THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 f VJC^af
 
 -
 
 THE LAYS 
 
 of a 
 
 BOHEMIAN. 
 
 BEING SOME OF THE METRICAL CONCEITS 
 OF 
 
 SCOTT R. SHERWOOD. 
 
 So, when my Lays before the Carp- 
 
 My leaves unto the wind 
 I fling, remember that my Harp 
 
 Is tuned to hymn my mind, 
 In mood as it reflects a Soul 
 
 Not your's, but God's alone 
 Of which is cradled here first Foal, 
 
 If needs, let God atone! 
 
 Bohemian Song, (p. 
 
 BRENTANO BROS., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 5 UNION SQUARE. 
 
 CHICAGO : WASHINGTON : 
 
 101 State Street. 1015 Pennsylvania Av
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1885. 
 BY SCOTT R. SHERWOOD. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 WOOD & BLONDEL PRINTERS, 
 NEW YORK
 
 725 
 
 f 
 
 TO THE 
 
 INSPIRATIONS OF THE THOUGHT, 
 
 AND THE 
 
 ASSOCIATIONS OF THE NAME, 
 OF 
 
 G26053
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PEOEM 1 
 
 BOHEMIAN SONG 5 
 
 MY DAY OF BEST 11 
 
 MY 'SCUTCHEON 15 
 
 A POET'S INTROSPECT 17 
 
 YOUB HEAVEN, AND MINE. 20 
 
 FAITH 21 
 
 MY THANKSGIVING 23 
 
 ILLUSION'S LESSON 25 
 
 ABOVE THE CLOUDS 26 
 
 ALTHAZAK'S GIFT 28 
 
 MEMORY'S CHOICE 31 
 
 MUSINGS ; FBOM A PHILOSOPHER'S PORTFOLIO. . . 32 
 
 THE PUZZLE. . 34
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 MY SHEINE 37 
 
 I HAVE BEEN LOVED 39 
 
 LOVE 42 
 
 LOVE'S PSYCHOLOGY. 44 
 
 LOVE'S BESPONSE 45 
 
 THE MISSING NOTES 46 
 
 OUR TRYST 47 
 
 Too LATE * 50 
 
 OF WHAT AVAIL? 51 
 
 To FLORA (OF THE DEMI-MONDE.) 53 
 
 MY SPRING is HERE 54 
 
 LOVE HATH NO BOURNE 55 
 
 ALTHAZAR'S WOOING. (A LOVE LETTER.) 57 
 
 FATAL HUE 60 
 
 THAT PORTRAIT WHOSE ? 62 
 
 LOVE ALONE CAN SAVE THE HEART; (A SONG.). . . 63 
 
 FRANCESCA'S EEVERIE 66 
 
 ALTHAZAR'S MUSE. (A KEVERTE.) 68 
 
 LOVE'S GREETING 70 
 
 A THRILL 71 
 
 MY SANCTUM 72 
 
 ALAS, DEAR WIFE OF MY SOUL 74 
 
 LOVE'S BARD 76 
 
 WE MUST LIVE AGAIN 77 
 
 OUR HOLIDAY 78 
 
 CONFECTION 79 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 80 
 
 A LOVER'S HYMNAL 82
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ALTHAZAR'S MISSION 85 
 
 BBOOK No KING 91 
 
 MY REVERENCE 94 
 
 NOBLESSE OBLIGE 97 
 
 SOUL SINISTER 101 
 
 TRUST NOT APPEARANCES 102 
 
 A SHADE 107 
 
 OCCULT 108 
 
 Mis- ALLIED 110 
 
 A SIGH Ill 
 
 FAIR AND FALSE 112 
 
 FIRST LOVE'S ADIEU 114 
 
 IT CANNOT BE. (A RESPONSE.) 115 
 
 QUESTIONING 116 
 
 I FAIN WOULD SOFT PREACH HER 118 
 
 NOVEMBER TO MAY 120 
 
 BY THE SEA. (To , A COQUETTE.) 121 
 
 SHE'LL UNDERSTAND 124 
 
 MY HOSTAGES 127 
 
 BONBONTERE 131 
 
 A FEW CARRIER MOULTTNGS. 
 
 AGE MATTKRS NOT TO ME 133 
 
 SHE WOULD NOT WAIT 133 
 
 No TIDING 134 
 
 A TANG LEAF 134 
 
 DEPENDING UPON CIRCUMSTANCES 135 
 
 A VALENTINE. , ..138
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE PORTENT 141 
 
 Two ANTIQUARIAN MODELS. 
 
 I. His ST. VALENTINE'S ODE To His GRANDSON 134 
 
 n. HER ST. VALENTINE'S ODE To HER QRAND-DAUOHTER. . . 144 
 
 JENNIE BRADSHAW 145 
 
 AMONG THE RECRUITS 151 
 
 THE MERCENARY WOMAN 154 
 
 HE CAN PLAY ON THE PIANO 156 
 
 SACREDLY INVESTED 157 
 
 To MY CRITIC 159 
 
 NOTES. . 165
 
 PROEM. 
 
 Apollo's hest, 
 
 In hour of rest, 
 To tune and strike my lyre, 
 
 There obey 
 
 The dull work-day 
 Abandoning for higher 
 
 Paths than are trod 
 
 By crown or clod 
 In sequestrated home 
 
 My fancies free 
 
 From apogee 
 To flood to reckless roam 
 
 Slue skies to skim, 
 
 Broad oceans swim, 
 Bold mountain crests surmount ; 
 
 Through forests glide 
 
 On Phoebus 'stride 
 Nor verse, nor metre count, 
 
 Since weed and floss 
 
 Each other cross 
 In all life's journey through 
 
 Faint to descry 
 
 Dull human eye 
 The false from that is true.
 
 My Day of Rest, 
 
 To my adored the themes 
 
 My heart approves 
 
 Or spirit moves 
 Of thought the fruit, or dreams 
 
 I sing, and sing 
 
 Aye wandering 
 By no restrictions bound, 
 
 Content to soar 
 
 Or fall, not more 
 Responding for than found. 
 
 My hours I choose 
 
 In sweet recluse 
 For meditation's gifts, 
 
 When dulcet spring 
 
 The chimes that ring 
 From grander domes and rifts 
 
 Than steeples pierce, 
 
 Or bishops, fierce, 
 With bulls and canons reach 
 
 The domes that glow 
 
 With sacred flow 
 From Lights Jove's Essence preach.
 
 THE LAYS OF A BOHEMIAN.
 
 BOHEMIAN SONG. 
 
 BOHEMIAN SONG. 
 
 I am a true Bohemian; 
 
 I scoff at rote or rule 
 Deem myself good as any man, 
 
 No more or less a fool 
 Live where I am, fare as I may 
 
 Am pleased with any lot 
 Remember friends, and never lay 
 
 A grudge for them are not. 
 
 I love fair face, wherever met; 
 
 Sweet-heart I love still more, 
 And pity all who never yet 
 
 Of pity have found store ; 
 For love and pity true are kin, 
 
 And all my sorrow here 
 Is for the many never win 
 
 From fellow-kind a tear.
 
 BOHEMIAN SONG. 
 
 I favor give to them I like, 
 
 And take from them who please 
 To give to me because I strike 
 
 As one who can appease 
 The wish of sympathy that glows 
 
 In every human heart, 
 Yet fondest utterance bestows 
 
 On like's responsive part. 
 
 I press my views on no man's glass, 
 
 Nor reflect his from mine, 
 Since God's intent, 'tis plain, alas ! 
 
 For reasons wise, divine, 
 "Was not, in his broad universe, 
 
 To make twin moon or sun, 
 Two minds to think, two bards to verse, 
 
 Two hearts to beat as one. 
 
 I drink the breezes softly waft, 
 
 And gratefully exhale; 
 With awe, the lightning's gleam and shaft 
 
 Watch, flashing through the gale; 
 Yiew, pensively, the torrents roar, 
 
 The waves, mid-ocean, toss, 
 The stars the azure gemming o'er, 
 
 And feel there is no loss.
 
 BOHEMIAN SONG. 
 
 Aye ! Everything to me is gain, 
 
 For everything seems new 
 And always new, tho'seen again, 
 
 And grand, from any view, 
 Because a true Bohemian 
 
 Am I, and make my nest 
 Where'er I chance, and let no man 
 
 Abridge my heart's behest 
 
 To rove the desert, sail the seas, 
 
 Mid' waste, or peopled town 
 Oft lingering in climes where freeze 
 
 The veins, or insects drown 
 In humming myriads the air, 
 
 Imbred by torrid wave, 
 Or in old sepulchres that glare 
 
 With stones the eras lave. 
 
 And wheresoe'er I stray or wait, 
 
 Or tarry, feast, or love, 
 4.t matin's dawn, or vesper late, 
 
 I never care to move 
 One pace beyond where I may rest, 
 
 Or rise, or list, or hie 
 Since every line my lot the best 
 
 For me, e'en when I die.
 
 BOHEMIAN SONG. 
 
 So, when my Lays before the Carp 
 
 My leaves unto the wind 
 I fling, remember that my Harp 
 
 Is tuned to hymn my mind, 
 In mood as it reflects a Soul 
 
 Not your's, but God's alone 
 Of which is cradled here first Foal, 
 
 If needs, let God atone !
 
 THE LAYS OF A BOHEMIAN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Now calm reflections rule the hour 
 
 Our thoughts upraise to heights 
 Whence soar the truths that brightly flower, 
 
 Amid earth's wastes and blights, 
 To teach the grandeur of the soul, 
 
 Reveal our better part, 
 Lift from the quicksand and the shoal 
 
 Of life the surging heart. 
 
 Poef s Introspect, (Page 17).
 
 MY DAY OF REST. 11 
 
 MY DAY OF KEST. 
 
 My day of rest is not constrained by special creed; 
 
 No sect, assuming God's prerogative, my grace 
 May claim; denominations, none a title-deed 
 
 Can forge to swerve my conscience from its altar- 
 place. 
 
 My Sabbath's recreation, as befits my mood, 
 
 Is found beneath the shelter of my tree and vine, 
 Where my best hopes, desires, all that in me is 
 
 good 
 
 Plead my true cause most potently to Eye 
 Divine. 
 
 Here, in the shadow of my oaks, whose stature grand, 
 Whose massive trunks, far-reaching limbs, and 
 
 foliage dense 
 
 Have spread a canopy, contrived by nature's hand, 
 Behold my church of broadest trust, of least 
 pretense.
 
 12 MY DAY OF REST. 
 
 No architect my temple has been hired to build; 
 For it no priests, from rich or poor, alms beg or 
 
 force; 
 
 At eve, or mass, ne'erless, with worshipers are filled 
 Its corridors, aisles, naves with a sublime con- 
 course 
 
 Of myriads of moving, breathing miniatures 
 Of God's conceptions living semblances de- 
 signed 
 For spheres as useful and complete as earth's or 
 
 your's, 
 Tho' not to rituals conformed or rites confined. 
 
 I draw my inspiration my encouragement 
 
 In my deep faith from all these varied forms, 
 
 the orbs 
 Which give them life and heat, the clouds their 
 
 nourishment, 
 The soil that all our being, effort, hope absorbs. 
 
 My choir the strain of birds, the droning of the 
 
 bees, 
 
 The frog's bass-croak, the hoot-owl's monody, 
 the low
 
 MY DAY OF REST. 13 
 
 Of kine, the bleat of lambs, tlie neigh of steeds, the 
 
 breeze 
 
 That wafts e'er sigh or moan as winds or 
 zephyrs blow. 
 
 My preacher a wee child, who innocently sings 
 Her tuneful carol, plucking daisies from the green, 
 
 Or gambols with her kitten, or in hammock swings 
 So cheerily, I peer at risk of being seen. 
 
 As sheltered by a fir, I scan her face, and eyes 
 Of violet beaming thought and love to heav'n 
 
 turned, 
 So 'rapt her spirit seems beyond the stars would 
 
 rise, 
 
 She frames a sermon wisely-lessoned, if not 
 learned. 
 
 My little priest inspired by nature's soulful text 
 Exhales an incense sweet with Faith, Hope, 
 
 Charity; 
 How happy, all mankind, like her! How rarely 
 
 vexed 
 
 Their courses, could they guileless dwell in 
 parity!
 
 14 MY DAY OF REST. 
 
 If I nor bow, nor bend my knee, nor clasp my 
 
 palms 
 In prayer, I feel a yearning which God may 
 
 have read 
 With his omniscient eye: For all I crave the 
 
 balms 
 
 Our purest years would yield the living and the 
 dead. 
 
 The wish divine doth spring so tenderly, I pray : 
 Yon spotless soul, irradiating gentleness, 
 
 All gladness, mercy, good the young alone display, 
 May virtue guard, truth save, and circumstances 
 bless !
 
 MY 'SCUTCHEON. 15 
 
 MY 'SCUTCHEON. 
 
 My 'Scutcheon is my Heart 
 
 Borne close within my breast, 
 Whence it can none impart 
 
 Save me its seal and crest; 
 Its priv'lege ne'er to start 
 
 At aught save God's behest 
 It is a kingly chart, 
 
 Aye serving me the best. 
 
 It is my mark and sign 
 
 My mark and sign alone; 
 For ev'ry error mine 
 
 It only can atone; 
 To me the Eight Divine 
 
 Within its tendrils grown; 
 And no man may opine 
 
 If it be mild or stone.
 
 MY 'SCUTCHEON. 
 
 My father could not give 
 
 It came to me from God. 
 My son I cannot leave 
 
 "When I beneath the sod. 
 For me it may conceive 
 
 Alone or soothe, or prod, 
 Or hate, or love, or grieve 
 
 Control'd by no man's nod. 
 
 As no two things alike, 
 
 Or ever known to be 
 Beware ! The hand would spike 
 
 The coat design'd my tree. 
 Beware ! "Who'd dare to strike 
 
 From me its blazonry. 
 Beware ! Who'd forge a dike 
 
 To stem its floods e'er free !
 
 A POET'S INTROSPECT. 17 
 
 A POET'S INTKOSPECT. 
 
 How varying the moods that move 
 
 The pulses of the brain 
 Through chords supremely touched by love, 
 
 Or frets with hate that strain 
 Through meditation's solemn trance 
 
 Or fancy's lightsome pace, 
 As pranks and humors lead the dance 
 
 Or with vagaries chase. 
 
 Now calm reflections rule the hour 
 
 Our thoughts upraise to heights 
 "Whence sown the truths that brightly flower, 
 
 Amid earth's wastes and blights, 
 To teach the grandeur of the soul, 
 
 Reveal our better part, 
 Lift from the quicksand and the shoal 
 
 Of life the surging heart.
 
 18 A POET'S INTEOSPEGT. 
 
 Then sweet emotions, tinged divine 
 
 By heaven's chast'ning breath, 
 Throb o'er the arbors that entwine 
 
 Our hopes in lif e and death, 
 Yield blossoms that enchant and thrall, 
 
 Waft perfumes that diffuse 
 Love's subtle incense throughout all 
 
 The harpiugs of the muse. 
 
 Next, brief conceits the mind invade 
 
 And capture to express 
 Trite theories, or theses staid, 
 
 Or clamors for redress 
 Of wrongs and errors by the plane 
 
 Of worldly squares and rules, 
 Not heeding how diseased the grain 
 
 Of sense in human fools-. 
 
 Or chirping fancies frisk and leap 
 
 From idle whims, and seize 
 The effervescing thoughts that sweep 
 
 The skies, o'er gale or breeze 
 Or whirl with eddies, buff with tide, 
 
 Or pierce the vapid mists, 
 Or in the coach of humor ride, 
 
 Or mime in comic lists.
 
 A POET'S INTROSPECT. 19 
 
 Or bubbling quirks the surface rise, 
 
 To ripple for a trice, 
 And bring a smile to saddened eyes 
 
 A moment loose the vice 
 That shuts from sympathy its -kin 
 
 Or fellowship with mirth 
 Evoking transports that begin 
 
 To mold athwart their birth. 
 
 Of wild caprices, with their fumes 
 
 And vapors, wierdly glow 
 Above the hum of labor's looms, 
 
 Yet far the stars below 
 In frolic verse, or rollic rhyme, 
 
 "Wild warbles fife, or freaks 
 Fantastically ring on chimes, 
 
 'Mid laughter's gleeful shrieks. 
 
