SONGS OF LIFE. ^ 4 05' 1 i J r 09 4 =r . cr= 1^ ^1 07 -^ ^^ 1 ^ J a»4 ^ -^ 4 J ^ ^ I €9 r Or. rj-'irjy^C SELECTED FROM MANY SOURCES, WITH NT'MEUOUS ILLUSTRATIONS FliOM ORIGINAL DESIGNS. IIENNESSY, DARLEY, GPJSWOLD, FENX, EYTINGE, IlERRICK, WARD, HOPPIN, &c., kc. NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER & COMPANY 1870. Eiitrieil aocoHliiifr to Act ot Cimirress, in tlie yciir 1SC9, i;v (. IIAULKS SCKIBNEK & CO., In the Clc'ik"s Office ot the District ('(Hiit of the United Slates for the Southern District of New York. ALVORD, riUNTEK. 'flOl f, ^fe PUBLISHERS' NOTE. Some years since the present publishers issued the first edition of Folk Songs, selected and edi-ted by John Williamson Palmer, M. D. This was followed by a second, revised and enlarged. The size and consequent cost of these editions prevented that large circulation which the selection deserved, and now in accordance with a suggestion frequently made, they have rearranged the material in four divisions. The present volume, SoN(JS OF Life, is the first of the re-issue. The remainder will be pub- lished at regular intervals, under the title of Sonos of the Heart, Songs OF Nature, Songs of Home, Each volume will be complete in itself, and, like the present, be enriched with additional illusti-ations by the best artists. mTRODUCTlO:^'. He wlio walks through a Conservatory of choicest flowers, with an accorded privilfge of selecting specimens of such as strike his foncy and please his taste, will often find an added pleasure in the thought that those which he plucks, having already been a joy to their first possessors, are now to become ministers of delight, not only to himself, but to others whom he loves. Thus these products of many lands, of diverse form, of delicate hue, redolent of pei'fume, the ever-varying types of love- liness, ninintain, independent of all place and individual possession, their power over the heart and life of those who love the beautiful and pure. The Flowers of Poetry, herein gathered from the gardens and by the streams of our own land, as well as from lands and places beyond the sea, who shall attempt to write the story of their ministry? what af- fections they have stirred, what memories wakened, what hopes quick- ened, or fears quelled, or joys and plensures created, since they came fresh and glowing from the heart and brain of those who made them? That which they have already done they will continue to do. They are the Flowers Perennial ; fair to behold, without the elements of decay. Over seas and across continents, in quiet homes as in laboring ships, in public places as in solitary ways, they are ever borne, making some dreary spots less dreary, while the sunny jilaces are more glad because of their presence. \iii INTRODUCTION. Some of these here offered have long held a conspicuous place in the Garlands of Song. That they are familiar, will render them none the less fragrant and acceptable. Beside them are others less widely known, and a few from regions that are far away ; but in all of them may be found that which makes them worthy of the praise that belongs to what- ever 1 ightly moves and cultures the heart of man. CONTENTS. Pagb Bugle Song Alfred Tennysm 1 Song Chn'stMa G. liossetti 2 The Piper William Blake 3 The Awakening of Endymion Lelitia Elizabeth Landon 4 The Pauper's Drive Thomas Nod 7 WiNiFREDA Anonymous 8 Incident of the French Camp Robert Browning 10 Deadness in the Country William Barnes 12 Tom Bowling Charles Dihdin 1 ;! La Belle Dame Sans Merci John Keats 14 The String Token William Barnes 16 The Bridge of Sighs Thomas Hood J 7 The Last Leaf Oliver Wendell Holmes 22 To Althea from Prison Richard Lovelace 24 It Xever Comes Again Richard Henry Stoddard 26 The Age of "Wisdom William Makepeace Tliackeray 27 Youth and Age Samuel Taylor Colerid'je 29 The Lorelei Trandatioji of Christopher Pearse Granch ;!1 Without and Within James Rnasell Lou-ell 32 Sir Patrick Spens Anonymous :!4 An Angel in the House Leigh Hunt 39 The Merry Chasseur Sydney DoheU 10 The Song of the Shirt Thomas Hood 43 The Charge of the Light Brigadk Alfred Tennyson 47 Song of the Silent Land Translation of Henry Wadsworth Longfelloiv 50 The One Gray Hair Walter Savage Landor 51 The Shepherd's Resolution George Wither 52 The Old Continentals Guy Humphrey McMosler 53 Napoleon and the British Sailor Thomas Campbell 57 The Forging of the Anchor Samuel Ferguson 60 IIow they Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix Robert Browning 'iS X CONTENTS. Tage \o Mure Fdxia Dorothea IJemaiis OS KCiRXER's Sword Soxg Translation of William B. Chorley 70 Little axd Great Charles Mockay 71 The River Time Benjamin Franllin Taylor 77 Give Me tub Old Robert Ilincldey Messimjer.. .-. . 78 Rest and Labor Dinah Maria Muloch SI He Staxdetii at the Door axd Kxocketii Arthur Cleveland Coxe 82 Gulf Weed Cornelius George Fenn r 83 Exhortation to Prayer Margaret Mercer Si TiiE Good Great Max Sainuel Taylor Coleridge 86 Dirge op Jepiithah's Daughter Bobert Herrick 87 L^^x^EEX Spirits Xathaniel Parker WiUis 91 The Crooked Footpath Oliver Wendell Holmes 93 IxvocATiox TO SiLEXCE Richard Flecknoe 95 A Lyke-wake Dirge Anonyvmus 9tt Song Christina 0. Rosseiii. .... 97 The Crowded Street William Cullen Bryant 9S The "War Song of Dixa3 A^'awr Thomas L.ve Peacock 100 Mother Margery George Shepherd Burleigh 102 Louis XV John Sterling 105 The Storming of Magdebukgh WtUiam Maginn. ... 107 The Kixg of Dexmark's Ride Ca>oline Elizabeth Xorton 109 [ Give my Soldier Boy a Blade Willia7n Maginn 112 The Mahogaxy' Thee William Makepeace Thackeray 113 The Grace of Simplicity^ Ben Joknton 115 The Soldier's Dream Thomas Carophell. .... 116 It is Not Beauty I Demax'd Thomas Carew 117 The Beggar's Courage Translat'o.i of William Rounsenville Alger 119 The Happy Life Sir Henry Wotton 120 The Gifts of God Gcoige Herbert 121 The Hymx of Damascenus Elizabeth Barrett Browning 122 A Thanksgiving William Dean HowtlU 124 FiXCELSiOR Henry Wadsuorth I/mgfelloiu 1 24 The Emigrants ix Bermudas Andreiv Marvell 120 The Singers Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 128 The Mariner's Wife William Jvlius Mickle -130 Tibbie Robert Burm 133 "Whex the Sultax goes to Ispahax Thomas Bailey Aldrirh 13.") The Angel WiUiam Blake 137 CONTENTS. xi My Lady Sixging Av.brey De Vere 1 39 The Sword of Castrl-ccio Castrttcani Elizabeth BamM Browning 139 SoxG OF Ariel Skak^j^eurt Ul The Parting Lovers Translation of William JRoicsenville Alger 142 The Ravex • Edgar Allan Foe 142 The Sabbath Morning John Leyden 150 SoxNET ox his Blixdxess John Milton 151 To Keep a True Lext Bobert Herrick 151 The Emigrants Translotion of Charles T. Brooks 153 SoxG of Fairies Thomas Eavdnlph 156 Sir Peter Thomas Lore Peacock 156 Arustroxg's Good Xight Anonymous 157 The Sentry Translation of Charles Godfrey Leland 158 The "World is Too Much With Us ... William Wordsivorth 159 Long Thomas Heywood. .... 160 How Sleep the Brave William Collins 162 Soxg Sir William Darenant 162 .To Ideje Lement a Xap Translati'm of Sir John Botvring 163 KcHO and Silence Sir Egertm Brydges 164 The Sabbath Edward Bulwer Lytton 165 Ox First Lookixg ixto Chapman's Homer John Keats 166 The Makixg of Man Algernon Charles Swinburne 168 Calm is the Xight Translation of Charles Godfrey Leland 170 If I Desire with Pleasant Songs Thomas Burhidge 171 The Undiscovered Country Edmund Clarence Stedman 172 Nearer to Thek Sarah Flower Adam^- 173 The High Tide ox the Coast of Lixcolxshire Jean Ingeloic 174 (,'OME Sleep, Sleep Sir Philip Sidney IS i Jolly Old Pedagogue George Arnold.. ... 182 Caught Richard Hei\ry Stoddard. .... 187 A Dedication . . Algernon Charles Swinburne. ... 187 The Last Poet Translation of Xothnniel Langdon Frothingham. ... 191 LIST (»F ILLUSTRATIONS. SUBJECT. DKAWN ISY ENGRAVKl) BT Bugle Song Fenn 1 Incident of the French Camp H. W. Ilerrick 10 The Bridge of Sighs Eytinge Anthony 17 The Last Leaf . . Ilennessy Anthony 22 The Age of Wisdom Eytinge Anthony '27 •' My Coachman in the Moonlight theri?."' . . McLenan Anthony .'52 •• The Galley Slave of Dreary Forms." .... McLenan Antliony o4 The Merry Chasseur H. W. Htrrkk 40 The Song of the Shirt Hoppin Aniliou}- 43 The Charge of the Light Brigade Meffert Andrew Filmer. . . . 48 •'Then the Bare-headed Colonel." Darley Anthony 55 The Drummer Darley Anthony 56 The Forging of the Anchor Fenn (jO " Good Speed ! cried the Watch." Heine Cox 65 As I Sat, with his Head 'twist my Knees, on the Groi.nd Mefiftrt Cox 67 Initial Letter Heine Cox 70 Tail Piece Heine Cox 7:5 Little and Great Bensell 74 Gulf Weed Parsons Bobbett & Hooper 83 The Crooked Footpath C. C. Griswold 03 The King of Denmark's Bide Bensell 10!) xiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. The Singers Macdonoush Anthony 128 TinuiE Ehninger 133 The Sabbath Mouxixg C. C. Griswold 150 The Emigkaxts Ward "Ward 1 54 SoxG Herrick 1 CO " Sii.EXT, upox A Peak ix Dakiux." Cliapman Haye.« 1 G7 Calm is the Night K. .T. Wliitncv . . .Kingdou it Bovd., ... 170 The Jolly Old Pedagogv e Hennessv 182 AUTOGRAPHS The Singers Longfellow Fare Title. The Soxg of the Shirt Hood \?, How THEY Brought the Good Xews. . . .Browniiicr 65 UxsEEN Spirits Willis 91 The Sword of Oastruccio Castrucaxi . . Browning 1 :v.) Birds are Sixgixg rouxd my Wixdow. . .Stoddard 1S7 -Si^-S:^^- I \ ^1 g A^V^ i RUGLE SONG. The spleiulor fjills on castle walls And snowy summits old in story ; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 1 SONG. Ulow, l)n<:i;le. l)lo\v I set tlie ■wild eclioos flyinii : I>lc)\v, bucrle ! answer, echoes — flying, dvino;, (lyini;; ! O hark, O liear I how tliin and clear, And thinner, clearer, flirther goincr! O sweet and far, from cliff and scar. The horns of Elfland fliintly blowinix! Blow ! let us hear the purj^le glens replyino; : Blow, bngle ! answer, echoes — dying, dying, dyinu; ! O love, they die in yon rich sky ; Tliey faint on hill or field or river ! Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow I set the wild echoes flving ; And answer, echoes, answer! — dying, dying, dying I Ar.FRKD Tkxnyson. SOXG. O ROSES for the flush of youth, And laurel for the ]>erfeet prime ; But ])luck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time. O violets for the grave of youth. And bay for those dead in their prime; Give me the withered leaves I chose Before in tlie old time. CiiiiiSTiXA (t. Ros^;ktti. THE PIPER. Piping clown the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee. On a cloud I saw a child, And he, laughing, said to me : " Pipe a song about a lamb." So I piped with merry cheer. " Piper, pipe that song again." So I piped ; he wept to hear. " Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe ; Sing thy songs of happy cheer.' So I sang the same again. While he wept with joy to hear, " Piper, sit thee down and write, In a book, that all may read." So he vanished from my sight, And I plucked a hollow reed, And I made a iniral pen ; And I stained the water clear ; And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear. William F^lakk THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION Lose upon u mountain, the pine-trees wailing round him, Lone upon a mountain the Grecian youth is laid ; Sleep, mystic sleep, for many a year has bound him. Yet his beauty, like a statue's, pale and fair, is undecayed. When will he awaken ? When will he awaken? a loud voice hath been crying Night after night — and the cry has been in vain ; Winds, woods, and waves found echoes for replying, But the tones of the beloved one were never heard again. When will he awaken ? Asked the midnight's silver queen. Never mortal eye has looked upon his sleej^ing ; Parents, kindred, comrades, have mourned for him as dead ; By day the gathered clouds have had him in their keeping. And at night the solemn shadows round his rest are shed. When will he awaken ? Long has been the cry of faithful Love's imploring ; Long has Hope been watching with soft eyes fixed above. Wlien will the Fates, the life of life restoring, Own tltemselves vanquished by much-enduring Love? A^Hien will he awaken ? Asks the midnight's weary queen. 4 THE AWAKENING OF ENDY^IION. 5 Beautiful the sleep that she has watched untiring, Liglited up with visions from yonder radiant sky, Full of an immortal's glorious inspiring, Softened by the woman's meek and loving sigh. When will he awaken ? He has been dreaming of old heroic stories, The Poet's passionate world has entered in his soul : He lias grown conscious of life's ancestral glories. When sages and when kings first upheld the mind's control. When will he awaken ? Asks the midnight's stately queen. Lo, the appointed midnight ! the present liour is fated I It is Endymion's planet that rises on the air ; How long, how tenderly his goddess love has waited, Waited with a love too mighty for despair ! Soon he will awaken. Soft am'id the pines is a sound as if of singing. Tones that seem the lute's from the breathing flowers dejiart ; Xot a wind that wanders o'er ^Nlount Latmos but is l)riiiging Music that is nunnnured from Nature's inmost heart. Soon he will awaken To his and midnight's queen. Lovely is the green earth — she knows the hour is holy ; Starry are the heavens, lit with eternal joy ; I^io;ht like their own is dawning sweet and slowly O'er the fair and scidptiu'cd forehead of that yet divaming boy Soon he will awaken. THE AWAKENING OF ENUYMION. Red as the red rose toward the morning turning, Warms the youth's lip to the Avatcher's near his own ; While the dark eyes open — bright, intense, and burning With a life more glorious than, ere they tloscd, was known. Yes, he has awakened For the midnight's hap})y queen I What is this old history, but a lesson given, How ti'ue love still conquers by the deep strength of truth ; How all the impulses, whose native home is hea\en. Sanctify the visions of hope, and faith, and youth ? 'Tis for such they waken. When every worldly thought is utterly forsaken. Comes the starry midnight, felt by life's gifted few ; Then will the spirit from its earthly sleep awaken To a being more intoise, more spiritual, and true. So doth the soul awaken, Like that youth to night's fan* queen I LkTITIA ElIZAHKTU i^ANDU.N THE PAUPEirS DRIVE. There's a grim one-liorse hearse in a jolly rotnid trot: To tlie cliurchyard a pauper is goino;, I wot ; The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs; And hark to the dirge which the mad driver sinos : Rattle Jus bones over the stones ! He's only a pauper^ whom nohody oivns ! O, where are the mourners ? Alas ! there are none : He has left not a gap in the world, now he's gone — Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man ; To the grave with his carcass as fast as you can. llattle las hones over the stones! He''s only a pauper^ whom nobody owns ! What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, and din ! The whip, how it cracks! and the wheels, how they spin I How the dirt, rioht and left, o'er the hedo;es is hurled ! The })auper at length makes a noise in the world. llattle his hones over the stones! Hes only a pauper^ whom nobody owns ! Poor pauper defunct ! he has made some approach To gentility, now that he's stretched in a coach. He's takino; a drive in his carriage at last ; But it will not he long, if he goes on so fast. Rattle his hones over the stones ! He's only a pauper, whom nobody otn/.