE PRESENCE WANTFNG. The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, .Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossomed trees, And fields which promise corn and wine. And scattered cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine. Have strewed a scene, which I sliould see With double joy wert thou with me. And peasant girls, with deep-blue eyes. And hands which offer early flowers, Walk smiling o'er this paradise; Above, the frequent feudal towers Through green leaves lift their walls of gray And many a rock which steeply low- ers. And noble arch in proud decay. Look o'-er this vale of vintage-bowers ; But one thing want these banks of Ehine, — Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine ! I send the lilies given to me ; Though long before thy hand they touch, 1 know that they must withered be. But yet reject them not as such : For I have cherislied them as dear Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou behold' st them drooping nigh, And knowest them gathered by the Rhine, And offered from my heart to thine. The river nobly foams and flows. The charm of this enchanted ground. And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round : The haughtiest breast its wish might bound Through life to dwell delighted here ; Nor could on earth a spot be found To nature and to me so dear, Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks nd flickering o'er the tufted grass The shifting shadows go, Vague-sailing, where the feathery clouds Fleck white the tranquil skies, iBlack javelins darting where aloft The whirling pheasant flies. A glimmering plain in drowsy trance The dim horizon bounds, Where all the air is resonant With sleepy summer sounds. The life that sings among the flowers, The lisping of the breeze. The hot cicala's sultry crjr. The murmurous dreamy bees. The butterfly, — a flying flower — Wheels swift in flashing rings. And flutters round his quiet kin. With brave flame-mottled wings. The wild pinks burst in crimson fire. The phlox' bright clusters shine. And prairie-cups are swinging free To spill their airy wine. And lavishly beneath the sun. In liberal splendor rolled. The fennel fills the dipping plain With floods of flowery gold : And widely weaves the iron-weed A woof of purple dyes Where Autumn's royal feet may tread When bankrupt Summer flies. In verdurous tumult far away The prairie-billows gleam. Upon their crests in blessing rests The noontide's gracious beam. Low quivering vapors steaming dim. The level splendors break Where languid lilies deck the rim Of some land-circled lake. Far in the East like low-hung clouds The waving woodlands lie ; Far in the West the glowing plain Melts warmly in the sky. No accent woimds the reverent air. No footprint dints the sod, — Low in the light the prairie lies Rapt in a dream of God. IN A GRAVEYARD. In the dewy depths of the graveyard I lie in the tangled grass. And watch in the sea of azure, The white cloud-islands pass. The birds in the rustling branches Sing gaily overhead ; Gray stones like sentinel spectres Are guarding the silent dead. The early flowers sleep shaded In the cool green noonday glooms ; The broken light falls shuddering On the cold white face of the tombs. Without, the world is smiling In the infinite love of God, But the sunlight fails and falters When it falls on the churchyard sod. On me the joyous rapture Of a heart's first love is shed, But it falls on my heart as coldly As sunlight on the dead. REMORSE. Sad is the thought of sunniest days Of love and rapture perislied, And shine through memory's tearful haze The eyes once fondliest cherished. Reproachful is the ghost of toys That charmed while life was wasted. But saddest is the thought of joys That never yet were tasted. 254 EAT, Sad is the vague and tender dream Of dead love's lingering kisses, To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam Of unreturning blisses ; Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride For the pitiless death that won them, — But the saddest wail is for lips that died With the virgin dew upon them. ON THE BLUFF. O GRANDLY flowing River! O silver-gliding River! Thy springing willows shiver In the sunset as of old ; They shiver in the silence Of the willow-whitened islands, While the sun-bars and the sand-bars Fill air and wave with gold. O gay, oblivious River! O sunset-kindled River! Do you remember ever The eyes and skies so blue On a summer day that shone here, When we were all alone here, And the blue eyes were too wise To speak the love they knew ? O stern impassive River ! O still unanswering River! The shivering willows quiver As the night-winds moan and rave. From the past a voice is calling, From heaven a star is falling, And dew swells in the bluebells Above her hillside grave. A WOMAN'S LOVE. A SENTINEL angel sitting high in gloiy Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory : *' Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story ! " I loved, — and, blind with passion- ate love, I fell. Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell. For God is just, and death for sin is well. "I do not rage against his high de- cree. Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be: But for my love on earth who mourns for me. "Great Spirit! Let me see my love again And comfort him one hour, and I were fain To pay a thousand years of fire and pain." Then said the pitying angel, ''Nay, repent That wild vow! Look, the dial, fin- ger's bent Down to the last hour of thy punish- ment!" But still she wailed, " I pray thee, let me go I cannot rise to peace and leave him so. O, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!" The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, And upward, joyous, like a rising star. She rose and vanished in the ether far. But soon adown the dying sunset sailing. And like a wounded bird hei pinions trailing, She fluttered back, with broken- hearted wailing. She sobbed, " I found him by the summer sea Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee, — She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe is me!" EAYNE. 255 She wept. " Now let my punish- In life's high noon ment begin ! Aimless I stand, my promised task I have been fond and foolish. Let imdone. me in And raise my hot eyes to the angry To expiate my sorrow and my sin." sun That will go down too soon. The angel answered, " Nay, sad soul, go higher! Turned into gall To be deceived in your true heart's Are the sweet joys of childhood's desire sunny reign ; Was bitterer than a thousand years of And memory is a torture, love a Ike!" chain That binds my life in thrall. LAG RIM AS. And childhood's pain God send me tears ! Could to me now the purest rapture Loose the fierce band that binds my yield ; tired brain, I pray for tears as in his parching Give me the melting heart of other field years. The husbandman for rain. And let me weep again ! We pray in vain ! Before me pass The sullen sky flings down its blaze The shapes of things inexorably true. of brass ; Gone is the sparkle of transforming The joys of life all scorched and dew withering pass ; From every blade of grass. I shall not weep again. Paul Hamilton Hayne. A SUMMER MOOD. Ah me ! for evermore, for evermore These human hearts of ours must yearn and sigh. While down the dells and up the murmurous shore Nature renews her immortality. The heavens of June stretch calm and bland above, June roses blush with tints of ori- ent skies. But we, by graves of joy, desire, and love. Mourn in a world which breathes of Paradise ! The sunshine mocks the tears it may not dry. The breezes — tricksy couriers of the air, — Child-roisterers winged, and lightly fluttering by — Blow their gay trumpets in the face of care ; And bolder winds, the deep sky's passionate speech, Woven into rhythmic raptures of desire. Or fugues of mystic victory, sadly reach Our humbled souls, to rack, not raise them higher! The field-birds seem to twit us as they pass With their small blisses, piped so clear and loud ; The cricket triumphs o'er us in the grass, And the lark, glancing beamlike up the cloud. 256 EAYNE. Sings us to scorn with his keen rhap- sodies : Small things and great unconscious tauntings bring To edge our cares, while we, the proud and wise, Envy the insect's joy, the birdling's wmg And thus for evermore, till time shall cease, Man's soul and Nature's — each a separate sphere — Kevolves, the one in discord, one in peace, And who shall make the solemn mystery clear ? BY THE AUTUMN SEA. Fair as the dawn of the fairest day, Sad as the evening's tender gray, By the latest lustre of sunset kissed, That wavers and wanes through an amber mist, — There cometh a dream of the past to me. On the desert sands, by the autumn sea. All heaven is wrapped in a mystic veil. And the face of the ocean is dim and pale. And there rises a wind from the chill northwest, That seemeth the wail of a soul's unrest. As the twilight falls, and the vapors flee Par over the wastes of the autumn A single ship through the gloaming glides Upborne on the swell of the seaward tides ; And above the gleam of her topmost spar Are the virgin eyes of the vesper star That shine with an angel's ruth on me, — A hopeless waif, by the autumn sea. The wings of the ghostly beach-birds gleam Through the shimmering surf, and the curlew's scream Falls faintly shrill from the darkening height ; The first weird sigh on the lips of Night Breathes low through the sedge and the blasted tree, With a murmur of doom, by the au- tumn sea. Oh, sky-enshadowed and yearning main, Your gloom but deepens this human pain; Those waves seem big with a name- less care, That sky is a type of the heart's despair. As I linger and muse by the sombre lea, And the night-shades close on the autumn sea. THE WOODLAND. Yon woodland, like a human mind Has many a phase of dark and light; Now dim with shadows wandering blind. Now radiant with fair shapes of They softly come, they softly go. Capricious as the vagrant wind, — Nature's vague thoughts in gloom or glow, That leave no airiest trace behind. No trace, no trace; yet wherefore thus Do shade and beam our spirits stir? Ah ! Nature may be cold to us. But we are strangely moved by her I The wild bird's strain, the breezy spray. Each hour with sure earth-changes rife, IIAYNE. 257 Hint more than all the sages say, Or poets sing, of death or life ! For, truth half drawn from Nature's breast, Through subtlest types of form and tone, Outweigh what man at most hath guessed, While heeding his own heart alone. And midway betwixt heaven and us Stands Nature, in her fadeless grace, Still pointing to our Father's house. His glory on her mystic face ! WINDLESS RAIN. The rain, the desolate rain! Ceaseless, and solemn, and chill! How it drips on the misty pane. How it drenches the darkened sill! O scene of sorrow and dearth ! I would that the wind awaking To a fierce and gusty birth Might vary this duil refrain Of the rain, the desolate rain: For the heart of heaven seems breaking In tears o'er the fallen earth, And again, again, again. We list to the sombre strain, The faint, cold, monotone — Whose soul is a mystic moan — Of the rain, the mournful rain, The soft, despairing rain ! The rain, the murmurous rain ! Weary, passionless, slow, 'T is the rhythm of settled sorrow, 'T is the sobbing of cureless woe! And all the tragic life. The pathos of Long- Ago, Comes back on the sad refrain Of the rain, the dreary rain. Till the graves in my heart unclose And the dead who are buried there From a solemn and weird repose Awake, — but with eyeballs drear. And voices that melt in pain On the tide of the plaintive rain, The yearning, hopeless rain. The long, low, whispering rain ? THE STING OF DEATH. I FEAR thee not, O Death! nay, oft I pine To clasp thy passionless bosom to mine own, — And on thy heart sob out my latest moan. Ere lapped and lost in thy strange sleep divine; But much I fear lest that chill breath of thine Should freeze all tender memories into stone, — Lest ruthless and malign Oblivion Quench the last spark that lingers on love's shrine: — O God! to moulder through dark, dateless years, — The while all loving ministries shall cease. And Time assuage the fondest mourn- er's tears! — Here lies the sting ! — this, th is it is to die! — And yet great Nature rounds all strife with peace, And life or death, — each rests in mystery ! JASMINE. Of all the woodland flowers of earlier spring, These golden jasmines, each an air- hung bower. Meet for the Queen of Fairies' tiring hoiu". Seem loveliest and most fair in blos- soming; — How yonder mock-bird thrills his fervid wing And long, lithe throat, where twink- ling flower on flower Rains the globed dewdrops down, a diamond shower. O'er his brown head, poised as in act to sing: — Lo! the swift sunshine floods the flowery urns. Girding their delicate gold with Ii58 HEBER — REDDER WICK. Till the blent life of bough, leaf, blossom, burns; Then, then outbursts the mock-bird clear and loud, Half-drunk with perfume, veiled by radiance bright, — A star of music in a fiery cloud ! Reginald Heber. IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE. If thou wert by my side, my love. How fast would evening fail In green Bengala's palmy grove. Listening the nightingale ! If thou, my love, wert by my side, My babies at my knee. How gaily would our pinnace glide O'er Grunga's mimic sea! I miss thee at the dawning gray, When on our deck reclined. In careless ease my limbs I lay, And woo the cooler wind. I miss thee when by Gunga's stream My twilight steps I guide. But most beneath the lamp's pale beam I miss thee from my side. I spread my books, my pencil try. The lingering noon to cheer. But miss thy kind approving eye. Thy meek attentive ear. But when of morn or eve the star Beholds me on my knee, I feel, though thou art distant far, Thy prayers ascend for me. Then on ! then on ! where duty leads, My course be onward still ; O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads, O'er bleak Almorah's hill. That course, nor Delhi's kingly gates. Nor wild Malwah detain ; For sweet the bliss us both awaits By yonder western main. Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say, Across the dark-blue sea ; But ne'er were hearts so light and gay As then shall meet in thee ! James Hedderwick. MIDDLE LIFE. Fair time of calm resolve — of sober thought ! Quiet half-way hostelry on life's long road. In which to rest and readjust our load! High table-land, to which we have been brought By stumbling steps of ill-directed toil ! Season when not to achieve is to de- spair ! Last field for us of a full fruitful soil .' Only spring-tide our freighted aims to bear Onward to all our yearning dreams have sought ! How art thou changed ! Once to our youthful eyes Thin silvering locks and thought's imprinted lines Of sloping age gave weird and wintry signs : HEDGE. 259 But now these trophies ours, we re- cognize Only a voice faint-rippling to its shore, And a weak tottering step as marks of old. None are so far but some are on be- fore; Thus still at distance is the goal be- held. And to Improve the way is truly wise. Farewell, ye blossomed hedges! and the deep Thick green of summer on the mat- ted bough ! The languid autumn mellows round us now : Yet fancy may its vernal beauties keep, Like holly leaves for a December wreath. To take this gift of life with trusting hands. And star with heavenly hopes the night of death, Is all that poor humanity demands To lull its meaner fears to easy sleep. Frederic Henry Hedge. QUESTIONINGS. Hath this world without me wrought Other substance than my thought ? Lives it by my sense alone. Or by essence of its own ? Will its life, with mine begun. Cease to be when that is done ? Or another consciousness With the self-same forms impress ? Doth yon fire-ball, poised in air. Hang by my permission there ? Are the clouds that wander by But the offspring of mine eye, Bom with eveiy glance I cast. Perishing when that is past ? And those thousand, thousand eyes, Scattered through the twinkling skies, Do they draw their life from mine, Or of their own beauty shine ? Now I close my eyes, my ears, And creation disappears ; Yet if I but speak the word. All creation is restored. Or — more wonderful — within, Kew creations do begin ; Hues more bright and forms more rare Than reaUty doth wear, Flash across my inward sense Born of the mind's omnipotence. Soul ! that all inf ormest, say ! Shall these glories pass away ? Will those planets cease to blaze When these eyes no longer gaze ? And the life of things be o'er When these pulses beat no moie ? Thought ! that in me works and lives, — Life to all things living gives, — Art thou not thyself, perchance, But the universe in trance ? A reflection inly flung By that world thou fanc'edst sprur'g From thyself, — thyself a dream, — Of the world's thinking, thou i,-rie theme ? Be it thus, or be thy birth From a source above the earth, — Be thou matter, be thou mind, In thee alone myself I find. And through thee, alone, for me. Hath this world reality. Therefore, in thee will I live. To thee all myself will give. Losing still that 1 may find This bounded self in boundless mind. 260 EEMANS. Felicia Dorothea Hemans. BREATHINGS OF SPRING. What wak'st thou, Spring? Sweet voices in the woods, And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute ; Thou bringest back, to fill the soli- tudes. The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute. Whose tone seems breathing moum- fulness or glee, Even as our hearts may be. And the leaves greet thee. Spring! — the joyous leaves. Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade. Where each young spray a rosy flush receives. When thy south wind hath pierced the whispery shade. And happy murmurs, running through the grass. Tell that thy footsteps pass. And the bright waters, — they, too, hear thy call, Spring, the awakener! thou hast burst their sleep! Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall Makes melody, and in the forests deep. Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray Their windings to the day. And flowers, — the fairy-peopled world of flowers! Thou from the dust hast set that glory free. Coloring the cowslip with the sunny hours. And pencilling the wood-anemone : Silent they seem ; yet each to thouglit- f ul eye Glows with mute poesy. But what a wak'st thou in the heart, O Spring! — The human lieart, w^ith all its dreams and sighs ? Thou that givest back so many a buried thing. Restorer of forgotten harmonies ! Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er thou art: What wak'st thou in the heart ? Too much, oh, there, too much! — we know not well Wherefore it should be thus; yet, roused by thee. What fond, strange yearnings, from the soul's deep cell. Gush for the faces we no more may see! How are we haunted, in thy wind's low tone. By voices that are gone! Looks of familiar love, that never more, Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet, Past words of welcome to our house- hold door, And vanished smiles, and sounds of parted feet, — Spring, midst the murmurs of thy flowering trees. Why, why revivest tliou these ? Vain longings for the dead! — why come they back With thy young birds, and leaves, and living blooms ? Oh, is it not that from thine earthly track Hope to thy world may look be- yond the tombs ? Yes, gentle Spring; no sorrow dims thine air. Breathed by our loved ones there. HEMANS, 261 THE INVOCATION. Answer me, burning stars of night! Where is the spirit gone, That past the reach of human sight, Even as a breeze, hath flown ? And the stare answered me, —"We roll In light and power on high, But, of the never-dying soul. Ask things that cannot die!" Oh ! many-toned and chainless wind ! Thou art a wanderer free ; Tell me if thou its place canst find. Far over mount and sea ? And the wind murmured in reply, "The blue deep 1 have crossed. And met its barks and billows high. But not what thou hast lost! " Ye clouds that gorgeously repose Around the setting sun. Answer ! have ye a home for those Whose earthly race is run ? The bright clouds answered, — "We depart. We vanish from the sky ; Ask what is deathless in thy heart For that which cannot die! " Speak, then, thou voice of God within ! Thou of the deep low tone ! Answer me through life's restless din, Where is the spirit flown ? And the voice answered, "Be thou still! Enough to know is given ; Clouds, winds, and stars their task fulfil; Thine is to trust in Heaven I " THE HOUR OF DiATH. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north- wind's breath, And stars to set, — but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death. Day is for mortal care, Eve for glad meetings round the joy- ous hearth. Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of pi-ayer, — But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. The banquet hath its hour. Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine ; There comes a day for grief's o*er- whelming power, A time for softer tears, — but all are thine. Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay. And smile at thee, — but thou art not of those That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north- wind's breath. And stars to set, — but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death. We know when moons shall wane, When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea. When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain, — But who shall teach us when to look for thee ? Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie ? Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ? They have one season, — all are ours to die! Thou art where billows foam. Thou art where music melts upon the air; Thou art around us in our peaceful home. And the world calls us forth, — and thou art there. 262 HEMANS. Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the ehn to rest, — Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north- wind's breath, And stars to set, — but all. Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death. EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL. Hush! 'tis a holy hour, — the quiet room Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads. With all their clustering locks, un- touched by care, And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night, — in prayer. Gaze on, — 'tis lovely! — childhood's lip and cheek, Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought. Gaze, — yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek, And fragile things, as but for sun- shine wrought ? Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky. What death must fashion for eternity ! Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest, Lightly, when those pure orisons are done. As birds with slumber's honey-dew oppressed, 'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun, — Lift up your hearts ! — though yet no sorrow lies Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes ; Though fresh within your breasts the untroubled springs Of hope make melody where'er ye tread ; And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread ; Yet in those flate-like voices, ming- ling low, Is woman's tenderness, — how soon her woe. Her lot is on you, — silent tears to weep. And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour. And sumless riches, from affection's deep. To pour on broken reeds, — a wasted sho^ver ! [clay. And to make idols, and to find them And to bewail that worship, — there- fore pray! Her lot is on you, — to be found un- tired. Watching the stars out by the bed of pain. With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired, And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain. [decay, Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer And oh ! to love through all things, — therefore pray ! And take the thought of this calm vesper time, With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light, On througlitlie dark days fading from their prime. As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight. Earth will forsake, — oh! happy to have given The unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven! HERBERT. 263 LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS. The breaking waves dashed high, On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed ; And the heavy night hung dark The liills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted came ; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame ; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; — They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free! The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam ; And the rocking pines of the forest roared — This was their welcome home ! There were men with hoary hair Amidst that pilgrim band: Why had they come to wither there. Away from their childhood's land ? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar ? Bright jewels of the mine ? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? — They sought a faith's pure shrine! Ay, call it holy ground. The soil where first they trod. They have left unstained what there they found — Freedom to worship God. CALM ON THE BOSOM OF OUR GOD. Calm on the bosom of our God, Fair spirit! rest thee now! E'en while with us thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow. Dust to its narrow house beneath ! Soul to its place on high! They that have seen thy look in death No more may fear to die. George Herbert. THE PULLEY. When God at first made man, Having a glass of blessing standing by: Let us (said he) pour on him all we can: Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie. Contract into a span. So strength first made a way; Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honor, pleasure: When almost all was out, God made a stay. Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure. Rest in the bottom lay. 264 HERBERT, For if I should (said he) They may weep out the stains by Bestow this jewel also on my crea- them did rise: ture, Those doors being shut, all by the He would adore my gifts instead of ear comes in. me, Who marks in church-time other And rest in Nature, not the God of symmetry. Nature : Makes all their beauty his de- So both should losers be. formity. Yet let him keep the rest. Let vain or busy thoughts have there But keep them with repining restless- no part : ness: Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy Let him be rich and weary, that at pleasure thither least, Christ purged the temple; so must If goodness lead him not, yet weari- thou thy heart. ness All worldly thoughts are but these May toss him to my breast. met together To cozen thee. Look to thy ac- tions well : [From the Church Parch ] For churches either are our heaven or hell. ADVICE ON CHURCH BEHAVIOR. Judge not the preacher ; for he is thy When once thy foot enters the judge: church, be bare. If thou mislike him, thou conceivest God is more there than thou : for thou him not. art there God calleth preaching folly. Do not Only by his permission. Then be- grudge ware, To pick out treasures from an earthen And make thyself all reverence and pot. fear. The worst speak something good : if all want sense. Kneeling ne'er spoil'd silk stock- God takes a text and preaches pa- ings: quit thy state. tience. All equal are within the church's gate. Resort to sermons, but to prayers most: Praying's the end of preaching. O [From the Church Porch.] be drest; SUM UP AT NIGHT. Stay not for the other pin : why thou hast lost Sum up at night, what thou hast A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell done by day; doth jest And in the morning, what thou hast Away thy blessings, and extremely to do. flout thee. Dress and undress thy soul: mark Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul the decay loose about thee. And growth of it : if with thy watch that too In time of service seal up both thine Be down, then wind up both, since eyes. we shall be And send them to thine heart; that Most surely judged, make thy ac- spying sin, counts agree. EERRICK. 265 In brief, acquit thee bravely ; play the man. Look uot on pleasures as they come, but go. Defer not the least virtue; life's poor span Make not an ell, by trifling in thy wo. If thou do ill, the joy fades, not the pains : If well ; the pain doth fade, the joy remains. BOSOM SIN. Lord, with what care hast thou be- girt us round ! Parents first season us: then school- masters Deliver us to laws: they send us bound To rules of reason, holy messengers, Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin, Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes, Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in. Bibles laid open, millions of sur- prises. Blessings beforehand, ties of grate- fulness, The sound of glory ringing in our Without, our shame; within, our consciences ; Angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears. Yet all these fences and their whole array One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away. VIBTUE. Sweet dajs so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky; The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses. A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives ; Bat though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. Robert Herrick. TO PERILLA, Ah, my Perilla! dost thou grieve to see ' Me, day by day, to steal away from thee ? Age calls me hence, and my gray hairs bid come. And haste away to mine eternal home; 'Twill not be long, Perilla, after this That I must give thee the supreme st kiss. Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring (spring, Part of the cream from that religious With which, Perilla, wash my hands and feet; That done, then wind me in that very sheet id66 HE BRICK. Which wrapt thy smooth limbs when thou didst implore The gods' protection, but the night before ; Follow me weeping to my turf, and there Let fall a primrose, and with it a tear. Then lastly, let some weekly strew- ings be Devoted to the memory of me ; Then shall my ghost not walk about, but keep Still in the cool and silent shades of sleep. THE PRIMROSE. Ask me why I send you here This sweet infanta of the year ? Ask me why I send to you This primrose, thus bepearled with dew ? I will whisper to your ears, The sweets of love are mixed with tears. Ask me why this flower does show So yellow green and sickly too ? Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending, yet it doth not break ? I will answer, these discover What fainting hopes are in a lover. THREE EPITAPHS. UPON A CHILD Here she lies, a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood ; Who so soon fell fast asleep As her little eyes did peep. Give her strew ings, but not stir, The earth that lightly covers her! UPON A CHILD. Virgins promised when I died. That they would, each primrose-tide, Duly mom and evening come. And with flowers dress my tomb : Having promised, pay your debts, Maids, and here strew violets. UPON A MAID. Here she lies, in beds of spice, Fair as Eve in paradise ; For her beauty it was such, Poets could not praise too much. Virgins, come, and in a ring Her supremest requiem sing; Then depart, but see ye tread Lightly, lightly o'er the dead. HOW THE HEART'S EASE FIRST CAME. Frolic virgins once these were, Over-loving, living here ; Being here their ends denied, Ran for sweethearts mad and died. Love, in pity of their tears, And their loss of blooming years. For their restless here-spent hours, Gave them heart' s-ease turned to flowers. LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT In the hour of my distress When temptations me oppress. And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me I WTien I lie within my bed. Sick at heart, and sick in head, And with doubts discomforted. Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the house doth sigh and Meep, And the world is drowned in sleep, Yet mine eyes the watch do keep, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but of his fees. And his skill runs on the lees. Sweet Spirit, comfort me. When his potion and his pill. His or none or little skill, Meet for nothing, but to kill — Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! HERVE7. 267 When the passin; bell doth toll, And the Furies, in a shoal, Come to fright a parting soul. Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the tapers now burn blue, And the comforters are few. And that number more than true, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the priest his last hath prayed, And I nod to what he said Because my speech is now decayed, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When, God knows, I 'm tost about Either with despair or doubt. Yet before the glass be out, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the Tempter me pursu'th. With the sins of all my youth. And half damns me with untruth Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the flames and hellish cries Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes, And all terrors me surprise, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. When the judgment is revealed. And that opened which was sealed — When to Thee I have appealed. Sweet Spirit, comfort me. TO KEEP A TRUE LENT. Is this a fast — to keep The larder lean. And clean From fat of veals and sheep * Is it to quit the dish Of flesh, yet still To fill The platter high with fish ? Is it to fast an hour — Or ragged go — Or show A downcast look, and sour ? No! 