UCSB LIBRARY 
 
 <__
 
 POEMS 
 
 JAMES BROWN KENDALL 
 
 FRAMINGHAM 
 1878
 
 J. C. CLARK, PRINTER, SO. KRAMINGHAM, MASS.
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED 
 
 TO MY FATHER, 
 
 FOR WHOM THESE POEMS ARE NOW PRINTED, THAT AS HIS YEARS INCREASE 
 
 AND HIS SIGHT GROWS DIM, HE MAY MORE EASILY READ AND 
 
 ENJOY THE VERSES OF THE SON HE SO DEARLY LOVED. 
 
 E. M. K,
 
 IN MEMORY OF J. B. K. 
 
 CLASS OF 1854. 
 
 IX the low land seen only by the skies 
 And birds and aged oaks and silent leaves, 
 Beyond the grass-grown road a graveyard lies, 
 Still and serene as hours that Summer weaves. 
 
 There no wild wind doth ever rudely pass, 
 But blends the treetops in a loving strife, 
 
 And makes a low, sweet music in the grass, 
 And wafts the happy dead to newer life. 
 
 The peaceful dead sleep in the peaceful field, 
 Year after year adds solemn, slow increase 
 
 Of such as unto Christ in death are sealed ; 
 Spring knits the turf again, and all is peace. 
 
 There sleep, thou tender spirit, sweetly sleep, 
 Dreaming of all the love that yearns for thee ; 
 
 And I will dream that I no longer weep, 
 And all the night thy form shall visit me. 
 
 So sleep in peaceful rest ; and lightly lie 
 
 The mingl'd flowers and earth upon thy head ;
 
 6 IN MEMORY OF J. B. K. 
 
 No cloud shall cross thy small, blue cope of sky, 
 But stars shall all their pensive influence shed. 
 
 There thou shalt watch through the gray winter 
 
 night, 
 The snow-robed trees outspread their long white 
 
 arms, 
 
 Wooing the perfect moon, whose clear, chaste light 
 With vestal beauty all the woodland charms. 
 
 In these white weeds Nature no longer mourns, 
 But hides her fallen leaf with bridal veil ; 
 
 And he whose form to us no more returns, 
 Walks in new beauty that shall never fail. 
 
 For me, I dare not think an evil thought, 
 Knowing thy noble spirit may be near, 
 
 Knowing the wrong in life, on thee I wrought, 
 Who would not see the bad, is now made clear. 
 
 I meant with thee to wait the certain years, 
 Nor pluck the unripe fruit of fame too soon ; 
 
 Nor sing raw songs to incontinent ears, 
 Or blandly wear the devil's peaked shoon. 
 
 We evermore grow old and learn new things ; 
 
 Thou hadst youth and all, in that last, first breath ! 
 Time cannot give us what the instant brings, 
 
 Or life be aught, beside the Life in Death. 
 
 y. A., in Boston Daily Advertiser.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 A POEM DELIVERED BEFORE THE " POLYMNIA," HARVARD COLLEGE, 
 JULY ii, 1853. 
 
 TT'IND Nature's rule is marked with gladdening 
 IV change 
 
 In every Season of the circling year. 
 O'er all her broad, illimitable range 
 
 New beauties, fairer than the old, appear, 
 
 And Earth is grateful for the generous cheer. 
 Where'er upon her varying robes we look 
 
 The strange Enchantress mortals must revere 
 Whose laws no dull monotony will brook 
 No two like pages in her magic book. 
 
 Forth comes with merry glance and laughing eye 
 Gay Spring, obedient to his parent's sway; 
 
 Enlivening earth as swiftly passing by 
 He scatters blessings on his joyous way
 
 8 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 And yields to Summer's still more glad array; 
 Summer whose gorgeous wealth of living green 
 
 Is born to die in Autumn's golden day 
 Till twilight blends in night the closing scene 
 And Winter whitens earth with silver sheen. 
 
 And as with Nature so it is with man, 
 Swept by an ever-flowing tide along 
 
 The sea of life when widest but a span, 
 Around his bark the hurrying waters throng 
 Amid the current running deep and strong. 
 
 Far off he hears the stately-swelling roar, 
 The solemn music of the wild waves' song, 
 
 Pealing the trackless wastes of Ocean o'er 
 
 Dashing and breaking on Time's boundless shore. 
 
 His careless childhood's rosy morning light 
 'Tis like to Nature in her budding Spring. 
 
 And youth is Summer, when the world is bright, 
 When joy and hope their garlands o'er him fling, 
 And songs of gladness ever near him sing. 
 
 But Autumn's yellow leaves and skies of gray 
 The sterner years of manhood's season bring; 
 
 Till age the call of Winter must obey, 
 
 And man, his life all ended, pass away. 
 
 These hallowed haunts, these consecrated shades, 
 Where long has lingered Learning's favorite 
 shrine ;
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 9 
 
 Among whose waving trees and peaceful glades 
 The memories of a cherished past entwine 
 As o'er the massive walls the clinging vine: 
 
 These Nature's all-pervading arms enfold 
 
 And Nature's laws to constant change consign, 
 
 Whether her mantle shine with green or gold 
 
 Or snows or blossoms deck this classic mould. 
 
 As thus the Seasons, borne on Nature's wings, 
 These ancient scenes with varied hues impress, 
 
 Kindly our loving Alma Mater brings 
 Ages, not like, her foster sons to bless, 
 Throwing o'er each a freshly-woven dress. 
 
 Four years her watchful cares our footsteps guard, 
 Shedding new blessings from each golden tress. 
 
 How like these gifts, with which our skies are 
 starred, 
 
 To Nature's changes in the College yard! 
 
 With a giant frame and a beard of white 
 In a sombre garb, like a child of night, 
 With a wrinkled brow and a tottering tread, 
 As one whom the years of youth had fled, 
 Winter, cold Winter, has bended his head, 
 And the king, that sat on the ice-throne, is dead. 
 O'er his grave, borne along on the soft wind's wing, 
 Comes the silvery laugh of the wreath-crowned 
 Spring.
 
 10 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 The old man died, when the brave child was born, 
 
 The night passed away in the light of the morn. 
 
 He comes and his pathway is brightened the while 
 
 With the golden gleam of his joy-lit smile. 
 
 The murmuring waves of the swift-flowing brook 
 
 Have loosened their chains at the spell of his look, 
 
 And the rippling tide, as it dances along, 
 
 Is ever repeating its welcoming song. 
 
 O'er mount and o'er plain, o'er valley and hill, 
 
 In the waves of the sea and the voice of the rill, 
 
 In the low of the herd, in the birds' wild thrill 
 
 The music of welcome is echoing still. 
 
 Where the breezes play on the oak-kings old, 
 
 Where the sunlight streams on woodland and wold ; 
 
 Where, mortals unhearing, the spirit bells ring, 
 
 That live in the leaf and the tiniest thing, 
 
 The voices of Nature all gratefully sing 
 
 Their song-words together, in welcome to Spring. 
 
 Turn we, with a silent yearning, to the classic 
 
 home of Learning, 
 Where the spirit of the present guards us 'neath 
 
 his fostering wing ; 
 Here amid the branches bending, 'mid the murmurs 
 
 never-ending, 
 There are grateful anthems rising, gushing upward 
 
 unto Spring.
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. II 
 
 Comes he treading lightly ever, like the flowing of 
 
 a river, 
 With a chaplet greenly twining o'er the beauty of 
 
 his brow 
 And his loosened ringlets golden, floating o'er the 
 
 places olden, 
 Tinge the scenes, but lately dreary, with a richer 
 
 coloring now. 
 
 Little blades of grass are peeping, with a noiseless, 
 steady creeping, 
 
 Forth from out the teeming bosom of the fruitful 
 Mother Earth. 
 
 Buds upon the trees are forming, in the sunlight 
 ever warming, 
 
 And the leaves are thickly thronging, springing in- 
 to joyous birth. 
 
 Everywhere the birds are flying, with their busy 
 
 fellows vying, 
 Bearing to the chosen branches what shall make 
 
 their Summer nests, 
 While their gratitude revealing bursts the wild, 
 
 unfettered feeling, 
 Thrilling forth in music pealing from their quickly 
 
 throbbing breasts. 
 
 Then the gentle shower descending, with the grass 
 and branches blending,
 
 12 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 Covers Alma Mater over with a mantle still more 
 
 green ; 
 Earth with newer life is springing, Nature wilder 
 
 songs is singing, 
 Thus in Spring the rain refreshing only brightens 
 
 all the scene. 
 
 Taller still the grass is growing, warmer are the 
 
 breezes blowing, 
 And the waves of Spring are flowing to their 
 
 Summer ending way; 
 Wider yet the trees are branching, broader are the 
 
 shadows glancing. 
 (And the College yard is greener in the mellow 
 
 light of May. 
 
 O'er each time-imprinted building pours a gloom- 
 dispelling gilding, 
 
 As the walls are clearly shadowed thro' the canopy 
 of leaves ; 
 
 And the magic artist tracing, every rugged trait 
 effacing, 
 
 Floats about in airy wavings like the veil enchant- 
 ment weaves. 
 
 Taller yet the grass is growing, warmer breezes 
 
 still are blowing, 
 Gayer is the garb of Nature, in the blitheness of 
 
 her play,
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 13 
 
 For the days of Spring are ending, from his leaf- 
 crowned car descending, 
 
 Comes the youngest of his number 'tis the wan- 
 ing light of May. 
 
 Spring has faded, but the gladness is not all un- 
 mixed with sadness ; 
 
 Still we linger fondly ever on the joys that once 
 have been ; 
 
 And in memory oft returning, think we with a 
 "silent yearning," 
 
 Of the days when he enfolded first these shades in 
 dress of green. 
 
 From Aleph to the other end, from the cradle to 
 
 the grave, 
 
 From the first delusive bubbles to the last depart- 
 ing wave, 
 From the hurry, heat and horrors of the fierce 
 
 Examination 
 To the dropping of the curtain o'er the evening of 
 
 probation, 
 From the "won't anybody hurt me" step, which 
 
 first o'erpaced the yard, 
 To the incipient swagger that tells of getting 
 
 "hard," 
 While o'er the walks of Harvard the trees a shadow 
 
 fling,
 
 14 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 The Freshman year in College must be the type of 
 Spring. 
 
 'Tis evening at the "Brattle" and standing at the 
 
 door, 
 Is a Freshman, (if he enters) a Freshman, "nothing 
 
 more." 
 Sadly he stands in thoughtful mood and muses on 
 
 the morrow, 
 
 The dread examination the fiery day of horror 
 And trembles lest his scanty stock of country- 
 gotten knowledge 
 Should fail to set him, hair unsinged, within the 
 
 bounds of College. 
 What need to tell his musings the spirit whines 
 
 of woe 
 For we were trembling Freshmen, not many years 
 
 ago. 
 But thro' his tears a voice he hears, " What, down 
 
 in the mouth, my jolly ? 
 Cheer up my lad, the world is glad, to have the 
 
 blues but folly ;" 
 And a tap upon the shoulder makes him look to 
 
 see the tapper 
 "Perhaps," his fancy whispers, "'tis an evil spirit 
 
 rapper." 
 Oh no, a spirit never wore a coat of such a style,
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 15 
 
 Or ever saw in Spiritdom exactly such a tile. 
 "My friend," the comer thus began, "the president 
 
 requested 
 - Myself to ask you how you were, and how last 
 
 night you rested, 
 He saw and has conceived for you a violent affec-' 
 
 tion, 
 And sent me here to offer you the shade of his 
 
 protection. 
 He hopes you'll enter don't you smoke? Ah 
 
 well, I would' nt learn, 
 I have to smoke for headaches and a kind of 
 
 jumping heart-burn." 
 He spoke, and knocked the ashes from the end of 
 
 his cigar, 
 And tipped a very knowing wink to the man behind 
 
 the bar ; 
 "Of course you know the sacred tasks of the 
 
 Examination ? 
 What, no ! young man, you put me in the greatest 
 
 consternation. 
 How will they know your character, whether your 
 
 heart be right ? 
 Great Jove, it was a lucky thing we thought of you 
 
 to-night. 
 The first of Matthew's gospel your strict attention 
 
 claims,
 
 1 6 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 That grand historic picture of Scripture proper 
 
 names. 
 
