EX LIBRIS SA3ST CARLOS I/GO ROBERT ERNEST COWAN THE VAGABONDS, AND OTHER POEMS. JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE. BOSTON: JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, FIELDS, OSGUOU, & CO. 1871. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year i86q. bv FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO., in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & Co., CAMBRIDGE. CONTENTS. PAGE THE VAGABONDS 1 THE FROZEN HARBOR 7 OUR LADY . . 17 | THE MILL-POND 21 THE RESTORED PICTURE 24 MY BROTHER BEN 28 I THE PEWEE . . . 33 BEYOND 39 MIDWINTER .......... 42 MIDSUMMER . >" 45 i MY COMRADE AND I 48 THE WOLVES , ' .. ..''... . . 52 LA CANTATRICE . . . 57 BKAUTY 61 SERVICE 64 AT SEA 69 REAL ESTATE 71 THE MASKERS 74 BY THE RIVER 77 THE NAME IN THE BARK . 83 iv CONTENTS. LYRICS OF THE WAR. THE LAST RALLY . .89 THE COLOR-BEAREB 94 THE JAGUAR HUNT 98 THE SWORD OF BOLIVAR 102 LIGHTER PIECES. DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING-MACHETE . . . 113 WATCHING THE CROWS 127 EVENING AT THE FARM 132 THE WILD GOOSE 135 GREEN APPLES 141 STRAWBERRIES . . . . . . . 145 THE SUMMER SQUALL 148 CORN HARVEST 153 THE LITTLE THEATRE 157 THE CHARCOALMAN 160 THE WONDERFUL SACK 163 THE VAGABONDS. TTTE are two travellers, Roger and I. Roger 's my dog. Come here, you scamp !' Jump for the gentlemen, mind your eye! Over the table, look out for the lamp! The rogue is growing a little old ; Five years we 've tramped through wind and weather, And slept out-doors when nights were cold, And ate and drank and starved together. We 've learned what comfort is, I tell you ! A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow ! The paw he holds up there 's been frozen), Plenty of catgut for my fiddle (This out-door business is bad for strings), Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, And Roger and I set up for kings ! 1 A 2 THE VAGABONDS. No, thank ye, Sir, I never drink ; Roger and I are exceedingly moral, Are n't we, Roger? See him wink! Well, something hot, then, we won't quarrel. He 's thirsty, too, see him nod his head? What a pity, Sir, that dogs can't talk! He understands every word that 's said, And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. The truth is, Sir, now I reflect, I 've been so sadly given to grog, I wonder I 've not lost the respect (Here 's to you, Sir !) even of my dog. But he sticks by, through thick and thin; And this old coat, with its empty pockets, And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, He '11 follow while he has eyes in his sockets. There is n't another creature living Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, To such a miserable, thankless master ! THE VAGABONDS. 3 No, Sir I see him wag his tail and grin! By George! it makes my old eyes water 1 That is, there 's something in this gin That chokes a fellow. But no matter ! We '11 have some music, if you 're willing, And Roger (hem ! what a plague a cough is, Sir ! ) Shall march a little Start, you villain ! Paws up ! Eyes front ! Salute your officer ! 'Bout face ! Attention ! Take your rifle ! (Some dogs have arms, you see ! ) Now hold your Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, To aid a poor old patriot soldier! March ! Halt ! Now show how the rebel shakes When he stands up to hear his sentence. Now tell us how many drams it takes To honor a jolly new acquaintance. Five yelps, that 's five; he 's mighty knowing! The night 's before us, fill the glasses ! Quick, Sir! I'm ill, my brain is going! Some brandy, thank you, there ! it passes ! 4 THE VAGABONDS. Why not reform ? That 's easily said ; But I 've gone through -such wretched treatment, Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, And scarce remembering what meat meant, That my poor stomach 's past reform ; And there are times when, mad with thinking, I 'd sell out heaven for something warm To prop a horrible inward sinking. Is there a way to forget to think ? At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends, A dear girl's love, but I took to drink; The same old story ; you know how it ends. If you could have seen these classic features, You need n't laugh, Sir; they were not then Such a burning libel on God's creatures : I was one of your handsome men ! If you had seen HER, so fair and young, Whose head was happy on this breast! If you could have heard the songs I sung When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed THE VAGABONDS. That ever I, Sir, should be straying From door to door, with fiddle and dog, Ragged and penniless, and playing To you to-night for a glass of grog ! She 's married since, a parson's wife: 'T was better for her that we should part, Better the soberest, prosiest life Than a blasted home and a broken heart. I have seen her ? Once : I was weak and spent On the dusty road: a carriage stopped: But little she dreamed, as on she went, Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped! You Ve set me talking, Sir; I 'm sorry; It makes me wild to think of the change ! What do you care for a beggar's story ? Is it amusing ? you find it strange ? I had a mother so proud of me ! ; T was well she died before Do you know If the happy spirits in heaven can see The ruin and wretchedness here below? 6 THE VAGABONDS. Another glass, and strong, to deaden This pain ; then Roger and I will start. I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, Aching thing in place of a heart ? He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, No doubt, remembering things that were, A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, And himself a sober, respectable cur. I 'm better now ; that glass was warming. You rascal ! limber your lazy feet ! We must be fiddling and performing For supper and bed, or starve in the street. Not a very gay life to lead, you think ? But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink ; The sooner, the better for Eoger and me 1 THE FROZEN HARBOR. i. TTTHEX Winter encamps on our borders, And dips his white beard in the rills, And lays his broad shield over highway and field, And pitches his tents on the hills, In the wan light I wake, and see on the lake, Like a glove by the night-winds blown, With fingers that crook up creek and brook, His shining gauntlet thrown. Then over the lonely harbor, In the quiet and deadly cold Of a single night, when only the bright, Cold constellations behold, Without trestle or beam, without mortise or seam, Is swiftly and silently spread A bridge as of steel, which a Titan's heel In the early light might tread. 8 THE FROZEN HAEBOR. % Where Morning over the waters Her net of splendor spun, Till the web, all a-twinkle with ripple and wrinkle, Hung shimmering in the sun, Where the liquid lip at the breast of the ship Whispered and laughed and kissed, And the long, dark streamer of smoke from the steamer Trailed off in the rose-tinted mist, Now all is gray desolation, As up from the hoary coast, Over snow-fields and islands her white arms in silence Outspreading like a ghost, Her feet in shroud, her forehead in cloud, Pale walks the sheeted Dawn : The sea's blue rim lies shorn and dim, In the purple East withdrawn. Where floated the fleets of commerce, With proud breasts cleaving the tide, Like emmet or bug with its burden, the tug Hither and thither plied, THE FKOZEN HARBOR. 