SH3A1N1 BRARY^ *)di THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES I BY J, H, WARD Author of "The Hand of Providence," Gospel Philosophy," "Current Topics in Europe," Editor of Salt Lake City "Beobachter," Etc. Illustrated With J^umerouj EntfratJintfj From Original "Dejijnj by the Author and Ttratvn by tUeggeland. ENLARGED EDITION WRITE to the mind and heart, and let the ear Glean after what it can. The voice of good, or graceful thoughts, is sweeter far than all Word music: and good thoughts, like great deeds, need No trumpet. SALT LAKE CITY. UTAH. 1903. To THE YOUNG, lr\ the Commencerr]eqt of Life's Jourqey: To THE MIDDLE-AGED, Surrouqded by Cares and Conflicts: To THE AGED, Who ^ave Toiled ar\d Suffered: To MY EARNEST FRIENDS EVERYWHERE; Thjs Little Volunqe is Inscribed BY THE AUTHOR. 762360 CONTENTS Jared Barnes' Fiddle, . . . 13 Sleep of the Six Hundred, . . . 16 Evermore, . . . . .20 Time Brings Change, . . .22 Life, . . . . -23 A The Old Man in the Stylish Church, . . 24 I Was Thinking as We Sat Here, . . .26 A Child's Idea, .... Be True to Thyself, The Destined Way, .... The Lion's Bride, Wanted, ..... Soliloquy of a Loafer, .... A Terrible Terrier, .... A Strange Affair, .... A O, Heart of Mine, .... The Happy Islands, The Theological Dispute, The Tide of Life, .... To an Old-Time Friend, . A Daughter's Love at Fourteen Years, A Fallen One's Lament, The Seven Ages of Woman, The Pilgrim and His Staff, Passing Away, .... Retrospection, .... At Rest, ..... The Incarnation, .... CONTENTS. PAGE. The Old Maid's Retrospection, . . .80 Compensation, . . . .81 ,The Good Time Now, . . . .82 The Spirit's Cry, . . . .83 The Coming Day, -, . . .84 A Way I Knew Not, ._^._. . . 84 -^Wrecks, . , ... Heaven, . . , > A Little While, Tired of Play, > , . . We are Growing Old, . . . The Triumph of Truth, P v< Chance, . . . . Minne-Ha-Ha, . . ..." A Home Pidure, . , :. ;. Hungering Hearts, . . - , ' Utah, The Queen of the West, ' . . ^Young Love's First Dream, - Divorced, . '" . . Three Angels, . . The Pioneers, . . . , . . Early Memories, . . , A Wife's Reminiscence, The White Stairway, , i. Two Workers, . Why Was I Looking Out ? Turning Gray, An Old Road, .... The Merchant, Lazing, . Isolation, The Hill Difficulty, . Civil War, Not Fit to be Kissed, Drifting, * Speak Thy Thought, CONTENTS. My Native Land, Children at their Play, We've Drunk from the Same Canteen, Who Was He? .... The Mountain Boy, Toward Sunset, The Bachelor's Confession, The Land of Rest, .... Eternity, Earth's Tribute, .... Hold Still, .... Comforting Words to those who have Lost their Children, Fidelity and Honesty, A Legend of the Maelstrom, Mignon, . The Castle of Boncoiart, The Indian's Revenge, Wynona, .... Hero and Leander, Hope, Judas, .... Change, ..... Past and Future: A New Year's Rhyme, To Unseen Friends, . Requiem to Gen. Grant, . Unknown Heroes, .... A Noad to Blondin, . . ILLUSTRATIONS, Boldly He Spoke and Well, - 17 I was Thinking as We Sat Here, Dear Wife, 27 In the Days that are Past We were Happy and Gay, - 33 As on Balanced Chair the Senator Swung, - 39 The Moon Shone Calm on that Summer Scene, - - 43 The Kiss of the Laborer's Wife at Morn, - 51 Sometimes in the Evening's Golden Haze, - 55 She, too, will be Mamma, and Lull to Rest, 59 There, Wrapt in Musing, She Delights to Stray, 63 The Youngest, Cradled on Her Fostering Breast, . 67 She in Her Children's Children Tastes Again, - 71 But Dearer Far, My Darling, - 77 There are Wrecks on the Beach by the' Headland, - 87 In the Land of the Dacotahs, - 97 They were an Exile Band, - 107 Mute are Those Lips with a Tale Untold, - 131 Floating on the Wild Waves of that L)ark Heaving Tomb, - 149 But the Savage, Calmly Smiling, Answered, 165 Swiftly they Urge their Way, but 'Tis Too Late, 177 O'er lhat Dark and Billowy Way, - - 183 PREFACE WHAT ! challenge the public to read your thoughts? Yet that is really what an author does when he writes a book. I know, alas, too well, that many of my thoughts are not worth a memory; but, perhaps, my best thoughts, clothed in my best words, and these, culled and selected during twenty-six years, may be worth a momentary glance. Some of these pieces have been published and republished. At first my name was attached to them; then other papers copied them, and to them appended the word " Selected. " Some of them have been repub lished in books, with the easily-spelled word "Anon." placed at the bottom, or even assigned to some other author. It is my duty to acknowledge my poetical children, and a pleasure also, seeing they have made themselves useful in the world of letters. These "Ballads" have been written under varied circum stances, in the old-fashioned farm-house, in the bustling railroad depot, on the broad and lonely prairie, in far northern wilds, amid the children of the forest, and some even in a soldier's tent r with a drum-head for a writing desk, while watching at the bed side of a wounded comrade. The "Translations" are from various authors Chamisso r Louis Frichette, Goethe, Reinick, Schiller, Seume Uhland, Ritter- mann and Julius Sturm. In some instances bungling translations of these authors are in print. In such cases the original text and vi PREFACE. a more correct translation has been placed on opposite pages, so that the critical reader may compare them. To use the words of another, "Here, wrapped up in words, lie those thoughts that floated through the brain, and those feelings that burned in the heart, and were the hidden motives of outward adion." The critic will, no doubt, see in these compositions many a faulty rhyme, many a sentence which might be improved. We may comfort ourselves, however, with the thought that they con tain no expressions injurious to the young, or antagonistic to the most rigid moralist. The introduction was written by a life-long friend, and though there may be sentiments in it too flattering to the author, still out of respecl to the writer we leave them untouched. Perhaps few of our readers realize the difficulties we have encountered in the production of this work; therefore, criticise not too harshly, but treasure up whatever grains of wheat may be found among the chaff. THE AUTHOR. NTRODUCTION A LITTLE more than forty-two years ago the subject of this sketch was born in a little log cabin, on the bank of the River Thames, in the Province of Ontario. His father, George Ward, was, if we mistake not, a native of New York State, and a mem ber of one of the most historic families on the American continent. * The great ancestor of this family, so far as America is concerned, was the Rev. Nathaniel Ward, an English non-conformist minister, who was silenced by Archbishop Laud in 1631, for preaching against the tyranny of King Charles I. Nathaniel Ward came to America, became one of the founders of Haverhill, Mass. , and was the author of the first code of laws ever drawn up in New England. One of his descendants, General Artemas Ward, became prominent in the Revolutionar)' struggle. He commanded the militia for a time, and afterwards, when Wash ington was appointed to the command of the colonial armies, Gen eral Ward held the position of major-general under, and in rank was second to Washington only. Several others of the Ward family have become scarcely less noted, among whom may be mentioned Samuel Ward, delegate to the Continental Congress, and governor of Rhode Island for several years, and John E. Ward, U. S. minister to China. But the genius of the family seems to have ever been of a literary turn, with a tendency for radicalism. Among the promi- INTRODUCTION. nent members still living, may be mentioned William H. Ward, editor of the New York Independent; Rev. Henry Ward, D.D. r of Buffalo, New York, and Julia Ward Howe, the noted poetess, lecturer and female suffragist. Henry Ward Beecher and Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," are said to belong to this family on their mother's side. About the year 1836 George Ward, then a young man, left his father's house in western New York, and like thousands of ' other young men, started to try his fortunes in the then wild reg ions of the West. His route lay through Western Canada, and