 They ask them all in order ; I wouldn't study late 
 It is'nt best to fret yourself into an anxious state. 
 Good-night, remember Matthew, be sure and lock 
 
 your doors, 
 For prowling after Freshmen are those godless 
 
 Sophomores." 
 The little grass is peeping up above the earth-deep 
 
 scene ; 
 The bud is coming, and the whole is wonderfully 
 
 green. 
 The College sea has overflowed, the wave-gates are 
 
 unbarred, 
 And the Freshet pours resistless over the flooded 
 
 yard. 
 A Freshman ! all his wildest dreams are gloriously 
 
 real 
 
 And that is now the actual, once only the ideal. 
 Oh, 'tis indeed refreshing to get an "admittatur" 
 And take a nap "sub tegmine" of one's own Alma 
 
 Mater. 
 So leaps the heart of Nature after the soft, Spring 
 
 rain, 
 When the yellow sunlight glitters on tree and earth 
 
 again. 
 Our Freshman rooms in College, a pure, confiding 
 
 youth,
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LITE. _ 17 
 
 Brought up to love his parents and always tell the 
 
 truth. 
 He wonders how the Sophomores those wicked 
 
 oaths can bear, 
 And knows deluded Freshman that he will 
 
 never swear. 
 Perhaps ambition fires his soul and rumbles in his 
 
 breast, 
 And a frantic hope inspires him to tower above the 
 
 rest. 
 He rises faithfully at four and scans his lessons 
 
 well, 
 
 Till warned to his devotions by the first Mills' tol- 
 ling bell. 
 He digs a term and at its end comes up the mooted 
 
 question, 
 Whether digging be not liable to injure one's 
 
 digestion, 
 
 And finding that 'tis apt to, he and the shovel part 
 To gain the reputation of "don't dig, but very 
 
 smart." 
 
 The leaves are growing thicker in the crescent 
 warmth of Spring, 
 
 The bell-tones in the branches with clearer peal- 
 ings ring. 
 
 And so the Freshman waxes as wanes the Fresh- 
 man year,
 
 l8 MElVfORlES OF COLLEGE LIKE. 
 
 And wondrous are the changes that in the lapse 
 
 appear. 
 But many hands and abler have sung the verdant 
 
 age, 
 
 Mine must not linger longer on this initial stage. 
 We've seen him when commencing one glance 
 
 unto the close 
 Without narrating further his twice and thrice told 
 
 woes. 
 ,.A year in College. What a change ye gods ! how 
 
 came it so ? 
 
 Is this the milk and water that we saw a year ago ? 
 Whence comes that tinge, that odor whence ? the 
 
 ruddy liquid hand me. 
 O tell it not in Israel, the milk has turned to 
 
 brandy. 
 
 That pious look of innocence, that unsuspecting air, 
 Those pants that spoke a moral that peaceful 
 
 cap are where ? 
 And where has gone the roundabout, the old, 
 
 ingenuous jacket ? 
 Go ask the cushion that he stuffed, bought 
 
 second-hand of Brackett. 
 He is not as he used to be - strange clothes he 
 
 loves to wear, 
 And sometimes how distressing he's even 
 
 heard to swear.
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 19 
 
 He's learned to smoke, and cheap cigars had made 
 him Ramsay's debtor, 
 
 Till he found his chum's tobacco and thought that 
 pipes were better. 
 
 He's cultivated oysters and drank intensely ale 
 
 And grown robust and red-faced instead of thin 
 and pale. 
 
 He's ridden quite extensively who cares about 
 the bill ? 
 
 Ah, Freshman when you pony up, you'll find it all 
 up-/////. 
 
 And last of all he has a spree in which he settles 
 quite 
 
 How loose his morals really are, and gets ex- 
 tremely tight. 
 
 So ends his College Spring-time, the skies of Sum- 
 mer glow, 
 
 Your part is played the curtain falls ye Fresh- 
 men heroes go. 
 
 With gentler winds the branches wave, 
 In music murmurings o'er the scene ; 
 
 The Heaven-distilling dew-drops lave 
 The beauty of a richer green. 
 
 The voice of Summer fills the air, 
 
 And waft's earth's festal days along 
 
 When all, that meets the eye, is fair, 
 And all, that strikes the ear, is song.
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 His glories shed a brighter gleam 
 On Harvard's leaf-encircled trees ; 
 
 And, like an ever singing stream, 
 They rustle in the Summer breeze. 
 
 Nature is wild with very joy, 
 And e'en runs riot in her play. 
 
 So frolics forth the laughing boy 
 The morning of a holiday. 
 
 At evening thro' the silvered leaves, 
 
 The full moon pours her witching light, - 
 
 And with her fairy pencil weaves 
 The scene in beauty all the night. 
 
 The magic-painting lightly falls 
 On all below with silent beam, 
 
 And 'neath the spell, the old brick walls 
 Like lordly feudal castles seem. 
 
 And thus these haunts in long array, 
 The spirits of the Summer guard. 
 
 Who does not love the joyous day 
 Of Summer in the College yard ? 
 
 His wreath will fade, he too must die, 
 His sunny, short-lived reign has ceased ; 
 
 For rises o'er the yellow sky 
 The star of Autumn in the east.
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 2 
 
 The Drama changes ; on the College stage, 
 Appears the second, Sophomoric age 
 The wanton Summer time of College life, 
 With foolish wisdom and wise folly rife. 
 When fairly fledged from chickenhood's repose 
 The full-grown rooster flaps his wings and crows. 
 He vaunts his honors in his first vacation, 
 The Mother's fright, the maidens' admiration. 
 And e'en his walk the wondering village o'er, 
 Says, plain as speech, "I am a Sophomore." 
 Six weeks the people gape and stare, and then 
 The great man leaves and all is still again. 
 He drops on Harvard, singularly clad 
 In motley coat and pants of fearful plaid, 
 And on his lip, to cut a perfect dash, 
 He blacks the shadow of a friend's moustache. 
 As thus got up, he views him in the glass ; 
 He thinks with pity of the Freshman class. 
 
 The wild exuberance of the Summer state 
 Impels him onward to be something great. 
 With five companions deeply he conspires 
 Each one an Etna full of hidden fires. 
 In hollow squares they charge at dead of night, 
 And put one Fresh, in snowy garb to flight. 
 Or, bravely sworn to do or die, they dare 
 His room to enter, when he is not there.
 
 22 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 Beneath their windows, if perchance he's led, 
 
 A Summer-shower not heavenly greets his 
 
 head. 
 
 He grasps his hat an incoherent mass 
 And vows stern vengeance on another class. 
 
 Sometimes arrayed in most exhausting dress, 
 
 Our Soph, invades the crowded ball-room's press. 
 
 With scented locks and condescending smile 
 
 He shows the last, sublimest, Harvard style. 
 
 He mingles lightly in the graceful dance, 
 
 Or quenches damsels with his ardent glance ; 
 
 Until at last, a fair one dares to say, 
 
 In gentle tones, "are you a Freshman," pray? 
 
 The cruel cut makes every fibre glow ; 
 
 A Freshman, say you ? Freshman, Madam, no ! 
 
 She starts, a sudden rushing thro' the door 
 
 Tells that her Freshman was a Sophomore. 
 
 He falls in love, that blissful poet-time 
 And writes a quire or two of wondrous rhyme. 
 His sleep is gone, he ever walks the street, 
 And strangest thing of all, he does not eat. 
 His life flows on a brightly gilded scene 
 A moonlight evening on the College green. 
 But soon alas he had been sadly smitten 
 He finds his saneness folded in a mitten.
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 23 
 
 And so the tolling bells of being chime 
 Away the moments of this Summer-time. 
 Its gay luxuriance may not always last 
 It goes' to slumber with the buried past. 
 But when it dies a gallant reign is o'er ; 
 Hail to the wild and dashing Sophomore. 
 
 The scroll of Nature is unrolled; 
 Again a change is o'er the scene. 
 The glowing canopy of green 
 
 Her potent wand transforms to gold. 
 
 The calmer skies of Autumn bring 
 The harvest with its loaded train 
 Of ripening fruit and yellow grain, 
 
 That waving in the sunlight sing. 
 
 The leaves have gained a gayer fringe 
 And glitter on the nodding trees ; 
 Or scattered by the Autumn breeze 
 
 The landscape glist'ns, with a gold'n tinge. 
 
 A softened light is over all, 
 
 Like that of twilight's lingering ray, 
 Which still illumes the parting day. 
 
 Before the shades of evening fall. 
 
 The dropping leaves, with rustling sound, 
 Pressed by the hastening student's feet
 
 24 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 The mellowed reign of Autumn greet 
 His kindly sway o'er classic ground. 
 
 But soon the trees are still and bare ; 
 
 The naked branches are alone ; 
 
 The only sound the wild wind's moan, 
 Which whistles from the storm-king's lair. 
 
 It tells that Autumn's sway is o'er; 
 
 That night has closed his darkening day, 
 And becks, with threatening hand, away ; 
 
 He will return again no more. 
 
 Autumn has gone ; his dying breath 
 v Was silvered by the Winter's frost; 
 
 But tho' his golden days are lost, 
 Their memory lingers e'en in death. 
 
 Freshman and Soph, have lived and passed away, 
 
 New actors enter in our College play. 
 
 With manly step and open, earnest brow, 
 
 The Junior treads the changing platform now. 
 
 The early Spring of Freshmanhood is o'er 
 
 Over the Summer of the Sophomore 
 
 A fairer, brighter time than all is here 
 
 The Autumn glory of the Junior year. 
 
 Above the snares that vex the Freshman's path, 
 
 Above the snarer's never pitying wrath, 
 
 The waters of his calm existence glide, 
 
 Like the deep-flowing of the ocean tide.
 
 MK.MORIKS OF COI.I.EC.K I.IKK. 25 
 
 At prayers he waits his anxious steps no more 
 Till eighty others have blocked up the door ; 
 But with the foremost leaves the holy spot, 
 And drinks his coffee, while the liquid's hot. 
 
 When deadly conflict wages on the Delta, 
 And sanguine Freshmen in fresh sanguen welter 
 The Junior calmly views each shattered shin, 
 And begs the Freshmen to "go in and win." 
 While light cigar smoke, wreathing o'er the strife. 
 Proclaims the tenor of his even life. 
 
 He has a part the wages of ambition 
 On that great day a College Exhibition/ 
 And hires a toga, but to dress him quite, 
 He must invest him in a vest of white. 
 With coat of black and buttons of the same 
 Without the door he waits the expected name ; 
 He mounts the Rostrum, looking very pale, 
 While storms of claps his welcome advent hail. 
 His bow is made that grand, artistic start, 
 That cuts the water of the coming part. 
 Perchance he tells in verse with poet-look, 
 How "fresh-delivered are river and brook." 
 Or sees the tear steal down the maiden's cheek 
 As soft he utters the mellifluous Greek. 
 But look, he stops his minutes were but four 
 VUas, that such an one should have no more.
 
 26 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 The Junior often in the village school, 
 
 Takes up the sceptre of an awful rule. 
 
