V ' UCSB LIBRARY PLYMOUTH CHURCH, OTHER POEMS. MOSES OWEN. PORTLAND : PUBLISHED BY W. S. JONES. 1873. HARMON & JERRI S, PRINTERS, POBTLAHD, ME. TO T H E Pott. Cbos. . OF AUGUSTA, Whose voice has so often been heard in behalf of otir And who is known as THE FRIEND OF THE LABORING CLASSES, This Book is respectfully dedicated, with the kindest regards of his Friend, THE AUTHOR. PKEFACE, Having been solicited by many of my friends to collect my fugitive pieces, and give them a local habitation and a name, I have done so, and trust an indulgent public will receive this little volume with the same favor that it did my previous one. PLYMOUTH CHURCH, AND OTHEK POEMS. CONTENTS PAGE PLYMOUTH CHURCH, 13 THE " CITY OF BOSTON," 17 PITY MB, OR, THE CHILD'S LAMENT, . . .20 THE ORPHAN'S HOME AT BATH, ... 23 To HENRY TUCKER, 25 POEM, ........ 27 MOTHER, . . . . . . . . .33 HAUNTED, 35 THE RETURNED MAINE BATTLE FLAGS, . . .38 X CONTENTS. PAGH THE MAINE GENERAL HOSPITAL, ... 41 THE SOLDIERS' MONUMENT, 43 AN ACROSTIC, 46 ON GUARD, 48 JEALOUSY, 52 To WHOM, . 54 AT LAST, 56 To THE KENNEBEC, 58 I DREAM, 61 ON THE DEATH OP Miss DAVIDSON, . . .68 To A SNOW FLAKE, 66 ODE OF WELCOME, 68 ONLY A CHILD, 71 COME TO ME, 73 A ROMANCE OF NEW MEADOW'S RIVER, . . 75 To A LAKE, ....... 85 Miss DELLA POWERS, 88 THE IDEAL WORLD, 90 IN MEMORIAM, ... 96 CONTENTS. XI PAGE EPITAPH, ...... .98 Two CHILDREN, 99 THE ARMY AND NAVY UNION, .... 101 SPRING, . 103 SUMMER. 105 LOST, . . 107 SAVED, . 109 To ETTA, .111 FAREWELL, 112 PLYMOUTH CHURCH. ,OW much's the bid for this broad-aisle pew? Four hundred dollars! 'twill never do ! Five hundred six did I just hear eight? The road to heaven from thence is straight," Ah, an old Saint nods ! he has gained the prize, And he pays with tears wrung from widows' eyes; 14 PLYMOUTH CHURCH. Yet the Auctioneer, with a smile and nod, Keeps on : " How much do I hear for God ! " The broad-aisle God is a different thing From the God for sale in an obscure winer : O / Yet I often wonder if He is more* At Plymouth front than at Plymouth door ! Is He there at all with the pampered throng ? Does He like the music and well-paid song ? Do the rustling silks and studied prayer, Keep Him from common worship there? And I often muse to myself, alone, If seats are sold 'round the heavenly throne ! Ah, yes, my friend ! they are sold above, But the price is paid on this earth in love ! And earth's down-trodden need have no fear, For Christ has risen He has been here ! From the cruel cross, with spear pierced through, He went not up from a broad-aisle pew ! To the dying thief, with his death-glazed eyes, PLYMOUTH CHUKCII. 15 He said : " This day ..... in Paradise ! " And the heavens grew dark as earth did moan, And thunders muttered - - " the Cross, the Throne ! " * * *- * * # -X- * " How much, how much, for another seat ! It's going, gone ! Ah, Religion's sweet ! " Yet, Auctioneer, 'tis a fearful thought That a God of Justice cannot be bought ! THE CITY OF BOSTON." THE "CITY OF BOSTON." The following verses were written at a time when although the greatest anxiety was felt for the safety of this noble vessel, yet hopes were entertained that she might come safely into port. But, alas ! days have lengthened into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and Despair gazes sadly out on the wild waste of waters that gives no answer. The sea keepeth well its secret, and it can only he known that she sailed from port and came not back. [HERE comes no voice to-night from that drear waste, Where rolls Atlantic 'neath the dark'ning sky, Whose foam - crowned billows with impetuous haste, Scorn all control, nor pause to give reply. I hear the cruel gale, fresh from the deep, Now, landward, howl its prowess to the night ; 18 THE "CITY OF BOSTON." In vain Love asks it where her treasures sleep - It gives no token speaks but of its might ! I picture to myself a storm-tossed bark, 'Neath icy mountains battling with despair ; The final crash the blank then all grows dark, And heaven alone records the shriek or prayer. And still the seas chase on as though in play, And still the ice-bergs thund'ring rise and fall, And naught save man's poor work has passed away None knoweth why, save One who knoweth all. 'Twere vain to ask the tomb how sleep its dead, 'Twere vain to ask the wave what lies beneath ; Yet tomb and wave combined need have no dread, THE "CITY OF BOSTON." 19 For Hope o'er each points to the victor's wreath. The sun may rise and set, yet tell no tale, The seasons come and go, yet whisper not, And quivering lips, alone, all deathly pale, May murmur : " Gone unheard of - - not forgot ! " God grant she rides the waves and yet may come Safe from the ocean with her precious freight ; Stout hearts are beating, and though lips be dumb, Yet Love proclaims that she can longer wait. God grant the best ! our hopes, our prayers, our fears, Are out to-night upon the ocean's foam ; May ne'er Despair proclaim with bitter tears, She sailed triumphant but she came not home. 20 PITY ME; OR, THE CHILD'S LAMEXT. PITY ME; OR, THE CHILD'S LAMENT. JTY nie, pity me, earth seems so drear, 'Dark are the shadows that fall o'er life's path; Naught that is beautiful smiles on me here, Pity a child that has known only wrath ! Out in the graveyard my mother lies sleeping, Softly the summer -rains over her weeping ; Heart-broken died she in life's early morn, Earth grew so dark when my mother was gone. PITY ME; OK, THE CHILD'S LAMENT. 