UCSB LIBRARY
 
 CHIPS, FKAGMENTS 
 AND VESTIGES
 
 HAMILTON, 1854. /
 
 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS 
 AND VESTIGES 
 
 BY 
 
 GAIL HAMILTON 
 
 COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY 
 H. AUGUSTA DODGE 
 
 BOSTON 
 LEE AND SHEPARD 
 
 1902
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY H. AUGUSTA DODGE. 
 PUBLISHED, AUGUST, 1902. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES OP TERSE 
 BY GAIL HAMILTON. 
 
 JJockfotll anb Cbnrtfcill t'rtss 
 
 BOSTON
 
 TO 
 
 THE DEAR AND CHERISHED MEMORY OF 
 
 WITH THE WISH THAT ALL HER FRIENDS MAY SHARE 
 THE PLEASURE OF ITS PERUSAL 
 
 THIS LITTLE BOOK IS DEDICATED 
 
 BY HER SISTER
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 AMONG my sister's papers were several rhyming 
 manuscripts the earliest, dated 1841, when she was 
 eight years old, is here a facsimile : 
 
 SS Sut/, >Tfa*ttlA, ^fL^ffd^ J&f CSLf^&X-tAsJ 
 
 cc&C ot 
 
 'K&t>f vldfl, 
 
 This " was solemnly and silently handed to mother " 
 by the little author after she had discovered the 
 hiding-place. 
 
 An old-fashion letter-paper sheet, yellow with age, 
 bearing the head-line, "Chips and Parings," in the
 
 vi CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 same immature handwriting, is filled with verses 
 about "The Dead Bird," "Slavery," "The Four 
 Seasons of Life," etc. 
 
 Another sheet, foolscap size, is covered with " Mary 
 A. Dodge's Scribbles " all before she was twelve 
 years old. During her school life as pupil and teacher 
 she wrote " in numbers " that were printed in differ- 
 ent newspapers, on programmes for special occasions, 
 and afterward various hymns, odes, and poems, as late 
 as the year 1894. 1 In presenting her early writings, 
 no attempt has been made to amend any childish 
 inaccuracies of expression that may appear. 
 
 Though she herself made no pretences to being a 
 poetess or writing poetry, divers of her papers were 
 marked " chips," " shavings," " fragment," " vestige," 
 etc., which it has been a delight to me to read, and to 
 collect into a volume " named with her name" 
 
 H. AUGUSTA DODGE. 
 
 HAMILTON, March 31, 1902. 
 
 1 [In 1893, " English Kings in a Nutshell Gail Hamilton," was pub- 
 lished by the American Book Company. The author says in the preface : 
 " The verses include all the English monarch*, their relation to their suc- 
 cessors, the time and length of each reign, and one or two prominent events 
 or prominent names that marked its course. . . . The illustrations not 
 only repeat and intensify, but enlarge, the story of the text, and thus add a 
 distinct and special value to my booklet."]
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE ROSE 1 
 
 THE DEAD BIRD 2 
 
 AN EPIC OF A BOY ....... 2 
 
 IN THE STREETS OF "OLD LAN" ..... 4 
 
 "PAYING HIM BACK" 5 
 
 CHILDHOOD ......... 6 
 
 SLAVERY ........ 7 
 
 INDEPENDENCE ......... 8 
 
 SELFISHNESS 10 
 
 LINES ........ 11 
 
 THE BRIDAL AND THE FUNERAL 12 
 
 "THE LITTLE ONE GONE BEFORE" .... 14 
 
 THE LOST FAN 15 
 
 A TRAGEDY ...... 18 
 
 PICTURES 21 
 
 LINES TO MY ALGEBRA ....... 22 
 
 AN ACROSTIC ........ 26 
 
 THAT OLD KNIFE 27 
 
 A DREAM ........ 31 
 
 "THE HAND" 35 
 
 THE SONG OF THE GOUT . . . . \ . .44 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN MY BROTHER'S ALBUM ... 45 
 A REQUIEM FOR THE DEPARTED . . . . .51 
 
 THE LAST INDIAN 53 
 
 To JOSE BARDOTTEE ...... 56 
 
 To AN ANCIENT SHOE ... 58
 
 viii CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 I'AfiK 
 
 A PARODY 61 
 
 A METRICAL ROMANCE ....... 64 
 
 "LITTLE KATY" 79 
 
 DlTHYRAMBIC ......... 82 
 
 THE YOUTH AT THE FOUNTAIN 83 
 
 HOPE 84 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN ........ 85 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS MAIDEN 87 
 
 SEHN-SUCHT ......... 89 
 
 MIDNIGHT ......... 90 
 
 RESOLUTION 92 
 
 MORNING 95 
 
 ALONE .......... 97 
 
 SHADOWS .......... 99 
 
 " MAN GOETH TO THE GRAVE AND WHERE is HE ? " . 100 
 
 To 101 
 
 To - 103 
 
 WHAT IT MEANT ........ 104 
 
 "NoT ALL A DREAM" 105 
 
 THE RAIN 107 
 
 To You! IF You UNDERSTAND THEM . . .108 
 
 To AGNES O'BRIEN 109 
 
 To THE REV. MR. B Ill 
 
 VALE ET SALVE 113 
 
 VALE ET SALVE AGAIN! ....... 115 
 
 AILANTHK .......... 116 
 
 POPPING THE QUESTION! . . . . . . .119 
 
 A BATTLE SONG FOR FREEDOM . . . . .121 
 
 ARCHIE DEAN. BY JENNY MARSH PARKER . . . 123 
 
 WHAT YOU'D BETTER Do, JENNY MARSH . . . 126 
 
 WHAT I DID, GAIL HAMILTON. BY JENNY MARSH . 129 
 
 ON THE SIDEWALK ........ 133 
 
 O LAND BEYOND THE SOUNDING SEA! .... 135 
 
 To ELLEN AUGUSTA HUNT IN ALABAMA 138
 
 CONTENTS ix 
 
 PAGE 
 
 DR. KANE 140 
 
 THE NOSIAD 143 
 
 THE PURSUIT or KNOWLEDGE UNDER DIFFICULTIES . 148 
 
 A VALEDICTORY ........ 153 
 
 To DR. MURDOCH 157 
 
 To MR. OWEN 157 
 
 To MR. SMITH 158 
 
 ANTENATAL ......... 162 
 
 To C. L. TALLANT ,162 
 
 VESTIGES .......... 170 
 
 To MRS. BAILEY .170 
 
 To MR. GEORGE WOOD 171 
 
 To DR. BAILEY 171 
 
 To 172 
 
 PENCILED-SKETCH ........ 173 
 
 BY THE SEA 174 
 
 A VISION 175 
 
 "ETTIE" 179 
 
 ORIGINAL ODE ......... 181 
 
 HYMN SUNG AT THE SEMI-CENTENNIAL IN BRAINTREE . 184 
 
 ANSWERED ......... 188 
 
 HYMN FOR AGRICULTURAL ASSOCIATION .... 196 
 
 REPARTEE WITH JOHN G. WHITTIER .... 198 
 
 HAMILTON TEA PARTY ....... 201 
 
 TROSY'S DEFENCE ........ 206 
 
 To SECRETARY ROBESON . . . . . .210 
 
 To MRS. HALE 211 
 
 MOTHER IPSWICH ........ 212 
 
 To LITTLE "c" 216 
 
 BIRTHDAYS . . 217 
 
 THE FLOWER 219 
 
 LINES ON 100TH ANNIVERSARY OF HAMILTON . . . 221 
 
 To MY COMRADES IN CHRIST ...... 224
 
 MARY ABBT DODGE, 1854 .... Frontispiece 
 A DRAWING-LESSON, " IPS. FEM. SEM." Facing page 14 
 
 "HOME" 184 
 
 A CORNEK IN THE LIBRARY . . . u " 200
 
 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND 
 VESTIGES 
 
 T 
 
 THE ROSE 
 
 Written in the winter of 1842 (at the age of nine) 
 
 rHE rose is the fairest of all flowers, 
 
 That fearfully peep from their verdant bowers ; 
 
 Reclining in the gentle shade, 
 
 A lovely and embowering maid. 
 
 Attracting all that pass her there, 
 By her sweet countenance, and fair, 
 Gaining herself friends every day, 
 As does the blooming flower of May. 
 
 And when her leaves are strewed around, 
 In withering fragments on the ground, 
 Still we inhale her sweet perfume, 
 As when she was in youthful bloom.
 
 A 
 
 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 THE DEAD BIRD 
 
 S I was going from school one night, 
 
 I saw a little bird ; 
 
 But the poor thing had ceased its flight, 
 Its notes were no more heard. 
 
 No more it bounds 'long through the air, 
 
 No more it builds its nest, 
 No more we see its plumage fair ; 
 
 Its first days were its best. 
 
 The hard ground bore its little head, 
 
 And cold and stiff it lied ; * 
 For its life had forever fled 
 
 The little bird had died. 
 
 AN EPIC OF A BOY 
 
 A LITTLE boy sat by a rippling brook, 
 And as he sat, he tried, with line and hook, 
 To catch a fish, but no fish could he see ; 
 He tried and tried awhile then, looking up, saw me. 
 
 " My child," said I, " you must put up your hook ; 
 
 There are no fishes in this little brook." 
 
 Then, as he looked at me, he smiled a mournful 
 
 smile ; 
 Said he, " I have been here a long, long while. 
 
 * Too young for grammatical rules, but took poet's license natnrally.
 
 AN EPIC OF A BOY 3 
 
 " I have no home, no friends, no food, no bed, 
 No place whereon to lay my weary head ; 
 My drunken father turned me from his door ; 
 The heaven's the ceiling of my house, the earth here 
 is the floor." 
 
 " My boy," said I, " you may come home with me, 
 My home a pleasant home to you shall be." 
 Then he got up and gratefully took my hand ; 
 " And will you be to me," said he, " a friend ? " 
 
 " Your father has forsaken you, you have no other 
 
 friend, 
 And I, most cheerfully, to you a helping hand will 
 
 lend." 
 
 There rested on his countenance a very grateful look, 
 And he is happy now, although by his father is forsook. 
 
 Ye drunken parents, oh ! beware 
 How you deprive your children of your care ; 
 Ye sell yourselves to buy that poisonous rum, 
 And turn your own, own children from their home.
 
 4 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 1842 
 IN THE STREETS OF "OLD LAN" 
 
 ALONG time ago, in the streets of " Old Lan," 
 There once lived a poor but respectable man. 
 His station was low, and his height it was lower. 
 His wife's was six feet and his was just four. 
 
 Beside her, three daughters and one son had he ; 
 He was happy as ever man could wish to be ; 
 For all that he wanted was plenty of bread 
 And comfortable clothes, he always said. 
 
 His name was Charles Macbee, a farmer by trade, 
 And he dextrously handled the axe and the spade ; 
 But as most men have enemies, so did he, 
 And a terrible one came to Charles Macbee. 
 
 And vast havoc he made when he did come, 
 For he came in the dreadful form of rum, 
 And Charley found him an inveterate foe, 
 For he often was high, and at times quite low. 
 
 And then Charley found his house out of repair, 
 A clapboard off here and a shingle off there, 
 And the cold wind whistled through broken glass, 
 And then the poor drunkard would think of the past
 
 PAYING HIM BACK 5 
 
 And yet he grew worse and worse every day, 
 In spite of all things that his poor wife could say ; 
 But at length she found that it did no good, 
 And she let him alone to do as he would. 
 
 At last he was arrested and held to bail, 
 Tried and found guilty, and carried to jail. 
 This was too much for his heart-stricken wife, 
 And, alas ! sad to tell, it shortened her life. 
 
 And his poor children, too, without shoes to their feet 
 Or hats to their heads, went along through the street ; 
 Their father's in jail and their mother was dead, 
 And left the poor children to beg for their bread. 
 
 reader, beware, lest you too should become 
 A votary to this all-poisonous Rum. 
 But if you have begun, I pray you, refrain, 
 And ne'er place the cup to your lips again. 
 
 T 
 
 "PAYING HIM BACK" 
 
 HAT is right, Emma, go and tell 
 Of Dervan's carryings-on, 
 For thou hast borne them very well ; 
 Yea, thou hast borne them long.
 
 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 No matter if he's very mad, 
 No matter if he'll scold ; 
 You know that he was very bad, 
 As I have oft been told. 
 
 So now make haste and speed thy flight, 
 And tell mamma the news ; 
 Don't be afraid, for thou art right ; 
 I'll bear all the abuse. 
 
 I know full many a saucy word 
 That he hath said to thee, 
 And many a saucy word I've heard 
 That he has said to me ! 
 
 LINES 
 
 SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY A YOUTH WHEN FAR 
 AWAY FROM THE HOME OF HIS CHILDHOOD (1844) 
 
 T 
 
 HERE is one spot in all this world so wide 
 
 To which my recollection still is tied, 
 And oft I've lifted up my voice and cried, 
 Oh ! take me to my home. 
 
 And oft I've sat me down alone and thought 
 Of the fond smile which eagerly I sought, 
 When I, a child, was by my mother taught 
 At my sweet home.
 
 SLAVERY 
 
 I've thought, too, of the many pleasant hours 
 I've spent 'mid shady trees and verdant bowers, 
 In culling all the sweet and pretty flowers 
 For friends at home. 
 
 I've thought of many a lively, sportive run 
 My dear, kind father had with "little son," 
 When the hard labor of the day was done, 
 At my sweet home. 
 
 But now, alas ! this happiness is gone, 
 I look on every side all are unknown. 
 Oh ! in this dreary world I am alone, 
 Without a home. 
 
 L 
 
 SLAVERY 
 
 O, Afric's sons iu bondage stand, 
 Fettered and chained from foot to hand, 
 Driven along from street to street, 
 Considered slaves by those they meet. 
 
 And when they're sold and settled, then 
 They work much more like brutes than men ; 
 Their owners stand with whip in hand, 
 While they sweat upon his land.
 
 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 And when they lag, from want of rest, 
 The whip unto their back is prest ; 
 They smart with pain, he will not save. 
 Oh ! it is hard to be a slave. 
 
 And when their daily round of toil 
 Is finished on the owner's soil, 
 They turn into some hovel mean, 
 That's neither tidy, nice, or clean. 
 
 And when their scanty food they eat, 
 The hard ground serves them for a seat. 
 This is the life the slave must lead 
 And have no time to write or read. 
 
 Their owners think not of their food, 
 They think not of their slave's best good, 
 They think not of the pain they gave. 
 But, oh ! 'tis hard to be a slave. 
 
 INDEPENDENCE (1845) 
 
 ! what is Independence ? 
 'Perhaps some child may say, 
 I hear them tell a great deal 
 Of Independent day.
 
 INDEPENDENCE 
 
 When our forefathers lived, 
 There were many cruel kings 
 Who did provoke them sadly, 
 By many wicked things. 
 
 They would not give them freedom, 
 Yet made them taxes pay ; 
 They had governors who ruled them 
 In an oppressive way. 
 
 Their kings would give them charters, 
 And some were good and wise ; 
 But there were so many bad ones 
 That these were quite a prize. 
 
 But when he saw fit to take 
 
 These charters all away, 
 
 It must be done for none would dare 
 
 His orders disobey. 
 
 And the produce that they raised 
 They wa'n't allowed to sell, 
 Unless to English merchants, 
 Which did not please them well. 
 
 For some time their wrongs they bore, 
 Although with discontent, 
 Till to their smothered feelings 
 They did at last give vent.
 
 10 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 For on the fourth of July, 
 Without fear or delay, 
 They declared that they were free ; 
 'Twas an eventful day. 
 
 And to support this freedom 
 They had fearfully to fight ; 
 But conscience did sustain them, 
 They felt that they were right. 
 
 And now, this is the meaning, 
 Give ear to what I say, 
 Remember your forefathers 
 On Independent day. 
 
 V 
 
 SELFISHNESS (1845) 
 
 HAT is the cause of misery, 
 The cause of war and strife, 
 The cause of much unhappiness 
 In this short, fleeting life ? 
 I scruple not the cause to tell 
 'Tis selfishness, I know full well. 
 
 What is the cause of murders, thefts, 
 Of hard words and of blows ? 
 What is't that causes more than half 
 Of mankind's real woes ? 
 I scruple not the cause to tell 
 'Tis selfishness, I know full well.
 
 DEATH OF A FAVORITE DOG 
 
 What is the cause of bleeding hearts, 
 
 Of silent grief and tears, 
 
 What is the cause of partings sad, 
 
 And many anxious fears ? 
 
 I scruple not the cause to tell 
 
 'Tis selfishness, I know full well. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE DOG WHO WAS 
 KILLED BY THE CARS 
 
 POOR Jessie ! thou art gone ; 
 Thy pilgrimage is o'er ; 
 The pleasures of this life 
 Thou wilt enjoy no more. 
 Yet thou'st accomplished well thy end : 
 In losing thee we've lost a friend. 
 
 Poor Jessie ! thou art gone ; 
 
 Thy lamp of life is out ; 
 
 Dangers have battled with 
 
 Thy constitution stout ; 
 But battled they in vain with thee, 
 As in the sequel all can see. 
 
 Poor Jessie ! thou art gone ; 
 Thy thread of life was spun 
 To an uncommon length, 
 Yet now thy days are done.
 
 12 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 An iron hand did end thy life 
 With perils and with courage rife. 
 
 Poor Jessie ! thou art gone ; 
 We bid thee now adieu ; 
 No person e'er shall be 
 Attended more by you ; 
 In peace and quiet thou shalt lie ; 
 Jessie, we bid thee now, good-by. 
 
 ABBY. 
 SEPTEMBBK, 1846. 
 
 THE BRIDAL AND THE FUNERAL 
 
 I SAW her at the altar, 
 Arrayed in purest white ; 
 Her beauteous cheek was glowing, 
 Her eye was clear and bright. 
 
 I saw the bridegroom standing 
 So happy by her side, 
 And proudly gazing on her, 
 His sweet and gentle bride. 
 
 They knelt before the altar, 
 That lovely youthful pair, 
 And manliness and sweetness 
 I saw contrasted there.
 
 THE BRIDAL AND THE FUNERAL 13 
 
 And when the aged pastor 
 In low but thrilling tone, 
 Had said, with deep emotion, 
 The words that made them one, 
 
 He prayed that life before them 
 Might ever be as bright, 
 That no dark clouds of sorrow 
 Might intercept the light. 
 
 And as the bridegroom bore her 
 From home and friends away, 
 Full many a prayer, I ween, 
 Went up for her that day. 
 
 'Twas twelve months ere I saw her, 
 Then in the self -same place 
 The church where she was married 
 I saw again her face. 
 
 But what a change I witnessed ! 
 She, who a year ago 
 Was full of youthful buoyancy, 
 By death was now laid low. 
 
 That eye, so bright and sparkling, 
 No more shall view earth's scenes ; 
 That cheek is cold and deathly, 
 And marble-like it seems.
 
 14 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AtfD VESTIGES 
 
 And he, to whom were plighted 
 The youthful vows of love, 
 He, too, was gone before her 
 To welcome her above. 
 
 Thus ever is it here below : 
 Those hopes which surest seem 
 Are often blighted, and we wake 
 To find life's but a dream 
 1847. 
 
 THE LITTLE ONE GONE BEFORE 
 
 A 
 
 NOTHER, silver voice has gone 
 To join the choir around the Throne. 
 Another angel hand doth hold 
 And sweetly tune a harp of gold. 
 A bud of rarest, priceless worth, 
 Too beautiful and pure for earth, 
 Is gently plucked, beyond the skies 
 To bloom for aye, in Paradise. 
 
 But ah ! a place is vacant here, 
 But lately filled by one so dear ; 
 And many a heart-chord's rudely riven ; 
 Oh, will they not be joined in Heaven ?
 
 
 m. 
 
 ' &r< 
 
 1 *& 
 
 m 
 
 
 A Drawing 1 Lesson. 
 
 Ipswich Female Seminary. 
 
 Mary A. Dodge, No. 3.
 
 THE LOST FAN 15 
 
 Ye've seen her in Death's cold embrace, 
 Ye 've looked upon her marble face ; 
 But not beneath the coffin lid 
 The beauteous cherished one is hid. 
 Par, far beyond the dreary tomb, 
 Beyond its cold and cheerless gloom, 
 Beyond, beyond the clear blue sky, 
 In Jesus' bosom doth she lie. 
 
 Then lay her calmly in the dust, 
 Though very dear she was to us, 
 And let us not her loss deplore, 
 Think her " not lost, but gone before." 
 Her early death was surely given 
 A bond to draw us nearer heaven. 
 
 IPSWICH FEMALE SEMINARY, 1847. 
 
 B 
 
 THE LOST FAN 
 
 EREAVED one, when this you read, 
 Alas ! I fear your heart will bleed ; 
 But think, I pray, upon that line 
 Which in the Scriptures you will find : 
 Forgive all those who ask to be forgiven. 
 How many times ? Threescore and ten times 
 
 seven. 
 **********
 
 16 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 But to my story I'll proceed, 
 
 Although 'tis very sad indeed. 
 
 One very sultry summer day 
 
 Sarah and I were on our way, 
 
 Taking a walk up in the street, 
 
 Dragging along our weary feet ; 
 
 For, as I said, 'twas very hot ; 
 
 I rather think that we should not 
 
 Have walked at all, but that 'tis said 
 
 A walk is good for a weary head ; 
 
 And as I'd used my brainless pate 
 
 (Though " soft," 'tis tough at any rate) 
 
 Early at morn and late at eve, 
 
 I thought 'twas just it should receive 
 
 A little rest, and so I went 
 
 Into the street to take the vent. 
 
 I was so warm that in my hand 
 
 I took your precious little fan, 
 
 But little dreaming at that time 
 
 My walk would e'er be told in rhyme. 
 
 Well, we had nearly reached the end 
 
 Of our little journey, when 
 
 I chanced to think that I must go 
 
 Up to the Seminary, so 
 
 I turned my steps ; 'twas almost eight, 
 
 And as S. feared she should be late 
 
 If she went up, she therefore said : 
 
 " I will go home and go to bed.
 
 THE LOST FAN 17 
 
 Give me your fan, I am so warm, 
 I will protect it from all harm." 
 Then, thoughtlessly, I did consign 
 That precious, priceless fan of thine 
 To one, alas ! who did not know 
 How much of weal, how much of woe 
 Was centred in that little toy 
 Which formed its owner's light and joy. 
 When I came home, all warm and tired, 
 My bonnet off, I soon inquired 
 After my fan it was not there ! 
 I wrung my hands and tore my hair. 
 " Where is my fan ? " in grief I cried. 
 " I do not know," S. soon replied. 
 Day after day I sought in vain. 
 " You ne'er will see your fan again," 
 All coldly said, nor seemed to see 
 
 The grief which was consuming me. 
 
 ***** 
 
 One morning bright and warm, I stood 
 
 Viewing the fields, in thoughtful mood, 
 
 When suddenly my gaze was caught 
 
 By something that dispelled all thought. 
 
 I clapped my hands and cried, " 'Tis found ! " 
 
 And sure enough, there on the ground, 
 
 I saw, outstretched, the little fan 
 
 Which erst had caused me so much pain. 
 
 I caught it up, but, ah ! 'twas then 
 
 The wreck of what it once had been ;
 
 18 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Covered with dirt, all beaten, torn, 
 And by some chance wind had been borne 
 From fields afar, unto the place 
 Where I had recognized its face. 
 I mourned much for my faithful friend 
 Who'd come to this untimely end ; 
 And o'er its grave (pray do not laugh) 
 I placed the following epitaph : 
 
 Here lies my fan, a faithful friend, and true, 
 Though not unknown to me, perhaps it was to you, 
 For it has lived a private life, and never was its 
 
 name 
 Proclaimed abroad upon the earth by the silver 
 
 trump of Fame ; 
 Though it was loved by me 'twas brought in this dark 
 
 place to lodge, 
 By the very faulty thoughtlessness of 
 
 MARY ABBY DODGE. 
 SUMMER, 1847. 
 
 Y 
 
 A TRAGEDY 
 
 (AS NARRATED BY A LITTLE SCHOOL-MATE) 
 
 OUNG Albert leaned against the door 
 
 And looked upon the earth. 
 What sad event, thought I, has come 
 
 Thus to disturb your mirth ? 
 When looking up with thoughtful brow, 
 He slowly said, " They've killed our cow."
 
 A TRAGEDY 19 
 
 'Twas ludicrous ; a reaction 
 
 Over my feelings came. 
 " Who did the deed ? " said I to him ; 
 
 " Do you not know his name ? " 
 " Dunnels," said he, then told me how 
 The cruel man had "killed our cow." 
 
 O what portentous thing shall come, 
 
 To agitate this earth ! 
 Is war and rapine drawing near, 
 
 A famine or a dearth ? 
 For something must be coming now 
 And why ? because " they've killed our cow ! " 
 
 moon that lookest down on us 
 
 With kindly smiling face, 
 Tell us what thing is coming to 
 
 Exterminate our race ? 
 For surely, I suppose that thou, 
 Ere this, dost know " they've killed our cow ! " 
 
 sun ! the point whence light and heat 
 
 Do daily emanate, 
 Proclaim from thee to " Le Verrier " 
 
 This earth's peculiar state. 
 From thy high station deign to bow, 
 And tell to all " they've killed our cow ! "
 
 20 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 stars ! ye fixed stars ! 
 
 Stars of the milky way ! 
 Who'rt suns, yet nothing can we see 
 
 Save but a feebler ray, 
 Proclaim through all thy systems now 
 This startling fact, " they've killed our cow ! " 
 
 " My course is run, my errand done," 
 
 I have proclaimed to all 
 Who live upon the surface of 
 
 This sublunary ball, 
 In the lines that I have written now, 
 The fact that " Dunnels killed our cow ! " 
 
 Now may'st thou go, poetic Muse ; 
 
 Perhaps I'll ne'er again 
 Call upon thee, at least till thou'rt 
 
 More willing to descend, 
 And may that be when I tell how 
 
 " Dunnels " again shall " kill our cow" 
 
 ABBY. 
 DEC. 11, 1847.
 
 PICTURES 21 
 
 PICTURES 
 
 H ! sweet was the time 
 
 As a tender rhyme 
 In the beautiful long ago, 
 
 That I drew on my slate, 
 
 All out of my pate, 
 Three pictures, all in a row. 
 
 The first was a picture 
 
 Of lovely nature, 
 In the shape of my father's hoe ; 
 
 The next was a frog 
 
 Behind a log, 
 And the third was a great black crow. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! 
 
 For the days that are past ! 
 Alas for the great black crow ! 
 
 Oh ! sweet was the time 
 
 As a tender rhyme, 
 But it faded in long ago.
 
 22 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 LINES TO MY ALGEBRA 
 
 Winter of 1847-48 
 
 THOU mighty troubler of the school-girl's brain, 
 Though thou hast vexed me oft, yet would I 
 
 fain 
 
 Address to thee my simple, humble lays, 
 And teach my feeble Muse to sing thy praise. 
 
 Algebra ! much more of toil and pain 
 
 Thou'st caused me than thou e'er shalt cause again. 
 
 The rising sun has found me bending o'er 
 
 The problems over which I bend no more. 
 
 The evening breeze has fanned my burning brow 
 
 (Nay, do not smile at all my troubles now,) 
 
 And when in weariness I sought my bed, 
 
 Dreams of equations, roots, and fractions filled my 
 
 head. 
 Alas ! how dull my intellect must be ! 
 
 1 wonder what my teachers thought of me ; 
 I wonder how I must have seemed to them, 
 When scarce the easiest steps I'd comprehend. 
 And, musing on this, I might almost say 
 
 (If 'twere not wrong) with one who's passed away, 
 " that some power the gift would gie' us 
 To see oursel' as others see us." 
 
 When I had learned to add, subtract, divide, 
 And multiply, I thought the rest beside
 
 LINES TO MY ALGEBRA 23 
 
 Would seem quite easy and quite plain to me, 
 
 But I was doomed to disappointed be ; 
 
 For soon, alas ! how very soon, I found 
 
 Each section, chapter, problem that came round 
 
 Was harder than the former, soon was taught 
 
 To think no more of ease till every sum was wrought. 
 
 Your fractions of which some complain, ne'er troubled 
 
 me as yet, 
 For I learned from " Father Greenleaf " what I shall 
 
 not soon forget. 
 
 I puzzled over his enough to last a dozen years ; 
 Indeed, my whole scholastic life's been one of puzzling 
 
 fears. 
 
 Simple Equations ! they were my delight, 
 
 For I could almost always bring them right, 
 
 Your Involution, Evolution, too, 
 
 I think are not most difficult to do. 
 
 Of indices and roots, what shall I say ? 
 
 Direct reciprocal, or any way, 
 
 I cannot bear the sight, or sound, or thought, 
 
 Though 'twill not do to let them be forgot. 
 
 Well may Sir Isaac Newton's memory find 
 A dwelling-place in every human mind ! 
 Well may his monumental tower ascend ! 
 Tho 'twere for nought excepting his Binomial Theo- 
 rem.
 
 24 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 To complete the square's a pleasing process, quite, 
 
 If one takes care enough to do it right. 
 
 Your Unknown Quantities, one, two, three, four, 
 
 Of these I think I'd better say no more. 
 
 If they were hard the fault was all in me, 
 
 Therefore I will not lay the blame on thee. 
 