 Far in the woods he wields the faithful rod 
 
 Or seeks the fertile pastures of Cape Cod 
 
 Devoting thus the Autumn of his days, 
 
 To whipping children into wisdom's ways. 
 
 Imparting, too, a purer moral tone, 
 
 By introducing morals of his own. 
 
 The leaves that gayly on the Junior's head, 
 
 When Autumn dawned their changing glories 
 
 shed, 
 
 Have withered, for the icy winds draw near 
 That bear the monarch of the ending year. 
 Our Junior age is over. In the west, 
 Our Autumn star, still shining, goes to rest. 
 The hours its light once gilded, all are o'er; 
 Their joys have fled they will come back no 
 
 more. 
 
 But in our hearts that star's unfading rays 
 Will keep forever green these happy days. 
 
 The College yard is wreathed in snow 
 
 And all is cold and drear ; 
 The trees moan out their song of woe, 
 
 For Winter's lord is here. 
 
 Whatever lived 'neath warmer skies 
 Is faded now and dead ;
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 2J 
 
 Nor leaf, nor bud may greet our eyes ; 
 Their board of death is spread. 
 
 The pump looks cold with wintry strife, 
 
 Nor opes its mouth of wood 
 Amid the ups and downs of life; 
 
 'T would shiver if it could. 
 
 The time-stained walls are guant and bare, 
 
 The bricks are grim and old, 
 And thro' the crannies everywhere 
 
 Sweeps in the cheerless cold. 
 
 But when the fire at evening beams 
 
 With ruddy, pleasant light, 
 And forth from out the window gleams 
 
 Its offering to the night. 
 
 The glow defies the winter's power 
 
 To make the moments sad, 
 When buoyant comrades crown the hour 
 
 And youth's high hearts are glad. 
 
 Last scene of all, must Winter close 
 
 The Seasons' mystic train, 
 And, with the melting of his snows, 
 
 Forget his ice-bound reign. 
 
 The end is nigh, and ebbing fast 
 The one, short life-hour flies.
 
 28 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 
 
 A backward glance upon the past 
 And then the old year dies. 
 
 Again the scene is changed, yet one act more 
 
 And the whole drama of our life is o'er. 
 
 The rest have played. The Senior but remains, 
 
 The man of weighty and abundant brains. 
 
 Among whose locks the Winter spirit strew 
 
 A grain or two of wisdom-giving snow. 
 
 He comes with wrinkled brow and thoughtful look, 
 
 Which tell of midnight porings o'er his book, 
 
 And the grave air that marks the College sage 
 
 Who's lived to see the Winter of his age. 
 
 He has a calm contempt for all below 
 
 The priceless ore that decks the Senior's row. 
 
 He laughs at College jokes as children's play, 
 
 And wishes hazing could be done away. 
 
 He scorns the boyish, Sophomoric sting 
 
 But shuns a Freshman as an unclean thing. 
 
 He is a Senior the great man of all, 
 Whose frowning eyes the boldest Fresh, appal ; 
 The fated object of the Mother's schemes 
 The whiskered hero of the daughter's dreams 
 Who, when Commencements' sun shall set, is free 
 To woo and win that squire of a degree. 
 
 Oh, 'tis the otium of scholastic life 
 Cum dignitate. Come not toil and strife
 
 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE. 29 
 
 To mar the pleasures of his thornless breast, 
 Or wrest the calmness from his peaceful rest. 
 
 As Winter's joys are of the lighted room 
 
 Where one forgets the dark, external gloom, 
 
 So does the Senior in his hoary age 
 
 Internal war 'gainst outward duties wage. 
 
 Firm in the right, unblushingly he dares 
 
 To claim the freedom of domestic prayers ; 
 
 And when the bells, at morning, echo deep 
 
 He wakes, rebels, and so he falls asleep ; 
 
 And dreams that fate has ended all his cares 
 
 And sent him where they ring no bells for prayers. 
 
 But o'er the Senior clouds impending lower, 
 As Winter hastens towards the closing hour ; 
 The time approaches, when those friends must 
 
 part, 
 Who've woven Friendships closest round the 
 
 heart, 
 
 Must part perchance to meet no more again, 
 In the new paths of life they tread as men. 
 
 One wild hurrahing round the old elm tree 
 One song from leaping hearts and voices free, 
 That still the touch of memory's wand may twine 
 Around the happy days of "Auld Land Syne" 
 A crowded thronging on "Commencement Day,"
 
 30 MEMORIES OF COLLEGE LIFE 
 
 Once more with classmates in a full array 
 One hearty grasp one parting word at last 
 And " College Life " lives only in the past. 
 
 Classmates, the Seasons thrice have dressed the 
 
 College yard, 
 
 Since first we wandered o'er these scenes alone, 
 And prayed the kindly genius of the place to 
 
 guard 
 Our barks across the sea untried unknown. 
 
 Time, with his never resting, ever wasting waves, 
 Has borne us on along his silent tide ; 
 
 Three joy-fraught years are sleeping in their 
 
 hallowed graves ; 
 One year is left that will not long abide. 
 
 We've known the new-born pleasures of a gladden- 
 ing Spring 
 
 The cloudless glories of a Summer-morn 
 We've plucked the golden fruits that Autumn's 
 
 harvests bring 
 And Autumn, Summer, Spring, all now are gone. 
 
 Twelve fleeting months and Winter last to 
 die is o'er, 
 
 "Fair Harvard" has no other joys to give 
 The Ocean-waters bear us from the fading shore, 
 
 Another life, in the great world, to live.
 
 COLLEGE SOCIETY ODE. 31 
 
 But when this brightly-colored, brief existence 
 
 ends, 
 
 Our parting song shall, sadly lingering, swell, 
 And tremblingly the tongue to cherished scenes 
 
 and friends 
 Shall speak the heart-grief in its last farewell. 
 
 COLLEGE SOCIETY ODE. 
 
 The tree that we planted so tenderly here, 
 
 When its weakness entreated our aid, 
 Which fondly we cherished while danger was near, 
 
 And lovingly nursed thro' the shade 
 Has opened its arms to the nourishing showers 
 
 And grown in the generous light, 
 Till its branches have blossomed all over with 
 flowers, 
 
 We're breathing their fragrance to-night. 
 
 The perfume that floats from the blossomings fair 
 
 To the wantoning breezes is flung, 
 But, at last, when the flow'rs shall have faded in 
 air, 
 
 The boughs with the fruit shall be hung.
 
 32 THE COURSE OF THE STREAM. 
 
 And the wreaths to be woven of gold and of green 
 That the fays in the branches entwine, 
 
 As they blend with the sunlight that dances 
 
 between, 
 Shall be laid on our brotherly shrine. 
 
 Oh, green be the tree that waves over us now 
 When we rest in its shadows no more, 
 
 And sweet be the voice of the murmuring bough 
 As it whispers of days that are o'er, 
 
 For we cannot forget that our parting is near, 
 That to-night we must tremblingly tell 
 o the joys and the friends we have counted so 
 
 dear, 
 The words of our solemn farewell. 
 
 THE COURSE QF THE STREAM. 
 
 Darting from a fairy fountain, 
 
 Quivering in the silver jet, 
 All adown the silent mountain, 
 
 Came the new-born rivulet. 
 
 Flowed the water, tripping, leaping, 
 To the music of its song ;
 
 THE COURSE OF THE STREAM. 33 
 
 Like the rustling grain at reaping, 
 Swept the dancing waves along. 
 
 Overhead the branches twining, 
 
 Shadows on the brooklet made; 
 Thro' the leaves the sunlight shining, 
 
 Mingled kindly with the shade. 
 
 And the pearly pebbles glistened 
 
 That aneath the waves did lie, 
 Silently as if they listened, 
 
 To the ripples floating by 
 
 While the mossy banks that greenly 
 Watched the foaming wavelets glide, 
 
 In the stillness smiled serenely, 
 At the beauty of the tide. 
 
 And the branches stayed their playing, 
 
 Mirrored in the wave to look ; 
 But the secrets it was saying, 
 
 Told them not the laughing brook. 
 
 Onward thro' the forests flowing, 
 
 Onward toward the rushing sea, 
 Broader, deeper, fairer growing, 
 
 Shadowing what it was to be, 
 
 With a song of mirth and sweetness, 
 That its lonely way beguiled,
 
 34 THE COURSE OF THE STREAM. 
 
 Onward to a fair completeness, 
 Sped away the river-child. 
 
 As girlhood sees its golden dawn 
 
 Maturing into riper day, 
 When, softly o'er life's pictured lawn, 
 
 The light of maidenhood doth play ; 
 
 So, winding thro' the meadows green 
 That there the cooling waters wet, 
 
 A silver brook illumed the scene, 
 No more the bounding rivulet. 
 
 Its waves rolled on with calmer beat, 
 Than in the early mountain-time ; 
 
 And seemed the merry elves to greet, 
 In words it sang in sweeter rhyme. 
 
 And as it laved its banks the while 
 And bathed their verdure in the spray, 
 
 They gave the streamlet back a smile, 
 That cheered it on its seaward way. 
 
 It flowed by fields of waving grain, 
 Where laughs to life the yellow corn ; 
 
 And gladdened is the silken train, 
 For, lo ! it waits the harvest morn. 
 
 And where along the sunny glade, 
 
 The grass doth woo the wind's caress ;
 
 THE COURSE OF THE STREAM. 35 
 
 The farmer knows the generous aid, 
 That shall his barns with plenty bless. 
 
 It flowed thro' pastures wide and fair; 
 
 While standing on the shelving brink, 
 And snuffing in the freshened air 
 
 The buxom cattle come to drink. 
 
 By hills that blossomed with the vine, 
 The stream, in careless measure, ran ; 
 
 And soon shall come the welcome wine, 
 "That maketh glad the heart of man." 
 
 But when the night has drawn her veil, 
 
 And moonlight merry moonlight comes, 
 
 When man bids sleep and dreaming hail, 
 And nothing but the stillness hums; 
 
 Another beauty shrouds the brook, 
 And, till the hours of night are o'er, 
 
 The pages of a fairer book 
 
 Are shining with the rhythmic lore. 
 
 Beneath the moon the waters glide 
 
 And watch the witching spell it weaves, 
 
 The ripples dance adown the tide 
 'Tis like the play of silver sheaves. 
 
 They wind along the haunted dell, 
 Below the ruined castle-wall ;
 
 36 THE COURSE OF THE STREAM. 
 
 And lightly doth the streamlet tell, 
 The legends that enshrine them all. 
 
 The fairies raise a laughing shout 
 From underneath their trysting-tree ; 
 
 ' Tis strange, when such bright things are out 
 Mortals are never there to see ! 
 
 But moonlight fair, nor sunlight sheen 
 Howe'er they charm the glancing track, 
 
 Tho' "bonny banks" it flow between 
 Can keep the hopeful current back. 
 
 Flow on ! ye shall not miss the goal 
 
 That lies beyond you and afar ; 
 Ye waves, that to the ocean roll, 
 
 Behold yon guiding Ocean- Star ! 
 
 Behind are the waters that sprang from the foun- 
 tain, 
 
 And dashed in the wildness of life down the moun- 
 tain; 
 
 Behind is the brook that was peacefully laving 
 The banks where the flowers and the branches 
 
 were waving. 
 
 Farewell to you all, and farewell to you ever, 
 Before lie serenely the waves of the river, 
 How calm and majestic the murmurless tide ! 
 How softly it runneth the green banks beside !
 
