MOODS AND EMOTIONS 
 
 RHYME. 
 
 BY H. A. R. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 CROSBY, NICHOLS, AND COMPANY, 
 
 111, WASHINGTON STREET. 
 1855. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 
 
 CROSBY, NICHOLS, AND COMPANY, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PRINTED BT JOHN WILSON AND SON, 
 22, SCHOOL BTRIBT. 
 
TO 
 
 0ur Jtienbs 
 
 IN WHOSE COLUMNS THESE POEMS FIRST SAW THE LIGHT, 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. 
 
 938580 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 THE SHADOW 1 
 
 CRITICISM 2 
 
 OUR ANCESTORS 3 
 
 HOME-CHARITY 7 
 
 A BALLAD 9 
 
 A SMILE 13 
 
 CHILDHOOD 14 
 
 MY PIPE 15 
 
 THE BROKEN IDOL 18 
 
 CATECHISM * 19 
 
 To ANNIE 21 
 
 WEARINESS 23 
 
 THE DAGUERREOTYPE 25 
 
 THE HUNTER'S SONG 27 
 
 TO THOSE WHO PASSED THE FUGITIVE SLAVE LAW . 29 
 
 To 31 
 
 DUTY 33 
 
 To A GIFTED SINGER 34 
 
 CONTRASTS 35 
 
 THE PROMISE 37 
 
 LOVE 38 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB. 
 
 YOUTH 39 
 
 DOUBT 40 
 
 IMPROMPTU ON THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS MOORE . 41 
 
 THE OWL 42 
 
 ARMOR 43 
 
 SADNESS 44 
 
 PENNIES 45 
 
 THE LASS OF SACHEM'S HEAD 47 
 
 HER HOME 49 
 
 REMEMBRANCE 51 
 
 LOVE 53 
 
 DISTRUST 55 
 
 To A FELLOW- WORKER 57 
 
 THE MODERN PHILOSOPHER 59 
 
 SONG 60 
 
 STANZAS 61 
 
 THE TYRANT 63 
 
 REFLECTIONS 66 
 
 To A POEM 68 
 
 FORGET 69 
 
 SONG OF THE BACHELOR 71 
 
 A PRIZE-TALE 73 
 
 A DIRGE 76 
 
 BEREAVEMENT 77 
 
 CONSCIENCE 79 
 
 CHARITY 81 
 
 RETURN 83 
 
 A LAMENT 84 
 
 MELANCHOLY 86 
 
 To 87 
 
 A DREAM 89 
 
 KINDNESS 91 
 
 MY MOTHER 92 
 
 A FABLE . . 93 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 FAGS. 
 
 To A FALSE REFORMER 95 
 
 A FRAGMENT 96 
 
 HEART AND HAND 97 
 
 To MY NEW FRIENDS 100 
 
 A SLEEPLESS NIGHT 102 
 
 SONG 105 
 
 CONFIDENCE 106 
 
 To A FUGITIVE SLAVE REMANDED 107 
 
 To A BRIDEGROOM 109 
 
 PARTING 110 
 
 To 112 
 
 OLD LETTERS 114 
 
 THE LAW OF ATTRACTION 116 
 
 A PICTURE 117 
 
 To A TALL GIRL 119 
 
 To A VAIN GIRL 120 
 
 To A PRETTY GIRL . 121 
 
 BATTLE-SONG OF UNCAS 122 
 
 HUMBUG 124 
 
 INTOLERANCE 125 
 
 To LIZZIE 126 
 
 CONSTANCY 128 
 
 TRANSLATION FROM HORACE 129 
 
 POPPING THE QUESTION 130 
 
 To 132 
 
 DEDICATION TO A COMMONPLACE BOOK . . . .134 
 
 A LOVE-SONG 136 
 
 THE SIGH . . . 138 
 
 HEROIC 140 
 
 ABSENCE 142 
 
 MY NATIVE STREAM 144 
 
 To A ROBIN 146 
 
 THE MEMORIES OF YOUTH 148 
 
 A KIND WORD . 150 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOE. 
 
 A STUDENT'S IDEA OP COMFOBT 151 
 
 DESPAIR 153 
 
 To 155 
 
 MY BOOK 157 
 
 A LOGHOUSE LYBIC 159 
 
 A COMPLAINT 161 
 
 THE MISSIVE 163 
 
 HOME-HAPPINESS 165 
 
 REMEMBER THE POOR 167 
 
 "SHE SLEEPS" 169 
 
 LETTERS 170 
 
 THOUGHTS AT SUNSET 171 
 
 THE BACHELOR'S MISTAKE 173 
 
 JEALOUSY 175 
 
 THE CHARGE 176 
 
 NATURE'S SOLITUDE 179 
 
 AN EPITAPH 181 
 
MOODS AND EMOTIONS. 
 
 THE SHADOW. 
 
 UPON my mind's horizon, 
 
 In the morning light it lay ; 
 On the very verge of fancy, 
 
 In the distance far away : 
 And as it lay there floating 
 
 'Mid visions new and warm, 
 I had no thought the tiny thing 
 
 Would ever bring me harm. 
 
 But I learned, ere evening gathered, 
 
 That vapor may contain 
 In its shining folds, in a sunny sky, 
 
 The coldest kind of rain ; 
 
 l 
 
CRITICISM. 
 
 That what we deem too trifling 
 To mar our happiness, 
 
 Is often but the bursting germ 
 That grows to wretchedness. 
 
 CRITICISM. 
 
 GIVE the pots of thy neighbor a rigid inspection : 
 You'll see by so doing, on a little reflection, 
 The flaws in thine own will escape detection. 
 
OUK ANCESTORS. 
 
 LIST, ye modern men and maidens, 
 To the burden of my song : 
 
 I will tell ye all how silly 
 People were in days agone. 
 
 Think not I with sacrilegious 
 
 Pen would sully their good name, 
 
 Or a single ink-drop spatter 
 
 O'er the brightness of their fame. 
 
 But at many of their customs, 
 
 Which were most absurdly queer, 
 
 My rebellious nose will turn up 
 With a disrespectful sneer ; 
 
 For in those benighted ages 
 
 Ladies dressed so loose and free, 
 
 That their forms were moulded just as 
 God intended they should be. 
 
<H K ANCESTORS. 
 
 They, in their infatuation, 
 Carried this to such degrees, 
 
 Burst they never hook or button 
 When indulging in a sneeze. 
 
 Little knew they of the graceful 
 Pipe-stale figures they might bear, 
 
 Had they only been as witty 
 As our more enlightened fair. 
 
 And they saw no sense or reason 
 Pity them, ye modern belles ! 
 
 In the wearing whole dry-goods stores, 
 To attract the brainless swells. 
 
 And, will ye believe it, fair ones, 
 Ye who sleep on downy beds ? 
 
 In those barbarous times, the ladies 
 "Wore their bonnets on their heads ; 
 
 Were so foolish as to deem it 
 Common sense to wear them so ; 
 
 Never dreaming they were fashioned 
 Only for a senseless show. 
 
OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 And they simply called them bonnets 
 Somehow strangely thinking that 
 
 They would not be deemed vulgar 
 If they did not wear a hat 
 
 And the men (benighted creatures !) 
 Promenaded through the town. 
 
 With their pants so loosely fashioned 
 That they could with ease sit down 
 
 Wore upon their heads a covering 
 Made for comfort and for ease ; 
 
 Scorning the unique "ram beaver : " 
 What unmitigated geese ! 
 
 I believe the barbarous fellows ! 
 They would think us very clowns, 
 
 Could they see us skilful poising 
 These huge steeples on our crowns. 
 
 When these heathens met together, 
 
 As we moderns often do, 
 To indulge in social pleasure, 
 
 And to court the lassies too, 
 
6 OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 (As I hope to die a Christian, 
 What I tell is strictly true ; 
 
 Though, no doubt, 'twill seem a fiction, 
 Modern men and maids, to you), 
 
 All their thoughts and words and actions 
 Were endowed with common sense : 
 
 Modern beaux have learned full wisely 
 With such folly to dispense. 
 
 They set up a curious standard, 
 That the mind bespoke the man ; 
 
 But we know it can't effect it 
 Half so well as tailors can. 
 
 So you see I have not slandered 
 Men or maidens in their grave ; 
 
 Shown you only how absurdly 
 Our forefathers did behave. 
 
 Then how dearly should we cherish 
 Our more wise, enlightened ways ! 
 
 How rejoiced we were not born in 
 Those absurd and vulgar days! 
 
HOME-CHARITY. 
 
 WHY go o'er the sea a-giving 
 Foreign beggars needed alms, 
 
 With so many paupers living 
 
 At our doors with outstretched palms ? 
 
 Blessings are by no means purer, 
 Though they from afar have come ; 
 
 Nor than this an adage truer, 
 " Charity begins at home." 
 
 There are thirsty deserts nearer 
 
 Than Sahara's wilderness ; 
 And o'er them our way is clearer, 
 
 And our duty none the less. 
 
 There is many a bitter grieving 
 
 In the hovel o'er the way ; 
 Many a pang for our relieving 
 
 Cometh to us day by day. 
 
HOME-CHARITY. 
 
 Pity, then, need not go hieing 
 For a practice o'er the sea : 
 
 It can find, without much trying, 
 Enough at home of misery. 
 
A BALLAD. 
 
 " AH ! the traitor need not boast him that my 
 
 foolish heart is broke ; " 
 And the maiden's eyes flashed brightly and 
 
 proudly as she spoke. 
 " Though I trusted in the promise that his lying 
 
 lips did tell, 
 And believed, that as I loved him, I was loved 
 
 by him as well ; 
 Though mistaken in the idol which my foolish 
 
 heart had set 
 Up for more than idol-worship, I will whisper no 
 
 regret. 
 
 He shall never know the anguish which his faith- 
 lessness hath brought, 
 Nor enjoy a smile of triumph o'er the ruin he 
 
 has wrought. 
 
10 A BALLAD. 
 
 I will show him, by my conduct, by my free and 
 
 happy air, 
 How an insult to her feelings a woman's heart can 
 
 bear; 
 I will show him, yes, I'll show him;" and 
 
 the maiden set about 
 Rubbing from her heart-leaves tender all love's 
 
 dear impressions out ; 
 For by being always merry and the gayest 'mong 
 
 the gay, 
 Thought the very foolish maiden, she would 
 
 drive them all away ; 
 She would go among the thoughtless, they who 
 
 never pause to think, 
 And amid a whirl of pleasures, would of Lethe's 
 
 waters drink. 
 " I can do it ! I will do it ! " and the maiden 
 
 proudly spoke ; 
 "For the traitor shall not boast him, that my 
 
 foolish heart is broke." 
 
 Yet, despite her words of gladness and her ring- 
 ing laugh of mirth, 
 Lived that maiden, 'mong the thoughtless, the 
 
 saddest thing of earth ; 
 
A BALLAD. 11 
 
 For despite her resolutions, would her thoughts 
 
 go back again 
 To that false, and yet beloved one, she was trying 
 
 to disdain. 
 Often, when admirers listened to the merry songs 
 
 she sung, 
 Would the music-notes of gladness seem to falter 
 
 on her tongue ; 
 Often, when her joy seemed speaking from her 
 
 sparkling eye of blue, 
 Would a tear there strangely glisten, and speak 
 
 its language too, 
 A language, though in silence, that most plainly 
 
 did express 
 How the maiden's bosom nourished the germ of 
 
 wretchedness, 
 That germ so deeply planted by the base deceiver's 
 
 art, 
 That it fed and grew and flourished on the ruins 
 
 of her heart, 
 
 A heart whose only error, if error such can be, 
 Was a wild devotion unto him, whose faults she 
 
 could not see. 
 
12 A BALLAD. 
 
 And, traitor! wouldst thou know her fate, go, 
 
 when the silent night 
 Revealeth yonder tombstones with pale, sepulchral 
 
 light ; 
 Go sit upon the dewy turf, and read aloud the 
 
 lie, 
 Upon those stones engraven, as to wherefore she 
 
 did die. 
 If thy traitor-heart remembers, it will tell to thee, 
 
 in truth, 
 The disease that crushed her happiness and life 
 
 in early youth ; 
 
 And if thou in thy heartlessness hath no repent- 
 ant thought, 
 Enjoy a smile of triumph o'er the ruin thou hast 
 
 wrought ; 
 
 But if of godlike manliness thou hast a shadow 
 
 yet, 
 Oh ! breathe above her sleeping dust thy murmurs 
 
 of regret. 
 
13 
 
 A SMILE. 
 
 THERE is a power a mystic power - 
 
 That glows within a smile ; 
 That's felt in dark misfortune's hour 
 
 To brighten and beguile ; 
 That lends the soul a kindly cheer 
 
 When sorrow's blasts blow high, 
 And drives away the pensive tear 
 
 That dims the downcast eye. 
 
 It, too, can curse as well as bless ; 
 
 Can blight as well's beguile ; 
 For it doth unbelief express, 
 
 And scorn looks through a smile. 
 It cheers, it brightens, and beguiles ; 
 
 Can flatter and disguise ; 
 It blights, it blackens, and reviles ; 
 
 It damns, and it defies. 
 
14 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 CAN I forget that happy day, 
 
 When hand in hand we roved together ; 
 When not a cloud obscured our way, 
 
 But all around was sunny weather ; 
 When every star that shone at eve 
 
 Seemed radiant with love and gladness, 
 And untried hope could not believe 
 
 The future would bring aught of sadness ? 
 
 Forget it ! No : remembrance will, 
 
 Through every phase of this world's seeming, 
 Bring back those hours of childhood still, 
 
 With all their varied pleasures teeming ; 
 And dearer yet, as then more dark 
 
 May grow my morning, noon, and even, 
 Will they become, where'er my bark 
 
 SI Kill be on Life's drear ocean driven. 
 
15 
 
 MY PIPE. 
 