21 Heart-broken died she, the Summer winds sighing, Tell of a father, a loved one defiled ; Pity him, Heaven, for mother when dying, Blessed him and wept for her husband and child. Bright dreams of morning you smile not on me Only a drunkard's child ! That is my name. Father in heaven thy child turns to thee, Thou knowest the heart, thou art ever the same. Poor earthly father the foul fiends possessing, Father on high, Oh, grant him thy blessing! Mother is pleading, a poor child doth moan, Bless him, O Father, and smile from thy throne ! Often at evening some bright shining star Looks down upon me and twinkles its love ; Mother's in heaven, and heaven's not far, 22 PITY ME; OR, THE CHILD'S r. AMI-: XT. And earth's down-trodden shall triumph above. Who bears the cross in fell anguish and sorrow, May wear the crown on a bright sunny morrow : Mother in heaven, Oh, list to my prayer ! Teach me, thy child, how that cross I shall bear. THE OKPHAISTS' HOME AT BATH. THE ORPHANS' HOME AT BATH. VKRSES WRITTEN FOR THE CHILDREN. ES, the prayers our fathers YJ whispered when they left this mortal shore, >That their darlings be protected, uttered 'midst the battle's roar, Have been answered, and (jrod's angels brought good tidings from above, And the "Home" uprose in glory, crowned with brightness, and with love. Blessed angels ! blessed tidings ! Weary feet no more must roam ; Love has crowned our earthly dwelling, Love shall crown our heavenly home. 24 THE OKPHASd 1 HOME AT BATH. Striving e'er to reach perfection, let us one another cheer, We are brothers, sisters, loved ones heaven's not far, 'tis almost here ! Let our prayers by night and morning rise from loving hearts above, Blessed angels, blessed fathers, who have O ' ' crowned the work with love ! Blessed angels ! Blessed tidings ! Weary feet no more must roam ; Love has crowned our earthly dwelling, Love shall crown our heavenly home. TO HENRY TUCKER. 25 AUTHOR OF "STAR OP THE EVENING," " WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER," Ac. dtoi [jjj' H thou, whose ballads touch the heart, Sweet flowing as the lark's clear song, > Whose every tone doth joy im- part, To thee our love and praise belong. When " cruel war " swept o'er the land, Thy gentle strains e'en then could cheer, Those chords struck by a master-hand, Still echo in the sigh and tear. 26 TO HEXRY TUCKER. 'Twas thine to move with magic power, And waken thoughts long deemed as dead, And all entranced in fairy bower, The blissful laden moments fled. The maid at eve has turned her eyes Up to the star-lit skies above her, And thy sweet song has checked her sighs, And brought her near an absent lover. The soldier on th' ensanguined field, Amidst the wounded and the slain, Beneath the moon in awe has kneeled, And prayed that they might meet again. Sweet Singer, let the wreath be placed, E'er to keep green, upon thy brow, And of the many it has graced, None are more worthy than art thou. MEMOEIAL DAY. POEM DELIVERED AT BATH ON THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY OF DECORATING THE GRAVES OF THE SOLDIERS WITH FLOWERS, JUNE 10, 1869. year ago, and 'neath a cloudless sky, Our hearts beat fast and kindled every eye; Beneath yon shaft we stood and all around Bespoke the solemn scene 'twas hallowed ground. Not far away, where, with slow-measured tread, The long ranks passed the city of the dead, There loving hearts and hands bestrewed with flowers Each lowly mound, the time, the day was ours. 28 MEMORIAL DAY. The mother brought her wreath ; her boy went forth, She knew his valor and his modest worth ; The night was long, replete with sigh and groan, The morning came at last his name is on the stone ! She did not weep, but, silent, drained the cup, He was his country's, and she gave him up ; And Freedom's temple with such names shall glow, The Soldier's from above the Mother's from below. One year ago ! Since then the snows have shed Their white-robed mantle o'er our hallowed dead; The bleak North winds have mourned their requiems chill, And sobbed their dirges to this barren hill ; But yet we know that Nature soon would spring To blooming life, that summer birds would sing MEMORIAL DAY. 29 That fragrant flowers would scent the evening breeze, And music whisper from the rustling trees. The seasons change but love knows not a blight, Nor winter's frost can harm, nor day nor night, It grows the stronger through the length'ning years Oh, hallowed Dead ! 'tis love we give, not tears. You need .no tears, your winter has been passed, Eternal summer meets your view at last. Your furlough came and never more to roam, Your Captain took you to his own loved home. We call you dead ! This day we set apart To write each name upon a Nation's heart ; For all we have and are we owe to thee - A country saved, our homes, our liberty ! Up to the skies I look ! Immortal ranks Accept a Nation's prayers, a Nation's thanks ! 30 MEMORIAL DAY. . Our words are weak and silence speaketh best: Speak on, O Stone, the glory of the blessed ! They are not dead ! They ever hover near To check the sigh, to dry the falling tear ; Tell me yeWinds that round yon shaft do play. Are they not present in our midst to-day ? Immortal day ! thy every moment fraught With memory's tear and memory's pleasing thought : 'Tis sweet to know that love surmounts the tomb And lives transplanted from this earthly gloom ; It knows no death, for death with it is life, It carries us beyond this mortal strife, 'Tis God's best gift to earth, 'tis heaven's pure ray, And neath its brightness do we stand this day. As long as yonder stream shall have its flow, Or yon bright sun shall give the morning's glow, MEMORIAL DAY. 31 As long as days and nights and seasons roll, This earth shall cherish each immortal soul. Flowers for the dead! --This sweet memorial day Should waft its fragrance and our griefs allay, Should draw us nearer to the loved and blessed, And be a day of peace, a day of rest. Sweet Peace has come and smiling o'er the land Has scattered blessings with no sparing hand, Dispelled the gloom and bade war's thun- ders cease - Let us remember those who brought that peace ! The Dead and Living ! Marching side by side You scarce were conscious when your comrades died; The roll was called when closed the hard- fought day, But lips replied not that had closed for aye. 32 MEMORIAL DAY. They gave their all and only prayed that those, Their children dear, be sheltered from earth's woes; Our Soldier's Orphan's ! shall they not be dear ? A SAMPSON spoke that prayer was answered here ! Around