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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:59 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:59 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1919-h.zip b/1919-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c325222 --- /dev/null +++ b/1919-h.zip diff --git a/1919-h/1919-h.htm b/1919-h/1919-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4563bd0 --- /dev/null +++ b/1919-h/1919-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2773 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Ballads, by Horatio Alger, Jr. + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballads, by Horatio Alger, Jr. + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Ballads + +Author: Horatio Alger, Jr. + +Release Date: September 21, 2008 [EBook #1919] +Last Updated: December 10, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + BALLADS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Horatio Alger, Jr. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + 1875 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>BALLADS.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> GRAND'THER BALDWIN'S THANKSGIVING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ST. NICHOLAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> BARBARA'S COURTSHIP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE CONFESSION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ROSE IN THE GARDEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> PHOEBE'S WOOING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE LOST HEART. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> JOHN MAYNARD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> FRIAR ANSELMO. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <b>MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE CHURCH AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> MRS. BROWNING'S GRAVE AT FLORENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> MY CASTLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> APPLE-BLOSSOMS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> SUMMER HOURS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> JUNE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> LITTLE CHARLIE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE WHIPPOORWILL AND I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> CARVING A NAME. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> <b>IN TIME OF WAR.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> GONE TO THE WAR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> WHERE IS MY BOY TO-NIGHT? </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> A SOLDIER'S VALENTINE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> LAST WORDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> SONG OF THE CROAKER. (*) </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> KING COTTON. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> OUT OF EGYPT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> THE PRICE OF VICTORY. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> <b>HARVARD ODES.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> OCCASIONAL ODES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> BI-CENTENNIAL ODE. (*) </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> FOR THE CONSECRATION OF A CEMETERY. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + BALLADS. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GRAND'THER BALDWIN'S THANKSGIVING + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + UNDERNEATH protected branches, from the highway just aloof; + Stands the house of Grand'ther Baldwin, with its gently sloping roof. + + Square of shape and solid-timbered, it was standing, I have heard, + In the days of Whig and Tory, under royal George the Third. + + Many a time, I well remember, I have gazed with Childish awe + At the bullet-hole remaining in the sturdy oaken door, + + Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled) + Of the lurking, savage foeman from whose musket it was sped.. + + Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn's harvest spoils, + Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies—the guerdon of his toils; + + Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green, + While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet, drowsy mien. + + Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold; + Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled. + + Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost chill, + There are heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard the hill. + + Many a year has Grand'ther Baldwin in the old house dwelt in peace, + As his hair each year grew whiter, he has seen his herds increase. + + Sturdy sons and comely daughters, growing up from childish plays, + One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their several ways. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed is childhood's merry tone, + the fireside Grand'ther Baldwin and his good wife sit alone. + + Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled) + Of the lurking savage foeman from whose musket it was sped. + + Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn harvest spoils, + Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies—the guerdon of his toils; + + Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green, + While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet drowsy mien. + + Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold; + Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled. + + Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost and chill, + There are heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard on the hill. + + Many a year has Grand'ther Baldwin in the old house dwelt in peace, + As his hair each year grew whiter, he has seen his herds increase. + + Sturdy sons and comely daughters, growing up from childish plays, + One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their several ways. + + Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed is childhood's merry tone, + By the fireside Grand'ther Baldwin and his good wife sit alone. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yet once within the twelvemonth, when the days are short and drear, + And chill winds chant the requiem of the slowly fading year, + + When the autumn work is over, and the harvest gathered in, + Once again the old house echoes to a long unwonted din. + + Logs of hickory blaze and crackle in the fireplace huge anti high, + Curling wreaths of smoke mount upward to the gray November sky. + + Ruddy lads and smiling lasses, just let loose from schooldom's cares, + Patter, patter, race and clatter, up and down the great hall stairs. + + All the boys shall hold high revel; all the girls shall have their way,— + That's the law at Grand'ther Baldwin's upon each Thanksgiving Day. + + From from the parlor's sacred precincts, hark! a madder uproar yet; + Roguish Charlie's playing stage-coach, and the stage-coach has upset! + + Joe, black-eyed and laughter-loving, Grand'ther's specs his nose across, + Gravely winks at brother Willie, who is gayly playing horse. + + Grandma's face is fairly radiant; Grand'ther knows not how to frown, + though the children, in their frolic, turn the old house upside down. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For the boys may hold high revel, and the girls must have their way; + That's the law at Grand'ther Baldwin's upon each Thanksgiving Day. + + But the dinner—ah! the dinner—words are feeble to portray + What a culinary triumph is achieved Thanksgiving Day! + + Fairly groans the board with dainties, but the turkey rules the roast, + Aldermanic at the outset, at the last a fleshless ghost. + + Then the richness of the pudding, and the flavor of the pie, + When you've dined at Grandma Baldwin's you will know as well as I. + + When, at length, the feast was ended, Grand'ther Baldwin bent his head, + And, amid the solemn silence, with a reverent voice, he said:— + + "Now unto God, the Gracious One, we thanks and homage pay, + Who guardeth us, and guideth us, and loveth us always! + + "He scatters blessings in our paths, He giveth us increase, + He crowns us with His kindnesses, and granteth us His peace. + + "Unto himself, our wandering feet, we pray that He may draw, + And may we strive, with faithful hearts, to keep His holy law!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + His simple words in silence died: a moment's hush. And then + From all the listening hearts there rose a solemn-voiced Amen! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ST. NICHOLAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the far-off Polar seas, + Far beyond the Hebrides, + Where the icebergs, towering high, + Seem to pierce the wintry sky, + And the fur-clad Esquimaux + Glides in sledges o'er the snow, + Dwells St. Nick, the merry wight, + Patron saint of Christmas night. + + Solid walls of massive ice, + Bearing many a quaint device, + Flanked by graceful turrets twain, + Clear as clearest porcelain, + Bearing at a lofty height + Christ's pure cross in simple white, + Carven with surpassing art + From an iceberg's crystal heart. + + Here St. Nick, in royal state, + Dwells, until December late + Clips the days at either end, + And the nights at each extend; + Then, with his attendant sprites, + Scours the earth on wintry nights, + Bringing home, in well-filled hands, + Children's gifts from many lands. + + Here are whistles, tops and toys, + Meant to gladden little boys; + Skates and sleds that soon will glide + O'er the ice or steep hill-side. + Here are dolls with flaxen curls, + Sure to charm the little girls; + Christmas books, with pictures gay, + For this welcome holiday. + + In the court the reindeer wait; + Filled the sledge with costly freight. + As the first faint shadow falls, + Promptly from his icy halls + Steps St. Nick, and grasps the rein: + And afar, in measured time, + Sounds the sleigh-bells' silver chime. + + Like an arrow from the bow + Speed the reindeer o'er the snow. + Onward! Now the loaded sleigh + Skirts the shores of Hudson's Bay. + Onward, till the stunted tree + Gains a loftier majesty, + And the curling smoke-wreaths rise + Under less inclement skies. + + Built upon a hill-side steep + Lies a city wrapt in sleep. + Up and down the lonely street + Sleepy watchmen pace their beat. + Little heeds them Santa Claus; + Not for him are human laws. + With a leap he leaves the ground, + Scales the chimney at a bound. + + Five small stockings hang below; + Five small stockings in a row. + From his pocket blithe St. Nick + Fills the waiting stockings quick; + Some with sweetmeats, some with toys, + Gifts for girls, and gifts for boys, + Mounts the chimney like a bird, + And the bells are once more heard. + + Santa Claus! Good Christmas saint, + In whose heart no selfish taint + + Findeth place, some homes there be + Where no stockings wait for thee, + Homes where sad young faces wear + Painful marks of Want and Care, + And the Christmas morning brings + No fair hope of better things. + + Can you not some crumbs bestow + On these Children steeped in woe; + Steal a single look of care + Which their sad young faces wear; + From your overflowing store + Give to them whose hearts are sore? + No sad eyes should greet the morn + When the infant Christ was born. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BARBARA'S COURTSHIP. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Tis just three months and eke a day, + Since in the meadows, raking hay, + On looking up I chanced to see + The manor's lord, young Arnold Lee, + With a loose hand on the rein, + Riding slowly down the lane. + As I gazed with earnest look + On his face as on a book, + As if conscious of the gaze, + Suddenly he turned the rays + Of his brilliant eyes on me. + Then I looked down hastily, + While my heart, like caged bird, + Fluttered till it might be heard. + Foolish, foolish Barbara! + + We had never met before, + He had been so long away, + Visiting some foreign shore, + I have heard my father say. + What in truth was he to me, + Rich and handsome Arnold Lee? + Fate had placed us far apart; + Why, then, did my restless heart + Flutter when his careless glance + Fell on me by merest chance? + Foolish, foolish Barbara! + + There are faces—are there not?— + That can never be forgot. + Looks that seen but once impress + With peculiar vividness. + So it was with Arnold Lee. + Why it was I cannot say + That, through all the livelong day + He seemed ever near to me. + While I raked, as in a dream, + Now the same place o'er and o'er, + Till my little sister chid, + And with full eyes opened wide, + Much in wonder, gently cried, + "Why, what ails thee, Barbara?" + + I am in the fields again; + 'Tis a pleasant day in June, + All the songsters are in tune, + Pouring out their matin hymn. + All at once a conscious thrill + Led me, half against my will, + To look up. Abashed I see + His dark eyes full fixed on me. + What he said I do not know, + But his voice was soft and low, + As he spoke in careless chat, + Now of this and now of that, + While the murmurous waves of sound + Wafted me a bliss profound. + Foolish, foolish Barbara! + + Am I waking? Scarce I know + If I wake or if I dream, + So unreal all things seem; + Yet I could not well forego + This sweet dream, if dream it be, + That has brought such joy to me. + He has told me that he loves me,— + He in rank so far above me; + And when I, with cheeks aglow, + Told him that it was not meet + He should wed with one so low, + He should wed with one so low, + Then he said, in accents sweet, + "Far be thoughts of rank or pelf; + Dear, I love thee for thyself!" + Happy, happy Barbara! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CONFESSION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I am glad that you have come, + Arthur, from the dusty town; + You must throw aside your cares, + And relax your legal frown. + Coke and Littleton, avaunt! + You have ruled him through the day; + In this quiet, sylvan haunt, + Be content to yield your sway. + + It is pleasant, is it not, + Sitting here beneath the trees, + While the restless wind above + Ripples over leafy seas? + + Often, when the twilight falls, + In the shadow, quite alone, + I have sat till starlight came, + Listening to its monotone. + Yet not always quite alone,— + Brother, let me take the place + Just behind you now the moon + Shines no longer in my face. + + It is near two months ago + Since I met him, as I think, + By God's mercy, when my horse + Trembled on the river's brink. + I had fallen, but his arm + Firmly seized the bridle-rein, + And, with one decided grasp, + Drew me back to life again. + I was grateful and essayed + Fitting words my thanks to speak. + Arthur, when the heart feels most, + Words, I think, are oftenest weak. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So I stammered and I fear, + What I said had little grace + But I knew he understood, + By the smile upon his face. + There are faces—his was such— + That are sealed when in repose; + Only when a smile floods out, + All the soul in beauty glows. + With that smile I grew content, + And my heart grew strangely calm, + As with trustful step I walked, + My arm resting on his arm. + + Brother, turn your face away, + So, dear, I can tell you best + All that followed; but be sure + You are looking to the west. + Arthur, I have seen him since, + Nearly every day, until + If I lose him, all my life + Would grow wan, and dark, and chill. + Brother, this my love impute + Not to me for maiden-shame; + He has sought me for his wife, + He would crown me with his name. + Only yesterday he said + That my love his life would bless: + Would I grant it? Arthur, dear, + Was I wrong in saying "Yes"? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ROSE IN THE GARDEN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THIRTY years have come and gone, + Melting away like Southern Snows, + Since, in the light of a summer's night, + I went to the garden to seek my Rose. + + Mine! Do you hear it, silver moon, + Flooding my heart with your mellow shine? + Mine! Be witness, ye distant stars, + Looking on me with eyes divine! + + Tell me, tell me, wandering winds, + Whisper it, if you may not speak— + Did you ever, in all your round, + Fan a lovelier brow or cheek? + + Long I nursed in my heart the love, + Love which felt, but dared not tell, + Till, I scarcely know how or when— + It found wild words,—and all was well! + + I can hear her sweet voice even now— + It makes my pulses leap and thrill— + "I owe you more than I well can pay; + You may take me, Robert, if you will!" + + One pleasant summer night, + the garden walks alone, + Looking about with restless eyes, + Wondering whither my Rose had flown, + + Till, from a leafy arbor near, + There came to my ears the sound of speech. + Who can be with Rose to night? + Let me hide me under the beach. + + It must be one of her female friends, + Talking with her in the gloaming gray; + Perchance—I thought—they may speak of me; + Let me listen to what they say. + + This I said with a careless smile, + And a joyous heart that was free from fears; + Little I dreamed that the words I heard + Would weigh on my heavy heart for years. + + "Rose, my Rose! for your heart is mine," + I heard in a low voice, passion-fraught, + "In the sight of Heaven we are truly one; + Why will you cast me away for naught? + + "Will you give your hand where your heart goes not + To a man who is grave and stern and old; + And whose love compared with my passion-heat, + As the snow of the frozen North, is cold?" + + And Rose—I could feel her cheek grow pale— + Her voice was tremulous, then grew strong— + "Richard," she said, "your words are wild, + And you do my guardian bitter wrong. + + "Did you never hear how, years gone by,"— + She spoke in a tremulous undertone— + "Bereft of friends, o'er the world's highways, + I wandered forth as a child alone? + + "He opened to me his home and heart— + He whom you call so stern and cold— + And my grateful heart I may well bestow + On him for his kindness manifold." + + "Rose," he said, in a saddened tone, + "I thank him for all he has done for thee; + He has acted nobly—I did him wrong— + But is there no voice in your heart for me?" + + And Rose—she trembled—I felt it all; + I heard her quick breath come and go; + Her voice was broken; she only said, + "Have pity, Richard, and let me go!" + + And then—Heaven gave me strength, I think— + I stood before them calm and still; + You might have thought my tranquil breast + Had never known one passion-thrill. + + And they alternate flushed and paled; + Rose tottered, and I feared would fall; + I caught her in supporting arms, + And whispered, "Rose, I heard it all. + + "I had a dream, but it is passed, + That we might journey, hand in hand + Along the rugged steeps of life, + Until we reached God's promised land. + + "This was my dream;—'tis over now;— + Thank Heaven, it is not yet too late! + I pray no selfish act of mine + May keep two young hearts separate." + + I placed her passive hand in his— + With how much pain God only knows— + And blessing him for her sweet sake, + I left him standing with my Rose! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PHOEBE'S WOOING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "PHOEBE! Phoebe! Where is the chit? + When I want her most she's out of the way. + Child, you're running a long account + Up, to be squared on Judgment-day. + + "Where have you been? and what have you there?" + "To the pasture for buttercups wet with dew." + "My patience! I think you are out of your wits; + I wonder what good will buttercups do? + + "There's pennyroyal you might have got,— + It might have been useful to you or me, + But I never heard, in all my life, + Of buttercup cordial or buttercup tea. + + "I want you to stay and mind the bread, + I've just put two loaves in the oven to bake; + When they are clone take them carefully out, + And put in their place this loaf of cake, + + "While I run over to Widow Brown's; + Her son, from the mines, has just got back. + I don't believe he's a cent in his purse, + Young men are so shiftless now, alack! + + "It was very different when I was young; + Young men were prudent, and girls were wise; + You wouldn't catch them gadding about + Like so many idle butterflies." + + So bustled and scolded the worthy dame, + Until she had passed the outer sill, + To do her justice, it seldom chanced + That her hands were idle, or tongue was still. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So Phoebe gathered her knitting up, + And sat her down in the chimney niche; + But her mind was on other thoughts intent, + And here and there she dropped a stitch. + + The yellow kitten purred on the hearth, + While the kitchen clock, with its frame of oak, + In the corner stood, like a sentinel, + And challenged time with its measured stroke. + + But Phoebe's mind was on none of these: + The bread in the oven, her good aunt's frown, + And the scene before her faded away, + And blended with thoughts of Reuben Brown: + + How they walked together on summer days, + Or bravely faced the winter's chill, + And chatted merrily all the way + To the little school-house on Sligo Hill. + + How both grew older, and school-days passed, + When he was a youth, and a maiden she; + How often she went with Reuben Brown + To the rustic dance or the social bee. + + The warm flush deepened on Phoebe's cheek, + And she breathed a low, half-conscious sigh; + "Ah, well-a-day! they were happy times, + But he has forgotten, and so must I." + + So Phoebe gathered her knitting up, + Which, while she was thinking, had fallen down, + When her quick ear caught a strange footfall, + And there in the doorway stood Reuben Brown, + + With the same frank, handsome face she knew, + A smile as bright, and an eye as black— + "Phoebe," he said, "I have wandered far; + Are you glad to see your playmate back?" + + The kitten still purred on the kitchen hearth, + And the ancient clock, with its frame of oak, + In the corner stood, like a sentinel, + And challenged time with its measured stroke. + + A pleased light shone in the maiden's eyes; + Ah, love, young love, it is very sweet! + Reuben had gone, but she sat quite still, + And the knitting lay untouched at her feet. + + Just then the dame came bustling in, + And went to the oven without ado. + "Why, Phoebe, child, what have you done? + The bread is baked as black as my shoe!" + + And Phoebe started, and blushed for shame, + Took up her knitting and dropped it down; + And when her aunt said, "What ails you, child?" + She hastily answered, "Reuben Brown." + + Ah, love! young love! it is very sweet, + In field, or hamlet, or crowded mart; + But it burns with the brightest, purest flame + In the hidden depths of a young maid's heart. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LOST HEART. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + One golden summer day, + Along the forest-way, + Young Colin passed with blithesome steps alert. + + His locks with careless grace + Rimmed round his handsome face + And drifted outward on the airy surge. + + So blithe of heart was he, + He hummed a melody, + And all the birds were hushed to hear him sing. + + Across his shoulders flung + His bow and baldric hung: + So, in true huntsman's guise, he threads the wood. + + The sun mounts up the sky, + The air moves sluggishly, + And reeks with summer heat in every pore. + + His limbs begin to tire, + Slumbers his youthful fire; + He sinks upon a violet-bed to rest. + + The soft winds go and come + With low and drowsy hum, + And ope for him the ivory gate of dreams. + + Beneath the forest-shade + There trips a woodland maid, + And marks with startled eye the sleeping youth. + + At first she thought to fly, + Then, timid, drawing nigh, + She gazed in wonder on his fair young face. + + When swiftly stooping down + Upon his locks so brown + She lightly pressed her lips, and blushing fled. + + When Colin woke from sleep, + From slumbers calm and deep, + He felt—he knew not how—his heart had flown. + + And so, with anxious care, + He wandered here and there, + But could not find his lost heart anywhere. + + Then he, with air distraught, + And brow of anxious thought, + Went out into the world beyond the wood. + + Of each that passed him by, + He queried anxiously, + "I prithee, hast thou seen a heart astray?" + + Some stared and hurried on, + While others said in scorn. + "Your heart has gone in search of your lost wits" + + The day is wearing fast, + Young Colin comes at last + To where a cottage stood embowered in trees. + + He looks within, and there + He sees a maiden fair, + Who sings low songs the while she plies her wheel. + + "I prithee, maiden bright,"— + She turns as quick as light, + And straight a warm flush crimsons all her face. + + She, much abashed, looks down, + For on his locks so brown + She seems to see the marks her lips have made. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Whereby she stands confest; + What need to tell the rest? + He said, "I think, fair maid, you have my heart. + + "Nay, do not give it back, + I shall not feel the lack, + If thou wilt give to me thine own therefor." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JOHN MAYNARD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse + One bright midsummer day, + The gallant steamer Ocean Queen + Swept proudly on her way. + Bright faces clustered on the deck, + Or, leaning o'er the side, + Watched carelessly the feathery foam + That flecked the rippling tide. + + Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky, + That smiling bends serene, + Could dream that danger awful, vast, + Impended o'er the scene,— + Could dream that ere an hour had sped + That frame of sturdy oak + Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves, + Blackened with fire and smoke? + + A seaman sought the captain's side, + A moment whispered low; + The captain's swarthy face grew pale; + He hurried down below. + Alas, too late! Though quick, and sharp, + And clear his orders came, + No human efforts could avail + To quench the insidious flame. + + The bad news quickly reached the deck, + It sped from lip to lip, + And ghastly Faces everywhere + Looked from the doomed ship. + "Is there no hope—no chance of life?" + A hundred lips implore, + "But one," the captain made reply, + "To run the ship on shore." + + A sailor, whose heroic soul + That hour should yet reveal, + By name John Maynard, eastern-born, + Stood calmly at the wheel. + "Head her south-east!" the captain shouts, + Above the smothered roar,— + "Head her south-east without delay! + Make for the nearest shore!" + + No terror pales the helmsman's cheek, + Or clouds his dauntless eye, + As, in a sailor's measured tone, + His voice responds, "Ay! ay!" + Three hundred souls, the steamer's freight, + Crowd forward wild with fear, + While at the stern the dreaded flames + Above the deck appear. + + John Maynard watched the nearing flames, + But still with steady hand + He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly + He steered the ship to land. + "John Maynard, can you still hold out?" + He heard the captain cry; + A voice from out the stifling smoke + Faintly responds, "Ay! ay!" + + But half a mile! a hundred hands + Stretch eagerly to shore. + But half a mile! That distance sped + Peril shall all be o'er. + But half a mile! Yet stay, the flames + No longer slowly creep, + But gather round that helmsman bold, + With fierce, impetuous sweep. + + "John Maynard!" with an anxious voice + The captain cries once more, + "Stand by the wheel five minutes yet, + And we shall reach the shore." + Through flame and smoke that dauntless heart + Responded firmly still, + Unawed, though face to face with death,— + "With God's good help I will!" + + The flames approach with giant strides, + They scorch his hand and brow; + One arm, disabled, seeks his side, + Ah! he is conquered now! + But no, his teeth are firmly set, + He crushes down his pain, + His knee upon the stanchion pressed, + He guides the ship again. + + One moment yet! one moment yet! + Brave heart, thy task is o'er, + The pebbles grate beneath the keel. + The steamer touches shore. + Three hundred grateful voice rise + In praise to God that he + Hath saved them from the fearful fire, + And from the engulphing sea. + + But where is he, that helmsman bold? + The captain saw him reel,— + His nerveless hands released their task, + He sank beside the wheel. + The wave received his lifeless corpse, + Blackened with smoke and fire. + God rest him! Never hero had + A nobler funeral pyre! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FRIAR ANSELMO. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Friar Anselmo (God's grace may he win!) + Committed one sad day a deadly sin; + + Which being done he drew back, self-abhorred, + From the rebuking presence of the Lord, + + And, kneeling down, besought, with bitter cry, + Since life was worthless grown, that he might die. + + All night he knelt, and, when the morning broke, + In patience still he waits death's fatal stroke. + + When all at once a cry of sharp distress + Aroused Anselmo from his wretchedness; + + And, looking from the convent window high, + He saw a wounded traveller gasping lie + + Just underneath, who, bruised and stricken sore, + Had crawled for aid unto the convent door. + + The friar's heart with deep compassion stirred, + When the poor wretch's groans for help were heard + + With gentle hands, and touched with love divine, + He bathed his wounds, and poured in oil and wine. + + With tender foresight cared for all his needs,— + A blessed ministry of noble deeds. + + In such devotion passed seven days. At length + The poor wayfarer gained his wonted strength. + + With grateful thanks he left the convent walls, + And once again on death Anselmo calls. + + When, lo! his cell was filled with sudden light, + And on the wall he saw an angel write, + + (An angel in whose likeness he could trace, + More noble grown, the traveller's form and face), + + "Courage, Anselmo, though thy sin be great, + God grants thee life that thou may'st expiate. + + "Thy guilty stains shall be washed white again, + By noble service done thy fellow-men. + + "His soul draws nearest unto God above, + Who to his brother ministers in love." + + Meekly Anselmo rose, and, after prayer, + His soul was lightened of its past despair. + + Henceforth he strove, obeying God's high will, + His heaven-appointed mission to fulfil. + + And many a soul, oppressed with pain and grief, + Owed to the friar solace and relief. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CHURCH AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + One autumn day, when hedges yet were green, + And thick-branched trees diffused a leafy gloom, + Hard by where Avon rolls its silvery tide, + I stood in silent thought by Shakspeare's tomb. + + O happy church, beneath whose marble floor + His ashes lie who so enriched mankind; + The many-sided Shakespeare, rare of soul, + And dowered with an all-embracing mind. + + Through the stained windows rays of sunshine fall + In softened glory on the chancel floor; + While I, a pilgrim from across the sea, + stand with bare head in reverential awe. + + Churches there are within whose gloomy vaults + Repose the bones of those that once were kings; + Their power has passed, and what remains but clay? + While in his grave our Shakspeare lives and sings. + + Kings were his puppets, kingdoms but his stage,— + Faint shadows they without his plastic art,— + He waves his wand, and lo! they live again, + And in his world perform their mimic part. + + Born in the purple, his imperial soul + Sits crowned and sceptred in the realms of mind. + Kingdoms may fall, and crumble to decay, + Time but confirms his empire o'er mankind. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MRS. BROWNING'S GRAVE AT FLORENCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FLORENCE wears an added grace, + All her earlier honors crowning; + Dante's birthplace, Art's fair home, + Holds the dust of Barrett Browning. + + Guardian of the noble dead + That beneath thy soil lie sleeping, + England, with full heart, commends + This new treasure to thy keeping. + + Take her, she is half thine own; + In her verses' rich outpouring, + Breathes the warm Italian heart, + Yearning for the land's restoring. + + From thy skies her poet-heart + Caught a fresher inspiration, + And her soul obtained new strength, + With her bodily translation. + + Freely take what thou hast given, + Less her verses' rhythmic beauty, + Than the stirring notes that called + Trumpet-like thy sons to duty. + + Rarest of exotic flowers + In thy native chaplet twining, + To the temple of thy great + Add her—she is worth enshrining. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY CASTLE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have a beautiful castle, + With towers and battlements fair; + And many a banner, with gay device, + Floats in the outer air. + + The walls are of solid silver; + The towers are of massive gold; + And the lights that stream from the windows + A royal scene unfold. + + Ah! could you but enter my castle + With its pomp of regal sheen, + You would say that it far surpasses + The palace of Aladeen. + + Could you but enter as I do, + And pace through the vaulted hall, + And mark the stately columns, + And the pictures on the wall; + + With the costly gems about them, + That send their light afar, + With a chaste and softened splendor + Like the light of a distant star! + + And where is this wonderful castle, + With its rich emblazonings, + Whose pomp so far surpasses + The homes of the greatest kings? + + Come out with me at morning + And lie in the meadow-grass, + And lift your eyes to the ether blue, + And you will see it pass. + + There! can you not see the battlements; + And the turrets stately and high, + Whose lofty summits are tipped with clouds, + And lost in the arching sky? + + Dear friend, you are only dreaming, + Your castle so stately and fair + Is only a fanciful structure,— + A castle in the air. + + Perchance you are right. I know not + If a phantom it may be; + But yet, in my inmost heart, I feel + That it lives, and lives for me. + + For when clouds and darkness are round me, + And my heart is heavy with care, + I steal me away from the noisy crowd, + To dwell in my castle fair. + + There are servants to do my bidding; + There are servants to heed my call; + And I, with a master's air of pride, + May pace through the vaulted hall. + + And I envy not the monarchs + With cities under their sway; + For am I not, in my own right, + A monarch as proud as they? + + What matter, then, if to others + My castle a phantom may be, + Since I feel, in the depths of my own heart, + That it is not so to me? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + APPLE-BLOSSOMS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I sit in the shadow of apple-boughs, + In the fragrant orchard close, + And around me floats the scented air, + With its wave-like tidal flows. + I close my eyes in a dreamy bliss, + And call no king my peer; + For is not this the rare, sweet time, + The blossoming time of the year? + + I lie on a couch of downy grass, + With delicate blossoms strewn, + And I feel the throb of Nature's heart + Responsive to my own. + Oh, the world is fair, and God is good, + That maketh life so dear; + For is not this the rare, sweet time, + The blossoming time of the year? + + I can see, through the rifts of the apple-boughs, + The delicate blue of the sky, + And the changing clouds with their marvellous tints + That drift so lazily by. + And strange, sweet thoughts sing through my brain, + And Heaven, it seemeth near; + Oh, is it not a rare, sweet time, + The blossoming time of the year? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SUMMER HOURS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It is the year's high noon, + The earth sweet incense yields, + And o'er the fresh, green fields + Bends the clear sky of June. + + I leave the crowded streets, + The hum of busy life, + Its clamor and its strife, + To breathe thy perfumed sweets. + + O rare and golden hours! + The bird's melodious song, + Wavelike, is borne along + Upon a strand of flowers. + + I wander far away, + Where, through the forest trees, + Sports the cool summer breeze, + In wild and wanton play. + + A patriarchal elm + Its stately form uprears, + Which twice a hundred years + Has ruled this woodland realm. + + I sit beneath its shade, + And watch, with careless eye, + The brook that babbles by, + And cools the leafy glade. + + In truth I wonder not, + That in the ancient days + The temples of God's praise + Were grove and leafy grot. + + The noblest ever planned, + With quaint device and rare, + By man, can ill compare + With these from God's own hand. + + Pilgrim with way-worn feet, + Who, treading life's dull round, + No true repose hast found, + Come to this green retreat. + + For bird, and flower, and tree, + Green fields, and woodland wild, + Shall bear, with voices mild, + Sweet messages to thee. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JUNE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Throw open wide your golden gates, + O poet-landed month of June, + And waft me, on your spicy breath, + The melody of birds in tune. + + O fairest palace of the three, + Wherein Queen Summer holdeth sway, + I gaze upon your leafy courts + From out the vestibule of May. + + I fain would tread your garden walks, + Or in your shady bowers recline; + Then open wide your golden gates, + And make them mine, and make them mine. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LITTLE CHARLIE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A VIOLET grew by the river-side, + And gladdened all hearts with its bloom; + While over the fields, on the scented air, + It breathed a rich perfume. + But the clouds grew dark in the angry sky, + And its portals were opened wide; + And the heavy rain beat down the flower + That grew by the river-side. + + Not far away in a pleasant home, + There lived a little boy, + Whose cheerful face and childish grace + Filled every heart with joy. + He wandered one day to the river's verge, + With no one near to save; + And the heart that we loved with a boundless love + Was stilled in the restless wave. + + The sky grew dark to our tearful eyes, + And we bade farewell to joy; + For our hearts were bound by a sorrowful tie + To the grave of the little boy. + The birds still sing in the leafy tree + That shadows the open door; + We heed them not, for we think of the voice + That we shall hear no more. + + We think of him at eventide, + And gaze on his vacant chair + With a longing heart that will scarce believe + That Charlie is not there. + We seem to hear his ringing laugh, + And his bounding step at the door; + But, alas! there comes the sorrowful thought, + We shall never hear them more! + + We shall walk sometimes to his little grave, + In the pleasant summer hours; + We will speak his name in a softened voice, + And cover his grave with flowers; + We will think of him in his heavenly home,— + In his heavenly home so fair; + And we will trust with a hopeful trust + That we shall meet him there. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WHIPPOORWILL AND I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IN the hushed hours of night, when the air quite still, + I hear the strange cry of the lone whippoorwill, + Who Chants, without ceasing, that wonderful trill, + Of which the sole burden is still, "Whip-poor-Will." + + And why should I whip him? Strange visitant, + Has he been playing truant this long summer day? + I listened a moment; more clear and more shrill + Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, "Whip-poor-Will." + + But what has poor Will done? I ask you once more; + I'll whip him, don't fear, if you'll tell me what for. + I paused for an answer; o'er valley and hill + Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, "Whip-poor-Will." + + Has he come to your dwelling, by night or by day, + And snatched the young birds from their warm nest away? + I paused for an answer; o'er valley and hill + Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, "Whip-poor-Will." + + Well, well, I can hear you, don't have any fears, + I can hear what is constantly dinned in my ears. + The obstinate bird, with his wonderful trill, + Still made but one answer, and that, "Whip-poor-Will." + + But what HAS poor Will done? I prithee explain; + I'm out of all patience, don't mock me again. + The obstinate bird, with his wonderful trill, + Still made the same answer, and that, "Whip-poor-Will." + + Well, have your own way, then; but if you won't tell, + I'll shut down the window, and bid you farewell; + But of one thing be sure, I won't whip him until + You give me some reason for whipping poor Will. + + I listened a moment, as if for reply, + But nothing was heard but the bird's mocking cry. + I caught the faint echo from valley and hill; + It breathed the same burden, that strange "Whip-poor-Will." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CARVING A NAME. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I wrote my name upon the sand, + And trusted it would stand for aye; + But, soon, alas! the refluent sea + Had washed my feeble lines away. + + I carved my name upon the wood, + And, after years, returned again; + I missed the shadow of the tree + That stretched of old upon the plain. + + To solid marble next, my name + I gave as a perpetual trust; + An earthquake rent it to its base, + And now it lies, o'erlaid with dust. + + All these have failed. In wiser mood + I turn and ask myself, "What then?" + If I would have my name endure, + I'll write it on the hearts of men, + + In characters of living light, + Of kindly deeds and actions wrought. + And these, beyond the touch of time, + Shall live immortal as my thought. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN TIME OF WAR. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GONE TO THE WAR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My Charlie has gone to the war, + My Charlie so brave and tall; + He left his plough in the furrow, + And flew at his country's call. + May God in safety keep him,— + My precious boy—my all! + + My heart is pining to see him; + I miss him every day; + My heart is weary with waiting, + And sick of the long delay,— + But I know his country needs him, + And I could not bid him stay. + + I remember how his face flushed, + And how his color came, + When the flash from the guns of Sumter + Lit the whole land with flame, + And darkened our country's banner + With the crimson hue of shame. + + "Mother," he said, then faltered,— + I felt his mute appeal; + I paused—if you are a mother, + You know what mothers feel, + When called to yield their dear ones + To the cruel bullet and steel. + + My heart stood still for a moment, + Struck with a mighty woe; + A faint as of death came o'er me, + I am a mother, you know, + But I sternly checked my weakness, + And firmly bade him "Go." + + Wherever the fight is fiercest + I know that my boy will be; + Wherever the need is sorest + Of the stout arms of the free. + May he prove as true to his country + As he has been true to me. + + My home is lonely without him, + My hearth bereft of joy, + The thought of him who has left me + My constant sad employ; + But God has been good to the mother,— + She shall not blush for her boy. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHERE IS MY BOY TO-NIGHT? + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When the clouds in the Western sky + Flush red with the setting sun,— + When the veil of twilight falls, + And the busy day is done,— + I sit and watch the clouds, + With their crimson hues alight, + And ponder with anxious heart, + Oh, where is my boy to-night? + + It is just a year to-day + Since he bade me a gay good-by, + To march where banners float, + And the deadly missiles fly. + As I marked his martial step + I felt my color rise + With all a mother's pride, + And my heart was in my eyes. + + There's a little room close by, + Where I often used to creep + In the hush of the summer night + To watch my boy asleep. + But he who used to rest + Beneath the spread so white + Is far away from me now,— + Oh, where is my boy to-night? + + Perchance in the gathering night, + With slow and weary feet, + By the light of Southern stars, + He paces his lonely beat. + Does he think of the mother's heart + That will never cease to yearn, + As only a mother's can, + For her absent boy's return? + + Oh, where is my boy to-night? + I cannot answer where, + But I know, wherever he is, + He is under our Father's care. + May He guard, and guide, and bless + My boy, wherever he be, + And bring him back at length + To bless and to comfort me. + + May God bless all our boys + By the camp-fire's ruddy glow, + Or when in the deadly fight + They front the embattled foe; + And comfort each mother's heart, + As she sits in the fading light, + And ponders with anxious heart— + Oh, where is my boy to-night? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SOLDIER'S VALENTINE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Just from the sentry's tramp + (I must take it again at ten), + I have laid my musket down, + And seized instead my pen; + For, pacing my lonely round + In the chilly twilight gray, + The thought, dear Mary, came, + That this is St. Valentine's Day. + + And with the thought there came + A glimpse of the happy time + When a school-boy's first attempt + I sent you, in borrowed rhyme, + On a gilt-edged sheet, embossed + With many a quaint design, + And signed, in school-boy hand, + "Your loving Valentine." + + The years have come and gone,— + Have flown, I know not where,— + And the school-boy's merry face + Is grave with manhood's care; + But the heart of the man still beats + At the well-remembered name, + And on this St. Valentine's Day + His choice is still the same. + + There was a time—ah, well! + Think not that I repine + When I dreamed this happy day + Would smile on you as mine; + But I heard my country's call; + I knew her need was sore. + Thank God, no selfish thought + Withheld me from the war. + + But when the dear old flag + Shall float in its ancient pride, + When the twain shall be made one, + And feuds no more divide,— + I will lay my musket down, + My martial garb resign, + And turn my joyous feet + Toward home and Valentine. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LAST WORDS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "DEAR Charlie," breathed a soldier, + "O comrade true and tried, + Who in the heat of battle + Pressed closely to my side; + I feel that I am stricken, + My life is ebbing fast; + I fain would have you with me, + Dear Charlie, till the last. + + "It seems so sudden, Charlie, + To think to-morrow's sun + Will look upon me lifeless, + And I not twenty-one! + I little dreamed this morning, + Twould bring my last campaign; + God's ways are not as our ways, + And I will not complain. + + "There's one at home, dear Charlie, + Will mourn for me when dead, + Whose heart—it is a mother's— + Can scarce be comforted. + You'll write and tell her, Charlie, + With my dear love, that I + Fought bravely as a soldier should, + And died as he should die. + + "And you will tell her, Charlie, + She must not grieve too much, + Our country claims our young lives, + For she has need of such. + And where is he would falter, + Or turn ignobly back, + When Duty's voice cries 'Forward,' + And Honor lights the track? + + "And there's another, Charlie + (His voice became more low), + When thoughts of HER come o'er me, + It makes it hard to go. + This locket in my bosom, + She gave me just before + I left my native village + For the fearful scenes of war. + + "Give her this message, Charlie, + Sent with my dying breath, + To her and to my banner + I'm 'faithful unto death.' + And if, in that far country + Which I am going to, + Our earthly ties may enter, + I'll there my love renew. + + "Come nearer, closer, Charlie, + My head I fain would rest, + It must be for the last time, + Upon your faithful breast. + Dear friend, I cannot tell you + How in my heart I feel + The depth of your devotion, + Your friendship strong as steel. + + "We've watched and camped together + In sunshine and in rain; + We've shared the toils and perils + Of more than one campaign; + And when my tired feet faltered, + Beneath the noontide heat, + Your words sustained my courage, + Gave new strength to my feet. + + "And once,—'twas at Antietam,— + Pressed hard by thronging foes, + I almost sank exhausted + Beneath their cruel blows,— + When you, dear friend, undaunted, + With headlong courage threw + Your heart into the contest, + And safely brought me through. + + "My words are weak, dear Charlie, + My breath is growing scant; + Your hand upon my heart there, + Can you not hear me pant? + Your thoughts I know will wander + Sometimes to where I lie— + How dark it grows! True comrade + And faithful friend, good-by!" + + A moment, and he lay there + A statue, pale and calm. + His youthful head reclining + Upon his comrade's arm. + His limbs upon the greensward + Were stretched in careless grace, + And by the fitful moon was seen + A smile upon his face. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SONG OF THE CROAKER. (*) + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Written by request for the Philadelphia Sanitary Fair. + + An old frog lived in a dismal swamp, + In a dismal kind of way; + And all that he did, whatever befell, + Was to croak the livelong day. + Croak, croak, croak, + When darkness filled the air, + And croak, croak, croak, + When the skies were bright and fair. + + "Good Master Frog, a battle is fought, + And the foeman's power is broke." + But he only turned a greener hue, + And answered with a croak. + Croak, croak, croak, + When the clouds are dark and dun, + And croak, croak, croak, + In the blaze of the noontide sun. + + "Good Master Frog, the forces of right + Are driving the hosts of wrong." + But he gave his head an ominous shake, + And croaked out, "Nous verrons!" + Croak, croak, croak, + Till the heart is full of gloom, + And croak, croak, croak, + Till the world seems but a tomb. + + To poison the cup of life, + By always dreading the worst. + Is to make of the earth a dungeon damp, + And the happiest life accursed. + Croak, croak, croak, + When the noontide sun rides high, + And croak, croak, croak, + Lest the night come by and by. + + Farewell to the dismal frog; + Let him croak as loud as he may, + He cannot blot the sun from heaven, + Nor hinder the march of day, + Though he croak, croak, croak, + Till the heart is full of gloom, + And croak, croak, croak, + Till the world seems but a tomb. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KING COTTON. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + KING COTTON looks from his window + Towards the westering sun, + And he marks, with an anguished horror, + That his race is almost run. + + His form is thin and shrunken; + His cheek is pale and wan; + And the lines of care on his furrowed brow + Are dread to look upon. + + But yesterday a monarch, + In the flush of his pomp and pride, + And, not content with his own broad lands, + He would rule the world beside. + + He built him a stately palace, + With gold from beyond the sea; + And he laid with care the corner-stone, + And he called it Slavery: + + He summoned an army with banners, + To keep his foes at bay; + And, gazing with pride on his palace walls, + He said, "They will stand for aye!" + + But the palace walls are shrunken, + And partly overthrown, + And the storms of war, in their violence, + Have loosened the corner-stone. + + Now Famine stalks through the palace halls, + With her gaunt and pallid train; + You can hear the cries of famished men, + As they cry for bread in vain. + + The king can see, from his palace walls. + A land by his pride betrayed; + Thousands of mothers and wives bereft. + Thousands of graves new-made. + + And he seems to see, in the lowering sky, + The shape of a flaming sword; + Whereon he reads, with a sinking heart, + The anger of the Lord. + + God speed the time when the guilty king + Shall be hurled from his blood-stained throne; + And the palace of Wrong shall crumble to dust, + With its boasted corner-stone. + + A temple of Freedom shall rise instead, + On the desecrated site: + And within its shelter alike shall stand + The black man and the white. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OUT OF EGYPT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Egypt's king, who ruled beside + The reedy river's flow, + Came God's command, "Release, O king, + And let my people go." + + The king's proud heart grew hard apace; + He marked the suppliant throng, + And said, "Nay, they must here abide; + The weak must serve the strong." + + Straightway the Lord stretched forth his hand, + And every stream ran blood; + The river swept towards the sea— + A full ensanguined flood. + + The haughty king beheld the land, + By plagues afflicted sore, + But, as God's wonders multiplied, + Hardened his heart the more; + + Until the angel of the Lord + Came on the wings of Night, + And smote first-born of man and beast, + In his destructive flight. + + Throughout all Egypt, not a house + Was spared this crowning woe. + Then broke the tyrant's stubborn will; + He bade the people go. + + They gathered up their flocks and herds, + Rejoicing to be free; + And, going forth, a mighty host, + Encamped beside the sea. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Then Pharaoh's heart repented him; + He called a mighty force, + And swiftly followed on their track, + With chariot and with horse. + + Then Israel's host were sore afraid; + But God was on their side, + And, lo! for them a way is cleft, + The Red-sea waves divide. + + At God's command the restless waves + Obey the prophet's rod; + And, through the middle of the sea, + The people marched dry-shod. + + But, when the spoilers, following close, + Would hinder Israel's flight, + The waters to their course return, + The parted waves unite, + + And Pharaoh's host is swept away, + The chariots and the horse; + And not a man is left alive + Of all that mighty force. + + So in these days God looks from heaven, + And marks his servants' woe; + Hear ye his voice: "Break every yoke, + And let my people go!" + + For them the Red-sea waves divide, + The streams with crimson flow; + Therefore we mourn for our first-born;— + Then let the people go. + + They are not weak whom God befriends, + He makes their cause His own; + And they who fight against God's might + Shall surely be o'erthrown. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PRICE OF VICTORY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "A VICTORY!—a victory!" + Is flashed across the wires; + Speed, speed the news from State to State, + Light up the signal fires! + Let all the bells from all the towers + A joyous peal ring out; + We've gained a glorious victory, + And put the foe to rout! + + A mother heard the chiming bells; + Her joy was mixed with pain. + "Pray God," she said, "my gallant boy + Be not among the slain!" + Alas for her! that very hour + Outstretched in death he lay, + The color from his fair, young face + Had scarcely passed away. + + His nerveless hand still grasped the sword. + He never more might wield, + His eyes were sealed in dreamless sleep + Upon that bloody field. + The chestnut curls his mother oft + Had stroked in fondest pride, + Neglected hung in clotted locks, + With deepest crimson dyed. + + Ah! many a mother's heart shall ache, + And bleed with anguish sore, + When tidings come of him who marched + So blithely forth to war. + Oh! sad for them, the stricken down + In manhood's early dawn, + And sadder yet for loving hearts. + God comfort them that mourn! + + Yes, victory has a fearful price + Our hearts may shrink to pay, + And tears will mingle with the joy + That greets a glorious day. + But he who dies in freedom's cause, + We cannot count him lost; + A battle won for truth and right + Is worth the blood it cost! + + O mothers! count it something gained + That they, for whom you mourn, + Bequeath fair Freedom's heritage + To millions yet unborn;— + And better than a thousand years + Of base, ignoble breath, + A patriot's fragrant memory, + A hero's early death! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HARVARD ODES. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (SUNG AT ANNUAL DINNERS OF THE HARVARD CLUB + + OF New York. NEW YORK.) +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HARVARD ODES. + + I. + + (Feb. 23, 1869.) + + Fair Harvard, dear guide of our youth's golden days; + At thy name all our hearts own a thrill, + We turn from life's highways, its business, its cares, + We are boys in thy tutelage still. + And the warm blood of youth to our veins, as of yore, + Returns with impetuous flow, + Reviving the scenes and the hopes that were ours + In the vanished, but sweet Long Ago. + + Once more through thy walks, Alma Mater, we tread, + And we dream youth's fair dreams once again, + We are heroes in fight for the Just and the Right, + We are knights without fear, without stain; + Its doors in fair prospect the world opens wide, + Its prizes seem easy to win,— + We are strong in our faith, we are bold in our might, + And we long for the race to begin. + + Though dimmed are our hopes, and our visions are fled, + Our dreams were but dreams, it is true; + Dust-stained from the contest we gather to-night, + The sweet dreams of youth to renew. + Enough for to-morrow the cares it shall bring, + We are boys, we are brothers, to-night; + And our hearts, warm with love, Alma Mater, to thee, + Shall in loyal devotion unite. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. + + (Feb. 11, 1870.) + + As we meet in thy name, Alma Mater, to-night, + All our hearts and our hopes are as one, + And love for the mother that nurtured his youth + Beats high in the breast of each son. + The sweet chords of Memory bridge o'er the Past, + The years fade away like a dream, + By the banks of Cephissus, beneath the green trees, + We tread thy fair walks, Academe. + + The heights of Hymettus that bound the near view + Fill the air with an odor as sweet + As the beautiful clusters of sun-tinted grapes + From the vineyards that lie at our feet. + O realm of enchantment, O Wonderful land, + Where the gods hold high converse with men, + Come out from the dusk of past ages once more, + And live in our fancy again. + + Let us drink to the Past as our glasses we lift, + Let eye speak to eye, heart to heart, + Let the bonds of sweet fellowship bind each to each, + In the hours that remain ere we part. + And thou, Alma Mater, grown fairer with age, + Let us echo the blessing that fell + From thy motherly lips, as we stood at thy side, + And thou bad'st us God-speed and Farewell. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III. + + (Feb. 21, 1872.) + + Fair Harvard, the months have accomplished their round + And a year stands full-orbed and complete, + Since last at thy summons, with dutiful hearts, + Thy children sat here at thy feet. + Since last in thy presence, grown youthful once more, + We drank to the past and its joys, + Shaking off every care that encumbered our years, + And dreamed that again we were boys. + + To-night once again in thy presence we meet + In the freshness and flush of life's spring; + We wait but thy blessing, we ask but thy smile, + As our sails to the free air we fling. + The winds breathe auspicious that waft us along, + The sky, undisturbed, smiles serene, + Hope stands at the prow, and the waters gleam bright + With sparkles of silvery sheen. + + And thy voice, Alma Mater, so potent and sweet, + Still sounds in our ears as of yore, + And thy motherly counsel we hear, wisdom-fraught, + As we push our frail barks from the shore. + From the foam-crested waves of the mountainous sea + As backward our glances we strain, + We see the dear face of our mother benign, + And bless her again and again. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IV. + + (Feb. 21, 1873.) + + There's a fountain of Fable whose magical power + Time's ravages all could repair, + And replace the bowed form and the tottering step, + The wrinkles and silvery hair, + By the brown flowing locks and the graces of youth, + Its footstep elastic and light, + Could mantle the cheek with its long-vanished bloom + And make the dull eye keen and bright. + + 'Tis only a fable—a beautiful dream, + But the fable, the dream, shall come true, + As thy sons, Alma Mater, assemble to-night + The joys of past years to renew. + Our eyes shall grow bright with their old wonted light, + Our spirits untrammelled by care, + And the Goddess of Hope, with her fresh rainbow tints, + Shall paint every prospect more fair. + + How sweet were the friendships we formed in thy halls! + How strong were the tendrils that bound + Our hearts to the mother whose provident care + Encompassed her children around! + Now strong in our manhood we cherish her still; + And if by misfortune brought low, + Our strength shall support her, our arms bear her up, + And sustain her through weal and through woe. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OCCASIONAL ODES. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BI-CENTENNIAL ODE. (*) + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (June 13, 1860.) + + * Sung at the bi-centennial celebration of the incorporation + of Marlboro, Mass. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + From the door of the homestead the mother looks forth, + With a glance half of hope, half of fear, + For the clock in the corner now points to the hour + When the children she loves should appear. + For have they not promised, whatever betide, + On this their dear mother's birthday, + To gather once more round the family board, + Their dutiful service to pay? + + From the East and the West, from the North and the South, + In communion and intercourse sweet, + Her children have come, on this festival day, + To sit, as of old, at her feet. + And our mother,—God bless her benevolent face!— + How her heart thrills with motherly joys, + As she stands at the portal, with arms opened wide, + To welcome her girls and her boys. + + And yet, when the first joyful greetings are o'er, + When the words of her welcome are said: + A shadow creeps over her motherly face, + As she silently thinks of the dead, + Of the children whose voices once rang through her fields, + Who shared all her hopes and alarms, + Till, tired with the burden and heat of the day, + They have fallen asleep in her arms. + + They have gone from our midst, but their labors abide + On the fields where they prayerfully wrought; + They scattered the seed, but the harvest is ours, + By their toil and self-sacrifice bought. + As we scan the fair scene that once greeted their eyes, + As we tread the same paths which they trod, + Let us tenderly think of our elders by birth, + Who have gone to their rest, and their God. + + God bless the old homestead! some linger there still, + In the haunts which their childhood has known, + While others have wandered to places remote, + And planted new homes of their own; + But Time cannot weaken the ties Love creates, + Nor absence, nor distance, impede + The filial devotion which thrills all our hearts, + As we bid our old mother God-speed. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FOR THE CONSECRATION OF A CEMETERY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This verdant field that smiles to Heaven + In Nature's bright array, + From common uses set apart, + We consecrate to-day. + + "God's Acre" be it fitly called, + For when, beneath the sod, + We lay the dead with reverent hands, + We yield them back to God. + + And His great love, so freely given, + Shall speak in clearer tones, + When, pacing through these hallowed walks, + We read memorial stones. + + Here let the sunshine softly fall, + And gently drop the rain, + And Nature's countless harmonies + Blend one accordant strain; + + That they who seek this sacred place, + In mourning solitude, + In all this gracious company + May have their faith renewed. + + So, lifted to serener heights, + And purified from dross, + Their trustful hearts shall rest on God, + And profit by their loss. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballads, by Horatio Alger, Jr. + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS *** + +***** This file should be named 1919-h.htm or 1919-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/1919/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Ballads + +Author: Horatio Alger, Jr. + +Posting Date: September 21, 2008 [EBook #1919] +Release Date: October, 1999 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + + + + + +BALLADS + +By Horatio Alger, Jr. + +1875 + + + + +Contents: + + BALLADS. + Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving + St. Nicholas + Barbara's Courtship + The Confession + Rose in the Garden + Phoebe's Wooing + The Lost Heart + John Maynard + Friar Anselmo + + MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. + In the Church at Stratford-on-Avon + Mrs. Browning's Grave at Florence + My Castle + Apple-Blossoms + Summer Hours + June + Little Charlie + The Whippoorwill and I + Carving a Name + + IN TIME OF WAR. + Gone to the War + Where is my Boy To-night? + A Soldier's Valentine + Last Words + Song of the Croaker + King Cotton + Out of Egypt + The Price of Victory + + HARVARD ODES. + I. Fair Harvard, Dear Guide of Our Youth's Golden Days + II. As We Meet in Thy Name, Alma Mater, Tonight + III. Fair Harvard, The Months Have Accomplished Their Round + IV. there's a Fountain of Fable, Whose Magical Power + + OCCASIONAL ODES. + Bi-Centennial Ode + For the Consecration of a Cemetery + + + + +BALLADS. + + + + +GRAND'THER BALDWIN'S THANKSGIVING + + UNDERNEATH protected branches, from the highway just aloof; + Stands the house of Grand'ther Baldwin, with its gently sloping roof. + + Square of shape and solid-timbered, it was standing, I have heard, + In the days of Whig and Tory, under royal George the Third. + + Many a time, I well remember, I have gazed with Childish awe + At the bullet-hole remaining in the sturdy oaken door, + + Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled) + Of the lurking, savage foeman from whose musket it was sped.. + + Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn's harvest spoils, + Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies--the guerdon of his toils; + + Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green, + While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet, drowsy mien. + + Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold; + Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled. + + Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost chill, + There are heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard the hill. + + Many a year has Grand'ther Baldwin in the old house dwelt in peace, + As his hair each year grew whiter, he has seen his herds increase. + + Sturdy sons and comely daughters, growing up from childish plays, + One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their several ways. + + + Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed is childhood's merry tone, + the fireside Grand'ther Baldwin and his good wife sit alone. + + Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled) + Of the lurking savage foeman from whose musket it was sped. + + Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn harvest spoils, + Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies--the guerdon of his toils; + + Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green, + While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet drowsy mien. + + Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold; + Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled. + + Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost and chill, + There are heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard on the hill. + + Many a year has Grand'ther Baldwin in the old house dwelt in peace, + As his hair each year grew whiter, he has seen his herds increase. + + Sturdy sons and comely daughters, growing up from childish plays, + One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their several ways. + + Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed is childhood's merry tone, + By the fireside Grand'ther Baldwin and his good wife sit alone. + + + Yet once within the