 WHY has my harp so long been hushed, 
 And wherefore mute my tongue, 
 
 While yet thy virtues and thy charms 
 Remain, old friend, unsung ? 
 
 It may not be ; for I will fill 
 
 Thy quaint capacious bowl 
 With weed, whose balmy fragrance can 
 
 Delight and lull my soul. 
 
 And I will draw my easy-chair 
 
 Before yon blazing hearth ; 
 And there, in soft, luxurious ease, 
 
 I'll muse upon thy worth. 
 
 'Tis now full nigh a score of years 
 Since first thou didst delight 
 
 My sanctum with thy virgin charms, 
 Didst bless my eager sight. 
 
16 MY PIPE. 
 
 And since, we have been constant friends, 
 'Mid Fortune's varied weather ; 
 
 Have, like the ivy and the oak, 
 Braved all its blasts together. 
 
 So when I, from my fireside bright, 
 
 Look back upon the past, 
 And mark how oft its fairest scenes 
 
 Misfortune's clouds o'ercast, 
 
 My heart, with honest, friendly warmth, 
 Goes out to thee, old friend ; 
 
 For thou didst to my troubled soul 
 Sweet, soothing solace send. 
 
 And oft, when gloomy doubts and cares 
 Came crowding on my brain, 
 
 And life seemed only, at its best, 
 A burden and a pain, 
 
 Thy genial influence hath subdued 
 
 My agitated breast ; 
 Hath banished every boding ill, 
 
 And lulled my heart to i est. 
 
MY PIPE. 17 
 
 And thou hast shared my merry mood 
 
 As well as saddened vein, 
 And as promotive art of mirth 
 
 As comforting in pain. 
 
 And as I watch thy smoke in strange, 
 
 Fantastic forms ascend, 
 That seem to writhe and twist and nod, 
 
 And oddly bow and bend, 
 
 The air seems peopled with a train 
 
 Of Fancy's fairy fays, 
 Where oft my Muse doth cull the gems 
 
 That ornament her lays. 
 
 Let no one censure, then, the love 
 
 I bear, old friend, to thee, 
 Nor sneer because I celebrate 
 
 My pipe in poesy. 
 
18 
 
 THE BROKEN IDOL. 
 
 AT its shrine we'd been kneeling so long, 
 Of our earnest devotion a token, 
 
 That we could not believe such worship was 
 
 wrong, 
 Or our idol conceive could be broken. 
 
 Father ! forgive, if vows, to thee due, 
 
 We gave to that idol of earth : 
 We bear thy reproof in the fragments that strew, 
 
 And the gloom that overshadows, our hearth. 
 
19 
 
 CATECHISM. 
 
 ON earth's broad, laborious field, 
 
 Brothers, are you ready 
 All your aid to promptly yield, 
 
 With courage true and steady ? 
 Have you schooled your hearts to bear 
 
 Danger, sorrow, anger? 
 Will they quail not anywhere 
 
 In life's battle-clangor ? 
 
 Can you meet the haughty glance 
 
 Pride will often fling you, 
 Trusting not to fickle Chance 
 
 Your redress to bring you ? 
 Can you work, with earnest zeal, 
 
 In humble fields of labor, 
 And no foolish envy feel 
 
 Towards your wealthy neighbor ? 
 
20 CATECHISM. 
 
 Are your purposes most high, 
 
 Not mere base and sordid ? 
 Boldly can you live and die, 
 
 By men unrewarded? 
 Do you feel each word and deed 
 
 Thus should represent you, 
 That, if rightly judged, your meed 
 
 Of praise would well content you ? 
 
 Have you learned this noble creed, 
 
 As a guide for living ? 
 Have an open ear to need, 
 
 Ready hand for giving ; 
 Courage that with ready feet 
 
 Will prompt you to go ever 
 Always your half-way to meet 
 
 Any good endeavor. 
 
TO ANNIE. 
 
 LOVELY being ! when before me 
 
 Flits thine image ever bright, 
 Pleasant thoughts come stealing o'er me 
 
 Swells my soul with pure delight. 
 Though not oft, indeed, I've met thee, 
 
 Though a stranger to thy way, 
 Yet I vainly would forget thee, 
 
 All in vain my feelings sway. 
 
 I have gazed on many a maiden, 
 
 Decked in Beauty's fairy form, 
 Bright as sparkle flowers dew-laden 
 
 At the hour of rosy morn ; 
 Free as trips the foot of childhood ; 
 
 Graceful as the wild gazelle ; 
 Gay as warblers of the wildwood , 
 
 Pure as lilies of the dell. 
 
22 TO ANNIE. 
 
 Yet e'en as the moon's soft beaming 
 
 Fades before the god of day, 
 So thy beauty, brightly gleaming, 
 
 Drives them lesser lights away. 
 Then, oh ! let thy bright beams never 
 
 From my path fade quite away ; 
 But, contented, let me ever 
 
 Bask beneath their genial ray. 
 
WEARINESS. 
 
 WEARY of this ceaseless striving 
 
 For earthly happiness ; 
 Weary of these vain contrivings, 
 Of these plots and cold connivings ; 
 Seeking, and yet ne'er arriving 
 
 At the goal, success. 
 
 Weary of this slavish fawning 
 At God Mammon's shrine ; 
 " Weary waiting " for the dawning 
 Of the freedom-blushing morning 
 That old tyrants have been scorning 
 With their "right divine." 
 
 Weary of this patient waiting 
 For dreams to be fulfilled, 
 
24 WEARINESS. 
 
 Dreams that have been hourly sating 
 Faith and hope, the heart elating ; 
 One another one creating, 
 Till the brain was filled. 
 
 Weary of this mournful sighing 
 
 O'er the vanished past ; 
 Singing dirges o'er the dying 
 Flowers upon our pathway lying, 
 That did bloom, the stars outvying, 
 
 Till their sky o'ercast. 
 
 Weary of this steady facing 
 
 Ills, for sake of fame ; 
 Weary of this fruitless chasing 
 Hopes ; and with our fingers tracing, 
 For the idle winds' erasing, 
 
 On the sands our name. 
 
THE DAGUERREOTYPE. 
 
 BRIGHTLY shines her blue eye on me, 
 
 As it shone in days gone by ; 
 Lips and cheeks that half undone me, 
 
 Brow and bosom, all are nigh, 
 All with that content expression 
 
 Pretty maidens' faces take, 
 Maids who think it no transgression, 
 
 Should they cause one's heart to break. 
 
 Wilful, you would say, the owner 
 
 Was of such a lip and eye ; 
 And you'd swear so, had you known her 
 
 Half as long or well as I. 
 Conscious of the power within her, 
 
 Hearts she rules with regal sway ; 
 And 'tis best for saint or sinner, 
 
 Who values his, to keep away. 
 
26 THE DAGUERREOTYPE. 
 
 Will they, do they, has the schooling 
 
 Some have got yet taught the rest 
 How much fun there is in fooling, 
 
 When a damaged heart's the test ? 
 No : methinks around her thronging, 
 
 As they did some years ago, 
 The million come with fruitless longing : 
 
 Bright-eyed maiden, is't not so ? 
 
THE HUNTER'S SONG. 
 
 LET poets sing of war and love, 
 And rave about fair woman's eyes ; 
 
 Let delving bookworms strive to prove 
 What no one's common sense denies ; 
 
 Let statesmen spout and pea-nuts eat, 
 And wisely frown and swear and fight ; 
 
 Let lawyers deal in damned deceit, 
 
 And stoutly swear that black is white : 
 
 Their various joys I envy not ; 
 
 Ah, no ! I'd not be one of 'em ; 
 For, by the world, how soon forgot 
 
 Is every mother's son of 'em ! 
 
 But give to me the hunter's life, 
 
 Where baying dogs and bounding doe 
 
 Dispel the thoughts of worldly strife, 
 And bid man's nobler feelings flow. 
 
28 THE HUNTER'S SONG. 
 
 I love, I love the merry chase, 
 
 The opening pack, the winding horn, 
 
 The antlered monarch of the waste 
 Stretched lifeless on the dewy lawn. 
 
 Let others kneel at Pleasure's shrine, 
 And boast the raptures of a " spree ; ' 
 
 But, ah ! a hunter's joy be mine, 
 A hunter's merry life for me ! 
 
TO THOSE WHO PASSED THE FUGITIVE 
 SLAVE LAW. 
 
 TYRANTS ! would ye overawe 
 
 Justice, honor, reason, 
 By a semi-barbarous law, 
 
 Making it high treason 
 For an honest man to aid 
 
 An escaping brother, 
 Whom accursed wrong has made 
 
 Slave unto another ? 
 
 Dare ye impiously proclaim 
 
 That your cause is just, 
 And with perjured lips defame 
 
 Freedom's glorious trust ? 
 Is't your mission to sustain, 
 
 Foster, cherish, 'nurse, 
 Wrong proved o'er and o'er again 
 
 Nothing but a curse ? 
 
30 FUGITIVE SLAVE LAW. 
 
 / 
 
 Though your acts may now compel 
 
 The North to bend the knee, 
 The veriest fool may tell 
 
 What the end will be. 
 Right and reason, soon or late, 
 
 Will surely win the race ; 
 And your law, with sin its mate, 
 
 Be branded with disgrace. 
 
31 
 
 TO 
 
 LONE in a stranger land 
 
 Is he to-night : 
 Bright though the stars be, 
 
 He heeds not their light. 
 Gone is his yearning heart, 
 
 Gone o'er the sea ; 
 Back where it should have been, - 
 
 Ever with thee. 
 
 Where are the " golden dreams " 
 
 Which he hath chased, 
 Leading him far away 
 
 Over Life's waste ? 
 Now, when above its sea 
 
 Skies have grown dark, 
 His soul, like a weary dove, 
 
 Hies to its ark. 
 
32 TO 
 
 Is thy mind faithful 
 
 To memory yet, 
 Thou one from the million 
 
 He cannot forget ? 
 Now, when his sleepless eyes 
 
 Tears have made dim, 
 Hast thou a single thought, 
 
 Maiden, for him ? 
 
33 
 
 DUTY. 
 
 UNPLEDGED to the law of party ; 
 
 Unswayed by the foolish fear, 
 That, of all the good it doeth, 
 
 There's few in the world will hear, - 
 
 It stands by the couch of anguish 
 In the chill and cheerless home ; 
 
 And its voice and look of kindness 
 Bless all unto whom they come ; 
 
 Leaves not a path untrodden ; 
 
 Leaves not a chance untried 
 To throw o'er those benighted 
 
 The light of a welcome guide ; 
 
 Nerves many a heart, nigh broken 
 By the crushing weight of ill, 
 
 To battle with life's misfortune 
 
 With a high and brave hope still ; 
 
34 TO A GIFTED SINGER. 
 
 Works not for the slave opinion ; 
 
 Heeds not the public sneer ; 
 For God is the only master 
 
 And critic it seems to fear. 
 
 TO A GIFTED SINGER. 
 
 SONG is sweet, O gifted singer ! 
 
 Every heart-chord it doth wake : 
 At thy shrine we workers linger, 
 
 Bound by spells we cannot break. 
 Not by Beauty's dazzling vision 
 
 Dost thou draw our souls to thee 
 But by moments half Elysian, 
 
 Listening to thy melody. 
 
35 
 
 CONTRASTS. 
 
 AH ! what is life ? A varied scene 
 
 Of pleasure and of pain, 
 Of hopes and joys, that cheer to-day ; 
 
 To-morrow, fly again. 
 
 Now o'er the landscape of our life 
 
 Hope sheds a genial ray ; 
 The sun of love unclouded shines ; 
 
 And all is glorious day. 
 
 Now gloomy clouds of sorrow shade 
 The landscape once so bright ; 
 
 And not one star of gladness lights 
 The soul's dark, dreary night. 
 
 Now calmly flows the tide of life 
 Adown the stream of time ; 
 
 And, all along its banks, bright flowers 
 And vines in beauty climb. 
 
86 CONTRASTS. 
 
 Now threatening storms howl o'er its wave ; 
 
 Its billows foaming roar, 
 And, in their maddened fury, lash 
 
 And desolate the shore. 
 
 To-day, the heart beats quick with joy, 
 And life seems oh, how sweet ! 
 
 The earth seems fair, and lavishly 
 Casts pleasures at our feet. 
 
 To-morrow, gloom is in the soul ; 
 
 Life seems a dreary waste ; 
 Earth smiles not ; fled are all the joys 
 
 But yesterday we traced. 
 
 All, all is change, a varied scene 
 
 Of pleasure and of pain, 
 Of hopes and joys, that cheer to-day ; 
 
 To-morrow, fly again. 
 
37 
 
 THE PEOMISE. 
 
 SHE hath spoken the vow 
 
 That binds them together ; 
 And her lips on his brow 
 
 Have sealed it for ever. 
 Not a shadow of fear 
 
 On her young heart is lying ; 
 But that joy she has here 
 
 "Will live on undying. 
 
 With faith deep and strong 
 
 In the love which hath bound her, 
 She feareth no wrong 
 
 From the ill world around her ; 
 For, should sorrow e'er come, 
 
 And false friends forsake her, 
 Hath she not got a home 
 
 In his heart to betake her ? 
 
38 LOVE. 
 
 Hath she not ? The reply 
 
 Is with him who hath won her, 
 Who can heap misery 
 
 Or enjoyment upon her. 
 Then will he betray 
 
 A faith so abiding, 
 Or by coldness repay 
 
 A heart so confiding ? 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Is there one among those, " the chosen of fame," 
 For whose brow a bright garland the Muses 
 have wove, 
 
 Who has not, in the effort of winning a name, 
 Owed much for success to the magic of love ? 
 