^ .' WiiMFRKDA. Yoii l)uinj)kins, who stare at yoiu" brotlier conveyeil, Beliold wliat respect to a cloddy is paid I And be joytul to tlilidv, wlien by death you're hiid low, You've a chance to tlie orave like a iiemnian to o-o. liattle Ids hones over the stones ! Hes only a pauper, whom nobody owns! But a truce to this strain ; for my soul it is sad, To thiid^ that a heart in humanity clad Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate end, And depart from the light without leaving a friend I Bear soft his bones over the stones ! T/io'Kjh a jmuper, he^s one zvhoin his 3Iaker yet awns ' Thomas Noil. WIXIFIIKDA. Away I let naught to love displeasing, i\Iy Winifreda, move yoiu* care ; Let naught delay the heavenly blessing. Nor squeamish ]M'ide, nor gloomv fear. What though no grants of roval donors With pompous titles grace our blood ; We'll shine in more substantial honors. And to be noble Ave'll b? o-ood. WIXFFRKDA. Our name, wliile virtue thus we tender, Will sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke ; And all the great ones, they sliall wonder How they respect sncli little folk. What thouoh from fortune's lavish l)onntv No mighty treasures we possess ; We'll find within our pittance ])lenty, And be content without excess. Still sliall each kind returning season Sufficient for our wishes give ; For we will live a life of reason, And that's the only life to live. Through youth and age in love excelling, We'll hand in hand together tread ; Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling, And babes, sweet-smiling bal)es, onr bed. How should I love the pretty creatures. While round my knees they fondly clung. To see them look their mother's features, To hear them lisp their mother's tongue ' And when with envy, Time, transported. Shall think to rob ns of our joys, Yon'll in your girls again be courted, And I'll go Avooing in my boys. AXON'Y.MOCS INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAAU'. Yoi! know we French stonnod Iiatishon. A iiiile or so away, On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on onr stonning-dav : 10 INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. Ij With neck out-thrust, you fancv how. Legs wide, arms locked behind : As if to balance the prone brow, Oppressive with its mind. II. Just as perhaps he mused " INly plans. That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army-leader, Lannes, Waver at yonder wall," Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there Hevv A rider, bound on bound Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound. III. Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy : You hardly could suspect, (So tight he kept his lips compressed. Scarce any blood came through,) You looked twice, ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two. IV. " Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon ! The Marshal's in the market-place, And you'll be there anon, !•_) DEADXESS IN THE COUXTRY. To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where 1, to lieart's desire, Perched him ! " The chief's eye flashed : his j)lans Soared iij) aoain like fire. V. The chief's eye flashed ; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother-eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes : "You're wounded!" "Nay," his soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said : " I'm killed, sire I " And, his chief beside. Smiling, the boy fell dead. ROHKUT BhOWNING. DEADNESS IN THE COUNTRY. Oh, uo, 'twas lifeless here, he said, To liiin the place seemed almost dead, Stone-dead, he said, but why so dead, Oti lauds with chirping birds on wing. And rooks on high, witli blackbirds nigh. And swallows Avhecling round in ring, An,S riiK A(;i-: ok wisdom Forty times over let JMicliaeluias pass ; Grizzling liair the brain dotli elear ; Then you know a boy is an ass, Then you know tlie wortli of a lass, Once you ha\"e come to forty year. Pledoe me round I I bid ye declare. All good fellows whose beards are gray : Did not the fairest of the fair Common grow and wearisome, ere Ever a month was ])ast away ? 'I'he reddest lij)S that ever have kissed, The brightest eyes that ever have shone, May pray and whisper and Ave not list. Or look away and never be missed, Ere yet ever a month is gone. Gillian's dead! God rest her bier: How I loved her twenty years syne ! Marian's married I but T sit here, Alone and mei-ry at forty year. Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. \\'lI,I.IAM Makki'kack Tiiacki;i{ av. YOUTH AND AGE. Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms strayino;, Wliere Hope clung feeding like a bee ! Both were mine ; Life went a-Maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young. When I was young ! Ah, woful When ! Ah, for the change 'twixt Now and Then ! This breathing house, not built witli hands, This body, that does me grievous wrong, O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands How lightly then it flashed along ! Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On Avinding lakes and rivers wide. That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide. Naught cared this body foi Avind or weather, When Youth and I lived in't together. Flowers are lovely ; Love is flower-like ; Friendship is a sheltering tree ; O the joys that came down shoAver-like. Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, Ere I wns old ! 2 'J 30 YOUTH AND AGE. Ere I was old! Ah, woful Ere! A\'hich tells me Youth's no longer here. Youth ! For years so many and sweel "Tis known that thou and I were one ; ril think it hut a fond conceit; It cannot be that thou art gone ! Thy vesper-hell liatli not yet tolled, And thou wert aye a masker bold. What strange disguise hast now put on, To make believe that thou art gone ? 1 see tliese locks in silvery slips, This drooping gait, this altered size ; Hut springtide blossoms on thy lips. And tears take sunshine from thine eyes ! Life is but thought ; so think I will That Youth and I are house-mates still. Dew-drops are the gems of morning, But the tears of moumfnl eve. Where no hope is, life's a warning That only serves to make us grieve, When we are old : That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking leave ; Like some poor nigh-related guest That may not rudely be dismissed. Yet hath outstayed his Avelcome while, And tells the jest without the smile. Samuel Taylor Colk.ridoe. TIIK LOUKI.Kl. f KNOW lint what it ])i'esau;es, This lieart with sadness frauuht : "Tis a tale of tlie olden aux's, That will not from my thoniiht. The air grows cool, and darkles ; The Rhine Hows cahnly on ; The mountain summit sjiarkles In the light of the setting sun. There sits, in soft reclining, A maiden wondrous fair, Witli golden raiment shining, And combing her golden hair. With a comb of gold she combs it ; And c(mibing, low singeth she A song of a strange, sweet sadness, A wonderful melod}-. The sailor shudders, as o'er him The strain comes floating by ; He sees not the cliffs before him, He onlv looks on high. :U 32 WlTIlolT AND WITIIIX. All I rouiul liiui the dark waves, Hiiin;ini:r Their anus, draw liiiii sh)\vlv down ; And this, witli lier wild, sweet sinLjing, 'rh(> Lorelei has done. I1kim:I(1I IIkim:. (Gcnnan ) 'I'rari.sl;ilioii of CiiHisioniEi: I'eau.sk Cr.ANCii. WITHOUT AND WITHIN. My coachman, in tlie moonlight there. Looks throngh the side-light of tlie dooi- I hear him with his Ijrethren swear. As I could do, — but oulv nioiv. WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 38 Flattening his nose against tlie pane, He envies me my brilliant lot, Breathes on his acliino- fists in vain, And dooms me to a place more hot. He sees me to the supper go, A silken wonder by my side, Bare arms, bare shoulders, and a row Of flounces, for the door too wide. He thuiks how hapjiy is my arm, 'Neath its white-gloved and jewelled load, And wishes me some dreadful harm, Hearing the merry corks explode. Meanwhile I inly curse the bore Of hunting still the same old coon, And envy him, outside the door, In golden quiets of the moon. The winter wind is not so cold As the bright smiles he sees me win, Nor the host's oldest wine so old As oui* poor gabble — watery, thin. I envy him the ungyved prance By which his freezing feet he warms. And di-ag my lady's-chains and dance. The galley-slave of dreary forms. u Slli TATltHMv SI>1:NS. C), could lie have itiv slinre of din. And I his qniet I — past a doubt 'Twould still be one man bored witliin. And just another boi-ed without. JaMKS Rl'SSKI,!, I.oWII.I, Sill PATRICK SPENS. The kiuii sits in Dunfermline town, Drinking the blude-red wine : " O where will I o-et a skeely skipper, To sail this new ship o mme ! 9 *" SIR PATKJCK SPENS. 35 O up and spak an eldem kniglit, Sat at the king's rio;ht knee : " Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailer That ever sailed tlie sea." Our king has written a braid letter. And sealed it wi' his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walkino; on the sand. " To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the fiiem ! The king's daughter of NoroAvay, 'Tis thou maun bring her hame."' The first word that Sir Patrick read, Sae loud, loud laughed he ; The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blindit his e'e. " O ! wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o' me. To send us out at this time o' the year. To sail upon the sea ? " Be it wind, be it Aveet, be it hail, be it sleet, Oiu' ship maun sail tlie faem ; The king's daughter of Noroway. 'Tis we maun fetch her hame.' 36 «ifi PATRICK spi:ns. They lioysed their sails on Monenday rnorn, Wi' a' the speed they may ; They hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wodensday. They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway hut twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Besan aloud to sav : " Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd. And a' our queenis fee." " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud I Fu' loud I hear ye lie ! " For I hae brought as luickle white monie As gane my men and me; And I hae brouglit a half-fou o' gude red fiowd Out owre the sea wi' me. " Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a' I Our gude ship sails the mom." " Now, ever alake ! my master dear ; I fear a deadly storm ! '■' I saw the new moon, late yestreen. Wi' the auld moon in her arm : And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm." SIK rATKICK SPENS. S7 They hadiia siiiled a league, a league, A league, but barely three. When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea. The ankers brak and the topmasts lap. It Avas sic a deadly storm ; And the waves cam owre the broken shij) Till a' her sides were torn. " O where will I get a gude sailor To tak my helm in hand, Till I gae iip to the tall topmast, To see if I can spy land ? " " O here am I, a sailor gude. To tak the helm in hand, Till you gae up to the tall topmast ; But I fear ye'll ne'er spy land." He hadna gane a step, a step, A step, but barely ane. When a boidt flew out of our goodly ship, And the saut sea it cam in. " Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine. And wap them into our ship's side. And letna tlie sea come in." 3S SIR PATRICK SRENS. They fetched a web o' tlie silken chiitli, Anither o' the twine, And they wapped tliem into that gude ship's side But still tlie sea cam in. O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords, To weet their milk-white hands ! But lang or a' the play was played They Avat their gowden bands. O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heeled shoon ! But lang or a' the play was played, They Avat their hats aboon. And mony was the feather-bed That floated on the faem ; And mony Avas the gude lord's son That never mair cam hanie. The ladyes wrang their fingers white. The maidens tore their hair, A' for the sake of their tnie loves ; For them they'll see nae mair. O lang, lang may the ladyes sit, WV their fans in their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailino; to the strand I AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. 39 And lang, lang may the maidens sit, Wi' their gowd kaims in their hair, A' waiting for tlieir ain dear loves; For them tliey'll see nae mair. Half-owre, half-owre to Aberdonr 'Tis fifty fathom deej), And there Hes gude Sir Patrick Spen.s, Wi' the Scots h)rds at liis feet. A.NO.NI .MOUS. AN an(;el in the house. How sweet it were, if without feeble friglit, Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight, An angel came to us, and we could bear To see him issue from the silent air At evening in our room, and bend on ours His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowei's News of dear friends, autl children who have never Been dead indeed — as we shall know f()re\'er. Alas ! we think not what we daily see About our hearths — angels, that are to be, Or may be if they will, and we ))rei)are Their souls and ours to meet in hapi)y air : A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings In imison with ours, breeding its future wings. IjKiuh Hunt. THE MERRY CHASbEUR O, a gallant sans-peur Is the merry cliasseur, With his t'anfaron horn, and his rifle, i)ing-[(an^ ! And his grand haversack Of gold on his back : 40 THE MERRY CHASSEUR. 41 His pistol, cric-crac ! And his sword, clinrr-clanir ! O, to see liim blitlie and gay From some hot and bloody day. Come to dance the night away till the bngle blows " an rang I "' With a wheel and a whirl, And a wheelino- walt/,iny rode and well : Into the jaws of Deatli, Into the mouth of Hell, Ivixle tlie Six Hundred. Flashed all their sabres bare. Flashed all at once in air. THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 49 Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered. Plunged in the battery smoke, With many a desperate stroke The Russian line they broke • Then they rode back — but not, Not the Six Hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them. Cannon behind them. Volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, Those that had foiight so well Came from the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them. Left of Six Hundred. When can their glory fade ? O ! the wild charge they made I All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made I Honor the Light Brigade, Noble Six Hundred ! Al.KKKD TkNN VSOX. SONG OF THE SILENT LAND Into the Silent Land I Ah ! who shall lead us thither ? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand ; Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, O thither ! Into the Silent Land ? Into the Silent Land ! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection, tender morning- visions Of beauteous souls, the Future's pledge and band ! Who in Life's battle firm doth stand Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms Into the Silent Land ! O Land! O Land! For all the broken-hearted, The mildest herald by our fate allotted Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand, To lead us with a gentle hand Into the land of the great departed. Into the Silent Land ! JoHAXN Gaudknz VOX Sai.is. (German.) Transljition of Hexhy \Vai>s\vokth I,ongfei-lo\v, 50 THE ONE GRAY HAIR. The wisest of the wise Listen to pretty lies, And love to hear thein told ; Doubt not that Solomon Listened to many a one : Some in his youth, and more when he grew old. I never sat among The choir of Wisdom's song, But pretty lies loved I As much as any king : When youth was on the wing, And (must it then be told?} when youth had quite gone by. Alas ! and I have not The pleasant hour forgot. When one pert lady said " O Landor ! I am quite Bewildered with affright : I see Tsit quiet now !) a white hair on your head ! " Another, more benign. Drew out that hair of mine, And in her own dark hair 51 52 THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. Pretended she had found That one, and twirled it round : Fair as she was, she never was so fair. Walter Savagk Landx)r THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. Shall I, wasting in despair, Die, because a woman's fair ? Or make pale my cheeks with care, 'Cause another's rosy are ? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be "^ Shall my foolish heart be pined 'Cause I see a woman kind ? Or a well-disposed nature Joined Avith a lovely feature ? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican. If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love ? Or her well-deservings known Make me quite forget mine own ? THE OLD CONTINENTALS. Be she with that goodness blest Which may merit name of best, If she be not such to me, Wliat care I how good she be? 'Cause lier fortune seems too liigh. Shall I play the fool and die? Those that bear a noble mind Where they want of riches find Think wliat Avith them they would do That without them dare to woo ; And unless that nn'nd I see, What care I how great she be ? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair. If siie love me, this believe : I Avill die ere she shall grieve. If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn, and let her go ; For if she be not for me. What care I for whom she be ? Georgk Witiikr THE OLD CONTINENTALS In their ragged reo-imentals Stood the old Continentals, Yielding not. While the grenadiers were hinging, 53 54 THE OLD CONTINENTALS. And like hail fell tlie plunging Cannon-shot ; When the files Of the Isles, From the smoky night-encampment, bore the banner of the ram- pant Unicorn ; And grunnner, grummer, grummer, rolled the .oil of the drummer. Through the morn ! Then with eyes to the front all, And with guns horizontal. Stood our sires ; While the balls whistled deadly, And in streams flashing redly. Blazed the fires ; As the roar On the shore. Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres Of the plain ; And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder, Cracking amain I Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red St. George's Cannoneers ; And the "villainous saltpetre'" Rang a fierce, discordant metre Round our ears. As the avni't Storm-drift, THE OLD CONTINENTALS. ;i;) With hot sweephig anger, came the liorse-guarcls' chuigor On our flanks ; Tlion liigher, higlier, higher, burned tlie okl-fasliiouL'tl fire Tln-(jugh the ranks I Then the bareheaded Cohjnel Galloped through the white inCei'iial Powder-cloud : And his broadsword w:is swiiiging, ;")(; THE OLD CONTLVENTALS. And his brazen tliroat was ringing, Trumpet-luiid. Then the blue Bullets flew, And the trooper-jackets reddened at the touch of the leaden Rifle-breath ; And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-pounder, Hiu'ling death ! GiiY IIltmi'iikky McMasikk. NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAH^Oll 1 LO^■E contemplating, apart From all his homicidal glory. The traits that soften to our heart Napoleon's story. 'Twas when his banners at Boulogne Armed in our island every freeman, His navy chanced to capture one Poor British seaman. They suffered him, I know not how, Unprisoned on the shore to roam ; And aye was bent his longing brow On England's home. His eye, methinks, pursued the flight Of birds, to Britain half-way over, With envy — they could reach the white, Dear cliffs of Dover. A stormy midnight watch, he thought, Than this sojourn would have been dealer, Tf but the storm his vessel brought To England nearer. 57 58 NArOLEOX AND THE BRITISH SAILOR. ■ At last, when care had banished sleep, He saw one morning — dreaming — dotini An empty hogshead from the deep Come shoreward floating; He hid it in a cave, and wrought The livelong day laborious; lurking. Until he launched a tiny boat, By mighty working. Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing beyond Description wretched ; such a wlierry Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond, Or crossed a feny. For ploughing in the salt-sea field. It would have made the boldest shudder . Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled; No sail — no rudder. From neiffhborino; woods he interlaced His sorry skiff with wattled willows ; And, thus equipjied, he Avould have ]iass;ed The foaming billows. But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, His little Argo sorely jeering ; Till tidings of him chanced to reach Napoleon's hearing. NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SATT/)R. With folded arms Nai)oleon stood, Serene alike in peace and danger ; And, in his wonted attitude, Addressed the stranger : " Rash man, that would'st yon channel })asa On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned ! Thy heart with some sweet British lass Must be impassioned." " I have no sweetheart," said the hul ; " But, absent long from one another. Great was the longing that I had To see my motlier. ' " And so tliou shalt," Napoleon said : " Ye've I)oth mv favor fairly won ; A noble mother nnist have bred So brave a son." He gave the tar a piece of gold, And, with a flag of truce, commanded He should be shipped to England Old, And safely landed. Our sailor oft could scantly shift To find a dinner, plain and hearty ; But never changed the coin and gift Of Bonaparte. 'J'ilOMAS C'AMritKI.L. THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged ! 'tis at a white heat now : The bellows ceased, the flames decreased ; though, on the forge' brow, 60 THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. Gl Tlie little flames still fitfully pLiy through the sable mound, And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round ; All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare. Some rest upon their sledges here, some woi'k the windlass thei-c. The windlass strains the tackle-chains — the black mould heaves below ; And, red and deep, a hundred veins burst out at every throe. It rises, roars, rends all outright — O, Vulcan! what a glow! 'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting brio;lit — the liio;h sun shines not so! The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery, fearful show ! The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row Of smiths, that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe ! As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow Sinks on the anvil — all about, the faces fiery grow. " Hurrah ! " they shout, " leap out, leap out ! " bang, bang ! the sledges go ; Huri-ah ! the jetted lightnijigs are hissing high and low ; A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow ; The leathern mail rebounds the hail ; the rattling cinders strow The ground around ; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow : And, thick and loud, the swinking crowd at every stroke i)ant "ho!" Leap out, leap out, my masters ! leap out, and lay on load ! Let's forge a goodly anchor — a bower thick and broad ; For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode ; And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road: The low reef roaring on her lee ; the roll of ocean poured From stem to stern, sea after sea ; the mainmast by the board ; The bidwarks down; the rudder gone; the boats stove at the chains; But courage still, brave mariners — the bower yet remains! And not an inch to flinch he deigns — save Avlien ye pitch sky high; Then moves his head, as though he said, "Fear nothing — here I! " 62 THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. Swing in your strokes in order! let foot and hand keej) time; Your blows make music sweeter far than anv stt'e])le"s chime. But while ye swing your sledges, sing ; and let the burden be, The anchor is the anvil-king, and royal craftsmen we ! Strike in, strike in I — the sparks begin to dull their nistling red; Our liammers ring with sharper din — our work will soon be sped : Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay ; Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here For the yeo-heave-o, and the lieave-aAvay, and the sighing seamen's cheer, When, weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far from love and home ; And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam. In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last ; A. shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was cast. O trusted and trustworthy guard ! if thou hadst life like me, What |)leasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea ! O deep-sea diver, who might then behold such sights as thou ? The hoary monster's palaces ! — Methinks what joy 'twere now To go ])lumb-plunging down, amid the assembly of the whales. And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their scourging tails ! Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea-unicorn, And send him foiled and bellowing back, for all his ivory hoi'ii ; To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn ; And for the ghastly-grinning shark, to laugh his jaws to scorn ; To leap down on the kraken's back, where 'mid Norwegian isles He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shallowed miles, Till, snorting like an under-sea volcano, off he r(^lls ; Meanwhile to swing, a-buffeting the far astonished shoals THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. Qg Of his back-browsiiig ocean-calves ; or, haply, in a cove Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undine's love. To find the long-haired niermaidens ; or, hard by icy lands, To wrestle with the sea-serpent, upon cerulean sands. O broad-armed fisher of the deep ! whose sports can equal thine ? The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons that tugs thy cable line ; And night by night 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day. Through sable sea and breaker white the giant game to play. But, sliamer of our little sports, forgive the name I gave : A fisher's joy is to destroy — thine office is to save. O lodirer in the sea-kino-s' halls I couldst thou but understand Whose be the white bones by thy side — or who that dripping band, Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee bend, With sounds like breakers in a dream blessing their ancient friend ! O, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps round thee. Thine iron side would swell with pride — thou 'dst leap within the sea ! Give honor to their memories who left the pleasant strand To shed their blood so freely for the love of fatherland. Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy churchyard grave So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing Avave ! O, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung. Honor him for their memory whose bones he goes among I Samukl Ferguson. fyOUC SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris and he : '^^^:s^'^y/^^\ I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all I '- ^? V' A I /u"^-^^ " • tln-ee ; '' Good speed ! " cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew ; "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through. Beiiind shut the postern, the lights sunk to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast. Not a word to each other ! we kept the great pace. Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place I tuiTied in my saddle and made its girths tight. Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit ; Nor galloped less steadily Roland a Avliit. 'Twas a moonset at starting ; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight dawned clear ; At Boom a great yellow star came out to see ; (35 (^(5 IIUW THEY liKULGHT THE GUOD At DLiffcld 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the lialt-cliime : So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is time I " At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the smi, And against him the cattle stood black, every one, To stare through the mist at us galloping past ; And I saw my stout galloper, Roland, at last, With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluff ri\'er headland its spray ; And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track ; And one eye's black intelligence — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, its own master, askance ; And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on. By Hasselt Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, " Stay spur ! Your Roos galloped bravely — the fault's not in her; We'll remember at Aix " — for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees. And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank. As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh ; 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff: Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white. And "Gallop!" gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight! MEWS FROM GHENT TO A IX. 67 "How tliey'll greet us!" — and all in a moment his roan, Rolled neck and ci'oup over, lay dead as a stone ; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news wliich alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits fvdl of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. Then I cast loose my buflP-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear. Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without })eer, Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good ; Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is friends flocking round, As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground ; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine. As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Glient. llOIJEUT BkuWXI.NG. ill I pain •«^,.Wi;?." ■ If'^r.is^ M NO MORE. No more ! a harp-string's deep and breaking tone, A last low summer breeze, a far-off swell, A dying echo of rich music gone, Breathe through those words, those murnuu-s of farewell No More! To dwell in peace, with home-affections bound, To know the sweetness of a mother's voice, To feel the spirit of her love around, And in the blessing of her eye rejoice. No moi'e ! A dirse-like sound ! — to creet the early friend Unto the hearth, his place of many days ; In the glad song with kindred lips to blend, Or join the household laughter by the blaze, No more ! Thi'ough woods that shadowed our first years to rove. With all our native music in the au* ; To watch the sunset with the eyes we love. And turn and read our own heart's answer there, No more ! 