9 Where the quick paddles flashed, where the dropped anchor plashed, And rattled the running chain, Where the merchantman swung in the current, where sung The sailors their far refrain, Behold ! when ruddy Aurora Peeps from her opening door, Faint gleams of the sun like fairies run And sport on a crystal floor ; Upon the river's bright panoply quivers The noon's resplendent lance ; And by night through the narrows the moon's slanted ' arrows Icily sparkle and glance. Flown are the flocks of commerce, Like wild swans hurrying south ; The coaster, belated, is frozen, full-freighted, Within the harbor's mouth; 10 THE FROZEN HARBOR. The brigantine, homeward bringing Sweet spices from afar, All night must wait with her fragrant freight Below the lighthouse star. The ships at their anchors are frozen, From rudder to sloping chain : Rock-like they rise : the low sloop lies An oasis in the plain. Like reeds here and there, the tall masts bare Upspring: as on the edge Of a lawn smooth-shaven, around the haven The shipping grows like sedge. Here, weaving the union of cities, With hoar wakes belting the blue, From slip to slip, past schooner and ship, The ferry's shuttles flew : Now, loosed from its stall, on the yielding wall The steamboat paws and rears ; The citizens pass on a pavement of glass, And climb the frosted piers. THE FROZEN HARBOR. 11 Where, in the November twilight, To the ribs of the skeleton bark That stranded lay in the bend of the bay, Motionless, low, and dark, Came ever three shags, like three lone hags, And sat o'er the troubled water, Each nursing apart her shrivelled heart, With her mantle wrapped about her, Now over the ancient timbers Is built a magic deck; Children run out with laughter and shout And dance around the wreck ; The fisherman near his long eel-spear Thrusts in through the ice, or stands With fingers on lips, and now and then whips His sides with mittened hands. n. Alone and pensive I wander Far out from the city-wharf To the buoy below in its cap of snow, Low stooping like a dwarf; 12 THE FROZEN HARBOU. In the fading ray of the dull, brief day I wander and muse apart, For this frozen sea is a symbol to me Of many a human heart. I think of the hopes deep sunken Like anchors under the ice, Of souls that wait for Love's iSweet freight And the spices of Paradise : Far off their barks are tossing On the billows of unrest, And enter not in, for the hardness and sin That close the secret breast. I linger, until, at evening, The town-roofs, towering high, Uprear in the dimness their tall, dark chimneys, Indenting the sunset sky, And the pendent spear on the edge of the pier Signals my homeward way, As it gleams through the dusk like a walrus's tusk On the floes of a polar bay. THE FROZEN HARBOR. 13 Then I think of the desolate households On which the day shuts down, What mi&ery hides in the darkened tides Of life in yonder town ! I think of the lonely poet In his hours of coldness and pain, His fancies full-freighted, like coasters belated, All frozen within his brain. And I hearken to the meanings That come from the burdened bay : As a camel, that kneels for his lading, reels, And cannot bear it away, The mighty load is slowly Upheaved with struggle and pain From centre to side, then the groaning tide Sinks heavily down again. So day and night you may hear it Panting beneath its pack, Till sailor and saw, till south-wind and thaw, Unbind it from its back. 14 THE FROZEN HARBOR. Sun ! will thy beam ever gladden the stream And bid its burden depart ? Life ! all in vain do we strive with the chain That fetters and chills the heart? Already in vision prophetic On yonder height I stand : The gulls are gay upon the bay, The swallows on the land ; 'T is spring-time now; like an aspen-bough Shaken across the sky, In the silvery light with twinkling flight The rustling plovers fly. Aloft in the sunlit cordage Behold the climbing tar, With his shadow beside on the sail white and wide, Climbing a shadow-spar! Up the glassy stream with issuing steam The cutter crawls again, All winged with cloud and buzzing loud Like a bee upon the pane. THE FROZEN HARBOR. 15 The brigantine is bringing 1 Her cargo to the quay, The sloop flits by like a butterfly, The schooner skims the sea. 3'oung heart's trust, beneath the crust Of a chilling world congealed ! love, whose flow the winter of woe With its icy hand hath sealed! - x " \ Learn patience from the lesson ! Though the night be drear and long, To the darkest sorrow there comes a morrow, A right to every wrong. And as, when, having run his low course, the red Sun Comes charging gayly up here, The white shield of Winter shall shiver and splinter At the touch of his golden spear, Then rushing under the bridges, And crushing among the piles, In gray mottled masses the drift-ice passes, Like seaward-floating isles ; 16 THE FROZEN HARBOR. So Life shall return from its solstice, and burn In trappings of gold and blue, The world shall pass like a shattered glass, And the heaven of Love shine through. OUE LADY. /~\UR lady lives on the hillside here, Amid shady avenues, terraced lawns, And fountains that leap like snow-white deer, "With flashing antlers, and silver fawns ; And the twinkling wheels of the rich and great Hum in and out of the high-arched gate ; And willing worshippers throng and wait, Where she wearily sits and yawns. I remember her pretty and poor, Now she has servants, jewels, and land: She gave her heart to a poet-wooer, To a wealthy suitor she bartered her hand. A very desirable mate to choose, Believing in viands, in good port-juice, In solid comfort and solid use, Things simple to understand. 18 OUR LADY. She loves poetry, music, and art, He dines, and races, and smokes, and shoots ; She walks in an ideal realm apart, He treads firm ground, in his prosperous boots: A wise design ; for you see, 't is clear, Their paths do not lie so unsuitably near As that ever either should interfere With the other's chosen pursuits. By night, as you roam through the rich saloons, When music's purple and crimson tones Float, in invisibly fine festoons, O'er the buzz and hum of these human drones, You are ready to swear that no happier pair Have lived than your latter-day Adarn there, And our sweet, pale Eve, of the dark-furrowed hair, Thick sown with glittering stones. But I see, in the midst of the music and talk, A shape steal forth from the glowing room, And pass, by a lonely cypress walk, Far down through the ghostly midnight gloom, OUR LADY. 19 Sighing and sorrowful, wringing its hands, And bruising its feet on the pointed sands, Till, white, despairing, and dumb it stands, In the shadowy damp of a tomb. The husband sprawls in his easy-chair, And smirks, and smacks, and tells his jest, And strokes his chin with a satisfied air, And hooks his thumbs in his h'lagreed vest; And the laugh rings round, and still she seems To sit smiling there, and nobody deems That her soul has gone down to that region of dreams, A weary, disconsolate guest. Dim ghosts of happiness haunt the grot, Phantoms of buried hopes untold, And ashen memories strew the spot Where her young heart's love lies coffined and cold. With her burden of sin she kneeleth within, And kisses, and presses, with fingers thin, Brow, mouth, and bosom, and beautiful chin Of the dead that groweth not old. 20 OUR LADY. He is ever there, with his dark wavy hair, Unchanged through years of anguish and tears ; His hands are pressed on his passionate breast, His eyes still plead with foreboding and fears. 