39 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 How bright are the pleasures that gladden our 
 
 youth, 
 When the soul knows no sorrow, the heart is all 
 
 truth ; 
 
 The mind full of freedom, unshackled by care ! 
 The earth seems all sunny, the future all fair ; 
 No clouds cast a gloom o'er the sun on its way, 
 As it brightens the landscape of life into day, 
 The face beaming pleasure, the eye lit with joy ; 
 No cares for the morrow, to mingle alloy 
 With its purest of pleasures, its fulness of mirth, 
 'Tis the May-day of life, the Eden of earth ! 
 How sad would its brightest, its best moments 
 
 prove, 
 
 Had not the All- Wise, in his wisdom and love, 
 Cast a veil o'er the future of sorrow and care 
 Gay youth ne'er suspects is awaiting him there, 
 E'en as the smooth surface of waters that flow 
 O'er eddies that trouble their dark depths below ! 
 
40 
 
 DOUBT. 
 
 So it seems thou dost doubt 
 
 In my love for thee, dearest : 
 Though thou speakest not out, 
 
 There is something thou fearest. 
 By that sigh, on the night 
 
 When alone we were straying, 
 Know I fears, not quite right, 
 
 In thy breast need allaying. 
 
 Thou dost doubt ! I perceive, 
 
 By thy voice's low tremble, 
 That thou dost believe 
 
 That my heart doth dissemble : 
 I perceive that the hours 
 
 Of reliance are flying ; 
 That the " leaves and the flowers " 
 
 Of true love are dying. 
 
IMPROMPTU. 41 
 
 Thou dost doubt ! Tis a foe 
 
 That is coining between us : 
 From the wound of his blow 
 
 There is nothing can screen us. 
 Lest our faith it remain 
 
 In each other unshaken, 
 Love's joy, not its pain, 
 
 From our bosoms is taken. 
 
 IMPROMPTU ON THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS 
 MOORE. 
 
 THE sweetest bard that ever sung, 
 The unwelcome hand of Death 
 
 Gathered his ghastly crew among, 
 "When Moore resigned his breath. 
 
THE OWL. 
 
 THE owl, I presume, is a poet ; 
 
 For he seems to be always in thought ; 
 And the foolish allurements of pleasure 
 
 He wisely esteemeth as nought. 
 And when night its mantle of darkness 
 
 O'er hill and o'er valley has flung, 
 A thinker, his thoughts seek expression, 
 
 And his heart finds its way to his tongue. 
 
 'Mid the boughs of some forest-tree olden, 
 
 All the day he sits brooding alone ; 
 And little for " sayings " he careth, 
 
 If he be undisturbed in his own. 
 Away from the world that is merry, 
 
 He thinketh wi: ss deep 
 
 O'er the wisdom he gathers from nature 
 
 When the rest of the world is asleep. 
 
ARMOR. 43 
 
 And I fancy I see a resemblance 
 
 'Twixt many a poet and lie ; 
 Since, in much of the singing of either, 
 
 How few are there beauty can see ! 
 And yet, such resemblance to balance, 
 
 This difference there certainly is, 
 The owl hoots his own rhymed numbers ; 
 
 The poet is hooted for his. 
 
 ARMOR. 
 
 CHOOSE for thy helmet, not a steel plate, but brass : 
 Though not quite as strong, yet the latter one has 
 A more fitting look for the brow of an ass. 
 
44 
 
 SADNESS. 
 
 IN my bosom sorrow reigneth ; 
 
 Soul and sense are sick with care ; 
 Bitterly my heart complaineth 
 
 At the load it needs must bear. 
 
 Oh ! there are, amid earth's pleasures, 
 Hours of bitter gloom and grief, 
 
 When our dearest worldly treasures 
 Bring to sorrowing no relief ; 
 
 When the soul, o'erwhelmed with sadness, 
 
 Calls on earthly aid in vain 
 To restore its wonted gladness, 
 
 To revive old joys again. 
 
 Then, oh ! let since earth no cheering 
 Proffers to the saddened breast 
 
 Let our hearts those realms be nearing 
 " Where the weary are at rest." 
 
45 
 
 PENNIES. 
 
 GATHER them up, and scatter them kindly : 
 
 Many a beggar will thank you for one ; 
 Many a fortune ye're seeking so blindly 
 
 From sources as trivial as these was begun. 
 Gather them up, but not for the rusting 
 
 Of the pile safely guarded by padlock and chain ; 
 But gather and give them, and wisely be trusting 
 
 That treasure so scattered will come back again. 
 
 Gather them up, though the world call thee miser 
 
 To see thee so careful to find every cent ; 
 Gather and give them, and it will grow wiser 
 
 And better, we hope, ere you have them all 
 
 spent. 
 Gather them up, wherever they offer, 
 
 By plough or by anvil, by desk or in stall ; 
 Gather and give them, despite of the scoffer, 
 
 And time will repay thee for each and for all. 
 
46 PENNIES. 
 
 Kindness to those who may chance to need any, 
 
 In the smoothest of pennies, may be shown by 
 
 you; 
 Gather them, then, no matter how many ; 
 
 For the more that you have, the more you may 
 
 do. 
 Mites though they are in the bucket of treasure, 
 
 Scorn not the trifles, but bless them for aye ; 
 Much they can win you of Heaven's own pleasure, 
 
 If only you get them, and give them away. 
 
THE LASS OF SACHEM'S HEAD. 
 
 IN memory clings her image yet ; 
 
 Though merry months have fled 
 Since first, 'midst Pleasure's throng, I met 
 
 The lass of Sachem's Head. 
 
 Hers was an eye that quick the heart 
 
 A willing captive led ; 
 Such heavenly glances did impart 
 
 The lass of Sachem's Head. 
 
 Hers was a form divinely fair ; 
 
 And, o'er her queenly head, 
 In tresses strayed her jetty hair, 
 
 The lass of Sachem's Head. 
 
 Hers was a laugh so full of glee, 
 
 So merry all she said ; 
 A most bewitching fair was she, 
 
 The lass of Sachem's Head. 
 
48 THE LASS OF SACHEM' S HEAD. 
 
 None ever knew her but they loved ; 
 
 None ever saw but said, 
 'Twas vain to gaze upon, unmoved, 
 
 The lass of Sachem's Head. 
 
 I saw her charms ; her gaze I met ; 
 
 And o'er my soul was shed 
 A spell that binds in memory yet 
 
 The lass of Sachem's Head. 
 
 And till the sun of life shall set, 
 Till soul and sense are sped, 
 
 I vow I never can forget 
 The lass of Sachem's Head. 
 
49 
 
 HER HOME. 
 
 [A letter literally rendered from one actually in the author's possession.] 
 
 JUST imagine, Sir Knight of the goosequill, 
 
 You who while away hours oftentimes, 
 Forgetfulness trying to distil 
 
 From random ideas and rhymes, 
 Just imagine a "white house," one story 
 
 And a half, by true measurement, high, 
 Rather faded from primitive glory, 
 
 And the outline is then "in your eye." 
 
 The outline established, proceed then, 
 
 With a hand that is honest, to fill 
 Up the picture. Let's see : you will need then 
 
 To be told that it stands on a hill, 
 Just back from the road, with a door-yard 
 
 Filled up with rose-bushes and trees : 
 Facts enough to make even a poor bard 
 
 Glow with frenzy poetic, are these. 
 4 
 
50 HER HOME. 
 
 Though there is none, yet still, as a poet 
 
 Who by license hath done so before, 
 Imagine a woodbine, and show it 
 
 As climbing and shading the door ; 
 And a lattice (not window), embowered 
 
 'Mong grape-vines and flowerets sweet : 
 Of each and of all you're empowered, 
 
 With the fullest discretion, to treat. 
 
 And, last, you may quietly hint of, 
 
 Not an angel, but merely a girl, 
 Living here, whose cheeks have the tint of 
 
 The rose, and her teeth of the pearl ; 
 Whose eyes, though at best " common blue ones," 
 
 At least flash some glances, that say, 
 All the throbs of her heart, they are true ones 
 
 For one who is long miles away. 
 
51 
 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 I'M thinking of that summer-time, 
 When, with joyous steps and free, 
 
 We roamed, repeating some well-known rhyme, 
 By the wild and wondrous sea; 
 
 When love, in the flush of youthful prime, 
 Was all to you and me. 
 
 I'm thinking of those walks by night 
 When the moonlight shone so clear ; 
 
 When heaven seemed sending its own delight 
 To earth's sin-shrouded sphere ; 
 
 And all that was lovely and pure and bright 
 Seemed unto us how near ! 
 
 I'm thinking of vows we whispered then 
 
 By the wild and wondrous sea, 
 Afar from the eyes and ears of men, 
 
 As ever such vows should be, 
 
52 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 Vows that were uttered again and again, 
 That they might not broken be. 
 
 I'm thinking of that which fills the place 
 
 Of many a burning vow ; 
 For a sneering lip, and a passionless face, 
 
 And a cold, unchanging brow, 
 On which Memory seems to print no trace, 
 
 Is all that is left me now. 
 
53 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 OH ! sweet it is to have one heart, 
 One bosom, all thine own, 
 
 One soul still firm and true to thee, 
 When other friends have flown ! 
 
 Oh ! if the earth can give one joy, 
 
 If life has aught of bliss, 
 It is when cheered by woman's smile, 
 
 Enraptured by her kiss. 
 
 The heartless wretch may scoff at love, 
 
 May scorn its purest ray ; 
 But, oh ! the soul that's pure must own, 
 
 Must bow before, its sway. 
 
 I ask not for the world's applause ; 
 
 I care not for its frown : 
 Its joys are all too cold for me ; 
 
 A bawble its renown. 
 
54 LOVE. 
 
 I ask but for one faithful heart, 
 
 One being fond and true : 
 Ah ! then, cold world, farewell, farewell ! 
 
 And all your cares, adieu ! 
 
55 
 
 DISTRUST. 
 
 OH ! it hath come to blight 
 
 Our flowers of love just blowing ; 
 And we shall feel no more delight 
 
 On the life-voyage we are going. 
 The far too fond belief, 
 
 We'd found earth's purest treasure, 
 Hath fled ; and deep-abiding grief 
 
 Our hearts now only measure. 
 
 A gulf between us lies ; 
 
 A treacherous bridge hangs over ; 
 For always, to distrustful eyes, 
 
 Dark doubts and dangers hover, 
 By frequent jest and smile, 
 
 We scoff what the world is saying ; 
 But vainly ; for a fiend, meanwhile, 
 
 Upon our lives is preying. 
 
56 DISTRUST. 
 
 Regret it cannot now 
 
 Restore love's chain so rended, 
 Renew again the burning vow : 
 
 They are broke, ne'er to be mended. 
 Our faith and hope, which in days 
 
 Gone by were linked together, 
 Are going now, by devious ways, 
 
 To meet no more for ever. 
 
57 
 
 TO A FELLOW-WORKER. 
 
 THY hand, my brother-toiler : 
 
 There's something in its grasp 
 That tells me 'tis no shadow 
 
 Or useless thing I clasp ; 
 But the lever of an earnest will, 
 
 Of an honest heart and true, 
 That finds in this world labor ; 
 
 And, finding, dares to do. 
 
 Thy lips have learned to whimper 
 
 No thoughts thou canst not feel : 
 Upon thy brow was never set 
 
 Hypocrisy's false seal. 
 There's a candor in thy bluntness, 
 
 In thy rugged form of speech, 
 Worth more than all the smoothness 
 
 False etiquette can teach. 
 
58 TO A FELLOW-WORKER. 
 
 Then take my hand, my brother, 
 
 And an earnest word of cheer, 
 To make more strong thy growing hope 
 
 And confidence of fear. 
 There's many a real honor 
 
 Thy honest brow should wear ; 
 And yet thy hand will earn them, 
 
 If thy heart does not despair. 
 
59 
 
 THE MODERN PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 HE is not one who gives to care 
 
 His idle thoughts or idle hours : 
 His heart is proof against despair, 
 
 And lightly beats 'mid sun and showers. 
 The ills of life cannot destroy 
 
 This faith, within him ever burning, 
 That life is but a lasting joy, 
 
 Which all might share, were they discerning. 
 
 And so, unheeding taunt or sneer, 
 
 Or gloomy doubt or vain regretting, 
 He lives contented in his sphere, 
 
 No anxious cares his bosom fretting ; 
 Believing all as idle stuff 
 
 The talk of sorrows never-ending : 
 The world for him is good enough, 
 
 And also towards a better tending. 
 
60 
 
 SONG. 
 
 " We shall meet again." 
 
 THE seal of death is on my brow : 
 Ah ! must I go, and leave thee now ? 
 Yet let thy heart from grief refrain ; 
 For, loved one ! we shall meet again. 
 
 Oh ! I have loved thee, dearly loved ; 
 And ne'er my heart a truant roved : 
 But, ah! believe, 'twas not in vain; 
 For, loved one ! we shall meet again. 
 
 Adieu, adieu ! Fast ebbs away 
 
 The tide of life that nerves this clay : 
 
 I go yon starry world to gain ; 
 
 Yet, loved one ! we shall meet again. 
 
 Yes : in those blissful realms above, 
 Where all is peace, where all is love, 
 Where ne'er our hearts shall know of pain, 
 There, loved one! we shall meet again. 
 
61 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 CONDEMN not hastily : unto the erring, 
 A word of kindness often may do good : 
 
 " Do better, brother/' is a voice recurring 
 In daily talk less often than it should. 
 
 "Why steel the heart, why turn the scornful 
 shoulder, 
 
 Against the man already cowed by shame ? 
 Our cold contempt but makes the sinner bolder ; 
 
 Our pity might perhaps redeem his fame. 
 
 Give but one word, a simple, earnest token, 
 That tells him there is, within a human breast, 
 
 A link of love for him as yet unbroken, 
 And he reflects : repentance does the rest. 
 
 Like us, he may have been all joy and gladness 
 In other days, when life to him was young ; 
 
62 STANZAS. 
 
 When childhood dreamed not of his manhood's 
 
 madness, 
 The chords of human feeling all unstrung. 
 