 Or satire, musing Damascene, 
 
 Hypocrisy lays bare, 
 And falsehood pricks with blade so keen 
 
 That honesty seems fair, 
 Sweet virtue for a moment blest 
 
 Alike for drones and plods, 
 Rare truth aroused from stubborn rest, 
 
 The scale of justice God's.
 
 20 YOUR HEAVEN, AND MINE. 
 
 YOUR HEAVEN, AND MINE. 
 
 Your bliss in hope subsists, in contemplation mine; 
 Your paradise, of fruits to bear, a vision grows, 
 While on my past the radiance of heav'n bestows 
 
 A charm illu'ming garlands oft the tombs entwine. 
 
 Supremest joy to me experiences reveal 
 
 In friendship, that shall, with my faculties, 
 
 endure 
 In love, haloed by confidences that ensure 
 
 A trust so perfect no vague myst'ries may conceal. 
 
 Seek, if you please, in the hereafter your repose; 
 
 But strive not me to wean from my content. 
 
 On raptures felt my reverie can dwell intent 
 Not heeding, through the shades, what life doth 
 not disclose.
 
 FAITH. 21 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 Every thing and thought doth breed 
 
 Sure as man or beast; 
 Not a breath our pulses speed 
 
 Dies, e'en life hath ceased. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Every blessing, for its meed 
 
 Grateful thrill, at least; 
 Every sorrow by the seed 
 
 Of cruelty increased; 
 Every penny lost to greed 
 
 Some poor waif doth feast; 
 Every whim, tho' none may heed, 
 
 Hath some fate capriced. 
 
 Landscapes grand, and glowing skies 
 
 From the canvass spring; 
 Yearning hearts, and soulful sighs 
 
 Muses move to sing; 
 Deeds, from noble thoughts that rise, 
 
 Eloquence doth wing; 
 Tyrant's heel, and heroes' cries 
 
 Freedom's echo bring. 
 
 Guillotine and gibbet spawn 
 
 Criticism's staves; 
 From the nightly flagon dawn 
 
 Thieves, assassins, knaves;
 
 FAITH. 
 
 Wanton souls and bodies fawn 
 
 Dens that mis'ry laves, 
 Bitterer, with tears, than drawn 
 
 E'er by hallowed graves. 
 
 In our dream, or waking trance 
 
 Joys and dreads intense; 
 Yield the race, the chase, the dance 
 
 Foils for reason's fence; 
 Not a movement or a glance 
 
 Void of consequence; 
 Gleams a ray the sun's bright lance 
 
 Cast a shadow thence. 
 
 Yet o'er heaven's necromance 
 
 Spreads a vail so dense, 
 None may know if Supreme Chance 
 
 Guideth more than Sense.
 
 MY THANKSGIVING. 
 
 MY THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Thanks to my Heart ! It grateful drinks God's air 
 
 Quick-throbbing to the glance of love, and voice 
 Of liberty all things beholding fair 
 
 In nature, and in man when doth rejoice 
 Man in his manhood, scorning all untruth, 
 
 When from injustice quiver and recoil 
 His thoughts, and when he doth defy, not ruth 
 
 Of words or blows, the touch would virtue soil. 
 
 Thanks to my Soul ! Content it lingers here 
 
 From the productive soil of this rich earth 
 Gleaning the food the sweets no other sphere 
 
 Can wean me from before my second birth 
 May follow all I know of life or death, 
 
 Or care to know of things beyond my life, 
 Whose fitful scenes, and thoughts and acts each 
 breath 
 
 New drawn prove me with little knowledge rife. 
 
 Thanks to my Body ! It would not ascend 
 To sun, or moon, or twinkling star, or soar 
 
 Beyond sparks visible, or yet descend 
 
 The bowels of the world, to mine and score
 
 24 M Y THANKSGIVING. 
 
 The notches by which greed would aid me gain 
 The luxuries to mark me from my kind 
 
 A gilded something set apart to stain 
 And blot the true fraternity of mind ! 
 
 Thanks to my Senses ! All of them revolt 
 
 At ev'ry custom that impedes their right 
 To make my lot a joy, or that would molt 
 
 My freedom to indulge false caste despite 
 The fruits of labor, love and honest toil, 
 
 And to resent perversion of God's law 
 By superstition's torch, or tyrant's coil 
 
 Alluring man's cupidity and awe. 
 
 Thanks to Myself ! I am that which I am 
 
 Nothing higher or lower, more or less 
 Nothing shorter or taller, tho' you damn 
 
 My size, or criticise my shape, and guess 
 I might, or ought to think, or do, or seem 
 
 The very opposite of that I love 
 The best MY OWN TRUE SELF, the which can gleam 
 
 But one Light e'er eclipsing that of JOVE !
 
 ILLUSION'S LESSON. 25 
 
 ILLUSION'S LESSON. 
 
 Empty as an echo, 
 
 Hollow as a sound, 
 Ev'ry thought and action 
 
 Cjompass'd by the bound 
 Of this world's horizon, 
 
 Nor will e'er be found 
 Truth, save fate hath somewhere 
 
 Brook'd of hallow'd ground. 
 
 Ev'ry cloud that crosses 
 
 The ethereal blue, 
 Ev'ry wind that courses 
 
 Plain or forest through, 
 Carryeth delusion 
 
 Howsoe'er we view 
 Cause or aim illusion 
 
 Hiding all is true; 
 
 Making sweet with incense 
 
 What is often blight; 
 Honest feeling intense 
 
 To defeat the right; 
 Pious vows a pretense 
 
 To obscure the sight; 
 Life, but experience 
 
 Teaching : " God is Might."
 
 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 I. 
 How dwarf 'd and paltry seem the ways, how 
 
 cramp'd the views of men, 
 Their poverty of scope how mean, their aims 
 
 how desultore, 
 As from the boulder' d mountain's cleft my 
 
 thoughts, untrammel'd, soar 
 A moment toward Infinity, then droop below again ! 
 
 n. 
 
 Oh ! That I might here plant my hearthstone far 
 
 above the clouds, 
 My home might rear behind the mists envailing 
 
 man's trite schemes, 
 My poor desires uplift to where my life would 
 
 flit in dreams 
 
 Far sweeter than the pleasures that delude earth's 
 fickle crowds ! 
 
 m. 
 
 Or that I might, o'er ocean thence, be borne to 
 
 island lone, 
 My bark abandon there enwrecked, fast foun- 
 
 der'd in the sand, 
 By surf encircled evermore, so should my heart 
 
 withstand 
 
 Blind passion's petty groveling in envy's emmet 
 zone!
 
 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 27" 
 
 IV. 
 
 Cast me amid the waves and breakers, 'neath the 
 
 lightning's glare, 
 If they may serve emancipate me from earth's 
 
 tiring jars 
 And bickerings, so waste that no less by sun's 
 
 blaze, than stars' 
 
 Pale gleam, on life at rest man's labor seems of 
 fruit shorn bare ! 
 
 V. 
 
 No prize the world can designate to tempt ambi- 
 tion's greed, 
 Or opiates the subtlest skill extract to sense 
 
 beguile, 
 Can charm me from this crest, whence leaps my 
 
 soul tow'rd heaven's smile 
 Spreading so omnipresently, revealing all I need.
 
 ALTHAZARS GIFT. 
 
 ALTHAZAR'S GIFT. 
 
 There is an intuition in the minds of some so keen 
 It seems a direct gift from God by which are 
 
 read the signs 
 That mark the inner hearts of other men through 
 
 which are seen 
 
 The motives of their surface acts their souls' 
 work and designs. 
 
 What by Althazar's circle oft is termed satiety 
 Is but his native shrinking from the traits he 
 
 doth surprise 
 
 In his own kith retarding quest of their society 
 Or haunts their conflicts or their friendships 
 aid or enterprise. 
 
 A glance by others unobserved: a frown, a curve, 
 
 a bend; 
 
 A voice its modulation or inflection; simplest gait 
 Or gesture; e'en a posture, or an attitude, will 
 
 send 
 
 As if clairvoyantly to his quick consciousness 
 its fate. 
 
 'Tis not a gift to prove its owner less than his poor 
 
 kind 
 A man, or more a god; nor is't a gift to make 
 
 one proud, 
 
 As evidence of higher faculty of soul or mind ; 
 But 'tis a gift that may not be contemned, 
 where'er endowed.
 
 ALTHAZARS GIFT. 29. 
 
 If 'tis a cheerful boon, Althazar never vauntingly 
 Confesses it; for it hath made him strange and 
 
 reticent 
 When he would not seem so. Despite himself, it 
 
 tauntingly 
 
 Hath warned him, thus : " How guilty they ! 
 This one, how innocent ! " 
 
 " Gentle, the heart there masked by face of cold 
 
 severity; 
 
 "Loving and kind, that frugal pair so queru- 
 lously plod; 
 
 " Generous, he admonishing with such asperity; 
 " Deep-stirred with faith, yon pleader who de- 
 clines to sue your God. 
 
 " Cruel and vain is that dispenser of sweet charity; 
 "False, this unctuous wearer of the church's 
 
 livery ; 
 
 "Base and designing,* yonder patriot with rarity 
 " Of eloquence, a franchise wins each word's 
 delivery." 
 
 In ev'ry human phase, Althazar's cleverness detects 
 The outward indices of the real inwardness; true 
 
 worth 
 From shams and counterfeits discries; from visible 
 
 effects 
 
 The cause of men's perversion traces ante- 
 dating birth.
 
 30 ALTHAZARS GIFT. 
 
 Tho' his quick impress may debar man's fellowship, 
 
 methinks 
 Althazar may have won a closer fellowship with 
 
 God. 
 At all events, God's haunts are his God's breath 
 
 his bosom drinks, 
 
 Expires, nor feels the privilege of chastisement 
 a rod. 
 
 He walks the solitary glen, the lonely wood and 
 
 beach ; 
 
 He crosses desert plains, and climbs the deso- 
 lated crest; 
 The stars and systems, skies and clouds he scans; 
 
 and he doth reach 
 
 Nearest the TRUTH, that underscores all things, 
 and is the BEST 
 
 THE TBUTH, that bids us pity, when we judge 
 
 when we condemn, 
 Forgive to leave to God such vengeance as he 
 
 wills to plead 
 Prom him no mercy not his own small favor hope 
 
 from them 
 Bred to man's traits of treachery and greed.
 
 MEMORY'S CHOICE. 31 
 
 MEMOKY'S CHOICE. 
 
 "With memory of pleasure lost 
 
 Affection barbs its arrow. 
 Admonishing the heavy cost 
 
 Of joy life drapes with sorrow. 
 Happy, they only, who have known 
 
 No succor from the burden 
 Chaining men to their lots, which groan 
 
 With sweat >of bliss the guerdon. 
 
 For hope hath he of better fate 
 
 Not having known to prosper, 
 Or having felt to speculate 
 
 He must upon disaster; 
 Whilst he who trembles lest, perchance, 
 
 Success may not be lasting, 
 Is ever quiv'ring 'neath the lance 
 
 Prosperity is blas'ting. 
 
 Eemembrance, rescuing from the strife 
 
 A sermon, gravely preaches : 
 The only comfort plucked from life 
 
 Unshamed reflection teaches. 
 Not giddy pleasure's chronicle 
 
 Is it man, happiest, views; 
 Looking from heaven's pinnacle, 
 
 Our virtuous deeds we choose.
 
 32 MUSINGS ; FROM A PHILOSOPHERS PORTFOLIO. 
 
 MUSINGS; FROM A PHILOSOPHER'S 
 PORTFOLIO, a. 
 
 I. 
 
 How perfect, tow'rd the end, our knowledge of the 
 
 cause, 
 From which we've felt, unwarned, the bittering 
 
 effect ! 
 
 Tho' better late, than ne'er, we come to recollect 
 And heed our intuitions- than all written laws 
 More serious and just since human retrospect 
 Must, wise, concede that Destinies unseen 
 
 direct; 
 
 Else, why in hopeless paths advance, in hopeful 
 pause ? 
 
 II. 
 
 If there live they who have not struggled 'gainst 
 
 the wave 
 
 Of Fate's decree, such here can never apprehend 
 The blunders, crosses, sorrows Providence may 
 
 send 
 To change the heart misled, the mind from error 
 
 For who, taught by life's checks and burdens, 
 
 will contend 
 
 That God, however chastening, does not intend 
 A discipline, to each most needed, for the grave ?
 
 MUSINGS ; FROM A PHILOSOPHERS PORTFOLIO. 33 
 
 HI. 
 
 Long in the mists and shadows do we strive and 
 
 grope 
 To conquer obstacles not e'en the spheres can 
 
 move; 
 
 To justify opinions trial must approve, 
 Until, our judgment yielding, we attain a hope 
 That we may follow since we cannot cut a 
 
 groove 
 
 For our due journeying, upon ways far above 
 The circumspect of man beyond blurr'd mortal 
 scope. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And when, at the declining stage, our past we 
 
 view 
 
 Touching its errors, battles, mysteries, regrets, 
 By score of impulse, passion, self-love worldly 
 
 frets, - 
 Contrasted with what conscience ever weighed as 
 
 true, 
 Our being, actions, thoughts, desires should 
 
 seem but debts, 
 On life's short ledger balanced by the grand 
 
 Of being privileged to be, to think, to strive, to 
 bravely do.
 
 THE PUZZLE. 
 
 THE PUZZLE. 
 
 Pray, what is wrong ? And what is right ? 
 
 If what our hearts impel 
 Must oft be hid from human light 
 
 Because the fates befel 
 That like from like, by chance, should be 
 
 Through no device of ours 
 Diverged and crossed before frail we 
 
 Could estimate our powers 
 
 Our powers or gifts of thought, of love, 
 
 Our strength to do, to check 
 The motives, actions, aims that move 
 
 This sphere to joy or wreck 
 Our destinies, and in the end 
 
 Leave, yet unsolved, unkenn'd 
 If our first choice or ways best tend 
 
 Life's course to smooth or rend ?
 
 THE LAYS OF A BOHEMIAN. 35 
 
 II. 
 
 Then sweet emotions, tinged divine 
 
 By heaven's chast'ning breath, 
 Throb o'er the arbors that entwine 
 
 Our hopes in life and death, 
 Yield blossoms that enchant and thrall, 
 
 Waft perfumes that diffuse 
 Love's subtle incense throughout all 
 
 The harpings of the muse. 
 
 A Poet's Introspect, (Page ig).
 
 MY SHRINE. 37 
 
 MY SHRINE. 
 
 My shrine is at the feet of her 
 
 From whom fire, tempest, flood in vain, 
 
 Nor all the storms in space astir, 
 Can separate my soul whose fane 
 She pillars with her fay. 
 
 My goddess lithe as dreams disclose 
 Or in the dome of heaven wings 
 
 More vivid on my image grows, 
 Fresh rapture to my longing brings 
 With ev'ry new-born day. 
 
 Her features than Madonna's none 
 With charity more mildly light 
 
 Encourage hope I may atone 
 
 For heedless act or wand'ring flight 
 
 Ere blest by her kind sway. 
 
 Her step more graceful tripped no queen 
 
 Of orient or fairy land, 
 In visions famed by poet seen 
 
 I so adore I'd kiss the sand 
 
 Where its soft glance would stay.
 
 MY SHRINE. 
 
 Her eyes ! My God ! Thy spark divine 
 Alone the mind's profounds may spring 
 
 With power, by fate denied to mine, 
 To faintly sound the hopes that cling 
 To their exalting sway. 
 
 Than form, or feature, motion, eye, 
 More ravishing by far there gleam 
 
 From her pure spirit thoughts so high 
 Above earth's bounds, my life's a dream 
 How best their wish obey. 
 
 For ev'ry inspiration sweet 
 
 Drawn from this sphere by her made heav'n, 
 So grateful I, no due seems meet 
 
 Essayed in words. Love strength hath giv'n 
 My heart to never stray 
 From her my soul to pray 
 To none save her, alway.
 
 I HAVE BEEN LOVED. 
 