that Home affection's flowers shall spring, And cheerful voices shall loud anthems sing; Ope wide the doors and let the words be said : Love for the living and our martyred dead ! The day we cherish ! let it ever stand A Day of Memory to a ransomed land ! MOTHER. MOTHEK. MAY 25, 1869. pOT in her dear loved home our Mother moves to-day, God sent his angels down to bear his saint away ; She uttered no 'complaint, She knew her God was kind, She only mourned for those, her children, left behind. Our eyes were dimmed with tears, we could not see that throng, Nor hear one note that rose from that triumph- ant song ! MOTHER. Up from the feeble clay an immortal soul had t risen, And but a smile remained around its earthly prison. Oh, saintly form that sleeps in yonder church- yard drear, Thy child yet hears thy voice which tells him thou art near; The love thou gav'st on earth, shines brighter from above Thy children weeping here, need all a mother's love. HAUNTED. 35 HAUNTED. is a house in Bath, a dread abode, Haunted by goblins through the livelong night ; Belated travelers shun its pass- ing road, And only mention in tlieir tones of fright. Long since deserted, unto swift decay It passes surely and must soon be gone ; Yet every night each window shows a ray. And lights keep dancing through its rooms till morn. And hideous sounds are heard, appalling moans, 36 IIAUXTED. As demon answers demon with a shriek, And fearful struggles blend with frightful groans, Sounding more awful than the tongue can speak. The hat flies o'er it on his way at night, Nor stays a guest within its darkened room ; Darkness hut claims it and the shades of fright, And spectral forms hut haunt its solemn gloom. Some tell of murder done long since therein, Blood-curdling stories of a wretch's hate ; And o'er that house must rest the blight of sin, Nor Hope dare enter through its cursed gate. Be it as it may be, we only know There is a house in Bath where goblins dwell ; The wearied traveler sees its windows glow, And knows 'tis peopled by the hosts of hell. HAUNTED. 37 There is a house in Bath ah, more than one, Not yet deserted, where bad spirits stay ; Where love should dwell, by passion 'tis undone, Where hate and anger hold divided sway ; Where brother answers brother in the strife, Where curse but follows curse the whole day through, Where bitter feelings are forever rife, Where souls are haunted by a goblin crew. 38 BATTLE FLAGS. THE RETURNED MAINE BATTLE FLAGS. OTHING but flags but simple flags, Tattered and torn and hanging in rags; 'And we walk beneath them with careless tread, Nor think of the hosts of the mighty dead, That have marched beneath them in days gone t>y, With a burning cheek and a kindling eye, And have bathed their folds with their young life's tide, BATTLE FLAGS. 39 And, dying, blessed them, and, blessing, died. Nothing but flags yet, methinks, at night They tell each other their tales of fright ; And dim spectres come and their thin arms twine 'Round each standard torn as they stand in line ! As the word is given they charge ! they form ! And the dim hall rings with the battle's storm ! And once again through the smoke and strife, Those colors lead to a Nation's life. Nothing but flags yet they're bathed with tears, They tell of triumphs, of hopes, of fears ; Of a mother's prayers, of a boy away, Of a serpent crushed, of the coming day ! Silent, they speak, and the tear will start As we stand beneath them with throbbing heart, And think of those who are ne'er forgot, Their flags come home why come they not ? Nothing but flags yet we hold our breath, 40 BATTLEFLAGS. And gaze with awe at those types of death ! Nothing but flags, yet the thought will come, The heart must pray though the lips be dumb ! They are sacred, pure, and we see no stain On those dear loved flags at home again ; Baptized in blood, our purest, best, Tattered and torn they're now at rest. HOSPITAL FAIR. 41 THE MAINE GENERAL HOSPITAL FAIR. STATE, united, hastes with loving- hands, To wreathe sweet garlands that can never fade ; Love binds each flower with her soft silken bands, Her voice is gentle, yet it is obeyed. Proud as an emblem of protecting care, The walls uprise to shield each suffering one ; And high o'er all floats sweetly on the air, Oh, Sunrise State, thy crown is nobly won ! Sweet time of June ! thy length'ning days shall bring 42 HOSPITAL FAIR. Treasures untold to crown the Summer's day ; Each blade of grass and fragrant flower shall sing, That Love keeps watch and ward for aye and aye. The farthest east speaks to the distant west, And north and south clasp hands at Mercy's call; The feast is ready no reluctant guest Comes to the table Love has spread for all. What nobler thought than in the human heart Sweet Pity finds a place nor yet has flown ; Does Sorrow call ? the tear unchecked will start, And Love proclaims that Maine will guard her own. SOLDIERS' MONUMENT. 43 THE SOLDIEKS' MONUMENT. but a shaft on the windy height, Which will crumble to dust by the ages' blight, And the names will fade from the stone away, In the long, long years yet they count to-day! 'Tis but a shaft yet we bow the head, And feel we are nearer our noble dead ; We watched them going with tear-dimmed eye, And clasping hand, and fond "good-bye !" And the rolling drums, and the flags unfurled, Told not of the shock that should shake the world, Of those fearful years, when, in battle's strife, They should give their own ior a Nation's life. We saw not the spectres that followed on, Yet, somehow, we wept when we found them gone; And many a heart felt itself alone, Thousrh it read no name on the unwrousrht o o stone. 'Tis but a shaft and our valiant dead Perchance sleep far from its rocky bed ; Yet I love to think that they hover 'round, At home once more near this hallowed ground, And all unseen, with their words of cheer, They whisper : " Mother, your boy is near ! " And I love to think that their toils are o'er, They f orm no ranks hear no cannon's roar ! They have passed beyond all their work is done. They have fought the fight and the victory's won. SOLDIERS' MONUMENT. 