 THE COURSE OF THE STREAM. 37 
 
 \Yith a power all exultant that knows it is free, 
 Thro' sunlight and shadow it moves to the sea. 
 It rolls through the wood by the side of the hill, 
 Where the silence is cheered by the busy old mill : 
 The harvest is in and the river again 
 Shall welcome the corn that illumined the plain ; 
 It had watched the long leaves in the summer 
 
 appear, 
 
 It had watched on the stalk the full corn in the ear. 
 And would it reveal the weird things it has seen, 
 It could tell how the corn turns to gold from the 
 
 green. 
 
 And, now, when the farmer comes down to the mill, 
 The red corn the water remembereth still ; 
 By the hand of the miller the strong tide is led, 
 And, lo on the table is shining the bread. 
 But the silvery waves never stop in their play, 
 The star that is leading calls ever away ; 
 Tho' no longer they roll as the bright ripples ran, 
 For the rivulet-child is the proud river-man. 
 Still on, and they hear the live world in its song, 
 And cities are smiling their borders along : 
 Still on and tall ships on the fair waters ride, 
 And go down to the sea with the flow of the tide ; 
 Now nearer and clearer, soft whisperings come 
 Which welcome the river like voices of home. 
 Still silently on till it reaches the goal,
 
 38 LETTER. 
 
 Where before the glad waters "great Ocean" doth 
 
 roll: 
 
 The tired river falls on his fatherly breast, 
 And, clasped in his arms, sinketh sweetly to rest. 
 While above the bright guide it had followed so 
 
 far- 
 Still shines o'er the Ocean that beautiful Star. 
 
 
 LETTER, 
 
 WRITTEN TO THE PLYMOUTH HOME AFTER A THANKSGIVING VISIT, 
 
 Should you ask me, why this letter ? 
 With a Portsmouth odor on it 
 Why this note of tribulation 
 Writ with little skill of scribe-craft ? 
 
 I should answer, I should tell you, 
 \ Very briefly I should tell you, 
 /Very quickly I should answer, 
 Why I write this note of sorrow, 
 Why this note of love and sorrow, 
 As the painting of the Ojibways, 
 So this note of love and sorrow. 
 
 If you still should further ask me, 
 Why, each line of this my letter
 
 LETTER. 
 
 Hath a letter to begin with, 
 Larger than the other letters, 
 Ten times larger than the largest ? 
 
 I should answer, I should tell you - 
 Very much provoked, tell you 
 'Tis a Poem, O benighted, 
 Poem very much benighted, 
 In trochaic verse indited 
 And the very shortest sighted 
 Ought to see, that in a Poem 
 Every line begins with letters 
 Larger far than all the others, 
 Ten times larger than the largest, 
 Large as is a great Puk Wudgie ! 
 Hiawatha's peace-pipe large as ! 
 
 If you still should further ask me, 
 Any further questions, ask me, 
 I should answer, I should tell you 
 Mildly, and yet firmly tell you, 
 Listen, hearken to my answer; 
 Like the Ajidanmo chatting 
 Are the tongues of teasing woman ! 
 
 Yester morning very sadly 
 Puffywuffy, steam-king, bore me 
 To the regions of the Northwest, 
 Of the Northwest wind Kaberjim, 
 Sadly, for they were not with me 
 Those I love and some who loved me. 
 
 39
 
 40 LETTER. 
 
 Like the flying Pawpukkiewis 
 When he fled from Hiawatha, 
 From the avenging Hiawatha, 
 Fled the steam-king, Puffywuffy, 
 With his moccasins of fire made ! 
 With his mittens of the pine wood 
 And his pantaloons of water ! 
 Puffywuffy did not scare me, 
 Though he groaned a horrid groaning, 
 Tho' he puffed a peaceful puffing 
 And he smoked the peace-pipe, did he ; 
 And the sun shone fiercely, saying 
 " Life is hard and man is heartless, 
 Life is cold and man is cruel, 
 Money rules, the bank-bill, gold-dust 
 Make much money, Jimmie Kendall." 
 And the moon took off her night-cap 
 Popped her venerable head up 
 Smiled benignantly and growled out 
 " Life's the sunniest thing I know of, 
 Only find out how to live it, 
 Man's the j oiliest air-consumer, 
 Learn to keep him always jolly 
 Money rules not, rule thou money 
 Bank-bill, gold-dust best thing going, 
 Spend much money, Jimmie Kendall." 
 
 Thus it was we went to Boston
 
 LETTER. 41 
 
 With our baggage, went to Boston. 
 Slowly went we up to Whipple's 
 Famous artist's, Mr. Whipple's, 
 Man who makes another of you, 
 Man who makes the sun his pencil; 
 Said I, " Mr. Whipple, can you 
 From a picture you have taken 
 Take another just as good as 
 That was ? " Answered Mr. Whipple, 
 "They will- be but slightly unlike 
 Very like to one another, 
 I will take the copy for you, 
 You shall choose if you will have it." 
 Said I " Thank you, Mr. Whipple." 
 " You are welcome, Jimmie Kendall," 
 And amid the bustling many, 
 Many rushing o'er the pavement, 
 Many going, men and women, 
 Going for the sake of going, 
 Many coming, men and women, 
 Coming, tired to death of going. 
 
 Next we entered this the doorway, 
 Swelling out to fill the doorway 
 Of a building where great books were, 
 Filled with books from top to bottom ! 
 Said I, " I have come a wooing 
 For a picture, come a wooing,
 
 42 LETTER. 
 
 'Tis the 'Starlight and the sunbeam,' 
 That I've come to woo and buy too ; 
 For the wigwam of my Auntie, 
 Wants the starlight for the darkness, 
 Wants the sunbeam when the clouds come. 
 " You shall have it," said the shopboy, 
 " Have the ' starlight and the sunbeam.' " 
 
 Then I roamed until a maiden, 
 Blue-eyed, bright-haired JPojtsmouth maiden, 
 Met me in the angry tumult, 
 Asked me to take dinner with her, 
 Smiled I then, for love I dinner. 
 And I asked the damsel gently 
 If she would not like to go up 
 To the (Athenaeum with me, 
 Pretty pictures look at with me, 
 So we went to see the pictures, 
 And we stayed the pictures seeing 
 Till the hour had come for dinner 
 Till the hour had gone for dinner, 
 Left the maiden at her door stone, 
 In her house I left my dinner ! 
 
 Ran I then and got my picture, 
 Wrote the note and took the picture, 
 To the Express, I took the picture, 
 But the Express had gone before, 
 Very early did the Express go !
 
 LETTER. 43 
 
 What to do was quite a puzzle ; 
 Soon the Portsmouth train must take me 
 To the land of Shining Wabun, 
 So I could not to the depot, 
 Plymouth depot, take the bundle, 
 And to Rich the Expressman it give, 
 As he stood there in the Depot ! 
 What to do was quite a puzzle, 
 Just then, up a Classmate sauntered, 
 Said that he would take the picture, 
 Send it to the Plymouth depot. 
 Did it reach you in your wigwam ? 
 Did it stop not ere it reached you ? 
 Much I feared it might not reach you, 
 Sad I shall be if it did not. 
 
 This is why I write this letter 
 With the Portsmouth odor on it, 
 Like the painting of the Ojibways, 
 Only not so easy found out, 
 Love to all who love to be loved, 
 Those who love me and that I love, 
 Fare thee well, I may not linger ; 
 I am called, I must not linger, 
 To the Isle of Nodding Night-cap, 
 To the " Kingdom of the Sleep-God," 
 To the land of dreams and shadows !
 
 44 MARY ANN. 
 
 NOTE IST. Having had no Hiawatha (tKe latest work on 
 Indian nomenclature) at hand, I cannot answer for the ortho- 
 graphy. 
 
 NOTE 2ND. The allusion to fire, wood and water, as the 
 elements of motion in the Engine, we regard as painfully grand. 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
 MARY ANN. 
 
 FOR A FAIR. 
 
 Maiden with the mossy tresses, 
 Wavy tresses, bright and golden, 
 Shining in the air of Summer, 
 Floating on the pleasant South-wind, 
 Hear my sad and touching story, 
 Listen to my plaintive story ! 
 
 I was very much in love with 
 Mary Ann just round the corner; 
 Mary Ann of eyes so dancing, 
 Dancing to the wicked music 
 Of her hard and frozen bosom ; 
 And I thought, she thought a little 
 Tender, of the sad subscriber 
 Always sitting at the window, 
 When I went just round the corner, 
 Always smiling at the window
 
 MARY ANN. 45 
 
 As she spied me round the corner. 
 
 (O that corner! O my heart strings 
 Pulled around that fatal corner ! 
 If you ever feel like loving 
 Never love around a corner.) 
 Oftentimes she threw a kiss out, 
 Threw a kiss, my Mary Ann did ; 
 Oftentimes she said "Come in John," 
 Oftentimes said John came in. 
 
 Oh ! the little parlor in there, 
 With its winking, wicked carpet, 
 And its flirting, flashing fire-light 
 And M. A. down on a cricket ! 
 Goodness ! sitting on a cricket ; 
 Pa and Ma, and all the children 
 Gone to bed and left us there. 
 Oh ! the witching nights of winter ! 
 Oh ! that parlor in the winter ! 
 Oh ! that female on the cricket ! 
 (If you ever feel like loving 
 Don't love what sits on a cricket.) 
 
 Well, one night, oh dear, it's dreadful 
 For to tell, or even think it ! 
 I had stepped just round the corner 
 Seen my Mary through the window, 
 Walked within the little parlor, 
 And there on the usual cricket
 
 46 MARY ANN. 
 
 Sat the lonely spider waiting 
 
 For- the foolish fly to come in 
 
 To the parlor, pretty parlor 
 
 By and by the old folks started 
 
 And we sat there, we two sat there. 
 
 Pretty soon I sat up closer, 
 
 Kinder took her hand and whispered 
 
 " Mary Ann, dear Mary Ann, I " 
 
 Here I choked, it was'nt in nature 
 To get thro' without some trouble; 
 "Mary Ann, my thoughts have settled 
 Pretty much about this corner, 
 I like you the best of all the 
 Girls I know ; now will you have me ? " 
 I looked up, her face was purple, 
 Purple with a fit of laughing, 
 Laughing as if it would kill her, 
 "John" says she, "I guess 'twill kill me." 
 
 Off she went a laughing, harder 
 Than she laughed before I racked my 
 Brains to find out what in goodness 
 Made a Christian woman laugh so, 
 'Cause a man had spoke up to her. 
 Says she, "John I can't help laughing, 
 Laughing as if it would kill me, 
 For last night I said I'd marry 
 'Bijah, round the other corner."
 
 TO A. E. H. 47 
 
 Wildly rushed I out the parlor, 
 Leaving Mary laughing at me; 
 Wildly rushed I through the entry 
 Right against a man there, rushed I 
 Who but 'Bijah, he was laughing, 
 He'd been harking at the key-hole ! 
 Seized I 'Bijah by the collar, 
 Dragged I 'Bijah thro' the front door, 
 And amid the shrieks of Mary, 
 Swung I 'Bijah round that corner! 
 
 So to-day I go to Egypt, 
 Maiden, you have heard my story : 
 Drop a tear upon my story ; 
 Story of a true love smothered 
 By a Mary Ann and 'Bijah. \_Exit in fears.] 
 
 TO A, E, H. 
 
 FOR HER ALBUM, 
 
 I watch the snow-flakes drawing down 
 A white veil over field and town, 
 And my unresting spirit longs 
 For birds and flowers and Summer songs.
 
 48 LETTER TO J. W. B. 
 
 In rosy clouds and glancing leaves 
 I see the spell the Summer weaves ; 
 But now I think, forgetting her, 
 How beautiful the snow-flakes were. 
 