 I HAVE BEEN LOVED. 
 
 My garb is plain 
 Of fabric poor, and coarse, my well-worn coat 
 
 Glazed by the rain 
 And sun, my cap, as idlers all may note 
 
 My shirt undressed 
 By starch or gloss by tie nor ruffle decked; 
 
 Yet I am blessed 
 
 With joy few hearts, 'neath royal robes, e'er 
 recked 
 
 From faith, sublime : 
 That I was loved, loved truly 
 Once, aye, once 
 Upon a time. 
 
 My form, now bent, 
 Was then erect as any forest tree; 
 
 My breath, short spent, 
 Then filled a chest exhaling cheerily
 
 I HAVE BEEN LOVED. 
 
 Wild trills of mirth, 
 Or chants of praise, or ballads melting love, 
 
 Ere soared from earth 
 The echo of my soul the stars above 
 With song sublime : 
 That I was loved, loved truly 
 Once, aye, once 
 Upon a time. 
 
 Ne'er wail nor weep 
 I sad and lone ; for I would not exchange 
 
 The furrows deep 
 My features plow, the glist'ning hairs that range 
 
 My locks, erst brown, 
 Now thinned by grief and care, since proudest king 
 
 Would barter crown 
 
 To gain the peace of love the joy I sing 
 The faith sublime : 
 That I was loved, loved truly 
 Once, aye, once 
 Upon a time. 
 
 I labor now 
 I labored then; but she was at my side, 
 
 And on her brow, 
 And in her eyes my hope could then abide
 
 / HAVE BEEN LOVED, 41 
 
 By signs that gave 
 Encouragement, by smiles that brought repose; 
 
 Yet I am brave, 
 
 (For destiny not we our fortunes chose,) 
 Through faith sublime : 
 That I was loved, loved truly 
 Once, aye, once 
 Upon a time. 
 
 I sometimes long 
 But, wherefore ? since, when toiling, mine the gift 
 
 Of sweetest song 
 Ere muses breathed, or minstrel harped, to lift 
 
 Man's soul beyond 
 The chains that bind it here, as in a vice, 
 
 To grim despond, 
 The gift of knowing all that's worth the price 
 
 Of Earth's few score 
 The truth sublime : 
 That I was loved, loved truly 
 Once, aye, once 
 Upon a time 
 Hence, evermore.
 
 42 LOVE. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Fate's labor vain to rear a wall 
 
 'Twixt loves divine, 
 
 Or crush the shrine 
 "Whereon twain souls have found their thralL 
 
 Paths may diverge like hearts afar 
 
 Their hopes yet near; 
 
 For cloud nor bier 
 Can from true love obscure its star. 
 
 It haunts the busy work-day hour, 
 
 The bed of dreams, 
 
 First matin's beams, 
 The calm amid which vespers low'r. 
 
 Wild ocean billows may career, 
 
 Or deserts burn 
 
 Between, yet turn 
 No eddies to awaken fear;
 
 LOVE. 43- 
 
 Since ever found, close-hovering 
 
 With love, bright gleams 
 
 From purest streams 
 That spring the cold earth's covering 
 
 Gleams that, once mirrored, cannot fade 
 
 Their gift : To live 
 
 Sweet light to give 
 The soul when all beside in shade.
 
 4A LOVES PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 LOVE'S PSYCHOLOGY. 
 
 Love whispers its sweet messages 
 
 Above the storms of life 
 So tranquilly, no presages 
 
 Can rouse a dread of strife. 
 
 No warning doth it ever heed 
 
 So blind affinity; 
 It recks ne'er space, nor time, nor speed 
 
 Its bounds infinity. 
 
 It fears no danger, sees no cloud 
 
 Its happy fate to be 
 So self-absorbed, no clamor loud 
 
 Can break its ecstacy. 
 
 One only language doth it know 
 
 Not spoken by the lip; 
 One only sign need it e'er show 
 
 And oft'nest that by slip 
 
 Through tell-tale eyes, to prove their deeps 
 
 Keflect a wakened soul 
 Whence to its mate God's emblem leaps, 
 
 Two hearts to mold ONE WHOLE.
 
 LOVE'S RESPONSE. 45 
 
 LOVE'S RESPONSE. 
 
 Love ne'er denies it gives, 
 And asking, giveth more 
 
 Since love, by yielding, lives, 
 Receiving, adds its store. 
 
 Love feeds upon the kiss 
 That thrills its counterpart, 
 
 And finds its home, its bliss 
 Its mate's affinite heart. 
 
 It craves its own caress 
 While seeming to accede, 
 
 And hath the gift to bless 
 When most the pow'r to lead. 
 
 Unsought, Love's answer : " Use ! " 
 Its only thought, to give 
 
 Its song, eternal muse : 
 
 " For thee, my peace to live ! " 
 
 Love ne'er can love refuse 
 
 Responding : " Aye, for aye ! " 
 
 Its chant, eternal muse : 
 
 " For thee, my balm to die ! "
 
 46 THE MISSING NOTES. 
 
 THE MISSING NOTES. 
 
 Melodiously through the air 
 
 From harp, and violin, and flute 
 
 Float strains so pure that pain and care 
 Should seem exiled, and sorrow mute. 
 
 Anthems they play from Mozart muse 
 
 Aspiring harmonies so sweet, 
 The mind, entranced, might well refuse 
 
 Life's irksome wail again to meet. 
 
 Oh! Symphonies sublime, that breathe 
 So far raised o'er this world's travail, 
 
 "With smiles ye might the angels wreathe 
 Why is't for me your splendors fail ? 
 
 A key, alas ! is wanting here 
 The nightingale cannot restore. 
 
 The tend'rest notes reach not my ear, 
 Nor on earth will they evermore. 
 
 More thrilling than motet divine 
 How happy, could I hear her voice ! 
 
 'Twill not descend from heaven's shrine 
 Save my freed soul to raise rejoice.
 
 OUR TRYST. 47 
 
 OUR TKYST. 
 
 Can'st tell me what is here 
 To cause my nerves vibrate, 
 
 And make as I draw near 
 My heart so palpitate ? 
 
 Would'st say, the linden tree 
 On which are fixed my eyes ? 
 
 Quite like since thou know'st me 
 All nature's boons to prize. 
 
 Nay ! Then dost think the bench, 
 That in its shade holds place, 
 
 My normal veins could blench, 
 And pallid hue my face ? 
 
 Nor would'st believe the brook 
 Cool-winding just below 
 
 The terrace, whence we look 
 Might make me tremble so ? 
 
 Nor yet, the nonce, suppose 
 God's clear, calm sky, above 
 
 This refuge for repose, 
 
 Could my whole being move?
 
 48 OUR TRYST. 
 
 Ah ! Love hath never, then, 
 Thy wretched heart inspired ; 
 
 Or quickly should'st thou ken 
 By what my soul is fired ! 
 
 "Wherever lingered we, 
 
 In those delightful days 
 Of passion's infancy, 
 
 Showered heav'n its brightest rays. 
 
 First love's geography 
 
 Than your whole world's hath made 
 More legible to me 
 
 Yon copse, and tree, and shade ! 
 
 The azure realms that crown 
 
 These sheltering branches, green 
 
 The hillside sloping down 
 
 To yonder spring-bed's gleen 
 
 The seat where once reclined 
 Her form I worshiped more 
 
 Than e'er it was divined 
 Man had the pow'r before 
 
 Her eyes that ruled my soul 
 By glances, which no muse 
 
 Can e'er presume extol 
 My mem'ry will not lose !
 
 OUR TRYST. 49 
 
 So long as sense may 'queathe 
 
 Me privilege to keep 
 An image, whilst I breathe, 
 
 This site's engraven deep. 
 
 Oh ! Can OUR TRYST hallowed 
 By love's first pledge, embrace 
 
 By Thee, God, be allowed 
 Eternity t'efface !
 
 50 TOO LATE. 
 
 TOO LATE. 
 
 His heart denied, love's token sweet refused 
 She mourneth now as heaven's gift abused, 
 And in her memory e'er will linger green 
 Her last wish, still her wish, as parting seen 
 His pleasure in her will, 
 His wish to woo her still, 
 
 When her small hands by others tender pressed, 
 And her soft lips by other lips caressed, 
 His actions true, and words, with fond regret, 
 She'll aye recall, as well her wish that yet 
 His pleasure was her will, 
 His wish to woo her still. 
 
 " Oh ! Dearie, how I wish I'd kissed you now ! " 
 Her last low plaint, her pray'r, she'll wish were vow 
 To love, kiss, fondle long as breath could keep 
 Her heart alive, that now doth silent weep 
 
 What might have been her will, 
 His right to woo her still.
 
 OF WHAT AVAIL I 61 
 
 OF WHAT AVAIL! 
 
 I. 
 
 'Neath clear spring skies I stroll the turf's rich green, 
 And list' the merry warblers that careen 
 Above its velvet, and the ripe'ning hedge 
 That fringes, to the water's edge 
 Of what avail ! 
 
 H. 
 
 I linger o'er the streamlet's silver sheen, 
 Its tinted-pebble bed, and depths unseen; 
 Pursue its course along the hillock's base, 
 Where vines and boughs, depending, interlace 
 Of what avail ! 
 
 in. 
 
 I climb broad slopes, and rugged cliffs ascend; 
 Survey grand vistas which the heavens blend 
 Enclosing valleys rich with herds and crops, 
 Encircling mountains crowned with frosted tops 
 Of what avail ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 I thread the mazes of the lonely wood; 
 Kecline on banks of moss; in dreamy mood, 
 Evoke weird spirits from the dank ravine 
 That the wild forest-shadow falls between 
 Of what avail !
 
 OF WHAT AVAIL! 
 
 V. 
 
 Of what avail? Ah ! It availeth not 
 
 That God hath made his ev'ry work divine ; 
 How e'er sublime the thought, or grand the spot 
 
 Since all of rapture in my heart doth fail, 
 Save when I have the joy of echoing thine, 
 My love ! My love ! 
 Of what avail !
 
 TO FLORA. 53 
 
 TO FLORA 
 
 (OF THE DEMI-MONDE.) 
 
 Pretty blossom whilst thou bide, 
 
 All the stronger could'st endear 
 Hearts, if would'st thy petals hide 
 
 From false lights, nor disappear 
 Altogether from the world 
 
 Only nestle in the shade, 
 Where thy leaves by love unfurl'd, 
 
 Sweet hope moist'ning ne'er would fade. 
 
 Little Flora, tint thy bloom, 
 
 Ere it perish, with love's hue, 
 For when wither'd, sear the doom 
 
 Meted out to flow'rs like you 
 Nipt by frosts before the sun 
 
 Nature's glow life's buds can fill. 
 Flora, list' ! The seasons run; 
 
 Few the days are left thee still.
 
 54 MY SPRING IS HERE. 
 
 MY SPRING IS HEEE. b. 
 
 If the snow be piled in drifts, 
 Still my violets sweetly bloom; 
 Tho' the whistiing wind sweeps chill, 
 Yet my blue-bird gaily chants. 
 
 For the violet that lifts 
 
 Its bright petals from the gloom 
 
 Of bleak March, my heart to thrill 
 
 Clara's glance, englowing, haunts. 
 
 And the bird, whose warbling rifts 
 Through white flakes that weave their loom 
 'Mid the blinding gusts which fill 
 Clouded sky chirps Clara's taunts.
 
 LOVE HATH NO BOURNE. 55 
 
 LOVE HATH NO BOURNE. 
 
 *' Why sleep you, in the gloaming, here ? " 
 I spake, and gently grasped 
 The stranger's hand, while clasped 
 
 Its mate the stone he slumbered near. 
 
 With dazed look, upraised, he sighed; 
 Then marked he my grave tone 
 My eyes, that plainly shone 
 
 Mute pity's glint and low replied: 
 
 I waken from a holy trance 
 
 You blindly mis-name sleep 
 
 Not known may tearless weep 
 My heart the pall that shrouds her glance 
 
 Her glance ,that glows, through light or shade, 
 
 In deep-graved semblances 
 
 From sweet remembrances 
 By love bestowed, ne'er doom'd to fade 
 
 Feeling my erstwise void the past, 
 
 With its foretaste of peace, 
 
 Assuring care's release 
 Through love, shall be renewed at last;
 
 LOVE HATH NO BOURNE. 
 
 That altho' sundered we by fate, 
 
 Love hath merged heart and will, 
 Once loving, love we still, 
 
 And love's elysium, trustful, wait; 
 
 Knowing her spirit bound with mine 
 By loyal love's soft ties, 
 Whose Jove-like strength defies 
 
 Creation's pow'r to undermine !
 
 ALTHAZARS WOOING. 57 
 
 ALTHAZAE'S WOOING. 
 
 (A LOVE LETTEB.) 
 
 My darling little girl: 'Twas kind in thee to praise 
 My meagre lines; but of my thoughts, poor, 
 
 weak the offspring 
 Seem in cold, set speech. Fancy's flight shall 
 
 vainly raise 
 The muses; not the nine combined have force to 
 
 sing 
 How deeply I adore, love, worship thee ! 
 
 Jehovah's fire divine might human wit inspire 
 "With language consonant my reveries to show, 
 
 My dreams with coloring appropriate attire 
 My waking, sleeping visions, all are so aglow 
 With beatific images of thee ! 
 
 No mortal gift can e'er portray the ecstacy, 
 
 Surprise, compassion, hope by which I was 
 
 confused 
 
 When thy soft eyes bequeathed to mine the legacy 
 Of their first glance a glance that fain would 
 
 have refused 
 
 Response; tho' naught have my eyes since 
 beheld save thee !
 
 ALTHAZARS WOOING. 
 
 In that grave moment, when from thy proud brow 
 
 I pushed 
 The tresses back tearing the mask from thy 
 
 false life, 
 Showing how tenderness was numbed, how hopes 
 
 were crushed, 
 Where both should bloom and nourish when 
 
 in thee at strife 
 
 Justice and truth I saw, how my heart bled 
 for thee ! 
 
 And when in my sad tale of thine the counterpart 
 Was found, it is our secret sweet how pity 
 
 nourished 
 
 Sympathy, till in every fibre of my heart 
 One sentiment had weight to thrill, one form was 
 
 cherished ! 
 
 Can'st ever doubt if then my soul was nearest 
 thee? 
 
 It was not left to question, after that sweet hour 
 I caught a shadow from thy lattice backward 
 
 shrink, 
 If insecure to meet my glance had fall'n thy 
 
 power; 
 Thence mine has been whatever pleasure man 
 
 may drink 
 
 Of this world's springs. Words vainly speak 
 my love for thee !
 
 ALTHAZAR'S WOOING. 59 
 
 Nor ever can coined phrases echo from one heart 
 
 Unto another, which affinity hath bound 
 Together with its web supreme nor can pen 
 
 impart 
 The glories love hath conquered, hopes that trust 
 
 hath found. 
 
 Profane the hand wouid dare describe my love 
 for thee !
 
 FATAL HUE. 
 
 FATAL HUE. 
 
 In my brief cycle, eyes of mellow brown 
 
 Are deep-haloed by Fate's kind will, the charm, 
 Through memory, deigned my earth. Looking far 
 
 down, 
 
 Beyond the vistas, whence my mother's arm 
 Again encircles me no thought beside 
 
 Recalled, my soul is pierced tho' graves be- 
 tween 
 By glances beaming love, at flooding tide, 
 
 From orbs of richest brown gleaming with ser- 
 aph's sheen. 
 
 n. 
 
 And so, alway, have eyes of browned hue 
 
 My spirit moved with quickest, tendrest thrills. 
 A dulcet vision now en wafts to view 
 
 A shade celestial that with rev'rie fills 
 My heart begemmed with stars of brown, that 
 caught 
 
 The tinder-leaves of love, in hope's wild years 
 My cadences of youth's first passion taught; 
 
 I ever see them as we parted bathed in tears.
 
 FATAL HUE. 61 
 
 m. 
 
 Anon there came a fair maid later, wife, 
 
 The mother of my children faithful, fond, 
 Tend'ring to me, as pledge of love, her life 
 
 By her best lights, retaining me in bond 
 Not by my penance, or yet by her care 
 
 Eeflex e'er found in umbered suns that seek 
 My will, but by four other eyes two pair 
 
 Of magnet brown that unto father's, pleading, 
 
 IV. 
 