45 Oh, valiant Dead ! though that shaft decay, And crumble and sink into dust away, Yet nobler than cunning works of art, Your temple stands in Freedom's heart ! And brighter and brighter your names shall glow, For they shine on high though they fade below, And eternal years may not blight nor chill, Though that shaft must sink from the windy hill. 46 AN ACROSTIC. AN ACROSTIC. [AY heaven protect our dear loved State, And may she stand supremely great ! In noble deeds let her delight, Nor strive but in the cause of Right ! Each cry for succor may she hear, Grant that she bend the listening ear ! E'er let her children claim her care, Nor Sorrow speak to empty air ! Enduring though the Nations fall, Raising the weak and blessing all, AN ACEOSTIC. As first she greets the morning sun, Let love keep bright till time be run ! Honor and fame shall wreathe her brow, On every hill glad Heralds now . Sing songs of praise and every plain Prolongs the rapturous song o'er Maine. In sunlight first " Dirigo " gleams, The mountains whisper to her streams, And over all in might and sway, Love tells her story all the day. 48 ON GUARD. ON GUARD. [IS night -- and the Sentinel paces his round, With an eye for each object, an ear for each sound ; But his thoughts are roving long, long miles away, They speed from him swiftly like children to play. Again he's at home in a fond wife's embrace, And tear chases tear down his sun-beaten face ; His children now greet him, now call him by name, He heeds not the night-watch his home is the same. ON GUAKD. 49 Still green is the vine that encircles the door, The path is the same as in blest days of yore ; Aye, every loved object stands clear to his view. God's angels have blessed him inspired him anew ! " Oh, bless'd be home ! " now springs from his heart ; And blest be the ties that earth's powers cannot part, And blessed be memory that spark from God's throne, That star for earth's mariner wandering alone. And blessed be our country our Flag of the Free, That floats now in triumph o'er land and o'er sea, And proud in thy glory we see thee arise, As the sun scatters clouds in his course through the skies. 50 ON GUAED. The Sentinel's pacing his dull, dreary round, His soul is now free though the body be bound, But hark! through the darkness some sound strikes his ear, He stops as some object doth dimly appear. " Halt ! " cries he ; " Who comes ! " speaks the Sentinel now ; " A friend with the countersign ! " 's answered him low ; " Advance with the countersign ! " Soon it is given, His home is now earth whilst before it was heaven. That bright dream is over ! his home's far away, The night breeze is speaking that round him doth play, It tells of a country that's dearer than life, And his arm feels the stronger for Freedom's own strife. ON GUARD. 51 It tells of a foe who would pluck the bright stars From a flag so triumphant in peace or in wars ; Who would make it a by-word an object of shame, And he says : " I will die for its freedom and fame ! " And blessed is a country with stout hearts like these, The tramp of her armies is swelling the breeze, They rush to her rescue, their lives freely give, 'Twere better to die than in bondage to live. God bless thee, O Sentinel, pacing thy round, Safe may'st thou return with the Victor's wreath bound, When the dark clouds of war shall have passed from the skies, And rebellion is hurled down never to rise ! 52 JEALOUSY. JEALOUSY. H, them disturber of the immor- tal mind, Where shall we find a demon of thy kind ? E'en trifles light as air, 'neath thy control, Become as mountains to the doubting soul. Thou sparest nothing in thy withering blight, Thou turnest joy to pain our days to night ; Thou rendest ties that God made from above, And 'neath thy influence what is left of love I Nor reason claims thee, it is all unknown, JEALOUSY. 53 But passion, lust and rapine are thine own ; And 'neatli thy baleful pall comes fell despair, Nor peace can rest if Jealousy be there. Grive me a lowly cot a happy mind One that I love, and far from human kind, In sweet contentment I could pass my days, And songs of joy in grateful homage raise. . 54 TO WHOM. TO WHOM? OMEWHEEE I knew, at some good time, In no far place nor distant clime, I should meet one whom dreams alone, Had dared to let me call my own. The sailor on the stormy sea, Ne'er looked for light more wistfully, Than I for one who should be true, I found it nameless one in you ! O happy Eve ! the star of love Looked down and smiled from heaven above, TO WHOM. 55 My wandering steps were turned aside, And that bright star I then espied. The time we met shall ever be A sacred day of Memory ; For some kind angel led me where I looked and found you standing there. And thus we met and though time flies, Yet love still kindles in your eyes, And that bright eve can ne'er seem far When heaven first showed a guiding star. 56 AT LAST. AT LAST. 1 T last my short-lived Joys have sunk in sorrow, And night and darkness have usurped their reign ; 'Twas but a day that brought such gloomy morrow, For one has gone who may not come again. At last the pitcher carried often has been broken, The silver chord is loosed all hope is fled, Yet still I linger though the word be spoken That bids me wander from the saintly dead. AT LAST. 57 At last ! I knew that all earth's joys were fleeting, Yet still I fondly hoped 'twas not my fate, And life sped on with glad and merry greeting A day so golden could not longer wait. My thoughts go back to that glad sunny morning, When life was young and earth and sky seemed bright, Oh happy day, that brought such glorious dawning How could you leave me in such gloomy night ! In vain, in vain, I ask ! the breeze is sighing, The crimson leaves now flutter from the trees, And Nature speaks e'en in her very dying : Go seek your answer it is found in these ! 