 Like us, he may have had a sister, brother, 
 
 With whom he sported and was guileless then ; 
 
 Like us, he must have known the love of mother ; 
 In kindly words, he hears her voice again. 
 
 And this is all : there is no use in wreaking 
 Our scorn on sinners, sinning to contemn ; 
 
 But, by the words of kindness we are speaking, 
 Save often those whom others would condemn. 
 
63 
 
 THE TYRANT. 
 
 " Old Winter has come ! The wind is his whip ; 
 One choppy finger was on his lip : 
 He had torn the cataracts from the hills ; 
 And they clanked at his girdle like manacles." 
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 CLOSED was the bloodless yet fatal fray ; 
 And the victor cold had secured his prey \ 
 And his banner waved, all icy and white, 
 O'er vanquished stream and surmounted height. 
 
 And the blooming fields of the summer, where 
 Its tents had been pitched, were frozen and bare ; 
 By lake and by stream, in nook and in cleft, 
 Not a vestige of what had been there was left. 
 
 And the stern old warrior smiled to see 
 How complete he had won his victory ; 
 And he inly said, " He's a ruler poor 
 Who a conquered realm fails to make secure." 
 
64 I HE TYRANT. 
 
 And his edicts proclaimed, " ' War to the knife ' 
 
 AV;is the war I waged life against life : 
 
 I've won ; and the losers cannot complain 
 
 If I cripple them now, lest they harm me again." 
 
 So he straightway disarmed and he slew them 
 
 all, 
 
 The young, the brave, and the beautiful ; 
 And so subtle was he, that he could not trust 
 In death itself ; so he guarded their dust 
 
 With double chains ; for it seems he had heard 
 And believed what so many considered absurd, 
 That the slave may die at the master's hour, 
 But his spirit still live to oppose his power. 
 
 So he guarded their dust with his chains of frost : 
 " The forfeit is mine, and shall not be lost," 
 Said he : and his brow it grew cold and raw, 
 And his breath the same ; and they both were law. 
 
 Yet, despite of his chains and his power to kill, 
 Despite of his guards and his stubborn will, 
 
THE TYRANT. 65 
 
 The captives escaped one morning in spring, 
 And challenged to battle the stern old king. 
 
 And the edict went forth, " War to the knife ! " 
 And the stern old chief prepared for the strife ; 
 But he soon discovered he had no friends, 
 And his courage oozed out at his fingers' ends. 
 
 So he slunk away ; and his chains were broke 
 From the dust they bound : and the dust awoke ; 
 And the graves he had peopled gave up their 
 
 dead; 
 And the summer's tents were again respread. 
 
66 
 
 REFLECTIONS. 
 
 AWAY, away with notes of mirth, 
 
 And cease the festive strain ; 
 For sorrow stirs within my soul ; 
 
 There's sadness on my brain. 
 Ah ! what though wealth and power are ours, 
 
 And all the earth deems great ; 
 When dark Misfortune's tempest lowers, 
 
 They aid it, not abate. 
 
 When sorrow hovers round our path, 
 
 And life seems bleak and bare ; 
 When any ill has stung the heart, 
 
 And left its venom there ; 
 When Death, the ruthless reaper, comes 
 
 To break some kindred tie ; 
 And sin its toils throws round the heart, 
 
 Till it writhes in agony ; 
 
REFLECTIONS. 67 
 
 Say where, at such a time, man ! 
 
 Is all thy boasted power ? 
 It fades, and sinks to nothingness, 
 
 E'en as some blasted flower. 
 But wouldst thou consolation find, 
 
 Wouldst calm thy sorrows all, 
 Then learn to love and trust in Him 
 
 Who heeds the sparrow's fall. 
 
68 
 
 TO A POEM. 
 
 OFFSPRING of an hour of sorrow. 
 Though there's many a rugged line 
 
 Traced upon thy thoughtless forehead, 
 Still I lore thee ; for thou'rt mine. 
 
 Though deep thought and strange expression 
 
 Do not in thy face combine 
 To entice my soul unto thee, 
 
 Still I love thee ; for thou'rt mine. 
 
 Though a stranger's eye may coldly 
 Gaze upon these words of thine, 
 
 And his lips proclaim them faulty, 
 Still I love thee ; for thou'rt mine. 
 
 Though to hearts no solace bringing, 
 That, o'erwhelmed by grief, repine, 
 
 Still I cannot help but love thee 
 
 For the bliss thou brought'st to mine. 
 
69 
 
 FORGET. 
 
 THROW oblivion o'er the past : 
 
 If, perchance, it lingers yet, 
 No happier trait thy bosom hast, 
 
 I'm sure, than that thou canst forget. 
 A single thought I would not claim 
 
 Now when thy passion all is o'er ; 
 But, bonded with thy banished name, 
 
 Let by-gone hours return no more. 
 
 Of present bliss we ought to feel 
 
 Enough to satisfy the soul, 
 And not let past enjoyments steal 
 
 Into our hearts to dash the bowL 
 With many a future joy untried, 
 
 No doubt more pure than those we've met, 
 It should not be to us denied, 
 
 If so it pleases, to forget 
 
70 FORGET. 
 
 And, since the future offers thus 
 
 As much of joy, and may be more 
 Than all the past, is't not to us 
 
 A lesson we should not ignore ? 
 For, while we go towards future bliss 
 
 With beating heart and willing mind, 
 Could there be sweeter thought than this ? 
 
 We've left, at least, much pain behind. 
 
 Then do not think that I complain 
 
 In secret o'er your disregard : 
 I frankly ask you for disdain ; 
 
 And this one prayer you'll not discard. 
 For, when you grant it, well you know 
 
 That I, like you, am truly able 
 Past hopes and joys and loves to throw, 
 
 As useless trash, "'neath Memory's table." 
 
71 
 
 SONG OF THE BACHELOR. 
 
 GIVE me the good old bachelor, 
 
 The merry and the free, 
 Who laughs at matrimonial cares, 
 
 And loves his liberty. 
 
 No household cares are his to mourn ; 
 
 No fretful dame to please : 
 No laughing rogues, with noisy glee, 
 
 Disturb his reveries. 
 
 In peace he sits him down at eve, 
 
 Enjoys his good cigar, 
 And muses o'er the joys and ills 
 
 Of life, of love, and war. 
 
 And, as before his cheerful fire 
 He reads his cherished " Flag," 
 
 And sympathizes with the tale 
 Of moralist and wag, 
 
72 SONG OF THE BACHELOR. 
 
 How many luckless wedded wights 
 Would give their all to be 
 
 As happy as that bachelor, 
 As merry and as free ! 
 
73 
 
 A PRIZE-TALE. 
 
 WOULDST thou get the greatest prize 
 
 Offered for man's winning, 
 Be for once a little wise 
 
 In thy tale's beginning. 
 Write not for a transient page, 
 
 Nor for gold or glory ; 
 But fill up, from youth to age, 
 
 The plan of a life-story. 
 
 Turn, while there is time, the leaf 
 
 Of life on which you write it, 
 That there may be no future grief 
 
 "Will have power to blight it. 
 Let thy conscience be the light 
 
 By which thy steps are wending ; 
 And thou wilt surely weave aright 
 
 The plot unto its ending. 
 
74 A PRIZE-TALE. 
 
 Upon the path of duty go, 
 
 Critics all unheeding ; 
 And be content this truth to know, 
 
 That tales the world is reading 
 Are not of teachers yet the best, 
 
 Although most schools receive them : 
 Let real acts thy merits test ; 
 
 No one will disbelieve them. 
 
 Crush never an impulse of thy heart 
 
 That prompts thee to a kindness ; 
 And, when thy readers from thee part, 
 
 They will not part in blindness 
 Of merits which thou didst possess, 
 
 And practise for the healing 
 Of many a poignant wretchedness 
 
 That others had in feeling. 
 
 And so adown Life's river glide, 
 Thy deeds of love not stinting ; 
 
 But all around, on every side, 
 Be ever thus imprinting 
 
A PRIZE-TALE. 75 
 
 A chapter new of your life-tale, 
 
 With not a blur to stain it ; 
 And, soon or late, you cannot fail, 
 
 Whate'er the prize, to gain it. 
 
76 
 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 'Tis holy ground ! Tread lightly here 
 Above our friend, the early lost ; 
 
 Than whom none was, can be, more dear 
 To us while on Life's ocean tossed. 
 
 So very pure her inmost thought 
 
 Looked out from her deep-azure eyes, 
 
 That we believed its truth was caught 
 From her pure sisters in the skies. 
 
 And was it not ? Could angel be 
 
 On earth more like a child of heaven. 
 
 Live here with less impurity, 
 Or die with less to be forgiven ? 
 
77 
 
 BEREAVEMENT. 
 
 'Tis night ! All sad and lonely, 
 I sit me down, and sigh ; 
 
 For joys that came, came only 
 When she I loved was nigh. 
 
 There is a certain feeling 
 Of loneliness and gloom, 
 
 That, o'er my senses stealing, 
 Infects the very room. 
 
 The fire burns not as brightly, 
 Gives not its wonted cheer ; 
 
 And all things seem unsightly, 
 Dark, desolate, and drear. 
 
 The very clock ticks sadly, 
 Like the throbbing of a heart, 
 
 That, tired of life, would gladly 
 From all its woes depart. 
 
78 BEREAVEMENT. 
 
 So strange my mind's conjectures ; 
 
 Such phantom shapes appear ; 
 The very chairs seem spectres, 
 
 Grim, ghastly, sunk, and sear. 
 
 And all along the ceiling, 
 As if they joyed to mock 
 
 My saddened flow of feeling, 
 Foul sprites and goblins stalk. 
 
 'Tis night ! All sad and lonely, 
 I sit me down, and sigh ; 
 
 For joys that came, came only 
 When she I loved was nigh. 
 
79 
 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 COME up to duty ! Conscience is shaking me ; 
 Close by the heart-strings familiarly taking me ; 
 In my ear whispering, perfectly audible, 
 "Thou must do something at last that is laudable." 
 
 Now she will put off my action no longer : 
 Surely she speaks to me, as if the stronger ; 
 Powerfully threatening, somewhat conceited, 
 In case of refusal, just how I'll be treated. 
 
 Towards the fulfilment of threats she now hinges ; 
 Light though they be, these are evident twinges : 
 Memory, too, seemeth bent on inspecting, 
 Under her eye, what I've long been neglecting. 
 
 Pity has turned a quick ear to her bidding, 
 With tears in profusion for every one needing : 
 
80 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 She has gone though in truth she might have 
 done worse things 
 
 Straight to my pocket, 'and opened my purse- 
 strings. 
 
 Now, while the tears and the money are flowing, 
 Learn I this truth, which is surely worth know- 
 ing, 
 
 Conscience is gentle : only be pleasing her ; 
 Do it but once, and nothing is easier. 
 
81 
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 SELF-NEEDING so much, we may not deny 
 
 Our neighbor who asks it to-day : 
 His motives are pure as our own, if we try 
 
 To see them in that sort of way. 
 Though there be no great evil, perhaps, if we 
 should 
 
 Think our own way the wisest and best, 
 There is nothing of justice no, nothing of 
 good 
 
 In condemning as false all the rest. 
 
 These motives are things that are hard to find out, 
 Though it is now so easy to blame ; 
 
 And wherefores, of which we know nothing about, 
 We judge as if all were the same. 
 
82 CHARITY. 
 
 But the whys <ond the wherefores we hold quite 
 too cheap : 
 
 In the current of Life they deep flow ; 
 And acts that come bubbling up from that deep 
 
 Are all of them oft that we know. 
 
 And, while friendship fails often to find out by 
 them 
 
 The true secret cause of their birth, 
 The bitterest hatred should never condemn 
 
 That cause as without any worth. 
 There are many good traits in a foe, as a friend, 
 
 Would we read upon both sides the tale ; 
 And the better way is over both to extend, 
 
 With equality, Charity's veil. 
 
RETURN. 
 
 FRIEND of my soul ! return, return ! 
 
 From home no longer stray : 
 My heart is sad, I feel alone, 
 
 When thou art far away. 
 
 Slow drag the weary hours along, 
 That once were light and gay ; 
 
 For now the light that made them bright 
 Has faded from my way. 
 
 And though I kneel at Pleasure's shrine, 
 
 And join the festive throng, 
 'Tis all in vain ; for my sad heart 
 
 Still whispers, " Thou art gone ! " 
 
 Then hasten, hasten to thy home ; 
 
 From me no longer stray : 
 My heart is sad, I feel alone, 
 
 When thou art far away. 
 
84 
 
 A LAMENT. 
 
 THY words of hope no more I hear, 
 That filled my soul with courage true ; 
 
 Thy gentle hand no more is near, 
 To pilot me Life's darkness through. 
 
 A seal upon thy lips is set ; 
 
 Thine eyes will never more awake ; 
 The tears with which my own are wet, 
 
 Their fearful slumbers cannot break. 
 
 The silken cord of love, that bound 
 Our souls as one, is torn apart ; 
 
 And, through the depth of grief profound, 
 Alone I journey with my heart. 
 
 Yet still remembrance treasures up, 
 
 Of love's sweet chain, each trifling link ; 
 
 And, though I drain of grief the cup, 
 It is relief at least to think. 
 
A LAMENT. 85 
 
 How true was each fair promise kept, 
 Whate'er the storm, to cling together ! 
 
 Then why could not the wave, that swept 
 One overboard, have ta'en the other ? 
 
 But no : they come in such disguise, 
 Though many joys they separate, 
 
 Our blessings meted from the skies ; 
 And we must learn to bear our fate ; 
 
 Must learn, bee-like, to gather good 
 From what seems bitter in the mass ; 
 
 And trust oh that all sorrow could ! 
 The promise, that the cup shall pass. 
 
86 
 
 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 THE stars are looking down to-night 
 
 Upon a sober face, 
 And eyes that cast dull answer back 
 
 Show not of joy a trace ; 
 For a secret gloom is welling up 
 
 From the heart unto the lips, 
 And the light of many a happy hour 
 
 Lies in a dark eclipse. 
 