there he tarried for a time, working as a millwright. There also ,he became acquainted with a young Canadienne, whom he married; and there also the subject of this sketch was born. Afterward George Ward came on to Michigan, where he died in 1850. After a time his widow married, and, as in many instances, young Ward became dependent upon his own resources. Several of his father's relatives were living near, and they took some inter est in the lad. He became a most industrious student; often in the dim light of fading day, by the blaze of a pine knot, or early in the morning, while others were sleeping, he was to be found at his books. An incident or two may not be out of place here illustrating traits of character. At the age of thirteen he spoke so rapidly and stammered so badly that few of his acquaintances could understand him. Somewhere he had read of Demosthener, and how he had cured his stammering by wearing a pebble in his mouth. Young Ward resolved to try it, and for more than three years he carried a smooth, flat pebble inside his cheek, until he had habituated himself to speak more slowly and plainly. INTRODUCTION. When a little more than fourteen years of age he learned that his father's grave was likely to be disturbed by improvements near it. He set out on a journey of over a hundred miles on foot, ascertained the facts, hired out to a farmer till he earned sufficient to buy the grave, and place a simple slab at the head of it. On his way home he stopped at a little corner grocery to buy some cakes and where, also, was kept a book store and circulating library. He saw a book which he liked, hired out two days to saw wood to pay for the book and then set out on his journey. The book was called "Young Man's Friend," ten lectures by Daniel C. Eddy. He determined to write a copy of the entire book, that its words might bt impressed on his memory. This he did in the next four months by rising at four o'clock in the morn ing. Aside from the instruction which he thus received, he became a correct speller in most common words and acquired that terse style of composition which is manifest in his writings. At the age of fifteen he had gathered quite a little library. At that time books were not as cheap or plentiful as now, and during the commercial crash of 1856-7, money was very scarce. He worked for a whole week in the broiling sun hoeing corn for his pocket-Bible, (which, he writes to us), he still has in good condition after nearly thirty years of continuous wear. In 1856 he made the acquaintance of Stephen Wright, who after wards became somewhat noted.as the co-worker of Fred Douglass, in the work of negro emancipation. Wright had once been a slave, had perchased his own freedom, and acquired a liberal education. From Wright young Ward learned the beautiful art of phonographic short-hand, and Wright by his kindness won the esteem of the lad, and enlisted his sympathies in behalf of the enslaved race. Uncle Tom's Cabin had been published in 1853, and was begining to affect society. The stirring political events from 1856 to 1860: the rapid INTRODUCTION. progress of the abolition party: the free-soil struggle in Kansas: the workings of the fugitive slave law: all, made a deep impression on the mind of young Ward. In 1860 while working at the store of Thomas Currie, now of De troit, he became acquainted with a young woman about two years younger than himself; and one of those romantic attachments sprang up that leave an influence for many years. In 1861, she died suddenly, and so great was the influence on the youth's mind, that his friend's advised him to seek recreation. Accord ingly he went to Shakopee, Minn., and resided with his father's sister. Her husband was at that time editor of the Shakopee Ar gus, and here his literary career, if it may be so called, commenced. Encouraged by his uncle he contributed articles, both in prose and rhyme, to that paper for several years, some of which have been quite extensively copied into other journals and books. The studious habits of young Ward attracted the attention of Rev. Mr. Pond, then residing near Shakopee. Mr. Pond was at that time superintendent of Indian missions in the north-west, and as such he asked his youthful friend to undertake the task of .missionary teacher to the Indians near Fort Snelling. While here he learned much of Indian character and customs, and here he wrote "Wynona" and "Minnehaha." That summer when the Hudson's Bay fur trader's trains came down from the far north west, and he saw their quaint wooden carts, each drawn by a single ox; when he heard the wild tales of that far-off country,, and remembered that he had an uncle there engaged in the fur trade, he determined to go north and taste the pleasures and pains of wild adventure. But the climate of Hudson's Bay is not a pleasant one from October to May; and so, with returning summer he came back, just as the country was thrown into that terrible excitement follow- INTRODUCTION. xi ing the battle of Bull Run. Then he did just what might have been expecled became a volunteer soldier. He was present at the battle of Mill Springs, Ky. , where his friend and comrade, Jas. Isenhour, was shot by his side. One night while standing sentry he conceived the idea of that poem entitled Civil War, commencing: Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot, Straight to the heart of yon prowling vidette. When relieved of his duty, he, by the flickering lamp light, and using a drum-head for a table, wrote out the poem on a piece of brown paper, and sent it' to his uncle at Shakopee. He was un der Buel's command when he marched to the relief of Grant at Shiloh, or Pittsburg Landing. The next letter to his uncle carried a copy of that piece entitled "Unknown Heroes." At the battle of Stone River or Murfreesboro, he was severely wounded by a piece of shell. He recovered sufficiently to become a hospital steward, and there he wrote, "Who Was He?" and "We Have Drunk From the Same Canteen." He was also a corres pondent of the North- Western Christian Advocate, under the nom de plume of "Miles, a Soldier." When the war was over he was not only released, but also received a recommend from several chaplains to study for the Christian ministry. For a time he worked in the sash and door manufactory of Palmer, Fuller & Co., of Chicago. When he had accumulated sufficient funds he devoted his whdle time to study and Sabbath school missionary work, under the supervision of Dwight L. Moody, who had not tflen attained to celebrity, but was simply a plain shop-keeper. Chicago was then scarcely one-half the size it now is. That portion of the city which lies north of Chicago River was then a vast accumulation of shanties. No schools or churches were to be found in -that vicinity until the Illinois Street and other mis sions were started. In the Illinois Street Mission Ward became an And turn from the cross to the worship of dross, At the altars of Mammon and Mars? Ah, no ! in God's might, with the gospel of right, Yet herald an era of peace. The duties of man shall be taught us again And the tumult of war cries shall cease. No warfare shall wage in that golden age, But justice will have a new birth. For the Savior of men shall come once again, To rule o'er this sin trodden earth. Then heroes of right who have toiled through the night, Shall shine with the glory of stars, They'll wear a bright crown, for they never bowed down, At the altars of Mammon and Mars. A NEW NATIONAL SONG. Arise, sons of freedom and 'herald the story, That's 'wakened an echo in every land ; Sing joyful of progress and triumphs and glory, Already recorded in history grand, For Columbia's bright star sheds its radiance afar, A beacon of freedom and morning and light ; For the land born in sorrow shall have a glad morrow, And princes pay homage to the glory of right. Since hills, vales and forests unfolded their beauty, To those who first came here so long, long ago ; What grand panorama of progress and valor, In brightness of summer or bleakness of snow. CHORUS : As Columbia's bright star sheds, etc. Did Washington gaze on such vision before him, The sages and heroes who made this land