58 TO THE KENNEBEO. TO THE KENNEBEC. H, sweet flowing River, how oft by thy side, In childhood's loved days I have wandered along, When the world was all bright and my thoughts like thy tide, Danced out to an ocean of music and song. Thou still art the same but, alas, I am not ! Grown older, the charm and the freshness have fled ; TO THE KE^ISTEBEC. 59 Some friends that I loved have grown cold, have forgot - And some now are sleeping the sleep of the dead. Your white-winged ships you still bear to the sea, I once thought that pleasure must follow them on ; And far o'er the waters my thoughts went with thee, They went into dream-land, where I too was gone. I know now that tempest and darkness and gloom Encircle them 'round both by night and by day; That many are mould'ring in ocean's drear tomb, And tears bring not back what your tide bore away. Yet, sweet flowing River, my thoughts once again 60 TO THE KENNEBEC. Shall turn as in childhood all fondly to thee ; Deal kind with thy treasures I'll love thee as when My thoughts, like thy waters, danced out to the sea. I DREAM. 61 I DKEAM. DREAM that all around is joy, That earth is pure as e'er it bloomed ; I dream of childhood, when a boy, In fancy airy castles loomed. I dream of Fame's bewitching smile, A name to all the wide world dear; I dream of things as free from guile As is a loving mother's tear. I wake and find the world the same, I wake the pleasures die away ; 10 62 i DUE A jr. E'en he who wears the crown of fame Is hastening on to swift decay. I wake and care soon casts its pall, The bustling world seems full of woe, I see the young and aged fall, Friend after friend doth homeward go. I see that all the loved on earth Must part though tears fall as the rain ; I mark grim sorrow joined to mirth, And health walk hand in hand with pain. From childhood e'en to tottering age, We dream we wake and all is o'er ! The cares of life our minds engage We live we die we dream no more ! MISS MARGARET DAVIDSON. 63 THOUGHTS ON THE DEATH OF MISS MAKGAKET DAVIDSON. " And Death who called thee hence away, Placed on his brow a gem of light." MARGARET TO HER SISTER. OFT sighs the breeze as it steals o'er the meadow, Kissing the flowers and exhal- ing their sweets, Laughing it sports with the red rose e'er blushing, Then the tall forest tree kindly it greets. Now o'er the graves of the dear and departed, 64 MISS MARGARET DAVIDSON. Sighing it lingers as though it would stay ; Oh, it is sweet that though mortal must perish, Flowers spring above us and zephyrs will play. Margaret ! thy name on the marble I'm reading, Sweet bird of song thou art sleeping full well; We upon earth beheld but thy dawning, Only angels above of thy present can tell. Sadly I feel when I think that the fairest Flowers, in their beauty, must soonest decay ; Sombre's the thought when I hear that sweet zephyr, Lisping, e'er lisping, " We're passing away ! " Passing away as the sun in the evening Blushes the sky as he sinks to his rest ; Passing away but to rise in his splendor, Telling of life as he dips in the west. Soon to death's 'river thy pure spirit hastened, MISS MAEGAEET DAVIDSON. 65 Long on the banks thou entranced did'st stand ; Saw the bright glories the splendor beyond thee - Saw thy " Lucretia " in that golden land ; Saw all the loved who had passed o'er before thee, Heard the sweet music about the high throne ; 'Twas but a step and the torrent was forded, Now with those rich notes thou minglest thine own. 66 TO A SNOW FLAKE. TO A SNOW FLAKE. INY little snow-flake falling o from above, Nestling on this dreary earth - kissing it with love, Welcome little stranger, With thy numerous train, Thou hast been a ranger, O / Welcome baxsk again ! Tiny little stranger, tell me whence yon come; Tell me of the upper air tell me of thy home ! Tell me earth is calling For thy mantle white, Tell me thou art falling O And her plains delight. TO A SNOW FLAKE. 67 Dropping, dropping, dropping from the upper air Tiny little stranger virtue's garb you wear ; As God's o-race is given, O O / As liis love descends, Softly falls from heaven With his children blends. So from those far regions lovingly you fall, Making earth look brighter blessing nature all. Welcome little stranger With thy numerous train, Thou hast been a ranger, Welcome back again ! 68 ODE OF WELCOME. ODE OF WELCOME. READ AT THE ORPHANS' HOME, BATH, NEW YEAR'S EVE, JAN. 1, 1873. HAPPY Night, that doth appear To crown the glory of the year ! Where Love keeps guard what need to roam ? And 5 Love keeps guard around this home. Our country's Wards ! that dying prayer, On southern fields, by angels care, Was wafted to the Throne above, And angel voices sang of love. ODE OF WELCOME. 69 'Tis New Year's Eve and eyes grow bright, And merry faces come to light ; Glad, happy hearts, you need not roam, No cloud shall pass across your Home. The song shall rise, the evening prayer Shall give them to their Father's care ; Affection's flowers shall fresh appear, And cluster 'round the dawning year. What nobler sight to thrill the heart, The loved and loving need not part ; Here safe at home no one need grieve, For Pleasure guards the New Year's Eve. Each star that shines in heaven above, Shall twinkle down a Father's love; Each eye that glistens here to-night, Shall twinkle up a child's delight. O happy Year, that brightly dawns, Clear be thy nights and fair thy morns ! These childrens' voices ring out clear, And wish you all a Glad New Year ! 70 ODE OF WELCOME. They thank you for your tender care, They feel that you their pleasure share ; The rolling year must pass away, Yet memory still can hold her sway. This Home shall throw a fragrance round, And where we stand 'tis holy ground ; The seed dropped tearful in the earth, Shall blossom in triumphant birth. They are our own ! a country's pride ! Columbia keeps them by her side ; Beneath her care their feet may roam, And Love still guards the Orphan's Home. Then once again, with voices clear, They wish you all a Glad New Year ! Their hearts are full and words are weak, If thoughts were words how they would speak. ONLY A CHILD. 