'tis a fast to dole Thy sheaf of wheat, And meat. Unto the hungry soul. It is to fast from strife, From old debate, And hate — To circumcise thy life, To show a heart grief-rent; To starve thy sin, Not bin — And that's to keep thy Lent. Thomas Kibble Hervey. CLEOPATRA EMBARKING ON THE CYDNUS. Flutes in the sunny air! And harps in the porphyry halls! And a low, deep hum like a people's prayer, With its heart-breathed swells and falls! And an echo like the desert's call. Flung back to the shouting shores! And the river's ripple heard through all, As it plays with the silver oars ! — ' The sky is a gleam of gold, And the amber breezes float Like thoughts to be dreamed of, but never told, Around the dancing boat ! She has stepped on the burning sand; And the thousand tongues are mute. And the Syrian strikes with a trem- bling hand The strings of his gilded lute ! And the Ethiop's heart throbs loud and high Beneath his white symar, 268 IlEYWODD. And the Libyan kneels, as he meets her eye, Like the flash of an eastern star! The gales may not be heard. Yet the silken streamers quiver. And the vessel shoots, like a bright- plumed bird. Away down the golden river! Away by the lofty mount, And away by the lonely shore, And away by the gushing of many a fount. Where fountains gush no more ! — Oh, for some warning vision there, Some voice that should have spoken Of climes to be laid waste and bare And glad young spirits broken ! Of waters dried away. And hope and beauty blasted ! That scenes so fair and hearts so gay Should be so early wasted ! EPITAPH. Farewell! since nevermore for thee The sun comes up our earthly skies, Less bright henceforth shall sun- shine be (eyes. To some fond hearts and saddened There are who, for thy last long sleep. Shall sleep as sweetly nevermore, Must weep because thou canst not weep. And grieve that all thy griefs are o'er. Sad thrift of love! — the loving breast, Whereon thine aching head was thrown. Gave up the weary head, to rest, But kept the aching for its own, Till pain shall find the same low bed That pillows now thy painless head, And following darkly through the night, [light. Love reach thee by the founts of Thomas Heywood. GOOD-MORROW. Pack clouds away, and welcome day, With night we banish sorrow ; Sweet air, blow soft; mount, larks, aloft. To give my love good-morrow. Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow; Bird, prune thy wing,nightingale,sing, To give my love good-morrow. Wake from thy nest, robin red- breast. Sing, birds, in every furrow; And from each hill let music shrill Give my fair love good-morrow. Blackbird and thrush in every bush. Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow; You pretty elves, among yourselves, Sing my fair love good-morrow. HIGGINSON. — HII.LARD. 269 Thomas Wentworth Higginson. DECORATION, •* Manibus date liliaplenis." 'Mid the flower-wreathed tombs I stand, Bearing lilies in my hand. Comrades! in what soldier-grave ISleeps the bravest of the brave ? Is it he who sank to rest With his colors round his breast ? Friendship makes his tomb a shrine, Garlands veil it ; ask not mine. One lone grave, yon trees beneath, Bears no roses, wears no wreath ; Yet no heart more high and warm Ever dared the battle-storm. Never gleamed a prouder eye In the front of victory : Never foot had firmer tread On the field where hope lay dead, Than are hid within this tomb. Where the untended grasses bloom ; And no stone, with feigned distress. Mocks the sacred loneliness. Youth and beauty, dauntless will, Dreams that life could ne er fulfil. Here lie buried — here in peace Wrongs and ^'oes have found re* l€ Turning from my comrades' eyes. Kneeling where a woman lies, I strew lilies on the grave Of the bravest of the brave. George Stillman Hillard. LAKE GEORGE. How oft in visions of the night. How oft in noonday dreaming, . I've seen, fair lake, thy forest wave, — Have seen thy waters gleaming; Have heard the blowing of the winds That sweep along thy highlands, And the light laughter of the waves That dance around thine islands. It was a landscape of the mind. With forms and hues ideal. But still those hues and forms ap- peared More lovely than aught real. I feared to see the breathing scene. And brooded o'er the vision. Lest the hard touch of truth should mar A picture so Elysian. But now I break the cold distrust Whose spells so long had bound me; The shadows of the night are past, — The morning shines around me. And in the sober light of day, I see, with eyes enchanted. The glorious vision that so long My day and night dreams haunted. I see the green, translucent wave, The purest of earth's fountains: I see the many-winding shore, — The double range of mountains : One, neighbor to the flying clouds. And crowned with leaf and blossom, And one, more lovely, borne within The lake's unruflled bosom. O timid heart! with thy glad throbs Some self-reproach is blended. At the long years that died before The sight of scene so splendid. The mind has pictures of its own, Fair trees and waters flowing — But not a magic whole like this, So living, breathing, glowing; Strength imaged in the wooded hi.Us, A grand, primeval nature. 270 HOFFMAN. And beauty mirrored in the lake, A gentler, softer feature ; A perfect union, — where no want Upon the soul is pressing ; Like manly power and female grace Made one by bridal blessing. Xor is the stately scene without Its sweet, secluded treasures. Where hearts that shun the crowd may find Their own exclusive pleasures ; Deep chasms of shade for pensive thought, The hours to wear aw^ in ; And vaulted aisles, of whispering pine. For lovers' feet to stray in ; Clear streams that from the uplands run, A course of sunless shadow ; Isles all unfurrowed by the plough, And strips of fertile meadow ; And rounded coves of silver sand, Where moonlight plays and glances, — A sheltered hall for elfin horns, A floor for elfin dances. No tame monotony is here, But beauty ever changing; With clouds, and shadows of the clouds. And mists the hillsides ranging. Where morning's gold, and noon's hot sun. Their changing glories render ; Pour round the shores a varying light, Now glowing and now tender. But purer than the shifting gleams By liberal sunshine given. Is the deep spirit of that hour, — An effluence breathed from heaven ; When the unclouded, yellow moon Hangs o'er the eastern ridges. And the long shaft of trembling gold. The trembling crystal bridges. Farewell, sweet lake! brief were the hours Along thy banks for straying; But not farewell what memory takes, — An image undecaying. I hold secure beyond all change One lovely recollection, To cheer the hours of lonely toil. And chase away dejection. Charles Fenno Hoffman. MONTEREY. We were not many, — we who stood Before the iron sleet that day ; Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years if but he could Have been with us at Monterey. Now here, now there, the shot it hailed In deadly drifts of fiery spray. Yet not a single soldier quailed When wounded comrades round them wailed Their dying shouts at Monterey. And on, still on our column kept, Through walls of flame, its wither- ing way; Where fell the dead, the living stept. Still charging on the guns which swept The slippery streets of Monterey. The foe himself recoiled aghast, When, striking where he strongest lay, We swooped his flanking batteries past, HOGG — HOLLAND. 271 And, braving full their murderous blast, Stormed home the towers of Mon- terey. Our banners on those turrets wave, And there our evening bugles play; Where orange boughs above their grave Keep green the memory of the brave Who fought and fell at Monterey. We are not many, — we who pressed Beside the braye who fell that day: But who of us has not confessed He'd rather share their warrior rest Than not have been at Monterej ? James Hogg. THE SKYLARK. Bird of the wilderness Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — Oh, to abide in the desert with thee ! Wild is thy lay and loud. Far in the downy cloud, Love gives itenergy,love gave it birth, Where, on thy dewy wing. Where art thou journeying ? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green. O'er the red streamer that heralds the day. Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms. Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — Oh, to abide in the desert with thee I JosiAH Gilbert Holland. [From Bitter-Sweet.'] A SONG OF DOUBT. The day is quenched, and the sun is fled; God has forgotten the world ! The moon is gone, and the stars are dead ; God has forgotten the world ! Evil has won in the horrid feud Of ages with The Throne ; Evl} stands on the neck of Gk)od, And rules the world alone. There is no good ; there is no God ; And Faith is a heartless cheat Who bares the backf or the Devil' s rod. And scatters thorns for the feet. What are prayers in the lips of death; Filling and chilling with hail ? What are prayers but wasted brea'.h Beaten back by the gale ? [fled; The day is quenched, and the sun is God has forgotten the world ! The moon is gone, and the stars aie dead; God has forgotten the world I 272 HOLLAND. [From Bitter- Sweet.'] A SONG OF FAITH. Day will return with a fresher boon ; God will remember the world ! Night will come witli a newer moon ; God will remember the world! Evil is only the slave of Good ; Sorrow the servant of Joy ; And the soul is mad that refuses food Of the meanest in God's employ. The fountain of joy is fed by tears, And love is lit by the breath of sighs; The deepest griefs and the wildest fears Have holiest ministries. Strong grows the oak in the sweeping storm ; Safely the flower sleeps under the snow; And the farmer's hearth is never warm Till the cold wind starts to blow. Day will return with a fresher boon; God will remember the world ! Night will come with a newer moon; God will remember the world ! [From Bitter- Sioeet.] WHAT IS THE LITTLE ONE THINKING ABOUT? What is the little one thinking about ? Very wonderful things, no doubt. Unwritten historj^ ! Unf athomed mystery ! Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and drinks, And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks. As if his head were as full of kinks And curious riddles as any sphinx ! Warped by colic, and wet by tears, Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears, Our little nephew will lose two years ; And he'll never know Where the summers go; — He need not laugh, for he^ll find it so ! Who can tell what a baby thinks ? Who can follow the gossamer links By which the manikin feels his way Out from the shore of the great un- known, Blind, and wailing, and all alone, Into the light of day ? — Out from the shore of the unknown sea. Tossing in pitiful agony, — Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls. Specked with the barks of little souls, — Barks that were launched on the other side. And slipped from heaven on an ebb- ing tide ! What does he think of his mother's eyes ? What does he think of his moth- er's hair? What of the cradle-roof that flies Forward and backward through the air? What does he think of his moth- er's breast, — Bare and beautiful, smooth and white. Seeking it ever with fresh delight, — Cup of his life and couch of his rest ? What does he think when her quick embrace Presses his hand and buries his face Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell With a tenderness she can never tell. Though she murmur the words Of all the birds, — Words she has learned to murmur well ? Now he thinks he'll go to sleep! I can see the shadow creep Over his eyes in soft eclipse. Over his brow, and over his lips, Out to his little finger-tips ; Softly sinking, down he goes ! * Down he goes ! Down he goes ! See! He is hushed in sweet re pose ! HOLLAND. 273 {From Bitter-Sweet.} STRENGTH THROUGH RESISTED TEMPTATION. God loves not sin, nor I ; but in the throng Of evils that assail us, there are none That yield their strength to Virtue's struggling arm With such munificent reward of power As great temptations. We may win by toil Endurance ; saintly fortitude by pain ; By sickness, patience ; faith and trust by fear; But the great stimulus that spurs to life, And crowds to generous development Each chastened power and passion of the soul, Is the temptation of the soul to sin, liesisted, and reconquered, evermore. IFrom Bitter-Sweet.] THE PRESS OF SORROW. Hearts, like apples, are hard and sour, Till crushed by Pain's resistless power ; And yield their juices rich and bland To none but Sorrow's heavy hand. The purest streams of human love Flow naturally never, But gush by pressure from above. With God's hand on the lever. The first are turbidest and meanest ; The last are sweetest and serenest. [From Bitter- Sweet.] LIFE FROM DEATH. Life evermore is fed by death. In earth and sea and sky ; And, that a rose may breathe breath. Something must die. its Earth is a sepulchre of flowers, Whose vitalizing mould Through boundless transmutation towers. In green and gold. The oak-tree, straggling with the blast, Devours its father-tree. And sheds its leaves and drops its mast, That more may be. The falcon preys upon the finch. The finch upon the fly, And nought will loose the hunger- pinch But death's wild cry. The milk-haired heifer's life must pass That it may fill your own, As passed the sweet life of the grass She fed upon. The power enslaved by yonder cask Shall many burdens bear ; Shall nerve the toiler at his task, The soul at prayer. From lowly woe springs lordly joy ; From humbler good diviner; The greater life must aye destroy And drink the minor. From hand to hand life's cup is passed Up Being's piled gradation, Till men to angels yield at last The rich collation. [From Bitter- Sweet.] WORTH AND COST. Thus is it over all the earth ! That which Ave call the fairest, And prize for its surpassing worth, Is ahvavs rarest. 274 HOLLAND. Iron is heaped in mountain piles, And gluts the laggard forges : But gold-flakes gleam in dim defiles And lonely gorges. The snowy marble flecks the land With heaped and rounded ledges, But diamonds hide within the sand Their starry edges. The finny armies clog the twine That sweeps the lazy river. But pearls come singly from the brine, With the pale diver. God gives no value unto men Unmatched by meed of labor; And Cost, of Worth, has ever been The closest neighbor. Wide is the gate and broad the way That opens to perdition. And countless multitudes are they Who seek admission. But strait the gate, the path unkind. That leads to life immortal. And few the careful feet that find, The hidden portal. All common good has common price ; Exceeding good, exceeding; Christ bought the keys of Paradise By cruel bleeding; And every soul that wins a place Upon its hills of pleasure, Must give its all, and beg for grace To fill the measure. [From jBitter-Sweet.] CRADLE SONG. HiTHEE, Sleep ! a mother wants thee ! Come with velvet arms! Fold the baby that she grants thee To thy own soft charms ! Bear him into Dreamland lightly! Give him sight of flowers ! Do not bring him back till brightly Break the morning hours ! Close his eyes with gentle fingers ! Cross his hands of snow! Tell the angels where he lingers They must whisper low ! 1 will guard thy spell unbroken If thou hear my call ; Come, then. Sleep ! I wait the token Of thy downy thrall. Now I see his sweet lips moving ; He is in thy keep ; Other milk the babe is proving At the breast of Sleep ! IFrom Bitter-Sweet.'] TO AN INFANT SLEEPING. Sleep, babe, the honeyed sleep of innocence ! Sleep like a bud ; for soon the sun of life With ardors quick and passionate shall rise. And with hot kisses, part the fra- grant lips — The folded petals of thy soul ! Alas ! What feverish winds shall tease and toss thee, then ! What pride and pain, ambition and despair. Desire, satiety, and all that fill With misery, life's fretful enterprise, Shall wrench and blanch thee, till thou fall at last, Joy after joy down-fluttering to the earth, To be apportioned to the elements ! I marvel, baby, whether it were ill That he who planted thee should pluck thee now, And save thee from the blight that comes on all, I marvel whether it would not be well That the frail bud should burst in Paradise, On the full throbbing of an angel's heart I HOLLAND. 275 [From the Marble Prophecy.'] THE TYPE OF STRUGGLIKG HUMANITY. Laocoon ! thou great embodiment Of human life and human histoiy! Thou recoi-d of the past, thou proph- ecy Of the sad f utui-e, thou majestic voice, Pealing along the ages from old time ! Thou wail of agonized humanity ! There lives no thought in marble like to thee ! Thou hast no kindred in the Vatican, But standest separate among the dreams Of old mythologies — alone — alone ! The beautiful Apollo at thy side Is but a marble dream, and dreams are all The gods and goddesses and fauns and fates That populate these wondrous halls ; but thou, Standing among them, liftest up thy- self In majesty of meaning, till they sink Far from the sight, no more signifi- cant Than the poor toys of children. For thou art A voice from out the world's experi- ence, Speaking of all the generations past To all the generations yet to come Of the long struggle, the sublime de- spair. The wild and weary agony of man ! ON THE RIGHI. On the Righi Kulm we stood. Lovely Floribel and I, While the morning's crimson flood Streamed along the eastern sky. Reddened every mountain-peak Into rose from twilight dun ; But the blush upon her cheek Was not lighted by the sim ! On the Righi Kulm we sat, Lovely Floribel and I, Plucking bluebells for her hat From a mound that blossomed nigh. " We are near to heaven," she sighed, While her raven lashes fell. "Nearer," softly I replied, " Than the mountain's height may tell." Down the Righi' s side we sped, Lovely Floribel and I, But her morning blush had fled And the bluebells all were dry. Of the height the dream was born ; Of the lower air it died ; And the passion of the morn Flagged and fell at eventide. From the breast of blue Lucerne, Lovely Floril^el and I Saw the brand of sunset bum On the Righi Kulm, and die. And we wondered, gazing thus. If our dream would still remain On the height, and wait for us Till we climb to heaven again ! WHAT WILL IT MATTER? If life awake and will never cease On the future's distant shore, And the rose of love and the lily of peace Shall bloom there forevermore, — Let the world go round and round. And the sun sink into the sea ; For whether I'm on or under the ground. Oh, what will it matter to me ? 