 Progression and Proportion and Ratio, all combined, 
 Are not so hard, I think, to do as others we might 
 
 find. 
 Square roots of compound quantities, what shall I 
 
 say of these ? 
 They're very like Arithmetic and can be done with 
 
 ease. 
 
 At your Miscellaneous Problems I oft cast a wistful 
 
 look, 
 For with the last of them I saw the " Finis " of the 
 
 book. 
 And who shall bid me not be glad to reach the wished- 
 
 f or goal ? 
 Bidden or not, I do rejoice, and from my inmost soul. 
 
 And having toiled so much, so long, my Algebra, for 
 
 thee, 
 I'd like to ask, most worthy book, what have you done 
 
 for me ? 
 
 Am I wiser, am I better, than when, in former hours, 
 I knew not of your indices, your fractions, roots, or 
 
 powers ?
 
 LINES TO MY ALGEBRA 25 
 
 Alas ! how little do I know ! not one-half what I 
 
 ought, 
 For knowledge with half eagerness enough I have not 
 
 sought ; 
 
 And many, many idle hours have now forever gone 
 And left behind their shadows dark for me to think 
 
 upon. 
 
 And as I look on thy familiar face, 
 
 My Algebra, thou tak'st me to the place 
 
 Where all thy sums and problems first were wrought, 
 
 Where all thy intricacies first were taught 
 
 To me. I think of hours past, 
 
 Of hours too happy, far, for aye to last. 
 
 Ah! Earth's inhabitants may not enjoy 
 
 The sweets of friendship, here, without alloy. 
 
 Sad memory, ever faithful to her trust, 
 
 Brings me the thought of one, now laid in dust ; 
 
 Of one who conned thy pages with me o'er ; 
 
 Of one who'll con them with me, now, no more. 
 
 Her frail and fragile form could not withstand 
 
 The icy touch of the grim Angel's hand. 
 
 Ere that the weight of time was on her brow, 
 
 E'en then, the fell Destroyer laid her low. 
 
 In the damp, darksome grave her loved form lies ; 
 
 No more her sweet face meets our longing eyes ; 
 
 No more her voice, in music tones, shall greet 
 
 The ears of those who're wont with her to meet.
 
 26 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Disease has breathed on her his withering breath, 
 And laid her prostrate in the arms of Death. 
 
 Ah ! many associations with thee dwell ! 
 
 I may not linger round them. My Algebra, farewell. 
 
 AN ACROSTIC 
 
 AY flowers in sweet profusion bloom 
 Around your path, dear friend ; 
 Roses most bounteously along 
 Your way, may Heaven send. 
 
 Ever may you, by virtue led, 
 Life's mazes most serenely tread ; 
 Love be the sun that lights your way, 
 Ever illume the darkest day, 
 Nor e'er on thee omit to shed an ever brighten- 
 ing ray. 
 
 Virtue, dear Mary, brings its own reward, 
 As other lips than mine have often told ; 
 Rarer than gold or diamonds to be found, 
 Ne'er given or received, or bought or sold ; 
 E'en in that better world its worth is known, 
 Yet shines with brilliant lustre in our own.
 
 THAT OLD KNIFE 27 
 
 Shall you and I, dear Mary, e'er attain, 
 As with a rapid step we take our flight 
 Life's labyrinth through, virtue immaculate, 
 Even without a single stain that might 
 Mar its clear, guileless loveliness, or darken its 
 pure light ? 
 
 May your steps ever wend to that fair goal, 
 And may it be refreshing to your soul ; 
 Sweetly in this life may you ever dwell, 
 Still happier, sweeter, in the world above, 
 farewell ! 
 
 MARY ABBY DODGE. 
 
 IPSWICH, APRIL 27, 1848. 
 
 TO MY MOTHER 
 
 These lines are affectionately inscribed 
 
 THAT OLD KNIFE 
 
 Ti 
 
 HAT old knife, 
 
 It is of ancient mould, 
 
 It is not made of silver, 
 
 Nor yet of burnished gold. 
 
 The handle is of horn 
 
 And the blade is made of steel, 
 
 Yet not the less respect 
 
 Do I towards it feel.
 
 28 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 'Tis not the warrior's blade 
 Oft sheathed in blood of men ; 
 Thus would it not fulfil 
 Its being's aim and end. 
 Its life hath passed in peace, 
 Far from the battle strife, 
 Pursuing works of love, 
 Thou dear domestic knife ! 
 
 Full thirty years have passed 
 Since first thy life begun, 
 And varied and toilsome 
 The race that thou hast run. 
 Thou hast been with my mother 
 From her first wedded life ; 
 Thou ought'st to be respected, 
 Thou venerated knife. 
 
 How many tons of bread 
 
 And hundred-weights of meat 
 
 Hast thou helped to prepare 
 
 For hungry ones to eat. 
 
 Oh ! could poor Ireland's son, 
 
 Who asked in tones forlorn, 
 
 " Give me three grains of corn, mother, 
 
 Only three grains of corn " 
 
 Could he have had access 
 To thy profuse supply,
 
 THAT OLD KNIFE 29 
 
 He had not of starvation 
 Thus laid him down to die. 
 He might have lived, mayhap, 
 A long and happy life ; 
 As long, perchance, as thou. 
 antiquated knife. 
 
 What strange events have passed 
 Those thirty years within, 
 Through all thou to my mother 
 A faithful friend hast been. 
 Thou hast seen her little children 
 In their gambols, sports, and plays, 
 And thou hast e'er attended them 
 Through childhood's golden days. 
 
 We were a happy band, 
 
 A happy band of seven. 
 
 We all are living now, 
 
 But one has gone to heaven. 
 
 She was a fair-haired child, 
 
 Too pure on earth to roam, 
 
 Too frail to brave its chilling blasts, 
 
 So Jesus took her home. 
 
 And thou hast seen the rest 
 Pass one by one away, 
 Till in their childhood's home 
 But one alone doth stay.
 
 30 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 All but that one have reached 
 Maturer years of age, 
 And gone to act their part 
 Upon the world's wide stage. 
 
 I, / alone remain, 
 The youngest of the seven ; 
 Last of the little band 
 Unto our parents given. 
 Full fifteen years have left 
 Their impress on my brow, 
 Yet as I loved thee formerly 
 I love thee better now. 
 
 Thou art the last of twelve 
 That thirty years ago 
 Were bright and new as any 
 That modern cutlers show. 
 But time has hied him on, 
 And robbed thee of thy gloss ; 
 Thy steel hath lost its polish, 
 And thy blade its edge hath lost. 
 
 Soon, soon wilt thou be numbered 
 Among the things that were, * 
 But never shall thy memory 
 Within the breast of her 
 
 * " That Old Knife " remains among the things that are, with the original 
 copy of this poem, in her library. Ed., 1902.
 
 A DREAM 31 
 
 Who, gazing on the Past, 
 Hath penned for thee these lays, 
 Sink into dark Oblivion, 
 Relic of former days. 
 
 And should, in after years, 
 Cares cluster round her brow, 
 May she then learn to bear 
 As patiently as thou. 
 And, oh ! may she fulfil 
 Her end and aim in life 
 As well as thou hast done, 
 Thou wise and worthy knife. 
 
 A DREAM 
 [To H. A. D.] 
 
 HAD a dream, but was it all a dream ? 
 
 Howe'er, I'll tell it, as you always seem 
 
 To court my confidence ; so now give heed, 
 
 And my uncommon dream you soon shall read. 
 
 The real from the dream you may divide, 
 
 And ponder on the truth, but set the dream aside. 
 
 I ate mince-pie last night, perhaps the cause 
 May there be found transgressing nature's laws; 
 But let mince-pie no more be touched by me, 
 If after it such sights I'm doomed to see.
 
 32 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Methought I had a little purse 
 
 All trimmed with tassels, none the worse 
 
 For wear ; the clasp had not yet lost 
 
 Its polish, nor the silk its gloss. 
 
 Methought I had some money, 
 
 Not much, I confess, 
 
 But though 'twas very little, 
 
 It might have been much less, 
 
 And so, of course, I valued it, 
 
 As you will easy guess. 
 
 Methought, then, in my dreams I put 
 My money and my purse together, 
 And glad was I that so I did, 
 For well did each one fit the other. 
 
 As still I dreamed, 
 
 To me it seemed, 
 
 For reasons known 
 
 To me alone, 
 
 I wished that you 
 
 Nor none might view 
 
 My little " root 
 
 Of evil " put 
 
 Within my purse, nor have it told 
 
 Just my exact amount of gold. 
 
 I did not think that it must be, 
 
 For safety, put 'neath lock and key.
 
 A DREAM 33 
 
 Mother, I thought, was surely trusty, ' 
 And so, indeed, must be Augusta ; 
 And, fondly putting confidence 
 In your own honor and good sense, 
 I laid the purse " d'argent et d'or " 
 In Mother's secretary drawer. 
 
 Now, still as on and on I dreamed, 
 My mind assumed a different tone, 
 A strange, harsh sound fell on my ear, 
 "Money, Paul, money," did I hear. 
 
 Then in my sleep I turned my face, 
 
 Methought, unto the very place 
 
 From whence the ugly sound proceeded. 
 
 Gracchi ! but one short glance was needed, 
 
 For what sight met my wondering view ! 
 
 Why ! there before the drawer stood you. 
 
 My little purse was in your grasp, 
 
 Your fingers had unloosed the clasp, 
 
 Each shining piece that through it passed 
 
 You counted then a laugh I heard, 
 
 Low but contemptuous, and it stirred 
 
 The evil passions in my heart ; 
 
 I bid them, but they'd not depart, 
 
 But I controlled them all and uttered not a word. 
 
 My feelings then were as acute 
 As though I were awake.
 
 34 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 How glad I am that 'twas not so, 
 Though only for jouf sake. 
 
 You whom I had believed upright, 
 Whose every word I'd thought was right, 
 Now stood direct before my face, 
 Clad in the robes of deep disgrace. 
 
 A different kind of sound 
 
 I soon began to hear 
 
 A hand was on my shoulder, 
 
 A voice was in my ear ; 
 
 I heard my father say, 
 
 " Here, mend my mittens, dear." 
 
 I started up, a ray of hope 'gan through my soul to 
 
 gleam ; 
 Judge, if you can, of my relief to find it all a 
 
 dream. 
 
 ABBY. 
 Nov. 9, 1848.
 
 TO MY BROTHEE 35 
 
 TO MY BROTHER 
 
 WHO JESTINGLY SAID, " WRITE ME A PIECE 
 ABOUT THE HAND" 
 
 *\ no soul-inspiring strains 
 
 Tune I now my lyre. 
 
 No enthusiastic theme 
 
 Calls forth poetic fire. 
 
 The subject I have taken 
 
 A poet seldom chooses, 
 
 Yet not all despairingly 
 
 I now convoke the Muses. 
 I breathe no tale of Fiction no scene from Fairy 
 
 Land, 
 Yet not devoid of interest is the busy human Hand. 
 
 Its little nerves, how finely strung, how delicate they 
 
 are, 
 
 And yet, not sensitive enough our happiness to mar ; 
 Think had they been less exquisite much pleasure 
 
 had been lost, 
 And many useful little deeds much trouble would 
 
 have cost ; 
 And had they been more exquisite, what anguish we 
 
 should find 
 In many substances we touch, which now we do not 
 
 mind.
 
 36 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 And who would think, when gazing on an infant's 
 little hand, 
 
 That 'neath its covering were streams true as e'er 
 flowed on land. 
 
 So countless are the rivulets that from the heart are 
 sent, 
 
 The slightest cambric needle wound will give the life- 
 wave vent. 
 
 And upward through the tiny breach the pure drop 
 wends its way, 
 
 Till on the surface fair it stands, and blushes at the 
 day. 
 
 Oh ! how many are these little rills, and yet, such is 
 their size, 
 
 That most of them are not discerned by the most 
 piercing eyes. 
 
 In ceaseless silence, on on on the warm life- 
 current flows, 
 
 Invigorating, strengthening, refreshing as it goes. 
 
 How well adapted to our use is each and every part, 
 Each prompting ready to obey of soul and mind and 
 
 heart ; 
 Propelled by mighty intellects with power and wisdom 
 
 fraught, 
 What wonders in our little world its agency has 
 
 wrought.
 
 TO MY BROTHER 37 
 
 Cast now thine eye through centuries that long, long 
 
 since have fled, 
 Through lapse of ages that have passed o'er earth's 
 
 unnumbered dead, 
 Down the dim vista of the Past, in bold relief still 
 
 stand 
 Countless mementoes of the skill of this all-wondrous 
 
 Hand. 
 
 Egyptian pyramids, what vast extent 
 
 And durability are therein blent, 
 
 Of height stupendous, and amazing base, 
 
 They stand in sullen grandeur on the face 
 
 Of the green earth laugh at each paltry cause 
 
 That ruins nations and overthrows their laws ; 
 
 Mock at the ruins of a prostrate world, 
 
 Nor heed the darts that time has at them 
 
 hurled ; 
 
 Outline the glory of their mother state, 
 And scorn the power of the " vulgar great," 
 Whence sprang this massive wonder of all 
 
 lands 
 From hosts of wondrous, wonder-working 
 
 Hands. 
 
 Lo ! on the plains of Eephidim the battle banners 
 
 wave, 
 Thousands of men assemble there to find a nameless 
 
 grave.
 
 38 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 The sons of Amalek are there, a brave and prosperous 
 
 race, 
 And Israel's children, too, are there, of slow and 
 
 feeble pace ; 
 Weakened by bondage, and fatigued with march 
 
 severe and long, 
 How dare they cope with Anialek, the brave, the 
 
 proud, the strong? 
 Ah! One was there who oft had said, "I am thy 
 
 sure Defence," 
 And He had bid them there to stand, and who should 
 
 drive them thence ? 
 And now that chosen few stand forth, strong in 
 
 Jehovah's might, 
 Nor quail before those hostile bands, nor tremble at 
 
 the sight; 
 With faith unwavering, hope as strong, and confidence 
 
 in God, 
 They upward turn their wistful eyes toward Heaven, 
 
 his high Abode. 
 All patiently they wait the sign from his Eternal 
 
 Throne, 
 
 By which to conquer and to feel that they are not alone. 
 And now an impulse strikes each breast, and all turn 
 
 as one man 
 To where, upon a small hill-top, their two deliverers 
 
 stand. 
 This is the sign that God has given, while Moses lifts 
 
 his Hands,
 
 TO MY BROTHER 39 
 
 Then Israel's children shall prevail against the hostile 
 
 bands ; 
 But if through weakness or through fear his Hands 
 
 should droop and fall, 
 The sons of Amalek shall be the conquerors of all. 
 
 Now hear the clash of war-like arms, the rush of many 
 
 feet, 
 
 As the two battling armies in fierce contention meet. 
 Now Israel's children turn their eyes to where their 
 
 Moses stands, 
 And hope springs up afresh, for Hur and Aaron stay 
 
 his Hands. 
 And now the bright and glorious sun is sinking in the 
 
 west, 
 
 And the fatigued belligerents are glad to stop and rest. 
 Who come off conquerors in the strife, the many or the 
 
 few? 
 The latter God had promised them, and he to them 
 
 was true. 
 
 Invincibly, courageously, effectually they fought, 
 " They paled not, they quailed not," for Moses' Hands 
 
 drooped not. 
 
 But we will dwell no longer on Time's past, distant 
 
 page, 
 For in the nineteenth century e'en in the present 
 
 age
 
 40 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 I think we'll find a useful thing has been this little 
 
 Hand, 
 To ever busy, ever eager, ever restless man. 
 
 Cheerily, cheerily, 
 Onward they go ; 
 Merrily, merrily, 
 High and the low ; 
 New England's famed city 
 Is teeming with life, 
 Her streets and her Common 
 With interest rife. 
 The warm sun is flinging 
 His brightest beams down, 
 And happy the faces 
 Now blooming around. 
 And happy the cause 
 That assembled them there, 
 Those faces so manly, 
 And faces so fair. 
 To one common focus 
 Swells the eager life-tide, 
 The oasis of Boston, 
 Her joy and her pride. 
 But the rude hand of man 
 Its quiet has broke, 
 Disturbed its fair waters 
 With merciless stroke.
 
 TO MY BROTHER 41 
 
 Full five and twenty years ago 
 
 A citizen alone 
 Sat, and his meditations took 
 
 A melancholy tone 
 For water, water, was the cry 
 
 That ever met his ear, 
 Disease and danger stalked abroad 
 
 For want of water clear. 
 The liquid that men drank, 
 
 It could not honored be 
 With the name of that which ever 
 
 To all men should be free 
 Water, that richest blessing, 
 
 That boon of priceless worth, 
 Given unto the dwellers 
 
 In this, our fallen earth. 
 He thought of many a scheme 
 
 By which relief to bring, 
 And Hope around his soul 
 
 A syren song did sing. 
 On that autumnal morn, 
 
 That bright October day, 
 The citizen of whom we spoke 
 
 Was gayest of the gay. 
 
 For the scheme that he invented, so many bygone 
 
 years, 
 Had reached its full fruition, and all his hopes and 
 
 fears
 
 42 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Were scattered like the mists before the rising sun, 
 And all the city blessed him for the good that he had 
 done. 
 
 Immense were the endeavors that Boston's sons had 
 
 made, 
 Large basins had been formed and channels had been 
 
 laid; 
 
 A fountain was to play upon the Common fair, 
 And rivers, lakes, and channels, all terminated there. 
 
 And now the time was come, the people gathered 
 round, 
 
 And the breezes bore away a low and whispering sound. 
 
 And now a powerful voice was heard above the hum- 
 ming din, 
 
 " Citizens, if it be your mind the water to let in, 
 
 Please to say Ay ! " and then arose as it would rend 
 the sky, 
 
 From that immense assembled throng, one long tre- 
 mendous " Ay." 
 
 Slowly at first, then faster, rushed the water, bold and 
 free, 
 
 And from that soul-inspired crowd there went up 
 " three times three." 
 
 What caused the fountain there to play so sweetly in 
 its pride, 
 
 And from Cochituate's bosom sent the welcome crystal 
 tide?
 
 TO MY BROTHER 43 
 
 Not the lone citizen who sat with brow perplexed with 
 
 thought, 
 
 He did not wish to do the work, it was the plan he 
 sought. 
 
 He might have sat there in his room 
 
 And pondered until now, 
 But to his cogitations 
 
 The rivers would not bow. 
 What moved from their quiescent state 
 
 The waters of Cochituate, 
 And sent its glad, refreshing streams throughout the 
 
 thirsty land ? 
 
 The skill of many a wondrous and wonder-working 
 Hand. 
 
 There is a Hand that guides us, 
 Life's tangled mazes through ; 
 Oh, may that Hand be ever 
 
 A potent guide to you. 
 And when in peace and plenty, 
 
 All happily you stand, 
 Forget not that these favors 
 Come from a Father's Hand. 
 
 JAN. 13, 1849.
 
 44 CHIPS, FEAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 V 
 
 THE SONG OF THE GOUT 
 
 ITH fingers extended and stiff, 
 With head all aching and hot, 
 An old man sat in a cushioned chair 
 Supporting his weary foot. 
 Ache ache ache, 
 With remedies and without, 
 And his voice a dolorous pitch did take, 
 As he sang the song of the gout. 
 
 Ache ache ache, 
 In the silent noon of night ; 
 
 Ache ache ache, 
 In the bright sun's pleasing light. 
 And it's oh ! to be a savage 
 Along with the Indian nation, 
 Where gout has never dared to come, 
 If this is civilization. 
 
 Ache ache ache, 
 Till the brain begins to swim ; 
 
 Ache ache ache, 
 Till the eyelids are heavy and dim. 
 
 Pills and aloes and salts, 
 
 Salts and aloes and pills, 
 Till over sal-nitre I fall asleep, 
 
 To dream of medicinal rills.
 
 THE SONG OF THE GOUT 45 
 
 O doctor, with balsam rare ! 
 
 surgeon, with lancet and knife ! 
 It is not lancet or balsam I want, 
 
 1 ask but for health and life. 
 
 Ache ache ache, 
 Longing and wishing for health, 
 Groaning away, with a treble groan, 
 My happiness, time, and wealth. 
 
 But why do I talk of health, 
 That phantom of florid hue ? 
 I cannot grasp his lovely form, 
 Though 'tis ever before my view, 
 When awake and when asleep. 
 Alas ! that health should be so dear, 
 And gout and dyspepsia so cheap. 
 Ache ache ache. 
 
 Ache ache ache 
 From weary chime to chime ; 
 
 Ache ache ache, 
 As the schoolboy aches for crime. 
 
 Pills and aloes and salts, 
 
 Senna and rhubarb root, 
 Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed, 
 
 As well as the weary foot.
 
 46 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Ache ache ache, 
 In the dull December night ; 
 
 Ache ache ache, 
 When the weather is warm and bright; 
 
 While underneath the eaves 
 The brooding swallows fly, 
 
 As if to show how healthy they, 
 And happier far, than I. 
 
 Oh ! but to breathe the breath 
 Of the cowslip and primrose sweet, 
 To see the sky above my head, 
 And the grass beneath my feet. 
 Oh ! for but one short hour 
 To feel as I used to feel 
 Before I knew the woes of gout, 
 With which I now must deal. 
 
 Oh ! for but one short hour 
 
 However quick it flies, 
 
 No blessed leisure for happiness, 
 
 But only time for sighs. 
 
 A little walking would strengthen me, 
 
 But here I must remain 
 Through the long dreary winter months, 
 
 Till summer comes again.
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN MY BROTHER'S ALBUM 47 
 
 With fingers extended and stiff, 
 With head all aching and hot, 
 An old man sat in his cushioned chair, 
 Supporting his weary foot. 
 Ache ache ache, 
 With remedies and without, 
 And his voice a dolorous song did make 
 Oh ! that the rich would a warning take 
 From this same song of the gout, 
 
 JUNE 16, 1849. 
 
 Y 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN IN MY BROTHER'S ALBUM 
 
 OU ask that I should write, brother, 
 
 Oh ! say, what shall it be ? 
 
 Shall I not twine a chaplet 
 
 From by-gone days for thee ? 
 
 I know thy heart still clings, brother, 
 
 Unto thy childhood's home, 
 
 The consecrated places 
 
 Where once thou loved'st to roam. 
 
 I mind me of the time, brother, 
 
 Within the darksome wood, 
 
 Or when we crossed the meadows 
 
 And culled the sweet wild flowers, 
 
 All thoughtlessly beguiling 
 
 The happy, swift-winged hours.
 
 48 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Remember you the orchard, 
 
 Where grew the loaded trees, 
 
 Whose heavy-laden branches 
 
 Bowed gently to the breeze ? 
 
 And do you not remember 
 
 The green and wooded way 
 
 That led us where so quietly, 
 
 A sparkling springlet lay ? 
 
 And where its little rivulets, 
 
 By willow-trees o'erhung, 
 
 Leaped gladly o'er the shaded grass, 
 
 The mossy rocks among ? 
 
 Oh ! happy were those days, brother, 
 
 Though shadows came and went, 
 
 And o'er some childish moments 
 
 A flickering darkness sent. 
 
 The old haunts echo now, brother, 
 
 No more to merry feet 
 
 And the faces are not there, brother, 
 
 That once I loved to greet ; 
 
 The green trees wave their branches 
 
 As erst they used to wave. 
 
 And the bright streams lave the rocks, brother, 
 
 As erst they used to lave. 
 
 But the "Life of life " hath fled, brother, 
 
 From all those sunny nooks, 
 
 And changes there have come, brother, 
 
 Affection hardly brooks. 
 
 For stranger feet now tread, brother,
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN MY BROTHER'S ALBUM 49 
 
 Each well-remembered place, 
 
 And on those ever hallowed scenes 
 
 Have left their heartless trace. 
 
 But still within the soul, brother, 
 
 Is painted every spot 
 
 In such true, life-like hues, brother, 
 
 They'll never be forget. 
 
 The beauty of our childhood's home 
 
 Will shortly pass away ; 
 
 The lines deep graven in the soul 
 
 Will never more decay. 
 
 Thus are we passing on, brother, 
 
 We're passing quick away, 
 
 But there's a life within, brother, 
 
 That never shall decay. 
 
 The soul's life is a mystic one, 
 
 " 'Tis strange, 'tis passing strange," 
 
 And wondrous, high and holy 
 
 Is its aspiring range. 
 
 Still, the soul is bound on earth, brother,, 
 
 By its unwieldy load, 
 
 But it will don celestial robes, 
 
 Before the Throne of God. 
 
 And when the soul is freed, brother, 
 
 From its material state, 
 
 And doffed with joyful gladness 
 
 Its cumbrous earthly weight, 
 
 There will appear to us, brother, 
 
 In clear and sparkling light,
 
 50 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Our spiritual life on earth. 
 
 How wonderful the sight ! 
 
 And when your soul thus stands, brother, 
 
 In its own veil-less view, 
 
 Oh ! may no unrepented sin 
 
 Come betwixt God and you. 
 
 And though each thought be seen, brother, 
 
 May nought impure be found ; 
 
 But may you, washed in Jesus' blood, 
 
 List to the welcome sound, 
 
 That from the Highest ever comes 
 
 To all who do His word 
 
 " Well done, now enter, faithful one, 
 
 The presence of thy Lord." 
 
 And may you, ever freed, brother, 
 
 From all impure alloy, 
 
 Spend an eternity of bliss 
 
 In ever flowing joy. 
 
 And may your spirit rove, brother, 
 
 O'er Heaven's celestial shore, 
 
 With Christ and sinless beings 
 
 To dwell forevermore.
 
 T 
 
 A REQUIEM FOR THE DEPARTED 51 
 
 A EEQUIEM FOR THE DEPAETED 
 
 EAR it down, tear it down, with a mighty stroke, 
 
 Let the Dutch house disappear ; 
 
 It has stood upright with its beams of oak, 
 
 And its firm built walls, now dim with smoke, 
 
 For many a bygone year. 
 
 Of timber strong was the old house made, 
 
 On a rock foundation its base was laid ; 
 
 But a cycle's storms have beat o'er its head, 
 
 And now its glory and pride have fled. 
 
 It stands, oh, it stands on a beautiful site, 1 
 A river flows gently by, 
 With its waves of crystal and silver bright, 
 Crested with diamonds and pearls of light, 
 And pure as the cloudless sky. 
 Grassy and green is the flowery shore, 
 Broad are the tree-tops that wave evermore, 
 Dense is the cool shade and sweet is the song 
 Of the gay plumaged birds the green branches 
 among. 
 
 It may be, it may be that long years ago, 
 Before the old house was there, 
 When gentle as now was the river's flow, 
 The music of nature as soothing and low, 
 And the banks as green and fair 
 
 'In Ipswich, Mass.
 
 52 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Perhaps at the close of the summer's day, 
 The voices of children were heard in play, 
 While the parents, reposing from labor and care, 
 Sought the coolness and quietude always there. 
 
 But years upon years have passed away, 
 
 And father and son have gone 
 
 And they who lived in that distant day, 
 
 Have, one by one, trod the same dark way, 
 
 And now is left not one. 
 
 And the house, the house where long they dwelt. 
 
 The finger of time it has sadly felt ; 
 
 It is black with age ; it is viewed with gloom, 
 
 And a dwelling for ghosts seems each lonely room. 
 
 Tear it down, tear it down with a mighty stroke, 
 
 Let the Dutch house disappear ; 
 
 It has stood upright with its beams of oak, 
 
 And its firm built walls, now dim with smoke, 
 
 For many a bygone year. 
 
 But the time has come for it to die, 
 
 Its dissolution draweth nigh. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, to the house of yore, 
 
 We shall see the Dutch house nevermore.
 
 
 
 THE LAST INDIAN 53 
 
 THE LAST INDIAN 
 
 N Monoiska's rocky banks, 
 Osconeoma stood ; 
 
 Upon its dark blue marsh he gazed, 
 In melancholy mood. 
 
 The twilight long had passed away, 
 The moon was shining bright, 
 But to the Indian's lonely heart 
 It brought no silvery light. 
 
 He heard the autumn's whistling winds, 
 The waves' low, sullen roll, 
 And darker, deeper gloom o'erspread 
 Osconeoma's soul. 
 
 Remembered he the former days, 
 Before the white man came 
 To grasp the Indian's hunting ground 
 Destroy the Indian's name. 
 
 Remembered he the former days, 
 When proud, and brave, and free, 
 His father tribe was six-score souls, 
 A noble band to see. 
 
 Remembered he their mighty deeds, 
 Their power could none withstand ; 
 Fearless, unconquered, long they reigned, 
 The masters of the land.
 
 54 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 But then there dawned an evil day ; 
 They saw the paleface come, 
 And on their coasts a harbor find, 
 And on their soil a home. 
 
 And day by day, and year by year 
 The strangers' might increased, 
 And feebler waxed the Indian's strength, 
 Till now, his rule had ceased. 
 
 Long, long Osconeoma stood, 
 And deep and fearful gloom 
 Came o'er his soul, as thus he mused 
 Upon the Indian's doom. 
 
 Beneath the forest shade reposed 
 The ashes of his race ; 
 And there his own, he long had hoped, 
 Would find a resting place. 
 