 'Tis strange, that, when to ardent hope 
 
 One's heart is fully bent, 
 As worshipper unto a shrine, 
 
 With strong and pure intent, 
 That foolish whims have power to start 
 
 Afresh forgotten fears, 
 And to fill our cup of promise up 
 
 With gloom and grief and tears. 
 
87 
 
 TO 
 
 HAIL to thee, absent one ! 
 
 Bright from afar 
 Shines still thy gentle light, 
 
 Sweet guiding star ! 
 
 What though the Fates unkind 
 
 Tore us apart ^ 
 Lives still thine image, lore, 
 
 Deep in this heart. 
 
 Lone as I'm musing, love r 
 Through the long night,. 
 
 Back to my memory throng 
 Scenes oh how bright ! 
 
 Scenes of those happy days,, 
 
 Blest days of yore, 
 When love our lightsome hearts 
 
 Came stealing o'er. 
 
88 TO _ 
 
 And dost remember, love, 
 
 That night of nights, 
 When through our bosoms thrilled 
 
 Love's first delights ? 
 
 When shine the golden stars 
 
 Down from above, 
 Dost thou remember then 
 
 That first kiss of love ? 
 
 And shall those happy scenes 
 
 Leave in the mind, 
 Though years may roll away, 
 
 No sweets behind ? 
 
 Vain though the passion be, 
 
 Though hope be o'er, 
 Love holds her gentle sway 
 
 E'en as of yore. 
 
 Say, then, 'tis not in vain, 
 
 That from afar 
 Shines still thy gentle light, 
 
 Sweet guiding star ! 
 
89 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 " For dreams, in their development, have breath 
 And tears and tortures and the touch of joy." 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 I HAD a dream the other night : 
 
 And shall I tell you what, love ? 
 A dream it was of such delight, 
 
 It ne'er will be forgot, love. 
 I dreamed I was and this was true 
 
 World-worn by grief and care, love ; 
 But, when arose the thought of you, 
 
 My heart was light as air, love. 
 
 My room, which had' been cold before, 
 Without a " bit " of heat, love, 
 
 Soon grew so hot, I kicked the door 
 Wide open to the street, love. 
 
90 A DREAM. 
 
 The chairs began to dance about ; 
 
 As also did the bed, love ; 
 So that, when in, I tumbled out, 
 
 And nearly broke my head, love. 
 
 Of this strange dream I told a friend, 
 
 And asked him to proppund, love, 
 The reason, and to me extend 
 
 His judgment strong and sound, love. 
 He answered, without any sign 
 
 Of wonder, " It is quite, sir, 
 Certain you'd been drinking wine, 
 
 And got most cursed ' tight/ sir." 
 
91 
 
 KINDNESS. 
 
 Is it not of itself full pay 
 
 For the hours ye spend in its doing ? 
 Did ye ever hear any one say 
 
 He found from it nothing accruing ? 
 Hath experience not taught thee true, 
 
 Kindness is worth the bestowing, 
 Since love and happiness, too, 
 
 Are the fruits that are out of it growing ? 
 
 He who is deaf to its call 
 
 Knows not of earth's pleasures the dearest ; 
 And its path, though not crowded at all, 
 
 To heaven, perhaps, is the nearest. 
 Though misfortunes have compassed it round, 
 
 By them is the traveller gainer ; 
 For, once the path having found, 
 
 They make it remarkably plainer. 
 
MY MOTHER. 
 
 HER love and her nature were blended, 
 
 And suited each other so well, 
 Where the bond which they formed could be 
 mended, 
 
 'Twould be difficult, surely, to tell. 
 'Twas a chain so well put together, 
 
 In its strength one safely could trust, 
 Nor fear that a change of the weather 
 
 Would weaken its linkings with rust. 
 I know not the hour when she bound me, 
 
 When with this chain she first held me fast : 
 I but know that in youth 'twas around me, 
 
 And to age it seems likely to last. 
 
'A FABLE. 
 
 A SQUIRREL he sat on the topmost limb 
 
 Of a fine old hickory graceful and slim : 
 
 For his breakfast he'd run over heather and heath ; 
 
 And now he sat cosily picking his teeth. 
 
 And there, as he sat gently fanned by the breeze 
 That rustled the leaves of the old forest trees, 
 A poor wounded dove came and perched by his 
 
 side, 
 
 And to his " Good morning " thus, trembling, re- 
 plied, 
 
 " I warn you, Sir Squirrel, to run for your life, 
 Lest sorrow you bring on your children and wife : 
 A hunter is coming with dog and with gun : 
 As a friend, I'd advise you, Sir Squirrel, to run. 
 
94 A FABLE. 
 
 "Take warning, I pray you, from my bleeding 
 
 breast, 
 
 And hasten away to your leaf-guarded nest." 
 " Poh ! poh ! " quoth the squirrel ; " I scorn thus 
 
 to run ; 
 I fear not the hunter, his dog, nor his gun." 
 
 " Good by, then, Sir Squirrel, ere yet 'tis too late : 
 I go, and I leave you alone to your fate." 
 Away sped the dove over heather and heath ; 
 And the squirrel sat cosily picking his teeth. 
 
 But soon came the hunter with dog and with gun, 
 And then the poor squirrel would gladly have run : 
 But a victim he fell to his folly and pride ; 
 And, for scorning good counsel, the poor squirrel 
 died. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 We are apt to forget, in prosperity's hour, 
 
 That round our bright path dark misfortunes 
 
 may lower : 
 
 We neglect to prepare 'gainst an unhappy fate, 
 And mourn o'er our folly save when 'tis too late. 
 
95 
 
 TO A FALSE REFORMER. 
 
 LAMENTING o'er the world's decline 
 
 In virtue, wisdom, honor, 
 You quite forget that mostly thine 
 
 Are faults you heap upon her. 
 Her wide defects you plainly see, 
 
 And boldly preach about them ; 
 But still, were fewer like to thee, 
 
 She would be quite without them. 
 
 Reform, reform ! There's none deny 
 
 Its need the wide world over ; 
 And yet how few there are that try 
 
 Its secret to discover ! 
 How many preaching friends like you 
 
 Would seem to be pursuing 
 The right ; and yet, by preaching, do 
 
 Conceal their own misdoing ! 
 
96 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 ALONE, forsaken, and forgot, 
 
 Thy once-loved one knows nought but sorrow ; 
 And in her soul no sunny spot 
 
 Is left to cheer the dreary morrow. 
 
 All, all is dark that once was bright ; 
 
 And, where was heard the voice of gladness, 
 A withering, soul-consuming blight 
 
 Hath turned its measure into sadness. 
 
 Oh ! couldst thou all my anguish know, 
 Couldst taste the bitter cup thou'st left me, 
 
 Thou wouldst in pity then bestow 
 
 The heart of which thou hast bereft me. 
 
97 
 
 HEART AND HAND. 
 
 MUCH that we covet, and all that we need, 
 
 Of pleasure, of glory, or gold, 
 Is ours, if our hearts and our hands are agreed 
 
 To be mutually willing and bold : 
 The one to work out with its sinews of might, 
 
 Despite of contempt or disdain, 
 What the other has prompted, and knows to be 
 right, 
 
 In striving our object to gain. 
 
 Our hearts and our hands, if they only were true 
 To themselves, and worked kindly together, 
 
 No matter what ill they were called to subdue, 
 They would win, would they only endeavor ; 
 
 7 
 
98 HEART AND HAND. 
 
 No matter how many the foes that surround, 
 
 They have hope that should never forsake them ; 
 No matter how strong are the chains that have 
 
 bound, 
 
 With a brave hand and heart we may break 
 them. 
 
 No hazard in life which we may not surprise, 
 
 And plunder of much that can bless : 
 With our hearts and our hands as friendly allies, 
 
 We carry the key of success ; 
 And the fortress of Fortune must open its gate, 
 
 When before it we rattle this key : 
 With such an ally, no power hath Fate 
 
 To shut out from fame you or me. 
 
 Though " crowded the world," there is room for 
 
 us yet ; 
 
 And labor will still fortune bring ; 
 And those who must work, should by no means 
 
 forget 
 That Chance is not^the world's king. 
 
HEART AND HAND. 99 
 
 Put the heart with the hand at the laboring oar, 
 
 Wherever thy voyage may be ; 
 And Fortune, that's smiled on such efforts before, 
 
 Fear not, but will smile, too, on thee. 
 
 Our hearts and our hands ! oh, strengthen the 
 will 
 
 That binds two such levers in one ! 
 We have need of them both united, until 
 
 The goal we are seeking is won. 
 O dreamer ! who buildeth air-castles so high, 
 
 Let thy hand work the plan of thy brain, 
 And thou'lt not have reason so often to sigh 
 
 That thy dreamings have all been in vain. 
 
100 
 
 TO MY NEW FRIENDS. 
 
 ALL my thoughts are not my own 
 
 Anywhere to spend them ; 
 For they have to wanderers grown, 
 
 And quite often wend them 
 "Where perhaps I should not say 
 
 Skies than these are clearer, 
 But where liveth one to-day 
 
 Than my new friends dearer. 
 
 Blame me not ; since, long before 
 
 I came seeking, asking 
 You my faults to cover o'er, 
 
 All your kindness tasking, 
 One there was linked me a chain, 
 
 Some might say a fetter : 
 No matter which, I cannot feign 
 
 Aught could please me better. 
 
TO MY NEW FRIENDS. 101 
 
 Round my heart though you have wreathed 
 
 Flowers of kindness often ; 
 In my ears though you have breathed 
 
 Words that heart to soften ; 
 Still I frankly speak the vow^ 
 
 Though I am not near her, 
 Over all new friendships now 
 
 Hers to me is dearer. 
 
102 
 
 A SLEEPLESS NIGHT. 
 
 SLEEPLESS, while around me slumbers 
 
 The broad earth's wearied life : 
 Veiled are the forest's varied wonders ; 
 Hushed are the wild-bird's thrilling numbers : 
 Echo now no ear encumbers 
 
 With sound of worldly strife. 
 
 The sky is cloudless ; not a star 
 
 Is from my eye obscured, 
 That, shining brightly from afar 
 With beauty, time nor change can mar, 
 Make me to feel how much they are 
 
 With poetry endued. 
 
 The midnight wind a chilling gloom 
 
 Has breathed upon my brow ; 
 As one that's fated, unto whom 
 There is no rest before the tomb, 
 As one that dreads some fearful doom 
 
 His fancies half avow. 
 
A SLEEPLESS NIGHT. 103 
 
 The hours move on with stealthy pace ; 
 
 The midnight watch has passed : 
 But does yon star disclose a trace 
 Of smiles that played upon my face, 
 When, starting on Life's unknown race, 
 
 I deemed youth's joy would last ? 
 
 Ah, happy time ! the time of youth, 
 
 Ere learning to deceive ; 
 When sportive Fancy seems the truth. 
 Alas ! who cannot say, forsooth, 
 That age has shown but little ruth 
 
 To hopes they did believe ? 
 
 Remembrance now, with greatest power, 
 
 Comes o'er the heart again, 
 Of those who in a happier hour 
 Did fain believe no sky would lower 
 To blast the tender, fragile flower 
 
 That bloomed on Friendship's plain. 
 
 'Tis morn ! From o'er the eastern hills 
 Peep its first blushing beams ; 
 
104 A SLEEPLESS NIGHT. 
 
 And nature, woke, the valleys fills 
 With sweets the morning air distils 
 From flowers that bloom beside the rills 
 Which form the greater streams. 
 
 Mankind from their sleep, too, are waking ; 
 
 Night's visions have gone by ; 
 Music on my ear is breaking, 
 Songs of birds, and zephyrs shaking 
 Forest trees, most sweetly making 
 
 A blended symphony. 
 
105 
 
 SONG. 
 
 COLD blew the bleak wind, 
 
 Dark was the day, 
 When the form I worshipped 
 
 Passed away. 
 
 Black came the night on ; 
 
 Down fell the rain : 
 Heaven, in sympathy, 
 
 Wept o'er the plain. 
 
 Lone was my sad heart : 
 Grief seemed to say, 
 
 Love, hope, ambition, all 
 Passed with her away. 
 
 Nought now upon the earth 
 
 Lures me to stay : 
 Yonder an angel hand 
 
 Beckons me away. 
 
106 
 
 CONFIDENCE. 
 
 IT brings to us both bliss and pride, 
 
 When Fortune's smilings leave us, 
 To know there's nestling at our side 
 
 One heart that won't deceive us ; 
 To know, however bleak the sky, 
 
 However dark and chilling, 
 Sharing our gloom, one still is nigh 
 
 With cheerful heart and willing ; 
 
 To know there is an anxious care 
 
 In one breast ever glowing, 
 Chasing our footsteps everywhere 
 
 In this wide world they're going ; 
 Courage, that, whatever ill 
 
 O'er us may frown, will dare it, 
 Till we are rescued, or until 
 
 It with ourselves may share it. 
 
107 
 
 TO A FUGITIVE SLAVE REMANDED. 
 
 BACK to your doom ! we cannot now save you ; 
 
 Back you must go to your master and chain ; 
 Every effort that's made to enslave you, 
 
 "We are reluctantly bound to sustain. 
 Only our prayers heart-prayers can we lend 
 you: 
 
 May they have power to hasten the time 
 When those who now wish to may dare to be- 
 friend you, 
 
 And the act be a virtue instead of a crime ! 
 
 Back to your doom, with heart crushed and bleed- 
 ing ! 
 
 And only this hope to illumine your way, 
 That henceforth, for you, vain is all interceding 
 For kindness from those you have dared dis- 
 obey ! 
 
108 TO A FUGITIVE SLAVE HEMANDED. 
 
 But throughout the long, weary future, whenever 
 The chain or the lash of the tyrant you feel, 
 
 Remember there still are a few who endeavor, 
 Despite of enactments, to forward your weal. 
 