0, she dwells not at all in that stately hall! But, day and night, 'neath the cypresses tall, She opens the coffin, uplifteth the pall, And the living dead appears ! THE MILL-POND. rTIHE linden, maple, and birch-tree bless, With cooling shades, the banks I press In the midsummer sultriness ; And under the thickest shade of all Singeth a musical waterfall. The burnished breast of a silver pond In the sunlight lieth beyond, Clear, and calm, and still as death, Save where the south-wind's blurring breath, Like an angel's pinion, fluttereth. The south-wind moveth, but maketh no noise, Nor ever disturbeth the delicate poise Of the little fishing floats the boys Sit idly watching on log and ledge : It toucheth but softly the languid sedge, Drooping all day by the water's edge. 22 THE MILL-POND. In the thickets shady and cool The white sheep tear their tender wool ; Pensively, one snowy lamb Stands sighing beside the grassy dam ; Shaking and clashing the heavy boughs, The limber colts and the sober cows Down from the woody hillside come, To stand in the shallows, and hark to the hum Of the waterfall beating its airy drum. Deep in the shadowy dell at noon I lie, and list to the drowsy tune, Fanned by the sweet south-wind ; And I think how like to the poet's mind Are the skyey depths of the silver pond, That in the sunlight lieth beyond These lindens tall, ami the slimy wall Over which poureth the waterfall. When the angry March winds blow, And rains descend, and freshets flow In torrent and rill from mountain and hill, THE MILL-POND. 23 And the ponderous wheels of the sunken mill Go round and round, with a sullen sound, Rumbling, mumbling-, half under ground, Hoarsely the waterfall singeth all day, And the waters are streaked with marl and clay But when these shaded banks I press, In the midsummer sultriness, Standeth all still the mumbling mill ; The quiet pond doth seem to thrill With joys which all its windings fill ; And in its depths the eye may view A world of soft and dreamy hue, Banks, and trees, and a sky of blue. Willow and sedge, by the water's edge, And children fishing from log and ledge ; The kingly oak with its myriad leaves, Even the web the spider weaves ; Lilies, cresses, and wild swamp grasses, And every butterfly that passes, The lakelet's placid bosom glasses. THE RESTORED PICTURE. TN later years, veiling its unblest face In a most loathsome place, The cheap adornment of a house of shame, It hung, till, gnawed away By tooth of slow decay, It fell, and parted from its mouldering frame. The rotted canvas, faintly smiling still, From worldly puff and frill, Its ghastly smile of coquetry and pride, Crumpling its faded charms And yellow jewelled arms, Mere rubbish now, was rudely cast aside. The shadow of a Genius crossed the gate : He, skilled to re-create In old and ruined paintings their lost soul THE KESTORED PICTURE. 25 And beauty, one who knew The Master's touch by true, Swift instinct, as the needle knows the pole, Looked on it, and straightway his searching eyes Saw through its coarse disguise Of vulgar paint and grime and varnish stain The Art that slept beneath, A chrysalis in its sheath, That waited to be waked to life again. Upon enduring canvas to renew Each wondrous trait and hue, This is the miracle, his chosen task ! He bears it to his house, And there from lips and brows With loving touch removes their alien mask. For so on its perfection time had laid An early mellowing shade ; Then hands unskilled, each seeking to impart 2 26 THE RESTORED PICTURE. Fresh tints to form and face, With some more modern grace, Had buried quite the mighty Master's Art. First, razed from the divine original, Brow, cheek, and lid, went all That outer shape of worldliness ; when, lo ! Beneath the varnished crust Of long imbedded dust A fairer face appears, emerging slow, The features of a simple shepherdess ! Pure eyes, and golden tress, And, lastly, crook in hand. But deeper still The Master's work lies hid ; And still through lip and lid Works the Restorer with unsparing skill. Behold at length, in tender light revealed, The soul so long concealed I All heavenly faint at first, then softly bright, THE RESTORED PICTURE. 27 As smiles the young-eyed Dawn When darkness is withdrawn, A shining angel breaks upon the sight 1 Eestored, perfected, after the divine Imperishable design, Lo now ! that once despised and outcast thing Holds its true place among The fairest pictures hung In the high palace of our Lord the King ! 2* MY BROTHER BEN. 'I/lROM the door where I stand I can see his fair land Sloping up to a broad sunny height ; The meadows new-shorn, and the green wavy corn, The buckwheat all blossoming white : There a gay garden blooms, there are cedars like plumes, And a rill from the mountain leaps up in a fountain, And shakes its glad locks in the light. He dwells in the hall where the long shadows fall On the checkered and cool esplanade ; I live in a cottage secluded and small, By a gnarly old apple-tree's shade : Side by side in the glen, I and my brother Ben, Just the river between us, with borders as green as The banks where in childhood we played. MY BROTHER BEN. 29 But now nevermore upon river or shore He runs or he rows by my side ; For I am still poor, like our father before, And he, full of riches and pride, Leads a life of such show, there is no room, you know, In the very fine carriage he gained by his marriage For an old-fashioned brother to ride. His wife, with her gold, gives him friends, I am told, With whom she is rather too gay, The senator's son, who is ready to run For her gloves and her fan, night or day, And to gallop beside, when she wishes to ride : 0, no doubt 't is an honor to see smile upon her Such world-famous fellows as they I Ah, brother of mine, while you sport, while you dine, While you drink of your wine like a lord, You might curse, one would say, and grow jaundiced and gray, With such guests every day at your board ! But you sleek down your rage like a pard in its cage, 30 MY BROTHER BEN. And blink in meek fashion through the bars of your passion, As husbands like you can afford. For still you must think, as you eat, as you drink, As you hunt with your dogs and your guns, How your pleasures are bought with the wealth that she brought, Arid you were once hunted by duns. 0, I envy you not your more fortunate lot : I 've a wife all my own in my own little cot, And with happiness, which is far better than riches, The cup of our love overruns. We have bright, rosy girls, fair as ever an earl's, And the wealth of their curls is our gold ; 0, their lisp and their laugh, they are sweeter by half Than the wine that you quaff red and old ! We have love-lighted looks, we have work, we have books, Our boys have grown manly and bold, MY BROTHER BEN. 31 And they never shall blush, when their proud cousins brush From the walls of their college such cobwebs of knowledge As careless young fingers may hold. Keep your pride and your cheer, for we need them not here, And for me far too dear they would prove ; For gold is but gloss, and possessions are dross, And gain is all loss, without love. Yon sevei-ing tide is not fdrdless or wide, The soul's blue abysses our households divide : Down through the still river they deepen forever, Like the skies it reflects from above. Still my brother thou art, though our lives lie apart, Path from path, heart from heart, more and more. 0, I have not forgot, 0, remember you not Our room in the cot by the shore ? 32 MY BROTHER BEN. And a night soon will come, when the murmur and hum Of our days shall be dumb evermore, And again we shall lie side by side, you and I, Beneath the green cover you helped to lay over Our honest old father of yore. THE PEWEE. rjlHE listening Dryads hushed the woods ; The boughs were thick, and thin and few The golden ribbons fluttering through ; Their sun-embroidered, leafy hoods The lindens lifted to the blue: Only a little forest-brook The farthest hem of silence shook : When in the hollow shades I heard, Was it a spirit, or a bird ? Or, strayed from Eden, desolate, Some Peri calling to her mate, Whom nevermore her mate would cheer? " Pe-ri ! pe-ri I peer ! " Through rocky clefts the brooklet fell With plashy pour, that scarce was sound, But only quiet less profound, 34 THE PEWEE. A stillness fresh and audible : A yellow leaflet to the ground Whirled noiselessly : with wing of gloss A hovering sunbeam brushed the moss, And, wavering brightly over it, Sat like a butterfly alit : The owlet in his open door Stared roundly : while the breezes bore The plaint to far-off places drear, " Pe-ree ! pe-ree ! peer ! " To trace it in its green retreat I sought among the boughs in vain ; And followed still the wandering strain, So melancholy' and so sweet The dim-eyed violets yearned with pain. 