 " Why tarries the Great Spirit thus ? " 
 
 The Indian sighed alone ; 
 
 " Why sends he not for me to go 
 
 Where all the brave have gone ? 
 
 " Truly, the Father hath forgot, 
 
 So shall I never see 
 
 The wild chase and the hunting ground 
 
 He hath prepared for me.
 
 THE LAST INDIAN 55 
 
 " Yet will I go, I know I may, 
 
 To reach that distant spot 
 
 The rolling waves are black and cold, 
 
 The Indian fears them not." 
 
 Unearthly fire is in his eye, 
 His youthful strength returns, 
 And now his wildly throbbing breast 
 With strange excitement burns. 
 
 " Souls of my Fathers ! " loud he cries, 
 " I come to join your songs ; 
 Revenge, Great Spirit, oh, revenge 
 Osconeoma's wrongs ! " 
 
 One fearful plunge, one wild death-shriek 
 The echoing rocks resound ; 
 And he has vanished all is still 
 Dread silence reigns around. 
 
 Fair Monoiska's gentle waves 
 
 Uptoss the tiny surge, 
 
 And, with the low rocks, murmuring make 
 
 Osconeoma's dirge. 
 
 MARY ABBY DODGE. 
 IPSWICH FEMALE SEMINARY, Oct. 6, 1849.
 
 56 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 TO JOSE BARDOTTEE 
 
 WRITTEN FOB 
 
 FULL many a moon has waxed and waned ; 
 Full many a spring has flown ; 
 Full many an Autumn's " yellow leaf " 
 And sighing wind have gone ; 
 Full many a year has passed away, 
 With light and shadow fraught, 
 Since last I gazed upon thy face, 
 My beautiful Bardottee. 
 
 How strangely, wildly throbs my heart ; 
 
 How thrillingly arise 
 
 Visions of bygone youthful scenes, 
 
 Before my tearful eyes. 
 
 Ah ! visions of those early days, 
 
 Which will not be forgot, 
 
 Thy name, upon my lips, recalls 
 
 Thy name, my own Bardottee. 
 
 I stand again amid the Past ; 
 I see my own loved home ; 
 I see upon the rock-based hill 
 The old church's lofty dome ; 
 I see the quiet shady walks, 
 Each dear familiar spot
 
 TO JOSE BARDOTTEE 57 
 
 Where I was wont to rove with thee, 
 My raven-haired Bardottee. 
 
 Then ! then the spring to me was fair, 
 
 The summer days looked bright, 
 
 I gazed on Autumn's loveliness, 
 
 Nor saddened at the sight. 
 
 I feared not Winter's wreathing snow 
 
 His blasts could harm me not, 
 
 'Twas light and love if thou wert there, 
 
 My sunny-eyed Bardottee. 
 
 A change has come. The dreams of youth 
 
 Have vanished quite away. 
 
 Bright hopes and high imaginings, 
 
 They cheered me but a day. 
 
 But life life real, stern, and cold, 
 
 Hath ever vainly sought 
 
 To tear thy image from my heart, 
 
 My noble-browed Bardottee. 
 
 On fair Italia's vineclad realms 
 Thy feet were wont to roam. 
 Beneath her gorgeous, glorious skies 
 Was placed thy sunlit home. 
 The beauties of that classic shore, 
 On which was cast thy lot, 
 Were wreathen with thy very life, 
 My gentle-souled Bardottee.
 
 58 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Farewell ! I may not longer gaze 
 
 Upon the pictured Past. 
 
 Too thrilling, powerful the glance 
 
 Thus casually cast. 
 
 In vain ! in vain ! it cannot be 
 
 Thou art not quite forgot ; 
 
 Thy memory must aye remain, 
 
 My loved, long-lost Bardottee. 
 
 TO AN ANCIENT SHOE 
 
 relic of the Past, 
 Formed upon a British " last," 
 Can I not, by hook or crook, 
 For my " composition book," 
 Write a page or two from you, 
 Antiquated silken Shoe ? 
 
 Ah ! I think that I can trace 
 
 In thy quiet aged face, 
 
 Half a look of grave assent, 
 
 So my Muse may now give vent, 
 
 And may see what she can do 
 
 With a high-heeled, green silk Shoe. 
 
 Let me think ; how many years, 
 Fraught with hopes and joys and fears, 
 Have there been upon the earth 
 Since the day that gave you birth ?
 
 TO AN ANCIENT SHOE 59 
 
 Say, has not our little world 
 Five-score times its sails unfurled 
 For a voyage round the sun, 
 Since your life was first begun ? 
 
 Well, then, quite a little age 
 
 You have been upon the stage, 
 
 And you ought to have a weight 
 
 Of knowledge, both of small and great. 
 
 Had I been where you have been, 
 
 Had I seen what you have seen, 
 
 I should know a vast deal more 
 
 Of the times and days of yore 
 
 Than you now appear to do, 
 
 Most un-literary Shoe. 
 
 Long, to us, your life may seem ; 
 After all 'tis but " a dream." 
 Hear what good old Jacob says : 
 " Few and short have been my days." 
 Yet he lived more years than you, 
 Little V toed, silken Shoe. 
 
 You have been where I have not, 
 And have seen I don't know what. 
 With aristocratic dames, 
 At the court of good St. James, 
 You have tripped, nor loth, nor slow, 
 On " the light, fantastic toe."
 
 60 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Though I rather think you'd be 
 Too fantastic, quite, for me. 
 Borne upon your lofty heel, 
 Like, I fear that I should feel, 
 Pisa's famous leaning tower, 
 Which, I fancy, every hour 
 Fears lest some untimely breeze, 
 Sighing through the trembling leaves, 
 Should its posture, nice, o'erthrow, 
 And should lay its proud head low. 
 
 Well, old Shoe, your glory's gone, 
 
 And your work has long been done. 
 
 Now, pray tell me where'd you get 
 
 Any right to be here yet ? 
 
 Long ago you should have died, 
 
 With your partner by your side. 
 
 What can anybody do 
 
 With a clumsy thing like you ? 
 
 Would a single soul in town 
 
 Wear you ? No. You'd throw them down. 
 
 Then don't look so prim and nice, 
 
 I really think you need a slice 
 
 Of what my aunt calls " humble pie." 
 
 At all events, you'd better try 
 
 Cast the proud hope from your soul, 
 
 That, although you're very old, 
 
 Anybody cares for you, 
 
 Superannuated Shoe.
 
 A PAKODY 61 
 
 Do you think me too severe ? 
 Well, perhaps I am, my dear, 
 But my reverence has gone 
 On a journey to the moon, 
 Or I'm sure I don't know where 
 It can be found if 'tisn't there. 
 It's been " vamosed " all the time 
 Since I first commenced this rhyme, 
 And that is the reason why 
 Such an unrelenting cry 
 'Gainst you I've made. But now forgive. 
 You henceforth in peace may live. 
 So farewell, farewell to you, 
 Poor old silver buckled Shoe. 
 DEC. 25, 1849. 
 
 A PAKODY 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED BY THE APPEARANCE OF A MOUSE 
 IN FRONT OF MR. COWLEs' DESK 
 
 
 
 NE more new claimant for 
 Ipswich instruction, 
 Swelling the crowds that have 
 Sought introduction. 
 I, as I see the guest, 
 Tremble to look at him, 
 And I am tempted to 
 Throw my French book at him.
 
 62 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Room for him somewhere 
 Out of the house ; 
 I am afraid of the 
 Shade of a mouse ! 
 Frighten the stranger 
 With broomstick away, 
 Valiantly, speedily, 
 Do not delay. 
 
 See in his fearfulness 
 How his eye glistens, 
 See how his little heart 
 Throbs as he listens, 
 Strange that his mouseship 
 Had no adviser 
 
 Who could have counselled him 
 To have been wiser ! 
 
 Could he but have a glimpse 
 
 Into futurity, 
 
 Well might he tremble 
 
 For his security. 
 
 Yet does it seem to me, 
 
 If he " makes tracks," 
 
 He may escape from 
 
 Hostile attacks. 
 
 The wonder to me is, 
 How did he get there
 
 A PARODY 63 
 
 Under whose auspices 
 Now does lie sit there ? 
 Truly his ingress is 
 Clouded in mystery ; 
 I am sure I cannot 
 Guess at its history. 
 
 Something too much of this 
 Cowardly prating. 
 See now how sober he 
 Looks, meditating. 
 Now he squeals lustily 
 Bravo ! my hearty one, 
 Lungs like an orator 
 Cheering his party on. 
 
 Look how his little eyes 
 Turn to us pleadingly, 
 Can we help pitying, 
 Pitying exceedingly ? 
 Partly with laughter and 
 Partly with fears, 
 See ! see ! he is coming ! 
 Leap up on the chairs ! 
 
 Now then, to hunt him out 
 Who is there cool for it ? 
 Turn to Miss Robinson, 
 Or to the school for it ?
 
 64 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Sure 'tis a branch of 
 Practical science, 
 And this young mouse sets 
 Rules at defiance. 
 
 Hark ! Mrs. Cowles bids us 
 Let him alone. 
 Wait a few moments 
 And he will be gone. 
 There ! he is running 
 Out of the house, 
 So now, farewell to thee, 
 Wandering mouse. 
 
 A METRICAL ROMANCE. 
 
 IN FIVE CANTOS. 
 
 Translated from the German of Goethe by Henry W. Longfellow. 
 
 Abridged, altered, revised, corrected, and stereotyped by Nemo 
 Nawahed (from the 197th London edition). 
 
 Published in the United States by Harper & Brothers. 
 
 Copy of a letter from Alfred Tennyson, poet laureate presumptive, to 
 the publishers. 
 
 MESSRS. HARPER & BROTHERS : 
 
 Allow me to tender my grateful acknowledgments 
 for the gem of poetry which you have recently sent 
 me. No words can describe the ecstasy with which I 
 perused that wonderful production. Suffice it to say,
 
 A METRICAL ROMANCE 65 
 
 that it combined all the excellencies of Goethe and 
 Longfellow, without the defects of either. There is 
 throughout a tone of loyalty a respect for monarch- 
 ical institutions, together with a plot thoroughly re- 
 publican which cannot fail to please. Especially 
 in these times which " try " kings' " souls," when 
 almost every throne in Europe is tottering, such a 
 poem cannot fail to have a soothing effect upon the 
 " powers that be." At the earliest possible opportu- 
 nity I shall lay it before Lord John Russell, who will 
 communicate it to Her Majesty and Prince Albert, 
 who will probably instruct their American ambassador, 
 Sir Henry Lytton Bulwer, to present due acknowl- 
 edgments to the gifted author. 
 
 If I should ever be poet laureate (" ut potius reor, et 
 potius Di numine firm ent") be assured I shall take 
 early measures to present Nemo Nawahed to the 
 public. 
 
 With respect, 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 To Arthur, youngest son of Her Britannic Majesty, Alexandrina 
 Victoria and Prince Albert of Coburg, this work is respectfully 
 inscribed. 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 L 
 
 Introductory Address to his Lordship. 
 ONG is the time, my Prince, ah ! long 
 Since last I sung my joyous song. 
 Long hath my harp, neglected, lain. 
 I thought to touch its strings again
 
 66 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 No more, for Time's resistless hand 
 
 Hath thrust me far from " Fair Dream Land.' 
 
 The sunken cheek and silvered hair 
 
 And furrowed brow stern witness bear, 
 
 That Youth long since from me hath fled, 
 
 And left cold wrinkled Age instead. 
 
 Yet, Mighty Prince, when unto me 
 
 The breezes wafted o'er the Sea 
 
 The tidings, that thine azure eyes 
 
 Had gazed with infantine surprise 
 
 Upon this world, so strange and new 
 
 To thy bewildered, wondering view 
 
 Then Youth's life-tide once more returned 
 
 Then my seared heart with rapture burned. 
 
 The frozen streams of " feeling fine " 
 
 Dissolved by genial Love's sunshine. 
 
 I felt that I again was young 
 
 That Childhood's scenes I stood among 
 
 With Fervor, then I swept once more 
 
 My palsied hand the lute-strings o'er. 
 
 Thus, then, Prince, I send to thee 
 A greeting o'er the rolling sea. 
 I sing not of proud Briton's fame, 
 Her bright though not unsullied name, 
 I give not, now, a passing glance 
 To Scotia's hills of wild Romance
 
 A METRICAL ROMANCE 67 
 
 I sing not of the crested knight 
 
 Of honor, won in deadly fight 
 
 Where heroes fear not Death but Shame 
 
 Of periled life for haughty dame. 
 
 I sing not of the ancient lore 
 
 Of nations, nations now no more, 
 
 Of ancient wood and mystic rite, 
 
 Shrouded in everlasting night, 
 
 Where man poured out his brother's blood, 
 
 A sacrifice, before his God. 
 
 Such scenes as these would scarce be meet 
 
 In song thy rising life to greet. 
 
 I may not chill thy infant soul 
 
 With tales of thrilling horror told, . 
 
 Of superstition's bloody sway, 
 
 Of Battle's raging fierce affray ; 
 
 Mine mine shall be a gentler lay 
 
 A lay of love a lay of truth 
 
 The fresh, young love of happy youth. 
 
 List to the tale, I pray thee, now, 
 
 Of Aaron Clark and Betty Dow. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 The Heroine. 
 
 Young Betty was a lassie fair, 
 With thin and slightly grayish hair. 
 Her eyes were neither gray nor green, 
 But just about half way between.
 
 68 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 And so far back within her head 
 
 They looked like little balls of lead. 
 
 Her pretty mouth, though rather wide, 
 
 Touched not the ear on either side, 
 
 But seemed as if it fain would do it 
 
 Whene'er a laugh came ringing through it, 
 
 Which was not oft (to speak the truth 
 
 Miss Betty was a sombre youth). 
 
 Her teeth were large, and square, and good, 
 
 To masticate the hardest food. 
 
 Her head was plump and round and small, 
 
 With no unseemly bumps at all. 
 
 Her character was perfect made, 
 
 So no protuberance displayed. 
 
 But all was fair, symmetric, neat, 
 
 Once Nature left her work complete. 
 
 Her bust was faultless to be seen 
 
 As any Betty's bust, I ween. 
 
 Her height was neither less nor more 
 
 But just exactly three feet four. 
 
 Her gait was somewhat like the swan, 
 
 When solid land it walks upon. 
 
 What added to her pretty face, 
 
 And gave her graceful form more grace, 
 
 Were the accomplishments possessed, 
 
 Which served her more than all the rest ; 
 
 For Betty made the best of bread, 
 
 And not a cook-book ever read.
 
 A METRICAL ROMANCE 69 
 
 Her butter was so fresh and sweet, 
 It seemed as if 'twas made to eat. 
 And Betty, too, could make a cheese 
 With all imaginable ease ; 
 Could fry a most delicious fritter, 
 Whene'er her mistress chose to let her. 
 Indeed, she cooked a handsome dish 
 Of any kind, fowl, flesh, or fish. 
 Ah ! Betty Dow was always sure 
 To suit the daintiest epicure. 
 
 Her master liked her for her skill, 
 
 Her mistress, for her lack of will. 
 
 Whene'er she heard the children mutter, 
 
 She gave them sugared bread and butter. 
 
 So this Miss Dow was loved by all 
 
 Within the house both great and small. 
 
 Although I query if she knew 
 
 Whether the sea were red or blue ; 
 
 And thought the sun, whate'er they said, 
 
 Was not much larger than her head; 
 
 And that the stars were bits of light, 
 
 Hung up to glisten in the night ; 
 
 And knew, let men think what they please, 
 
 The moon was made of fresh, green cheese.
 
 70 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 The Hero. 
 
 Long, raven hair, complexion dark, 
 
 And coal-black eyes had Aaron Clark. 
 
 But, ah ! in vain I court the Muses 
 
 My stubborn pen the task refuses 
 
 Of giving thus the inventory 
 
 Of minor parts of manly glory. 
 
 When one describes the female fair 
 
 One can extol the wavy hair, 
 
 The cherry lip, the rosy cheek, 
 
 The mild blue eye, and spirit meek 
 
 But of Creation's Lord, absurd 
 
 Are such accounts whenever heard. 
 
 We speak of moral worth, the soul, 
 
 The mind, the intellectual whole. 
 
 Therefore, of Aaron Clark I'll scan 
 
 The inner, not the outer man. 
 
 In this dull world you seldom find 
 
 A counterpart of his great mind. 
 
 His soul soared far beyond the skies ; 
 
 He scorned the learning of Earth's wise; 
 
 But to himself he kept as fast 
 
 His knowledge as did Hudibras 
 
 His wit. He craved no useless store 
 
 Of scientific learned lore, 
 
 That might his genius freedom cramp. 
 
 He wasted not the " midnight lamp "
 
 A METRICAL ROMANCE 71 
 
 In poring over musty scrolls 
 
 And hieroglyphic parchment rolls. 
 
 He joined not his unsullied name 
 
 With those of candidates for fame. 
 
 On Earth's poor praise, he aye looked down, 
 
 And laughed to scorn her weak renown. 
 
 He squandered not his precious time 
 
 With Irving's prose or Byron's rhyme ; 
 
 Nor studied all the days of youth, 
 
 To bring to light some abstract truth. 
 
 He'd sit a year, beneath a tree, 
 
 And, every hour, an apple see 
 
 Fall to the ground without cessation, 
 
 And never think of gravitation. 
 
 In mathematics, well he knew 
 
 That one and one sometimes make two. 
 
 Moreover, he could read, and had 
 
 Once gone to school, when quite a lad. 
 
 He there began, with bashful fear, 
 
 His geographical career. 
 
 He stayed from nine o'clock till noon, 
 
 And learned a page of " Malte Brun," 
 
 Besides these verses, which, I trow, 
 
 He well remembers, even now. 
 
 " The world is round, and, like a ball, 
 
 Seems swinging in the air. 
 The sky extends around it all, 
 
 And stars are shining there.
 
 72 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Water and land upon the face 
 Of this round globe we see. 
 
 The land is man's safe dwelling place, 
 
 But ships sail on the sea." 
 At noon he closed the hated book, 
 And gave the " last, long, lingering look " 
 At pupil, ferrule, desk, and master, 
 And than he came he went much faster ; 
 Leaped gladly through the open door, 
 And never crossed its threshold more. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 The Courtship. 
 
 Descend, Muse ! I humbly pray, 
 And guide me through an unknown way. 
 Thy aid I crave, inspire my song, 
 In soft accords, the notes prolong. 
 
 'Twas Sabbath morn. Young Betty rose, 
 
 Put on her go-to-meeting clothes, 
 
 Brushed carefully her silvered hair, 
 
 And on her neck, so white and fair, 
 
 She clasped a brilliant yellow string 
 
 Of golden beads, a silver ring, 
 
 A green, square breast-pin, made of glass 
 
 And purest kind of shining brass ; 
 
 And pink chintz dress, with plaits and bows, 
 
 She wore, and well-matched pink silk hose. 
 
 Spotless and bright, her pink lawn bonnet,
 
 A METEICAL ROMANCE 73 
 
 'Twould blind your eyes to look upon it. 
 
 With tasteful hand, she spread o'er all, 
 
 A white lace veil, and pink crepe shawl. 
 
 Then, thus arrayed, with glowing face, 
 
 And swelling heart, and stately pace, 
 
 She walked to church. She reached the door, 
 
 A quarter of an hour or more 
 
 Before the deep-toned village bell 
 
 Its solemn notes began to swell. 
 
 She entered in. No one was there. 
 
 Silent and still that house of prayer. 
 
 Pausing, she stood and mused awhile, 
 
 And then proceeded up the aisle. 
 
 She scarce was seated, when there came 
 
 Another, early as the dame. 
 
 She turned her head in pleasant mood, 
 
 Young Aaron Clark before her stood. 
 
 She blushed and smiled her sweetest smile, 
 
 Poor Aaron stood entranced the while. 
 
 Thrice he, in vain, essayed to speak, 
 
 Quick, burning blood flushed brow and cheek. 
 
 Reluctantly he turned away 
 
 In sorrow spent the livelong day. 
 
 Cupid had pierced his ill-clad heart ; 
 
 He writhed beneath the clinging dart. 
 
 A week that day, they met again, 
 But she with gladness, he with pain. 
 At afternoon, when church was over,
 
 74 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 The sad, unhappy, mournful lover, 
 
 In gloomy mood, walked silent on, 
 
 While his dark fate he mused upon, 
 
 When, suddenly, he saw before him 
 
 A sight that sent a quick thrill o'er him, 
 
 His Betty blithesome, " sonsie," gay, 
 
 In all her jewelled pink array. 
 
 " Now is the time," thought he, " now I 
 
 Will speak to her, I can but try." 
 
 He hastened on with rapid stride, 
 
 And soon was walking by her side. 
 
 But ah ! to speak he vainly tried. 
 
 On on they walked, no word was spoken, 
 
 The solemn stillness all unbroken. 
 
 His mouth was dry and parched and now 
 
 Stood drops of anguish on his brow. 
 
 His trembling limbs began to fail 
 
 He gasped for breath 'twas no avail. 
 
 " There's no alternative," thought he, 
 
 " One of two things must surely be. 
 
 Only two paths before me lie, 
 
 For I must either speak, or die ! " 
 
 Just as he closed this rev'rie brief, 
 
 Fair Betty came to his relief. 
 
 With woman's tact she had divined 
 
 The thoughts then passing through his mind. 
 
 No foolish pride she weakly heeded, 
 
 Directly to the case proceeded, 
 
 In dulcet tones to him more sweet
 
 A METRICAL ROMANCE 75 
 
 Than cooling showers 'mid summer's heat, 
 
 Bliss, rapture to his heart they carried. 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Clark, why ar'n't you married ? " 
 
 He gasped out, though he scarce knew how, 
 
 " Why, none will take me, dear Miss Dow." 
 
 Again that voice, " so softly clear, 
 
 Fell gently on his ravished ear," 
 
 " There's never a Jack without a Gill, 
 
 If one won't, another will." 
 
 His heart now felt a glimmering ray 
 
 Of hope ; he knew not what to say. 
 
 A pause ensued, an awkward pause, 
 
 She added then another clause : 
 
 " Did'st ever try it, Aaron dear ? " 
 
 " Alas, sweet Betty, for the fear 
 
 Of not succeeding, no, ah ! no." 
 
 Again he heard those accents low : 
 
 " There's no denial, 
 
 Without a trial." 
 
 Ah ! Aaron's heart now leaped for joy, 
 Homefelt and deep, without alloy. 
 He grasped her hand, the die was cast, 
 The Rubicon was over-past. 
 He saw those deep-set, green-gray eyes 
 Upturned to his in sweet surprise 
 No more. Should I expose to sight 
 Young hearts, that hail Love's dawning light ? 
 Should I intrude my stranger ear, 
 Love's mystic cadences to hear ?
 
 76 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 The Wedding. 
 
 The happy day came on apace. 
 Youug Betty stood, with smiling face, 
 Before the glass, arranged her tresses, 
 Put on the whitest of white dresses, 
 Becoming to her fair complexion, 
 And fitting with complete perfection. 
 And, to be dressed in full, she needs 
 Must don the silver ring and beads. 
 The breast-pin, too, one there might see, 
 In all its brazen brilliancy. 
 She deemed it then her bounden duty 
 To veil with lace her blushing beauty. 
 Thus in her bridal finery decked, 
 She stood before her lord elect. 
 He gazed at her and she at him, 
 For Aaron looked so nice and trim 
 She scarce believed it was himself, 
 But some mischievous goblin elf. 
 His broadcloth coat was black as jet ; 
 His beaver hat was blacker yet ; 
 Beneath its rim his eyes peeped out, 
 And half bewildered gazed about. 
 A collar with no mean pretensions, 
 Of most magnificent dimensions, 
 Screened by its snowy mammoth size 
 His modest head from peering eyes.
 
 A METRICAL ROMANCE 77 
 
 He cased his hands, brown, strong, and great, 
 
 In kids, the most immaculate ; 
 
 And then with gentlemanly ease, 
 
 Did Betty's hand with fervor seize. 
 
 Soon to the clergyman's they hied, 
 
 To have the hard knot duly tied. 
 
 Within the house they took their station, 
 
 With mingled joy and trepidation. 
 
 The parson then commenced the banns ; 
 
 He bade the party join right hands. 
 
 On Aaron's right Miss Betty stood, 
 
 " Ah ! this is wrong," thought she, " I should 
 
 Have been where Aaron is, and he 
 
 Have had this place instead of me." 
 
 Then in a trice the gentle bride 
 
 Stepped over on the other side. 
 
 But ah ! the matter was not mended, 
 
 The puzzle was by no means ended. 
 
 His hand was wrong, now hers was right, 
 
 So back again she took her flight. 
 
 Still on her brain no friendly gleam 
 
 Of Ingenuity's sun-beam 
 
 Suggested, just her hand to cross, 
 
 And so the trouble would be lost. 
 
 The bridegroom gazed, with wondering face, 
 
 But could not the dark labyrinth trace. 
 
 Ah ! yes, he could ! a ray of light 
 
 Shot suddenly across the night !
 
 78 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 The right thought struck his precious head. 
 
 " Here ! Betty, here ! " he quickly said, 
 
 Forgetting in his joyful haste 
 
 The circumstance of time and place. 
 
 The difficulty now was o'er, 
 
 And Betty breathed again once more. 
 
 The ceremony then went on, 
 
 The happy twain were soon made one. 
 
 Their griefs no more, their troubles past, 
 
 For Hymen's cord now bound them fast. 
 
 Will not all give congratulation, 
 
 For this so blissful consummation ? 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! happy pair ! 
 Long may the Fates in mercy spare 
 Your happiness ; and may your name 
 Descend in laurel wreaths of fame, 
 The glory of your world-praised nation, 
 Throughout the lapse of Time's duration ! 
 Blessed, thrice blessed, be the life 
 Of Aaron Clark, Esquire, and Wife. 
 JDNE, 1850.
 
 LITTLE KATY 79 
 
 "LITTLE KATY" 
 
 EEKLY in her life's glad spring-time 
 
 Hath she laid her down to rest ; 
 Folded are the white hands gently 
 
 On the still untroubled breast ; 
 On the pale and pulseless forehead 
 
 Clustering locks all damply lie ; 
 Beams no light of love and gladness 
 
 From the ever closed eye. 
 
 Softly over hill and valley 
 
 Steals the fragrant southern breeze, 
 Whispering with a low-voiced sadness 
 
 To the gloomy forest trees ; 
 On the hillside and the meadow 
 
 Where the clouds their shadows fling, 
 By the broad, blue-rolling river 
 
 Stands the warmly smiling spring. 
 
 But her lightly-bounding footstep 
 
 Presseth not the velvet earth ; 
 Through the lonely halls resoundeth 
 
 Nevermore her tone of mirth. 
 In the charmed household circle, 
 
 Which her love hath blessed so long, 
 Meet ye not her kindly welcome, 
 
 Hear ye not her joyous song.
 
 80 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Let the bright eye and the sunny, 
 
 Weep the eye forever dim ; 
 Let the red lips for the pallid 
 
 Breathe a mournful requiem ; 
 Let the heart with life-blood throbbing, 
 
 Mourn the heart beneath the sod ; 
 But let fall no tear of sorrow 
 
 For the soul gone up to God. 
 
 Gone in youth and love and beauty, 
 
 To the mansions of the blest, 
 Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
 
 And the weary are at rest ; 
 Ere the cup of life was mingled 
 
 With the wormwood and the gall, 
 Ere the joys of life were withered 
 
 Like the autumn leaves in fall. 
 
 " Gone before us," little Katy," 
 
 Through the Jordan's swelling stream, 
 To the land of light and glory, 
 
 From this land of doubt and dream. 
 " Gone before us," "little Katy," 
 
 Through the portals of the skies, 
 " Dead thou art not, but departed, 
 
 For the spirit never dies."
 
 LITTLE KATY 81 
 
 " Little Katy," for a moment 
 
 Canst thou leave the realms of day ? 
 From the Saviour's marred visage, 
 
 Canst thou ever turn away ? 
 From the choral band of angels, 
 
 Can thy harp be laid aside ? 
 Then, dear Katy, may we wait thee 
 
 At the quiet evening tide ? 
 
 Meet us when the morning blusheth 
 
 O'er the everlasting hills ; 
 Meet us when the sunlight danceth 
 
 In the thousand mountain rills. 
 Though our eyes may not behold thee 
 
 In thy robes of spotless white, 
 Be thy spirit near us guiding 
 
 Ever onward to the right. 
 
 And when Earth from us recedeth, 
 
 Shrinking back from Death's alarms, 
 Gently laid beneath us also 
 
 Be the everlasting arms. 
 Safely passed into the Heavens 
 
 Shall thy song and ours be one, 
 Glory be to God the Father 
 
 And the ever blessed Son. 
 God the Spirit God the Son. 
 APRIL 26, 1853.
 
 82 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 DITHYRAMBIC 
 
 NEVER, believe me, come the Gods, 
 Never alone. 
 
 Welcome I Bacchus, the God of joy, 
 And in comes Cupid, the laughing boy, 
 With Phoebus, of gold locks and silvery tone. 
 They come ; they come ; 
 They are thronging into my earthly hall. 
 
 Say how shall I feast you, I, the earth-born, 
 
 Heavenly band? 
 
 give me the boon of immortal life ! 
 
 With Gods can the death-doomed win in strife ? 
 