free; Did Cherubim whisper the songs of the freeman, Or give them a glimpse of the glories to be. CHORUS : When Columbia's star sheds, etc. All hail, to the dawn of the jubilee morning, When Virtue shall triumph and Justice shall reign ; When brotherhood, peace and good will join the chorus. Our flag floating o'er a united domain. CHORUS : While Columbia's bright star sheds, etc. OUR NATION'S GLORY, Our Sunday Schools, our Sunday Schools, The glory of our nation; 'Tis here we learn life's golden rules, And duties of our station. The poor may learn their honest worth, The rich may learn their duty; May learn our mission here on earth, That goodness gives us beauty. CHORUS : Then let our hearts be filled with joy, Our happy voices ringing; Here we have bliss without alloy, While heavenly anthems singing. a The rich may boast of pleasures rare, But we can scarce believe them; That they in purer joys have share, Than those our school could give them. O happy hours of peaceful rest, Vouchsafed in life's glad morning. They'll make our later years more blest, With mem'ries sweet adorning. As sometimes down the western skies, The fiery sunset lingers; The gates of heaven seem to our eyes, Unlocked by unseen fingers. So Sunday songs, like echoes far, Proclaim the wond'rous story; As sunset holds the gates ajar, And half reveals its glory. This glorious light of later days, Is only in its dawning ; The hilltops catch the morning rays, Soon vales will see the morning. Then in that noontide splendor rare, 'Twill be a fact worth knowing; That in the harvest we'll have share, Because we helped the sowing. A WESTERN SONG. The nations awake to a great momentous war, And the voices of heralds are heard; The message has gone to the people near and far To prepare for the work of the Lord. But vaster, higher the conflict shall arise, As truth becoming strong; The most wished result e'er seen 'neath the skies : When Right shall win o'er Wrong. Though scoffers may laugh and the unbelievers scorn At the work we are doing today ; Like sowers we go in the bright ^nd early morn, Scatt'ring truth seeds wherever we may ; Though some seeds fall on the barren, rocky soil, And some by the highway side; Yet the words we speak in our earnest toil, In some honest hearts will abide. Our eyes may be streaming with sand and blinding tears, As farewells are spoken at home; But He who redeemed us can banish all our fears, Anr protect them wherever they roam. The future's glory is hidden from our eyes, 'Tis well that it should be so; They who sow or reap shall sure win the priz.^, And joys of the victor know. BALLADS OF LIFE. JARED BARNES' FIDDLE. IT'S nigh on twenty years ago, Since last I handled that old bow Sit closer to the fire, Joe, I don't mind tellin' 'bout it. It's mighty curious, I'll allow, And while I think upon it now, It's kind o' like a dream, somehow, And maybe you will doubt it. > You see that fiddle hangin' thar, And that old bow without the har? If they could speak, but here we are, And that was twenty years ago! 'Twas pow'rful chill and cold that night, Pitch dark, without a gleam o' light, And road and fences hid from sight, Beneath the drifted snow. My Betsy well, you've heard 'em say As how the poor girl left one day, And maybe more, it's people's way To make such matters light. She'd somehow gone all wrong, you see,. And aded strange and queer to^rne God knows how kind I tried to be! Her mind, it wasn't right. 14 BALLADS OF LIFE. It came at last! It hurt me, Joe! It seemed so hard o' heart, you know, To say that my poor girl must go Up to the 'sylum's walls! But they thought best; and so, at last, , I held my heart down hard and fast It seemed 'twas colder than the blast, Or any snow that falls. And so we went, 'twas in the Spring, I wondered how the birds could sing! I saw no joy in anything Along that road to town! But stop, before we left, that day, She smiled and laughed, and seemed as gay As little children in their play, And took the fiddle down. t Yes, put the old bow in my hand I trembled, Joe, I couldn't stand; It seemed I couldn't keep command, The honest truth to tell. I sat down by the window, though, And played somehow I scarcely know, With that 'ere crooked, time-worn bow, The tune she loved so well! The summer passed and winter came; And often, Joe, I called her name, And listened for her voice, the same As 'in the days before; Till one dark night of wind and snow I sat where you are sittin', Joe There came a loud and ringin' blow Right there against the door. BALLADS OF LIFE. 15 I let 'em in. "She's gone!" they said; "What gone?" says I, "My Betsy dead?" But Joe, 'twas worse than death she'd fled From out the 'sylum's wall! Alone, out in the blindin' snow, My poor crazed girl! God help me, Joe; But how I cussed 'em high and low I cussed 'em one and all. "Til go," I said, " I' 11 yfrzafher, too, I don't want help from sich as you, Go back to town, she'll find me true, My girl that went so wrong!" And then the strangest thing of all I saw the riddle on the wall; Wrapped bow and riddle in a shawl, And took 'em both along! My horse was swift; but who could ride In snow-drifts pilin' high and wide, And 'gainst the blindin' storm beside, And darkness everywhere? Somehow, at last, we seemed to take The road that leads straight to the lake The very point I tried to make It seemed that she'd be there! I stopped, and shouted loud and long; My voice seemed weak, the storm so strong! I called my girl that had gone wrong, My Betsy, gone astray! And Joe, at last I heard a cry! I heard her voice, so close, so nigh, I leaped into the snow breast high, And tried to break the way. 16 BALLADS OF LIFE, And then her voice was lost again. I called and shouted, all in vain; And, Joe, I think my own weak brain Was crazed I couldn't tell Leastwise, I took that fiddle, Joe, And in the storm I drew the bow, And played it how I'll never know That tune she loved so well! And didn't she answer, singin', too! And comin' toward me straight and true! I played the old tune squarely through, Until she touched my hand! Until she sank upon my breast, Poor, frozen girl! You know the rest. My Betsy died they say 'twas best, I've tried to understand! Not any sum in solid gold Would buy that fiddle cracked and old, Because its voice so surely told My Betsy where to go. Ah, well! may be she sings that song - Up there where people don't go wrong; But, Joe, I'm tired; I've watched so long That grave beneath the snow. MARCH, 1867. SLEEP OF THE SIX HUNDRED. O'ER their devoted head, While the words thundered, Snugly and heedlessly Snored the six hundred. Boldly he spoke and well, All on deaf ears it fell, Vain was his loudest yell, Volley'd and thundered. BALLADS OF LIFE. 19 Great was the preacher's theme, Screwed on was all his scheme; Neither with shout nor scream Could he disturb the dream Of the six hundred. Terrors to right of them, Terrors to left of them, Terrors in front of them, Hell itself plundered Of its most awful things, All those unlawful things Weak-minded preachers fling At the dumbfounded. Boldly he spoke and well, All on deaf ears it fell, Vain was his loudest yell, Volley 'd and thundered; For caring the truth to tell Neither for heaven nor hell, Snor'd the six hundred. Still with redoubled zeal, Still he spoke onward And in the wild appeal, Striking with hand and heel, Making the pulpit reel, Shaken and sundered; Called them the Church's foes, Threatened with endless woes; Faintly the answer rose Proof of their sweet repose From the united nose Of the six hundred. BALLADS OF LIFE. L' ENVOI. Sermons of near an hour, Too much for human power, Prayers, too, made to match, (Extemporaneous batch, Woefully blundered). With a service of music, Fit to turn every pew sick, Should it be wondered ? Churches that will not move Out of the ancient groove Through which they've floundered; If they will lay behind, Still must expecl to find Hearers of such a kind As the six hundred. 