twelvemonth, when the days are short and drear, + And chill winds chant the requiem of the slowly fading year, + + When the autumn work is over, and the harvest gathered in, + Once again the old house echoes to a long unwonted din. + + Logs of hickory blaze and crackle in the fireplace huge anti high, + Curling wreaths of smoke mount upward to the gray November sky. + + Ruddy lads and smiling lasses, just let loose from schooldom's cares, + Patter, patter, race and clatter, up and down the great hall stairs. + + All the boys shall hold high revel; all the girls shall have their way,-- + That's the law at Grand'ther Baldwin's upon each Thanksgiving Day. + + From from the parlor's sacred precincts, hark! a madder uproar yet; + Roguish Charlie's playing stage-coach, and the stage-coach has upset! + + Joe, black-eyed and laughter-loving, Grand'ther's specs his nose across, + Gravely winks at brother Willie, who is gayly playing horse. + + Grandma's face is fairly radiant; Grand'ther knows not how to frown, + though the children, in their frolic, turn the old house upside down. + + + For the boys may hold high revel, and the girls must have their way; + That's the law at Grand'ther Baldwin's upon each Thanksgiving Day. + + But the dinner--ah! the dinner--words are feeble to portray + What a culinary triumph is achieved Thanksgiving Day! + + Fairly groans the board with dainties, but the turkey rules the roast, + Aldermanic at the outset, at the last a fleshless ghost. + + Then the richness of the pudding, and the flavor of the pie, + When you've dined at Grandma Baldwin's you will know as well as I. + + When, at length, the feast was ended, Grand'ther Baldwin bent his head, + And, amid the solemn silence, with a reverent voice, he said:-- + + "Now unto God, the Gracious One, we thanks and homage pay, + Who guardeth us, and guideth us, and loveth us always! + + "He scatters blessings in our paths, He giveth us increase, + He crowns us with His kindnesses, and granteth us His peace. + + "Unto himself, our wandering feet, we pray that He may draw, + And may we strive, with faithful hearts, to keep His holy law!" + + + His simple words in silence died: a moment's hush. And then + From all the listening hearts there rose a solemn-voiced Amen! + + + + + +ST. NICHOLAS. + + In the far-off Polar seas, + Far beyond the Hebrides, + Where the icebergs, towering high, + Seem to pierce the wintry sky, + And the fur-clad Esquimaux + Glides in sledges o'er the snow, + Dwells St. Nick, the merry wight, + Patron saint of Christmas night. + + Solid walls of massive ice, + Bearing many a quaint device, + Flanked by graceful turrets twain, + Clear as clearest porcelain, + Bearing at a lofty height + Christ's pure cross in simple white, + Carven with surpassing art + From an iceberg's crystal heart. + + Here St. Nick, in royal state, + Dwells, until December late + Clips the days at either end, + And the nights at each extend; + Then, with his attendant sprites, + Scours the earth on wintry nights, + Bringing home, in well-filled hands, + Children's gifts from many lands. + + Here are whistles, tops and toys, + Meant to gladden little boys; + Skates and sleds that soon will glide + O'er the ice or steep hill-side. + Here are dolls with flaxen curls, + Sure to charm the little girls; + Christmas books, with pictures gay, + For this welcome holiday. + + In the court the reindeer wait; + Filled the sledge with costly freight. + As the first faint shadow falls, + Promptly from his icy halls + Steps St. Nick, and grasps the rein: + And afar, in measured time, + Sounds the sleigh-bells' silver chime. + + Like an arrow from the bow + Speed the reindeer o'er the snow. + Onward! Now the loaded sleigh + Skirts the shores of Hudson's Bay. + Onward, till the stunted tree + Gains a loftier majesty, + And the curling smoke-wreaths rise + Under less inclement skies. + + Built upon a hill-side steep + Lies a city wrapt in sleep. + Up and down the lonely street + Sleepy watchmen pace their beat. + Little heeds them Santa Claus; + Not for him are human laws. + With a leap he leaves the ground, + Scales the chimney at a bound. + + Five small stockings hang below; + Five small stockings in a row. + From his pocket blithe St. Nick + Fills the waiting stockings quick; + Some with sweetmeats, some with toys, + Gifts for girls, and gifts for boys, + Mounts the chimney like a bird, + And the bells are once more heard. + + Santa Claus! Good Christmas saint, + In whose heart no selfish taint + + Findeth place, some homes there be + Where no stockings wait for thee, + Homes where sad young faces wear + Painful marks of Want and Care, + And the Christmas morning brings + No fair hope of better things. + + Can you not some crumbs bestow + On these Children steeped in woe; + Steal a single look of care + Which their sad young faces wear; + From your overflowing store + Give to them whose hearts are sore? + No sad eyes should greet the morn + When the infant Christ was born. + + + + +BARBARA'S COURTSHIP. + + 'Tis just three months and eke a day, + Since in the meadows, raking hay, + On looking up I chanced to see + The manor's lord, young Arnold Lee, + With a loose hand on the rein, + Riding slowly down the lane. + As I gazed with earnest look + On his face as on a book, + As if conscious of the gaze, + Suddenly he turned the rays + Of his brilliant eyes on me. + Then I looked down hastily, + While my heart, like caged bird, + Fluttered till it might be heard. + Foolish, foolish Barbara! + + We had never met before, + He had been so long away, + Visiting some foreign shore, + I have heard my father say. + What in truth was he to me, + Rich and handsome Arnold Lee? + Fate had placed us far apart; + Why, then, did my restless heart + Flutter when his careless glance + Fell on me by merest chance? + Foolish, foolish Barbara! + + There are faces--are there not?-- + That can never be forgot. + Looks that seen but once impress + With peculiar vividness. + So it was with Arnold Lee. + Why it was I cannot say + That, through all the livelong day + He seemed ever near to me. + While I raked, as in a dream, + Now the same place o'er and o'er, + Till my little sister chid, + And with full eyes opened wide, + Much in wonder, gently cried, + "Why, what ails thee, Barbara?" + + I am in the fields again; + 'Tis a pleasant day in June, + All the songsters are in tune, + Pouring out their matin hymn. + All at once a conscious thrill + Led me, half against my will, + To look up. Abashed I see + His dark eyes full fixed on me. + What he said I do not know, + But his voice was soft and low, + As he spoke in careless chat, + Now of this and now of that, + While the murmurous waves of sound + Wafted me a bliss profound. + Foolish, foolish Barbara! + + Am I waking? Scarce I know + If I wake or if I dream, + So unreal all things seem; + Yet I could not well forego + This sweet dream, if dream it be, + That has brought such joy to me. + He has told me that he loves me,-- + He in rank so far above me; + And when I, with cheeks aglow, + Told him that it was not meet + He should wed with one so low, + He should wed with one so low, + Then he said, in accents sweet, + "Far be thoughts of rank or pelf; + Dear, I love thee for thyself!" + Happy, happy Barbara! + + + + + +THE CONFESSION. + + I am glad that you have come, + Arthur, from the dusty town; + You must throw aside your cares, + And relax your legal frown. + Coke and Littleton, avaunt! + You have ruled him through the day; + In this quiet, sylvan haunt, + Be content to yield your sway. + + It is pleasant, is it not, + Sitting here beneath the trees, + While the restless wind above + Ripples over leafy seas? + + Often, when the twilight falls, + In the shadow, quite alone, + I have sat till starlight came, + Listening to its monotone. + Yet not always quite alone,-- + Brother, let me take the place + Just behind you now the moon + Shines no longer in my face. + + It is near two months ago + Since I met him, as I think, + By God's mercy, when my horse + Trembled on the river's brink. + I had fallen, but his arm + Firmly seized the bridle-rein, + And, with one decided grasp, + Drew me back to life again. + I was grateful and essayed + Fitting words my thanks to speak. + Arthur, when the heart feels most, + Words, I think, are oftenest weak. + + + So I stammered and I fear, + What I said had little grace + But I knew he understood, + By the smile upon his face. + There are faces--his was such-- + That are sealed when in repose; + Only when a smile floods out, + All the soul in beauty glows. + With that smile I grew content, + And my heart grew strangely calm, + As with trustful step I walked, + My arm resting on his arm. + + Brother, turn your face away, + So, dear, I can tell you best + All that followed; but be sure + You are looking to the west. + Arthur, I have seen him since, + Nearly every day, until + If I lose him, all my life + Would grow wan, and dark, and chill. + Brother, this my love impute + Not to me for maiden-shame; + He has sought me for his wife, + He would crown me with his name. + Only yesterday he said + That my love his life would bless: + Would I grant it? Arthur, dear, + Was I wrong in saying "Yes"? + + + + + +ROSE IN THE GARDEN. + + THIRTY years have come and gone, + Melting away like Southern Snows, + Since, in the light of a summer's night, + I went to the garden to seek my Rose. + + Mine! Do you hear it, silver moon, + Flooding my heart with your mellow shine? + Mine! Be witness, ye distant stars, + Looking on me with eyes divine! + + Tell me, tell me, wandering winds, + Whisper it, if you may not speak-- + Did you ever, in all your round, + Fan a lovelier brow or cheek? + + Long I nursed in my heart the love, + Love which felt, but dared not tell, + Till, I scarcely know how or when-- + It found wild words,--and all was well! + + I can hear her sweet voice even now-- + It makes my pulses leap and thrill-- + "I owe you more than I well can pay; + You may take me, Robert, if you will!" + + One pleasant summer night, + the garden walks alone, + Looking about with restless eyes, + Wondering whither my Rose had flown, + + Till, from a leafy arbor near, + There came to my ears the sound of speech. + Who can be with Rose to night? + Let me hide me under the beach. + + It must be one of her female friends, + Talking with her in the gloaming gray; + Perchance--I thought--they may speak of me; + Let me listen to what they say. + + This I said with a careless smile, + And a joyous heart that was free from fears; + Little I dreamed that the words I heard + Would weigh on my heavy heart for years. + + "Rose, my Rose! for your heart is mine," + I heard in a low voice, passion-fraught, + "In the sight of Heaven we are truly one; + Why will you cast me away for naught? + + "Will you give your hand where your heart goes not + To a man who is grave and stern and old; + And whose love compared with my passion-heat, + As the snow of the frozen North, is cold?" + + And Rose--I could feel her cheek grow pale-- + Her voice was tremulous, then grew strong-- + "Richard," she said, "your words are wild, + And you do my guardian bitter wrong. + + "Did you never hear how, years gone by,"-- + She spoke in a tremulous undertone-- + "Bereft of friends, o'er the world's highways, + I wandered forth as a child alone? + + "He opened to me his home and heart-- + He whom you call so stern and cold-- + And my grateful heart I may well bestow + On him for his kindness manifold." + + "Rose," he said, in a saddened tone, + "I thank him for all he has done for thee; + He has acted nobly--I did him wrong-- + But is there no voice in your heart for me?" + + And Rose--she trembled--I felt it all; + I heard her quick breath come and go; + Her voice was broken; she only said, + "Have pity, Richard, and let me go!" + + And then--Heaven gave me strength, I think-- + I stood before them calm and still; + You might have thought my tranquil breast + Had never known one passion-thrill. + + And they alternate flushed and paled; + Rose tottered, and I feared would fall; + I caught her in supporting arms, + And whispered, "Rose, I heard it all. + + "I had a dream, but it is passed, + That we might journey, hand in hand + Along the rugged steeps of life, + Until we reached God's promised land. + + "This was my dream;--'tis over now;-- + Thank Heaven, it is not yet too late! + I pray no selfish act of mine + May keep two young hearts separate." + + I placed her passive hand in his-- + With how much pain God only knows-- + And blessing him for her sweet sake, + I left him standing with my Rose! + + + + + +PHOEBE'S WOOING. + + "PHOEBE! Phoebe! Where is the chit? + When I want her most she's out of the way. + Child, you're running a long account + Up, to be squared on Judgment-day. + + "Where have you been? and what have you there?" + "To the pasture for buttercups wet with dew." + "My patience! I think you are out of your wits; + I wonder what good will buttercups do? + + "There's pennyroyal you might have got,-- + It might have been useful to you or me, + But I never heard, in all my life, + Of buttercup cordial or buttercup tea. + + "I want you to stay and mind the bread, + I've just put two loaves in the oven to bake; + When they are clone take them carefully out, + And put in their place this loaf of cake, + + "While I run over to Widow Brown's; + Her son, from the mines, has just got back. + I don't believe he's a cent in his purse, + Young men are so shiftless now, alack! + + "It was very different when I was young; + Young men were prudent, and girls were wise; + You wouldn't catch them gadding about + Like so many idle butterflies." + + So bustled and scolded the worthy dame, + Until she had passed the outer sill, + To do her justice, it seldom chanced + That her hands were idle, or tongue was still. + + + So Phoebe gathered her knitting up, + And sat her down in the chimney niche; + But her mind was on other thoughts intent, + And here and there she dropped a stitch. + + The yellow kitten purred on the hearth, + While the kitchen clock, with its frame of oak, + In the corner stood, like a sentinel, + And challenged time with its measured stroke. + + But Phoebe's mind was on none of these: + The bread in the oven, her good aunt's frown, + And the scene before her faded away, + And blended with thoughts of Reuben Brown: + + How they walked together on summer days, + Or bravely faced the winter's chill, + And chatted merrily all the way + To the little school-house on Sligo Hill. + + How both grew older, and school-days passed, + When he was a youth, and a maiden she; + How often she went with Reuben Brown + To the rustic dance or the social bee. + + The warm flush deepened on Phoebe's cheek, + And she breathed a low, half-conscious sigh; + "Ah, well-a-day! they were happy times, + But he has forgotten, and so must I." + + So Phoebe gathered her knitting up, + Which, while she was thinking, had fallen down, + When her quick ear caught a strange footfall, + And there in the doorway stood Reuben Brown, + + With the same frank, handsome face she knew, + A smile as bright, and an eye as black-- + "Phoebe," he said, "I have wandered far; + Are you glad to see your playmate back?" + + The kitten still purred on the kitchen hearth, + And the ancient clock, with its frame of oak, + In the corner stood, like a sentinel, + And challenged time with its measured stroke. + + A pleased light shone in the maiden's eyes; + Ah, love, young love, it is very sweet! + Reuben had gone, but she sat quite still, + And the knitting lay untouched at her feet. + + Just then the dame came bustling in, + And went to the oven without ado. + "Why, Phoebe, child, what have you done? + The bread is baked as black as my shoe!" + + And Phoebe started, and blushed for shame, + Took up her knitting and dropped it down; + And when her aunt said, "What ails you, child?" + She hastily answered, "Reuben Brown." + + Ah, love! young love! it is very sweet, + In field, or hamlet, or crowded mart; + But it burns with the brightest, purest flame + In the hidden depths of a young maid's heart. + + + + +THE LOST HEART. + + One golden summer day, + Along the forest-way, + Young Colin passed with blithesome steps alert. + + His locks with careless grace + Rimmed round his handsome face + And drifted outward on the airy surge. + + So blithe of heart was he, + He hummed a melody, + And all the birds were hushed to hear him sing. + + Across his shoulders flung + His bow and baldric hung: + So, in true huntsman's guise, he threads the wood. + + The sun mounts up the sky, + The air moves sluggishly, + And reeks with summer heat in every pore. + + His limbs begin to tire, + Slumbers his youthful fire; + He sinks upon a violet-bed to rest. + + The soft winds go and come + With low and drowsy hum, + And ope for him the ivory gate of dreams. + + Beneath the forest-shade + There trips a woodland maid, + And marks with startled eye the sleeping youth. + + At first she thought to fly, + Then, timid, drawing nigh, + She gazed in wonder on his fair young face. + + When swiftly stooping down + Upon his locks so brown + She lightly pressed her lips, and blushing fled. + + When Colin woke from sleep, + From slumbers calm and deep, + He felt--he knew not how--his heart had flown. + + And so, with anxious care, + He wandered here and there, + But could not find his lost heart anywhere. + + Then he, with air distraught, + And brow of anxious thought, + Went out into the world beyond the wood. + + Of each that passed him by, + He queried anxiously, + "I prithee, hast thou seen a heart astray?" + + Some stared and hurried on, + While others said in scorn. + "Your heart has gone in search of your lost wits" + + The day is wearing fast, + Young Colin comes at last + To where a cottage stood embowered in trees. + + He looks within, and there + He sees a maiden fair, + Who sings low songs the while she plies her wheel. + + "I prithee, maiden bright,"-- + She turns as quick as light, + And straight a warm flush crimsons all her face. + + She, much abashed, looks down, + For on his locks so brown + She seems to see the marks her lips have made. + + + Whereby she stands confest; + What need to tell the rest? + He said, "I think, fair maid, you have my heart. + + "Nay, do not give it back, + I shall not feel the lack, + If thou wilt give to me thine own therefor." + + + + + +JOHN MAYNARD. + + 'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse + One bright midsummer day, + The gallant steamer Ocean Queen + Swept proudly on her way. + Bright faces clustered on the deck, + Or, leaning o'er the side, + Watched carelessly the feathery foam + That flecked the rippling tide. + + Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky, + That smiling bends serene, + Could dream that danger awful, vast, + Impended o'er the scene,-- + Could dream that ere an hour had sped + That frame of sturdy oak + Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves, + Blackened with fire and smoke? + + A seaman sought the captain's side, + A moment whispered low; + The captain's swarthy face grew pale; + He hurried down below. + Alas, too late! Though quick, and sharp, + And clear his orders came, + No human efforts could avail + To quench the insidious flame. + + The bad news quickly reached the deck, + It sped from lip to lip, + And ghastly Faces everywhere + Looked from the doomed ship. + "Is there no hope--no chance of life?" + A hundred lips implore, + "But one," the captain made reply, + "To run the ship on shore." + + A sailor, whose heroic soul + That hour should yet reveal, + By name John Maynard, eastern-born, + Stood calmly at the wheel. + "Head her south-east!" the captain shouts, + Above the smothered roar,-- + "Head her south-east without delay! + Make for the nearest shore!" + + No terror pales the helmsman's cheek, + Or clouds his dauntless eye, + As, in a sailor's measured tone, + His voice responds, "Ay! ay!" + Three hundred souls, the steamer's freight, + Crowd forward wild with fear, + While at the stern the dreaded flames + Above the deck appear. + + John Maynard watched the nearing flames, + But still with steady hand + He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly + He steered the ship to land. + "John Maynard, can you still hold out?" + He heard the captain cry; + A voice from out the stifling smoke + Faintly responds, "Ay! ay!" + + But half a mile! a hundred hands + Stretch eagerly to shore. + But half a mile! That distance sped + Peril shall all be o'er. + But half a mile! Yet stay, the flames + No longer slowly creep, + But gather round that helmsman bold, + With fierce, impetuous sweep. + + "John Maynard!" with an anxious voice + The captain cries once more, + "Stand by the wheel five minutes yet, + And we shall reach the shore." + Through flame and smoke that dauntless heart + Responded firmly still, + Unawed, though face to face with death,-- + "With God's good help I will!" + + The flames approach with giant strides, + They scorch his hand and brow; + One arm, disabled, seeks his side, + Ah! he is conquered now! + But no, his teeth are firmly set, + He crushes down his pain, + His knee upon the stanchion pressed, + He guides the ship again. + + One moment yet! one moment yet! + Brave heart, thy task is o'er, + The pebbles grate beneath the keel. + The steamer touches shore. + Three hundred grateful voice rise + In praise to God that he + Hath saved them from the fearful fire, + And from the engulphing sea. + + But where is he, that helmsman bold? + The captain saw him reel,-- + His nerveless hands released their task, + He sank beside the wheel. + The wave received his lifeless corpse, + Blackened with smoke and fire. + God rest him! Never hero had + A nobler funeral pyre! + + + + + +FRIAR ANSELMO. + + Friar Anselmo (God's grace may he win!) + Committed one sad day a deadly sin; + + Which being done he drew back, self-abhorred, + From the rebuking presence of the Lord, + + And, kneeling down, besought, with bitter cry, + Since life was worthless grown, that he might die. + + All night he knelt, and, when the morning broke, + In patience still he waits death's fatal stroke. + + When all at once a cry of sharp distress + Aroused Anselmo from his wretchedness; + + And, looking from the convent window high, + He saw a wounded traveller gasping lie + + Just underneath, who, bruised and stricken sore, + Had crawled for aid unto the convent door. + + The friar's heart with deep compassion stirred, + When the poor wretch's groans for help were heard + + With gentle hands, and touched with love divine, + He bathed his wounds, and poured in oil and wine. + + With tender foresight cared for all his needs,-- + A blessed ministry of noble deeds. + + In such devotion passed seven days. At length + The poor wayfarer gained his wonted strength. + + With grateful thanks he left the convent walls, + And once again on death Anselmo calls. + + When, lo! his cell was filled with sudden light, + And