 And at the last, I've won my soul's franchise 
 Keposed 'neath deeps of brown that mirrored 
 
 first 
 Affinity's rare realms, the paradise 
 
 Where hearts are soothed their chords yet kept 
 
 athirst 
 For love love only love that always lives 
 
 Love that creates, consumes, yet never tires 
 A well that craves for more, while most it gives 
 Love, grand, supreme unequal-hymned by 
 countless lyres !
 
 THAT PORTRAIT, WHOSE? 
 
 THAT POKTRAIT, WHOSE? 
 
 That portrait, whose ? you ask ? Faint image of a 
 dream 
 
 Of long ago, 
 
 My only dream that e'er brought peace, and made 
 life seem 
 
 A sweet echo 
 Of love 
 Of Heaven 
 
 The one dim reflex left to me of pleasures past 
 
 The clouds to chase 
 
 From mem'ry's realms, or mirror from beyond the 
 last 
 
 Bounds of my race 
 Of love 
 Of Heaven.
 
 LOVE ALONE CAN SAVE THE HEART. 
 LOVE ALONE CAN SAVE THE HEART. 
 
 A SONG. 
 I. 
 
 I wander, oft, with, merry guests, o'er landscape- 
 gardened grounds, 
 
 'Cross emerald lawns, through umbrage close, 
 adown sequestered ways 
 
 By bower and fountain, lake and rill, and yet, in all 
 
 my rounds, 
 
 Find no delight from broad domain, no balm 
 from others' praise 
 
 Of that which charms external sense, while touch- 
 ing not the heart. 
 
 n. 
 
 Tis true that many here might dwell, and happily 
 
 endure 
 What to my sight is but the yield of taste, with 
 
 gold allied, 
 That many might their lives enjoy 'mid scenes that 
 
 me assure 
 
 How often to the real fate the ideal is denied; 
 For seeming by possessions blest, still void may be 
 the heart.
 
 LOVE ALONE CAN SAVE THE HEART. 
 
 HI. 
 
 In noble aspirations crossed, in pure affections 
 
 chilled, 
 Checked by mistakes too late to mend, by 
 
 wounds too late to heal, 
 Whose sentiment, by charms of nature, or of art, 
 
 is thrilled! 
 So long as memory survives, or instinct lasts, we 
 
 feel 
 
 The only joys that give content are those of a lov- 
 ing heart. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Riches are dross, all pastime's dull, philosophy's a 
 
 To him whose breast finds no response, whose 
 
 thought no echo brings, 
 Since all the garnish of our strife, in this bleak 
 
 world of care, 
 Is brief and passing as the wind; the only wealth 
 
 that clings 
 Eternally unto the soul is that of a loving heart. 
 
 V. 
 
 Then take, oh ! take my worldly goods and wares, 
 
 my grand estates, 
 
 Fame, fortune, all man covets in his envy and his 
 pride,
 
 LOVE ALONE CAN SAVE THE HEART. 65 
 
 And give me but a loyal heart, a mind, a soul that 
 
 mates 
 My own, in sweet affinity, in every sense my 
 
 bride, 
 Her creed : LOVE is IMMORTAL LOVE ALONE CAN SAVE 
 
 THE HEART!
 
 FRANCESCA'S REVERIE. 
 
 FRANCESCA'S REVERIE. 
 
 Love him ! why should I not love, idolize, adore 
 The man who first with interest did condescend 
 Inquire my wretched tale, a pitying ear did lend, 
 
 Bade hope I might myself unto myself restore ? 
 
 Love him ! worship were far more merited and true 
 A word by which express the sentiment too 
 
 deep 
 For circumscription to the narrow bounds that 
 
 keep 
 My poor heart powerless to herald his just due. 
 
 Not my weak prayers for him presume implore 
 From God the recompense deserved to manly 
 
 deeds; 
 
 His charity of soul and faith obscure the needs 
 Of prayer, than which they of themselves assure 
 far more. 
 
 Then why thus smoulder, in my heart of hearts, 
 
 the fire 
 
 That burns to flash before the world my love's 
 incense !
 
 FRANCESCA'S REVERIE. 
 
 Or why not rest my head, proud, on his bosom 
 
 whence 
 
 Ne'er beats a pulse that would not for my sake ex- 
 pire! 
 
 Alas ! was it recorded, for a purpose wise, 
 That destiny should pitilessly interpose, 
 To haunt my horoscope, a shadow 'till life's 
 
 close ? 
 
 Then quickly perish all, save love ! THAT never 
 dies. 
 
 For him my fealty deep, eternal as the skies ! 
 As infinite my faith resigning me to live 
 Here, in the one sweet hope his love, his trust 
 doth give: 
 
 OUR COMPENSATIONS GOD ANON MUST EQUALIZE.
 
 68 ALTHAZARS MUSE. 
 
 ALTHAZAR'S MUSE. 
 
 (A REVEEIE.) 
 
 My best was tombed 
 Upon thy bier, 
 When fell the tear 
 
 My fate that gloomed, 
 
 My Love. 
 
 Yet have I wreathed 
 
 A single gem, 
 
 Your diadem 
 It shall adorn, 
 
 My Love 1 
 
 For you first breathed 
 
 Into my heart 
 
 The vivid dart 
 From which was born 
 
 My Love 
 
 My life's true leaven 
 All e'er was worth 
 My stay on earth, 
 
 My hope of heaven, 
 
 My Love !
 
 ALTHAZAKS MUSE. 
 
 Whatever food 
 
 My thoughts may grow 
 
 My God doth owe 
 Thy poVr for good, 
 
 My Love! 
 
 Hence, bloom or fade, 
 
 My mind's estate 
 
 I dedicate 
 To thy dear shade, 
 
 My Love 
 
 For tribute mine 
 
 Soul's glimpse, and heart's 
 
 My muse imparts 
 To build our Shrine, 
 
 My Love!
 
 70 LOVE'S GREETING. 
 
 LOVE'S GKEETING. 
 
 A perfume, as from spirit land, 
 
 Wafts nigh; 
 A gentle pressure meets my hand ; 
 
 A sigh 
 Breaks; and a face dawns rose-hued deep;- 
 
 Whilst eye 
 So searching gleams, my pulses leap 
 
 And fly. 
 
 A form seraphic circles mine 
 
 With bliss 
 So pure, the current seems divine; 
 
 A kiss- 
 Diviner links with her's my soul. 
 
 Amiss 
 The thought, for either, other goal 
 
 Than this ! 
 
 Behold the tokens nightly brings 
 
 Sweet love 
 To me, with hope that brightly sings 
 
 Above 
 My worldly cares mid' dreams 
 
 That move 
 So peacefully with life heav'n seems 
 
 Enwove.
 
 A THRILL. 71 
 
 A THRILL. 
 
 "Why do yon flute's vibrations sweet 
 
 Thus melt my soul to tears ? 
 Alas ! Bright hours they bid me greet 
 
 Adown the vale of years. 
 
 They waft to me so soft and low 
 
 Her fav'rite airs, I bide 
 Near wont familiar hearthstone's glow 
 
 Fair Anna by my side. 
 
 They vivify my dream of love 
 Tho' ne'er love's rnem'ry lost 
 
 Call back love's looks, ways, tones, to move 
 Me now, in life's hoar frost.
 
 72 MY SANCTUM. 
 
 MY SANCTUM, c. 
 
 High-crested o'er a pretty square 
 Rich-foliaged deep-green as fair 
 
 As nature's own; 
 
 Ought I not feel so grand the perch 
 My visions spread therefrom in search 
 
 Of faerie throne ? 
 
 Aye, when the sun beams on the trees, 
 Their boughs sway'd gently by the breeze 
 
 Of balmy June, 
 
 As 'neath their shade yon fountain plays 
 
 In rhythm resembling minstrel lays 
 
 Its cadent tune; 
 
 While all within speaks taste and 
 My hive array'd, in every part, 
 
 With chaste design; 
 
 Its sides with dainty pictures hung 
 
 Some rare, suggestive works among, 
 
 You may opine. 
 
 No doubt 'tis dear the reader deems 
 My attic-parlor, and the dreams 
 With which endow'd
 
 MY SANCTUM. 73 
 
 Its desk and cabinet, choice books 
 And prints, its casement that o'erlooks 
 The humming crowd. 
 
 Not always dear but desolate 
 My sanctum, myself isolate, 
 
 When she not here. 
 
 Dull, drear and sombre seem my walls, 
 Dim, pall'd my gaze, where'er it falls, 
 
 Till she appear.
 
 74 ALAS, DEAR WIFE OF MY SOUL! 
 
 ALAS, DEAB WIFE OF MY SOUL! 
 
 Never a Nay answer'd she, 
 
 So long as she lived, to me; 
 
 Never a scowl or a frown, 
 
 When most by sad cares weighed down; 
 
 For me quick thought and kind cheer 
 
 A kiss, tho' all the world near; 
 
 Tender of speech as a dove 
 
 She lived, helpmeet, for my love. 
 
 Alas, dear wife of my soul, 
 If there be heaven, my goal ! 
 
 Always a smile or a tear 
 
 As I would be cheered or moved; 
 Never a tremor of fear 
 
 To grieve the heart hers so loved; 
 Never a pain or an ache 
 
 Wailed she ere sympathy knew; 
 Her aim and work, for my sake, 
 
 To live, to suffer, to do. 
 
 Alas, dear wife of my soul, 
 If there be heaven, my goal 1 
 
 I feel that she's waiting me now, 
 If souls hereafter survive;
 
 ALAS, DEAR WIFE OF MY SOUL! 
 
 "Waiting and watching I trow, 
 
 Her soul for mine yclept alive 
 (The wherefore, or why, or how 
 
 To God alone known) to strive, 
 With patience, my fate to bow 
 Tilljoy'dmy summons arrive 
 
 To join the wife of my soul 
 In our lives' ultimate goal.
 
 LOVE'S BAUD. 
 LOVE S BARD. 
 
 Spontaneously springs the song 
 
 Of love from poet's soul. 
 Soft glide the strings his lyre along 
 
 Eesponsive strains that dole 
 To human ears the glint divine 
 
 Of chords the heavens sway 
 From symphonies the muses nine 
 
 Alone may harp alway. 
 
 No clod, of plain, prosaic mold 
 
 E'er on the lyre essay'd 
 Love's measure strike, or moods unfold 
 
 By stanzas interlaid 
 With scintilating gems apt-rhymed 
 
 But seraphs quick discerned 
 His metre counterfeit, ill-timed 
 
 His fire, his verse ill-turned. 
 
 The soul of bard doth throb and bound 
 
 With sympathy so keen, 
 No grim disguise can dull the sound 
 
 His couplets bright careen, 
 Or hide the sparks his thoughts that flame 
 
 With pow'r to move the heart 
 As nothing can beside no name, 
 
 No skill, no drosser part.
 
 WE MUST LIVE AGAIN. 77 
 
 WE MUST LIVE AGAIN. 
 
 Why have we hoped, my love, so long and vain, 
 
 Ourselves to understand, 
 
 Since both our souls demand 
 As a condition we wust live again ? 
 
 Elaine ! Unanswered we shall ever plead 
 
 For mercy to enjoy 
 
 Love born without aloy, 
 Or confidence no shaft can rudely bleed. 
 
 Wrecked are our hearts that should beat one, 
 and rent 
 
 Our lives by force of fate, 
 
 Because we did not wait, 
 With patience, for the signs which mark content. 
 
 Eegrets o'erhang our past, and shadows cross 
 
 Our paths, to make obscure 
 
 The truths we might endure 
 If they could compensate us for our loss. 
 
 Why dream, alas ! of compensation here ? 
 
 Apart we farther drift, 
 
 No hope our hearts to lift 
 
 Until the welcome shrift 
 ANNIHILATION, or a BRIGHTER SPHERE.
 
 78 OUR HOLIDAY. 
 
 OUR HOLIDAY. 
 
 Why seem, to-day, the skies so bright and clear, 
 
 The flow'rs so fragrant, and the meads so green, 
 The groves so full of peace, the atmosphere 
 So musical with bird-notes, and the sheen 
 Yon lake reflects so heav'nly ? Ah ! A face 
 Gleams with the glance its heart bespoke, sweet 
 Grace, 
 
 When you wish'd me a happy holiday. 
 
 And as I walk the woods, stroll pastures fresh, 
 
 The wavelets skim, or thread the golden grain, 
 I almost feel you with me, in the flesh 
 So treasure I your wish, so gently rain 
 Your eyes sincere the dew, as your lips trace 
 The truth with which they give the thought, 
 sweet Grace, 
 
 For my enjoyment of this holiday. 
 
 I hope this day, my little friend, may bring 
 To you delights to banish ev'ry care ! 
 
 Be you as cheerful now, as I, since sing 
 All sounds one melody, and everywhere 
 
 I pause or turn, your eyes, your voice, sweet Grace, 
 
 In my poor heart o'er nature's charms keep pace. 
 For you, as me, be this true holiday !
 
 CONFECTION. 79 
 
 CONFECTION. 
 
 (AN ALBUM LEAF ) 
 
 Thy charms, my lexicon's grand store 
 
 Of sweets, vain laboring 
 To pen ! Thou JUJUBE nectar'd o'er 
 
 With angel's flavoring ! 
 Thou MALLOW white, from faery-shore, 
 
 Of heaven savoring ! 
 Choice MARRON GLACE of the rare 
 
 Thy small hands favoring ! 
 Truce, Madeline ! for thou so fair, 
 
 My song I'd braver sing 
 If fate were kind ! Oh ! why not dare 
 
 For thee to graver ring 
 The chimes my heart now guards with care ? 
 
 BECAUSE TKUE PEACE I'D BRING!
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 IN MEMOKIAM. d 
 
 Chaste flower, 
 
 No power 
 Could change thy fate 
 
 Thy dower, 
 
 The hour 
 Should not be late 
 
 For parting. 
 
 Indeed, 
 
 Decreed 
 From birth thy death 
 
 Should speed; 
 
 The seed 
 
 In thy first breath 
 Of parting. 
 
 Not less 
 
 We bless, 
 With sorrow deep 
 
 The few 
 
 That knew 
 Thy worth, and weep 
 Thy parting.
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 81 
 
 Thy meed: 
 Kind deed, 
 
 And gentle word, 
 Truth, love- 
 Above 
 
 Divinely heard 
 
 Since parting. 
 
 Friends lave 
 
 Thy grave, 
 Sweet ALICE EARL, 
 
 With tears, 
 
 Tho' cheers 
 
 The thought they pearl 
 Since parting 
 
 A brow 
 
 That now 
 God's chaplet wears, 
 
 Nor fades, 
 
 Nor shades 
 With earth's sad cares 
 Of parting. 
 
 SEPT. 15, 1884.
 
 82 A LOVERS HYMNAL. 
 
 A LOVER'S HYMNAL. 
 
 An angel's visit I await, 
 
 Yet feel iny angel knows 
 So well my thoughts, from dawn till late, 
 
 She'll look in verse or prose 
 
 For one short pray'r from me. 
 
 And I will make it love's sweet pray'r: 
 
 God fill my darling's heart 
 With peace; and teach no matter where 
 
 She'U find its tend'rest part 
 Abiding, true, in me.
 
 THE LAYS OF A BOHEMIAN. 83 
 
 III. 
 
 Next, brief conceits the mind invade 
 
 And capture to express 
 Trite theories, or theses staid, 
 
 Or clamors for redress 
 Of wrongs and errors by the plane 
 
 Of worldly squares and rules, 
 Not heeding how diseased the grain 
 
 Of sense in human fools. 
 
 A Poefs Introspect, (Page 18;.
 
 ALTHAZARS MISSION. 
 
 ALTHAZAB'S MISSION. 
 
 Althazar fell, lang syne, upon a lurid haunt 
 Of sinister repute. It was his venture first; the 
 
 last 
 In his life's span, save the like end to serve, God 
 
 grant! 
 
 II. 
 
 For he met there a stray'd child 'dowed with 
 
 timid grace; 
 Of mien, rarely so pensive in lovlier mold, none 
 
 cast. 
 Strangely, wrongly, utterly seemed she out of 
 
 place ! 
 
 m. 
 