 Waft me away to that far-off land ! 
 
 Heaven alone can fill my soul 
 
 Let me quaff the nectar, reach hither the bowl. 
 
 Pass thither the bowl ; be it crowned for the Poet 
 
 Hebe, alone. 
 
 Let his eyes be enclouded with heavenly dew, 
 
 That the thrice fearful Stygian meet not his view, 
 
 That he think himself one of our own. 
 
 It ripples, it sparkles, that fountain of light 
 
 The heart grows calm the dimmed eye bright. 
 
 From the German of Schiller. 1853.
 
 THE YOUTH AT THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 I 
 
 the sunny gleam of the fountain, 
 
 The youth his chaplet laves, 
 And he sees it hurried seaward 
 
 In the dance of the wanton waves. 
 And so are my young days passing, 
 
 Like the streamlet restless on, 
 And so is my fresh youth fading, 
 
 Like the wreath, and as quickly gone. 
 
 Ask not why I pass in sadness 
 
 The hours of festive mirth ; 
 There is joy and hope around rne 
 
 When spring bounds o'er the earth ; 
 But the thousand voiced Nature 
 
 Calls forth no answering tone ; 
 It wakes in iny lonely bosom 
 
 The notes of sorrow alone. 
 
 What hath the young spring proffered 
 
 That I should join in the glee ? 
 One only gift I sought for, 
 
 It is near yet far from me. 
 With outstretched arms, the phantom 
 
 I would clasp to my yearning breast. 
 Alas ! they encircle it never ; 
 
 For my weary heart no rest.
 
 84 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Come hither, beautiful maiden ; 
 
 Forsake thy lordly home ; 
 I will scatter flowers in thy pathway 
 
 Wherever thy feet may roarn ; 
 With songs are the woods resounding ; 
 
 Their chorus the waters swell ; 
 There is room in the smallest cottage 
 
 For loving hearts to dwell. 
 
 German of Schiller. 1853. 
 
 HOPE 
 
 EN talk and dream of that better land 
 Home of our weary race 
 
 On to a glowing sunlit goal 
 They lead the eager chase. 
 
 The world grows old and young again 
 
 Yet man hopes on mid toil and pain. 
 
 Hope beckoneth out to earnest life 
 
 It hovers round the boy 
 Its magic glimmer lures the youth 
 
 And makes the old man's joy 
 Life, to the grave, he yieldeth up 
 Yet on that grave he planteth hope.
 
 FROM THE GERMAN 85 
 
 'Tis not a phantom of the brain, 
 
 Sick of this ceaseless strife : 
 It ringeth in the inmost heart 
 
 Born for a higher life. 
 And what that inner voice hath taught 
 The hoping soul deceiveth not. 
 
 German of Schiller. 1853. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN 
 
 GIVE you the world, cried the King of the Gods 
 
 From the heights of Olympus' throne, 
 To the children of men, bear it hence away, 
 
 For the world shall be your own. 
 I transfer it to you an inheritance, 
 
 The deed shall be ever good, 
 Yet see that ye quarrel not for your shares, 
 
 But divide it as brothers should. 
 
 Whoever had hands hurried breathless then 
 
 To grasp the glittering pelf. 
 They were equally busy, young and old, 
 
 Each to enrich himself. 
 The farmer rushed for the teeming fields 
 
 Waving with golden corn ; 
 While the fiery youth blew through the woods 
 
 The blast of his bugle horn.
 
 86 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Huge coffers, heavy with yellow gold 
 
 Jewels and silk and lace 
 Fluttered before the merchant's eyes 
 
 As he started upon the chase. 
 The abbot was fired with a kindred zeal 
 
 To collect the last year's wine, 
 While the king barricaded bridges and streets 
 
 And declared : The tenth part is mine. 
 
 But when the division was quite complete 
 
 And filled was each grasping hand, 
 The poet came with a dust-stained robe 
 
 From a far-away unknown land. 
 But alas ! alas ! he was just too late, 
 
 The inheritance all was gone, 
 Each waving acre had found a lord 
 
 For the luckless bard, not one. 
 
 Ah me ! forgotten am I alone, 
 
 The son of thy warmest love ? 
 Wailed the ill-starred poet with bitter lament, 
 
 As he knelt at the feet of Jove. 
 Why tarriest thou in the land of dreams ? 
 
 Spake the God, yet blame not me. 
 Where went thou when the earth was shared ? 
 
 I was, said the poet, with thee.
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS MAIDEN 87 
 
 My eyes were gazing upon thy face 
 
 As I knelt in silence here, 
 And the ravishing notes of immortal song 
 
 Melted upon my ear. 
 Oh ! pardon thy child in the throng of the Gods 
 
 Forgetting his mortal birth, 
 If drunk with thy glory he loitered behind 
 
 And lost the treasures of earth. 
 
 Ah, what shall be done, cried compassionate Jove, 
 
 Though I would not say thee nay, 
 Yet the harvest, the chase, and the market are gone, 
 
 The world is given away. 
 I will grant thee a better than earthly boon, 
 
 A dwelling in heaven with me ; 
 Whenever thy footsteps shall hitherward tend 
 
 Its portals are open to thee. 
 1853. 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS MAIDEN 
 
 IN" a valley, with the shepherds, 
 At the bloom of each young year, 
 When the larks their spring notes warbled, 
 Walked a maiden wondrous fair. 
 
 Born without the quiet valley, 
 Never knew they whence she came ; 
 Often though they gave her greeting, 
 None could tell the maiden's name.
 
 88 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Yet her parting footfall ever 
 O'er their hearts a shadow threw ; 
 Tones of more than mortal sweetness. 
 Bore the maiden's fond adieu. 
 
 Blessing-breathing was her presence 
 At the hush of twilight hour ; 
 Tottering age or gold-tressed childhood 
 Felt alike her gentle power. 
 
 Yet a sweet and solemn sadness 
 On her fair young face they saw, 
 And her fragile form invested 
 With a strange unwonted awe. 
 
 Flowers and fruits she ever carried 
 Ripened in another land, 
 By the warmth of other sunbeams 
 From a kinder Nature's hand. 
 
 Lavishly her gifts bestowing 
 None were passed unnoticed o'er, 
 Flowers or fruits to man and maiden, 
 All partook her bounteous store. 
 
 Welcome every guest was to her, 
 But for any loving pair 
 Were her choicest gifts selected, 
 Richest fruits and flowers most fair. 
 
 From the German. 1853.
 
 SEHN-SUCHT 89 
 
 SEHN-SUCHT 
 
 ROM out this lowly vale 
 
 O'er which the gray clouds hover, 
 
 How blessed were my lot 
 Could I a path discover. 
 
 I see yon virgin hills 
 
 Forever fresh and blooming ; 
 
 for an eagle's wings 
 
 To bear me through the gloaming. 
 
 1 hear celestial tones 
 
 From seraph lips outringing. 
 Soft breezes are to me 
 
 The breath of spices bringing ; 
 I see the golden fruits 
 
 Blink through the dark green masses 
 The flowers o'er whose young heads 
 
 No wintry tempest passes. 
 
 Thrice happy they who dwell 
 
 Where yon sun ever shineth, 
 Where soft airs kiss the hills, 
 
 For which my spirit pineth. 
 But woe is me I hear 
 
 The roaring of the river, 
 Whose black waves dash against my soul, 
 
 Forever and forever.
 
 90 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 The only skiff I see, 
 
 Alas, no helmsman beareth. 
 Yet hope ! Its sails are spread 
 
 Full safe for him who dareth. 
 Thou must have faith ; for Jove 
 
 Will hurl no prescient thunder ; 
 Nought but a wonder bears thee 
 
 On to the land of wonder. 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 HAKTFORD, CONN., April 22, 1854. 
 
 MIDNIGHT 
 
 SILENTLY in 
 Floats the balmy air, 
 Gently lifts her wavy hair, 
 Daintily in soft caresses 
 Dallieth mid the golden tresses 
 Of my darling, as she lies 
 With the delicate lids low drooping 
 Wearily over her radiant eyes 
 Dreaming brightly 
 
 She reposes 
 Touch her lightly 
 Breath of roses. 
 
 Silently in 
 
 Melt the silver beams, 
 Web and woof of youthful dreams,
 
 MIDNIGHT 91 
 
 With a liquid glory now 
 Bathing all her holy brow, 
 Gleaming from each dreamy fold 
 Of enwreathing pliant gold, 
 Flashing many a regal gem, 
 Crowning with a diadem 
 All the beauty breathing there, 
 Calmly, stilly, resting then. 
 
 Dreaming airily, 
 Angels seeming 
 
 Crown her fairily 
 Golden gleaming. 
 
 Silently in 
 Once a girlish tread 
 Glided through the ghostly dread 
 And twilight chambers, where the pall 
 Of my dead hopes o'er-shrouded all, 
 Where my soul, un joyous lord, 
 Where my soul kept watch and ward, 
 Where my heart lay stiff and cold 
 In the cerements' clammy fold, 
 Guileless or of shame or sin, 
 Lightly tripped the maiden in 
 Thrilled, subdued, in homage meet 
 Bowed my stern soul at her feet. 
 From that mouldering charnel hall 
 Vanished the funereal pall,
 
 92 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Like the mist of morning skies 
 In the sunlight of her eyes 
 At the incense of her breath 
 Rending off the bands of death, 
 With one pang of mortal strife, 
 Forth my heart leaped into life, 
 Knelt in reverence down to her 
 As beseems a worshipper 
 Now a humble genial soul 
 Now a heart by her made whole 
 Pour the red and humid wine, 
 Crown the chalice at a shrine 
 That is only not divine 
 
 Breath of even 
 Fan her lightly, 
 
 Sheen of Heaven 
 
 Crown her brightly. 
 MAY, 1854. 
 
 RESOLUTION 
 
 is done. My bowed spirit hath risen amain, 
 Hath conquered her weakness, hath riven her 
 
 chain 
 
 I gaze on your beauty, but bend not the knee 
 Not a pulse stirs more wildly, I am free ! I am free !
 
 RESOLUTION 93 
 
 Yet the rose on your cheek hath lost none of its 
 
 bloom, 
 
 That brow is undarkened by shadow of gloom, 
 On the blue eye and red lip the smile is as bright 
 As when I first basked in its unchanging light. 
 
 It is in my own soul such a change hath been 
 
 wrought 
 
 That I calmly look on a nerve quivereth not 
 And I breathe but a sigh that a form so divine 
 Should embody a spirit ignoble as thine. 
 
 You mistook me you thought I was one of the 
 
 crowd 
 
 That down at your altar adoringly bowed 
 For whom life had no higher or holier aim, 
 Who cared not for duty who recked not of fame. 
 
 True : Passion for one little hour held control, 
 And its tide swept resistlessly over my soul 
 The sword of my strength was corroded with rust, 
 And the robes of my manhood were trailed in the 
 dust. 
 
 But not thus was the greenness of life to be blighted, 
 Your own hand quenched the flame which the same 
 
 hand had lighted, 
 
 The face and the form are surpassingly fair, 
 The crown and the glory the soul is not there.
 
 94 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 And thus when your heart lent indifferent ear 
 To the tale that your vanity panted to hear, 
 You did me good service, my lady, I trow. 
 I shall be to you never less grateful than now. 
 
 For you broke me the spell, I awaked to new life, 
 I am strong for endurance and action and strife : 
 I have sworn to embody a worthier part, 
 I am sterner of soid, I am braver of heart. 
 
 I bid you farewell then forever and ever ; 
 
 I have launched my good barque on the waves of 
 
 Life's river, 
 It shall mount every billow that rears its white 
 
 crest 
 From the gray of the East to the purple-flecked 
 
 West. 
 
 And if, gentle lady, the swift-footed years 
 Shall bring, as they shall, my name to your ears, 
 If a chaplet of laurel encircle the brow 
 That ever flushed for you, but is marble cold now, 
 
 Remember, I pray, that the garland you view 
 Caught its first glowing freshness and verdure from 
 
 you, 
 That in your heartless words and the smile of your 
 
 scorn 
 The impulse that led me to glory was born.
 
 L 
 
 MORNING 95 
 
 MORNING 
 
 YING on my white couch 
 
 In the early day, 
 Through the open casement 
 
 I hear the breezes play. 
 
 Quiet little greetings 
 
 To the dewy morn, 
 From each timid leaflet 
 
 Quiveringly upborne, 
 
 Rustling through the grape vines 
 
 Twined to mystic shapes, 
 
 Stirring all the clusters 
 
 Of the purple grapes. 
 
 In the golden sunlight 
 
 On my chamber floor, 
 Lo the shadows flitting, 
 
 Flitting evermore. 
 
 Falling on the wainscot 
 
 Brown and worn and old, 
 Wrought by fairy sunbeams 
 
 Into burnished gold.
 
 96 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Bathed in softened splendor 
 
 Lies the antique room, 
 
 " Fairy sunbeams " chasing 
 
 Far the midnight gloom. 
 
 All the velvet cushion 
 
 Whence upriseth prayer, 
 Wreathing with a halo 
 
 Of irnpurpled air. 
 
 Resting on the Christ-head 
 
 With a solemn light, 
 
 Mysteries revealing 
 
 Shrouded erst in night. 
 
 Jesu ! God-Man ! pity. 
 
 On my anguish wild, 
 Turn thy face benignant 
 
 To thy suffering child. 
 
 Still the fiery surgings 
 
 Of my tortured soul, 
 
 Sorrow-tossed and sin-stained, 
 
 Make me pure and whole. 
 
 * So the morning walketh 
 
 Gloriously forth, 
 Breathing fragrant incense 
 
 From the grateful earth.
 
 ALONE 97 
 
 Thou too from thy slumbers 
 
 Wake, spirit mine, 
 Gather up thy garments, 
 
 Show a life divine. 
 
 Weak Despair, Avaunt ! 
 
 Thou hast held me long, 
 Leaps my soul defiant, 
 
 I am strong ! am strong. 
 
 AL01STE 
 
 OANING, sobbing, howling, shrieking 
 
 Sweeps the night-wind by, 
 Fearful wailings, fierce contendings 
 
 In the wrathful sky ; 
 But within the fire-light, reckless 
 
 Of the wreathing snow, 
 Flitteth, danceth, leapeth, setteth 
 
 All the room aglow. 
 
 Yet in vain the airy prancing 
 
 Of the rosy light, 
 Vain to keep the brooding shadows 
 
 Off my heart to-night, 
 Heeding not at all the beauty 
 
 Which it loveth best, 
 But the writhings of the storm-god 
 
 In his wild unrest.
 
 98 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 So my soul takes up the wailing, 
 
 And my eyes are dimmed, 
 Thinking of the hopes that flourished 
 
 When Life's cup was brimmed, 
 Thinking of the dew-wet garlands 
 
 That entwined my brow, 
 Thinking of the desolation 
 
 That enshrouds it now. 
 
 Oh, the bliss ! the thrill the madness 
 
 Of my early dreaming ! 
 Oh, the brilliance of that sunlight 
 
 O'er my pathway streaming ! 
 Oh, the weary, hopeless aching ! 
 
 Oh, the dull hard sorrow, 
 Shrouding the relentless Present, 
 
 Shadowing the morrow. 
 
 In yon village church-yard resteth 
 
 Many a weary sleeper ; 
 But my heart outnumbereth all, 
 
 And its graves are deeper. 
 They shall yet with life immortal 
 
 Up to glory soar, 
 Glide -my buried through Death's portal 
 
 Never, never more.
 
 SHADOWS 99 
 
 And on, still on, the great world goeth, 
 
 Sparing not my pain, 
 Treading on my quivering heart-strings 
 
 With a calm disdain, 
 Crushing all my fairy fancies, 
 
 Scorning my appealings, 
 Mocking at my agony 
 
 For its stern revealings. 
 And is this life ? God in heaven, 
 
 Hear my earnest prayer, 
 In the darkness lost, bewildered, 
 
 Groping everywhere. 
 DEC. 23, 1854. 
 
 SHADOWS 
 
 k OWN the long lane with slow footfall 
 
 I saw him go ; 
 Above his pale brow, pale moon-beams ; 
 
 Beneath, the snow. 
 
 Deep into the old oaks' broad shadow 
 
 His pathway led, 
 And their bare old arms they tossed wildly 
 
 Above his head. 
 
 But he passed out from the old oaks' shadow 
 
 Unscathed and free, 
 Out into the flooding moonlight 
 
 Away from me.
 
 100 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Then a shadow settled down on my heart 
 
 From the still air ; 
 Deeper, darker, than the old oaks' shadow, 
 
 It resteth there. 
 FEB. 26, 1855. 
 
 "MAST GOETH TO THE GRAVE AND WHERE 
 IS HE?" 
 
 DIM dim dim 
 " The love-light of fond eyes " 
 A warmer gleam than ever beamed 
 From balmy Southern skies. 
 
 Cold cold cold 
 Lips, red as ruby wine. 
 As dew-drop on the lily's cup, 
 
 So pressed those lips to mine. 
 
 Still still still - 
 The music of a tone 
 Whose softest cadence thrilled my soul 
 With sweetness all its own. 
 
 Dust dust dust 
 An earnest throbbing heart, 
 Whose pulses waked a bliss naught else 
 Can evermore impart.
 
 TO 101 
 
 Gone gone gone 
 Over the silent river, 
 
 Home, hope, and heart light, love, and life 
 Forever and forever. 
 
 And what is left to me ? 
 A tress of sunny hair, 
 A dark, dark earth a cold, cold sky 
 A memory and despair ! 
 
 HARTFORD, CONN., April 14, 1855. 
 
 TO 
 
 OMANDA, watching with the stars to-night, 
 Sad memories throng the chambers of my 
 
 soul. 
 The Past is shadowy with uncertain light, 
 
 The Future beckoneth to a nameless goal. 
 The ancient land-marks which my fathers set 
 
 Are vanishing in darkness one by one ; 
 Fierce clouds in stern and gloomy grandeur met, 
 Are gathering blackness round my morning sun. 
 
 The early loved of girlhood's thoughtless hours 
 Are far and farther evermore from me 
 
 Some in their dark hair wreathed orange flowers, 
 And some with white lips twined anemone
 
 102 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 And now, O Manda, twining once again, 
 
 To thy dear face, I feel mine own grow pale, 
 My heart throbs heavily with sudden pain, 
 
 I cannot see thee for a bridal veil 
 It floateth round thee like a mountain mist 
 
 Coming between us two forevermore ; 
 I know it, turn I wheresoe'er I list, 
 
 Thy love for me is not the love of yore 
 I cannot ask it, for it may not be 
 
 It trembleth on thy lips, full warm for him ; 
 Thy hushed face, calm for very joy I see 
 
 His cup of bliss is sparkling to the brim 
 
 My shut lips I can keep my eyes, perforce, grow 
 dim. 
 
 Forgive me, Manda, friend, I would not throw 
 
 One shadow o'er the path thy feet shall press ; 
 I will dream calmly of the long ago, 
 
 And haply of thy future happiness. 
 Forgive me, Manda, for this soothless strain ; 
 
 Thy soul-harp, touched by my unskilful fingers, 
 Perchance hath wrought in thee a silent pain 
 
 If on the chords one quivering note still lingers, 
 Forget it. Give to me no second thought 
 
 Or, but a second ah ! not quite forgot ! 
 Yet always mindful of his claims, who waits thy mar- 
 riage vows, 
 I only crave a lesser love to crown my lesser brows.
 
 T 
 
 TO 103 
 
 TO 
 
 HEY brought him a chalice of wroughten gold 
 
 And brimmed it with southern wine 
 Pressed by the dark-eyed Doric girl 
 
 From the fruit of the Cyprian vine. 
 The delicate leaf of a snow-white rose 
 
 He dropped on its glowing breast 
 It fluttered and swayed in the fragrant air, 
 
 Then sank to its ruby rest. 
 But the goblet's brim of wroughten gold 
 
 No drop did overflow 
 So gently the Cyprian wine upbore 
 
 The rose-leaf, white as snow. 
 
 Thy heart, friend, is full of love to-night, 
 
 All quivering with its overweight of bliss, 
 Yet mindful of the Past's evanished light ; 
 
 I humbly, Hawthorne, dare implore thee this 
 That as I lowly kneel before thy shrine, 
 
 And unto thee my grateful tribute bring, 
 Thou will not spurn from thee this heart of mine, 
 
 But kindly take the simple offering. 
 So shall my love lie lightly upon thine, 
 Like snow-white rose-leaf on the Cyprian wine. 
 
 FOR JUNE 20, 1855, 
 HAKTFORD, CONN.
 
 104 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 WHAT IT MEANT 
 
 HE gave me a knife one day at school, 
 Four-bladed, the handle of pearl, 
 And great black words on the wrapper said, 
 
 " For the darlingest little girl." 
 So happy oh, yes yet the crimson blood 
 
 To my young cheek came and went, 
 And my heart thumped wondrously pit-a-pat, 
 But I didn't know what it meant. 
 
 One night he said I must jump on his sled, 
 
 For the snow was falling fast; 
 I was half afraid, but he coaxed and coaxed, 
 
 And he got me on at last 
 Laughing and chatting in merry glee, 
 
 To my home his course he bent, 
 And my sisters looked at each other and smiled, 
 
 But I didn't know what it meant. 
 
 The years passed on, and they touched his eye 
 
 With a shadow of deeper blue ; 
 They gave to his form a manlier grace, 
 
 To his cheek a swarthier hue ; 
 We stood by the dreamily rippling brook 
 
 When the day was nearly spent 
 His whispers were soft as the lullaby, 
 
 And now I know what it meant! 
 MAY, 1855.
 
 NOT ALL A DREAM 105 
 
 "NOT ALL A DREAM" 
 
 OD bless the barque ! with eager heart 
 
 I launched it on the tide, 
 In new-born life exultant proud, 
 It flung the spray aside. 
 Its banners streamed its white sails gleamed, 
 
 Its spars were all a-quiver, 
 As freighted with my young hope it passed 
 Eight royally down the river. 
 
 I knew its sides were the fleeciness 
 
 That floats in the summer cloud ; 
 I knew that the spider's matchless skill 
 
 Had woven each silken shroud ; 
 I knew that the snowy swelling sails 
 
 From the lily's cup were given, 
 And the colors that swayed so aerily, 
 
 From the bow that encircles Heaven. 
 
 But the river was blue as blue could be, 
 
 Blue was the summer sky, 
 And calm as the rippleless lake of light 
 
 That sleeps in a baby's eye. 
 The breeze just kissed the billowy sail, 
 
 Then hushed its murmuring breath, 
 And the fairy barque moved so statelily, 
 
 Was there aught to betoken death?
 
 106 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Woe woe is me ! the wind grows chill, 
 
 The sky looks dull and gray, 
 The water is black beneath the prows, 
 
 And icy cold the spray ; 
 The white-capped waves are dashing on 
 
 In maniac madness foaming 
 What loometh there above the waves 
 
 So shadowy in the gloaming ! 
 
 O cloud-wrought barque ! ill-starred barque ! 
 
 Against the black rocks driven ! 
 wild, wild wail of agony 
 
 Up-piercing unto Heaven ! 
 pitiless waves ! demon waves ! 
 
 Are ye rioting in my woe ? 
 Ye have swept my hopes, my beautiful hopes, 
 
 To the coral groves below. 
 
 O coral groves ! Give up your dead 
 
 Beneath the sounding sea. 
 They are stiff and stark they are naught to you 
 
 They were more than life to me. 
 In vain ! the coral groves are deaf 
 
 To all but the ocean's roar 
 My cloud-wrought barque my fair young hopes 
 
 Come back to me no more. 
 
 HARTFORD, CONN., July 2, 1856.
 
 THE RAIN 107 
 
 THE RAIN 
 
 THE rain, the rain, the beautiful rain ! 
 How dreamily it falls 
 
 Murmuring 'mid the leafiness 
 
 That drapes our brown old walls 
 Cooling the grateful moss on the rocks 
 
 And the little daisies beside them, 
 Trickling into the shady nooks 
 
 Where violets love to hide them 
 Pattering on the dusty roofs, 
 
 That were shrivelled and cracked with heat 
 Bubbling in yellow little pools 
 
 For scores of little feet 
 Drooping the hare-bell's purple cup 
 
 Opening the buds of the roses 
 Leaving the coolness of summer dew 
 
 In the bosom of all the posies 
 Tinkling amid the great broad leaves 
 
 Of the quivering tremulous vine 
 Dashing adown each delicate stem 
 
 Marking a silver line 
 Poising on every leaf and bud 
 
 That sways in the summer air 
 Scattering pearls of crystal light 
 
 Merrily everywhere.
 
 108 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 The trailing garments of the night 
 
 Sweep through her marble halls, 
 And the rain the rain the beautiful rain ! 
 
 How dreamily it falls. 
 
 HARTFORD, CONN., July, 1855. 
 
 TO YOU! IF YOU UNDERSTAND THEM 
 
 ROSES budding and blushing 
 When " the skies are ashen and sober " 
 June's young fingers wreathing 
 The brows of the swart October 
 The dewy light of the morning 
 
 Gilding the evening hours 
 Age bright with the smiles of life's dawning, 
 So whisper to me your flowers. 
 
 Childhood's mysterious slumbers 
 
 Wonderful, dreamy, deep 
 Before the gaunt fingers of Care 
 
 Have plucked at the robes of Sleep 
 Faint notes of a distant lyre 
 
 Struck by an unseen hand 
 Vaguely remembered journey ings 
 
 Into a far-off land 
 Over the sunset hills, 
 
 Over the ocean billow 
 Such are their whispers to me 
 
 The rose-buds you strewed on my pillow.
 
 TO AGNES O'BEIEN 109 
 
 I accept the omen and pray 
 
 That their warm and roseate hue 
 May be but a beautiful symbol 
 
 Of the future that waiteth for you 
 That their purity, sweetness, and fragrance 
 
 May circle your life till it closes 
 And we trace out your path to the heavens, 
 
 My love, by the scent of the roses. 
 
 HARTFORD, CONN., Oct. 19, 1855. 
 
 AS the blind old Bard of Briton's Isle 
 Erst sung to the throngs of men 
 How once at the gates of Paradise 
 Stood poor " auld Nickie-Ben," 
 And gazed at the passing happiness 
 
 Of the first and sinless pair, 
 And half repented him to destroy 
 The bliss he might not share 
 So I, though never a tuneful note 
 Rolled over my cragged tongue, 
 Cannot choose but bless in my heart, Agnes, 
 Thy glorious gift of song.
 
 110 CHIPS, FKAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 I pray not that the years should pass 
 
 Unnoticed o'er thy brow, 
 That the burden of life may never weigh 
 
 More heavily than now. 
 'Twere wishing the pulse of a selfish heart, 
 
 Or the sloth of a sluggard brain, 
 For the thoughtless joy of thy childhood's hours 
 
 May never return again, 
 And the mind that thinks and the heart that feels 
 
 Bears ever a secret pain, 
 We must pass from the mystery of to-day 
 
 With a pang of nameless sorrow 
 Into the greater mystery 
 
 Of the unrevealed to-morrow. 
 
 Nor do I pray that thy onward way 
 
 Demand no earnest toil, 
 For how can he reap in the harvest time 
 
 Who has never prepared the soil ? 
 Or the cry of a wailing world be hushed 
 
 By sitting in silence down ? 
 Or they who have never borne the cross 
 
 Be fitted to wear the crown ? 
 Nay, thy life shall wane, thy light grow dim 
 
 If thy soul at ease reposes, 
 For the stout of heart and the strong of limb 
 
 Rest not on a bed of roses.
 
 TO THE REV. MR. B. 
 
 But I pray, Agnes, that thy life may flow 
 
 Harmoniously along 
 Like the grand and perfect symphony 
 
 Of a noble and stirring song ; 
 That thine earnest work and thine earnest rest 
 
 Thy joy and thy woe may be 
 Commingled into a choral tide 
 
 Of spirit-full melody ; 
 That thy voice attuned 'mid many tears 
 
 In the darkness of earth's long even 
 May ring out with the rapture of new-found bliss 
 
 In the dawn of a glorious heaven. 
 HARTFORD, CONN., Dec. 31, 1855. 
 
 TO THE EEV. MR. B. 
 
 WHO SENT ME A CARD-CASE MADE OF OLIVE-WOOD 
 FROM JERUSALEM 
 
 I DREAM of a beautiful far-off land 
 Bathed in a purple glory. 
 Of sculptured grotto and golden fane 
 
 Embalmed in song and story. 
 The fragrant breath of her summer-tide 
 
 Just stirreth the tremulous vine, 
 And the life asleep on her hazy hills 
 Sparkles in blood-red wine.
 
 112 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Anon the notes of a distant lute, 
 
 Swept by the hand of her dark-browed daughters, 
 Floated to me from her lattice bowers 
 
 Over the still and moonlit waters. 
 
 I dream again and the silent years 
 
 Like a snow wreath melt away, 
 And the long dead Past is before me, quick 
 
 With the gloomy life of to-day. 
 A weary earth lies faint and parched 
 
 In the clasp of the fiery sun, 
 I see in the shade of the olive trees 
 
 The form of the Holy One ! 
 Christ ! God ! In thy lowliness 
 
 Bearing a weight of woe, 
 Which mortals may never never feel, 
 
 Which only a God can know. 
 