on the wall he saw an angel write, + + (An angel in whose likeness he could trace, + More noble grown, the traveller's form and face), + + "Courage, Anselmo, though thy sin be great, + God grants thee life that thou may'st expiate. + + "Thy guilty stains shall be washed white again, + By noble service done thy fellow-men. + + "His soul draws nearest unto God above, + Who to his brother ministers in love." + + Meekly Anselmo rose, and, after prayer, + His soul was lightened of its past despair. + + Henceforth he strove, obeying God's high will, + His heaven-appointed mission to fulfil. + + And many a soul, oppressed with pain and grief, + Owed to the friar solace and relief. + + + + + +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. + + + + +THE CHURCH AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. + + One autumn day, when hedges yet were green, + And thick-branched trees diffused a leafy gloom, + Hard by where Avon rolls its silvery tide, + I stood in silent thought by Shakspeare's tomb. + + O happy church, beneath whose marble floor + His ashes lie who so enriched mankind; + The many-sided Shakespeare, rare of soul, + And dowered with an all-embracing mind. + + Through the stained windows rays of sunshine fall + In softened glory on the chancel floor; + While I, a pilgrim from across the sea, + stand with bare head in reverential awe. + + Churches there are within whose gloomy vaults + Repose the bones of those that once were kings; + Their power has passed, and what remains but clay? + While in his grave our Shakspeare lives and sings. + + Kings were his puppets, kingdoms but his stage,-- + Faint shadows they without his plastic art,-- + He waves his wand, and lo! they live again, + And in his world perform their mimic part. + + Born in the purple, his imperial soul + Sits crowned and sceptred in the realms of mind. + Kingdoms may fall, and crumble to decay, + Time but confirms his empire o'er mankind. + + + + + +MRS. BROWNING'S GRAVE AT FLORENCE. + + FLORENCE wears an added grace, + All her earlier honors crowning; + Dante's birthplace, Art's fair home, + Holds the dust of Barrett Browning. + + Guardian of the noble dead + That beneath thy soil lie sleeping, + England, with full heart, commends + This new treasure to thy keeping. + + Take her, she is half thine own; + In her verses' rich outpouring, + Breathes the warm Italian heart, + Yearning for the land's restoring. + + From thy skies her poet-heart + Caught a fresher inspiration, + And her soul obtained new strength, + With her bodily translation. + + Freely take what thou hast given, + Less her verses' rhythmic beauty, + Than the stirring notes that called + Trumpet-like thy sons to duty. + + Rarest of exotic flowers + In thy native chaplet twining, + To the temple of thy great + Add her--she is worth enshrining. + + + + +MY CASTLE. + + I have a beautiful castle, + With towers and battlements fair; + And many a banner, with gay device, + Floats in the outer air. + + The walls are of solid silver; + The towers are of massive gold; + And the lights that stream from the windows + A royal scene unfold. + + Ah! could you but enter my castle + With its pomp of regal sheen, + You would say that it far surpasses + The palace of Aladeen. + + Could you but enter as I do, + And pace through the vaulted hall, + And mark the stately columns, + And the pictures on the wall; + + With the costly gems about them, + That send their light afar, + With a chaste and softened splendor + Like the light of a distant star! + + And where is this wonderful castle, + With its rich emblazonings, + Whose pomp so far surpasses + The homes of the greatest kings? + + Come out with me at morning + And lie in the meadow-grass, + And lift your eyes to the ether blue, + And you will see it pass. + + There! can you not see the battlements; + And the turrets stately and high, + Whose lofty summits are tipped with clouds, + And lost in the arching sky? + + Dear friend, you are only dreaming, + Your castle so stately and fair + Is only a fanciful structure,-- + A castle in the air. + + Perchance you are right. I know not + If a phantom it may be; + But yet, in my inmost heart, I feel + That it lives, and lives for me. + + For when clouds and darkness are round me, + And my heart is heavy with care, + I steal me away from the noisy crowd, + To dwell in my castle fair. + + There are servants to do my bidding; + There are servants to heed my call; + And I, with a master's air of pride, + May pace through the vaulted hall. + + And I envy not the monarchs + With cities under their sway; + For am I not, in my own right, + A monarch as proud as they? + + What matter, then, if to others + My castle a phantom may be, + Since I feel, in the depths of my own heart, + That it is not so to me? + + + + +APPLE-BLOSSOMS. + + I sit in the shadow of apple-boughs, + In the fragrant orchard close, + And around me floats the scented air, + With its wave-like tidal flows. + I close my eyes in a dreamy bliss, + And call no king my peer; + For is not this the rare, sweet time, + The blossoming time of the year? + + I lie on a couch of downy grass, + With delicate blossoms strewn, + And I feel the throb of Nature's heart + Responsive to my own. + Oh, the world is fair, and God is good, + That maketh life so dear; + For is not this the rare, sweet time, + The blossoming time of the year? + + I can see, through the rifts of the apple-boughs, + The delicate blue of the sky, + And the changing clouds with their marvellous tints + That drift so lazily by. + And strange, sweet thoughts sing through my brain, + And Heaven, it seemeth near; + Oh, is it not a rare, sweet time, + The blossoming time of the year? + + + + +SUMMER HOURS. + + It is the year's high noon, + The earth sweet incense yields, + And o'er the fresh, green fields + Bends the clear sky of June. + + I leave the crowded streets, + The hum of busy life, + Its clamor and its strife, + To breathe thy perfumed sweets. + + O rare and golden hours! + The bird's melodious song, + Wavelike, is borne along + Upon a strand of flowers. + + I wander far away, + Where, through the forest trees, + Sports the cool summer breeze, + In wild and wanton play. + + A patriarchal elm + Its stately form uprears, + Which twice a hundred years + Has ruled this woodland realm. + + I sit beneath its shade, + And watch, with careless eye, + The brook that babbles by, + And cools the leafy glade. + + In truth I wonder not, + That in the ancient days + The temples of God's praise + Were grove and leafy grot. + + The noblest ever planned, + With quaint device and rare, + By man, can ill compare + With these from God's own hand. + + Pilgrim with way-worn feet, + Who, treading life's dull round, + No true repose hast found, + Come to this green retreat. + + For bird, and flower, and tree, + Green fields, and woodland wild, + Shall bear, with voices mild, + Sweet messages to thee. + + + + + +JUNE. + + Throw open wide your golden gates, + O poet-landed month of June, + And waft me, on your spicy breath, + The melody of birds in tune. + + O fairest palace of the three, + Wherein Queen Summer holdeth sway, + I gaze upon your leafy courts + From out the vestibule of May. + + I fain would tread your garden walks, + Or in your shady bowers recline; + Then open wide your golden gates, + And make them mine, and make them mine. + + + + +LITTLE CHARLIE. + + A VIOLET grew by the river-side, + And gladdened all hearts with its bloom; + While over the fields, on the scented air, + It breathed a rich perfume. + But the clouds grew dark in the angry sky, + And its portals were opened wide; + And the heavy rain beat down the flower + That grew by the river-side. + + Not far away in a pleasant home, + There lived a little boy, + Whose cheerful face and childish grace + Filled every heart with joy. + He wandered one day to the river's verge, + With no one near to save; + And the heart that we loved with a boundless love + Was stilled in the restless wave. + + The sky grew dark to our tearful eyes, + And we bade farewell to joy; + For our hearts were bound by a sorrowful tie + To the grave of the little boy. + The birds still sing in the leafy tree + That shadows the open door; + We heed them not, for we think of the voice + That we shall hear no more. + + We think of him at eventide, + And gaze on his vacant chair + With a longing heart that will scarce believe + That Charlie is not there. + We seem to hear his ringing laugh, + And his bounding step at the door; + But, alas! there comes the sorrowful thought, + We shall never hear them more! + + We shall walk sometimes to his little grave, + In the pleasant summer hours; + We will speak his name in a softened voice, + And cover his grave with flowers; + We will think of him in his heavenly home,-- + In his heavenly home so fair; + And we will trust with a hopeful trust + That we shall meet him there. + + + + + +THE WHIPPOORWILL AND I. + + IN the hushed hours of night, when the air quite still, + I hear the strange cry of the lone whippoorwill, + Who Chants, without ceasing, that wonderful trill, + Of which the sole burden is still, "Whip-poor-Will." + + And why should I whip him? Strange visitant, + Has he been playing truant this long summer day? + I listened a moment; more clear and more shrill + Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, "Whip-poor-Will." + + But what has poor Will done? I ask you once more; + I'll whip him, don't fear, if you'll tell me what for. + I paused for an answer; o'er valley and hill + Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, "Whip-poor-Will." + + Has he come to your dwelling, by night or by day, + And snatched the young birds from their warm nest away? + I paused for an answer; o'er valley and hill + Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, "Whip-poor-Will." + + Well, well, I can hear you, don't have any fears, + I can hear what is constantly dinned in my ears. + The obstinate bird, with his wonderful trill, + Still made but one answer, and that, "Whip-poor-Will." + + But what HAS poor Will done? I prithee explain; + I'm out of all patience, don't mock me again. + The obstinate bird, with his wonderful trill, + Still made the same answer, and that, "Whip-poor-Will." + + Well, have your own way, then; but if you won't tell, + I'll shut down the window, and bid you farewell; + But of one thing be sure, I won't whip him until + You give me some reason for whipping poor Will. + + I listened a moment, as if for reply, + But nothing was heard but the bird's mocking cry. + I caught the faint echo from valley and hill; + It breathed the same burden, that strange "Whip-poor-Will." + + + + +CARVING A NAME. + + I wrote my name upon the sand, + And trusted it would stand for aye; + But, soon, alas! the refluent sea + Had washed my feeble lines away. + + I carved my name upon the wood, + And, after years, returned again; + I missed the shadow of the tree + That stretched of old upon the plain. + + To solid marble next, my name + I gave as a perpetual trust; + An earthquake rent it to its base, + And now it lies, o'erlaid with dust. + + All these have failed. In wiser mood + I turn and ask myself, "What then?" + If I would have my name endure, + I'll write it on the hearts of men, + + In characters of living light, + Of kindly deeds and actions wrought. + And these, beyond the touch of time, + Shall live immortal as my thought. + + + + + +IN TIME OF WAR. + + + + +GONE TO THE WAR. + + My Charlie has gone to the war, + My Charlie so brave and tall; + He left his plough in the furrow, + And flew at his country's call. + May God in safety keep him,-- + My precious boy--my all! + + My heart is pining to see him; + I miss him every day; + My heart is weary with waiting, + And sick of the long delay,-- + But I know his country needs him, + And I could not bid him stay. + + I remember how his face flushed, + And how his color came, + When the flash from the guns of Sumter + Lit the whole land with flame, + And darkened our country's banner + With the crimson hue of shame. + + "Mother," he said, then faltered,-- + I felt his mute appeal; + I paused--if you are a mother, + You know what mothers feel, + When called to yield their dear ones + To the cruel bullet and steel. + + My heart stood still for a moment, + Struck with a mighty woe; + A faint as of death came o'er me, + I am a mother, you know, + But I sternly checked my weakness, + And firmly bade him "Go." + + Wherever the fight is fiercest + I know that my boy will be; + Wherever the need is sorest + Of the stout arms of the free. + May he prove as true to his country + As he has been true to me. + + My home is lonely without him, + My hearth bereft of joy, + The thought of him who has left me + My constant sad employ; + But God has been good to the mother,-- + She shall not blush for her boy. + + + + +WHERE IS MY BOY TO-NIGHT? + + When the clouds in the Western sky + Flush red with the setting sun,-- + When the veil of twilight falls, + And the busy day is done,-- + I sit and watch the clouds, + With their crimson hues alight, + And ponder with anxious heart, + Oh, where is my boy to-night? + + It is just a year to-day + Since he bade me a gay good-by, + To march where banners float, + And the deadly missiles fly. + As I marked his martial step + I felt my color rise + With all a mother's pride, + And my heart was in my eyes. + + There's a little room close by, + Where I often used to creep + In the hush of the summer night + To watch my boy asleep. + But he who used to rest + Beneath the spread so white + Is far away from me now,-- + Oh, where is my boy to-night? + + Perchance in the gathering night, + With slow and weary feet, + By the light of Southern stars, + He paces his lonely beat. + Does he think of the mother's heart + That will never cease to yearn, + As only a mother's can, + For her absent boy's return? + + Oh, where is my boy to-night? + I cannot answer where, + But I know, wherever he is, + He is under our Father's care. + May He guard, and guide, and bless + My boy, wherever he be, + And bring him back at length + To bless and to comfort me. + + May God bless all our boys + By the camp-fire's ruddy glow, + Or when in the deadly fight + They front the embattled foe; + And comfort each mother's heart, + As she sits in the fading light, + And ponders with anxious heart-- + Oh, where is my boy to-night? + + + + +A SOLDIER'S VALENTINE. + + Just from the sentry's tramp + (I must take it again at ten), + I have laid my musket down, + And seized instead my pen; + For, pacing my lonely round + In the chilly twilight gray, + The thought, dear Mary, came, + That this is St. Valentine's Day. + + And with the thought there came + A glimpse of the happy time + When a school-boy's first attempt + I sent you, in borrowed rhyme, + On a gilt-edged sheet, embossed + With many a quaint design, + And signed, in school-boy hand, + "Your loving Valentine." + + The years have come and gone,-- + Have flown, I know not where,-- + And the school-boy's merry face + Is grave with manhood's care; + But the heart of the man still beats + At the well-remembered name, + And on this St. Valentine's Day + His choice is still the same. + + There was a time--ah, well! + Think not that I repine + When I dreamed this happy day + Would smile on you as mine; + But I heard my country's call; + I knew her need was sore. + Thank God, no selfish thought + Withheld me from the war. + + But when the dear old flag + Shall float in its ancient pride, + When the twain shall be made one, + And feuds no more divide,-- + I will lay my musket down, + My martial garb resign, + And turn my joyous feet + Toward home and Valentine. + + + + + +LAST WORDS. + + "DEAR Charlie," breathed a soldier, + "O comrade true and tried, + Who in the heat of battle + Pressed closely to my side; + I feel that I am stricken, + My life is ebbing fast; + I fain would have you with me, + Dear Charlie, till the last. + + "It seems so sudden, Charlie, + To think to-morrow's sun + Will look upon me lifeless, + And I not twenty-one! + I little dreamed this morning, + Twould bring my last campaign; + God's ways are not as our ways, + And I will not complain. + + "There's one at home, dear Charlie, + Will mourn for me when dead, + Whose heart--it is a mother's-- + Can scarce be comforted. + You'll write and tell her, Charlie, + With my dear love, that I + Fought bravely as a soldier should, + And died as he should die. + + "And you will tell her, Charlie, + She must not grieve too much, + Our country claims our young lives, + For she has need of such. + And where is he would falter, + Or turn ignobly back, + When Duty's voice cries 'Forward,' + And Honor lights the track? + + "And there's another, Charlie + (His voice became more low), + When thoughts of HER come o'er me, + It makes it hard to go. + This locket in my bosom, + She gave me just before + I left my native village + For the fearful scenes of war. + + "Give her this message, Charlie, + Sent with my dying breath, + To her and to my banner + I'm 'faithful unto death.' + And if, in that far country + Which I am going to, + Our earthly ties may enter, + I'll there my love renew. + + "Come nearer, closer, Charlie, + My head I fain would rest, + It must be for the last time, + Upon your faithful breast. + Dear friend, I cannot tell you + How in my heart I feel + The depth of your devotion, + Your friendship strong as steel. + + "We've watched and camped together + In sunshine and in rain; + We've shared the toils and perils + Of more than one campaign; + And when my tired feet faltered, + Beneath the noontide heat, + Your words sustained my courage, + Gave new strength to my feet. + + "And once,--'twas at Antietam,-- + Pressed hard by thronging foes, + I almost sank exhausted + Beneath their cruel blows,-- + When you, dear friend, undaunted, + With headlong courage threw + Your heart into the contest, + And safely brought me through. + + "My words are weak, dear Charlie, + My breath is growing scant; + Your hand upon my heart there, + Can you not hear me pant? + Your thoughts I know will wander + Sometimes to where I lie-- + How dark it grows! True comrade + And faithful friend, good-by!" + + A moment, and he lay there + A statue, pale and calm. + His youthful head reclining + Upon his comrade's arm. + His limbs upon the greensward + Were stretched in careless grace, + And by the fitful moon was seen + A smile upon his face. + + + + +SONG OF THE CROAKER. (*) + + * Written by request for the Philadelphia Sanitary Fair. + + An old frog lived in a dismal swamp, + In a dismal kind of way; + And all that he did, whatever befell, + Was to croak the livelong day. + Croak, croak, croak, + When darkness filled the air, + And croak, croak, croak, + When the skies were bright and fair. + + "Good Master Frog, a battle is fought, + And the foeman's power is broke." + But he only turned a greener hue, + And answered with a croak. + Croak, croak, croak, + When the clouds are dark and dun, + And croak, croak, croak, + In the blaze of the noontide sun. + + "Good Master Frog, the forces of right + Are driving the hosts of wrong." + But he gave his head an ominous shake, + And croaked out, "Nous verrons!" + Croak, croak, croak, + Till the heart is full of gloom, + And croak, croak, croak, + Till the world seems but a tomb. + + To poison the cup of life, + By always dreading the worst. + Is to make of the earth a dungeon damp, + And the happiest life accursed. + Croak, croak, croak, + When the noontide sun rides high, + And croak, croak, croak, + Lest the night come by and by. + + Farewell to the dismal frog; + Let him croak as loud as he may, + He cannot blot the sun from heaven, + Nor hinder the march of day, + Though he croak, croak, croak, + Till the heart is full of gloom, + And croak, croak, croak, + Till the world seems but a tomb. + + + + + +KING COTTON. + + KING COTTON looks from his window + Towards the westering sun, + And he marks, with an anguished horror, + That his race is almost run. + + His form is thin and shrunken; + His cheek is pale and wan; + And the lines of care on his furrowed brow + Are dread to look upon. + + But yesterday a monarch, + In the flush of his pomp and pride, + And, not content with his own broad lands, + He would rule the world beside. + + He built him a stately palace, + With gold from beyond the sea; + And he laid with care the corner-stone, + And he called it Slavery: + + He summoned an army with banners, + To keep his foes at bay; + And, gazing with pride on his palace walls, + He said, "They will stand for aye!" + + But the palace walls are shrunken, + And partly overthrown, + And the storms of war, in their violence, + Have loosened the corner-stone. + + Now Famine stalks through the palace halls, + With her gaunt and pallid train; + You can hear the cries of famished men, + As they cry for bread in vain. + + The king can see, from his palace walls. + A land by his pride betrayed; + Thousands of mothers and wives bereft. + Thousands of graves new-made. + + And he seems to see, in the lowering sky, + The shape of a flaming sword; + Whereon he reads, with a sinking heart, + The anger of the Lord. + + God speed the time when the guilty king + Shall be hurled from his blood-stained throne; + And the palace of Wrong shall crumble to dust, + With its boasted corner-stone. + + A temple of Freedom shall rise instead, + On the desecrated site: + And within its shelter alike shall stand + The black man and the white. + + + + +OUT OF EGYPT. + + To Egypt's king, who ruled beside + The reedy river's flow, + Came God's command, "Release, O king, + And let my people go." + + The king's proud heart grew hard apace; + He marked the suppliant throng, + And said, "Nay, they must here abide; + The weak must serve the strong." + + Straightway the Lord stretched forth his hand, + And every stream ran blood; + The river swept towards the sea-- + A full ensanguined flood. + + The haughty king beheld the land, + By plagues afflicted sore, + But, as God's wonders multiplied, + Hardened his heart the more; + + Until the angel of the Lord + Came on the wings of Night, + And smote first-born of man and beast, + In his destructive flight. + + Throughout all Egypt, not a house + Was spared this crowning woe. + Then broke the tyrant's stubborn will; + He bade the people go. + + They gathered up their flocks and herds, + Rejoicing to be free; + And, going forth, a mighty host, + Encamped beside the sea. + + + Then Pharaoh's heart repented him; + He called a mighty force, + And swiftly followed on their track, + With chariot and with horse. + + Then Israel's host were sore afraid; + But God was on their side, + And, lo! for them a way is cleft, + The Red-sea waves divide. + + At God's command the restless waves + Obey the prophet's rod; + And, through the middle of the sea, + The people marched dry-shod. + + But, when the spoilers, following close, + Would hinder Israel's flight, + The waters to their course return, + The parted waves unite, + + And Pharaoh's host is swept away, + The chariots and the horse; + And not a man is left alive + Of all that mighty force. + + So in these days God looks from heaven, + And marks his servants' woe; + Hear ye his voice: "Break every yoke, + And let my people go!" + + For them the Red-sea waves divide, + The streams with crimson flow; + Therefore we mourn for our first-born;-- + Then let the people go. + + They are not weak whom God befriends, + He makes their cause His own; + And they who fight against God's might + Shall surely be o'erthrown. + + + + +THE PRICE OF VICTORY. + + "A VICTORY!