68 NO MOKE. (-59 Words of despair ! yet Earth's, all Earth's, the woe Their passion breathes, the desolately deep ! That sound in Heaven — O ! imajre then the flow Of gladness in its tones — to part, to weep, No more ! To watch, in dying hope, affection's wane, To see the beautifid from hfe depart. To wear ini})atiently a secret chain, To waste the untold riches of the heart, No more I Tlu'ough long, long years to seek, to strive, to yearn For Imman love, and never quench that thirst ; To pour the soul out, winning no return, O'er fragile idols, by delusion nursed. No more ! On tilings that fail us, reed by reed, to lean ; To mourn the changed, the far away, the dead ; To send oiu' troubled spirits through the unseen. Intensely questioning for treasures fled. No more ! Words of triumphant music ! Bear we on The weight of life, the cliain, the ungenial air : Their deathless meaning, when our tasks are done, To learn in joy — to struggle, to despair. No more ! Fklicia DoKoiiiKA IIkmans. K()RXER'S SWORD SONG, COMPl.KTF.n ONK HOUR nKKOUK HE FELL ON THE ISATTI.K -KIKI.I). AUG. 20, 1813. [[.^ , Y'-^^WORD at my left side gleaming *'^*1/^ S^fei. ^Vllv is tliv keen glance, beaming, So fondly bent on mine ? I love that smile of thine I Ilun-nli : •^ Borne by a trooper daring, Mv looks his fire-glance weai'ing, T arm a freeman's hand : This well delights thy brand I Hurrah ! Ay, good sword, free I wear thee ; And, tiuie lieart's love, I bear thee, I>eti"othed one, at my side. As mv dear, chosen bride ! HurrMh ! ■•' 'J'o thee till (k'nth united. Thy steeks bright life is ])iiglite(l ; Ah, wei'e my love but tried I When wilt thou wed thy bride ? Hurrah ! ' 70 KORNER'S SWORD SONG. 71 The trumpet's festal warning Shall liail our bridal niornino; : Wlien loud the cannon chide, Tlien clasp I m>^ loved bride I Hurrah ! *' O joy, when thine arms hold me ! T pine imtil they fold me. Come to me ! bridegroom, come I Thine is my maiden bloom. Hurrah!" Why, in tliy sheath upsprinoing. Thou wild, dear steel, art ringing? Why clanging with delight. So eager for the fight ? Hurrah ! " Well may thy scabbard rattle : Trooper, I pant for battle ; Right eager for the fight, T clang with wild delight. Hurrah I " Why thus, my love, forth creeping? Stay in thy chamber, sleeping ; Wait still, in the narrow room : Soon for my bride I come. Hurndi I KURNEK'S SWORD SONG. " Keep me not longer pining ! O for Love's garden, shining With roses bleeding red, And bloomins: with the dead ! Hurruli I " Come from thy sheath, then, treasnre ! Tliou trooper's true eye-pleasure ! Come forth, my good sword, come ! Enter tliy father-home ! Hurra] 1 ! ^ ILi I in the free air glancing. How brave this bridal dancing ! How, in the sun's glad beams. Bride-like, thy bright steel gleams Hurrah I " Come on, ye German horsemen ! Come on, ye valiant Norsemen ! Swells not your hearts' warm tide ? Clasp each in hand his britle ! Hurrah ! Once at your left side sleejnng. Scarce her veiled glance forth peeping ; Now, wedded with your right, God plights your bride in the light. Hurrah ! IvOUNER'S SWORD 60N(;. Then press with wann caresses, Close lips and bridal kisses, Your steel ; — cursed be his head Who fails the bride he wed ! Hurrah ! Now, till your swords flash, flinging Clear sparks forth, wave them singing. Day dawns for bridal i)ride ; Hurrali, thou iron bride ! Hurrah ! 78 Kakl Thkodou Kouxku. (Gennaii.) Tiauslation of Wu.uam B. Ciiorley. LITTLE AND GREAT. A TliAVKi.i.F.u, t]irou<:h a dusty road, Strewed acorns on the lea ; LITTLE AND GREAT. 75 And one took root and sprouted up, And grew into a tree. Love sought its sliade at evening time, To breathe his early vows; And Age was pleased, in heats of noon. To bask beneath its boughs. The (Jormovtse loved its dangling twigs, The birds sweet music bore ; It stood a glory in its place, A blessing evermore. A little spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern ; A passing stranger scooped a well. Where weaiy men might ttu-n. He walled it in, and hung with care A ladle at the brink : He thought not of the deed he did. But judged that Toil might drink. He passed again — and lo ! the well, By summers never dried. Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, And saved a life beside. A dreamer dropped a I'andom thought ; 'Twas old — and yet 'twas new . A simple fancy of the brain, Jiut strong in being true. It shone upon a genial mind. And lo ! its lioht became 7G LITTLE AND GREAT. .V ];imp of life, a beacon ray, A nionitoiy flame. The thought was small — its issue great : A watch-fire on the hill, It sheds its radiance far adown. And cheers the valley still. A nameless man, amid a crowd That thronged the daily mart. Let fall a word of hope and love. Unstudied, fi-om the heart. A whisper on the tumult thrown, A transitory breath. It raised a brother from the dust, It saved a soul from death. O germ ! O fount ! O word of love ! O thouo;ht at random cast ! Ye Avere but little at the first. But mighty at the last ! Chaui.ks Mackav. THE RIVER TIME. O ! a wonderful stream is the River Time, As it runs through the reahn of tears, With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme, And a broader sweep and a surge sublime. As it blends with the ocean of Years. How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow. And the summers, like buds between. And the year in the sheaf — so they come and they go, On the river's breast, with its ebb and its flow, As it glides in the shadow and sheen. There's a magical isle up the River Time, Where the softest of airs are playing ; There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, And a song as sweet as a vesper chime. And the Junes with the roses are staying. And the name of the isle is the Long Ago, And we bury our treasures there ; There are brows of beauty, and bosoms of snow ; They are heaps of dust — but we loved them so I There are trinkets, and tresses of hair. 78 (ilVE xME THE OLD. There are fragments of song that nobody sings, And a part of an infant's prayer ; There's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings ; There are broken vows, and pieces of rings. And the garments tliat She used to wear. There are hands that ai'e waved, when the fairy shore By the mirage is Hfted in air ; And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar. Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, When the wind down the river is fair. O ! remembered for aye be the blessed isle. All the day of our life till night ; When the evening comes with its beautiful smile. And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile, May that " Greenwood " of Soul be in sight ! Benjamin Franklin Taylor. GIVE ME THE OLD OLD WINK TO OKINK, OLD WOOD TO BURN, OLD BOOKS TO HEAD, AND OLD FRIENDS TO CONVERSE WITH. 1. Old wine to drink ! Ay, give the slippery juice That drippeth from the grape thrown loose Within the tun : GIVE ME THE OLD. 79 Plucked from beneatli the cliff Of sunny-sided Teneriffe, And ripened 'neatli the blink Of India's sun ! Peat whiskey hot, Tempered with well-boiled water ! These make the lono; night shorter ; Foro-ettino; not Good stout old English porter. II. Old wood to burn ! Ay, bring the hill-side beech From where the owlets meet and screech And ravens croak ; The crackling pine, and cedar sweet; Bring too a clump of fi-agrant peat, Dug 'neath the fern ; The knotted oak, A fagot too, perhap, Whose bright flame, dancing, winking, Shall light ns at our drinkincr; While the oozing sap Shall make sweet music to our thinking. III. Old books to read ! Ay, bring those nodes of -^vit. The brazen-clasped, the vellum-writ. Time-honored tomes ! The same my sire scanned before, 80 GIVE ME THK OLD. The same my grandsire thumbed o'er, The same liis sire from college bore : The well-earned meed Of Oxford's domes. Old Homer blind, Old Horace, rake Anacreon, by Old TuLLY, Plautus, Terence lie ; Mort Arthur's olden minstrelsie, Quaint Burton, quainter Spenser, ay ! And Gervase Markham's venerie ; Nor leave behind The Holye Book by which we live and die. IV. Old fi-iends to talk ! Ay, bring those chosen few. The wise, the courtly, and the true, So rarely found : Him for my wine, him for my stud. Him for my easel, distich, bud In mountain walk ! Bring Walter good. With soulful Fred, and learned Will ; And thee, my alter ego^ (dearer still For every mood.) Robert Hinckley Messing kr. REST AND LABOR " Two hands upon the breast, And labor's done ; Two pale feet crossed in rest, The race is won ; Two eyes with coin weights shut, And all tears cease ; Two lips where grief is mute. Anger at peace ! " So pray we oftentimes, mourning our h)t ; (jod in his kindness answereth not. " Two hands to work addrest, Aye for His praise ; Two feet that never rest, Walking His ways ; Two eyes that look above. Through all their tears ; Two lips still breathing love. Not wrath, nor fears I " So pray we afterwards, low on our knees , Pardon those erring prayers ! Father, hear these DixAH Maria Mulocu 81 HE STANDETH AT THE DOOR AND KNOCKETH. In the silent midnight watches, List — thy bosom door ! How it knocketli — knocketh — knocketh, Knocketh evermore ! Say not 'tis thy pulse's beating : 'Tis thy heart of sin ; 'Tis thy Saviour knocks, and crietli " Rise, and let me in ! " Death comes on with reckless footsteps. To the hall and hut : Think you Death will tarry, knocking, Where the door is shut ? Jesus waiteth — waiteth — waiteth. But the door is fast ; Grieved, away thy Saviour goeth ; Death breaks in at last. Then 'tis time to stand enti'eating Christ to let thee in : At the gate of Heaven beating, Wailing for thy sin. Nay ! — alas, thou guilty creature ! Hast thou, then, forgot ? Jesus waited long to know thee ; Now he knows thee not. Arthur Clkvelaxd Coxe 82 (UJLF-WKEl). A WKAUY weed, tossed to and fro, Drearily dreiiclied in tlie ocean brine, Soarino- liiu-h and sinkino; low, Lashed along without will of mine ; Sport of the spoom of the surging sea. Flung on the foam afar and anear, "Nlai'k my manifold mystery : Growth and grace in their place ap])eai', S3 M4 EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. I bear rouiul iK-rries, gray and red, Rootless and rover tliough I be ; My spangled leaves, when nicely sj)ivad, Arboresce as a trunkless tree ; Corals curious coat me o'er, White and hard in a})t array ; 'j\Iid the wild waves' rude ui)roar, Graceftdly grow I, night and day. Hearts there are on the sounding shore, Something wliisj^ers soft to me, Restless and roaming for evermore, Like this weary weed of the sea ; Bear they yet on each beating breast The eternal type of the wondrous whole : Growth unfolding amidst unrest, Grace informing with silent soul. CouxKi.ius Gkokgk Fkxnkii. EXHORTATION TO I'RAYKK. Mot on a prayerless bed, not on a prayeiless bed Compose thy weary limbs to rest ; For they alone are blest With balmy sleep Whom angels keep ; Nor, though by care o])pressed, ( )r anxious sorrow, EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. 35 Or thought in many a coil perplexed For coming morrow, Lav not thy head On prayerless bed. For who can tell, when sleep thine eye shall close, Til at earthly cares and Avoes To thee may e'er return? Arouse, my soul ! Slumber control. And let thy lamp burn brightly ; So shall thine eyes discern Things pure and sightly ; Taught by the Spirit, learn Never on prayerless bed To lay thine unblest head. Hast thou no pining want, or wish, or care, That calls for holy prayer? Has thy day been so bright That in its flight There is no trace of sorrow ? And art thou sure to-morrow "Will be like this, and moi^e Abundant? Dost thou yet lay up thy store, And still make plans for more ? Thou fool ! this very night Thy soul may wing its flight. Hast thou no being than thyself more dear. That ploughs the ocean deep. i^(] THE GOOD GREAT MAN. And when storms sweep The wintry, lowering slcy, For whom thou wak'st and weepest? O, when thy pangs are deepest, Seek then the covenant ark of prayer I For He that skimbereth not is there: His ear is open to thy cry. O, then, on ])rayerless bed Lay not thy thoughtless liead ! Arouse thee, weary soul, nor yield to slumber I Till in communion blest With the elect ye rest, Those souls of countless number ; And with them raise The note of praise, Reachino; from Earth to Heaven : Chosen, redeemed, forgiven ! So lay thy happy head. Prayer-crowned, on blessed bed. Margaket Mp:rckk THE GOOD GREAT MAN How seldom, Mend, a good great man inherits Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains ! it seems a story from the world of spirits When ■ any man obtains that which he merits. Or any merits that which he obtains. DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. 87 For shame, my friend I renounce tliis idle strain ! What woiildst tliou liave a gocxl great man obtain "'* Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain ? Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain ? Goodness and greatness are not mean>^, but ends. Hath he not always treasures, always friends. The good great man? Three treasures — love, and light, And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath ; And three fast friends, more sure than day or night : Himself, his ^laker, and the angel Death. Samuel Taylor Colkkipge. DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. SUNG HY THK VIHGIXS. O THOU, the wonder of all dayes I O paragon, and pearl of ])raise ! O virgin-martyr, ever blest Above the rest Of all the maiden traine! We come. And bring fresh strewings to thy tombe. Thus, thus, and thus, we compasse rounj) Thy harmlesse and unhaunted ground I And as we sing thy dirge, we will The daffodill. And other flowers, lay upon The altar of our love, thy stone. gg DIHGE OF JErilTHAH'S DAUGHTER. Thou wonder of all maids, rest here I Of daugliters all the dearest deare, The eye of virgins ; nay, the queen Of this smooth green, And all sweet meades from whence wo get The primrose and the violet ! Too soone, too deare, did Jephthah buy, By thy sad losse, our liberty ; His was the bond and covenant, yet Thou ])aid"st the debt. Lamented maid ! he won the day, But for the conquest thou didst pay. Thy fotlier l)rouglit with him along The olive brancli, and victor's song. He slew the Annnonites, we know : But to thy woe ; And in the purchase of cur peace The cure was worse than the disease. For which obedient zeale of thine We offer here, before thy shrine, Our sighs for storax, teares for wine ; And, to make fine And fresh thy herse-cloth, we will here Four times bestrew thee every yeare. Receive, for this thy praise, our teares I Receive this offering of our haircs I Receive these christall vials, filled DIRGE OF JEPHTHAli'S DAUGHTER. ^9 Witli teares distilled From teeming eyes ! To these we bring, Each maid, her silver filleting, To guild thy tombe. Besides, these caules. These laces, ribbands, and these faules ; These veiles, wherewith we use to hide The bashfull bride When we conduct her to her groome • All, all we lay upon thy tombe ! No more, no moi'e, since thou art dead, Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed ; No more, at yearly festivalls. We cowslip balls, Or chaines of columbines, shall make For this or that occasion's sake. No, no ! our maiden pleasures be Wrapt in the Avinding-sheet with thee : 'Tis we are dead, though not i' th' grave ; Or if we have One seed of life left, 'tis to keep A Lent for thee — to fast and weej). Sleep in thy }>eace, thy bed of spice. And make this ])lace all paradise ! May sweets grow here, and smoke from hence Fat frankincense ! Let balme and cassia send their scent From out thy maiden monument ' "/l^^e.