 Yes : while you return, with spirit all broken, 
 
 From the life of a freeman to that of a slave, 
 Remember our words and our vows are the token 
 
 Of our law-bound, yet burning, desire to save. 
 Yes : take to the slave-marts this promise, that 
 never, 
 
 "While lingers in bondage but one of thy race, 
 Will we retract a vow, or relax an endeavor, 
 
 To wipe from our nation so deep a disgrace. 
 
109 
 
 TO A BRIDEGROOM. 
 
 I BELIEVE she is earnest and true 
 
 As the needle is true to the pole : 
 Not a heart that's unfaithful to you 
 
 Can be hers ; for she gives you the whole. 
 Every hope, every thought, every feeling, 
 
 All indeed of herself that's divine, 
 Surrendered beyond all repealing, 
 
 Blends her fortune for ever with thine. 
 
 She has faith, the faith that's abiding ; 
 
 She has hope that no fortune can change ; 
 No star but your own for its guiding ; 
 
 No reliance that time can estrange. 
 All sunshine around and above her ; 
 
 For truth makes the sky always bright : 
 Indeed, it's no wonder you love her ; 
 
 No wonder you worship her quite. 
 
110 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 ONE moment more ! I cannot go 
 
 Without another word from thee, 
 Another word, that I may know 
 
 Thou ever wilt be true to me. 
 I ask it in the bonded name 
 
 Of many past yet sweet delights 
 We shared with hearts and hopes the same, 
 
 While watching stars last summer-nights. 
 
 Although beneath as clear a sky 
 
 We sit, and watch their twinkling light, 
 I'm sure no star to you or I 
 
 Is robed in half its charms to-night ; 
 For love is shadowed o'er by fear 
 
 Of danger that may chance to be 
 Concealed within that long, long year 
 
 That I must live apart from thee. 
 
PARTING. Ill 
 
 But let hope rise to be a star 
 
 Of light, desponding love to cheer, 
 Which you at home, and I afar, 
 
 May see, and feel each other near. 
 Though Fate our paths of life divide, 
 
 May we not hope, nor hope in vain, 
 That both, by time and absence tried, 
 
 With strengthened love, may meet again ? 
 
TO 
 
 OH ! chide me not in words reproving 
 That my heart, too light and gay, 
 
 Careless sports in bootless roving 
 Half of youth's best hours away. 
 
 Oh ! remember, youth is fleeting ; 
 
 Soon its pleasures will be o'er ; 
 And its raptures can a greeting 
 
 Bring the sad heart then no more. 
 
 Life is full enough of sadness, 
 
 E'en when taken at the best : 
 Age comes on when nought of gladness 
 
 Thrills with rapture through the breast. 
 
 Yes : for, e'en as we grow older, 
 
 Feelings and affections chill ; 
 And the heart grows daily colder, 
 
 Calloused o'er by many an ill. 
 
TO 113 
 
 Thoughts and scenes, that bring a pleasure 
 
 In the spring-time of our life, 
 Cease in age to be a treasure, 
 
 Lost, absorbed in worldly strife. 
 
 Then, oh ! let, while yet before us 
 
 Life seems but a sunny way, 
 While the sky of youth hangs o'er us, 
 
 Let our hearts be light and gay. 
 
114 
 
 OLD LETTERS. 
 
 READ them, if only to bring back the past 
 
 Once more, with its friends and friendships to 
 
 view, 
 From out of the shadow which old Time has cast 
 
 O'er first dreams of happiness earnest and true. 
 Read them, though age may have wrinkled thy 
 brow, 
 
 And sprinkled thy hair all profusely with gray : 
 Though severed the chain of past happiness now, 
 
 Links that are left of it surely are they. 
 
 Read them : thy heart must indeed have grown 
 
 cold, 
 
 And hardened withal, if it feels not a thrill 
 Of regret for affection by them so well told, 
 And whose place in thy heart perhaps other 
 loves fill. 
 
OLD LETTERS. 115 
 
 The same light of pleasure which once they im- 
 parted 
 These words of an old friend should give thee 
 
 again ; 
 
 As they did long ago when both were true-hearted, 
 And the joys of each one were the joys of the 
 twain. 
 
116 
 
 THE LAW OF ATTRACTION. 
 
 I SAW but once that eye of blue : 
 
 Mere accident it was that brought it, 
 "With all its liquid light, unto 
 
 The windows, as I paused and caught it 
 Just like a star, it shone between 
 
 The blinds, that merely stood asunder 
 Enough to let its ray be seen 
 
 By one, like me, who travelled under. 
 
 Spell-bound, I paused a trifling pause, 
 
 Not longer, may be, than a minute : 
 I cannot now explain the cause ; 
 
 But still there was much rapture in it. 
 Although she quickly did withdraw, 
 
 Whene'er she saw me looking at her, 
 I learned this truth, that Newton's law 
 
 Kules eyes as well as earthy matter. 
 
117 
 
 A PICTURE. 
 
 THE sunny hills, how gay are they ! 
 The laughing rills look bright to-day ; 
 The air is clear ; no zephyrs play ; 
 But all is calm and bright and gay. 
 
 Just see before yon cottage-door 
 That youthful group, as, gamb'ling o'er 
 The grassy plain, they sport away 
 The hours of this most lovely day. 
 
 Look where you will, o'er valley, hill, 
 O'er lake or lawn or rippling rill, 
 Each object fair that meets the eye 
 With each in beauty seems to vie. 
 
 But, hark ! the thunder's deafening crash, 
 The lightning's quick and vivid flash, 
 Burst forth upon this beauteous scene 
 With rumbling roar and fiery sheen. 
 
118 A PICTURE. 
 
 And now the rain falls thick and fast ; 
 The wind sweeps by, a dreary blast ; 
 The gloomy clouds o'erhang the sky ; 
 And man and beast for shelter fly. 
 
 How like this scene is human life ! 
 At times, no care, no toil, no strife, 
 Disturbs our light and happy way ; 
 But all is calm and bright and gay. 
 Again o'er life's fair scene is cast 
 The gloomy cloud and threatening blast : 
 'Tis then that we for shelter fly, 
 And find it only from on high. 
 
119 
 
 TO A TALL GIRL. 
 
 I MET you but once ; yet never 
 
 "Will my eyes the bright vision forget : 
 
 Like a star that shines brightly for ever, 
 In the sky of my heart you are set. 
 
 By night, when I dream of past pleasure, 
 To my bedside on tiptoe you steal, 
 
 Saying, "Dearest, my height is the measure 
 Of the true love for you that I feel." 
 
120 
 
 TO A VAIN GIEL. 
 
 You are pretty enough, the Lord knows, 
 
 In form, in feature, or face ; 
 And I'll warrant for thus the world goes 
 
 You believe that you are quite " a grace ; 
 
 Or " angel," whose wings are not grown 
 
 Sufficiently long yet to fly 
 To a region more purely your own 
 
 Than this which you now occupy. 
 
m 
 
 TO A PRETTY GIRL. 
 
 You came here to gladden our eyes 
 With beauty so artless and free, 
 
 That of course it can give no surprise 
 If we offer true homage to thee. 
 
 For, while seeming yourself not to know 
 How completely our hearts you enchain, 
 
 Your eloquent eyes speak ; and so, 
 If we try not to love you, 'tis vain. 
 
BATTLE-SONG OF UNCAS. 
 
 ROUSE, ye warriors ! rouse to battle ! 
 
 Bind the quiver on the back ; 
 Let the fierce, revengeful war-whoop 
 
 Echo on the foeman's track. 
 
 Paint the face, and scar the features ; 
 
 Don the lordly eagle's plume ; 
 Fix the hatchet in the girdle ; 
 
 Shout the foeman's fearful doom. 
 
 Let the scalping-knife be sharpened, 
 That each mighty brave may bear 
 
 At his belt, as honored trophies, 
 Reeking locks of foeman's hair. 
 
 Swear to bravely do, or perish 
 In our tribe's revengeful strife : 
 
 Blood for blood we will repay them, 
 Scalp for scalp, and life for life. 
 
BATTLE-SONG OF UNCAS. 
 
 Let the thought of wigwam burning, 
 And of squaw and pappoose fair, 
 
 By the foeman fired and butchered, 
 Nerve the heart to do and dare. 
 
 So, when our revenge is glutted 
 By the heaps of hostile slain, 
 
 And in foeman's blood we've blotted 
 From our tribe the hated stain, 
 
 Chiefs and sages of all nations, 
 At their council-fires, shall tell 
 
 How the braves of fair Mohegan 
 Fiercely fought, and bravely fell. 
 
124 
 
 HUMBUG. 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 INFLATED prince ! thy right is undisputed, 
 
 By red republican, democrat, or tory, 
 
 To reign supreme in all thy " Buncombe " glory. 
 
 Though it is true thy ranks are still recruited 
 
 From every race, and are all hues and sizes ; 
 
 Yet still what most philosophers surprises 
 
 Is, that they all so bravely cling together 
 
 In every kind of work and every kind of weather. 
 
 No treason in thy camp ; mankind in wonder 
 
 Gazes upon thy banners, which the whole air fills, 
 
 And dearly bow unto thy wordy thunder, 
 
 Pealed in defence of either laws or pills. 
 
 Dearly they bow ; for, though you kindly make 
 
 them, 
 They, as true subjects, are obliged to take them. 
 
125 
 
 INTOLERANCE. 
 
 DESPITE of the long preambles 
 That our laws of state display, 
 
 Making fair unto all the promise, 
 Ye shall worship as ye may, 
 
 There lingers the feud unchristian 
 That of old raged the sects among ; 
 
 Though its spirit, then shown in battle, 
 Now bitterly fights with the tongue. 
 
 And the question is not quite idle 
 Which some are disposed to ask : 
 
 Is the bad world's reformation 
 Not rather a hopeless task, 
 
 So long as the mild forbearance 
 The Saviour's doctrines teach, 
 
 In their crusades 'gainst one another, 
 Are forgotten by those who preach ? 
 
126 
 
 TO LIZZIE. 
 
 DREAMING of thee by night, love, 
 
 And thinking of thee by day, 
 Hath come to be such delight, love, 
 
 I powerless yield to its sway. 
 Sleep hath no " daggers " to wound, love ; 
 
 Toil is bereft of its sting ; 
 Since unto thee, swift bound, love, 
 
 Doth every thought take wing. 
 
 What were my life without thee ? 
 
 A struggle devoid of an aim ; 
 Seeking to gather about me 
 
 The riches of earth, or its fame. 
 Ne'er would I strive to attain them, 
 
 Daring toil and danger to meet, 
 But for this hope, should I gain them, 
 
 Fling them I may at thy feet. 
 
TO LIZZIE. 127 
 
 All I have felt of past pleasure, 
 
 All that I hope will be mine 
 In years yet to be, I may measure 
 
 By this love thou giv'st me of thine. 
 And, if to my earnest endeavor 
 
 Dame Fortune should bountiful be, 
 Success, in what shape soever, 
 
 My heart will attribute to thee. 
 
128 
 
 CONSTANCY. 
 
 METHOUGHT, dear friend ! that time had changed 
 
 The ties and sympathies of yore; 
 And that our hearts, from love estranged, 
 
 Would hold communion never more. 
 
 Tis but to grasp again thy hand, 
 
 And gaze into thine earnest eyes, 
 To feel that love still holds command ; 
 
 That pure affection never dies. 
 
 Unlike to passion's sudden gush, 
 
 Which, as a streamlet swollen by rain, 
 
 A moment raves with raging rush, 
 Then sinks to nothingness again. 
 
 It dieth not ; but, calm and slow, 
 
 Like some broad stream whose waters roll 
 
 To ocean with unceasing flow, 
 
 It courses changeless through the soul. 
 
129 
 
 TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. 
 
 THE mother of Love has compelled me 
 
 At thy feet, fair Glycera, to bow ; 
 And fetters that formerly held me 
 
 Are fastened more rigidly now. 
 Inflamed by thy wonderful beauty, 
 
 I bask in the light of thy smile, 
 Neglectful of every duty 
 
 That calls for my efforts the while. 
 
 In vain would I sing of the glory 
 
 That Scythian heroes have won ; 
 For my song will revert to the story 
 
 That tells all the mischief you've done. 
 Deserting her island of roses, 
 
 Her Cyprus afar in the sea, 
 Venus comes, and this mandate discloses, 
 
 That I give up my whole heart to thee. 
 
130 
 
 POPPING THE QUESTION. 
 
 DOST thou love me, dear Kate, dost thou love 
 me? 
 
 To this question an answer pray make ; 
 For I swear, by the bright stars above me, 
 
 If you do not, my heart it will break. 
 I've been stretched on the rack of suspension 
 
 All silent and hopeless so long, 
 That my brain, overtaxed by the tension, 
 
 Can find poor relief in a song. 
 
 If you love me, dear Kate, let me hear you ; 
 
 If you do, or you do not, speak out ; 
 For, the Lord knows, I cannot be near you, 
 
 And be thus encompassed by doubt. 
 Soft answers and quiet hand-squeezes 
 
 I cannot now longer endure ; 
 And, though my blunt frankness displeases, 
 
 I must have from you pledges more sure. 
 
POPPING THE QUESTION. 131 
 
 Do you love me, dear Kate ? Will you not, love, 
 
 Give in answer an honest reply ; 
 And, in sensible English, tell what, love, 
 
 Are the chances on which I rely ? 
 Long years have I dallied and dangled 
 
 At your heels wherever you went ; 
 And it's time our " love-snarl " was untangled 
 
 And adjusted by mutual consent. 
 
132 
 
 TO 
 
 A SONG for thee, dearest, 
 
 I send from afar, 
 Where my feet have been roaming 
 
 Without guide or star. 
 Wilt thou set it to music, 
 
 And sing when I come, 
 Disheartened, world-weary, 
 
 Back, back to our home ? 
 