'T was now a sorrow in the air, Some nymph's immortalized despair Haunting the woods and waterfalls ; And now, at long, sad intervals, Sitting unseen in dusky shade, His plaintive pipe some fairy played, THE PEWEE. 35 With long-drawn cadence thin and clear, "Pe-wee! pe-wee! peer!" Long-drawn and clear its closes were, As if the hand of Music through The sombre robe of Silence drew A thread of golden gossamer : So pure a flute the fairy blew. Like beggared princes of the wood, In silver rags the birches stood ; The hemlocks, lordly counsellors, Were dumb ; the sturdy servitors, In beechen jackets patched and gray, Seemed waiting spellbound all the day That low, entrancing note to hear, " Pe-wee ! pe-wee ! peer ! " I quit the search, and sat me down Beside the brook, irresolute, And watched a little bird in suit Of sober olive, soft and brown, Perched in the maple-branches, mute : 36 THE PEWEE. With greenish gold its vest was fringed, Its tiny cap was ebon-tinged, With ivory pale its wings were barred, And its dark eyes were tender-starred. "Dear bird," I said, "what is thy name?" And thrice the mournful answer came, So faint and far, and yet so near, " Pe-wee ! pe-wee ! peer ! " For so I found my forest bird, The pewee of the loneliest woods, Sole singer in these solitudes, Which never robin's whistle stirred, Where never bluebird's plume intrudes. Quick darting through the dewy morn, The redstart trilled his twittering horn, And vanished in thick boughs : at even, Like liquid pearls fresh showered from heaven, The high notes of the lone wood-thrush Fall on the forest's holy hush : But thou all day complainest here, " Pe-wee ! pe-wee ! peer ! " THE PEWEE. 37 Hast thou, too, in thy little breast, Strange longings for a happier lot, For love, for life, thou know'st not Avhat, A yearning, and a vague unrest, For something still which thou hast not ? Thou soul of some benighted child That perished, crying in the wild ! Or lost, forlorn, and wandering maid, By love allured, by love betrayed, Whose spirit with her latest sigh Arose, a little winged cry, Above her chill and mossy bier! "Dear me! dear me! dear I" Ah, no such piercing sorrow mars The pewee's life of cheerful ease I He sings, or leaves his song to seize An insect sporting in the bars Of mild bright light that gild the trees. . A very poet he ! For him All pleasant places still and dim : His heart, a spark of heavenly fire, 38 THE PEWEE. Burns with undying, sweet desire : And so he sings ; and so his song, Though heard not by the hurrying throng, Is solace to the pensive ear: " Pewee ! pewee I peer ! " BEYOND. her own fair dominions, Long since, with shorn pinions, My spirit was banished : But around her still hover, in vigils and dreams, Ethereal visitants, voices, and gleams, That forever remind her Of something behind her Long vanished. Through the listening night, With mysterious flight, Pass those winged intimations : Like stars shot from heaven, their still voices fall to me ; Far and departing, they signal and call to me, Strangely beseeching me, Chiding, yet teaching me Patience 40 BEYOND. Then at times, oh! at times, To their luminous climes I pursue as a swallow ! To the river of Peace, and its solacing shades, To the haunts of my lost ones, in heavenly glades, With strong aspirations Their pinions' vibrations I follow. heart, be thou patient ! Though here I am stationed A season in durance, The chain of the world I will cheerfully wear ; For, spanning my soul like a rainbow, I bear, With the yoke of my lowly Condition, a holy Assurance, That never in vain Does the spirit maintain Her eternal allegiance : Through suffering and yearning, like Infancy learning BEYOND. 41 Its lesson, we linger; then, skyward returning, On plumes fully grown We depart to our own Native regions 1 MIDWINTER. nnHE speckled sky is dim -with snow, The light flakes falter and fall slow ; Athwart the hill-top, rapt and pale, Silently drops a silvery veil ; And all the valley is shut in By flickering curtains gray and thin. But cheerily the chickadee Singeth to me on fence and tree; The snow sails round him, as he sings, White as' the down of angels' wings. I watch the slow flakes as they fall On bank and brier and broken wall ; Over the orchard, waste and brown, All noiselessly they settle down, Tipping the apple-boughs, and each Light quivering twig of plum and peach. MIDWINTER. 43 On turf and curb and bower-roof The snow-storm spreads its ivory woof; It paves with pearl the garden-walk ; And lovingly round tattered stalk And shivering stem its magic weaves A mantle fair as lily-leaves. The hooded beehive, small and low, Stands like a maiden in the snow ; And the old door-slab is half hid Under an alabaster lid. All day it snows : the sheeted post Gleams in the dimness like a ghost ; All day the blasted oak has stood A muffled wizard of the wood ; Garland and airy cap adorn The sumach and the wayside thorn, And clustering spangles lodge and shine In the dark tresses of the pine. 44 MIDWINTER. The ragged bramble, dwarfed and old, Shrinks like a beggar in the cold ; In surplice white the cedar stands, And blesses him with priestly hands. Still cheerily the chickadee Singeth to me on fence and tree : But in my inmost ear is heard The music of a holier bird ; And heavenly thoughts, as soft and white As snow-flakes, on my soul alight, Clothing with love my lonely heart, Healing with peace each bruised part, Till all my being seems to be Transfigured by their purity. MIDSUMMER. A ROUND this lovely valley rise The purple hills of Paradise. softly on yon banks of haze Her rosy face the Summer lays ! Becalmed along the azure sky, The argosies of cloudland lie, Whose shores, with many a shining rift, Faf off their pearl-white peaks uplift. Through all the long midsummer-day The meadow-sides are sweet with hay. 1 seek the coolest sheltered seat, Just where the field and forest meet, Where grow the pine-trees tall and bland, The ancient oaks austere and grand, MIDSUMMER. And fringy roots and pebbles fret The ripples of the rivulet. I watch the mowers, as they go Through the tall grass, a white-sleeved row. With even stroke their scythes they swing, In tune their merry whetstones ring. Behind the nimble youngsters run, And toss the thick swaths in the sun. The cattle graze, while, warm and still, Slopes the broad pasture, basks the hill, And bright, where summer breezes break, The green wheat crinkles like a lake. The butterfly and humble-bee Come to the pleasant woods with me ; Quickly before me runs the quail, Her chickens skulk behind the rail ; High up the lone wood-pigeon sits, And the woodpecker pecks and flits. Sweet woodland music sinks and swells, The brooklet rings its tinkling bells, MIDSUMMER. 