^_, <2^>^lvi-»*i^ ^ '~^!L-JL^ ^f^^tlLe^ ^^-fv^.::;:^ A^^Ae/-^ ^:^?^, ^^^^ Ji^-r^ rV^-r>L_ f.c.-^,-^c^ -'^— X' ^ ^v_ ^^>t^— #- 'Z^i^.'^.jt^ UNSEEN SPIEITS 91 May no wolfe howle, nor screecli-owle stir A wing about thy sepulchre ! No boysterous winds or storms come hither, To starve or wither Thy soft sweet earth ; but, like a Spring, Love keep it ever flourishing ! May all shie maids, at wonted hours. Come forth to strew thy tombe with flowers ! May virgins, when they come to mourn, Male incense burn Upon thine altar ; then return. And leave thee sleeping in thine mm ! ROBFRT HkKKICK. UNSEEN SPIRITS. The shadows lay along Broadway : 'Twas near the twilight-tide ; And slowly there a lady fair Was walking in her pride. Alone walked she ; but, viewlessly. Walked spirits at her sidt^. Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, And Honor charmed the air ; And all astir looked kind on her. And called her good as fair ; For all God ever gave to her She kept with chary care. 92 UNSEEN SPIRITS. She kept with care her beauties rave From lovers warm and true ; For her heart was cold to all but gold. And the rich came not to woo. But honored well are charms to sell, If priests the selling do. Now walking there was one more fair, A slight girl, lily-pale ; And she had unseen company To make the spirit quail : 'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn, And nothing could avail. No mercy now can clear her brow For this world's peace to pray ; For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, Her woman's heart gave way. But the sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven By man is cursed alway ! Nathaniel Pabkkk Willis. ,^^f<«'.,r"^-^\^V^^^■ THE CROOKED FOOTPATH. Ah, here It is! the shding rail That maiks the okl remembered spot, 93 04 TlIK ( ROOKED FOOTPATH. Tlic gap that struck our sclioulboy trail, The crooked path across the lot. It left the road by school and cluircli: A pencilled shadow, nothing mure, Tliat parted from the silver birch And ended at the fai'inliouse door. No line or compass traced its plan ; With frequent bends to left or right, In aimless, waywai'd curves it ran, But always ke])t the door in sigjit. The gabled ])()rch, with woo(ll)inG givt-n, The broken millstone at the sill, Though many a rood might stretch between, The truant child could see them still. No rocks across the pathway lie, No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown ; And yet it wijids, Ave know not why, And turns as if for tree or stone. Perhaps some lover trod the wav, AVith shakino- knees and leai)in«'- heart ; And so it often runs astray, With siiuious sweep or sudden start. Or one, perchance, with clouded brain, From some unholy banquet reeled ; And since, oiu" devious steps maintain His track across the tnxlden field. THE CROOKED FOOTPATH. 95 Nay, deem not thus: — no earth-born will Could ever trace a faultless line ; Our truest steps are human still, To walk unswervincr were divhie. Tniants from love, we dream of wratli ; O, rather let us trust the more ! Through all the wanderings of the path. We still can see our Father's door ! Olivp;u Wendell Holmes. INVOCATION OF SILENCE. Still-born Silence ! thou that art Flood-gate of the deeper heart ! Offspring of a heavenly kind ; Frost o' the mouth, and thaw o' the mind ; Secrecj^'s confidant, and he Who makes religion mystery ; Admiration's speaking'st tongue ! Leave, thy desert shades among. Reverend hermits' hallowed cells, Where retired Devotion dwells : With thy enthusiasms come. Seize our tongues, and strike ns dumb ! RiciiAnn Flecicnoe. A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE This ae nighte, this ae iiighte, Everie nighte and alle, Fire, and selte, and candle-lighte ; And Christe receive thy saide! When thou from hence away art past, Everie nighte and aUe, To Whinny-muir tliou comest at last ; And Christe receive thy saide ' If ever thou gavest liosen and shoon, Everie nighte and alle, Sit thee down and put them on ; A7id Christe receive thy saide! If hosen and shoon thou gavest nane. Everie nighte and alle. The whinnes shall pricke thee to the bare bane ; And Christe receive thy saule! From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe, Everie nighte and alle. To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at last ; A)id Christe receive thy saule ! From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passo, Everie nighte and alle^ 06 SONG. t)7 To Purgatory fire thou comest at last : Aiid Christe receive thy saule! If ever thou gavest meate or diiiike, Uverie nighte and alle, Tlie fire shall never make thee shrinke : And Christe receive thy snulc .' If meate or drinke thou gavest naiie, Uverie niyhte and alle, The fire will burne thee to the bare bane : And Christe receive thy saule! This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Uverie nighte and alle. Fire, and selte, and candle-lighte ; And Chriate receive thy saule! Anonymoi's. SONG. She sat and sang alway By the green marghi of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept alway Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam, Watching the blossoms of the May Weep leaves into the stream. I wept for memory ; She sang the hope that is so fair : My tears were swallowed by the sea ; Her songs died on the air. Ohkistina G. Rossetti. THE CROWDED STREET. Let me move slowly throuoli the street, Filled with an ever-shifting train, Amid the sound of steps that beat The murmuring walks like autumn rain. How fast the flitting figures come ! The mild, the fierce, the stony face : Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some Where secret tears have left their trace I They pass — to toil, to strife, to rest : To halls in which the feast is spread, To chambers where the funeral guest In silence sits beside the dead. And some to happy homes repair. Where children, pressing cheek to cheek With mute caresses, shall declare The tenderness they cannot speak. And some, who walk m calmness here. Shall shudder as they reach the door Where one who made their dwelling dear, Its flower, its light, is seen no more. 08 THE CROWDED STREET. 99 Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame, And dreams of greatness in thine eye, Go'st thou to build an early name, Or early in the task to die ? Keen son of trade, with eager brow. Who is now fluttering in thy snare ? Thy golden fortunes, tower they now ? Or melt the glittering spires in air ? Who of this crowd to-night shall tread The dance, till daylisht gleams again ? Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead ? Who writhe in throes of mortal pain ? Some, famine-struck, shall think how long The cold, dark hours — how slow the light ; And some, who flaunt amid the throng, Shall hide in dens of shame to-night. Each where his tasks or pleasures call. They pass, and heed each other not ; There is avIio heeds, Avho holds them all. In His large love and boundless thought. These struggling tides of life, that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend. Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end. William Cullkx Biivant. THE WAR-SONG OF DIN AS YAWR The mountain sheep are sweeter, But the valley sheep are fatter ; We therefore deemed it meeter To carry off the latter. We made an expedition ; We met a host, and quelled it ; We forced a strong position. And killed the men who held it. On Dyfed's richest valley, Where herds of kinc were browsiuii, We made a mighty sally. To furnish our carousing. Fierce warriors rushed to meet us ; We met them, and o'erthrew them. They struggled hard to heat us ; But we concjuered them, and slew therr. As we drove our prize at leisure, The king marched ft)rth to catch us ; His rage surpassed all measure. But his people could not match us. 100 THE WAK-SONG OF DINAS VAWR IQl He fled to his hall pillars ; And, ere our force we led oflf, Some sacked his house and cellars, While others cut his head off. We there, in strife bewildering, Spilt blood enough to swim in : We orphaned many children. And widowed many women. The eao;les and the ravens We glutted with our foemen : The heroes and the cravens, The spearmen and the bowmen. We brought away from battle, (And much their land bemoaned them), Two thousand head of cattle, And the head of him who OAvned them : Ednyfed, king of Dyfed, His head was borne before as ; His wine and beasts supplied our feasts. His overthrow our chorus. Thomas Love Peacock MOTHER MARGERY. On a bleak lidge, from whose granite edges Sloped the rough land to the grisly north, And whose hemlocks, clinging to the ledges. Like a thin banditti staggered f'ortli : In a crouching, wormy-timbered hamlet Mother Margery shivered in the cold, AVith a tattered robe of faded camlet On her shoulders — crooked, weak, and old ! Time on her had done his cruel pleasure ; For her face was very dry and thin. And the records of his growino; measure Lined and cross-lined all her shrivelled skin. Scanty goods to her had been allotted, Yet her thanks rose oftener than desire ; While her bony fingers, bent and knotted, Fed with withered twigs the dying fire. Raw and weary were the northern winters ; Winds howled jiiteously around her cot, Or with rude sighs made the jarring splinters Moan the misery she bemoaned not. Drifting tempests rattled at her windows, And hung snow-wreaths round her naked bed ; While the wind-flaws muttered on the cinders. Till the last spark fluttered and was dead. 102 MOTHER MARGERY. 103 Life had fi'esher hopes when she was younger, But their dying wrung out no complaints ; Chill, and penury., and neglect, and hunger, These to jNIargery were guardian saints. When she sat, her head was, prayer-like, bending ; When she rose, it rose not any more. Faster seemed her true heart graveward tending Than her tired feet, weak and travel-sore. She was mother of the dead and scattered. Had been mother of the brave and fair ; But her branches, bough by bough, were shattered, Till her torn breast was left dry and bare. Yet she knew, though sadly desolated. When the children of the poor depart Their earth- vestures are but sublimated. So to gather closer in the heart. With a courage that had never fitted Words to speak it to the soul it blessed, She endured, in silence and unpitied, Woes enough to mar a stouter breast : Thus was born such holy trust within her That the graves of all who had been dear. To a region clearer and serener Raised her spirit from our chilly sphere. They were footsteps on her Jacob's ladder ; Angels to her were the loves and hopes Which had left her purified, but sadder ; And they lured her to the emerald slop<"« 104 MOTHER MARGERY. Of that Heaven where Anguisli never flashes Her red fire-whips — happy hind, where flowers Blossom over the volcanic ashes Of this blighting, blighted world <;f ours ! All her power was a love of goodness ; All her wisdoiji was a mystic faith Tliat the rough world's jargoning and rudeness Turn to music at the gate of Death. So she walked, while feeble limbs allowed her, Knowing well that any stubborn grief She mio-ht meet with could no more than crowd her To that wall whose opening was relief. So she lived, an anchoress of sorrow, Lone and peacefiil, on the rocky slope ; And, when burning trials came, would borrow New fire of them for the lamp of hope. When at last her palsied hand, in groping. Rattled tremulous at the grated tomb. Heaven flashed round her joys beyond her hoping, And her young soul gladdened into bloom. George Shepheud Burlek.h LOUIS XV. The king, with all the kingly train, had left his Pompadour be- hind, And forth he rode in Senart's wood, the royal beasts of chase to find. That day, by chance, the monarch mused ; and turning suddenly away. He struck alone into a path that far from crowds and courtiers lay. He saw the pale green shadows play upon the brown untrodden earth ; He saw the birds around him flit, as if he were of peasant birth ; He saw the trees, that know no king but him who bears a wood- land axe ; He thought not — but he looked about, like one who still in thinking lacks. Then close to him a footstep fell, and glad of human sound was he ; For, truth to say, he found himself but melancholy companie. But that which he would ne'er have guessed before him now most plainly came : The man upon his weary back a coffin bore of rudest frame. ■' Why, who art thou ? " exclaimed the king ; " and what is that I see thee bear ? " ■' I am a laborer in the wood, and 'tis a coffin for Pierre. 105 10(3 LOUIS XV. Close by tlie royal hunting-lodge you may have often seen him toil ; But he will never work again, and I for him must dig the soil." The laborer ne'er had seen the king, and this he thought was but a man ; Who made at first a moment's j^ause, and then anew his talk be- gan : "I think I do remember now — he had a dark and glancing eye; And I have seen his sturdy ann with wondrous stroke the pickaxe " Pray tell me, friend, what accident can thus have killed our good Pierre ? " " O, nothing more than usual, sir : he died of living upon air. 'Tw^as hunger killed the poor good man, who long on empty hopes relied ; He could not pay gahelle and tax, and feed his children — so he died." The man stopped short ; and then went on — " It is, you know, a common story : Our children's food is eaten up by courtiers, mistresses, and glory." The king looked hard upon the man, and afterwards the coffin eyed ; Then spurred to ask, of Pompadour, how came it that the peasants died. JOHX SlKlM-INCr. THE STORMING OF MAGDEBURGH. When the breach was open laid, Bold we mounted to the attack : Five times the assault was made ; Four times were Ave driven back I But the fifth time up we strode, O'er the dying and tlie dead. Red the western sunbeams glowed, Sinking in a blaze of red ; Redder in the gory way Our deep plashing footsteps sank, As the cry of "Slay — Slay — Slay!" Echoed fierce from rank to rank. And we slew, and slew, and slew : Slew them with unpitying sword. Neolif^entlv could we do The commanding of the Lord? Fled the coward, fought the brave, Wejit the widow, wailed the child ; But there did not 'sca])e the glaive Man that frowned, nor bibe that smiled. There were thrice ten thousand men When that morning's sun arose ; Lived not thrice three hundred when Sunk that sun at evening's close. lor 108 THE STOinilXG OF MAGDEBURGII. Then we sj)read the wasting flame, Fed to fury by the Avind : Of the city — but the name, Nothing else, remained behind. But it burned not till it gave All it had to yield of spoil : Should not brave soldadoes have Some rewarding for their toil ? What the villain sons of trade Earned by years of toil and cai'e. Prostrate at our bidding laid, In one moment won — was there. Hall and palace, dome and tower, Lowly cot and soaring spire. Sank in that victorious hour Which consigned the town to fire. Then throughout the burning town, 'Mid the steaming heaps of dead, Cheered by sound of hostile moan. We the gorgeous banquet spread : Laughing loud and quaffing long. At our glorious labor o'er. To the skies our jocund song Told Magdeburgh was no more ! William Mao inn. 