 Let the tune be a zephyr, 
 
 Melodious and free, 
 As true unto nature 
 
 As thou art to me, 
 WHich thy soul can embrace 
 
 As if 'twere a friend, 
 And my words and thy music 
 
 In melody blend. 
 
TO _ 133 
 
 Not a sad tune nor gay one, 
 
 But half-way between : 
 High gladness, deep sorrow, 
 
 Let it intervene, 
 That so it interprets 
 
 By musical art 
 How we laugh when we meet, 
 
 And shed tears when we part. 
 
134 
 
 DEDICATION TO A COMMONPLACE BOOK. 
 
 HERE is a book devoted to the whims 
 
 Of every fish that in Life's water swims : 
 
 The poet here may let his fancy loose, 
 
 And in soft numbers prove he's not a goose ; 
 
 Here may the artist try his gifted power, 
 
 And mayhap while away a pleasant hour ; 
 
 The sportsman, too, shall ever find a place 
 
 His merry thoughts and stirring scenes to trace. 
 
 And oh that I should be so late to sing 
 
 How prized will be verse, prose, ay, any thing, 
 
 From you, fair ones ! who make a heaven of earth, 
 
 And, smiling, turn our sadness into mirth ! 
 
 Art, prose, philosophy, whate'er 
 
 The fancy prompts, may be recorded here ; 
 
 Whate'er the author's name will not disgrace 
 
 Is suited to this " Book of Commonplace." 
 
DEDICATION TO A COMMONPLACE BOOK. 135 
 
 All, all are welcome ; and 'tis all the same 
 If you, for lack of wit, but leave your name. 
 Then turn, kind reader ! turn you from this scrawl, 
 And join this literary fancy-ball : 
 Whatever character you'd represent, 
 With it the managers will be content. 
 
186 
 
 A LOVE-SONG. 
 
 WHEN the stars are all out in the sky, love, 
 
 With the moon, their fair guardian, too, 
 Wilt thou give him a thought or a sigh, love, 
 
 Who in both has been faithful to you ? 
 Wilt thou breathe to the east wind, that bloweth 
 
 Towards the land where his footsteps have 
 
 strayed, 
 A prayer, that, wherever he goeth, 
 
 His journey be happily made ? 
 
 When the night-bird is singing its song, love, 
 
 At midnight alone to its mate, 
 Wilt thou sit by thy window, and long, love, 
 
 For one they have told thee to hate ? 
 Wilt thou not, when dark rumor comes nearest, 
 
 Thy faith with its venom to kill, 
 Defy all the slander thou hearest, 
 
 And give him thy confidence still ? 
 
A LOVE-SONG. 137 
 
 Thou wilt ; for in fancy he hears, love, 
 
 Thy prayer on the east wind to-night ; 
 And sees through his own thy tears, love, 
 
 Fall and flash in the moonbeam's light. 
 Though falsehood and slander pursue, love, 
 
 His footsteps wherever they stray, 
 No more will he doubt thou art true, love, 
 
 To the vows of an happier day. 
 
138 
 
 THE SIGH. 
 
 I BRING relief to the imprisoned grief 
 
 Of the mother's anxious breast, 
 As her watch she keeps where her infant sleeps, 
 
 By the clods of the graveyard pressed. 
 "When the bosom heaves, as the wanderer leaves 
 
 The warm embrace of home, 
 And o'er ocean's track looks sadly back, 
 
 'Tis I to his lips that come. 
 
 From the breast of Love I'm breathed to prove 
 
 The depth of the blind god's dart : 
 Though my words are few, yet they're always 
 true; 
 
 For they come alone from the heart. 
 'Mid the battle's smoke, by me is spoke 
 
 The warrior's last regret, 
 That he roamed so far for that treacherous star 
 
 In Glory's chaplet set. 
 
THE SIGH. 139 
 
 I'm the magic glass, on which then pass 
 
 Before his glazing eyes 
 The sunny beams and golden dreams 
 
 Of childhood and its skies ; 
 The forest-glade, where his footsteps strayed ; 
 
 The cottage-home, beneath 
 Those clustering vines that around it twines 
 
 In many a flowery wreath. 
 
 I humble power in its proudest hour 
 
 By my gentle, sad refrain ; 
 And the passion-wiles, that the cloistered aisles 
 
 Of the scheming breast contain, 
 I make to wither, as I hasten thither 
 
 With Pity by my side ; 
 And with earnestness, yet tenderness, 
 
 Softly, softly chide. 
 
140 
 
 HEROIC. 
 
 ART thou of heroic mould, 
 
 Thou hast chance to do 
 Deeds as great as those of old 
 
 Coming down to you. 
 Earth in bounteousness spreads out 
 
 Many a field to win : 
 Would you go bereft of doubt, 
 
 And the strife begin ? 
 
 Where the parching desert-sand 
 
 Glares beneath the sun, 
 Where the skill of mind or hand 
 
 Nothing yet has done 
 To transform the dust and dearth 
 
 Into golden grain,- 
 Go ; for there is fame that's worth 
 
 Labor to attain. 
 
HEROIC. 141 
 
 "Where the tyrant's blight has passed 
 
 O'er thy brother's home ; 
 And the joys that freedom hast, 
 
 If ever, seldom come : 
 When with grief his heart despairs, 
 
 And his eyes are dim, 
 Be thou, with thy hopes and prayers, 
 
 Hero unto him. 
 
 Shame to say thou hast no chance 
 
 In these latter days ; 
 Shame to yield to old romance 
 
 All true hero-ways. 
 Now, when freely earth spreads out 
 
 Many fields to win, 
 Would you go bereft of doubt, 
 
 And the strife begin ? 
 
142 
 
 AB SENCE. 
 
 LONELY and sad is thy lover to-night, 
 
 Though he strive 'mid the throng to be gay ; 
 
 For his fond heart it may not, it cannot, be light, 
 When thou, love, art far, far away. 
 
 Deserted and lone, like the sentinel-star, 
 As it waits for the dawning of day, 
 
 His soul is aweary, thus wandering afar 
 From the friend of his bosom away. 
 
 How welcome is sleep to his sorrowing heart ! 
 
 For then, all unfettered and free, 
 His spirit it hastes from its home to depart, 
 
 And hies swift away, love, to thee. 
 
 Ah ! then to thy bosom, so warm and so true, 
 By thy lily-white hand he is pressed ; 
 
 And forgot are the cares and the sorrows he knew, 
 As he pillows his head on thy breast. 
 
ABSENCE. 143 
 
 But, alas ! the dear vision, too precious to 
 With the sleep of the dreamer decays ; 
 
 For the morning must break, and a veil must be 
 
 cast 
 O'er the realms of the fairies and fays. 
 
 'Tis then that he turns on his pillow to grasp 
 
 The bright fleeting fancy again ; 
 But it cometh not back, and he striveth to clasp 
 
 The blissful deception in vain. 
 
 One thought alone cheers the long, weary day, 
 Sweetly soothes every sorrow and pain ; 
 
 Like a bright star of glory, it gleams o'er his way : 
 'Tis the blest thought of meeting again. 
 
144 
 
 MY NATIVE STREAM. 
 
 I LOVE thy stream, Connecticut ; 
 
 I love to wander o'er thy strand, 
 And muse, as flow thy waters past, 
 
 Bright river of my native land ! 
 
 Here, by thy shore, in days gone by, 
 The forest-children loved to roam ; 
 
 Thy rolling stream their loved retreat, 
 Thy beauteous vale their chosen home. 
 
 Well loved the forest-daughter by 
 Thy stream to sport her hours away ; 
 
 And in her only mirror, thee, 
 
 To watch the witchery of her way. 
 
 But they are gone : along thy vale 
 No more is heard their battle-cry ; 
 
 No more the smoke of wigwam curls 
 In graceful beauty to the sky. 
 
MY NATIVE STREAM. 145 
 
 Another race thy valley tills ; 
 
 And other lords, proud stream ! are thine : 
 Still onward rolls thy swelling tide, 
 
 Still seeks as erst the ocean's brine. 
 
 Like thee, the joys pure friendship gives 
 Though pains and pleasures come and go, 
 
 Though sorrows thicken round our path 
 Are ever constant in their flow. 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 TO A ROBIN. 
 
 WELCOME, robin ! welcome, robin ! 
 
 Welcome to thy haunts again, 
 To the upland, to the meadow, 
 
 To the shadowy forest glen ! 
 
 For thy lay is one of gladness, 
 
 One so happy, free of art, 
 It dispels whate'er of sadness, 
 
 There has gathered o'er my heart 
 
 In the long past weary winter, 
 Oh ! it has been very long, 
 
 Since I heard thy morning carol, 
 Or thy witching evening song. 
 
 Welcome, then ! thrice-hearty welcome ! 
 
 Since with thee comes back the showers 
 To the budding leaf and blossom, 
 
 And to me those happy hours 
 
TO A ROBIN. 147 
 
 When the air is filled with music, 
 
 Floating over hill and lea ; 
 But, of all its sounds, the sweetest 
 
 Is the note that's trilled by thee. 
 
148 
 
 THE MEMORIES OF YOUTH. 
 
 BRIGHT, bright are the pleasures 
 
 Of childhood's gay hours ; 
 Nor happier the warblers 
 
 That sing 'mid the bowers 
 Than its moments of rapture, 
 
 Its freedom and truth : 
 Oh ! bright, and yet sad, are 
 
 The memories of youth. 
 
 Yes, they brighten the soul 
 
 When we think of its joys, 
 And remember the time 
 
 We were gay, laughing boys ; 
 When in freedom we sported 
 
 O'er hill and o'er plain, 
 And act in our fancy 
 
 Its scenes o'er again. 
 
THE MEMORIES OF YOUTH. 149 
 
 Yet, as mourns the sad Indian 
 
 The lonely and last 
 O'er the doom of his race, 
 
 O'er the fate of the past ; 
 So it saddens to think 
 
 That our spring-time is o'er, 
 That the pleasures of childhood 
 
 Shall greet us no more. 
 
 Yet the heart of that Indian 
 
 With pleasure rebounds, 
 As he hopes soon to roam 
 
 'Mid those blest "hunting-grounds." 
 So let us, as the pleasures 
 
 Of youth fade away, 
 Live in hopes of those joys 
 
 That shall know no decay. 
 

 150 
 
 A KIND WORD. 
 
 A LITTLE gem from thy heart's mine, 
 Its gift above all else I prize ; 
 
 And, ever since it came from thine, 
 Close to my heart it safely lies. 
 
 There, valued for the motive pure 
 
 That prompted thee to give unsought, 
 
 It shall for ever be secure, 
 
 Protected by endearing thought. 
 
 The echo of a heavenly voice, 
 That when all else forsook me near, 
 
 Bidding my lonely heart rejoice, 
 This welcome word came to my ear. 
 
 Oh ! they know not, who seem to view 
 Earth's love but as a thing of art, 
 
 How much one word like thee may do 
 In many a sad and stricken heart. 
 
151 
 
 A STUDENT'S IDEA OF COMFORT. 
 
 'Tis my idea of comfort 
 
 To sit in the easy-chair 
 Of a student's quiet study, 
 
 With none to disturb me there, 
 When the light of lamp and ember 
 
 Is flickering faint and low, 
 And one cannot but remember 
 
 The friends of long ago. 
 
 They mistake who think that pleasure 
 
 Can be but where eyes are bright ; 
 Since my cup has had its measure, 
 
 When alone of an autumn-night, 
 As I listened to the creaking blinds, 
 
 And shaking of the pane ; 
 As the wind swept round the corner, 
 
 And pattered loud the rain. 
 
152 A STUDENT'S IDEA OF COMFORT. 
 
 As for me, 'tis all enjoyment, 
 
 This quiet talk of late 
 With friends my fancy pictures 
 
 In my study's glowing grate. 
 "We have no worded compliments, 
 
 No loud regards ; but yet, 
 In these our silent communings, 
 
 There's much I can't forget. 
 
153 
 
 DESPAIR 
 
 DESPAIB, you have come to the wrong place 
 
 to-day 
 
 To barter your products of sadness and gloom ; 
 And, knock at my heart's door as hard as you may, 
 If you listen, you'll hear from within the clear 
 
 "Nay!" 
 I open not now, since I know unto whom. 
 
 You may stand in the rain till it drenches your 
 
 skin, 
 
 And plead for a shelter you no more will get : 
 Though you catch your death-cold, I care not a 
 
 pin : 
 You had better be dead, than living within 
 
 The heart where your footsteps are unerased 
 yet. 
 
154 DESPAIR. 
 
 It is hard, no doubt it is quite hard, to bear 
 At the door of a warm heart thy venomous 
 
 sting, 
 
 And feel, that, despite of thy burdens of care, 
 That heart is too wise those burdens to share, 
 And can give thee thy deserts, detestable thing ! 
 
155 
 
 TO 
 
 THEY tell me youth can never feel 
 
 A passion like to love ; 
 Can never know the pangs that have 
 
 Their origin above. 
 
 It may be so ; perhaps this heart 
 
 Ne'er felt the "blind god's" power : 
 
 But if on thee to think by day ; 
 To dream at midnight hour ; 
 
 To wish thee all the joy that earth, 
 And heaven above, can give ; 
 
 To dwell with rapture on thy words, 
 And in thy image live, 
 
 Be love, then I have known its power ; 
 
 Have felt its burning ray ; 
 Have had its madness in my brain ; 
 
 Have bowed before its sway. 
 
156 TO 
 
 Oh ! say, hath ne'er one kindly glow 
 
 Of feeling, all for me, 
 Ne'er stirred thy soul ? and is it still 
 
 From every passion free ? 
 
157 
 
 MY BOOK. 
 
 COME here, old honest friend, "my book,"- 
 
 This winter-night, so drear and cold ; 
 Come here, from out thy dusty nook, 
 
 And chat with me as wont of old. 
 My lamp, grown dim, I will retrim ; 
 
 My fire shall be replenished too ; 
 For this is meet when two friends greet, 
 
 And such two friends as I and you. 
 