47 The swarming insects drone and hum, The partridge beats his throbbing drum. The squirrel leaps among the boughs, And chatters in his leafy house. The oriole flashes by ; and, look ! Into the mirror of the brook, Where the vain bluebird trims his coat, Two tiny feathers fall and float. As silently, as tenderly, The down of peace descends on me. 0, this is peace! I have no need Of friend to talk, of book to read : A dear Companion here abides ; Close to my thrilling heart He hides ; The holy silence is His Voice : I lie and listen, and rejoice. MY COMRADE AND I. TTTE two have grown up so divinely together, Flower within flower from seed within seed, The sagest astrologer cannot say whether His being or mine was first called and decreed. In the life before birth, by inscrutable ties, We were linked each to each ; I am bound up in him : He sickens, I languish ; without me he dies ; I am life of his life, he is limb of my limb. Twin babes from one cradle, I tottered about with him, Chased the bright butterflies, singing, a boy with him : Still as a man I am borne in and out with him, Sup with him, sleep with him, suffer, enjoy with him. Faithful companion, me long he has carried Unseen in his bosom, a lamp to his feet ; More near than a bridegroom, to him I am married, As light in the sunbeam is wedded to heat. MY COMRADE AND L 49 If my beam be withdrawn he is senseless and blind ; I am sight to his vision, I hear with his ears ; His the marvellous brain, I the masterful mind ; I laugh with his laughter and weep with his tears- So well that the ignorant deem us but one : They see but one shape and they name us one name; pliant accomplice ! what deeds we have done, Thus banded together for glory or shame ! When evil waylays us, and passion surprises, And we are too feeble to strive or to fly, When hunger compels or when pleasure entices, Which most is the sinner, my comrade or I ? And when over perils and pains and temptations- I triumph, where still I should falter and faint, But for him, iron-nerved for heroical patience, Whose then is the virtue, and which is the saint?' Am I the one sinner? of honors sole claimant For actions which only we two can perform ? Am I the true creature, and thou but the raiment? Thou magical mantle, all vital and warm, 3 D 50 MY COMRADE AND I. Wrapped about me, a screen from the rough winds of Time, Of texture so flexile to feature and gesture ! Can ever I part from thee ? Is there a clime Where Life needeth not this terrestrial vesture ? When comes the sad summons to sever the sweet Subtle tie that unites us, and tremulous, fearful, I feel thy loosed fetters depart from my feet; When friends gathered round us, pale-visaged and tearful, Be weep and bewail thee, thou fair earthly prison ! And kiss thy cold doors, for thy inmate mis- taken ; Their eyes seeing not the freed captive, arisen From thy trammels unclasped and thy shackles downshaken ; 0, then shall I linger, reluctant to break The dear sensitive chains that about me have grown ? And all this bright world, can I bear to forsake Its embosoming beauty and love, and alone MY COMRADE AND I. 5T Journey on to I know not what regions untried? Exists there, beyond the dim cloud-rack of death, Such life as enchants us ? skies arched and wide ! delicate senses ! exquisite breath ! Ah, tenderly, tenderly over thee hovering, 1 shall look down on thee empty and cloven, Pale mould of my being! thou visible covering Wherefrom my invisible raiment is woven. Though sad be the passage, nor pain shall appall me, Nor parting, assured, wheresoever I range The glad fields of existence, that naught can befall me That is not still beautiful, blessed, and strange. THE WOLVES. "VT^E who listen to stories told, When hearths are cheery and nights are cold, Of the lone wood-side, and the hungry pack That howls on the fainting traveller's track, Flame-red eyeballs that waylay, By the wintry moon, the belated sleigh, The lost child sought in the dismal wood, The little shoes and the stains of blood On the trampled snow, ye that hear, With thrills of pity, or chills of fear, Wishing some angel had been sent To shield the hapless and innocent, THE WOLVES. 53 Know ye the fiend that is crueller far Than the gaunt gray herds of the forest are ? Swiftly vanish the wild fleet tracks Before the rifle and woodman's axe : But hark to the coming of unseen feet, Pattering by night through the city street! Each wolf that dies in the woodland brown Lives a spectre and haunts the town. By square and market they slink and prowl, In lane and alley they leap and howl. All night they snuff and snarl before The poor patched window and broken door. They paw the clapboards and claw the latch, At every crevice they whine and scratch. Their tongues are subtle and long and thin, And they lap the living blood within. 54 THE WOLVES. Icy keen are the teeth that tear, Eed as ruin the eyes that glare. Children crouched in corners cold Shiver in tattered garments old, And start from sleep with bitter pangs At the touch of the phantoms' viewless fangs. Weary the mother and worn with strife, Still she watches and fights for life. But her hand is feeble, and weapon small: One little needle against them all I In evil hour the daughter fled From her poor shelter and wretched bed. Through the city's pitiless solitude To the door of sin the wolves pursued. Fierce the father and grim with want, His hoart is gnawed by the spectres gaunt. THE WOLVES. 55 Frenzied stealing forth by night, With whetted knife to the desperate fight, He thought to smite the spectres dead, But he smites his brother man instead. you that listen to stories told, When hearths are cheery and nights are cold, Weep no more at the tales you hear, The danger is close, and the wolves are near. Shudder not at the murderer's name, Marvel not at the maiden's shame. Pass not by with averted eye The door where the stricken children cry. But when the beat of the phantom feet Sounds by night through the stormy street, Follow thou where the spectres glide ; Stand like Hope by the mother's side; 56 THE WOLVES. . And be thyself the angel sent To shield the hapless and innocent. He giveth little who gives but tears, He giveth his best who aids and cheers. He does well in the forest wild Who slays the monster and saves the child ; But he does better, and merits more, "Who drives the wolf from the poor man's door. LA CANTATRICE. T> Y day, at a high oak desk I stand, And trace in a ledger line by line ; But at five o'clock yon dial's hand Opens the cage wherein I pine ; And as faintly the stroke from the belfry peals Down through the thunder of hoofs and wheels, I wonder if ever a monarch feels Such royal joy as mine ! Beatrice is dressed, and her carriage waits ; I know she has heard that signal-chime ; And my strong heart leaps and palpitates, As lightly the winding stair I climb To her fragrant room, where the winter's gloom Is changed by the heliotrope's perfume, And the curtained sunset's crimson bloom, To love's own summer prime. 3* 58 LA CANTATRICE. I She meets me there, so strangely fair That my soul aches with a happy pain ; A pressure, a touch of her true lips, such As a seraph might give and take again ; A hurried whisper, " Adieu 1 adieu ! They wait for me while I stay for you 1 " And a parting smile of her blue eyes through The glimmering carriage-pane. Then thoughts of the past come crowding fast On a blissful track of love and sighs ; 0, well I toiled, and these poor hands soiled, That her song might bloom in Italian skies! The pains and fears of those lonely years, The nights of longing and hope and tears, Her heart's sweet debt, and the long arrears Of love in those faithful eyes ! night ! be friendly to her and me ! To box and pit and gallery swarm The expectant throngs ; I am there to see ; And now she is bending her ^diant form LA CANTATEICE. 59 To the clapping crowd ; I am thrilled and proud ; My dim eyes look through a misty cloud, And my joy mounts up on the. plaudits loud, Like a sea-bird on a storm 1 She has waved her hand ; the tumultuous rush Of applause sinks down ; and silverly Her voice glides forth on the quivering hush, Like the white-robed moon on a tremulous sea I And wherever her shining influence calls, I swing on the billow that swells and falls, I know no more, till the very walls Seem shouting with jubilee ! 0, little she cares for the fop who airs His glove and glass, or the gay array Of fans and perfumes, of jewels and plumes, Where wealth and pleasure have met to pay Their nightly homage to her sweet song ; But over the bravas clear and strong, Over all the flaunting and fluttering throng 1 , She smiles my soul away 1 60 LA CANTATRICE. Why am I happy ? why am I proud ? 