 Teach me, beneath whatever skies, 
 To find the beauty ere it flies ; 
 So will a blessing come to mine 
 From out that sunny soul of thine, 
 CAMBRIDGE, Jan. 12, 1859. 
 
 LETTER TO J. W. B., 
 
 ON HIS GIVING UP HIS SCHOOL AND BECOMING REPRESENTATIVE. 
 
 BOSTON, Jan. i, 1859. 
 Nephew living down in Boston, 
 Wearing spectacles and white hair, 
 To his uncle in the country 
 (Large man living in the country, 
 With the blue coat and brass buttons, 
 Bright blue coat and shiny buttons), 
 To his uncle sendeth greeting. 
 First the nephew sends his uncle 
 And his uncle's wife and children
 
 LETTER TO J. W. B. 49 
 
 (Charming wife young lady cousins) 
 Wishes for a happy new-year 
 Happy new-year, full of sunshine, 
 Full of flowers and birds and blue skies 
 Pocket money very plenty 
 Good fat eating all the year round, 
 Christmas dinners every noon time, 
 When it aint Thanksgiving dinners. 
 Then the nephew takes his uncle 
 By the right hand of his uncle, 
 (Not his real hand flesh and blood hand, 
 But a kind of pen and ink hand), 
 And he shakes it very warmly 
 Squeezes it and shakes it warmly, 
 Winking at the same time strongly, 
 Smiling at the same time mildly, 
 Smiling, winking, looking, beaming 
 Pointing, too, outside the window, 
 With his left hand out the window 
 At a line of moving urchins, 
 Moving slowly from the precincts. 
 Big and little coats and jackets, 
 Moving all from bed and board off, 
 And the nephew says good riddance, 
 And the uncle says good riddance, 
 And the Aunt, she says good riddance, 
 And the cousins, say good riddance,
 
 50 LETTER TO J. W. . B. 
 
 All the household in a chorus, 
 Singing in a household chorus, 
 Bid the boys good bye, and also 
 Bid the boys good riddance also, 
 " No more walking says the uncle 
 Walking up and down the school room 
 Teaching little boys their letters, 
 Bothering my brains with school boys, 
 Bothering their brains with letters. 
 No more mending ragged boys up, 
 Says the aunt, and smiling says it, 
 No more stockings very ragged 
 More of holes in them than stockings. 
 No more jackets torn and dirty 
 Pantaloons just like the jackets, 
 No more rompings thro' the entries, 
 No more animals to fodder." 
 (I mean in the house to fodder) 
 Little animals whose stomachs 
 Are unbounded always hungry, 
 Seem like made of India Rubber, 
 Stretch the more the more you put in. 
 
 " No more rude boys," say the children, 
 " Plaguing us as boys all like to : 
 Treating us as if young ladies 
 Were a pack of rude boys also."
 
 LETTER TO J. W. B. 51 
 
 So the family in chorus, 
 
 Sing good bye to all the urchins. 
 
 Next, the nephew down in Boston, 
 Gently stirs his worthy uncle 
 Up a bit, and just reminds him 
 How next Wednesday he must enter 
 The great building down in Boston, 
 Building with the round top on it, 
 Many steps lead up unto it, 
 And the people that are sent there 
 Are the saving of the nation ; 
 Sent there by the votes of Freemen 
 Freemen of this mighty nation, 
 Nation of the ramping eagles ; 
 Any fine day you may see them 
 Sitting round there on the stone steps, 
 Munching on the sunny stone steps, 
 Gingerbread and other fixings, 
 Sold by various little peddlers 
 To the members who have eagle 
 Feathers in their beaver hat bands. 
 
 Last, the nephew hopes the uncle 
 Won't forget his white-haired nephew, 
 White hair tumbled by the uncle 
 At the Golden Wedding Pow Wow 
 At the farm house in the hollow.
 
 52 "'TIS SWEET TO REMEMBER.' 
 
 'TIS SWEET TO REMEMBER." 
 
 'Tis pleasant to recall the past, 
 
 And on its scenes to dwell ; 
 To think of joys too bright to last, 
 
 Of friends once loved so well. 
 
 Oh, yes, 'tis sweet to call to mind 
 The thoughts of days gone by, 
 
 And in the heart's own chaplet bind 
 The flowers of memory. 
 
 So, too, 'twill be in future time, 
 
 As on life's waters flow; 
 Oft will the bells of memory chime 
 
 And tell of long ago ; 
 
 Of thoughtless childhood's merry hours, 
 
 Its mirth encircled brow; 
 No thorns are mingled with the flowers 
 
 That strew its pathway now ; 
 
 Of buoyant youth so wild and free, 
 
 Life's bright, ideal age 
 The fairest gift of memory 
 
 To scan its sunny page. 
 
 Perchance, amid these dreams so bright, 
 A tear may dim the eye ;
 
 "'TIS SWEET TO REMEMBER." 53 
 
 Perchance, the veil of sorrow's night 
 May cloud the memory. 
 
 As soft it whispers sad and low 
 
 Of early friends and true, 
 To whom so many years ago 
 
 We bade our last adieu. 
 
 And yet 'tis dear when all alone 
 
 To dream that they are nigh, 
 Again to hear the gentle tone 
 
 And see the beaming eye. 
 
 Yes, memory's gifts a brighter hue 
 
 O'er saddened feelings cast, 
 And clothe with beauty ever new 
 
 The pages of the past. 
 
 Pour me out a full cup, 
 
 For I swear I will drink 
 
 I am stronger than once, 
 You shall see if I shrink. 
 
 See how steady my hand 
 Takes the red beaker up ;
 
 54 A CHAPTER FROM BACHELOR REVERIES. 
 
 There is laugh in my soul, 
 So I laugh in the cup. 
 
 Yes, I hear what you say, 
 That she cares not for me ; 
 
 I would give heaven for her 
 That will do do you see ? 
 
 I suppose I may love, 
 
 Even her in her hate ; 
 She will love me at last 
 
 I am willing to wait. 
 
 Ah, you smile at the faith 
 That smiles so upon me; 
 
 I was wrong when I drank ? 
 Well, my friend, we shall see. 
 
 A CHAPTER FROM BACHELOR REVERIES. 
 
 I drew my chair one evening before the glowing 
 
 grate, 
 And fell into a musing mood almost a dreaming 
 
 state ; 
 And things, like spirits, flitted in the weird and 
 
 ruddy light
 
 A CHAPTER FROM BACHELOR REVERIES. 55 
 
 That danced about my study-wall, as darker grew 
 the night. 
 
 I mused on what my life had been in all its lonely 
 bliss, 
 
 And whether there would ever dawn a brighter day 
 than this ; 
 
 Whether another's smile would cheer the pilgrim- 
 age of life, 
 
 And shine my pathway over, a gentle, loving wife. 
 
 And thus I mused, as glimmered the firelight in 
 the gloom, 
 
 Till very strange it seemed to me, that quiet 
 student-room. 
 
 I was walking in the moonlight but O, not now 
 
 alone, 
 My guarding arm was lovingly around a maiden 
 
 thrown : 
 All silently we moved along the silver-painted 
 
 way 
 Our hearts so full we could not speak we had 
 
 not what to say ; 
 But silence is most eloquent, when all the world is 
 
 still, 
 Save the whispers in the branches and the music 
 
 of the rill. 
 
 For then in heavenly harmony the golden heart- 
 bells toll,
 
 56 A CHAPTER FROM BACHELOR REVERIES. 
 
 And then in sweet communion is blending soul 
 
 with soul. 
 O, 'tis a pure and holy thing the deep strong 
 
 love of youth 
 When life is like a pleasant dream, too beautiful for 
 
 truth. 
 And as I knelt that evening, at love's first, fairest 
 
 shrine, 
 She spoke not, but an angel said " fear not, she will 
 
 be thine." 
 And still the moon was lighting the wondrous 
 
 world above; 
 And soft she seemed to whisper, " moonlight was 
 
 made for love." 
 
 But lo, a change came lightly o'er the spirit of my 
 dream, 
 
 A picture may not linger long, drawn in the moon's 
 pale beam. 
 
 That hour so fraught with hope and love may come 
 again no more ; 
 
 Floating on manhood's Ocean, the dream of youth 
 is o'er. 
 
 But how serene and beautiful each gently swelling 
 wave! 
 
 How full of joy the happy scenes the mirrored sur- 
 face gave !
 
 A CHAPTER FROM BACHELOR REVERIES. 57 
 
 'Twas evening, and the blazing hearth sent out a 
 
 pleasant light 
 That danced about the ample room and on a merry 
 
 sight. 
 And mirthful faces sparkled, and sitting on my 
 
 knee 
 Were two sweet cherub-children, so winning in 
 
 their glee. 
 The arches of the old room rang with fun and 
 
 frolic wild; 
 And blessed angels looked from Heaven on the 
 
 fair ones and smiled. 
 Buoyant with life and beauty beaming with 
 
 laugh and song 
 They knew no thought of sadness, their life had 
 
 not been long. 
 And on their joyous frolic their free and careless 
 
 grace 
 The mother gazed a loving smile illumining her 
 
 face; 
 As true and faithful thro' the years, alike in weal 
 
 and woe, 
 As when I won her girlish heart, that evening long 
 
 ago. 
 O, 'twas a clear, a steadfast love, that bound that 
 
 happy band, 
 Such as the guileless beings know, who haunt the 
 
 spirit land.
 
 58 A CHAPTER FROM BACHELOR REVERIES. 
 
 And fervently I prayed that night, that he would 
 guard them all, 
 
 Whose ever-watching Providence "lets not a spar- 
 row fall." 
 
 This passed away and once again a change came 
 
 o'er my dream ; 
 So, ruffled by the gentlest breeze, will change the 
 
 running stream. 
 No longer did the ringing laugh strike sweetly on 
 
 the ear 
 The evening frolic came no more, the children were 
 
 not here. 
 The winter-time of life had strewn its snows upon 
 
 my brow, 
 The fleeting sands were nearly run I was an old 
 
 man now. 
 Alone I sat with her who'd been so long a trusting 
 
 wife 
 Who'd known with me the joys of earth, who'd 
 
 dared with me its strife. 
 We talked of scenes in other days, that pleasant 
 
 shadows cast, 
 And watched the silver current roll back into the 
 
 past. 
 
 Then, strong in faith, we looked beyond the com- 
 ing stream of death
 
 A CHAPTER FROM BACHELOR REVERIES. 59 
 
 And knew that we should live again, when stopped 
 
 our mortal breath ; 
 And prayed that when our life should end, to us it 
 
 might be given, 
 As we had lived and loved on earth, to live and 
 
 love in Heaven. 
 
 A falling tear upon my hand the fragile dream- 
 spell broke, 
 
 And, wishing life were but a dream, all sadly I 
 awoke. 
 
 That gentle one had winged her flight back to the 
 spirit land ; 
 
 Sweet fancy's golden sway was o'er, broken her 
 magic wand. 
 
 One hope I breathed, that, as my dream, my life to 
 
 come, might be, 
 A dream, without a waking time, a bright 
 
 reality.
 
 60 POEM. 
 
 POEM. 
 
 DELIVERED AT THE SILVER WEDDING OF REV. JAMES A. AND 
 MARIA B. KENDALL. 
 
 The place, a room not over clean, 
 
 The time, twilight and dark between ; 
 
 The Dramatis Persona by 
 
 My friend the Bachelor, and I. 
 
 I with a wife as sweet as May 
 
 (Don't look, she isn't here to-day) 
 
 He in his one-pronged cloudy life, 
 
 A pipe, and cat and dog no wife ; 
 
 I, bound to take life with a laugh 
 
 And mix and drink it half and half. 
 