 He looked into her weary, melancholy eyes, 
 
 To penetrate the mystery environing her past; 
 And from their depths surged one of nature's lies !
 
 ALTHAZARS MISSION. 
 
 IV. 
 
 My token you, wise-reading, understand, or should, 
 To phrase the obstacles so vast cold destiny 
 
 hath flung 
 Before the will and effort to do ever good 
 
 The sad impossibility events, stern, raise 
 
 Except, mayhap, for those by fortune favor'd to 
 die young 
 
 Of following paths prescribed, in so-termed right- 
 eous ways. 
 
 V. 
 
 How false did seem all cant, how chill philosophy, 
 Viewing the fate of this poor waif Althazar found 
 
 among 
 The shadows, where she linger'd lacking strength 
 
 to fly! 
 
 " By what mischance of Justice came you here ! " 
 
 he had 
 Nigh falter'd; but the words, reproachful, broke 
 
 upon his tongue 
 It seem'd so harsh in him to rank her with the bad.
 
 ALTHAZARS MISSION. 87 
 
 VI. 
 
 The while he mutely gazed, so crossed her lot ap- 
 
 So counter-vailed her thoughts as if, amid de- 
 spair, they clung 
 Yet to a hope, his soul with pity was new-reared. 
 
 Bevived sprang dearest images of his own youth 
 To life again, as on Althazar's lips the question 
 
 hung 
 That feared to shake his tott'ring citadel of TRUTH. 
 
 vn. 
 
 A mask her brow might wear ; he, ne'ertheless, 
 
 would save; 
 He dared not judge; to plead, admonish, move, 
 
 he dream'd not how; 
 He simply realized a wish for strength tradition 
 
 Jove's mythic preachers, of the fabled days of 
 
 yore 
 A wish for charity of patience, wisdom, power, 
 
 now 
 To lift a wreck'd craft o'er the quicksands nothing
 
 ALTHAZARS MISSION. 
 
 vni. 
 
 A radiant face that, years agone, was wont to 
 
 bend 
 Tow'rd his, ere sombre death had robbed his 
 
 world of its one saint, 
 His mother's from the skies did tearfully descend, 
 
 As if in answer to a pray'r. And group'd her's 
 
 round 
 
 His sisters' smiles, encouraging. Hallow'd mem- 
 ories faint 
 Before arose so vivid, confidence was found, 
 
 And a vague trust urging his soul, with sudden 
 
 force, 
 To purposes divine yielding him introspect to 
 
 paint 
 Of fate's capricious ends the causes in life's course. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then to Althazar woke the voice just hopes inspire ; 
 And soe'er brief the interlude between first 
 
 thought and speech, 
 
 In calmly whispered words, he breathed a sacred 
 fire
 
 ALTHAZARS MISSION. 
 
 Not of stage or forum, of altar or of field, 
 
 But of a SOUL yearning, with noble sympathy, to 
 
 reach 
 Those silent chords, in ev'ry creature kin, that 
 
 yield, 
 
 When touched, unto the right making seem false 
 
 and gross, 
 
 Delusive, desolating, God-forsaking, mad, im- 
 pure, 
 
 All ways, things, circumstances, born of passion's 
 dross 
 
 Kaising from the mist of dulled faith and wrong 
 
 pride, 
 Above the horizon, into heaven's undimmed 
 
 azure, 
 The knowledge that on safe paths chance may 
 
 bring a guide. 
 
 Althazar won, by sympathy's warm eloquence, 
 That hour, a soul from chains and fetters it 
 
 would hence abjure, 
 Miscast not by its will, but by its confidence
 
 ALTHAZAR'S MISSION. 
 
 In seeming good, that here gives Hell its influence 
 To lead unwary steps on roads and by-ways ren- 
 dered sure 
 By one guide only bought with age EXPERIENCE. 
 
 XL 
 
 To dim remembrance since, in vain the years have 
 
 rolled; 
 
 The lustre of that hour as a MISSION will en- 
 dure, 
 
 Pleading Althazar's grace, when his life's knell is 
 tolled.
 
 BROOK NO KINO. 91 
 
 BKOOK NO KING. 
 
 Space and time's omniscient Seer 
 Man denies the gifts mature 
 To the worth, my sons, doth meed 
 Right divine to king o'er you. 
 
 "Wind and mind, both balm and blear, 
 Sweep beneath the sky's azure 
 Changing if in pow'r and speed 
 Yielding no man more than you. 
 
 Aye ! All breathe one atmosphere ; 
 All, by mold, of like nature. 
 Cancerous the womb would breed 
 Caste or class to king o'er you ! 
 
 What tho' some call life career ? 
 Others deem we fate endure. 
 Neither sanctions king or creed 
 Sporting fate, my sons, or you. 
 
 Lies tradition holding dear 
 
 Tyrant, or his record pure ! 
 
 Trusts, e'er spurn'd by him, should lead 
 
 You to brook no king of you.
 
 BROOK NO KING. 
 
 Crowns, nor crests, nor sceptres here 
 All the symbols slaves insure. 
 Bead this truth its warning heed : 
 Gold would starve to king o'er you ! 
 
 Cassocks dynasties may rear, 
 
 Sects evoking to assure 
 
 Bondage spawn' d of fears and greed.- 
 
 Bigotry would king o'er you ! 
 
 Question you what course to steer 
 Apt your lot to best secure 
 Shunning king-craft's shoal and weed ? 
 List', my sons, I'll answer you: 
 
 Ask no favor ! Feel no fear ! 
 Of yourselves seek to be sure 
 Never vaunting, but by deed 
 Proving no man king of you ! 
 
 Counsel with your soul ! The sneer 
 Of pride contemn ! Be cynosure 
 Of your own right aim the need 
 No king can supply to you !
 
 BROOK NO KING. 93 
 
 Crown content ! Mold heart ! Spread cheer ! 
 
 If you would the crosses cure 
 
 Of experience, and feed 
 
 By the hands no king gave you. 
 
 Anchor faith on no one's bier 
 Save your own! Let no charm lure 
 Your leal to the toils that knead 
 Servitude and king for you ! 
 
 Cringe not ! Bend not ! You are peer 
 Of the czar, whom dreads now 'mure 
 'Neath the shadows, to which speed 
 Princes all who'd king o'er you ! 
 
 When to thrones the 'larum drear 
 Breaks, anon, so all may hear: 
 GOD is FREEDOM ! Far and near 
 Hue the tocsin ! Loud and clear 
 Eing the chimes, with blood imbure ! 
 Strip, and burn the garniture 
 Masking worldly crowns ! THE SEED 
 KILL OF SIRES WHO'D KING O'ER YOU I
 
 MY REVERENCE. 
 
 MY EEVEKENCE. 
 
 Let other mortals dwell in awe of the unknown; 
 Or fawning, cringe with timid nerve to tinsel'd 
 
 throne, 
 
 To dynasty, to chief, to him with whom they hire; 
 Or homage pay to leader, master, patron, sire; 
 So they yield me the choice, which my soul doth 
 
 incline 
 With rev'rence deep tow'rd forms wherein I can 
 
 divine 
 
 A spirit gentler, purer, nobler, grander far 
 Than all the venerated I have mentioned are. 
 
 If mov'd by cant, or by cold prudence urged, the 
 
 power 
 
 Behind whose mystic sway the superstitious cower 
 I might reserve; but I cannot my pen with awe 
 Infuse for terrors I ne'er dreamed, or dangers saw. 
 As for the panoplied, of human sort tho' clad 
 JEn purple sceptred, or by custom's quest, as sad
 
 MY REVERENCE, 95 
 
 "With plume encrest', in surplice robed, or mitre 
 
 cased, 
 If I once felt an awe for either, 'tis effaced. 
 
 Infer not ev'ry form and phase I under-rate 
 I neither sentiment nor feeling venerate; 
 The godly I have oft'nest found in simple guise, 
 In untrained thought ideas might put to blush the 
 
 wise. 
 
 In little children open-eyed, all innocence, 
 Heeding impressions first, of no experience, 
 Save that derived from nature's view, sound and 
 
 contact 
 I see far more to awe than man's maturest act. 
 
 My eyes shall never look on aught more beautiful 
 Endowing me with sense of what is dutiful 
 So perfectly, so reverently that I grieve 
 To think of the small strifes which, bitter, inter- 
 weave 
 
 Our work-day destinies, from cradle to the tomb 
 Than tender nurseling, gentle-lisping child, in 
 whom
 
 MY REVERENCE. 
 
 Perception of deceit, remotest glimpse of wrong 
 Have not yet germed to taint the good new-born 
 and strong. 
 
 For such how deep my pity, how great my concern ! 
 So much they have to unlearn, not the less to learn, 
 Of ways and things so vastly unlike what they 
 
 Perverting instincts, hopes impelling them to 
 
 deem 
 
 The crooked path unto contentment they can climb 
 Only by flatt'ry, falsehood, treachery and crime, 
 
 That ALL MY. KEVEBENCE AND AWE I FEEL I OWE 
 To THE CONDITION DOTH PUEE TRUTH, SWEET MERCY 
 SHOW.
 
 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. 97 
 
 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. 
 
 Equipp'd is he in redingote, 
 
 In sportsman's cap and gear 
 As prancing on his steed, with proat 
 
 He spurs her flanks, while near 
 Him, mid' the hounds, there gayly ride 
 
 All deck'd in bright attire 
 His retinue, on ev'ry side, 
 
 Whose whips and horns aspire : 
 
 Noblesse oblige. 
 
 He moves, at his attorney's wand, 
 
 And dips his pen to sign 
 Of his broad acres, mansion grand, 
 
 A mortgage to the Jew 
 Who holds, in virtue, all the fee 
 
 An auction sale would show; 
 But then " Milord " his friends with glee 
 
 Must feast his rank sustain. 
 
 Carouse he must, and yacht, and game, 
 
 And give his heir her dot; 
 His sire and grandsire did the same 
 
 So will his scions do,
 
 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. 
 
 If anything to pledge remains 
 
 Of lands or jewels rare, 
 To keep the style blue blood maintains 
 
 When 'twould attest its brand. 
 
 Noblesse oblige. 
 
 The ball, the race, the hunt they lead, 
 
 The round of folly run; 
 
 Of fox bereft, chase aniseed 
 Their kennel and their stud 
 
 To keep in practice for their guests, 
 'Till health and energy, 
 
 And fortune, mock'd, to time's behests 
 Succumb t' attest their brand. 
 
 Noblesse oblige. 
 
 She droops beneath the rafters low 
 
 And plies her slaving trade 
 With stitch and seam, while idly flow 
 
 The streams of wealth that ride, 
 Her casement viewing, to the park 
 
 To catch the ev'ning breeze; 
 Yet toils she onward 'till the dark 
 
 Enshrouds her heeding not 
 
 Noblesse oblige.
 
 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. 
 
 He wields a chisel and a plane, 
 
 Or deftly points a wall, 
 Or shoulders hod, nor doth disdain 
 
 The plainest raiment wear; 
 When freed from work, his hearth beside, 
 
 A sire at frugal board 
 He rules six waifs his counsels guide 
 
 No thought of mark or brand. 
 Noblesse oblige. 
 
 "With sturdy arm, he steers the plow 
 
 And plants the fruitful grain; 
 He grasps the helm, and moves the prow 
 
 That braves the rocking main; 
 He weaves the texture of your coat, 
 
 Nor scorneth his hard hand 
 To do whate'er men list or note 
 
 Attesting labor's brand. 
 
 He delves and mines, and from the mill 
 Of nature plucks and grinds 
 
 The rare inventions human skill 
 In this quick age hath wrought 
 
 To make the lights of other days 
 Seem lustreless and dim,
 
 100 NOBLESSE OBLIGE. 
 
 The page of history blank, the lay: 
 Of minstrel crack'd, when sung 
 
 Noblesse oblige. 
 
 Ah ! "Which the real Noblesse oblige 
 
 That men should recognize 
 To which the heart should pay its liege 
 
 That we should highest prize ? 
 Are they the noblest idly eat 
 
 The grist from labor's strand, 
 Their lives mis-spent, themselves to cheat 
 
 With clam 'ring:" Our's the brand 
 Noblesse oblige !" 
 
 That is the true Noblesse oblige, 
 
 Which arbitrary caste 
 (By ignorance unfought,) held siege 
 
 In other epochs vast 
 With opportunities for greed, 
 
 For tyranny and vice 
 To-day ranks far o'er knightly screed, 
 
 Above a kingdom's price ! 
 
 Behold, in honest hearts, and liege 
 To fellow-men, NOBLESSE OBLIGE.
 
 SOUL SINISTER. 101 
 
 SOUL SINISTER 
 
 How o'ft, for causes yet untold, 
 
 Are nature's surface beauties marred, 
 The warmth from graceful figures barred 
 
 By artifices cruel, cold! 
 
 How oft' do wit and courage bold 
 
 Seem joined to pulses cannot beat 
 In sympathy, but masked retreat 
 
 Behind recesses glooms enfold ! 
 
 How oft' do eyes, that pathos melt 
 And seem with clemency alight, 
 While urging good, inciting right, 
 
 Yet promptings hide that Hecate felt! 
 
 Oh ! Fatal curse ! Soul sinister 
 
 Obscured and vailed by gifts that lead 
 Sweet confidence to wastes where bleed 
 
 Hearts, to which none may minister! 
 
 Shine, Truth Supreme! Through cloud and maze 
 Let break thy rays, so they reveal 
 How knaves thy livery may steal 
 
 Thy semblance mask, for tortuous ways! 
 
 On hypocrites imprint the brand 
 The sign, deep-sinister to warn 
 Against their pitfalls, hold to scorn 
 
 Their virtues, which are writ' in sand !
 
 102 TRUST NOT APPEARANCES. 
 
 TBUST NOT APPEARANCES. 
 
 Judge men, my son, not by appearances, but acts 
 Not by that which they say, but what thy do; 
 For they who play their real parts, speak their 
 thoughts, are few. 
 
 Indeed, who of his failing would betray the facts ! 
 
 Tis not the priest, who loud descants in pious 
 
 wrath 
 Of thy declining grace, or with moist unction 
 
 pleads, 
 True sympathy of heart most feeleth for thy 
 
 needs, 
 
 Or knoweth best how soothe thy spirit, guide thy 
 path. 
 
 'Tis not the swaggart trumpeter of actions brave 
 That spurs the serried host to victory or death, 
 Or by his presence awes the mob and bates its 
 
 breath, 
 
 Or leads the van the weak to rescue, faint tb 
 save.
 
 TRUST NOT APPEARANCES. 103 
 
 'Tis not the wheedling pettifogger armed with 
 
 calf 
 
 And legal cap, due-parceled, bound with crim- 
 son tape 
 In law most learned, tho' he contrive the fel- 
 
 lon's 'scape, 
 
 Snarl judges grave, and juries move to weep or 
 laugh. 
 
 Nor doth the man of pomp, or plausible address, 
 In fabric clad of costly loom of conscious 
 
 wealth, 
 Dwelling in frescoed palaces, and vaunting 
 
 health 
 
 And honesty of purpose, yield thee truth's im- 
 press. 
 
 Nor doth the ferreting physician's sharp probos- 
 cis 
 
 Assuming nature's shad'wy depths to penetrate, 
 To recognize in man the sick from normal state 
 
 From symptoms always guess the proper diagnosis.
 
 104 TRUST NOT APPEARANCES. 
 
 Nor can the politician, when all other ways 
 
 To fraud and theft (within the statute) are de- 
 barred, 
 
 For patriot's, or sage's, his own guise discard, 
 And mount to heights where worth, abiding, meed- 
 eth praise. 
 
 And before all, my son, beware those syren sweets 
 Or smiles, behind which ever lurk such cruel 
 
 freaks 
 That robbed of his best, fondest hope, the man 
 
 who seeks 
 In them the charm idealty raises, contact cheats. 
 
 To understand the man, observe how throbs his 
 
 heart; 
 Learn whither tend his thoughts, and mark his 
 
 ev'ry deed, 
 Distinguishing, in him, the flower from the 
 
 weed 
 
 The SOUL of him from that in him which plays a 
 part.
 