0, can it be true she is all my own? I make my way through the ignorant crowd ; I know, I know where my love hath flown. Again we meet ; I am here at her feet, And with kindling kisses and promises sweet, Her glowing, victorious lips repeat That they sing for me alone ! BEAUTY. TT^OND lover of the Ideal Fair, My soul, eluded everywhere, la lapsed into a sweet despair. Perpetual pilgrim, seeking ever, Baffled, enamored, finding never ; Each morn the cheerful chase renewing, Misled, bewildered, still pursuing; Not all my lavished years have bought One steadfast smile from her I sought, But sidelong glances, glimpsing light, A something far too fine for sight, Veiled voices, far-off thridding strains, And precious agonies and pains: Not love, but only love's^ dear wound And exquisite unrest I found. BEAUTY, t At early morn I saw her pass The lone lake's blurred and quivering Her trailing veil of amber mist The unbending beaded clover kissed ; And straight I hasted to waylay Her coming by the willowy way ; But, swift companion of the Dawn, She left her footprints on the lawn, And, in arriving, she was gone. Alert I ranged the winding shore ; Her luminous presence flashed before ; The wild-rose and the daisies wet From her light touch were trembling yet ; Faint smiled the conscious violet ; Each bush and brier and rock betrayed Some tender sign her parting made ; And when far on her flight I tracked To where the thunderous cataract O'er walls of foamy ledges broke, She vanished in the vapory smoke. BEAUTY. 63 To-night I pace this pallid floor, The sparkling waves curl up the shore, The August moon is flushed and full ; The soft, low winds, the liquid lull, The whited, silent, misty realm, The wan-blue heaven, each ghostly elm, All these, her ministers, conspire To fill my bosom with the fire And sweet delirium of desire. Enchantress ! leave thy sheeny height, Descend, be all mine own this night, Transfuse, enfold, entrance me quite ! Or break thy spell, my heart restore, And disenchant me evermore 1 SEKVICE. TTTHEN I beheld a lover woo A maid unwilling, And saw what lavish deeds men do, Hope's flagon filling, What vines are tilled, what wines are spilled, And madly wasted, To fill the flask that 's never filled, And rarely tasted : Devouring all life's heritage, And inly starving ; Dulling the spirit's mystic edge, The banquet carving ; Feasting with Pride, that Barmecide Of unreal dishes ; And wandering ever in a wide, Wide world of wishes : SERVICE. 65 For gain or glory lands and seas Endlessly ranging, Safety and years and health and ease Freely exchanging : When, ever as I moved, I saw The world's contagion, Then turned, Love ! to thy sweet law- Arid compensation, Well might red shame my cheek consume! service slighted! Bride of Paradise, to whom 1 long was plighted ! Do I with burning lips profess To serve thee wholly, Yet labor less for blessedness Than fools for folly ? The wary worldling spread his toils Whilst I was sleeping ; The wakeful miser locked his spoils, Keen vigils keeping : 66 SERVICE. I loosed the latches of my soul To pleading Pleasure, Who stayed one little hour, and stole My heavenly treasure. A friend for friend's sake will endure Sharp provocations ; And knaves are cunning- to secure, By cringing patience, And smiles upon a smarting cheek, Some dear advantage, Swathing their grievances in meek Submission's bandage. Yet for thy sake I will not take One drop of trial, But raise rebellious hands to break The bitter vial. At hardship's surly-visaged churl My spirit sallies ; And melts, Peace ! thy priceless pearl In passion's chalice. SERVICE. 67 Yet never quite, in darkest night, Was I forsaken : Down trickles still some starry rill My heart to waken. Love Divine ! could I resign This changeful spirit To walk thy ways, what wealth of grace Might I inherit ! If one poor flower < of thanks to thee Be truly given, All night thou snowest down to me Lilies of heaven ! One task of human love fulfilled, Thy glimpses tender My days of lonely labor gild With gleams of splendor ! One prayer, " Thy will, not mine ! " and bright, O'er all my being, Breaks blissful light, that gives to sight A subtler seeing; 68 SERVICE. Straightway mine ear is tuned to hear Ethereal numbers, Whose secret symphonies insphere The dull earth's slumbers. "Thy will!" and I am armed to meet Misfortune's volleys ; For every sorrow I have sweet, 0, sweetest solace! "Thy will!" no more I hunger sore, For angels feed me ; Henceforth for days, by peaceful ways, They gently lead me. For me the diamond dawns are set In rings of beauty, And all my paths are dewy wet With pleasant duty ; Beneath the boughs of calm content My hammock swinging, In their green tent my eves are spent, Thy praises singing. AT SEA. rflHE night is made for cooling shade, For silence, and for sleep ; And when I was a child, I laid My hands upon my breast and prayed, And sank to slumbers deep: Childlike as then, I lie to-night, And watch my lonely cabin light. Each movement of the swaying lamp Shows how the vessel reels : As o'er her deck the billows tramp, And all her timbers strain and cramp, With every shock she feels, It starts and shudders, while it burns, And in its hinged socket turns. Now swinging slow, and slanting low, It almost level lies ; 70 AT SEA. And yet I know, while to and fro I watch the seeming pendule go With restless fall and rise, The steady shaft is still upright, Poising its little globe of light. hand of God 1 lamp of peace ! promise of my soul ! Though weak, and tossed, and ill at ease, Amid the roar of smiting seas, The ship's convulsive roll, 1 own, with love and tender awe, Yon perfect type of faith and law I A heavenly trust my spirit calms, My soul is filled with light: The ocean sings his solemn psalms, The wild winds chant : I cross my palms, Happy as if, to-night, Under the cottage-roof, again I heard the soothing summer-rain. EEAL ESTATE. rilHE pleasant grounds are greenly turfed and graded ; A sturdy porter waiteth at the gate ; The graceful avenues, serenely shaded, And curving paths, are interlaced and braided In many a maze around my fair estate. Here blooms the early hyacinth, and clover And amaranth and myrtle wreathe the ground ; The pensive lily leans her pale cheek over ; And hither comes the bee, light-hearted rover, V\ r ooing the sweet-breathed flowers with soothing sound. , Intwining, in their manifold digressions, Lands of my neighbors, wind these peaceful ways. The masters, coming to their calm possessions, Followed in solemn state by long processions, Make quiet journeys these still summer days. 72 EEAL ESTATE. This is my freehold ! Elms and fringy larches, Maples and pines, and stately firs of Norway, Build round me their green pyramids and arches ; Sweetly the robin sings, while slowly marches The stately pageant past my verdant doorway. 0, sweetly sing the robin and the sparrow ! But the pale tenant very silent rides. A low green roof receiveth him ; so narrow His hollowed tenement, a school-boy's arrow Might span the space betwixt its grassy sides. The flowers around him ring their wind-swung chalices, A great bell tolls the pageant's slow advance. The poor alike, and lords of parks and palaces, - From all their busy schemes, their fears and fallacies, Find here their rest and sure inheritance. No more hath Caesar or Sardanapalus ! Of all our wide dominions, soon or late, Only a fathom's space can aught avail us ; This is the heritage that shall not fail us : Here man at last comes to his Real Estate. REAL ESTATE. 73 " Secure to him and to his heirs forever " ! Nor wealth nor want shall vex his spirit more. Treasures of hope and love and high endeavor Follow their blest proprietor ; but never Could pomp or riches pass this little door. Flatterers attend him, but alone he enters, Shakes off the dust of earth, no more to roam. His trial ended, sealed his soul's indentures, The wanderer, weary from his long adventures, Beholds the peace of his eternal home. Lo, more than life Man's great Estate comprises ! While for the earthly corner of his mansion A little nook in shady Time suffices, The rainbow-pillared heavenly roof arises Ethereal in limitless expansion ! THE MASKERS. YESTERNIGHT, as late I strayed Through the orchard's mottled shade, Coming 1 to the moonlit alleys, Where the sweet south-wind, that dallies All day with the Queen of Roses, All night on her breast reposes, Drinking from the dewy blooms, Silences, and scented glooms Of the warm-breathed summer night, Long, deep draughts of pure delight, Quick the shaken foliage parted, And from out its shadows darted Dwarf-like forms, with hideous faces, Cries, contortions, and grimaces. Still I stood beneath the lonely, Sighing lilacs, saying only, THE MASKERS. 