71 ONLY A' CHILD. NLY a child that was killed in the street, Wandering there with her poor weary feet ; " 'No one's to blame ! " and the driver looked wild, Saying, " It's lucky 'twas only a child ! " Only a child yet the crowd presses on, Take her away for the spirit has gone ! Gone from its anguish, its prison, its woe, Up to its Maker who sent it below. Pity her not, she had no loving home, Father a drunkard her fate was to roam ; 72 ONLY A CHILI). Weary and hungry to beg for her bread, Pity her not, for at last she is dead ! Hollow-eyed, ragged, deformed from her birth, AH have refused her a 'home but the earth ; Poor little feet that have wandered too long, Pure, sinless heart that has ne'er known the wrong. Only a child and there falleth no tear, No one remains that will think of her here ; But 'mongst the blessed the Father sweet smiled, And angel-harps welcomed a glad, radiant child. COME TO ME. COME TO ME. OME to me when in sorrow I am calling When darkness veils the sun and shows no day ; When all I loved and prized are 'round me falling, Come to me, darling do not longer stay ! Come tell me stories that the past, so golden, Loved to repeat unto my listening ear ; Come tell me legends of the ages olden, I only wait to feel that thou art near. 74 * COME TO ME. Come to me song-bird on the joyous morrow, Thy notes shall soothe my heart and banish pain. And from the sky shall pass the clouds of sorrow, If I but know that thou can'st come again. Alas, alas, in vain my soul keeps crying, They may not come who cross death's rolling tide! And only dirges to my voice replying, Chant thou art ever banished from my side. NEW MEADOW S RIA r ER. 75 A ROMANCE OF NEW MEADOWS RIVER. FOUNDED ON FACT. I EW MEADOWS flows the same to-day, With dancing waters to the sea, And tells her story all the way, Replete with love and melody. The wild woods bend on either side, To cast their shadows in the stream, And sunbeams sparkle on her tide, Like bright' thoughts in a Poet's dream. 76 NEW MEADOW S RIVER. Fair River ! few have sung thy praise, Unknown, thou murmurest to the sea, But from the far-off, golden days, I hear these echoes come from thee. Time was when on thy western shore The busy hum of trade did rise ; When Commerce in her hands upbore The products of far-distant skies. The keel was stretched, the white-winged ship Launched on thy tide then sped away, And fleeing south her prow did dip Where Pleasure ruled the golden day. Good, honest Burghers ! time has fled, The crumbling mounds alone remain : And those that lived and loved are dead, The mossy stones reveal no name. In quiet church-yards they sleep well, Who planned and toiled in years gone by, And thy sweet stream alone doth tell The tale of those who lived to* die. NEW MEADOW'S EIVER. 7V Haply some aged sire remains. Whose memory wanders almost back, And reason for a moment reigns, To light the wanderer on his track. Near " Howard's Point," the old bridge spanned, It, only, crossed New-Meadow's tide ; And reached from smilling land to land, And long the elements defied. A prosperous village nestled there, Ere Bath was known by even name, The spire uprose, the pastor's prayer Breathed soft to heaven 'tis e'er the same. There " Nimmy " told the artless maid Her future fortune from the cup, Who heard half -laughing, half -afraid, Then took the charmed goblet up ; Or, at the dance, the rustic feet Tripped lightly to her wondrous song, And all the village loved to greet And hear her charm the artless throng. 12 78 NEW MEADOW'S RIVER. Poor " Nimmy ! " youth since then has gone, And made their bed alike with thee ; The world's contempt and cruel scorn Have died away for thou art free. One summer day, by " Ragged Isle," That frowns far out upon the sea, When Nature wore her sunniest smile, And earth was full of melody, A white-winged vessel sped along, Cape Small Point on the larboard bow, And on her deck a motley throng, Where crime had branded every brow. Bold rovers of the Spanish main, They turned from plunder on the deep ; Each hand imbued with Cain's red stain, Their victims 'neath the ocean sleep. Onward they speed ! New-Meadow's tide Now ripples round their vessel's prow ; Who walks alone, in sullen pride, A dark frown resting on his brow ! NEW MEADOW'S EIVER. 79 The captain of that restless band, Envenomed 'gainst the race of man ; He gazes on the passing land, Then northward doth his vision scan. " This is the place. I know it well," He mutters, " Ah, they chase in vain ! Nor winds nor waves can ever tell, Where floats the Rover of the Main ! Here in these northern wilds secure, The gold obtained by blood shall rest ; My bark is fleet, my comrades sure, 'Tis danger gives to life a zest ! Aye, fools are they who toil to win A meagre pittance at the end, Better to reap the spoils of sin, Who sins the most may most amend ! " The bark speeds on ! the sun dips down Blood-red as blushing at the sight ; The shadows fall with sombre frown Advance the spectral forms of night. 80 NEW MEADOW'S RIVER. Now " Howard's Point " comes into view, 'Tis rounded on the western side ; And all elate the pirate crew Stand ready for what may betide. The water shoals, but just ahead An island lifts its ghostly form, Seeming as dropped in marshy bed, It rears its front 'gainst wind and storm. To north and west the wood's dark shade Resounds with tones of insect life, The struggling moon seems half afraid To look down on these men of strife. O night that warps the world in sleep, And soothes earth's countless cares away, How many secrets must you keep, If thou could'st speak what would'st thou say! The mother's prayer thou bearest above, Beseeching for a wandering son, And craving from the Throne of Love A blessing for the erring one. NEW MEADOW'S EIVEE. 