'TUK KING OF DEN^I ARK'S RIDE. Word was brouiilit to the Danish khi^;, (Hmrv :) That the love of his Iieart hiy suffering, lull ■[}() THE KIN(t of DENMARK'S IMDE. And ])ined for the comfort his voice would bring ; (O ! ride as thougli you were flying') Better lie loves each golden curl On tlie brow of that Scandinavian girl Than his rich crown-jewels of ruby and jiearl ; And his Rose of the Isles is dying. 'riiirty nobles saddled with speed ; (Hurry !) Each one mounted a gallant steed Which he kept for battle and days of need ; (O ! ride as though you were flying!) Spurs were struck in the foaming flank ; W'^orn-out chai'gers staggered and sank ; iiridles were slackened, and girths were burst : But ride as they would, the king rode flrst : l*'or his Rose of the Isles lay dving. Flis nobles aiv l)eaten, one by one ; (Hurry ! ) ■riiey have fainted, and faltered, and honieward gone His little fair ]»age now follows alone, For streiigtli and for courage trying. The king looked back at that faithful child : Wan was the face that answering smiled. They ))assed the drawbridge with clattering din : Then he dro])ped ; and only the king rode in Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying. 'I'lie king blew a blast on his l)ugle horn ; (Silence ! ) THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. Ill No answer came, but faint and forlorn An echo returned on the cold gray morn, Like the breath of a spirit siohing. The castle })oi'tal stood grimly wide ; None welcomed the king from that weary ride ; For, dead in the light of the dawning day, The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, Who had yearned for his voice while dying. The panting steed with a drooping crest Stood weary. The king returned from her chamber of rest, The thick sobs choking in his breast ; And, that dumb companion eyeing, The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check ; He bowed his head on his charger's neck : " O, steed, that every nerve didst strain, Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain, To the halls where my love lay dying ! " Carolixk Elizameth Xoutox 1 aiVE MY SOLDIEK-BOY A BLADE. I GIVE my soldier-boy a blade, In fair Damascus fashioned well ; Who first the glittering falchion swayed, Who first beneath its fury fell, I know not ; but I hope to knoAv That for no mean or hirelincf trade. To guard no feeling base or low, I give my soldier-boy a blade. Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid Hood In which its tempering work was done ; As calm, as clear, as cool of mood. Be thou whene'er it sees the sun : For country's claim, at Honor's call. For outraged friend, insulted maid. At Mercy's voice to bid it fall, I give my soldier-boy a blade. The eye Avhich marked its peerless edge. The hand that weighed its balanced poise, Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge, Are gone, with all their flame and noise ; And still the gleaming sword remains : So, when in dust I low am laid, Remember, by these heart-felt strains, I gave my soldier-boy a blade. William Maginx. 112 THE MAHOGANY THKE. Christmas is here: Winds whistle slirill, Icy and chill. Little care we ; Little Ave fear Weather without, Sheltered about The Maliogany Tree. Once on the boiii;lis Birds of rare plinne Sang, in its bloom ; Night-biixls are we. Here we carouse, Singing like tliem. Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us s})ort, Boys, as we sit, Laughter and wii Flasliing so free. 113 114 TH1-: MAHOGANY TREE Life is but short ; When we are gone, Let them sing on, Round the old tree. Evenings we knew Happy as this ; Faces we miss, Pleasant to see. Kind hearts and true. Gentle and just, Peace to your dust ! We sing round the tree. Care, like a dun. Lurks at the gate : Let the dog wait ; Happy we'll be ! Drink, every one ; Pile up the coals ; Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree ! Drain we the cup : Friend, art afi*aid ? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up ; Empty it yet ; Let us forget. Round the old tree. IHE GRACE OF SIMPLICITY 115 Sorrows, begone ! Life and its ills, Duns and their bills. Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn, Blue-devil sprite ! Leave us to-night, Round the old tree ! William Makki-kack Tiiackkuay. THE GRACE OF SIMrLICITY. Still to be neat, still to be drest As you were going to a feast, Still to be powdered, still perfumed ! Lady, it is to be presumed. Though art's liid causes are not found. All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face. That makes sim])]icity a grace ; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art ; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. Bkn Jonson. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. Our bugles sano- truce ; for the niglit-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpoweivd : The Aveaiy to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain. At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw. And thi'ice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methouglit from tlie battle-field's dreadful array Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 'Twas Autumn — and sunshine arose on the Avay To the liome of my fathers, tliat welcomed me back. I Hew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then i)ledged we the winecup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part ;- My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er. And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. 116 IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND. 117 Stay, stay with us I — rest; tliou art weary and worn! And i'ain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; But sorrow returned with the dawning of mom, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. Thomas Campbell IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND. It is not beauty I demand : A crystal brow, the moon's despair ; Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand ; Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair. Tell me not of your starry eyes ; Your lips, that seem on roses fed ; Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies, Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed ; A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks, Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours ; A breath that softer music speaks Than summer winds a-wooing flowers. These are but gauds; nay, what are lip? Corals beneath the ocean-strenro. Whose brink when your adventurer slips. Full oft he perisheth on them. 118 IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DE:\IAND. And what are cheeks, but en.sions ott, Tliat wave liot youtli to fields of blood? Did Helen's breast, though ne"er so soft. Do Greece or Ilium any good ? Eyes can with baleful ardor burn, Poison can breathe, that erst peifiuned: There's many a wlij^e hand holds an urn, With lovers' hearts to dust consuiiR-d. Foi' ciystal brows, there's naught wi'.hin : They are but empty cells for pride ; He who the Siren's hair would win Is mostly strangled in the tide. Give me, instead of beauty's bust, A tender heart, a loyal mind, Which wuth temptation I would trust, Yet never linked with error find ; One in whose gentle bosom I Could pour my secret heart of woes, Like the care-burdened honey-fly. That hides his murmurs in the rt)st> ; }^ly earthly comforter I whose love So indefeasible might be, Tliut when my spirit avou above, Hers C(3uld not stay, for sympathy. Thomas C THE BEGGAR'S COURAGE. To heaven approached a Sufi saint, From gro])ing in the darkness late, And, tapping timidly and faint, Besonght admission at God's gate. Said God, " Who seeks to entej- here ? " " 'T is I, dear Friend ! " the saint replied, And trembled much with hope and fear. " If it be thou, without abide." Sadly to earth tlie poor saint turned. To bear the scourging of life's rods ; But aye his heart within him yearned To mix and lose its love in God's. He I'oamed alone through weary years, Bv cruel men still scorned and mocked. Until from faith's pure fires and tears Again he rose, and modest knocked. Asked God, " Wiio now is at the door ? " " It is Thyself, beloved Lord ! " Answered the saint — in doubt no more. But clasped and rapt in his reward. DSCHKLLALKDDIX RUMI, (PtTsiail.) Translation of William Kouxseville Algeii. iiy THE HAPPY LIFE. How. liappy is he born and taiioht That serveth not another's will, Whose armor is his honest thouoht, .Viid simple truth his utmost skill I Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prei)ared for death — Untied unto the worldly care Of public fame or private breath ; Who envies none that chance doth raise, Or vice ; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise ; Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; Who hath his life from humors freed ; Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; Whose state can neither flatterers feed. Nor ruin make accusers great ; Who God doth late and early pi'ay More of His grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day With a wen-chosen book or friend : This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall — Lord ot himself, though not of lands ; And, having nothing, yet hath all. SiH IIknuv Wotidx. 120 THE GIFTS OF GOD. AVhen God at first made man, Having a glass of blessings standing by, "• Let us," said He, " pour on him all we can ; Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie. Contract into a si)an." So strength first made a way ; Then beauty flowed ; then wisdom, honor, pleasure. Vhen almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, Rest in the bottom lay. " For if I should," said He, " Bestow this jewel also on my creature, He would adore my gifts instead of me. And rest in Nature — not the God of Nature : So both should losers be. " Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness ; Let him be rich and weary — that, at least. If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him, to my breast." (iEORGK UeKBEKI 121 THE HYMN OF DAMASCENUS. Fro:\[ my lips in their defilement, From my heart in its beguilement, From my tongue which speaks not fair, From my soul stained everywhere — O my Jesus, take my prayer ! Spurn me not, for all it says : Not for words, and not for ways. Not for shamelessness indued I Make me brave to speak my mood, my Jesus, as I would ! Or teach me, which 1 rather seek. What to do and what to speak. 1 have sinned more than she Who, learning where to meet with Thct., And bringing myrrh the highest priced. Anointed bravely, from her knee, Thy blessed feet accordingly — My God, my Lord, my Christ ! As Thou saidest not " Depart ! " To that suppliant from her heart. Scorn me not, O Word, that art The gentlest one of all words said ! But give Thy feet to me instead, 122 THE HYMN OF DAMASCENUS. That tenderly I may them kiss, And clasp them close; and never miss, With over-dropping tears, as free And precious as that myrrh could be, T' anoint them bravely from my knee ! Wash me with thy tears ! draw nigh me, That tlieir salt may purify me ! Thou remit my sins, who knowest All the sinning, to the lowest — Knowest all my wounds, and seest All the stripes Thyself decreest. Yea, but knowest all my faith, Seest all my force to death, Hearest all my wailings low That mine evil should be so ! Nothing hidden but appears In Thy knowledge, O Divine, O Creator, Saviour mine! — Not a drop of falling tears, Not a breath of inward moan, N^t a heart-beat — which is gone ! St. Joannes Damasckxus. (Grock.) Translation uf Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 1 '2:) A THANKSGIVING. Lord, fur the erring though* Not unto evil wrought ; Lord, for the wicked will Betrayed and baffled still : For the heart from itself kept : Our Thanksgiving accept ! For ignorant hopes that were Broken to our blind prayer ; For j)ain, death, sorrow — sent Unto our chastisement ; For all loss of seemino; o-ood : Quicken our gratitude ! William Deav iIowkli. EXCELSIOR. The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice. A banner with the strange device — Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath Flashed like a falchion from its sheath : 124 EXCELSIOR. 125 And like a silver clarion runo- The accents of that unknown tono-ue — Excelsior ! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan — Excelsior ! " Trv not the pass ! " the old man said : " Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior ! " O stay ! " the maiden said, " and rest Thy weary head ui)on this breast ! " A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered, with a sigh, Excelsior ! " Beware the pine-tree's withei'ed branch ! Beware the awful avalanche ! " This was the peasant's last good-night ; A voice replied, far up the height. Excelsior ! At break of day, as heaven wai'd The pious monks of St. Bernard ;[26 thp: emigrants in Bermudas. Uttered the oft-i'epeated prayer, A voice cried, through the startled air, Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faithful hound. Half-buried in the snow was found. Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device — Excelsior ! There, in the twilight cold and gray. Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay ; And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star — Excelsior ! HeXRY WaDSWORTH LoXGFELI.dW THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS. Where the remote Bermudas ride In th' ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat, that rowed along. The listening winds received this song: What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own ? AVhere He the huge sea-monsters wracks That lift the deep upon their backs. He lands us on a grassy stage, THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS. 127 Safe from the storms, and j)relate's rage. He gave us this eternal spring Wliicii here enamels every thnig, And sends the fowls to us in care. On daily visits through the air. He hangs in shades the orange bright. Like golden lamps in a green niglit, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet ; But apples — plants of such a price No tree could ever bear them twice ! With cedars, chosen by His hand From Lebanon, He stores tlie land ; And makes the hollow seas, that roar. Proclaim the ambergris on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's pearl upon our coast; And in these rocks for us did frame A temple, where to sound His name. O ! let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at heaven's vault; Which then, perhaps rebounding, may Echo beyond the Mexique bay. Thus sang they, in the English boat, A holv and a cheerful note ; And all the way, to guide their chime. With falling oars they kept the time. Andukw Ma II vi; 1. 