1871. EVERMORE. I BEHELD a golden portal in the visions of my slumber, And through it streamed the radiance of a never-setting day, While the angels tall and beautiful, and countless without number, Were giving gladsome greeting, to all who came that way; And the 'gates, forever swinging, made no grating, no harsh ringing, But melodious as the singing' of one that we adore. And I heard a chorus swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling, And the burden of that chorus was Hope's glad word "Evermore." And as I gazed and listened came a slave all worn and weary, His fetter links blood-crusted, his dark brow clammy, damp;* His sunken eyes gleamed wildly, telling tales of horror dreary, Of toilsome struggles through the night amid the fever swamp. BALLADS OF LIFE. Ere the eye had time for winking, ere the mind had time for thinking, An angel raised th'e sinking wretch and off his fetters tore. Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling, "Pass, brother, through our portal, thou'rt a freeman evermore. " And as I gazed and listened, came a mother wildly weeping: "I have lost my hopes forever; one by one they went away; My children and their father, the cold grave hath in keeping, Life is but lamentation, I know not night nor day!" Then the angel softly speaking: "Stay sister, stay thy shrieking; Thou shalt find those thou art seeking, beyond that golden door." Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling: "Thy children and their father shall be with thee evermore." And as I gazed and listened came one whom desolation, Had driven like a helmless bark from infancy's bright land; Who ne'er had met a kindly look poor outcast of creation. Who never heard a kindly word, nor grasped a kindly hand. "Enter in; no longer fear thee; myriad friends are there to eheer thee; Friends always to be near thee there no sorrow sad and sore!" Then I heard the chorus spelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling, "Enter, brother, thine are friendship, love and gladness evermore." And as I gazed and listened came a cold, blue-footed maiden, With cheeks of ashen whiteness, eyes filled with lurid light; Her body bent with sickness, her lone heart heavy laden Her home had been the roofless street, her day had been the night. First wept the angel sadly, then smiled the angel gladly, And caught the maiden madly rushing from the golden door; Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling: "Enter, sister, pure thou shalt be, and redeemed for evermore!" I saw the toiler enter, to rest for aye from labor, The weary-hearted exile there found his native land; The beggar there could greet the king as an equal and a neighbor, Th,e crown had left the kingly brow, the staff the beggar's hand; BALLADS OF LIFE. And the gate, forever swinging, made no grating, no harsh ringing, But melodious as the singing of one that we adore; And the chorus still was swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling, While the vision faded from me, with the glad word, ' ' Evermore. ' ' TIME BRINGS CHANGE.. THERE was a child, a helpless child, Full of vain fears and fancies wild, Who often wept and sometimes smiled Upon its mother's breast. Feebly its meanings stammered out, And tottered tremblingly about, And knew no wider world without His little home of rest. There was a boy, a light-heart boy, One whom no trouble could annoy, Save some lost sport or shattered toy Forgotten in an hour. No dark remembrance troubled him, No future fear his path could dim, But joy before his eyes would swim And hope rise like a tower. There was a man, a wary man, Whose bosom nursed full many a plan For making life's contracted span A path of gain and gold. And how to sow and how to reap, And how to swell his shining heap, And how the wealth acquired to keep Secure within its fold. BALLADS OF LIFE. 23 There was an old, old grey haired one, On whom had four score winters done Their work appointed, and had spun His thread of life so fine, That scarce its thin line could be seen, And with the slightest touch, I ween, 'Twotild be as it had never been, And leave behind no sign. And who were they, those four whom fate Seemed as strange contrasts to create, That each might in his different state The other's pathway shun? I tell thee, that that infant vain, That guileless boy> that man of gain, That grey beard, who did roads attain So various they were one. MAY, 1878. LIFE. WE build our puny works on beds of sand, Gilding the roughness with a film of gold, The winds loosed from the hollow of His hand, Sweep o'er the temple, and the tale is told. We climb the rugged steeps of earthly fame, Leaving sweet blossoms in the vale below, And learn too late that on the upper height Is the cold glitter of eternal snow. We watch and wait, we strive and hope in vain, For full fruition of our happy dream; The mirage springs afresh, still further on, The golden apples are not what they seem. ?4 BALLADS .OF LIFE. We bear our crosses with too loud complaint, As if He could not hear who bore them first, And with the paths wherein our footing treads, With stubborn blindness, oft we choose the worst. Yet from His human heart, He dropped the seed That springs eternal in the deathless soul, And the dim Teachings of our feeble hands Are blossoms of the fruit that waits the goal. % And in the tender, erring heart He made With all its faults and burdens of regret, The imprint of a perfecl life is traced, The kingly seal upon its tablet set. APRIL, 1878. i THE OLD MAN IN THE STYLISH CHURCH. WELL, wife, I've been to church to-day been to a stylish one And seein' you can't go from home, I'll tell you what was done. You would have been surprised to see what I saw there to-day, The sisters were fixed up so fine they hardly bowed to pray. I had on these coarse clothes of mine not much the worse for wear But then they knew I wasn't one they called a millionaire, So they led the old man to a seat away back by the door, 'Twas bookless and uncushioned a reserved seat for the poor. Pretty soon in came a stranger with a gold ring and clothing fine, They led him to a cushioned seat far in advance of mine. 1 thought that wa'n't exactly right to seat him up so near, When he was young, and I was old and very hard to hear. BALLADS OF LIFE. 25 But then there's no accountin' for what some people do, The finest clothing nowadays of'n gets the finest pew, But when we reach that blessed home, all undefiled by sin, We'll see wealth beggin' at the gate, while poverty goes in. I couldn't hear the sermon, I sat so far away, So through the hours of service I could only "watch and pray;" Watch the doin's of the Christians sittin' near me round about; Pray that God would make them pure within as they were pure without. While I sat there, a-lookin' upon the rich and great, I kept thinkin' of the rich man and the beggar at his gate; How, by all but dogs forsaken, the poor beggar's form grew cold, And the angels bore his spirit to the mansions built of gold. How at last the rich man perished, and his spirit took its flight From the purple and fine linen to the home of endless night; There he learned, as he stood gazin' at the beggar in the sky, "It isn't all of life to live, nor all of death to die." I doubt not there were wealthy sires in that religious fold Who went up from their dwellings like the Pharisee of old, Then returned home from their worship with a head uplifted high, To spurn the hungry from their door with naught to satisfy. 