 And dreaming thus I dream of thee 
 
 As verily it beseems, 
 Who wove me the magic spell whereby 
 
 I behold all beautiful dreams ; 
 Who tinted my cold and wintry sky 
 
 With the warmth of Orient gleams 
 Ah ! priceless boon ! Can a surer pledge 
 
 Of friendship be ever given 
 Than to twine the thoughts of the loved on Earth 
 
 With the Christ we love in Heaven ? 
 
 HARTFOKI>, CONN., Jan. 4, 1856.
 
 VALE ET SALVE 113 
 
 VALE ET SALVE 
 
 AY mornings ! May mornings ! 
 
 We bid you good-by. 
 You spread us the blue 
 
 Of our soft-smiling sky. 
 Wove garlands of green 
 
 For the wakening earth, 
 And kissed the young buds 
 
 Into full blossom birth. 
 New balm in the breezes, 
 
 New light on the river 
 May mornings, May mornings, 
 
 We bless you forever. 
 
 But there breathes through our blessings 
 
 A sad farewell 
 Like the mournful tones 
 
 Of a silver bell. 
 You pass in your glory 
 
 Of greeting away. 
 With singing and dancing, 
 
 We welcome you, May ! 
 With a pain at the heart 
 
 And a tear in the eye, 
 May mornings, May mornings, 
 
 We bid you good-by.
 
 114 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 June roses, June roses ! 
 
 Say where do ye tarry ? 
 See ye not little feet 
 
 And young eyes growing weary, 
 Weary with waiting 
 
 And watching for you ? 
 Come smile in the sunshine, 
 
 Come weep in the dew. 
 Hark ! the low voice 
 
 Of the soft south breeze 
 Up in the tops 
 
 Of the tall pine trees. 
 She has tales to tell 
 
 Of a far-off land 
 Where the sweet-scented orange groves 
 
 White-vestured stand. 
 And see ! in her breath, 
 
 How the old earth rejoices 
 And answers her back 
 
 With a thousand voices. 
 Out on the hillside 
 
 The young lambs are flinging, 
 All the apple blooms 
 
 Thrill with gay singing. 
 
 Brooks ripple down 
 
 With a musical laughter, 
 And bare little feet trip on 
 
 Noiselessly after.
 
 VALE ET SALVE AGAIN H5 
 
 Poised in the clover-tops 
 
 Honey-bees murmur, 
 And lo ! on the meadow 
 
 The olive-browed Summer ! 
 fairest and best 
 
 Of the gifts of the year, 
 June roses, June roses ! 
 
 We welcome you here. 
 JUNE 3, 1856. 
 
 VALE ET SALVE AGAIN! 
 
 ^RAGKANTLY, softly as 
 Lily cup closes 
 Faded away from us 
 Bright month of roses. 
 
 Throbbing stars, glowing stars, 
 
 Gaze we at even, 
 From the low-latticed porch 
 
 Up into heaven ; 
 Cheerily chirpeth the 
 
 Cricket his trill, 
 Unto the listening air 
 
 Solemn and still ; 
 Dewy and liquid the 
 
 Breath of the night, 
 Placid and holy 
 
 The moon's tender light ;
 
 116 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 The Shadowy Spirit 
 
 Of Summer draws nigh 
 And sets her fair crown 
 
 On the brow of July. 
 
 We bend in the hush of this 
 
 Beautiful hour, 
 Unto the spell of her 
 
 Magical power, 
 Knowing the beauty and 
 
 Glory are given 
 From the dear Father 
 
 Who dwelleth in Heaven. 
 
 Queen of the Summer, 
 
 Queen of the Year, 
 Hold forth thy sceptre, 
 
 The kingdom is here. 
 
 AILANTHI<; 
 
 IN this valley of shadows a maiden walketh 
 Her delicate feet press the sweet-scented clover 
 Her feet brush the webs from the purple clover 
 When she cometh to meet me, and I am her lover. 
 
 Sweeter her breath than the new-mown hay 
 Lighter her tread than the snow-flake's fall 
 Thus you may know when she cometh this way, 
 And I am the master and lord of all.
 
 AILANTHE 117 
 
 Ye may know by the ripples of shining hair 
 That swell to the zephyrs' viewless touch, 
 Floating a moment in golden air, 
 Then gently sink to their rest again 
 
 Beautiful ripples beautiful rest. 
 And this shower of quivering, fluttering gold 
 May freely fall down my tranquil breast 
 May dance into forms of grace untold, 
 But only for me shall their glory unfold 
 My cheek and none other shall feel their caresses, 
 My lips and none other shall press the soft tresses 
 My fingers, none others, may carelessly twine 
 
 They are mine ! They are mine ! 
 
 Ye may know by the light of her luminous eyes 
 Nay for they never will shine on you 
 Veiled from you by the blue-veined lids 
 Shaded from you by the sweeping lashes, 
 
 Downcast under a stranger's gaze 
 Veiled and shaded, ah ! you should see 
 How they sparkle and glow for me ! 
 Sometimes dimmed by a tearful haze, 
 When she listeneth tales of woe, 
 But never so dimmed but love for me 
 Ever and ever shineth through ! 
 
 When " the sun looketh forth from the halls of the 
 
 morning " 
 Ye may watch for her foot-fall among the flowers.
 
 118 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 She loveth the rosy, dewy hours 
 That bear up the train of the regal dawning 
 She loveth the warm and purple rim 
 Of the cold and gray and eastern cloud 
 
 Floating in seas of liquid fire. 
 She loveth the happy choral hymn 
 Of the birds in the meadow and woodland and grove 
 
 Soaring upward higher and higher 
 
 Into that sea of crimson fire, 
 Into the great immensity. 
 
 The murmuring winds have a tone for her 
 Whispering unto the forest pines : 
 
 Loud in joyousness, hushed through fears 
 Low and soft and laden with tears, 
 Like the many-voiced lutes of far Stamboul 
 
 Swept by the hands of her captive daughters, 
 Wafting the lays of their mountain homes, 
 
 Over the still and moonlit waters. 
 
 I whisper love when I whisper " Ailanthe." 
 O life-giving name ! draught of Nepenthe, 
 
 For all the world bringeth of sorrow and dole ! 
 Visions of beauty around me are springing, 
 Voices of music are ceaselessly ringing, 
 Surges of harmony beating the shore, 
 
 Whereon sitteth my regnant soul 
 Crowned a monarch forevermore. 
 
 JULY, 1856.
 
 POPPING THE QUESTION 119 
 
 POPPING THE QUESTION 
 
 'NDER the broad spreading buttonwood tree 
 
 We sat my love and I. 
 In green and gold the Earth lay bathed, 
 
 In purple and gold the sky. 
 matchless sheen of a fairy queen ! 
 
 rarer than Tyrian dye ! 
 
 But dim was the splendor of Earth and Heaven 
 
 And pale and cold to see, 
 For the beauty breathing by my side 
 
 Under the buttonwood tree 
 So I gazed on the grace of her dimpled face, 
 
 But she gazed never at me. 
 
 Measured words of love or trust 
 
 Never my lips had spoken, 
 But could she not gauge with her woman's eye 
 
 The depth of a silent token ? 
 But if it be so I shall never know ; 
 
 This silence must be broken. 
 
 And my heart grew faint with ecstatic pain 
 
 That was neither joy nor fear, 
 And an eager impulse leaped into life 
 
 My coming fate to hear 
 The marriage bell or the funeral knell, 
 
 It shall be now and here !
 
 120 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Then her quiet hands I grasped in mine 
 
 With a fierce and sudden start, 
 I pressed them against my throbbing brow, 
 
 Her heart to my throbbing heart, 
 And I said, " My love, by the angels above, 
 
 Thus, thus, we will never part ! " 
 
 A dove of peace to my baffled life 
 
 An angel taking rest 
 One moment whose memory never shall fade, 
 
 She lay on my eager breast ; 
 Then I loosed hold of my blissful fold 
 
 And waited for her behest. 
 
 I could feel the shock of her startled soul 
 
 Surprised at its secret shrine, 
 By the sudden flood of light inpoured 
 
 From this passionate heart of mine. 
 Thrice happy hour that gave such power, 
 
 Such dream of bliss divine. 
 
 I waited in tremulous silence the breath 
 That should bring to my listening ear 
 
 The words for which I had longed and prayed, 
 But ever despaired to hear. 
 
 And I drew her face in a wild embrace, 
 Nearer again and near.
 
 A BATTLE SONG FOR FREEDOM 121 
 
 The white lips moved the dear head drooped, 
 
 Under mine the sweet eyes fell. 
 " Dost thou love me, darling ? Speak, speak thy 
 love, 
 
 Thou knowest mine own full well." 
 A tear and a smile strove together the while, 
 
 " / do, but I cannot tell." 
 
 SEPT. 14, 1856. 
 
 A BATTLE SONG FOR FREEDOM 
 
 EN of action ! Men of might ! 
 Stern Defenders of the right ! 
 Are you girded for the fight ? 
 
 Have you marked and trenched the ground 
 Where the din of arms must sound 
 Ere the victor can be crowned ? 
 
 Have you guarded well the coast, 
 Have you marshalled all your host, 
 Standeth each man at his post ? 
 
 Have you counted up the cost, 
 What is gained and what is lost, 
 When the foe your lines have crost ?
 
 122 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Gained the infamy of fame, 
 Gained a dastard's deathless name, 
 Gained eternity of shame ! 
 
 Lost desert of manly worth, 
 Lost the right you had by birth, 
 Lost lost ! Freedom for the Earth ! 
 
 Freemen ! Up ! The foe is nearing ! 
 Haughty banners high uprearing ! 
 Lo ! their serried ranks appearing ! 
 
 Freemen ! On ! The drums are beating, 
 Will you shrink from such a meeting ? 
 Forward ! Give them hero greeting ! 
 
 From your hearths and homes and altars, 
 Backward hurl your proud assaulters, 
 He is not a man that falters. 
 
 Hush ! the hour of fate is nigh 
 By the God who dwells on high, 
 O my brothers, do or die. 
 
 OCT. 25, 1856.
 
 V 
 
 ARCHIE DEAN 123 
 
 [FOR THE HOME JOURNAL] 
 ARCHIE DEAN 
 
 By Jenny Marsh Parker 
 
 OULD you laugh, or would you cry ? 
 Would you break your heart and die, 
 
 If you had a dashing lover 
 Like my handsome Archie Dean 
 And he should forget his vowings 
 
 By the moon, and stars, and sun, 
 
 To love you forever more 
 And should go to Kitty Carrol 
 
 Who has money, so they say 
 And with eyes love filled as ever, 
 Win her heart, that's like a feather, 
 
 Vowing all he had before ? 
 Prithee, tell me, would you cry, 
 And grow very sad, and die ? 
 
 Always in the old romances 
 
 That dear Archie read to me 
 Those that pleased my girlish fancies 
 
 There was ever sure to be 
 One sweet maiden with a lover 
 
 That was never, never true 
 And when they were widely parted, 
 Then she drooped, poor broken-hearted ! 
 And did break with grief at last, 
 Like a lily in the blast.
 
 124 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Say, would you, 
 If you were me ? 
 Sure, I do love Archie Dean, 
 
 Love him, love him, oh, how true 
 But just see, my eyes are bright, 
 And my lips and cheeks are red 
 (Archie put that in my head), 
 
 And I don't know what to do 
 Whether to lie down and weep, 
 Weep and weep, weep and weep 
 
 Till the red is faded out, 
 And my eyes are dull and dim, 
 May be blind, and all for him 
 
 I could do it, I've no doubt 
 Or loop up my jetty hair 
 
 With the brightest knots of ribbon, 
 And the very sweetest roses, 
 And go to the village fair, 
 
 Where he'll be with Kitty Carrol, 
 And will see me dance the wildest 
 And will hear me speak the mildest 
 With some bonny lad that's there, 
 Just to show him all I care. 
 
 Archie Dean ! Archie Dean ! 
 "Tis the prettiest name I know ; 
 It is writ on my heart, but over it now 
 Is drifting the cold, cold snow. 
 Archie Dean ! Archie Dean !
 
 ARCHIE DEAN 125 
 
 There is pain in my breast while I speak 
 I wonder if always the thought of your name 
 Will make me so saddened and weak ? 
 Archie Dean ! Archie Dean ! 
 I remember that once you said 
 Your name should be mine, and that I should be 
 
 The happiest bride ever wed. 
 I little thought then of a day like this, 
 When I could wish I were dead. 
 
 ATLANTA, GA., Jan. 27, 1878. 
 To ' ' Gail Hamilton " : 
 
 But there is a poem of yours, a merry rhythmic love-story, 
 published some ten years ago in the "Prairie Farmer" of Chi- 
 cago, entitled "Archie Dean." I was a boy in my "teens" 
 when I read it, and gave my paper containing it to a fair girl 
 who might have sung : 
 
 " But just see ; my eyes are blue, 
 And my lips and cheeks are red 
 (Archie put that in my head)." 
 
 Now, I write to ask you for a copy of " Archie Dean," or for 
 information as to how I can obtain it. I have three pretty 
 little imps of daughters dancing about the fireside as I write, 
 for whom I wish to preserve the poem as a charmingly recited 
 episode in the days of courtship of a sweet coquette. Your 
 kind attention will oblige 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 SAM'L A. E .
 
 126 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 WHAT YOU'D BETTER DO, JENNY MARSH 
 
 B 
 
 REAK your heart for Archie Dean, 
 
 Jenny Marsh, Jenny Marsh 
 Break your heart for Archie Dean, 
 
 Not a bit ! 
 
 'Tis the very thing he's after ; 
 He would say to Kitty Carrol 
 With a careless, mocking laughter : 
 
 Here's a pretty little chit 
 
 Who has died for love of me. 
 
 'Tis a pity. 
 
 But what is a man to do 
 When the girls beset him so ? 
 
 If he gives a nosegay here, 
 
 If he calls another ' dear,' 
 
 If he warbles to a third 
 
 A love ditty ; 
 Why the darling little innocents 
 
 They take it all to heart. 
 
 A-lack-a-day. 
 Ah ! she was a pretty maiden, 
 
 A little too fond-hearted, 
 Eyes a little too love-laden, 
 
 But really when we parted 
 
 Well she died for love of me
 
 WHAT YOU'D BETTER DO, JENNY MARSH 127 
 
 " Kitty Carrol." Don't you see 
 
 You are giving him to Kitty 
 
 Just as sure as sure can be ? 
 
 'Tis the way he takes to woo her 
 By thus slyly showing to her 
 What a dashing, slashing beau is at her feet ; 
 And for all the pretty prating 
 Of a woman's deathless loving 
 And her ever faithful proving 
 And her true and tried devotion, 
 I've a very wicked notion 
 
 That to carry off the one 
 Whom Mary here is sighing for, 
 And Fanny there is dying for, 
 Is nearly half the happiness and more than half 
 
 the fun ! 
 
 Now, if I were a man, 
 
 Jenny Marsh, Jenny Marsh, 
 If I only were a man 
 
 For a day 
 
 (I'm a woman so I can't 
 Always do just what I want), 
 
 But if I were a man I would say, 
 
 " Archie Dean, go to thunder ! 
 What's the use of sighs, I wonder? 
 
 Your oaths and vows and mutterings 
 Are awfully profane ! 
 
 Hie away to Kitty Carrol, 
 
 Your loss is but a gain.
 
 128 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 And fishes still are swimming 
 
 Just as luscious every way 
 
 As those that hissed and sputtered 
 In the saucepan yesterday." 
 
 But Jenny, darling Jenny, 
 
 You're a tender little woman, 
 And I can't expect you'll say what is 
 
 So shockingly inhuman, 
 And besides you'll never dare, 
 You little witch, to swear, 
 But don't you dance too merrily, 
 
 Because he may see through it, 
 And don't you flirt too far, my dear, 
 
 Because perhaps you'll rue it, 
 And don't put on an air as if 
 
 You're mortally offended 
 'Twill be a feather in his cap, 
 
 And then the game is ended ; 
 And when, with Kitty on his arm, 
 
 You meet him on the green, 
 Don't agonize your pouting lips 
 
 To " Mr. Arthur Dean." 
 But every throb of pride or love 
 
 Be very sure to stifle 
 As if your intercourse with him 
 
 Were but the merest trifle ; 
 And make believe with all your might
 
 WHAT I DID, GAIL HAMILTON 129 
 
 You do not care a feather 
 For all the Carrols in the world 
 
 And Archie Deans together. 
 Take this advice and get him back, 
 
 My darling, if you can, 
 And if you can't, why right about, 
 
 And take another man ! 
 
 HARTFORD, CONN., Oct. 25, 1856. 
 
 [FOB THE HOME JOURNAL] 
 WHAT I DID, GAIL HAMILTON 
 
 By Jenny Marsh 
 
 I WENT to the fair with Charlie - 
 With handsome Charlie Green, 
 Who has loved but me for many a year 
 And vowed his love with many a tear 
 Ay, tears from the heart, I ween ; 
 But I never gave a smile to him 
 Until last night 
 When full in sight 
 Of Kitty Carrol and Archie Dean. 
 Now Archie knows that Charlie has 
 
 A deal of money and land, 
 And that his wealth is little to him 
 Without my heart and hand.
 
 130 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 So I smiled on Charlie, 
 And I danced with Charlie, 
 When I knew that Archie's eyes 
 Were fixed on me in a trance ; 
 And once I caught them in the dance ; 
 And, oh ! the language of that glance ! 
 I could have fallen at his feet, 
 
 Dear Archie Dean ! 
 But there was Kitty and Charlie Green. 
 
 And when Archie came to me, 
 
 As I was sure he would, 
 And with his softest tone and glance, 
 Asked me then with him to dance, 
 Do you think I dropped my eyes 
 With a blushing glad surprise ? 
 No, no, indeed ; 
 
 That wouldn't do. 
 Straight I looked into his face, 
 With no broken-hearted grace 
 Ah ! he could not see my pain ! 
 And I told him he must wait 
 
 A little while 
 Till I'd danced with Charlie Green, 
 
 Then I made a smile, 
 And Harry Hill and Tommy Brown ; 
 
 Oh ! the look he gave to me, 
 As his eyes fell sadly down !
 
 WHAT I DID, GAIL HAMILTON 131 
 
 Twice he something tried to say, 
 But I, laughing, turned away 
 
 For my sight was getting dim 
 Saying I would not forget 
 
 That I was to dance with him. 
 
 He did not go to Kitty Carrol, 
 
 Who was sitting all alone, 
 Watching me with flaming eyes ; 
 
 But he slowly walked away 
 To a corner in the dark 
 
 Where he waited patiently 
 
 And, he said, most wearily, 
 For the waltzing to be done. 
 
 And, although my heart was aching 
 
 Yes, and very near to breaking, 
 It was quite a bit of fun, 
 
 Just to see him standing there, 
 Watching me ; oh, Archie Dean ! 
 What a picture of despair ! 
 
 Why not hie to Kitty Carrol ? 
 
 She has money so they say 
 And has held it out for lovers, 
 
 Many and many a weary day. 
 She is rather plain, I know : 
 
 Crooked nose, and reddish hair, 
 
 And her years are more than yours. 
 But Archie Dean ! poor Archie Dean ! 
 You're not rich like Charlie Green.
 
 132 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 And what does love for beauty care ? 
 Hie away to Kitty Carrol ! 
 
 Ask her out to dance with you, 
 Or she'll think that you are fickle, 
 
 And your vows of love untrue ; 
 And, may be, you'll get a mitten, 
 
 Then, oh then, what would you do ? 
 
 Well, he sighed at me, and I laughed at him, 
 
 When we danced away together ; 
 He pressed my hand, but I heeded it not, 
 
 And whirled off like a feather. 
 He whispered something about the past 
 
 That I did not hear at all 
 For my heart was throbbing loud and fast, 
 And the tears began to fall. 
 
 He led me out beneath the stars ; 
 
 I told him it was vain 
 For him to vow : I had no faith 
 
 To bind with him again. 
 His voice was sad, and thrilling, and deep, 
 And my pride flew away, and left me to weep, 
 And then when he said that he loved me most true, 
 And ever should love me " yes, love only you," 
 I couldn't help trusting dear Archie could you ?
 
 ON THE SIDEWALK 133 
 
 ON THE SIDEWALK 
 
 the sidewalk dim and dusty 
 
 Ceaseless tread of hurrying feet, 
 Pleasure, passion, pain, and madness 
 
 Stalking up and down the street. 
 How the golden stars were burning, 
 
 Throbbing, glowing in the sky 
 How the earth lay calm and holy 
 
 In the glory from on high, 
 As we walked among the walkers, 
 
 Slowly walking you and I. 
 
 But the stars serene and shining, 
 
 And the moonlight clear and cold, 
 And the throng forever pressing 
 
 After wisdom, wine, and gold, 
 Drew no meaning read no token, 
 
 Could not know the secret power 
 Of the words we lightly uttered 
 
 In that unforgotten hour. 
 Lightly spoken, lightly spoken, 
 
 Oh ! the heavy hearts they made, 
 the spell yet, yet unbroken, 
 
 Which upon our souls they laid.
 
 134 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 the sudden silent anguish, 
 
 Cleaving heart and soul and life, 
 the terrible concealing 
 
 Outward sign of inward strife. 
 Bootless, fruitless, vain concealing 
 
 That the light of life was gone. 
 
 Memories of the buried Past 
 
 Only, left to live upon. 
 Bootless, fruitless, vain concealing, 
 
 Aimless, hopeless, wild endeavor, 
 For a chord of life was smitten 
 
 That will tremble on forever. 
 
 You will go your way in life 
 
 I shall calmly walk in mine 
 Of the blight upon my spirit 
 
 There shall be no trace nor sign. 
 While I tread this vale of shadows, 
 
 Be the way or short or long, 
 Smiles shall dwell upon my forehead, 
 
 Cheerful words upon my tongue, 
 And I have a cooling balsam, 
 
 For the burning in my brain, 
 We are bound now and forever 
 
 Each to each by common pain ; 
 For you felt my heart was breaking, 
 
 For I read your voiceless woe, 
 Though we neither breathed a whisper 
 
 That could tell the other so.
 
 O LAND BEYOND THE SOUNDING SEA 135 
 
 Life is short and love eternal, 
 
 And we both shall stronger be 
 For the bitter, bitter chalice 
 
 That is poured to you and me 
 Gather now thy robes about thee, 
 
 Take thy pilgrim staff in hand, 
 Look not backward, travel onward 
 
 To the future better land ; 
 Heave no sigh in vain regretting, 
 
 Thinking of what might have been, 
 It will be thy soul's ensnaring, 
 He must run who hopes to win. 
 In the day of life's declining, 
 
 When the lengthening shadows fall, 
 Looking back on. all our pathway, 
 
 We will bless the Lord for all. 
 
 LAND BEYOND THE SOUNDING SEA 
 
 [ " He was born in London, but came when a child 
 to Ohio, where he was educated. He at first said that 
 he remembered nothing at all of England, but after- 
 wards asked, 'Aren't there little flowers that grow 
 along by the fences in England that they call cups ? ' 
 ' Butter-cups yes.' 'And another little flower in the 
 fences that smells very nice haws ; is it ? and 
 another in the grass.' ' Primroses,' I suggested. ' Ah, 
 yes, that's it cups and primroses. I thought I was 
 in England ; there wan't no such in Ohio. I can
 
 136 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 remember going out with my mother into the country 
 and picking them. That's the only thing I can re- 
 member in England.' " ] 
 
 LAND beyond the sounding sea, 
 
 Queen enthroned in glory, 
 Mother of a mighty race, 
 
 Renowned in song and story 
 Rich in memorials of the past, 
 
 In promise of the future, 
 Linked by the great acts of to-day, 
 
 In not unworthy suture 
 Rich in all deeds of deathless fame 
 
 That show divine in human, 
 Rich in the life of noble man, 
 
 And of heroic woman. 
 Rich in that love by Jesus taught, 
 
 Which maketh all men brothers, 
 Rich in each gift that God bestows, 
 
 But passing rich in mothers. 
 
 From Canterbury's old renown, 
 
 From Windsor's quiet meadows, 
 From " Silver Avon's " holy ground, 
 
 From Cheviot's purple shadows, 
 Thy children pass to every land 
 
 On which the sun is shining, 
 The sturdy zeal of Saxon nerve, 
 
 With tropic fire combining ;
 
 O LAND BEYOND THE SOUNDING SEA 137 
 
 But still wherever English hand, 
 
 To English hand gives greeting, 
 Wherever in the English breast 
 
 An English heart is beating, 
 Sweet memories of the mother land 
 
 Will come like guests unbidden, 
 Beneath the gathering moss of time, 
 
 Revealing fountains hidden. 
 Sweet memories not of moated tower, 
 
 Or wild castle hoary, 
 Of princely Hampton's pictured halls, 
 
 Or Hastings' doubtful glory, 
 But of the primrose by the brook, 
 
 The daisy in the meadow, 
 The buttercups on dimpled chins, 
 
 Which cast a golden ghadow, 
 Of emerald turf with violets flecked, 
 
 His young feet crushed unheeding, 
 As pattered they along the way, 
 
 A mother's hand was leading. 
 
 Brown locks may whiten on the brow, 
 
 Bright eyes be dim with weeping, 
 The child grown old, the mother cold, 
 
 Beneath the daisy sleeping ; 
 But still when he who holds the key 
 
 Of memory's mystic portal, 
 Shall for a space unbar the gates 
 
 To show the soul immortal,
 
 138 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Though Arctic snows or Afric sands 
 Stretch drearily before him, 
 
 The fragrant gales of English vales 
 Will breathe their sweetness o'er him. 
 
 Mother's hand, mother's heart, 
 
 Ye work a wondrous mission, 
 Ye smite a harp whose thrill perchance 
 
 Is hidden from your vision ; 
 Yet touch it lightly, for the chords 
 
 Will cease their trembling never, 
 But stretching through the mists of time 
 
 Go quivering on forever. 
 
 FEB. 8, 1857. 
 
 TO ELLEN AUGUSTA HUNT IN ALABAMA 
 
 T 
 
 HE balmy airs of the South Land 
 Are stirring the locks on thy brow, 
 
 The perfumed scent of her orange groves 
 Meet fragrance for such as thou. 
 
 Hath the sunny South Land a charm, Nelly, 
 
 To lure thy longer stay, 
 From her velvet turf and magnolia breath 
 
 Dost thou shrink to turn away ?
 
 TO ELLEN AUGUSTA HUNT IN ALABAMA 139 
 
 Our skies are leaden and gray, Ellen, 
 
 Our winds are fierce and wild, 
 And ghostly and cold are the mountain snows, 
 
 Which they in their fury piled. 
 
 But the hearts are warm and true, Nelly, 
 
 That are beating in love for thee, 
 That are keeping time to thy morning song, 
 
 Wherever its warblings be. 
 
 And the void which thy going left, Nelly, 
 
 On that chill November morn, 
 Is a void to-day and to-night, my love, 
 
 The merry-voiced Spring is born. 
 
 A light went out on the hearthstone, 
 
 A tint from the blue of the sky, 
 A tone from the voice of singing 
 
 Full only when you were by. 
 
 A sense of what might but is not, 
 
 A dreamy and vague unrest, 
 A longing, and waiting, and watching, 
 
 These were thy parting behest. 
 
 But our hills shall be crowned with greenness, 
 
 Our roses shall flush in the sun, 
 Come home, come home, O, fairer than they, 
 
 That the Spring be indeed begun.
 
 140 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 R 
 
 DR. KANE 
 
 1 REJOICE, rejoice ! 
 Put on, Earth, thy glory-robe and raise 
 
 Aloud thy voice, 
 And bind thy brow with everlasting bays. 
 
 No more, no more 
 The age shall be accounted mean and base 
 
 And given o'er 
 To greed of gold and lust of power and place. 
 
 Defiant now, 
 She calls the heroes of the vaunted Past, 
 
 And bids them bow 
 In homage to the greatest and the last. 
 
 When fair young Greece 
 Sent from her bosom an adventurous band, 
 
 A golden fleece 
 Allured their footsteps to a far-off land. 
 
 In later days 
 Men tracked a path upon the unknown sea 
 
 For love of praise, 
 Or fame of boundless wealth that was to be.
 
 DR. KANE 141 
 
 Not so he went, 
 Who hath returned so pale and still to-day. 
 
 With high intent 
 He parted on his dread and devious way 
 
 The lost to save 
 To bring back light to many a darkened hearth, 
 
 And from the grave 
 Lead forth the wanderer to a genial earth. 
 
 Not as of old, 
 Weak flesh and blood and gleaming steel his foes, 
 
 But subtle Cold, 
 And the grim Ghosts of the Eternal Snows. 
 
 Pale, shadowy forms 
 Loomed in the darkness, but they gave no sound. 
 
 Spirits of Storms 
 Wandering in silence awful and profound. 
 
 With these he fought, 
 He of the Christ-like heart and God-like soul, 
 
 Nor failed in aught, 
 But bent the storm-wraiths to his own control. 
 
 Ah ! must it be ? 
 The incense kindled from God's altar fire 
 
 Wo wo is me ! 
 Consumed the censer as it mounted higher.
 
 142 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 And yet no tears. 
 To-day with prouder tread we press the earth, 
 
 And bless the years, 
 The living age that gave a hero birth. 
 
 For him no tears 
 Although, alas ! too soon to dust gone down, 
 
 Yet his young years 
 Have wreathed him with an amaranthine crown. 
 