75 " Little friends, you can't alarm me ; Well I know you would not harm me ! " Straightway dropped each painted mask, Sword of lath, and paper casque, And a troop of rosy girls Ran and kissed me through their curls. Caught within their net of graces, I looked round on shining faces. Sweetly through the moonlit alleys Rang their laughter's silver sallies. Then along the pathway, light With the white bloom of the night, I went peaceful, pacing slow, Captive held in arms of snow. Happy maids ! of you I learn Heavenly maskers to discern ! So, when seeming griefs and harms Fill life's garden with alarms, Through its inner walks enchanted I will ever move undaunted. 76 THE MASKERS. Love hath messengers that borrow Tragic masks of fear and sorrow, When they come to do us kindness, And but for our tears and blindness, We should see, through each disguise, Cherub cheeks and angel eyes. BY THE RIVER. TN the beautiful greenwood's charmeM light, And down through the meadows wide and bright. Deep in the silence, and smooth in the gleam, For ever and ever flows the stream. Where the mandrakes grow, and the pale, thin grass The airy scarf of the woodland weaves, By dim, enchanted paths I pass, Crushing the twigs and the last year's leaves. Over the wave, by the crystal brink, A kingfisher sits on a low, dead limb : He is always sitting there, I think, And another, within the crystal brink, Is always pendent under him. 78 BY THE RIVER. I know where an old tree leans across From bank to bank, an ancient tree, Quaintly cushioned with curious moss, A bridge for the cool wood-nymphs and me : Half seen they flit, while here I sit By the magical water, watching it. In its bosom swims the fair phantasm Of a subterraneous azure chasm, So soft and clear, you would say the stream Was dreaming of heaven a visible dream. Where the noontide basks, and its warm rays tint The nettles and clover and scented mint, And the crinkled airs, that curl and quiver, Drop their wreaths in the mirroring river, Under the shaggy magnificent drapery Of many a wild-woven native grapery, By ivy-bowers, and banks of violets, And golden hillocks, and emerald islets, Along its sinuous shining bed. In sheets of splendor it lies outspread. BY THE RIVER. 79 In the twilight stillness and solitude Of green caves roofed by the brooding wood, Where the woodbine swings, and beneath the trailing Sprays of the queenly elm-tree sailing, By ribbed and wave-worn ledges shimmering, Gilding the rocks with a rippled glimmering, All pictured over in shade and sun, The wavering silken waters run. Upon this mossy trunk I sit, Over the river, watching it. A shadowed face peers up at me ; And another tree in the chasm I see, Clinging above the abyss it spans ; The broad boughs curve their spreading fans, From side to side, in the nether air ; And phantom birds in the phantom branches Mimic the birds above ; and there, Oh ! far below, solemn and slow, The white clouds roll the crumbling snow Of ever-pendulous avalanches, Till the brain grows giddy, gazing through Their wild, wide rifts of bottomless blue. 80 BY THE RIVER. n. THROUGH the river, and through the rifts Of the sundered earth I gaze, While Thought on dreamy pinion drifts, Over cerulean bays, Into the deep ethereal sea Of her own serene eternity. Transfigured by my tranced eye, Wood and meadow, and stream and sky, Like vistas of a vision lie : THE WORLD is th*e Eiver that nickers by. Its skies are the blue-arched centuries ; And its forms are the transient images Flung on the flowing film of Time By the steadfast shores of a fadeless clime. As yonder wave-side willows grow, Substance above, and shadow below, BY THE RIVER. 81 The golden slopes of that upper sphere Hang their imperfect landscapes here. Fast by" the Tree of Life, which shoots Duplicate forms from selfsame roots, Under the fringes of Paradise, The crystal brim of the River lies. There are banks of Peace, whose lilies pure Paint on the wave their portraiture ; And many a holy influence, That climbs to God like the breath of prayer, Creeps quivering into the glass of sense, To bless the immortals mirrored there. Through realms of Poesy, whose, white cliffs Cloud its deeps with their hieroglyphs, Alpine fantasies heaped and wrought At will by the frolicsome winds of Thought, By shores of Beauty, whose colors pass Faintly into the misty glass, By hills of Truth, whose glories show 4 I, 82 BY THE RIVER. Distorted, broken, and dimmed, as we snow, Kissed by the tremulous long green tress Of the glistening tree of Happiness, Which ever our aching grasp eludes With sweet illusive similitudes, All pictured over in shade and gleam, For ever and ever runs the Stream. The orb that burns in the rifts of space Is the adumbration of God's Face. My Soul leans over the murmuring flow, And I am the image it sees below. THE NAME IN THE BAEK. [E self of so long ago, And the self I struggle to know, I sometimes think we are two, or are we shadows of one ? To-day the shadow I am Returns in the sweet summer calm To trace where the earlier shadow flitted awhile in the sun. Once more in the dewy morn I came through the whispering corn ; Cool to my fevered cheek soft breezy kisses were blown ; The ribboned and tasselled grass Leaned over the flattering glass, And the sunny waters trilled the same low musical tone. To the gray old birch I came, Where I whittled my school-boy name: 84 THE NAME IN THE BARK. The nimble squirrel once more ran skippingly over the rail, The blackbirds down among The alders noisily sung, And under the blackberry-brier whistled the serious quail. I came, remembering well How my little shadow fell, As I painfully reached and wrote to leave to the future a sign : There, stooping a little, I found A half-healed, curious wound, An ancient scar in the bark, but no initial of mine ! Then the wise old boughs overhead Took counsel together, and said, And the buzz of their leafy lips like a murmur of prophecy passed, " He is busily carving a name In the tough old wrinkles of fame ; But, cut he as deep as he may, the lines will close over at last ! " THE NAME IN THE BARK. 85 Sadly I pondered awhile, Then I lifted my soul with a smile, And I said, " Not cheerful men, but anxious children are we, Still hurting ourselves with the knife, As we toil at the letters of life, Just marring a little the rind, never piercing the heart of the tree." And now by the rivulet's brink I leisurely saunter, and think How idle this strife will appear when circling ages have run, If then the real I am Descend from the heavenly calm, To trace where the shadow I seem once flitted awhile in the sun. LTEICS OF THE WAR THE LAST BALLY. [NOVEMBER, 1864.] T3ALLY! rally! rally! Arouse the slumbering land f Rally ! rally ! from mountain and valley, From city and ocean-strand! Ye sons of the West, America's best ! New Hampshire's men of might ! From prairie and crag unfurl the flag, And rally to the fight! Armies of untried heroes, Disguised in craftsman and clerk 1 Ye men of the coast, invincible host ! Come, every one, to the work, From the fisherman gray as the salt-sea spray That on Long Island breaks, 90 THE LAST RALLY. To the youth who tills the uttermost hills By the blue northwestern lakes! Old men shall fight with the ballot, Weapon the last and best, And the bayonet, with blood red-wet, Shall write the will of the rest; And the boys shall fill men's places, And the little maid shall rock Her doll as she sits with her grandam and knitB An unknown hero's sock. And the hearts of heroic mothers, And the deeds of noble wives, With their power to bless shall aid no less Than the brave who give their lives. The rich their gold shall bring, and the old Shall help us with their prayers ; While hovering hosts of pallid ghosts Attend us unawares. From the ghastly fields of Shiloh Muster the phantom bands, THE LAST RALLY. 