 He put his feet up on the shelf 
 
 And snugged down in his chair himself ; 
 
 Lighted a pipe his cap pulled down, 
 
 And closer drew his dressing gown. 
 
 Puffed out with smoke each unkissed cheek, 
 
 And in this wise, went on to speak : 
 
 "And so you're married what a goose, 
 
 Pray tell me, can you, what's the use? 
 
 Poor fool ! your face is full of creases. 
 
 Your peace of mind has gone to pieces ; 
 
 You'd get out of it if you could 
 
 And be with me and singlehood ;
 
 POEM. 6 I 
 
 Alas, the hood has taken wings 
 You let a woman cut the strings, 
 Your poor head now has nothing on it 
 Except the shadow of a bonnet, 
 See me feet up, head up all right 
 My own man, free as an owl at night ; 
 On life's dry desert I'm a patch 
 Of green, a real old happy Bach. 
 My purring cat, my dog and I 
 Find life made up of all blue sky ; 
 My pipe rounds off the pleasant joke 
 Thought I, it ends it all in smoke. 
 But you, there is no you ; I mean 
 The ashes of what you have been 
 Your mother'd hardly know for her son 
 This echo of another person 
 You're trotted out to do her shopping 
 Your wife at all the windows stopping. 
 Now own up, do you think that popping 
 The question paid ? " He gave a puff 
 Suggesting that he'd said enough. 
 
 Would'st hear what I said back to him 
 As twilight grew more deep and dim ? 
 Perhaps I didn't say a word 
 Perhaps, the cat an answer purred 
 No matter when I went away 
 I got a little bird to stay
 
 62 POEM. 
 
 And tell me what the young man's head 
 Was full of while he was in bed. 
 Next morn, as daylight 'gan to beam, 
 He sang me out the young man's dream. 
 
 The room was gay with life and light ; 
 Fair women moving, robed in white ; 
 A quaint old room that seemed to smile 
 On what was going on the while ; 
 And tears and laughter, prayers and song 
 Were borne in changeful play along. 
 And in the foreground, as he dreamed, 
 The Bachelor among them seemed. 
 A fair girl stood beside him there 
 And orange flowers were in her hair ; 
 Blue eyes, down-turned, and on her face 
 The beauty of a new-born grace 
 Tears, too, lay softly on her cheeks 
 And while they fall an old man speaks ; 
 The music of the old man's words 
 Is sweeter than the singing birds. 
 Ah, ha ! what meant that life and light ? 
 He dreamed it was his wedding night. 
 
 And so that picture faded by, 
 Another quite as fair came nigh. 
 He thought that life had filled for him 
 Its cup of gladness to the brim ;
 
 POEM. 63 
 
 The way was thick with flowers a wife 
 Had drawn new beauty out of life. 
 Time had been playing with his hair 
 And putting threads of silver there, 
 And borne him with his matron-bride, 
 Adown the ebbing of its tide. 
 
 Once more they stand with gentle friends 
 And heart to heart in friendship bends ; 
 Dear voices long unheard they hear 
 And catch the pleasant words of cheer ; 
 And read in notes of memory's pen 
 The stories of their lives again. 
 Ah, ha ! his wings, our friend is spreading 
 He's dreaming of his Silver Wedding. 
 
 That didn't wake him turning over 
 He went on dreaming, quite in clover, 
 And still another picture came, 
 A changed one, yet somehow the same. 
 An old man now she too is old, 
 Whose hair was once as bright as gold ; 
 For many years have winged their flight, 
 Since Heaven smiled on their wedding night. 
 "So many," says he, "it doth seem 
 Almost the wedding of a dream ; 
 So long ago so much between 
 And yet 'tis real, wife, I ween.
 
 64 POEM. 
 
 We've lived long time here, you and I, 
 And watched the play of life go by ; 
 Sometimes the sunlight in the air 
 Shook out in love its golden hair, 
 And sometimes sorrow was our lot 
 That came in love, too, did it not ? 
 So in the sunshine and the shade 
 To us a sweet tune life has played." 
 
 So this real life of ours doth seem 
 Sometimes a picture in a dream. 
 
 They see kind faces in their home 
 
 And hear sweet words of greeting come ; 
 
 Children and children's children there, 
 
 With eyes of blue and golden hair. 
 
 Again from out the living throng 
 
 Come tears and laughter, prayers and song. 
 
 A fairer, steadier light doth fall 
 
 In chastened beauty over all. 
 
 What star this mellow light is shedding ? 
 
 His dream has reached its " Golden Wedding. 
 
 His grand-child sits upon his knee, 
 
 The youngest blossom of his tree. 
 
 She puts her laughing mouth to his 
 
 To give and take the expected kiss. 
 
 And so the Bachelor awoke 
 
 To find his cat a kitten's freak, 
 
 Tapping her paw upon his cheek.
 
 TOASTS. 65 
 
 " Pshaw ! what a dream get out you cat, 
 
 A pretty night's work I've been at ; 
 
 But after all that fair ideal, 
 
 I can't help wishing might be real." 
 
 A tear dropped slowly down his cheek 
 
 And that was all he did not speak. 
 
 And so my little bird stopped singing 
 Just as the breakfast bell was ringing. 
 
 TOASTS 
 
 AT THE SILVER WEDDING OF REV. J. A. AND M. B. KENDALL. 
 
 Our Silver Wedding and the other wedding, it 
 commemorates. 
 
 Our Cousins. The bridesmaids and groomsmen 
 of the Silver Wedding. The best thing about being 
 married is the good company one gets into. 
 
 " Fuscus Fiscus" The Brown Basket new on 
 the 4th of Nov. 1807 it holds, to-day, the flowers 
 of fifty years. Long life to the Basket it grows 
 dearer as it grows older.
 
 66 TOASTS. 
 
 Children. The andirons of the family hearth. 
 Take them away and the fire tumbles down. 
 
 Single Blessedness. It won't do ; in the game of 
 life, doublets win. 
 
 Home. The title page of Life's Poem. " Home 
 Sweet Home." 
 
 The loved ones who are absent and the memory 
 of the dead. 
 
 Our White-haired Pilgrim-Father. From his 
 home by Plymouth Rock he sends his blessing. 
 
 Family Trees. The best thing for the old stock 
 is a good graft. 
 
 "A Bridal Pair'' The handsomest fruit in the 
 orchard. 
 
 The Religion of the Fireside. Heaven's own 
 sunshine rests on the "Altar at Home." 
 
 Household Words. Speak them softly. 
 
 The next Silver Wedding. Bride and Bride- 
 groom make merry in it, and may a ray or two of 
 ours to-day, float down and meet its silver beams. 
 
 The Wedding Ring. Sung by the assembly.
 
 POEM. 67 
 
 POEM. 
 
 DELIVERED AT THE GOLDED WEDDING OF COL. JAMES AND NANCY 
 BROWN, NOV. 4, 1857, 
 
 To-day, dear friends, sweet voices seem 
 To breathe a sound of singing, 
 
 From field and forest, hill and stream 
 A wedding welcome bringing. 
 
 A song of fifty years they send 
 
 To crown our happy meeting, 
 And with the song the voices blend 
 
 Their " Golden Wedding " greeting. 
 
 They hail the givers of the feast, 
 Whose wedded love is shining, 
 
 Although their sun has left its East, 
 And daylight is declining. 
 
 The voices murmur soft and low 
 
 Of Father and of Mother, 
 Whom, in the solemn long ago, 
 
 God gave to love each other. 
 
 They welcome home each wandering child, 
 
 From daily work beguiling; 
 The scenes that first around them smiled, 
 
 The same to-day are smiling.
 
 68 POEM. 
 
 But with them comes not one sweet face,- 
 The voices have not brought her, 
 
 There's room beside the children's place 
 For one more darling daughter. 
 
 Faith whispers, " that dear one is here, 
 
 A spirit-presence given, 
 In shining garments doubly dear 
 
 The child of Earth and Heaven." 
 
 She taketh by the hand each friend, 
 Her pure delight confessing, 
 
 And bids upon her home descend 
 An angel daughter's blessing. 
 
 And one from out the prairied West 
 
 Withholdeth her assistance. 
 Oh no ! she's standing with the rest : 
 
 The soul forgetteth distance. 
 
 And on the children's children falls 
 
 The Wedding salutation ; 
 The welcome of the voices calls 
 
 For their congratulation. 
 
 We place upon the household shrine 
 The flowers of our thanksgiving : 
 
 O, may the garland we entwine 
 Be always fresh and living !
 
 POEM. 69 
 
 And we, too, miss familiar forms, 
 That once with love were beaming; 
 
 But Faith again our bosom warms, 
 And says, "'tis only seeming." 
 
 From hearts that with remembrance burn, 
 
 Dear friends are absent never; 
 The buried ones with us return 
 
 More beautiful than ever. 
 
 The last loved one, that died in June, 
 
 Our perfect circle roundeth ; 
 And like the breath of some sweet tune, 
 
 Her gentle greeting soundeth. 
 
 Grandchildren, children, wanting none, 
 
 All gather to caress us ; 
 And Heaven's approval must be won, 
 
 If angels come to bless us. 
 
 Of brothers and of sisters, three 
 
 Alone are with the living ; 
 And two of them 'tis ours to see, 
 
 Their cordial presence giving. 
 
 And now a welcome meets once more 
 
 The few friends, that remember 
 The Wednesday, fifty years before 
 
 The fourth of this November.
 
 70 POEM. 
 
 The bridesmaids of that wedding day 
 Our bridesmaids shall be reckoned ; 
 
 They graced ihejirsi, and surely they 
 Will smile upon the second. 
 
 We greet the girl, too young to see 
 The bride and bridegroom married ; 
 
 But now, as then, by her the tea 
 And sugar shall be carried. 
 
 The house its doors flings open wide 
 
 To its assembled cousins : 
 And takes a good, old-fashioned pride 
 
 In all these loving dozens. 
 
 The sunshine of their glad array 
 
 Its loyal heart rejoices; 
 And welcome is the friendly play 
 
 Of faces and of voices. 
 
 But one face more it hoped might be 
 
 In all our merry-making ; 
 It yearned one other guest to see 
 
 The marriage-feast partaking. 
 
 The snows of almost ninety years 
 His silvery hairs have sprinkled, 
 
 But fresh and green, through smiles and tears, 
 The soul has come unwrinkled.
 
 POEM. 7 I 
 
 He might not speak with us the prayer, 
 
 To God's dear love appealing, 
 And yet our wedding-day shall share 
 
 His tender thought and feeling. 
 
 And so, dear friends, the voices seem 
 Their song-light to be shedding ; 
 
 And field and forest, hill and stream, 
 To hail our Golden Wedding. 
 
 And if you'll walk awhile with me, 
 
 By brook and meadow olden, 
 We'll find out how it came to be, 
 
 And what has made it, "golden." 
 
 The Summer had ended its beautiful song, 
 
 Of the nights that are rare, and the days that are 
 
 long: 
 It had wrought out its work, in the warmth of its 
 
 sun ; 
 It had died with its flowers, when its work-day was 
 
 done : 
 
 The footsteps of Autumn were treading the plain, 
 And the fields were astir with the life of the grain ! 
 A new love in river and woodland was born, 
 As the breath of the wind went a-wooing the corn. 
 But the scenes we look out on were wondering 
 
 then 
 At the clangor of hammers and bustling of men ;
 
 72 POEM. 
 
 For I tell you a tale of the days that have been, 
 And how they were building the house we are in. 
 
 A young man was standing the workmen beside, 
 As the hammers and mallets were busily plied ; 
 O, the sound of their ringing was sweet to his ear, 
 For the blows helped to fashion a home for him 
 
 here. 
 