 But tears for those 
 Within whose home the light is waxen dim, 
 
 Who till life's close 
 Will twine the cypress with the bay for him. 
 
 It needs must be, 
 O mother, that thy feet shall sorrowing go, 
 
 Thou who didst see 
 Life's earliest ebb and last retreating flow, 
 
 Yet doubly blest, 
 With all its speechless grief and anguish rife, 
 
 The mother's breast 
 That pillowed him at morn and even of life. 
 
 We pray that He, 
 Who crowned with joy the stricken one of Nain 
 
 May pour for thee 
 The wine of peace within thy cup of pain. 
 
 MARCH 2, 1857.
 
 THE NOSIAD 143 
 
 THE NOSIAD 
 
 An Epic Poem 
 
 EMILIA, my clear, and the kerchief committee, 
 Come gather around while I sing you a ditty ; 
 Not of some lonely Chloe who died broken- 
 hearted, 
 
 Because from her side cruel Colin departed, 
 For I think, niy dear girls, 'tis a very poor course 
 To mend a bad matter by making it worse, 
 And if a young damsel is left by her wooer, 
 I cannot imagine what good it can do her, 
 And what the particular pleasure 'twill give her 
 To throw herself hastily into a river 
 Nor prate I of freedom, that much abused article, 
 Bepraised by all striplings endowed with a particle 
 Of that indescribable gift of Queen Mab, 
 Which the vulgar denominate " gift o' the gab," 
 For though we are truly the great " Yankee " nation, 
 And abundantly able to " whip " all creation, 
 We've just now small reason for congratulation. 
 For our President true, I've sufficient affection, 
 But Heaven forbid / should sing his election 
 My own Massachusetts meant not he should have, he 
 
 knew, 
 The White House that stands " at the end of the 
 
 avenue." 
 
 Were the Pathfinder there with his garland of glory, 
 I would sing you a roundelay, child, con amore
 
 144 CHIPS, FKAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 And though he is not, we rejoice that no less he 
 
 Deserves it and more with his beautiful Jessie. 
 
 So we'll meet every foe, should insulting bemoan he 
 
 us, 
 With the truth wherewith Cato once strengthened 
 
 Sempronius ; 
 
 But ask not a Freedom song when you remember 
 I hung up my harp on the Fourth of November. 
 And now, O committee, for fear you should say 
 I spin out my song in a very strange way, 
 By telling you each insignificant thing, 
 About which my mind is made up not to sing, 
 Reminding you thus of the mountain and mouse 
 Or a very large hall to a very small house, 
 I'll tell you at once ere I come to the close, 
 The theme of my lay is myself and my nose. 
 
 A long time ago in a domicile lone 
 
 Within sound of the ocean's unceasing moan, 
 
 Where the skies were bluer than smile on me now, 
 
 And the winds were fiercer than breathe on my brow, 
 
 And wilder and bleaker the mountain snows, 
 
 We came into being myself and my nose. 
 
 How well I remember the fateful day 
 
 How quiet, observant, and peaceful I lay 
 
 Till I heard the words of my cruel nurse, 
 
 " She is certainly ugly, but might have been worse." 
 
 Nay, before I had entered my very first doze, 
 
 My father exclaimed, " Do but look at her nose."
 
 THE NOSIAD 145 
 
 With a fierceness of fury 'twere hard to tell, 
 I doubled my fists and I uttered a yell, 
 Piercing, sonorous, prolonged, and clear, 
 A yell 'twould be worth your while to hear, 
 Whereat the nurse and my father and mother, 
 Gazed in amazement on one another, 
 Till the former with greater acumen smiled, 
 And nodded and said, " a remarkable child." 
 So I was appeased and at once shrunk back 
 Into the proper juvenile track. 
 
 The old woman indeed had spoken the truth, 
 
 For I was a very remarkable youth, 
 
 But unlike most of those who give signs of precocity, 
 
 I did not expire with good-natured velocity, 
 
 But persistently managed to grow and to thrive 
 
 As well as the veriest dunce alive 
 
 A remarkable fact of itself, I must say, 
 
 Considering the perfectly orthodox way 
 
 In which doses of oil and bark and root 
 
 Were crammed unconcernedly down my throat, 
 
 As if a poor baby with scarcely a rag on 
 
 Were a modified species of wantley dragon. 
 
 Nevertheless I grew apace 
 
 In strength and endurance if not in grace 
 
 And I and my nose went peering around 
 
 In search of whatever there was to be found 
 
 Over mountain and valley sans sun-shade and bonnet, 
 
 (No persuasion could ever induce me to don it),
 
 146 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 I roamed at my will while my poor mother cried, 
 
 As my peregrinations she wistfully eyed, 
 
 " My child, you will turn your adventurous nose 
 
 As black as the African Scipios." 
 
 I chased all the girls and I fought all their brothers, 
 
 And sent them bewailing, soon, home to their mothers, 
 
 Till, in a full circuit of twenty miles round 
 
 There was not a single brave lad to be found 
 
 That was hardy enough to resist my appeals, 
 
 But at sight of my nose forthwith took to his heels 
 
 (I mention with feelings of deepest regret 
 
 'Tis a habit they've never recovered from yet ! ) 
 
 But as I grew up into woman's estate 
 
 My carelessness waned and my sorrow waxed great 
 
 A sense of my ugliness broke my repose 
 
 And I bitterly mourned my unfortunate nose. 
 
 All my friends stood aghast at my heart-rending grief 
 
 And strove by affection to bring me relief, 
 
 But with mutual gloom did each interview close, 
 
 While I only exclaimed, " my nose, my poor nose ! " 
 
 At length, a sad, heart-broken exile, from home 
 As my only resort I concluded to roam 
 As if any road which a traveller goes 
 Can lead him away from a terrible nose ! 
 
 " My child," said my father, " 'tis foolish in you, 
 For wherever you go, there your nose must go too
 
 THE NOSIAD 147 
 
 You have not a doubt of the fact, I suppose, 
 That a girl must assuredly follow her nose." 
 
 But in vain I departed I came to your city 
 
 And presented myself, a meet object for pity. 
 
 I came and you saw and have conquered, my friends, 
 
 See how a divinity shapeth our ends 
 
 For though I am certain you all will agree 
 
 'Tis the ugliest nose that you ever did see, 
 
 Yet a nose, I am equally sure you will say, 
 
 Whether aquiline, Roman, or retrousse, 
 
 A nose turned up or a nose turned down 
 
 A nose all freckled or wholly brown 
 
 A nose too large or a nose too small, 
 
 Is a thousand times better than no nose at all ; 
 
 At least, so I judge from the cheerful celerity 
 
 With which you engaged in your late work of charity, 
 
 For you see that your ready and active decision 
 
 In making such very abundant provision 
 
 For an organ, whose wants, although innocent quite, 
 
 Must never be mentioned to ears polite, 
 
 In a manner that cannot be gainsaid discloses 
 
 You approve not the counsel of Aaron to Moses 
 
 Suggesting a decapitation of noses. 
 
 Your labor, my loved ones, is not in vain, 
 In word or in thought I will never complain. 
 Nay, if there should chance to spring up a thought, 
 A wish that my nose might be what it is not,
 
 148 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 I'll remember that nose is a sign and a token 
 
 Of a friendship for you which shall never be broken 
 
 Of a depth of affection no words can tell 
 
 So dearest and sweetest, farewell, farewell. 
 
 P.S. I meant to stop there, but never a word 
 
 Ventured upon by a singing bird, 
 
 Ranted by actor, or stammered by mimic 
 
 Can be found to rhyme with my patronymic ; 
 
 But though 'tis a very prosaic name 
 
 'Twill likely enough long continue the same 
 
 And our mothers have told us what cannot be cured 
 
 With great resignation must be endured . 
 
 So I'll be content with a sensible rhyme, 
 
 Though in truth it has but an unmusical chime 
 
 And say I remain wherever I lodge 
 
 Your very affectionate Dominie Dodge. 
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE UNDER 
 DIFFICULTIES OR: WHO I AM 
 
 RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO " X. T. Z.," WITH A 
 GLANCE REMINISCENT AT E. F. G. 
 
 Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Well begun ! 
 
 Nothing like having a bit of fun. 
 If I understand you the question is this, 
 Am I a Mr. or Mrs. or Miss ?
 
 WHO I AM 149 
 
 A man or a woman, 
 A Ghoul or a human, 
 
 Pray tell me the good such a knowledge can do man, 
 Or whatever can make it a circumstance weighty, 
 To know where I stand between eighteen and eighty ; 
 Or whether I chance to be single or double ; 
 But, nevertheless, as you 've taken the trouble, 
 And as I don't wish to be wrapped up in mystery, 
 I think I will give you a leaf of my history. 
 
 I'm a college student of seventeen, 
 
 With a scarcely perceptible shade of green ; 
 
 Three terrible pairs of rickety stairs, 
 
 I tumble down daily to morning prayers ; 
 
 I twirl my cane with a matchless grace, 
 
 And if you should happen to look in my face, 
 
 When the morning light 
 
 Falls on it aright, 
 
 You will catch, I am certain, a very fair sight 
 Of what I should call, and I hope I'm not rash, 
 The first faint dawn of a young moustache ; 
 
 I would also say 
 
 In a modest way, 
 
 I've a generous share 
 
 Enough and to spare, 
 Of that indescribable gift so rare, 
 And when I hold forth in my musical tones 
 Before the redoubtable " Skull and Bones,"
 
 150 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 You would never know 
 
 But 'twas Cicero, 
 Unless somebody happened to tell you so. 
 
 With the girls of the land 
 
 I'm in great demand, 
 
 And a sudden meeting, 
 
 Some crowded street in, 
 Gives rise to a very affectionate greeting. 
 
 I moreover can show, 
 
 Let me whisper it low, 
 
 Five pictures of five graceful nymphs in a row. 
 The first has bushels of raven curls, 
 The next is the very queen of girls, 
 
 The third is fair 
 
 With auburn hair, 
 The fourth has a very distingue air, 
 The fifth has something, precisely what 
 I cannot say, for I've quite forgot, 
 Though many days with my watch for a locket, 
 I tenderly bore in the depths of my pocket 
 A bit of the ribbon that bound her locks, 
 Now lying, alas ! in my relic box. 
 I hope the young lady won't go break her heart, 
 Because I was so ready from her memento to part. 
 
 But to sum up the whole, 
 
 I have thought on my soul 
 
 Since thus I began 
 
 My features to scan, 
 I'm a very uncommonly nice young man.
 
 WHO I AM 151 
 
 Pray what say you this description you see 
 My investigator " X. Y. Z." 
 
 Peccavi, peccavi ; to soften nay pillow 
 
 I humbly confess to a peccadillo 
 
 Very different proves the real denouement, 
 
 For I'm not in the least a college student, 
 
 N^o enamored swain nor ranting debater, 
 
 But a docile and dutiful Alma Mater. 
 
 Rugged and thorny the path I have trod, 
 
 A married lady of thirty odd ; 
 
 Every evening I see in their beds 
 
 A baker's dozen of curly heads ; 
 
 Every morning my slumbers greet 
 
 The patter, patter, patter of twenty-six feet. 
 
 Thirteen little hearts are always in a flutter, 
 
 Till thirteen little mouths are filled with bread and 
 
 butter ; 
 
 Thirteen little tongues are busy all day long, 
 And thirteen little hands with doing something wrong, 
 Till I fain am to do 
 With an energy too, 
 
 As did the old woman who lived in a shoe ; 
 And when my poor husband comes home from his 
 
 work, 
 
 Tired and hungry and fierce as a Turk, 
 What do you think is the picture he sees ? 
 A legion of babies all in a breeze.
 
 152 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Johnny a-crying 
 And Mary a-sighing, 
 
 And dignified me with niy hair all a-flying ; 
 William strong and angry beating little Nelly, 
 Charley in the pantry eating currant jelly ; 
 Richard strutting round in papa's Sunday coat, 
 Bobby at the glass with a razor at his throat, 
 Harry gets his fingers crushed when Susie shuts the 
 
 door, 
 
 Mitigates their aching with a forty-pounder roar ; 
 Baby at the coal-hod hurries to begin 
 Throwing in his mite to the universal din. 
 Alas ! my lord and master being rather weak of 
 
 nerve, he 
 Begins to lose his patience in this stunning topsy 
 
 turvy, 
 And then the frightened little ones all fly to me for 
 
 shelter, 
 
 And so the drama closes 'rnid a general helter-skelter. 
 I'll give you my name lest you think me a myth, 
 Yours very respectably, Mrs. John Smith !
 
 A VALEDICTORY 153 
 
 A VALEDICTORY 
 
 VITH joy, dear parents and good friends, with 
 joy and yet with fear, 
 
 We've long looked forward to the day when we 
 should meet you here 
 
 With joy, to see in this our room your faces ever 
 kind 
 
 With fear lest you should find us not all you had 
 hoped to find. 
 
 But pray, remember when you judge, how few our 
 years have been ; 
 
 The summers on our wisest heads have scarcely num- 
 bered ten. 
 
 We left, not many months ago, each one his mother's 
 side; 
 
 And even now our leading strings are loosened not 
 untied ! 
 
 But don't you know that Solomon, with all his won- 
 drous might, 
 
 Was once a baby, knowing not his left hand from his 
 right ? 
 
 That Moses cried to get the moon, Napoleon wore a 
 bib, 
 
 And Frank Pierce rode a broom-stick, and slept 
 within a crib ? 
 
 So, ever in your ears, we hope the scripture adage 
 rings, 
 
 However wise, not to despise the day of little things.
 
 154 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 And though to you but very small may seem our 
 
 learned lore, 
 Remember we have done our best, and " angels could 
 
 no more." 
 We've washed our faces very clean, we've brushed 
 
 the wayward hair, 
 And smoothed our frocks and collars down with most 
 
 surprising care. 
 Not for the world our pretty fans or kerchiefs would 
 
 we lose, 
 And if you'd see a handsome face just look at our new 
 
 shoes. 
 Now though we don't suppose we are the best in all 
 
 the city, 
 Yet don't you think we're pretty fair, most reverend 
 
 committee ? 
 Your approbation, sirs, we hope to gain in some small 
 
 measure, 
 Th' approving voice of such a judge would crown our 
 
 toil with pleasure. 
 
 But if you've seen, as needs must be, aught you can- 
 not commend, 
 
 We surely will receive your blame as from a long- 
 tried friend. 
 We thank you, sirs, for all your care and pray that 
 
 you may be 
 Long spared unto our little school though we're not 
 
 here to see.
 
 A VALEDICTORY 155 
 
 Dear teacher, who, for months and weeks, hast guided 
 
 us so well, 
 To your own heart our hearts shall speak what words 
 
 can never tell ; 
 Your patience never failed in all our listless, naughty 
 
 ways 
 The bad have met a firm rebuke the good unstinted 
 
 praise. 
 The consciousness of duty done, a just reward is 
 
 given 
 Be every other blessing showered upon you from high 
 
 Heaven. 
 
 Whene'er we fear the world will scorn our learning 
 
 and our arts, 
 We turn with confidence to you, throbbing mothers 1 
 
 hearts ! 
 The love that taught our baby lips and led our baby 
 
 feet 
 Will never fail our weak essays with cheering smiles 
 
 to greet. 
 We mean to answer all your hopes and disappoint 
 
 your fears, 
 And grow more good and truly wise as we increase in 
 
 years. 
 
 Dear school-mates, who have met us here who'll 
 
 meet us nevermore, 
 No coming scenes will e'er blot out the happy scenes 
 
 of yore.
 
 156 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Your pleasant faces we shall miss from out our little 
 
 band ; 
 We love you, and we bless you as we give the parting 
 
 hand. 
 
 To you, who, with the autumn days, again shall cheer 
 
 our sight, 
 We will not say the sad " Good-bye," but only breathe 
 
 " Good-night." 
 We hope the bright vacation days will find you with 
 
 the flowers ; 
 That by the brooks and o'er the hills, you'll chase the 
 
 flying hours ; 
 Go ! bring back scores of rosy cheeks and scores of 
 
 sparkling eyes, 
 And worlds-full of heart happiness, that never, never 
 
 dies. 
 May health and hope and peace and love forever with 
 
 you dwell, 
 And now, dear teacher, parents, friends, we bid you 
 
 all farewell. 
 
 SUMMER, 1857.
 
 TO MR. OWEN 157 
 
 TO DR. MURDOCK 
 
 IF, as the homeopath ists say, 
 Like only by like can be healed, 
 The mystery hid in my birthday gift 
 
 Will easily be revealed ; 
 For as Eve by this fruit caused herself and the race 
 
 Forever with sorrow to grapple, 
 So I would that all sorrow from you and from yours 
 Might forever depart by an apple. 
 
 FOR DEC. 8, 1857. 
 
 TO MR. OWEN 
 
 YOUR excellent watch, my excellent friend, 
 I restore to your fatherly hands, 
 And with it I pray you receive all the thanks 
 So gracious a token demands. 
 To atone for the sorrow its absence hath caused, 
 
 I am sure it will please you to know, 
 With eloquent lips, it hath pleaded your case, 
 
 And taught me to feel for your woe. 
 For if I have grown pale through my anxious care, 
 
 Of a property not my own, 
 
 And most truly rejoice in three days to give back 
 The beautiful, troublesome loan
 
 158 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 What grief must be yours with your vast estate, 
 And your sensitive conscience, knowing 
 
 That although you pay up every cent on your hands, 
 You never can cease to be Owen. 
 
 TO MR. SMITH 
 
 JVVi Y dear Mr. Smith, could you now for a minute 
 y Y ^ a y aside, not your head, but the thoughts 
 
 that are in it ; 
 
 Forget all your saddles and bridles and straps, 
 And open your heart to a woman's mishaps. 
 
 'Tis about a poor damsel who lives in this city, 
 And a gentleman called a financial committee. 
 I mention no names ; don't ask me the cause on't, 
 Hers might have been Bodge, my dear sir, but it 
 wasn't. 
 
 Well, this poor little damsel had spent her young 
 
 years, 
 
 Smiled heavens of smiles and wept oceans of tears, 
 In a certain brick school-house full three stories high, 
 Set under this very committee man's eye. 
 All the work she accomplished 'twould tire you to tell, 
 But considering all things, 'twas done very well, 
 Since teaching is not, Sir, a thing to delight in, 
 But a very odd compound of scolding and fighting.
 
 TO MR. SMITH 159 
 
 For although good old Moses at half a glance saw 
 'Twas a very hard thing to make bricks without straw, 
 Fond parents now give a rhetorical kick, 
 If every small boy does not turn out " A brick ! " 
 
 One day this committee man came to the maiden, 
 With a bursting big pocket-book heavily laden ; 
 Now this unwonted sight made her feel very funny, 
 For she knew he was going to give her some money, 
 Though you see so uncommonly hard were the times, 
 There was very small traffic in dollars and dimes. 
 Every bank was as poor as were Peter and John, 
 And the cashiers said, " Silver and gold have I none." 
 So the damsel aforesaid was only too glad 
 To take for her pay of the best that he had, 
 Though it must be confessed that her heart somewhat 
 
 sank 
 When she saw they were bills on the Charter Oak 
 
 Bank- 
 
 And she said to herself, " I would much rather hold 
 The Phoenix Bank bills if I cannot have gold, 
 For although that will surely go down in these crashes 
 Another as good will arise from its ashes. 
 But this Charter Oak I have certainly heard 
 But dear me, there's no use in my saying a word, 
 For he stands there so large and so stout and so tall 
 He could crush me as easy as nothing at all." 
 
 Well, when he had paid her. the money he said, 
 With a very confirmative shake of the head,
 
 160 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 " You would better get rid of that money, my friend, 
 For there's reason to fear that the bank will suspend. 
 I advise you to do it now mind what I say 
 In such times as these, we're not safe for a day." 
 The girl was much pleased with this friendly advice, 
 And a part of her money went off in a trice ; 
 She bought many things that she thought she should 
 
 need, 
 
 And some that she shouldn't to wear and to read ; 
 Sent beautiful gifts to the friends she loved best, 
 And then in an evil hour gave all the rest 
 To a friend of her own in her name to invest, 
 So you see she was left 'tis a crime in a court 
 Without any visible means of support ; 
 But I'm sure the committee man ought not to blame 
 
 her, 
 
 For 'tis owing to him she's in such a dilemma. 
 Now ragged and tattered she walks through the street, 
 The scoff of each walker she chances to meet. 
 Through the rents in her gaiters peep forth her white 
 
 hose, 
 To be followed, she fears every day, by her 
 
 t-o-u-g-h-s ! 
 
 She had long wished and hoped for a water-proof 
 
 cloak, 
 
 But she fears that her wishes will vanish in smoke, 
 And then, too, she wears such a shocking old bonnet 
 the rains and the snows that have beaten upon it
 
 TO MR. SMITH 161 
 
 And then by-and-by to her home she must go, 
 
 And though stocks in all railroads have fallen quite 
 
 low, 
 
 I suppose a conductor won't carry her far 
 Unless she can pay for a seat in the car. 
 
 Now if I were that girl and if that man were you, 
 My dear Mr. Smith, tell me what would you do ? 
 Turn a merciless ear to her pitiful cries, 
 Or come to her aid with the needful supplies ? 
 Having shared in her fault, would you share in her 
 
 pain ? 
 
 Or turn away with "Don't be caught so again." 
 A word to the wise is sufficient, they say 
 That word being spoken, I hasten away 
 With a wish that your shadow may never be less 
 (And that is a very great wish, you'll confess). 
 I beg your permission to bid you. adieu, 
 Yours very respectfully, 
 
 Can't you guess who ?
 
 I 
 
 162 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 L 
 
 ANTENATAL 
 
 ITTLE Baby feet, patter, patter, 
 
 Coming hither down the road from Heaven 
 Little Baby cheek, rest softly 
 
 On the mother's breast God hath given 
 Little Baby life, float lightly 
 
 In the sea of love round thee flowing 
 Little Baby sun, rise brightly, 
 
 Far be the night of thy going. 
 
 Little Baby soul, love wisdom, 
 
 Borne to thee in fatherly caresses 
 Little Baby heart, learn goodness, 
 
 Dropt to thee in motherly kisses ; 
 Love-guided wisdom be thy pole-star, 
 
 So shall the Earth-life given 
 Be but a firm and gentle treading 
 
 Back again along the road to Heaven. 
 
 MARCH 9, 1858. 
 
 TO C. L. TALLANT 
 
 GARKY-Lina Louisa, Miss Tallant, my dear 
 Or whatever pet name softly falls on your ear, 
 I meant to come round to look after your weal, 
 To ask your poor head how it happens to feel, 
 To see that your heart has a regular beat, 
 To " figet" your "oseula dulcia" sweet,
 
 TO C. L. TALLANT 163 
 
 To know what the light of your eyes may betray, 
 
 And your dear piquant nose is it not, by the way, 
 
 Just the least little bit in the world retrousse ? 
 
 But, my dear, when the usual deafening shout 
 
 Announced to the city that school was out, 
 
 So brimful of tired I was that my skin 
 
 Seemed only a bag to hold weariness in, 
 
 And further than this, as if only to show, 
 
 That every terrestrial cup of woe 
 
 (Here you'll twist up your lips in a sweet little pucker) 
 
 Is never so " chuck full " it can't be made chucker, 
 
 I found to my sorrow as soon as I rose, 
 
 And walked to the closet to put on my clo'es, 
 
 There must be some blisters right under my toes 
 
 And when you remember, as surely you will, 
 
 That I've lived for a year away out on " the Hill," 
 
 You'll at once understand why direct I should come 
 
 In such a condition the nearest way home ; 
 
 But then I'm consoled since I know you'll receive 
 
 The very best care the good Dimmocks can give 
 
 Though the whole world desert you it certainly 
 
 won't 
 
 You may always be certain of our Miss Hunt 
 And not a cloud her heaven can fleck 
 Who dwells in the sunshine of Mary Peck 
 And besides all this, I'm consoled, my dear, 
 That however bad my verses appear, 
 I appeal to the eye much worse than the ear.
 
 164 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Should you like to know of our goings-on 
 In Asylum Street since you have been gone ? 
 Miss Hunt will have told you the lamentation 
 About to go up from the Association, 
 
 Because we don't go down 
 
 To the goodly town 
 When it holds its annual Convocation. 
 I suppose, don't you, that they'll rend their hair 
 And their garments too (if the worse for wear) 
 And iterate, " Ichabod ! Glory departed ! " 
 (Which won't be quite true since it never started !) 
 
 As for the rest we roll, my dear, 
 
 In much the same rut as when you were here ; 
 
 The brook still flows on its course unseen. 
 
 Only the grass is a fresher green, 
 
 Where the trill of the musical ripple hath been, 
 
 And men as ever admire the sight 
 
 And gaze on its greenness with great delight. 
 
 Mr. Capron is calm Mr. Wilcox is clever 
 
 And Bertha Olmstead as good as ever 
 
 And we all plod on in our various courses 
 
 Much like overworked, bony dray horses. 
 
 I sit now and then in the curule chair 
 
 And gaze about with a mingled air, 
 
 A cross between crossness and despair, 
 
 And hurl the ciphers and failures about 
 
 To the multitudinous rabble rout.
 
 TO C. L. TALLANT 165 
 
 (A poet's license they're wondrous good 
 I couldn't cipher them if I would) 
 And wildly scream to the ultimate corner 
 Where some metaphysical young Jack Horner 
 Has put in his thumb 
 To pick out a plum 
 
 From Alfred, the noble, or Csedmon the dumb ; 
 You may rightly judge hence 
 As a consequence 
 My throat is full of little rents, 
 And split all across like a five-rail fence. 
 
 I've had several adventures out of school ; 
 
 Would you like to hear them ? then pray keep cool 
 
 I saw a man come near being killed, 
 
 Because like all men he was horrid self-willed. 
 
 His name, I believe, was Mason Weld 
 
 (Here throw in a word that will rhyme say telled) ; 
 
 The cars were going were almost gone 
 
 He had bag and shawl, but he would get on 
 
 And so he did 'twas a sight to appal 
 
 For if he had fallen he didn't fall - 
 
 They'd have gone straight over him, bag and all ! 
 
 Indeed, I myself was not very far 
 
 From being run over, though not by a car, 
 
 But a cart dragged along by a broken-down Dobbin, 
 
 Whose scraggy old head kept a bob-bob-bobbin ! 
 
 A very ignoble kind of way 
 
 To depart from this life you will justly say
 
 166 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Because if you must for original sin 
 
 Have your senses knocked out by your skull knocked 
 
 in, 
 
 'Tis a mitigation it is indeed 
 To have it done by a decent steed 
 Bestrode, perhaps, at least, in our plan, 
 By a very uncommonly nice young man, 
 With a black mustache, and the " handsomest eyes '*' 
 Who shall pick you up with remorseful sighs, 
 And beg all the doctors to use their art, 
 To bring back the pulse to your pulseless heart, 
 And then and then 'tis pretty, very, 
 And I leave out the best the corollary 
 But, dear me where's the romance to brag on 
 Killed outright by a one-horse wagon ? 
 
 The Light Horse Guards have been out to-day, 
 
 At least so I heard the pupils say, 
 
 And Ellen and I as we went up the street, 
 
 Mobilia, turba Quiritium did meet 
 
 Women with babies, and children with toys, 
 
 And men with their aprons, and swarms of small 
 
 boys 
 
 And scores of lean horses with very fat riders, 
 All very imposing to youthful outsiders ; 
 And a man in the middle with iron lung 
 And a brazen throat and a leather tongue, 
 Kept up a continual steady " screech," 
 To play, I suppose, they were storming a breach
 
 TO C. L. TALLANT 167 
 
 And they brandished their swords (that could hardly 
 
 slay) 
 
 In a rather desperate kind of way 
 And were somewhat stupid and shockingly dusty, 
 And altogether decidedly rusty ; 
 No doubt " the Guards " are very effective, 
 But they didn't look in the least protective. 
 
 Ah, well, my dear, it would tire you out 
 
 If I should tell you all about 
 
 The various things I have suffered and done 
 
 How I bought a fan it is not my own 
 
 And how notwithstanding my conscience frowning 
 
 I looked and longed for a Mrs. Browning ; 
 
 How I wanted a picture worthy that name, 
 
 And then for the picture a worthy frame, 
 
 One forever to grace my home I 
 
 Had bought but the res angusta domi ! 
 
 Shall I tell you, my love, how I had the good manners 
 
 To save for you some delicious bananas 
 
 I had from a girl ? but I didn't come 
 
 And so of course I conveyed them home 
 
 Intending to keep them I did for you, 
 
 But when I saw them spread out to my view, 
 
 I began to think they wouldn't keep, 
 
 Or perhaps they would hurt you drive away sleep 
 
 And so at once contradict me you won't 
 
 I became unselfish like Ellen Hunt
 
 168 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Disinterestedly broke my oath, 
 
 And to save you from suffering, swallowed them 
 
 both! 
 