 THE LAYS OF A BOHEMIAN. 105 
 
 Or chirping fancies frisk and leap 
 
 From idle whims, and seize 
 The effervescing thoughts that sweep 
 
 The skies, o'er gale or breeze 
 Or whirl with eddies, buff with tide, 
 
 Or pierce the vapid mists, 
 Or in the coach of humor ride, 
 
 Or mime in comic lists. 
 
 A Pod's Introspect, (Page i$).
 
 A SHADE. 10T 
 
 A SHADE. 
 
 Alone, a poet gazed upon the sea 
 Musing of man, and life, and destiny, 
 And of the wiles by which they mutiny 
 Our thoughts and aims, desires and energy. 
 
 The while he mused, twain stars, envisioned, passed 
 So thoughtfully before him, that he read 
 Himself unseen their inner depths, trance-fed 
 By sea, and sky, and main, in reverie cast. 
 
 And as the vision glided o'er the strand, 
 He knew it was of flesh a low, pent moan 
 Its heart escaping, heedless of his own 
 So near aspiring sympathy's warm hand. 
 
 Onward, afar, away the image moved, 
 Leaving behind a shadow he shall wait 
 The substance of in vain his soul elate, 
 At times, with dreaming: " Might we not have 
 loved ! "
 
 108 OCCULT. 
 
 OCCULT. 
 
 "What is't that animates the child 
 
 Shrink from the gloom of night ? 
 With quickened pace, side-glancing wild, 
 
 Throb to regain the light ? 
 At every twig that snaps, a chill 
 
 Feel shooting through each vein? 
 At sound or creak, that breaks the still, 
 
 List', halt, and list' again ? 
 
 What is't that prompts his whistle shrill, 
 
 When threading in the dark? 
 The empty halls his terrors fill 
 
 With sprites that bid him hark 
 For footsteps on the barren stairs, 
 
 And tappings at the sash ? 
 Why doth the wind's moan crisp his hairs ?- 
 
 Why faints he at .a crash ? 
 
 What is't that goads him reach his hand 
 
 Far out, as if to guide 
 His way, yet shrink from as a band 
 
 Of fire the wall beside,
 
 OCCULT. 109 
 
 'Till strained with groping for a gleam 
 
 Of light, mid' direst gloom, 
 There bursts so long pent up his scream: 
 
 " Pa ! Some one's in the room ! " 
 
 What is't ! It is the natural dread 
 
 Of marvels felt not known, 
 Of mysteries, nor live, nor dead 
 
 Have ever solved or shown 
 A consciousness there rules some Power, 
 
 For weal or woe, beyond 
 The ken of man, or that brief hour 
 
 "We float o'er Life's Profound.
 
 110 MIS-ALLIED. 
 
 MIS- ALLIED. 
 
 Why question'd she if he a married man, 
 
 When his broad rift of bald, mid' whiten'd hairs, 
 And wrinkles tokening domestic cares 
 
 Mark'd but too plainly how his youthful impulse 
 
 He should have been (of that oft-cited ten) the one 
 To never make mistakes, to meet the fate 
 Rare born of early wooing. Ah ! too late 
 
 He met her whom he should have waited for and 
 
 Aye ! Tho' he might have wooed and wed a score 
 
 of times, 
 
 Tho' vows and altars from his side may bar 
 Her sanctioned reign, she is the worshipp'd star 
 His heart the sweetest incense wafts e'er moved to 
 rhymes.
 
 A SIGH. HI 
 
 
 
 A SIGH. 
 
 " Alas ! You did not kiss me ? 'Tia too late, love, 
 
 now ! " 
 
 She murmur'd in the glare, 
 And crowd close-clustered there, 
 Knowing that they must part 
 For life. 
 
 Why could they not their love by soft caresses 
 
 show? 
 
 Because the world's wise laws, 
 And social rules with claws 
 Of iron mark the chart 
 Of life. 
 
 "Tis best, ere with the grief of fancied wrong 
 
 aglow, 
 
 She lit his soul, deep yearned 
 For hers, with spark that burned 
 So pure it could but start 
 In life.
 
 112 FAIR AND FALSE. 
 
 FAIR AND FALSE. 
 
 Her dark eyes penetrate my soul, 
 And all my senses ravish 
 
 By their light; 
 
 Yet I am warned she is a ghole 
 With charms tho' decked so lavish 
 Bearing blight. 
 
 Her smile my heart doth magnetize 
 Melting my weak intention 
 
 To her will; 
 
 Yet calm reflections stigmatize 
 Her face a sweet invention 
 Framed to kill. 
 
 Her tones entrance enraptured bind 
 Me to her orders, fettered 
 
 Like a slave; 
 
 Tho' well I know that you will find 
 Her tale with shame so lettered 
 Hell might crave.
 
 FAIR AND FALSE. 113 
 
 Her spell on earth may never break, 
 But in its path destruction 
 
 Scatter aye; 
 
 Still hearts betrayed, for her sad sake, 
 Pray that some better part may wake 
 In her for faith's instruction 
 Bye and bye.
 
 114 FIRST LOVE'S ADIEU. 
 
 FIRST LOVE'S ADIEU. / 
 
 It is throbbing in my veins, love, 
 
 Thy hand-clasp at the gate, 
 As blushingly we heard, above, 
 
 The old clock strike so late. 
 
 It is thrilling through my soul, love, 
 That last fond kiss of thine, 
 
 Which rose from lips then wont to move 
 Eesponsively to mine. 
 
 It is burning in my heart, love, 
 That last fond glance you threw, 
 
 As yearningly you waved your glove 
 First passion's sweet adieu.
 
 IT CANNOT BE. 115 
 
 IT CANNOT BE. 
 
 You cross ? Nay ! but anxious a trifle 
 
 Perhaps sad, at moments, to think 
 Your friend, from whose heart you would rifle 
 
 The pulses, is nearing the brink 
 Of life's dread abysses, where stifle 
 The hopes that here move as to drink 
 Of love from pure streams 
 Beginning in dreams, 
 To oft' end in utterless woe. 
 
 Ah ! 'Tis I might seem cheerless and cross, 
 
 And tired, for impatience hath led 
 Me to seek, with results to hope's loss, 
 
 The pleasures here wanting, since dead 
 Youth and sympathy's faith the dry moss 
 Of time hiding scars where love bled, 
 'Till faded the dreams 
 Once gilding life's streams 
 For joys now encouraged too late.
 
 116 QUESTIONING. 
 
 QUESTIONING. 
 
 With half-reciprocation, how could she have asked 
 Him to inscribe to her by name a verse, a line, 
 From every echo of whose musings gleamed a 
 
 mine 
 
 Of love so rich that in its rays she might have 
 basked? 
 
 n. 
 
 Will the grand truth yet dawn she has not under- 
 stood 
 
 The inspiration lent to poesy by love 
 Whence, flaming, spring his symbols of the pow- 
 ers which move 
 To faith in her as the epitome of good ? 
 
 m. 
 
 May she, when this vale's pilgrimage shall seem 
 
 complete, 
 
 One day recall what he was judged to idly sing, 
 With eyes so changed that they shall feel awak- 
 ening 
 
 In wierd spheres doubting if deserved their joys 
 to greet ?
 
 QUESTIONING. 117 
 
 IV. 
 
 Or can she brood, long ere the ending, there may 
 
 be 
 
 A gulf impassible spreading their hearts be- 
 tween, 
 
 Across which both may be so differently seen 
 Their now sweet whim shall coldly glare a phan- 
 tasy?
 
 118 I FAIN WOULD SOFT PREACH HER. 
 
 I FAIN WOULD SOFT PREACH HER. 
 
 AN ALBUM LEAF. 
 
 A rhyme to arch Emma? 
 Ah! Dastard the pencil 
 
 Would dare to aspire ! 
 Sweet, petite and charming 
 (The thoughts are alarming 
 
 My muse would inspire.) 
 
 (The dear little teacher! 
 I fain would soft preach her 
 
 How fondly I live 
 In hope I may reach her 
 A moment beseech her 
 
 Me lessons to give.) 
 
 Yet now that the pleasure 
 Is open to measure 
 
 Her virtues in verse, 
 I find me unequal 
 To utter the sequel 
 
 My longings rehearse.
 
 I FAIN WOULD SOFT PREACH HER. 119 
 
 Why another word say ? 
 Since my heart would betray 
 
 The feelings imbibed 
 From manner, tone, face, 
 And a form of such grace 
 
 As ne'er pen described.
 
 1UO NOVEMBER TO MAY.. 
 
 NOVEMBER TO MAY. 
 
 AN ALBUM LEAF. 
 
 Oh! "May," why did you sue cold, bleak 
 
 "November" 
 
 To blight a leaf whereby you might remember 
 How poor the thought whose springs must soon 
 
 dismember ? 
 
 Aye ! May, my little friend, fresh, lovely, cheerful, 
 Mementoes ask from visions bright not tearful, 
 And younger wits let make your album "Dear"-full. 
 
 For if the boys are now of the same gender 
 They were when my old heart was naive and tender 
 They'll sing you "Sweet," nor heed ; "Will it 
 offend her?" 
 
 So take your Book; nor doubt, in months ap- 
 proaching, 
 
 A dearth of gallants on its leaves encroaching 
 With gentler themes than I dare think of 
 broaching.
 
 BY THE SEA. 121 
 
 BY THE SEA. 
 
 TO , A COQUETTE. 
 
 I gave my promise here my promise keep 
 To write; so now, as looking on the deep, 
 Encrested sea, beside which all things seem 
 But small, and you the smallest aye, a dream 
 Of dwarfing folly, (waken'd from, 'tis true,) 
 I send the sketch (so idly asked) to you. 
 
 God's mirror of the stars old ocean blue 
 Heaves its grand symphonies, my senses through 
 A thrill of awe inspires, yet peace and rest 
 Brings to my troubled heart, invoking quest 
 Of nobler hopes than life's small compass yields, 
 And holier than spring earth's barren fields. 
 
 Thence landward drift my thoughts upon the 
 
 strand, 
 
 No grain of which (tho' few will understand,) 
 Less useful in the universal plan 
 Than bird, or beast, or fish, or fowl, or man, 
 And possibly with sense (if hid) as keen 
 As man's, and heart as kind perhaps as mean.
 
 122 BY THE SEA. 
 
 And thence my eyes revert to tender eyes 
 That follow mine, as falling from the skies, 
 They pause before the salt waves' broad expanse, 
 Sweep o'er the surf, and meet a glowing glance 
 From seas that mirror love, as deep, as true 
 As ocean gleaming the infinite hue. 
 
 My hand seeks her's responding; gently bends 
 Her form, to which divinity soft lends 
 An image fashioned slenderly, with grace 
 Vouchsafed so rarely here, methinks her place 
 Would be more justly 'mid the naiads, crowned 
 With purer laurel than in our world found. 
 
 And yet my soul to her outpours its love, 
 
 The while she bends, each word to catch above 
 
 The breakers' roar and sighing undertow, 
 
 And echo back, with cadences so low 
 
 They seem an angel's whisper: " Love, 'tis bliss 
 
 With thee ! " her whisper sealing with a kiss. 
 
 Oh ! kiss sweet, pure, entrancing ! Kiss divine ! 
 Eclipsing all the suns the skies that shine, 
 Dwarfing the ocean's majesty with love 
 No other power above, below can move
 
 BY THE SEA. 
 
 To brave the elements for of the soul 
 Is love, and God's Infinity its goal ! 
 
 I trust my lines all that you hoped may seem, 
 Altho' a picture like to read a dream 
 To one whose heart has never felt, as yet, 
 A deeper throb than moves the vain coquette, 
 Who at the voice of lover scornful laughs, 
 And deems more tuneful far the lowing calf's.
 
 124 SHE'LL UNDERSTAND. 
 
 SHE'LL UNDERSTAND. 
 
 I backward look'd, and caught her glance 
 
 Her glance such volumes speaks, 
 And wonder if it was mis-chance 
 
 That beckoned me away; 
 Or was't my court'sy doth enhance 
 
 Her charm, that never seeks, 
 Or sues, or courts, but as in trance 
 
 Its vot'ry holds at bay ? 
 
 Tho' onward I, yet backward e'er 
 
 My thoughts revert, and dwell 
 On that weird glance from eyes that stir 
 
 The soul with passion's wand, 
 And wish that I had dared retrace 
 
 My steps, and bravely tell 
 How vain the struggle to efface 
 
 My . AH ! SHE'LL UNDERSTAND !
 
 THE LAYS OF A BOHEMIAN. 125 
 
 Or bubbling quirks the surface rise, 
 
 To ripple for a trice, 
 And bring a smile to saddened eyes 
 
 A moment loose the vice 
 That shuts from sympathy its kin 
 
 Or fellowship with mirth 
 Evoking transports that begin 
 
 To mold athwart their birth. 
 
 A Poet's Introspect, (Page ig).
 
 MY HOSTAGES. 127 
 
 MY HOSTAGES. 
 
 Four children, ranging in their years 
 
 From fourteen down to nine, 
 Group round the board our ev'ning cheers 
 
 My faithful wife's and mine; 
 And as the hours whirl fleetly by 
 
 At least for her and me 
 A thousand questions oddly ply, 
 
 Amid their books and glee. 
 
 One boy demands: "Why, father, you 
 
 Content to live so plain? 
 Of wiser men there are but few, 
 
 I trow. Not brilliant Elaine, 
 Or bold Ben Butler, spite his wink, 
 
 An abler President 
 Could make than you e'en, sooth, you think 
 
 Their efforts vainly spent."
 
 128 MY HOSTAGES. 
 
 "Aye, father," interludes my next: 
 
 " "Why not a soldier you ? " 
 And following his brothers text: 
 
 " If what they say be true 
 That is, the papers Grant's a muff ; 
 
 You're brave as he, and smart; 
 And if you only cared enough, 
 
 Might play as great a part." 
 
 "Nay ! Pa were, better, Vanderbilt," 
 
 Breaks, earnestly, my third, 
 (A girl, of course.) " Then he had built 
 
 A larger house, and stirr'd 
 The social world with diamonds, 
 
 And richest robes, so decked 
 Us all, that none could vie his funds 
 
 Have strown, and never recked." 
 
 My youngest had not ventured yet 
 
 Her sage admonishment; . 
 Nor was it deemed she might offset 
 
 To their astonishment 
 By her naive speech, of simplest word, 
 
 Her elders' wisdom rare, 
 When, " PAPA ! " Her small voice was heard: 
 
 " I LOVE YOU AS YOU ABE ! "
 
 MY HOSTAGES. 129 
 
 " My children, she most hap'ly reads," 
 
 Spake I, "as nature prints 
 Who faith, and love for kindred pleads, 
 
 And on their lineaments 
 Can with a deeper pleasure dwell 
 
 Than in the false acclaim 
 From fickle hearts, that idly swell 
 
 The requiems of Fame." 
 
 " Behold your fond old mother, here, 
 
 And on each other look ! 
 Then vision, if you can, the year 
 
 Before her hand I took 
 Into my keeping, with the pledge 
 
 So long as life should last 
 'Twould be my dearest privilege 
 
 My fate with her's to cast ! " 
 
 " Her fate, my boys and girls, in you 
 
 Was merged, and with it mine 
 Since HOSTAGES, your mother, true, 
 
 Gave me THEIR FEATURES THINE 
 For fortune, fame, society 
 
 The gods of folly's chase. 
 Aye ! You're my soul's satiety 
 
 My care, my hope, my grace !
 
 130 MY HOSTAGES. 
 
 " Fame's fleetly lost, when fairly won 
 
 And fairly won by few; 
 Great wealth, by honest dealing, none 
 
 Have gained, that I e'er knew; 
 And it is custom's phrase to call 
 
 " Society" its masks 
 Its joys, those cloy its scenes, those pall 
 
 Its aims, those honor tasks. 
 
 " But you, my children ! You, my wife ! 
 
 Leave me no wish for fame 
 No thought of wealth beyond the life 
 
 Of HOME (of which the name 
 Were, fitter, ' wealth ' than that which ends 
 
 Possession with the breath,) 
 
 NO THOUGHT OB WISH FOR AUGHT AMENDS 
 YOUK LOVE SURVIVING DEATH! "
 
 BONBONI&RE. 131 
 
 BONBONIERE. 
 