 He had chosen the timbers, all solid and strong; 
 Did he know he should want them to stand by him 
 
 long ? 
 He had watched o'er the work, every day, as it 
 
 grew, 
 To be sure that the workmen were thorough and 
 
 true ; 
 
 O, how or of beauty or strength could it fail, 
 When the heart helped the hammer drive in every 
 
 nail ? 
 
 Now the fair house was standing in perfected form, 
 To smile in the sunshine, or laugh at the storm ; 
 And the heart of the lover was leaping with glee, 
 For he thought of his bride, that its mistress 
 
 should be. 
 
 And so, when the fruitage of Autumn was in, 
 When the nights to be frosty and longer begin ; 
 When the corn had been garnered in plentiful 
 
 store,
 
 POEM. 73 
 
 And was heaped for the husking along the barn- 
 floor ; 
 
 When the Indian Summer had borrowed the dress 
 Of days that were over, the Autumn to bless, 
 The young man remembered the home of his pride, 
 And bore to its threshold his beautiful bride ; 
 And, as blushing she crossed it, there fell on her ear 
 The song of the voices that welcome us here. 
 
 That night, as they sat in the firelight, those 
 
 two, 
 And planned for the future the work they would 
 
 do, 
 
 What if some little goblin had chanced to come in, 
 (They do say, that such creatures as goblins have 
 
 been,) 
 
 And, in his own queer sort of goblinish way, 
 Just hinted at what would befall them to-day : 
 What a laugh they 'd have had at his impudent 
 
 hints, 
 That skeptical couple of fifty years since ! 
 
 Suppose he had told them to put in a pot 
 More or less of cold water and heat it up hot ; 
 And, like so many oxen, to yoke in the steam, 
 And they 'd presently have no end of a team ; 
 And that, some day or other, right by the back- 
 door,
 
 74 POEM. 
 
 Such a team would come trotting, like lightning, 
 
 or slower : 
 To his goblinship then, what d' ye think they'd 
 
 have done 
 
 For poking at people, just married, such fun? 
 Or if he'd suggested, when grass was to mow 
 That a man with a scythe was tremendously 
 
 "slow;" 
 That two horses would move round a field, by and 
 
 by, 
 
 And cut down the acres as true as a die ; 
 The comical imp would have had to "make tracks " 
 Up the chimney, or hide in the neighboring cracks, 
 For they wouldn't have stood it, I'm sure, any more, 
 Or to such a wild talker have yielded the "floor." 
 
 Now, if, as they sat there, some spirit did try 
 To make them believe what would be by and by, 
 And they happened to treat him in any ill way, 
 Ought they not to apologize to him to-day? 
 But we have no right to give them any hints, 
 How they should have done, half a century since, 
 The goblins, we laugh at with our common sense, 
 May turn upon us, half a century hence. 
 
 And so they had armed them to battle with life ; 
 The bride and the bridegroom were husband and 
 wife ;
 
 POEM. 75 
 
 Their life-boat \vas launched on the turbulent wave; 
 Will the hemlsman be skilful to guide and to save ? 
 There'll be breakers to buffet and tempests to fight, 
 When the starlight is sleeping in clouds and in 
 
 night : 
 
 And doubt and desponding will darken the soul, 
 As the sea bears them on in its merciless roll. 
 But be of good courage, the darkness forget, 
 For with love at the helm, you shall weather it yet ! 
 
 I should like to drop in on their Honey-moon days, 
 And look up a little their Honey-moon ways; 
 I wonder if they started off on a jaunt 
 To any delightfully popular haunt, 
 To see how many miles in a month they could ride, 
 With one trunk for the bridegroom, and ten for the 
 bride. 
 
 What an insult to bees, to call this a Honeymoon ! 
 'T would be much more appropriate to call it a 
 
 money-moon ; 
 
 It has none of the bee, it would seem to outsiders, 
 Except the "fo^-w-tiful" dresses the bride has. 
 I don't believe Grandpa and Grandma would be 
 For the honey-moon shine of any such spree ; 
 But when their connubial lamp had been lighted, 
 I think, (I'm not sure, for I wasn't invited,) 
 They quietly rode in an old-fashioned chaise 
 And "put up" at home for the Honey-moon days.
 
 76 POEM. 
 
 Alone with each other, each bending to share 
 The burden that fell to the other to bear 
 He come from the stock of the sturdy and strong, 
 Who have shrined our New England in story and 
 
 song; 
 
 Whose father at Lexington Common had fought 
 With the men who would die, but who could not be 
 
 bought ; 
 And who from the air, with his first breathing, 
 
 drew 
 
 A strong Saxon courage, to will and to do ; 
 And she, in the blossoming summer of life, 
 Unlearned in its wisdom, untried in its strife 
 Her face written over, in letters of truth, 
 With womanly purity, beauty and youth, 
 Both taking upon them true laborers' parts, 
 They moved towards the future with resolute 
 
 hearts ; 
 
 And they looked to the light of the stars overhead 
 To illumine the path they had chosen to tread. 
 
 O'er the path of the farmer that starlight has 
 
 played, 
 As it ran in its windings through sunshine and 
 
 shade. 
 
 O, the life of the farmer ! their life for so long 
 It has crowned them with blessings, O give it a 
 
 song!
 
 POEM. 77 
 
 'Tis the life of the greenwood, the meadow and 
 
 brook ; 
 
 'Tis written in nature's own writing and book; 
 'Tis the life of the simple, the honest, and true ; 
 'Tis as fair as the morning, as fresh as its dew ; 
 And the pictures, that hang on its leaf-covered 
 
 walls, 
 
 Are as rich as the sunlight that over them falls ; 
 "Length of days, in its right hand," it holdeth, to 
 
 live, 
 
 And "riches and honor, its left hand" will give : 
 To the farmer that loves it, it teaches in turn 
 The lessons of wisdom he liveth to learn ; 
 And Summer and Winter and Autumn and Spring 
 Their tributes of love to his industry bring. 
 The seed-time is dear to his provident heart, 
 As he fills in the furrows with delicate art ; 
 For he knows the good God will look down on his 
 
 need 
 
 And waken the harvest, that sleeps in the seed : 
 And the gladness within him, if spoken, would sing, 
 That the life of the farmer is fair in the Spring. 
 
 But the soft wind of Summer is fanning his brow, 
 And the beauty of Summer is bounding him now ; 
 His soul is awake to the life of the scene, 
 To the song of the birds, and the wealth of the 
 green,
 
 78 POEM. 
 
 The haymakers, out at the peeping of dawn, 
 Away through the dew to the mowing have gone ; 
 And stout wagon-loads of the sweet-smelling hay 
 Come creaking along at the close of the clay. 
 The farmer looks in on the generous store, 
 And he sends up a prayer, as he turns from- the 
 
 door. 
 
 O, the husbandman loveth the warm Summer time, 
 When Earth seems'to whisper her secrets in rhyme. 
 
 But what are the blessings the ripe Autumn yields ? 
 Go, ask of the beauty, that filleth the fields ; 
 Of the tassels, that play in the wave of the grain : 
 They will give you an answer to heart and to brain. 
 Or, hark if you will, to the song of the corn, 
 As it rustles at evening, or bathes in the morn ; 
 Or listen again to the strains, as they come, 
 Of the harvesters singing the glad harvest-home ; 
 For this is why Autumn the farmer's heart charms, 
 And these are the blessings it bears in its arms. 
 
 But Winter is hard for the farmer, at least ? 
 
 Ah ! what will you say of the Christmas-time feast, 
 
 When the bountiful weight of the Winter-days' 
 
 hoard 
 
 Is playfully crushing the plentiful board ? 
 Or is there not something to cheer and inspire, 
 In the glow and the gleam of a great open fire ?
 
 POEM. 
 
 79 
 
 That crackle and sparkle my heart will remember, 
 As long as there is such a month as December. 
 But if you still think, that the time's melancholic, 
 The husking bids come to its corn-colored frolic ; 
 Where each rosy girl and the lover beside her 
 Are busily chatting on apples and cider. 
 " Oh no," says the farmer, " 'tis well on my farm 
 My house and my barns and my cattle are warm, 
 God is here in the Winter his child is content ;" 
 And in prayer of thanksgiving his bared head is 
 bent. 
 
 I thank God for the farmer's great heart and hard 
 
 hand ; 
 
 There is no truer nobleman lives in the land : 
 He is hardy and brown with the tanning of toil ; 
 He has breathed better life from the smell of the 
 
 soil. 
 He's above the world's cheats and the tricks of its 
 
 trade, 
 On "the broad stone of honor" his firm feet are 
 
 stayed. 
 
 The stuff he is made of, New England can tell, 
 'Tis writ in the freedom he's guarded so well ; 
 And if foes or if faction e'er threat to o'erwhelm, 
 I have faith in the farmer to bear up the helm. 
 And so, when the wings of misfortune are heard,
 
 8o POEM. 
 
 And the air, as it thickens, with wailings is stirred, 
 He bows him with meekness and kisses the rod, 
 For the strength that is in him is trust in his God. 
 
 I thank God for the wife of the farmer, to-day, 
 Of his house and his heart, the delight and the 
 
 stay; 
 
 For on her the mantle of virtue doth fall, 
 And a virtuous woman "excelleth them all." 
 A wife and companion, to counsel and cheer 
 'Tis the morning that scatters the mists of our 
 
 fear; 
 
 And she, too, is busy with work of her own, 
 The queen of her dairy, she reigneth alone. 
 See, how from the churn the rich butter-milk 
 
 drops ! 
 See the sweet, golden butter, you can't buy in 
 
 shops ! 
 
 O, a song to the farmer, a song to his wife, 
 And a song out of love for the husbandman's life ! 
 For these dear ones the life of the farmer have 
 
 led 
 
 The half-century path, and the stars overhead ; 
 And this was before them, when starting alone 
 They moved down the future to make it their own. 
 
 Time passed, and the sunshine had kissed off the 
 dew,
 
 POEM. 8 1 
 
 And the laughter of children the house had rung 
 
 through. 
 The morning went by, and the children were 
 
 grown, 
 They had gone from the homestead to homes of 
 
 their own ; 
 And when back to the haunts they had left, they 
 
 would come, 
 Little children came with them to Grandfather's 
 
 home. 
 
 To Grandfathers and Grandmothers drink a deep 
 
 health ! 
 
 To the love that they give, in its infinite wealth ; 
 It has made farm and farm-house to us children 
 
 seem 
 
 Like the houses we build in a beautiful dream. 
 We've sat on their knee, and they've shown us the 
 
 paces 
 
 Of Grandfather's horse, in his Sabbath-day traces ; 
 We've rummaged the house from down stairs to up 
 
 garret, 
 
 Can any one tell how the dear souls could bear it ? 
 We've raced through the barn and have played on 
 
 the hay, 
 And the weeks have been only one long holiday.
 
 82 POEM. 
 
 Dear children, I promise for your hearts and mine, 
 We'll keep them immortal those days o' lang 
 syne. 
 
 The nightfall was coming again they're alone, 
 That future's behind them they've made it their 
 
 own; 
 
 They sit, as they sat in the Honey-moon days, 
 And watch the old pictures come out of the blaze, 
 And ask, as their faces are warm in the gleam, 
 If the life they have lived can be more than a 
 
 dream ? 
 
 Old friends and old feelings are with them again, 
 They welcome them now, for they cherished them 
 
 then; 
 And from far, as they look down on the star-lighted 
 
 track, 
 
 The years of the by-gone move solemnly back. 
 And what is the record that comes with the years ? 
 Is it written in smiles, or all blotted with tears ? 
 Does the angel that bears it look frowningly down ? 
 Or comes he with laurel to weave them a crown ? 
 The hand-writing is clear, and the angel comes 
 
 down, 
 And out from the laurel he weaveth a crown. 
 