 Good night, good night, my dear, the hours increase, 
 And this my idle strain, perforce, must cease 
 With laughter I can lonely vigil keep, 
 But rather praying choose to "fall on sleep." 
 With those I love, your name is writ, my dear, 
 With those that love me well shall yours appear ? 
 It matters not ; you are the same to me, 
 And this my prayer for you shall always be : 
 Not that no cloud forevermore may dim 
 
 Your spirit's shining, 
 But that the cloud in time may turn to you 
 
 A silver lining ; 
 Not that no bitter evermore may mar 
 
 Your joy's completeness, 
 But that from every bitter you may pluck 
 
 Its heart of sweetness ; 
 Not that no sword may ever pierce your soul, 
 
 But that your sorrows 
 May be but swift-winged pioneers to lead 
 
 To brighter morrows ; 
 Not that unfaltering you may tread your path 
 
 Whate'er its length, 
 But that from every weakness you may learn 
 
 To gather strength ; 
 Not that no work may henceforth ever burden
 
 TO C. L. TALLANT 169 
 
 Your spirit's wings, 
 But that your life-long work may always be 
 
 In holy things ; 
 Not that your eyes may never fail to see 
 
 Triumph complete, 
 But that a glorious victory you may wrest 
 
 From each defeat 
 Till fought is the last fierce fight 
 
 Ended the strife 
 And you rise from the deep dishonor of death 
 
 To freer and fuller life. 
 
 BENEDICITI. 
 
 P.S. preceding the letter. 
 I'm afraid you will think there is something amiss 
 
 Or I'm an uncommonly stupid dunce 
 To be sending you ill such a letter as this 
 
 But you need not read it all at once. 
 
 HARTFORD, CONN., June 2, 1858.
 
 170 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 VESTIGES 
 
 Y eyes were not blessed with a vision, 
 
 My ears caught no music divine ; 
 But I knew by the rose-scattered pathway 
 The point where an angel crossed mine. 
 An angel ? Nay, only a woman 
 
 Dispensing the bounties of God 
 Could an angel do more ? Then an angel 
 
 One moment my pathway has trod. 
 blessed, or angel or woman 
 Whatever of grief it encloses 
 That heart whose way into the heaven 
 
 Is traced by the scent of the roses. 
 To MARY PECK, July 14, 1858. 
 
 VITH pomp of rhythmic strain it scarce were 
 meet 
 
 To lay my Christmas tribute at thy feet, 
 Since all who look upon thy face must see 
 A womanhood above all poesy. 
 To MRS. BAILEY, with polish boots, Christmas, 1858. 
 
 L 
 
 ET not thy heart, noble friend 
 My humble gift despise, 
 
 But may the simple offering 
 Find favor in thine eyes. 
 
 I know that with the shining Ones
 
 VESTIGES 171 
 
 Thy genial home is found, 
 But though thy head may knock the stars, 
 
 Thy feet must touch the ground. 
 Dream on, then, of those fairer realms 
 
 Above our world of strife, 
 And give us foretastes of the joys 
 
 That gild the Future Life." 
 But lesser crowns for lesser brows 
 
 I count not Fate remiss 
 If she but grant my grateful hands 
 
 To guard thy feet in this. 
 
 To MR. GEORGE Wooo, 1 with pair of socks, Christmas. 
 
 I 
 
 FEAR it will seem an Hibernian stroke 
 
 To mark the sincerest of loves 
 By begloving a man whose great glory it is 
 
 That he handles all sin without gloves. 
 But remember, I pray, that the glove in old time 
 
 Was a signal of mortal defiance 
 And in these evil days if a man can be found 
 
 On whom Christendom places reliance 
 Who always stands ready to shiver a lance, 
 
 For the love of the right, not renown, 
 It is surely the least his admirers can do 
 
 To provide him with gloves to throw down. 
 
 To DR. BAILEY, with pair of gloves, Christmas. 
 1 Author of " Scenes in Another World."
 
 172 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 TO 
 
 IN ANSWER FOR " SOMETHING SWEET AND PRETTY 
 JUST LIKE YOURSELF." 
 
 A CLAM to your flounces tenaciously clinging 
 The bell of the milkman his matinals ringing 
 A cabbage upreared by your lilies and roses, 
 A hand 'neath the hinge of the door when it closes 
 The dragon of Wantley, whose taste architectural 
 Makes us fancy the tale was extremely conjectural 
 A pony descended from old Rosinante, 
 The sunflower in front of an Irishman's shanty 
 A talker who makes the chief part of his role, " Oh "- 
 A donkey who brays a duet to your solo 
 A needle thrust under your delicate nail 
 An epic by Blackmore the Knights of the Grail 
 The gravy upset on your lavender silk, 
 The salt in your coffee, your sleeve in the milk 
 A small boy in the parlor entirely de trap 
 (How many there should be you very well know) 
 I give since you asked me, you mischievous elf, 
 For " something sweet and pretty just like myself."
 
 A PENCILED-SKETCH 173 
 
 A PENCILED-SKETCH 1 
 
 ^^1 Y dear, was it ever your fortune to pass 
 y ^Through a green meadow, soft with the fresh 
 
 springing grass ? 
 
 I might call it emerald or some precious stone, 
 But well enough is always best let alone. 
 If a meadow is green, why not say so I pray, 
 As well as go off in some roundabout way 
 ' Feathered-songster/ or ' warbler,' or any such word, 
 Is not to my ear half so sweet as a bird ; 
 But let this alone, we'll go back to the cows, 
 Who can't be expected forever to browse. 
 
 I was going to remark on their wonderful strength, 
 Their sinewy legs and their horns' winding length ; 
 Yet so gentle and tender, the softest white hand 
 Unharmed may stroke their brown necks as they 
 
 stand. 
 
 But if you should chance on the pond in your path, 
 When the gander is just going down to a bath, 
 With a party of geese, and their goslings behind 
 Whose strength if united you scarcely would mind 
 Ten to one but he makes a blind rush, hit or miss, 
 Expanding his soul in a terrible hiss, 
 Flutters out his broad wings, stretches out his long 
 
 neck, 
 And threatens to perpetrate terrible things, 
 
 1 Found on the back of an old letter of Sept. 20, 1869.
 
 174 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Till you grasp the long neck with its rufflings, 
 And take him to walk by your side nolens volens, 
 Which very soon quenches the flame of his ire, 
 And makes him exceedingly long to retire. 
 
 The more of this in your memory you keep, 
 
 Wrapped, fashion-phrase, still waters run deep 
 
 Or less elegant yet of a usage far wide 
 
 To be carefully shunned, though all talk (beside), 
 
 But unlike the great number of morals you see 
 
 That alone is for you, and the moral for me, 
 
 For I have a story, my dear, to relate 
 
 Which hardly can merit the epithet great 
 
 And, ergo, to make it more worthy your time, 
 
 I have taken precaution to dress it in rhyme, 
 
 Indulging the hope, I mean no offence, 
 
 To make up in sound what is wanting in sense. 
 
 
 
 BY THE SEA 
 
 SAUCY, sparkling sea, 
 
 Curling along the strand, 
 Flashing your foam out in snowy curves, 
 
 To entrap me where I stand ; 
 Dancing in maiden mirth 
 
 Up to the gray old beach, 
 Gliding away where he woos you to stay, 
 
 Forever beyond his reach.
 
 A VISION 175 
 
 I know you, saucy sea, 
 
 I hear what you do not say 
 I have learned the secret that fills your heart 
 
 And laughs in your wild waves' play. 
 There is one who is coming home ; 
 
 You have seen his white sails gleam ; 
 You stayed your mad flight to listen last night 
 
 For the name that he breathed in his dream. 
 
 0, beautiful, purple sea, 
 
 I forgive you but will he come ? 
 Oh, mock at the mermaids, oh, jeer at the sands, 
 
 But happily bring him home. 
 I could think it was grief, not joy, 
 
 Such a fever burns in my breast. 
 With the evening star comes my love from afar, 
 
 And lo ! the sun sinks in the west ! 
 
 A VISION 
 
 SAW, upon a summit lone, 
 
 A temple rise to sight ; 
 About its turrets played the beams 
 Of an unearthly light. 
 
 I saw a valley dark and wide, 
 Veiled all by misty shrouds, 
 
 Save where the cliffs of either side 
 Peered out from restless clouds.
 
 176 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 I saw a plain where light young forms 
 Were gliding 'mid the bowers, 
 
 Beneath whose quivering shades they twined 
 Bright wreaths of brilliant flowers. 
 
 They sported ever heedlessly 
 
 All o'er that sunny plain ; 
 Nor looked they downward to the vale 
 
 Nor upward to the fane. 
 
 From out the plain went sep'rate ways ; 
 
 One, winding to the height, 
 The other ended at the vale, 
 
 In darkness, black as night. 
 
 I saw each spirit choose his path 
 
 When passing out the plain ; 
 But none might stop in all the way 
 
 Or backward turn again. 
 
 Three-score and ten the milestones were 
 
 Along the downward way ; 
 Three-score and ten along the path 
 
 That led to endless day ; 
 
 Save twelve they passed upon the plain 
 
 As carelessly they went ; 
 And heeded not the sep'rate paths 
 
 Whither their footsteps bent.
 
 A VISION 177 
 
 I saw sometimes the upward way 
 
 To wind a beetling verge ; 
 But spirits from the fane came down 
 
 The wayworn, on to urge. 
 
 Some passed the milestones in the plain 
 
 Then took the upward way ; 
 Nor paused till they from out the fane 
 
 Received them into day. 
 
 Some walked awhile the downward path 
 Then turned them from the train, 
 
 And sought across a tangled wild 
 The upward path to gain. 
 
 Far in the dim and cloud-capt heights, 
 
 I saw a weary one, 
 Who almost all the steeps had climbed, 
 
 The fane had almost won. 
 
 And then I saw the temple gates 
 
 For him, wide open flung, 
 One flash of glory down the steep, 
 
 And then they backward swung. 
 
 The vision past, I heard a voice, 
 
 The magic of whose strain, 
 My spirit thrilled, as down I looked 
 
 Once more towards the plain.
 
 178 CHEFS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 I saw a being, fair to sight, 
 
 She was a child of song ; 
 And by the love-light in her eye, 
 
 They knew her in the throng. 
 
 The broader way towards the vale 
 At first her footsteps chose, 
 
 But soon she wearied of the path, 
 Its joys were turned to woes. 
 
 Way-worn, up to the fane of life 
 A hopeful glance she cast, 
 
 And then to gain the other way 
 Across the wild she passed. 
 
 I saw a kindred spirit come 
 He, too, had left the plain 
 
 He chose her from the pilgrim throng 
 The heights with him to gain. 
 
 A score of milestones had she passed 
 When spirits from the height 
 
 Came down to bear her up the steep 
 To realms of endless light. 
 
 I saw the joy of earthly things 
 Fade from her upturned eye; 
 
 Her lips grew pallid when they bore 
 Her spirit up on high.
 
 ETTIE 179 
 
 Again I saw the temple gates 
 
 For her wide open flung, 
 One flash of glory down the steep, 
 
 And then they backward swung. 
 
 They called her Rhoda in the way 
 
 And Rhoda in the plain, 
 Another name she bears among 
 
 The spirits of the fane. 
 
 "ETTIE" 
 
 Died in the morning, Feb. 11, 1861 
 
 SET her chair against the wall, 
 Let her little primer lie, 
 Fold the little frock away, 
 
 Lay the little thimble by ; 
 Take the little battered shoes 
 
 From their place upon the floor 
 Oh ! the tender little feet 
 
 That will never want them more ! 
 
 For an angel came from Heaven 
 
 Ere the dawning of the day, 
 From the arms that would have held her 
 
 Bore our little one away ; 
 She had known life by its sunshine, 
 
 Not its sorrow, shame, or sin ; 
 But the pearly gates stood open 
 
 And the dear Christ smiled her in.
 
 180 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Darling, in the Heaven of heavens, 
 
 Are your shy, sweet eyes the same ? 
 Do you still lisp broken love-talk ? 
 
 Do you wear your baby name ? 
 It may be a new baptism 
 
 Sealed you at your heavenly birth 
 But no name can have more love in 
 
 Than the one you bore on earth. 
 
 Now your little feet are walking 
 
 In the garden of the Lord 
 Now your little voice is swelling 
 
 The new song with sweet accord 
 Now your little heart is learning 
 
 All the joy that angels know, 
 Do you never miss the loving 
 
 Who are waiting here below ? 
 
 Do you mind the little sister 
 
 Who was wild to see your face 
 Missing only for a week 
 
 From its old accustomed place ? 
 Timid birdling in the home-nest, 
 
 Half afraid if one were by, 
 Is your little heart quite peaceful 
 
 In its home beyond the sky ?
 
 ORIGINAL ODE 181 
 
 Jesus, Saviour, pity, pardon 
 
 Doubts and fears but born of grief ; 
 We believe in thy salvation ; 
 
 Help thou, Lord, our unbelief. 
 Pardon, if the sweet child-voices 
 
 Make thy love seem like decree 
 " Suffer ye the little children 
 
 As of old to come to me." 
 
 Safely in thy arms we leave her 
 
 Folded closely to thy breast. 
 There shall nothing come to grieve her, 
 
 Earth is fair, but Heaven is best. 
 Now for us the shadows deepen 
 
 In the sunlight where she stood ; 
 But for her the day is dawning 
 
 Into glory. God is good. 
 
 ORIGINAL ODE 
 
 Written for the Anniversary of the Essex Agricultural /Society, 
 September 25, 1861. 
 
 NOW hang up the sickle, the reapers are done ! 
 The warm rains, the soft dews, and the sweet 
 
 summer sun 
 
 Have cheerily wrought with the brawny arms here, 
 And the Harvest-Moon smiles on the fruits of the 
 year.
 
 182 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Ho ! Freemen of Essex ! Stout sons of the soil ! 
 What meed to your labors, what rest to your toil, 
 While the tread of the traitor pollutes the wronged 
 
 earth, 
 And Liberty faints in the land of her birth ? 
 
 Runs the blood of your sires pale and weak in your 
 
 veins ? 
 Will the ringing of gold drown the clanking of 
 
 chains ? 
 Will you sit by your firesides and count up your 
 
 store, 
 While shame keeps with death, watch and ward at 
 
 the door ? 
 
 No ! a thousand times No ! thunder out on the air, 
 Here are strong arms to do here are brave hearts to 
 
 dare ! 
 The fair vales that thrilled under Putnam's young 
 
 tread, 
 Give birth to no dastards bring shame to no dead. 
 
 By the past that bequeathed us our might of to-day 
 
 By the future that calls up a glory -paved way, 
 
 All the strength of our prime, all the fire of our 
 
 youth, 
 We joyfully lay on the altar of Truth.
 
 ORIGINAL ODE 183 
 
 In the sheen of our steel, guilt shall read its just 
 
 doom. 
 
 The breath of the North is the traitor's simoom ! 
 Flash brightly, sharp steel! Rush swiftly, fierce 
 
 breath ! 
 And sweep treachery down to the valley of death ! 
 
 Fling our flag to the breeze. It shall never be 
 
 furled 
 
 The gleam of its stars is the hope of the world ! 
 With its folds floating o'er us, we gird on the sword, 
 And go forth to fight in the name of the Lord. 
 
 Brave yeomen of Essex ! Your field is our Land, 
 Immortal the fruits it shall yield to your hand. 
 Match your strength to your day Sow to God, the 
 
 good Giver, 
 And ring out your Harvest-Home one and forever ! 
 
 (FROM " LIFE isr LETTERS.") 
 
 Mr. D. showed my " Ode " to Mr. Caleb Gushing, who 
 professed to admire it, and being asked to criticise it 
 pointed to the first line and asked if the reapers were 
 done brown ? I thought usage justified that con- 
 struction, and tried to hunt up authorities, but with 
 small success so it came into my mind to ask 
 Charles Sumner. I wrote him, and the next day he 
 sent me the following reply :
 
 184 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 The day is done and the darkness 
 Falls from the wings of night, 
 
 As a feather is wafted downward 
 From an eagle in his flight. 
 
 Lonyfellow. 
 
 BOSTON, 8th Oct., '61. 
 MADAM : 
 
 I think your verses excellent, including the first 
 line. You must write more. Accept my thanks for 
 your kind, good words about myself. 
 
 Faithfully yrs., 
 
 CHARLES SUMNER. 
 
 HYMN SUNG AT THE SEMI-CENTENNIAL 
 IN BRAINTKEE 
 
 OPE smiles amid the May-time's scented buds, 
 
 Joy sits enthroned beneath the purpling vine ; 
 But Autumn may not wreathe Spring violets, 
 
 Nor April quaff October's ruddy wine ; 
 Yet, on Judea's sacred soil, there blooms 
 
 Thrice beautiful, thrice blessed, one fair tree 
 Whose fruit and flower their grateful incense 
 blend, 
 
 Joy of the Now, and Hope of the To-be.
 
 Home.
 
 HYMN 185 
 
 So, thou long-tried and purely true in all, 
 
 Thou standest in thy Heaven-appointed way ; 
 The years that bind a glory round thy brow, 
 
 Lay gathered vintage at thy feet to-day. 
 But while the reapers shout the Harvest Home, 
 
 God's angel, Hope, spreads wide each quiver- 
 ing wing, 
 And sees beyond the golden-glowing West, 
 
 The fair, full promise of perpetual Spring. 
 
 happy hand, damp with baptismal dews ! 
 
 loving lips, sweet with the balm of God ! 
 Strong arm to bear the grief -worn spirit up ! 
 
 Firm feet to lead where Christ, the Saviour, 
 
 trod ! 
 Thy grateful children gather round thee here 
 
 To lift to thine the light of tender eyes, 
 And with warm hearts, nor time nor death can 
 chill, 
 
 Attend thine upward pathway to the skies. 
 
 NOTE A. 
 
 BOSTON, June 25th, 1861. 
 DEAR GAIL : 
 
 The " Asa French " whose name appears herewith 
 is one of my brothers-in-law, and hence is a very pre- 
 suming feller, generally, and presumed to write me 
 to-day the enclosed note. It seems Professor Park
 
 186 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 thinks that you could write a good Hymn for good Dr. 
 Storrs' semi-centennial. Now, with your usual obstin- 
 acy, please be so kind as to write me by return mail 
 that you can't and shan't and don't know how to 
 write, and then I can write Asa that Gail won't, and 
 the other woman I don't believe knows enough to, so 
 that the hymn is non est inventus which will be a 
 great comfort to Dr. S. and the people generally. 
 
 T. 
 
 P.S. Don't on any account displease me so much 
 as to write that hymn. 
 
 T. 
 
 NOTE B. 
 MY DEAR CHILD : 
 
 My brother-in-law sends me this proof of your 
 " lines " for Dr. S.'s celebration, and like a good boy 
 who wishes everything to be done to please you I 
 send them herewith to you for your revision. You 
 are, of course, at liberty to add, alter, amend, correct, 
 revise, subtract, divide, and conquer generally with 
 .'em. 
 
 But they are good, and so don't utterly spile 'em, 
 will ye ? 
 
 I hope to get time to write to you before long. 
 
 Aff., 
 
 T.
 
 HYMN 187 
 
 NOTE C 
 
 BOSTON, Oct. 9, 1861. 
 
 . . . I want permission to append " Gail Ham- 
 ilton's " name to her beautiful hymn. Are you author- 
 ized to give it ? If not, do me the favor to procure 
 her assent. She need not fear that her reputation will 
 suffer by it, for, to my mind, there is more real poetic 
 inspiration shown in that hymn than in all the rest 
 that we had put together. 
 
 I hate to trouble you about this, but then what is 
 the use of having friends if you can't use them once 
 in a while ? 
 
 Truly your brother, 
 
 ASA. 
 NOTE D 
 DEAR GAIL : 
 
 You see what my infatuated brother-in-law wants. 
 Will you give him permission, in view of his appreci- 
 ation of your " lines " ? 
 
 Aff., 
 
 T. 
 
 NOTE E 
 DEAR CHILD : 
 
 You did a good thing when you wrote that hymn, 
 and your reward is the gratitude of good Dr. Storrs, 
 and the committee of arrangements, and the 
 congregation generally. You will see, however, by the 
 programme which I send you, that, at the last moment
 
 188 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 the poets of the nation generally waked up to the sub- 
 ject, and " sent in." 
 
 I have the pleasure, however, to state that it was 
 the general opinion of the best judges including my 
 brother-in-law and myself that the best hymn, by far, 
 was that in doubled and twisted long meter, which ap- 
 pears last but one on the programme, and which was 
 sung, with the " Festival Hymn," during the more in- 
 formal " addresses " of the afternoon. 
 
 The day was magnificent, and the occasion one to be 
 remembered long and fragrantly. ... I was de- 
 sired and commissioned to thank you almost to death 
 for your kindness and for the hymn, etc., all of which 
 I hereby do. 
 
 ANSWEKED 
 
 GOLD, and gear, and storied birthright take the 
 gilded trumpery up ! 
 Life may bring me gall and wormwood, but I 
 
 scorn your honeyed cup. 
 Meekness lends its graceful semblance as you come 
 
 with bended knee, 
 But I read your inmost soul and I know its mockery. 
 
 O your white hands, diamond-flashing, they will clasp 
 
 my hand forsooth ! 
 You will condescend to give your name in barter for 
 
 my youth.
 
 ANSWERED 189 
 
 At your footstool I shall gladly lay my panting spirit 
 
 down ; 
 You will stoop and place the jewel somewhat kindly, 
 
 in your crown ! 
 
 Long the doubt has been, and bitter was the trial to 
 your pride. 
 
 Should you, through those gray old portals, lead a 
 nameless, dowerless bride ? 
 
 Should the blood to you transmitted in a pure, un- 
 tainted flow 
 
 Through a thousand generations, now a base admix, 
 ture know ? 
 
 Uprose Love and showed the maiden as you saw her 
 
 day by day ; 
 How the sunshine of her presence wrought red gold 
 
 of coarsest clay. 
 How her genial mirth would play about the summits 
 
 of your life 
 And her grateful love repay you that you stooped to 
 
 call her wife. 
 
 Thus in the quivering scales uncertain did you watch 
 
 with clear, calm eye, 
 Until Reason bade remember how the years glide 
 
 noiseless by.
 
 190 CHIPS, FKAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Pride is but a flimsy blanket when a frost is on the 
 
 panes. 
 Pride is but unsavory porridge when a chill is in the 
 
 veins. 
 
 So you breathed a requiescat to the dead within their 
 graves : 
 
 " Blood is strong, but love is stronger ; olood claims 
 service, love makes slaves." 
 
 Thus with smiling self-excuse straight swung back 
 my garden gate 
 
 Soothing Pride's Cerberean mouths with the home- 
 made sop of fate. 
 
 Truly a right princely lover, come to woo a lowly 
 
 maid: 
 Rather of consent than question were the untremu- 
 
 lous words you said. 
 Certes, maiden whom you honored with your choice 
 
 were over-blest. 
 Loveliest rose would leave its stem to bloom upon 
 
 such knightly breast. 
 
 Listen ! When we stood last evening underneath the 
 
 apple-tree 
 And you in your self-complacence dared to speak those 
 
 words to me,
 
 ANSWERED 191 
 
 Dared invade my throbbing summer with your pale 
 
 and nerveless cold - 
 Dared to set your tawdry tinsel off against my beaten 
 
 gold 
 
 Though my heart flamed out in passion sweeping 
 round you as you stood, 
 
 Flinging up your puny soul blindly to my woman- 
 hood 
 
 Yet I spared you for the past's sake, thinking it were 
 better so 
 
 Bade my white lips hide their scorning and respond a 
 kindly " no." 
 
 Blind ! you would not be contented with the simple 
 
 words I spoke, 
 For the three-fold brazen armor of your pride turned 
 
 back the stroke, 
 But must goad my slender patience with your weak 
 
 essays to win 
 Though I stab you to the heart, shall my soul be free 
 
 from sin! 
 
 Listen ! I, the lowly maiden with obscure hand scarcely 
 
 meet 
 But to touch the golden sceptre held out to me at 
 
 your feet
 
 192 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 I have weighed you in the balance ; righteous judg- 
 ment kept control ; 
 
 Weighed your manhood, found you wanting ; and I 
 scorn you, soul to soul. 
 
 Well I know your wooded acres and your sea-ward 
 
 stretching fields 
 All the pomp and honor blazoned on your old heral- 
 
 dric shields ; 
 
 But Alcides' club was valiant only in Alcides' hand 
 Brave Excalibur untempered till the true Prince drew 
 
 the brand. 
 
 Did the whole earth stretch before you, one ancestral 
 
 pleasure-park ; 
 Mountain heaps of golden treasures coined for you in 
 
 caverns dark ; 
 All your palace naming ruby, every portal wrought of 
 
 pearl 
 Kay was but the son of Antour were you any less a 
 
 churl ? 
 
 Well I mind me of the poem that you read one August 
 
 morn, 
 How Pleione's god-like daughter wedded with the 
 
 base earth-born 
 How her star shone dimly after, passion-paling out of 
 
 view, 
 You have read to little purpose if I make the story 
 
 true.
 
 ANSWERED 193 
 
 Haughty ? Were you humbled plough-boy, horny 
 hands embrowned with toil, 
 
 Scanty life for soul and body wresting from a surly 
 soil, 
 
 And an honest heart had proffered with its silent deeps 
 all stirred 
 
 Baby-breath should not be softer than my sorely -smit- 
 ing word. 
 
 Never yet a loyal soul brought true homage unto me 
 That I did not pour libations to Love's grand humility. 
 Love for love may not be granted, nor by menace, nor 
 
 by ruth, 
 But I shamed my mother's bosom if I gave not truth 
 
 for truth. 
 
 Truth for truth ? yea, truth for falsehood, truth for 
 tinsel, truth for you, 
 
 Who her royal port and vesture in your grim halls 
 never knew. 
 
 But your satin words are insult : shall I spare you 
 sharpest pain ? 
 
 All your honor is dishonor : what is meeter than dis- 
 dain ? 
 
 Wherefore prate of summer mornings musical with 
 
 lute and song ? 
 Do not airs from " Puritani " make a summer day less 
 
 long?
 
 194 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Rippling laughter in the pauses was it never heard 
 
 before ? 
 Did I blush and smile for you, sir ? So I did for twenty 
 
 more. 
 
 But in singing, did I ever sing my mother's songs to 
 
 you? 
 
 Did a silver silence ever fall upon us with the dew ? 
 Did we ever wander vaguely from the commonplace of 
 
 speech ? 
 Or the soul scale higher ranges than the tongue essayed 
 
 to reach ? 
 
 If I frolic in the garden with my keen-eyed pointer 
 here 
 
 Would it justify his claiming to be recognized my 
 peer ? 
 
 On the banners of my jesting to all common eyes un- 
 furled, 
 
 Shall be read the Open Sesame to my divinest world ? 
 
 Faith, born of self-adulation, holds in store but inward 
 
 smart, 
 You could move me, but not sway me while my 
 
 time, not touch my heart. 
 If in your blind eye-worship some dim phantom passed 
 
 before you 
 Must I vindicate my righteousness by kneeling to 
 
 adore you ?
 
 ANSWERED 195 
 
 Go your way. The world is wider than that you and 
 
 I should tend 
 With unequal steps discordant down one pathway to 
 
 the end. 
 Leave me, if so be the silence soothe me to a calmer 
 
 state, 
 Leave me, lest with petty urgence, my indifference 
 
 turn to hate. 
 
 June's young roses, clasp above me twine around 
 
 me hide my pain. 
 Murmuring music, lull my senses ; subtle odors, pierce 
 
 my brain. 
 to sleep a hundred cycles if the guerdon they should 
 
 bring 
 Were a thrill along my pulses at the coming of the 
 
 King!
 
 196 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 FOR THE AGRICULTURAL ASSOCIATION 
 
 Amesbury, Oct. 5, 1864 
 Hymn written by " Gail Hamilton " 
 
 more the sweet October brings 
 
 Her largesses of love ; 
 The blessings of the earth beneath, 
 
 And of the skies above. 
 The maples lend their deepest glow, 
 
 And through the golden haze 
 The oak unfurls his scarlet sheen 
 
 To crown our holidays. 
 
 The sunshine of the summer gone 
 
 Laughs here in fruit and flowers ; 
 Here curve the coolness of her dews, 
 
 The fatness of her showers. 
 For these old Winter spread his snows, 
 
 And Autumn smiles again, 
 All silent things of earth join hands 
 
 To give good gifts to men. 
 
 brothers, fairer fruits than these 
 
 This happy autumn brings ; 
 The seed, long sown in blood and tears, 
 
 To living beauty springs.
 
 HYMN 197 
 
 In South and North, by land, by sea, 
 
 The right once more is strong, 
 And trumpet-notes of victory 
 
 Blend with our harvest-song. 
 
 joy for those whose blood shall cleanse 
 
 The spot our scutcheon mars ! 
 Fling to the breeze the dear old flag, 
 
 No stain upon its stars ! 
 Lo ! bending from their heavenly heights, 
 
 Whence peace and freedom come, 
 Our hero-martyrs join with us 
 
 To shout this harvest home. 
 
 NOTE 
 
 (In a presentation copy of " New Atmosphere " 
 (1866) Mr. Whittier wrote on the fly-leaf :) 
 
 "IT may be that she wields a pen 
 
 I Too sharply nibbed for thin-skinned men, 
 That her keen arrows search and try 
 The armor joints of dignity, 
 And, though alone for error meant, 
 Sing through the air irreverent. 
 
 " Heaven mend her faults ! I will not pause 
 To weigh and doubt and peck at flaws, 
 Or waste my pity when some fool 
 Provokes her measureless ridicule."
 