4 Out, out with such professions! they are doin' more to-day To stop the weary sinner from the gospel's shinin' way, Than all the books of infidels, than all that has been tried Since Christ was born in Bethlehem since Christ was crucified. How simple are the words of God, and yet how very grand, The shells in ocean caverns, the flowers on the land, He gilds the clouds of evenin' with the goldlight from his throne ~ Not for the rich man only, not for the poor alone. BALLADS OF LIFE. Then why should man look down on man because of lack 'of gold ? Why seat him in the poorest pew because his clothes are old? A heart with noble motives, a heart that God has blest, May be beatin' heaven's music 'neath that faded coat and vest. I'm old I may be childish but I love simplicity, I love to see it shinin' in a Christian's piety. Jesus told us in His sermons, in Judea's mountains wild, He that wants to go to heaven must be like a little child. Our' heads are growin'. gray, dear wife our hearts are beatin' slow, In a little while the Master will call for us to go; When we reach the pearly gateways, and look in with joyful eyes, We'll see no stylish worship in the temple of the skies. I WAS THINKING AS WE SAT HERE. I WAS thinking as we sat here, dear wife, In the sunset's golden glow; Of scenes long past in our early life, In the happy long ago. Could I have my wish I would take you back, You would there be sitting now; With not a care on your loving heart, Nor a wrinkle upon your brow. The clock of Time shonld go back with you, All the years you have been my wife; Till its golden hands just pointed out, The happiest hour of your life. I'd wish it to stop at that glorious time; The clock should no longer run, You would not be sad, and sick, and old, If to wish and to have were one. I was thinking as we sat here, dear wife, In the sunset's golden glow, Of ?cenes long past in our early life, In the happy long ago. BALLADS OF LIFE. I would wish you there in the summer woods, Near your native sea-hide town, Our beautiful boy would play in the leaves, Or search for the nuts so brown. In delight you would play and sing to him, No parent under the sun Would have such a perfect child as yours, If to wish and to have were one. And I would be there with you. dear wife, In the old home by the sea, I would fly to you as the wild dove flies, To his mate in the forest tree. Your brothers one sleeps in the ocean deep, And one 'neath a tropic sun They'd both be there, young manly men, If to wish and to have were one. I would have no toils, you would have no pain, Hope would banish all future dread. Parents and brothers would live again, And our boy would not be dead. J feel it all will come right at last, When our toils and tasks are done, We shall dwell together in some good world, Where to wish and to have are one. A CHILD'S IDEA. WHAT beautiful beds the clouds would make! Softer, than daintiest down, Fold upon fold of delicate tints, And gold like a monarch's crown. 30 BALLADS OF LIFE. If I were an angel, I would choose The one of silvery white, With crimson shading it just enough, To keep me warm in the night. And when at eve, I had said my prayers For I suppose angels pray I would cuddle me down in my cosy bed, And sleep till the "peep o' day."' BE TRUE TO THYSELF. BE true to thyself, in the right never falter, Though others prove false as a mirage in air; Never swerve from the good, and time never can alter Thy peace by its sorrows, thy love by its care. / Be true to thyself, cherish every affection That's gentle, and noble, and truthful, and pure, And the strength of the Highest shall be thy protection, So long as thy love for thy God shall endure. < . BE true to thyself, though the past, with its sorrow, And all its lost hopes, are remembered by thee: Though the present be lonely, a brighter to-morrow May herald a future from sorrow set free. Be true to thyself, and thy heart will forever Be true to all others; all truth is sublime; Be true to thy God, and his goodness shall never Desert thee, through, all the mutations of time. MAY, 1878. BALLADS OF LIFE. 31 THE DESTINED WAY. IF to our fierce rebellious cries, Should guiding powers give" way, The flowery path that before us lies, So tempting and smooth, might stray Into treacherous marshes or deserts drear, Or caverns dark where we'd cower with fear, If perchance the voice of God we'd hear, Abroad at the close of day. It is not always the pa\hs that seem The smoothest that lead to rest; It is not always the way we deem Most pleasant that proves the best; For the path we must tread, but fain would shun Because of its roughness, may be the one That shall lead our feet at the set of sun To the city of the blest. 1867. THE LION'S BRIDE. (FROM THE GERMAN). FOR the bridal arrayed, with the wreath in her hair. The keeper's young daughter, so rosy and fair, In the lion's den stepped, with fawning and play; At the feet of his mistress, the king of beasts lay. The monarch beast once so intractable, wild, At his mistress now gazes so knowing and mild; The maiden so tender and winsome there stands, Strokes the mane of the lion, tears fall on her hands. 32 BALLADS OF LIFE. "In the days that are past we were happy and gay, Like play-fellows fond, like children at play, We each other loved, each to other was kind; But the days of our childhood we're leaving behind. "Thy head so majestic, thy billowy mane, How kingly thou lookest, I'll stroke thee again: Time changes thou seest, thou' It find me no more, The child of the past or child-like as of yore. '" Oh, were I a child, and could stay here with thee, My trusty, brave, honest, old fellow; we'd be So happy; but I must now go far away, To the land of the stranger, with strangers to stay. "He met me, he wooed me, he said I was fair, He won me, 'tis done, see the wreath in my hair. My early companion with grief in my heart, With tears in my eyes, farewell, we must part. " Understandest thou all? Why looking so stern, I am calm, in earnest, be calm thou in turn, There, he's coming the one with whom life I shall spend, This last kiss I give thee, farewell my old friend." As the maiden rose up he looked sadly and grim, The cage, it was shaking, he trembled each limb, And when at the entrance the bridegroom he 'spied, O, horrors! he grasped at the poor trembling bride. At the door of the cage he stood as a guard, He lashed his tail madly and loudly he roared; She implores, she commands, she threatens; 'tis vain, He stands at the gate, he is shaking his mane. BALLADS OF LIFE. 35 Outside shrieks of terror were rising from all, t The bridegroom cried, "Quick, bring gun, powder and ball, The terrors to-day his life-blood shall assuage;" The lion, excited, was foaming with rage. 4 At this .moment the girl sprang swift for the door, The lion transformed siezed her wildly and tore That beautiful form, so lately caressed, Lies bloody, distorted and dragged in the dust. And as if forgotten the blood he had shed, The lion laid gloomily down by the dead, He lay there so sunken, by grief so oppressed, Till the bridegroom a rifle-ball sent through his breast. /WANTED. THE world wants men large-hearted men, Whose hearts are raised from self above; Who'll join the chorus and prolong The psalm of labor an t d of love. The age wants heroes, who shall dare To stand for right when friends are few, To hurl down wrong from its high seat; To the oppressed firm friends and true. The time wants scholars who shall bear Opinion to a loftier place; Shall shape the fate of dubious years, And herald in the dawn of peace. 36 BALLADS OF LIFE. Heaven wants fresh souls not shrivelled ones, Fresh souls, my brother, give thine own; So shalt thou prove thine heritage And triumph when thy work is done. So shalt thou be what scholars should, And walk the earth with hero's tread; So shalt thou stand amidst the good, With God's bright aureole round thy head. Thy heart shall seem a thousand hearts, Each heart with myriad raptures full, Rich with the wealth that heaven imparts,. The jewel of a ransomed soul. DECEMBER, 1878. SOLILOQUY OF A LOAFER. SETH GRIMES and I were classmates once r And "I was rich and he was poor; I had alas! it was my bane! The wealth a father laid in store. Seth toiled at morn, and noon, and night,. Until his hands were hard and brown, To pay his board and tailor's bills, While I was lounging round the town But mostly in the dry goods store To see the pretty girls come in, Or smoking with my jolly peers, Who are the fools of "Auld Lang Syne..'" BALLADS OF LIFE. 57 The village belles looked proud and fierce If Seth made e'en the least advance; And none, from Inez down to Poll, Would be his partner in the dance. But I, half drunk with sparkling port, Waltzed with the fairest of the fair; And "high born" Inez' proud papa Once asked what my intentions were! Thus stood Seth Grimes and I at school; And yet on exhibition day, Although the ladies praised me much, He, somehow, bore the prize away. In brief, through long and weary nights, He stored his mind with knowledge rare, And I learned how to guzzle wine, And how to pick a good