1 Ji M^ Ac/^ '6 'Oa. In and ?___as m Lwc^ later ediLiofLS. _ J W P MY LADY SINGING. She wliom this heart nuist ever hold most clear (This heart in happy bondage held so lono;) Be^an to sing. At first a oentle fear Rosied her countenance — for she is young, And he who loves her most of all M^as near ; But when at last her voice grew full and strong, O, from their ambush sweet, how rich and clear Bubbled the notes abroad — a rapturous throng! Her little hands were sometimes flung apart, And sometimes palm to palm together prest, Whilst wave-like blushes, rising from her breast, Kept time with that aerial melody, As music to the sight! — I, standing nigh, Received the fallino; fountain in mv heart. Aubrey De Vkkfj. THE SWORD OF CASTIIUCCIO CASTRUCANI. " Questa e per me." When Victor Emmanuel, the king, Went down to his Lucca tiiat day, Tiie people, each vaunting the thing As he gave it, gave all things away In a bui'st of fierce gratitude, say — As they tore out their hearts for the king : 140 THL bVVORD OF CASTRUCCIO CASTRUCANl. Gave the green forest-walk on tlie wall, With the Appenine blue through the trees — Gave palaces, churches, and all The great pictures which burn out of these. But the eyes of the king seemed to freeze. As he glanced upon ceiling and wall. " Good ! " said the king as he past. Was he cold to the arts ? — or else coy To possession ? — or crossed at the last. Whispered some, by the vote in Savoy ? Shout! — Love him enough for his jov ! " Good ! " said the king as he past. He, travelling the whole day througli fl(jwers And protesting amenities, found At Pistoia, betwixt the two showers Of red roses, " the Orj)hans " (renowneil As the heirs of Puccini), who wound With a sword through the crowd and the flowers. '' 'T is the sword of Castruccio, O king I In old strife of intestinal hate Very famous. Accept what we bring — We, who cannot be sons by our fate. Rendered citizens by thee of late. And endowed with a country and king. " Read : — Puccini has willed tliat this sword (Which once made, in an ignorant feud, Many orphans^ remain in our ward SONG OF ARIEL 141 Till some patriot its pure civic blood Wipe away in the foe's and make good, In delivering the land by the sworfl." Then the king exclaimed, " This is for me I "" And he dashed out his sword on the hilt, While his blue eye shot fire oijeiilv. And his heart ovfi-boiled till it spilt A hot prayer: "God! the rest as Thou wilt I But grant me this — this is for me ! ^'' O Victor Emmanuel the king ! The sword be for thee, and the deed ! And nought for the alien, next Spring, Nought for Hapsburg and Bourbon agreed ; But for us, a great Italy freed. With a hero to head us — our King ! Elizarkth Bauuf.tt r>i:o\vNi.\G. SONG OF ARIEL. Full fathom five thy flither lies ; Of his bones are coral made ; Those are pearls that were his eyes ; Nothing of him that doth fide But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymj)hs liourly ring his knell : Hark ! now I hear them — ding, dong, bell ! SlIAKSJ'EAIlK THE PARTING LOVERS. She says, The cock crows — hark ! He says, No ! still 't is dark. She says, The dawn grows bright ; He says, O no, my Light ! She says. Stand up ! and say. Gets not the heaven gray ? He says. The morning star Climbs the horizon's bar. Slie says, Then quick depart : Alas ! you now must start. But give the cock a blow Who did begin our woe ! AxoxvMous, (Cliiiiese.) Translation of Wili.i.vm Rouxseville Alger. THE RAVEN. Once, upon a midnight dreary, While I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious Volum^, of forgotten lore, 142 THE liAVEN. ;[43 While I nodded, nearly napping, Suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, Rapping at my clianiber door; " 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, " Tapping at my chamber door ; Only this, and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember! It was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember Wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow ; Vainly I had tried to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow, Sorrow for the lost Lenore, For the rare and radiant maiden Whom the angels name Lenore : Nameless here for evermore. And the silken, sad, micertain Rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic Terrors never felt before ; So that now, to still the beating Of my heart, I stood repeating " 'Tis some visitor entreating Entrance at my chamber door. Some late visitor entreating Entrance at my chamber door: This it is, and nothing more."' 144 THE RAVEN. Presently my soul grew stronger .: Hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly Your forgiveness I implore ; But the fact is I was napping, And so gently you came rapping. And so faintly you caniL' tapping, Tapping at my chamber door. That I scarce was sui'e I heard you ; " Here I opened wide the door : Darkness there, and nothing more .' Deep into that darkness peering. Long I stood there wonderino;, fearinc. DouDting, dreaming dreams no mortal Ever dared to dream before ; But the silence was unbroken, And the darkness gave no token. And the only A\ord there spoken Was the whispered word " Lenore ! ' This I Avhispered, and an echo jNIiirmured back the Avord " Lenore I Merely this, and nothing more. Then into the chamber turning. All my soul within me burning. Soon I heard again a tapping. Somewhat louder than before : " Surely," said I, " surely that is Something at my window lattice : Let me see, then, what thereat i.s. THE RAVEN. And this mystery explore ; Let my heart be still a moment. And this mystery explore : 'Tis the wind, and nothing more ' " Open here I flung the shutter, When, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven Of the saintly days of yore ; Not the least obeisance made he, Not an instant stopped or stayed he ; But, with mien of lord or ladv, Perched above my chamber door. Perched upon a bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door : Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling My sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum Of the countenance it wore, " Thouo;h tliv crest be shorn and shaven, Thou," I said, "art sure no craven. Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, Wandering from the Nightly shore : Tell me Avliat thy lordly name is On the Nicrht's Plutonian shore ! " Quoth the raven "Nevermore." Much I marvelled this ungainly Fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 14; 146 'i'HE RAVEN. Thouo;li its answer little meanino-. Little relevancy bore ; For we cannot lielp agreeing That no living; human beincr Ever yet Avas blessed with seeing Bird above his chamber door, Bird or beast npon the sculptured Bust above his chamber dt)or, With such name as "Nevermore.^' But the raven, sitting lonely On the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in That one word he did outpour. Nothino- farther then he uttered. Not a feather then he fluttered ; Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends have flown before ; On the morrow he will lea\e me. As my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said " Nevermore." Startled at the stillness broken By reply so aptly spoken, " Doubtless," said I, " what it utters Is its only stock and store. Caught from some unhappy mastei", Whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fnst and followed foster, Till his songs one burden bore, Till the dirges of his hope the THE RAVEN. 14' Melancholy burden bore Of 'Never — nevermore.'" But the raven still beguiling All my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat iu Front of bird, and bust and door ; Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking What this ominous bird of yore, What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, Gaunt, and ominous bird of yoi-e Meant in croaking " Nevermore." This I sat engaged in guessing, But no syllable expressing To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now Burned into my bosom's core; This, and more, I sat divining, With my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining That the lamplight gloated o'er; But whose velvet violet lining, With the lamplight gloating o'er, She shall press — ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, Perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by angels, whose faint f)otfalk Tinkled on the tufted floor. 148 THE RAVEN. " Wretcli ! " I cried, " thy God hath lent tliee, By these angels lie hath sent thee, Respite — respite and nepenthe From thy memories of Lenore I QuafF, O quaff this kind nepenthe, And forget this lost Lenore ! " Quoth the raven " Nevermore." " Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! Prophet still, if bird or devil ! Whether tempter sent, or whether Tempest tossed thee here ashore. Desolate yet all undaunted. On this desert land enchanted, On this home by Horror haunted, Tell me truly, I implore : Is there, is there balm in Gilead ? Tell me — tell me, I implore ! " Quoth the raven "Nevermore." "' Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! Prophet still, if bird or devil ! Ry that heaven that bends above us By that God we both adore. Tell this soul with sorrow laden If, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden Whom the angels name Lenore, Clasp a rare and radiant maiden Whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the raven " Nevermore." THK llAVKN. 149 " Be tliat word our sio;n of jwrtino-, Bird or fiend I " I shrieked, upstartiiiii; ; "Get tliee back into tlie tempest And the Night's Phitonian sliore Leave no black plume as a token Of that lie thy soul hath sj^oken ! Leave my loneliness mibroken ! Qu't the bust above my door! Take thy l)eak from out my heart, And take thy i'ovm from oflF my door I" Quoth the raven " Nevermore." And the raven, never flittinn;, Still is sittiiifj;, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chandler door: And his eyes have all the seeming Of a demon's that is dreann'ng, And the lamplight, o'er him strenming, Ti'vows his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow That lies floating on the flooi Snail be lifted — nevermore ! Edcak a 1. 1. an I'oK. ' ' ^%wmM^i>i THE SABBATH MORNING. With silent awe I hail the sacred morn, That slowly wakes while all the fields are still. A soothing calm on every breeze is borne ; A graver murmur gurgles from the rill, 150 SONNET: ON HIS HLTNDNESS. 151 And Eclio answers softer from tlie hill, And softer sings the linnet from the thorn ; The sky-lark warbles in a tone less shrill. Hail, light serene ! hail, sacred Sabbath morn ! The rooks float silent by, in airy drove ; The skv a placid yellow lustre throws ; The gales, that lately sighed along the grove. Have hushed their downy wings in dead repose : The iiovering rack of clouds forgets to move : So soft the day when the first morn arose. John Leyden. soNNpyr: ON nis blindness. When I consider how my liglit is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide ; And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and ])resent My true account, lest lie, returning, chide — "Doth God exact day-labor, liglit denied? ' I fondly ask ; but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies : " God doth not need Either man's work, or his own gift; who best Bear his mild yoke, tliey serve him best ; his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed. And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; Thev also serve who only stand and wait." Jons Ml I. TON. TO KEEP A TRUE LENT. Is this a fast : to keep The larder lean. And clean From fat of veals and sheep ? Is it to quit the dish Of flesh, yet still To fill The platter high with fish ? Is it to fast an hour? Or ragged to go ? Or show A downcast look, and sour ? No ! 't is a fast to dole Thy sheaf of wheat, And meat, Unto the hungry soul. It is to fast from strife. From old debate And hate — To circumcise thy life. 152 THE EMIGRANTS. 153 To show a heart grief-rent : To starve thy sin, Not bin^ And that 's to kee}) tliy lent. llor.KIM MliUKICK. THE EMIGRANTS. I CANNOT take my eyes away From you, ye busy, busthng band ! Your little all to see you lay, Each, in the waiting seaman's hand. Ye men, avIio from your necks set down The heavy basket on the earth. Of bread from German com, baked brown By German Avives on German hearth ! And you, with braided queues so neat, Black-Forest maidens, slim and brown, How careful on the sloop's green seat You set your pails and pitchers down ! Ah ! oft have home's cool, shady tanks These pails and pitchers filled for you I On far Missouri's silent banks Shall these the scenes of home renew : The stone-rimmed fount in village street, That, as ye stooped, betrayed your smiles ; 154 THE EMKiKANTS. The lieartli, and its faniiliar seat ; The mantel and the pictured tiles. Soon, in the far and wooded West, Shall log-house walls therewith be irraced ; Soon many a tired, tawny guest Shall sweet refreshment from tlieni taste. From them shall drink the Cherokee, Faint with the hot and dusty chase THE EMIGRANTS. 155 No more from German vintage ve Shall bear tliem home, in leaf-crowned ori-ice. O say, why seek ye otlier lands ? The Neckar's vale hath wine and corn ; Full of dark firs the Schwarzwald stands ; In Spessart rings the Alp-herd"s horn. Ah ! in strange forests how ye 'II vearn For the green mountains of vour home — To Deutschland's yellow wheat-fields turn, In spirit o'er her vine-hills roam ! How wnll the form of days grown pale In golden dreams float softly by ! Like some unearthly, mystic tale, 'T will stand before fond memory's eye. The boatman calls ! — Go hence in peace ! God bless ye, man and wife and sire I Bless all your fields with rich increase, And crown each true heart's pure desire I Ferdixand Frpulfgrath. ((Jcrniaii.) Translation u( Charlks T. Beooks. SONG OF FAIRIES. We the fairies, blitlie and antic, Of dimensions not gigantic, Though the moonshine mostly keep lis. Oft in orchards frisk and ])eep us. Stolen sweets are always sweeter ; Stolen kisses much completer; Stolen looks are nice in chapels : Stolen, stolen be your apples. When to bed the world are bobbing. Then 's the time for orchard-robbing ; Yet the fruit were scarce worth peelino- Were it not for stealing, stealing. Thomas Eaxdolph. (Latir.) Translation of Leigh Hunt. STR PETER. Ix his last bin Sir Peter lies, Who knew not what it was to frown ; Death took him mellow, by surprise, And in his cellar stopped him down. Through all our land we could not boast A knight more gay, more prompt than he To rise and fill a bumper toast, And pass it round with " Three tunes Three I 15(3 ARMSTRONG'S GOOD-NIGHT. 