81 Sweet time of night ! how memory turns, And thoughts fly back and tumults cease ; The fire upon the altar burns, And night, in silence, whispers peace. The sails are furled, the bark rounds to, The boat is lowered they gain the strand, Nor haunted by that murdered crew, They bring their treasures to the land, Near where a grave-yard keeps its dead, Beneath a hill they dig the earth ; The stars alone look down o'erhead, Unmindful of the golden worth. " There now, my boys," the Chief exclaims, " Our prize is safe, our land-marks sure, In times to come when each one names His part, who then can count him poor ? Let's now away, for plunder calls, The merchantman sails on the sea, Rich wealth within her oaken walls, It only sails for you and me." 82 NEW MEADOW'S RIVER. They gained their craft all sail was made. To scenes of rapine sped they on, And when the morning lit the glade, All traces of that crew had gone. * * * # # * #- -* * * * % * The years sped by, time loiters not, Nor e'er turns back to view the past, What was, perchance, is now forgot, What is, cannot forever last. Full fifty years with magic sway, Had passed since sailed that pirate band, And men had lived and passed away, And change was written o'er the land. The old-worn bridge had passed from sight, The village now was hushed and still, The day kept silence with the night, And " Nimniy " slept beneath the hill ; The river flowed unto the sea, As if no change had marked its path, And telling of the yet to be, Pealed out the bells of distant Bath. MEADOW'S KIVER. 83 The engine yoked it to the car, And shrieked across New-Meadow's tide, And cities sprung up near and far, Nor missed that from New-Meadow's side. The sun was low a wearied man Bowed down with years kept on his way, And every object seemed to scan, And muttered, though he naught did say. Where " Bull Bridge " spans New-Meadow's tide, He took his course the day was cold, And one that passed near to his side Said that he muttered : " Gold, my gold ! " When o'er the bridge he turned him south, And craved a farmer's home to share, " I'll pay you well ! " came from his mouth. " I've gold and silver coins to spare." He showed a chart begrimmed with time - From u Howard's Point " to upper land, At night he dug with murmuring rhyme: "The last one of the Pirate's band?" 84 NEW MEADOW'S RIVER. He came, lie went he paid in gold ; Old Spanish coin the farmer took ; His story ne'er by him was told, - The rustic trembled at his look. Doubtless he only of that crew Had lived to reach his hidden wealth, But gold stays not the year's adieu, Nor can give back departed health. And even now the traveler stays, And marks where dug that ancient man, The farmer to his closing days Will keep the pirate's time-worn plan. TO A LAKE. TO A LAKE. OUNTAINS around thee rise, Above, below, the skies ! The wild fawn, timid, from the leafy brake, Starts at his imaged form, in thee, fair Lake ! The woods embrace thee 'round, Each height with foliage crowned; But few have e'er beheld thy virgin face, Thou jewel set with Nature's loveliest grace. The wild bird flies o'erhead, Or, on thee, has no dread ; 13 86 TO A LAKE. The little brook, that wooed thee through the day, Melts with thy waters, into song, away. Thou glassy Mirror, fair ! My thoughts are wandering where, This summer day, thou laughest in thy pride, And I, alas, am far from thy loved side ! For to earth's wearied mind, A pleasure undefined Thou bring'st to him who far from dusty street, Communes with Nature in her own retreat. Undine-like I see Fair f onns arise from thee ; And from thee come sweet words to cheer my heart I know thou chidest that I keep apart ! I shall be near thee soon ; The balmy breath of June TO A LAKE. 87 Shall greet me wandering 'neath thy wild- wood's shade, Where oft o'er flowery banks my feet have strayed. 88 MISS DELLA POWERS. MISS DELLA POWERS, DIED AT ORLAND, MAINE, OCTOBER, 1873. Her last words were : " A little while iny Father dear and I will meet you on the other shore." LITTLE while my Father dear, And earthly anguish will be o'er. Your darling Delia only goes To meet you on the other shore. Bright angels touch their harps so sweet, I now can hear their glad refrain, Farewell, O loved ones, I depart Yet I shall meet you all again. MISS BELLA POWERS. The heavenly chorus swelled the song, And earthly notes were borne above, As Delia joined the happy throng, And touched her harp to sing of love. " A little while my Father dear " - How sweet those words to cheer the heart, The loved on earth in heaven will meet, Thank God there is no power to part ! The sun goes down at close of day, To rise upon a brighter morn ; So your fair sun but dipped the west, To shine the brighter when 'twas gone. And though time pass with hast'ning feet, That father e'er her voice can hear, From o'er the tide with incense sweet, That tells him that his child is near ; There is no grave in northern clime, Nor ocean's depths although they roar, Can keep the loved and lost on earth, From meeting on the other shore. 90 THE IDEAL WORLD. THE IDEAL WORLD. HERE is a land where the sunbeams are glist'ning, It is a land which all mortals may know ; Often we rove there and stand vaguely list'ning, Reveling 'mid objects that dwell not below. Bright are its plains with sweet flowers ever blooming, Time has 110 sway in that region sublime, Castle and turret within it are looming, What shall I say is the name of this clime ? .THE IDEAL WORLD. 91 It is the dream-land, of fancies the dwelling, It is the threshold of that great to be, From whence the music of angel-harps swelling, Fills all our souls with its sweet melody. Drear is this earth and its shadows are falling Over the pathway, perforce, we must tread ; Time never loiters each second is calling Some one from life to the home of the dead ; But in our visions the loved, the departed, Come once again as in blest days of yore, Drying the tears of earth's poor, broken-hearted, Telling of glories, of life evermore. Is it ideal that the spirit, up-springing, Leaves its dull body to slumber below ? Death is but life ! all the ages are ringing ; Over the river we see the bright glow. Hast thou not heard 'tis a strange, ancient story, Of a fair island where death never came ? 