 My life has changed since last we met, 
 
 Long years ago, that summer-time 
 When every hour my thoughts were set 
 
 To music breathed in thy sweet rhyme. 
 My life has changed ; but still a place 
 
 I've kept within my heart for thee ; 
 And, of my former friends, no face 
 
 Would now than thine more welcome be. 
 
158 MY BOOK. 
 
 Nor is this strange, when I reflect 
 
 How thoughtless late I've been of you, 
 Who, in despite of cold neglect, 
 
 Have always unto me been true ; 
 Who always had some word of cheer 
 
 Just fitting for my mood of mind, 
 And one that I believed sincere, 
 
 As it was just and pure and kind. 
 
 Then leave, old friend, thy dusty place ; 
 
 Bring back the light of happier days ; 
 And, as we sit thus face to face, 
 
 Rechant to me thy charming lays ; 
 For they have power to wean my heart 
 
 From worshipping at Mammon's shrine 
 By many a gem which poet-art 
 
 Hath formed from truths and thoughts divine. 
 
159 
 
 A LOGHOUSE LYRIC. 
 
 LET us sigh, not at cold weather ; 
 
 But, with cheery hearts and stout, 
 Let us put our wits together, 
 
 And contrive to keep it out. 
 Many " cracks/' that now are catching 
 
 All the autumn-wind that blows, 
 With a very little patching, 
 
 It completely would oppose. 
 
 We may cluster round, and shiver 
 
 O'er, the scanty coals that glow 
 On our hearthstone ; yet that never 
 
 Will protect us from our foe. 
 We may fan each dying ember, 
 
 And for friends' assistance wait ; 
 Still I think we'd best remember 
 
 That it often comes too late. 
 
160 A LOGHOUSE LYRIC. 
 
 Though our wants are often many, 
 
 We can really make them few ; 
 For we know the best of any 
 
 Just how little ought to do. 
 For we know that purest pleasure 
 
 Is neither bought nor lent ; 
 But is a priceless treasure, 
 
 That cometh from content. 
 
161 
 
 A COMPLAINT. 
 
 MY heart is sad and lonely all ; 
 
 My soul is sick from sorrow : 
 The present brings no pleasant thoughts, 
 
 And dreary looks the morrow. 
 
 I seem an outcast in the world, 
 A wretch among my fellows : 
 
 No present joy, no future hope, 
 Life's landscape sweetly mellows. 
 
 In vain I guard a heart that's frail ; 
 
 In vain I watch its weakness ; 
 For every sunny spot that's there 
 
 Is turned to barren bleakness. 
 
 But, oh ! its load it cannot bear, 
 
 It cannot brook, for ever : 
 Ere long, the hand of grim Despair 
 
 Its cord of life must sever. 
 11 
 
162 A COMPLAINT. 
 
 Oh ! then, deal kindly with its weakness, 
 
 Lest, if driven to despair, 
 None, in all its barren bleakness, 
 
 None can know what it may dare. 
 
163 
 
 THE MISSIVE. 
 
 To that sweet home among the hills 
 
 Go freighted with my earnest love, 
 And tell to her the thought that fills 
 
 My weary heart where'er I rove. 
 Go, talk with her, when none are nigh, 
 
 And of my words no meaning miss, 
 Of shadowed brow and tearful eye, 
 
 Of beating heart and phantom kiss. 
 
 To that sweet home go, wanderer, go ! 
 
 And to its inmate's bosom bear 
 The words that only she may know, 
 
 The lonely sigh, the heartfelt prayer. 
 Go, take to her my thought, which brings 
 
 Her sacred image often near ; 
 And ask, amid thy questionings, 
 
 If I, as once, am still as dear. 
 
164 THE MISSIVE. 
 
 Go, sit with her beneath the boughs 
 
 Of the large linden near the lake, 
 Where first we met, and uttered vows, 
 
 And promised that not one should break. 
 Go, talk with her, and tell her, " No ! 
 
 The roamer never will forget 
 That votive pledge of long ago : 
 
 His hope and faith are in it yet." 
 
165 
 
 HOME-HAPPINESS. 
 
 SUCCESS, Love ! our toil hath crowned ; 
 
 Our star of life at last is bright ; 
 The treasure which we sought is found : 
 
 Then let us count it o'er to-night, 
 When there are no rude gazers near 
 
 To steal a glance of that pure gold 
 For years we have been hoarding here, 
 
 And which is happiness all told. 
 
 Oh ! those were days of dubious light 
 
 When with despair we boldly strove ; 
 Our only armor for the fight, 
 
 The close-linked mail of mutual love ; 
 When both our hearts did fondly yearn 
 
 Towards aspirations pure and high, 
 And made resolve to fairly earn 
 
 The home we were too poor to buy. 
 
166 HOME-HAPPINESS. 
 
 And we have reached, at last, success ; 
 
 'Tis here to-night the gem we prize : 
 I feel it in thy warm caress, 
 
 And see it in thy telltale eyes. 
 The doubts and fears, the toil of years, 
 
 All, all indeed that went amiss, 
 Give place to joy that now endears 
 
 Our home to us with purest bliss. 
 
167 
 
 REMEMBER THE POOR. 
 
 'Tis night ! and, oh. ! 'tis such a night 
 As fills the soul with dread ; 
 
 For mournful howls the driving blast, 
 Like wailings o'er the dead. 
 
 All, all without is dark and drear ; 
 
 No stars in kindness gleam ; 
 The silver moon lends not her light ; 
 
 And blackness rules supreme. 
 
 The earth's in icy fetters bound ; 
 
 All nature's cold and dead ; 
 Sharp cuts the cold, the piercing cold 
 
 Fierce howls the storm o'erhead. 
 
 And, oh ! on such a night as this, 
 
 Ye men of goodly store, 
 "When sitting by your firesides bright, 
 
 Kemember then the poor ; 
 
168 REMEMBER THE POOR. 
 
 And think, as howls the storm without, 
 As drives the bleak wind past, 
 
 How many of thy fellow-men, 
 
 From want, will breathe their last. 
 
 And canst thou think on this unmoved, 
 
 Nor feel a pitying glow, 
 When but a trifle from thy wealth 
 
 Might stay the hand of woe ? 
 
 Then give, give kindly, to the poor ; 
 
 Relieve their want and pain : 
 Be sure thy treasure thus bestowed 
 
 Shall tenfold come again. 
 
169 
 
 "SHE SLEEPS." 
 
 SHE sleeps in the wildwood, away 
 
 From the noise of the world and its strife ; 
 
 She sleeps where the light zephyrs play, 
 And Nature with beauty is rife ; 
 
 Where the sweet forest-birds she delighted to hear, 
 Ere to her was the sleep of the tomb, 
 
 Above her their carols sing merry and clear ; 
 Where flowers are brightest in bloom. 
 
 And thither to come there are few that stray ; 
 
 Still fewer, perhaps, that care 
 For the fate of one, unknown to the gay, 
 
 Who sleeps for ever there. 
 
 She sleeps alone ; but she sleeps as well 
 As if thousands bent o'er her to sigh, 
 
 Or the sculptured stone had been reared to tell 
 Her name to the passer-by. 
 
170 
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 ANGELS that visit us, bringing the hands 
 
 And hearts of our friends to cheer us 
 When we are away in stranger lands, 
 
 And none that we love are near us : 
 Angels that bring us what we most crave, 
 
 The food of our every endeavor ; 
 The love that pursueth o'er mountain and wave 
 
 The roamer, forsaking him never : 
 
 Angels that visit us, angels of hope ; 
 
 That breathe on our efforts the blessing 
 Of home ; the prayer, that we fail not to cope 
 
 With dangers that round us are pressing : 
 Angels that bring to us duly the call 
 
 Which affection doth send us delaying, 
 " Come home ! " 'tis the prayer of each and of all ; 
 
 " Oh ! why need you be longer staying ? " 
 
171 
 
 THOUGHTS AT SUNSET. 
 
 As, at the peaceful close of day, 
 The golden sunlight fades away 
 Until its last faint, glimmering ray 
 
 Is swallowed up in night ; 
 So, soon our day of life shall close, 
 And we shall sink to soft repose 
 Where blooms the lily and the rose, 
 
 And quenched shall be our light. 
 
 But all unlike shall set each sun, 
 According to the race we've run ; 
 According as we've lost or won 
 
 That all-important fight 
 That man is placed on earth to wage 
 In every clime, in every age, 
 And girding on his arms to engage 
 
 For virtue and for right. 
 
172 THOUGHTS AT SUNSET. 
 
 For as in gloom the sunlight dies, 
 
 And threatening clouds o'erspread the skies, 
 
 And stormy winds and tempests rise, 
 
 That fierce and madly rave ; 
 So goes the sinner to his tomb 
 In deep despair, in fear and gloom, 
 With no exemption from his doom, 
 
 No hope beyond the grave. 
 
 But as in glory sinks to rest 
 The golden day-god in the west, 
 With crimson shield and purple crest 
 
 Reflected on the sky ; 
 So fades the Christian's glorious light, 
 As cheered by hopes and prospects bright, 
 With all the joys of heaven in sight, 
 
 He lays him down to die. 
 
173 
 
 THE BACHELOR'S MISTAKE. 
 
 OH ! once it was my soul's delight 
 
 To boast of living single ; 
 Alone at ease to sit at night, 
 
 Away from jar and jingle. 
 
 Ah ! what a blessed life, thought I, 
 
 Is this that I am passing ! 
 No noisy brats with hue and cry 
 
 My peaceful hours harassing ; 
 
 No household cares to vex my mind ; 
 
 No partner round me scolding ; 
 No hopeful sons my back behind 
 
 Their mischief-councils holding ; 
 
 No paltry shopping to be done, 
 That wives are always doing : 
 
 " A penny, papa, only one : " 
 Was free from all such wooing. 
 
174 THE BACHELOR'S MISTAKE. 
 
 Methought I was a happy man, 
 My prime Havana smoking ; 
 
 And, ah ! ha, ha ! the marriage-ban ! 
 I named it but in joking. 
 
 But 'tis in vain : upon my life 
 I've come to this conclusion, 
 
 That life without a loving wife 
 Is full of sad confusion. 
 
 For once a lass did bait a hook, 
 To " nibble " oft besought me ; 
 
 And, by her words, her way, her look, 
 At last, I vow, she caught me. 
 
 I find, now I'm a married man, 
 My former reasonings folly : 
 
 Let men be bachelors they who can : 
 I couldn't ; could I, Molly ? 
 
175 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 GIVE not the cruel thought its sway, 
 Lest, seared and blighted, pine away 
 
 The hopes and joys we cherish; 
 And warm affection at its birth, 
 And all that makes a heaven of earth, 
 
 By foul suspicion perish. 
 
176 
 
 THE CHARGE. 
 
 SHOUTS on the sulphurous air ; 
 And death-strokes thick and fast ; 
 And a wilder beat in breasts that dare 
 
 The war-cloud's scathing blast. 
 
 With frenzy glares each eye ; 
 While bursts in a blended breath 
 From the serried ranks the charging cry, 
 
 Victory or death ! 
 
 The rushing wave of life 
 Rolls onward to its doom ; 
 And nought is heard but the sound of strife 
 
 From out the gathered gloom. 
 
 The clash of steel, and the battle-yell, 
 The hour has given birth^ 
 Are strangely blent with the sad farewell 
 
 The dying make to earth. 
 
THE CHARGE. 177 
 
 And through the coming night, 
 Where yester saw such quiet, 
 Ah ! hear the wails of the maimed in fight, 
 
 Sad wrecks of the battle's riot ! 
 
 Hands uplifted clasp, 
 As life's red fountain dries ; 
 And, o'er the plain, the dying gasp 
 
 In death's last agonies. 
 
 And thus, 'mid hellish deeds, 
 Is won the soldier's fame : 
 Yet what, forsooth, to him who bleeds, 
 
 The prestige of a name ? 
 
 With curses on his lips, 
 And hatred in his heart, 
 What an awful hour for life's eclipse, 
 
 For his soul from earth to part ! 
 
 But will this neve* cease ? 
 Does not the time draw near 
 When always the bloom and smile of peace 
 
 Shall light this earthly sphere ? 
 12 
 
178 THE CHARGE. 
 
 When nations shall be friends, 
 Each willing to maintain 
 This pledge, that war, which sadly rends, 
 
 Shall ne'er be loosed again ? 
 
179 
 
 NATURE'S SOLITUDE. 
 
 WHERE the murmuring brooklet's stealing 
 Through the silent, shady glen, 
 
 Now its waters bright revealing, 
 Now 'midst verdure lost again ; 
 
 Where the bustle, din, and rattle 
 
 Of the busy world around 
 Yields to silence, save the prattle 
 
 Of the songsters, merry sound ! 
 
 Where the lonely wild-flower, springing * 
 
 Undisturbed by mortal tread, 
 Perfume on the breezes flinging, 
 
 Meekly lifts its modest head ; 
 
 Where Dame Nature undisputed 
 
 O'er her rural empire reigns ; 
 Where cool breezes, unpolluted, 
 
 Waft their fragrance o'er the plains ; 
 
180 NATURE'S SOLITUDE. 
 
 There I love to wander, musing 
 At the peaceful close of day, 
 
 Nature's varied charms perusing, 
 Half concealed by shadows gray. 
 
 There my mind is ever turning 
 'Mid the scenes of worldly care ; 
 
 And my soul is ever yearning 
 To forget its sorrows there. 
 
 There, when life at last is ended, 
 Where no stranger-steps intrude, 
 
 I would sleep, my rest defended 
 By calm Nature's solitude. 
 
181 
 
 AN EPITAPH. 
 
 KIND reader ! pause ; set mirth aside ; 
 
 Let serious things thy thoughts engage ; 
 For here, in death, neglected lies 
 
 The bottom of the page. 
 
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