 From the wedding of youth, to the wedding of age, 
 'Tis an unsullied record illumines the page.
 
 POEM. 83 
 
 It is written thereon, how a husband's brave arm 
 
 Has always encircled to shelter from harm ; 
 
 How it held the young wife, when the vigor of 
 
 health 
 
 Was blessing their home with unspeakable wealth ; 
 And how 'twas drawn closer, when sickness and 
 
 pain 
 
 Were wasting the body and wearing the brain. 
 The page of the record is shining and fair, 
 With his tender, ay, womanly, nurture and care. 
 
 It is writ in the book, of a wife that has stood 
 In her purity by him, in evil and good ; 
 Who gave him her love from a gathering store, 
 (True love, as it giveth, receiveth the more ) 
 And the smile of whose cheering unfailingly brought 
 A smooth brow from the wrinkles of labor and 
 
 thought. 
 
 No wonder, the angel comes down from the blue, 
 To crown with his laurels the wives that are true. 
 
 Of Father and Mother 'tis written therein, 
 
 How constant their watching and helping have 
 
 been. 
 
 As the children remember the dear long ago, 
 The tears of their thankfulness silently flow ; 
 'Tis to bless them they stand by the altar to-day, 
 Where their baby-lips learned with their parents 
 
 to pray.
 
 84 POEM. 
 
 Once more with the book the kind angel descends, 
 
 And thus the long record of fifty years ends ; 
 
 " Each walked by the conscience that speaks in the 
 
 breast, 
 
 Each meekly the weakness of mortals confessed, 
 Uprightly the highway of duty they trod, 
 With the honor of men, and the favor of God ; 
 Good Christians, good parents, good husband and 
 
 wife, 
 Good friends and good neighbors:" the record 
 
 of life. 
 
 So twilight is nearing; the gold in the west 
 Betokens the sunset, that bringeth the rest, 
 The beautiful cloud-tints, that redden the sky, 
 Are kissing the daylight, that cometh to die. 
 On the stillness of evening, o'er morning and noon, 
 Is borne us in echo an old wedding-tune. 
 Of sense and of feeling it taketh dear hold, 
 The tune is so old, half a century old. 
 But hark ! as we listen, a holier hymn 
 Fills the cup of the ear and the heart to the brim ; 
 A new tune is blending its strain with the olden, 
 The old wedding lives in a new one and golden. 
 
 May the festival light of the wedding to-day 
 Long linger to gladden your westering way. 
 May its memories kindle your youth-time anew,
 
 ODE. 85 
 
 And help for the work that remaineth to do. 
 
 And when the last grains down the life-glass have 
 
 run, 
 May you hear the sweet words of God's greeting 
 
 " Well-done !" 
 
 ODE. 
 
 TUNE. AULD LANG SYNE. 
 
 Come back our festival to grace, 
 
 Ye pleasant days of yore, 
 And bring the blessing of the face 
 
 The old time wore. 
 
 Chorus. The dear old time that's dead, 
 
 The dear old time ; 
 'Tis living in its children yet 
 The dear old time. 
 
 It held us in its arms and taught 
 
 The lesson of the years, 
 And mingled, with the smiles it brought, 
 
 The old time's tears. Cho. 
 
 Through fifty years of loving life, 
 We hear the wedding bells;
 
 86 EVERMORE. 
 
 Of bridegroom, husband, bride and wife, 
 The old time tells. Cho. 
 
 The friends, who made our being bright, 
 The dear ones with the dead, 
 
 To-day we see them, by the light 
 The old time shed. Cho. 
 
 A blessing on this friend of ours, 
 
 So gentle and so brave ! 
 We'll cover tenderly with flowers 
 
 The old time's grave. Cho. 
 
 And O, may angels guard, as we 
 The darkening hill-side climb, 
 
 And hold us safe, when this shall be 
 The dear old time. 
 
 Cho. The dear old time that's dead, 
 
 The dear old time ; 
 And hold us safe, when this shall be 
 The dear old time. 
 
 EVERMORE. 
 
 I beheld a golden portal in the visions of my slum- 
 ber, 
 And through it streamed the radiance of a never- 
 
 pnHino" rlav : 
 
 ending day ;
 
 EVERMORE. 87 
 
 While angels, tall and beautiful and countless with- 
 out number, 
 Were giving gladsome greeting to all who camt 
 
 that way. 
 And the gate, forever swinging, made no grating, 
 
 no harsh ringing, 
 
 Melodious as the singing of one that we adore ; 
 And I heard a chorus swelling, grand beyond a 
 
 mortal's telling, 
 
 And the burden of the chorus was Hope's glad 
 word Evermore. 
 
 And, as I gazed and listened, came a slave all worn 
 
 and weary 
 His fetter-links blood-crusted, his dark brow 
 
 clammy damp; 
 His sunken eyes gleamed wildly, telling tales of 
 
 horror dreary 
 Of toilsome wanderings thro' the night, amid the 
 
 fever swamp. 
 Ere the eye had time for winking, ere the mind had 
 
 time for thinking, 
 A bright angel raised the drooping wretch and 
 
 off his fetters tore. 
 Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond a 
 
 mortal's telling: 
 
 " Pass, brother, thro' our portal thou 'rt a free- 
 man Evermore"
 
 88 EVERMORE. 
 
 And, as I gazed and listened, came one whom deso- 
 lation 
 Had driven like a helmless bark from infancy's 
 
 bright land ; 
 Who ne'er had met a kindly look poor outcast of 
 
 creation, 
 Who ne'er had heard a kindly word, nor grasped a 
 
 kindly hand : 
 " Enter in, no longer fear thee, myriad friends 
 
 are there to cheer thee, 
 
 Friends always to be near thee there no sor- 
 row sad and sore." 
 Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond a 
 
 mortal's telling : 
 
 "Enter, brother thine are friendship, love and 
 gladness Evermore'' 
 
 And, as I gazed and listened, came a woman wildly 
 
 weeping 
 " I have lost my hopes forever, one by one they 
 
 went away ; 
 My children and their father are in the cold grave's 
 
 keeping, 
 Life is one long lamentation, I know nor night 
 
 nor day." 
 Then the angel softly speaking : " stay sister, stay 
 
 thy shrieking,
 
 EVERMORE. 89 
 
 Thou shalt find those thou art seeking beyond 
 
 that golden door." 
 Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond a 
 
 mortal's telling: 
 
 " Thy children and their father shall be with thee 
 Evermore!' 
 
 And, as I gazed and listened, came a cold, blue- 
 footed maiden, 
 With cheeks of ashen whiteness, eyes rilled with 
 
 lurid light ; 
 
 Her body bent with sickness, her lone heart heavy- 
 laden ; 
 Her home had been the roofless street, her day 
 
 had been the night. 
 First wept the angel sadly, then smiled the angel 
 
 gladly, 
 And caught the maiden madly rushing from the 
 
 golden door. 
 Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond 
 
 a mortal's telling : 
 
 " Enter sister, thou art pure and thou art sinless 
 Evermore" 
 
 I saw the toiler enter into rest, for aye from labor, 
 The weary-hearted exile there found his native 
 
 land ; 
 The beggar there might greet the king, as an 
 
 equal and a neighbor,
 
 90 IN MEMORY OF F. W. 
 
 The crown had left the kingly brow, the staff the 
 
 beggar's hand. 
 And the gate, forever swinging, made no grating, 
 
 no harsh ringing, 
 
 Melodious as the singing of one that we adore ; 
 And the chorus still was swelling, grand beyond a 
 
 mortal's telling, 
 
 While the vision faded from me with the glad 
 word Evermore. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF F. W. 
 
 TO E. A, W. 
 
 My soul is sad, O friend ; 
 
 Have you a sad soul, too ? 
 Yet sweet thoughts with my sad ones blend 
 
 May sweet thoughts come to you. 
 
 I think of him who died, 
 
 In life and love so dear; 
 I see a sweet face at my side 
 
 To-day of all the year. 
 
 And when / think, my heart 
 Is cold with fear and doubt ;
 
 IN MEMORY OF F. W. 91 
 
 But when / see, the gray clouds part 
 The smiling heavens look out. 
 
 This birthday, I would bend 
 
 My spirit o'er his grave : 
 Come with me where the shadows blend 
 
 And swaying branches wave. 
 
 A Sabbath night before, 
 
 We came not long ago, 
 And then the sunny flowers you bore 
 
 Were woven in the snow. 
 
 So, on the Winter hours, 
 
 You wrought a Summer spell ; 
 Knew you that angels love the flowers 
 
 They loved before so well ? 
 
 The snow has taken wing, 
 
 The birds and buds are seen ; 
 And waking to the life of Spring 
 
 The grass is growing green. 
 
 With smile and leaf and song 
 
 The summer cometh near : 
 Ah, do you not look up and long 
 
 For Summer's beauty here ? 
 
 He loved the life and play 
 Of singing birds and flowers ;
 
 92 IN MEMORY OF F. W. 
 
 It was as if a Summer's day 
 Was made of golden hours. 
 
 How happy we have been 
 
 In wood and walk and stream ! 
 
 We drank full draughts of dear life in 
 That broken Summer dream. 
 
 Were ever skies so fair, 
 
 Or ever dreams so dear ? 
 The yellow sunshine held us there 
 
 The sad stars only here. 
 
 Those dreams and rosy skies 
 
 Will come not as before, 
 Under the stars a new grave lies 
 
 And shadows evermore. 
 
 Oh no ! a low sweet song, 
 
 The soft air seems to fill, 
 That murmurs as it floats along, 
 
 " I love the Summer still. 
 
 The beauty of the flowers, 
 
 The singing of the bough, 
 The dreams that filled the happy hours 
 
 Light up my spirit now. 
 
 Of love's full cup I drink 
 Dear ones still dearer hold ;
 
 IN MEMORY OF F. W. 93 
 
 I do not miss one shining link 
 Of friendship's chain of gold. 
 
 I never knew the charms 
 
 Of home so fair before, 
 For now it folds me in its arms 
 
 And whispers ' Evermore.' 
 
 I see each gentle face 
 
 That on my young life smiled, 
 And made me cling so to the place 
 
 I played in as a child. 
 
 I love there best to be, 
 
 Safe in my own dear home ; 
 Though eye of none my face can see, 
 
 And no ear hear me come. 
 
 And when your souls are bowed 
 
 In silent thought and prayer, 
 And you have left the weary crowd, 
 
 Do you not feel me there ? 
 
 When life is full of fears 
 
 And sings a heavy song, 
 My love shall smile away your tears 
 
 And make your spirit strong. 
 
 Sometimes the end seems far, 
 And night shuts in the way ;
 
 94 IN MEMORY OF F. W. 
 
 Look up, for I will be the star 
 That leadeth to the day. 
 
 The Father wills, that so 
 
 My life to yours be given : 
 So I may guard you as you go, 
 
 So welcome you to Heaven. 
 
 Then say not that the dreams 
 Of Summer come not more ; 
 
 For I would have the woods and streams 
 Seem brighter than before. 
 
 Oh, will not happy days 
 
 Come back again to you, 
 If when the light about you plays 
 
 It makes me happy, too?" 
 
 Hear you the low sweet song 
 
 That filleth ear and air ? 
 Will it not make your soul more strong, 
 
 The world's cold winds to bear ? 
 
 My soul was sad, O friend ; 
 
 Was not your soul sad, too ? 
 In sweet thoughts now my sad ones end : 
 
 God make it so with you. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, April 2Oth, 1858.
 
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