cigar. Some three and thirty years have passed Since we on life's great sea set sail; And lo! the beam is sadly turned In fortune's strange uneven scale. My vaunted wealth has taken wings And flown away to parts unknown'; Indeed with sorrow be it said I'm on the poor- list of the town. While Seth, who toiled to pay his way, Until his hands were hard and brown, Is now receiving his reward As Senator at Washington. BALLADS OF LIFE. A TERRIBLE TERRIER. *' FOUND, on Saturday last, between Robinson Street and Jackson Green, A Terrier Dog; owner's name Not on the collar; owner of same Can have by" etc. Yes, I had found a dog, One night, when November's drizzle and fog' Were above and around, and under foot, I stumbled over a draggled brute Kicked it away, and hurried on, Thinking the muddy mop was gone; It wasn't; I tried to dodge it; no Wherever I went the pup would go; So the only method I could devise Was to take it home and advertise. A week went past, and nobody came; A month two months; there wasn't a claim; And so I determined at last to sell it, And having determined, needs must tell it Ass that I was to the women folk; With one unanimous voice they spoke: "What! sell wee doggie, the little pet! And hadn't I come to love it yet? The playful doggie! And. somebody 'd get it Who'd scold and beat it, instead of pet it. Surely, I hadn't the heart I couldn't; Besides, it was really wrong; I shouldn't!" When women say shouldn't, always give in; \ always do; it saves my skin. > r n > 3 V. c- c c _ -.- a n ti- 2-S c C 'Ji (b "* = 7? 2 o 1 E S-s. ? -t 3 $'& % s.-< I '<* i" w BALLADS OF LIFE. 41 We kept the dog, and I rather guess That a monkey insane would have plagued us less; It ate the butter; it stole the meat; It trod on books with its dirty feet; It fought with the cat; it broke the bowls; It grubbed the garden; it chased the fowls; It leaped on the board when I played at chess; I'd to pay for my wife's sublimest dress; All mischief that ever dogs had done Was bundled up in that single one. But the crowning mischief was at hand: We gave a dinner, and gave it grand; It pinched and plagued me for half a year Getting things gorgeous and good and dear, For there was coming, in all his state, A live Senator, awfully great. The day of our dinner came at last, And the dinner without a hitch went past; We were terribly anxious not to offend, For my wife had said, "We might make a friend Just think of a Senator such as he!" But destiny willed that it shouldn't be. We were talking; and there the Senator sat, Speaking like Justice, and heard like Fate, But beginning to thaw, like a man who had dined, When that cursed terrier came up behind; As on balanced chair the Senator swung, Caught at the coat that so temptingly hung; Looked round with a look indescribably knowing, And pulled; the Senator felt himself going; Gave a great start, and clutched at the table, To keep from falling, but wasn't able; And table-cloth over, and Senator under, Down he went, with .a crash like thunder. 42 BALLADS OF LIFE. Then stared the gentles and shrieked the dames; I called the dog some unprintable names. It stared at the mischief it had done, Half in astonishment, half in fun. Then horror! before the Senator rose, It went, and, quite gravely, smelt of his nose; Somebody tittered; more titters came after, And then it ended in roars of laughter. What endless methods we tried to assuage The fallen Senator's smothered rage; He turned it qff with a careless joke; But his smile was a quivering grin as he spoke. He sat in his chair in most solemn pose, And ever he furtively rubbed his nose. The party broke up; the Senator went, And for good; in vain invitations were sent; In vain .we visited; told our pain, And flattered, by proxy all in vain. We tried him on every conceivable tack, But the lost Senator never came back. So all our hopes of greatness were reft; But one consoling revenge was left; I kicked the terrier out, and swore I would never be plagued with a terrier more. A STRANGE AFFAIR. As I walked one evening over the lea, A very strange (?) incident came to me A youth I saw near a woodland bight, Up and down he rode in the evening light. The moon shone calm on that simm-r scene Now guess if you can w'.iat did all this mean ? BALLADS OF LIFE. 45 The wild birds flew o'er the lovely spot, The young man oblivious heeded not, But he blew his horn by the forest green; 'Twas strange, who will tell me what could that mean? And as I continued farther to roam, A maid's sweet voice sang a song* of home: For a lonely maid in a tiny bark, Went floating by in the coming dark. While the fishes around her sportive play, But what did the maid in the evening gray? She sang a song by the forest green; Now tell, if thou canst, what could that mean? And as I returned in the evening fall, The strangest (?) incident happened of all; For a horse without rider stood near by, And an empty boat on the beach was nigh. And, passing the .grove, what heard I there? A walking, laughing, whispering pair, The moon shone calm on that summer scene; Now guess, if you can, what did all this mean? O HEART OF MINE! O heart Of mine, look up; Thy part Hath been to sup The cup Of sorrow dry; Look up To clearer sky. 46 BALLADS OF LIFE. A haze, Was round about; A maze And no way out. A life Was on the wane; And strife With God was vain. And yet, O heart of mitie, Forget ; Cease to repine. Thy fears Cease to recall; And tears, Sa idle all. Sad heart ,", Of mine, be brave; Thy smart No ( power could save; And yet, Though crushed and bowed r Forget Not, thou art proud. "And yet"- My heart replied ' ' Forget ? Oh no! My pride Shall be That God hath still, With me More power than will." BALLADS OF LIFE. 47 THE HAPPY ISLANDS. HE roams about the town in dark or day, An old man with bent form, and long gray hair, Whose eyes seem looking far and far away, As if in hope of seeing something there Which he has looked for long, but cannot find. Among the busy crowd, he heeds it not, And comes and goes, to all our pleasures blind. The world we live in he has quite forgot. Sometimes he stops you in the hurrying throng, And asks of you, "Why do we sail so far? I know, full well, the vessel's course is wrong, For further south the Happy Islands are. But we -are near them, for last night I heard The sound of voices coming from their shore, And caught the scent of balm, and one bright bird Flew homeward, over us, to roam no more. "I almost thought I saw them, in the dawn r Fair as the sun-flushed peaks of Paradise, But when the day broke fully they were gone; More to the south the land we seek for lies. Pray God they turn the vessel ere too late! Must we sail by, and miss them as before? They make mistakes, and lay it all to fate That we have never reached the longed-for shore." And as he talks to you, the old man's eyes Are looking southward, where he hopes to see The purple peaks, crowned with strange glory, rise ' Neath fairer skies than those of Italy. BALLADS OF LIFE. No sight of land to glad his weary eyes! "Ah! we have missed them, as so oft before? And oh! we were so near, so near!" he cries. "Must we sail on and on forever more?" Where are our Happy Islands ? Must we sail Forever past them, when so near they seem ? Blow from the shores we left, oh, favoring gale, And waft us to the shores that haunt each dream. Oh, voyagers with me, pray God we find The shores we seek, and do not pass them by! Oh, blow us further south, inconstant wind, For there, we think, the Happy Islands lie! THE THEOLOGICAL DISPUTE. Written at the time of the dispute between Rev. Dr. Pattonand Prof. Swing, of Chicago. "You must keep," quoth the stricl Dr. Patton, "The straight Presbyterian hat on." "I shall do no such thing," Said the liberal Swing: "Sooner perish than always feel that on." "Then vengeance," cried stiff Dr. Patton, '"Will spring, as a cat does a rat on; For the charges I bring, Will surely make you Swing!" Then straightway his high horse he gat on. The council then called by bold Patton, The subject had many a chat on; But the charges fell flat, And so did the hat, Which the council in wisdom then sat on. BALLADS OF LIFE. THE TIDE OF LIFE. ALREADY on this