157 None better knew the feast to sway, Or keep mirth's boat in better trim ; For Nature had but little clay Like that of which she moulded him. The meanest guest that graced his board Was there the freest of the free, His bumper toast when Peter poured And passed it round with " Three times Three ! " He kept at true good humor's mark The social flow of pleasure's tide ; He never made a brow look dark. Nor caused a tear but when he died. No sorrow^ round his tomb should dwell : More pleased his gay old ghost would be, For funeral song and passing bell. To hear no sound but " Three times Three ! " Thomas Love Pkacock. ARMSTRONG'S GOOD-NIGHT. This night is my departing night. For here nae langer must I stay ; There 's neither friend nor foe o' mine But wishes me away. What I have done thro' lack o' wit I never, never can recall. I hope ye 're a' my friends as yet : Good-night ! And joy be wi" you all ! Anon VMiM THE SENTRY. My heart, my heart is weary ; Yet merrily beams the May, And I lean against the linden. High up uji the terrace gray. The town-moat far below me Runs silent and sad and blue ; A boy in a boat floats o'er it, Still fishincj and whistlinir too. And a beautiful varied picture Spreiids out beyond the flood : Fair houses, and gardens, and people, And cattle, and meadow, a>id wood. Younf: maidens are bleaching the linen : They laugh as they go and come ; And the mill-wheel is dripping with diamonds I list to its far-away hum. And high on yon old gray castle A sentry-box peeps o'er, While a young red-coated soldier Is pacing beside the door. 158 THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US. 1 ;-)i> He handles lils sliinino- musket, Whicli gleams in the snnlilati(in of Ciiaiiijus Godkkkv Lki.axm. THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US. The world is too much with iis : late and soon. Getting and spending, we lay waste our p9wers. Little we see in nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away — a sordid boon I This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers — For this, for everything, we are out of tune ; It moves us not. — Great God ! I 'd rather be A Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn ; So might 1, standing on this pleasant lea. Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn — Have siglit of Proteus rising from the sea. Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. William Woudswoi: r ^iit a spirit of comfort there lield rei;j:;n, Anil made liim forget lie was old and poor ; " I need so little," he often said ; " And my friends and relatives here below Won't litigate over me when I am dead," Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. But the pleasantest times that he had, of all, Were the sociable hours he used to pass, With his chair tipped back to a neighbor's wall, Making an unceremonious call. Over a ])ipe and a friendly glass : This was the finest pleasure, he saifl. Of the many he tasted, here below ; " Who has no cronies, had better be dead ! " Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. Then the jolly old pedagogue's wrinkled face Melted all over in sunshiny smiles ; He stirred nis glass with an old-school grace. Chuckled, and sipped, and prattled apace, Till the house o-rew merry, from cellar to tiles " I 'm a pretty old man," he gently said, "• I have lingered a long while, here below ; But my heart is fresh, if my youth is fled ! " Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. He .smoked his pipe in the balmy air. Every night when the sun went down. THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE. 1«; While the soft wind ])layed in liis silvery hair, Leaving his teiiderest kisses there, On the jolly old pedagogue's jolly old crow m : And, feeling the kisses, he smiled, and said, 'T was a glorious world, down here below ; •" Why wait for ha|)])iness till we are dead ? " Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. He sat at his door, one midsummer night, After the sun had sunk in the west. And the lingering beams of golden light Made his kindly old face look warm and bright, While the odorous night- wind whispered, " Rest I "" Gently, gently, he bowed his head . . . There were angels waiting for him, I know ; He was sure of happiness, living or dead, This jolly old pedagogue, long ago! GkOKGK AUNOI-I). t/p^o 4JiJi^ )^iAM HuaA. a£t- ci-ai, ^o^f ; l/iuT Uuy ^-^ ^e^ /M ifcl ItLviii,^ tMlS? ^«^ tri. 4}o-^ ! CAUGHT! Birds are singing round my window, Tunes the sweetest ever heard, And I liang my cage there daily, But I never catcli a bird. So with thoug]its my brain is peopled. And they sing there all day long ; But they will not fold their pinions In the little cage of sono; ! Richard IIkxhy SronnAKD. A DEDICATION. The sea gives her shells to the shingle, The earth gives her streams to the sea ; They are many, but my gift is single — My verses, the first-fruits of me. Let the wind take the green and the gray leaf, Cast forth without fruit upon air — Take rose-leaf and vine-leaf and bay-leaf, Blown loose from the hair. The night shakes them round me in legions, Dawn drives them before her like dreams ; Time sheds them like snows on strange regions, Swept shoreward on infinite streams : 187 13^ A DEDICATION. Leaves pallid and sombre and ruddy, Dead fruits of the fugitive years — Some stained as with wine and made bloody, And some as with tears ; Some scattered in seven years' traces. As they fell from tlie boy that was then — Long left among idle green places, Or gathered but now among men : On seas full of wonder and peril, Blown white round the capes of the north : Or in islands when'e myrtles are sterile, And loves bring not forth. O daughters of dreams, and of stories That life is not wearied of yet, Faustine, Fragoletta, Dolores, Felise and Yolande and Juliette ! Shall I find you not still, shall I miss you. When sleep, that is true or that seems. Comes back to me, hopeless to kiss you, O daughters of dreams ? They are past as a slumber that passes, As the dew of a dawn of old time — More frail than the shadows on glasses, More fleet than a wave or a rhyme. As the waves after ebb drawing seaward, When their hollows are full of the night. So the birds that flew singing to me-ward Recede out of sio-ht : A DEDICATION. |y.j The songs of dead seasons, tliat wander On -wings of articulate words — Lost leaves, that the shore- wind may squander — Liglit flocks of untamable birds ; Some sano; to me — dreamino- in class-time, And truant in hand as in tongue ; For the youngest were born of boy's pastime. The eldest are young. Is there shelter while life in them lingers, Is there hearing for songs that recede ? — Tunes touched from a harp with man's fingers, Or bloNvn with boy's mouth in a reed ? Is there place in the land of your labor? Is there room in your world of delight. Where change has not sorrow for neighbor. And day has not night? In their wings though the sea-wind yet quivers. Will you spare not a space for them there, Made ofreen with the running of rivers And gracious with temperate air ? — In the fields and the turreted cities. That cover from sunshine and rain Fair passions and bountiful pities And loves without stain ? In a land of clear colors and stories, In a region of shadowless hours, Where earth has a garment of glories And a murmur of musical flowers — 19Q A DEDICATION. In woods where the spring half nncovers The flush of her amorous flice, By the waters tliat listen for lovers — For these is there place ? For the song-birds of sorrow, that nuiflle Their music as clouds do their fire ? For the storm-birds of j)assion, that ruffle Wild wings in a wind of desire ? In the stream of the storm as it settles Blown seaward, borne far from the sun — Shaken loose on the darkness, like petals Dropt one after one ? Though the world of your hands be more oracious And lovelier, in lordship of things Clothed round by sweet Art with the spacious Warm heaven of her imminent wings, Let them enter, unfledged and nigh fainting, For the love of old loves and lost times ; And receive in your palace of painting This revel of rhymes. Though the seasons of man, full of losses. Make empty the ^^ears full of youth. If but one thing be constant in crosses, Change lays not her hand upon truth ; Hopes die, and their tombs are for token That the grief, as the joy of them, ends Ere Time, that breaks all men, has broken The faith between friends. THE LAST POET. 1<,1 Thougli the many liglits dwindle to one light, There is help if the heaven has one ; Though the skies be discrowned of the sunlight. And the earth dispossessed of the sun. They have moonlight and sleep for repavinent, When, refreshed as a bride and set free. With stars and sea-winds in her raiment, Night sinks on the sea. AlGEKXOX CiIAKI.K.S SwiMiLltXE. THE LAST rOET. " When will your bards be weary Of rhyining on ? How long Ere it is sung and ended, The old, eternal song ? " Is it not long since em[)ty, The horn of full sup])ly ? And all the posies gathered, And all the fountains dry?" As long as the sun's chariot Yet keeps its azure track. And but one luunan A'isage Gives ansAvering glances back : l[)-2 THE LAST POET. As long as skies sluill nourisli The thunderbolt and gale, And, frightened at their furv. One throbbing heart shall quail , As long as after tempests Shall spring one showery bow. One breast with peaceful pronii?r And reconcilement glow ; As long as night the concave Sows with its starry seed, And but one man those letters Of golden writ can read ; Long as a moonbeam o;limwi*^rs. Or bosom sighs a vow ; Long as the wood-leaves rustic To cool a weary brow ; As long as roses blossom, And earth is green in May : As long as eyes shall sparkle And smile in pleasure's roy • As long as cjqiress shadows The graves nicre n.ournful make, Or one cheek's wet with Aveeping, Or one poor heart can break : THE LAST POET. l.j;> So long on earth sliall wander The goddess Poesy ; And, with her, one exulting ITcr votarist to be. And singing on, triumphing, The old earth-mansion through, Out marches the last minstrel I He is the last man too. The Lord holds the creation Forth in his hand meanwhile. Like a fresh flower just opened, Ai d views it with a smile. When once this Flower Giant Beiliiis to show decay. And earths and suns are flying Lik'.' l)lo.ssom-dust away. Then ask — if of the question Not weary yet — " How long Ere it is sung and ended, Tlie old, eternal song ? " AxTOX Ai.EXAXDKU VOX AuKRSPKKG. (German.) rraiisliition of Nathaxikl Langiion Fhothingham. THE END. INDEX OF FIRST LINES. A. Pa.;k Away 1 Let NAUttHT to love displeasing 1 non s A TRAVELLER THROUGH A DUSTY ROAD 2faikay 74 A WEARY WEED TOSSED TO AND FRO Fenner. s;! Ah, HERE IT IS ! The sliding rail . . . . Holmes 93 And ARE YE SURE THE NEWS IS TRUE Miclde. \\\0 All THE EARTH IS WRAPT IN SHADOWS Bowrlnij I C.'i B. Before the beginning op years Swinburne 1 68 Birds are singing round my window Stojuson <;(» Christmas is here Thacktray J 1 3 Calm is the night and the city is sleeping Leland 170 Could we but know the land that ends our dark. Stednian 172 Come, sleep, sleep ! the certain knot op peace Sidney I s i F. From my lips in their defilement Browning 1 'I'l Full fathom five thy father lies. . . . . Sliakspeare 141 Fresh glides the brook and blows the gale, P.ubver Lytton 16.') G. God sent his singers upon earth Longfellow. ... 1 28 H. Here a sheer-hulk lies poor Tom Bowling Dihdin 1 .'! Ho I Pretty page with the dimple chin Tliarkeray 27 How sweet it were, IP without feeble fright Hunt .... .ifl 1 96 INDEX. Pa(;k Half a league, half a league Tennyson 47 How SELDOM. FRIENT), A GOOD GREAT MAX INHERITS Coleridge 86 How SLEEP THE BRAVE, WHO SINK TO BEST ColUns.. . . 162 I. If I AM GONE ON, TOU WILL FIND A SMALL STRING Barri'S 16 I SAW HIM ONCE BEFORE Ilolmcs 22 I KNOW NOT WHAT IT PRESAGES Cranch 31 Into the silent land Longfellow. ... 50 In their RAGGED REGIMENTALS McMaster 53 I LOVE CONTEMPLATING APART Campbell 57 I SPRANG TO THE STIRRLT AND JORIS AND HE BrOWIVng 65 In THE SILENT MIDNIGHT WATCHES Coxe 82 r GIVE MY SOLDIER BOY A BLADE Muginn 112 It IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND Carew . ... 117 r DREAMED A DREAM — WHAT CAN IT MEAN? Blake 137 Is THIS A FAST : TO KEEP THE LARDER LEAN HerHck 152 I CANNOT TAKE MY EYES AWAY Brooks 153 In HIS LAST BUT Sir Peter lies Peacock 156 In eddying course when leaves began to fly Brydges 164 Tf I desire WITH pleasant songs Burhidge 171 I.. Lone upon a mountain Landon. . . . Let me move slowly through the street Bryant. ... 98 Lord, for the erring thought HoweUs 124 Itt My COACHMAN IN THE MOONLIGHT THERE Lowell 32 MT HEART, MY HEART IS WEARY Ltland 158 Much have I travelled in the realms of gold Keojts 166 N. Xo more! a harp-string's deep and breaking tone Hemans 68 Not on a prayerless bed Mercer 84 Nearer my God to thee AdaTnx. .... 173 o. O roses for the flush of youth EossHt) 2 Oh. no, 'twas lifeless here, he said Barnes 12 INDEX. lit" - Pao k O! VrUAT CAN- AIL THEE, KNIGHT AT ARMS A'wte U OXE MORE CXFORTUNATE JJ,^^l j - ! A GALLANT SAXS-PEUR Dobtll 40 ! A WONDERFUL STREAM IS THE RIVEIJ TtME Ta>/l"r 77 Old wine to drink Mtssinger 78 0, THOC, THE WONDER OF ALL DAYES Htrrick 87 On a BLEAK RIDGE, FROM WHOSE GRANITE EDGES Burleigh 102 Our BUGLES sang truce; for the night cloud had lowered Campbell. ... lie 0, Tibbie I have seex the day Bums 133 Once, upon a midnight dreary Poe. 142 P. Piping down the valleys wild Blahe 3 Pack, clouds, away ! and welcome, day Ueywood 160 Shall I wasting in despair ... WUher. . Sword at my left side gleaming Chorlcy. Still-borx silexce I Thou that art Flecknoe . She sat and sung alway . . .Rossctti.. Still to be neat, still to be drest Jonson . She whom this heart must ever hold most dear De Veie. . She SAYS; The cock crows — hark ! Alger. . 70 95 97 115 139 142 T. The splendor falls on castle wali>^ Ttnnyson 1 There's a grim one-horse hearse Xoel 7 There are gains for all our losses Stoddard. .... 20 The king sits in Duxfermlise town Ajion :!4 The wisest of the wise Landtr ii 1 Two HAXDS UPOX the BREAST Mulich 81 The SHADOWS lay along Broadway Wilis 91 This ae nighte. this ae nighte l/.c i 96 The mountain sheep are sweetee ... .Peacock. ... 10(i The king with all the kingly train ^Itrling 105 To HEAVEN approached A SUFI SAIXT \lger 119 The SHADES of night were falling fast LongfelUm- 124 This night is my departing night -Awn 157 The world is too much with us Wordyworth 159 The lark xow leaves his watery nest DavenanL ... 1 02 The old mayor climbed the belfry tower Ingtloic 174 11)8 INDEX. Page TWAS A JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE LONG AGO Arnold. .... 182 The sea gives her shells to the shixgle Swinburne 187 V. Verse, a breeze "mid blossoms straying Coleridye 29 w. When- love, with uxcoxfixed wixgs Lovelace 24 With fixgers weary and worn Hood. .... 43 When the breach was opex laid Maginn .... ] 07 Word was brought to the D.vnish King Norton. ... 109 Whex God at first made max Herbert 121 Where the remote Bermudas ride Marvell 12G "When the Sultan Shah-Zamax Aldrich 13") When Victor Emmanuel, the King Browning 139 W'ith silent awe I hailed the sacred :«orx Leyden 150 When I consider how my light is spent Milton 151 We the fairies, blithe and axtic Randolph 156 When will your bards be aveary Frothingham 191 Y. You know we French stormed Ratisbon Browning 10 n- /^/O/ THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 'p.^l^ Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. Series 9482