--a victory!" + Is flashed across the wires; + Speed, speed the news from State to State, + Light up the signal fires! + Let all the bells from all the towers + A joyous peal ring out; + We've gained a glorious victory, + And put the foe to rout! + + A mother heard the chiming bells; + Her joy was mixed with pain. + "Pray God," she said, "my gallant boy + Be not among the slain!" + Alas for her! that very hour + Outstretched in death he lay, + The color from his fair, young face + Had scarcely passed away. + + His nerveless hand still grasped the sword. + He never more might wield, + His eyes were sealed in dreamless sleep + Upon that bloody field. + The chestnut curls his mother oft + Had stroked in fondest pride, + Neglected hung in clotted locks, + With deepest crimson dyed. + + Ah! many a mother's heart shall ache, + And bleed with anguish sore, + When tidings come of him who marched + So blithely forth to war. + Oh! sad for them, the stricken down + In manhood's early dawn, + And sadder yet for loving hearts. + God comfort them that mourn! + + Yes, victory has a fearful price + Our hearts may shrink to pay, + And tears will mingle with the joy + That greets a glorious day. + But he who dies in freedom's cause, + We cannot count him lost; + A battle won for truth and right + Is worth the blood it cost! + + O mothers! count it something gained + That they, for whom you mourn, + Bequeath fair Freedom's heritage + To millions yet unborn;-- + And better than a thousand years + Of base, ignoble breath, + A patriot's fragrant memory, + A hero's early death! + + + + + +HARVARD ODES. + + + + (SUNG AT ANNUAL DINNERS OF THE HARVARD CLUB + + OF New York. NEW YORK.) + + + HARVARD ODES. + + I. + + (Feb. 23, 1869.) + + Fair Harvard, dear guide of our youth's golden days; + At thy name all our hearts own a thrill, + We turn from life's highways, its business, its cares, + We are boys in thy tutelage still. + And the warm blood of youth to our veins, as of yore, + Returns with impetuous flow, + Reviving the scenes and the hopes that were ours + In the vanished, but sweet Long Ago. + + Once more through thy walks, Alma Mater, we tread, + And we dream youth's fair dreams once again, + We are heroes in fight for the Just and the Right, + We are knights without fear, without stain; + Its doors in fair prospect the world opens wide, + Its prizes seem easy to win,-- + We are strong in our faith, we are bold in our might, + And we long for the race to begin. + + Though dimmed are our hopes, and our visions are fled, + Our dreams were but dreams, it is true; + Dust-stained from the contest we gather to-night, + The sweet dreams of youth to renew. + Enough for to-morrow the cares it shall bring, + We are boys, we are brothers, to-night; + And our hearts, warm with love, Alma Mater, to thee, + Shall in loyal devotion unite. + + + + + II. + + (Feb. 11, 1870.) + + As we meet in thy name, Alma Mater, to-night, + All our hearts and our hopes are as one, + And love for the mother that nurtured his youth + Beats high in the breast of each son. + The sweet chords of Memory bridge o'er the Past, + The years fade away like a dream, + By the banks of Cephissus, beneath the green trees, + We tread thy fair walks, Academe. + + The heights of Hymettus that bound the near view + Fill the air with an odor as sweet + As the beautiful clusters of sun-tinted grapes + From the vineyards that lie at our feet. + O realm of enchantment, O Wonderful land, + Where the gods hold high converse with men, + Come out from the dusk of past ages once more, + And live in our fancy again. + + Let us drink to the Past as our glasses we lift, + Let eye speak to eye, heart to heart, + Let the bonds of sweet fellowship bind each to each, + In the hours that remain ere we part. + And thou, Alma Mater, grown fairer with age, + Let us echo the blessing that fell + From thy motherly lips, as we stood at thy side, + And thou bad'st us God-speed and Farewell. + + + + + III. + + (Feb. 21, 1872.) + + Fair Harvard, the months have accomplished their round + And a year stands full-orbed and complete, + Since last at thy summons, with dutiful hearts, + Thy children sat here at thy feet. + Since last in thy presence, grown youthful once more, + We drank to the past and its joys, + Shaking off every care that encumbered our years, + And dreamed that again we were boys. + + To-night once again in thy presence we meet + In the freshness and flush of life's spring; + We wait but thy blessing, we ask but thy smile, + As our sails to the free air we fling. + The winds breathe auspicious that waft us along, + The sky, undisturbed, smiles serene, + Hope stands at the prow, and the waters gleam bright + With sparkles of silvery sheen. + + And thy voice, Alma Mater, so potent and sweet, + Still sounds in our ears as of yore, + And thy motherly counsel we hear, wisdom-fraught, + As we push our frail barks from the shore. + From the foam-crested waves of the mountainous sea + As backward our glances we strain, + We see the dear face of our mother benign, + And bless her again and again. + + + + + IV. + + (Feb. 21, 1873.) + + There's a fountain of Fable whose magical power + Time's ravages all could repair, + And replace the bowed form and the tottering step, + The wrinkles and silvery hair, + By the brown flowing locks and the graces of youth, + Its footstep elastic and light, + Could mantle the cheek with its long-vanished bloom + And make the dull eye keen and bright. + + 'Tis only a fable--a beautiful dream, + But the fable, the dream, shall come true, + As thy sons, Alma Mater, assemble to-night + The joys of past years to renew. + Our eyes shall grow bright with their old wonted light, + Our spirits untrammelled by care, + And the Goddess of Hope, with her fresh rainbow tints, + Shall paint every prospect more fair. + + How sweet were the friendships we formed in thy halls! + How strong were the tendrils that bound + Our hearts to the mother whose provident care + Encompassed her children around! + Now strong in our manhood we cherish her still; + And if by misfortune brought low, + Our strength shall support her, our arms bear her up, + And sustain her through weal and through woe. + + + + + +OCCASIONAL ODES. + + + + +BI-CENTENNIAL ODE. (*) + + (June 13, 1860.) + + * Sung at the bi-centennial celebration of the incorporation + of Marlboro, Mass. + + + From the door of the homestead the mother looks forth, + With a glance half of hope, half of fear, + For the clock in the corner now points to the hour + When the children she loves should appear. + For have they not promised, whatever betide, + On this their dear mother's birthday, + To gather once more round the family board, + Their dutiful service to pay? + + From the East and the West, from the North and the South, + In communion and intercourse sweet, + Her children have come, on this festival day, + To sit, as of old, at her feet. + And our mother,--God bless her benevolent face!-- + How her heart thrills with motherly joys, + As she stands at the portal, with arms opened wide, + To welcome her girls and her boys. + + And yet, when the first joyful greetings are o'er, + When the words of her welcome are said: + A shadow creeps over her motherly face, + As she silently thinks of the dead, + Of the children whose voices once rang through her fields, + Who shared all her hopes and alarms, + Till, tired with the burden and heat of the day, + They have fallen asleep in her arms. + + They have gone from our midst, but their labors abide + On the fields where they prayerfully wrought; + They scattered the seed, but the harvest is ours, + By their toil and self-sacrifice bought. + As we scan the fair scene that once greeted their eyes, + As we tread the same paths which they trod, + Let us tenderly think of our elders by birth, + Who have gone to their rest, and their God. + + God bless the old homestead! some linger there still, + In the haunts which their childhood has known, + While others have wandered to places remote, + And planted new homes of their own; + But Time cannot weaken the ties Love creates, + Nor absence, nor distance, impede + The filial devotion which thrills all our hearts, + As we bid our old mother God-speed. + + + + +FOR THE CONSECRATION OF A CEMETERY. + + This verdant field that smiles to Heaven + In Nature's bright array, + From common uses set apart, + We consecrate to-day. + + "God's Acre" be it fitly called, + For when, beneath the sod, + We lay the dead with reverent hands, + We yield them back to God. + + And His great love, so freely given, + Shall speak in clearer tones, + When, pacing through these hallowed walks, + We read memorial stones. + + Here let the sunshine softly fall, + And gently drop the rain, + And Nature's countless harmonies + Blend one accordant strain; + + That they who seek this sacred place, + In mourning solitude, + In all this gracious company + May have their faith renewed. + + So, lifted to serener heights, + And purified from dross, + Their trustful hearts shall rest on God, + And profit by their loss. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballads, by Horatio Alger, Jr. + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS *** + +***** This file should be named 1919.txt or 1919.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/1919/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Ballads + +By Horatio Alger, Jr. +1875 + + + + +Contents. + +BALLADS. + Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving + St. Nicholas + Barbara's Courtship + The Confession + Rose in the Garden + Phoebe's Wooing + The Lost Heart + John Maynard + Friar Anselmo + +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. + In the Church at Stratford-on-Avon + Mrs. Browning's Grave at Florence + My Castle + Apple-Blossoms + Summer Hours + June + Little Charlie + The Whippoorwill and I + Carving a Name + +IN TIME OF WAR. + Gone to the War + Where is my Boy To-night? + A Soldier's Valentine + Last Words + Song of the Croaker + King Cotton + Out of Egypt + The Price of Victory + +HARVARD ODES. + I. Fair Harvard, Dear Guide of Our Youth's Golden Days + II. As We Meet in Thy Name, Alma Mater, Tonight + III. Fair Harvard, The Months Have Accomplished Their Round + IV. there's a Fountain of Fable, Whose Magical Power + +OCCASIONAL ODES. + Bi-Centennial Ode + For the Consecration of a Cemetery + + + + +BALLADS. + + + + +GRAND'THER BALDWIN'S THANKSGIVING + +UNDERNEATH protected branches, from the highway just aloof; +Stands the house of Grand'ther Baldwin, with its gently sloping roof. + +Square of shape and solid-timbered, it was standing, I have heard, +In the days of Whig and Tory, under royal George the Third. + +Many a time, I well remember, I have gazed with Childish awe +At the bullet-hole remaining in the sturdy oaken door, + +Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled) +Of the lurking, savage foeman from whose musket it was sped.. + +Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn's harvest spoils, +Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies--the guerdon of his toils; + +Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green, +While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet, drowsy mien. + +Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold; +Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled. + +Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost chill, +There are heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard the hill. + +Many a year has Grand'ther Baldwin in the old house dwelt in peace, +As his hair each year grew whiter, he has seen his herds increase. + +Sturdy sons and comely daughters, growing up from childish plays, +One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their several ways. + + +Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed is childhood's merry tone, +the fireside Grand'ther Baldwin and his good wife sit alone. + + +Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled) +Of the lurking savage foeman from whose musket it was sped. + +Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn harvest spoils, +Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies--the guerdon of his toils; + +Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green, +While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet drowsy mien. + +Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold; +Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled. + +Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost and chill, +There are heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard on the hill. + +Many a year has Grand'ther Baldwin in the old house dwelt in peace, +As his hair each year grew whiter, he has seen his herds increase. + +Sturdy sons and comely daughters, growing up from childish plays, +One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their several ways. + +Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed is childhood's merry tone, +By the fireside Grand'ther Baldwin and his good wife sit alone. + + +Yet once within the twelvemonth, when the days are short and drear, +And chill winds chant the requiem of the slowly fading year, + +When the autumn work is over, and the harvest gathered in, +Once again the old house echoes to a long unwonted din. + +Logs of hickory blaze and crackle in the fireplace huge anti high, +Curling wreaths of smoke mount upward to the gray November sky. + +Ruddy lads and smiling lasses, just let loose from schooldom's cares, +Patter, patter, race and clatter, up and down the great hall stairs. + +All the boys shall hold high revel; all the girls shall have their way,- +That's the law at Grand'ther Baldwin's upon each Thanksgiving Day. + +From from the parlor's sacred precincts, hark! a madder uproar yet; +Roguish Charlie's playing stage-coach, and the stage-coach has upset! + +Joe, black-eyed and laughter-loving, Grand'ther's specs his nose across, +Gravely winks at brother Willie, who is gayly playing horse. + +Grandma's face is fairly radiant; Grand'ther knows not how to frown, +though the children, in their frolic, turn the old house upside down. + + +For the boys may hold high revel, and the girls must have their way; +That's the law at Grand'ther Baldwin's upon each Thanksgiving Day. + +But the dinner--ah! the dinner--words are feeble to portray +What a culinary triumph is achieved Thanksgiving Day! + +Fairly groans the board with dainties, but the turkey rules the roast, +Aldermanic at the outset, at the last a fleshless ghost. + +Then the richness of the pudding, and the flavor of the pie, +When you've dined at Grandma Baldwin's you will know as well as I. + +When, at length, the feast was ended, Grand'ther Baldwin bent his head, +And, amid the solemn silence, with a reverent voice, he said:-- + +"Now unto God, the Gracious One, we thanks and homage pay, +Who guardeth us, and guideth us, and loveth us always! + +"He scatters blessings in our paths, He giveth us increase, +He crowns us with His kindnesses, and granteth us His peace. + +"Unto himself, our wandering feet, we pray that He may draw, +And may we strive, with faithful hearts, to keep His holy law!" + + +His simple words in silence died: a moment's hush. And then +From all the listening hearts there rose a solemn-voiced Amen ! + + + + + +ST. NICHOLAS. + +In the far-off Polar seas, +Far beyond the Hebrides, +Where the icebergs, towering high, +Seem to pierce the wintry sky, +And the fur-clad Esquimaux +Glides in sledges o'er the snow, +Dwells St. Nick, the merry wight, +Patron saint of Christmas night. + +Solid walls of massive ice, +Bearing many a quaint device, +Flanked by graceful turrets twain, +Clear as clearest porcelain, +Bearing at a lofty height +Christ's pure cross in simple white, +Carven with surpassing art +From an iceberg's crystal heart. + +Here St. Nick, in royal state, +Dwells, until December late +Clips the days at either end, +And the nights at each extend; +Then, with his attendant sprites, +Scours the earth on wintry nights, +Bringing home, in well-filled hands, +Children's gifts from many lands. + +Here are whistles, tops and toys, +Meant to gladden little boys; +Skates and sleds that soon will glide +O'er the ice or steep hill-side. +Here are dolls with flaxen curls, +Sure to charm the little girls; +Christmas books, with pictures gay, +For this welcome holiday. + +In the court the reindeer wait; +Filled the sledge with costly freight. +As the first faint shadow falls, +Promptly from his icy halls +Steps St. Nick, and grasps the rein: +And afar, in measured time, +Sounds the sleigh-bells' silver chime. + +Like an arrow from the bow +Speed the reindeer o'er the snow. +Onward! Now the loaded sleigh +Skirts the shores of Hudson's Bay. +Onward, till the stunted tree +Gains a loftier majesty, +And the curling smoke-wreaths rise +Under less inclement skies. + +Built upon a hill-side steep +Lies a city wrapt in sleep. +Up and down the lonely street +Sleepy watchmen pace their beat. +Little heeds them Santa Claus; +Not for him are human laws. +With a leap he leaves the ground, +Scales the chimney at a bound. + +Five small stockings hang below; +Five small stockings in a row. +From his pocket blithe St. Nick +Fills the waiting stockings quick; +Some with sweetmeats, some with toys, +Gifts for girls, and gifts for boys, +Mounts the chimney like a bird, +And the bells are once more heard. + +Santa Claus! Good Christmas saint, +In whose heart no selfish taint + +Findeth place, some homes there be +Where no stockings wait for thee, +Homes where sad young faces wear +Painful marks of Want and Care, +And the Christmas morning brings +No fair hope of better things. + +Can you not some crumbs bestow +On these Children steeped in woe; +Steal a single look of care +Which their sad young faces wear; +From your overflowing store +Give to them whose hearts are sore? +No sad eyes should greet the morn +When the infant Christ was born. + + + + +BARBARA'S COURTSHIP. + +'Tis just three months and eke a day, +Since in the meadows, raking hay, +On looking up I chanced to see +The manor's lord, young Arnold Lee, +With a loose hand on the rein, +Riding slowly down the lane. +As I gazed with earnest look +On his face as on a book, +As if conscious of the gaze, +Suddenly he turned the rays +Of his brilliant eyes on me. +Then I looked down hastily, +While my heart, like caged bird, +Fluttered till it might be heard. + Foolish, foolish Barbara! + +We had never met before, +He had been so long away, +Visiting some foreign shore, +I have heard my father say. +What in truth was he to me, +Rich and handsome Arnold Lee? +Fate had placed us far apart; +Why, then, did my restless heart +Flutter when his careless glance +Fell on me by merest chance? + Foolish, foolish Barbara! + +There are faces--are there not?- +That can never be forgot. +Looks that seen but once impress +With peculiar vividness. +So it was with Arnold Lee. +Why it was I cannot say +That, through all the livelong day +He seemed ever near to me. +While I raked, as in a dream, +Now the same place o'er and o'er, +Till my little sister chid, +And with full eyes opened wide, +Much in wonder, gently cried, +"Why, what ails thee, Barbara?" + +I am in the fields again; +'Tis a pleasant day in June, +All the songsters are in tune, +Pouring out their matin hymn. +All at once a conscious thrill +Led me, half against my will, +To look up. Abashed I see +His dark eyes full fixed on me. +What he said I do not know, +But his voice was soft and low, +As he spoke in careless chat, +Now of this and now of that, +While the murmurous waves of sound +Wafted me a bliss profound. + Foolish, foolish Barbara! + +Am I waking? Scarce I know +If I wake or if I dream, +So unreal all things seem; +Yet I could not well forego +This sweet dream, if dream it be, +That has brought such joy to me. +He has told me that he loves me,- +He in rank so far above me; +And when I, with cheeks aglow, +Told him that it was not meet +He should wed with one so low, +He should wed with one so low, +Then he said, in accents sweet, +"Far be thoughts of rank or pelf; +Dear, I love thee for thyself!" + Happy, happy Barbara! + + + + + +THE CONFESSION. + +I am glad that you have come, + Arthur, from the dusty town; +You must throw aside your cares, + And relax your legal frown. +Coke and Littleton, avaunt! + You have ruled him through the day; +In this quiet, sylvan haunt, + Be content to yield your sway. + +It is pleasant, is it not, + Sitting here beneath the trees, +While the restless wind above + Ripples over leafy seas? + +Often, when the twilight falls, + In the shadow, quite alone, +I have sat till starlight came, + Listening to its monotone. +Yet not always quite alone,-- + Brother, let me take the place +Just behind you now the moon + Shines no longer in my face. + +It is near two months ago + Since I met him, as I think, +By God's mercy, when my horse + Trembled on the river's brink. +I had fallen, but his arm + Firmly seized the bridle-rein, +And, with one decided grasp, + Drew me back to life again. +I was grateful and essayed + Fitting words my thanks to speak. +Arthur, when the heart feels most, + Words, I think, are oftenest weak. + + +So I stammered and I fear, + What I said had little grace +But I knew he understood, + By the smile upon his face. +There are faces--his was such-- + That are sealed when in repose; +Only when a smile floods out, + All the soul in beauty glows. +With that smile I grew content, + And my heart grew strangely calm, +As with trustful step I walked, + My arm resting on his arm. + +Brother, turn your face away, + So, dear, I can tell you best +All that followed; but be sure + You are looking to the west. +Arthur, I have seen him since, + Nearly every day, until +If I lose him, all my life + Would grow wan, and dark, and chill. +Brother, this my love impute + Not to me for maiden-shame; +He has sought me for his wife, + He would crown me with his name. +Only yesterday he said + That my love his life would bless: +Would I grant it? Arthur, dear, + Was I wrong in saying "Yes"? + + + + + +ROSE IN THE GARDEN. + +THIRTY years have come and gone, + Melting away like Southern Snows, +Since, in the light of a summer's night, + I went to the garden to seek my Rose. + +Mine! Do you hear it, silver moon, + Flooding my heart with your mellow shine? +Mine! Be witness, ye