ancient earth, Numberless peoples here have dwelt; And offerings vast to gods been given, Around those altars myriads knelt. In days to come religious souls, To God shall fairer altars rear; And other pains and sorrows come, And other hopes men's hearts endear. I am not dazed, with loving looks, Time's awful whirl I gaze upon; Midst varying tribes and changing realms, The stream of life flows grandly on. I know that ne'er a day-dawn glimmered, But gladdened some poor lonely h^art, That never frost by spring was followed, But caused some sweet glad song to start. From love of power, of right, of woman, Vast schemes are formed, inventions rise- I know that in a woman's kisses, A strength for nobleness there lies. The sailor leaves his home and darlings, For hopes of wealth beyond the sea,*: The kiss of the laborer's wife at morn, Inspires with joy the livelong day. 50 BALLADS OF LIFE. I know the sky in every zone Is sometimes dark, then smiles so bright. On starry constellations all, Believing eyes look up at night. Thus ever I behold the same, In. every human breast 'tis found; We brothers are in every realm, Mine eyes have seen the wide world round. A jot in vast~creation's chain, That binds the past and future sphere, I snatch from"*out Time's rolling surge, The pearl-drop of existence here. TO AX OLD TIME FRIEND. WHEN I met thee, gentle sister, in the days of long ago, This world of our was fairer than it seemeth now 1 , I trow; The meadow grass was greener, the sky a deeper blue, The stars of heaven seemed brighter brighter every drop of dew. The shining rills and rivers, sung a softer melody, As they went arrayed in diamonds, to their bridal with the sea; The birds made sweeter singing midst the summer-scented leaves, Richer gold and crimson curtains hung around the dying eaves. The winds dropped fonder kisses on the lips of fairer flowers, And love wove fairy garlands, down the pathway of the hours; The frosts and fnows of winter overflowed with joy and glee, There was laughter in the raincirops, there was laughter in the sea. The k|gs of the labDrer's wife at morn, Inspires with joy the livelong day. BALLADS OF OFE. 53 the charm, the joy of living, iti the glory and the glow, Of the days we left behind us, in the bloom of long ago; The future may be pleasant, but it never can repay The freshness, and the beauty, that .the past has swept away. We may understand in heaven, all life's sorrows, all its cost, We may find amidst the angels, the loved ones we have lost; But will they wear the semblance, of the same dear forms they worfe, When they faded from our vision to seek the hither shore? Shall we know them by their voices, by their faces still so dear, Will they clasp our hands and greet us, as they used to greet us here? Faith answers to my yearning, ' ' In some blessed world above, Thy heart shall find its treasures, by the instincts of its love." So in God's good grace believing, I trust and wander on, Through the shadows of the twilight, to the glories of the dawn:; But, sometimes, in my dreaming comes a soft and soothing strain, Trembling from the walls of heaven, I know the sweet refrain. 1 hear again the footsteps that may come no more below, And listen to the voices of the happy long ago; Thus my weary heart is rested in the vision land of sleep, One bright, delicious moment, but, alas, it wakes to weep. O, the sky has lost its sunshine, trie stars are dim and cold, And the world, to me in seeming, is growing gray and old, The fancy that beguiled me wears a fetter on her wing, And the harp I touched to music, has many a broken string. May thine, O, gentle lady, be a brighter, better way, May Hope still walk beside thee as down flowery paths of May;- May it never faint, or fail thee in the 'hottest hours 'of noon, But cheer and comfort, as it did, in the balmy days of June. 54 BALLADS OF LIFE. May storms ne'er shade thy spirit, nor mildew stain thy flowers, May sweetest birds keep singing amid life's summer bowers; May joy e'er dwell with duty, peace sit beside thy door, Whate'er the past behind thee, may the days be bright before. Yet the fairest rose that bloometh, some touch of blight will bear, The strongest heart will sometimes faint, borne down by grief or care; Life's sweetest cup is mingled with bitterest drops of gall, And dreary, rainy days will come upon the paths of all. Bui: if all that seemeth lovely, unselfish,, pure and good, Respectful, true and tender, in full-orbed womanhood; Might win the fairest human lot our Father could assign, That peace, that joy, that portion fair, would certainly be thine. A DAUGHTER'S LOVE AT FOURTEEN YEARS. How majestic he looks, his fine light hair, I would with no one exchange, Like the floss of silk so soft and clear, His locks in ringlets arranged. Oft I stroke them and then he smiles so calm, And "calls me his darling Grace; They are not black, nor gold nor brown, Then what is the shade, now guess? His bearing, his looks are those of a king, His majesty goes to my heart; And when he frowns I tremble with fear, And sometimes the tear-drops start. Again his features light up with a smile, As cheery as conscience clear; Then I even love on the stool to kneel, And bathe his hands with a tear. IX Sometimes in the evening's golden haze, At the garden gate I t stand; I see him coming amid the trees, And_I go and take his hand. I f BALLADS OF LIFE. 57 I awoke this morn .at the earliest dawn, In the sun's early light I hied, And joyfully skipping took my way To the banks by the fountain's side. I strawberries found like rubies bright, See how in the basket they smile; I'll place them 'neath his plate out of sight, FOP he'll dine in a little while, Sometimes in the evening's golden haze, At the garden gate I stand; I see him coming amid the trees, And I go and take his hand; He calls me his joy, his hope, his pride, Ofttimes he gives me a kiss; For he is my father so true and tried, And I am his darling Grace. A FALLEN ONE'S LAMENT. Where is the promise of my years, Once written on my brow? Ere errors, agonies and fears Brought with them all that speaks in tears, Ere I had sunk beneath my peers? Where sleeps that promise now? Naught lingers to redeem those hours, Still, still to memory sweet! The flowers that bloomed in sunny bowers Are withered all, and evil towers Supreme above her sister powers Of sorrow and deceit. 5 8 BALLADS OF LIFE. I look along the columned years And see life's riven fane, Just where it fell, amid the jeers Of scornful lip's, whose mocking sneers- Forever hiss within my ears, To break the sleep of pain. I can but own my life is vain, A desert void of peace; I missed the goal I sought to gain, I missed the measure of the strain That lulls Fame's fever in the brain, And bids Earth's tumult cease. Myself! alas for theme so poor, A theme but rich in fear; I stand a wreck on Error's shore, A speclre not within the door, A houseless shadow evermore, An exile lingering here! 1867. THE SEVEN AGES OF WOMAN. INFANCY. FIRST soft and helpless, innocent and mild, Smiles in her nurse's arms the female child; Fresh from her Maker's hands, all pure and fair,. Unstained by sin, unruffled yet by care; A stranger in this world of ceaseless strife, Lovely and passionless her dawn of life. She too will be mamma, and lull to rest The mimic baby on her infant breast ; She too will drese, will cherish and sustain, And guard her darling from distress and pain. BALLADS OF LIFE. 61 CHILDHOOD. Next see her seated at her mother's feet, With eyes upraised, the glance of love to meet; Speech partially unlocked, in silvery tone She now essays to make her wishes known; Now to explain her doubtful meaning, tries With mingled eloquence of lips and eyes; Here the first sorrows of the child begin The slumbering passions waken from within; Each in its turn its growing strength reveals, Anger, and love, and grief, she keenly feels. She too will be mamma, and lull to rest The mimic baby on her infant breast; She too will dress, will cherish and sustain, And guard her darling from distress and pain. While plain to all, yet to herself unknown, The future mother in each acl: is shown. With graver look and melancholy air She cons