 TO "NONPAREIL." 
 
 Dream'st thou, little candy-girl, 
 
 The melting glances from thine eye 
 Sweeter than all the sweets I buy 
 Spin my emotions to a whirl 
 
 Thou might'st suppress 
 With one caress ? 
 
 Thy winsome hands my bon-bons bind, 
 Pray let me, sweet, in mine enfold 
 Just long enough to prove their hold 
 On my poor heart, which spurs my mind 
 To bold confess 
 Thy power to bless ! 
 
 No ? Then, anon, should'st seek a friend 
 From out the crowds that daily throng 
 Thy mart unmoved to love's wild song, 
 Wilt kindly deign a carrier send 
 With thy address ? 
 (My answer guess.)
 
 132 BONBONI&RE. 
 
 Fear not the " mallow's " thy dear fate, 
 The "jujube's," or the " caramel's," 
 Shouldst yield thy charms to love that wells 
 From' founts which yearn to estimate 
 Aught may oppress 
 Thee, and redress. 
 
 Should I devour thee with mine eyes, 
 And with my lips thy rose-bloom rain, 
 And, love protesting, kiss again 
 Thy hands, thy brow, thine all, sweet prize ! 
 Could'st thou repress 
 My tenderness ? 
 
 Ah ! unto pleasures I would lead 
 Thee, love, with me so en rapport, 
 Our hearts should vie which most could court, 
 Which best express, which gentlest plead 
 The truths that bless 
 This vale's duress. 
 
 Altho' 'tis not in letters writ 
 
 How souls by passion moved may beat; 
 Nor can the lute's soft chord repeat 
 The melodies with love are lit. 
 May they possess 
 Thee, Conjuress !
 
 A FEW CARRIER-MOULTINGS. 133 
 
 A FEW CARRIER-MOULTINGS. 
 
 AGE MATTERS NOT TO ME. 
 
 If I were only twenty-five, 
 
 My little Nell could love me; 
 But (as near fifty I arrive,) 
 
 She simply says she likes me ! 
 (Or is the word a blur?) 
 
 Yet I love her, as I'm alive, 
 
 And by the Powers above me ! 
 If I were sixty, vain to strive 
 
 The feeling hide that strikes me 
 Whene'er I think of her ! 
 
 DOLLY WOULD NOT WAIT. 
 
 Ah ! Hapless hour decreed 
 
 The saddest of my fate, 
 Since Dolly would not heed 
 
 My spirit's bidding : WAIT ! 
 
 For in my heart there burned 
 
 The fire of hope, divine 
 Inspired by love; I yearned 
 
 My SUN, to-day, might shine !
 
 134 A FEW CARRIER-MOULTINGS. 
 
 NO TIDING. 
 
 Is she ailing? I am; for no tiding 
 (Tho' due for two long days) of her 
 
 From whose eye in vain I'd be hiding 
 The feeling with which hope doth stir 
 The innermost depth of my heart. 
 
 And I watch ! And I wait ! with dull longing 
 (The carrier's step may be heard,) 
 
 To receive from the dear hand belonging 
 To me (in my dreams) but one word 
 To soothe my tumultuous heart. 
 
 A TANO-LEAF. 
 
 The bright sea-beach of Long Branch; 
 
 The breakers' peaceful woo; 
 The grateful breeze; the guards' launch; 
 
 The yachtsmen, and their crew; 
 The man from town, from wild ranche; 
 
 The children's playful coo; 
 The changes at each turn Blanche, 
 
 Ne'er rob my thoughts from you !
 
 DEPENDING UPON CIRCUMSTANCES. 135 
 
 DEPENDING UPON CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 A MAECH BALLAD. 
 
 I know a little maiden 
 
 Who grieved that she was born 
 When all things seemed upbraiden 
 
 By heaven held in scorn 
 By earth and sky, so laden 
 
 With sleet from clouds forlorn, 
 I blame her not, since Eden 
 
 Her graces might adorn. 
 
 This maiden sighed : " Why was I 
 
 Born in the month so drear? 
 I hope 'tis not because I 
 
 Some penalty must fear 
 From sins or crimes ancestral 
 
 My generation shade 
 With omens borne on mistral, 
 
 'Neath glooms nor break, nor fade. 
 
 " I pray it may not augur 
 
 Hi-destiny for me 
 A life of sorrow, mauger 
 The charm and peace I see,
 
 136 DEPENDING UPON CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 On every side, to others 
 
 Vouchsafed in some degree; 
 
 Alas ! This March air smothers 
 Joy and expectancy ! " 
 
 When thus the maid had spoken, 
 
 I took her hand in mine 
 A moment seized (ere broken 
 
 Her current) to entwine 
 Her waist, and gently press her 
 
 My heart on whisp'ring arch : 
 " She willing I'd caress her 
 
 Must have been born in March. " 
 
 She coyly pshawed and pouted; 
 
 But I my theme pursued: 
 " The month must not be scouted 
 
 When thou first chirped and cooed. 
 And know thee more : If routed, 
 
 Poor March, not I had wooed 
 This small white hand, or doubted 
 
 If e'er thou wouldst I should." 
 
 " In March ! Thou born in March, sir?' 
 
 My friend, protestful, asked; 
 (The winds you've seen the larch stir; 
 With equal grace, when tasked
 
 DEPENDING UPON CIRCUMSTANCES. 137 
 
 My love to list', and answer 
 In altered tones, she plead:) 
 "March storms, near thee, enchant, sir; 
 I knew not what I said ! " 
 
 Aye, sweet ! " I added, < < Cases , 
 
 Are changed by circumstance ' 
 Since hinge on fickle bases 
 
 All incidents of chance. 
 So things, if missed their places, 
 
 Will seem perplexed, perverse ; 
 And ever lost are traces 
 
 Of hearts no love to nurse. 
 
 " The soul and not the season 
 
 Hath faculty of tears; 
 The pulse without a reason 
 
 Beats joy, defies the years. 
 June, without thee, were dreary, 
 
 Whilst March, near thee, is heaven. 
 My life, thou guiding, cheery 
 
 Wakes; vanished thou, 'twere riven."
 
 138 A VALENTINE. 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 Of love accept an avalanche 
 
 Not borne on glaciers chill 
 But warming with caresses, Blanche, 
 
 Thy heart and soul to thrill 
 Sweet currents burning to bestow 
 
 On lips of cherry hue, 
 On eyes that melt, and flash, and glow, 
 
 On dainty hands that do 
 With grace what love did beg requite 
 
 The single favor mine, 
 Because, perhaps, the first to write 
 
 A name dear, dearest, THINE 
 
 Made now MY VALENTINE.
 
 THE LAYS OF A BOHEMIAN. 139 
 
 VI. 
 
 Or wild caprices, with their fumes 
 
 And vapors, wierdly glow 
 Above the hum of labor's looms, 
 
 Yet far the stars below 
 In frolic verse, or rollic rhymes, 
 
 Wild warbles fife, or freaks 
 Fantastically ring on chimes, 
 
 'Mid laughter's gleeful shrieks. 
 
 A Poet's Introspect, (Page 19).
 
 THE PORTENT. 
 
 THE POETENT. 
 
 So cheeringly she met him at the gate 
 As if his greeting she could hardly wait, 
 And held, as her fond wont, in former time, 
 To his her lips sweet-perfumed, as with thyme, 
 He thought regrets had come to his defense, 
 Her heart resolved with her recovered sense 
 To make his life less wretched than before 
 To show, earth held for him some peace in store. 
 
 A dinner, such as known he doted on, 
 
 Lay spread so daintily, so noted on 
 
 Its dishes care to please his appetite, 
 
 He felt as if had entered a new light 
 
 Upon his wedded fate, 'shamed to have learned, 
 
 So late, how his glum shade and speech were 
 
 turned 
 
 Forgivingly in the remembrance kind 
 Of her, to whose 'rapt int'rest he so blind.
 
 142 THE PORTENT. 
 
 And such an evening ! Taper fingers dwelt 
 
 So softly on the organ's keys, he felt 
 
 Borne down the past, beyond their honeymoon, 
 
 Reminded of its ending all too soon 
 
 For reason, he, impulsive, could not mold 
 
 To her's his abrupt ways, could not unfold, 
 
 Weeks, months ago, the blossom see how sweet ! 
 
 From her dear heart exhaling love complete. 
 
 And when the morning dawned, his angel rose 
 Long ere he could his torpid lids unclose. 
 Descended, from the breakfast-room her voice 
 Invited him to fruit rare, ripe and choice, 
 Yet whetted more his palate by her sigh 
 At sorrow he so soon must bid good-bye. 
 Mournful, she kissed adieu, in his her hand, 
 When, struck her thought, as by a magic wand, 
 She spake: "To-morrow, sweet, is opening-day. 
 You'll not expect me, love, at home to stay? 
 
 AND MAY I HAVE ANOTHER HUNDRED ? SAY ! "
 
 TWO ANTIQUARIAN MODELS. 143 
 
 TWO ANTIQUARIAN MODELS. 
 
 APBOPOS, HOWEVER, OF ALL AGES AND GENEBATIONS. 
 
 THE FIRST. 
 HIS ST. VALENTINE'S ODE TO HIS GRANDSON. 
 
 She purred so naively, my weak heart 
 
 A tender palpitation felt; 
 But when I stroked her, in good part, 
 
 She scratched, and raised a cruel welt 
 The Cat ! 
 
 So cunningly and soft she stole, 
 
 My earnest moods and aims despite, 
 
 Into my humors, that my soul 
 He volte d at her vicious bite 
 
 The Serpent! 
 
 For every whim she wheedled me; 
 
 Yet when meek I would humbly ask 
 A grain of human sympathy, 
 
 She'd kick, or balk it as a task, 
 
 The Mule ! 
 
 Now, if you would all these combine 
 
 Of Eve's known graces, choose, you fool, 
 
 A maid to merge your fate condign, 
 And thenceforth brook the fickle rule 
 Of cat, of serpent and of mule.
 
 144 TWO ANTIQUARIAN MODELS. 
 
 THE SECOND. 
 HER ST. VALENTINE'S ODE TO HER GRAND-DAUGHTER. 
 
 Lone and silent he reposes, 
 
 With such calm insouciance, 
 That his bed seems one of roses 
 
 'Till he grunts and breaks the trance 
 The Hog! 
 
 Sinisterly he approaches, 
 
 And the careless list'ner fills 
 With the plaints a suitor broaches 
 
 When he coos 'till dart his quills 
 
 The Porcupine ! 
 
 By his own voice thrill'd with rapture, 
 
 Wildly cackles he: " I'll give 
 Every dollar I can capture 
 
 For my service if you'll live ! " 
 
 The Goose ! 
 
 Ne'ermore seek, through long instalments, 
 
 Eomance here condensed in bulk; 
 If you'd feel this life's enthralments 
 
 With acuteness, draw some hulk 
 From the lottery of Hymen, 
 On love's altar slip the noose, 
 
 And be hence reminded by men 
 Of hog, porcupine and goose !
 
 JENNIE BRADSHAW. 145 
 
 JENNIE BEADSHAW. g 
 
 I 
 
 " Oh ! who was that girl, so dashing and blithe, 
 Her features so charming and form so lithe, 
 Of the hazel eye and roseate cheek, 
 With an air of pride and a dash of pique, 
 And the 'witching smile of a gay coquette ? 
 Oh! answer; who is this maid that I met 
 That with you in the private-box I saw, 
 A night or two since at the opera ? " 
 I replied : " Tom, lovely Miss Jennie Bradshaw." 
 
 II. 
 
 "Who was that damsel, so gentle and sad, 
 So queenly in air, and tastefully clad, 
 With the melting brown orb, of hueless cheek, 
 So noble in carriage, and yet so meek, 
 With a seraph's glance, and an angel's smile 
 Full of expression and free from guile ? 
 Oh ! who was this maiden I saw with you, 
 Arm-in-arm, promenading the avenue ?" 
 "Ah! Ned, she is peerless Miss Jennie Brad- 
 shaw." 
 
 m. 
 
 " Who was that maid at the Park, by-the-bye. 
 Of the sweet modest face and swimming blue eye,
 
 146 JENNIE BRADSHAW. 
 
 "With daintiest form and a dimpled cheek, 
 And a gypsy hat, and the charming freak 
 Of a merry laugh, whose echo yet thrills 
 Through the ' Ramble's ' groves and miniature 
 
 hills 
 
 In memory, since that lovely day ? 
 Oh ! who is this lass, my good fellow, say ? "- 
 " Dear Jack, she's celestial Miss Jennie Brad- 
 
 shaw." 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Hold on ! " cried Sol, " I've a question to ask: 
 Who was she, pray, in the dark-velvet basque, 
 That entered the church last evening with you, 
 And with whom you were seated in Deacon Job's 
 
 pew? 
 
 She wore golden curls that shaded a face 
 Refulgent with heavenly love and grace; 
 And her eye an intelligent, beaming gray 
 Made cheerful her smile, and winsome her way?" 
 " Why, Sol ! My divinity, Jennie Bradshaw." 
 
 V. 
 
 To every query of whom he saw 
 With me, I would answer: "Jennie Bradshaw;" 
 Whene'er the home-folks asked: "Whither to- 
 night ? "
 
 JENNIE BRADSHAW. H7 
 
 Jennie Bradshaw was the cause of my flight; 
 In church, at the theatre, or soiree, 
 On the road, the avenue, or Broadway, 
 In the Park, at the opera, ever the same 
 I always repeated that chosen name, 
 Responding : "The darling! Miss Jennie Brad- 
 shaw." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Hence, many an unwitting lass received 
 This innocent christ'ning, and ne'er believed 
 That thus her charms or faults were united 
 To Jennie, whom the boys swore I had plighted, 
 Because, whenever the question was made, 
 I repeatedly answer'd the self-same maid 
 And her name had ever from doubt been free, 
 But that one sad night, to supper with me 
 I invited some friends who'd met " Jennie Brad- 
 shaw." 
 
 vn. 
 
 " Jennie Bradshaw has a sweet hazel eye," 
 Commenced chum Tom, with a wink and a sigh; 
 " Not hazel," hints Ned; " you mean a sad black:" 
 " You're both wrong, boys; it's a soft blue," says 
 
 Jack: 
 
 " It's gray ! " cries Sol; " for I'll never forget 
 Her pious glance in the church that I met."
 
 148 JENNIE BBADSHAW, 
 
 Thus, at my board, the discussion arose, 
 
 'Till at length, from mouth to mouth the cry 
 
 goes: 
 "Let's have a description of Jennie Bradshaw! " 
 
 vni. 
 
 " Dear Jennie's a myth," I finally spoke : 
 " There's no use longer concealing the joke, 
 That when my friends have, importunate, tried 
 To learn the name of the girl at my side, 
 Or the name of the lass with whom I've spent 
 The morning or eve, evasive I've sent 
 Them all, sincerely believing the same 
 That this of my rhyme is my charmer's name. 
 So, boys, fill your bumpers; here's 'Jennie Brad- 
 shaw ! ' " 
 
 IX. 
 
 Without drawing the moral my story presents, 
 I'll keep you a moment, to say that from thence, 
 From the night of our supper to this of my 
 
 rhyme, 
 
 When I've been met with a lass, every time 
 That I leave my door for a quiet call, 
 I witness a smile, or a laugh in the hall. 
 My friends, with a grin or nudge by the way, 
 Will point to the girl by my side, and say: 
 " Prolific and charming Miss Jennie Bradshaw ! "
 
 THE LAYS OF A BOHEMIAN. 149 
 
 VII. 
 
 Or satire, musing Damascene, 
 
 Hypocri sy lays bare, 
 And falsehood pricks with blade so keen 
 
 That honesty seems fair, 
 Sweet virtue for a moment blest 
 
 Alike for drones and plods, 
 Rare truth aroused from stubborn rest 
 
 The scale of justice God's. 
 
 A Poet's Introspect, (Page ig).
 
 AMONG THE RECRUITS. 161 
 
 AMONG THE RECRUITS, k 
 
 I. 
 