91 From Virginia's swamps, and Death's white camps On Carolina sands ; From Fredericksburg, and Gettysburg, I see them gathering fast ; And up from Manassas, what is it that passes Like thin clouds in the blast ? From the Wilderness, where blanches The nameless skeleton ; From Vicksburg's slaughter and red-streaked water, And the trenches of Donelson ; From the cruel, cruel prisons, Where their bodies pined away, From groaning decks, from sunken wrecks, They gather with us to-day. And they say to us, " Rally I rally I The work is almost done ! Ye harvesters, sally from mountain and valley And reap the fields we won 1 We sowed for endless years of peace, We harrowed and watered well ; 92 THE LAST RALLY. Our dying deeds were the scattered seeds: Shall they perish where they fell ? " And their brothers, left behind them In the deadly roar and clash Of cannon and sword, by fort and ford, And the carbine's quivering flash, Before the Rebel citadel Just trembling to its fall, From Georgia's glens, from Florida's fens, For us they call, they call I The life-blood of the tyrant Is ebbing fast away ; Victory waits at her opening gates, And smiles on our array ; With solemn eyes the Centuries Before us watching stand, And Love lets down his starry crown To bless the future land. One more sublime endeavor And behold the dawn of Peace ! THE LAST RALLY. 93 One more endeavor, and war forever Throughout the land shall cease ! For ever and ever the vanquished power Of Slavery shall be slain, And Freedom's stained and trampled flower Shall blossom white again ! 'T THE COLOR-BEARER. WAS a fortress to be stormed : Boldly right in view they formed, All as quiet as a regiment parading : Then in front a line of flame ! Then at left and right the same 1 Two platoons received a furious enfilading. To their places still they filed, And they smiled at the wild Cannonading. "'T will be over in an hour! 'T will not be much of a shower! Never mind, my boys," said he, "a little drizzling ! Then to cross that fatal plain, Through the whirring, hurtling rain Of the grape-shot, and the minie-bullets' whistling ! But he nothing heeds nor shuns, As he runs with the guns Brightly bristling! THE COLOR-BEARER. 95 Leaving 1 trails of dead and dying In their track, yet forward flying Like a breaker where the gale of conflict rolled them, With a foam of flashing light Borne before them on their bright Burnished barrels, 0, 't was fearful to behold them! While from ramparts roaring loud. Swept a cloud like a shroud To enfold them ! 0, his color was the first ! Through the burying cloud he burst, With the standard to the battle forward slanted! Through the belching, blinding breath Of the flaming jaws of Death, With the banner on the bastion to be planted ! By the screaming shot that fell, And the yell of the shell, Nothing daunted. Right against the bulwark dashing, Over tangled branches crashing, 96 THE COLOR-BEAKER. 'Mid the plunging 1 volleys thundering ever louder, There the clambers, there he stands, With the ensign in his hands, 0, was ever hero handsomer or prouder ? Streaked with battle-sweat and slime And sublime in the grime Of the powder ! 'T was six minutes, at the least, Ere the closing combat ceased, Near as we the mighty moments then could measure, And we held our souls with awe, Till his haughty flag we saw On the lifting vapors drifting o'er the embrasure, Saw it glimmer in our tears, While our ears heard the cheers Rend the azure ! Through the abatis they broke, Through the surging cannon-smoke, And they drove the foe before like frightened cattle. THE COLOR-BEARER. 97 0, but never wound was his, For in other wars than this, Where the volleys of Life's conflict roll and rattle, He must still, as he was wont, In the front bear the brunt Of the battle. He shall guide the van of Truth, And in manhood, as in youth, Be her fearless, be her peerless Color-Bearer! With his high and bright example, Like a banner brave and ample, Ever leading through receding clouds of Error, To the empire of the Strong, And to Wrong he shall long Be a terror 1 THE JAGUAR HUNT. [MAT, 1865.] rilHE dark jaguar was abroad in the land ; His strength and his fierceness what foe could withstand ? The breath of his anger was hot on the air, And the white lamb of Peace he had dragged to his lair. Then up rose the Farmer ; he summoned his sons : " Now saddle your horses, now look to your guns ! " And he called to his hound, as he sprang from the ground To the back of his black pawing steed with a bound. 0, their hearts, at the word, how they tingled and stirred ! They followed, all belted and booted and spurred. "Buckle tight, boys!" said he, "for who gallops with me, Such a hunt as was never before he shall seel THE JAGUAR HUNT. 99 " This traitor, we know him ! for when he was younger, We flattered him, patted him, fed his fierce hunger : But now far too long we have borne with the wrong, For each morsel we tossed mates him savage and strong." Then said one, "He must die 1 " And they took up the cry, " For this last crime of his he must die ! he must die ! " But the slow eldest-born sauntered sad and forlorn, For his heart was at home on that fair hunting-morn. " I remember," he said, " how this fine cub we track Has carried me many a time on his back ! " And he called to his brothers, "Fight gently! be kind ! " And he kept the dread hound, Ketribution, behind. The dark jaguar on a bough in the brake Crouched, silent and wily, and lithe as a snake : They spied not their game, but, as onward they came, Through the dense leafage gleamed two red eyeballs of flame. 100 THE JAGUAR HUNT. Black-spotted, and mottled, and whiskered, and grim, White-bellied, and yellow, he lay on the limb, All so still that you saw but just one tawny paw . Lightly reach through the leaves and as softly withdraw. Then shrilled his fierce cry, as the riders drew nigh, And he shot from the bough like a bolt from the sky: In the foremost he fastened his fangs as he fell, While all the black jungle re-echoed his yell. O, then there was carnage by field and by flood I The green sod was crimsoned, the rivers ran blood, The cornfields were trampled, and all in their track The beautiful valley lay blasted arid black. Now the din of the conflict swells deadly and loud, And the dust of the tumult rolls up like a cloud : Then afar down the slope of the Southland recedes The wild rapid clatter of galloping steeds. With wide nostrils smoking, and flanks dripping gore, The black stallion bore his bold rider before, As onward they thundered through forest and glen, A-hunting the dark jaguar to his den. THE JAGUAR HUNT. 101 In April, sweet April, the chase was begun ; It was April again, when the hunting was done : The snows of four winters and four summers green Lay red-streaked and trodden and blighted between. Then the monster stretched all his grim length on the ground ; His life-blood was wasting from many a wound ; Ferocious and gory and dying he lay, Amid heaps of the whitening bones of his prey. " So rapine and treason forever shall cease ! " And they wash the stained fleece of the pale lamb of Peace ; When, lo ! a strong angel stands winge'd and whit^ In a wonderful raiment of ravishing light ! Peace is raised from the dead ! In the radiance shei By the halo of glory that shines round her head, Fair gardens shall bloom where the black jun