distant stars, + Looking on me with eyes divine! + +Tell me, tell me, wandering winds, + Whisper it, if you may not speak-- +Did you ever, in all your round, + Fan a lovelier brow or cheek? + +Long I nursed in my heart the love, + Love which felt, but dared not tell, +Till, I scarcely know how or when-- + It found wild words,- and all was well! + +I can hear her sweet voice even now-- + It makes my pulses leap and thrill-- +"I owe you more than I well can pay; + You may take me, Robert, if you will!" + +One pleasant summer night, + the garden walks alone, +Looking about with restless eyes, + Wondering whither my Rose had flown, + +Till, from a leafy arbor near, + There came to my ears the sound of speech. +Who can be with Rose to night? + Let me hide me under the beach. + +It must be one of her female friends, + Talking with her in the gloaming gray; +Perchance--I thought--they may speak of me; + Let me listen to what they say. + +This I said with a careless smile, + And a joyous heart that was free from fears; +Little I dreamed that the words I heard + Would weigh on my heavy heart for years. + +"Rose, my Rose! for your heart is mine," + I heard in a low voice, passion-fraught, +"In the sight of Heaven we are truly one; + Why will you cast me away for naught? + +"Will you give your hand where your heart goes not + To a man who is grave and stern and old; +And whose love compared with my passion-heat, + As the snow of the frozen North, is cold?" + +And Rose--I could feel her cheek grow pale-- + Her voice was tremulous, then grew strong-- +"Richard," she said, "your words are wild, + And you do my guardian bitter wrong. + +"Did you never hear how, years gone by," -- + She spoke in a tremulous undertone-- +"Bereft of friends, o'er the world's highways, + I wandered forth as a child alone? + +"He opened to me his home and heart-- + He whom you call so stern and cold-- +And my grateful heart I may well bestow + On him for his kindness manifold." + +"Rose," he said, in a saddened tone, + "I thank him for all he has done for thee; +He has acted nobly--I did him wrong-- + But is there no voice in your heart for me?" + +And Rose--she trembled--I felt it all; + I heard her quick breath come and go; +Her voice was broken; she only said, + "Have pity, Richard, and let me go!" + +And then--Heaven gave me strength, I think-- + I stood before them calm and still; +You might have thought my tranquil breast + Had never known one passion-thrill. + +And they alternate flushed and paled; + Rose tottered, and I feared would fall; +I caught her in supporting arms, + And whispered, "Rose, I heard it all. + +"I had a dream, but it is passed, + That we might journey, hand in hand +Along the rugged steeps of life, + Until we reached God's promised land. + +"This was my dream; -- 'tis over now;-- + Thank Heaven, it is not yet too late! +I pray no selfish act of mine + May keep two young hearts separate." + +I placed her passive hand in his- + With how much pain God only knows-- +And blessing him for her sweet sake, + I left him standing with my Rose! + + + + + +PHOEBE'S WOOING. + +"PHOEBE! Phoebe! Where is the chit? + When I want her most she's out of the way. +Child, you're running a long account + Up, to be squared on Judgment-day. + +"Where have you been? and what have you there?" + "To the pasture for buttercups wet with dew." +"My patience! I think you are out of your wits; + I wonder what good will buttercups do? + +"There's pennyroyal you might have got,- + It might have been useful to you or me, +But I never heard, in all my life, + Of buttercup cordial or buttercup tea. + +"I want you to stay and mind the bread, + I've just put two loaves in the oven to bake; +When they are clone take them carefully out, + And put in their place this loaf of cake, + +"While I run over to Widow Brown's; + Her son, from the mines, has just got back. +I don't believe he's a cent in his purse, + Young men are so shiftless now, alack! + +"It was very different when I was young; + Young men were prudent, and girls were wise; +You wouldn't catch them gadding about + Like so many idle butterflies." + +So bustled and scolded the worthy dame, + Until she had passed the outer sill, +To do her justice, it seldom chanced + That her hands were idle, or tongue was still. + + +So Phoebe gathered her knitting up, + And sat her down in the chimney niche; +But her mind was on other thoughts intent, + And here and there she dropped a stitch. + +The yellow kitten purred on the hearth, + While the kitchen clock, with its frame of oak, +In the corner stood, like a sentinel, + And challenged time with its measured stroke. + +But Phoebe's mind was on none of these: + The bread in the oven, her good aunt's frown, +And the scene before her faded away, + And blended with thoughts of Reuben Brown: + +How they walked together on summer days, + Or bravely faced the winter's chill, +And chatted merrily all the way + To the little school-house on Sligo Hill. + +How both grew older, and school-days passed, + When he was a youth, and a maiden she; +How often she went with Reuben Brown + To the rustic dance or the social bee. + +The warm flush deepened on Phoebe's cheek, + And she breathed a low, half-conscious sigh; +Ah, well-a-day! they were happy times, + But he has forgotten, and so must I." + +So Phoebe gathered her knitting up, + Which, while she was thinking, had fallen down, +When her quick ear caught a strange footfall, + And there in the doorway stood Reuben Brown, + +With the same frank, handsome face she knew, + A smile as bright, and an eye as black-- +"Phoebe," he said, "I have wandered far; + Are you glad to see your playmate back?" + +The kitten still purred on the kitchen hearth, + And the ancient clock, with its frame of oak, +In the corner stood, like a sentinel, + And challenged time with its measured stroke. + +A pleased light shone in the maiden's eyes; + Ah, love, young love, it is very sweet! +Reuben had gone, but she sat quite still, + And the knitting lay untouched at her feet. + +Just then the dame came bustling in, + And went to the oven without ado. +"Why, Phoebe, child, what have you done? + The bread is baked as black as my shoe!" + +And Phoebe started, and blushed for shame, + Took up her knitting and dropped it down; +And when her aunt said, "What ails you, child?" + She hastily answered, "Reuben Brown." + +Ah, love! young love! it is very sweet, + In field, or hamlet, or crowded mart; +But it burns with the brightest, purest flame + In the hidden depths of a young maid's heart. + + + + +THE LOST HEART. + + One golden summer day, + Along the forest-way, +Young Colin passed with blithesome steps alert. + + His locks with careless grace + Rimmed round his handsome face +And drifted outward on the airy surge. + + So blithe of heart was he, + He hummed a melody, +And all the birds were hushed to hear him sing. + + Across his shoulders flung + His bow and baldric hung: +So, in true huntsman's guise, he threads the wood. + + The sun mounts up the sky, + The air moves sluggishly, +And reeks with summer heat in every pore. + + His limbs begin to tire, + Slumbers his youthful fire; +He sinks upon a violet-bed to rest. + + The soft winds go and come + With low and drowsy hum, +And ope for him the ivory gate of dreams. + + Beneath the forest-shade + There trips a woodland maid, +And marks with startled eye the sleeping youth. + + At first she thought to fly, + Then, timid, drawing nigh, +She gazed in wonder on his fair young face. + + When swiftly stooping down + Upon his locks so brown +She lightly pressed her lips, and blushing fled. + + When Colin woke from sleep, + From slumbers calm and deep, +He felt- he knew not how- his heart had flown. + + And so, with anxious care, + He wandered here and there, +But could not find his lost heart anywhere. + + Then he, with air distraught, + And brow of anxious thought, +Went out into the world beyond the wood. + + Of each that passed him by, + He queried anxiously, +"I prithee, hast thou seen a heart astray?" + + Some stared and hurried on, + While others said in scorn. +Your heart has gone in search of your lost wits" + + The day is wearing fast, + Young Colin comes at last +To where a cottage stood embowered in trees. + + He looks within, and there + He sees a maiden fair, +Who sings low songs the while she plies her wheel. + + "I prithee, maiden bright,"-- + She turns as quick as light, +And straight a warm flush crimsons all her face. + + She, much abashed, looks down, + For on his locks so brown +She seems to see the marks her lips have made. + + + Whereby she stands confest; + What need to tell the rest? +He said, "I think, fair maid, you have my heart. + + "Nay, do not give it back, + I shall not feel the lack, +If thou wilt give to me thine own therefor." + + + + + +JOHN MAYNARD. + +'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse + One bright midsummer day, +The gallant steamer Ocean Queen + Swept proudly on her way. +Bright faces clustered on the deck, + Or, leaning o'er the side, +Watched carelessly the feathery foam + That flecked the rippling tide. + +Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky, + That smiling bends serene, +Could dream that danger awful, vast, + Impended o'er the scene,- +Could dream that ere an hour had sped + That frame of sturdy oak +Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves, + Blackened with fire and smoke? + +A seaman sought the captain's side, + A moment whispered low; +The captain's swarthy face grew pale; + He hurried down below. +Alas, too late! Though quick, and sharp, + And clear his orders came, +No human efforts could avail + To quench the insidious flame. + +The bad news quickly reached the deck, + It sped from lip to lip, +And ghastly Faces everywhere + Looked from the doomed ship. +"Is there no hope--no chance of life?" + A hundred lips implore, +"But one," the captain made reply, + "To run the ship on shore." + +A sailor, whose heroic soul + That hour should yet reveal, +By name John Maynard, eastern-born, + Stood calmly at the wheel. +"Head her south-east!" the captain shouts, + Above the smothered roar,-- +"Head her south-east without delay! + Make for the nearest shore!" + +No terror pales the helmsman's cheek, + Or clouds his dauntless eye, +As, in a sailor's measured tone, + His voice responds, "Ay! ay!" +Three hundred souls, the steamer's freight, + Crowd forward wild with fear, +While at the stern the dreaded flames + Above the deck appear. + +John Maynard watched the nearing flames, + But still with steady hand +He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly + He steered the ship to land. +"John Maynard, can you still hold out?" + He heard the captain cry; +A voice from out the stifling smoke + Faintly responds, "Ay! ay!" + +But half a mile! a hundred hands + Stretch eagerly to shore. +But half a mile! That distance sped + Peril shall all be o'er. +But half a mile ! Yet stay, the flames + No longer slowly creep, +But gather round that helmsman bold, + With fierce, impetuous sweep. + +"John Maynard!" with an anxious voice + The captain cries once more, +"Stand by the wheel five minutes yet, + And we shall reach the shore." +Through flame and smoke that dauntless heart + Responded firmly still, +Unawed, though face to face with death,- + "With God's good help I will!" + +The flames approach with giant strides, + They scorch his hand and brow; +One arm, disabled, seeks his side, + Ah! he is conquered now! +But no, his teeth are firmly set, + He crushes down his pain, +His knee upon the stanchion pressed, + He guides the ship again. + +One moment yet! one moment yet! + Brave heart, thy task is o'er, +The pebbles grate beneath the keel. + The steamer touches shore. +Three hundred grateful voice rise + In praise to God that he +Hath saved them from the fearful fire, + And from the engulphing sea. + +But where is he, that helmsman bold? + The captain saw him reel,- +His nerveless hands released their task, + He sank beside the wheel. +The wave received his lifeless corpse, + Blackened with smoke and fire. +God rest him! Never hero had + A nobler funeral pyre! + + + + + +FRIAR ANSELM0. + +Friar Anselmo (God's grace may he win!) +Committed one sad day a deadly sin; + +Which being done he drew back, self-abhorred, +From the rebuking presence of the Lord, + +And, kneeling down, besought, with bitter cry, +Since life was worthless grown, that he might die. + +All night he knelt, and, when the morning broke, +In patience still he waits death's fatal stroke. + +When all at once a cry of sharp distress +Aroused Anselmo from his wretchedness; + +And, looking from the convent window high, +He saw a wounded traveller gasping lie + +Just underneath, who, bruised and stricken sore, +Had crawled for aid unto the convent door. + +The friar's heart with deep compassion stirred, +When the poor wretch's groans for help were heard + +With gentle hands, and touched with love divine, +He bathed his wounds, and poured in oil and wine. + +With tender foresight cared for all his needs,-- +A blessed ministry of noble deeds. + +In such devotion passed seven days. At length +The poor wayfarer gained his wonted strength. + +With grateful thanks he left the convent walls, +And once again on death Anselmo calls. + +When, lo! his cell was filled with sudden light, +And on the wall he saw an angel write, + +(An angel in whose likeness he could trace, +More noble grown, the traveller's form and face), + +"Courage, Anselmo, though thy sin be great, +God grants thee life that thou may'st expiate. + +"Thy guilty stains shall be washed white again, +By noble service done thy fellow-men. + +"His soul draws nearest unto God above, +Who to his brother ministers in love." + +Meekly Anselmo rose, and, after prayer, +His soul was lightened of its past despair. + +Henceforth he strove, obeying God's high will, +His heaven-appointed mission to fulfil. + +And many a soul, oppressed with pain and grief, +Owed to the friar solace and relief. + + + + + +--------------------- + +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. + +--------------------- + +THE CHURCH AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON. + +One autumn day, when hedges yet were green, + And thick-branched trees diffused a leafy gloom, +Hard by where Avon rolls its silvery tide, + I stood in silent thought by Shakspeare's tomb. + +O happy church, beneath whose marble floor + His ashes lie who so enriched mankind; +The many-sided Shakespeare, rare of soul, + And dowered with an all-embracing mind. + +Through the stained windows rays of sunshine fall + In softened glory on the chancel floor; +While I, a pilgrim from across the sea, + stand with bare head in reverential awe. + +Churches there are within whose gloomy vaults + Repose the bones of those that once were kings; +Their power has passed, and what remains but clay? + While in his grave our Shakspeare lives and sings. + +Kings were his puppets, kingdoms but his stage,-- + Faint shadows they without his plastic art,-- +He waves his wand, and lo! they live again, + And in his world perform their mimic part. + +Born in the purple, his imperial soul + Sits crowned and sceptred in the realms of mind. +Kingdoms may fall, and crumble to decay, + Time but confirms his empire o'er mankind. + + + + + +MRS. BROWNING'S GRAVE AT FLORENCE. + +FLORENCE wears an added grace, + All her earlier honors crowning; +Dante's birthplace, Art's fair home, + Holds the dust of Barrett Browning. + +Guardian of the noble dead + That beneath thy soil lie sleeping, +England, with full heart, commends + This new treasure to thy keeping. + +Take her, she is half thine own; + In her verses' rich outpouring, +Breathes the warm Italian heart, + Yearning for the land's restoring. + +From thy skies her poet-heart + Caught a fresher inspiration, +And her soul obtained new strength, + With her bodily translation. + +Freely take what thou hast given, + Less her verses' rhythmic beauty, +Than the stirring notes that called + Trumpet-like thy sons to duty. + +Rarest of exotic flowers + In thy native chaplet twining, +To the temple of thy great + Add her--she is worth enshrining. + + + + +MY CASTLE. + +I have a beautiful castle, + With towers and battlements fair; +And many a banner, with gay device, + Floats in the outer air. + +The walls are of solid silver; + The towers are of massive gold; +And the lights that stream from the windows + A royal scene unfold. + +Ah! could you but enter my castle + With its pomp of regal sheen, +You would say that it far surpasses + The palace of Aladeen. + +Could you but enter as I do, + And pace through the vaulted hall, +And mark the stately columns, + And the pictures on the wall; + +With the costly gems about them, + That send their light afar, +With a chaste and softened splendor + Like the light of a distant star! + +And where is this wonderful castle, + With its rich emblazonings, +Whose pomp so far surpasses + The homes of the greatest kings? + +Come out with me at morning + And lie in the meadow-grass, +And lift your eyes to the ether blue, + And you will see it pass. + +There! can you not see the battlements; + And the turrets stately and high, +Whose lofty summits are tipped with clouds, + And lost in the arching sky? + +Dear friend, you are only dreaming, + Your castle so stately and fair +Is only a fanciful structure,-- + A castle in the air. + +Perchance you are right. I know not + If a phantom it may be; +But yet, in my inmost heart, I feel + That it lives, and lives for me. + +For when clouds and darkness are round me, + And my heart is heavy with care, +I steal me away from the noisy crowd, + To dwell in my castle fair. + +There are servants to do my bidding; + There are servants to heed my call; +And I, with a master's air of pride, + May pace through the vaulted hall. + +And I envy not the monarchs + With cities under their sway; +For am I not, in my own right, + A monarch as proud as they? + +What matter, then, if to others + My castle a phantom may be, +Since I feel, in the depths of my own heart, + That it is not so to me? + + + + +APPLE-BLOSSOMS. + +I sit in the shadow of apple-boughs, + In the fragrant orchard close, +And around me floats the scented air, + With its wave-like tidal flows. +I close my eyes in a dreamy bliss, + And call no king my peer; +For is not this the rare, sweet time, + The blossoming time of the year? + +I lie on a couch of downy grass, + With delicate blossoms strewn, +And I feel the throb of Nature's heart + Responsive to my own. +Oh, the world is fair, and God is good, + That maketh life so dear; +For is not this the rare, sweet time, + The blossoming time of the year? + +I can see, through the rifts of the apple-boughs, + The delicate blue of the sky, +And the changing clouds with their marvellous tints + That drift so lazily by. +And strange, sweet thoughts sing through my brain, + And Heaven, it seemeth near; +Oh, is it not a rare, sweet time, + The blossoming time of the year? + + + + +SUMMER HOURS. + +It is the year's high noon, + The earth sweet incense yields, + And o'er the fresh, green fields +Bends the clear sky of June. + +I leave the crowded streets, + The hum of busy life, + Its clamor and its strife, +To breathe thy perfumed sweets. + +O rare and golden hours! + The bird's melodious song, + Wavelike, is borne along +Upon a strand of flowers. + +I wander far away, + Where, through the forest trees, + Sports the cool summer breeze, +In wild and wanton play. + +A patriarchal elm + Its stately form uprears, + Which twice a hundred years +Has ruled this woodland realm. + +I sit beneath its shade, + And watch, with careless eye, + The brook that babbles by, +And cools the leafy glade. + +In truth I wonder not, + That in the ancient days + The temples of God's praise +Were grove and leafy grot. + +The noblest ever planned, + With quaint device and rare, + By man, can ill compare +With these from God's own hand. + +Pilgrim with way-worn feet, + Who, treading life's dull round, + No true repose hast found, +Come to this green retreat. + +For bird, and flower, and tree, + Green fields, and woodland wild, + Shall bear, with voices mild, +Sweet messages to thee. + + + + + +JUNE. + +Throw open wide your golden gates, + O poet-landed month of June, +And waft me, on your spicy breath, + The melody of birds in tune. + +O fairest palace of the three, + Wherein Queen Summer holdeth sway, +I gaze upon your leafy courts + From out the vestibule of May. + +I fain would tread your garden walks, + Or in your shady bowers recline; +Then open wide your golden gates, + And make them mine, and make them mine. + + + + +LITTLE CHARLIE. + +A VIOLET grew by the river-side, + And gladdened all hearts with its bloom; +While over the fields, on the scented air, + It breathed a rich perfume. +But the clouds grew dark in the angry sky, + And its portals were opened wide; +And the heavy rain beat down the flower + That grew by the river-side. + +Not far away in a pleasant home, + There lived a little boy, +Whose cheerful face and childish grace + Filled every heart with joy. +He wandered one day to the river's verge, + With no one near to save; +And the heart that we loved with a boundless love + Was stilled in the restless wave. + +The sky grew dark to our tearful eyes, + And we bade farewell to joy; +For our hearts were bound by a sorrowful tie + To the grave of the little boy. +The birds still sing in the leafy tree + That shadows the open door; +We heed them not, for we think of the voice + That we shall hear no more. + +We think of him at eventide, + And gaze on his vacant chair +With a longing heart that will scarce believe + That Charlie is not there. +We seem to hear his ringing laugh, + And his bounding step at the door; +But, alas! there comes the sorrowful thought, + We shall never hear them more! + +We shall walk sometimes to his little grave, + In the pleasant summer hours; +We will speak his name in a softened voice, + And cover his grave with flowers; +We will think of him in his heavenly home,-- + In his heavenly home so fair; +And we will trust with a hopeful trust + That we shall meet him there. + + + + + +THE WHIPPOORWILL AND I. + +IN the hushed hours of night, when the air quite still, +I hear the strange cry of the lone whippoorwill, +Who Chants, without ceasing, that wonderful trill, +Of which the sole burden is still, "Whip-poor-Will." + +And why should I whip him? Strange visitant, +Has he been playing truant this long summer day? +I listened a moment; more clear and more shrill +Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, "Whip-poor-Will." + +But what has poor Will done? I ask you once more; +I'll whip him, don't fear, if you'll tell me what for. +I paused for an answer; o'er valley and hill +Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, "Whip-poor-Will." + +Has he come to your dwelling, by night or by day, +And snatched the young birds from their warm nest away? +I paused for an answer; o'er valley and hill +Rang the voice