92 THE IDEAL WORLD. E'en the poor Indian has dreamed of its glory, And, dying, has whispered its sweet-breathing name ! Isle of the blessed ! unseen o'er the ocean, Fancy has pictured thy regions sublime ; Life-giving streams in their musical motion, Wash out the foot-prints of death-dealing time. Land of Immortals ! your blue skies are smiling Somewhere, I know, though they're seen but in dreams; Not as a mirage, deceptive, beguiling, Nor wholly departing at morning's bright beams. Life is but thought ! and should we call seeing With the dull eye, though the organ of sight, All of our vision the soul has a being Wandering at will through the regions of light. THE IDEAL WORLD. 93 Knowing no shackles, ne'er drooping, nor dying, Where the poor body must stop it can roam ; In the Ideal and, methinks, it turns sighing, Joining with sorrow its poor, earthly home. Nature is speaking each bud in expanding, Cover the seed - 'tis the germ of the tree ; What is the lesson to our understanding ? This is its teaching Immortality ! Nothing is lost though in gloom and in sorrow Death takes a loved one and bears him away, The sun that goes down, sinks to rise on the morrow, And light springs from darkness and life from decay. Is it ideal, when the soul, ever longing, Peoples a world with its visions of light ? Calling up objects that ever are thronging, Visions that come from the shadows of night? 14 94 THE IDEAL WORLD. Hast thou not gazed on the vast, surging ocean, Dashing its waves on the wild, craggy shore, Telling and chanting, with deep-toned emotion, Tales of such grandeur ne'er thought of before ; Or in deep woods when the moonbeams are falling, When the dark shadows cause spectres to rise, Hast thou not heard, as it were, a voice calling, As though the angels spoke soft from the skies ? Then to their maker, unconscious, we wander> Awe-stricken think " And does he care for me?" Is he not speaking, we ask, and we ponder, Dreaming sweet dreams of the life yet to be ! Call these but fancies they yet have a meaning, Deeper than mortals, perchance, here can know; THE IDEAL WORLD. 95 He who in sorrow and gloom is now gleaning, May gather rejoicing - - the harvest shall glow. 96 IN MEMORIAL. IN MEMORIAM. J. L. BOOTHBY, DIED AT BAITOOR, APRIL 14, 1873. E giveth his beloved rest ; What blessed words to cheer the heart ! fs The hands now folded on the breast, No more must work life's bitter part. He giveth his beloved rest ; A tired child has gone to sleep, IN MEMOEIAM. 97 A wave has died on ocean's breast, And sunk in silence on the deep. The husband kind, the friend sincere, Has passed to the eterna] shore ; Yet Love still guards his memory here, Although its treasure comes no more. He giveth his beloved rest : What heavenly peace can He bestow ! Asleep upon the Savior's breast, Oh, who would dwell fore'er below ! 98 EPITAPH. EPITAPH. that she loved earth less, but heaven more, And at a ripe old age, her work well done, Her Master called and in his arms upbore A saintly Angel who the crown had won. TWO CHILDEElsr. 99 TWO CHILDREN. |WO children stood one Summer day Beneath the elm trees gently swaying, Whilst danced the happy hours away, And life seemed only made for playing. Their rippling laughter reached my ear, And, somehow, brought to me a sorrow, For though the day was bright and clear, I thought upon a sad to-morrow. Oh, happy children, laugh and play, What reck you of a sad to-morrow, 100 TWO CHILDREN. For though these hours must pass away, There comes to you no thought of sorrow. Keep pure your hearts, and though time fade, And earthly ties and joys may sever, There is a land that knows no shade, God's children dwell therein forever. THE AEMY AND NAVY UNION. 101 THE ARMY AND NAVY UNION. AIR Peace embraced a smiling land, And home our conquering heroes came, Then Mercy gave her sweet command, And blessings clustered 'round her name, The Union answered to the call, Whilst Love turned back no more to stray, And heaven looked down and smiled on all, The night was long how fair the day ! 15 102 THE ARMY AND NAVY UNION. Blessed Union ! how thy name doth thrill, What memories come at thought of thee ! Thy stream flows soft, for every rill Springs from the fount of charity. The hanks are green on either side, Thy children seek the welcome shade, And love and peace fore'er abide, For Mercy spoke and was obeyed. SPRING. 103 SPRING. O our loved clime again a Maiden hies, At first too coy, with down-cast, modest eyes; The violets greet her and the song-birds sing And trill the praises of their mistress, Spring ! Stern-winter's hand is loosed, the brook runs free, The blade grows green, the bud adorns the tree, Where'er her light step falls its trace remains, And beauty nestles o'er our hills and plains. 104 SPRING. Sweet time of Spring ! what memories flood the heart What dreams of rapture doth thy name impart ! She grows in beauty through the lengthening hours, And girlish Summer walks amongst her flowers. SUMMER. 105 SUMMER OW rosy Summer from her throne of flowers Scatters sweet perfume through the livelong day ; Babbling sweet words to charm the happy hours, She trips in pleasure and in song away. The fields are green, or show their changing hues, The swallow's shadow swiftly skims the ground, Dame Nature's mirror gleams with countless views, And peace and plenty seem to smile around. 106 SUMMER. The brook pays tribute to the noon-day sun, And laughing children cross its shallow bed ; The woods resound with ring of huntsman's gun, The clouds seem sporting as they float o'er- head. The night breathes still if we can call that night, Which comes all radiant with its jeweled crown ; The moon rolls on the stars with eyes of light Look from their ocean in contentment down. Sweet time of Peace ! the soul is upward drawn, We look to Him who made and giveth all ; Who made the light and gave the blessed morn, He knows each thought - - He marks each sparrow's fall. LOST. 107 LOST.