her lessons with reluclant care. The book, the pen, the needle, all engage The cares and troubles of the second stage. I MAIDENHOOD. A. third advances plays and tasks are past, And life's sweet summer brightly dawns at last; Spring's lovely buds expand to fairest flowers, And hope's enchantment gilds the sunny hours. And, blind to all its shoals, and storms, and strife, She enters on the treacherous waves of life. Ah! sweet, confiding season! o'er your bloom Why should the blight of sorrow cast a gloom! The false will mock, the wicked treat with scorn The noblest virtues which that life adorn; The crowd shall mark with cold, invidious gaze, And those will trample who should help to raise, 62 BALLADS OF LIFE. Till from the freezing glance of heartless pride Its fair endowment's slighted worth will hide, Or bitterer far! perchance is doomed to prove The venomed shafts of unrequited love. At first her gentle heart by slow degrees Listens to love's appeal the field, the trees, All nature seems in loveliest aspect dressed. Is there a purer bliss we mortals claim Than lovers' walk in the calm vesper time ? O, happy hours! when free from carking care, Eden returns to bless the young and fair. She loves the moonlight and the evening hour, The river's margin and the forest bower; There wrapt* in musing she delights to stray, And nurse the dream that o'er her soul has sway. Sometimes 'tis hers, by struggling pangs oppress' d, To hide the thorns that rankle in her breast, With dying hopes to combat thronging fears, And find a sad relief in gushing tears. This cannot last, and time with noiseless wing Sweeps o'er her bosom and allays its sting, And other hopes and calmer feelings brings. WIFEHOOD. Thus pass the first three stages of her life: A fourth succeeds and sees her now a wife; Yet not perchance of him who taught her heart Its earliest love, or caused its keenest smart. Forgetful of the wrong that has been given, When happily wed she makes of home a heaven. Man's nurse in sickness and his joy in health, His aid in poverty, his pride in wealth. Her heart the solace when his wounded mind Flies for relief and finds it ever kind: Where, when all fail him, he can still confide, There wrapt in musing she delights to stray, And nurse the dream that o'er her soul has sway. BALLADS OF LIFE. 65 Its faith, like gold, more pure the more 'tis tried. Though storms without on eVery side increase, They cannot wreck the home of love and peace Which on the rock of duty firmly stands, While strife and folly perish on the sands. MOTHERHOOD. But now a period still more blest shall come, And crown with joy the calm delights of home; The sweetest era of the female life, Which makes a mother of the happy wife, And adds new strength unto that holy tie For human happiness ordained on high. As round their board the olive branches spring, And love's dear claimants on their parents cling, The mother sees beneath her anxious eyes Her lovely hopes in fair succession rise. The youngest, cradled on her fostering breast, Smiles its delights, and softly sinks to rest; Another darling with bewitching grace, Hides in the slumber's robe his cherub-face, As archly wantom, full of infant glee, He laughs aloud, and peeps mamma to see. A third, more active, boldly climbs her chair And pleads his right each fond caress to share; While a fair girl, who hangs upon her arm, Rich in each playful wile and early charm, In lisping tones her earnest wish has told: That on her lap the baby she might hold. The happy mother on her infant train Gazes with transport which amounts to pain; A smile of rapture on her lip appears, But her soft eyes o'erflow with tender tears Tears which e'en watching angels might approve, The holy weepings of maternal love. 66 BALLADS OFj LIFE. WIDOWHOOD. Blest in her duties, calmly glide away The busy hours of life's meridian day, Till time, advancing o'er^the dial, flings A darker shade, andJthatTsad epoch brings That mournful stage of comfortless distress Which sees her now in|widowed loneliness. Consumed with sorrowjand oppressed with are, Only by faith she^sees^a lot more fair; Only, as her glance on her children falls, Living for them* she earthly hopes recalls From mingled feelings, tears her eyes o'erflow, Blending the mother's love, the widow's woe. Her toils and cares for them, that interest dear, E'en robs of bitterness the falling tear; 'Mid trials she is strengthened, and her mind Bows to the will of heaven, calmly resigned. OLD AGE. Slowly but sure life's sands declining flow In ceaseless course what now remains to show Of woman's days, when all has passed away That charmed the young, the thoughtless and the gay, And the fair fabric totters in decay; When youth, and health, and strength, and beauty's beam Appear like traces of some distant dream, Of which remembrance almost seems to fade. E'en from herself, who fondly once surveyed The bright possessions, and, in raptured tone, Exclaimed exulting, "These are all my own." Now reft of all faint, feeble, pressed with age, We mark the feelings in the last great stage; The feverish hopes, the fears, the cares of life No more oppress her with their torturing strife; The youngest, cradled on her fostering breast, Smiles its delights', and softly sinks to rest; Another darling with bewitching grace, Hides in the slumber's robe his cherub-face. BALLADS OF LIFE. 69 .The restless tumults of her heart, to-day Have passed with beauty and with youth away; She, like some traveler who beholds the sun Sinking before him e'er his journey's done, Regrets not now to lose its noontide power, But hails the coolness of the coming hour, And feels a holy and divine repose Rest on her spirit in life's evening's close. She in her children's children tastes again Maternal pleasure and maternal pain; To them imparts the knowledge years have given. And points their hopes to soar with hers to heaven. Although her eyes are dim in age's night, Yet still more brightly burns the inward light, Guiding her spirit by its sacred ray, To cast its mortal thralls and cares away, And wait its summons to eternal day. THE PILGRIM AND HIS STAFF. MY grandfather sits in his old arm chair, The locks on his brow are bleached and spare; He has done with care and with labor done, He calmly waits for life's setting sun. His heart goes back to the days agone, When the lights of his household around him shone; But they have departed alas! for him When the ear is heavy, the eye gro\vs dim. The wife of his youth in the grave lies low; The turf by her side is unbroken now And he thinks of the season hastening on, When his name shall be traced in the cold white stone. 7 o BALLADS OF LIFE. But he trembles not, and his brow is calm For beneath the grave is a mighty arm, Whose strength he proved when his years were few, And the "guide of youth" to his age proves true. The Bible speaks to his failing ear, And its precious words are a joy to hear; Its pages glow with a living light, Like the shining "ladder" let down at night. The blessed Word, like a tree whose leaves In its freshness and beauty the spirit weaves, To bind in life's spring-time, around the brow; That Word is his crown of rejoicing now. And thus as he waits at the Jordan's brim, Where ninety summers have bloomed for him, The "closer than brother" is by his side, And his eye is fastened beyond the tide. It is good thus meekly to watch and wait, Till the Master calls from the pearly gate, And, with lamp well trimmed at set of sun, Go in with the wedding garment on. The peace of his spirit, Q! who can tell, Whose life's great harvest is garnered well? Who has done with care and with labor done, And calmly waits for life's setting sun. She in her children's children tastes again Maternal pleasure and maternal pain; To them imparts the knowledge years* have given, And points their hopes to soar with hers to heaven. SONGS' OF HOPE AND MEMORY. PASSING AWAY. PASSING away, so whispers the wind, As it treads its trackless course; Passing away, doth the bright rill say, As it leaps from its crystal source. All passing away on the stream of time To oblivion's vale in a far off clime. Matter and man, we make no delay To eternity's gulf w