of the bird, as he cried, "Whip-poor-Will." + +Well, well, I can hear you, don't have any fears, +I can hear what is constantly dinned in my ears. +The obstinate bird, with his wonderful trill, +Still made but one answer, and that, "Whip-poor-Will." + +But what HAS poor Will done? I prithee explain; +I'm out of all patience, don't mock me again. +The obstinate bird, with his wonderful trill, +Still made the same answer, and that, "Whip-poor-Will." + +Well, have your own way, then; but if you won't tell, +I'll shut down the window, and bid you farewell; +But of one thing be sure, I won't whip him until +You give me some reason for whipping poor Will. + +I listened a moment, as if for reply, +But nothing was heard but the bird's mocking cry. +I caught the faint echo from valley and hill; +It breathed the same burden, that strange "Whip-poor-Will." + + + + +CARVING A NAME. + +I wrote my name upon the sand, + And trusted it would stand for aye; +But, soon, alas! the refluent sea + Had washed my feeble lines away. + +I carved my name upon the wood, + And, after years, returned again; +I missed the shadow of the tree + That stretched of old upon the plain. + +To solid marble next, my name + I gave as a perpetual trust; +An earthquake rent it to its base, + And now it lies, o'erlaid with dust. + +All these have failed. In wiser mood + I turn and ask myself, "What then?" +If I would have my name endure, + I'll write it on the hearts of men, + +In characters of living light, + Of kindly deeds and actions wrought. +And these, beyond the touch of time, + Shall live immortal as my thought. + + + + +-------------------------- + +IN TIME OF WAR. + +-------------------------- + +GONE TO THE WAR. + +My Charlie has gone to the war, + My Charlie so brave and tall; +He left his plough in the furrow, + And flew at his country's call. +May God in safety keep him,-- + My precious boy--my all! + +My heart is pining to see him; + I miss him every day; +My heart is weary with waiting, + And sick of the long delay,-- +But I know his country needs him, + And I could not bid him stay. + +I remember how his face flushed, + And how his color came, +When the flash from the guns of Sumter + Lit the whole land with flame, +And darkened our country's banner + With the crimson hue of shame. + +"Mother," he said, then faltered,-- + I felt his mute appeal; +I paused-- if you are a mother, + You know what mothers feel, +When called to yield their dear ones + To the cruel bullet and steel. + +My heart stood still for a moment, + Struck with a mighty woe; +A faint as of death came o'er me, + I am a mother, you know, +But I sternly checked my weakness, + And firmly bade him "Go." + +Wherever the fight is fiercest + I know that my boy will be; +Wherever the need is sorest + Of the stout arms of the free. +May he prove as true to his country + As he has been true to me. + +My home is lonely without him, + My hearth bereft of joy, +The thought of him who has left me + My constant sad employ; +But God has been good to the mother,-- + She shall not blush for her boy. + + + + +WHERE IS MY BOY TO-NIGHT? + +When the clouds in the Western sky + Flush red with the setting sun,-- +When the veil of twilight falls, + And the busy day is done,-- +I sit and watch the clouds, + With their crimson hues alight, +And ponder with anxious heart, + Oh, where is my boy to-night? + +It is just a year to-day + Since he bade me a gay good-by, +To march where banners float, + And the deadly missiles fly. +As I marked his martial step + I felt my color rise +With all a mother's pride, + And my heart was in my eyes. + +There's a little room close by, + Where I often used to creep +In the hush of the summer night + To watch my boy asleep. +But he who used to rest + Beneath the spread so white +Is far away from me now,-- + Oh, where is my boy to-night? + +Perchance in the gathering night, + With slow and weary feet, +By the light of Southern stars, + He paces his lonely beat. +Does he think of the mother's heart + That will never cease to yearn, +As only a mother's can, + For her absent boy's return? + +Oh, where is my boy to-night? + I cannot answer where, +But I know, wherever he is, + He is under our Father's care. +May He guard, and guide, and bless + My boy, wherever he be, +And bring him back at length + To bless and to comfort me. + +May God bless all our boys + By the camp-fire's ruddy glow, +Or when in the deadly fight + They front the embattled foe; +And comfort each mother's heart, + As she sits in the fading light, +And ponders with anxious heart-- + Oh, where is my boy to-night? + + + + +A SOLDIER'S VALENTINE. + +Just from the sentry's tramp + (I must take it again at ten), +I have laid my musket down, + And seized instead my pen; +For, pacing my lonely round + In the chilly twilight gray, +The thought, dear Mary, came, + That this is St. Valentine's Day. + +And with the thought there came + A glimpse of the happy time +When a school-boy's first attempt + I sent you, in borrowed rhyme, +On a gilt-edged sheet, embossed + With many a quaint design, +And signed, in school-boy hand, + "Your loving Valentine." + +The years have come and gone,-- + Have flown, I know not where, -- +And the school-boy's merry face + Is grave with manhood's care; +But the heart of the man still beats + At the well-remembered name, +And on this St. Valentine's Day + His choice is still the same. + +There was a time-- ah, well! + Think not that I repine +When I dreamed this happy day + Would smile on you as mine; +But I heard my country's call; + I knew her need was sore. +Thank God, no selfish thought + Withheld me from the war. + +But when the dear old flag + Shall float in its ancient pride, +When the twain shall be made one, + And feuds no more divide,-- +I will lay my musket down, + My martial garb resign, +And turn my joyous feet + Toward home and Valentine. + + + + + +LAST WORDS. + +"DEAR Charlie," breathed a soldier, + "O comrade true and tried, +Who in the heat of battle + Pressed closely to my side; +I feel that I am stricken, + My life is ebbing fast; +I fain would have you with me, + Dear Charlie, till the last. + +"It seems so sudden, Charlie, + To think to-morrow's sun +Will look upon me lifeless, + And I not twenty-one! +I little dreamed this morning, + Twould bring my last campaign; +God's ways are not as our ways, + And I will not complain. + +"There's one at home, dear Charlie, + Will mourn for me when dead, +Whose heart--it is a mother's-- + Can scarce be comforted. +You'll write and tell her, Charlie, + With my dear love, that I +Fought bravely as a soldier should, + And died as he should die. + +"And you will tell her, Charlie, + She must not grieve too much, +Our country claims our young lives, + For she has need of such. +And where is he would falter, + Or turn ignobly back, +When Duty's voice cries 'Forward,' + And Honor lights the track ? + +"And there's another, Charlie + (His voice became more low), +When thoughts of HER come o'er me, + It makes it hard to go. +This locket in my bosom, + She gave me just before +I left my native village + For the fearful scenes of war. + +"Give her this message, Charlie, + Sent with my dying breath, +To her and to my banner + I'm 'faithful unto death.' +And if, in that far country + Which I am going to, +Our earthly ties may enter, + I'll there my love renew. + +"Come nearer, closer, Charlie, + My head I fain would rest, +It must be for the last time, + Upon your faithful breast. +Dear friend, I cannot tell you + How in my heart I feel +The depth of your devotion, + Your friendship strong as steel. + +"We've watched and camped together + In sunshine and in rain; +We've shared the toils and perils + Of more than one campaign; +And when my tired feet faltered, + Beneath the noontide heat, +Your words sustained my courage, + Gave new strength to my feet. + +"And once,-- 'twas at Antietam,-- + Pressed hard by thronging foes, +I almost sank exhausted + Beneath their cruel blows,-- +When you, dear friend, undaunted, + With headlong courage threw +Your heart into the contest, + And safely brought me through. + +"My words are weak, dear Charlie, + My breath is growing scant; +Your hand upon my heart there, + Can you not hear me pant? +Your thoughts I know will wander + Sometimes to where I lie-- +How dark it grows! True comrade + And faithful friend, good-by!" + +A moment, and he lay there + A statue, pale and calm. +His youthful head reclining + Upon his comrade's arm. +His limbs upon the greensward + Were stretched in careless grace, +And by the fitful moon was seen + A smile upon his face. + + +SONG OF THE CROAKER. * + +* Written by request for the Philadelphia Sanitary Fair. + +An old frog lived in a dismal swamp, + In a dismal kind of way; +And all that he did, whatever befell, + Was to croak the livelong day. +Croak, croak, croak, + When darkness filled the air, +And croak, croak, croak, + When the skies were bright and fair. + +"Good Master Frog, a battle is fought, + And the foeman's power is broke." +But he only turned a greener hue, + And answered with a croak. +Croak, croak, croak, + When the clouds are dark and dun, +And croak, croak, croak, + In the blaze of the noontide sun. + +"Good Master Frog, the forces of right + Are driving the hosts of wrong." +But he gave his head an ominous shake, + And croaked out, "Nous verrons!" +Croak, croak, croak, + Till the heart is full of gloom, +And croak, croak, croak, + Till the world seems but a tomb. + +To poison the cup of life, + By always dreading the worst. +Is to make of the earth a dungeon damp, + And the happiest life accursed. +Croak, croak, croak, + When the noontide sun rides high, +And croak, croak, croak, + Lest the night come by and by. + +Farewell to the dismal frog; + Let him croak as loud as he may, +He cannot blot the sun from heaven, + Nor hinder the march of day, +Though he croak, croak, croak, + Till the heart is full of gloom, +And croak, croak, croak, + Till the world seems but a tomb. + + + + + +KING COTTON. + +KING COTTON looks from his window + Towards the westering sun, +And he marks, with an anguished horror, + That his race is almost run. + +His form is thin and shrunken; + His cheek is pale and wan; +And the lines of care on his furrowed brow + Are dread to look upon. + +But yesterday a monarch, + In the flush of his pomp and pride, +And, not content with his own broad lands, + He would rule the world beside. + +He built him a stately palace, + With gold from beyond the sea; +And he laid with care the corner-stone, + And he called it Slavery: + +He summoned an army with banners, + To keep his foes at bay; +And, gazing with pride on his palace walls, + He said, "They will stand for aye!" + +But the palace walls are shrunken, + And partly overthrown, +And the storms of war, in their violence, + Have loosened the corner-stone. + +Now Famine stalks through the palace halls, + With her gaunt and pallid train; +You can hear the cries of famished men, + As they cry for bread in vain. + +The king can see, from his palace walls. + A land by his pride betrayed; +Thousands of mothers and wives bereft. + Thousands of graves new-made. + +And he seems to see, in the lowering sky, + The shape of a flaming sword; +Whereon he reads, with a sinking heart, + The anger of the Lord. + +God speed the time when the guilty king + Shall be hurled from his blood-stained throne; +And the palace of Wrong shall crumble to dust, + With its boasted corner-stone. + +A temple of Freedom shall rise instead, + On the desecrated site: +And within its shelter alike shall stand + The black man and the white. + + + + +OUT OF EGYPT. + +To Egypt's king, who ruled beside + The reedy river's flow, +Came God's command, "Release, O king, + And let my people go." + +The king's proud heart grew hard apace; + He marked the suppliant throng, +And said, "Nay, they must here abide; + The weak must serve the strong." + +Straightway the Lord stretched forth his hand, + And every stream ran blood; +The river swept towards the sea-- + A full ensanguined flood. + +The haughty king beheld the land, + By plagues afflicted sore, +But, as God's wonders multiplied, + Hardened his heart the more; + +Until the angel of the Lord + Came on the wings of Night, +And smote first-born of man and beast, + In his destructive flight. + +Throughout all Egypt, not a house + Was spared this crowning woe. +Then broke the tyrant's stubborn will; + He bade the people go. + +They gathered up their flocks and herds, + Rejoicing to be free; +And, going forth, a mighty host, + Encamped beside the sea. + + +Then Pharaoh's heart repented him; + He called a mighty force, +And swiftly followed on their track, + With chariot and with horse. + +Then Israel's host were sore afraid; + But God was on their side, +And, lo! for them a way is cleft, + The Red-sea waves divide. + +At God's command the restless waves + Obey the prophet's rod; +And, through the middle of the sea, + The people marched dry-shod. + +But, when the spoilers, following close, + Would hinder Israel's flight, +The waters to their course return, + The parted waves unite, + +And Pharaoh's host is swept away, + The chariots and the horse; +And not a man is left alive + Of all that mighty force. + +So in these days God looks from heaven, + And marks his servants' woe; +Hear ye his voice: "Break every yoke, + And let my people go!" + +For them the Red-sea waves divide, + The streams with crimson flow; +Therefore we mourn for our first-born;-- + Then let the people go. + +They are not weak whom God befriends, + He makes their cause His own; +And they who fight against God's might + Shall surely be o'erthrown. + + + + +THE PRICE OF VICTORY. + +"A VICTORY! --a victory!" + Is flashed across the wires; +Speed, speed the news from State to State, + Light up the signal fires! +Let all the bells from all the towers + A joyous peal ring out; +We've gained a glorious victory, + And put the foe to rout! + +A mother heard the chiming bells; + Her joy was mixed with pain. +"Pray God," she said, "my gallant boy + Be not among the slain!" +Alas for her! that very hour + Outstretched in death he lay, +The color from his fair, young face + Had scarcely passed away. + +His nerveless hand still grasped the sword. + He never more might wield, +His eyes were sealed in dreamless sleep + Upon that bloody field. +The chestnut curls his mother oft + Had stroked in fondest pride, +Neglected hung ia clotted locks, + With deepest crimson dyed. + +Ah! many a mother's heart shall ache, + And bleed with anguish sore, +When tidings come of him who marched + So blithely forth to war. +Oh! sad for them, the stricken down + In manhood's early dawn, +And sadder yet for loving hearts. + God comfort them that mourn! + +Yes, victory has a fearful price + Our hearts may shrink to pay, +And tears will mingle with the joy + That greets a glorious day. +But he who dies in freedom's cause, + We cannot count him lost; +A battle won for truth and right + Is worth the blood it cost! + +O mothers! count it something gained + That they, for whom you mourn, +Bequeath fair Freedom's heritage + To millions yet unborn;-- +And better than a thousand years + Of base, ignoble breath, +A patriot's fragrant memory, + A hero's early death! + + + + + +------------------------------- + +HARVARD ODES. + +------------------------------- + +(SUNG AT ANNUAL DINNERS OF THE HARVARD CLUB + +OF New York. NEW YORK.) + + +HARVARD ODES. + +I. + +(Feb. 23, 1869.) + +Fair Harvard, dear guide of our youth's golden days; + At thy name all our hearts own a thrill, +We turn from life's .highways, its business, its cares, + We are boys in thy tutelage still. +And the warm blood of youth to our veins, as of yore, + Returns with impetuous flow, +Reviving the scenes and the hopes that were ours + In the vanished, but sweet Long Ago. + +Once more through thy walks, Alma Mater, we tread, + And we dream youth's fair dreams once again, +We are heroes in fight for the Just and the Right, + We are knights without fear, without stain; +Its doors in fair prospect the world opens wide, + Its prizes seem easy to win,-- +We are strong in our faith, we are bold in our might, + And we long for the race to begin. + +Though dimmed are our hopes, and our visions are fled, + Our dreams were but dreams, it is true; +Dust-stained from the contest we gather to-night, + The sweet dreams of youth to renew. +Enough for to-morrow the cares it shall bring, + We are boys, we are brothers, to-night; +And our hearts, warm with love, Alma Mater, to thee, + Shall in loyal devotion unite. + + + + +II. + +(Feb. 11, 1870.) + +As we meet in thy name, Alma Mater, to-night, + All our hearts and our hopes are as one, +And love for the mother that nurtured his youth + Beats high in the breast of each son. +The sweet chords of Memory bridge o'er the Past, + The years fade away like a dream, +By the banks of Cephissus, beneath the green trees, + We tread thy fair walks, Academe. + +The heights of Hymettus that bound the near view + Fill the air with an odor as sweet +As the beautiful clusters of sun-tinted grapes + From the vineyards that lie at our feet. +O realm of enchantment, O Wonderful land, + Where the gods hold high converse with men, +Come out from the dusk of past ages once more, + And live in our fancy again. + +Let us drink to the Past as our glasses we lift, + Let eye speak to eye, heart to heart, +Let the bonds of sweet fellowship bind each to each, + In the hours that remain ere we part. +And thou, Alma Mater, grown fairer with age, + Let us echo the blessing that fell +From thy motherly lips, as we stood at thy side, + And thou bad'st us God-speed and Farewell. + + + + +III. + +(Feb. 21, 1872.) + +Fair Harvard, the months have accomplished their round + And a year stands full-orbed and complete, +Since last at thy summons, with dutiful hearts, + Thy children sat here at thy feet. +Since last in thy presence, grown youthful once more, + We drank to the past and its joys, +Shaking off every care that encumbered our years, + And dreamed that again we were boys. + +To-night once again in thy presence we meet + In the freshness and flush of life's spring; +We wait but thy blessing, we ask but thy smile, + As our sails to the free air we fling. +The winds breathe auspicious that waft us along, + The sky, undisturbed, smiles serene, +Hope stands at the prow, and the waters gleam bright + With sparkles of silvery sheen. + +And thy voice, Alma Mater, so potent and sweet, + Still sounds in our ears as of yore, +And thy motherly counsel we hear, wisdom-fraught, + As we push our frail barks from the shore. +From the foam-crested waves of the mountainous sea + As backward our glances we strain, +We see the dear face of our mother benign, + And bless her again and again. + + + + +IV. + +(Feb. 21, 1873.) + +There's a fountain of Fable whose magical power + Time's ravages all could repair, +And replace the bowed form and the tottering step, + The wrinkles and silvery hair, +By the brown flowing locks and the graces of youth, + Its footstep elastic and light, +Could mantle the cheek with its long-vanished bloom + And make the dull eye keen and bright. + +'Tis only a fable--a beautiful dream, + But the fable, the dream, shall come true, +As thy sons, Alma Mater, assemble to-night + The joys of past years to renew. +Our eyes shall grow bright with their old wonted light, + Our spirits untrammelled by care, +And the Goddess of Hope, with her fresh rainbow tints, + Shall paint every prospect more fair. + +How sweet were the friendships we formed in thy halls! + How strong were the tendrils that bound +Our hearts to the mother whose provident care + Encompassed her children around! +Now strong in our manhood we cherish her still; + And if by misfortune brought low, +Our strength shall support her, our arms bear her up, + And sustain her through weal and through woe. + + + + + +--------------------------------- + +OCCASIONAL ODES. + +--------------------------------- + + +BI-CENTENNIAL ODE.* + +(June 13, 1860.) + +* Sung at the bi-centennial celebration of the incorporation of Marlboro, Mass. + +From the door of the homestead the mother looks forth, + With a glance half of hope, half of fear, +For the clock in the corner now points to the hour + When the children she loves should appear. +For have they not promised, whatever betide, + On this their dear mother's birthday, +To gather once more round the family board, + Their dutiful service to pay? + +From the East and the West, from the North and the South, + In communion and intercourse sweet, +Her children have come, on this festival day, + To sit, as of old, at her feet. +And our mother,-- God bless her benevolent face!-- + How her heart thrills with motherly joys, +As she stands at the portal, with arms opened wide, + To welcome her girls and her boys. + +And yet, when the first joyful greetings are o'er, + When the words of her welcome are said: +A shadow creeps over her motherly face, + As she silently thinks of the dead, +Of the children whose voices once rang through her fields, + Who shared all her hopes and alarms, +Till, tired with the burden and heat of the day, + They have fallen asleep in her arms. + +They have gone from our midst, but their labors abide + On the fields where they prayerfully wrought; +They scattered the seed, but the harvest is ours, + By their toil and self-sacrifice bought. +As we scan the fair scene that once greeted their eyes, + As we tread the same paths which they trod, +Let us tenderly think of our elders by birth, + Who have gone to their rest, and their God. + +God bless the old homestead! some linger there still, + In the haunts which their childhood has known, +While others have wandered to places remote, + And planted new homes of their own; +But Time cannot weaken the ties Love creates, + Nor absence, nor distance, impede +The filial devotion which thrills all our hearts, + As we bid our old mother God-speed. + + + + +FOR THE CONSECRATION OF A CEMETERY. + +This verdant field that smiles to Heaven + In Nature's bright array, +From common uses set apart, + We consecrate to-day. + +"God's Acre" be it fitly called, + For when, beneath the sod, +We lay the dead with reverent hands, + We yield them back to God. + +And His great love, so freely given, + Shall speak in clearer tones, +When, pacing through these hallowed walks, + We read memorial stones. + +Here let the sunshine softly fall, + And gently drop the rain, +And Nature's countless harmonies + Blend one accordant strain; + +That they who seek this sacred place, + In mourning solitude, +In all this gracious company + May have their faith renewed. + +So, lifted to serener heights, + And purified from dross, +Their trustful hearts shall rest on God, + And profit by their loss. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Ballads, by Horatio Alger, Jr. + diff --git a/old/bllds10.zip b/old/bllds10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ed6c21 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/bllds10.zip |