 I donned my hat, when read the news, 
 And 'mong the soldiers took a cruise. 
 I crossed the park, where spread the camp 
 Recruits heard curse, in quarters cramp 
 At mess espied them munch stale pork 
 And hard-tack, without knife or fork 
 Caught speech of distant homes, when wept 
 A few, whilst others fumed or slept; 
 Thence, as from charnel-house, I crept. 
 
 II. 
 
 Threading, anon, the noisy street, 
 My sight I doubted when 'twould greet 
 The first Tom Smith, adown whose pants 
 Coursed a stripe that shocked my glance. 
 With woeful stare, I scanned his clothes, 
 Exclaimed: "Poor Tom, where got you those ? 
 " I signed while fuddled," he replied 
 As, waving an adieu, he sighed, 
 And I, reflective, onward hied. 
 
 III. 
 
 Before I'd walked another block, 
 I felt a poke from musket-stock;
 
 AMONG THE RECRUITS. 
 
 And Bradshaw, ever brimming fun, 
 Hailed me with his burnished gun 
 To my grave asking: " What it meant," 
 Rejoined: "I hadn't left a cent; 
 " My business dead, no more could find; 
 " My pockets empty, fled my mind; 
 " In fit of sheer despair I signed." 
 
 IV. 
 
 I wished Jack Bradshaw best of cheer, 
 And parting not without a tear, 
 Had bare renewed my promenade 
 Ere on my arm a grasp was laid, 
 And Johnson, a la militaire, 
 Saluted me with pompous air 
 Responded to my question why 
 He left his home perhaps to die : 
 " D'ye see these epaulettes, my eye ? " 
 
 y. 
 
 Leaving Johnson, arms akimbo, 
 
 Strutting in his hotel window, 
 
 I would have sped my way through town, 
 
 But was arrested by old Brown. 
 
 Brown has a family and wife 
 
 The last a torment to his life.
 
 AMONG THE RECRUITS. 153 
 
 Anent I spake, lie cried : " From you 
 Vain to conceal, my wife's a shrew. 
 Pray ! save enlist, what could I do ? " 
 
 VI. 
 
 After, came Jones Brown's former clerk 
 Embreeched and turban'd like a Turk. 
 The while I paused, he screwed his eye 
 As if he might, but would not cry. 
 His face was pale, his form was bowed, 
 And on his forehead sate a cloud. 
 I'd not revert to well I knew 
 What made the fellow look so blue: 
 Tho' she'd proved false, his love was true! 
 
 VII 
 
 Of the many " braves " I've met, 
 
 Self-confessed stands each, as yet, 
 
 He 'listed desperate or drunk, 
 
 From thwarted love or business sunk, 
 
 For commission, or subsistence 
 
 Or to 'scape a damned existence. 
 
 While breath with smoke or liquor teemed, 
 
 He brooding, weak, or thoughtless seemed, 
 
 And ne'er of coming battle dreamed.
 
 154 THE MERCENARY WOMAN. 
 
 THE MEKCENAKY WOMAN, m 
 
 She seemed so fresh, so bright, so pure, 
 
 When first I scanned her face, 
 I could have sworn I felt so sure 
 
 Her heart was in its place ; 
 But ere we could our views exchange 
 
 On half a dozen themes, 
 I found she was quite out of range 
 
 Of my poetic dreams. 
 
 I did imagine hers might be 
 
 A sympathetic heart 
 Her eyelids drooped so pensively, 
 
 So quick the red did start 
 To cheek and brow whene'er I spake 
 
 Of dear domestic things; 
 She seemed truth owned to almost make 
 
 Me doubt less she wore wings. 
 
 Soft, melting eye, and gentlest tone; 
 
 Complexion of the rose ; 
 With bust of Hebe, and such a zone 
 
 As waist of nymph might close ; 
 How commonplace they all did seem, 
 
 When dropping but a phrase, 
 She suddenly dispelled my dream 
 
 My momentary daze !
 
 THE MERCENARY WOMAN. 155 
 
 A wretched sentiment, expressed 
 
 Through beauty's cherry pout; 
 A look, when cruelly impressed 
 
 On features souls might rout; 
 An act or movement, to denote 
 
 The face is but a mask, 
 The soft voice but a syren's note 
 
 Who'll my conclusion ask ? 
 
 My pretty guest did but observe : 
 
 "We never could agree; 
 My style he could not well preserve, 
 
 He was so poor, you see." 
 Yet, that one thought, with its context 
 
 Of mercenary pride, 
 Led me to pray, the woman next 
 
 I met, her greed might hide. 
 
 Indeed, cracked tones and crippled form, 
 
 And features creased with care 
 So long as under all glows warm 
 
 A heart seem far more fair 
 Than faultless figure, mellow strain, 
 
 Or dimpled cheek, bright-hued, 
 A woman masking cold and vain, 
 
 With lucre's thirst imbued.
 
 156 HE CAN PLAY ON THE PIANO. 
 
 HE CAN PLAY ON THE PIANO. 
 
 He's a dwarfish, curly fellow, 
 Cannot brew, or baste, or knead, 
 Plow or reap the fallow mead, 
 Hoe or plant the yielding seed, 
 Delve or trade, indite or plead; 
 
 Then, why thus his presence bellow ? 
 
 Charon's muses cannot help it; 
 
 For know, this bright icono 
 
 (Like leper in a bagnio, 
 
 Or kite on isle guano,) 
 
 Has forte at the piano. 
 " Drown his thrum ! " The styx dogs yelp it ! 
 
 He can play on the piano; 
 
 But his list'ners ! Can they bide 
 Agonizing strains that tide 
 O'er the keys, where wildly stride 
 Art's rare touches ? They'll decide, 
 
 With me : Give praise morgano !
 
 SACREDLY INVESTED. 157 
 
 SACEEDLY INVESTED. 
 
 A MILLION DOLLARS ! They would yield, 
 
 At four per cent, (the ruling rate 
 Since Billionaires have won " the field " 
 
 From freedom's sway, and mold the State,) 
 Forty thousand dollars yearly 
 
 Tho' said principal now bears naught 
 Save that piety which, queerly, 
 
 Thinks " put," " call," and " straddle " bought 
 For " futures " can be, in GOD'S TEMPLE. 
 
 THE CONGREGATION must have deemed 
 
 Their Million well invested, since 
 The Safry of their Mouthpiece seemed 
 
 A bagatelle altho' a Prince 
 Whose titles (in more than one land) 
 
 Are at a discount, would be glad 
 Of per annum Twenty Thousand 
 
 Him to save from the YERY BAD. 
 
 AN ELEEMOOSINARY SAMPLE. 
 
 Then, again, the Undertaker, 
 
 (And his satellites the ushers,) 
 " Classic " choir, and organ-slaker, 
 
 And that band of milk-and-mushers
 
 158 SACREDLY INVESTED. 
 
 Yclept as "trustees," "deacons," "elders," 
 
 With the sev'ral " incidentals " 
 Not omitting the waste gilders 
 
 Charged to "tracts " and "fundamentals," 
 Make SALVATION quite a GAMBLE. 
 
 Calculate the problem, slowly: 
 
 Ninety thousand dollars, you'll find, 
 Mark the " chips " so high, the LOWLY 
 
 (If they think the Eyes of God blind 
 By the spire gold has erected, 
 
 Or from heaven all save pew own, 
 As from church, by saints ejected ) 
 
 View their " chance " a very rue one. 
 So the humble, Sundays, ramble. 
 
 " Pshaw ! Damn the humble ! Why heed we 
 
 Misery, hunger, want or thirst 
 Out of wealth's pale ? " Gold speaking thus, 'curst 
 
 Deems his priest faith meek, barefooted, 
 And God's Ministry, 'neath sky's dome 
 
 'Curst all piety not rooted, 
 Hard and cold, to the stones that tomb 
 Hundreds now dead 
 For want of bread ! 
 Hymns he : " Scramble ! All's a gamble ! "
 
 TO MY CRITIC. 
 TO MY CEITIC. 
 
 Are you, whose pen would annotate a text of mine, 
 By judgment guided one whit riper more divine 
 Than other men's ? 
 
 Whose gift the better to select, 
 Than you, the words should dress your thought ? 
 
 Would you reflect 
 My moods, then, or my whims ? 
 
 Sooth grant, with my sense none 
 Can phrase or weld accordantly as I have done, 
 Since no machine doth work like mine of Jove's in- 
 voice 
 Or will, so long as Procreation's Pow'rs rejoice. 
 
 My mold distinct from your's as David's from St 
 
 Mark's 
 As Milton's from Dean Swift's, or Scott's or Jared 
 
 Sparks' 
 As Byron's, Bolingbroke's, or Goldsmith's from 
 
 Montaigne's 
 As Pope's, or Sheridan's, or Lamb's from G. F. 
 
 Train's
 
 160 TO MY CRITIC. 
 
 As Bulwer's, or as Thackeray's from Joaquin Mil- 
 ler's, 
 
 Or any prosing screed's, or rhyming caterpillar's 
 Of all the medley memory may nimbly trill, 
 From Clio's phalanx, life and legend leave us still. 
 
 Therefore, my bent no worldling may presume en- 
 join 
 
 To change old words, remodel new, or phrases coin 
 From my impress, to give a glimmer of the loin 
 The brain, called mine, doth guide, or brain my 
 
 loin doth run 
 (No matter where to end, or wherefore either 
 
 spun,) 
 
 The loin and brain my lot than those of other men 
 More true to me of equal use and worth, I ken, 
 To the Occasion First, the Cause of them and me, 
 Or Aim that squirms life's puppets in the span or sea 
 Of Jove's Infinitude. 
 
 To me, at least, mine bring 
 More pleasure than from other web or woof may 
 
 spring 
 
 More certainly than his whose pastime is to sting, 
 And not to heal, the sufFring sense of blunders 
 
 ring
 
 TO MY CRITIC. 161 
 
 The birth for festers root for flowers snuff that 
 
 stale 
 
 For stenches grope and ferret balms refuse in- 
 hale. 
 
 Such will full tribute pay his morbid spleen's de- 
 mand 
 
 His humid exudations spread with rancorous hand 
 O'er my free pages, tributary to his brand 
 Not less than to the reader who shall, keen, descry 
 Herein a target for grim satire's mockery; 
 Or to the heart, indulgent, smiles, or laughs in glee 
 At conning stanzas that affect it mirthfully; 
 Or to responsive thought, from which my verse 
 
 shall call 
 
 Forth grateful echoes; or to currents, found in all 
 So varying with humors, circumstances, years, 
 They'll move some to reflection, some to jests, some 
 
 Alas! Sir Gloatful Critic,? How could you survive, 
 Except, behold ! the opportunities arrive 
 (As, now and then, rash amateurs rush into print,) 
 To pen your variations on the threadbare hint 
 Your theme : " A book's a book, altho' there's noth- 
 ing in't ? "
 
 I TO MY CRITIC. 
 
 Indeed, so often troped and cited, without stint, 
 By you this pregnant judgment on the unfledged 
 
 scribe 
 Dare brook your with'ring censure, stricture, glance 
 
 or gibe, 
 'Twould be your blazoned motto, and surmount 
 
 your crest 
 
 If heraldry had not been flouted, put to rest 
 With other barb'rous relics of earth's feudal age, 
 As critics will be, in the next, who carp and rage 
 Amid the scandals mark our growing daily page. 
 
 Meanwhile, Jove save your shadow for the place it 
 
 fits 
 As truly your's as clown's or drudge's, bard's or 
 
 wit's 
 Are their's respectively. As dear, as due, your 
 
 right 
 
 As an appendix to my mime of Pean's flight 
 To hang your knotted lash, as my own restless 
 
 boy's 
 To tail the Japan hawk with which he, sportive, 
 
 toys, 
 Especially, since each his plaything so enjoys
 
 TO MY CRITIC. 
 
 To see cavorting in the winds that sweep the sky 
 The boy, because he'd have his captive soar and fly 
 Beyond the stars if storms might wait and cord 
 
 might last; 
 And you, my critic, that a gale might swell to 
 
 blast 
 
 Tour kite, and drive it earthward to be thrust 
 Mid' briars, or swamps, or stones, or trampled in 
 
 the dust. 
 
 My conscience frank and free, contentedly I wait 
 Each new diversion, frown, crank, freak or turn of 
 
 fate- 
 As I have humbly, hap'ly learned to do, of late, 
 Invoking Jove may suffer you to wisely rate 
 My Lays, as they shall merit, in His broad estate 
 Assessed and taxed, according as they may belong 
 To marsh or fallow with His harvest land along, 
 Or rankling His salt-meadow and not worth a 
 
 song.
 
 THE LAYS OF A BOHEMIAN. 165 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 a. (Page 32.) First printed in the American Art Journal, Sep- 
 tember 17, 1881. 
 
 b. (Page 54.) "Mv SPRING is HERE" was first published in the 
 N. Y. Daily Graphic, March 22, 1884. 
 
 c. (Page 72.) This poem originally appeared in the American Art 
 Journal, June 25, 1881. With the exceptions noted below (and a 
 few others unnecessary to her particularize), " MY SANCTUM " is 
 the author's earliest metrical essay contained inthese pages. 
 Its interest may, possibly, seem confined to his surroundings, or 
 personal to his situation, at the time of its appearance when his 
 offices (as well Sanctum, or study,) pleasantly faced Union Square 
 on the west. 
 
 A congenial neighbor, at the period referred to, was Mr. Thorns, 
 the proprietor of the Art Journal to whose publication ' MY 
 SANCTUM " was naturally contributed. 
 
 d. (Page 80.) "!N MEMORIAM " was an impromptu (tho' very 
 inadequate) tribute to the memory of Miss Alice C. Earl, formerly 
 Secretary to the author, who died, of hereditary consumption, 
 on September nth, 1884, and whose obsequies were observed from 
 her late home, in Newark, N. J., on the I4th of the same month. 
 Within two years prior to her decease, both of Miss Earl's par- 
 ents had succumbed to the same dread malady ; so that her death 
 may be said to have been pre-determined, no less than premature. 
 
 /. (Page 114.) This trifle was originally published in 1865 tho' 
 among the earliest of the writer's essays at versification; and it is 
 now accessible through its having been cut from print and pre- 
 served in the scrap-book collection of a friend. 
 
 g. (Page 145.) " JENNIE BRADSHAW," produced first in the N. Y. 
 Weekly Mercury, in June, 1861. is accessible under circumstances 
 similar to those last above mentioned.
 
 166 NOTES. 
 
 k. (Page 151.) "AMONG THE RECRUITS" was published in the N.Y. 
 Sunday Times, in the summer of 1861, when the fever of patriotism 
 burned at so high a degree that it was deemed a necessary precau- 
 tion, by the manager of that paper, to editorially disavow all respon- 
 sibility for its expressions. A few incidents to its appearance 
 (which might be historically interesting and pertinent, in other 
 connections, ) it is not required to detail here. 
 
 The rhymes (for they may, at least, be so designated, ) annotated 
 f, g and fc, are (with the exception of his first metrical composition 
 in August, 1856,) the author's only attempt at versification prior 
 to 1 88 1, which have been preserved. The exception parenthesized 
 called "THE MISSION PRIEST" was printed in the Mercury, 
 of which the literary department was conducted by Mr. Newell (Or- 
 pheus C. Ker,) in 1861. Indeed, with these exceptions, all the 
 earlier offspring of the author's muse (as well as prose 
 manuscript, and the plans or germs of verse,) were destroyed by 
 conflagration, in the month of April, 1878. His verses, at that time 
 lost, were a small part of the writer's accumulated work literature 
 having been tormerly his avocation for a livelihood. These state- 
 ments are made, not in any mood of regret, but as matters of fact 
 to which maybe added: With the three exceptions above indicated, 
 the verses contained in this volume are published as they were 
 written for the author's personal diversion, as will (or may have 
 been) inferred from their tone and substance, or their want of either 
 or both. And with the exceptions annotated, none of the verses 
 herein contained have ever before appeared in published form or 
 print. 
 
 m. (Page 154.) "THE MERCENARY WOMAN " first appeared in the 
 American Art Journal, of December 10, 1881.
 
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