 198 CHIPS, FKAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 (The next volume of his poetry contained the whole 
 poem under the title " Lines on a Fly-leaf," which 
 called out the following repartee : ) 
 
 My ! 
 
 A little fly 
 Folding her wings 
 On a fly-leaf 
 
 Brief, 
 
 Suddenly sings 
 Exclamation-points and things 
 
 To see a poet 
 Painting her picture so that all the world will know it 
 
 And receive it 
 
 But won't more than half believe it ; 
 
 For the beauty dear is all in your eyes 
 
 And doesn't belong to flies 
 
 Of my size ! 
 
 Paint a bee in your bonnet, 
 
 Paint a wasp alighting on it ; 
 
 Paint a devil's darning needle : 
 
 And don't wheedle 
 All the good folk into spying 
 
 And trying 
 
 To find where I am lying 
 
 Underneath the glory 
 
 Of your story,
 
 HYMN 199 
 
 Whereas before a drawing 
 
 Of a hornet with a sting, 
 
 They would say with quick ha- ha- ing 
 
 " On my word, 'tis just the thing ! " 
 
 u Heaven mend her faults " Oh ! 
 
 The wicked little Quaker, 
 
 To go and make her 
 
 Break her 
 
 Heart, talking about faults 
 When thee know I haven't any 
 
 Or not many 
 
 Nothing to hurt you, 
 
 Only just enough to keep 
 
 Me from dissolving into a tasteless pap of virtue 
 Or to be loved with holy fervor 
 
 By the New York Observer, 
 
 And the apostles of that shoddy 
 
 Sort of gospel now springing up from Oregon to Pas- 
 
 samaquoddy, 
 
 Which teaches with a din, 
 
 Very pleasant to the din ner 
 
 Not to save the world from sin, 
 
 But to fill the world with sinners ! 
 
 Come now in good sooth, 
 
 Little friend, speak the truth 
 
 Thy love for me such is 
 
 Thee put in those touches
 
 200 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Of rebuke and restriction 
 
 To quiet thy conscience, not speak thy conviction, 
 
 For thee know, heart and hand 
 
 I'm as good as thee can stand ! 
 
 Arn I not as sweet as maple molasses 
 
 When thee scold me for fingering thy brasses ? 1 
 
 And did not the poet say of yore, 
 
 Angels could no more ? 
 
 Ah, would not angels pity her 
 
 To be scolded by the " Saintly Whittier " ? 
 
 That's Mrs. Hannaford 
 
 And cannot a man afford 
 
 When pulpits preach him 
 
 And the women screech him 
 
 Up for a saint, 
 Not to throw stones at them that aint ? 
 
 Ah, dear poet, and dear friend, 
 One whole sheet of paper has come to an end, 
 
 1 Imagine Whittier and me Bitting together one whole day and two even- 
 ings, talking- all the time. One of the brass knobs on the Franklin stove 
 was loose and came off in my hand. I turned it over and remarked upon its 
 brightness. He said, " Now doesn't thee know that thee is making work ? *' 
 " How ? " I asked, " Why, destroying the brightness by handling it." I 
 rubbed it with my handkerchief and asked the housekeeper if I had made 
 her any work. " Oh," she said, " you make me no work. Mr. Whittier 
 takes care of the brasses himself." . . . The little balls of the trimming of 
 my dress kept coming off and were lying around on the floor. I picked up 
 one just as I was coming away and said, " There, I will give thee that as a 
 keepsake." He laughed, and said he bad two in his pocket already! He 
 told some company in the evening that I bad talked so much it made him 
 hoarse. Extract from Letter.
 
 A Corner in the Library.
 
 TEA PARTY IN HAMILTON 201 
 
 And the saucy fly with her jests and jeers 
 Shall stop her buzzing about my ears. 
 She folds her wings, she droops her eyes 
 And feels with an innermost glad surprise 
 The amber glory in which she lies 
 The joy and beauty and wonder wrought 
 In the golden glow of a poet's thought. 
 
 TEA PARTY IN HAMILTON 1 
 
 (On Tuesday evening, the 2d inst., the ladies of 
 Hamilton gave a Tea Party, at which the citizens 
 generally availed themselves of the opportunity to 
 give welcome to the Hon. Samuel W. Moulton, mem- 
 ber of Congress from Illinois, formerly of Hamilton. 
 The distinguished guest was introduced in a few com- 
 plimentary remarks by Hon. Allen W. Dodge, who 
 presided on the occasion. . . . Mr. Dodge then 
 said as he understood from his friend that it was now 
 the common practice of members of Congress to read 
 their speeches, he would finish what he had to say by 
 reading the following verses :) 
 
 OOD friends and neighbors far and near, 
 Old friends and neighbors meeting, 
 
 We tender you the close hand-clasp 
 Of warm and hearty greeting. 
 
 1 From a Salem paper of 186-.
 
 202 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Each happy face, each merry voice, 
 
 Full testimony gives 
 That in the hearts of all her sons 
 
 Old Hamilton still lives. 
 
 She boasts no commerce on the seas, 
 
 No factories, wealth to give her 
 Although she has a brook so big 
 
 She calls it Miles's River ! 
 Yet gazing from her hill-sides down, 
 
 Her fields and meadows over, 
 You'd say the good old quiet town 
 
 Must always live in clover. 
 
 She sits at peace with all the world, 
 
 Has sons of every race ; 
 She keeps her handsome, dark-haired Danes 
 
 In very thriving case ; 
 Yet not a man of all this throng 
 
 Will dare cast blame upon her, 
 If she confess she holds her French 
 
 In very special honor. 
 
 She has no wiles to lure the weak, 
 
 She works with honest pride ; 
 Yet men from many a distant spot 
 
 Come flocking to her side,
 
 TEA PARTY IN HAMILTON 203 
 
 Convinced in spite of toil-rough hands 
 
 Her gardens are a gay -land, 
 And that a right good humor turns 
 
 Her short (k) night into Da (y) land. 
 
 A plodder in the good old ways 
 
 Is still our ancient town ; 
 She's not ashamed to show a Patch 
 
 She loves a sober Brown. 
 And though her fear of foreign foes 
 
 But very slight and small is, 
 'Twould do your eyes good but to see 
 
 How high and strong her Wall-is. 
 
 Of course this fine old rural town 
 
 Counts woman as the sov'reign, 
 And on her busy, helpful hand 
 
 All gently slips the Love-ring ; 
 As well as she can afford to do 
 
 The reason surely holds pith 
 For broad of lands and deep of purse, 
 
 Her smith must be a gold-Smith. 
 
 f 
 
 Her modesty will match her worth ; 
 
 She only calls him Knoll-ton, 
 Whose acres stretching far and wide, 
 
 Might seem to grasp the whole town.
 
 204 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 But, though she is a modest dame, 
 'Tis something sure to brag on 
 
 That all Ohio once was wrapped 
 In Parson Cutler's wagon. 
 
 They know her West, they know her East, 
 
 As by her fire she nestles ; 
 To bridge her little purling rills 
 
 The Pine-tree State sends Tres(t)les. 
 To all the poor who ask her alms 
 
 She gives both food and lodging. 
 And yet her warmest friends admit 
 
 She has a trick of Dodge-ing. 
 
 And when her house grows overfull, 
 
 She bids her children forth 
 To win good name and friend and fame 
 
 By honest work and worth ; 
 She gives her blessing to the lad 
 
 He goes a beardless boy, 
 But home he comes with beat of drums, 
 
 The pride of Illinois. 
 
 Her soldier sons, her strength and joy, 
 Stand round her hearth to-night ; 
 
 She binds a glory on their brows 
 Who fought for truth and right.
 
 TEA PARTY IN HAMILTON 205 
 
 A love of country naught can chill, 
 
 In her deep bosom stirs ; 
 No rebel traitor North or South 
 
 Is ever son of hers ! 
 
 In all her mirth she thinks of those 
 
 Who shall return no more ; 
 They sleep on Georgia's field accursed, 
 
 On Mississippi's shore ; 
 They died 'neath Carolina's skies, 
 
 They pressed Virginia's sod, 
 In freedom's holy cause they died 
 
 She trusts their souls to God. 
 
 Now dawns the morning bright and clear 
 
 Upon a ransomed land ; 
 With garments cleansed from slavery's stain, 
 
 Before the world we stand. 
 So, brothers, give to God the praise. 
 
 [Closing lines missing. ~\
 
 206 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 TROSY'S DEFENCE OF HERSELF AGAINST 
 
 THE CHARGE OF SLAUGHTER, AND 
 
 CRUELTY, AND GUILT 
 
 " ^"I^ROS Y, Trosy, you mischievous elf, 
 
 What have you, pray, to say for yourself ? " 
 
 But Trosy was now 
 
 Asleep on the mow, 
 And only drawled dreamily, " Ma-e-ow." 
 
 " Trosy, Trosy, come here to me, 
 
 The naughtiest Trosy I ever did see ! 
 
 I know very well what you've been about; 
 
 Don't try to conceal it, murder will out. 
 
 Why do you lie so easily there ? " 
 "01 have had a breakfast rare ! " 
 
 " Why don't you go and hunt for a mouse ? " 
 " Oh, there's nothing fit to eat in the house ! " 
 
 " Dear me ! Mrs. Kitty, 
 
 This is a pity ; 
 
 But I guess the cause of your change of ditty. 
 What has become of the beautiful thrush 
 That built her nest in the heap of brush ? 
 A brace of young robins as good as the best ; 
 A round little, brown little, snug little nest ; 
 Four little eggs all green and gay, 
 Four little birds all bare and gray,
 
 TROSY'S DEFENCE 207 
 
 And Papa Robin went foraging round, 
 
 Aloft on the trees, and alight on the ground. 
 
 North wind or south wind, he cared not a groat, 
 
 So he popped a fat worm down each wide-open throat ; 
 
 And Mamma Robin through sun and storm 
 
 Hugged them up close, and kept them all warm ; 
 
 And Tripoli watched the dear little things, 
 
 Till the feathers pricked out on their pretty wings, 
 
 And their eyes peeped up o'er the rim of the nest. 
 
 Trosy, Trosy, you know the rest. 
 
 The nest is empty, and silent, and lone ; 
 
 Where are the four little robins gone ? 
 
 Oh, Puss ! you have done a cruel deed ! 
 
 Your eyes, do they weep ? your heart, does it bleed ? 
 
 Do you not feel your bold cheeks turning pale ? 
 
 Not you ! You are chasing your wicked tail, 
 
 Or you just cuddle down in the hay, and purr, 
 
 Curl up in a ball, and refuse to stir. 
 
 But you need not try to look good and wise ; 
 
 I see little robins, old Puss, in your eyes ; 
 
 And this morning, just as the clock struck four, 
 
 There was some one opening the kitchen door, 
 
 And caught you creeping the wood-pile over, 
 
 Make a clean breast of it, Kitty Clover ! " 
 
 Then Trose 
 Arose 
 
 Eubbed up her nose, 
 And looked very much as if coming to blows ;
 
 208 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Bounded her back, 
 Leaped from the stack, 
 
 On her feet, at my feet, came down with a whack. 
 When fairly awake, she stretched out her paws, 
 Smoothed down her whiskers, and unsheathed her 
 
 claws, 
 
 Winked her green eyes, 
 With an air of surprise, 
 And spoke rather plainly for one of her size. 
 
 " Killed a few robins ! Well, what of that ? 
 What's virtue in man can't be vice in a cat. 
 There's a thing or two / should like to know, 
 Who killed the chicken a week ago ? 
 For nothing at all that I could spy 
 But to make an overgrown chicken pie. 
 'Twixt you and me, 
 'Tis plain to see, 
 The odds is, you like fricassee, 
 While my brave maw 
 Owns no such law 
 Content with viands 
 
 " Who killed the robins ? Oh, yes ! Oh, yes ! 
 
 I would get the cat, now, into a mess ! 
 Who was it put 
 An old stocking-foot 
 Tied up with strings, 
 And such shabby things,
 
 TROSY'S DEFENCE 209 
 
 On to the end of a sharp, slender pole, 
 Dipped it in oil, and set fire to the whole, 
 And burnt all the way from here to the miller's 
 The nests of the sweet young caterpillars ? 
 Grilled fowl, indeed ! 
 Why, as I read, 
 
 You had not even the plea of need ; 
 For all you boast 
 Such wholesale roast, 
 I saw no sign at tea or toast, 
 Of even a caterpillar's ghost. 
 
 " Who killed the robins ? Well, I should think ! 
 
 Hadn't somebody better wink 
 
 At my peccadilloes, if houses of glass 
 
 Won't do to throw stones from at those who pass? 
 
 I had four little kittens a month ago, 
 
 Black, and malta, and white as snow ; 
 
 And not a very long while before 
 
 I could have shown you three kittens more. 
 
 And so in batches of fours and threes, 
 
 Looking back as long as you please, 
 
 You would find, if you read my story all, 
 
 There were kittens from time immemorial. 
 
 But what am I now ? A cat bereft. 
 
 Of all my kittens, but one is left. 
 
 I make no charges, but this I ask, 
 
 What made such a splurge in the waste-water cask ?
 
 210 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 You are quite tender-hearted, oh, not a doubt ! 
 But only suppose old Black Pond could speak out. 
 Oh, nonsense ! Don't mutter excuses to nie ! 
 Quifacit per aliumfacit per se." 
 
 " Well, Trosy, I think full enough has been said, 
 And you may as well canter back into bed. 
 
 A very fine pass 
 
 Things have come to, alas ! 
 
 If men must be meek, 
 
 While pussy-cats speak 
 Grave moral reflections in Latin and Greek." 
 
 TO SECKETABY ROBESON 
 
 [WASHINGTON, B.C., 1872. 
 
 . . . The other day Secretary Robeson sent 
 around to me to read a story book called " The Look- 
 ing-glass World," telling how everything happened 
 " back side before," among other things that in law- 
 trials they had the punishment first, then the trial, 
 and after that the crime. You know Charles A. Dana 
 of " The Sun " has been making charges against Sec- 
 retary E. They have had an investigation, which has 
 so far completely exonerated the Secretary. When I 
 returned the book I wrote the following verse, but 
 wrote it back-handed so that you had to hold it up to 
 a looking-glass to read it but it is too much trouble 
 to do that now.]
 
 TO MRS. MARY CHANDLER HALE 211 
 
 k UR Knight of " The Sun " must have studied 
 this book 
 
 And evolved thence his marvellous plan 
 Of first bringing evidence, trial, and proof 
 
 Against the appointed man 
 And trusting to luck that in proper time 
 He'll be sure to commit the proper crime ! 
 
 APRIL 16, 1872. 
 
 TO MRS. MARY CHANDLER HALE 
 
 (When I was in New Brunswick, I went to many 
 shops for a shell back-comb, but found none. 
 Saturday Mrs. Hale sent me over one from Tif- 
 fany's, New York, with a note saying that New York 
 had them if St. John did not. It is very handsome. 
 I sent her accordingly this note : ) 
 
 i~F St. John as a man and a brother 
 
 I shall certainly make no complaints, 
 But my sea-shell shall sing me another 
 Lily-white, lily -fair, lily-slender, 
 The friendly -sly, stately-sweet sender, 
 Our gracious, high-hearted, and tender 
 St. Mary, the Flower of All Saints. 
 
 JANUARY, 1876.
 
 212 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 MOTHER IPSWICH 
 
 By One of Her Grandchildren 1 
 
 (On the 16th of August, 1884, Ipswich celebrated 
 her two hundred and fiftieth birthday, when the 
 following poem was read : ) 
 
 THRONED on her rock-bound hill, comely, and 
 strong, and free, 
 She sends a daughter's greeting to Ipswich over 
 
 the sea, 
 But she folds to her motherly heart, with welcome 
 
 motherly sweet, 
 The children home returning to sit at her beautiful 
 
 feet. 
 Fair is her heritage, fair with the blue of the bountiful 
 
 sky; 
 Green to the warm, white sand her billowy marshes 
 
 lie: 
 
 Her summer calm is pulsed with the beat of the bend- 
 ing oar 
 Where the river shines and sleeps in the shadows of 
 
 Turkey shore. 
 
 Down from the storied Past tremble the legends still 
 As the woe of the Indian maiden wails over from 
 Heart Break Hill, 
 
 1 Daughter of Hannah Stanwood, granddaughter of Capt. Isaac Stanwood 
 of Ipswich.
 
 MOTHER IPSWICH 213 
 
 And, alas ! the unnamable footprint ! and the lapstone 
 
 dropped below ! 
 From places so pleasant poor devil no wonder he 
 
 hated to go ! 
 Fair is my realm, saith the mother, but fairest of all 
 
 my domain, 
 Are the sons I have reared and the daughters, sturdy 
 
 of body and brain, 
 Tender of heart and of conscience, ready with flag 
 
 unfurled, 
 For service at home, or, if need be, to the uttermost 
 
 bounds of the world. 
 
 Never my bells of the morning fail to the morning air 
 With their summons of young minds to learning, with 
 
 their summons of all souls to prayer. 
 Gracious yon pile where are stored me the treasures 
 
 of thought to-day 
 More gracious my children who poured me their wealth 
 
 of the far Cathay. 
 Mourn your lost leader, my hamlet, sore needed, yet 
 
 never again a 
 To mingle his words of wisdom in the wide councils 
 
 of men ; 
 Nor forget whose hand first plucked its secret from 
 
 the Mountain-King's stormy breast, 
 And held up the torch of freedom over the great 
 
 Northwest. 2 
 
 'Hon. Allen W. Dodge, of Hamilton. 
 *Rev. Manasseh Cutler, D.D., of Hamilton.
 
 214 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Thrilled to him, hearts of the people, whose eyes were 
 a smouldering fire, 
 
 Whose voice to the listening multitude rang like an 
 angel's lyre, 1 
 
 But I hear the trill of light laughter in the thickets 
 of feathery fronds, 
 
 Where a little lad dares for white lilies the deep of 
 Chebacco ponds. 
 
 Rest in the peace of God forever, O man of good-will, 
 
 Who gathered the healing of Heaven in the sunshine 
 of Sweet Briar Hill. 2 
 
 Far from the city's tumult, with my soft airs over- 
 blown 
 
 In my arms of love I hold him, a stranger, and yet 
 my own. 
 
 Where the footsteps of JVIaro wandered, where the 
 waters of Helicon flow, 
 
 Where the cedars of Lebanon wave, where the path of 
 a people should go, 
 
 blessed blind eyes that see from the wrong divid- 
 ing the right, 
 
 Shed on the darkness of day the gleam of your radiant 
 night ! 8 
 
 And thou, O Desire of the Nation, loved from the sea 
 to the sea, 
 
 'Hon. Rufus Choate, of Essex. 
 *Rev. John Cotton Smith, D.D. 
 
 8 Rev. John Phelps Cowles, married to the daughter of Eunice Stanwood, 
 granddaughter of Capt. Isaac Stanwood, of Ipswich.
 
 MOTHER IPSWICH 215 
 
 High above stain as a star, still upward thy pathway 
 
 be! 
 By thy blood, of the stately Midland, by thy strength, 
 
 of the Northern Pine, 
 By the sacred fire bright on thy hearthstone, I name 
 
 thee and claim thee mine. 
 Come to me, dear my children, from every land under 
 
 the sun ; 
 Nay, I feel by the stir of my spirit that all worlds are 
 
 but one ; 
 Nay, I know by my quickening heart-throbs, they are 
 
 gathering by my side 
 Veiled by God's grace with His glory the Dead who 
 
 have never died. 
 Fathers whose steadfast uprightness, their sons 
 
 through no time can forget 
 Mothers whose tenderness breathes in many an old 
 
 home yet 
 Hushed is the air for their coming, holy the light with 
 
 their love ; 
 What shall the grateful earth pledge to the Heaven 
 
 above ? 
 The best that we have to give : loyalty staunch and 
 
 pure 
 To the land they love and the God they served, while 
 
 the earth and the heavens endure. 
 We can bear to the future no greater than to us the 
 
 past hath brought 
 Faith to the lowliest duty, truth to the loftiest thought.
 
 216 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 TO LITTLE c" 
 
 WEET and smiling as you may be, 
 | Pretty little Christmas baby, 1 
 Just so sunny be the weather 
 When you three strike out together, 2 
 All the mountains bow before you ! 
 Seas cease storming to adore you, 
 From the Xewbury meadow reaches 
 To the San Francisco beaches 
 From her golden sunset highlands 
 To the gentle Christian islands ! 
 But oh ! I grudge your baby babble 
 To that Honolulu rabble ; 
 And your grand-dad oft will grumble 
 That your little feet must stumble 
 First upon Hawaiian earth 
 And not the land that gave you birth. 
 But we promise, dainty maiden, 
 Not to be too sorrow-laden, 
 If as sweet you will come back 3 as 
 When you sought the mild Kanakas. 
 And you smallest of small girls, 
 When you gather South Sea pearls, 
 Just fling over a few dozens 
 To your Barbadosian cousins. 4 
 
 1 Born Whittier's Birthday, 1884. 
 
 2 For Hawaii. 
 
 Enters Smith College, 1902. 
 4 The Dimraicka.
 
 BIRTHDAYS 217 
 
 Speed the day when favoring breeze 
 From the warm Caribbean seas, 
 From the fragrant Western isles, 
 Scorning all the hindering miles, 
 Home to common household joys 
 Bring for good our girls and boys. 
 Heaven bless bye-baby bunting, 
 More for rhymes I'll not go hunting, 
 When you long my muse to throttle 
 But don't, my dears, forget the bottle ! 
 
 BIRTHDAYS 
 
 , two, three A witch of a baby She ! 
 Four, five the sturdiest, doughtiest, pout- 
 ingest, floutingest, wittiest, prettiest, spark- 
 lingest, darklingest damsel alive. 
 Stormf ul and starful seven, eight 
 Star-glow deepens and storms abate. 
 Nine, ten beloved of maidens, besought of men 
 Wilful and winsome still, I wis ; 
 But, Faint-Heart and Fear-Heart, tell me this : 
 How had the changeling 
 Become an angeling 
 Care-taking, love-making, 
 What breath had kissed her 
 The little sprite mocking the little imp shocking,
 
 218 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Into a warm, wise, mother-sister ; 
 Loyal in stress, playing in trial 
 Heaven's own role of self-denial ! 
 Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, weaving the robe 
 
 she shall pay her court in 
 Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen roaming two 
 
 worlds she shall find her fate in 
 Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one the bud has opened, 
 
 the Summer begun 
 
 Twenty -two HE sings but afar, as the Angels do ! 
 Twenty-three and the spell of his singing falls even 
 
 on me ! 
 Twenty-four is there more ? 
 
 Is it love? it is doubt it is naught it is 
 
 all 
 
 It is freedom perfected through absolute thrall ! 
 Twenty -five scarce alive to the power of the dower 
 Of her great soul's most grave and magnificent hour, 
 She fronts the veiled future. Fare forth without fear 
 In a world that has love for its running gear ! 
 Bringing order, or patience, or rapture, or pain, 
 Love alone, in Earth's turmoil, can hold the heart 
 
 sane. 
 To be loved or loved not is as Heaven may 
 
 send 
 To love is the true Divine world without end. 
 
 Full clear and quaint and in solemn rhyme 
 Sang the sweet saint of olden time :
 
 THE FLOWER 219 
 
 " All that we know of Saints above 
 
 Is that they sing and that they love." 
 And thus we share with that dear pair 
 
 Whose memory lingers everywhere, 
 For well we know of saints below 
 
 Or smooth or rough the paths they trod 
 No higher bliss than this : 
 
 He who loves best is likest God. 
 
 THE FLOWER 
 
 IN the silken and splendid gloom of a pansy purple 
 room, 
 
 Where a soul's rose-gardens bloom 
 Fluttered astir and sweet by the far, faint, rhythmic 
 
 beat 
 
 Of the beautiful, dancing feet 
 Silent and all unknown, was the seed of Heaven sown 
 
 From its free fields over-blown. 
 While the soul that brooded there knew not if Earth 
 
 could be fair ; 
 Asked only for patience, from Fate wisely to work and 
 
 to wait. 
 
 No sunshine or early or late, 
 No softness of summer air won the world a welcome 
 
 to wear, 
 
 But grim woods gray and bare, 
 
 For their vanished joys made moan, for their glow and 
 glory gone.
 
 220 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Yet never stealing astray for the pulseless, pitiless 
 
 day 
 
 The winged seed found way 
 From afar through the frozen zone to a soil that knew 
 
 its own. 
 Swift shrinking from the light, shy shrinking out of 
 
 sight 
 
 Ah ! Sweet, what words can tell 
 Our miracle ? 
 
 Taught by no touch of toil, untainted by earthly moil, 
 
 Slow from its sacred soil, 
 
 Uprose the Sacred Flower fashioned of inward power, 
 Nourished of Heaven's grace to bless one waiting face, 
 No weed of tendance there, no claim on thought or care, 
 
 Frail life to strengthen or spare 
 Since each fresh dawning hour brings certain dower. 
 
 All gales from the year that blow, white chill from 
 
 wide hills of snow, 
 The Morning-red and glow 
 Of evening skies in June, fire of the fervid noon, 
 
 Pallor of midnight moon, 
 Strain of storm and stress of sun 
 Minister manifold all as one 
 To the Ineffable Life begun, 
 But without end. Its radiant colors blend 
 Of all the seasons send,
 
 HAMILTON 221 
 
 And from its mystic heart, such passionate perfumes 
 part, 
 
 Though half its wondrous art 
 Lies yet in secret chambers coiled and curled, 
 
 Its fragrance fills the world. 
 
 HAMILTON 
 
 Written by Request, for the Celebration of the 100th Birthday of the 
 Town, June 21, 1893 
 
 ' P from his sweet-scented islands, his soul with 
 
 genius aflame, 
 Welding his life to the Nation's, radiant young Ham- 
 ilton came 
 
 1 Our Infanta saw him and loved him and named her- 
 self with his name. 
 
 Blessed the Sponsors, our fathers, their wagon thus 
 hitched to a Star. 
 
 No Frenchville, South Ipswich, or Hogtown, but, ring- 
 ing afield and afar, 
 
 HAMILTON pride of the people wherever patriots are. 
 
 Following a lofty Leader priest, scholar, and states- 
 man in one, 
 
 Resting now in yon churchyard from his labor under 
 the Sun, 
 
 While a Nation reaps the reward of his strenuous 
 work well done ; 
 
 1 The Infanta Bulalie of Spain was visiting the U.S. 1893.
 
 222 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Thus to the Man of the South our Men of the North 
 
 gave greeting ; 
 
 Jura calling to Alps, Hero with Hero meeting ! 
 Alas ! for the strong laid low ! Alas ! for the glory 
 
 fleeting ! 
 
 Envy and malice found him Hamilton, high of 
 
 heart ; 
 The service of manhood bound him so seemed to 
 
 the weaker part. 
 He looked in the face of death, but hid the envenomed 
 
 dart. 
 
 Softly he stole to the chamber where slumbering 
 
 innocence lay ; 
 Soft to his own pressed the child's soft cheek from 
 
 whom he must part that day ; 
 " Our Father which art in Heaven," the little one 
 
 heard him say 
 
 Then fronted the bitter bullet a Nation's heart was 
 
 riven ; 
 
 Never a sin was sinned, with so little to be forgiven ! 
 Never a sin was sinned, so like to the virtues of 
 
 Heaven !
 
 HAMILTON 223 
 
 Mothers, teaching your children to prattle their even- 
 ing prayers 
 
 Devotion as dear to God, 't may appear, as the pano- 
 plied priest's who bears 
 
 Heaven's high commands in his lifted hands on the 
 great world's altar stairs ; 
 
 Join to the broken " Our Father " of the voices sweet 
 and low 
 
 A thought of him who breathed it in his deathly 
 stress of woe, 
 
 For him a prayer whose name we wear since a hun- 
 dred years ago ! 
 
 Our lady sits on her hills, smiling across to the sea ; 
 Our Mother smiles down on her children toiling at 
 
 harvests to be ; 
 But she holds evermore her Ideal, fearless, discerning, 
 
 and free. 
 
 Strangers have idly thought her rustic spirit was 
 
 tame; 
 With futile treasures have sought to purchase her 
 
 priceless name ! 
 What are silver and gold to lay in the scales with that 
 
 cherished fame ?
 
 224 CHIPS, FRAGMENTS, AND VESTIGES 
 
 Our Lady looks wistfully West where the Sun sets 
 
 his golden bar, 
 
 If, haply, that glory of glow be the Golden Gates ajar 
 To the Heaven of heavens beyond, where the Van- 
 ished and Glorious are ! 
 
 And it's oh ! to be true to the faithful and few 
 Whose unlaureled lives led the last Avatar ; 
 To the simple and brave who have gone to the 
 
 grave, 
 But our wagon made fast to a Star ! 
 
 Y 
 
 TO MY COMRADES IN CHRIST 
 
 (" The Salvation Army" 1894.) 
 
 OUR happy voices join 
 
 And strike the heavenly song ; 
 
 Ye pilgrims in Jehovah's ways, 
 With music pass along ! 
 
 See Salem's golden spires 
 
 In beauteous prospect rise, 
 And brighter crowns than mortals wear 
 
 Far sparkle through the skies.
 
 'ClBRIJT 

 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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