276 HOLME — HOLMES. Saxe Holme. THREE KISSES OF FAREWELL. Thkee, only three, my darling, Separate, solemn, slow; Not like the swift and joyous ones, We used to know When we kissed because we loved each other Simply to taste love's sweet. And lavished our kisses as the sum- mer Lavishes heat ; — But as they kiss whose hearts are wrung, When hope and fear are spent, And nothing is left to give except A sacrament ! First of the three, my darling. Is sacred unto pain ; We have hurt each other often : We shall again. When we pine becaui^ we miss each other, And do not understand. How the written words are so much colder Than eye and hand. I kiss thee, dear, for all such pain Which we may give or take ; Buried, forgiven, before it comes. For our love's sake! The second kiss, my darling, Is full of joy's sweet thrill; We have blessed each other always ; We always will. We shall reach till we feel each other, Past all of time and space ; We shall listen till we hear each other In every place; The earth is full of messengers Which love sends to and fro ; I kiss thee, darling, for all joy AVhich we shall know ! The last kiss, oh, my darling, My love — I cannot see Through my tears, as I remember What it may be. We may die and never see each other, Die with no time to give Any sign that our hearts are faithful To die, as live. Token of what they will not see Who see our parting breath. This one last kiss, my darling, seals The seal of death ! Oliver Wendell Holmes. THE VOICELESS. We count the broken lyres that rest Where the sweet wailing singers slumber. But o'er their silent sister's breast The wild-flowers who will stoop to number ? A few can touch the magic string. And noisy fame is proud to win them : — Alas for those that never sing, But die with all their music in them! Nay, grieve not for the dead alone Whose song has told their hearts' sad story, — Weep for the voiceless, who have known The cross without the crown of glory ! Not where Leucadian breezes sweep O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, But where the glistening night-dews weep On nameless Sorrow's churchyard pillow. HOLMES. 277 O hearts that break and give no sign Save whitening lip and fading tresses, Till Death pours out his cordial wine Slow-dropped from Misery's crush- ing presses, — If singing breath or echoing chord To every hidden pang were given, What endless melodies were poured, As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven 1 DOROTHY Q. A FA3IILY PORTRAIT. Grandmother's mother: her age I guess. Thirteen summers, or something less ; Girlish bust, but womanly air: Smooth, square forehead with up- rolled hair. Lips that lover has never kissed ; Taper fingers and slender wrist; Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade ; So they painted the little maid. On her hand a parrot green Sits unmoving and broods serene. Hold up the canvas full in view, — Look! there's a rent the light shines through. Dark with a century's fringe of dust, — That was a Red-Coat's rapier-thrust! Such is the tale the lady old, Dorothy's daughter's daughter told. Who the painter was none may tell,— One whose best was not over well ; Hard and dry, it must be confessed. Flat as a rose that has long been pressed : Yet in her cheek the hues are bright. Dainty colors of red and white, And in her slender shape are seen Hint and promise of stately mien. Look not on her with eyes of scorn, — Dorothy Q. was a lady born ! Ay! since the galloping Normans came, England's annals have known her I And still to the three-hilled rebel town Dear is that ancient name's renown, For many a civic wreath they won, The youthful sire and the gray haired son. O Damsel Dorothy ! Dorothy Q. 1 Strange is the gift that I owe to you; Such a gift as never a king Save to daughter or son might bring, All my tenure of heart and hand, All my title to house and land ; Mother and sister and child and wife And joy and sorrow and death and life! What if a hundred years ago Those close-shut lips had answered No. When forth the tremulous question came That cost the maiden her Norman name. And under the folds that look so still The bodice swelled with the bosom's thrill ? Should I be I, or would it be One tenth another to nine-tenths me? Soft is the breath of a maiden's Yes: Not the light gossamer stirs with less ; But never a cable that holds so fast Through all the battles of wave and blast, And never an echo of speech or song That lives in the babbling air so long ! There were tones in the voice that whispered then You may hear to-day in a hundred men. O lady and lover, how faint and far Your images hover, — and here we are, Solid and stirring in flesh and bone, — Edward's and Dorothy's — all their own, — A goodly record for time to show Of a syllable spoken so long ago : — Shall I bless you, Dorothy, or forgive For the tender whisper that bade me live ? 278 HOLMES. It shall be a blessing, my little maid ! I will heal the stab of the Red-Coat's blade, And freshen the gold of the tarnished frame. And gild with a rhyme your house- hold name : So you shall smile on us brave and bright As first you greeted the morning's light, And live untroubled by woes and fears Through a second youth of a hun- dred years. UNDER THE VIOLETS. Her hands are cold; her face is white ; No more her pulses come and go ; Her eyes are shut to life and light ; — Fold the white vesture, snow on snow, And lay her where the violets blow. But not beneath a graven stone, To plead for tears with alien eyes; A slender cross of wood alone Shall say, that here a maiden lies, In peace beneath the peaceful skies. And gray old trees of hugest limb Shall wheel their circling shadows round To make the scorching sunlight dim That drinks the greenness from the ground, And drop their dead leaves on her mound. When o'er their boughs the squirrels run, And through their leaves the robins call. And ripening in the autumn sun. The acorns and the chestnuts fall, Doubt not that she will heed them. all. For her the morning choir shall sing Its matins from the branches high, And every minstrel-voice of Spring, That trills beneath the April sky. Shall greet her with its earliest cry. When turning round their dial track, Eastward the lengthening shadows pass. Her little mourners, clad in black, The crickets, sliding through the gi-ass, Shall pipe for her an evening mass. At last the rootlets of the trees Shall find the prison where she lies, And bear the buried dust they seize . In leaves and blossoms to the skies So may the soul that warmed it rise! If any, born of kindlier blood. Should ask, What maiden lies be- low? Say only this: A tender bud, That tried to blossom in the snow, Lies withered where the violets blow. NEARING THE SXOW-LINE. Slow toiling upward from the misty vale, I leave the bright enamelled zones below ; No more for me their beauteous bloom shall glow, Their lingering sweetness load the morning gale ; Few are the slender flowerets, scent- less, pale. That on their ice-clad stems, all trembling blow Along the margin of unmelting snow ; Yet with unsaddcned voice thy verge I hail. HOOD. 279 White realm of peace above the flowering line, Welcome thy frozen domes, thy rocky spires ! O'er thee undimmed the moon-girt planets shine, On thy majestic altars fade the fires That filled the air with smoke of vain desires, And all the unclouded blue of heaven is thine! THE TWO STREAMS. Behold the rocky wall That down its sloping sides Pours the swift rain-drops, blending as they fall, In rushing river-tides ! Yon stream, whose sources run Turned by a pebble's edge, Is Athabasca, rolling towards the sun Tlirough the cleft mountain-ledge. The slender rill had strayed, But for the slanting stone. To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid Of foam-flecked Oregon. So from the heights of Will Life's parting stream descends. And, as a moment turns its slender rill, Each widening torrent bends, — From the same cradle's side. From the same mother's knee, — One to long darkness and the frozen tide. One to the Peaceful Sea! HYMN OF TRUST. O Love Divine, that stoopedst tc share Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear, On Thee we cast each earth-born care. We smile at pain while Thou art near ! Though long the weary way we tread. And sorrow crown each lingering year, No path we shim, no darkness dread. Our hearts still whispering. Thou art near ! When drooping pleasure tunis to grief, . And trembling faith is changed to fear, The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf. Shall softly tell us. Thou art near! On Thee we fling our burdening woe, O Love Divine, forever dear, Content to suffer while we know, Living and dying. Thou art near! Thomas Hood. MELANCHOL Y. [From the Ode thereon.'] Lo! here the best, the worst, the world Doth now remembfer or forget Are in one common rain hurled; And love and hate are calmly met — The loveliest eyes that ever shone. The fairest hands, and locks of jet. Is 't not enough to vex our souls And fill our eyes, that we have set Our love upon a rose's leaf. Our hearts upon a violet ? Blue eyes, red cheeks, are frailer yet; And, sometimes, at their swift decay Beforehand we must fret. The roses bud and bloom again ; But love may haunt the grave of love, And watch the mould in vain. 280 ROOD, O clasp me, sweet, whilst thou art mine. And do not take my tears amiss ; For tears must flow to wash away A thought that shows so stern as this. Forgive, if somewhile I forget. In woe to come, the present bliss, As frighted Proserpine let fall Her flowers at the sight of Dis. E'en so the dark and bright will kiss; The sunniest things throw sternest shade ; And there is even a happiness That makes the heart afraid ! Now let us with a spell invoke The full-orbed moon to grieve our eyes; Not bright, not bright — but with a cloud Lapped all about her, let her rise All pale and dim, as if from rest. The ghost of the late buried sim Had crept into the skies. The moon! she is the source of sighs. The very face to make us sad. If but to think in other times The same calm, quiet look she had. As if the world held nothing base, Or vile and mean, or fierce and bad — The same fair light that shone in streams, The fairy lamp that charmed the lad; For so it is, with spent delights She taunts men's brains, and makes them mad All things are touched with melan- choly. Bom of the secret soul's mistrust To feel her fair ethereal wings Weighed down with vile, degraded dust. Even the bright extremes of joy Bring on conclusions of disgust — Like the sweet blossoms of the May, Whose fragrance ends in must. Oh, give her then her tribute just. Her sighs and tears, and musings holy! There is no music in the life That sounds with idiot laughter solely; There 's not a string attuned to mirth^ But has its chord in melancholy. TO A CHILD EMBRACING HIS MOTHER. Love thy mother, little one ! Kiss and clasp her neck again, — Hereafter she may have a son Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. Love thy mother, little one ! Gaze upon her living eyes. And mirror back her love for thee, — Hereafter thou may'st shudder sighs To meet them when they cannot see. Gaze upon her living eyes! Press her lips the while they glow With love that they have often told, Hereafter thou mayest press in woe, And kiss them till thine own are cold, Press her lips the while they glow ! Oh, revere her raven hair ! Although it be not silver-gray — Too early Death, led on by Care, May snatch save one dear lock away. Oh ! revere her raven hair ! Pray for her at eve and morn, That Heaven may long the stroke defer, — For thou may'st live the hour forlorn When thou wilt ask to die with her. Pray for her at eve and morn ! / REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. I REMEMBER, I refncmbcr The house where I was bom, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon; HOOD. 281 Nor brought too long a day ; But now, 1 often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups — Those flowers made of light ! The lilacs where the robin built And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday, — The tree is living yet ! I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And tliought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then. That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow I I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. It was a childish ignorance. But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy. THE DEATH-BED. We watched her breathing through the night Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. So silently we seemed to speak. So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears. Our fears our hopes belied — We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. For when the morn came, dim and sad. And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed — she had Another mom than oui's. THE SONQ OF THE SHIRT, With fingers weary and worn. With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread — Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, himger, and dirt; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the *' Song of the Shirt! " "Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof ! And work — work — work, Till the stars shine through the roof! It's oh! to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to If this is Christian work I ' ' Work — work — work Till the brain begins to swim ! Work — work — w^ork Till the eyes are heavy and dim I Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seam — Till over the buttons I fall asleep. And sew them on in a dream I " O men, with sisters dear! O men, with mothers and wives! It is not linen you 're wearing out! But human creatures' lives ! Stitch — stitch — stitch, In poverty, hunger, and dirt — Sewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt ! " But why do I talk of Death — That phantom of grisly bone ? I hardly fear his terrible shape. It seems so like my own — 282 HOOD. It seems so like my own Because of the fasts I keep ; O God ! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap ! ' * Work — work — work ! My labor never flags ; And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, A crust of bread, and rags. That shattered roof, and this naked floor; A table, a broken chair ; And a wall so blank my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there ! ' ' Work — work — work ! From weary chime to chime I Work — work — work — As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and gusset, and band — Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed, As well as the weary hand. " Work — work — work In the dull December light! And work — work — work, When the weather is warm and bright I — While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling. As if to show me their sunny backs, And twit me with the spring. "O! but *^^o breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet — With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet ! For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of w^ant And the walk that costs a meal ! " O ! but for one short hour — A respite however brief I No blessed leisure for love or hope. But only time for grief ! A little weeping would ease my heart ; But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread! " With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread — Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch — Would that its tone could reach the rich ! — She sang this " Song of the Shirt ! " THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. One more unfortunate, Weary of breath. Rashly importunate, Gone to her death ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ! Fashioned so slenderly — Young, and so fair! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements, Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly. Loving, not loathing! Touch her not scornfully ! Think of her mournfully. Gently and humanly — Not of the stains of her; All that remains of her Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny. Rash and undutif ul ; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers. One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers, Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb — HOOD. 283 Her fair auburn tresses — Take her up tenderly — Whilst wonderment guesses Lift her with care! Where was her home ? Fashioned so slenderly — Young and so fair ! Who was her father ? Who was her mother ? Ere her limbs frigidly, Had she a sister ? Stiffen too rigidly. Had she a brother ? Decently, kindly, Or was there a dearer one Smooth and compose them; Still, and a nearer one And her eyes, close them, Yet, than all other ? Staring so blindly ! Alas ! for the rarity Dreadfully staring Of Christian charity Through muddy impurity, Under the sun ! As when with the daring Oh! it was pitiful ! Last look of despairing Near a whole city full, Fixed on futurity. Home she had none. Perishing gloomily, Sisterly, brotherly, - Spurred by contumely, Fatherly, motherly Cold inhumanity Feelings had changed — Burning insanity Love, by harsh evidence, Into her rest! Thrown from its eminence ; Cross her hands humbly. Even God's providence As if praying dumbly, Seeming estranged. Over her breast ! Where the lamps quiver So far in the river. Owning her weakness, Her evil behavior, With many a light From window and casement. And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour! Frc>m garret to basement, She stood with amazement, Houseless by night. FAREWELL, LIFE! The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver: Farewei.i., Life ! my senses swim, But not the dark arch, And the world is growing dim : Or the black flowing river; Thronging shadows cloud the light, Mad from life's history. Like the advent of the night — Glad to death's mystery, Colder, colder, colder still. Swift to be hurled — Upwards steals a vapor chill ; Any where, any where Strong the earthy odor grows — Outof the world! 1 smell the mould above the rose! In she plunged boldly — Welcome, Life! the spirit strives: No matter how coldly. Strength returns, and hope revives; The rough river ran — Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn Over the brink of it! Fly like shadows at the mom — Pictureit — thinkof it! O'er the earth there comes a bloom; Dissolute man ! Sunny light for sullen gloom, Lave in it, drink of it, Warm perfume for vapor cold — Then, if you can ! I smell the rose above the mould ! 284 HOUGHTON. BALLAD. It was not in the winter Our loving lot was cast ; It was the time of roses — We plucked them as we passed ! That churlish season never frowned On early lovers yet ! O, no — the world was newly crowned With flowers when first we met. 'T was twilight, and I bade you go- But still you held me fast ; It was the time of roses, — We plucked them as we passed ! TRUE DEATH. It is not death, that some time in a sigh This eloquent breath shall take its speechless flight; That some time these bright stars, that now reply In sunlight to the sun, shall set in night; That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite. And all life's ruddy springs forget to flow; That thought shall cease, and the immortal sprite Be lapped in alien clay and laid be- low; It is not death to know this — but to know That pious thoughts, which visit at new graves In tender pilgrimage, will cease to go So duly and so oft, — and when grass waves Over the past-away, there may be then Xo resurrection in the minds of men. LOVE BETTERED BY TIME. Love, dearest lady, such as I would speak, Lives not within the humor of the eye; Not being but an outward phantasy That skims the surface of a tinted cheek, — Else it Avould wane with beauty, and grow weak. As if the rose made summer — and so lie Amongst the perishable things that die, Unlike the love which I would give and seek; Whose health is of no hue — to feel decay With cheeks' decay, that have a rosy prime. Love is its own great loveliness al- way. And takes new beauties from the touch of time ; Its bough owns no December and no May, But bears its blossoms into winter's clime. George Houghton. [From The Legend of St. Olnfs Kirk.] VALBORG WATCHING AXEUS DEPARTURE, At kirk knelt Valborg, the cold altar-stone Reeling beneath her. Filled with choking grief She could not say good-bye, but by a page Her rosary sent him ; and when he had climbed His horse, and on the far-off bridge she heard EOUOHTOK 285 The dull tramp of his troopers, up she fared By stair and ladder to old Steindor's post, — For he was mute, and could not nettle her With words' cheap guise of sympathy. There perched Beside him up among the dusty bells, She pushed her face between the muUions, looked Across the world of snow, lighted like day By moon and moor-ild ; saw with misty eyes A gleam of steel, an eagle's feather tall; And through the clear air watched it, tossing, pass Across the sea-line ; saw the ship lift sail And blow to southward, catching light and shade As 'mong the sheers and skerries it picked out A crooked pathway; saw it round the ness, And, catching one last flicker of the moon, Fade into nothingness. With desolate steps She left the bellman and crept down the stairs; Heard all the air re-echoing: " He is gone! " — Felt a great sob behind her lips, and tears Flooding the sluices of her eyes; turned toward The empty town, and for the first time saw That Nidaros was small and irksome, felt First time her tether galling, and, by heaven ! Wished she'd been born a man-child, free to fare Unhindered through the world's wide pastures, free To stand this hour with Axel as his squire. And with him brave the sea-breeze. Aimlessly She sought the scattered gold-threads that had fonned Life's glowing texture: but how dull they seemed! How bootless the long waste of lagging weeks, With dull do-over of mean drudgeries. And miserable cheer of pitying mouths Whistling and whipping through small round of change Their cowering pack of saw and circumstance! How slow the crutches of the limping years ! [Six Quatrains from Album-Leaves.] COURAGE. Darkness before, all joy behind ! Yet keep thy courage, do not mind : He soonest reads the lesson right Who reads with back against the light! AMBITION, The palace with its splendid dome, That nearest to the sky aspires. Is first to challenge storms that roam A bove it, and call down their fires. THIS NAME OF MIKE. This name of mine the sun may steal away. Fierce fire consume it, moths eat name and day; Or mildew's hand may smooch it with decay, — But not my love, for that shall live alway. REGRET. I've regretted most sincerely, I've repented deeply, long; But to those I've loved most dearly, I've oftenest done wrong. 286 SOUGHl !>N. PURITY. Let your truth stand sure, And the world is true ; Let your heart keep pure — And the world will, too. He CHARITY. doubt, perhaps he erred, no sinned ; Shall I then dare to east a stone ? Perhaps this blotch, on a garment white, Counts less than the dingy robes I own. \_From Album-Leaves.'] DAISY. I GAVE my little girl back to the daisies. From them it was that she took her name; 1 gave my precious one back to the daisies, From where they caught their color she came; And now, when I look in the face of a daisy. My little girl's face I see, I see! My tears, down dropping, with theirs commingle, And they give my precious one back to me. Lord Houghton (Richard Monckton Milnes). SINCE YESTERDAY. I'm not where I was yesterday. Though my home be still the same, For I have lost the veriest friend Whomever a friend could name ; I'm not where I was yes'.erday. Though change there be little to see. For a part of myself has lapsed away From Time to Eternity. I have lost a thought that many a year Was most familiar food To my inmost mind, by night or day. In merry or plaintive mood ; I have lost a hope, that many a year Looked far on a gleaming way. When the walls of Life were closing round. And the sky was sombre gray. I thought, how should I see him first. How should our hands first meet, Within his room, — upon the stair, — At the corner of the street ? I thought, where should I hear him first. How catch his greeting tone, — And thus I went up to his door. And they told me he was gone ! Oh ! what is Life but a sum of love, And Death but to lose it all ? Weeds be for those that are left be- hind, And not for those that fall ! And now how mighty a sum of love Is lost for ever to me No, I'm not what I was yesterday, Though change there be little to see. LABOR. Heart of the people! Working msn! Marrow and nerve of human powers? Who on your sturdy backs sustain Through streaming time this world of ours ; Hold by that title, — which pro- claims. That ye are undismayed and strong. Accomplishing whatever aims May to the sons of earth belong. EOUQHTON, 287 And he who still and silent sits In closed room or shady nook^ And seems to nurse his idle wits With folded arms or open book : — To things now working in that mind, Yoin- children's children well may owe Blessings that hope has ne'er defined Till from his busy thoughts they flow. Thus all must work — with head or hand, For self or others, good or ill : Life is ordained to bear, like land, Some fruit, be fallow as it will ; Evil has force itself to sow Where we deny the healthy seed, — And all om- choice is this, — to grow Pasture and grain or noisome weed. Then in content possess your hearts, Unenvious of each other's lot, — For those which seem the easiest parts Have travail which ye reckon not: And he is bravest, happiest, best, Who, from the task within his span Earns for himself his evening rest, ^^And an increase of good for man. / WANDERED BY THE BROOk- SIDE. I WANDERED by the brook-side, I wandered by the mill, — I could not hear the brook flow, The noisy wheel was still ; There was no burr of grasshopper, No chirp of any bird, But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. I sat beneath the elm-tree, I watched the long, long shade, And as it grew still longer, I did not feel afraid ; For 1 listened for a footfall, 1 listened for a word, — But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound 1 heard. He came not, — no, he came not, — The night came on alone, — The little stars sat one by one. Each on his golden throne ; The evening air passed by my cheek The leaves above were stirred; But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound 1 heard. Fast silent tears were flowing. When something stood behind, A hand was on my shoulder, 1 knew its touch was kind : It drew me nearer — nearer. We did not speak one word ; For the beating of our own hearts Was all the sound we heard. THE WORTH OF HOURS. Believe not that your inner eye Can ever in just measure try The worth of hours as they go by : For every man's weak self, alas! Makes him to see them, while they pass. As through a dim or tinted glass; But if in earnest care you would Mete out to each its part of good. Trust rather to your after-mood. Those surely are not fairly spent, That leave your spirit bowed and bent In sad unrest and ill-content : And more, — though free from seem- ing harm. You rest from toil of mind or arm, Or slow retire from Pleasure's charm, — If then a painful sense comes on Of something wholly lost and gone. Vainly enjoyed, or vainly done, — Of something from your being's chain. Broke off, nor to be linked again By all mere memory can retain. — 288 EOUGHTON, Upon your heart this truth may rise, — Nothing that altogether dies Suffices man's just destinies: So should we live, that every hour May die as dies tlie natural flower, — A self -reviving thing of power; That every thought and every deed May hold within itself the seed Of future good and future need : Esteeming sorrow, whose employ Is to develop not destroy. Far better than a barren joy. FOREVER UNCONFESSED. They seemed to those who saw them meet The worldly friends of every day, Her smile was undisturbed and sweet, His coiutesy was free and gay. But yet if one the other's name In some unguarded moment heard, The heart you thought so calm and tame. Would struggle like a captured bird : And letters of mere formal phrase Were blistered with repeated tears, — And this was not the work of days, But had gone on for years and years! Alas, that Love was not too strong For maiden shame and manly pride! Alas, that they delayed too long The goal of mutual bliss beside. Yet what no chance could then re- veal, And neither would be first to own, Let fate and courage now conceal. When truth could bring remorse alone. DIVORCED. We that were friends, yet are not now. We that must daily meet With ready words and courteous bow. Acquaintance of the street; We must not scorn the holy past, We must remember still To honor feelings that outlast The reason and the will. I might reprove thy broken faith, I might recall the time When thou wert chartered mine till death, Through every fate and clime; When every letter was a vow, And fancy was not free To dream of ended love ; and thou Wouldst say the same of me. N'o, no, 'tis not for us to trim The balance of our wrongs. Enough to leave remorse to him To whom remorse belongs ! Let our dead friendship be to us A desecrated name, Unutterable, mysterious, A sorrow and a shame. A' sorrow that two souls which grew Encased in mutual bliss, Should wander, callous strangers, through So cold a world as this I A shame that we, whose hearts had earned For life an early heaven, Should be like angels self-returned To Death, when once forgiven! Let us remain as living signs. Where they tliat run may read Pain and disgrace in many lines. As of a loss indeed ; That of our fellows any who The prize of love have won May tremble at the thought to do The thing that we have done! EOWE. 289 ALL THINGS ONCE ARE THINGS FOR EVER. All things once are things forever; Soul, once living, lives for ever; Blame not what is only once, When that once endures for ever; Love, once felt, though soon forgot Moulds the heart to good for ever; Once betrayed from childly faith, Man is conscious man for ever ; Once the void of life revealed, It must deepen on for ever, Unless God fill up the heart With himself for once and ever: Once made God and man at once, God and man are one for ever. Julia Ward Howe. BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord ; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored ; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword, His truth is marching on. 1 have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps ; They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps ; I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps. His day is marching on. 1 have read a fiery gospel, writ in bur- nished rows of steel : "As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal ; Let the hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, . Since God is mar(?hing on ! " H3 has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat ; He is sifting out the hearts of men be- fore his judgment-seat ; Oh ! be swift, my soul, to answer him ! be jubilant, my feet ! Oiu- God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in his bosom that trans- figures you and me ; As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on I \_From Thoughts in Pere la Chaise.'] IMAGINED REPLY OF ELOISA TO THE POETS QUESTIONING. " What was I cannot tell — thou know' St our story, Know' St how we stole God's treasure from on high; Without heaven's virtue we had heav- en's glory, Too justly our delights were doomed to die. " Intense as were our blisses, e'en so painful The keen privation it was ours to share ; All states, all places barren proved and baneful. Dead stones grew pitiful at our de- spair; " Till, to the cloister's solitude re- pairing. Our feet the way of holier sorrows trod. Hid from each other, yet together sharing The labor of the Providence of God. 290 HOWE. " Often at midnight, on the cold stone lying, My passionate sobs have rent the pas- sive air, While my crisped fingers clutched the pavement, trying To hold him fast, as he had still been there. ** I called, I shrieked, till my spent breath came faintly, I sank, in pain Christ's martyrs could not bear; Then dreamed I saw him, beautiful and saintly. As his far convent tolled the hour of prayer. *' Solemn and deep that vision of re- union — He passed in robe, and cowl, and san- dall'd feet. But our dissever'd lips held no com- munion. Our long divorced glances could not meet. ** Then slowly, from that hunger of sensation. That rage for happiness, which makes it sin, I rose to calmer, wider contemplation, And knew the Holiest, and his disci- pline. "O thou who call' St on me! if that thou bearest A wounded heart beneath thy wom- an's vest. If thou my mournful earthly fortune sharest, Share the high hopes that calmed my fever' d breast. *' Not vainly do I boast Keligion's power. Faith dawned upon the eyes with Sor- row dim ; I toiled and trusted, till there came an hour That saw me sleep in God, and wake with him. " Seek comfort thus, for all life's painful losing, Compel from Sorrow merit and re- ward, And sometimes wile a mournful hour in musing How Eloisa loved her Abelard." The voice fled heav'nward ere its spell was broken, — I stretched a tremulous hand within the grate, And bore away a ravished rose, in token Of woman's highest love and hard- est fate. STANZAS FROM THE " TRIBUTE TO A SERVA2,'T:' Oh! grief that wring' st mine eyes with tears. Demand not from my lips a song; That fated gift of early years I've loved too well, I've nursed too long. What boot my verses to the heart That breath of mine no more shall stir? Where were the piety of Art, If thou wert silent over her ? This was a maiden, light of foot. Whose bloom and laughter, fresh and free. Flitted like sunshine, in and out Among nfy little ones and me. Hers was the power to quell and charm; The ready wit that children love; The faithful breast, the shielding arm Pillowed in sleep my tenderest dove. She played in all the nursery plays, She ruled in all its little strife; A thousand genial ways endeared Her presence to my daily life. HOWE. 291 She ranged ray hair with gem or flower, Careful, the festal draperies hung, Or plied her needle, hour by hour In cadence with the song I sung. My highest joy she could not share, Nor fathom sorrow's deep abyss; For that, she wore a smiling air. She hung her head and pined for this. " And she shall live with me," I said, '' Till all my pretty ones be grown; I'll give my girls my little maid, The gayest thing I call my own." Or else, methought, some farmer bold Should woo and win my gentle Liz- zie, And I should stock her house four- fold, Be with her wedding blithely busy. But lol Consumption's spectral form Sucks from her lips the flickering breath ; In these pale flowers, these tear-drops warm, I bring the mournful dower of Death. I could but say, with faltering voice And eyes that glanced aside to weep, *' Be strong in faith and hope, my child ; He giveth his beloved sleep. *' And though thou walk the shadowy vale. Whose end we know not. He will aid ; His rod and staff shall stay thy steps ; " *' I know it well," she smiled and said. She knew it well, and knew yet more My deepest hope, though unexprest, The hope that God's appointed sleep But heightens ravishment with rest. My children, living flowers, shall come And strew with seed this grave of thine, And bid the blushing growths of spring Thy dreary painted cross entwine. Thus Faith, cast out of barren creeds, Shall rest in emblems of her own ; Beauty, still springing from Decay, The cross- wood budding to the crown. THE DEAD CHRIST. Take the dead Christ to my chamber, The Christ I brought from Kome; Over all the tossing ocean. He has reached his western home ; Bear him as in procession. And lay him solemnly Where, through weary night and morning, He shall bjear me company. The name I bear is other Than than that I bore by birth, And I've given life to children Who'll grow and dwell on earth; But the tmie comes swiftly towards me (Nor do I bid it stay), When the dead Christ will be more to me Than all I hold to-day. Lay the dead Christ beside me, Oh, press him on my heart, I would hold him long and painfully Till the weaiy tears should start ; Till the divine contagion Heal me of self and sin, And the cold weight press wholly down The pulse that, chokes within. Reproof and frost, they fret me. Towards the free, the sunny lands, From the chaos of existence I stretch these feeble hands ; And, penitential, kneeling, Pray God would noc be wroth. Who gave not the strength of feeling, And strength of labor both. Thou'rt but a wooden carving. Defaced of worms, and old ; Yet more to me thou couldst not be Wert thou all wrapt in gold • 292 EOWELLS. Like the gem-bedizened baby Which, at the Twelfth-day noon, They show from the Ara Coeli's steps, To a merry dancing-tmie. I ask of thee no w onders, No changing white or red; I dream not thou art living, I love and prize thee dead. That salutary deadness I seek, through want and pain, From which God's own high power can bid Our virtue rise again. William Deane Howells. THE MYSTERIES. Once on my mother's breast, a child, I crept, Holding my breath ; There, safe and sad, lay shuddering, and wept At the dark mystery of Death. Weary and weak, and worn with all unrest, Spent with the strife. — O mother, let me weep upon thy breast At the sad mystery of Life I THANKSGIVING. Lord, for the erring thought Not into evil wrought : Lord, for the wicked will Betrayed and baffled still : For the heart from itself kept, Our thanksgiving accept. For ignorant hopes that were Broken to our blind prayer: For pain, death, sorrow, sent Unto our chastisement : For all loss of seeming good. Quicken our gratitude. CONVENTION. He falters on the threshold. She lingers on the stair; Can it be that Mas his footstep ? Can it be that she is there ? Without is tender yearning, And tender love is within ; They can hear each other's heart- beats. But a wooden door is between. THE POET'S FRIENDS. The robin sings in the elm; The cattle stand beneath Sedate and grave with great brown eyes And f raarrant meadow-breath. They listen to the flattered bird, The wise-looking, stupid things ; And they never understand a word Of all the robin sings. THE MULBERRIES. On the Rialto Bridge we stand ; The street ebbs under and makes no sound ; But, with bargains shrieked on every hand. The noisy market rings around. " Mulberries, fine mulberries, here! " A tuneful voice, — and light, light measure ; Though I hardly should count these mulberries dear. If I paid three times the price for my pleasm-e. HOWELLS. 1293 Brown hands splashed with mulberry blood, The basket wreathed with mulber- ry leaves Hiding the berries beneath them ; — good ! Let us take whatever the young rogue gives. For you know, old friend, I haven 't eaten A mulberry since the ignorant joy Of anything sweet in the mouth could sweeten All this bitter world for a boy. O, I mind the tree in the meadow stood By the road near the hill: where I climbed aloof On its branches, this side of the gir- dled wood, I could see the top of our cabin roof. And, looking westward, could sweep the shores Of the river where we used to swim. Under the ghostly sycamores. Haunting the waters smooth and dim; And eastward athwart the pasture- lot And over the milk-white buck- wheat field I could see the stately elm, where I shot The first black squirrel I ever killed. And southward over the bottom-land I could see the mellow breadth of farm From the river-shores to the hills expand. Clasped in the curving river's arm. In the fields we set our guileless snares For rabbits and pigeons and wary quails, Content with vaguest feathers and hairs From doubtful wings and vanished tails. And in the blue summer afternoon We used to sit in the mulberry-tree ; The breaths of wind that remem- bered June Shook the leaves and glittering berries free; And while we watched the wagons go Across the river, along the road, To the mill above, or the mill below, With horses that stooped to the heavy load, We told old stories and made new plans, And felt our hearts gladden within us again. For we did not dream that this life of a man's Could ever be what we know as men. We sat so srill that the woodpeckers came And pillaged the berries overhead; From his log the chipmonk, waxen tame. Peered and listened to what we said. One of us long ago was carried To his grave on the hill above the tree; One is a farmer there, and married ; One has wandered over the sea. * And, if you ask me, I hardly know Whother I'd be the dead or the clown, — The clod above or the clay below. — Or this listless dust by fortune blown To alien lands. For, however it is, So little we keep with us in life ; At best we win only victories, Not peace, not peace, O friend, in this strife. 294 EOWITT, But if I could turn from the long de- feat Of the little successes once more, and be A boy, with the whole wide world at my feet Under the shade of the mulberry tree, — From the shame of the squandered chances, the sleep Of the will that cannot itself awaken. From the promise the future can never keep, From the fitful purposes vague and shaken, — Then, while the grasshopper sung out shrill In the grass beneath the blanching thistle, And the afternoon air, with a tender thrill. Harked to the quail's complaining whistle, — Ah me ! should I paint the morrows again In quite the colors so faint to- day, And with the imperial mulberry's stain Re-purple life's doublet of hodden- gray ? Know again the losses of disillu- sion ? For the sake of the hope, have the old deceit ? — In spite of the question's bitter in- fusion. Don't you find these mulberries over-sweet ? All our atoms are changed, they say; And the taste is so different since then : We live, but a world has passed away, With the years that perished to make us men. Mary Howitt. THE BROOM-FLOWER. Oh, the broom, the yellow broom! The ancient poet sung it. And dear it is on summer days To lie at rest among it. 1 1610W the realms where people say The flowers have not their fellow ; I knoAV where they shine out like suns, The crimson and the yellow. I know where ladies live enchained In luxury's silken fetters, And flowers as bright as glittering gems Are used for written letters. But ne'er was flower so fair as this. In modern days or olden ; It groweth on its nodding stem Like to a garland golden. And all about my mother's door Shine out its glittering bushes. And down the glen, where clear as light The mountain-water gushes. Take all the rest; but give me this. And the bird that nestles in it; I love it, for it loves the broom — " The green and yellow linnet. Well, call the rose the queen of flow- ers, And boast of that of Sharon, Of lilies like to marble cups. And the golden rod of Aaron; no WITT. 295 I care not how these flowers may be Beloved of man and woman ; The broom it is the flower for me, That groweth on the common. Oh, the broom, the yellow broom ! The ancient poet sung it, And dear it is on summer days To lie and rest among iU TIBBIE INGLIS. Bjnnie Tibbie Inglis! Through sun and stormy weather. She kept upon the broomy hills Her father's flock together. Sixteen summers had she seen, — A rosebud just unsealing; Without sorrow, without fear, In her mountain shealing. She was made for happy thoughts, For playful wit and laughter; Singing on the hills alone, With echo singing after. She had hair as deeply black As the cloud of thunder; She had brows so beautiful, And dark eyes flashing under. Bright and witty shepherd girl, Beside a mountain water, I found her, whom a king himself Would proudly call his daughter. She was sitting 'mong the crags. Wild and mossed and hoary, Reading in an ancient book Some old martyr story. Tears were starting to her eyes, Solemn thought w^as o'er her; When she saw in that lone place A stranger stand before her. Crimson was her sunny cheek, And her lips seemed moving With the beatings of her heart; — How could I help loving '? On a crag I sat me do\vn. Upon the mountain hoary, And made her read again to me That old pathetic story. Then she sang me mountain songs, Till the air was ringing With her clear and warbling voice, Like a skylark singing. And when eve came on at length, Among the blooming heather, We herded on the mountain-side Her father's flock together. And near unto her father's house I said " Good night! " with sorrow, And inly wished that I might say, " We'll meet again to-morrow." I watched her tripping to her home ; I saw her meet her mother; " Among a thousand maids," I cried, " There is not such another! " I wandered to my scholar's home. It lonesome looked and dreai-y; I took my books, but could not read, Methought that I was weary. I laid me down upon my bed. My heart with sadness laden ; I dreamed but of the mountain world, And of the mountain maiden. I saw her of the ancient book The pages turning slowly; I saw her lovely crimson cheek And dark eyes drooping lowly. The dream was like the day's delight, A life of pain's o'erpayment: I rose, and with unwonted care. Put on my Sabbath raiment. To none I told my secret thoughts. Not even to my mother, Nor to the friend who, from my youth. Was dear as is a brother. I got me to the hills again ; The little flock was feeding: And there young Tibbie Inglis sat. But not the old book reading. 296 EOWITT—HOYT. She sat as if absorbing thought With heavy spells had bound her, As silent as the mossy crags Upon the mountains roimd her. " I thought not of my Sabbath dress ; I thought not of my learning: i thought but of the gentle maid Who, I believed, was mourning. Bonnie Tibbie Inglis ! How her beauty brightened Looking at me, half-abashed, With eyes that flamed and light- ened! There was no sorrow, then I saw, There was no thought of sadness : life! what after-joy hast thou Like love's first certain gladness ? 1 sat me down among the crags, Upon the mountain hoary ; But read not then the ancient book,— ^ Love was our pleasant story. And then she sang me songs again. Old songs of love and sorrow ; For our sufficient happiness Great charms from woe could bor- And many hours we talked in joy. Yet too much blessed for laughter: I was a happy man that day. And happy ever after ! William Howitt. DEPARTURE OF THE SWALLOW. And is the swallow gone ? Who beheld it ? W^hich way sailed it ? Farewell bade it none ? No mortal saw it go : — But who doth hear Its summer cheer As it flitteth to and fro ? So the freed spirit flies ! From its surrounding clay It steals away Like the swallow from the skies. Whither ? wherefore doth it go ? 'Tis all unknown; We feel alone What a void is left below. Ralph Hoyt. OLD. By the wayside, on a mossy stone. Sat a hoary pilgrim sadly mus- ing; Oft I marked him sitting there alone, All the landscape like a page perus- ing; Poor, unknown — By the wayside, on a mossy stone. Buckled knee and shoe, and broad- rimmed hat; Coat as ancient as the form 'twas folding; Silver buttons, queue, and crimpt cravat ; Oaken staff, his feeble hand up- holding — There he sat ! Buckled knee and shoe, and broad- rimmed hat. EOYT. 297 Seemed it pitiful he should sit there, No one sympathizing, no one heed- ing— None to love him for his thin gray hair, And the furrows all so mutely pleading Age and care — Seemed it pitiful he should sit there. It was summer, and we went to school — Dapper country lads, and little maidens ; Taught the motto of the "Dunce's stool," Its grave import still my fancy ladens — "Here's a fool I" It was summer, and we went to school. When the stranger seemed to mark our play, Some of us were joyous, some sad- hearted ; I remember well — too well that day ! Oftentimes the tears unbidden started. Would not stay, When the stranger seemed to mark our play. One sweet spirit broke the silent spell — Ah, to me her name was always heaven ! She besought him all his grief to tell, (I was then thirteen, and she eleven,) — Isabel I One sweet spirit broke the silent spell. " Angel," said he sadly, " I am old — Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow; Yet why I sit here thou shalt be told," Then his eye betrayed a pearl of sor- row; Down it rolled. "Angel," said he sadly, *' I am old! "I have tottered here to look once more On the pleasant scene where I de- lighted In the careless happy days of yore. Ere the garden of my heart was blighted To the core — I have tottered here to look once more! "All the picture now to me how dear! E'en this gray old rock where I am seated Is a jewel worth my journey here ; Ah, that such a scene must be completed With a tear! All the picture now to me how dear ! "Old stone school-house! — it is still the same ! There's the very step I so oft mounted ; There's the window creaking in its frame. And the notches that I cut and counted For the game; Old stone school-house! — it is still the same ! " In the cottage yonder, I was born ; Long my happy home — that hum- ble dwelling; There the fields of clover, wheat, and com — There the spring, with limpid nec- tar swelling ; Ah, forlorn! In the cottage yonder, I was bom. " Those two gateway sycamores you see Then were planted just so far as under That long well-pole from the path to free. And the wagon to pass safely under ; Ninety-three ! Those two gateway sycamores you 298 HOYT, " There's the orchard where we used to climb When my mates and I were boys together — Thinking nothing of the flight of time, Fearing naught but work and rainy weather ; Past its prime ! There's tlie orchard where we used to climb ! *' There the rude, three-cornered chestnut rails, Round the pasture where the flocks were grazing, Where, so sly, 1 used to watch for quails In the crops of buckwheat we were raising — Traps and trails; There the rude, three-cornered chest- nut rails. " There's the mill that ground our yel- low grain — Pond, and river, still serenely flow- ing; Cot, there nestling in the shaded lane Where the lily of my heart was blowing — Mary Jane! There's the mill that ground our yel- low grain ! " There's the gate on which I used to swing — Brook, and bridge, and barn, and old red stable ; But alas! no more the mom shall bring That dear group aroimd my father's table — Taken wing! There's the gate on which I used to swing! "I am fleeing — all I loved have fled. Yon green meadow was our place for playing; That old tree can tell of sweet things said When around it Jane and I were straying — She is dead ! I am fleeing — all I loved have fled. " Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky, Tracing silently hfe's changeful story, So familiar to my dim old eye. Points me to seven that are now in glory There on high — Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky ! " Oft the aisle of that old church we trod, Guided thither by an angel mother ; Now she sleeps beneath its sacred sod ; Sire and sisters, and my liLtle brother Gone to God ! Oft the aisle of that old church we trod. " There I heard of wisdom's pleasant ways — Bless the holy lesson! — but, ah! never Shall I hear again those songs of praise, Those sweet voices — silent now forever ! Peaceful days ! There I heard of wisdom's pleasant ways. " There my Mary blessed me with her hand When our souls drank in the nup- tial blessing. Ere she hastened to the spirit-land — Yonder turf her gentle bosom pressing ; Broken band ! There my Mary blessed me with her hand. " I have come to see that grave once more, And the sacred place where we de lighted, HUNT, 299 Where we worshipped, in the days of yore, Ere the garden of my heart was blighted To the core ; I have come to see that grave once more. *' Angel," said he sadly, " I am old — Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow ; Now why I sit here thou hast been told," In his eye another pearl of sorrow ; Down it rolled I "Angel," said he sadly, "I am old! By the wayside, on a mossy stone, Sat the hoary pilgrim sadly mus- ing; Still I marked him sitting there alone. All the landscape like a page perusing — Poor, unknown. By the wayside, on a mossy stone. Leigh Hunt. ABOU BEN ADHEM. Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe in- crease !) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room. Making it rich and like a lily in bloom. An angel writing in a book of gold : Exceeding peace had made Ben Ad- hem bold. And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head. And, with a look made of all sweet accord. Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." "And, is mine one?" said Abou. " Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow- men." The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, — And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest ! STANZAS FROM SONG OF THE FLOWERS. We are the sweet flowers. Bom of sunny showers, (Think, whene'er you see us what our beauty saith;) Utterance, mute and bright. Of some unknown delight, We fill the air with pleasure by our simple breath : All who see us love us — We befit all places. Unto sorrow we give smiles — and unto graces, graces. Mark our ways, how noiseless All, and sweetly voiceless. Though the March winds pipe to make our passage clear; Not a whisper tells Where our small seed dwells Nor is known the moment green when our tips appear. We thread the earth in silence In silence build our bowers — And leaf by leaf in silence show, till we laugh a-top, sweet flo\\ersI 300 HUNT. See (and scorn all duller Taste) how Heaven loves color; How great Nature, clearly, joys in red and green ; What sweet thoughts she thinks Of violets and pinks, And a thousand flushing hues made solely to be seen : See her whitest lilies Chill the silver showers, And what a red mouth is her rose, the woman of the flowers. Uselessness divinest, Of a use the finest, Painteth us, the teacliers of the end of use; Travellers, weary-eyed, Bless us, far and wide; Unto sick and prisoned thoughts we give sudden truce : Not a poor town window Loves its sickliest planting, But its wall speaks loftier truth than Babylonian vaunting. Sagest yet the uses Mixed with our sweet juices, Wliether man or May-fly profit of the balm ; As fair fingers healed Knights from tlie olden field, We hold cups of mightiest force to give t\^e wildest calm. Even the terror, poison. Hath its plea for blooming; Life it gives to reverent lips, though death to the presuming. Think of all these treasures, Matchless works and pleasures Every one a marvel, more than thought can say ; Then think in what bright show- ers We thicken fields and bowers, And with what heaps of sweetness half stifle wanton May : Think of the mossy forests By the bee-birds haunted, -Ind all those Amazonian plains lone lying as enchanted. Trees themselves are ours : Fruits are born of flowers ; Peach and roughest nut were blos- soms in the spring; The lusty bee knows well The news, and comes pell-mell, And dances in the gloomy thicks with darksome antlieming; Beneath the very burden Of planet-pressing ocean, We wash our smiling cheeks in peace — a thought for meek devotion. Who shall say that flowers Dress not heaven's own bowers ? Who its love, without us, can fancy — or sweet floor ? Who shall even dare To say we sprang not there — And came not down, that Love might bring one piece of heaven the more ? Oh ! pray believe that angels From those blue dominions Brought us in their white laps down, 'twixt their golden pinions. THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, — Sole voice that's heard amid the lazy noon, When even the bees lag at the sum- moning brass ; And you, warm little housekeeper, who class With those who think the candles come too soon. Loving the fire, and with your trick- some tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass! O sweet and tiny cousins that be- long. One to the fields, the other to the hearth. INGE LOW. 301 lioth have your sunshine ; both, though small, are strong At your clear hearts; and both seem given to earth To sing in thoughtful ears this nat- ural song, — In doors and out, summer and winter, mirth. MA Y AND THE POETS. There is May in books forever; May will part from Spenser never; May's in Milton, May's in Prior, May's in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer; May's in all the Italian books: — 6\\e has old and modern nooks, Where she sleeps with nymphs and elves, In happy places they call shelves, And will rise and dress your rooms With a drapery thick with blooms. Come, ye rains, then if ye will. May's at home, and with me still; But come rather, thou, good weather, And find us in the fields together. DEATH. Death is a road our dearest friends have gone ; Why with such leaders, fear to say, "Lead on?" Its gate repels, lest it too soon be tried, But turns in balm on the immortal side. Mothers have passed it: fathers, chil- dren; men Whose like we look not to behold again ; Women that smiled away their lov- ing breath ; Soft is the travelling on the road to death! But guilt has passed it ? men not fit to die? Oh, hush — for He that made us all is by! Human we're all — all men, all bom of mothers ; All om' own selves in the worn-out shape of othere ; Our used, and oh, be sure, not to be iiZ-used brothers I Jean Ingelo^v. SONGS OF SEVEN, SEVEN TIMES ONE. — EXULTATION. There's no dew left on the daisies and clover, There's no rain left in heaven; I've said my " seven times " over and over, Seven times one are seven. I am old, so old, I can wTite a letter; My birthday lessons are done : The lambs play always, they know no better; They are only one times one. O moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low; You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing, - You are nothing now but a bow. 302 INOELOW, You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven That God has hidden your face ? I hope if you have, you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow, You've powdered your legs with gold! O brave marsh marybuds, rich and yellow, Give me your money to hold ! O columbine, open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ? cuckoopint, toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell ! And show me your nest with the young ones in it; I will not steal them away ; 1 am old ! you may trust me, linnet, linnet, — I am seven times one to-day. SEVEN TIMES TWO. — ROMANCE. You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes. How many soever they be, And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges Come over, come over to me. Yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by swelling No magical sense conveys. And bells have forgotten their old art of telling The fortune of future days. " Turn again, turn again," once they rang cheerily. While a boy listened alone ; Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily Ali by himself on a stone. Poor bells ! I forgive you ; your good days are over, And mine, they are yet to be ; No listening, no longing shall aught, aught discover You leave the story to me. The foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather Preparing her hoods of snow ; She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weather: Oh I children take long to grow. I wish and I wish that the spring would go faster. Nor long summer bide so late ; And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, Yov some things are ill to wait. I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover, While dear hands are laid on my head ; " The child is a woman, the book may close over, For all the lessons are said." INGELOW, 303 I wait for my story, — the birds cannot sing it, Not one, as he sits on the tree ; The bells cannot ring it, but long years, oh, bring it ! Such as I wish it to be. SEVEN TIMES THREE. — LOVE. I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover, Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate ; " Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover,— Hush, nightingale, hush! O sweet nightingale, wait Till I listen and hear If a step draweth near. For my love he is late! " The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree. The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer: To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see ? Let the star-clusters grow, Let the sweet waters flow. And cross quickly to me. " You night-moths that hover where honey brims over From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep ; You glowworms, shine out, and the pathway discover To him that comes darkling along the rough steep. Ah, my sailor, make haste. For the time runs to waste, And my love lieth deep, — ** Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover, I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night." By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover, Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight ; But I'll love him more, more Than e'er wife loved before, Be the days dark or bright. SEVEN TIMES FOUR. — MATERNITY. Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups ! Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall! When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses. And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small! Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own lasses, Eager to gather them all. Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups ; Mother shall thread them a daisy chain; Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow. That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain; Sing, " Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow," Sing once, and sing it again. 304 INQELOW. Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups ! Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow; A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters, And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters, Maybe he thinks of you now. Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups ! Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall ! A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure, And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall \ Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure, God that is over us all ! SEVEN TIMES FIVE. — WIDOWHOOD. I sleep and rest, my heart makes moan Before I am well awake; *' Let me bleed ! O let me alone, Since I must not break! " For children wake, though fathers sle^ With a stone at foot and at head: sleepless God, forever keep. Keep both living and dead ! 1 lift mine eyes, and what to see But a world happy and fair! I have not wished it to mourn with me,— Comfort is not there. Oh, what anear but golden brooms, But a waste of reedy rills ! Oh, what afar but the fine glooms On the rare blue hills ! I shall not die, but live forlore, — How bitter it is to part ! Oh, to meet thee, my love, once more! my heart, my heart ! Ko more to hear, no more to see ! Oh, that an echo might wake And waft one note of thy psalm to me Ere my heart-strings break! I should know it how faint soe'er, And with angel voices blent; Oh, once to feel thy spirit anear; 1 could be content ! Or once between the gates of gold, While an entering angel trod, But once, — thee sitting to behold On the hills of God 1 INGJSLOW. 305 SEVEN TIMES SIX. — GIVING IN MARRIAGE. To bear, to nurse, to rear, To watch, and then to lose: To see my bright ones disappear, Drawn up like morning dews, — To bear, to nurse, to rear. To watch, and then to lose: This have I done when God drew near Among his own to choose. To hear, to heed, to wed, And with thy lord depart In tears that he, as soon as shed, Will let no longer smart, — To hear, to heed, to wed. This while thou didst I smiled, For now it was not God who said, "Mother, give me thy child." O fond, O fool, and blind! To God I gave with tears ; But when a man like grace would find, My soul put by her fears, — O fond, O fool, and blind ! God guards in happier spheres ; That man will guard where he did bind Is hope for unknown years. To hear, to heed, to wed. Fair lot that maidens choose, Thy mother's tenderest words are said. Thy face no more she views; Thy mother's lot, my dear. She doth in naught accuse ; Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear, To love, — and then to lose. SEVEN TIMES SEVEN. — LONGING FOR HOME. A song of a boat : — There was once a boat on a billow: Lightly she rocked to her port remote. And the foam was white in her wake like snow, And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow, And bent like a wand of willow. I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat Went curtsying over the billow, I marked her course till a dancing mote. She faded out on the moonlit foam, And I stayed behind in the dear-loved home; And my thoughts all day were about the boat, And my dreams upon the pillow. 306 INGELOW. I pray you hear my song of a boat For it is but short : — My boat you shall find none fairer afloat, In river or port. Long I looked out for the lad she bore, On the open desolate sea, And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore, For he came not back to me — Ah me! A song of a nest : — There was once a nest in a hollow : Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed, Soft and warm and full to the brim — Vetches leaned over it purple and dim, With buttercup buds to follow. I pray you hear my song of a nest, For it is not long: — You shall never light in a summer quest The bushes among — Shall never light on a prouder sitter, A fairer nestful, nor ever know A softer sound than their tender twitter, That wind-like did come and go. I had a nestful once of my own, Ah, happy, happy I ! Right dearly I loved them ; but when they were grown They spread out their wings to fly — Oh, one after one they flew away Far up to the heavenly blue. To the better country, the upper day. And — I wish I was going too. I pray you what is the nest to me, My empty nest ? And what is the shore where I stood to see My boat sail down to the west ? Can I call that home where I anchor yet. Though my good man has sailed ? Can I call that home where my nest was set, Now all its hope hath failed ? Nay, but the port where my sailor went, And the land where my nestlings be : There is the home where my thoughts are senl| The only home for me — Ah me I AS I CAME ROUND THE HARBOR BUOV- Page 307 INOELOW. 807 LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT. It's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye, All the world and we two, and Heaven be our stay. Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side. What's the world, my lass, my love! — what can it do ? I am thine, and thou art mine; life is sweet and new. If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by, For we two have gotten leave, and once more we'll try. Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride ! It's we two, it's we two, happy side by side. Take a kiss from me, thy man, now the song begins: " All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins." When the darker days come, and no sun will shine, Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I'll dry thine. It's we two, it's we two, while the world's away, Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wedding-day. THE LONG WHITE SEAM. As I came round the harbor buoy, The lights began to gleam, No wave the land-locked water stirred. The crags were white as cream ; And I marked my love by candle- light Sewing her long white seam. It's aye sewing ashore, my dear, Watch and steer at sea. It's reef and furl, and haul the line, Set sail and think of thee. I climbed to reach her cottage door; Oh, sweetly my love sings ! Like a shaft of light her voice breaks forth. My soul to meet it springs, Ao the shining water leaped of old, When stirred by angel wings. Aye longing to list anew. Awake and in my dream. But never a song she sang like this, Sewing her long white seam. Fair fall the lights, the harbor lights. That brought me in to thee. And peace drop down on that low roof For the sight that I did see. And the voice, my dear, that rang so clear All for the love of me. For oh, for oh, with brows bent low By the candle's flickering gleam. Her wedding -gown it was she wrought. Sewing the long white seam. 308 JOHNSON. Samuel Johnson [From Vanity of Human Wishes.] ENVIABLE AGE. But grant, the virtues of a temperate prirae, Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime ; An age that melts with unperceived decay, And glides in modest innocence away ; Whose peaceful day, benevolence en- dears, Whose night congratulating con- science cheers ; The general favorite as the general friend : Such age there is, and who shall wish its end ? IFrom VaniUj of Human WisTies."] WISDOM'S PRAYER. Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find ? Must dull suspense corrupt the stag- nant mind ? Must helpless man, in ignorance se- date, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise; No cries invoke the mercies of the skies ? Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain. Which Heaven may hear, nor deem religion vain. Still raise for good the supplicating voice, But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice, Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar The secret ambush of a specious prayer; Implore His aid, in His decisions rest, Secure whate'er He gives, He gives the best. Yet, when the sense of sacred pres- ence fires. And strong devotion to the skies as- pires. Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind, Obedient passions, and a will re- signed : For love, which scarce collective man can fill; For patience, sovereign o'er trans- muted ill; For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, Counts death, kind Nature's signal of retreat : These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain, These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain ; With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind. And makes the happiness she does not find. [From Vanity of Human Wishes.] CHARLES XII. On what foundation stands the warrior's pride. How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decitle : A frame of adamant, a soul of fire. No dangers fright him, and no labors tire ; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain. No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field ; Behold smTounding kings their pow- ers combine. And one capitulate, and one resign ; Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain; "Think nothing gained," he cries. " till naught remain, jONSO^r. 309 On Moscow's walls till Gothic stand- ards fly, And all be mine beneath the polar sky." The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended, wait; Stem Famine guards the solitary coast And Winter barricades the realms of frost ; He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay ; Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day! The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands, And shows his miseries in distant lands ; Condemned a needy suppliant to wait. While ladies interpose and slaves de- bate. But did not Chance at length her error mend ? Did no subverted empire mark his end? Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound, Or hostile millions press him to the ground ? His fall was destined to a barren strand, A petty fortress and a dubious hand; He left a name at which the world grew pale. To point a moral or adorn a tale. [From London.'] THE FATE OF POVERTY. By numbers here from shame or censure free. All crimes are safe but hated poverty. Tliis, only this, the rigid law pursues. This, only this, provokes the snarlin?; muse. The sober trader at a tattered cloak Wakes from his dream, and labon for a joke ; With brisker air the silken courtien gaze, [ways, And turn the varied taunt a thousand Of all the griefs that harass the distressed, Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest ; Fate never wounds more deep the generous heart. Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart. Has Heaven reserved, in pity to the poor. No pathless waste, or undiscovered shore ? No secret island in the boundless main? No peaceful desert yet unclaimed by Spain ? Quick let us rise, the happy seats ex- plore. And bear Oppression's insolence no more. This mournful truth is everywhere confessed, Slow rises worth, by poverty depressed. Ben Jonson. TO CELIA. Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine : Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine ; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy \\Teath, Not so much honoring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be ; But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent' St it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee I 310 KEATS. HYMN TO CYNTHIA. Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light. Goddess, excellently bright I Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose : Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close : Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess, excellently bright ! Lay thy bow of pearl apart. And thy crystal shining quiver: Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever; Thou that mak'st a day of night. Goddess, excellently bright! THE SWEET NEGLECT. Still to be neat, still to be drest. As you were going to a feast : Still to be powdered, still perfumed : Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found. All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face. That makes simplicity a grace ; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all the adulteries of art, That strike mine eyes, but not mj heart. EPITAPH. Would' ST thou hear what man can say In a little ? — reader, stay ! Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die, — Which in life did harbor give To more virtue than doth live. If at all she had a fault, Leave it buried in this vault. One name was Elizabeth, — The other, let it sleep with death. Fitter where it died to tell, Than that it lived at all. Farewell ! GOOD LIFE, LONG LIFE. It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hun- dred year. To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see; And in short measures, life may per- feet be. John Keats. THE TERROR OF DEATH. When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has gleaned my teem- ing brain. Before high-piled books, in charact- ery Hold like rich garners the full- ripened grain; When I behold, upon the night's starred face, Huge, cloudy symbols of a high ro- mance. And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of Chance; KEATS 311 And when I feel, fair creature of an hour ! That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the fairy power Of unreflecting love, — then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. SONNET COMPOSED ON LEAVING ENGLAND. Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art, — Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient sleepless ere- mite. The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution, round earth's hu- man shores, Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors : — No, — yet still steadfast, still un- changeable, Pillowed upon my fair love's ripen- ing breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell. Awake for ever in a sweet unrest ; Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever, — or else swoon to death. ODE ON THE POETS. Bards of passion and of mirth Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new ? Yes, and those of heaven commune' Witli the spheres of sun and moon ; With the noise of fountains wonder- ous And the parle of voices thunderous ; With the whisper of heaven's trees And one another, in soft ease Seated on Elysian lawns Browsed by none but Dian's fawns; Underneath large bluebells tented, Where the daisies are rose-scented, And the rose herself has got Perfume which on earth is not ; Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth; Philosophic numbers smooth; Tales and golden histories Of heaven and its mysteries. Thus ye live on high, and then On the earth ye live again ; And the souls ye left behind you Teach us, here, the way to find you Where your other souls are joying, Never slumbered, never cloying. Here, your earth-born souls still speak To mortals, of their little week ; Of their sorrows and delights ; Of their passions and their spites; Of their glory and their shame; What doth strengthen and what maim : — Thus ye teach us, every day. Wisdom, though fled far away. Bards of passion and of mirth Ye have left your souls on earth I Ye have souls in heaven too. Double-lived in regions new I FANC] Ever let the fancy roam ; Pleasure never is at home ; At a touch sweet pleasure melteth Like to bubbles when rain pelteth; Then let winged fancy wander Tlirough the thought still spread be- yond her; Open wide the mind's cage-door, — She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. O sweet fancy ! let her loose ! Summer's joys are spoilt by use. And the enjoying of the spring Fades as does its blossoming. Autumn's red-lipped fruitage too, Blushing through the mist and dew, 312 KEATS. Cloys with tasting. What do then ? Sit thee by the ingle, when The sear faggot blazes bright, Spirit of a winter's night; When the soundless earth is muffled, And the caked snow is shuffled From the ploughboy's heavy shoon; When the Night doth meet the Noon In a dark conspiracy To banish Even from her sky. Sit thee there, and send abroad. With a mind self-overawed, [her. Fancy, high-commissioned : — send She has vassals to attend her; She will bring, in spite of frost, Beauties that the earth hath lost ; She will bring thee, all together. All delights of summer weather; All the buds and bells of May, From dewy sward or thorny spray ; All the heaped autumn's wealth; With a still, mysterious stealth; She will mix these pleasures up Like three fit wines in a cup. And thou shalt quaff it, — thou shalt hear Distant harvest-carols clear, — Rustle of the reaped corn; Sweet birds antheming the morn ; And, in the same moment, — hark! 'Tis the early April lark, — Or the rooks, with busy caw. Foraging for sticks and straw. Thou shalt, at one glance, behold The daisy and the marigold ; White-plumed lilies, and the first Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst ; Shaded hyacinth, alway Sapphire queen of the mid-May ; And every leaf, and every flower Pearled with the self-same shower. Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep Meagre from its celled sleep ; And the snake, all winter-thin. Cast on sunny bank its skin ; Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see Hatching in the hawthorn-tree. When the hen-bird's wing doth rest Quiet on her mossy nest ; Then the hurry and alarm When the bee-hive casts its swarm ; Acorns ripe down-pattering While the autumn breezes sing. [From Endymion.'] BEAUTY'S IMMORTALITY. A THING of beauty is a joy forever : Its loveliness increases ; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-dark- ened ways Made for our searching : yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon. Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon [dils For simple sheep ; and such are datf o- With the green world they live in ; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season ; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair mu3k- rose blooms : And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead ; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink. Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. My heart aches, and a drowsy numb- ness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk. KEATS. 313 Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: Tis not through envy of thy happy lot. But being too happy in thy happi- ness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows num- berless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. Oh, for a draught of vintage, that hath been Cooled a long age in the deep- delved earth. Tasting of Flora and the country- green. Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! Oh, for a beaker full of the warm South! Full of the true, the blushful Hip- pocrene. With beaded bubbles winking at the brim. And purple-stained mouth ; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim ! Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known. The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and" hear each other groan ; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs. Where youth grows pale, and spec- tre-thin, and dies ; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs; Where beauty cannot keep her lus- trous eyes. Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee. Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards. But on the viewless wings of poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night. And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, ffays; Clustered around by all her starry But here there is no light. Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet. Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit- tree wild ; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine ; Fast-fading violets covered up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy . wine. The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with ease- ful Death, Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme. To take into the air my quiet breath ; [die. Now more than ever seems it rich to To cease upon the midnight with no pain. While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain, — To thy high requiem become a sod. 314 KEBLE. Tliou wast not born for death, im- mortal bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ; Tlie voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown : Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands for- lorn. Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self ! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? Fled is that music : — do I wake or sleep ? ON READING CHAPMAN'S HOMER, Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and king- doms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne: Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : Then felt 1 like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific, — and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise, — Silent, upon a peak in Darien. John Keble. WHERE IS THY FA VORED HA UNT? Where is thy favored haunt, eter- nal voice. The region of thy choice. Where undisturbed by sin and earth, the soul Owns thy entire control ? 'Tis on the mountain's summit dark and high, When storms are hurrying by : 'Tis 'mid the strong foundations of the earth, Where torrents have their birth. No sounds of worldly toil ascending there. Mar the full burst of prayer; Lone Nature feels that she may free- ly breathe. And round us and beneath Are heard her sacred tones : the fit- ful sweep Of winds across the steep, Through withered bents — romantic note and clear, Meet for a hermit's ear,- • KEBLE. 315 The wheeling kite's wild solitary cry, And scarcely heard so high, The dashing waters when the air is still. From many a torrent rill That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fell. Tracked by the blue mist well : Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart, For Thought to do her part. *Tis then we hear the voice of God within, Pleading with care and sin ; ** Child of my love! how have I wear- ied thee ? Why wilt thou err from me ? Have I not brought thee from the house of slaves ; Parted the drowning waves, And sent my saints before thee in the way, Lest thou should' St faint or stray ? '• What was the promise made to thee alone ? Art thou the excepted one ? An heir of glory without grief or pain ? O vision false and vain ! There lies thy cross; beneath it meekly bow, It fits thy stature now: Who scornful pass it with averted eye, 'Twill crush them by and by. " Raise thy repining eyes, and take true measure Of thine eternal treasure ; The father of thy Lord can grudge thee nought. The world for thee was bought, And as this landscape broad — earth, sea, and sky, — All centres in thine eye. So all God does if rightly under- stood, Shall work thy final good." WHY SHOULD WE FAINT AND FEAR TO LIVE ALONE* Why should we faint and fear to live alone, Since all alone, so heaven has willed, we die ? Not even the tenderest heart, and next our own. Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh. Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe Our hermit spirits dwell, and range apart. Our eyes see all around in gloom or glow — Hues of their own, fresh borrowed from the heart. And well it is for us our God should feel Alone our secret throbbings : so our prayer May readier spring to heaven, nor spend its zeal On cloud-born idols of this lower air. For if one heart in perfect sympathy Beat with another, answering love for love, VYeak mortals all entranced on earth would lie; Nor listen for those purer strains above. Or what if heaven for once its search- ing liirht [all Lent to some partial eye, disclosing The rade bad thoughts, that in our bosom's night Wander at lar